#ecstatic-destruction

[cuppajj]

yknow while I don’t subscribe to golden cheese x burning spice, I think Spice having an unrequited, toxic crush on cheese is a fun and scary angle

(yap below, tw for possessive/obsessive themes)

Spice wouldn’t have taken her seriously before and during BY 5 and 6, seeing her as little more than a thief with squandered potential that he just wants to see changed. She’s not supposed to be weak, he’s supposed to be a legitimate adversary. He’s bored, and she’s supposed to excite him! It’s why he’s mad when she gets her ass handed to him, and why he’s elated when he learns she escaped her birdcage. That burning anticipation for a reunion continues throughout the story, with Spice hunting her down for their (what he assumes) final fight, not wanting to waste any more moments without her in his sight. Sure, he believes he’ll kill her then and there, and go on to destroy everything she holds dear. It’s par for the course for all the heroes he’s seen and slain. She’s more special, a little different, but the same. It’s even looking like that when he finally tracks down and battles her, seeing the lost queen desperate and hanging on by a thread.

But then she puts up a fight. She defies his expectations. She turns into something more powerful than he could ever fathom and Spice isn’t even mad, he’s not horrified, he’s ecstatic. The most ecstatic he’s likely ever been in centuries to millennia. Finally, finally, Spice has something new. After a long and tired quest to make his life more interesting, he has it. And then the temple collapses on him, and his new light disappears. It’s not the end of the road for him, though, no. He laughs under the rubble. It’s clear he’s not given up, and he wants to see her again. He will see her again. He must see her again.

Spice never stops thinking of the day Cheese came back from the edge of death and teased him with power that he’s desperate to get a taste of. He wanted her to be entertaining, and he almost doubted her, but she proved to be it and more. She surprised him. She amused him. She, just like his addiction to destruction, provided an avenue to cure his boredom. His imagination runs wild with ideas of what she could do and how she could entertain him, his bird, just like she did back then. He wants to lock her up again and watch her plow through his underlings again. He could play other dangerous games just to see how she’d do. And he wants another fight, he wants to see her on the edge, but then what? What other surprise could she give him? She could find a way for him, or else he’ll just force her to find a way for him. Maybe her new wings could be torn off too, and she’ll once again crawl and struggle until she rises up stronger than ever. Because she’s full of those surprises, isn’t she? They can do this forever. As immortals, they have all the time in the world for each other.

I like to think that Spice isn’t fully aware of his feelings for her, but he’s aware of how she makes him feel. The thought of her and her power makes his jam boil and chest flare with tingling heat. Remembering her limp in his clutch makes his dough tingle with fervor. Maybe he notices that his breath hitches in the smallest way when he thinks of how she’s somewhere out there, waiting for him. It’s something not even destruction could make him feel, no, the little bird is above that. She makes him feel this way and he likes it. He wants more. Spice wants to keep her, plain and simple. He had her in his grasp once, and she ran away with the promise of more. He wants more. He wants it. He wants her. And maybe, if he takes away everyone she’s ever known and loved, she’ll have no one but him. His little bird, his to entertain him forever.

Cheese is absolutely none the wiser to this, and she’ll be in for a hell of a ride when their paths cross once more.

[gigidraws13]

I Kinda Wonder How The Beasts Reacting To F! Y/N Corrupting And Coming For Their Heads

The reactions will differ between beasts.

SHADOW MILK COOKIE: oh he is so so so delighted at the news of your corruption! He thinks you have finally joined them in their conquest and can’t wait to show you all his new tricks! ( oh poor fool.)

But soon his newfound excitement is turned into utter fear and terror, the first time he saw your new look, along with the newfound murderous glint in eyes.

His fear only intensifies as you turned Black Sapphire Cookie and Candy Apple Cookie into chaotic, mindless monsters when they tried to get in your way in retrieving Truthless Recluse. Along with turning his Spire of deceit into a chaotic wonderland.

He barely managed to escape alive.

BURNING SPICE COOKIE:

Like the rest of the beast at first, he is absolutely ecstatic at the news of your corruption! Now you can be his partner in crime in causing destruction all around Earthbread!

Unlike the rest of the Beasts,who are terrified and cautious at the news that you are basically hunting them all down. Burning Spice cookie is instead completely excited and thrilled! He has been craving for a good fight since he crumbled Golden Cheese Cookie and is looking forward to take you on in battle! ( This brute is so dead)

MYSTIC FLOUR COOKIE:

She is of course happy that you’re finally one of them now, with a small smile creeping on her face for the first time in forever.

When she finds out about your newfound goal, she is completely caught off guard and alarmed. She didn’t think your corruption could have made you so ruthless and violent…she then comes to the conclusion. That they have made a very horrible mistake.

ETERNAL SUGAR COOKIE:

She is so happy that you’re one of them now! She is already thinking and preparing about all the things you, Hollyberry Cookie, and her could do in her lovely garden! She just can’t wait until then!

At the news that you’re hunting them all down, Refuses to believe it at first. Her dear F! Y/N Cookie would never do such a thing! Probably a rumor caused by Shadow Milk Cookie so he could keep you all to himself!

But she was the first to witness that this was no lie. Oh no, She saw as you destroyed and rampaged through her garden with murder in your eyes. Turning the sweet, delightful paradise she worked so hard to crate into nothing, but a chaotic wasteland, being forced to watch as you flew away with her sweet Hollyberry Cookie.

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Rises the Moon

♡ featuring: dan heng IL x f!reader

♡ summary: you help dan heng work through his heat cycle wc: 3.1k+

♡ cw/tw: canon-divergent, breeding, praise, kinda sad but wholesome, monster-fucking, heat cycle, blowjob, cunnilingus, mentions of blood, biting

notes: super canon divergent ik vidyadhara can't have kids but ahhh dan heng breed brainrot :P ruahh I need that lc

Cracked from a shimmering pearl into the cold deception of a ship no longer home, that damned his ill-fated legacy. A lonely forgone dragon wanders a lifetime in purgatory, searching for hands to follow, for he was reborn into the dead silence of solitude. He stretched his inhuman heart as far as it could reach, enough for anyone to hold. But it twisted and tangled in thorns, cradled by serpents' eyes that prayed for his ruin. In brief moments of rest, his visions were suffocated with catastrophic destruction unbeknownst to the reincarnate. When he was eventually released, no one turned for him; a trail of fire he would have to walk alone, bleeding for repentance until his sin was permanently consumed by the collapsing universe.  

A race cursed to live forever rarely knew joy or love to its full extent, as all things mortal would return to the ground beneath them. It wasn’t worth the attachment, nor the deserved doom of a man denied salvation. 

Your arrival at the space station upturned his perception. He wasn’t sure why he yearned to be near you, why his senses craved your smell and sight. He had to distance himself from you as much as possible, but the melody of your pure voice stored a rhythm in his core that could not be removed. He lamented the blooming affection in his discernment. Often lying awake at night, struggling to satiate the urges. 

To you, he was Dan Heng. The solemn, headstrong friend that seldom spoke in your presence. Your favorite pastime was playful banter; he rarely smiled, but it pulled at your heartstrings when the corners of his lips slightly lifted. When he picked at his food, you went out of your way to find out what he preferred and arranged your meals around his. You spent almost all of your time on the parlor car. That isn’t to say you weren’t interested in adventuring, you frequently noted the prettiest gems March showed you during their trips. You asked Dan about the stuff he enjoyed, but it’d usually amount to “I was too focused on staying alive to take in the scenery.” You recall entering your room after their return and noticed an iron scrap flower sitting on your windowsill. Dan nonchalantly admitted to the act, mentioning how he overheard your liking for metallic constructs. You originally thought this was simply an extension of your friendship, but the burning ache in your body spoke otherwise. The little things he did, such as bringing small gifts or ingredients for you to experiment with made you seek that numbed heart, imprisoned in ice. 

Himeko joked about your sour mood whenever Dan Heng was gone. You read while she stared at you, amused by the pout on your face. “Hmm, your boy toy is missing. Feeling down?” Your head shot up, ears hot from the assumption.  

“W-what? No, of course not. We’re friends, Himeko.” you panicked. She softly giggled. 

“Don’t worry. They’re coming back soon.” You peeked up from the pages. 

“...When?” you mumbled. “A few days. Now you can stop being so sad.” 

You were ecstatic when they arrived, ready to hear about their grueling journey, and more so happy to see Dan Heng. As March relived her storytelling, you observed him. He seemed to be in a trance. His expression was the same as always, but he felt disconnected from you, like he discerned a grim future. He didn’t come to dinner and went to sleep. When you asked March if something happened, she shifted uncomfortably but finally spoke.  

“Dan Heng...he changed on the Xianzhou Luofu.” She’d conveniently left out most of the story. 

“What do you mean ‘changed’?” you questioned, finding it hard to mask your worries. “He had horns and... It was all really new. I kinda wanna forget about it, too.” You didn’t pressure her for more information, and she went to her room shortly after.  You tossed in your sleep, wondering what he must’ve gone through, and what you could do to help him. 

You awoke in an inky blue void, the stars cascading a brilliant aura across the night. There were no other planets visible; only the vast moon, a divinely warm glow, alluring and protective in your gaze. Heavenly bodies carried infinitely above, shaping the moon in its godlike image. You stood in a comparatively small pool of iridescent liquid that waterfalled off each side. It marbled from refracted shimmers, cool to the touch. Somehow life emerged in the barren quiet, white lotus’ decorating most of the area. They never spilled down the stream, as if they'd been waiting. In said pool, was a man with elvish ears and gleaming horns, kneeling turned away from you. His pale arms were shackled behind him, and his delicate hair cascaded down his naked back. If you listened closely, you could hear the faint sobs he tried to stifle. You wanted to comfort him, to calm his nerves. You took a step, and he stopped. He didn’t acknowledge you. You took another step, your hand wishing to touch him. Before you could, you phased out of your dream.  

For the next two weeks, he didn’t leave his room. Not when you were around. At the same time, this reoccurring dream was plaguing your thoughts. It ended the same way each time. March aimed to console you, but you felt she knew more than she led on. Fatigued from your restless mind, you decide to talk to Himeko instead. She stirs her drink while Welt reads the paper. 

“Good morning, (Y/N).” said Welt. 

“Good...morning.” you yawned, rubbing your worsening eyebags. 

“You don’t seem okay. Is everything alright?” Himeko asks, motioning for you to sit beside her. 

“Something is wrong with Dan Heng and March isn’t telling me everything. I was hoping you would.” Welt clears his throat, sets the paper on the table and walks away. Himeko puts her hand on your knee. 

“He’s feeling unwell right now. It’s best we don’t disturb him.” 

“I’ve been having this weird dream, of a guy with horns. He’s crying. And I can’t save him. What does this mean? Why is everyone keeping this from me?” Alarm flashes in her expression, but she composes herself. She sucks in a deep breath. “Do you know what a Vidyadhara is?”  

“No.” 

“Vidyadhara descended from dragons, and they’re very powerful. Dan Heng is a special case of Vidyadhara, so we must treat him as such.” 

“So why can’t I see him?”  

“It’s important that we avoid him while he’s in the process of...getting through this.” 

“But someone has to check on him, right? I could be the one to do it-” 

“(Y/N). Dan Heng requested specifically, that I don’t allow you to see him.” You felt your heart pierce. You believed you were friends with him, so why was he forcing you away? “Oh. Okay.” you said meekly. You went back to your room to contemplate. 

 You were a ghost throughout the day, serving food in silence. When the crew went to bed you prepared a hearty soup to soothe whatever illness he had. He’d probably reject it, but the selfish side wanted to know why he was upset with you. Even if he didn’t have an answer, perhaps his voice would be adequate. Arriving at his door, you knock twice gently. 

“I have some soup for you. Himeko said you were feeling ill. I won’t disrupt you, just want to make sure you’re eating.” He said nothing. “If you’re not hungry, let me know and I can store it for tomorrow. You can’t get better on an empty stomach.” You hear rustling inside, but he still said nothing. 

“Did I do something wrong? I’m sorry if I did.” 

“You didn’t do anything wrong, but I need you to go away.” His voice is feeble, and it scares you. 

“Can I please leave this on your desk? I’ll go away right after, I promise.” You 're practically begging, but you need to see him and know he’s okay. Dan Heng’s weakening mindset rationalizes his risky judgement, and he allows you to come in. He should be able to defend you from himself with the strength he has left; there’s no other choice. “Okay.” 

When you open the door, you’re horrified at the state. Books and precious documents were strewn across the floor or shredded, along with most of the blankets. He’s hunched over on the futon clenching his abdomen, strands of hair sticking to his shiny forehead and puffy lips. He was in a form you've never seen, dressed in elegance in contrast to his shaking figure. The clothes were disheveled, however, the window on his top ripped down the middle, exposing the muscular torso underneath with his pants pulled just under his v-line. He's flushed and sweating, a look in his eyes that both terrifies and excites you. What was most shocking were the pointy ears and horns protruding from his head. The same ones from your dream. He tracks you as you walk to his desk. He’s undoubtedly weak, and yet you feel hunted. You set the soup down. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Bailu about this?” 

