#boiling my husband alive in oil

[ball-of-catgirl]

Eggman's Announcement but it's the TikTok TTS lady

absolutely dumbfounded to discover this was not at all on YouTube before today so I took it upon myself to forge it proper

[skelevision]

quick wip sketch. i forgot how to draw

[stellarspecter]

Ok next opportunity I have to play a new dnd character I'm gonna be a warforged and my character voice is gonna be the tiktok ai voice

[flowerandblood]

The Impossible Choice (49)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Baratheon! • female ]

[ warnings: sex content, anxiety, angst, smut ]

[description: Aemond comes to Storm’s End to choose his future consort. However, Lord Borros Baratheon presents him with only four of his five daughters. Being attached to his youngest child, he does not want to marry her. The prince, however, thwarts his and her plans with his decision. This is slow burn, with a lot of dark angst and sexual tension. (Anon Request)]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

______

For the last few days, which had seemed to him like long nights melted into one, he had forgotten how soothing his wife's touch had been to him. How calming her warm, tight walls had been to him, clenching on his fat erection in pleasure, refusing to let him go, wanting to keep him deep inside her.

I need you, husband.

He longed to hear it.

He needed to know that he was necessary to her as she was to him, that she too found peace in his arms when he filled her to the brim with his seed.

He was ready to give her everything and he did indeed.

As he laid on his side with her, panting heavily with his nose snuggled into her hair, he ran his fingers along the inside of her palm, tracing with his fingertips the cut mark of the dragonglass, a reminder that she was only his.

"− I’d like to spend some time with Royce − he’s overwhelmed with his responsibilities − he needs me −" She whispered, and he felt his stomach twist unpleasantly, his body tensed all over. He pressed his lips together, swallowing quietly.

I'm the one who fucking needs you.

He couldn't get the words out of his throat, embarrassed by his simple, baseless jealousy and regret. He knew that Royce had suffered as he had, that he had just lost his father, was still waiting for him to be buried.

That, apart from his sister, he had no one now.

"Do you trust me?" She asked softly, and he felt a squeeze in his heart. He sighed heavily, sinking his face into her hair, fighting his possessive side with difficulty.

"Yes."

And then she left, leaving him alone. He stared ahead, lying on the bed, the sheets beneath him suddenly seeming terribly cold and empty. He breathed steadily, fighting the images before his eyes, fighting the sight of Borros disappearing into the fire and Daeron choking on his own blood.

He got out of bed and tied his breeches, swallowing hard, sitting in a chair in front of the fire as if in lethargy, just trying to survive until she return.

He had the feeling that his body was colder than before he flew out to Harrenhal.

That something had changed in him, that another drop had fallen into the goblet filled to the brim with his madness.

He squeezed his eye shut, trying to think of their child. He always saw the same thing – his wife lying in his bed, cradling their offspring in her arms, singing a lullaby in the candlelight.

This vision soothed him, filled him with warmth, made him realise that even though he sometimes didn't want it, he was still alive.

He opened his eye when he heard the sound of the door opening, his wife walked into their chamber, looking up at him with a gentle smile. He felt a sense of relief, which, however, found no expression on his face. She approached him slowly, with her hands placed on her womb, and looked down at him.

"– do you wish to take a bath, husband? –"

He looked from the side at the servants who were filling the tub with hot water at his wife's orders.

He wanted it to be boiling hot, he wanted to feel discomfort and pain, to burn himself.

To punish himself.

He watched as his wife began to pour in his favourite oils, the scent of lavender teasing his nose.

He realised that the last time they did this was before her beautiful body burned.

When everything was ready, she ordered the servants to leave their chamber and nodded at him to come up to her. He rose lazily from his chair approaching her with an unhurried step, looking down at her, her hands with sure, quick movements began to undo the buckles of his leather tunic.

She drew in a loud breath as his hand suddenly tightened violently on her hair, his lips pressing voraciously into hers, forcing his tongue down her throat, robbing her of breath. She threw her arms around his neck and for a moment they simply caressed each other with their mouth, their kisses intense, sticky and fast, pulling away with a wet click, panting into each other's throats.

"– my water is cooling, sweet wife –" He breathed out into her mouth and she hummed softly, her hands went back to undressing him, but her puffy lips did not leave his, brushing and teasing his skin – he felt his erection getting hard again, his manhood pulsing painfully in his breeches.

She pulled away from him when she felt it, untying the material and glanced down involuntarily, her cheeks flushed.

Even though he had fucked her so many times, even though she saw him bare almost every day, the sight of his cock still filled her with sweet embarrassment.

He ran his hand over his cheek as she lifted her bright, warm gaze to him again – he thought that perhaps she was slowly beginning to recover from her father's death and kissed her forehead.

He stepped into the bath and sighed heavily, feeling both pleasure and discomfort from the temperature – the water around him was steaming, droplets of sweat appearing on his skin. He tilted his head back and laid it on the base ot the tub, murmuring loudly as he felt his wife approach him from behind, untying the ribbon in his hair, keeping their ritual.

He felt her spill some oil water in his hair after she tilted his face back, not wanting to pour water into his healthy eye. With a gentle flick of her hand she pulled his eye patch off his head and he didn't stop her, completely relaxed – at some point he had already forgotten to put it on with her, used to the comfort of sleeping without it for weeks.

He gave himself over completely to her gentle, tender treatments, her hands rubbing oils into his hair only to rinse them away with water again moments later. He felt her fingers on his cheeks, touching him there just for his pleasure, for his sense that she was by his side again and all her attention was on him alone. He swallowed quietly at the thought.

"How is your brother feeling?" He asked out of the blue, without opening his eye.

He heard his wife come around the bathtub, sitting down next to him on the wooden stool, dipping a piece of soft cloth into the water. She began wiping his arm, thoughtful.

"He's trying to manage, but the new responsibilities are overwhelming him. He's afraid of marriage and he's afraid he won't make it as a commander. As a Lord." She said quietly, and he opened his eye and looked at her – her hand dipped into the water with a quiet splash only to emerge and continue trailing over his body.

