#stockholm syndrome cw

[comic-art-showcase]

Harley an Joker by Michael Pickard

Batober prompt: Trapped

DO NOT interact if you ship these two. DO NOT reblog/tag as ship!

[solradguy]

:)

[gabessquishytum]

In dream and hob’s culture it’s acceptable to kidnap someone to be your mate. Dream didn’t want to resort to kidnapping but he was under pressure to find an omega and he happened across one who smelled intoxicating.

Hob didn’t want to be kidnapped and he doesn’t intend to make life easy for the alpha who took him, no matter how handsome he is.

Ooo intriguing. I'm imagining the snark between these two would be insane - "I did not WANT to kidnap you, but I was under pressure and had no choice!" "OH REALLY??? YOU WANT ME TO FEEL SORRY FOR YOU??? YOU KIDNAPPED ME!!!"

Hob never thought he'd end up in this position but the worst part is that he's insanely attracted to Dream. Like, true-mates kind of attracted. Dream’s scent is heaven, he's beautiful, his voice makes Hob want to melt and submit... but. The kidnapping is kind of a big deal! Hob cant just let it go - thats not the kind of omega he was raised to be.

And yet. Being kidnapped by Dream isn't so awful. He has a mansion, luxurious bedrooms, a pool, amazing food prepared by chefs. It's all way out of Hob’s league and he can't help indulging a little. He eats and sunbathes and relaxes. Maybe he relaxes around Dream too. Softens up a little and stops yelling.

By the time his heat comes along, Hob is more or less "domesticated" as an alpha might put it. He's still got plenty of snark, but he's willing to sit on Dream’s lap and be hand fed his favourite little chocolate truffles. Because Dream does smell so fucking good, okay?

As it turns out he also has the perfect knot. He fucks Hob in the kitchen, in the lounge, by the pool, and finally carries him to be properly knotted in bed. Hob purrs as he's finally filled up. And he's only a little bit embarrassed. After all, he did make Dream wait...

Oh, he was so worth waiting for. Dream has never been more sure of a decision in his life: kidnapping Hob was the best damn thing he ever did.

[creepling]

hii idk if you’re comfortable but could i request just any headcanons of stockholm syndrome johnny slaughter x fem!reader? would he ever come around to being “gentle” after corrupting the reader of a relationship? would he ever let the reader see her family? just give me any details you brainstorm 🫣

this became more of a drabble but it encapsulates everything i'd except from johnny with a captive with stockholm syndrome. he'll be overthinking, he'll be insecure, and he'll take it out on you. then act all boyfriend material so you don't question it. he's such a joy to be around lmaooo

tags: can be read as gn. stockholm syndrome, knife as threat, near death experience, abusive relationship

Johnny’s tactics proved to be worthwhile the more you eased yourself into the role of a captive, viewing your surroundings as a home since you had no escape to go to your own. It surprises him how quickly you succumbed to it, offering to take up chores. He was suspicious of you at first until he let you out in the junkyard to gather scraps. The cattle grid off, the gate open, you had every chance of escape. Your footing stayed planted on the soil, bare feet in the dry dirt, humming a tune as the sun beat down on you. You acted as if you were at home, taking your time, comfortable in your surroundings. You were the first of its kind in Johnny’s eyes.

Sometimes he caught you gazing at the pressure gate. Looking beyond the road to the horizon, deep in thought. Johnny would keep his eye on you, his hands busy with the car he was fixing up. Then you would sigh and look away, getting back to work. Johnny needed answers, he had to know what you were thinking. A dream, an opportunity? Are you kidding him?

“You ever thought about running away?” He would ask. You never gave a direct answer, your words were always like “I like it here”, “I have everything I need”

It did not calm his nerves. You can’t leave, you can’t defeat him. You cannot be convinced of anything except your devotion to him, otherwise all his work has gone to waste. He had to test you again, break any thought that crossed your mind.

He ambushed you in the quiet of the night, snuffling your screams with his hand, and pressing his knife to your neck. You only screamed once, resting when you saw Johnny, calm under his knife as you gazed into his eyes.

“If you ever think about leaving,” Johnny warned, “Goddammit- I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.” His words were insecure, his vowels broken. Masking his frustration with fury.

He shifted his hand to grip your hair, giving you a chance to speak. Your docile face gazing up at him, forcing a smile to appeal to him.

“I love you, Johnny… I do, I really do,” your calm words failed as he tensed his shoulders, pressing the knife closer to you. “But… I have a family. They’ll be worried sick about me. At least let me write to them, I’ll tell them that I found you, and I’m happy here. Please…” You weren’t necessarily lying, but there was still an inkling of what life was like before. Your whole life was ahead of you, letting you navigate the paths of life. You went down this one, longing for the possibilities there were before. You refused to admit defeat, mustering a fond smile.

It seemed like Johnny was thinking about it, but he was only steadying his knife, debating on slitting your throat. The spill of your blood flashed before his eyes before he made the split decision to replace the knife with his hand, closing your airflow.

“You have a family,” Johnny spat, “We’re your goddamn family. Got it?”

You nodded to the best of your ability, gripping his wrists, calling surrender. He lets go, scoffing at your pathetic coughs for air.

“You’re smart, so I suggest you start thinking smart thoughts,” Johnny’s remark was worse than his knife. You turned on your side, burying your face into the pillow to get back to sleep. Your eyes are wide open, tense under Johnny’s arms wrapped around you. He kisses your temple, soothing your head, as if nothing happened.

