#fract-all

[chiroluna]

Could I request dreamdawn and dreamorma terms+flags? Thank you :>

queued!

[always-a-slut-4-ghouls]

love how hua cheng is just like "I support xie lian rights and xie lian wrongs, except he can never do anything wrong ever even when he kills a bunch of people. Go off king" and Xie Lian is like “This is my beautiful husband, he has committed war crimes, but haven’t we all?”

And their relationship is somehow healthier than anything I've ever been in.

[fractoluminescence]

The tragedy of my life is having a fellow writer in my family who also happens to be THE ONLY ONE ON MY DAD'S SIDE WHO DOESN'T SPEAK ENGLISH

[fractoluminescence]

Oooh I remember seeing my dad use one of these on a slope. He'd had to make an adjustable stand from scratch to keep it level because the ground was at like 45° and it was absolute hell to set up, and once it was turned on you had to stop moving to not disturb the measurements because the thing was so goddamn sensitive. Good times

Also it was a pain to even bring on site lol

the world is running out of glassblowers and yet you want to become a fucking doctor

[onigiram]

also also also u better believe that scar would break into the research center to gather more information on rover / see their medical files that baizhi took down.

[theastralsage]

Mine. Only Mine

❤︎ tags and content: tease play, power dynamics, bratty reader, examination table/office sex, overstimulation, spanking, aftercare ❤︎ author note: reuploaded 🔞NSFW content - Minors DNI 🔞 Dividers: @/omi.resources ©2025 theastralsage do not repost, copy, translate, or modify

You decide to tease your very serious, very possessive boyfriend, Dr. Zayne, thinking you can get away with it. Spoiler alert: You absolutely cannot.

Two trips to Akso Hospital, one locked door, and one very sturdy examination table later, you learn a valuable lesson: don’t poke the beast unless you’re ready to be devoured.

The antiseptic scent of Akso Hospital clings to the air as you make your way down the familiar hallways, the warmth of the lunchbox seeping into your fingers. It’s well past noon, and you know for a fact that Dr. Li hasn’t eaten yet. He’s too disciplined, too absorbed in his work to indulge in something as trivial as a break.

That’s what you’re here for.

The nurses barely glance at you anymore—your presence in this part of the hospital has become routine. A quiet, lingering shadow in Zayne’s orbit. You don’t mind. If anything, the predictability of it is comforting.

But as you step into his office, you aren’t greeted by the usual calm, sterile quiet. Instead, Dr. Greyson is there, leaning against Zayne’s desk with a casual, easy slouch, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, if it isn’t Akso’s resident angel.”

You roll your eyes, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward. “That’s dramatic.”

“Not at all,” Greyson counters smoothly. “Bringing lunch to our esteemed Dr. Li? That’s a noble cause. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to keep him from wasting away completely.”

You chuckle, shifting the lunchbox in your hands. “Someone has to.”

Behind Greyson, Zayne is silent.

You don’t have to look at him to feel the weight of his gaze, steady and unreadable. He stands near his desk, arms crossed, the crisp white of his coat sharp against the dark material of his undershirt.

Greyson, either oblivious or enjoying himself a little too much, grins. “You know, if he doesn’t appreciate this, I’d be more than happy to—”

“That’s enough.”

Zayne doesn’t raise his voice. He doesn’t need to. The words cut clean through the air, precise and sharp, leaving no room for argument.

Greyson pauses, then huffs a quiet laugh under his breath. “Relax, doc. Just messing around.” He pushes off the desk with a lazy stretch before tossing you an exaggerated wink. “Enjoy your lunch, you two.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

Silence settles in its place.

You glance at Zayne, tilting your head. “You know he was joking, right?”

No response.

His eyes are still on you, steady and dark, but there’s something unreadable in them. He doesn’t frown, doesn’t look angry, but there’s a weight in the air now—something heavy pressing against your skin, something unspoken lingering between you.

Your lips curl, slow and deliberate. Oh.

This could be fun.

You don’t look away, not right away. Instead, you take your time, setting the lunchbox down on his desk with deliberate ease, as if you don’t notice the weight of his silence.

But you do.

You feel it in the way the air shifts, in the way his posture hasn’t relaxed since Greyson left. His arms remain crossed, his jaw tight—just enough to tell you he’s thinking about it.

So, naturally, you decide to poke the bear.

“You really didn’t like that, did you?” you muse, tilting your head slightly, watching him.

Still, nothing.

You take a step closer, just enough to invade his space, just enough to press against that invisible line you know he won’t cross. Not yet. “What was it?” you continue, voice light, teasing. “The joke? The compliment? Or maybe just the idea of me having lunch with someone else?”

That earns you something. Not much, but a subtle shift—a sharp flicker of his gaze, a small twitch in his fingers before he schools himself back into stillness.

Interesting.

Your smile lingers as you lean a fraction closer, deliberately slow, just to see if he’ll move. He doesn’t. But you can feel the tension in him, a coiled wire drawn just a little too tight.

“It’s cute,” you murmur, tilting your chin up slightly. “You getting all—” your fingers ghost through the air between you, as if searching for the right word before landing on, “—quiet about it.”

His silence is different now. He’s watching you.

Not ignoring. Not unaffected.

Watching.

That alone makes something warm curl in your stomach.

You exhale a soft laugh, finally stepping back, letting the moment stretch just long enough to leave an imprint. “Come on,” you say, patting the lunchbox, acting as if you aren’t enjoying every second of this. “You should eat before your next patient.”

For a second, you almost expect him to say something. But instead, he just exhales, slow and measured, and moves past you to sit at his desk.

You swear, just before he opens the lunchbox, you catch the briefest flicker of something else in his expression—something dark, something possessive.

You settle into the chair across from his desk, chin resting in your palm as you watch him lift the lid off the lunchbox with practiced precision. He hasn’t spoken a word since Greyson left, hasn’t even given you so much as a look outside of that initial tension, but you know better.

He’s holding onto control by a thread.

So, naturally, you pull at it.

“Do you think Greyson would’ve actually taken me out to lunch if I’d said yes?” you muse, tapping your fingers idly against the desk.

His hands still for half a second before continuing, smooth and controlled. “No.”

You blink, feigning innocence. “No?”

Zayne doesn’t look at you, doesn’t take the bait. “He wouldn’t have gotten the chance.”

Ah.

Your smile spreads, slow and syrupy. “Oh? And why is that?”

Nothing.

You lean forward slightly, propping your chin up with both hands, elbows pressing into his desk like you belong there. “Come on, Doc, you’ve been awfully quiet. Cat got your tongue?”

