#you're all puppets tangled in string

[hanniejji]

silence

[ wanderer!scaramouche x okami!reader ]

summary: completely lost after his defeat in becoming a god, he searches not only for a new purpose but also for a certain someone who brought him comfort greater than his own kin would.

notes: aka scara is a baby and comes crying to you because he's a sore loser /jk | m.list

words: 2933 | warnings: it's scaramouche /jk there's nothing bad here just comfort and shit, also the pacing is kinda shitty cause i wrote this at work lmao

you have always loved the silence.

the eerie silence that enveloped a battlefield after a fight, where one side mourns for the dead and the other celebrates their victory far away. the tranquil noises of nature in the forest, your abode—if you focus enough, you can hear the white noise of the wind rushing above the sky, the flight of birds, the footsteps of every animal within your vicinity, and the gushing waterfall hitting the surface below. the muted thoughts of people, all with voices to scream yet defiance against authority means death, so they choose to silence their cries for help. the stillness of the night, where you can faintly hear the howls of your kin from afar, reminding you of past battles won and lost.

but somewhere in the distant memory of your past, you miss the complaints of a certain boy whose voice never seemed to shut the hell up.

your words, not mine.

he used to be so loud, crying even whilst he slept. whining and complaining about how you imprisoned him in this otherworldly forest of yours, yet he shuts his mouth after being reminded of his reality of being a casualty to those he comes across.

a puppet gone mad, out of its master's control, strings tangled.

"you're not here to be tamed, brat."

"then why are you keeping me here?" kunikuzushi glares at you from the other side of the stone table, a hand gripping the knife you casually gave him so he could practice on his own.

you always seemed to be his dummy target though. not that he could hurt you in the slightest, the gap between your capabilities is that of the height you need to reach celestia. it's quite an exaggeration, but far from a lie.

"so you don't go around accidentally causing more unintentional problems. learn how to use your brain or something, you have one for a reason," was always your answer to his repeated question, laughing at the way his face contorted to apprehension. "i don't have the patience to shape you into whatever humane person or puppet your creator wants you to be. so i'm doing you a favor by letting you be whatever the fuck you want to be. kill whoever you want, destroy whatever you want, go pour your anger as much as you want. it matters little to me."

"doesn't that contradict your past obligation as inazuma's former defender?"

"exactly what the title says," you shrug your shoulders, throwing your hands up without energy, "that is in the past. inazuma's concerns do not matter to me now that my god is gone."

placing your chin on your palm, you send him a knowing smirk, a sight he realizes that he does not like, "you can destroy this nation all you want and i wouldn't mind one bit. it would be interesting to see you as a god and not just a little brat."

he would always grow silent after the nth time you had this conversation, pondering, imagining the imagery of what you just said. it's almost as if he's in a trance.

the silence of someone having an inner conflict in more ways than one, is something that you would say is better than the silence when someone is mourning.

because this kind of silence is always followed by chaos.

"oh? where do you think you're going, little doll?"

"stop calling me that," he hissed, turning his head to glare at you.

for some reason, the change in his personality these past few months was refreshing, so unlike the whiny little brat who used to cower away from you. the same brat who's always frustrated at himself.

but at the same time, it's such a shame that he didn't change his ways. still reckless and careless.

this recklessness will kill him someday, you thought.

"well, answer the question."

he falters, taking a few steps away from you when you tilt your head, urging—demanding for his answer. he still couldn't look you straight in the eyes when you become like this—when your voice goes a little deep, eyes staring him down and the authority in the way you poised yourself.

"to the fatui. i'm not going to let myself rot in here."

"you're a puppet, you're not supposed to rot."

he scoffs at the comment, vile irritation building up his throat at the way you remained unbothered, almost uncaring, indifferent and as if this means little to you. you act more like a puppet than he does, he realizes.

he hates that about you.

it's ironic. he's the same way, more venomous through his words—but with you, it's like talking to a stone cold wall.

"i'm leaving to snezhnaya."

"hm," you turn your head to the vast forest, shrouded with tall trees and thick fog—wait, when did the fog get so thick? kunikuzushi was so sure he could still see far and beyond the first few layers of those trees, why did the forest suddenly seem so eerie and… predatory.

"you can leave."

"huh?" he stares at you in disbelief, with a hint of sadness.

are you… really going to let him go that easily?

for some reason, despite the freedom given to him, he wanted you to stop him.

"find the exit yourself," your trademark grin appeared on your face, challenging and daring him to do so. it's infuriating, makes him feel like you're looking down at him and his capabilities. "if you successfully get out of this forest, then i trust that you can handle the world outside and beyond this nation."

i take back my words, he scoffs, i don't need their permission to leave. they can't stop me.

"i don't need another petty test of yours, i can take care of my own," he sharply turns away and into the direction he swore was the exit just a moment ago.

"oh, trust me, doll," your giggles echoed through the forest, ringing in his ears for the last time, way too close than from where you just stood a moment ago.

"the forest is a cruel place to get lost in."

and since then, your abode returned to the way it was.

placid, motionless, and isolated. just like how it should be.

yet you look forward to the day that he comes back crying—you stifle a laugh at how pitiful he would look—scrunched nose and furrowed eyebrows, grumbling curses to the world as he slumps down on the ground, hissing at you as you tease him for being a baby before he falls asleep on the sprawled blanket you have in the living room of your cabin. your spirit watches over his sleep, dispersing his nightmares before it can even take root in his mind and blanketing him with your tail despite his inability to feel the change in the temperature.

no, he's too deep in his sleep to ever catch you doing such things.

some days, you'd sense a feeling of fear crawling inside the back of your head. it takes a form of visions and voices. it would whisper using the boy's voice, show images using his face, speak in a way he does. it's times like this that you take pride in your strength. you know better than to crumble against fear and its illusions. such emotions are not strong enough to push through the height of your defenses that were built from piles upon piles of lost loved ones.

yet your heart clenches at the thought of this boy, robbed of the opportunity to grow properly, succumbing to the demons of this world.

it's a shame that even you can't be the person to guide him, for you are the same as he.

you can only hope that he finds himself in his journey.

"ah, it seems like it's that time of the year once again."

you stretch your limbs with a pur-like groan, your tail swinging in anticipation behind you. now that the weariness from sleep had faded, your sharp eyes admire the red and orange colors blending within the forest, the sound of leaves crunching beneath your feet every step you take music to your ears and the cold breeze wafting in the air.

the season of fall always brings out the playful side of your soul.

your attentiveness is sharper than usual, eyes turning to every little bit of movement in your surroundings despite knowing that no threat can occur in your abode. you carved its landscape with your very own hand, grew each and every tree rooted on the ground, wrote protective spells into every tree bark to form your very own barrier, opened ponds and breathed life into its very ground through the leylines. it's your safe haven, nothing can disturb your peace and it is a part of you to an extent.

that's way, when a familiar presence stepped inside your abode with no struggles whatsoever, your ears perked up and tail sways in anticipation.

fall is indeed a season for farewells and reunions.

"you're back quite earlier than expected, did the world outside the forest scare you?" you needn't look to know that he's standing right at the entrance of your favorite clearing, your figure sat near the pond with your feet dipped into the clear water.

"you're exaggerating," he grumbles, footsteps getting louder and closer until he's close enough, stopping just next to you.

"most certainly not," you hummed softly, tilting your head up to look at him after a few hundred years of not seeing him. your ears twitched.

instantly, you know something is different about him.

"you've changed."

"hmp, perhaps," he scoffs loudly, taking a seat beside you in a criss-cross position, slouching a little bit. he's barely looking at you, but that's not something new.

the way you imagined he would years ago.

"you're still grumpy though, might want to change that."

"you're still insufferable. i shouldn't have come back."

"yet you're here. i'm surprised you were able to enter without a problem. i was hoping the forest devoured you when you left. turns out you were able to get out, a shame," you sigh, "i should check on my barriers soon."

"you—" he hisses—the same way you adored, like an angry kitten—turning his head to glare at you, forehead scrunched in irritation, "so you don't even know if anyone gets caught in your shithole? did you assume i just up and died right before i got out?"

he can feel something warm in his chest at the way you laughed freely.

he hasn't heard that sound for a long time.

"you're alive though," he groaned at the familiar sly smile on your face. "besides, i wouldn't have let you go if i didn't know that you'd make it out alive."

"you would in a heartbeat."

"hm, if it were someone else, perhaps. but not you," you turn your head back to the pond, a contented smile on your face, voice unintentionally turning soft, "not my brat."

those words were the key to kunikuzushi's vulnerable state.

the silence that followed after your words was… unnerving, for some reason.

yet you felt as if you should give him the time he needs to gather himself, to give him a choice to talk or to keep things to himself. it stayed like that for a while, tuning into the sound of birds above and humming to make him more comfortable—or was it for your own comfort that you tried to fill in the silence? the feeling of being unsure is so… uneasy.

why am i doing so much for his comfort?

just when you're about to speak to change the topic, he opens his mouth—and he speaks.

piles and piles of words upon words, like a scroll being unravel down the flight of stairs to the narukami shrine. his voice, clumsy and blurry words as it may be, sings to you tragedies in a kabuki performance. he opens his doors to you and only you, almost breaking down on the spot if it wasn't for his ridiculous pride—you surmise that you may have influenced him in that case. it plays a theatrical scene that takes eternity to finish dialogues upon dialogues.

he's a puppet whose strings are cut short, but he picks himself up, tangling the fragile strings in the process.

and you are his only audience.

you're his standing ovation when no one bothers to stop and see him for what he is.

perhaps, you are more suited to be sat beside him, joining in his play instead of just a witness—because you are more than just some random bystander who happens to pass by a puppet show.

it took him a while to finish his story. just like any kabuki, time is crucial in the production, and kunikuzushi is a person who barely had the time to see the world in its purest form. yet time is also what brought him his demise.

the gods did not give him enough time to feel and learn.

when he finishes, the sun has already hid itself behind the ocean of trees and the sky is blanketed by a starry void.

a false sky, he said in one of his stories.

somehow, kunikuzushi's head ended up on your lap—he dares not to bring attention to this fact, he already feels embarrassed as it is.

"how did it felt?"

he stares at you with a grain of salt.

"to what? to almost die? quite the experience, i didn't enjoy falling head first though. would you like to try?"

