#so I wanted to see if that applied to ALL poisons

[vmlnrzmp4]

𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘰𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦.

no cw, just domestic bliss<3 for reference, she's making kheer: a famous south asian dessert. you can call it a pudding. this is me y'all. i think the "banned from kitchen" girlies deserve representation. without further ado, enjoy<3

itoshi sae

"it stings...!" you mumble a complain as sae applies the burn-cream to your thumb and index finger. he calls you a dumbass for even stepping into the kitchen.

"sae," you call softly trying to gain his attention. he ignores, too busy tending your wounds. "sae," you call again. and after a long pause, he hums.

"what?"

"can you atleast taste what i made?"

he looks up at you, blowing air from his mouth to your booboo, the coolness easing the pain a little. "you sure it's not poison?"

"no promises."

he stares at you for a moment. sighing, he reaches for the spoon, taking a bit—just a little bite, "what did you put in this?" he asks, "is this supposed to be salty?"

oh the horror! "what?"

"it's salty."

you take the spoon from him, tasting it too, gagging at the bitterness. "i may or may not have added salt instead of sugar."

"you," he snaps his finger at you, "stay out of the kitchen."

itoshi rin

"hot hot hot!" you say, the burning spoonful of kheer still in your mouth.

"here," rin quickly passes you a bottle of cold water as you wash it down, "don't choke on it." his brows furrow, "is this supposed to be that watery and oily?"

"it's not oil. i used ghee," you say, showing him the container, "it's butter. but fancier." he examines it in his hand, reading the label and notes. you take another gulp of the cold water, "my tongue feels numb now."

he takes a spoonful, seeing how it runs down from the sides like water, "what were you trying to do?"

you sigh. big big sigh as you ramble, "i tried making this. i know i shouldn't even step into the kitchen but, i just felt like yes i can do it like it's the easiest thing i can make cause my cousin made it back in india and she sent me a picture of it and it looked so simple and i—"

"it's fine," he cuts you off, "leave it to me next time."

isagi yoichi

"here you go," you say, placing the bowl in front of him, along with a spoon and a forced smile.

he chuckles nervously, taking the spoon from you, "is this...soup?"

"no!" you correct, "it's kheer, even fancier!"

he hums, taking in a spoonful while you wait expectantly.

he coughs. loudly.

looking up at you he sees the horror in your eyes—he feels guilty as he sees the messy apron, hair that was messily put up in a bun and a little something on your cheek too—you worked hard on it.

"it's...not bad."

you let out the most heart wrenching sigh, "it's ok yo-chan," you plop yourself beside him, your forehead bangs on the table, "you don't need to lie."

"oh y/n..." he reaches for you, soothing your forehead that you just abused on the table, "it's not bad, really. it's just...a little too sweet for my liking. maybe we can fix it together?"

you look at him with puppy-dog eyes, yet fully of hope, "together?"

"together."

michael kaiser

the first thing kaiser does is plant a sweet peck on your cheek as he enters the kitchen, pointing at the apron you wore that says kiss the chef.

"what's cooking?"

you simply point at the cook-book that was open. he raises an eyebrow, then adjusts the glasses resting on his forehead, pushing them down to eye level as he inspects the recipe.

"aaaand all done!" you say happily. but the horror in kaiser's eyes when you were pouring the kheer into a bowl—it was like you were a maniac mixing chemicals to feed the lab rats.

"here," you hand him the spoon, "mihya, i want you to be the first one to try it."

he gulps in fear, "if that's what you want angel..."

aftermath.

he wouldn't stop laughing at you and your poor attempt to stealing a chef's job.

"i'm sorry—" he laughs, "—i'm sorry," more laugher.

"i get it. i can't cook. and i apologize for even thinking i would get appreciated. even if it's a little."

his laughter dies down slowly—still smirking as he hugs you from behind, "hey, i appreciate you loads. even if you made the most disastrous dish imaginable," he pecks your temple, "it's the thought that matters."

[thiefcatmoth]

pac: how do people around you see you?

general reading. pick a pile, listening to your intuition. if nothing resonates, leave this pac behind.

pile 1

soft and sharp, warm and cold, changeable, but combining opposites so harmoniously. you have the ability to hide secrets inside and surprise others with little unusual bits of your personality. you have an inner stability, the ability to accept the twists of fate and use them to your advantage. people think that in feelings you give yourself to the bottom, both good and bad. some people find you too authoritarian, but you have a natural ability to make (or advise) others to do what you need or want. despite the general impression, some see your fragile spiritual core, and some may even say that you give them your light. even if you do not plan to illuminate someone's life, it happens on its own. many people do not strive to see beyond the facade that you have erected and may not realize that you can hide wisdom, knowledge, depth of words behind jokes and light-mindedness, a mask that you deliberately put up for others.

pile 2

others see you as a loyal, hardworking person, although not without a hint of something… gloomy? not hostility, but something dark or gloomy. you work even when obstacles arise, your persistence is admired by others, maybe even became an example or a source of inspiration for someone. at the same time, a special feminine energy emanates from you - cool, fresh, even a little youthful. energy that attracts, like a flower in the morning dew, but not everyone likes it. in general, you give the impression of someone who is difficult to gain trust, you don't let everyone in your inner circle, some think that you are too difficult to find the keys to. I think they just do not realize that you choose people based on your emotions and your inner circle is so important to you in order to develop, learn and work on yourself.

pile 3

some people think that you are capable of doing anything with your own hands. every little bit of what you do - art, handmade, cooking, whatever - has a special uniqueness, everything is a meaningful masterpiece. people see great wisdom in you, even when your words are not liked or seem poisonous. in addition, you know how to use all your knowledge for good. some people think that you are overprotective? the energy of excessive care, maybe even an attempt to prove that your views on everyday life and the material world are the most correct. someone may think that you were greatly influenced by your ancestors, and that is why your advice, even when you talk about something modern, can be perceived as outdated, similar to ancient wisdom. they are never devoid of meaning. few will be able to understand that helping others and caring that you do is not your favorite thing or a way to show yourself. these are just intuitive actions.

pile 4

the energy of an intelligent but closed person. clearly with a mind of your own, with clear internal and external boundaries. do you like black humor or sarcasm? or maybe there are notes of healthy cynicism in you? people sense that there is a storm of energy hidden inside you, it seems to them that your inner strength and impulses are more than enough for your desires and goals. for the sake of your goals, you can be assertive, choose smart paths and apply your efforts correctly. but others think that you are too free with your time, as if you own it. and some catch too many flirting signals. there is something in your behavior that reminds them of a socialite. to someone you may even seem frivolous in those moments when you deviate from your mask and image. someone notices that you often change your habits, style, lifestyle, and not everyone will understand that this is not a burden, not forced. you are able to adapt to any physical changes, from food and apartment to clothes, workouts and weight. it's like you are changing subtly every day. just don't pay attention if someone ignorantly considers it insignificant.

thanks for the reading!

dividers by @strangergraphics-archive, all images are not mine

[zahri-melitor]

If we're being mean about it, I think it's entirely in-character for Tumblr to call any story falling outside the Wayne Family Adventures paradigm "out of character". I mean, did that phrase ever really mean anything more than "I didn't like this characterization?"

Oh this is a spicy take, and one I’d like to dig into.

I don’t think that’s entirely true (see how much time tumblr spends yelling about their hatred of Tom Taylor, when Tom Taylor’s characterisation beats and storytelling are tonally similar to Wayne Family Adventures, to the point I’ve actively recommended his Nightwing run as an entry point for WFA fans who want to read main universe comics), but yes I agree that as far as superhero comics go, ‘out of character’ is most frequently used as a cudgel for ‘I didn’t like this storyline/characterisation’ or quite often ‘my favourite was in the wrong here/wasn’t the viewpoint character’.

My personal conception of characterisation in comics (and for any long running universe handled by multiple writers over decades, actually), is that every character has a range of what is ‘them’, and different writers slide back and forth along the scale of that range. Bruce Wayne written by Paul Dini (as a caring, empathetic hero) and Bruce Wayne written by Frank Miller (as a gritty angry hero raging at the world) are both Bruce Wayne, they’re just very different conceptions of him in the range.

Not everything ends up getting captured by that range; there are occasions when you get stories that are genuinely out of character, where there’s no continuity between that story and other appearances of the character, where every other writer and the fandom at large generally agree to drop and ignore that story. However, those occasions are less common than most people think, and what’s far more common is a later writer massages the story and applies a soft-retcon to ‘fix’ the situation.

That Danny Devito Penguin and Catwoman story where they solve COVID by vaccinating the world then disappear into the sunset as a couple? Ignored by everyone. Hal Jordan as Parallax? Subject to multiple retcons in terms of the reasoning for how and why things happened.

A bunch of the biggest ‘that was out of character’ arguments are over things where someone has decided THEY don’t want to treat some story as having happened (usually because it makes their beloved character look bad), and then a later story goes “okay, but how about we reference that story, look at it from a different perspective, and how that changes things?”. The comics fandom as a whole is large, widely distributed across platforms and communities, and very much does not think in one mind. Generally for every story you hate, there are others out there in the fandom who really enjoy it. Even truisms in certain communities over what is ‘bad’ don’t necessarily hold outside those communities. (Rob Liefeld still gets work as a comics artist, and while some of that is related to who he’s friends with, people still buy his comics!)

And finally, there’s what I like to think about as the comics perspectives issue. One of the unusual characteristics of superhero comics is that they’re wide shared universes…where we get to see stories from a LOT of different characters’ perspectives. Characters tend to appear in stories differently when they’re the main character of that title, to when they’re a side character or an opponent of the main character. That’s because the viewpoint character colours how that character is perceived. Bruce can be a noble hero in Batman, the father figure his kids are struggling against in their titles, a self-righteous blowhard in an antihero book like Poison Ivy, the irritating know-it-all colleague in Green Arrow, and the reliable best friend in Superman/Batman. They’re all still Bruce Wayne; different characters just have different relationships with and perceptions of him.

And a lot of complaints about ‘so and so is out of character’ is because in their own title that character has had some self discovery and characterisation to better themselves…and then in a book where they’ve got a walk on part, they don’t appear to have changed. And that’s a ‘this book is not about your blorbo’ problem more than a ‘your blorbo is out of character’ problem. Your blorbo might be being used as the heel or the obstacle in the title. The viewpoint character may not have seen this internal change as it hasn’t manifested externally. Maybe, change is hard and characters can and do backslide. Or maybe…this title isn’t about blorbo and the writer is just using the default ‘everyone knows’ characterisation for them because they’re not actually that important to the story outside of the writer needing someone who is likely to do X.

It's a sliding scale! This is how Jeremy Adams Flash and Si Spurrier Flash are both two great, fun Flash books…but tonally in completely different universes.

[puzzleglum]

THEORY TIME AGAIN!! The other day, I had a realization. About how Hyde could possibly rescue Jekyll, without also getting stuck in the depths of their mind. And, it connects to Hyde’s pounding heart, and Lanyon’s confessions to Hyde. Remember this golden ribbon, around Hyde’s wrist on the Chapter 16 cover? (The same cover where Hyde was depicted in his mindscape outfit. Take note!)

I’ve theorized before that it’s a lifeline. Similar to Ariadne’s golden thread from the Greek myth, this ribbon could be a way for Hyde and Jekyll to escape the labyrinth that is the bottom of their mind. A lifeline that allows them to find their way back up again, to the waking world of existence. A tether to reality, if you will. The mindscape and its rules are a bit tricky, but one thing is for sure: the literal rules of normal reality don’t apply. The whole space is basically a big metaphor for their shared unconscious mind. There’s a kind of dream logic to how it functions.

So why shouldn’t the lifeline be metaphorical, too?

Before, I’d thought that maybe the Mort potion—or some other scientific solution—could be used for this, as the origin of the lifeline. A temporary ‘sleeping death’ that would allow Hyde to reach Jekyll, and get out again when the potion wears off. But now, I think I got a better idea. Something far less literal and dryly mechanistic.

First: remember how the last time Jekyll’s heart was pounding—with lots of prominent sound effects, that is—he passed out on stage? Hyde had been poisoning their mind with despair, wanting to take Jekyll down with him.

(It’s worth mentioning that Lanyon was at Jekyll’s side when he woke up again, too. He never left him alone.) I believe Hyde might be about to pass out, too. But for entirely different reasons than Jekyll did previously. Hyde feels all of his feelings very intensely. The similar BA BUM heartbeat sound effects show us just how much Lanyon’s words, and gentle touches, are affecting him.

To be extra clear on my part: secretly, Hyde HAS always wanted to be loved, even if he’d never openly admit it, even to himself. But deep down, he believed it was impossible anyway. Who in their right mind would love an Evil Monster like him? Lanyon would. Because he can see that Hyde was never just “pure evil.” Hyde is simply…a part of Henry. The Doe-Eyed Sweetheart that Lanyon first fell in love with, before falling in love with the rest of Henry, too. This is exactly what Hyde and Lanyon’s character arcs needed. This moment is a beautiful payoff that was a LONG time coming. But I’m not here to talk about all the things that set this up. Might do that later. But my point is…this is it!

Lanyon’s unconditional love is the lifeline.

Let me elaborate. I think Hyde is about to pass out from the overwhelming feeling of knowing that Lanyon REALLY, TRULY loves him. (Perhaps with a kiss or similar to top it off.) And when he comes to, he’ll be in the mind, with that golden ribbon on his wrist. Ready to hunt for Jekyll and bring him back. The intuitive logic I’m seeing here is something like this: That reciprocated love, and Hyde’s desire to return to reality and be reunited with Lanyon soon, is what provides a metaphorical and emotional tether to the real world. Because that emotion would be SO strong that it would bend the rules of their mindscape, allowing Jekyll and Hyde to come back. In other words…Lanyon is Hyde’s Ariadne. The giver of the golden ribbon to guide him through the labyrinth, and safely return when he needs to. :)

And that’s my theory! Thanks for reading, and leave any thoughts in the replies, if you wish!

(I’d love to know if people think this is plausible, or not! To be honest, I’m not entirely sure of this myself. But since the possibility occurred to me, well…there’s no problem with writing it down, anyway! You never know.)

[blu3jae]

There’s nothing like a 3 am conversation with your best friend, that ends in deciding that a character from a campaign you’re playing DEFINITELY wears crop tops in canon.