Zayne exhales, long and slow, before placing his chopsticks down with meticulous precision. Then, finally, finally, he looks at you.

It’s unreadable at first. Just his usual impassive stare, cool and calculating. But now, you see it—the weight of it. Like he’s thinking something, something he can’t say, something dangerous curling behind those sharp, dark eyes.

It sends a delicious little shiver down your spine.

“Go.”

One word.

Flat. Measured. Controlled.

You blink, caught off guard for a split second before a laugh bubbles out of you. “What?”

His jaw tightens. “Leave.”

He isn’t angry—you don’t think he’s angry—but his voice is clipped, taut with something you can’t quite name. You stare at him, searching, but he’s already looking back down at his food, deliberately ignoring you.

And for some reason, that just makes you want to push him more.

So when you rise from your chair, stepping past his desk, you let your fingers ghost lightly over the smooth surface—just enough to brush against his arm as you pass.

Then, just as you’re next to him, just as your lips are close enough that only he can hear—

“I’m not wearing any underwear.”

It’s barely a whisper, barely even a breath, but the second the words slip past your lips, you feel the change in him.

His fingers twitch. His breath stutters just slightly before he inhales slow, controlled, like a man holding onto the last fraying edges of restraint.

You don’t stay to see what happens next.

Instead, you walk away with a pleased little smirk, slipping out of his office without another word.

But just before the door closes behind you, you swear you hear it—

A quiet, dark chuckle.

The walk back to your apartment is unhurried, the city moving around you in a steady hum of voices and passing hovercars. The air is crisp but pleasant, the kind of weather that makes you want to curl up in a blanket with something warm.

It’s your day off. And you intend to enjoy every second of it.

When you step inside, the familiar quiet of your apartment greets you, a welcome contrast to the sterile brightness of Akso Hospital. You toe off your shoes, stretching your arms over your head as you let out a contented sigh.

First things first—a shower.

You make your way to the bathroom, peeling off your clothes with lazy ease before stepping under the hot spray. The warmth soaks into your skin, steam curling around you as you tip your head back, letting the water wash away the morning.

No schedules. No responsibilities. Just you.

By the time you step out, skin flushed from the heat, you feel loose and unhurried. Wrapping yourself in a towel, you move through your apartment at a slow pace, tying your damp hair up as you rifle through your skincare routine. The soft scent of floral oils lingers in the air as you smooth lotion over your legs, the simple ritual soothing in a way that makes you feel the luxury of a day off.

You throw on your softest shorts, an oversized sweater slipping off one shoulder as you pad barefoot across the floor, scrolling idly through your messages.

Nothing urgent. Nothing pressing.

You exhale, settling onto the couch, pulling your legs up beneath you as you nurse a warm cup of tea.

For once, there’s no rush. No alarms. No calls pulling you away.

Just the quiet comfort of a day that belongs entirely to you.

You’re curled up on the couch, fingers lazily scrolling through your messages, when your phone buzzes with a new notification.

You glance down.

Zayne Li: Come back. You forgot something.

Your fingers hover over the screen.

Forgot something?

Your brows knit together as you scan the short message again. You were only at the hospital for a little while, and you’re sure you didn’t leave anything behind. Your bag is right next to you, your keys by the door.

Still, something about the text makes you pause.

Zayne isn’t the type to call you back over something trivial. If you’d left behind, say, a pen or a hair tie, he wouldn’t bother. If it were something important, he’d have just told you outright.

But instead, just—Come back.

You chew your lip, debating for a brief second. Then, before you can overthink it, you sigh, pushing yourself up from the couch.

You grab your coat, slipping it over your sweater as you step into your shoes, phone still warm in your grip.

Outside, the city hums on, unaware of the way your heart beats just a little faster as you make your way back to Akso Hospital.

The hospital is quieter in the evening, the halls less crowded, the fluorescent lights casting everything in a pale glow. You move past the nurses’ station with ease—no one stops you, no one questions why you’re back.

It’s almost unsettling how expected your presence is here.

One of the nurses glances up, barely hesitating before nodding toward Zayne’s office. “Dr. Li is waiting for you.”

Something flickers at the base of your spine.

Still, you go.

Your knuckles barely graze the door before it unlocks with a quiet click, swinging open just enough for you to step inside. The moment you do, the air changes.

The door slams shut behind you.

You whirl around just in time to hear the sharp snick of the lock sliding into place.

And then—

Zayne is on you.

Not touching. Not yet. But there, his presence pressing into the space around you, suffocating in its intensity. He’s so close you can feel the heat of him even through your sweater, can hear the steady, measured sound of his breathing.

Slow. Controlled. Barely contained.

Your back hits the door.

You don’t remember moving, don’t remember taking a single step, but you’re caged now, trapped between Zayne’s body and the cool wood behind you.

His hands are braced on either side of your head, fingers curling against the door, boxing you in.

You inhale, and his scent fills your lungs.

Clean, sharp—like antiseptic and something darker underneath. Something unmistakably him.

Slowly, so slowly, he tilts his head, studying you with dark, unreadable eyes.

“You think you’re clever,” he murmurs, voice low, velvet-smooth.

Your breath catches.

A slow, deliberate pause stretches between you. His gaze drops, dragging down the line of your throat, your lips, before flicking back up—pinning you in place.

Heat pools deep in your stomach.

“Zayne,” you manage, your voice steadier than you feel. “What—”

“You forgot something.”

The words are a near whisper, ghosting over your skin. His fingers twitch against the door.

You swallow. “What did I forget?”

His lips curve—not a smile. Something dangerous. Something possessive.

His head dips, lips brushing just over the shell of your ear.

“Your lesson.”

Your pulse spikes.

Before you can react, before you can even think, Zayne moves—

And this time, he does touch you.

The second his hands find you, it’s over.

Zayne moves deliberately—not rushed, not frantic. He doesn’t need to be. Control has always been his strongest weapon, and right now, he’s wielding it against you with surgical precision.

His fingers skim along your jaw, barely a touch, tilting your chin up just enough to force your gaze to his. Dark, consuming, smoldering. He drinks you in like he’s already imagining what he’s going to do to you.

Heat coils low in your stomach.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, thumb dragging over your parted lips, tauntingly slow. “Did you really think you’d get away with that little stunt?”

A shiver runs down your spine, but you refuse to look away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

His lips curve, dark amusement flickering in his gaze.

“No?”

Before you can process it, his hands move—one gripping your wrist, the other bracing low on your waist as he spins you, pressing your back flush against his chest.

You gasp, fingers flying to grip his forearm as he cages you there, heat radiating off him like a second skin.

“Then let me remind you.”