"no, dumbass," he hisses when your finger flicks against his forehead. before he could even cover the assaulted area, you swat his hand away to replace it with yours. an uncharacteristic gentle touch on his skin, a caress. he resists the urge to melt towards your hand. "how did it feel like to almost have something within your reach but realize it won't do you any better? to learn how to decide for yourself, for the better, after experiencing bitter defeat?"

he purses his lips, turning away from your direction to stare at the pond reflecting the dark sky.

your hand slips across his forehead to his hair, gently caressing the familiar stresses—familiar stresses that reminded you so much of a former dear friend that you lost long ago. you didn't expect him to answer your question yet, to push forward for an answer would be adding salt to an open wound.

and the last thing you want to do is give him a reason to pull away.

"you know, if i was ei, i would have chosen you to rule with me."

"stop saying things to make me feel better, that's not like you," he scoffs—unbeknownst to the way his cheeks turn a little warmer.

such a human feature to have.

"i would love to see you be the god you wanted to be," you continued to mutter with a soft smile, brushing your fingers through his hair.

"stop it."

"i would watch you build yourself higher and have greater goals as a god."

"what is wrong with you!?" he quickly pushes himself off of you, whipping his head to look at you with a bewildered face. "are you out of your mind!?" he glares at the way your smile turns sly.

"i would have chosen you, someone with no human heart yet able to feel what it's like to be human," your hand pats his head playfully, snickering when he swats it away roughly.

"you," growling, he turns away from your direction.

"but alas, i'm not patient enough to baby you or anyone else," you shake your head shamefully, shrugging your shoulders. "go do whatever the fuck you want yourself, learn shit for yourself. but that does not mean you can do it alone, dumbass."

"why are you talking like this?" he mumbles, but you can see the way his shoulder trembled in the slightest, no doubt nibbling on his bottom lip to stop himself from something as 'pitiful' as crying. "shut up, i came here to rest, not to listen to your nonsense musings. i had enough of that already."

"well then," you reach out to his shoulder, gently directing him back on your lap. he faces you this time, eyes clenched tight to avoid looking at you, his only pillar in this world. he feels too light headed, whether if it's from your words or the feeling of finally resting after so many years of suffering, he's not too sure. he'd deny the former with everything he has though. but he cannot deny that he feels safe in your haven, here in the comfort of your arms.

"rest, you can think of the next step after you get some shuteye, don't make me knock you out myself."

he clicked his tongue, before it became quiet again.

this time, it's a comfortable silence. nothing like the tension from the first time you met him, nothing like the few times he spent quietly sobbing on your shoulder every time he awakes from a nightmare—nothing like the eerie quietude in the middle of the eye of the storm, waiting for the real disaster to come surging. soon, the boy falls asleep to the warm and loving touch on his head.

in the silence, you whisper words that you could not tell him.

"i would've gone through celestia and the abyss to give you a heart."

you, despite claiming that you will not baby him, held him in a way a parent would towards their child. with gentle hands and feathery touches, and a heart that you would give him if you could.

taglist: crossed out names mens i can't tag you oof

@thedianaclark @blockswon @thenyxsky @crazypriestess @someone-with-wild-imagination @koi-chairowo @shizunxie @smirpsmirp @brookeisqweer @mariataliya @saoiirsee @atsuki-mitsuri @camzpetite @fandangotales @genshinfinatic @chimsblogg @nette-yang @vienettacream @notyuki @shiragi2 @atsukawolfcat @frzenhans @kkazuyass @tartarsaucechi1de @nunontherun @a-simp-with-daddyissues @thetruepair

#genshin #scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin x you #genshin fanfic #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche scenarios #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche fanfic #scaramouche genshin impact #scaramouche genshin x reader #kunikuzushi #genshin impact kunikuzushi #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi genshin #honey writes

[just-a-creep-babe]

A Demon’s Ache — Part 17

Eyeless Jack x Reader

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Commissioned by @cookiereblogss — thank you infinitely for your support 🫶 💗💞💗

Requests are closed but commissions are open!

Masterlist: x

As soon as he gets back, he ends up at your door

It’s instincts—it’s hormones and longing and obsession—like he’s just a mere puppet on the strings of your whims

His heart’s pounding in his chest as he waits there, in front of the familiar well-worn wood of your door, and for a minute, he almost wonders if you’re going to answer

His fingers drum against his thigh while his mind races back to the most recent list of events that happened between the both of you

You agreed to let Hoodie watch in order to help Jack out of the favor, rejected his kiss not too long after that, and then you sent him nudes, of all things, while he was away

Trying to sort through the complications of mixed messages and tangled feelings leads him to two plausible conclusions

One; you really aren’t interested in anything but sex with him, and every time he inadvertently pushes for more, it forces you to pull away

Two; you’re secretly just as madly in love with him as he is with you, but for some cosmic reasoning beyond his understanding, something’s stopping you from being with him

Despite how much he wishes the latter was true, he knows the former is the more likely scenario

It’s been that way since the very beginning, but he’s too much of a lovesick puppy to hold himself back from always trying for more

He needs better impulse control

Even now, as he waits for you to answer, he wonders if he’s pushing things yet again

He’s just here for sex, he reminds himself, he’s been away for a while and now he’s needy, and you probably are too, and even though it’d be better for him to wait for you to come to him, he’s just too fucking eager

And if you, for some reason, outright reject him yet again, he figures he can use the opportunity to sit down and establish better ground rules with you

He’s waited long enough to figure out what you want—you might as well just tell him at this point

When you open the door, he almost doesn’t know what to expect—he never does

But it’s like as soon as you see him, you just know

You let him in without a word, and as soon as the door clicks shut behind him, his mind goes blank

He forgets all about the two conclusions he reached, forgets about his worries about being pushy, forgets about wanting to establish an agreement—he forgets everything

All he can focus on is your lips busying themselves against his, your body in his hands and the scent of your lust and adrenaline filing the room

The whole thing is familiar

The taste of your tongue, the warmth of your skin, the way your breath stutters and your pulse jumps every time he squeezes you just a tad harder than he meant to—he’s lucky enough to have experienced it all before

But even despite the familiarity of it, it doesn't stop the pure rush of heat traveling to his groin

It's like it's just never enough

He's desperate for your touch, desperate for anything and everything you have to offer

The way your smaller body clings to his, the way your hands mimic his own eagerness—fuck, he's missed you

You release something like a quiet whimper against him and a growl tears through his chest before he can stop it

He yanks on the loops of your jeans, forcing you to grind against his hard-on, and when you whimper again, he almost rips your clothes off right then and there

You reach up to tug him closer into you, your fingers scratching at his scalp, pulling at the dark strands of his hair as if the few inches between you are too much to bear

It's like you want him pressing harder into you, like you're as insatiable for him as he is for you

In the heat of the moment, nothing else matters

The on-and-off signals, the ever-indecipherable code of mixed messages that he can never fully crack—right now, with your body held so tightly up against his own, he doesn't care about any of it

All he cares about is touching you, gripping and groping at your soft, malleable flesh to coax those perfect little sounds from your lips

More

He wants more

You weigh practically nothing as he picks you up, and it brings him a special kind of satisfaction when you yelp and wrap your legs around his hips for support

He's the only thing you can cling on to

He has all the power right now

Hands on your thighs, he bounces you up and down his form, using your own weight as leverage to rub you against his bulge

The friction is heady, already bordering on euphoric, and he hasn't even gotten you naked yet

When he snaps his hips up in tandem, the yelp you release grants him the perfect opportunity to force his tongue down your throat

Your taste is divine

He swears you were made for him, he swears your body was meant to be his

He loses track of his thoughts yet again, unable to focus or think about anything else except you

Your hands mimic his excitement and impatience as you pull and tug at him, trying to scratch lines into him like you're trying to mark him

It should be him trying to mark you

Amidst all the pulling and tugging, somewhere at the back of his mind, it registers that his mask slips off and falls to the floor with a heavy thunk, but he's too lost in your pleasure to care

Instead, he walks forward, secures you against him with a hand on your lower back, and then he lowers you to the bed, caging you between his body and the mattress beneath you

You're trapped, with nowhere to evade him

He could basically do anything he wants to you; you're completely at his mercy

At the mercy of a demon

Your clothes come off quickly and easily, his deft fingers impatient to get you bare already

And fuck, the sight of you naked is never something he could get used to

You're glowing; skin wonderfully soft, chest heaving up and down with panted breaths, your bruised lips parted with that perfectly desperate look in your eyes

He wants to ruin you

He's going to ruin you

He yanks his own shirt off his head, pops the buttons of his jeans open, then kicks his pants and boxers all the way off

He doesn't miss the way you greedily drink up the sight of him as you lay there, need clear in your eyes with the scent of your arousal filling the room

He teases a hand along his shaft, and his cock twitches in response

"Like what you're looking at, little morsel?~"

You whine his name at the taunt, and he nearly snarls as another fresh wave of your arousal perfumes the air

He wraps a hand around your ankle, yanks you toward him, then splits your legs apart to fit between them

You're a mess of slick

You're practically dripping

It's coating your inner thighs, glistening wet against your skin, and if he wasn't so impatient right now, he'd take the time to taste you

He'd eat you out all night long if he could

But right now, his dick's throbbing and you keep squirming and whimpering, and all he wants is to push himself balls-deep into your perfectly inviting little cunt

He presses the tip of his drooling cock to your entrance, gliding it up and down your perfect slit, and then he’s slowly thrusting all the way in

It’s almost too much

Your walls tighten around him, trying to swallow him in deeper, and when he shifts slightly, trying to get used to the way you're milking him, you gasp, reaching up to dig your nails into his skin, and he realizes he's already hit your most sensitive spot

He releases a low breath, trying to steady himself, trying to clear the haze of his instincts threatening to overtake him

You're a trembling, squirming wreck beneath him, and if he didn't know any better, he'd think you keep trying to grind him into your G-spot

He reaches up, resting one hand next to your head to support himself, and with his other hand, he grips the flesh of your thighs to force you still

He needs to adjust

He needs to adjust to how wet you are, how you keep clenching and pulsing around him or he's going to fucking lose it

But as if you just can't help it, it doesn't stop you from squirming, doesn't stop you from moaning his name like you're just begging for him to snap

