#spite causes wonderful things

[sherlock-is-ace]

.

[pcktknife]

Back on that damn zoroark wiki page

[teabutmakeitazure]

your post about heart palpitations combined with your sudden absence is either really well-timed comedically speaking or a sign of something very unfortunate

I wish it was (I won't specify which, the former or the latter) but alas, it is not

I am alive and well. the heart thing still sometimes happens but I don't think it's anything serious. anyway, hello again. I don't feel like being back but I suppose I must be

I asked God why He hates me, and all He said was, "Why do you hate yourself?" I don't know what that means, but I hope I will one day.

I hope every single one of you is doing well. I'll be back to posting fics when I feel better. there are things I am working on and as much as I want to, I can't work on TBT much. maybe it's just the emotions that are attached to it on my end. I want the closure of the ending already but I don't want to cheat. I don't want to skip the pain and directly go for the ending. I would rather write the scenes that would hurt me before getting to writing the well deserved ending.

my current place in life perhaps makes the "pain" worse. idk

anyway, take care everyone <3 sorry I haven't replied to dms or activity. I'll get to it in the afternoon

[okay-babe]

Imagine alastor thinks his wife is just the most perfect, angelic being he’s ever met, so he’s downright shocked to fight out she also ended up in hell going “yeah I killed a man once” (he falls even more in love)

A Good Thing, Indeed

tags: alastor x fem! reader, established relationship, alastor and reader are married, angelic reader, protective/possessive alastor, brief human alastor x human reader, fluff, very mild angst note: I went a little overboard with this one, but I hope you enjoy, anon &lt;3 Find a sequel (of sorts) to this fic, here.

Alastor had never quite understood how someone like him had ended up with a woman like you.

You were soft and understanding, utterly ceaseless in your kindness and love of near anyone who crossed your path, a true saint to be sure.

Alastor on the other hand, had always been quite the opposite.

Where you were soft, your lover was unyielding, where you were understanding, he was impatient, and when it came to the capacity for kindness and love within his heart, many would have gone on record stating that there was much to be desired in that regard.

Yet, even still, you chose him, and he, you.

Every. Single. Time.

It was as if the two of you were meant to be.

The proud and charismatic up and coming host of a brand new radio show, and the modest and soft spoken kindergarten teacher that was ever present upon his arm.

To Alastor, you were everything and more, and whether he was willing to admit it aloud or not, he all but worshiped the very ground that you walked upon.

There was so very little worth caring for in a world like the one that he lived in, and yet there you were, a shining beacon of light and hope to keep him from losing his mind over it all (well, at least in part, though he knew deep down that a portion had been missing since long before you'd made your way into his life).

For all of this, Alastor praised you and your love ceaselessly, his appreciation for your union a vast and endless thing that filled him with a sense of pride stronger than any other he'd felt before.

And how could it not?

You were his wife.

You!

The beautiful kindergarten teacher who worked in the public school just down the street from his broadcasting station, the one with the smile that lit up a room and the laugh that could make a man blush.

The one with the students who sung her praises to their parents during pick up and the coworkers turned friends who would utterly gush about her at even the briefest mention of her name.

You.

The woman that no one believed had gotten New Orleans' most prominent radio host to settle down after only just a year of courting, and whose stunning church wedding had been the talk of the town.

You were perfect, you were lovely, and the sweetest part of it all was that you bore his last name.

And oh, what whiplash that must have caused for those who hadn't known of your courtship earlier on. It nearly sent Alastor into a tizzy just imagining it.

The sweet, adoring woman that your son calls his teacher is also the wife of the ever unreadable and notably cold radio host from just down the street that scarcely any could say they truly knew?

How scandalous! Whatever is a woman like her doing with a man like him?!

Well, the answer, quite honestly, was being doted upon nigh endlessly.

If you wanted for even the smallest of things, it would be yours in an instant, and if you desired even the most useless of luxuries, he would have spared no expense to have it in your hands by the end of the day.

And even beyond that, there was the persistent desire to stay by your side, his presence always guaranteed the very moment you mentioned want for it.

An ice cream social at the school where you'd be meeting your new students and their parents? Alastor was there, conversing politely with a few mothers on the difficulties of parenting (in spite of his notable lack of children), making nearly everyone wonder what the hell a famous radio host was doing at the local elementary school.

Visiting Mimzy at her slightly sleazy little lounge in the shadier side of the city? Alastor was there, dressed to the nines, looking immensely out of place as you danced the night away with your friends (and him of course) to your little heart's content.

His love for you was nearly as endless as yours was for the very world beneath your feet, and in spite of himself he couldn't help but fall deeper and deeper in love at every borderline naive action you took.

You want to buy that man a drink because he looks lonely? Certainly darling, your husband would be happy to scare him off all night as the fool tries to make unwanted advances at you that he thinks are warranted thanks to your kindness.

You want to pick a fight with the burly man whose house is on your walk to work because he's been shouting cruel things at his dog nearly every morning for the past several weeks? Oh of course, just let Alastor prepare to use his most unsettling smile while he reaches for the leather sheathed knife he keeps attached to his belt so he can wordlessly threaten the oaf without you ever even realizing.

And so, knowing all of that and having lived such a love-filled few years at your side, how could Alastor ever have believed he might one day see you again once he came to in Hell shortly after his demise?

The short answer was, he couldn't.

And though he would never have been willing to admit such a thing aloud, it utterly shattered a portion of his heart to know he would never see your sweet smile or hear your perfect laugh ever again.

And to imagine what your reaction may have been once the police had informed you of all that he had done?

Well, he tried his best not to.

Because while he couldn't bring himself to regret those he had killed and the things he had done, he did regret having been left with no choice but to keep such a thing from you and leave you with such a mess upon his death.

Certainly you had deserved better, that much he knew.

But there was absolutely nothing he could do about that now.

Or, at least, that's what he had led himself to believe.

Until one day, he'd been broken out of his typical morning routine of brewing his black coffee and digging into a freshly caught deer by the sound of knocking at his door.

There were very few people who knew of where Alastor lived at this point, with him being multiple years removed from life and having firmly cemented himself within society as a powerful and merciless overlord, so honestly it hadn't come as very much of a surprise when he opened the door and found an old friend waiting rather impatiently on the other side.

Mimzy.

Having arrived in Hell not very long after the radio host, the former flapper, (who he had actually met through you), had become a familiar face throughout the past few years as he'd tried to grow accustomed to life without his darling wife at his side.

It was nice, in a way, to have that reminder of you near when he wished for it to be, and so he allowed the sinner to call him something like a friend and offered her protection when it was convenient enough for him that it didn't prove to be a hassle.

Although, today of all days the overlord was certainly a little less than pleased to see Mimzy's familiar face at his doorstep, and he was reasonably certain that she knew why that was.

It was your former anniversary after all, and today would have been your tenth year of marriage had he only lived long enough to reach such a landmark achievement with you.

A smile, strained and thin, descended upon his lips, and, in spite of his feelings, Alastor remained as cordial as ever, albeit rather cold with his words.

"Mimzy, my dear! How wonderful to see you! Whatever could possibly be so important as to have you at my door on a day like today?"

There was a certain level of threat to his tone that no doubt left the woman standing before him floundering for a few seconds, before finally, she mustered up her reply, her smile ever so slightly less confident than before.

"Alastor, just the fella that I was lookin' for!"

The sinner began, placing her right hand upon her hip as she inspected the condition of the nails on her left,

"Now I know ya like to be left alone and all on days like this, but I've got a surprise for ya back at my place that I promise you're gonna wanna see a-s-a-p."

She said with her typical air of confidence, immediately causing the Radio Demon to roll his eyes in response, his facade of interest slipping ever so slightly before he seemed to catch himself once more, ever the gentleman.

"Oh do you now? Well, as utterly transfixed as I am over this little mystery of yours, I'm afraid that I just don't have the time to stop by today. Lot's of things to prepare for the upcoming broad-"

"Alastor."

Mimzy said sternly, cutting the overlord in question off rather uncharacteristically with a glare of her own.

"I know damn well that you don't got nothin' planned for the day, so don't you start fibbin', mista, I can see right through ya!"

She began, quickly changing the subject when she seemed to recall exactly who she was talking to at the increasing sound of static.

"Look, I didn't come here to argue with ya or nothin', so you do whatever it is that you wanna do. I just wanted to come over and warn ya that if you don't come by for a visit by the end of the day you're gonna feel like a real fool, okay?"

She emphasized her warning with a dramatized raise of her brow before she grinned rather wickedly and stepped down off of his doorstep, wiggling her fingers in a teasing little wave as she climbed into the back of the very same taxi she must have used to get to his dwellings in the first place.

"I'll see ya around dollface!"

She called out as the car pulled away, leaving Alastor with quite a few more questions than he'd had upon her already unplanned arrival.

What a fantastic start to one's day.

By the time that Alastor made the decision to actually stop by Mimzy's lounge, it was already dark outside, the subtle chirping of crickets reminding him briefly of home as he walked toward his destination, ever a fan of the more simplistic methods of transportation.

He thought of the sounds of crickets and all of the moments with you that their seemingly endless chirps had backed until their sounds faded away with the increasing sounds of the busier section of the city, wherein Mimzy's place was located.

Just as sleazy and sketchy as it had been above, so it was below, and Alastor felt a sudden sense of longing and familiarity as he stepped inside, the smell of cigarettes and the sound of ever so slightly out of tune jazz music reminding him of his days of swing dancing with you on the cracked dance floor of the place Mimzy had owned and operated in life.

The Radio Demon had only just begun to contemplate what you might have thought of a place like this one when suddenly, he heard a familiar voice call out his name, and he turned to find the lounge's owner walking quickly toward him, a wide grin that nearly rivaled his own splitting her cheeks.

"Well would you look who it is, Alastor the Radio Demon here in my lil' lounge, what a lucky lady I must be!"

Mimzy teased as she shouted over the obnoxiously loud music, immediately forcing the man in question to hold back another instinctual roll of his eyes.

"Oh, nonsense, I should think that luck has very little to do with it, my dear."

Alastor drawled, dragging his gaze downward to find his friend standing there, all but vibrating upon her feet, clearly excited by something, though he couldn't quite fathom what in Hell it could possibly be.

That is, until he heard another familiar voice pipe up from somewhere behind him, this one far less anticipated than the last, and by a rather significant margin at that.

"Mimzy?"

It called, an edge of stress to it that had the corners of the overlord's smile twitching downward ever so slightly for the briefest of moments.

Alastor watched as the ex flapper standing before him grinned widely in response to his barely noticeable reaction, her eyes shining as she allowed the person speaking to continue with their question.

"Who did you say the whiskey on the rocks was for?"

The lounge's owner hopped up onto a stool beside where she had been standing, gesturing to the space at the bar near where Alastor was still firmly planted, the ears atop his head twitching ever so slightly as they took in the sound of a voice he'd never thought he'd hear again for the very first time since he'd awoken with them camouflaged within his hair.

"Right here, doll. Speakin' of which, why dontcha c'mere and meet one of my regulars, huh?"

She asked as casually as she could manage, gesturing slightly for the still reeling sinner standing beside the bar to take a seat, which, to her surprise, he actually did, eyes seeking out the source of the voice he was hearing as if in utter disbelief.

And then, much to his shock, there you were.

Sure, you looked different as a sinner, but he would recognize you anywhere, and it certainly helped that your beautiful smile was the very same as he remembered it to be whenever he closed his eyes and found you there waiting for him.

Busy with what was likely a fairly large number of orders that your fellow bartender seemed to be doing very little to try and keep up with, you didn't seem to notice him at first, walking quickly toward your old friend with a glass of whiskey in hand, moving to place it down in front of the ever so prominent Radio Demon absentmindedly when suddenly, you froze, your hand still wrapped around the chilled cup.

The two of you stared at one another for several long moments, eyes widened and breaths halting entirely, until finally Mimzy spoke up from Alastor's right, her laughter obnoxious beside his ear, though he could scarcely bring himself to care with his gaze locked so heavily onto yours.

"Happy anniversary, ya lovebirds! Didn't expect that, didja?!"

She all but cackled, causing you to break eye contact with your husband to gawk at your friend.

"Wait a second, you knew he was here the whole time and didn't tell me?!"

You cried, hand flying to your mouth as Alastor began to regard the woman sitting beside him with a hugely threatening glare, the frightfulness of which was only increased by his unyielding grin, which was beginning to appear more and more malicious by the second.

"Woah woah woah, hold your horses!"

Mimzy shouted, waving her hands all about as if in surrender as she looked back and forth between the two of you nervously,

"She only just got down here this mornin' I swear!"

She explained hurriedly to the overlord beside her, causing the man's eye to twitch with effort as he struggled not to tear his old friend limb from limb while her entire bar watched on in horror.

Alastor tapped one clawed finger against the bar in front of him, his sharpened teeth appearing even more threatening than usual at his apparent anger over the situation at hand.

"And you didn't think, my dear,"

He began, his voice low,

"That I may have wanted to know sooner?"

The sound of static overtook the lounge as the sinner's anger increased with each word he said, causing everyone, including those hired to play the live music, to flee out the front door, leaving the trio to their own devices within the confines of the now empty space.

This fact worked extremely well for Alastor, who was only growing more enraged with each passing second as he considered the implication of Mimzy's actions further.

Not only had this woman, someone who had dared call him a friend for so many years, betrayed him by keeping your presence unknown, but she had also clearly employed you at her poor excuse for a lounge, and was now acting as if she had done him a favor by allowing him to be in the presence of the very woman he'd married.

The urge to rip the sinner to shreds with his very own claws was immense, and perhaps he even would have done so had it not been for a gentle hand coming to rest upon his forearm, the weight of it felt even through his shirt and coat.

Immediately, he stiffened, the familiarity of the touch so jarring that his previous thoughts of murder ceased within an instant as he turned his head to face you properly.

There, illuminated by the dim and yellowed lights of the bar, stood his wife, a woman who he had never expected to see again after all that he had done.

What good deed must he have committed in life to deserve such a blessing as this?

Surely there was some kind of mistake and someone would be descending from the heavens to collect you soon, an angel sent to Hell on accident by way of some great failure on Saint Peter's fault.

Your husband stared at you for a few moments, as if afraid you might disappear if he so much as blinked, before finally, you spoke up, your lips curving into a slightly nervous smile.

"Let her explain?"

You asked gently, taking up the very same tone you used to when asking your beloved to make an exception to one of his many strict internalized rules for your benefit.

'Stay home with me?'

'Give him a chance?'

'A slightly less violent solution, perhaps?'

(the latter of which he'd heard more often than he was willing to admit).

And this time, as always, he caved almost immediately, giving a rather stern nod of his head before looking toward Mimzy with an obviously strained smile on his lips.

She didn't have long, that was for sure.

If she wanted to explain, she'd better do so quickly.

And that much must have been clear, because the ex flapper started talking just about as fast as she could manage while still remaining intelligible.

And what a tale she spun, indeed.

With hurried words and a remarkably nervous expression the likes of which neither you nor your husband had ever seen Mimzy wear before, the sinner apologized profusely for not telling either of you sooner, promising that she had only been trying to make it a surprise in celebration of your anniversary.

Apparently, she had vastly overestimated how persuasive she could be, and had assumed (rather incorrectly) that Alastor would be much more urgent in his arrival to her lounge after she'd paid him a visit, meaning she hadn't exactly intended to have kept the two waiting so long for the "grand reveal" of her surprise.

And, slowly but surely, as Mimzy explained her thought process, your confusion and your husband's apparent anger all but melted away, both reactions coming to be replaced with something located somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

How very like your friend it was to meddle in such a manner, after all.

You'd missed this.

(Alastor wished dearly that he could say the same, but having been stuck alone with it for several years, he couldn't quite relate.)

Still, even he had to admit that Mimzy's actions were something far more similar to misguided kindness than intentional ill will.

Though, there was still one issue that was still bothering him...

"Mimzy."

Alastor interrupted the sinner in the middle of her ramble, watching as she immediately shut her mouth and looked up at him, a familiar bout of nervous laughter falling from her lips as she wrung her hands together.

Seeing that she was paying attention, the overlord continued,

"I understand what you were going for with your..." He trailed off for a moment before hearing you pipe up from where you stood on the other side of the bar,

"Efforts."

How amusing, it seemed that even after years of separation, not even death could sever the almost supernatural ability you had to understand what your husband was trying to say before even he truly did.

Alastor nodded,

"Exactly. But that being said, I struggle to understand one thing."

He leaned toward his old friend slightly, watching her eyes widen as he did so, clearly unsure of what was going to happen next.

"Why, pray tell, my dear, is my wife spending her precious time working at your lounge if you had every intention of returning her to me?"

The possessive tone to his voice made you blush, eyes moving to the ground as you awaited Mimzy's response.

