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noisilyscreechingsong · 2 years ago

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As the (for a lack of a better word) Ancient of balance and space, and being a halfa that is arguably immortal, Danny has the rare opportunity to reincarnate. Live again. Start over.

When Clockwork had originally told him he was immortal, he (understandably) assumed he meant he, Danny Fenton, could not die. He was wrong. As usual. Instead, it was that he, his soul, could not parish or cease to exist. Two very different things that he was forced to learn through experience when Danny Fenton died at the age of 64 from a car accident as mundane as that is, and ended up in the Ghost Zone to, presumably, ‘live’ the rest of his afterlife. It wasn’t until later when he fell asleep in his lair (first sign something was happening, ghosts don’t need to sleep) and woke up with his head fuzzy and body clumsy. He was a baby and it wasn’t until his mind was old enough to comprehend who he was that he understood he was living life again, this time as child in a different universe and different time.

And when he died again, this time very young from a sickness traveling through his village, he ended up in his lair again, as if he never left. The other ghosts understood after a brief explanation, but the process was still disorienting. Even if it happened again and again.

This time he was born into an odd place. He awoke from a large tube of green liquid. He had a mother named Talia and a Grandfather. He also had a father and older brother named Damian, but they lived in a different country and weren’t really on speaking terms it seemed. It also appeared he was born into a cult of some kind. Mother called it the League of Assassins and Grandfather called it his Legacy, the organization he built from the ground up. Oh and it all revolved around the green, bubbling pit below their home that had resurrection powers that may or may not make someone insane.

A connection to the dead in the basement, a family business, and a Frootloop with too much power. This was turning out to be a lot like his first life.

It’s the assassinations that bother him. He’s fine with killing to protect himself and to protect others. He’s even fine with mercy killings, but to kill someone who is unarmed and can’t even put up a fight is crossing a line.

Grandfather doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like a lot of what Danny does. He talks back too much, he doesn’t follow orders, he has too much of an imagination, he has a weak stomach and can’t see the big picture, he’s never good enough. He’s also compared to his big brother Damian a lot. He’s never even met the guy but knows he has a better fighting stance and climbed the mountain faster when he was Danny’s age. Danny doesn’t know if he wants to met Damian at all after hearing his name every time Grandfather criticizes him. The only thing Damian is to him is a standard to exceed.

And don’t get him started on his Father. Mother brags about him enough, but he’s obviously not here for a reason. He stole Damian from the family, Grandfather says, his golden heir. Danny is just the spare, filling in for his older brother who doesn’t want to come home. Of course, he takes everything with a grain of salt. Danny’s family also brainwashes and conditions people to follow them and die for them, it’s all twisted and manipulative. However, there’s bound to be some truth woven in there somewhere and it doesn’t look good for his biological father.

When Danny becomes the Demon’s Head, and with everything he’s been training for he WILL be the Head, the first thing he’s doing is cutting Grandfather’s head right off his shoulders and feeding it to the dogs. He’ll run this cult thing with actual morals and better management. Not too much change because then his position will be questioned, but over time he’ll bring about some good outcomes.

He does think his family believes they are doing things for the greater good, he just thinks they’ve lost sight of what’s important.

Danny’s not even bothered with not having a normal childhood. He’s lived it once or twice, it was quiet, nice, but ultimately boring. He enjoys the adventure and thrives on the action. He gets excited when he learns a new weapon and celebrates when he finally perfects that technique he’s been practicing. He’s proud when his mother compliments his precise aim in her own weird roundabout way of speaking and is awfully smug when Grandfather doesn’t say a word of criticism when he slaughters his opponents efficiently.

He has a crazy family, but it’s his. So it comes to no surprise that he feels a little unbalanced when his mother takes him to Gotham after some political tension between Grandfather and some group he’s not important enough to know.

He’s seven and has lived this entire life in Nanda Parbat, only visiting the other League locations a few times, where the weather is warm and the air is clean. Gotham is the opposite of his home. He remembers a life in Chicago, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as the permanent smog covering the sky. Even if it was clear, the light pollution would hinder his view of the stars.

He already hated this place and was actively counting down the minutes until they could leave. Although he had a suspicion of why they were here. The tight lines beside his mother’s eyes gave away her reluctance, but her confident stance didn’t falter.

Danny watches as she meets with a man in a black superhero suit and what looks like a teenager in a different uniform. The pieces were finally coming together when Mother calls him to come out and he drops from the rafters to land on his feet like a cat.

Their two visitors stare hard at him and if he was in a different life he might have fidgeted under their intense attention. He does not.

“My son, this is your father and older brother.”

“Mother,” the teen- Danny’s brother, Damian, objects, “since when do I have a brother? Have you adopted like Father?”

In response, Danny pulls down the black mask to show the rest of his face and the clear resemblance between the two. Danny had more blue mixed with his green eyes to give a marbled effect and he had his mother’s jaw line but he still had his father’s lips and- actually that was all he could see, the cowl obstructing the rest of his features. Either way, there was no mistaking Danny and Damian as anything but brothers.

“Damian, meet your brother. I hope the two of you will get along and look out for one another.”

Like hell they will, Danny thinks bitterly. He’s spent pretty much this whole life being compared to the boy in front of him, there’s bound to be some resentment on his part.

“I thought he’d be taller,” he tells his mother, eyeing Damian up and down unimpressed.

Damian actually sputters.

“Talia,” his father says, demands, as if asking twenty questions in that one word.

“You will care for him while I’m away. It isn’t safe for him and I have work to do.”

Danny knew it was coming and yet he still felt the squeeze of panic and betrayal in his chest.

“Mother, don’t leave me here,” he almost whines but just manages to keep his voice steady. “I can stay in Switzerland or the Alps or somewhere else that is not here.”

Mother says his name with that amount of sharpness that lets him know she wasn’t changing her mind. He huffs angrily and glares at the two in front of him like it was their fault his was here in this disgusting city.

They don’t talk for much longer before Danny is following them back to a black suped-up car and Mother is nowhere in sight. The ride is silent, the others’ thoughts loud and leaving the vehicle suffocating.

Danny decides to make the process difficult for them, arguing when they ask for a blood sample to confirm, getting into things he clearly shouldn’t when he got bored, and being a little shit to anyone else that shows up in his path.

He knew nothing of this side of his family, his Mother only telling him how strong and honorable his father is and how proud she is of Damian despite his decision to not become the Demon’s Heir. This was his opportunity to watch and learn and maybe test their patience here and there. He didn’t want to be there, they didn’t want him there, so he was going to make this everyone’s problem and maybe formulate his own opinion of his father and brother in the meantime.

It doesn’t take much for him to tolerate the others Father has brought into his side of the family because he had no prior knowledge of them.

He respects Alfred, he can relate to Tim, Dick is a pun master that Danny can’t help but contribute, Jason is too cool not to like, Cass is kind, Steph is bubbly, Duke is probably the most normal, and Selina has a mischievousness to her that Danny can get behind.

Father is gruff. He always looks like he wants to say something but doesn’t. Danny isn’t used to that. Mother and Grandfather and even himself have the position of power to say what they want without much consequence. What’s stopping him?

It gets to a point where Danny snaps and demands he speak his mind or say what he’s feeling. It doesn’t go well but he thinks there might have been some progress in the days afterwards.

Damian is a different story. Danny doesn’t hate his brother, but he certainly doesn’t like him. He makes a point to show it through pranks on the older boy and trying to outplay him in competitions and bets the other sometimes doesn’t even agree to.

Danny can admire how passionate he is in his art and how devoted he is to caring for his animals, and even how much he reminds him of Sam from his first life, but it doesn’t erase the years of feeling less than the perfect first son.

This doesn’t really change until Damian comes back and goes directly to the medbay after a mission gone wrong. It takes Danny a moment to realize that he’s worried for his big brother. Damian is in pain and Danny does not like it. He wants to go out and kill the men who hurt his brother, make them pay for what they’ve done. He wants to be the one to stitch up his wounds and bring him soup.

It’s truly unfortunate that his obsession is protection, particularly around those he considers friends and family.

Danny tones down on the aggression towards Damian after that. He still pranks the teenager and teases him and challenges him to competitions and duels, but it’s more in a brotherly way than showing resentment. Damian definitely notices, but wisely doesn’t address it. Instead, Damian quietly talks about what he remembers and misses of Nanda Parbat when the two of them are alone, both of them actually having a conversation without raised voices or tense shoulders.

After a while Danny doesn’t even realize he isn’t counting the days anymore.