He hummed quietly, looking ahead again.

"He's been preparing for this all his life." He said indifferently, without accusation or mockery, more stating a fact. He felt his wife look at him.

"You weren't afraid before we got married? After your father died?" She asked uncertainly, dipping her hand in the water again, and he pressed his lips together.

Of course he was afraid.

"My real father died in the Eyrie." He whispered before he had time to think about what had actually left his mouth. He swallowed loudly, glancing at his wife and met her surprised gaze, her lips parted in disbelief.

He felt embarrassed by his words and knew that he needed to give them context.

"I told him, then, when I threatened him, that even though my mother treats you as if you were her daughter, he doesn't treat me like his son." He muttered.

He could see her chest rising and falling in accelerated breaths, her eyebrows arched in pain, her eyes turning red.

"− Aemond −" She choked out with difficulty, though it sounded more like a plea, as if his words brought her pain and relief at the same time.

"− ever since that night when he saved me, I have imagined what would have happened if my father had sent me as he sent Daeron, only not to Old Town, but to Storm's End − if, after I had lost my eye, he had stated that I needed, as a future Lord Commander of my brother's army, to learn the art of war, so that I could watch from the sidelines how the best army in Westeros, the Baratheon army, functioned −" He felt the words literally pour out of his throat, as if he could no longer hide what he had been thinking about in recent weeks.

"− If Borros had shared with me everything he himself knew, if I could have trained with Royce, if I could… −" He said and looked at her as if he was only now seeing her for real again, her lower lip trembling, her eyes flooded with tears that ran down her cheeks one by one, her hands lying on the edge of the tub clenched into fists.

"−… get to know you sooner − maybe then… −" He said and felt his voice break.

"−…maybe then I would have been a different person −" He mumbled hiding his face in his hand, feeling vulnerable, weak. He felt her warm, soothing hand on his face, on his shoulders, his chest.

"− my beloved − I wish so much that this was true − I wish so much that I had met you sooner −" She whispered, and he swallowed loudly and looked at her, her face red with tears, her gaze full of pain and love.

Love for him.

He stood up suddenly with a loud splash of water and took her in his arms, walking with her towards the bed, heedless of her squeals, of the fact that he had wet her entire gown. He laid her on the sheets and knelt over her, the water from his hair dripping onto her face as he untied the ties of her gown and sleeves, which she tried helplessly to help him with.

"− I would have taken you for myself sooner − I would have kissed you in the cold corridors of your father's fortress −" He breathed out in a trembling voice, slipping her top gown off with difficulty, his wife reached back behind her back, untying her bottom skirt, slipping it off quickly, remaining at last in just her nightgown.

He sank into her plump, sweet lips pressing her body with his own to the bed, spreading her thighs in front of him, the tip of his hard, throbbing manhood pushed against her slick entrance, drawing a helpless mewl from her throat. His hand ran through her hair, his forehead pressed against hers, his other hand caught her thigh, holding her in place, not letting her escape.

"− would you visit me in my chamber? − in my bed? −" He panted into her mouth, sucking and licking her lips, sliding in and out of her with a quiet clicks of her mositure in a lazy, slow motion of his hips, her body quivering under him with pleasure.

She threw her arms around his neck, holding him close, moaning sweetly, her nipples hardening visibly under her nightgown from his words, her fleshy insides welcoming his fat cock with ease.

"− yes, gods, you know I would −" She mewled, responding to his every thrust with the impatient roll of her hips, panting along with him, crossing her legs around his waist, their bodies wet with water and their sweat slapping against each other with a sticky, loud smacks.

"− I would be your prince − brother − lover − fuck! −" He hissed, listening to her sobs at his words, her insides clenching around his length so tightly that he knew she was about to come.

His words were arousing her.

She wanted it.

"− A-Aemond − oh gods −" She mumbled out with difficulty, feeling his hips begin to accelerate, pumping his erection into her with a loud slaps of her moisture, her hands tightening on his hair.

"− fuck, fuck, fuck −" He exhaled loudly, slamming into her brutally and quickly, clenching his eye, imagining him fucking her in his chamber in Storm's End.

He came hard hearing her loud moans, her violent orgasm squeezing his hot spend right out of him into her throbbing core. He ran his nose over her wet, sweaty face, placing sticky kisses full of tenderness, love and devotion on her hot skin.

"− my sweetest − shhh −" He whispered, trying to calm her shaking body, her eyes closed, her lips parted sweetly in uneven breathing, her hands stroking his naked back.

"− Aemond −"

They fell asleep in each other's entwined arms, sleeping peacefully through the night for the first time in many days − it was only in the morning that their servant woke them up, informing them that they had to prepare for the ceremony of burning Prince Daeron's body.

They did not speak to each other as the servants helped them put on their black mourning robes, both thoughtful. They left his chamber together, walking slowly through the cloisters of the keep.

He pretended it was not his brother's funeral, but someone else's, that Daeron was in the Citadel.

He didn't know who lay on that big wooden pyre and didn't want to know.

He looked with indifferent eye at Sunfyre standing on the hill above them, Aegon standing beside her and Helaena next to him, embracing their children with her arms.

His sister was trembling all over, her face covered by a dark, transparent veil, but he was still able to see the tears running down her cheeks and her trembling, pale lips. Their grandfather held their mother, who was barely standing on her feet, hugged to her father's chest, looking somewhere to the side, distant in thought.

"− I can't −" He heard a quiet whisper and looked to the side, he, his wife and Helaena stared shocked at Aegon.

Aegon, standing in his mourning royal attire, wearing Aegon the Conqueror's crown was shivering all over, his eyes red, open wide, terrified, staring at their brother's shroud-wrapped body lying right in front of them.

"− I can't − I can't −" He mumbled, Helaena's hand tightening on his arm. She said something to him in a trembling voice, and Aegon looked at her. She touched his cheek with her and he swallowed loudly, nodded and looked ahead.

