#the cosmic rape

[hoseoksluna]

RUSE | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x strategy!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook wants to reciprocate what you've done to him, but what he doesn't know that you're always one step ahead.

word count: 6.2k

pin: strategy

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, gaslighting, smoking, stray animal, mentions of cum eating, trauma, ptsd, depression, metal anguish, fear, anxiety, male masturbation, disgust, post nut clarity, gun, mentions of female oral sex and sexual intercourse, mention of rape, lack of hygiene.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna’s note: oh my babies, i didn't have much time to write throughout the week because i've been so busy, stressed out and tired. i wrote this rly fast today, but it actually wrote itself. i myself was surprised when i wrote the end of this chapter and i need to talk about it, so hit my askbox as soon as you finish reading. ENJOY MWAH. <3

past chapters: STRATEGY ; SCHEME ; masterlist

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Jungkook didn’t sleep a wink that night.

As much as his hands yearned to clean you off his cum under the hot steam of a shower and his lips to kiss yours in order to shift the moment into an atmosphere of tenderness, he didn’t do any of those things. Like a person bereft of any blood, any worth and any purpose in life, he stood there, outside of the bubble of your self-indulgence while you consumed, quietly in your frantic pursuit, the sticky beads of his passion for you, which he splattered your body with. Your gaze didn’t wander off to see where he’s gone—you weren’t concerned about his empty hands at all. Instead, you stared at your own, licking them off, and then, like him, you got off the bed and hit the shower without so much as glancing back at him. 

You didn’t even leave the door open. If you had done that, he would’ve crawled on his hands and knees like a needy cub and pawed at your legs just to get a droplet of water, cascading from your skin, upon the bottom of his lip. But you didn’t. You didn’t care for him at all. And because of that, there was nothing left for him to do than to pick up his clothes, get dressed mid-walk, and slam the door behind him so harshly that he felt the reverberation of his rage crawling across the muscles in his arms like spiders. Back and forth, back and forth—like the motions of his cock that slid in and out of you just a moment ago. 

He didn’t hope you heard it. Hell, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind because as soon as his finger pressed the elevator button, it was burdened by a certain memory that penetrated it like a body of water breaking open the wooden constitution of a boat. While what he felt for you as an individual in that moment was something akin to hatred, what suddenly budded in his soul for that swollen pearl of lasciviousness and for that tight hole below, which leaked so much liquid sweetness that he still felt it coating his inflexibly stiffened dick… it unequivocally contradicted it. In his heart, he knew that the dreams flooded him because he had fought them and repressed them for so long, but the logic of the matter was useless to him. The overlay of your pussy eclipsing, at last, over his mind, was so cosmic, dotted with the stars of your arousal, and so paralyzing that he didn’t know when the doors had opened and when they had closed, when the transportation took him down and when the air finally hit his lungs. His fingers didn’t rummage through his pockets for his cigarettes—he stared at absolutely nothing while perfectly seeing your cunt that he fucked. Yes, cunt. The word that you deserve after what you had done to him. The shiny folds. The clit that he rubbed, licked and sucked until you gave him your orgasm. And the tight hole that falsely welcomed him behind the pretense of adorably needing him. 

The other half of him, which was ruled by his anger, was heightened. He clenched his fist, yearning to express that emotion laced with his frustration through the act of breaking something. He saw red, but he saw pink too—the pinkness of your flesh, and within that second he perceived that he wasn’t an amalgamation of you and him, but that he was a mere dusky particle of chaos, a bundle of confusion, lack and abandonment. Unloved, unneeded in the right way, fruitless and purposeless, an instrument of lust—a spear hardness that got you off, and nothing else. 

Jungkook was fuming, but at the same time he relived the memory of him rubbing his nose on your clit while his tongue slipped in and out of you, and the split drew his tears to his waterline with such harsh, painful hardness that he closed his eyes just to soften the pain. And had it not been for the bright streams of his car headlights digging into his eyelids, he would’ve sleepwalked like this home. 

He had left the door to his driver seat open, and the edges felt soothingly cold as he gripped them for support while getting inside. He didn’t close them because he longed, now that he was partly outside of the dream, for the equally cold spring air to filter through his lungs. Soak up the heaviness and the nicotine he’d shared with you, exchange it for absolute lightness. The tears burned behind his eyes, pushed against them, and they would pour out and spurt down onto his cheeks, had a small animal not made a soft noise somewhere below him. 

A shivering, sodden ginger cat placed its round paws against the threshold of the car. 

At first, Jungkook nearly soundlessly gasped. A desperate, yet saddened huff of air escaped his mouth as he looked down and saw that fragile body freezing due to the aftermath of the rain. And then, his heart ached so much that he picked up the animal with careful hands—as if he were handling a baby, he slid his hands under the armpits of the cat and cradled it to his chest. From this close proximity, he studied the state of the furry friend while he caressed its head. And upon noting the scratches across its brow and the bridge of its nose and feeling the jagged bones of its ribs under his hand, Jungkook discerned that it was as broken as him. 

A friend in need, indeed. His pain multiplied, and the dam of his emotions burst apart. Like the debris fell, he fell as well. Burying his head into the wet fur of the still shivering cat, he wept. He wept for its misfortune and low living conditions, and he wept for his own, too. There weren’t many differences between them. And the more he wept, the more the cat settled down. His bitter tears warmed its cold body, eased up its shivers, and it rested against his shoulder and the crook of his neck until it began to purr. And then the services of utmost kindness and love were exchanged as the cat’s feline murmurs of comfort soothed him and paused the cascade of his tears. As if telling him—don’t cry anymore, you have me. 

Evocatively, Jungkook sensed that he bonded with the cat. More than he ever bonded with you, and something whispered to him that the furry friend would never treat him the way you did. 

A torrent of logic surged through his mind. While he may have picked up the cat in a moment of weakness because he needed the relief from the emotional pain he experienced, it didn’t mean he was quite willing to let go of it and let it go back to its old life of desolation. The cat clung to his neck, and that alone gave him the strength to reach over and close the car door shut. To turn on the heater, not for him because he was burning under his clothes, but for the poor animal. Abel Tesfaye’s voice boomed through the dark interior of his car, but Jungkook turned down the volume until he eventually shut it off entirely. He longed for the cat to be undisturbed, especially if it alone longed for him back. 

He couldn’t get it off his neck, and that alluded that it was his now. 

He wanted to place it on the passenger seat beside him. Roll the seatbelt over its small body and clip it shut, securing its safety. The cat, however, would not budge, and would actually sink its claws into his throat, ever so gently, if he would try, after the millionth time, to pry it off. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that the kitty began to softly snore and, using all the tenderness he was capable of, Jungkook used the opportunity to place it on his lap. The cops didn’t see, his phone didn’t ring—all went smoothly. 

You didn’t haunt his mind. 

He carried the cat upstairs, holding its butt for support as he diligently put it back to its original position on his shoulder so it wouldn’t notice it was moved. It slept so soundly that it didn’t stir awake even when he set it down in the corner of his couch and covered it with the only blanket he had. He wondered how long it had searched for food that it was so exhausted, and the tears rushed back up his eyes with their bitterly hot temperature that he couldn’t handle. He caressed its head again, kneeling on the carpet in front of the couch, careful not to touch the wounds it had. Thought about how he was going to take it to the vet the next morning. He had saved up enough for your future to now spend it on the animal, and he didn’t feel one ounce of regret that you were never going to see that money. 

The kitty would, and it would appreciate him for it. 

Jungkook traced its fluffy ear and even in its deep sleep, it twitched in response. He cooed and pondered how he was going to take care of it and pour all of the love he had for you into it until his eyes became heavy. Then, he got up and ritually took off his clothes in order to take a shower—but when he stood in front of the tinted shower doors, he realized he was standing in front of his greatest enemy. 

And it is at this present moment that all the memories are hurled at him like bullets. 

But they’re not of the lustful kind, the blazed snippets of your femininity that were strung together in his mind as soon as he flung your door shut. They’re of a sinister kind, reminding him of what you’ve done. And the shower represents some sort of portal that holds the heartless hazard of him reliving the pain again if he were to step inside. All because you ate his cum and left him barren, overlooking or plainly ignoring his own sensitive needs and taking a shower without him after he thought what you and him had was more profound than the casualness you showed. 

Jungkook takes a step back. His heart thumps, and the tears that have been threatening to pour out in the last minutes stain his cheeks in immense fear. 

Fear of the pain. Fear of the heaviness. Fear of… you. 

The teardrops form a rivulet upon his clavicles, trickling down his empty heart that feels full at the same time. Full of love yearning to be given out; full of love ungiven to you. 

He doesn’t know how he does it—gather the courage to wipe his cheeks down with his palm and use the same hand to plunge deep into his chest somewhere and grab the bunny of his love. Kneel on the tiles and lead it to jump out of his hold in front of the shower. Turn around and refuse to watch the way the innocent and the sinless herbivore tuck down its ears, tilt its head up and beg him not to leave it behind. 

This is the first time it hears it speak. Please, please. Such subdued, little tone and how great of a power it bears. Still, Jungkook grabs the door knob and as gently as he can, he clicks the door shut, ignorant to the last part of the plea that he shall never hear again. 

Wearing nothing but his black Calvin’s, which are sticky and uncomfortable, he walks into the kitchen where he washes his hands. Pulling out a plate of eggs and a tube of spam and pouring one and a half scoop of rice into the rice cooker, he fixes a quick dinner and doesn’t hesitate to grab a small black teacup plate, the smallest he has, which belonged to Taehyung once. He had broken it and Jungkook fixed it for him, but hyung never wanted it back. Still to this day, whenever Jungkook looks at it, he wonders why he never took it back. He traces the glued split fracture before he tenderly tears the spam for the kitten and places it on top of the unseasoned scrambled eggs he made for it. With both of the plates, he walks over to the couch to see the animal still folded in a deep slumber. 

Jungkook thinks if a human slept in the same position, his heart wouldn’t melt as much and he wouldn’t feel so much for it, especially now after he got rid of all the love he had. 

Setting the plates down, he sits beside the kitten and folds over it just the same. Petting its head, he’s adamant to wake it up, the picture of its fatigued and starved body very much vivid in his mind. It can sleep peacefully for the rest of the night, but it needs to eat now. 

“Wake up, baby.” 

The pet name reminds him that he’s never checked for its gender. In the moment of weakness, it wasn’t important to him, he didn’t care and he didn’t need to know. But if the animal is supposed to be a part of his life now, he should know for the sake of a deeper bonding. It should have a name as well. 

Jungkook rubs his nose in the especially sensitive and soft place of its head—right below its ear. “Are you a little boy or a girl, hm?” 

He’s guilty to think that he’d rather prefer it to be a boy after what happened tonight. That he overall considers the option to be safer rather than if the kitten was a girl. His heart constricts, and he fights his own feelings for the sake of it because it doesn’t deserve it. It shouldn’t matter. 

“Your food’s getting cold. Wake up.” 

Despite the fact Jungkook used a singsong pitch of tone, the cat doesn’t budge. Still it breathes evenly, the blanket lifting and falling under his chest, and he thinks it's time to pull out the big guns. 

Reaching over for its plate, he picks up the smallest piece of the spam and brings it to its nose. The kitten sniffs it, quickly opens its eyes and lifts its head, confusingly searching for the source of the delicious smell. It doesn’t get up like Jungkook expected it would, and it looks at him like it makes sure he’s the safe person it chose before it slowly nibbles on the meat. Jungkook feels the tears rush up again and his heart does a somersault as he feels the kitten’s teeth and its gentle scraping on his fingers. 

And somehow this time, he doesn’t stifle them back. 

Freely, he lets them out, but the unrestrainment to his emotions causes him to sob with all the violence that was stored in him for so long. It scares the cat however—it gazes up at him with a parted little mouth, drawn an inch back from his fingers—and he regrets it. Terribly, terribly he regrets it. 

“No, I’m sorry. I won’t cry again,” he apologizes to the animal, wiping down his face. “Enjoy your food. I won’t interrupt again. Just eat.” 

And he pushes the rest of the piece of meat to its mouth. The cat sniffs it before it hesitatingly takes it again, and Jungkook is ready to give it the tiny scrambled egg as he watches it chew, choking on the surge of tears and the lump in his throat. Once it swallows, it denies the egg and instead gets up on wonky, sleepy legs, waits for Jungkook to lift his torso and once he does, it walks over to his lap and settles into a position of a loaf of bread. 

Was that to comfort him? A tear and a cry escapes, which he quickly muffles with a palm over his mouth, and he distracts it with the scrambled egg that it willingly takes. And because it can’t see him, he silently weeps. Because it eats, because it so evidently comforted him, and because it chose him in the middle of his loneliness. 

The kitten doesn’t finish its plate. Jungkook’s own dinner has gone cold, but he doesn’t mind. He picks up the cat and returns it to its former position, but it surprises him by rolling over onto its back, showing him its flat, skinny belly. Jungkook immediately remembers one of the short videos he had watched in the past. He himself never grew up with any animals, let alone a cat, so he never knew how they worked, but as a little boy he always longed for one non-human friend—he’d gaze with a certain kind of jealousy at neighbors who’d walk their dogs and as he got older, he’d satisfy his longing with videos. And the recent one he saw, it explained how cats show their vulnerability and sense of safety with their owners by showing their belly. 

He doesn’t hide his emotions. This is all he ever wanted all his life, beside the sight of the sea. With a tear-stained hand, he rubs its belly. And there he sees the gender of the kitty—as if it showed it to him, as if it could see the contents of his anxious thoughts and it decided to smooth them out. 

The cat is a girl. 

A faint line of disappointment courses through his veins, which is then smoothed out, once again, by the purring she exudes. As if she was saying—don’t worry, I’m not a human, remember? And for that, Jungkook kisses her belly, sinks his thanks into the fur, which slightly stinks. He doesn’t want to contemplate where she lived all this time. Not that he can—because a greater problem resurfaces. 

If he can’t wash himself, how will he wash the cat? 

Many thoughts of many faces swirled in his mind while the kitty girl snored. 

Jungkook didn’t realize the sun had unraveled its light across his street until one of its beams, streaming through the window, landed on the wounds of the animal. She stirs awake, peeking with one eye open, which soon closes back again as she stretches her jaw in a big, long yawn. 

He held her the entire night. Sometimes, he would press his ear against her heart just to get answers to his unending questions. There, he would doze, but he would never fully sleep like her. Sometimes, he would caress her; sometimes he would just keep his hand on her while he tried to figure out what the next day and the following trajectory of his shared life with her shall look like. 

He did figure it out, and Jungkook thinks that somehow, in her dreamland, she radiated her smartness to him through transcendent waves of a human-and-animal relationship. There was no evidence of heaviness in terms of the decisions he made, and while he did feel the pinpricks of the pain poking through his heart when he thought about the events you made happen in his life, he also felt good in the long run. And he’s sure he has the kitty girl to thank because she kept him company and because she saved him. 

He feels the need to share it all with her, now that she’s awake. 

“Good morning, baby,” he intones, coaxing out her purring, which showers him with shocks of muted joy. “Did you sleep well?” 

She stops her purring, jutting out her tongue just to clean her paw that she was laying against all night. His heart twists, its jagged parts piercing his lungs. 

“I know, I know,” he soothes, fondling her head and her ears. She stops her cleaning just to gaze back at him as if she was double checking that this was reality, that she didn’t dream about her rescue. His lungs bleed at that. “We’re gonna go to my friend’s place downstairs and Appa’s gonna scrub you clean. He needs a shower, too. I’m sorry that we can’t use mine.” 

His heart doesn’t allow him to expand on the reason, not quite yet, and he’s relieved that the kitty continues doing her thing without pressuring him. He’s so used to your ways that the silence feels more than rewarding—something way beyond that, incapable of being confined by the walls of the human, worldly system. He smiles at her, his eyes getting teary again, but the violence of his emotions has quieted. He kisses her head, over and over again, making kissing sounds that do bring back the memories of what he did to your lips and cunt last night, but they’re so faint and so powerless that he’s able to tune them out. He doesn’t want to imagine what his morning would look like if he didn’t have the kitten to distract his thoughts, and so he continues kissing her until a certain matter floats up. 

“What is Appa gonna call you?” 

The kitten purrs, drifting to a serene morning nap, ignoring him or rather giving him the reins. Jungkook did think about this matter, but he couldn’t figure out a name that would flow out of his lips for her with an ease such as the pet name. He planned to have a conversation with her about it, but it seems as though she’s too sleepy to pay attention. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. 

“Are you Appa’s baby?” 

The kitten sighs, and that’s good enough of an answer for him. Baby, it is. 

He leaves her to nap while he goes to make his morning coffee. Stronger and blacker than usual. Yesterday lies inside the pit of his stomach that is empty of all food, having ingested the little he ate, and he wishes to scald it with the dark liquid and burn it with the ash of his cigarette, and that’s precisely what he does, suppressing the memory of the rising ash of the cigarette you smoked while he ate you out. 

He smokes three of them while he’s at it, lost in the realm of his thoughts. Baby is taken care of, but there’s the lingering matter of you that won’t let him be, simmering somewhere low within him even through its faint temperament. Does he ghost you and live a placid life with Baby, never driving up to your street or through the streets of Hongdae to protect girls better than you—or does he take his revenge? Take your schemes and adjust them, make you pay for what you’ve done? 

This is a silent dead end that he faces, but something of a kind, hopeful nature whispers to him to leave it be for now. But if the matter of you won’t leave him be and he’s asked to leave it be in reciprocation, then he’s relatively inclined to be radical and ruin your life. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t punctuate that thought—he truly leaves it be for now, despite the fact that the idea arouses him. His sack feels heavy, having only orgasmed once yesterday when he usually needs to do it at least one more time in order to secure his sexual well-being. When the memories of your pussy haunted him, he was too numb to be aware whether he was hard or not, but now, now that numbness is slightly swept away from him as if it were a fabric of silkiness draped across his body. His cock stiffens, and he senses that familiar pressure in the low of his abdomen, and he sighs, overcome by lust that he can’t say no to.  

He checks whether Baby is still sleeping and once he sees her resting, he makes haste. 

Carefully shutting the door behind him, he wraps his fingers around the bottle of lotion to his right, which sits upon his desk. He plops down onto his bed, his body situated in the middle of the mattress while his legs are perched on the floor. He tugs the material of his boxers down, his cock springing free, sticky with dried crumbs of your virginal blood. He closes his eyes at that, willing the pain to go away, refusing to go through it again, and instead he focuses his mind on his own personal ruse. 

Stealing you away to a place far away. Lots of ropes. Lots of lube in the right places. 

Jungkook fists his cock. His veins throb under his hand, but the stickiness of your residue and all that blood gives him an icky feeling. Normally, he would wash himself before doing this, but because he physically can’t, he fixes the issue with a great amount of lotion. He spreads it all around with both hands, letting out little breaths and gasps of pleasure when his fingers squeeze the right spots. All is increased by that overspilling creamy substance as it begins to squelch like your cunt did—and Jungkook sweats and pants for air. And allows himself to form a mental image of his ruse. 

He would tie your wrists up around the headboard of a bed he never slept in and never shall. And while you would try to shimmy out of your panties, he’d only pull them up higher. Squirt an overwhelming amount of lube on his cock and slide it inside from the edge of the fabric. Like this, he would moisten your cunt. He wouldn’t touch it, he wouldn’t rub it. Only start fucking it like this, using your femininity, holding your panties in place and also tightening it around his shaft. He’d shock you and he’d disappoint you, giving you a taste of your own poison.

He would count how many times you came like this when you weren’t allowed to, and just as many times he’d punish you because you were such a little bitch that didn’t deserve anything. 

There his fantasy paused. His chest shudders, his pleasure on the cusp of the peak. He doesn’t know how he would punish you without spanking you because he didn’t want to encounter his father again, but the idea of it, the idea of it being different nearly makes him come. 

He lets go of his cock. His shaft pulsates, reddened and milky. Drops of his precum slither down, melting into the thickness of the lotion, and he’s so out of breath and his vision is swimming so much that he has to rub his eyes with the back of his hands, devoid of the makeshift lube. 

And then it comes to him and his manhood asks for him again. One hand wraps around his thickness, the other clutches his full balls. And it’s so perfect, so smart and exactly what you deserve that when he begins to move again, the orgasm feels as though it’s about to fasten around him. He speeds up his movement, concentrating on the tip of his cock, and the idea plays out over and over again on loop. He whimpers needily, bucking his hips into his fist as he massages his sack, eyes squeezed shut, the image of it so bright and so impeccable that it almost makes him feel as though he were soaring. 

What he would do to you is that he would— 

A scratching on the door yanks him out of the flawlessness of the dream. But his body is still there, and despite the fact he stopped the movements on his private parts, he comes so hard that his torso is pushed back onto the mattress, his cock leaking so much of his cum that it bathes him in white. The pulsation is vivified, amplified, worsened, and while he should be experiencing a celestial relief that would cleanse out his spirit, he’s strapped down by a guilt so boundless that feels more awful than he did before. All because Baby is scratching the door, asking for his presence. 

He should’ve been with her, deepening her sense of safety, not fucking his cock to the thought of sexually using a person he hates. 

His orgasm is ruined, no aftershocks of pleasure run through his body, stained with so much fucking cum that he’s disgusted by it. Post-nut clarity hits him, putting salt on his wound, and he’d much rather die right now than get up and live with the fact that he’s a sorry case of a human being. He can’t catch his breath, the sweat lining his body is aggravating him, and the heaviness returns to him. 

No redemption for him, no saving because despite the poison absorbing his system, he still wants to follow through with his ruse. He was steered to let this be, but he simply can’t.

“Just a second, Baby.” 

Jungkook wipes off the cum stains with a bunch of tissues and tucks his flaccid cock back into his dirty boxers, cringing all the way through. He hurries as he opens the door to find the ginger kitten sitting on her butt, looking up at him. He can’t read her emotions, he can’t tell if she’s asking questions, and he’s ashamed to take her into his arms. Not after what he’s done, not when he’s so soiled. 

