#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!

[darlingsblackbook]

That time when you betray him

"Y/n?"

I froze at the sound of his voice. A chill ran through me whole body at the realization that I had screwed up. Completely and utterly screwed up.

My body felt as if concrete had been poured all over it, I could not bring myself to physically move-as if I could make myself invisible by staying still.

"What are you doing?" He asked, but I had a feeling he already knew. He knew. I screwed up and now he knew. I could feel it in his voice, the slight- barely noticable- tremble, the tone that held the tiniest bit of hope- hope that it might not be what it looks like-

The hope that I had not just betrayed him.

Betrayed us.

"You're killing me with this silence, sweetheart." He joked even though his voice held no humour, it was just the way he dealt with things. He had told me that himself one night. "Come on, we have to go back."

Still, I stayed silent. There had never been a moment in my life where I just wanted to disappear- so badly. The silence that enveloped us was so painfully loud.

"I can't go with you." I spoke up for the first time.

He chuckled humourlessly, "Come on, don't be silly."

I gulped, took a deep breath and forced myself to move. I forced myself to turn around and see the devastation that I knew I had caused. I knew this day would come, of course, I did. From the moment I accepted this mission- I knew. What I had not anticipated was that I would end up falling for him myself. I am so stupid.

Our eyes met.

He did not say it out loud. But his eyes were begging me. Please, tell me I am wrong, tell me this is all a misunderstanding. Tell me how much you love me and want to be by my side. Tell me it is not what it looks like!

It was never supposed to go this far. I was never supposed to get this close. I told myself it was fine, that I am a grown woman and can control my emotions. If only I could go back in time and warn my past self to not get attached. Then maybe I would not feel the resentfulness for myself and my deeds that I did now- not because I regret the mission but the regret of the pain that I caused him.

"This is were we part ways." I told him softly, holding his gaze. His eyes dropped to the object in my hands, and I could feel his heart drop- he knew just how important- dangerous - it could be if it fell into the wrong hands but he trusted me, so told me the location.

He knew-thought he could trust me, I slept beside him at night and ate at the same dinner table as him. He trusted me even though he never trust easily, even though he had blocked off the entry to his heart because of past betrayals- he had let me in.

Because I was his y/n.

His y/n would never betray him.

"All this time...?" He trailed off, pursing his lips, eyes still locked onto the object in my hand. "Wow, you actually had me fooled, you know? This is really embarassing."

I steeled myself, knowing that no matter how much I wanted to, I could not change what has been done. I have already lost him, I could only complete my mission now. Do what I had been sent here for.

"Don't be." I said. "You did not know any better."

Reblog and pick up where I left off with a character of your own choice!

[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 your 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.

[djloveyou3000]

Gif by : @russadlers plus a big thank you for @ladysouthpaw1213 for the title name and giving me the motivation to make it a series

Belladonna

Chapter one

After Bell survived the Solovetsky incident and was spared from the execution everyone thought inevitable, their life should have gone back to normal—or as normal as possible for someone recovering from months of mind control. But “normal” wasn’t in the cards. Not when Russell Adler was involved.

At first, Adler’s sudden interest in Bell’s life seemed logical, even caring. He pushed for debriefings, encouraged them to dig into their memories, and reassured them it was all for their recovery. Yet, beneath his composed demeanor, there was something possessive—something far more personal.

He wasn’t just a handler anymore; he was obsessed.

Adler demanded to know everything. Bell’s real name, their age, what they remembered of their past, their connection to Perseus—all of it. Every sliver of memory had to be shared with him first. If Bell mentioned something casually in front of the others, Adler’s sharp gaze would cut through the room. “That’s something you tell me. Not them.” His voice left no room for argument.

At first, Bell complied, assuming it was part of the deprogramming process. But it wasn’t long before Adler’s behavior grew suffocating. Any attempt Bell made to keep something private—to process a memory on their own—was met with frustration or quiet, simmering anger.

“You don’t get to keep things from me,” Adler said one night, voice low and dangerously calm. “I pulled you out of that hell. I pieced you back together. You’re mine, Bell. Your memories, your past—it all belongs to me.”

Bell stared at him, stunned. This wasn’t the man they remembered before the mission. Or maybe it was, and they were only now seeing the cracks.

“You didn’t ‘make’ me, Adler,” Bell said, their voice steady despite the unease creeping into their chest. “I’m not a puzzle you get to put together however you like.”

But Adler’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his grip tightened—not physically, but emotionally, as if wrapping invisible chains around them. He didn’t want to hurt Bell; he wanted to consume them, to own every part of them, because the thought of anyone else—anyone—knowing Bell the way he did was unbearable.

And Bell? They were starting to wonder if breaking free of Perseus was only the beginning of their fight for autonomy.

[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.

[lilmissbacon]

Rotg world building — Thoughts and theories

This was originally just going to be a reblog to THIS post but then I ended up going down a rabbit hole of my thoughts and opinions, so it became too annoyingly long for peoples/my preference.

