#they just… incapacitate you 🥰 until someone comes to get you 🥰

[britcision]

So this is pretty much what it looks like when I’m world building with the partner

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Partner: so I want Evil Tony Stark to have this magic painting of a door that opens into a dark little room to keep my boy in when he’s naughty or inconvenient

Me: oh yes very good. And it’s not like the frame is the door, you open the painting of the door into another dimension

Partner: yeah he’s gotta be able to take it away with him so he can have it on command 😈

Me: okay so how I think this works is he paints the room inside it first to make the interdimensional space, and then paints the door closed over it, so he can paint whatever he wants in the room 🤔

Partner: oh yeah that’s cool, so he can put furniture or a happy little tree in 😋

Me, suddenly vibrating: okay but no he actually paints a Happy Little Tree and it’s just a tree in the corner of this completely dark room that just giggles softly all the time 🫠

Partner: …. And we tell the party as a joke the first time about this old cell the boy was in with a happy lil tree 😏

Me: and then we don’t say anything for like 2 years and then one of them gets put in the dark room and they just hear giggling 🤩

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Or

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Partner: okay so Evil Tony Stark mostly uses constructs and stuff for servants so we’ll put the Robotery in the basement for those 🤖

Me: okay, and when y’all go back to the abandoned mansion do you want there to be one left behind? 🙂

Partner: fuck yeah and the boy knows all of them he loves little creatures (and the house mimics) 🥰

Me: and since the boy was intentionally left behind, this is probably a construct that was doing something related to him so it’s probably reasonably aesthetic, yea? Like feeding him or dressing him up? 😇

(The boy was being kept as a pet by Evil Tony Stark because he glows for Fey Reasons and was pretty literally a living sculpture for 11 years and they did not exactly worry about the “living” part much)

Partner: yeah, if Evil Tony Stark is gonna see it around it’s gotta be aesthetic ✨

Me: so you find this cute sweet little construct friend and then you go a little further into the room and just see hundreds of partially or fully deconstructed bodies of this exact little guy and most of them are just minorly different aesthetics because Evil Tony Stark just trashes them when he wants a new look

Also one is still just barely alive and that’s because it’s one of the ones with a person’s soul bound to it and they’ve just been cuddling in the dark for months since they were abandoned 🥰

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This just happens in the winter okay I become Extremely Fucking Ominous for literally no reason and then it’s Horror Time

Most of our world building is him making cool and interesting places and characters and then me sneaking in sideways like “hey what if they’re also super fucked up 👀”

And to be fair he loves it and he always says yes please and helps me fuck them up more

Anyway we laid the groundwork for Lord Meldacio’s mansion today that the party are gonna get to in a couple weeks and I had so much fun this guy is the fucking bomb

[the-lark-ascending69]

@boofbuck why must you hurt me at 4am like this 😭😭 what do you eam she can't carve out all that is rotten in her because it's all of her that is rotten 😭😭😭 Robin is beautifully torturable, she's my favorite sacrificial lamb 🥰 she has all of these urges inside of her and all of them are disgusting to her. Even the way she craves affection and understanding it is contorted in her mind as something terrible to ask of anyone. No one will like her. No one will love her. She hates being tall and towering over most of her girl classmates. She has a terrible posture. She secretly wishes someone would kiss her gently and she feels guilty because of it.

And then there's the truly evil and perverse thoughts, like the jealousy that comes when she sees Jonathan wrap an arm around Nancy, irrational anger and disgust curling in her stomach, even though he and Nancy are not together, even though they're just friends. She hates her obsession. She hates that she can't get rid of her resentment. But she fights it oh so hard, and she's so incredibly dishonest with herself when she goes out of her way to be extra nice to Jonathan because she refuses to be that kind of person, even though something in her wants to punch him. During her ruts she thinks of Nancy once and she can't help but to touch herself to make the pain go away. She cries herself to sleep that night, and never touches herself again. Despite being an alpha, she only ever took care of herself the way most girls would. She never touched anywhere else. It disgusts her. Sometimes she sees it and thinks about chopping it off. It is rotten.

