#and their fandom is a danger to my sanity

[danadiadea]

"Petty school grudge" is not even fun to discuss anymore (just forgive your SAers and bullies, guys! just get over your PTSD like... stop processing your taumatic experiences in a way that isn't perfectly convenient for everyone around, idk. if you are triggered – have you tried not being triggered?), but I LOVE when people paint James' death as a heroic one!

James Potter made Pettigrew a secret keeper out of his arrogance and sheer disrespect for his "friend", when he literally could've had Albus Dumbledore or just be the keeper himself and sit at home. Did I say "sit at home"? Of course he sneaked to hang out with Sirius, while not only his and his family's lives were in danger, but his wife also had an infant to take care of! So Dumbledore had to take the cloak so Jamie isn't running to his Siri. The cloak that could've hidden them from death. No escape routes or additional protection was installed in their house as well, so Lily blocked the door with A CHAIR instead of actually saving their lives. "Lily, run, I'll hold him off"? Where is she supposed to run, you moron? And the time Voldemort needs to cast an Avada on a wandless man is not really enough to "hold him off", yk. Even Voldy found it funny.

Dying because of your own pomposity when your killer literally came to your house and you don't have a choice to save yourself (the one Lily had, cause at least someone was willing to ACT on her behalf) is not heroic in any way at all. And no, being "pro muggle born" when you grew up in the "pro muggle born" family is not his achievement. James had EVERYTHING to be a good person, but was a bully so full of himself it became the reason Peter had the opportunity to betray him in the first płace. Peter, who always "sticked to the biggest bullies" according to Sirius, chosen as a keeper because he wasn't important enough to interest Voldemort. What a hero James was.

I cannot believe people let Snape get the high ground.

How do people casually overlook the fact that Snape spent six entire years of his life telling a kid—who never even got the chance to know his father—that said father was an arrogant douchebag? Like, how do people think that behavior is normal?

Snape, a grown man, spent years trying to convince a grieving, orphaned child that his dead father—who literally died protecting his family—was a terrible person. No compassion for a man who gave his life for his wife and son. No sympathy for a kid who grew up abused, unloved, and completely alone, only learning about his parents through stories told by others.

Instead, Snape chose to rehash his teenage rivalry with James Potter by bullying his son. Imagine being so petty that you can’t move past your high school grudges, even when the other person has been dead for over a decade.

Even the coldest, most detached person would muster some respect for a man who died fighting for good. But Snape? No. He chose to sit on his high horse—ignoring the fact that he was once a Death Eater who only changed sides when his own personal interests were threatened—and still had the audacity to act morally superior to James.

James Potter died a hero. Snape, on the other hand, spent his life tormenting the child of the woman he claimed to love—while refusing to let go of a teenage rivalry and weaponizing it against a traumatized, grieving boy.

I cannot get over how utterly selfish and cruel that is. Snape had no empathy for the dead and no sympathy for the living. And people still try to defend him? Seriously?

[ghostgirl101]

Being In A Relationship With Feyd-Rautha Would Be Like This...

A/N: Yes yesss, I'm back from the deepest depths of the dead, finals kicked my ass earlier but now its almost october and I'll burn any exam paper I see from this moment onwards 😀 don't even question why I used this gif, it pretty much summarises the whole headcanon lmao🖤so enjoy it and lmk if you want to be added to the taglist thing at the end. Keep in mind that requests are not open currently, as I'm catching up with ones already in my inbox for Dune and other dark fandoms.

Warnings: Kind of dark themes, mid violence.. it's Feyd Rautha, idk what to tell you 😐

Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎

☠︎︎• You got yourself into some weird territory with this one 😵‍💫

☠︎︎• If you're expecting any semblance of stability and pure romance, then I'd turn and run for the Dunes to find Paul instead, because this Harkonnen doesn't have an ounce of level sanity in him, and the amount of spiking tension you'll have to cope with on a daily basis is enough to give anyone a literal heart attack 💀💀

☠︎︎• My guesses are that you were introduced to Feyd-Rautha as either a pretty young Bene Gesserit girl chosen to weave her way into his life to continue the bloodline, or he liked the look of you when he was off-world in one instance to look over Spice production with his uncle, and took you back as a trophy because he liked the look of you. So lucky you. 🙃

☠︎︎• This boy is an absolute sadist and an unpredictable unhinged mess, so there's a lot to get used to, and even when you do get used to things, it could all flip and spin just as quickly. It would take a hell of a time to truly understand Feyd-Rautha enough to predict him one hundred per cent and longer to have his trust that you won't run off or try betraying him.

☠︎︎• There's definitely a kind of dangerous allure to him that he uses to his advantage, a smug grin on his face when he enters the arenas, most likely to make kills in your name. It wouldn't be a massive surprise if you became some figure in Giedi Prime to sacrifice the dead to, like some kind of goddess of the kill (ik that sounds dramatic as hell, but i see it happening .-.)

☠︎︎• Feyd-Rautha is absolutely not used to the concept of looking out for anyone other than himself, or feeling anything close to respect and love for anyone other than himself. So the relationship he forces between you and him is a shaky and slow-burning bond that works in its own weird ways and quirks, and adapts to him and him only, so there are a lot of adjustments to be made on your end. Because even though Feyd isn't sensitive in the general sense, he's majorly unpredictable, and one wrong word could set him off. Just, tread carefully in the early days.

☠︎︎• If you want affection in any other way than corpses and bruising hickies, it may take a little while, because he has no idea how to pull that kind of gentleness off, and doesn't necessarily want to either. But if it's something that'll get you to submit to his hold over you more, then he'll come round to it, and when there's absolutely no one else in the area, you might get some actual, genuine passion, though there's always a part of it mixed in with some darker conflict in him.

☠︎︎• If you want attention from him, you've got it anyway. Feyd has his own form of attachment, pretty much an obsession, but it's always tangled in with his desire to dominate and possess. It's a suffocating relationship and tipped-scales dynamic, and the only way you can really get him to see your side of things is by wording it in ways that'll make it sound like it was his idea in the first place, and that the reason is because it'll feel better for him.

☠︎︎• Needless to say, if you're a little firmer and have a dark side to you (i'll make a safe bet that you do if you want this guy x_x) this Harkonnen is a thrill seeker to the extreme, someone always looking to feel something new and raw and insatiable, like the sharpest peaks of ecstasy and adrenaline, so will he try out new stuff with you even though it sounds mental and freaky and dangerous? That's a rhetorical question.

☠︎︎• Despite all the bloodshed and his ruthless havoc in the arenas, taking lives and living for the pain of it, believe it or not, Feyd is actually vulnerable in the least suspecting way. He doesn't have an emotional connection with anyone, because he's an unhinged psycho amongst a crowd of pale unhinged psychos who expect nothing less (and.. have you watched the film?? It's confirmed that this dude has mummy issues, so... i'm just saying, look at this hc's front gif 😏)

☠︎︎• If we're talking romance and affection, just think intense. Intense intense intense, because that's the best way to describe it. His hugs are breathtakingly tight and forcefully smothering, and he doesn't kiss, he full-on makes out with you. Public or not doesn't matter, it's just an opportunity to mark you as his in front of an audience, and he'll gladly perform, so suck up your shyness.

☠︎︎• Thinking of pet names, I see Feyd-Rautha calling you either by just your true first name and having everyone else address you just by your general title, or using other typical nicknames he'd use with satisfied smirks and lingering looks. Maybe his dearest darling, because you're higher than the pets he feeds and used before you (apparently they're called harpies??!? idk what the heck lol) I don't see him saying my love or honey unless he's just being a jackass in an argument, because I'm betting my life savings this boy only eats bitter things, and he sure as hell can't define love like you can.

☠︎︎• Feyd comes across as pretty dominant in everything he does, which is right, and even if it's you questioning him, he'll throw a dangerous fit that escalates within a second no one sees, so, again you have to be clever with the way you word things. You physically and mentally cannot be independent with Feyd-Rautha, because he'll break that spirit right out of your soul. Would he physically hurt you? Not badly, no, but just don't push him, because he'll lash out without a second thought in the moment of impulse.

☠︎︎• Again with the independence, another thing that stops you from getting any is how absolutely suffocatingly obsessive he can get, which turns on his possessiveness. You're essentially an extension of himself, something that's peaceful and pure and perfect in so many ways he'll never understand and will always pull your mind apart to try to. So if any other skulking Harkonnen looking to impress you by challenging Feyd himself or devoting a kill in the arena to you, has immediately chosen the slowest, most humiliating death, that you'll probably be tied down to watch -_-

☠︎︎• And if he can tell in even the smallest way that you're drawn to someone aside from him, there's a chance you'll be kept locked up in his chambers for a month or two with no servants, nothing breathing at all permitted to trespass except him, until he's satisfied and you have him wrapped around your finger again. And that means you can get him to do practically anything if it benefits him and draws you closer, like a kill.. to maybe even destroying a whole planet, it's not impossible for him. Once he has his mind set on something, he's a hunter, he's found his target, and he'll go wild until he destroys it.

☠︎︎• He's protective in the way that he will not let you die, or get hurt in any way by any person other than him. If another Harkonnen draws your blood in the tiniest scratch, or hurts your feelings in some way, Feyd will use that as an excuse to wring their necks. You're his to look at and admire and dress up and be close to and make you feel things, so anyone else daring to step up beside you will get knocked down and fed to his darlings. The only time you'll actually see him being doting and surprisingly, cautiously gentle is when he's healing a wound without the audience of any nurses or outside help, an uncharacteristic and uncomfortable silence in the air as he concentrates and gets you back to rights.

☠︎︎• The moments where he'll allow himself to be truly close to you go unspoken, like in the cold hard nights of Geidi Prime, where he pulls you up from your bed and tugs you down the short dark corridor to dump you in his own instead, with nothing else but the need to feel smotheringly close to someone who understands how his mind works. You'll remind him of his mother, and that's all good, so long as you stay by him and with him always, because if you take the opportunity to turn and run, don't let him catch you in the act. There's a 50/50 chance he'll keep you in his rooms for the rest of the relationship, or just straight-up kill you and take in your memories and mind to possess you that way ._.

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Next Week's Fanfic: Headcanons for a love triangle between you, Feyd-Rautha and Paul Atreides 😎😎 ⊹˚₊‧───────────────────────────────────────────‧₊˚⊹

Taglist (lmk if you want to be added to this for my future Dune fanfics): @milaeth @ennycutie @nckcn @void21 @leighta @williamtt33 @deathsimp @tatumrileyslover @beebumbo @the-dark-dreamer25 @lilepad @skboo @keicdcat @1950schick @reggiesmoon @velosrantipole @yoonessa @anonymjuni @saturnhas82moons @xlxnq @frickyea-guacamole19 @meowmeeps @chalklate

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DUNE MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆ MAIN MASTERLIST

[jilyandbambi]

Can I just...make an embarrassing plea for nuance for a second?

As a Daniel Molloy enjoyer who's thought a lot about his relationship with his family, and his daughters, in particular, based on the few throwaway lines we've gotten, fandom jumped on the Daniel Is a Deadbeat Dad Whose Kids Hate Him train a little too readily, in my opinion. Especially since we have so few details to go off of when it comes to Daniel's life.

Look, there's obviously strong textual hints that Daniel made some pretty big mistakes in his family life, let his wives and daughters down in major ways. Maybe he was a bad father from the moment his kids were born and they have no good memories with him and now they can't wait for him to kick the bucket so they can inherit whatever's left of his estate... But also, maybe not!

There's a lot of nuance to relationships with imperfect parents that I think fandom overlooks. I'll elaborate using some of my own family's dysfunction as examples:

I have a cousin who was a Daddy's girl like me, who had a father who doted on her when she was little. But when she was in elementary school, he had a nervous breakdown after being attacked, and they lost contact while he was in and out of institutions. Now that she's an adult and he's doing better, they're trying to reconnect without much success. My cousin loves her dad very much, but he's a stranger to her, which, coupled with residual feelings of abandonment, makes it hard for her to reach out. That said, she still wants a relationship with him and looks back fondly on her childhood with him.

I have a great-aunt that I'm close to who would, off-and-on, go through extended periods of not talking to her father, my great-grandfather because he was old, sickly, losing his memory and blind in one eye, and yet as a "retired" contractor would still paint and remodel the rooms of his house, and the fact that he didn't take his health seriously stressed my aunt out to the point of seriously impacting her own mental and physical health. She loved her father dearly, but had to prioritize her own health when he proved to be unconcerned with his.

So, let's imagine for a sec that there's some gray area to play around in here.

What if Daniel was in denial in the first few years of his Parkinson's diagnosis and was still taking dangerous assignments like nothing was wrong and his daughters had to stop checking in for the sake of their sanity, which had been crumbling under the strain of sitting up at night panicking over their terminally ill father jetting off to the MENA to interview Kurdish militias for a documentary on ISIS?

What if Daniel was a doting father at first who made it to birthdays and recitals and holidays, etc. but after the girls' mom picked them up from their dad's and found used needles strewn about the coffee table one too many times, his visitation was restricted, and the relationship fell apart in the years after?

What if Daniel was a workaholic that no-showed at Christmas, birthdays, and parent-teacher conferences, but who came the fuck through when it was time to sell Girl Scout cookies (and any other school fundraiser), pulled out all the stops when either of the kids had a school project that required tons of research (in the days before Internet, mind you), and was fully down to stalk their high school/college boyfriends with them to see if they were cheating?

What if Daniel was a workaholic who sometimes freebased coke on weekends he had the girls and forgot to pick them up from school and missed every birthday party, but also would bring the girls to work with him all the time and when he did, they'd see their old artwork pinned to the walls of his office and his colleagues would congratulate one on the regional Spelling Bee one of them came first place in and the other on getting her blue belt in karate. Yeah, Daniel wasn't there for any of those but the fact that he cared enough to brag about it at work...yeah. What if Daniel let them skip school on days when middle/high school was just Too Much, and they'd go to Coney Island and ride The Cyclone til they forgot about Jennifer inviting everyone else on the swim team to her party.

Here's another thing: while yes, Daniel puts a premium on truth and honesty and has a blunt, pull no punches manner of speaking--old people are fucking DRAMATIC. Daniel's daughters are adults with busy lives of their own. Meanwhile, he's stuck at home bored out of his mind in retirement. What if his relationship with them is fine (all things considered) but they take a week to respond to his texts because hello? busy. Do any of you have grandparents who are retired? The other day I was informed that I'm "bad at texting" because it took me a few hours to reply to a message asking me if I watch The Diplomat. What if "My daughters won't even talk to me!" is just Daniel being miffed that neither of the girls had responded to his text in their Groupchat asking if they'd had a chance to check out his Masterclass yet?

