#I know he does/did things but this is his core essence to me

[klara-rosa]

as a certified soft, gentle, calm person I just love so much that characters such as Cash exist because everytime I see him on the screen, he just resonates such gentleness, like he is shy and socially awkward sometimes and he cares about people and just lets them be and he falls in love and lets it happen even though it probably scares him and HE HAS A PET DUCK because he just wanted to save ONE so he did. Like I don't know why, can't put my finger on WHY exactly but it's just always immediatly clear to me that this is someone soft, with a gentle soul, like this is a sweet person, someone who is sensitive because they just are and they lean into it. I LOVE IT I love it I love it, I want to see more softness on screens, I want calm gentle people, I want people that exude angel energy 👼👼👼

[astheforcewillsit]

In which the Kaminoans provide a miseducated version of what and who the Jedi are, and the clones realize that at their core, the Jedi are religious monks.

Cultural misunderstands are bound to ensue due to this.

(based of the scene where Obi-wan and Anakin bow to Echo and Fives after they join the 501st)

(original ao3 link)

The first time Obi-Wan bows to Cody, he does so low and Infront of the men. All of the men. It is not a simple incline of his head. It is a slow, low dip.

Ancient practiced movements, just as Qui-Gon had taught him.

They had had saved his life. Again And he is truly grateful. He is still unused to a war like this. His very essence as a Jedi protests his involvement in it.

But he moves only by the will of the Force, and it has brought him to such a moment like this.

Before he completes his gratitude, he is stunned by a collective gasp amongst the men and an arm on his shoulder. The Force tells him it is one of the younger men.

There's a sharp reprimand from Cody, and the arm is off, though the Force is still disturbed

(The touch had not bothered Obi-Wan, in between droids and separatist leaders, it has been the kindest touch he's had all week.

It doesn't bother him, the touch of the clones. He enjoys their presence. Though he can feel the fear palatable through the Force. He hopes that one day they'll be less terrified of him. That they will know him for the human he is. Force knows the damage the Kaminoans have done to the reputation of the Jedi Order.)

Cody steps up as Obi-Wan rises--clearly the action disturbed the peace.

"Sir, I-"

"Clearly I have done something to offend you." He straightens himself, "I apologize."

Cody looks scandalized. This is not going well.

He hesitates. His Commander is still a Labyrinth. He looks at the face of Jango Fett everyday, though he sees none of the darkness clouded in those eyes. With Cody, it's almost fear.

"Sir, there is no need to apologize to us. it's just..."

"it's a sign that we've done wrong and have to ask for forgiveness, usually done by subordinates--cadets to the Kaminoans or the bounty hunters that trained us. When you did that, well...it looked like you thought you did something wrong, that maybe you were asking for forgiveness or was ashamed," another clone (Boil, Obi-Wan reminds himself, the "shiny" who touched him) supplies with some distaste, "doesn't mean the same for you sir?"

Obi-Wan could confuse them, because technically Jedi do bow for forgiveness too. But not in shame, never. He decides to keep it beginner level friendly today.

"I am expressing gratitude. You saved my life," Obi-Wan responds as if it is the most obvious thing, "Though If I have done anything wrong, it has simply been confusing you all. I will not bow if it makes you all comfortable."

His culture is important to him. It his his blood and his soul, but these men are not here with him of their own accord. These men are making sacrifices just by being alive, Obi-Wan could stand to be more like them. Though his heart pulls at the thought of abandoning something so natural to him.

"No sir, that is not necessary," Cody seems to relax in front of him. His anxiety has dissolved into gentle waves in the Force, and instead Obi-Wan senses a small bit of curiosity.

It reverberates through the company.

"Should we..."

"Oh Force no, if bowing has been negative to you please do not do it on my account. And I will alter it," he makes an example, inclining his head just slightly and putting a hand to his chest, praying he doesn't offend, "I am grateful to you all, and I endeavor to show it."

"Only what you're comfortable with, your culture is sacred to you, I know this," he adds, "and if you never tell me anything, I will be okay with that."

"Can you...can we learn more. The kaminoans didn't tell us you did that, they didn't tell us you were...priest--"

"Monks," Obi-wan corrects and smiles at the clone who asked, Waxer the Force tells him, "And I will till you all you want to know about the Jedi, if you feel comfortable telling me about who you are."

There's reluctance in the Force. They may not be Mandalorians, but they carry the secrecy of their beliefs with them. He doesn't blame them. They have so little that belongs to them, the clones. Why give what scarcity they own away to the man who they were handed to on a silver platter.

The Force radiates skepticism, but also trust.

Good, the gap is slowly bridging.

[tasteracha]

a/n: just minho eating your pussy like it's a five star meal.

the first time he goes down on you, you’re so caught off guard that you giggle. 

it’s not that he’s bad at it - it’s actually quite the opposite. he’s skilled with his tongue, his fingers acting as supporting cast members as he dips into you. his nose nudges your clit just right to provide that slight amount of extra stimulation, and it’s kind of perfect. 

it’s not the way he’s wearing his work clothes still, too distracted by the way you were laying on your bed with nothing on but an oversized t shirt. he did little more than loosen his tie before diving into bed between your legs, holding your thighs apart with his strong hands while he looked at you with reverence. 

it’s not even the way he looks kind of silly with your juices coating his mouth and down his chin, slightly obscene in the way he doesn’t even make a move to wipe it off. 

no. it’s the way he makes a little mmph! noise at the first taste, eyes lightening up and widening like they do when he digs into his pudding or something wonderfully spicy. his nose twitches as he stares at your pussy for a second, blinking in the way that he does, before he dives back in. 

it’s just so cute. even with his face buried in you, the giggle escapes your lips, turning into a breathless whine when he stops and pulls back to stare at you in confusion. you shake your head, reaching one hand to thread through his hair and push it back towards you. he arches a brow at you but let’s you put him back into his place, collapsing back down into the pillows when he resumes his meal just as enthusiastically as before. 

you feel your high approaching faster than you want to admit, his skill mixed with the fact that he so obviously loves to be between your legs making the coils in your lower belly twist and threaten to snap. he eats you through your high, making little noises of happiness as you shake apart on him. your legs close a bit and he moans where he’s trapped against you. he’s rutting against the bed, even as your muscles give out and you all but melt into the mattress. 

he’s kneeling over you and unbuckling his belt before you can blink, still breathing hard and twitching a bit from your orgasm. he pulls his cock out of his pants, and the vision of him jerking off in front of you in his suit almost makes you come again. he throws his head back as he fists his cock, your essence still glistening on his face, making him look like some kind of god (a thought you file away for later). 

you can see the way his body tightens when he comes, stripes of him coating your pussy in warm strokes. his breaths are ragged even as he collapses onto the bed in front of you, his head resting on your thigh as he calms down. his curious eyes are locked onto your core, the way his release is covering you in a work of pure art. 

he shuffles closer, licking tentatively at you and making you jolt from how sensitive you are. his face goes sour, a deep frown taking over his features as he tastes himself on his tongue. it’s the complete opposite to how he reacted to you, and you can’t help but laugh again, so hopelessly endeared by him. 

“why are you laughing at me,” he pouts, reaching for a cloth to wipe you clean. he uses the other side to clean his face, and discards his jacket before crawling up the bed so he can throw an arm around you. it’s a sign of how much he trusts you that he doesn’t feel insecure because of your giggles, he’s just curious. 

“you’re so cute,” you say, pinching his cheek between your thumb and your finger. “does my pussy taste that good baby? did you even hear the noises you were making for me?”

“you’re the single best thing i’ve ever tasted in my entire life,” he says, not missing a single beat, completely serious. he kisses your shoulder. “now me? i don’t know how you like that. we have to work on your taste preferences, something is wrong with you.”

[bitchlessdino]

scream your heart out (m)

🔪pairing: fem!reader x seventeen (???) 🔪genre: horror, slasher, smut 🔪tags: DISCLAIMIER!!! MAY NOT SUIT MOST AUDIENCES, Graphic sexual and violent imagery color coded in pink, abrupt changes in text color, features/mentions members (Chan, Seungkwan, Wonwoo, Minghao, Seungcheol, Seokmin, Junhui, Soonyoung, Joshua), established relationships, scream au!seventeen, Hybristophilia, erotophonophilia, homicidophilia, graphic images, mention panic attacks, smoking, mentions disfigurement of faces, severed body parts, knives, guns, threatening phone calls, face masks (horror), knife wielding, blood, gore, death/murder, knife play, bloody handjobs, cum mixing with blood, consensual sex but nonconsensual murder, HONESTLY SOME REALLY FUCKED UP SHIT AND IM SORRY BUT YALL SHOULD BE READING THE WARNINGS, sexual innuendos, kitchen sex, daddy kink, unprotected sex, cream pies, cuck! (??) member, voyeurism, exhibitionism, breeding kink, PLS LET ME KNOW IF IM MISSING ANYTHING PLS 🔪word count: 6.8k 🔪summary: you and your friends get caught up in a classic horror slasher movie, only it's in real life. Now you're off to fend for yourselves in Seungcheol's million dollar home. The question is, did you keep them out, or did you just lock them in? 🔪author note: thank you @multi-kpop-fanfics and @wonwussy for beta reading for me <3. here's some of their notes “I’m scratching my face to not fucking scream” “WELL SHIT BRO WHAT THE FUCK” -Zeta “It definitely does capture that slasher essence” -SJ this was so fun yet mind numbing to write but this is way more extreme than anything I’ve ever written like I lost a lot of sanity writing this. FR one of the most fucked up things I’ve ever written. I hope it was worth it. ENJOY EVERYONE and even tho it came out late HAPPY HALLOWEEN

Ever since the murders over a week ago, everyone in town has been on edge. All including the individuals most closely involved.

You had lost three core members of your eight. 

Joshua, someone you’ve known since grade school who was sliced open from the back before being stabbed 8 times to the point of excessive bleeding. He had just gone out to walk his dog, the poor creature being the only reason they found his body at all. If not for the dog’s bloody paws, and the trail of blood they left behind finding help, Joshua’s cadaver would’ve lost deep in the woods.

And then Chan, your long-time boyfriend, was stabbed fifteen times in the chest. His face was so disfigured from obvious violence and what looked to be burn scars, that he was practically unrecognizable if not for the fact he died in his own home. Police are still looking for his severed arms and legs to this day with no luck.

And finally, Seungkwan, who hadn’t died but lost to the paranoia festering in his blood like a disease. That caused him to take the train to the furthest destination possible to attempt to escape death if at all possible, leaving the rest of you with only the reassuring texts he left in his wake.

All that was left was you, Seokmin, Seungcheol, Minghao, and Wonwoo; the core five.

“Okay, absolutely no one is leaving this house for the time being. Until the psycho is caught behind bars, dead, or whatever the fuck! We’re safe here.”

Seungcheol, the eldest, did just as expected: contacted the rest of you into a personal prison. Luckily, he was loaded. The prison happened to be six thousand square feet of space with countless rooms, amenities, and a housekeeper to boot. From the looks of it, it’s paradise, but it’s definitely a prison.

“Holy shit, you have an indoor basketball court?”

A prison with an indoor basketball court. And a pool apparently.

Seokmin wasted no time to enjoy these features, breaking out of his clothes and cannonballing in his underwear. If you knew any better, Seokmin didn’t even look like he went through any trauma at all. It looked like every other day for him.

“There's a murderer and you’re doing butterfly strokes?” You asked, baffled.

The golden man scoffed, reaching the edge of the pool and resting against it with his forearms. “What am I gonna do? Wallow, crying to my mom, worrying about dying, and not taking advantage of this gorgeous mansion we’re staying in?”

“Thank you, Seokmin,” Seungcheol grinned.

Seokmin winked back at him, “Of course, daddy.”

“How are you both so unserious about all this?”

Wonwoo left a kind hand against your shoulder, looking back at you with warm eyes and a small smile. “They’re grieving. Just in their own way.”

You sighed, crossing your arms. “They’re being ridiculous. We shouldn’t be here. We need to be at the police station or something.”

“You were there when I got the call. The creepy voice said no police or you all die. Remember?”

You shuddered, hands over your sides to relieve your chilled skin. “Of course I do, but we’re sitting ducks here. This isn’t any better. We need protection.”

It was Seungcheol’s turn to scoff then. He strutted in front of you, flaunting his wing span before flexing his arms and then crossing them over his chest. “Well, you have me.”

“And me,” Seokmin joined. “Pure muscle right here.”

“Maybe pure laughing gas, not sure about muscle. We’re actually living in a horror movie right now and you’re all making jokes.”

“Hey,” Wonwoo stroked your head as his soothingly deep voice serenaded you, “Don’t say that. We’ll make it out of here.”

His arms come around you, forearms pressed against your collarbones, and his chin crooked over your shoulder. “You have me too. I would run through that knife before it could get to you.”

You genuinely smile for the first time being there, your hand stroking over his embrace. Wonwoo delicately kissed the temple of your forehead, reminding you what it was like to be constantly adored.

You were grateful for what he had become in your life. Wonwoo had kept you company in your time of need. In the absence of Chan. He had come to your house with whatever he thought you might need, lent you his shoulder that you could cry on, lent his ears so that he could listen, lent his body that you could heal. In more ways than one.

“You’re right. You are.” You turned to face him, wrapping your arms around his body and meeting his eyes framed in specs of hard plastic. “You’re the first person I can sacrifice if we face them head to head.”

He mused at you. “Ooh, now look who’s pulling jokes.”

“Who said I was joking?”

“You two are disgustingly cute,” Minghao commented coming through the back door. “Horror movie rules: they get killed while having sex.”

You punched the new face right in the arm, watching him scurry away to your other friends laughing.

“Not funny, Hao.”

Minghao sneers at you, a jester smile still on his face. “Ease up, princess. Wonwoo, watch your girl.”

“Only because she’s so pretty to look at,” he briefly grinned down at you before directing his attention to Minghao sternly, “but come on. We’re all a little psyched right now. Cool it with the murder talk. Alright?”