Most of the post really expresses how I've always viewed the world of spirits in Rotg. The only thoughts I'm not really a fan of is the idea of some spirits not having physical forms and just being like big storms. Because what's the point of humanoid spirits being invisible to humans if they have no physical forms to other spirits as well?

I never saw Jack talking to the wind as the wind being an active spirit, I saw it as him just being so lonely he'd pretend the wind was alive to not feel so alone. After all, he only addressed the wind 1 time, if it were an actual being I feel like it'd be addressed more than once. Especially when Jack needed to get out of Antarctica: why would he need to fix his staff to fly out if the wind could've just picked him up unless he was the one making the wind? And like the post linked above said, the comics are unofficial. They're cool and I love them but they're not canon.

I do love the idea of their being 2 generations of spirits. Pre-MiM and post-MiM where the legends of Gods and myths are tales of the original spirits mistaken for higher deities and distorted over time. After all MiM wasn't always there (at least in the books) so how were their seasons/seasonal spirits on earth before him unless they were just natural to earth?

Plus it's made apparent through Sandy's death in Rotg that spirits are not 100% immortal, just non-aging. I think there is an open window for spirits to come back like Sandy did, if an influx of enough people believe, Tinkerbell style. But after maybe a year or so, that window is closed, that spirit is full on dead and that spirit needs to be replaced to keep the world in balance. So there could've been hundreds of spirits that have been lost but then replaced by MiM. I also think only magic can kill spirits, since Jack managed to fall from like 300+ feet in the final battle and walk it off without so much as a limp. Like, it still hurt, he clearly felt the pain, but he could still run, jump, throw hands and everything. He only groaned like he tripped down a small set of stairs.

Guardians are the only ones who could die without belief due to the vow they take. I feel like that vow tying their lives to belief could've actively been like an insurance policy to insure that the Guardians stay true and keep doing their jobs to fulfill childhood. It may be controlling and borderline manipulative for MiM to make them do that but I'm sure we're all in agreement that he is pretty gray as a character in the movie when you really think about it. And I could even see where he's coming from with this idea. After all, who knows how many spirits he may have made thinking they were good people, only for them to go dark and become evil. I'm sure MiM would hold a lot of guilt whenever those bad spirits hurt others or even feel at fault for making these decent people, eventual villains. Besides the Guardians know they could die if they lose belief when they make the vow, so it's not like MiM tricked them, that's consented. The Guardians just forgot to tell Jack that.

Now, I always saw "Spirit Society" as all spirits know of each other and word always gets around when new ones are made. I don't think there's a hidden city or village (other than maybe Santoff Clausen if it's even still around. And only for some of them, it wouldn't be big enough for all spirits in my mind) but rather they make homes for themselves and just cross paths with each other all the time. Kinda like the countryside; everyone's homes are far apart, but you still see each other in stores or at work.

I'm not quite sure how the news and knowledge would spread between spirits so often unless they were either all huge gossips or had yearly meets or something. But you know what, I'd be willing to bet that there are a few "messenger" spirits similar to Hermes in Greek myth, that just fly everywhere, spreading word for other spirits to make sure everyone is in the loop.

In my mind, Bunny's aggression early in the movie was meant to kinda show how most spirits saw Jack. After all, he's the only one who didn't feel like he'd be super recluse due to his job as he's the only one who doesn't work all year-round.

Unless he's a complete hermit, what is he doing for the rest of the year other than going out and hanging with other spirits?

I think most spirits hate Jack for being a troublemaking spirit that honed the deadliest season. That could just be my angst fanfic brain making things up but why else would Jack be so desperate to look towards humans to connect with unless he has tried with other spirits who could see him and was only met with backlash?

'Cause I have seen a few people complain that the ending of the movie contradicted Jack's arc of wanting to be seen only to leave the few believers he'd finally made. But that was never the point. He has what I like to call a fake-out arc; where it's said he wants one thing but his actual goal is different. He asks why he can't be seen, he tries his best to get people to believe in him, but he's doing it in an effort to find a family.

He mentions how no one can see him but he's more devastated over why he was left alone. That's his main question in this scene. He doesn't outwardly ask why he's alone specifically, but asking MiM "why" just after he was looking so longingly at Jamie's family is clearly meant to insinuate that that is what he really wants. He may even be telling himself it's just to be seen because he's been alone for so long that he just wants the bare fucking minimum. That's why the end of Rotg is still satisfying despite leaving his new believers, because being seen was never truly the end goal, it was finding a family and he finally found that in the other Guardians.

He clearly believed that he couldn't be accepted by other spirits, so he looked to humans to find that connection and getting to be seen by them was just a first step towards that goal.

