#tw mention of burning

[spookedwerewolf]

finally felted the mask. fingers burnt. 12 injured. 2 dead. /j

[writemeagoodprompt]

"You set fire to my wings and watch me burn alive."

"Just so you can be mine."

[threepandas]

Bad End: Happy Wife

Thirteen servants were dead; Two estates on fire.

I never even made it to the gates.

The smell of smoke lingered in the air. Clung to his hair and skin, even after bathing. Because no amount of scented oils, scrubbing, could erase his sin. The scent of iron and cooking flesh. Cruel scents of ancient houses ablaze. Innocent people being slaughtered. For... for the crime of trying to help me.

It was all my fault.

Last time, I had escaped alone. Or... more laughably, he had let me escape.

So he could hunt me through the forest like a brightly colored deer. Some pretty prey to stalk and torment. Letting me exhaust myself. Run and run until I could no longer, before casually strolling up to come collect me. As though letting me get it out of my system. A man, merely humoring his wife's tantrums and overly dramatic, willful ways.

I never should have accepted help. No matter have lonely I was. How desperate my despair. Because... because-!

"I'll get you new ones. Don't be upset, Love." The monster that was my husband, said idly. His voice a low rumble like thunder, his so called 'sweet' tone. "Servants that can't obey their lord, can't be trusted. Shouldn't be kept. They were scum. I'll get you better ones."

Ha ha... more like, servants that obeyed him. Feared him. Had no shred of mercy or honor, left in their bones. Gods... I... I had condemned thirteen good souls. All for trying to help me. Save me. Just for trying to get me out of this hell and away from this man.

I would never forgive this life's sperm donor, for handing me over. Because... because after a betray like that? After I had begged? Begged and screamed, rioted and tried to run? And STILL he handed me over? He was no kin of mine. I had no family.

Not in this life.

My family may not have been perfect. May have been flawed. But they would never have handed me over to a psychopath. Sold me to the highest bidder, like chattle. And... and honestly? I would take them at their worst, over these bastards at their best.

I never should have read that STUPID book. Yeah, maybe, it had nothing to do with anything. Maybe, all it would have done is left me ignorant on top of being stranded. But? I had to blame something. Or I'd go insane. So it was the fucking book's fault.

Recommend by an internet friend. Historical fiction. Lots of complex characters and some spicy yandere. How FUN. Court intrigues! Poisonings! Bastards and hidden births! Great to read... literal hell to live through. Everyone wanted everyone fucking dead, and all I wanted? Was to marry far, FAR into the countryside. Live a boring ass life.

But apparently I blinked funny. Or was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time. Wore the wrong fucking dress (well, not dress, but you get the idea). Because next thing I knew? Yandere Sr., of Yandere and Yandere, is looking at me! And not in that "oh, what an interesting bug" sort of way! Look looking!

I didn't know shit about him! Yes, his son. But him? Nothing!

Well... aside from the fact he was a VERY convenient Widower. Like... the SECOND he got a kid out of his arranged wife. It was all very "everyone suspected but no one could prove shit" Sort of thing.

And? Said son? Becomes a major antagonist in the book. Until he "embarrasses" his Father by going too far. Implied gruesome end to follow. Plot moves on. Which? Is all well and good FOR THEM. But what about me?! I had nothing to go on! Aside from "Aaah ha ha ha! Run." Which? Didn't fucking help, in the end! Still... s-still ended up married.

Though, my new "son" ended up dead, in relatively short order. Apparently wasn't too pleased to have a step-mom. Tried to do something about it. Disappeared between one day and the next. And now no one is allowed to so much as talk about him. But hey! It's apparently fine! Because at some point? We're gonna make a better one!

"Your thoughts are far away, Love. Should I help you concentrate?" Husband muses, from the edge of the bed. I jerk back as I jolt violently to the present, focusing on the threat. He looks pleased. "Better~, this wife should focus only on her Lord. And yet... once again she's wandered. Tried to run. This lord wonders what he should do, hmm?"

Scrunched up in a ball on the bed, I hoped the answer was fucking "nothing". Or maybe, perhaps, "leave". Inching backwards, like the hunted animal I felt like, I wasn't fast enough to avoid the hand that shot out. Capturing my ankle in shackle strong grip.

It wasn't crushing. Left no bruises. Yet the touch felt scalding, as his hand imprisoned yet cradled my ankle. Dragged my leg free of my curled up little ball of self. I froze, as I felt his other hand gentle running the tips of his fingers up and down my shin. Up and down, up and down. As though just feeling my skin.

"Should he make sure his wife can not run?" This grip tightened, nearly bruising. His other gripping farther up my leg. As though casually preparing to snap bones. "Or perhaps, he should chain you away? Hmm? This Lords wife is a troublesome girl. Causing trouble as she does... ah~, what to do with her..."

Terrified, sat froze. Mind numb. Please. Gods. Please, please, please! D-Don't. I was shaking. Could feel tears starting to build. Watched, helplessly, as he examined me. Something pleased, satisfied even, creeped into his expression. And without breaking eye contact, he lifted my leg towards his face, to gently kiss the skin right above my ankle bone. It could have been tender... if it didn't feel like a threat.

"This wife is so very lucky, that this Lord loves her so. That he would never."

It was almost mocking, in how sweet the words curled. As though suggesting that because this one thing was too far, he was a good man. As though suggesting that he would do far worse to others, in my place. But don't worry. You won't be hurt. See how benevolent he is?