[drchucktingle]

a moment to check the gears and cogs

feel like i want to talk a little on the message of a recent post because i think it is an important point. when i say that you do not need to QUALIFY OR DEFEND your love of tinglers or my work in general, i am pointing out an interesting social anomaly that happens with my art and with queer art.

as an autistic buckaroo i notice patterns, and on social media i see them a lot. little phrases that come up again and again with my art. ‘yes THAT chuck tingle’ ‘its ACTUALLY good’ ’my favorite author i have never read’ ‘so bad its good’. these are always added after a POSITIVE comment about me

they also all have something in common. they are trying to distance the posters SINCERE JOY and give them an out socially. it is very very very subtle, but they are all saying ‘yes i like this but here is a sliver of acknowledgment that it is also weird or bad or ironic. in not REALLY fully in'

essentially these are added because it means the poster can escape their very real joy if needed. try applying these phrases to any other popular author. its much more subtle with the first two: ‘i liked all fours by miranda july, yes THAT miranda july. its ACTUALLY good’. what does this imply?

the other examples are a little more blatant but lets try them with other authors anyway. imagine saying ‘youre my favorite author i have never read’ to stephen king. would you EVER say that to someone? what does that imply? how about 'i love your books theyre so bad theyre good'. horrifyingly rude

lets dive into saying 'CHUCK TINGLE is my favorite author i have never read’ sounds unusual when substituting other authors because theyre usually not queer or autistic or making outsider art. to be blunt, why CHUCK gets it all the time is because it really means 'i like chuck tingle but im not gay’

while we have mostly culturally evolved past the idea that saying ‘no homo’ is some kind of joke, that FEELING is still around. it has just burrowed a little deeper. honestly it might never go away, or at least take centuries. remember these people GENUINELY LIKE MY BOOKS but feel they MUST qualify

should also be pointed out that LEFT and LIBERAL people are the ones who say this stuff to chuck. they do not MEAN to harm, and if you ask them directly how they feel about queer or neurodivergent people they would not express the same opinion as their subliminal comments might imply

the final elephant trotting by is while some of this is homophobia and fear of a neurodivergent other, it is also just plain old IRONY POISONING. its conditioning from being raised on an internet where sincerity was ‘cringe' and loving something was a weakness or joke. these problems work in tandem

so whats the point? what can we do? first of all, just recognizing these patterns is a start. i didnt HAVE to write all of this today but i think its important to be aware and to look inward and think about the gears and cogs that churn behind the things we say. NEXT step is trying to push past it

if you have done these things in the past, i want you to know i am NOT AT ALL UPSET. i am not mad or hurt and i do not think any less of you. you can trot by my side any day and you are trying your best to prove love. we are ALL just tryin our best, just consider this a friendly chat between buds

proving love can happen in BIG WAYS and it can happen in SMALL WAYS that we barely see. just take a moment and think ‘WHY am i saying this? WHY am i in this pattern to distance myself from outsider or queer art?’ a little moment of consideration goes a LONG way buckaroos. LOVE IS REAL

[sistertotheknowitall]

Masterpost

“But to the BatFam? That is just Some Guy. A random dude - if you will.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m missing my spleen.”

“Oh cool, yeah, missing organs suck. I’m missing a kidney and part of my liver. Oh! And my gallbladder but that was more of a necessary evil, it was like, poisoning me or something.” Danny was so focused on applying pressure to his wound (and maybe being a bit too light headed) that he didn’t notice how silent his friend had gotten. Like-wise the comms had gone equally quiet as Gotham’s vigilante family realized that they knew very little about this kid.

It was concerning how quickly they all started to see him as a friend considering it was them as vigilantes he interacted with the most. Tim was the only one who saw him frequently when out of the suit because he was a regular at Danny’s day job. (He worked as a barista in the coffee shop Tim favored.) The others saw him occasionally but more often than not it was just in passing. Steph, Duke, and Dick had to stop themselves from approaching him on the street.

It was odd, one day he had just moved to Gotham, seeming to appear out of nowhere, and then the next he was a constant presence in their lives. Usually armed and ready with a concerning or odd quip, it had started with him being another victim of the city’s petty criminals and had snowballed from there.

Now it wasn’t like the bats saw Danny everyday, but it was expected that he would cross paths with at least three of them before the end of the week. They ran into him more often than any other Gothamite, including the criminals and rouges they fought.

At first the constant meetings by “coincidence” was suspicious. If he wasn’t the one being saved from a mugging, kidnapping, or city wide villain assault, then he was near by and trying to help.

(“Trying to help” usually meant drawing attention to himself so the original victim could escape. Once it had meant Danny armed with a baseball bat against four grown men. Bruce and Dick have tried to talk to him about putting himself in harms way but the kid is surprisingly elusive when he wants to be. Yet, even when avoiding Batman and his eldest, Danny could be found on the patrol route of another family member.)

But honestly? The guy seemed just as exhausted as they were of seeing each other. By the twelfth time in a month, Danny had accused them of stalking him.

The background check Bruce and Tim had run came back clean and he never seemed to be involved in the various criminal activities. He was just there, a weirdly unlucky bystander. So as far as Dick and the others could see, Danny was a completely normal dude. He just said strange things and wasn’t intimidated by them, he actually made it a point to be unhelpful sometimes. When trying to learn his name he gave them the run around for two months. (“I know about stranger danger. I don’t care how often you say you’re the ‘good guys.’ I’m not falling for it.”)

On one memorable occasion Danny had disappeared for a week and a half. When they started to assume the worse, he popped back up behind the counter at work. Tim had relaxed significantly when he entered the shop to Danny organizing pastries in the display case. Once he’d placed his order, the young CEO asked Danny if he’d been on vacation. To which Danny had just sighed and told Tim “I wish, but no I was called to court to handle some affairs I couldn’t get out of.” (After a check to see if Danny had gotten charged with something and coming back empty, Tim had concluded that it was an odd way to say he had had jury duty.)

Thinking about it now, outside a stray comment or two, Danny didn’t talk about himself or his life. They knew he didn’t have a good relationship with his parents, “they were much more goal oriented than that joke of a kidnapper, but I think drugs do that to a person.” (It was still unclear if he meant his parents were kidnappers themselves or on drugs.) They knew he had an older sister who would “kill me again if she finds out I was in another bank robbery.” They also knew he was, possibly, depressed after last week’s comment of “is it considered murder if you’re already dead but, like, still alive?” (Damian had saved him from a drug ring but after another “baby ninja” comment the young Robin had threatened to give Danny back to his would-be murderers.)

Dick knew Danny was a weird guy who never wanted to elaborate on the things he said. (Jason was still confused on what he meant by “rotted milk soul.”) That didn’t mean the comments themselves didn’t say a lot about him. And tonight’s comment, accompanied by the prominent and jagged autopsy scars, said more than Danny was probably willing to share.

Part one

[beanlot]

indecision

ellie wants you back, even though she ended the relationship.

wc: 2.1k (angst + smudge of fluff)

─── ⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰ ───

“just get it over with, please.” she exhales jaggedly, smell of rubbing alcohol poisoning your nose as you apply pressure onto her wound. she’d been shot with an arrow, one you’d had to snap to pull out of her, but it’s nothing she hasn’t handled before.

she didn’t squirm, or whine when you bandaged her up. she sat still and took it, clenching onto the old and tattered leather seat.

you’d dated ellie for a shaky and indulgent two years before. your relationship at first was it - it was her looking at you when she’d done something clumsy or funny in hopes to see you laugh, it was holding each other tightly after you’d gotten separated, it was her lips kissing at your skin fruitfully. you remember it so clear.

“mm. baby.. baby..” you hear her voice, low and groggy. you’ve woken her up, shuffling around endlessly for half an hour trying to sleep. “baby.. shh. relax.. relax with me, you’re fine.” her hand settles on your hip, and she’d bring you in closer, tatted arm ravelling around your stomach. she was so gentle, so guiding, so protecting. “shh.. i’m here. i’m here, my love..”

ellie felt bad for ending it, it was necessary. there were times where she’d refuse to communicate, you would lose your temper, and start yelling at each other. you’ve grown hard around the edges over the years, your skin is scarred and tormented. it’s not your fault.

“oh shut the fuck up, ellie!” you spat at her. truth is, your arguments brewed for a few weeks. it started with glares, sly comments and ignoring eachother until it erupted. “you always do this, speaking to me like you’re so much better just becau-“

“speaking to you like what? just because i don’t sit on my ass here all day whilst everyone else does the work?”

the best thing to do was to break up, for both of your sakes. you were fine with it at first, you knew it was for the fucking best. you were starting to despise eachother’s company; you knew you’d get over it. because just like the scars and torment weren’t your fault, ellie was often blinded by hatred and impulse, it’s how the world shaped her.

“you know what.. i think.. we should just.. stop.” ellie scoffs.

“stop what?”

“us. it’s not fucking working. i can’t stand you.”

but what you couldn’t get over was overhearing her speak with dina, flirty and sultry tones bouncing back and forth between them a week later. they’d slept together, not long after that breakup.

and here you are, a few months later, knelt in front of her to relieve her physical pain.

“thanks..” a quiet whisper left her as you shoved the materials back into your bag. you’re still on high alert, ellie says that you always are, it’s like walking on eggshells being in a room with you.

she watches as you keep your eyes on the windows, peering through the blinds, your pupils narrow like the scope of a sniper. she tries to lighten the mood, tries to relax you a little. “a year ago, you would’ve passed out.” she jokes, a breathy laugh leaving her. but you don’t laugh.

i think that’s also what ate away at ellie during the end of the relationship. you used to have fun, and live, and look forward to the next day. but you’re a different mind in the same shell she used to love, and part of her believes she’s accountable for not being there for you.

you hear her whisper, as you sink into the chair opposite her, your head leant back towards the ceiling. “you okay..?” her voice is cautious, but she knows what’s up, she’s not stupid.

“fine.” you state bluntly.

it’s silent. she feels hopeless. you’re so cold now. but on the bright side, at least she no longer has to listen to your words of kindness easing her through the pain, or drink the poison of your fucking maturity.

“i’m sorry. for it.” you hear her. she’s darting her eyes around your body, the long scar under your jawline, the scratches on your wrist from trying to slice nettles out of the way. you try not to smile at her apology, because it’s pathetic. “it’s whatever.” you respond, your voice uninterested.

you feel sour thinking about it now, actually. you could’ve left her to those hunters, left her to infected, left her to bleed out and clean her wounds herself. “did you enjoy it?” you impulsively ask her, a saltiness to your tone that she was anticipating.

her stomach still drops though, and she can sense the eggshells cracking around her. “what?” she mutters, her eyes narrowing at you as you look at her. you used to look at her with delicacy, adoration, desire. but now your eyes are empty, glossed over; ellie could only describe it as you looking through people rather than actually looking at them.

“you know. sleeping with her that quickly, was she good? worth?”

it’s silent, and you’re both staring at eachother with challenging eyes of contempt. she gets it, understands your anger, yet she also can’t seem to wrap her head around your entitlement. “what are you sa-“

“scale of 1 to 10.”

“what the fuck are you saying?” ellie’s voice goes up a pitch. she wish she could stand up and grab your throat, try and knock some sense into you. but not only is the pain in her shin holding her back, it’s also the fact you’d hold up an ambiguous fight. “are you serious?” she leans forward in disbelief.

but when you don’t respond, your gaze unfaltering, she sighs.

“i don’t know.. like.. an eight, i guess..”

it was a rhetorical question, asshole.

you’re sure she answered it out of spite, and you feel internal rage. but you don’t let it show, you just nod with pursed lips. “i’m happy for you.” you state coldly. you wish you had the heart to just leave her here, take shimmer up north back to jackson, but you don’t.

it’s silent for a few minutes. she’s often glancing back at you, already regretting her answer. although it was a truthful answer, she should have kept her mouth shut. but the damage has already been done, she sees it honing on your face as you look elsewhere.

“i’m..” she starts, sighing. “i’m sorry.. that was fucked, it’s all fucked.” she shakes her head. you’d been forgiving and graceful enough to snap an arrow and pull it out her leg, bandage it up for her. and yet she sits here as if she uses that same arrow to pierce at your heartstrings, play you like an instrument, even if you act as if it’s not affecting you under your stoic mask.

“can you come here…

please..?”

you look at her, and her eyes are brimmed with vulnerability. you stay in your seat for quite some time, until you muster up the patience to approach her.

she feels you dip into the space beside her. she wants to reach out, touch your skin, marshmallow you up how she used to. but she knows she can’t, she has no right. “you don’t have to forgive me.. i just..” she whispers. “i wanna say i fucked it all up, for us. i know i did..”

you digest her words, your eyes darting around the ceiling in contemplation.

“i just don’t..” she pauses, her eyes ponder down to her thighs, and then down to her bandage that you had wrapped. she’s trying to word her next sentence without it sounding so morbid, but she cant. “i don’t wanna lose you one day, knowing you hated me.” she murmurs, waiting for an inkling of emotion on your face - anything, she’ll take anything - but it doesn’t come.

she’s dreamt about it. having you in her arms, choking on your own blood, using your last efforts just to spit out a malicious i hate you.

“i thought the.. whatever with dina would’ve got rid of you.” ellie squeezes her nose bridge, trying to explain in a way that doesn’t sound so bullshit. she doesn’t want to say that she had sex with her, even though that’s what it was. “i fucked her over too.. she didn’t do anything wrong, but she was.. just there.”

wow, you really are a scummy piece of shit, els.

she knows what you’re thinking when she looks over at you, your eyes nailing into her. “i know..” she whispers, and you notice her hand slowly raising, hesitant to graze your own. you flinch when she does this, and she notices your hand inching away from hers. “i know it sounds bad. because it is, it’s my fault.”

she looks down at your hand, her eyes desperate, pupils dilated when they look at you. “please let me..” her voice is tender, affectionate with you. you’re invested in it slightly, letting her nails run along your palm, her touch a wintry feather tickling your skin.

“i just.. i’ll do anything. anything to make it up to you, no matter how long it takes.” she whispers, and you feel her touch leaving your hand. you feel like ice when it does, only to feel piping hot again when she cups your cheek. it’s intimate, but it’s genuine: it’s regret and sorrow, self-hatred and adoration. “i just want you to know, that i know i’m a fucking asshole, i still am..”

“you make me sick.” your voice is piercing and cold towards her. but she understands your rage, and she takes it, absorbing it with accountability. “i needed you. and you fucking left me.”

ellie’s gaze is weak. she’s thinking of your pain, of your scar-covered back and tormented bruises. the ones she couldn’t be there to kiss and treat. when you had came back from torrington after a few weeks’ travel, and she had heard from maria that you were ‘all kinds of fucked up’ and ‘in need of stitches’ under the jaw, she’d dissociated for hours in her room.

she could’ve been there, could’ve helped stop the bleeding, could’ve killed the bastards who had done it to you. prevented it in the first place. you were always there for every tear that dropped from her pretty eyes, every injury, every nightmare. and yet you did it all alone.

“i know.. i know.” she whispers, and you close your eyes when you feel her forehead press against yours. it’s not romantic, it’s just impulse. she wants to just feel close with you again, absorb your warmth, feel the safe haven she neglected and left to rot. “i’ll do anything. you have no idea. anything, i’m begging you.”

you can feel her breath, she’s so close to you, so hurt. she knows she has so many - too many - amendments to make for you.

“i almost died yesterday.”

her whisper is faint, and her eyes are focused on everything, yet nothing at the same time. glossed over in daydream, inanimate and empty. “we were.. i don’t know, going down the southeast, by those cabins..” she tries to recall, memories blurred with the overwhelming poison of your ill feelings towards her. “this guy.. i was just on the floor suddenly, and he’s coming down at me with an axe.

and if it wasn’t for jesse, i would’ve..” she continued, pausing before her eyes glint. “but in my last fucking moments, all i could see was your face. and i just.. i didn’t feel fear, i just.. felt so much regret. and, love. worried about what would happen to you after.”

her words were reluctant at first, but came streamlining out of her mouth when she’s reminded of each emotion that came with having her back against the mud, life flashing between her eyes, the split-second images of your pretty face next to the fireplace. the way you called her name, ellie, so vanilla. so clean. so smooth.

“i felt like.. i just should’ve told you everything, talked it out. i don’t want you to feel bad for me. i’m just.. i am begging you..” she repeats, a faint and delicate whisper against your lips. “if you want me to disappear, i’ll go. i’ll never bother you, you’ll never see me again in that fucking town..”

something about that proposal doesn’t sit right with your heart, or your head. you can’t tell. a part of you wants to slap the shit out of her, and another part wants to kiss at those lips - not out of love, but out of hateful lust.