“I did already. There’s nothing she can do. I have to wait.” You get on your knees next to him, and he recoils from your proximity. 

“Wait for what?” 

“I'm hot all over, all the time. Nothing I do works, even when I feel good it’s not enough.” he rasps. His eyes are shut in an attempt to null the intense sensation blazing in his veins. You ultimately realize what he means and regret your cluelessness. Still, you don’t leave, deconstructing his resolve. Suddenly, Dan Heng feels the tender press of your palm to his forehead; the touch of someone he could recognize in different timelines and different bodies. The scent of morning dew at early sunrise, the light in its darkness, bitter and sweet and persistent. He punished the thought of ravaging you, but the incessant thump of his member was staggering. He grabs your wrist tight, a guilty look in his eyes. 

“I can’t control myself. Go. Now” he shouts. His anger doesn’t scare you, and your other hand caresses his cheek. 

“Does it hurt? I can help you.” Dan Heng’s frozen as your fingers travel down his Adam's apple, then his chest, to the hem of his bottoms. He’s on his back taking deep labored breaths, the print growing from your airy brushes. 

“I don’t want you to be in pain anymore.” 

You spring his cock free, and it bounces into your hand. It’s thick and almost twelve inches, a rosy-brown gradient to the mushroom tip. His veins dance around the rounded spikes lining up his shaft on both sides. A frustrated sigh leaves him, beads of pre come dripping down his balls. You lubricate your hands with his slick and start to slowly pump him. His head is spinning, the intoxicating ecstasy makes him rut his hips and bite his blushed lips. You fondle his balls with one hand while massaging the tip with the other. Whimpers echo pleasantly in your ears, and he can’t stop watching you, drinking up your shy glances. It twitches in your hold; you can feel how close he is. He’s falling apart because of you and your dampened underwear accepts it. You push your thumb in his mouth and part it to reveal excessive drool and sharp canines.  

“Do you like it?” you tease. He makes noise resembling an “uh huh” through teary eyes. 

“You wanna come?” He quivers from the question. He can only manage a moan. You move to his base, and you slaver at the daunting size before running your tongue along the urethra and taking him in your mouth. He throws his head back but tries to restrain himself from bucking into you. You can barely get it halfway as his cockhead kisses the back of your throat. You hollow your cheeks and start bobbing your head, he trembles from unconstrained pleasure.  

“Please, I’ll do anything please let me come” he whines, tears spilling down his cheeks. You move your hands with the suction along his gradually noisy whimpers, the occasional gag from sloppy grinding. 

“Ah, ‘m gonna come-” he chokes, his chest hitched rapidly, spurting ropes that flood your throat. He rides the wave against you until you pull up. When you meet with him again, his demeanor changes. He instantly snatches you into his arms and smothers his nose in your stomach. He tears your clothes off impatiently, just to taste your bare skin. “Dan-” 

“You smell so good. Aeons, why do you smell so good.” He gazes at you darkly, littering wet kisses across your stomach and chest. His slender hands grope and explore anything they can reach. It was like he had a burst of energy; he nearly lifts you off his lap. You notice his horns get progressively longer, a dim radiance outlining them. His nails grew too, they dragged light scratches over your breasts to your hips. He pulls you to him, lips barely hovering before they collide into a deep, passionate exchange. Unspoken words allow teeth and tongue to mix, and you moan into each other. The pheromones hugging his consciousness are addictive, he needs more of it. He promptly flips you on your back, his eyes look down on you with a starving glint. 

“I’m hungry now.” 

“Oh sure, I can warm up the-” 

“No. Let me eat you.” His statement was more of a demand than a request, as he mangles your panties down your legs. He forces your thighs back and appreciates the glistening sticky folds. “Stunning” he purrs. He licks a flat strip to your clit and laps up your juices, then envelops his mouth in your heat. His firm squeeze prevents you from escaping the determined pink muscle, swirling and twisting around you. He switches between French kisses to your vulva and merciless sucking on the erect bud. He’d rather drown in you than catch his breath, your essence covers his jaw and chin. You card your fingers through his scalp and accidentally sweep his horns; he shudders. You rub the pad of your thumb on it, earning a strangled whimper. His tongue sinks into your passage and begins to move at a brutal pace. You tease the sensitivity in his horns, flicking and circling them. The vibrations from his moans rock against your walls and your hips stutter. “Ah- I’m close” you plead. He stimulates your clit, and you pulse around him before your back arches, and you unwind. His mouth is stitched to you as you try to wriggle out of his grasp. He continues to devour your climax. He hoists your lower half off the ground, savoring your honeyed desire, laughing from your overstimulated cries. You’re spasming and feel your heart racing in your ears. He stops at the approaching precipice and lays you down. Balmy kisses dot your knees. 

“Please Dan Heng, more” you beg. 

“(Y/N), I don’t want to hurt you.” He's throbbing, and he straightens your legs to roll his hips between your thighs. The plush fat cuddles his cock and he pants. You grab his hand. 

“It’s okay, I’m yours. I know you don’t mean to hurt me.” 

“But-” 

“I love you” you blurt out. “Please, I want to have this with you. I can handle it, I promise.” Your vulnerability surprises you, and he stops. 

“You...love me?” he questions. For a split second, you see sadness and despair. No one stood to consider an exile incapable of love, but you did. No one bothered to defrost the drifting hollow, but you did. The undying weeps. 

“I love you. I would destroy every star and planet in your name. Carve your worth into the cosmos so that even Fuli could worship your memory. I am yours in its entirety, and I’ll only live for you.” You wipe the tears as they come down and kiss his troubles away. 

“I want you inside me” you whisper. He stands and scoops you up, his hands on your ass and your arms around his neck. He aligns his tip with your sex and lowers you into the plunge. The stretching blaze of your walls accommodating his girth is excruciating.  

“Is this okay?” 

“Yes.” You give him a reassuring smile. He’s stuffing you full, the spikes knead your inner walls the deeper he goes. He bottoms out and stays there for a while. 

“Tell me when to move” he soothes. 

“Go ahead.” He starts an unrelenting tempo, and you grip him like a vice, your arousal drenching his balls. The thundering sound of desperate huffs and squelching, smacking flesh is almost embarrassing; you both don’t care, indulging each other. You could’ve sworn you saw something similar to a dragon's tail swaying behind him, or maybe your mind played tricks on you. Strings of saliva connect his fangs, eyes cloudy with carnal impulse and cock twitching from the friction. He can see the bulge snapping in and out of your stomach and groans.  

“Deeper.” He pulls out and lays you on the futon before positioning you in a mating press. In one swoop he jackhammers your cunt, balls swinging and ragged breath on your ear. His hair blankets you and you soak in his sweating physique, his needy appearance. 

“Gonna breed this pretty pussy” he moans. Eyeing the unoccupied space on your neck, he salivates. You guide his lips to your neck, encouraging him, and he takes the bait. He ruptures the skin with sharp teeth; harsh puncture wounds remain. He licks the blood away, adamant on claiming you. The spikes massage your g-spot, and your eyes loll back, pleasure and pain blurring. Dan Heng loses his composure, frenetic thrusting as he chases his release. 

“I’m gonna come!” 

“That’s it, come with me, my love” he groans. You see black as tremors overtake you and a stream of squirt coats you both. Your wails flow into the halls. Your contracting vulva sends him over the edge, and he finally comes undone, painting your insides to the hilt. You milk every last drop of his gushing seed, and he jerks a few times until limp. The creamy, swelling base pushes your folds to capacity. It's barbed wire in your gut. He strokes and kisses your face. 

“I'm sorry, it’ll go down soon.” With your legs wrapped around him and his head snug against your cheek, you weren’t sure if you wanted it to go down. 

His curse may not be lifted through your embrace. But in your arms, his shackles don't feel as heavy. 

[princessjojo-x]

8th House Moon Synastry

💝 this aspect is guaranteed to produce major intensity, which when channeled positively, manifests as a magical & healing bond - undeniable chemistry, fierce devotion, consuming passion. however, if there’s no physical attraction between partners or bad aspects elsewhere in the chart, this dynamic becomes messy & destructive - persistent torment, obsessive resentment, psychological games.

💝 moon feels magnetically drawn to house in an unexplainable way; moon senses emotional depth & captivating mystery within house. house doesn’t need to do much for moon to become emotionally invested; houses presence alone triggers moons desire for intimacy & fear of abandonment. this attraction often includes a strong sexual component too (even if not acted upon).

💝 house feels deeply flattered & enjoys being wanted. but they’re not equally as consumed or invested, viewing the connection as casual & situational, usually unaware of moons attachment & obsession. consequently, house may flirt without real intent & unintentionally lead moon on.

💝 moon becomes controlling over houses self-expression bc it doesn’t align with their desired expectation. moon becomes frustrated when house holds back or stays guarded. house seems emotionally elusive & moon wants to crack them open.

💝 moon *needs* to know everything abt house & crosses boundaries to dig up info. moon doesn’t realise or doesn’t care how weird this behaviour is bc their emotional drive overrides logic & social awareness. but this makes house feel analysed & they may withdraw further as a result.

💝 house activates a level of intensity within moon that no one else quite can. whether that intensity is ecstatic or excruciating, either way it makes house significant & unforgettable. consequently, moon romanticises the connection as destined & ignores red flags in favour of what could be. their perception is deeply clouded by fantasy & emotion, convinced the feelings are mutual, even when reality suggest otherwise.

💝 once those rose coloured glasses break, this dynamic takes a very dangerous turn. moon eventually realises their being used for attention & discarded when it no longer suits. this results in a profound sense of betrayal & humiliation. moon becomes desperately revengeful, in attempts of regaining control. moon wants house to experience the same depth of emotional turmoil they went through. this typically manifests as exposing secrets & weaponising insecurities. this can absolutely reach enemy territory with neither party leaving in one piece.

💝 moon stops reaching out & pulls away promptly, hoping house will feel regret & come running back. moons ghosting is punishment masked as detachment. but the twist is, it rarely works. house doesn’t notice moons silence & enjoys the peace it provides. house is completely unbothered which makes moon spiral even further.

💝 moon internalises the rejection as a personal failure & feels the need to prove their worth: they suddenly become image-conscious, seeking success & status, to reclaim dignity & validation - it sends a silent message of “look what you’re missing out on”. moon is reclaiming identity through transformation & it may actually lead to a glow-up. moon is saying “you made me feel small, now i want to i matter.”

💝 if partners ever reach balance, through mutual growth & cooperation, this can blossom into a healthier connection. but unfortunately transformative pain is almost inevitable bc power struggles & obsessive attachment are apart of the process.

💝 breakups rarely feel final with this synastry. partners may separate only to reconnect years later bc of their compulsive desire & emotional charge, which may seem to fade temporarily, but it always comes back & is never satisfied.

💝 this connection produces major intensity & a healthy outlet is absolutely needed. typically sexual contact is the chosen means of release but theres an unspoken hesitation & resistance surrounding intimacy. it feels dangerous to let each other in due to the psychological intensity & emotional risk. when partners are naked (physically & emotionally) around each other it activates their survival instincts. sexual intimacy can trigger wounds or fears, especially surrounding trust & loss. the central question is: “if i surrender what will you do to me? hurt me? leave me?” neither partners feel secure enough to drop their defences: moon feels like house can see parts of them they want to keep hidden. house feels like moon is pulling them into emotional waters they’re not ready to swim in.

💝 to prevent feeling vulnerable & exposed, a level of trust built beforehand is essential. partners must unmask completely, revealing their true selves, in order to breed closeness & minimise the tension. this can be achieved by opening up abt fears & fantasies, followed by mutual validation of said vulnerabilities. one partner admits: “i’m scared you’ll lose interest once we get close.” the other replies: “i love when you let me in like that. you’re safe with me.”

💝 their unique complexity is met with acceptance & compassion rather than judgment & dismissal. they’ve witnessed each others darkness & they still choose one another - “you love all of me, exactly as i am, even the messy parts.” the walls they’ve built to protect themselves all crumble away & for the first time ever partners have been fully seen. they realise there’s no pressure to perform & impress. they can be themselves & it’s more than enough. their being loved in a place they once feared being exposed. partners are finally willing to soften & surrender, in this sanctuary of unwavering safety & profound belonging. it’s like their souls have been touched & welcomed. in each other, they’ve found home.

💝 intimacy evolves into a transformative & sacred ritual. it holds the power to rewrite painful experiences & release sorrow from the body. the moans are both expressions of physical pleasure & indication of emotional release. you’re not just arousing each other, you’re restoring each other too - wounds healed, scars softened, baggage lifted. partners have waited their entire lives to be this close to someone; the craving for deep passion finally has somewhere to go.

💝 partners take on distinct roles when entering bedroom: moon gives themselves & house holds them. but to unlock the submissive & receptive side of moon, house must first nurture & protect them, ensuring moon feels both desired & cherished - prolonged foreplay, deep conversations, intentional touch. house takes the dominant & guiding role, with a primal urge to consume & possess house. but sometimes the depth of their hunger make moon feel overlooked or used in the process.