This was the first time he had seen Helaena touch his older brother of her own free will.

Aegon raised his gaze, clenched his hands into fists and looked ahead, his lower lip trembling before he uttered his order in a loud, breaking voice:

"Dracarys."

Their mother sobbed loudly as Sunfyre's maw opened to envelop their brother's body in a wave of flames that consumed what was left of his flesh. She wanted to throw herself towards him, but Otto stopped her, catching her in half, whispering something to her quickly.

He had the feeling that he had only participated in all this with his body.

He felt nothing.

He shuddered when his wife's fingers touched his hands placed behind his back. He swallowed loudly, his thumb running almost imperceptibly over her palm, just as it had when he had first touched her cheek in Storm's End.

Afterwards, they were to sit down to a grand shared feast, prepared for all the lords who had come from afar to attend their brother's funeral ceremony and to congratulate the King on winning the battle. He knew that the battle of the Eyrie had been crucial in consolidating his power in the eyes of his subjects and magnates.

He and his wife hardly touched the food – Aegon decreed that there would be no music during the feast. It was not a time for rejoicing or dancing.

He leaned against the back of his chair, taking a sip of wine, thoughtful, involuntarily seeking his wife's womb with his hand, her proximity, subconsciously checking that she and his child were safe. He was answered by the touch of her hand, tender, gentle, soothing.

He thought they would get through this together.

And then the door from the throne room opened, one of the guards stepped inside announcing that Lord Borros Baratheon's daughter had just arrived. He felt his wife move beside him hopefully, swallowing loudly, and then they both froze.

Floris stepped inside, descending the stairs slowly, as if her aim was to keep everyone looking at her for as long as possible. Her long, ornate, emerald gown with buff, slit sleeves from under which her nightgown shone shimmered with the colours of the Hightowers, her wordless devotion to the King despite the fact that everyone around her wore black. Her hair was combed into an ornate, exquisite braid – he looked at her in disbelief and glanced at his wife.

She looked at her sister with her lips parted, her gaze expressing pain and disbelief.

Her sister looked like a copy of her.

He gave her a protracted, angry look when she finally approached their table, noticing only the same details that had caught his attention when she had come to his chamber that night to suck his cock.

Her face wasn't as smoothly formed, her hair wasn't as dark, her lips were shaped differently, her nose was rounded differently, her eyes weren't the same shade.

He felt like getting up and spitting in her face.

Floris bowed before his brother, on her face something that if he didn't know what she was capable of could be seen as gentleness and concern.

"My King." She said calmly, with a feigned humility from which his stomach twisted. "I come on behalf of my sisters to take our father's body to Storm's End. Know that we are blessed that he died in defence of the kingdom, protecting your brother, so inexperienced in matters of war after all −" She said calmly, and he felt his jaw clench in rage, fingers of his terrified wife squeezing his hand.

He thought he'd fucking kill this whore with his own hands.

"− I place in your hands my words of assurance that Storm's End remains faithful to you, my King." She said, bowing low, everyone at the table looked at her in shock. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at his brother and froze.

He knew that gaze.

A gaze full of desire for love and acceptance, a gaze full of his stupidity and naivety.

He pressed his lips together in rage, knowing what it meant, that he had fallen for this cheap, feminine trick.

Floris didn't even know how much she had been hit with her appearance − by wanting to humiliate her sister, by dressing and combing like her, by wanting to show her her superiority and dominance, she had become, in Aegon's eyes, the perfect object of his desire.

A copy of his wife.

_____

Taglist 1

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[justtobehere00]

NANAMI KENTO I PREFER YOU WITHOUT A MASK

After the Shibuya incident, Kento has started to become ruthless when it came to getting missions assigned to him. No matter how his wife felt- which was painful to him but he just couldn’t bear seeming like he wasn’t the “old him”. He didn’t want to seem like a failure in his wife’s eyes. The two of them were in their bed with the TV on. They both were looking at the screen but neither one of them were actually paying attention to it; very consumed in their own thoughts. He goes in to break the news to her that he’s accepted another mission, knowing that it might crush her- but he has to come clean. Before he can get his full sentence out she comes in by telling him that she gave his role off to Gojo. He looks bewildered by that comment and can’t help but feel like all the air has been squeezed out of his lungs. He feels hopeless, helpless. To the one person he was trying to keep the mask on in front off, has ripped it from his own face.  After processing that information, he grumbles out; “Why in the hell would you do that?!” and she sits up from her relaxed position looking confused yet startled. “What the hell do you mean ‘why would I do that?! Ken I almost lost you on your last mission and the fact that you even attempted to go behind my back to get on another one is insane! I am not letting you play around with your life like that; because when you play with yours like that- you are playing with mine too! You are my lifeline Ken!” she huffs out. He stands to his feet beside their bed and crosses his arms. He leans in and says in a deep and gruffly voice; “Well maybe you shouldn’t depend on me so much then, hmm?” 

He can see the visible pain in her eyes after he says that her eyes were already blurry with undropped tears. Before it goes any further, she grabs a pillow and yanks her blanket and walks to their living room, tossing it on the couch. They refuse to go to bed angry so she just turns the TV on in there rather than going to bed. He sits down on the bed slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thinks of what just happened. Ashamed of himself. 

Hours go by and he so badly wants to go out there and apologize but doesn’t due to feeling like he just humiliated himself and so badly doesn’t know what to say. What would he say?

“I’m sorry my love for not being here for you? I’m sorry for taking advantage of the space I put between us and tried putting even more between? I’m sorry for playing with both of our lives? I’m sorry that I’m not the husband you need? Or maybe even want to?” And the list continues on and on in his head and it’s eating him alive. 

So what does he decide to do instead? Go into the kitchen and cook any random thing that his mind can think of. Cooking clears his head and allows him to think a lot clearer- they both know that, so hopefully she won’t mind too much; would she?