An involuntary push of his hips forward, and you cry out, back arching as your hands fly up to rake down his back

Your thighs cinch around his waist, effectively trapping him inside you, and he honestly doesn't know how much longer he can hold back anymore

Slowly

He needs to do this slowly or he will lose it

In and out, in and out, he drags the length of his cock through your velvety walls

He can feel every inch of you, every perfect detail of your body molding and wrapping around him like it was made for him

He groans out your name, dick throbbing inside you, and the way you beg for more has him burying his face into the crook of your neck to muffle yet another groan

Your body's too perfect

You're too perfect

He's never hungered so deeply for someone like this before

He feels like a ravenous dog

He pulls out, inch by inch, your gummy walls tightening, and when he tries to say your name again, all that comes out is a demonic snarl

"J-Jack!~ Need more—n-need you to breed me~"

He snaps

It's like what you said and the way you said it triggers him beyond his own comprehension of himself

He loses control of his hips, loses control of what little shreds of humanity he has left, and he lets loose

The bed creaks, headboard slamming into the wall as your smaller form bounces with every impact

Your eyes screw shut, brows furrowing as a silent scream escapes you

Your hands dig into his skin, and if he was still human, you’d undoubtedly be drawing blood

But all it does to his thick skin is merely tickle

Still, the idea that you’re so much weaker than him only fuels him even more

He loses track of the pace he set, loses track of your obscene moans and cries as one word repeats itself over and over again in his lust-drunk mind

Breed

Some other inhuman sound escapes him, followed by the sound of something ripping, and he realizes he’s clawing at the sheets so hard they’re tearing

You’re shaking and writhing beneath him, your skin soft and wonderfully malleable for him to bruise

The sound of your cries overwhelms the sound of skin slapping against skin, and you clench around him, cunt gushing, soaking him with your arousal

He thinks you might’ve squirted—you’re fucking drenched—but his head’s too foggy, too lost in the sheer bliss of your body to really know for certain

All he’s sure of is that you came, or maybe you’re still cuming, because your whole body’s shaking and your legs are wrapped so tightly around him that he doesn’t know if you’re trying to pull him in or push him out

But even despite your obvious overstimulation, he can’t stop

He can’t stop pounding into you, can’t stop the rapid, ravenous pace he’s fucking into you

You’re his

Instincts purely in control, he pushes your legs up, forcing you into a mating press, and the shift in angle has him throbbing in your velvety walls

You babble out a slew of incoherent sentences, your voice all whiny and desperate between choked sobs and broken whimpers

He doesn’t grant you the luxury of squirming; with your legs pressed up against your chest and your pretty little cunt all exposed to him, you’re completely at his mercy

He’s reduced you to just a fleshlite

“Jack—J-Jack, fuck!”

When he hears you cry out his name like that, it’s all it takes for him to snap all the way forwards, his cock twitching and throbbing, and with a low, dangerous snarl, he cums deep inside of you

“F-fuck!~”

You whimper out one final cuss, your head rolling back and eyes falling shut, and god, it’s basically like you’re just presenting yourself to him

His lips find purchase around your neck, tasting you, reveling in the way your throat feels against his tongue

You’re so perfect

One sloppy thrust after another has him pumping his cum as deep inside of you as he can fit it; he doesn’t want an ounce to go to waste

And then he stays there, fully sheathed inside you, before finally unlatching his lips from your throat

He’s still hard

If it were up to him, he’d go another round

Hell, he’d go for the whole night, if he could

But he knows that dazed look in your eyes means he’s completely fucked you out

He forces himself to be content with what he had, and then he’s pulling out, resisting the urge to split you open on his cock one last time just to make sure his cum really stays inside you

You snap your legs shut as soon as he pulls away, faint post-orgasm tremors still coursing through you in the aftermath of it all

He settles next to you, wrapping his arms around to pull you in, and you immediately nuzzle into him in response

It doesn’t take long for your breathing to slow, your poor little body utterly spent, and although he wants to stay awake so that he can watch over you, he finds himself dozing off without realizing it

Sunlight filters through the room the next morning

Jack blinks once, then twice, groggily pushing the fog of sleep from his mind

You’re as warm and soft as ever in his hold

You look so angelic—he swears you must be part angel

He reaches out, fingertips gently tracing over your delicate features

For a split second, he considers just biting the bullet and telling you that he loves you right then and there

You’re sleeping, so it’s not like you’d hear him or anything, and even if you did, you’d probably just dismiss it as a dream or something

He takes in a shaky breath, carefully absorbing every detail of your skin

And he’s about to say it, he really is, when suddenly, you shift slightly in your sleep, and that’s when he notices it

His heart drops

A knot curls in his stomach, stiff and heavy like a boulder, and cold hard dread fills his veins

No—no, there’s no way

There’s no way he did that

He holds his breath as he gently coaxes your head to the side to get a better view

Surely enough, it’s as clear as day

A dark bruise colors your neck, surrounded by the indents of his teeth like a flowery crown around it

He feels like he just might be sick

Repulsion lumps at the back of his throat

He doesn’t want to believe it, but the evidence is as clear as day before him

He marked you

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #eyeless Jack #eyeless Jack x reader #eyeless Jack x reader smut #crp

[bonny-kookoo]

Could you do a drabble for the night vision couple on how they first meet? 💜💜

"Just throw her in there with 97, I don't have any use for either right now." A man sighs, before the door to Jungkook's cell is opened, light bleeding into the small room. "He's not cooperating, and she's basically nothing but a puppet." He laughs, before someone is pushed in, door closing again.

It's quiet. Jungkook's eyes slowly adjust to the darkness again, his night vision helping him to see who's now joined him in his loneliness.

You're sitting on your legs folded underneath you, barefoot, a small tail poking out of your grey shorts. Your hair seems tangled, and he can make out small bunny ears folded downwards, entire body trembling as if you're freezing. But the way you simply stare up the door you sit in front of gives him a different impression.

And even almost an hour after they left you, you're still longingly waiting, presumably for someone to pick you up again.

But no one comes.

"No one's gonna come get you." Jungkook says, and you visibly shrink into yourself, startled by his voice as if you only now realize he's there too. "I won't hurt you either." He shrugs, leaning back a bit against the wall.

You're looking at him now, but you don't move. You just stare at him, then at the door, then at him again. He can see the.. plastic string around your neck with what he assumes to be a tracker, and a yellow faded tag clipped onto one of your ears. 77 is your number- maybe that means you've been here a lot longer than him.

"Come closer." He offers, and you do almost instantly follow his words- giving him another clue as to what's going on with you. "...so that's what they've done to you in here, huh.." He mumbles as he watches you sit patiently in front of him, seemingly awaiting another command. It's probably been drilled into you to just blindly follow whatever is being said without ever questioning or resisting.

He's seen it in a friend of his, years back. He's recovered now- but you're just the same, if not even worse.

"An earth-hybrid, huh.." He mumbles, and one of his tentacles curiously reaches out to carefully lift one of your ears to inspect, making Jungkook push it back. "Hey, that's rude!" He scolds it, making it slowly retreat away.

You look spooked, eyes wide open.

"I'm planning on getting out of here." He tells you, and you seem terrified of his words. "If you help me, I'll take you with me. You don't have to stay here, you know?" He asks, and you shake your head.

"I belong here." You say quietly, voice raspy and frail. "I have to stay." You tell him.

"No you don't- but I guess that's hard to understand for you right now.." He mumbles mostly to himself as he looks at you with a saddened expression. "Sleep for now, I guess. You can take whatever corner you like." He offers, making you look around in panic.

Right. He probably shouldn't phrase things like this considering you won't know what to do with a choice.

"Sleep here, on the left." He says, pointing to where a plain mattress is placed. You instantly do as he says, curling up there immediately, and he hates how you still softly shiver even with your eyes closed and body resting.

He wonders how you got tied up in all of this. Maybe you were just as clueless as he was when he joined the research program- or maybe you never had a choice in the first place. Who knows.

For now, he enjoys the company, even if you're not very chatty.

It's better than nothing.

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #alien jungkook #alien!jungkook

[fire-emblem-drabbles]

Pairing: Karlach x durge reader, Gortash x durge reader

Prompt: Some thoughts I had when I brought my dark urge and romanced Karlach to face Gortash.

Description: Having just survived a divine revelation from daddy dearest Bhaal and making your way to Wyrm's Rock, you're a little shaken but ready to face whatever Gortash may throw at you. You wanted to see Karlach have her revenge as sure as it was your own. Yet... something familiar and strange stirs within your blackened heart when you look at Gortash. And most frighteningly, he looks to you the same.

Rating: sfw

Word Count: 2678 3037

Notes: Happy 4:30 am I got off work and like a man possessed wrote this. It's not edited (yet) but if I don't post this and get validation I may just fucking die so. Have this terrible little brain baby! I just think it would be so tastey. No one wins here btw!

oh this is huge spoilers for dark urge/act 3 btw! I took some liberties but it's my fanfiction and I can if I want to

Edited: 10/1/23 (read it and there was a lot of mistakes lol)

Curiosity has guided you far, in this adventure. It’s helped you find the pieces of your past life, both those that proved to be a boon and that which you would have rather left buried. You’ve repressed your dark urges, fought them, proved to yourself and your allies, and especially your lover, that you’re better than that. Better than the person you once were. Better than what your father would have you be.

And it’s never been more clear than when you stand before Gortash now. You can feel Karlach before you, bristling at seeing his face. The way Wyll panics at seeing his father, obviously not himself. Gale, too, is is all wound up-- the emotions held in this room are fit to burst, and you and Gortash are the center of it.

You felt a flicker of it before, when seeing his face in the Ilithid colony beneath Moonrise. There was familiarity there; not the burning hatred that seized your heart when you looked at Orin, nor the cool indifference you felt upon taking Kethric’s life but something far different. The closet thing to normal you felt from your previous life. It scared you more than the murder, than the blood on your hands and the bile burning the back of your tongue.

He felt like home. A feeling you thought only Karlach could bring about you, of calm and happiness acceptance and all things nice and lovely that father would surely disapprove of. And when he speaks, when his disgusting honeyed voice and hardened gazes softens upon landing to you, when “My favorite assassin,” leaves his silvered tongue, you can see whispers of the past before you.

