#it's man-made horrors beyond your comprehension time

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[dr-docktor]

ok I swear I'll work on the SaF swap au later but I found a website that lets me make Undertale/Deltarune style text boxes and I've been having a blast.

here's the website: https://www.demirramon.com/generators/undertale_text_box_generator

[adonis-koo]

wicked • 20

↳ Summary: In a desperate hope to stop war from breaking you are a serviced to wed the most vile man alive, the one who has committed atrocities and war crimes beyond comprehension, he who is responsible for the fall of many nations, the wicked prince who’s heart is made of stone. You are to marry a man who challenges every belief and moral you stand for, all while being faced in a foreign land with nobody but yourself too trust…But are you both truly that different? Or is hate not too far from love?

↳ Pairing: Jungkook/reader

↳ Genre: arranged marriage AU, enemies to lovers, it’s kind of a period AU??? Historical but also technically not? prince!AU, eventual smut

Word Count: 11k

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tags: mastubation (m), strip tease, slight dub con??, handjob, overstimulation, humping, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, slight breeding kink (oops), oral (m) & (f), 69ing (OOPS), slight pain kink,

note: this is way later then it was supposed to be...anywayysssss enjoy !!! :)

“How does it feel to be somewhere so familiar, Princess?” Wheein asked as she dressed you for the afternoon. 

You hummed as you let her continue to style your hair, “Familiar, but…different now. I was a young girl when I used to roam these halls, but I’m a grown woman now. I'm excited to see my parents, I hope they’ll be attending dinner tonight.” 

“It’s only a matter of time now,” Wheein hummed out as she tenderly braided and pinned your hair the way she wanted it, “I don’t mean to pry m’lady but…” She let out a soft giggle, “I can’t help but ask if you and the Prince are now…? Embracing your marriage?”

You couldn’t help but tense, you had tried really hard to be quiet at night but there were definitely a few moments you had been unsuccessful, “Was I loud?” you whispered in horror.

This made Wheein laugh in surprise, “So you’re embracing one another very well?”

You felt your face become hot at the realization that clearly you hadn’t been, but now you had ratted yourself out, “Just pretend I didn’t say that.” 

Wheein let out a soft giggle, “I’m happy for you both…After everything you both have been through, you deserve happiness together, you both have had to overcome a lot of things. Take pride in your relationship.” 

You gave a small smile in the mirror, “I appreciate your words Wheein. But enough of that, how are you fairing? You’ve never traveled outside of Penumbra before, right?”

Wheein nodded, “This is my first time, I’m nervous truthfully, something about it feels so…Heretical, but exciting…? I hope to be able to explore a little bit in the week we stay here.” 

This made you happy to hear, “Kimhae is very beautiful, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities to go into the capitol to explore.” 

Wheein grabbed the crown, onyx, the same you had worn to your formal dinner, it would be a constant here in Kimhae as a show of status along with your wedding ring that dawned your gloved hands. 

“Finished. You look beautiful.” Wheein smiled in satisfaction, “Is there anything else you would like before we escort you to dinner?” 

You shook your head, “Nothing, besides your company. I missed you terribly when you were away. And while I enjoy Jungkook’s presence, he is by no means good with feather and fuss the way you are.” 

This made Wheein chuckle, her nose scrunching in delight, “Nothing brings me more pride than being next to you both. I’ll let the others know you’re ready.” 

Jungkook had left the room a little while ago upon Yoongi requesting him outside the room to talk about something. 

Standing up you brushed the skirt of your dress of the few wrinkles that had formed from sitting. 

This was one of your favorite winter gowns, sheer gold fabric lining from your neckline to your chest, covered in precious gems and the fabric ran to your forearms but it was concealed by bigger dramatic puffy sleeves the same dark midnight blue color of your skirt. 

Stepping out of the room Jungkook and Yoongi had ceased their conversation at the sight of you, “I’m not interrupting am I?” 

“Of course not your Highness,” Yoongi bowed to you, “You’re just on time in fact.”

Jungkook sighed as he peered out the large windows to the darkened skies, “We’re late.” 

“All the best couples are.” You smiled as he offered his elbow out as you grabbed ahold of it, allowing him to lead you down the halls, navigating to the main hall where everyone would be celebrating, after all it was the Eve before Yule. 

“His Highness, Jeon Jungkook Crowned Prince of Penumbra and her Highness, Jeon Y/n Crowned Princess of Penumbra.” The caller announced as the doors opened. 

It seemed the jolly sight inside had frozen despite the music still playing, you couldn’t help but feel nervous with so many eyes on you, but squeezing the bicep of your husband made you realize you were not alone. 

His crown stood tall on his head, dawned in his finest black and gold silk robes for the occasion, he looked like the epitome of confidence and power, and as his wife, you wanted to be his mirror, a strength to him, not a weakness.

You straightened yourself a little, lifting your chin as you let him help you down each step, eyes following you everywhere as people began to whisper, but after having been on the cold gaze of the Penumbrian court, you had found you clearly had hardened yourself to the stares.

Not letting them bother you the way they may once have. 

And in the crowd, there were two familiar faces that you had missed so dearly, that did not look at you as if you were a killer, “Mother! Father!” You called out, excitement pushing away the previous feelings of uncertainty, having let go of Jungkook to greet your mother.

Her arms were wide open, eyes beaming with pride as you buried into her, the sweet smell of nectar dripping off her body, the warm comforting smell of home, “My sweet daughter,” She ushered out, pulling away as she grabbed your face, “My look how you’ve grown, she truly looks like a grown woman, no longer our little princess.”

“I couldn’t have hoped for a more lovely daughter to be our future queen of Penumbra,” Your father grinned softly as you mirrored him, immediately wrapping him in a hug next, “We’ve missed you greatly so our little sun.” 

You smiled at them adoringly only to feel the towering height behind you, standing at an awkward distance, turning around you gestured your love over, “Come Jungkook, don’t be a stranger.” You let out a soft endearing laugh, this only made him awkwardly shuffle a little closer.

Uncertain of where to look or how to greet, “Your Highnesses,” He gave a small formal bow. 

Your mother let a quirk of a pout tug on her lips, “No son-in-law of mine will greet me so formally, come.”

You and your father glanced at one another before sharing a laugh at Jungkook’s pupils widening a little before briefly glancing at you before he hesitated, arms acting stiff in the brief hug before immediately dropping back to his side. 

“Surely you’ve hugged this poor boy my dear,” Your mother sighed, watching with a certain pity on her face before turning to you, “He treats me as if I am something to be frightened of.” 

Jungkook’s lips parted but you spoke before him, “We’ve embraced plenty, Jungkook is an introvert by nature,” You couldn’t help the affectionate smile tug on your lips as you placed yourself back at his side, arms wrapping back around his, “He doesn’t fair well with social events.”

“I can hold my own.” Jungkook muttered with a puff of his chest. 

“Don’t let their teasing get to you,” Your father chuckled, “I’ve never been one for social events either, Esme has always been the butterfly of us both.” 

“Oh don’t flatter me.” Your mother rolled her eyes playfully, “Come, let us sit, you must try the wine.” You let your mother lead the way as you all sat down at the large table, your eyes searching the massive party only for them to suddenly lock onto Seokjin’s, halfway across the room.

He appeared sulky, empty wine glass in hand and in a circle of aristocrats talking and he clearly was not paying attention, his gaze set solely on you. You blinked, immediately looking away as you smiled at the cup bearer, pouring you a large glass of wine. 

Taking a long sip you hummed in delight, “Eunoian?” 

“Imported,” Your mother smiled with love, “Kimhae has always been too tart for my taste.” 

“Tart and a twinge of sour,” Jungkook’s nose wrinkled, “They never let their wine ferment long enough.” 

This immediately had your mother’s attention, a fellow wine lover, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight as she immediately began to complain with him and as she got him talking, Jungkook slowly but surely relaxed as he began his second glass of wine. 

“Come, walk with me Y/n,” Your father smiled, shaking his head at the sight of the other two engrossed in gossip of Kimhae, who would’ve thought Jungkook would get on so well with your mother? 

The wine was certainly helping all the same. 

“I would love nothing more,” You smiled as you stood up, taking your father’s arm as you both began to walk, “How has Eunoia been? I’ve missed it terribly…” 

Your father gave you a soft smile, while you had always been undoubtedly close to your mother but… due to her dryad blood, she had always been harder on you as a child, making sure you stuck to your rigorous schedule.

There were many days when she was the source of your tears, but your father? He was nothing but soft for you, always sneaking you sweet treats at night and on the days you would weep, he would read you stories until you fell asleep. 

His love was always so soft, barely detectable but you could always feel it through the trepidations of your childhood. 

“We are doing well, with the protection Penumbra has given us, we’ve dealt with much less bandit raids, our crops no longer plucked over. Your presence has been an irreplaceable void though.” Your father hummed out, “The throne room hasn’t looked quite right since you left, Arielle never had the straightest cut.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you rolled your eyes, “Don’t say that too loud- lest she hear it all the way from Eunoia and kill all the foliage off in spite…Is she…” You sighed, you supposed you shouldn’t indulge the gossiping part of your brain, it was only a childhood rivalry, you were a grown woman now, those things should stay in the past. 

Your father however seemed to know exactly what you were saying, “There is talk,” He mused, “She does not have dryad blood though.”

“Perhaps that is for the best,” You murmured softly, your father peering at you in curiosity as you spoke softly, “Perhap it is time for Eunoia to leave our lesser human nature in the past?”

Your father hummed, “What has you thinking such thoughts, my little sun?” 

“...My stay in Penumbra has not been an easy one, I won’t deny it,” You murmured quietly, “I’ve suffered many trials and tribulations, the dryad inside me has proven to be very hard to contain…”

This made your father laugh, surprisingly, “So was your mother’s, her nature still can be from time to time.” 

“I just don’t understand, even after all these years. We strive for peace and yet all I want is war,” You frowned, troubled once more, “I want nothing more than to wrong those who have wronged me. And I hate it, revenge has a bitter taste.” 

“It’s an inherent nature,” Your father replied, tapping your arm comfortingly, “It’s inside all of us, you are inclined moreso from the polarized nature of a dryad. The beautiful thing about it is that we cannot have life without death. Your mother was never the best at explaining it,”

He sighed wistfully, as if accepting this about his wife, “But it always seemed to me that as a dryad, your duty is to balance it, not strive for one or the other. The giver and taker of life, it may run through your blood but you are not a god Y/n, it is not your calling to be one or the other. But I’ve always seen great things in you. I’ve always felt you’ve been called to mediate the conflict of the giver and taker, give life where it is needed, death when it is warranted. These things are scary when we’ve been taught only one is right, but it is not impossible.”

Dead eyes flashed in your mind, your grip on your father’s arm tightening a little as you took a long breath, “Then why is it I always seem to only bring death?” 

Your father frowned, a sad look in his eyes, “You were but a child Y/n, too young to be put in the tents, but your mother was insistent. Death is the only thing guaranteed in life, we must all face it eventually, some sooner than others. This is the way it is meant to be, you did the best with what you were taught.”

You stared at the ground before you murmured, “And…what if…I broke my vow…? What if I had taken a life on purpose?” 

Your father paused, slowly his eyes lingered on your figure, your expression was full of sorrow and lament, he tenderly brushed your shoulders, “My words would remain the same, you were never meant to uphold one value or the other. I trust you would never do something rash, if it were not called for.”

You both began to walk once more and for a long moment you thought of his words before you were plagued by a forgotten thought, “I’ve heard….stirrings, rumors.” 

“In the beast itself?” Your father laughed, “Do tell.”

“Rumors that…” You lowered your voice, “Eunoia is building an army…?” 

Your father paused in somewhat surprise, “Really now?” He paused thoughtfully, “Well, I suppose it would seem that way.” 

“But it isn’t?” You raised your brows hoping that it certainly was not what it seemed. 

“Did you know that the dryad’s were not just healers?” Your father gave you a knowing smile, “But they were also warriors, it was said they were gifted with the sight of knowing, shooting arrows that could hit even targets from miles away. We have decided to take up the divine dryad’s way of Archery- a form of weaponry, in honor of Penumbra for the Rite of Peace.” 

You paused…archery…? Everything made so much more sense suddenly, and it dawned on you that while you knew much about Eunoia, you still had so much more to learn about your ancestors. 

“I…I love that Eunoia has decided to pick this back up in honor of Penumbra,” You gave a small smile, somewhat relieved, “Jungkook will be thrilled to hear this.” 

“Ah…” Your father hummed, “And I do assume your husband has been treating you well?”

Your nod became somewhat shy, “We didn’t speak the first month but…well circumstances arose that no longer allowed us to hate one another…And somehow, we…began to understand one another? Misunderstandings truly are the root of hate aren’t they?” 

“Hate makes all of us blind to the reality of life, nothing is fair, nobody is ever truly free, we all have our burdens and trepidations to bear, not one better than the other. When we embrace intentional kinship, to set aside our differences, and truly learn from one another with compassion and understanding, we are at our strongest…”

Your father hummed before he looked at you for a long moment, “Though it has not been long, you seem older now…Wiser, patient…You both suit one another very well.” Your father praised. 

“I would’ve hated those words once upon a time but…” You gave a satisfied hum, “You are right, I couldn’t think of another person I’d want as my husband.” 

The evening went on, you and your father had many people come and socialize with you both, many royals and aristocrats alike wanting to know about Penumbra, about the Wicked Prince, about the tall tales that came from its lands. 

You indulged none, and left everything vague, giving only knowing smiles and cryptic words, after all knowledge was a currency of its own for royals. 

It was well past midnight by the time you and your father had arrived back at the banquet table to find your partners well past the point of sobriety, your mother and Jungkook sharing a loud boisterous laugh as he cackled, “I wish you had seen it, the sword went flying out of his hand and the look on his face was that of a child.”

“Oh come now Jungkook he can barely hold a cup with two hands let alone a sword!” Your mother cackled out, near empty cup in hand. 

“It seems we’ve made our timely arrival,” Your father let out a soft sigh as he shook his head, “Come now Esme, let us not insult our host’s family too loud,” He pulled her chair out offering an arm to her, “We ought get you to bed.” 

“I agree,” You replied, standing next to your husband’s chair where he was slightly slumped, crown crooked on his head, “We should retire, my love.” You leaned down, fixing his crown back straight. 

His hand caught yours as he pressed an amorous kiss against the palm of your gloved hand and a silly little smirk on his face, “If that’s what my goddess wishes.” 

You felt your face becoming hot at his words, clearly the liquor making him much more boldly flirtatious then he would typically be in a public space. 

Jungkook stood up only to wobble a little, you immediately grabbed his arm, not offering as much support as you wished, but you only needed to get him as far as Yoongi, who was coolly leaning back against the wall, arms crossed and eyes scanning the room. 

You waved Yoongi over, his eyes immediately catching your figure as he pushed off the wall, “Can you please get Jungkook back to our room?” You asked.

“Of course, Wheein will escort you back then I presume?” Yoongi asked and you nodded, with that he took your husband back though not without complaint of you not being by his side. 

You only smiled briefly only for your vision to be blocked by your mother, grabbing you with an adoring look on her face, very clearly drunk, “While I had my reservations about him, you both make a lovely couple Y/n,” You giggled softly at this as she continued, “And hopefully you’ll make even lovelier grandchildren for me.” 

“Grand children!?” You nearly choked on your words.

Grandchildren…? 

“Now, now Esme, leave her be, that is their business,” Your father tutted, “Goodnight Y/n, we shall see you in the morning…Or at the very least I will see you in the morning.” 

You waved goodbye but your mind was fried at her words…children…You…you hadn’t even thought of children, which was incredibly stupid given the amount of unholy sex you were currently having, with absolutely no regard of how many times your husband emptied himself inside you. 

Your hand ghosted over your stomach as you wondered, what if you were pregnant? It was a brief thought with no actual evidence to back it up. 

But the idea of blue eyed, dark haired children running around suddenly filled your heart with so much joy, you could hardly continue the girlish smile you had, children…Surely Jungkook wanted children, right? 

You pressed your lips together in uncertainty, being the heir to the throne meant it was an expectation but…You didn’t want to bear his children if he wouldn’t share the love he had with you to them. 

It was late and you supposed these were conversations you would need to have at a later date with him, sooner than later given just how fast you both had been going. 

You called Wheein over as you both exited the party.

The hallways were dark and you had just reached the end when a voice called out, “Y/n…” 

Wheein frowned as you both paused, turning around as you noticed the lone figure at the other end of the hall, Seokjin…Wheein briefly looked at you with a quirked brow. 

“Seokjin, my apologies for not greeting you at the party, I was catching up with my parents.” You called out as he approached you.

“Nevermind that,” He offered an easy, charming smile, “I know how much you’ve missed them, but…I’d like to speak to you, alone…”

Wheein shifted immediately, not liking this one bit as she stared at the foreigner, briefly looking at you once more, and you could tell she didn’t like this, “It’s late Seokjin, I was just getting ready to retire for bed…”

“Indulge me, just for a moment.” Seokjin asked, holding a hand out to you. 

You stared down at his palm, and for the first time you noticed the lack of calluses on his hands, his skin incredibly soft, “...Very well, where would you have us speak?”

“Just up ahead, in my office, your maid may go I will-”

“My maid will stay just outside the office,” You cut him off, Wheein giving a curt nod at your words, “Lead along, I do not have all night.” 

Seokjin frowned, eyes lingering warily on Wheein just as her’s did, almost as if sizing one another up before he walked ahead of you both and turned off onto a hall before he stopped, it was vague but you did remember being in his office a few times. 

He stepped inside as Wheein whispered out, “Will you be okay m’lady?” 

“I’ll scream if I’m not.” You gave her a reassuring smile before you stepped inside, closing the door behind you. 

It all came at once, the sudden feeling of invading your personal space, his body pressing into yours and his hands wrapping around you, “Oh my love,” He whispered out, “You’ve become a marvelous actress, but you should be taking my lead to not make things more difficult for us.” 

Your body immediately tensed, these were not the arms you were used to being wrapped around you, and these were not the lips of your husband against your ear.

Seokjin pressed his forehead into yours just as swiftly as you were pushing him away, “I am no actress, what is the meaning of this Seokjin?” 

Seokjin’s lips slowly curled into a frown at the evident step you took away from him, a safe distance between you both clearly feeling like a rift for him, “I’m here for you.” He spoke quietly, “Albeit he wasn’t supposed to be here but we can make this work, some plans will simply have to be altered.” 

You blinked several times, “Plans…?” 

Seokjin nodded, a smile slowly curling on his lips once more as he took your hands into his, “We can talk more about it later, but just know that we will be reunited once more Y/n, it’s been sickening…watching the way he drags you around as if you are nothing more then some doll, his hands touching what is not his.” 

Your stare hardened as you slowly shook your head before letting out a long sigh, “I’m sorry Seokjin, it seems I was not clear last time we spoke.” Though you felt as if you distinctly remember being perfectly clear, “We are no longer an item, we have not been since the day before my wedding.” 

Seokjin shook his head, as if he was in denial, “I have been biding my time for you my love, the days I’ve ached for you, touched myself to you. You can’t seriously tell me you have not yet felt the same?” 

He was staring at you expectantly but you were at a loss for words, because while yes a part of you had mourned him the first few weeks of your stay, but after a month Jungkook had become a bigger part of your thoughts with each day, and Seokjin becoming so obscure that you no longer even thought of him unless it was prompted in conversation. 

“I’m sorry Seokjin,” It was a genuine apology, “But I cut ties for a reason, I’ve only come to Yule to see my parents and nothing more. I do want you to rest easy…I am very happy in Penumbra, and Jungkook does not treat me like a doll he…” You stared at your gloved hands, “Jungkook loves and respects me for who I am, what I am capable of. And his hands touch me as if I am his, because I am. There is no other man I want to belong to.”

Seokjin slowly shook his head and it made you wince a little. He was taking this harder than you had assumed he would, perhaps because you had assumed your relational ties had been officially cut. 

You assumed there might have been a forlorn sort of pining from him, mourning what could have been, but to have this delusion that you both were still romantic lovers was an entirely different subject. 

“You don’t mean it Y/n,” He took a step closer to you, hand grabbing your waist making you jolt, “I don’t know what they’ve done to you, but you’ve been brainwashed. Turned blind to their hedonistic ways. You are not the Dryad Princess I know.”

“If they are heathens,” You shoved his hand away from you, “Then I’m afraid I was never going to be good enough for you, for if they are heathens then I cannot imagine what I must be in comparison. I am far more than a Dryad Princess, you say you no longer know me, but it only shows me just how little you actually knew me. I value the time we had together Seokjin, but I love Jungkook. He is my husband and I am proud to be his wife and it will remain this way. Goodnight.” 

You promptly closed the door behind you as Wheein straightened up from her fretting state, you gave her a tense but attempted comforting smile, “Come let us go Wheein.” You ushered softly as she nodded. 