He slowly and hesitantly walks out of their shared bedroom and cautiously walks into the kitchen hoping to not disturb her. It gives him a sigh of relief that she’s still awake and hasn’t fallen asleep hurt or angry. He instinctively pushes his glasses up to his face, until she remembers that he isn’t wearing them. A sign of something he does when he is sometimes emotionally compromised. He tries to be as silent as possible when he pulls out ingredients and tools to prepare to cook or bake but realizes that he doesn’t have any food in mind. He takes a deep breath to even the shaking in his breath as he asks her; “Can I make you something sweetheart, please?” 

Even though she’s still mad at him, she knows how much cooking helps him so she opts to say “Pasta, please,” in a low tone. He nods to himself in silence for a moment before saying: “Thank you,” in a whispered tone. He begins preparation for the dish and lets his mind wander as he’s waiting for the mixed water and oil to boil. That’s when he notices what’s on the TV that she’s watching. It’s the exact same thing that was on the TV in their shared bedroom. 

Being the observant and doting husband that he is, he can’t help but to feel guilty. ‘Did he ruin her relaxation time?’ ‘Does she feel so uncomfortable in the same space as him that she couldn’t spare to be in the same room as him?’ He leans against the counter and crosses his arms as he thinks of the worst scenarios, over and over. Lost in his own train of thought, he didn’t notice her getting up from the couch and walking to the kitchen and began to prepare something herself. She begins to make tea, but what he didn’t expect was for to pull out two mugs rather than one for herself. As it’s almost done- she starts to make their teas to their own likings. Whatever she likes goes into her empty mug and what he likes goes into his; once the tea is done- she pours the hot contents into their mugs and mixes the ingredients into their mugs with a spoon. She picks his mug up and silently hands it to him. 

He gently accepts the tea from her hand and watches her silently begin to look for the pasta that he previously prepared beforehand. “Can I help you?” she asks him. Confused momentarily, he asks; “Huh?” before realizing what she meant. Clearing his throat he continues- “Oh, uh yeah. If you want to,” he responds. A soft small smile graced her lips and he can’t help but to pay attention to that. He can’t help but to feel warmer on the inside as he thinks of one of their favorite past times together, to help each other cook in the kitchen. He turns around to the stove and realizes that the water is boiling already and can only wonder how long he was lost in his thought; but that thought is gone as soon as it came as he sees her placing that dried pasta into the pot. She glances back at him with a quick small smile. “Hey uh, thanks for the tea,” he says after realizing that he hasn’t shown her appreciation for it earlier. 

Her attention turns to him as she says “Of course, no problem my love,”

He couldn’t help but to think of the ‘L' word that she’s said. “Listen Ken, I want to give you time to be able to gather yourself, okay? I really do and that I will be okay- although, I just want to remind you that I love you, okay? I love you more and more every single day, and that all I can do is admire you more and more everyday, alright? And no, you are not the same man I married that day and I am so proud to be able to say that because all it means is that we have both learned, grown and evolved together since then. You are stronger, smarter, braver, a lot more ambitious and courageous. You have set goals and exceeded them tremendously. You’ve laid your life down for me and many other people that don’t even know of your existence and yet you kept going. Not because you loved what you were doing- and to be quite frank- you pretty much hated being a sorcerer but you loved protecting those who fought alongside you. I think I have a feeling of what you have been feeling or thinking and the truth is, I don’t want you to ever think that you are any less of a man because of the scars that you have. Your scars are a testimony of what you’ve gone through, a revelation, okay? And they are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen you wear, ever. This outbeats how you looked when you wore your suit on our wedding day. I Love you so much and I am so proud of you honey,” she explains. More like testifies. He was so wrapped up in her loving words that he hadn’t even realized that he started crying, and neither did she consider the fact that her eyes were teary themselves. 

He goes in to hug his wife and everything begins to crash down on him. Of how she spoke about him to him and how she’s the only one who can really see him even when he has on his mask; no matter how tight he may try to wear it. 

He hugs her so tightly but also careful enough to be gentle with her, and can only thank her and tell her how grateful he is for her. And also importantly, how much he loves her, and ALWAYS Will. 

[lovelace-writer]

Your Father

Your father, truly, is a man of honor.

He doesn't really know how to be a person. To be well-groomed, to grit his teeth through polite banter, and to be selfish, sometimes, too, when the weather calls for it.

Although, he never truly said that three words. No, now, he would mutter and grunt other things, and still I would be grateful.

So I would manage a smile, using his mother's diamonds, and she would be so disappointed in both of us. He didn't think too much about it, for the first time, in his name and legacy, so he could marry someone impulsively.

Not like we were made for each other, we just didn't know or wanted nothing else. He would show his teeth to the old ladies, and I would be granted punching them.

Although now is different, and I still somehow put stitches on his back for every backstabber, both literal and symbolic. At late nights, when is too cold for either of us, and I would climb the walls waiting for him to come back.

And he always would.

So I manage the polite banter, to be the one making the shady deals and shaking people to the bones, as long he would never break the crystals and I would never stain his name.

What about it? We never truly wanted to change, to be different from our 9-year-old selves that would spill champagne in the rich man's suit.

Because we can make it work, I guess. He would say it, promise it, because he truly believed in it.

We probably could, we did, actually, even if neither of us truly changed.

But he is just a man. He's no angel descending from the skies to save humanity, and I was the one stitching every injury, promising to have his back and to never betray it.

"Marry me," he said, that one time. He was no man to drink, completely sober, at least from alcohol.

So miserable, the man didn't even ask. I wouldn't say no, anyway.

It hurt. Not the sensation or his demand. He didn't like seeing me cry, so I didn't. It was very proper, very hidden from the light and the media would only know until a month later.

I would manage to go to the parties and smile at the old ladies saying "In my day-", and I would resist the urge to say she should have died from old age. The whole city would say he was cheating on me, with anyone, everyone, and I was doing the same, but worse.

I laughed at it because, heavens, who they thought your father was? He didn't want any better, he wanted me.