She was quick to answer.

"Great question, dollface!"

She laughed nervously,

"I uh, I guess I kinda figured she'd know if she was down here then you would be too, so I wanted to give her a little bit of a distraction... and maybe get some extra help for a few hours in the meantime."

She admitted quietly, though by the time she was finished speaking, Alastor wasn't paying her much mind anymore, his mind now occupied with what he considered to be a far more pressing issue.

Because now that Mimzy mentioned it...

"Dearest,"

He began, immediately catching your attention as he turned to face you fully, allowing you to take in the sight of him and his new "look" for the first time since your arrival.

You would be lying if you said you weren't a fan, as different as it may have been.

"Speaking of 'down here',"

Alastor continued, amusement dancing within his eyes,

"What exactly are you doing in a place like Hell?"

Your gaze moved downward once more at that, and you cleared your throat awkwardly as you tried to find anything else to focus on.

Eventually though, you gave up, and forced yourself to meet your husband's gaze once more.

"I uh, I killed a parent..."

You muttered under your breath, immediately causing Alastor's eyes to widen slightly in surprise, one of his ears twitching slightly atop his head.

"Pardon?"

He asked in utter disbelief, unable to even begin to comprehend what he was hearing.

You, his beautiful and darling wife, had killed a parent of one of the children you taught?

Utterly unbelievable, perish the thought.

You sighed, crossing your arms in a mix of embarrassment and frustration,

"I killed a parent, Al. Lucy and Arnold's father. He was beating on them and their mama something fierce, and I saw the opportunity to put a stop to it one night when walking over to the station after work... He went down the alley between the grocers and the tailor to take a shortcut home or something like that, and I just followed him before I even knew what was really going on..."

You sounded hesitant as you spoke, eyes downcast once more until without a word, your husband pressed his gloved index finger to your chin, raising your gaze to his own once more so you could see the utter awe present there.

He was positively enamored.

"You killed Harry Wells?"

He asked, shock still coloring his tone as he watched you for your reaction.

Slowly, after a few seconds of contemplation, you nodded, cheeks still pink as you did your best to keep from trying to avoid Alastor's heavy gaze.

"I uh, yeah. I did."

The overlord sitting across from you chuckled softly, a sound that slowly grew in volume and exuberance until he was laughing outright, the familiar sound music to your ears even as he sighed and wiped a tear from his eye afterward, something he had done often in life.

He grinned even wider at you than before, the pride in his eyes obvious as he shook his head as if still in disbelief.

"And to think,"

He began, reaching across the counter to grab both of your hands so he could pull you closer, your forearms resting against the bar countertop.

"I hadn't thought it possible to love you any more than I already did."

You laughed at that, pressing your forehead against your husband's with a sigh,

"Well in that case, I suppose it's a good thing that I have all of eternity to prove you wrong, huh?"

Alastor chuckled softly, humming as he took in the sight of you, as if trying to commit each individual detail to memory.

"A good thing, indeed, dear heart."

[melzula]

hii i was wondering could you write a oneshot of how zuko's self cautious of his scar and reader just kisses his scar and reassures him and tells him that hes perfect and that she loves everything abt him. This is in a very like intimate and loving way ykyk

a/n: ah this plot is so sweet! had to rewrite this piece a few times before landing on something i liked so i hope you enjoy!

summary: zuko asks you to remove his bandages

“Are you sure you want me to do this? I can fetch Iroh instead.”

“No,” comes Zuko’s soft reply, his sullen features bathed in candle light. “I want it to be you.”

Sighing softly, you give him an understanding nod and press a careful kiss to his check. The Prince remains stoic in spite of your show of affection, simply signaling for you to proceed.

It’s been a week since the Agni Kai, and the healer has given Zuko the okay to remove his bandages. The wound should be healed by now, nothing but a painless scar with a painful memory attached to it. It’s not only your first time seeing Zuko’s new face but his as well, and neither of you are sure what to expect.

You were honestly surprised when the Prince had asked for you to be the one to remove his bandages. He’d been cold and standoffish with you since your departure from the Fire Nation, something you couldn’t blame him for considering all he’d been through, but you didn’t expect him to trust you with something so important so soon. It made you nervous, but it also made you relieved to know he still felt he could trust you with such things.

Your fingers work carefully as you unravel the white cloth around his head, doing your best not to cause too much discomfort for your Prince. He says nothing as you move and only watches you through the reflection of the mirror before him.

“Are you ready?” You ask him softly, hesitating as you reach the final layer of wrapping.

“Hesitation is a sign of weakness,” Zuko replies gruffly, and that’s all you need to hear before finally pulling away the last of the bandages.

The room is silent and tense as Zuko stares at his own reflection. The skin around his eye is angry and red, permanently damaged and forever serving as a reminder of his failure. He can hardly see out of his left eye, but he’s still able to make out your figure watching on silently as he assesses the damage.

“Go ahead and say it.”

“Say what, Zuko?” You murmur softly, carefully resting a hand upon his back.

“Say you’re disgusted by me. Say you’re repulsed,” he snarls bitterly. “Say that you’re too embarrassed to be seen with such a failure!”

“Is that really what you think?” You utter sadly, a pained smile on your lips as you carefully reach out to touch his face. His hand immediately flies up to catch your wrist in a firm grip before you can get any closer, and despite the discomfort it brings you make no attempt to move.

“It’s what I know.”

“Then you must not know me at all,” you counter with a small shake of your head.

Reality sets in and Zuko guiltily removes his ironclad grip on your wrist. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh with you, but there’s an amalgamation of emotions festering within him at the sight of his deformity. He was a Prince, he wasn’t meant to look like this, he wasn’t meant to be out at sea fruitlessly trying to find the Avatar so he could end his banishment. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

“You’re perfect, Zuko,” you console with a careful brush of your fingertips against the freshly healed skin. His eyes flutter shut at the comforting sensation, and you take it as a sign to continue. “I love you the way you are, and this scar doesn’t change that.”

He can’t help but gasp when he feels the softness of your lips pressing against his temple. How could you not feel sickened by him? How could you still love him after everything?

“Your scar is nothing but a sign of your strength, I hope you know that,” you tell him before pressing another kiss to his cheek just below his eye.

He says nothing in response, but you know that he understands you. With you, he doesn’t have to feel shame or guilt. Your love for him knows no bounds, and there’s nothing he could do that would ever make you turn away from him.

He sits in silence as you begin to apply a soothing balm to his skin. His eyes close in contentment and for the first time since leaving home he finally feels at peace.

He knows then that he made the right choice in having you be the one to remove his bandages. No one sees him like you do, and it’s more than he could ever ask for.

| zuko tags: @ilovespideyyy @yiyibetch @eridanuswave @lammello @a-monsters-love @taeeemin @lora21 @livelaughlovekuni @lovialy

| atla tags: @sirkekselord @niktwazny303

[draconic-desire]

Ad Experimentum

Yandere Dr. Ratio x Reader

Veritas catches you reading one of your dirty books.

Warnings: Implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment, NSFW scenes being read aloud, Dr. Ratio being a dick as always

Within the confines of Veritas’s home, you feel like a mouse in a maze, reduced to a caged animal, always under scrutiny and experimentation.

Escape is impossible. Dr. Ratio has ensured that you’re never out of his reach, even though he acts as if you are the burden and he didn’t kidnap you and imprison you in his home. Sometimes you wonder why he even keeps you; surely he has better things to do than to quip at your inadequacy or lack of genius. But alas, the pretentious prick seems keen on pushing every one of your buttons to see how you tick. You might even call it intimacy if he wasn’t so clinical and judgmental about it all.

Because physical escape is impossible, you’ve turned to escaping within the confines of your own mind.

Books provided the perfect retreat. You’ve since abandoned any non-fiction to focus on fantasy, to worlds that effortlessly whisk you away. Novels that depict true, romantic love, not the twisted ownership you’ve grown used to. Like you’re some pet to be controlled and prodded at, like Pavlov’s dog, waiting and drooling for its master’s hand at the ring of a bell.

So, in your hopes to feel something real, you’ve started to delve into stories that are a bit…spicier.

With the latest read in your hand, your eyes skim hungrily over the pages as the tension between the protagonists builds. The lovers begin to undress each other, the one spreading his partner’s pussy as she grinds into his hand—

Veritas effortlessly plucks the book from your hands, earning a cry of protest. You try to snatch it back, but, with the help of his towering height, he dangles it just out of reach. “What in the heavens is this?”

The way he holds the book between his thumb and pointer finger, as if merely touching it would taint his self-proclaimed perfect set of knowledge, was almost comedic. You would laugh if he wasn’t such a condescending asshole.

Instead, you scowl. “Give it back.”

He merely hums and turns the novel in his hands, inspecting the cover. Licking his thumb, he flips to your bookmarked page and begins reading aloud. “My hand caressed her core as I speared her with two, thick fingers. She moaned and arched into my palm in response, causing my cock to twitch in anticipation. God, I wanted to taste her arousal. Her pussy was perfect, so wet and tight and ready for me to claim, to fuck.”

Embarrassment rages across your cheeks like a burn. You fling yourself at him, pounding your fists against his chest when he lifts the book out of your reach easily. “Stop, just stop.”

Amused, Dr. Ratio continues to narrate the scene in painstaking detail. “I lowered my head, letting my tongue swirl around her clit and rendering her voice to nothing but pitiful mewls. She tasted like heaven, like my own personal feast. I buried my tongue in her, then, and held her hips as she bucked into my mouth, begging for release—”

“I will do anything,” you beg, face in your palms, “just please stop.”

Finally, mercifully, Veritas closes the book and lowers it down enough for you to snatch it back. You cradle it against your chest, heart pounding and palms sweaty with a chaotic blend of shame, anger, and relief that it was over.

“This is what you indulge in while I’m working? Though you are hardly an intellectual exception, I believed you to be above this brain-rotting nonsense, (Y/n).”

In spite of your embarrassment, you boldly meet his golden eyes. “And what do you care? I enjoy it, and it’s not meant for you. Go stick your nose in a dictionary for all I care.”

“At least I’d be learning something,” he sneers in return, looking down his nose at you. He sniffs, tilting his chin up. “What do those books have that I can’t offer you?”

You still, observing his features. Now that the fun of teasing you has worn off, his eyes flare with loathing. With a jolt, you realize it is not aimed at you but at…the book?

Wordlessly, you glance between Dr. Ratio and your novel. Then, a stilted laugh escapes your lips. “Wait.. Are you seriously jealous of a book?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” he scoffs, though you notice his white-knuckled grip against the back of the armchair you were previously lounging in. “I would never stoop so low as to associate myself with that plebeian filth. I simply wanted to ascertain your reaction to it being read aloud.”

You resist the desperate urge to roll your eyes. “Fine, then. Please leave me to my uneducated filth.” You spin around, intent on finding a new place to finish your reading.

“Not so fast.” Veritas is on you quicker than a cobra, large hands gripping both your shoulders. “Perhaps all is not lost. We may yet transform this circumstance into an educational opportunity for you.”

A chill runs down your spine at the heavy touch, and a sudden sense of foreboding warns you to run. You’re all too aware you’re the mouse being fed to the snake in this moment.

Veritas spins you to face him, eyes slowly trailing down your form, as if taking you in with a new perspective. “I believe an experiment is due.”

You go rigid. “I’m sorry?”

“If you’re so intent on reading about all those fantasies in your books, let’s go ahead and put them to the test, shall we?”

At his clear implication, you yelp and make a run for it. In that moment Veritas strikes, fisting your hair with one hand and cupping your chin with the other as he presses your body flush against his own. You can already feel his hard desire digging into your back.

“Here’s my hypothesis,” he purrs in your ear. “I predict that by the end of tonight, you too will be begging for my cum, whether you want to or not.”

His theory, as always, was proven to be correct.

[bunji-enthusiast]

Slides you a paper, simple lil request

Reader is talking to Dogday and not watching where their going, they nearly fall off a ledge but Dogday, catching them, decides they don't need to walk and will thus be carried.

Ps. Lil Dogday with legs idea ^^

Note || combining these two requests cause I can.

Sypnosis || your companion seemed to be very strong, carrying you in spite of your protests.

DogDay –

Being as it is, you were hurt. Badly enough as it is, he was beginning to get worried. On the off hand, you had done so much for him already, giving back his legs so he could walk and even freeing him way before that. Your body seemed to be sorely injured, yet you always pushed on. You always liked helping people and toys alike where you can, so as long as they were sane and not conceivable in the far off ends of pure insanity after being in the factory for so long.

DogDay was, in a way, very impressed with how you managed to get so far. But now, he simply wasn’t having it.

“I swear, ‘Go back to bed, you’ll feel better in the morning’ haha–” You wanted to continue, being so enthralled with talking to DogDay who was tentatively listening to you as you two had made your roundabouts yet other things had occurred. With a yelp escaping you, you slipped and fell.

“AH!” You closed your eyes, seeing you tripped off of a ledge. Suddenly, you realize that someone had caught you. DogDay, he held you close to his chest, as if he was fearing you would get hurt again. “Angel, you should take a break from walking for a while… ok?” DogDay had tilted his head slightly at you, as if he wanted to be sure you had heard what he said.

You nodded, a little caught off guard by this sudden change in his outward personality. As if he was taking on the role of a protective familiar member, it gave you a sense of nostalgia. You sighed as your head laid against his chest, noticing the fact one arm of his was cradling your legs, the other holding your back.

“Ah fine…”

CatNap –

The crash was terrible, leaving you on the tracks numb and in pain. You didn’t understand what was happening, only blacking out and leaving the realm of the conscious for a period of time (though seemingly it felt very long). Your dreams felt terrible, running away and trying to scrape by at every possible moment. Though it was relief enough when you realized you were just asleep, though one thing had remained strange however. 

Were you… being carried by someone, you didn’t get a good look at the said body. You blinked your eyes, trying to tide away the blurriness ebbing at your peripherals. You cry out when you finally make the connection, CatNap, the one you had seen before all those years ago before being recalled was carrying you. 

Like a kitten being carried by the scruff apparently? You couldn’t get a good look.

‘Gods… it hurts.’ you thought to yourself, knowing full well wherever that CatNap was carrying you was not going to be a good or even convenient location in any case. You were slightly panicked, but more put off by how heavily you could hear CatNap breathing. “You really need to work out..” You pause for a moment, feeling the pain sharp in your skin like thousands of thousands of needles rubbing straight in. “More often.” At this, CatNap paused, causing you to think he was probably surprised at your choice of words. Oh, the look on his face was one you most wished to see right now.

Though he had finally resumed, continuing to walk despite the fact he had just paused for a good minute or so. 

You wonder if he was truly well intentioned at the very moment.

[flamingpudding]

I love your writing so much but I'm here with a crack idea just imagine deage Dan is Klarion.

Dan was able to find out who he is outside of Danny then he was able to change his name Klarion Jackson Fenton/Nightingale he is still a little villain boy also now a mom boy.

Ghost King Danny is his mom young justice was so confused when Klarion you're the best gifts get your mom after not talking to him for a while to also begging them to pretend to be his friend . Justice League dark is panicking in the background about the electric being that just shows up.

Danny in full ghost king attire standing there with a plate of cookies ready to meet his son's new friends.

Thanks so much! I am glad you enjoy my writing!

Also thanks because I absolutely love this Idea/Prompt! Sooooo please enjoy this piece inspired by it! Also I haven't consumed a lot of DC material lately so i am basing this all on my memories. In other words.... I went with Tim's little team here.

Hope that's okay and that this won't disappoint.

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

Dan, who was going by Klarion for some years now, had a massive problem. It was the huge kind of problem build on small bubbles of lies that then turned into this one giant bubble that was about to pop just because of one little question asked by his mom when his sister decided to throw him under the bus to deflect from herself and the fact that she was dating a demon. Don't get him wrong he still loves her, but man did he want to strangle Danielle right now.

"So Klarion, Ellie is right. When will I get to meet your friends you told me so much about?"

It was such an innocent question from his mom. And while his moms titles don't scare him, cause at some point in time they could have been his too, the happy dopey smile like nothing was wrong in the dimensions with little expectations directed at him was the scariest thing his mom could ever direct at him when he had asked THAT question.

So now Klarion was in need of a quick solution. When his mom had asked he had mumbled out a quick: "Next week maybe. We won't be busy with hero stuff then." He had started to form a plan. First of all, he needed to remember what all he had told his mom about his new and redeemed life on Earth 43 he had build for himself with the name Klarion Jackson Fenton-Nightingale.

Which fuck. There was a lot he had told his mom just so he wouldn't worry.