His voice is right at your ear, a deep murmur that seeps into your veins, curling hot and wicked in your stomach. His grip doesn’t hurt—no, it’s something far more devastating than that.

It’s commanding.

Like he owns you.

Like he’s already made up his mind about what’s coming next.

And then, his fingers—clever, practiced—trail down your sides, skimming over the hem of your sweater.

“You’ve been running that mouth all day,” he muses, voice dark and silken. “Let’s see if you can follow instructions just as well.”

You swallow hard, heart hammering against your ribs.

“Undress.”

A single word. No hesitation. No room for argument.

Your breath stutters. He’s still behind you, still pressed against you like a second shadow, and you know—you know—he’s waiting.

So you move.

Slowly, your fingers curl into the fabric of your sweater, lifting it inch by inch. Zayne doesn’t touch you, doesn’t guide you—just watches. You feel his eyes on every new inch of exposed skin, on the slow reveal of your bare back, your shoulders, the swell of your breasts as you tug the sweater over your head and let it drop to the floor.

Your shorts follow.

By the time you’re bare, standing in nothing but the hush of the dimly lit office, your body is thrumming with anticipation.

Zayne hums in approval, a sound that sends another shiver skittering through you. His hands return—this time, trailing down your arms, ghosting over your hips, fingertips tracing the dip of your spine.

Then—his grip tightens.

And with almost no effort, he turns you, guides you back, and before you know it—

Your bare skin meets cool leather.

The examination table.

Heat floods your cheeks as realization slams into you, but Zayne doesn’t give you time to protest. He leans in, bracing a hand next to your head, his presence overwhelming, consuming.

“You wanted to tease?” he murmurs, gaze flicking over you, sharp and possessive. “Then let’s see how much teasing you can take.”

The cool leather beneath your bare skin is a sharp contrast to the heat pulsing through you, your body burning under the weight of Zayne’s gaze. He’s still standing over you, one hand braced beside your head, the other trailing idly along the inside of your thigh—so close to where you need him, but not nearly enough.

You shift, trying to press into his touch, but his grip tightens, pinning you in place.

“Stay still.” His voice is low, unyielding, each syllable sinking into your skin like a slow-moving current.

Your breath hitches.

Then—his fingers move.

Deliberate. Teasing. Cruel.

A slow drag up your thigh, just enough to make your stomach tighten, before he ghosts over your center without giving you anything of what you need. His touch is light, maddening, barely there as he traces patterns against your skin.

You bite back a whimper.

Zayne watches you with dark amusement, his lips curving slightly. “Not so bold now, are you?”

You inhale sharply, willing yourself not to react, but he knows. He sees the way your body twitches, the way your breath stutters every time he almost gives you what you want.

He leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me,” he murmurs, fingers trailing just where you ache for him. “How does it feel to be teased?”

A soft, broken sound escapes you before you can swallow it down.

Zayne hums, satisfied. “Not so fun when you’re the one squirming.”

Then, finally—finally—he presses his fingers against you, sliding through the slick heat he’s been tormenting.

Your body jerks.

He’s slow at first, methodical. Testing. One finger, circling, teasing—working you open, pulling another soft whimper from your lips. Then another, pressing deeper, stretching you with wicked precision.

Your hips shift without thinking, chasing the pleasure, but his other hand clamps down on your thigh, keeping you still.

“Good girls listen,” he murmurs, his tone almost mocking. “Do I need to remind you?”

You shake your head quickly, already feeling the heat building, pleasure pooling low in your stomach as he sets a slow, devastating rhythm.

You don’t know how long he keeps you like that—edging you, bringing you so close only to slow down again, dragging you right back to the brink before cruelly denying you.

It’s torture.

Your head is spinning, your body burning, sweat beading along your spine. “Zayne—”

“Not yet.” His fingers curl just right, pulling a ragged moan from your throat. “You don’t get to come until I say so.”

Tears prick your eyes, frustration twisting through the pleasure. Your fingers claw uselessly at the leather of the table, your breath coming in desperate, broken gasps.

“Please.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s savoring the word. “Please what?”

Your pride is gone. Drowned out by the raw, unbearable need consuming you. “Please—please, I need you.”

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Then—everything snaps.

Zayne pulls back so fast you barely register it before he’s hauling you up, spinning you, pressing you down against the examination table. Your hands brace against the cool leather as he steps behind you, his body flush against yours, broad and hot and unshakably firm.

“You need me?” His voice is low, right against your ear. “You think I don’t know that?”

A sharp smack lands against the curve of your ass, sending a shock of pleasure through your veins. You gasp, body jerking, but his hands are already gripping your waist, holding you there.

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice like smoldering embers. “Only mine.”

The sharp clink of his belt unfastening lingers in the air, a cruel, tantalizing sound that sends a shiver straight down your spine.

You can’t see him—not really.

But you feel him.

Standing behind you, heat radiating against your bare skin, his presence a dark, looming force that has you pressing your palms flat against the cool leather of the examination table, your breathing shallow and uneven.

Then—his hands.

Slow. Steady. Claiming.

They glide up the backs of your thighs, barely grazing the sensitive skin before spreading over the curve of your hips, gripping just hard enough to make your breath hitch.

“You have no idea what you’ve done,” he murmurs, voice like a slow drag of velvet and steel.

A small, involuntary whimper escapes you.

Zayne chuckles. A low, dangerous sound that sends another pulse of heat straight between your legs.

His thumbs press into your skin, kneading slightly before pulling you back against him.

And then—

You feel him.

Hard. Heavy. Pressing against your entrance, teasing, not quite giving you what you want.

Your fingers clench against the leather.

“Zayne,” you breathe, shifting your hips, trying to urge him forward.

His hands tighten—holding you still.

“Patience.”

“You were so eager to tease,” he murmurs, his fingers smoothing over the spot he just struck. “Now you don’t want to wait?”

You groan, the frustration nearly unbearable.

But before you can say anything—before you can beg—he pushes inside.

Deep.

A sharp, keening moan rips from your throat, your body stretching around him, every nerve igniting at once. The sudden, overwhelming fullness sends a wave of heat crashing through you, your body tightening, clinging to him.

Zayne curses under his breath, his fingers digging into your hips, his composure fracturing for just a moment.

Then—he moves.

His first thrust is slow, deliberate, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he drags back before snapping forward again, knocking the breath from your lungs.

The table shudders beneath you.

Your moan is wrecked, barely coherent.

But he’s not gentle.

Not now.

Now, he’s claiming you, dragging his hands up your spine, gripping your shoulders as he pulls you back into each brutal snap of his hips.

The sound of skin against skin echoes through the office, sharp and rhythmic, mingling with your desperate, gasping moans.

