#tw unhealthy relationship

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

what if i told u,,,,,,,,,,, i had another new au idea

say hello to the 'two-faced' au! where u start to work at the daycare and become besties with Sun n Moon right as Vanny is putting the whole virus-thing into motion. Moon rlly likes u and feels like he can b his genuine Professional Silli Boi self around u, so when he starts having some more murdery tendencies he makes the executive decision to just kinda Lie About It and make sure u don't know! and everything will be fine, so long as u never find out about those missing kids! or where ur coworker went. or why ur other coworker quit. or why that one guy is in the hospital. or,,

(it gets way more complicated when management starts to wonder if u could be tied to all these accidents that only ever seem to happen on ur days off)

[phemiec]

Edward, on his bed kicking his feet like a schoolgirl, doodling hearts that say ‘Mr. And Mr. Riddler-Penguin’ inside a trapper keeper: Oswald? Can’t stand him. A complete and utter bastard. Worst person i’ve ever met, bar none. 🥰😍🫦

Oswald, fuming, drunk, throwing darts at a picture of Edward covered in graffiti: Edward? He’s my favourite person on earth and the one true love of my life. I’d die for him. 😒🗡️🤮

[gladiatorcunt]

- BEDROCK | XII.

you’re a bottled star, the planets align, you’re just like mars. you shine in the sky

cw: kinktober prompt (sex toys), reader has a pussy, age gap (ur bsf ahsoka’s former master!anakin (40’s) obi wan (50’s)’s padawan!reader in her early 20’s), dub con, implied obikin x reader codependency, dismemberment fantasies, reader is lowkey a stalker freak, no direct touching between anakin and reader ofher than chest fondling, strongly implied voyeurism that’s non consensual but unavoidable and unwanted by both of you, eventual sith!anakin, obi wan haunts the narrative, frequent use of ‘little one’, dead dove do not eat, reader became a padawan in their late teens

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

“You know they’re going to expect their toys to be put to good use.” Master Skywalker shrugs and tiredly grumbles down at you.

You’re sprawled out on the bed, recuperating from the first day of your undercover mission. Your own Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was on one of his infamous negotiation tours, so to speak, you had never cared for them, you couldn't spin pleasantries like yarn any better than a Rakghoul could dance.

Obi-Wan could only stomach taking you on because you parallel Anakin in so many ways, Anakin could only accept his former master taking another padawan because maybe your added seriousness will ease the aggravation caused by the one before you.

You were just happy to be chosen, as any child-waited-too-long-unwanted-teenager plucked from the tense comfort of their home would be, even if that home is only a basic imitation of a shelter.

“I know, Master.” These blasted things, growing up the other padawans would giggle with you over these provocative missions, usually a padawan donning the skin of a schutta on the end of a leash held by their Masters. “Do they have to be so… unique?”

It was as nice as Obi-Wan would’ve wanted you to be, even in these circumstances.

Would he take on Master Skywalker’s role with as much confidence and clarity as the true born son of the Force? Rumors of both the men’s appeal and promiscuity do not guarantee a willingness to rut into a padawan, a dance of demons spoken of in the archives, a beast in the vein of and important to some future single world than your own.

“Unique? How so? I know you’re not like some padawans and keep to yourself, little one, but Jedi your age talk. I’m not naive, neither is Obi-Wan.”

Master Skywalker might as well have carved the kyber crystal of his saber into your face, the flame that crackles under the surface of your skin bears his scent, stormy as his heavy gaze often is.

“Apologies, Master, i never meant to-”

“Shush.” He chuckles, “You can call me Anakin, I hope you’re aware of that. Mace Windu is not going to barge in here and strike you down for being informal. It’s just us, little one. I’m not even your real master, just doing pet sitting for an old friend.”

You blink, lava swirling in your gut at the implication of being a pet before a person. “Anakin.” Your mouth twists around the unused syllables, never having referred to a master by their first name in your entire life. “But the mission, we’re supposed to um…… you said they’d notice if we didn’t do……. anything.”

Another chuckle, another curl tucked behind his ear. “I shouldn’t have to remind you that we came to this planet as a wealthy ship salesman and his controversially younger companion. This place is too seedy to not have eyes and ears everywhere, they’d take it as an insult if we declined to use their… gifts. The success of this mission would mean another smuggler and secret trader being taken down, Obi-Wan and I both think you’re ready for riskier missions like this one. You’ll do fine, little one.”

“I’m trying to release my fear and anger into the force, Master- Anakin. I thank you and Master for seeing this in me but I've never done anything like this before. Are people really going to hear us… have sex?”

“That’s why we’re speaking so softly, padawan, it’s not the noises they’re looking to witness, but you can never be too careful.” Anakin smiles, patting your cheek firmly. “And we don’t necessarily have to do anything like that, just use the toys and leave them on the bed for servants to find, messy and thoroughly used. The nobleman will be pleased, if the information painting him as a pervert is accurate.”

Obi-Wan wouldn’t have spoken to you quite so crassly, but he does like to tease you that the sand scratching Anakin’s tongue never goes away, there’s always another grain when you think it’s spotless and clean. Like the temple or one of the many mighty metal spires, the sterile trees of Coruscant.

You nod, nevertheless. “There’s no use putting it off. The schedule we studied says the workers will stop by first thing in the morning.” Your nerves are obvious, picking your nails, biting your lip, adjusting the folds of your skimpy outfit to conceal skin it will never stretch far enough to cover.

Anakin’s eyes soften, the wrinkles in his outer eye corners deepen. “I’m only sorry I won’t be the only one to hear you cum for the first time, but they’ll never touch you, and they won’t get to know what you sound like doing everything. Trust me, little one, you’re in the safest place you could be right now, my general vicinity.”

It’s not as funny, or as hot, as you’d expect it to be. As shy as you are, you’re constantly surprised by how quick you are to embrace arousal in the urge to renounce shame. If your blood temperature rises to a boiling point, the big ball of anxious knots in your knot could be singed through until it falls apart.

You do not feel any great embarrassment of the simple truth that you have a crush on Anakin Skywalker, many do, you’d be at the tail end of a long line of various species of various ages and with various expectations of what they want their bodies to go through.

It’s silly to be possessive of a man you only share a master with, who stops by to chat when he’s not tinkering away at something or doing some death defying stunt on a mission that’s going to drive the council to insanity one of these days.

You are jealous of Ahsoka Tano however, your closest friend, even after she’s transferred to another Master, the result of some great big falling out.

It is far better that you were not assigned to be his padawan, the Force would have bled with your desire and dissipated entirely to get away from it.

Master Skywalker picks up one of the toys lying there on the bed in between you, a realistic tongue that disturbs you just a bit more than it arouses you. He chuckles at the apprehension on your face and motions for you to get comfortable. He reaches around you with one arm and bundles you up in his lap, your back to his firm chest.

He shushes your nervousness sounds and attempts to ramble, not fully apologetic as he peels back the layers of your tunic top. Your chest bounces into view, free from the confines of the tight fabric. Anakin gives you absolutely no time to be shy about them, groping one in his free hand. The force beams with his amusement when you gasp, the calluses on his fingers feel like they’re marking the skin of your mound, he kneads and kneads for a moment, perfectly content to let you squirm until you can get used to what else he’ll have to subject you to.