Wonwoo pulled you aside into the dining area, ignoring the careless laughter outside. His thumb stroked against your knuckles, lips pressing sweetly against your cheeks. His grin sunk deeper in his cheeks the further he made it past your jaw and then down your neck. He felt your throat vibrate against his lips. “Wonwoo…”

“I can’t have all these guys get you heated like this. That’s my job,” he teased with a rasp.

You slightly pushed him off, your arms swung over his shoulders. “You’re so ridiculous right now.”

“Anything to put that smile on your face.”

His lips reconnected with your neck, nipping at your skin. His humming sent tingles down your spine, and he took your body to press you against the side of the counter. Your hands grasped his baggy shirt, lip close to his ear, fanning your breath against his face. You smiled like a girl in love. Obsessed.  “Daddy…”

“I love it when you call me that,” he mumbled, just as love-struck, if not more. Your giggles brought out the pink on Wonwoo’s ears and cheeks while tightening the groin of his pants. You noticed immediately, cupping it in your palm, and running your finger along the seam. Your eyes skimmed over his taken expression, leaning your full weight into him. “I know there’s something else you really love.”

“Do you now?”

You nodded, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. “But do you really want to do it here? Risk getting caught?”

He leaned into your touch, allowing your fingers to take apart his pants. “Try new things right? Like you always say. Plus you’re scared. Gonna turn that fear into pleasure. Make you feel good, just what my baby deserves.”

“You're so good to me, Daddy,” you moaned.

His hand finds the hem of your shorts, pulling them down to expose yourself to the cold air. He fingered through your panties and slid two digits through your folds. He felt your breath hitch as he squeezed your clit, eliciting your soft whines. “You’re so wet down there, baby.”

“Just waiting for daddy to fuck me where anyone can find us and watch.”

Wonwoo eagerly pulled down his pants, kicking them and yours aside, but not without pocketing your underwear. He lifted you up slightly from the ground, his exposed cock hitting at your hip. “Look what you do to me.”

Your throat went dry at the sight of him, hand aching to wrap your hand around his girth and have him shoved inside you.

He didn’t let you wait a second long, and pushed in slowly inch by inch, burying himself in your pussy until he was nearly balls deep. You grasped his shoulder in a gasp, savoring the fire burning in your stomach. The girth of his cock stretched your molten walls, allowing them to melt all around his cock as he spread your legs. You writhe in his embrace, your limbs closing around his lean and toned build, already blissful from the few seconds of him being inside you.

Wonwoo’s words kissed your lips, flushed your skin, and left a permanent smile on your face. It swelled pride in his chest, better than any physical trophy would have. His hips slowly rolled against yours, letting you adjust to his size. He massaged the flesh of your side through his fingers, mentally reassuring himself you were his and his alone, but his names on your lips became more than proof.

Your hips buckled towards him in heat, matching his pace before the carnal side of him decided to fuck you like an animal. His cock then plunged sharply inside you, and then again, a whimper coming out of your lips. Your hips stuttered the harder he pounded, arching your back, you felt his hand above your ass, pushing you against him.

“Daddy…”

He lost control when it came to you, addicted—religious—the second your body came in contact with his. He loved how your fingers ran through his hair, not caring how his glasses fell off his face in the process. With drool out of the corner of his lips, he could feel the blood rush up to the surface of your skin, making him feel warm at home inside you. Throbbing, he only got harder feeling how perfectly snug you were, pricking his clammy skin with goosebumps as he bottomed out.

“You’re sopping, precious,” he murmured with a sly grin.

He had you begging, flustered, and beautiful. Your hand clasped his face as your other arm looped around his neck, swallowing his lips, anxious and thirsty for his breath. You craved every part of him viscerally. “Cum in me, daddy. Please…”

He scoffed, lips ghosting over yours. “Will you take every bit of daddy’s cum, hmm? Hold my cum inside you.”

You nodded gingerly. “Yes, yes. I promise, daddy. Give it to me please, I want you to spill your cum inside me and make me yours…”

“Hold on to me.”

You obliged, met with the hot stream of his climax, yours quick to follow. He embraced your sides, devouring your lips and muffling your whines. His loads pumped into you in erratic thrusts, fucking his cum back into you and making sure you drained him of every ounce. His fingers dug into your flesh, feeling you just come apart for him, undoing the tension that festered earlier.

But that tension was needed. It was necessary to survive. Everyone let themselves forget the current predicament, basking in the glow of the sunset until dinner time arrived. Despite the housekeeper that supposedly exists, she hadn’t been around since all of you stepped foot in the house, like a ghost presence. Seungcheol scrambled to find her—reminding you of his peculiar obsession with the woman—as he wondered when dinner would be ready since a rise in temperature or a savory scent couldn’t be found in the kitchen.

“That’s strange. She’d be finished with a whole chicken by now,” the homeowner commented, noticeably picking his nails.

“Aww,” Seokmin groaned, “Well, is there anything else to eat?”

“I mean…you can look around.”

You narrowed your eyes at him in disbelief. “This is your house. You don’t know what you have in your own house?”

“You try navigating a five-story home with countless cabinets!”

“Buy a smaller house, you prick!”

“Guys!” Minghao chimed in. “Breathe in…and out. We’ll just find food. Seungcheol, your maid, your house, your search. She’s probably fine.”

Your hands slammed against those pristine marble counters. “We are NOT splitting up right now. This is what the killer wants. She’s probably already dead and we’re fucked.”

Wonwoo came to your side, laying a cool calm over your shoulder, and rubbed your sides. You let yourself melt in his touch, his sweet voice soothing you effectively. 

Seokmin sat up from his stool, “Okay, okay. I will help Seungcheol and you guys stick together.”

“That’s still splitting up!”

“Better than alone.” Seungcheol rebutted. “You guys stay.”

Despite your protests, they went on their search. Your head banged against Wonwoo’s chest, muttering in anguish about how everything was going wrong and that it’d only get worse. Meanwhile, Minghao seemed to regain some of that tension but masked the fear with the bright light of his phone, scrolling through TikTok. You didn’t know what was more annoying, sensation of imminent death possibly behind any door, or the same five songs replaying on Minghao’s feed.

After 15 minutes when they were nowhere to be seen, your patience had run thin. You picked yourself up from Wonwoo’s lap and dusted yourself off. “Fuck this. We’re finding them.”

You felt his hand on your shoulder, a concerned glow in his gaze. “Babe, hey. They’ve got it. Trust them.”

“Wonwoo, you know I can’t do that. Let’s just find them, hmm? Together?”

“Not a bad idea,” Minghao agreed. “Better in groups right? We go together, eliminate us as any potential suspects.”

Your boyfriend sighed, collected your hand, and laced his fingers through yours. “Fine.”

You were all joined together by the hip, making sure you were each other's sights. Through the wider than wingspan hallways, past the ridiculously expensive sculptures, you kept your eyes out for your estranged friends. Silence couldn’t have been more loud in these cavernous spaces, only hearing the gut feelings in your stomachs that’s churned in trepidation. Every step taken was the group closing in on the killer. 

Fortitude meant nothing if the danger was already inside.

Before turning around the corner, Minghao—reluctant to lead the group—crashed into a human-sized obstacle, causing the stumble of your entire party. You all faced a wide-eyed Seungcheol with the missing young housekeeper walking hand in hand with him. Suspicious, but besides the point.

“Holy shit, we said we’d come back!”

“It’s been 20 minutes, Cheol! You guys could’ve been dead for all we know.” You retorted.

“Wait, where’s Seokmin?” Wonwoo asked, noticing he didn’t see him nearby.

“He went ahead. He needed to piss or something and meet up later.”

“You idiot.” Your eyes burned a frustrated rage. “I said don't split up. DON’T SPLIT UP! That’s the number one rule of horror movies. You’re going get us fucking killed. He could be the murderer for all we know.”

Seungcheol scoffed, shaking his head. “Seokmin? No way. He’s the last person to even think to do that.”

“Well, do you see him? No! Probably he’s off someone being Ghostface reject with his stupid little voice modulator and cheap party city costume.”

“I told you—“ Before he could finish, his phone went off in the nick of time. When he pulled it out to saw Seokmin’s caller ID on display and the owner of the device wouldn’t help but smile. “See the bastard is even calling.”

He picked up and put him on speaker, eyeing you cheekily, amped to prove you wrong. “Seok, you little shit. How long does it take to piss, huh? Just say you wanted to take a dump.”

“Oh yeah, I took the shittiest, stinkiest, fattest dump. You could probably smell all the way from the other end of the hall.”

Instead of Seokmin on the other line, all of you were met with the eerie voice that had called you multiple times before. The voice that felt like spiders crawling up your legs. The voice that had you second guess whether you locked the front and the back door. The voice whose owner had killed countless people already. 

Seungcheol held the phone in a vice grip swallowing, fear stilling in his unsteady eyes. “You—Where the fuck is Seokmin, you son of a bitch?”

The morphed voice on the other end laughed, sounding bone chilling as nails against a blackboard. “What’s to say? Why don’t we play a little game to find out?”

“Mother fu—“You grabbed the phone from Seungcheol to answer in his place, cutting the older man off. “Why go through with this?”

“Why, I just want to help you find your beloved friend. All out of the kindness of my heart.”

“If it was all kindness, you could tell us where he is.”

“Where’s the fun in that?”

“Psycho,” Minghao muttered under his breath, eyes wide in shock and fear, as if registering the idea of death for the first time.

“And if we refuse?” Wonwoo interjected.

“Seokmin dies, rock for brains,” Seungcheol gritted.

“Ding, ding, ding. Or should I say, chop, chop, chop, since that’s what'll happen if you get any of my questions wrong.”

You scoffed, coming down the stairs with your friends to follow. “Have at it then, you freak.”

“Hey, hey, play nice. Maybe I’ll get too excited and decide to cut him up early.”

Seungcheol glared at you briefly before taking back the phone, storming down the stairs, and reaching the ground floor. “Ask away, as long as Seokmin is safe.”

“First an easy one. What’s your favorite scary movie, Seungcheol?”

His feet stopped at the end of the couch in his living room, stammering to answer. “What kind of fucking question—uh, The Ring?”

“Don’t lie to your friends, Seungcheol. You know that’s not the answer, that’s just what you say to anyone that asks. Say the real answer.”

“That’s the movie though!” he started to shout, visibly shaking.

“Just say it, Cheol!” Minghao pushed.

“Stop playing around Choi Seungcheol! Just say it,” You joined.

“Fine!” He faced the friends, evidently swallowing his pride as he choked up on his answer. “I never watched a goddamn scary movie! Is that what you want to hear? I get panic attacks every time I hear one in the background, why do you I’m always going off smoking when you guys put one on,” he confessed through his tears.

“Congratulations. Your first right answer. Now was that so hard? Pussy boy?”

“Fuck you,” Seungcheol sputtered, tossing the phone back to you.

“Next question. ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre,’ Leatherface is known for wearing a mask when it was in fact several. How many and what were they in the original movie?”

“Who the fuck would know an answer like that?” Minghao croaked in disbelief.

“Three. A ‘Killing Mask’, an ‘Old Lady Mask’ and a ‘Pretty Woman Mask.’” Wonwoo calmly answers, garnering horrified looks all around. “I wanted to be a filmmaker, remember?”

“Correct. Next question. What Was Freddy Krueger's serial killer nickname before he died?”

“It’s on the tip of my tongue,” you said slightly panicked, “Wonwoo?”

“The Springwood slasher.”

“Wow, Another amazingly correct answer. Hold on to that one, Y/n. He’s a keeper. He’s smart and fucks your brains out to the point of you screaming bloody murder? What a catch.”

You didn’t respond, impatience seething on the tip of your tongue, “Just tell us where this is all going.”

“Patience, sweetheart. Last question. What exact kind of knife does Ghostface use in the Stab movies? Here’s a hint: it’s the same one I’m holding in my hand against Seokmin’s throat. (Help me please...)”

“S-Seok.” Seungcheol gasped.

Seokmin’s voice could barely be heard on the other end, weak and afraid, only staggering breaths audible.

“Wonwoo, please,” Seungcheol begged, tears falling past his neck. “He’s our best friend.”

Wonwoo swallowed, gears visibly creaking in his head, “I know he uses a hunting knife, b-but—“

“Oh…” the voice cooed, “Well, that’s just not enough, is it? Seokminnie, say goodbye to your friends (Please, no…).”

“Seokmin!”

“Wait!” You barged, clutching the phone to the point of it almost bending. “A modified Buck 120. I remember now. It’s coming back to me. Now, let Seokmin go!”

The line went dead and in turn, light cast in the evening darkness of the poolside. All your eyes shot back at the change of light, startled at the sight in front of them. Seokmin was seated in a chair, bruises against his sides, bleeding from the splices on his forearms, and duct tape over his mouth. Yet the most frightening part was his closed eyes.

“Seokmin!”

You all rushed towards him, swinging the porch door in a panic. Seungcheol tried slapping him awake, pleading he’d be alive. “Seokmin please, please, wake up…

The poor victim's eyes start to flicker open, mumbling through the adhesive over his lips.

“Buddy,” Seungcheol ripped the duct tape clean off him, his ear coming up to his friend’s lips. “Speak to me…”

Seokmin’s voice came out in croaks, hardly incoherently, all except, “Be…hind…”

Minghao spat up blood, doubled over as Ghostface was revealed right behind him, and fell right into the pool. You and the housekeeper both let out a blood-curdling scream. The masked intruder wiped off the blood using his black rope, anticipating a lunge towards their next victim. 

“Run,” Wonwoo breathed out. 

He took your hand and ran with it. Taking a second to look back, you see Seungcheol and the housekeeper try to escape similarly before she was tugged right back towards the killer and she was stabbed right in front of him five times, each one faster than the last, having the poor Seungcheol paralyzed and fallen on his knees. The sounds of suffering were loud enough to hear throughout the neighborhood.

Wonwoo dragged you back upstairs, his survival instinct telling him to seek haven high and far up the house. 

“You left them there to die,” You proclaimed.

“He said he could manage it. You’re more important.”

“You actually believe that? Ghostface snuck up on Minghao with neither of us looking!”