People say sports help with these things (great, another space full of literal alpha males). She joins soccer and leaves it pretty quickly, because she was bad at it, she didn't even like it so much, but mostly she felt the other girls in her team looked at her weird, maybe because she was the only alpha, maybe because she was Robin Buckley, Weirdest Girl in Hawkins, and nobody wanted to be near her.

She goes running with Steve and it feels pretty great for a while, because she gets to have someone who doesn't judge, another alpha with the same urges as her, but... he has the freedom to indulge in them. He talks to her about his sexual conquests as if she were a fellow boy interested in knowing about these things, and he tells her she just needs to find an omega boy to take to bed whenever she has her ruts and bam, problem solved. Robin can't even think of where to start with all the problems she has with... that, so she just says she's fine the way she is. She isn't. She isn't comfortable and unas unashamed the way Steve is. She doesn't ge to indulge. She doesn't get to be happy.

She starts taking supressants in secret. Her parents, domesticated hippies that they are, believe these things are all some Big Pharma conspiracy and that alphas and omegas were born to freely indulge in their needs as they like. Robin wishes she could be as comfortable as they are with the whole ordeal. She actually takes up a job just to pay for her over-the-counter supressants in secret. They're meant to help with pain and any incapacitating symptom during ruts, but Robin takes them almost daily. They seem to work for a while - she feels a bit numb, with no agressive feelings, no urges, no jealousy and no attraction, and she can barely feel her rut when it comes. Steve mentions one day that her scent is gone, and he's concerned but she's impossibly happy, until a sudden nausea has her crying and hunched over the toilet. A killer headache, anxiety, racing heart, chills, insomnia. She's irritable at school and depressed at home. She gets seriously scared when she has some bleeding despite not being near her period, but she doesn't stop until Nancy notices. It takes two separate moments for her to put the pieces together: she sees Robin swallowing two of these pills at once one day, and a week later she receives a call from her. Robin was actually looking for Steve, and he didn't answer his phone so she wondered if he might be at the Wheelers' house. Robin doesn't want to bother Nancy - they're new friends at this point and not as close - but Nancy being Nancy, stubborn, protective of her people, strong and resolute, takes the car and drives to Robin's house without giving her time to argue, because Robin's voice sounded so weak and broken and scared that Nancy had to make sure she was okay.

She catches Robin in the middle of a panic attack, or something (it's the fucking anxiety the pills cause, they make her so jittery), and even though Robin is terrified of Nancy seeing her like this, Nancy brings her water, takes her out into the porch to have fresh air, and stays with her the whole time, until it passes, rubbing her back and then getting up to make some tea.

She sees the pill bottle on the counter, and when she questions Robin about it, Robin thinks she'll be mad, because, okay, maybe she's putting herself in danger and she knows Nancy doesn't like that, but she swears she has it under control! And it's necessary! Otherwise she'll just be aggressive and lustful and disgusting, and she begs Nancy not to tell anyone - she'll understand, right? She's an omega, surely she won't feel completely safe alone with an unmedicated alpha in rut, will she?

And Nancy's gaze was stern and hard and Robin is so sure she's mad at her, but then her lower lip trembles a little, her eyes now filled with sadness as she rubs at them, and she says, "i could never feel unsafe around you".

And it's like it breaks for Robin, when Nancy holds her in her arms and they sob together, and Nancy makes her promise she'll never take these pills again, not without the help of a doctor, and certainly not because she thinks it will fix something that's wrong with her.

Robin knew what she was getting herself into. Coming out of suppressants all of a sudden resulted in long, painful ruts, and even though she makes a promise to Nancy, she's terrified. She has no idea what she'll be like when she leaves them. She fears she'll be worse than before. She just wants to feel normal and human and it's like she can never escape the beats inside of her.

So Nancy says something Robin never expected her to. "I'll come help you". She holds her cheek in her hand and brushed with her thumb the tears under her eyes. "I'll take care of you for as long as you need me".

And Robin immediately says no. She can't. she can't do that to Nancy, she refuses. Nancy, who doesn't like girls as far as Robin knows, who is always so unfair with herself, who will sacrifice herself fully for the wellbeing of her loved ones, who acts always so strong and powerful but who is just as scared as the rest of them. She can't do that to her.