💝 since sex is the deepest expression of their connection, it can become a tool for power plays. one partner may withhold sex to gain control, whilst the other uses it to re-establish closeness.

have you experienced this aspect? how did it play out for you?

[androm3da868]

All the Venus-ruled nakshatras — Bharani, Purva Phalguni, and Purva Ashada — possess an innate, almost dangerous ability to call upon spirits, demons, and darker forces through the arts, particularly through music. Music becomes their most potent gateway, especially when it is saturated with sexuality, pleasure, and the bittersweet ache of indulgence. It is not just performance for them — it is ritual. It is invocation.

To break past the ordinary limits of sensation and reach this raw spiritual threshold, Venus nakshatra natives often partake in substances or altered states of consciousness, deliberately pushing themselves into ecstatic or taboo realms. It’s through this descent — where pleasure and pain, life and death blur — that they can fully embody the darker, seductive power of Venus.

Bharani, especially, has perfected this art form through the revolutionary music of the late 1960s and 1970s, when death, sex, and mystical rebirth intertwined so openly. A prime example is The Doors’ song “The End,” a slow, hypnotic unraveling of the soul — primal, erotic, destructive — capturing the essence of Bharani’s death-womb energy.

When Venus itself is placed in a Venus nakshatra, this spiritual potency becomes even more intense, almost fated. The native becomes a vessel where pleasure, death, and beauty intermingle almost too easily, sometimes to their own undoing. A striking modern example is Lana Del Rey, who has her Venus in Bharani. Her haunting, narcotic sound often calls back to the ghost of Jim Morrison — notably in her song “Freak,” which drips with the same slow, dangerous sensuality, drugged longing, and edge-of-the-abyss eroticism that characterized Morrison’s work. It’s almost as if through her, the spirit of that era — and its dark Venusian undercurrents — is being resurrected.

Through these nakshatras, and especially when Venus itself resides there, the arts are not simply a craft — they are a conjuring, a summoning of forces ancient, carnal, and otherworldly.

[someweirdoreblogger]

Burning Spice Cookie is passion ignited, albeit not in the moral side of the conscious spectrum. He is quite affectionate, actually, more than you may give him credit for.

Do not mistake it as humane, as a blind genosity. It comes not from a moral source of obligation or even gerenal priority.

Once the deranged loin-a Beast amongst monsters-the corrupted Lord himself is invested, your scent guiding freely through the droves, to shake him off your trail will prove diffcult. Burning Spice is not so kind to let prey go by unscathed, untouched by his mighty axe; His shadow stalks the trees, quaking, a deafening roar booms in the distance.

The Hunt begins.

You dare infringe upon his heart, you invade his senses, scrabble his thoughts; you really think you can simply crawl back home unscathed?

What home have you to turn too? Who would even think to take you back with the mark of a Beast weighing down your back?

Luckily, this debt can be paid. Paid solely by your own parry and peril. Burning Spice will remember your tracks better than the back of his own hand.

Once he comes, just an arrogant march away, you will know. The world itself will alert, not you, but itself to his sudden existence.

The birds will cease their music, the ground will shake and stumble; struggling to keep its foundation stable and lively. The lakes, far and wide, the sky, the kisses of clouds and weak leaves rip itself apart, dancing in the reflection below. It ripens in sheer unbalanced tension, seemingly frightened; the water will ripple like static, wavering under a wave of immense, exotic shock, and pressure.

The wind is ecstatic, nature's personal enthusiasm; it moans, groans, and sighs heavy in your ear. Desperate to be heard.

You will taste him in the air, a suffocating sulfur and ghastly spice, it threatens to choke weaker beings. Feel him fester like sparks on your crust, hair standing up stiff, dough throbbing. Tingling and blazing hot, a Beast's presence is a neigh-suffocating weight. You will never know peace until he deems you worthy of such.

Burning Spice roams triumphant, forever hungry. An immovable glare in the sky, a blinding scorch to the people's merger eyes, looking down civilization in cold indifference; The same way a god regurds his subjects. Just ants, peasy insects, building their anthills, simply hoping to piece together a safe haven for themselves in a universe far too large to tackle alone.

The Vitue of Change, The Lord of Destruction, will stand tall alone. Boundless from any chain as mortals rise, spoil and fall. A proud witness to the beginning, present, and the end, the natural tides of history sow in the seeds of devastation he leaves behind. He is a slave to his base desires, as all Cookies are; a chaotic harbinger of endless malice and merciless strife.

But he is still yet a man. A heartless monster in a man's skin. A Cookie baked in the same oven as his fellow kin, a great Beast, seeking to completely deprive himself of sheer boredom and simplicity.

All immortals carry the burden, the smooth erosion of time is not lost even to Beasts, as the ocean inevitably swipes a wet hand over the sand. He lives long and simply withstands, and he stares at the lesser mass in a bubbling, volcanic envy, hanging loose like a knot on his shoulders; the deeper things, the pleasant things. The majority of it stems from an infectious curiosity, aching hunger boiling in the depths of a Beast.

An unstoppable force suspended in a space completely at its mercy.

Burning Spice, gerenally, is an incredibly expressive person; entertainment, living life to the fullest drives his very soul off the edge of madness and carnage. His being is a godly sight to behold, and he wears this infernal arrogance in fine silks and peakish sneers. The weak tremble beneath the heel of their superiors, the Beast of Destruction is bloody pride embodied.

And this God, this Beast will strave for your worship; shall rip it from the dying, rotting hands of the torn world.

Carnal, burnt crimson in abhorrent brutality, Burning Spice is honestly an upfront sort. He won’t shy away from confrontation, solemn. He knows what he needs, what he wants, so he will steal it if one ever dares refuse it from him.

What is inevitable is virtue, Burning Spice knows this in his very jam. He does hold some semblance of responsibility and honor, albeit it won’t make him any less immorally stubborn or hot-headed. He approaches a desired interest alike how a lion stalks his prey; the same way he approaches a potential hunt, with fierce, burning determination and endless persistence.

[random-brushstrokes]

Felix Jenewein - Debauchery, from the cycle The Plague (Mor), 1900

The six-part Mor cycle, exhibited in 1901 at the Wiener Secession exhibition, represents the culminating work of Felix Jenewein (1857-1905), who is considered one of the most typical representatives of Czech neo-romanticism, symbolism and Art Nouveau. Already in his earlier works with religious themes, the artist introduced a subjectivizing concept into their appearance, which was opposed by the religious circles of the time, but at the same time welcomed by the authors of the so-called Catholic Modernism, centered around the magazine Nový život. Alongside Otokar Březina, Julius Zeyer or František Bílek, they soon included Jenewein among the authors expressing the ideas of the movement. Jenewein's great rediscovery came with an exhibition in 1927, for which Jakub Deml wrote his monograph and a great poetic confession. Both the apocalyptic theme and the expressive conception of The Plague turn away from more traditional religious painting towards a more general symbolic parable of the destruction of the human race. It follows the artistic form of death dances, which showed the fragility of human life and the universality of death in the form of a reanimated skeleton dancing with still-living representatives of various strata of society, from late medieval to Baroque painting; in the mid-19th century, the artistic theme returned with the spread of the cholera epidemic. It is in The Debauchery that ecstatic dance represents a way to banish the fear of death, at least for a while. But Jenewein replaced the skeletons, which were part of the tradition of the genre, with very physical figures. The space of the scenes in the Mor cycle is not very deep and is fully dominated by the monumentally conceived bodily shapes - accentuated by the line drawing, which underlines the Art Nouveau expression. The beauty of these human bodies thus stands in the face of decay, decay and death. (source)

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - six

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

WARNINGS: domestic violence; blood; injuries; angst; smut;

word count: 7.6k

You saw it on the news before Sarah told you.

Ward was officially in police custody.

They were calling it the biggest crime operation in years, plastering his face on every corner of every newspaper in the country. You saw it first on your busted-up TV, the morning news anchor's serious tone making the gravity of the situation clear before Sarah had a chance to call.

He was stopped.

The man who caused so much pain to everyone you cared about was finally behind bars.

But your relief came with a bit of caution.

This was just the beginning. There was still a trial to face, and you knew how slippery Ward could be. He had enough money to buy whoever he wanted on the island if not the entire country, and the justice system wasn’t always as just as you hoped.

Trials could take months, even years before he was sentenced.

JJ cheered in the background, almost face-planting the ground as he struggled to get off his chair and call Pope. You hadn’t seen him this ecstatic in years, the hallways of your home echoing with “let’s fucking go, baby!” as he made his way upstairs.

You were content.

Was there really anything to be happy about?

Sure, a bad guy was getting what he deserved, but the destruction he left behind was still very much there.

Months ago, when the police contacted you again, you had refused to testify. What Ward did to you was terrifying, but what he did to Sarah, John B, and Rafe? They were the true witnesses to his evil.

You barely got a taste of his wrath. You were lucky. You wanted to be there, of course. Every person Ward hurt deserved all the support they could get. But watching Rafe Cameron—the boy who had idolized his father for years, now a man—sit in a chair facing countless cameras and strangers for hours as he recounted his life under Ward's control? That was a different kind of heartache.

Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him since that day he dropped by, and it felt like he vanished into thin air. You didn’t see him around town, not at the beach, and he never stopped by your job. You started wondering if he’d been cooped up in that awful house all this time.

You couldn’t shake this feeling of worry, knowing he was stuck in the shadow of his dad’s mess. Did he feel abandoned by you?

The thought of him, alone in that house, haunted you. You knew you should’ve reached out, found him as the town buzzed with the details of Ward’s arrest. More stories came out, each more horrifying than the last.

You almost gave in.

One evening, you found yourself riding past the Cameron estate. You'd forgotten how huge it was, and with the light fading, it just looked like this dark outline in the distance You almost went in, stopping by the gigantic gate, but then you saw movement inside and sped away on your bike.

You couldn’t do it. 

Whatever was between you both just felt… impossible to cross.

The sound of the waves crashing—it’s always been your escape.

You've spent so much time in the water, it felt like second nature to you. Growing up, swimming and surfing were your ways to get away from your dad’s violence and your mom being, well, absent. The ocean became your sanctuary, where you could forget about the yelling, broken furniture, and bottles littering your house. Floating out there, everything bad just… melted away.

But as soon as you stepped back on the sand and headed home, all that peace would disappear. Both your parents were long gone now, but that dread? It never left. It was like the house still held onto those old memories—the shouting, the fights. Even though it was quiet now, the walls were stained with the past. The creaky floorboards, the dim light, chipped paint—You hated it all.

You've thought about leaving so many times, but something always held you back. JJ, mostly. And, well, money.

Tonight, as you got closer, something felt off. JJ’s truck wasn’t in its usual spot, which wasn’t unheard of, but it felt wrong. The windows were shut too, which You never did—You always keep them open to let in the ocean breeze.

You called out for JJ, expecting his usual shout back, but there was just… silence. You brushed it off. Maybe he was out on the boat or glued to his video games.

You dropped your bag by the door and walked inside, calling his name again. That’s when you saw him.

Luke.

He looked even worse than before—disheveled, eyes bloodshot, reeking of alcohol. He’d been gone for a year. No calls, no messages. JJ and you paid him off, made sure he left the island, but here he was, standing in your living room like he belonged.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You managed, trying to sound stronger than you felt.

He laughed, this dark, hollow sound that made your skin crawl. “Just came to see my kids. That so wrong?”

Liar. You knew what he really wanted. “You need to leave. Now.”

His face twisted, the smirk gone. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Watch me. Get out.”

He took a step back, hands up like he was surrendering. “I just need a little loan.”

You gripped the doorframe tighter. “No. You need to go. For good.”

He took a step back, raising his hands in mock surrender, “I just need a little loan.”

You tightened your grip on the edge of the doorframe, “No. You need to go, for good.”

For a second, you thought he’d listen, but then he took a step forward, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“I’m not leaving without what I came for.”

“I don’t care,” You snapped, “Get your ass out of my house before I call the cops.”

“This is my house!” He all but screamed, the veins in his neck visible.

“Not anymore,” Your heart pounded in your chest, and every fiber of your being screamed for JJ, wishing he was here, “I’m not afraid of you,” you said, more to convince yourself than him.

He took another step forward, his face twisted in anger. “You always were a stubborn little brat.”

“And you’re a piece of shit.”

He lunged.

You barely dodged him, stumbling back into the living room. “Stay away from me!” You shouted, frantically searching for something, anything to defend myself.

Luke laughed again, that same twisted, hollow sound, and came at you. This time, he grabbed your arm, his grip painfully tight. You raised your other arm to block him, instincts kicking in.

“Stay away from me!” you shouted, frantically searching for something, anything to defend yourself.

“You little bitch,” he snarled, shoving you against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of you, but you stayed focused.

You couldn’t let him win. Not again.

“You’re gonna give me what I want,” he hissed, his breath hot and disgusting.

“No, I’m not,” you spat back, summoning every ounce of courage you had.

With your free hand, you the grabbed the nearest thing—Mom’s old lamp—and swung it at him. The base cracked against his head, and he stumbled back, cursing.