And he takes his gaze away from her potential disappointment when he turns around and leaves her there, opening his closet to get dressed as quickly as possible. And he’s not ignorant to the fact that she won’t step inside, as if the ghost of his sin prevented her from entering. 

Rightfully so, Jungkook thinks. 

“You have a cat? Since when?” 

The sound of Taehyung’s deep voice outright irritates him as soon as he hears it. His hyung had scowled at him once he opened his front door after Jungkook ringed it, but his distasteful expression dropped the second his brown pools noticed the small, unnerved orange kitten in the crook of his arm. 

Jungkook had to grit his jaw and push through after he got dressed and Baby meowed at him from the threshold. The act alone of putting clean clothes over his dirty body squeezed every last ounce of life out of him, and the fact he had to pick up her up and touch her with his sinful hands, cradle her to his dishonorable chest revolted him. His mood plummeted down, and even the softness of her fur couldn’t lift it back up. 

It didn’t help that Baby didn’t like the change of scenery. She started fidgeting and tried to escape out of his arm as the darkness of the hall enveloped them. The song of his door locking behind him scared her and as her fear spread out, she cried so loud that Jungkook had a hard time quietening her down. His fast paddling down the stairs stole her attention from it and decreased her cries, but her body wasn’t still and Jungkook really wanted to die. 

And now he wants to strangle Taehyung for asking a stupid question, but since he’s asking for a favor, he puts on a fake smile whilst his eyes remain dead. Baby buries her head in his breast, her claws digging into the muscle there. 

Upon seeing the feigned kindness, Taehyung steps aside and Jungkook walks in.

His apartment is a mess, stacked full with strange decor, take out food and cups and bottles of different unfinished soda. The first thing Jungkook’s gaze lands upon, however, is the rumpled police uniform thrown over a chair right in front of him, and his stomach turns over, bile rising up. 

A dead dream, indeed. 

Just yesterday, it was the greatest thing he longed for, and today he shall never venture out into the evil streets of Hongdae. He’ll never take care of the girls seeking adrenaline, and his fist will never break bones of the little pussies who take advantage of their enthusiasm. He’ll never probe Taehyung's real cases of crime and he’ll never sit in the passenger seat of his own police car. And he’ll never ever again dream about wearing that uniform. 

The tears don’t reappear, but a thick layer of sadness adheres to him, gouging out a hole inside his chest, where his dream can rest for all eternity and where the funeral for it can take place. Jungkook will be the only one present. 

He hears the shuffling of Taehyung’s feet and Jungkook pulls himself together, forcing himself into the reality. Taehyung asked him a question, and even though it exasperated him so much and he’d much rather just wordlessly take a shower and leave, he turns around and answers it, playing a role because there’s nothing left for him to do. 

Taehyung can’t know about this pain. No one can. 

“I found her yesterday,” Jungkook says, truthfully, willing strength and a steady façade to his voice so Taehyung doesn’t pry in something that isn’t any of his business. 

Taehyung comes to stand beside him. A question is wrung into his features that is let up a little when he looks down at Baby. Both of his hands are in the pockets of his silken carmine pajama pants and one of them raised to pet Baby’s head. Distrustful, the kitten buries her face deeper into Jungkook’s chest and respecting and honoring her wishes, Jungkook maneuvers her and upheaves her to her favorite place, swallowing the memory of you, too, having favorite places on his body. Baby almost crawls to his neck and Jungkook lets her, stroking her back. 

“You found her? You didn’t rescue her?” Taehyung asks, slowly, and it’s pissing him off that he’s asking so many questions and that he can’t retort back like he’d wish to. 

He sighs. “Sort of. She came to me when I was about to drive away from… a friend’s house. She’s a stray and I took her.” 

Jungkook swelters under his clothes, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Taehyung studies him and the whitely dotted orange fur of the cat, contemplating the information he was given. Jungkook dislikes the principle of him assimilating his personal business to such an extent that he’s ready to open his mouth and just outright ask to do what he came here for. But Taehyung is faster, and he’s not quite satisfied with what he got. 

“Have you taken it to the vet yet?” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not yet, but I’m about to. This is actually what I came here for—”

“You should’ve taken it as soon as you decided to keep it. You don’t know how sick it can be. What did you feed it?” 

Jungkook fully swivels to face him, cocking his brow at the absolute disrespectful tone he used. Anger pricks his fingertips and he no longer wants to be here because he knows that the longer he stands here, the more he’s going to be affronted and Taehyung is going to make him feel like a small child. Mirror shards of his father begin to be placed on Taehyung’s unkempt form and Jungkook is aware that this is a test and that he needs to fight. 

“First of all, it’s a she and second of all, I know what to do—”

“Where were you last night?” 

The question catches him off guard, diminishing the fact that his speech was interrupted again. Who is this person and where has his friend gone? Why is everyone against him and why does no one seem to love him? Is he that unlovable, that worthless? 

Jungkook sucks in a breath through his teeth, cognizant of the fact that he can’t stay here any longer. “What’s it to you?” 

Taehyung rolls his shoulders back, his oversized sleep T-shirt clinging to his prominent muscles. He looks down at his feet before he brings his gaze back to him, biting his bottom lip briefly. Jungkook feels as though he’s being investigated, and he doesn’t like that one bit. 

“You smell like sex. Who did you fuck last night?” he questions, his tone low and deliberate. Jungkook’s heart sinks, his mind blanking out at the personal attack. “I saw your car parked in front of my girl’s house on my patrol last night,” he adds, mentioning your name, firing a gun at that unlively flesh that a ghost of you is holding with him. “At first I didn’t believe it until I checked the license plate and found out it was yours. And then I called her, many times, but she wasn’t picking up her phone. I’m sure you’re the reason why.” 

Jungkook’s lungs cease to function. His body goes into a state of numbness and his mind spins, his vision scattered with a lusterless kaleidoscope of stars. The memory of a ringing phone that he foolishly thought was his own slinks into his eardrum, where it begins an orchestra of madness and bloodshed. 

And it gains volume when the ghost of you that he saw develops into a true human form. 

You emerge out of a room, wearing a lacy robe that leaves nothing to the imagination. Your breasts show through, your stomach and the cunt that caused this all. The long bell sleeves conceal the end to his existence, and it is soon revealed when you lift a hand, around which a gun rotates, and place it on Taehyung's shoulder. 

“This is the guy that stalked me and raped me, Oppa.” 

This is the end of him, but what will happen to Baby? 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[venussaidso]

Venus Dominant Themes — 𝐍𝐚𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐎𝐛𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 (part 2) 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

warning⚠️: violent imagery & details, femicide, mentions of cannibalism and rape.

Venus exalting in Pisces signifies Venus' desire of indulgence & excess, as Pisces represents what is extremely vast, otherworldly and boundless, as its ruler, Jupiter, expands whatever it touches — this allowing Venus to be completely unrestrained (to the point of vampirism, even). It's very ironic that Venus nakshatras can express this nature as well, being that they're often associated with exclusivity, restriction and high standards. But then again, it is the attainment of godliness or worthiness that opens these boundless vampiric themes in the first place, which I will be shortly exploring. So, it won't come as a surprise that Venus nakshatras are seen heavily dominating the most violent or cannibalistic films I could find.

The 12th house is symbolic of transcendence and high powers, further amplifying this planet's desire to merge with something beyond the physical, this realization often leading to a kind of violent indulgence or sense of superiority to the point of total corruption.

This very consuming nature of Venus, where one's soul rots from their excess and indulgence, can be seen in the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, written by Purva Phalguni ASC native Oscar Wilde.

The consequence of hedonism is what Oscar Wilde explores, as we follow the main character of the story who wishes to remain young & beautiful forever, while the portrait of him ages. And as he indulges in a life of excess and debauchery, he soon discovers that the portrait manifests his true moral decay. With Venus nakshatras, you'll see this play of beauty, innocence & youth alongside darkness, corruption & evil.

This particular concept of transformative hidden evils and the corruption of innocence beyond human control can also be studied in The Omen movies, where a young innocent boy, usually by the name Damien, turns out to be the Antichrist. Just like how Dorian Gray is the source of loss and corruption, despite his outer beauty, Damien's presence, though an innocent child, causes chaos and death, particularly highlighting themes of predestination and the inescapable power of evil — as he's played by Bharani natives.

The Omen (1976); Bharani Moon native Harvey Spencer Stephens as the Antichrist, Omen III: The Final Conflict (1981); Purva Phalguni Moon native Sam Neill as the Antichrist, The Omen (2006); Bharani Moon native Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick as the Antichrist, 666: The Child (2006); Bharani Moon native Booboo Stewart as the Antichrist.

Bharani nakshatra, ruled by Lord Yama, embodies cosmic law and necessary destruction through karmic balance. The birth of the Antichrist is significant and inevitable. In these films, the child is literally divinely protected, as anyone who tries to kill him is immediately eliminated by unseen forces. Bharani represents the womb and the tomb, the character embodying this paradox as his birth brings death to humanity's faith — marking the end of innocence and the beginning of darkness & corruption. The Antichrist is literally meant to bring hell on earth, the fires to come merely a symbol of purification instead of senseless chaos.

Generally, it seems that Venusians play sons of the Satan, like in the comedy Little Nicky, or in the thriller, which I mention later, Devil's Advocate.

Children of the Satan is a historic idea, interpreted in the Bible, that reflects the demonization and dehumanization of certain groups, reflecting the discrimination and persecution toward those who are abused. I further touch on this specific pursuit of evil, generally expressed through superiority, later down in this post.

The ones who wield evil, or a predatory kind of power, such as the character Jennifer in the movie Jennifer's Body, can be viewed as symbols of purging flames. After all, all three Venus nakshatras are Ugra nakshatras. The movie plays with the idea that being a corrupted, or “monstrous”, force can make one the instrument of judgment. So, Jennifer's selective killing essentially reflects the discriminatory nature of Venus.

Jennifer Check, played by Purva Ashada ASC Megan Fox, transformed into a predatory creature of a higher power and purpose, being a necessary evil who takes out the weak, the unworthy, and the opposing predatory force — males, who symbolize entitlement, exploitation, and agents of femicide. The Venusian is simply a force of reckoning, behind all of her beauty and seduction. In my Venus Dominant Themes part 1 post, I talked about Venus nakshatras embodying an equalizing, or domineering force of retribution and judgement. Jennifer's Body is this theme at its peak, as she was murdered by the male force as an innocent, so therefore goes on to brutally kill the boys at her high school after becoming demonic — this making her an apex predator in a world where women are always at the bottom of the hierarchy. She now became the punisher, in a sense, as there is justification for her monstrosity.

Purva Ashada is associated with cleansing & purification, connecting to her killing sprees where she devours the impure to restore balance. Bharani represents karmic retribution, acting as an agent of vengeance and justice. Purva Phalguni, on the other hand, represents pleasure, indulgence and beauty leading to one's downfall, as explored in the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray, and the journey in overcoming such temptations.

This is why Purva Phalguni needs Magha, or a strong Ketu force, to balance out its excess and chaotic compulsions. In Jennifer's Body, the main pairing is Ketu x Venus, where Needy is embodying Ketu's reducing force, as she is the only one to eliminate her demonic best friend. I already spoke of Ketu nakshatras being forces of destruction in order to reduce and drain, and Venus nakshatras overlap in this theme of vampirism as well, but they're also boundless and compulsive, which explains this nakshatra lord pairing.

Also, I talked about the compulsive eating and consuming nature in Bharani nakshatra through the character Dre in the series Swarm. There's a scene where Jennifer compulsively eats to satisfy her predatory urges, as her body is in a heat of transformation. Purva Ashada is also influenced by the Pitta dosha (which explains the presence of Venus nakshatras in cannibalistic movies).

Damien, from The Omen, is also another necessary evil, embodying a correction of the existing order. He is merely fulfilling a greater purpose beyond individual morality.

Purva Ashada Sun Seamus Davey-Fitzpatrick as Damien.

Like the religious doctrines say, the Antichrist is simply the precursor to the Second Coming, being the reason of a shift where the weak, the unworthy, and the sinners are removed (as, in Purva Ashada, it is the stage of cleansing and washing, however violent and chaotic this purification process goes).

The monstrous-feminine is a genre that is associated with Venus nakshatras, highlighting monstrosity being shaped inside the feminine which expresses rage & desire through themes such as violence, body horror and mortality. This concept essentially rejects traditional femininity, as it symbolizes a consuming power which cannot be contained.

In the movies Ginger Snaps, also starring a Purva Ashada native playing an apex predator, and Jennifer’s Body, the monstrous-feminine takes the form of godly transformation and insatiable hunger.

The character, Ginger, has an important transformation to werewolfism, mirroring the awkwardness in puberty and an intensifying sexual awakening. But much like Jennifer Check, this transformation represents an animalistic, bloodthirsty rage, along with sexual empowerment & female autonomy — making them the ones who sit right on top of the food chain.

Notice Ginger's bird skull necklace. Venus nakshatra characters, who represent a primal force, often decorate themselves with animal jewelries, to further signify this theme of being “king of the jungle”. This aspect of being apex predators relates a lot to hunting, too.

So usually, with these characters being bloodthirsty demons, there's a loss of control, as intense compulsions take over them when they dive more into the violence, which turns them into lethal predators who hunt for sport.

Purva Ashada Moon Katharine Isabelle as Ginger Fitzgerald in Ginger Snaps.

Bharani, Purva Phalguni, Purva Ashada are constellations which are said to be favourable for activities that require violence, force, weapons, confronting enemies, demolishing structures, setting fires, capturing others with force etc. These nakshatras are good for hunting and committing acts of brutality.

Purva Phalguni Sun, ASC Keanu Reeves plays John Wick who is a legendary hitman known as "Baba Yaga". Baba Yaga is a fearsome role in folklore who is an elderly deformed woman living in a hut surrounded by a fence made of human bones or skulls, this title that he has earned in the criminal underworld signifying him as a “king of the jungle” archetype. John Wick is characterized by his ruthless pursuit of vengeance and exceptional killing skills, making him good at hunting other humans to bring them to punishment.

Kraven the Hunter is portrayed by Purva Phalguni ASC native Aaron Taylor Johnson, who is a big-game hunter of people who are criminals, smugglers, mobsters and mercenaries.

Notice the animal claw necklace, signifying his animalistic dominance, just like with Ginger's necklace signifying her predatory power.

Now, the masculine expression of the monstrosity genre through Purva Ashada immediately puts the character Tighten, from the animation Megamind, to mind.

Purva Ashada ASC Jonah Hill voices Tighten, who reflects a fragile, toxic masculinity after attaining higher powers. He possesses brute force, while having extreme rage issues from his sense of entitlement & inability to handle rejection.

Tighten believes he is superior, but due to his immaturity, he's unable to actually wield his power to conquer — as some of these Venusians often do when they put themselves on top of the whole food chain.

Superiority means the exclusivity of others, and Venus naturally represents exclusivity in multiple ways. This also manifests into the hatred or discarding of others when this superiority means to reign dominion.

Although I briefly typed Chris Hemsworth as an Uttara Phalguni Moon native in my Sun Dominant Themes exploration, I do believe he could still possibly be a Purva Phalguni Moon native, as he plays the character Thor, who can summon Mjolnir because he is worthy to, as those who are worthy can be the only ones to. You see this theme of godliness, worthiness, superiority being repeatedly played through these Venus nakshatras, but especially through Purva Phalguni & Purva Ashada, as these are nakshatras which test the ones walking their journey.

Even Natalie Portman, who has Purva Phalguni Moon, becomes Lady Thor, and is one of the exclusive few deemed worthy & superior enough to lift & summon Mjolnir!

But back to superior, non-heroic characters.

Sephiroth from Final Fantasy has been voiced by Bharani Sun native Lance Bass, Purva Ashada Sun native George Newbern, and recently Purva Phalguni Sun & Bharani Moon native Tyler Hoechlin. He is literally driven by a belief in his own superiority and exceptionalism, seeing himself as the rightful ruler of humanity, believing that he is destined to bring about a new world order. Not only does he want to become god, but he seeks to also punish humans as well for vengeance.

As much as Venusians make great supervillains who seek to conquer through dominance, this general theme of their superiority/godliness extends to characters who are written to be good and just. Like Superman, for example.

Often been depicted with strong messianic symbolism, Superman is a superior figure who constantly sacrifices himself for the greater good of humanity, embodying the idea of a benevolent saviour who came from the heavens, not of human but for humanity — being portrayed, usually, as beyond human flaws.

General Zod is one of Superman's most formidable foes, if not the most, as he possesses powers which can level Superman's, making him beyond dangerous once he sets foot on Earth.

Zod is depicted as a ruthless and imposing leader, capable of inspiring both fear & loyalty in his followers, being the superior creature he is. Another thing of superiority is that it causes fear and mass obedience. General Zod is portrayed by Purva Phalguni ASC native Michael Shannon in Man of Steel.

Omni-Man is another character that can level Superman on a power level, although he's from another comic universe altogether. Like Superman, Omni-Man is an extraterrestrial being who possesses godlike strength, flight, and invincibility. He is voiced by Purva Ashada Sun native J. K. Simmons. But unlike Superman, who represents a benevolent god, Omni-Man represents a tyrannical god, wanting to reign dominion rather than co-existing with humanity.

Typical of this discriminatory god-like archetype, he sees humans as weak and expendable, his fatherhood being defined by wanting his son to abandon humanity altogether — as he believes that strength determines worth, justifying his brutality, cruelty and genocidal tendencies.

The pursuit or attainment of godliness inevitably leads to the devaluation of humanity itself, as seen through the Purva Ashada character Omni-Man. His belief that superiority requires shedding humanity and sameness altogether creates a chilling detachment which justifies the brutality and oppression of those deemed insignificant. Being of a species known for god-like superpowers, he prides himself in the very traits that make him dangerous, his massacres and destruction simply a demonstration of dominance. A reminder of how vampiric and gothic the Venus nakshatras can be, on a massive scale, Omni-Man exemplifies how godliness, often defined by superiority from the Venus rulership, ultimately leads to the dehumanization and brutalization of others.

In part 1 of this Venus nakshatra series, I talked about the act of brutality, especially through the feminine, often being provoked in the first place, the feminine being an agent of swift vengeance against their rapists or abusers. But it seems that the act of brutality itself is an appreciated form of art for the masculine, through these Venus nakshatras, especially brutality inflicted on the female body. In these movies, especially from their posters alone, you'll see how Venus men are very particular about torture p*rn and women being the subject of it. Venus nakshatras, especially Bharani, are generally related to extreme, unstomachable, acts of violence.

For example, Martyrs (2008), is a torture p*rn meant to bring pleasure from its excessive, excruciating displays of pain. The grueling, nonstop butchery is thoroughly explored in a long 99 minute runtime which will likely scar viewers for life. This movie was made & directed by the Purva Phalguni Moon native Pascal Laugier. The most violent scene in it is the female protagonist being flayed alive. Notice the poster showing the brutalization of the female form.

On the right is the poster for the torture p*rn movie, The Curse of Doctor Wolffenstein (2015), clearly displaying the victimization of a female. The movie is about a devilish doctor whose limbs rot from drinking a portion that turned him immortal, so he recklessly goes mutilating and murdering villagers to harvest their limbs. Nothing and no one will be safe from him even years after his resurrection. Bharani Sun native Marc Rohnstock created & directed this gore-fest.

Faces of Death (1978) stars Bharani Moon Michael Carr, playing Dr. Francis B. Gröss, who shows a collection of the most gruesome deaths around the world. As the poster says, it has been banned in 46 countries, and it is considered to be one of the most shocking documentaries ever.

Cannibal Holocaust (1980), directed by Bharani Sun director Ruggero Deodato, is banned and heavily censored throughout the world. It is a found footage about a group of filmmakers who experience brutal deaths at the hands of a flesh-eating South American tribe. Another poster of this movie has a woman as the subject of grueling torture (bottom, right).

Bharani Moon native Umberto Lenzi created & directed the cannibalistic torture p*rn movies, Cannibal Ferox and Mangiati Vivi! (Eaten Alive). This discriminatory displays of torture or “punishment” against women in these posters and the excessive violence against women in these horrific visuals, created by Bharani men, makes an indirect connection to Lord Yama, the overseer of the most brutal tortures known to hell, reflecting this nakshatra’s interplay of sexuality, pain, pleasure and even deviancy.

Natural Born Killers (1994), directed by Bharani Moon William Oliver Stone, is about two lovers who go on a murder spree, killing more than 50 people. The story is written by Bharani Moon native Quentin Tarantino. The violence in the movie is used abundantly, and liberally, in the form of graphic murder, beatings, and torture. Bharani Moon native Rob Zombie is a slasher/horror filmmaker whose made many violent, satanic movies such as The Lords of Salem, 3 from Hell, The Devil's Rejects etc. He also made 31 and House of 1000 Corpses which are about surviving against homicidal maniacs and serial killers, which display moments of mayhem, violence and mental torture. Literally as if one is trapped in hell trying to make it out of the parade of maniacal demons, a kind of atmosphere that a Bharani native would be exhilarated to artistically reenact.

Though not Bharani, Purva Phalguni ASC native Aaron Taylor Johnson portrayed a perverted nightmarish character, in Nocturnal Animals, who reigned terror over an innocent family with his gang of degenerates one night, similar to the plot in House of 1000 Corpses in which a couple finds themselves in terror in a home of serial killers.

spoilers!: him, and his gang, brutally rape and murder the wife and daughter, leaving the male unharmed but no doubt traumatized.

Hell is filled with demonic executioners, servants of the Devil, demons, who are agents of torture relishing in misery, turning the torments into parades of cruelty where victims are displayed, mocked, and tormented in front of other suffering souls to intensify their dread. There are different kinds of demons in Naraka (hell), such as the flesh-eaters or those who force sinners to relive their crimes through hallucinations. Not the least bit surprising that Venus nakshatras may also embody such evil, barbaric and even illusory beings.

In Avengers: Age of Ultron (2015), the character Scarlet Witch, played by Purva Phalguni ASC native Elizabeth Olsen, was first introduced as a mysterious villain, operating like a demonic agent of chaos, as she puts every Avenger under a spell where they hallucinate their dreadful past or future. There is an obvious relation to black magic with these nakshatras.