Maybe that’s where the hotness in these missions lies, you both want this on a baseline level but there are things you have to bend your own line in the sand to allow. Pushing your limits under the shyness-inducing gaze of Master Skywalker in these uncomfortably close walls and on a mission where you’re free to be other people might very well be your only chance. You’ve never broken a single rule at the temple, you’re a shining example of what a padawan learner should be. Master Obi-Wan often jokes that he wishes you were around to be his padawan the first time around, but there’s always a note of sadness hanging onto his stilted laughter.

You arch your back against Anakin, bracing your hands behind you and burying them in his hair. He groans as you gently tug the curls, and gives it right back to you by lowering the realistic tongue to your left nipple. You flinch, the surprisingly cold silicone model of a muscle flicks against your perky nub on Anakin’s command, and he’s commanding it to torture you to death. Relentless flicks of the toy against your nipple make you squirm again, wanting so badly to be good but you’d much rather ensure the toy was in constant contact with your chest.

It’s the perfect temperature, you run hot most days, and the brief sensation sends shivers from your head to your toes, just a hint of pleasure since Anakin stopped his own touching, sitting as still as a statue as he works the toy on you. He hooks his chin in your shoulder to gawk, transferring the device from one slick nipple to the other until both are so thoroughly coated that it drips onto your soft tummy.

“See, that feels good right, little one? There’s nothing to worry about, this is all we’ll do until it’s time for bed and then we’ll put these things away.”

You nod, whining like a spoiled noble family member now, pouting when he takes the tongue away from your nipple and throws it haphazardly over his shoulder. You cringe, wondering if the loud clang it yells into the concrete floor’s ears reached those in the shadows, you were trying to ignore them but now that there was a single moment of quiet there lecherous eavesdropping was all you could imagine.

A thick hand clamps around your chin and jerks you in the bearer’s direction, Master Skywalker clicks his tongue against his teeth, “They’re nothing to you, especially not right now. If you’d only let yourself go, they’d fade away entirely in your mind, I was trying to be easy on you but clearly you’re in need of something stronger if your head is still on the surface of this planet.”

Something stronger, being a large vibrator, 15 inches and a swirl of mint green and lavender, in the shape of a tentacle, every suction cup has the ability to well… suck. These are all things Anakin relays to you while rearranging your form to his liking, legs spread wide over his thighs, arms behind your back but not restrained, and after some lifting, your robes in a beige pile by the gaudy bed.

Master Skywalker can be merciful occasionally, he doesn’t force you to make eye contact as he lowers the vibrating toy to the altar between your legs. He also doesn’t comment on the pitiful whimper you let out, the vibrations haven’t even started, but you feel the force explode in pleasant-happy-power-trip blood orange. You drink up the calming waves he sends to you, wrapping them around your naked form like the comfiest and plushest blanket, the waves you offer to him in return are clingy little ripples in a pond. Needy repetition of hints to feelings that cannot leave this room alive.

He gets a glimpse of a fantasy, for a mere second before it vanishes out of view, a tantalizing and fascinating shooting star.

“No we can’t stop, you have to let it out.” You raise your hips up higher, face down ass up, your holes wink at him in intervals, angel wings flapping in the corner of his mind, like all the love he has for you will leak out into his cum and if he can just go that, then everything will be fine.

The vibrator doesn’t start at an easy to handle low frequency, your howling is drowned out by the intense humming of its second highest setting.

Your hips jolt, Anakin works the toy in slow circles over your clit, cooing when you jerk and squirm around. Your already throbbing clit is pulsing so hard it almost feels like a constant pain, but you’re so karkking wet that you push your hips up into his ministrations. You chase after the persistent buzzing with more determination than any of your meditation sessions, suddenly cumming on Master Skywalker’s lap is far more important to you than all the missions in the world. Blurry blobs with their ears to the structure around you shift to crumble beneath your increasingly loud cries.

Your pleasure snowballs, Anakin’s earlier attention to your nipples the mountain out of a molehill and his current fascination with your cunt the crashing wave threatening to envelop you in its fold. Like the ones Master Obi-Wan used to tell you about on Kamino, angry and dark cobalt blue, lapping at the ankles of the once elusive white buildings. It’s easy to split yourself into different pieces, assign each one to a part of nature because the force is telling you that your pleasure is as natural as grief and plant life and twin cotton candy pink to red suns and love and mistakes and giant bone dragons with pearls for landmark hearts.

The steady pulsing on your clit punches the gasps out of you, a steady stream of short-for-breath aimless chatter. You’re soaking Master Skywalker’s lap all the way down to the bed, if you mentioned them he’d probably tell you to leave how you ruined them. The smell and stain would only bring you greater protection from being found out, yet your stomach twists at the thought.

The force blooms violet with your fear, as if you’re deathly afraid of your own orgasm, lazy unenthusiastic rutting into your semi-firm mattress back in the dorm is nothing compared to actually touching yourself with the intent to cum. You just got too scared the first time you tried to slip your fingers in your tight snatch and frustratingly resigned yourself to never understanding what your peers go on and on about. Giggling into their portions of bland oatmeal and exchanging charged glances, hormones are far more powerful when they’re being repressed.

Master Obi-Wan had no trouble modestly applauding your emotional regulation skills, unlike his former padawan you had less trouble settling the wriggling bundle of your feelings in a see through boat and pushing it along the stream of starlight until it gave way and became one with the connecting tissue underneath.

“You’ll lose your voice at this rate, little one.” Anakin huns into your ear, his mech arm holding you so tight to his chest his ribs might crack open and swallow you whole. “You’re a better actress than I thought you’d be, unless all this whining and carrying on is genuine?”

You can’t even get a word out before he presses the vibe closer to your pussy, the swarm of tiny little mouths the orchestra and the largest one at the tip of the tentacle hugging your clit the conductor. Your breath hitches as you tremble and whine, a high pitched thing that pierces the air. Anakin grins, lips split wider than the length of the cruiser the council provided to get her, he moves the toy up and down between your folds. A fake cock warming itself in the snug hold of your pussy, sending little jolts of phantom electricity to fizz and sparkle on your tastebuds through your core up out your mouth.

“I’m- I’m not acting, Master. Kark! You’re- ngh- going to, um, y-you’re going too fast, Master, please.” You beg, throwing your head back on his shoulder and counting the dots that make up the constellations in your visions.

It’s too much pressure, Anakin plays with the silk fabric of your outfit like it’s something for his hands to do, like he’s not keeping a vibrator right on your clit and holding you down so you have no choice but to take it. You can’t help but think of the ways your real master would be different, he’d try his hardest and wait out the time the longest but would that stuffy old man end up performing this same brand of torture?

Not that Master Skywalker is much younger, from your position on his lap the signs are aging are right above your face. The cheek scar you learned months ago he’s had for decades The wrinkles, eyes, mouth, forehead, the permanent halfway tense halfway slack skin from all the stress he endured in the war, the ghosts living in his irises, his weathered hands splayed out burning hot steam to the touch on your belly. Right above your womb, he could just dig in and sink his fingers metal and skin knuckle deep.

