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blissfulip · 6 months

Text

—Legion

On AO3

Priest!Viktor x F!demon!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Priest Kink, Blasphemy, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Flagellation, Demon Sex, Demon Summoning, Demon/Human Relationships, demon reader, AU - Canon Divergence, Post medieval era, Dubious Science, Church Sex, Roman Catholicism, Catholic Guilt, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Shameless Smut, Masturbation, No use of Y/N, third person.

Cw: Handjob

Words: 2k

[A/N: Happy Easter Sunday lmao, also whoever picks up all of the 'easter eggs' (get it wink wink) gets a kith and hug from me (let me know if you want to be tagged or removed in future fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr @chemical-killjoy @jinxed-jk @bobobomao @queen-of-elves @thedustybunny @syren201 @thayfass @thehistoriangirl @hypocritic-trash-baby @zaunitearchives

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III.

Viktor stood frozen, the voice that whispered those words echoing against the walls of his head as he gazed upon the creature before him, a figure blindingly bright yet of simultaneously all-consuming darkness. The sight obscured his thoughts and left him adrift in a sea of terror. How could he have been so blind as to believe that he could command such power without consequence? Or rather, was it the naivete of believing nothing would come of it that turned against him?

The very essence of his faith fractured—that earth-shattering feeling that had become all too common for him that day—threatened by this insidious presence. What had he unleashed upon the world? What horrors awaited him in the wake of his hubris? Viktor trembled, and his soul lay bare before the abyss, but something sinister took him out of this blossoming meltdown; she, the creature, looked familiar.

And achingly so, yet her form eluded him like a half-remembered dream. Faces swirled in the depths of his memory, merging and shifting like shadows cast by a flickering flame, but he was unable to put a finger on them.

"Do you not recognize me, Viktor?" Her voice cut through the air, eerily sweet.

Viktor recoiled in horror at the sound of his own name coming out of her mouth, the weight of her words crashing down upon him.

“I manifest to you as a reflection of your own desires, an amalgamation of every soul you have ever yearned for, sweet human.” She hissed as she offered Viktor a hand to help him stand, her touch oddly warm as they both sat on the bed. “Do you not see it? That young woman from the bakery, or the one you always look at for a tad too long while you buy turnips? You don’t even like turnips,” she smiled slightly. “What about that woman who comes to confess every week? The one with the slightly hoarse voice that you love, even that tan young man with the green eyes,. Yes, yes, I know about him too; I am him too.”

“Who…what are you?” He asked amidst a short-lived surge of bravery.

“My name is Legion,” she said with an off-putting tone of irony, “for we are many... or however that verse goes. Mawkishly sentimental if you ask me.” She chuckled and seemed to deflate in disappointment at her attempt at humor not being acknowledged. She sighed in oddly human-like resignation, “I don’t have a name, Viktor, but I know yours , and you know what I am.”

"I seek nothing from the likes of you, Demon, you don’t know me." he declared, though doubt gnawed at him.

"You do, and it is the truth that I know you; your biggest fear is to remain ignorant and blind to the truths that lie beyond the veil of your mortal existence; I can feel it. " She whispered against his ear.

"You are but a trick of the darkness; I will not succumb to your temptations."

"Oh, but Viktor, you already have ," she purred. "You summoned me here, drawn by your own curiosity. Your anger simmers beneath that stoic surface, against the silence of the heavens and the absence of answers to your prayers. But I answered, so why direct your anger at me ?"

“I have faith in Him; God will intercede in my favor.” He said, covering his face ith both hands, afraid his expression would betray something that confirmed her accusations.

“Yet you question his wisdom and his justice. You resent his silence, you doubt .”

“I love Him, and I will repent; I will.”

“Why? Faith without cynicism is a hollow shell. Will you let yourself be domesticated like a beast? A man of science like yourself?”

The spark of courage grew into embers inside Viktor’s chest at the mention of his work. Although he remained silent, not wanting to concede, she saw it in him, just like she experienced every emotion that grew within the transparent exterior that contained his soul.

“Embrace this fire, and you will obtain what you seek.” She said, gently laying a hand over Viktor’s.

His shoulders slumped in resignation, but even as he acquiesced to her demands, a seed of guilt still remained. What would God think of him now for consorting with a creature of darkness? Would he be cast aside and condemned for eternity for his folly?

"What do you fear, judgement?” Viktor nodded.

“Your god is nothing but an egregore," she declared, her voice a whisper. "A figment of mortal imagination, born from the collective beliefs of humanity, he only has power over you if you allow it."

“God is my shepherd, He…” He started to recite, but his voice betrayed him.

“Yahweh, Tetragrammaton, Adonai, El, Elohim, Shaddai, Tzevaot… it does not matter who you so fervently pray to! Ancient egregores hold no power over the ancient gods.” She started saying in a firm tone, her volume high in affront. “And you, my sweet, are so unfortunately Christ hunted…a lot of work to be done.” She continued, her voice tuning back down to her previously silky tone.

Viktor's breath caught in his throat, but simultaneously, the weight of her words lifted a heavy chain that had previously hung around his neck. Although this—his God’s identity and how much power He held—seemed to be a point of contention between him and his conscience, every word she uttered seemed to confirm things he had been long thinking about. But the smell of culpability Viktor emanated was pungent, and what she saw in his heart was a whirlwind.

She was proud that he had let himself be guided by his urges, that he had, even if only for a small moment, felt true freedom in pleasure. She felt his fear when he remembered he would need to face father Isidore and then she felt his rage. He felt so strongly against him that for a second she imagined he would be nothing short of a monster, his robust yet sweet face was an interesting sight to find framed in Viktor’s memory.

She felt sympathy and sadness and confusion, she felt worried for the young girl with the twin braids just like Viktor had, and felt intrigued as to how she had come in possession of her coin, but what mattered most to her in that moment was one problematic sensation; despondency. Viktor was close to giving up, he had nearly decided rage was useless and so was science.

“Let’s begin by working on the heavy guilt you carry.” She said, after a long silence. Viktor noticed an unsettling tenderness in her eyes when he, for the first time, looked directly into them.

“I made a vow.” He answered, his voice breaking as it turned into a whisper.

"Do not let the chains of guilt bind you, Viktor," she murmured. "The church may preach of purity and righteousness, but it is built upon a foundation of hypocrisy, and you don’t need me to tell you as much.”

“I know of the behavior of some members of the clergy, but why should...”

“I don’t speak of individual transgressions; the church as an institution seeks to negate eroticism and sexuality, yet it embraces them in its most sacred rites.”

The deeply puzzled expression in Viktor’s face prompted her to elaborate.

“Think about the things you do during sacrament; think of the smell of incense, the touching of beads, the kissing of sacred objects, the rubbing of oils... Think about consuming the physical body of the idol you adore, and think about what it makes you feel—enlightenment, apotheosis. Remember the deep pleasure you extracted from the pain of self-penitence? It’s nearly devine, is it not? That necessity to envelop all senses?”

Viktor nodded.

“And that feeling you get of being close to god in a way that nothing else will get you to—that sensation of being outside the perception of time and space—have you experienced it?”

“I have, in prayer.”

“Can I show you what true ecstasy feels like? One that starts and culminates in yourself without any divine intervention?

And once again, Viktor simply nodded. The air crackled with a tension thick enough to suffocate him, his breath shallow and rapid. A rush of anticipation surged through him, mingling with a primal curiosity that threatened to consume him whole as she slithered behind him. The shift of weight on the mattress gave him a strange awareness of the materiality of what was taking place, and the hot breath on the left side of his neck caused the last string of sanity holding him together to loosen.

For a second, he wondered if she was nothing but a very sly yet human woman that had somehow found a way into his room, but that idea was quickly quenched as both of her hands slowly glided along the sides of his still-clothed thighs, emanating that unnatural white glow that was clearly not of mortal nature.

Her touch was delicate and warm, her nails slowly creeping up to the hem of his cassock as she pulled it up to reveal the trousers underneath. If Viktor had any idea of what she planned on doing, he would have been of more help, adjusting to make his clothing easier to remove, but unaware of what awaited him, he sat there immobile.

After some mild struggle, she managed to get to the stubborn clasp, and the slight accidental touches ignited a fire within Viktor's veins, sending tendrils of heat coursing through his body. Soon enough, there was nothing in between them, and the cold air that came into contact with the streak of viscosity that had dampened his underpants sent goosebumps across his arms.

She hadn’t even made her way to his cock yet, but with each gentle caress around his stomach and thighs, Viktor's senses were heightened to a fever pitch, his body aflame with a hunger that burned brighter than any candle. With the first feather touch along his shaft, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a precipice, poised on the brink of a pleasure so exquisite it bordered on agony.

And then, with a slow and deliberate motion, her hand closed around him, sending shockwaves of ecstasy racing through every fiber of his being. A guttural moan escaped his lips as she began to move, her rhythm mechanic and intoxicating. With every teasing stroke, Viktor's breath hitched, his body responding eagerly to her touch.

"Ah…God!" he gasped, his voice a hoarse whisper of longing.

She froze on her tracks, drawing out a protesting whine from Viktor. “Do not call upon his name now; at this moment, you belong to me .” She spoke, her voice still sweet but laced with a tinge of resentment.

Viktor's mind swam in a haze, his thoughts fragmented and disjointed as he desperately nodded in agreement, before she resumed the pace of her moment. And then Viktor felt himself hurtling his head back onto her shoulder, his world reduced to nothing. She gently removed the sweat-drenched pieces of hair from his forehead and whispered words in a language he could not understand while her hand continued its path down to his neck and back.

For a second, he felt a reminder of the stinging pain on his shoulder blades, and then it faded. As he reached the climax of his arousal, he cried out desperate pleas, only this time to her and himself, finally surrendering to this intoxicating embrace. After letting him breathe for a while, she took one of his hands in hers and placed the copper coin on it. Viktor knew he was bound to her now.

And in that moment, there was no room for guilt or shame, only the unquenchable thirst for more.

#viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #arcane #arcane au #arcane viktor #legion

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valentine-cafe · 5 months

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˚◞♡ 𝒋𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒚𝒊 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒆𝒓𝒂 209 — the snake-hybrid mad doctor◞ ₊˚

⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ “ darling, i have dealt with many hearts, but I've never come across one as pretty as yours, ” ꒱

. ˚◞꒰verse꒱ 209

. ˚◞꒰face claim refs꒱ ( x ) ( x ) ( x )

. ˚◞꒰species꒱ grim reaper, snake hybrid

. ˚◞꒰ethnicity꒱ chinese

. ˚◞꒰age꒱ 46

. ˚◞꒰gender꒱ male

. ˚◞꒰mbti꒱estj

. ˚◞꒰aliases꒱ the doctor, the surgeon, doctor herrera, the heartless, the black plague ( by enigma, the resistance ), snakie-boy, snake-bitch ( by haitao )

. ˚◞꒰appearance꒱

𖹭. oftentimes seen wearing his deceptively kind smile, fooling even the most skeptical of people when they catch a glimpse of the red painted lips stretched out on his face.

𖹭. deep amber snake eyes are often hidden by a pair of maroon contacts, hiding away the truth like the rest of his general body language and confident posture.

𖹭. long, silky black hair that falls past his shoulders, usually put into a half-ponytail or let loose.

𖹭. is able to unhinge his jaw, putting on display, his forked elongated tongue, rows of sharp teeth and his two snake fangs protruding whenever he yawns

𖹭. wears a wide range of jewellery, thin gold necklaces and chokers covering his neck and shoulders. while his ears are covered in a pair of standard lobe piercings, along with a helix — right ear covered in a conch and tragus piercing. rings covering his fair toned fingers.

𖹭. stands at the towering height of 6’7 ft ( 201cm ), with a lean and well toned figure.

𖹭. androgynous, sharp and soft facial features.

𖹭. very fluid and elegant in the way he moves and overall looks.

𖹭. primarily dons the red makeup styles.

𖹭. extremely vintage styled aesthetic in fashion choice, loves wearing poet shirts and suits.

𖹭. he has a frenum piercing ( peepee piercing )

. ˚◞꒰personality꒱

𖹭. deceivingly kind and serene demeanor hiding the sadism and manipulative intentions and ulterior motives.