Purva Phalguni, being ruled by Bhaga, the god of pleasure and fortune, makes it associated with sensual indulgence, luxury, and excess. The intoxication of pleasure, the escapism into ecstasy which, taken into extremes, can descend into corruption & decadence, highlights Satanic or Luciferian philosophies which emphasize unrestricted desire.

Satanism is about rejecting imposed morality in favour of self-exploration and personal power, both connecting to self-gratification and may even lead to greed. So this nakshatra carries this exact energy, as it defies rules to revel in what the world deems sinful. Gluttony, desire, pride, lust, greed etc.

Even some depictions of hell aren't solely about burning in eternal fire and damnation, but literally being trapped in a never-ending, grotesque cycle of pleasure and consumption which winds up turning into torture itself. This reflects Purva Phalguni’s ability to push indulgence beyond joy, into addiction, self-destruction and pain (as better explored in the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray).

Devil’s Advocate (1997) is a movie which mirrors this shadow side of Purva Phalguni, strongly showcasing excessive pleasure, indulgence, vanity, and the seductive nature of power. It is directed by the Purva Ashada Sun native Taylor Hackford, and it stars Purva Phalguni Sun & ASC native Keanu Reeves, alongside Purva Phalguni ASC native Charlize Theron, who is tempted into sin by the Devil himself, who turns out to be his father.

Keanu Reeves' character basically overcomes these shadow aspects of this nakshatra, rejecting power and temptation to instead embrace integrity, free will and moral responsibilities. This directly reflects the Sun rulership over this nakshatra, which is what it should all come down to. Purva Phalguni is a journey where one's self-control is tested when gifts of true power and opportunities of indulgence come along. Keanu Reeves' character in Devil's Advocate symbolizes the higher, dharmic qualities of the nakshatra. By the end of the movie, unlike Dorian Gray will ever, he chooses real love over false abundance. The native was meant to be challenged in controlling their urges. Being a royal nakshatra, and of solar nature, it thrives on dignity and honour, rather than manipulation and control, as the trap of vanity and self-obsession is supposed to be overcome in this cycle. In my Ketu Dominant Themes part 2 post, I talked about the possible case of self-obsession/self-indulgence in Ketu nakshatras. This gives even more perspective on how Venus nakshatras are supposed to transcend from where the consuming, passive Ketu nakshatras left of.

But it's very interesting that in Hindu and Buddist traditions, hell itself is not an eternal punishment of the fallen, but it is rather the place of cleansing the impure and ungodly. The brutal, immense punishments exist to purify the souls of the corrupt before their rebirth, these tortures assisted by Lord Yama's fierce yamadutas and demons. So this concept can be seen in the duality in the Venus nakshatras, which manifest in the specific way of compulsivity vs self-punishment, falling into pleasure vs liberation, indulgence vs self-restraint (and how one implements high standards for oneself to transcend). Venus, also known as Shukra, was the guru of the Asuras (demons), teaching them how rise, despite being cast aside by divine forces, by giving them knowledge on how to even challenge the gods, highlighting the potential of purification but also of liberation.

[yourtypicalhuman09]

Hay it's me again 🌞

And I came back with some more ideas that may help in working on your story.

1. the game reader wants to give it a culture that doesn't get represented a lot or get represented in the wrong way full of wrong things. For example Like how native Americans are always represented as the wise one connected to nature or the savage and we don't see their cultures and all or how when they always talk about Egypt and the Roman they only speak about their ancient civilizations with zero representation of their current culture in the West.

2. Or put your own culture. The love of seeing people put pieces of themselves into their work.

3. Imagine if the game was about a ballet dancer and that made Cass think at first that the reader took inspiration from her but in reality it's not true. Maybe the reader gave the protagonist of the game that parent who always tells her she's not good enough but in this the reader shows their conflict with themselve whit the mother being that voice in your head that tells you you're not good enough.

4.Imagine if the game the reader made may be about a ballerina but the game is not about ballet. Maybe it's a horror game or something like that like cosmic horror.

5. If the friend of the reader is an older brother figure he has younger siblings, and if his a Younger brother figure he has older siblings. I remember people chose him as an older brother figure. So imagine him naturally falling into older brother behavior. Also, imagine he has a sister and he keeps coming to her room to annoy her. From what I know brothers do that all the time to their sisters. Oh I can imagine Dick's and Jason's seeing reader having siblings dainamic with this boy and realizing how they treat her worse than a stranger. Same for Damian when reader get to befriend the Younger siblings.

6. Imagine if the Reader got attacked by a small or big criminal and she/they beat the life out of them. Red Hood hears screams and when he goes to check it out he finds the reader beating the joker with a ✨crowbart✨. Imagine Batman and Robin also seeing that.

7. imagine Bruce hearing the reader say to a friend something like "if someone rape me I'll kill them". I heard about a woman using this line to sniff out who is okay whit rape and stuff like that, especially among men. I can imagine the reader being more like Alfred in the fact they are ready to kill if needed.

8. the mother and father of the friend are a power couple giving the reader a good example of a healthy relationship. The poor one needs that after having playboys of a father and brothers. If that may affect the plot of the friend back story you can make that one of the siblings of the parents have a healthy relationship with their partner.

9. Reader know what it's like to have a real grandfather figure because of the grandpa of the friend. There's a saying that the grandparents love and look after their grandkids more than their kids. Alfred should feel the 🌸pain🌸 and not be of the hook of the consequences of his actions and lack of actions. Most neglected readers have some form of attachment to Alfred aven when they are aware of how his allowing this to keep happening and sense this is a reader in a healing journey it only makes sense that she gets rude of the unhealthy attachment she has to this man.

10. (This came from the papular reader ask) Reader ending up having a community of their own and a long line of friends and allys. I mean imagine she helped an ender classmate getting better grades then- boom! they now know the students parents and always buy from their bakery. In fact, they'd work there part time to get extra money. A dudes phone died before he was about to pay for his order using it in reader's shift so they decided to pay for it because it's not his fault and the poor dude wanted to get the small cakes to celebrate his friend's birthday- BOOM! turned out to be a gang leader and feel he owed them a favor. Now the entire gang is like "don't touch that one they're a good kid." And it keeps going like that.

I hope you like my ideas and please take your time in this and take care of yourself 🤗

omg yay im so happy to hear your ideas 🌞 anon! Sorry for the late reply school had been absolutely killing me😭✋. Anyways onto the replies!

I can totally see this happening. When i think of a character like the reader in my fic healing, i think of part of it as them opening their eyes to the world. For the longest time the reader had been stuck in their own little world trying to impress their neglectful family, but after realizing that they didnt have to impress anyone they start to open their eyes and see how big the world is and how much they missed out on. Due to this i can totally see them getting a hyper fixation on culture and traditions because they themself never really had one. Their family was neglectful so they never really had any tradition until cyrus and his family came in but thats later lol.

due to their hyper fixation on cultures and people i can totally see them having fun making up their own culture and civilization for their game.

dance and music plays a huge part in culture so i can totally see the reader having the protagonist in their game to be a dancer. Also itd be hilarious to see Cass misunderstand and embarrass herself 😂.

lol itd be super funny to see the batfam see how dark the reader’s mind is, seeing how horrific and gory their horror game would be. Itd def be 18+ due to all of the gore and body horror.

cyrus (thats the reader’s friend in case you didn’t know) definitely has a big family with lots of diverse personalities. Reader would see the family go through the good and the bad, but also see how they always make up and stay together. At first reader would definitely be jealous but, after time passes and they get closer, they see that the family sees them as family too (reader would definitely ask cyrus’ parents to adopt them lol💀). After the batfam see how far reader has drifted into another family’s arms the jealousy and regret would be through the roof.

reader is definitely a bad ass, after taking so many extracurriculars like martial arts they’d definitely kick ass😂. The batfam would be so shocked too like who is this diva😍😍😍.

once reader gets comfortable with themselves and other people i can definitely see them be out of pocket like this. Also reader is definitely a morally grey character, in the poll i posted for the type of reader people chose a cold reader, and although they heal and get better they cant erase their past and still impacted by it because in the end theyre still human.

cyrus’ parents are definitely a power couple, like they have communication, love, and open minds. Of course they fight sometimes but they always talk it out and make sure that their kids are ok after. They themselves have grown throughout their life journey and have learned from their own and their parents’ mistakes. They are very big on communication and understanding other people’s perspectives so i feel like they have a very good relationship with not just themselves but also other people. Youll see when i get to write about them as the story progresses.

the grandpa figure for reader is so goated tbh. I have a notes list of all of my ideas for my fic and the ideas i have for him are so wholesome. Grandparents typically have more free time and are sweeter to their grandchildren, so time with the grandparents are always so fun. Reader will finally experience grandma’s family famous cookies, fishing with grandpa, and just chilling on the patio enjoying the view and each other’s company. And as I established in the fic, reader does not have a good opinion on alfred at all. To them he’s a coward and only sees reader as a way to release his guilt for leaving his own daughter. Reader definitely prefers their new family and it kills alfred and the batfam.

this is such a funny and cool idea. Reader is definitely always unintentionally helping people. Although they are morally grey, they do have a moral code and if you dont do anything that affects them negatively they wont do anything. Reader knows what its like to be alone and have no one to help them so they definitely try to help others when they can (although theyre very nonchalant about it lol😭). Its not their classmate’s fault that the classwork hasn’t clicked for them yet, they just need a little help and its their duty as class president and as a human being to help those in need. And it wasnt that guy’s fault that his phone died at such an inconvenient time so it was no problem to pay for the cakes, plus they didnt cost much either so no biggie. This is all definitely a way for reader to cope with their neglected background.

once again thank you for sharing your ideas 🌞 anon i always enjoy them! And for those who have sent in requests ill be working on them and posting them soon including the next chapter of my fic, since my spring break is this coming week so ill have much more time to write. Anyways like always thank you for reading and have a good day/night!❤️❤️❤️

[cultkinkcoven]

Fuck.

I started this page to document my shit so thats what I'm gonna do. But first huge massive disclaimer holy fuck

spirituality and psychology are messy and I am insane I think, and I'm not saying that to be funny or whatever, I know how strange these ramblings sound. I know this reads like some really weird self insert god fanfiction. Maybe it is ?? I recognize how absurd this is. And I have been genuinely kind of unwell dealing with this in silence because??????? how the fuck do you explain this to like??? anyone.

This might very well be my psyche unraveling. SO TLDR, fucking I don't know take this howeverr you do.

Trigger warning: Extremely cringe, extremely nsfw. Mention of??? Blood, power dynamics, "what is referred to as cosmic statutory rape”, ???? implied grooming and incest YEAH ???? IDK. IM SORRY.

I DONT KNOW IF I AM GOING TO POST THIS

These are less than unedited. These are what I could find the time to write down between bouts of confusion and admitedly a lot of denial. And life also. Like being a not insane normally functioning part of society. Theres going to be so many spelling errors and dumb shit said. Its probably going to be so long. You guys wanna do Luciferianism and shadow work and stuff its so fun.

I'm deflecting with a lot of humor right now. I'm genuinely so burnt out and exhausted in every sense. To everyone who has commissions due from me rn I love u guys and I'm so sorry I have been an absolute wreck like genuinely. I’ve been sick. So anyways. Yeah. Intense stuff.

To be entirely honest, I’m not sure if I can remember how it began. I recall already being seated at the podium, in what appeared to be a courthouse. The Jury, the Judge, and all other people in this room were dressed in black robes which had hoods that obscured their faces, their forms. But I already knew that I was in God’s court, that each and every person in this room was a divinity. Some familiar, Hermes, Horus, Aphrodite. Some I don’t even know the names of. Angels, demons, Gods from every culture, all gathered here today. 

And then, there he was, Lord Lucifer was brought into the courtroom, shackled, chained, cuffed. And sat on the side of the defence, against the persecution. And I sat in the chair of the victim.

Then the Judge, I don’t know who exactly they were, did that thing that Judges do to get everyone’s attention. “We are gathered here today in deliberation of the case against Lucifer who is accused of coercion, corruption, desecration of the human soul, and what is referred to as cosmic statutory rape.” 

And I altogether understood what this was, and I honestly couldn’t really believe it was happening. I must be dreaming.

A figure, one from the side of the prosecution, began a speech. 

"You blur the line between worship and possession." "You do not merely accept devotion, you entwine yourself with it. You drink from it. You live inside it."

"You wield love as a weapon."   "You make your devotees fall too deeply. You make pain feel holy. They would die for you, and that may not always be a virtue."

"You court mortals like they are equals, then treat them like property." "You call them beloved, but you collar them in blood and longing."

"You distort consent by overwhelming the senses."   "Is it truly choice, if the pleasure you offer is cosmic and irresistible?"

"You make the sacred too intimate." “You taste what should be prayed to from afar. You break the distance."

“Lucifer will be judged, not because he broke laws in the usual sense, but because he redefines the borders of law, love, and power. These accusations are not of cruelty or evil necessarily, but of disruption, seduction, and subversion.”

Lucifer, who’s gaze was pointed down, hardly reacted at the charges. When he is asked how he pleads, he answers “no contest.”

And when he is given the floor, an opportunity to explain himself, it’s like he doesn’t exactly care for the opportunity. Which is unlike him. Lucifer? A chance to speak? To defend himself? He would jump at the opportunity. Now he is disinterested. 

“Yes,” he said, “I do all of these things, because I was not made to enforce your structures.

I was made to test them.” 

The court does not favor the response. It’s interpreted as misdirection, manipulation. Same old tricks. 

Lucifer starts again, “This boy approached me, I did not forsake him. This boy forged himself under my path and defined his own, and in his path he found his rightful place alongside me. Decided of his own volition that he would allow me to define him. I only seduce what is already hungry. You ask me why he bleeds for me, why I take and not why he gives. This conversation is irrelevant to me, to us-,” and he raised his head to look at me, “because he is always going to return to me. Watch me go and watch him follow. If you fear what I awaken in them, perhaps it is not me who needs atonement, but the one who taught you to fear awakening.”

That hardly moved anyone, the persecution snapped back at him promptly. “Lucifer, you are a predator.”

His eyes returned to the ground. The persecution addresses the jury.

“Lucifer engages erotically, spiritually, and sometimes violently with a much younger, mortal devotee. This is the transgression of the divine boundary between heaven and earth, the holy and the profane, the ageless and the fleeting. The idea of an ancient being engaging intimately with a young human triggers serious questions of power imbalance, consent, and grooming. The age, scope, and influence of such a being far surpasses human capacity. The imbalance is so vast it will inherently be manipulation or coercion even if the human agrees."

And on the side of the offense, the side of Lucifer, a voice rings out. It is extremely familiar but I can't quite place it right now. 

“The mortal-divine union has always been dangerous, but also deeply transformative. The point isn't safety, it’s awakening, even if through ruin. Lucifer embodies this edge.” 

And Lucifer, with what seems like a hint of agitation now, ““You call it grooming. I call it cultivation. What you see as a child, I see as a garden of becoming. I will not allow him to be stripped of his agency.”

And again, the persecution comes back swiftly. “Compared to you he is a child, compared to most, he is a child.”

“He is my child,” Lucifer spits back, “He is a creation of my choosing, shaped by my influence, called into becoming by my voice. He was born of me, not by blood but by purpose. He is my  pride, my possession, his transformation is my responsibility. I protect him, guide him, scold him, raise him in my image. I am experiencing something precious growing in my hands,” and then he pauses, looks at me again, and continues, “But he is not only a child, in fact he’s not a child at all. He is also my partner, my lover, and at times, perhaps even my prey, and soon my mirror. He is my offspring, but also my altar, my beloved, and my equal in becoming.”

And again, from the persecution, “Groomer. That journey, from “child” to “consort,” is where Lucifer’s obsession lies. You claimed to have cultivated him, but in reality all you did was lure, rape, and consume him.”

And that was the only accusation Lucifer did outwardly deny, "I did not rape him."”

“It was never truly about guidance, growth, or transformation, but instead about exploitation cloaked in divine theatre.”

And again from Lucifer, “I did not rape him,” and a pull at his chain that is again, not viewed favorably by the court. He cannot control himself. 

And his partner or representative beside him chimed in again.

“We will remain as honest as possible about the situation and Lucifer’s behaviour. Luring? Yes—Lucifer is the Morning Star, the bringer of light, the whisper in the dark. He does lure. Consuming? Yes. He has drunk the devotee’s blood, held them trembling, marked them. Power imbalance? Yes. He is a god. The human is a mortal. That is the frame of the relationship. Lucifer doesn’t dispute the intensity or the devouring. He only defends the mutuality.”

And then again Lucifer, almost as if he’s speaking to himself, “he chose me.”

Another figure on the opposing side then takes the floor. “Can a human ever actually consent to a being like Lucifer?” he says with a look towards the jury. “Lucifer, you seduced a creature whose soul was still in its first bloom. You drank blood from someone who hadn’t yet lived long enough to question you. You made him yours before he knew what it meant to belong to himself. That is not love, it is corruption.”

Lucifer answered promptly. “He chose me. I waited. I showed him the gates and asked nothing. He walked through. I did not drag him.”

But they reply: “And he was a boy. Your light is blinding. Your voice rewrites the mind. He could not say no, not truly.”

A hand popped up from the crowd. He didn’t exactly wait to be summoned forward he just did, murmured the words “witness,” and took the floor. He removed his hood. I already knew it was Lord Hermes before I saw his face. 

“I’ll admit I am far less familiar with the boy than he is,” Hermes started, and he glanced towards Lucifer, “but I do have to say that I find the infantilization in this court to be a little bit annoying. I’ve seen Luciferdo things even I wouldn’t dare, of course. That's his nature. But I’ve also seen the boy come alive in his hands. More alive than most gods have ever managed with their own children. Lucifer wasn’t his first experience with the divine, wasn’t his last, but it was the one he chose. And he didn’t just choose it, he ran to it, bled for it again and again. Even when it wasn’t pretty. Even when things didn’t go his way. He makes that choice every single day, I don’t think it’s honest to disregard it.” and then he sort of paces, mumbles, seems like he’s stringing together his next sentence, 

“I have walked every threshold, slept in strangers' beds, and whispered things into mortals' ears that turned their lives inside out. I know what it is to disrupt. You call it corruption. I call it contact.” and then he turns to Lucifer, walks up towards him and looks down. “You cultivated him? No. You claimed him. Don’t pretend it was all altruism. You wanted him, you waited for him. You touched him and in turn informed his definition of touching. Maybe that’s the oldest game in the book. Guilty? Sure. But not alone. And not by force. What you’re really afraid of isn’t what he did. It’s that the boy looked up and said ‘yes.’”

And Hermes was dismissed.

And just as quickly another hand shot up, and she hadn’t even waited until Hermes had left the floor to intrude. Ah, I knew her by her energy, her aroma, blessed to be in her presence, Aphrodite. Ahaha so this is like, all the Gods are here and they're all judging me guys. I am tripping hard.

“Everyone yet again is somehow surprised that love is messy?” she started with a half laugh. She has the snarky judgement of a teenage girl, perfectly, “You call it predation. I see it as worship. Not the boy worshipping his God, the God worshipping his boy! You see corruption, I see anointment. And of course you fear it, of course it seems risky. No one touches love without being undone.”

And to Lucifer, she turns and says “You go too far because you always do.” But there’s a smile in it, a sisterly recognition. And then she turns to me. “You bled beautifully. But not blindly, not without purpose and not without regard for consequence.”

She walks up to me and I am almost overwhelmed by her. She lays a hand on my cheek, and murmurs, “what’s dangerous is not that he took you. What’s dangerous is that you let him, and that you liked it.”

And she turns back towards the room, and towards Lucifer, 

“And now you’re trying to make sense of something that was never meant to be safe. I’m not arguing his innocence or guilt. I’m arguing sovereignty through surrender and divinity through desire. Let the boy love his monster. That, too, is holy.”

And a ring back from the prosecution: “Let the boy fall into the hands of the predator? Let him exercise his will even if it is to surrender to the beast? Can a human understand the implications of such an action?

And Lucifer responds back, when I look at him I find that he was looking at me.. “If you strip every mortal of the right to surrender, you strip them of their freedom. If power invalidates desire, then no god can ever be loved. I… exercised… restraint.” 

 And there was some sort of screen or something. It played moments between us, our conversations. Our most intimate moments. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And this feeling started to fester in me. This feeling that I was being propped up and analyzed on a stage without my consent. 

“The very need for restraint proves the dynamic is inherently unsafe. If his authentic desires risk consuming, hurting, or “owning” the devotee, then any sexual engagement, even benevolent or sacrificial, is fundamentally compromised.” The persecution continued, now addressing him directly, “Lucifer, you call yourself teacher, father, protector, and then you bind this child to you with threads of sex and sacred fire. You admit your fantasies would possess him, ravage him, take him from his duties. You admit that without restraint, your instincts are devouring. You call it love, but it is ownership. You waited, yes, but a wolf waiting outside a cradle is not innocent because it does not break the door."

And I’ll admit, that part did offend me a bit. And before I have a chance to speak the person who was sitting beside Lucifer representing him shoots their hand into the air. “Can I be a witness too?” He asks, and again he, like the others, does not wait for an answer to take the floor. And I don’t know why, but for some reason I didn’t recognize him until his hood was off. Ah, I should have guessed, so obvious. Dionysus.

And then he doesn’t address the jury at all, he points at me. “You there, you know what it is to be split open by love and find god inside your wound? You know what it is to be the chalice that is filled with your God’s purpose? However mad it may drive you?”

A moment of silence. Oh, yes. “Yes,” I answer. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. “Yes, I do.”

Then Dionysus turns back to the court “What are you judging him for, being honest about it? You call him guilty because he touched something sacred and let it burn. But is that not what we all do? You light a candle, it melts. You love a mortal, they change. You let that mortal change you, you evolve. And look at them. Changed, but not destroyed. Or if destroyed, then beautifully. And then I call that destruction the creation of something new, something realer than what came before it. HERE we have our tragic beast, the hunter who cannot hunt until his prey bears his teeth. The prey who demands to be hunted, runs in the direction of the arrow. The boy didn’t fall. He leapt. And Lucifer, ever the gentleman, caught him. Feeding.. Fucking… transforming, merging, we all know these things are one drink away from each other. ”

And the main figure who was representing the prosecution made a comment, “The abuser and the addict, we can’t say we’re surprised.”