“Aren’t you adorable? You’ve been taking it so far, you haven’t fallen yet, little star, I bet you can keep going. Stop rushing this, just relax and feel these hungry mouths coaxing you to splash against them, settle into their demanding chants.” Anakin soothes, unhurriedly dragging his blunt nails over your love handles, “I would say this body is wasted on those arid robes, on the Jedi Order, you’d be such a beautiful dancer like you were after dinner, but Obi-Wan would kill me if he found out.”

The dinner with the nobles, the party afterwards, the target had his lizard tongue hanging from his mouth when he asked you and the other “accessories” to put on a show. The force twirled in displeased crimson skies then.

You don’t insult Master Skywalker’s intelligence out loud, but you both plainly speak frequently to the same word of the day calendar.

You want to give him one of your arms, unholster your lightsaber and sever the flesh from your spirit. He wouldn’t be able to use it and you wouldn’t ask him too, he can just have it, so he can understand how alike you are, to know that you too will always wander around with a missing part of you. But how can it be truly missing if you gave it willingly? Master Obi-Wan can have your lonely other, in a fiery pyrrhic instant you are pure force and limbless.

You’d roll the turquoise pendant of the necklace he’d bring you, a souvenir from a stubborn vendor on an outer rim planet, in the lines on your palm like it’s one of his eyes.

Anakin suffocates the vibe in your pussy and doesn’t let the suction cups breathe until you’ve spontaneously combusted, before you can say knife

“It’s not funny, I really didn’t like it, Master.” You liked it too much, the flickers of yellow embers in his eyes, his grip so tight on your chub that you pictured him with sharp black claws, shacking up with a man you barely know but at the same time are too close to.

You used to fall asleep recounting the details of Anakin’s life and accomplishments, each tidbit represented a sheep for you, the biggest punishment to you back then meant being banned from the archives or blocked from news sites on the holonet.

You studied the man whose shadow you would wear over your robes like a shawl, until you were convinced you could jet set off to Tatooine and be able to point out which patches of sand his feet had tread upon. You just never once stopped to consider that he was doing the same with you, what kind of sun bothers himself with the comings and goings of a dead star so far away from their incinerating orbit.

“I don’t like that you like when i’m scared, it makes me feel… sick.” You could cum so hard you’d fall off the temple roof into Coruscant’s lower levels, be one of the ghosts wandering throughout the dreary gray tunnels but instead be moaning for cock that’d still be alive.

“I’ll hold your hair back and nurse you back to health, I’m in for it if I give old man Obi another padawan death scare.” He wiggles the digits of his mechanical arm sardonically, he knows what you mean but he also knows that you don’t mean it so he gives you the same amount of humor he sensed in your mutterings.

Master Skywalker is appreciated for his ability to be both tremendously serious on the battlefield and lighthearted with his colleagues, Anakin loves to tease shy early 20 somethings who volunteer him to be the replacement caretaker for their own master. He tosses and turns that night, not because of the impending result of the mission, all he’ll say in his husky morning voice is that he had a bad dream. You should make a break for the cruiser after embarrassingly exchanging pleasantries, Master Obi-Wan and the rest of the temple are expecting you home before your scheduled progress testing sparring session.

For now, the vibrator’s highest setting will be the instrument, the conduit to the music your moans create, interwoven with Anakin’s hot musk. Oil and dirty water.

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

I want to write batfam (just core four rn) w/ their respective partners but every single ship is just

red flag x red flag

TW- Obsessive/ Unhealthy love and relationships, just descriptions though

Dick & Wally? They are the clingy toxic- what do you mean you want a seperate life/hobbies that don't involve me? The kind of people to take "Would you love me if I was a worm"? way too seriously and cry if they dont get the "right" answer. God forbid you try "I was asleep" for not texting back.

Jason & Roy? Fire meets fire, get the cops called on them at least once a week. Every disagreement is a full out brawl before long, but they always end up amping up and then patching eachother's wounds with kisses and gauze. Hard to tell if its genuine hate or flirting sometimes- maybe both.

Tim & Bernard? Stalker ship. Privacy? You mean you don't love me enough to want me to have your location 24/7?? It's a push and pull of control and constant reminders that secrets are an illusion. But they also are way too enamored with the fact someone would love them to the point of obsession to really be that bothered. "You made me a shrine?? Aww babe it even has my missing shirt, that must have been a pain to get" kinda shit.

Dami & Jon? Stubborn to the max, the couple that breaks up at least once a week and then makes up two hours later after keying a car and throwing a game system in water. Drag everyone into their fights and hold grudges like theres no tomorrow. Also god forbid trigger jealousy. Will pull the "I don't think you should hang out with them, they're not good for you" shit

Now any of these behaviors in any other context?? Fuck that. But theres something about "Is it really toxic if neither of us are innocent" kinda fictional ship that I love. Also let Batfam be fucking insane especially when it comes to their partners.

[gilverrwrites]

I am such a sucker for characters experiencing kindness after being hurt for so long…and I bet Bruce ‘Consent is Sexy’ Wayne does too, the man *is* a professional white knight. Like yes Mister Wayne, stroke my face and tell me I’m pretty, compliment my intelligence randomly and not just to love bomb me like my crime lord ex-husband, kiss me soft before you kiss me hard. Bruce would treat you with kindness regardless, but there’s something that really pulls him in about the way you look at him every time he does or says something nice…maybe because he knows you’ve never looked at someone else like that. The way you’re trying not make it obvious that you’re desperate for his touch is certainly something - don’t worry baby, he’s not gonna make you chase or work for anything. And even though he doesn’t care about this stupid rivalry as much as Roman does, he does feel a little victory knowing that he doesn’t need need to drug you to get you excessively wet and babbling.

Good golly you came with the big guns babe.

Like my every time I read this to try and come up with a response worth reading I come out speechless cause im

I will say, the transition of being in your first ‘good’ relationship after a long term unhealthy one, for me at least, does contain those little moments.

My bf occasionally likes to bring up how for like the first 2 years of our relationship, and sometimes even to date, he’ll catch me looking at him in awe for offering me basic human decency. Just opening doors, or helping me carry my bags.

If I’d realise I’d been talking for a long time I’d stop and apologise, and he’d be like “no, no, no I like when you talk, I want to hear what you have to say.” And that was so fucking weird to me.

I was projecting when I mentioned that aftercare and the cuddling in the fic, and I’m totally doing it again now but yes, the “way you look at him every time he does or says something nice…maybe because he knows you’ve never looked at someone else like that. The way you’re trying not make it obvious that you’re desperate for his touch is certainly something - don’t worry baby, he’s not gonna make you chase or work for anything.” Has me by the neck.

Also, “he does feel a little victory knowing that he doesn’t need need to drug you to get you excessively wet and babbling.” Knocked me off my feet, you went for the throat, and I live for it.

[shorlinesorrows]

okay, a couple things on alien stage/ivantill that I think some folks maybe need to consider and internalize.

Till does not "need" to return Ivan's feelings in the slightest if he doesn't feel that way. It's heart wrenching to see Ivan love him and have those feelings unreturned, but please remember that no one is required to return romantic feelings for someone else. You can't make yourself love someone, and you shouldn't. Especially out of guilt or obligation. That's Unhealthy 101, and would only set a relationship up for failure. (I do think Till cared about Ivan, and that he's going to have a Guilt Complex based on the fact that he didn't fully notice Ivan's feelings/care toward him until the guy died, but I've seen a couple of people tear into Till for not noticing/reciprocating Ivan's feelings??? Don't do that??? their situation is shitty, the fact that they didn't get to talk is shitty, but please don't blame Till for things he Can't Control.)