“We’re going to have to. Secungcheol can handle himself.”

Finally, he finds the room, closing the door behind him and pushing heavy furniture in front of it for more time to stall. “We’ll be ok for a little bit here. Let’s look for weapons.”

He started rummaging through drawers, looking for anything strap, blunt, heavy, anything worth using. He was red in the face, sweat drenching his entire body. The only thing running through his mind was keeping you, the most important person in his life, safe. 

“Wonwoo, I don’t know if we’re going to find anything. Fuck. I’m so scared right now.”

He recognized the panic in your eyes, the bounce in your step, and the quiver in your voice. “Hey, hey, baby. Look at me.” He grasped your face in his hands, wiping your tears away with his thumb. 

“I’m here, hmm.” He kissed your closed eyes. “You’re alright.”

Then your tempered cheeks. “We’ll get through this.”

The tip of your nose. “I love you like hell.” 

Finally your trembling lips. “I’ll keep you alive.”

“Promise?” You managed to breathe out.

“Scouts honor.”

The banging resonated from outside the locked door, only getting louder and closer every passing second as if teasing you to death. You shook in Wonwoo’s embrace, burying your face in his chest. “I don’t want to die here, baby.”

“You won’t. Not with me.” One arm wrapped around your body, and another had his fingers locked around the base of a lamp, tugging it from the outlet. Pitch darkness joined you, only having to rely on the dim-lit sky through the peek of the windows.

Whomever on the other side cracked through the wood of the door, breaking it piece by piece as it fell to the ground, knocking over the dresser that blocked 

“Shit, shit, shit.” Wonwoo pushed you behind him.

Finally, your barrier came down with a final kick, rendering it useless. Wonwoo let out a battle cry, charging at them with the lamp above his head. He swung his weapon while Ghostface swung theirs, both missing simultaneously. Gritting his teeth, Wonwoo pulled forward, aiming for the head.

They crash against the wall in the process, but not without mutilating the midsection of Wonwoo’s stomach. The visually impaired man fell back to the ground, groaning in agony as he clutched his stomach, while blood trickled through his fingers. “Mother fucker...”

Wonwoo’s vision started to fight against him with the loss of his glasses, dimming images before him, and slowly processing the murderous figure trodding before him. Wonwoo’s determination picked him right back up slowly, picking up his lamp once again, trying to take another move toward the perpetrator. And by pure luck, the lamp crashed against the crown of their head.

Ghostface stumbled back, quick to recover but visibly agitated.  Soon enough, they plunged the full length of the knife right into Wonwoo’s gut, sticking it deep and long before kicking him off of it. Wonwoo lands on the hardwood, blood gushing out of him like a public water fountain. “Fuck, fuck!”

“Wonwoo!” You come by his side, clutching at his wound desperately. “No, no, no.”

The sinister figure approached once more, hand creeping against the edge before he pulled it over and off his head. His eyes stared back at you both maniacally. His grin stretched from both ends freakishly before overtaking in deep chuckles. “Happy to see me?”

“…C-Chan?” Wonwoo managed to gasp.

“Hi, bestie.” His signature smile, once warm and inviting, reflected horrifyingly as if out of a film, one with too much bloodshed and betrayal to imagine. “Well, didn’t think you’d see me again, huh?”

“Chan, what the fuck?” You screeched. 

“You’re supposed to be dead.” Wonwoo voiced panic-stricken. “What, how?”

One foot over the other, Chan carried himself with conviction, ease, and the confidence of a man who slaughtered countless amounts of people. 

“You guys don't know how easy it is to fake my death. I was surprised by how incredibly stupid police officers are. Find a body that’s my height, my build, cut off their hands and arms to not get their fingerprints, singe their skin and face to the point of unrecognition, and plant them in your own home. I’m a fucking genius.”

“S-Seungkwan,” Wonwoo wept, his adam’s apple, “You actually—”

“It was beautiful. Masterful.”

“Why?” Wonwoo stammered. “Your best friend—“

“He was an imbecile. Weak. All bark and no bite. You will never understand how good it felt to stick the knife inside him and watch the blood burst off of him like a sprinkler. Like the knife going in and out of him surged power throughout my entire body. So, I kept doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. And doing it. AND DOING IT.”

His smile. That violating smile.

You sobbed, covering Wonwoo’s wound with your hands. “Y-you monster.”

“This was all just fun for you?” Wonwoo bared his teeth. “You get your kicks from lying, deceiving, stabbing your friends? You think you’re some Billy Loomis?”

“Of course I have fun. I had lots of fun. We had so much fucking fun.”

“We?” Wonwoo repeated.

“What the fuck do you mean we?” You asked horrified.

Chan started to chuckle to himself, chest heaving exuberantly before he stood completely still. Dreadfully still. 

“Well, I'm not the one that killed Joshua, am I?”

A million guesses ran through Wonwoo’s brain. None made sense the more he thought about it. “Your Stu Macher? Seokmin…Seungcheol…?”

Your eyes turned to him fearful, before it melted into something else, something familiar. Something terrifying. “No…” your lips drew close to his ear. “Me…” 

Your hands squeezed around his wound, gripping, earning his moans of anguish, screaming at you to stop, before you retrieved the knife hidden behind your boot and drove it into his shoulder. Wonwoo let out the loudest scream he could ever muster, feeling the blade sharply cut his nerve whilst pain shot into his chest. He tapped his heel incessantly on the ground, tears streaming from his eyes, looking at you in disbelief, overcome with hurt.

“And he was a good fuck too until the knife I put through his back made him scream like a little bitch.”

You pulled out the knife from him, seeing how the pain he felt in his body only complimented the suffering pooling in his heart, his mind, his soul. His lips quivered in your direction, sucking in his breath. “Y/n…Why?”

You simply shrugged. “Why does anyone kill these days? They’re bored, daddy. Same reason why things can change in the bedroom, to spice things up. The flavor of life is murder now, darling.”

“You’re killing people.”

You drove the knife one more time into his thigh, savoring his scream of agony. “And we’re more alive than we ever have been,” you said, twisting the knife before pulling it out.

You walked toward Chan, helping him pull off his robe. “And so is our sex life.”

“So, Junhui, Soonyoung…Joshua, and even Seungkwan.” Wonwoo asked, catching his breath.

“Every. single. one,” You chuckled. “Draining their cum out of like having a second puberty until life is literally drained out of their bodies. What a bunch of pussy boys. So obsessed with sex, they didn’t see the knife coming their way.”

Your hand reached for the ottoman and pushed Chan there to be seated, underdressed in the black tank top and black jeans he hid underneath with his momentarily abandoned bloody knife at his side. You unbuckled his pants single-handedly, your knife still in your other hand. “And Chan just gets so fucking hard with all the bloodshed. Like a bloodthirsty animal.”

“You just look so fucking sexy with blood on your hands,” Chan moaned, “Touch me how I like it, baby.”

“Mmh, my pleasure.” Your hand used the blood covering it as a morbid form of lube, closing around the girth of his cock to squeeze and lightly stroking it from base to tip, softly thumbing over the small slit on top. 

His stomach flexed, bucking his hips in your direction as he bit down on his bottom lip, beaming like a child on Christmas. Horny for your touch, Chan couldn’t help but squirm in his seat, warning up to your touch. He was absolutely growing at a rapid pace. “Like that baby, like that.”

“That feel good, daddy? You like how the blood is covering your entire cock? Seokmin’s blood, Minghao’s blood, Seungcheol’s blood? Wonwoo’s blood?”

“Fuck. Yes.”

“You two,” Wonwoo’s shock couldn’t stagger from the scene in front of him, unable to process all this information at once.

“You’re massaging our friends into my cock so good, baby.”

“Yeah?” You traced your fingers over the details of his shaft, your nails prodding at the veins as your hand slowly picked up pace. You rolled him in your fist, letting him rut in your defiled hand as he moaned your name like an animal in heat. “I’m getting so wet watching fuck in my hand covered in blood. You’re just a sick lunatic obsessed with killing your friends and fucking my sweet pussy. I love that about you, Daddy.”

“Fuck,” he screamed, hands gripping the ottoman in restraint, brimming with passion, “Wanna mix Wonwoo’s cum you kept inside you with the blood. Sit that sweet pussy on my cock for me, lover.”

You nodded invitingly, not missing a beat. You never did replace the underwear from before, making it easy to remove your shorts and sliding him inside your warm walls, massaging his length as you rolled your hips against his. You held the knife you still had in a death grip, stabling against the reliability of Chan’s shoulders. You mumble his name pleased, arching your back as you grinded down on his lap. “Your cock feels so good covered in blood, daddy.” 

“Your pussy feels even better knowing how much fun you had stabbing Wonwoo for me.”

“Of course, daddy.” You turned to the body mutilated and defenseless on the ground, grinning as Wonwoo was forced to watch. “That look good, Daddy Wonwoo?” Your ass bounced purposely in Chan’s lap, the jiggle showing off the splatter of blood left from the handjob.

Everything in Wonwoo told him to look away but he couldn’t, like a train wreck or a car crash, he couldn’t part with the mess of a situation he was witnessing. He wasn't sure what this meant for him, mentally nor physically.

“You like watching Chan fuck me, Daddy? His bloody dirty cock fucking me like you did a hour ago, fucking me like a nasty little whore.”

He hissed through his teeth, right the strange feeling surging in his pain-stricken body, “Shut…the fuck up.”

You laughed obnoxiously. “You love it. You love being a little cuck, watching other guys fuck my pussy. As if you hadn’t peeped on me and Chan fucking when he wasn’t ‘dead’.”

“It’s not true, you bitch.” The twitch in his trousers told him otherwise.

“You’re such a liar a dirty, dirty liar like I’m a dirty, dirty fucking whore.” You groaned loudly taking Chan’s cock, bouncing against his lap as you felt him pulse around your walls.

“That’s right baby take my cock.” Chan’s hand came over your bare cheeks, striking them with his full palms while his hips jerked up your body. “Taking the murder fueled, hard fucking cock.”

“Daddy, your cock is making me so fucking wet, stretching my pussy the way you sliced open our friends,” You growled.

“Fuck you’re such a little succubus, baby. Bouncing on my cock, coating yourself in blood. And I’ll kill more and more for you. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Yeah,” You began slowing your pace, drinking in his every word. “You’d do anything for me?”

“I’d kill the entire human population for you.”

That left you smiling from ear to ear, the tension coiling in your stomach. Your chest pressed against his, pushing against his thrusts. “Yeah? Would you cum in me, Daddy? Mix our dirty mess inside me. Let me take your cum, daddy.”

“I’ll let you drain me of every drop, my little psychopath.”

“Cum daddy cum, make me full and breed me with our homicidal baby daddy. Make you a real daddy.”

Chan shuddered, overwhelmed with immense arousal. His hips found life of their own, hammering into you at top speed, and watching the pleasure morph on your face and the staccato rhythm of your breath leave your lips, all while the load threatened to burst out of his sack. “I’m cumming, baby, all for you, ah—“ then it exploded inside you. His cum launched out of his cock like a hose, he painted your wall in milky white, turning pink as it seeped out of you.

“I’m so close, daddy…”

Chan threw his head back to catch his breath, hands possessively finding purchases on your hips. “That’s it, baby. cum for daddy.”

“I’m cuming daddy, I’m—“ You gripped your knife, taking Chan’s abandoned one before plunging both in his head. His smile dropped, a small and weak, “baby” leaving his sweet lips before spitting up blood on your chest and he fell limp. 

You didn’t stop, however, given the fact that your orgasm had just arrived the mere second Chan tasted metal in his mouth. Your moans could’ve been mistaken for anguish if not for the smile on your savage face. “I’m cumming all over your cock, Daddy, fuck! You’re so good to me, you do so much for me. I love you so much. Hitting my spot even in death.”

The wave of climax finally started to fade, unlike your smile, wretched and demonic. “Thank you for your sacrifice, Daddy. I’ll miss you so much.” You kissed deceased Chan’s lips, coming down from him, and fixing his pants before fixing his pants before pulling your shorts back on your body.

“Y/n…what the fuck?”

Watching you pull the knives out of Chan’s head, Wonwoo's expression was a mix of confusion and horror, struggling to back away as you approached him calmly, almost serenely.

“Chan has served his purpose,” You answered plainly as if obvious. “It was his time.”

“You did that, all that, with him, and you MURDER HIM? Your partner in sick, sick psychotic crime?”

“I told you spice was necessary, plus I’ve grown rather fond of you.” You bent down to his level, eyes noticeably just a deep pit of disparity. “I couldn’t let him kill you, so I beat him to it. Good thing too, because that was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.”

Wonwoo whimpered under your touch—well, the knife’s touch—as the tip of it dragged over his jaw, drawing out a shudder. “Y-you’re letting me live?”

Your smile. That damned smile. You and Chan were mere reflections of each other. How had he not seen this sick image sooner?

“As long as it's with me, because you love me right? That’s what you said. You’ll always love me and keep me alive. You promised.”

You pressed the blade against his neck, “You’re cold-blooded. Fucking your dead friend’s girlfriend, leaving your other friends to die to save me, and taking on a mass murderer just for me.” Your other hand caressed over his face. “That’s hard fucking core, baby. I love that so much. You really love and want me. Well, I want you just as bad.”

“Like you wanted Chan?”

You scoffed, using the knife to point at the abandoned soulless body on the ground. “Chan was disposable. He was already fucked up in the brain. I can nurture you, let you prove you’re that you’re mine and only mine. Then I’d have no reason to kill you. Not at all…say you’ll be with me forever.”

“…yes, sweetie. O-of course I will.”

You sighed a breath of relief, your harmless hand coming over to stroke over the stray hairs on his head. “That’s my daddy. My one and only. We can be the finals. Together. Only us—”

“Hello! Wonwoo! Y/n!” Miraculously, Seungcheol found their way to you, barely alive it sounds like.

Rage filled your eyes. “Holy fuck how is he still alive,” you mumbled under your breath. “I’ll take care of him.”

You held the knife to your side, standing by the door and away from its open view. “Cheol! In here! We caught the killer!”