𖹭. he is deceptive in every way and form, his sharp intelligence silencing those who speak against him or try to prevent him from succeeding his goals.

𖹭. has a silver-tongue riddled with false kindness and care the fools that decide to affiliate themselves with him, bringing them into a sense of comfort and security that never was there to begin with — using their confidence as an advantage

𖹭. on the inside, you see the sinister, sarcastic and malicious sociopath that is the true part of the so-called “goodhearted” poet.

𖹭. charming and charismatic words and actions concealing the greedy and sadistic side of him.

𖹭. prefers silence over loud talk, and maintains his anonymity and mystery due to this factor — getting him to talk is not a possibility, even if you tried by forcing it out of him.

𖹭. can be sassy and give blunt replies to people he finds himself irritated with.

𖹭. moodiness is a result of both his snake dna and his traumatic past — or because his husband is not around.

𖹭. calculative and witty — has a great memory and uses it often to note down the speech patterns, movements and body-languages of the people around him.

𖹭. his perceptiveness is the next in line to his intelligence, you cannot outlie the master liar and manipulator, he knows your tricks.

𖹭. hard to anger and irritate, and will applaud you for your audacity and stupidity for trying so.

𖹭. should this man find himself infatuated with someone, he will put his possessiveness and obsessiveness on display. showing you his yandere tendencies and greedy behaviour around them.

. ˚◞꒰with a lover꒱

𖹭. very sweet. very verbally and physically affectionate. you see the more humane side of him that others do not

𖹭. he is exceptionally patient with you. always assuring you when you need and comforting you

𖹭. he loves spoiling you. especially taking you out clothes shopping and letting you try out whatever it is that you may wish. loves seeing you flustered whenever he pulls you into a clothing shop. flustering you whenever he snatches your waist in front of a mirror

𖹭. always worshipping your skin with kisses. he can barely keep his hands off of you

𖹭. possessive, but hides it well with his poetic and loving words. he is most definitely a yandere type. willing to do whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

𖹭. very verbal about how much he obsesses over you, as much as he is clear in his actions that he wants you for himself and no-one else. should anyone look or talk to you in a way he does not like? he will gouge their eyes out, or use them as his newest “patients”

𖹭. loves teasing you and flirting with you until you have lost your breath from giggling or whining for him to shut up

𖹭. a very passionate lover and has no problem in showing his passion for you neither. even when it’s in public

𖹭. pda? what’s that? he’ll pull you into his lap even in a cafe. or kiss you in booths. have his hands on you. anything to show that you are his

𖹭. if anyone lays a finger on you. . . they are dead.

. ˚◞꒰strengths꒱

𖹭. increased bodily function: advanced strength, speed, agility and durability.

𖹭. heightened senses: advanced sight, smell, hearing, taste and awareness of surroundings.

𖹭. healing factor: an average healing factor that heals his injuries far quicker than most

𖹭. fangs and bite: has a set of snake fangs that can secrete two venoms: a paralytic, which he uses for sedation, and a fatal. he can switch between them. and especially powerful bite

𖹭. talons & venomous touch: he has talons that secrete high levels of venom. this venom is extracted by thin wired implanted on his wrists that carry his venom to his nails, resulting in venom-induced touches should he use them on someone.

𖹭. snake physiology: has the flexibility of a snake, therefore his body is able to move in the fluid motion that a serpent would. he is able to dislocate his joints with ease and twist his body in whichever way he prefers. his jaw can unhinge as well.

𖹭. poison immunity: immune to poisons.

𖹭. elastic jaw: the ability to unhinge his jaw to drastic measures

𖹭. hyper climbing and clawing: able to slither up surfaces

𖹭. seismic sense: able to feel vibrations in a seismic way whenever his limbs touch surfaces. he can feel these from quite awhile ago

𖹭. enhanced lung capacity: able to hold his breath for longer

𖹭. stealth: can move around swiftly and quietly

. ˚◞꒰weaknesses꒱

𖹭. poison addiction: due to building up a poison resistance by intaking the substances, he is now immune to poison but in turn has grown addicted to the intake of them. he now does it for the fun of it and as a coping mechanism.

𖹭. abandonment issues: if he is away from the people he loves. this can result in erratic episodes and even have a negative affect on his physical well-being

𖹭. fainting: should he grow overwhelmed, he is prone to fainting.

𖹭. apples: has a mild allergy to apples and takes medication for it.

𖹭. reapers: not much is known of this condition. . . come back later and perhaps you might find out?

𖹭. apples: has a mild allergy to apples and takes medication for it.

𖹭. oranges: has a bad allergy to oranges.

𖹭. daylight: as a nocturnal reaper, daylight and other bright sources of light can weaken his senses of sight as he is used to the darkness of the night.

𖹭. d’akar: an anti-magic material that can greatly weaken him if he comes into contact with it. he, especially is affected by this.

𖹭. extreme emotional attachment: while reapers may remind one of humans, they are not. they are beings with very empathetic instincts and have souls bigger than the average mortal being — a thing that has been with them since their creation. they become extremely attached to things they love and it may cause them to become erratic if enough they love is taken away from them.

. ˚◞꒰relationships꒱

𖹭. rishen herrera: husband, business partner, best friend

𖹭. yuè mèng yáo: mother, deceased

𖹭. zhào mùchén: father, deceased

𖹭. zhào hàoyú: younger brother, deceased

𖹭. zhào haitāo: younger brother, enemy

𖹭. zhào xīyáng: younger brother, deceased

𖹭. wèi lìxuě: enemy

𖹭. liú tàishī: enemy

𖹭. alessio agresta arias: “rival”, deceased

𖹭. lorenzo agresta arias: enemy

𖹭. park tae-hyun: enemy

. ˚◞꒰story꒱

sly grins and skilled yet devilish hands. hidden by kind eyes and serene smiles. how could a gaze like that watch with glee the suffering of experiments?

a mad doctor to match his mad scientist for a husband, experimenting and tormenting enigma and inhumans with the excuse of making a better world. jingyi herrera designs medicines that no other verse has even seen. so what if it's at the cost of a few souls? it's for the greater good.

so he'll indulge in his insanity. in his horrid morals and his lust for knowledge, for his twisted sense of justice. all if it means succeeding in all of his ambitions and staying at the side of his beloved.

. ˚◞꒰extra꒱

𖹭. he is a doctor and has a clinic on the second floor of valence. he specialises in most areas of anatomy and is a skilled doctor and surgeon.

𖹭. he is also the co-chairman of valence

𖹭. he is fluent in asl and csl

𖹭. he speaks chinese ( mandarin ) and spanish ( latin american )

𖹭. has a cat named beauregard oliver fitzgeralt josé cassandra o'hara the 7th arch king of death.

𖹭. loves old-timey romance movies

𖹭. as much as he is mature, he does love giving his assistants a good scare every now and then when he thinks they are being lazy. . . and by scare we don’t mean by lighthearted pranks.

𖹭. likes collecting tea sets.

𖹭. he sometimes smokes

#⊹ ۪ ࣪ ᥫ᭡ tea time — jingyi 209 ꒱#asterism #teratophillia #terato #yandere teratophilia #monster character #snake hybrid character #yandere character #mad doctor character #x reader #reader inster #jingyi herrera 209 #jingyi 209

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novy2sirius · 3 months

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WORD MAGIC

“the real secret of magic is that the world is made of words and that if you know the words that the world is made of, you can make of it whatever you wish.” ~ terence mckenna

— words have power. “elites” know this so they take advantage of it. some of these aren’t bad though. some say stuff like this is farfetched and i used to think it was until i saw just how many words have secret meanings behind them. the words we say affect our reality. the reason they make things this obvious and put it in front of our faces is because they believe it heals their karma by “telling us” even though they’re not technically actually telling us directly they’re still telling us. according to the rules of karma if we don’t acknowledge what they’re telling us to our faces that is our problem

spelling -> (spell)ing - casting a spell

matrix -> my tricks

universe -> uni (one) verse - one song, one truth

planet -> plan ET/plan net

internet -> enter net

spiritual -> spirit ritual

spirit -> spear it - the fifth wound of jesus

emotion -> i’m ocean - we’re made of 70% water and water is the element representing emotions

bless -> be less

bless you -> be less you

good morning -> mourning = having deep sorrow

revenge -> r(even)ge

mental illness -> (men)tal illness

women -> womb men

television -> tell a vision

broadcast -> (casting) a spell

pray -> prey

jesus -> he’s us - and je sus = i know, in french

amen -> (amun) ra - the word is derived from an ancient egyptian god

earth -> heart - rearranged

human -> hue man - hue = attribute of color (color is light) - light manifested into physical form

alcohol -> sounds like the arabic word “al-ghoul” which translates to “body eating spirit” or “beast” in english - refer here for more

sacred -> rearranges to scared - this is on purpose to keep you scared of sacred things such as astrology, numerology, rituals, etc

ritual -> right to all

demon -> the mon-ster

devil -> de/the evil

blame -> be lame

parents -> a pair who rents

write -> rite - a rite is a ceremony or ritual

page -> paging someone = summoning them

beauty -> be you ty

abracadabra -> in hebrew means “i will create as i speak”

wizard -> wise ard

#word magic #spirituality

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lis-likes-fics · 9 months

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Rhyme and Reason

Pairings: Corinthian x dream!Reader Word Count: 8.7k words Prompt: Corruption Kink Warnings: NSFW, explicit descriptions of death/murder, torture, descriptions of blood, smut, fingering, oral (f!receiving), slight hair pulling, multiple orgasms, p in v, unprotected sex, corruption kink, creampie, fucking in front of a dead body... A/N: There are only two left, guys! I might be able to do this! This took a minute to write cause ADHD is a bitch. But I finished and I hope you like it! Thank you and Happy Holidays!

The little party you find yourself in is just that, little. It takes place in a bar rented out by the set of hosts, a get together with maybe a little over twenty party-goers.

It took so long to find him.

When your lord Morpheus disappeared some fifty years ago, you and the rest of the Dreaming were left…confused. You thought that maybe it was a test? He wanted to see how loyal his creations really were to him, their king. Would they revolt the moment he no longer gave orders?

But, after the first two decades, you concluded that he was just…gone. And you, among many dreams, left as well.

You spent the next twenty years in the Waking world, searching the world aimlessly for something to inspire you.

When Dream still resided in his realm, you would sing for him. He dreamed up a dream of music and song and you became. He loved your songs, he was inspired by the music you made.

When you sat in Fiddler’s Green, you would sing about the butterflies fluttering through the breeze or the bees in their honeycombs. When you sat by the sandy beach, you would sing about the lap of the tides against the mouth of the sea. When you looked up at the skies, you would sing about the sun and moon, how they loved each other so.

On some nights where you danced in the heads of your mortal lords, he would be there, in the seat in the back, listening to you soothe the minds of frightened children or ease the thoughts of anguished men.

Morpheus loved your sweet music, your heavenly song. You reminded him of someone, someone he loved very much.

Much he knew nothing of how you longed for more than your kindly poetry and prose. You loved the gift he bestowed upon you, but you grew weary of your melodies of dancing birds and sugar cane.

He knew nothing of the way you gazed at the dark and twisted dreams that walked his realm, the way they strut, the way they smirk, the way they spin their fables and tricks and white lies. You wished you could sing in deviant keys, tales of wicked fantasies and depraved beasts.

How you longed for the voice of a siren, rather than the whistle of a songbird.

So you looked for inspiration. And you found it.

The humans were a new kind of nightmare. Yes, they had so much love and light and whatnot, but the depravity. The debauchery and sin you found among their kind, it was more than you could have dreamed of.

You didn't just want to sing their songs, you wanted to create them. You wanted to write your verses as they wrote theirs. You wanted to sing your tales and inspire the rest in the same way your sweet lyrics did.

But you didn't know how. You searched all over for someone to teach you, to show you how to take their sullied natures and adopt them into your own poesy.

