#because he had INVISIBLE control. not physical control

[maeo-png]

closing thoughts on the owl house in the tags cus boy howdy do i have a lot of them

[goldenlikedayl1ght]

...ready for it? - j.l. howlett

a/n: hi! here's a full version of a blurb i wrote a few days ago that got so much love so quick that i wanted to give yall a full version! the beginning is literally just the blurb but after that it's all new! like many of you wolverine brainrot has hit me hard, so here's graphic smut about him. leave a comment or a reblog if you enjoyed :) warnings: SMUT!!!!! some dumbification, use of pet names, reader is fem, reader is a mutant and able to control plants, lots of cursing, lots of grotesque fliritng/fantasies, some soft moments, some sort of primal sex, oral (fem receiving), some of the setting is probs inaccurate but whatever. let me know if i missed any big ones!! word count: 4.9 k summary: well, you had to find some way of entertaining yourself at charles xavier's school for gifted youngsters. and you have always liked an emotionally unavailable, absolutely hung, challenge. pairing: logan howlett x mutant!reader now playing: ...ready for it? - taylor swift "in the middle of the night, in my dreams/you should see the things we do, baby/in the middle of the night in my dreams/i know i'm gonna be with you, so i take my time"

You are absolutely enthralled with him. It’s actually sort of pathetic how your fingers twitch at the sight of him, at how the mention of his name or god forbid the sound of his voice makes your head snap up, attention deficit disorders be damned!

Funnily enough, you had no damn interest in Xavier’s stupid mutant school, because to you, you’re not an outsider because of your mutant abilities (that don’t have much of a physical apparition, at least one that you can’t hide) but because there’s never been much of a place for you to fit in.

But, you were behind on rent and of course, you fucking hate your job, so why not? You’d be able to be slightly less of a freak, and you’d get free room and board in the process! (Where Charles gets all of his money, you do not know.)

And because you’re a little older, Charles doesn’t force you to sit in a class room to learn about basic arithmetic and grammar lessons, so you really only do some training around three times a day, you have your own room (with a dusty box under the other bed, you also suspect your room used to be the ‘sex’ room) and you have the weekends off.

So for a twenty something year old with few ambitions, the social skills of a Martian with autism, and a huge crush on every older emotionally unavailable man you meet, it’s a pretty good set-up.

You’re waiting for time to pass in the garden, just reading a rather interesting book that Charles had recommended after he noticed you needed something to pass time before you started making bad decisions.

You hear his heavy footsteps on the gravel before you see him. Your heart beats faster, but you will yourself, do everything in your power not to glance up at him. And you let out a breath as you succeed, keeping your head down.

“In your natural habitat, are you, spitfire?” Your head darts up to him—There’s no way he isn’t talking to you, you know you’re the only one in this garden. And you can see his lips twitch up and you want to crawl out of your skin!

“My-My natural habitat?” You laugh, closing the book you’re reading because your attention is locked to him now.

“Yeah, seems like it.” He saunters on up to you and sits on the bench next to you.

And let’s make something very clear—

Logan Howlett does not sit.

This man poses, as if there’s always some invisible camera capturing every frame of movement, from the way his legs spread out, to the way his chest lifts when he inhales.

Fuck, you think you might die if you can’t suck him off right now.

“And what exactly is my uh.. habitat?” You question.

He takes out his lighter and a cigar, placing the cigar in his mouth as he gestures to the space around the two of you, lighter in hand.

“A garden.” He says, matter of facility, as his voice is muffled only the slightest bit by the cigar.

And you just sort of look at him before asking,

“Oh, you enjoy being boiled down to your mutations, Claws?” You question, and as he goes to light the cigar, he smirks.

“Alright, you gotta admit though, it is cliché!”

You are absolutely in agreement, there is zero doubt you are as much of a walking, breathing, real life living, stereotype.

“It is not!” And the pair of you give each other this look, like you’re both shocked at how whiney that statement is!

“Uh-huh, sure, Spitfire.” It sounds almost like he’s purring at you.

When he lights his cigar, he’s sort of eying you for your reaction, whatever you might say.

“You know, smoking is not only bad for you, it’s awful for the environment.”

“You’re probably the most cliché little freak around here.” Which.. honestly..? Shouldn’t possibly turn you on as much as it does.

You just stare at him for a minute, and he smirks.

“Cat got your tongue?’

And maybe it’s stupid and maybe it’s immature but your hand just comes over to fiddle with the pointed part of his hair.

“We’ll you certainly look the part.” He just looks at you, and honestly? The way he’s looking at you, it’s like he’s proud of you for teasing him.

“Aw, there’s my little spitfire,” He teases, just to see how red you get. And red you are— it’s embarrassing. And here’s the kicker—You are young. Exceptionally young, and what’s insane about that? How horny it makes both you and Logan.

The idea of fucking your innocent cunt, tight and all his, drives him genuinely mad. And you are, quite literally, a whore for the idea of riding this older man’s dick. You know he’s big—sometimes you see the outerline of it when he walks away from you all huffy and puffy.

“You’re a tease, Claws.” You respond, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Says you,” he raises and eyebrow, leaning closer to you now, “You’re the one laying around in the sun, looking like that.”

“Looking like this?” You scoff. You’re wearing a muscle tee and a pair of ripped jeans, but the gaps are huge and he can see your thighs. He wants to devour you, and you would let him if he only asked.

And let’s be clear—he is fucking you with his eyes. There’s no way to go around it.

“I think you’re just.. horny.” You tease, and he just growls. Seriously, this man who is undressing you with his eyes, growls, because he does want you and he is horny!

“I think you’re onto something.” He purrs, and you want to just.. god. You don’t know how to express the pit of desire that grows in you. “I would fuck you until you couldn’t think, right here among your pretty flowers. Would you like that, baby?” he asks, his hand finding your thigh.

But you just cough on the smoke from his cigar, before frowning.

“You really shouldn’t smoke.”

“Aw, I’ll make it up to you.” He smirked. “Promise, spitfire.”

He’s very close to you now, so you take a second to just breath and you know that he knows that he’s got you—hook, line, and sweet, sweet sinker.

And then you realize what exactly it is that you’ve gotten yourself into. And what a nightmare it is—Or maybe a dream if you listen to the pathetic part of your brain, but you are into this an in a way that is concerning for your own mental wellbeing and desperately want to avoid him having all the power in this situation.

“Oh, I am sure you will.” You assure. You lean forward, plucking the cigar from his lips, and placing it on the ground, squashing it beneath your heel. With a flick of your wrist, vines and grass grow over the cigar, composting it. And from the vines, grows a small little buttercup flower.

You lean down and pluck the flower from the grass, before tucking it behind Logan’s ear.

“You should take care of that hard-on you have, Claws.” You hum, before standing up, and walking away. And for a minute, he just watches you go—partly to because you have an amazing ass, but partly because you have absolutely flabbergasted him.

And have made him want you even more.

• • •

The next time you see him is the next night, in the woods near the mansion. Because the literal sixteen year olds you go to ‘school’ with do not know how to do anything on the weekend except drink, fuck, and smoke.

Honestly, you kind of fit in great.

So here you are, nursing a mason jar of.. some fucked up concoction, and you’re not too sure what’s in it, but you have drunk two of them and are on your third. You think you might live forever, until you glance up and see Logan, in these fuck me jeans and this burnt orange flannel and a wife beater.

Instantly, you know that you’ll die tonight if you don’t have him.

He approaches you with this cocky smirk as if he hasn’t realized your intoxicated state yet.

“Now what’s a little spitfire like you doing all alone on a Friday night?” he questions, tilting his head. His smirk is deadly. And you roll your eyes.

“Here comes the big bad Wolverine, all bark and no bite.” You scoff, and his eyes flash with surprise. Only for a second, but even drunk, you notice the way his eyes shoot up in surprise.

“All bark and no bite? That’s quite the accusation.” He hums.

“Well, we’ve been.. eye fucking each other for a few weeks now, and you haven’t even kissed me yet. I get being into foreplay and edging, but holy shit, Claws, throw a girl a bone once in a while.” You scoff, and for a moment, he just looks at you.

“Are you.. drunk?”

“Do you think I’m drunk?”

“Yeah, you’re drunk.” He sighs. You respond by taking another sip of your drink, but before the bitter liquor hits your tongue, he snatches the bottle from you.

“Let me take you home.” You’re sure your eyes look like hearts, so, dreamily and a little love struck, you respond,

“’Kay.”

And he chuckles a little bit at that.

“We’re not gonna do anything, I’m just gonna walk you home, spitfire.” He starts, and your face falls a little bit, but in an effort to hide it, you respond,

“..’kay.” And he sees right through you. You’re pretty much an open book. And the alcohol doesn’t help. His pointer finger and thumb comes to your chin, and he gently rubs his thumb against your lip.

“Don’t be like that, pup. It’ll happen soon. Just not tonight, okay?” He assures.

“’Kay.” You answer softly, and you think he smiles at you but your vision is sort of blurry. Then, you blink, as a gust of wind moves through the trees, sending a shiver down your spine. He sighs, and wordlessly takes off his flannel, before wrapping it around you. Your arms slip into the sleeves, and you almost cry because it’s like, the best hug in the entire world. “Won’t.. you be cold, then?” you question, and he just shakes his head.

“Let’s get you home, spitfire.” He holds a handout to you, and without a second thought, you take his hand. He wraps his arm around you, and you lean against him like it’s something the two of you do often. If you were sober, you might short circuit. But, you’re not, so it feels right.

The walk home is quiet, but Logan’s thumb gently rubs against your shoulder. He wants to do more, but he knows he shouldn’t, since you are in fact plastered.

You ignore the giggles and whispers from teenagers making their way past you to the party or to their rooms, and you even ignore the way their giggles stop when they meet Logan’s gaze.

When you get back to your room, you take a second to lean against the door, and he takes a second to admire the way you look in his clothes.

“Ready for bed?” he asks gently, and you just smile at him.

“You’re really pretty.” He just does the half scoff-half chuckle that you’re obsessed with. Then, he wraps his arm around you again, opening the door to your room, and guiding you inside. He gets you to your bed and sits you down, before kneeling in front of you to untie your boots. “Has anyone ever told you how good you look on your knees?” you ask.

He just gives you this smirk.

“One or two pretty girls back in the day.” He says, “None as pretty as you though, spitfire.” He says, and you groan, leaning back and laying on the bed, as he pulls off your boots.

“You’re awful.” And you need him.

“Yes, I know, baby.” His voice is almost condescending, and it turns you on. But then he stands up, grabbing the folded blanket from the edge of your bed, and laying it over you. He finds his place kneeling next to you again as you stare at him, cozy in bed. His hands gently brush hair from your face. “Do you need anything else?”

“You.”

“Soon. But not yet, pup. You’re too drunk.” He says softly.

“Thanks for walking me home, Claws.”

“You’re very welcome, Spitfire.” He purrs, leaning forward and kissing your forehead gently. “I’ll see you in the morning. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Logan.” You mumble as you drift off to sleep. He sits there for a few minutes, just looking at you for a long time before he gets up and creeps out of your room.

• • •

The next morning, you sit in the cafeteria, drinking a large coffee, and nursing the worst hangover, possibly of your life. Made even worse by the fractions of memories about what happened last night.

You rub your eyes, flinching when you hear the clatter of a plate on the table, and someone sitting across from you. You peek through the gaps of your fingers to see Logan sitting across from you, a smirk on his face.

He opens his mouth to say something but you beat him to it.

“I hate you. Shut up.”

“I didn’t even say anything!” he laughs. But he sees how much pain you’re in, and slides two pieces of sourdough toast to you. “Truce?”

“Truce.” You agree, taking a slice and biting into it. You feel better.

And after a moment of silence, he asks,

“I’m never getting my flannel back, am I?”