Seungcheol managed to find the defaced door, peeking through the rubble to see a disheveled Wonwoo, panting and close to death. “Wonwoo!”

“Cheol…” Wonwoo grunted. 

“Hang in there, buddy. I’ve got you.”

“To…your…right.”

You glared at Wonwoo, betrayal in your eyes before launching yourself at the hero, who hardly had a scratch on their body. Seungcheol, taking his friend's warning in consideration, built up a wall of defense. His eyes caught you just in time and held up your arms, pinning you against a wall. His eyes finally registered on your face, and his grip on you only tightened. “Y/n, you evil little bitch.”

You chuckled tauntingly, struggling against his weight and strength. “Hi, Cheol. I know you always wanted to stick something in me, mind letting me do it first?”

“You—wow, you’re actually mentally deranged.”

“You don’t like that? Maybe my knife through your skull can change your mind.”

He kicked you in the groin, having you plummet to your knees, cusses streaming out of you like a river. “You pussy. Ass. Bitch.”

“Seungcheol,” Wonwoo groaned, painfully cheering him on.

You managed to kick Seungcheol down in your distress, crawling on top of him to gain leverage. “I know you liked to be topped.”

You held the knife, hands wrapped tightly around the handle before striking. Meanwhile, Seungcheol’s hands were wrapped around your wrists, the tip of the knife tickling his nose. Sweat beaded against his forehead, struggling harder than he thought he would as you smiled still.

“This would be a lot sexier if you let me run my knife inside you, baby.”

“Fuck you and your demented punk ass,” he grunted.

“I would if you’d just FUCKING DIE!”

A gunshot follows soon after and the blood gushed from your neck, pouring from both ends and falling lifelessly against Seungcheol, who let out a shrill scream.

“I found a gun,” Seokmin proclaimed weakly from the door before fainting to the ground.

Seungcheol rolled your body off of him, sick to his stomach. “Sick crazy bitch.”

He looked towards his friend who remained helpless his entire journey before his eyes got caught on the dead body he only realized now. “Is that…”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo whispered.

“And they…”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck, dude.”

Seungcheol went around to pick up Seokmin from the ground, grabbing the gun. Meanwhile, Wonwoo’s eyes lingered over your body, in disbelief it was alive a mere second ago, then he saw something strange, causing his eyes to fly open. “Cheol behind you!”

Another gunshot. Right between your eyes and your body that stood for hardly a second longer than it should’ve—of course with the knife still in your hand—fell right back on the ground.

“They always come back,” Wonwoo quoted.

Seungcheol let out a deep exhale, loosening his grip around the gun. “And aim for the head.”

“Sorry about your house.”

“…sorry about your girlfriend.”

“Me too.”

post reading a/n: always like me to insert chan into anything fr. i have no excuses

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @homerunhansol @goblinvern @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @6969lilithcat @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @smileysuh (felt fucked up not to tag you bc you’re fucked it just like me 💕)

[siringadev]

I was thinking about why I love Nero so much, and I realized that there is not only something so magnetic and unique about him and his design, but how the core of his whole personality is built on a deep love for Weiss, despite the fact that he is an antihero and does not very good things (first under orders from Shinra, since he is a Deepground soldier, and then out of duress, to summon Omega = to revive Weiss), but all this is out of desperation and love. I do not know any other character inside the FF7 world and beyond, who is so motivated to act out of love as Nero. Even take other iconic pairs of loving brothers (because it is brother's love that is depicted as the strongest in JP games and anime), their motivations were different, and love was secondary.

Take Itachi and Sasuke, for example.

Itachi is stated to have a very strong love for Sasuke, but what he does ultimately causes Sasuke great pain. Yes, Itachi wanted to save him, but at what cost? And his main motive was: to prevent a world war. So, at the cost of his clan's life and Sasuke's mental health, he does something terrible, and I still can't accept it as an act of love. It seems such an unhealthy, twisted form of love, illogical and scary.

And yet, I cried watching those scenes where Itachi reveals the truth, where Sasuke cries, everything is built to squeeze out tears.

Next, Madara and Izuna.

It is stated that he loved Izuna, and loved him even more than Itachi loves Sasuke. And how is this shown and proven? Well, it seems like almost nothing. Madara's main motivation is to become the strongest shinobi, to take control of the world and establish his own order, and thereby establish peace through strict control and then through magical illusions when he became disillusioned with contradictory and rebellious human nature. I understand his motivations, and he is one of the most admired character in Naruto. But what does love have to do with it? Izuna is not even present in his motivation. He simply died and caused Madara's grief, making him cruel and aggressive. And also gave him his eyes. But what besides this?

As for the others, like Lothric-Lorian from Dark souls, their connection was forced by the curse, and their motivation is simply to disobey their superiors. Their essence is nihilism and fatalism. Love is just an accompanying quality.

Not to mention Miquella, who did not show love as a personal emotion, although it seems he should embody universal love. We just can't see his love for Radahn or Godwyn or anyone to the point that we start to wonder if there was love at all? Or if there was love but it wasn't shown? So he is out of the love list.

If we talk about the love of Sephiroth, Cloud and other characters of FF7, they are so far from ultimate love that it does not even occur to me what can be said. Probably, Sephiroth wanted to love, but could not find anyone, suffering from loneliness and his own inability to build healthy relationships, and Cloud had many friends whom he valued, but never found "the one and only", whom he would love completely and unconditionally (which is why ship-wars still rage). It seems that Sephiroth could have become that one and only, considering how much Cloud idolized him, but Sephiroth ruined everything. Yes, Shinra is to blame for this, but partly it is Sephiroth's character, his selfishness and inability to put someone else's feelings above his own. Considering that Nero and Weiss grew up in much worse conditions than Sephiroth, and suffered abuse and pain from Shinra that Sephiroth did not experienced, yet somehow they were able to form the strongest bonds of love with each other and the healthiest relationships with each other (not toxic, not abusive, but built on loyalty, devotion, trust, unity and intimacy).

Sephiroth was so unlucky in love that even his own clones wanted to leave him in the DFFOO, and Weiss even laughed at this, telling Sephiroth that his puppet (Kadaj) cut his strings. And Kadaj, embodying young Sephiroth personality, longed for a family and to find someone who understood and cared for him, and he saw this in the illusionary form of Jenova. Sephiroth could have given him this care and love, but he simply used him as a tool, which hurt Kadaj. As for Weiss, he remembers Nero as the only one who understands him and cares for him, someone without whom he feels incomplete.

"Without Nero, there is no me" - this shows Weiss and Nero's relationship from Weiss' perspective. In DoC, we see their love from Nero's perspective and might have doubted about the reciprocity, but DFFOO shows that Weiss loves Nero as much as Nero loves Weiss.

Each case is unique, and each deserves its own respect and admiration. I simply analyzed one aspect, like love in a character, and came to the conclusion that Nero may be the strongest embodiment of this love at the moment.

[galaxymagitech]

I was asked for context and comics panels for my previous post about that time Bruce got himself and Cass drugged on purpose so they could fight because “She had things she needed to get off her chest. I did too.”

It’s not…quite as bad as it sounds, but it’s definitely unhinged. And honestly, I think it's still pretty bad.

So, first: context. Bruce fires Cass from Batgirl and sends her off to a nice apartment alone. Cass feels that Bruce is pushing her away and challenges him to fight her in Batgirl (2000) #50. Bruce says he doesn’t want to fight her, but Cass insists that he’s lying. (The fact that he's lying will become important later.)

They fight a little, with Bruce mostly just keeping Cass away and defending himself as necessary. In the process, they are both exposed to a chemical agent called Soul, which is “the liquified essence of pain, bitterness, frustration, and rage.” Oh, and inhaling it turns you into a homicidal maniac.

Bruce tells Cass to stop fighting him because he doesn’t want to hurt her. The phrasing...doesn't sound good out of context: "Stop this now, Cass. Before I'm forced to hurt you." But he means it literally; Soul will make Bruce hurt her. Cass is like, “hah, like you could.”

So they fight. This time, it’s an all-out battle.

I tried to get some shots of Cass hitting Bruce, but couldn't find any good ones. Because of Batman’s gadgets he surprisingly seems to be winning this fight. And also there’s the fact that Cass isn’t really fighting to hurt Bruce, but actually trying to kiss him on the cheek (it’s complicated).

Dick tries to interfere (of course he does) and gets punched in the face by Cass for his trouble.

Batman ends up causing an explosion on a bridge and they almost drown, but Cass kisses him on the cheek the way she had to fight David Cain to do when she was younger, and the drug seems to have worn off when they surface.

Right. So, excluding the fact that Bruce seems to want Cass to be more loyal to him than Barbara (maybe that’s an uncharitable interpretation, but it certainly seems like it to me), it’s kind of sweet. They cuddle the way Cass’s father never let her and Cass says she’s loyal to the concept of the Bat. Sure, they fought pretty violently, but they were under the influence of a rage drug, right?

Well, they were, but...

So, I want to point out a few things here.

Bruce had the equipment to prevent this and expected the exposure, but chose not to protect himself and Cass from the drug.

Bruce states that fighting and violence is "the core of [Cass's] being...of her soul." Which is just...wrong, in my opinion. The core of her being is her empathy and compassion, not fighting. She was trained in violence since birth, and yet Bruce so easily judges her to be nothing more than that at her core. And I think that's kind of horrifying.

The fight wasn't just to help Cass express herself. Bruce explicitly states that he also had things to get off his chest. And apparently his method of getting things off his chest is...hitting fighting Cass while they're both under the influence of rage drugs.

Yeah. Anyway, it...does seem to have worked. Cass and Bruce resolved their issues with the fight. And Cass doesn't seem mad at Bruce. But it is admittedly an extremely questionable mentoring technique.

(Later on, Bruce uses violence towards his mentee again as a form of "communication" when he hits Tim on a rooftop in Batman (2016) #71. I don't know that these two incidents are really comparable from a "is Bruce a bad parent" perspective, but they do create a through-line of Bruce using violence as communication. I doubt the writers of Batman #71 were purposefully calling back to a post-crisis Batgirl comic, but it still wasn't a new idea at the time.)

(Batman (2016) #81)

Yeah. Bruce and Cass have plenty of sweet moments, but some of the stuff in Batgirl (2000) is pretty messed up.

[neyafromfrance95]

Can I just say I kind of feel sorry for the writers because you can tell they conceived the show as revolving around Haladriel and they really don’t want to deal with the Celeborn issue so they play lip service while writing something completely different lol.

To be fair though Tolkien himself wasn’t interested in him or him and Galadriel as a pairing especially when you compare how he writes his epic romances. It really feels like he was put there so we can get Arwen pretty much. And then she leaves without him to Valinor while he’s left mourning her which 🤣.

But yeah as far as the show goes if they didn’t want fans to see Haladriel as romantic they would have shown her grieving Celeborn…instead of falling in love with her arch enemy. This is just my opinion though but you can’t say how much she loves and grieves Celeborn while showing the complete opposite on the show. There was a way to center the relationship between her and Sauron without it being framed as romantic/soulmates but they didn’t which tells you everything you need to know.

exactly!

even before trop, it has been believed that the only reason tolkien wrote celeb0rn was to somehow connect galadriel to arwen and elrond.

the initial plan was for gal to marry elrond, but tolkien wanted galadriel to be the leader in her own right (it is her main defining trait) and keep doing her own thing. he did not want her to be defined by her husband/child. if she was married to elrond, she would be known as elrond's wife/arwen's mother first. so he gave her a npc family in the background instead.

but even then, i'd say her relationship with elrond is still more important in the books. and in the movies, she even seems closer to gandalf, lmao. so i'd say it would be better to focus on her relationship with elrond and establish her friendship with gandalf rather than introduce a new love interest (bc yeah, even if it's not explicitly romantic, haladriel is romantically framed).

btw, don't even get me started about how everyone seems to forget about finrod??? the one galadriel misses, the real "third" between her and sauron, her "guiding light" IS FINROD! nenya symbolizes galadriel's desire for power = sauron and galadriel's light/wisdom she got from finrod! nenya was made by sauron's design and using finrod's dagger! it's like sauron and finrod's battle continues within galadriel.

i don't dislike celeb0rn, but i think it's crazy that he was created so that galadriel can't be reduced to the domestic role and yet certain segments of the fandom do that anyways - reduce her to being her npc family's wife/mother in the show that intends to explore other aspects of her story and identity!

and idk man, but i feel like tolkien must have had some ideas for sauron and galadriel. "he gropes ever to see me and my thought" feels very significant. and they mirror each other in several ways as well.

trop does a fantastic job at giving this dynamic context. galadriel's greatest desire is to possess power, sauron's greatest desire is to posses the light. it makes sense for them to have a push-pull dynamic that's both intimate and cosmic in its' essence. the perfect way to expand on all the little details connecting sauron and galadriel in the lore. and it's just a fascinating story on its' own!

it would be such a waste to discard this dynamic for the sake of introducing the character that was never supposed to be that important. especially considering that the writers seem to have the show conceived with haladriel as its' core in their minds.

[samiiy20]

Tits, ass or thighs w/ stray kids (hyung line)

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: ot8 x reader 𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐞: smut 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 911 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: spanking, degradation, hair pulling, sex, nipple play

masterlist II tag list ll maknae line

This content NOT is for minors!!!

This is merely entertainment, this does not represent any real person.

It is forbidden to copy or translate my work.

English NO is my first language.

bang chang: ass

He just can't resist when you walk around the house in nothing but panties and one of his shirts.

He likes to put you on all fours and watch your back arch while he holds your butt tightly.

He likes to watch your butt turn red with his hands and hear you moan while he does it.

Your mind was blank, you couldn't think of anything other than Bang chan's hands on your waist and how he hit your insides with his cock. Your legs were tired and your hands could no longer support your own weight.

"Come on honey, give me one more"

The only thing that came out of your mouth were desperate moans as your back arched. You bit your lip as you felt Bang chan's hand land on your ass and clenched your insides around his cock.