“Mine,” he growls, punctuating the word with a particularly deep thrust that has your toes curling, your body arching against him.

You can’t answer—you can’t—because he’s driving everything else from your mind, filling you so completely, so thoroughly, that all you can do is take it.

The examination table creaks beneath you, shifting with each forceful movement.

But Zayne doesn’t stop.

He won’t stop.

Not until you’re completely undone.

Not until this room, this space, smells like you and him and this.

Zayne fucks you like he’s trying to ruin you.

Like he needs to.

Like every second of restraint he’s ever had is snapping apart, unraveling with every sharp, punishing thrust that slams you forward against the examination table.

The leather creaks beneath you, the steady rhythm of skin meeting skin filling the room, raw and obscene. Each snap of his hips forces a choked, gasping moan from your throat, your fingers gripping the edges of the table in a desperate attempt to steady yourself—useless.

Zayne won’t let you steady yourself.

He wants you falling apart.

His grip is bruising, fingers digging deep into your hips as he pulls you back into every ruthless thrust, making you take him deeper, harder.

“Look at you,” he growls, voice thick, wrecked with pleasure. “So fucking desperate.”

You can’t answer—can’t—because the only thing spilling from your lips are helpless, shattered moans, pleasure winding so tight in your stomach it’s blinding.

Zayne leans forward, his breath searing against the back of your neck as he drags his nails down your spine.

“Is this what you wanted?” he murmurs, low and taunting, punctuating each word with another devastating thrust. “You wanted to tease me all day, and now look at you—”

His hand snaps around your throat, not squeezing, just holding you there, keeping you in place as he pounds into you so deep it sends you spiraling.

“You can barely fucking breathe.”

A ragged, broken moan rips from your throat, your body clenching around him so tight he groans, his grip tightening.

“Fuck—” His voice is strained, edged with something dangerously close to losing control.

And then—

Zayne changes his pace.

It’s brutal.

Fast, relentless, his hips snapping forward in short, perfectly angled thrusts that send shocks of white-hot pleasure surging through your veins, pushing you closer, dragging you higher, forcing you to the very edge—

“Zayne—” you gasp, barely able to form words.

He knows.

He feels the way you’re trembling, tightening around him, breaking beneath him.

His hand leaves your throat, his arm wrapping around your waist instead, lifting you slightly as he slams into you, each movement sharp and devastatingly deep.

“Come for me,” he growls, voice dark, commanding.

That’s all it takes.

Pleasure crashes through you, sharp and consuming, stealing every ounce of air from your lungs. Your body convulses, tightening around him so hard you swear you see stars, your moan ripping through the room as you fall apart.

Zayne curses, his pace stuttering as he buries himself to the hilt, his grip bruising as he jerks forward one last time, his groan vibrating against your skin as he spills inside you.

The air is thick, humid, filled with the scent of sweat and sex, the room absolutely wrecked with what just happened.

Zayne doesn’t let you go right away.

He stays pressed against you, his hand splayed over your stomach, keeping you anchored as you both gasp for breath, bodies trembling from the force of it.

Then, after a long, breathless moment—

His lips press softly to the back of your shoulder.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs, voice rough, final.

Like a promise.

Like a warning.

The weight of him lingers against your back, his breath still warm against your shoulder, both of you wrecked in the aftermath of what just happened.

Your body feels boneless, pleasure still pulsing in slow, lingering waves through your limbs. Every inch of you is oversensitive, raw in the best possible way.

Zayne stays close.

His fingers trace slow, idle patterns against your skin, smoothing over the marks he left—the bruises at your hips, the faint scratches along your thighs. His touch is light, careful, like he’s grounding you.

It’s such a stark contrast from just moments ago that it makes something warm bloom in your chest.

Still pressed against you, his lips brush the back of your neck, barely a whisper of contact. “Are you okay?”

Your breath is still uneven, but you manage a soft, satisfied hum. “Mmhm.”

He huffs a quiet chuckle, shifting slightly so he’s not completely crushing you against the examination table.

For a few blissful seconds, there’s nothing but the steady sound of your breathing, the weight of his hands still on you, grounding, possessive.

Then—

A sharp knock at the door.

You both freeze.

Zayne lifts his head, the tension snapping back into his body as a voice calls from the other side—

“Dr. Li?” It’s one of the nurses. “Is everything… okay in there?” A pause. Then, hesitantly, “…We heard screaming.”

Oh. Oh.

Your face burns.

Zayne exhales slowly, as if already regretting everything that led up to this moment. Then, with a reluctant, measured calm, he pulls back—finally slipping out of you, leaving you unbearably empty in more ways than one.

You barely have time to move before he’s already tucking himself back into his slacks, smoothing his shirt down, his expression cool, composed—like he didn’t just fuck you senseless against a damn hospital examination table.

You, on the other hand? A disaster.

Your legs shake as you push yourself upright, skin flushed, bite-marked, still buzzing from everything he just did to you.

Zayne notices.

His gaze flicks over you, eyes darkening again for just a second before he exhales sharply, reaching for a nearby drawer. Without a word, he pulls out a clean white lab coat and drapes it over your shoulders, letting it fall down to cover the mess of your very naked body.

The knock comes again.

“Dr. Li?”

Zayne finally answers, voice infuriatingly calm. “Everything is fine.”

A long pause.

Then, a slow, unconvinced “…Alright.” Footsteps retreat down the hall.

Silence.

Then—Zayne looks at you.

And the corner of his lips twitches.

“Oh, shut up,” you mutter, flustered beyond belief, shoving at his chest as you wrap the coat tighter around you.

His chuckle is low, smug, and utterly satisfied.

“Next time,” he murmurs, voice dipping into something darker, promising, “you should remember to keep quiet.”

The silence lingers for a moment after the nurse walks away, leaving the two of you still caught in the warm haze of what just happened.

You’re spent, your body buzzing, muscles loose and trembling in the aftermath. The lab coat around your shoulders feels too big, the scent of antiseptic barely masking the deeper, richer scent of him clinging to the fabric.

Zayne is still standing close, his hands adjusting the coat to make sure it fully covers you. His touch is softer now, absent of the possessive grip that had once marked your skin. His fingers ghost down your arms, then settle at your waist, grounding you.

A deep exhale leaves his lips.

“You’re okay?” he asks again, voice lower this time. Not demanding. Not teasing. Just… checking.

The tenderness in it makes something in your chest ache.

You nod, letting yourself lean into him, your forehead pressing against his chest. “Yeah.” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect—hoarse from earlier, but still warm. “You didn’t actually break me, surprisingly.”

