#wip: enthralled

[transman-badass]

Betrayal

Whump + Cthulhu Mythos - 2.8k words

CW: mild (period typical) transphobia and misogyny, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, eye horror (not gore), major character death

The men were gaining on them.

Outside thunder roared, but over it, Lazarus Core still heard the footsteps behind them, pounding louder than the rain. His pulse beat against the skin of his throat. Sweat slicked the hand holding his gun. It’d just take one mistake, one little mistake, and he’d be dead, dead, dead. And it wouldn’t be the end of the world, if he died, but the last thing he wanted was to leave Sadie all alone.

He gripped her hand and did not look back.

A sharp turn, a shout from behind. The men pursuing them seemed to have no trouble in the darkness. Lazarus did not look back, he kept running, and Sadie’s fingernails dug into his hands. If they could make it back outside, back to where they’d hidden the car, he could hide Sadie within it, and go back around to find Niel. And if he didn’t come back, well, maybe Niel did. And if Niel didn’t come back either…

Sadie twisted in his grip, grabbed him by the shoulder, jerked him free from his thoughts. Her hand slammed over his mouth, Lazarus blinking, the stack of wooden crates sturdy against his back. He followed her lead, crouching down, holding his breath.

The footsteps grew closer. Closer still. Away, away, mumbling voices silenced by the rain.

Lazarus looked around, squinting in the darkness. There, that door, still cracked open - He tapped her on the shoulder. She jerked her curly haired head towards him. In the darkness, she nodded.

Without a sound, the door opened. Lazarus looked behind them once more before stepping into that new darkness.

Not quite dark for long. A light flashed, Lazarus threw up an arm against it.

“Niel!” Sadie whispered.

Lazarus lowered his arm, the light lowered to the floor. Niel hugged Sadie back, the electric torch almost falling from his hand from the force of it. His smile soothed something in the private eye’s heart, tension falling from Lazarus’ shoulders.

“You sly dog,” Lazarus whispered, stepping up to clasp his friend’s hand. “And here I thought I’d have to track you down.”

Niel grinned, but the tension didn’t fade from around his eyes. He drew in a breath, and then another. Lazarus opened his mouth to speak, but did not have a chance to.

The other man carried a faraway scent of spices and flowers on his clothes. Lazarus breathed in as Niel’s arms wrapped around him in a tight, burdensome hug. Memories, faded like paper in the sun, drifted. Memories of home.

“Niel-” Lazarus pulled away.

“I’m sorry about all this, my friend,” Niel said, gripping Lazarus’s shoulders. “I know you won’t believe it, but I am. I’m so sorry.”

“What do you mean?” Lazarus said. Niel’s grip tightened. “Niel, none of this was your fault. You couldn’t have known O’Tipp would be here.”

Niel looked down, towards the golden pendant around his neck.

“Niel?” Lazarus repeated.

“That’s not it,” Niel said. “Not the thing I know you’ll hate me for.”

“Niel,” Sadie cut in. “What did you do?”

The door swung open. Lazarus turned, and raised a gun he no longer held. Something cold brushed against the back of his head, pressing through his dark red hair against his skull. His heart sank.

A dim lightbulb clicked on, illuminating the empty room. Nathan O’Tipp stood beneath the bare bulb, his smile stretched wide over his handsome face.

“Evening, gentlemen! And you as well, Miss Goode.” He tipped his hat to Sadie.

Sadie backed away, glaring behind her glasses. O’Tipp didn’t seem to notice, stepping towards her. The men behind him, three in all, followed into the room, staring at Lazarus, and his empty hands. They were all at least a head taller than him, maybe more, shoulders broader than his own, bigger, stronger, crueler. And O’Tipp just kept smiling as he took another step towards Sadie. But his eyes, they never looked away from Lazarus.

“Don’t hurt her,” Lazarus said.

O’Tipp laughed.

“Why, who do you think I am?” O’Tipp said. “Wouldn’t that be such a waste of a woman?” His men traded glances. “No, sir, I’m not going to lay a hand on her. I have better things in mind than that.”

Sadie swallowed. O’Tipp’s gloved hand wrapped around her upper arm, and held on tight.

The men said nothing. Lazarus closed his eyes.

“Niel,” Lazarus whispered, “Why?”

Behind him, Niel sighed.

“He’s got Mother,” Niel said.

“And even if I didn’t,” O’Tipp said, “I paid him quite handsomely for his help.”

Lazarus breathed in.

“You were spying on us,” he said at last.

“Don’t know what you expected to happen,” O’Tipp said. “You lead a man desperate for work to my speakeasy, and think he’ll stay on the straight and narrow? In Arkham, of all places?” His voice lowered. “You and I both know who really runs this town, Core. They put whoever they want into that mayor’s seat, but I’m the one who calls the shots around here.”

Niel said nothing.

“And Chambers, he did a damn good job, didn’t he?” O’Tipp said. “Made a best friend out of you, and your lady friend here. Didn’t make you think twice, did he, even though he worked for me, you idiot!” O’Tipp shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. Of course, you’d miss that. You were stupid enough to challenge me, weren’t you?”

With one hand, he gestured to the men. The one in the middle stepped forward. The other two hesitated.

“Mr. O’Tipp-” one of them started.

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said.

“But you’re sure…” the man said. “I mean. He doesn’t look that much like a man.”