“it was never about you. it was about.. me. my failure to be a decent fucking person, to be the person you.. needed. it was my own weakness.”

you sluggishly and reluctantly pull away from her, and watch as her gaze softens into disappointment. “i should.. go check on shimmer.” you whisper, rising to your feet, emotionally warped. “you just.. sit here and rest..”

she has to accept consequences of her own actions.

as you start walking backwards and turn away from her, you can just hear all the emotions inside screeching in your head. it’s loud, blinding, deafening; you know ellie experiences it too, the same voices that just get too much. maybe that’s what dina was to her, white noise to dilute them.

she wants to chase you back, grab your wrist and talk it out. but the throbbing tremors from her wounded leg force her to slump back down into the chair with a defeated sigh. she lets you go, just this time, not willingly.

[celtrist]

This was the piece that I had started before my extensive vacation (of coughing). Once again, Alastor is consistently the bane of my existence with his... well everything.

No matter! Anyway, this is something I like to call the Obsession AU. To sum it up real fast: Everyone is yandere for Alastor. I think it would just be apart of his punishment in Hell, being consistently forced into or desired in romantic/sex which he's never had much interest in. I would describe it as a dark comedy thing, but it can be as comedic or as dark as you want here. With that said, please be on guard with any mentions of darker content that treds towards a certain dead bird territory when I get a bit into how I imagine some of the characters. Again, it doesn't have to go that far if you're interested in this premise of an au and wanna focus on the more light hearted stuff, feel free.

This au is just poking a bit of fun at how everyone in the fandom wants to put Alastor in romantic situations constantly (whether it be with themselves or the other characters) despite Alastor probably being the least interested in the subject in the whole show. This is by no means a hate train or making fun of people who do enjoy shipping Alastor, it just more of a funny thing I think comes off as pretty ironic for his character and hopefully, others can enjoy that too. In this au he leans pretty much on the clear-cut side of aromantic and asexual with no interest in romantic affections at all. With that said, if you want to explore Alastor genuinely being interested in one of the other characters romantically or something similar, feel free to explore that! I can see some interesting dichotomies there. It's just within the actual "canon" of this au, he's not at all interested with that sort of thing. And just with a last final reminder to get into some character things I have in mind, some of the content mentioned does get pretty dark, particularly with Valentino but I don't think anyone's surprised there. But there might be some triggering content of the following mentioned here with characters but no crazy details really: Manipulation/Gaslighting, forced feminization, Non-con, Munchausen syndrome, Poisoning, Possessive, Drugging, Love bombing And I will be sure to give a quick warning to each character it might apply to, please feel free to let me know if I missed anything!

Rosie (Munchausen syndrome, Poisoning): Rosie has 100% poisoned Alastor before to make sure he relies on her. They started off as good friends but at some point Alastor began getting ill and Rosie offered to take care of him. This leads to Alastor staying in bed for full days, only really seeing Rosie who took care of his every need from food, clothing, washing, and so on. At some point, Alastor caught on that Rosie was putting something in his food to make him sick and he managed to escape with their friendship tarnished much to his dismay. He's often uneasy around Rosie but is upfront about his knowledge of Rosie's deeds. Rosie, in turn, acts like it is a lighthearted situation and often offers Alastor over for lunch, which he often denies. Any food he gets at his doorstep from a secret admirer or a lunchbox he finds at his seat in an overlord meeting goes straight into the trash. Alastor will still use Rosie's assets to his benefit of course, but is always careful as to what she might try to get in exchange. He has had more awkward lunches with her with his homemade meal versus the buffet she catered for the occasion, with the two gossiping like old times. Alastor is still uneasy during these times, but he also revels in the false pleasantries due to not having many others he's able to associate himself with due to the curse.

Lucifer (Controlling, Possessive, Manipulation): So I'm not 100% clear how I wanted to approach Lucifer. He and Charlie are probably the most similar I suppose? He wants Alastor as his queen (either alongside him and Lilith or only with him, he doesn't mind either way). He doesn't force him into dresses or anything, but Lucifer does consistently make doting moves and talks about how Alastor would make a good father to their children. Marriage is one of the mind and Lucifer probably gets a bit possessive with him. He also tries to guilt trip Alastor a lot, or manipulate situations in one of their arguments to get Alastor to say something he doesn't mean.

Charlie (Controlling, Possessive): Probably the most tame of everyone quite honestly. Charlie can be a bit controlling but does step off when Alastor expresses his dislike of her doing so, even if it takes a couple times. She likes doing things for him, is super affectionate, and daydreams about her, Vaggie, and Alastor all getting married. She can get pretty possessive with him, not being pleased when anybody does anything against Alastor's will or hurt him. The only exception to this rule is Vaggie, to which Charlie sees it like two cats getting along and finds it very endearing.

Vaggie (Forced Feminization, Controlling, Murder): Depending on how you look at it, Vaggie's one of the more fucked up obsessions or one of the more funnier ones. Because she's automatically inclined to like Alastor quite a bit with the curse thing but her personality doesn't jive with his for her own taste (in terms of their first meeting), she both hates and loves the guy. She's obsessed with trying to murder Alastor with traps around the hotel or outright standing over him with her spear. The hatred comes primarily from not wanting to feel the way she does about him, I guess like a fucked up tsundere if you wanna go that route. At the same token, however, she does want Alastor to be involved with both her and Charlie romantically. There's just one little problem: Vaggie has about the same amount of interest in men as she does in canon. So to sort of "fix" Alastor, she consistently tries to force him to be more feminine in clothing, offering different feminine names, and even trying to force him to get a sex change. Alastor is pretty slippery though, so it never quite works out in Vaggie's favor aside from the occasional dress or skirt being worn, which solidifies her attraction to him. Then he takes it off and looks more like a man again, and it solidifies her frustration/hatred for him.

Angel Dust (Drugging): To start, while I think Angel would love to have sex with Alastor, he 100% would not force it. Wouldn't even do touches or anything. Potentially he could just like as a coping (to be in a situation where HE'S the one in control), but that is a darker route that I don't think will be exactly true for this AU. However, he very much enjoys drugging Alastor similar to Rosie. Not only just as a bonding thing since Angel would also do the drugs WITH him, but just to get the not-quite-lucid compliments from Alastor and maybe a snuggle then and there. He wants to dote on Alastor with him drugged out in his bed saying nice things to Angel. Admittedly this one's a bit of a workshop as I just knew I didn't want Angel to be focused on sex like somebody, but wasn't sure what to do here.

Valentino(Non-con, LoveBombing): I mean... it is Valentino, what did you THINK he'd be trying to do with Alastor? There's really not much to say here, Valentino essentially tries pulling all the stops trying to get Alastor in bed while also love-bombing the hell out of him. Which really doesn't work. Valentino is pretty open with sharing Alastor, but again, does this surprise anyone? As long as he's participating in some way, he really doesn't mind.

Vox (ALL warnings): Pretty much the worst version of himself that people make him be sometimes for those darker stories in the fandom. While more interested in having an enthusiastic partner, I don't think Vox would be opposed to forcing himself onto Alastor. He consistently tries to manipulate and gaslight, while enjoying both the suffering and pleasure of Alastor. Much like Vaggie, Vox is obsessed both being in love with Alastor while also downright hating him to the core. He's possessive and likes the idea of being both sweet and heinous with Alastor. He pretty much is every other character wrapped up in one fucked up TV man. Vox acts the most well-adjusted of the characters here, but he's probably got the obsession the worst.

And of course, pretty much every other conceivable ship is up for grabs here. I did think about maybe unfallen angels are able to resist the obsession curse, which would possibly make a funny team-up of Alastor, Adam, Lute, and Emily. Alternatively, I thought maybe the other canonically asexual characters in the show wouldn't be affected instead, meaning another oddball team-up of Alastor, Octavia, and Mammon. Then there is of course the "nope, there's no escape for deer man". Not sure yet, maybe I'll workshop it. I have more normal things in the works rather than this messed up little au, but darker content is a guilty pleasure of mine.

[cottoncandiescupcakes]

( SPOILER WARNING ) I LOVE their makeup because Geta later on sees himself as a God right so I think he's probably wanting to look like Apollo because of all the gold

Apollo has been recognized as a god of archery, healing and diseases, the Sun and light, poetry, and more. One of the most important and complex of the Greek gods, he is the son of Zeus, He is considered to be the most beautiful god and is represented as the ideal of the kouros (ephebe, or a beardless, athletic youth). He also looks exactly like those statues of Apollo, especially the hair and obviously Joseph's features and slim frame also help sell it

Carcalla has syphilius that went to his brain and skin and applies makeup to hide that, which then gave him lead poisoning and worsened his health even more. The strong blush, along with having male companions, makes me think Carcalla wants to look more feminine or even like a young boy. He also says he did not get enough oxygen at birth because of Geta's umbilical cord choking him, I think.

He seems to regress mentally because of illness so it's possible he wants to look boyish and the blush gets stronger and they both go from having matching armor to each having a very distinct look, Geta's darker eye makeup and extreme capes and Carcalla almost wearing a childlike colorful outfit, so they grow apart as Geta's pride grows and Carcalla's disease worsens

[fancyfeathers]

Hello Fancy! I'd like to request yandere Tim Drake/Red Robin with a nursing student darling who patches him up when she finds him injured. Maybe he's a little out of it and asks her out/proposes and she doesn't take him seriously but he means it (kinda like Orpheus and Eurydice's first meeting in Hadestown).

Darling doesn't want any involvement with any vigilantes so she just hands Tim over to the first vigilante who finds him and thinks thats the end of it while Tim is desperately trying to find darling, who he did not get the name of and whose face is very blurry in his memory.

Hope this request made sense, and is ok

Come Home With Me

(Yandere!Tim Drake/Red Robin x Reader)

Oh my god I adore Hadestown, I went to go see it earlier this year and it was amazing, I cried, I absolutely sobbed. It is a show I would recommend everyone to see if they get the chance or at least listen to it.

But I definitely get Orpheus vibes from my interpretation of Yandere!Tim Drake, a little delusional and very obsessed

Gotham was not always an awful place to live, rent was never high and no one really cared to bother you after all no criminal would really try to kidnap, harm, or blackmail a university student who lived off of the university campus in a studio apartment with no ties to anyone in the city. You were a nursing major at the university that bore the same name of the city it was located in, Gotham University. You had originally lived in Metropolis, born to adoring parents but with their own finances to worry about you had applied to Gotham University without their knowledge and got accepted, the school was good though the tuition was cheaper due to the extreme crime rate, plus a scholarship would cover the cost and getting an apartment was cheaper than living on campus. Your parents told you not to go and that they would cover everything but you wanted to be on your own and for them to not worry about you, but turns out that was not exactly a smart choice.

So here you found yourself about to head home from a night class, things near the university tend to be a bit calmer, you guessed the criminals of the city really do not have much motivation to go after teenagers and young adults who do not have a bone of self preservation in their bodies. Poison Ivy tends to leave the school alone because of the strict green policy on campus and the biology and botany majors taking care of the campus and grounds. Actually you had heard rumors about some of the more infamous names being graduates from the school, Harley Quinn, the Scarecrow, and you think Two Face attended there for his undergraduate, but you could be definitely misremembering that-

“God… fuck, that hurts…” A young masculine voice caught your attention as you walked out the nursing school building. You had decided to take the back entrance since you did not have a car like your friends and classmates and this was a short cut. You glanced toward where the voice came from, there was a little alcove where there were bike racks that were rarely used by the door and there you saw a young man resting against the brick building. You gasped as your mind recognized the man in his red and black suit, yellow gear, and that black domino mask you saw a lot of the vigilantes around here wearing.

This was Red Robin…

And judging by that gash on his leg, he was badly injured.

He was barely able to move from how much pain he was in. You thought about running to go get your professors, but they could leak his identity. After all, who wouldn’t want to know the face behind the mask? Besides he looked too messed up to wait for help and your professors were probably gone, then there was that one Nightingale Vow you had to remember for graduation.

Heal and do no harm.

You certainly would be breaking those vows if you left him here, and you have worked far too hard for that nursing license. You knelt down besides him, taking his left arm and looping it around your shoulders while your right arm wrapped around his back and under his right arm to support his weight as you tried to stand him up to get him inside. Your instincts from working on the floors of the hospital as a nurse appreciated kicked in as you pushed open the door with the shoulder that was not supporting his weight. As a nursing student in Gotham you had to deal with victims of all sorts and your mind went back to when you had to comfort a teenage boy who got caught in Scarecrow’s fear toxin. “You’re going to be alright, you’re safe now.”

“T-thank-“

“Save your strength, don’t strain yourself.” You cut him off as you turned the knob of one of the lab rooms, it was not a perfect hospital setting but it had what you would need. You helped lay him down on the table in the room, which was probably last used by a cadaver during an anatomy class. You went to rummage through the cabinets in the room, pulling out whatever you could use, latex gloves, syringe, bottles of liquid painkillers, bandages, and goss, they did have any equipment for stitches so this would have to be done. You opened the paper packaging the syringe was in, grabbed the needle to attach to it before opening the lid of the liquid painkiller and pushed the needle tip inside and watched as the needle filled up with the clear yellowish liquid. “Do you have a tracker or anyway to contact anyone, you will need stitches and X-rays for any broken bones-“

“Bats… he… he is on his way…” Your heart skipped a beat in worry at the mention of the Batman showing up in the nursing hall. You pushed down the growing fear and walked back over to him, pushing the needle into some exposed skin on his leg where the suit was ripped and pushed down on the syringe as he hissed in pain which was followed by a chuckle, probably half out if from blood loss. “You’re a lot… a lot gentler than-“

“Don’t tell me, I don’t want to get dragged into anything.” You replied as you walked back to the counter to grab the rest of your supplies to at least try to patch him up. “Sorry… that was rude…”

“It’s alright…” He leaned his head back on the table, closing his eyes from the pure exhaustion he was feeling along with the pain medication starting to kick in and making him a bit more loopy than before. “…I think I would want to marry you one day.”

“W-what?” You were caught off guard for a moment, pausing as you began to lift up his injured leg in order to wrap it up. “I-I am sorry but, I d-don’t even know who you are.”

“The man who is going to marry you.”

The response was so quick and confident that you wondered if he was actually serious or just out of it, there is no possible way for him to be serious… right?

“I-I… Are you always like this?”

“Ignore him.” A voice from behind you, in the doorway, nearly made you scream and you would have jumped and bumped his wound if it was not for Red Robin grabbing your hand a little too tightly as if he was afraid to let go, if he were to let go then you would disappear. You turned your head around to see a man who definitely was not Batman, but with the blue bird-like symbol on the chest of his black suit he was just as recognizable, Nightwing. The new vigilante patted you on the shoulder and looked over at Red Robin on the table. “You just keep working, we’ll get him back safely.”

“We?”

“The Bat is keeping watch outside.”

Oh… oh god… that was not a terrifying thought at all.

“A-alright…” Your voice clearly cracked as you looked back at the other vigilante on your table, you grabbed a bottle of disinfectant and cloth from the counter and you wet the cloth with the strong scented liquid before you dabbed it against his wound which made him hiss in pain as the painkillers did not stop everything but you tuned it out and kept working. You glanced at Nightwing who was resting against the wall, watching you work. “Elevate his leg for me while I get the bandages over it, he will need stitches after this, but this will keep him from losing a substantial amount of blood and prevent infection until then.”