Zayne huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening on your waist just slightly before smoothing over your skin. “That was never the goal.” He shifts, pressing the softest kiss to the crown of your head. “But I can make sure you don’t move for a few days next time, if that’s what you’re asking.”

You swat at his arm, making him chuckle.

His hands slide up, moving to cradle your face, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look at him. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, and his expression shifts—still dark, still intense, but something gentler there, too.

Something devoted.

“You are mine,” he murmurs, like it’s not a question, not up for debate. “You know that, don’t you?”

A slow warmth spreads through your chest. You meet his gaze, a lazy, satisfied smile curling at your lips.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I know.”

His lips press to yours—not demanding this time, not desperate. Just soft. A slow, lingering kiss that makes your stomach flutter, different from everything that came before it.

When he pulls back, he exhales, like he’s still trying to steady himself. “Come on,” he murmurs, tugging you toward the small private bathroom in his office. “Let’s clean you up.”

You sigh dramatically, letting him lead you, warmth thrumming in your veins. “Wow. You break me over an examination table and I get aftercare? Lucky me.”

Zayne smirks. “You are lucky.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue.

Because, honestly? You are.

[fractoluminescence]

THANK YOU

Some people seem so confused as to why others like unhealthy relationship stories. But those are so fucking full on conflict that their relationship alone drives the plot. Don't get me wrong, many of these stories don't seem to be aware that stuff is toxic in their own narration, and I wouldn't base my morals on those, what I don't understand is people who just seem to find wanting to read a story with unhealthy relationships just...inherently morally reprehensible?

Like, they'll say this about unhealthy ships in the fandom of a story in which characters routinely kill each other. Like?? Bold of you to assume I like this ship because I think the characters are good for each other. Bold of you to assume it being unhealthy isn't the entire fucking point. Geez

I want to see these characters struggle against their issues - and that can involve them going for the wrong person, and maybe they make it out, maybe they don't. Not the point. I want to see the complex ways they make each other's lives more complicated - like adding extra corridors to an already confusing maze. Making it harder to navigate is literally the fun part, because it'll force them to evolve, for better or for worse

it actually makes me so sad that people consume media where every character is kind of an asshole and they just entirely overly sanitize every character and every problem thats caused by the being kind of an asshole thing. i loooove conflict i love people who suck. i love people who are good people but also still kind of suck in some ways because they are a person. most importantly you all do not understand the comedic potential of characters being kind of shitty to eachother.

[instaspacenoodles]

Hallo! I noticied your requests are open

Can I request a dabble or a fic on Jiyan with an S/O who’s part of the fractisdus

He wouldn’t have known beforehand, but he’s just on the battle field and there they are

whichever way it goes it’s up to you, but maybe an angsty ending perhaps 😋

✧₊⊹𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐖𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥

✧ Jiyan x gn!Reader 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 — Angst, Fract!Reader, Mourning, Death

In order for the Fractsidus’ plan to succeed and ensure the revival of the Threnodian Ovathrax, you were tasked by Overseer Scar to keep an eye on the Midnight Rangers. Gather intel, sabotage when the opportunity arises, and keep your cover - kill anyone if you must. It wasn’t too difficult but you managed to blend into the city, presenting yourself as someone who wanted to live a quiet life.  

The quiet life didn't last a month. Your bad luck striking again when you accidentally ran into the general - the very person you had to avoid. You just wanted a late night snack for heaven's sake! The man escorted you home like a gentleman with not much to say but... he was still a threat nonetheless.

Ever since then it was like the universe was playing a cruel joke on you. You just kept running into that General Jiyan no matter where you went. You didn’t know if this was a blessing or a curse. Well, if the universe was offering the best source of information to you on a silver platter then who were you to refuse.

Each time, you played the innocent card while skillfully weaving in questions about the frontlines and the Midnight Rangers. Jiyan wasn’t the type to share classified information so easily unlike his loudmouth comrades. He only shared tidbits about the Rangers and what was happening behind the scenes - much to your frustrations. He was lucky he was cute. Maybe from a different angle, you could earn his trust and learn more of the secrets he holds. 

The next time you met him, you extended an invitation to join you for dinner at your home. He grew quiet for a few moments and a part of you watched with bated breath. Would he decline? Maybe it was too soon? You tried to take it back with an awkward laugh, however, he shakes his head and accepts your invite with that small smile of his that made your heart beat just a bit faster. 

After that night, there was a tone shift between you two. Conversation with him was actually… enjoyable. A small part of you wanted to know more about him - his childhood, his time as a doctor, his favorite things. His presence filled your days with a sense of calmness similar to that of blue skies after a rough storm. It made you realize that you haven’t been this close to someone in a long time. This recent change felt weird but it wasn’t unwelcomed. 

However, happy moments are quick to disappear. There was a tightness in your chest when Jiyan tells you that he was called to the Frontlines. You understood it was his duty as Jinzhou’s General and you should be happy that he was finally out of your hair. Though all you felt was a squeeze on your heart when he departed from the city and all that was left now was a void of what was.

You were constantly reminded of him everywhere you go, of all the beautiful moments you shared together. You wonder what he would say if he saw you moping around like you- wait a second. Did you miss him? That realization made you freeze in place as heat started creeping to your face. It couldn’t be that you… actually fell for Jiyan, could it? Shit. You liked him, you missed him, you liked him.

When the word arrived that the General returned to the city victorious, that feeling you worked so hard to suppress came back full force. So there you were at home, making sure that everything was perfect if he came knocking. It felt like hours before there was a faint knock on your front door and you nearly trip over the table trying to get it open. There he was in all his glory. Jiyan was back, back home. In a swirl of pure glee and relief, you launch yourself at him. Surprised by the sudden hug attack, he caught you before you could do much damage. A laugh bubbling from his chest as your arms wrap around his neck. Everything was right in the world now.

It took a while to build up the courage to confess your feelings for him. Every time the right moment appeared, a little voice in the back of your head kept saying that you weren’t worthy of his hand. You were supposed to be enemies for god sake! The Fracustius wanted the General out of their way and here you are getting cozy with him. Feelings were hard and putting them into words were harder. Action was better instead.

 It was during one of those midnight walks that you forced your hand to move, reaching out to gently hold his own. Slowly, he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave your hand a tight squeeze in return. Your heart was pounding in your chest the rest of the way home but the smile on your face shined so brightly. He liked you back. There was no doubt of his feelings when leans down, holding your check with his free hand, to plant a small kiss on your lips. The faint flush of his cheeks was certainly a sight you wanted to keep seeing on the normally stoic man. 