Bang chan struggled to continue but when he looked down at your cute ass and heard his name he couldn't resist any longer and released his load feeling you doing the same. He lay on your back and you moaned as you felt his essence spill over your thighs and his kisses on your neck.

"You are a good girl"

lee know: ass

You've seen it, that man can't live without an ass nearby and not being able to touch it.

He will simply walk up to you and put your hand on it because it is his.

He will just push you to any surface and bury his cock just to hear your bodies collide.

Minho's kisses on your neck were driving you crazy, his hands kept touching your buttocks and playing with your core.

“Stop playing,” you sighed when one of his fingers buried itself inside you.

"Ask me"

You bit your lips and sighed as his fingers continued inside you.

“Shit Min…please.”

You heard laughter behind you and couldn't say anything else as you felt his cock fill you.

His attacks did not stop at any time and the papers on the desk had been left lying on the floor for a long time, everything was a disaster.

Your hair, your back marked with his kisses, your legs shaking and your hands scratching the wood beneath you.

"Are you going to cum for me?" You nodded, moaning and only felt a slight tug on your hair as he brought his lips to yours. “Do it baby, cum on my cock.”

His words made you break free, but you knew it couldn't end here when he grabbed you and turned you to kiss you.

changbin: thighs and titis

He likes the way you tease him so much when you sit in his lap and your thighs are within his reach that he can't resist touching them.

He can't get enough of you when you ride him, so he'll ask you to go faster while he marks his fingers on your fleshy skin.

He likes it when you ride him and he can see your tits bouncing in his face that he won't be able to resist touching them, sucking them and marking them.

You smiled as you saw Changbin's head resting on the couch as he fought not to moan.

His hands were squeezing your thighs as you bounced on his cock, your hands were wrapped around his neck you clawed at his shoulders as your walls caressed that sweet spot.

"You're going to finish me off," his eyes met for a moment before he placed them on your breasts and licked his lips, longing to have them in his mouth.

"Bine… I'm close" Changbin smiled and with one of his hands he squeezed one of your nipples while he saw how you exposed your neck.

You felt his lips on your other nipple and his teeth played making the knot in your stomach release.

"I love you," you heard him say as you rested your head on his shoulders.

hyunjin: tits

He doesn't like to start without first playing with your nipples because they are so cute that he can't resist putting them in his mouth.

He won't stop until he's had enough of watching your body shake from playing with your nipples.

You moaned his name for the thousandth time that night and your body shuddered when he squeezed one of your nipples hard.

Hyunjin's kisses on your neck only left more red marks to remember later, but his laughter echoed in your ears when he saw your legs trembling.

"You can do better" you struggled to keep your legs open and your eyes closed, but when Hyunjin grabbed your face and forced you to look at yourself in the mirror in front of you you saw how your cheeks turned red.

" I Can't"

You moaned, watching his hands move over your breasts non-stop. Only he could bring you closer to the limit without touching you where you needed it most and you would still ask for more.

"If you can" You let your head fall onto his shoulders and you felt your body shake but the feeling stopped suddenly and you fought not to shed the tears in your eyes.

"Please, I need you so much" you moaned as you felt his hand run down your body to your core.

"Tell me how much you need me baby" You couldn't answer and moaned when his fingers pressed against your needy clit.

"I like my name on your lips, keep saying it"

Tag list: @zuuhaaa

[ghoulsgraveyard]

Mattress Shopping

a/n: oops! all fluff! I wrote this one while not high and You Can Tell. this is a very soft fic, very domestic. It takes place in the same universe as Animal Instinct and is a direct sequel, but there is no piss kink, only references to it. content warnings: mentions of sex and violence, allusions to piss (hilarious phrase), emotional hurt/comfort. word count: 2k part 1

You were about to head back up to your apartment when Logan took your hand and started walking towards his car. “Lo, where are we going?” He looks at you, confused. “I thought you said you wanted to go mattress shopping?” Logan hated shopping. It was loud and crowded and too bright. It always took too long. But Logan also loved you. And he loved you more than he hated shopping. “You don’t have to come if you don't want to, I know you don't like shopping.” Logan opens your door for you before heading around to the driver's seat “I’ll be using the thing too.” he states “Besides, there are worse things I could be doing than spending the day with you” he grumbles out afterwards as he starts the car. You practically melt into the seat. It never gets old, his loving you. You’ll cherish these acts of love every single time. “You sap” you say with a giggle. “Yeah yeah, dont go telling people that.” he starts the car with a wink towards you. After hours of sterile lights and crackling top 40 hits, you and Logan had successfully found a mattress. The incredibly persistent salesman changed his tune very quickly after the third time he tried to upsell you and Logan had unsheathed his claws. “W-would you like to use our delivery and installation service?” he said shakily, one last attempt to up his commission. Logan had enough. “Listen pal, I don't need to throw money away on something I can do myself. I got two arms and two legs. Just give me the goddamned mattress” he was not loud, but he was also not fucking around.

After loading the mattress into the back of the car you were on your way back. “Thank you for coming with me” you smile at him and he furrows his brow “why?” he grunts out, eyes on the road. “You made mattress shopping better.” you tease, he lets out a humorless chuckle “Honey i was grumpy and threatened a salesman. I made that experience worse, not better.” You frown at this. “I don't think you did. You certainly got us a better deal on that mattress.” you look over to him, his frown still prominent.

 “Logan, you make everything better. Sometimes I feel like you don’t realize that I don't just love you, I like you. Like fundamentally, as a person, I genuinely enjoy being in your presence. I like to spend time with you logan. You’re grumpy and a little mean, you drink and you smoke and I love you all the same. You’re who I want to be with. You’re my person, you’re who I choose. There is no one I would rather go mattress shopping with.” 

He doesn’t have anything to say to that. What could he even say to that? How do you tell someone that they have shifted your sense of self? How does he begin to describe how your love has changed him? How could it not change him? He’s lived his whole life hating himself. his thoughts, his actions, to the very essence of his core, his soul, his being, he hated himself. Everything he touched he ruined, every person he loved died, he was the worst Logan and everyone knew it. 

Now he’s not so sure. How could he be so awful when you loved him so much? He trusted you, and he trusted your judgment of character, so logically he has to face that he’s not all bad. But it’s more than that. Your presence in his life has to be proof of something, call it god, call it the universe, call it karma, you were all the proof he needed that at one point he did something good. He must have done something really and truly good to earn you. There’s a voice in his head now to fight back that familiar dialogue. A voice that tells him he’s a good man with bad circumstances, a voice that tells him his mistakes don’t define him, it’s a voice that sounds like yours. If you, beautiful, kind and perfect you, could love him? He must have done something right. He has good in him, you make him believe it. All he can do is grab your hand and squeeze it. One day he’ll tell you. One day he’ll find the right words and put them in the right order and he’ll be able to tell you that he is devastatingly, irrevocably and wholly in love with you. But until that day he’ll hold you close, be sweet only for you, and even go mattress shopping. All for you.

That night, after you had gotten the new bed set up, you both went over to Wade’s for drinks. After about thirty minutes, Wade claps his hands with glee in the kitchen as he pours more tequila into a whiskey glass. He practically prances back into the room returning to his seat “Soooooo what 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shit did you two get up with today” he waggles his fingers at you. How did he do that with his voice? Nevermind. Logan sputters into his drink, recovering quickly “The hell are you talkin about?” he grunts. Wade looks delighted. “I am so glad you asked pookie” Logan groans as he continues, “I was on my daily walk around your building and I couldn't help but notice a set of your sheets and a whole mattress in your dumpster!” Wade teases. “Daily walks?” Logan growls “you root through our trash?” you question. “Hold on, don't turn this around on me, either you’re sexual deviants or Wolvy dear is getting really old, or both!” Wade coos, sipping his drink.

10 minutes later when you’re finally able to separate Logan from him with as little blood shed as possible (with varying degrees of success) you decide to cut the night short. Thirty minutes before blood might be a new record for the two of them actually. Logan presses the button to summon the elevator, you reach for your phone to- shit! “Babe I forgot my phone, I’ll be right back” he lets out a hmph to confirm he heard you. You jog back to Wade’s door, opening it with ease. Fucker never locks his door, says it an ‘open invitation’. Whatever that means. “Hey, sorry I forgot my phone” Wade leans against the counter taking a break from washing dishes. “Oh it’s all right boo” he grins as you search through the spot where you sat “But while I have you here” he trails off probing your response to his previous question. You found your phone… right next to Wade. Rolling your eyes at his antics “Oops?” he smiles. You punch him on your way out with no real malice, but before reaching the door, you turn back to say “Well it’s not the second one” you wink and jog right back to Logan.

 “Harlots!” you hear Wade yell at you from his door before slamming it. Logan raises an eyebrow in question “What did ya say to him?” you take his hand in the elevator “Oh nothing” you smile with a hint of mischief. He looks at you accusatorial “well nothing that isn’t true” Logan groans at your response “you know i’m never going to hear the end of this. I have to interact with him wayyy more than you do” you step out of the elevator, heading towards the car as Logan continues “He’s going to ask me more questions about it, and then I'm gonna have to stab him.” He opens the passenger door for you “thought you didn’t like it when I skewered the little shit.” Logan pulls a cigar from the glove box, slicing off the end with a claw. “Can ya give me a light here sugar?” he grumbles out with the cigar between his teeth as he starts the car. 

Fuck he was handsome. Devastatingly so. The wrinkles on his face from his seemingly permanent soured expression, his strong jaw extenuated by facial hair that would look ridiculous on anyone else, the way his shirt was unbuttoned so you could begin to see a peek of his salt and pepper chest hair, it just wasn’t fair that any man could look this good. 

“Hon” he grunts out. You snapped back to the present, finding the lighter a bit further back in the glovebox. You hold the flame to the end while he sucks in, creating a bright cherry at the end of the stick. “I never said not to skewer him” you start “I just said I think it's gross seeing your claws fully through his skull and finding two of his fingers in between our couch cushions.” Logan chuckles at this “So you don’t mind me brutalizing our friend, as long as you don't have to see it.” he puffs on his cigar. “Nope!” you pop, smiling at him “I can't believe you just called Wade your friend” Logan stops at the light and grunts out “slip of the tongue” while he looks out the window. “I don't think it was” you lightly elbow him “I already know you’re secretly a softie, I won’t tell him.” he exhales another billow of smoke, but you couldn’t help but notice the tips of his ears had turned a little red. You decide not to comment on it, smiling only to yourself. This was the Logan only you got to see. Everyone else in the whole world only knew him as angry and violent with brief moments of sincerity. He was gruff and brash and had a weird way of showing he cared. 

As much as you were his -lord knows you have the hickeys to prove it- he was yours. The Logan that learned how to cook just to make you breakfast in bed is yours. The Logan who will wear a face mask with you is yours. The Logan who uses his claws to chop vegetables is yours. The Logan who can’t sleep if you’re not in his arms, the Logan who stands between your legs while you sit on the bathroom counter to shave him, the Logan who presses kisses to your head and ties your shoes. He was a secret, locked away from the world, buried deep inside from years of putting up walls to protect himself. He only existed with you. 

What a gift. What a tragedy. What an awful thought, that he hides his kindness and vulnerability from the world. What an absolute honor it is to be the only person he trusts enough to let in. It doesn’t come easy to him, it doesn’t come naturally. He makes the conscious effort everyday to break down his own walls for you. 

Logan rarely says “I love you” ; those three words seem to choke him every time he tries to spit them out. But when he does say them, it’s always a whisper. Like if he’s quiet enough the curse that seems to snuff out everyone he loves won’t hear him, won’t find him. Like he’s worried if he says it too loud it will trigger some horrible accident that will steal you away from him, but even then he can’t help but tell you. He swallows his fear in the small hours of the night to whisper a promise to you. 

He doesn’t need to tell you. You can see it. You can feel it. 

You don’t realize you’re home until the car stops and you feel his rough fingertips on your face in a gentle touch “Where’d you go in that head of yours pretty?” he looks deeply into your eyes. “Just thinking about you.” you smile and press a kiss to his lips before opening your door and getting out. “What about me?” he locks the car and slings an arm around you as you walk towards the elevator to go back to your home. “Just how much I love you.” Logan pushes the button when he lets out a “hmm” at your answer, looking away. His ears were pink again. You tug his collar down for another kiss then whisper in his ear 

“I think we need to break in that new mattress” a/n: I hope you enjoyed! let me know if you're interested in a part three. nothing motivates me like hearing what people liked, so if you enjoyed and want more, let me know!

taglist @mistyorchid

[nightcolorz]

i feel like it’s acceptable to headcanon disorders like ADHD or autism or personality disorders to fictional characters but it feels like there is a taboo about dissociative disorders, making me hesitant to say this (even though im pretty sure ive said it before)

But i really do feel like Armand has some sort of dissociative disorder (DID or OSDD) because it just seems so clear that he is not really one person, one fixed identity. Arun, Amadeo, and Armand are all distinct personas, formed by intense trauma and kept apart by traumatic amnesia. I won’t pretend to be a psychiatrist but from what I do know of these disorders that is very much how they manifest and their defining feature.

It seems more this way in the show, especially with the scene where he refers to Amadeo and Arun in third person, and speaks of how he can’t really remember details like names or exactly how things happened (like how he says he was sold by his parents in 1947 vs how he said he was chased by slavers in 1973 (both could be true but it feels contradictory))

And how he does visibly act differently based on if he’s Armand (the cult leader, coven maître, the one being interviewed), Amadeo (who he was in Venice, rebellious, teenaged, who he has to be to Marius), or Arun (the child, slave, who Louis brings up to obey him)

You can definitely lean in with the Rashid thing as well, taking up different identities was easy for him because he’s so used to it, and being Rashid he was a servant, something he was already used to. Being Rashid was like being Arun again before he had to become Armand to counter Daniel.

It’s somewhat the same in the books but less clear, though Andrei, Amadeo and Armand are all definitely separate.

Anyway I really do think Armand has some kind of dissociative disorder with Arun, Amadeo and Armand being separate alters, rather than him having any sort of personality disorder.

Thoughts?