Cause now he also remembers that whenever he had gone out to cause some chaos he had made it seem to his mom like he was going out to bond with his new friend or help them with their hero duty. Well, in a way maybe his chaos causing could be seen as bonding. The ghostly kind, that is. And as for helping with the hero duty... he did give them work, something to do with their hero status. Anyway Klarion tried to remember all possible names he had dropped. Shit why did he also mention to his mom that he was working with heroes to make her proud? He should have name dropped some villains instead but nearly all of them were adults. He knew his mom would have frowned if he had only adult friends and no one around his age.

He was pacing his room in their castle. He need a plan, a good one at that. He knows he name dropped Robin, now Red Robin, Superboy and Impulse on a whim once. Superboy more so cause his mom had been interested in the Alien Heros of the Earth of the dimension he was partially living on now. He had mentioned Robin for the joke of knowing that there is a Dinner in an other Dimension with the same name. And because his Grandfather didn't like the Flash-clan which meant his mom didn't like them too much because of their messing with timelines either, he had mentioned being friends with Impulse on pure spite because of a punishment one day and to see their reactions. So he had to get these three on board anyway, and because for the heck of it he would get Wonder Girl involved too. It was never bad to have a girl in a friends group.

Klarion stopped his pacing. Turning towards his demonic ghost cat companion, kind of what Cujo was to his mom now. "Teekl, I think I have a plan. I will convince these Idiots, that shouldn't be a huge problem. Most of them are normale little flesh sacks." Teekl and him stared for some time at each other and after a moment Klarion huffed turning away with crossed arms. "It's a good plan don't be so sceptical, they are heroes right? They will not refuse my request!"

Well maybe Klarion should have planned this a bit better.

The next day Red Robin blinked at the witch boy up from the ground in the living room of what looked like to be an normal apartment. He had just been in Gotham, working on a case and now he was here? Looking to the left he also noticed that Superboy (the older), Impulse and Wonder Girl were also with him. They all looked stunned he observed and partially disoriented. Additionally they hadn't heard from Klarion since the last time they had foiled his plans on raging chaos upon the earth, that had been weeks ago.

"Kla-"

"I have summoned you heroes here. For the moment it is fruitless to try to leave because of the magic barrier." Okay rude to be cut of but that explained why he suddenly wasn't where he remembered to be last anymore. It was now Superboy who opened his mouth first but before he could even make a sound Klarion decided to speak over them again. "I have presents."

Four young heroes collectively blinked, confused, stunned and weirded out. As the which boy before them waved over to wards a table filled with boxes and packages. "I come in peace today, to proof that I brought these are presents, filled with various goods from different dimensions that should be to the liking of you all. Technologie, accessories, snacks, weapons, as well as clothing styles."

Red Robin shared a glance with his friends, a silent communication but before he once again could say anything Impulse was already by the table going through the stuff. They could here his 'oh's and 'ah's, which inevitably made them curious and they wandered over too. Klarion was not acting hostile at all yet but Red Robin did not trust that so he kept the which boy in clear view the entire time.

"Rob! You gotta see this! That actual futuristic Tech!"

"Look at these snacks."

"These accessories don't look to bad..."

His eye twitched when he noticed Klarion was sporting a smug look. Red Robin had to ask now, because this was not normal for the other. "Okay usually you would have started some big shot chaos plan by now. I don't buy this peace offering act and your way to formal talking. So what is going on?"

The other three, thankfully in Red Robins opinion, finally looked away from the tempting gifts and also turned their attention fully on Klarion. Who's smug smile falter as he let out a sigh and stared at them with what they could only describe as a frustrated look.

"My mom is planning to visit me."

"And?" Impulse asked between munching on three different bags of chips that where on the table.

"And he believes I am friends with you idiots."

They stared slack jawed. Impulse was pinching himself like he couldn't believe what they had just heard. Did one of their Villains, just informed them that their mom believes they were friends? Red Robin was starting to think he might be in a sleep deprived Hallucination.

"Why would she?" Wonder Girl questioned next to which Klarion glared at her with fire in his eyes.

"First of, my mom uses the pronouns he/Him. Be rude to my mom and I will find a way to make your life a permanent hell on earth." Wonder Girl blinked lifting her hands as in a sign of peace. "Second, my mom is under the believe that i work with heroes not against them. I do not have the heart to disappoint him after everything that happened in the past. So I embellished the truth a little."

"A little?" Superboy retorted sarcastically, to which they caught a light blush dusting the which boy's cheeks.

"Look my sister threw me under the bus and my mom wants to meet my friends now! So I need you idiots to play nice with me for when he visits!"

"And we will do that because?" Red Robin crossed his arms, watching their villain sceptically still not really buying this entire act. This was to strange of an behaviour change. Something was up, and he was going to get behind it.

Klarion on the other hand was starting to panic internally. His plan was not as he had hoped. The presents he had specifically gotten from other dimensions with what he believed was their interests did not work to make them simply accept his request. This was the last time he would listen to old man Vlad on how to bribe humans, he wasted his entire week on getting all that stuff. His mom was going to show up soon enough he need to have them act as his friends by then so he could remove the magic barrier. Or else his mom would notices he faked everything.

They left him no choice. He would have to throw his pride away for the sole reason to not disappoint his mom.

All four Young Justice Heroes blinked as Klarion suddenly threw himself on the ground before them into a pleading position.

"Please! I beg you, just for the time my mom is here. Please act like my friends!"

"I didn't think Klarion was a mama's boy...." Impulse whispered to the rest of them in pure disbelief as they stared stunned at the kneeling witch boy.

Cut to the heroes that noticed their teens were missing.....

"Where is he?" Batman growled at the Constantine who was sighing tiredly.

"Look mate, the way you and the other Spandex wearing friends explained it, made it sound like they got summoned by a being of the Infinit Realms." The blond man sighed lighting another cigarette eying the four heroes, Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman and Flash. Zatanna was behind him pouring over a book about the realms and trying to find a tracking spell to trace it back and to where they could have been summoned.

"Don't you have something like a tracker on your boy?" Batman only growled something under his breath to which the Brite couldn't help to arch and eyebrow. Constantine was going to say something sarcasting as Deadman suddenly appeared a panicked look on him. "The Ghost King has chosen to come to our dimension."

"Say bloody what now?" All attention that had been on the heroes and their problem of missing teenage heroes turned now to Deadman and the news he brought with him. "The ghost, shades and spirits talked, for the king has decided to visit our Dimension. They are in an uproar, no one knows of why our King is on his way."

"Bloody fucking hell!" Constantine cursed. "We are fucking screwed! Isn't that guy a fucking tyrannical eldrich war maniac?!"

Deadman nodded solemnly and Constantine uttered another hearty and colourful 'fuck'. While the heroes present exchanged worried glances, not only were their kids missing but now a, by the sounds of it, highly dangerous being decided to appear in their dimension? Batman couldn't help but think that there had to be a connection to the missing teens and this.

Meanwhile in the Infinite Realms the Ghost King Castle...

Danny smoothed out his fur trimmed cape and adjusted his crown so it was floating nicely and evenly on his head. Today was the day he would get to meet his sons friends. He needed to make a good first impression. That was why he had chosen to take on his Ghost King form for this. With the wave of his hand he made an ice mirror appear before him, checking how he was looking once again. Once satisfied he nodded to himself looking over towards Fright Knight who was holding the plate of cookies he had baked himself. It was the fifth batch, and the only one that didn't turn out burned. He had needed Jazz help for this one to turn out well. It was only proper if he brought some cookies for the kids. Also he would have loved to bring his families fudge but... the last time he had tried making them had turned into a disaster.

"Thanks Frighty. Do you think Klarion's friends will like these? Wait don't answer! If they don't like them I will just get something else to thank them for taking care of my boy." Danny rambled on as he glanced at the plate of cookies in his hands. Why was he so nervous? He was just going to get to meet his little boy's friends. Sure his boy had dropped some stories about them and his adventures with them here and there. But hearing stories and meeting the kids were two different things.

Shaking his head Danny put on his best smile as he summoned a portal to Klarions apartment in the 43th Dimension of Earth. It was time to visit his boy in the place he had made his second home and thank the people that looked after his kid.

[lovebugism]

steve request for adjusting back to normality with him after the upside down ends? however much u wanna write 🤭🤍🤍 ur writing is gorgeous btw

ty angel! hope you like it!! — steve helps his agoraphobic gf leave the house for the first time since the world ended (established relationship, hurt/comfort, cw for mentions of agoraphobia | 1.5k)

bug's summer fic fest (⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

You sit on the stairwell and tie your shoes, trying desperately to ignore the trembling of your anxious fingers. The thin laces threaten to slip from your tremoring hands as you knot one loop into the other. You couldn’t hide from your worry if you tried.

Steve’s heavy footsteps sound behind you in a steady, even rhythm as he walks down the stairs. You can hear the dull clapping of the boy patting his pockets to ensure his keys and wallet haven’t yet fallen from them. You know he’ll do exactly that another ten times before you step foot out of the house. He’s just as anxious as you are these days.

“Almost ready?” he says, huffing, though a smile is evident in his voice.

You nod to yourself and make careful work of fastening the laces. “Mhm,” you hum.

“Did you make sure to pack those Ants on a Log things? ‘Cause Dustin’ll kill me if we don’t bring ‘em,” Steve frets, for the second or third time that morning. He stills on the step just behind you and crosses a pair of golden arms over his chest. “Because, you know, he’s the only kid in America who actually likes celery.”

You tilt your chin to look up at him, smiling despite the fear pinching your chest. “Everything’s in the basket, Stevie.”

“Including the—”

“Yes, including the drinks. And the sandwiches. It’s all in the fridge,” you finish for him. “And the blanket’s in the car, so… Everything’s ready.”

Steve’s chest deflates with a distant sigh of relief. He’s been so used to doing everything on his own — carrying the load of that burden entirely by himself — that he forgot what it meant to have someone else to lean on.

“God, I’m so in love with you,” he murmurs fondly, mostly to himself, as he bends at the waist to kiss your hair. The plush of his lips brush your temple in a warm touch you lean instinctively into. 

With a wide hand on your shoulder, Steve feels for the first time how tense you are. All rigid, muscles taut, like cradling a rock in his palm. You’ve kept a brave face for him all day, but there’s only so much hiding you can do.

“You’re still okay with this?” he wonders aloud as he stands to full height again. 

His scruffy face is all twisted with concern, but you’re not looking at him to see it. You tie your right sneaker with a pair of graceless hands, where you seem to hold most of your anxiety, and scoff at the silly question. “Am I okay with the… picnic?” you echo.

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, lips jutted, as he walks past you down the steps. He turns and leans against the railing, trying hard to be casual. “‘Cause, you know, if you weren’t, we could just have it in the backyard or something. Make all the little shits come here.”

It takes you a moment too long to catch his meaning.

Sometimes you forget that you haven’t left the house all year. You’ve fallen into such a routine here, at Steve’s house (which you’ve come to see as your own), that you’ve forgotten there’s a whole world outside of it. A whole world you shut yourself out of after it nearly ended — after it chewed you up and spat you out again.

You tell yourself that you survived. You tell yourself that you lived in spite of the unfavorable odds. But sometimes, when you feel like shards of flesh and bones instead of a real-life human being, you wonder if you’re alive at all.

“I’m good, Steve,” you assure despite the waver in your voice. Your hands fumble with the laces, and you have to start all over again. “It’s just the park, babe. I can make it to the park.”

Steve nods in response, raking an anxious hand through his hair. He swallows down any attempts to remind you that you’ve barely made it out of the garage, let alone to the park.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s a crime to be this pale in the middle of July, anyway,” you joke with a forced laugh. 

The only time you really see the sun is when you’re sitting out on the patio — sipping at your morning coffee or watching Steve languish in the pool. You hardly last more than an hour, though, before a plane rumbles overhead or a car engine thunders too loudly. That’s all it takes for everything to come rushing back to you. The monsters, the soldiers, the blood. Then you lock yourself away all over again.

You hope this time is different.

Steve nods again, always hopeful, if only for your sake.

“Okay. Just… Just making sure, you know?” he trails off, then scrunches his nose. “Should we have a codeword, anyway? Like, for when the kids annoy the shit outta me, and I wanna get the hell outta there?”

You squint to yourself, pretending to ponder the question, as you rise from the stairs. You take a few steps downward until you’re standing just ahead of Steve — a few inches taller than him now. 

“How about… Get me the hell outta here?” you offer with a mischievous glint in your eyes.

A wide, pink grin blossoms on his mouth. “That’s perfect, actually,” Steve muses sarcastically, then meets you halfway when you lean down to kiss him. 

It’s a chaste and very innocuous peck that tastes faintly of Steve’s mouthwash and the peanut butter you licked from the spoon after making Dustin’s Ants on a Log. 

Despite its fleeting nature, you hang onto the simple kiss your entire way through the front door.

The first step out of the house is the hardest. 

You struggle to feel the ground beneath your feet as your mind threatens to wander. Thoughts of death plague your mind despite your attempts to push them away — roaring demogorgons, exploding guns, screaming teenagers. You have to fight the urge to cover your ears when a helicopter whizzes overhead, hidden somewhere in the clouds but sounding much closer than that.  

Steve holds your hand the entire way. “Almost there,” you hear him mumbling beneath the heartbeat woosh, woosh, wooshing in your ears. Your eyes squeeze shut. He leads you to the car and squeezes your hand. “You’re doing amazin’, babe. Just a couple more steps.”

You’re at the car in five seconds flat, though it had felt like five minutes at the time — and took approximately five years off your life. You feel eons better when you’re tucked into the passenger seat of Steve’s 733i. You feel more grounded there — with the tires against the asphalt, and Steve’s hand on your thigh, and the radio cranked all the way up.

You’re still a shaking mess when you get to the park, but the kids are a good enough distraction. 

You opt to busy your anxious hands with the picnic — handing out food, protecting drinks, and ensuring the emptying basket doesn’t blow away. You sit in the shade in the center of Steve’s quilt as leaves rustle in the warm breeze, allowing bits of summer sun to peek through and glitter on your skin. 

You keep a watchful eye on the kids around you as they scatter mindlessly about, making sure no one ventures far enough where you can’t see them. Steve yells at them for it so you don’t have to — shouts at Max and El for getting too close to the tree line while he tosses a ball to Lucas. 

He’s slowly mastering the art of throwing with his left hand. He hasn’t been able to lift his right one over his head since Starcourt. There’s a persistent ache in his shoulder he hasn’t been able to get rid of.

He walks over to you when the distance grows too much to bear, twisting his arm with a screwed-up face as he tries to find the root of the pain. “Whaddaya got for me, sweet thing?” he asks with a lopsided smile.

You reach into the basket beside you and pull out the last sandwich of the bunch, which you kept aside especially for him, wrapped neatly in plastic.

You hiss playfully through your teeth, then squint faux apologetically up at him. “All that’s left is tomato-avocado…” you joke, feigning horror.

Steve’s face twists. “Ugh. Seriously?” he huffs in disappointment.

“No,” you hum in response, smiling as you pass him his favorite sandwich. “Here you go.”

It’s a simple turkey, ham, and bacon number with all the fixings, but he particularly likes how you make it. (You argue that it can’t taste any better than a diner-made sandwich, but Steve always insists otherwise.) 

Your fingers brush when it takes it from you. Steve finds it difficult not to melt for you entirely, and not just because of the sweltering summer heat. 

He’s spent half of his life believing that no one ever gave him a passing thought — or that, at the very least, he was only ever an afterthought. But you remind him every day that he’s so much more than the nothing he often sees himself as. You remind him, through silly picnics and sandwiches made with love, what it means to be truly cared for.

“I love you,” Steve hums quietly, adoration melting in his honey eyes. “You know that?”

You nod once, hiding a smile as you squint one eye from the beaming sun. “I know.”

[feelingbat-ty]

This is inspired by @aflamboyanceofflamingos post about Tim choosing to publicly hate Robin as Tim Drake, cause to love or hate someone is the best way to hide a secret identity.

I started thinking about Tim coming into contact with his teammates as a civilian and Tim using this as an opportunity to take out all the grievances he has for his team in a way, that 1) Won't cause tension and fights. And 2) let him get away with being a petty arsehole, cause it's not like superheros can just go and beat up random civilians.

And well... my hand slipped.

--- You Can't Spell Spite Without Timothy Jackson Drake ---

The amount of times YJ comes across Tim Drake in the wild would be concerning if Tim didn't stalk them as often as his busy schedule allows (which turns out to be quite often). The Beta tube in the Batcave and another secret Beta tube in the bowls of Wayne enterprise's Francisco building allows Tim easy and direct access whenever he so desires.

And well, Tim never did grow out of his stalking phase.

It would be comical - if it wasn't maddening - how often they don't realise he's there. Most of the time he's stalking trailing a member of the team he's not trying to hide his presence, it wouldn't make sense for him to, not as Tim Drake.