Soon you realized that no man could teach you how to sing. You'd almost given up your pursuits of fulfillment until you heard of him; a dream you'd never met but had heard of so many times before in the sleeping realm, a nightmare so infamous and so curiously revered by your former lord. You'd heard it through the mouths of chattering men, then read it in the paper. A “man” whose deeds were so reminiscent of the devil, everyone had to know his name, to know who to protect themselves against.

The Corinthian.

He captured men and took their eyes. He made them see all the wonders of the world. And you wanted to sing them.

It took so long to find him.

You seduced and bribed and begged your way through every little turn in order to get to him. And now you're here with a drink in your hand and so many inspirations surrounding you in this little bar.

And he is beautiful.

It's things like him that inspire you to sing. He’s charming and tall and the sight of him, his dark glasses—which hold more truth than eyes could ever tell—frame his face as the golden rim adores his golden hair. You catch yourself staring too often, so enamored and enchanted by the symphony that he is.

But he'd noticed you too, in the moments where your eyes don't find his. Of course he had. He knows exactly who you are, the music of the Dreaming. He hears it in every little breath you take, the gentle lilt of your voice. You were spoken of with as much regard as he was, though in the more virtuous way rather than in the way of his own notoriety.

What an odd little creature. He'd heard so much about you, how sweet and gentle you were. How Dream would sit for hours and listen to you sing in the meadow. And here you were, surrounded by the darkest of creatures, unbothered but so curious.

How nice you would be to…play with for a while.

“Well, hello there.”

His voice seeps into your skin and has goosebumps rising along your body. You turn and look up at the Corinthian like he was a sight to behold. Your eyes are slightly widened with wonder, and you look like you'll get to your knees and begin praising him at any moment, as though he is some great saint.

“Oh,” you breathe, trying and failing to be subtle. “Hi.”

He leans his elbow on the bar, looking you up and down through the dark of his glasses. “What's your name, little thing?”

You scramble to organize your thoughts once more. He's scrambled them with just the sound of his voice. “Uhm,” you stutter. Shaking your head, you offer him your name.

He chuckles lightly, his charming smile curling over his lips as he shakes his head. “No, hah,” he mutters, “I meant your alias.” He turns a little as he motions to the people in the room, dark souls able to be free in the little space of this bar. “Everyone here has an alias. What's yours?”

“Mine?” You clear your throat. “Oh…” You hadn't thought about that. You rub your palm against your thigh, smoothing your dress over your legs nervously.

He thinks you're precious. He turns with a chuckle, looking around the room before gesturing with his head toward two men talking amongst themselves.

“You see him over there? On the right?” he asks. You nod, staring at the man as the Corinthian speaks. “That's the Extinguisher. He's a pyromaniac. He traps his victims in their own homes and covers them in gasoline. Burns it to the ground, starting with them.” The way he speaks is like music, and you get lost in it.

He stares at the wonder on your face, his lips twitching into a curious grin. “Him, there? He goes by the Boa Constrictor. Like the snake. He ties up his victims real nice and tight until their skin turns purple and numb. Then he…” he breathes a little laugh, “...ties a rope ‘round their necks and keeps it there…nice and tight, until they stop squirmin’.”

He expects you to pale, to see the fear light up in your little eyes. But you don't. You stare, hypnotized by his voice and his words.

“Wow,” you whisper. “What about her?”

He smiles wide, looking at the woman in question. “Oh, her?” He licks his bottom lip. “She comes in a pair, only the public doesn't know that. Actually, they think it's a man. She and her friend over there are known as the Tailor, but they call themselves the Seamstresses. You see, it's easier to be taken seriously as a man in this age, otherwise no one would bat an eye at their art.”

Your eyes twinkle with wonder. He doesn't think you realize it when you grab his arm, clutching it as you continue to listen, watching the two ladies talk. He leans nearer to you, speaking gently into your ear.

“They slice the limbs off their victims, nice and clean cuts, and stitch them back together after they've already bled out.” He tilts his head. “They're actually quite sweet.”

You sigh, almost like you're in a dream. “Woah.”

He turns his body back to you, and you realize your hand grasping him. You let him go, offering an apology through a small smile as you looked up at him. He watches it fade, the wonder returning as you take him in.

“If I had to guess who you were…” he says quietly, his voice a whisper as his eyes wander your face, “I'd say you were the Whisperer.”

You tilt your head, watching every little shift in his face as he speaks. He smirks, “Am I right?” You blink at him, moving to speak but unable to find the words. “The artist who sews the mouths of her victims shut so they can't speak,” he seems to lean in further, his voice getting softer and softer as your eyelids flutter. “Sings a little song to them as she…slits their throats wide open.”

You sigh, nearly folding under the weight of his gaze. You nod gently. “Y-yeah,” you rasp, clearing your throat. “Yes, that's me.”

He smiles wide, leaning back to release you from the spell. You let out a breath at the distance, seeming to come back to yourself. “I admire your work,” he says. “That job you did up in Malibu was just…beautiful.”

You don't know where that is, but apparently this Whisperer did. You nod, “Thanks. Thank you.”

“In fact,” the tips of his fingers brushed your hand, turning it to hold in his palm, “I would love a demonstration. Up close and personal.”

You bring your other hand to graze the side of his palm. “Would you mind giving me the honor of witnessing it firsthand?”

You swallow thickly, staring at him. Firsthand… “Uh, I don't have…thread on me.”

He shrugs. “Well, I'm sure the Seamstresses wouldn't mind lending their tools. If we ask nicely anyway.”

“Well–”

“Come on,” he chuckles. “Just…one little show?” He shows a finger, grinning his charming grin.

So pliant to his word, you give in. “Okay.”

The proud grin he displays is wide and triumphant. “Well,” he says, “thank you very much.”

The Corinthian opens your door as you step out of the car, looking out over the large building lit up from the inside and crawling with people. He offers his hand, which you take gratefully as your stomach turns, anxiety and anticipation sharp in your gut. He gives you another charming smile.

You both walk inside, taking in the nightclub still in full swing. It's a Friday night, so there are plenty of people here looking to let loose after a long work day.

There's a small band on stage playing upbeat jazz, a singer performing for an enthused crowd. You know this song, you know every song.

The Corinthian’s arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close to him as he seems to glare at the bodies mingling with one another. It's possessive, like he'll cut the eyes out of anyone who so much as glances the wrong way at you. You lean into him.

He leans down to your ear, his smile returning as he speaks gently. “Who here sparks your interest?” he asks. “Who fits the bill?”

You look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“A target.” He looks around the club, as though he's searching for someone who sparks his own interest. “Most artists have a pattern among their chosen…” he makes a gesture with his hand, trying to find the right word, “canvases.”

You like the way he speaks. It's poetic.

You lick your lips. “What's your pattern?”

“Oh, me?” He shrugs, looking over the crowd again. “I don't follow anything specific.” Tilting his head, he hums, “I suppose I do have a bit of male preference… but I'm not picky.”

“Ah,” you mutter.

“Well?” he wondered. “Anyone?”

You look around at all the people, dancing and sweating and talking. Eventually, your eyes land on a man. He's tall and lean, with black hair messy from dancing.

He reminds you of someone.

“Him.”

The Corinthian’s gaze finds the object of yours. A grin curls devilishly over his lips.

“Very nice.”

“So…” you look up at him, “What do I do?”

The urge to play with you is strong, like it's embedded in the tissue of his being. “You don't know?”

You nod quickly, trying to figure out what to say. You're supposed to be a professional.

“Well, uh, yeah, of course I know,” you clear your throat. “B-But what do you think I should do?”

He chuckles, turning you to face him as his hands cup your waist. He leans in, moving slowly as his lips brush your ear. He lowers his voice to a deep hum. “I always find that seduction works wonders.”

You nod gently as he pulls aways. His black shades stare into your eyes, dark and compelling. “Alright.”

He chuckles, jutting his chin out toward the man, your canvas. “Go on,” he bids. “Take him to the hotel a few blocks down. I'll be waiting for you there.”

Again, you nod. He knows best.

“Okay.”

He grazes his knuckles along your cheek, granting you one last grin before turning and leaving you to your own devices. You would be fine.

You turn toward the dark-haired man, taking in a deep breath before setting a small smile upon your lips. You begin walking over to him, sinking into the music to blend in with the crowd. Even as your hips sway and your face shifts into something more sultry, your hands tremble as the anxiety slips into your skin.

Stepping up behind him, you get his attention by placing a palm on his slim waist. He glances down at your hand and follows it up your wrist, your arm, your shoulder, up to your pretty face as his own smile spreads across his pink lips. “Hello,” you smile gently, leaning forward just enough to tilt your head back to look up at him.

He turns, enjoying the way your hands shift to stay at his sides, your thumbs feeling over the fabric of his shirt. He’s handsome, easily falling victim to your own charm as he lets you seduce him. His smile widens, though he doesn’t look predatory, like a lot of men you’ve come across among the years. He’s charming.

“Well, hello there.” He looks you up and down, and you take in the sight of his pale blue eyes as he does.

You just keep smiling, and it’s all you have to do for him to fall further and further for your charm. “Hi,” you lick your bottom lip.

Considerate of you, he places his hand on your shoulder and brushes it down your arm slowly until he slips it into your hand, holding one of them and setting his other hand onto your own waist. Yours eased to his shoulder, and soon you were holding one another as you danced on a slow tempo to the quick rhythmed music.

“How's a pretty girl like you doing on a night like this, hm?” he wonders, his voice warm and just as smiling as his lips.

You shrug a shoulder as though you're shy. “I'm doing alright,” you chuckle lightly, breathily. “Are you having fun?”

He hums. “Now that you're here? So much fun.” He watched you appreciatively, biting his lower lip and sighing. “You lookin’ to play with little ole me?”

You tilt your head gently. “Do you like to play?”

“Doll,” he chuckles, “I love to play.”

You giggle softly, and you watch him seem to almost melt at the sound of it. “You wanna play with me?” you lean in a little closer.

“Do I?”

You stand on your tiptoes so your lips brush his ear as you whisper, your words light and airy. “Why don't we go somewhere more private so we can…play?”

He sighs longingly. “Oh, I love the sound of that.”

You smile wide, pulling away from him as you keep your hands firmly clasped. “Well, come on then,” you say as you pull him gently toward the door. He walks with you, joining your side and exiting the club with you on his arm.

As you're walking out, his lead taking you in the direction of his car, you find yourself humming the song that had been playing inside under your breath. His gaze turns to you and he finds himself even further under your enchantment.

What a wonder you are… An angel from heaven.

He helps you into his car, shutting your door and rounding to the other side as he takes his seat as the driver. “So where are we going?” he asks, looking at you with anticipation seeping through every pore.

You smile, and he swears you speak like a melody as you say, “I've got a room down at the hotel.” You bring a hand to your face as you rest your fingers just under your chin. “We shouldn't be interrupted there.”

He grins. “Whatever you say, doll.”

He's been so sweet, much closer on the sweeter side of the men you've met since you first came to the mortal plane. Graham, he said his name was.

You nearly felt bad about what was going to happen to Graham…but you wouldn't be putting him to waste. No, you would be honoring him. He would inspire your songs, he would give life to them. That was an honor you felt befit him, an honor he deserved.

The hotel comes into view, and your stomach flips. Graham parks, opens your door like a gentleman, and then offers his hand as the both of you enter the building. You glance around as you walk, wondering what you're supposed to do now. He just said to meet him here…

You walk, tucked into his side as you try not to aimlessly wander. He stays close to you, almost dutifully, and you don't notice the way he gazes at your face.

You look up at him, an innocent—almost naïve—glow to your eyes that makes his smile grow. “You're beautiful, you know that?”

You hum lightly, smiling gently. Your gaze wanders from his and falls upon a conference room door, the window on the door reflecting something off its surface.

Your eyes catch on the silhouette of such a familiar man. You walk over, pulling Graham with you as you push the door open.

“Thought we were going up to your room, doll?” he wonders. You pull him into the dark conference room, glancing around for your new mentor and finding nothing but shadows.

You turn back to Graham, thinking on your feet as you give him a smile. “I…just couldn't wait that long,” you chuckle lightly. You step forward, your hands on his chest.