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fairyysoup · 1 month ago

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the devil i know

chapter seven: fill my mind with dirtiness, i'll invade your dreams

(repost)

fic tag | fic playlist | fic masterlist

pairing(s): crossroads demon!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: Eddie teaches you a thing or two about possession.

cw: explicit, smut, monsterfucking, fem masturbation, demonic possession, actually really fluffy if you can believe it, mind control, telepathy, making a deal with a demon, inspired by american and european folklore, sacrilegious themes, horror, witch!reader, reader is 21+ in modern day, eddie is immortal, sex pact, marking, possessive behavior, animal death, trauma, reader is ostracized by her very religious hometown, dark comedy, dead dove: do not eat

please check masterlist and individual parts for content warnings before reading. this fic contains dark themes. your media consumption is your own responsibility.

ALL OF MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your eyelids press against the throw blanket you’ve pulled across them as a makeshift blindfold. Not that there’s much light in the room to begin with, but if you don’t have something holding them shut they just pop right open and stare at nothing.

You’re tired. Bone tired, but you can’t manage to shut your mind off. There’s a certain electricity in your limbs that keeps you jolting at the slightest sounds, your nerves like livewires, sparking at everything and nothing. Out in your living room, a new dog sleeps on your rug. Somewhere across town, your ex-boyfriend sleeps in the ICU.

You can’t sleep.

You huff and flop over, ripping the throw blanket off of your head. You don’t know if it’s just some sort of infernal caffeine that Eddie pumped into your body, but you can’t stop thinking of the blazing car, the heat of the fire scorching Andy and throwing him across the asphalt. You think back on it, and the feeling of release when the car went up in flames, like a weight lifted off of your shoulders after so long. Your blinding hatred of Andy and a sense of possession over the mark given to you by the fiery eyed demon who kissed your tears away.

Eddie did say that he’d corrupt you. ‘Break you,’ were his words. ‘You wouldn’t be the first good girl that I’ve broken.’ But, you don’t honestly know that he has. You went out into the woods to make that deal with him first. You sent him your petition first– what were you really hoping for? A rock to fall out of the sky and crush Andy in the middle of an intersection?

A car fire is just as effective.

Flashes of Eddie come to you. The scent of smoke in the air, strong and getting stronger the closer he gets to you. The timbre of his voice in your ear, calling you a good girl, even though you feel like anything but. It’s not… what you’re used to. You’re not used to being praised for anything. Not even being able to take the blows that you’re dealt. Usually you just get insults to go with the pain.

Your hand drifts low on your stomach, feeling a burn between your legs that wasn’t there five minutes ago. You don’t know what it is that has you feeling more high strung than normal– needier than normal. Just the mere thought of Eddie has your thighs pressing together and your core tensing like you’ll never get any relief. You palm your own crotch, tugging on the fabric like some frat guy trying to readjust his junk in front of god and everybody.

Now that you’ve gotten a taste of him– or, rather, he’s gotten a taste of you– it’s like your impulse control is nearly as void as his. Who gives a fuck? You’ve already given him your soul, signed it over to Hell for a bit of happiness. He’s done away with most of the demons of your past and given you what you want.

What you want right now is him. Eddie. His body, his tongue, his voice in your ear, his touch on your skin. It’s becoming an addiction now that you’ve let him in.

But, he’s… busy, you guess. He said he had some kind of business to take care of when he left you earlier. But there can’t be a special place in Hell for someone masturbating to the thought of their own personal demon, right?

A resigned sigh escapes you as you shove your hand down the front of your pajama pants. There’s no foreplay when you do this, no drawing out the process. Usually, you just try to get the job done quickly.

You dip a finger between the folds of your pussy to feel them drenched, far worse than you figured they would be when you’ve only been thinking about him for– what– two minutes? Ten? Doesn’t matter. You caress the sensitive skin, trying not to overthink why you’re so wet, why your finger practically drips when you spread your arousal over your clit.

You close your eyes against whatever light is in the room. You move your finger faster, a quick back and forth that just makes you sigh and readjust your hips on the mattress, searching for the right feeling.

Your mind delivers you an image of shining eyes beneath a curtain of dark, wavy hair. Ring-clad fingers drawing a lock of hair across plush lips in a mimicry of shyness. His warmth pressed against your back. His lips sucking the blood from your arm, healing the small wound on your skin. His tongue between your legs, forked and fucking into your cunt slowly, deeply.

“Motherfucker–” It just doesn’t feel quite right. Your finger feels too small, your own touch practically numb on your clit, even when the skin is so sensitive that it should be doing something. You pull and pluck at the skin, but your fingers feel jerky and uncomfortable, when usually it all feels just fine.

And everything feels hot. Why is it so fucking hot? Not just your cunt, or the tension in your core that’s screaming for you to just do something, but it feels like you’re breaking a fever. You’re doused in sweat, your skin is radiating more heat than you know what to do with.

Oh, that’s cute.

A gasp tears from your throat. You sit up like a shot, your hands scrambling for your bedside lamp. The light flickers on, and… nothing.

His voice sounded so close. So present in your ears, like he was right next to you. For some reason, you’re disappointed that he isn’t actually there.

Shivering and sweating and holding your head in your hands, you shake your head with your eyes squeezed shut. “...Eddie?”

You need to relax, you’re working yourself up.

You don’t know why it’s only hitting you now, how fucking odd it is that he’s talking to you. Or, airdropping messages directly into your head. The last time he did, you’d been a little too preoccupied with what was happening in the external world to really focus on the why and how.

“Where are you?”

I’m inside you.

His voice rumbles through your head, low and smoky like rolling magma in the pit of a volcano. It’s not audible– not to anyone else. It’s not something you’re hearing, it’s something you’re simply sensing. It makes your mind spin and all your muscles below your waist draw up tight and hard.

Do you want me to be inside you?

Oh, it’s not fair. Not fair. The way his voice dips, dripping like melted gold down your spine, making your entire body contract and release like it’s going to have a fucking fit. You don’t know if you’ll be able to stop it, if it does. You don’t seem to be in control of it anymore.

“Y-you–” you hiccup, trying to retain your calm and finding nothing to cling to. “You know the fucking answer to that.” Knees drawn up to your chest, you hunch over them with your elbows by your ankles, curled into a ball.

Lay down, sweetheart.

You can feel tears coming– hot, angry, frustrated tears because he’s not here and you feel like your body is screaming for him every time his stupid, pretty voice invades your mind. “Not– not like this–”

Lay. Down.

A hand forces your shoulder back and presses you firmly into the mattress, your head hitting the pillow and your breath leaving your lungs. Your own comes up to swing around wildly in the air, trying to grab for the arm that’s holding you down. There’s nothing. Just empty air.

“God damn it– Why aren’t you here?” You try to sit up again, but some invisible force is still holding you down by the shoulders. Your heart is pounding in your chest, so hard you can hear it in your ears. “I don’t– I don’t know why I feel like this–”

This is normal, your body is just reacting to my presence. The first time is always the worst, baby, it’ll get easier. You’ve just never been possessed before.

His voice is so soft, so tender that it makes your welling tears spill over painfully. They run down your temples and into your hair while you kick your legs to try and wiggle out of his hold.

“But I– I want to feel you,” you blubber, rigid on the bed with the invisible weight pressing you into it. “I want you now.”

Then, you hear it. Barely audible but still there– a huff of air. A chuckle. A laugh. The sound sends a chill down your spine, the heat of embarrassment warming your cheeks.

You were so concerned about the full moon rite when we signed the deal– where’d that go?

“It’s– I–” You sigh, quite literally kicking your feet in agitation. You heel. You’re crying uncle, you can’t take whatever the hell is burning in your veins. “You had your tongue in my pussy, like, five hours ago. Can’t we just fuck? Right now? First time, now?”

He takes longer to answer this time. We could.

Your heart leaps. “Oh, thank Chr–”

But where’s the fun in that?

You stop squirming, and glare directly upwards, at the ceiling. You don’t know why you’re imagining him on top of you, picturing his head being right above yours– he says he’s possessing you, he’s inside your body.

Just not in the way you fucking want him to be. Dick.

“You asshole,” you growl. You can barely think straight with all the desire flowing through you, it’s mashing lust and anger together to create some lethal combination. Lethal to whom, you aren’t sure. “You fucking– you want me to die? Is that it? Want me to just fucking die right here on this bed and you’ll never get your full moon rite–?”

You’re not gonna die. Stop being dramatic.

“I’m not– I’m not being dramatic–”

Dramatics don’t work with me. I invented drama.

You pause at that. It occurs to you that you don’t… actually know how old Eddie is. “Oh, shit. Did you? Like, for real?”