"But come, let us not discuss your punishments tonight, hmm?"

Like a predator, stalking his prey, he crawled up onto the bed. Closer and closer. There was no where to run. Was this it? W-was this the day he... he-? Looming, on his knees, above my curled up ball of fear, he effortlessly worked his arm in and around my waist. Dragging me closer. All but into his lap.

"You are tired. Upset. Have made such messes for this husband to clean." He murmured, face pressed close. Breathe ghosting against my neck, my ear. All I could smell was rich soaps and smoke. "We can deal with this tomorrow. For now, it's time for bed. So go ahead, rest sweetly in my arms, Love.

"It's where you belong."

[frownyalfred]

today in "the DC subreddits are talking about so I will too": the inherent tragedy of Clark being insanely fast as Superman, able to save people in the blink of an eye, but because he was surprised by Lex's plan in BVS, he could only stand there in the subsequent explosion at the hearing because he couldn't see the bomb. he's all powerful but not infallible. he was too slow to react not because he wasn't paying attention, but because he truly didn't believe he needed to. who would hide a bomb in an injured man's wheelchair? who would hide a bomb behind lead shielding? and when the explosion hit, you can see how instantly crushed he is. he didn't take off right away, and he didn't try to save anyone (even though there was likely no point, inside the hearing itself). he just stood there for a beat, crushed by his own failure, crushed by this failure in humanity, devastated that being Superman still isn't enough.

[stars-bean]

M*A*S*H | 2.14 - "Hot Lips and Empty Arms"

[koipudding]

not a serious fic, just more brainworms. (455 words)

cw: sex mention, kaiser is hard (mentioned)... mentioned sh and self deprecation (kaiser). set in the middle of your relationship (or else I doubt he'd cry in front of you genuinely. he'd cry early on as a test and to get you to coddling him, but he hates how agonized you look then, so he tries to hide it until it builds up, leading to here.)

I have so many brainworms :,3. I wrote this while watching Hamilton for an assignment, although the movie they're watching is not Hamilton.

need to have nasty sex with kaiser but it devolves into him being unable to meet reader in the eyes midway through. he's never been this intimate and you're both half clothed... and the two of you leave the bedroom in favor of cheap ramen and a shitty movie he can turn his brain off too.

your Mihya's brain is quiet and fuzzy at this point, and he is... content that you're just letting him be. You're not pampering him, not in a traditional sense. His favorite tea is in a cup on the table. You made his favorite ramen (with his favorite chopsticks and bowl) with some strips of meat, and your own preferred form of the instant meal. You don't cajole him back into bed (even though he's still hard) but you don't tease about it either. Kaiser thinks he likes it this way; you're rambling about how the movie sucks, and you let him lean into you.

you don't flinch from him, and conversation is easy with you. too easy. But you fall asleep, arm curled limply around his and he reasons that you do care. that his worries might have been foolish and misplaced (he thinks you should've worried about him--rejected his advances--hes damaged and worthless, but you don't see him that way. Something unfamiliar bubbles up in his chest.). Michael cries for the first time (from pure emotion, not his self-harming tendencies that he tries to hide from you) and leans into your awaiting arms. You place a kiss onto his head, and he whimpers your name out, begging for you.

"I'm going to pull you closer, okay Mihya?" he nods stiffly and pulls you closer, meeting you halfway.

That's how you two fall asleep, Mihya's tears soak your shirt and the TV had automatically turned itself off... Michael thinks love might be worth it if you let him be this way, if you let him be vulnerable and learn to stop being volatile. (he wonders if you want him to do more, if he's too much for you. But he doesn't see how he holds doors open for you, carries your bags and cuts vegetables for you... you see how he knows your skin and hair care, your preferred pain meds and how protective he is of you.)

[aventurineswife]

Hello! I like your headcanons and I would like to suggest an idea. Can I request Jiyan from Wuthering Waves with a reader who was a slave in childhood and still has a barcode on his/her neck? Maybe some hurt/comfort. I just finished Aventurin's quest and it was so sad. I'm sorry if there are mistakes. English is not my native language 💕

Marked Yet Unbroken

Tags: Jiyan x Reader, Headcanons, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Healing, Mentions of Slavery, PTSD, Nightmares, Emotional Support, Protective Jiyan, Comforting Relationship, Empowerment, Slow Burn.

Warnings: Trauma (mentions of past slavery and abuse), Emotional Struggles, Mentions of Violence.

A/N: I always start crying when I remember Aventurine's backstory... 🥺💔 (Tried new style for hcs, i probably won't keep it)

When Jiyan first notices the slave mark on your neck, he doesn’t comment immediately. Instead, his sharp eyes linger for just a moment longer than usual before shifting away. You can tell from his slight frown and clenched fists that he understands its implication but refrains from prying, respecting your boundaries.

Over time, as your bond with Jiyan deepens, he gently shares his own burdens and regrets, like the loss of his mentor Beiwang. It’s his way of inviting you to share your story, making sure you know he sees you as an equal, not as someone to be pitied.

Jiyan becomes fiercely protective of you, though in his usual stoic way. If anyone dares to bring up your past or stare at the mark, his sharp eyes silence them instantly. His commanding aura makes it clear you’re under his protection.