Truthfully, the flannel has been folded neatly and tucked into your drawer, for the next time you need some comfort.

You tilt your head, looking right into his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

• • •

Weeks go by like this.

You spend your days either going to class or hanging out—okay, it’s more like flirting with a side of hanging out, with Logan. The pair of you become quite close, and maybe that’s why you haven’t fucked yet.

Oh, the two of you want to, and it’s obvious to everyone (Charles has called you out for being distracted more times than you can count, and you remind him not to probe your mind, and he tells you he does not need his mutant abilities to see that your thoughts linger elsewhere.) but you’re.. afraid, at this point.

Which is odd, because you’re no virgin, you know he wants you, but.. what if everything changes after that? Maybe he’ll start to avoid you. Maybe you’ll start to avoid him. And you’ve really become good friends, and don’t want to lose it.

And then, there’s the fact that half the time, he’s away on dangerous missions, and even if he can regenerate, you worry about him. But he hasn’t been on any lately, so it’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You’re sitting in the garden when it happens.

He finds you, and this time, you do not even try to hide the way your head picks up and gazes at him.

“Hi, Spitfire.” He grins, and you smile a bit at him.

“Claws, what can I do for you?” And he sits next to you, and for some reason, maybe because he doesn’t say anything at first, you know that there is something wrong. And you know what it is.

After a few minutes, you glance to him.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Your voice is quiet, as if you’re scared that if it gets any louder, everything will fall apart.

“Yeah. Charles has me going on another mission.” He doesn’t say it, but you both know this isn’t an involuntary thing.

“Cool.” You cringe at your reaction.

“I guess.” He laughs weakly, as if he knows he’s twisting a knife buried within you.

Silence fills the air. It’s not necessarily uncomfortable, but it isn’t the relaxed silence you’re used to with him. Confessions dance on the tips of your tongues, and you’re so close to saying it, that when you turn to each other suddenly, you just need to look at each other for a second.

“Be safe.” You say quietly. “And hurry back.” You request, and you try not to sound like you’re begging.

“Of course.” He says, like it perplexes him that you even have to request. “I can’t leave you here yearning for me forever, can I?” He teases, and for a moment, you have this flash of an alternate universe where he does die on this mission and you are trapped in this garden forever, waiting for him. Like a lost puppy, or worse, a lost lover. The mere thought of it fucks with your head.

“No. You can’t. I won’t allow it.” You explain, “If anything, I’m the one that should be haunting you.” He just smiles. A real, not at all awkward smile.

“I’m sure you will, spitfire.” He says, and his head comes forward so that his forehead is resting against yours.

“When do you leave?” You ask gently, and he sighs. His breath smells of mint and cigar smoke, maybe even a hint of lemon.

“An hour. I have to pack quick and then debrief.” He answers you.

And just as love struck as you were the night of the party, you answer,

“’Kay.” You smile weakly at him. And he just.. looks at you for a few minutes before sighing again. He pulls away and leans up to kiss your forehead again, before standing up. He turns a few steps away from you just to tease you.

“Don’t miss me too much, okay?” he requests softly. Before you can stop yourself, you stand up, and wrap your arms around him. He only pauses for a half a second before he returns your embrace, and it becomes apparent that you both needed this moment. You stay like this for a few minutes before you pull away.

“Bring me back a souvenir.” You try, a soft smile on your face.

“Yeah, don’t worry. I’ll bring you something great from the great city of Tulsa, Ohklahoma.” He grins.

“Deal.”

“Deal.”

• • •

For the next week, you feel like this must be what it was like for housewives when their husbands went to war. You knew all too well that that statement was extremely dramatic, but you simply cannot help yourself.

You think you might die by day three.

It’s like you’re going through withdrawals and it’s making you go genuinely insane.

You have worn this man’s flannel for almost the entire week, because at first you’re a little self-conscious of other people noticing your repeating outfits, but only at first. By day four, you have decided you don’t give a single fuck.

Day eight you’re just laying in bed, quietly making a list of all the positions you want him to take you in. It’s a long list. You’re brought back to reality by a knock on your door. You’re about to snap, knowing that you’ll tell whatever child has been sent to bother you to scram, but when you open the door, you grin widely.

Logan stands there, looking tired, but he’s smiling and holding up a shot glass that reads ‘Tusla’, and has skyline on it.

“Didn’t I tell you I’d get you a souvenir?” He asks, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, pulling him in. He hugs you back, making sure to squeeze you just a bit—your feet barely come off the ground.

He pulls away, and you grin up to him.

“You came back.” You say it as if you can barely believe it, and just for a moment, he feels an emotion he can’t quite place, but he ignores it.

“Of course I came back, spitfire. All in one piece too, as requested.” He grins, and you’re just.. amazed at the look of him. “What’s that look for?” He asks gently, tilting his head.

“I just..” you start.

And then you break.

You lean up and kiss him gently, those stupidly delicious sideburns making your stomach flip. He doesn’t waste time, kissing you back, his arms around your waist. After a minute, you pull away.

“Sorry. I’m kind of done playing that game of waiting for you to kiss me. I just got the first hit of you I’ve had all week, and I feel fucking amazing.” You confess, and sure, it’s not a big grand love confession with tears and poetry, but your words make him kiss you so intensely that you start backing into your room, his hands exploring your body as you tug off his leather jacket, a new flannel for you to steal coming off soon after.

He keeps kissing you as his hands come down to your jeans, unbuttoning and unzipping them, before gently pushing you to sit on the bed. He kneels in front of you, and begins to tug off your boots again, then, on your jeans.

You grin.

“You know, I’m getting the oddest sense of déjà vu. Something about you looking great on your knees.” You tease, and he just tugs off your jeans in one strong swoop, before leaning in to bite your thigh. You gasp, your hands coming up to tug his hair.

Then, he begins to tug at your panties, and you tilt his head up, glancing at him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, before I was interrupted, I was about to eat you out.”

“Wait, really?”

He blinks, confused.

“Yeah. Is that a, uh.. problem..?” He hasn’t gotten any complaints yet.

“I just.. I didn’t think guys actually did that, I thought it was just.. a porno thing.” And at this, the man who is about to burry his face between your thighs, laughs. And not just a chuckle, this man hollars. “What’s so funny, claws?” You ask, a little suspicious.

“Nothing,” he promises, “I am just going to take such good care of you, pup.”

“I’m holding you to that, claws.” And then, he leans in and begins to kiss your thighs, gently biting down here and there. Then, he licks a stripe along your cunt, and you let out this loud moan, and your hand comes up to clamp over your mouth, but he reaches up to grab your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

He pulls away to lecture you. Lecture you. On his knees. Head between your thighs.

“Nuh-uh, I wanna hear all the pretty noises you can make for me.” Then, softer, he adds, “Never been eaten out before, fuckin’ travesty.” He mumbles, before leaning in to lick your cunt again, beginning to lap his tongue over your throbbing heat.

His nose rubs against your clit, and it’s enough to drive you genuinely crazy. You’re unsure how you’ve gotten to this point in your life without having your pussy worshipped like this, but with him around, you’re pretty sure you’ll never go another day without it.

His tongue continues to work magic on your cunt, as his nose presses against your clit, stimulating you to the point of making you see stars.

Your hands tug at his hair, and the moan that it elicits from him is enough to send vibrations through your cunt through your stomach. Your head leans back as you moan, and for a moment, you hope there is no mutant in this mansion with super hearing.

His free hand grips your thigh as he bends your leg back to get better access, as he continues to eat you out. The mere taste of you is enough to drive him crazy—He almost wants to start thrusting into the side of your bed, he’s so hard, but he ignores that urge to continue to eat you out.

“Mm—Lo, I—I’m gonna—”

He just hums into your cunt, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze of approval, before his tongue moves even faster (if that’s even possible, though, he is an amazingly surprising man), and suddenly—

You feel a release you have been waiting for weeks, and it is fucking phenomenal. And the Wolverine just licks up all your cum, even if it makes your thighs shake, but honestly, he doesn’t care and neither do you. For a moment, you just listen to the sound of your own pants.

After a minute, you are able to look at him, and he just looks up to you with the same smirk that has been torturing you for all of those weeks. And you just have to pull him up to kiss you, like it’s the only way you’ll be able to live.

As you kiss him, you pull off his wifebeater and then your hands rest on the sides of his face as he pulls off your shirt as well, before his hands begin to make quick work of his belt, wanting to skip all of the pleasantries and just fuck you.

But when he finally gets his jeans off, you pull away, and he stares at you like you’re crazy.

“What the fuck could possibly be more important than me fucking you stupid?”

“Will you just.. let me look at you?” You scoff, your eyes flickering over him to just memorize every square inch of his body. He humors you for a few minutes, standing there with his hands on hips before he leans in and cages you in with his arms.

“Show’s over, spitfire.” He purrs, leaning in to kiss you, slowly making his way closer to you so that you’re laying back on your bed. At some point during the kiss, his boxers come off, and when you feel his cock against your cunt, you moan into the kiss, and you can feel his smirk against your lips.

Oh, you could kill him. But, you suspect maybe he’ll get to you first.

After he kisses you for a few minutes, he pulls away to tell—not ask, tell you, “I’m going to fuck you now.” And you know your line.

“’Kay.” He grins at this and kisses you again, before lining himself up and starting slowly. He just has the tip inside of you, and you begin to moan, your grip on his shoulders tightening. You already feel entirely too full, and he slowly agonizingly slowly pushes into you, and he sees how his size makes your face twitch,

“Shh, shh, I know, pup. Deep breathes for me, bub,” he says softly, such a stark contract to his rough movements, as he bottoms out and has his entire cock inside of you. And he gives you a second, watching as your face relaces, adjusting to the size of him. “Okay?” He asks, and you nod.

“’Kay,” You assure, and he kisses your forehead.

“’Kay.” He responds, and before you can tease him for it, he begins to thrust into you, slowly as first, but he continues to quicken his pace. Your nails begin to scratch on his back, and he lets out this angelic moan—You must’ve died and went to heaven.

As his thrusts quicken, the lines quickly blur between quick ruts and an animalistic need, manifesting itself in the way he fucks you. You know you won’t last long, especially when his fingers find your clit and begin to rub it again.

“Fuck! Oh my god—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he coos, his free hand coming to your thigh to lift your leg up, only for better access to your throbbing cunt, “God, I love the feeling of you around me.. Worth the wait, I promise.” He grumbles, as he thrusts into you, his only goal to make you cum.

You want to respond to that—To tease him, to make him feel as shy as you do, but he has completed his goal of fucking you stupid.

All you can do is respond, “Fuck—I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby, go ahead, cum for me,” he requests softly, leaning in to press a rather jarringly sweet kiss to your lips.

As you cum around his cock, he shudders, the look of you, laying there fucked dumb, is almost too much for him to bear.

“I’m gonna fill you up, pup,” he tells you, and all you can do is moan in response, which makes him come that much closer to the edge. After a few more thrusts, with a euphoric moan that will haunt you forever, his hot cum fills you up, leaving the pair of you clawing at each other, wanting more.

When you’re both finally finished riding out your high, Logan lays next to you, keeping you close. His grip on you is tight—possessive. When you finally find your voice, you ask,

“You’re not gonna turn me into a booty call, are you, claws?”

And he laughs.

“No,” he says, pressing a kiss to your head. “You’re gonna be my best girl, Spitfire.”

“Does this mean I get to steal another of your flannels?”

“I’ll give you my whole fucking wardrobe to see how many times I can make you cum.”

