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missblissy · 5 years ago

Note

What if Alastor had a s/o who was deaf? 🤔

((WHEEZE. COUGHS. VIBRATES UNCONTROLLABLY. I’m living for this, okay?? This is my shit. I’m obsessed. Thank you anon. U have blessed me. THIS GOT REALLY LONG AAAAAAA. i did not mean for this to happen. There is a link down in the story that is underlined that will send you to a song you guys might want to listen to when you get to that part of the HCs. :)) Trust me... You guys are gonna want to listen to that song, I don’t want to spoil it so!! Just trust me!! You’ll like it!! If you cant find the link down there.. HERE IT IS TOO~~!! ENJOY!!!!!!! ))

((They/Them))

At first, he thought you were just ignoring him. You caught his eye standing pretty at the bar. A new resident? Oh, how exciting! He simply had to introduce himself to you. You were already quite attentive to him, falling into almost category of his type.

But when he approached and said, “Why, hello there!” And when you didn’t react, respond, or turn to face him, Alastor was a little shocked to be so blatantly ignored. His smile seemed more forced as another handful of seconds past by. That was until Husk chuckled from the other side of the bar, “You’re an idiot” he told the Radio Demon while cleaning a whiskey glass.

“Excuse me?” Alastor gave a wide eye blink with a never-fading smile. You had finally noticed someone standing behind you, only because you saw Husk’s lips move. You turned around and noticed the menacing presence of Alastor. It was hard to see, but you noticed the twitch of irritation at his brow. “They’re deaf, dumb ass.” Husk explained, seeing as he already knew you a little bit.

Ah. Well then. Alastor wasn’t sure how to respond so he just kept smiling while his eyes flicker between you and Husk. Lucky for you, you could read lips pretty well but for the most part, you depended on sign language as your preferred method of communication. You knew your voice sounded off, clumsy and slurred if you tried to speak, seeing as you couldn’t d hear yourself. You were very self-conscious about the way you sounded for a deaf person.

And yet this started the steady slow-building friendship between you and Alastor. He kept his distance for the longest time. You always felt his eyes on you though. He’d watch you sign to others. Husk knew a lot of sign language so you spent a large part of your time at the bar talking to him. Over time, as Alastor watched you from afar, he studied every hand motion, every sign and every little mannerism there was to know about you. You weren’t sure how to feel about him. The two of you never actually talked or communicated in any way shape or form. You couldn’t lie though, there was just something about him that you were drawn into, and it was hard to keep him out of your thoughts.

Weeks went by where you’d pass each other in the hallway and wave, smile, and sometimes Alastor would give you a nod of his head. He stilled watch you all the time, and he never hid it. You’d look at him from across the room and meet his gaze, then turn back and focus on whatever Charlie was saying. Five minutes would pass then you’d dash your gaze back over and see Alastor’s eyes still glued to you.

One day you were sitting by yourself at the bar. You were nose deep in a book that you couldn’t get enough off. Suddenly someone tapped on your shoulder. It took you by surprise so you let out a little and startled yelp. It was Alastor standing behind you with a smile that seemed too large for his face. His eyes had a low reddish glow to them and you could feel the static electricity wave off him in shallow pulses similar to a heartbeat. Your senses were heightened. He smelled like wild roses and what you could only assume was death. The air around him was freezing cold and extremely still.

Suddenly he gave you a formal bow. One of his hands laid across his chest while the other stretched behind him. He ducked his head down and stayed like that for a few seconds. Then he stood tall again and to your surprise, he signed “Hello,” and you watched his lips move as he said it too. Little did you know that he had kept his distance for so long because he was learning how to communicate with you. Over the weeks, he was drawn to you. The way you dressed, laughed, hummed and genuinely sought out redemption. You signed back “Hi,” while Alastor went on to say, “Our first introduction didn’t really go very well. I didn’t know you were deaf. So I’m sorry if I seemed rude,” His grin was forever wide and smeared across his face, lips moving to each word, though you couldn’t tell if he spoke them out loud or whispered them to himself. ((He was talking allowed, which caused Husk to grow irritated enough to leave the bar to restock it full of more liquor.

You signed back with a smile “I didn’t know you could use sign language,” You mouthed each word, but not a sound came from you until a soft little giggle escaped your lips. It made his dead heart twitch to life. It was almost enough to make HIM blush. The two of you instantly hit it of right there.

From that day on, Alastor was never far from you. He lingered here and near. You could always tell when he was around even if you couldn’t see him. Alastor gave off this very unique pulsing wave of electricity into the air, but not nearly enough people noticed this. When you asked Charlie if she’d ever felt it before, she had no idea what you were talking about. Angel said he felt something like that before but didn’t put it together that it may have been Alastor.

It became commonplace for Alastor to keep you company whenever he had a moment to spar. He’d ask you a lot of questions, things about yourself, your life and afterlife. He wanted to get to know you.

One day Alastor brought you into a large empty theater in the back of the Hotel. It was filled with rows and rows rotting tables with broken chairs. But a piano stood alone on the stage. He held his arm out and walk you between the rows of tables and chairs and down to the stage. You kept asking him what was going on or what he had planned, but he only smiled and told you to just wait and see.

The piano was sleek and clean. Alastor closed the lid of the grand piano and freed the keyboard from its cover. He didn’t ask or wait a second to lift you up from bridal style and place you on top of the piano. He signed, “You should lay on down for this, trust me.”

You did as told. You laid down on your back with your eyes fixed up at the rafters above the stage. While you did that, Alastor sat down in front of Piano and got ready to express himself in a way that he had not done in decades.

Suddenly you felt the vibrations of the key strings of the piano being struck at the rate of a thousand full. You’ve never felt anything like this before. You sat up enough to spin around and face Alastor. His quick fingers paused for a second or two. He wore a smile and his eyes were closed. You stared at him when suddenly his fingers smashed the keys and a loud thunderous wave of vibrations and static washed over you. The song he played was fast and you could feel every note course through your bones. There were so many emotions in this song and even though you couldn’t hear it, you could feel it.

You’ve never had the chance to experience music. It was something that always fell on dead ears. If you could have anything in the world, it would be the chance to just hear one song. It didn’t even have to be a good one. And somehow Alastor was making this possible in a way you never thought of. As he raced one, smashing key after key with such speed and aggression you couldn’t even focus on his hands. You could feel every high and low note, every note that was pressed with force or delicacy. Alastor finally started to slow down when his eyes flashed open but as soon as he did that he slammed down on the keys again and proved you wrong. He went faster and faster, staring at you the entire time with a glowing grin and flashing red eyes that somehow flicker their own light that matched the speed of his song.

The song had finally come to an end and you were moved in a way that made you emotional. Alastor leaned on an elbow while resting his cheek in his hand. You saw him mouth the word, “So?” He was asking what you thought about his little ‘surprise.’ It was amazing. It was something you had never experienced before, and that song... it was hypnotizing, intoxicating and a high you wanted to feel again if that was even possible. You first signed “That was amazing!” then signed “Thank you!” Over and over again. You felt little tears prick your eyes but they never fell.