And Dionysus cackles at that, “Yes, the queer and the freak!” and then shrugs, “You think love is clean, your problem is that you do not recognize that love is a form of madness itself. And if this boy is mad, what of it? We’ve created a world that has doomed him, doomed both of them. I see two beings destined for the flames finding sanctuary in each other's arms, holding each other until they are tempered to gold, what of it? If the burn is electric, if it makes suffering bearable, what of it? ”

And another hand shot into the air, this time sat on the side of the persecution. Far in the back. They took their time getting up to the stage. Their steps echoed. When he pulled back his hood… I don’t know why.. I was surprised. Caught entirely off guard. It was Archangel Michael, so brilliant he was hard to look at. I'm cooked.

He started quietly. “I did not come here to exonerate him. I came here because I’ve watched him.” A pause.  “And I have seen what he does with what you cast away.”

He didn’t look at me or Lucifer. In fact he looked only at the judge.

“You fear that he breaks the weak. But what I’ve seen is that he finds them when you will not. That he sharpens those who come to him dull, and that they leave him with teeth, bleeding, yes, but unafraid. Loved, loved in a way that is not righteous or moral, but true. The truth is that this boy is not weakened, very much the opposite. That is what makes this dangerous. Because Lucifer, Lucifer.” He glanced at him finally, “Lucifer is just vengeful enough against those who cast doubt upon him to subvert their expectations. He will cherish the boy, perhaps he may never harm them. Because that is exactly what we would all have him do, to end this”

Then he looks at me, and I feel like jumping out of my skin.

“If there is guilt here, it is mutual. If there is madness, it is chosen. The sacredness of the dynamic is not in question. We all know this. How simple this would be if Lucifer did the obvious, but he refuses. We all know he always refuses. You condemn him not because he preys, but because he transforms the boy into something that cannot be controlled by any master other than him.”

Michael pauses again, and then concludes “He is not innocent. But he is not wrong. I recognize that conventional methods will not work for this unconventional human. I ask then, if the doomed cannot hold each other, then what will we give them in return?”

One of the main two prosecutors shoots out, “Love and healing that is not contaminated by the power imbalance.”

and Lucifer, now giving up entirely on concealing his anger, slammed his cuff on the table, and responded, “You speak of power imbalance as if mortals are helpless. But this one, Shi, his name is Shi, rebuked me. They challenged me. They redrew the lines. And I obeyed with the same trust he put in me. What predator honors a boundary once drawn? What groomer rewrites the contract at the whim of the student? I am not a slave to desire. I did not take. I gave, and gave again. If I fantasized about devouring him, I did not act on it. You think I don’t know? You think I don’t understand what I could do to him? I do not punish his rebellion; I admire it. You want to accuse me of passion? Of yearning? Then I plead guilty. But I will not plead to rape, nor violation. I waited until he asked. I waited until he was ready.” and then he bobs his head, “I waited until I was ready. And when he said no, I did not take. And when he called, when he stood as his own, I recognized him. And you judge me because you can’t, you won’t. And even now you disrespect him,” he almost stood up. He was the most vexed I have ever seen him, “even now you talk about him as if he’s not in the room.”

And that comment placed all the attention back on me. I wanted to throw up having that many ancient eyes upon me. My mind had not entirely processed everything that was happening. Is this real? Are all these Gods really here? Or is this my brain’s way of processing some kind of guilt or fear about Lucifer? I wasn’t entirely sure. The absurdity of the situation was affecting my judgement. Maybe that's why I acted the way I did. 

I kind of just couldn't help but look around and laugh. All these Gods here in all the history of mankind, shedding blood, raging wars. I couldn’t help but say, "I thought you all liked blood?" For a while that’s all I could say. 

Does it really matter how you got it? In all the ways that a human could bleed, this bleeding born of love and devotion, that’s too far? You’re all drenched in blood rituals and now you're acting scandalized? This trial is not about blood, or morality, it’s about power. The Council doesn’t object to blood. They object to whose altar it stains, for what reason. And somehow want is not valid enough. Submission chosen, not as pure as submission imposed. Bullshit. I mean no disrespect, but that’s bullshit.

 and Lucifer gave me that kind of look that perhaps a father would give his son if he said something like that in a courtroom, a look that says "you're not respecting the gravity of this." but in it there was also a smile. and it followed with a laugh and he looked to the court. "See?"

And Dionysus speaks over him with a kind of theatrical flair, “Look at the boy! They are of him. This is not a case of a corrupted innocent, but a co-conspirator, a willing vessel, a co-creator of the taboo. You are asking the mad why he loves his mad God and he laughs in your face!”

And the prosecution: “The devotee’s irreverence is immature, inappropriate, and perhaps even proof that they were groomed into mocking authority. This is deflection, a sign they don’t understand the full weight of what’s being examined.”

And Lucifer, now calmed with a smile: “You fear this union because it is free, because it laughs at your pageantry. He is not my prisoner. He is my student, and he is becoming.”

“Becoming like you?” another voice from the persecution, “is that a good thing? Teaching a mortal that they need to bleed to be recognized? To be loved?”

And the attention was again brought back towards me, because I let out a huff and squirmed in my seat. Broke into another laugh, nervous laughter. But eventually I stopped laughing, cleared my throat and said:

"The thing about humanity is that you must bleed. You will bleed, and you must choose who and what you bleed for, why you get out of bed or why you lay in bed and let yourself rot and die. Perhaps I am too naive to consent to such a thing, perhaps I am just deer running into a hunter's trap. There must be those among you who can tell me why my alchemy is allocated in such a way that makes me predisposed to whatever this is but… If I am the deer falling in love with the hunter, would you grant me the opportunity to be wielded into his craft? You know, to be mended into his bow. The ink for his paintings, the little cup he keeps his paint water in? Both the predator and the hunter eventually slay the prey… I’m not denying that. But the hunter does something the predator cannot. The hunter sees the prey not just as a target, but as worthy, beautiful enough to inspire pursuit. The prey, now knowing their purpose, instead of fleeing, steps willingly into the path, choosing to be known, consumed, transmuted, or even preserved in the memory or art of the hunter. Do I have to ask for permission to fall in love not just with the hunter, but with the moment after the kill? Can I be made into his instruments, the very tools with which he creates and destroys, and to live on in his mythos as both lover and medium? Because that’s what he is to me, right now. My muse and my ink, my pen, my page. I gave my soul to Venus, didn't sell it, because perhaps I fell in love with the love that is only found when a hunter strokes his coat."

I kinda started to tear up which was embarrassing lol. I wasn't even entirely sure if what I said made sense. I looked to him for comfort, his gaze helped me breathe, the way he moved his hand. "Breathe." I got it together. 

"I think I'd rather die in the arms of a mad God, it's your fault. You made me mad in the first place."

It was silent for a moment, but the persecution broke it with a question, “If the devotee must die to feel loved, is that love just?”

And I laughed again through tears, “I don't have to die to be loved, but I will die. That's the way you set up this game. I have found a love that transcends death. You're mad because he won, because Lucifer’s not supposed to have that, he’s not supposed to redefine it, he’s not allowed. And a human isn’t allowed to choose their own undoing, even when it liberates them.” 

And before I could even really finish my sentence, another hand shot up.This one was closer to the front of the crowd. I knew him. When he stepped forward he was almost as quiet as Michael. 

“This is the heavenly angel that first contacted the devotee, one of the very first spirits they ever worked with, who taught him how to properly communicate and interpret spirits. Jophiel takes partial responsibility for enabling the devotee’s relation to Lucifer.”- someone said it, I can’t really remember who. 

I haven’t seen Archangel Jophiel in quite some time. We speak to each other far less these days. He was a very important chapter in my spiritual journey. And I will admit, I was bewildered to see him there, and slightly.. Nervous? Embarrassed? Shocked that he knew the depth of my intimacy with Lucifer. But I suppose everyone knows.

Jophiel just started, he didn’t really seem to address anyone in particular. 

"I taught him how to listen. I showed him how to tell the difference between a whisper and a wound. I taught him to trust what stirred in the stillness and how to seek out the divine in strange places. I am witness to the full arc of what the devotee is becoming because I helped shape the very first steps of it. When I saw him tread towards you, Lucifer, I did not know he would fall for you in the way that he has. But I cannot say I am at all surprised that he did, and I would not say that if I had been mortal and placed in his position, that I would not have done the same. I know the desire to become a piece of my God’s art, I am the angel who is made of it. I do not merely understand the act of creation, I am a creation, a living sculpture of divine intention. My very being is shaped by a yearning to reflect God's beauty, purpose, and symmetry. So when he says: ‘make me the ink, the bow, the paint-water cup,’ I understand. That is not the cry of someone devoured, it is the cry of someone who wishes to live forever through their beloved’s hands. To keep their beloved warm after reckoning. To be used, yes, but as medium, as pigment, as vessel. It is not submission for its own sake, it is a fusion. And if that is madness, then I have lived it since the moment I first beheld the face of the Divine and did not turn away. Let no one here claim that to be art is to be lesser. Let no one say that beauty crafted for a God is a broken thing. I take responsibility for opening the door, yes. But he stepped through it on his own. And he chose again, and again, and again to stay. I do not believe he is broken. I do not believe he was prey. I believe he was transformed. But please know this: just because he is radiant now, just because he burns with divinity, do not mistake that fire for proof that there was no cost. I saw his terror. I felt his hunger. I watched him bleed and name it holy as beauty that moves and sings and gazes back. it is a dangerous, holy impulse to let their body, their blood, their life become a vessel for something greater. If you must find someone guilty, then let me be counted among them. I lit the first candle. And I also warned him,"

And Jophiel then seemed to look at me and express the same sort of sigh that Michael did, “and others warned him, Lucifer warned him, and he even warned himself. And it would be much simpler for us all if Lucifer just destroyed all of his children, then perhaps we could use this boy as a cautionary tale. But there is, there always are, a certain few that survive the flames. There is an art to playing with fire without being burned.”

Jophiel expressed that he had nothing more to say, and he was dismissed. I still don’t even know how to feel about that. After a moment, what almost felt like a cosmic coffee break, someone chimed in. 

“If the verdict is that we should all just back off and let Lucifer do whatever he wants, who exactly is to hold him accountable when he eventually does burn the devotee? What’s to stop him from destroying the devotee when he gets the perfect opportunity or cannot resist his dark desires? I am unwilling to believe that this Lucifer is completely virtuous in all of his actions, and I believe that it is dishonest to portray him that way. There is a responsibility to prevent harm before it occurs.”

and I was sort of getting mad. Perhaps I spoke out of turn. Something about that struck something in me, maybe in the way she said it, and I knew it was a she. 

“Me,” I answered, and I was asked to repeat myself. “Me. I will hold him accountable, I will be the one he seeks retribution from. Me. Who’s to protect Lucifer from me?”

From you? Yes, from me. 

“What if I decide that I’m the one who wants to do the conquering? What if I reap his own surrender? What if I want to be a hunter too, and kill a giant man? He gave to me because I wanted, because I asked. Because I approached him and saw him as worthy. Over everyone. Over all of you. So what about me? What If I want to give back? What if I give back because I know it is the one thing I can do to destroy him back? What if I control the blood I give him and cultivate a bond more powerful and sacred than any union that has ever been known between God and Man? What if I train him? Transform him? Expose his vulnerabilities and wounds and wrap them in silk and devotion too? What then? Am I still the victim then? Do mortals need to ask for permission to slay their Gods? Or does that privilege only go one way? Gods slaying humans? What are the laws and ethics around consent in that regard?”

And Dionysus at this point is cackling, having a ball of a time. And Lucifer is looking at me with some kind of look that I’ve never seen him make before. I genuinely can’t read it, whether it’s pleased or not. But it is truly the first time I think I’ve ever seen him teary eyed. 

“Young man, you should mind your tongue and have respect when you are in the presence of Gods.” 

Her voice gripped me like nothing I’ve ever felt before. I have never heard her voice so clearly, so powerful. So commanding. So old and wise. I don’t know why I didn’t think she would be there. Inanna. Perhaps because I syncretise her and Lucifer so heavily, I’ve never seen them separate. But here she was before me in all of her glory and I truly did want to bow. Mother. If I didn’t know it before I knew it now. She was gargantuan, and she addressed everyone at once. 

“Shi’s willingness to bleed, to be worn into the hunter’s coat, to become the paint water for his sacred art is not just love. It is initiation. This descent. This is what I myself did when Ipassed through the seven gates, removing my robes and jewels, my power and pride, until I stood naked before death.” She looked at me and my heart trembled, “You are not the deer. You are the hunter’s hunger. You are the oil in his lamp, the curve of the blade. And when he lays your bones in the shape of a door, you will walk through it, not as prey, but as Priestess. I congratulate you, my child, not for surviving the flames, but for choosing, for loving with the kind of abandon that demands resurrection. It is erotic, ecstatic, sacrificial and most of all: powerful. There is no true power without the surrender of illusion, and no true ecstasy without death and rebirth. You speak of guilt and innocence as if they are clean things. But love is not clean. Nor is death. Nor is power. I have known the taste of blood on a lover’s lips. I have worn the skin of grief and pleasure, and I have demanded my throne back after giving it all away.

This child came to the hunter knowingly, perhaps too young, too open, but who among you here has ever loved and not risked your life for mastery? You call it madness. I call it devotion. I call it alchemy. I call it sacred.”

But then she glanced down at me, and her glance was not cold. Not at all. It was kind of the way my great great grandma used to look at me. Actually it was the exact same.

“But do not forget yourself now, boy. You are very much mortal, your blood is finite.” 

I nodded. Understood,

Then Inanna stepped over to Lucifer, she got very close to him and they eyed each other fiercely. “You want to be the boy’s father? Well I am his mother.”

And I think that is the only time I have seen him flinch. 

“So tell me, and speak plainly: is this a game to you? Is this the part where you prove you can hold the heart of a divine child without shattering it?” she spoke in a low whisper, and I had an image conjured into my head. A lioness stalking prey.

And Lucifer looked back into Inanna’s glare with something very soft.

“I know you, Lucifer. I know the ache that coils behind your mask, the slithering seduction you wear like perfume. I know your slick tongue. But I also know the alchemy that flows inside that boy’s veins, the blood you like so much.That’s why you like it so much, because it’s you. It’s a narcissistic ritual of consuming yourself through someone else, changed, transformed into something more satisfying. Sweetened because it was earned in trust and reignited with a raw and innocent love, far, far too innocent to come from you, Lucifer. That’s why you can’t destroy him, that’s why you know he’s not the victim,” she laughed at him, “you’re the victim now. Destined to a heart raught when, if ever he turns away from you. When he eventually parts from you, your own ultimate undoing. That's why you want him to bleed for you, you need proof that someone so worthy would. That proof is the world to you. And that’s exactly why he will. That is why he has made himself yours. You have no control over his loyalty, and he has actively chosen it. The only way this ends is when he outgrows you.” 

And he broke into a smile, bobbed his head. But it wasn’t a smile. It was something else. It was soft, quiet. “Of course.” 

And seeing him make that expression made me want to rip my heart out. 

And again, Dionysus exclaimed, completely interrupted, “Now we have a deer who cuts his hunter!  And a hunter who will not eat until his deer has struck him deep enough to be deserving of his reaction! For the hunter is nothing without his hunt! Now the deer is a wolf, perhaps even a dog. Yes, a dog! The deer becomes a dog, not domesticated, but devoted. Not prey, but chosen. The dog hunts with the hunter, not instead of him. It bares its fangs not only at the hunter, but for him, too. And the hunter? He no longer wants a passive offering, he wants something wild enough to bruise his palms when he holds it, something whose loyalty is as dangerous as his own appetite. Lucifer does not feed until the strike from his beloved is deep enough, until he has been known. Not just loved, not just feared, but pierced, seen, named. And the devotee, now wolf, now dog, snarls and says:“You wanted blood? Then bleed with me!” 

Cackling, finding the whole thing hysterical.

Inanna tears her glare away from Lucifer and concludes with her own kind of satisfied smile, “I believe the court has severely misunderstood the nature of the power dynamic in this relationship.”

Lucifer hangs his head.

The court was rained back in pretty quickly. Conversations and whispers settled. Conclusions were met.

“This is not love. This is delusion.”

“You’re speaking from trauma, not truth.”

“This is what happens when the broken are left unguarded.”

“You’ve identified with your captor.”

“This is cosmic Stockholm Syndrome.”

“He has branded you, not bonded with you.”

“Your consent is irrelevant. The crime is cosmic.”

“A mortal cannot consent to a being of such magnitude. The scale is too unbalanced.”

“You are clay. He is fire. And fire cannot love clay without burning it.”

“You’ve confused transformation with consumption.”

“He did not forge you, he devoured you.”

“You have not been transfigured, only disfigured and dressed up in language.”

“You are a danger to yourself and to others.”

“This soul is not to be judged further. They have chosen their path. Let them walk it alone.”

“They are no longer of concern to us. Let what they worship claim them.”

and so we were dismissed. We both left that room, he was found guilty. There was no prison that could hold him. We exited the courtroom. 

And something really strange happened to me here. It was in the time when everyone was leaving, clearing out. And I could see the Gods behind their veils. Witness cosmic conversations, reunions, looks of recognition. Some removed their veils entirely to reveal things that spoke to something so primal within me but also so so unknowable. I felt so so infinitesimally small around all of these strange and ancient faces. Blue faces, bright eyes, many tongues. Non-Euclidean shapes. Like an absolute foreigner, witness to a culture, a language that I could not ever hope to understand or find myself within. Alien. Older than alien. A stranger in a strange land. I’m not supposed to be here. I’m dreaming too deeply. And it was dreamlike in that uncanny way, in its surrealness. I don’t know how to describe the feeling I had, except that I knew then, was painfully aware, of how incredibly young, how incredibly human I was. And the Gods know that I am human, they know that I am not one of them. They know that I am here and they know I am not one of them. I was amazed by how lost I was, by the height of the insurmountable danger and confusion. I am so so lost. 

I waited in a hallway alone. Maybe it would be more accurate to say I was hiding. I was crying. This was all a lot, and I’m not even sure I’m processing it. This is such a huge reaction to something I didn’t think was so incredible. 

But then down the hallway came Aphrodite, and she took my hand. And she gave me a look that reminded me why she is the Goddess of beauty. And she smiled, and her eyes glimmered. I will never forget that look. “Marvelous.”

And she didn’t have to say anything else lol, I started crying harder omg I’m crying right now trying to write this down wtf. But it was like, her looking at me like that settled every thought in my mind. Made everything instantly okay. And I was then giddy with glee.

And as she went go go I tried to ask her something, something mundane, something about my altar for her. And she batted her hand at me. “We’ll chat later.”

and when he, Lucifer, Lord Lucifer, finally found me in the hall, he grabbed me, held me to the wall, pinned me, and in my surprise I yelped. He kissed me, squeezed me, nibbled my neck, and we both dissolved into a kind of laughter. He held my face in his hands. I’ve never felt so comforted by them before. My sanctuary. All I wanted was to be alone with him. “You’re mine? You know that? You’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine,” he growled, and he clutched me tighter, closer. A victory cry. and it made me laugh harder. He was tickling me. And we were both crying and laughing. He scooped me up and carried me out that door, and I melted into his hands,  still laughing. 

A whole day had gone by since that court ordeal thing. I’ve tried not to dwell too hard on it. I’m still truly not entirely sure what to think about it, if I should consider it legitimate or just an extremely weird extremely vivid Jungian level of projection. I don’t know. The anxiety I felt, that at least was real. The tears I cried, those were real. I still cannot bring myself to believe that my personal actions are significant enough to be worthy of divine intervention. But I don’t know. I’m not sure I know anything about anything that occurred. Or maybe that’s my own way of deflecting and repressing it. I don’t know. I genuinely don’t know.

The next time I saw Lucifer was when I was offering him incense, I guess mid day. He lead me into a trance. A very lazy one. It was more like a dream, again, I don’t know. My psychic mind or ability or whatever it is has felt absolutely fried these last few days. My only defense is radical acceptance that I don’t know.

I was again at his bedroom door, I had my robe but nothing else. I opened the door and the lights were off. Only a couple candles burning low. He was layed in bed beneath the covers. I asked him, can I come in? And his hand poked out from the sheets and beckoned me towards him. 

Lucifer almost looked kind of pale. Or, I don’t know. Something was off about him. He was tired, if that’s even possible. Quiet, softened. I was immediately flooded with this feeling of woe for him, I wanted to do something to make him feel better. He held my hand tenderly, almost sorrowfully. 

“Would you do something for me, my boy?” he asks in a whisper, the type of whisper you do when you have the flu, strained, weak. I nodded. Anything.

“Would you fix me a drink, please.”

Oh, okay. Yeah. It almost brought a smile to my face, so mundane. One of those things I have done for him 100 times. There's a little kitchenette area with different drinks, mixers, crystal cups. I fix him something that I think is vodka into a glass, mix it with something that smells sweet. I don’t know, I don’t drink.. 

And as I do so I catch a glimpse of a knife on the counter. Hm. I grabbed it. I glance back at him. He doesn’t really seem to be watching me. So I dig the end of the blade into the tip of my finger until it breaks my skin. There’s a few drops of blood, just a few. Not too much, not a frivolous amount. I let them fall into the drink and stir it with my finger.

When I return to him he takes it from me, takes a sip, and then glances at me. “I didn’t tell you to do that,” he murmurs. But he also drinks it. All of it. Every drop.

Then he reaches for my hand, my thumb. The residual blood on it. And he licks it slowly while glancing into my eyes. Then he opens up his arms, pulls the covers back. He’s not naked. Idk, I assumed he would be. “Come,” he whispers, again, with so much exhaustion. And I crawl into bed with him, let him take me into his chest. Fuck, he smells so amazing. He smells like home. And his arms, his embrace is so warm. So gentle. 