No, of course not fucking for real. I’m being dramatic.

You try to stay mad. You really do. But a smirk breaks your facade, and then a giggle. And then you’re laughing, and the invisible hand on your shoulder releases you so that you can roll over in your hysterics, curling into a ball on your side while laughter shakes your body.

It’s so fucking stupid. It’s ridiculous. All of this– the inhuman lust consuming you, some physiological effect of his presence in your body. The fear and the arousal and his disembodied voice rattling around in your skull, dragging you toward Hell with him. And he’s fucking funny. Your lord of darkness, or whatever, is a goofball and a fucking tease, and you wonder for a second if you made him up. If you’ve constructed him in your mind, if you’re having a nervous breakdown.

Sweetheart… There’s a sing-songy tone to Eddie’s voice now, and you feel a pair of fingers walking up and over the curve of your hip. Your muscles jump at the contact, then catch fire when a hand flattens out and slides along the curve of your stomach. It gently pulls you back to center, laying on your back on the mattress, your legs splayed out and arms up by your head.

“You’re a fucking dork,” you murmur, and every ounce of affection you feel for him comes out syrupy sweet in the words.

You’re still biting your lip to quiet your giggles, your eyes searching the room for what you know isn’t there. Dust settles on your dresser. Plaster peels from the ceiling and the walls of your rotten old apartment, the landlord special sitting in cakes on the windowsill and over the handle of your bedroom door. But there’s no Eddie.

Mm, but what’s worse? The dork, or the one who’s… just so fucking turned on by it…

Pressure cups your crotch, making your breath hitch abnormally in your chest. A hand rolls against the damp fabric between your legs, but when you look down all you see are your own hips bucking up into nothing.

Fuck, you’re just dripping for it, aren’t you?

A pathetic whine leaves your mouth. With your eyes closed you can roll your hips up against that feeling, and you can pretend he’s there next to you. The invisible hand presses two thick fingers into the seam of your pussy, drawing out all the agony and pleasure with it. Your mouth drops open, a moan caught in your throat when your clit is caught in the mix, dragging slowly against the hard press of those fingers.

This is what your body was wanting. His touch– even if it’s not a physical body, it needs Eddie to soothe the ache. This feels like relief, like comfort, like warmth. Everything feels warm with Eddie. His hands caress you, just the slightest up and down that has you keening.

And then they disappear. Vanish. No easy withdrawal, no warning.

Your face screws up in frustration, your hands clutching the pillow on either side of your head. You feel like screaming. “Eddie, why– what’re you doing–”

Don’t whine.

Your hands and arms suddenly feel cold, then hot– and then, you can’t control them at all. They move on their own, completely separate from your mind or will. Your fingers twitch, and then your wrists flex, like they’re getting acclimated just to the feeling of being alive.

And then slowly, much too slowly, your own hands move to your neck. Then, down over your chest. They fondle your breasts through your shirt, making you whimper even though you’re just so fucking confused.

Let’s have our first lesson in Possession 101, shall we?

“Is this what you did at the diner?” you whisper shakily, while Eddie– your hands– Eddie squeezes your breasts, rolling your nipples between your fingers through the fabric.

No.

“You talked to me, then.”

I talk to you when you call me to. I don’t have to possess you to do it.

Your brain fizzles out, reboots, starts again. “Did I–” a breath– “Did I call you? Just now?”

Baby, you were screaming for me.

Eddie feels his way down the curve of your stomach, inching toward your pajama pants. It’s more sensual, more languorous and indulgent of a touch than you’d given yourself in your haste. The need in your body is endless– it stretches on infinitely, and you feel yourself sinking lower and lower, fueled by the unnatural push of your own hands, controlled by some other force outside your realm of understanding.

Good thing, too. You need to be shown how to fuck yourself properly.

“Eddie– don’t tease,” you chide, but there’s nothing real in it. It’s a pathetic whine, a little submissive noise in your throat that really means, Jesus Christ, I don’t know where to put all this lust.

Your hands wriggle beneath your pants, down past your underwear. Then your fingers dip low and part the slick, swollen lips of your cunt. You gasp at just the same time as the demon in your head hums. It’s a deep, resonating sound that slithers around in your skull, swirling and echoing like a call into the cavern of your mind.

Ohhhh, that’s fucking beautiful. His voice in your head is hushed, as if he wants to make sure no one hears his words but you. Your pussy is somehow wetter now that he’s here. You choke on a breath when your finger drags up and over your clit, the most delicate and inquisitive of a touch, but it makes sparks dance along your skin. How long has it been since you touched yourself like this?

“I don’t–” You moan suddenly when your two fingers dip into your entrance, teasing before drawing back over your clit in soft, circular strokes. Your breath rattles in your chest. “I don’t do it like this.”

That’s a travesty.

A high whimper scratches out of your throat at that. It is a fucking travesty. You never take your time and it never feels like this. It never feels like your body is on fire and your cunt is gushing, just begging for some sort of attention to soothe its crying.

Two fingers slip down and drive into you to the knuckle. You gasp and squirm, trying to move them, trying to do anything to stave off the ache for a faster pace. The impatience to do it fast and tight like you’re used to takes over, bucking your hips forward, urging your own hands.

Stop fighting me, baby. It won’t work.

He slows down, If that’s even possible. He makes your two fingers practically still, deep in your cunt, your palm flush against your throbbing clit.

The little bit of stimulation you get from the intrusion doesn’t do as much as his voice in your head does, though. It’s as if his mere being possessing you is enough to feed the starving, rabid animal of your body.

He swirls your fingers in a way that makes you keen, tilting your head back against the pillow. Are you paying attention, little witch?

You sob, nodding your head rapidly. You’re flustered, thinking about him watching you, feeling you do this. Your fingers aren’t long enough, or thick enough, to make it feel right. It feels better than it did, but only barely. “I– I liked your fingers m–more–”

I know. Because your body belongs to me, now. Isn’t it fun, being my whore?

You gasp when he pulls your fingers out and back up to your clit, more gentle than you’ve ever tried being to yourself.

He thinks this is fun. You’re suddenly reminded that he’s a demon– historically not a creature known for being nice. Mythologically, a creature that delights in torture.

He’s torturing you. He’s teasing you and refusing to give you what you want, refusing to fuck you, because this is fun for him. You picture chains and whips, bondage and the like, but you think it’s more than that. It's a mind game.

It’s him being able to control you. It’s you giving yourself over to him entirely.

You like it.

I can hear your thoughts, sweetheart. Stop overanalyzing it. Stop thinking .

“Holy shit– ” you rock your hips up when he curls your fingers, slow and hard, dragging them in and out of your cunt. The wet sound that it makes is obscene, even through the layers of fabric barring it from the open air.

Just imagine, you get to have me all you want. I’ll fuck you open and breed this tight little pussy like you want me to so damn much. Have you leaking my cum, just a messy hole for me to fill, over and over.

You moan, loudly. The image does flash through your mind– but, of course it does. He just said that he can hear your thoughts like this, didn’t he? He knows what to say to make you lose your mind, your frustration giving way to bliss.

Every day, for the rest of your life and beyond it, however you want it. But for now, you get to have this.

Your pussy clenches down, squeezing your two fingers. The muscles of your stomach tighten and release, and everything, everything sears. Panting, you stutter out, “I’m– shit– Eddie, I’m gonna cu–”

Cum.

You cry out sharply, falling apart around your fingers.

This is when you would stop. This is when you’d pull your hand away and say good enough, and let your body settle down. But Eddie continues, pushing your fingers through your spasming walls, grinding your palm against your throbbing clit until your thighs shake and your hips jump.

It takes a fucking while before he lets up.

Easing out of you, he slides your soaked fingers up and over your clit for good measure, before lifting your hand and shoving them into your open mouth. Your moan chokes out as you close your lips around them.

There you go. That’s how you finger yourself. I don’t wanna see whatever that other shit was again.

“Mm… uh huh. Okay. On it, boss.”

You’re a little embarrassed that you came so quickly when he was the one controlling you. You aren’t holding out much hope that you can do the same thing to yourself, on your own. But you’ll make him the hollow promise, in the meantime.

Maybe… maybe you’ll regret this, sometime. Maybe you’ll wake up one day and discover that this has all been some great big mistake, and Eddie is not what he seems. You still don’t know anything about him. You don’t know who he is, or was. You don’t know anything beyond the bond that you share now, and the power that courses through your veins.

For now, you think, it’s enough.

You find yourself nodding as you regain control of your hands. You’re drenched in sweat, panting quietly and letting your body sink into the mattress beneath you.