“It’s fine,” O’Tipp said. “It needs to be done. There’s no shoving this one into a brothel, and pretending it’ll all go away. Besides,” he looked into Lazarus’ eyes now. “He hasn’t been a woman for a long time now, has he?”

Lazarus clenched his fists.

There wasn’t anything to say, as the men circled him. Niel stepped back, closer to the far wall, clutching Lazarus’ gun in one hand and the pendant around his neck with the other. His lips moved, mumbling something Lazarus could scarcely catch over the thunder and the rain. Between the moving bodies Sadie stared at him, tears in her eyes.

There was so much to say, and no time at all. Lazarus could only hope she’d understand.

“Hope it doesn’t offend you much to say this,” O’Tipp said, “But you weren’t even the worst of the pests I’ve had to crush. You’re not even the most annoying. Insects like you come and go like the bugs you are. You’re just the latest in a very, very long line.”

Two brutal hands grasped Lazarus by the arms and yanked him back. He grunted, instinct kicking in, but all the struggling in the world wouldn’t get him out of this.

“Rest peacefully, Core - your lady friend is gonna be in better hands than yours ever were.”

One of the men stretched his fingers. Nathan looked towards the man by the wall.

“How about taking the first blow, Chambers?”

Lazarus looked towards the man he called a friend. Niel shook his head. He didn’t meet Lazarus’ eyes. Nathan shrugged.

“Suit yourself, kid.”

The fist burrowed into his cheek. Blood smeared on Lazarus’s tongue. His hat knocked to the ground, exposing his blood red hair. Another fist, the other cheek. His teeth rattled, his mind reeled. Another punch in the same spot, blood bursting from the bruise birthing on his skin.

Fist to the stomach, Lazarus gagged, choked on air. The tears flowed down against his will. One of the men hesitated. The other’s fist kissed his nose. Blood drooled over his lips, his chin. Lazarus gasped for air through his lips, before another blow landed on his mouth.

Sadie screamed his name.

Through the smack of fists on flesh and cartilage, the agony of another punch to the gut, a boot to the foot, a kick to the leg, a slam to the womb, Lazarus heard Niel pray.

Maybe it was his imagination, a hallucination drawn from the depths of his subconscious by pain and the acceptance of approaching death. How would Niel know those prayers from his homeland? But where else Lazarus could have dreamed them from, he couldn’t imagine - he’d only heard them spoken once, back then, as a child. His mind spun through pain, and the prayer, it was all he could focus on.

Sadie wept.

Nathan laughed.

Lazarus took every blow.

His blood coated the men’s hands, smearing on his cheeks, on the dark fabric of his suit. Every punch to the gut sent stars flashing over his vision. Something broke, Lazarus was sure something had broken, the stabbing pain shooting through his body as familiar as the prayers he swore fumbled out around him in Niel’s voice. One of the men spoke, taunting him, but Lazarus couldn’t focus on it. He didn’t hear anything but the blood in his ears, and over it, Niel.

Why Niel? Why not his mother? Why not the woman who actually taught him those prayers?

Was their god still listening?

A kick to the stomach, and the strength in his legs gave out. The man holding him released his arms. Lazarus dropped to the floor, blood and grit digging into his skin. A foot slammed into his back. If he’d had any more air in his lungs, he would’ve screamed. Something kicked his side, someone laughed above him. Shoe polish scent on his nose, residue on his tongue. His vision blurred with blood, tears, pain, acceptance.

Lazarus accepted it. Death did not come as a friend, but like a blanket, warm and soft on his pain-filled body. Every breath hurt, hurt his sides, hurt his chest, hurt his lungs, hurt his nose and mouth and eyes. His fingers twitched, nerves on fire. His body wanted to live. Shit, he did too. But it was all over now. Nothing would save him now.

“I’m going to kill you!” Sadie shouted.

“Course you are, sweetheart,” O’Tipp said. “Chambers, give me the gun.”

Sadie sobbed. Niel said nothing. Footsteps walked away from Lazarus’ fallen body. He set his aching jaw, shifted his arms to push him upright. Death approached, O’Tipp’s familiar steps coming closer, and closer, and closer.

Gloved fingers buried into Lazarus’ hair and pulled. Lazarus didn’t feel the pain this time. His wet eyes met O’Tipp’s. Lazarus exhaled through his broken, bloodsoaked lips.

The cold metal of the gun - Lazarus’ own gun - pressed against the soft underside of his chin. O’Tipp smiled, satisfaction playing on his lips, those eyes.

“Any last words, Lazarus?” O’Tipp said.

Lazarus blinked, swirled his tongue around in his mouth. His eyes narrowed.

The bloody spit hit the mark. Landed right in the bastard’s right eye. O’Tipp reeled, a hideous noise coming from his throat as he gripped his face. His hand covered his eye.

Lazarus smiled.

The fingers of O’Tipp’s hand spread open wide. Veins throbbed within the bloodstained white of O’Tipp’s eye. The iris, so close to Lazarus’s own color, trembled. From within the pinprick pupil, purple tendrils shot out, stretching out, coating the iris as O’Tipp shook. The iris split, another purple iris folding out from the first. And then another. Two more. In a breath the eye was full of them, purple irises, the faded red-white darkening to black. Black like a hollow within the skull, black like the void of space that lingered over the city. Black like something Lazarus had seen before.

O’Tipp blinked, he struggled to breathe. His eye, now solid gold.

O’Tipp blinked, panting slowing down. His eye, returned to gray.

O’Tipp blinked. O’Tipp breathed.