[perfectlyoongi]

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who proposed to you on vacation on the outskirts of florence. four days of beautiful scenery and incredible memories were just a cover for Jungkook's true plan: in a green field dressed in brightly colored flowers, the two of you were having a small picnic while laughter and tender words danced with the gentle breeze of the day; and when Jungkook's question flowed as naturally as any other sentence he could have said, your heart immediately accelerated, sending waves of happiness and fulfillment throughout your body. “will you marry me? make a whole life by my side? only you and me?”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who insisted on throwing floating lanterns at your wedding. but Jungkook didn't want any lanterns, no; Jungkook wanted your dreams and desires for your life to be written and decorated on the light fabric of the lantern, believing that, when they reached the vast starry sky, they would be able to cling to the various stars and guard your future forever. “the celestial magic of the stars will make all our dreams come true, you’ll see.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who kisses you under the rain on bad days. it was a simple gesture, something small and quite banal, but it was something precious, an action that warmed you inside and made you feel good, made you feel alive; it was between raindrops that Jungkook declared his love for you in the form of a kiss, the lips that sang so many promises to you and shared so many dreams reminding you that in all the darkness of the world, among all the rain and grey, there was always something warm, there was always his love for you. “just to remind you that after so long, i still love you. and i will love you forever.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who wears his wedding ring like a badge of honor. Jungkook was proud to be your husband; for him, you were the only person to exist, you were the only one who really mattered because you, quite simply, were incredible in every way; so, having a token of your love, something physical that people could see, only made Jungkook's eyes shine even brighter — after all, he was eternally united to the best person that could exist. “yes, i’m married to the love of my life. isn't it incredible? i’m the luckiest man alive.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who hugs you from the back in the morning and gently kisses your neck. still infected by sleep, Jungkook walked slowly through the kitchen, his feet leaving traces of need, his small yawns looking for you lazily; Jungkook's arms would wrap around you without any difficulty, squeezing you with all the love he felt for you, letting his natural scent mix with that of breakfast; Jungkook's lips kissed your neck innocently, an invisible mark of wishes for a good day beginning another opportunity to live life. “good morning. you weren’t in bed, i thought i wouldn’t have time to say goodbye.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who takes you on long car rides at night just to decompress. with the windows open to let the night breeze flood his car, Jungkook took you to different neighborhoods and streets without any destination in mind, just the desire to bring you a little peace controlling his steering wheel; soft music was gently played in the car, while the stars of the night guided you to moments of tranquility and serenity that made you realize that it was with Jungkook that life was worth living. “the night is beautiful today. do you wanna go out? we can eat ice cream later.”

HUSBAND!JUNGKOOK who will love you forever and ever. Jungkook deeply believed that it was the universe that brought you together; it was impossible for two such deep and similar souls to meet by chance — it had to be destiny. because, for Jungkook, your souls had already been formed in ancient times, wandering through worlds and constellations in search of a way of loving deeper than the spiritual — and here you two were, extending every fragment of your passion beyond the soul. “what are the chances of feeling like we’ve loved each other forever? believe me, we are made of the same celestial dust.”

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[bluecollarmcandtf]

Don't get possessed!

You'll end up like this...

Gassy air bubbled from deep inside my soft, pudgy stomach. The smell of semi-digested beer wafted into my nose as my lips flapped in the gust of a violent belch dragging itself out. God, this body was disgusting, but this is what I did to it; this is what I did to him...

I used his cellphone to snap a pic of the sweaty slab of meat I'd been wearing for the past three years. It was the disgraced body of a former jock. Jake's stomach rumbled like it always did when I filled it to the brim. Even after all this time, it still hasn't adapted to the crap I've constantly been stuffing it with.

Swallowing yet another beer, I toss the can into the corner of his dark living room, where it collided with discarded pizza boxes and half empty milk jugs. I'd let the entire apartment overflow with the garbage generated by this once-godly body, and there was a lot of it.

The place smelled like a dumpster in the sun.

You might think this is a disgusting way to live. Well, I did too. Everything about the situation was nasty; the damp basement apartment, the stacks of dirty dishes, the closet of unwashed clothes. The entire place had a permanent stench of body odor, and I know it followed this body around everywhere.

I had never in my life felt so absolutely disgusted by my surroundings.

But that was the exact fucking point.

To explain, we'll have to flash back to a few years ago. Let me show you a photo of Jake when I first possessed him. I took this right after jumping into his perfect body...

The athlete had just gotten back from the gym. It was another perfect workout for the perfect jock, and I could feel the grit and intensity swelling in every muscle. The college footballer would normally shower after any physical activity, but I was happy to crack open a beer and bask in his sweaty glory.

I don't know if you could tell, but I am not a fan of Jake.

He was a pretentious bully at my university, and he got away with anything. I tried my best to stay out of his way, but ultimately found myself staring into the headlights of his fancy Christmas present: a shiny black camaro. The asshole ended my life while driving back to campus after one of his famous parties!

I hate to be dramatic, but I was not ready to pass away, and I was not going to let an asshole like Jake get away with my murder. The police couldn't solve the crime any more than I could console my mourning family, so I took matters into my own ghostly hands.

Jake, beautiful Jake, didn't have a single iota of remorse. He continued to get belligerently drunk, and continued to shame and ridicule anyone shorter, weaker, or fatter than him, which was just about anyone. The worst part was people let him: they allowed it because he was the strongest, the most handsome, the prize quarterback with a winning smile!

I had to do something to stop the piece of trash lurking inside his god-like body.

So I possessed him. And I did this...

When I took over, it was like putting on a body suit. As a ghost, I was invisible, so I got right behind and slipped inside. First, I shoved a leg in, then an arm, and then the rest followed.

He struggled, flailing the few body parts he still had control over, but it was in vain!

My head was the last thing to get situated, but once I slid it into place, his yelling subsided. His thoughts evaporated, and I broke in his handsome face with a wicked smile. It felt different, grinning with someone else's mouth, but I was just glad to have a body again. His was definitely an upgrade compared to my old one. The height I stood at, the breadth of my shoulders, the weight of muscular pecs hanging off my chest; it all took some getting used to.

I enjoyed living inside the jock's body, but I was on a revenge mission. The first thing I wanted to screw up was his diet!

I started shoveling massive amounts of fast-food down his throat three times a day, packing on forty pounds in just a couple weeks. Obviously, I quit going to his football practice and even dropped out from his classes. I needed the time to bulk his body up.

His teammates and coaches all reached out, but I told them to get lost. He took everything from me, so I wanted to do the same to him...

This is a pic I took of Jake's body after almost a year of controlling him. I wanted him to look and smell as awful as possible in public, so I kept him as sweaty and hairy as I could. Despite my best efforts, his attractiveness was still shining through. If anything, he looked like a hot, hard-working bear on the way home from the job, and that was not what I wanted.

This made me realize that I could destroy more than just his looks.

In his body, I marched back to campus and begged the manager of the university gym for a job. A bunch of his old friends were there to see it, so I made sure to act as pathetic as possible in the six foot hunk, practically grovelling for any position. I even dropped to Jake's knees in front of the guy, giving a lot of the gym-goers second hand embarrassment.

Ultimately, the manager offered me a janitorial position if I would shut up. I accepted it gladly, kissing the guys shoes with Jake's lips like some kind of submissive idiot.

So even though Jake's body was still attractive with the extra weight and fur I'd given it, the dingey old uniform of a janitor made sure to mark him as the bottom of the food chain. I wore it like a badge of honor, even if I never washed the damn thing. Wearing a stained boilersuit labelled 'janitor' everywhere definitely told the world what Jake was worth!

By that point, people really only saw Jake as a walking mop, if they even looked his direction at all...

This last picture is one I took after about a year of working for the school. No one had spoken to me (Jake) in that entire time, unless they needed a toilet unclogged. The man had truly lost any respect people had for him.

The overalls hide the giant gut I'd managed to grow on his torso, but you can look at the top pic if you want to see how fat and hairy I ultimately got him. He looked nothing like the explosive athlete he'd been a couple years ago.

I took that photo right before I released Jake's to his body.

The jock probably wouldn't recognize himself. He'd wonder why he was suddenly so fat and hairy. He'd be terrified by the janitorial uniform on his back and even more horrified by the layers of dried sweat swamping his skin. It wouldn't be until he realized how much time had passed that he would fully understand the punishment I'd carved out for him. I wonder how he'll react when he finds out that he's spent the last three years scrubbing floors in the gym instead of working out in it.

I wonder if he'll clean himself up and learn a lesson? Or maybe he'll just accept his fate and give in to the habits I've made for his body. I don't know, and I don't care.

I'll be long gone by then.

Honestly, I have to admit that it's kind of fun living like this. Disgusting, sure, but there's something about reveling in the laziness, the degradation, the stink. I never allowed myself to be so laid back in life. Maybe, I learned something from this experience with Jake as well. I'm starting to think I'll find a new body to possess and live in. Someone I can take over and use for my own immediate pleasures.

Maybe you're the right candidate! You've got a nice body I could jump into. You won't mind if I hop in and drive for a few years, would you? You'll be disgusted by the state I leave you in, but hey it's not like it's my body I'm fucking up, right!

[dark-and-kawaii]

˚₊‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱‧ An Incubus & His Dove ‧꒰ა❤︎໒꒱‧₊˚

Summary: You return to the House of Hope to seek out Haarlep… Only this time, he doesn’t suckle on your soul- refusing to feed off you, but why?

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ Pairings: Haarlep x F!Tav/Reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ Content: NSFW - Hurt/Comfort - Breeding - Soft Haarlep - Cervix Penetration - Angst - Love

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ Notes: Who isn’t a sucker for a good incubus romance smut story? Enjoy xoxo

The following stroke, just as brutal as the first, followed after a cruel ten second pause, ripping another scream from my throat. It was always this way. Every visit to the House of Hope ended the same, with you sprawled beneath the incubus Haarlep, your wrists bound by his massive hands, your body a canvas for his cruel pleasure. Which you always happily accepted…

The next thrust made your toes curl and your back arch, “Hah~ Haarlep~!” you gasped the demon's name. To which made him chuckle deeply, and continue the rhythm. 

Haarlep was beautiful, undeniably so. His eyes held a hypnotic allure, and his touch, though brutal, sent shivers down your spine always. He was a monster, yes, but he was your monster.

“Such a pretty little voice, dove~ And all for me~?” The creature purred into your ear, it was such a deep, husky, and oh so sexy tone that made you shudder. All you could do was bite your lip to stifle the sound that threatened to slip.

Haarlep gave your neck a warning bite.

You released your lip and whimpered, “y-yes~”. 

He was right. You were all his. You knew this… It’s unfortunate Raphael didn’t know this… 

You knew you should’ve fought back when you first met Haarlep, resist his advances. But you couldn't. You were powerless against him, both physically and emotionally. As if an invisible string had attached you to one another…

“Hmm~ You know~~~ You really shouldn't be making such sweet noises. I may end up eating you alive before I get my fill of you~” Haarlep winked, his pace never slowing.

Your cheeks heated up at that thought, and you turned your head away, “I-I-“ A particularly hard thrust cuts you off, “Ah~ Haarlep!!! Haaaarlep~ ♡!!”

It wasn't until then, when you realized, that Haarlep hadn't fed yet... Your eyes opened wide and you quickly looked at him, he seemed to be enjoying himself thoroughly, but something was off…

“Ngh~ hah~!” You struggled against his hands, wriggling your wrists around in his grasp and cried out, “s’too m-much~ w-wait~ haa~”

The creature pulled you close with his wings, his tail wrapping around your thigh to keep you pressed firmly against him as his cock slowly started to painfully pull out. His bulbous head stretching your tiny tight pussy as it began to leave your body. 

He'd just been going at you like an animal, but hadn't actually fed off you… Haarlep was simply enjoying the moment, the pleasure you provided him with.

As the head finally popped out, you were left panting and whimpering beneath him, and he was left groaning and growling at the sudden lack of warmth. He was about to push his cock back in until you slipped your leg free of his tail and kicked his chest.

Haarlep grunted as his large body was pushed over… And you wasted no time climbing on top of him and sinking his cock into your tight, hot cunt. 