I ABSOLUTELY AGREE 100%. I have also been hesitant to talk about this, but I’ve been using it to influence how I write Armand in my fics!! but yes, all the way yes. I’ve had this headcanon since before amc iwtv s2 came out and I loooooveeee how they just solidified it with their characterization.ur incredibly right all the way.

even if u don’t think Armand literally has a dissociative disorder, it’s undeniable that he has the core symptoms needed to be diagnosed with a dissociative disorder. Not only does he have separate identities that carry separate memories, he also has huge gaps in memory and repressed memories, to the point where he can’t remember his entire childhood, which is like essential to having DID.

I think whether Armand could literally be diagnosed with a disorder like this is up for debate, but I think what matters more is that thematically Armand’s character resonates very close with how these disorders function and affect people. A core part of his character is that Armand doesn’t know who he is, doesn’t have a clear or consistent identity, and can not function as a complete person bcus his identity was fractured before it was able to form. This is like, the essence of what it’s like to have a dissociative disorder lol. So regardless of whether he technically has did or Ossd, I think he definitely does thematically. Armand is all about how trauma can break the brain from ever forming an identity correctly, need i say more, lol

THANK U SMMM FOR THIS ASK AHHH!!!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I wish you would write a fic where Sharako Lohar sits on my face and smothers me to death

The ask game says maybe I will write a tidbit, so I will give you a little tidbit...

She lays on the rumpled silk sheets, the humid air and cloying scent of patchouli that lingers upon it doing little to relieve the sheen of perspiration that clings to her flesh, clammy and uncomfortable. She keeps her knees cradled to her chest, with no idea as to whether this position will help nature take its course or not. An old wives tale perhaps, but she will do whatever she can to help the seed take root. She wants to give Sharako a child, she lives to please her.

Through the thick curtains that separate her room from the next, she can hear faint giggles, the sounds of the Lannister lord she had just lain with now having his fun with one of her sisterwives. She would feel jealous, used even, were it not for the fact he was only doing this upon the command of her wife. She has spoken of wanting to have children for a long time, and the idea of being able to bear Sharako the one thing she knows will make her happy makes her chest swell with pride.

It had been a long time since she had allowed a man inside of her. The sensation had been strange, an act of rediscovery. Tywin...Tymond...what was his name? She cannot remember. For all of his Westerosi pomposity and mainland ideals of propriety, he had been a surprisingly adequate lover. His touch was more gentle, hesitant, compared to the rough voracity with which her wife took her. His hands were almost reverent against her body, and when she had peaked it had been a delicate whisper of a sensation that had made her sigh in pleasure. It was nothing like the way that Sharako made her tremble and cry out like a wild animal on an almost nightly basis.

Her thoughts are interrupted as Sharako steps through the curtain, regarding her with a lopsided smirk as she stands at the foot of the bed, her eyes roving lustily over the prone position she finds her wife in.

"It is done then?" She asked, inclining her head towards her.

"It is, he has moved onto the next."

"How was it?" She asks, rounding the bed slowly, like a lion stalking its prey.

"Different," comes her response, feeling her skin heat up with mild embarrassment.

"Did you enjoy his cock?"

She laughs out loud, the brashness of the question taking her by surprise to the point that the sound is forced from her. She is certain that for however long she is the wife of the admiral of the Triarchy she will never get used to her directness; it will forever catch her off guard, and she has grown to love it.

"He does not possess your skills, my love, but I am sated."

"And glad I am to hear of it, but I find myself left wanting."

She sucks in a breath, feeling her core throb with want, causing the Lannister lord's spend to trickle out of her. Instinctively, she lowers her legs, parting her thighs, before Sharako shakes her head.

"I will not lap up the leavings of a man who is beneath me. Tonight you will please me."

She swallows thickly, her heart racing as she considers her wife's words. It is not often that she is given leave to take charge, but if Sharako wishes to have her between her thighs, then she is eager to please.

Her fingers move to the lacings of her jodhpurs and she watches as her deft fingers untie them, shedding the material from her legs, leaving her bare from the waist down.

It is not until Sharako moves, climbing onto the bed and placing a knee either side of her head that she realises she has no means to relinquish control. And as she lowers herself, the taste of her essence tart upon her tongue, faintly like the sea upon which she so loves to sail, she knows she would not have it any other way.

[thyras]

→ of sauron's regret (bonus part)

PAIRING → mairon | sauron x female!elf!reader

WORD COUNT → 2.9k words

SERIES → of sauron & the moriquendi

WARNINGS → 18+ mdni - smut (oral), character death? if you squint

SUMMARY → after the fall of laureandor, sauron spends a moment with his past life but not before getting retribution for his past self. for he regrets many things, but that day he regrets still lingers in the very core of his being.

AUTHORS NOTE → idk i had this really buckwild thought since part two about during the fall of laureandor calandil stays behind and sauron gets revenge for mairon and was like; "bro look I helped you because you were too pathetically nice and wouldn't do it all cause you thought you'd scare her, but she'll never know now man so I just took care it for ya". like mairon does not forget, but sauron acts. so here we are, this is just a bonus part that did not make the final cut, but I wanted to share.

PARTS → one // two // three // four // five

The ash fell thick and heavy around his boots, muffling the sound of his steps and blotting out the soft, golden rays of sunlight that once bathed these streets. What had once been a bustling market square, filled with the vibrant hum of life, was now a desolate ruin. Orcs roamed the area, their guttural voices blending with the distant crackle of flames as they ransacked what little remained.

Sauron felt the weight of the destruction settle deep in his chest. This wasn’t simply ruin—it was disorder, chaos, an affront to the precision and beauty he had once valued so deeply. With a breath, he shifted back into his fairer form, his presence commanding even in this broken place. His gaze fell upon a familiar sight, and his steps carried him to the place where he had spent countless days and nights.

His fingers brushed lightly across the damaged workbench, the wood splintered and scarred yet still standing. It seemed untouched by time, as though no one had dared use it since his departure. Dust and ash blanketed the surface, but beneath the decay, the faint echoes of his craft lingered.

The tools hung neatly on the wall, most still in their place save for a few that had fallen during the siege. His footsteps echoed softly as he walked around the table, the anvil, and the furnace, each object holding an essence of the past. And then he saw it—the small, plush lounger tucked into the corner by the furnace, the one that had always been yours.

A rare smile touched his lips as he took it in, the sight pulling memories to the forefront of his mind. You would sit there for hours, book in hand, your presence a quiet comfort as he worked. He could almost see you there now, your head tilted slightly, a knowing smile playing on your lips as you glanced at him from over the brim of your book. You always claimed you loved watching him at work, that there was something calming in the precision of his movements.

“If you’re not rutting deeply in me, my love,” you had once teased, “forging is the only other place you truly seem at ease.”

The memory wrapped around him, bittersweet and vivid. He reached out and touched the arm of the chair gently, the warmth of the furnace long gone, but its echoes lingering. You were everywhere in this place—woven into its very essence, into every tool, every mark on the workbench, every shadow cast by the forge’s light. It was a sanctuary you had built together, a place of creation and connection.

Now, it was little more than a ruin. Yet even in its decay, it held fragments of you, of a time when the world was not yet cloaked in shadow. And for a moment, amid the ashes, he let himself remember.

Sauron paused mid-step, his sharp eyes catching a faint glimmer beneath one of the wall workbenches. Intrigued, he moved closer, crouching to inspect the source. With deliberate care, he swept away the layers of dust and soot, his movements slow, almost reverent, as the delicate object came into view.

It was the hairpiece you had worn on your wedding night.

For a moment, he simply stared at it, his thumb brushing over the intricate finery. The shimmering jewels embedded within still sparkled as brightly as the silver-glinting stars that had adorned the sky that night. He had planned to replace the stones, to craft something even more magnificent for you, one that would match the vibrant blue of the jewel in your necklace. But that night, the night he had planned to do so, was also the night everything had changed—for you, for him, for both of your intertwined fëar.

Still holding the hairpiece, Sauron moved to the plush lounger in the corner and sat, his posture unusually relaxed yet heavy with thought. His fingers traced the delicate design as if trying to absorb the essence of that moment long past.

Then, like a wave breaking against the shore, a memory surged through his mind. He could see you clearly, your beauty radiant beneath the light of countless stars, a soft smile on your lips as you looked at him with the kind of love that had unraveled the very threads of his being. He had taken your hand that night, guiding you to a place beyond the boundaries of Arda itself—a plane of existence where only the two of you could dwell, unmarked by time, by shadow, by anything that might tear you apart.

And where he wished you had both stayed.

“And what do you wish to show me, that requires my eyes to be covered?” you teased, your voice light and playful as he carefully guided you forward, his hand firm yet gentle on yours. A mischievous smile curved your lips. “Because if you ruin my dress, I do believe you’ll have a very upset seamstress to contend with.”

Mairon chuckled, a low, warm sound that sent a shiver up your spine. He leaned in close, his breath brushing against your ear as he murmured, “Then I shall have Vairë herself weave you a new one—with even more splendor.”

You felt his fingers gently push a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering as his lips skimmed the shell of it. “The very stars themselves, sewn into the fabric, so that you gleam like the night sky.”

You couldn’t help but smile, even as a warmth began to rise in your cheeks. With your eyes still closed, you turned your head toward him, sensing his presence near. His lips hovered just above yours, the proximity making your breath hitch.

“That tongue of yours,” you whispered, your voice laced with mock admonishment, “gets you into so much trouble.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from him, his amusement unrestrained. Only with you did Mairon smile so freely, so purely, his sharp edges softened into something entirely different.

“It is not the only thing my tongue can do,” he murmured, his voice laced with playful wickedness. His lips claimed yours then, teasingly capturing your bottom lip in a slow, deliberate kiss. The faintest pull of his mouth sent a rush of heat through you, your heart quickening as his words hung in the air.

“And you know that, divine,” he added, his voice like silk against your skin. Your face warmed further, and you bit back a giggle, both exasperated and utterly enchanted by him.

With a steady hand, he began to guide you once more toward your destination, the mystery of his intentions heightening the anticipation with every step. 

Once inside the forge he asked you to open your eyes, there in replacement of the wooden chair that you usually sat in was a plush lounger. Something completely out of place for this kind of setting. 

“For you,” he said, motioning to the chair. “So you can be comfortable while you read and—” he trailed of fingers tracing across your shoulders. “I may take my fill of you more comfortabely now.” You swallowed hard and turned to him, lips moving to caress his as your arms around his neck. You did not need to say a single thing to him for him to know you approved of your give. 

Mairon’s fingers ran down your back, untying the strings of your gown until it fell to the stone floor. You whimpered against his lips in distaste as his hands caressed every inch of you, pulling off the jewels and pearls until nothing but that silvery chain and your ring was the only thing adorning your body. 

He broke away and gazed into your eyes, sparkling and filled with lust just as his were. “Before you say it, divine, I will get you another.” You nod and he continued. “I want my wife in all her splendor right now,” He captured your lips once more and guided you to lay down on the lounger as he shucked his robes to lay with your gown. Until he to was only adorned by the golden chain around his neck.

His body lay tangled with yours as his lips and hands explored his beautiful elven-wife. Each caress was acompanied by a tug on his scalp or a moan of satisfaction. Mairon reached the point where he knew would bring the most sinful noises from your lips. You arched your hips to him so you could drape your legs over his shoulders. He moved to swipe a finger through the opening to see if he could get you to react to the stimulating touch, and he was reward.

“Mairon…” You moaned as he smiled devilishly before moving inches away from your clit. He had been painfully hard before this moment but now he was aching to fill you.

“Are you going to sing for me, my sweet Mori?” he asked, swiping his tongue through your lips with a painfully slow motion that drove your toes to curl in ecstacy. 

“Yes…always yes…” you panted and he gave you another lick before drawing away. “Please…” you whimpered now. “I…I…need…”

“Come now, divine, what happened to my oh so articulate wife?” He chuckled against you and sent your thighs tightening. Mairon then dropped your legs and moved to hover over your lips. “Tell me what you need,”

“You…all of you…for all my immortality.”

The words echoed endlessly through his mind, each one a hammer blow to his resolve as he clutched the delicate hairpiece in his hands. Regret clawed at him, sharp and unrelenting, for the ruin he had wrought, the choices that had led to this desolation. But in all the pain, in all the sorrow, there was one thing he never regretted—you. Never the love you had given him, pure and unwavering. Never the devotion you continued to show him, even when he had fallen so far, even after all he had done.

He had taken personal charge of this campaign, ensuring it would be executed perfectly, for his hands were steady, his will unshakable. And yet, he had harbored a singular, desperate hope: that he might buy you the time to escape. He had convinced himself it was his last gift to you, a fleeting redemption wrapped in an act of devastation.

A tear slipped free, unnoticed at first, until it struck one of the shimmering jewels on the hairpiece. The delicate stone dimmed as his darkness touched it, as though recoiling from the stain of his sorrow. More tears followed, unbidden, splashing onto the jewels like a mournful rain. Each one seemed to sap a little more of their light, until the once brilliant ornament felt like a reflection of himself—tarnished, shadowed, broken.

What had he done?

The question stabbed into his heart, the pain sharper than any blade. Why had he let himself become this? Why had he allowed fear and pride to chain him to the abyss?

Why was he such a coward?

He clutched the hairpiece tighter, as though it might anchor him, as though it might hold together the pieces of a heart that had long since shattered. But it didn’t. It couldn’t. The regret only deepened, the weight of his failures crushing down upon him, leaving nothing but the hollow ache of what could have been.

“My lord,” a disgrunted Orc’s voice said, Sauron looked up and in an instant threw one of the tools with a wave of his fingers at the Orc for seeing him as such, dealing a killing blow. He stood slowly, his movements deliberate, and tucked the hairpiece beneath the folds of his robes, hiding it from view. Straightening, his gaze fell coldly on the fallen Orc at his feet, then shifted to the two others standing a few paces away. The weight of his presence pressed down on them, and they flinched as he stepped forward, his voice a low, menacing growl.

“Speak,” Sauron snarled, his piercing gaze locking onto them.

The Orcs bowed their heads hastily, shuffling forward under his scrutiny. One finally mustered the courage to speak, his voice trembling despite his effort to sound composed.