The syndicate’s leader stood, the gun held loose in his hand. He did not look away from Lazarus, not for a moment, his eyes, so human, so perfectly human, locked onto the fallen man. Lazarus met his gaze, his own eyes wide. He’d seen that, and they both knew it.

O’Tipp snapped his arm out, finger on the trigger.

The gunshot echoed. Sadie screamed.

Niel’s body dropped, dead before he ever hit the floor. Sightless eyes met Lazarus’s, blood and worse dragging down from the bullet hole in his forehead.

“You-” O’Tipp said. He trembled, the blood and spit dripped down his handsome face, that handsome face contorting with rage. “I’ll do something special for you after all, Lazarus Core. You think you know what it’s like to suffer now? You think you’re gonna die the hero? I won’t give you that satisfaction. I’ll drag you to somewhere worse than hell, you son of a bitch.”

O’Tipp’s shoulders shook. A laugh broke free from his body.

“I’ll show you the real reason you were born. And you’ll wish every last day of your life, you never crossed paths with me.”

His head snapped towards the men. “Get out. We’re leaving.”

Without looking at either of his enemies, O’Tipp turned on his heel and marched out of the room. The men looked between each other, clothes soaked with blood and fumbled over themselves to follow him.

As the footsteps vanished into the raging storm overhead, Lazarus stared at Niel. His body twitched, nerves still fighting against death, even though it’d long won. He closed his eyes, he breathed through his mouth.

He saw it so clearly. O’Tipp’s eye dividing, folding out into a thousand copies of itself, transforming into something impossible. Something horrible. Something Lazarus knew on sight, just like he’d been told.

You will know the enemy when you see him, someone once said. You will know them because they are not of the King.

“Lazarus!”

He opened his eyes, raised his head.

“Sadie,” he said, and reached his broken hand towards her. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

Sadie collapsed by his side, and wept.

The strength came back to his body eventually. With Sadie’s help, Lazarus guided his body back to his feet. O’Tipp should’ve let his men finish the job, but he’d been too eager to do it himself. The beating hurt, would hurt for weeks, but he was alive. Somehow, he was still alive.

“What happened?” Sadie said, as Lazarus limped forward. “Why did he - oh Niel… That piece of-” Her fists clenched so hard, they shook.

Lazarus sighed.

“My own fault,” he said, stepping towards the corpse. “He wasn’t wrong, about me being stupid. Stupidly kind.”

“What are you doing?” Sadie said.

“Saying goodbye,” Lazarus said.

Niel’s body, still warm, the breath still clinging to his lips as Lazarus slid his eyes closed. In the warm spring night, soon the body would be unbearable. Someone would report that gunshot, call the police, send them on the way. By then, he and Sadie would need to be gone. Niel would go to whoever wanted to claim him.

But there was something Lazarus needed to do first.

“Flesh is feeble, soul eternal… Rings of life, they ever circle…”

He’d seen the back of the pendant before, with the lesser Yellow Sign. Maybe, Niel had gone back there, back home, even before tonight. Had to get something like that somewhere, after all.

“Fair is the land where the cloud waves break, the twin suns sinking beneath the lake… Fairer still, our soul’s true fate… ”

It seemed only fair, to mumble the prayer he’d heard in what should’ve been his last moments. He needed to improvise a bit. It’d been a very long time, after all, since he’d learned these words. Since he and his mother walked the streets of their true home.

“No heaven awaits, all screams unheard… to die unheard, your last breath, here with me. Fate returns you, the lost now found… to live forever, called back by the shepard, there with him, in sweetest Carcosa.”

Lazarus breathed. Niel didn’t. And it hurt to acknowledge it, that old longing he’d never chased away. Why couldn’t he go home, too, as Niel did? When he died, he would not return to Carcosa, he knew this. But it ached, to know it. That some things were lost, and would never be found… and some lost things, were lost for a reason.

“Lazarus,” Sadie began, but he shook his head.

“Later,” Lazarus said.

He reached into the inner pocket of Niel’s jacket. Against the fading warmth of Niel’s body, he found the item, and slipped it free. Lazarus smiled, and it hurt. Niel’s little book of friends, all the contacts he had in the city, written down in Niel’s familiar handwriting. This would help them a lot more than it’d help Niel now.

With effort, Lazarus stood. The ground swayed. Sadie’s hand wrapped around his shoulder, and he breathed normal again.

“Let’s go,” Lazarus said. He looked down at the body, one last time. “Goodbye, Niel.”

“Goodbye,” Sadie said. “And good riddance.”

Outside, the rain fell and did not stop until morning.

Tag list, if you expressed interest in reading this, you've been added just for this story:

@real-fragments7 @moonluringfrost @jgmartin @yet-another-heathen

@slenders1ckn3ss @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @redacted-metallum @actualblanketgremlin @higgs-space @phantomnations @mushabumi @assistantdirector--janson @aldhidbah @sabtael @yourheartonfireblog @jade-island-lives @carnocus @cecuesta @darkhorse-javert @comicgoblinart @lizadomuch @minutiaewriter @angelsofprey @izzyspussy @passthebeat-blog-blog @dragonedged-if @andromedaexists @cyanide-latte @lillis-writes @suckerpunchfemale @late-to-the-fandom @eldritch-flower @cljordan-imperium @royal1asset-if @pineywitch @fragrant-stars @mynameis40and4 @starry-voids @wubsbian @divine-anarchy @elbritch-kit @tousled-birdmad-girl @ajdoesthings @pen-for-sword @darkersoul