Look, all this is to say, dysfunctional parent-child relationships are of course, messy and painful, especially if the parent was less-than-stellar during the child's formative years--but that doesn't mean that that's all there is. Oftentimes, there's a lot of good mixed in with the bad; and there's almost always a lot of love and a mutual desire to mend things in the time you have left. Every relationship on IWTV has its highs and lows, both joyful and devastating moments and memories. There's no reason the same can't apply to the relatively blank slate of Daniel Molloy and his daughters' relationship

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

Story Masterlist

Chapter 12

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

WARNINGS: consumption of alcohol, Reader gets drunk, mention of self-harm (wanting to bite thumb, along with wanting to make herself pass out via smashing her head), probably near panic attack(s), one (1) tiny undescriptive vomit scene, kind of implied death threat/threat(s) in general (?),  slight obsessive and possessive themes, overall slight yandere themes, toxic relationship/marriage, underage drinking (Zac, but it’s only a small sip, and depending on where you live, the reader too. However, considering Roxana drinks at 19 at Yggdrasil, I’m assuming that in the story the legal age is 18).

Not exactly NSFW warnings: encouraging implied non-con

NOTE: if he’s completely out of character, just pretend Dion’s sleep deprivation is finally catching up to him. That or he’s slowly losing it. 

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIORS THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY DANGEROUS AND TOXIC.

MINORS/BLANK BLOGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICW, ART, ETC.) DNI

= = =  

The walk to the dining room feels like a death march. Every step makes your legs grow weaker, knees throbbing harder. The echo of your heels sets your nerves on fire, imagining it getting louder and louder as you run away, until you reach the front doors, out of breath. But, of course, you would only get lost in this maze-like structure. And if you somehow manage to reach the front door, you would be killed on sight.

That much is obvious. 

The truth of the fact only makes you crave to bite your thumb. Almost giving in until you see Hana shake her head ‘no’ once she notices. You feel like a child.

You wish you were back in the room with Anne and Charis. To hear them gush over ‘girly’ things while Hana scolds them for not doing their job. 

You wish you were home. 

Your mouth is shut tight, shoulders stiff as your head hangs low. Like you were being led to your own execution, Lant giving the order as Dion carried it out. You wouldn’t be surprised if that were to happen, someday. Sooner rather than later.

The black lace at the hem of your dress covers your shoes, barely grazing the floor. The cold air nips at your exposed skin yet you feel hot. Your bun is starting to feel a little too tight, pulling at your scalp despite Hana being extremely careful with it. The neck piece has been choking you, but now it’s suffocating. 

You feel light headed. 

You’re on the verge of panting, flight-or-fight response knocking on the door of your sanity. Legs stiff, begging you to stay in place before your heart gives out from the stress, you continue on despite the way you’re starting to become dizzy. No, you think, no.

If you faint, it’s all over. If you faint, Dion may become brasher with his advances on making you as crazy as he is. If you faint, Lant might decide you’re not worth the trouble and give you to someone as a toy. 

Or hand you back to your parents in a bodybag. 

“-lady? My lady?” 

“Huh? Wh-what?” Owlishly blinking, your thoughts are driven away at the sound of Hana’s ‘concerned’ voice - you look ahead of you. A single door.* Wait.

No. 

This - this -

“This isn’t the dining room, is it, Hana?” It comes out more as a statement rather than a question, a breathless whisper as your entire body becomes rigid. This looks more like a personal room. Important.

“...yes, my lady. It’s where they hold the grand feast.” You think there’s slight guilt in her voice, and the thought does little to ease your nerves. Well, you think, it’s not like she told you you were going to the dining room. Your idiotic self just assumed so. And perhaps, out of pity, Hana didn’t tell you, giving you the illusion of being in an open space and not in a closed off room with two beasts.

…yeah, God really does hate me. 

Then you remember that you shouldn't know what the grand feast was - thus, you ask her about it a moment later. 

“It takes place once a month. Each month, the siblings are evaluated based on their accomplishments for the month - there are three top spots. Whoever does the best are evaluated highly, making them the most useful to the Agriche family.”

The most useful to Lant.

She continues, “young master Dion is always in first place, Lady Roxana second, and the third place tends to be a different sibling every other month. I heard a rumor that young master Fontaine may be in third place this month.” Once she’s done giving you information about it, you nod your head, hiding the fact you already knew that with a small gulp.

If anyone were to find out you did, your head may roll off your shoulders. After they question you, of course. Torture you too.

Your heart starts to beat faster, the rhythm imprinting itself into your memory. Fingers twitching, you clasp them together, knuckles turning white underneath your gloves - Hana says nothing. Either she didn’t notice or pities you, Dion’s poor little wife.

“I see. Interesting. I didn’t expect any less from those two,” you lifelessly chuckle out, ignoring the odd look Hana gives you. She doesn’t question you, instead knocking on the door before his butler opens it at his orders. You can hear the pulsation of both your blood and heart in your ears. It almost drowns out all other noises. 

The creak of the door freezes you in place.

It feels like you’re walking through knee-high mud as you enter the room against your wishes.

Lant is the first one to make eye contact with you. They remind you of a snake, already squeezing you alive as his presence wraps itself around your body, restricting movement and threatening to choke you. You can barely breathe, lungs working overtime just to take in oxygen.

You feel faint. 

“Congratulations on joining the Agrich family,” your twisted father-in-law begins as he stands in front of the window. “I heard you’re adapting rather quickly. An accomplishment, all things considered.” His grin spells egotistical as his hands remain in his pockets. 

Go kill yourself.

Too much of a coward to say your true thoughts, you give a wavering smile. Keep your head upright. Straighten your back. Feed into his ego. 

“Thank you, father-in-law,” you bow, wanting to smash your head against the floor so hard you’ll pass out. “It’s truly an honor to be here - both as your daughter-in-law and as Dion’s wife.” When you lift your head your smile becomes pretty, just as you practiced. But the corners of your lips threaten to fall into a frown. It becomes more painful as the seconds pass. 

This alone reminds you that you are not Roxana. Cunning and manipulative - none of which describe you. You’re nothing more than a rabbit about to be torn into by a hungry pack of wolves. 

Your skin crawls when he smiles.

“And you already know your place - I knew I made a good choice in choosing you.” His smugness only adds fuel to your fear along with finding the idiotic fool even more detestable. However, Lant is the one in power here, not you. You have to play under and by his rules. 

Even if it means bearing a child you might not be able to love. 

Freezing fear starts to collide with heated hatred the longer he fuels his self-conceit, marveling over his ‘brilliant’ idea. Yet when he smiles at you again, eyeing you, gaze scanning your entire body, it makes your hairs on the back of your neck stand on edge. Thankfully, there is no lust in those eyes - rather, pending judgement. 

He nods his head in approval as your husband keeps his attention on his father. Quickly glancing over at him in his seat, you notice that his eyes don’t hold indifference as they did in the manhwa - no, rather, it was -

“Come sit down; our introduction as true in-laws is long overdue.” At his command you take a seat across from Dion as Lant sits at the end of the table in front of the window. Any thoughts about Dion are driven away as Lant continues to talk. 

His voice makes your head hurt and your ears bleed. 

“You were one out of three girls I had my sights on. The first one was too haughty and the second wasn’t even allowed to attend public events more often than not - it was hard to gather any information on her.” He picks up his wine glass and takes a sip. 

Three girls…? I didn’t know about this… wait, why is he even telling me this -

Oh. 

He’s saying I’m replaceable. 

The realization hits you like a truck, leaving you a mental mess as you keep - attempt to - appearance. Your hands shake almost violently in their place under the table and on your lap. Sweat starts to pool on the back of your neck as you pat your temples down with a napkin the second the death flag turns his attention to Dion, your husband staring right back - after he takes a glance at you, and you shudder at the look he gives.

You can’t tell what he’s thinking and you’re not sure if you want to. After all, ignorance is bliss. 

And it’s that same ignorance that prevents you from seeing how those scarlet eyes soften ever so slightly, unaware of how beautiful he finds you. Well, even if you did, you would just say it’s part of your imagination. 

The idea of someone like Dion harboring any romantic feelings towards anyone - yourself included - makes you sick to your stomach. So, therefore, your truth must be the right one.

You miss the way his gaze had darkened when you glanced at the door - your only way of escape from Lant - from him.

Dion switches his attention to his father when he asks him a question.

“So, son? How well is her training going?” The bastard really did see you as nothing other than a pet. The metaphorical leash around your neck tightens. You can basically feel Lant tugging at it. 

You wait with baited breath for your husband’s answer - you weren’t exactly… ‘obedient.’ Avoiding him, refusing and rejecting his advances that took place on the second day, ‘talked back’ during the thumb incident, pretending to be asleep the second you heard and felt the bed creak when he ‘woke up’. Unable to act like the ‘perfect wife,’ shivering in fear even when he’s not doing anything, just laying with his back towards you on your shared bed. 

Wait, he’s a sadist, you tell yourself. But he’s also a perverted creep. Wanting to touch you despite knowing your dislike for it and -

“She wouldn’t be here if you didn’t approve of her,” is his answer as he takes a sip of his drink. He doesn’t even bother to make eye contact with him while answering. “She would be dead.” 

Your mind shatters and heart drops. You’re forced to bite your lip just so you wouldn’t become hysterical with tears. You already expected this interaction to flow in a similar direction.

Even so, it doesn’t stop your anxiety. It only increases it.

So, he really was only keeping you to study how a sane mind breaks. Little by little, he’ll observe you until the day you either become like them or kill yourself. And then what?

The answer is unknown to you. But did they already have it?

Of course they do.

They’re Agriches.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Lant raises an eyebrow only for his face to draw into a disgusting grin. “That’s an interesting answer. But yes, you’re right; the girl wouldn’t be breathing right now if she disappointed me.” They’re talking as though you were not in the same room as them.

No-one has touched their food, only the wine that was already served. You take a sip yourself, holding back the grimace from the bitterness. They don’t notice, lost in their own little world. But the topic - you - doesn’t change. 

“Honestly, I wasn’t sure if it was the right time to wed you off - but I’m glad I did now. The younger the better, right?” Chuckling out the last part, your father-in-law leans over to pat your husband’s shoulder and you swore that he twitched just a bit.

The stress must be making you see things. 

But then he continues. “Although, I must admit I was surprised when you -”

Another sip as you slowly start to mentally check out, their conversation fading into the background. If you don’t you really will lose your sanity. After some consideration you start to poke at your food before cutting into the steak and taking a bite. Juicy and delicious, the flavor only reminds you of just how filthy rich this family is - how easy it was for them to handcuff you with a shiny pretty little ring.

Neither you nor your husband wear the damn thing, the cursed item still in the deep blue box in some drawer. The first and last time you wore it was when Dion placed it on your ring finger during the ceremony. The memory of it makes you take another bite, hoping that you’ll be distracted by the delicious meal. 

A small urge to cut off your left ring finger forms, but you banish the thought away - even for you, that was going too far.

The pieces threaten to choke you as they stumble down your throat, taking another swing of the bitter, red wine to wash it down. You don’t even notice that Dion was starting to eat as well, leaving Lant the only one who wasn’t. 

Drinking some more wine to overthrow the sour taste of vomit as you throw up in your mouth, quickly swallowing it down before it threatens to overflow and drip down your chin. Holding back the gag reflex caused by the repulsive taste, a buzz is starting to fill your head. It’s barely there, faint in the background, your hand wrapping around the glass’s stem, swishing the liquid around, studying the color through the transparent glass.

A rich red.

The wine you drank on your eighteenth birthday was sweeter than this. You also didn’t drink much of it, preferring the tea your father gifted you. The memory of placing it on the table, only for Zac to taste the alcoholic drink which made you scold him as soon as you noticed it resurfaces. 

The memory contrasts the current situation so vastly. It only reminds you of how fucked you are, toes curling in your heels. It doesn’t hurt as much as it should.

Blinking, you continue on your journey to finish the drink, keeping your mouth busy before you start to beg and beg and beg for the two men to release you peacefully. 

Suddenly remembering there was a plate of flavorful food in front of you, you resume eating it.

Your fork and knife clink against the plate, the sound echoing in your ears as the two male voices drown out in the background further. Stabbing the steak with your fork, you fail to notice your husband taking a quick glance at you only for his eyes to land on his father when he addresses him. 

Another sip of wine. 

Another bite of meat.

The more you eat the more you drink. 

The buzz in your head is only starting to get stronger, accepting a refill a servant offers. While he pours it, the voices of Dion and Lant starts to become white noise, their figures slightly blurry but not by much. Lant doesn’t look your away the entire time, praising his son about a mission he completed not too long ago. Since when did the topic change?

It’s becoming harder not to down the drink, vaguely aware of the confused and concerned look from the servant. However, he doesn’t deny you a second refill much less than a third, keeping an eye on your behavior, worried you’ll act out of line. It wasn’t for your safety but rather his - there’s no telling if your father-in-law would blame him for your drunk behavior. And yet, despite knowing this, the worried man still doesn’t deny you the drink that’s only making the buzz get stronger, cheeks feeling hot and a feeling of relaxation you oh so needed. 

It’s a miracle you’re able to lift your fork effortlessly and not choke on your meal. 

Their conversation is one-sided, with Lant doing all the talking as Dion listens. Quickly, your eyes flicker upwards and across from you, curiosity biting at your fuzzy mind. It’s almost becoming a need to see your husband’s stoic face, slight amusement at the thought of him not caring for and maybe even resentful towards his father.

Only to be met with scarlet.

How pretty.

Your head tilts, pondering why you’re so interesting to him - always catching his attention these days. Yet before being wed to him, you were nothing more than a plain and common flower in the garden; there, playing your role but unnoticeable. Only noticed once in a while when he had to turn his head. 

The more you think about it, the more you question it - was it really only to study how your sanity dwindles?

He confuses you.

He scares you.

He annoys you. 

Every emotion he stirs from within you is never positive. You wonder just how aware he is of that fact. If he enjoyed it, even. 

You blink once. Twice. A third time brings out a small smile - the alcohol has finally run its course, your judgment impaired, nothing but confusement and pity forming for the monstrous man. 

Does he know you’re planning on asking Roxana for help to divorce him? To escape from this torturous place and start a new life, not wanting to drag your family further into this mess?

Does he know that his ‘kindness’ is only driving you away? That you’re so sure he’s only keeping you around willingly to see how you bend and break?

Does he know your ‘affection’ will never be earned if some small part of him is also hoping for that?

The longer you smile the more his eyes widen, surprised you were able to show him a genuine one. However, neither of you keep it up for long, quickly returning to your practice and his default expressions. Lant doesn’t notice this, too busy commanding the servant for a light once everyone is done eating. 

The older man puffs it before talking once more. The room starts to smell of heavy smoke. Thanks to your drunkenness it doesn’t bother you as much.

“But yes, that’s what I’m planning. Not anytime soon but in a few months. I expect you to help prepare the preparations before taking care of the vermin once everything is said and done.” His cocky demeanor is gone, serious as he talks about…

Actually, what is he talking about?

Does it involve you? If not, why bother having you here with them? To use it as a scare tactic? If so, it’s not like he needed one - you’re already terrified of them as is. 

Feeling eyes on you you turn your head, making eye contact with Lant. Taking in your appearance, he grins, turning to Dion next. You don’t understand what he means with his next words directed at your husband.

“Girls like her are easier when drunk. It’s best to get busy with her already - to get her used to it. We’ll put her on contraceptives for now until it’s time.” Your drunken state entertains him and you’re not sure why. 