After a long quiet trip through the halls she finally asked, “It’s not my business but I can’t help but ask m’lady…what was that about?”

You shook your head, “Some things must die slower than others I suppose.” You stopped at your door just where Taehyun walked out from exasperatedly. 

“His Majesty is still awake, just a forewarning.” Was all Taehyun said and that was all you needed to know.

“You both are dismissed, I doubt we’ll need any help tonight. And do take the early morning to yourselves, Jungkook will definitely need to rest until mid morning.” You offered a weak smile as they both nodded, perhaps knowing but saving you the embarrassment.

After taking their leave you stepped into your room, lit only by firelight as you quietly shut the door, “So my pretty wife finally shows her presence.” Jungkook was leaning against the bed frame, slumped once more, terribly drunk. 

You offered a gentle smile, the tension that had been in your body slowly melting due to his warm presence you had become so familiar with, “So I am here; I did not mean to make you wait so long.” You were in no rush to the bed as you slowly walked over to your vanity, pulling the gloves from your hands and taking the shoes off your feet.

Setting your crown on top of the empty pillow and taking off your jewelry as you felt his eyes burning into your back before you finally approached him.

“What held you up?” Jungkook’s eyes lazily dragged over your body, sitting on the side of the bed as his feet planted on the ground, hands reaching out for your waist, “You were supposed to help bring me back.” 

Your smile became just a little shy as your hands settled on top of his, the warm comfort it brought such a stark contrast to what Seokjin had attempted to replicate, “I got caught up, but I’m here now. Help me?” 

You turned around as Jungkook stood up, a little wobbly and maybe not the best with his fingers at the moment but he managed to get your dress undone as it fell to the ground, you still had your slip on underneath, it wasn’t meant for sleeping but it was comfortable enough that it would do. 

You plucked the dress from the ground before tossing it, the fabric catching on the chair at your vanity before you turned around to face him once more.

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that escaped you at the dilation in his eyes, his tongue swiping over his lip feverishly, “Was it him?” 

Your brows lifted a little in somewhat surprise and that gave him everything he needed to know, his jaw clenching a little as his hands tightened down to your hips, “Saw the way he was looking at you, as if you belong to him.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you whispered, “But I am yours. You shouldn’t worry about him.” Tomorrow, you would tell him what had happened, but tonight, you wanted to rest with your husband and let him sleep off his liquor. 

Jungkook’s nose buried into the crook of your neck before his lips began to press into your skin, and you were quickly beginning to realize this was a telltale sign, his hands roaming your sides before curling around the material of your slip. 

“Lay down,” You whispered, “You’re drunk.” 

“I’m sober enough,” Jungkook replied with a moan into your skin, “Indulge me, light of my life, you say you’re mine, but I need you to show me. Need you wrapped around my cock.” 

His moans against your skin was tantalizingly difficult to say no when he laid back against the bed, pulling his pants down to reveal his fat cock bobbing to his abdominal as he wrapped his hand around it tight, eyes staring at you with a lazy heat as he slowly began to stroke his shaft. 

You couldn’t stop the pout on your lips as your arousal immediately pressed into your panties, “You’re drunk Jungkook…” 

“Mmm, I can be drunk and have my cock rode.” He replied, his hips stuttering a little as they lifted into his fist, his cock squeezing through as he moaned, “Do you not see how desperate I am for you? Don’t deny me now.”

Precum was beading against his slit as you slowly pushed your slip up, letting your panties drop as he moaned his hand pumping his cock all the way up to his bulbous head before squeezing it all the way back down, “Fuuck, that’s a good girl, show me those pretty tits.” 

Slowly you peeled the slip up your body, one inch at a time as Jungkook’s hand eagerly worked his cock, eyes lidded as he moaned, watching the fabric tease just below your bust, ‘Don’t tease me now.” 

You pulled it up, your tits bouncing as he swore, fist pumping his cock furiously as you pushed it over your head before letting it hit the ground, “Nee’ you Y/n, mmm, need your warm cunt.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at how whiney he was at the moment, getting up on the bed you straddling his thighs as he moaned his hand slowing down to lethargically stroke his cock, eyes trailing up and down your exposed body.

Leaning down a little you couldn’t help but curiously wrap your hand around his base, his stroking paused as he released his own grip, “Mmm, stroke it.” 

You couldn’t help but feel a little shy, it was so thick and heavy in your hand, “How do you like it?” You whispered out, trying not to let yourself be intimidated. 

Jungkook reached back down, his hand wrapping over your own, grip suddenly being crushed much more than you would’ve expected, “Hard, like when it hurts.” His thighs tensed as he guided your hand up his shaft, roughly pumping back down to his base as he hissed out. 

You mimicked his movements, letting your hand jerk up his cock as he guided it back down each time forcefully, you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the way his cock moved with each stroke, his fat head slowly beginning to turn red, as if angry to not have it’s release.

“Mmm stick your tongue out,” He mumbled, “Want to watch your spit drip on it.”

“Jungkook..” You ushered in embarrassment.

He smiled wickedly, “Would you rather suck it instead?”

“If you had chosen to stay sober,” You teased right back, taking a long breath you appeased him though, sticking your tongue out as salvia slowly gathered at the tip of your tongue before a large glob slowly hit the fat head of his cock. 

Jungkook jolted and stiffened beneath you, a deep moan escaping him at such a lewd sight as your hand wrapped around his tip, dragging the fluid down his cock making it more pliable, he could hardly stand it as your hand squeezed harder around him. 

“Fuck yeah, like that, nice and hard.” He moaned in pleasure, eyes lidded and watching your hand with each rough stroke, “Mm little harder- shit…!” He moaned even louder as his eyes closed briefly, your hand squeezing nice and hard around his base as you began forcefully pumping his cock just the way he enjoyed it. 

His thighs kept tensing beneath you and you could feel your arousal drip on his thigh as you slowly shifted slotting your own thighs beneath his thick taunt one as your hips couldn’t resist but to wiggle, your wet puff slit dragging open along the warm skin of his thigh.

“Mm that's it, good girl,” He moaned deep, eyes locked between your little cunt making a mess all over his thigh and your hand, working his cock nice and rough, “Rub your little clit on my thigh.” 

You let out a little whine at your clit sliding against his skin, pleasure frictioning against the open plane as your grip on his cock tightened, hand fisting all the way to the head of his cock as you roughly pumped his head, as if trying to squeeze the cum right out. 

Jungkook’s moans were salacious and wonton, not holding back in the least as his hips suddenly thrust upward into your hand, his thigh rutting into your cunt as you let out a small breathy moan, enjoying the mess your cunt was making. 

You spit once more on his cock making it slide with ease once more, “Mm just like that, fuck Y/n, yeah, mm gonna’ cum.” 

Jungkook’s hips were impatiently thrusting upward as your hand forcefully pumped his cock, his thigh continually rutting up against your clit just the right way as you let out whiny moans, “Cum for me, please, that’s it, cum.” 

Jungkook was pliable at your voice, whining and begging softly as your hand tightened around his cock once more, the sight of you bending slightly, your tits bouncing and your tongue sticking out, only this time his fat head aimed at your mouth. 

It was such a lewd sight, Jungkook cursed loudly, your hand roughly stroking his cock as the pleasure became blinding, the sight too tempting as he grunted out a deep moan, cumming hard as he kept his eyes wide open for the spectacle, spurts of white cream shot from out from his slit, hitting your tongue, “Fuck, oh my god, yeah, suck it, please, fuuck, suck it up.”

You appeased him, your lips tenderly around his head before sucking it harshly as he cried out another deep moan, eyes unable to pry away from the sight, one arm forcing his hips down to keep from rutting into your mouth as your other hand forcefully pumped his cock of every last drop of seed. 

Your lips stayed wrapped around his fat head as you felt more substance dribble out from his weepy sensitive head. 

Your hand pumping every last drop he had to offer as his thighs violently twitched with each stroke of your hair, his moans were loud and obscene as he growled, “Keep going fuck, can take it.”

That deep dominant voice had you pliant, obediently swirling your tongue around his slit, cum slowly leaking back down his cock as you stroked it.

You could tell he was overstimulated just by how violently his body was twitching but just as you kept going his cock slowly started to harden once more, pulling off his head as you swallowed the rest of the substance, a subtle sweetness in it otherwise tasteless. 

Jungkook moaned, his hyper sensitive cock resting back against his abdomen, “Wanna cum in that pretty little cunt now.” 

You couldn’t help but feel somewhat shy, “Are you sure?” 

Jungkook moaned softly as his hands wrapped around your hips as you shifted yourself, “Why wouldn’t I be? Nothing satisfies me more than watching my cum drip from this little hole.”

You shuddered as you grabbed his cock, watching the way he sucked a harsh breath in, teasing his weeping cum covered head against your slit before slowly sinking down on it.

The stinging sensation was absent, only the feeling of his fat cock sliding inside you with ease as you both moaned, “…Even if I become with child..?” You whispered out.

Jungkook’s hands suddenly gripped your hips even tighter, eyes lifting with a wicked smirk on his face, “Why do you think I've emptied inside you every time? Mm is that what you want? My seed nice and deep inside this cunt until your belly becomes swollen? Filled with my child?”

Your cunt harshly wrapped around his cock, you hadn’t expected your body to react so harshly to his words but it was making your clit throb in excitement, the idea of becoming pregnant with Jungkook’s child.

Your hips were immediately bouncing, your cunt greedily sucking his cock deeper inside as your walls clenched around him, soft whines escaping you, “Mm! Please…!”

Jungkook moaned softly, “So I’ve found your weakness,” he cracked a boyish smile, “You want to be my little cumdump? Milking my cock of every drop of cum until you're pregnant with my baby?” 

Your thighs were trembling at the idea, the anticipation of his cum spurting deep inside you, the excitement made pleasure bloom through your body as his shaft began rubbing right where you wanted it, “Please…! I’d be good!” You whimper, “I’d take care of our baby…”

Jungkook moaned hands encouraging your hips, roughly bouncing as his big cock forced his way past your little walls, “Mm know you would, have’ the prettiest belly. Prettiest tits…”

Your whines and moans were like music to Jungkook’s ears as you frantically bounced on his cock in need, his hands soothing your hips as you moaned, “Wan’ baby please…! Koo’…!”

“Mm that’s it my love,” Jungkook moaned as your hips became flush with his, feeling your walls wrap around him as came once more, cum burying deep inside you as the loudest, whiniest moan escaped you, cumming all over his cock as you bounced once more, milking every drop from his cock once more as it buried inside you.

Every muscle in your body was tensed as your breath labored, fists curled against Jungkook’s chest before he grabbed them, tenderly uncurling them as he laced his own bigger ones in yours, “So you want my children hm…?” 

You slowly opened your eyes, tiredness running in your body as you let out a soft, somewhat shy giggle, “Do you want me to have your children?” 

“Is my cock inside?” 

“Stop…!” You whispered out, falling against his chest as he chuckled, arms wrapping around you, his cock softening as it slipped out of your body, the warm sensation of liquid dripping down your thighs as you curled up against him. 

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut as he hummed, fingers tracing over your sides, “There’s no one else I’d rather have children with.” 

Jungkook had slept heavily through most of the early morning like you had assumed, he did wake up once, stirring a little at the feeling of your tit cupped in his hand, he only gave it a nice hard squeeze before falling back asleep. 

The light had begun to shine through and you could tell the halls were busy with maids, your personal servants wouldn’t be in for another hour and a half at least though, and somehow, you thoroughly enjoyed being able to lay with your husband like this. 

Far past any reasonable hour to get out of bed. 

“Will you survive my love?” You whispered out a small giggle as your hand reached out, brushing back those long dark bangs from his forehead. 

He groaned, eyes still closed but you knew he was awake, “It feels like I am an anvil and my headache is a smith master. You never told me your mother could hold her liquor better than you.” 

You smiled fondly as you laid on your stomach, propping yourself up on your forearms, “They say dryad blood makes alcohol less potent.”

Jungkook’s eyes shot open, a comedic glare on his face, “I see you’ve chosen to keep that information to yourself.” 

“I never thought it was relevant,” You laughed softly, trying not to be loud for the sake of his poor head, “It’s probably why I can drink more than you.”

“And yet you never seem to utilize this ability, you should take after your mother more,” Jungkook groaned as he pulled his arms over his head, eyes squeezed shut once more, “So you’re ready to have my children hm?”

You tried not to choke on your own spit at such a drastic conversation change, “I…” 

Jungkook’s lips slowly pulled into a smile, eyes lidded once more as he stared at you, “What got this on your brain?” 

Your lips parted multiple times, trying your hardest to not let yourself become shy, but it was difficult under his gaze, “...My mother- very drunkenly told me she hoped for grandchildren soon last night after you departed with Yoongi.” 

“Hm yes I do recall her mentioning this to me as well,” Jungkook laughed softly at the expression on your face, “Telling me we would make the prettiest children and that if I wasn’t treating you well she’d personally castrate me- I also see where you get your temper from.” 

You weakly smiled, you wanted to say your mother would never say that sober- but you knew good and well you got her temper in a much higher dose then even she had. 

“She was one of my teachers,” You replied, “...Is it…you don’t think we’re going too fast?” 

Jungkook rolled onto his side, “What do you mean?” 

“Having children?” You raised your brows, “I…I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner, but with how we’ve been…It may be a good possibility.” 

“We’ve been married for almost a year now,” Jungkook mused, “True half of it hasn’t been on good terms but the court…” He sighed, “I hadn’t wanted to tell you because I didn’t want you to feel pressured but…The Penumbra court has started questioning me on when they can expect an heir.” 

Your lips slowly curled into a frown, “I’m not surprised…” Because regardless of how either one of you felt about this, there was a duty to uphold, “Is that why…?”

“No,” Jungkook immediately cut you off, head resting against the pillow as his hand reached out, tracing your jawline, “Our moments have been organic and I had no hidden agenda behind them, but I won’t deny that I’ve emptied inside you continually because I am intentionally trying to get you pregnant- for the sole reason of wanting to have a child together. Not because the court expects me too...” 

Your stomach felt like butterflies had formed, something like arousal stirring in your body at his choice of words, “You’ve been trying to get me pregnant without telling me?” It wasn’t meant as a reprimand but more of a soft tease. 

Jungkook let out something between a laugh and a scoff, a boyish look on his face, “Figured’ the action spoke more for itself I guess. Nothing screams "I want to get you pregnant” like burying my cum inside you.” 

“Jungkook…!” You whispered out. 

Jungkook laughed harder before wincing, hands grabbing his head as he groaned, “This horrible, ugh Eunoian wine always gives me the worst headaches. Seems you and the wine have something in common.” 

You clacked your tongue, “And here I thought I was going to be nice this morning and give what you had requested the night before.” 

Jungkooks eyes blinked back open, curiosity brimming as he squinted, “What does that mean?”

“You only get to find out if you take back the headache comparison.” 

“It may give me a headache but it’s just as sweet as your cunt- Ow!” 

You had immediately straddled him, taking your pillow with you as you hit him on the head with it as he grabbed it, tossing it aside before his hands snaked around your asscheeks, “There it cancels out, now continue.” 

You could feel the pang of arousal in your cunt as you situated yourself, leaning forward a little as you smiled, “You’ve been rather mean to me this morning, are you sure you’re worthy of it?” 

“You like it when I’m mean,” Jungkook flirted back, fingers digging into your ass, multiple bruises had already stained your skin in the form of his fingers, and it looked right now would be stained on your skin later as well, “I could be even meaner- After all, you let Yoongi take me back and then that rat got his hands on you.” 

You raised your brows with an amused smile, “I assure you no rat had his hands on me for more than a moment.”

You could see it in his eyes, something dark stirring as his jaw clenched a little, a possessive tone in his voice, “A moment is still too long- what did he want?” 

Your hand traced down his chest as you replied, “It seems I was not clear enough when I ended our relationship right before you and I wedded. Seokjin had this idea that we were still lovers.”

“And?”

His fingers dug even harder, nails starting to dig into your skin, not overly painful but just enough for your cunt to feel it, “And I told him I belong to you, and that there was nothing left.” 

Jungkook huffed, fingers relaxing a little, “Couldn’t stand the way he looked at you last night, acting like he had any right to stare at you like that.” 

You laughed softly at his broody look, “Well trust me, Seokjin isn’t getting to experience what you are.” 

Your lips pressed against his clavicle, Jungkook’s lips parted to make a remark but they paused as you lifted yourself a little, kisses fluttering down his chest as the bed cover was slowly pushed back, his naked body revealed and his cock hard and proud. 

It was difficult to not be aroused when he knew you were naked in his bed, but the sight was even more to behold as your tongue softly pressed against his abdominal, his sucked in a harsh breath of air as the soft wet muscle slid towards his pubic bone. 

You planted another kiss against his pubic bone before pressing your tongue back against his warm skin, sliding it down to meet the base of his cock, his hips physically thrusting in need as you let out a shy laugh. 

Jungkook had done nothing but give you pleasure from the moment he declared his love, you wanted to show him the same, how much you wanted him, needed him, how he would never need to worry about another man. 

You only wanted to be his, it was difficult to not let yourself become shy though- yes you had a little experience with this, but it was different, back then you did it as a means to keep things from going further. 

You wanted to do this now, but your husband was not what you considered beginner friendly, it felt like a weapon was staring at you.

Jungkook couldn’t resist the soft moan at the sight of you looking up at him, those pretty doe-like eyes all flustered just inches away from his cock, so confident one moment and shy the next.

Jungkook let out an amused scoff, his hand tenderly pressed against your head as he stroked it, “You’ve sucked cock before, go on.” 

It was a lighthearted tease that made your lips quiver into a pout, “Jungkook...I…I want you to show me what you like…” You mumbled, unable to look at him whilst saying it. 

Jungkook hummed as he reached out, grabbing your head more firmly as he forced you a little closer to his fat cock, “Open your mouth,” It was soft command you couldn’t deny as you let out a breathy moan as you parted you lips, “Mm yeah, now stick out your tongue.” 

“Jungkook…” You squeezed your eyes shut in embarrassment but you felt a sharp tug on your hair in reprimand. 

“You want to please me, yeah? Then be a good girl and show me your tongue.” Jungkook growled lightly as your lips trembled before you did as you were told. 

You stuck your tongue out a little as Jungkook grasped your hair once more rewarding, “Good girl,” He stroked your head, “Now open your mouth a little wider and let your spit drip on the head.” 

Your entire face felt like it was on fire, grabbing the base of his cock as you leaned over it, sticking your tongue out a little further as Jungkook spoke, “Look at me.” You meekly glanced up at him as a wad of spit dripped off your tongue, pooling down onto his fat bulbous head as he moaned softly, eyes lidded at the sight. 

“Fuck yeah, my pretty wife, now take the tip in your mouth, just the tip,” Jungkook ushered softly, watching in blind pleasure as you meekly leaned down, parting your lips a little further, you couldn’t help but hesitate for a moment. 

It wasn’t that you were staring at his cock, it was more like…it was staring at you. His tip was incredibly fat and bulbous, you knew this, but now being at eye level, mouth to cock level, it made you realize just how big he was.

“Having second thoughts?” Jungkook teased, “Your little rat wasn’t as well equipped?” 

Your eyes slowly looked up at him with a glare as he snickered, an affectionate look in his eyes, “Just the tip to start my goddess.”

Your lips parted around his tip before fully pushing it further into your mouth, your jaw immediately aching for a brief moment before you forced yourself to relax as you closed your eyes, sucking his tip gently as you waited for Jungkook’s next instruction. 

Jungkook could feel the sweat breaking on the back of his neck as he moaned softly, “Fuck,” Something about watching you struggle just to take his tip had his hormones completely fucked up, “Drag your tongue over the slit.” He gritted his teeth, watching you pull off his cock before you looked up at him, dragging your tongue over his head as his lips twitched, hot arousal beginning to fill him more and more, “Now suck it further.” 

Your lips pressed against his tip before you parted your lips once more, trying to relax your jaw as you took him back into your mouth, this time attempting to take him further. Keyword; attempt. It was admittedly a tight fit, not as impossible as you first assumed it would be, but not as roomy as it had once been with Seokjin. 

You let out a muffled whine causing Jungkook to moan as he gripped your hair a little tighter before he pushed you a little further down onto his cock, a noise sounded from you but it suspiciously sounded like a moan and you hadn’t pulled off him yet. 

Jungkook testingly yanked your hair a little, another whine thrumming on his cock as he began to force your head to bob along his cock, he moaned softly at the sight of your mouth stuffed with his cock, naked and tits bouncing, drool beginning to dribble down his shaft and to his balls. 

“Good girl sweetheart.” Jungkook moaned a soft praise as he began to push you down further onto his cock, now nearly half his cock stuffed into your mouth before you suddenly gagged, his fat head hitting the back of your throat. You hadn’t pulled completely off his cock, just enough to regain yourself before you grabbed his thighs, taking his cock back where it was before. 