He smiles, pushing the door closed behind him with his foot and turning the lock as he looks down at you with a smile. “Sounds good to me,” he grins.

He holds your body close, wrapping you up in his arms. Your smile falls as he leans in closer, and when his lips brush yours, you can't help but push him away with the gentle push of your fingertips.

He seems concerned as he takes you in, holding his hands up enough to show he isn't going to hurt you. “What's the matter?”

In the corner of your eyes, you catch a shadow. Your gaze lands on the Corinthian, hidden in the dark space behind Graham with a finger held up to his curling lips, and your breath hitches in a small gasp.

You watch him silently, watching as his hands gesture toward the both of you. He just nods, urging you on.

You look back at Graham, his eyes still just as concerned as before. You remember to smile, stepping back toward him as you slowly set your hands on his shoulders. “Nothing,” you whisper. You kiss him, and he takes a moment to allow you space before his hands fall to your waist again. His lips are soft, comforting.

Tilting your head, your eyes creak open to see the Corinthian again. He smiles reassuringly, lifting his hand to cover his eyes. After receiving your confused look, he just gives another encouraging gesture. You figure, he knows best.

Pulling away again, you keep your hands on his shoulders. Graham opens his eyes, watching you smile up at him. “Close your eyes?” you ask gently.

He chuckles, amused, “Why?”

You bat your lashes, a subtle but rapid blink that makes him pliant to you. “Trust me?” Your voice is gentle and small, a whisper he has nor reason to doubt.

He just sighs and laughs, shaking his head as he brings hand to cover his eyes, peeking at you teasingly before hiding behind his palm again. You look to the Corinthian for more instruction.

He raises his finger to tap his throat. You watch his other hand come up, balling into a tight fist. He punches his palm soundlessly. And you understand.

You place your gaze upon Graham once more. His pretty face, his messy black hair, his pink lips, his closed eyes hiding pale blue rings around his pupils. You clench your fist, feeling the tightness in your fingers, the strain of the skin over your knuckles.

You take in a deep bracing breath, and he's still waiting patiently for you. Patient, gentle, good.

And you strike him hard in his throat, your fist colliding with his Adam’s apple as his eyes bulge from his skull. He tries to gasp at the sudden impact, the sound barely coming out in a painful wheeze as he raises his hands to his throat.

He looks at you, his eyes wide with shock and confusion. His mouth is open wide as he gapes, trying so hard to speak, to breathe, to figure out why.

You hadn't even realized it when the Corinthian moved, his hands landing heavily over Graham’s shoulders as he wheezes and gasps, making the most dreadful sounds in an attempt to breathe.

“Hello, there,” he grins, Graham’s eyes finding him and bulging. When did he get there?

His gaping mouth tries to form a word, and the Corinthian tilts his head to hear it before chuckling lightly. “Don't try to speak. You'll find it hurts more.”

He pulls a chair from the large conference table and sits him roughly down onto it. Graham doesn't try to bolt, the door is locked and he isn't confident in his ability to get out of here with the Corinthian as your apparent partner. He tries to speak, to negotiate, but he can't get any sound past senseless croaks.

The Corinthian joins your side, wrapping an arm possessively around your waist as you stare at the man you'd doomed. Doomed. That's a nice word.

He opens up his jacket, reaching in an inside pocket as he pulls out the silver needle and red thread he'd procured from the Seamstresses.

“Now, beautiful,” he says, handing it over to you, “why don't you take this while I help you out a little?” You look at the tools he offers, blink a couple of times before picking it up.

His crooked finger brushes under your chin before he turns away toward your friend again. He rounds to another chair, which he pulls from its spot tucked at the table, a duffle bag you hadn't noticed before sitting in the seat. In the bag is rope, strong rope he uses to tie Graham to the chair as he kneels behind him.

You glance at the needle. “What do I do with it?”

He looks up at you as he wraps the rope around the back of the chair and his chest and ignores Graham’s struggles. He says it like it's obvious. “You'll sew his mouth shut.”

Graham struggles against the rope, but to no avail. The Corinthian makes a tight knot, looking at him with a warning in his tone. “I suggest you be nice and good for her or…” he smiles, his hands on his shoulders as his lips brush the shell of his ear, “I'll just have to intervene. And you don't want that.”

Graham goes completely still, sweating and crying now. The tears roll down his cheeks and he gives you a desperate look.

You realize your hands are shaking, like the first time you even stepped foot toward him.

“I…” you mutter, staring at the needle.

The Corinthian’s smile remains unchanged, encouraging. “Come on,” he says as he stands, walking over toward you once more. “Don't be shy.”

The anxiety curls in your stomach, shakes in your hands. You take a step back, turning to him timidly as you don't meet his eyes. “I'm… I'm not her,” you say, struggling to get the words out as the nerves eat away at you. “I lied… I'm not the Whisperer. I'm just…some dream… I'm just a dream.”

He laughs, and you watch him as the confusion sinks into the features of your face. Graham is out of both your minds as you stare at him.

“Well, I know that.” He chuckles, stepping into your space as he grabs your free hand, cradling it in his palm. “But you're not just any dream, are you? You're Aria. One of Morpheus’ special dreams, his little song.”

Irritation rises in your belly and you shake your head, stepping back and letting go of his hand. “I'm not Aria,” you bite. “Not anymore. I hate that name.”

He raises a brow. “Do you now?” His smirk is devilish. “Who are you then?”

You stare at him, offering the name you'd take thirty years ago when you left the Dreaming for the first time, your new name with its new rhythm and rhyme. The Corinthian repeats it back to you, tasting it on his tongue like honey.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, another step taking you away from him. “But I'm not the Whisperer.”

He shrugs. “‘Course you're not. I made her up.” You watch him, surprise in every crevice of your face. He reaches out and takes your hands, pulling you close again as he watches you, the look I'm his eyes almost predatory as he lowers his voice for you to hear. His words seep into your skin.

“But you want to be, don't you?” He smiles, “I can see it in your eyes, you wanna be more than Dream's ‘little song’, don't ya?”

Graham watches, feeling his vocal chords easing in the slightest bit. He still can't speak, can't scream, can't get any sound out but a whisper so quiet, he still can't be heard.

“You want to be something not so sweet,” he continues. “You wanna sing something other than Kumbaya, holding hands with your neighbors and bein’ all nice and happy.”

Your lip twitches at the mention of that song, a campfire song that felt like a pinnacle of your distaste for the music you've been forced to sing. “I hate Kumbaya,” you mumble.

He chuckles. “Don't we all?” He brushes his knuckles along your cheekbone, smoothing down to rest underneath your chin. “You can be so much more than that. I know it. You can leave behind all that sweetness, and become like me. Remake yourself in your own image.”

He raises your hand, still cupping the needle and thread in your palm. “All you have to do…” he gently pushes your palm toward your body, separating each word as he does, “...is take the needle.”

He takes a step back, giving you space to think.

You look down at your palm, contemplating. This is it. This is your chance to become more than a little songbird. You could become better. You could fulfill your own hopes and dreams and become a better version of you.

Your fingers curl over your palm.

Your eyes turn on Graham, and fear flashes across his face. You take the first step toward him, then another, and he begins to squirm in his chair as you do. The Corinthian tuts, walking toward him as he places his hands on his shoulders to keep him down, still.

He smiles, a dark and wicked smile. “There you go,” he encourages. “Do it. Become more than that sweet little dream. Do what you want to do, not what you were made to.”

You take the string of thread and punch it between your thumb and forefinger, stilling your breath completely as your slightly shaky hands work to thread the needle. It takes a moment for you to get it through the eye, letting out a relieved sigh when you do.

Graham keeps squirming, despite the uselessness. You stand in front of him. “Take a seat,” the Corinthian says. “It'll be easier.”

You set your free hand on his shoulder, lowering yourself onto his lap as you straddle him. His mouth forms a word, the slightest whisper tearing painfully from his throat as it did. Please. Please. Please.

He casts a desperate, pleasing gaze upon you, his life in your hands—the hands of the beautiful siren who had forsaken him. You watch him with an unwavering gaze, the anxiety and anticipation curling your brows.

He is so good. So genuinely good. The kind of good that stares at your face and calls you beautiful. The kind that keeps calling you beautiful until you no longer have the capacity not to believe it. He's the kind of good that holds you when you're sad, wipes away your tears when you cry. The kind of good that makes you feel better about living in such a cruel world.

And you want to feel bad about taking his life away, about taking the rhythm of his heartbeat away.

But you can't, and you don't. And honestly, a rage and desperation flares within you as you stare at him. Because he is good. And that's just the problem, isn't it?

For so long, all of your songs have been so good. Songs about dancing birds and twinkling stars and buzzing bees. Songs about hope and love and care and whatever else. And you're sick of it.

You were only drawn to him because he's good.

You need something new, something a little fiercer than the blazing sun in the sky, something a little darker than the moonless night. You need inspiration.

And he could give it to you. The Corinthian would help.

You begin to move your hands toward his face, and Graham desperately tries to move away. You sigh, looking up at the Corinthian. He understands immediately.

Taking Graham’s face in his hands, he holds his head still and his jaw securely closed. He bears his teeth like a frightened animal, breathing quickly as whispers of protest strain in his crushed vocal chords.

You use one hand to hold his lips closed. The Corinthian nods along with you. “Just at the corner. Right there.” You slide your pinched fingers over to the left corner of his lips. “Very good. Now just…push it in…”

You position the needle, holding there for a long time as you internalize taking this step. All you have to do…is push it in.

The needle pierces his flesh, sinking into his skin as he screams silently, held still as a statue by the Corinthian, as though his strength is nothing to him.

The sharp end comes out on the other side of his bottom lip, and you pull it all the way through as the red thread becomes redder with the blood staining it. You pull until you have enough length, tying the end off with steadier hands.

“Very good,” the Corinthian praises. “See? You're a natural.”

He takes in his success, his great triumph. Dream's little song…nothing more now than the outlines of a nightmare waiting to be filled in with a little more color. He almost feels drunk off the sight of you, straddling this man as you continue to pierce him with your needle and sew his lips shut, tight, taking away the one thing you were made to do.

Sing.

Such a sweet little bird you are now, a corrupted and twisted little dream in the hands of a wicked nightmare.

He watches you thread the needle through his flesh as Graham continues to cry and try and try and try to scream, to have someone hear him, save him from the pain and torture. But you're all alone in here, locked inside this room with nothing but the night…

As you focus, you find yourself easing into the task. Pinching and piercing and pulling and repeating. You smile, calm as a melody comes to mind.

You hum it, lower and slower than the original speed. The Corinthian watches, in awe of you as you continue to work. He almost swears the rhythm of Graham’s silent breaths and cries begin to form to the rhythm of your song.

“Say ‘Night-ie night’ and kiss me,” you whisper, leaning forward to kiss the tip of Graham’s nose. “Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me.”

You poke the needle through the end of his lip, piercing the far right corner slowly, calmly. “While I'm alone and blue as can be…” You tie the end of the knot, singing a little slower as you do. “Dream a little dream of…me.”

You lean forward and cut the thread with your teeth, taking in the sight of your good work. The Corinthian lets Graham go, and he just sits there, still sobbing, his face wet with tears and blood and sweat.

“Look at that,” the Corinthian admires, laughing deep in his throat as he sets his hands on your shoulders and shakes his head. “Beautiful.”

You stare at him, taking in the sight before you. The Corinthian’s hands fall to your waist, and his head rests at the crook of your neck. Graham’s eyes struggle to stay open, his vision blurry with tears and the adrenaline and pain crashing down and making it hard to find the will to stay conscious.

“Look at all your hard work,” the Corinthian hums, the sound of your song still playing in his mind. “How does it feel?”

You look at him. His dark blood is crimson as it stains his shirt. His messy black hair is only worse now, his pale blue eyes brighter and paler as his pupils grow to the size of a coin.

He looks beautiful, you think.

“Different.”

The tip of his nose brushes underneath your ear. “Do you want to finish it off?”

You nod gently.

The Corinthian fishes a sharp blade from the inside of his jacket. He takes your hand and wraps it around the handle, gripping it tight and helping to guide you.