You nearly fell off the piano while throwing your arms around Alastor. He stiffened the second you touch him, but relaxed and let you hug him. As you lingered there you did your best to pass air through your lungs and voice out, “Thank you, Al,” So that’s what your voice sounded like? There was no stopping it now. He simply adored it while finding himself liking you more and more. Alastor returned your hug and found himself getting lost in it, and not wanting to let go.

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lady-of-all-cards · 4 years ago

Text

Ikemen Revolution: Alternate Ending (Zero)

One-Shot Statictis: Pages: 8 Word Count: 3485 Characters: 19253 Characters (without spaces): 15886 (This is a lot longer than I originally anticipated, but I wanted it to both make sense for people who don’t mind spoilers, but still want to read, and also give context to those who have already gone through Zero’s route.)

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Characters: Lancelot Kingsley, Edgar Bright, Zero, Harr Silver, Loki Genetta, Amon Jabberwock, Dalim “Dum” Tweedle, Alice the Second. Pairings: Zero (Ikemen Revolution)/Main Character Summary: Hazy sky blue eyes, clouded over with magic, facing off against bottemless jade-green eyes. The Jack versus the Ace, and the King as their witness, only one would walk out with his life, the other would die as the King’s one true protector.

Notes: SPOILERS!This is an alternate universe ending based on Zero’s main route. If you don’t want the main points of Zero’s route being spoiled, don’t read this. I highly recommend downloading the game if you already haven’t and experiencing Zero’s route for yourself.

“I will stop your plans to rule Cradle, even if it costs me my life!” Lancelot swore, his eyes glowing crimson in the dim lighting of the room. However, he stumbled back, drawing his sheathed scabbard, just barely repelling the dagger that had been flung at him out of nowhere. He looked to the entrance, only to find a blank-eyed Zero standing there. “You-- why?”

“Even failed experiments sometimes have their uses.” Amon smirked in Zero’s silence. “Zero, kill the traitor Lancelot!”

“Yes, sir.” He muttered at the command as he and Lancelot both drew their sabers. Only the cold, ruthless sound of scraping metal cut through the silence.

“So, Zero, you’ve fallen into Amon’s hands.” No response. “If you stand between me and Amon, I will show you no mercy.” Again, no response. Verbally anyway, as Zero had darted toward without hesitation.

“Stop, Zero!” Alice screamed from where she stood. The sound of her voice made him freeze on the spot, arm still raised and poised to reach its target.

“Alice?” Edgar and Alice had been listening in on their conversation from behind a pillar, but there was no way she could have stayed hidden any longer.

“King Lancelot isn’t the enemy, can’t you see?” She begged, stepping forward, but Edgar was quick to dart in front of her protectively.

“That’s not good, Zero.” Though she was feeling frantic, Edgar sounded perfectly calm as he stepped forward. “The Ace of Hearts can’t turn his blade on his King.”

“Edgar, what are you doing here?” Lancelot demanded, looking to him, but Edgar’s gaze remained on Zero as he answered.

“If my student is going down the wrong path, it is my job as his teacher to correct him.” Edgar gracefully slid his sword from its sheath as he stepped in front of Lancelot. “I await your orders, King Lancelot.”

“How much of the situation are you aware of?” Lancelot asked in response, looking at his trio of enemies over Edgar’s shoulder.

“The leader of the Magic Tower plots to take control of Cradle, and our King will do whatever it takes to stop him, as far as I understand it.” He spoke smoothly, not even glancing at him.

“Yes, that’s basically the gist of it. So--” Lancelot pointed the tip of his sword over Edgar’s shoulder at Amon. Edgar glared determindly at it’s tip as his King gave his command. “As the King of Hearts, I command you! Arrest Amon Jabberwock, leader of the Magic Tower, for plotting to take over Cradle.” Edgar smirked, turning his gaze back on his enemies.

“Yes, sir.”

“You think one extra ally will be enough to stop me?” Amon growled, stepping back between Zero and Dalim. “Kill everyone but Alice!”

“As you command.” Dalim purred, but still, Zero remained silent. Alice’s breath caught in her throat as the tension mounted.

And then Zero made the first move. Leaping into action, he swung his sword toward Lancelot with expert precision.

“Whoa there, King Lancelot’s not your opponent.” Edgar’s voice was light and airy, but it grew dark as he continued. “I am.” Raising his saber, Edgar stepped in and blocked Zero’s blade with his own.

“Out of the way.” Zero sneered blankly, pushing against Edgar’s defense.

“Come now. Is that any way to talk to your teacher?” His cheery tone was back, teasing his dear student once again. They both pulled away, and then clashed again, initiating a heated sword battle. Before, during their sparring match, they looked like they were having fun, but now... the teacher-student match she was watching now was a life or death battle, and as she watched with bated breath, she noticed slight swelling a short distance away from them...

The blast of magic shot toward Lancelot too fast for Alice to stop it, but Lancelot immediately summoned his own blast of red light and the two magic spells cancelled each other out.

“So, Dalim, the time has come for us to clash.” Lancelot spoke, turning properly towards his opponent, standing between him and Alice.

“Looks that way. I am a scholar at heart, so I’m not great at this sort of thing, but I will see my idea of justice carried out.” Dalim’s magic clashed fiercely with Lancelot’s once again, and Alice wanted to lend her support, but with both battles raging, she just couldn’t get close enough, and they were exchanging magic spells so quickly that there was no way she could step in with her power.

“Isn’t being a passiver observer the best? So entertaining.” While her attention was focused on the two waging wars, the man in the differently coloured robe had snuck up right beside her. “Once those two are taken care of, it’ll be your turn, Alice.”

“And what do you plan to do with me?” Her shaky voice asked as she stepped away from him.

“Don’t you know?” He smirked, taking a step forward for every step she took back. “We will use you in our experiments until you’re nothing but a dried up husk.”

“Just-- what are you researching?” She probed, looking around for help, even though she knew none would come.

“The power to break spells. That power is a threat to my ambitions. I need to make sure nothing can get in my way when I use magic to invade the Land of Reason. So, first, I need to understand what it is that gives you the ability to break spells.” It was an incredibly bold and selfish ambition. “Your sacrifice will lay the foundations of our future. You should be honoured.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! I won’t let you get away with any of that!” Alice finally snapped.

“I look forward to seeing how long that defiance will last before you break.” She clenched her hands into fists as he sneered in her face, but just then, she caught sight of someone from the corner of her eyes. A figure hiding behind a pillar was pointing a glowing Magic Crystal at Edgar.

“No!”

“Alice?” Edgar gasped in shock as she rushed to where they were fighting, shattering the magic before it could do any harm.

“Why you--” Amon growled. “How dare you get in the way! Zero! Teach Alice a lesson! Make her hurt until she doesn’t have the strength to fight back!”

“Yes, sir.” Zero responded mindlessly, batting Edgar’s sword to the side, kicking him in the gut.