However, your (e/c) eyes travel to Dion, curious as to why his grip on his fork tightens just the slightest bit. Eyes only narrowing for a split second, a faint scowl across his handsome features. It resembles the expression he made when Roxana teased him with Cassis’ coat. It quickly goes away before Lant notices, the man chuckling at his own ‘advice.’ 

Oh well, you think. Your glass is almost empty, accepting your last refill for the night. The bitterness doesn’t go away. You only got used to it.

Will it be the same for you towards your husband? 

“While it’s amusing to see her get drunk, it’s time to cut her off.” Lant gestures to the servant to put the bottles of wine away after getting his own refill. The dinner is coming to an end, it seems. 

At the ring of a bell two maids come in, cleaning up. You take one last swing before they take away the glass from your loose grip. Head softly rocking back and forth, the buzz and warmth of your person starts to make your eyes feel heavy. 

When was the last time you got drunk? Probably in your previous life, right before -

“Let’s call it a day.” Both daughter-in-law and son look at the oldest with the highest authority in the room. Facial muscles relaxing, one could almost confuse him for a normal man. 

“You’re both dismissed.”

- - -

Hana couldn’t make it - She had other matters to attend to. And thus, the one to escort you back to his - your - chambers was none other than your husband. It’s a secret he’ll take with him to the grave, already knowing you’ll break down if you ever learn that it was him who helped you back. 

You can barely walk on your own two feet. Supporting yourself on Dion’s arm, your own looped with his, your vision slightly blurry. Had you been fully aware of your surroundings, you would have noticed the small shudders he would give each and every time your head leans into his arm. 

Meanwhile, your husband is having a dilemma. He should carry you. You would weigh nothing to him, and it would be faster. Maybe too fast. 

Dion has no intention of sleeping with you in your state, the thought distasteful. But the suggestion from Lant was only to be expected, his morals worse than the majority of the family’s. It wasn’t a surprise but it doesn’t make it any less worse.

Annoyed doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings towards it. His face has been looking rather punchable lately and -

His unusual thoughts are disrupted as you trip on your own feet, and had you not been holding onto him, your face would have kissed the floor. After a blink you look up at him and drunkenly giggle. You reek of alcohol.

In spite of that, he can’t help but to find you cute - his eye twitches. He wasn’t raised this way. He didn’t desire much if anything, going along with the flow - but you, unfortunately, changed him and molded him into something that was weaker. 

Even after seeing Roxana cry for the first and only time, the void that is him never truly got filled. 

It was simply expanded. 

He’s a horrible person. He knows that much, hands stained red and sins etched into his bones, hell already reserving a spot for him. The day he dies will be the day he’ll willingly walk into the fiery pits of hell, expecting to see the rest of his family there. 

He’s startled when you nuzzle your head into his arm, looking up at him with such dreamy eyes. But there’s also a hint of something close to resentment, not fully clear as it’s also mixed with something else he can’t put his finger on.  

Like you know him. 

But it’s not as clear as his own gaze, it’s not as certain whenever he gives into temptation and looks at you. You sigh out his name, breathless but oh so familiar, like you’ve known him for years and not months. 

Then, it hits him - you know little bits and pieces about him, but not enough to see the full picture. Aware that something is off despite only meeting him a handful of times. It’s familiar yet so foreign.  

That night where your guard was down was already pointing in that direction, but now it’s confirmed. There is no fear inside him at the realization, but rather he grins - how long until you come to accept and acknowledge his feelings? 

Or rather, will you be capable of that? To accept everything that is him - the sins, the crimes, the blood and sadistic tendencies that are unremovable from him. To resign to your faith - that you’ll be chained to him in the name of marriage, your husband willing to chase you to the ends of the earth. 

He finally decides to pick you up when you start to doze off, your head fuzzy and judgement impaired. Dion thinks about taking a bite when you snuggle into his chest, yawning as you do so. 

But then your eyes open again, looking up at him as you say -

“You’re repulsive.”

He’s a horrible husband. For finding your words amusing despite how honestly you say them. He can’t tell if he’s smirking or giving a rather ugly grin, all things considered. Obsession and possessiveness are both dangerous things. Combine the two together and add him to mix, it only makes Dion Agriche all the more detestable. 

Even more so when his grip on you tightens, unrelenting, not giving you any room to wiggle out of his grasp, the one and only time he’s able to hold you so close without his lovely wife overthinking his every action. Not that you do, sighing as your eyes flutter close, sleep finally taking over. You look so pretty in his arms and the urge to hide you away gets stronger. The urge to harm or kill others who look at you becomes more tempting - within limits, of course, but words can stab as harsh and sharp as a knife.

 And had you opened those pretty eyes to look at your husband, you wouldn’t be able to deny that he’s absolutely obsessed and he’d rather die than let you go, scarlet eyes unblinking as he admires you. 

And perhaps that was for the best, the nineteen-year-old male knowing it would only scare you off more. 

“That doesn’t and won’t change things, wife.”

Even so, it’s hard to ignore the small sting of your honesty.

===

Note: *in the manhwa  it looks like it’s just one door. While I COULD have gone through the novel to check how it actually was, I just kind of… gave up after reading and reading. If I find the chapter where Roxana and Jeremy eat in it (Not for the grand feast) then I MIGHT edit this chapter cornering the room if I was wrong. 

[evilminji]

Okay, you know WHAT? I have been SILENT for too long! I can endure it no longer!!

There is a CRIMINAL lack, CRIMINAL I say! Of Batman/Brucie Wayne Fanfiction out there!

But Minji, you say rightfully concerned for both my sanity and memory issues, isn't Bruce Wayne... Batman?

And, fuck off maybe! I know that, YOU know that, but WE are 5th dimensional spies watching their lives from beyond the 4th wall! NO ONE IN GOTHAM KNOWS THAT!

I want Fandom access!!! *rips shirt to reveal stolen Brucie/Batman OTP shirt from I got from some Gotham based Fan meet up*

It's part of their COVER! Since OBVIOUSLY himbo Brucie Wayne and dangerous brooding Cryptid Batman are VERY different men with VERY different moral and social philosophies about how to help their shared, beloved, city! They should kiss about it!

Tell me the bat-brood don't write terrible fanfic as stress relief. Lurk, just to make sure no one's getting to close. Lurk, just for that sweet, sweet fan art and other merch of themselves or loved ones.

Tell me there aren't arguments over "are they family or co-workers" and "how DARE you suggest our Cryptid would sleep with that Metropolitan SLUT instead our sweet himbo dilf!"

Look me in the eyes and tell me Clark has not COVERED the fan conventions, as a fluff piece, because Bruce annoyed him recently.

Where are my Meta fics? My characters reacting to disturbingly good and engaging fiction about their co-work and himself?

FFS fifty shades of grey(curse its name) was originally a fanfiction! Tell me some enterprising Gothamite wouldn't go "hmmmmm >.> " and pull the same thing? Barely change details and publish? So everyone is like "that is... SO CLEARLY about Brucie Wayne and Batman. But not clearly enough to sue. Holy shit."

Then READ it.

Because who would have the BALLS to do this and what did they WRITE?

And maybe it's... disturbingly good. Like no, really. Deeply philosophical and starkly human. Lot of sex. Excellent pacing.

....about their co-worker literally going and fucking himself.

They are SO conflicted.

I. Want. Fan. Fiction. I want in-world Fandom shit! It's literally a CLASSIC otp pairing! Himbo and gritty warrior with a mysterious past! Wayne getting kidnapped fics. Bodyguard fics. Secretly I'm Batman but now you're my slutty, slutty Boss fics!

Will no one CHALLENGE themselves!? I suffer.

Brucie/Batman

Come one guys! I believe in us!

@hdgnj @the-witchhunter @stealingyourbones

[megs-mostly-past-random-fandoms]

In My Sister’s Place (Part 2 of 2)

Here you are, lovelies! Part 2 of “In My Sister’s Place”. As always, familiar characters are NEVER mine!

Fandom: Labyrinth

Warnings: A bit of angst, but a happy ending. 

Pairings/Characters: Jareth the Goblin King x fem!reader, mentions of Sarah and Toby

Your eyes burned with tears that you hastily wiped away. First the obelisk, then the ballroom, the fireys fiends, and the Bog of Eternal Stench. You were quickly becoming overwhelmed with the Goblin King's labyrinth. And yet, every time you saw said king, it sent pleasant shivers down your spine and your heart began racing. You weren't sure if it was your hopeless romantic self or if the labyrinth was messing with your mind and heart, but you could feel yourself coming to care for the Goblin King.

         Your mind raced every time you thought back to the ballroom and how he'd held you close to him. How he'd gazed into your eyes. If you hadn't known better, you'd say he cared for you as well. But then you recalled how he had your baby brother and how scared Toby must feel. It set you back on the path and, before you knew it, you had made it into the castle.

         The Goblin King appeared again just as you set eyes on Toby. He practically begged you not to take him. He toyed with you using a never-ending staircase. As you tried to figure out what to do, you came to a realization. Maybe…perhaps, the Goblin King was simply lonely. Maybe he longed for someone to love, just like you. And just maybe, you could be that person. You thought and thought, your mind and heart pulling you in separate directions. Eventually, you made up your mind to save Toby and, by extension, your sister's sanity and guilt.

         The ticking of the clock echoed in your ears as you raced to where you were certain the Goblin King and Toby would be. Your legs were shaking and your heart was doing flip-flops in your chest when the Goblin King reappeared yet again. "I've won. I beat the labyrinth," you stated. The king looked pained as he watched you watching him. "Then you know what must be said, precious." You nodded, but before you could speak again, he held up a crystal. "You can stay, you know. Stay and never be worried about your siblings again. They will be happy. Sarah at home with her costumes and toys. The baby here with me…and you. Just remain here with me. Love me and I shall be your slave."

         You shook your head. "I don't want that. I want Toby safe at home. I want Sarah to finish growing up knowing that someone is looking out for her. I w-want someone to love that loves me as much as I do them. An equal partner in all things.  If I stayed, you would change to what you think I want you to be, just as you change the labyrinth. I'd want the chance to l-love you as you are." The king looked hopeful for a moment.

         "But I can't. No until I know my siblings are safe and that what I'm feeling for you isn't simply a trick of this place," you concluded. With tears in your eyes, you stepped forward and placed a soft kiss to the Goblin King's cheek as you mumbled a soft apology. You then began reciting the speech you'd learned by heart long ago, noticing the Goblin King's pained expression deepen with every word.

Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered,

I have fought my way here, to the castle beyond the Goblin City,

To take back the child you have stolen,

For my will is as strong as yours, and my kingdom is as great…

You have no power over me.

         No sooner did you finished speaking did you find yourself back in your home. You felt thin arms wrap around your middle and it took you a moment to realize that it was Sarah. A soft cooing caught your attention behind you. Toby. Safe in his crib. You breathed a sigh of relief just as an overwhelming sadness came over you. You helped Sarah settle Toby down to sleep and then lead her to her room and told her everything.

         "You must have been so frightened," she commented. You attempted to smile. "I suppose. I truly don’t believe the Goblin King was all that bad. He merely did what you asked of him. I think, in his own strange way, he was trying to show that he was lonely." Sarah huffed. "He deserves to be lonely. I bet you made more friends in the labyrinth than the Goblin King has ever had."

         "Sarah," you sighed, shaking your head. You knew she couldn't understand at this point. She was still so much a child. "Nevermind. How about I introduce you to some of the friends I made?" Her face lit up in excitement. "You can do that?!" You laughed and gave a little shrug. "They did say they would always be here if I needed them. And the magic of that place obviously works here as well." You glanced in the mirror and thought about the friends you'd made and how much you'd like to see them again as you closed your eyes. When you opened them at the sound of Sarah's laughter, the room was full of the people you'd met.

         After spending a little time with them all, you excused yourself to return to your own bedroom. Your heart was heavy. When you had opened your eyes, you had half-hoped that the Goblin King would be there as well. Of course he wasn't. You closed your door behind you, leaning against it. Your eyes traveled to the window and you froze.

         Perched on a branch just outside your window was a white and brown owl. Without hesitation, you threw open the window, inviting the owl inside. Tears began stream down your face when the owl flew in and instantly transformed into the very being you'd been thinking of. You hadn't even realized you'd moved until you hugged him close.

         "You came back," you said, your voice muffled by his vest. He stood slightly stiffly, as if your contact was unexpected, but after a moment, you felt his arms go around you. "You say that as though you missed me," he stated. You looked up at him with tears still running down your cheeks. "Why are you crying, precious?" he asked. "I'm so sorry," you replied, "I c-couldn't leave Toby there. I didn't want to hurt you, but I couldn’t leave him."

         The Goblin King laughed softly. "Why are you laughing? And why aren't you angry with me? I-I bested you. I left you alone." He cocked his head to the side as if he were thinking. "Do you know what I am? What I truly am?" he asked in return. You thought a for a moment. "Fae? Is that right?" He nodded. "Yes. And Fae like myself, have one true, ever-lasting love in their lifetime. You, my precious thing, are mine. That is why I came back. That is why I cannot remain angry with you."

         "How do you know?" Your voice was barely above a whisper now. It was a lot to process, but you couldn't deny that you'd felt something powerful within you every time he was near you. "An unexplained connection. A pull and feeling we cannot place. The longing to be near each other without understanding the reason behind it. I know you felt it in the labyrinth and the ballroom. And even more so in the castle."

         You nodded. There was point in lying to him about it. "What happens now?" you asked. He cupped your cheek. "Now, you make a decision, Y/N. You may remain here or return with me. Be my queen." You bit your lip. "Will you love me?"

         "I already do. You are my Y/N. My precious love." You gazed into his eyes. They were light and bright with emotion as he waited for your answer. You weren't sure how you were going to explain things to your family, but you knew your choice within mere seconds. Your face drew closer to his. "You never did tell me your name," you said softly. "Jareth."

         "Jareth," you whispered back before finally pressing your lips to his, sealing your fate as his. His Y/N. His love. His queen.

(a/n: I hope you like it and that this part was worth the wait!)

Forever Tags: @fizzyxcustard​ @supernatural4life2022​

This Story Tags: @urlocalfanficwriter​ @bwila-bussy​ @evilunicorns4minions​ @princess-ofthe-pages​ @boofy1998​ @ultimatreality​ 

[writing-cins]

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧

Pairings: Alastor x gn!reader Summary: In which Alastor tries to get rid of you by giving you a dangerous task and explores your room once you have left. What he discovers are things he wishes he could unsee... Warnings/Tags: explicit and suggestive content but no smut, 18+, MDNI, gn reader, Emberlynn-coded reader, unrequited love, reader is obsessed with Alastor and he can barely handle it, second-hand embarrassment, cringe, like, lots of it, exaggerated descriptions, comedy, mentions of violence, murder and death, very brief mention of suicide (Alastor barely keeps his sanity), fandom slander and random references (you either get it or you don’t), Alastor needs his own warning, humiliation, a whole bunch of passive aggressiveness and sarcastic remarks, trash-fic Wordcount: 6.5k A/N: This is a spin-off to my other Emberlynn-coded reader story ‘The Simp’. It can be read as a standalone, though I suggest reading the original first for a better understanding of the reader’s messed up personality and their complicated relationship with Alastor. This one escalated a bit more than I planned. It was originally meant to be much shorter, but I ended up having way too much fun writing it. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Masterlist

   It was a morning like any other in the hotel. The air was still and tranquil, the residents just beginning to stir as they readied themselves for the day ahead. Alastor strode through the dimly lit halls, his mind set on a singular destination: your room.