But a few weeks later her rut comes, and it's worse than ever, because everything hurts so much she can't even get out of bed, and all she can think about is Nancy, Nancy, Nancy. She makes the mistake of telling Steve she's in rut when he dials her house asking why the fuck she's not at school, and he goes on to tell Nancy like a complete genius.

The school day isn't even over when Nancy drives to Robin's house. She won't allow her friend to suffer alone. She will fulfill her promise, and make sure Robin never thinks to take those pills again.

I just saw @sylvanas-and-the-diamonds mention something about a/b/o ronance in the ronance tag and that just had me thinking about it as in... omega Nancy who is constantly overlooked and not taken seriously, expected to marry a literal alpha male like Steve and have his six babies in a white picket fence neighborhood, overly sexualized by men, resented and envied by beta women who wish they had the desirability she has, told to calm down and not let her "journalism hobby" distract her from her place in nature - growing up filled with frustration and rage against the world but also herself, her nature and her body for seemingly hating her. Oh, how she wishes she were a beta, it would be a little bit easier that way. But not an alpha. Oh, no, never an alpha. That's too much, even for her.

And (extremely rare) alpha Robin, who has been sideyed and whispered about so much during her teenage years that she's convinced herself she doesn't care about people, or dynamics, or omegas or anything in that vein because "that's stupid anyway" and "she's above all of that" (the true sigma female, lmao). Female alphas are the rarest dynamic, more rare even than male omegas, but Robin never got the chance to enjoy being unique, no, female alphas are always rumorized to be lesbians, or lesbian-adjacent, or whatever they came up with. Unless she got together with a male alpha (a male omega is still... a bit too much for them), those rumors won't stop. But she doesn't want an alpha. She wants an omega. Oh she loves omegas, she knows some alphas have a thing for betas as well, or even other alphas, but Robin is just obsessed with omegas. Female omegas. Which makes her feel horrible when she thinks about it for more than one minute, because girls around her already feel intimidated by her, either because she's so sardonic, because they assume she's a lesbian, or because alphas are naturally seen as domineering. The fact she want an omega girl only makes her seem more predatory. She doesn't want to be an alpha. She doesn't feel strong or dominant or protective. She just feels like a freak, a huge weirdo and she hates herself a little bit for being like this. She wonders if it'd be easier if she were an omega. She sometimes thinks that would fit her better - she becomes such a sweet puppy when she's with cute girls. She gets nervous and talks too much and seeks their approval, but she also knows that, no matter how small she makes herself - because it's in her nature or because she feels like she has to - she fears that if she ever asks a girl out, she'll just say yes out of fear.

Small little angry dominant omega Nancy and soft scared full of love alpha Robin who knows she was born to be a bottom the moment she and Nancy met.

[early20sfailingplenty]

Request 👏 Vincent Sinclair teaching y/n how to make a wax figure, like teaching them how to work the pipes an how to smooth out the wax on the body...please an thank you this has been in my head for years 😫

YES OMG PLEASE🥺👌🙏 I love this idea so much omg I'm taking it and running with it.😂 Combining them because of how similar they are; I hope neither of you mind!🥰 @sweet-thistle

I'm tagging @aggravatetheaxe in this because a few weeks ago, we discussed how much work Vincent gets done in a few hours and I've listed that out in the first bullet point. To me, not telling people where the inspiration came from feels like stealing ideas which aren't mine so I hope you don't mind the shout-out for credit! (If you do, then let me know and I'll remove the tag hasdfghjkl🥺)

TW; reader is as bad as the Sinclairs (ACTIVE PARTICIPATION, sadistic, enjoys it), canon typical violence and darkness, a nameless gender neutral victim gets put in the Death Chair but they don't die (they're as good as though) so consider this a warning for (future) murder, THE VICTIM IS DEHUMANISED BY BOTH VINCENT AND THE READER (they're referred to as 'the victim', the 'canvas' etc.), swearing in the narrative & dialogue, mentions of old burn injuries and scars (specifically in relation to Vincent accidentally hurting himself due to the nature of his work).