“Edgar!” Alice gasped as Edgar lost his balance, but Zero was already darting towards her. But she wasn’t going to give up and Zero. Pushing her fear aside, she spread her arms wide as Zero raised his sword. And he froze in place.

“What are you doing?” He muttered in a low growl.

“You have to remember! You are Zero, the Ace of Hearts!” Alice declared, staring him down.

“I am--”

“The Zero I love would never use his sword to do harm!” Her voice was laced with both pain and hope, and behind Zero, Edgar was pulling his deprived body towards his fallen sword.

“What are you-- talking about--” Zero’s wavering voice asked as he gritted his teeth.

“Oh, geez--” Edgar chuckled, one arm wrapped around his bruising midsection as the other loosely gripped his saber. “You must be the most troublesome student ever!” Zero gasped in response, but he was still too late to react as Edgar ran over and hit Zero with a merciless roundhouse kick. Once he was on the floor, Edgar held the tip of his sword to Zero’s throat. “Zero, why do you wield your blade?”

“Why?” Zero questioned, still trying to process what happened.

“Is it to kill? To destroy? No, that’s not your reason. You have always given great thought to what you can do with just that one sword. You’ve suffered and struggled desperately to carve out a place to belong and to get people to accept you. And you swore that you would use the power you gained by doing that to protect others.”

“I--”

“Your sword has saved countless people. Your sword is the sword of justice! As your teacher, I have always been so proud of you for that.”

“Mm--”

“You are my pride and joy, the best student in the world. It doesn’t matter if you’ve lost your memories, or are being controlled. You are still the Zero I know. So, think about the reason you wield that blade once more. Is Alice really the person you should be pointing your sword at?”

“I-- Mm--”

“Zero, what are you doing? Take care of the Jack of Hearts and Alice this instant!” Amon commanded coldly, his voice echoing.

“I’m not-- I want to-- protect-- protect something-- something that’s important to me--” his breathing ragged. Zero doubled over in anguish, and something tumbled out of his trouser pocket. The earing! “Mm-- Alice--” She gasped, looking back at Zero, “Alice--”

“Zero! I’m right here! Please, come back to me!” Zero’s face contorted in pain as he struggled to take a step towards her. Just then, she saw an ominous light swelling on the edge of her field of vision

“Puppets don’t need freewill! Have you forgotten the lesson I hammered into your body?!” Amon sneered, and suddenly, Zero’s sword was left to clatter to the ground as he clutched at the tattoo on his neck, screaming in pain.

“Zero?!” Alice screamed in confusion, but the tattoo continued to glow, and Zero continued to cry in pain. “Zero, hang in there!” She wished with all her might, but the light that was hurting Zero didn’t fade.

“What did you do to him, Amon?” Edgar demanded, turning a sharp, cruel gaze on the robed leader.

“That tattoo is proof that he is property of the Magic Tower, and therefore belongs to me. Everyone associated with the Magic Tower had one, but Zero’s tattoo is extra special. That tattoo ink was made with crushed up Magic Crystals. So, I can use it to make him suffer like this.” Another pulse of magic brought Zero to his knees as a scream left his throat. “The moment you try to use that sword on me, Zero’s life is forfeit.”

“Uh--” Edgar’s gasp made Amon smirk, and the way his body froze before stumbling back made him chuckle darkly.

“You-- you’re absolutely evil!” Alice screamed in anguish. By this point, Zero was laid on his side, crying as he clawed at his neck so hard with his nails that he was beginning to bleed.

“It’s none of your business what I do with my property. Zero has been trained this way since he was just a babe.” He turned his attention to Zero, “If you want the pain to stop, then you will end these two!” She couldn’t let Zero suffer any longer. She grabbed hold of the hand that he was using to scratch his skin and placed her other palm over the tattoo.

“Mm-- Alice?” Zero whimpered.

“Remember what I promised you? If you have to scratch something, scratch my hand instead of your neck.”

“L-let go--”

“I won’t!” She snapped determinedly, ignoring the fingertips that dug lightly into the back of her hand. The faint stab of pain was nothing compared to what Zero must have been feeling. “Zero, you’ve already suffered enough. More than enough. Now, let me take on any other pain that comes your way.”

“S-stop--” his breathing was strained and sweat covered his forehead, but he grit his teeth instead of digging into her hand.

“Zero, you knew from the start what fighting against the Magic Tower would mean. You knew what it would do to you, yet you still chose to protect me. Thank you. Thank you for always protecting me.” She spoke earnestly.

“Alice--”

“What are you doing, Zero?! If I can’t use you, then I might as well kill you!” The most broken and horrific scream left Zero as he writhed on the ground. It seemed to shake the whole tower, but Alice still held his pain-racked, sobbing body as tightly as she could.

“Don’t worry, Zero.” She whispered, hugging him even tighter. “I’m going to protect you this time! I will keep you safe!” When she willed it with all her might, the light coming from his tattoo burst apart. The Magic Crystal lost its luster.

“What?!” Amon screeched, looking from the dead stone in his hand, to the quivering body of Zero and finally to Alice. Zero’s breathing gradually became stable again.

“Alice, thank you.” He whispered, his face setting determinedly.

“Zero?” She asked, looking at him in relief and concern. After he had finally caught his breath, Zero stood up. He picked up his sword from the floor and glared at Amon with clear-sky eyes, sparking with the light of the sun.

“I’m sorry about all that.” He spoke, addressing Edgar and Alice. “But you don’t have to worry any more.” He showed Alice a bright smile that was as full of confidence and strength as when they first met. “I promise that I will keep you safe!”

“Oh--” Alice gasped in relief. He was finally back! Sword in hand, Zero stood beside Edgar.

“Don’t you have something you want to say to me, too?” Edgar smiled, as relieved as Alice to have him back.

“Uh-- I’m sorry.” It seemed like it physically pained Zero to say it. He really, truly was back to react like that, react like his old self, towards Edgar.

“It’s okay, I forgive you.” Edgar responded in a cheery tone. “When we get back to headquarters, you can make it up to me by being my servant for a week.”

“And this is why I never ask you for favours.” Zero responded in a long-suffering tone, but an amused smile tugged at the corner’s of Zero’s mouth despite his words.

“Why you-- You’re awfully brazen for something that’s not even human!” Amon hissed at Zero, but the Ace stared him down with a straightforward gaze.

“My origin is certainly different from most people’s. I was created in this tower and treated like a puppet. But now I have a teacher who taught me the way of the sword. I have a king who accepts me. And I have a woman, Alice, who taught me what it means to be happy.”

“Zero--” Alice breathed.

“When I ventured into the outside world, I met all kinds of people and learned all kinds of things. I became more than a prototype. I became human. And so, for as long as I am alive, I will wield my blade for the people who helped make me a real person.” Taking a deep breath, Zero exchanged a look with Edgar. “I am now Zero, the Ace of Hearts!” His shout acting as a signal, the two of them swung their swords at Amon in unison.

“Lord Amon!” Dalim cried, and before their blades could make contact, Dalim leapt between the two fighting factions, sending Edgar and Zero flying backwards with a gust of magic wind.