[catscidr]

Could we get some Dottore x escaped experiment reader? Gn if possible, doesn't even have to be smut. I just can't find anything along those lines and I like your writing style :)

i. note — hehehoho i might have uuuhhh used this ask as an excuse to go off a lil and try something new teehee °ᗜ°) but this was really fun to write!! thank you nonnie for the suggestion, and thank you very much for liking my stuff enough to req something!!! i hope u all enjoy ii. includes — dottore, gn!reader iii. cw — unhealthy and toxic dynamics, no dialogue, mentions of cannibalism, mild body horror, one (1) dead body, not quite stockholm syndrome but maybe kinda, reader is a mess and dottore is not a good person (shocker). minors do not interact, age in bio or block. iv. wc — 2k -> posted on ao3 too!

To humans, running is what they do when they’re late to work, when they’re working out, or even when they’re playing games at recess as children. To predators, running is what they do in order to secure their next meal. To prey, running is what they must do so they can escape from the predator’s clutch in one piece, to not end up as a mangled corpse serving as someone or something’s food. 

You have more in common with prey than you have with humans, despite being one yourself. 

It hasn’t always been that way. One moment you were enjoying the warm afternoon sun of your home region out on a walk, and the other you found yourself thrown over someone’s shoulder with a bag over your head. 

You always find yourself reminiscing, yearning to feel the warmth you felt that day— minus the incident. You used to be a model citizen; someone people would rely on. 

A shame no one helped you when you desperately needed it. 

Your own mind is all you’re left with, as you’re clumsily tripping over your feet, rocks scraping your skin and blood trickling down your legs. The feeling is almost peaceful; but after running for so long, and with how often you’ve gotten yourself in this exact situation, you’re starting to second guess your motive for running in the first place. 

Is it a form of entertainment, are you growing bored of the four padded walls engulfing your five senses at all hours of the day that you feel the need to get the energy out of your body like a hamster does by using the wheel in its cage? Is it to leave the predicament you found yourself in after trusting someone you, under no circumstances, should have trusted? 

Or is it because you gradually have come to find yourself sharing more similarities to a dog, begging its owner to even unenthusiastically throw a plastic frisbee for a smidge of attention to fulfill your need to be seen, to be heard, and now you feel the responsibility to own up to that label you inflicted upon yourself? 

The lines between reality and your thoughts have blurred so much it frightens you. 

...Or, rather, it should scare you. After spending so much time in your own head, one would find that it’s surprisingly easy to come to distrust your own mind. You’re not sure if you should believe what goes through your head, even less believe what you feel. But at the same time, you’re all you have. You have no choice but to trust yourself, even when you shouldn’t. 

Only a select few are aware of how dreadfully strong and outright stubborn the human mind can be, whether it be from their own personal experience or from seeing others slip into a state like yours. 

Unfortunately for you, He’s familiar with your situation. Painfully familiar. 

… 

Sometimes you wish you were a luna moth. Delicate and radiant, people would be torn between praising you for your beauty and shunning you away for the crime of looking different than what they’re used to. You wouldn’t be a butterfly, would not conform to what society wants you to be. You would be able to be who you want, look however you want to without worrying over other’s opinions. 

The people that did like you, though, would treat you with care and would do everything in their power to make your stay in this world a pleasant one. A stay that would only last a week. 

Not long enough for you to become familiar with the horrors that await humanity. Seven days filled with nothing but genuine smiles, void of empty promises. 

You’d crawl out of your cocoon, eat good food, find someone to help continue your bloodline, then die somewhere peaceful and hope that your crumbling, decomposing body will bring relief to someone desperately needing something to eat. 

But you’re not a moth. 

… 

It’s unbearably cold when you come to your senses. Peeling your eyes open, you glance around to find yourself surrounded by cold limestone, barely illuminated by the cave’s entrance just a few feet away. The hairs on your skin rise from the wind guiding snow through the passageway, making you curl into yourself in a pathetic attempt to keep your body’s temperature from dropping too low. 

You look down at yourself; your pants are ripped at the hem, and you see messy splotches of brownish red staining the fabric and your skin, going all the way down to your calloused feet. You’re not sure how long you’ve been out for, but it must have been at least an hour given how the bleeding from the numerous scratches and gashes on your legs stopped without any assistance. 

The cave felt completely foreign to you, but even then, it brought you more comfort than He had. Or at least you think it does. 

You feel free. Despite the way your body shivered endlessly from the wind howling into the cavern, despite the dull but searing pain that made it feel like your feet were scorching that traveled up your legs, despite the way you couldn’t move your lips from how dry and cracked they were, split from sheer cold. 

You think this is the most freedom you’ve felt since you’ve gotten yourself stuck in His maw. 

... 

The wind is reduced to a soft, soothing melody when you wake up again. Almost calming enough for you to drift off to sleep a second time, but a nagging feeling in the depths of your gut told you that it was a bad idea to fall unconscious this time around, so you try to shake off the numbness in your limbs instead of succumbing to the call of the void. 

Standing up proves to be a challenge as your legs buckle under your weight. You catch yourself before you fall, holding onto the rough formation of a rogue stalagmite; it’s a struggle to hold yourself up, but at the very least you didn’t give yourself a concussion. 

