Archive of Our Own ^beta

The scream that ripped through the Ministry wasn’t one of terror, but of pure, unadulterated fear. It echoed off the marble floors and rattled the stained-glass windows, a sound so profoundly pathetic that five Ghouls dropped what they were doing and sprinted toward Cardi’s chambers.

They burst in to find their illustrious and often-flustered leader, standing bug-eyed and bare-assed in the middle of the room. He was holding a now-empty mini M&M’s tube, the bright yellow plastic a vulgar splash of color against his pale skin and gesturing frantically at his own crotch. His prized possession, the very scepter of his sinful majesty, was wedged firmly inside the candy container.

Aether, ever the pragmatist, was the first to break the stunned silence. He pushed past the others, his face a mask of grim determination as he knelt for a closer inspection.

“Fuck me sideways,” he muttered, peering at the rapidly swelling flesh straining against the plastic. “It’s really on there.”

The other Ghouls crowded around, a chaotic tableau of disbelief and morbid curiosity. Rain, bless his heart, suggested butter. Dew, meanwhile, was already rummaging through a nearby toolbox, producing a pair of rusty pliers with a little too much enthusiasm.

Cardi shrieked, batting Dew’s hand away with a wild swing. “No! Are you insane? You’ll take the whole damn thing off!” He was sweating profusely now, his brow shining with panicked perspiration. Mountain, the stoic giant, just stood there, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised in a silent, judgmental arc. He looked from the tube to Cardi’s face and back again, his expression screaming a single, profound question: Why? Meanwhile, Swiss was trying to stifle a laugh into his fist, a sputtering sound that earned him a venomous glare from Cardi.

“Everybody, shut up for a minute!” Aether commanded, grabbing the tube with a clinical coldness that did nothing to soothe his frayed nerves. He gave it a gentle, experimental tug. Cardi yelped, a high-pitched, strangled sound that made his rats squeak nervously. The plastic didn’t budge. If anything, the suction seemed to increase, pulling his flesh deeper into the tiny prison.

“Alright,” Aether sighed, releasing his grip and looking up at the horrified faces surrounding him. “New plan. We’re going to need lubricant. Lots of it.”

“I told you, butter!” Rain chirped, practically vibrating with the vindication of a man whose simple wisdom had finally been acknowledged. He shot Dew a triumphant look, who responded by rattling the pliers menacingly. Before the argument could escalate into a full-blown tool-versus-dairy war, Aether held up a hand. He pointed a finger at Swiss.

“Go to the kitchen. Find the biggest tub of lard, Crisco, olive oil—maybe not olive oil. I don’t give a shit what it is, just bring it. And make it quick, he’s starting to turn purple.”

Swiss, nearly convulsing with suppressed laughter, could only nod before scrambling out of the room, his shoulders shaking. Cardi, hyperventilating on his twin bed, let out a pathetic whimper.

“It’s getting… tight.”

His voice was a strained whisper, his eyes wide with a terror usually reserved for when his game shuts off before he can save. Dew, ever the agent of chaos, chose this moment to lean in close, squinting at the disaster zone.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, stroking his chin, “if we can’t get it off, we might have to amputate.”

The effect was instantaneous. Cardi’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he let out a garbled groan as he fainted, leaving the ghouls staring down at his unconscious form and the very, very stuck appendage. Mountain finally broke his silence, his voice a low rumble that cut through the panic. “Good. He’ll be less freaked out this way.”

He nudged the unconscious Papa’s leg with his boot while Aether shot Dew a look that could curdle milk.

“What the hell did you do that for?” he hissed.

Dew just shrugged, a picture of pure innocence. “He needed to relax.”

Just then, Swiss burst back into the room, face flushed, holding a massive jar of coconut oil like a holy relic. “I’m back!” he announced, breathless. “It’s organic and smells a bit like a piña colada, but it should work.”

Aether snatched the jar from Swiss, unscrewing the lid with a quick twist. A wave of cloyingly sweet coconut filled the room. He dipped his fingers in, scooping out a massive, greasy glob.

“Alright, hold his legs,” he commanded, gesturing with his head toward Mountain and Dew.

Mountain complied with a gruff sigh, grabbing an ankle, while Dew set his pliers down with a clatter and took the other. Without another word, Aether knelt and began methodically slathering the lukewarm oil all over the rapidly discoloring flesh and the bright yellow plastic encasing it. The whole scene was a grotesque parody of some unholy anointing ritual.

The slick application did little at first. Aether grunted, trying to gain purchase on the slippery tube, his fingers sliding off with a disgusting squelch.

“It’s not fucking budging,” he growled through gritted teeth.

Rain, hovering nearby, peered over Aether’s shoulder. “Maybe try twisting it? Like a bottle cap?”

Suddenly, Cardi’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t scream, he just stared, first at the ceiling, then at the absolute clusterfuck unfolding at his groin. His gaze tracked from Aether’s greasy hands, then to Mountain and Dew holding his legs like he was about to be quartered. Finally, to Swiss and Rain who were now pantomiming a powerful tug-of-war motion, possibly in hopes of manifesting success.

His face went through a rapid series of emotions: confusion, dawning horror, and finally, a deep, bone-weary resignation. He let out a long, drawn-out sigh and spoke with the exhausted clarity of a man who has seen the face of God and found it to be a cosmic joke. “Just… get the bolt cutters.”

A collective sigh of relief washed over the room at Cardi’s sudden lucidity, quickly followed by a fresh wave of panic at his grim suggestion. “Bolt cutters? Papa, are you crazy?” Rain balked, his previous confidence quickly evaporating. Just as Dew’s eyes lit up and he started looking around for the toolbox again, a new voice cut through the chaos, sharp and utterly unimpressed.

“For fucks sake, you’re all acting like a bunch of panicked monkeys.” Cumulus stood in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched in disdain. She surveyed the scene. The bed, the greased-up Cardinal, the jar of coconut oil, the circle of incompetent ghouls, slowly shaking her head with such disappointment that made them all feel about two inches tall.

She glided into the room confidently, assessing Papa’s situation with a smirk. The ghouls parted, falling silent as she approached the bed.

“Honestly,” she scoffed, looking down at the predicament before her, “I leave you idiots alone for one afternoon.” She knelt gracefully, examining the situation with a calm, clinical eye that made Aether’s frantic efforts look downright barbaric. She glanced up at Cardi, whose face was a mask of fragile hope.

“Relax, Papa,” she said, her voice dropping to a low, soothing purr. Without another word, she reached down, delicately pinching the base of his purpling cock between her thumb and index finger.

Then, with a practiced glide of her fingers, she began. The room was dead silent, save for Cardi’s sharp, involuntary gasp. His back arched off the velvet, his knuckles white where he gripped the chaise. It was over in seconds. A final, expert flick of her wrist elicited a choked groan from him, followed by a wet, definitive pop as he went soft, releasing him from the plastic prison.

The tube slid off effortlessly into her hand. Without breaking eye contact, Cumulus brought the little yellow cylinder to her lips, tilted her head back, and calmly licked the inside clean. She then stood, dropped the now-spotless tube onto Cardi’s chest, turned on her heel, and walked out of the room without another word.