Alice’s gaze snapped to Lancelot, who was leaning breathlessly against a wall, and their eyes locked. His face was pale, his lips drained of all colour, and he was struggling to even stand.

“Are you okay?!” She gasped.

“Yes. Dalim must be worse off than me. He should be well past his limit by now--” Alice looked over to Dalim as Lancelot spoke.

“Dalim! Forget about Lancelot! Use all the magic you have left to blow them away!” Amon ordered.

“As you-- command.” Dalim groaned.

“Wait! If you make him keep fighting, he’ll die!” Alice gasped, looking between Amon and Dalim.

“Huh? Are you worried about me? You truly are a kind lady. But you mustn’t forget that I am a villain.” From the depths of his hood, his eyes glowed brighter than ever before, and an instant later, a wild gust of wind blew through the hall, nearly knocking her off her feet.

“You okay?” A new voice and strong arm supported her when she started to fall backwards. She looked up with a start and met the gaze of a single, grey eye.

“Harr! You’re okay!” Alice gasped in relief.

“Yes.”

“That’s because Harr has me!” Loki said cheerily from behind his teacher.

“Loki!”

“I contacted Loki as soon as they locked us up.” Harr explained.

“And wasn’t I a big help?” Loki smirked triumphantly.

“Yes, you were. Thank you.” Struggling against the wind, Lancelot came over to them.

“We don’t have time to stand around and chat.” Lancelot spoke as the whirlwind that had Dalim at its center was growing stronger by the moment. Alice started to step forward, but Zero held up a hand to stop her from the other side of the room.

“It’s too dangerous, Alice! Stay back!”

“But--”

“It’ll be okay, just stay there!” She closed her mouth, giving him a curt nod. “Edgar. I’m going in. You stand down.”

“You think you can win?” Edgar asked, raising his eyebrows at him.

“Yes.” Was Zero’s firm response.

“Well, okay then.”

Flashing Alice a quick smile, Zero started walking toward Dalim. Edgar, meanwhile, hurried over to their side.

“Don’t worry. Just trust in Zero.” Edgar reassured.

“I do.” She responded, her tone filled with hope and belief in Zero and his goal. He promised that he would come back, so she knew it would be okay. It just had to be.

Inside the wild storm winds, Zero quietly readied his sword.

“This ends now, Dalim.” Zero spoke, gripping his sword tighter.

“Yes. Will your justice prevail?” Dalim’s eyes glowed brighter as the colour grew deeper. “Or will mine? Time to settle this once and for all!”

Surrounded by a blinding light, wild winds whipped around all presences in the room. The tower shook and parts of the ceiling began to crumble from the force of the magic.

“Lancelot!” Harr called through the thick, dust-filled air.

“Yeah!” The King responded, and with their combined magic, they shielded them from the falling debris, but at the center of the storm, light and dust kept the fate of the men inside hidden from them.

Chunks of the crumbling ceiling buried the floor, and finally, the light began to fade, and the dust began to settle, but she still couldn’t make out either of their figures.

“Zero--” she breathed. The blood drained from her face as she tried to go to the pile of rubble, but Edgar held her back.

“No! It’s too dangerous!” He snapped.

“But--”

“Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.” He said, but he didn’t sound so sure himself. It was okay. It was all going to be okay. Zero was fine. He was alive.

“Zero--” she breathed again, her voice broken and shaken. “Zero!” She screamed, tears beginning to stream down her face as she leaned heavily into Edgar, who held her close to his chest.

But there was no response...

Once the room was clear enough to see the floor, Edgar gently pushed Alice away from him, letting Harr take her hand as he stepped beyond the protective barrier the wizards upheld. His steps were cautious, and he looked closely, before his whole body stiffened, frozen in time.

“Zero...?” His voice was full of panic, shaken as his pace increased. “Zero!?” He called, kneeling by a pile of rubble and roughly beginning to pull the fallen stone off of the crushed body beneath...

The remaining rocks began to float as Loki’s tear-filled eyes glowed crimson, but Edgar didn’t pay mind to it. He couldn’t! He took Zero’s bloodied body in his arms, stroking the blood-matted hair from his face, but it didn’t rouse the Ace from his slumber. Edgar didn’t want to, but he slowly trailed his shaking hand to Zero’s neck, pressing against where a beating pulse should have been.

“Edgar?” Alice’s voice was quivering, begging the Jack to tell her Zero was fine, that he was okay, but all Edgar had to do was turn around. He had tried to keep his smile, but the grief over his expression was enough- the knife that drove into their hearts. The shaking of his head twisted it, and Alice screamed in denial, falling to her knees.

The Ace lay in the arms of his teacher, who held him close. One’s heart beating wildly, forcing tears to drop onto the fallen student, to force a strangled choke from his throat. The other’s had stopped, never to beat, felled in service of his King and country.

The whole of Cradle mourned the death of the most honest and trustworthy Ace of Hearts to ever grace their presence, and that day forevermore was used to celebrate his life, and strangely, the hearts of those in the Land of Reason also felt heavy, and pain graced their eyes and throats, on the day a great human, a great man, was taken by an evil plot to rule over the universes in tyranny...

#lancelot kingsley #edgar bright #zero (ikemen revolution)#harr silver #loki genetta #amon jabberwock #dalim dum tweedle #alice the second

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i-fucking-hate-ppl · 5 years ago

Note

How the others would react to getting a christmas present:)

[HAZBIN HOTEL]

Charlie:

• *GASP* "YOU GOT ME SOMETHING???"

• Is overly ecstatic! She's never gotten something on Christmas!

• She's super excited to open it.

• It doesnt matter what's in the gift, she'll love it regardless!

• Although she's is quite upset she didn't get you something... She did want to celebrate Christmas, but she didn't want to push it onto the hotel staff and guests.

• So she wasn't really excepting anything to come out of Christmas.

• Is so upset she didn't get you something, that you'll probably get something the next day.

• Will also apologize about a million times.

Vaggie:

• Is blushing.

• Trying to hide it, but is definitely failing miserably.

• She hasn't received a Christmas gift since shes been in hell. She hadn't realized how much she missed it, and how much nostalgia it would bring.

• Although she is grateful and will absolutely thank you for the gift.

• Like Charlie, she will be a bit sad she couldn't give you a gift in return

• Although she probably wont buy you a gift, and instead just get you a really nice birthday gift to make up for it.

Alastor:

• You got him something? For Christmas?

• He's definitely surprised.

• He may not enjoy Christmas all that much, but he enjoys the thought.

• He doesnt like Christmas for plenty of reasons. Not only is it, you know, Jesus's birthday (not even his real one), it's not even about him.

• It's about a bunch of garbage. Like elves, reindeer, and the idiotic invention of Santa Claus.

• About presents, and being a good person all year round although you never really have to be.

• Although it's mostly about greedy people who only care for what they'll gain out of it. Or spoiled, bratty children who also only care for what they'll gain out of it. And he doesnt like either of them.

• Although you, you were different. You just loved what Christmas should stood for.

• You just celebrate it to be with loved ones.