“Whatever you need.” The vigilante pushed himself off of the wall and towards the table that Red Robin laid on, he grabbed the young man’s leg by the upper calf and lifted up from the table, the other vigilante too high on painkillers at this point to even react. You began to wrap the gauze around his leg first, making sure it covered the area of the wound before moving towards the roll bandages, following the same steps as the gauze. You snipped the bandage off of the roll when you were finished and stepped away from the table and towards the sink, turning on the hot water and washing the blood from your hands under the faucet, and drying them off with one of the paper towels you ripped from the dispenser by the sink. “I know you all are vigilantes or heroes or something, but get him to an actual doctor, just tell them it was an accident when he was on his bike or skateboard or something. He should not be walking on that leg for one and a half to two weeks, at least.”

“Noted, and thank you.” You nodded in response to Nightwing as he expressed his gratitude and handed you your backpack from where you threw it on the ground. As you put it on, Nightwing helped Red Robin up from the table, throwing his arm around his shoulder and supporting his weight, carrying him just like how you did when you brought him in, though it looked easier for him than it was for you. “I would take the front entrance of the school out, the Scarecrow it out tonight and if I were you I would not want to get caught by us. Just get back to your place, lock the doors and turn off the lights and you’ll be fine.”

“I will, thank you Nightwing.”

_______________________________

It has been about a week and a half, almost two weeks since the incident with the vigilantes of Gotham, with Red Robin, and like always nothing changed, life went on. You sat on your bed in your apartment, everything you had was fairly simple, the budget of a university student. A simple metal bed frame and mattress that your old man picked out for you before you left home. You had your laptop on your lap and your lower back pressed against your pillows and your legs hidden under your weighted blanket. It was really late, probably one or two in the morning and you had made the mistake of being the designated driver for your friends when they wanted to go drinking, so now after they were done and you had to drive them all home which only made you get home even later than you wanted to be, but alas you had work to finish.

You drummed your fingers next to the mouse sensor on your keyboard, over the sticky notes that were filled with all sorts of reminders…

Call mom after classes…

Pick up groceries on Friday…

Go to the gym on Saturday….

All of them were slightly smudged, the ink having smeared when you pressed them down to stick them to your laptop. So much to do in so little time…

As if fate always hated you, your current computer page crashed, showing up with that little message to let you know that you had lost internet connection. You groaned and set your laptop down and pulled the blanket aside, getting out of bed and walking to the router on the other side of your small apartment, placed in a blind spot that you can’t see from your bed, the small black box being placed on the windowsill by your front door…

You paused in your tracks as you saw the vigilante you saved that night on the stairs of your apartment’s fire escape outside of your window, Red Robin. The black haired young man gave you a small smile, as if embarrassed at being spotted outside, before he waved his hand, as if gesturing you to come outside and talk to him. You rolled your eyes with a heavy sigh and walked towards the window, grabbing your shoes from right by your front door and you struggled to put them on as you unlocked the window and you let him take care of the rest, pushing up the stiff glass pane as if it was nothing. He held out his free hand to help you down as you crawled out of the window and your feet landed on the metal fire escape next to him.

“I needed to see you again-“

“I told you I didn’t want to get involved with-“

“That can’t be true because otherwise you would have never helped me that night.” He cut you off just like you cut him off before. “Why did you want to become a nurse?”

“Because I want to help people.”

“Then that is something we have in common-“

“So did you shut off my internet?”

“…I needed to talk to you.” He gave you a smile before revealing his other hand which he had kept hidden behind his back this entire time, he revealed a bouquet of red carnations. He reached them out to you for you to take even if you were quite shocked by the gesture. “I got you these, a peace offering if you want them.”

“Um… okay.” You took the bouquet from him, holding it in both hands to keep your hands occupied in this awkward situation. “…look if that’s all I have to go, it’s getting late and I have to pick up groceries tomorrow- oh my god!”

He interrupted you without words, quite literally getting on a knee and pulling out a gold and diamond ring which would probably cost more than everything you have owned, your parents have ever owned, sell all of your organs on top of that and you still would not be able to afford it.

“Come home with me.”

“I-I… I don’t even know you are!”

“The man who wants to marry you.” He stood up straight and you watched in horror as he took you by the shoulder, spinning you around so your back was against your window and his back was to the city of Gotham, he peeled back his black mask from his eyes and your lips fell agape at seeing the identity of the vigilante, you have seen the magazines, you knew who he was, Timothy Drake, a single child of a wealthy family who only got more rich when he was adopted by the richest man in Gotham, Bruce Wayne, when his own father and mother passed on. He seemed to catch onto your reaction or recognition and just smiled as he pressed the mask back onto his face. He looked back down at the ring, a fond smile on his lips. “This was my mother’s ring…”

“It’s beautiful but I am not… I can’t marry you, I don’t know you.” Your words trailed off as you head turned slightly to glance at the internet router in your window and a sudden realization came across you. “I never gave you my name… you have been stalking me, haven’t you?”

“I wanted to protect you, people cold come after you for helping me and I didn’t want you to get hurt.” His voice was starting to sound slightly annoyed but not annoyed enough to sound upset with you. “I was trying to make sure you were safe, please understand-“

“I don’t… I won’t understand.” You turned you to your open window, turning your back on him. “You stalked me, probably broke into my house while I was asleep, didn’t you? Actually I don’t want to hear it, it’s best if you leave and don’t come back.”

You stepped up onto the windowsill, your hands coming to grab the sides of the windows to pull yourself up and in process you dropped the flowers onto the metal ground up the firescape and the soft sound of the petals hitting the iron somehow covered the sound of him stepping towards you and his arms reaching out so his forearms pushed down on your windpipe, it was in a way that would not be painful or bruise unless you squirmed around and you certainly did.

It only took less than a second for him to yank you back, his arms putting pressure on your neck as he laid you down on the fire escape as you struggled against him and you tried to scream but nothing was able to come out as he only hushed you as if you were a colecy child.

“Shh, it’s okay, go to sleep.” You could see your vision darken at the corners of your eyes as you struggled for breath but none came into your lungs. “I’ve got you, you’re okay… you’re okay.”

Those were the last words you heard before you fell limp in his arms, out completely cold. The young vigilante made quick work of taking your phone from your pocket and setting it inside your apartment, in the windowsill before reaching up and closing it. He would be able to come back later for anything you would need, he just did not have time to grab it right now because it would not be long before someone could potentially spot him. He took the bouquet of flowers and slid their stems into a loop on his utility belt. Then he took the ring and took your limp hand, sliding the ring onto your finger.

A perfect fit.

He picked you up in his arms, holding your body on his hip with one arm, holding you like a child and leaving the other free to hold onto the grappling line. He did not have to go far, just needed to get a hold of Bruce and get you home, he would understand, he has to, after all he is doing this all to protect you and just to be with you…. Of course he’ll understand.

[sagebrush-and-sadness]

BOOTHILL HEADCANONS

author's notes just some silly goofy headcanons for Boothill because he's a cutie patootie and I love him fem!reader, completely SFW ♡ and ⥩ are appreciated!

※ He always patiently waits for you to finish applying sunscreen or moisturizer to his face before he can finally go shooting bad guys to his heart's content. Most of the time he jokes around or teasingly dodges your hands; sometimes he mumbles that this is embarassing and he really doesn't care, sweetie, come on, but he will always give you a kiss as a token of gratitude. Because, trust me, he does care.

※ Loves snapping his teeth at you. It's a (weirdly charming) sign of affection, a habit Boothill took up pretty early in your relationship. You teasingly call it a cute aggression and he doesn't deny it. However, if he does that in public at someone else, you better get a hold of him and scatter away because the man is getting pissed.

※ Oh, he absolutely will blow raspberries on your neck whenever he has a chance to hug you from behind. And he's as sly as an old fox, lulling you into a false sense of security with gentle kisses and nuzzles — just to violently strike a poor, helpless you and dance away laughing joyfully.

※ Your first kiss with Boothill was that of desperation — he just barely made it out alive from one of the IPC warehouses, his left leg limp and dragging lifelessly across the floor, a few bullet holes adorning his signature hat, thankfully not lost in the heat of a battle. He looked no better than a wild ragged coyotte, a pitiful thing, an unsightly creature smelling of rot and blood, but upon seeing him, safe and relatively sound, your heart swelled with tenderness and your eyes — with hot tears. You wanted to kiss him then and there, and he anticipated as much, grabbing your face in his hands, firm yet gentle, and all but smashing your lips together. Perhaps, it was a shatter of all your dreams about a romantic first kiss, but at that moment it was the most perfect one...

...Or was it? As tender and loving as Boothill was with you, his tongue still tasted like oil and gunpowder. He laughed it off the first time you made a face, but since then he's made a mental note to always carry a bag of candies and lollipops with him.

※ He's the type of guy to randomly get you fresh field flowers.

Also the type to dance with you while holding one in his teeth. There is a whole anecdote about him picking an unknown flower that turned out to be quite poisonous and suffering from tongue swelling half a day after that. Don't bring this story up, though, his male ego is still recovering.

※ Boothill's upbringing obliges him to treat women with courtesy and respect. He may look like a heartbreaker to some, but in truth, his mindset is that of a traditional man. This said, he loves referring to you as a 'woman'. His woman. He relishes the fact and there is so much pride, so much infatuation and genuine awe behind this word every time he all but purrs it out. It's a strangely specific nickname of his, and no matter how unusual it might have sounded to you at first, now your heart flatters every time you hear it drip from his lips. After all, you are his woman and he is your handsome cowboy.

He might however bark at you when you're pestering him. Something in the lines of 'I'm busy, woman, what are ya yapping 'bout?'. Naturally, he never uses it as a means to offend and will put a bullet through the head of anyone who dares belittle you like that. The unspoken rule of a cowboy says: never criticize another gentleman's hat, horse and wife. And Boothill is very serious about his rules, even if technically you are not his wife (yet).

※ He adores it when you dress up for him. No matter how often or seldom you do that, no matter what exactly you're wearing — a cute cocktail dress or a strict suit — he would whistle low and stride right to you with the air of a beau who just saw the girl he'd buy a drink for. His sultry pretentious flirting never fails to make you giggle.

※ Boothill will always find time for you. No matter how many light days separate you from each other, no matter how busy the schedule or how dangerous the enemies, he can never really get you out of his head. You are always there, his little beacon of light, and he knows that you're waiting for him with worry and hope. He hates telling you that you can't come with him this time; hates seeing your smile drop and your fingers fidget anxiously as you watch him step on an unknown land. He misses you dearly five minutes into the mission, so he calls you as often as he can, showing you all the pictures he took or all the things he got for you as souvenirs. When it comes to your messages or calls there is never really bad timing for Boothill — an inconvenient one, perhaps, but even the heat of the battle will not stop him from picking up. He might even consider against shooting the poor son of a bitch that let him talk to you peacefully out of courtesy, but we will see about that.

※ Ever since you came into his life, Boothill's spending habits have gotten somewhat healthier. The thing is — the guy is loaded, yet money never held any real interest for him. After all, he became a hunting dog not for the promise of fresh bones, it was more of a pleasant bonus rather than a necessity. Most of his credits were spent on oil for his spaceship and himself, some repairs here and there, bullets and, surprisingly, booze — now unable to fully experience the harmful effects of a few bottles of whiskey a day, Boothill drinks it in the same manner some people chew on their gum. However you and your loyal companionship awoke something within him, something he thought had died many miserable years ago. An urge to care. And it came so naturally to him, too. It was very easy, on a level of subconscious, for him to pick up the habit of buying you food — the one he knows you like, of the highest quality. Or making sure you have an outfit for any occasion in your life and enough space to store them all. Or that all your beauty and health treatments are paid for. Or... and the list goes on and on. Boothill is a man who will respect you for wanting to be independent, sure, but will not shame you for wanting to be provided for.

English is not my native language. So please, if you see any mistakes in grammar, punctuation or spelling, or simply think that something sounds weird, let me know! Ty!

[luveline]

I am so incredibly sick rn and desperately craving some Hotch comfort—maybe bau!gf who desperately tries to hide the fact that she’s sick even when she’s burning up and can’t keep her eyes open, and Hotch who just wants to take care of her!!

thank you for your request! i hope you feel better soon. —hotch fights to take care of you when you hide a fever. fem!reader, 1.4k

Spencer knows you're sick, but he's the only one who's figured it out so far. Everybody else is too busy. 

He pushes your coffee toward him and exchanges it for a cup of water without saying anything. You're relieved to find it's ice cold, fighting to drink it without spilling it, or worse, pressing it to your furnace of a forehead. 

"Just go home," he says. 

"I like it here," you say lightly.

"You're fatigued, obviously running a fever, and probably disoriented if your eyes are anything to go off of." 

"Are they?" you ask, eyes fluttering closed. 

You prop yourself on your hand. Having a desk right next to Spencer has its ups and downs. Ups including physics magic, surprise trinkets, and all the donuts you can eat. Downs include this —he's too good at his job but bad at taking a hint, so while he's realised that you're sick and tired and should probably head home, he hasn't stopped to think you might be keeping it a secret for a reason. 

If you take more sick leave already after your week long bout of food poisoning only a fortnight ago, it will look like you're trying to take advantage of Hotch. You don't want the team thinking you're cheating and you don't want Hotch to think this is how it’s going to be. You’d never use him like that, but it’s so early into the relationship that there’s no way for him to know that for sure. 

You take a measured breath. You're the kind of sick that yearns for bed, head heavy, a pounding pain behind your eyebrows and a nose you can't breathe through. Your lips are chapped despite the thick layer of balm you applied that morning. The weight of a bowling ball rests in your sinuses. Your head begins to list forward. 

"Y/N?" 

You look up, rubbing your forehead as nonchalantly as you can manage. Hotch stands with a hand on the railing of his half-platform, eyebrows pulled together as they tend to be. 

You like the sound of your name on his lips, even if it's said with question. 

"Yeah?" you ask. 

Before, it would've been, Yes, sir? But Hotch told you (while in boyfriend mode, assumedly) that it makes him hot around the collar (though he'd said it more delicately), so now you save it for special occasions, like when you want to get your way, and when he looks especially perturbed.

"Something wrong?" he asks. 

He can't like the way you say, "I'm fine," maybe he spots the far-away look in your eyes, your poorly concealed wince as your head throbs, maybe he just knows you. He gives you a look bordering reproachful and turns away. 

"My office," he says.  

Spencer sends you a pointed look. When he realises you aren't awake enough to glare back, he nudges you encouragingly. "Be honest," Spencer says. 

You almost fall up the short steps to the landing in front of Hotch's office. You don't knock before entering, and later you'll realise how odd this is. Hotch hasn't even sat down, instead straightening a paper from the wrong side of the desk. 

"What's wrong? Another migraine?" he asks. 

"No. I'm alright, did you want something?" 

He turns around fully. You like seeing him after hours without his suit, arms behind his tired neck and eyes half-lidded, but this look is just as good on him: furrowed brows, a hand twitching toward you but not touching. He tries not to cross the line here at work because when it starts it never ends. Your evaluations have to be cross examined and approved by a higher up, you are not permitted to room together on cases, and you have to report to HR every three to six weeks to reaffirm that Hotch isn't being coercive. It's odd and invasive at times, but these are things you have to do to be together. You'd do worse. 