It's the same thing in Tangled (because I have encountered someone who thought Rapunzel was one-dimensional for just wanting to see lights 😮‍💨) Rapunzel sang and always told Gothel + Eugene that she just wanted to see the floating lights, but the moment she steps out of her tower she starts singing in exhilaration about how she can finally go running, dancing, jumping and splashing. She never even mentions the lights. It had nothing to really do with the lights, she just wanted to leave her tower and explore the world. Seeing the lanterns was just her externalized and internalized excuse because she wanted to feel less awful for going against her 'mother'. Her wanting to explore the world was then more blatantly explored in Tangled the Series.

Edit: Pitch even straight up mentions about longing for a family when trying to sympathize with Jack and it's that very line that makes Jack lower is guard. Not the line about not being believed in, longing for a family. Jack even looks super sympathetic for him.

After Pitch killed Sandy, after witnessing first hand the belief fading from all the kids around the world and being framed for Easter's failure, possibly ruining Jack's relationship with the Guardians, Jack still feels bad for Pitch in this moment. That's why Jack lets Pitch say his piece in this scene despite knowing that he was never going to join him (you can tell he was never buying into Pitch's words and Jack didn't hesitate to refuse). He was even willing to try and just walk away after refusing his offer rather than keep fighting. Because he understands that desperation of wanting to be loved by just being seen and/or heard.

That's part of what makes him such a good layered character: the fact that he always used mischief in an effort to try and be seen, similar to when kids act out to get their parents attention. It leads the other spirits to think that he's nothing more than a troublemaker (and even audience as well, the amount of mis-characterization I've seen people make of Jack, istg) when in reality he's actually a very respectful, emotional, sweet and even responsible person that does know when to stop being silly. Jack never played around when actual danger came around, the only time he did was a one quip to Sandy because he was nervous and in the final battle when he realized being funny takes away Pitch's control.

And even then it was brief, after the kids started turning the sand gold again, Jack went right back into serious battle mode.

Kinda shows how not really mischievous Jack truly is when it takes him so long to realize that being fun can weaken Pitch. Because he's not really a trickster, he doesn't even really pull many pranks, he's just playful. But he had been cranking that up to 11 for the past 300 years in an effort to be seen, he inadvertently kept deterring other spirits away, who may had already not liked him just for being an ice based spirit. After all, whenever Bunny wanted to take a stab at Jack it was either at his invisibility or for his ice. Granted that could just be because Bunny himself just doesn't like the cold or even strictly because Jack made that blizzard on Easter but then again, we never got to see that for ourselves. We don't know if Jack even did that on purpose or not.

Last note; I don't think any other spirits died to become spirits like Jack did. It's my personal headcanon that the reason Jack couldn't remember his past is because he's the only one who had actively died before MiM got the chance to turn him. Though for all we know there could be a few others who also forgot their pasts. If there are, Jack clearly never got the chance to ask.

The way this kinda diverged into a mini Jack Frost character analysis though 😅

[chaotic-orphan]

Intoxicating Fear (XXVIII)

Part one // MASTERPOST // continued from here

Haha— this part is shit and all over the place, but it is published today!!! So there ya go🙂‍↕️ some whumpy stuff, the end is crap— yeah, idk, it will be edited at some point 🤷🤷‍♀️🤷‍♂️

*~*~*~*~*

Kit really needed to pee. Like he really needed to go, but here he was, still handcuffed to the headboard of the bed, and every possible position he tried to get into to unbutton his pants didn’t work out so he was sitting on the bed like a bold child and trying not to think about how much he really needed to pee.

Because it was verging on the edge of painful.

The sun had fallen since Jude had tried to strangle him and get his revenge. Ambrose must have left a few hours ago, and Kit was hungry and tired, but not tired enough to sleep.

And fuck… he really needed the toilet.

So eventually his organs overclouded by his better judgement and he reached out for Ambrose.

Psssttt… Dickhead.

Nothing. Kit stared at the wall ahead of him and shifted his position a little on the bed.

Psssst… Omenbitch.

Still nothing. Was Ambrose ignoring him? The fucking nerve of this guy!

HEY! Kit thought louder. YOU PIECE OF SH—

WHAT?!

Kit physically recoiled at the anger and deafening reply Ambrose shot him.

Kit… Ambrose said, and Kit could picture him sighing. Sorry, what do you want?

I need to piss.

Then piss.

On the floor?

Why not?

I’m not a fucking untrained dog for one, arsehole!

Well that is debatable.

You are such a dickhead.

For fuck’s sake, Nathan boomed in Kit’s mind and Kit’s ears rang from the sheer intensity of his voice. Nathan didn’t master the same control Ambrose did. He didn’t grow up with the gift, just appropriated it. What are you two arguing about?

I need to piss, Kit said at the same time that Ambrose said, he needs to piss.

Then piss.

Kit let out a frustrated sigh and stomped his foot on the ground.

Actually… Nathan continued. Hmm, Kit, perhaps you can piss and join us for dinner. I’ll have Jude fetch you.