You both moaned at the sensation, and you were the first to move, slowly rolling your hips.

His eyes shut in pleasure as his hands quickly found their place on your ass, his claws digging into the flesh, “My~ What a feisty dove~! So hungry for my cock~ I'm glad, because I'm not letting you go~ Mmm~ So warm and wet~ My little dove~”

You leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest as you rode his cock, your moans soft and sweet, his name dripping from your lips like honey.

Haarlep licked his lips and arched his back, pulling you down further onto him as he took control, bouncing you in his lap and pounding your tight cunt. His orangish red eyes met yours and his tail wrapped around your thigh again, pulling your leg away from his hip causing your hips to shift forward. The new angle had the head of his cock pressing against your cervix, which sent your back arching, your eyes closing and your jaw dropping in a silent scream.

His thrusts only got harder and more powerful, bullying and punching your insides with his cock- bruising your cervix as he watched you fall apart.

“Haarleeeepppp~ M-my puswy~ it- it’s gonna break~! Ahn~ pleaseee~ ah!~ ♡ Haaaa~ ♡ ♡ ♡!!!!!~”

It felt like you were being impaled on the head of some enormous pole as the demon kept thrusting his cock up into you, to the edge of your womb.

“Ah, yes!~ Sing for me dove~ with that pretty little voice of yours! Let all those pitiful souls know how good you're taking it!! I want them to hear the pleasure I give you~”

“Sh’o d-deep~ Ahhah- crush-crushing mah~ dee-pest~ parts~!~ H-haar-leeeeeppp~ ♡!!!!~”

With each thrust his head hit your cervix, and he was getting closer and closer to penetrating the deepest part of you.

You were so close, so very close to cumming, but a part of you wanted him to do it… To penetrate your deepest part.

To make you his completely, his and no one else's.

You knew that's what he wanted too, after all, you'd already let him have a taste of you... Why not have him devour you?

With that thought in mind you wrapped your arms around his neck and whispered into his ear, begging him, pleading for him, to give you what you both desired, “P-please, my- my incubus~ Pour your seed inside me, please- I need it, I want it~ I want to feel you, I want to be filled with you and no one else. Only you~ u-until there’s nothing left~ hah♡”

Your words had an immediate effect on him, Haarlep let out a throaty moan and picked up his pace, pounding away at your cervix, abusing the hole and trying to force his way through, “I can feel it you know~,” The way he spoke made your heart skip a beat, “The way those slick gummy walls of yours clamp down around me when talking about filling your tiny womb with my spawn~”

You whined, the sound needy and high pitched.

That seemed to be his breaking point, his claws digging into your ass cheeks, spreading them apart, as he forced the head of his cock into your tight cervix. His mouth falling open, sweat forming on his brow, a deep blush for the very first time in his existence spread across his cheeks and his tongue hanging from his mouth as he drank the pleasures your body has to offer. 

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you wouldn't trade this feeling for the world. Your enslaved incubus looked so cute like this. Almost innocent, despite being buried balls deep inside of you, his cock in the shallowest part of your womb…

The head of his cock twitched and throbbed as it started spewing hot ropes of cum into you, his seed painting the deepest parts of your womb a creamy white.

Your tongue lolled out of your mouth, and a bit of drool dripped down onto Haarlrp as your body convulsed and squirted all over his abdomen.

Slowly, Haarlep ground his cock inside of you, pushing his seed deeper and deeper inside of you, while also rubbing against the sensitive spots inside of you. His eyes locked on your face, taking in your cute expression, your teary eyes and drooling mouth, and your flushed cheeks. My how he loved that fucked out expression, it was one he'd seen on you plenty of times, and it was one he adored. How strange. Adored? No… More than that. Haarlep found his feelings for you growing with each day.

You held such immense value for him- your soul, your delicate frame, your charming visage, and that enchanting voice of yours… How he would grimace whenever a visitor came to him, daring to suggest he take your form, only for him laugh with a firm refusal...

Haarlep's wings unfurled at the thought, and his eyes drifted down, resting upon the sight of his cock inside of you, stretching your small, quivering pussy out, the way it hugged his length was beautiful... His hand made its way to your stomach and he found himself rubbing small circles where your womb would be... Where he could sense the smallest of soul within you... Haarlep could feel it earlier when you arrived, how you, his little dove, was carrying his child, his spawn- how you were carrying his child and didn't even know…

As your orgasm died down and your body began to relax, Haarlep slowly pulled out of you... The tip of his cock popping free from your cervix causing you to whine in response, a thin trail of cum and blood dripping out of you.

Haarlep laid his head back and relaxed, a small smile gracing his features as he enjoyed the afterglow.

Your afterglow, however, was you still being a mess, dry tears that left streaks down your cheeks, drool covering your mouth, and a small pool of liquid forming beneath you, on Haarlep.

The incubus grinned and wiped the drool from your chin, he noticed how you were staring at him, the look in your eyes told him that you were exhausted. He couldn't blame you, the way you were moaning earlier, the way you sang and screamed and cried his name- and the way you looked at him now, it was all so adorable, so cute... But there was something else there in those glazed over eyes of yours... His finger never leaving the soft flesh of your chin, his claw gently tracing along the curve of your bottom lip.

You shivered and slowly blinked.

Haarlep chuckled deeply, “Has my little dove found herself enamored by the pleasures Raphael's incubus can provide?”

Your cheeks turned a deep red, “No- no that's not it-“ You bit your lip, no... It wasn't that... Your eyes fell to Haarlep's v-line, your fingers absentmindedly running along his warm skin, “I-...”

“You...?” Haarlep hummed and watched you, waiting for your reply.

…

You looked up at him, tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, “Haarlep… Why didn't you feed off of me?”

Haarlep's full lips curled into a mocking smirk, his eyes glittering with mischief, “Always so curious,” he teased, his voice a smooth purr that sent shivers down your spine, “Must I have a reason for everything I do?”

But you knew there was more, something hidden beneath his playful facade. The thought gnawed at you, a relentless itch that wouldn't be satisfied with his evasive answers.

Haarlep continued, “Well it’s quite simple, isn't it? You're Raphael's mouse are you not? He reaps the pleasure from your body when you're with me. His favorite little mouse, the only one who hasn't had their soul stripped... I can't do that to you, I can't hurt you- not that badly at leas-“

You shook your head and sighed… You knew when the damn demon was lying, “I should get going, I'm sure the others are worried about me…” You pushed yourself away from him and attempted to stand, but the pain between your legs had other plans, making you whine and wince…

Haarlep clicked his tongue, “I’d advise against hurry, Dove.” In the nick of time he grasped your arm to prevent you from collapsing, his tail encircling your waist to draw you gently back to him.

You purse your lips, unsure of how to tell him that you meant what you said, you wanted to belong to him, “i- i meant what I said. I want to be yours…” You felt yourself being held against him, “… I… I want to take you away from this place... i-“

Haarlep cocked his head to the side, and raised a brow as he stared at you, his face was blank, no sign of emotion whatsoever. 

"I want you to be my incubus. Just mine… And free…” You finished, a nervous laugh slipping past your lips.

“Oh, you do, do you?” His wings folded behind him, his eyes glowing brighter, a grin on his face, and his tail squeezing you a little tighter.

You could feel more tears threatening to fall, “Yes... I don't want you to feed off others... if you even can from how vile these creatures that visit you can be... I can't bear the thought of those devils- those that come to you abusing you as their plaything anymore- making you bleed for their own pleasure-“ your breath hitched in your throat, the tears that once threatened now freely falling, “Haarlep- i- i- can't stand to think of others using you like that... Seeing them- Raphael allowing it... Just h-how many times have your bones broken under all their touch-“

Haarlep leaned in, his breath caressing your skin. His nose gently brushed against your temple as he nuzzled closer. His lips hovered near yours, almost but not quite touching, “Foolish girl~” his tongue flicking out to tenderly lap away the salty tears.

Haarlep's smirk deepened, his wings unfurling to envelop you in their leathery embrace. His gaze was hard, tinged with mockery, but there was something else there too- a flicker of something you couldn't quite place, “So quick to wear your heart on your sleeve.”

Moments had passed and you soon found yourself submerged in darkness.

You were asleep, he knew, yet his words came regardless, “Of claiming me as your own personal incubus, beholden to no one but you.” A wicked grin curved those lips, “To have your delectable body as my sole source of sustenance, to drink deep of your pleasure, to ravish you whenever I please- whenever I need…" He leaned down, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling the scent of your flesh, and reveling in the warmth that radiated from it, “How foolish indeed~”. His eyes narrowed, “What am I to do with you, little dove?” He brushed a stray lock of hair out of your face… When your eyes opened, you were lying on your bed at the inn, a blanket over you and a pillow under your head. You sat up and looked around, your companions still sound asleep and you noticed a small note on the table beside you.

The words on the small parchment made your eyes water and your heart swell, a small smile tugging at your lips, 'My little dove, You've proven to be quite the heavy sleeper. You didn't wake when I dressed you, didn't even flinch when I took you away. But it matters not, for when we meet again, you'll have your answer. Until that moment arrives, do take utmost care of that precious burden you bear on my behalf.

- Your favorite Incubus. P.S. I look forward to hearing you sing for me once more.'

Your hand slowly lowered the parchment, and rested on your belly... It had made sense now, why he hadn't fed off of you, why he hadn't even tried to... Your eyes closed, and a soft sigh escaped you.

“Haarlep…”

You couldn't help but laugh at how silly the idea was... That you could actually have him... Be his breaker of chains and lover...

Yet, you still swore as you rubbed your flat tummy, “I will, no matter what... I'll set you free... My incubus” and you swore as you made your vow, that you could feel the ghost of lips caressing your cheek, and a feather light kiss to the corner of your lips.

[darkfluffydragon]

Cookie Run AU Ideas #8: Timeless Kingdom

what if Pure Vanilla Cookie, instead of being amnesiac outside with Black Raisin, was instead trapped in the Vanilla Castle time loop? But because of the Light of Truth, he's aware of it? he's been stuck there for...hundreds of years, watching his people die over and over again nothing ever changes no matter what he does and then finally, Gingerbrave shows up. I mean, PV may be nice but there are only so many times he can hear the same monologue before he gets reaaaally sick of it gonna join GC on the hate train and he physically isn't able to do anything "out of script". Every time he tries, he sort of 'loses control of his body', since it's a memory time loop you can't just change a memory and since he's a part of it, it'll force him to go along with it. To play his role. Gingerbrave and his friends probably wouldn't even realise he's not a memory at first, that the Pure Vanilla is the real one.

And an extra I wrote for the AU >:3

Pure Vanilla Cookie awoke with a start, his eyes snapping open to the familiar sight of his bed’s golden canopy. His head throbbed, and his mind felt muddled, a fog of pain and confusion clouding his thoughts. He struggled to sit up, the effort sending sharp jolts of agony through his body. As he gathered his bearings, fragments of memories began to resurface—the battle against Dark Enchantress Cookie, the ruins of his castle, and the faces of his friends, Golden Cheese Cookie, Dark Cacao Cookie, Hollyberry Cookie, and White Lily Cookie.

They had arrived to aid him, late, their expressions grim and determined. By then, he had already spent hours running through the chaos, trying desperately to heal his people. But no matter how hard he tried, the cake monsters kept coming, relentless and unyielding. He remembered the wounds they all bore. The exhaustion that clung to their bones as they fought to protect their home, their kingdom. With his magic reserves depleted, there had been a point where he had started reaching into the depths of his being, drawing upon his very essence—his life powder and soul to fuel his spells.

He remembered the final confrontation against her, he had used Dark Moon Magic, a power he had sworn never to touch. ~~The magic most natural to him.~~ The last time he had seen it wielded, it had led to the academy's destruction. But there had been no other choice. He had cast the banishment spell, lifting himself into the air as Dark Enchantress Cookie tore their Souljams, their very souls, from them. The explosion had ripped through the kingdom, the pain blinding and all-consuming. And then, nothing.