“Bitch!” he roared, blood running down his face. It only made him angrier. He rushed you, knocking the lamp out of your hand, pinning you to the floor.

You were panicking, resorting to kicking and thrashing, doing anything to try to throw him off. “Get off me!” you screamed, clawing at his face.

His hand came down hard across your cheek, blurring your vision. “You really think you can fight me?”

He wrapped his hands around your throat, squeezing. Gasping for air, you remembred that you’d been here too many times. Your hand groped blindly on the floor, finding a heavy candlestick.

With the last of your strength, you swung it with everything you had, hitting him square in the head.

His grip loosened, and you scrambled to your feet, panting as he slumped to the side, groaning in pain.He groaned, trying to get up, but you hit him again. Harder this time. He collapsed, blood pooling around him. You stood over him, breathing heavy, barely processing what you'd just done.

But then, he stirred. He reached for your ankle.

You stumbled back, “Stay down goddamit!” you shouted, raising the candlestick again.

Luke pushed himself up, eyes wild with rage. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he spat, lunging at you again.

This time, you were ready.

As he reached for you, you twisted to the side, driving your knee into his stomach. He grunted, doubling over, and you brought your elbow down on his nose. It cracked. He roared, grabbing blindly at you.

You ducked and shoved a chair between you both, but he kicked it aside. It bought you just enough time to reach the kitchen. You grabbed the first thing yousaw—a cast-iron skillet.

He staggered into the kitchen after you, blood and sweat on his face.

“You just had to put up a fight, huh? Just like her.”

“Stay back,” you warned, gripping the skillet like your life depended on it. “I’ll fucking do it.”

Luke laughed, this sick, deranged sound that made your stomach churn. Then he lunged. Without thinking, you swung the skillet as hard as you could, the impact vibrating through your whole arm as it connected with his shoulder. He staggered, but you didn’t stop. You swung again, this time aiming for his head. The sound of the skillet hitting his temple echoed through the room. He collapsed, finally still.

Oh fuck.

For a moment, the house was deathly silent.

You dropped the skillet, your hands trembling.

Kneeling down, you checked for a pulse. It was faint, but there. Relief and horror flooded through you simultaneously. You almost killed him. There was blood everywhere—on the carpet, on the candlestick, on your hands.

You stumbled back, your mind spinning out of control. What if he dies? What if you actually killed him? This wasn’t supposed to happen. You just wanted him gone. Out of your life. Forever.

Your hands were trembling as you fumbled for your phone. You couldn’t think straight, your heart racing as you scrolled through your contacts. The names blurred through your tears. You needed help, but you couldn’t call JJ—he wasn’t here. And you couldn’t call the cops. Not yet. You weren’t ready for all of this.

Without fully realizing it, your finger landed on a contact you hadn’t called ever before. Your hands moved on autopilot, and the phone was already ringing. You kept your eyes on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity.The phone rang, and you kept an eye on Luke, praying he wouldn’t move. It rang for only ten seconds, but it felt like an eternity.

“Maybank?”

“Rafe?” Your voice broke, the word barely making it out before a sob tore through your chest.

There was a brief pause, and then his voice came through, “Hey, hey. What's wrong? Are you okay?”

But you couldn't speak. Hearing his voice after all this time, after everything that had happened, it was too much. The fear, the relief, the chaos, all of it came crashing down, and your breath hitched.

You couldn’t think.

“Hey! Are you there? Talk to me!” Rafe's voice grew more urgent.

You tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat, a sob escaping instead. Your knees gave out, and you sank to the floor, the phone slipping slightly in your grasp. You could barely breathe.

“Where are you?!”

You focused on his words, trying to match your breath to his timbre.

In. Out. In. Out. It helped, if only a little. The shaking in your hands lessened, but the fear never disappeared.

“I think... I think I killed my dad.”

You looked at the bloodstained carpet, the unconscious body of your father still lying there. The words felt foreign on your tongue, like someone else was speaking for you.

“Are you home? Are you safe?”

“I’m home,” you whispered, “JJ’s not here. I don’t know where he is.”

“I’m coming,” Rafe said, no hesitation in his voice. “Stay there. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there soon.”

“Rafe—” You began, but he cut you off.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hang on, okay?”

The minutes ticked by, and you found yourself staring at the door, willing Rafe to appear. This wasn’t you. You didn’t hurt people. You just wanted peace. Why did it always end like this? What were you going to do? How were you going to live with yourself if Luke died?

Why did things never work out the way you wanted them to?

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime, you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside. Moments later, the door burst open, and there he was.

“Maybank?”

He called out for you as he stepped inside.

Seconds later, he was standing in front of you, scanning the room, analyzing the scene. He rushed to your side, pulling you into his arms without hesitation. 

“It’s okay. I’m here. You’re gonna be okay.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple as he guided you away from the scene, his eyes lingering briefly on your father’s motionless figure.

“What happened?” He asked softly, leading you to sit on the couch. 

“He just showed up out of nowhere. He wanted money. I told him to leave, but he wouldn’t. He got violent, and I... “

“It’s okay.”

His warmth helped. But guilt? It stayed. The blood on your hands—it all felt surreal, like a nightmare you couldn't wake up from.

“Have you called 911?”

You shook your head, lips trembling as you tried not to cry.

“Do you want me to?”

The thought of police cars and paramedics filling the house, made your stomach churn. The fear of what might happen if Luke woke up, or if he didn't, paralyzed you. It took you a second to realize he already had his phone out, pressed to his ear.

"I need an ambulance.”

He stayed on the line with the dispatcher, giving them your address and the details. Your ears were ringing, unable to make out exactly what he was saying. 

"They're on their way," he reassured softly. "It’s gonna be okay."

You nodded, but you weren’t sure you believed it.

"They'll take him to the hospital," He murmured, more to himself than anyone else. "He'll get the help he needs."

"I... I didn't mean to..." you finally managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

Rafe’s hands griped yours, despite the blood coating it, "I know.”

The minutes felt like hours as you waited for the ambulance. You just wanted it to be over.

When the paramedics finally arrived, Rafe guided them to Luke's unconscious form while you sat numbly on the couch. They immediately went to work, assessing his condition and preparing him for transport. Police officers soon followed, asking questions, and taking statements. Rafe handled most of the interaction, protecting you from the brunt of their interrogations. After what felt like an eternity, they finally moved Luke onto a stretcher and carried him out of the house. He followed them to the door, speaking briefly with one of the paramedics before they loaded Luke into the ambulance and drove away.

He kneeled in front of you, “You can’t say here, okay? They called JJ, he’s on the mainland, but he’ll take the first ferry down here tomorrow.”

You nodded, feeling drained.

"Come on," Rafe urged, helping you to your feet. "Let's get you out of here."

He guided you out of the house and into his truck, the engine already running. The drive was quiet, the only sound being the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from you.

Rafe reached over, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. You slumped back in the plush seat, eyes closed, trying to steady your breathing, too embarrassed to look at him.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

You didn't even register where you were headed until the truck pulled to a stop. When you finally opened your eyes, you realized you were at Rafe’s place.

Tanneyhill.

It felt odd, being there, and under such circumstances. He helped you out of the truck, guiding you inside with a protective arm around your waist.

"Sit down," he said gently, leading you to the living room. "I'll get you some water."

You sank into the expensive couch, feeling the soft cushions envelop you. It was weird sitting in his home after everything that had happened.

He returned quickly with a glass of water, pressing it into your trembling hands.

"Drink," he instructed, sitting beside you.

You took a small sip, the cool water soothing your dry throat. Rafe watched you closely.

"You need to rest," he said. "I’ll be right here."

"But I—"

"You need to rest," he repeated firmly, "We can talk more in the morning.”

There was a part of you that wanted to argue, to insist that you were fine, that you didn’t need his help. You’d done this for years, alone. And yet, here he was, offering you help. Maybe it was the exhaustion, maybe you just missed him, but for once in your life, you didn’t fight him. 

You nodded, letting him take you upstairs.

"Let's get you cleaned up," he said, noticing the blood still on your skin and clothes. "You can’t go to bed like this."

At this point, you were too tired to speak, simply following his instructions as he guided to the bathroom.

"Here," he turned on the shower and adjusting the temperature. "Take your time. I'll leave some clean clothes for you right outside the door."

You slipped into the bathroom and shut the door behind you. The sound of the water running felt comforting, like a tiny slice of normalcy in the middle of this mess. Your hands shook a little as you peeled off your clothes, your shorts sticking to your skin. The sight of the dried blood on your hands and shirt almost broke you all over again. This couldn't be real.

You just stood there for a while, letting the heat work its way into your muscles. Eyes closed, you tried to block out the image of your dad lying there on the floor. Slowly, you started scrubbing your skin, trying to wash away every trace of what had just happened. The soap smelled like lavender, and for a split second, you smiled—this was Rafe’s scent. You recognized it from earlier when he hugged you. Somehow, that tiny detail grounded you, pulling you back to the present.

By the time you stepped out and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel, you felt slightly more like yourself.

Outside the door, Rafe had left you some clothes: his sweatpants, a t-shirt, and boxers—like he said he would. They were a little too big, but warm and soft, like a hug. And, well, they were Rafe’s. That felt oddly comforting.

You opened the bathroom door to find him waiting in the hallway. He seemed relieved to see you and you hated yourself for making him worry so bad.

"Feeling better?" 

"A little," you admitted. "Thank you."

He nodded, then motioned for you to follow. "Come on, let's get you to bed."

He led you to a guest room, the bed already made with fresh sheets. It looked so inviting, you almost forgot everything that happened tonight. Almost.

“Sit here,” he said, gesturing to the edge of the bed. He disappeared for a second and came back with a first-aid kit. Kneeling in front of you, he gently took your hands in his. “Lemme see.”

Your hands were scratched up and bruised, still carrying the marks from your dad. You hesitated but then slowly extended them to Rafe.

“This might sting a little,” he said softly, wiping the cuts with antiseptic. You winced but didn’t make a sound. He noticed though, his brows furrowing in concern. “I’m sorry."

"’M used to it. It’s okay,” You nodded, biting your lip as he cleaned the wound. 

The antiseptic burned, but you focused on Rafe’s face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the softness in his eyes as he wrapped your hand with practiced care. 

“I didn’t want to drag you into my mess.”

Rafe paused, his hands stilling for a moment.

“You’re not a mess.”

You let out a short, dry laugh. “Right.”

His fingers continued their work, securing the bandage with gentle precision. “I mean it.”

His tone was so final, like there wasn’t even room for doubt.

“Why—Why did you pick up the phone?”

“You know why.”

His answer made your heart hurt, the kind of hurt that came from months of trying to keep your distance. But he wasn’t budging, and that did something to you. When he finished wrapping your hands, he set them gently in your lap. “All done.”

You sank into the mattress as he pulled the blankets over you and ssomething about it felt so foreign and so… nice. No one ever took care of you like this.

“C-Can you stay here?”

He paused, adjusting the pillows, clearly debating with himself. “I don’t think—”

“Please.”

Without saying anything, Rafe slipped off his shoes and climbed into bed next to you. He pulled you into his arms, and instantly, everything felt a little less terrifying. His warmth, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the faint scent of lavender—it all made you feel safe, like maybe you could finally let go.

"It's okay. I'm here. You're safe."

You buried your face in his chest, tears finally spilling over, but this time they weren’t from fear. They were from relief. From release. Rafe held you tighter, his hands gently rubbing your back in soothing circles. He didn’t say anything more. He didn’t need to. He just held you, and that was enough. The minutes passed and your breathing synced with his, your body finally relaxing for the first time in what felt like forever. The tension started to melt away, and before you knew it, your eyelids were getting heavy.

"Thank you," Your voice was muffled against his chest. "For everything."

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. “Sleep.”

You snuggled closer to him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest, and for the first time in a long time, you felt at home.

When you woke up the next morning, Rafe was gone. The bed next to you was cold, but the events of last night still pushed heavy on your chest. You sat up, your heart dropping to the floor as you realized the nightmare wasn’t over. The bloodstained clothes on the floor, the hollow feeling in your chest—it was all real.

You felt an immense amount of guilt as you remembered how you had leaned on him for support after you cut him out of your life. He had enough going on with his own family, his own problems. And now you’d dragged him into yours.

You rolled out of bed, Rafe's oversized sweatpants and t-shirt practically swallowing you whole. You had no idea where he went, so you headed toward the door, ears perked for any clue. As you walked down the hallway, you heard voices coming from the kitchen—well, Rafe’s voice, specifically, speaking in a low hushed tone.

You hesitated for a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you. Slowly, you made your way towards the kitchen, the sound of his voice growing clearer with each step.

“…I don’t care what it fucking takes,” Rafe all but spat, his tone filled with determination. “Yeah, I know the charges will stick. Just make sure he doesn’t get out on bail. I don’t want him anywhere near her again.”

You froze mid-step. What?

He paused, listening intently. You took another step closer, peering around the corner to see him standing by the counter, his phone pressed to his ear.

“No, she’s fine,” he continued, “But I want to make sure she stays that way.”