Wait— Kit thought but winced as an invisible hand grabbed his head and slammed it back against the wall to cut him off. Kit hissed, his brain fogging over as the heat from the impact blossomed along his skull. Fucking dickhead with his stupid fucking powers. Maybe he should find someone with the power to not be a dickhead and he would be palatable then.

Don’t resist, Kit, Ambrose said in his mind. Kit knew not to reply because Nathan would hear him, but still. What would he say to that? His muscles were stiff from being cooped up on the bed for so long, unable to leave the room. And he was fucking starving. Dinner sounded great right about now.

A few minutes later and Kit heard footsteps coming up the stairs towards his room. He sat up on the edge of the bed as much as possible, eager to stand up finally. His eyes found cruel green when the door opened. Jude smiled at him as he walked in.

Kit swallowed the riling remark on the tip of his tongue, Ambrose told him not to resist so he would be good.

“Look at you, sitting and waiting like a good puppy. Well come on, everyone’s waiting,” Jude said and Kit frowned. He pulled on his cuffs as to remind him that Kit was stuck on the bed. Jude tilted his head. “Well?”

“I—” Kit began but cut himself off. “I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Can’t,” Kit said through clenched teeth, rattling the cuffs again. Jude hummed and walked over to Kit. His green eyes lazily went over Kit’s arms locked behind his back to the bed, clearly seeing the handcuffs before he looked Kit in the eyes again, his smile sharp.

“Looks like you’re not trying hard enough,” Jude said with a shrug. Before Kit could ask if this guy was fucking mentally deficient, Jude’s hand shot out and he grabbed Kit’s cheeks, squeezing them hard until Kit couldn’t close his mouth or do anything except try and shake Jude’s hand off.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jude said, wrenching Kit’s head up so he was staring Jude in the eyes. Kit struggled in the cuffs, metal clanging dully against wood, trying to dislodge Jude’s hand but it was all in vain. Jude’s eyes seemed to get darker and Kit froze.

“No!” Kit protested, but with his mouth half open it just sounded like oh. As in, I know what you’re about to do, kind of oh.

“Kit, I think you’re not putting any effort into following me downstairs like a good boy. So how about you get out of your cuffs,” — even before he finished Kit could feel the fog settling over his mind, his struggles seizing momentarily, — “and follow me downstairs.”

Jude let go of Kit’s face and Kit’s expression turned blank as he began to pull at the cuffs. Yanking his wrists free, trying to twist and turn and pull them out of the cuffs, hut the cuffs were on too tight, locked with no wiggle room. All his struggles earned him was pain and he cried out as he yanked and tugged and pulled.

Kit?! Ambrose asked but Kit couldn’t answer. He had to get out of the cuffs. Jude stepped back and grinned, watching as the hero struggled and writhed in pain, trying to free himself from his restraints. There was always something so beautiful about overriding someone’s self-preservation and watching them destroy themselves.

“Fuck!” Kit screamed as he felt warm blood trickle from his wrists as he yanked violently at the cuffs on the bed. “Please, please— AGH!”

“It’s not difficult, Kit. Come on now, chop chop. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Kit ripped and tore, his shoulder slammed violently forward as he squirmed, using one foot on the floor and the other on the bed to try and pull his hands free as the stench of iron filled the room. Jude chuckled behind him, his cat-like amusement palpable as Kit changed position again.

He turned his body, his arms twisting around and he pulled with a horrific scream until a loud crack echoed around the room and Kit cried out in pain, falling to the floor. He let out a loud, pained grunt as he cradled his broken hand and brought it to his chest.

“KIT!” Ambrose screamed up the stairs, but Kit barely heard it, the world swimming in front of him as blood poured from his wrists. A hand grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and yanked him to his feet. Kit stumbled into a standing, his feet stumbling and fumbling over each other as he was pushed forward.

They stopped just before the stairs and a door was opened in front of him. All he saw was white before he was shoved in and Kit went sprawling, his hands out to catch him and he screamed.

“JUDE YOU FUCKING— I SWEAR TO GOD, NO GET OFF ME, NATE!”

“You have sixty seconds,” Jude said sweetly. “I’ll even close the door for you.”

Kit blinked, pain vignetting his vision. His blood coated the tiles with a putrid crimson, oh, he was in a bathroom. Right.

He had needed to pee…

Kit grabbed the edge of something white with his good hand and started to pull himself up, blinking away the pain, his body numbed to feeling. His teeth chattered as he looked around, searching for the toilet. Just in front of him… he would— he could make that.

Bloody handprints smeared the walls as Kit made his way over, the handcuffs still locked around his good wrist. It was an effort to unbutton his pants, but he felt so much better after peeing. Like his hand wasn’t mangled right now.