Now, here he was, awake once more. Why? How? As these questions swirled in his mind, he felt a strange sensation, as if invisible strings were tugging at his limbs. Panic surged through him as he realised he was moving against his will, his body tracing the exact path of his memories. He tried to speak, to cry out, but no sound escaped his lips.

“No! Run! Dark Enchantress is coming! Evacuate the cookies!” he screamed, his voice hoarse with desperation. But the words seemed to dissipate into the air, unheard and unheeded. The cookies outside moved about their routines, oblivious to the impending doom. Children played in the streets, vendors hawking their wares, and guards patrolled, all blissfully unaware of the threat looming over them.

The nightmare would unfold before him with horrifying clarity. His friends—the heroes—were nowhere to be seen. Instead, dark silhouettes had taken their place, shadowy figures that seemed to mock his efforts. Was it because of the Souljams? Could this memory not replicate them because of the artefacts which housed their power? 

The endless battle raged around him, the air thick with the stench of smoke and the cries of the wounded. Cake monsters swarmed the castle, their grotesque forms looming over the terrified cookies. Pure Vanilla’s attempts to heal his people felt like trying to stop a flood with a sieve. Every spell he cast seemed to evaporate into nothingness, swallowed by the overwhelming darkness.

The invisible strings tightened around him. It constricted his movements, squeezing his mind. His autonomy slipped further away with each passing moment. The fog in his mind grew denser, suffocating his thoughts.

He felt every wound, every drop of jam that spilled, every life that was lost. He could see the faces of his people contorted in terror and agony, and hear their screams echoing in his mind. His friends fought, their forms blurred by exhaustion and jam. Yet no matter how hard they fought, the cake monsters kept coming, an endless tide of destruction.

The sky would fill with magic circles, blue eyes of the runes staring down at the target as he used magic that he swore to never use, for the second time. He would see her malevolent grin, and feel the agony of the explosion that followed. 

And then, he was back in his bed, the cycle beginning anew. The loops continued, over and over, each one more harrowing than the last. As time stretched into eternity, Pure Vanilla Cookie felt his thoughts growing quieter. Centuries seemed to pass, each loop eroding a bit more of his will. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, and soon, he feared, he would no longer be able to think. In the moments of silence, his mind would turn to White Lily Cookie, the one he had loved so deeply. She had become Dark Enchantress Cookie, the architect of his suffering and the destroyer of his kingdom. Yet, despite everything, he still loved her.

The pain of that love was like rose thorns digging into his heart, a constant, aching reminder of what once was. He had loved her so dearly, had kept her transformation a secret from their friends, hoping against hope that she could be redeemed. But now, as he watched his beloved kingdom and its innocent people crumble time and time again, the anguish was almost too much to bear.

To love White Lily Cookie was to love a rose. To love her was to let the rose crawl up him, letting its hurtful thorns dig into his fragile dough. His jam would paint the delicate petals red, and once gone, wounds and scars would be left to taunt him of his foolish desire.

She had been gifted a bouquet of hearts, yet the only one his moon had taken was his own. She dangled the prize in front of him like a carrot on a stick, and he ran the race despite being the only competitor. She blindfolded him of the fact, and let Pure Vanilla run himself ragged until he could give no more. Then, she left. Left with everything that was Pure Vanilla, left him empty and hurting. Trapped. Left in all her gentle and loving glory, as her beautiful soul was tainted and twisted into the monster that had taken her place.

He did not care for the traitorous thoughts wondering if he was feeling the wrong feelings and thinking the wrong thoughts. He could not care, for he loved her nonetheless. Loved her poisonous, uncompleted promises. Loved her for the nights of waiting by the academy garden, gazing up at the sky, at clouds that would never part to allow him a glimpse of her smile. Loved her for the incomplete dances she swore she would return for, leaving him alone and abandoned in an empty ballroom. He loved her unconditionally. And for this, White Lily Cookie had become his greatest torment.

Each encounter felt like a knife twisting deeper into his heart. The sight of Dark Enchantress Cookie, her once gentle eyes now filled with malice, was a reminder of everything he had lost. She had been his moon, his guiding light, and he had loved her with a purity that he had thought unbreakable. But the darkness that had taken her was relentless, and it had shattered her, and him, beyond repair.

The White Lily Cookie he loved was gone, replaced by the Dark Enchantress Cookie who revelled in his suffering. She was the creator of his endless torment, the reason his kingdom lay in ruins, and his people were lost

What a fool he was.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, awoke in a bed not his own. His limbs were not strung by strings that cut into his dough, and his thoughts were…loud. Clarity such as this was so incredibly rare.

He took in the room, noting how the other cookies, the ones who had…saved him, were still asleep. Quietly, he slipped out of the room, his steps soft and deliberate, as if any sound might shatter this fragile moment of peace. The hallway was dimly lit, shadows playing along the walls. He moved with purpose, though his heart was heavy with the familiar ache of his memories.

Reaching the garden, he paused for a moment at the entrance, breathing in the cool night air. The scent of flowers and earth was a reminder of simpler times. He walked towards the patch of lily flowers, their white petals glowing softly under the moonlight. 

Sitting down among the lilies, he stared up at the moon, its pale light casting a gentle glow over the garden. The tranquillity of the night wrapped around him, and for a brief moment, he felt the weight of his sorrow lift.

His thoughts turned, as they always did, to White Lily Cookie. The moon reminded him of her—bright, beautiful, yet distant and untouchable. He remembered their nights in the academy garden, the way she would laugh and talk about the future with such hope. Those memories were bittersweet now, coloured by the centuries of pain.

The garden was silent except for the soft rustle of leaves in the breeze. Pure Vanilla Cookie closed his eyes, letting the memories wash over him. He could almost hear her voice, see her smile. But then the image would shift, and he would see her as she was now—cold, dark, and filled with a malice that seemed impossible for someone who had once been so kind. He hated that he loved White Lily, a love that had once been pure and untainted. But he loathed Dark Enchantress to the point it hurt.

As the night wore on, Pure Vanilla sat alone. Though he could pretend that he was not, that there was another by his side. Perhaps…even four, all five of them together, underneath the starlit sky with the scent of campfire smoke in the air.  He did not know how long this clarity would last, how long before he would be pulled back into the muddy thoughts and fog. But for now, he rested in the peace of the garden, and the bittersweet memories of the one he loved.

Under the moonlight, surrounded by the lilies, he allowed himself to simply be. To remember, to grieve, and to love, even if it was only for a brief, stolen moment.

[kaurwreck]

Rather than catastrophizing instances when Dazai isn't mentioned by name or physical presence in references to the Agency, consider:

that he fluidly moves between, shares unique and independent connections with, and influences each of the three pillars of the tripartite framework;

that when he isn't physically there, the others still feel his presence and are guided by his influence on them, strategies that he's relayed to them, and their trust in him; and

that the Agency as it is when they've reunited in Poe's book or in Fukuzawa's memory are together because of Dazai, as in he literally, in-text coordinates with Ango and Ranpo in regards to the former and he also recruited multiple members of the Agency, having brought in Atsushi and coached Kyouka through her entrance exam, in regards to the latter. I didn't even notice he wasn't there at first because I saw his shape in the shadows of the silhouettes of those who were.

That Dazai is there even when he isn't is an ongoing motif: Mori maintains Dazai's seat among the five executives; Chuuya enters Corruption despite Dazai's apparent death in Dead Apple; Chuuya, in part, resists Verlaine's nihilism because it reminded Chuuya of Dazai's, and even though Dazai was late in finding him, Chuuya wasn't in any danger of being lost with Dazai already so palpably there; Akutagawa understanda Kyouka has found her reason for living because it echoes what Dazai gave him through the Port Mafia, with Dazai appearing only as an impression and in implication; Ango explicitly defies Taneda's orders and his hierarchal obligations to the Special Division because he trusts Dazai enough to follow Dazai's heart on the matter (literally and figuratively); Atsushi visualizes Dazai when he's alone and paralyzed by internal conflict and when he does, the others appear around him too; while imprisoned, Kyouka was so alone there wasn't even anyone captaining the drone she was in until Dazai's voice cut through her isolation to relate to her and coach her through her entrance exam; etc., etc.

It's why Fyodor can't outmaneuver Dazai. Dazai tells Fyodor that Fyodor failed because Dazai had allies and Fyodor didn't. The guards physically present in Meursault with them were under Fyodor's control, while Dazai had no one in the prison with him except for a fellow inmate he could not access or speak to directly. Everyone Dazai relied on, he relied on without being able to see or hear or touch them, while physically surrounded by the presence of Fyodor's vampires.

But it didn't matter because Dazai's bonds aren't so weak that he needs to see them to know they're there, nor are they limited by organizational affiliation. The truth of the matter was that Fyodor had no one, and Dazai was surrounded by his people in substance if not in form— meaning only Fyodor tried to play chess in a game of Go.

Dazai does not have to be physically there to be present, anymore than the others have to be with him in Meursault for him to see them and rely on them and know they are supporting him as much as he's supporting them. Dazai's home and place of belonging also isn't limited to the Agency; he's theirs, but they share him with the Port Mafia and the Special Division.

He's like Natsume in that way, and like Natsume, he's uniquely capable of weaving between the tripartite framework's three pillars to remind them of and coordinate their efforts towards their shared goal of protecting Yokohama.

Thus, if you want to know where he is in a scene, sometimes you have to look for him in the connective tissue rather than the organ. Or, in more literary terms, what is essential is invisible to the eye.

[barrenclan]

My problem with the "Rainhaze at fault" idea is sorta the question of when he does become at fault, after he goes into the Defiance at least.

If we all agree that he was forced into Defiance against his will, was then brainwashed, specifically targeted by Ranger for psychological and physical abuse to make him more readily accepting of defiance ideals, and then was sent to Barrenclan territory by Ranger because he KNEW something like this would happen... When does it become his fault?

To me it just seems like the brainwashing worked, and those who put him through it already had a working system to break weak willed people, and I don't think being weak willed is something directly his fault, it's just something he was due to his lack of experience.

It's just a little weird to me that the torture and his abuse is acknowledged as something awful he had no control over, but the thing that came as a direct result of it is suddenly the invisible line crossed and he it shows personal failings that he did it. Isn't that the entire point of the brainwashing, isn't that the entire point of cults???

Yes, it is! Rainhaze sparks so much analysis and thought for this exact reason. How much control does he have over his own actions? He's still the one taking them in the end, after all. He was forced to kill Dustfeather, but no one forced him to kill Asphodelpaw. Yet it's true, he was set up for it - but then, he himself acknowledged in his own words that it was not his only option. Is weakness and fear an acceptable excuse for violent murder? But then, is abuse and manipulation? How about if you're aware it's an immoral thing to do?

We got a look directly into his mind in Issues 24 and 31, so I think those issues speak best for themselves on Rainhaze's character.

[yourheartandmind]

Imposition

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Reader

Summary: Sometimes, you questioned your relationship with Wednesday. Sometimes, it felt like she was the only one allowed to hurt.

At times, you found yourself questioning your relationship with Wednesday. On such days, you couldn't help but wonder if it was worth it at all.

The raven hair girl currently sat facing away, her back serving as the physical barrier between the two of you. She had been upset for quite some time, now; not a word of acknowledgment having been casted over to you for the better part of two hours.

A small part of you was tempted to break the silence, to reach out and ease the tension that seemed to have grown with each passing moment; the more stubborn part of you refused. And perhaps the proudest part of you, buried deep within all the affection and love you had for Wednesday, wonder if it was even your responsibility to do so.

Because sometimes, it felt like the only one who was allowed to hurt was Wednesday.

It had been sudden.