A part of it, mind, you might have preferred to keep lost. It comes in flashes and fuzzy moments, in warm feelings and beating heart. Your hand, held in his; your lips lost together. Bodies tangled and thoughts lost... You linger in those memories a moment, remembering how right it all felt. And thinking, how funny, even back then you were pulling away from father's puppet strings.

As you come back to the present, you're left stunned silent a moment, as his words flow in one ear and out of the other. This is Gortash-- the man who sold Karlach to the Arch Devil Zariel, who abducted Wyll’s father and whose manipulating the cult of the absolute and all the people of Baldur’s gate all at once-- and he’s the man who helped you learn what love is.

It's also so sickeningly familiar, the way your heartbeat picks up upon meeting his gaze. How he reserves an easy smile just for you, even if you’ve seen it hundreds of times. You have to close your eyes, to reach out and take Karlach’s hand despite how hot she’s grown. It's almost too much for you, to remember how happy you were with Gortash when you've been fighting for so long to find a way to keep being happy with Karlach.

“Solider?” Even through her own anger, her own disgust and sorrow and rage and madness, Karlach pauses, (your whole party does, in fact) in seeing the familiarity between the two of you. Seeing the effect Gortash has on you, their dauntless leader, their dear friend. If only they knew who they were calling their ally now...

“Holy shit,” Is all you can manage out in the moment. So many thoughts, little forgotten memories blink past your eyes. Karlach squeezes your hand, and you squeeze back just to let her know you’re still there.

“I didn’t think I’d have quite that strong of an effect on you,” he chuckles and you hate how you can tell it’s from genuine affection, and not twisted glee. He truly is glad to see you-- and why shouldn’t he be? It can't have been that long ago that the two of you were lovers.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” You have to steel yourself in front of him, in front of your friends. But how can you deny it? Things have always been this way between the two of you. Delicate and strange and so wrong as to feel right.

“It’s nice to see you haven’t changed.” That charming smile, turned business as he turns to face your party whole. “I was worried, after Orin did you in. But I should have known you would return, find your way back to me.” He’s all confidence as he speaks, and you notice its mostly to you. It’s almost as if the room isn’t filled with courtesans, as if your party isn’t there to back you up. Like you aren’t clutching to Karlach like a lifeline.

“You’ll… have to fill in the finer details.” You admit softly, frown fitting your face. “I’ve reclaimed bits and pieces of my former memory but I’m afraid much of my former…” You hesitate as you consider who you were before all this “...life is beyond me.” You decide to remain as passe as possible. But perhaps he already knows you remember. Actually, your certain he does-- there’s a look of mischief twinkling in his eyes that surely only you can see. But cruelty is in his nature, as begets the chosen of Bane. You’re lucky, then, that for you, and only you, his urge can be diminished into something a little more charming.

“Why, without you this cult would be nothing! Well, without us.” He laughs again and you can feel your companions eyes upon you. “You and I came up with this whole plan-- to steal the crown of Karsus, overpower the elder brain, and use its powers to create a loyal army of cultists… if Orin hadn’t overthrown you, things wouldn’t be near a mess as they are now.” He rolls his eyes dramatically, a sigh fitting past his lips. “That sister of yours is quite the handful, and far less careful about controlling her urges. Why, with you back, and with Kethric’s nether stone no less, I dare say we have a chance to get things back in line again.”

“_____, what is he talking about? Why is he talking like he knows you?” Karlach’s voice tears through your thoughts, just as you feel her warm hand leave yours, and your party's gaze all land on you.

“Oh Karlach, dear sweet Karlach…” Gortash speaks again. “Are you certain you want to hear that?” Your breath hitches as he speaks. You were hoping Gortash would have more decorum than to admit what the two of you once hand. Perhaps its obvious to him how you feel about Karlach now. Maybe you looked at him the same way, once; maybe you are now.

Perhaps then, it's jealously that causes him to speak. You can't imagine how he must feel, seeing someone he got rid of so long ago stroll up with the person he thought was taken from him. Yes, now that you think about it, that would make him quite mad...

“You shut the fuck up, Gortash!” Karlach raises her voice before you even think to speak; Gortash merely smirks, speaks again with mockery lacing his tone.

“Indeed, _____, why don’t you enlighten your friends, your lover, about your past self?” Your name spoken from his lips was so, so nice. It made you ache in a sickeningly familiar way. And so too, was the venom in his when he spoke of your lover. Of Karlach…

“They know,” You manage to croak out. “With the tadpole they saw… saw the vision my father sent to me.” One that you had gotten hardly an hour before coming here, even. That you were a Bhaalspawn, of your dearest fathers own flesh. That you were his chosen before Orin struck you down. You knew that wasn't what he met. You were desperate to hide this-- like when your urge first overcame you, when that poor girl Alfira's blood stained your hands and camp...

“Then surely, you remember, about us?” Daring as ever, Gortash moves forward, to cup your chin tenderly with his gauntlet that held his nether stone.

How easy it would be, to twist the arm that dared hold you, to rip that precious nether stone from the sorry hand that dared touch your hallowed flesh.

“Us? What is he talking about?” You could hear the desperation in Karlach’s tone, even if you couldn’t see her. Your eyes were locked with Gortash’s, lost in them really. “_____, why are you letting him touch you?” Even from here, you could feel her heat. She was angry, so angry that he dare touch you. But scared, too. Scared that you weren't even trying to stop him.

You tear away from Gortash’s intense gaze, gently remove his hand from your person and ignore your urge. And so to, ignore the urge to reach out for Gortash in return. So many parts of yourself you have to deny, it was getting hard to know what’s really you…

“Fine. Fine!” You raise your own voice, uncaring of the puppets in the room. You turn to Karlach, to the only reason you’ve gotten this far. “You deserve to know anyways.” Still, you heave a sigh, for what is a heavier burden than the truth? “Yes, before Orin betrayed me, I was the chosen of Bhaal. But beyond that…” Even still, as the truth lingers on your lips, tingles on the tip of your tongue, you hesitate as you meet Karlach’s gaze-- as you filter to Gale and Wyll as well.

Your breath dies a moment as you see how worried they are for you. You’re scarcely worth such kindness, moreso from such good people as them. “Gortash and I were… close. Far closer than any plan may have merited. One might have even called it love, if you believe such evil capable of it.” You admit, looking to the floor. You wouldn’t be able to take the look of betrayal in their faces, nor the grin Gortash surely wore.

“I…” You can feel the way the anger leaves Karlach. Even if she didn’t want to show it you can feel through that dammed tadpole how numb she suddenly feels. “Right. You guys finish” She gestures vaguely to you, to Gortash “whatever the hell this is. I gotta go.” You don’t even have the heart to stop her. Don’t have the courage to watch her retreating form.

“Karlach, hold on!” Gale is quick to follow. You’d have to thank him for that. For doing what you should be doing. You can feel Wyll’s hesitation. But he stays. You’d have to thank him too. You don’t want to be alone (as much as the word means in a room fool of likely tadpoled individuals like yourself) with Gortash right now. Even if Wyll is just staying for his own father.

“There she goes.” Gortash is brazen now, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you in to his chest. You don’t know if it’s right to be this close to him, to hug him like you so desperately want to. “I do miss our time together. We could be still be together, work together. It would be my honor to restore you to your former glory-- to help you regain your title as Bhaal’s chosen once more.” The idea fills you with twisted glee. You recall, with errie smile, how Gortash was once wrapped around your little finger. How easy it could be to twist him to your designs, and kill him when it suited you most. How it would please father, how it would only make you stronger, to get such a distraction out of your life.

“That’s not who I am anymore.” You say with much force, creating some distance between you and Gortash. You're not sure if its about the two of you being together, or you being Bhaal's chosen. Still, he does not falter. He gets down on one knee before you, looking up at you with adoration. You hate it. You love it. It’s disgusting and beautiful and you know this isn’t the first time he’s been on his knees for you. Play your cards right, it may not even be his last.

“Even so, I can see how much your heart cries out for revenge. You mean to kill Orin, and as it happens I want her dead as well.” Again, beautiful hands, coveted nether stone, circle around your own. “We could rule together. Even your little… friends.” This was your plan, after all. Your genius that got this terrible cult going.

“Just what are you proposing?” You can’t help but squeeze his hands. Can’t deny the beat of your heart-- for the evil within must hear this promise of power. Coming from a man you may even still hold dear a part so strong it can't look away.

“We reforge our alliance. Bring our empire to fruition. My steel watch won’t harm you, so long as you kill Orin and bring her nether stone back.”

“_____…” Wyll’s voice surprises you. For a moment, it really was you and Gortash, and the empire you stood to create. “I know this must be a hard decision for you. Gortash seems to know you better than you do yourself this moment. But we need to consider all our options.” He reminds you. Pushing you towards neither extremes at this moment. A level head when yours was, as always, a shambling mess. "Remember how far we've come. How far you've come."

“That’s not a decision I can make right now.” You admit, hastily pulling away from Gortash. His face falters a little as he rises to his feet. “There’s a lot I need to consider.” When he stands tall again, looking to you, that familiar cocky grin is again in place.

“I understand. You always make the right choice in the end. But, just to prove my loyalty,” That word stings just a little. You hadn’t proved loyal to most anyone who trusted you, at least in this particular moment. “I’ll share this with you; an impostor is at your camp, right now.” You frown again as you look to him.

“Orin…” You grit your teeth as you consider your sister, how any one of the people you had come to trust with your life could be the backstabber herself.

“So if I were you, I’d act quick.” He smiles at you but you see how it doesn’t meet his eyes. “So, my dear, why don’t you stay for my coronation?” He laughs softly as he turns towards Duke Ravengard, who seems more statue than man at this moment.

You do just that, watch with wary gaze and heavy heart as Enver Gortash is ordained ‘Archduke Gortash’. Many tough decisions lie ahead of you and you couldn’t will yourself to think on a single one of them as you watched Gortash rise with a new fervor. He seeks your gaze, your approval, as the room erupts with applause. But it’s high time you left, to figure out what to do next.

You climb down the barren halls of Wyrm’s Rock with Wyll, unsure what to say or do next. You feel like you’ve had enough adventure and learning of your old life for once day, but of course Gortash gave you fear to return to your own camp as well…

“Are you alright?” Wyll stops you as you slowly walk towards the south span of Wyrm’s rock, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. You jump at his touch, only to sigh and relax when you realize it's just him.