GENDER NEUTRAL, NO CODED LANGUAGE, Y/N AND "YOU" USED

Word count: 2, 986 (am I incapable of writing short things?😩😂)

You had been asking Vincent for months now to teach you how to make a wax figure. It wasn't just because you had a genuine curiosity about how he worked the pipes, about how he turned an actual person into wax (and how the fuck he managed to incapacitate someone, coat them in wax, smooth it all down, reapply any facial hair, thread a wig or fix their natural hair (you had noticed a head cover the last time you had been down in the basement), re-dress them and stitch up the seams after he had sliced them off, transport them to where he wanted them to be, and then get back down in the basement before anyone saw him in just a few hours), but also because you had an interest in wax sculpting as an art medium.

Vincent had been against it from the very start. His work was incredibly important to him, as was his momma's legacy, and he didn't want anyone or anything getting in the way while he worked. That included you, even and especially with how much he loved you and how much you loved him. Vincent didn't want to be interrupted, but to a lesser degree it was also because he didn't want you to watch him and for you to thereafter be afraid of him and what he was capable of.

He was brutal, ruthless, clinical and uncaring. He delighted in his art, revelled in the pained noises his canvases made as he bathed them alive in hot wax. Vincent was fully aware of what he was doing but he cared not for who he was doing it to, a subtle but important distinction. A canvas was a canvas, art was art, and he didn't want even his muse to get in his way.

After about a month of asking every time a visitor came into town and of being told, in no uncertain terms, that it just wasn't going to happen, even Bo stepped in and told you to lay off about it - you weren't going to be allowed to watch, no matter how many times you asked or how many different ways you phrased the same question.

It was the Sinclairs' house and with both of them saying no, you were shit out of luck.

Until one time came around and you managed to incapacitate a victim before Vincent could. They had been snooping around the upstairs and opening doors to rooms they had no business going in, and you had tripped them up, knocked them out with a handy vase left lying around (you were pretty sure it was one of the ones Bo absolutely hated, so you felt no qualms in smashing it against a stranger's head) and quite literally sat on top of them until Vincent had come out of one of the trap doors.

Vincent's frozen look was one of bemusement. You rarely succeeded in knocking someone out, and you hadn't ever just sat on them to wait for him. He realised in that moment that you hadn't been bugging him to watch just to annoy him - you wanted to know him, you wanted to learn his craft, you wanted to see what he did, and Vincent fell in love with you in that moment all over again, his heart swelling in his chest. Why hadn't he realised this before? Your persistence was so much like his own and Vincent saw the potential in you; everything crashed down on him all at once. How could he say no when you had that wicked gleam in your eye? It was also a bit soft, so in love with him were you. It never failed to send his mind spinning, just as it was now.

Your voice ripped him out of his silent reverie. "Can I watch this time? I've already done the first bit for you." You grinned, and the two of you had had a debate with only your eyes, and finally Vincent's shoulders had shrugged lightly and he pointed at the victim, pointed at you, and held one finger to his masked mouth - one sign of fear or a scream from you, and you were having your rights to watch fully revoked and this would never come up again.

With a white hot flash of panic and desperation so strong you almost did want to scream, you had nodded readily, and Vincent had approached you and the victim swiftly, with you barely having time to stand up from your position on their back before Vincent was dragging the victim - no, his canvas - through the house to get to the basement. If Bo had seen you following after Vincent in that moment, he would have compared you to Jonesy following Lester when she knew that there was food waiting for her.

"Why do you drag them, Vinny? I know you're strong enough to lift them."

Vincent stared at you and then shrugged again before he pointedly lifted up the victim and slung them down on the table like they were a sack of potatoes. Then, he pulled himself to his full height and pointed at the twin bed, where Jonesy was lounging. You followed his finger and then looked at him again.

"Seriously?" Your widening smile made Vincent's mask shift in place - he was smiling too, despite or perhaps in spite of his earlier harshness when lying down the rules with you - and you sat down next to Jonesy and allowed her to climb all over your lap, effectively trapping you in place. Truth be told, there was nowhere else you would rather be.

Once you were situated, with Vincent having the courtesy to wait for you to get comfortable, though itching was he to get started on his passion, he began, and he was mesmerising. Truly a beauty in his brutality, his passion and in his work. You fell in love with him all over again as you watched him take some large metal scissors and begin to cut away the victim's clothing with harsh rhythmic snips. Every movement he made was measured, every step he took was carefully considered. Every tilt of his head was one of mocking sympathy if the victim groaned in pain (you winced with them when Vincent jabbed the needle in, though you knew the worst, and the best, was yet to come), or of careful consideration when he found an injury which needed to be cleaned or stitched up.