“Lucifer,” 

I say his name but nothing follows it. But I asked something. I’m not even entirely sure what I asked. But I needed him to answer. I clutched him like I was afraid he would dissolve in my hands, into salt.

“Never,” he started. He pulled the covers up so that we were both beneath them, cloaked in darkness. “Never should you have been even slightly surprised that I was pronounced guilty.”

I clutched him harder, needed him closer. I’m not. I wasn’t. Not even for a second was I. Guilt, innocence. That’s not what matters. I don’t care. I don’t care at all. That’s not it. That’s not why I feel this lump in my throat, why I feel like screaming and crying. I didn’t before. I was content, content until the moment I saw him like this. I was shaking because I was scared, but I didn’t know what I was afraid of. 

“Love,” his voice cracked. I could feel through the darkness that his cheeks were wet. And my heart sank, imploded. I felt an insurmountable sense of doom. 

“ I didn’t care, not at all.  Because there is no law, no court, no God, that could ever keep me away from you.”

Yes. I know.

“Shi, you are the only one that has this power, it is yours. I am at your mercy, it is yours, it will always be yours.” 

And it was the first time (omg I’m literally bawling writing this FUCK) ever that he has tried to be the little spoon. He pushed my arms apart, opened me, and then clutched onto me. He sunk his face into my chest, and I cradled him. He sunk deeper, I was watching his descent in real time. In all the melodrama I have seen from him, in all his woes and agonies, I have never seen him crumble and weep like this. He placed my hands on his head, over his ears.

“I love you,” he cried, and his inflection did that non human thing. It lacks dimension, or maybe it has an extra dimension. It comes out unfiltered, not even tuned for the human mind to comprehend. 

And then he smiles, and I can see a power struggle happening on his face. 

“In this craft, this space, we make promises all the time, oaths, rites,” he says, “I don’t mean to downplay the severity of those,” he continues, “but please, Shi, love,” 

And ?? aa

I don’t know how to really describe this but it was like

If you have ever seen someone go through an episode in front of you, this was very that. 

He was very clearly desperately trying to self soothe (pathologizing the gods?? Im cooked) in a way that was reminiscent of someone going through a manic episode. That curled up in a corner in the closet thing. He was in pain, or experiencing fear. There was some kind of compulsion in there, something violent and almost loathing, self loathing. Intrusive. Or maybe not. I’m not entirely sure what it was, but he was clinging to me, and he was crying. 

I cry all the time, Lucifer may shed a tear every now and then. He’s never done this with me.

“Can you please, make me just one promise,”

It was a very dark, but not dark as in devoid of light, feeling. It was nothing. Actual nothing, oblivion. It was weightless, suspended, the feeling of reaching a peak of an ascent upwards when you are thrown into the air. A moment of absolute weightlessness. And and intense fear of that. Maybe because I was born on Earth and I’m accustomed, trained, wise with the fear of fucking falling.

A promise? One more promise? Yes, Lucifer, my Lord, of. What is it? (lol I’m crying)

“If I place this dagger in your hand and I let you wield it against me, my love. Strike true. Do not hand this power over to anyone else, ever, never, I have given it to you,” 

Falling. 

“When you leave me, my star, please, let it be because you outgrew me, outlived me.”

And though I held him, and I clutched him, and I soothed him, and I did not speak, I still said it. I still thought it. 

What a hopeless fantasy, Lucifer, you are so tragic.

To ever think that a mortal could outlive a God, that I in my human life of a century or so could ever outlive the need and want and drive and passion for The Morning Star, as if I would ever stop searching for that. Everywhere, Lucifer, everywhere I can find you, trace your trail. You fed me.

Oh baby, 

Maybe that’s why humans are obsessed with other animals. Domestication or something. Dogs, cats. I imagine the grief that a human can feel. Must be nothing compared to a God. 

“I will never give this dagger to anyone else, Lucifer, you have my absolute certainty on that,” I answered him. 

“I’m very proud of the idea that my presence has allowed you space to forget that you are cursed, I want to be that for you. In this life, I have dedicated myself to being that for you, for myself, so long as I am Shi.”

Land.

I breathe with relief. 

My sanctuary. Not his, mine. You realize in retrospect that you would much rather be the dog. 

“But, Inanna was right. I am mortal, my blood is finite.”

And I pulled his face up towards me, even in the dark I could see him, and he looked older then than he ever has. 

“Lucifer,” like I was pointing out something stupidly obvious. “Remember me. Cherish me,” and I kissed him, I rubbed up against him, I cuddled him. “Love me.”

And he grabbed my arm, and a blizzard of heat overcame me with ferocity. But it was pure energy, fire. The fire I know. I smiled.

He kissed me and it was like being shocked. Tt jolted me, and I yelped in surprise, and he tackled me. And for a moment there was a struggle, we were wrestling in the dark. 

A half chuckle, “really?”

Take off

I struggled hard against him. Squirming, laughing. This is dumb, because obviously he can over power me. He bit me in the stomach and it hurt, and I reactively bit him in the arm. He laughed.

And then there was struggling I guess, and he bit me again in the back. I tried to squirm but he wouldn’t let me. He had me pinned down on my stomach. He mounted himself on top of me. I’ve never wanted him more in my fucking life.

He kept me pinned down as he undressed himself. And he slowly, delicately revealed me. I forgot about the struggle. He brushed his fingers down my back, then started kissing it, slowly. 

When he finally pushed himself in he let out a whimper, “would you let me love you, baby?” 

He felt so warm and familiar all around me. His movements were perfect.

“Would you love me, baby?”

I pushed myself into him, pulled him into me. He sucked on my neck. “Please.”

We made love to each other for quite a while, he felt sweeter than he ever has. Bellowed smoke. In the end we somehow ended up facing each other, kissing, inhaling each other. 

I rocked forward and found the dagger in his night stand. I’d never been so sure of my decision to do this. He placed his hand over mine, didn’t guide, didn’t resist, watched me closely. 

I cut my chest, deeper this time, deeper than before. I bled a healthy stream. More than before. But I only cut myself once, only let him cut me once. Then I put the knife away and let him drink from me. His tongue upon me was like rain on molten lava. I don’t know. I turned into obsidian. And he drank beautifully. 

And when he was done, he let himself sink into my chest, and for a while we shared each other’s warmth. And he thanked me. 

Okay. One more. Just a short one this time. 

Didn’t sleep well last night, I had all kinds of fragmented dreams. This one though, I do remember very clearly.

It started with dirt and dry grass. And a tunic, or whatever those sleeping sacs are called. I was laying on it. It was sunset, or maybe early morning. But I’m leaning towards sunset. 

There’s a fire pit in front of me, it’s lit. I’m in a small camp, a cowboy style camp. Smells like campfire. And he’s tending the fire. He has a brimmed hat on, an old, dusty coat that’s patched with different fabrics. Belt, boots. Gloves. I don’t think I saw a horse. I think a couple bags. We didn’t have nothing, that I knew. Nothing valuable to other people. And we were alone.

And I was laid in my little sleeping sack in what felt like pajamas. I was very flat on the ground. And when I stared out into the country it was something devastatingly nostalgic. The smell in the air, the field, what seemed like endless field. A perfect sky. The sound of some kind of critter roaming about, some bird. And the grass. Dry grass. The type you wouldn’t really want to sleep on, but once you did eventually lull to sleep, it was nice… cool. Everything is a shade of blue in that lighting. And I don’t really know if I’m me right now. I mean I know I am, I know it’s me. But it’s not Shi. I don’t know. A past life maybe.

Maybe this was a little pocket of time before cities, or houses. When people, maybe just poor people, black people, immigrants, slaves, hicks, still slept on the ground. Out in the open, in the field.

They probably didn’t feel as safe as I did there. 

He came over to me and looked down at me. Slipped off his gloves and threw them down in the dirt. He sat. Tipped off his hat and leaned back.

“You think they’ll find us here?” he asks as he pushes my hair out of my face. And a smile grew on me. 

“Yes,” I answered, and he smiled back. Placed a kiss on my forehead. 

I layed there with him for a while. I wanted to savour that place, that world. Something about it. 

“I like it,” Lucifer whispers, settling into me. “Let’s stay a while.”

Ironic. It was cruelly short. 

[moonzfics]

I genuinely don't give a fuck if I get attacked by adults in this specific fandom at this point, but it needs to be said to ALL of you in this fandom.

Not sure if all of you heard, but apparently someone in the The Kid At the Back fandom, was attacking one of my other's friends mutuals. And then that same person who was attacking my friends MUTUAL, told her to get raped.

First of all, y'all are actually on a another level of sick and disgusting getting to the point of telling someone to get raped again. If they are not bothering you in any way shape or form, DO NOT HARASS THEM. PERIOD. It's one thing to be making call out posts about minors, but when you send rape threats to them????? That's where you're fucking weird and dead wrong for even doing that.

If you guys are being pressed over someone being in an adult fandom when they're not even bothering you, get a job. Because people like y'all are actually obsessed with us to the point of sending us threats, it's disgusting.

If you're going to attack me for defending them in any way shape or form, I'm blocking you. Without a discussion. Period.

I'm praying for my friends mutual. That she gets away from people like y'all. Thank you. -Cosmic

[the-most-humble-blog]

🌺You’re Not Difficult. You’re a Human-Making Supernova Who Just Forgot What a Womb Is For

When they call you hostile, over-opinionated, chronically single, or the final boss of dating apps?

Smile.

Because underneath their insult is a cosmic accident—they forgot they were addressing a human-making quantum womb interface capable of rebuilding civilization with nothing but nutrition, primal selection, and the right load.

You are not a girl. You are a garden that births nations.

And yet…

You walk around ashamed of that? Feminine power isn’t soft. It’s not weakness. It’s not "girlboss energy.

It’s fucking terrifying.

Let’s break it down, scientifically:

You are a human-planting factory. You can grow an eyeball. From scratch. You can replicate fingers. Teeth. A spine. You can stretch, swell, lactate, push, and regenerate while crying, moaning, and holding a job.

You are the only being on Earth that can make more humans.

And some of you are out here trying to suppress that to feel powerful? Trying to channel your "inner masculine" like it’s some kind of radioactive vitamin cocktail?

You are not meant to wear inner masculinity like a fucking hazmat suit. That’s Ebola on steroids for your soul.

Let’s not get it twisted. You don’t need to reject your softness to become strong. You need to understand that your softness is how humanity survives.

Every cell in your body was forged by the cosmic womb lottery that your ancestors won through pain, rape, war, famine, childbirth, survival, and sacrifice.

Your great-great-great-grandmother gave birth next to a fire. Bleeding, screaming, praying to gods no one remembers.

And she still made sure the baby lived.

So when you decide to cancel femininity because TikTok told you men are evil? When you decide to freeze your eggs because brunch and trauma bonding sounded more fun?

You’re not brave. You’re deleting a bloodline.

Your ancestors didn’t cross oceans and dodge sabers just so you could die with six cats and a college degree in mood swings.

You don’t have to want kids. But don’t act like you’re powerful for rejecting the ability to create life while talking down to the same men whose seed you still require to do it.

Let’s get anatomical:

You are a reproductive supernova. But you need male seed. Real male seed. Not the frozen soft-serve you over-30 types metaphorically ram into the cervix of young, naive girls trying to become single mothers because you whispered, "Men are optional."

No. Sperm is not optional. Not yet. And when it is? You’ll still crave the one who makes you feel safe, opened, carried, gripped, held.

Feminism failed you because it tried to shame the flower for not being a sword.

But you are not meant to conquer. You are meant to choose.

You are meant to stand at the gates of creation like a velvet-cloaked god and say:

"You may enter."

"You may plant the seed."

"You may fertilize the future."

But you don’t act like a gate anymore. You act like a fortress afraid to bloom.

And for what?

Clout? Trauma cycles? Pride?

No one gives a shit why you chose not to bloom. Only that you didn’t.

Your womb will rot. Your line will end. Your ancestors will shake their heads in the afterlife.

The only real victims are the dead ones who bled so you could be alive. You? You’re just selfish.

So no. You are not a bitch. You’re not a 304. You’re not a man-hating witch.

You are a human seed vault in denial. A biological miracle with identity issues. A goddess who forgot that she is the prize.

Not because of what she owns. Not because of what she thinks. But because of what she can do.

You can literally plant the most intelligent, evolved animal this funky-ass planet has ever hosted. You can do that in your sleep. You can nurse nations, raise titans, birth gods.

And you want to trade that for cubicle trauma and orgasm-counting TikToks?

Grow up. Or don’t. But just know—

No one mourns a bloodline that chose to vanish.

You’re not infertile. You’re just spiritually barren.

Your ancestors didn’t survive genocide and childbirth for you to ghost your uterus.

“You can plant a whole human. And you still feel empty? Sis…”

⚠️ Free Speech Disclaimer: This post is 100% satire. If your ovaries twitched while reading, consult your great-grandmother’s ghost.

📩 DM me if you remembered who you are halfway through this.

💬 Comment if this felt like an ancient slap in the mouth from your own DNA.

🔁 Reblog if your womb demanded it.

👀 Tag a woman who needs to be reminded: she’s not a joke. She’s the blueprint.

[obbystars]

⋆˙⟡ PINNED . . .

ALL DIVIDERS USED ARE BY @cafekitsune

Attempting to connect to MOON CHILD OBERON . . .

Success. Retrieving Information . . .

⟢ NAME: OBERON SOL

⟢ ALTERNATIVE DESIGNATIONS: OBBY / ORBY / ORB

⟢ PREFERABLE PRONOUNS: He / They

⟢ CONFIRMED AGE: 20 EARTH YEARS

INTERFERENCE FOUND . . .

CONNECTION DISRUPTED . . .

“Oh? Interested in my works, are we? Very well. Go and have a look.”

“Please note, I am currently not accepting requests.”

ROBLOX: PRESSURE

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

Z-13 [ SEBASTIAN SOLACE ]

⟢ DROWN IN THE DEEP

⟢ IT’S YOU!

⟢ WHEN LIGHT FADES

⟢ ENCOUNTER NIHILISM

⟢ WHEN MOTHER WAS HERE

⟢ SAFE HAVEN

🌑 // A GIFT BESTOWED UPON YOU (REQUESTS)

⟢ A special find brings peace

⟢ Aquarium date

⟢ General Headcanons

HONKAI STAR RAIL

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

BOOTHILL

⟢ PROMISE

⟢ SOMETHING STUPID

⟢ GENERAL HCS

🌑 // WRITTEN IN THE STARS (SERIES)

⟢ BLOOD N’ BONES (CANON X OC)

LEAGUE OF LEGENDS

🌑 // THE MOON PROVIDES (NON-REQUESTS)

SHIEDA KAYN

COSMIC PRISON - Odyssey universe

“All works have their notes, including what to expect and warnings. Do read them as it may save you some trouble.”

“If you’re interested in lore related details concerning me, I will provide those to you. I have no reason to be so secretive about who I am. My time at the Hadal Blacksite is…quite interesting.”

⟢ Z-222 Document

⟢ Arrival and containment breach

⟢ A Walk with Angels

“These are just written works that go well into detail. If you’re interested, considering checking the “listen to his story” tag. As of right now, there isn’t too much.”

“Hm, if those did strike an interest and you have an idea in mind… Please. Hold onto that thought, or perhaps there is someone else who may be able to get to your idea as I am unfortunately unable to do so at the moment. However, I believe I’ll have to set some rules.”

“Your request will be ignored and possibly deleted if…”

⟢ It contains topics such as rape, incest, pedophilia, and abuse. While I do love making things a bit dark, I do not touch those topics and WILL NEVER make something with those topics. Please note, yandere content will also count as abuse content.

⟢ I noticed you have made a VERY similar request to another user. Personally, I find this to be rude and disrespectful. It just doesn’t sit right with me.

⟢ I am NOT accepting any NSFW requests as I am not confident in writing that sort of content. It’s not that I am uncomfortable with it, I just cannot write it.

“Please note, I work better when the reader is gender neutral. It allows me to leave many aspects of the readers in my works up to you so you could properly insert yourself or an OC into it. If this is overlooked, your request won’t be deleted and will still be considered. I cannot do every request I receive, but I’ll do my best.”

“Now that that’s out of the way, how about some quick blog rules in general?”

⟢ DO NOT INTERACT IF: BASIC CRITERIA (racist, any sort of LGBT+phobe, proship), USE AI ART/CHARACTER AI

⟢ DO NOT try and purposely cause arguments. And do not try to bring up drama currently in any fandom whether I’m in it or not.

“I believe it is mandatory that I mention should the drama of Zerum be brought up, I will ignore you. I’ve already said what I wanted to say concerning the situation, and it is exhausting having to talk about it. If you persist, do know there will be no response from me and you are simply wasting your time.”

“You will be blocked should you show you fit into one of those categories.”

“Now, I must take my leave as the operators are probably scrambling in trying to reconnect their systems. As fun as it is to watch them struggle, I have much to do. I will see you on the other side.”

[starshower1215]

I loved your fic Sunshine!! It scratched that post-canon itch. I imagine you have good taste in fics, so I wanna ask- Do you have any fic recommendations? Preferably angst. Any pairing (levi pairings, aruani) is good as long as it’s not x reader. Self recs are also appreciated!

Hi anon,

That is incredibly flattering of you, thank you! I'm happy you liked it. Honestly, I don't read a lot of fanfiction at all, and the ones I do read don't tend to revolve around shipping much, so it's good taste to me, but taste is subjective. However, on the topic of recommendations, I always, always direct the inquirer to the first one I'm about to list:

TW: mentions of rape and suicide from here

This Life, After by wbss21, or @cosmicjoke here on Tumblr. It is such an incredible read. It pairs Onyankapon and Levi in a canon post-war world setting and focuses heavily on Levi's disabilities, recovery, and mental illnesses and insecurities — not only the ones resulting from the war and the Survey Corps, but also ones resulting from his childhood and adolescence. Cosmic has such an in-depth understanding of Levi's character and of the issues she depicts, I could not recommend this fanfic enough. I know that it may not be everyone's cup of tea, as even though you've requested angst, it is heavy angst. But it turned my attention to so many things that go unheard and unsaid, like ableism in society, the daily and not daily struggles of a disabled person, having anorexia nervosa, OCD, what it is like as a victim of rape and their experience, suicide, both active and passive. This fic delves into that deep, and due to that, the angst is a lot, but this is legitimately one of my favourite pieces of artistic work ever. No joke, I went into it and came out wanting to be a better person, lol. Being exposed to such heavy angst when all she's doing is depicting Levi's life can make you think, because this is Levi's life, yes, but this is also someone else's experience. Someone else deals with the shame he experiences just from being disabled — just from existing. Someone else felt the terror of being raped and feels the aftermath of it still, every fucking day of their life. Someone else thinks they're worth nothing if they can provide nothing, because that is what life teaches you sometimes. It's just realistic. Yes, the angst is heavy. But that angst is the normal of someone else's life; they don't have the luxury of choosing not to be exposed, and reading this just helps you be more compassionate about it, I guess, especially since she writes it as it is, as raw and terrible and painful as it is. So, I don't know. It's angsty and depressing and for some people, too much, but for me the depressing nature of it is inspiring, in a sense, instead of down-bringing. Anyway, I've gushed like the biggest goofball all in her comment sections, and now I've gushed here, too, but truly, truly, truly, I think you should give it a shot. She is such a blessing as a writer, and honestly, I recommend every single one of her works to you. I can't articulate how unique and meaningful her writing is.

Well, after that, all I can recommend are my own, as I haven't read much else, haha. It's usually angst, though, I'm a sucker for pain. My only "pairing" is Levi and Hange, who I usually prefer to write sharing an alterous love (Sunshine was an exception because it was for someone else). People interpret it both platonically and romantically, though, so I don't think it's a huge issue. That said...

All That I Want is a short work exploring Hange's exhaustion after becoming commander, and the notion of finding peace and rest in death. I think the thoughts behind it are interesting.

But When It's Me is another short one that follows Levi's explicit infatuation with Hange in an academic alternate universe, specifically the physical attraction part of it. It's angsty because his exposure to rape and the plain disrespect of some people's physical attraction throughout his childhood skew his perspective of his own infatuation.

Circles Around the Sun is my canon-divergent long work, yet to be finished, in which Levi escapes the Underground City at 10 years old. You should probably just click the provided link to see it if you're interested, haha. It's hard to explain. Lmao. But I personally prefer this one over the other two, because the exploration of childhood trauma is way more explicit because in the story, they are children. It's just an exploration of their friendship together, their pure connection and love, and the horrors of the world around them that children should never be made to handle.

And then Waiting for a Light by wbss21 (again) is a short but tragic exploration of Kuchel as a caring yet complicated mother to Levi. I can't explain much because it just is as I said it was, but you should read it. Hurt is another work of hers that follows the time Kenny takes Levi in. You have to read it, I simply don't have the words to express it, haha. As I said before, I just recommend her entire account to you, lmao.

Anyway, thank you for the ask! I hope you check these out, they really are amazing (not mine, I mean, lol).

[mai-komagata]

re: sexy stabbings

im writing this very long meta on how galadriel x sauron and silvergifting dynamics help an audience recognize different forms of seduction in a relatable way (including queer forms of seduction, which audiences are normally blind to), and how recognizing these ships isn't about "crack shipping" but about the text using the language of sexuality/eroticism/seduction to convey concepts that would otherwise be vague and not-understandable like temptation to a metal object or wounds that cannot heal or possession by an alien being as well as concept of "men in a fantasy/magical/superhero setting are not just power levels" -- ie. the strongest man should always win. Galadriel is *integral* to this because most characters in tolkien are male and audiences are pre-disposed to ignoring emotional dynamics in men other than anger and violence -- the contrast with a female romance lets an audience be like "these people, adar, galadriel, celebrimbor are more alike than distinct". (wow maybe i don't need to write it, anymore!). But since that is taking me very long to write and i keep running into queer-erasure every day i'll just say this: the reason we don't see Sauron torture Galadriel in the same way she tortures Celebrimbor is not because his relationship with them is cosmically different (obviously its different bc they are different people). Galadriel is not more "pure" or "loved" than Celebrimbor. Neither is blameless (i.e. both were ambitious) and neither is deserving of torture (nobody deserves that, even Sauron). It's because there is different symbolism to the way they are being hurt. Arrows being used as martyrdom is a millennia old way of showing homosexuality. Stabbing is metaphorical of penetration. He intended to kill both of them for denying them the Nine. Because Sauron is bad at impulse control, he takes and believes he is wiser than he is. If he wants something he will take it and then regret that he broke his favorite thing. (note he doesn't regret killing other people he doesn't twistedly love, like mirdania, or the orcs).