The kiss was not consensual. It wasn't meant to be portrayed as such. It wasn't even really romantic, it was a desperate, selfish act that Ivan used to get Till's attention (in more ways than one) and to give himself some sense of closure before he died. It was him saying everything that he felt at once, with no chance for Till to reciprocate or deny the affection. In a perfect world, they could have talked instead of this, maybe kissed knowing both wanted it, or given Till a chance to refuse. But they're both in the middle of an essential death tournament and one of them is going to be murdered sometime in the next few minutes. Neither of them really wants to live, but Ivan feels he has unfinished business before his sacrifice, so he finishes it. Their situation sucks. That doesn't mean the kiss was consensual. (especially considering the theory/implication that Till was/is being sexually assaulted by aliens, I wouldn't be surprised if this affects him badly in the future, for multiple reasons. Everyone should always get the chance to say "no" and have that fully respected. This also extends to the fact that Ivan died for Till without giving him a chance to stop it, which is probably going to mess with Till's head a lot. Then again, Ivan likely didn't think it would affect Till much because as far as he/we know, the feelings aren't reciprocated in this moment in canon, or are extremely repressed. Ivan might believe that Till simply hates him, or the kiss/subsequent "choking" may have been a way of trying to make Till hate him so that his death wouldn't hurt as much. Of course that thinking is flawed, because it would hurt Till no matter what, but still, it makes me sad)

Ivan... is kinda messed up. I adore him, but we've got to acknowledge that he has little to no emotional and relationship maturity due to the fact that he was quite literally raised as a pet and learned at a young age to do whatever his masters said to keep himself safe and pain-free. His fascination with Till appears to largely stem from Till's sense of rebellion. Ivan's examples of relationship dynamics and what constitutes as "love" is dangerously unbalanced, and he does not know how to build a healthy relationship. (Neither of them do.) This is also built onto the fact that the person he became dependent on only paid attention to him when they were fighting or Ivan was annoying him. Ivan cares about Till desperately, but he is also dangerously reliant on him to the point of self-detriment. Again, in an ideal world, they would be able to get out of this situation and gradually make a healthy relationship/friendship (depending on Till's feelings) over time while starting to undo the dangerous relationship patterns that they fell into when they didn't have any way to know better. But they're in a terrible situation, and Ivan really just doesn't get the chance to grow as a person and realize that his sense of possessiveness and reliance on Till's attention isn't healthy.

Basically, their situation makes me want to sob and its heart wrenching. Their circumstances have set them up for failure. Both of them are in the midst of attempting to survive an abusive situation and massive amounts of dehumanization. I beg, please try not to sanitize their complicated relationship or blame either of them for the pain the other is going through. I've seen some of that going around, and it's making me sad :(

[the-tomcat-disposable]

Blacked out

Summary: Detective got blackout drunk one night and Waldo decided to check in.

TW: alcoholism, death of a loved one mentioned, unhealthy relationship (well, you're reading a waldotective fic, so.. That's why you're here, right?)

There's a good dose of Waldo being gentle with the detective.

Fics referenced; You can’t win me, I can’t be beat (chapter 2) by @whenthedeeppurplefalls, and Peek-A-Boo and Sleepover by artmolonara

Read them please.

The sun had begun setting, bringing Waldo back to that day again, when his clones payed his detective's wife a visit. The terror on the detective's face and smell of absolute fear when he told them that their family was in danger was addictive. He'll never forget how fast the detective bolted out the door, not caring slightly about who they had to shove out of the way as they reached the car and took off, sirens blaring as they disobeyed every traffic law to get home as fast as possible.

The kick that he got out of the detective's terror and despair since that day had sustained him for a very long while, and occasionally when it wasn't enough, he'd stake out the detective's house to wait until they left so that he could teleport himself inside and get a proper look through.

The detective left their son alone in his crib for unspecified periods of time on occasion, sometimes to handle a case (that wasn't Waldo's— which he was very displeased with) and sometimes to run a quick errand. It was during these times that Waldo would occasionally stop by to rummage through the detective's belongings, and if Jr began making noise, he would entertain the child until it was nap time again. Their favorite games were peekaboo and Waldo tried to teach him how to say his name, to not avail (yet).

Waldo had been wandering out of sight for about 4 or 5 hours. The moon has been up for some time and watched the detective's routine through a window plenty of times to know that they had put Jr to sleep by now and popped open a bottle of alcohol or a few and switched the TV on. He had hoped to catch one of the detective's other suspects "by mistake" and scare them into turning themselves in, but none seemed to dare target his detective anymore after the last one who did had "mysteriously" died in their cell, so Waldo decided to check in on the detective... not out of concern, of course, but to make sure that they were still actively playing in his game.

So that's what Waldo did. He stalked his way to the detective's house and listened for the detective's snoring before swirling his cane and teleporting inside once the television made enough noise to disguise that of Waldo's entrance. He took a moment to breathe in the smell of what once was a gruesome crime scene— and his best one yet, if he said so himself.

'How ironic, a "living" room that once had a corpse in it!' Waldo chuckled. He glanced down at the several empty bottles on the table with a scoff and then to the detective's sleeping body on the couch, watching the much shorter figure twitch uncomfortably. For a moment, Waldo wondered if he should wake the detective from their nightmare, but decided against it. Not often does Waldo have an opportunity to get a nice, long look at his little mouse.

He didn't know what compelled him to do such a thing, but he found himself moving to kneel on the floor in front of the couch, his face inches away from his detective's. He may have moved closer if the detective didn't suddenly jolt. That damned heap of electrical tissue thinks that whatever horrific scenarios it can make the detective live through in a nightmare are more horrific than the fear that Waldo can cause them while they're conscious!

Waldo scoffed, imagining what sorry attempt of terror was happening inside the detective's mind. Regardless of whatever it was, he would prefer if the detective was awake for it. Trying not to wake them, Waldo reached out a hand to cup the detective's face. His heart— or whatever he had in place of one— fluttered when the detective's face leaned into his palm and his body began to relax.

Waldo was unfamiliar with this feeling, and wasn't sure if he wanted to explore it further, but he remained there for hours, with his little mouse in his claws (literally), though they didn't close around them for just once. He occasionally ran his hand through the detective's rough hair, noticing a few grey strands. Being a now single father thanks to Waldo truly must difficult. He only hoped that this wouldn't distract the detective, as he should always be their top priority.

Waldo groaned and stood up, disappointed at the fact that his time here would be ending soon. In a few minutes, Jr would wake the detective up with a loud cry. The detective would stumble to tend to their son, and then stumble to their bedroom and fall asleep once again the moment he hit the bed. He picked up his cane and walked back behind the couch, sparing a brief glance over his shoulder at the detective's now peaceful form. He will enjoy watching the detective struggle through the day with the painful, grief-induced hangover that he will surely have— the thought of which amused him.