When he saw his face in the mirror over the sink he recoiled, disgusted. He wasn’t pale, he was white. White as the bathroom tiles, almost see through, his skin translucent and stretched taut over the bones in his face. His skin was breaking out in red sores and his eyes were veined with that luminous red lightning stretching like branches across his face.

He looked like a monster.

Like something from a ghost story.

He washed his good hand and glanced down at his mangled one, a heavy, warm feeling turning in his stomach that he swallowed as he grabbed his bad arm and forced it under the cold water. He cried out, biting his cheek and lips to dampen the sound but he abandoned that all together when the water hit his thumb and he cried out.

“Times up, drama queen,” Jude said, opening the door. Kit looked at him with wet eyes, a shivering, pale mess, like a cancer patient or a terminally sick man. Was he going to die with this red lightning? Was that his future? He didn’t…

All of sudden Jude was in front of him, turning off the tap and grabbing Kit by the hair, yanking him out behind him. “Fuck, ow! Let me go! Stop! Let me—”

“Go?” Jude asked, coming to a sudden stop. “Gladly.”

With a strong swing, Jude dragged Kit in front of him and then kicked Kit in the hip and Kit fell. Only he didn’t stop. His elbow hit one stairs, his head following, his feet going over his head, hitting his knee, his ankle, his bad hand and he gasped as he rolled and bounced and tumbled until he stopped and he whimpered at the bottom, coughing, trying to get some air back in his lungs.

“I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” Ambrose seethed and Kit was vaguely aware of a struggle but his brain wasn’t cooperating enough help him fill in the gaps. He wheezed as he put his good hand under him, still wet from the water and it slid across the floor and he fell again. Pathetic.

Weak.

He can’t even lift his head, god, what would Mentor think of him like this? If he saw him now? His second chance? His strong legacy? Would he turn away like he did to Ambrose? Would he throw him out and tell him to never come knocking again?

“Kit, hey,” a pair of black eyes met Kit’s, but even holding a gaze seemed too monumental a task. “It’s okay. You’re fine. I’m going to get you up, okay?”

Kit hummed in pain. Ambrose took it as assent. He hooked an arm around Kit’s waist and grabbed his bad arm at the elbow, putting Kit’s arm over his shoulder. Kit moaned wetly as his hand bounced off Ambrose’s shoulder as the villain stood the two of them up. Kit put weight on his leg and one of his ankles folded and he gasped as he crumbled, but Ambrose kept him up.

“It’s okay. Hey, it’s okay. I got you. Come on, it’s okay,” Ambrose said as he walked Kit to a chair at the dining table. “You’re fine. Come on. It’s okay.”

Kit was openly crying but he didn’t care. He was exhausted and starving and humiliated and in pain, he wanted someone to be nice to him. Even if Ambrose did torture him before, he needed, no he craved the kindness now and he would take it from anybody. His life has been too hard lately, he just wants something nice, something soft.

“There,” Ambrose said, gently depositing Kit in a chair. Kit shivered as Ambrose let go of him. Before Ambrose could step away, Kit’s good hand shot across his body and grabbed Ambrose’s sleeve. Ambrose stiffened beside him. “Hey, Kit— it’s—”

“Oskar.” Nathan said, his voice commanding, and Kit whimpered. He tightened his fingers in Ambrose’s sleeve, begging without speaking for Ambrose not to leave him. Silver eyes cut into Kit’s face. He trembled and shut his eyes, turning his head into Ambrose’s arm. “Come here, now.”

“Nate, please, he’s—”

“Do you want me to let Jude come and break you up?”

Kit tightened his grip and whimpered again. “Please,” he whispered. “Please, please, please,” he said as Ambrose took his hand and plucked it off his sleeve. “Ambrose please, don’t leave.”

“I’m not leaving, I’m just sitting over here, okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Anything else happen to me, Kit corrected silently.

Ambrose’s shoulders wound tight at that, but he continued walking past Nate to a seat at the opposite end of the table. It wasn’t a big table, but in Kit’s current state, it would take him years to cross it or reach safety. All he could do was shake in his chair like a fucking chihuahua.

Kit’s eyes slid to Nathan’s silver that were fixed on him, swirling slowly like mercury. It made Kit motion sick. “I’m guessing we don’t have to restrain you, do we?”

“F-f-fuck you.” Kit spat. The effort pulled a cough from his chest, he doubled over the table and gasped. He could feel the beginnings of a nosebleed trickle down his nose, warm and sticky on his face as it ran over his lips.

“Mmm, I’m terrified, little hero.” Nathan said as he turned away and walked to the other end of the table, pulling out the seat directly opposite Kit. He sat down in his chair and reached his hand out to grab Ambrose’s hand in his.

Kit glanced at Ambrose who stiffened, but allowed Nathan to lift his hand and press a possessive kiss to his knuckles. “It’s so nice to get to know your new friend, Oskar. Tell me. How did you two meet?”