Despite his reputation as the "Qingloong," Jiyan has a tender side that he reserves for you. When you’re feeling overwhelmed, he’ll sit beside you in quiet solidarity, offering his presence without forcing you to speak. On rare occasions, he’ll gently trace the outline of the mark with his thumb, silently reassuring you that it doesn’t define you in his eyes.

Jiyan is no stranger to nightmares, and when he finds you trembling after a bad dream, he’ll stay by your side, holding your hand and whispering quiet reassurances. His steady voice and warmth feel like a shield against the shadows of your past.

Jiyan admires your resilience, often marveling at how you’ve endured so much yet found the strength to keep moving forward. He sees the barcode as a mark of survival, not shame, and will remind you of that whenever your confidence wavers.

The first time you show him the full story behind the slave mark—sharing the horrors of your childhood—Jiyan listens intently, his usually calm demeanor giving way to a rare flicker of visible anger. He doesn’t press for details, but his quiet vow to ensure your safety is clear in his gaze.

Jiyan offers to teach you self-defense or combat techniques if you're willing. Though he respects your past, he also wants you to feel empowered and never trapped again. His training sessions are intense but filled with patience, and he always gives subtle praise when you make progress.

When you’re ready, Jiyan helps you create new memories to reclaim your life. Whether it’s through walks under the stars, sparring together, or quiet evenings reading or practicing medicine, he ensures you feel like your present and future are yours to shape.

Jiyan may not be the most openly affectionate person, but his actions speak volumes. He’ll cook your favorite meals (even if he’s not a great chef), surprise you with small gifts like medicinal herbs or trinkets he thinks you’d like, and ensure you have a safe place to rest whenever the weight of your past feels too heavy.

In a deeply intimate moment, Jiyan crafts a teal silk ribbon, inspired by the Qingloong. He ties it gently around your wrist, telling you it’s a symbol of your strength and freedom. “This,” he says softly, “is who you are now. Not what they tried to make you.”

[omaano]

A tragedy in action

If I don't look at canon it doesn't exist, but at the end of last year I was commissioned to paint this Order66 moment by CJ on Instagram. It was a very challenging but also amazingly emotional and very inspiring prompt - and while I've never drawn such an action focused pose before I am very pleased with how it turned out.

I also very badly missed using this much purple in my pictures TT^TT

Captain Dev and Padawan Jilia belong to CJ

[left-side-up]

Mars

One hour, thirty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds left.

Martyn wipes the blood from his face, still panting heavily. He won. As the red haze fades from his mind, so does the ecstasy of victory.

He's the last one standing. It's over. So why is his clock still ticking?

For the first time since becoming red, he's... numb. His eyes land on Scott's body.

"Come on," he whispers, as if breaking the silence would wake his teammate, as if anything could wake Scott now. "Time to go home."

One hour, six minutes, and ten seconds left.

It takes Martyn a while to carry Scott's body back to the Coral Isles and begin digging. He furrows his brow as he pushes the shovel into the earth, hoping the minimal enchantments will save him some time. He has to get this done. Has to make up for what he did, even if it's just a small gesture like this.

(Has to keep his mind off of the memories that have been slipping into his head since he killed Impulse. Soulmates, spyglasses, snow. Things that were stolen from him long ago.)

He groans as the shovel hits stone, then pulls out his pickaxe. This is going to take longer than he'd hoped.

Thirty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds left.

Martyn almost sheds a tear of relief when the grave is finally deep enough. Instead, he spends those precious seconds setting down the shovel and going to pick up Scott.

He's badly burned from the lava, and the stab wound has left his shirt covered in blood. He'd hate that Martyn is leaving him in such a filthy set of clothes, but he'd also hate the idea of Martyn swapping his shirt out for him. It probably doesn't matter all that much- he's going to be covered in dirt either way.

"Alright, Smajor," Martyn tells him. "Time to rest."

He lowers his teammate into the grave.

(A fellow soldier of Dogwarts. A canary. And now, his Mean Gill. Though he didn't know it when he began digging, he's done this before.)

Once Scott is settled, Martyn picks the shovel back up. His work isn't finished yet.

Eleven minutes and fifty-one seconds left.

At last, Scott is put to rest, and Martyn is free to lie down and breathe.

The ocean breeze pushes his hair out of his face. He's acutely aware of the dried blood and sweat on his skin, but he can't be bothered with it. He's not spending his last ten minutes alive taking a bath.

Besides, he knows the feeling won't go away no matter how hard he scrubs at the grime.

With nothing to keep him busy, the swarm of memories attacks him with renewed fervor. A lonely bastion. A group of towers. A castle, drained of its warmth. A resentful soulbound, a traitorous group of four, a unified army. Everything bleeds together and pulls him in every direction he's ever been in. Each path leads to one thing.

Guilt.

Guilt for leaving the one person who was supposed to be by his side until the end. For letting each and every one of his friends die before him. For failing to protect his king.

And now, for killing his only friend in the world.

He lets himself drown in it.

One minute and forty-seven seconds left.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The grave doesn't respond. Graves don't tend to respond to apologies.

"I think I'm only capable of being truly loyal to one person. And he's found his way out of this hell, so... yeah."

The waves crash against the beach. The sand in the hourglass trickles down.

One minute and nineteen seconds left.

"I didn't know that I was going to betray you. If this happens again- if this cursed game keeps going, I need you to find better allies, yeah? Don't trust me. I don't want to backstab you again."

He opens his eyes to find the sky clear and blue for the first time in a while. It's been filled with smoke and ash for the past few days, but it seems to have finally cleared up.