Oh, but it broke his heart. He would grip my hand, he could break it but he wouldn't; buy and burn them twice just to be sure. It would be boiling over for enough time for him to be truly angered.

And when they say that fundraisers, shopping and tea parties were hell to do every day, they were right. Bloody right, I recall, as I wanted to set the canapé table on fire. He would let me, he would pay for it, and he would break the chin of every man saying I wasn't a proper wife.

(His father, if alive, would bail me out of jail, say I was equally hilarious and rightful.)

Okay, I said, answering, not the most traditional answer, you can be my house-husband. Like I ever was going to let any work slip through my finger, or any moment, for instance. He laughed, and I think that was the first time he laughed since his parents died.

The wood floor and the oil on canvas family pictures, and the candlelight, and his mother's diamonds; and I suppose he had a plan, somewhere, involving flowers and things straight out of a fairytale. Too bad, we never settled for anything besides each other.

He blurted the two words, demanding because that was what he made best, for the first time not following the plan.

We came back for each other, in progressively shorter intervals. Six years, one year, then five months, then one day, then every day, for the rest of our lives.

Is it morning?

Almost noon.

Shit, I have work to do.

Forget about it.

Like I was going to be a housewife. I can't fix whatever is wrong with him, but he can make me worse. We can make each other worse, if it works.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

You don't even know what an hors d'oeuvre is.

Probably a spell.

Your father, truly, is a man of honor. He kept his word, and we even managed to bring you to this mess, too. Until death do us part–

But he never said that three words.

I wouldn't love me either.

[mowu-moment]

only thing good out of tiktok is the tts lady making any sorta-strange textpost 3x better. boiling my husband alive in oil 😊

[le-velo-pour-dru]

[Image ID: A Tumblr post by kushblazer666 that reads, "*ai tiktok tts lady voice* boiling my husband alive in oil! [smiling face surrounded by hearts emoji]". /end ID]

[hydr0generati0n]

Boiling my Husband,- Oh? She transitioned? Good for her. Anyways

Girling my Husband Alive, in Oil!

[shittyclive]

Boiling my husband alive in oil! /q

[thunderpounce-inc]

Finally! At long last, they are clean!

and I didn't even end up using the grill to heat the water,,, which was the main reason this took so long (too rainy); I ended up being too scared of the propane tank (it is not my grill either)

next up is the repairs, which are kind of extensive; they are missing the left back plate, wing, and tail fins, AND their helmet. I plan to measure their dimensions, figure out a 3D modeling software (shouldn't be too hard considering I've used Autodesk Inventor,,, although granted that was intended for modeling like, industrial parts (I used it mostly for making toys),,, and I used a student version... that I do not have anymore), then send the files to a 3D printing company

please note, DO NOT replicate this indoors!

I did this outside/in the mudroom specifically because TRANSFORMERS TOYS ARE MADE OF PLASTIC! The temperatures I used (170°F / 76.6°C) were high enough that there was a noticeable heated plastic smell, similar to that of a 3D printer. A 3D printer (and anything else significantly heating plastics that isn't dishes in a dishwasher) should be USED IN A VENTILATED AREA.

I also did not keep the temperature 170°F through the whole thing; since I took the water OFF the stove, it dropped at a rate of about 1°F/min; so the super high temps of 170-160°F were not sustained for more than 10 minutes

'Boiling My Husband Alive In Oil' audio is from this post

[levithestripper]

help i read this as “boiling my husband alive in olive oil” and idk if that's better or worse tbh

*ai tiktok tts lady voice* boiling my husband alive in oil!🥰

[valdotjpg]

hi guys sorry for the inactivity i have been Burning and Boiling and Broiling alive for the past week or so

[eightfourone]

the way my own blog was one of my most reblogued blogs

[aurasaurora]

Emotionally Intoxicated

Summary: Your husband was the image of a perfect working man and father, what would happen when you discover he is not what you expected?

Parings: The Salesman x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Manipulation and lying. A short smut scene, oral (f receiving), fingering and missionary. ALSO I did keep one of the character that died alive. So yeah.

A/N: I know the smut scene is kinda out of place, but Gong Yoo makes me feel some type of wayyyy. Also I use the salesman actor name because I don't recall them giving him a name...ANYWAYS enjoy!

“Hey baby, how was work?” You asked your husband as you continued to chop the vegetables. He approached the kitchen island and gave you a kiss on the cheek then turned to look at what was boiling on the stove. “Work was alright. Boring as usual” he never gave many details of what he actually would do during his work. You knew he was a salesman, but what he was trying to sell to people was a mystery to you. Your friends tried to point out how much of a red flag that was, but stupidly you ignored him. Your love and attachment towards him blinded you from accepting the issues with his secrecy.

“What are you cooking?’ He asked, as he began to sir the boiling pot himself. “Smells good, as always.” He turned to smile towards you. You were going to respond but then you remembered something. “Oh, right. Um, two guys came at the door this morning asking for you. One had red hair, the other said he was a businessman. Their names slipped my tongue, but they told me to let you know that they want to speak with you.” You stopped cutting the vegetables to grab another frying pan from the cabinets. Your back was facing him, so you couldn’t see how his expression dropped at your words. His work never interfered with his personal life, ever. He always made sure of it. Not even his boss knows about you or the kids. “They came here?” his voice almost came out in disbelief; how did they even know where you guys lived? “Yeah, even left a fruit basket for the kids. I put it on the table.” You said, finally standing up and heading to grab the oil to add to the frying pan. Gong Yoo headed to the dining room and grabbed the fruit basket aggressively off the dining table. There was a small card, no bigger than a business card with a number on it. He took the card but grabbed the fruits and dumped them into the trash.

“Gong-Yoo what..why? That was for the kids, Iseul was excited to eat it!” You were a little shocked by his behaviour. Fruits are expensive in South Korea, in contrast to your homeland. Not only that but he wasted perfectly good fresh food. And Iseul your oldest child had been begging you non-stop if she could have a bit for dessert.