You felt your breath hitch. Oh my god. He was talking about your dad. He was trying to protect you, even now.

“Rafe…” 

He turned around, his eyes widening as he saw you standing there.

“I’ll call you later.” He hung up fast, slipping his phone into his pocket, trying (and failing) to act casual. “Hey, you’re up.”

“What were you doing?” You asked, arms crossed. “Who were you talking to?”

“Hmm?”

“Rafe,” You warned, too tired to play games, “Who were you talking to?”

He sighed, looking impossibly uncomfortable as you sized him up.

“My lawyer. Getting a restraining order for you.”

The confirmation nearly made your brain split into two.

“What?”

Rafe hesitated, knowing he couldn't hide the truth from you. Not that he even tried lately. He ran a hand through his buzzed hair, a gesture you recognized as a sign of his unease. 

"I'm trying to get a restraining order against your father."

"Why?"

“Why?”

His eyes met yours, so serious. “Because you need one.”

You stood there, completely thrown. He was really doing this—for you? He was going to bat for you, putting himself in the line of fire to protect you from the man who had haunted your life for so long. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you didn’t even try to stop them.

“I’m sorry.”

"Stop saying that," He rubbed his hand over his face like he didn’t know what else to do, "What happened last night… it’s not something you should ever have to deal with. I should’ve been here sooner. I should’ve—"

“You couldn’t have known.”

Rafe shook his head, "I should've been here.”

You walked closer, closing the distance between you. "Rafe, you don't owe me anything."

He reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air for a moment before he gently cupped your cheek. His touch was familiar, comforting and you leaned into it, closing your eyes briefly.

"I owe you everything," he murmured. 

You let out a shaky breath, “Don’t say that.”

But he wouldn’t let it go. He tilted your face up, thumb brushing away a tear. “You think I’d be there if it wasn’t for you? Shit—Pretty, look around. It’s just me.”

Your heart pounded in your ribcage, the sincerity in his tone making it hard to breathe. You had spent so long building up walls around your heart, convincing yourself that you didn’t need anyone, that you could handle everything on your own.

“You’ve been alone?” You all but sob, “You’ve been here all this time? By yourself?”

Rafe’s jaw tightened, “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry,” His hand on your cheek trembled slightly, “I’m okay, see?”

You covered his hand with yours. “I was so mad at you,” You admitted.

“Baby—”

“You don’t understand,” you explained, voice cracking slightly, “I just... I didn’t know what to do.”

He drew you closer, his other arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you against him. You melted into him instantly. 

"I deserved it,” Rafe muttered, trying to laugh but failing.

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks, "You told me you were getting clean, that you were seeing a psychologist, and I-I wasn’t there.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes pleading with you to understand. “I was a train wreck, and I hurt you. You needed to protect yourself.”

“But I should’ve been there for you,” you insisted, your voice breaking. “You were trying to get better, and I just...walked away.”

“Jesus Christ Maybank” He let out a breathy laugh, almost like he didn’t know how to handle the conversation.. “Stop the waterfloods, you’re gonna make me cry.”

“Shut up,” I sniffled, laughing through the tears. “I’m trying to apologize—”

“You don’t have to, baby,” He cut you off, shaking his head, “Not to me, or anyone else.”

His breath mingled with yours, his presence soothing you in a way you hadn’t felt in months.

Your heart pounded in your chest as he closed the distance, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, hesitant kiss. It was as if he was testing the waters, ensuring you were okay with this, and when you didn’t pull away, the kiss deepened. His hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you gently but firmly as his lips explored yours.

You felt yourself give in to him, your hands gripping his shirt to make sure he was real. You’d dreamed about him for too damn long to understand the difference. The kiss was slow, deliberate…loving.

When you finally broke apart, gasping for air, Rafe rested his forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“Can’t believe you made me fall in love with a pogue.”

Oh.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“In love?”

He bit his lip, looking nervous all of a sudden. “Yeah.”

You could see the anxiety roaring inside him. The way his shoulders seemed to squeeze back in, eyes dropping to your lips. 

You smiled, brushing yours fingers against his cheek. “Never thought I’d fall for a kook.”

Rafe groaned, dropping his head onto your shoulder, teeth grazing against your skin, “Don’t play with me.”

“I’m not,” You whispered, tilting his chin up so he had to look at you. “I mean it."

His eyes examined yours for a long moment as if confirming your words. Then, without even saying anything, he closed the distance between you again. This time, no hesitation. None of that uncertainty from before.

His hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t get enough. The kiss was so different from the one before. You could feel the heat building between you, that undeniable chemistry pulling you together.

His hands slipped under your shirt, his shirt, the touch of his fingertips on your bare skin sending shivers down your spine. Rafe’s lips trailed down your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin there, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped, tilting your head to give him better access. His hands were everywhere, exploring, caressing, making you dizzy with need.

“I need you,” your voice came out all breathless, your fingers clutching his shoulders.

He stopped for a second, lifting his head to look at you, those blue eyes dark with desire.

“You’re hurt,” he muttered, swallowing hard. “Last night—”

“I don’t care,” you replied, shaking your head. “You fucked me after I got shot.”

“That night was different. We were different.”

You nodded, the memory flashing in your mind. The urgency, the desperation, how you clung to each other like you were drowning.

He hesitated for a split second longer, his thumb brushing over the bruise on your cheek. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“You won’t,” you promised, pulling him back to you. “I trust you.”

That was all he needed. His restraint melted away, and he kissed you like he couldn’t help himself, lifting you easily and carrying you upstairs. When he laid you down on the bed, it was so gentle, like you were the most precious thing to him.

Rafe hovered over you, his eyes locked on yours as he stripped off his shirt. Your hands traced the lines of his muscles, loving the way they moved under your touch. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another kiss, hot and deep, as his hands started unbuttoning your shirt.

Everything blurred after that—clothes disappearing, just the two of you, skin to skin. His hands, his lips, everywhere.

“Do you know how much I missed you?” he murmured.

You smiled, cupping his face, “Tell me.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, “Every damn day. Every fucking minute. I’d close my eyes and all I could see was you.”

His voice faded, but his hands kept moving, tracing soft patterns along your sides. He was rediscovering you, like it had been forever.

You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer. “I’m here now.”

Rafe smiled against your skin, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, holding you steady. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again.

You nodded, pressing a kiss to his jaw, “More than okay. I want this. I want you.”

His kisses trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate. “I love the way you laugh,” he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “How your eyes light up when you talk about something you care about. How strong you are, even when you don’t see it.”

You shivered at his words, your heart swelling with love for the man holding you so tenderly. "Rafe..."

He kissed your lips softly, silencing you.

"I love the way you look at me," he continued, his hands slipping under your shirt, caressing the bare skin beneath. "Like I'm the only person in the world. Like I matter."

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, overwhelmed by the intensity of his words, his touch.

"You do matter," you whispered, your voice breaking. “You matter to me.”

Rafe's hands moved lower, teasing the waistband of your, his, boxers.

“I love how brave you are," he said, his voice husky, "How you face everything, even when it's terrifying." He slid them down, eyes never leaving yours. “Last night… I was terrified. I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You reached for him, fingers tangling in his grown-out hair, pulling him closer. “I’m right here,” you whispered, lips brushing his. “Right here.”

Rafe's hands found your hips, his touch firm and reassuring. "I love you," he said again,  "And I need you to know that. Shit, I need you to feel it."

You nodded, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I do. I feel it."

He kissed you again, this time with an urgency that made your heart race against your ribs. His lips, his hands, everything about him was showing you just how much you meant to him. You could feel him holding back though, his body tense under your hands. You trailed your fingers down his back, feeling every inch of him, and it wasn’t long before he pressed against you, letting you feel just how much he wanted this too.

His lips found your breasts, kissing and teasing, his hands caressing your sides, your hips. You moaned, arching into his touch, your body trembling with need. "Rafe..."

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, "I love the way you say my name. Like it's the only word that matters." He kissed his way down your stomach, his hands sliding lower, teasing you, driving you wild with anticipation. "I love the way you taste," he breathed, hot against your skin. "The way you feel."

You gasped, your body arching off the bed as his fingers found you, teasing, exploring. 

"Rafe, please..."

He kissed his way back up your body, "I've got you. I'm here. Tell me if you want me to stop."

You shook your head, urging him on. "Don't stop.”

He kissed your hip bones, his hands gently spreading your legs wider. His eyes flicked up to meet yours, and the intensity in them made your breath catch. He moved lower, his lips trailing down your inner thigh, his fingers lightly caressing your other leg.

When his mouth finally reached your pussy, you gasped, your body arching off the bed. His tongue flicked out, teasing you, tasting you.The sensation was electric, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Fuck you missed this. His grip on your thighs tightened, holding you in place as he continued his slow, deliberate assault.

He explored you with his tongue, each movement precise,intentional. He found a rhythm that made your head spin, alternating between gentle flicks and firm strokes. You moaned, your fingers tightening in his short strands, pulling him closer, needing more.

Rafe responded to your silent plea, his tongue delving deeper, his hands gripping your thighs harder, fingernails digging into your skin.

The pressure built, an overwhelming pleasure that threatened to consume you whole. He groaned against you, the vibration sending you even higher.

"Mmm," you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. "Don't stop. P-Please, don't stop."

He didn't.

He increased his pace, his tongue moving faster, his hands sliding under your hips, lifting you slightly to give him better access. You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the pleasure building to an unbearable peak. Rafe’s mouth never left you, his tongue driving you to the brink. You cried out his name, your body trembling as you teetered on the edge. He sucked gently, his tongue flicking rapidly, and that was all it took. You shattered, not a wave, but an entire fuckcking ocean of ecstasy crashing over you, your vision going white as the pleasure consumed you. He continued his ministrations, guiding you through your orgasm, his tongue and lips never slowing, drawing out every last bit of pleasure.

When you finally came down, your body spent and trembling, Rafe kissed his way back up your body, his hands soothing the aftershocks with gentle caresses.

He hovered over you, his lips capturing yours in a deep, passionate kiss. You could taste yourself on him, the intimacy of it making your heart swell.

"My perfect girl," he growled against your lips.

Your bruised hands roamed over his broad shoulders, feeling the tension in his muscles, he shifted, pressing his hips against yours, letting you feel his arousal. You moaned into his mouth, your hands moving lower, wanting to touch him, to feel him inside you.

Rafe’s breath hitched as your fingers brushed against the waistband of his boxers, teasing him.

“Are you sure?” he asked one more time, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I’ve never been more sure,” you answered, and that was it.

He cared so much it nearly sent you into an emotional spiral again.

In one swift motion, he shed his boxers, and you took in the sight of him, hard and ready. He moved over you, positioning himself between your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. He took his time, teasing you with his fingers, making sure you were ready for him.

You gasped at the feeling—God, you missed him. Every inch of him.

He paused, forehead resting against yours, giving you a moment to adjust. “Fuck, I missed this,” he groaned, his voice strained.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him to move. “Don’t hold back,” you whispered, almost begging. “I want all of you.”

Rafe didn't need further encouragement.

He started moving, slow at first, but each roll of his hips had you feeling like you were losing it. Every time he pushed deeper, you swore you could feel him in your bones. Your nails dug into his back, leaving marks that you knew would be there tomorrow, but right now? You didn’t care. You just needed to feel closer to him.

His kiss was intense—like he was pouring everything into it, his tongue matching the rhythm of his hips, making your whole body shiver. His hands were all over you, one sliding under your back to pull you even closer, the other tangling in your hair, keeping you exactly where he wanted. You moved with him, your bodies syncing up like you’d never been apart.

Rafe’s pace picked up, and you could tell he was losing control, his thrusts coming faster, harder. And then, his voice, low and rough, sent a chill straight through you.

“Don’t stop, baby. Fuck—don’t stop.”

“I won’t,” he growled, his words barely audible between breaths. “Never.”

That was it—he completely let go, moving even harder, like he couldn’t get enough of you. The sound of your bodies crashing together, the moans and gasps—it was all so intense.

You didn’t understand the sudden urge, but suddenly, without even thinking, you pushed at his chest, flipping him onto his back.

“Your turn,” you whispered, climbing on top of him, straddling him. He looked up at you, a little surprised, but the way his hands landed on your hips made it clear he was all in. And God, you’d never seen him look so good.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands sliding up your sides, cupping your breasts gently. “Every part of you."

You leaned down, brushing your lips against his stubbled jaw. That roughness on your skin sent a rush through you, especially when you felt him brushing against you just right. You let out a soft moan, then pulled back, grinding down on him. The way his eyes darkened, the way his fingers tightened on your hips, it was like you were driving him wild.

“You like that?” you teased, your voice low, your fingers running down his chest.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, gripping you harder. “You feel incredible.”

You reached between you, guiding him back inside, both of you gasping at the sensation. You started moving, slow at first, taking your time with it, loving the way he filled you.

Rafe’s hands were everywhere, caressing you, teasing you, making you lose it a little more with every touch. “God, you’re perfect,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “Ride me, baby. I wanna see you come again.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, spurring you on. You increased your pace, rolling your hips, finding the angle that drove you both to the edge. Your hands braced against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you rode him harder, faster.