[fivescocoa]

OOOH HI HAPPY WEDNESDAY. Can I see what's up with DID Neil? <3 :3

this fic is up now | wip wednesday 2/19

HELLO!! thank you for the ask :D !!!! i appreciate you greatly <3

📌 a snippet from DID neil

“Practicing honesty.” He started, quietly, and Andrew hummed in response. This was something Neil had been doing since Baltimore, since promising himself no more lies. Softening the blow with this little phrase, before divulging something he would rather hold onto, helped. “I don’t remember getting into the car. We were kissing, and then I’m fuzzy.” “We stopped at kissing.” Andrew’s voice held a wave of tension that wasn’t reflected in his calm exterior. Neil should have expected it. Being present and consenting was an immensely important prerequisite, and if the gap in his memory was any indication, he definitely stopped checking that first box. A pang shot through Neil, knowing that – even if he hadn’t done it on purpose – he’d caused damage here. Neil was trying to figure out how to apologize when Andrew spoke again. “You were out of it. Haven’t seen you that dissociated in a while.” “I’m glad you were there with me.” Neil said. Wrapped up in that small statement was everything he couldn’t voice. That it wasn’t Andrew’s fault. That Neil knew he would never hurt him, especially not the way Andrew himself had been hurt. That something too close to love stumbled around Neil’s chest when his memory started recording again, and he found himself in the Mas. Of course, practicing honesty stopped at these thoughts. It was enough. He knew Andrew knew.

[kyannnite]

wip but uh. if you told me i’d be drawing love never dies fanart 3 months ago i would not have ever believed you but here we are

[thegreatyin]

what are interactive fiction authors putting in the water to make their arthurian legend games absolutely fire

[strigital]

unfinished quickie of Hal and his archfey girlfriend patron because i will die but not stop doodling at work whenever there's some quiet

[bottomvalerius]

Chamomile tea you say….?

I haven’t even touched act2 and I’m already really Normal about this guy so I wanted to attempt to doodle him lmfao his hair is. So difficult to me. LMFAOO but I will keep trying

[lynpheas]

random flora rarepairs i have solely because i think the characters are hot are flora/darcy and flora/diaspro. i don’t think flora and darcy have notably canonically interacted (mind you i’ve only watched up to season 5 and a couple episodes of wow), but in my season 2 rewatch i was pleased/surprised to see that flora and diaspro HAVE canonically interacted. it’s after diaspro gets kidnapped by the weird orientalist gang and is ranting about sky or something, meanwhile flora and chatta are validating her.

[toiletshit]

I haven't done anything with actual lineart in a while so doing this actually reminded me why I don't

[chikoyama]

[transman-badass]

The cars drove on.

Somebody played the piano off in the distance, some happy melody that didn't match the funeral going on across the street.

Wheels ground against pavement. Nobody looked at him, because there was nothing to see. And even if they did see him, what were they gonna do about it?

The gun, heavy in his hands, his hands so slick with sweat.

The hate in his heart, burning, burning.

The widow across the street, crying into the arms of the man who would be her next husband. A few teenagers, unconnected, uncertain at best. A pastor, reading off the good book in this sweltering heat. And the gun in his hand, and the hate in his heart.

He could not disobey O'Tipp. An order was an order. Bizarre occult magic, something past anything he knew of as human, tied them together. All orders would be followed.

And he tried to rationalize it, sometimes, the blood on his hands. Just another job, right? Just another body. Just another coffin. Just another name in the newspaper.

But it still made him so fucking sick.

The bells sang out.

The cars slowed.

The people in black filtered through the iron gates.

The Harbinger crossed the street, and the gun warmed in his hands.

Tag list, ask to be added or removed:

@slenders1ckn3ss @jacquesfindswritingandadvice @redacted-metallum @actualblanketgremlin @higgs-space @phantomnations @mushabumi @assistantdirector--janson @aldhidbah @sabtael @yourheartonfireblog @jade-island-lives @arsenwormwood @cecuesta @darkhorse-javert @comicgoblinart @lizadomuch @minutiaewriter @angelsofprey @izzyspussy @passthebeat-blog-blog @dragonedged-if @andromedaexists @cyanide-latte @lillis-writes @suckerpunchfemale @late-to-the-fandom

[sorchathered]

Got my sights set on you- Jake Seresin x reader

Pairing- Jake “Hangman” Seresin x reader

Warnings-language, drinking, Jake being a massive flirt

A/N- I don’t have much of a summary for this, just clearing out my wips for you all and found this little gem I wrote last summer! Hope you enjoy!

———————————————————————————

If there was one thing you knew about Jake Seresin it was that he was a massive flirt. Men, women, non-binary, didn’t much matter your gender he was a tease and everyone knew it. Lately he’d set his sights on you, and he was relentless. You had to admit you liked the attention, and dropping him down a peg with snappy comments was always entertaining. You enjoyed the banter between the two of you, it had been fun and games until one night you noticed another girl from the bar had seemed to catch his attention, pulling out all the stops for her instead of sitting and chatting you up. It shouldn’t have bothered you, it was just a game right? Neither of you had ever made a move and he had every right to talk to whoever he pleased. Rooster could see through all your bullshit, sidling up next to you as he followed your eyeline to Jake and the brunette that seemed to have him enthralled in conversation.