“I can buy my wife and children their own fruit baskets. I don’t need some guy doing my job.” Legitimately he didn’t care about the fruit basket, he never got seriously jealous because he knew you’d never even think about another man. He just couldn’t say ‘hey honey, two guys who survived from my bosses battle royal came back for revenge so I’m not sure whether or not the fruits are poisoned or something.’ Letting you know too much would put you in danger. So going the jealousy route was best bet for him.

“Oh, come on babe. It was just a kind jester.” You stated as you began seasoning the vegetables. Gong Yoo left out an overexaggerated sigh, “Well I’m going to go check on the kids” giving your ass a swat on his way out.

“Aera is napping don’t disturb her peace.” You groaned in annoyance. You were instantly reminded by the fact that you had to basically battle that 5-month-old to go to sleep somewhere that wasn’t your body.

He creeped up the stairs, looking for the four-year-old and three-year-old. He missed them dearly considering it’s round up season (in which he needs to round up players for the games to begin) he hasn’t seen them as much, as he liked too. “Iseul, Minguk, Appa is home.” He toned down his voice not to awaken the sleeping demon. But it was a mistake because the two toddlers came down running his direction with burst of happiness. Charging towards his direction to give their father a hug. “Oh, I’ve missed you guys so much.” He said while his children suffocated him with their affection. Minguk gave his father a kiss on the cheek, meanwhile Iseul ran back into her bedroom.

“Have you been treating your mother well?” He asked playfully. Minguk was the least troublesome of the three, but he had attachment issues like no other, so he was consistently around you. Unless his older sister wanted to play.

Before Minguk could answer his sister came running back “Appa! Appa! Look! Look!” She handed over him her new toy.

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Gong Yoo didn’t mean to yell, but it slipped out. It was a gun, but one that looked awfully like the one that Gi-Hun had pointed at him when they first came in contact. Minguk covered his ears at his fathers cursing, and Iseul looked at him with shame and disappointment. “No bad words!” She scolded him, and her brother nodded furiously in agreement. “I’m telling Eomma.” She began to walk off angrily but Gong Yoo grabbed her tiny body in one swift movement. “Hey monkey, where did you get this?”

“A friend.” She said so simply.

“Which friend?” He asked

“Ummm.” She thought about it for a moment. “From the park. Appa after dinner can we-can we play” He knew he wasn’t going to get any direct answers from a four-year-old. So he’d have to figure shit out himself. “Yeah, we can, just don’t tell Eomma.” He pinched her nose which made her giggle.

“Dinner is ready.” Your soft voice caught him off guard, he didn’t even realize you had come up the stairs. “Yay.” Minguk said before he started running. “MinMin baby, stop running. You’ll hurt yourself.” You turned to look at Iseul, then you saw it. “Why is there a gun?” you went to pick up what you assumed was a toy gun. “Jesus Gong Yoo, you always give the kids the weirdest gifts.” You opened your bedroom door and tossed, the gun into it, then closed the door behind yourself and started walking downstairs with Minguk.

The dinner was oddly talkative yet quiet. The kids babbled about literally anything, normally both you and your husband would be fully engaged in their conversations to help their development, but suspiciously he was pretty quiet. There was a lot of “mmhmm..nice..wow..cool.” rather than actual dialog, while it might have not been clear to the kids. It was clear to you, that he was not paying attention. Eventually the two oldest finished up and you suggested them to go out and play in the backyard. The two of you grabbed your own plates and went to go and sit on the patio table and eat outside while watching the kids play.

“You okay?” You asked, placing a hand on his thigh allowing your thumb to circle his thigh

“Yeah, just drained from work. Um how’s it going with you and your friends.” He quickly changed the subject before you could ask any further.

“Not good. Cho Hee’s husband, you know him, right? Well, he came to us today while we were at the park with the kids. Saying his wife went missing, apparently, she went to play a game or something. I don’t know the whole story is weird.” You felt uncomfortable with the idea that your friend was missing, you wanted to help but Cho Hee’s husband’s story made no sense.

“Oh, I mean it’s unfortunate his wife is missing. But you know Kyong is an unreliable narrator.” He lied. It’s only been maybe an hour or so but the two worlds he specifically never wanted to collide. Were essentially smashing together all at once.

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Well..you know…He’s a heavy drug user. His mind is all over the place.” Now Kyong did do drugs, but all he did was smoke some marijuana in his free time. Your husband made it sound like he was an avid crack user.

You looked at him in shock. “Holy shi- wait is this true? He seemed completely normal to me; how did you know?” You were now concerned because his erratic behaviour would make a lot more sense. Asides from his wife being missing, allegedly.

“Functioning addicts seem normal, but it doesn’t take much to crack them. I’m sure his wife is fine, or probably tried to escape him who knows.” He took a swing of his soju bottle and glanced over at you to see your reaction. He was taken back a bit by your worrisome reaction. It was his turn to comfort you, he placed a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, I’m sure everything is going to be okay.”

“I really hope so.”

***

Your kids currently were with your mother-in-law. Today was your day alone, and you usually did it to go on your runs, workout, and complete your hobbies.

You went out on your morning jog, going around the neighbourhood as you normally did. You went around and did over 5 laps, it was on your 6th lap that when you felt an arm pull you towards the forest near your neighbourhood. You began to kick and scream, begging for someone to help you. Your attacker covered your mouth and pleaded with you to stay quiet. He sounded so empathetic, and incredibly guilty. “Please, please just listen to me.” You continued to attempt to break yourself free from your grip. “I won’t hurt you; I just need to talk.” Hearing his voice again made you recognize it instantly. He was the businessman who came to your door. You stopped fighting not because you believed him. But rather you wanted to catch him off guard. When you stopped screaming and your breathing paced back to normal, he let go of you and you waited 30 seconds before kicking him in the balls and started sprinting. You made it far enough, but surely, before you were able to get out of the forest, he made it in time to drag you back in.