You hear him chuckle while you swallow back the dryness in your throat.

C’mon. You need some water, sweet thing.

Two invisible hands wrap around your ankles and yank your limp body out of bed, while you screech and claw helplessly at the sheets. Eddie giggles maniacally within your head when one of them smacks your ass, and your legs force you toward your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart?”

Everything glows pink. The morning sun in your windows makes things rosy, turning slowly to gold and tangerine. You groan and shift sideways, your eyes fluttering open, expecting an empty room. Expecting that Eddie is speaking to you telepathically, in that way he does. That maybe he’s still possessing you.

He isn’t. You blink up at him as he stands over you, long hair dangling in his face and flushed cheeks indented with dimples, looking half-godly like a statue of a fallen angel. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how beautiful he is. He strokes a delicate finger down the side of your face, rousing you gently with a look in his eye that you might mistake as lovestruck, if you didn’t know any better. His eyes are golden.

“Hi, pretty baby,” Eddie murmurs, as you tiredly work the sleep out of your eyes. You feel yourself making little indignant mrrrps, like a cat who wasn’t ready to be woken from a nap. Eddie chuckles, and the sound dances around the room like the twinkling of a bell. “I have something to show you.”

“Can it wait?”

“No.” His voice is soft, but holds enough command in it that you grumpily drag yourself out of the warmth and comfort of your bed. Half-asleep at the ass crack of dawn, like you’re still living with your parents and have to go to school, or something.

Even with your eyes half shut, you can follow him perfectly fine just from scent alone. His smoke and emanating warmth act like a beacon as you stumble over your own feet. He giggles at the sight of you, dragging a soothing hand down your upper arm to guide you into your kitchen.

“All right, sweet thing,” Eddie purrs, pulling you into his arms to face away from him. He rests his chin on your shoulder, looking over it while you simply let your head fall against his, being lulled back to sleep by his warm embrace. “What do you see?”

“Mmmph.”

“Okay, well, you have to open your eyes to see it. C’mon.” He pets a soft hand back and forth over your hip. “Let me see those beautiful eyes. You can do it.”

You’re fairly certain your eyes are puffy and crusty and gross. But you do what he says, cracking them open. “I see the counter you tongue-fucked me on yesterday.”

Eddie stops. You feel him turn his head, blinking at you like you’ve completely derailed him. After a long pause, he says, “Interesting how selective your attention to detail is.”

“There’s a bigass bunch of flowers on it.”

It’s the truth; it’s like he uprooted an entire garden and dumped it on your kitchen counter. You aren’t sure what he means for you to do with all of them– geranium, daffodil, chrysanthemum, daisy. They’re heaped on the granite unceremoniously, looking simultaneously beautiful and decrepit. Over the smell of Eddie’s smoke, you get the earthy and floral notes of a freshly weed whacked flower bed.

“Where the fuck did you get–”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says quickly, interrupting you. If you were more awake, you might have taken exception, but in your half-asleep haze you’re just happy to let him talk. “Do you like ‘em?”

“Yeah, honey, they’re… they’re real pretty.” You’re sure they were pretty when they were still in whatever garden he obviously stole them from. There’s a dirt clod in your sink.

“Cool, cool… awesome. Fantastic. So I suppose that means you want to put them in a vase, right?”

What kind of household does he think this is? You don’t have the budget for fancy shit like decorative bowls. The closest you’re getting to a bouquet vase is the crockpot in your pantry. “I don’t– I don’t have a vase–”

“Au contraire– I happen to be a purveyor of delicate glassworks.” Eddie reaches around you to set something on the counter in front of you.

It’s a water glass with little lemons painted on it. You bought it at the family dollar last spring.

“Babe, I dunno if you noticed, but that’s not a vase.”

“So make it one.”

“What?” You’re too tired for this. “Eddie–”

“Humor me, baby,” he whispers. He presses one big hand over your stomach, just beneath your ribcage. “You’ve got the magic to do it. Feel it, in here.”

It’s really hard to feel anything besides his touch, searing you through your baggy t-shirt. Eddie’s fingertips stroke back and forth, apparently trying to get you to focus on… something, but not accomplishing anything other than turning you on. Some instinct you have forces you to press your hips back against his, grinding your ass against his crotch in a sleep-induced urge to have him as close as you can. You make a little sound in the back of your throat that indicates what exactly it is that you’re feeling.

Eddie hums quietly, a note of amusement in his voice. “Wrong feeling, sweetheart.”

“What the hell else am I supposed to be feeling–”

“I know, I know. You want to fuck me so bad it’s making you dumb. It’s cute, really.” He snickers when you give him a petulant huff, and his teeth wrap around your earlobe to tug playfully. “All in good time. But right now, you need to feel what you want. You want a vase.”

“I don’t want a–”

“You want the vase,” he repeats insistently, tapping your tummy twice. Hot fingertips pressing in, metal rings catching on the fabric over your skin.

You squirm. “Fine. Eddie says I want the vase.” Give me the vase so the goddamn guy will let me go back to sleep for the love of shit—

And then, you do feel it. Some burning in your gut, right beneath the press of Eddie’s hand. A buildup of pressure that isn’t necessarily pleasurable, but nor is it painful. It just builds and builds until you feel full, fit to burst. It lurches in your throat, speeds up your heart, makes you moan at the vastness of it.

“That’s good,” Eddie encourages quietly in your ear, “You’re doing great, sweetheart. Keep going.”

The warmth of Eddie’s hand on you grows, until you feel as if your cotton t-shirt shouldn’t handle it. It should be burning up into shreds of singed fabric and char, but it just remains as an irritating barrier between his skin and yours. You feel the magic coursing through him and into you, creating some kind of tether that binds you and allows the power to travel between your beings. One with each other.

And when you fear that it’s too much, that you might explode from the intensity of it, it leaves you. All in one strong gust, enough to knock you back into Eddie, to make you stumble and give a fevered moan of release.

“Good girl! Look at what you did!” Eddie bounces excitedly behind you, jostling your still sluggish body. He sounds giddy, his arms tightening around you. “I’m so proud of you, you’re a fucking natural–”

“What… in the world,” you breathe, picking your heavy head up to gaze down at where your water glass used to be. Now there’s an enormous, beautiful vase. Still not enough to fit all the flowers in, but it’s a vase that you didn’t have before.

It still has little lemons on it.

“You’re so good for me, baby,” Eddie’s still whispering to you happily, a smile on his lips as he nuzzles against your neck and litters kisses all over your jaw. “You’re so goddamn cool, I swear–”

You giggle, leaning into his kisses with a tired smile. “That could have waited until I was finished sleeping, you liar.”

“Yeah, but it’s easier when you don’t think rationally about it,” Eddie coos at you, turning your head with gentle fingertips so he can lay into your lips with a kiss. “Plus, you’re just so cute and compliant when you’re sleepy.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #tdik!fic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #demon!eddie munson #demon!eddie #stranger things fic #roses*

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captainmaxatx · 1 month ago

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Omega! Logan who was born in the 1800s when secondary gender roles were very prevalent but it actually really suited him and he wanted to be a home maker and have a bunch of pups but he was always too big and hairy and and not seen as a good Omega. Alphas would sleep with him but never treat him the way they would a “proper” omega and they didn’t ever want anything serious because it’s like almost shameful to have a big hairy omega.

Then times change and Omegas start breaking out of the cookie cutter roles and they go into the work force and what not (feminism but it’s omegas) and Logan is very happy for them he thinks they all deserve the right to choose, but still no one wants him. And everyone expects him being an omega with the way he looks to be at the forefront of the movement to want the change for himself, but he doesn’t.

And over the years he toughened up and stops looking to start a family and put his dreams on the back burner to become what everyone expected of him.

And then everything happens and all the sudden Logan finds himself in a universe without secondary genders, where he isn’t a too big and hairy omega, he’s just some guy.

And unintentionally he finds his way into the role he’s always craved, where he takes care of the home and the dog while Wade makes the money, and it’s the closest he’s ever been to the life he wanted. He mostly retires from fighting and heroing, but now he’s ready for a new challenge. And being near Laura has only served to dig up that old desire and instinct he tried to bury so long ago

And I mean, even if the mutant hate wasn’t as bad as it is in Logan’s old world there was still a time here not to long ago when mutants were ran out and scattered around the world. And now with the people at Xavier’s working on getting the Mutants back into the city trying to re group with their still dwindling numbers. I mean Logan and Wade should help with the mutant re population efforts, who better to do that then two very eager immortals who can heal from anything and with a whole gang of friends around them for free child care.