The pain isn’t completely unwelcome, though. Your feet are throbbing, and the palm of your hand holding yourself up with the help of the stalagmite stings. As you blink the drowsiness away and the blood begins to flow through your limbs correctly again, you straighten your back to take in your surroundings properly. 

The cave’s entrance was filled with thick snow. There was enough that it would reach your stomach should you walk up to it, ignoring the snow that fell into the grotto, and not the snow that partly obscured your way to the outside world. You can’t see much outside, only the faint outline of pine trees wavering in the distance, far enough that you can only barely make out their form. 

Looking away from the blinding whites outside, you notice how utterly desolate the cavern is. Not even a single trace of a life was left behind in this cold, worn hollow. Maybe it’s better this way. You’re not sure you would have appreciated seeing even a wild hare or a fox in here, much less a bear. 

Sitting down on the rocky ground again to give your legs a break, you take a moment to think back to what got you here in the first place. 

You faintly recall rusty medical equipment, convulsing organs, and seeing Him jot down notes. You remember a plate being handed to you, the vague image of a man covered by a stained sheet of what used to be white, and the bile that rose to your throat when your gaze focused on what was on the plate itself. 

Everyone knew the Doctor was a twisted man, but you doubted He was twisted enough to force someone to cannibalize one of their peers. 

Clearly, you were wrong. 

Then, you remember making a mad dash for the thick iron doors of his laboratory. By the grace of god, you were able to leave; and you now found yourself in this desolate cavern, tucked away from civilization. 

As far as you were aware of. 

But you shouldn’t trust your mind. You knew this, yet you also knew not to trust yourself when you told yourself you couldn’t trust yourself. Simultaneously believing in logic and being a mess of paradoxical jargon— it exhausted you to think about. So you try not to. 

Whether by a stroke of bad luck or because of something else entirely, your dull sense of hearing picks up the faint sound of snow crunching beneath boots. Your hands and legs scramble to take you where you can hide as much of yourself as you can behind a rock formation, and you stare out of the cave’s entrance, holding your breath. 

The sound becomes louder. An almost gentle woosh noise accompanies the scrunch of snow, and soon after it stops, you’re able to make out a blurry figure approaching the cave’s entrance. The icy flakes make way for Him at His command, hand waving to get rid of what was keeping you physically separated from Him. 

The pure white snow behind His body glinted off his intricate accessories, the light forming a halo so otherworldly that it left you utterly breathless. 

His boots make a soft clicking noise against the limestone as He steps into the grotto, your safe haven for however long you had been here— now not. Not a single word left His lips as he assessed your rugged appearance. 

You wish He would smite you right then and there. He was most likely able to, and with ease, but you doubt He would willingly discard one of his longest-running experiments for disobeying a rule that you had broken many times before anyways. 

Your jittery gaze follows His movements as He outstretches His arm, offering you a gloved hand, silent. 

Did he know how much you simultaneously trusted and distrusted your own judgement? You stare at His hand, unmoving, heart racing against your ribcage— torn between bolting away, into the darkness of the cave, or intertwining your fingers with His, allowing Him to take you away voluntarily. 

This was mercy either way. You could either die at the hands of whatever lurked in the shadows of the grotto, or you could die at the hands of the man that brought you so much pain it morphed into comfort, solace. He stood, unmoving. Observing you. 

You knew Him well enough to know that He was taking mental notes on your behavior even now, outside of the familiar comfort of his lab in Haeresys. 

Both options were foolish, but you weren’t exactly known to be in the sanest state of mind. 

Pulling your arms away from your body, you bring a shaky hand up to take ahold of His, allowing Him to pull you up to your feet. You almost fall as a result of your nerves, but thanks to His quick reflexes you find yourself tucked in his arms, cheek pressed up against His navy cravat. The hand that wasn’t holding yours comes up to pat your head, gently untangling the knots that had formed in your hair. You melt into His touch, eyes fluttering shut to bask in the warmth He provided. 

As you stand there with Him, knees weak, body upheld by His will alone, you shove down the thoughts that brew in the forefront of your mind. Usually you would welcome the noise, even be grateful that you, at the very least, had yourself to lean on. But you find yourself wishing to lean on Him more than yourself, both literally and metaphorically, keening at the comfort He brought you. 

You knew you couldn’t trust your mind, so why not trust His instead? If you couldn’t rely on your own instincts, judgement or thoughts, then how bad would it truly be to let someone other than you become fully responsible for your wellbeing? 

... 

You were neither a moth nor human.

You were a dog.

[melon-cream-enmu]

I said it in my enmu smut visuals but

Pregnancy, lactation, baby trapping, implied past coerced sex, afab, early stages of Stockholm syndrome

Enmu Tamio babytrapping you, eventually coaxes you into sending him vids of you playing with your milky tits. He’s laid it on thick, his interest in them, when you change in the morning and at night, and now that you have no where to go and no one to save you, you give in when he wants sex. The way his lips and tongue work your breasts makes you squirm.

He’ll be at work (he’s providing for the 3 of you now hehehe, he got a good job so he could afford to trap take care of you without you working) and he’ll do whatever it takes to get to see it, sneaking off to wherever to look at you cup the globes of your tits, tweak your nipples and squeeze them between the lengths of your fingers, drawing milk to the surface that then beads and falls in drops.

When he gets home you sit waiting for him with your shirt off, knowing what’s coming. He shucks off his bag and jacket and anything else, getting atop you instantly. His tongue laps at your flesh, once, twice, before his lips encase your nipple and suck as he pulls back, letting it fall from his lips before diving back down. He sucks so eagerly, pressing his face into your tit so much that his nose indents in the plush flesh. If you loved him you’d almost affectionately liken him to a cat in this moment.