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair as he puffed a breath, “What a good little girl, taking my cock this obediently. Mmm you don’t have to take it down your throat if you’re not ready, I’m sure you haven’t- fuck!” He hissed through his teeth at the sudden feel of his fat head beginning to forcefully squeeze down that tight little throat of yours. 

Your eyes were immediately blurring with tears and your jaw had a gripping ache in it and your throat was burning but you weren’t about to quit now as you took his cock further down your throat. 

Jungkook was moaning louder this time running a hand through his hair and trying to not give into the animalistic urge to fuck your throat raw, instead his hand won the battle instead, yanking your hair roughly, causing a choked gurgled whine to escape you, it had his cock throbbing even harder. 

You whimpered at your slow pace suddenly upheaved for a much rougher sloppier one as Jungkook forced your throat to take his cock exactly the way he wanted it, you were gagging now, tears dripping down your face as you moaned on his cock. 

Swears begin to leave his lips left and right before he came you were suddenly pulled off his cock, a breath of air escaping you as you gasped out, your throat painfully stinging as you looked up at him in teary eyed confusion. 

“Sit on my face.” It was ragged, grunted command

You coughed, rubbing your throat tenderly, “Pardon?” 

“Want to suck on your clit while you finish me.”

You couldn’t even ask how that would work before Jungkook suddenly grabbed you, roughly manhandled you as you whined out, clit throbbing as he turned you around, “Jungkook…!” 

“Going to suckle this pretty clit while you suck my cock,” He pulled your thighs closer as you dropped, hands catching the bed as you whined, now within distance of his cock, head weeping precum as it faced you. 

Jungkook easily moved your thighs to either side of his face as you let out a shaky breath, you didn’t think such a lewd position could exist and yet Jungkook was surprising you with new things with each passing day.

You let out a sharp moan at his tongue suddenly pressing against your hole, tasting your arousal before sliding up your puffy slit, an even louder moan escaping you as his lips wrapped around your clit for a brief moment.

“Use your hand and your mouth,” Jungkook growled, the carnal need to cum all over your face and his patience was running thin, hand suddenly smacking your ass in prompt as you let out a loud noise.

“Mm fuck yeah, squeeze it hard,” Jungkook moaned at your hand squeezing his thick base nice and hard, lips wrapping around his tip as he began to suckle your clit once more, a lewd mixture of moans filled the air. 

Jungkook’s hands rubbed down your thighs as before he harshly smacked your right ass cheek, hips jolting as he heard a gurgled whine, your hand forcefully pumping his base with a tight squeeze as you messily bobbed your head down on his cock. 

It was difficult to focus when his tongue was swirling around your sensitive little bud, every little flick sending shocks of pleasure in your body as you whined around his cock, every little sensation of pleasure making you take him further in your mouth as you began to rock your hips against his tongue.

Jungkook allowed his tongue to still, letting your hips guide his tongue to slide through your little slit back to your clit as you moaned, your hand stroking him roughly became shorter once more as your mouth took more of him

Your voice vibrated along his shaft as you sucked against him harder, hand stroking past his base as you tenderly massaged his balls, making a grunt escape him, lips wrapping around your clit once more as you whined, Jungkook refuses to let up.

His hand suddenly smacking your left ass cheek this time, the delicious sting of pain making you moan as spit slowly trailed down his shaft, your hand becoming lubricated as it squeezed harshly against his base, pumping him roughly as if trying to milk his cock for every drop of seed.

Jungkook smacked your ass harder, the stinging pain persisting as his tongue messily swirled your clit before the palm of his hand found your ass once more and his hips lifted, his cock sliding in your mouth with a gurgle, just the feeling made him moan and before he could stop he couldn’t help himself.

Jungkook’s hips continued to thrust as he felt your mouth obediently still for him, letting him fuck your mouth, cock sliding along your warm tongue as his palm smacked your poor right asscheek, once, then twice, he could feel your gurgled moans on his cock as he continued to fuck it in your mouth before he hit a particularly sensitive spot on your ass making you squirm.

Jungkook tenderly stroked the spot as he moaned along your clit, hips lethargically thrusting as your grip on his base suddenly squeezed tighter making him grunt once more, he had surely found heaven. Even with a pounding headache still raging your sweet cunt took the edge off it.

He moaned softly feeling pleasure throbbing in waves as his cock slid along your tongue, your hand pumping his base before massaging his balls once more, he didn’t even bother to warn you, too lost in his own pleasure buried in your cunt, lapping up your clit as his eyes closed, revealing in his orgasm as he came in your mouth. 

You let out an obscene moan as you took him further, sucking his cock harsh as his own moan mixed in the air, hands stroking your ass as you sucked every drop of cum from his cock until he was too sensitive as you pulled off him.

Jungkook however was still very much enjoying your cunt, lips lazily wrapping around your clit making you squeal once finally resting against his pubic bone as your clit throbbed, his tongue abusing your little bud as he moaned, lapping and suckling it as pleasure rapidly built in your body, far more than you were used to at once.

Jungkook’s grip on your thighs tightened at the feeling of you jolting, the pleasure almost too intense as you struggled, his stubborn grip not letting you go as his tongue flattened your bud moaning as you whined out, “Mmm! Koo…! Ah…!” Your body stiffened at the way his tongue slid quickly along your sensitive clit, flicking at its sensitive spot before an even higher pitched cry left you.

Your thighs almost spreading more as your hips sudden rutted into his tongue, Jungkook moaned hands grabbing your hips in encouragement as you rutted into him further, clit throbbing in so much pleasure before you came, and it felt so good, having his warm, soft tongue continue over your clit and keep going.

Everything was becoming sensitive, even painful, but you couldn’t ask him to stop when it felt so good, Jungkook’s hands were all over your ass, petting it and squeezing the flesh in his hands as his tongue tenderly pressed into your clit, gathering the overstimulated bud in his mouth.

Your thighs were beginning to tremble as breathy whimpers escaped your lips, unable to keep yourself propped anymore as you laid against his body, letting him support you as he tongue swirled the bud that was quickly building pleasure once more, your moans were unfiltered, unholy and loud, “Koo…! Mmm’ Koo…mmm like that…”

Jungkook suckled your clit a little harder before flattening his tongue over the bud once more, clit burning in pleasure as you whined sharply, his tongue kept lapping that little sweet spot before your back began to arch, propping yourself on your forearms, hips desperately rutting his face for relief.

Feeling his tongue messily push through your slit back to your clit each time was like madness as pleasure bloomed in waves, before it finally snapped, cumming all over his tongue as you whined.

Hips unable to stop rutting as his tongue stilled for you, letting you go as long as you wanted, giving you as much pleasure as you wanted, riding your orgasm out until you felt the next one already building.

“Mmm! Koo…yeah…oh…!” you whimpered softly, eyes shut as you felt his tongue pushing and flattening onto your clit with each rut of your hips.

Every little touch had you jolting a little, thighs burning but your body unable to stop at that delicious sting of hypersensitivity, your clit aching in pleasure with each slide of friction with his tongue.

Jungkook kept your hips still as his tongue swirled around your aching bud making you moan, mumbling incomprehensible words, pleasure aching in your body as he suckled the tender bud in his mouth once more.

Jungkook was particularly tender this time, slowly coaxing the orgasm from your body, tongue making no harsh motion or movement, only pressing softly into your sweet spot each time just a little harder. 

Your body trembled as you let out a gurgled whine, pleasuring building as you felt his tongue swirl around your little hole, dragging arousal with his tongue as he lapped your clit, giving it a soft kiss before gathering the little bud into his mouth to suckle.

The gesture made your body fold, cumming from the sensation as you collapsed against him once more, eyes blurred from tears of pleasure at how good it felt, how good he made you feel.

Jungkook pressed one last kiss against your clit before he slowly peeled you off his face, his hands were gentle as he manhandled you, pulling you against his chest with a soft moan.

Kisses flustering along your collarbone as he murmured, “Mmm, my wife, mine,” his fingers squeezed against your skin, “My head is killing me.”

This caused a tired chuckle to escape your lips, curling against him as you tenderly pressed a kiss against his neck in reciprocation, “I know my love, maybe you should not drink as much tonight…?”

“I make no promises,” Jungkook murmured against your skin softly, fingers tracing the sides of your body, “Especially when you take pity on me like this.” he pressed another kiss against the side of your head, “Even moreso when you look so beautiful….” He slowly frowned, piercing eyes trailing your body as his hands feathered along your skin, “What did he want with you last night…?”

In turn you couldn’t help but frown at the memory, shifting in your husbands arms as you laid on your stomach, hand reaching out to brush the hair from his eyes, “Seokjin took me to his office to talk privately, it appears he…” You sighed, a worried look beginning to spread across your face.

“What?” Jungkook’s brows furrowed.

“While he assumed we were still a couple- there’s something else that worries me more…” You thought back to the previous night as you continued, “He mentioned having a plan…? Involving me coming here on my own and staying.” 

Jungkook frowned, laying on his back as he stared at the ceiling in thought, “That could mean many things. Even if you had come here by yourself, staying would cause uneasy tension with Penumbra.”

“And what would that lead to…?” You asked, trying to figure out just what Seokjin had planned.

Jungkook shrugged, “Seems Kimhae was willing to go to war for you.” 

“You would go to war for me?” 

Jungkook’s lips quirked as he gazed at you, his eyes full of admiration as his fingers traced along your jawline, “If you were kept here against your will, if it meant bringing you back home.” 

You couldn’t help but share a shy smile with him, closing your eyes at the feeling of his hand tracing along your back, “Still…it worries me, much tension has been detected surrounding Penumbra.” 

“What would you propose we do about this then…?” Jungkook asked. 

You chewed on your lip in thought, “Well, I already ruined any chance of Seokjin potentially giving me any information.” 

Had you played your cards a little smarter you could’ve charmed Seokjin’s little plan right out of him, granted you were sure Jungkook would’ve rather fell on his own sword before witnessing such an event, so perhaps this was for the best anyways.

This made Jungkook snort, “Made a point did you?” 

“Nothing less than a true Jeon would.” You replied, perhaps a little proud.

This made Jungkook smile, clearly enjoying the way you wore his surname, “Nothing less than I’d expect from my wife.” 

“The only way we can know for sure if Kimhae has ill intentions is if we search Seokjin’s office.” You hummed out with a nod of certainty, “If there’s information anywhere on it, it would be there.” 

“…You’re asking that we do something that would potentially land us in hot water with the royal court if we got caught…?” Jungkook hummed.

A mischievous smile tugged on your lips before you whispered out, “I’ll have you know I was very good at sneaking out.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” He looked amused, “And when do you propose we do this? Since his office is definitely not highly guarded.” 

“We’ll have to sneak away during the ball,” you answered easily, “Most of the guards and attention will be on the ballroom since so many royals and high aristocrats will be attending, should make the halls easy to navigate, and everyone will be making merry- even the staff, shouldn’t be too difficult to get to his office unnoticed.” 

Jungkook raised his brows intrigued, “Hm…so you really are a troublemaker.” 

“Are you surprised?” 

“No.” Jungkook let a sly smile tug on his lips, “Our marriage would’ve been terribly boring if you weren’t.” 

[calliesmemes]

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CHANGE gendered words and in-universe phrases as needed.

SPECIFY muse for multimuses.

“   It’s sea shanty time once again my fellow bastards of the ocean! ”

“   Partner, I reckon that I ain’t been feeling very yeehaw lately. ”

“   I don’t study; I consult the lore. ”

“   Yeah, I understand women — they all want daggers and swords. It’s all quite simple, really. ”

“   Lord forgive me but I may have to make a nonessential purchase. ”

“   Those are bold words for someone in stabbing range. ”

“   Yes I’m a gatekeeper and a hater. I’m also God’s most favorite princess and the most interesting girl in the world. ”

“   My primary motivations are fear, spite, and aesthetic longing. ”

“   Man — if I had a sword, I wouldn’t be worried about shit. ”

“   It’s not blood that runs through these veins but glitter gel pen ink. ”

“   If I was in a Jane Austen novel, I would be the one sent to the seaside for my health. ”

“   Half of me is a hopeless romantic, and the other half of me is … well … an asshole. ”

“   I am the nicest, sweetest, most rage-filled person I know. ”

“   I hope I give off the vibe to all animals that I am their ally and their friend. ”

“   I see you’re paying attention to someone who is not me. Why is that? ”

“   Normalize letting me talk without making any sense. ”

“   Don’t care, didn’t ask, plus my psychic visions have predicted the outcome of this encounter. ”

“   I could be so much worse. For example, I could start acting like my father. ”

“   Sorry for acting so strange and irregular; It will happen again. ”

“   i love sitting in my room.....alone....a girl in her cave....scheming and plotting and drinking tea. ”

“   These man made horrors are beyond YOUR comprehension. I get it though. ”

“   I’m a goth girl on the inside. On the outside? A father figure. ”

“   I don’t need to face reality; I’m not just that type of girl. ”

“   DO I LOOK LIKE I GIVE A frickle-frackle? ”

“   I’m about to cha cha real smooth off a fucking cliff. ”

“   Sorry I told you about my trauma. Do you still think I’m hot? ”

“   My priorities aren’t straight and neither am I. ”

“   I have felt permanently guilty for no reason since I was like eight years old. ”

“   Of course I have a lot of pent up rage, you fool! I’ve been the same height since I was twelve years old! ”

“   I was born for shock value. ”

“   Good morning! God has let me live another day and I’m about to make it everyone’s problem. ”

“   Oh, I slept miserably because I was tormented by terrible visions all night. I hope none of them were prophetic! ”

“   Be the surreal nonsense that you want to see in the world. ”

“   Being smart has never stopped me from being a complete fucking idiot. ”

“   My hobbies include knowing things and being right. ”

“   This is good advice, but don’t tell me what to do. ”

“   I hate the idea of authority. What the fuck is someone being superior to me? Bitch I’m gonna take your kneecaps. ”

“   Stop forgiving my crimes! I worked so hard on those! ”

“   My hobbies? Uhhhh, symbolism mostly. Metaphors and implications and the like. ”

“   I may not have any braincells, but I make up for it by having many heart cells. ”

“   I can’t mansplain manipulate manwhore my way out of this one guys! ”

“   Not all your life decisions have to be smart. Some can be purely for cinematic value. ”

“   Sometimes I wish I looked more fragile and feminine like a dainty flower, but I do enjoy looking like I hate everyone. ”

“   Any dream can be a prophetic dream if you’re willing to do some really weird shit. ”

“   girl help there is not enough enrichment in my enclosure. ”

“   BRO, you NEED to stop SUMMONING DEMONS in the FRAT HOUSE. ”

“   I just gave your address to some spiders! ”

“   I disappoint my father as a hobby now. ”

“   I think that the dark circles under my eyes add to my aesthetic actually. ”

“   Good news! I’ve successfully replaced all of my emotions with jokes! ”

“   I have half a braincell left and I’m very scared to use it! ”

“   Listen, son — in this world, it’s either yeet or be yeeted. ”

“   I appreciate the advice, but I think that I’m old enough to make my own bad decisions. ”

“   I’m disappointed in me too. Y’all aren’t special. ”

“   Running from your demons is the best exercise! ”

“   Sorry; I can’t commit any crimes with you. My mom says that I have to study. ”

“   Time flies when you don’t know what the fuck is going on. ”

“   If I run out of tacos, I can no longer maintain my human form. ”

“   Bestie, I don’t think that I can girlboss under these conditions. ”

“   Yeah I’ve had combat training; I can do anxiety attacks! ”

“   Swag is earned, not learned. ”

“   Contrary to popular belief, violence solves a lot. ”

“   I CANNOT STAND YOU ALL so I will SIT DOWN. ”

“   Please God no … I don’t need any more character development right now! ”

“   If you can’t beat ‘em, yeet ‘em. ”

“   Do not put me in a situation. I’m at my limit and I am very tired. ”

“   I may be depressed, but at least I’m not basic. ”

“   It’s MY LIFE and I’ll sabotage it myself, thank you. ”

“   Think twice? Bold of you to assume that I think once. ”

“   At the next inconvenience, I will start biting people. ”

“   Oops I think that I just experienced an emotion. ”

“   Did you know that rats spelled backwards is star? ”

“   One day, I’ll be reincarnated as a pigeon, and I’ll shit on your head. ”

“   On the outside, I’m a baddie — but on the inside, I’m a saddie. ”

“   My grandma bullies me through the Ouija board. ”

“   I’m a cool person if you can just look past my personality. ”

“   Beetles don’t have to do taxes, and I think that is a beautiful way to live. ”

“   I hope that you get your character development arc soon. ”

“   Those are some nice kneecaps … It’d be a shame if someone stole them … ”

“   I’ve wanted to be a trophy wife ever since I was a little boy. ”

“   I’m done being baby; I want POWER ”

“   Wait, “Just Standing There Ominously” doesn’t count as socializing? ”

“   Yes I am smart, and yes, I am stupid. It’s called being flexible. ”

“   I am NOT delusional!!!!! I am OPTIMISTIC! ”

“   I deserve compensation for not being the menace to society that i could be, like i'm skipping out on a lot of fun here. ”

“   Do not ask me if you should or shouldn't do something !!! Before I am a friend I am an enabler !!! ”

“   i am the WORLDS PRETTYIST PINK PRINCESS and im gonna KILL YOU WITH MY HUGE FUCKING HAMMER ”

[aviiarie]

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ FLESH AND BLOOD — platonic douma & reader !

synopsis. douma’s child knows there is only one way to truly escape: killing their father. warnings. kny-typical blood, death & yknow... eating people. knives, threats of violence. unhealthy family dynamics. douma is his own warning tbh. notes. PLATONIC. (terrible) father figure!douma. gn!reader. they/them used. angst. 3.6k words. read warnings pls! @romaritimeharbor you were right, i couldn't write a happy ending. this man was made for horror, not fluff.

Every step [Name] takes is heavy.

There’s a knife strapped to their belt, hidden under several layers of clothing. They swiped in from the kitchens one night on a whim, sneaking behind two chefs who were too engrossed in an argument about spices to notice them. Once they left—with neither chef noticing them at all—they took to work fashioning a strap to attach it to their belt, and tucked it under their clothes. When they were finished, it swung on their hip, occasionally bumping against their thigh if they ran too quickly. Secure, but still accessible; exactly how they wanted it.

It isn’t the most ideal weapon. They haven’t had enough experience wielding it to even know what to do with it if their situation called for a fight, but it hangs by their side like an anchor. The slight pressure, with the glint of metal separated from their skin by a single layer of fabric, grounds them.

Every night, they make sure the edge is sharpened, before tucking it under their pillow with one hand slotted underneath. Idly, their fingers trace the edge of the handle, prepared to close around it should they wake up to an attack.

And yet, even with the care they have to make sure the knife is always close to their side, they have never once used it. It’s a safeguard more than anything else; a reminder that no matter what happens in the lion’s den they call a home, they are ready and prepared to fight their way out to safety. It didn’t need to be withdrawn; a simple pat to their side to make sure the weapon was still safely attached to their belt was enough to steady their nerves.

As they walk through the halls with feather-light footsteps, their heartbeat pounds with the wings of a hummingbird. They force their breath to even out into a steady pattern, squeezing their hands into fists to stop them from shaking. They were not the apex predator in this place, but they’d be damned if they were reduced to mere prey.

Through the halls of their home, they pass countless faces that greet them with big smiles and waves. They don’t stop for a single one, only nodding slightly and murmuring a greeting for each. One woman in particular gasps as she sees them, peeling away from her group to catch their arm as they walk by.

“Ah, [Name]! I was speaking with Lord Douma earlier, and he requested that you join him for dinner tonight!” The woman smiles brightly at them. They bite back a sharp retort, instead forcing a smile.

“If you see him again, tell my father that I might be late,” they say smoothly. The words feel like poison on their tongue, but they spit them out anyway.

Father was once a word they used with pride. It was babbled through lips that barely knew the sounds they were making, but the title was met with a blinding smile. Douma seemed to take pride in the word as well, if the way he scooped them into his arms every time they called him it was any indication. He’d press his cheek to their hair, squeezing them against his chest like they were a stuffed toy. A laugh, brimming with almost childlike glee, and an excited, “Yes, yes, that’s it! I’m your father, and you’re my darling little child.”

They were happy as his child, for a long time. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t their family by blood; he was the one to take them in when they were only a baby, giving them all they could ever want or need and spoiling them beyond comprehension. He adored them, more than anything. That was what he promised, at least.

Their childhood was happy, as happy one can be when raised in a cult. The followers loved them as much as they loved Douma himself, showering them with attention and gifts when he wasn’t there to give them it instead. [Name] learned to look past the smiles, to not get attached to the voices that spoke their name with reverence, because it was almost never the same face that greeted them twice. It didn’t matter too much, because Douma was always there to fill the gaps with his warm embraces.