“Adar wishes to send word,” the Orc began, his tone deferential, “that the city has been completely overrun, and we are clearing out the last of the elves.”

Sauron tilted his head slightly, his sharp instincts picking up the hesitation in the creature’s voice. His brow arched, a silent command for the Orc to continue. The pause stretched uncomfortably before the Orc finally blurted out the rest.

“He has requested to see you,” the Orc admitted quickly, “as one of the High Officials has… requested to see you.”

Sauron’s eyes narrowed, his mind already racing through possibilities. “I thought all the officials had fled,” he said, his voice colder now, each word a blade that cut through the air.

The Orc swallowed hard, his eyes darting to his fallen companion sprawled across the stone street as though seeking some kind of silent support, though he would never recieve it. “That is what we believed, my lord,” he stammered, his voice faltering under the weight of Sauron’s gaze. “But… one has been found. They insisted on speaking with you directly.”

Sauron’s lips curved into the faintest trace of a smile, though there was no warmth in it, only a dark amusement. “Very well,” he said, his tone a mixture of disdain and curiosity. “Take me to them. Let us see what this official believes they can accomplish.”

He stepped forward, his robes brushing the blood-streaked stones as the Orcs bowed low and scurried ahead to lead the way. The hairpiece pressed against his side, a constant, silent reminder of the light he had lost—and the shadow he now wielded.

As they entered the city square, Sauron’s sharp eyes scanned the scene. Amid the ruin and ash, Adar sat on a crumbling stone bench, his sword resting between his legs, its tip embedded in the scorched ground. His posture was calm, almost contemplative, but his dark eyes flicked upward the moment Sauron approached. Orcs flanked him, two holding tightly to a fair-haired elf clad in high elven armor, their grips unrelenting despite the elf’s obvious defiance.

When Adar caught Sauron’s gaze, he rose smoothly to his feet, his movements measured and deliberate. He inclined his head in a deep bow, his voice deep and resonant as he greeted, “My lord.”

Sauron’s eyes narrowed, a faint smirk curving his lips as he took in the sight before him. “What do we have here?” he asked, his voice low and edged with curiosity.

At his words, the Orcs jerked the elf around to face him, forcing the captive upright. The elf’s armor, though tarnished and dented, gleamed faintly in the dim light. His fair hair fell in loose strands around his face, his piercing eyes blazing with defiance even as his captors tightened their hold. A face he knew to well, one he had wanted to meet on the battlefield and smite him into the ground.

Sauron stepped closer, his gaze appraising, and the faint smirk on his lips deepened as he studied Calandil. “Well,” he murmured, his tone almost amused, “this should prove interesting.” Calandil’s piercing eyes locked onto Sauron, and for a fleeting moment, there was recognition—a flicker of understanding that quickly twisted into seething anger. His body tensed, and he strained against the Orcs’ iron grip, his movements frantic and wild as though sheer will alone could break their hold.

“Where is she?” he spat through gritted teeth, his voice raw and trembling with both fury and desperation.

Sauron tilted his head slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement as a wicked smile spread across his lips. The expression was mocking, calculated, designed to provoke.

“Where is who?” he drawled, his tone smooth and taunting, as if he truly had no idea what Calandil was demanding. Yet the glint in his eyes betrayed him; he knew exactly what the elf was asking—and he savored every second of the Calandil’s torment.

“You better not have—” Calandil began, his voice rising in fury, but Sauron moved swiftly, cutting him off as he stepped closer, now standing directly before him.

“Or you will do what?” Sauron’s voice was a low, dangerous murmur, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement. He leaned in slightly, his presence towering and oppressive. “As I see it, you are at my mercy now, elf,” he continued, his tone sharp as a blade. “Which is far more favorable than that of my masters.”

The smirk on his lips deepened, a predator savoring his prey’s helplessness. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, an unspoken reminder of what Calandil already knew—he had no power here, not against Sauron, not in the heart of ruin.

But Calandil, he knew, always was famed for his rebellious temper and rash behavior. Mairon had been on the end of that, and now Sauron was not going to let that happen.

“You lied to her,” Calandil said, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, heavy with accusation.

Sauron paused, his expression unreadable, before slowly turning his head to Adar and the Orcs restraining the elf. With a dismissive wave of his hand, he said coldly, “Leave us.”

And in that moment, Sauron resolved to give Mairon the satisfaction and retribution he so deeply craved. Calandil would meet his end, a calculated punishment for his insolence and defiance.

But not without cost.

[bluginkgo]

Depression is hitting hard, but you know what hits harder? Eternal Dream with the context of ep7

I kid you not, I was doing regular chores and brain said "Hey, pssst, eternal dream is HELLA depressing now."

...

BRAIN I DID NOT NEED THAT-

So here's me dissecting Eternal Dream yet again but with images from ep7 just to cope ;w;

Spoilers duh

(indicate my thoughts/ramble/not part of the lyrics)

I am tired of this dream Will it ever end for me?

(Betrayal after betrayal, the general tiredness of being let down over and over)

I don't have the will to know... Can you help me see?

(This verse remains a bit up in the air for me, as it always has been. I'll try a jab at it though. This is Uzi asking for help. She's tired of the horrors, the secrets, and betrayals. She needs someone else to help her see that this is not a waste of time. She needs N to help her see that there is going to be someone to encourage her.)

Let my body keep you warm Let my essence be your breeze

(So, technically, these images are rather hard to connect. But going with "Let my essence be your breeze" everything that N does in the fighting scene is to get Uzi to return to herself. Her entire being and personality is what is driving N to fight so hard. And in turn her "essence" becomes his "breeze" and will to fight back in situations that seem hopeless.)

Can you hear me calling? Please look out for me

(And he does, despite fighting to the death, he still continues to look after her TwT)

Can you set me free? Will you take my soul away?

(I keep going back and forth on this one. But the more positive one would be if N could set Uzi free from the Absolute Solver, like he has done in ep4 and helped in ep7.)

Casting me in cold Bury me in bones Rest eternally

("Bury me in bones" was first made me think of even doing this silly thing 😅 Because Uzi is literally going to be buried in the grave of Absolute Solver cores and humans that the solver snagged during the core collapse.)

Will you take me home? Can we see the moon again?

(I'm mostly pulling on the moons because they're seen in the background. This can be taken also as a way of asking to go back to the old times. To the times when none of this happened before.)

Dancing in the dark

(Hey, I know I've overused this, but I still can't stop thinking that this was a nod back to ep3. Their entire fight seems like a dance... a brutal, angst-filled, dance ;w;)

'Till we fall apart

(You know, I WAS THE ONE THAT FELL APART TwT. In all seriousness, they did fall apart. Fell/forced apart by the events of ep7.)

I can't end this dream

(This is not the end. Despite being ready and accepting of death, I- personally, so feel free to yeet this into the void- believe her job is not done. She still has something else to settle. And this dream will not end until Uzi finishes that job.)

Does this make any sense? I reckon not. But I needed Eternal Dream out of my head, and this is the only way I could think of getting rid of it ;w;

[50shadesofoctarine]

The Hoard’s Prayer:

A gift for @chernozemm

Spirit and skin are incongruous. Oil and water; soul and sweat. This flesh made mine by G-d. These desires ungodly. Do they spring forth From the same river basin? An oily foam skimming atop The drink with which I shall never thirst.

Are food and wine not Communion too? Might I hunger for them? Would You permit My tongue to touch the loaf? Unleavened and unflavoured, Nothing of substance. I need no calories; Just a sinking stomach-stone To quell the ache of peristalsis.

Spirit and skin, both Want. Him. But other things too. Good music is nourishing For the celestial core More than the ear it sits upon. He would fatten the grace of me, The light beneath my bushel, If only I asked. And I would thank You, If only You let my essence feed. Praise Your name For the gift of him.

Is it the greed that You abhor? The gluttony. When the thought of him Is smeared across my mouth. Or is it idolatry? That I should lo— It is the gluttony, I suspect.

I have wandered Six millennia, cast into the desert. The snake, too, tempted me. Like the Son of man I prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, And bled mortal blood, And cherished my enemy, And wanted.

Forgive him, For he knows not What he is doing. Forgive me, For the sulphur-taste, On my tongue.

Is it the physicality? Might that be what displeases You? Judas and his kiss. Did Jesus, too, Desire more? Or am I alone, Heaven made flesh, Malnourishment carved into the bones.

Humans were created, Like me, From this intersection Of ghostly (sin)ew. You bless them, The undeserving beasts. Why am I then scrapped With Your first draft in the flood?

You let David keep Bathsheba. I have wanted him For longer than David has lived. What must I do To satiate the rumble Of the thunder in my stomach? Your first storm, Made before Adam spied Eve, Under the ark-curve of a wing In the rain.

Let me keep him. Just this once, I speak plainly. Let me have him, Let me taste the skin sweat on his brow. Joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, Faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control Nine fruit he has offered me. I am full, only when I indulge in these. Spirit and body as one, It does not feel like sin.

Let me bite into him, Savouring the flavours, Of the blood and viscera You curse-blessed us with. ‘Oh, LORD,’ I beg. Let me devour The unnamed fruit Of the spirit-become-flesh.

You made me to thirst. Now make me to drink.

But who am I To make demands of G-d?

[kawaiijohn]

Danny wakes up in PMMM and wants to murder the weird God cat that's bothering the kids

Ok I wanna write this

"Get back here you rat!"

The white rabbit-cat thing dodges another three of Danny's ecto rays as he races through the back halls of a mall under construction. He has no idea where he is, only that the thing he's chasing is bad news.

It has eyes not unlike the Observants, and a voice laced with double meanings. Danny didn't appreciate it staring into his soul- his Core, as though it could sense it.

The creature keeps running for its life, able to appear in places it shouldn't be near before Danny can strike it. The strange ring-like structures around its long ears seem to ring strangely when his blasts whiff the beast.

The short chase comes to an end when he hits a dead end. He skids to a stop, panting- somehow unable to summon his ghost form after the portal tossed him here. He's shocked he can even call upon any of his powers, stranger that the only one he can access are his ecto blasts. But it's not completely shocking- places outside of Amity tend to be less forgiving with their low ambient ectoplasm levels. The halls are dark, ominous- there's a tension in the air not unlike a ghost attack waiting to happen.

He doesn't like it.

Danny uses a ball of ectoplasm as a flashlight as he creeps through the more chained-off sections of the mall, a tingle creeping up his spine. He wants explanations, and the creature knows something- it has to with how it stares into Danny's soul. It's the only lead he has, and he's too stubborn to give up on it.

"You know, you would make an incredible magia- all it would take is making a contract with me."

Danny nearly screams as he whips around. The strange creature sits perched, not unlike a cat, on a construction barrier directly behind him. Its eyes stare once again into his soul, digging into his very essence. Danny's eyes dart around the dark, trying to find anything to use to his advantage. He comes up empty handed, so he does what he knows, and stands his ground.

Intimidation it is.

"I'm not stupid enough to do something for a creature that really shouldn't be able to talk. Especially if it involves contracts." Thank the Ancients Sam had a phase where she obsessed over Faustian tales and fae folklore. That and his firsthand experience with Desiree. Be careful what you wish for, and all that.

"You do seem to be someone who has had dealings before. You are one step away from being a Magia, after all." The creature appears directly next to him on a pile of equipment and grooms itself with a paw. "It would be rather easy on both our ends to embrace your full potential. All you would need to do is Wish for something- anything you desire. And you'd finish becoming what you were meant to be- a Magia."

Danny starts, jumping back with his hand glowing. He hadn't heard it approach.

"Jokes on you- I know how wishes work!" he exclaims, taking a fighting stance. "No matter what, you'd twist it into the opposite of what I want, and I'm not gonna fall for it." The ecto energy crackles in his palm, anxiety at being stared at by those beady, soulless eyes gathers in the back of his throat like acrid lightning. Or like the nerves before a test.

Danny bristles as the creature pads up to him from its perch and tilts its head.

"Interesting- although you have no contract written binding your soul, you are somehow more like magia than human. Tell me, Daniel Fenton, did you receive anything in return for the sacrifice you've made? Do you have a reason to fight the Witches wherever you hail from? Or were you granted this terrible responsibility without fair compensation- no benefit to your life for the amount of magic you expend fighting."

Danny stills and shudders, still unable to force a transformation in the low ectoplasmic atmosphere of this place.

"I simply wanted to offer my services. To help you fight, for protection- to make you feel... whole. Tell me," it looks once again into Danny's soul, unblinking, "Are you aware of how close you have wandered to a truly Hopeless being's lair?"

The walls around him shimmer with unreality, he can hear whispers of a bastardized, corrupted form of Ghost Speak echoing in his head. It physically pains him to listen. He slams his hands over his ears to drown out the noise, but it tickles the back of his brain, makes the space behind his eyes itch. His Core pulses in warning as the room shifts as though it were underwater.

"What is this?!? What are you doing?!"

"Nothing. The culprit to this disturbance is a Witch- a creature made of the despair that lives in the darkness of humanity. A being that wishes to spread misery and corruption upon the innocent." its eyes remain staring at him. "With how you are now- incomplete in your form, you will not survive should you be pulled in to this labyrinth you have wandered near."

Danny looks up from where he'd ducked his head. His Core pulses again. Whatever this thing messing with his mind is, it's similar to a ghost- but wrong. Corrupted. Evil. And yet... sad. He steels his face and glares back at the creature.

"Witches are creatures of pure darkness, they cause unexplained suicides, death, sickness, catastrophe. You are simply unable to unleash your full potential in your current form, but if you make a wish, sign a contract- you would be unstoppable."

"I don't need to be unstoppable. I can handle... whatever this witch thing is without your help- and it's not like I plan on getting caught in a labyrinth. I'd rather not fight another Minotaur."

Danny begins to walk away from the shimmering spots, but can't find the way he came. The chains hanging from the ceiling whisper with anguish.

The creature continues to follow with its blank expression.

"Suit yourself, Daniel Fenton. My services are only a call away. You'd be surprised how amicable I am to those who change their mind last minute- in fact, we encourage it."