• Although that hadn't stopped you from getting him a gift, you got everyone a gift in fact, and you hadn't expected any of them to return the favor.

• He was happy that not only had you thought about him, you did so without expecting anything. Just out of the kindness of your heart.

• He was sure now you were here by accident, and that out of everyone you'd be the first to be redeemed (and probably the only one).

Husker:

• He doesnt know how to handle this.

• Being a dick to you after you gave him a present for Christmas (not even expecting anything in return) would be such a dick move. He may be a dick, but not that much of one.

• Although he cant be nice. He has an image, he cant just... be soft.

• So he'll grumble. He doesnt want to say anything mean nor does he want to say anything nice, so he'll say something people cant understand. Hell, he couldn't even understand it. It was just gibberish.

• You just smile at him and say "Merry Christmas, Husk" before walking off and you have his heart.

• You gave him a gift, and when he was still kind of a dick about it you were still nice. No "you're welcome" in a snobby, sarcastic tone. No "fuck you too pal". Not even an eye roll.

• He definitely didn't deserve you or anything you gifted him; at least in his eyes.

Niffty:

• There could literally be no one happier.

• Giving her a present made her whole day. Hell, her whole year!

• Especially if it's something she likes. Althoguh it wouldn't be too hard to please her because Niffty would like anything you gave her really.

• Honestly tears it open before it fully leaves your hands.

• Shes just so excited, because honestly shes never done anything like this and its surprisingly fun. (I feel like Niffty didn't get to do fun stuff/holidays in her life on Earth)

• She's the only one who would give you a hug. And the only one who'd clingy to you for the rest of the day.

(I only did the main ones, I hope that's okay...)

[HELLUVA BOSS]

Blitzo:

• He's grinning like the biggest dork.

• He'll rub it in to everyone he knows. I can promise you that.

• "At least someone appreciates me around here!"

• He'll unwrap it so carefully. Even the smallest tear in the wrapping will make him cry.

• A perfect present deserves to be unwrapped perfectly and treated with care.

• So he'll do just that.

• It only took him 15 minutes to completely unwrap the present, but it was worth it because he got extremely happy at the gift you have him.

• He's honestly an impatient kid while he unwrapped it though, and blamed it all on you.

• "If you hadn't wrapped this so perfectly I wouldn't have to unwrap it to cadefully!"

• But he'll be extremely grateful.

Moxxie and Millie (I feel like I cant split them up so either you're in a poly relationship or friends):

• They're both surprised but Millie is much more excited and happy about it than Moxxie.

• Not that Moxxie isn't excited, per se, he's just... stuck in shock.

• He wasn't expecting this, so he doesnt know how to react to it. I mean, Millie wasn't expecting it either, but she's tearing at her present in joy.

• He's opening it slowly, still in wonder that you even got him anything at all.

• He'll thank you in a tone that shows he's not all there quite yet, while Millie will say it with complete joy.

• They're both thankful, but Millie shows it a lot better than Moxxie does.

Luna:

• Is it a cure for syphilis? Then she doesnt want it!

• For real though, she'll accept it from you. You're not as bad and annoying as Blitzo.

• She can also trust it'll be something she actually likes and not a shit ton of spiders. What would she have even done with them?

• She'll open it not too slow, but not too fast. She wants to make sure you get to have the enjoyment of watching her open it but not to an annoying extent (*cough* Blitzo *cough, cough*)

• She'll have a soft smile on her face and she'll thank you whole heartedly.

• It's been a while since she's gotten a Christmas gift.

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hyungwonmyheart · 5 years ago

Text

Juice

Group: ATEEZ Pairing: Seonghwa / Reader Words: 1,521 Tags: noona!kink, kitchen sex, oral, an all around good time Summary: When you spoil Seonghwa’s intentions for the morning, he resorts to another way to quench his thirst.