Kit steadied himself and sat back in the chair, resting his head against the soft cushion. The room was swirling in front of his eyes, everything hazy and a little too bright so he closed his eyes but that didn’t help the wooziness that followed and made him feel worse.

“Work,” is all Ambrose replied. Kit opened his eyes again at the answer.

Amused mercury eyes found Kit’s. Nathan rubbed his thumb over the back of Ambrose’s knuckles. “Did you try to stop the great Omen, Kit?”

Kit didn’t answer. He just stared. A small searing ring started to echo in the back of Kit’s mind as Ambrose lurched forward and wrapped two hands around Nathan’s. The ringing stopped as Nathan turned to Ambrose, smiling a little sadly at him.

“Don’t. He won’t be able to handle anymore pain!” Ambrose said, his voice pleading.

“So?” Nathan asked, reaching his free hand up to brush Ambrose’s dark curls away from his eyes. “What do I care if he dies?”

“If you kill him, I’ll leave.” Ambrose snapped. That seemed to suck all air from the room. If Kit wasn’t lightheaded before he certainly was now. Nathan’s expression was as calm as the eye of a storm, but even here Kit could feel his cold fury at Ambrose’s ultimatum.

Nathan sat back in his chair, pulling his hand from Ambrose’s. His eyes flickered to Kit, then to Ambrose and back to Kit before he smiled. “I see. That’s how it is, is it?”

“Yes,” Ambrose snapped. “That’s how it is.”

Nathan let out a small, humourless chuckle. His eyes glinted like gunmetal as he pushed back on the table, wood scraping against wood. Ambrose stood too.

“Nate—”

“Sit down, Ambrose.”

“Wait, what’re you—” the wind was knocked from Ambrose’s lungs as he was thrown heavily into his chair. The wood bent like liquid around his arms and hardened again as Nathan started towards Kit. “Nate! Stop, wait. I’m sorry— I won’t—”

“No, Oskar, you’re right.” Nathan said. Kit clicked his fingers below the table, but all he could generate was a measly spark with the cuffs still locked around one hand. He was too weak. “I don’t want to kill the boy, do I? But that’s okay. We can rough him up as much as we like. I can give him to Jude as a toy and tell him to bring him to the brink of death over and over and over again.”

“Nathan!” Ambrose cried, grunting as he struggled to break his wooden shackles.

Nathan grabbed Kit’s broken hand and squeezed. Kit screamed, crying out as he tried to escape or push Nathan off of him. Nathan turned to Ambrose.

“Nathan, stop! Please!”

“Hush, you worry too much. Look, I can do this.”

The sound of bones breaking echoed through Kit’s skull and he roared as his body repaired itself. He could feel his body stitch itself back together artificially, the heat of his cells and blood working overtime as he writhed under Nathan’s touch.

After what felt like an eternity Nathan released him and Kit’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. He slipped from the chair, boneless, his head slapped off the wooden floor and he woke again, moaning in pain. He reached a hand up to his temple and he shivered when he realised that was his broken hand. The hand Jude forced him to rip from the cuffs.

Kit turned, his body moving like molasses, sludge-like and slow, as he turned onto his back and scrambled back from Nathan who was advancing towards him again.

“Nathan! The trauma on his body will kill him! His heart—” Ambrose stammered, struggling in hushed wooden prison. “He can’t take another healing like that in such a short amount of time.”

“Oh don’t worry, Osk.” Nathan said, smiling shark-like down at Kit. Kit’s heart stuttered in his chest as he clicked his fingers but nothing. Fucking! STUPID CUFFS! FUCK!

“Don’t come near me,” Kit yelled. “You fucking psychopath! Let us go!”

Nathan stopped advancing as Kit’s back hit something solid. He froze, his chest rising and falling erratically. He didn’t recognise the solid thing behind him was a pair of legs until knees were bending into his shoulders and he jerked away. Kit threw himself to the side on his hands and knees and pushed himself up, running towards Ambrose’s chair and pulling at the wooden beams locking his arms down.

“Kit, I’ll be fine,” Ambrose said, his voice sounded strangely gentle and pleading. “Go! Just—”

“Kiiiiiiiiiiitttt,” and Kit swayed on his feet. Ambrose turned his head and said something but the words turned to water and slipped through his fingers like a sieve, unable to catch them or decipher them.

A hand grabbed his face and turned him to look into dark green eyes and Kit snapped out of his trance, smacking Jude’s hands away and grabbing the free cuff in his fist before sending a punch straight to Jude’s jaw. Then his nose.

The maniac stumbled back, blood dripping from his face but Kit didn’t give him an inch and stepped in again, clicking his fingers with one hand while he punched Jude in the eye this time and the villain screamed as something squelched. Lightning sparked in Kit’s fist and he channeled it into the hand with the cuff and grabbed Jude with his free hand, going for the final blow.