The team have a tally board that sits in the common room, it's at 85.

85.

His team's situational awareness is absolutely appalling. 85, they've noticed him only 85 of the hundreds of times he's followed them around?

He complains to Dick about it, a lot. He's hoping Dick will give him some tips on how to beat situational awareness into his teammates thick skulls. He was the leader of the Titans, so he has to have something!

Dick - like the asshole he secretly is - just laughs at him.

He asks Cassie about it once. Why they don't find it concerning that they encounter Tim Drake: famous for being the civilian who 'beat Robin in a fight' every other week?

"I mean, You're usually right about these sorts of things, Rob. If you don't think Drakes an issue, then we trust you."

Tim can't figure out whether to feel warm and giddy at the fact that they apparently trust him, or to be annoyed at the fact that they follow after him like sheep. Not even doing their own research and recon (Cassie probably did. Kon and Bart? Yeah, hell would have a better chance at freezing over).

The first time was a coincidence. Tim had needed some space (from Bruce. From his deadlines. From his own mind...) and ended up wondering the streets of San Francisco with no real destination in mind.

An impulse turn led him onto the boardwalk and from there right to Superboy.

It was a bright and sunny day in Fran and Kon was glowing. Literally, because of the sun and figuratively from pride after he stopped a would-be pick pocket-er from pick pocketing an elderly lady.

He shouldn't. He knows he shouldn't, not when the team know of Tim Drake, know his face and all about how he hates Robin and makes it his whole personality. Not when the only thing that stops them putting Tim Drake on Baby Super villain watch is Tims general blasé attitude about, well... himself.

But is it oh, so tempting.

Especially because the month before, Kon had accidentally smashed Tim's favourite coffee mug in a series of event's (involving a yoga ball, shearing scissors, laser vision and a will from God himself) so convoluted that Tim was convinced it had been orchestrated for a solid week.

Was it a cheap mug from Kmart? Yes, but it's the principle of the matter!

As Tim’s left shoe impacts the side of Superboys face, a sense of manic glee overtakes him. Tim takes special care to seer this memory of Superboy getting hit in the head with Tim's shoe and the stupid face he makes as the ratty converse collides with his cheek, into his brain.

It's not much, but it's justice all the same for his once beloved mug.

Tim... might just be a tad sleep-deprived.

Superboy startles and lets out a frantic “Shit!” Assuming he’s being attacked by a surprise enemy (the kind that isn’t just civilians throwing shoes) he looks around, taking stock of his surroundings and looking for any immediate threats before glancing down at the shoe and visibly doing a double take.

His face is blank as he stares - undoubtably confused - at the shoe. A second later he's lifting his gaze, following the direction the show came from and staring right at Tim.

Tim, who (like an idiot) is still, for some reason, positioned how he was when he threw the shoe - arm outstretched and leg back to brace himself.

There is absolutely no way he wasn't the one who threw the shoe. If the stance didn't give it away, then him having one shoe (that shoe being a near identical ratty rad converse) probably did.

“What?” Superboy asks. He looks befuddled. A little amused, but mostly just confused. He's got a small, polite smile on his face that just reeks of Clark Kent's influence. Kon is obviously trying to model himself off of Superman - specifically Superman's polite and approachable "Grandma pinching worthy" vibe and not his fashion choices, since he's still got the leather jacket and sunglasses.

Tim makes a mental note to tell Kon that he has a really expressive face. Tim is literally reading all his emotions in 4K. They should probably work on that, it could be a liability in the field.

Tim briefly considers playing dumb and acting like it wasn’t him that threw the shoe, before dismissing that idea, Kon can be clueless at times, but he’s not a complete idiot.

So instead, he says, “that was a very open-ended question.”

And well, it was.

At the look Superboy gives him, he elaborates, “What, when said in that context, could mean literally anything! Like, ‘what was the purpose of that?’ ‘What’s your name, so I can in-prison you’ ‘What shoe size was that?’ Seriously, dude, be more specific!”

Superboy’s befuddlement takes a sudden nosedive to incredulity. “Okay, fine. Why did you throw a shoe at me?”

“Cause you work with Robin.” He says simply. He'd say 'justice' but then he'd sound like batman and like, thanks but no thanks.

“Cause I- what? You physically assaulted me with a shoe because I work on the same team as Robin?”

Tim, personally, thinks assault is a strong word to use for this situation, but he’s glad that at least some of his lessons on the proper terms and vocabulary are paying off.

He nods, cause that is indeed what he just did, he crosses his arms across his chest, and stares Superboy down.

Superboy who, looks like he’s regretting everything that led him to this moment. Tim relishes in that for just a little too long to be healthy. Probably.

Tim doesn’t really care. He told Kon (as Robin) that he’d regret breaking Tim’s favourite mug (accident or not, he's still not over it.) yeah, this might not be how either of them envisioned it, but Tim thinks this might just be better than beating Kon up as Robin in their next team training session. What better way to get someone back than to publicly humiliate them in front of all their peers? Shame he can't do that anymore.

Eh, who is he kidding? He’s still going to do that anyway.

“You’re only gonna throw one?” Superboy has a look on his face that’s similar to the one Bruce gets when he’s decided to give up and play along with the crazy. The one where he'll smile and nod, slowly inching out of the room, as Duke and Damian (There has truly never been a more terrifying duo) explain to him in vivid detail how they're going to use psychological warfare to make a shitty teacher at their school resign.

“Yes.” Why’d he throw both his shoes? He’d have no shoes!

“… Right. Why did you throw this one?”

All these questions!

“I like that one the least,” he shrugs, and it's true, the converse on his right foot has a little bi flag that Steph sewed into it back when they were dating. A throw pillow was the closest thing in reach at the time, so he sewed a little pan flag on it for her (he later did one on the breast pocket of one of her denim jackets).

“You are so freakin’ weird, dude! You throw a shoe at me! Because I work with Robin!”

Uh, yeah, we've already established that.

“How did you even get it off that fast!”

To be Honest, Tim is also surprised at how fast he was able to get his shoe off. One second he’s looking at Superboy the next he’s lobbing a shoe at his thick head.

Instead of saying any of that, Tim channels his inner Janet Drake, sticking his nose into the air and scoffing like Kon is the literal gum stuck on the sole of his shoe.

Kon, - because he’s no longer Superboy, he’s too fired up to hold onto the mask - shakes his head. It’s mocking, when he says, “You must be really shitty at throwing a punch if you had to resort to throwing shoes.”

Tim shrugs, “Well, I woulda thrown a fist, but you’re not worth a fist.”

Kon is silent and doing an amazing impression of a blobfish.

Tim turns and struts away before Kon has the chance to come up with a rebuttal, or just decides to punch him in the face.

He’ll grab his shoe later, after Kon leaves.

The basted incinerated his shoe.

[bigfatbreak]

Something I've been wondering for a while in the ML fandom. But after Season 5 ended, I saw a lot of authors coming to the consensus that Emilie is a "bad parent".

Where did that come from? Did I miss a fandom meeting where that consensus was reached? Or is that a consequence of Gabriel being a bad parent, having her as a bad parent by proxy?

I am mostly curious about where this headcanon came from, for some many different authors following the same path.

the series tries really hard to make Emelie seem like an angelic woman, but the problem is, it constantly steps on its own toes doing so.

even before her death, Adrien didn't go to school, wasn't socialized around others, never had a "real birthday gift," was only socialized around Chloe and his "cousin" sometimes, and though he yearned for school, was still denied that. The show says "oh she's a good person," but doesn't SHOW her being a good person.

the show contradicts itself. Emelie has to be good, because she's a dead mother who sacrificed her life for her child, but the show reveals the quality of life for that child was basically zilch, like owning a dog. The general idea of her being a bad parent is because being self-sacrificing doesn't make someone inherently good, in fact in Emelie's case, it made her all the more selfish.

if she knew she was dying and still had the audacity to keep her son from making connections with other people, all she was doing was saddling him with an immense amount of grief he would have no real way of processing, making her death the only thing he could ever revolve around for the rest of his existence.

Not only that, Gabriel seemed to follow the mindset of "oh she's just gone, not dead," which would only make things worse - and if Emelie suspected Gabriel might act the part of the fool, why didn't she ensure there was a support system for the both of them? To be fair, she doesn't have Gabriel on strings, but she literally has complete control over Adrien and just... decided to make him her emotional support child? a crutch through her death? an accessory to show what a good person she was???

maybe we really are missing parts. maybe she actually was an exceptional woman - but that SAME woman could be cattled and convinced to keep Adrien alone for his developmental years??? if we're following the idea that she was actually super good and kind, then we have to accept that she's also immensely stupid for allowing her husband to convince her that Adrien should be a bird in a cage.

Either she's loving but overall selfish, keeping Adrien for herself in spite of the damage it would cause, OR loving and stupid, letting Gabriel convince her to keep Adrien in the dark in spite of the damage it could cause.

the show may WANT us to route emelie down the path of overall "good," but considering her husband was such a miserable excuse for a parent who's attitude really hasn't changed that much from the past, like draws to like and we can only draw our own conclusions.

honestly i think Zoe put it better here, but there's my two cents on the matter.

[diejager]

BEGGING I WAS LEFT ON A CLIFFHANGER FOT THE MONSTER AU 141 😭😭😭😭😭

pretty pretty please 🙏🙏

Only Human pt.2

Pairing: Monster Task Force 141 + König & Horangi x reader

Cw: canon-typical violence, hate, xenophobia, mention of racism, blood and violence, injury, fighting, protective 141, trauma?, anxiety, tell me if I missed any. wc: 6.3k

Only Human Masterlist

Previous

You still wonder, to this day, why you were needed on the Task Force. It worked like a well-oiled machine when put to the task, nearly unstoppable in the face of enemies. Although you were prideful to call it your home, you felt lacking compared to them, all much stronger, fiercer, and nimbler than you in every aspect, separated by miles of distance. One thing, however, that you could wield with an iron fist was your human nature and people’s fear of newly implemented hybrids. The public expression from governments about welcoming them into their ranks and their society without staying hidden under the pretence of being sick or behind a veil of secrecy. 

You, after seeing how many Joint Task Forces and other Teams treated the 141, decided to deal with the introductions, the medium, the pacifier, between every team. Humans tended to react differently to another human than to a hybrid, they were nicer, less brutal and honest (a kind that held little spite). Laswell seemed more agreeable to your idea when you first came up to her with it, having seen the hate sent to hybrids she worked with. She encouraged you to be the first to interact or stand beside Price when he greeted human soldiers. Price, unlike Laswell, was reluctant at first. His instinct of protection and possession of his hoard made him less open to such ideas, especially if it brought you some, if any, backlash from other humans (humans are cruel, they shun what they don’t understand, they fear it and push to control it, if not, they destroy it. The need to control every aspect of their life made humans ruthlessly unremorseful and unsympathetic to other causes.).

As a tight-knit TF, some decisions are taken in votes, by hearing what the others thought of the idea or plan and his one was harsh. Ghost was hard-pressed on keeping you between them, the little, fleshy human of their Task Force (the youngest) and to let them deal with xenophobic glares while keeping you protected. Alejandro was similarly worried, but he knew the outcome of letting you speak first or accompany Price. He was torn. The others, Soap, Gaz and Rudy, seemed onboard, with the kind of why the fuck not? kind of look on their faces. Soap especially, he’d be able to stick close to you without having to hover over you like a protective guard dog. 

Seeing the votes in your favour, he let it pass, and no sooner had they needed to meet a second team - human soldiers - for the next deployment. You stood beside Price when he strutted down the walkway, shoulders broad and back straight, an image of a strong and fearless leader with his draconic tail flailing lowly. He, as intended, greeted them first, rank and name before he presented you, his little human helper with humans. They’d taken better to speaking to you, being spoken by one of their own rather than a hybrid. He saluted you more amicably and more sincerely:

“Pleasure meeting you, Hunter.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Captain.”

Although it wasn't without its setbacks, the operation went well, you had been able to come out mostly unscathed, leaving a few enemies on the brink of death for Ghost to savour. He was most thankful, a part of his body dissolving into the finest mist as they washed over the living bodies sprawled on the ground. You watched on, mesmerised by the uncanny way Ghost’s body absorbed the bodies of others, flooding the area with his shadow while you stayed unbothered, in the same condition as he first started. His darkness reached your neck, covering you in a soft cover of warmth as he ground the bodies to ash and dust. His skin was cold, but his powers were darkly hot, burning with the embers of hell, of a dead soul coming back for revenge and evilness.

Beyond the fact that your idea worked, you liked feeling useful to them, having a semblance of usefulness in a team of extremely competent beings. You felt with first greetings from then on, smiling and saluting to the leading figures of the groups you’d work alongside. It lessened the weight on Price to appease and pacify the new additions, he’d be able to fare better with the operators now that they had a different welcome, a different kind of greeting. It played into the minds of wary men that a human was the one to greet them, that one of theirs was leading the hybrids for them. You played the perfect example of a soldier for any xenophobic bastard. 

Ghost, while still feared, received fewer glares than he usually would, occasional ones from daring or bold soldiers holding a lower rank than him, but he appreciated your attempts at making them more comfortable. He’s used to the negative reactions, had been since his childhood, but you seemed to make him feel like he deserved better, like he shouldn’t be glared, spat and scoffed at.

Soap, Rudy and Alejandro looked like human men in peak condition, if only for Soap and Alejandro’s glowing eyes and heightened strength and agility. Rudy was somewhat human, he looked and acted like one, down to the DNA, but with the title of cadejos vessel came powers. Perhaps not as strongly affecting as the rest of the hybrids, but he had subtle changes in his molecular making. 

Gaz had stares coming left and right, daggers sent his way for having wings and talons he couldn’t will them to disappear, to recess under his skin and wear the appearance of a human man. He felt the heaviest blow by both not being able to cover his gifts and the colour of his skin. Although you wanted to proclaim that your new age came with more open-minded people, you knew that it simply couldn’t fix hundreds of years of standards in a few decades. People would still judge others by the tone and colour of your skin, they’d still hate the different and the strange; just like they hated hybrids. So you kept to his side most often after your introductions, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him close, letting him embrace you with a protective wing and a grateful smile.

You mostly worked hand in hand with human-filled teams and spear-headed human-led operations. So you were shocked, frozen to your core, when you saw a tiger haetae hybrid beside a tall, veiled operator walking down the cargo ramp. The hybrid, a tiger variant from the black-striped, orange tail that flickered slowly in a warning to any approaching beings. Dark glasses and a mask covered his face, his jacket and vest riding to the edge of his jaw, covering any skin from showing, though his lower back was left uncovered for the comfort of his swaying tail. He was neither short nor tall, he was tall enough to be slightly over the average height, but his teammate dwarfed him.

Perhaps his enormous height was an aspect of his monster half, or maybe he had the perfect genes to hold such a frame. He too, like his haetae operator, hid his face under a veil with maroon tears painted under his eyes. Like Ghost, he was covered head to toe in equipment and clothes, a jacket, a vest, gloves and black paint around his eyes. Whoever this was had both height and mass, burly arms and broad shoulders eclipsed by a slim waist and equally, disastrously thick thighs. On their left arm were flags, one from South Korea and the other from Austria.

They were the only ones to walk out, the only ones to approach you. Then your TF only had two new faces to work with rather than a whole team. You were tempted to say it would be easier, you waited until they stopped for Price - Price only - to greet them since they wouldn’t need a human to negate any aggressiveness between human and hybrid - or so you thought. They moved in synchrony, Price stepping forward to cover you with his body, his back facing you as he crossed his arms. Ghost and Alejandro had moved next to the captain, covering your sides. Alejandro had crossed his arm in a similarly menacing way, and Ghost stood still, body rigid but ready to strike at a moment’s notice; both were glaring ahead. Soap and Rudy took their places behind the colonel and the lieutenant, arms glued on their sides, weapons within reach with menacing stares towards the Korean and the Austrian. Gaz’s wings grazed you, soft feathers wrapping themselves around you and pulling you into his chest, acting as a protective cocoon for you. 

“What-?”

They moved so quickly and efficiently that they seemed to suddenly appear in place, back straight and protective. Protective of you. Hybrids, from what you’d heard from couples and families, were possessive of their own, caring and extremely wary of other hybrids they hadn’t formed a bond with. Your TF was your pack, they were all tethered to each other through the familial bond they formed over the years. Then you came in, small and weak with your human self into a den of lions, thrown to be subjugated to their loving mercy and sinfully strong personalities. 

The team of six hybrids encased you, barring the KorTac specialists from seeing you. Monsters and hybrids could sense one another - from what you heard - and they reacted instinctively. You saw their bodies tense as the two approached your team, muscles strained under the compacting anxiety and possessiveness. You could neither see over their shoulders nor feel what was happening, they stopped farther from you than you’d expected and you couldn’t see their feet. 