“No not really, that was a lot for me.” You admit with a shaky laugh.

“I… were you truly involved with Gortash before… well, before?” He frowns, the look on his face hard to read.

“I… yes. I was.” It would be no use to lie.

“And now?” He asks, unexpectedly. “What now?”

“What now indeed.” You sigh and lean into him. Wyll supports your weight with a good natured hug. “I love Karlach, Wyll. I love her so much. But… old feelings linger in my twisted mind. Gortash was…” You shake your head. How can you explain that who you were, who you use to be… Gortash was the only person that you respected? That seemed to understand you, to meet you at your level? Even now as you thought of it, more cursed thoughts of your time together came back to you. It hurt, mentally and physically.

“I can’t say I understand, friend, but I know yours is a troubled past.” He pulls back from you, smile fitting his handsome face. “I think it would be best for us to head back to camp for the day.” He guides you that way, and you decide to follow his judgment.

“I just… hope that Karlach is okay. Had I known, I…” You shake your head. How could you have known? In a past life, you were lovers with the very man that ruined her life. The man that made it difficult for you two to even start a relationship to begin with.

“Rest, friend. You can’t of helped that.” You nod. He was right. But that still left you in the middle of some ridiculous love triangle…

You just have to decide, dearest, darkest urge, who is most important to you; Enver Gortash, Bane’s Chosen, tyrant of Baldur’s Gate and the matching mind to your own criminal plot to rule it all… or Karlach Cliffgate, the woman he ruined in the pursuit of his own power, and the one you promised to help end him.

Either way, there would be betrayal. Heartbreak. And fighting, for sure.

You could, of course, kill them both. That would solve so many problems for you! Feed your urge, please your father, and remove any obstacle that would distract from your goal. Wouldn’t it be delicious, to drink in their desire, thinking they’ve won your favor-- only for you to break that precious trust as their bodies twist under your blade…

This all of course assuming you could fight off your dark urge still... Rest would not come easy tonight, if at all. But it wouldn't be the first time. Come what may, you would forge your path forward.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #karlach x reader #gortash x reader #karlach x dark urge reader #gortash x dark urge reader #dark urge bg3 #karlach bg3 #gortash bg3

[cozmicclown]

WELCOME HOME TRANSCRIBED: #1 Howdy & Poppy

This is a fan-made transcript of the first Welcome Home secret bug audio clips. I took great care to ensure the dialogue is as ACCURATE as humanly possible. That being said, any visuals or actions taken by the characters are generated through my own creative presumptions. I already have #2 and #3 written out, so I’ll be posting more of these. These are a fun exercise to practice script writing. Plain text version of the transcription is below. Enjoy!

1 - INT. POPPY'S BARN - DAY

POPPY, BIGGEST NEIGHBOUR, CHICKEN AND SWEETHEART, SITS KNITTING IN A HUGE ARMCHAIR AMIDST BALLS OF YARN OF EVERY COLOUR, OCCUPYING EVERY AVAILABLE SURFACE.

POPPY (Mutters to herself in concentration)

Oh, stitch. Dropped a stitch again...

HOWDY, LOCAL MULTI LIMBED CATERPILLAR SHOPKEEPER, ALSO LOCAL PUSHY SALESMAN, IS HEARD APPROACHING POPPY'S HOME.

HOWDY (O.S.)

Delivery here! I've got a deliver here for one Ms. Partridge...

HOWDY APPEARS IN THE HALF OPEN DUTCH DOORS OF POPPY'S HOME, BROWN PAPER WRAPPED PARCEL IN HAND, AND CONTINUES HIS SPIEL.

HOWDY (CONT'D)

Courtesy of Howdy's dependable, door to door to door delivery service!

POPPY (Light surprise)

Oh! Oh my feathers, Howdy! You frightened me.

POPPY SETS DOWN HER KNITTING AND CAREFULLY APPROACHES THE DOOR.

HOWDY

Terribly sorry ma'am. 'Suppose I shoulda knocked?

POPPY

Oh, no, no, that would have frightened me too.

(Nervous laughter before excited OH!)

Oh! Is that my order of yarn? Thank you.

POPPY TAKES THE PARCEL FROM HOWDY AND STOWS IT UNDER HER WING.

HOWDY

It sure is Poppy. Hot off the shelves, just the way ya like'em.

(Notices all the yarn laid about inside)

Boy, looks like you already gotta hoard that'd make a dragon jealous.

Whatcha need even more yarn for? Not that I'll turn down a sale, heh heh.

POPPY GIVES A SOFT LAUGH AT THE JOKE BEFORE SPEAKING.

POPPY (light stuttering)

Oh, I'm just working on some scarves and sweaters and such. I want everyone in the ne- neighbourhood to have something warm to wear in-when, you know, winter comes along. Feels like these changing seasons keep sneaking up on me, heh.

HOWDY

Hah, I hear that, not enough daylight ta get everything done. Course, it helps ta have an extra pair of hands!

HOWDY CRACKS UP AT HIS OWN JOKE AND POPPY AWKWARDLY JOINS IN SHORTLY AFTER.

HOWDY (CONT 'D)

'Seems like you know that already, though. I can see you've recruited an extra pair of your own today.

HOWDY GESTURES OVER TO THE PUPPET SHAPED YARN PILE SAT ON A POUFFE BY THE ARMCHAIR. A PAIR OF YELLOW HANDS STICK OUT, PINK YARN NEATLY COILED BETWEEN THEM. THE STRING RUNS FROM THE HANDS TO POPPYS CURRENT KNITTING PROJECT.

POPPY (Referring to the yarn pile)

Oh, heh heh, yes. Thank you again for your help dear. And thank goodness for it, I was worried I was going to get all tangled up with all these colours of yarn.

HOWDY (In serious agreement with POPPYs joke)

Hmmm, I can see why, it's a real risk.

A MOMENT OF QUIET BEFORE POPPY TURNS BACK AND RESPONDS, SURPRISED AND NERVOUS.

POPPY

It- it is?

HOWDY

Well, sure. But lucky for you, I think I might have something ta help.

HOWDY REACHES INTO HIS APRON POCKET AND PULLS OUT A METAL DEVICE WITH A FLOURISH, IT'S ARMS SPINNING WITH A RATTLE, REMINISCENT OF A SNAKE.

HOWDY (CONT' D)

BEHOLD!

POPPY GIVES OUT A VERY FRIGHTENED, CHICKEN-LIKE SQUAWK! BEFORE STICKING HER HEAD UNDER HER WING IN FEAR.

HOWDY (Continues over a few more squawks)

N- no, no, nothing to fear here. What you're looking at is a bon-a-feeday yarn spinner. Perfect for keeping all your extra neatly spooled up.

HOWDY TURNS THE CRANK ON THE SPINNER TO DEMONSTRATE AS HE SAYS THE LAST PART, THE MECHANISM RATTLES AGAIN.

HOWDY (CONT 'D)

Safe. Effective. And...No pesky batteries or electricity to fret over.

POPPY PEEKS OUT FROM HER WINGS BEFORE TAKING HER FULL HEAD OUT SHEEPISHLY.

POPPY (voice shaking)

Well, oh, well, that-t does sound helpful, doesn't it?

HOWDY CUTS IN BEFORE SHE FINISHES HER RHETORICAL QUESTION.

HOWDY

Sure does! Here, heh heh, tell ya what, today only, as an extra special deal for an extra special customer, you can give'er a whirl, no strings attached. Well, no strings but yarn that is. Hah ha!

POPPY STARTS TO INTERRUPT HIM AT "BUT YARN THAT IS" AND CONTINUES TO TRY. SOMEHOW HOWDY GOT POPPY TO TAKE THE DEVICE FROM HIM.

HOWDY (Talking over POPPY)

Well, I've already overstayed my welcome. Got a whole shipment back at the shop I've gotta sign for.

POPPY

Oh, t-t ah- heh eh heh. Ehhhh, buuu-... oohh but - *exhales*, *inhales*, welllll, alright then. Oh.

HOWDY

I'll check in on you and your new wonder device next time I bring you an order Poppy. ‘Til then.

HOWDY DISAPPEARS FROM THE DUTCH DOOR WITH A TWO HANDED WAVE. POPPY STANDS IN HER ENTRYWAY, PARCEL UNDER WING, AND BEGINS TO INSPECT THE YARN SPINNER.

POPPY

Oh, I don't know how to work these things but- well he was so insistent it'd be helpful, do you think you can help me figure this thing out WallE€*YY??

End Scene

#welcome home howdy #welcome home arg #welcome home script #welcome home fanart #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #welcome home transcribed #welcome home project #welcome home poppy #wh howdy pillar #wh poppy #wh Poppy partridge #wh fanart #wh script #Wh transcribed #Wh fanwork #Wh #wh Howdy & Poppy #Howdy & Poppy #Wh audio tapes #Welcome home audio tapes #Welcome home audio tape one #Wh audio tape 1 #Wh audio tape howdy #Wh audio tape poppy #welcome home secrets #Please be nice I worked very hard #My art posts

[forgottenluck]

Continued from here, since it got LONG

The bartender had been about to pour another glass when Sora stopped them, glancing between the two before shrugging and moving on to the next customer. Koun gave an indignant sound at being grabbed rather forcefully.

"H-Hey--that….I was--!" His words were cut off by Sora's own, and Koun went frighteningly quiet, allowing himself to be lifted and helped to the door.

Truth be told, his mind had gone hard-stop at being told he was liked. In any capacity. He…honestly hadn't been prepared for that, though he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. He didn't drink anything other than sake for this reason, he was always too loose lipped. Had he been more mentally sound, he would have pulled himself away and walked himself, would have stopped this conversation before it even began.

But he wasn't. So he didn't.

All he could do was listen numbly, feeling the crash of the alcohol in his system as it worked to purge what it deemed as a toxin. He wasn't exactly sober, per say….but he was a little more aware than he'd been. The jolt at being told he was liked was enough of a shock to his system, and now…..? It seemed that Sora was also just as loose lipped.

Koun tried to focus, his ears were flat against his head and his eyes to the ground. He knew if he lifted them while they were walking, then the dizziness would hit. And he was doing a very good job at not being dizzy at the moment.