"Goodbye for now, detective. Our game is not over. I am sure you will know what to do when the time comes. You are much more skilled than your peers," Waldo spoke to the unconscious detective, before spinning his cane and teleporting with a flash. Moments later, Jr's cries awoke them, and as they stumbled to his room, they couldn't shake the feeling that something happened that caused their nightmare to subside. Waldo peered through a window as the detective shook their head and supported themselves with the wall, then faded away into the darkness of the night with a hint of a grin.

He will return eventually, but not anytime soon.

...

@thatoneweirdowhoknowstoomuch wanted to be tagged

[mrzombielover]

Hi could you please write some relationship headcanons for Tuco Salamanca? Both sfw and nsfw please :)

ohmy goshh anon u are wild for this tuco scaresssss me 😭

NSFW warning, toxic relationships, lotta drug use, canon typical violence (it’s tuco what do we expect)

SFW

When Tuco likes someone, he is all in. He is so obsessive and expects you to be 10000% loyal and devoted to him

He’s impulsive and spontaneous, will randomly insist on taking you on drives/trips at 3AM, especially when he’s high

fantasizes about taking you away to live on a ranch in mexico. if you don’t speak spanish, you’ll learn, no worries

reallyyyy wants a family. would go feral if he saw you interacting with his family- taking care of his grandparents, playing with his younger nieces/nephews- it makes him weak in the knees

likes to keep his work and domestic life separate. goes to great lengths to hide the ugly side of his work with you

of course, you know, but you’ll never have to see or meet anyone from his work if he can help it. you’ll never have to clean blood from his shirt or a carpet, he’ll take care of it.

fantasizes about protecting you 24/7. sleeps with a gun on the beside table just in case- and he’s never had to use it, but if it ever does he’s so prepared.

he knows the world is full of men who’d hurt you. who’d harass you, traffic you, drug you. he imagines himself taking care of it. shooting, strangling, breaking the bones of any scumbags who’d come near you.

on that note he is extremely jealous and possessive!!!

and you know he’s not all talk, either. would prefer if you didn’t witness it, but he’d happily violently take care of any guy who made you even remotely uncomfortable

has some lowkey stalker tendencies. not that he doesn’t trust you, just that he knows that being with him puts a target on your head. likes to tail you, it’s his idea of keeping you safe from a distance. plus, it’s kind of nice to see you naturally, whether you’re shopping or getting food or running- you just look so cute

has a surprising sweet side. yeah, he’ll manipulate and guilt trip and snap at you sometimes, but you gotta know he doesn’t mean it. when he wants to, he can totally spoil you. loves to throw his money at you, and see the look on your face when he buys you something you’ve really been wanting.

likes when you have to rely on him. it’s a bit twisted, but if you’re really drunk or high, or sick and weak, he’s happy to take care of you.

“aww, shh, chiquitita, it’s okay, i’ll take care of you, don’t worry your pretty head about it,”

NSFW

Insanely high sex drive. you can barely keep up! his hands are on you every chance he gets

loooooves high sex. would much prefer if you use, too, but it’s not vital. when he’s already on cloud fucking 9, adrenaline coursing through his veins, all he wants is you. to inhale your intoxicating scent as he pounds into you from behind.

so into rough sex. of course, he would never hurt you! but takes pride in the deep bruises left by his hands, the hickeys on your neck, bite marks on your collarbones, etc

could never be submissive i think. but he enjoys a struggle for power, he likes someone that can throw his energy back in his face, it keeps it interesting

remember when i said he really wants a family?? you guessed it he has a humongous breeding kink! doesn’t like cumming anywhere except inside you. then he pats your head and kisses your forehead and tells you you’ll be a wonderful parent

likes body worship, both ways. he knows he’s not going to heaven, but seeing you on your knees, begging for him comes pretty close. he always returns the favor, of course, his abuela taught him to be a gentleman

also very into overstimulation. partly stems from his insanely high sex drive. he just loves making you come completely undone for him, until your brain doesn’t work anymore and your legs are jello and you’re crying. he’ll lick your tears off your cheeks and tell you “just one more, i know you can do it,”

gives surpassingly good aftercare if he has the time. unless he had to make do with a quickie, sex with him lasts a looong time, and you’re both completely spent by the end. he likes to take baths after, he’ll massage your sore skin and tells you what a good job you did for him and how sweet you are

has this ultimate fantasy of fucking you while covered in the blood and brains of some inferior asshole who tried to hurt you in some way. he’ll show you how safe you are with him

[hawksbunny]

Hero and Sin

TW: Noncon, slight manipulation(?), unhealthy relationship

Keigo cupped the side of your head, gently guiding your face closer to his with a single hand. You were flustered, your nervous and wide eyes staring into his own. He was pretty nervous, too. You didn't know it yet, but tonight was the night he'll finally have you screaming and begging underneath him. He won't let his nerves get in the way again.

-----------

Hawks was a good man. Really, he was! He helped tons of people on the daily. He brought so many smiles to so many faces that said faces became a blur of different colored skin over time.

-----------

Keigo tentatively pecked your lips. He pulled back slightly, licking his lips and tasting your fruity lip gloss, before going for a longer kiss. “You taste so good.” He hummed while brushing his lips softly over yours and setting a slow pace while he eased you down onto your living room floor. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back.

The two of you had been playing a question game to get to know each other better, comfortably seated on the soft carpet. When you averted your gaze and shyly asked something overly personal just a few moments prior, he couldn't resist how cute you looked. He just had to act.

-----------

Hawks was a hero. That automatically made him a good person. Only a good person would want to try saving others on a daily basis. Though, to him, it was more of a need than a want. It didn't matter if it was a dangerous villain or a petty thug. Regardless of everything he'd done, the blood on his hands, he was a hero.

-----------

Even before Keigo stepped foot into your apartment unit, he only had one thing on his mind. So, he kept his legs crossed throughout the game. It didn't matter now. He was sure you could feel his excitement hiding in his pants as he easily glided his body between your legs. He knew you did when you squirmed a little.

He felt your small hum against his lips, your soft sigh caught between caressing kisses that he gradually turned rough and vehement. You didn't seem to mind, playing along and giving in to his passion. That was until he grinded his hips into yours. You turned your head to the side, effectively breaking off the short-lived hot makeout, much to his annoyance.

-----------

Hawks had gotten used to being thanked by the people he saved. It wasn't that he took that gratefulness for granted. No. Even after a few years, he still took joy in receiving a simple ‘thank you’. It was just that the gratitude on those blurred faces became a familiar thing he'd grown to expect.

-----------

“Kei… Keigo…” Your candied voice came out breathless. “Wait, I'm not comfo- Oh!” You yelped in shock when Keigo dropped his head to your neck, frozen while he harshly worked sharp canines into your skin. He heard your pained hiss, felt your hands that had threaded into his hair tug at the blonde strands with a painful tight grip. He groaned pathetically, humping you like a dog once more.

-----------

People fawned over Hawks. They screamed his name happily whenever he was around. Actually, even when he wasn't around, he knew his name was still cheered, like it was a thing worth celebrating. Hawks was loved. Hawks was valued. Hawks was wanted.

But Keigo Takami? No, not Keigo. Keigo was filthy, sinful, disgusting. No one wanted Keigo, the son of a criminal, of a murderer. Not even Hawks wanted Keigo around. He didn't want Keigo lurking in the corners of his mind, whispering of bloodshed and bloodlines.