The only sign you had was your captain’s gravelly voice welcoming them, his tail swaying like a cat’s tail, a slow, cautious motion. It - knowingly or unknowingly, seeing as Price acted on a mix of instincts and worry - wrapped around your ankle, clinging tightly to your boot-clad leg while a rumble rattled his chest. Steam rolled from his lips, billowing over the top of his hat in a show of power and warning. You hoped they wouldn’t take this negatively. They worked hard to curb the harmful rumours of 141 being beasts in human skin, acting like blood-thirsty and ravaging monsters that cared for nothing but themselves. 

Although you couldn’t see them, the Austrian could, his towering height assured that he could see over almost any human, monster and hybrid alike. He was curious about the way they protected one of theirs as if you were weak. He cocked his head, green eyes gleaming red as he stared silently at the small mop of hair between them. What made you so important? What made you such a protected soldier? He couldn’t sense you like he could the others, their scent and magic masking yours in a violent torrent. 

Unlike him, his friend couldn’t be bothered with the show of protection, he’d enrolled for the money and wouldn’t be deterred by much. He was a tiger haetae, honourable to a certain extent and proud. He might be shorter than the hybrids around him, but he was as vicious and talented as the next. He, however, was slightly curious, but he wasn’t paid enough to inquire or worry about the doings of 141’s pack.

It went as well as anyone would expect for the 141 with the added help of two military, hybrid operators from an elite PMC. As the combat medic of the TF, you followed them from behind and moved to the middle when you entered the building. You’d usually be at the back, being a medic, but you were a combat medic, having seen and participated in complete ops dealing with infiltrations and hostage rescue. You were an integral part of every mission. Now that they had a medic on hand, the wounds the men suffered could be treated in place rather than wait for the long ride home with the possibility of letting infection take root in the gash and watching it fester during hours in the carrier. 

They had a habit of getting shot and slashed, a tad bit reckless in their ways but still effective. The stress of risking infection or the impossibility of reaching a medic after a mission was lessened, Price would still be able to live a few more centuries before his hair turned grey with nerves and his face wrinkled with frowns. You were a treasure beyond the fact that you were extremely helpful and insightful on your own. Your hands were steady and your demeanour calm and collected (albeit fidgety when put under too much pressure and fiery when someone looked at them differently.), you were a beauty, someone they needed to nurse and protect. 

“I warned you about standing so close to the explosion!” They watched you berate Soap, cheeks puffed and lips pulled in an adorable pout. You went on a list of things he could’ve done better and safer than the decision he made, hands pulling the bandage around his arm, your bag set beside you. 

“How was I supposed ta know?” The werewolf grumbled, giving you his best version of his “puppy dog eyes'' while he slouched back, trying to sit as comfortably as possible on the hard seats of the aircraft carrier. 

“You’re a demolition expert, you’re supposed to know, Soap.” You hissed, tightening the wrap and smoothing it over so that it would hold. Your hand dipped into your bag, pulling out a few alcohol wipes for his face. With a jerky motion of your hands, you broke the seal and started patting his bleeding cuts from shrapnel and grazes from bullets. He winces with every dab, fidgeting in his seat while you disinfected his wounds, wiping away the dirt and blood before deeming it clean enough to move to the next one. “You also have a habit of setting things on fire.”

Although you mumbled it so quietly, the others heard you clearly, laughter rumbling out of the others while they watched Soap being scolded by the youngest. You never feared reprimanding them for an idiotic act that would result in having you tending to them, it was something they appreciated, the familiarity and comfort you had with them. They weren’t monsters, hybrids or anything with you, they were your family. 

Seeing you so at ease with them had König and Horangi curious, most would cower or segregate themselves from other hybrids. You especially, seeing as you were the only human with them, they thought it’d be normal to see you shrink onto yourself and ignore the world around you while you waited to return home. Yet here you were, berating a werewolf for cuts and bruises that would heal in the following days, his metabolism prevented infection and permanent scarring unless it was too deep or deadly. They’d simply add to his rugged handsomeness.

König wondered if you’d show him the same amount of compassion and ease when you tended to his wounds - if he ended up having any at all. Would your hands be soft like his mother’s when cradling his arm? Would you whisper soft nothings to him while you cleaned his gashes with antiseptics? Would you also scold him for being reckless? He doubted that. Granted, he was extremely reckless and lost himself to the adrenaline pumping through his system when he entered the field, but he always came out unscathed. As a percht hybrid, his extreme enhancements made him practically numb to pain and sensations, with the small exceptions of a few primarily driven emotions or natural reactions to certain stimuli.

Perhaps, if your efforts were thwarted by his immense height, you’d hold and tend to him as softly as you did with the others, running your fingers through his hair and cradling him against your chest. He thirsted for something mundane, something so human-like that he would be reminded that he wasn’t completely a monster. He missed the softness in people’s gazes or the carefree way they spoke to and with him. He missed being reminded that he - too - was a living being with their rights. You could be the start of a regular life - as regular as a mercenary could have.

Even Horangi, who had vehemently stated to König that he could care less about the small, weak human in the operation, gave you the merit of being strong-willed and confident enough to stand beside them. He, the ever prideful and strong hybrid he was, deemed you competent for a human. Your usefulness started with your quick reactions and impeccable skills in your field and stopped when you couldn’t save someone, which had yet to happen. He was intrigued by the workings of your TF, how they managed to score a single human and an amicable one at that, strong and fierce, yet gentle and compassionate. If he’d grown up with someone like you, would he have turned out the way he did? 

He simply watched from his corner beside König, through tinted glasses his eyes followed your movement, memorising everything you did for your brothers. They felt like imposters in your small, seven-men group, seemingly standing awkwardly in their little corner. 141 had shown a bit of aggression towards them in warning words and deadly glares when they assumed you didn’t see them, hissing out threats to ensure your safety among them. Not only were they confused by the dynamic, but they weren’t told anything besides “Back off” and growls. 

After patting Gaz’s knee, giving him an oscar winning smile with gleaming eyes that were received with enthusiasm, you packed your things in your bag and moved to the next patient. You skipped Price, Ghost and Rudy, crouching in front of Alejandro. Rummaging through your bag and handing him a clean wipe for his dust-covered face, the soot clinging to his cheeks. He expected you to sit by your locked rifle after checking them, but you continued walking. You were heading towards them.

He knew König left the ground unscathed, clean of anything but dirt and blood, which meant he was the one you were heading towards. Hand on your pouch and a steady step backed up by a determined expression, you stopped before him. He tilted his head, a silent question. You blinked dumbly, holding out your hand to him, your small fingers backing him to give you something.

“Can I see your hand?”

His hand? He hadn’t thought much of it as he rested it on yours, palm upwards and gloveless. He saw it then, the small cut that bled red, small enough to be neglectable, but long enough to still be bleeding. He hadn’t felt anything from it before or after boarding the aircraft, he must’ve still been riding the adrenaline rush from the fight. He wondered how you knew he hurt himself.

Your fingers curled around his palm, holding it firmly as you lightly dabbed the inflamed skin with a sterilised tissue, being careful of the flared sides of his torn flesh. Under the blood and dirt, his skin was pale and swollen, the area having demanded his body to react to the potential bacteria that would worm its way into his system. You threw the bloody tissue aside and got an antiseptic wipe, being careful to not irritate his wound. Your care was gentle and patient. To a being like him, a hybrid and KorTac op, gentle and patient were foreign words to him. None were gentle to hybrids and none were patient with mercenaries. 

Even as you wrapped the gauze and bandage around his hand, you gave him all your attention, sweetly cradling his hand between yours and nursing his gash with utmost care. It felt alien, the soothingly soft care of a medic. Other medics would’ve stared at him with disgust or hate if he walked near the infirmary, or they were rough and uncaring towards his needs. 

“Thank you,” he mumbled, the sudden realisation of his silence in the face of a benevolent angel and the rush of embarrassment that flushed his neck hotly. He stared dumbly at his hand when you left, placed on his thigh with the white bandage staring right at him. The warmth of your hand had sunk into his skin, the feather-light tenderness of your fingers painted in his memory and your smile and determined expression stuck to him. 

Even as he let his mind wander and body thirst for another taste of your gentleness, he could feel the burning stares of the other men. König with his curious and envious gaze, wanting to feel the snippet you offered Horangi, wanting your hands and stare at his giant figure. The 141 with their protective and warning glare, resenting him for taking a few minutes of your attention from them. You’d moved on your own, making your decision to help him with his small wounds as you did with them, he hadn’t forced you or compelled you to treat him.

Perhaps there was more than money and experience that was worth in this joint operation. 

When the success of their first mission reached the prying ears of the General, he’d given them a few more joint ops - paid by the United States pockets, of course. Horangi and König were given temporary rooms in the barracks, in the same corner as the other hybrids and you, but far enough to show that they were excluded from them. Fortunately, they wouldn’t share the room, tigers were protective of one’s territory, and a percht hybrid - as rare as it may be - was documented to be hyper-possessive of their things, especially so for someone like König. 

Horangi didn’t ignore you anymore, wanting to start a conversation when he passed you or staring at you from the other side of the room until you waved at him, letting him know he could approach you. He worked relentlessly to close the gap he had made between you, wanting to attach himself to the one good thing he had. Yet he had to be cautious, any indication of him being a threat to you would make your team act out in unison, pushing him back and covering you like they did the second he descended the ramp. 

Ghost would hover over you, his body moving the darkness around him to seem more menacing. Ghost always glared at him when you turned your back to the Brit, his brown eyes swirling with the promise of death and devastation. Ghost wasn’t a physical hybrid, as Horangi had learned, but he had no qualms about keeping a hand on your hip or over your shoulder, acting as an imposing being that showcased his claim on you so publicly. It filled the Korean with envy and anger, he wanted to touch you as easily as the wraith did, he wanted a claim on you like the Lieutenant did, and he wanted to hold you close. 

If not Ghost, it’d be Rudy or Gaz crowding you. If you were in the rec room, Gaz would usually be there with you. His arm thrown over your shoulders, pulling you into his side while his wings curled around you two, dark brown feathers ruffled to look menacing but comfortable to your touch. With the way he sat, slouching and legs spread across the sofa, he took all the available seats on the cheap, brown couch. When Gaz caught sight of him, he’d purposefully moved to take up more space, showing just how much one of the nicest of the 141 ostracised him. Although when someone from his TF, he’d move aside, giving space to the man to join them. 

If you were walking around the base, Rudy - or Rudolfo as Horangi was forced to call him - would be by your side. Rudy had an arm wrapped around yours, seemingly like a military couple out on a casual walk, or he had his hand on your back, acting as the protective lover. Rudolfo’s smile was always wide and adoring when Horangi saw him walk you, exchanging words and making you laugh. It stung Horangi in an inexplicable way as if someone was knowingly sentencing him to death without any proof of his accountability. Rudy, the second nicest guy, also made glaring passes his way, pulling you closer to his side, directing you away and staring coldly at Horangi.

It rubbed him wrong, all the silent glares and insults at him to push him farther from you, but he was Horangi the Tiger haetae. He made his calculations, he was as smart and as resourceful as he was patient. Give it a few more missions together and they would loosen enough to let him swoop you off your feet. You were his source of comfort, of love and gentleness, he had to protect it. 

Unlike Horangi, König actively sought you out on the base, following the trail of your scent and the soft noises of your voice and heartbeat. He was like a dog on your trail, nose sniffing every bit of air for you and ears strained for any noise you’d make. His senses were stretched thin to find a moment with you. He was as animalistic as a hybrid could get, leaning towards his monster to help him with his ops and trials. 

You piqued König’s curiosity, making him wander the halls like a lumbering monster in a dark veil and glaring, red eyes. He saw how you treated big and dangerous monsters like the dragon hybrid you had as a captain, a respectable man, as soft as you treated the rowdy and rough werewolf and gracefully dangerous nagual. König wanted to feel your softness on him, your small hand grasping the tight muscles of his shoulders and back, kneading the tension away with grounding massages and stretches. You were their doctor, you cared enough to join them in the field, so you’d naturally be willing to mass the pain out of his body, no? 

He wanted moments alone, where he could speak his mind without fear of being interrupted or pushed away for his imposing stature and aura. He wanted to place a hand on your waist, to feel the plush roundness of your stomach and the firm contour of muscle on your thighs. He wanted his voice to carry easily in the void of silence, where his voice could be heard by you from a small whisper. He wanted your eyes to focus on him, solely, as if he was your world. 

He found it rather irritatingly difficult to find such moments. When he followed your scent through the halls and down to the medic's office, he’d find Captain Price crowding the room with his powerful musk of Ashe and fire - of metal and iron. Although Price was much shorter and lesser ranked than König was, he held the power of age and wisdom, an unfathomable strength that lay solely in draconic beings. This eternal power that none could rival apart from Eldritch beings, most cower, whimper and hide from dragons. He wore his power and wisdom on his sleeves, a warning for everyone, him and his KorTac operators included. König might’ve been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool, fighting headfirst with dragon seamed chaos and devastation. So, as any hybrid did, he backed away, an old dragon was dangerous, but a crippled one made it even more perilous.

When König tried to find you in the rec room, you were held in the tight embrace of a possessive wolf. Soap had you straddling his lap, facing him as he nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck. He purred and kissed your skin, making you squirm and giggle, but then Soap’s eyes gazed upwards and grew cold and unruly at König’s appearance. A proud - dare he say, cruel - smirk curled the corners of his lips. That was when he realised what the sergeant was doing. Soap, in the open, was scenting you, rubbing his musk over your neck, where - if you were another sifting hybrid like him and Alejandro - would’ve been your scent gland. It was a blatant show of possession. He nipped at your throat, drinking in your yelp and hiss, your back arching and moving to push him from biting too much. It filled him with rage.

If you weren’t with either dragon or werewolf, you were with Alejandro, the Hispanic scenting you as much as Soap did, but he did it with more finesse and subtlety. He would draw your hair back, the gland on his wrist grazing your neck and ears, imprinting you with him. Alejandro would hold your hand, fingers neatly intertwined with yours, his face laying on your shoulder as he spooned you in his lap. He purred and whispered sweet promises that had you nodding and smiling like a child on Christmas. He oosed of pheromones, filling the area with his scent and in turn, covering you completely in him. König watched with envy as Alejandro read to you, cradled between his thighs and falling asleep, his, Soap and everyone else’s musk laying a possession over you. 

König’s a determined person when he put his mind to it, willing his beaten and bloodied self back to camp, or his sleep-deprived and insomniac-ridden mind to concentrate on the enemy. He was a battering ram, he pushed forward forcefully, however hard he had to, all to reach the end goal. This time, it wouldn’t be the head of his target, or the capture of an asset, this time, it would be you.

They both wondered, with how close your TF was, what was the dynamic. Was it a pack that shared the same lover? Was it a pack that had formed such a close connection to a human that you were deemed an integral part of the pack? Or were you the child they watched over and protected?

The next few missions 141 and the two from KorTac went on were as successful as the first, the cooperation of two ruthless mercenaries and a hybrid, specialist group made these tasks easy, near child’s play for them. Along with the aspect of having a medic on hand, it let them run wild, play along the edge and act more recklessly than they normally would. Having Horangi and König for so long, made them become a standard in the base, seeing them walk among the shorter and weaker humans. That also meant they had seen their fair share of xenophobic soldiers with balls bigger than a dragon’s and an ego the size of an Eldritch creature. 

Every hybrid and monster was used to their hateful glares and sneering venom-dripping words. Ignoring them had become easier after the first year of enrolment. Horangi and König were, however, not used to someone defending them with their most honest heart of gold with earth-shattering words. 

The first time they’d seen you defend your team was right after a mission, haunches, lumbering bodies descending the carrier’s ramp with their bags slung over their shoulders and addled with fatigue after a week of deployment. Young, power-hungry sergeants who’d let their ranks get to their heads had slid before them, head held high and shoulders held wide. Every single one of them knew that the moment the sergeant’s mouth opened, nothing good would come out of it. Perhaps degrading insults or back-handed sneers.

When the first sentence slipped from the man’s tongue, you pushed your way between them, barrelling into the man who’d insulted them. A deep frown was etched into your lips, brows creased so darkly into you that it cast a dark shroud of anger over your face. If König hadn’t known that you were a human, he would’ve thought that you were a being of darkness. 

“You dim-witted bastards-!” Was the first word you let out, your usually soft-spoken self with gentle hands spewed acid at them, threatening to burn their skin. 