#I just think Wade should get Logan pregnant over and over again #barefoot and pregnant Logan #and all the old x men coming back to the city #and they heard that a Logan from a diffrent timeline is here #and they see him and he’s freaking pregnant and holding a baby he just had a few months ago #and he’s happier then they’ve ever seen him #and Wade is just so damn happy to keep getting Logan pregnant and having babies #and all their kids would have super cool powers #they get a lot of help with their gaggle of kids but all the kiddos know they are so loved by their dads #ugh just Logan having given up on this dream so long ago and then he finally gets it after he thinks his whole life turned to shit #and he’s finally treated like an omega with a loving alpha that he’s always wanted #and hes not even in the omegaverse anymore and wade isn’t an alpha #feminism isn’t about all women going into the work force #it’s about the ability to choose #Logan fully supports omega and women’s rights #i might delete this later #sorry about this post #omegaverse #omega logan #poolverine #deadclaws #and Wade always wants to show Logan off #as like the hottest guy ever #and Logan who has always been treated like something to hide is just giddy with it #and he’s getting properly dotted on and cared for in bed #and after so Long of logan being treated like something to hide something to not been seen in a relationship with #he would never let Wade feel that way #he thinks wade is so handsome #just the absolute perfect alpha despite not even being an alpha #plz DM me about poolverine im going crazy

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10thmusemoon · 2 months ago

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saw your omega yqy post and i must know, if yqy and sj had another baby after shen yuan (after they officially get together and openly COMMUNICATE about their feelings) how would that go? how would sj feel about it knowing that yqy loves him? how would yqy feel knowing (or at least suspecting) that sj is actually looking forward to their second child?

CW: omegaverse, jiuqi, 97

Despite a breeding kink definitely being present I don’t think SJ would want another kid! But that’s not how omegaverse goes so of course there would be another!

There was so much trepidation with the first child, so naturally he’s anxious at the beginning. Jealousy and hunger are such an integral part of who Shen Jiu that he is that he puts himself in a box of how he should feel, how he expects himself to act like he did the first time around. It was such a resentful and miserable time for him that he’s not looking forward to it at all.

SJ is so used to planning for the worst that the good always blindsides him.

A stable relationship means that this time around he doesn’t have to restrain himself at all. SJ can scent yqy as he wishes and bury his face in the sect leader’s neck for hours, getting drunk off the smell of a happy pregnant omega knowing “I did this, qi-ge is this happy because of Me.”

He can enjoy the changes this causes in yqy this time around instead of thinking it’s a parasite changing him into something unfamiliar.

There was a very real fear in yqy that SJ wouldn’t want anything to do with them after Shen yuan was born that just isn’t an issue this time around. Yqy would have been overly independent the first time around, partly because of not wanting to bother SJ but mostly because that’s who he is. When he tries to pull the same shit this time around SJ gets to gleefully bully yqy into resting and being spoiled. For once yqy can’t ignore him to stay up and finish more paperwork because SJ will immediately weaponize the baby’s health against him.

(SJ becomes a menace on Qian Cao peak and MQF morns the time when he knew less about his shixiongs sex life and they used to avoid medical care)

The pregnancy sex is filthy, but more body worship than degradation happening for once. (We’re not talking about the lactation kink but it’s real.) SJ looks at YQY flushed and full, pressed against a nest of the softest most expensive materials available and thinks, “I won. This is mine, mine, mine.”

Pride and smug satisfaction define the second pregnancy.

This is the life Shen Jiu was owed, all the years of hell were for this. Everyone that ever looked down on him was wrong, they would all eventually die with their aspirations on their tongues while Shen Jiu lives as a powerful immortal with a spoiled Qi-ge on his arms.

(The barefoot and pregnant omega fantasy is strong this time around and if only yqy could just stop giving a shit about the sect for two seconds to make it a reality!!)

YQY is over the moon with all this, similar to Shen Jiu there’s less restraint going on and he allows himself the full range of emotions. On more than one occasion he finds himself tearing up with a silent joy that sends SJ into panicked spirals that typically end with a flustered “we could have had this earlier if you weren’t an idiot about things!!”

Not only that but also with jealousy, he isn’t just a thing that belongs to SJ (though he is!) this time around but also someone that has just as much a claim to his beautiful husband. There is a certain smugness to his status a a powerful pregnant omega with an ethereal husband when they have meetings with outsiders. Also he fully milks (lol) his rights as an omega to have his alpha come everywhere (lol x2) with him “for his safety.”

(If YQY wasn’t the sect leader they surely would have been thrown out for public indecency.)

If with Shen Yuan SJ had been a reluctant father with his first pet, then with baby 2 he is suddenly the obnoxious show dog owner that thinks he’s better than you.

The difference is that Shen Yuan was Qi-ge’s baby, and the goodness of him was because of that association, it was the saving grace from the poison he would inherit from SJ.

Baby two is his, they’re all his, because it’s what Shen Jiu deserves. They are his victory and his pride and he radiates condescension for his superior family that he built.

(YQY is so into this baby 3 might be a given)

#somewhere in all of this SY is collapsed in relief that baby 2 doesn’t have his tense childhood and also thank fucking god finally #a sibling of his own to spoil!!!!!!#then comes Luo binghe with a steal chair begging SY to get him pregnant so his sibling and their child can grow up together.#svsss #omegaverse #yue qingyuan #qijiu #shen jiu #jiuQi #97 #10thmusemoon fics #10thmusemoon talks #moon talks #moon asks #bottom yqy #omega yqy

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bloodismymedium · 8 days ago

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🔪Even More Mona Lanius Headcanons🎨

🫀 Mona speaks in a flat, monotone yet raspy/scratchy voice and is almost always speaking in a whisper, she sounds like what I imagine a ghost sounding like, unnatural yet kind of beautiful.

🫀 Mona is a chain smoker, which is a contributing factor to why her voice is so raspy sounding. Bill was an alcoholic who used alcohol to drown his violent, psychopathic thoughts but he quit after meeting Mona.

🫀 Mona genuinely smells like death, like a mix of rotting flesh and strong paint/chemical fumes. Her smelling like a corpse is caused by a combination of bromhidrosis (chronic body odor) and the fact that she constantly surrounds herself with death and decay.

🫀 Mona will often mix some of the blood of her victims in with her paints when she makes their paintings, a way of further immortalizing them and what she did to them as well as a twisted way of paying tribute to them, like she’s actually “thanking” them in being a part of her artistic endeavors.

🫀 Mona is of Ecuadorian and Romanian descent. Mona has no real sentimental connection to her heritage however as she doesn’t speak a lick of Spanish or Romanian and her parents never really taught her anything about her heritage either.

🫀 Mona is scary good in using all types of knives and other kinds of bladed implements thanks to years in learning how to use them in many contexts, such as learning how to cut and dress meat after hunting trips with her father as a child to “practicing” on her victims. She knows a fair number of knife tricks as well.

🫀 Mona and Bill started off as equals, a real Bonnie & Clyde type of duo but Bill’s deteriorating mental state caused by fully embracing his psychosis and being fed a LOT of drugs and painkillers resulted in him essentially becoming more of a guard dog. Mona is fine with this since she finds it cute and likes that she has a more dominant role now ⛓️

🫀 Mona and Bill were not going to kill Tina but rather they were planning on “adopting” her because Mona became enamored with her and wanted to “keep” her. Mona blinded and deafened Tina in order to make her 100% dependent on her and was planning on cutting her arms and legs off completely as well to achieve this.

🫀 Mona in general exhibits an odd desire to be a mother, which is exhibited in quirks such as keeping dolls and playing with them as if they were her children. This is especially apparent in the “baby” she made for herself from what she deemed as the “best parts” of the babies she killed when she blew up a daycare, she sings/hums to it, cradles it softly and even keeps it in an old Victorian stroller.

🫀 Despite this, Mona fucking HATES kids because they all remind her of all the mistreatment and abuse she took from kids in her neighborhood when she was a child, which is why what she did to the Beck twins would become what most would consider to be one of her most brutal murders. To her, it was personal.

🫀 Mona has a habit of preserving things in jars of formaldehyde whether they be internal organs, fetuses/infants, cool bugs, even stuffed animals. She only does this when something has really stood out to her, even seemingly random things she has chosen to preserve has significant, even sentimental reasons behind it.

🫀 Mona, perhaps unsurprisingly, is a huge art nerd. She has studied art since a very young age and has great knowledge of art history, she’s surprisingly insightful and engaging when she talks about art and she actually would’ve made a great art teacher. Her favorite painter as a child was Frida Kahlo.