   A familiar weight settled in his stomach, a feeling that had lingered since the day he claimed your soul. Your insufferable presence had become a constant in his existence, haunting him with a mix of irritation and curiosity. He braced himself for yet another day filled with your exhausting demeanor, yet he knew he had an important task to assign to you.

   As he approached your door, he could already hear the faint sounds of movement within – your usual morning routine, perhaps accompanied by some melodramatic humming. The thought made his insides twist, but he reminded himself of the necessity of the task at hand.

   In front of your door, Alastor closed his eyes and took a deep breath to prepare himself for yet another one of your annoying tirades, then knocked. Once, twice – the door opened when he moved to knock a third time and he almost punched the air. Immediately, his crimson eyes darted down, and there you stood, already dressed despite the early hour, with an eager grin plastered on your face, your expression brightening like an unexpected sunrise breaking through the clouds.

   “Good morning, Alastor!” your squeaky voice disrupted the early quiet of the hotel and Alastor cringed inwardly, his ears twitching at the painful frequency. He opened his mouth to retort with a dry greeting, but before he could utter a single tone you already interrupted him, the words spilling from your mouth like an accelerated record, “Is something wrong? Do you need my help? It’s still so early in the morning and you knocked on my door – I mean you never knock on my door, so there must be something wrong. Is there anything wrong? Do you need my help? Please let me help you, Alastor!”

   Instant regret grew inside of him as he tried to keep up with the neverending flood of your words that were uttered so fast he barely managed to understand what you said. He just stood there, staring at you with his mouth slightly agape, overwhelmed and the wheels turning in his head as he tried hard to piece together the fragments of what he caught from your extensive monologue.

   “Uhm…” He blinked, staring at your worried but also anticipatory expression, the adrenaline heating up your face like a tomato, making it appear as if it was about to burst. He imagined your head exploding and withheld a chuckle, the mere thought of all your blood and viscera spilled around your room a delightful image in his head.

   “Well, my dear, I do in fact have a task for you,” he eventually said, his voice much calmer than he felt. He always relished the stillness of his sleepless nights, when you finally left him alone, allowing him to unwind from the stress you constantly stirred within him. If he weren’t already dead, he’d probably be at risk of a heart attack from your relentless annoyance. Seriously, how could someone as utterly miserable as you be so exhausting? Maybe he should consider seeing a therapist before he completely snapped. It wouldn’t be long before he lost all the control he’d worked so hard to maintain. He could feel it, deep in his bones – the silent scream of agony echoing within him.

   You immediately straightened your back at his words, crossing your hands behind your back in anticipation. “Oooh, a task! Tell me! I’ll do it as soon as possible!”

Here's the missing part filled in:

   “I sure hope so…” Alastor muttered beneath his breath before he tilted his head to the side and responded much louder, “Well, it is something of high importance…” he drawled out, the radio static in his voice crackling, and he could swear he saw your eyes gleam.  

   “What is it, Alastor-kun?” you interrupted him, and Alastor’s eye twitched, though he did not further elaborate, choosing instead to let the moment linger with a teasing smile.

   “Well, you see… I need you to fetch something from Cannibal Town. There’s a butcher on Carcass Lane who sells the most delectable venison in the entire Pride Ring. I need you to grab some for lunch. Here’s the address and the list of items I need.” He handed you a crumpled piece of paper, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, and you snatched it from his hands, pressing the note almost against your face while you read it.

   Alastor raised his eyebrows as he watched you literally absorb the information, then you looked up and nodded exaggeratedly.

   “I'm on my way!” you declared and scurried past him, the wind of your fast movement causing Alastor's hair to flutter. He turned around with a narrowed eye and crooked smile, a look of irritation on his face, but you had already disappeared behind the corner before his eyes could follow. He stared in the direction you just disappeared for a few more seconds before his smile widened into a predatory grin, flashing his sharp and pointy canines with a sudden, exhilarating thrill that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. This was an easy success. You really were so desperate to serve him that you were stupid enough to run to Cannibal Town alone. You, a small little creature, pathetic and completely helpless, were nothing more than prey for the people in this part of the city. Maybe, if he was lucky enough, you'd get eaten before you even reached the butcher shop, and thus a problem would've been solved without much effort on his side. Genius.

   Still standing in the doorway, he turned back around. Alastor had never dared to knock on your door before – because of obvious reasons which have just been confirmed to be true. But now that you were gone and hopefully not returning, he got curious. Without further thought he entered your room and closed the door behind him, turning on his heels to take a look around. His eyes widened with every detail that caught his eyes. Bright pink and violet walls clashed with white polished furniture that could've been sourced from a doctor's office. The cabinets and shelves appeared almost sterile compared to the atrocious clutter in and around. Dozens – no, hundreds – of plushies and figurines were crammed into the tiniest of spaces. It was a chaotic explosion of color and fluff, a seemingly random assortment that defied all attempts at organization. The shelf was filled with books and boxes that were somehow puzzled into the space like some kind of a real life Tetris game. The walls – dear Satan, the walls – were suffocatingly plastered with posters in colorful palettes that showed a wide range of grotesquely exaggerated, wide-eyed monstrosities. The eyes of the characters – if they could even be called that – were so enormous that they seemed ready to fall out of their skulls, while their breasts rivaled their heads in size. It was as if the artist had taken every ridiculously hyper-sexualized fantasy and spilled them out on paper to create those unnatural horrors of eyesore that depicted an unhealthy and disrespectful portrayal of the female body. How were their waists so small? Did they even have organs in there? Alastor raised his eyebrow as he eyed the pictures. Some of those creatures bore animalistic features with cat ears, bunny tails and other appendages like they were common in hell, yet seeing the mere addition of those features on such grotesque figures was more than unsettling to him. The others were probably supposed to be human but their proportions were so out of control they looked like misbuilt mannequins from the fashion store of mistrust.

   Alastor's eyes drifted further across the wall until they landed on the image of a pale man with sharp pointy ears and curly white hair who was mid-bite on a woman's neck, the blood pouring from the wound and running over the woman's chest in a subtle yet intendedly suggestive way. The text read ‘Baldur's Gate’.

   What in Hell's name was a ‘Baldur's Gate’?!

   Before his mind could even attempt to comprehend this madness, his gaze landed on another poster with the same writing and same world – but this one featured a woman swooning in the arms of what could be an octopus-man hybrid.

   Alastor blinked, horrified. Yes, that was indeed an octopus with glowing eyes and squirming, slimy tentacles wrapping themselves around the poor woman as though she were just another victim of this abhorrent nightmare. Wait – were those tentacles caressing her?!

   He gagged, the taste of bile appearing on his tongue. “This is disgusting,” he hissed, a shiver running down his spine. He could barely process what he was seeing. ‘Baldur's Gate’? Hell, maybe you belonged there. Maybe he'd be doing you a favor by sending you straight into that absurd world where vampires, octopus-men, and God knows what else ran free, far away from him, where you could fulfill your worst fantasies of–. He neglected the thought before he could finish it, his stomach churning and the threat of another gag rising in his throat.

   But then, his eyes caught something worse. Yes, worse. Somehow the room found a way to outdo itself. Layered posters plastered the other wall – yes, layered – leaving almost no surface of the actual wall visible underneath. And the images – Satan help him –  the images were so obscene, he couldn't withhold himself from widening his eyes in shock. Muscular men – half naked and grotesquely exaggerated – posed with claws, fangs, and the most ridiculous expressions of primal desire imaginable. Texts like “Alpha” and “Bite me, baby” screamed from these posters. But the final blow came from a particular poster showing a dripping wet, absurdly muscular mafioso leaning into a shower, a caption in giant, sultry text reading, “Are you lost, babygirl?”

   Alastor's jaw practically unhinged as his eyes widened in horror.

   What. The. Fuck.

   He averted his gaze, barely suppressing another gag, and found himself standing in front of a shelf, hoping for some brief moment of sanity. But no – his hopes were shattered. The shelf was packed with small figurines or more cat-girls and octopus men, between them some green-haired man holding two Katana in his hands and one between his teeth. How the hell could he even fight like this? This didn't make any sense at all. And – was that the sculpture of spaghetti with a face?! He stared at it with one eye widened and the other narrowed, his lids twitching under the pressure and his smile was shaped into a confused grimace. Why the Hell did you have spaghetti on your shelf?! But of course that wasn't all. Between those figurines were even smaller creatures that looked like they'd crawled from the very bowels of an overactive, perverted imagination. With a roll of his eyes and a deepening sense of disgust, he glanced at the books. Big mistake.

   How – just how could every single corner of your room be even worse than the last?! He was barely able to keep himself from laughing as he read the titles of the books that were stuffed into the tightest of spaces. Each one was worse than the one before: “Bound by Blood and Lust”, “Slave to the Beast”, “Taken by the Overlord”, “Marked by the Alpha”, “The Alpha's Virgin Omega”... and even more dreadful titles. “My Immortal” was the most normal of them all. But even a harmless title could hide one of the worst stories in all of history. If Alastor knew one thing, then it was that one should never judge a book by its cover – or in this case: title.

   He took a deep breath, stepping back from the shelf, his gaze still locked on the chaos around him. He found himself standing before your desk, turning with a low hum, eyes scanning the mess of paper stacks and notebooks with a bizarre mix of morbid curiosity and utter disgust. Your room was like a car crash – something no one wanted to witness, yet impossible to look away from. In a nutshell: It was absolutely atrocious.

   With narrowed eyes he took one of the paper stacks in his hands and shuffled through the pages. Most of them were notes and doodles, some better than others, but the majority looked like the deformed mannequin creatures from your posters – only more disturbing. Their eyes, grotesquely oversized and much rounder and bigger than the ones from the posters, were filled with far too many reflections, giving the eerie illusion of tears, yet each character wore an unsettling grin, twisted and unnerving, disturbingly similar to his own at its worst. He continued his expedition through your mess, not surprised to find some drawings of himself but shocked by the sheer quality and painstaking detail you had put into them. Then, his breath caught in his lungs. His eyes widened, pupils constricting in disbelief as he stumbled upon yet another drawing of him – this time, barely dressed, with a lewd speech bubble in the corner. ‘Oh, don’t be shy, little one. I promise, this is one signal that’s sure to reach every part of you…’

   He instantly flung the papers aside, recoiling with a loud, distorted radio screech. You truly were a creature of Hell. Did your parents even love you? They must’ve been really bad people if they managed to spawn such a fucked up creature like you… Maybe it was a good idea to just leave the room without exploring your personal belongings any further. Not even getting mauled to death by bloodthirsty dogs was as traumatizing as the deep, dark abyss of your mind. But before he could turn away, something caught his eye. A pink notebook that was adorned with glitter stickers and handwritten quotes lay right in the middle of your desk, a few pens strewn around it as if you were just using it. He knew he shouldn’t. Every single look was worse than the one before. He knew this flashy notebook would most probably hide even more stuff he would regret to ever have seen. However, there was a quiet little voice that tried to lure him into doing something he knew he would regret.

   With caution he approached the desk again and reached out his hand, his finger tips grazing the surprisingly soft material of the cover. He held his breath as he took it into his hands and opened it. The first page was adorned with hearts and tiny flower doodles, the image of a cathedral radio in the corner. In the middle of the page stood written in flourished cursive: “Static Lust – A Dark Romance Fanfiction”. Underneath, your name.

   He frowned. What was a fanfiction…? With a bad feeling in his guts he turned the page and began to read your surprisingly neat handwriting. His eyes flew over the words, taking in every sentence and he cringed inwardly at the badly written plot. The story was ridiculously self-indulgent, starring you as a tragic figure that was kidnapped and brought to Hell by none other than… him.

   Alastor blinked when he read his name, wrinkling his nose and inhaling a deep breath. Of course. He should’ve known. Fan-fiction. Knowing how hard you were in love with him should’ve prepared him for what he was about to discover.

   As uncomfortable as he felt, he continued this little venture into the literal intonation of your deepest thoughts. Somehow, it amused him. It was as if he was reading your diary, just more messed up. And most definitely pushing his boundaries. 

   You portrayed him with a personality that couldn’t be farther off from reality: a lovesick obsessive who wanted nothing but to corrupt you, possess your soul and your whole being. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. The sheer absurdity of it all – the dramatized seduction, the over-the-top description of his passion for you were unbearable to read. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from continuing the story. His eyes continuously trailed over every sentence, soaking in the words as if his life depended on it while his heart sank deeper into his guts. His expression was completely motionless and his already pale face drained of even the last bits of color. The worst was: it didn’t stop here. As the story progressed, so did your so-called ‘romance’.

   His fingers trailed along my jaw, claws grazing my delicate skin as he kept his gaze locked with mine, crimson eyes boring themselves into my very core as if he was reading my soul. I felt completely naked under his gaze, caught between desire and a flicker of fear at his imposing form.    “Be mine,” he growled with a deep sultry voice, the radio static gone and his hot breath grazing against my cheeks. Sharp teeth glinted from behind his smile, a silent threat yet so intriguing. The danger, his power, his possession were palpable. Everything left me completely breathless and a shiver ran down my spine, causing the butterflies in my stomach to flutter wildly around. It was a tingling feeling, one that jolted electricity through my veins and into the depth of my core.

   He swallowed hard at the description, nausea taking over his stomach, replacing the appetite he just had for a tasty bite of rotting venison. He would never say something like that to you. He would never do something like that to you. And most importantly, he could never love you. He wasn’t even able to love. But even if he were, he'd be more likely to fall for Lucifer than he would ever waste a single thought on you.

   ‘Be mine.’

   He let out a huff. You were already his. Certainly not in the way you wanted it to be, but he owned your soul. Which meant he could do to you however he pleased. But nothing similar to this bullshit from your writing, obviously.

   Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he continued to read and the story development was truly as bad as his characterization and anything else. The more he continued, the more his eyes widened in horror. It didn’t take long for the writing to turn explicit – vulgar and smutty. Each sentence was dripping with suggestive language, painting a picture of you and him in intimate situations.

   I couldn't resist him any longer, the way he dominated the room, the power in his every movement. My heart raced as he leaned in closer, his voice a seductive purr that caused my hairs to stand up. “You were a naughty little thing,” Alastor whispered, his lips brushing my ear and his voice dropped to a baritone that vibrated in his throat, “and you deserve to be punished.”    I shuddered, feeling my entire body tremble in anticipation. “Alastor…”    “Uh, uh, uh,” he brushed me off, his nose grazing the skin on my neck while his hot breath sent shivers down my spine and right into my core.     “Say it. Say, ‘Punish me, Sir,” he commanded, and I–

   Alastor slammed the book shut for a moment, closing his eyes as if to cleanse himself from what he had just read. He let out a sharp exhale, then opened the notebook again with a resigned sigh, morbidly fascinated by the sheer audacity of your words. His smile became brittle, twitching as he forced himself to read on.