But they grew older, as children do, and the haze of paradise slowly cleared. The mysteries of their youth that once felt like exciting secrets to unearth began to weigh on them, and they found themself pestering Douma with endless questions. Questions like ‘Why do people keep disappearing?’ and ‘What’s beyond the Eternal Paradise?’

To their frustration, his responses were vague and dismissive, never leaving them satisfied. The only answers they received were ‘They’ve achieved Paradise.’ and ‘Nothing. There is nothing worth seeing beyond here.’

Douma always said they were naturally inquisitive, but that burning desire for answers only brewed a frustration in their chest that never seemed to be quelled by his distant answers. He was hiding things, they could see it on his face. There were too many things that he kept secret to be coincidence, too many details that didn’t add up.

Their fervent pursuit of answers led to one place: the door at the end of main hall. It was locked at all times, the only place they were forbidden from entering. Douma was especially serious when he informed them the room was off limits, his eyes turning sharp when he questioned him about it.

“This is my home and yours, and you are free to roam everywhere else, but that place isn’t for you, little one.”

The words might have deterred them as a child, but they couldn’t let their curiosity fester any longer.

There was one key that opened every lock in the cult, hidden in a secret compartment in the main room that Douma didn’t think they knew about. One night as slipped through the door and locked it behind him, they stole the key, slipping it in the lock and turning the handle.

The first thing they noticed was red. It covered the room, spilling across his table, dripping steadily on his tiled floors and splattering across the walls in an angry scarlet. The second thing they noticed was that their father was covered in it. The colour was smeared across his face, trickling from his lips and down his chin. It stained his robes and coated his hands, but he barely noticed; he was too busy swiping his tongue across his lips to soak up the excess droplets.

Among the carnage was the lifeless figure of a woman, her body mangled and thrown carelessly at his feet. Douma himself was lounging on a chair, his legs crossed, unbothered by the nightmarish scene surrounding him. One of his hands clasped a severed arm, bringing it to his teeth and tearing off a chunk of flesh. He hummed as he ate, licking his lips like he was savouring the taste.

In all their years of growing up by his side, they’d watched as Douma had ignored the gifts of food his followers brought him, yet now, now he seemed to find his appetite. Their skin crawled, memories of rejected meals and his claims of already eating echoing in their ears. When he locked himself in the room, was this what he was doing? Was this where their missing followers ended up?

They clutched their arm, pressing their nails hard enough to leave marks against their skin. The sight was something out of their worst nightmares, yet the sting of pain was a sharp reminder that it was reality. Nausea bubbled up in their stomach, but they forced it down long enough to close the door with a quiet click and lock it again.

They never confronted him after that day. They could barely look him in the eye long enough to do so. But one thing was clear: as long as he lived, they and all of the followers of the Eternal Paradise faith were in danger.

Their hand brushed against their hip. The cold press of metal through their clothes eased their nerves.

A proper fighter would have a sword, and use it to slice his head clean off, but they would have to make do with a simple kitchen knife. Eventually the moment would present itself, eventually he would be off his guard, and they would have the chance to ambush him. The edge of the blade was sharp, all it would take is one slice across his throat and his life would be snuffed out.

They ignored the nagging part of them that told them it wouldn’t be enough, that Douma had to be something inhuman, something powerful, something that took more than a slit throat to kill. It whispered that a creature so heartless that it would slaughter and consume innocent humans couldn’t possibly be an ordinary mortal being.

They especially ignored the part of them that blanched at even the thought of harming him, the man that brought them in and doted on them every day of their life. That was the part that wished they could go back and never look through the door, maintaining a fragile bliss that wasn’t wrought with fear and uncertainty; the part that urged them to forget, to close their eyes and let him be their adoring father again.

Their footsteps haltered as they approached the open doorway that led to the main room of the building. Even the entrance was ornately decorated, with delicately painted screens separating it from the rest of the rooms.

“Is someone there?” A voice called out sharply. Their breath caught in their throat, and they patted their side instinctively. With a careful glance around the door, they saw him, sitting in the centre of the elaborate room on his usual cushioned seat.

“Are you hiding?” Douma asks, his eyes glinting with something dark and unreadable. He leans his head on his hand, smiling at where they are half-concealed behind the doorway. “My child, is that you? Come on out, don’t be shy.”

There was no point trying to pretend they weren’t there. With a deep breath, they step into the light.

“It is my child!” He laughs, in a voice that could be mistaken for delight. If they were a little younger they would have beamed at the sound, but their maturity had earned them the skill of seeing right through his cheery demeanour. “[Name], have you come to visit me?”

“Yes.” They say stiffly, forcing a neutral expression. They ignored the way his smile softened; it was a lie, it had to be.

“Aren’t I a lucky father?” Douma pauses to wipe away a fake tear, the sight making something curl uncomfortably in their gut. He pats the area beside his chair. “Come, sit down.”

When they were a baby—back when the brightness of his smile felt genuine—he would sit them on his lap, letting them play with his fans while he spoke to his followers. They were too old for that now, so instead they tiptoe inside and settle beside the chair, sitting with their knees tucked to their chest.

“How are you today, [Name]? It feels like forever since we’ve caught up.” Douma asks them as they sit, smiling over at them. They pick at the edge of their clothing, not meeting his eye.

“What does the writing in your eyes mean?” They suddenly ask, instead of answering.

“Curious today, are we?” Douma chuckles. He taps his nail just below his right eye. “I’m sure you know what this one is.”

They nod, recognizing the numeral. “It’s… two, right?”

“Yes, it is! Such a smart child I have.” Douma’s grin widens, and he points the other one. “What about this one?”

They squint at his eye, observing the thin brushstrokes over the rainbow-coloured iris. It wasn’t a character they recognized, even after their studies. “I don’t know.”

“This one—” Douma tapped his nail against his skin. “Is a combination of two characters. Together it means Upper Rank.”

“Upper Rank…?” They echo. “Upper Rank Two? What does that mean?”

“It’s my ranking.” Douma hums, not bothering to explain further. “Is it my turn to ask a question now?”

Their posture stiffens. “If you want.”

Douma clapped his hands together. “Oh, how fun! What to ask… what to ask…”

He pauses to think, tapping his finger on his chin. “Oh, I have one! What have you been doing with your days?” Douma leans his head on his hand with a smile. “I’ve barely seen you recently. You used to spend so much time with me.”

They swallow down the anxiety that bubbled up at his question. The truthful answer was that they had been carefully avoiding his room, not bothering to stop by unless they were called specifically. The rest of their days were spent sneaking around, scoping out potential escape routes, or making sure their knife was sharp and ready to kill.

“Just… things.” They say vaguely.

Douma stares at them with a pleasantly puzzled expression. “Things…?”

“Yes.”

“How fascinatingly mundane!”

“I guess I’m just a boring person.” They shrug.

“And what about that knife you’ve been carrying around, hm?” Douma asks, his smile not faltering, even as their heart stopped. “I would love to know what you’re planning with that one!”

His eyes are crinkling with the force of his smile, but there is no warmth behind it. They narrow their own eyes, quickly rising to their feet and taking a step backwards. His gaze tracks their every movement, following their hand as they fumble at their belt to pull out the knife from their makeshift sheath.

“Guess.” Their hands shake, but the ready the weapon anyway. “Take a guess as to what I’m planning with it.”

One slice at his throat. One slit, and he’s dead. One cut, and this whole nightmare will end, and he will never be able to hurt anyone again. This was what they'd been preparing for.

“Are you going to kill me?” Douma coos, standing from his chair and grinning. “How adorable!”

“Sh-Shut up!” They hiss, gripping the handle tighter. “I know what you did! I know about that poor woman, the one you murdered and devoured! How many followers have you killed, huh? Was I next? Have you just been raising me like a pig for slaughter?”

“Oh.” A tilt of his head, and a saddened expression that looked… almost real. Almost. They tighten their grip on the blade, reprimanding themself for nearly falling for his act. It wasn’t real, none of it was. They couldn’t forget that, no matter how hurt his expression looked. “I don’t want to kill you, my child.”

“I don’t believe you!” They yell back.

Douma tilts his head to look at them, his face still twisted in that same mask of pity. He took one step towards them, then another, until they were face to face. Before they could blink, his hand was gripping their wrist tight enough to bruise.

“I’m not going to kill you, [Name].” He says sadly, twisting their wrist to seize the knife and holding it up out of their reach. “I am not going to hurt you, nor am I going to let anything else hurt you. It makes me sad that you can’t see that.”

“You’re a monster.” They hiss, their eyes filled with tears. They stumble a few steps back, putting some semblance of distance between them.

Douma chuckles slightly. “And you’re my child. What does that make you?”

They flinch as if he had struck them, stumbling back even further at his words. “I am nothing like you!”

“Aren’t you?” Douma says, his voice thick and sweet like honey. “Oh, we aren’t related by blood but I raised you from birth. Why do you think I would spare such a frail creature like yourself, if I didn’t see a part of myself in you? We’re cut from the same cloth, you and I. You’re my child, through and through.”

“I’m nothing like you!” They cry out. “You’re a murderer!”

“Yet you’re the one who was plotting my death.” He waves the kitchen knife in front of their face with amusement dancing on his lips. “That sounds an awful lot like the work of a murderer to me.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it though? It’s still homicide.”

“It was self-defence!”

Douma chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. “Killing me isn’t self-defence if I haven’t laid a hand on you. I’m afraid that’s just called murder.”

“You’re—” Their words died in their throat. No matter how cruel he sounded saying them, he was right. They were planning to kill him. Maybe they were no better than him after all. “You’re… you’re a monster… I had to kill you. Before… you killed me. That was why I had the knife.”

“Oh, I’m afraid this little thing wouldn’t do much,” Douma laughs as he waves the weapon. With a smile, he drew back the sleeve of his robe and pressed the edge of the knife to the back of his arm. He drags the blade across it, smiling serenely as a line of bright red blood drips down his skin. In seconds the cut is knitting itself back together, leaving only a stain of scarlet over his fully healed skin. “It’s adorable that you thought you could hurt me, but simple weapons like these don’t leave a scratch on me.”

Their heart stopped, watching the mark smooth out and fade into nothing.

It… didn’t matter. All the nights of cutting their fingers of the edge in their haste to make sure it was still under their pillow didn’t matter. The comforting weight at their side wasn't worth anything; it never would have achieved a thing in the first place.

They were a sheep wandering around the den of a wolf, confidently thinking their blunt hooves would be enough to pierce its hide. A painful feeling washed over them—powerlessness.

Their eyes began to burn, along with their chest. As quickly as the rush of adrenaline filled their body, it left, knocking all the air out of their lungs. Tears slowly started dripping down their cheeks, quietly at first, before they were followed by heaving sobs.

“I do love you, my child.” Douma sighs. Lie, it was a lie. “I wish you wouldn’t have done something like this. I was so happy to watch you grow up, content keeping you alive and human. Now what am I to do?”

Their shoulders hitch, hands scrubbing desperately at their eyes. There was a calculating glint in his eyes, before Douma stepped forward again and pulled them into a cold embrace.

“What am I to do with you…” Douma muses, holding them against his chest as they sobbed. The front of his robes were covered in tears and snot but he paid it no mind, just sighing softly and running his fingers through their hair. “My poor child…”

The feeling of his fingers through their hair made them shiver. Were his nails always so sharp, or was his touch just soft enough to hide it?

“What was your plan?” Douma pulls them away to look at their face properly, a sparkle of amusement in his eye. “Where were you going to go, after you killed me, hm? You know there’s nothing out there for you. No one would want to take in a murderer, especially one who killed their own father in cold blood.”

“I would have found somewhere.” They mumble, slowing their sobs to quiet sniffles.

Douma shook his head fondly, like they were discussing something trivial. “Oh, my sweet child, who put such an idea in your head? There is nowhere you can go. Here, it is safe. Here is happy. Why would you ever leave?”

They wanted to scream their anguish, kicking and clawing at him until his face was red and bloody. This man—no, this monster masqueraded as a loving father for years, all while blood spilled behind his gilded doors. But the saccharine sweetness that his voice carried wormed its way into their ears, poisoning their thoughts and—

Such a disappointing, ungrateful child they must be. He welcomed them into his arms, and they were planning to—

Their mind was split. All of their instincts screamed at them to run, run until their lungs burned and their feet bled, but there was a gnawing part of them that clung to his honeyed words. At least when they were in his favour they were safe; they could turn away from the truth and cling to their fractured picture of family. Maybe if they fell to their knees and begged him for forgiveness, he would forget all about their betrayal and welcome them as his child again.

They weren’t anywhere near strong enough to kill him. The least they could do was survive.

“What do you have to say for yourself, [Name]?” Douma asks gently, and something in them snaps.

They fall forward, burying their face in his chest and clutching onto the back of his robes with a wail. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“That’s what I thought…” Douma sighs in almost amusement. He places his hand on the top of their head, ruffling their hair gently.

“I’m sorry… I’ll never do it again, I promise. Please… please don’t leave me! I don’t know what I would be without you,” they cry, the words spilling out so easily they can’t tell if they’re a lie or not.

It wasn’t the end. One day his guard would drop and they would seize the chance, taking everything they own and running away into the night. They will run, not knowing where they will end up but knowing they need to be anywhere but there. Even if it means spending the rest of their life shying away from dark corners and patting their side to check on their weapon, they will escape.

For now, they weep in the arms of their father.

© aviiarie 2024. do not copy, repost, translate or use my work to train ai.

[abhorsenkatiel]

Some John Gaius character analysis that I've been wanting to toss out into the void:

I see a lot of people who seem to characterize him as a kind of "diabolical evil mastermind" villian, who had a grand scheme to become the leader of a fascist space empire and carefully planned out all of his actions accordingly, and while it's a valid interpretation, it feels a little too straightforward to me.

What makes John Giaus an interesting character to me is that he is very much just a normal kind-of-shitty guy having very normal human problems. He's mourning the death of his loved ones, he's in way over his head and struggling to maintain the appearance of being in control, he made a huge mistake and doesn't want his friends to find out because he's afraid they'll be mad at him. He desperately wants everyone to think well of him at all times. The way he goes about handling these problems isn't good, but it is understandable. We've all wished for a magic solution to these kinds of problems at some point. The only thing different about John Gaius is that he has the power to give himself that magic solution.

The problem with John Giaus is not that he's especially bad or evil, but that he's a person with a disproportionate amount of power and influence. Any short-sighted selfish decision he makes has catastrophic consequences for all of humanity.

He has become the monster he was trying to fight. He is the reason why man should never become god. His tragedy is that he fucked around and found out, and now he has to deal with the consequences of every single one of his bad decisions for the rest of eternity.

It's more comforting to think that a fascist space empire could come about only after careful planning and masterful manipulation by an evil genius. It's terrifying to think that it could be the natural result of one kind-of-shitty guy having too much power. And it's even worse to wonder if your own human flaws, when magnified to such a degree, might also create horrors beyond our comprehension.

[comfortless]

Outside

but you’re mine (chapter 2 of ?)

🌱 PAIRING: König x fem!reader

🌾 CONTENT: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. fae au. blanket warning for death, violence, very light horror elements <— comes with the territory; all of this being said it’s still cozy and sweet here!!, not even remotely canon compliant, slow burn, eventual smut. chapter specific warnings: ambivalence, pining, vague mentions of murder/abduction, very slightly suggestive.

🍃 NOTES: this is so much later coming out than i hoped it would be— apologies! wc: 7k.

<- prev ; next ->

Sleep addled eyes open to reveal the orange glow of a hunter’s moon, soil and clover beneath your nude flesh, the tickle of a dead fern rubbing against your bare calf as a gentle breeze pulls dying leaves from trees and leaves a wake of goose pimples on your flesh. Beneath the light of the moon, you gather your bearings well enough, the velvety dark creating illusions dancing at the corners of your vision. The shadow of the large antlers of an inquisitive buck pacing about, a woman swaying as a giggle escapes her parted lips, the sound of a pan flute playing some lively tune somewhere off in the distance.

As you sit up, taking in what you’ve believed you’ve just seen, it all quiets. The forest is as silent and still as always. Eyes wide and panicked heart palpitating wildly, you think to cover your most vulnerable parts with a cupped palm and the cross of your arm over the swift rise and fall of your chest.

How you managed to find yourself out in the dark, nude as any animal, is beyond your comprehension. Rationalizing seems futile, since you arrived not a thing has made any sort of sense to you, anyway. Inexplicable things happen, and frankly, it’s becoming quite the nuisance. Whoever has done this, dragged you from your bedroom to leave you in the darkened forest, can very well bet on the fact that they’ve made an enemy out of you. You stand to your feet, brushing dirt and fragments of leaves from the backs of your thighs and rear before concealing yourself once more.

What started as a series of harmless events seems to steadily build like a symphony as the days pass, and you only find comfort in knowing that it’s yet to reach any sort of crescendo. In your previous life, occupied by a mundane job and gray city skylines, if anything were to occur like this you would think your sanity had slipped. Convincing yourself you’re deluded wouldn’t change much here. You’ve tried already, only to find a man you’ve yet to properly meet curled against you in your own bed.

That night, only a week ago, felt like a distant memory now. He hadn’t been back. You had told Kate about it, of course, and in turn she spoke of her nightly visitor too. Someone who called himself John, who kept a cigar on his person when he anticipated speaking with her throughout the night. A loyal friend he was, she had told you, but you hardly had anything kind to say about the monster who had appeared from no where to steal your things, leave a dead bird in your bed, and invite himself beneath your blanket in turn. The only positive you could think of was that he had returned your lily in better health than it was when it had initially vanished. Kate hadn’t seemed particularly concerned, these things don’t usually harm humans in their own realm. It would give too much away, and they liked their secrets, their games.

Vulnerability looks sweet on you as you stumble about, careful to avoid the jagged edges of broken twigs and loose rock against your soles. You’re hopelessly lost, and god only knew how far from home you truly were. A part of you doesn’t want to play, to give whatever did this the satisfaction of seeing you break down as you spend your night desperate to return to shelter. It’s strange to feel such fear and anger at the same time, the sort of complex mixture of emotions that had you gritting your teeth as tears stung the corners of your eyes.

“Alright, come out, already! Take me back!,” You shout in a moment of weakness, realizing you’ve not progressed whatsoever. You could have sworn you’ve passed this same crooked oak twice already, it’s trunk bending so oddly it resembled someone kneeling in prayer. The air only seems to grow further still at your outburst, and your mind supplies a thought that rids your anger and only increases the fear. You shouldn’t have done that. How could someone so helpless be making demands to something capable of doing something like this on a whim, after all?

To your horror, your exclamation is answered by the metered sounds of footfalls in the darkness, heavy and deliberate. The worst of them only liked to come out at night, Kate had warned you over tea the morning after your visitor had made his appearance. Not all of them, but most. Some were perverse, foul-tongued and inhumanly horny. Some were volatile and quick to anger. Some were simply hungry, luring people out just like this to drag them back to whatever pocket of unreality they had stalked out of to bring so many just like you back to devour in the comfort of their lair.

The sounds draw nearer, coupled with a deep intake of breath, no doubt to take in your scent. It’s the gnashing of teeth that spurs you to run, clamoring through prickly nettles, shredding the soles of your feet on pine cone and loose stone. It gives chase, maneuvering with ease through the woodsy terrain, uprooting bushes and tearing through clover beds in its wake.

“Come…” The voice is a warbled mockery of human speech, fluctuating in a tone that seems it’s speaking from its belly rather than its throat. Even a well taught canine could speak better.

“Come...”

A shriek is ripped from your throat when you hear the creature no longer behind you, but in front of you. It chitters loudly, breathes deep once more. You brace yourself for the feeling of clustered, crooked fangs piercing into your exposed flesh, but… that pain never comes.

Your eyelids flutter when you hear an inhuman wail of pain, see the silhouette of two massive beasts scuffling about before you. Some morbid shadow puppet show, filled with grunts and screeches. There’s a distinct, wet ripping noise followed by the blackened spray of entrails hitting the bark of the trees that surround.

The thing that had been in pursuit of you sounds like a squealing pig as it falls into a puddle of its own blood, weakly thrashing about until a prolonged gasp leaves it. Silence would follow, if not for the sounds of your own ragged breathing.

The victor merely rolls his broad shoulders, tilts his head to look at you as you take a step back. You catch sight of a veil hanging over his head, and as your gaze travels lower you see the glimmer of blood on clawed fingertips. The creature from your room, the irony of the thing you had feared so now becoming your savior.

Perhaps seeing how easily he ripped one of his own kind apart should have terrified you. Yet you find yourself oddly consoled, eager to see something familiar in the dark.

“Thank you,” you huff out before you can catch yourself. No thanking them. There’s no taking it back, even as Kate’s voice rings out in your mind, you don’t even make the attempt to correct yourself. In spite of her warning, nothing happens. The man takes a slow step toward you, careful almost, as though the thought of making you flee was something he actually considered. It’s entirely opposite from how you know him to be, forced cuddles and gifts of rot. Still, you’ve been lucky to avoid some grisly end on this night, and the consequences of your gratitude quickly fall from your mind just as a tear slips down your cheek.