“So Vixen, when you gonna admit to yourself that this little thing you’ve got going with Hangman is more than a schoolgirl crush?” You glared up at him and opened your mouth to snap at him but it died in your throat when you saw the sympathetic look on his face, you hated that he could see how transparent you were. “It was just a crush, really, I thought I just enjoyed the back and forth but… shit rooster what am I supposed to do here? It’s Hangman we’re talking about, he doesn’t do relationships, and in the end I’ll just get hurt so what’s the point?” You cradled your head in your hands against the bar top as Bradley patted your shoulder. “Kid I hate to be the one to burst your doom bubble but if you gave that man the time of day he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. I've seen him when he’s just looking for a hook up and that’s not what this is with you. He may be chatting that girl up but he won’t take her home, in fact I don’t think he’s taken anyone home in months, most of the time he just moons over you. I bet if you walked over there right now and told him to take you home he’d be putty in your hands, you wield more power than you know honey.”

You rolled your eyes at him, there was no way in hell he was into you like that, but as rooster passed you a shot of tequila you glanced back at Jake and he was looking right at you. Fuck it, you were going for it. Tossing back the shot you squared your shoulders and swayed your hips as you walked towards him, he wasn’t paying a bit of attention to the girl talking his ear off anymore, eyes completely focused on you. “Hey Vix, haven’t seen you all night-“ he said as you pressed yourself between him and the brunette, shock crossing his features as you waved her off.

“Uh we were talking!”

“And now you’re not, see how that works?”

You hit her with an icy glare and blessedly little miss tag chaser seemed to take the hint, off to lick her wounds with god knows who. That wasn’t your business or your problem. Right now you need to keep the momentum going and get your man.

“So a little birdie told me that I should shoot my shot, how about it, Seresin? You talk a big game, wanna take me home?” For once in your life Jake Seresin was at a loss for words, mouth opening and closing like a fish, completely in shock.

“Uh-I- yeah-yeah absolutely. Sweet Jesus darlin’ please don’t fuck with me, I don’t know if my heart can take it.” The cocksure grin is back, but you can tell he’s still unsure, so you slide even closer and press your lips to his. It starts out completely innocent, just reassurance that you are actually into him, but you quickly remember who you’re dealing with and Jake Seresin certainly isn’t all talk, sliding one hand into your hair and the other into the back pocket of your jeans, running his tongue along your lips as you give him entrance, letting him make out with you right here in the middle of the bar, where all your coworkers can see.

You can hear whoops and whistles from your friends and it breaks you both apart, taking in deep breaths between your giggles. “Still up for taking me home?” You whisper as you smooth your hands through his golden hair, and where you expect more sexual innuendo and banter you’re left with something more. He smiles down at you and kisses your nose, the look he’s giving is melting you from the inside out, maybe Rooster was right; maybe this wasn’t just fun and games. “I can definitely take you home sugar, but I don’t want just a hook up from you, I’m thinking tomorrow you let me take you on a real date, you deserve to be treated to all the bells and whistles baby girl.” If you gave him the chance he’d wife you up on the spot if he was honest, but he’d give you some time before he told you all the ideas he had for the future.

You looked a little shell shocked at that, sure he’d been flirty but he’d never once made you think he was interested in more than a night or two.

“I can see the wheels turning in that pretty head y/n, don’t overthink it baby, just let me show you how good I can be.”

And he was, in fact, very good.

———————————————————————————

Tagging- @roosterforme @shanimallina87 @jessicab1991 @honeytwrites @heavenssins @dizzybee03 @kissmecaitie @sio-ina-bottle @sunsetsimpsblog @mynameismckenziemae @trickphotography2 @seitmai @callsigns-haze

[space-blue]

Jayvik Dune AU wips and sketches

In which Viktor is an Atreides mentat tasked with getting to know the Fremen way to achieve that "desert power" and meets Jayce who is undercover in Arrakeen passing for a city Fremen.

Jayce grabs him and rescues him before the Harkonnen attack. Though not too pleased with his situation, Viktor becomes enthralled by Jayce's scientific pursuit for a green Arrakis.

Fremen names for them:

Jayce is Dhyani, which means Daydreams.

Viktor is Vanir, which means fate (also in the sense of comeuppance)

Extra funny if Viktor is kind of stern and serious about it. By being saved he got a new life, and his fate has changed course, and maybe he has something coming his way for cheating death.

Meanwhile Jayce is privately thinking simpy thoughts like uwu he's MY fate!!

[prythianpages]

👀

End of the Year WIP ask game, "send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)"

This is an Az one shot inspired by the song Holding Out for a Hero:

A shadow lingered outside the doorway of Nyx’s room, watching you and the Night Court’s heir with an intensity that could only belong to one person.

Azriel.

His eyes were fixed on you as you told Nyx one of your enchanting tales. Nyx loved when you babysat him, knowing he was in for a nice bedtime treat every time. You were a devoted nanny to him and, on the side, delved into the world of writing novels for children. You often used your magic to create vivid illusions in the air, bringing your stories to life with every word. Captivating not only the adorable child in the bed beside you but also the one lingering outside the doorway.

Azriel stood there for a moment, under the pretense of saying goodbye to his nephew. 

Cassian had seen through him and now stood at the bottom of the stairs, rolling his eyes with a knowing smirk while Nesta shoved him –a warning to not say a word. The Night Court’s spymaster was not as slick as he thought. Cassian had caught his lingering stares and flushed cheeks whenever you’d smile at him one too many times. 

It was obvious to him–and anyone, really–that Azriel had a crush on you.