"He's so beautiful," You murmured to Jonesy. You didn't want to disturb Vincent, though the way his hand hesitated as he reached for the small pot of hot wax so he could give the victim an eyebrow shave, told you that he had heard you. He never really reacted to your compliments, though you knew that the next time he hugged you, his grip would be just a little tighter. It was his way of saying that he had heard you, and thank you.

With the canvas washed in hot water, dried off, shaved and mostly naked (all underwear was kept on), it was time for them to be placed in the Death Chair, as you liked to call it (though never would you admit such to Vincent; you weren't sure how he would react to it beyond his typical blank stare. You had trouble reading it when he had his mask on). Vincent carefully loaded them into the chair and arranged the body as he wanted it to be, with their eyes wide open and darting about the place, totally paralysed and unable even to scream. All they could manage was grunts, groans and other such noises. You were beginning to see why Vincent enjoyed it as much as he did.

Vincent went up to the large vat of boiling wax suspended at the fireplace and stirred it around, checking that it was all up to temperature and ready to be used. As he did so, he glanced over at you, his dark hair swinging with every movement of his head, and raised one hand to crook his finger at you - come here. You eased Jonesy's head off your lap and stroked her until she settled back into her sleep. Vincent witnessed the tender moment with unapologetic apathy; when he was working, he was wholly detached from anything else. He was ruthless in the truest of ways. He would think back on this moment later on and it would melt his heart, but right now, he was only slightly impatient for you to join him.

When you finally did, though, the smile on your face, oh... it knocked the apathy right out of Vincent and he remembered why you were in there with him. You wanted to learn and he was suddenly, though cautiously, excited to show you. You hadn't shown any fear yet, only curiosity and reverence for him even with what he had been doing, and you had aided him, too. You had defended him and, by extension, his home and his brothers, and Vincent's entire demeanour changed in almost an instant, just as unpredictable as Bo was he.

"How hot is the wax?" You reached out to hold your hand over the steam gently curling over the rapid bubbling wax, the same way you would check if boiling water in a pan was hot enough to be used to cook pasta, but Vincent's hand shot out and grabbed your wrist as he emitted a small noise which you knew to be one of worry. With his other hand, Vincent rolled up the sleeve of the arm outstretched and revealed a small nasty looking burn on his forearm. It was mostly healed, and you thought back to a time a few weeks ago when he had been especially careful with the way he moved, though he hadn't made any inclination of having been hurt. You also noticed that he was wearing thick gloves, and as you watched, he held one finger up to represent the same number and then tapped his arm once - clearly, the wax had splashed up. You smiled wryly. "Hot enough, then."

Vincent nodded and you frowned, pulling his arm towards you and rolling up the sleeve again. You bent and pressed a kiss to the healing burn and you heard him suck in a breath. It wasn't one which suggested pain, only surprise, so you kissed the area again and then pulled his sleeve down for him, making sure the glove covered all the edges. "You should have told me you got hurt."

He shrugged, which meant that he was saying something along the lines of, 'why bother? It was already done and telling you wouldn't have changed that.'

You couldn't fault his logic, really, though you still wished he had told you, so you could have taken care of him. Any excuse to smother him in love was one you would take advantage of. He deserved it. You moved to examine behind the pot, wondering where the pipes were connected as you tried to assemble the puzzle for yourself. Oh, but it was so intricately arranged. Vincent, not wanting you so close to it, put his hands on your waist and pulled you back so that your back was flush against his chest, and he shook his head fiercely, his dark locks spilling over your shoulder as he took several large strides back with you in his strong inescapable hold. You were closer to the metal table which the victim had just been on than you were the vat of wax.