The air was wafting with the smell of coffee grinds as you prepared a morning pot. Heavens knew you needed it after the night you had just experienced with your boyfriend. Seonghwa was one to leave you thoroughly satisfied, and you were the same for him. Despite the age difference between you, your body compatibility was phenomenal. You adored the guy, and nothing made you happier than just spending time with him when you could. As you poured yourself a cup of coffee, humming to yourself, you were setting the pot back on the stand when you felt two arms creep around your waist. A warm body pressed itself against you making a smile spread across your face. “Good morning,” Seonghwa greeted, sleep still evident in his voice. A bulge was snuggly settled into the crook of your ass. He wasn’t putting a lot of attention or friction onto it, so you amounted it to him just waking up. The smile continued playing on your lips as you decided to tease him a bit. “‘Good morning,’ what?” You asked, stirring some creamer into your drink. He buried his face into your neck for a moment, inhaling your scent. “Good morning, noona,” he reiterated near your ear, squeezing your midsection tighter. You leaned your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes. Knowing he was fond of being called ‘oppa’ only made him calling you ‘noona’ sweeter. Well, sweeter in the sense that you were with this sinfully handsome man, and getting him to submit to you, even in a sense of terms of endearment, turned you on. “Do you want a cup?” You asked after a few seconds. You felt him smile against your skin. “Mn, not yet.” His hands glided down to your hips to turn you around. “Maybe after I have some juice,” he said, nipping a kiss on your lips. You frowned at him in confusion, since he knew you were out of juice. You felt him dig his fingers into your waist and start easing you onto the countertop, all the while smiling devilishly. That’s when you realized he didn’t mean fruit ‘juice.’ You ended up giving him an enticing look and spread your legs for him. “I see, you want noona’s then?” Seonghwa nodded and stood between your legs, bringing you into a steamy kiss. One of his hands dragged its fingers up your thigh, and the other untied the belt of your robe to expose your body. You shuddered at the sensation of his touch on your naked warmth. “Noona’s is the sweetest,” he husked against your lips. He dropped low, drifting kisses up your thighs before his mouth finally found your core. However, he didn’t give you what you were suddenly aching for right away. Glancing up at you, he rubbed your clit with the tip of his pointer finger, his movements ever-so gentle. “You know, since we had such a great time last night--in the bedroom and in the shower...I had every intention of waking up early to make you breakfast. Did you turn off my alarm?” You pouted through the soft touches, but kept focus on his eyes. “Yes, I did, but you looked so peaceful and I wanted you to get a decent rest,” you defended, carding a hand back through his bedhead. “I didn’t know why you had set the alarm anyway…” One of his eyebrows lifted. “Is that so?” You could feel his breath on your pussy, yet you tried your hardest not to get too antsy. “I woke up to an empty bed. I was so lonely.” He pressed harder onto your clit. “I couldn’t sleep anymore without you. How was that decent or peaceful?” When the pressure increased, your bottom lip quivered as you tried to hold back your voice. “Then,” Seonghwa continued, “I walked into the kitchen to find you in this skimpy robe, and I can’t believe how hard I got just from looking at you.” A blush flooded your cheeks as you glanced away innocently. “Is that so?” You commented quietly. “I’m sorry for ruining your morning plans…” “It’s all right,” he shrugged. “I’m still going to eat my fill.” You didn’t have another moment to react before his mouth seized your clit. You gasped and threw your head back, angling your body to give him more room. The robe slowly slid off your shoulders down to your wrists, and the cool air perked your nipples. Seonghwa’s gaze lifted as he languidly guided his tongue between your folds. His breath was heavy against your pussy, especially now that you were displayed so beautifully above him. He palmed himself through his sweatpants, all while tasting every inch of you. Bravely looking down, you locked eyes with Seonghwa to watch his eyes crinkle at the sides with amusement. Your hips rotated against his mouth, grinding harder against his tongue. It wasn’t enough. “More, Seonghwa...please…” You begged. He couldn’t deny you. Lifting a hand, he slipped a finger into your tightness and curved it to find that lovely spot that had you seeing stars. His other hand hastily shoved his pants down and found its way to his hard cock. He pumped along the shaft in rhythm with the finger thrusting into you. His tongue centered on your clit again, working very hard to make you pant in pleasure. The hard work was paying off; you reached down to grip onto his hair as moans poured from your lips. He was diligent and obviously enjoying himself as minutes passed. Your legs were shaking, a light sweat was raising across your skin, and you were building to something incredible. “Seonghwa...baby...o-oh my god. W-W-Wait!” You forced his head away from your warmth. The bewildered look on his face as you shoved him away made your heart flutter in your chest. His swollen lips covered in your wetness, his thick cock straining in his hand, the way his legs shook like yours from supporting himself for so long in a crouched position--You were so infatuated with this man who did so much to please you. “I want you,” you mewled. Seonghwa was on his feet positioning himself at your entrance in record time. He pulled your ass off the counter just enough to be able to ram into your dripping cunt with ease. He supported your body, rolling his hips against yours to fill you again and again. Cupping his face, you brought him into a sloppy, fervid kiss. To taste the same juices he was so keen for made you groan in arousal. As if you weren’t soaked already. Kissing down your chin to your neck, he nipped at the sensitive skin of your collarbone. “Are you close?” You heard his gruff groan loud and clear. You nodded quickly. Traveling up to your ear, he earnestly whispered, “I’m gonna come. Please, let me come in you.” You smirked, loving that he was that polite. “‘Please,’ what?” You cooed. “Please, noona, let me fill you with my cum,” he pleaded. “I need to!” That last sentence made a laugh escape your mouth, right into his ear. He pulled back and looked at you with such desperation. “What’s so funny?!” He huffed. There was no helping it, you had to tease him again. “You need to come in me, huh?” You mused, gripping onto the back of his neck. “You better make me come first.” You yanked him back into a kiss. Seonghwa whined against your mouth (something he scarcely did--that was when you knew he was truly desperate). He obediently glided his hand between your bodies to find your clit. Rubbing it vehemently, he wanted so badly to make you feel as good as he did. He wanted to push you both over the edge, and it only took a dozen more thrusts until you were crumbling with one another. His hips stuttered while the most melodious moan sounded from your lips. You were left panting and stunned from your orgasm. Slipping out of you with a hiss, Seonghwa rested his head on your shoulder and attempted to catch his breath. He let out a soft chuckle. “Hm?” You hummed with curiosity. “Nothing…” He said, a smile evident in the word he spoke. “No, what?” “...I’ve never known anyone who could make me feel so powerful, yet so weak at the same time,” he admitted, his tone hushed and suddenly serious. You blinked back your surprise, but eventually smiled and pulled him into your arms. “I think that’s because we bring out the best in each other,” you replied. “That’s what love does.” His lips immediately found yours again. It took a long moment to part, but once you did, you mirrored each other’s big, bashful smiles. That was about the time when your stomach growled, making your eyes grow wide. Seonghwa laughed, squeezing your thighs. “How about I make us that breakfast?” He offered his hand to you. You took it, letting him help you down from the counter. “I would love that,” you beamed, wrapping the robe around you again and tying the sash.

#ateez #seonghwa #ateez seonghwa #seonghwa smut #smut #noona kink #kpop

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psychosistr · 4 years ago

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Mending the Broken- Chapter 5

Summary: Jonathan's healing is interrupted yet again by Dio's sadism as he uses Speedwagon's suffering to further taunt the bound warrior. When he gets the chance, though, can Jojo do something to ease the other man's pain?

Notes: Okay, we are clear of the dubious consent territory, but there's still a little more manipulation and Dio's d!cketry to be dealt with.

-First Chapter-

Jonathan wasn’t sure how long they had been locked up. It was hard to keep track of time with no source of light other than the ever dwindling candle by the door that had already been replaced twice by one of Dio’s minions. The progress in healing his arms was slower than he would have liked, but they were still recovering faster than they would have without the use of hamon.

Unfortunately, the waiting meant that Dio came by fairly frequently to further humiliate, harm, and degrade Speedwagon for his own sick amusement and to further add to Jonathan’s own suffering. Plus, every time he came, he would drain a little more blood from Speedwagon’s body, leaving him paler and weaker than before. Jonathan was being forced to sit and watch not only his beloved Speedwagon’s degradation, but to see him slowly dying without being able to do anything about it.

There were times when Jonathan began to wonder if he would be able to get free in time to save Speedwagon. What if he could not escape, even with his arms healed? What if Dio found out about what he was doing and decided to kill Speedwagon instantly just to hurt Jonathan in the cruelest way possible? Then, there was the question that frightened Jonathan the most…

What if he could not save Speedwagon from Dio’s control? What if..if it was too late and he truly was gone, leaving only an empty husk behind, as Dio claimed?

Those thoughts were the most terrifying. Jonathan did not want to believe that such a thing was true, but it was growing harder to deny the possibility the more time he spent watching Speedwagon. His eyes never had any spark of reaction to anything that Jonathan said or did. He would not even move or speak unless Dio was in the room. Until Dio came in, all Speedwagon would do was sit in place and weep silently. All of that was so far from the Speedwagon that Jonathan had come to know and love.

Ah..yes..the other thing that made his imprisonment all the more challenging…

Love.

After much thought, Jonathan had come to the conclusion that, yes, he was indeed as in love with Speedwagon as he was with Erina. When he thought of the other man, his heart swelled with both affection and the gripping realization that, should they escape this ordeal, they would have much to discuss both between themselves and with Erina. Jonathan wasn’t sure how to feel about that, as he didn’t know how the other two would react to his revelation. Would Erina think him unfaithful and leave him? Would Speedwagon think any less of him for loving both people at once? Would Jonathan think any less of HIMSELF for it? He wasn’t sure about any of it…

Jonathan’s attention was drawn to the door as it opened, Dio sauntering in with a bowl gripped in one hand. He glared daggers at the vampire as he sat in his chair facing Jonathan. “……”

Dio smirked down at Jonathan as he crossed one leg over the other. “Oh, do not give me such a hostile look, Jojo- I’ve come bearing a gift this time.” He ignored the way Speedwagon, as usual, sprung to life and began desperately holding onto him and groveling at his feet until Dio sated him with a pat to the head. “I figured you must be hungry by now, so I had one of my servants whip something up for you in the kitchen.” He held the bowl low enough for Jonathan to see the contents- it appeared to be piping hot beef stew with carrots and potatoes. “Not as glamorous as what you usually dine on, I know, but I believe it should sustain you for a bit longer.” He chuckled darkly as he looked down on Jonathan (in both the literal AND figurative sense). “After all, we can’t have you simply starving to death and ending our little game so soon now, can we?”