And with that, the creature leaves.

Danny clamps his hands over his ears again. The padding of his sneakers through the endless maze of mall construction echoes hollowly through the otherwise silent back halls. "Sam would be pumped to find out the backrooms are real." He laughs joylessly. Danny has no idea how long he's been wandering, but he knows he's not lost. The mall is shifting around him as he wanders, and he knows he's being watched.

He scratches at his wrist idly.

It had started itching, right over his death scar, about fifteen minutes ago. The whispers make it itch more, and he grumbles. He's getting frustrated- usually by now the ghost watching him would have jumped out and attacked, but whatever the thing watching him is (the witch thingy most likely) is biding its time to piss him off.

Another wave of empty emotions waft over him from a doorway that wasn't there the last time he circled this very hallway. His wrist itches more before suddenly burning as though electricity shocked him once again. He looks down and gasps at the strange butterfly marking that's appeared on his wrist, just as his hand reaches for the door of its own volition.

Danny seethes as his body disobeys him, but is brought to stunned silence when the door opens, sending the hallway it leads to flying towards him. The next doorway barrels at him, and he closes his eyes to brace for the impact before it opens as well.

Again and again doors race forward and open, before he finds himself in a domed garden of brambles and roses.

Danny feels his Core lurch as the mark on his arm burns brightly before fading.

"That was weird..." he whispers to himself. He only takes a few moments looking around before finding a rock made of paper to hide behind. The inner sanctum of this Ancients forsaken Labyrinth is enormous- everything looks as though its made of collage paper and watercolor. There's a large chaise lounge in the center of the room, surrounded by strange creatures shaped like dandelions with mustaches.

"Okay that's even weirder..."

The dandelion beings pass roses between them, piling them on and around the lounge in the center of the room. The lighting overhead in the glass dome is dim, but it seems to be getting brighter- the light itself pinpointing on something resting on the chaise.

Danny's entire being revolts as he looks upon the strange black jewel. The bottom is needle thin, resting on a soft silk pillow without making nary a dent. A strange flash of light bursts from it- pure black as void and cold to the touch. It begins to break, forming into a disfigured shape. The shadow it becomes undulates and pulses, growing more and more gargantuan as it explodes from the jewel with a shattering scream of terror.

Danny feels his eyes involuntarily water, the tears falling freely down his cheeks as the jewel produces something similar to a Death Echo, forming into a being made of rose bushes, butterflies, and pure sorrow.

Danny witnesses the birth of something horrifying and his Core screams at him to run. This thing is dangerous, it's dangerous and wrong and will be his End. He stands to leave, but finds his legs unable to move. He struggles, panicked.

Roses appear from nothing as they quickly morph into black tendrils and ensnare him. He's lofted up, up, up to the Thing's- the Witch's 'face'. A corrupt butterfly stares back at him and howls. Danny shrieks in response, summoning an ecto ray in defense. He blasts the witch in its 'chest'. It doesn't appreciate this much, tossing him to the ground.

He shoots another few blasts at it as he falls, smirk on his face through the panic. But without access to his flight or intangibility, he plummets to the brambles below.

Danny forgets he can't summon his ghost form here. He remembers too late that his human form can't handle as much as his ghost form.

"Shit-"

"Oh so now you show up again."

Danny sits up from where his body crumpled. Thankfully, he only has a broken arm and a ton of scratches to show for it, having landed mostly in a fucked up rosebush.

"Have you given my offer more thought?" the rabbit-thing asks from its perch behind him.

"Sorry, I was too busy being jumped by a plant from my worst nightmares to think about wishing for a million bucks or whatever." Danny rolls his eyes, trying to hide the terror in his shaking body. "Seriously, do you have anything better to do than stalk me?"

"You are in no real position to ask this many questions, Daniel Fenton. This witch will kill you and devour you, and not necessarily in that order. It would be beneficial on both our ends for you to sign a contract with me."

Danny hates how right this little shit cat is. Without access to most of his powers, he's practically useless against a monster this large. And if he's useless he can't defeat, let alone escape. Not to think about what this thing will do to innocent mall-goers should it get bored of eating his corpse or whatever.

He shudders.

"They say dealing with the devil never goes well." he responds to the creature. "Although it's kind of a dick move, waiting to prey on me at my lowest point."

The creature stares at him with its infuriatingly neutral 'cute' expression. "Oh but I'm no devil. You may call me Kyubey. I am simply the familiar to all magical girls- in your case, magia. A contract with me would grant you the power to take on this witch, to embrace the potential you've already started to accumulate."

The witch watches angrily in the background, trying to seek him out amongst the brambles. Danny shudders.

"You keep mentioning potential. The hell does that mean?"

Kyubey stares at his soul with its vacant, beady eyes. "Never before have we seen someone manifest their own magic without a contract. It should be an impossibility! Bringing you to full potential could make you one of the strongest magia of all time. You could wish for nearly anything, and your potential would grant it!"

He considers it for a second as he hears the chains above them shaking. The noise blends in with the cacophonous whispers of dread.

"I..." Danny starts, another question on his lips before he feels the tug of magic on his Core, the sense of gears and hourglasses gripping everything around him. His head slowly turns as everything is frozen in place.

He blinks.

Kyubey's form fills with holes as the sound of gunfire reaches his ears.

Time resumes.

Kyubey's corpse collapses before him in a puddle of red and white viscera.

Danny screams, and the witch roars.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way.

In the near one hundred times she's done this month long song and dance, these back halls have only ever been occupied by four creatures. Herself, Miki, Kaname, and the Incubator.

So why is it there's a new presence? Why is Kyubey stalking a foreigner through the halls?

Never mind that.

She cannot fail. Her mission is clear, and she's once again ready to strike when Kyubey inevitably finds Madoka again, as it always does when this mall trip comes to pass.

Homura finds her patience wavering- it should have made its move on Madoka by now, but for some reason it's focused on a boy who clearly has no idea where he is or what he's doing. An anomaly in all these repeated timelines who won't even be able to see the incubator stalking him. She shouldn't waste her time following, but as soon as she loses sight of the damned incubator it'll strike. With her luck, it will snare Madoka in its claws in five minutes or less if she loses her nerve.

So she follows, shield in hand and ready to pounce.

It doesn't take too much longer for something to happen.

The boy, impossibly, sees Kyubey approach. Even more impossibly, he hits it with green fire when it asks for a contract. Her trigger finger itches, but it lacks a pistol for the moment.

Homura has no idea what to expect, but she did not expect for the boy to start threatening Kyubey, the same green magic being shot at it while in a fully human guise. Even stranger, the boy doesn't have any sort of indication that he's a magical gir- no a magia. He'd be a magia, she realizes.

Homura continues to follow the boy, long after Kyubey 'gives up'. With how he ignorantly walked right into a hatching witch's lair- Gertrude, one of the weaker witches to encounter she muses to herself- she doubts he's any sort of magia himself. Yet. Especially with how Kyubey is pursuing him. She wonders if this means Kyubey will leave Madoka alone for a while, with the boy catching its attention.

However, hive minded creatures can be everywhere at once.

Homura's momentary distraction causes her to stumble when a wall juts up from the floor beneath her. She curses when the labyrinth opens fully, separating herself and the boy she's investigating. There must be a reason he's shown up this loop, with how he can manipulate magic without a contract. There might even be the possibility he can help save Madoka this time, but she won't get her hopes up too high. Allies are far and few in between with how callous she must be to survive, and she doubts a normal looking foreign boy will put up with her aloof and cruel facade.

She fights her way through the labyrinth, using her magic to track the inner sanctum just as the boy witnesses the birth of a witch. There's no way he's a magia- not if he's reacting in enough fear to chill the room. No seasoned, or even new magia would dare show so much fear towards a witch. Not this openly.

Homura readies her gun as the boy is lofted in the air, almost too quickly for her to interfere.

Time pauses and he blasts the witch with his strange magic.

Wait.

How...?

Homura's brow furrows in distrust.

How is this-

Time resumes.

The blasts hit. The witch shrieks.

Homura is not close enough. She is not fast enough.

She is too surprised to stop time again.

And the boy falls.

Kyubey is a bastard. This is a fact.

The amount of times Homura has seen it approach Madoka or her friends at their lowest is astronomical, so she's not at all surprised to see it approach the boy after he takes what should have been a deadly fall. She's glad she's seen so much brutality in her short yet too long life- the sound of crunching bones is much easier to handle this way.

She wonders why Kyubey is being so persistent, but even more so, she needs to know how he was able to nullify her time stop, or at least how he was able to continue to move somewhat. She doesn't appreciate unknown variables, let alone ones that can be a threat to her mission. So she listens in- masking her presence best as she can from the Incubator.

"Oh but I'm no devil. You may call me Kyubey. I am simply the familiar to all magical girls- in your case, magia. A contract with me would grant you the power to take on this witch, to embrace the potential you've already started to accumulate."

Homura rolls her eyes. The Incubator might not look like a devil, but it is one she knows deeply.

"You keep mentioning potential. The hell does that mean?"

Homura prepares one of her more efficient guns, not liking the tone of the Incubator, nor the nervous panic in the boy's shoulders. Potential is power as a magical girl. The more potential, the stronger the magic and the more terrifying the witch. She reaches out to try feeling for the threads of potential surrounding the boy, shuddering as she does. Her eyes widen in surprise when it whispers the same tune as her own abilities- Time, but something more, something Other.

A possible ally, if she plays her cards right.

"Never before have we seen someone manifest their own magic without a contract. It should be an impossibility! Bringing you to full potential could make you one of the strongest magia of all time. You could wish for nearly anything, and your potential would grant it!"

Homura jolts to awareness then and there. The boy's eyes look resigned, his shoulders slump. He's going to do it- and she doesn't quite want to deal with either a new magia or witch with her mission on the line.

"I..."

Her decision is made. She winds up her shield and freezes everything as her gun unleashes a barrage of ammo at the Incubator.

Satisfied with the gored mess of the creature, she approaches the boy with a toss of her hair to soothe her nerves.

She's not surprised his eyes follow her despite the frozen time.

So she releases her hold on it and watches as he takes a shuddering breath and Kyubey's corpse collapses between them.

"You should not be here."

Danny snorts in response. "Believe me, I wouldn't be here even if I wanted to."

[hyunsvngs]

hey juno…its me again🧎🏻‍♀️.

okay so porn star chan…but hes ur boyfriend. youre at his house and hes filming a lil something so youre in the living room, you start developing this reall bad migraine and youre looking for the medicine you keep at his house. the issue is, your eyes are blurry from the migraine and you cant see well so you take the first meds you see…uh oh its his aphrodisiac he takes to keep himself excited during longer shoots…

SO NOW YOURE EXTREMELY HORNY AND WHINING FOR HIM THROUGH THE DOOR AND I JUST- JUNO DO YOUR THING BOO

oh…. my God. YU?!!!!?! SHIT.

putting this under a cut for potential dub!con since reader is under the effect of aphrodisiac pills, but she does gen want chan (mood). also this got way too long and i did modify the ask a bit BUT ITS SEXY SO ENJOY:D

pornstar!chan is filming a solo video in his room and you’re looking for your pain meds, rubbing your temples cautiously while you stumble through the house. you’ve been at chan’s place more than enough times, you know your way around, but the fuzziness around your eyes is preventing you from finding the bathroom door.

eventually, you all but fall into the bathroom and pull open the medicine cabinet, finding the familiar little white tablet bottle. you immediately choke back two, feeling refreshed instantly from a placebo effect. trying to block out chan’s dirty talk and deep, gravelly moans in his bedroom, you make your way back to the couch.

it only takes ten minutes. all of a sudden, you can feel your folds slicking up with your essence, and you try to ignore it. it wouldn’t be the first time you’d had a physical reaction to chan’s moans and voice ordering out commands in one of his instructional videos. except, as you hear his video come to an end, your stomach only pools with even more heat and need and you find yourself making your way to his bedroom before you can even process it.

he’s all done up, hair slicked back neatly with his signature gel and abs covered in massage oil. it had been one of those kinda videos. he’d just shut the camera off and cleaned himself up, and his eyes look at you in surprise when you enter. he was still naked. good, you mused. “baby! i just finished, heh, did you need anything?”

you’re crossing the room and straddling his lap before you know it, feeling your wet core sopping through your thin pyjama shorts. he lets out a little ‘oof’ in surprise, before his hands are going immediately to your ass.

you’re babbling, hands running up and down his body and slicking with the excess oil. “h-had a migraine, felt so dizzy, channie, but now- fuck, need you, need you, can you go again? can you-?”

“oh, baby, of course i can. always can for you, but-“ he blinked at you, winding one hand into your hair to pull at the strands softly. you keened, grinding down into his length that was already thickening with lust again. “oh my god, no fucking way.”

he was laughing. he was laughing at you while you were practically dying with need on his lap, and you didn’t even care, looking at him in slight confusion as you worked yourself up into a frenzy on his lap. “wha- wha’ is it, channie? need- hnnngg-“

chan didn’t halt the movement of your hips in the slightest, instead bucking up into you and letting you feel the erection he was sporting already. perks of being a pornstar - that refractory period was definitely a bonus. “i think you took some of the pills i take on set, baby. that’s why you’re feeling so needy for daddy.”

at the drop of his usual title in bed, you shifted your pyjama shorts to the side, letting him feel your wet folds gliding on his length. “hnnnn- the pills? w-what? ugh, don’t care! gimme your cock daddy.”

chan’s laughing again, a little chuckle leaving his plush lips in disbelief before he’s positioning his length at your dripping hole. he grips your hips, raising you up before lowering you slowly onto his thick length, letting you feel the big stretch. you keened, immediately starting to bounce up and down. chan groaned, leaning back in his computer chair. he was in shock you’d given yourself no time to adjust, but then he knew the effect these pills had.

you continued bouncing, moaning and keening and letting your fingers dig into his thick thighs.

“that’s it, baby. good girl. let daddy fuck that need out of you until you’re creaming all around my cock, hmm?”

-

♡ juno

(i’m sorry)