He seems lost in thought as the glow of blue irises lock onto you, reflective under starlight visible through the holes torn in his veil, before he removes the cloak covering his body and places it gently over your shoulders. His hands linger as he gently strokes your arms only to reluctantly draw away.

“Reizendes.” You don’t need to ask what the word means, the way his gaze softens as he stares down at you tells all. It’s the same look you saw Ghost give to Johnny’s grave. Albeit, a little less tame. His stare isn’t just appreciative, something carnal lurks beyond those eyes.

You don’t know why this man, this creature, is drawn to you. Why he looks at you the way that he does, why he came here to save a defenseless human woman. There’s so little reason, so little time given to be worthy of such a strange devotion. Simple curiosity seems an impossibility, Kate’s been here longer than you and she didn’t seem to know just what you referred to when you described him to her. There’s a pleading in your tear-filled eyes as your gaze meets his own. Why me?

The man takes another step, lowering himself just enough to look into your eyes as his widen. It’s the first time you’ve been face-to-face, somewhat. His hand raises, claws drawn inward toward his palm as he considers reaching for you, though he drops it back to his side the moment you dart your tongue out to nervously wet your lips.

“I need to get home.”

“Ja. I will come with you.” He says it as though it’s the most obvious thing to suggest, the only logical way to end a night like this.

“That wasn’t an invitation.”

His eyes seem to crease at the corners in amusement, you imagine a sharp-toothed grin beyond the fabric hiding himself away from you. “You have already slept with me.”

Your reaction seems to be exactly what the fae expects, your lips parted and face warmed from embarrassment as your eyes go wide in surprise. “What— no, don’t say it like that!” To your chagrin, he has the audacity to laugh, a gravely rumble from his solid chest. A pretty sound, a haunted church bell, something you can’t place.

“You can stay with me.”

“Why would I do that?” You’re glaring at him, but you get the sense he knows there’s no bite to your harsh look whatsoever.

“You owe me, ja?”

You’re caught in a strange stasis between comfort and disgust, really. Your room’s felt colder at night since a week ago, even with your window shut tight, curtains drawn, and every blanket you owned piled atop you, none of it could bring back the warmth you felt tucked against him. Yet, here, beneath a pumpkin moon, you still can’t put together what exactly he is and your mind is like a banshee, screaming out for you to leave. Even with his cloak pulled tight around you, fur lining soft on your flesh, you still shiver from the breeze. The running, the confusion and fear. The defiance is clear in your eyes, but the exhaustion is evident everywhere else, from the rapid rise and fall of your chest to the blood staining your bare feet.

The fae doesn’t hesitate as he plucks you from the leaf-ridden ground and tosses you over his shoulder as though you weigh little more than a twig. His hand curves over your lower back, keeping you in place. Though you make your displeasure known with a grumbled string of curses, you’re only met with the touch of his clawed thumb flittering along your side as if in consolation. His touch is something that brings you an odd calm. You’ve considered that since your impromptu meeting if he’s got some sort of magic laced into his fingertips, making you pliant, or perhaps you’re a bit more accepting of his strange courtship than you would ever allow yourself to believe.

“You’ll take me home in the morning,” you whisper, a sulky request.

He huffs, his shoulder seeming to deflate almost imperceptibly beneath your bare tummy. “Ja.”

His strides are great as he begins to walk, clearing through the forest with ease, and he’s careful, careful not to allow any outstretched branches to even make contact with your body. He clutches you tighter when the howling of coyotes could he heard in the distance, rubs at your side each time you shiver. How a monster could be so soft, so attentive is beyond you, but subconsciously you begin to relax just a little more with each passing moment.

He places you back on your feet when you reach a small clearing, a circle of trees surrounding and grass that feels pillowy beneath you. His hands move to your hips, pushing you back as a whine of protest leaves your lips before your back hits a soft nest of furs, cleared away of any debris, right below the lofty gaze of the moon.

“I didn’t like the bird,” you speak up as he sits at your side, you pull his cloak tighter around yourself. The fae cocks his head at you, moving a hand far too large to rest on your knee. You’re confused, so confused. You both want to shield yourself from this titan and open yourself up to him, in bloom. Submissive, but withdrawn.

“I will leave deer next time,” he answers, his blue eyes crinkling again as he grins and leans in to nudge his nose against the side of your neck. “Little doe. Like you.”

Your hand rises to press against the front of his veil, to push him back. He tenses for a moment, but resigns only to push himself closer, nosing at the side of your jaw as he grasps at your waist. It’s futile, really, trying to shove him away but you don’t give up as you twist and writhe against him. “No! Don’t leave dead things in my bed.”

He pulls you tightly toward him, just like the night before. An arm tucked under your neck and one hand splayed over your womb. Your battle lost, banner raised by way of fluttering lashes and parted lips.

“Women like fur and feathers, ja?” There’s a lilt to his voice, both amused and desperate as he practically vibrates against you. “I will give them to you always.”

You busy yourself trying to pry his hand away from your abdomen, making a show of nothing as you weakly push and shove until clawed fingers slot themselves between your own. The simple act of holding his hand snuffs out any bit of fight you had left in you, because damn it all, your heart flutters.

“I don’t want your gifts.”

“What is better then?,” he huffs against your neck, the warmth of his breath leaving goosebumps in its wake, and you could swear you felt the graze of teeth just beneath his veil. “To fuck?”

You shake your head furiously at his suggestion, pulling your hand from his and wriggling away from him. “Absolutely not,” you hiss, eyes narrowed as you glare at him only a few inches distance away.

He laughs, and to your horror— your excitement, crawls over you, his hands resting on either side of your head. It’s hard to see in the dark, even as your eyes adjust somewhat, but as the veil flutters with his movement, you don’t catch sight of any monstrous face beneath it, only a man. The glimpse is brief, hardly enough to paint a proper picture, before he softly knocks his forehead against yours and brushes against your face. It stifles you, how a man like this, one that leaves gifts of death and has the stature of a beast could be so very gentle.

“I have missed you,” he breathes against your cheek as he lowers himself atop you, and for the first time you’re realizing he’s just as nude as you are, the cloak the only article of clothing between the two of you. But despite the feel of his regrettably impressive manhood against your thigh, he makes no move to ravish you. In fact, he seems content just covering you like a weighted blanket.

You bite your lower lip, chewing at it as an unwanted surge of arousal pools between your thighs, pressed so tightly together it’s almost painful. Unwanted and quickly over looked. This isn’t simple lust, your heart aches.

“You are so soft,” he continues, lowering his head to hook his chin over your shoulder, a hand stuffed beneath your lower back. “Softer than fur. Softer than feathers.”

“What do you want?,” you ask him for the second time since your meeting. It’s not that you don’t have an idea. He makes it painfully clear with the way he showers you in affection and stares at you as if you’re the only star in the night sky.

Still, he humors you with a response, “Keine ahnung.” Follows it up with a shrug of his massive shoulders and a soft whisper, “I don’t know.”

Yet, he dips his head down, with his lips pressed against yours from just beyond the veil, kisses you softly through the fabric as his hand moves to cup your cheek. The urge to tear yourself away is still there, but quieted, lulled into some sort of comfort. You find yourself reciprocating a little dumbly, unsure of just how to properly kiss with the curtain of fabric in the way. The warmth spreading across your face is dizzying, almost. The sole thought of this feeling predestined beds down in the recesses of your brain.

You think to request that he remove what hides himself from you, yet he pulls away before you can murmur it into his mouth.

“Give me your name.” The words are a demand, indefinitely, and with his size it’s hard not to view them in a threatening light. There’s something else, too: desperation. You’ve already given enough, your gratitude, a debt to be repaid.

You’ve thumbed through some of Kate’s books, the ones separated from the stock of romance novels on her shelves. There wasn’t as much material as you had hoped about these creatures, though you supposed that finding truths about what was not even supposed to exist was bordering on the impossible, anyhow. However, one sentiment seemed to ring out as fact between each meager source— giving him your name is reducing yourself to a possession.

“Show me your face,” you counter, to which he shakes his head with a breathy laugh.

“Not on this night,” he whispers. You find him at your side instead, tugging you close as he hums that very same song that slipped you into sleep just like before.

“Then you won’t have my name tonight, either,” you murmur against his broad chest, languidly pulling yourself closer as you toss the side of the cloak over the both of you like a blanket.

— — —

You don’t want to think about it, the tingling on your lips as though it were truly your first kiss, the way your heart stutters in your chest. Speaking of it seemed somehow worse, as if it would breath life into the memory. The way it weighs on you makes it feel as if it’s already something tangible, a snarling black cat with its claws buried into the shoulder of your coat. It’s raining when you pull your car from the driveway, your keys having turned up digging into your side beneath the sheets after the night you willingly spent wrapped so tightly against him. All the gray somehow made the vibrant oranges and reds of the trees seem dismal, too. You entertain the thought that it’s truly the fact that you’re being haunted by something that rips the intestines of creatures out with his bare hands that’s really causing this wave of misery, but something tells you that it’s the attachment you have to such a monstrosity that truly does it.

He’s done something and you just know it, cinched your heart with some otherworldly fairy bullshit, made the weeks waiting for him to reappear seem utterly unbearable. You feel like some poor housewife, loitering around doing menial tasks while your husband is either gunned down in some foreign battlefield or fucking into some pretty lady a sea’s breadth away. It’s been a month and there’s no sign of him, even visiting with Ghost you no longer feel the stares of the unseen up the walking trail. Just nothing but a hollow in the pit of your gut that taunts you with the suggestion that he won’t be back.

You drown out your thoughts on the ride into town with music, skipping every love song that plays on shuffle with a diligent tap of your thumb on your phone screen. You’ve put no effort into looking nice, a t-shirt several sizes too large and pair of pajama pants beneath your coat. Your eyes look deadened when you meet your own gaze in the rear view mirror. A stupid thing about heartbreak, really, is that you don’t even need too much to feel it. A friendship spanning a mere week could hurt just as badly depending on the circumstances. Feeling some affection for something no other person could possibly get their hooks into only to have him vanish like this almost makes the feeling seem justified. Almost.

Kate and Ghost have been good company. You haven’t told them, but there’s an odd sympathy in Kate’s eyes when she looks at you, she speaks with her passerby friend outside rather than in at night now, and Ghost… Well, he appears more often as a devil dog, shows his teeth and keeps his distance from you. You still have talks, from time to time he tells you about Johnny. He tells you that he’s been lost for a time, but he waits there knowing he’ll come home like any good dog would. It’s just the way he looks at you now, like there’s something looming over you that even he can’t properly detect.

Your solitude helps on dreary days like this, when you can’t pry it out—him, clawing at the corners of your mind.

The town feels just as hushed as everywhere else in this place.

A small street houses old buildings nestled tightly against one another, the brick crumbling and some corners blackened as though some angry soul had tried to burn it all down. It’s the kind of place that feels haunted, you think as you park your car on the mostly empty street, catching sight of your reflection in a shattered window. The thin blue curtains of the building billow outward as if beckoning to you and you tear your eyes away immediately. You don’t want to see anything again. Not him, not another giggling and twirling through clusters of bramble and fern. None of it. It’s decided, a bitter force of your own will.

Yet, when you step foot into the old bakery your mind races with his gift, his promise of more and… would it really be so bad to get him one too? A proper offering, not one that harmed a single living thing. Something soft, like your shared kiss. You step to the counter, noting how coldly the older woman just beyond the pretty cabinet of glazed buns and slices of apple pie eyes you. These days, you don’t feel welcome anywhere, caught in a loop of misplaced pity and loneliness. It’s one or the other, sometimes they overlap.

You pay for a coffee and a sugar bun, tucking the brown paper bag holding it into the deep pocket of your coat before you head back outside and choose to have your coffee on a bench. The wind and rain have lessened, somewhat, falling into a mere drizzle and a featherlight breeze instead. The sound of the earth is much more pleasing to the ear than the void of silence you’ve felt lost in.

Approaching footsteps draw your attention as you take a sip from the paper cup. Your eyes meet a sincere face as he steps towards you, looking a bit uncertain. A cop, no doubt. Perhaps even a rookie. He doesn’t have the hardened face of the standard city police, just a polite smile across his lips, a sort of kind twinkle in his eyes.

“Mornin’,” the cop says to you as he stands to the side of the bench. It’s nice to see someone normal, not unearthly. You offer him a slight pull of your lips, a half-smile.

“Good morning.”

“Kyle Garrick,” he introduces himself, offering his hand out for you to shake. You accept, shaking it twice before drawing your hand back. You hesitate for a moment, but inevitably give the man your name in turn. He is just that, you realize, a human man. “Haven’t ya… well, you’ve seen the news, yeah? Shouldn’t be out on your own like this.” You shake your head slightly, the hand wrapped around your coffee cup falling into your lap. The officer goes on to explain that disappearances occur somewhat frequently around this place. He has the courtesy to spare you the bulk of detailing the state these folks come back in, but your mind can fill in the gaps well enough. Dragged into the dark, a lair filled with teeth. It almost happened to you.

He looks down at you a bit sympathetic for a moment, before he brings himself to continue on. “Not tryin’ to scare you. Just want to make sure you’re aware.”

A shaky sigh leaves you before you bring your cup back to your lips, a long sip lost in thought before you meet the officer’s brown eyes once more. “I’ll be careful,” you respond quietly. “Can’t say the thought of dealing with a serial killer sounds fun at all.”

That earns you a laugh from him. It sounds sweet. Maybe you’re not the most trusting, but Kyle seemed like a good man.

“Can’t say for certain if we’ve got a serial killer at all, but ah— I shouldn’t be tellin’ you all of this, yeah?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to scare me off.”

“No, not at all,” he responds with a shake of his head. “Don’t fret too much. Probably just the grizzlies, the wolves… you know how nature can be.”

“Cruel?”

“Not quite.” He pauses as his brow pinches in thought. “Just… hysterical.”

If only he knew. You don’t have the gall to tell him that what he’s in pursuit of likely wasn’t an animal or a person at all, but some other thing. Kate probably would have outright, you imagine, but you’re not Kate.

He tips his head at you, tugging his black cap down by the brim. “I’ll be seeing you, then.”

You nod him off in reply. The wind was starting to pick back up, the sugar bun in your pocket growing cooler with each passing breeze.

— — —

Kate’s been absent more often lately, a small pile of sticky notes left on the countertop all with hurriedly scrawled out ‘Be back soon!’s. When you arrive home, it doesn’t come as a surprise to you to see yet another stuck onto the refrigerator door with the same words written over the blue paper in black ink.

Visiting Ghost proved fruitless. The cemetery was completely empty. It was rare that he wasn’t stationed there, seated like a statue amongst the rows of headstones. Waiting around for him to return seemed irrational. Though he tolerated you well enough, Ghost was an enigma, and seeking out his company felt almost pathetic on your part.

Your hands clench at your sides as you walk the trail back home.

Your frustration is misplaced and you know it, but you’re exhausted with the same scenery. The same four walls surrounding you, the dreary little valley town, the cemetery. When things happen here they spark up your adrenaline in a way nothing else ever could, the high far better than any vice or pleasure you’ve ever accepted. The reverse is a pensive, horrid wait and coupled with this longing, it’s become unbearable.

Kate and Ghost had their secrets that you choose to leave well alone, and you… You realize you’ve got your secrets too as you place the sugar bun on your windowsill as a small offering for him.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he had said.

“I miss you,” you breathe out into the empty air, staring out the window as the rain begins to pick up again.

The sugar bun is gone the following morning and you find flowers in your bed. A bouquet of harebell and Queen Anne’s lace haphazardly tied with a short length of twine.

Late November drags itself in silently. The glass of your window is frosted most mornings, a hand print far too large left against it from the outside. Otherwise, everything is just quieted. Though you’ve rarely seen much wildlife around the house, it seems even more desolate now.

You help Kate set up a Christmas tree in the corner of the den, right by the hearth. The baubles and lights adorning it bring a warmth to you that seems uncanny this time of the year. You stray from your room more often, finding it nice to sit by the warmth of a roaring fire with one of her books in hand. (She tells you that John kindled the flames each time, yet you’ve still never seen them.)

Though you bide your time during the day, nights are your favorite. You leave gifts of honey and small stones, you wake to them gone and often in their place, blooming flowers tied with thin lengths of string. Flowers from someplace far away and less cold, someplace that doesn’t exist for you.

“Leave it alone.”

“Have you ever left it alone?”

Ghost huffs, ears flicked back and eyes narrowed. Try as he might, looking intimidating as a dog was just… impossible for him at least, especially now as he stands on his back legs, paws resting on your windowsill as he inspects your new gift, some strange cluster of unnaturally red pearls and flowers so golden they didn’t seem real. He sniffs at your gifts, black lips drawn back in a very canine expression of disdain. Perhaps you would still think him entirely cute, harmless, if you didn’t know what he had the capability to look like.

“I just want to know… where they’re coming from. You should know.”

“Why would I know what you’re invitin’ in?” Ghost counters as he places his big paws back onto the floor before padding over to your bed and jumping up to snuff at your sheets.

“I just thought I would ask.”

His diligent sniffing pauses for a moment, and you swear you see some recognition in his dark eyes. It’s distant, well guarded, but you feel certain he knows something that he just refuses to tell. The dog falls entirely silent, and you know you’re not getting another word out of him. Not tonight at least.

You had invited him in in hopes for answers, not for more questions, even explained in depth what had occurred that night in the woods. If your eyes were filled with tiny stars as you recounted it all, he hadn’t said a word to acknowledge it.

“Leave it alone.” Ghost repeats when he meets your eyes, dreamily thinking back to him again. Always, a constant gnawing at your mind. “It’ll want more.”

“My name?”

“More.”

“I don’t understand. You don’t want anything more from me, John doesn’t want more from Kate. Why would he be any different?” It sounds pitiful, even to yourself. You wouldn’t know more than Ghost, you’re just desperate. Desperate for the same thing as the fae you spent your nights missing.

Ghost barks out a laugh, surprising even to your own ears. He doesn’t need to say a thing. Black shulk, harbinger of death. A friend, for now, but he knows you’re reckless, knows your time will come eventually. It’s the reason he exists.

He gives you a nod when the recognition floods your face, and almost sympathetically places his massive head in your lap.

Tonight’s the first time he allows you to pet him, trailing your hand down the length of his spine as his wiry fur parts beneath your fingertips. He’s colder than you would expect, colder than the bite of winter outside. You ask him, again, to tell you about Johnny, and in turn, he tells you he’s on his way home.

The chill of Ghost’s stiff body is replaced by the warmth of the fire in the hearth as you lead him back to the door to let him roam into the night after little talk, little introspection.

But something is better than nothing.

The smell of coffee pulls you from sleep, Kate’s humming could be heard from the kitchen, a soft song, one you had heard her play on her record player some nights when sleep dodged you. It’s mornings like these that remind you of just how peaceful things could be here. She hadn’t even seemed to mind how you had fallen asleep on the couch, or Ghost’s dirty paw prints tracked across the hardwood floors. As you stretch and pad over to greet her, a mug of warm coffee is pressed into your hands and she smiles.

“I’ll clean the floor,” you murmur into your cup, a bit sheepish.

“Why? He’s got two hands, doesn’t he?”

You could never grow tired of her laugh, not hers. It’s sweet and so gentle, it almost reminds you of his. There’s love there, an affection born of two lonesome souls finding solace in one another through silly talks of monsters and shared cups of comfort. Kate really has become family to you after only a few short months.

“I suppose so. Want me to drag him back?”

She raises an eyebrow at that, flashes you an unknowing smile, to which you immediately shake your head.

“Oh, come on!”

“I’m teasing you,” she says, gently nudging your shoulder. “I know you’ve got someone else in mind.”

“How did—”

“Ghost.”

You place your mug on the countertop, looking utterly flabbergasted at the fact that he of all people would run telling your roommate about your infatuation with some suspicious stranger. Your face warms, a swell of embarrassment rising from your chest to your temples. It’s not petty, really, he might have your best interest at heart if he truly had one at all, but you weren’t quite ready to tell Kate about the strange gifts or the depth of your longing after a simple kiss. It was more than that, the danger you had been in, the way he had saved you. It felt like much more.

“I should have told you about it all,” you respond tinily.

Kate shrugs her shoulders a bit, idly tapping at her mug as she studies you. You’re stuck feeling like a child again, telling your guardian about some silly crush at school. Thankfully, she doesn’t pry. The look she gives you merely suggests that she wants you to be careful.

— — —

Careful isn’t what you would have called yourself when you pried open your window in the dead of night. You remembered the kneeling tree, the way it slumped over in its prayers to the earth and if you could just find it again, perhaps you could find him. The air outside was frigid, but you prepared as well as your impulsivity would allow; several layers of clothing and a blanket pulled tightly over your shoulders. It isn’t snowing, not so early into the winter here, yet the ledge of the window is still slippery with frozen condensation. You manage to keep yourself stable as you make your descent, grappling at the wall of the cottage to keep yourself upright.