Thirty-six seconds left.

Martyn grabs the banner from his belt. He didn't know what it meant when he made it. He just knew that it felt right.

Now, he stares at the red flag of Dogwarts again, and he misses someone.

"I hope you found your way out this game for good. Not because I don't miss you. I just... want you to be happy."

Twenty seconds left.

"I wish I'd had time to apologize to you too. I wish we'd met somewhere nicer."

Thirteen seconds left.

"But there's no point in wishing here, is there?"

Eight seconds left.

Martyn holds the banner to his chest. Looks at the grave beside him. Closes his eyes again.

Four seconds left.

"Goodbye, Scott. Bye, Ren."

Three.

Two.

One.

[emeraldart]

Don’t you guys hate it when there are no free seats 🙄

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 14 - Right Here

I’d like to apologize for this chapter, it’s gonna hurt. Like angst doesn't even begin to describe this. Also, this is completely my own head cannon & is ABSOLUTELY NOT lore accurate (as far as we know).

Photo: From Pinterest, all credit to original poster NSFW: Mentions/Depictions of violence, PTSD, torture, death

Your armchair is not as comfortable as you remember. You sit with your knees curled up to your chest. Your hoodie pulled down over your knees, your arms hugging your legs. You rest your chin on your knee, trying to organize your thoughts. You try to imagine you are so small that no one will know you’re even there. 

The lights are dimmed, you can barely see Sylus sprawled out on the floor of the cage. You remember the night you first brought Sylus here. You were so confident, how did you end up here again? 

You replay that night in your head. His voice echoing in your ear. You stare blankly at his unconscious form, digging your fingernails into your palms willing yourself not to cry.

"I’d hate to disappoint you Miss Hunter."

But he did.

"But her mind… that’s what is most fascinating. It’s brilliant, calculated, and somewhat haunting."

And now it’s haunted by him. His voice. His touch. His empty promises.

"Seems like everything about you is special, kitten."

You were a means to an end. A tool to be used and tossed aside. Nothing special.

A soft groan brings you back to the present. You see Sylus roll away from you and onto his side. His back muscles tensing as he tries to ground himself. He reaches a hand up to the side of his neck. He lets out a soft grunt as his fingers trace the sensitive flesh where the needle deposited the heavy drug. He sits up and scans the room, his eyes straining against the darkness.

You hold your breath. You know he can crush the doors of the cage and simply walk out. But this is the only place you could think of bringing him. You could at least lock him in the lower levels of your tower long enough to evacuate everyone else if it came to that. You take a deep breath before using your phone to turn up the lights. Sylus’ eyes snap to yours in an instant. He was usually hard to read, his emotions hidden behind a wall. But when you look at him, you can see he is raw and broken. 

You pull your hoodie up to release your legs, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin. You stand and slowly make your way closer to the cage. The room is eerily quiet, the soft pitter patter of your bare feet on the linoleum echoing through the room. As you approach the cage, Sylus shifts to face you. He makes no attempt to stand up. He draws one leg up and props his arm on his knee. 

“There’s a shirt on the chair.” Your voice is void of emotion. You barely recognize it.

Sylus glances over to the chair to see the sweater you brought for him to put on. He returns his gaze to you. His eyes have glazed over, if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing you’d think he was perfectly calm. He tilts his head as he looks you over. From your head to your toes, it doesn’t feel sensual this time, he’s sizing you up. Trying to determine your motives.

“Why?” 

One word. That’s all he says. The base in his voice is amplified, the simple question rings in your ear. You straighten up, your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. You’re the motherfucking leader of Himitsu, time to act like it.

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it Oni?”

At the mention of his code name, his eyes close. He drops his head. He sighs deeply before looking up to you once more.

“Did the kid tell you before you killed him or did you dig that up on your own?” His words cut through you like a razor.

“Have you heard of a hacker who goes by the name of Macintosh?” Sylus nods. “He’s on my payroll. Took him less than 24 hours to narrow it down once he had the burner.” 

His jaw clenches. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes finally dropping to the floor.

“Bit of advice. Tossing a burner off the pier is not the most effective disposal method.” Sylus chuckles. 

“And what would you suggest then, kitten?” 

That’s when you lose it. 

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your goddamn kitten. But I am, apparently, your plaything, right? Distract me, fool me, fuck me. Was that your plan? So you could stroll into my territory and do as you please? Attack my clients? Destroy Himitsu?”

Sylus jumps to his feet and stalks over towards. He tries to grab you through the bars, but you’ve moved far enough back. He uses his evol to pull you forward. Before you reach the bars your gun is in your hand. Your body slams against the bars, you look up to see the barrel of your gun resting at the center of Sylus’ forehead. He doesn’t back away or try to pry the gun out of your hand. He rests his head against the barrel and holds your upper arms tightly against the bars. 

“Do you really think I fucked you as a distraction?” 

You can’t stop your bottom lip from quivering. The tears you’ve held back threaten to fall once more. You take a deep breath and try to force a smile.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. You’ve lied about everything else.” 

“I’ve never lied about how I feel about you. I can’t.” 

“But you did lie.” Sylus finally reaches a hand up to your face, holding your chin steady. His thumb slowly brushes against your jaw.

“I’m sorry.” 

You break away from him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. You drop your gun on the table next to your armchair. Your fingers rake through your hair as you try to calm down. When you turn back to Sylus, he has an arm propped above his head leaning against the bars of the cage. His other hand extended through the bars to you.