One second you were fine, the next you were suffocating. An invisible string wrapped itself around your chest, making it hard to breath as the air staled around you. The smog threatened your sanity, and your heart began to race.

It was happening again - the panic, the dread - creeping up on you, unwelcomed and unannounced. Your body tensed, muscle losing their strength as you felt the urge to curl into a ball. Things had been like this for you - ever since the Hyde attacked. Thoughts scatter like debris in your mind, leaving you disoriented and lost.

The pencil in your hand started shaking, your grip on it loosening with every scrap of breath you took, even as you fought for control of your actions. The words that you managed to write came out sloppy, an incomprehensible mess that even you could not make out.

Memories of what had happened the night the Hyde found you played through in your mind. How easily he had overtaken you. How bitter your blood had tasted when you thought you were done for. But what you remembered most clearly was the fear and hopelessness you had felt.

As as you struggled to compose yourself in the face of your own memories, frustration bubbled within and you didn't know if you'd rather laugh or cry at your own helplessness.

Through the haziness, you just barely registered the creak of your bedroom door opening before Wednesday entered your vision. There was concern on her face, an emotion so vividly different from the usual nothingness that she showed. In that fleeting moment of weakness, relief washed over you, chasing away the fog in your mind. You found yourself instinctively reaching for the girl, yearning for the comfort of her touch. But as your eyes locked with hers, you saw urgency mixed with her concern, and you froze. The realization that she, too, was currently going through something replaced your breath of relief with despair.

"There you are!" You heard her exclaim, though her tone was far from one of excitement. Instead, it dripped with frustration, as if you had already offended her with your absence. The way she spoke hit you like slap to the face, making you flinch in shock. Any hope of comfort that had momentarily arisen in your heart withered away in shame.

"My father," She was saying, her words blending together and feeling distant, "Somethings happened."

Even in your state, it was clear that she needed you. Gathering your strength, you willed your panic back, determined to conceal the turmoil until Wednesday left. The last thing you wanted was to add to her burden. Your trembling hands found refuge in your lap, hidden from her view, as if they were the physical manifestations of the mess you were within.

Not that Wednesday seemed noticed either way.

Oblivious to it all, she began speaking and her words pour forth, a torrential downpour to your already muddle mind. Each sentence crashed against your ears, reverberating like thunder through your skull. You tried to listen, to understand - straining to comprehend the urgency in her voice as you puzzled through the pieces of words that managed to break through to you.

Your silence, however, only seemed to only annoy her further, impatience etching itself onto Wednesday's face. And as the weight of her frustration collected into the air, you felt yourself begin to crumble under the pressure of her obvious disappointment. Her reaction proved the helplessness you had been feeling. Inwardly, you berated yourself for not having the strength to face your problems alone and failing to support her in that moment.

Wetting your lips, you attempted a response, only to find your voice stolen away by panic. The invisible string in your chest tightened, and your nails dug into your palms with a dull pain that would surely burn later.

Wednesday only continued, her words drowning out your thoughts and spiraling you deeper into your own abyss. The desperation to understand, to be useful to her, clung to you like a lifeline. Even as the task buried you deeper and deeper within your own mental grave, the words themselves slipping through your grasp.

The knowledge that your silence only increased Wednesday's irritation added another layer of suffocation. It felt as if the ground beneath you was suddenly crumbling along with you.

It was a pathetic sight, you were sure. Your normally sharp and capable mind now struggling, desperately clawing for any semblance of clarity and control. The way Wednesday seemed to glare at you only intensified those thoughts as the atmosphere hung with the unspoken words and expectations.

A small part of you wanted to yell, to tell her that you were trying your best, and that you needed her support, not her frustrations. But like everything else, it got lost in your thoughts.

Eventually, it seemed she gave up, fed up with your uselessness at last. Huffing out the room, she hadn't spared you another glance, only leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You gave in to the panic not long after, the sobs that followed swallowing the first and last of your voice.

When Wednesday had finally returned that night, she had ignored you. As if you were nothing to her. As if you were nothing.

Listening to the clicks of her angry typewriter, now, you bristled at the notion that it would be you who would be forced to apologize. Yet, you also knew that she would never be the one to do it.

Because when it came to Wednesday Addams, she was always right, and if you wanted her to stay, you had to be wrong.

---

[helvegen-s]

Rage, rage | four

index

Pairing: Azriel x Hybern!Princess!OC

Summary: Nimue was a gift for the King of Hybern. His shining jewel, the perfect heir. However, she is clear about who the villain of the story is. When she saves her father's enemies from a tragic end, she realizes that now it's the Cauldron who has a gift for her: a mate.

Warnings: blood, bad language, talking about trauma, bad familiar relationships (King of hybern father of the year)

Sitting in that chair, Nimue did nothing but absorb everything she saw around her: the paintings hanging on the walls, the rugs covering the floor, every detail placed on the shelves, the books arranged alphabetically...

It was all perfect. She had never imagined what the physical representation of the word "home" would be like, yet she felt it should be like this. In every carefully placed thing, she saw the affection behind it.

She stopped daydreaming and returned to the most pressing matter: the fact that, for some reason, she was tied to that chair.

Bound, but without seeing the ropes. It was an invisible force that pushed her against the wood of the armrests and the cushion of the backrest. She tried to suppress a laugh with little success because she knew effortlessly she could free herself from those ties. But well, if it made them feel safer, so be it.

She looked up, first to that male: Azriel, as she had heard others call him.

She still felt that sensation pulsing right in the middle of her being, making her gaze involuntarily go to him even in that room full of people.

Azriel felt like he was going to explode. He stood, leaning against the back of one of the sofas in the living room, positioned between Rhysand and Amren. With his arms crossed over his chest, he tried to control his breathing, counting to ten and releasing the air, counting again.

His wings trembled upon hearing the small laugh that escaped from the lips of that stranger. "What the hell are you laughing at? Do you find the situation funny?" he barked at the girl. She seemed surprised as her expression changed abruptly.

"No," she replied, furrowing her brow. She could feel the man's anger through that invisible thread connecting her to him. She tried to clear her mind. "It's just amusing that you have me tied up here. I can free myself at any moment, and if I don't, it's because I know you're afraid of me."

Rhysand's face must have been a sight. Afraid of her? He reinforced even more the restraints binding the girl to the chair, and with a sly smile, he took a step forward. "Dare to let yourself go, and you'll see what happens."

Was that some kind of sarcasm? Nimue didn't understand, she was just used to people speaking to her clearly, if only to avoid being in her presence more than necessary.

So she stood up, crossing the restraints of the High Lord like someone walking against a gentle breeze. Everyone jumped in their seats, reaching for their weapons or preparing to defend themselves.

But Nimue simply stood there, scanning from one to another: from the High Lord to Azriel, from the petite woman to Cassian, as she had heard Rhysand call him.

"I know you don't understand what I am or who I am right now, but it's okay. I'll explain it calmly, but you have to be willing to listen to me. You need me more than I need you."

Cassian let out a mocking laugh, "And why did you help us if you say you don't need us?"

And then silence fell.

Why had she helped them?

She had acted without thinking, that's for sure. She had never contradicted her father, and for the first time it was under such circumstances that something didn't fit deep within her conscience. She could excuse it with those memories that weren't hers: seeing those two humans in the Cauldron had awakened in her those memories from twenty years ago. But it wasn't just that.

Yes, she knew that within her, that idea of killing her father, ending him, stopping that plan he wanted to carry out and doing good had always been germinating. But in between there was always that rotten and unconditional love she felt for the King of Hybern, which was written in every cell of her being from the day she emerged.

"I needed an excuse," she said aloud. All the attention of those present was on her, and she kept talking. "I always knew my father was never the good one. I'm missing pieces of the story, I only know what he told me through filters. I know there are people in Prythian, I know there's going to be a war, I know everything revolves around the Cauldron. But I don't know much more."

My father.

When the girl uttered those words, Azriel felt a surge rising from the depths of his throat. How could a monster like the King of Hybern have sired such a beautiful creature?

Yes, beautiful. She is beautiful.

He stopped his thoughts abruptly, trying to ignore his own shadow's whispers. He was hallucinating, again.

"I also know that my father expected me to fight for him in this war, to incinerate Prythian's forces. He counted on an easy victory, however now..." Nimue's hands couldn't stop playing with the fabric of the dress she was wearing. It was then that she realized the pristine white fabric of her skirt was stained with blood, the blood of the Illyrians. She took a deep breath and continued speaking, "He's not going to take it very well that I've done this. That I've... betrayed him.”

"Well, don't tell me."

Nimue looked up at Azriel. Was that irony again?

Rhysand gave the Shadowsinger a stern look, and everyone fell silent again, waiting for the girl to speak.

But she didn't know where to continue. What should she tell them about herself? Should she tell them what she was?

And in the midst of the prolonged silence, the High Lord spoke up, "No one knew of the existence of a princess of Hybern. If you claim to be so powerful, why did your father never boast about you?"

There was something that didn't add up in all of this and had Rhysand uneasy. He felt the presence of the female, a pale, pulsating white light in the middle of the room. It was a strange magic, something he couldn't quite categorize within the fae magic that flowed through his veins. His gaze shifted to Amren, hoping she could shed some light on the situation, but to his surprise, she looked just as bewildered as he did.

"My father never wanted my existence to be known. I..." Nimue bit her lip, weighing how much revealing everything to this group of strangers would be a good idea. "I've never left Hybern. In fact, I've never left the castle."

"How old are you, girl? Have you been locked up in there your whole life?" Amren asked.

"It's hard to say how old I am. In this body, I've lived twenty years of yours. Before that... my memories are clouded."

"In this body? Before that?" Azriel inquired. He felt like he was going crazy, wanting to pull his hair out and scream. What was happening? Of all the outcomes he had predicted for today, this was certainly one he wouldn't have even dreamed of. "Tell us the truth, or I swear I'll slit your throat."

Nimue smiled, a poisonous smile she had learned from her father.

"I doubt it. If I have to kick your ass again like I did out there, I will," she held Azriel's gaze. And added, "And with pleasure."

Azriel snorted, baring his teeth in an aggressive gesture and reaching for his dagger. Nimue simply smiled, holding his gaze without flinching.

With that mask she had learned to wear.

Rhysand rolled his eyes and brought his hands to his face, trying to process everything that was happening.

They hadn't obtained the Cauldron, they had learned of Tamlin's betrayal, they had transformed his mate's sisters, and now this. It had been a very eventful day, to say the least.

"So you're trying to tell us that you've been in this world for twenty years, but before that, you were somewhere else, right? Do you remember where?"

"Yes," said Nimue. She tried to hold back another laugh at the absurdity of the situation. "In the Cauldron."

And they fell silent again.

The expressions on everyone's faces were like something out of a painting, and Nimue let out a quiet laugh.

She had never had to explain who or what she was; everyone where she came from knew. They all knew her.

"Well," she began calmly, "we all know my father, the King of Hybern. The fanatic, lunatic and power-hungry one."

"Yes, unfortunately."

"He impregnated one of his royal concubines, and in the midst of that madness, he decided to put her in the Cauldron. I don't know if it was under coercion from the Cauldron itself, if it was a demand my father made, or what. But the woman died instantly, and in exchange for her life, I came out of the Cauldron."

"So, you're telling me that the Cauldron not only has the power to turn humans into fae, as we've seen with Feyre's sisters. You're telling me," Rhysand took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts, "that the Cauldron granted the King a daughter in exchange for a sacrifice, no more, no less."

"Yes, but it's not something that will happen again. The Cauldron created me as its own whim, just as it has done with those two humans you mentioned. Feyre’s sisters…"

“Elain and Nesta.”

"Yes," said Nimue. "What it has done with them won't happen again. Not for a long time, at least. The Cauldron only responds to its own impulses, and I don't even understand them myself. Our fae minds aren't made to understand what the Cauldron is or how it acts. Not even the mind of that creature."