You leave the window open, the light of your table lamp bathing the room in a warm glow, so inviting you nearly forget your motivations to crawl back in. Before the thought takes root, you turn on your heel and storm out into the dark forest.

Nights are a bit more lively, you find. A woman sings someplace far off, an eerie song telling the story of a carriage traveling a dangerous road, something long-forgotten and old. Hoofbeats thunder past you, accompanied by a breeze that chills you down to the bones, yet nothing could be seen, even with the glow of your phone’s flashlight lighting your way. When you do see something, it’s limbs are all crooked and long, mouth wide and filled with sharpened teeth. Its fur cascaded down its back, brown and covered in a light dusting of moss. It merely scuttles past you without a word or so much as a glance.

You know better than ever that this is dangerous, of course, but you can’t bring yourself to turn back. Some part of you believes that if danger comes, he’ll be there to fight it off, time and time again, just like the last.

The bent tree is still in its place when you arrive and try to retrace your steps from that night. Several meters to the left, a desperate sprint forward, and… just as anticipated, your light illuminates the darkened splatter against the bark of the trees where the fae had torn the other apart before your very eyes. There is no carcass, of course, the dried blood is just confirmation that you’re on the correct path. You turn to your right and set off in the direction that the man had carried you.

The glade is empty of pelts when your arrive. In place of the makeshift bed you had shared are only fallen leaves. You expected warmth, the familiar greeting of a figure too tall and broad to wrap you up in his arms, careful with his claws. Careful with you.

You’ve been holding back tears since he disappeared, little exchanges of gifts doing nothing to protect your heart from the weight of what you feel. When you begin your walk home, the dam breaks. Your face is cold from the wetness, the chill of each gust of wind. Heartbroken after a month, but shattered in the winter, unfortunate and weary, perhaps it was best to follow Ghost’s advice and leave it alone. Curious whispers fill the night air, another song and giggles and chimes start up in the distance. In better spirits, maybe you would have followed the sounds of the gathering, lost yourself in silver tongues and mischief.

Your window comes into view after some time, you’ve lost track of how long you’ve been out in the cold, but you’re excited to return to your bed, to creature comforts. You reach your hands up to the windowsill, fingers curling over the inward slab of wood as you try to pull yourself back in. Your leg kicks at the side of the house for purchase, only to find none. With a small yelp, you fall onto your rear.

Sneaking out was for children with curfews, not an adult— why hadn’t you just used the door? You’re beating yourself up for your own silly decisions, trying to climb up again when a pair of strong hands reach behind you to tug you back against a firm chest. Your breath catches, panic settling in your guts until your side is stroked with a touch so tender a new wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Little one…,” a voice coos behind you, a veil pressed against the back of your head as he lowers himself down to your height, his arms still curled around you protectively.

“Where have you been? I… I missed you, and you didn’t…” You trail off, feeling so small, so caught up in your own feelings. The sentence is left unfinished as you twist around in his grip to wrap your arms around his middle, face buried into his chest.

“You told me not to come to your room.” He sounds confused, hurt. He tilts your head up to catch your eyes and his soften in time with just a look.

You hadn’t expected him to take the comment about an invitation so literally. His consideration almost stings. The words were said with conviction at the time, assured that you hadn’t wanted a monster in your bed, but couldn’t he see how that had changed? Hear how your heart fluttered now? He’s different, so unlike you in a way that confuses and enraptures you, some long-forgotten god out of touch with human conventions.

“I liked your gifts this time.”

His grip around you tightens momentarily, as though trying to embrace you further, pull you deeper into his chest to keep you locked tight in his heart entirely.

“I loved yours, little one.”

“Tell me who you are and you can come in whenever you like,” you huff out in promise, a cloud of your own breath puffing between you and the broad chest you had grown to admire so.

He curls a hand at the nape of your neck, cradling you against him as he lowers his head to kiss you through the veil once more. It’s warm, even as your blanket slips from your shoulders and falls to the ground. The fur of his cloak drapes around you in a better replacement as you return his affections. The kiss is just as chaste as the last, but the sentiment in it far out measures the contact.

He’s still yours. He never truly left.

“My name is König.” He tells you as he pulls away to carefully lift you from the ground and raise you up to the windowsill with so little effort it makes your knees weak. You pull yourself in and turn to look back at him. His gaze is adoring, yours must be too. You feel the way your eyelids slacken, the smile pulling at your lips.

You accept your blanket from him as he offers it and slot your fingers between his once the cover is cast aside. His hand covers yours almost entirely as it curls over yours. The claws look even more wicked in the low light of your room, but you don’t fear him. Not even a little. This time is so much different. It’s scarier to imagine spending another night without him wrapped around you.

It’s not the flowers, the furs, or the feathers that you want. It’s shallow kisses and blackened claws and the feeling of having a titan at your beck and call. It’s the way your heart flutters and your stomach twists with the thrill of falling in love that you long for.

“Come in, König.”

[sinvilles]

Alterations

Sobriety AU Drabble. Clay/Danielle, 15+ for language.

Clay finds his mother’s recipe cards.

Special thanks to @khanumshahrzad and @cheonsa-n for feedback!

Dear Orel,

I hope you and your family are well. It’s great that you’re traveling. I think your father would be happy about that, but he’s in a volatile mental space at this time so I have yet to share the news with him— that and he doesn’t know I’m writing you about him, and would probably be embarrassed to find out. To answer your question, I don’t think he’s emotionally ready to see you again just yet, but he is getting there.

This month your father has made an amusing foray into the world of domestic labor. Since he ceased drinking he has been plagued with the horrors of puerile boredom. This lack of stimulation has made him so antsy that last week he just about blew up the farm mixing the wrong cleaning chemicals. He insisted that he didn’t need my help, yet he has consistently called for it on a daily basis since beginning his journey into the frigid waters of sobriety. 

I don’t begrudge this of him; if it were me that was vulnerable, then I would also hope for someone with a conscience to look out for me in my time of need. Sadly, my conscience has its limitations. I will admit— and you know this, Orel— his quirks can be exhausting beyond human comprehension. For one, he is not apt to admit he’s mistaken. But let me start at the beginning.

The smell of something savory punctuated the afternoon. As Danielle closed the front door behind him, he felt a homey sense of peace swirl alongside him and hoped it would mean a nice dinner wasn’t too far ahead. He followed the scent into the kitchen, only to remember whose house he was in. 

Clay, by some ungodly means, had managed to pile six crusty ceramic and aluminum pans into the sink. He was working on defiling a seventh on the stove, stirring at his hearty smelling concoction with a look of pure concentration and a zeal that was almost religious.

Rather than interrupt him, Danielle was compelled to observe him a little longer, just to see what he would do. And what he did was lift the ladle to his lips, take a quick taste, and pause with a blank expression.

He grabbed the pot and dumped its still bubbling contents in the trash.

Danielle coughed, which caught his attention. His concentration broke into a grin.

“Oh, didn’t hear you come in.” His wild eyes sparkled as he piled another pot in the sink. “You’ll never guess what I found.”

“You’re right. I’m stumped.” He stares at the mess.

Clay shoves a little wooden box in his face, which he accepts from him. He fingers through the dozens of cards in it, daintily handwritten in cursive.

“Recipes?”

“My mother’s recipes.”

This man and his goddamn mother. Danielle recalled the obsessive detail with which he had described her long-gone presence in the house the second time he had come to see him. Pointing out how and where she had liked to sit in the living room, her favorite bible reading spot— even where she had fallen cold and dead in his fathers study. For all he knew, Clay could still see her ghost walking around, carrying on her chores, haunting him.

“So, I don’t mean to pry…”

“Pry away, buddy.” He stared lovingly at the recipe card in hand.

“I was only wondering why you’ve thrown out all this wonderful smelling Brunswick stew.” Danielle glanced into the trash.

Clay turned to face him, a very serious expression on his face.

“I just can’t get it to taste like she made it.”

“Uh-huh.”

You see, Orel, your father’s obsession with “getting it right” borders on the comical. I say “borders” because it slams face-first into the grotesque. I’ll be the first to admit to my own obsessive nature, but this is ridiculous.

Danielle swipes his finger along the edge of the last pot, gathering what’s left of the stew and gives it a taste.

“This tastes fine. Good, even.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t good, it’s just not right.”

“I see.” Danielle sighed. “But isn’t it a sin to let all this food go to waste?”

“It’s also a sin not to honor your mother.” He mumbled. “And that one actually is a commandment so it ranks above waste.”

“Right.” Danielle considered the merits of walking out on him right there and then, but paused as he remembered that he promised this man’s son he’d look out for him. 

“So, Clay… what makes yours different from hers?”

“It’s just not the same!” Clay whips around to face him. “I’m following the recipe to the milligram, as she wrote it and something about it is off and I just don’t get it!”

Danielle looks at the recipe card.

“This one uses ground pork. You know, I always had it with pulled pork.”

“Hah! Shows what YOU know.”

"Show's what you know," he said to me. What else could I do? I pulled my sleeves up like a man and did the dishes. I admired his commitment, at least. That night I helped him try two more variations of the same ingredient combination. I had at least managed to convince him to waste his food in smaller batches, and I ended up eating the last one myself when he wouldn't touch it. I thought he'd given up, but lo and behold, three days later, he sent me on a shopping trip with the exact same list of ingredients.

"Have you considered trying a different recipe?"

"No. I'm getting it right this time, I know it." There was a feverish gleam in his eye. "It's got to be that she used canned corn and not frozen corn."

So he tried several times again, varying the order in which he put in the ingredients: 

Chicken stock, canned tomatoes, ketchup, canned corn, Worcestershire sauce, barbecue sauce, hot sauce,  salt, pepper.

Canned tomatoes, canned corn, salt, pepper, chicken stock, hot sauce, Worcestershire sauce, ketchup.

Hot sauce, barbecue sauce, ketchup, Worcestershire sauce-

"That probably isn't it, Clay." He just barely held back his exasperation. "Maybe it's a different cut of meat -"

"IT IS NOT A DIFFERENT CUT OF MEAT!" He snarled, dumping another stew into the sink, this time slamming the pot in after it with a clang. "If the recipe card says ground pork, then it's ground pork. She would NEVER-"

When he turned to face him, his anger evaporated.

"I'm sorry."

"If you yell at me again, I'm not helping you any more."

"No, no, no, wait. You know, it might be something in the sautée."

Danielle sighed and pulled out another onion.

This farce went on for another two days. I don't know what compels me to indulge him like this. I suppose it wasn't really about the stew at all, and that being in his childhood home again just made him miss his mother. 

Did your father ever tell you about your grandmother? She seemed a remarkable woman. Before she had your dad, she was adventurous and lively, but she had a drinking problem that she gave up because she wanted a baby so badly. You see, because she drank she kept losing them. Once she quit, your dad finally came into the world. In a way, since he stopped drinking, your father is trying to do a similar thing for you. Adults can be complicated, and you can't always explain when or why they choose to do things. 

I think his problem is that he thinks, or rather insists, that she was perfect. I think maybe when he hears the voice of God chastising him in his head, it sounds like her.

On the fifth day, Clay had surrendered to the wave of hopelessness that washed over him. There was no recreating that distant memory of his mother's cooking. As he lay on the couch, he stared up at the ceiling.

"I'm a total failure. I couldn't even get this right..."

"Your mother would have been proud of you for trying." Danielle said flatly as he held out a box of tissues. "Let's eat out."

"I'm not hungry." 

"You can't NOT be hungry." He dropped the tissue box on Clay's chest and gritted his teeth. "You have eaten nothing but spoonfuls of the same damn stew for a week. We are going to a restaurant and you are going put food in your mouth and chew it and swallow it— or so help me I will tie you up and force feed you myself."

He glanced at his jailer-slash-life coach-slash-only-friend-left-in-the-world and blinked at him.

"You promise?"

They wound up at a diner that they often found themselves in. The dinner hour wasn't too crowded— most people didn't come to sit along the edge of Sinville during the evening hours, as they much preferred to dive right into the nightlife and what it had to offer. For Clay, who had to avoid even thinking about alcohol, the pickings were much slimmer.

The waitress brought them waters. Danielle ordered a soup and salad, and when his somber date wouldn't look at the menu he ordered him the special without looking at it.

He watched him as he stared into his water.

"Clay..." he sighed. "I know this is hard."

He looked up to meet his eye.

"No, you don't." 

"I can see it. All of this is hard for you. Physically and emotionally." He rubbed his forehead, too stressed to meet his gaze directly. "You have... a lot to grieve."

"Oh, no, you have it all wrong. I'm glad I'm rid of it. All of it." He laughed, sounding broken. "I have NEVER been more free than I am right now. Isn't that crazy?"

He pulled up the left pant of his slacks and stuck his leg out, pointing at the alcohol monitor bracelet on his ankle.

"Even with this thing threatening to call the cops on me if I slip up even once— I'm finally free!" He slammed his fist on the table, sending a tremor through his water glass. "I got what I wanted. I'm liberated now. Now all I need is to just be happy!”

What few heads were in the diner had quietly turned to look at him. Danielle glared around, daring them to eavesdrop— very quickly they went back to minding their business.

"You don't have to rush it. Any of it." 

His expression softened and returned to the state of a sad watery-eyed kitten.

Danielle's gaze fell to the table and rested on a pair of shakey hands. He closed his eyes and pushed down the urge reach out and squeeze them.

"I just need you to eat something. That's all I'm asking."

The waitress returned as if on cue and put down the minetrone soup, greek salad— and a bowl of brunswick stew in front of Clay.

Danielle buried his face in his hands.

"We can send it bac-"

"Whatever, I don't care." He muttered, shoving a heaping spoon into his mouth

He stared as if transfixed. Slowly, he chewed, swallowed, and took another bite. He chewed even slower.

Opposite him, Danielle watched his reaction as he let the mouthful linger.

He swallowed.

"This is it." His eyes darted around.

"What?"

"This is her stew!" He stood up and turned to the waitress. "I need to know what the cook put in this!"

"Um, sir!" She started as he ran past her. "You can't go into the kitchen!"

"Jesus fucking Christ..." 

Danielle followed, swinging doors hitting him as his poor, wretched friend barreled into the kitchen to solve a mystery that had been driving him crazy for a week.

He appeared to argue with the line cook for a second before he shoved a piece of paper in his chest and told him to get out of his kitchen. They were both promptly escorted out of the diner.

When he read the recipe he fell silent. They were in the car and Clay must have read the paper for the dozenth time before Danielle finally bit.

"So? What's different?"

"It's the same thing."

He went quiet for a beat.

"Except..."

"Except what?"

He mumbled something.

"Didn't catch that."

"They use pulled pork."

"You mean your mother used pulled pork."

"I don't understand it." His voice quivered.

"It's not that hard. She did what everyone else does. Everyone makes it that way. My family made it that way. And now you know that she also‐"

"But why did she lie on the recipe card?" He was in tears at this point, holding his head in his hands. "I believed her..."

Whatever schadenfreude he had left leaked out of him like a deflating balloon— once again he could see the wounded little boy in him.

"You know… maybe when she wrote it, that was what she believed it should be…and then when she saw you liked the other version better..."

He trailed off as Clay's sobs began to reverberate in his ear. It was time to take him home.

You should never idolize anyone too much, Orel. Not even me. People are only human, as you are, as am I, as is your mother, and as is your poor old dad. But you can always try to believe in them, and have faith in them, even if they do disappoint you— and they will. That is up to you, though.

Truthfully,

Coach Stopframe

[yuri-is-online]

oof that's a really good morally grey pwp idea... if darkwick tells mc her curse cannot be lifted but can be passed on to a child -> the new cure is for her to be impregnated by a ghoul (better chance of whatever makes them ghouls overpowering whatever makes mc cursed), give birth to that child and for darkwick to kill the newborn immediately... but to prevent any of the ghouls from forming a real attachment to the fetus and somehow busting into the delivery room to save it, they can't know who the father is -> cue a multichapter pwp fic (with the exception of rui)...

(sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, please delete if so!!)

( • ̀ω•́ )✧ fufuufufufu no I don't mind this, I lack the technical skills to write it but yes that's a really good pwp idea. Poor Rui this might be enough to make him actually lose it, can you imagine being someone whose main character trait is being a whore, but being denied your godgiven right join the school sanctioned gangbang? They're even encouraging you to hit it raw fuck this stupid baka life he's done. I also like how you excluded Rui but not Zenji because that would make it even worse... the ghost gets to hit it but he doesn't? ED GETS TO HIT IT BUT NOT HIM?!?!?!!!!

I was thinking about smut when I typed that of course but I didn't really spend a lot of time thinking about the plot because I was too busy inventing new ethical questions. Would Taiga want to eat the baby? It is technically part anomaly... he doesn't want to eat Ed or Lyca so I would guess not but still. What about guys like Romeo, Ritsu, or Jin? Would they even agree to participate in something like this given how important children are to rich fussy families would they see making one like this extra wrong? Or would the horny kick in and they not want to allow the chance for MC's baby to be anyone other than theirs? Oh and on Ritsu, I feel like he'd be making a bunch of weird legal arguments trying to justify wanting to get the mc pregnant. He's just repressed, the arguments don't matter, but would he then try to make a bunch of arguments to keep the baby alive? Is there a legal standard of personhood in Japan and do I even want to research that-

Speaking of personhood, Lyca, Ed, and Zenji. I feel like Lyca wouldn't be able to let go of the idea of MC as his mate and that child as his baby. He wants to live with humans and be human, part of that seems to be him wanting a real family so if he was the baby daddy this would just be extra cruel. His instinct and desire is to love and protect, and even if he didn't have that he knows what Darkwick is like. Danger or not he doesn't want them killing you or the baby. Ed probably just wouldn't see what the problem is. Yes, his baby is an abomination from hell part vampire part Kyklos (so little human he doesn't need to mention that). No, he will not be letting Darkwick kill them and yes he will know if the baby is his, he has a sixth sense for these sorts of things. Now now don't cry, he might be an old man but he's not above taking responsibility, Japan was getting boring anyway. He can drop you off in whatever hole he crawled out of to can rest and recover while he watches the baby and shows them man made horrors beyond their comprehension (conspiracy youtube videos). I brought up Zenji just because the image of MC wanting to get dicked down by a ghost and conducting a dark ritual to let him do it. Also idk Zenji feels like another extra tragic because he also is someone who values family so I don't think he would want to see his child die, but also if it could save MC he'd really want to try and help.

Yuri would be very smug about this being a solution, volunteer to help, realize that everyone thinks he wants to fuck the MC, and then pass out from screaming denial and the mental image of her bare neck. I feel like he'd be one of the "worse" choices in Darkwick's mind because he would probably want to keep the baby to experiment on, but be completely unable to see them as anything other than his child and devolve into the same desperate search to cure them as he was on with MC. And he expects child support! He will not be a single father, MC get back here and take some responsibility for your actions!!! Jiro also feels like someone who would volunteer not realizing the method he was volunteering for but unlike Yuri he just rolls with it. He's so unashamed of nudity, yours or his, and what is sex if not nudity with some extra steps-

(My mind more went towards artificial insemination, so Rui wouldn't be excluded from the pool and there was no chance for the ghouls to form an emotional connection to either the MC or their potential baby. Oh I also don't think Darkwick would tell MC or the dad that the kid is going to be killed. They would probably lie about it and act like the child would be fine, just maybe an anomaly they would need to keep an eye on. And then they lie to MC and say the baby was still born but they just keep them in a little padded room and experiment on them their whole life, which just starts the Kyklos cycle anew except this time the monster is sentient and out for blood with intent.)

[cheezeybread]

I feel no matter the character development, Kalim is still gonna struggle with doing what needs to be done to protect his family from everybody who wants him dead. I headcanon that his obliviousness is his coping mechanism for all of this and that he is in fact just as observant as Jamil, but that won't really be enough for this sunshine to face the evils of the Scalding Sands. So could I request Kalim with a lover who is just an absolute badass. As in before coming to twst they were the child of a diplomat/politician, so they're already very aware of how messy things can get and have no qualms about hurting the people who hurt them first. With Kalim and other loved ones they'll be cheerful and playful, but with enemies they go full maverick.

Specifically I'd like a oneshot of Kalim taking his lover to visit his family and papa Asim is asking them what they could provide for the family (since unfortunately they can't just let anyone marry into the Asims cause they're so rich and so powerful). All the s/o asks for is one month. They spend their vacation chilling with Kalim, bonding with his siblings, and chatting up fellow nobles.