“Please let me tell you why. Why Ridgeway and why I couldn’t tell you.”

You stare at him. His bare chest and strong arms make you ache for him. Your body craves him and it hurts to resist. Your heart hammers in your chest. Should you give him the chance? Your mind drifts to earlier that morning. Sitting in the tub, your body pressed against his, his voice in your ear, that heartbreaking tone as he tells you about your shared Aether fragments.

"You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free."

Your heart wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. To hold him close. You see his arm drop and retreat back into the cage, his head pressing against the bar. You take a cautious step forward. His eyes flutter up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around yourself.

“Why?” 

“Ridgeway has a brother. Goes by Sinclair. He’s a member of the board for a medical tech company. I needed information on Sinclair and I was hoping Ridgeway had records that could lead me to whatever hole he has crawled into.”

“Why are you hunting Sinclair? And how does burning down Ridgeway Liquors help you with that? And why couldn’t you have just talked to me about this?” 

“I needed to send a message to Sinclair. His family will suffer if he crosses a line. I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t…” He struggles to form the words, he starts to tap his head on the bars. Slowly building the intensity until his forehead is red.

You close the distance and grab onto his hand that has reached up to hold onto a bar. He stops and looks down at you. His eyes are hazy, a tear finally falls.

“I couldn’t risk them finding you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process what he could mean. 

“Sinclair was one of the doctors that worked on us. He’s looking for you.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I made a promise to you. I promised I’d find a way for you to be free. And I found a way. As long as I knew you were safe, I could deal with what they did to me. But when I heard he was leaving to look for you, I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve kept your identity hidden, it’s bought you time. But if he finds out, he’ll come for you. You being unaware kept you safe, at least that's what I convinced myself.” 

“What do they want with me?”

“You’re an energy source. The most pure and regenerative source ever discovered.”

“Is it the Aether core? What about you?”

“The Aether core amplifies your evol, changes it. Possibly adding to it if you’re unlucky. They used me for… honestly, I don’t know how long. But my energy isn’t enough it seems.”

“Is Sinclair working alone or…” 

“The group he runs, their slogan is A New Kind of Energy for a Brighter Tomorrow - safe to say he most likely has a small army hunting us.”

“I thought I knew every major corporation in the Zone.”

“It’s not in the Zone. It’s in Linkon. But they have their people everywhere.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ever.”

Your heart skips a beat. The name feels burned into your memory. But something Sylus said before is the only thing you can think of. You are afraid to ask, but it’s tearing you up inside.

“You said you could deal with what they did to you… What did they do?” 

Sylus drops his gaze to your hand, still wrapped around his hand on the bar. You see his eyes dim, as if he has retreated into his mind. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

“After I helped you escape, they punished me. More experiments, more surgeries. As I became more powerful they put more security measures in place. I can’t access all of my power. They called it a 'bio-metric inhibitor'. All I remember is I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Eventually they installed a patch over my eye so I couldn’t control anyone. My cell was the energy conduit they used to…”

He looked up at you now, the pain in his eyes so great you could hardly breathe. You hadn’t noticed you had started crying. He brings his arm down to reach through the bars and brush the tears away. You lean into his touch.

“I’ll stop.”

“No. Sylus. Please tell me.” He takes a deep breath before looking down to stare at his feet.

“The regenerative part… when they drain the energy… it… it kills you.” A sob escapes your throat. Sylus doesn’t look up.

“When they first tested their theory… they chose you. No matter how much I begged and fought, they took you away. And when you came back, you had no idea who I was. After that, I spent every day, every hour, every minute working on a plan for you to escape. A month later, I succeeded. You were free. I don’t know how long it was before they needed another energy transference but when they strapped me down I found myself hoping to forget. To forget losing you. But then I woke up. And I remembered everything. My first surgery when they cut into my eye, the first time I saw you, the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, every time there was pain in your eyes, the fear in them when I put you on the shuttle…”

His grip on the bars was weakening, his body shaking as he spoke. You were frozen, listening to what he went through, for you. Your heart ached. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“And I remembered how it felt to die. Pain so intense I wanted to tear myself in half. Blinding heat then complete stillness then everything was cold. So fucking cold. And dark. It was completely dark, no light anywhere, I searched for days but it was just dark. I found myself wishing for pain and then I’d feel it, like a knife in my chest, my heart started again. I opened my eyes and I was back. I don’t remember how many times I died. I stopped counting. But every time I woke up I would look for you. Wishing that my previous life was a dream and you were still there with me. And every time I would see your empty room and… and I…” 

His voice finally broke. His grip on the bars faltered and he sank to the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest, for the first time he looked small. You ran to the door of the cage and pressed your thumb to the lock. The door swung open and you rushed inside, crashing down next to Sylus, your arms wrapping around him. You pull his head to your chest and run your fingers through his silver hair. His body was shaking and he didn’t dare touch you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Desperate to bring him back to you, you start placing gentle kisses to his shoulders and up to his neck. You see his eyes close and you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his torso. Your arms pull him back towards you. You caress his chest and place kisses on his back.

You sit like that for what feels like hours until one of his hands reaches up to take yours. He strokes your palm slowly. 

“Y/N…?” 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer

[oozebrain]

Slow burn Art X Reader. Reader is ND, has anxiety, and low self esteem. I tried to make the reader gender neutral but there will be instances the reader’s transmasc status comes up.