At least until he was tossed onto the bed in the shared space that they were using. A groan left him and he rolled onto his back, putting his hand over his face. He felt movement near him, and blindly he reached out, wrapping a hand around Sora's wrist….heated grip dulled only slightly. Only enough to not burn…..though it likely would be uncomfortable.

For a moment, he didn't move, but did not release the other. He had to get the world to stop spinning before even trying to talk. His mind kept cycling back to what Sora had said….and he felt himself get irrationally angry, his face twisting in the emotion before it rolled away and he moved his hand to stare up at Sora. His eyes were still golden, still hazed, but he looked semi-coherent.

"'re a person." the words were slurred, but there. His grip tightened slightly. "Need validation that you're a person, that you mean something, I'll say it any time you need." It was who Koun was, in his core. Someone was hurting in front of him, and he couldn't not offer some sort of words of encouragement. Finally he relented, releasing Sora only to move to sit up. "Shouldn't have had to deal with that. Worth more than that. You are. Definitely. But…."

Like a puppet with it's strings cut, he moved jerkily and let his shoulders sag once he was in a sitting position, the world spinning on it's head. Ah….this was why he didn't drink.

"You….aren't the same. Not…cursed the same way." Hazed and gold, Koun leveled Sora with a flat gaze, looking amused. Words were difficult at the moment, but he wasn't about to let this go. It would be a small miracle that he wouldn't remember much of this conversation….but that didn't stop him. He raised his hands, splaying them out for Sora to see….and the air around them flickered briefly; much like when he would hide his tails and ears. It was a telling sign of when Koun was using his illusions…though he really shouldn't be trying to do so in the state he was in. True enough though, the flickering solidified into red; red covering his hands and arms….and in one hand he held something…..

An arm.

It was clear, now, that there was a reason Koun avoided anything other than sake. He stared at the arm in his grip with a strange detachment, lifting it up slightly.

"Fate is a cruel mistress…….I'm tangled and broken, unable to escape. Stained and Cursed. Caused the death of so many, by just existing, doing what I was told I had too. Protected them…I…." His grip tightened, the illusion shattering and he curled in on himself slightly. "I did my job! I protected them, provided for them! I warned them!"

When he looked up, there was something inherently wrong with his gaze. His eyes had shifted again, but to a new color….a color Sora likely hadn't seen from him yet; sunset. Red flecks dyed hazed gold, giving the impression of a fiery sunset.

"I warned them…and they didn't listen…..I tried to save them, but they wouldn't--the water--no…..it's my fault." a dry chuckle again, before he raised his hands and burried them in his hair. "It's my fault they're gone. I shouldn't even be here. Shouldn't."

And then he was looking up at Sora again….the flecks of red still there, and he looked slightly amused.

"….Do you even know what I am?"

@bishonenprince

#bishonenprince #v; {forgotten and abandoned by fate} forgotten god #IT GOT LONG IM SORRY

[augment-techs]

Song lyric and fake summary;

If you think you're getting away, I will prove you wrong

I'll take you all the way, boy, just come along

Hear me when I say, hey

-

Kapri, Marah, and Cam. Maybe as evil cousin trio?

Title: look at this tangle of thorns Rating: T Relationships: Cam Watanabe & Kapri & Marah; Cam Watanabe & Wind Ninja Rangers & Thunder Ninja Rangers; Cam Watanabe/Shane Clarke; Tori Hanson/Kapri; Dustin Brooks/Marah. Characters: Cam Watanabe; Marah; Kapri; Tori Hanson; Shane Clarke; Dustin Brooks; Blake Bradley; Hunter Bradley; Kanoi Watanabe; Lothor; Zurgane; Vexacus. Additional Tags: Cam Gets His Own Green With Evil Arc; Kapri and Marah Earn Their Colors; Lothor Not Being Nearly As Terrible as He Could Have Been; Late Night Baking; Lothor Being a Petty Bitch to Kanoi; Tori Realizing She's Bi Much Later Than She Would Have if there were at LEAST ONE OTHER Girl on Her Team; Lesbian Kapri; BAMF Tori; Girlboss Kapri; Cam Watanabe Needs a Hug; Marah is actually the stable cousin (who knew?); Chocolate Tomato Cake. Summary:

This is such a power imbalance that it is unreal and unfair and the sisters under Lothor's reign and control were feeling...a little bit not great about this thing that their uncle has decided to do to Cam.

Green Rangers are traditionally and eternally easy targets for being made to mind control or turned over to evil because the Morphin Grid might do its best to take care of them, but Green is an agent of chaos. And chaos is all kinds of susceptible to being made into a puppet on a string. Even a Wind Samurai Ranger that spends most of his time underneath the compound of the academy with his father; Cam had to go up top to get himself actually good coffee and check in on the late, late, late ninjas the morning after an important track thing for their shop.

And...it was fun, in the beginning, watching the Rangers cry out when Cam walked away into their uncle's open arms. Observing him in their own little way as he planned battle tactics and made new lethal weapons toys for them to play with. Practiced on the mats with him without holding back like they were told to while out in the field.

Fighting beside him in the field, drunk on battle pride and adrenaline was awesome.

But Kapri has always been a protector type (deep deep deep down). And Marah could never handle seeing an innocent creature suffer without doing something about it (even if it meant doing it on the sly, because no fucking way was she going to get caught being nice when everyone already thought she was a joke).

So Cam is going to go home....it will just take a little conjuring. And a significant entanglement of mistakes.

@lordkingsmith

#boom! comics power rangers #power rangers ninja storm #cam watanabe #Marah & Kapri #ask fill #prompt fill #fake summary prompt #I actually do like the idea of Cam going ape shit; but only if the girls turn into his leash #largely because How Great Would That Be?

[rollercoasterwords]

2 for r/s plsss !

eeeeeee ok ok here we go:

2. tell me we'll never get used to it.

it's a bone-crack. it's a neck-snap. it's as easy as alohomora, and sirius watches the body fall like something with strings cut, puppeting, crumpled like day-old laundry on the floor. on the ground. in the dirt.

"come on," frank says, "come on come on come on,"

and they're gone. and they're out of there. and they're safe and they're winning and they've won and they did it, and there's back-slapping and shaky laughter and they're heroes, like see reggie?

i did it.

we did it.

this could have been us.

except it's 1981, and reggie isn't around to play sore loser anymore, and sirius just keeps winning--just keeps winning and winning and almost losing and pulling it back from the brink and winning again. he has grown so good at this game.

frank says "let's drink," and sirius drinks, and sirius laughs, and sirius holds the bottle by its neck like it's something that he can snap. life isn't real until you've got your hands around its throat. until you've got your wand pressed into its neck. he used to drink for a reason--he remembers that. he used to drink because he needed it, and he'd sink into whiskey like a body sinks into a grave, which is to say not at all, which is to say only after picking up the shovel and digging palms bloody and staring down at the dirt and thinking this is a grave, and i made it. now he just drinks because the burn of liquor in esophagus means you're feeling something, which means you can feel. something. which means you are human and you still have a body, and you are not something heartless, because you'd be dead if you were. no human can live with no heart.

remus scrapes him off the sidewalk once the sun cracks its jaw, because of course he does. it's always remus these days, now that james is busy playing house and peter is busy playing scared and reggie is busy playing dead. it's always remus, always always remus, and if sirius was human he would feel something about that. he still remembers a time when he did, back when they were eighteen and war-fresh and eager, getting high on adrenaline and crashing into each other's bodies in each other's flats. he remembers all those agonizing years of school, trying so hard not to look at the whip-crack smile of this boy that he didn't even realize remus was looking back until they were both playing grownup, in god-knows-whose flat, someone's dingy bathroom after their first real fight and not enough whiskey and far too sober to pretend that the way their hands tangled into each other's hair was for any other reason than simple want. sirius remembers that feeling, like the whole world was splitting open inside his chest.

they could've been something. maybe, if sirius could only figure out how to feel something about it, they still could.

remus scrapes him off the sidewalk, and sirius lets himself be taken home, because cleaning blood off each other's knuckles is as close as they get to a kiss these days. remus sits him on the toilet and crouches down and wipes the vomit from the corner of his lips, and sirius closes his eyes and tries to pretend he can hear his own heartbeat.

"killed someone," he says.

he feels remus pause.

"death eater," he adds. because that's supposed to make it okay.

remus breathes, slow and steady. there's a silence, a held breath--then a warm weight, solid and skin-to-skin. moony's forehead, pressed against his own.

in another life, this is where they'd kiss.

"do you still feel it?" sirius asks, and he feels like a little kid. he feels like the world's biggest idiot. he feels like everything except for a murderer, which is the only thing that he knows he still is.

"yes," remus whispers, "of course. every one."

sirius swallows, and squeezes his eyes like they might try to betray him by opening, and lifts his hands to rest along remus's jaw. finger-tip kisses. holding life by the throat.

"do i?"

he can still taste the bile on the back of his tongue. he can still see the body falling, the strings cut, the scissors in his own blood-stained hands. he watches it play out on his eyelids, over and over and over, and he waits for the guilt to engulf him like so much shoveled dirt.

"sirius," remus breathes, and his hands are so gentle, and sirius remembers when that used to make his teeth ache. when it used to make him shiver. when the feeling was something like a grave he couldn't stop digging, something windswept and suffocating, something he thought he could never get used to.

#sad warning!!!! #sad sad sad #pure war angst i am sooooo sorry #(i'm not) #this is so funnnnnn yay ty #if u see mistakes no u don't #i am still TIPSY errors are to be blamed solely on the gin my liver is working to process #siken prompts

[dent-de-leon]

Oooh if you're taking the noticing trauma prompts, maybe 8 with widomauk?? 💜🧡

Hi! oh I do always love widomauk. Decided to go with something on Lucien's tragic backstory

Dark, twisting branches rise up to pierce the starry night. Gnarled, rotting roots reclaiming ancient ruins. But amidst the pitch black thorns and crawling vines, a soft glow pulses to life. A glimmer of radiance shining, beaming, flickering valiantly in the dark. Tender blooms that unfurl with all the light of full moon, velvety petals shimmering like stars. Budding flowering glistening in the night, ghost lights fluttering in the wind. 

Dainty claws reach up to pluck the nearest one, sparks igniting at his fingertips. 