Jonathan continued to glare, his hands curling into fists but his arms still unable to move due to his not-fully healed injuries. “And what would you have me do in this state- eat from the bowl like a dog?”

Dio tilted his head in a faux-thoughtful gesture. “Hm, perhaps another time..” He handed the bowl down to Speedwagon, who instantly took it without question. “No, my pet shall feed you since you are unable to do so yourself.” That was all? That seemed too simple for Dio- “Oh, I nearly forgot.” He reached down and pulled the metal spoon out of the bowl with a devilish grin. “Make sure he eats every bite, my pet- but pull the pieces out individually so he does not choke on them.” Ah, yes, that seemed more like the bastard Jonathan had come to know…

“Yes, Lord Dio.” Speedwagon responded autonomously as he crawled over to Jonathan, careful not to spill the contents of the bowl. He kneeled between Jonathan’s legs and reached into the piping hot liquid to pull out a piece of meat. His face remained blank as ever, but Jonathan could see the pain he was in by the tensing of his body and the way his fingers turned red. He pressed the piece of meat to Jonathan’s lips until the other opened them and ate the offered bite of food. As soon as the meat was out of his grasp, Speedwagon reached in and pulled out a piece of potato next and held it, heedless of the burns forming on his fingers as he waited for Jonathan to take the next bite.

The soup tasted terrible. The meat was overcooked and both it and the vegetables had a terrible flavor, likely spoiled or rotted, knowing Dio. Nevertheless, Jonathan did his best to eat each horrid bite as quickly as possible for the sake of not making Speedwagon burn himself more than necessary. Still, with each piece, the other’s fingers grew raw and red and were even starting to turn white as the burns worsened. He could not stand to see his beloved in so much pain…

A thought occurred to Jonathan suddenly. He had to be careful, though, or Dio would catch on and grow wise to how Jonathan was spending his time in the vampire’s absence.

“Ahh..” Jonathan disguised the subtle and shallow intake of breath as a means to cool down the slimy bite of carrot in his mouth. Carefully focusing the small amount of hamon he gathered from the breath back into his mouth, he swallowed and opened his mouth to accept another piece of carrot from Speedwagon’s waiting fingers. When the burned skin came in contact with his lips, Jonathan carefully channeled the healing ripple from his mouth into Speedwagon’s reddened fingertips. “Nhh..”

“……” Speedwagon paused for a second at the feeling. He did not say anything, but his hand twitched slightly and, for the briefest of moments, Jonathan could have sworn he saw something change in the murky brown depths of his friend’s eyes. Just as soon as it was there, though, it was gone again, so fast that it may have just been a trick of the light or Jonathan’s own hopeful imagination.

Still, Jonathan kept up the routine. He would take in small breaths and charge a minuscule amount of hamon within himself, then, when Speedwagon’s fingers were close enough, he would kiss them gently while taking the offered bite of food and sending a healing ripple through them to ease the other’s pain. The pattern continued until all that remained was the broth.

Speedwagon looked back to Dio for his next command and Dio finally tossed the spoon to him, the broth now lukewarm from how long it took to pick the pieces out. “Go on, I do not have all night to waste down here.”

“Yes, Lord Dio.” Speedwagon replied again as he scooped up spoonful’s of the broth and fed them to Jonathan. The broth was just as vile as the solid pieces were, but Jonathan did his best to drink it all.

As it went on, though, Speedwagon’s hand holding the spoon- the same one that had the slightly healed burns on it- trembled. Jonathan worried that Speedwagon was still in pain. Or, perhaps, he was feeling weak- he had not seen the other man eat even once since they’d been imprisoned, and having Dio constantly draining his blood likely didn’t help matters any.

After Jonathan finished the last spoonful of broth, the trembling in Speedwagon’s hand caused him to drop the spoon. Reaching down to retrieve it put his face extremely close to Jonathan’s without him seeming to realize it.

Jonathan, however, did realize it…

He did not know what possessed him to try what he did. Perhaps it was instincts guided by his hamon training. Perhaps it was the desperate need to feel human contact again. Perhaps it was love and the desire to comfort his beloved in some small way.

Whatever the reason, Jonathan acted quickly. He took in a quick breath as he had before, charged a small amount of hamon into his mouth, then, when Speedwagon’s head tilted up after retrieving the spoon, Jonathan surged forward as much as his bonds would allow and kissed him, allowing the hamon to pass from his lips to Speedwagon’s.

“Mh..” Speedwagon made a slight noise in the back of his throat at the sudden action. Whether from surprise or pleasure it was hard to say, but it was a reaction all the same. Although he did not offer any physical reaction to the kiss, he did not pull away either, and Jonathan took that as a good sign.

Jonathan continued the kiss for as long as possible until the tightening of the collar forced him back against the wall with a choked gasp. “Ack!” He tried to regulate his breathing as he’d learned to do recently until it relented.

Dio cocked an eyebrow at the pair on the floor. “And what was that supposed to be, Jojo? Hoping to wake your ‘sleeping beauty’ with ‘true love’s kiss’? I have already told you- nothing you do will get through to that broken shell of a man.” He snapped his fingers. “Bring the bowl back for me, my pet.”

Speedwagon held the bowl and spoon in his hands and prepared to turn back to Dio. Before he did so, however, clouded brown eyes met deep blue ones and Speedwagon’s lips moved in a silent way that only Jonathan could read- his eyes widening slightly at what he saw:

Though no words were spoken and his facial expression did not change, Speedwagon mouthed the words “Help me” while looking Jonathan right in the eyes.

Speedwagon then quickly crawled back to Dio and held the bowl up for him, that desperate smile of his in place as he asked for Dio’s approval. “Did I do well, Lord Dio?”

Dio chuckled and patted Speedwagon’s head. “Indeed you did, my pet.” He took the bowl and spoon from Speedwagon’s waiting hands and moved to stand. “Now then, I shall return la-” He was stopped by an urgent knock on the heavy door.

“Lord Dio!” One of his minions called from the other side. “A few humans have been spotted in town- they have been able to fight back against our soldiers!”

Dio scowled and stood up. “Hmph..more nuisances to be dealt with…” From his standing position with his head turned towards the door, Dio did not see Speedwagon’s movements. From his seated position on the floor, though, Jonathan did: He watched as Speedwagon stealthily, without Dio noticing a thing, took the spoon from the bowl and placed it behind one of the chair legs and out of Dio’s line of sight. “I shall return after this problem is dealt with.” Dio grabbed the bowl, unaware of what was missing and headed for the door. “You are not to move nor speak until I return, my pet.” Dio commanded as he left.