M rating, warnings will vary from chapter to chapter.

General warnings for this chapter include implied abuse, mention of eating disorders, angst, an instance of a homophobic slur, adult themes, descriptions of starvation, poverty, and food insecurity, and thoughts associated with low self esteem. Minors DNI.

Chapter summary: You receive a great kindness from a strange man you meet in an alley.

“I lean on you, in peace,

Everything stood still, and you You sang to me so softly, You sang to me so softly. In the moonlight I see you in a ditch, In the moonlight you turn into a blue hum, And I thank you for the hope you have given to me, I thank you for the hope...”

Chapter 1

“Am I… am I being fired?” You ask, voice trembling despite your best efforts.

“Yes, this is your last paycheck. I took out what you owe me and left you with two hundred dollars.” Your boss taps on the exact decimal point before handing you your final paystub and check. Two hundred dollars. That’s all you had in the world. Rent was due tomorrow and so was your electric bill. You are descending into hell. You are shell shocked and all you can offer is a polite and awkward goodbye as you part ways for the final time.

Your boss had been waiting on the bench along your usual route to work. You knew when you saw him sitting on that bench with a paper in his hands it wasn’t good news, but you never expected this. And the reasoning behind it...

The reasoning made you feel sick to your stomach. A million questions race through your head and shame floods your face. Once you are out of sight the tears come, the anger, the humiliation. You feel betrayed and hurt, so deeply wounded that you are unsure if you will ever fully recover. You swallow a lump in your throat and snivel as you look down at your phone. You’re going to have to tell people. But what will you say?

Will you admit what you were fired for? It wasn’t bad enough just eating trash. No, not only that, but your love interest had thrown you under the bus and accused you of harassment. For a year he has flirted with you regularly, and loved driving you wild. He’s felt you up discreetly while the two of you worked together and he always found a thrill in breaking the rules. You were only wanted when it was a secret.

As seemed to be your norm, your status as a trans man made the situation messy. In your heart, you knew he was ashamed of his feelings for you. In his shame, he denied any interest in you. You felt as though he had forsaken you and your heart was broken. But still, you took the fall to protect him so he would not lose his management position. Of course he would not claim you and out himself as being attracted to “a faggot”, as your coworkers had put it. He said he loved you but his true love was his reputation.

You aren’t worth it. You never were.

You duck into an alley as a place of solace, just somewhere quiet and dark to put the pieces together. You had no food in your home, nor have you in a little over two months. You work in the food service industry and the smells, the sights, the sounds...

Your stomach cramps again at the mere thought of food. You manage to stave off a dry heaving spell and rest against the cool brick wall. You feel small, insignificant, and like you’ve been kicked while you were down. Despite the rapid weight loss, the dizziness, the headaches, they all looked the other way. You knew that they knew but they were not required to help, they were merely your coworkers.

Still, you feel betrayed that one of your crew saw you saving food dropped on the ground instead of throwing it away. It was regarded as theft in everyone’s eyes and the coworker had purposefully done it to be rid of you. This wasn’t paranoia or anxiety, it was just the hard truth of what life was like in the adult world, a world you struggled to navigate.

After a few moments reprieve you are faced with a decision: what can I do?

Dejection overcomes you. What can you do? Can you do anything? No, you know you can’t do anything right, something that has been drilled into your head every day for as long as you can remember. Tears come again and you walk further down the alley, further away from the sounds of traffic and passersby. You don’t want anyone to see you like this.

You’re starving, exhausted, and unmedicated. In addition to food, you’ve had to forgo your medication and the withdrawal still wasn’t easing up. You have to take your medicine with food and that hasn’t exactly been an option. You’ve barely been able to keep it together to go and work a twelve hour shift. Today would have been your second week in a row without a break.

‘At least I finally get a day off I guess.’ You think to yourself as you wipe your eyes with your sleeve. You take your glasses off to clean them and find yourself tripping over something solid. With a thud, you and the ground collide.

Collecting yourself, you stumble to your feet and adjust your glasses to your face. Turning around, your heart flutters in fear as you realize you’ve not just tripped over something, you’ve tripped over someone. His attention was fully on you as he stared at you with a stoic expression. Was he upset?

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there. Are… are you alright? Are you hurt? Im so sorry. Are you okay?” You inquire nervously, your words coming out a befuddled torrent of noise. The thought you’ve done something wrong again stabs you in the heart and as the knife twists you feel tears return to your eyes. No, not here. You don’t want people to see you sniveling and snotting around, “I’m sorry I... it’s been a really hard day. I hope I didn’t hurt your leg.”

Strangely, he offered no response. He was a thin, tall man, about six foot and dressed like a mime. Or perhaps he was a clown. Regardless, his clothes were dirty and the makeup on his face smeared to reveal the sections of the person underneath. The most striking thing about him was his eyes and you found yourself unable to meet them. Staring down a lion would be easier than meeting his gaze.

His lack of response revs up your anxiety a few more notches. You avert your eyes to the ground shyly, a prickle of humiliation creeping up your neck and spreading over your cheeks. Your ears burned hotly. Was he angry with you? What would he do to you? Did you hurt his feelings? Did you break his leg? Did this ruin his life? You ruin everything else, after all, don’t you?

‘Look at what you’ve done you stupid bitch’ the words often bespoke to you frantically cycle through your head.