   Alastor pressed me firmly against the wall, his finger tracing a line down my neck, the touch gentle but brimming with control. I felt his sharp claws graze my skin, leaving faint red marks that would serve as a silent testament to his claim over me. I remained still, terrified that the wrong move could turn his claws from teasing to lethal.    “So naughty…” he growled in my ear, his voice sending a shiver down my spine before he stepped back, creating a cold distance between us. The sudden loss of his warmth sent a chill through me, goosebumps prickling across my skin as I resisted the urge to reach for him, knowing he wouldn't tolerate such disobedience.    Alastor’s intense gaze swept over my body, lingering on every inch, and I could feel the heat pooling between my legs, the wetness trailing down my thighs. “Strip,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. I obeyed without a second thought.

   This was absurd. This was disgusting. This was absolutely disturbing. This was how you viewed him? A domineering, smoldering lover? The mere idea was enough to make his skin crawl.

   He gagged once more, the mere thought of touching you making him recoil in pure revulsion. This went beyond simple disgust. It was something far deeper. What was any of this supposed to be? Did you actually believe he could ever reciprocate your twisted feelings? Were you truly so desperate that you wrote an entire book about him doing such indecent things to you? He couldn’t comprehend it, and it only worsened his already low opinion of you. He knew he shouldn’t have read it, but did you honestly think he wouldn’t find out eventually?

   Part of him just wanted to die again. To disappear and never return, to tear out his eyes and brain and offer them to his equals in Cannibal Town. Was there anyone in Pentagram City who still performed lobotomies? He definitely needed one after this monstrosity of an insult to all literature ever created.

   He flipped through pages in haste, no longer bothering to read the entire story, just skimming over a few lines here and there. With every word, it became more unbearable. The grotesque images your writing forced into his mind were intolerable, destined to haunt him for the far future where they would resurface in his rare moments of sleep and flash before his eyes every time he looked at you. It was obscene, nonsensical, and revolting. Violating not only his sense of decency but also his personal boundaries.

   What started off as a toxic fast-paced back and forth between the two characters turned out to be nothing more than a pure over-sexualized scandal. You and Alastor would do it everywhere. In the bed, in the shower, in the hotel's parlor, on the counter of Husk's bar – even on the balcony while you glared up at one of Vox’s drones, knowing damn well the television freak would watch. He even found a chapter in which he took you into his radio station and broadcasted your moans all over Hell, so everyone knew that you belonged to him. 

   “Ah, Alastor-kun!” I moaned in both pain and pleasure.

   “Punish me, Mister Radio Demon, Sir!”

   “Ah, harder, deer-daddy!”

   “YAMETE KUDASAI!!!”

   He slammed the book shut again and dared not to open it again. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was wrong with you?!

   His face was white as chalk, his eyes twitched and for the first time in decades, his smile had disappeared and instead, his face was adorned by a completely and utterly traumatized grimace. This was… this was an affront to his dignity, to his entire being.

   His thoughts raced like a whirlwind as he imagined every possible way to make you regret this. To punish you – not in the way you do desperately wanted – but actually punish you in the most gruesome and painful ways he could imagine. Over the decades, Alastor got creative with his murders. Maybe he would even discover new ways to torture a soul before tearing it apart, shredding it into pieces to ensure not only your death but to erase your existence from history entirely. Perhaps he’d even find a way to prevent you from ever being born at all.

   Fuck.

   But until then, he would keep his rage silently hidden inside of him, deep behind the walls he had constructed to maintain his control.

   Alastor let out a laugh, though it was more out of frustration than amusement, the sound hollow and laced with irritation. Of all the souls he could have ended up owning, it had to be yours – lovesick simp with a disturbing penchant for writing self-indulgent filth. Oh yes, you were destined to be his punishment. The punishment Alastor most probably deserved in his afterlife. But before he could continue his train of thoughts, he got interrupted.

   “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” your frantic voice shattered the silence of your room as you burst through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. Alastor flinched, startled by the sudden commotion. His head turned a full 180 degrees to face you, accompanied by the snapping of bones and sharp crackle of radio static, and you froze mid-step, locking eyes with him.

   You blinked once, then twice. “Oh, Alastor! I'm so sorry!” you cried, your eyes glistening with tears. “I’m so, so sorry! I screwed up!”

   He stood there, holding your notebook, his expression frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart raced in his chest as you hurried toward him, trembling slightly.

   “I went to the butcher, but I forgot my purse at the hotel! I had to come back for it!” you rambled, breathless, and Alastor’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m so sorry I won’t have your supplies in time! Please forgive me, Alastor! Or punish me! I’d love to be punished! I–I mean – I deserve to be punished! I can also punish myself if you prefer! Just forgive me for being so stupid!” you pleaded, completely oblivious to the fact that Alastor stood in front of you with your most mortifying secret in his hands. 

   Tears streamed down your face, but Alastor just stared, mouth slightly agape, yellow teeth peeking through as he stood there, overwhelmed. He held your notebook in his hands, the disturbing contents trapped between its thick covers, while you rambled on about a forgotten purse and your desire for punishment. All the while, you remained utterly unaware of the true embarrassment in front of you.

   “Uh…” Alastor exhaled at a loss of words.

   You gazed up at him with teary, wide eyes, then your eyes slowly drifted down to his hands. Realization hit you like a train. Your eyes widened and grew so big in size that they rivaled with the creatures on your posters, the color from your face draining, turning your skin from pale to snow-white in an instant.

   “No...” you breathed, your voice weak and barely above a whisper. You shook your head slowly, stepping back, repeating the word in disbelief, as if doing so could undo the reality before you.

   Alastor's initial shock dissolved into a wicked grin. His pupils constricted, and the glow in his crimson eyes intensified with a dangerous gleam. Watching your horror unfold, filled him with a surge of dark satisfaction and the thought of simply torturing you felt far too mild now. No, this reaction was much more satisfying, much more delicious. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as an idea took root. This wasn't just good. It was perfect. The situation was playing right into his hands.

   “Well, my dear, it appears that you've stumbled into quite the predicament, huh?” his static-filled voice broke the uncomfortable silence and he turned around fully, tilting his head in a derogatory manner. “Care to explain?” He asked, his fingers tapping against the book one after another, the sound of his claws clapping against its surface a haunting melody. His voice was much too light and way too cheerful for what he felt on the inside, but it was the perfect way to confront you with the danger you just put yourself into. It made him hard to read. It put him in charge.

   “Well… uh… uhm…” you stumbled, momentarily speechless. Alastor could see the wheels turning in your head and he noticed your pale cheeks turn a red color that was almost as vibrant as his coat.

   He took a step closer and tilted his head further, almost holding it at a 90 degrees angle. “Well…?”

   “I– it's not what–” you started but Alastor interrupted you.

   “Save this nonsense. This is exactly what it looks like, dear. Now, tell me, what is this thing you're so ashamed of, huh?”

   You began to fumble with your shirts, fingers fidgeting with the fabric as your breaths grew more ragged. “I–I–It's… a diary!” you shouted that last word. “A diary! Yes, yes! Nothing more! Just a few thoughts about my life at the hotel!” you tried to save yourself from this situation, crafting a lie that was so obvious that even the most stupid person would've seen right through it. And, after all, it's not that Alastor didn't just read page after page with an abhorred expression. But you didn't need to know. Not yet. He'd let you squirm a little before dropping the bombshell. So, he just raised an eyebrow and turned the notebook in his hands, eyeing it from all sides with faux curiosity. “Is that so?” he drawled and you seemed to shrink under his looming presence and intense gaze.

   You nodded hastily, your whole body vibrating with the simple movement. “Yes! Yes…”

   “Well…” Alastor paused for a moment, glancing down at the supposed ‘diary’ and then darting his eyes at you from under his lashes, a quick flicker of mischief dancing across his features but no less intense.

   You swallowed. And Alastor could see your throat jolt up and down.

   “Well,” he repeated, “if it's just about the hotel, then I guess you wouldn't mind if I take a look.” He moved his hand to open the notebook but your panicked voice interrupted him.

   “No!”

   He stopped his movement, thumb and index just touching the upper rim of the front over. He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh? And why's that?”

   “Because… because… it's not good. It's just… bullet points and quick notes. Nothing special, really! Just ugly smearing and shitty drawings!” You explained in a rush, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other while you bit the corners of your cheeks and your hands kept fumbling with your shirt.

   Wait. Drawings? Alastor blinked. There were illustrations in there too?! He swallowed. Hard. Though his expression did not reveal any of the discomfort that crept through his veins like a venomous snake on the hunt for something to eat.

   “Oh come on, they can't be so bad!” Alastor assured while he made sure his fingers lingered at the very same spot, a silent threat that he could – and would – open the book any second.

   Tears welled up in your eyes again as you stared up at him with pursed lips, a pleading expression on your incredibly blushed face as you silently, yet loud enough for everyone to hear, begged he would put it aside and dismiss your personal belongings. 

   You folded your hands in front of you as if praying to some God, your voice barely above a whisper, “I mean it, Alastor. Please don't open the book. Please…"

   Oh, this was delicious. This was so much better than any torturing method he had imagined just mere minutes ago. Your pleading expression, the fear in your eyes, the way you so desperately tried to keep him from opening the book while you were completely unaware of the fact that he had already read its contents. That he knew about your deepest, dirtiest desires, your pathetic longing for him that must’ve affected you so strongly you spend hours and hours of your free time to create something this atrocious… He could see your body tremble. He noticed every inch of your skin on fire, every single hair standing on edge. He smelled the panic that surged through your veins and heard the blood rushing through your arteries, powered by the frantic beating of your pounding heart in your chest.

   The silence between you stretched on and Alastor enjoyed every second of it, reveled in this moment of utter uncertainty. He heard your ragged breaths, how you tried to force yourself to keep your breathing as steady as possible, fighting against the tears that glistened in your eyes. Alastor realized you resembled the drawings he’d discovered in that chaotic stack of paper, and his grin grew even more sinister, exposing his sharp fangs in all their menacing glory.

   It was at this moment he knew time had come to drop the bombshell. To reveal the truth to you and humiliate you with the product of your own creativity.

   “‘Deer-daddy’, huh?” he casually quoted one of the lines from your story and he saw you twitch, his sadistic satisfaction growing even stronger.

   “What?” you whimpered in shock but before you could say more, Alastor opened the notebook and flipped to the very page where he read it, turning the book around for you to face your own writing and pointing with his clawed finger at the line.

   “Here it is, ‘deer-daddy’,” he repeats again, tapping against the page twice. Then he inhaled deeply, raised one eyebrow and looked at you like a disappointed parent. “First off, I am not your father,” he clarified, his tone still casual, a subtle hint at the hidden danger underneath his facade. “And secondly… Wouldn’t that make the whole plot of your story a little… incestuous…?”

   The trembling of your body intensified and your breaths got quicker, impossible to control as you found yourself at the brink of hyperventilation.

   “Oh, come now, dear. Why so nervous…?” he drawled and your lips began to tremble.

   “You…” you started but your breath caught in your throat, your voice trembling as much as your body. “You… read… it…?”

   Alastor fell silent for a moment, his burning red eyes taking in your pitiful state. Then his smile widened, casual yet unnervingly so, before he cheerfully exclaimed, “Of course I did! How could I resist this flashy little booklet you so obviously displayed in the middle of your desk? I simply had to read it!” He closed the book and thrust the cover into your face, an exaggerated gesture meant to highlight its eye-catching design. The stickers you had playfully plastered on now seemed to mock you for forgetting to hide it away.

   Holding the book closer to himself again, he shifted his gaze between it and you. “But let’s be honest, dear. Your storytelling could use some work.” He opened the book again and flipped through the pages. “You started off strong with your self-insert and their dramatic backstory – it caught my interest at first. But come on. Kidnapped into Hell? By the Radio Demon, due to a ridiculous Halloween bet gone wrong?” He raised an eyebrow at the sheer absurdity of the plot before he continued, “First off, summoning me to Earth requires much more than a little pentagram, some candles, and a radio. I deserve better sacrifices than that. And do you honestly think I’d find a pathetic little human being, especially one like you, interesting? What could you possibly offer in return for my favor besides your fragile soul? I’m not the kind to wait years or decades for a death so a bargain can be fulfilled. It’s simply… inconvenient.”

   You stared at him, dumbfounded, as he critiqued your writing like an editor at a publishing house.

   “And kidnapping someone just because of their ‘tempting nature’ and without further motive? That’s quite foolish. What if the Sins found out? Or other powerful beings in charge?” He stepped closer, glaring down at you with a still raised eyebrow, his casual demeanor betraying a hint of enjoyment in your discomfort. “Don’t you think they’d come after you if they learned that a human managed to survive a descent to Hell? Honestly, you’re missing quite a thrilling plot here.”

   Alastor’s eyes flicked over the pages, taking in fleeting words without truly reading. He didn’t need to reread to recall the errors and striking details; they were burned into his mind – probably for the rest of eternity. As he took a deep breath, he stumbled upon a lewd drawing of you and him tangled together on a desk – something he must’ve overlooked before and wished he could forget now. So, there were illustrations in this book. You didn't lie.

   Blinking, he turned the page, pushing aside this humiliation for a moment to continue his critique, “While your writing style is surprisingly enticing, the rest of the story lacks character development, thrill, and depth. It could have been executed much better – if we ignore the fact that it centers around me being your beau and engaging in... inappropriate activities while indulging in exaggerated displays of carnal desires. You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” He chirped, glancing at you with anticipation, waiting for you to form a response. But you were speechless. Not a single word managed to leave your lips as you just stared at him, dumbfounded, your mouth agape and eyes widened in horror and confusion.

   Alastor sighed. “Oh come now, dear. If you can be so bold to bring such an imagination to paper you can surely just answer my question.”

   “I–,” you stuttered, pausing to gather your strength to do as he commanded. But instead, the words tumbled out as an apology. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude–”

   “Uh, uh, uh, dear!” Alastor interrupted, waving his index finger in front of your face. Your eyes squinted, tracking its movement. “We both know you’re not ashamed of intruding on anything related to me. Considering you’ve been following me around with those doting eyes of yours ever since the day you begged me to take your soul. You’re a bold little creature, utterly devoid of dignity, feeling the need to humiliate me in the process.”

   He closed the book and handed it back to you. Your trembling hand snatched it from his grip, and you hugged it protectively against your chest, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Meanwhile, Alastor continued his scolding, stepping closer until there was barely a foot of distance between you. He tilted his head, looming over you like a predator, eyes narrowed and teeth flashing.

   His voice dropped, growing darker with each word, the static crackling around him making the air feel charged as he hissed, “I suggest you cease this violation of my privacy before I make sure you regret every little thought you’ve ever dared to indulge in regarding such frivolities.”