And so, Hawks kept Keigo hidden away where no one would find him.

Until you, that is.

-----------

“Stop.” You mumbled weakly, still trying to yank his head back with both hands. He chose to ignore the fear and panic laced in your voice as he added a few more love bites to your neck. It didn't make sense in his head why you were now rejecting him. You loved him, didn't you? You told him so yourself.

“Keigo!” You started crying when he didn't budge an inch, even going as far as running his hands under your skirt and hooking his fingers under the waistband of your panties. You tried twisting away, but he quickly held you down with his feathers. Red bonded your wrists together, pinning them to the ground.

“Please! Don't!” Your breaths came out in short huffs. “Just wait-!” But he didn't want to wait anymore. He couldn't. He desperately wanted you, vulgar desires clouding his head. Vulgar desires that he started having the moment he realized his feelings for you. He knew the moment he bullied his cock into you, hit that sweet spot that'll make you see stars, you'll be singing a different tune. He just had to demonstrate that you secretly also wanted this.

After two years of friendship and about four months romantically involved, you had gained his trust. Hawks revealed Keigo to you, professing deep love and pure adoration while he was at it. You stayed, hearts in your eyes and sweetness in your smile. He fell more in love with you, promising himself to never let you go.

Keigo was the one who loomed over your naked body now, hands groping and gripping your curves while rocking his hips against yours at a quick pace. Your sweet cunt sucked him further into you, squeezing his cock deliciously tight. He pressed his nose to the crook of your neck, inhaling your pheromones gathered there.

“Please!” You choked out at a particularly hard thrust, sobbing as you turned your head away from him. He grabbed your chin, forced your gaze back to him. He wanted your eyes on him. Those pretty eyes of yours were wide open, dilated much like his, and glossy with fat tears that rolled down your face. It was cute that you cried over how good he made you feel.

“I know, Dove.” He cooed sweetly, giving in to his own delusions. “Just gimme a minute, yeah?” He paused momentarily to grab your legs and inch your knees to your ears before angling his hips just right and slamming back into you. He noticed the way your nails dug into your palms. He freed your wrists only to clasp your hands with his to keep you from drawing blood.

“You're so pretty, ya know that?” He was in your ear, chasing after his high while your velvet walls fluttered and squeezed around him. You responded with tiny whimpers, but that was okay. “‘Course, you do. You're my pretty slut. My pretty, little, confident whore.” Your cunt tightened around his cock.

“Oh, fuck.” He gasped, his breath unpleasantly fanning over your ear. “Baby, you're so fucking tight. Shit, you feel so good. So, so good f’me.” He panted and groaned, speeding up. You groaned along with him, hot tears stinging your eyes and blurring your vision. They spilled over as he continued to babble on. “Oh, holy shit, you take it so well.”

He pressed clumsy, desperate kisses to the bruises he marked on your neck, reaching down to your sloppy, wet pussy and gliding a finger over the folds until he reached your clit. He was close but he needed you to cum before he did. He couldn't leave his pretty dove unsatisfied. It just wouldn't be right.

Once your body stiffened and trembled underneath him, your cunt clumping down on his dick dizzyingly tight, he released his heavy load inside you, too pussydrunk to bother pulling out. He collapsed on top of you, twitching from his climax but still careful to not crush you. He pressed lazy kisses to your neck, murmuring ‘I love you’s to your skin.

“Love-” You gasped, too shaky to try pushing him away. “Love you-too.” Your voice strained and cracked. He kissed you before you started crying again.

Hawks was a noble hero and Keigo was a filthy sin, but you? Despite everything he'd done, you made both Hawks and Keigo feel clean.

[cherrysha]

Older brother sukuna and his younger brother yuuji who he begrudgingly takes care of by doing some shady shit. Slightly gang affiliated,,, sells drugs,,, maybe moonlights as a security guard at night to cover his ass…

He’s who bookies send after you when u owe a ton of money and they know u don’t have the funds to pay up. Can only assume sukuna is involved when another body washes up,, police never have any hard evidence.

He’s not the type to go after college girls but ur so pretty and malleable and innocent and he truly can’t help himself when you shyly knock on his door looking for an ounce. He could short you and you’d thank him, fill the bag with oregano and you’d be none the wiser. But hes amazed you even know his address, he’s not in the business of selling to inexperienced little girls. He moves weight by the brick and who are you knocking at his door late at night asking for such things?

Of course he lets you in, fondles you a little under the guise of looking for a wire, only finds the softness of your skin and the warmth of your ass pressed against his crotch. Smokes you out by feigning suspicion that you might be a cop if you don’t test the product. And you’re gullible enough to believe him, to let him shotgun smoke into your mouth and relax against the softness of the sofa as your head fills with cotton.

It’s not hard to pry the truth from you either. Some college friends taking advantage of your kindness, your urge to belong, steering you in his direction. Asking you to use your own money to buy product. And he doesn’t feel pity because you know you’re being taken advantage of just as much as he does, you’re a smart girl, just so lonely.

Of course he initiates it, seals his lips to yours after breathing smoke into your mouth, but he never expects you to be so eager. sucks and bites on your lips once a little whine escapes your throat and after a while his big tattooed arms circle around your waist, pick you up as easily as a doll and drop you into his lap. Your soaking through ur underwear under that little skirt and he doesn’t have to look down to feel it, feel the warmth radiating off of your there

After a while it’s routine. After a while you stop coming to him under the guise of buying, your true intentions clear as day when he gets a feel under your skirt and finds you wet and bare for him. After a while he’s only got eyes for you, for the convenience of your little house calls and how sweet you are, like there’s not guns hidden just out of view, like he hasn’t sold bricks of white powder in front of you.

And how are you supposed to know? He’s so indifferent and cold after you’ve fucked, let’s you leave with so much as a wayward glance. You’re not stupid enough to mistake a casual fuck as something more. And how are you supposed to know he’s a bouncer at the new club ur going to? That your ‘friends’ dragged you to? And how are you supposed to know he’s watching the roll of your hips when he’s supposed to be watching the door? That every lustful roll against the man behind you is threatening to burst the vein in his neck.

[letstalktea]

Jules Soda is owned by @yogurtpop

Content: Jules Soda x Reader, Sadism/masochism, unhealthy relationships, there are cigarettes involved and Reader is smoking ‘em, burning (cigarettes), shotgunning, nothing about this is safe kink

Word Count: 0.8k

You place the cigarette between your lips and take a long, deep drag. You lean against the sturdy back of the leather chair, legs spread wide and feet planted flat on the floor. Jules, on the other hand, kneels on the ground before you, naked and vulnerable. His knees are pressed tightly together, squishing his balls between his thighs until they begin to turn red. His cock – disgustingly large even when it's soft – rests limply against his leg and his hands stay hidden behind the small of his back.

You lean forward to rest your elbows against your knees and hold the lit end of the cigarette in front of his face, a hair's breadth from his nose. The way his eyes cross as he tries to focus on the dimming red end makes him look stupid. You laugh at him. A dry, superior laugh. 

“Eyes on me,” you say, the brief moment of amusement no longer in your voice as it is replaced with authority, “and open up.”

Jules’ mismatched eyes flick up so that his focus is solely on you. He wears no glasses because you wanted to see his unobstructed eyes. 