The unrelenting hurricane of thoughts halt when out from the mutual silence, your stomach grumbles angrily. Its a miserable sound, different than an ordinary stomach pang. You grip your stomach and involuntarily double over slightly, a strained grunt of pain escaping you. It was as though you could feel your stomach shriveling up and imploding on itself. It screamed at you for something, anything, besides water and garbage.

Your forehead broke out in a sweat and you steadied yourself on a nearby pallet. You find yourself apologizing again and try to minimize, “I’m sorry, I’m not feeling well. I’m not contagious, just stomach problems.”

He watched you for a good minute before he started rummaging in an oversize black trash bag next to him. The man said nothing as the heavy plastic crinkled loudly. His mouth was slightly agape and his eyebrows raised as he peered inside, clearly on a mission to find something specific. After a moment he withdrew... a sandwich?

The speed and ferocity in which he thrust it out to you made you start slightly. It was as though he meant to throw it to you but stopped just short of actually doing it. You were dumbfounded. He was offering you food? But out of the trash, of course. How ironic.

However, it was in its original packaging, he hadn’t made it himself, so it was probably safe...

Your stomach growls again and the nausea overtakes you. Though you are ravenous, the thought of food is simultaneously sickening. You fumble slightly in your stance and grip your stomach painfully. The last time you’d eaten was four days ago, and right now a sandwich from a gas station that had been in a stranger’s garbage bag of curiosities was looking pretty good right now. It was either this or go another day hungry.

“Th-thank you...” You close the distance and tentatively take the packaged sandwich from him. He lowers his hand but continues to watch you. You can’t tell what’s going on behind those shark-like eyes of his, but he’s calculating something. It unnerves you, as though this is some sort of trap, yet still he makes no move to come towards you. He is still and silent like a statue.

A part of you goaded it was all just one step in his plan to overpower you. This city was not known for its inviting community. Still, at this moment, you did not get that impression. Instead, you notice something else. He seems overly comfortable sitting among the rubbish and disarray, as though this is a common occurrence for him, and it makes you wonder if perhaps he is homeless. A feeling of empathy and concern washes over you. He was so gaunt; he was starving too.

Though you were without food, at least you had a home. Taking food away from someone in a more difficult position than you seemed... greedy. Your anxiety ramped up at the thought of essentially taking food out of his mouth. At least have a look inside…

You open the cardboard packaging and the smell hits you like a brick to the face. Cajun roasted turkey breast, provolone cheese, tomato, some kind of fancy aioli, and greens, all on a seasoned ciabatta roll. You want to tear into it like a rabid animal but still yourself. You salivate so much you can feel it drip from your lip. You wipe your mouth on your sleeve with a hint of shame and look to him sheepishly.

“Here.” Withdrawing one of the halves, you hold it out to your gracious host. His eyebrows furrow, he frowns, and it appears it is his turn to be dumbfounded. You nudge it at him, “I don’t feel right taking it all from you, so let’s share. I think we could both use a bite to eat.”

With hesitation, he takes the sandwich and holds it, but makes no motion to eat. You, however, cannot stand the hunger anymore and, with restraint, take a small bite of your sandwich half. It makes your jaws and teeth ache sharply at the cold texture and invitation of something that has become foreign. Another small bite here and there… and then you break. You chomp, tear, and devour. You wolf it down in a matter of four bites, nearly choking at the speed and quantity of which you were eating.

You knew he was watching you but you didn’t care; you were starving and this was ambrosia. This was your salvation. Something primal within you awakened and you could not eat fast enough.

You stuff your mouth so full you cannot fully close it to chew and end up swallowing pieces whole. You ate through the nausea as your stomach tried to expel the contents and forced it back down. All you had been eating for the past week were ketchup packets and honeysuckle flowers. Finally, something sustainable, something edible, something safe. Something not dropped on the floor or left in the trash. Real food. It is less than a minute before you are licking the residual mustard and crumbs off your fingers.

After your hunger fueled trance you once again pay attention to your companion. You feel ashamed, less than. You feel as though you are a beast in human skin and shrink away some. You expect him to laugh at you or call you names, but it never comes. In fact, nothing ever does. He remains quiet, posture so still he could be mistaken for a mannequin.

He still has not eaten his sandwich and has been staring at you this entire time. The man gazes at you with a look of... what was that look? His face held a strange expression. It wasn’t disgust, it was something else. His mouth was slightly agape, showing his darkened yellow teeth.

You felt a strange kinship with him because of his teeth. Yours, too, were in a state of disrepair. Past years of daily vomiting and smoking had not been kind to you and, to top it off, you had not been able to afford toothpaste. You hadn’t brushed your teeth in a month and had several cavities and a broken molar. It didn’t help you’d been uninsured for two years. You felt like he wouldn’t judge you and you offered him a nervous smile, showing your teeth.

His lip curled into a sneering smile to mirror you. He was studying you so critically you wondered if he could reach into the depths of your soul and read it like a tangible object. It was strange, scary, and disconcerting. His look held no malice that you could perceive, but it was still unreadable and therefore unnerving. Whatever look he was giving you, you hoped to your god that it wasn’t pity.

“Thank you. I was just... I guess I was hungrier than I realized! Uh… Oh, um, If you need to charge your phone, the gas station nearby has charging ports, and the corner store gives you free ice water if you’re thirsty after you eat your sandwich.” You offer this knowledge in an attempt to be helpful but also change the subject. His expression doesn't change, his gaze is transfixed on the half of a sandwich clutched in his dirty hand. Slowly, he looks back up at you, eyes burning with curiosity, but at what you were uncertain.