Deep down, you knew peace wouldn’t last. Tacet Discords started to appear more frequently due to Threnodian’s resurrection and Jiyan was forced to the frontlines permanently. War was basically on their doorstep after all. Yet the true catalyst, the quiet before the storm, was the golden light descending from the sky that morning.  As confusion and anxieties rumbled through the street, only you knew what it meant. The Arbiter had arrived.

 It wasn’t before long that you were summoned to Norfall Barrens with the rest of the Fracustius members to assist with the resurrection. You had your orders and you too couldn’t go against your duties. Mask on, weapon in hand, and red cloak draped across your shoulders - your side was already chosen from the beginning. You just hoped that you both survived this.

A loud roar cut through your thoughts and you barely had time to dodge the large teal dragon that was thrown in your direction, with a certain General following suit. Of course, how naive to think that you would be able to avoid him here. Your heart nearly stopped as a sense of dread built up in your throat. Right now you both were on opposing sides. Both of your blades clash with a loud cling as the fighting continues. Jiyan was skillful in his attacks and certainly made good use of his duel wielding abilities - beautiful yet dangerous. 

Adrenaline and pain burned through your body with each slash you received. You managed to put some good wounds on him though it was clear to anybody that your body was in a worse state. You were no match for Jinhzou’s General. Jiyan caught you off guard with a swift kick to your gut that sent you flying backwards and rolling into a rock nearby. The world was spinning - shit.

His blade was pointed at your throat. Your body froze and wide eyes stared down at the broadblade. The will to fight vanished without a trace as you were at his mercy- mercy that he was unwilling to give. A shaky plea came from your lips as your hands reached up to pull the mask away as a last resort. At the same time, there was another flash of teal in his other hand and his spear was plunged right into your chest. The mask was pulled away as your body crumbled to the ground.

Jiyan catches the sight of your now revealed face and his whole resolve turns to dust. A mix of anguish, shock, and betrayal bloomed in his chest. You were with the Fracustius the entire time? No… that couldn’t be right. This had to be a sick joke, an illusion due to the retroact rain. He called out to you and watched you sluggishly stir to the sound of his voice. How could the beautiful eyes he stared at so many times faded to nothingness this easily? Though the damage was done and you were slipping through his fingers. 

Jiyan fell to his knees and pulled you against his body. He didn’t care about the dirt and the blood that were now staining his clothes, leaning down to whispering apologies in your ears with tears burning his eyes. A pained smile pulled at your lips and you could only gasp out a raspy ‘I love you’ before darkness swallowed you. As you take your last breath and your body goes lifeless in his arms, Jiyan could only stare at the moon in agony. He didn’t get to say he loved you too. 

[edenspoem]

some gamer!ellie + loser!ellie mishmash blurbs/hcs, nsfw content mdni!!

⋆.ೃ;giggling and kicking my feet thinking abt pretending to be a lil dumb when it comes to things ellie/loser!ellie knows like the back of her hand. im mostly thinking video games, she thumbs the controllers joystick around and aims at whatever she's explaining in that attractive ass navelly, gravelly tone, like "you go over here for ammo, then- shoot em' down. oh, and-" her index points towards the 'd-pad' button, pivoting her face to you, "to open the inventory." and shows you the inventory mechanics, flexing her knuckles when it rolls and snaps the joysticks.

⋆.ೃ;loser ellie surely gets all sheepish and Involuntarily smiles, unable to keep her lips from cracking into a crescent whenever she watches you take after her instructions.

⋆.ೃ;you tick your tongue, annoyed at the game, so ellie wedges her long ass fingers under your palms and prys the controller from your grip, "lemme' try." and she clears the objective immediately. personally, I'm not bad at games, but i'd try losing a few times so she can help me 🥱🥱

⋆.ೃ;also she good at clit stim cause she be flicking controller sticks all day 🤣 rubbing in tight and wide circles ohmigorsh 😵 jokey hc

⋆.ೃ;if u get decent at the game, and gain the ability to headshot enemies here and there, she'll whisper little "fuck yeahs" , "good jobs" , "sicks" and "rad" , patting and rubbing the plump of your inner thigh. altho pre-dating or loser!ellie would rub the baby hairs behind the conch of her ear shyly and fracts multiple smirks for each gunshot plowed through the enemies head.

⋆.ೃ;⚠️you prbly went down on her once while she played video games. seeing how out of focus she gets and the number of times she dies in a boss fight. like she's playing resident evil 4, fighting mendez' jumpy ass and accidently stumbles leon into the fires cuz ur lapping her clit so damn good, her fucking vision fogs up sm she can't tell the difference between the boss' silhouette and the literal wall. mouth gaped open, jaw tightening to the point she's gotta bite down on her lip in ecstasy. she'd deny the fact its stripping her focus while rutting her drippy serum slit into your mouth and undulating her hips in fluid motions. cursing at the screen, "fuck you bitchhh- hnnn.." but you can't differentiate the curses of rage and curses of pleasure. bahhhh 🥴 loser!ellie wouldn't know what to do with all that tho she'd literally just pause the game and watch you work your magic, planting two feet on your shoulders and panting. all reddened up. ☆ 🦢

⋆.ೃ;⚠️and when ur not around, the muted reflections of the screen casting on her skin, stuffing a pillow between her thighs and rocking her hips into the seam while she wishes you were there. fantasizing. then muttering, "fuck am i doing.." conflicting the fact it felt really good. it feels too damn good, too damn wet, r.i.p those boxer shorts + the pillow. HIGHLY loser!ellie. 🦢

MASTERLIST + more loser!ellie

[chiroluna]

hi again,, I happened to see your requests were (especially) open!

it would be very cool and awesome if you could make a plurplex term for the omni- orientation. similar to the bi- one that already exists if you need inspiration. thank you :D

queued!

[fractoluminescence]

Btw. Had I told you guys how I GOT SHINJI ON MY VERY FIRST PULL

[brightdarkness-2013]

Chapter 11: Welp I'm Late! Again!

Summary:Prowl escapes the tank.

Notes: This is more about mers and basic information and a heads up on the situation.

Prowl was shunning me. He did however shift over to the side of tank when Blaster came by. Then when I came by he’d turn around. This was not how I wanted things to go when I saw him again. I suppose I did get him locked up in a confined tank. At least he didn’t straight up jet to the other side and eye me warily like he did with everyone else.

The water was filled with dissolved supplements and medication to boost his immune system and help him to heal. Everything that went in was checked and double checked including food much like for the other one in the next room. However at least Prowl ate and rested. The other would pace despite his wounds and refused to eat anything we offered him. Fish was a no. Shellfish didn’t even result in any investigation. Cleaning out the decaying fish was troublesome with how aggressive he acted. He snapped at anything that entered to try and clean the tank. Lunged at the sides when anyone got too close. Ratchet was pissed that we had to drug him each time we had to clean the tank almost as much as the fact that he kept reopening his wounds. Aid was worrying over the possibility of infection and starvation.