“Fuck, Rafe,” you gasped, your breath coming in short, desperate bursts. “You feel so good inside me.”

He groaned, “You can’t be real,” his hands guided your hips, urging you to move faster. “This can’t be real—Shit, keep doing that.”

The pleasure built with every movement, your bodies moving together like they never parted.

You could feel the heat pooling in your core, the tension building, ready to snap. Rafe’s hands slid up to your breasts, teasing your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure through you.

“Come for me, baby,” Rafe urged, his voice rough with desire. “I want to feel you come around me.”

His words pushed you over. You cried out, your body arching, your vision going white as the orgasm crashed over you. Rafe groaned, his hips thrusting up to meet yours as he followed you, his release filling you, pretty hisses and groans filling your ears.

You collapsed on top of him, both of you completely spent, still trying to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, and you buried your face in his neck, overwhelmed by how intense everything felt.

When you looked up, the way he was staring at you caught you off guard. There was this softness, this disbelief in his expression, like he was seeing you for the first time.

"What?" you asked softly, a smile tugging at your lips despite the slight confusion.

He blinked, like he was snapping out of it, then gently traced your cheekbone with his fingers.

“I just… I can’t believe you’re real.”

“Rafe…”

He silenced you with a soft kiss, his lips barely brushing yours, but it sent a wave of warmth through you.

“I love you,” he whispered.

You smiled, heart full. “I love you too.”

[randomly--accessed--memories]

RAM Plot Summary

So, now that we're coming up on the one-year anniversary of the start of RAM, I finally decided to write up a relatively short summary of the main plot of this AU. Vox whump, Vee angst, one-sided Radiostatic await below.

RAM (Randomly Accessed Memories) is a collaborative Hazbin Hotel AU based on the theory that Niffty is a former overlord that Alastor drove insane, and asks the question: What if he did the same to Vox?

Animation commissioned from @/__shmoki__ over on Twitter

Seven years ago, Alastor and Vox had their final battle. After fifty years of rivalry, Vox finally gained the upper hand; in a moment of desperation, he used his hypnosis against Alastor… and it worked. Briefly. Terrified of what Vox might do if he managed to gain power over him, Alastor lashed out and knocked Vox unconscious. He knew he had to neutralize Vox somehow, but he found himself hesitant to finally kill his old friend. Instead, he chose a different tactic.

Alastor took Vox to the basement of V Tower and began a broadcast, torturing him live on the air for all the city to hear. Valentino and Velvette, believing that the two were most likely at Alastor’s radio tower, rushed off to rescue Vox, unknowingly leaving him to his fate. After hours of torture, once Vox’s physical and mental defenses were lowered, Alastor was finally ready to enact his true goal: using his powers to reach into Vox’s mind and remold him into something more palatable.

Once the broadcast was finished, Alastor dumped Vox’s dismembered body in the lobby of V Tower and then vanished for the next seven years. Valentino and Velvette were initially relieved when they discovered Vox was still alive, albeit comatose, but once his body was repaired and they finally turned Vox back on, they immediately knew something was wrong. Vox had no recollection of the past fifty years; his memories of his life after his falling out with Alastor were simply gone. Worse than that, he appeared to be trapped in a perpetual state of channel surfing, unable to stay focused on anything for more than a minute and forgetting new information soon after learning it. On top of it all, Alastor was now the center of his world; Vox asked for him constantly, wouldn’t hear a word against him, and his only goal seemed to be to reunite with him.

Valentino and Velvette, unwilling to kill Vox but knowing that if anyone discovered his condition, it would put a massive target on all three of their backs, confined Vox to a private suite in the tower and told the public that he had died. Vox spent seven agonizing years locked away in the tower with only Vark for company. Valentino and Velvette visited frequently, trying to coax non-existent memories out of him or at least trying to build a new relationship with him, but Vox’s memory always reset after every interaction with them. Valentino fell into a self-destructive spiral upon losing his lover, taking out his grief and frustration on everyone in the vicinity. Velvette had no choice but to take on Vox’s role as CEO of VoxTek (renamed VTek) and spent the next seven years trying to project invulnerability to the public, even as she was overwhelmed with her new responsibilities, trying to ensure Vox was safe and taken care of, and dealing with Valentino’s destructive outbursts.

After seven long, miserable years, Alastor finally returned. Eager to see if his plan worked, he slipped into V Tower and, at long last, reunited with Vox. Vox was ecstatic to see Alastor again and begged him to rescue him from his “prison,” andAlastor happily obliged. Alastor was thrilled with his handiwork; Vox was once again the man he had known all those years ago. He finally had his friend back… right?

Alastor brought Vox along with him to the hotel, ready to begin a new era of their afterlives— one where Vox would never change and always do as he was told. Charlie and Vaggie didn’t recognize Vox, so saw no issue with accepting him into the hotel. Angel Dust and Husk, on the other hand, were fully aware of who Vox used to be and what Alastor had done to him but were forced to keep quiet by their respective contracts. Alastor assigned Vox the role of hotel handyman, and he and the other staff members settled into their new lives at the hotel.

Valentino and Velvette were horrified when they discovered that Vox had gone missing; they were livid when they learned that it was Alastor who took him and brought him to the princess’ new hotel. However, fearing that if they made a move to attack Alastor/the hotel he would simply take Vox and vanish into the ether again, they were forced to bide their time, waiting for an opportunity to rescue their friend.

Vox spent the next six months at the hotel, participating in the canonical plot of the show. His frantic, high-energy behavior, volatile memory, and habit of frying the electronics he was meant to be fixing often made things difficult, but hesoon found his place among the Hazbins. He became very close with Niffty due to their shared decade of death and the fact that they were the only people who understood how the other’s mind worked. Vox also ended up forming a friendship with Sir Pentious, who had been sent by the Vees to keep an eye on Vox and spy on the hotel. However, as time went on, things between Vox and Alastor became more strained. Alastor gradually came to realize that his plan hadn’t worked quite as well as he’d hoped. Vox was stuck in the past and saw him as his closest friend, but he wasn’t the person Alastor had once known. Vox’s erratic behavior began to grate on him, and Alastor eventually realized that he had liked the way Vox used to challenge him— now, he was little more than a sycophant or a needy pet. However, Alastor could not admit he had made a mistake; he was in too deep now, and there was no undoing what had been done.

This AU has multiple endings, but the one I consider “canon” consists of Vox participating in the hotel’s battle with Heaven and getting noticed by some reporters once the dust has settled. All of Hell now knows that Vox, the former Television Overlord, is alive and at the Hazbin Hotel. Charlie, horrified to learn what Alastor did to Vox and Niffty, kicks him out of the hotel. She contacts the Vees and starts trying to negotiate with them for Vox’s return on the condition that Valentino break his contract with Angel Dust. The details about what happens next are a bit murky, but in the end, Alastor disappears once again, and Charlie’s deal with the Vees goes through. Vox is returned to V Tower, although with far more freedom than he had before— all of Hell knows he’s alive, so why bother keeping him locked up? The mental block Vox has regarding retaining information about Val and Velvette lifts in Alastor’s absence, and the Vees are finally able to start rebuilding their relationship. It's different from how it was before– always will be– but that doesn't make it any less valuable. Change is inevitable, after all.

[yandere--stuck]

Imagine: Familal Yandere Stanford AND Platonic Yandere Bill, who are both obsessed with Dipper and Mabel.

REAL AS HELLLLLL!!!!!!!!!

---

“Isn't this great?” Grunkle Ford asked, taking a seat beside Dipper on the Living Human Flesh couch. 

Dipper ducked away from a six-fingered hand attempting to ruffle his hair. “That's certainly an adjective you could use to describe this situation.”

“WOW!” Bill shouted (as if he had any other means of emoting.) “A three and four-syllable word in a row! He really is a chip off the ol’ block, Sixer.”

Dipper could feel Grunkle Ford's eyes on him, practically beaming at the thought that he and his grand nephew were so alike, so much so that they could be considered father and son. Never mind that it was said by an interdimensional demon.

An interdimensional demon that also happened to be currently braiding his sister's hair as they sat in front of a fireplace in the ‘penthouse suite’ of the Fearamid.

One might even think it a sweet moment between an odd family. Two great uncles, one attempting connection with his nephew, the other lounging in a recliner and trying to pretend everything was normal. And his sister, being doted on by what was one of the most powerful beings in the universe, if not every universe. Mabel might have looked happy to anyone looking in from the outside, but Dipper knew his sister better than he knew himself. If she were truly happy, she'd be grinning ear-to-ear, gabbing a mile a minute, talking to Bill about all the hair styles they could try and how he should manifest himself some hair so she could braid him next.

But no, she simply sat in silence and let Bill work through her locks. She forced a smile and stared into the fireplace, flinching whenever Bill moved too fast.

It made Dipper sick.

And maybe, maybe all of this could have been passable if this were something Stanford had been forced to do in the heat of the moment. Something he'd regretted. And that's what he claimed.

But Dipper knew. He knew Stanford was lying. He was enjoying all of this too much for him to regret it. How stupid was Dipper to think that the biggest con artist in their family was Grunkle Stan when it was the guy grinning in his face, yucking it up in the face of destruction and tragedy just because he got to play house with Bill - his so-called mortal enemy.

He wanted to believe that this wasn't Ford's plan all along. Wanted to believe that his great uncle had been corrupted or mind controlled or tortured past the point of sanity. That this wasn't what he'd set out to do from the beginning. But Dipper didn't know what to believe anymore. 

“WA-BAM!” Bill snapped a full-length mirror into existence, allowing Mabel to see what he'd done to her hair, “Whaddaya say, Shooting Star?”

A simple French braid, with little glittery stars woven into her hair. In any other case, Mabel would have been ecstatic. But now, Mabel simply looked up at the demon, an unsure grin forced onto her face.

“Thanks, Bill,” She managed, not able to look him in the eye.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Bill waggled a finger in her face. “Try again.”

Mabel's face sank momentarily and she locked eyes with Dipper. The look in her eyes… It was like she was trying to scream so many things at once through expression alone. It felt like forever, the twins trying to communicate to each other in silence, but it was probably less than a second. If seconds even existed anymore.

Then, Mabel looked up at Bill and put on her best smile. “Thank you, Grunkle Bill, I love it.”

‘Grunkle Bill.’ Ugh. Dipper couldn't help the disgusted grimace that made its way onto his face. He thought he'd hated the triangle when he was actively trying to kill them all, but that was so much worse.

“See that, Pinetree?” Cipher whipped around, floating above the boy. “Why can't you be more like your sister?”

“Oh, Bill,” Ford waved him off with a smile and roll of his eyes. No malice, no contempt, just exasperated fondness.

“I'm just sayin’! We're trying to do family bonding over here, but Pinetree and Fez are being a coupla sticks in the mud!”

“He and Stanley just need more time,” Ford replied, speaking as if either of them weren't there.

Dipper felt sick. Sick from anger, sick from betrayal, sick from utter disgust. Bill's actions were understandable from the perspective that he was a creature from a different dimension. A monster without any need to identify with human morality systems. But Ford was human. A human with family and people who loved him and trusted him and counted on him. A human whose world had been destroyed because of his allegiance to a monster. Because of his feelings for a monster. And he just expects them all to be okay with this? To smile and clap and nod along and pretend everything is okay?

Mabel spoke up, drawing Dipper from his thoughts. “Well, um, Grunkle Bill, if we're doing family bonding time… Would you wanna meet me and Dipper's parents?”

“Say, that's an idea,” Bill turned to Ford. “Whaddaya say, Fordsie?’

Dipper whipped his head back to face his great uncle. He bit his tongue, holding his breath. He felt himself screaming from behind his eyes, trying to will his uncle with his gaze, hoping his expression was enough to implore him to say yes, to be merciful, to at least give him and Mabel their parents back. 

“I…” Ford breathed. “No, I don't think so.”

“WHAT?” Dipper couldn't control his outburst, his shout loud and sudden enough to make his great uncle jump.

“Sixer, c'mon,” Stan spoke up.

“You said it yourself, Stanley, the only ones you count as family are the children.” Ford countered. 

“That was- I didn't mean it.”

“Still,” Ford crossed his arms. “I have no loyalty to them. This is for the best,” Then, the old man turned back to Dipper. “You'll understand one day.”

Dipper glared up at his uncle, baring his teeth so hard he would have sworn they would have broken. But then, a noise broke his concentration.

He turned to see his sister, her sweater pulled over her head as she rocked back and forth, sniffling and surely crying underneath. 

“AWW, now look what you did, Pinetree,” Bill chided, daring to pet at the bit of hair that peeked out of Mabel’s sweater. “You made your sister cry!”

“Me?” Dipper balked, incredulous. 

A six-fingered hand came down to Dipper's shoulder for a comforting squeeze - and the boy bristled with rage, wrenching himself away and off of the couch. Every inch of Dipper's body was over one with disgust, with anger, with hatred. Just looking at Stanford made him sick.