You feel immediately uncomfortable. This is already a place you know you shouldn’t be, and a situation that you shouldn’t be in. Being eyed up and down by a strange man in an alley sounded like the start of a true crime podcast. Though you were seeking an exit, that was not the kind you were seeking.

You clear your throat to find your voice and offer a brief, polite, smile, “Thank you. Um, I’m sorry, I have to get going soon. But, thank you, again. My name is (y/n). It’s nice to meet you.”

He held his hand up as though to speak, lips parted but instead he drew shapes in the air with his pointer finger. No, they weren’t random shapes, they were letters. A…R…

“Art?” You ask and he nods joyfully with a wide, tooth filled smile spread across his face. You return his smile, be it with less enthusiasm, and feel yourself relax a little, “It’s good to meet you, Art. Are you ok? Did I hurt you?”

He waved you off and made a theatrically nonchalant expression before pointing to himself and then giving two thumbs up in response. You give a small smile again and finger spell his name in ASL. Art looks at you with confusion, miming you awkwardly, and you offer an explanation with every letter you make, “A-R-T. That’s how you spell your name in sign language.”

He gives a wide eyed ‘a ha!’ expression and repeated the letters with his fingers time and time again. He seemed enthralled with this new information and looked at you, expecting more. You weren’t opposed to talking to him, but you needed to get home. Now that you had relief from your hunger you were starting to get groggy.

Art waves at you to grab your attention and he points to himself then you before drawing a question mark in the air. After he repeated the motion a few times you realized he was asking how to spell your name and you happily showed him. He frantically signed both your and his names, his fingers flying furiously. Was this the first time he’s heard of sign language? Surely not… but the way he acted…

What a lonesome existence.

You were lonely too, and felt a connection with him. You offered a polite smile as your anxiety returned with a ventence at the idea of being alone, but it had to be done. Your body was screaming for rest. “I have to get going Art, thank you so much. Will you be here tomorrow?”

He smiled and nodded enthusiastically, the little hat he wore bobbling and wobbling around with each shake of his head. Art patted the ground where he was, indicating he would be right here in this very spot. The smile he showed you felt… warm? Perhaps excited, giddy even. Was he really that happy to know you? It made something in your chest flutter nervously. You were apprehensive of everyone after today, but if Art had bad intentions he could have well acted on them by now. You were curious about your new friend, and the idea of seeing him again evoked a flicker of happiness in your chest.

“Well, I’ll come by and see you tomorrow, okay?” Your response earned a joyful applause from him. He batted his eyelashes at you and gave you a playful wave goodbye and you couldn’t help but offer him a genuine smile which only made his own grow. You mirror his playful wave as you begin to leave, “See you later, Art! Be safe!”

You turn and leave, his wide smile lingering in your mind as the distance between the two of you grows. You look behind you to see if he is following, but there is no one. it seemed like he was a decent guy who was down on his luck, a similar position to your own. Perhaps this could be the start of a new friendship. You didn’t have faith you’d find him tomorrow, but you did have hope.

[raiiny-bay]

but I can't wait until I see your face and my brain thinks that it's looking at a stranger

[thehedgehogarts]

Just some doodly things of the most relatable God ever. Also a big "Thespius and Click Clack knew each other when they were human" truther. Makes the slow burn gumbo a bit more flavorful for me. Also love lagomorph Click Clack, peak shit everyone who does it kicks ass and I definitely need to practice drawing rabbity things.

My headcanons:

When Thespius ascends on Click Clack's end he's constantly worried that Thespius might actually not need him anymore him being a god and all. That good ol' " I don't see myself as someone who he would value if we didn't have a work relationship". Clearly not seeing that this wonderful, kind, GOD is absolutely head over heels for them and making a constant effort to see them even though now its incredibly inconvenient on his end now. THIS, MAY I REITERATE, GOD (shaking Click Clack furiously) IS

#1: BRINGING HIS ASS DOWN IN MORTAL FORM FOR YOU

#2: KNOCKING ON YOUR DOOR WITH FLOWERS IN HAND

#3: HAVING A DINNER HE DOESN'T EVEN HAVE TO EAT

AND YOU THINK THIS MAN WOULDN'T BE INTERESTED???

While Thespius is worried about Click... ya know... dying one day? And him having to live with that FOREVER??? For a time I feel he's fully locked into the "I will love him for as long as he lives from afar" And then Click gets elected as the next god and Thespius is like well shit now I actually have to deal with my feelings. Then proceeds to skirt around the issue and write thinly veiled scripts about their relationship praying that Click will take the hint. We all saw how well that went.

I feel like Thespius got ascended when he was pretty young maybe like his early to mid twenties??? so that leaves Click solidly in his fifties when he finally ascends. In my head they were born in the same year though so there's a lot of "You whippersanpper!" -ass jokes on Click's end and plenty of "Ya grumpy old man" jokes on Thespius'. They're both coded as your "weird old gay uncles (affectionate) from the seventies" though.

DIALOGUE TRANSCRIPTION BELOW THE CUT

Image 1

"I've made it big Clicky!"

"Y'sure have Thespius..."

Image 3

"Good lord this man is so cute he's gonna kill me"

[failure-girl-fuyu]

what does this guy want from me....