Dim-witted, indeed. Old, conservative assholes who thought they were better than the rest with their pro-human propaganda and xenophobic acts against hybrids. Horangi had expected you to continue your scolding, wringing the sergeant dry with your words, not your hands. You used your hands, fingers curled inward, thumb over the curves of your bones and decked the man. It shocked them both, you were smaller, shorter, human and seemed weaker than the men, yet here you were, sending him toppling on the floor, his friend gaping and pouncing on you. Only to be met with your foot to his crotch. 

“You bet your ass you won’t get any medical attention after this,” you hissed.

Although your words sounded improbable since you weren’t the only medic on base, you had built a connection through the system, every medic knew you and heeded your words. If one didn’t want a man healed, you and the rest wouldn’t help him. If you wanted a man to suffer, the rest would watch on with you. Medics were themselves, a tight-knit couple that helped one another. So your words were more than a threat, it was a promise. 

“Until I see your sorry asses on your deathbed or grovelling, none of us will lift a finger for you. Bleed and beg all you want, but you aren’t getting help.”

You acted with an iron hand, sending the rest to the ground, moaning and groaning, cradling whatever part of their body you’d hit. They wondered why Ghost hadn’t moved, and neither did Gaz or Rudy, the most protective ones. When König glanced down at Ghost, he saw pride in his eyes, dark curled on sadistic pleasure swirling in his brown eyes. When Horangi gazed at Gaz and Rudy, he saw simple amusement, their mouths threatening to curl in a smirk.

All of them had known you’d act this way, erratic and violent rather than calmly scold them and stomp over their ego. You were strong-headed and blunt to them, making them bow to you, like lesser men to a lady, a queen, a goddess. 

Horangi had experienced his own protection from you. After the men had loosened enough to trust him and König, he could walk beside you and hold a simple banter, albeit awkward at the start. You were much more violent this time, reaching for the downed man while hissing and screeching after you sent him to the floor with well-aimed kicks. You were like a gremlin, small and lively. He understood your anger, they’d called him racist things, calling out his Asian roots and hybrid characteristics. 

Horangi had to hold you from going off on him following your promise of neglecting his medical needs. It worked, though. The first group had searched to plead, to apologise and beg for medical attention. You’d sent them away with a small note lifting the ban for medical help. You were as ruthless with people as they were to enemies. 

Any other encounters with hot-headed men and women that glanced at them weirdly were met with a varying amount of anger and disgust from you. Horangi understood why 141 held you so carefully, so tightly in their hold. Why they worshipped you like a priest would do with his goddess. It was a sense of camaraderie that had evolved into love, affection dripping from their pores. 

König received a bit more attention for his size, the threatening nature of his ouster coupled with his brute figure, made him a subject of fear and rejection. That hadn’t stopped you from wanting to approach him, had it? Going as far as calling him cute when he stuttered while broaching the subject of him liking certain things. For a burly man with the height of a giant, he was nice to sit next to, his quiet but anxious stature when he wasn’t deployed made it easy to talk to. He might sometimes let his instincts drive him, but they were all well-meaning, wanting nothing but goodness for you. 

His turn came in quick succession, he was shunned and ridiculed left and right. It never helped that he would shy from others, preferring his little corner that made the room look stranger and claustrophobic (not that he let them walk all over him, he growled and glared, standing tall with the promise of lashing out or eating them. Even when humans feared König, they still attempted to rile his anger.). But with you, he wasn’t by his lonesome, he had someone to rattle on about the things he liked to do, or the things he wanted to do. His shoulders were relaxed and mind calm, free to speak his mind about the goriest and the sweetest dreams he had, his speech unperturbed by his anxiety. 

Unlike the others, König stood before you as an impenetrable wall of muscle and fat when you raised your hand at an insignificant pig. Why would he let someone so disgusting touch you (even though it was to hit and kick the man, he would do it for you instead)? He guarded you as if they were insulting you rather than him - though it was the reverse - and glared down at anyone with dreadfully scary eyes. Like the devil that had risen, he sent them running with their tails tucked between their legs. Although he was the one that had gotten rid of them, he was always so proud of you, holding you close to him and gushing about your brave and inspiring actions. 

He saw how the men in 141 looked at you, he wanted to be a part of it, to be able to freely nuzzle your face and hold you like Soap would, to cradle you in his arms and carry you around the base. König wanted a piece of your heart, to be able to show the world he held it in his hands, caring for it between his big, calloused fingers and soft affection. He might be dangerous, he might be deadly, he might be reckless, but if you let him, you would be his world like you were to the others (Horangi would agree, they spoke about it on their own.).

Next

[cool-island-songs]

Analysis of ALNST Character Relationship Metrics

My art book won't be here for a minute, but I ran some screenshots I saw on twt through an image translator and have a lot of thoughts:

TILL: Despite claiming to hate everyone in the world, Till ranks Ivan at 70% intimacy even as he identifies perturbing behaviors of Ivan's going back years and refers to him as "a bother". He also ranks Sua at 10% in spite of having little to say about her and finding it uncomfortable to be around her.

Though he postures at being misanthropic and has all the manners you'd expect of a boy who was half off at the human child pound, he's actually quite gentle and sensitive. This is reflected in one of the graduation messages he's left by a classmate as well:

The person he feels closest to is an unattainable crush, and someone who doesn't feel that close with him in return, likely because he's too shy to really approach her or carry on a conversation.

MIZI: That's Mizi, of course, who's rather childlike and naive initially. She likes everyone, but since Till chokes when he tries to speak to her and often keeps his distance, she wonders if he's avoiding her because he dislikes her.

Mizi gravitates towards people who she sees as "perfect", which is how she describes Ivan and Sua in her graduation message to Ivan:

She doesn't see the darker side of Ivan's personality (which has been described on several occasions, even by himself, as "twisted") because he's attractive, successful, and helpful to her.

Though she likes everyone, Sua is her "God", and the only thing that can keep them apart is the tragedy of their situation, which forces Mizi to grow up in a brutally painful way.

SUA: Sua is far less idealistic and naive than Mizi, and has clearly thought about sacrificing herself to save Mizi, since Ivan picks on her for thinking of doing so in an official comic. Accordingly, her feelings about Mizi are far more tinged by the knowledge that they will one day be torn apart by external circumstances. She laments that reciprocating her feelings will one day cause Mizi great pain.

She's always been more somber, and despite her surface similarities to Ivan (which he notes in a follow-up comic wherein he realizes he was wrong about Sua's feelings for Mizi being unrequited), she's quite different on the inside. Sua's more sensitive and thus her colder exterior serves to protect her, whereas Ivan's outward persona creates an illusion of normalcy that doesn't reflect his reality.

Sua views Ivan and Till as a threat and a nuisance, respectively. Like Till, she senses something strange about Ivan, and when it comes to Till, it's just one person too many around for her. This is fascinating to me, because I thought she might pity Till! Her feelings about Ivan were already pretty clear from this panel of the 'piggyback' comic, and she seems deeply hurt in the first comic linked by his prodding.

IVAN: For his part, Ivan is fascinated by Till even though he's content to sit back and observe, pestering him to get a reaction or his attention for a brief time. He doesn't expect anything in return but wants more than anything to be on Till's mind (hence behaviors like stealing Till's belongings and returning them to him, pretending he had found them).

He prefers Sua to Mizi despite his awareness that Sua doesn't particularly like him, seeing her as a sister and even telling her she's "twisted" like he is. He likes Mizi well enough, especially her sincerity, but seems to find her optimism a bit much at times.

The fact that Mizi and the others would likely consider Ivan and Mizi quite close while Ivan does not reflects how much he postures even in his closest relationships. He struggles to connect with those he's most compelled by and it's not clear if he really wants to.

Some Ivantill thoughts before I go:

There seems to be a common sentiment that it's tragic Till was unable to see how much Ivan loved him, and I think we'll likely get more of Till's perspective on Ivan and their relationship in round 7. But it may not be the case that Ivan even wanted his true feelings to be seen, or would have known what to do if Till had reciprocated them.

There's something almost voyeuristic and self-negating in his feelings for Till (see: "I can’t reach you, so I imagine alone/You who shines, I stand next to you" from 'Black Sorrow'). He has far more self-awareness and willingness to accept things as they are than Till, who doesn't see that Mizi only has eyes for Sua and who would likely struggle to accept that reality.

Ivan, on the other hand, is well aware that his feelings for Till are "shallow", a bright fantasy to get him through his dark reality, and he seems to sincerely believe that his death won't scar Till because he's never really broken through to him. He's a schemer, and comments he makes in his graduation message to Till and the interview he gives in advance of round 6 suggest that he may have been planning to sacrifice himself for some time.

Part of me wonders if he hoped it would leave a mark on Till. Choking, kissing, and violently sacrificing oneself are all aggressive, forward acts, especially from someone who used to toy with people to get his kicks but was otherwise quite passive and unfeeling.

There are a lot of parallels in the one-sided loves, like Till acting out of his usual character for Mizi, and Ivan doing the same because of Till, putting all hopes of being saved in something just out of reach, staying in chains for that one special person. But Ivan's psychology is quite different from Till's, and in fact closest to Luka's re: low or no empathy. Both Ivan and Till are significantly traumatized by their upbringings but Ivan's difficult early life in the slums and his experience being dangled off that rooftop seem to have damaged his ability to connect to others or feel much of anything.

Till is the first person for whom he feels anything while for Till, Mizi is an early crush he puts on a pedestal in a much more commonplace way. I think the shared trauma of competing on that stage makes it much more difficult for either of them to imagine moving on, but Ivan is not wrong in identifying that he won't find that feeling again.

The thing that intrigues me most about this series is the way the contestants' differences play out, particularly with regard to how they view love and how they respond to their individual and shared challenges. I'd love to get into it further another time but this is quite long already so thanks for sticking with it if any have (haha)

[inbarfink]

I have… so many little thoughts about Simon’s shift in the climax of ‘Prismo the Wishmaster’. He’s so ready to give up, to resign to Death By Interdimensional Beetle Cop. And the thing that pulls him out of it, gets him to see a purpose in his life again, is seeing Fionna cry.

And this moment is so important for Fionna and Cake because this is their first moment to really process the Implications and Consequences of their magical adventure. You know, it’s not just a dream you can wake up from - this is actually a matter of life and death and the fate of their entire world.

And it’s actually, also kinda the same from Simon’s perspective? Even if he was already told they are real and have been real all along a while ago - I think seeing Fionna break out in tears is really the moment where he processed her not as a manifestation of Ice King’s madness, not as yet another way the universe is kicking him when he’s down, not as a cruel joke at his expense. But really actually as people, who need his help.

And, I think about this, also in context with this moment?

Simon Petrikov is… a dad at heart. Simon’s first focus episode in F&C starts with a prologue of him and Marceline surviving in the wasteland. Showing that despite being under much more miserable circumstances

he still seemed to hold himself together far better than present-day Simon. 

Because the need to protect Marcy and keep her happy was giving him purpose and a motivation to hold himself together. 

And this desire to help and nurture and protect is clearly still deep within him. It’s just that now he feels incapable for doing so. In both body-

And spirit -

But now, suddenly, he is once again the Only Person Who Can Help this younger person in distress.

And I think that is a huge part of his motivation to keep on going right now. I mean, just look at how quickly he goes from dismissing Fionna and Cake - into basically declaring that he has to protect them. And fully willing to sacrifice his own identity and sanity to bring magic back to their world because he knows it’ll make Fionna and Cake happy. Because the moment he saw Fionna tear up, he basically decided to Adopt her.

And that’s, you know, technically a step forward - but it is a very very imperfect step. 

Like, at the very least he’s not drinking his sorrows away while waiting for death out of pure despair and spite. At least he has a sense of purpose and a reason to open up for others again and bond. And we’ve seen how much this has been a great coping mechanism for pulling himself together through difficult times.

My guess is that after two episodes of only seeing Simon Petrikov at his lowest and very worst - Fionna and Cake are finally going to get an understanding of Simon’s actual positive qualities as his dad-instincts are going to bring them up to the surface again. 

Buuuuuuuut….

You know, tying your sense of self-worth and motivation entirely to how well you can Dad is not particularly healthy in the long run either. And it’s going to cause problems both for Simon and for F&C.

Looking at it from what's best of Simon, for the sake of protecting Fionna and Cake and making them happy by bringing magic and wonder back into their world - Simon is willing to throw himself right into the suffering and trauma that he’s been fearing all this time and has been trying so hard to get away from. I mean, it’s also about how Simon has started to miss being Ice King in a weird twisted way and how he resigned himself to being miserable in general. It’s also about that, but the part that he actually says out loud is that he’s doing this to protect Fionna and Cake.

So that’s, you know, still very Not Good. Simon can’t hang his entire ability to properly function on there being Younger People who need his protection. He can't actually move forwards by trying to relive the Better Times of the Horrible Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland. That's not a sustainable coping mechanism. And it’s an incredibly unhealthy amount of self-sacrifice. 

And on Fionna’s side… she never said she wanted Simon to protect her.

She might want a useful teammate or a helping hand, she might need a friend. But I don’t think she needs a Dad. Simon is surely old enough to be her father (even just counting his age biologically and not the fact he’s 1058 years old) but Fionna’s not a Literal Child like Marcy was. Fionna Campbell is a grown-ass woman in her early 30’s (Finn is 29 years old right now and there was always kinda the implication that Fionna was a bit older than him). 

(And, heck, if she IS the daughter of a gender-flipped Minerva Campbell, she is probably not in the market for a new overprotective dad. She’s fully booked out on that.)

AND while Fionna does not possess full memories of her magical-adventuring-self, she clearly retains some of her fighting and athletic abilities.

Meanwhile Cake is clearly an adult in cat years and is just as much of an insanely powerful shapeshifter as Jake was.

So where does this middle-aged scrawny nerd get off, acting like it’s his job to sacrifice his mind in order to protect them?

And Fionna very much wants to be the hero, she wants to be at the center of the action. It is no coincidence that her own idealized version of Ice King/Simon is a Tuxedo Mask.

Someone who can give her a helping hand and words of encouragement when things get rough - 

But still lets her be the main hero of the story.

And you know, right now Fionna and Cake have not fully processed the implications of Simon choosing to become Ice King… but once they see a bit of who Simon really is at his better moments. Yeah, they’re probably gonna have some objections to the idea that he should throw his entire identity away just for their own sake. 

Back when Simon allowed the Crown to slowly consume him so he could protect Marcy, it felt like a noble sacrifice. It really seemed like he had no other options. But now he has the entire multiverse on his disposal and two serious badasses on his side. Simon has to learn to see the difference between a codependent senseless self-sacrifice and something that will actually help Fionna and Cake.

So if Simon is really going to lean too hard on his Dad aspect, it’s actually going to cause some really big problems down the line. For his own mental well-being, and for Fionna and Cake. It is in a way, a step in the right direction. And I think it’s going to lead to our main trio finally becoming closer and understanding each other - but unless Simon learns to temper himself, it’s going to cause some serious interpersonal conflicts.

At least this is my thoughts about these interactions right now. I know they’ve been really short but I think they’re really full of Meaning and Emotions. But really, we’ll just have to wait and see.

[afewfantasies]

🗡️ꜰᴇʏᴅ'ꜱ ʙʟᴀᴅᴇ 🗡️ - VII - KARMA

MASTERLIST

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 6.5K

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: Feyd Rautha X Reader

ᴘʟᴏᴛ: Feyd-Rautha gets a bitter taste of his own medicine. His arrival on Arrakis is not all he hoped it would be with his lady. He learns she is far more than meets the eye and his desire for her is only heightened by her newfound agency. Feyd doesnt mind playing by her rules, so long as he gets lucky.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: NSFW, minors do not engage, sexually explicit content and violence.

The black and white hues of Giedi Prime blur as you sit in your chambers. Your chest rises and falls as people bustle around you. Pale women and men without hair dressed in black work efficiently to ride your chambers of every single personal touch you’ve placed within. White noise plays in your mind as the events of your time here blur together. Sadness has turned into anger, and belonging into loneliness. It leaves you in a gray haze. Beyond the palace cisterns of water are loaded on to industrial ships, as well as several months worth of excessive provisions for Arrakis. You can't help but wonder if your new home will bring happiness and stability. If you and Feyd will reconcile, if things will get better. You hear the whispers. The Fremen lore is so powerful it seems to scare the terrifying brutal people of Giedi Prime. It’s a fact that seems ironic to you. Feyd will have his work cut out for him, knowing how much he enjoys bloodsports you have little hope that he’ll have time for you. Honestly, you're not even sure of what you want from him. A throat clears pulling you from your daze. Feyd’s attendant holds a silver platter with a scroll on it. Instead of speaking you give him a bored look.

“From the na-Baron” he says, only your heart doesn’t flutter like it should.