"Did I want something?" he asks. It's more patient than incredulous, but the incredulity is definitely there. 

"From me?" 

"I want lots of things from you." He breaks eye contact with you and turns back to his things, shuffling papers into a manila folder. You blink dozily, wanting a hug and needing him to let you go back to your desk lest you give in and lean against his broad chest. "Like for you to take care of yourself." 

"I'm fine." 

"Forgive me if this is something I shouldn't say, but you don't look okay. You look sick." 

You summon your most convincing smile even while his back is turned and enthuse your tone with some practised pep. "Well, it's not the most romantic thing in the world." 

He ties the cord on his manilla envelope and clicks open his briefcase. It's a testament to how sick you are that you didn't notice it there, nor his coat thrown over the edge of the desk. 

"You going somewhere?" you ask curiously. 

"I'm taking you home, honey." 

You shake your head. "No, you're not. I'm fine." 

Hotch puts his coat on regardless. Briefcase closed and in hand, he walks the short distance to you and scans your expression for any give. "Let's go home." 

"Hotch–" 

"Home," he says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "No more 'Hotch'." 

You take a step back but not one more than that, startled by his readiness to leave, and his reluctance to believe you. You're a bad actor and he's trained in the art of untangling deception —it isn't going to work. You give it a valiant effort. 

"You don't have the resources to give me the day off. You definitely don't have the resources to take a day off with me, and that's fine because I'm not sick." You rub your face clean, dust off your work blouse. "I have a headache, it's not so bad." 

Hotch actually smiles, then. You worked for him for three months before you realised he could. It isn't what you're expecting. It disarms you.

"Liar," he says, ducking down to give you a kiss. He sounds amused and sorry at once, an impossible combination marked by his small smile and his protective hand at your elbow. 

Every kiss is like a shock. Not because Hotch is particularly abrasive to the senses, the opposite —it feels right. 

"I'm not lying," you say.

"Take the day off with me, then." 

He knows he's being a bit of a bastard, evidenced by his smile, but he sobers for your sake. "You're lying to me, but that's not what matters. I can feel your head like a flame and I'm not even touching it. And you've kept your secret well, honey, but Reid's a good friend." 

"What did he tell you?" you murmur. 

"You fell asleep for sixteen seconds." 

"When?" you ask in disbelief.

"A couple of minutes before I called for you." Hotch squeezes your arm. 

"If we go home you'll have so much work to do when we come back," you lament. 

"It'll be the same as any other day," he says. He's slipped into his most dulcet tone, the kind he uses with family. "I am… desperate, to take care of you. I can't do that here. Please oblige me and let me do it at home." 

"Oblige you?" you ask. 

"Being your boyfriend isn't working. I thought I would try boss instead." 

You relent, finally. You genuinely can't abstain from him anymore, not when he's being as ridiculously charming and gentle as he is, his hand steadying at your elbow. Plus, your brain is probably gonna explode inside of your skull any second now if your headache is anything to go by. You drop your face into his chest and sigh, relieved when his hand moves to your shoulder, and his cheek presses to the top of your head. 

"This is inappropriate," you mumble. 

"You're really not well, hm?" he asks, just as quietly. "I'd be negligent if I didn't take notice. Doubly negligent if I didn't take you home." 

"Human resources…" You mean to say more. He's solid, he wants to hug you, and he smells like his expensive cologne. Hotch has a presence about him that's automatically comforting once you overcome the intimidating. Sometimes, even, the intimidating helps it along. You feel sheltered by his arms. Totally safe. It's probably why you nearly pass out in his embrace right there and then. 

"Okay," he says, rubbing your back. "Alright. I'll let human resources know your complaint, honey, don't worry. Let's get you to the car." 

[kasagia]

Right Hand VI

Pairing: Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!exBeneGesserit! reader Summary: You're tired of listening to others and of being afraid of prophecies that don't make sense and that were made up by someone else. Your present belonged only to you. And hell knows, you're going to take your future too. Warning: 18+; violence; blood; Feyd Rautha; death; smut; I was listening to 'Down Bad' by Taylor and I used quotes from a few of them; TEXT NOT CHECKED - I' barely managed to write it on time' I've just ended it and wanted to post it for you, since you are waiting for it so long; it took me ages but I hope you will like it; Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ PART V ~•♤♤♤•~ Epilogue ~•♤♤♤•~

Feyd rarely felt pain he didn't like. The years spent on Giedi Prime—or rather, years of enduring his uncle's methods of making him a true Harkonnen, his worthy successor—made Feyd love pain. He found pleasure in it—something he had to learn if he wanted to survive.

But it didn't bring him any satisfaction or pleasure when you pierced his chest with one of his swords. He feels pure pain. Anger, betrayal, and hurt.

He hates the way he falls limply to his knees in front of you. He hates that he still looks at you like you're a saint. He hates that he hopes you'll at least look him in the eyes, as if that would bring him some kind of salvation. He hates how lost he feels now and how he's slowly losing awareness of his surroundings. He hates that even though you stabbed him, all he can do is stare at you, clinging to the sight of you more than to his life.

"This will be the beginning of a wonderful alliance, Lady Y/N."

He feels you unhook your poisoned dagger from his arm. Feyd thinks you're doing it to finish him off. Poetically kill him with the weapon he gave you. He closes his eyes and waits for the final stab or throat slit. But nothing like that happens. He doesn't have the strength to turn around and see exactly what you're doing, but your words alone are enough for him to imagine the scene that is happening behind him.

"I may not be a Harkonnen, but I've picked up a few of their habits. If you want an agreement between us, show me your hand." After your words, he can hear a hiss from Atreides when you plunge the dagger into your joined hands, piercing them both through.

Feyd would have laughed mockingly if he hadn't spent all his energy on breathing slowly. He remembered explaining to you how contracts, such as arranged marriages, were sealed on Giedi Prime. The Harkonnens shook hands and pierced them with swords, thus signing a blood pact. This also applied to marriages and other such things. Blood bound them stronger than any words or signatures on paper. He cursed himself for the fact that, seeing your scared face at his words, he withdrew from this idea and decided to make a verbal agreement between you. He should be the one to bind you with his blood, not Atreides.

The steel in his body rubs against his lower ribs, but it does not damage any major organs. He tries to keep the sword in the exact same position you stuck it in, but he feels like he's going to faint from all the pain, the blood, and the fear for you that he feels now.

You made him so weak that even after you stabbed him, all he could think about was your safety and your well-being. Every shaky breath he took, every slow beat of his heart as he fought to stay conscious—it was all for you.

He just hoped like hell that you weren't lying a few moments ago, that this would all turn out to be just one of your games, and that you would soon end Atreides' life. But it's not like that.

"Let this blood be a symbol of our union." Your sweet, dangerous whisper reaches Feyd's ears.

He's raging with powerlessness and anger. That Atreides dog didn't deserve to mix his blood with yours. Only Feyd should be able to do this. Only his black blood should merge with your crimson, staining your joined hands as you swore allegiance to each other. His heart hurts more than the wound you gave him as he imagine how you and this desert rat are now echanging each other's blood.

If he hadn't been placed in such a vulnerable state by you, he would have ripped Atreides' heart out with his bare hands for daring to mix his blood with yours. A cold shiver runs down his spine at the thought of Atreides connecting with you in yet another way. A way Feyd was robbed too many times.

He tries to get up, but he doesn't have enough strength. All he can do is place his hands on the floor, trying to take the weight off his torso. The blade scratching his flesh bothers him much less than the fact that Atreides has the nerve to touch you or that you're blatantly ignoring him while playing whatever game you're playing right now.

"Leave him to me. I want… to repay him for all these years of fulfilling his wishes." The cool, composed tone of your voice that you used many times when the two of you dealt with inconvenient prisoners did nothing to inspire his hope or quench his rage.

You really betrayed him. You, of all people. How stupid and naive he was to believe you. He should have killed you the moment his eyes met yours. You were an intruder. A spy in disguise. His bittersweet end.

The door slams shut behind Atreides. Feyd hears your footsteps, the sand from your soles falling back onto the ground—the same ground where his black, thick blood is now flowing. You walk over to him; if he could focus enough, he would see the toes of your shoes.

You kneel in front of him, gently tugging on his head, causing him to rest on your shoulder. He can smell your blood dripping from your hand. You stain his head with it. Under any other circumstances, he would have appreciated how close you were to him, but now, with the sword rubbing uncomfortably against his insides, your touch doesn't bring any comfort at all. Even your lips pressed against his forehead cannot calm the volcano of emotions boiling inside him. But he is helpless. He is unable to do anything; he is completely surrendered to your grace. It wouldn't bother him a few hours ago. Now he hated it.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, then use the voice on him to tell him to fall asleep. When he drifts off to sleep at your command, he is already planning how he will take revenge on you. And hell knows you're going to pay him for it.

"He'll be furious." One of your spies comments as she helps you carry Feyd's body out of the sietch.

Inessa was the only Harkonnen woman you could reasonably trust. She's done your dirty work many times, but... never THIS. You somewhat understood her concerns, but currently, when you both had to carry Feyd through the Fremen corridors and go unnoticed, you didn't necessarily approve of it.

"I am aware." You reply, looking around. Inessa and you somehow patched up Feyd's wound. Now you had to either drag him to the surface yourself and hope that someone would find him in the chaos of the fight or leave him with some of his soldiers.

You didn't like any of these ideas. But you had to do what you planned if you wanted to regain your freedom, even if it meant that Feyd would hate you for it for infinity.

"Fucking angry. I'm serious, Y/N." Inessa warns you again. You roll your eyes at her, for a Harkonnen she was very fearful.

You remember how her hands were shaking a few minutes ago as you both stitched up your new Baron. It was a makeshift dressing and still required treatment by a doctor, but it was enough to get Feyd to the ship and back to base. During this time, you will take care of everything here. You hope that by the time he wakes up, you will have finished what you set out to do. Otherwise, you don't see your future well.

"Just get him out of here." You grumble, turning into a side corridor, and encounter Harkonnen soldiers fighting the Fremen as they kill the last of them, their eyes shifting to the two of you. You nod at them. Without a word, they approach you and take Feyd from you. Inessa looks at you, worried.

"What if he wakes up?"

"You stuffed him with painkillers, and I ordered him to sleep. He won't get up until you're back on the ship." The woman sighs and shakes her head, looking at you intently as you speak.

"Y/N. You've had some… creatively stupid ideas, but this one is the worst of them all. He won't give up. You know it. So why are you doing this?" She asks, taking you off guard for a moment.

She was right. You could have returned to the ship with them, gone back to the safety of Giedi Prime, and let Feyd fight Paul alone. You could have let go and stopped participating in a war that wasn't yours. But at what cost? You've been obeying someone all your life. Bene Gesserit. Prophecies. Feyd. It's finally time for you to deal the cards. And you will do it. In your and Feyd's best interests. You just hoped that he could… forgive you, or see the reasoning behind your actions.

"For myself. For my freedom. For us. This is the only way to end the matter of Atreides, Fremen, and Arrakis. The only effective way."

"Don't you know it yet? You will never be free. We women will never enjoy men's freedom. There will always be someone to whom you must submit. You can't change your fate."

"Then I'd rather die trying." You say, turning on your heel. You don't look back to see her reaction to your words. You had too little time.

The burning sensation on your hand only reminded you of running out of it. The dagger that Feyd gave you must have also had an effect on Atreides. You don't know how advanced he is in Bene Gesserit teachings, so you had to hurry before he detected the poison in his body. Or, God forbid, neutralise it.

You wipe your sweating forehead with the sleeve of your hand as your body begins to fight the poison slowly accumulating in your body. The antidote rested safely in a small syringe hidden in the handle of the dagger you kept strapped to your thigh. You just had to use it when the time was right.

You hope you will get everything done before you die.

You wander through the corridors without knowing where you are. You just have a feeling in the back of your head about where you should go. Besides, the escaping Harkonnens kind of showed you the way into the sietch.

Your hands are shaking as you slowly approach the main room—the one where the Fremen usually gather for large meetings and in case of an attack. Still, you thank Feyd for forcing you to attend the Harkonenn war meetings. At least now you are more familiar with the location of the Fremen's rooms and methods.

The closer you get to the main hall, the more Fremen women push past you, and you feel a little more confident walking through the crowd with them, confident that they are leading you to your place of harm in case of an attack. Even though the Harkonnen were already retreating from the area, some of them were still fighting the Fremen, who craved the blood on their swords and didn't let them just leave. You can only imagine the Feyd's wrath that they will have to face. His men didn't come... fully armed. Apparently it was supposed to be a quick action—get in and out with you, then launch a full attack and invasion.

You know that once he wakes up and heals up a bit, he's going to paint these halls with blood before he burns them to the ground.

Entering the main room, you immediately take a seat by the wall, watching all the Fremen gathering, carefully looking for Atreides among them. He probably had to make sure they "cleared" the halls from the Harkonnens. It makes you sick to think of them bragging about this as a victory over the Harkonnens. It makes you wish you had a little bomb with you...

"Are you already hiding in the shadows?" You shiver when you hear him whisper in your ear. You haven't learned to recognise his steps yet. They were irregular, different, and hard to detect and remember—as if he were constantly moving through the sand like a feather.

"The quicker I adapt, the better, right?" You ask, raising an eyebrow at him in challenge. He shakes his head in amusement and watches the Fremen gather with you. It's strange that somehow no one has noticed him yet.

"I'm starting to understand why my cousin kept you so close to him."

"Cousin?" You ask in shock, turning your head towards him so you can look at him. This time he ignores you, not shifting his gaze from the Fremen.

"A little surprise. Maybe we all have a bit of Harkonnen in us after all?" He banters without giving you any of his attention. You snort indignantly, looking at the gathering people again.

"You look tired." You comment, wanting to tease him. You can barely keep yourself from stabbing him with your poisoned dagger a few times. But since he was talking to you so... carelessly, it meant he couldn't detect the poison. Good for you.

"I always am. I will rest when I sit peacefully on the imperial throne."

You would laugh at him if you could. He might easily sit on the emperor's throne, but he wouldn't be able to hold power over all the families for long. Certainly not if you and Feyd had anything to say about it.

Your heart clenches as you remember the moment you stabbed him. You had to. There was no other way to get rid of him long enough for you to take care of everything here. Also, he wouldn't allow you to do that if he knew what you were up to. Besides, if you didn't stab him, Atreides and he would get into a fight. Unfortunately, you weren't that confident in Feyd's abilities. He would be in a state of distraction if your well-being was at stake.

Besides, Atreides' words convinced you of this decision more than anything else.

More than one great king fell under the intrigue of a lesser man.

If there was anything you could praise about Paul Atreides, it was his cunning. And you were sure that if Atreides was somehow going to defeat Feyd, it would be through intrigue and trickery. And then you weren't ready to save your baron. So you had to use drastic measures to get him out and allow yourself to function fully. You couldn't give Atreides any leverage or advantage over you. You certainly couldn't reveal what a weakness Feyd was to you.

"Hmm… you have to survive first." You answered thoughtfully. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him turn his head to look at you. His intense, analysing gaze makes you burn as you have to endure his unwanted attention.

"With such a talented Bene Gesserit as MY right hand? I have not the slightest doubt. You proved your loyalty by killing my cousin. I have no doubt that you are capable of great things. However... this sudden change of sides is shocking, I must admit."