A hand caught his fist and Kit’s eyes shot to Nathan. The veins erupting from his silver eyes were electric purple, and the electricity consumed Kit’s until Kit’s grip on Jude let up. He jerked back, yanking his arm back but Nathan just crushed his hand around Kit’s until Kit’s wrist bent under the sheer strength.

“OKAY! Okay! Fuck!” Kit screamed, folding with his arm to his knees but Nathan didn’t relent.

“Nate! Nate, please! Stop!” Ambrose cried frantically. “Please! Leave him alone!”

“Just who is this kid to you, Oskar?!” Nathan demanded, kicking Kit onto his back and stomping on his chest. “Why do you care about him so much?!”

“Because he’s— he— fuck,” Ambrose yelled, slamming his head back on the chair. “He’s…”

“He’s?”

“I don’t know!” Ambrose snapped. Kit’s eyes went to Ambrose, brows coming over his eyes. What the fuck was Ambrose talking about? “Mentor adopted him when I left, Nate.”

Nathan froze above Kit. His head snapped to Ambrose and he got off of Kit. It wasn’t like Kit could move, he could feel a telekinetic energy rippling above him like a barrier, keeping him pinned but he could turn his head to Ambrose and Nathan.

Nathan’s eyes were hard, his brows lowered slightly and pinching together in something like concern. Nathan grabbed Ambrose’s chin and forced Ambrose to look at him. “What?” Nathan demanded, breathless.

“I didn’t know,” Ambrose said. “I didn’t know it when I met Kit, but— it’s true.”

For a long, tense moment, Nathan said nothing, just stared, his eyes searching Ambrose’s face for something, anything.

“Oh Oskar,” Nathan said with a sigh, leaning down and pressing a kiss to Ambrose’s forehead. Silver eyes glanced down to Kit. “We can kill him together if you like.”

“No!” Ambrose said quickly. Kit’s heart thundered against his ears, his blood rushing through his body quickly, preparing his muscles for a fight. “No. That’s not what I want.”

“Then what is it, Osk?” Nathan asked, leaning back and cupping Ambrose’s cheeks with both of his hands, forcing Ambrose to look at him. “What is it about this fucking kid that would make you sacrifice everything for him? This isn’t you. You’re not a hero.”

“This isn’t about being a hero!” Ambrose protested.

“Isn’t it?” Nathan challenged. “You think if you can save this kid that maybe it will change how your father looks at you?”

Ambrose didn’t hesitate. “No.”

“You’re lying, Oskar.”

“I already took everything from him, Nate!” Ambrose snapped. Kit flinched on the ground. Everything from him? How much did Kit have to offer? Not much, if everything meant that Kit’s life was already used and ruined by Omen.

Wasn’t it though?

Kit didn’t even struggle to fight the barrier holding him anymore. He was tired, he realised. Tired of fighting to try and not get hurt, to try and stop people hurting him. He didn’t want to be used as leverage against Ambrose anymore. He’d rather Ambrose just kill him.

He should have just killed him…

Kit…

Kit didn’t acknowledge Ambrose in his head. He just lay flat and stared at the ceiling. Had all his fighting been for nothing? Was he destined to die at the hands of a villain? A supervillain?

Maybe his golden years were the ones he spent with Mentor, and he already knew during that time, even that happiness would end. He wasn’t born to be happy. He wasn’t built for happiness. Some people just weren’t. That’s okay.

Kit, if I knew… If I could take it all back…

Kit just stared at the ceiling above him. It didn’t matter. None of it… he cast his eyes down to his forearm, looking at the scars there, Ambrose’s special ownership. Like a collar on a dog, something that would be there for a long time, longer than Kit would like.

What was he if not just a chew toy for stronger people to use and abuse however they wanted? Make him do whatever they wanted him to? Jude… Ambrose… Nathan.

They were all the same level of strong.

God. Kit was such an idiot. He didn’t realise he was crying until a hot drop dripped onto his cheek and he flinched.

He should have never joined the Academy. He should never have let his head be filled with ideals of being a hero, a fucking Hero?! Against villains like these? He couldn’t even fight back without being slapped into last week by one of them, or forcing himself to torture himself for their sick, sadistic pleasure.

Silver eyes leaned over Kit, staring down at him with a hard look on his face. Kit stared back, blinking blankly up at the villain. He straightened and snapped his fingers with a sigh. The sound of wood creaking snapped Kit out of his spiralling thoughts and then black eyes were above him.

“Kit, hey.” Ambrose said, slapping his face lightly. Kit turned his head away.

“Just take him to a room,” Nathan said. “A proper room. I’ll lock the door once you leave, Oskar.”

“Can I—?”

“Do what you like,” Nathan said with a sigh. Kit ignored the conversation as Ambrose pulled him to his feet. Ambrose glanced over his shoulder at Nathan.

“Thank you, Nate.”

Nathan turned away. “No problem, darling.”

“Really,” Ambrose said. “Thank you.”