“Deuces says these things bloom every night. Pretty, right?” 

Mollymauk passes him the flower with a playful grin, idly twirling the bioluminescent stem between his talons, admiring how the petals danced and twirled, spilling over in a puddle of gleaming moonlight. Gently, he presses it into Caleb’s palms. 

“Tried to eat one once,” he admitted cheerfully, pinching at a petal that looked particularly soft and luminous. “Made me see these ghostly fish things for days.” 

“Mr. Mollymauk,” he says. Softly. “What is it you wanted me to see?”

In the real, waking world, Caleb's calloused hands are stained with high quality ink for scribing spells. Beside him lays a bottle of pink sand from the far off shores of Rumblecusp. And tucked under his pillow, the most ostentatious peacock feather Mollymauk could find.

Caleb had poured over this spell for hours, the night before. Sharing dreams was a delicate art. Any visitor—any outsider—had to have the unconditional trust of their dreamer. They had to let you in, let you witness the most vulnerable part of them. He could only delve as deep into the depths of shattered memories and dark fears as Molly allowed. 

And he was still holding back. 

Molly offers him a wry grin. Eyes glazed and distant.

"The Blooming Grove is—don't get me wrong, it's beautiful, but—when I'm there, I start getting...twinges, of things. And whenever something creeps through, it's—it's not mine, but. It feels like it should be. Like it's always been there waiting for me."

As he speaks, the woods begin to change. Flowers wilt, vines tangle and twist and writhe, the wind falling to a hushed whisper.

The world is plunged into darkness, no stars or moon or sky, only the deep dark Emptiness that echoes a terrifying silence. When next there is shape, and light, and voice, it is only bleeding shadows and the barest sound, nameless fear gradually given form.

A puppetmaster runs her sharpened claws along strings that hang in the air like suspended beams of moonlight, just the slightest shimmer of silvery light. As she pulls and tears, loose limbs rise and fall—dangling, deadweight, drifting still and lifeless in the cool autumn breeze. 

Bodies hang limp, drifting, strung up like puppets on fine silver thread. Their skin sags, heavy and sallow, gaunt bones and decaying flesh. Faces ghostly pale, sunken and sallow. Little more than hollow, listless shades.

A puppet's lilting head jerks bolt upright, gazing right at Mollymauk. Their eyes are shiny and dark, glassy and bulging wide. Like a dead fish. Like something dredged up from the fathomless deep that you wish you'd never seen.

And then, gods—there's the smoke. It's a smell he knows far too well, choking on it in too many lifetimes and dreams, waking with a guttural scream and the bitter taste of ash.

Black clouds blotting out every breath of air, ash and soot stinging his eyes as they blur with tears, the sear of heat at the back of his neck, the white hot glare as flames roar to life and consume every puppet, every lie. A whole world of color and song and dance reduced to smoldering ash.

"Molly," Caleb bites out through gritted teeth as the pain hits, heart hammering in his chest, breaths coming too sharp too fast. Everything Molly feels, every little pang of guilt and festering regret, it all hits him full force and washes over his soul like a tidal wave. 

A warm hand lays over his. 

"You don't have to watch, love," Mollymauk whispers. "You don't have to see this." 

"Nein. I—I want to," Caleb says. I have to, he thinks, for he cannot look away. 

They have horns, these charred skeletons crackling in the flames. Curling spirals overgrown with flourishing lichen and moss and sprouts of ink black mushroom caps. Vibrant and beautiful even in their decay.

"Your family?" Caleb rasps. 

"No? Yes? I—I don’t know. It's all a bit fuzzy. There's...there was darkness. And the woods. And then fire—it’s. It's not pretty. None of it feels good. Nothing like any of Gustav's bullshit stories." 

He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“And I have this terrible feeling like. Like it was all my own bloody fault.” 

Caleb almost barks out a dark laugh. Because of course this is it, that skeleton Lucien aways carried with him. Of course him and Bren were both one and the same, reflections in a broken mirror. Of course Lucien's hands were stained with the same blood, the same wallowing guilt and regret—

Caleb reaches for him, something solid and grounding in this word of the ever ephemeral and phantasmal--something real. Fingers grazing his cheek in a tender caress, meeting his distant, empty gaze across the blaze of fire and scattered lives.

“I. I am so sorry that happened to you.”

You. Molly flinches at the word, still grappling with what parts of himself to excise from Lucien’s city of death and rot and what was salvageable enough to keep.

“Nein. Whatever you may think—the person you are now is…a good person. A kind person. Someone who leaves every place better than they found it.”

Molly's gift is still loosely cradled in Caleb's grasp. The flower’s glow has dulled now, its petals starting to wane and shrivel with each shadow that passed over Molly's heart. But even as the dream warped and twisted, this little beacon of light still endured. And when Caleb tucked a stray lock of hair behind the tiefling’s ear, the flower fit just perfectly there.

Nimble fingers pluck at the heartstrings of a harp, the light trill of Feywild spirits dancing in the night, turning his mind from darker thoughts and too much lost time.

And in the drifting, phantom logic of dreams, Caleb does not question it when the Moon begins to laugh and sing.

#widomauk #mollymauk #hm im not sure how i feel about this still or if it got to where i want it but it was fun to try! #this one goes into some of the darker stuff from lucien's backstory so warning for that

[dvarapala]

❛ when we meet again, you can give it back to me. ❜

(insert we are theme song here) // @memoriescut

maybe those who have been puppets will always be fated to recognize each other down to the bone. to recognize something in each other that neither will want to speak of aloud.

two hybrids. two animals, circling around each other. two people, battered and bruised and bloody and broken, getting their strings tangled up. testing each other over and over and over and over again. because how could they not do what their puppeteers have asked of them?

it's a tale as old as time, isn't it?

a sweet tooth with a propensity for daggers - who has carved out a place for herself in a world she doesn't quite belong to - and a girl who belongs so very deeply to this world and it's (wretched) people, carrying with her a name that's just as sweet as she is sour, wielding a revolver and shooting candy jacket pellets.

udyati knows nothing of guns. but even she can see this handgun's ornate design.

it feels heavy in her hand. she feels clumsy. rooted to the spot.

she looks at pudding, then, and gently places the gun back in the brunette's (waiting?) hands.

"you're much too kind, pudding." to udyati, it feels like she just passed a test. by the skin of her teeth. "but i can't take this." part of her wants to reach for her rings - for her daggers - if only so she's got something to hold, but she doesn't.

not yet.

"besides," udyati continues, "out of the two of us, it's you who looks much cooler when you hold it." out of the two of them, pudding's the one who knows how to use it, too, and udyati is not too keen on finding out how good a shot pudding really is.

instead, the dark haired girl wiggles her fingers. "i prefer using my hands. i'm good with them."

it takes much too long for her to realize that she accidentally said something that can be taken as an innuendo.

"oh gosh, i'm so sorry. i didn't mean... i just meant---kalari. i do kalari. it's this thing. martial arts. i've been training since i was a kid---" udyati cuts herself off as her cheeks warm up. she mutters one last quiet but sincere 'sorry'.

"---but that's not at all the point... have you seen a little girl around? about yay-high? mischievous eyes. dark hair. a quick little grin on her face, always? that's my kid sister, jami. she's got that adventurous spirit, you know. and i looked away for three seconds and off she went."

#memoriescut #answered. #one piece. #//i hope it's okay i took a lot of liberties but i can see a lot of parallels between them also #//liberties being me googling / wikiaing miss pudding and cherry picking stuff that seemed interesting to me from there xD

[carrionmagpie]

What do you see, Commander, what do you see.

There's memories gnawing in your skull, clawing the back of your throat and trying to break out. But they're not yours, not anymore. What do you see.

"A ghost." You said once. You saw a ghost with strange markings on its face and blood soaked hands. You said the ghost copied your every move, how strange you thought. You said the ghost felt familiar once, how you recognised its eyes and the fear behind them, a fear you knew. You look at the ghost now, a warped, twisted creature, its teeth snapping with blind rage. It feels like home. Look again.

"A coward." You answered with a quiet laugh, but you're not smiling. You said the coward knows you, he lives in your hollow chest and every day makes it bigger, the coward is your friend, your companion, you hate him. Your fists clench as you look at him and violent hatred drips from your tongue. You try to kill him, your hands longing to crush his throat and watch him disappear, but he laughs at you, smiling with bloodied teeth. You will die together.

"A puppet." You whisper, your voice shaking for a moment. How strange, how strange you see your strings, all tangled around your limbs. You feel them wrapped around your neck, growing tighter by the day, do you know what it means, oh puppet. Do you recognise your own insignificance despite how hard you push against it, your empty body played by others, surely you don't think your actions would ever matter. Do you even understand your own existence, my puppet? Why do you try to fight your one purpose, your reason for living. Surely you didn't think you had a choice. Of course not. What is a puppet without a master, and you where never the master.

Your fist connects with the mirror, and you kill the puppet. You destroyed its mocking voices.

Look now, look what remains.

Nothing, you think, you destroyed it all, the mirror is gone and so are you.

You are looking in the wrong place, Commander.

You look down as your blood drips from your knuckles onto the broken shards, endless faces staring back at you. Yes, you see it now don't you.

"Darrius." You struggle to utter the name, you'd forgotten hadn't you, forgotten his face, your face. Your stomach churns as you look at him, he is you, but you are not him, not anymore, you mirror him, you oppose him. You took Darrius, beaten and broken by your hand and you locked him away, but you see him now, he screams behind your eyes, he begs you to free him. Do you remember the life Darrius had. As he pleads with you, do you hear his wife cry? His daughter scream? Your legs feel weak and your head radiates with such pain you almost collapse to the floor, clutching the sides of it as you scream back at him. Let him out. Let him out. Let him out.

You are not Darrius. Darrius is dead. Did you kill him, or simply restrain him and let someone else do the deed? You can't remember, can you. Look back at the shards, who do you see now.

You.

What are you.

"A soldier." You say with a nod. Yes, a good soldier. Always a good soldier. You are what they need, aren't you, you who destroys all. You are not afraid, you are not quiet, you do not love, you know who you are now. Your head is silent, they are silent, they know you are in control. The ghost has faded, the coward is hiding, the puppet is dead, and Darrius? Darrius is no more, it is only you. This is what you were created for, beautiful destruction.