“Right…” he moves the tip of the blade to press against Graham’s straining neck. He presses it right under his chin, starting from the far right, opposite the needle, “...here.”

“Here?” you ask as he lets go, keeping the blade steady.

He nods. “Right there.”

You lift your other hand to hold the back of his neck steady. Graham watches, terrified. You stare him dead in the eyes, unblinking, unwavering.

You carve the blade into his throat and slice. All the way across, you take your time in slowly slitting his throat. You only blink as the blood sprays out of his sliced arteries and spray all over your face and neck. It keeps spraying and keeps spraying, coming in spurts as he chokes on his blood, gurgling and coughing.

You continue to stare at him, even as you've finished even after he has died and the light has left his eyes and the songs have left his soul. His eyes are bulgy and he's drenched in blood. Butchered.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a dark hand reaching out to Graham. You want to turn, to see her take him, to watch as he is swept away in the hands of Death to his afterlife. But you don't. Watching Graham, you see the flickers of hope in his eyes die out as the life leaves him and replaces it with emptiness. A momentary silence is filled with the gentle flap of wings.

The Corinthian comes back to mind as he pulls you back enough to see the whole of your work. He shakes his head in admiration, smiling wide.

“Your first one,” he says.

“My first one.”

“How does it feel?”

His hands on your hips pull you back against his body. You lean into him. “Different.”

He chuckles lightly, one of his hands moving from your waist in favor of sliding up the length of your body to wrap around your throat, resting there as he holds you securely. His other hand slides down your arm and takes the knife from your hand.

“I think you liked it,” he hums in your ear, dropping his knife on the table with a clatter and holding your neck tighter. “Having his life in your hands?”

You swallow thickly, staring at the dripping blood as the crimson on your face dries. “I–”

“Say it,” he cuts you off, his lips right by your ear, his teeth nipping at the lobe. “You loved it. You loved silencing him.”

He feels your shallow breaths beneath his palm. Still dazed, you say, “I–”

“Say it.”

You take in a slow breath, filling your lungs before you admit it, the curling in your stomach gone and replaced by the chills along your skin. “I loved it,” you sigh. “I loved silencing him.”

He smiles triumphantly. “I know you did,” he chuckles. “Now look at you. A new person, a new dream.” His smile widens and his hand tightens. “You're just like me.”

“Just like you.”

“A nightmare.” His lips graze the shell of your ear.

“A nightmare.”

You lean into him with a slight moan when his lips press against your neck, kissing it with insistent lips and insistent teeth. “Just like you,” you whisper, like the repeating lyrics of a song.

“Just like me.”

Your eyes flutter at the way his teeth nip at your flesh. “A nightmare.”

“A nightmare.” He turns you around in his arms, moving you so your back presses against the table. His lips crash down on yours, swallowing you whole as they do. He can taste the blood staining your lips. You melt against him, weak and wanting as his body presses flush against yours. He bends you back against the table, laying you down as his lips trail down to the skin of your neck, kissing and biting and sucking.

“Look at you,” he breathes. “A corrupted little dream.”

Corrupted. You like that word.

“Corinthian,” you moan, bringing your arms up as your hands wrap around the back of his head and keep him close to you.

“My little dream,” he scoffs, his hands gripping your body tightly.

You go to speak, but he cuts you off. He laughs wickedly. “But you're not a dream, are you? And you're not a nightmare.”

“Cor–”

“You're just a little whore, aren't you?” he smirks, riding your shirt up as his hand slips under it. “A little whore who wants to be something else.”

You moan. “A whore.”

His face is inches from yours again as he speaks quietly, his voice low and rough and dangerous. “You thought I wouldn't know what you were when I saw you?” he questions, finding it amusing. “You thought I wouldn't know you were just a dream trying to be something she isn't?”

Your breath has picked up, heavy as your head spins. “I–”

He's not having it. He silences you again, holding your throat still as he makes you look at him, as he makes sure you can't look away. “Let me show you what you are,” he breathes. “Then I'll rebuild you into something you can be.”

Enchanted by him and his words, you breathe deeply. “Show me what I am,” you echo.

He nods, “That's right.”

“What I can be.”

“Good girl,” he praises. He attacks your mouth once more. It's a bruising kiss as he wraps you up in him. His hand grips your neck tightly, constricting your breath a bit as he does. With one hand, he rips your dress from your body and lets it fall to the ground in rags. You gasp as he does it, your body now exposed to the chilly air as you're left in nothing but your undergarments.

He hums deeply as he looks over you. He smiles. “Dream had it right with this body,” he says, running his hand over your skin and listening to the way you moan.

He hooks his finger around the waistband of your panties, pulling them roughly down your legs to reveal yourself to him. “Look at you,” he breathes as he smooths his hand over your mound. “You're so pretty, aren't you?”

You moan when his long middle finger sinks inside of you, sliding between your damp folds. He's surprised by how wet you are, though he supposes he shouldn't be.

You immediately clamp down around his finger, and he lets out a long sigh. “Such a tight little thing.”

Your legs move to close at the intrusion, not new to the feeling but still not quite used to it either. He just forces them apart, keeping you spread wide for him as he does. “Don't you hide yourself from me,” he says, thrusting a second finger inside of you as you moan at the stretch.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, collecting the gathering wetness as he watches you through his dark glasses, admires the way your body responds to him.

Your hips meet his hands as he keeps touching you, eager to feel more of him as your shallow breaths continue to pass between your lips. When he pulls his hand from you, you whimper at the loss, clenching around nothing in an attempt to feel him again.

You watch as he sets his fingers on his tongue, closing his mouth around them and suckling with a deep hum. He caresses your name with his lips as he looks down at you. “You're delicious, sweetheart,” he says, and your body keens into his touch.

His hand around your throat tightens as he bends down so his face is hardly separated from yours. “I bet you'd just love to feel my mouth on you, hm?”

You nod quickly, “Please.”

He laughs darkly, kissing you roughly and letting his mouth trail down your body—down, down, down until his mouth ghosts over your fluttering pussy.

Your back arches when you feel his hot mouth against you. His tongue laps against your folds and he suckles around you, tasting the sweetness of your nectar. His tongue flattens against you as he begins to lick you up.

His hand loosens around your throat before ultimately letting go to hold your grinding hips down. Your mouth falls open and you give into him, tangling your fingers in his hair and encouraging his mouth against you.

He laps at your pussy like you're the finest wine. He can taste the virtue that pulsed in your veins, and he can taste the darkness beginning to replace it. His tongue delves inside of you, his lips wrapping around your throbbing clit and suckling gently.

The pleasure jolts through your body like a fire, and you’re entirely willing to let it consume you. You want to feel its burning flames lick at your flesh, searing it from bone to turn you to ash and create something new out of the remains.

The Corinthian sinks three fingers into you after a while, pumping them in and out as you enjoy the delicious stretch with closed eyes, moaning and grinding. He looks up at you, looking for your eyes and finding them hooded.

You mewl when he pulls away from you. “No, no, no,” he says. “Open your eyes, sweetheart. You gotta watch me make you mine.”

You do as you're told, opening your eyes and doing your best to keep them that way. He praises you with another “good girl” before he's wrapping his lips around you again.

He enjoys every second immensely, tasting the sweet nectar of your arousal as he coaxes it from you, taking the grinding of your hips every time he curls his fingers or sucks on your clit.

You moan his name as you feel the rise in your stomach tightening with an oncoming pleasure. You clench around his fingers, your clit pulses against his tongue. You've forgotten all about Graham's body slumped in his bindings, you'd forgotten the blood staining your face and neck. It's all the Corinthian.

You throw your head back roughly and gasp when you cum, your head spinning as the back of it smacks against the table. Your thighs tremble and shake as he refuses to let up, sinking his tongue deeper inside. Your moans almost sound like tiny cries as you grind your hips into his mouth.

He licks his lips, tasting you on his tongue with an immense amount of appreciation. "You're fucking delicious, baby,” he hums, smirking dangerously.

He sits up to his full height once more, his hand finding its place around your throat as he bends down to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on his tongue is intoxicating.

His lips smack as he pulls away from you. Without a word, he flips you onto your stomach atop the table. He grabs a handful of your ass, squeezing it roughly. The breath is forced from your lungs as your chest presses against the table.

The Corinthian tangles his hand in your hair as he roughly pulls your head up, making you look up as your eyes fall on Graham.

“Look at him,” he hums. “Look at all that good work.”

You do. You take in the sight of him with a new set of eyes. The red thread keep his lips shut tight. He'd made such wonderful sounds when you'd sewn them. You'd taken his song and added it to your own, his fear and his desperation had been the perfect addition to your symphony.

His blood soaks his clothes, as well as your face, what was once crimson now darker from being exposed to the air. You can still hear the way he choked, the way he gasped for air that wouldn't come.

His skin was so pale, his eyes that were once a pale blue now cloudy and grey with the mask of death. His once pink lips are just as grey. You can still see the smile they made, the words they spoke. The things he could sing.

You could still hear him singing.

You moan when the Corinthian’s hand presses between your slick folds again. He smiles, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips. “There you go,” he says. “Nice and slick for me. Be a good girl and say please.”

You let out an airy breath, mumbling a tiny whisper of, “Please.”

But he isn't convinced as he groans and shakes his head. “No, you can do better than that, sweetheart. Now I'm not going to give you what you need until you say please.”

Desperate and needy, you let out another breathy moan. “Please,” you whine again, louder this time as your words form into a melody. “I need you. I need you to make me yours.”

He's drunk off your obedience, the way you gave into him so easily from the start. He inclines his head, satisfied. “Good girl.”

The jingle of his belt buckle fills your ears with its gentle ring. Your pussy flutters when you feel the tip of him press against your folds. “Please,” you whisper again.

You let out a long breath when he buries himself to the hilt inside of your hot cunt. A rough groan falls from his lips, the tip of his cock pressing deep inside of you as you lose your breath.

You grip the table, allowing the pleasure to fill you as he holds your hips tight. You moan at the stretch of him inside you.

The Corinthian lets out a deep breath, steadying himself as he pulls out just barely to the tip before roughly thrusting back into. You moan loudly, your head dizzy with the feeling blossoming inside of you.

He doesn't allow you a slow build. He doesn't give you the privilege of easing you into the monstrous nature of his love. Instead, he holds you steady as he fucks into your tight pussy, snapping his hips in and out of you without sparing a second for you to adjust to him.

He grunts and groans behind you as he uses you to his need. He feeds off your moans, their song-like nature filling the air and seeming to hypnotize him into wanting even more of you, into needing even more of you.

The sound of his hips smacking against your ass fills the room. It joins your moans and his dark grunts, blending together perfectly.

“Listen to you,” he grunts. “You're my little song now.”

You can no longer think straight, your head spinning with pleasure, with the sound of Graham's singing in your head, with the sound of flapping wings.

You watch Graham as if through rose-colored glasses, the pleasure mixing with the sight of him creating something you've never felt before as you continue to moan meekly.

And, for a moment, you think of Dream.

As a melody plays in the back of your brain, a new melody you've never heard before, you think about how much you want to show Dream.

But he abandoned you. And, before that, he'd created you as a sweet dream that could never know anything other than harmony. And you hated him for that.

So, as you watch the blood drip from his sealed lips, you smile and give into the Corinthian completely. His fingers press to your clit, and you shudder as you feel yourself getting so close, so close to falling apart and forever becoming the Corinthian’s song…ready to leave Sweet Dream behind forever.

The pressure builds as his speed on your clit does as well. You clench around his cock, your head light and your moans scratching your throat. “Corinthian,” you whine. “I'm so close.”

His hips snap into yours a little harder. “I bet you are,” he huffs. “Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll make you nice and full.”

The pleasure rises within you until you can’t hold it in anymore. With a thrust of his hips and a circle of his finger, you fall apart. Your whole body shudders as you let out a loud, breathy moan as it all comes crashing down. You give in to the Corinthian’s symphony of death.

A rough groan, bordering on a growl, erupts from his throat as he shoves his cock as deep inside you. He gives in to the squeeze of your cunt and cums, grinding his hips so deep as he fills you to the brim.