   For a fleeting moment, his eyes turned an abyssal black before returning to their fiery hue. It was a subtle threat, yet clear as day. He lingered, staring down at you, savoring your pathetic state, before shadows engulfed him, pulling him into darkness until he vanished completely, leaving you alone in your room with just your thoughts and the memory of the consequences of your inappropriate behavior.

   Yes, he definitely needed that therapist.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Fell sans head cannon:

he's an anxious texter (send like 10 messages until u reply)

i like to imagine him actually telling fell papyrus of the resets, cuz as their world is so stressful, they might actually have gotten much more closer as they need to rely on eachother more

He smokes pal malls

Instead of sans wink he does this->

Hell yeah fell sans! 🗣️ 🗣️ I need to look more into him and his AU but someone feel free to infodump if they want.

Fell seems like the type of person who’d give me a heart attack and make me jump every time my phone buzzes and then id have to silence it for my sanity only to forget to respond to him 💀. He’d probably blow up my phone with 100+ messages because I take forever to reply. [would be funny if that was an actual game mechanic. he keeps spamming frisk if the player doesn’t answer or reply lmao]

And I think itd be a cool idea to imagine him telling fell papyrus—I think his fandom nickname is edge?—about the Resets. the two of them having a much different dynamic from their undertale counterparts where sans will even go as far as to tell papyrus that everyone is just on vacation if the player chooses to kill everyone but papyrus.

idk. sans seems to have a concern with protecting papyrus’ hope and happiness to the point of lying, whereas the world of underfell seems like it’d be pretty dangerous for fell sans to lie to his bro about things like that.

not to mention that fell papyrus was likely exposed to much more violent and upsetting things than undertale papyrus was, and likely didn’t have the luxury of trying to live in denial about it. not if he wanted to keep himself and sans alive.

but I definitely think fell should do that instead of sans’ wink. itd be hilarious.

{ @thatguylucass }

[morphean42]

It is with a heavy heart that I must admit defeat. For Five glorious years I have been apart of the Supernatural fandom without having seen an entire episode. I have seen the edits, the meta, the fanfic and fanart. I was there when Destiel went canon and almost made Putin resign. And yet I’ve held onto my sanity, I committed to the bit— never watch that hell spawn of a show. But, good comrades of Tumblr, I must now declare the bit to be over. It was a good run, but I will be venturing into the dangerous world of Supernatural once and for all. May god save my soul.

[amnevitahwritesstuff]

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Chapter Sixteen: The Wyrm (Loop 66)

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Every day, Rhysand wakes up next to Amarantha in her bed Under the Mountain. A prisoner, a weapon, a High Lord on a leash. He's been down there so long, it's starting to feel like time doesn't matter. Until one day, it doesn't. Feyre's death sends Rhysand back in time, waking up on the same day - over and over. Now, Rhysand must discover how to break the time loop, save his mate, and keep his sanity intact. A "round robin" style fanfiction with different authors. This work is meant to be read from beginning to end, but each chapter is written by a different author with their own spin on the time loop prompt.

Part of the @feysand-hivemind

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Teen

Triggers: Major Character Death, Suicide

Length: 1,040 words

[Hello again! Back to provide some emotional catharsis this time instead of silliness. Truthfully, I've had this chapter written since June of 2024 and it's just been sitting in my drafts all this time, waiting to be unleashed. So I'm glad I can finally share it with you all!]

Tumblr Masterlist | Read on AO3 or below the cut

Rhys felt like he was on the edge of a panic attack. 

(Then again, this whole time looping madness had felt like one very long, endless panic attack.)

No matter how many times he’d lived through this exact moment he still couldn’t help but fight the wave of anxiety that gripped his heart as his mate—still glaring daggers at Amarantha—was snatched up and dropped into the arena like a sack of potatoes. 

The fact that he’d gotten her this far was, quite frankly, a miracle. After his last few cycles he’d nearly given up hope of getting her to this point again. He was tired. And terrified. And he just wanted this all to be over. For he and Feyre to escape this mad, spiraling time loop and Amarantha and her horrors and then…and then…

He didn’t dare think of that nebulous what-if. It felt so out of reach. So fragile. As if just thinking it would pop it like a soap bubble. 

Below, he watched Feyre sprint through the mud as the wyrm was released. Good. She understood the danger. Now all she had to do was—

Where was she going?!

Rhys watched helplessly as Feyre turned left…straight into the path of the wyrm. He had no more than a single moment for horror to take hold before he saw the wyrm open its gaping maw…and swallow his mate whole. 

She didn’t even have time to scream before he felt her life—that beautiful, brilliant light that shined like a star in his mind—snuffed out as she was crushed between the wyrm’s teeth. 

No. 

No. 

Not again. 

Not. Again. 

No matter how many times he’d seen his mate die, it still felt like his heart had been torn from his chest, raw and bloody and still beating. His hands shook. He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to scream. He wanted to shred the very fabric of this reality and put it back together so that she would be there again, safe and sound and alive. 

He wanted to…ah. Yes. There was that panic attack he’d been waiting for. 

“Such a pity,” Amarantha said, clucking her tongue mockingly. She slumped back in her throne with a disappointed sigh. “I was hoping for a little more entertainment today.”

Normally, this was when Rhys was expected to swallow his horror and disgust and reply ‘Yes, such a pity’ and ‘Humans are such pathetic little creatures aren’t they?’.

That is not what he said. 

“Has anyone ever told you what an insufferable creature you are?”

She paused, almost as if in shock. Rhys had never spoken to her like this before. Not in all his fifty years under this godsforsaken mountain. He had always been such a good boy to her face. Ready to bow and scrape and offer up whatever she desired. His coy commiseration. His power. Even his body. 

But none of that mattered anymore. Not without her. 

His mate. 

Feyre. 

Besides, it wasn’t as if she would remember any of this anyway. 

“Oh, forgive me,” he continued. “Were you not expecting that from me? Have I played your adoring pet for too long? Well let me set the record straight here and now. You repulse me.” His face twisted into a snarl. He was sure he looked more wolf than fae in that moment. 

Amarantha said nothing, still caught by surprise. Around them, the arena had gone silent. No one dared make a sound as Rhys voiced everything no one else was brave enough to say out loud. 

“You’re pathetic. Whatever happened to that great and ruthless general I wonder? The one who struck fear into the hearts of her enemies? Are you so helpless and pitiful now that you had to bind all of Prythian through trickery? Have you grown so miserable and weak that you are reduced to playing games with a human? A child?”

It felt so good to say this out loud. To finally tell her what a vile little cretin she was. 

“I’ve met rodents more appealing than you.”

Anger flared across that perfect face. She was upset. 

Good. 

“Seize him!” Amarantha called, her fingers bone white as she clutched the arms of her throne. 

Rhys laughed. He felt manic. Wild. Reckless. He didn’t bother fighting the attor as it grasped ahold of his shoulders and thrust him to his knees. 

What did it matter now?

“Look at you. So afraid of a few words. Because you know they’re true. You know you have no allies. No friends,” he laughed, a frenzied edge to his voice. “You know all of us want you dead. You will never know peace. Never know freedom. Never know love. Even your beloved Tamlin can’t wait to rip your throat out.”

He saw the way that last barb cut deep. How her eyes briefly flickered towards the fae in question. And Tamlin, confirming her worst fears, only had eyes for the slithering, blind creature below—as if waiting for the fierce little blonde human to walk out of its jaws, perfectly hale and whole once more. 

If only. 

“I can’t wait for you to suffer the way you’ve made us all suffer these many long years.”

She plastered a cruel smile onto her face. “I hope that thought will sustain you through what I have planned for you.”

“Ah, but I don’t have to hope, Amarantha, my dear,” he said with a manic grin. “You see, I’ll make it happen.”

A flash of doubt crossed her face and Rhys’s smile widened. Below them, he heard the wyrm slither close, looking for another meal. 

“What are you—”

Quick as a viper, he wrenched himself free and for one shining, beautiful moment he saw a flicker of fear in Amarantha’s eyes. He didn’t need to read her mind to know what she was thinking. 

Is he going to kill me? Can he kill me?!

His smile was all teeth. 

“See you soon my dear.” It was a promise. 

An omen. 

Then, to the shock of all, he flung himself off the platform and into the path of the wyrm. 

I’m coming my love. 

It was his last thought before the wyrm opened its jaws wide and—

Enjoy this fic? Check out some of my other Feysand time travel fics (Let Us Cling Together As The Years Go By and The Nights Grow Long) or fics from the many other talented writers on this project who can be found here.

Or, alternatively, check out my ACOTAR Fic Masterlists.

Thanks for reading! 💜

[justabigoldnerd]

Thank you so much @pippinoftheshire for the tag!!

My Words: Beneath, danger, darkly, wound

Your Words: Stop, club, comfort, top

Beneath: "Unnamed Hostage Situation"

Solo takes a breath to keep talking, stalling for time while he figures out the best course of action, but he stops short. Illya hasn't moved, and his feral look has turned predatory. Uh-oh. Under his breath, in Russian, Illya tells him, “I can take the shot. End this now.” “He is too close. You will only be putting the girl in danger,” Solo hisses back beneath the slide of metal on wood. Illya's eye twitches. It's as good a concession as Solo will get. The mark is glued to Illya, who is in turn glued to him like a marble statue hiding a blow dart.

Danger: "Single Dad Solo / Ballet Instructor Illya"

Solo's heart is pounding in his ears, fear and confusion warring with protective rage, but he finds himself frozen to the spot. It takes him a few seconds to understand why. It isn't only the mothers who are snickering. The girls are screeching with joy. Huge grins are plastered onto their faces and the screams intermittently turn to giggling. They don't think that they are in any danger. They must not understand. But why are the parents going along with this? Surely they understand the weight of the instructor's words, his cold glare. Who would let anyone speak to their child like this?

Darkly: "I Am Your Lover (I Am Your Jailor)"

(Again this bit is already posted but still a wip at large so I'm counting it lol)

That is why there were no hounds. Illya's stomach churned, watching the injured beast. A snare trap was cowardice. An easy way out. It was wrong. “Give me a hand, will you? You have armor on,” Solo asked darkly, dismounting his horse. Hands trembling with the rage that made his blood run hot, Illya dismounted as well and approached the tree. The fox picked up its thrashing again, getting wilder with every step closer.

Wound: "Are You Afraid? (However Could You Not Be?)"

The pain of the wound has eased over time, so somehow his leg is healing, despite the dampness of the blood still soaking his pants. To keep his sanity, Illya stopped trying to puzzle out how time passes in this place. In any case, he can put pressure on it without collapsing. So he hobbles to each door, leaning heavily on the wall. The first door he tries leads to nothing but a barren storage room. A few shelves hold rusted metal cans and sealed jars of murk, strung with dust and cobwebs. Some have collapsed, rotted under the weight of mildew and frost, and shards of glass glisten beneath them. Grimacing, Illya pulls it shut again and limps to the second door. He reaches for the doorknob, but pauses halfway. It's been kicked in.

No pressure tagging @huggiebird @happybean17 @falling-into-peril @heytheredeann @pippinoftheshire

@bighandsforabigheart @kcscribbler @mybelovedillya @cha-melodius @the-golden-comet

@thattripleabattery @too-young-to-fall-in-love @times-up-alone-tonight @vnyu73 @nicijones

@prettyboynapoleonsolo @fandom-meet-fanthem

And an Open Tag for anyone else who wants to join!!! 💕💕💕

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vod'ika!!

First things first! I love all your fics, hc's, aus. I've read most of them *multiple times.* You're an amazing writer!! And your take on clones and their relationships (both with each other and with partners) is really interesting and wonderful!

I do have a request. You mentioned an Fallen!Jedi au, with Corr Skirata, where the Jedi falls trying to protect Kal, is taken in by Kal and the Nulls and falls for Corr?

This is my humble request you write that, like, I am willing to beg 😂 I also love Corr, he doesn't get enough love, and the au premise is *chef's kiss*

Thank you again for all you do in the fandom space!

An Empire Of Our Own

Summary: There’s a tragedy in a fallen Jedi. Corr knows that. He knows that the little Jedi who saved his buir’s life is walking a thin line between sanity and insanity. But with the Empire murdering the Jedi, she belongs to Clan Skirata now.

Pairing: Corr Skirata x Fallen Jedi F!Reader

Word Count: 1071

Prompt: Fallen Jedi AU - A young Jedi knight falls while saving Kal Skirata from certain death, losing her own legs in the process. Clan Skirata takes her in and decides to recreate a new Mandalorian Empire. (Not to be confused with a New Mandalorian Empire).

A/N: So this AU will likely be a series of ficlets if anyone wants to make requests for it. I hope you like it!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

“You’re doing great, Mesh’la,” Corr praises with a grin as he watches the tiny Jedi hobble around the room using crutches. She shoots him a frustrated look.

“I don’t feel like I’m doing great.” She drops onto a chair and glares at the prosthetic legs she’s learning to use. She lost both of her lower legs in the attack that should have taken his buir’s life. 

Corr wonders if she regrets her actions, now that she’s fallen. Though he’d never ask. Not here, not when she’s still recovering.

“Come on, cyar’ika. You lost both of your legs,” Corr points out as he hops off the table he’s sitting on and meanders over to her, “The fact that you’re already walking on them is driving our medics insane.”

Eerie yellow eyes peer up at him, and then she huffs and folds her arms, “I have to do something.”

Corr crouches in front of her, resting his arms on her upper thighs. “You need to rest. Hurting yourself more isn’t going to help.” She scowls at him, and he knows that he should be more careful. 

She’s fallen. She’s dangerous. 

But, well, he’s dangerous too. And he’s never going to be afraid of someone who once spent three hours lecturing him on the medicinal properties of lavenders.

She reaches out with a slender finger, and taps on one of his prosthetic arms, “Did you?”

“Nope,” Corr replies cheerfully, popping the p irritatingly. “But you shouldn’t emulate me, as amazing as I am.”

Her hand moves to his face and she shoves him gently, Corr doesn’t move. She’s not that strong, after all.

“How’s Kal?”

“Perfectly fine,” Corr replies, “The only reason he hasn’t visited is because he’s in the middle of having a garden built for you.”

“A garden?” She tilts her head, “Why a garden?”

“You think we don’t listen to you when you wax poetic about flowers?” Corr teases, “Besides, it’s good for my vod’e to make the garden. They seem excited about it.”

“...they don’t have to.”

Corr shrugs, “You’re family.”

She stares at him, and then sighs, “That’s going to get you all in trouble. I don’t want that.” 

And that, right there, is why Corr isn’t all that worried about her going insane. She might have fallen, but she’s still herself. Still kind, still gentle. Still more interested in protecting other people than herself.

“I like trouble,” Corr replies flippantly, “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Are you calling me trouble?”

“Only the best kind.” Corr stands and offers her his hands, “Come on, let’s continue.”

Her scowl returns, “My legs hurt, I don’t want to.”

“Well, you can’t stay in the chair.” He counters, “Come on, I’ll carry you.”

“Ugh, no thank you.” She takes his hands and allows him to pull her to her feet. Corr’s close enough, then, that he’s able to see the way that she winces when her weight settles on her prosthetics.

He doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s scooping her into his arms and settling her comfortably against his chest. She doesn’t deserve to be in pain, he won’t allow it.

“I said I could walk,” She grumbles, though there is no heat in her voice and her head drops to rest on his shoulder.

“I’m not going to let you hurt yourself even more, cyar’ika.” Corr says easily, “If that means that I have to carry you, then so be it.” She releases another frustrated noise, and Corr can understand.

Recovery is hard. Especially when you lose two of your most important limbs.

No wonder the poor thing has been in such an awful mood lately.

“I’m surprised that you’re all helping me,” She says suddenly, her breath is warm against his neck and Corr has to suppress the urge to shiver at the sensation.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve fallen, I’m dangerous.” She bumps the side of her head against his shoulder, “Can’t even die like a proper Jedi.” She sounds disgusted with herself.

“You saved my buir,” Corr says, “And you’re still you. Just with neat yellow eyes.”

“Ugly yellow eyes.”

“Pretty yellow eyes.” Corr corrects with a grin.

“What happens if I snap and try to kill you?” She asks.

“I’ll stop you, obviously.”

“You overestimate yourself,” 

Corr shoots her an amused look, “What? You think I don’t know how to stop you in a fight? Come on, cyar’ika. I was trained for that.” He carries her through the halls and stops in front of a door, “Here we are, home sweet home.”

He opens the door and carries her into her suite, gently sitting her on the couch, and then kneeling at her feet again. He smiles up at her, a warm smile on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She asks.

“This is how I always look at you.”

“I know, and I don’t understand why.”

“Because I like you, obviously,” Corr replies, shamelessly. And his words are rewarded by a blush rising to her face, “And, since you’re not a Jedi anymore, I feel comfortable pursuing you properly.”

“And what does that look like?” She asks.

“Oh, wining and dining you. Movie dates. Kissing you under the stars.” Corr grins, “And, when you’ve recovered enough, we take the galaxy back from Palpatine and we both get our revenge.”

“Revenge isn’t the Jedi way.”

“Justice then,” Corr says with a shrug, “Buir has plans.” His grin becomes sharp, “An expansive Mandalorian Empire sounds like fun, doesn’t it?”

“Only if I don’t have to rule it.”

Corr laughs, “That seems to be the consensus, yes. No offense, beautiful, but a Jedi leader of the Mandalorian Empire is never going to happen.” He leans up and quickly kisses the corner of her lips.

She looks very flustered, and Corr grins as he leans in and bumps his forehead against hers, “You didn’t even try to stop me.”

“Yeah, well,” She averts her gaze, “I’m not a Jedi anymore, right? So I guess it’s not wrong for me to like you too.”

Corr grins and this time, when he kisses her, it’s a proper kiss. A chaste and gentle kiss, but a proper kiss all the same. “You’ll see, mesh’la.” He murmurs against her lips, “It’s going to be great.”

“Which part? Us, or the Mandalorian Empire?”

“Both.”

Corr kisses her again, more than happy to lose the afternoon to her soft lips and hesitant touch.

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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@justiceandwar98

@mira-loves-star-wars

@tiredbi-peach

@dukeoftheblackstar

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[shipscompulsivos]

Ships That Defined My Life (And Left Me Emotionally Unstable)

✧ Or: How fictional couples destroyed my sanity, and I am grateful for it.

If there’s one thing that has made me laugh, cry, freak out, and question all my life choices, it’s my intense and emotionally draining relationship with certain ships. They’re not just fictional couples. They’re transcendent experiences.

They are the ones that: ⟶ Made me binge-read 300,000 words of fanfiction like it was my soul’s thesis. ⟶ Turned mere two-second eye contact into an epic romance. ⟶ Forced me to create theories worthy of an academic dissertation just to prove it was real. ⟶ Threw me into online battles where I defended my ship like a lawyer with no degree but plenty of conviction.

I have experienced the pain of shipping a couple that only existed in subtext, I have celebrated insignificant scenes as if they were grand declarations of love, and I have fooled myself into thinking, “This time, it’s going to happen” (spoiler: it didn’t).

And even though I know this is an emotional rollercoaster with no brakes, I’m still here. Because the truth is, there’s nothing more addictive than watching two characters who were made for each other meet, challenge each other, and (maybe) fall in love.

So, welcome to my favorite collective delusion. Here is my love letter (and pure suffering) to the ships that defined my existence.

☞ Prepare for: intense fangirling, emotional analysis, an unhealthy amount of involvement with fictional couples, and, of course, the eternal debate: "Did they know?" (Yes, they knew).

✦ If you’ve ever sold your soul for a ship, buckle up – this sentimental journey has no return ticket.

Alec Lightwood x Magnus Bane (Malec – Shadowhunters)

☙ Or: "When an immortal warlock and a Shadowhunter rewrote LGBTQ+ representation on TV."

If there’s one couple that didn’t just deliver an iconic romance but also changed the game for LGBTQ+ representation on TV, it’s Malec. They weren’t just an engaging ship within Shadowhunters – they were a milestone. Every scene, every glance, every moment of growth was a masterpiece of chemistry, emotion, and pure perfection. And what happened? I fell headfirst into this ship, and now there’s no way out.

☙ But why did this ship completely destroy me?

✦ Alec Lightwood’s journey: He starts the series completely repressed, deep in the closet, and about to marry out of duty. A perfect combo for an emotionally devastating character arc. And guess what? That’s exactly what happened.

✦ Magnus Bane’s grand entrance: Magnus arrives as a force of nature, powerful, confident, with a sharp smile and the gaze of someone who’s seen it all. Basically, he looks at Alec and says: "Sweetheart, no one here is dumb." And that’s it. Alec starts realizing that maybe hiding his sexuality is a bigger problem than he thought.

✦ THE WEDDING KISS: A moment so iconic that even non-shippers had to stand up and applaud. ⤷ Alec, about to say an emotionless “I do.” ⤷ Magnus arrives. ⤷ Absolute silence in the church. ⤷ KISS. ⤷ The universe explodes, my sanity vanishes, and Alec PUBLICLY chooses Magnus.

✦ A real relationship, with real challenges: Malec wasn’t just thrown on-screen to tick a representation box. They faced prejudice, internal conflicts, and deep dilemmas. Magnus is immortal, Alec is a Shadowhunter with a short and dangerous life. This added an insane level of drama and complexity because ETERNAL LOVE ISN’T AS SIMPLE AS IT SEEMS.

✦ Alec’s INSANE growth: He started as a rigid, fearful guy who avoided his feelings at all costs. He ended as a strong, determined leader, willing to fight against everyone for what he believes in – including his love for Magnus.

☙ But, of course, the show didn’t always handle Malec with the grandeur they deserved... and that’s where the fandom comes in!

If there’s a ship blessed by the gods of fanfiction, it’s Malec.

⇢ A sci-fi AU where Magnus is a legendary hacker and Alec a secret agent? On the shelf. ⇢ A royal alternate universe filled with political intrigue and eternal love oaths? Take it. ⇢ A 100-chapter slow burn where they spend 90% of the time exchanging intense glances and denying their feelings? Good luck escaping that rabbit hole.

The fandom never fails.

✦ Fangirling level: 💜💜💜💜💜 (Five hearts because I still haven’t recovered and don’t want to.)

Hannibal Lecter x Will Graham (Hannigram – Hannibal)

☙ Or: "If love means psychological manipulation and cooking human flesh for your beloved, then Hannigram is the most romantic couple in fiction."

Hannigram isn’t just a ship; it’s an intense psychological experience, a study in obsession, and definitive proof that true love transcends laws, morality, and the basic need for non-human cuisine.

If you started Hannibal thinking you’d watch a simple game of cat and mouse between a serial killer and an FBI investigator, at some point, you realized you were rooting for their relationship. And that moment was, officially, the point of no return.

☙ Iconic moments? You bet.

✦ Hannibal obsessively cooking for Will, even when Will suspected that the menu included a rather… exotic ingredient. ⤷ "If you love someone, cook for them," they say. Hannibal took this to a cosmic level.

✦ Will having metaphorical, homoerotic dreams but insisting it was just ‘psychological manipulation.’ ⤷ Buddy, please, accept your reality. You’re already emotionally married to this man.

✦ The final cliff scene. ⤷ A bloody embrace, a shared murder, and a dramatic fall into the ocean. ⤷ Shakespeare? Never wrote anything this intense.

✦ Will having countless opportunities to kill Hannibal but never going through with it. ⤷ Every episode, the FBI: "Will, please, just shoot him already." ⤷ Will: "But what if... we have an intimate moment first?"

☙ And when the show ended? The fandom took control.

If TV didn’t deliver the happy ending this couple clearly didn’t deserve, but we wanted, the fandom grabbed the wheel and drove way too far.

⇢ Modern AUs where Hannibal is an eccentric chef and Will a tired cop (as if that’s not almost canon). ⇢ Fanfics where they live happily as refined murder husbands, raising dogs and planning suspicious dinners. ⇢ 200k-word longfics exploring every single nuance of their twisted minds.

⤷ "But does the ship really need all this?" ⤷ The ship: YES. IT DOES.

✦ Fangirling level: 🍷🔪🔪🔪🔪 (Four knives and a fancy wine because this ship is pure luxury, tension, and cannibalism.)

Lan Wangji x Wei Wuxian (WangXian – Mo Dao Zu Shi)

☙ Or: "The art of suffering for 16 years for love and still making it worth it in the end."

If there’s a ship that redefines the concept of destined, eternal, and unwavering love, it’s WangXian.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are literally soulmates—but not in an easy, fluffy way. No. They had to defy rules, traditions, entire clans, and even death itself to finally be together.

And in the end? Every second of suffering was worth it.

☙ Why did this ship destroy me?

✦ Lan Wangji fell in love at first sight. ⤷ Instantly, without warning, without wanting to, and with no way back. ⤷ Wei Wuxian showed up with that mischievous smile, chaotic energy at maximum, and that was it. Lan Wangji, who had never allowed himself to feel anything, felt everything all at once.

✦ Wei Wuxian spent his teenage years flirting without realizing it. ⤷ And Lan Wangji? Just standing there, gripping his sword and his self-control, suffering in silence. ⤷ "Lan Zhan, why are you always following me?" ⤷ Buddy… BUDDY…

✦ Wei Wuxian died, and Lan Wangji spent 16 YEARS in absolute mourning. ⤷ He refused to move on. He spent 16 years trapped in a ghost love, believing he would never see Wei Wuxian again. ⤷ Only for him to be the first one to recognize him when he returned.

✦ When Wei Wuxian finally came back, Lan Wangji abandoned everything to stand by his side. ⤷ He ignored the judgments, the looks, the rules. Nothing else mattered. ⤷ Because after losing Wei Wuxian once, he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

✦ MUSIC. ⤷ They communicate through a melody only the two of them understand. ⤷ If staring deeply into each other’s eyes wasn’t enough, they just had to have their own theme song.

☙ The fandom? A full-on cult. If there’s a ship that inspires fanarts, fanfics, and collective meltdowns like no other, it’s WangXian.

⇢ Modern AUs where Lan Wangji is a serious CEO and Wei Wuxian is a sassy journalist? We got them. ⇢ Fanfics rewriting the 16 years of suffering, because NO ONE deserves to suffer that much? Also got them. ⇢ 10,000-word emotional analyses on how their song is the most romantic thing in fiction? Absolutely.

✦ Fangirling level: 🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶 (Five magical harps because this ship is pure melody.)

Sherlock Holmes x John Watson (Johnlock – Sherlock)

☙ Or: "Two British bachelors living together, solving crimes, and pretending they’re just friends."

If there’s a ship that grabbed the fandom by the throat, sent everyone spiraling, and left behind an existential void that only 200k-word fanfics can fill, it’s Johnlock.

BBC gave us a Sherlock and Watson with explosive chemistry, subtext-loaded dialogues, and stares that could fuel a 50-chapter slow burn. They had it all—tension, tragedy, redemption, devotion, pain—and yet, we had to sit there and watch the script pretend it was just "friendship."

But we know the truth.

☙ Why did this ship destroy me?

✦ Sherlock literally jumped off a building to protect John. ⤷ Let’s go over this again: this man looked at the one person who truly mattered, said goodbye, and jumped. ⤷ And the worst part? He watched John grieve, because he couldn’t risk him being in danger. ⤷ Anyone else would have just disappeared, but Sherlock had to see John, had to make sure he was okay. ⤷ This isn’t just love. This is tragic, classic-literature-worthy love.

✦ "John Watson, you have been the best thing in my life." ⤷ The man who despises feelings, who says love is a weakness, who avoids emotional connections at all costs… ⤷ …suddenly drops this emotionally charged line and expects the fandom to just move on? ⤷ That wasn’t just a confession. That was a last-ditch effort to show John how much he meant to him. ⤷ And John’s response? Silence. As if he was absorbing the weight of what was just said.

✦ THE WEDDING. ⤷ Nothing was more painful than watching Sherlock, clearly in love, clearly devastated, standing there at John’s wedding. ⤷ When he started his speech, the entire world realized those could have been his wedding vows. ⤷ The speech was so emotional, so loaded with meaning, even Mary noticed what was happening. ⤷ But the most defining moment? When John said he didn’t know who could put up with him… ⤷ And Sherlock, for the first time, had no answer. Because he knew. He was the answer.

✦ The stares. ⤷ No one—absolutely no one—stares at their “best friend” the way Sherlock and John look at each other. ⤷ These stares are loaded with meaning, with unspoken words, with "I would die for you, and you know it." ⤷ Every single scene has at least five seconds of dramatic tension, where the camera focuses on one face, then the other, as if the world has stopped. ⤷ I’ve seen canon couples stare at each other with less intensity than these two.

✦ Homoerotic subtext in every scene. ⤷ If there were an award for the most subtext-heavy ship in history, Johnlock would win by a landslide. ⤷ We’re not talking about hints. We’re talking about entire scenes structured as if Sherlock and John were a couple—without ever saying it outright. ⤷ John constantly saying, "I’m not gay," but never denying that Sherlock could be an exception. ⤷ Sherlock being indifferent to the entire world, but feeling, reacting, and suffering whenever John is involved. ⤷ There was so much subtext the fandom started treating the ship as inevitable, as if it was only a matter of time before the show made it canon.

☙ And the fandom? This is where things get insane.

⇢ Sherlock-level conspiracy theories. The fandom crafted in-depth analyses, video essays, and full-on theories to prove Johnlock was real, including the legendary "The Lost Special" theory, where the BBC supposedly filmed a secret episode confirming the ship.

⇢ Fanfiction: the only absolute truth. When the show failed, the fandom took control. There are 200k-word fanfics exploring every emotional nuance of their relationship—from alternate universes to stories where Sherlock never died and John never married.

⇢ The alternate timeline where Johnlock happened. In the heart of the fandom, Sherlock and John ended up together, happy, solving crimes, and adopting a dog. And no one can convince me otherwise.

✦ Fangirling level: 📖📖📖📖📖 (Five books because the real ending only exists in fanfics.)