Cut to one month later and the reader dumps this mile long report of every single person that wants them dead, all the evidence compiled against them, and plans for how they could be "handled" lethally or non-lethally. What was that they did in that one month? Create the Asim equivalent of the FBI and get dirt on just about everybody. They grew up in a modern day equivalent of the Imperial Chinese Court (meaning plots, scandals, endless assassinations, and just sooooo much drama), the Scalding Sands is like child's play for them.

I'm all for Kalim being more self-aware than people give him credit for! I mean, come on, he may be a silly little guy, but I believe 100% that he's choosing to be that way on purpose as a coping mechanism! I do the same thing, honestly.

───✱*.｡:｡✱*.:｡✧*.｡✰ ───

The head of the Asim household could be very imposing whenever he wished to be.

It threw you off guard, at first.

Kalim had been telling you about how great his father and mother was ever since he first proposed the idea of you coming with him over the break, saying how fun it would be, and how much his parents were looking forward to meeting you. He had hyped up the trip so much, emphasizing how nice and kind his family was. As soon as you walked through the door, you saw firsthand how right he was.

His mother embraced you with open arms, quite literally, wrapping you in a bone-crushing hug that would make Floyd jealous. His father slapped you on the back with the same bright, sunny smile that Kalim had- the same smile that first made you fall in love with his son. And the kids, by the Seven, the kids! The older ones were friendly and kind, but stepped away after initial greetings. But the younger ones were hyper and jumpy, all hopping in your arms and fighting for your attention. Even the youngest of them all, a small toddler who could just barely walk, managed to waddle up to you and tug on your pants until you picked him up.

Kalim was very pleased by all this, to say the least.

But then Kalim's father asked to speak to you in private, assuring your boyfriend that it was only to get more acquainted with you. So you had no unease about following the large man into a well-decorated room. As soon as the door was closed, the bright smile adorning his face vanished, replaced instead by the hardened, weathered look of a man who has seen horrors beyond comprehension. Or, at least, that's the vibe he gave off.

"I'm going to give it to you straight, Y/N," He said softly, his eyes narrowing as he looked at you with a calculating stare "In this family, there are...a great many dangers. I can't count the times my life has been in danger, and anybody who enters our family needs to be able to not only protect themselves and their spouse, but any potential children. I've had to kill men with my bare hands in these very halls...men who wanted to hurt my wife, my children."

He put a calloused hand on your shoulder, and you felt your stomach drop with a sudden well of nerves "I need my son to be protected, and I know that he can protect you, but I need to know that you have a...special skill set, let's say, to keep him alive and well."

At the end of the month, he said after a long spiel of the family's history, he expected to be shown what you could provide to the family and their wellbeing. If you did so, he promised, he would accept yours and Kalim's relationship with not only his blessing, but with the pride and acceptance of the entire family. Although, of course, you shouldn't speak of this conversation with Kalim, lest he attempt to help you in this endeavor.

After speaking with you, the bright and cheery look returned, and the two of you walked out of the room.

After the two weeks of break were over, you and Kalim (unfortunately) had to go back to the NRC campus, but you continued on in your personal endeavor. Two weeks after that, you nagged Crowley to give you permission to go back to the Land of Scalding Sands.

You stepped through the mirror with a sense of purpose, a thick folder stuffed with paper held protectively under your arm. To the house of Asim you went, requesting an audience with the head of the house to the guards standing outside. It took a while for one of the guards to go inside and fetch Mister Asim, all while the remaining guard kept his gaze fixated on you. Like you were here to hurt the family or something.

"Ah, so you've returned!" Greeted Kalim's father, ushering you to join him on the other side of the gates. At his approval, the guard opened the entrance, and you stepped inside gratefully.

"So," he began, placing a hand on your back as he began a slow walk around the estate, you assumed for privacy reasons "Tell me what you've brought."

"Let me first begin, sir, by telling you something that Kalim apparently forgot to mention that my family understands the plights that your faces. My father was a politician in his prime, and although he is retired at this point, his opinion still holds a great influence on those in higher positions of authority," You flicked a finger over the folder under your arm "As such, those who'd like to be rid of his influence, or simply disagree with the values he upheld while in office and the policies he enacted have had a great effect on the lives of me and my family. Homicide attempts were not uncommon growing up, although we didn't have the pleasure of being able to afford such high security," you chuckled, sticking a thumb back towards where the guards at the entrance were. You glanced over at Kalim's father, hoping to gauge some level of his emotions. But his face was unreadable.

"As such, I've gained some valuable skills to keep myself alive, and ones that may come in handy for yourself, as well, sir," You held up the folder, allowing him to take it.

As he flicked through the pages in the folder, his eyes narrowed, and his mouth opened slightly "What..is this?" he asked, although he feared that he already knew.

"I was in this land for two weeks, sir," You said, your voice gaining more confidence by the minute "During that time, I went out to eavesdrop and peruse through the marketplace. You know how much gossip is spread there-? Anyway, I learned of some names of those tossed around, claiming threats that didn't sound like they should be taken idly. Those who had plans set and in effect to take the lives of the Asim family."

"But these aren't just their names-" He started.

"I had two more weeks, if you recall," you interrupted, giving him a satisfied smile "Two weeks to find suitable...eh, let's say... punishments, for those listed. Ways to easily dispose of them without causing panic to the public nor cause any undue distress on their own families. As well as methods of getting them to talk and divulge information on any more conspiracies against you."

The head of the Asim household took a few more minutes to look through the papers before he began laughing, a deep, hearty sound. He looked up at you with a genuine smile, nodding his head gratefully.

"Welcome to the family, Y/N."

[vlly-of-despair]

Ghosts in the Computer? It’s not what you think…

Ok I have very little to back up most of this BUT (spoilers for The Magnus Protocol so far)

I don’t think John/Martin/Jonah are stuck in the computer at all. I think they are stuck in the FEAR WORLD. Think about it, when John got sucked into the rift with Martin, he already became the Pupil and was bound immeasurably to all of the Fears, which mind you, are simply ONE being which can be extended to different ‘categories’. By the end of TMA, John wasn’t human at all. Martin even asks him,

“How much of you is even left now?”

“It’s still me, Martin. I’m still here.”

Yeah, John. Your consciousness and personality are still your own, but make no mistake my sweet man, you are full Eldritch horror now.

This could be the only conceivable way John could have survived being stabbed, then sacrilegiously torn throughout time and space. I mean, the spooky happenings and Avatars are described as this ‘Somewhere Else’ (🤨) bleeding into our world. But nobody has ever entered this other world, it’s beyond the human comprehension. Unless… perhaps you were to be the closest thing to a Fears’ grubby little Jesus and entwined further through tapes that stretched itself within this realm then ripped you through this passage…

Here is my current suggestion. Perhaps John is in the Fears layer in reality, the ‘Somewhere Else’ as I shall call it, by virtue of himself being in a sense, an extension of the Fears. As the Fears were categorized as different vital organs as a whole being, John may be an extension of this said being. The fears made manifest in a human-ish form; the fears brought in a sentient avatar. But make no mistake, John literally is fear now.

And perhaps this is what [ERROR] is as well, this mysterious creature ‘cloaked in whispers’ is John just… kind of body hopping into people (or even past Archivists which didn’t go as far along as he did in his lovely little Becoming) and trying to communicate with others who could understand him, maybe why he has recorders with him. These whispers are literally fear, he is wearing fear. He IS FEAR. And when he tries to speak, or speaks through another’s voice, he compels others to vomit up all their fear in incoherent ramblings because that is ALL THEY CAN SEE. The fear.

Fr3d1, or ‘Freddie’, on the other hand, is a device connected to the Somewhere Else long before John arrived there. My theory is that objects bound by Alchemy can act as conduits to the Somewhere Else and the Fears, such as the Fr3d1 program, and other cursed objects found throughout the series. And just as John could know into the truth of his world through the Eye, the land of the Fears can touch the minds of all worldly beings of this layer of reality, like a vast ocean… one in which John is fully submerged in.

The Magnus Institute program may have also been a program designed to seek out children who can nurture an ability to psychologically enter the Somewhere Else (as Hans Burger did in Ep 22 in his dream). Sam is being specifically targeted because HE can possibly have that capability to tap into that world and speak to John. It could also be an explanation for the act of ‘meditation’ causing reality jumps, specifically close to the Magnus Institute. Your consciousness briefly enters the Somewhere Else, and because this place resides in a world outside of the material world, you may fall back into reality misplaced. Slightly off center from your reality, and usually this journey is deadly…

Freddie, by its ability to touch the Somewhere Else, was a program designed with supernatural abilities to garner intell tied to this outer dimension. But now that John is in this dimension, he can manipulate the system to try to steer it in a direction which can ‘speak’ to the OIAR crew, try to explain his situation. You know, without the compelling, drowning, or scaring away the closest thing to allies he could have.

Now why are Martin and Jonah there? Well, for Martin, he was dragged with John and is only been able to stay alive this long because of him. He is an extension of John, and John is trying his darndest to keep him alive. The only problem is that Martin is mortal, or at least a hell of a lot more human than John. He probably can’t psychologically take the ‘I am living in fear’ quite literally, and this may be why all of the statements in Norris’s voice are about lost love, being lost in liminal spaces, or in hearing your beloved, only to be terrified by them as they are irrevocably warped into a horrific phantom of themselves. Perhaps that is all that Martin can see; that he is somewhere where he can’t escape, and John is terrifying. So very very terrifying, and wrong. He is incapable of comprehending anything else, he may even be in the Lonely state much like in MAG 170: Recollection. John can bare the weight of all of that perception, of fear, or knowing and seeing. He wished it could be horrible, but it feels ‘right’. Not for Martin though.

As for Jonah, my best approximation is that by virtue of being the previous Pupil and also being connected to the Eye so prolifically, even when dying, small remnants of him remained in the Somewhere Else as a figure of Fear much like John. However, he is much weaker on account of John both defeating him in their original universe and plain of existence, and the fact that ‘the Eye chose John’. Nevertheless, he’s still kicking around, his evil embers also fighting to communicate, albeit less so (his statements being infrequent). Perhaps the JMJ errors are the boys fighting for supremacy in the horrors mindscape. Jonah is losing, but he won’t go down and let John win without a fight.

Where does that leave us? Well, my guess is that our lovely Son of Fears needs to rise again, be called back to the material world through some sort of Alchemical ritual. Maybe by a dangerously curious guy whose life went downhill ever since he was rejected from the Magnus Institute for having a little too much empathy, but always knew his calling to tap into that power…

Hopefully he can unleash his judgement day, smite a few less than pleasurable Externals. And while he’s at it, return his boyfriend to the living world, and get rid of an annoying old man who just refuses to die.

[jammechanics]

And. We. Are. Back! Jam Mechanics returns for season 2 with our first guest prompter (Our longtime collaborator and artist, ⁠@deepblueink2d⁠!). In our first episode back we reveal the fate of Jam Mechanics Mansion (Castle?) and reflect on the ocean that separates our two co-hosts Jam Mechanics is a podcast hosted by Matt (@narcissistcookbook) and Bug (@bughuntermusic) where we are challenged to write a song demo from scratch every episode.

If you'd like downloadable files for this episode (and the demos we showed off), ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠you can go to our Bandcamp⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ or ⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠website⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠⁠ to pay-what-you-want to support us!

Our brand-new discord is here⁠⁠⁠

and follow us on Instagram, YouTube, etc! Please share the show (and our music) with friends!

-- SPOILERS FOR THIS EPISODE BELOW --

Challenge: Transatlanticism

BUG'S SONG Title: Agamemnon Lyrics: I am aboard the Agamemnon, we are laying down a line It's gonna cross the ocean floor, the greatest project of our time A telegraph from Newfoundland will reach the Irish Shores but by by the time this note arrives you will not love me anymore

I am aboard the Agamemnon, laying cables in the sea For the purpose of the president to parley with the queen As for me, I've got this letter that I'll send you in the morn but by the time this note arrives you will not love me anymore

You will not love me by the time you read this note You told me you would wait if I had to go I keep your photo in a locket to remind me of my home

but while aboard the Agamemnon I have so much time to dream of a world where I can reach you with no middle-man between And maybe when we're done I'll get my turn, as a reward but I never got that chance, now you don't love me anymore When I made it to Niagara, you didn't love me anymore

You will not love me by the time you read this note You told me you would wait if I had to go I think of you so often with no way to let you know

This is only the beginning, this simple cable in the sea Soon we'll have radios and satellites and waves we cannot see No one'll know the pain of loving one they cannot reach

I'd commandeer the Agamemnon and I'd sail it back to shore it's just a faster way to learn that you don't love me anymore so I'll keep laying this cable for the lovers not yet born so that they may never hear "No, I don't love you anymore"

MATT'S SONG Title: The Tollbooth Lyrics: When Britain's national health service was launched in 1948 it set sail in the wake of the second world war when the country's citizens the upper and lower classes both the rich and the desperately poor had served together, side by side and the ones who survived the horrors came home demanding to no surprise more

we did not fight, they said in our millions just for things to return to the way they were we didn't die they said in our hundreds of thousands just to save a country where the leading cause of death is poverty and perhaps for the first time in british history the aristocrats and the working class agreed on something largely that arming the nation and teaching them how to fight and die for what they believe in makes their demands somewhat more convincing

and so barely three years after the soldiers had come home on july 5th, 1948 the british health system was torn out by the follicles and rebuilt in a new vision that it would be free at point of service, that no one, NO ONE, would be turned away or trapped into debt by lack of personal means that it would be available to everyone who walked through the doors of a hospital or a GP's office and that the well off wouldn't be able to skip the queue this was radical beyond comprehension a truly universal healthcare system doctors across the nation barred their doors and hired personal security so sure were they that the empowered impoverished would storm their offices demanding medicine and aid only to find on that monday morning a polite queue of people in need who for the first time were able to receive the treatment they would have had since birth if they had been born into a wealthier family

the trouble is healthcare is one of those futureproof industries like plumber people are always going to need water and if you can fix their pipes you are, within reason, set for life and the hospital and the doctor's surgery are no exception people are always going to get sick they're always going to get injured at the very very least everyone has to be born and everyone has to die and you would be an idiot would you not if you had the opportunity and the presence of mind to not set up a tollbooth at the well-worn bridges that lead into and out of this life

i am being faceitious of course who thinks like this who is so calculating and cruel that they would look at the legions of dying and sick and feel not compassion but greed who would see not the faces of their own parents, friends and children but a sea of investment a captured market a well of bottomless profit

it would be inappropriate for me to delve too deep into the catacombs that are the American Healthcare System if you are listening from those shores, then you know better than i do how it feels to live in fear of a broken bone of a cough that won't go away of a necessary surgery or a birth in the family I have personally met people who were having to choose between treatment for a treatable disease and a slow death So as to have something to leave their loved ones in their will A meagre windfall, after all, is infinitely preferable over a cascade of debt Maybe, at best, you are simply aware of how lucky you are To not fear these things as many do The privilege of being able to treat mild maladies as the inconvenience they are rather than an existential threat

I bring this up only because The profit machine that is the american healthcare system Is hungry And needs to be fed There is no such thing as too much money There is no endgame in an investment portfolio Where you find the princess in the very last castle and the credits roll There isn't a kill screen where the arcade machine craps out and kicks you back to the beginning The score just keeps getting bigger and bigger, the numbers getting longer and longer, Separated by decimal points and letters and commas And when the numbers get so unwieldy that we run out of space, Eh, we'll just start printing the end of year reports in landscape The machine needs to eat And the painkillers and bloodied sheets of 333 million people could only satisfy it for so long Its eyes, inevitably, have turned east

And what do you think it sees? When you have broken your arm and are getting it cast at 3am When your parents start visibly ageing and wilting When your child gets a cough that won't go away Do you think it wants to help? Or do you think it wants to fucking eat them?

[fantasyescapes17]

Scandal (Part 2)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your maiden name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics.

Word Count: 3.5k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

Your entire body felt numb. 

"It's all over," you whispered. "I'm ruined, I'm ruined, I'm ruined…."

Your sister-in-law held you tightly in her arms as you trembled like a leaf. You had been shaking uncontrollably all evening; ever since you had been discovered by Baron Wright in the library of the Graham's manor, alone with Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. 

There was no doubt in your mind of your situation. You had just become the main character of this season's juiciest scandal. 

"You are not ruined," the Viscountess tried to reassure you as she rubbed your back comfortingly. "It will be resolved. Joshua will take care of things. Come my dear, come closer to the fire, you're shivering…"

"I am not cold," you protested but the Viscountess would have none of it. She gently guided you to an armchair in front of the fire and wrapped a warm blanket around your shoulders. 

"It will be fine," your sister-in-law continued to reassure you. Her words were kind but hollow. You knew that it would not be fine. To have been caught alone with a man in a distant corner of a manor and in a compromising position….

You felt faint. 

I'm ruined. 

The door to the drawing room opened and you sat up abruptly as your brother entered swiftly and tossed his coat onto the armchair. His expression made your heart sink. 

The Viscountess ran to greet her husband. "Joshua, what has happened-"

"I am so sorry, sister," Joshua said to you gently. Your heart sank painfully into your stomach as Joshua paced up and down the drawing room.  He pressed his fingers to his temples. "I tried; I begged Baron Wright to be reasonable but he would not listen to me. He feels jilted, since he was planning to propose to you. I even offered him money but… he-he has already told too many people. The rumour has spread beyond control."

Your chest felt tight. 

"Don't say that, don't…"

"I'm sorry."

The blanket around your shoulders suddenly felt hot and constricting, as though it was suffocating you. You threw it off and onto the floor roughly before standing up. 

"I will speak to Baron Wright myself-"

The Viscountess stopped you by gently taking your arms. "My dear, no. You will only make it worse-"

You looked at her in despair. "Then what am I to do? Am I to sit here quietly while that-that odious Baron defames me before the entire ton? Should I watch patiently while he ruins my reputation?" you spat, trembling. 

Joshua sighed. "Sister, please think for a moment. It will only escalate the situation further and confirm the rumours if we act in haste. I… I think we should try to handle this calmly and rationally."

"How?" you demanded. You did not see any calm or rational way of dealing with the waking nightmare that you had been plunged into.  

"Mr. Jeon has returned to his home to speak to his family, but he will come here in some time," Joshua told you. He gave you a wary look. "He has assured me that he will marry you."

You felt like you had been slapped. 

"Marry Mr. Jeon?" you whispered in horror. "Marry him?"

"I know you are not fond of each other, sister, but I know Mr. Jeon well. He is a gentleman and will do whatever is necessary to protect your honour. Perhaps, if we can persuade the ton that you were already engaged to him before tonight…"

You could not accept this. Your mind could not even begin to fathom the idea of being married to Mr. Jeon. You recoiled at the thought. 

"I will not marry him," you hissed, trembling. "I have done nothing wrong. I will not, I will not, I will not-"

Your sister-in-law embraced you tightly and you began shaking uncontrollably once more. She gently sat you back down in the armchair and then turned to her husband with a sigh. 

"I think your sister has had too much for one evening," she told the Viscount. "Let us give her some time before we speak of marriage. Surely Mr. Jeon will not withdraw his offer if she does not accept it tonight. And… we shall have to inform your mother."

Joshua ran his fingers through his hair and nodded.

"Yes," he sighed. "Yes, you are right. I will send word to Mr. Jeon to hold off for the moment. Perhaps we had all better go to bed for now." 

You felt sick. 

"I can't go to bed, how am I supposed to go to bed-" you mumbled. 

Your sister-in-law sighed. Her tone suddenly became firm; it was no surprise that she had raised her younger siblings by herself. 

"You will go to bed because that is the only thing that can be done now. I will not hear of anything else. Come with me now."

—---------------------------------------------------

Ella Williams was sobbing so hard that you could barely understand a word she said. 

Your cousin had come running to see you the next day, as soon as word of the scandal reached her ears. Her explanations and apologies were incomprehensible in a garbled mix of sobs and wails.

Your head ached. You had not slept. 

"Ella," you interrupted her quietly. "I don't blame you-"

She was not listening. Through her choked explanations you were able to piece together a picture of the events of the previous evening- Ella had been asked to dance the third dance by Mr. Xu Minghao, a gentleman that she had been pursuing for many months. Her promise to you was forgotten; and when Baron Wright approached her after the third dance asking if she had seen you, she informed him that you were looking at the piano upstairs and would be down shortly. 

“Never-never thought he would-sob-follow you-hic- my cousin, I am devastated-” Ella sobbed. 

You could not listen to her any longer. 

The Viscountess was much more intuitive- she noticed that despite your lack of tears and stiff expression, your composure was on the verge of cracking. She hurried to comfort Ella and took your sobbing cousin out of the room to have her sent home in the family carriage.

You sat silently in the drawing room. Your fists were clenched so tightly that your nails were digging painfully into your palms. 

Once Ella was gone, your mother came and sat beside you. 

“My dear,” your mother told you gently. “I know this is difficult for you. But time is of the essence. We must announce your engagement to Mr. Jeon.” 