With your attention solely on him, Vincent pointed to the floor beneath the vat of wax, and traced in the air where the pipes were in the walls. You noticed that there were holes in the walls further along where other pipes continued the journey, leading to a small row of handles, levels and knobs. Then, Vincent stepped away from you and left your back feeling cold with the ghost of his touch as he pulled one of the levers and began to twist some of the knobs, causing hot wax to begin spurting out of rusted and repurposed shower heads. He looked at you as if to say, 'ready?' and you nodded, a look of curiosity and wonder on your face as the victim began to groan. You knew they would be screaming if they were able to move anything more than their eyes, and a part of you wished you could hear them properly.

Vincent's eye took in all of you and his forearm tingled where you had pressed kisses, lying small but oh so meaningful traces of love over the violent mark of hurt from where he had been burned with wax. His heart bloomed in your chest and he felt the overwhelming urge to kiss you. He couldn't deny himself this, so he made another noise, this time a 'mmf', to get your attention, and then he moved one hand up to his hairline and moved it down through the air - close your eyes.

You grinned, knowing this routine well, for he did it multiple times a day, and shut your eyes tight. There was the sound of shuffling and the quiet noise of a wax mask being set down on the side and then two large wax encrusted hands seized your face between them and lips, malformed on one side, claimed yours in a kiss so hot that you forgot your own name. Lips pecked once, twice, thrice, and then a fourth time caused you to gasp and so Vincent could deepen the kiss, pulling you flush against him as the heat between you, the heat of the room and everything else combined into one of the most memorable and intense moments of your life. When he pulled away, the both of you were breathless, but you kept your eyes shut until you felt the two fingered tap on your shoulder telling you that you could open them.

The two of you lay on the bed spending time together with Jonesy until the wax had set, cooled and the moaning, mostly dead canvas was ready to be sculpted to perfection. Vincent sat on his usual stool with his leg spread wide enough for you to be able to sit between them comfortably on the stool, but you shook your head at him and put one hand on his knee, lightly nudging. He huffed in amusement and closed his legs, which allowed you to sit on his lap (much better and comfier than the stool). His arms encircled you as he picked up a double ended metal tool and began to scrape excess wax away from the part of the body right in front of him. With confident movements, he swept away with his bare hand where the tool had just been. Wax drifted to the floor like snow... or was it ash, technically? Next came a small flask with a flammable material on the inside to act as a long term lighter and a small wide flat tool. Making sure you were paying attention by squeezing his arms against yours, he heated up the metal and you heard a small hissing as the wax melted, letting Vincent smooth it out with that same tool. Then, a sponge in water was used to rub away the finer details, so that Vincent could smooth it all out to perfection.

You were almost hypnotised by his slow, sure and confident movements. Oh, but he was a true artist, and one who was so dedicated to his work. You couldn't get comfortable by melting against him because Vincent needed to concentrate - and you knew that if it came down to it, he wasn't above slinging you over his shoulder and dumping you out in the foyer of the house of wax if he felt that you were interrupting him too many times and for insignificant things (which, when he was working, was anything other than a life or death emergency).

Instead, you allowed yourself to be pulled in to the quiet scraping of metal on wax, of the sizzling of wax under flame, of the light brushing of a sponge and the tinkling of water as Vincent showed you the ropes of his art. Fuck, but he was so beautiful. You tipped your head back as Vincent paused, noticing your distraction, and you whispered to him pressing a kiss to his waxed cheek. "You're so fucking beautiful. I love you, Vinny."

Vincent froze and then put his tools down, wrapping his arms tightly around you and nuzzling his masked face into the warm crook of your neck. You knew he would be lacing kisses along the skin there if he wasn't wearing his mask, and it seemed as though the universe aligned for the both of you in that moment, because Vincent shifted his weight, removed his mask and set it very deliberately in front of you, trusting you not to turn around to look at him without feeling the need to ask. It warmed your heart and you smiled, tilting back into his kisses and touches but not turning around. You kept your eyes on the sculpture, which was emitting noise every now and then (though you were sure they would succumb to their injuries soon enough; they never lasted more than a few days after being waxed), and allowed Vincent to show his genuine love and appreciation for you, his muse.

The next time you asked him if you could watch with something he was doing, no matter what it was, he would say yes the first time, because no matter what he showed you, no matter what he exposed you to, you always enjoyed it and met him half way. You were his muse, he was your artist, and together had you both found complete love, acceptance and trust in the other person.