“Please Ma’am we just need to talk, that’s all I want to do. I don’t have much time currently. I swear on my life I won’t hurt you.” His grip being tight around you, was making it hard to believe he didn’t mean any harm. Considering you probably got bruises just from the altercation 30 seconds earlier. He didn’t wait for you to respond. “Your husband, he can’t be trusted.”

“And I’m supposed to trust the man who is strangling me? You’re insane.”

“I have evidence, it’s not much. But it’s enough to show you at the very least he’s not trustworthy.” He huffed out the last part.

“Let me guess, you are one of his associates he may or may not have screwed over financially and now you’re coming for revenge. Whatever money you loss, I’ll pay it back. Just please let this go, let me go.” You were growing tired of battling and attempting to escape his grip.

“No amount of money can fix the amount of blood loosed on his hands. While he might not be the direct cause, he’s still complicit. Hundreds of people are dying every year because of him and his people. You are the one closest to him, help me stop them.” He was pleading with you, and you could tell that he was believing his own words. You were baffled by the sheer stupidity coming out of his mouth.

“You are fucking sick in the head. You know that? You’re saying that my husband is indirectly the cause of hundreds of people’s death annually. T-That’s not fucking possible.” Your denial was in full force, and understandably so.

The businessman pulled out a thumb drive and handed it over to you. “My name is Cho Sang-Woo, if you wish to stop this, contact the number on the drive.” He let go of you and he began walking too wherever.

You immediately got up and started sprinting to your house. You turned your head every few seconds to make sure he wasn’t following you back to your house. You immediately got inside and turned on all the alarm systems. And made sure all the doors were locked, and curtains pulled shut. You ran up to your room with a baseball bat and sat on your bed. You grabbed out your phone and dialed out your husband’s phone number. You knew he was at work, so you tried to not disturb him while he worked, but you desperately needed him.

He didn’t pick up on the first call, so you sent a text to your mother-in-law asking if it would be possible to let your kids stay over for the weekend. After you sent the text message, you immediately got a call back.

Before he could speak you immediately started to talk. “Baby I need you to come back home, like right away. Some asshole tried to grab me when I went on a jog and…and then he- shit.” You couldn’t even speak coherently because the whole situation felt unreal. How do you even tell him what Sang-Woo is accusing him of the murder of an insane amount people. Even if the story felt like bullshit to you, you couldn’t even comprehend how you’d explain it to him.

“He did what? What the fuck did he do to you.” His voice was harsh, but it filled with concern.

“He-…Are you in a train station?” The noise of a passing train took you by surprise. It made no sense for him to be in a train station at this time of day.

“Sweetheart, answer my question, what happened?” He asked again, but this time more calmer.

“He dragged me into the forest near our home. Saying things like I can’t trust you, and that y-you’re complicit in the murders of hundreds of people annually. Just some crazy shit.” Your voice was all over the place, trying to recount what happened.

You heard him curse, then his end went quiet for a minute. “A-and then he just let you go, after spewing lies?” You looked over to the thumb drive, and then closed your eyes for 3 seconds. “Y-yeah. He wanted me to know the ‘truth’ about you.” Something inside of you was telling you not to mention the thumb drive. Your inner thoughts were screaming at you not to say it.

“I’m coming home, I’m an hour or so away. Don’t answer the door for nobody, understood.”

“Yes.”

“Love you baby.” He breathed out hopelessly.

“More than anything.” You responded.

When the phone line went dark. You immediately went to go and grab your MacBook and plugged in the thumb drive. A few files, filed with pictures of your husband, his alleged boss, and a bunch of people who went missing, torturous games. The one photo that stood was your husband slapping a woman, in the next photo it was clearer who the woman was, Cho Hee. She was wearing the same outfit on the last day she was scene. Another photo was Cho Hee dead, captioned on the bottom “Cause of death: Tug of war.” You couldn’t continue looking through the photos, it was far too scary for you to handle. Your denial was kicking in again, and you absolutely refused to believe the man you married, the father of your children, was capable of working for someone like that.

***

When Gong Yoo came home he was feeling incredibly anxious, he normally knew how to handle situations, he always found a way. But now he had no clue how he was going to handle this, he needed to distract you one way or another.

He opened the door and disarmed the alarm. He closed the door slowly not wanting to bring himself to acknowledge his presence in the house. The house was dark with all the curtains shut, and the lights off. He turned on the lights and announced his presences to you. “Baby I’m home.” His voice came without confidence.

You walk down the stairs incredibly slowly, not intentionally, but the previous mental breakdown you had was enough for you to walk down the stairs slightly menacingly.

“Oh look, the pathological liar is home.” You said so expressionlessly. “Wonder what he’s going to lie about next?” By the time you were able to arrive to the bottom of the stairs you could see his hopeless facial expression. “Baby it’s-“

“What? It’s not what I think? Were you really going to pull that lame ass excuse? Seriously? The audacity that you must seriously think I’m going to believe that, not when I have proof.” Even though you appeared to be mad, you were mostly hurt. You couldn’t believe that you were being lied too.

“Proof can be doctored.” He began to walk closer to you, expecting for you to back away from him but you didn’t because the unfortunate pathetic thing about you, you were willing to forgive him. You did not want to believe that your husband was working for the devil himself, a man who would put poor people through hell and back for his own sick entertainment, have hundreds of people die. For his own satisfaction, you couldn’t bear to imagine your husband being okay with any of that.

Ignoring his statement you continued, “You knew about Cho, you saw her before she diapered. You made out her husband to be fucking crazy, tainted another man image you save your own…why Gong Yoo..why the fuck would you do that.” He was quiet for a bit, so you pulled out your phone you’d transfer some of the pictures to your phone and showed him the picture of him and Cho.

“S-So a picture of her and I at the train station is evidence of me having anything to do with her disappearance?” He figured that if he could drag out the situation and over state the obvious, it might make you rethink your intelligence, which he hated doing. However, he could not let you find out the truth, the separation between both worlds were necessary for the protection of his family.

‘You have a car, why would you be at a train station? And in another picture, you were slapping her. Shit doesn’t add up.” You responded back aggressively.