Nimue pointed at Amren, who crossed her arms with a sly smile.

"Well, on that you're right. Not even this creature," she said, pointing to herself, "is capable of understanding under what desires that pot acts."

And they all fell silent again, weighing the situation and assimilating what the girl had said.

Azriel was simply angry, furious. He couldn't feel anything else at that moment. He didn't care much about the Cauldron's affairs, nor did he lose sleep over trying to understand how it worked.

He just wanted to know why he had the misfortune of finding out that his mate, whom he had been waiting to meet since he was a child, had to be the damn daughter of the King of Hybern.

"And regarding your problem," Nimue continued, this time addressing only Azriel, "well, our problem. I never knew what a mate was, as you called it. I knew that the Cauldron forged the souls of people to be incomplete, so that if they were lucky, they would find the other half they were missing during their life. But when I saw you, when I felt it, I was able to understand. I'm sorry if it's been a disappointment, but it is what it is."

Azriel frowned, his arms crossed and the hair on his arms bristling. He felt like he was trembling with rage.

"I didn't ask for this, princess."

Nimue didn't want to admit it, but the pull of disdain she felt on the other side of the bond made her heart shrink.

"Great, neither did I."

Taglist:

@lilah-asteria @agentsofsheilds @leptitlu @just-here-reading @glitterypirateduck @saltedcoffeescotch @donttellthecats @annblvd

[sequs-art-box]

Am I cooking chat.... [more info below]

So this is a [hopefully] better version of my Wild West AU, now named Desert Enchantment AU.

The biggest difference is the aesthetic, which is now has more fantasy elements (mostly a magic system) instead of being plain old western.

I'm gonna talk about the plot later cause I wanna talk about our three main characters and their powers first.

Sheriff Fendri (Fear) is the newly recruited guardian of Scornreach. He is a Wielder (what magic users are called in this au) of Illusion magic, more specifically in duplication. Basically, he can create multiple clones of himself and specific objects whenever he wants to. This is very useful in battle, since he can easily overwhelm opponents with duplicates of himself or his weapons. Only Fendri is able to communicate and physically interact with his clones. While illusionists are often associated with trickery, Fendri likes to play fair in a fight which is ironically his biggest weakness.

Valka (Joy) is a wanted outlaw. What? Just because she's a Wielder of Light doesn't mean she's a good person. As the name suggests, Valka can control and manipulate light, but she can't travel at the speed of it. Her abilities cater more to deflecting objects, temporarily blinding enemies, and shooting extremely hot hyper beams. She can also go invisible under direct sunlight. Valka also carries weapons casted with her own magic, like her shotgun. Under specific circumstances, light magic can also heal mild to moderate wounds, as well as reverse shadow corruption.

Agni (Anger) is Valka's partner, both in crime and in love. He is a Wielder of Fire and Shadow magic. The fire part is pretty self-explanatory; Agni can control and shoot fire from his limbs. Basic stuff. Now his Shadow magic is a little unique. Like Valka, he too can go invisible, but in darkness instead of light. He can also summon creatures of Shadow (mainly dragons cause he likes dragons) to do his bidding, like spy on someone or kidnap a hostage. He can combine his fire with said creatures so they can wield flames too. Shadow magic in general takes a long time to fully master, so if you're not careful, it could corrupt you. Agni has been corrupted a couple of times. Valka had to save him.

[ronearoundblindly]

Steve Rogers, number 4, a kiss where it hurts (imagine him making it stop hurting) xxx

*no pairing listed but could work in Fools Rush In, It Had To Be You, Autumn Is Healing, Threadbare, or as a stand alone. While those series do specify female readers, this is written gender neutral. He calls you 'sweetheart' one time.

A Dark Day and A Bright Night, one of my Valentine's Fics of 2024

Warning only for description of a bad mental health time. (I know not everyone experiences this in the same way, but I tried to cover the gist and focus on Steve's comfort of you.) Otherwise, just sweet, caring fluff! WC 1781

There are invisible barriers everywhere, and they stop no one but you.

No one else can hear the muddled whispers of what else you could have done, what more you should have accomplished, how disappointing it is that anything took so long.

You can’t do any better. You can’t go any farther. There’s a line in the sand no one can see. Sometimes, no one can see you.

Nothing matches up. Work fast-forwards around you in chaos while you slog through, treading water with all the energy of someone who has been out at sea alone for days and days. You grow so tired.

There are moments you power through, mind racing to gain lost ground on an endless, looped track. You grow so tired, and it’s never just one thing. It’s water and sand and nothing all at once, vast forces beyond your control.

What else? What more? Why so long?

There are barriers no one else can see, and it’s not their fault because it doesn’t match up. We move through life at different paces. We experience different struggles. We are stopped by different forces.

“How was work?” Steve asks, a chipper smile on his face as he places dinner in front of you.

“Fine.” There are no other words.

“Really? Seems the project is right on schedule, thanks to you.”

You see him pause before he takes his first bite, and rush to pick up your fork, knowing it’s best to participate, knowing the barriers may be invisible but effort is not.

He eats his mouthful, and you stare.

Dinner isn’t a line in the sand, but it feels like one, another interaction you’ll be disappointing in, another fear you can’t explain.

“Not my best work, but it got done,” you manage, mechanically feeding yourself, showing the effort, making a show of the effort. “How was your day?”

It’s a flat question. The response is muddled by water and wind and doubt.

Why can’t you focus? Why can’t you do better for him? Why does he stay?

Steve can’t see any of it. He can’t get to you because there’s no one place you’re trapped in.

You do the dishes. You watch TV. You start your bedtime ritual, and you’ve participated as little—and as much—as possible because treading water is lonely. You grow so tired.

Tomorrow could be better. You can do better tomorrow. It’ll take effort.

Tomorrow you’ll work harder and you’ll be less afraid. But that’s what you thought the last time you were stuck. That’s what you think each time you find a line in the sand.

You stare at your reflection, still treading, still scared, still misaligned.

“Did you hear me?” Steve loosely holds you with his palm on your hip. Standing behind you, face sullen in the mirror, he asks where you’re hurting.

To Steve, there has to be a solution. Each mission must have a goal.

You spit, rinse, and put your toothbrush in the holder.

“Just tired.” That’s the sand he cannot see.

“Seems like more than ‘just tired,’” he huffs, unsatisfied, and turns you toward him. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing you can help with.” That’s the water he cannot navigate.

You’re on your own.

He smirks humorlessly. “That’s never stopped me before.”

But you don’t have the words. All that comes out is “my head.”

“Headache?” He reaches for the medicine cabinet. “You need some—“

You shake your physically fine skull. “No. It’s not a headache.”

Steve’s face…changes in a way you’ve never seen before. You expected confusion, perhaps pity, but this is something all-together reminiscent. His eyes dart around the bathroom like he’s taking inventory, and for the first time today you aren’t the most distracted person in the room.

Then he returns to you.

“I think I’d like a nice bath. Will you join me?”

He sets it all up, using the best smelling bubbles, setting out the softest towels, and inviting you back into the little spa he created by handing you a lovely chocolate.

When you try to refuse because you’ve already brushed your teeth, he replies, “live dangerously,” and pops a bonbon for himself.

Hopefully, it is dark enough for Steve to miss the tears in your eyes.

He lets you settle in the water against him, playing by splashing warmth over the parts not submerged. He kisses your shoulders and neck, the back of your head. Steve keeps himself attached by the lips, breathing you in but feeling so far away. Your mind wanders to nowhere, thinking nothing.

“Feels good—I mean, bett—feels okay, yeah?”

He suds up his hands and washes a bit of you, but your muscles are tight and curled.

You’re tucked into yourself, small as can be.

“Can you try to relax for me, sweetheart? Can you let yourself float?”

The tub works for a guy Steve’s size. There’s a little space but not enough to stretch out completely.

The tension in your body is slow to release. You manage to let your arms, knees, and feet peak through the bubble clouds.

Steve nudges, “and your neck?”

You didn’t realize you were holding it up.

There is infinite space to lay flat in your endless sea. Floating offers a respite, a view of the sky, the same sky blanketing your beach.

Invisible barriers at least spare the scenery.

You and Steve watch the fragrant foam burst for a while. It takes you much longer to truly relax back into Steve. The quiet of the bath drowns you with the noise in your head.

What else? What more? Why so slow?

It’s never just one thing. It is all things, all at once, and nothing at all. All of the elements to survival and understanding are there if you just focus your attention, if you just put in the effort, but you are so tired.

Steve wraps you in his arms to press you deeper into his chest.

“Sometimes my ma would burn dinner,” he starts quietly, voice rough from holding back all his questions you can’t answer, “and we would scramble around, combing the cupboards. We’d make the oddest meals out of bits and bobs. Maybe half of it, we should’a never touched, but we did what we had to. Ya know what? Those were some of the best times. We did the best we could with what we had—sometimes less—and that’s what made her so amazing. On what she probably considered her worst days,” Steve kisses behind your ear, “I admired her the most. Formed some of the best memories.”

“Let me guess. Because she smiled the whole way through?”

“Nah,” he muses, chuckling enough to shake you in the water, “she threw a pan once. Loosened the door of the stove she slammed it shut so hard. She cried usually until we were sat down eating. Always tried to give me the most food because I was so small… 

“I made it a game. I only took a bite if she did. Win-win.” 

He stays quiet for a beat, assured you’re hearing him.

“You’re not ruining anything by crying,” he says solidly, almost loud in the confines of the bathroom. “Good things can still happen. You still did good today.”

He continues. He details little things he admires about you; how hard you work for yourself, for him, he notices all that. He wants you to see what he sees.

There’s no barrier stopping him.

The water turns tepid, and Steve gets out first to ready a towel for you. There’s a difference between him treating you like a china doll and his doll. His doll is not breakable. He isn’t gentle because you are fragile; he does it to preserve you for the next day, and the next. Steve refuses to place any more burden on you than already falls.

He’s right there, strong, noble, and determined with forces working against him.

He’s scared and he doesn’t understand. He can’t fight. He has to scramble to catch up, to change plans, to make a meal out of nothing, to turn nothing into something. He doesn’t understand why he’s in a different sea, or why he can’t get to you standing on the same damn beach. His hand is right there on the barrier, but his shouts are muddled.

It’s not fair, and it never will be.

He physically lifts you up, wrapped in a plush bath sheet, his hug strong enough to thump against that clear wall that springs from your line in the sand.

That’s when you realize the barrier isn’t impenetrable. You can still see the scenery. You can still hear muddled sounds.

Some of his voice gets through. Sunlight and warmth get through. The water still buoys you up.

If there are directions to go, there are paths to take.

If there are ways in, there are ways out. 

There are invisible barriers everywhere, but they don’t stop Steve from being there for you.

One more chocolate. One more brush of your teeth. You trade the fluffy wrap of a towel with the cozy wrap of a t-shirt, and he makes sure you’re comfortable.

A simple goodnight kiss alone might tip you over into exhausted euphoria, but Steve is not that kind of simple.

He props himself up on an elbow and rolls you onto your back.

Kissing your right temple, he whispers, “I love you.” Kissing your left temple, he confesses, “I love your voice,” the peak of your forehead, “I love your spirit,” between your eyebrows, just above one ear, and the other.

“Miss you when I’m not here. Miss you when you’re not here. I miss you even in my dreams.”

Then, and only then, do you get that simple kiss goodnight. His soft lips melding to yours for a long, soothing moment before you two drift off to sleep.

When you dream of a beach and an ocean and nothing at all, you miss him, too. You remember his presence, and the truth becomes as clear as the sky above.

There are pieces of you to love. You are a loved thing. You are light and heat and sound that can get through, even when misaligned, even when you don’t match up, even when not in the same sea.

Steve’s love is invisible, but you know it’s there. It’s not a limit to fear. It’s not a barrier to turn away from. His love is not an obstacle you want to get past.