Taking the scroll you read it out of mercy. Uncrossing your legs you lift yourself off the dining room table and step down into the sunken living room, then back up to the main doors. Feyd has requested your presence. A pod awaits and you enter before his attendants can help you in. You’re still angry at him. Livid actually. There are no flutters of anticipation as you speed through the corridors. It takes several minutes before you arrive at a foreign wing of the palace. You're escorted into an elevator that ascends just as fast and as violent as all the others. Your heart begins to race a little, your senses become acute. You feel like a rat in a trap when the attendants stop following you into the dimly lit room. You tense hoping your abilities can be of service but a bright light can be seen in the distance. You try to listen for the sound of the Baron’s suspension device and cringe in anticipation of his scent - only it doesn’t come. The air becomes light, with each step you find yourself breathing easier, the air is cool and light. As you get closer you see rich green foliage that goes against everything you’ve ever learned about the industrial planet. Looking around you make note of the rich plant life, several of which produce deadly poisons but are beautiful nonetheless. Feyd materializes dressed in his regalia, a long floor length tunic that accentuates his shoulders and striking features. His full lips stretch into a smirk. Once you’ve entered the strange room you see a table has been set elegantly. 

Feyd-Rautha steps into your personal space and in spite of the magnetic chemistry between you, you step back. He catches you at your waist, not allowing you to move any further. Swallowing you refuse to cower and look at him with defiance. Flowers and a nice breakfast don’t begin to account for the pain he’s caused you. It’s like he reads your thoughts and lets you go. Feyd steps back swallowing, shame flashes across his expression in vulnerability as he tries to understand your cold reaction to his gesture. He’d never put as much thought or time into anything for anyone before. 

“Na-Baron, you requested my presence” you speak and Feyd cuts his eyes at you.

“Breakfast” he says, omitting the truth that he’d gotten only a few hours of tortured sleep and felt convicted enough to seek redemption for his actions.

“I don’t have an appetite, thank you” you smile politely but Feyd knows well enough it’s insincere. He cannot feel the energy that usually accompanies the gesture.

“Should I call a physician?” Feyd asks.

“No need, I’ve had my prognosis” you comment looking at his rare meat. The iron rich scent still makes you a little queasy. More-so, now that you're upset with the na-baron.

“I was not made aware of any assessments” Feyd comments.

“I’m sick of this planet and the people on it.” You speak recklessly. Surprise covers Feyd’s expression. You’d ever been so uncouth or cold towards him. He watches you turn, giving him your ass to kiss. He’d have anyone else strung up for such insolence. He watches the swish of your step as you sashay away. It was a declaration of war, a death wish, a slight against people who would undoubtedly become yours in due time. Feyd-Rautha had never chased anything in all his years; he hunted, he stalked, he tracked. He was the predator and whatever he had set his sights upon was prey. Swallowing his pride he pursues you widening his stride. It only takes him moments to be at your side, your angry eyes slicing him with a gaze that levels him. He’d never seen anything like it.

“My Lady” he rasps, stopping you.

“My Lord?” You respond indignantly.

You radiate a defiance unlike anything Feyd had never encountered. Indignity and a disregard for your own well being. There’d never been any guideline on how to handle you beyond his feelings and intuition. If his socialization would have it, he would have you begging for death in an hour. The mere thought of such harsh punishment has him shudder stepping back. He’d been conditioned to respond to disrespect and defiance with brutality. 

“What is your issue?” He snaps grabbing your hand.

“There are no crowds, I am not required to perform” you snap. Clenching his jaw he lets your hand go. 

“Is that all they teach at the academy, how to twist a person's words against them?” He snaps.

“If you don't like your own words then maybe you should think before you speak!” you snap back.

“Mind your temper, mind our child” he snaps looking at your stomach.Swallowing you fight everything in yourself to withhold tears.

“Lets not go tit for tat Feyd, I will be on the ship, I will play the part that’s expected of me” you respond. He says nothing more as you approach the pod.

“Out” Feyd growls at the drivers, they disperse and you allow Feyd to get to your door. You don’t thank him for getting in and he drives to the docks. You relax in the passenger seat and he steals glances slightly impressed with your anger. He wants nothing more than to touch you, to lay hands on your stomach but he doesn't want to add to your newfound rage.

“Guess I should be happy you feel safe enough to behave this terribly without fear” he comments. “It means you know I love you” Feyd says instead.

“You just don’t treat me like it” you respond and he makes a frustrated sound. 

“Enough” he warns and you roll your eyes at him. The gesture is so flagrant he nearly loses control of the pod. 

“Not even close” you respond as the vehicle comes to a stop. Leia is standing with your other staff. You get out on your own as you hear the drums begin for his unmistakable score. Turning back to him you cast him a final look as the crowd begins their chant.

“Feyd-Rautha

Feyd-Rautha

Feyd-Rautha” 

Nothing else needs to be said. So you make your way onto the ship feeling his eyes on you the entire way in. Your heart races feeling exhilarated. You feel powerful, you feel like you have agency for the first time in very long.

Petty squabbles have never been your thing, since childhood you’d been keen to let things go easily. Time with the ones we love is fleeting and no one knows that more than you. Still, you find yourself resentful of what transpired. Your desire was not to throw caution to the wind, or to openly defy the Baron. Your thoughts had been with Feyd, your actions born out of love and fear for his well being. You had no desire to delve further into the spider's web, and yet the Baron still had you trapped. You just wanted the days and nights to return to what they once were. With Feyd’s insatiable appetite for you being at the forefront of his mind. You wanted to feed his physical desire for you, to satisfy him, to make his days easier. To ensure his cuts and bruises were on the mend to ensure the father of the child quickening in your womb was alright. His response to your love and care could not be so easily forgiven, no matter how hard you tried. 

“You must take your leave of me when we arrive in Arrakis. Take time for yourself, make friends, find someone” you smile. Your plight had become hers with a few exceptions. Leia reaches for your hand resting her head against yours as she scoots beside you.

“We’re sisters, I will never desert you.” She promises and you smile.

“We’re sisters, I will never rob you of your ambition or personal desires” you retort.

“Now that you’ve had a taste of love my company is not enough?” She smiles, taking you in a hug.

“It’s just a different yearning” you disagree. “If things weren’t so bad I could feel good. I could handle the distance but I’m so angry with him and I know nothing is promised but Leia, I am seething” you confess closing your eyes.

“You ought to be angry with him, going up to the Baron you were risking your life as much as he was and we know nothing of mindless customs. You meant no harm and he knows your heart is pure” Leia says and you smile at her for her alliance.

“Exactly” you nod.

“Feyd-Rautha is not known for being a rational or sensible man. His treatment of you is ill advised but for what he’s capable of, I don’t think anyone can deny there’s love there. No physical harm has come to you” Leia defends and you roll your eyes at her sensibility. You’d knowingly fallen for a monster, what could you expect. He hadn’t been a kind, gentleman. He was a killer, a brutal man prone to torture and treachery. He’d taken your maidenhead before marriage, he kept humanoid creatures as pets, the list of misdeeds were neverending, still you couldn't deny the love there.

“If what I’ve done is unforgivable then why not do away with me? Give me a tea to end the pregnancy and return me to the academy?” You ask not understanding the harshness of Feyd’s shunning. Feyd stops in the doorway, his acute sense of hearing trained to your discussion. Do away with you? Terminate the pregnancy and send you back to the academy? Had you listened to anything he’d said or paid attention to any of his actions? Anger surges through him again and he turns away heading to his own chambers. The thought of losing you too much, the thought of anyone else having you was too much. It was why he’d been upset in the first place. Your submission to his uncle. He was supposed to be the only man to bring you to your knees. You were never supposed to subject yourself, him, or an unborn child to that. He thought having you would end the obsessive thoughts, cool the fire within him, satiate his insatiable need but it had done the opposite. Therein lies the problem. Feyd-Rautha had never been able to control himself or hold back in any scenarios. Open defiance like what you had shown was a new concept for him. Other women would have never. Other women wouldn’t have survived it. It wasn’t so much that your acts were unforgivable, Feyd could never hate you long term but he had hated you in those few moments, he’d hated the image, what it represented.

Unsheathing one of his short blades, Feyd twists it into the table top as he ponders his next steps. He balances it on its point and then balances the blade rolling it between his fingers without cutting himself. Rising he turns to the cork wall in his chambers pulling out a drawer. Right now the board would be a sit in for the Baron. With each throw, blade after blade nicks the Baron. In Feyd’s mind, he’d sliced the shield off his uncle's finger before it could be activated. Then he’d began slicing and carving up the man that had his na-baroness questioning the love he bore her. Feyd holds nothing back, letting it all out. His guards tremble at the door mistaking his plan of vengeance from a foul mood.

“Na-Baron, we will be descending in half an hour” the attendant trembles, snapping him out of his dazed state. Feyd wanted nothing more than to drag you into the bathing chamber and place soap and a scrubber in your hands. He wouldn’t say a word, you’d have to figure out what he wanted. He would make you clean every inch of him thoroughly as he watched. Your anger and the charged energy between you both add to your electricity and the danger of it all. He could feel it now as he stepped into the shower, your soft hands running soap along his chest, the admiration for his form in your eyes always did something to him. He hoped anger would never change that. Top to bottom, he would guide you to your knees only to have you test your own work. He would guide his already hard manhood into your mouth. He’d speak for the first time asking you if it’s clean as he pushes it in so far you gag needing reprieve. He’d use your defiance against you, it would be the perfect recipe for a violent orgasm. He’d pinch one of your nipples to further his cruelty as you tried to undo him with your mouth. He’d grab a handful of your hair for leverage, he’d lie and tell you it was the worst blowjob he’d ever received through closed eyes and gritted teeth. It would incense you, he knows it would, but you won’t get up and walk away, you’d somehow get even better rising to the occasion. The hatred for him in your eyes fuelling his desire for you. Your eyes looking back at him as you draw in your cheeks adding more suction. When he was close he’d push you away by the throat to avoid the defeat of coming everywhere. He couldn’t grant you that victory with those defiant eyes. He could picture you turning to walk away upset and seeming unbothered and that’s when he would crack. His heart would race as he swiped two fingers at your folds, closing his eyes with pride when he felt your honey oozing for him. He’d put his dick where it belonged, burying it deep within you. He’d be undone by all the angry tension leaving your face and body as you re-acclimate to him. He’d steady you in the slippery bathing chambers thrusting hard. It would be quick, it’d been too long. He’d have your back against the chamber walls pressing his weight into you as he empties his arousal into you. He’d leave himself in, still hard and ready for more. That first kiss would be his apology, he’d get lost in it. There wouldn’t need to be any words as he looked into your eyes dispelling any concerns about the status of his desire for you. Disconnecting would be a task but it would be his turn to wash you up. The people of Arrakis would have to wait for the na-baron and his intended to dismount from the ship. He’d take your hand keeping you at his side so the people knew they had to answer to the both of you. On Arrakis you would be equals. He would teach you to keep your head held high. He’d take his time making love to you a few more times that afternoon before going on his first raids.

Opening his eyes Feyd releases a firm grip from his manhood. The mere fantasy of you is far more powerful than the prospect of another woman. Ridding himself of his mess, he leaves the bathing chambers getting on his garments and then his armor. Unlike most he needed to cover himself under the powerful Arrakeen sun. You hear Feyd's strong stride before you see him. Turning you see the na-baron, he has the flush he has after he’s made love to you. Your heart skips, your stomach falls and you feel loss - he’d been with someone. Frowning you swallow the sting of his infidelity bowing to him in the company of the huge procession traveling with you.

The bay doors descend slowly to a flurry of whispers and celebration sounds. The heat is strong, your robes blow slightly in the ever so slight breeze that seems to bring more heat than reprieve. Taking Leia’s had you step forward seeing the crowds. You go to take the discreet way onto the palatial grounds with the staff. Trying to remain calm in the face of the people about Feyd’s disloyalty. You look out at the hooded people and begin stepping down like the rest of the procession. A firm hand takes your wrist. Feyd looks down at you. His face is somewhat obstructed by a face shield contraption. Leia stops letting go when she sees Feyd’s hand around your wrist. To both of their surprise you snatch your wrist out of his grasp heading to follow the entourage. Feyd stands shocked allowing you to make several determined steps away before grabbing you by the arm this time. He presses the shield on his face making the screen go away.

“Walk” he commands tilting his head in the direction of the people. Blind rage has you angry enough to openly defy him once more.

“Go with him” Leia says telepathically. Swallowing your anger you adjust your robes and jewelry before turning to face Feyd. He holds a hand out for you to take it. You're so disgusted by his betrayal you cannot. Disgruntled Feyd grabs your hand before striding down the opening ship for onlookers. The reception is mixed, people shout different things, all respectful as far as you reckon. The strength of the sun mixed with the fire kindling in you is a dangerous combination.

“What’s the matter with you?” Feyd asks once you’ve completed the long walk into the palace.

“You don’t care” you grit. As the doors are closed behind you. Looking up you see the brown stone walls all around you. The attendants and staff are already more promising, not all of them are hairless and stark. Their eyes are warm and though there may be treachery in them you don’t foresee the same imminent danger as in Giedi Prime.

“Disperse!” Feyd roars, dragging you into a room as people scatter. He closes the door behind you and you turn, shoving him back reaching for the door as he holds it shut above you. Turning your back is against the wall, Feyd stands over you with his hand pressed against the door above your head. He doesn’t know whether to be turned on or murderous about your disrespect. Somehow your angry eyes are just as beautiful as your happy ones. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears as you stare back at him the tension thick between you.

“What?” You snap, stomping. 

“It must be the child that has you in this way!” He snaps with a clenched jaw.

“You were with someone on the ship here. Don’t lie to me, I know I can see it in your eyes, in your stance. Go to her and leave me be” you snap, turning to the door but there’s no knob and your strength isn’t a match for Feyd’s. When you turn he wears a smirk, losing it you shove him back for mocking you further. Chuckling he lets you take a few determined steps away.

“There’s one exit” he says, having you trapped. He undoes his armor and you wish you were strong enough to hurt him.

“There was no one else, no one else just visions of you and my hand” Feyd says, stopping you in your tracks. You stare at him, he’d never been a liar thus far and had no reason to lie but… taking a deep breath you pause trying to sense if it's the truth or not.

“I’ve already explained I need your love, I don’t do substitutions” Feyd-Rautha says and his tone does not waiver. Your cheeks burn with embarrassment over your behavior. You curse yourself for the colorful display and rush for the door. Your shoes make noise on the stone floor, the halls are deserted, you just follow the path until Feyd’s steps sound behind yours. When you reach the edge of the hall a few people look relieved to see you alive, Leia chief among them. 

“Anything the lady wants” Feyd speaks before turning in the direction of his war council. The sooner he could eradicate the Fremen rebellion the sooner he could tend to the woman he found himself thinking the gods had fashioned just for him. The crazy outburst stroking new flames within him. Going against his better judgment Feyd follows you into your chambers and the staff clears out. You turn to face him. He must think you’re a weak minded, stupid, lovesick, silly woman. The smirk on his face tells you he’s enjoying every moment of this. 

“Kneel” you tell him telepathically. You can feel resistance as he tries to decipher what’s happening to him. Feyd-Rautha falls to his knees. His eyes are on yours as you close the distance between you. “I may have been on my knees but I never begged” you say once again, your words leave your mind floating into his. You see comprehension in his eyes when he realizes your mouth hasn't moved. “It was never submission and if you opened your thick head and let me be there for you, you would know that! And then we wouldn’t be at odds and you wouldn’t have to have used your hand today. I would’ve been happy to show my appreciation to you and to walk at your side. Now I want you gone from my sight.” Your message is conveyed. Feyd goes to speak, “Silence” you declare and his lips close. “Stand and leave now, tend to your spice, finish your raid, leave me be” you add, turning away from him again. You can feel the resistance but ultimately in this area you are stronger than Feyd-Rautha. He says nothing, getting on his feet and leaving.

Deep admiration for you swells within him, at your strength, power and prowess. He’d been right about the gods.

———

Feyd-Rautha’s ability to focus is what set him apart from his brother. Unlike Rabanne he made everything coordinated on live feeds. There would be an overwhelming use of force in sync, giving the Fremen little time to react. He’d been tracking their movements and instead of wasting manpower he would use firepower to do as much damage as possible. He feared no one while out in the desert, unlike most he would not tire or dehydrate so fast. He’d withstood trials in extreme heat before and practiced fighting in the sand. Looking at the triangulation on the live map he uses the heat cameras to ensure the areas are as populated as was reported before callously pressing the buttons. Watching from the safety of his ship he sees all of the attacks have been successful. All possible entrances were destroyed. He has his reserve force evacuate the known alternate refuges. He’d had the doors re-wired to open allowing a large number of people inside before closing. Then those inside would be eviscerated in moments. The remaining living Fremen would be more desperate to crack, more pliable or more radical. Either way, there would be value in turning those few survivors. It would be consolation for all the restraint he required to deal with you. The success of his mission yields happy thoughts. Relaxing in his seat he considers his actions. In his preparation for Arrakis he had underestimated you greatly.