Kit didn’t care about whatever moment the two bastards were sharing. He just wanted to be dead, to be killed. He wanted Ambrose to just join Nathan and team up against him already, make him regret ever being born.

Fuck… he…

“Kit, please,” Ambrose whispered quietly. Kit didn’t answer. He just kept walking.

*~*~*~*~*

@beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @blood-enthusiast t t @tippytappytyping @shinokoro @bedtimescenarios @whatwhump @acer-whumpstuff @fa1rie @jesterrinobutter @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @dutifullykrispyland @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog @ehobep

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

How would you rank the characters living under Jack's reign in the bad future from who's having the "best" time vs who's having the worst? (excluding Jack himself obv he's having a good time lol)

6-Hannibal Roy Bean

Being stuck in this undersized, undignified cage and blown up to a size where you can't even move, and labeled as "The Musical Fruit" are all humiliating.

But Hannibal's been locked up for centuries before, so this is hardly going to break his spirit, especially Jack is mortal and getting very old, so it feels like the immortals in the dungeon have this mindset that they can sort of just wait it out.

Granted, Hannibal does look weirdly mishappen and... mushy? So I wonder what exactly Jack has done to his body to make him end up like this.

With how distended and full his lower body looks now, and with the suspicious absence of Hannibal's only companion, I sort of suspect that Jack somehow forcefed Ying-Ying to Hannibal...? But even if that's not the case, the absence of Ying-Ying is another form of torture for him, since that's the only other being who he truly likes.

5-Master Fung

Master Fung is as skilled and untouchable as ever. Moreso in fact, because he seems like he doesn't really get winded by battles anymore. His mind may have dulled somewhat, but his physical form and skill has sharpened with age during the time skip.

The gladiator shows they're forced to put on are miserable for everyone, but none of Jack's bots are able to even scratch Master Fung, and he beats them without a sweat.

He has an easier time against Jack's lion-bots than he did against the real jungle cats, who he also handily beat.

And Master Fung's confusion and memory problems seem to stave off despair, at least. Though he's still having an awful time here.

4-Wuya

Hers is mostly another humiliation thing, but unlike Hannibal's, Wuya's also has this visceral, creepy factor to it. Jack apparently forcibly changed her clothes and did up her hair in accordance to his own taste for cheerleaders, complete with pigtails and his initial.

In addition to that, she's also suspended over a pit of boiled lava. The rising heat from that is probably the physical torture, along with just how uncomfortable the chains are.

But the worst part for Wuya is probably that Jack has somehow stolen the powers that were sealed away from her and is in control of her stone golems now, to add insult to injury. That probably stings more than any aspect of this setup.

3-Le Mime

Also in this gladiatorial thing, but Le Mime's never really been shown to be able to fight and he can't even take a hit from his own scrawny arm. And since he's just cowering here, the lion bots apparently have some way of getting past his Miming, so he can't protect himself behind his invisible walls.

He's got nothing he can do but weather the humiliations and pain of these losing battles.

2- Chase Young

His torture devices is definitely the most intricate.

Water drop torture, stripped of his clothes (including his underwear because those boxers notably aren't Chase's), suspended in this metal contraption with a paintbrush spreading something over his abdomen.

Chase's is also the only torture device that is surrounded by bloodstains.

And he's in a dungeon with Wuya and Hannibal, the people who he'd least want to be trapped with. None of them are gagged, so they both could at least take as many pot-shots at Chase as they wanted to. Those two are better at getting under Chase skin than anyone else, and even though Chase probably shot insults back, it was 2-against-1 there.

And the first and only line we get from Chase implies that he's been on the edge of hope waiting to see Omi again after all this time with no word on his fate. Despite everything that's been happening, Omi's still been on his mind this whole time with no answers for 80 years.

So he had quite a bit of both physical and psychological torture to deal with.

1-The Monks

They have frequent gladiatorial matches and an awful living situation. Old age has definitely slowed them down, so their matches probably don't end without injury like Master Fung's do.

And they still never found out what happened to Omi and Dojo, after all this time. They're all mentally beating themselves up over that, and over the state of the world. They're crushed by this feeling that they've failed in their duty towards it, and they don't know if their friends are dead or alive.

And the end, minutes after they find their first spark of hope in decades, where they're all brutally murdered. They're extremely painful deaths, too. Clay is shot by lasers, Raimundo is crushed, Kimiko is pulled apart limb-from-limb.

Taking that into consideration definitely makes them number one on this list. Can't have a much worse time than that.

Honorable Mention: Omi

He was only there for a little bit, so I can't really rank him anywhere on the list. But watching all his friends be brutally murdered in front of him certainly left an impression.

And Omi's the only one who will have any impression of all this at all. Whether you think the space-time merging of the alternate timeline left ripples of memories in the others or not, this is just a bad future of the main timeline, so no one's actually experienced it. Omi's the only one who'll remember this nightmare. It's seared into his memory for good.

[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."

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