Not every invisible force is bad.

Sometimes, barriers slow you down, let you listen, make you rest, and help you float.

There are barriers everywhere, but nothing between you and Steve.

Ransom Drysdale and a kiss out of spite ⬅️ ➡️ Ari Levinson and a kiss out of envy

A/N: oof. *walks away crying* I'm fine. It's fine.

[Main Masterlist; Light Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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[violetasteracademic]

I hate the when fans mischaracterize Elain as someone who is "weak and useless" when she's been someone who's always been brave and resourceful but it was hidden because her role as the marriage cattle was just to be pretty . I'd like to know your thoughts on this topic

Hi anon!

Oh my gosh, I love this question SO much and really appreciate you sending this! I have actually been mentally organizing some thoughts on the topic for a while, and this is the perfect opportunity to address them.

To take in a complete view of Elain, her role in the marriage market, the Inner Circle, and the role her specific brand of grooming will likely play in her future and book, I have found it fascinating to take a birds eye view of the grooming done to all of the Archeron sisters at the behest of Mama Archeron. The details of the roles and dynamics of each sister has played a huge role story-wise, plot-wise, and even romance-wise. I have no doubt the same will prove true for Elain, and in my opinion we have already seen what Elain's particular skillset is and how she can use it, despite the horrendous and unloving conditions in which she and her sisters developed them and the general lack of the fandom acknowledging them.

For Feyre, her theme is "bearing the burden," and she shares it with Rhys. I think of Clarke's "I bear it, so they don't have to" stance on leadership. Mamma Archeron gave the orders for Feyre to take care of her family (who knows why, jfc Mamma Archeron) and it influenced her skill-wise and psychologically. However, one of the most powerful and significant moments came into play when Feyre had to use her tracking abilities to find Rhys after he had been shot through with arrows and taken by Hybern. She single handedly saved the most powerful High Lord of Prythian and impacted the future of the world because she was able to track him. Romantically, their story moved forward after that show of her skillset, and the discovery of their mating bond came soon after.

Nesta of course, turned ballrooms into battlefields. She was her mother's creature. Thematically, she shares this with Cassian. While of course trope wise they are black cat and golden retriever and we love to simp over Himbo Cassian, he is a brilliant strategist and commander. They are the strategizers and the bulldozers. They enact physical and psychological warfare. I loved the scene when Cassian gifted Nesta the book The Dance of the Battle, and Nesta discovered how much she and Cassian actually could understand each other, and how similar their thought processes were:

And that little easter egg- the dance of the battle, Nesta would use her training and dancing to enact finding allies amongst the enemies with her dance with Eris... I mean. Chills. And of course, her dance with Eris and offer of marriage played a role in the convo when Nesta and Cassian's mating bond snapped:

Ultimately, Nesta was taught to use marriage as a weapon. And her court would have secured a powerful ally if she had married Eris. But love will never take a back seat. She both used her grooming, but also overcame it and moved beyond it. The grooming informs them, but no longer controls them.

Now, I love all the Archeron sisters, but let's put RESPECT on Elain's name. Elain provides what we call invisible labor. She was taught to do a *lot* more than just sit and look pretty. She takes charge. She organizes and executes and is action forward. She was just taught to do it privately. Elain shows her strength behind closed doors. Of course, being an Elriel, I believe she and Azriel are tied together thematically as well. Their work and labor for their court is done in secret, in the shadows. She showed us this in her first scene returning back to the page in ACOMAF:

Elain takes control of the entire situation and lays out the plan on how to keep the secret of using the Archeron manor as the meeting place with the human queens to move the war and search for the Book of Breathings forward. She manages the house, the servants. She will step up and do what needs to be done, and she understands how to keep things behind the scenes.

She stabs the King of Hybern in the neck by sneaking up on him, stepping out of the shadows.

She surprises everyone on Solstice, privately working with healers and local vendors to provide the most thoughtful gifts for her family and friends:

We see in ACOWAR how she already had plans to run and organize Lord Nolan and Grayson's manor, adding a woman's touch to it, but she also possessed all of the details of their defenses and war -readiness, things that were likely not expected of her, nor did Grayson likely even realize she knew or understood:

Again, Elain is the one organizing and executing this plan. Glamoring Elain, bringing the other Fae to hide and obscure her scent, protecting the humans behind Grayson's barricade, all her ideas. She is smart. She is always aware of her surroundings. Time and time again, Sarah has shown us on page through her writing that Feyre and Nesta both misunderstood Elain. That they didn't realize that Elain saw and understood everything:

Elain is the queen of invisible work. Of silent labor. She was groomed to run and organize a household, but stay quiet and in the background.

Elain is not, and has never been, useless. She has been smart, she has been brave, she has calculated moves that have saved lives. She does not cower. She does not hide.

But secrecy is her theme. Working in the shadows, in the background. Laying invisible ground work.

She doesn't have to prove her value in her book. She already is valuable. But we will come to understand how she was shaped by her grooming. And I believe there is very good reason to assume the themes of that grooming will play a huge role in her story and romance, as her sisters before her.

I have no doubt she will blow everyone away with her bravery, her intelligence, and stealth. And I for one cannot WAIT for it. If people want to continue to discredit and devalue her, it is frankly their loss. We already know who Elain Archeron is and what she can do.

[journeytothewestresearch]

Can you please tell me what abilities sun wukong have because am always confused about it i even hear some people says that sun wukong is omniscient and omnipresent and can control time or that he is is a boundless character

At no point in JTTW is Monkey ever depicted as a boundless character with omniscience, omnipresence, and control over time. Anyone claiming that has never read the novel. Never ever trust any online claims about Sun Wukong unless a cited quote is provided.

Having said that, I am slowly compiling a comprehensive list of all of Monkey's magical abilities and skills, complete with corresponding Chinese terms and citations. However, I am nowhere close to being done (and won't be for years), so I can only give you a general list at this time. But I will link to my past articles where applicable.

The following is based on a list I wrote a few months ago for someone looking to make their D&D campaign more authentic.

Immortality - He has six layers of immortality. But these are more like layers of invulnerability. As a "bogus immortal" (yaoxian, 妖仙) he is still susceptible to injury and death because he hasn’t yet achieved Buddha-nature and broken free of the wheel of rebirth (see note #1 here for an explanation).

Invulnerability - He has an adamantine hide that can't be pierced or hurt by earthly or heavenly weapons and elements (this doesn't count the times that he allows himself to be cut). This is thanks to all of the immortal foodstuff he had eaten in heaven being refined within his body by his samadhi fire, giving him a "diamond body" (jingang zhi qu, 金鋼之軀). Sometimes he uses this invulnerability to freak out demons by blocking a sword strike with his bald head. However, he can still be hurt. For example, he is twice wounded by special elements born from spiritual cultivation, samadhi fire and wind (the book treats cultivated and heavenly elements as two different things). Also, one villain, a scorpion demoness energized with Buddhist dharma power, is able to successfully penetrate his skin by stinging him in the face with her tail.

72 changes - He can transform into anything. The only flaw is his tail, which doesn't always change the way he wants it to. Or, a character recognizes him because of his red butt.

Cloud somersault - This allows him to fly 108,000 li (33,554 mi / 54,000 km) in a single leap. The skill is actually a metaphor for instantaneous enlightenment, for those who achieve it will immediately arrive in the Buddha's paradise.

Magic hairs - He can change any one of his 84,000 hairs into anything he wants (tools, random objects, living creatures, etc.) These include hair clones, which are autonomous copies of himself that can range into the tens, hundreds, thousands, millions, or even billions. However, he only deploys these on a small scale in the novel. He never uses the power to its full stated extent.

Super strength - His greatest feat is carrying two mountains while running "with the speed of a meteor." But there are characters physically stronger than him. For instance, Monkey cannot escape the grip of the Great Peng bird once he is caught in his powerful talons.

Martial arts - He is proficient in armed and unarmed combat, being able to go toe-to-toe with deities with centuries more combat experience than him. "Short Fist," a historical style, is listed as his preferred boxing method. But he mainly relies on his magic iron staff for fighting.

General magic - Monkey is shown capable of calling forth gods and spirits, growing or shrinking to any size, parting fire and water, creating impassable barriers, conjuring wind storms, casting illusions, freezing people in place, putting anyone to sleep, unlocking any lock, bestowing superhuman strength, bringing the dead back to life, turning invisible, changing someone's appearance, traveling to and from heaven and hell, etc.

Magic Eyes - He can see through illusions. But this isn't always portrayed consistently, for I know of several times where Guanyin fools him, and even a god of the soil, a lesser deity, is once able to do the same thing.

Medicine - He can diagnose maladies and concoct medicines to solve the issue.

You can see that omniscience, omnipresence, and control over time are not listed. I think the problem is that people are confusing Sun Wukong at two different points in his character arc. The powers listed above come from the journey itself (ch. 13 to 100). The omni-level powers would come after he achieves Buddhahood at the end of the novel (ch. 100). However, it's very, very important to know that the story ends before Sun Wukong, now the "Victorious Fighting Buddha," performs any feats (i.e. he has no feats as a Buddha). I'm sure people could assign him powers ascribed to other Buddhas in religious literature, but what happens after the story ends is beyond canon.

I hope this helps.

[jq37]

So, to recap: Porter developed a time-sensitive plan to turn himself into a god without having the necessary components to pull it off or the means to get them, blundered into (supposedly) getting them throughout Junior Year, encouraged the Rat Grinders to antagonize and therefore draw attention from the Bad Kids, chucked Seacaster Manor into the sky and sent dragons after the Bad Kids BEFORE verifying that he had the right name, didn't check if there were provisions against mind-controlled students disbanding the school, and hinged everything on a squishy Rogue so hellbent on killing Riz that she ran off to solo him in a gym full of lava she wasn't protected against. AND the whole thing might have failed anyway because Fig had already claimed Ankarna's domain.

...Good jorb.

Yeahhhh. Like, even if we don't judge him harshly for not knowing Fig had claimed the rage domain, there were still SO many blunders in this plan.

This one isn't a blunder but being a Pally/Barb and getting successfully parried in physical combat with a child wizard is frankly embarrassing.

He had no way to get the name if the Bad Kids didn't just happen to stumble into it. Which is wild because, in universe, Falinel is an obvious place to look for long forgotten info--Aelwyn mentions that when they're there for Fantasy Christmas. Why didn't they check there? They have a rogue with reliable talent and a wizard. They just weren't clever enough to have an idea that they Bad Kids offhandedly had between bits. All the work was about to be totally worthless if they hadn't last minute gotten it literally mid-battle (which it still ended up worthless but you know what I mean).

Sending Seacaster Manor airborn is such a wild ploy because, otherwise, they wouldn't have even known something was happening right away. And, being airborne, they got there way faster than anything other than a teleport would have done. Why not spike their bad baby milk so they pass out and can't deliver their votes? Or hell, just steal and destroy their votes! But nooooo. You had to get in your petty oracle dig on Adaine and get dragons involved.

Why did they show up, fail to get the name from Gorgug, and then just leave??? Try again until you get the name!!! You need it!!! What if the attack worked and all the Bad Kids died. Cool, now how are you gonna do the ritual? As far as they knew, no one could see them since they were invisible so why not take another 6 seconds and try again? Now is NOT the time to be stingy with spellslots!

Why was Kipperlilly ANYWHERE near that battlefield? She should have been in a secure room somewhere, ready to disband the school as soon as the votes were counted. Her getting killed was was entirely their own fault and the it was the height of hubris to not hide her. Literally she's a rogue. Hiding is her main skill.

And finally, Jace said that he actually told Porter that he couldn't just mind control a student and that's why they didn't do the plan with Mazey earlier.

So yeah. Maybe a part of the reason the Bad Kids didn't want to engage with Porter's philosophy of rage is because it leads to extremely half baked plans like this.