🫀 Mona’s favorite paintings are The Garden of Earthly Delights (Heironymus Bosch), Saturn Devouring His Son (Francisco Goya), The Hands Resist Him (Bill Stoneham), The Fall of the Rebel Angels (Pieter Bruegel), The Wounded Deer (Frida Kahlo), The Anguished Man (unknown) and Night Creeper (Zdzislaw Beksinski). She’s a big fan of Beksinski’s work in general.

#urbanspook #urbanspook the painter #the painter #mona lanius #bill collins #tina rosenburg #headcanons #check out my other headcanons if you haven’t😉

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illubean · 5 months ago

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ooo idea for the unaligned experiment!reader (same guys as last time)

so reader gets bored during a job and wanders off once they know their favorite free meal human isn't going to die or something.

they go outside and find a stray cat, and when their favorite human comes to find them reader unprompted says "you're like this cat to me. you'll die before me and you'd be easy to kill, but I don't speed up that process because i like the fuzzy feelings you both give me. plus you're both kinda cute. :3"

like that's kinda just reader's usual rambling but it does cement that:

reader's actively thought about how easy it'd be to kill him

they don't do that because they (on some level) like being around him at this point

they're consciously aware they'll outlive him

they think he's cute

Also possible angst/comfort at the thought they've gotten bored and left him. also the reminder that reader's fully willing to wander off without him if they're not provided enrichment, but then they find out they consciously decided to stay where they could be found because they (on some level) grew to like him.

Unaligned!OP!Reader pt. 2

Characters: Illumi Zoldyck, Chrollo Lucilfer, Feitan Portor Type: Headcanons, Gn!reader

Couldn't really think of a hurt/comfort aspect because of these characters' personalities...

Warnings: mentions of death, a little angsty? idk

Illumi Zoldyck

Illumi of course already knows that you could easily take him out

it's why he kept you around in the first place

he originally only kept you around as some sort of Zoldyck super weapon

but YOU are beginning to develop FEELINGS? for HIM???

he probs just uses that to his advantage tbh

Illumi is worried when you wander off though, because what if someone else finds you and you take a liking to them? what if you leave him?

he doesn't care all that much about it from an emotional standpoint but he can't afford to lose such a valuable weapon

so he would accept your affections if it meant keeping you under wraps

you're willing to do whatever he tells you if it means keeping him around

since you don't really want him to die soon you're quick to attack anything or anyone he asks you to

even if you don't completely understand your emotions and even if it's one sided, you decide to stick around

you couldn't have your favorite human be lonely, could you?

Chrollo Lucilfer

he lets out an amused chuckle at your revelation

he too often thinks about his own mortality and that of others

so he's not as put off by your comment as he should be

"Maybe you're a lot more human than you think you are."

and his statement offers you some peace of mind

even though your immortal and were quite literally created to be a ruthless killing machine it felt good to know that you could actually experience human emotions

after this you are a lot more willing to express your affinity for him, weather physically or verbally

and you don't wander off as often as you used to

you still don't really grasp the concept of love but Chrollo understands what you mean

since you know you'll outlive him you become very protective over him

you decided it's better to keep him around as long as possible

so...I guess Chrollo did kind of get what he wanted

you were like his personal guard...dog? demon? idk you were his guard something

I'm not sure he would develop any sort of romantic feelings for you (at least not very quickly) but he does care for you to an extent

he doesn't have to worry much about losing you since yk you CANT DIE

but he does like seeing you happy :))

Feitan Portor

he's not sure how he feels about being compared to a cat

normally he would be offended but his brain skips over all the morbid parts and is like wait did they just call me CUTE!?

HIM? CUTE? HE IS A KILLER

he's mildy flustered by this but he plays it off as annoyance

but also he's offended that you think he's so weak

he knows he technically can't beat you because you're immortal but like...give him some credit

it wouldn't bee THAT easy to kill him

he could give you a run for your money

he probably just scoffs and tells you to shut up before walking away

even when you do wander you still end up finding and following him in the end

Feitan would never admit it but he enjoys having you around <3

#hxh 2011 #hxh x reader #hunter x hunter #hxh #hxh illumi #illumi zoldyck #chrollo lucilfer #hxh chrollo #chrollo hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #illumi hxh #illumi x reader #illumi #chrollo #feitan x reader #feitan #feitan hxh #hunter x hunter feitan #hxh feitan

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suchawrathfullamb · 13 days ago

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GET THE WILL GRAHAM VIBE

Since so many of you are obsessed with the idea of being Will and dressing like him ain't working out, because it's not about aesthetics, but about aura...Here's an analysis of his energetic configurations, with a practical advice on how to actually embody that vibe:

The first thing to understand is that we analyze the energetic components of characters based on the actor's charts, because if we look at life as one big play, and theater/film being a micro reflection of that concept, then the director or creator of the movie/play/show acts as a god, casting a specific actor for a specific role. Therefore we do not need to know a fictional character's date of birth or anything of the sort, as the actors are always being cast in characters that mirror the spiritual stage they embody.

Hugh Dancy shares the same archetype of Jared Padalecki, hence why Will and Sam have almost identical arcs: fighting with two sides of their nature, emphasizing the dualistic nature of reality (good and bad, wrong and right), going through tumultuous and torturous trials, and having an abiding love for someone that drives their actions. They also share funny similarities such as loving dogs, wearing plaid, being intellectual and having hair that calls attention lol.

They both have "special abilities" that are a burden to them.

Both Hugh and Jared were born under a specific Lunar energy that is ruled by Rudra.

The name "Rudra" itself comes from the Sanskrit root "rud," meaning "to cry" or "to howl." This suggests a deity connected to emotions, particularly pain, anguish, and a primal longing.

It's not at all random that both characters are known for crying, suffering and even Will always being "soaked"!

Sam and Will were transformed through pain, and Rudra symbolizes both the terror and beauty of destruction that leads to transformation.

And his association with grief and destruction gives him a complex and paradoxical nature: he is fierce yet tender, destructive yet deeply compassionate.

This particular constellation is called Ardra, the "star of sorrow," symbolized by a teardrop and represents the stormy aspects of life, including intense emotions, challenges, and upheaval. This constellation brings forward the power of Rudra, channeling his energies of anger, grief, and eventually purification.

Ardra is under the influence of Rahu, the "head of the dragon", and is a shadow planet, often associated with desires, illusions, materialism, and obsessions. According to myth, Rahu was originally an asura (demon) who, during the churning of the ocean (Samudra Manthan), managed to steal a sip of the nectar of immortality by disguising himself among the gods. When Vishnu discovered this, he beheaded Rahu, but since Rahu had tasted the nectar, his head became immortal. Rahu represents the severed head, while his counterpart, Ketu, represents the body.

Rahu symbolizes the relentless drive to achieve one’s desires, often leading one into uncharted or forbidden territories. He is associated with illusion (maya), hidden ambitions, taboo-breaking, and transformation.

Under Rahu’s rule, Ardra becomes a place where the individual seeks knowledge and experience beyond the traditional boundaries. This can manifest as a search for the truth behind illusions or a confrontation with uncomfortable aspects of life.

Rahu is a seeker, often looking for what is hidden or forbidden. Under Rahu’s influence, Ardra natives are known for their quest for truth, curiosity about life’s mysteries, and a tendency to probe deeply, even if it means challenging established norms.

Rahu’s energy in Ardra encourages the exploration of the shadow, things that are hidden, feared, or unaccepted. People influenced by Ardra often have the courage to face difficult truths, both within themselves and in the world, which can lead to personal growth and transformation.

Those with a strong Ardra influence may challenge societal expectations, explore unconventional paths, or engage in activities that push boundaries.

Together, Rahu and Ardra form a nakshatra that is both turbulent and transformative, focusing on a path where one must confront illusions, fears, and inner darkness to attain deeper understanding and freedom. Rahu’s influence on Ardra makes this nakshatra a place of karmic learning and powerful change, where the storms of life (symbolized by Rudra) bring both destruction and the possibility of rebirth.

In this way, Ardra and Rahu teach the lesson that confronting and dismantling our illusions, fears, and attachments is essential for spiritual growth, even if it involves pain or hardship. Through the intense journey of Ardra, Rahu ultimately leads to the breaking of old patterns and the emergence of a clearer, more authentic self.

What you really want to exude though, is Will's magnetism that comes from him embodying duality so perfectly (hence the "gender envy" you guys talk about). You want that yin-yang, magnetic aura.

Well, you can get that by chanting the HRIM mantra.