I was sure Ratchet was getting close to the point of suggesting we tie him down and shove the fish down his throat. After a time Arcee suggested that we just don’t even offer food for a few days if he was just going to refuse it and boost his probability of infection. That was a straight up no and a lecture from here to hell and back. Then Eric, a.k.a. Mirage suggested live ‘prey’ to add some familiarity to the ocean. However that was ejected over the fact that there was no way he was going to be able to catch anything in his state even if it was a confine space. It was a good idea, but encouraging him to move was not. We were officially running out of options and force feeding was quickly climbing up the list.

Prowl was healing fine, but he wouldn’t be returning to the ocean anytime soon. Even if the other started cooperating and healed they wouldn’t be able to survive long out there. Then there was the fact that they would no doubt return to the bridge to cause trouble. It was where their nest had been and they all seemed pretty convinced that they were trying to take back the area. They did have nowhere else to go and it was hard to find a safe place to build a nest as it was and to find another when they only had one other pod member was suicide. They were stuck by the shore. The only other option was to try and merge one broken pod with another.

However that was harder than it sounded. A broken pod was wary and adding just one member was difficult as it was. Putting two different pods together was much harder. Sometimes it worked and other times, which tended it be more often, it did not and ended in a fierce fight if there wasn’t enough space. That was the reason there was one main tank that was nearly three times as large as a standard tank in the back that was commonly called the merger. Well Blurr called it the bloodbath behind Ratchets back. It usually kept them from fighting over territory in a new space. If they separated themselves from each other for longer than a two week period without any sign of curiosity of the other or others or showed too much aggression in that time it was a pretty clear indication that they weren’t willing to merge.

So far it was clear Geminus Avium or the dual winged mers that formed trines would not join a pod. They flat out refused to and only merged with others of its kind. Magis Avium or the winged would merge with practically any pod if accepted from both sides from what they had seen over the years. Very few pods that held a winged mer would rarely have more than one. Magis Parvus or the minis as they were dubbed would either be in a pod of just minis or they would seek out larger mer pods. Fractura Videte on the other hand were even smaller and they had a different relationship and were much easier. They would hatch together and stick together and find a larger mer in another pod and would obey only that mer from the pod. Latching on until ordered to assist in some way such as herding prey out of small areas and would be given a portion of the meal. There were other types like the practically mythical titans that had barely been seen in even passing and accidents. However the other types were pretty easy going and were willing to mix and match most of the time.

Nothing was going to happen, no merging, if Prowls pod mate over in the next room kept acting the way he was. Then things just got worse. He had just froze for a second, ear fins twitching, before he started whistling and howling loudly. Then Prowl had gotten active. Testing the tank and swimming up to the top and peeking out before going back under before whistling back in a more subdued manner. The constant noise from the larger one was giving everyone a headache and was just an annoyance for a time. It wouldn’t do to put them together in such a cramped area and we couldn’t just double the dosage in the tank. It would be too much for one of them, most likely Prowl, and getting them high and causing damage was not the goal. We could handle the sounds and deal with the situation until we could put them together. That is before Prowl had decided to leap up onto the feeding stand and drag himself down the steps and to the door that led to the next room where he clawed at it in frustration until someone came.

We had put them together after some debate. After treating Prowl from new scrapes from the stairs of course. Neither one would get enough from a single dose, but Ratchet had just sighed and said he’d work something out with Aid. No point in keeping them separated if Prowl was just going to escape the tank and the other was just going to ram the tank and howl. One of these days Prowl would probably figure out how to open a door and make it to the other tank on his own anyway.

Next

First

Masterpost

[psychopomp-namine]

Can I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them? Thanks 🌻

okay, finally answering this. this made me realize I have 39 fics on my AO3 already. how time flies...

gonna go with a 5+1 trope here. 5 favorite fics I've written + 1 that hasn't been posted

staccato (twewy) - sometimes there are themes, motifs, tropes, etc. that a writer will come back to over and over again. if you're lucky, you can pinpoint which piece of writing started all of this, and what every other piece of writing written since then is responding to or conversing with. this is that fic for me. this is old. it's from 2012. it's what got me started writing more experimentally. yeah I can write a straightforward story, but I also really like writing non-linear stories with unreliable narrators and ambiguous elements (either something to do with identity/memory/time messing up the narrative; for staccato's case, it's memory). it took me a while since writing this to actually understand that's what I like writing though, but this is definitely the seed from which my current writing style sprung from. for that reason, it's a very special fic to me. it's formative to my writing journey.

[h]eretic (nier automata) - (david lynch voice) "the film is the talking" but apply it to fic. it's 374 words. someone commented, "I like it when a work is short but gets to the point. This was powerful." so I accomplished what I wanted. this is my hemingway six-word story flash fiction moment 👍

time is a vinyl record (genshin impact) - I haven't continued this because it's a high effort fic to write and I just don't have the writing stamina for it right now. you can see how I'm very excited about it though. I like it because I get to play around with formatting a lot, to the point where I now maintain a separate workskin demo for formatting fics. so I enjoyed that process of it. it's also got time travel shenanigans, science is magic is science stuff. it's easier to show you pictures of why this fic is so high effort for me (see below). it's a "mixed media" fic, and requires three levels of research (travel research, because the characters travel the world. science research, because it's got spacetime shenanigans. and archival research, as in "what do archivists do and how do they archive"). so yeah. high concept, don't have the brain space for it yet to continue, but I'm very fond of it.

the gardener who only collects seeds (genshin impact) - another time travel fic. time loop one, to be precise. this is the fic where, as I was writing it, I realized, oh. this is staccato all over again. the plot is different, the fandom is different, but stylistically and thematically, it's staccato in a different font. or rather, the refinement of the je ne sais quois that staccato started. this will keep happening in other fics, such as in re:flect. re/fract. (which uses identity issues instead of time travel as the ambiguous narrative element). everything goes back to staccato. that said, a longer postscript of gardener can be found here if you want to know how it was written/conceptualized/etc.