And with one last thrust, with his cum buried in your fluttering pussy, he claims you as his. He lets go of your hair, pulling out of you with a heavy sigh.

You whimper at the loss of him, laying on the table as your legs shake.

The Corinthian’s arms wrap around you, picking you up and pulling you to stand as he embraces you in another kiss. You lean into him, letting his lips meld against yours.

He looks over your face, the new clarity in your eyes. He smiles.

“Sing me a song, sweetheart.”

And you do. You sing a song of a dying promise, the sounds of the symphony you'd just created allowing you to sing a melody of broken hope and shattered dreams.

You sing for a long time as the Corinthian listens to you, enchanted by your song, by your new dream.

Now, you belonged to him.

The Sandman taglist: @poetic-fiasco @the-nerdy-goddess @life-on-needs @fanreader @jamiethenerdymonster @sarahbullet235 @majestyjade @melinoe-the-rat @katsukis1wife @sugakookieswithacupoftae16 @hatterripper31 @kplatzman @kmc1989 The Corinthian taglist: @waitingformysandman @honey-im-hotdog @saltysasque @anotherblackreader Tag yourself here...

#corinthian #the corinthian #corinthian x reader #corinthian x you #corinthian smut #corinthian fanfic #corinthian fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #the sandman #the sandman fanfic #the sandman fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #10 days of smutmas

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beauty-in-negative-spaces · 1 year

Text

Dewey Riley NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

You can expect to be absolutely pampered by Dewey after you're both done. He'll go the full nine yards: cleaning you up with a damp washcloth, getting you a glass of water, putting on TV or music as background noise, and holding onto you until one of you passes out.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

If you asked Dewey he'd say he's into personality but he does have a weak spot for a nice pair of thighs to put his head between. As for himself he's fond of his hands, or more so the way you react to them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He has a small thing for cumming on you, whether it be your chest or your face, it always gets him going for round 2.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Although it'd take some time before he admits it, he loves when you take the reins and wouldn't mind getting dominated. He'll never say it outside of the bedroom for fear that word would get back to the guys at the station,

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He's probably had a small handful of flings and past relationships that didn't work out. He's well versed in the vanilla but wouldn't mind someone to teach him new tricks.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Dewey is a little bit of a sap, he likes missionary mostly because he likes to look into your eyes and hold you as you both come undone. Other than that he'd be up for you riding him every now and then.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He'll goof around with you all throughout foreplay but as soon as the pants come off he's dead serious with you, man switches into the most hopeless romantic and turns into putty in your hands.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Much like his face Dewey does carry some hair down there as well. While it's a little wild he at least has the decency to trim the bush every now and then.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

As stated above Dewey is a complete and total hopeless romantic. Everything he does is to please you, both in bed and out of. Because of this it's no surprise how many times he'll tell you he loves you during and afterwards.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Dewey is about average in the masturbation department. Whenever he's away from you and needs you he'll take care of himself as discreetly as possible. It's hard when you're his main outlet of blowing off some stress from work.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This man for sure has a praise kink on both sides. Tell him how good he is and he'll simply melt. On the flip side he'll be praising you on anything and everything in the seconds up to him cumming.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Dewey is a very private person when it comes to his sex life. He'll be hesitant to do anything outside the bedroom. However once you guys get a place together he'll be more open to activities in other places.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Seeing his partner in any sort of domestic situation sends his heart into a frenzy. After all this time and things he's been through, nothing gets him going more than seeing his partner safe and happy. Put on an old shirt of his and make some breakfast in the morning and you'll be pushed against the kitchen counter in no time. That and a little sexy lingerie never hurt.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Anything that hurts his partner. Dewey would be hesitant to try anything bdsm related outside of maybe some handcuffs and some (light) spanking.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He doesn't mind receiving, especially after a long day at the station, but his favorite has to be giving. He's a little lacking in the skill department at first but once he get the hang of things he'll be getting your hips bucking.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depending on the situation and how hard work's been on him Dewey could do either. While be prefers it slow and sensual, sometimes sitting at the station thinking of coming home to you can roughen things up a bit.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Dewey isn't too fond of quickies. When you guys do have sex he wants to take you slowly and make sure you're both satisfied. However, when he's working a more serious case and isn't home for very long, quickies become a must to keep him sane.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Dewey is often nervous about trying new things. If it's something that he knows you'll enjoy or have been fantasizing about for a while he'll always give it a shot.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He can last a good 30-45 minutes per round when he's getting sensual with it. When given breaks between he can go for around 3 rounds.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Dewey doesn't have any toys for himself but he wouldn't be opposed to cuffing him or you to the bed for a round if you brought it up.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He can defiantly be a little bit of a tease during foreplay or when giving oral but once he gets down to business he can't stand the thought of making you wait.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

The SOUNDS this man makes are absolutely divine. You probably won't hear much the first couple of times you guys do it, but after he grows more comfortable and secure with you he'll grunt and whine, especially between praises when you're riding him.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Dewey has a small (giant) thing for marking you up. Once he gets more confidant he'll be leaving hickeys all over your neck and thighs.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

He's around 5.9" when fully erect, uncut.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

He's pretty average but when work gets stressful he'll definitely need you a little more.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He's out as soon as he knows you're satisfied and safe.

#dewey riley #dewey riley x reader #dewey riley imagine #scream #scream franchise #writing memes

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halliescomut · 1 year

Text

I defended Lom, but now I shall talk about Nuea

So...a lot of this is going to be a bit rant-y, because honestly there's some reactions that have been going on that really aggravate me. But I wanted to talk more about Nuea as a character in the show, and how I think he's being presented. You hear (for reasons unknown) a lot of discussion over how Lom is almost tricking Nuea by withholding the fact that his arrangement and marriage to Yiwa is in name only. I have so many problems with this read on the situation. While it is VERY common for BLs to use naivety as a trope, it's actually surprisingly rare to see from Mame. It's not one of her go-to's and so I was actually really surprised at how many people saw Nuea as 'innocent' (read virginal) or naive. We saw a similar reaction with Sky, this idea that he's an innocent little lamb, and I kind of figured that was because that's what Rain was. Rain was clearly modeled to be this sort of ingénue-style character, young, wide-eyed, innocent to an extent, but also experimental, not constrained by societal boundaries. But what the first encounter with Prapai showed was that he was not only not innocent, but experienced. Now granted many of his experiences were likely awful and traumatic, but Gun likely didn't got straight from 1 to 100, abusers rarely do, but there's also no clarity at all on whether Sky had any other intimate partners of his own choosing, whether a relationship or just another one-night stand. But circling back to my actual point, I think there are many viewers for which LITA was their first experience with Mame, and they believe Rain to be the blueprint for her 'bottoms' when in reality he's an outlier.

How this affects the perception of Nuea, is that since he is shown to be a fairly quiet, sensitive, kind person, some viewers began making assumptions. They assume that he's not physically experienced, that he's submissive, or even shy, and that's not really the case. We don't see much to indicate that at all in the show. He's very vocal for a lot of the show. He expresses his concerns to his boss freely, without concern for reprisal, and this certainly due at least in part to the type of boss she is, but even if she were some angry, obstinate crone, I doubt that would have stopped him. He's very vocal and honest in his conversations with Lom all through the series. He doesn't put up with any of Lom's rich/privileged BS. His kindness and empathy throughout is more a show of strength than anything. He's able to pretty easily get the results he wants without being rude, or mean. Even in his frustration with Lom, he's not vicious, but exasperated, reacting to Lom's childishness more like an exhausted nanny than anything else.

Nuea is confident, like really confident. He's confident in his abilities and skill at work. He's a confident gay man, he doesn't shy away from sex. His hesitation in regards to sleeping with Lom initially is based only on his knowledge of the likely fall-out (especially emotionally). Once we get to this most recent episode it's very clear that he has no hesitation in being an active and passionate partner.

I'm willing to bet after the absolute boss way that he shut down that shitty orchard customer, that we may see his confidence make an appearance next week in regards to Lom and Yiwa's mothers acting like petulant toddlers.

I think it's also important to remember that while he is younger than Lom (his actor is actually younger than ALL of the LITA boys), he's not actually all that young. While ages and timelines are pretty vague in the Mame-verse, Prapai should be about 30 in the Wedding Plan, and Lom is meant to have been his junior while they were getting their Masters, so he's probably 27-ish. Nuea, having attended university and worked as an event planner for several years is probably 25. He's not a child, and their age difference is practically negligible. Again, I feel this is an assumption based on the idea that LITA is the norm, when it's very much not. All of Mame's other main couples (in shows) have either been the same age, or with in a year or two of each other.

So while Lom may have some power/privilege over Nuea, it's very much situational and based on him being 'employed' by him, which is something that we as the audience know he could change if he really wanted to. We see that P'Im is more than willing to go to bat for her employees, Lom wouldn't be able to pull a Karen and get him fired, or forced to work with him. And while Lom is rich, Nuea's family has a generational business and owns a large amount of property. It's not the same level of rich by any means, Lom essentially has fuck you money, but it's still not like Nuea would be without resources and support if he chose to quit his job or leave Bangkok.

Also, the fact that he gets upset or cries over Lom, doesn't make him 'weak.' I've not heard anyone say that directly, but it's been implied. It's not weak for a man to be able to recognize and express his emotions. That's toxic masculinity bullshit, and we certainly don't want to be putting that pressure on characters that are actively defying it.

I guess in conclusion, my point is that Nuea is a bad-ass, the best kind of bad-ass even, one with a kind heart, and that he's more than capable of standing up for himself both in general and with Lom.

As a final note, what I realized watching episode 3 is that Lom 10000% has a competency kink, and further watching of the show only confirms that. He first encounters Nuea while he works at Pai's wedding and immediately begins lusting. The wedding suit try-ons where he looks at Nuea after learning he took pictures of each choice so that you don't have to try something on over and over again. He gets riled up watching him do the event where Payu proposes. He falls even harder watching Nuea put the creep in his place. Like...he just loves watching his man get shit done, and I respect (and understand) that.

#Wedding Plan #Wedding Plan the series #Mame BL #LomNuea #NueaLom #Nuea x Lom #Lom x Nuea #Sunny Wannarat #Pak Naphat

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xstarkillerx · 3 months

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just read ur post about a smaller person tryna dom ani… and while I agree with how you describe him, I feel like ppl forget how whipped this man becomes when in love 😭 he kisses the floor you’d walk on. If you asked him to let you dom (or he’d want you to anyways cuz he has major mommy issues and wants to be cared for) he would say yes! Plus, his need for approval, love, attention, and belonging are literally causing this too. If you were unsatisfied or angry with him he would quite literally die inside a bit and probably beg for another chance “ok fine please I’ll let you pls please please don’t- don’t leave me”. Even with padme this man was insecure and thinking she would leave him/cheat on him, now imagine his reaction if reader was like “fine” he would overthink and get paranoid as hell. Or if you were unsatisfied with his performance he would take out his anger during sex tryna prove that he is good and then prob cry afterwards 💀💀💀. Anyways I fully believe that anakin would let his lover dom him no matter how short LMAOOO. I could do a whole character analysis on this subject but you already are very well versed with his characterization/psyche. Pls feel free to add on or anything, I eat up anything idc what it is 😭

Source: How to Dom Anakin when you're shorter than him

I mean this kindly anon, I think you might have a bit of a misguided understanding of both the original post and Anakin's character.