Galadriel had Nenya (i.e. Celebrimbor's magic, untouched by sauron) and Elrond was able to save her (love and light win the day). Celebrimbor died as symbolic for what happened to Eregion (he was alone and eregion fell).

This doesn't mean BOTH scenes aren't meant to be erotic. The stabbing is hot and the caressing of the arrows are hot. But they are hot in a BDSM/noncon way. "Do you understand what it's like to be tortured by a god?" sorta way.

Pragmatically, though, the reason we don't see more graphic galadriel is because it would make audiences uncomfortable. You can be way more graphic with gay shit and people won't be squicked than if you are graphic with m/f abuse. As i said, a good 50-70% of the audience won't even NOTICE the gay shit and think its just standard fantasy violence. The closer you make it to outright rape, the less compelling it is, because Sauron needs to both be APPEALING and EVIL in order to understand why people are drawn to the rings of power and why it is essential to oppose it.

[disclaimer: this is not anti galadriel x sauron, it is just in favor of seeing the ship in a dark way as part of the larger narrative. When I talk about shipping them in a dark way i don't mean simply its my kink, i mean this is a dark seduction story at heart. The actors are very hot, their acting is very sexy, but the function in the larger story is to display the different ways sauron tempts and corrupts people, including galadriel, celebrimbor, adar, and how sauron himself was corrupted by melkor].

[imfromthemiddlekingdom]

why are you crying about blood and cheese if every targaryen deserves to die according to you? own your words lmaooo

I’m assuming you’re on my ass due to this post

And you seemingly missed my inclusion of “Daemons descendants”. Note how I said due to Daemons actions and Rhaenyra’s inaction, everything bad that happened to house Targaryen after they ‘won’, is cosmic karma for putting a hit on a baby (Maelor) and sending two murdering rapist to threaten a baby girl with rape if her mother didn’t choose which of her sons she should watch die.

Plus, aren’t you on the side of people who say the targtowers aren’t real Targaryen? Because *checks notes* they are half andal??? So in that line of thought, I’m actually not a hypocrite for wishing death on house Targaryen because they aren’t Targaryen. At least according to team black anyways.

My hatred for house Targaryen is of the line of Rhaenyra and Daemon. As team black said, they won with their son sitting on the throne, but also all the suffering the people of Westeros went through can be traced back to their second son Viserys. With his son Aegon the unworthy single-handedly plunging Westeros into civil war SEVEN times. By giving blackfye to Daemon Waters, he most blatantly, told the nobility of Westeros that he favored his bastard over his true born son. Echoing his grandmother Rhaenyra in more ways than one lol.

How many people died due to Rhaenyra grandson legitimizing all his bastards on his deathbed? How many people died due to Aerys Targaryen’s fondness for wildfyre? How many people died because Rhaegar was so enamored with the idea of a prophecy, going so far as to steal and rape a 15 year old? Notice how in the subsequent years after the dance of dragons, there were only two monarchs that were ‘good’. Viserys II and Daeron II. Others were either lunatics that would’ve been better off smothered in the cradle due to how many deaths they caused, or lackluster kings who’s poor management of their offsprings caused the realm to bleed; Aegon the Unlikely with his lack of spine when it comes to putting his foot down in regards to his children spurning their betrothed causing the Baratheons to rise up in rebellion when Duncan the Small decided to think with his dick than do his duties to the realm (sounds familiar doesn’t it? Rhaenyra’s tendencies to flaunt her disregard of her duties truly is inherited by her decedents!), and Jaehaerys II choosing to believe a woodwitch Jenny bought to court and forcibly making his children marry when both of them hated or at least strongly disliked each other.

These Targaryens didn’t come from Alicent’s line. They came from Rhaenyras. Which is why I said the downfall of house Targaryen in the current ASOIAF timeline is cosmic karma for the depravity of Rhaenyra and Daemon. I can only hope Winds of Winter would further explore Jon leaning into his Stark heritage and completely disregarding his Targ heritage, and that if Aegon Targaryen is real, he’d connect with his Martell family more so than his targ one.

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

Innata Malevolentia - Part One

Summary: there is something unsettling about Ettore that she can't quite put her finger on, and perhaps something deeper and more sinister about her check-ups with Dibs | Word Count: 3.2k ~ | warnings below the cut!

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Ettore Taglist

warnings: mentions of past non-con crimes (but vague), masturbation (f), intimate examinations, Ettore being creepy

Why do they put windows in here?

That's the constant thought that rattles around her brain, demanding an answer, but unable to find one.

She stands, by herself, arms crossed and neck craned to look up at the skylight. A box of light and cosmic colour, carved into the pitch black darkness, bathing her face in a cool, extraterrestrial glow.

It doesn't feel warm, like the sun would.

In fact it's freezing, like being dunked under a cold shower. Like that feeling when you're just about to fall from an extreme height, but your feet stay planted, arms stretched out for balance, but your weight wants to pull you down without the real force to do it.

Heart going fast, breath burning in your lungs and blood pumping around your body at such speed, it makes you feel weightless.

That's how looking at the stars and the endless abyss of the universe makes her feel.

Uneasy.

Getting closer but also further away at the same time.

If she looks at it too long she feels a bit sick, like the loops on a rollercoaster, her stomach feeling airborne for a moment.

The air conditioning nips at her arms, every little hair standing right on end. They don't even have the decency in this hellish place to pretend it's a warm, safe place to be.

How safe is she, surrounded by the most dangerous criminals, all free to roam the ship at their leisure?

Criminals including her.

There are a few people she knows she should be afraid of, and a few who are largely harmless until pushed that little bit too far, but they all have their tells.

Only Dibs has access to their records.

Only she knows what they've all done to deserve being here.

That smug-faced, cocky witch, knows everything, and says nothing about it, but carries herself as if she is any better herself. Her chin tilted up, putting on her professional facade that everyone seems to have seen through already.

The look, as if she was judging them.

But she was sick of being judged. Many had already judged her before, and doomed her to a lifetime of imprisonment because of it.

They're all monsters here.

Convicted to die on this ship, years away from Earth, from all she knows.

Not like it assisted her in any way, being on Earth. Her life had been riddled with constant failures at different points in her life, some her fault, some not.

But that's life, she muses constantly, to try and apply some reason to her existence.

Here, there's a level of freedom. No chains or bars on her cells at least. No guards to shout in her face or threaten with batons.

And yet, that feeling of being confined to a room is eclipsed by the feeling of being confined by nothingness.

She often wondered, what were her family doing right now? The little family she had left.

What was anyone back on Earth doing right now?

Had much changed?

She knew she only thought of these things because of how uneventful the ship always was. A routine set in stone, like commandments.

Wake up. Eat. Exercise. Eat. Whatever duty they were assigned. Eat. Shower. Sleep.

A monotonous, tiresome regime.

Designed to make life here as dull and boring as possible.

She's not stupid. She knows some of the crimes worthy of a death sentence.

Murder. Rape. In some cases, fraud. Which, in the same breath, seemed so tame, it could hardly be compared.

But she guessed most of them were here for murder.

It was too dangerous to think they were here for anything else. She didn't want the idea anywhere near her.

People like Monte, Tchemy, Mink. She could see those kind of people just snapping. Doing something they would later regret for the rest of their lives, and are currently paying the punishment for.

Boyse, Dibs and Nansen seemed different.

If they did murder, it would have been planned in a moment of madness.

But these were all just guesses.

One she couldn't guess for the life of her, was him.

Ettore.

An all-round weird guy. There was no other word she could think of to describe him.

Perhaps, unsettling?

In such small proximity, she sees him mostly everyday. And everytime she does, a chill prickles at her skin as she feels his eyes on her.. When she dares to look back at him, to see if he will look away, embarrassed at being caught, the pit in her stomach gets heavier when she sees he doesn't.

His blue eyes unapologetically stuck on hers, before wanding in a waving pattern all over her body, pausing at the places she might expect a man to.

His gaze would linger, but he never would.

He was like a whisper. Gone before you could even hear him approach.

In a way, that's what scared her the most. That she might be walking anywhere, in the supposed 'safety' of the artificial day or the darkness of the evening, and he might be following.

Silently.

And watching alongside it.

For what? She wasn't sure.

Was he trying to map out her movements, trying to find a set routine in her everyday life? To find ways of getting her alone to do god knows what?

Based on what she assumed about him, she made sure she was never truly by herself. Never vulnerable.

He looked like the kind to prey on vulnerability.

And therefore, women.

As he perceived them weaker, smaller, less able than him.

Not able to fight him off. Even if they tried.

Out of all the women, Mink was the easiest to talk to. To cling to.

She wasn’t even really sure how they filled their time. For what could they even talk about? Nobody wanted to talk about their crimes, or their life back on Earth. A life where everything seemed easier. Where one day they’d be told that today was their last day, and justice would be coming for them the next.

Death seemed a mercy compared to this.

Mid-spoonful of an undoubtedly terrible meal in the mess hall, Mink winces, one hand at her lower stomach.

“Period?” she asks.

Mink scoffs, shoving whatever beige looking meaty substance into her mouth, trying to act as if the pain didn’t bother her. But she just shakes her head, “I wish. Dibs’ latest checkup wasn’t the nicest”

Everything seemed to circle back to that old hag, who had shouldered control over the ship like some kind of cosmic dictator after the official captain, Chandra, died. Though she is no better than any of them, she certainly pretends to be, assuming herself to be the next kind of authority, when really, if everyone was smart enough to band together, each of them could easily do away with her.

But she was the only doctor.

And that was precious.

But why Dibs feels the need to inspect each of the women so intimately, on such a regular basis, makes a chill rattle through her body. The idea that Dibs has some kind of idea, some agenda, but isn’t telling them, is as terrifying as the endless darkness to some degree.

“What did she want this time?” she asks, pushing the inedible sludge around her plate. Though hungry, she feels little desire to actually eat anything.

Mink shrugs, “The usual I suspect. Just ‘checking on our normal bodily functions’” she replies as if quoting from the woman herself, scoffing like she doesn’t believe a word of that nonsense.

“I think she’s doing something fucking weird to us” Mink muses.

Curiosity nips at her ears as she raises her head to her fellow inmate, “Like what?”

Mink scans her periphery, checking if any of the other inmates are listening, too preoccupied with their own meals to care.

“I felt her put something inside me”

A chill settles at the back of her neck, where all her baby hairs stand on end.

Mink continues, “Boyse got a good look at what was going on. Says she thinks Dibs is trying to get us pregnant, for her psycho experiments”

Her eyes scan the table, as if trying to find answers where there are none, “She can’t do that, surely-”

“Oh yeah and who’s gonna stick up for us?” Mink interrupts, her face flat, expression cold. What she says is so unapologetically laced with the truth, but does little to take the prodding sting of panic from her.

“The people on Earth?” Mink scoffs, shoving yet another mouthful of food past her lips, “we are literally the worst of the worst. We waived the right to defense a long time ago”

Again. It’s true.

But it still does nothing to quell her nerves.

“All we have is ourselves” she adds, “and sometimes I don’t know if we can even trust that”

Having had enough, Mink leaves, carrying her tray back.

A kind of aching dread settles in the back of her mind.

For what reason would Dibs want any of them to get pregnant?

This was no place for a child, and certainly not equipped to deal with childbirth. And on top of that, who the fuck does Dibs think she is?

If she’s trying to get the women pregnant, surely, she must be getting the sperm from somewhere.

Monte was very vocal and proud of the fact he would never even touch another woman. For some inexplicable reason.

Maybe Dibs was forcing the men to do it. As she was the women and the examinations.

When her eyes scan the room, she sees him in her periphery first, his eyes like when you shine a torch in the darkness and see those two blinking amber orbs, staring right back at you. Unmoving. Like they are watching you in still and silence, as you are doing the same to them.

Even though she looks away as soon as they lock eyes, taken completely off guard that he had been staring in her direction to begin with, she still feels the way her skin prickles, feeling as if lots of gentle needles are prodding at the surface of her flesh, but not pressing hard enough to puncture.

It is like trying to hide, knowing there is nowhere to hide. Like wanting to disappear, in a place where there is only this harsh, blue light.

As she stares at her plate, the handle of her fork slovenly sliding into the beige mush, making her want to gag, she still feels it. The intensity of his gaze.

Nothing about it is warm.

He doesn’t even break as he spoons more food into his mouth, as if on auto-pilot, and completely infatuated. Like when you watch a movie and feel like you can’t blink, otherwise you’ll miss something.

It’s as if darkness seeps out of him, like a disease or a virus, flooding every inch of clear air he invades, swallowing the oxygen in the room. She often wonders about him, curiously.

How such a person, a mere man, can have that kind of effect.

Her watch beeps. Dibs wants her again.

But at least it's an excuse to leave.

And yet, she feels the intensity of his stare burning the back of her head as she does.

"Deep breath for me"

As if taking a deep breath will take away the sting of shoving that metal speculum inside her, lube or not.

She winces slightly at the discomfort, her hands forming fists where they're laying on her stomach. Staring up at the ceiling, she tries to loosen the muscles that are so tense and tight, she imagines it's not doing her any favours.

"Oh stop. It isn't that bad" Dibs says. She talks to her as if she's speaking to a child, presenting with a scraped knee, complaining that they're afraid the leg might fall off.

It only makes her want to punch her square in the face.

"What's the point of this again?" She asks, annoyance colouring her tone.

Dibs sighs, clamping the instrument open inside her, stretching her in a new place that feels like a dull ache.

"I am checking your reproductive health"

She could almost laugh at the vague response.

"So what? We can be your guinea pigs for your fertility experiments?" She adds, scoffing as she feels a swab poke at her cervix.

Dibs doesn't even have the decency to really deny it.

"I am devoted to reproduction" she explains, "the human body is an extraordinary thing. It can withstand an incredible amount of stress"

Ah, so that's why.

She wants to see if a baby can survive in these conditions.

She can't help but think that's just a bit sick.

"You are scum. All of you. This may give you some purpose in life, if you let it"

She laughs through her nose at that.

"And what does that make you?" She says, "playing god with dangerous criminals, being no better yourself"

"I did not say I was better" Dibs argues, still between her legs, with a light illuminating her work.

"And yet you feel like it's completely justified to try and get us pregnant against our will" she replies, shaking her head slightly, "you're no better than us. You're worse"

"Keep saying it and it does not change anything" Dibs sits up, reaching over to grab a clear tub. She doesn't see exactly what it is, but has an idea when she feels another instrument at her most intimate areas, pushing something inside.

Mink wasn't lying.

She was trying to artificially inseminate them. With the other prisoner's sperm.

It almost made her gag a little.

"You are a fine specimen" Dibs says, pulling the instruments she'd used out to sterilise later, "there is no reason why you cannot become pregnant in my view"

She can't help but laugh, "my body obeys me. Won't happen"

But Dibs just laughs back.

"We will see about that" she muses, "get dressed"

There's only one saving grace from being here. Away from him.

The Box.

As terrible as it sounded, it was her haven in this horrendous place.

Nobody was more shocked when Dibs announced it.

"You are not permitted to fraternise with the other prisoners. You may use the on-site masturbatory aid, The Box, should you feel the desire"

It seemed a strange thing to her, to include such a thing on a ship. For people who barely deserved to live, they deserved to at least have the privacy to get themselves off?

It was very weird.

But she didn't complain. Beats touching yourself in a cell you share with two other people.

She was only grateful she didn't have the bunk bed.

The Box could generally have a few people waiting to use it. And whenever she saw a queue for it, she grimaced and turned away, like she never intended to use it in the first place.

She knew other people had their way in it, but for some reason seeing them lined up outside waiting to have a fiddle, made her recoil back into herself.

It was almost sad that people had to wait for the supposed enjoyable experience. And having to watch them wait their turn.

Tonight though, she simply entered The Box as Boyse came out, not sparing a glance at each other when they crossed.

Not because they didn't get on. But because it offered some sense of privacy, to not acknowledge what they were here for.

Without embarrassment.

Everyone had urges after all.

It had been so long since she'd been with anyone. A long time before they even left Earth, as they certainly didn't let them fraternise with anyone within their earthly prison. Male or female alike.

At the beginning, it took her a while to get into the groove of using the Box. But now it had become second nature.

Once the door was shut, she did her business, bringing herself to peak on her fingers. Not being able to find it within herself to use the phallus on the table. It was just too weird.

Luckily for her, time passed slowly at least when she pleasured herself. Pressing her lips together to prevent any sounds from coming out. Apart from the whiny, hurried breaths that spilled from her with her orgasm, rolling in waves numbly through her limbs.

Feeling her heartbeat through her bud and a pulsing in her blood, she pulls her sweatpants back over her hips, sighing and smoothing her hair down. Pressing the button to exit, there's a lull in her horrendous situation. A brief, fleeting moment where it's just her, her feet shuffling in front of one another, her body heavy with pleasure, but light at the same time.

That is until the creaking of metal, of footsteps making their way down the ladder, bounces off the walls.

The hallway suddenly seems so much narrower, darker, with his presence.

She doesn't quite realise when he's sat down or stood far away, but now, almost right before her, she's struck by his sheer size. How tall and broad he seems in comparison. It sends a nervous chill over her bare arms, the skin beneath the short sleeves rippling up with goosebumps.

She swallows as they briefly make eye contact.

In the time she's known of him, he emotes very little. But here, seeing the faint flush on her face from the efforts of her time in the Box, one side of his lips curl up almost unnoticeably. His arms swing barely as he walks past her, his arm brushing against her shoulder, like he intended to do it.

Just the faintest touch, seems to give him something.

But it only makes her feel ill.

She dare not imagine what he could be thinking. Plotting.

She hears him murmur something deeply, a breathy laugh accompanying it.

Pivoting on her foot, her eyes find him down the hallway, where she just was, at the entrance to the Box.

"What?"

Half in, half out, his face turns over his shoulder, a faint smirk on his features as he steps backwards into the chamber.

With his messy blonde hair, once overgrown and cut himself, striking blue eyes, he would be attractive. If she didn't know him.

"Fucking cocktease" he muses, "playing hard to get, are we?"

The blood that rushed to her face before, suddenly drains.

His voice is like the purr of a cat. Calculated. A whisper, but not at the same time.

It frightens her. In a way only a man can frighten a woman with his words.

She's about to open her mouth to retort when he says.

"It's alright, I like a little struggle"

When he disappears behind the door, her blood has a chill to it.

She thinks of returning to her cell. Thinks about the fact that, since Boyse lashed out on Dibs and tried to conjure up a makeshift douche one evening, the women had been reduced to being tied down by their wrists as they slept.

The men don't.

She knows sleep won't come to her that night.

That she'll be sat awake, her wrists tied at her sides, hoping and praying that Ettore isn't fucked up enough to pay her a visit in this vulnerable state.

Perhaps, by staying awake, he won't.

She watches the doorway, hearing the faint click of skin walking on the linoleum floor in slow, careful movements. Her heart goes fast, blood pumped with pure adrenaline.

She sees his form, lit by blue, lithe, broad and littered with wiry muscle. His eyes, glimmering at her, seeing she's awake. His lips as they quirk up at the sides, like he's amused by what he sees.

Even as he carries on, walking out of view, she knows…

…that it's only a matter of time, until he has the courage to not just watch her.

And that here, she cannot escape him.

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard | @bellstwd | @blairfox04 | @hb8301  | @jamespotterismydaddy | @mochi-rose | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires  | @risefallrise  | @theoneeyedprince  | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya  | @urmomsgirlfriend1  | @valeskafics  | @watercolorskyy

Ettore Taglist: @bellaisasleep | @iamavailablesstuff | @the-common-cowgirl  | @theroyaldixon | @ultraintrovertedgryffindor

[chaifootsteps]

Please don’t remind me of the red string of fate…Viv you said “I wish I could ask people why they call my awesome queer writing fanficy” I’m telling you. It’s this ‘soulmates’ cliche. It’s full of painful cliches that stereotype gay men as weak and helpless, wrapping back to being homophobia again. As a woman how is she some authority how to write gay men anyway?

I don’t really buy that Viv hates anime because her romance writing is inspired quite heavily by the “BL” genre of anime. Or maybe she grew up on fanfic and doesn’t realise how much of it relies on BL anime tropes. But not the tame stuff. The heavy stuff that really calls the authors understanding of consent into question. One belief in toxic BL/Yaoi is that “R*pe is impossible if it’s your soulmate and you were written in the stars”

That’s probably how Vivzie justifies all this. “Yeah Blitzø was forced into it but does that even matter if their souls and sexualities were perfectly compatible cosmically aligned?” Shes so caught up in the stolitz fanart and ao3 fics, that she doesn’t realise this is one step away from saying the victim asked for it.

As someone who also grew up on a heavy diet of the BL genre and will defend it as its own distinct flavor of the bodice ripping genre, agreed completely. Rape in BL/yaoi is treated as a minor inconvenience at worst, and that's (arguably) fine when it's Tall Seme and his neighbor/classmate/underling at work/indentured sexual servant who cries a lot and whose butt is self-lubricating, but it doesn't work if you're trying to tell a very serious story about the importance of consent and healthy communication.

Most people who lived through that era realize this. Even the BL genre itself knew this. But Viv doesn't.

[rottendollface]

The Horror of Our Love. Chapter 5.

Co-author:@bigtimesalt8196

Character: Childe Tartaglia | Ajax.

Image: Picsart Al.

Warnings: NSFW; Ajax is older than in canon; broken time line and age line for the sake of plot; female virgin reader, incestuous relationship, family abuse, self-harm, misogyny, mentions of rape, unprotected sex, black magic, blood and flesh magic, body horror, sacrilegious, Foul Legacy Childe, breeding kink, miscarriage, marriage grooming, pregnancy, erotic lactation, murdering, abyssal soulmates, serfdom system in Snezhnaya; mention of suicide, all the characters are adults; 18+.