Chanting "Hrim" can make a person more magnetic due to the mantra's deep association with Shakti—the divine feminine energy that embodies attraction, creativity, and transformative power.

When chanted, Hrim produces a sound frequency that subtly shifts one's energetic field, making it more harmonious and balanced. This resonance aligns the practitioner with cosmic forces, increasing their natural charm and appeal, as they are attuned to the fundamental energy of creation and attraction.

By connecting with the energy of maya and transcending illusions, Hrim helps one cultivate inner radiance or tejas (spiritual glow). This inner radiance becomes visible to others as an attractive, magnetic quality that draws people in on an almost intangible level, as they sense a vibrant, vital energy.

This mantra is amazing for anxiety, also. It generates a sense of space/void so it clears the mind.

Also, his expression number is 3, deriving from 21, which means he embodies major arcana The World and The Magician, birthing the Empress.

The Empress is the verb, the ternary, plenitude, nature, fecundity, generation in the three worlds. She is wisdom. Discernment. Idealism. Intellectual solar influence. It is the arcane of Sacred Magic, an instrument of divine power.

The Magician is the Creative Impulse and The World is the closing, the manifestation being completed. So we have, essentially, the creative impulse of completion that generates sacred magic. This manifests an individual who exudes a sort of surreal magnetism that is very tender and feminine in nature, at the same time that it triggers a feeling of wanting that individual's dominance over you, but not through force, but through love/care. Which explains why most fans want to "baby" Will but also crave for moments where he acts unhinged.

#nbc hannibal #hannigram #will graham #hannibal #murder husbands #hannibal lecter #hugh dancy #astrology #vedic astrology #analysis #astro analysis

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verdemoun · 1 month ago

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fantasy rdr2 au for halloween:

almost every single o'driscoll is a werewolf (traditional sort: they don't entirely have control/remember what happens when they are in wolf form)

dutch killed colm's brother because he bit young arthur, cursing the traumatized boy who had already been through enough in his life with lycanthropy

however, as arthur gets older, and dutch starts becoming less of the 'old dutch', he treats arthur like an attack dog

arthur being a werewolf is a secret to most of the gang, because werewolves have pretty bad reps. only john, abigail, hosea, dutch and susan are meant to know. charles and of all people pearson figured it out on their own. kieran also knows as a former o'driscoll

no one knows if hosea is actually psychic or just a really good con-man but he's accurate enough for them to trust most of his calls

john's fear of wolves is actually due to arthur, who scratched him as a child. he won't let jack near arthur when a full moon is close

sean is supernaturally lucky (always rescued just before he's killed by bounty hunters, bullets flying fraction of an inch from his head in rhodes) jokes it's the luck of the irish but actually lives in constant fear of his luck running out

uncle is an quasi-immortal that still ages at a slowed rate. he has been in his late 50s for over a century and hates it

miss grimshaw is a siren but has lost most of her abilities due to thinking she is no longer beautiful. people are still compelled to listen to her but more out of fear than allure

javier is a vampire and treats john like his personal blood bank

kieran is a dullahan. the gang did not know this until horsemen, apocalypses, where his body stood after being thrown and immediately started shooting at o'driscolls. without his head, his body has a radically different personality and communicates through rudimentary sign language (mostly giving the middle finger and smacking people)

lenny has an eidetic memory, which in itself wouldn't be supernatural if his memory didn't extend to past lives. he's met uncle as at least three different lives and they didn't get along in any of them. sometimes randomly gets homesick for past lives

karen is a nymph. the maenad, ecstatic frenzied drinking mad women, sort. not the sweet, nature tending element kind

charles is literally just some human guy trying to keep up. he's actually the main character.

#rdr2 fantasy au #moss yaps

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earthnashes · 2 years ago

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Meet the prince of the Afterlife: Booette! I had this done for a while now (and the concept art of Booette for months longer) and figured today would be a good day to finally post it! ^.^

In this AU, Booette is King Boo's daughter and sole heir to his throne as King of the Afterlife. King Boo and Booette are basically gods like Rosalina, and in this universe, a god loses their immortality once they decide on having a child. This is because they must use a tremendous amount of their own magic to even produce the child (they don't make one in the traditional sense. Gods are born purely from magic), and once they child comes to be, the transfer from parent to child of all their magic and responsibilities are slowly passed to them.

So, when King Boo expires, Booette will become the new god of death. But that thankfully won't be for a while yet! Some lore funfacts about Booette herself:

-She is not fully immortal and is essentially a demigod until Boo has passed on. That means that, even with enhanced healing and a much higher threshhold than a mortal, mortal means can still harm her, unlike a full-fledged god. It's for this very reason that Boo is so very protective of her. Overprotective, in fact.

-She is infatuated with fairytales and the concept of Prince Charming. She's oh so terribly shy, but aspires to be a charming prince- a heroic brace knight in shining armor, so her people refer to her as "Prince Booette" instead of "Princess".

-Like her father, she is a shepherd of spirits; it's part of her duties to guide the souls of the dearly departed to the Afterlife. And like her father, she can will Sprites into existence as her little helpers; they basically solve the issue of being everywhere at once. This is what the regular Boos are! The "design" of the Sprite will differ between gods, so unlike King Boo's who's Sprites are basically your average Boo, Booette's Sprites are puppy/kitten-like in appearance and behavior.

-For all of her shyness, Booette actually does has a bit of an adventurous streak. She's so fascinated with the mortal realm and will go on the occasional sneak-out to get a closer look at the mortals. King Dad does not approve for obvious reasons. But he shouldn't worry too much! Their loyal guard dog Polterpup will keep her safe and guide her home if she ever got lost!

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Hope ya don't mind the info dump there! ;w; Feels good to let the brain just go at it with headcanon ideas again though I can't lie. But ye! Hope you enjoy the artwork at least my friends, and thank you so much for your support! More to come soon! :D

#Super Mario #nintendo #nintendo headcanon #booette #boo #my art #my stuff #AU

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ohbo-ohno · 1 year ago

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But!!!! What if!!!! The Princess’ entire kingdom is a werewolf kingdom. And!!! And maybe the Princess is a vampire from her mother’s side. Then the Princess’ escape options are even fewer because she can’t go out in the sun. Maybe she even gets addicted to Simon’s blood because of how good it is but hates Johnny’s (says it tastes like a dog’s) - 🕸

oh spiderweb.... i love you...

vampire king and queen who keep the werewolf population oppressed in their kingdom, and their daughter the princess promises her werewolf guard she'll make changes when she gets into power - but vampires are immortal, so she's stuck waiting for some outside for to kill her parents so she can make real change

but then here comes ghost (wraith? dragon? demon? idk!) who does kill her parents, but he doesn't put princess in power, for obvious reasons.

but... he is making changes. even if johnny's loyalty is to the princess, she never could make real change and ghost definitely is. and he keeps asking johnny for advice on how to best help werewolves, so he really feels like he's actually helping

and princess fucking hates ghost. yes it's good that he's making things better for the wolves, of course, but also... everything gets worse for her. suddenly the entire kingdom is on a day schedule, so princess always feels like she's missing everything.

and ghost does this horribly annoying thing where he always acts like he's doing her a favor. yes she's missing all sorts of meeting with diplomats, but she needs her sleep and he can't restructure everything in the kingdom for one little vampire, can he? no, no, that wouldn't be fair! she'll just have to talk to ghost when she wakes up to catch up on everything she missed <3 johnny can even be there, to make her more comfortable if she'd like

and it would make it so easy for ghost to bring johnny to his side, because he can show him real tangible evidence of what good he's doing. things are getting better, and the proof is right in front of his face everyday that he sees his people freed from their leashes

also princess needing blood but hating johnny's :( johnny hates being fed off of because it goes against every animal instinct he has, but it also hurts his feelings that he apparently tastes like dog and that his favorite person in the world hates the way he tastes. ghost just sees an opportunity, though, and totally forces princess to drink exclusively from him

i like in the vampire diaries how when vampires don't drink enough blood they just slow down a lot and eventually become statues. let's imagine something like that here - princess trudging around all slow and sleepy and ghost just smirking, says oh? did i forget to give you breakfast, princess? i'm so sorry, why dont we fix that. c'mere, on my lap. and holds her real close, keeps a hand on the back of her neck to hold her in place

pulls her off when she tries to take too much :( grabs her by the hair and tugs her right off, smiles a little when she whines and tries to go for more. swipes his fingers over the blood, holds them in front of her mouth and nearly laughs when she licks desperately at each of his fingers to get every little drop

#🕸 anon #asks and answers #conqueror ghost au #demon ghost and vampire princess who turns werewolf johnny into a hellhound? idk!#bo writes

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analviel · 2 months ago

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What would've happened if Rosinante never got assigned to that undercover mission (requested or otherwise)?