“My car can’t get me everywhere on time, I drive it to the train station, but it’s quicker and more time efficient to leave in parked in the parking lot and go catch a train. And I slapped her because she was talking shit about you, I didn’t tell you that because I know how much that so called friendship means to you. You had a hard time adjusting to living here, and you finally seemed happy.” He was weaving truths with lies. Of course, he didn’t slap Cho Hee because she was talking shit, it was because she kept losing to the game. However, he did over here Cho Hee spoke tremendously terribly about you on several different occasions, to him she was a jealous fake bitch. It’s why he had absolutely no problem recruiting her to the game.

“If you knew she was fake, why not fucking tell me?” You knew realistically you shouldn’t be believing his words, but love was blinding you, as it normally did. “And you’re always so mysterious about your job…baby I don’t know what to believe.” You plopped yourself onto a step putting your hands in your face. Gong Yoo immediately took the opportunity to go and sit beside you and place his arms around you pulling you into his chest “I know that this situation is fucked up, but I need you baby, I need you to just trust me. Okay? I love you so much, and we are a team, and as a team we need to trust each other, okay?’ His charisma was working in full effect, and you fell for his words. Before he could finish his sentence, you planted a kiss on his lips. You just wanted to block out the world and all the bullshit going on, whether he is lying, or telling the truth. You just wanted to feel this moment, you wanted to feel like you did when you first met him, when things were simpler. And while you could never go back to a time like that, you could pretend, just for a moment.

He accepted the kiss and began to slowly make out with you. Instead of the rough passion that you were normally accustomed too, instead there was a sense of sadness and grief. An acknowledgment that the relationship will never return to what it once was. Your hand began to travel downwards, and he knew exactly what it meant. “Upstairs” he mumbled.

When the two of you arrive upstairs, you drop yourself on the bed and he climbed on top of the bed. Lifting your shirt off Gong Yoo waisted no time removing his own, then unbuckling his pants. You removed your own pants, and immediately he slipped his fingers into your pussy.

He watched as you accepted each wave of pleasure as he thrusted his fingers at a sensual pace, you small moans escaping your mouth gave him a sense of peace. He twirled his fingers causing your wetness to spill out as he fingered you. He brought his mouth onto your clit and began to lick it slowly, occasionally allowing himself to suck on your clit. ‘You taste just as sweet as you always do.” He complimented.

You were suffocating by the waves of pleasure hitting you, making it hard to focus on proper breathing. “Gong Yoo I need your dick, please.” You couldn’t even keep your eyes open to look down at him.

He gives your ass a light slap, and you became aware of your mistake. “Oppa, please. I fucking need you inside of me.” You begged. He brought his fingers out of you and pulled his harden dick out of his boxers. He slicks his finger with your wetness and placed it on his dick. Jerking himself off lightly to prep himself. Once he was ready, as much as you were. He slides his dick inside your dripping cunt. The warmth sent shivers down his spine as he adjusted to the new sensation. You guys fucked a million times over, but each time felt like the first time, and it was always amazing whether you were going quickly, or slowly.

His thrust was passionate, and he brought himself closer to you, he’d suck on the skin of your neck as you moan out mercifully. You could feel the power within each thrust as he was hitting your sweet spot, he’d transition from your neck to your mouth, and before you were about to cum you separated the kiss, “I fucking love you so much.”

Mumbled his love back to you before he felt himself spill all inside of you, he kept thrusting. Making sure that you’d still cum even after himself, and so you did. You clenched onto his body as you threw your head back.

Eventually the two of you came crashing down onto the bed. You went under the sheets as you cuddled yourself into him. Aftercare with him always felt so relaxing. He kissed your forehead and kept his arms around you. Eventually you feel asleep, and he got out of his bed.

He tried to slowly exist the bed without waking your presence, but it seems the movement of the bed disturbed you enough to give him a grumble “where are you going?” he told you he needed to go to the washroom, and it was enough for you to go back to sleep. He did walk to the washroom; however, he wasn’t going to use it.

He went into the washroom with the water bottle from the nightstand. Pouring the water in the toilet to give the illusion he went to pee. He then turned on the sink and let the water run. He pulled out his phone dialing the number that he was forbidden to call, only in the series of a legitimate issue, an issue that could threaten the game.

The phone ringing scared him a bit, he was on edge so he thought you might overhear. When the caller finally answered Gong Yoo Knew he only had to say a few words to get the message a crossed.

“Code 907. We are dealing with a strategic takedown. It needs to be dealt with immediately.” Gong Yoo stated simply.

“Understood. Who are we dealing with, and how are we handling it?”

“Seong Gi-Hun, and Cho Sang-Woo along with any accomplice of theirs. Make no exception we are currently under attack. Everything is jeopardized.”

“How are we handling it.” The person on the other side aside of the phone call ask again.

“As we normally do, death.”

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

started from: character exclusively speaks in corporate business slang, got caught bc put “how to defraud company i work for” into chatgpt

arrived at: sexbot who used to have a Lauren Bacall femme fatale voice got repurposed/turned into a secretary after something went…wrong, biggest change new voice and behavior module that heavily gates her expression and presentation. every word clearly recorded separately, vibes are a combo of barbie pc games, customer service voice, and tiktok lady text to speech “boiling my husband alive in oil” voice. visually not human or synthskin, what if moebius designed a star wars betty bot?

goal: looking for whoever recorded her current voice, (unique one of a kind old and outdated soft/hardware, if she’s an apple iPhone two models behind bot the module and voice are a weird samsung flip phone prototype, “40% match for coercion and distress human voice frequencies, safety is the best way to increase employee satisfaction and productivity”)

this is mostly bc i think it would be hysterical to torture a table with my best attempt at text-to-speech/customer service voice

had the best worst idea for a blades/beamsaber character while racing around doing errands on the last For Sure day i have a car and was SO pleased with myself but ive just recreated fnv’s christine royce but cyberpunk. FUCK