Though maybe, you might feel something for him, if you could think of that comparison at all…

[starstruck-flames]

The Room - Overhaul

Trapped. Your mentality draining, maybe he’s… not so bad?

A/N: I haven’t… been doing so well. Paranoia and dissociation but it’s nice to use it as some inspiration in my writing. Hopefully you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed indulging in my feelings.

Content includes: descriptions of dissociation, implied Stockholm syndrome, reader has been experimented on, reader has had their quirk removed from them, it’s overhaul it’s OVERHAUL, manipulation, once again it is overhaul.

Song for your mood?

The room is blank, white. The only stimulus being the clean sanitised tiles that surround a small, helpless form. Your eyes flicker between the walls, begging for something, anything new. There was no passage of time, no day, no night; only fluorescent lighting and a slightly warm room. A small door off to the side for your bathroom needs, a small privilege allowed to you by Overhaul.

You sit, simply, quietly with your legs crossed. Basic clothing covers you, a slightly uncomfortable texture. Well. It was actually unbearable, but your skin had settled with it. It’s grating, only white noise in your skull. A bleak reminder that you’re still existing, despite the little amount of life you were living.

Is it even life?

What life is this?

You don’t feel in control of this body, everything felt disconnected and lagging. The body moved practically on its own as it took to a more self soothing position. The only sound in your vicinity was your own pulse against your ears, and even that almost felt like a lie. Feeling… uncomfortable. Like something is wrong, like everything is wrong. Living in this blank room had become second nature but there was always an impending sense of anxiety.

The only time you felt alive in any regard was-

The door quietly clicks, head whipping behind you to see who intruded your pure silence.

“…Good morning,” Comes a bored tone, Overhaul’s head tilting slightly as he takes a slow stride towards your wilting husk. “How are we feeling today?”

You remained silent, simply watching him quietly. Knowing full well that even if he asked, he more than likely didn’t care to acknowledge an answer.

A moment of silence before Overhaul looks over his shoulder to one of his men by the door. “Make a note: Subject has become mute. Most likely by choice,” Piercing gaze returning to you. “You’re not a fast learner but you learn. That’s more than most who’ve been here.”

A blink.

A nervous exhale.

He can read you perfectly, but that’s because you’ve put your psyche on display for him at this point.

Overhaul. The one to fear, the one who holds your life in the balance. That uncomfortable feeling? It becomes screaming fear in his presence.

However, it’s time for the same daily interaction you’d always done. Time for the one piece of a routine you had.

He extends a hand, reaching for you. “Now…”

There had been an established dynamic so far, on his visits you’d practically leapt away from his touch. It’s understandable really, considering how long he’d kept you captive, how long Overhaul had been running tests on every single part of you. However, he couldn’t help but test that line on these days. The days he’d left you waiting, fearing what he’d do next. It was all an experiment realistically, and he had many plans for you.

Quirkless, helpless, and weak; you’re his to poke, prod, and cut, and most importantly? His to observe.

However, today, something new happened.

His hand makes contact with your chin. No flinching, no crying. Just… hesitant obedience.

There’s nothing between the two of you. Pure silence as your face grows unsure, had he wanted a response?

Unable to read his expression, you can only pray you made the right choice. His gloved thumb absentmindedly pressing against the skin.

“Hm. You’ve grown to be…” Tilting his head in thought, he can’t seem to find the word. “Not trusting. Certainly not trusting, I can see your doubt. There’s a change either way.”

He holds it, waiting patiently for anything to change.

Constant.

Your hesitant lack of resistance persists.

His hand moves, the soft texture of white gloves running over your cheek and up to moving a lock from your hair. He’d made sure that out of everything, you’d be cleaned. You’d have a clean space.

Not for your own sake of course.

“You know…” Overhaul’s tone suddenly turns soft, his hand a reminder of that even now? You’re in his hands. For better or worse. “You’ve been very brave. You know this, yes? Your sacrifice, losing that quirk of yours? It’s all to help everyone.”

Remaining silent, your eyes widen, just a little. So simple, just like clay.

“You’re one of my best test subjects.” A small coo as his hand caresses the hair he took care of. “It’d be a shame if I were to ever lose you. I need you. I need you to make a safer world for everyone.”

With that he stands, smiling to himself under the intimidating plague doctor mask. “You’re a smart one, I’m sure you understand.”

The disconnected body… reacted with something new. A harder thud, a new chill running up the arms as Overhaul tilted his head with interest. What is this? A new response? A new interesting development for Overhaul to look into.

He silently decided to keep you around. For now.

If only to discover what he could do to keep more of his experiments around and… capable.

[tianshiisdead]

❄️ For femslash Hetalia @femslashetalia day 7: Plaything

❄️ Pairing: nyo Japan/nyo Manchuria (OC)

❄️ Rating: M for suggestive themes and implied dark themes

❄️ Warnings: Imperialism, dark themes, implied abuse, suggestive content (like one single line at the bottom about touching someone’s chest and nothing else lol), implied brainwashing

❄️ 1932, Manchukuo freshly established, Manchuria answers some questions.