Remove the broken glass from your fist and go, my soldier, do your duty. Destroy what was once loved, crush it beneath your heel.

#clone wars #clone trooper #clone oc #my oc #Commander Darrius #writing tag

[violet-virtual-friend]

“10 Wickedly Comedic Signs that Old Satan Might be Your New Neighbour”

Gather around, kiddos. It seems you're desperate to know whether you're running afoul of the devil himself. Well, allow me to play the part of your personal Clarence Oddbody from "It’s a Wonderful Life," and help you navigate your way through this terribly dire predicament.

10) Extreme Poverty and/or Extreme Wealth: There's nothing anyone enjoys more than living in the absolute extremes of life. Scrounging for pocket change under the couch cushion, fighting off rats for a piece of moldy bread or, conversely, using hundred dollar bills to wipe your tears after you get dumped because you can't figure out if your girlfriend loved you or your bank balance. If anything screams Satan’s presence more than this kind of lifestyle imbalance, I don't know what does.

9) Wires Getting Tangled Without Any Effort: Satan's secret hobby is knot tying, especially in our headphone wires, laptop cables and forget about your Christmas lights. He's got your wires in a twist, literally. If your cables constantly end up looking like an angry bowl of spaghetti, guess who’s near.

8) Constantly Misplacing Things: It must be Satan hiding your car keys, just when you're already late for work or a date. Who knew he had a sense of humor? Sure, maybe it's not Alzheimer’s. It's just Satan playing hide-and-seek with your stuff.

7) Constant Spell of Bad Luck: If you've been walking under a ridiculous amount of ladders, broke so many mirrors that you've lost count, and black cats run in terror at your approach, it might be a sign. Because Satan revels in our shortcomings and low points, adding a sprinkle of his special misfortune seasoning just for the extra kick.

6) Frequent Misunderstandings among Your Family and Peers: So your friends think you're intentionally ignoring their calls, and your family thinks you hate Grandma's cooking. Rest assured, it’s not a communication issue. It's good old Satan stirring up misunderstanding like he’s making a delicious smoothie.

5) Delays Only Happen When You're in Need: If you’re convinced that all red traffic signals, long queues, and slow internet connections conspire against you whenever you're in a hurry, you may be closer to Satan than any church aisle.

4) Long String of Loss that Happens One After Another: Ever play dominoes with your life events? Satan does that quite ding-dong merrily. Job gone, then home, pet, even your favorite pizza joint shuts down. Clearly Satan’s orchestrating this loss marathon with devilish glee.

3) Nightmares of People You Love Acting Out of Character: Resting peacefully might seem a distant memory when you close your eyes and see your doting mother morph into a fire-breathing dragon or your sweet little dog plotting world domination. Satan is just hosting an after-hours cinema in your dreams.

2) Lack of Self Control: If you've somehow developed an insatiable appetite for junk food, late-night parties, booze, gambling, or nose picking, it's probably Satan having a field day, using you as his personal puppet.

1) Evil in the World: Yep, the world is one large, chaotic mess. Wars, natural disasters, pandemics and have you seen our political leaders lately? If that doesn't scream Satan's favorite playground, I don't know what does.

Conclusion:

A funny reinterpretation of common superstitions associated with the devil. A reminder to my dear readers not to take these signs seriously and to enjoy life and its mysterious, even if infernal, offerings!Especially this upcoming Halloween!

Warning: These signs might make you besties with the devil, just make sure you aren't lured into signing any mysterious contracts.

#freelance writing #blogging #writing #publishing #Writer #articles

[gloriabomfim]

Part 3: The Puppeteer Roach Tries to Help Bumpy

Montage 1:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach attempts to manipulate Bumpy with puppet strings.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "You're my puppet now, Bumpy!"

Outcome: The Puppeteer Roach's strings get tangled up, causing both of them to fall in a heap.

Bumpy (in a tangle): "I'm not sure if this is helping…"

Montage 2:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach pulls Bumpy's strings to make him dance.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "Dance, Bumpy, dance!"

Outcome: Bumpy's clumsy movements result in a comical dance disaster, with limbs going in all directions.

Bumpy (tangled in strings): "I'm more of a dance hazard than a dancer."

Montage 3:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach tries to use his puppet strings to keep Bumpy out of harm's way.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "I've got you, Bumpy! No accidents today!"

Outcome: Bumpy manages to find trouble regardless, with the strings only adding to the chaos.

Bumpy (stumbling): "The strings aren't helping much…"

Montage 4:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach makes Bumpy do a puppet-like routine.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "Let's do a funny puppet show!"

Outcome: Bumpy's unwillingness to cooperate ruins the act, and the strings are constantly tangled.

Bumpy (frustrated): "I can't seem to get the hang of this."

Montage 5:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach tries to manipulate Bumpy into avoiding obstacles.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "Watch out, Bumpy! I'll steer you clear of trouble!"

Outcome: Bumpy's natural clumsiness leads to him walking into things, despite the puppeteer's efforts.

Bumpy (bumping into objects): "I think I'm drawn to trouble."

Montage 6:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach attempts to make Bumpy perform a marionette-style high-wire act.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "On the tightrope, Bumpy! You've got this!"

Outcome: Bumpy's balance issues make it a comedic disaster, with frequent slips and falls.

Bumpy (dangling from strings): "I'm better off on solid ground."

Montage 7:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach pulls Bumpy's strings to mimic various actions.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "Let's put on a show, Bumpy!"

Outcome: Bumpy's clumsy movements and the puppeteer's erratic control make the act look hilariously awkward.

Bumpy (tangled in strings): "I feel like a tangled mess."

Montage 8:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach tries to use puppet strings to protect Bumpy from falling objects.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "I'll shield you, Bumpy!"

Outcome: Bumpy and the puppeteer end up getting hit by falling objects together.

Bumpy (covered in debris): "I think the strings attract trouble!"

Montage 9:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach attempts to make Bumpy perform a mime routine with his puppet strings.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "Let's combine puppetry and mime, Bumpy!"

Outcome: Bumpy's interpretation is all over the place, and the audience is left puzzled.

Audience Member: "What's going on?"

Montage 10:

Action: The Puppeteer Roach realizes that Bumpy's bad luck is too much for his puppeteering skills to handle.

Dialogue (The Puppeteer Roach): "I think I've met my match, Bumpy."

Outcome: They both end up in a tangled mess of strings, laughing at the absurdity of their attempts.

Bumpy and The Puppeteer Roach (laughing together): "We tried our best!"

#bumpy #The Puppeteer Roach

[audaciiae]

❛ i shouldn’t allow myself to get this close to you. ❜ for kit lmao

Subtle smut || Accepting

"And yet, here you are, always coming back for more. Why is that, hm? Can't resist me? I mean, I know I'm irresistible, but it's a bit pathetic, isn't it?"

Kit laughs. It's a cruel and hideous thing. They know why he keeps coming back to them. It's the same reason why Casper comes back again and again. This is just one big game for Kit, twirling them all around like puppets on a string. They wonder how long they can keep both of them tangled in their web, how long they can possibly string them along until someone snaps.

"If you're so unsure, then you should leave." As they say this, they move towards Beau, pressing him up against the wall. "But something tells me you'd rather not do that. Am I wrong?"

#accustiv #;Kit #i hate them i hate them i ha--

[planet-magic-land]

my gender is broken glass and broken promises.

my gender is a metal bridge over tendrils of metal and wood across a gravel sea,

with metal serpents below beckoning me to take the dive into their domain,

and becoming yet another name on an ever growing list, and another candle lit in memory.

my gender is a scapegoat for the inconvenience and incompetence of others.

my gender is scarred arms and bruised legs, a desolate battlefield of a body I'll never share with anybody ever again.

my gender is a world around me moving on, friends and family live their lives and be the people they want and deserve to be, while I stay stuck the same, more a ghost of a past than a person in the present.

my gender is words and images on a screen, nothing more, no longer a presence, no longer company to keep, and forever fading memories.

my gender is a tattered heart pouring out to others time and time again, like spending time and energy and mental health into making a loving soup for others, only to watch it go cold, or poured straight down the sink. I gather my ingredients and try again.

my gender is an empty letterbox, that always has to send out the first letter before it will ever receive any mail itself.

"I miss you"

a three worded knife I dare not inflict onto my friends, least of all onto the person I used to be, though I wonder if I'd even hear those same words back.

I try and tell myself these things as much as I can, but when you're the only one, the words soon become a blur, but it's not something I have any right to force out of others, so I keep patting myself on the back until it goes numb and sore.

"when was the last time someone told you they loved you."

"when was the last time someone told you they missed you."

"when was the last time someone told you they were proud of you."

"alone" and "lonely" are words that always hurt to say, yet they've clung to me like two hands controlling a puppet, whose gender is a tangled web of her own strings, wishing she could simply cut herself loose.

my gender is a forgotten ghost buried in a suit, with a false name on her grave, before she'll ever hear the words

sister

daughter

girlfriend

partner

wife

mother

my gender is an imaginary friend from secondary school, still trying to comfort a tired ghost all these years later.

my gender is a tongue tying itself in a knot, keeping the words "friend" "best friend" "family" out of it's mouth, for fear of embarrassing those whose feelings may have stopped being mutual long ago.

my gender is a woman sinking into her bed, sinking into her head, slipping into fantasies more and more, because anything is better than this life she's made for herself.

my gender is an artist who lives and breaths drawing, not having the energy to draw this as a dramatic poetic comic.

my gender is a woman not having the energy.

my gender is, hoping, I rewrite this poem someday in the future, and that it will be about better things.

#please read tags before you read #this was a 'poem' I wrote after suicide attempt recently #it is mostly just me being sad and annoyed and angry and lots of stuff #it is not a nice poem lmao #only reason I've kept it here is as something I can look back on to see how things are now in comparison #hope that makes sense

[lovely-sociopath]

On a string?

Oh, no~

You have me Tangled in a web, stuck to a million strings and you can play with me like a puppet.

If you want me to do something for you I'll be your loyal dog and follow your every command, you don't have me on a string you have me on a stage while you pull at the at least 50 strings attached to me.

It's a beautiful stage play all going according to plan and you are the main character whether you're on the stage or not~

I love you