"Why? Because I chose something better for myself? It was the same with Feyd. I could either stay among the Bene Gesserit and hope they wouldn't send me to breed with anyone, or I could take matters into my own hands. And I don't like blindly entrusting my fate to someone else, Atreides."

"I see... you look good with independence, Harkonnen witch, but don't forget who you answer to."

"Of course, Fremen messiah." The nickname you give him makes me chuckle. He reaches up and tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear. You look carefully at his bandaged hand, which you pierced with a dagger.

You find yourself comparing his hands to Feyd's. Harkonnen's hands were hard, rough, trained from years of using all kinds of weapons. Atrdida's hands were smoother, less stained by effort. Another difference between them was that Feyd would never let anyone bandage the wound you gave him. He would rather wear them proudly until the wound heals itself. You should think it's sick, but years spent by his side have taught you… to appreciate such gestures. Maybe you really had a completely different perception of normality?

Atreides' fingers trace your jaw, caressing it gently. You look into his eyes and immediately see the familiar gleam of audacity in them. He looked at you like you were a prize—a nice thing that he managed to take from his enemy, which he can now put on his bedside table and look at to remember his victory. Under any other circumstances, you would have bitten his fingers off, but unfortunately, you had to behave. But only for a moment longer.

"What do you think you're doing?" An angry, cold female voice echoes behind you. Before you know it, you're being pushed sideways against the wall. A dagger at your throat. You act automatically. You attack a woman, disarm her, and push her against a wall. But before you can put a dagger at her throat yourself, Atreides steps between you.

"What's necessary, Chani. I would suggest you not attack my guest." The woman glares at him, and for a moment, you think she's going to attack him or spit on him. Then her anger shifts to you.

"This Harkonnen witch has killed more of our people than any of them. She should be dead, not taken in as a guest." She growls furiously, giving you a distrustful, mad look. You understand her perfectly. If you were in her place, you would do the same. Only Feyd, unlike Atreides, couldn't stop you from hurting your rival.

"It's not up to you to decide her fate."

Chani gives the two of you one last hateful glare and pushes past Atreides, moving into the crowd, away from the two of you. You look at the woman carefully, analysing her gait and posture. Similar to Atreides. So you found his teacher.

"Your…"

"Concubine." He finishes, thus answering your question. You raise an eyebrow at him in surprise.

"I see."

"Jealous?" This time, you can't help but snort in amusement, giggling at his absurd question.

"I would sonner be jealous of a sandworm than of you. What is bewteen us is just an agreement. Don't forget that, Atreides."

"That's why I like you. Give me a moment. We'll talk later. Don't go anywhere. I will find you."

He puts his hand on your shoulder. You assume he thinks it's a gesture of reassurance, but it's not for you. You anxiously wait for him to move away from you so he can speak to the crowd of Fremen.

You shiver as you briefly make eye contact with Chani, who is standing at the other end of the room. She's still seething with rage. You're not entirely sure why she's so devoted to Atreides, but after thinking about it longer, you realise what her reason is for being so protective over him. You would probably do the same things for Feyd as she did for Paul. However, you would be... more ruthless towards your rival. You wave to the woman, smirking. She looks away from you, focusing her gaze on Atreides.

You study him as well, carefully observing him as he speaks to the Fremen. He is imperious and powerful, but also arrogant and conceited. His overconfidence that he acquired among the Fremen—the belief that he was the chosen one—will lead to his death. You will lead him to death. Otherwise, no one will stand a chance against him. He had one significant thing that could ensure his victory: a huge crowd of people who blindly believed that he would bring them salvation if they obediently followed his every request.

And maybe you would feel sorry for these people and try to help them if your own freedom and future weren't on the line.

You play with the handle of your dagger. You press a small button. A small ampoule with a needle falls into your hand. You hiss, injecting the contents of the ampoule into your arm.

Atreides was right. - You think, listening carefully to the man's speech to the crowd. - More than one great king fell under the intrigue of a lesser man.

The faint hum of the ship's engine gives Feyd a clear indication of where he is. He opens his eyes and looks around the room. He's in the bedroom of one of Harkonnen's ships. He sits up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, and looks at his bare chest. He furrows his hairless eyebrows in surprise when he sees no wound or bandage—just a tiny, sealed scar in the area where you pierced him with the sword.

"Where are you going?" Your quiet, protesting whisper makes him freeze. After a while, he feels your warm hands on his shoulders as you pull him back into the soft sheets and into your arms. You cuddle up to him, wrapping your arms around him and burying your head in the crook of his neck. "Stay. We still have a lot of time before we land on Lankiveil, so you can spend it in bed with your wife. I doubt we'll find a moment of peace for ourselves when our little Na-Baron demands swimming lessons from you and a tour around the new planet, so use this little moment of peace."

Feyd's heart skips a beat when he feels your lips brushing on the skin of his neck and hears you calling yourself his wife. He allows himself to drown in the warmth of your body and the feeling of your gentle touch on his skin. He buries his nose in your hair, shuddering slightly as you place small kisses on his neck and lick his skin, teasing him. However, one thing was still bothering him…

"Little Na-Baron?" He asks, confused, when you lazily stroke his head with your fingers, drawing patterns on its pale skin.

"Our son. I pleased you so well last night that you forgot about our son, or are you just not awake yet, darling?" You ask him teasingly, opening your eyes to look at him for the first time.

Feyd is speechless when he sees the spark of malice in your eyes and the beautiful smile you give him. Your beauty, the calmness with which you lie curled on his chest—as if it were the most normal thing you do every day—and the strange warmth that spreads across his chest because of it make him lose his ability to speak.

You giggle, pulling him closer to you and placing a tender, gentle kiss on his lips. You moan, enjoying the feeling of his plush lips, sucking on his bottom lip as you claim him as yours. Feyd feels himself starting to harden just from the feeling of your lips on his and the teasing movements of your fingers around his nipples.

"I…" He tries to speak, but then he hears the baby's soft whimpering. He tenses up, unaccustomed to any interaction with children.

His gaze goes from the cradle placed in the corner of the room to you in pure panic, as he has no idea what to do with the crying baby. But you don't seem to care about the baby crying as much as he does. You groan in protest and pull away from him, burying your face in the pillow.

"Mhm... go to her, it's your turn." You mumble, not giving him a glance, as you hug the pillow instead of him. He starts to be a little jealous, but that feeling fades away, replaced by panic as the baby's cries intensify.

"Now you're letting me go?" He asks, hoping you'll change your mind and take care of the crying demon in the cradle yourself.

"I simply found a better use for you elsewhere." He huffs, leaning towards you and ruffling your hair. You punch him in the chest and force him out of bed. He rolls his eyes at you and turns hesitantly towards the crib.

He feels his legs shaking and his heart beating with nervousness. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen is stressed and nervous by a crying baby in a cradle. He breathes deeply as he stands over the cradle.

His world stops when his eyes meet small irises that are a similar shade of blue to his. And his heart stops when he sees a little copy of you. Your child is undoubtedly a reflection of you. She only has his eyes, but the colour of her skin and hair, the shape of her nose, mouth, and eyes are all you. Feyd's heart pounds as he stares at the small miracle before him. Suddenly, the sounds reach him again. Panicked, he takes the baby gently, making sure not to accidentally hurt her, and in a few quick steps, he is by your side again.

"I… I think it is hungry." He says, reaching out towards you to hand the baby to you as quickly as possible.

"Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, did you just call our daughter it?" You ask angrily, sitting on the bed and looking at him furious. You sigh at his helpless expression and take your daughter from him. "Forgive daddy, Katerina. He doesn't usually behave like this." You mumble sweetly to the baby, trying to calm her down.

Miraculously, because Feyd can't call it anything else, you manage to calm down the baby in your embrace, her little lips pursing in dissatisfaction as she waits for you to feed her. Feyd swears she makes the exact same face you do when you're impatient or angry. His heart melts even more at the image in front of him.

Feyd sits on the edge of the bed, watching in fascination as you feed your baby. This scene seems... unreal to him. He had never experienced anything like this before—the feelings of warmth, safety, and boundless love and devotion that appear in him when he looks at the two of you.

He may have had vague memories of his mother singing bedtime lullabies to him and Rabban, but... he had never felt the way he did with you and your daughter. He had never felt that disarming feeling of home that made him allow himself to become vulnerable for the first time in many years.

He uncertainly reaches towards the child and gently strokes his daughter's head. The colour of her hair is identical to yours. Feyd's lips form involuntarily in a smile when the child reaches her little hand to his fingers, tightening his fist firmly. As she gently moves his hand away from her head, she does not let her grip on his fingers loosen. She was strong for a baby. She certainly had a warrior nature inherited from both of you. Feyd couldn't wait to train her...

He found himself thinking that all he wanted was to curl up in this bed with you and hold you safely in his arms before he would be brutally torn from this beautiful dream or vision.

He sits on the bed, looking at the two of you, when suddenly the bedroom door opens. The thud of small feet on the metal floor echoes around the room, and that's all the warning Feyd gets before the little white-haired boy lunges at him.

"Dad! Dad! We'll be there soon! I can't wait. Uncle Rabban told me that there are huge oceans that can swallow our ships if we land wrong! Is it true?" Asks the child, sitting on his lap and holding him tightly.

Feyd hesitantly wraps his arms around the boy, making sure he doesn't accidentally fall from his lap to the floor. His gaze quickly shifts to you in utter confusion. Rabban as a caring, mischievous uncle? What the hell was that supposed to be?

"Your uncle has a habit of distorting some facts, Feydor. I assure you we'll be fine. And Lankiveil is wonderful, isn't it, honey?" You ask Feyd, resting Katerina on your shoulder and making sure she burps.

"Yes. It is beautiful." He says, unconsciously running a hand through his son's hair as he looks at the three of you, unable to get over the shock and awe.

"I want a hug." Your son demands. You laugh as you pull him closer to you. When you see that Feyd isn't moving to join you all, you grab his hand and gently guide him back to the soft pillows. You lie there curled up, you with Katerina on your chest, Feydor between you and him as you wrap your arms around each other.

His son mutters something to his sister, but Feyd doesn't hear him. All he can do is stare at the three of you in amazement.

"Now sleep. Both of you. I don't want to hear any grumpy complaints about not getting enough sleep, okay, my boys?"

'It only happened once." Feydor mumbles, manoeuvring your and Feyd's hands to hug him tightly. "Besides, Dad was whining worse than me."

"I have no doubt that was the case. Your dad is a terribly fussy and grumpy man." You laugh and lean in to place a quick kiss on Feyd's lips. He strokes your waist, moving closer to you and your son as baby Katerina mumbles something in a language only she knows.

Feyd can only watch tenderly as his little family falls asleep, curled up in each other's arms. And he believes that this is the best possible future that can await him. He doesn't want the throne. He doesn't want to become emperor. He just wants to be able to fall asleep and wake up with you in his arms and your children running around. It's all he dreams about.

The younger Feyd would certainly laugh at him and mock him for such a trivial goal he had set for himself, but what more could he want with the title of baron and you by his side?

He saw perfectly well how the lives of his uncle and emperor turned out and knew the tragic fate of great people in power who decided to devote their entire lives to achieving the greatest possible influence. Feyd didn't want to follow in their footsteps. He wanted you. He realised, with horror, that this was enough for him—the vision or dream he had now was his ideal future.

"I love you." He whispers to your sleeping form before the darkness overwhelms him again.

He wakes up again on the ship, in the same room, and on the same bed. The difference is that your warm body is not pressed against his, and the throbbing pain from his stomach spreads uncomfortably throughout his body.

He groans, sitting on the bed and looking around. His hairless eyebrows wrinkle when he sees one of your spies with him. He automatically grabs the hidden knife and attacks your spy before she notices that he woke up.

"My Lord Baron, I can explain…" The woman says this as he presses the blade against her chest. She stops talking when he cuts off her access to the air by tightening his grip on her neck.

"Where is my right hand?" He growls, sticking to the remains of his control when he refrains from killing her. However, he does not stop himself from making a light cut on your spy's neck. Years of experience have proved that people were more willing to talk after he took some blood from them.

"It really wasn't my idea. She decided so. She knew that you would not let her do what she was planning, so she had to somehow... get rid of you from there, my lord Baron."

"Hm... that sounds like her, but... I would like to hear more about that plan of her. Say something useful and I might even spare your life." Feyd purrs, lazily dragging the blade down her neck to her collarbone, making a small cut.

He preferred not to hurt your toy too much. He didn't know how you would react to the loss of this particular spy. She must have been someone you trusted to entrust him to her.

But that didn't mean that Feyd couldn't land his anger at you on her for leaving him behind and completely unaware of your actions.

"Long ago, the Bene Gesserit had only one reverend mother. Their order was small then, but it was developing well. A certain ritual was invented to ensure that the most powerful of them was in power. It… is about the struggle of life forces. I don't know exactly how it's done, but… lady Y/N said that they both have to die for one of them to survive. She… she knew you wouldn't let her, so she had to make you leave that rat's nest so she could get the job done." A cold shiver runs down Feyd's spine. He needs a moment to compose himself and process your spy's words before he speaks again.

"They both have to die? What do you mean?" He asks, unconsciously tightening his already painful grip on the woman. His hand, the one holding the dagger, trembles slightly as he impatiently stares at her, waiting for an answer.

"I... they have to... they... their hearts stop beating and... the one who is stronger and has more life energy takes over the other's powers and survives."

"So... she may lose and die?" Fed sees your spy swallowing heavily after hearing his question. Thanks to this, he already knows the answer to it.

Strangely, instead of the huge, red fury and bloodlust, everything he feels is fear. Since he arrived at Giedi Prime, he has never felt fear. His uncle made sure that this emotion did not prevent him from reaching the ideal that his uncle demanded from Feyd. But at this point, when the vision of your dead body appears before his eyes, Feyd feels almost paralysed by fear of your life.

"There is... a little possibilty, my lord Baron."

This information is enough for him to make a decision. He stabs your spy in the stomach and allows her to sit on a bed. He reaches the exit in a few steps and opens the door with a bang. A doctor and two soldiers are waiting in the corridor. They look at him with fear in their eyes when he comes out, covered in blood. Before they can speak and probably inform him about his state of health, Fed is already growling at them and giving orders.

"Heal her and bandage her. She was only fulfilling my fiancee's orders." Fed tells the doctor. He is pleased with the surprise he sees on your spy's face. He intends to enjoy informing everyone about his 'engagement' with you. If you could have your plans, he could have some of his too. "Tell the pilot to turn back. And call more ours. We will burn these rats' nests to the ground."

With this promise, he leaves the room, ignoring the pain in his trunk. He must have found you before Fremen left with you for another hideout. He had to be fast and precise if he wanted to have you safe by his side. Maybe he should also ask the doctor for a sedative. Just in case you were stubborn enough to fight him instead of cooperating with him.

"What do you think?" Atreides' question catches you off guard for a moment. You stop watching the Fremen as they prepare to leave the sietch and shift your gaze to Atreides, raising an eyebrow in question. "About them. About my speech there."

"Are you looking for praise?" You mock, taking a closer look at what exactly he's putting into his bundle.

"I'm looking for a second opinion. Objective. Analytical and thorough." He replies, tying the fabric as he waits for your response.

"They will do whatever you want. Isn't that enough for you?" You ask, licking your lips as you choose your words carefully. You can see beads of sweat forming on his forehead. Paul wipes them away with his hand, not yet aware of the poison that courses through his veins.