AZAZEL (danganronpa V3) - I usually write for small fandoms or rare(ish) pairs (relatively speaking), so this is the first time I posted a fic where it got so many comments and kudos so fast (relative to my other fics). I didn't think people still regularly check the saiouma tag in 2024? so the response just blew me away. I enjoyed writing a casefic from my experience writing another fic that's not on this list, so that's what compels me about writing azazel. the mystery writing. but also! I am a huge fan of role reversal fics because it really pushes the envelope with character arcs, and this is kinda like that. I'm a slow writer, but I'm still writing the second chapter. additional thoughts on themes, etc can be found here. also, I guess this fic felt like a milestone for me, because I finally got over my word count worries. it's my fic, so I get to say it's totally okay to post 20k words for one chapter. and I'm currently of the mindset that each chapter of this fic will probably have around the same word count. if anyone reading this is a reader of azazel, uhhhhh. that's partially why I'm slow to update, but I'm also just slow in general.

+1: The Halting Problem (sgdlr): you said "written" and technically I have a WIP that's partially written (16k words and counting). it's just not posted. that counts, right? this is my favorite fic to write atm. the halting problem is a set of two fics (RE:cursion and async/await) that make up one whole story. they're being written in such a way that you need one to understand the other. I think I can't really post either of them until they're both finished/complete. moreover, I decided to use both fics as my testing ground to see if I can write interactive, choose-your-own-adventure stories. I just think those are neat! so I wanted to try them myself!! and I think lc is perfect for that kind of story. if you've played a cyoa game before, you know how this goes. and yes, you can do this on AO3 (with limitations)! it's been really fun seeing the many ways you can use "choices" as a storytelling device, aside from just making branching paths in a narrative. I feel like, in spirit, this belongs to this list, although yeah it's not posted yet. I cannot promise that it will be. I highly doubt that it will be finished, in all honesty. it's kinda ambitious lmao, and waaay above my skill level. but! in the moment, I am having so so so much fun with it. and that's what matters in the end. the conceptualization and writing process for this fic just feels really different from the others because of it's narrative structure, and I'm kinda learning a lot about my own writing process along the way.

[16naughts]

Dev Log Feb 14 2025 - Space Dust Shader

Two weeks left until release. And I almost forgot to post the dev blog post on the second Friday. Whoops. Since it's late, I'll be quick. Since I promised some shader stuff last week, I should probably deliver on that. For those unfamiliar, shaders are tiny programs written to be executed on the GPU for handling rendering of graphics for the game. It's a bit hand-wavy, but there's a bunch of different types that you can write for different stages in the rendering pipeline, which itself can be configured differently based on what the game is. Most modern games using OpenGL and similar pipelines have at bare minimum a Vertex Shader, meant to populate the shapes of the things, and a Fragment Shader, meant to draw the colors of the pixels. Usually it's just a texture on a plane for most 2D games, but you can get creative and make some neat stuff. Here's a still image (not a gif, sorry) of the attractor/repulsor objects as seen in the first trailer:

It's kind of a neat effect (not to pat myself on the back too much, but you know). There's little dust particles flying into/away from the little swirly hole in the middle. The best part is that it's not actually particle objects - there's no calculation for those individual dust particles at all. It's just one single texture that looks like this:

The image is a composite of a layer of pure Green and Black on the bottom in a conical gradient, a radial gradient of pure red to transparent from the middle on top of that, and then a circle of pure blue with a slight transparent blue tint inside. The trick is that there's a really simple little shader applied to it (code for those who want to commandeer, feel free to use for anything, but note that this is used in the Phaser WebGL pipline and will not just drag-and-drop into most projects) :

precision mediump float; uniform sampler2D uMainSampler; uniform float uTime; varying vec2 outTexCoord; void main() { vec4 c = texture2D(uMainSampler, outTexCoord); float t = fract(sin(c.g * 12.9898) * 43758.5453); float a = clamp(fract(c.r + uTime * 0.05 + t) * c.r * 2.0 + c.b, 0.0, 1.0); gl_FragColor = vec4(0.6 * a, 0.7*a, 0.8*a, a); }

The gist of it is that it takes the image, uses the amount of Green at a specific pixel to determine which 'column' of dust expanding from the center to the edge belongs there. Then, the 'closeness' of the dust is specified by the Red value of the pixel, and more visibility is granted to specific small range of Red values over a function of time with a little bit of pseudo-randomness to make it look nice. Mask it off with the Blue, and increment over time, and voilla - super cheap space dust particle thingy. Obviously, we use shaders quite heavily for a lot of the things that do weird little cyclical movements, including things like the stage shimmy and the wavy effect for the company logo. However, you'd probably be just as surprised how much isn't shaders, and is instead just standard compositing and masking, like the stage background and UI elements. Some clever design and a strong art direction do a ton more for a game's visuals than just throwing raw computational power at it.

[archangel-level-coining]

alt protector flag !

as requested by @fract-all

colours from the pluralpedia flag by humorsunbalanced / diamond template from revenant-coining on dA

[yennefer-x-tissaia]

Oh my god, how just HOW do I relized it just now that Yennefer controlled the most uncontrollable magic of any chaos magic! The people are warned of fire magic, it is destructive, dangerous and almost uncontrollable. Of course Yennefer pays the price for the using of fire magic when she oses her chaos. But can we please talk about the fact there still was control in all that chaos?! It's uncontrollable but she still could manage to protect Tissaia! The fire rained down like hellfire on everything in front of her EXCEPT Tissaia. In all that chaos she find enough control to protect her and don't let a single flame touch her. And I really don't know what I love more about that fact. That she is strong enough to did that or that it was Tissaia who gave her that strength.

But I know what I hated. That they NEVER talked about it again. They just run over the fract that Tissaia was the only survivor on that field between all those burned ones because Yennefer wanted her to live. Needed her to live. And this is just- Nah.

Yeah, I felt like it definitely warranted a bit of a follow-up conversation. I assume that's why it's mentioned in a lot of fics. Fic writers resolve it, but the show didn't. It was such a big deal. It was the big set piece in the finale of the season. In a show called The Witcher, the big battle of the season was won not by Geralt, but by Yennefer, who was fighting for Tissaia, and who carved out a little cocoon of safety for her in the midst of a ferocious outpouring of chaos. (That she's never let go of to that extent before.) That should have been addressed at some point. We should have had a 'You saved me' moment from Tissaia. And not just the fairly bland 'You are a hero to me and many others'.

The whole reunion ep, while it had some great lines and scenes, fell a bit flat for me. I never really understood Tissaia's motivations for a lot of what she did in season 2 to be honest. And season 3 just handwaved a lot of it, so it was pointless anyway.

Like, Yennefer literally had wanted posters out for her, but she can just waltz back into Aretuza at Tissaia's say so? Why, then, could Tissaia not just insist she didn't need to kill Cahir and could stay in the first place?

Tissaia puts a bounty on Ciri's head? That gets one line in season 3 and a not very convincing answer - something to do with not assuming her movivations were so basic. What were they, then, Tissaia??

Anyway, it is what it is. That's why we have fic.