You flinched. "I cannot. Not when I have not even done anything to deserve… I mean, we did not…” you turned and looked at your mother desperately. “There was nothing between myself and Mr. Jeon. You do believe me, mother?” 

Your mother sighed. “It does not matter what I believe. The ton will assume-” 

“But the ton is wrong. I have never even danced with that man, much less touched him. It is all a misunderstanding and in time I am certain that everything will be forgotten and brushed under the rug-” 

Your mother looked at you pitifully. “My dear.” 

You felt a burst of anger. Why would none of them understand? There was no need for you to marry Mr. Jeon because your virtue had not been compromised. It was simply a matter of clarifying that you had done nothing more than speak to the man, and it would be resolved. Well; perhaps Baron Wright would not court you but there were plenty of other young men, and in a short time it would all be forgotten. 

“I need to correct this misunderstanding,” you decided firmly. You stood up and gathered your skirts. You could not hide indoors in this manner. You had to seek out the gossip and crush it yourself. “I must go immediately to the assembly rooms.” 

Your mother looked horrified. “My dear, no-” 

“I must.” 

You ignored your mother’s desperate cries and hurried outside, ordering the butler to send for your carriage immediately. The butler was startled but did not have the courage to protest. It was not his place to tell you that you looked too wild to be in company; your eyes were red and had bags underneath them from lack of sleep. 

You were the sister of a Viscount. You were rich and beautiful and intelligent. 

You did not fear the ton. 

You walked up to the assembly rooms and took a deep breath before entering them with the same confidence you always had. The entrance hall where the card tables were set up was crowded; it took a few moments for your arrival to be noticed but slowly, gradually, the noise of conversation and the shuffling of cards died down. 

In less than a minute, the room was plunged into complete silence. 

Every single pair of eyes in the room was on you. 

It struck you: suddenly, and violently, what a terrible mistake you had made. You had gone through most of your life in the public eye and being the centre of attention was not new to you. Being a Viscount’s sister, you had been the subject of society's admiration, scrutiny and envy for as long as you could remember. It had left you numb to the general and uninformed opinion of others. You believed yourself unaffected by what others thought of you. 

But this was new. You had never experienced anything quite like this before. 

You were now the subject of ridicule and pity. 

Your stomach lurched and you wanted to die of shame, wanted nothing more than to run all the way home and wash yourself of the dirty gaze of the ton and hide underneath the blankets so that nobody could ever look at you this way again. You felt small and pathetic and weak. 

You turned and ran; out onto the street where your carriage was still waiting at the corner. You climbed inside and made sure to slam the door and close the curtain behind you before you allowed yourself to collapse, for the first time since this nightmare had begun, into tears. 

The sobs originated deep in your throat and were beyond your control. You had been holding yourself together at the seams for too long and all the built-up emotions exploded like a dam bursting. 

You barely heard the knock on the carriage door. There was a brief pause, and then the door opened a crack. Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was standing before it- dressed handsomely in a dark riding coat with his lips pressed together tightly in a straight line as he took in the sight of you having an emotional breakdown in the carriage. 

“Miss Hong,” he greeted quietly. “May I…?” 

You could not have answered him if you tried. Your throat was raw and you were still incapacitated from the involuntary sobs. Mr. Jeon seemed to realise that a response would not come. In one swift and graceful moment, he entered the carriage and closed the door sharply behind him.

Then he sat across from you and said nothing. 

He sat in silence for a long time. Your sobs gradually died down until eventually you were too tired, too exhausted to cry any more. Mr. Jeon waited patiently. He had the decency not to stare at you; his eyes were politely averted to the side and fixed on a random engraving on the carriage wall. Now and then his dark gaze would flicker towards you and then back to the engraving. 

Mr. Jeon finally broke the silence by offering you his handkerchief. 

You stared down at it for a long moment. It was merely a simple white handkerchief- one that any gentleman would offer a lady shedding tears in his presence. But you saw the calm, patient gaze in his eyes. 

The gesture was, for lack of a better word, a truce. 

You accepted the handkerchief and wiped your eyes and nose silently. 

Mr. Jeon finally cleared his throat. “Are you feeling better, Miss Hong?” he asked. “I apologise for entering the carriage but, well…” he trailed off and sighed. “I thought it would be better than to be seen standing outside, and at this point I suppose propriety is not the foremost concern on your mind.” 

You swallowed. “I am fine.” 

“We should discuss our situation.”

“Yes, well,” you mumbled as you crumpled his handkerchief in your fist. “In case it was not already evident, this ‘situation’ is only now beginning to sink in for me. Although it must please you to see me brought to the mercy of my own vanity; you have often delighted in pointing it out.” 

Mr. Jeon bit his lip. “Nothing about this situation pleases me. I am sorry.”

You frowned at him. Mr. Jeon could be difficult to read, but for once you understood him with perfect clarity. I’m sorry was not an expression of apology or regret. It was sympathy. He was offering his condolences for the brutal end of the life you knew, that you had hoped to lead. 

“Don’t pity me,” you snapped. 

“I was not-” 

“You were. I don’t want your pity. I can take responsibility for my own actions and I am prepared to suffer their consequences. I am a grown woman and you will treat me like one.” 

He folded his arms across his chest and nodded. 

“If you wish. But you are not making the situation any easier for yourself. Your brother informed me that you have refused my offer of marriage,” Mr. Jeon noted quietly. “Naturally, that is entirely your choice. Our acquaintance has not been a smooth one, I know. It is for you to decide whether marrying me is a worse punishment than being rejected and ridiculed by the ton.” 

You looked up at him. “That is a valiant attempt to simplify a complicated decision. Which is the lesser punishment in your view?”

Mr. Jeon blinked. He took a deep breath- his tense jaw relaxed slightly and you could almost see him visibly letting down his guard. 

“Being a man, I have less to fear from the ridicule of the ton than you. But my conscience remains equally troubled in both circumstances. So, I will leave it to you, Miss Hong, since you evidently have far more at stake. My offer to marry you remains open,” he replied diplomatically.  

“You will not resent me?” you asked. “For forcing you into a marriage without love?” 

“I can assure you that any resentment between us would only be from your end; I never had much interest or inclination to marry. I am well aware, however, that you were being courted by multiple eligible gentlemen and were probably intending to marry for love.” 

“I am certain none of those eligible gentlemen will have me now,” you scoffed.  

Mr. Jeon did not reply. 

“I am not sure that- even if we were to marry…” you trailed off and hesitated. “Joshua was right, if we had announced an engagement immediately it might have been brushed under the rug but I am afraid that it is too late now to cover up even with a marriage.” 

“Perhaps not immediately. It might be best to avoid London society for some time. My family’s estate in the countryside is far enough removed from London. If you were to accept my offer, we could live there for some time and return to London after enough time has passed for the worst of it to end.” 

You paused. It was not the life you had ever pictured living. You loved London, loved the society and the balls and the glamour of the ton. You loved being the centre of attention and having a bustling life. 

Or at least you had. 

Considering your current position, moving to a remote countryside estate where you would not have to face any members of the ton almost sounded like a blessing in disguise. You could feel the scales slowly starting to shift. Perhaps Mr. Jeon was right. If enough time passed, you could return to London as a married woman and society’s attention would be far too occupied by the latest bachelors to remember exactly how your marriage began. 

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow as he watched you struggle with yourself. 

“Or…” he suggested. “You could try to go back to the assembly rooms now.” 

You felt it creeping up on you… a mild, unpleasant, sickening feeling. The walls of denial and desperation and pride were crumbling. They could not last long in the face of Mr. Jeon’s calm and logical words. 

You were slowly beginning to feel resigned to your fate. 

“No,” you mumbled. “I cannot go back there. Let us marry.” 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You married Mr. Jeon Wonwoo in a quiet ceremony on a Monday morning. 

It was so methodical and mundane that you barely felt as though you had attended a wedding at all, much less your own.

Weddings were meant to be spectacular displays of love and adoration where two hopeful young people promised their lives to each other. You remembered your brother's wedding just last season: the flowers, and the blushing bride, and the gorgeous wedding dress, and the music as the happy couple left the church. 

There were no flowers at your wedding. There was no gorgeous wedding dress. There was no music. 

There was certainly no happy couple.  

It was a simple ceremony attended by none other than your mother, brother, and sister-in-law from your end, and Mr. Jeon’s parents, sister and brother-in-law. Once you had both made your vows briefly in front of the priest, you went home to ensure that all your things were packed. 

“I have packed seven evening dresses, ten daytime gowns and six nightgowns, miss,” Minnie told you hurriedly as she flew around the room in a frenzy. You sat on the edge of the bed and watched her quietly. “You must give this letter to your new ladies’ maid once you arrive. I have written out washing instructions for each of the gowns.”

She thrust a letter into your hands and then seemed to decide better of herself; she took it back and placed it neatly in the trunk. 

“There. Your new ladies’ maid should find it when she unpacks your things. Now- there is not enough space in the trunk so I will have the rest of your things sent via a later carriage. There are so many other things to take care of- oh! What about your pianoforte? It will not fit in the carriage now but perhaps I can have it dismantled and-” 

You frowned. “Leave the pianoforte here.” 

“Of course! My apologies, miss, what was I thinking? It is far too valuable to be placed on a carriage. I will think of some way to have it sent to you-” 

The door opened and your maid’s rambling was cut short by your mother- the Dowager Viscountess- entering the room. Her eyes were red and you had the feeling that she had been crying. She gave you a small smile. 

“It is time, my dear. Mr. Jeon is waiting downstairs,” your mother told you gently.  

You embraced her. She took a shuddering breath and forced a smile as she patted you on the back. 

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into her shoulder. 

“Of course not, child. You have nothing to be sorry for. Sometimes things happen to us that we do not expect. But I am confident that I raised a strong young woman who can handle anything that comes her way. I love you always.” 

You thanked her and went downstairs. The Jeons’ carriage was waiting in front of your house. Your brother stood near the door to the carriage and he gave you a soft smile. He leaned down to pat your head gently. 

“Well,” the Viscount said in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Look who is a married woman now.” 

You frowned at him. “Joshua.” 

His eyes softened and he smiled at you kindly. “I will miss you, sister.” 

“I will miss you, too.” 

There was a small yip at your feet; your maid had brought Snowball out on his leash and Joshua lifted the little white dog into the carriage before helping you inside. 

Mr. Jeon- your husband- was already seated inside. He placed Snowball on the seat beside him before closing the door behind you and helping you settle in. The carriage slowly began to rattle forward on the cobblestone street towards your new home. 

“We have a long journey ahead of us,” Wonwoo told you quietly. 

You had a long journey ahead of you, indeed- and it began here, and now as you left behind your entire life, identity, dreams and hopes. You would begin this long journey as a new person. 

As Mrs. Jeon. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

[failed-inspection]

Why do you fucking love spearmaster

All jokes aside, thank you for asking!

Design:

I'm a sucker for the color purple, it's my favorite color of all time, and it works really well with spearmaster's pure white eyes and tail spots, almost gives them a space/alien-like feeling in a sense, space is something pretty important to me, so bonus points for that.

Lore:

Throughout the campaign there's this general sense of urgency, the feeling that you need to act fast and maybe, just maybe, there's a chance to make things right, even if you play it while knowing the outcome, that the story's been dead the moment Suns gave out the golden pearl... You feel small, like you're dealing with forces beyond comprehension that you're still tied too. To me, it genuinely does feel like you're a little messenger, slowly learning about the horrors your delivery has brought forth...

Gameplay:

gonna be completely honest I... kinda suck at playing, despite that I looove throwing spears around, and using them as ladder, it's fun to do tricks and stuff with them as well like backflip spearing, it's also just Very fun to hunt imo, really makes you feel like an apex predator!

Implications:

oh boy where do I even begin, for starters, the broadcast signals, I made a post about this a long while ago, but the fact spearmaster visibly seems to react to the broadcast signals in such a harsh way, and the fact they're already translated for the player, means there's a nonezero chance that there's a nonezero chance that they could understand what's being said, and that really is some horrors beyond comprehension stuff going on methinks! Imagine having words your formally couldn't understand directly beamed into your brain, oh man. Alongside that, their drawings! The ones that stick out to me are the drawings of rot and how they draw themself and iterators, both mouthless beings, with mouths to show happiness and sadness, that's honestly a really interesting detail to think about imo!

Misc: I love how weird they are in comparison to other slugcats, they're almost definitely body horror to them (I mean they are in general but you know) and I find that very interesting to explore and think about! Alongside that, I generally have a soft spot for living experiments, not exactly sure why.

[emeraldwit]

Hi hi, this is simpingtmblr, and like. yeah. i ended up writing a 5+1 for the peanut post you made. ive not finished it yet but like simp is my simping alt so had to go on anon. anyway. have a sneak peek bc like holy shit your idea unlocked something in my brain:

“... The other x-men wanted to meet you.”

Wade wasn’t sure what was worse, the hope that entered Logan’s eyes at that or the way he watched the man skewer said hope through with his claws and stamp its head into mulch before his face twisted up into that nasty self-deprecating one that took Wade a couple hours to get off of his face (and Laura a couple less, but the kid had pack-bonded with Logan - he was pretty sure he’d heard both of them refer to her as his kit- so he didn’t have too much jealousy regarding the time difference.)

“The one fuckin’ thing I asked-” Logan cut himself off with a nasty growl before he was pushing himself to be sat up on his behind and ran his hands over his face. A pit opened up in Wade’s stomach (that wasn’t a certain honey badger’s claws or cancer) at the noise and the way that murdered hope in Logan’s eyes started getting desecrated like a certain anchor point’s corpse had in an NSYNC induced fever dream all that time ago. The more he looked up at Wade, the more tired Logan looked, “How did you even manage that one, huh?”

(In the back of his mind, just past that segment dedicated to the boxes and their obnoxious reprimands; and taking a sharp turn past the part of him in a perpetual frankenstein-esque, lovecraftian-rip off realisation of horrors beyond human comprehension - in the face of acknowledging his existence as something human and not in the way something that was played like a goddamn skin suit by other humans in the 3D plain but existed as a sentient creature with its own thoughts simultaneously whilst keenly aware it was also words on a screen and little drawings on pages dumped in the back of some kids wardrobe uncomfortably close to the sex sock could- there was the part of his brain that had seared the way that Logan had looked at him when they’d first met. That pathetic smile when he’d leant his head against the muzzle of his gun and practically asked him to finally put him out of his misery before giving it one last go himself with the help of a bottle and enough alcohol contents in his stomach to have a mortician drunk due to sheer proximity to his corpse. He’d seared that fucking smile into his brain because Wade remembered seeing it in the shitty mirrors of Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Girls back when Vanessa had died.)

I'm so happy I was able to tickle your brain with this. I've read this segment have a dozen times and I'm going to keep reading it.

It makes my brain go burr

[chai-and-cherries]

5 Insanely Underrated (Dark) Queer Book Recs for Your TBR (No Spoiler Reviews!)

I ain’t gonna beat around the bush, folks--this post has been a long time coming. Over the past year, I have somehow stumbled into my new favorite genre, leaving the careful days of YA comforting fantasy reads behind (but not forgotten!). I used to never be one for the dark, grisly, and not so man-made horrors beyond comprehension. But with the help of time, mind devouring storytelling, and gut wrenching emotions the world loves to carve out of us all, tastes have changed! So without further ado, let me recommend 5 of my favorite (darker) queer reads of 2022. Titles are linked to official Goodreads summaries while I have included my no-spoiler reviews below.

Some of these are horror, some fantasy, some tragedy, and most a mix of the above. As the new year draws closer, if you’re feeling ready to branch out (or branch in!!) please consider giving these severely underrated titles a read. And support lesser known authors while you’re at it!

As the title of the post implies, these books tend to brew darker than your average cup ‘a joe. So please heed included trigger warnings and take care! 

1. You Will Love What You Have Killed by Kevin Lambert

(Original title: Tu aimeras ce que tu as tué. English Translation by Winkler Donald).

Genres: Adult Fiction, Horror, Canadian Literature, Queer AF

Review: If you’re not a fan of blood, gore, and every horror under the dying sun, scroll away now. Starting off incredibly strong and incredibly twisted with French-Canadian Lambert’s debut novel, You Will Love What You Have Killed, this novel is neither for the faint of heart nor some of the hard of heart. I went into this book knowing next to nothing about what was in store and left somehow feeling more empty than before. As arguably the darkest and most gory book on the list, this surrealist take on childhood rage and post-humous revenge on the town that discarded you before you had a chance to fight back is bound to haunt you long after you’ve finished it. Lambert’s own style of dark and nauseatingly twisted humor will either seal the deal for you, or leave you running for the hills. To be honest, I loathe this book as much I appreciate the queer, surrealist landscape of apocalyptic vengeance. Brownie points for being flat-out strange.

Content Warnings: if you can think of it, chances are its here. loads of death and murder, including that of children, suicide; ableism; homophobia, transphobia; pedophilia, rape, sexual abuse, explicit sexual descriptions, abortion, necrophilia; animal abuse, killing of animals; child abuse, emotional abuse and verbal abuse (by the narrator); cancer; 9/11 (comprehensive list via Ashton on GoodReads)

2. Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White

Genres: YA Fantasy, Horror, Sci-Fi/Dystopian, Queer AF

Blurb: In this world on the brink of man-made/god-induced apocalypse, trans-boy Benji has to fight not only to survive a hellscape determined to burn itself to the ground, but also his own role in bringing about the End. Hell Followed With Us is a queer rage manifesto, the gospel for those forced to become monsters by the same society that weaponized and then condemned them for being such. White’s novel not only brought healing to a large part of my own religious trauma, but it helped me embrace the very “monster” the so called righteous would have damned. Because when the world will villianize you anyway, revolution may very well be embracing the monster within--the monster the world forced into being. This one is definitely a keeper, and definitely a re-reader. The character diversity in this book is incredible, also for the simple fact that it isn’t forced or seemingly “trying to meet a quota”, and for canonically calling out [redacted].  

Content Warnings: For a comprehensive list courtesy of the author himself, please visit his website here. 

3. Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca

Genres: Adult Fiction, Horror/Psychological Thriller, Short-Stories, Queer AF

Blurb: Shorter but no less impactful than the rest, Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke is a twisted foray into the psychology of human obsession. After reading the blurb, I tried to prepare myself for the following unease and depravity I was promised. And god was that promise delivered on a silver poisoned platter. Set to the backdrop of chat forums and online messaging, LaRocca weaves a sadomasochistic love story between two women searching for deeper connection. But love isn’t exactly the right word, is it? After all, things can only get worse from the start. Suffice to say, wholesome does not live in these pages. And I need more. 

Content Warnings: animal cruelty/death, body horror, gore, mental/emotional abuse, exploration of kink, very toxic example of a dom/sub relationship.

4. Angels Before Man by Rafael Nicolás

Genres: Adult Fantasy, Mythology Retelling, Romance, Paranormal, Queer AF

Blurb: I try not to pick favorites on list recs, but as my most recent read of the year, Nicolás’ debut novel has quickly been shelved in my mind and heart’s hall of fame. Angels Before Man is a queer retelling of the fall of Lucifer from a paradise that may not be as, well, paradise as it seems. With narrative prose so poetic that epics of the ancient world come to mind, and themes of religious rebellion and queer rage reminiscent not only of other novels on this list but also the lives of countless individuals whose love warns at revolution, Angels Before Man tells the story of the greatest disobedience Heaven had to face: the creation of sin, born from the first love that turned a jealous god to rage. As ABM only released weeks ago, I sincerely hope it’s only the beginning for this book and author. Bible? Who needs her. The Word of God? I don’t even know her. I’ve got Angels Before Man. And so will my friends because I’m gifting them this heavenly-gem (heh, see what I did there?) for the holidays. 

Content Warnings: Courtesy of the author himself (list also included at start of book): Blasphemy, off-page sexual assault with related internal monologue post-incident, Self-harm, Atypical depiction of grooming, Animal death, Abuse (emotional, physical), Sexual content, Body horror, Graphic depictions of violence, Incestuous term use, Potential correlation to homosexuality being sinful, Depictions of mental instability

5. Siren Queen by Nghi Vo

Genres: Historical Fiction, Historical Fantasy, Magic Realism, Queer AF

Blurb: Of the 5 recs on the list, I have to be honest and say with full disclosure that this is my one cheat as I have not actually finished it yet. But as I can attest from the 60% progress I have made, along with two of my close friends who recommended her in the first place, Siren Queen is a breath of fresh air in a genre that is understandably stifling at times. Interweaving the monstrous industry of Hollywood with actual monsters, Siren Queen explores the sacrifices made and prices paid for the chance at stardom and just being seen, all while embracing the monster society demands of us. Largely character-driven, this book has been a slower read than the rest, but its commentary on workers’ rights and inequalities, among other social issues often at the forefront of WASPish-run Hollywood, has kept me engaged since the start. 

Content Warnings: racism, racial slurs, fatphobia, violence, family violence, homophobia, sexism, drug abuse, addiction.