[serialmilipede]

WWX reincarnates as LWJ's son

tw grooming! inc*st, underage, sexual assault, dark!LWJ

In a universe where Wei Wuxian is never resurrected, Nie Huaisang still finds a way to expose Jin Guangyao's crimes. And with Lan Xichen in indefinite seclusion, the Lan elders force Lan Wangji to marry. There’s whispers. Fear of a sect without heirs, fear of a sect leader decaying in his own bed. 

So Lan Wangji marries a pretty disciple, only five years his junior, named Lan Meifang. On their wedding night he can’t get it up. He lies about having erectile dysfunction, but maybe in a way that’s what being a cutsleeve to the extent of being sexually repulsed by women is. They figure it out together, eventually. He needs to be totally blindfolded and at maximum arousal prior to her getting anywhere near him. It’s weird. So weird. Lan Meifang definitely knows other couples are not having sex like this. 

But it’s fine. This is a practical relationship and they both know it. All business. They just need two or three kids out of it and it can all be over. Then, the only thing worse than Wei Wuxian coming back to life happens. He reincarnates as Lan Wangji’s first son. 

In isolation none of the things that led Lan Wangji to believe his son is Wei Wuxian are particularly striking. A beauty mark on his chin. Piercing grey eyes that neither of his parents have. (Lan Meifang says her grandfather used to have them.) Laughter like a tinkling bell. Wild black hair that cannot be tamed. The way Lan Wangji’s uncle looks at him when they name the boy “Lan Ying” is so repulsed it’s almost funny. Regular, ordinary coincidences. Not to worry over. 

By ten months the boy is on his feet, waddling around yelling “Baba! Baba!”. He shows Lan Wangji everything. A ladybug he found, a leaf he thinks is interesting, a stray chive in his congee that he refuses to eat. It’s impossibly endearing and Lan Wangji becomes pliable in his little boy’s hands. Anything Lan Ying wants, Lan Ying gets. He’s the only person Lan Wangji spares a glance or smiles at. Lan Sizhui silently watches himself get sidelined in favour of the real son. Lan Wangji’s blood. 

As Lan Ying grows it becomes increasingly obvious that the closeness between them will not abate. The child really is the splitting image of Wei Wuxian, down to the way his eyelashes curl and his hair grows lighter at the edges. Although the boy is eight now Lan Wangji still lets him sit on his lap, spoon-feeds him, waits on him hand and foot, baths him. Lan Ying is a chatterbox, and cannot adhere to the prescribed Lan silence. Another coincidence. Very normal and regular. The elders worry he’ll never grow a backbone and it enrages Lan Wangji so much he blindfolds and straps himself to the bed, telling Lan Meifang not to stop until he’s cum successfully. 

It bears fruit, another boy. Lan Wangji never grows close to him. However, the plan works and the elders stop pestering Lan Wangji about Lan Ying so much. With age Lan Ying grows rowdier, more and more like Wei Ying. At the first discussion conference they take him to Jiang Wanyin freezes and has to take a double take at the new heir to the Lan sect. Briefly, Lan Wangji and Jiang Wanyin make eye contact. With horror, they both realise the other definitely knows. 

Of course, Lan Ying doesn’t suspect a thing and continues causing trouble, to the point that he has to be sent to his room for misbehaving and embarrassing the sect. He never attends another because the staring from the Jiang sect leader makes the entire Lan delegation uncomfortable. Lan Meifang and Lan Wangji give Lan Ying the courtesy name “Fenghong” meaning great phoenix. It is an incredibly thinly veiled reference to Lan Wangji’s belief in Wei Ying’s reincarnation. 

When he receives his blade at twelve the sword he’s given is crafted of fine silver, and engraved beautifully. Lan Wangji stops pretending to care for anyone but his child. With age the child grows… prettier. Soft, curvy features. Gorgeous eyes, pink lips and a wicked smirk. Lan Wangji never pushes him to train more than he needs to, read more than he wants. The boy spends most of his time reading pornography, which Lan Wangji happily supplies upon his son’s request. Lan Ying requests help with homework, help with folding his clothes, help with making his bed, and where anyone else tries to provide it, or scold him for being incompetent, Lan Wangji is there to guard the task of keeping his child well-kept and safe. No rules apply to Lan Ying. There’s a joke amongst the teenagers that the Lan sect would allow murder if the victim was killed by Lan Ying. 

As he enters his teenage years his father’s coddling gives way to bullying from his peers. Lan Ying is teased relentlessly for being unable to perform basic tasks, for being too pretty, “like a girl,” and for clinging to his father. His cultivation is lower than expected, especially with his parentage in mind and Lan Qiren advises his nephew to enrol his son in some kind of private training with a stronger disciple - like Lan Sizhui. Lan Wangji reassures his uncle that he’ll resolve the issue himself but Lan Ying cries so bitterly at having to train that he makes little progress. The physical inferiority of the Lan Sect’s first heir is made apparent in duels, and Lan Ying is moved down a class to avoid further humiliation. It also allows the bullies more authority over him, causing their altercations to become physical. 

When Lan Ying shows up to the Jingshi with a black eye Lan Wangji instantly abuses his position as head disciplinarian to enact revenge for his son. He prescribes one hundred lashes for each boy named, ten in total, and a year of copying the Lan Sect rules. The parents protest on the basis of unfair bias, and Lan Xichen comes out of seclusion in an attempt to desperately remedy the situation. Lan Wangji is quietly stripped of his title, and their punishments are lessened - 30 lashes each, 50 for the one who punched him. A standard month of copying the rules. 