“I hate you,” Dipper spat, trying to fight the tears welling in his eyes. “You're a monster and you're not my uncle anymore.”

Just for a brief moment, Dipper felt satisfaction at the look of absolute hurt on Stanford's face. Then, he all but dove into his Grunkle Stan's hold, burying his face into his jacket. Stan held him protectively, one hand holding the back of his head and the other rubbing soothing circles into his back. And for a few moments, Dipper can pretend he and Mabel were back at the shack and he'd had a nightmare or something and needed reassurance from his uncle. Something he should have grown out of, something Stan would give him shit for later, but even still, Stan would have let him settle into the recliner and drift off to sleep to the sounds of Gravity Falls’ public access TV.

“Please, he didn't mean it,” Mabel's voice was barely above a whisper as she pleaded. “Don't be mad at him.”

“He's just scared,” Stan added, holding Dipper tight. “We all are.”

“There's no reason to be,” Ford insisted. “Dipper, please, look at me. You're my s- my, my nephew and I love you. None of this is meant to hurt you.”

He sure had a funny way of showing it.

He could hear Bill let out a frustrated groan. “Alright, I think this has gone on LONG ENOUGH.”

In a flash, Dipper was suddenly back on the flesh couch, cuddled up next to his not-so-great uncle Ford. He couldn't bear to look at him, simply staring ahead. At his sister. At the fire. At Cipher.

The triangle spoke. “Now, kid, I get this is a big change and all, but the only reason Gravity Falls and all your little friends have been left untouched is because of your uncle here. I think you should be a little more grateful. That is… Unless you don't want your friends to be safe?”

A sneer overtook Dipper's face. All of the anger boiling inside him threatened to burst out in the form of calling Bill every curse word he knew - and even the ones he didn't. 

But he knew better. Dipper gritted his teeth. “No, I do.”

“Then, I feel an apology is in order!”

“Sorry,” Dipper mumbled noncommittally. 

“Not to ME, Pinetree,” The demon laughed. “Though, I appreciate the thought!”

Dipper let out a shuddering sigh. Slowly, as though just looking in Ford's direction took great effort, he managed to meet his great uncle's eyes. And he had the gall to look condescending. As if Dipper were just a child throwing a tantrum.

He hated him. He hated him more than anything. He couldn't believe he ever believed in him, ever obsessed over his work, ever thought he was great, ever thought he was a hero, ever thought to leave behind his sister to follow someone like him.

“...I'm sorry, Great Uncle Ford,” Dipper spoke robotically. “I didn't mean what I said. I don't hate you. You're still my uncle.”

“ANNND?” Bill egged him on.

“And. I love you.”

Ford had the audacity to smile. To open his arms wide. To ask, “How about a hug?”

Dipper felt he had no choice. As he was wrapped into a hug by the man who'd betrayed his family, betrayed the world, betrayed the universe, Dipper let himself bury his face into Ford's turtleneck. At least he could hide his tears now.

For a second, it felt as if his hat had disappeared from his head. A four-fingered hand ruffled through his locks affectionately. Then, his hat was back in place.

Dipper fought not to be ill.

“Say, how about an ‘I love you’ for your Grunkle Bill, huh?”

…

“Not now? Eh, that's fine! We've got an eternity for you to come around!”

[softspace-fics]

i NEEEEEED tom holland!spiderman x little!reader

maybe peter comes home to reader realllyyyyy tiny so they play/color/etc before peter helps his baby get ready for bed :(((

alllllllll the fluff

Tiny baby!

I know exactly who requested this and to you I say happy birthday you beautiful human and I cannot believe how much of an impact you've had on my life. Enjoy you sweet soul. <33 I also totally head cannon that peter would be a caregiver that constantly talks to you even if your too young to understand because he loves to hear you giggle at him and his weird fluctuations of his voice. He would be the CUTEST caregiver I’m telling you. CG!PETER PARKER (tom holland ver.) X GN!LITTLE Masterlist - all my work! Warnings: Minor details of bathtime, but other than that all fluff. Enjoy! (No angst!!) _______ You and Peter had always had a deep connection when it came to each other. From the way you knew when his senses were too much for him and how to help him, or how he knew every detail about you that you had ever shown or told him. You both had such a mutual love and understanding that when you told him about your regression, he was ecstatic. Not only was it because you showed a side of you that was hidden to most, but you showed it to him. As he swung his way through the city, excited to be able to finally spend time with you, he began to think about your regression. He absolutely loved to baby you, give you kisses, cuddles, coloring books, and everything else in between. You were his everything and that seeped into everything he did for you.

He quickly swings right in front of your two’s apartment, his fingers fumbling with the keys as he unlocks the door. The door swings wide open as he stumbles to get his shoes and outfit off before looking around for you. He checks the living room, kitchen, and lastly your shared bedroom. As he approaches the door he hears your favorite cartoon playing and immediately knows your regressed.

He carefully opens the door, which causes you to look up from your phone playing the show. Your eyes light up with a shimmer that Peter almost always folds at, and he strides over to you excitedly.

“My baby!” He pulls you into his arms, kissing you all over your face. You giggle loudly, hugging him happily back.

He picks you up onto his hip, making sure you're securely in his hold before bringing you out to the kitchen. He dances the entire way there, making up little noises that make you laugh, your smile lighting up the room. As he found your favorite sippy and filled it with your favorite drink, you cuddled right up to him. His scent fills your lungs and helps ground you to the moment.

He finishes making your sippy before he brings you out onto the soft carpet in the living room, gently placing you on the ground. He hands you your sippy before going over to your toys and scrummaging through.

“Okay today we’ve got, hmmm.. Blocks?” He turns to look at you.

You scrunch your nose as you take your sippy into your mouth, rolling onto your back.

“After the castle we built a few days ago I can’t say you're wrong about no blocks.”

He continues to look through your drawers full of toys before coming across your dolls, he checks to make sure all your accessories are there before he turns back.

“How about dolls? I'm sure you’d want to cause mass destruction to the Town of Croissant again?”

Your eyes slightly widen as you nod your head, hand reaching out for a doll.

He laughs to himself, knowing that causing chaos was something you'd always love to do.

He brings out and sets up your dolls, all their accessories and houses. He gently picks you up and places you on his lap before learning his chin on your shoulder as he helps you customize your doll of choice for the day.

Peter's smile never leaves his face as you both continue to play with dolls for a while, him gently kissing your cheek every now and then, making you giggle. You inevitably get bored of the dolls, whining as you turn in Peter's lap, burying your face into his neck.

Peter checks his watch and sees it's close to your bedtime and decides to start getting you ready for bed. He gently scoops you up as he stands, bringing you over to the bathroom. He doesn’t even bother to put you down as he turns on the bath.

“Do you want some bubbles darling?” His soft voice helps to coax you into letting him take complete control in helping you get ready for bed.

You nod in his neck, relaxing into his hold. He gently rubs your back before grabbing the bubbles and pouring them into the bath. As the tub fills, he gets you undressed and helped into the bath, kissing your nose once you're settled in the tub.

Seeing your droopy eyes and how dilated they’ve become, he doesn’t even bother to give you some of your bath toys. He quickly but thoroughly and gently gets you all cleaned up, telling you some of your favorite stories to help distract you.

Once you're all cleaned, he grabs a towel from under the sink, opening it up before helping you stand and wrapping you in it. He scoops you back up into his arms and brings you into your shared bedroom, setting you down on the bed. He walks over to the closet and grabs some of your favorite night-time clothes as well as your favorite pacifier.

He gets you dried and dressed before slipping your pacifier between your lips, he then walks back over to the closet and gets himself into his own pajamas.

Your soft babbles begin to fill the room as he comes back over and gets you both settled under the covers. You giggle when he kisses your nose and pulls you securely to his side.

“You had such a big day of causing chaos yeah? You wanna tell me your plans for next time?”

You shake your head, and he looks at you playfully shocked.

“Noooo?? Oh c’mon! You gotta have the most detailed plans!” He softly eggs on.

You tired giggly before snuggling into him, laying practically on top of him, and he fully wraps his arms around you.

“It appears I get to find out just as the Town of Croissant does..”

He puts your favorite show on the tv before playing with your hair and rubbing your back. All that can be heard as your night comes to a close is the sounds of the show, your soft snores, and his light breathing.

Peter was so ecstatic when you told him about your regression, because it meant that no matter what side of you there was, he got to be there to see it. Good and bad.

[ominouspuff]

I love rebel fox's ridiculously big sleeves

So glad you do — I dearly love them too. So many opportunities for flourishing and swishing from a man you would expect to do exactly neither and never

Also. You have given me the opportunity to EXPOUND and I’m taking it

The sleeve is not only aesthetic, but so EXTRA

CW mutilation: Fox’s right hand index-finger: “Ahsoka’s Gift” - In the arc where Fives (appears) to get shot by Fox, enraged by this and by her treatment by the Coruscant guard during her trial arc, Ahsoka takes revenge on the offending digit that shot the gun. With her teeth, btw — it gets a bit wild. Side-note: It factors in for the other clones that Fox is not right-handed, but that’s the hand he uses to shoot Fives. Then again, most clones are trained/raised/adjusted to be ambidextrous, so — it’s just odd all around, from the outside.

GAR armor: In keeping with the AU title and inspiration (Repurposing GAR armor towards the end of pulverizing wrinkly Sith — A guide by CC-1010, ecstatically-ex-marshal commander of Coruscant), Fox has kept his GAR shoulder-guards, a cutout of his chestplate, and knee-guards (plus one shin-guard), though the paint on them has been adjusted or worn.

Oversized sleeve: Beneath the batwing sleeve and dramatic flair, Fox is hiding whatever the rebellion uses instead of the Mandalorian Whistling Birds, in addition to an elbow-mini-blaster that fires a max of four shots, and extra ammo. (Also the sleeve is removable — think detachable bridal train)

CW self-destruction: On the reverse side of his chest-plate piece, Fox has an explosive device with multiple ways to rig it to explode. While it is detachable and likely could be used to explode OTHER things, the primary intent is a last resort gesture of defiance should he run out of other options.

Fox also has a replaced tooth (which he makes use of, but no spoilers here) and a metal plate protecting the surgery point for when his chip was removed. Since Fox is Fox, he prioritized speed over care at the time, so it is permanent vulnerability due to how his skull was treated and recovered afterward.

Do you see the knifes on his thigh they are small but they are important

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to The Light's Chapter 440

Brief summary: Clopeh's group removes the bugging devices in their lodging. Lots of plotting.

==========

Today was similar to the last chapter. Nothing much happened except for a few funny scenes. There were some plotting from Cale's group, the GoC cult, and the Demon King's group, but it was not that important, so let's skip that.

Clopeh acted like Ron today, serving Cale cookies and lemonade! 😂 And Cale was completely fine with it. Heck, he was even happy to have Clopeh around. 😂

Cale: You're trying to get them to fight, aren't you? Clopeh: Isn't that what Cale-nim wished for when he told about the Gray Disease rumor? Cale: *smiles sincerely* You really make my work enjoyable. Clopeh: …Thank you! *brightly smiles and feels ecstatic* Clopeh: *discusses their future plans* Cale: Exactly. Exactly, that's what I was thinking. Narrator: Cale looked at Clopeh, and for the first time, he felt himself smile. Cale: Here. *hands Clopeh a cookie* Narrator: The sight of Clopeh eating the cookie felt so comforting. Cale: (With him by my side, I can probably be a slacker.) *unconsciously imagines a happy future* Raon: Looks like my human will team up with Clopeh and have a huge fight in this castle, and we'll have to protect the human and Sui Khan from getting hurt! On and Hong: *agrees* Sui: *touches his nape that suddenly felt cold* Narrator: It was similar to the feeling he felt before Choi Jung Soo and Kim Rok Soo caused an accident, and Team Leader Sui Khan involuntarily gripped the scabbard on his side hard.

Cale feeling happy to have Clopeh by his side was new. 😂😂😂 But his delusions of slacker life though... 🤣🤣🤣 Raon's comment too. 🤣🤣🤣 And Sui's accident detection radar. 🤣🤣🤣

The funny thing was... the author dropped this foreshadowing after that conversation:

Three days later, Moraka Castle was completely shattered and collapsed. No one had yet recognized this future.

Given that CH and HD would have arrived at Simon's castle by that time, I guess they would be involved in the castle's destruction too. 😂

Ending Remarks Happy Cale and Clopeh today. 😂 Next chapter would be Clopeh and Cale's meeting with Simon. I wonder what more tricks Clopeh would reveal.

[mivalyn]

😈 The beast within 😈

18+, mdni!

Wanderer! Sylus x fem! reader

Cw: non-consensual sex, size difference in sexual activity, intense pain, unrealistic body proportions/monster features, dubious consent, power dynamics

!Requests are open!