The original ask sent wasn't asking wehether or not Anakin would take a submissive role, because he would it's pretty well agreed upon that he switches, it was actually expressing a desire for a specific kind of dominance over him that OP felt they wouln't be able to achieve becaue of their height. As stated in the original answer, there are many many different types of dominant styles, OP specifically wanted physical dominance, as stated "i just wanna pounce and wrestle him into submission before fucking his brains out." So the point of the post wasn't if you want to dominate Anakin you have to do it physically because otherwise he won't let you, the point was if you want to dominate him physically when you're short it becomes a mental game because you will lose the physical game. You said "I fully believe that anakin would let his lover dom him no matter how short," and I agree because that's exactly what happened in the original post. Do you think for a second Anakin couldn't get out of that position if he wanted to? He's a 6 foot something martial artist, everything that happened in that scenario is something he let happen willingly, the ask to dominate was just said gradually through body language rather than verbally. There was so "Anakin can I dom you tonight?" because that's lazy writing, instead the question was asked when she led him away from his work, and then it was asked again when she got on top of him, and then it was asked again when she teased him to the point of wanton-ness, and then it was asked again when she pinned his arms down. Anakin let himself be dominated and of course he did, it's in his nature, just because it's a playful dom/sub exhange with a very gradual lending of power rather than something swift and explicit as a verbal agreement does't mean he was tricked. Sexually I think Anakin is receptive to most things on all points of the Dom Sub spectrum because he is such a person of intensity, he could take masochism, he could take could take soft dominance, casual dominance, strict dominance, tbh I just think he wouldn't do good with neglect or human furniture stuff because that's a little too vulnrable.

Anakin is an interesting character because there are a lot of things he tells himself and if the audience doesn't think critically about them, they will just believe blindly. Anakin is not a man who would do anything for love, although it might seem that way with all he's risked in the name of his marriage, it's actually more complex than that. the thing he would actually do anything for is power and he uses love as his scapegoat. He killed children in the name of saving his marriage but he wouldn't leave the jedi in the name of saving his marriage, why? Because power was more important to him than love, he liked being a soldier, he loved being a general he liked being a jedi because he liked the ower it gave him, he's a sith after all. Killing padme was a decision he regretted for the rest of his life but it's still a decision he made. The dark side doesn't control your mind, it makes you give up on your moral code so you release you inhibitions and humanity. Anakin choked his pregnant wife, what does that tell you about about the way he kissed the ground she walked on. He wanted to believe he was a man who would do anything for love, that is the narrative he sold himself over and over and over and over, but he chose palpatine over his marriage.

"If you were unsatisfied or angry with him he would quite literally die inside a bit and probably beg for another chance 'ok fine please I’ll let you pls please please don’t- don’t leave me,"

Maybe when he was a bit younger, but I believe Anakin would sooner threaten you than beg you to stay. Actually he would say he doesn't understand why you feel this way, and then he would tell you all the reasons you're wrong for feeling this way, and then he would lash out at you. Anakin doesn't really ever apologize and mean it because he never really believes he's wrong. He's been set apart his entire life, told he's special, been naturally very gifted and this bred extreme entitlement in him, that's why he's always going against protocol, he thinks his way is better than the establshed infrastructure. He definitely is insecure I'll give you that, but his response to insecurity is posession and rage, not apology and attonement and certainly not begging. In the ROTS novelization, there ae times where Anakin makes Padme feel like a bug in her own home because of the way he expresses his beliefs. He doesn't really have any submissive tendencies in his every day life despite his ability to switch in the bedroom, until it comes to palpatine who validates him and waves power in his face like a carrot on a stick. I don't necessarily think he's approval seeking either because he thinks he's above the sytem, his pettiness about wanting the rank of master wasn't because he wanted the council's approval it's because he wanted power and influence, the council already approved of him, he was on the council.

Anyway, a lot has changed about the way I write Anakin since writing that post, but I still think it holds water as a fun domestic physical domination scenario with Anakin.

#donnie does

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quitealotofsodapop · 1 year

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So will Jade faced princess ever be mentioned in your au? Since LMK kinda goes "Don't trust history" I like to imagine she was just Red's babysitter and people assumed she was a mistress

Oh man I went down a fox-hole with this. I find her potiential as a character so good for the LMK verse. She could be a villain, an ally, a general, or in my personal fave idea: Ultimate Auntie. (One of my fave interpetations is by @harveylikestoart).

So my idea for Princess Jade Face / Jade Faced Princess / Yu Mian Gongzhu is this:

Birth name is Ruan Yu (soft jade/nephirite), but goes by Jade to her friends, and Auntie to anyone she deems younger than her.

Appearance wise: she's a humanoid fox spirit/Huli-Jing with dark green hair, pale skin, and big green eyes. Loves wearing really old fashioned long-sleeved hanfu that trail behind her (mostly to shield her tails without glamour), and is hyper-feminine. Wears obnoxiously patterned cheongsams while out and about.

Has a "feral" form of an eight-tailed dark green fox. She mostly shifts into this form for comfort. Think of the shapeshifter equivalent of taking off your bra after work.

She's a minor royal of a big family of fox demons. Same family as Jin & Yin's (+ Lin the accountant's) mom actually! She likes visiting them whenever she's in the city.

Knew DBK long before the Brotherhood days. They were childhood best friends in the Underworld who got mistaken for a couple a lot (cus "a guy and a girl can't just be friends" obvs /sarcasm). When PIF came along, Jade was one of DBK's biggest hypemen.

Her dynamic with DBK and PIF is essentially an older Traffic Light Trio, with her as the Mei. Green coded, high energy, and adored mutually by the others.

Because of her chill nature and hyper-fem style, people assume she's dumber than she actually is. She plays up her more "Barbie" qualities when she's tricking people/gaining information.

She's ridiculously good at handling babies and toddlers since she grew up with so many little nieces/nephews/niblings. When baby Red got fussy, a little visit from Auntie Jade immediately perked him up.

Wasn't an "active" member of the Brotherhood back in the day, but was a big supporter and intelligence gatherer. She almost got charged with treason after Sun Wukong's imprisonment, but PIF covered for her - despite their first impressions not being so great. She offically left the Brotherhood after Princess Iron Fan and Demon Bull King's engagement.

Was really sad alongside PIF and DBK when Red Son/Boy got taken to the Southern Seas by Guanyin to rein in his emotions. The "affair" mentioned in JttW wasn't an affair at all, but a human misinterpetation of how DBK was helping out his homie emotionally. Jade never forgave the writer for branding her as DBK's mistress.

Is extremely doting and embarassing to Red Son even when he's an adult. She's practically his second mother. Cheek pinching, calling him "kit", saying that he needs to eat more food, sharing baby photos with his friends etc...

The "Jade" in her name is not only a reference to her dark green hair/fur. Her family are Rock/Earth-type demons. She was so good at handling Red as a baby since fire doesn't bother her as much. She also owns a fox mask made of literal jade that she wore back in the Brotherhood days to hide her identity she thought looked mysterious and dramatic.

Doesn't have an actual spouse or biological kids of her own. She's happy being the best unmarried Auntie she can to all the kids.

Will def appear later in the "Monkey King and the Infant"-verse as Red's fave Auntie. Once PIF has "picked up" (read: kidnapped) Red back from the Southern Seas, Jade is immediately called in for babysitting backup.

She and Macaque became friends again on accident while working at the theatre together. She's part of the costume and makeup department, and it took them a few crossed paths to finally recognise one another. She is def partially to blame for Red's flair for dramatics.

Has a particular grudge against Zhu Bajie for whacking her with the rake. Has a nasty scar that starts on the back of her head down to her shoulder blades from the fight. Was extremely cold towards Pigsy before she realised (very embarassed) that he was just Bajie's decendant.

Initially disliked Sun Wukong when they reunited, but quickly it became clear that the the two's more loud, reckless natures bounced off one another. Are rivals for the title of "Best Babysitter".

Spoils baby MK and the other kids rotten. Doesn't matter if the baby is a mystic monkey, dragon, cat demon, human, or demon bull calf; baby is baby.

Takes an obscene amount of luggage with her no matter where she goes. Is "hairdryer in her purse" kind of prepared.

Yips when she's excited/happy. Also chirps in response to Baby MK's monkey chirping. The language crossover of fox and monkey sounds is surprising.

Voice claim: Diane Morgan/Philomena Cunk. She has a softer British accent compared to her related demon niblings. Red Son may or may not have developed his accent from her.

Gosh I love weird women characters.

#jade faced princess #princess jade face #lmk jade face #lmk #lego monkie kid #lmk hcs #does this count as an OC if she's in the og work?#journey to the west #lmk princess iron fan #lmk demon bull king #lmk red son #lmk character ideas #lmk pif #lmk dbk #lmk demon bull family

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seabysiren · 2 years

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141 Task Force Streamer AU!!!

the ghost force channel began with just you and Simon in the beginning. simon came to you with a proposal after hearing some of his coworkers chatting idly on their break.

simon works his ass off since graduation. he had to. to get him mom out of that hell hole. to help his drug addict of a brother.

normally he would’ve rolled his eyes at the slackers, but the conversation caught his interest. that someone could make a living off of playing video games and whatever else. (he had to search up markiplier and pewdiepie to fully understand)

simon had to ask you about the idea. he wasn’t the best versed in technology, nor did he have good, working computer. (each time he booted up the old hand me down laptop it sounded like it was about to blast off into space.)

you had jumped at the idea. you nodded happily as he slowly explained what he had overheard. then shyly asked if he could borrow your pc.

it was kinda funny though. simon would whip out his glasses and squint at the screen as you taught him the basics of how to video record and download games.

when you first opened the editing software he just slowly looked at you. blinking slowly like a cat. there was no way he was gonna be able to understand all this.

so you promised you would learn just for him.

it took a few recordings of you and him messing around to finally get him comfortable talking into a microphone. because this man doesn’t talk. he just sits in silence and observes most of the time.

you jokingly call him grandpa. in return he just gives you this dead stare.

it took a lot of time to think about the channel name. simon didn’t want it to sound dumb, nor too try hard. (you teased him about the new lingo)

he settled with ghost. because if this didn’t work out, he would just disappear. and because this was a side gig, something bound to fail.

you tacked on force at the end because you knew. you knew that whoever was going to watch his first video is gonna be a simp. I mean, have you heard his voice??

the first video recording was around thirty minutes of good old minecraft. seemed popular enough. and paired with simon’s deep voice and his dry humor, it was all set to go.

you reassuringly rubbed his back when he posted the first video. you could see in his eyes and from the way he wrung his hands he was a bit nervous.

that same day you ushered him home to rest.

that same night was when it began.

the simping.

you had to filter the majority of the comments in the beginning because you just didn’t have the heart to show him all the thirsty comments about his raspy, deep voice.

he was just happy to have a bit of extra cash. that he didn’t have to work himself to the bone if this channel grew.

and grew it did.

not only was everyone really liking his voice, but also his dry ass humor and dark jokes. coupled with the fact that for some reason he was really good at learning game mechanics, you were able to easily record and edit.

him angrily clicking on the red bed and being told there’s monsters nearby.

“good night moon. good night tree. good night zombie that i cant see but i fucking know you’re there.”

fucking hates dating sims. but his audience thinks it’s funny for him to dryly play the protagonist.

“goddamn it i dont wanna fuckin’ talk to you ya bloody muppet.”

he’s not allowed to play dream daddy anymore from the pure frustration that radiates off him. that and because you don’t want his blood pressure to rocket.

loves lying and tricking his viewers. makes up the most absurd background information about himself because he just thinks it’s funny.

“i wasn’t born for this fuckin romance. i was born for politics. been told i have great hair and i love lying.”

you chime in every once in a while and have funny little text chat comments. especially when you have a counter about the amount of times he insults something with the word muppet.

he’s british. his accent is too powerful for the simps. there are too many videos making fun of his british-ness. next video title is called damn Americans reviewing all their stupidity in return.

you call his fan base little poltergeists because damn do they make a tonna noise. their so vocal about his voice and dry humor. that and because they love clowning on him.

he gets bullied for playing valorant instead of apex. in return he mops the floor with anyone who stream snipes his games.

loves mystery games. and action games. anything in general he can shoot and lie and absolutely destroy other players

he’s a little too good at among us to be healthy.

overall 10/10 recommend coparenting a channel together with simon.

ps he’s known for this one quote that went viral.

“im going to defeat you with the power of friendship… and this knife I just found.”

part II

#cod x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #streamer au #gn reader

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malaierba · 2 months

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Hi, don't mean to bother you but you are my Eve mutual and I feel you'd understand: Kind Of King

Eve - Lucifer vibes right?

(Love the idea that Lucifer would use "I'm not my brother's keeper" line on Eve, not rightfully killing him right then and there is incredible restraint on her part)

Hi! You never bother me, I was very happy to see a notification from you!