Slowly, he opens his mouth wide and slides out his tongue. After sitting for long enough, drool starts to pool at the corners of his mouth, eventually leaking out to dribble over his piercing, run down his chin, and drip onto his thighs below. 

Without a word, you remove the cigarette from your mouth and press the lit end against his tongue.

The second the smoldering tip touches his tongue, he yips – a strangled sort of choking noise – and tears well up in his eyes.

You lift your foot and smash your heel into his half-hard cock. Before he has the chance to double over in pain, you grab him by the root of his hair – careful not to accidentally light his platinum hair on fire – and yank his head back so that he has no choice but to look up at you.

“Ash trays don't make noise and they don’t get hard.”

While still holding onto his head with one hand, you grab his tongue between your fingers of the other and press your thumb into the fresh burn. You can almost feel your stomach flutter with excitement as you watch him struggle not to scream as you torment his fresh wound. 

You let go of Jules’ tongue and hair, turn the cigarette around, and rest the mouthpiece against his lips. He closes his mouth around the cigarette.

“Do it right this time or I’ll put it out in your eye next.”

He inhales deep enough that the tip glows red.

When you suddenly pull out the cigarette, he closes his mouth quickly so that no smoke escapes.

Before anything else, you hold the lit end close to his eye to remind him that he may be losing one of them if he displeases you. He has no fear. Instead, the look in his eyes reminds you of a puppy lovingly waiting for its master to reward it.

You press your forehead against his and drop the other out of sight. Carefully, purposefully, you press the lit end against the base of his cock and grind it into his skin until you are sure it is extinguished.

The anguish on his face is unmistakable. The iris of his eye rolls back in his head and his muscles twitch like a dying frog. His cock remains mostly flaccid despite dribbling pre-cum onto his thighs. And, the entire time, he doesn’t make a sound.

You reach around to grab the back of his head and pull him forward so that his lips crash into yours. The smoke he is still holding inside spills out into your mouth as you force your tongue past his lips to lick at the burn you have given him. With the cigarette still in your hand, you wrap your fingers around his soft shaft and begin to pump him so fiercely that you know it has to hurt. Even so, he is hard for you immediately, cock twitching and leaking as you pay special attention to the piercing only you get to see.

“What do you say?” You ask as you break the kiss, letting a small string of smoke escape from between you both.

Jules looks drunk as he responds, “I love you.”

You laugh at him again. “Fuck. You’re pathetic.”

You bite his lip so hard that you taste blood before going back to kissing him and jerking him off until he makes a mess of your hand.

[ravenzeppeli]

Trapped |Yandere Johnny x Reader Angst|

Warning: strong language, physical abuse, verbal abuse, threats, stalking, uncomfortable scenes discussed, yandere relationship. MA

     "I told you not to talk to the likes of Diego Brando!" Snapped your boyfriend, Johnny Joestar, his turquoise eyes glaring daggers at you. "Remember when I told you to avoid him and every man that isn't Gyro or I?! Do you remember Y/N?!" The glare that he shot towards you was one filled with hate, no love resting behind his eyes.

Continung to berate you, he raised his voice, "Get the fuck over here now! Don't use me not being able to walk as an excuse to stay away from me!" His patience was running thin, entire body stiff to the core as you stared at him, terrified to move. "Are you fucking deaf!?"

      You always stayed far away from him when he was angry, back pressed against the harshly cold hotel wall, body visibly shaking. His loud voice filled the small hotel room, causing fear to bubble up inside of you. You couldn't stand being yelled at by him.. why was he so jealous? Never would you dare to cheat on him. The conversation with Diego was nothing more than you asking him questions about his past. What was so terrible about that? A simple, harmless conversation?

You shook your head once, keeping your eyes on him as you kept your back firmly against the wall. Your legs were too scared to move; no, they wouldn't move because they knew that he was going to hurt you. Fuck Gyro, you know that he was the reason that Johnny knew about your little conversation. Your hunch was correct - when Johnny wasn't stalking you and watching your every move Gyro was, not giving you even a single second of privacy. If you knew that your freedom and privacy were going to be taken away then you would have stayed single.

Not even in the bathroom did you get privacy, forced to keep the door open as you do your private business. Closing doors were forbidden, Johnny felt as if he should be able to see all parts of you, including your most private parts. You despised him so much for that, always watching, wearing a little smirk on his face at your discomfort and humiliation.

"I am going to beat the shit out of you if you don't bring your fucking ass over here and stand in front of me! Get over here now!" He screamed, snatching his blue hat off of his head, revealing messy chestnut blonde hair. "We've been together five goddamn months, you know what does and doesn't get you beat!"

       If Gyro were here, he would have already dragged you over to him, leaving once Johnny had his hands securely wrapped around your wrist, light beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waited for Gyro to leave, only being able to hit and scream at you when he had you alone. He hid the truth, hitting you in places that were hidden beneath your clothes, giving you harsh glances when no one was looking to indicate that when he had you alone you were going to regret displeasing him. This relationship was pure hell, pure hell that you were forced to endure because you couldn't leave him. You've tried, him or Gyro always seemed to find you within hours.

    You forced yourself to find the strength to move, slowly stalking over to him with no anticipation in your step. You saw the light beads of sweat forming on his forehead, his hands resting on his lap, balling into fists so tight that you could see the white of his knuckles. You stood directly in front of him, eyes wide with fear as he stared you down. The silence made you nervous, goose flesh forming on your arms, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

True fear wasn't a monster hiding in your closet with plans of scaring you, fear was a crazed man being so obsessed with you that he controlled and stalked every little part of your life, more then ready to attack when you stepped out of the perfect little line that he created for you to stay behind. Why wouldn't he just allow you to be yourself? You wanted to go out and feel the sun on your skin. You wanted to make friends and laugh with others. Ever since meeting Johnny, you're only allowed to do things while he is present, and he would rather have you locked away and hidden from the world. So badly, did you want to leave. You wanted to be free.

        "If you're so scared of me, then why don't you listen to me?! Talking to Diego was unacceptable, and you know that! You are beautiful, Y/N, so beautiful that guys will want to steal you away from me!" He raised his hand behind you, placing two sharp smacks on your bottom, leaving a dark red handprint and a harsh string behind. You flinched but stayed in front of him, hands hanging limply by your side.

"You're stupid for what you've done, so stupid! You know better!" His contiuned, palm smacking away at your upper thighs, three harsh smacks going on each thigh. "Don't you know better?! Or do I have to bear your ass and beat you with a riding crop!?"

       Tears filled your eyes, your body flinching at each painful smack, your clothes providing some protection, but you still felt every harsh blow. "I do know better, I'm sorry, Johnny! I promise that I won't do it again, I'll just stay by you at all times!" You begged him, knowing exactly what he wanted from you. So, in order to spare yourself a beating, you would beg. "Please don't use the riding crop on me, I'll be good! Please give me one more chance!" You resisted the urge to rub your stinging bottom and thighs, knowing that would only anger him.

       "If you ever do this again, I promise that I'll put you in the hospital! Don't you ever fucking test me again, I am not a man that will tolerate you walking all over me! You are my girlfriend, my property and you will listen to me!" He wiped the sweat off of his forehead with the back of his hand. "You almost got fucking killed, you know that? Do you want to be my wife or do you want to be buried six feet underground? Those are your only two choices."