Feyre and Rhysand had already bid their son farewell, as had Cassian and Nesta a couple of minutes ago. Rhysand had important business to attend to in Hewn City that required all of their presences. It would only be for a couple of hours.

Your voice filled the nursery as you continued your bedtime tale. Tonight, it was about a damsel in distress and a brave warrior.  With the movement of your hands, your illusions danced in the air, creating vibrant images of a princess in a tower.

"And so, the princess looked out from her tower with a heart full of longing," you narrated, your tone soft yet enthralling. "There was a labyrinth of evil creatures below her, content to keep her trapped in that tower forever…[insert rest of story here, how she waits for a knight in shining armor…]”

Nyx's eyes widened in awe, completely entranced by your storytelling and the magical images floating before him. He leaned forward, eager to hear more. “He’s gotta be stwong and fast!”

Azriel stepped into the room, and though his presence was usually quiet, Nyx’s head turned toward him. “Uncle Az!” Nyx exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “Like Uncle Az!”

Azriel’s heart swelled at the boy’s excitement, but his eyes remained on you. He gave you a polite nod in greeting, lips turning upwards into a small smile. He stepped forward, kneeling before Nyx’s bed on the side opposite of you.  “Couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to my favorite nephew, could I?”

Nyx lets out a delighted squeal and you resist the urge to laugh. He’s Azriel’s only nephew. Nyx then looks at you and then back at Azriel and then finally at you. “Can we make Uncle Az the hero? Pwetty please!”

“Of course,” you smile, heart fluttering as the silhouette of the knight turns into something more akin to Azriel’s. Nyx clapped his hands, delighted by his uncle’s addition to the story.

When your eyes met Azriel, you felt a spark and quickly turned your attention back to your magic. 

[stereopticons]

On This Day in Schitt's Creek...

Well, hello, you! Were you wondering what fanworks were posted on this day in the Ao3 Schitt's Creek tag? Were you looking to read some older fics you missed or perhaps re-read an old favorite? Well, look no further! Each day, I will post all the fics that were posted Ao3 on that date from 2017 to 2024! Give some of them a read and show the authors some love! At the end of each month, I also plan to post some stats about the fics posted in that month.

Multi-chaptered works or unfinished WIPs will be posted on the date they were last updated. All fanworks included in the tag for that date will be included in the post.

2020

Designated Grape [david/patrick, M, 1,097] by bellalafrella

This is my idea of what went down on that car ride back to the motel after Patrick came to get his drunk fiancé from Herb's fruit winery.

Filling in the Blanks [stevie & patrick, M, 4,493] by Aelia_Gioia

A series of random text conversations that fill in some blank spaces.

In Moira Rosé Veritas [david/patrick, T, 2,283] by Aelia_Gioia

After David and Moira sample all the fruit wine, after Johnny and Patrick have a heart to heart, it all culminates in Room 6.

More under the cut!

Morning Rosé [david/patrick, T, 532] by whetherwoman

Somewhere Near [david/patrick, T, 20,777] by alldaydream

Patrick Brewer suffers from amnesia that has erased six months of his life, forcing him to move back home with his parents. No one knows about the life he spent in Elmdale, so he goes chasing after his lost memories there only to end up in Schitt's Creek instead, taken by the handsome owner of the general store he's supposedly never met before. Before 4x07 The Barbecue

sustineo [david/patrick, E, 10,056] by @rockinhamburger

The bad thing about being a world-famous contemporary artist is… actually, there are many bad things. The clout-chasers and users. The frenzied hoards of tabloid “reporters” and paparazzi vultures. The pressure from interviewers, curators, collectors, and art critics to pigeon-hole himself, or, at the very least, be consistent enough for them to do it for him. The neverending demands that he ascribe an approved meaning to his art. The elitist club at the very top of the art world pyramid, which David has never been a member of, what with his postmodern, mixed-media, performance piece style of art that in equal parts seems to shock and disgust and enthrall. Or, an alternate universe where David is a famous, reclusive modern contemporary artist and Patrick is the art critic who is interviewing him about his new exhibition.

Synchronicity [david/patrick, T, 2,966] by @landofsonlali

david and patrick have a conversation after leaving jake's apartment.

2021

[art] The Roses Reunited [david/patrick, NR, art] by @frizzlenox

The Rose family poses for a portrait at the Emmys when Moira is nominated for Sunrise Bay.

Assistant Direction [stevie & moira, T, 2,378] by bigficenergy

Stevie's lazy morning with Ruth is interrupted by repeated phone calls from Moira, who is nervous about her first day of filming the Sunrise Bay reboot and simply must talk to Stevie.

China [gen, G, 300] by Rosey_Peach

Come Away with Me [david/patrick, M, 6,034] by @flowerfan2

There’s a beauty to David that’s hard to define in words. Patrick prefers to tell him with long, slow kisses and the kind of gentle, drawn-out love-making that gets David to drop his defenses. He had sort of hoped that this weekend would lend itself to a night like that, alone in a fancy hotel in the L.A. he had imagined. It’s a lot less likely to happen in their subpar Airbnb. David and Patrick take a trip to L.A. for the Sunrise Bay premiere. It isn’t exactly what Patrick expected.