I didn't know this song, had to repeat it a couple of times but... Man, yeah, especially after it passes the first peak. It's giving "Eve questioning Lucifer likely trying to get her in his side after Adam's death" vibes.

Like, I can see the back-and-forth name-calling of the first verses — Eve being about as crude as Adam feels logical to be, especially with Lucifer who she's known since forever and has complicated feelings towards; Lucifer deflecting as much as he can also feels very fitting. I can see him being avoidant with the people he actually cares about; maybe like in the song he'd try to redirect Eve's blame?

But it's this part for me:

I think this is one of the first realisations Eve had upon death. Lucifer was punished with a kingdom he didn't want to rule, he who had believed in an idealised version of humans promptly gave up on them after seeing how imperfect they are, how broken they can be. Rather than try to offer the best afterlife possible for them he pulled away and let it fester (afawk anyway).

I think that'd just seem immature to Eve. Lilith at least is trying to organise a resistance against heaven. Lucifer just completely washed his hands off the issue the moment things didn't go according to plan. Like father like son?

(I finished that sentence, went back to the lyrics and, the fact that those ^^^ were what followed. Man, it's perfect)

I guess this is the part I can't quite make fit for them:

Some possible alternatives to the names Joab and the brother that couldn't be kept?

"Is this about Adam? You can't blame his acts on me": I guess it works since in a weird way both Adam and Lucifer are technically children of god? And also works for Eve, since by essentially being a clone made from Adam's rib she's her sister.

"is this about Michael?": I just like the idea of twins being pitted against each other. But that still leaves the question of what it was that Michael did that Eve would blame on Lucifer. There's the whole "expelled from Eden with a fiery sword" thing, would that be justification enough? Hmm.

If "I'm not my brother's keeper" is just meant as an insult not to be taken literally, then maybe the first line would be "is this about Abel?" Maybe him being the first overlord and it going so spectacularly bad that Eve blames Lucifer for not stepping in?

There's many possibilities. I'd love to hear how you are picturing those particular verses!

And gosh, the end!

This is just perfect. Everything I would hope from Eve entering the scene. Here, "Johnathan" is definitely Adam.

I just really need her to foil Lucifer, to be the apple of discord. She's the human drama to his divine drama, she's tired of being a plot device, she gets to be weird and possessive about Adam anyway because that they survived together can't be comprehended by any one person, let alone an angel.

Like I know we like to imagine her chill. But she was in hell, she was tricked into something that condemned her and all of humanity; We've seen how distant heaven is from human sinners, Lucifer himself is too... I think that'd breed some contempt. And with her being as old as she is and having lived through all she did, I see no reason why she'd hold her tongue. Being the mother of humanity should grant you the right to talk back to an angel or two after all.

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writing-frenzy · 1 year

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More Kinda/Sorta SI!Aizen, now with some UraIchi thrown at him because Cywscross makes me love it

In relation to the First of the Kinda/Sorta SI!Aizen AU (I feel thats a good tag at least), if anyone wants to read that first to make sense of the mess this is gonna be: this is just a basically more of a dump of interactions and headcannons that I would like to see between Canon and Kinda/Sorta verse (easy way to differ the two, I'll put KS! before their name.) but adding some other spices and ideas because my brain is going weeeeeeee!

But yeah I made the mistake of re-reading remake the universe (remake us) by cywscross which I can not regret because how they characterize Aizen and Urahara and Ichigo makes me go so feral, so beautiful and all that, I feel something like cute aggression? but I guess make it ship aggression in this case? eh, whatever, but once more I'm gonna note all this out because why not? these three are crowding in my head, and they refuse to leave, so I have to get them out in some way, so be forewarned of some UraIchi being liberally sprinkled everywhere.

So, I've touch on some things in this verse that I kinda want to go deeper on, which have also been buzzing around in my head.

KS!Aizen is someone I'm actually unsure if I still want him to be the Fifth Division's lieutenant or the Fourth's; like, this idea is just bouncing in my head rent free, because all KS!Aizen really has to do is change the cycle of souls and make sure the Visored are created; he could do that in almost any division, some of them would make it even easier, especially with how many still disregard the Fourth and all their efforts.

But for some reason, I actually want KS! Versions of Shinji and Aizen to actually bond; like, I think I actually want them to be something like friends? (Battle brothers, back to back on battlefields and in mires, blood coating their blades as it is either us vs them, you vs the enemy, a mentor, a guide, a voice that can help them when they are so stuck in thoughts and memories, who makes the world seem more real, someone I can have at my back and trust, someone who can keep up, someone I know I will see on the other side, just a little more broken, but not gone like so many others) just, the thought of it makes me actually grin? Like, KS!Shinji will be just a bit sus of his second, because KS!Sosuke is still plotting shit and hidding his true power levels, fudging a bit on his Zanpakuto's ability but not completely so he can still get away with some shit.

And then... somehow, someway, I want KS!Aizen to experience An Emotion; I want him to actually feel betrayed, because god can you imagine? (And the thing is, no matter the Aizen, no matter the man, he will hold a grudge forever to the very end... except, maybe, for those his broken, jagged mixed up heart has actually let in; Canon!Aizen won't know this, never having lets anyone in, but KS!Aizen? well, there is very, very little he wouldn't forgive KS!Urahara for, but KS!Shinji?... He'll give the man one chance.)

Also, considering the Visored; that is actually an interesting situation in my head. Like, it doesn't take anyone too long to find out that KS!Aizen is actually trying to make such people a thing, without the fate worse then death going on, and of course his fellow guys are so fucking sus about that, because it makes them wonder if he had a hand in the situation? It's just, Sosuke is actually fully embracing his Hollow, learning the tricks and exploring his new abilities with a single minded focus that unnerves most everyone... It, made the first decade and a half very tense, KS!Aizen even leaving afterwards for about 3 decades with few visits to drop supplies and spar, most doing their best to avoid him, except maybe a few.

(KS!Gin narrowing his eyes, looking at his mentor who took him and Rangiku from starvation and the streets, sponsored them both in exchange for Gin's mind in the future, Rangiku's strength, someone who looked at him and all his sharp edges and thought him worth something more then Rukongai trash, never even looked at his friend with any sort of lust but calculative of her strength and how to make her stronger. Gin thinks of his mentor who wouldn't do anything without a reason, who constantly still works to the bone despite their exile, never lets himself grow dull, who trains and trains, even as the rest of the Visored exclude him for a bit. Looks over to Urahara, that stupid mask still on but unable to hide his own considering gaze as they take in the trickiest of the Visored.

Gin knows Aizen; he does absolutely nothing without reason, with only as much effort as needed. What does it say that he's doing so fucking much, even spitting blood in spars and constant late nights judging by the bags when he lets his illusions down just enough to rest.

It isn't hard to get the rest of the group with the program, just takes his own special nudge here and there.)

So, with some shit, spars, out all dogpiles, shouting and one too many sleepless nights, the Visored and Kisuke do manage to pin down Sosuke enough for him to admit that the Visored need to exist, that while he has been trying to create them he has never picked anyone against their will, has had only too many volunteers to pick from, and with the balance of souls needing to be kept, it's not like people cared to much of Rukongai's outer districts people.

The relationships get better when they see how the Visored that Sosuke has created actually join them, completely, 100% loyal to the man that gave them a chance no one else in all of Soul Society ever gave them. Sure, he experimented and caused them pain, but that's just how life is in the outer districts; they lived one more day, got more power, and became strong enough to protect themselves. (Visored!Ulquiorra because brrrrrr) Sure, Aizen had to shut down most of his labs because of the exile, but he has his sneaky, sneaky ways of getting into Soul Society and getting shit done, so he was able to take at least a few successes. (I'm gonna say maybe 10 or so? the rest he either humanely killed or just wiped their memory and dumped them with a care package) so the KS!Visored group is bigger then in canon, and can be made up of OCs or even random canon characters that might turn a few heads :D the possibilities are fun~

So yeah, the Visored from the Gotei are still sus, but Aizen is still one of them and he does obviously have good intentions somewhere even if he is being very vague about just why, so after a bit they still accept him as one of their own.

And then the Quincy :D (They're like; damnit, ain't that a damn good reason to share?!)

And then they find out about KS!Aizen's shitty situation of forced to live in this bloody world and make Visored or get your soul shredded. (That night, Sosuke finds himself nearly suffocating from a mandatory cuddle pile, KS!Kisuke refusing to let go of him even as the other Visored yell about snacks and fighting over movies or tv series to watch. Even as he rolls his eyes or huffs, he does have a small, barely there little crook of a smile on his lips.)

Now, we have KS!Uraai or Urazen there already... so my brain is like; why not a have budding/kinda already Post Canon!UraIchi forming between the canon characters? In this verse of it, I feel like Ichigo and Sosuke bond over having to wrangle their respective mad scientist creator, sharing tips and tricks on dealing with him, actually going to the other because they can vent to someone who actually understands about loving the blond, who doesn't judge him for it, (doesn't tell him that's what he gets for choosing someone like that instead of someone normal) and who actually offers good advice, tips and tricks that actually helps him with his relationship. There are the movie nights, but then they also form a book club, hang out, dragging their respective blond on double dates and bonding time so they can ensure he's getting fresh air and not killing himself.

And yet both Sosuke and Ichigo are pulled up short the minute anyone calls them friends; like... huh...

On the Urahara's side; for one, I'm gonna say they both have different kinds of injuries, different types of actions, because for KS!Kisuke, he's almost always had an equal in KS!Sosuke, who (desperate, with not enough caffeine in his system, bags under his eyes and way too much paperwork because nobles are still fucking assholes and the captain can't fire or demote them unless it's an actual big reason) approaches the Twelfth's captain and decides: Lets go with the Ichigo Approach.

KS!Aizen: *Stares with dead eyes* Good day Captain Urahara, I am coming to you with Ulterior Motives and not nearly enough sleep to care.

KS!Kisuke: *blinks, surprised, but honestly amused because it is honestly refreshing for someone to come out and say it* is that so? What do you need?

KS!Sosuke: Nobles to get an actual brain or any decent work ethic, but I doubt that's coming anytime soon, so can I possibly use your reputation and some of the Twelfth's work space to scare most anyone who would try and dump their paperwork on me that is most certainly not my problem?

KS!Kisuke: *Now thoroughly amused, doesn't comment about the ill words about nobles because he is still sore about being tossed from the Second* Sure, just make sure you pay it forward in the future.

And then the two get into a debate on some research project, showcasing just how smart KS!Sosuke is, able to keep up and challenge his friend, and thus the rest is history. So, this bond has it's own effect on KS!Kisuke, someone who after being abandoned ended up finding someone just as smart, twisted and monstrous, who just gets him in a way no one else ever has, even as they differ and clash just enough to find their jagged edges catching on something and holding on to it ever so obsessively. KS!Kisuke doesn't have Canon's guilt, or at least, not as much because for him, it was either watch Aizen and his comrades suffer a fate he wouldn't give an enemy lightly/last resort or save them as much as he can; not to mention how with KS!Sosuke's action in his verse, none of the Visored actually blame Kisuke all the much here, and with how Sosuke just keeps training, fighting, never stopping even after most would stagnate...

Well, let's just say that the Visored and the Shouten crew have very different power levels compared to the canon crew.

(KS!Sosuke: *Raises an eyebrow* "Perfection? Sounds like just another form of Stagnation to me.")

So yeah, both Urahara's are different beasts to deal with; I'm pretty sure the two would take pot shots and digs at the other, see what gets under the other's skin, at least when they're not enabling each other in another research binge. KS!Kisuke would probably also find Ichigo fascinating, wanting to see how the other ticks, which KS!Aizen has to smack him or drag him away before his counterpart tries to stab him. Meanwhile Ichigo has to make sure his Urahara doesn't stab KS!Aizen out of reflex, which he is getting better about.

just, the possibilities for this verse, it's fun to think about even if it starts to mutate oddly in my head~

#Bleach #Aizen Sosuke #Kinda/Sorta SI!Aizen AU #Uraai #Urazen #UraIchi #but now my brain is wanting to stick KS!Aizen in a magic au #lets see how that goes for me

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