      "I want to be your wife. Nothing more and nothing else, I was put on this earth to be your wife," you told him, feeling as if you were reading lines off of a script. You made your tone sound believable, knowing that even though you didn't want him, you knew that you had to still be with him. You could learn to love him.. that's what you tell yourself so you can fall asleep at night, the thought of being with a crazy man that could snap and kill you at any time for any possible reason still on your mind, ticking away at your sanity.

       "That's what I thought.. only I can love you. Only I can make you happy and give you what you need," Johnny said, raising his hand to caress your cheek, his face instantly softening once you said the words that he wanted to hear. "Now that we are happy again, come lay on the bed. I am tired, it's time we go to bed."

[cry-ptidd]

Where does Laura's fixation on nuns come from? Seems to be a recurring motif in artwork and fiction you have made for her. Is this intentional? 👀

90% intentional! The rest 10% is honestly just vibes.

The main reason is because of Laura's relationship with religion and sexuality.

She was raised in a Christian household and was extremely devout as a human, and planned to keep her chastity intact even if she was the eldest daughter (already making her kind of an exception in the traditional family dynamic). It stemmed half from her being a lesbian (and not knowing that that was a thing) and half from just her faith.

As for her fixation with nuns specifically, it's mostly because of her trauma.

Having been abused sexually by men of faith and top that with her already repressed sexuality, when she gave in to her lycanthropy she basically let go of all her inhibitions and previous anxieties. It also resulted in her being hypersexual in general, and her drinking despite not being able to get drunk is also an idea of that hedonistic, feral attitude.

She sees sex as a power play or a pastime. It's not meaningful in any way to her anymore. It's not about love, it's not about intimacy. But to a Christian woman? Oh it is quite meaningful.

When she sleeps with nuns (or married women also), she uses it as a way to insult God and to mock their faith and human societal values. She sullies the pure just like how she was sullied, not by force but my seduction, making them willingly give in to her.

She sees nuns as the pinnacle of faith and chastity in women, so of course they'd catch her attention. It's also a form of self-loathing in a way, like hurting and manipulating the innocent woman (Laura could've easily become a nun in her human life) she used to be over and over again for no reason other than boredom.

It's her coming back to her trauma again and again in a way where she is in control this time, infiltrating and seeping through the cracks to not cause an uproar because those incidents will most likely be swept under the rug like how many religious groups will do just to save face in a place where God sees all.

It's the idea of a contrast; a pure, devout virgin and a feral, depraved creature, one living in the outskirts of society and the other outside of it, both suspected because of misogyny and how they don't adhere to gender roles in the most traditional sense of the word.

There is an excellent video essay about nuns (inspired by The Nun (2018)) that I highly recommend you guys check out, it's less than 10 minutes and extremely informative. I also recommend checking out the creator's other videos because they are amazing.

[caelum-wittebane]

What if Belos’ s/o was an atheist before meeting him, but he eventually managed to change their mind by telling them about the Titan? Some time after becoming his partner and the second Emperor alongside him, they realised that Belos’ preaching was nothing more than an efficient way of controlling The Boiling Isles. However, their religious nature remained, except there was no more God to devote themself to… or so they thought.

As time passed, they started to realise that Belos didn’t only possess the qualities of a powerful leader — there was something… divine about him. After all, how could a mere human become the powerful witch he was, live for hundreds of years, and make the entire realm accept his authority and worship him? Could it be that he acquired divinity along with his powers? But it’s impossible for a human to do, isn’t it? Then it could only mean one thing: he’s the true God of the Boiling Isles.

This would lead them to genuinely pray to Belos, most often in his presence. Imagine how pleasantly surprised he was the first time it happened, and how much it fed his ego. It was a silent claim that his s/o didn’t simply love him; they saw God in him, and were willing to give their everything to him without questioning. To think that his s/o was his most devoted follower…

Also, the fact that his s/o used to be an atheist definitely heightened his power trip. He’d managed not only to turn them religious, which was already a complicated enough task, but to make them recognise the God in him.

[the-caged-jester]

ooc post

just two poems I wrote this morning! They aren’t the best, only got two hours of sleep, but eh they’re alright

TW: implied sh, unhealthy behavior, implied cannibalism, using cannibalism as a symbol of love, gore, violence, possessiveness, implied toxic/unhealthy attachment

I am forever trapped

A slave to my mind

I thought I learned how to adapt 

Yet it appears I was just blind

This everlasting boredom consumes me

It’s a gaping hole that keeps growing

And I can’t flee

My thoughts just keep slowing 

I want to bash my head 

To get up and find a means with no end

To be able to not be bound by dread

But no matter, when everything will always blend 

————————————————

I wish I could love you the way I crave you

To tear into your throat with my jaws

And rip you apart as you scream

I want to unravel you

Learn every bit of you from the inside out

I want to ravage your flesh like it’s my last meal

Tear out your heart and keep it for myself

I want to break you down 

Then build you back up piece by piece

I want to keep you bound

Stuck to my side by possession

(@shopping-for-a-russian-rat @tatsuhikoshibusawa cus I said I was gonna @ y’all for my poetry:3)

[dreamsclock]

Write about MAD duo

Ok!

How do you write an ending?

The correct answer is that you don’t. The ending writes itself. Hits when least expected, ravages everything in its path. Destroys gods and blesses the underdogs. Renders the world and its occupants reeling in the aftermath. The ending is the ending is the ending and Dream, God, is so fucking tired.

Despite his terror and frustration when the server dies, for one stupidly emotional moment, he’s relieved.

And in that moment he thinks he sees Wilbur.

Not as he’d become: maddened, jaded, never without a cigarette and that old coat that hadn’t been washed in months. But as he’d been (as he always will be, in Dream’s mind): healthy, standing tall and proud in his L’Manburg uniform, a smile on his face that reeks of ambition and drive and knowing.

It had turned Dream’s stomach then. It makes him reach out now.

Wilbur grins as his hand locks with Dream’s, only briefly. The touch sends electric jolts up Dream’s arm: or maybe that’s the shockwaves from the missile hitting, he doesn’t care anymore doesn’t know. But for a moment he’s startled by the connection. “Look at that,” Wilbur muses, eyes alight, “your finished symphony.”

Dream can’t breathe. Smoke and silence clogs his lungs. His body is weightless, momentarily, floating in an abyss where his senses are smothered by Wilbur, Wilbur, Wilbur. Says his name now, mouth unwieldy and untethered. “It’s not my symphony,” he says, and Wilbur laughs.

“Guess not.” The older man is drifting away, form dissolving in sudden rays of sun. “You didn’t even finish it in the end, did you? Didn’t even get to give yourself the ending you wanted.” Wilbur’s smile is wry and wide. “So much for the prison. So much for the plan.”

Dream’s eyes are blinded. Shielding them, he calls out, exposed and raw: “You knew this would happen. Didn’t you?”

A laugh rings in his head as he blinks awake, bleary-eyed and brightening at the sight of an unfamiliar server. There’s a sun in the sky and a path under his feet, and it almost feels like home. But it’s missing cigarette smoke: and Dream can’t help but feel like someone is watching over him, resigned to watching history repeat, as he turns to start his new life.