When he passes the boys in the Cloud Recesses Hanguang-Jun seethes with barely concealed rage. Lan Xichen briefly considers addressing his brother’s possessive attitude towards his son but… feels it’s none of his business. He comments on it to Lan Meifang, but she shrugs it off as him being overly concerned. Fatherhood changes people. Lan Xichen wouldn’t know… After the incident, Lan Wangji convinces his son, makes him promise, never to keep anything from him ever again. Lan Ying can and must tell his father everything. 

So he does. Bullying, studying, his thoughts and feelings, crushes. Lan Wangji does a double take when Lan Ying brings up a girl he thinks is cute. He has her carefully removed from the cultivation pathway and transferred to a medical one. 

The same year Lan Wangji leaves the Cloud Recesses to attend an annual discussion conference. While there, a servant informs him that Lan Ying is unwell. Rather than enquire further about the severity of the illness Lan Wangji rushes back. He snatches his son from his mother’s quarters, where the boy is resting, and takes him back to the Jingshi. Laying him on his bed, Lan Wangji takes his temperature, brings him cold towels, feeds him, brings him medicine from the physicians, circulates spiritual energy through his body, and sleeps on the floor next to him until the boy is well again. He refuses to return to the conference, leave Lan Ying’s bedside, or let anyone see Lan Ying. 

Perhaps Lan Wangji is becoming delusional but Lan Ying’s spiritual energy mixing with his feels so right, it feels… like Wei Ying. Lan Wangji tries to swallow the thought. If this is Wei Ying’s reincarnation… he deserves as cushy and pampered a life as possible. As long as Lan Wangji doesn’t reveal his suspicions he can give Wei Ying the life he should have had the first time. (Privately, the physicians inform Lan Xichen it was nothing but a mild cold. Lan Wangji’s constant pampering is likely contributing to the severity of his fever, as Lan Ying’s immune system is poorly adjusted and kept weak). 

The next year, Lan Ying somehow gets sick again, this time when Lan Wangji is at attendance for a meeting about the Lotus Pier rebuilding effort. Despite being almost fully finished, the Sect is requesting material aid for some of the more symbolic or sentimental parts that were left unbuilt until stability was achieved. Wangji is supposed to survey the necessity of these areas, and whether or not the Lan Sect can provide sufficient materials. 

Lan Qiren orders servants not to inform any of the delegation in Lotus Pier of Lan Ying’s condition. Of course, he still gets well. It starts to look like the incident will blow over. A lie of omission, yes, but it’s very important that Lan Wangji doesn’t sabotage relations between the Lan and Jiang sect by prioritising his son’s mild case of illness. 

But of course… Lan Ying tells him. He promised his baba, and he won’t break it! Unable to take revenge for this lie, Lan Wangji silently rages. There’s a noticeable shift in how he regards the other members of his Sect. When the next conference comes around there is a great conundrum as the Lan Sect heir reappears in the public eye. 

The hair on everyone’s necks stands on end as a young boy, fifteen at most, skips into the hall in front of Lan Wangji, whistling and twirling his ponytail. Rumours begin to spread that a soul summoning ritual must have been performed. Something is not right - there’s no way the Lan heir and Wei Wuxian are coincidentally that similar! Lan Qiren almost spits blood at this new, frightening potential for diplomatic incident. He looks more and more like Wei Ying and it’s driving everyone, most of all his own father, entirely mad!

Lan Ying’s first night hunt without Lan Wangji is where it all goes wrong. Despite lagging behind his peers in his studies, at an entry level at sixteen, Lan Wangji insists the boy can manage. Lan Sizhui is leading. He has grown into an outstanding member of the sect, well on his way to either ascension or starting his own sect. Knowing Hanguang-Jun’s… close relationship with his son, Lan Sizhui pays careful attention to ensure his safety, but Lan Ying is simply too far behind for the task. 

He gets slashed across the thighs by a monster, and has to be carried back to the Cloud Recesses on a stretcher made of Lan Sizhui’s own robes, moaning and groaning desperately, crying out for his baba. As expected, Hanguang-Jun is absolutely hysterical. No one, not even Lan Ying’s bullies, have ever seen him look so terrifying. He stays by Lan Ying’s bedside looking positively manic as the physicians make light work of the wounds. After his wounds are tended to, Lan Wangji once again whisks Lan Ying away to the Jingshi and nurses him back to health. 

When the injury heals, Lan Ying stays. A second bed is installed, in the same room as Lan Wangji’s. Life goes on as normal. Except it doesn’t. It becomes impossible to suppress Lan Wangji’s notice of the similarities between Lan and Wei Ying. Having him in his room becomes hard to bear, but Lan Wangji refuses to let anyone else have him. On the nights Lan Ying crawls into his father’s bed with him Lan Wangji can only close his eyes with a grimace and try to still his stuttering heart. 

Lan Wangji becomes increasingly reclusive. Lan Ying frequently calls in sick to class. He doesn’t attend more often than he does. Instead, he spends his days lounging around the Jingshi, waiting for his dad to come home so he can talk to him about what he’s reading, painting, or thinking about in the hours he’s not with him. They hone their boardgames skills, and practise calligraphy together, Lan Ying perched in Lan Wangji’s lap as the elder’s hand guides his through strokes. Lan Wangji teaches the boy to brew the perfect teas, cook congee, clean different stubborn materials, plant flowers. He takes him to the field of bunnies often and Lan Ying likes that most of all. 