Free Marcy Hugs [david/patrick, G, 803] by @goodiecornbread

Marcy Brewer is a hugger. So she puts her mom hugs to good use. TW for implied homophobia/transphobia, but no phobic or harmful language is used.

kiss away the pain [david/patrick, T, 1,008] by @lastchancecafe13

“I can’t say that was something I would have ever wanted to see. I know you’ve told me stories but hearing and having it laid out in front of me like that. And he stood there with that smirk on his face--” Patrick's voice trailed off as he pressed a kiss to David’s lips. Patrick's thumbs traced the tear tracks down David's cheeks. He wiped them away before continuing, "I can’t believe after all that that you’re here and you’re so good David. After all that that you were willing to open your heart to me--" Tumblr kiss prompt #39 kissing the tears from someone else's face

Leaning on Somebody Isn't Easy [david/patrick, G, 2,976] by lucianowriter

A Continuation of “Hate To Say That I Miss You.” It’s been three weeks since the phone call and David finds himself single and at a bar where Patrick is. A conversation happens. Will they get back together or is there too much baggage? Based off Ben Platt’s Temporary Love

The Diamond and the Duke [david/patrick, E, 4,005] by asoftplacetoland

Patrick plans a very special roleplay for David for Valentine's Day based on his latest television obsession.

Mine Own Weak Moments [stevie & moira, 6, 3,644] by @treepyful

When her phone buzzed with a silent call for the third time in eight minutes, Stevie debated throwing it out her open window.

The Moira Rose Story [johnny/moira, G, art] by WrathoftheStag

It's the poster for the upcoming, and highly anticipated, Interflix movie The Moira Rose Story.

this is my confession [david/patrick, T, 791] by @blackandwhiteandrose

Patrick finds a way to tell David the things he wants to say before David is ready to hear them.

2022

About a Boy [david/patrick, T, 13,507, CW: MCD] by the_same_but_different

"How about mac and cheese?” “I’m very uninterested in that option.” “RJ.” “Patrick, I’m sorry, but these lunch selections you’re offering me are just…” “Incorrect?” “You said it, not me.” Patrick’s relationship with Roland Moira Schitt Jr over the years. (With bonus audio commentary from David Rose.)

Make a Wish [david/patrick, T, 1,330] by @goodiecornbread

After having a birthday lunch with Stevie, David planned on sitting alone at the motel, smoking weed and eating cake. Then Patrick offers to join him.

2023

Itty Bitty Living Space [david & alexis, NR, 100] by mallpretzles

David is at his wit’s end with sharing 300 sq feet with Alexis.

Wallpaper Whispers [david/patrick, G, 100] by @legalgal421

Patrick takes one last look at his room at Ray’s.

2024

Easy [david/patrick, G, 1,154] by obsessedwithdavrick

David loves his husband and enjoys his Sunday sleep-in. Patrick loves to spoil David. They both are taking time to enjoy their slow time together.

Making Everything Okay [david/patrick, T, 1,064] by obsessedwithdavrick

After many years of marriage, Patrick could pretend to be okay as much as he wanted. But David knew when his husband wasn't okay, and sometimes he just had to be the one to take charge.

oh honey, you can have me when you want me [david/patrick, E, 2,990] by stereopticons

“Such a good little slut.” He gives Patrick's ass a light slap. “So here's what I'm thinking. I think that you put on that dirty little sweatshirt because you wanted me to bend you over this table and fuck you, isn't that right?” David accidentally buys Patrick a joke hoodie. Patrick wears it, to great effect.

Rosewood [david/patrick, M, 40,050] by @beaiola

Inspired by Jane Austen's Mansfield Park. Patrick and David have been friends for years, their bond deep and undeniable, and there's no one whose opinion David values more. So when a new family moves into the neighbourhood, it's only natural that David should turn to his oldest friend for his advice and support as he tries to work out what this could mean for him and his future. Patrick, on the other hand, isn't as instantly taken with Sebastien and Klair Raine but David's sure when they all get to know each other things will be different. But there's no way he could forsee the impact the Raine siblings will have on the residents of Rosewood.

Stats:

No fanworks for 2017, 2018, or 2019 2020: 7 fics/39,238 words 2021: 11 fanworks (9 fics, 2 fanart)/22,254 words 2022: 2 fics/14,837 words 2023: 2 fics/200 words 2024: 4 fics/45,258 words Total: 26 fanworks (24 fics, 2 fanart)/121,787 words

[acourtofchaos]

👀👀👀

Aaaa I have just the wip in mind for you... it's from a slightly unhinged mattheo wip (and the song inspo is hypnosis)

He watched you play your little game with the boys who broke girls' hearts like it was a competition, the way you filled yourself up on the vengeance of it all as if to push out the ache of hollowness and sadness that lingered when you went back to keeping everyone at arm’s length at the very end.  

It made him wonder if you craved and buried it to the point of suffocation as he did. 

If you knew how badly all those little pieces of information about you that he unearthed and hoarded like fine jewels only served to draw him in deeper. A moth enthralled to his funeral pyre. 

It made him want you more, and he knew at least some part of you wanted him.

You had looked at him differently than the others since he adjusted his approach. There was a glint of curiosity, a slight gleam of hunger instead of boredom, and a newfound wariness no matter how much you tried to hide it from him. The challenge luring you as it did him.

And mattheo knew you had decided to see it out when the little game you played changed. 

When it became less about punishing him for his degenerate sins against the overly-trusting, the innocent souls he’d stained with the grief of heartache, and more about the addiction to the scorching swell of this thing between you that neither was willing to soothe too soon.

You actively led the chase, denying your own want to uncover the extent of his. 