I'm assuming Rosinante is a Grandline assigned marine, that's why the top dog North Blue pirates that were the Doflamingo pirates didn't have info on him, after all they were just about to break into Grandline at the time Cora-san died.

Enter a bit of my headcanon here- he goes by the name Rosi, his actual full name is confidential, only for the eyes of Fleet Admiral Sengoku on a paper that doesn't have any copies anywhere else, and no one knows that he's adopted after it was buried with much effort (a former Celestial Dragon, the only one left of the shameful branch of Donquixote, how would the WG react?).

So imagine model marine Commander Rosi, one of the good ones, with his ever present marine hat on that head of golden hair, bangs a bit too low and eyes hidden, curt but soft spoken -a childhood of selective mutism- a familiar face with a strong background, from a young potential recruit running around Marineford, to a newbie, and then a known saboteur, went into counter intelligence, eventually gets known for a Captain with a ghost ship that easily jumps pirates around the corner, etc. etc.

Like on one hand, Law would die. Or maybe not, after all Rosi could still be dispatched for the Ope Ope no Mi (and fates colide lol since both brothers would be there), but would he give it to a random kid? Idk, if one has a will there's a way, it's easy to figure out something for their paths to cross, like maybe rather than the undercover way Rosinante goes to confront Doffy face to face and Doffy tries to get him to turn- or maybe he doesn't try to confront him and he just straight up gets kidnapped, ohhhhhh orrr we insert angst in his relationship with Sengoku and Rosi and they get in an argument about Sengoku's hand in Ohara, Baterilla, Fleavance, etc. (when you're trying to hide your dirty past but your son specialize in digging those out and the babysitter you assigned to him when he was young is now possibly talking him into turning against the organization you've dedicated your life to and starting a revolution) I can already imagine their argument:

"It was for peace!" Sengoku said.

"Where was the justice?!" Rosi demanded.

I personally think they probably had this argument before Rosi went to reunite with Doffy in canon -Rosi has a temper-, might have contributed to Rosi getting his hands into that mission, and that argument makes Rosi decide to (totally not run away) cool off somewhere maybe north and meets Law there while very narrowly missing his own brother's reputation bcs the Donquixote are more of an Arms Dealer Underworld name rather than a public name since Doffy wants to be openly revered, and Rosi isn't exactly looking - oh wait ugh no that's off topic, I have so many headcanons but let's try to focus.

ANYWAYS. We've got the sparkly perfect determined icon of justice Rosi Totally Fleet Admiral Sengoku's son.

That's the picture painted by the information Doflamingo was able to dig (of the marine that whisked away his key to immortality and maybe possibly the dying kid), while building his throne in Dressrosa.

Now, how did Law become a Shichibukai in canon again? Hearts of a hundred pirates was it? What was the requirements set when choosing the first set of Seven War Lords of the Sea?

The only seven pirates that would be invited to Marineford.

I ranted a bit, I hope this is still understandable.

#donquixote rosinante #donquixote doflamingo #Sengoku one piece #Dragon one piece #donquixote pirates #And I write #Fanfic prompt #trafalgar law

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wordstome · 1 year ago

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your brain holds so many scrumptious thoughts and ideas I absolutely adore reading anything you have to say.

that being said, König and his relationship to god and religion, discuss plz

hold for a second.

I'm standing outside your house with a baseball bat, because what do you MEANNNNNN dumb shit. I won't have you speak that way about these ideas that I like so much!!!

Alright then rolls sleeves let's get into it.

To be totally honest with you, Alexander (my König) just doesn't really think about religion at all. He grew up Catholic, but his family was never really that devout, so to him being Catholic is just something he puts down when forms ask him for religious affiliation. However, since I love some good religious guilt in my men, let's crank his Catholicism up to max.

...sorry, I got distracted by the idea of König in a preacher's collar. Can you imagine a little König in a Catholic schoolboy uniform? Ahhhhhhhhh the aesthetic of Catholicism. So much better than the actual religion. Anyway, do you remember that post "this character believes himself abandoned by God?" I think that's the essence of König's relationship with God. I don't know if you guys remember, but being a kid/teen SUCKS, y'all. I can easily see König going through childhood bullying and adopting a "if God exists, he will have to answer to me" attitude. Later in life I can absolutely see this merging with his anxiety coping mechanism, which is his emphasized confidence and arrogance. I don't think he develops a god complex necessarily, but something adjacent to it. It's actually quite well described in @kaiasdevotion's fic Break My Mind, specifically in chapter 6:

"Frankly, it makes no sense to him. He's killed many, butchered plenty, and murdered countless. Most die quietly, and some die bravely. One bunch dies with honor, a fucking joke of duty they pretend to hold onto. The other bunch, however, dies praying. To a god, to a higher power, to whoever strained voices can reach. But why? Why ask for mercy? Who are you asking? God? But it's him that's holding the weapon, is it not? Is it not König who has burning metal pushed down a bleeding tongue?"

(Kaia, you're brilliant.)

König definitely thinks faith is wasted on God, but true to his upbringing and his anxiety, he has a bad, bad, sense of Catholic guilt. If he felt like a dirty old pervert jerking off to your panties before, he feels even worse about it when his Catholic guilt kicks in. He's kind of absorbed a lot of those ideals about purity and sin, but rather than him caring about his own immortal soul or whatever (he's already done enough shit to constitute being sent to hell, and honestly, sometimes he thinks he's already in hell, so who gives a shit?) he worries about tainting you. As if his own existence in proximity to yours, his unquenchable hunger for your touch will corrupt your very being. He definitely beats himself up for that, but he's also got that demon in him, so it's certainly not going to stop him if you reciprocate.

And speaking of you, I can very easily see König doing the whole Hozier thing where his lover becomes his god. He will worship you, pray to you, and devote his life to you if you let him. The Take Me to Church parallels are obvious: "The only heaven I'll be sent to is when I'm alone with you [...] I'll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies // I'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife // Offer me that deathless death // good God let me give you my life" I think König eventually detaches sinfulness from sexuality, and in fact associates it with virtue. The act of pleasuring his partner is like worship. And it’s a lot more fun than Mass, that’s for sure.

That serves as our segue into Foreigner’s God. Especially observant OGs may have noticed that I used some lyrics from Foreigner’s God as the title of a chapter of Shrike, because it just fit so well. But Foreigner’s God is sooo König (honestly reminds me of @kneelingshadowsalome Fatum Nos Iungebit König)

“She moved with shameless wonder // The perfect creature rarely seen” is just the way König thinks of his lover, very reverent. “Wondering who I copy // Mustering some tender charm” I do think König can and does learn to be charming, but it’s definitely something he learns with age and experience, and it’s still easy for him to be caught off guard and become awkward again when talking to a lady. This is kind of emblematic of his insecurities regarding the way he talks to people.

“She feels no control of her body // She feels no safety in my arms” You could take this line down a very dark yandere path, but for a softer König I tend to interpret it as projecting his own anxiety onto his lover: he’s always going to be some big, (sometimes far older) pervert who doesn’t know how to act or put them at ease with words. He worries that when his lover is with him, it’s always because he’s forced them in some way, and they don’t truly like him or feel safe with him.

“I've no language left to say it // But all I do is quake to her // Breaking if I try convey it // The broken love I make to her” sort of a continuation of both of the above. He finds himself awkward and stoic and not charming at all, but he loves his partner, and he thinks the easiest way for him to convey that is making love to them. Which admittedly he tends to be good at, if not with experience then sheer dedication (his size doesn’t hurt of course).

“Screaming the name of a foreigner’s god” While of course this works for a lover who isn’t Austrian/doesn’t speak German, I think König has definitely felt like a perpetual foreigner, othered by society at several points in his life. His lover is his god. He may be unworthy of them, but he will always be devoted. That’s his own sort of religious fanaticism. It’s like this quote by John Keats, which serves as my tl;dr for this entire post tbh:

“I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion—

I have shuddered at it,

I shudder no more.

I could be martyred for my religion.

Love is my religion

and I could die for that.

I could die for you.”

and that’s Königcore as hell.

#thanks for giving me an opportunity to truly go off my rocker writing #i love writing essays about my little fictional men :)#melancholic-thing #könig #konig #könig cod #konig cod #cod #call of duty #cod mw2 #mw2 #answered #könig headcanons

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