Lan Ying grows paler and prettier. More spindly with his lack of exercise. On days where he doesn’t leave the Jingshi he wears only his inner robe, scampering around scantily. It makes Lan Wangji wonder… growing into a young man, especially one so sickly, can’t be easy. Lan Wangji remembers it being impossibly difficult, and he was one of the strongest of his generation. While Lan Ying would definitely win in a looks competition, he had little stimulation outside of their walks in the evening, or visits to the library or rabbits. Once or twice a week, class time, but Lan Wangji knew he hated that. 

They eat dinner with the rest of the Sect, but all other meals are served directly to the Jingshi. Lan Meifang visits the Jingshi every few weeks, but she’s busy bringing up her other two children (who she slept with for the third one Lan Wangji may never know. He doesn’t really care). The whispers of townspeople insist that they’re far more confident than the sickly first master Lan. 

Lan Wangji frets over everything to do with his son. His eating, sleeping, drinking, feelings. As he nears seventeen Lan Wangji frets for Lan Ying’s sexual health, as he remembers this being around the time his own sexuality developed. It starts innocently enough. They already tell each other everything, so Lan Wangji asks him simple questions about his interests. Boys or girls. Has he kissed anyone? Read porn? Touched himself. Lan Ying answers truthfully. Lan Wangji asks him if he’s touched himself in this room and gets so worked up by the embarrassed “yes” that not even the cold pond can calm his hard on. 

He jerks off on the bank before curling up in the water in shame. A brief scream under the water relieves him of any guilt. Something’s wrong with him, he feels like he’s going crazy. Why is his own son so… seductive?! His son… who is the reincarnation of the only man you’ve ever loved, his brain supplies helpfully. Lan Wangji groans into his hands. 

For his seventeenth birthday Lan Wangji takes Lan Ying to the market in Caiyi, where he selects a wooden dizi and a new set of grey robes for purchase. They eat rich food, and Lan Ying drinks wine. Late at night, Lan Wangji inconspicuously walks through the wards of the Cloud Recesses, carrying a (deniably) intoxicated Lan Ying back to the Jingshi. Lan Wangji slips three porn novels into the pile of new purchases. Dutifully, Lan Ying practises the dizi every day and Lan Wangji thrills at the nightly sessions where Lan Ying shows off what he’s learnt. It suits him so well. 

Lan Wangji also notices the spring books moving around shelf. Rearranged. Unmoved if you don’t look close enough, but it’s clear Lan Ying has been making… use of them. It makes Lan Wangji glad. He secretly jerks off in the bath tub. Life continues at this weird, jagged pace. 

Lan Xichen asks his brother if it is perhaps time for Lan Ying to rejoin his classmates in the dorms, but Lan Wangji insists the boy is far too unwell, and traumatised by his experience to reintegrate into cultivation like normal boys. After a brief, lying-by-omission style conversation with Lan Ying, the mantle of Sect Leader is finally given to his younger brother. The boy is ten by now, and a strong cultivator for his age. Ripe for the position, and malleable. Now Lan Wangji… truly has his Lan Ying all to himself. 

A few weeks later he finds Lan Ying masturbating. It’s an accident. He’s relieved of his duties around lunchtime as he finds himself without his advanced class, comprised of three students who are taking their guqin cultivation further, due to a small flu going around. Giddy, he almost skips back to the Jingshi. Any excuse to spend more time with his son is a plus. Not thinking to knock (they never do), he enters the room and locks eyes with Lan Ying, sitting on Lan Wangji’s bed with his hand round his dick and Lan Wangji’s pillow hugged to his chest. They freeze. 

One… two… three seconds. Lan Ying frantically springs into action, roughly pulling his pants back up and apologising profusely, but Lan Wangji raises a hand to stop him. He shuts the door. Locks it. Turns and approaches the bed. The mattress dips as he sits next to Lan Ying. It’s silent for a few moments more. 

“Why were you holding my pillow?” he asks, finally. Lan Ying turns even redder, almost purple.

“It’s… easier with your uh. Smell,” he says, covering his face with his hands. “I’m sorry Ba…” 

Lan Wangji shushes him gently, before patting his lap. 

“Sit,” Lan Wangji instructs. Lan Ying hesitates, but obeys. “Good boy.” 

Gently, Lan Wangji peels the boys pants down. Lan Ying inhales sharply. He’s only half hard now, but Lan Wangji remedies this with a few pumps - gently down, twisting on the upstroke. Lan Ying whimpers pitifully, melting into the touch.

“Here,” Lan Wangji says, tapping Lan Ying’s chin until the boy’s nose is settled in the crook of his father’s neck. “For the smell.” 

“Baba,” Lan Ying whines, writhing. 

Lan Wangji continues stroking his dick and Lan Ying’s breathing becomes increasingly erratic. He presses his face into his dad’s collarbones and neck and begins messily suckling at it. Drool spills from the sides of his mouth and his leg muscles twitch, backside pressing against Lan Wangji's hardening dick. Lan Ying cums with a soft cry, muffled in Lan Wangji’s shoulder. Silently, Lan Wangji cleans the boy up, putting his clothes in a separate bucket to be washed by Lan Wangji’s hands. No one can know Lan Ying like he does. 