You wanted him to drown in it, for it to wreck his insides until he bled that hunger you had glimpsed in him all over you. You wanted it to drive him mad, wild enough that he clawed you apart, shoving his hands beyond your ribs and dragging your own hunger out from where it was buried deep within the heart of you with bloody fingertips. 

You welcomed him with open arms to do his worst. 

And he did.  

But still you always remained just slightly out of his grasp, re-packing steel around your bones in defence against his onslaught and leaving him with nothing more than a taunting whisper in his ear of ‘if you want me, Riddle, then all you have to do is admit that I’ve won.’

Because Mattheo stubbornly refused to yield. 

Not to the need that charred his veins and spat fire in his bloodstream.

Nor the dangerous levels of sheer insanity that he felt from always being so fucking close but never quite close enough.

Not to you - he would never bend to you.

Instead, he denied you the way you did him, never willing to admit just how desperately he wanted you. Or how raw the intensity of it was, hot and pulsing with life, like it had warped and grown into its own entity - a wild, caged thing, all needle-sharp nails and snapping jaws that mauled at his insides. Carved them up to blood-soaked ribbons of meat and devoured him piece by piece. 

His pride wouldn’t allow surrender even if he was picked apart and swallowed down until nothing but a husk remained.

And neither would yours. 

[iron-strangers]

That's my girl!

aka Din watches you fight with the biggest heart eyes in the galaxy as Wildest Dreams (Taylor's Version) plays in the background (a WIP of my 3+1 fic)

gif credit @1038276637

Pairing: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin) x Female Jedi!Reader

Length: 690+ words

Tags: Mand'alor Din Djarin, Swearing, Kid Fic

A/N: Written in Expanding Clan Mudhorn universe. Link to the series on ao3, tumblr

-

“I challenge you for the Mand’alor’s hand in marriage.”

The lively chatters around the market shifts into a quiet whispers when a challenger appears from the crowd. She has her full armor on, holding her blaster up for everyone to see. Shrugging, you took your squirming fourteen-months toddler from his birikad (baby harness) into his buir’s (father’s) arms before walking into the fight. Aranar laughs, clapping his chubby hands and pointing at you. “Bu-ee! Look, momma!”

“Yes, Ar’ika, momma’s gonna kick some s-h-e-b (ass), so we have to stand aside and let her do her thing, okay?” Din sighs, bouncing the boundless energy out of his toddler, getting a ‘Kay! and a grin from his son who’s currently munching happily on his small portion of uj cake, with that sweet tooth no one will ever doubt that he truly his momma’s son. Aranar is getting a lot of ‘copikla’ (cute) from every passer-by, enthralled by his mop of dark curly hair and his adorable toothy smile.

“I accept your challenge,” you smile, turning your saber on. The snap-hiss of lightsaber ignition rips through the air and Aranar whoops. “Bu-ee! Pu-pel!”

“Yes, good job Ar’ika! Momma’s laser sword is purple!”

“How many time should I tell you it’s called lightsaber.” Kryze sighs, holding her head in her hand. She insisted to come during their visit to the newly opened Sundari Market for this exact reason, security of the Ven’alor Mand’alor. “You married a jedi, osik (shit), you have two jet’ika.”

“Osik!” Aranar parrots, laughing without caring how his buir is going through all five stages of grief in three seconds. “Kryze! I swear to the Manda-”

Din is cut-off by the sound of lightsaber hitting beskar. You deflect blaster bolts with the force and hits the challenger on her pauldron. You swipe your saber low, aiming for her leg. She jumps and brings her other hand up, shooting grappling hooks out of her vambrace, straining you. You groan as you fight against the ropes until it budges a little, enough for you to slash it with your saber. You pull on the leftover rope, sending the challenger towards you and you punch her in the middle of the T-Visor of her helmet, sending her to the ground with a loud crack.

“That’s my girl!” Din cheers, earning snickers and adoration from the passer-by. Flustered behind his helmet, he nuzzles Aranar’s soft curls, pointing and narrating the fight to the baby. “That’s your momma, ad’ika. Isn’t she the best? Buir and momma will teach you just how to fight like that when you’re ready, ner ka’ra (my star). You’ll be unstoppable.” Din can't take his eyes off of his riduur (wife). You fight with grace, your steps calculated and you never miss your attack. Every hissing sound of lightsaber meeting beskar only adds to his love and adoration.

She shoots another round of blaster bolts and you deflect them all to the ground with the force, careful not to let stray bullets hit the crowd. You stalk over her, the tip of your saber dragging on the ground. You flick your hand and her blaster flies from her hand, crumpling in the air when you curl your hand into a fist and brings the tip of your saber up to her neck, so close to her pulse point. 

“Yield,” you command. She stutters, forfeiting the fight and scurrying back to the crowd.

“Anyone else want to challenge our clan?” Your question is met by silence and you smile, turning the saber off. Addressing the crowd to go back to their activity as the purple light disappear into the hilt of your lightsaber. 

Aranar lights up when he sees you, making a grabby hand and asking you for uppies. Smiling, you pepper the laughing boy’s cheeks with kisses and lift him up to your shoulder. Din leans his helmeted forehead to yours and leads his family away from the crowd.

“Hey, Kryze made Ar’ika swore back then.”

“By the force- Kryze!” 

Yeah, that’s my girl, Din smiles adoringly behind his helmet, taking your hand and lacing your fingers together before you can go smack some sense into Kryze.

-