 Like one of his knives, the more beautiful the more deadly - the same was to be said for you. Your beautiful eyes were more piercing than a sword, looking as innocent as they do while yielding the ability to rob a man of his free will without a word. If it hadn't been for your blood within Feyd he never would have known it was you, as the sound of the voice in his head was his own. He felt the urge to kneel and do everything else you declared. Unlike with the late Bene Gesserit whose voice felt like a demand. The sound of shots being fired from the ship gets his attention as Fremen leaving the caves are killed.

“Should we go down and take hostages?” One of his men asks.

“No” Feyd says, not willing to risk his trip back home to you.

After a long day of fighting and bloodshed Feyd is satisfied by how things have gone. He could place harvesters down but he didn’t want to lose any others. He wouldn't risk it. He had better alternatives. Unlike his brother Feyd could take his time, there was no need for great haste just success.

“Reports of my betrothed?” He asks.

“She has had her lunch and dinner. She and her ladies went out into the night markets to give the excess to the people, specifically the children. She was advised against it but - she did as she wished.” The Mentat says. Feyd knows the creature's allegiance is to the Baron.

“If my betrothed requires advice I’m sure she will request it” Feys responds on your behalf.

“My lord it is unsafe and ill advised” the Mentat says. Feyd is no fool; he knows the objective of your exploration is undoubtedly to cause him grief but that frustration would be his and no one else’s. He slices the creature's throat without another thought and settles into his seat as the blood pools. Attendants carry the body out and silence falls on the ship.

Back on at the palace you feel far more settled and stable after a night enjoying the people and culture of Arrakis. It’s been so long since you’ve experienced any semblance of normalcy being at the academy and then on Giedi Prime. Your father had been a kind ruler and you hoped to be the same. Arrakeen mothers had been reluctant at first but then they’d come willingly. The kids had smiled as they ate things they’d never tried before, melons and other fruits not native to the desert. The party only grew in size as the people came to celebrate your kindness and arrival. You danced and laughed with Leia feeling as though you could breathe for the first time in so long. The blue eyed people sprinkled into the crowds brought you back to your visions but none looked like that woman watching you in a still suit. You return to your chambers with jewelry, silks and perfumes. Leia retires before you’re ready for sleep. You sit in the windowsill looking out into the nights shadows. You sense Feyd before you hear his soft steps. When you turn he’s in his night clothes, ready for bed. Unfortunately the technology in Arrakis is more analog and so keeping him out will take time. You’re happy he’s back safe, in spite of everything.

You want nothing more than to sit in his lap and melt into his arms. But, Feyd-Rautha has taught you much of the pride a na-baroness is supposed to have. The emotional control required of you, the constant calculation and maneuvering is exhausting.

“Come to bed” he commands, unwilling to submit. 

“Where are your quarters?” You ask and Feyd looks around. Frowning you raise an eyebrow. “It’s against custom, we’ve yet to marry” you remind him.

“You’ve chosen these rooms, there is no suitable room close enough to suit my needs” Feyd explains.

“Well as much as custom is important to you it is to me and I’d like you to take your leave” you comment taking the steps down from the window. Feyd smirks knowing he deserves your pettiness.

“Customs rooted in the opinions of others have no bearing on our relationship” Feyd says without humor.

“Since when?” you ask

“New place, new start” he declares conveniently.

“Why do you get the final say?” You ask as he closes in on you. Holding an arm out you keep him at arm's length. His eyes are on yours as he kisses the inside of your wrist. “Want to make it right?” You ask and he nods. “Sleep in your quarters, leave me be tonight” you tell him, getting a guttural growl in response. 

“No” he steps in and you step back.

“Yes. Then tomorrow; new place, new start” you respond, maintaining the distance. Feyds features harden; he steps forward again and you step back. It’s a battle of wills you're well aware Feyd could overpower you and your abilities only seemed to take when you were experiencing extremely heightened negative emotions. If Feyd pushed hard enough you’d crack wanting him as much as he wants you especially after this morning.

“Fine,” he agrees. Smiling you let your hand down, frustrated he turns away annoyed at your excitement. He takes a few steps down heading to the door without a goodnight.

“Feyd?” you call and he turns. “What was I doing in your fantasy on the ship?” You tease, his frown turns to a smile and he shakes his head heading to the door.

“I was giving you the hard fucking I should’ve started with” he says with his back to you. Turning to face you he assesses your pensive reaction. Shrugging you turn your back to him heading back up to the window.

“Maybe you can work on earning those privileges” you comment and he smiles shaking his head, he’d make you eat your words.

“Goodnight my love” he rasps.

“Good night na-Baron” you respond and he stops giving you another look. He gives you the opportunity to bid him the proper farewell and when it doesn’t come he strides to you up the stairs. Your heart races as his eyes fall to your lips instead he stinks down to a squat pulling you to him. He places a kiss on your stomach.

“Your father Feyd-Rautha loves you dearly, so I’ll let your mother have her way this night. I want you to be strong and healthy” Feyd says before standing. It’s high-level manipulation. You both know it as you melt. Feyd has never been known to play fair.

“Love you” he says again before leaving. You feel goosebumps pepper your skin. You lock the door behind him after palming your stomach. You step slowly back to your bedroom. Once in his quarters nearly five minutes away Feyd sits on his bed. It had been a foolish bit of architecture, clearly the previous occupants hadn’t loved each other, what other reason was there for such impracticality. He would have that rectified the moment the spice was flowing again. Turning on his screen he looks in on you. His eyes gape at the sight. There you are in a red and gold set that makes you look ethereal, wilder than any dream or fantasy his mind could ever conjure.

You had purchased a new wardrobe from the market. Undergarments and clothing said to stoke passion and desire from your lover. Something about the racy garments brought your thoughts to Feyd. It was supposed to be a surprise for your reconciliation but playing as dirty as he was now would have to do. Knowing his voyeuristic tendencies you put it on quickly before he could get into his room. You picture the lust in his eyes as he sees you on screen. The bra fits your breasts so well, the new volume of them confirming your pregnancy to him, as did the new curve of your hips. Barely visible changes to anyone else, but Feyd studied every inch of your figure. He watches as your hands hover over all the parts of you he loves so much. Untying the short red sarong of sorts he sees a small undergarment that covers hardly anything. Nothing similar could be found on Giedi Prime and he’d brought nothing of the sort from the academy. Arching your back you continue your striptease emboldened by Feyd’s own manipulation. You drag your hands up your behind the way Feyd does. You can feel his eyes on you as you pad to the bathing chambers. It's not as technical as the self cleaning mechanisms of Giedi but it will do. You part with your top before your bottoms baring it all unabashedly for Feyd your skin heating from the thrill of your seduction. You stand under the stream of water in view of the camera, facing him. You glisten, radiating confidence and seduction. He should be in there with you making his reverie come true. It’s a great miracle he remains seated growing painfully hard as he watches you wash up. He wanted to know you as intimately as you know yourself again. It should be his hands on you and yours on him. How could he ever be so stupid to risk you? Only you would be so crazy, so daring to push him so close to the edge. Freeing himself of his pants he uses his early arousal for slip.

You put on a show for him knowing he needs it, knowing he’s watching.  Adjusting yourself to the cameras you make sure he has the perfect view. Stepping from the shower to the air dryer you pad naked to your closet and pick out a sheer sleep set. Feyd can hardly stand not being able to touch you, he would let you be this once. Turning you lean against the intercom knowing it goes to him first looking at the camera he feels like your eyes meet his and he freezes mid stroke. Your eyes seem to be looking through him, your smirk all knowing as it curls into a smile. His breathing slows as you look to him coyly.

“White or lilac?” You ask looking up at the camera shattering his secret. His heart begins to race as it registers. The act had not been innocent but all for him. A tantalizing seduction you were taunting him with what was his and he yet he couldn't have.

“You're a bad bad bad na-baroness” he responds his voice is so guttural you know he’s pleasuring himself. Relaxing you smile nodding.

“So you’d better be a very good na-baron, going forward” you respond.

“Lilac your grace” he says and you dress slowly for him. “You don’t know what-”

You cut him off by pressing the button to chip him out, “Shows over Feyd-Rautha, sleep well my love” You say cutting off the light to leave him high and dry. As much as you want him you stand your ground as he had stood his. Smiling Feyd only feels arousal. It takes no time at all to finish himself off. His attraction to you was becoming dangerous, at this rate he would never stop having children.  He would need you every night, sometimes multiple times a day. You were teaching him so much about partnership, showing him grace where he’d shown you pride and immaturity. You had never asked him for change, you’d never asked him for anything really. He felt the shame of his actions, he was going to be a father soon and the only place he should be is beside you in bed. It had been his plan for Arrakis.  Feyd vows that it will be different come morning, he would hire the seamstresses to make multiples. He would begin the wedding preparations without the Baron’s consent. He would be the best lover and father. He would erase all ambiguity showing his love with the same unbridled abandon he showed his wrath.

The heated air rouses Feyd from an uncomfortable night's sleep. Coming to his senses slowly, you're the first thing on his mind. Checking the tablet he doesn’t see you in your chambers. Frowning as he stood there was no time to set up any other parts with such high tech cameras. He freshens up before dressing in his typical attire attaching his blade belt. Order would need to be maintained and fear would be his best motivator. Pushing open his bedroom door there’s no sign of movement. Looking around he heads to your quarters and stops at the scent of fresh blood. Running he sees dead guards littered all around the vicinity. Rushing to your door  he finds evidence of forced entry and pushes it open to find the room he’d seen on the screen, there were no signs of struggle. Heading to your bedside as your heart races he sees the lilac set has been discarded.

Leia comes to mind. He rushes over to her quarters and finds her tied up and gagged. Her tears weaken Feyds knees and he stumbles back into the wall. Taking the blade he cuts the bonds.

“They came looking for you, I heard footsteps but I couldn’t get to her in time. We were communicating telepathically, and I was about to get help when men came in and did this” she explains fast with tears in her eyes. Feyd has the urge to end her life but he already had enough to apologize to you for.

“Was she hurt?”

“No, there was a bag over her head. They were asking her for you” Leia explains. It’s the challenge of Feyd’s life. Pushing through he heads to the control center only to find all the surveillance systems down and workers dead. It had been an inside job. Grabbing a tablet he goes into your room's cameras rewinding the footage. You’re seconds away from pressing the intercom when they come in with guns pointed at you and his unborn. 

“Where is the Harkonnen scum?” you’re asked as you raise your hand in surrender. The guards repeat themselves and you go to scream only to have a black bag put over your head to silence you. They declare they’re taking you for questioning. The men leave and three women stand around you ransacking your closet. Feyd watches as they strip you, dressing you and then putting a still suit over your garments. Rising his chest heaves when he realizes you're destined for the desert. Seeing red, he vows to turn the dunes of Arrakis red with Fremen blood.

______________________

Authors Note:

I now this was a long one, probably the longest part I've ever written. Thank you so much for reading it. What do we think of the Lady's payback? Feyd's attempts to redeem himself and his double dose of Karma? Remember those visions a few chapters ago? What do we think happens next?

If you enjoyed, like comment and reblog.

See you in the comments below, xoxo

______________________

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[livelaughlovesubs]

Ooh so for the prompts

Spitting in their mouth and hurting them in front of a mirror so they’re forced to watch with Fyodor? Cause he's often super prideful and I have a huge corruption (idk if you'd call it that) kink and it would be fun to break him a lil <3

HAPPY ONE YEAR BLOG ANNIVERSARY BTW YOUR WORK IS AMAZINGGG 💗

THANK YOU DARLING <33 oh and I paired these up cuz they’re a little similar :] (also I feel like this one isn’t that good)

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor - reader is gn

Warning: mirror play, biting, kissing, marking, hair pulling, spiting, teasing, dirty talk (?), a bit manhandling

Anniversary event

“See your reflection, fedya?” You made eye contact with him through the mirror, chin resting on his shoulder while he made himself comfortable in your lap. “Of course I do.” Fyodor answered, a slight frown on his face. He wondered why you wanted to bring a mirror into your play session. “Mhm, look at you, such a pretty boy.” A slight rustle of your clothes, then you pointed at the laid out scene in front of you, kissing his neck softly when you noticed him watching.

His shoulders jerked a little, heart racing by a lot, most of it being due to shame. A shiver ran down his spine. “Is this all? A little bit of kissing?” He teased, almost disappointed as he turned around to properly look you in the eyes. You shook your head, nudging him in order to make him look back into the mirror, mumbling, “be a good boy and keep watching. It’ll be fun.” The ‘good boy’ in question didn’t see the ‘fun’ in it like you did, though nonetheless, he listened to you and obediently did as he was told.

Then you resumed kissing him, moving your lips along the smooth edges of his jawline, down to his throat and lastly his shoulders. You felt him relax in your grasp, a soft sigh leaving his lips while he slumps back against your chest. Seeing how peaceful this was, you wanted to tease him a little, blowing hot air against his ear as you asked, “Feels nice?” He nodded, eyes half-lidded as he lazily gazed into the mirror, still a little confused. “Ah? Want some more action then?”

Fyodor didn’t think much about it, he must have been dozing off since he nodded so easily. “I’ll start slow so don’t worry.” You smirked, then chomped down on his neck, leaving behind nasty bite marks. “Ah- ahhhHh.??!” He yelped in surprise at the sharp pain spreading from the wound, irritating his skin. When you bit him, you didn’t know when to stop, all you could feel was his tender skin getting crushed and the hardness of the muscles a layer beneath.

That’s why it went as far as you drawing blood.

His gaze fixated on his reflection in the mirror, playing out in front of him like a movie. He felt his insides twist and curl when he saw some blood prickling from his bite wound, and you licking it up eagerly. “Ughh..!” When he tried to turn his head around once more, you grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked on it, forcing him to stay seated. “Wha- y/n..?” You interrupted him, “I told you to look ahead, fyodor.” He gulped, eyes slowly wandering back to the object opposite of him.

Poor boy, he couldn’t keep his small whines of pain mixed with lust down whenever you tugged at his hair, or left more marks of ownership on his skin. Soon, his neck and shoulder area looked like a battlefield, with all these bites and hints of remaining blood. Then, by accident, your eyes met. He fixated on your gaze through the mirror, shivering with anticipation. You whispered with an unreadable smile, “aren’t you a cute thing? Making such lewd sounds just by watching your reflection?”

He digressed, wanting to turn around again before stopping himself, not wanting to disobey your orders again, “you’ve been making advanced on me, of course this would happen.” It sounded more like an excuse than an argument, and he didn’t exactly say it with much conviction. “Is that so?” You asked again, pulling at his silky hair. Now you were the one to make him turn and look at you.

“Huh?” His eyes widened, blinking a few times in shock. Fyodor was arching his back because of you tugging his head backwards, hands bawled into fists as he rest them on his thighs. “Stick your tongue out, fedya.” You said, face hovering inches above him, gazing down at him all smug and affectionate. He thought you were going to kiss him, so he blushed a little, then obliged nonetheless. Awkwardly sticking his tongue out, eyelids hanging low over his pupils.

You thought he looked really cute like that. Looking so eager to kiss you, basically trembling with excitement. With something so cute in your presence, you wouldn’t not smile, lips pressed tightly shut to suppress a smirk before kissing the tip of his nose. He frowned at your teasing gesture, wet muscle still hanging out like you wanted. “Don’t look so mad.” You chirped and leaned down to his lips, but instead of doing what he expected, you also stuck out your tongue and let your saliva drip down into his mouth.

He was like frozen, unmoving like a statue. Then you clasped a hand over his lips, telling him, “swallow.” It took a moment for him to register your words, but when he did, his cheeks flushed and he shook his head. “Why, embarrassed?” You muttered, continuing with, “don’t be, I’ve made you do worse.” Fyodor hesitated, then gulped, you saw his Adam’s apple moving. Once he finished, you pulled your hand back, and a whimper immediately followed.

“HnnGh…” some tears were swelling in the corners of his eyes, or you were just imagining it. Nevertheless, you leaned closer to his ear and whispered, “see? Wasn’t so hard. And it seems you enjoyed it in the end anyway.” He whined again, involuntarily of course but he still did, and avoided your gaze by turning to the side, mumbling meekly, “stop talking..” seeing how worked up he was, you couldn’t help yourself, grinning from ear to ear as you teased, “you sure? Since based on your little whimpers, you seem to like what I’m doing quite a bit.”

There was no answer from him, he was way too humiliated to do anything against your relentless teasing. The boy shuddered, and you let go of his hair, instead making him look into the mirror again. “Anyway, shall we continue where we left off?” He had to brace himself for a long night.