You wanted to make sure as much as you could that when the moment came to defeat him and take his life force, there would be no shadow of a doubt that you would emerge victorious from the duel between you. After he went through the Reverend Mothers ceremony, you could try to perform the old ritual of reclaiming power between you two. This hasn't been done for centuries. So you hoped that everything you remembered from the old scrolls was true and that Atreides wouldn't surprise you with anything.

Even if he was a Kwisatz Haderach, you're still going to defeat him. No one and nothing will decide your fate.

"For now, yes. But in the future, I will need their full devotion. After all, I won't be the one to rule them on Arrakis." You raise your eyebrows questioningly, curious as to what his big plan for the future might be.

"Who do you want to entrust them to?"

Silence falls between you as you both look at each other intently. You know he's judging you, wondering how much he can tell you and how much he can hide from you. And you have to be convincing enough to gain even a little bit of trust from him. You know that stabbing Feyd helped you a lot with that. No matter how much it hurt you to do it.

"To be honest, you have the best skills to serve as Governor of Arrakis. The only question is, will you be equally faithful to me?"

"Me? Why?"

"They're already afraid of you. Besides, I saw your power—you're quite a powerful Bene Gesserit. Even if you don't like being called that, you can't cheat or change your destiny, no matter what."

"But... it is not all about power and fate, though is it?" You ask, slowly approaching him. "It is... something more there. Much more than we know." You whisper, looking at him with your most captivating gaze. Feyd would have killed him and tortured you if he saw you flirting with someone else... but luckily he wasn't here. And you had to somehow lower Atreides' guard.

"Indeed." He mumbles back and takes a step towards you. His fingers gently caress your jaw, tracing it until his fingertips brush against your lips. "My mother told me legends about the birth of the most powerful of the Bene Gesserit. A woman who could bring thousands to their knees with a wave of her finger, tamed the most bloodthirsty of all beasts. Stilgar... has suspicions that you may be the mother of the one, the one to come. Of course, this conflicts with his perception of me as the chosen one."

He spoke the truth. You were the most powerful of the Bene Gesserit. But not because you were born according to their program. You simply had potential, and they had way too much time and no obstacles to train you differently. You were supposed to be their perfect pawn in their game, to provide them with the Kwisatz Haderach. And now… you will kill the one who was supposed to be him.

"Even so, you don't lose power. They still listen to you. More than anyone else." You say, shifting your gaze from his eyes to his lips. He licks them, holding your jaw tightly as he leans slightly towards you.

"I may be my father's son, but I'm not going to make the same mistakes. You know, it is much safer to be feared than loved because... love is preserved by the link of obligation which, owing to the baseness of men, is broken at every opportunity for their advantage; but fear preserves you by a dread of punishment which never fails."

"The prince Machiavelli." You say, knowing a quote from the book. You're a little surprised that he would read something like that. He also seems amazed that you know what book he took these words from.

"Indeed. Hmm... Maybe you're not that cruel and bloodthirsty Harkonnen witch people think you are. After all, you're a bit educated." Under any other circumstances, you would have kicked him in... his tender place for this. But now you have to smile sweetly, comforting yourself only with the thought that he will soon die at your hands.

"Believe me, Atreides. I am everything they talk about and more." You mumble before leaning in to connect your lips in a kiss.

Kissing him is… different from kissing Feyd. Less intense, less hot, and less passionate. With him, you don't feel that familiar thrill of excitement you feel every time Feyd literally devours you. This kiss is... too polite. There's not an ounce of desire in him, at least not on your part. You try to be persuasive, though, caressing his lips, but it's not the same plush softness of Feyd's lips. Your mind refuses to be fooled, and you realise with horror how deeply your new Baron has managed to get under your skin when you haven't been able to enjoy the kiss of any other man.

Atreides reaches for your hips, pulling you closer to him as he deepens the kiss, moaning into your mouth. At least he was the only one having fun out of the two of you. You place your hands on his shoulders, slowly pulling your hidden dagger from your sleeve as you let the man kiss you and explore your body with his hands.

You almost sigh with relief when his lips finally leave yours. He moves to kiss your neck, and you decide that this is the moment to start the ritual.

"Stay still. Don't move or speak." You use the voice on him. He stiffens in an instant, his eyes widening slightly as the steel of your poisoned blade presses against his neck. "You were right. It's better to make them afraid of you than to love you."

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him grab his hidden knife. But before he can stab you, you place your hands on his temples and recite the old formula, beginning the ritual. You feel yourself slowly starting to lose strength. You both kneel to the floor, life draining from the two of you.

It has begun. - you think as darkness takes over you.

This... is different from what you expected. Nowhere is it written what happens after the connection between the brains of the Bene Gesserit combatants is made. Or what kind of test are the two of you being put through to find out which one of you is stronger. You thought you and Atreides would stand in some imaginary arena and fight until one of you killed the other.

At least you would prefer this to the burning pain that overwhelmed you. You feel like you're immersed in pure, wild fire. All your nerves were burning. You felt your body, but at the same time, you were far from it. And all you could see and hear was blackness, screams, whispers, and songs in a language foreign to you. You feel like you've gone mad. Any pain you've felt doesn't compare to what you're going through right now.

You feel every cell in your body tear apart, and at the same time you remain in a void, unaware of anything except the feeling of pain.

But you endure it.

And suddenly, everything disappears. For a moment, you feel or hear nothing. It's just you and your consciousness as you anxiously await the turn of events.

Then various images begin to appear before your eyes—visions of the future and the past. You see every possible course of events that could occur and every single scenario that may happen. In some visions, both you and Feyd die; in others, it's just him or you; and in others, you both live to old age together. One element is constant. Only one. And you shudder every time you see the familiar figure of your future son ascending the throne as the Emperor and taking care of the entire world, restoring balance and peace.

All of Atreides' power has passed onto you. You knew everything. All possible futures. And they scared you more than you thought they would. And you feel completely different than you thought you would...

After some time and tens of thousands of visions, you return to your body. You begin to feel everything around you—the soft sheets beneath you, the softness of the pillow beneath your head, and the quiet beeping of the machines keeping you alive.

You struggle to open your eyes, hissing as the light hits your eyes. You look around, expecting to find a familiar hospital room, but instead you find yourself in Feyd's chambers. On fucking Giedi Prime.

"Welcome among the living." Feyd's hoarse voice reaches your ears. You turn your head towards him—too quickly, making you feel a little dizzy—but you open your mouth to speak anyway.

You have a terrible coughing fit, and your throat is drier than it has ever been on Arrakis. As you curl up on Feyd's bed, coughing up your lungs, you see him quickly fill a glass of water from the corner of your eye. He sits next to you, pulling you against his chest. You lean your back against him and drink the water greedily.

Feyd gently strokes your back, watching carefully as you drink the water. His gaze is watchful and attentive as he makes sure you drink the last drop from your glass.

When you finish, he takes your glass and walks over to the table to set it down. A cold shiver runs through you as you feel the absence of his presence. You remember how the last time you saw him, he was unconscious and injured. Because of you.

"I was more expecting to be chained to a wall in a prison cell. Or to have your harpies hovering over me and waiting for you to cut me up for them." You say jokingly, teasing him. But he doesn't laugh. You see him tense at your words before he slowly turns to face you.

"I had such an idea in my mind a month ago, when I found you pale as death in the arms of the equally dead Atreides. But I guess enough time has passed for me to get over it… or I just killed enough Fremen and doctors and Bene Gesserit women who couldn't bring you back to calm myself down."

"Month?" You ask, swallowing thickly as you bravely endure his stern glare.

"Mhmm… a month, two weeks and five days to be precise. This whole time, you were either losing your pulse or screaming until your throat was torn. Also, you had a fever that we barely managed to break down, and you were pronounced dead a few times, but who cares, right?" He asks casually, but you can clearly see the rage bubbling inside him despite his obvious concern for you.

"Oh… that's… a while."

"A little bit more than a while." He growls at you, playing with his dagger—the exact same one he gave you. You shudder as you see how much the blade has bent from the blood of the people you used it on.

"What about Atreides?" You ask, confused, wondering if it was really a good idea to bring this up now. Especially since he is playing with a poisoned dagger in his hands. And you used up the antidote to it (apparently) a month ago.

"I have his head. Do you want it on a silver platter, or should I just frame his tongue and hang it on the wall? Maybe right next to yours for being a liar and a traitor?" He asks furiously. But that's not what scares you the most. He's calm. Too calm and composed. And this was often how his anger manifested itself before he killed his victims.

"I... you know perfectly well that I had to do it. If I had done it differently, his... skills would have been lost. And I... now I see everything. I can prevent everything, I can make everything fine. Isn't that a big advantage for you? Have an oracle next to you?" You ask, slightly nervous about what he's going to do next.

"Depends on what this oracle wants to show me and what it doesn't want to show me. But since you know everything and the entire future, you probably know what I will do now." He says and heads towards the exit.

Your heart clenches, and you feel an inexplicable panic as you see him walk away from you. You can't stand how cold he was towards you. You have to do something. You can't just let him go.

"Feyd." You call after him and get out of bed to follow him. When you're on your legs, you lose your balance, and you would have fallen to the floor if Feyd hadn't caught you in his arms.

You dig your fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as you breathe quickly. You look at each other for a moment, allowing yourself to immerse yourself in the closeness of the other one.

Feyd places his hand under your knees and picks you up in bridal style. He puts you on his bed again and pulls away to leave. You grab his elbow tightly and hold on, forcing him to stay by your side as you give him a desperate, pleading look for him not to leave you.

Feyd sighs, sitting next to you on the bed. He leans towards you and rests his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes, brushing his nose against yours. And you feel really calm for the first time in years.

"You have no idea... I have killed men for smaller things than that. The only reason you're still alive... is because I prefer to destroy you myself. Without the help of any sick rituals or poison. You'll be begging me to kill you, little witch. I'll make you go through the same damn pain you put me through. You'll be begging me to stop making you scream. Oh, and I'll make you scream much louder than becasue of this stupid ancient ritual."

You know he's mad at you. And he has every right to do so. But you can't take his words seriously. Not when you have irrefutable proof of the depth of his feelings for you. As he said, he killed for less. If he wanted to, he would have gotten rid of you or hurt you by now. But he didn't.

"I'll happily scream because of you, my Baron." You reply, placing your hands on his cheeks. You stroke his cheekbones with your thumbs, trying to memorise every little bit of his skin.

"I… I'm serious." He growls at you. He places his hand on your neck and squeezes it gently. You smile and press a kiss just near the corner of his mouth.

"Me too. Do it. Show me how loud you want me to scream for you." You challenge him, placing small kisses on his face.

"Y/N... I should have killed you ages ago, woman. You poisoned my mind, you stabbed me with a sword, you left me alone to deal with the mess you made, you forced me to worry about you while you slowly died in front of me day by day, and I couldn't do any-fucking-thing. So tell me, how can I get past this? Why is it that all I want to do is fuck you until I feel like you're really alive and around me?"

You bite your lip, trying not to moan at his words. You lick your lips and lean towards him, kissing him. He moans into your mouth and tries to pull away from you, but you grab his neck and pull him towards you. Your heart speeds up as your lips caress his as you give all of yourself to him in that kiss.

You gently massage his scalp and lie down on the pillows. You pull him with you as he starts to kiss you back. You moan into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his hips. He pulls away from you with a growl and presses his forehead against yours, trying to calm down for your sake. After all, you had just woken up... too bad his cock wasn't as sympathetic to you as you rubbed against him.

"I… my mother was a Harkonnen, you know? Maybe that's why I was so drawn to you. Like calls to like or something like that." You gasp, remembering the memory you saw. Feyd furrows his hairless eyebrows in surprise. A shiver runs across his skin, realising the power you've taken from Atreides.

"What else do you know?" He asks, caressing your cheek. You turn your head and press a kiss on the palm of his hand. You surprise him even more, but he's not going to protest when you show him affection. This was very rare in his life, and the fact that this small, voluntary gesture of adoration was coming from you made him even harder.

"That I don't want to lose you for some visions that may or may not happen. That you love me and that these months have been torture for you. That you hated me as much as you needed me to come back to you. That I… only want to think about us. I only care about our future, and I'm willing to watch this world burn if it means I can hold your hand until the end. with no fear that fate will make us hate each other. That I want you to be the only prophecy I care about."

"What about your escape from fate? You never wanted… to be part of this Kwisatz Haderach thing. Will you run away from me when you see that the path we are following leads inevitably to what you were so afraid of?"

His doubts are absolutely right. But that doesn't change the fact that you need him close to you right now. That you need his reassurance that everything will be fine, not his resentment. And you know it was wrong of you to demand from him things like that, but... nothing about your relationship was healthy anyway.

"Fuck it if I can't have us. Fuck it if I can't have you." You say and pull him in for another kiss. He moans in shock into your mouth but quickly responds to you with equal passion. You gasp as he grabs your waist tightly and lifts you up, making you sit on his lap.

"You said you love me." He gasps as he slowly removes your nightgown that he dressed you in himself.

"I did... I also stab you." You say as your hands reach up to start undressing him as well.

"You did. And you killed Atreides." He purrs against your jaw, placing kisses and hickeys there.

"I did." You groan, your hands shaking as you try to get rid of his clothes as quickly as possible.

"You handed me over to our people."

"I did. You are quite heavy." You giggle as he blows on your neck, tickling you, before sinking his teeth into it. You dig your fingers into his back, pulling him close to you.

"Why did you do this?" He asks, pulling away from you to look at you carefully, gauging your reaction, making sure you were always on his side, and doing everything for your mutual good. For his good.

"Because I decide about my fate. Not Bene Gesserit, not any Atreides, not you or anyone. Only me. And I want you. And love you. And need you. But only as my equal... and if you will have me."

"I won't let you go anymore." He warns, laying you down on the bed and towering over you.

"I will never want to leave." You promise, looking into his icy blue eyes and stroking the scar on his lower stomach—from the wound you gave him.

"Good."

"Good."

"Say it again."

"Good?" You ask teasingly, pressing kisses to his neck and giving him a few hickeys, marking him as yours with more than just his scars.

"No. You know what."

"I love you."

"About damn time." He growls, devouring your mouth. You moan as he bites into your lower lip. You both don't hold back anymore. Feyd marks you like a map, as if he wanted to memorise all the sensitive places that made you moan and writhe in pleasure, pressing into his muscled body.

You forget for a moment the whole world, everything you've done for him, everything you both should have discussed—all you can think about is Feyd. About wanting to be closer to him, about needing him as desperately as he needs you. So how can Feyd resist you when you're so willing to take him in? When he had dreamed of this moment for years? When can he finally satisfy his desire for your body?

He trails his kisses lower, gently taking your nipple into his mouth and cupping your other breast, massaging it. You moan, scratching his scalp, throwing your head back against the pillows, and grinding your hips against his.

You're both starting to get annoyed by the underwear that's preventing you from clinging to each other the way you want. Feyd rips your panties off of you, wasting no time in pushing his fingers into you. You whine, thrashing around on the bed, wanting more and yet too sensitive for anything else. You open your eyes and gasp at the sight of his full, erect length rubbing against your thigh. Feyd pinches your nipple, making you moan and shifting your gaze to him.

"Eyes on me, little witch."