After that it becomes horribly easier. Lan Ying doesn’t attend class. Lan Wangji says he’s sick. He makes Lan Ying promise not to tell anyone. Everything they do together is so Lan Ying can learn how to please his future partners. It’s all in the interest of education. Every night he touches him. When Lan Ying offers to reciprocate he’s tragically bad at it. He cries when Lan Wangji suggests he finish himself off, so the boy ends up kneeling on the floor with his mouth open while Lan Wangji jerks off into it. 

It escalates. Of course it does. They make rapid progress. Lan Wangji teaches Lan Ying how to use his mouth, his thighs, his feet, his hands, his ass. He gets to share everything, all these special things with his beautiful boy… they still eat meals with the rest of the Sect. It’s weird for everyone else but the two of them are only too content with each other’s presence. Lan Ying clings to his father like some kind of concubine. The righteous Hanguang-Jun hand-feeds him, and Lan Ying nuzzles his neck contentedly. He even stays in the room while his father makes brief conversation during the tea break between senior sect members, after the disciples have finished.

There’s a new joke going around. About Lan er-gongzi’s second wife. It’s vulgar, and Lan Qiren makes efforts to silence the whispers but Lan Wangji can’t find it in himself to get defensive. That would mean denying what he has with A-Ying… and he realises, with a strange mix of giddiness and horror, that he doesn’t want to hide it, deny that he loves his Lan Ying, his Wei Ying, more than anyone. Not even blood can keep them from each other. 

[crepe-of-wrath]

Untitled Brief Snippet (Yan Alucard x Fem Reader)

Notes/Tags: NO MINORS, possessive/yandere Alucard, fem reader, Stockholm Syndrome and other dynamics that are not healthy IRL

This came to me as I was coming to this morning--don't know if I will turn it into something longer on its own, try to graft it onto the last part of Impossibility, or something else, but, hey, maybe this will tickle the fancy for someone else out there in Tumblr-land, so I'm sharing it.

Alucard laid down behind you, snaking one arm around your waist and using his free hand to slip the black silk cord that had kept you tethered to the bed frame for so, so long off your wrist.

You didn't move at all. No more attempts to place distance--even if just a centimeter--between you. No more kicking and writhing in an attempt to free yourself. You had been so misguided.

He then used that hand to stroke the back of your ear and your neck. His touches were so protective and caring. You had been so silly.

"Will you not turn around? I want to look into those [color] eyes of yours," he murmured, his voice pulsing into you, making you flush. You had been so stupid.

"I--I--" you struggled to find the words. "I am very embarrassed by my past behavior...by my foolishness in not understanding how what you're doing is the best for me."

He laughed softly and then flipped you around. For a moment, he just stared at you with those crimson eyes, which were full of triumph. For the briefest second, that made you want to fight again, but then he softly caressed your cheek.

"It was a frightening change. You're very smart, [name], and I knew you would see reason in time."

You reached out to touch his face and he closed his eyes as though this pleased him. "Thank you for your patience."

He pushed you back into the plush silk bedding and returned to caressing your face and trailing gentle kisses on your body. His beautiful hair tickled and you giggled. After a few moments, he locked eyes with you again and gently rested his forehead against yours.

"I swear to you that I will be all your protection and all your comfort and all your pleasure."

You nodded your head in agreement. It was clearly best this way; why had it taken you so long to see? To show that you truly understood, you wrapped your arms around his neck and gave him a clumsy, but very heartfelt kiss, even though you were frightened that this might enflame him to the point where he started ravishing you or something wanton like that.

Instead, Alucard simply laid back and on his side and drew you in to hold you against his lovely, lean chest. His shoulders completely enveloped you, and you tried to almost burrow into him, sighing happily, because no one in the world was safer than you were now.

"Alucard?"

"My darling?"

"When you leave me tonight, will you...will you slip the cord back on my wrist? I--I think I would feel safer that way."

For a moment, his only response was the sound of him rubbing his hands--his hands that were usually gloved--together behind you, but then he finally spoke.

"Of course, my darling. There can be great comfort and surety in restraints."

[artoutoftheblue]

If anyone ever actually managed to adopt Stockholm!CtOS Solar, hes probably just going to do the exact same things he did when he was stuck with Moon. Hed end up getting attached to the Moon that's in the universe that adopted him, and would just continue sleeping in a closet regardless, and only coming out to clean and get stuff from the soda machines. If anyone tried to put soft stuff in the closet since hes apparently not going to leave it, so they might as well make it comfortable, hed remove the soft stuff too

[dreamsofspike-blog]

My Whumpcember Fic!

I'll be filling the prompts for this Whumpcember in a fandom I haven't ventured into before now - The Boys! Enjoy and let me know what you think if you give it a shot. :)

[craycraybluejay]

I want to drug them up with aphrodisiacs and stuff all the time and make them my perfect fuck machine and make sure they're always hard for me and can't get hard or cum for anyone else and they beg me to take advantage of and rape them and they cry while they fuck me and can't help but grab me and. Make sure make sure they can't escape. Tell everyone in their life especially their family The Thing so they disown them and then they have nowhere to go so I take them and set them up in a weird bunker and I keep them drugged and horny and play the same mind games they used to play with me and make them tell me how fucking bad they want me and how horny they are and beg me to please please please let them fuck me so when I unleash this badly trained dog of a person on me they are finally well trained. What do you mean you want to leave? You think that's an option? Kill yourself !!

[bigshotspambot]

What’s around the corner in the dark .. ?

(This was my attempt at a flashlight shining on him until photoshop decided to take away my undo privileges and I Gaveup)