Word count: 1,846

The key scrapes against the lock, a pathetically mundane sound utterly dwarfed by the raw, primal fucking energy thrumming in the air – a low, guttural vibration that resonates deep within your cunt, a promise of the brutal, ecstatic, mind-blowing agony about to unfold. It's a promise of pain so exquisite it'll leave you begging for more, a promise of pleasure so intense it'll shatter your sanity. The door creaks open, revealing him – Sylus. Your Sylus. But this… this isn't just some cuddly-wuddly Sylus. This is something ancient, something fucking powerful, something utterly, terrifyingly alien, and overwhelmingly, sickeningly arousing.

He's sprawled across the sofa, a breathtaking monstrosity bathed in the harsh, judgmental glare of the setting sun. Massive, crimson wings, like silk stained with the blood of a thousand ravaged, screaming innocents, spill over the armrests, each feather a razor-sharp glint of crimson fucking fire. Two obsidian horns, wickedly curved and polished to a lethal, seductive sheen, jut from his head, casting long, predatory shadows across his face – shadows that seem to writhe and pulse with a life of their own. His tail, thick and corded with muscle the size of your goddamn thighs, thrashes against the plush cushions, the dark, pointed tip a constant, insistent reminder of the raw, brutal power coiled within him – a power he's about to unleash on your quivering flesh. His skin, usually a dull olive, now pulses with an unnatural inner light, a luminescent sheen that hints at the terrifying, earth-shattering power simmering beneath the surface – a power that's going to rip you apart and put you back together again, better, broken, and utterly his. His features, normally sharp and ruggedly handsome, are softened, yet possess a chilling, almost ethereal beauty; less the man you know, and more a creature of nightmare and exquisite, agonizing, breathtaking desire. The muscles in his arms and legs ripple beneath his skin, a horrifying, beautiful display of raw strength that both terrifies and enthralls you, leaving you weak-kneed and desperate for the pain he's about to inflict. A knot of primal, terrified fear twists in your gut, inextricably bound with an overwhelming, insatiable, depraved lust that leaves you panting and wanting more.

He rises slowly, deliberately, the movement of a predator assessing its prey. But the predatory glint in his eyes has softened, replaced by something else entirely… a yearning so intense it’s almost palpable, a hunger that mirrors your own – a hunger for your destruction, your submission, your complete and utter annihilation. He moves towards you, each step echoing in the sudden, suffocating silence, the air thick with the raw, unspoken promise of brutal, ecstatic, soul-crushing release. The scent of him fills the room – ozone, sweat, something musky and primal, uniquely him, a scent that both repels and utterly captivates you, a scent that screams of power and raw, untamed sexuality.

"Hello, love," his voice is a low growl, a vibration that resonates deep within your core, igniting fires in places you didn't know existed – places you never even knew could exist.

You don't scream. You can't. Your breath hitches, stolen by the sheer, terrifying, breathtaking beauty of him. He is breathtaking. Dangerous. A fucking god amongst men. And then you see it.

The monstrous, alien bulge pressed against the nonexistent fabric where his trousers should have been. His cock. It is obscene, impossibly thick and long, a throbbing, vibrant purple monstrosity that strains against the confines of his abdomen, a pulsating, alien phallus that dwarfs anything you've ever witnessed. The head is swollen and glistening, slick with pre-cum, a promise of pain and pleasure so intense it makes your knees weak, your insides melt, and your mind scream for release. You’ve explored his body before, mapped every curve and crevice, discovered hidden landscapes of pleasure. But this… this is beyond anything you could have imagined. This is primal. Raw. Alien. And fucking incredibly, obscenely, terrifyingly arousing.

Your pussy clenches, spasming involuntarily. Heat radiates through your core, leaving you breathless, aching, weak, a quivering mess of need and terror. Yet you remain rooted to the spot, mesmerized, your will completely broken by the sheer, overwhelming power of him. The sight of him – impossibly huge, impossibly beautiful, impossibly alien – ignites a fire within you, a lust so raw it obliterates any remaining sense of reason or fear.

"Sylus…" you whisper, your voice a trembling breath, a pathetic whimper of submission.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing your cheek, sending a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through you, leaving you tingling and desperate for his touch. "I… I wanted you to see," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, raw and vulnerable, a stark contrast to his otherworldly power. A blush, a stark contrast to his otherworldly features, colors his high cheekbones, a fleeting moment of human vulnerability. "This… this is who I truly am. I… I haven’t known how to show you before."

The air crackles with unspoken lust, thick with ozone and that musky, primal scent, a suffocating blend of power and desire that leaves you breathless and wanting more. You reach out, your fingers tracing the sharp, smooth edge of one of his horns, the heat of his skin searing through your fingertips. You run your hand down his spine, feeling the taut corded muscles beneath, the roughness of his hair sending shivers down your back. Finally, your fingers brush against his impossibly large cock. A gasp, raw and desperate, escapes your lips – a gasp of pure, unadulterated need.

"Show me," you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, a plea for more pain, more pleasure, more of him. "Show me everything."

He leans down, his lips brushing your ear, his breath hot and wet against your skin, a fetid whisper of impending doom and exquisite pleasure. "My love," he growls, his voice low and dangerous, a rumbling promise of pain and ecstasy, "you have no idea what I want to show you…" His hand moves down your body, cupping your breast, his fingers tightening, his touch both tender and brutally possessive, a terrifying blend of gentleness and violence. The heat of his skin burns through your clothing, igniting a fire within you that spreads like wildfire through your veins. His fingers find your clit through your panties, a rough, demanding stroke that sends a jolt of pure, unadulterated pleasure shooting to your brain, a white-hot explosion of sensation that leaves you gasping for air. A moan escapes you, a sound of pure, desperate need, a primal scream of submission.

He tears your panties away with a sharp rip, the sound echoing the tearing of your inhibitions, his gaze intense, his eyes burning into yours as he takes in the sight of your slick, glistening cunt, a gaping maw of desire ready to receive him. His lips find yours, a hungry, demanding kiss that leaves you breathless, his tongue rough and invasive, exploring every inch of your mouth before trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of fire and wetness in its wake. His lips linger on the sensitive skin of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin, a prelude to the storm that's about to break. His fingers find their way between your legs, his touch expert and brutal, teasing and tormenting your clit until you are writhing, a writhing mass of desperate need, your body convulsing with the pleasure and pain of his touch. He pushes two fingers inside, then three, stretching you, his touch growing more insistent, more brutal, more demanding, pushing you to the very edge of your endurance, the precipice of oblivion. You arch your back, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for release, for the oblivion that only he can provide. He knows exactly what he’s doing, pushing you to the very edge of sanity, to the precipice of complete, utter, blissful surrender.

He doesn't waste time. His massive, alien cock, a throbbing purple monster, looms between your legs, a monstrous, pulsating testament to his power, his dominance. The sheer size of it is both terrifying and exhilarating, a promise of pain and pleasure so intense it steals your breath, leaves you gasping for air, begging for release. He positions himself, his weight pressing down on you, the heat of his body searing against yours, a suffocating weight that both terrifies and excites you. The head of his cock presses against your entrance, and you gasp, the anticipation nearly unbearable, the edge of pain a tantalizing promise.

He pushes, slowly at first, testing your limits, stretching you to your breaking point. The pain is excruciating, a fiery burn that threatens to consume you, to obliterate you, but the pleasure is even more intense, a wave of exquisite agony that washes over you, a tsunami of sensation that leaves you breathless and wanting more. He moves deeper, stretching you, filling you completely, until you're nothing but a vessel for his raw, untamed power. You dig your nails into his back, your body arching, your legs wrapping around his waist, a desperate, primal embrace.

He moves faster, his thrusts deeper and more powerful, the rhythm driving you insane, a relentless pounding that pushes you to the edge of sanity. You scream, your voice raw and hoarse, a mixture of pain and unadulterated ecstasy, a primal cry of surrender and triumph. His tail thrashes against the bed, a silent counterpoint to the rhythm of his thrusts, a pulsating testament to his power. His crimson wings flutter slightly as his body moves, casting shifting shadows on the walls, adding a surreal, nightmarish quality to the already intense experience. He grunts, his own orgasm building, his body shuddering violently against yours, a violent tremor that shakes you to your core. You climax again and again, wave after wave of intense pleasure and unbearable pain, your body convulsing around him, until finally, he empties himself inside you, collapsing onto you, his weight heavy but satisfying, a crushing weight that leaves you gasping for breath.

You lie there, spent and breathless, the only sounds the pounding of your hearts and your ragged breathing. This wasn’t lovemaking; it was a violation, a conquest, a brutal, primal merging of two vastly different beings. And it was fucking incredible. His large cock still fills you, his weight heavy upon you, a warm, pulsing weight that leaves you trembling with aftershocks of pleasure and pain. He’s asleep already, lost in the aftermath of his own savage release, and you… you aren’t even sure you want to move. The throbbing in your cunt and in your head, the phantom ache of his muscles, his size, the sheer, overwhelming power of him… it’s all so intoxicating, so utterly, completely consuming. The lingering heat between your legs… the promise of more… the terrifying, exhilarating promise of more… it's a promise you're already eagerly anticipating.

*****

As soon as I saw the new video yesterday on the Love and Deepspace YouTube channel with Sylus, I knew I had to write this~

[theaspsaroaceimagines]

You guys really liked being the god of Death, so get ready for

MORE Hazbin Hotel x God of Death! Reader

You're feeling particularly tired, having spent your entire existence working with no rest.

So you decide to take a vacation.

You send a letter to Heaven:

Dear Heaven, I am taking a much needed vacation, so no one will be dying for a while. Do not call me, I will not answer. --Death

And then you leave your post for the first time ever.

Of the three realms, Hell is the most accepting of your presence, so you go there for your vacation.

You arrive and decide to stay in the first hotel you see.

--And, to your surprise, it's being run by Lucifer's daughter?

"Oh my goodness! You're Luci's kid, aren't you? Hi!"

Charlie, who's never met you before, is bewildered.

"Huh? Umm... yeah? You know him?" "'Know him?' Of course I do! Your dad and I go WAAAY back!"

You quickly realize that Charlie has no idea who you are.

"Oh my! Where are my manners? Allow me to introduce myself! I'm Death."

Needless to say, things start off awkward after your formal introduction.

Charlie tries to tell you that you can't stay there, that the Hazbin Hotel is for sinners.

But explaining why involves explaining the Hazbin Hotel's purpose.

You're ecstatic to hear that she's trying to rehabilitate sinners.

Especially since it's with the goal of permanently ending the Extermination.

See, what the denizens of Hell and the exorcists don't understand is that it's actually impossible to destroy a soul unless you're that soul's Creator.

And there's only one Creator of souls, and they're not into destruction.

So all the Extermination does is send a bunch of sinner's souls to Limbo. Which is your home.

And, for thousands of years, you've had no idea what to do with these souls getting shoved into your home. You've just been kind of keeping them in stasis. It's very crowded in Limbo.

Limbo was never meant to hold so many souls; it's a transitional space, not a destination.

Spoilers for ep 6 under the cut:

When you find out about the court hearing in Heaven, you're pissed.

They had a hearing about whether souls could be transferred between the two afterlives, and you weren't informed or invited?!

You're going to slap Sera the next time you see her.

[burninwrath]

My lord, what made u stop being a herald and become a beast of destruction? U mentiond that you were bored but it cant just b that can it?

"Fine, I will GRACE you with this information. PERHAPS then will you insolent creature cease to pester me."

"When I sat upon my throne - time LONG PAST , I was hit with the REVELATION . . . My existence.. meant nothing. For I was a cookie who was graced with a curse that many of my own kin had realized far into our lives. Unlike other cookies, we were immortal, our doughs would stay pristine, we would never stale. CRUMBLING was impossible. We became heroes because of our curse. AT FIRST, it was a gift, I was ecstatic of this. Any would be, but then I had realized the great pain in which it caused. GRIEF. OUR GRIEF. As we stood tall those around us crumbled, CHANGED. I WAS THE AVATAR OF CHANGE - AND YET . . . I could do nothing to stop this tide from rising. They broke, they rebuilt, they fell. It was like watching a wheel turn slowly - SO SLOWLY, I COULD HEAR THE GEARS OF ITS MECHANISM SCRATCHING MY SKULL LIKE NAILS ON A CHALKBOARD. YET COOKIES WERE GRACED WITH THE ABILITY TO ENDURE THIS CHANGE- TO UNDERSTAND LIFE. TO UNDERSTAND.. the blessing of creation. I- WAS NOT BLESSED WITH THAT RIGHT. That is when I realized the lives I cherished during were meaningless. WHY BECOME ATTACHED? WHEN THEY WERE MEANT TO CRUMBLE? I became destruction, a force that could change those with a single grasp. Destruction and the blessing of life were at my fingertips. I no longer would stand idly by and just be a willing gear to turn endlessly as my head spun on my shoulders. I WOULD BE THE DRIVING FORCE OF NATURE ITSELF. FEAR. PAIN. MISERY. ECSTATIC JOY. PEACEFUL BLISS. AH, YES THEY WERE MINE TO CONTROL, I HAD CONTROL. I WAS THE CONTROL. It was freeing to release myself from my shackles, I WOULD NOT BE TIMES SERVANT. I WOULD DECIDE MY OWN FATE AND THOSE AROUND ME. IT WAS FREEDOM."