"But... ach!" You moan as his fingers speed up inside you, tears forming in your eyes as your hips move in time with the rhythm of his fingers as you chase your orgasm.

"Listen to your Baron. Eyes on me." He pauses to slap your pussy. You moan, biting your lower lip. "And don't hold back any sounds. Or I'll punish you like I should have since you woke up."

It's very hard to keep your eyes open for him. Especially when his fingers massage your clit so perfectly and fill you up. You reach your hand to his hard cock on your thigh and rub it gently.

He growls, kissing you hard and punishingly, as you try to speed things up and make him lunge at you in a frenzy of lust, when he wants to tease your pussy and punish you accordingly first.

For a month he waited by your bedside, bravely holding you through the stages of your screams and high fevers, making sure you were alive, breathing, and your heart was beating in a rhythm he had memorized. He deserves to have some fun with you...

"Feyd... please..." Your moans, the kisses you place on his jaw, and the way your fingers caress the scar on his muscled stomach—the one you gave him yourself—make him lose his restraint, which was already frail and weak. At least that's how he explains his desire to immediately fulfill your wish.

His arms wrap around you tightly as he gently pushes into you, making sure his entire alabaster length will fit inside you. He stops, cursing in his tongue and resting his forehead against yours as he gives you a moment to adjust to his length. Finally. He finally feels you all around him. And you're tighter than he dreamed.

"Damn… you little witch…"

"I know..." You gasp, wrapping your arms around him, and kiss him hungrily, basking in the feeling of fullness as his length perfectly fills the void inside you. It's warm. It's nice to feel him so close to you. It's nice to be with him. You moan as he starts to move slowly, testing how far he can go.

Feyd growls, picking up his pace when you don't protest, his hips bucking wildly against yours, and you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer.

He grips one of your hips and cups your cheek with the other, making sure your eyes are focused on him. He kisses away the tears streaming down your cheek, licking them off your face. He kisses you fervently and hungrily, catching every moan and grunt you make as his hips grind against yours. A wet sound echoes through the room, occasionally interrupted by a moan from either of you as you finally come together in the most primal, animalistic way, demanding each other.

"Mine. Only mine." Feyd growls into your neck; his thrusts are faster and more precise, making you bite your lip to hold back your moans, but he doesn't let you do it for long. He wants to feel and hear all of you. He wants to revel in his victory. That's why he kisses you, biting your buttom lip to the blood. He pulls away and leans his forehead on yours as he listens to the little sounds you make as he fucks the brain out of you. "Can you feel how deep I am? How well am I filling you? You will be a beautiful Baroness. Fuck. My future wife. The mother of my children." He moans in your ear. You don't answer; you take ragged breaths, listening to the squelch of your joined bodies echoing around his chambers.

"You were meant for me. Just like I was for you. I will never let you escape again, I will never again let you out of my sight for more than a second, I will never again let you fight against the world and fate alone. We are the two sides of the same coin... WE. ARE. UNITY." He growls, making one last few hard pushes into you, making you both cum. He captures your lips in a kiss, muffling both of your screams as you fall apart around him, feeling his warm seed flood your womb.

You shake, wrapping your arms around him tightly, trusting him to hold the weight of both of you as you see nothing but white light in your orgasmic haze. You can't feel your legs, but you know you're still clenching them tightly around him. Your mind is empty; you feel amazing, electric bliss.

And for that moment you knew what cosmic love really meant. And you would fight with anyone to be able to experience it whenever you wanted.

"I love you." Feyd whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple and tightening his grip around you.

He slowly pulls out of you and collapses next to you, still holding you in the iron grip of his arms. You lazily snuggle into him and trace the scar you gave him with the fingertip of your finger. Guilt grows within you, and for a moment, you think that he purposely allowed this scar to remind you of what you did.

You decide to talk to him about everything tomorrow. It was just the two of you for now, and you were going to enjoy this as long as you could. You place your head into the crook of his neck and take his hand in yours. You tangle his other hand in your hair and snuggle into him, sighing as you feel his touch, warmth, and scent around you.

You both fall asleep cuddled together. And for a moment, you allow yourself to be in bliss of his touch and closeness, not worrying about any politics or issues that you should discuss instead of... giving in to something you have wanted for a long time.

From now on, you decide your fate.

Only you and Feyd.

That's why you make sure that your first child will be a daughter.

Taglist: (I REALLLLY hope that everyone who wanted to be here is here...😅 I;m sorry if I missed someone <3) @skymoonandstardust @prettybubblesintheair @thegabbyh @himesuedi @wo-ming-bai @beebeechaos @mamawiggers1980 @moonsoulk @avidreader73 @heartarianagran @dreamlandcreations @ancientbeing10 @lovereadingfanfic @jeansjoie @workof-a-rr-t @aixicl @ladyredstar1991 @evangelineimagine @hobobobo-fett56 @happyant3 @marsflys @aaaaaamond @kamcrazy123 @k1swass @yum-yahgurt @tyns13 @oh-you-mean-me @menari @tyns13 @vaf24 @dacreshoney @emrennoll-blog @tian-monique @slightlypossessed @celestialadrift @lauramooij05 @flaps200 @chixnugg22 @aaaaaamond @marvelfangirl04 @sw33tsnow @emeraldsgirl @imyourbubblegumpop @tempt-ress @harkonnin @k1swass @alana4610 @cloudroomblog @lotus-888 @lowlyloved @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @w3ird11 @kythefangirl25 @hobobobo-fett56 @nj452896 @oneandonlybbygrl @noirecatt @iloved1lfs0 @mamawiggers1980 @lololfixu @barnes70stark @obsessedvibee @aaaaaamond @workof-a-rr-t  @oneandonlybbygrl @alexa4040 @lowlyloved @toertchen @em-100 @caintheking @justarandomflowerchildofthenight @hrtifyeren

[thesirencult]

How Does Your Crush See You

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

PILE 1

Your crush sees you as someone giving, forgiving, abundant and grounded. They might find you "too practical" at times, as you are someone who is mostly focused on work/education.

Your person is probably someone you've met through family or is a close family friend. They see you as part of their extended family. This screams "childhood friends to lovers".

I believe that you are aware about their feelings and thoughts about you. Whatever your intuition says, that's it! A few of you have caught this person staring or their hand lingered for too long on your waist. These are clear signs there is something there. If they look indifferent and nonchalant then they do not view you romantically.

For those of you wondering "are those signs they like me?" yes, they are! Your relationship though is making this person feel burdened.

They would love to be with you but are afraid a confession will mess up everything between you. They also might have a few issues in their life right now and they don't want to bring you any drama.

The same might apply to you. Right now you are busy and have other things on your plate, that's what they think about you right now.

All in all, this pile will apply to you if your crush is someone close to you or your family or a coworker who might have taken you under their wing. Sidenote: This person knows you personally so they have a pretty clear image of who you are. Take care xoxo S...

PILE 2

TW: Mention of anxiety, depression and struggle.

Your crush sees you through a blurry lens, for them, nothing is clear about you. You confuse them. If I had to write a short story about you two, it would be titled "The Girl On The Train", you doing a daily activity and they are there too, staring at you from afar, waiting for you to turn and look at them, locating them and as your eyes lock, you know this person lives their life parallel with yours, always there but never touching. Your soundtrack would have been "Poison Tree by Grouper" and "Limerance by Yves Tumor".

This person, based on the feeling I get from these two songs and their overall energy, is someone who feels like they are screaming while being underwater. They need someone who will see the real them, behind the facade. They might struggle with anxiety and depression and they can tell you have a similar vibe to them. There is something about you, they can't put their finger on it. You are like a ghost to them and they are the only ones who have the magical ability to look at you and admire your beauty. They are not doing it in a creepy way though, they are sweet. They also feel quite sad cause they don't know how to approach you.

In their mind they believe you two would have amazing, deep, heartfelt conversations, no judging involved, just two open arms and lots of crying. They are soft in their core and for some reason they believe you would be able to heal them. They fantasize about touching your hair or kissing your face and wiping away tears.

The 10 of Cups also came out though, so I would say they find you very sweet, someone they would love to have as a soulmate, but they think they do not deserve someon as pure and beautiful inside and out. You are their sweet escape and they would love to get lost in your own world. It's like you are underwater and they want to come in with you, even if they drown. This person believes that love can only be felt in the darkness, the quiet, the 3AM when everyone is sleeping or partying but you are together, sitting in silence and staring into eachother's souls.

PILE 3

Pink Matter by Frank Ocean (Slowed...)

BIttersuit by Billie Eilish

This person, ahhhh, your crush is the epitome of a "soft boi" on the inside. They might not look like someone soft or particularly sweet but their eyes, aww, they make you melt! Their exterior makes you wonder "why am I attracted to them? this is wrong!" This person is meant to teach how to fall in love, crazily and with no logical explanation. You are someone who knows how to love but not how to fall in love.

You have the hierophant/ high priestess energy. For them you are way above their level. You are on a different plane, interstellar. Untouchable. You are the keeper of the sacred and that p/d is sacred, damn! In the song above, the man comes to the conclusion that women's bodies are not just vessels for men to fill or for babies to be made, they are sacred. He talks about his lover like a goddess. If you have already slept with this person you have DESTROYED them for others, or if you sleep with them at some point, it's over, you are a Goddess and they have been a lucky mortal that got to touch you.

Also, if you are curvy/thick they actually love that. In the song there is a lyric about "models are for modelling thick girls are for cuddling". I want to say that this person might be a bit toxic when it comes to those stereotypes. They might follow a lot of instagram models who fit the beauty standard, or you know that their previous gf looked like a model yet they don't consider them "marriage material". Like, this person can have bad habits (smoking, drinking, driving fast, p*rn) and this is driving you insane, because they are not your type, but what I'm seeing is that this person is at a point in their lives that they have started reconsidering their actions and you will play a big part in that.

This person is not that experienced in love. They are experienced when it comes to matters of the flesh but once they are in love they turn to jello. They think about you particularly when they get h*gh. They had a revelation about you while being stoned or in a dream. They find you very beautiful and if you walked up to them and told them you want to lose excessive amounts of weight or you don't feel beautiful they would be SHOOK! They are like "why change perfection?" OH, they are also telling me, tell them to not listen to their bad thoughts" and they want to tell you they know that what they think about you doesn't align with how you view yourself. You think you are a goblin and they see you as an Aphrodite/Cleopatra.

They know you are traditional and serious, wise and calm and they want some of that. They want a spiritual person by their side and someone who will look deeper. They are well aware that you are an unlikely match. The chances they get with you are veryyyy slim. I'm hearing "I don't have a chance, but I'll try."

Wow, don't get scared if they approach and do not reject them. They have a huge heart. Also, the miss your presence if they haven't seen you in a while. They have a crush on you and their friends make fun of them, because it started in a joking manner, they might see you in passing. As an example, they might ride a mototrcycle and they see you almost everyday passing by the park or the beach and they tell their friends "Oh I saw my girl yesterday. She's so hot. There is somthing about her" and now they've been telling them "Have you guys seen my wife? I haven't seen her in a week." Their friends think they are joking but they truly miss you !

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Often when I post an AI-neutral or AI-positive take on an anti-AI post I get blocked, so I wanted to make my own post to share my thoughts on "Nightshade", the new adversarial data poisoning attack that the Glaze people have come out with.

I've read the paper and here are my takeaways:

Firstly, this is not necessarily or primarily a tool for artists to "coat" their images like Glaze; in fact, Nightshade works best when applied to sort of carefully selected "archetypal" images, ideally ones that were already generated using generative AI using a prompt for the generic concept to be attacked (which is what the authors did in their paper). Also, the image has to be explicitly paired with a specific text caption optimized to have the most impact, which would make it pretty annoying for individual artists to deploy.

While the intent of Nightshade is to have maximum impact with minimal data poisoning, in order to attack a large model there would have to be many thousands of samples in the training data. Obviously if you have a webpage that you created specifically to host a massive gallery poisoned images, that can be fairly easily blacklisted, so you'd have to have a lot of patience and resources in order to hide these enough so they proliferate into the training datasets of major models.

The main use case for this as suggested by the authors is to protect specific copyrights. The example they use is that of Disney specifically releasing a lot of poisoned images of Mickey Mouse to prevent people generating art of him. As a large company like Disney would be more likely to have the resources to seed Nightshade images at scale, this sounds like the most plausible large scale use case for me, even if web artists could crowdsource some sort of similar generic campaign.

Either way, the optimal use case of "large organization repeatedly using generative AI models to create images, then running through another resource heavy AI model to corrupt them, then hiding them on the open web, to protect specific concepts and copyrights" doesn't sound like the big win for freedom of expression that people are going to pretend it is. This is the case for a lot of discussion around AI and I wish people would stop flagwaving for corporate copyright protections, but whatever.

The panic about AI resource use in terms of power/water is mostly bunk (AI training is done once per large model, and in terms of industrial production processes, using a single airliner flight's worth of carbon output for an industrial model that can then be used indefinitely to do useful work seems like a small fry in comparison to all the other nonsense that humanity wastes power on). However, given that deploying this at scale would be a huge compute sink, it's ironic to see anti-AI activists for that is a talking point hyping this up so much.

In terms of actual attack effectiveness; like Glaze, this once again relies on analysis of the feature space of current public models such as Stable Diffusion. This means that effectiveness is reduced on other models with differing architectures and training sets. However, also like Glaze, it looks like the overall "world feature space" that generative models fit to is generalisable enough that this attack will work across models.

That means that if this does get deployed at scale, it could definitely fuck with a lot of current systems. That said, once again, it'd likely have a bigger effect on indie and open source generation projects than the massive corporate monoliths who are probably working to secure proprietary data sets, like I believe Adobe Firefly did. I don't like how these attacks concentrate the power up.

The generalisation of the attack doesn't mean that this can't be defended against, but it does mean that you'd likely need to invest in bespoke measures; e.g. specifically training a detector on a large dataset of Nightshade poison in order to filter them out, spending more time and labour curating your input dataset, or designing radically different architectures that don't produce a comparably similar virtual feature space. I.e. the effect of this being used at scale wouldn't eliminate "AI art", but it could potentially cause a headache for people all around and limit accessibility for hobbyists (although presumably curated datasets would trickle down eventually).

All in all a bit of a dick move that will make things harder for people in general, but I suppose that's the point, and what people who want to deploy this at scale are aiming for. I suppose with public data scraping that sort of thing is fair game I guess.

Additionally, since making my first reply I've had a look at their website:

Used responsibly, Nightshade can help deter model trainers who disregard copyrights, opt-out lists, and do-not-scrape/robots.txt directives. It does not rely on the kindness of model trainers, but instead associates a small incremental price on each piece of data scraped and trained without authorization. Nightshade's goal is not to break models, but to increase the cost of training on unlicensed data, such that licensing images from their creators becomes a viable alternative.

Once again we see that the intended impact of Nightshade is not to eliminate generative AI but to make it infeasible for models to be created and trained by without a corporate money-bag to pay licensing fees for guaranteed clean data. I generally feel that this focuses power upwards and is overall a bad move. If anything, this sort of model, where only large corporations can create and control AI tools, will do nothing to help counter the economic displacement without worker protection that is the real issue with AI systems deployment, but will exacerbate the problem of the benefits of those systems being more constrained to said large corporations.

Kinda sucks how that gets pushed through by lying to small artists about the importance of copyright law for their own small-scale works (ignoring the fact that processing derived metadata from web images is pretty damn clearly a fair use application).