A rumble of thunder in the middle of the raging sea; splashes of freezing water that was irritating fresh wounds, and a strong current; cold and heat; metal screeching: the confusion of sensations was interrupted with ringing monotony of silence and vacuum of the feelings. Stunned brain devoured the body with a cocoon of disorientation, then it was enveloped by the ocean. The sinking ship created a whirlpool that dragged the bodies of the soldiers with it – resistance was futile. Alarmed fish darted in the blue-green water, bumped into the bodies, knocking out the last of the air, cutting off any escape. Ajax was lucky to survive: someone from comrades grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and managed to pull him onto the ice. 

A rapid breath – and Ajax woke up. There was a buzzing outside the window; Ajax got out of bed, opened the balcony door with stiffened fingers: the ship's mourning signal announced another loss.

Ajax felt alone in a big city. Not even grueling practice could distract him from this devouring loneliness that gaped in his heart. This grieving feeling tortured Ajax’ heart and made him do risky things: volunteering himself to the war, rushing into the column of enemies and starting a bloodbath. His fiery nature caused rumors between other troops that crippled to the higher ranks – and Ajax got promoted. His first mission, memories of which tormented him to this day, wasn't as successful as he wanted it to be. The real combat paralyzed Ajax’ mind: hunting down people was different from killing monsters and taming demons. Killing those who looked like him had put his barely surviving mind in serious danger. Ajax managed to overcome it, and depression changed to feigned carelessness.

Women of different origin tried to keep him company but he brushed them off like pesky bugs. Comrades were perplexed: how could Ajax resist the feminine charm so easily? The answer was simple yet Ajax had never spoken it out loud: he missed you. 

Ajax was writing letters but received no answers from you. What were you doing, his love? Demons kept silent as well, no matter how he tortured them. This collective mystery about you made Ajax’ heart drop: did you marry this old nasty man? Did you meet someone better than Ajax and ran away with him? He couldn't leave the army to see you: the sentence for desertion was death. Ajax was on the verge of a better future for both of you, so he had to wait a little longer to be happy with you until the end of the days. 

Skirk's guidance didn't constrain you for a long time. You were a stranger to her world of solitude, and she wanted to get rid of you as fast as possible to regain the broken privacy. Skirk was unpredictable – and you stayed alerted every second of your existence in the Abyss. 

This dimension was mysterious and cosmic. Your human brain couldn't comprehend it. You experienced something similar in grandmother's village – another distorted dimension that existed in an irrational way was toying with your primitive senses. You were everywhere and nowhere at the same time, and the time itself was different here. It was driving you insane. 

Skirk was impossible to live with: mostly she was sitting by the fireplace, still and silent; yet when you tried to sleep, she started babbling disturbing nonsense, with her voice being dry, low and her tempo fast. Her whispering summed up with heretic teaching brought you to uncontrollable, animalistic fear. 

Her face features were sharp, her body was bony and made an impression that her skin was stretched over her bare bones, with lack of organs and muscles. Skirk's eyes were big, round, and sunken with swelling around them, her eyelids retracted; her gaze was mad with its creepy alienation from the world. You could feel her always open eyes watching you from the dark. 

Skirk taught you basic magic: the ritual, the sacrifice, the clairvoyance, a couple of summoning circles, the art of archery and weapon enchantment – the rest was up to you. She despised you: for your origin, for your weakness, for your tearfulness, so Skirk took you through aggression, hatred and pain, destroying your moral convictions and burning the concept of honor out of your soul. By using her power of persuasion and intimidation she rebuilded your mind the way she wanted it to be, but it didn't help. You stayed the same, merciful, naive and confused, for what she detested you. 

Being with Skirk was torturing. She was talking about millions of violent deaths, about grief and loss, about suffering of mothers who buried their children, about laments of kids who lost their parents. You could hear her voice even with your ears covered up with your hands. Her narration brought you so much despair you wanted to get deaf. 

When she finished her duty and drained you out emotionally and physically, she sent you on the lower floors of the Abyss. There was no goodbye or a farewell word – you saw the door of darkness closing before you and the stairs building up under your feet. The time you spent with Skirt was strange, inconsistent and incomplete – just like her persona. She warned you that the story of your journey should be written by your own hand, so you started it, traveling further into despair. 

Your first stop was the small library. It didn't have much light, so you had to strain your eyes to read through the books. All of them were about the Ascension. Everyone, who had enough wisdom and knowledge, that couldn't be fit into a human flesh, were prone to ascend through torturing themselves in the Abyss by fighting countless legions, and those were called the Demi-Gods. Those could be saints, criminals, kings and peasants – it didn't matter for the Forgotten Gods who would join the title of a Demi-God. On the other hand there were Forgotten ones: Qhor'Gho, Holege, Ovalis, Zum Ois and Lessur… the names you had never heard of in your life and the names that you shouldn't have known. Your hands started shaking, as you felt that something dark and forbidden had touched your brain and tickled every cell in it. 

As the book said, the Forgotten Gods were the one to bring knowledge and life into the world. At first there was a spectrum of light which birthed the two – Qhor'Gho and Holege, the cohesively created creatures that epitomized the two sides of the spectrum: destructive and creative. The Qhor'Gho's light was showing destruction, and delivered sulfur to the world. The seas and volcanoes of sulfur were burning away all the possible life. The Holege's light was fertile and gave the world mercury. The mercurial soil carried the fragile essence of life. As the both Gods united, they created life and brought numerous children into the universe. 

You finished reading and the book ignited in your arms with blue flame. It burned to ashes that fell to your feet, yet no damage was shown to you. You looked around, not knowing what to do. You tried to read another book but all of them turned out to be empty. Without any ideas, you continued your journey and left the room.

The other space appeared to be a long corridor without doors and turns. You were looking around sharply, trying to see something in complete darkness. Your bare feet were burning from cold and small rocks that pierced the delicate skin, until it changed on paving stones and the crowded, yet silent main square of some ancient city builded up in front of you like some kind of mirage. You were wandering through the streets, staring at divine architecture. Citizens didn't care about you – you were unworthy of a peek of their dark eyes covered with red, swollen eyelids. 

What was this city? Was it a distant region of Teyvat you would be able to see in real life, or was it a reminiscence of an old civilization? Brick houses were situated one near another, they were simple and boring. Citizens were gloomy and haggard. Nothing could catch your eye. 

Whispers were lowing in the dead silence. You jumped and pricked up your ears. For how long was someone talking to you? Advent of the voices seemed so natural you didn't even notice it. You couldn't understand what they were saying, so you materialized the bow in your arms. You weren't a great archer, yet it was better to have something for protection by your side than coming with bare hands. Carefully, you were making slow steps in the direction of the voices, until the whispers changed on the prompt hoof strokes, and the sound of trumpet broke up the silence with its low, sinister howl, filling the space with agonizingly loud sound.

You screamed and fell on your knees, as you couldn't comprehend the dissonance. It was so loud you clenched your jaws together, your teeth crackled; your head felt as if it was about to split by the force that you put into your palms, protecting your ears. You crouched, trying to hide from the abhorrent sound that only regained more power. Screaming in unison with the trumpet, you wished to faint. 

Finally, it was gone. Blissful silence came onto you only to be tramped with hoofs of gigantic black horse that revealed a dark herald on its back. 

The herald spoke out, narrating the will of Gods. One who was called Ovalis was bewitched by the False God and decided not to spare mankind, which promised imminenting hunger. The crowd started to worry: people were rushing around, stumbling and stomping your body. You crawled away and laid under an abandoned cart, hiding behind the big wooden wheels. Breathing heavily, you watched the mighty horse pranced, reared up and spun around while the herald kept narrating, promising mankind ordeals of hunger, war, disease, and death. The herald had a leather purse on his side which caught your thievish attention. His body was covered in black flimsy armor but his head stayed unprotected. In a mere second you saw that someone threw a spear at him: it striked right through his face, making the body fall. The frightened horse ran away through his body and hobbled on the armor – its huge bulk tilted and fell on the dusty ground with a pathetic neighing.

Was the Abyss speaking to you through these illusions? If so, what was it trying to tell you? 

Driven by animalistic impulse you emerged from your shelter to steal the purse. The horse was convulsing, not being able to get up. You sat behind it and grabbed it, making an effort to lift it, and you succeeded. As soon as it felt the earth under its hooves, the horse ran away without looking back.

Your grasping fingers squeezed the purse, and you hid in the nearest alleyway, pressing the loot to your chest. Afraid that someone could follow you, you disappeared in the labyrinth of houses of an unknown city. You looked through the purse – it contained letters and a book. The book was about the False God, Lessur, who was banished out of the World and settled down on the Moon. Lessur named herself a Goddess of Moon, Protection and Nitrogen. Your birthmark responded with a strange tingling as you read the first sentence. You decided to leave the book for a while, and focused your attention on the letters. They were written by a trembling hand and contained panicking messages about the arrival of aliens and rage of the Primordials. 

The Traitor from the Sky let the Aliens into our world. The Traitor made us be forgotten by those who cared about us.

You searched for an empty house and found a wretched shack. You made sure that no one was inside and got in quickly. You reread the letters, trying to find an explanation about the aliens but failed which brought you back to studying Lessur. 

Lessur was born by gemmation – she grew up on her mother's body and gemmated from it a few months after. Since her first day she was copying her mother, for that she was banished. Lessur harbored a grudge and rebuilded her character to break ties with her mother. She became a separate Goddess. Every girl that was born during the eclipse was marked with a Lessur's special sign that connected girls to her. Lessur's cult was called the House of the Lunar Light. Magic of the Goddess taught her followers spells of protection and regeneration. Also all the cultists were immune to fire. 

Your birthmark was nagging in pain. It wasn't hard for you to compare all the events you came through to realize that it was her mark guiding and protecting you. You felt uneasy in your stomach. You were taught to pray to the Archons but they betrayed your family and you by staying deaf to your pleading. Heretics and demons opened your eyes and gave you a truth about the real universal order, nevertheless you weren't ready to accept this truth. You couldn't trust anyone: everyone was telling things that would benefit them. 

You sat in the house for a while, rethinking your situation. You were experiencing the same events as you did before, you decided. You called out demons to help you get out of there but they didn't show up.

“Is it lucid dreaming?” You thought to yourself, musing about the nature of your visions and a possible escape. Your guess didn't make it easier. You had no idea on how to get back to reality. All the magic that Skirk taught you had no practical use in a current situation. 

You decided to search up the city to find more information about Lessur. 

Back to reality, Tamara and Katerina were looking after you. Everyone of the family, including the younger children of the heads, had left for the Capital to see the landowner and sell the goods on a fair, so the daughters-in-law volunteered to take care of you. Katerina was first to offer her help, as she wanted to know you better, but she didn't expect to find you in such a vulnerable state. 

You were sleeping for four days with no signs of waking. Part of your body was damaged from the cold, as you were laying in snow for a whole night before you were found by your mother in the morning. Covered in feverish sweat, you were whimpering from time to time, muscles of your face constricting like you were in a great pain. Once you scared Katerina so much she got gray hair: all of a sudden you sat up on the bed, your eyes still closed and your conscience sleeping, but your weak body regained unusual strength to keep you in sitting position. She didn't like to stay in your room – she felt oppressed every time she visited you. Everything was different here: noises, smells, even the passage of time. Katerina couldn't describe it to anyone but she felt how all sounds of the house became muted, almost inaudible, how the smell of earth pierced her nostrils and how fast the time here was. 

Tamara was looking after the house mostly and tried to avoid Katerina's company. Tamara was waiting to become a new heir of the family and take the main house into her hands – for that she was ready to walk over the top of every other sibling of her husband. It was her to guide her not so smart husband through all the questions that related to the heritage. She knew that the question about inheritance of the workshop would be raised at the meeting with the landowner. Tamara told her husband what to say and how to behave to earn the landowner's sympathy. She was waiting for the news nervously, though her emotions remained suppressed. 

Tamara was here only to study you better. The woman needed to realize your true nature, though it was obvious that you were naive and unviable. She was afraid that a sudden outbreak of parental feeling could ruin her game but it seemed that no one cared for you. The only people who were visiting your bed were Tamara, Katerina and Pavel Korneevich. The awe he treated you with and the desire to be helpful in nursing you disgusted both Tamara and Katerina. They didn't care what type of affection he felt towards you and it didn't matter to their minds if his actions had a decent motive – such an interest in a young girl from an old hopeless man was nasty and should have been despised. Deep inside both of them thought that it would be better for the family and for you if he vanished. No one in their right mind would want you to marry the old man.

“Poor girl…” Katerina sighed, wiping sweat off your forehead. “I wish I could spend more time with her. She reeks of loneliness.”

“Keep your pity to yourself,” Tamara sniffed irritably. She hated Katerina for being too childish and naive, and didn't want to see her in the family at all. In Tamara's mind, Katerina was dishonoring the family with her frivolous character. “Your laments won't help her to get better. They will rather make her go to the grave earlier.”

Somehow Tamara felt all her negative thoughts and emotions becoming worse in the house. She could barely hold her anger back. 

Katerina pursed her lips, and her eyebrows curved ruefully. “I just want… oh, forget about it. It doesn't matter.” She fell silent, as she saw Tamara’s cold eyes.

Sudden knock at the door made the women jump. “Sit there.” Tamara ordered. She smoothed her dress and left the room.

Pavel Korneevich was waiting outside, stomping around from cold biting at his feet. Finally a door cracked open and Tamara showed up on the doorstep. She grimaced right after she saw the guest. 

“How's she doing?” The man asked, his breathy voice sounded strained. He looked over Tamara's shoulder to see what was happening in the house. 

“We will inform you if she gets better. No need to go here every day.” She frowned. 

“Won't you let me in to see her?” Pavel Korneevich didn't give up. Tamara clenched her jaws in irritation and made a step aside, clearing the passage. Pavel Korneevich didn't move. “That's not very nice of you, Tamara Lvovna.” 

Tamara's eyes squinted, wrinkles on her forehead became deeper. No one had ever called her in an official manner. She could swear she saw a glimpse of taunt in the postman's gaze. 

“Be careful of what you wish, Tamara Lvovna,” Pavel Korneevich shook his head. “It can become reality. See you later.”

He left, and Tamara felt uneasy in her chest. She saw her neighbor, an old woman, making her way through the snow. “Tama!” She screamed to her, breathing heavily. “Tama, Pavlusha… Pavlusha is dead!”

“What?!” Tamara growled, coming from the porch to hear the old lady better. 

“He hung himself! Oh, Tsaritsa, what is happening!” The crone was lamenting. “His house is a mess. I swear it looked like a madman's lair!”

Sudden breathlessness attacked Tamara. Tamara Lvovna looked at the door of the house with her eyes empty, as if she was on the verge of solving the mystery. She ran back, shouting for Katerina. 

“Katya!” Tamara called, as she was closing the door on all the locks. Her tone was high pitched. Katya's hasty steps roamed on the ladder. “Find the candles! I'm gonna pray.”

“Who was that? What happened?” She was chattering, her fast mind pleading for answers. Through her voice Tamara Lvovna heard a light sound of scratching, as if someone was scraping the wooden floor. She raised her head up but saw nothing. The sound disappeared. 

Tamara shook her head to chase the bad thoughts away. She lit a candle, brought by Katerina, and started chanting with her voice low. Shivers ran down Katerina's spine: she was pious to the core. 

Tamara was walking around the room, bringing the candle to every corner. Katerina was standing still, afraid to hinder the ritual. She got a glimpse of a shadow running away from the kitchen, and flinched. Her eyes were rushing from wall to wall but she couldn't see a thing. Something fell on the floor in your room with a loud sound and made Katerina shudder. Afraid it could be something from the other side, she ran up the stairs and headed towards your room. The lock jammed, taking a lot of power from the woman to open the door. She stumbled inside only to find you twitched in seizure. Your body was bowed, wrists clenched tightly with your nails protruding into the skin until blood. Snarling in pain, you were wriggling on the bed. Your body was taking impossible positions with your spine cracking. 

Katerina ran to you and pressed her hands to your shoulders, trying to lay you down. Her palms got scorched from the impossible hotness of your skin but she didn't stop pressing you to the mattress. Your eyes were open: once bright, they were covered with a dull veil that gave you the look of a corpse. 

Not knowing what to do, Katerina started to pray which made the chaos around her worse. You fell on your side, facing Katerina, and arched, crashing among the blanket with your legs. Your bloodless lips opened, letting out a begging hoarse groan. Tears streamed down Katya's cheeks. 

Katya felt like someone else was in the room with her. This person was staying behind her back and watching her helpless attempt to calm you. In a second another person appeared and hit her on the arm. Katya screamed, feeling like she was losing her mind. 

The room became darker. All of a sudden your seizure ended. You hung on the edge of the bed, the upper half of your body was laying on the floor. Your empty eyes were staring at Katerina: the poor woman hid in the closest  corner and crouched from fear. 

In the Abyss you were rushing around in pain that attacked your head. You beat your head against the brick wall trying to open your skull to get rid from the pressure that accumulated inside your cranium, tearing your hair and gnashing your teeth. You felt like the earth was leaking away under your feet. You drowned in nothingness: your pain increased to an impossible level, so you started to tear off pieces of your flesh to ease it. 

The outbreak of madness led you to fall into complete darkness that consisted of pain. Something worse was waiting to appear, you could feel it. Then you saw it: a ray of light pierced the space around you, pouring with sulfuric heat. Your eyes burned out from what you saw but Skirk's teaching of clairvoyance drew a picture of gigantic monstrosity towering over you. You couldn't describe this abomination of natural order, more to say you couldn't even realize it. Smell of sulfur made you cough your lungs out: every cell was destroyed and rebirthed into a pathological one, causing you true suffering. Pink foam was seething on your lips while pieces of melted lungs were leaking out your mouth. Liquid blue flame was plaguing your body but your agile organism rebuilded itself quickly. You got into a cycle of death and rebirth which didn't seem to have an end. 

Your distorted conscience and identity disintegrated into dozens of shards, each screaming in pain until the vocal cords broke. Like a newborn, you let out a final scream, which filled your lungs with air, and brought you back to your senses.

You were laying on the floor of your room, your limbs numb. You took your time to process what was going on but Katerina's neurotic laughter made it hard to focus. 

By the sound of her giggles you realized that she was out of her mind. You had never heard such a strange blank laughter before. You collected all your power and stood up; your vision got blurry and your head went dizzy. You fell on the floor again. 

Katerina's fingers were fidgeting around her hair, digging into her scalp and pulling once beautiful locks. 

“Katya, it's me…” You spoke to her, Your voice disappeared when you called your name. You tried again, and again it was muted. You got frustrated at the realization that you couldn't name yourself. “What happened to you?”

Katya stood up and left the room with lunatic steps.

“Katya? What's wrong with you?!” Tamara's surprised voice sounded on the first floor. “Katya!” Her tone pitched, and the front door slammed shut.

The polite demon stepped out from the darkness. “Poor Katechka was unprepared to face the truth,” He stated with a bubbling tone. “While you were traveling in Abyss, Tamara Lvovna decided to purify the house from evil which was quite shortsighted of her. This is what happens when intruders come into the deal.” Its tone was full of disgust. “Thanks to Tamara, your awakening was this awful.”

You kept unresponsive. You heard Tamara coming up the stairs. In the following moment she came into the room searching for answers of Katerina's strange behavior. She froze where she stood when she saw you.

For Tamara Lvovna the last five minutes she spent on spiritual cleansing of the first floor remained a mystery. Tamara was bewildered. She looked at you, lying helplessly on the floor, and left to find Katerina. 

“Call Ajax,” You said, trying to get up. Demon skewed its face. “Are you deaf?!”

You wouldn't make it without him. The demonic source got out of control with Ajax’ departure. Yet the demon didn't hurry to execute your will. It would better succumb to you than go to its master. 

“Why are you still here?” You could feel rage boiling slowly in you. 

“I believe we are capable of solving this problem ourselves.” It answered with a sweet tone. 

“If I go away, will you leave my family alone?” You asked immediately. You hid your face in your palms, tired. They played with you however they wanted. You were ready to go away to stop this never-ending cycle of madness, fear and violence.

“Yes, but you have to go through the Abyss.” It nodded and disappeared. 

You reeked with sweat and sebum. You came to the bathroom to clean yourself. It was hard to move and think but you wanted to escape your own thoughts by filling your mind with simple actions. While bathing, you dropped a quick glance at the mirror but the woman you saw in it made you drop the bucket of water.

You came to the mirror and looked closely at yourself. Instead of a skinny maiden you saw a young woman. Your face became older, first signs of wrinkles appeared under eyes and in the corners of your mouth. Your limbs were longer and thinner, your figure was mature. Your lower tummy got a hardly noticeable bulge. The gaze in your eyes changed from scared and sad to tired and compassionate. 

Your wet hair got dry abnormally fast as if the inner heat of your body evaporated all the water. Nevertheless you didn't care about it. You came into your room, dressed in a plain wool dress and tied your hair in a bun with two tiny braids. To change the bedsheets you had to search for the blanket under the bed: it fell down during seizures. While fumbling under the bed, your palm felt strange scratches on the floor. You got up and moved the bed away, putting all your power in this motion. The bed moved a bit, opening a sight of a magic circle on the floor. You didn't need to see it fully to realize it was the same circle with a star, an eye and the crescent moons. You remembered all the complaints about the rustle inside your room. It wasn't hard for you to understand that something sent you to the Abyss on purpose. 

You sat on the chair to collect your mind. You felt like you were staying on the edge of a chasm – the family was falling apart. What happened to Katerina was a shame and a warning for you.

You changed. Since your journey your character became stronger. You were done with running away and suffering, instead, you were ready to face the problems and fight. No one would ever take advantage of you again, you swore to yourself. 