Derek Hale x Stiles Stilinski (Sterek – Teen Wolf)

☙ Or: "The big bad wolf and the sarcastic boy who never admitted what they really felt."

If there’s one ship that the fandom built with their own hands and turned into a phenomenon bigger than the actual show, it’s Sterek.

Teen Wolf may have ignored, underestimated, and even tried to erase this couple, but fans took every glance, every touch, every tension-filled argument, and turned it into a fanfiction empire.

The chemistry was undeniable. The dynamic was perfect. The chaos was real.

☙ Why did this ship destroy me?

✦ Stiles and Derek literally CAN’T STAY AWAY FROM EACH OTHER. ⤷ If one is in danger, the other magically appears to save them. ⤷ Derek could be living in the forest or missing, but if Stiles blinks in distress, he's there.

✦ The "grumpy and traumatized guy" x "chaotic and talkative guy" dynamic never fails. ⤷ Stiles is pure sarcasm and chaotic energy. ⤷ Derek is a walking bad mood with a tragic past. ⤷ The perfect balance of "I'll annoy you until you laugh" and "I'll protect you even if I won’t admit it."

✦ Derek grabbing Stiles by the collar, staring intensely, as if about to kiss him right there. ⤷ EVERYONE saw that scene. ⤷ EVERYONE felt the tension. ⤷ The only thing that stopped that kiss was the script (and MTV’s fear of making us happy).

✦ Stiles is always worried about Derek, even when he shouldn’t be. ⤷ Derek could be an invincible werewolf, but Stiles always found a way to step in and take care of him. ⤷ "Derek, are you okay?" – Stiles, a powerless human, trying to save a super-strong Alpha.

✦ Derek being Stiles' reluctant, involuntary protector, like a grumpy werewolf husband. ⤷ "I'm not your babysitter, Stiles." ⤷ Two minutes later: Derek shows up to save him for the thousandth time.

✦ Ridiculous chemistry—even the actors admitted it. ⤷ Dylan O'Brien and Tyler Hoechlin knew what they were doing. ⤷ The fandom knew it. ⤷ Everyone knew it.

☙ And the fandom?

⇢ Wrote fanfics so well-developed they could be full seasons of the show. ⇢ Took random scenes and turned them into pure romantic tension. ⇢ Made Sterek the biggest ship in Teen Wolf, EVEN without being canon.

Teen Wolf may be over, but Sterek lives on forever in the fandom’s heart.

✦ Fangirling level: 🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥 (Five flames because this ship set the internet on fire.)

✦ Honorable Mentions (because I can’t control myself) ✦

The obsession has no limits, and neither does my ability to get attached to ships. So, before I start rereading fanfics for the thousandth time, here are some ships that deserve to be exalted, analyzed, and discussed like academic studies.

🔥 Sanji x Zoro (ZoSan – One Piece) 🏴‍☠️ "A lovers’ quarrel disguised as rivalry."

• They tease each other so much that even non-shippers notice. • The "I hate you, but if someone touches you, I’ll kill them" energy never fails. • Sexual tension disguised as sword fights. • The way they always know where the other is. • Constant bickering that’s actually just disguised respect.

Conclusion? They argue like an old married couple, and the fandom KNOWS IT.

😇 Crowley x Aziraphale (Ineffable Husbands – Good Omens) ☁️ "Millennia of romantic tension and longing looks."

• Crowley going through literal hell for Aziraphale. • The fandom realized the truth before the characters did. • They are so married they forgot to make it official. • "We’re not friends. We’re something more." – Oh, but that line hurt. • Crowley pretending to be cynical while clearly willing to die for that soft angel.

Romance and suffering levels? Absurd.

🎸 Geralt x Jaskier (The Witcher) 🧙 "Bard and Witcher – the definition of married without knowing it."

• Jaskier writing desperate love songs about Geralt. • "Toss a coin to your Witcher" = translation: "I love you, you ungrateful idiot." • The "married for years, but one of them hasn’t realized it yet" energy. • Geralt grumbling while clearly caring about Jaskier. • The fandom has decided: Geralt can run all he wants, but he belongs to Jaskier.

💬 Now I want to know: which ships emotionally destroyed you? Tell me in the comments so we can suffer together and exchange fanfics like a friendship pact.

[daily-nightamins-at-25-00]

HELLO!!

Hello!! Welcome to the (un) Official Nightcord at 25:00 pharmacy!! Here we distribute all vitamins and supplements under the 25-ji group of medicine!!

Here at the Nightamins at 25:00 pharmacy, we give out all kinds of vitamins for your health!!

Vitamin Ena: Very prominent and effective, known for helping with blood circulation.

Vitamin Kanade: Helps with hearing and gives emotional comfort.

Vitamin Mafuyu: Prevents brain implosion. Very dangerous to stop taking.

Vitamin Mizuki: Helps mental health and gives self confidence! Some hair supplements are a part of this vitamin.

Along with vitamins, we also administer supplements to assist with your daily life!!

Supplement Niigo Miku: Assists with emotional regulation and reduces depression.

Supplement Niigo Luka: Gives a boost in creativity and ideas.

Supplement 25-ji Rin: Provides emotional support and gives comfort.

Supplement 25-ji Len: Helps with digestion and has a calming effect.

Supplement N25 MEIKO: Assists in solving logic driven problems, like puzzles.

Supplement N25 KAITO: Gives motivation and energy, while regulating exhaustion.

Please take these meds with caution!! Taking infrequent doses and varying sizes will cause side effects to pop up! Stopping consumption of these vitamins and supplements will lead to death, so tread lightly.

Taking more than prescribed will lead to severe side effects, some of which include social reclusion, anger issues, becoming nocturnal, death, cardiac arrest, loss of sanity, nausea, etc. More severe instances of these side effects will occur from malnutrition and deprivation of Nightamins.

Nightamins are distributed every day! Scheduled to meet up with almost every time zone!

That being said, the schedule is as follows:

Vitamin Kanade is to be taken on every 01, 05, 11, 15, 21, and 25 days.

Vitamin Mafuyu is to be taken on every 02, 06, 12, 16, 22, and 26 days.

Vitamin Ena is to be taken on every 03, 07, 13, 17, 23, and 27 days.

Vitamin Mizuki is to be taken on every 04, 08, 14, 18, 24, and 28 days.

Supplements will be provided on every 10, 20, and 30 days in the following order:

Supplement Miku during January and July

Supplement Rin during February and August

Supplement Len during March and September

Supplement Luka during April and October

Supplement Meiko during May and November

Supplement Kaito during June and December

On each 09, 19, 29, and 31 day, the vitamin will be a random art piece either official or unofficial.

#notamin for non vitamin posts

#nightamins at 25:00 for daily vitamins!!

Each member will have their own tag! It being their type, surname initial, and name! (Ex: vSEna, s25Len, vAMafuyu, s25Meiko, etc.)

This blog also has some occasional accidental milgram and other fandom content. Reference to the Amane President post that I reblogged on the wrong account and won’t take down.

My firefighter related ramblings because I love them <3

#Fire Department Ramblings for that btw

Important!!: I am very bad at tagging and will continually forget to do so on non-nightamin posts. I’m working on it but please be patient and careful!!

DISCLAIMER: I am a minor ( @calleigator (pjsk id is 432929375353335813) and am NOT affiliated with SEGA, Colorful Palette, or anything official related to Project Sekai. Also this was very much inspired by @daily-vitamin-ena so thank you!!

Also!!: I am the Janitor ™︎ for Fazlens :D

OG divider by @/Kawaii-Lau!! Edited to suit Niigo

[nimble-stuff]

CHAPTER 10/18?

FANDOM: ROTTMNT SUMMARY: Donnie suffers in silence after the Krang invasion. That’s not unique. Everyone in the Hamato clan is struggling. But Donnie’s a problem solver, and a dangerous obsession, a new invention, and spiralling sanity threaten to alienate him from his family for good. !! GENERAL CONTENT WARNING !!

- This story contains an overall theme of self-harm through dangerous actions and self-experimentation. Since it has an overall presence throughout the whole narrative, please consult the tags on AO3 to know what to expect. If this subject matter bothers you, please take care of yourself and read responsibly!

- Likewise, there will repeated moments of gore and medical procedures.

---

He must’ve zoned out for longer than he thought, because when he came to, Mikey was holding him by his arms. His touch burnt. Donnie startled back.

“We are not having a physical contact initiative at this time,” said Donnie.

“Donnie, you’re freaking me out here,” said Mikey. “You really didn’t look right for a minute there. Are you sick?”

“I’m not. Just let me do things my way.”

“So you can blow everything up again?”

“Can’t have creation without destruction.”

[smallpotatobun]

Fandom: Idaten Jump

Pairing: One-sided (?) Taiga × Koei

Tags: Taiga and his self-deprecating thoughts, one-sided affection, some spoilers for episode 18, Canon divergence (!), definitely OOC (!)

Note: I was supposed to write fluff and somehow ended up with this while trying to get myself back into writing ╭( ๐_๐)╮ very self-indulgent fic i'm sorry

It's 3AM and I have no braincells and no will to edit this

----------

"I won't lose like you did."

The words continued to echo in his thoughts long after the ever-elusive ninja had disappeared in a blinding flash of light. Taiga could taste the words stuck at the back of his throat, the suppressed protests laced with self-pitying excuses choking him ever so slowly.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't give himself the opportunity to let the words slip past his gritted teeth. And so, they festered, clawing at what remained of his self-esteem.

The walk back to his room was silent. Thankfully, the members of Team Shark Tooth had noticed the unapproachable aura that surrounded his entire being. It left him more time with his thoughts--fortunately, he supposed. Taiga had never regarded himself as someone who would be consumed by jealousy. He was too prideful for childish complaints. And yet, he could feel them at the tip of his tongue.

They were bitter. They tasted like defeat and sheer disappointment masked in self-acceptance. Taiga was well-aware that the only way to recover his own sanity was to defeat Yamato Shō, even if it meant going against what Gabu had planned.

After what seemed like hours, the sight of his room door was a welcomed reprieve from the dangerous slope that was his self-loathing. Yet, even more dangerous was the memory of the smile that lingered at the back of his mind. It taunted him as easily as its owner commanded the storms that seemingly raged inside his own heart.

"Fuck." Taiga cursed, lifelessly flopping on his back atop his bed. "Of all people you could have chosen..." It just had to be the man that was sent in to clean up his mistakes. He would have been consumed by shame if he wasn't so thoroughly drained already.

Reaching into his pocket, he took out a folded piece of green paper and held it above his face. It had been left behind when Koei did his disappearing act and Taiga decided to take it with him out of impulse. With a soft sigh of defeat, Taiga brought the paper down to his lips, "You stupid fool..."

It was destined to simply be a hopeless one-sided crush. One that would never be uttered, unless he wanted to give Gabu even more ammunition against him. Only god knows how that would turn out for both him and Koei. And so, Taiga could only will his tongue to grow numb to the excruciating taste of failure and rejection.

----------

As night fell, Taiga decided to go for a stroll to calm himself down. Near the entrance, he was immediately greeted by the sight of Koei's younger sister waiting near the statue in front of their base.

'Why is she out so late?'

A sudden coughing fit caused Taiga to flinch, his brows scrunching in concern. He walked briskly to her side and called out, "Hey."

The young girl immediately jumped in surprise, "Taiga-san!"

Taiga tried to recall her name, "Your name is...Kiku, right?" At her nod, he continued, "Why are you standing here at night? You're in no condition to walk around when it's freezing cold outside." He scolded her with a frown, his voice laced more-so with worry rather than annoyance.

"Ah," Kiku fiddled with her hands, "I was...waiting for my older brother. It was getting late and he wasn't home yet..." Her voice trailed off, a bit nervous in the presence of the older Samejima brother.

Taiga clicked his tongue, "Koei received a...new mission from Gabu, so he'll likely take a while to return home." The explanation was quick and straightfoward. He had no intention of revealing more details than necessary to the young girl.

"Oh! Thank you for telling me." Understanding dawned on Kiku's features, "I'll be on my wa--" before she could finish, another coughing fit racked her body. Unsure what to do, Taiga tried to give soothing pats on her back, hoping to at least give some semblance of moral support to the trembling girl.

"Alright, I'll walk you home." It was less of a suggestion and more-so a statement that left no room for argument. Taiga was well-aware that if anything happened to her along the way, his guilt would consume him immediately. It was better to just walk her home since he was already planning on taking a stroll anyways.

"O-oh! Thank you." With her agreement, Taiga's plans for the night were sealed. The unlikely pair were mildly awkward together for the first half of the journey. It was only when Taiga asked more about her condition that they truly began to share stories, mostly of their brothers, along the way.

However, their pleasant storytelling was interrupted by the first drops of rain hitting their skin. Fortunately, they weren't too far from Kiku's home. With a decisive nod to each other, the pair ran the rest of the way to their destination.

----------

With soaked clothes and tired exhales, the two managed to reach shelter before the heavy downpour set in. "Looks like the rain won't be stopping anytime soon." Taiga sighed, running a hand through his soaked hair.

"Please feel free to stay here in the meantime." Kiku mentioned lightheartedly, followed by a weak cough. Their walk together had been a pleasant experience that changed the way she perceived the other. Rather than an intimidating authoritative figure, she realized that he was actually quite a nice person beyond the influence of Team Shark Tooth.

The two quickly changed clothes to prevent themselves from getting ill. Kiku had given Taiga some of Koei's spare clothes to wear for the time being. Honestly, he was apprehensive, but there was an undeniable part of himself that was thrilled by the opportunity. He immediately shoved that part into the deepest recesses of his mind.

With their clothes sorted, all that was left were their hair. After brushing her own, Kiku couldn't help but let her eyes repeatedly drift from the brush in her hand to Taiga's unruly locks. She hummed in thought, before asking tentatively, "Taiga-san...would it be alright for me to brush your hair..?"

Taiga's brows rose in surprise, but he didn't really have much of a reason to refuse. "Sure, do whatever you want." The way her eyes immediately shone in wonder sent a shiver through his spine, but he didn't bother taking back his approval.

Taiga sighed and surrendered to whatever fate awaited him. For her part, Kiku appeared to be delighted at the chance to do whatever she wanted. And so, she immediately got to work.

----------

The rain finally stopped by the time Koei returned. To his shock, what greeted him was of the older Samejima brother casually lounging outside their home, in front of a small fire.

"What are yo--" his voice immediately cut off as he took in more of the scene. Rather than his usual spiky hairdo, Taiga's hair was styled in a messy shoulder braid, the loose strands giving the image of controlled chaos. The bow neatly tied at the end immediately gave away who the culprit behind the sudden change in hairstyle was.

Also, were those his clothes?

There were no hidden traps nor other members of Team Shark Tooth in the area. Koei could even make out the vague silhouette of Kiku safely inside. Taiga was simply waiting there by himself, the flames dancing in those gray eyes that appeared so lost in thought.

Overall, Taiga looked...soft? Pretty?

Koei nearly slapped himself at the thought. Before his mind could stray any further, he decided it would simply be best to ask frankly.

To be continued~