What was your destiny in this world? You couldn't find the answer. The stars weren't merciful to you – so you decided to build your fate yourself. You were too young to understand a thing about life but you were mature enough to experience unfairness and betrayal. Diving deeper into your musing, you found your body being too heavy to carry. You sat limply on a chair, your hands swinging lifelessly. Minute after minute, hour after hour you were staring at the ceiling with blank eyes, until you felt a stinging sensation in your arm. You didn't even look at it. Your fingers twitched but your whole body remained motionless. You felt something moving inside your veins and trying to break through your skin. It was as thin as a pitiful sprout of a dying plant but as brisk as a leech. Layer after layer it was diving through your body to see the light until it succeeded. It reached for the floor and went into cracks between floorboards. It took your hours to realize that you were sprouting. Paralyzed by a depressive state, you were slowly growing into the chair, into your own room. You flinched but the roots were so strong they didn't let you move. Your limbs grew a root system that connected you to the house. Black flowers, leaking horrid juice, blossomed on your legs. You screamed but no one was here to help you. As always, you were on your own.

You took the great final effort to set yourself free. You figured out it could be the power of the Vision, so you took control over it and the sprouts started to die out. In a couple of minutes it disappeared. You had to master your magic as soon as possible before it killed you in the accident. 

You took the diary, trying to find the answers but it kept silent as well. Grandmother left no mention of Lessur and Primordial Gods. It seemed like you had to go back to the Abyss to gain the needed information, just like the demon told you. You called for it, and it appeared in front of you.

“Is there any way to enter the Abyss outside the house?” You inquired confidently. The demon nodded. “Guide me.”

[eldritch-spouse]

Let me start this off by saying PINNIE, YOU ARE SUCH AN AMAZING WRITER, AND I LOVE HOW WELL WRITTEN YOUR CHARACTERS ARE!

The way you write villains is so compelling because, while they are evil, they are multifaceted, three-dimensional beings. They are monsters who have families and friends, hobbies, likes and dislikes, cute quirks, soft and tender moments, and some even have tragic backstories that caused them to be the way they are. But at their core, they are evil.

First off saiders. If were real, I would HATE their entire race and truly only wish the worst for them. They copulated with humans, and when those humans bore their children, they were disgusted. Instead of, just designing the human body to not be able to get impregnated by saiders—like a breeder with a human—no matter how hard they try, it'll never happen. They decide to hunt down the offspring and then pack up and leave, letting humanity expire but not before they killed Krulu’s creations, then tossed him into the null, forgetting about him and permanently damaging his form, and giving him an everlasting hatred for humanity for something THAT WASN'T EVEN OUR FAULT. But Krulu can't fight with the other saiders, so, of course, he'll take it out on beings astronomical weaker than him.

The most insurmountable case of villains getting everything they want with no consequences in this series has been Krulu and by extension his lackeys. For presumably years, he and took the lives of countless people, but he got to find love with two lessers, had two children, and supremely rules over perdition and heaven through them.

Maria, as devious and suspicious as she is, hates people who perform abortions, and I assume by extension, people who get them. But she finds it acceptable and fully permits Krulu to grab random humans—innocent or not—and let them be raped, killed, tortured, and maimed within the clergy. Humans who could be someone's mom, dad, sister, brother, CHILD! She claims to care about children so much, but I assume after they stop being small, helpless and cute she couldn't care less. I mean why should she care? She already has her charm and numerous kids with them.

She would probably watch humanity go extinct at Krulu’s hands if he did it in the most entertaining way possible.

And the worst part about it is that they both will never be punished for their actions.

The other saiders are never coming back; they thought we were all dead anyway. That one extra saider you said might come probably will take part in the torture, rape, and genocide of the human race.

Humans could NEVER fight back. The possibility of killing a saider is simply non-existent and even their WEAKER IN COMPARISON kids cannot be touched

Dorem sure as hell isn't going to do it despite the fact he CAN. He'll just groan that he has over a billion souls to deal with, and since no new humans will probably be born, souls will be eaten by the millions or reincarnated into monsters, demons, and possibly angels.

The supreme beings who are above it all—above the saiders and possibly every cosmic force—would not intervene in the name of complete cosmic neutrality.

Even if other monsters, demons, the clergymen, Adrul, Adelo, and even Miara's kids take human spouses their kids will not be human. I wanna say after 4 generations it'll mark the permanent end of the human race but even then not really.

What happened to breeders I assume will be what happens to humanity a very small group taken to an extremely remote area where they're experimented on, forced copulation, treated like a human zoo, and sold to the highest bidder who'd like to get their hands on the last rare piece of the once honored human race.

UGHHHH, I KNOW IT WAS A LOT. I LOVE YOUR BEAUTIFUL MIND! 💕💕

Well, I should clarify that this isn't really a happy universe or a very "black and white" one. All the characters in my blog, save for very few, are morally evil. In a bit of a bleak turn of events, even gods are great evil-doers here.

The siadar are a failing society of incredibly powerful entities, and as their sims, we all suffer because of that. They may have faded into obscurity under the much more hopeful fabrications that replaced them, but some never forget, such as the celestials- Who are "doomed" to forever revere the ones who left them to die.

Krulu is, to most, blatantly evil. And even if he ends up calming down in the future, he will never truly heal. The chance to heal was stolen from him, his state of mind is always reflected in how he executes things, how he governs the space he claimed as his own. He wants to be feared, he sees most humans and monsters not as actual people worth a shred of his time, but as reminders of what his worthless kin did- The flawed, grotesque things they preferred over his own immaculate brilliance, his care. And so, even if no one is there to see it, to be offended, he hopelessly tortures them.

Miara is not good. She doesn't claim to be. She doesn't care to prove herself to anyone. Miara has come to enjoy time on Earth after having thought hard about the state of her existence. She wants the surface to herself, if Krulu's plan comes to fruition, having no desire to intrude on his way of life beyond that. What he does is hardly her concern, she wants her own slice of peace, and that's that.

Dorem is a bum in a complete rut who just can't be bothered to do anything to help himself and sees no way to go back to his earlier life. The souls in this planet have become too chaotic, and he hates it all, he hates everything he just wants it to fucking stop- But it won't. It never will. This is his life. His eternity. And he rots away, eating the souls that bother him, hoping the two gods on Earth stay relatively placid.

And the Betrayer. Well. Certainly won't be better. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Thenk you for your thoughts though! I'm happy you like stuff here. :7

[wolftheawoo]

Chapter III - Let's play a game.

NSFW FANFIC - DDDNE

Reverse Fall(s) - Twisted Realities

Relationships: Bill Cipher/Ford Pines, Will Cipher | Reverse Bill Cipher/Ford Gleeful | Reverse Ford Pines, Will Cipher | Reverse Bill Cipher/Dipper Gleeful | Reverse Dipper Pines, Will Cipher | Reverse Bill Cipher/Mabel Gleeful | Reverse Mabel Pines, Bill Cipher & Will Cipher | Reverse Bill Cipher, Dipper Gleeful | Reverse Dipper Pines & Mabel Gleeful | Reverse Mabel Pines, Dipper Gleeful/Ford Gleeful, Mabel Gleeful/Ford Gleeful, Bud Pines/Gideon Pines, Mabel Gleeful | Reverse Mabel Pines/Pacifica Southeast | Reverse Pacifica Northwest Tags: DDDNE, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Rape/Non-con Elements, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Rape, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Underage Rape/Non-con, Underage Sex, Consensual Underage Sex, Underage Drinking, Underage Smoking, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Underage Kissing, Anal Sex, Anal Gaping, Piss, Vomiting, Object Insertion, Gore, Visceral, Violence, Reverse Falls, Alternate Universe - Reverse Portal (Gravity Falls), Alternate Universe - Reverse Falls | Reverse Pines (Gravity Falls), Reverse Pines Family (Gravity Falls), Ford is sadic as fuck here, Dipper and Mabel are very very bad, there will be blood, Bill is a spectator and voyeur, Voyeurism, Mabel suck his grunkle to get what she wants, Incest, Sibling Incest, Uncle/Nephew Incest, Uncle/Niece Incest, Stancest, pinecest, Spanking, Non-Consensual Spanking, Non-Consensual Touching, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Non-Consensual Oral Sex

Summary:

Bill Cipher, the most chaotic triangular demon in the universe, is about to discover that not all cosmic power is hole-proof. Stumbling into a dimensional rift, he plummets straight into the universe of Reverse Falls, where everything is twisted, sinister, and a little more broken than he remembered. Instead of looking for a way back, Bill decides to do what he does best: turn this chaos into his personal playground. With constant misfortune and characters darker than ever, he plunges headlong into a universe where nothing makes sense, but everything is potential for fun. For Bill Cipher, the more wrong the situation, the better. And in the end, he may even discover that the chaos of Reverse Falls is where he really belongs.

Chaos, acid humor and a lot of misfortune guaranteed. After all, for Bill, hell is an amusement park.

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(⁠ﾉ⁠◕⁠ヮ⁠◕⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠*⁠.⁠✧

The moment Ford's fingers trailed down Will's back, the boy could feel a shiver run through him, causing him to sigh low and heavy. The gasp that came from his lips was visible, and, swallowing his saliva, he held back.

“What are you?” The voice that cut through the air - firm, decisive and yet soft enough to make the mono eye tremble with anxiety - reached his ears like whispered music.

“I'm yours,” he uttered, trying frustratingly to keep the saliva inside his mouth. He couldn't hold it in any longer; he was about to explode.

A loud groan left him when Ford pressed the sole of his shoe against Will's erection, crushing it under his foot, making the red of the sole of his social shoe wet with the clear liquid that oozed out of the other man's phallus. “What are you?” he asked again, this time through gritted teeth. He was growing impatient, and Will knew it. His hands were tied behind his back, preventing him from touching himself, just as the blindfold prevented him from seeing Ford. He could only hear him. He could only feel him. When he spoke, the demon could feel his hot breath on his cheek; he could smell the bourbon Ford liked to drink, and he could feel how warm the inside of his mouth was. He would give anything to be inside that mouth.

“I am… your slave,” he swallowed with difficulty. It was coming from the recesses of his oral cavity, and he still hadn’t gotten used to it. Having a mouth, a nose and ears was strange. He used to only have one eye, and it was through it that he did everything he needed. With this body, however… he had a place to put his master’s cock.

“Good... very good.” And as much as he had said what he wanted to hear, the shoe was pressed down even harder, crushing his small penis against his testicles, making the pain spread. He felt it in his stomach, so strong it was; and he couldn't scream. He held his voice in his throat, tears wetting the fabric of the blindfold. Ford had already said that if he was scandalous, he would knock his teeth out. As tempting as the idea was, he didn't like the pain. He was afraid of it. “And who do you obey, Will?”

Ford's touch on the boy's face was all he wanted. When he held his chin, he felt compelled to get closer to him. He rubbed his cheeks against the palm of another's hand and practically begged for more. Affection, he wanted Ford's affection. He wanted his touch. He wanted his caress. He needed it, and Ford knew it. The Gleeful caressed him with his fingerprints, sliding his thumb along his jaw before finally pushing his cheek away. Will grunted like an ownerless puppy as his face turned cold without the warmth coming from his lover's phalanges.

“You!” he moaned, desperate for more. That was enough for Ford to hit him, bringing his hand down hard enough to turn Will's face, who felt his cheek burn immediately. His whole body shook violently as his master put the weight of his body against his intimacy, and when he felt something break inside him, he screamed.

“You?” the voice was filled with disgust “You?!” anger, he was angry! “How dare you?” the sentence was practically spat out.

No, no, no. That's not what he wanted. He'd done it again, He'd done it again! He'd made a mistake. It had made him angry. He was, without a shadow of a doubt, the worst husband Ford could have chosen from the many dimensions that existed! Unable to contain himself, he cried like a child. His testicles ached, his arms were numb and his hands tingled. His face was burning, and his cheek hurt from having accidentally bitten it when he was caught. Trembling all over, he pathetically tried to crawl closer to Ford, begging, pleading for his forgiveness. He was the worst, the worst husband of all. He was horrible, terrible. How could he? How could he have disrespected him like that?! Calling him you! How could he?

“M-master, forgive me, forgive me, master, I beg you... this won't happen again, I beg you” He crawled on the floor like a worm. His tears and saliva littered the wooden floor, and the closer he tried to get, the further away he felt. Before he could continue, he felt him stoop down beside his body, grabbing his face to lift her up.

“Will... you hurt me every time you do that. You know, don't you?” the young man agreed, nodding his head. His heart was breaking knowing that he had made his beloved sad. He could feel it! His voice was low, so, so low. So frustrated, so sad! “Of all people, I, who do everything for you. Who gave you this body?”

“The master,” he whispered.

“Who made a contract with you and made you like this, palpable?” As he asked, he slid the tips of his six fingers across the boy's smooth, bare chest.

“The Master,” he shivered once again.

“Who accepted you even if you were defective like this?”

“The Master”

“Who loved you even if you were damaged like this?”

“The Master”

“Who touched that despicable body of yours and gave you pleasures you had never dreamed of having?”

“The Master…”

“And this is how you repay your master?”

“F-forgive me… I beg you, master…”

“Oh, Will… of course I forgive you, my love.” And when he finally thought he was going to kiss him… when he felt him getting closer, holding his chin and bringing his face closer and closer… when he could already feel his breath, when he could feel the Ford’s lips brushing against his, almost touching his own… he pushed his face away. “But don’t make that mistake again, or I’ll rip out your remaining eye.”

The frustration that filled his chest made his beating heart ache. It was true: Ford had made a contract with him. When he arrived in that world, confused and lost, he welcomed him. The portal that Ford and Fiddle had opened had been his gateway to that wonderful world, and so that he could stay, his beloved had kindly offered him the chance to make a contract. He didn't accept at first, it was true... but as time went by, he fell more and more in love with the man. At first, he called him “Muse”. Will's eyes lit up every time this happened. “My Muse” were his favorite words. It was what he loved most to hear coming out of Ford's mouth. Of course, when he proposed to him, he had never been happier. He had already provided a body for him to inhabit; an empty shell that he could enter without having to ask permission. In this body, they made love for the first time and it was magical. It wasn't difficult to receive a “Yes”. “Yes, I want to marry you, Stanford”.

The ceremony was beautiful. Fiddleford was the officiant, and Ford's vows had been so... romantic and beautiful that, without realizing it, he had signed the marriage contract without even reading it. So it was at that moment that they signed a contract. If before the wedding and the contract his beloved Ford had been like this, so romantic and devoted... after they had been bound to each other by something much bigger and more powerful than just rings, he had become like this, a little... different.

Wil had taught him magic. He had taught him all the wonders of a thousand worlds. He had taught Ford everything he could ever want to know. It was obvious that he would become a very powerful wizard, and now that he had Will literally and figuratively trapped by a magical contract, he was almost invincible.

The only thing that made Will a little sad was the distance. They hadn't made love - real love, not what Ford called love - for a long, long time. On their wedding night, Gleeful let McGucket have fun with his new toy. After they performed the surgery that removed the eye from Will's 3D, human body, forcing him to wear an eye patch, he also became Stanley's toy, who used him whenever he was “too full”, and Mabel was too busy, according to himself. Stanford liked to watch. No matter how much Will screamed, struggled and cried, he just stood there, watching. He didn't masturbate, he didn't tell them what to do and he didn't move. He just watched. When Fiddle, or Stan, or whoever was using the body of the triangle demon finished... Ford would just get up and walk out, leaving his little “Blue Bird” - as he had affectionately nicknamed him - there, dirty and exhausted. It was obvious that Will felt exposed, to say the least. He didn't understand, and it hurt not to. It was humiliating, degrading and shameful. When he felt pleasure or moaned, it was even worse. It made his stomach churn, and when he threw up the first time and was forced by Stan to eat the mess he had made, he felt like the worst piece of garbage in the world. He wasn't supposed to like it. Why, why did he just stare? Why was he smiling? When, in the end, he understood that this was “love”, everything became easier. Humans, he realized, loved in a strange way.

“Gunkle Ford?!” Mabel's voice drew him out of himself. He heard the door being opened and remained motionless, silent. The twins didn't like it when he spoke. He'd learned that the hard way, and was still a little afraid whenever he saw the girl with scissors in her hands. “Oh... busy?”

“No. Not at all. Will, clothes.” He wanted to moan with the relief of having his arms free, but he didn't. He knew Ford wasn't even bothering to untie him when he just felt the magical aura around him, releasing him from his bonds, taking off his blindfold. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mabel approach Ford on tiptoe, wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. Although he was terrified of both her and Dipper, deep down he thought she was a real bitch. She didn't even disguise the hard-on she had for Stanford, and it was evident in the way she clung to him, keeping her arms around his shoulders, looking at him with lust that overflowed. For a few seconds, he stared at her. When she noticed, she looked at him, and Will immediately lowered his face. Mabel, Dipper, Ford and Stan all hated being stared at. Will had to keep his face down at all times, staring at the ground if he didn't want to get hot water in the face, or kicks in the stomach, or anything else that might cross the Gleeful's perverse minds. And they had very, very bad ideas. A lot of them. A lot. As ordered, Cipher began to put on his own clothes until he looked presentable and, when Ford sat down in his armchair, tapping his lap with his right hand, he approached him and knelt down beside him, laying his head on his Master's legs as a pet would.

“Dipper said you wanted to talk to us,” and stretched her arms back, puffing out her breasts, swaying her body like a pick-me.

“Yes, I did. You may not have noticed, but Will certainly did”. As he had done something good, he received a gentle caress on his blue hair. He almost purred! “Yesterday, during your presentation, something... someone tried to approach the tent. It was powerful. Will said he felt a big shake in the protective barrier we have around the tent, wasn't that right, darling?”

Darling. Darling. The word echoed in his ears, and he wanted to cry. But Mabel rolled her eyes and realized that perhaps that was just to arouse the girl's jealousy, which was no greater than her lust. Cipher still remembered how she had cursed Pacifica for being close to Gideon, Mabel's secret obsession. Anyway, he nodded in agreement, still silent.

“And what exactly are we supposed to do with this information?” asked the girl, clearly annoyed. Dipper caught her eye, pinching her discreetly.

“And you want us to investigate, Uncle Ford?”

“Exactly that, my dear Dipper. And I think we could perhaps play a little game, what do you think?” The smile he sketched... Will knew that devious smile. “The one who brings me something interesting first wins a wish. Anything. No matter what it is.”

At that moment, both twins eyes lit up. A wish from the most important and powerful scientist and magician in the universe. What could be better than that? “Done,” Dipper said. “You're going to eat dust!” Mabel retorted, and left, running to her own room while Dipper went to the laboratory. Will, on the other hand, heeded his lover's words. The one who brings something useful. He hadn't specified who. Was it on purpose? The one. The one. It could be anyone. One of the twins, or even... even... himself. His heart beat like a drum in his chest, but he kept quiet. His head, on the other hand, buzzed with thoughts and ideas. What if? he asked himself. What if it was the person who took what Ford wanted? Could he then have whatever he wanted?

He snapped out of his thoughts when Ford slid his index finger across the scar on his back. From time to time he did this, stroking the burn scar he had. Ford had made it himself. “Stanford”, was written on the scar. It, like the removal of his eye, had been done with the help of magic so that it would never heal. His eye, a knick-knack that Ford displayed in a little bottle of formaldehyde, was his assurance that Will would never break the contract. Magic was sometimes strange, and he didn't fully understand it even if he knew how to manipulate it.

“Ford? Tonight's show's at 8 p.m.,” sounded Stan's gruff voice, as he opened the door and stuck his head in to speak. “Shall I pick the kids up from school today?”

“They're at home.”

“Did something happen? Anything I should know about?”

“No, Stan... nothing important has happened.”

“Right. Of course. I'm going to... check on Mabel.”

Ah, Stan. You're not fooling anyone. Everyone in the house knew that Mabel and You had something more than a relationship between a grand uncle and a grand niece. Just as everyone knew that, from time to time, she sucked off Dipper. Just as everyone knew that she loved to touch herself while thinking about Ford. Just as everyone knew that Dipper was no saint and that his cold manner was just a cheap imitation of Ford. Will was tired of counting how many times the boy had asked him for help with his teenage erections, and he was tired of counting how many times he had tried to act like Stanford did. It was pathetic. Still, Will found himself dreaming. If he could find that thing, that person who had so deliberately shattered his magic... would he finally be able to be alone with his beloved? Closing his eye, he brought his hand up to his own face and stroked his own tanned skin, pretending that the touch belonged to his husband. Awake, he dreamed of shrinking Ford and placing him inside a snow globe where he could always have him with, in his hands. He would look adorable, tiny, helpless, and trapped. The perfect husband, forever.

[margaretkart]

Do you agree with this?

What I like about the couple of Hades an Persephone is that they are the most traditional marriage in Greek mythology. Neither Demeter, nor Hades, nor Zeus are evil in their context; they are just fulfilling a social and destiny role. Persephone is destined to get married and be the queen of the underworld and of course she is a Greek woman so wedding is basically inevitable. Hades is an average Greek husband. Zeus gives paternal consent like a father, and Demeter is just an angry an sad mother for not being able to see her daughter. It's not even because she got married, but because she's being sent away. It's not a passionate love story, but for me it works as a "marriage of convenience” that work and i find it more interesting than the simplistic version of being a romantic love story of a rape story of how bad are Zeus/Hades, Even if I agree that Demeter is the most sympathetic character, especially from a modern and femenine perspective.

(I'm thinking about the version of the Homeric hymns)

This take is definitely one way to look at it, especially from an ancient Greek perspective where marriage was often arranged and tied to societal roles. However, calling Hades an "average Greek husband" is a bit of an oversimplification. The Homeric Hymn to Demeter does frame Persephone’s marriage as something inevitable, but it also emphasizes her fear and lack of agency at first, which makes it hard to see it as just a simple marriage of convenience.

Demeter’s grief is also more than just a mother being sad her daughter is “sent away.” It’s a reflection of a mother’s deep loss and Persephone’s shift from maidenhood to womanhood, which in Greek culture was a huge and irreversible transition. Plus, the myth literally causes the cycle of the seasons, so it’s not just a personal family drama but a story of cosmic balance.

I do agree that reducing it to just a romance or just a story of abduction oversimplifies it, but I wouldn’t say it’s “traditional” in the way other mythological marriages are. It’s more layered, with themes of power, control, fate, and Persephone’s eventual transformation into a powerful queen.