“Yes, Lord Dio. Anythin’ ya say…” Speedwagon sat by the chair obediently as the door closed.

Jonathan sat silently for a while, looking at Speedwagon with wide, disbelieving eyes. He felt a tear form in one of his eyes before spilling over and trailing slowly down his cheek.

He couldn’t believe it, but was overwhelmingly relieved- Speedwagon was still in there! His silent plea for help and the subtle way in which he’d indirectly deceived Dio confirmed it for Jonathan.

“Speedwagon..” Jonathan’s voice trembled as he fought to restrain any other tears that wished to fall like the last one. “Speedwagon, I know you are in there somewhere. If you can hear me, know that I will get you out of here soon- I swear it.”

“……” As always, Speedwagon remained mute and immobile, save for a few tears that fell across his face as he wept silently.

Jonathan closed his eyes and began focusing his breathing to build up hamon and heal his arms. His will to escape was renewed and more than doubled now: His beloved friend was fighting his own battle, but needed his help, and Jonathan would not fail him, not this time..not ever again…

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter->

End Notes: There is hope! Things get better in the next chapter!

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #jonathan joestar #robert edward o speedwagon #jonawagon #dio #mending the broken

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justanotherloveaffair · 6 years ago

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Hungry (T’Challa x Reader One Shot)

BY @captainsordersfic

Summary: You have been brought to Wakanda as the King’s personal chef and you find him in your kitchen in the middle of the night.

Warnings: literally just smut.

Word Count: 6,539

Author’s Note: ****Posting this on behalf of @captainsordersfic my amazing writer friend. I bow to you. Thanks for ruining me forever. This is exactly the kind of T’Challa fantasy I walked out of the theatre having.

Your name: Submit (what is this?)

My Masterlist

Taglist: @afraiddreamingandloving, @stevesthot, @kumkaniudaku, @nah-imjustfeelinit, @tchallaholla, @a-heretic-child, @simplyyamberr, @wildaboutchrisevans, @fullonfrenzy, @h-challa, @theunsweetenedtruth, @ljstraightnochaser, @90sinspiredgirl, @maverickabull, @big3gocandykahn, @sarahboseman, @airis-paris14, @tacohead13 ***sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged lol, just ignore.

Another mostly untouched dish sailed across the metal bench in the kitchen as the king’s server returned the dish from the dinner serving.

You sighed and leaned your weight onto one leg, folding your arms across your chest and scowling at the mess of food.

Another rejected meal.

Another plate of food that you had poured your heart and soul into, sacrificed sleep, eating and your downtime to perfect, came back pushed and scattered carelessly across the plate with little more than a few bites taken from any one element.

Realization weighed heavier on you more and more each day that you were failing at your job as the king’s personal chef. In the month that you had been in Wakanda, you had lost count of the number of plates that come back to your kitchen dishevelled but largely uneaten.

You had even taken to tasting the leftovers to see if you sent out something below your usual uncompromising standard. Everything was fine, but nothing got touched.

You had begun to wonder more than a week ago why you had agreed to take on the one-year contract as the king’s personal chef, and more importantly, why he’d chosen you. And sought you out specifically.

You had made a name for yourself in New York as one of the best and most talented chefs, so when an e-mail came through from the ambassador of Wakanda asking you to take on a job as the king’s chef, you thought it was a phishing email from a distant relative of the Nigerian Prince who needed money.

The difference was that they were offering you money. A lot of it. Like a real lot of it.

After some research on Wakanda, and a talk with some of your peers who told you you’d be a fool to not respond to the offer, you emailed the ambassador back, thinking nothing would come of the correspondence.

The very next night, while the dinner rush was beginning to calm, a strong looking woman in breathtaking armour showed up in your kitchen with two beautiful, but intimidating women wearing matching armour and carrying spears.

You’d barely batted an eye. It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to have occurred in a New York kitchen after all.

You looked around wondering if some customers in fancy dress had taken it upon themselves to invite themselves back to the kitchen, half expecting someone to come and escort them out.

When nobody but you seemed to notice them, you approached them.

When the woman introduced herself to you as the general to the king, realization dawned on you that it was all true. The offer, the money, the chance to leave the suffocating bustle of New York and experience a cultural and technological marvel such as Wakanda.

She promised you everything short of the moon and stars if you agreed to take on the one-year secondment.

When you asked the king’s general what kind of food the king liked, she shrugged, which you though was odd, but didn’t read too much into at the time.

“He is not fussy, but he is bored. He has travelled many places and his palate has expanded beyond the traditional offerings of Wakandan cuisine. After much research, the king has chosen you.” She said to you, placing emphasis on the last word as though to illustrate how honoured you should feel that of all the chef’s in the world, he’d chosen you.

You supposed you did feel honoured, but you knew so little about Wakanda and its King that you couldn’t fully appreciate the sentiment.

Still, your questions were answered with patience and you were promised every resource imaginable in order to carry out your royal duties. No ingredient would be out of reach, no piece of equipment would be denied, and you would have access to a kitchen that made the one you were standing in look like a civilian’s home setup.

As your conversation went on, you began to feel as though this would be an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up.

You were granted a couple of days to think about the offer and if you agreed, you would need to begin immediately. You had already made up your mind to accept the offer when they left your kitchen, but you took the two days to tie up loose ends and arrange for your restaurant to be taken care of in your absence.

You accepted the offer on Tuesday, and by Thursday you’d arrived in Wakanda.

Now, almost a month in, never having met the king, but knowing you weren’t succeeding to please him, you were at a loss. You didn’t know what to do.

The king wasn’t eating. At least not anything you had prepared. You were beginning to obsess about it.

You were testing recipes every spare moment, including when you should have been sleeping.

You’d tried every iteration of French Cuisine, Italian, Greek, and Spanish. When they were met with a lukewarm response, you brought it back closer to the King’s home and tried several regional African dishes which were received with even less enthusiasm.

You tried Japanese, Chinese and South-East Asian. British, North American (Native and Modern), South American, and Eastern European cuisines also failed to impress, regardless of being dressed up or dressed down.

They all ended up being boxed and distributed to the king’s staff instead of being eaten by the king himself.

Now as you looked at a plate of Lebanese food that you had prepared with traditional methods, but modernized to be more pleasing to the eye, in its mish-mashed state across the slate plate you’d sent it out on, you lost your temper.

You threw the plate in the industrial style sink, breaking the plate and sending an almighty clang echoing around your vast kitchen.

You wanted to give up and go home. It was clear that both the king and you had made a mistake in this arrangement though his general assured you you’d been specifically requested.

You didn’t care anymore. You wanted to go back to your restaurant where you knew you were nailing it, and customers were booking months in advance to come and experience your food.

You started becoming increasingly irate about it until finally, you came to the conclusion that the King of Wakanda must be some kind of spoiled, pampered man-child who would never be pleased with anything you did.

You retired to your quarters for a rest, falling into a much needed but fitful sleep. When you woke up, you felt like you’d been hit by a truck. When the anger subsided, you were left existing in a husk of exhaustion, homesickness and dejectedness.

It was early in the morning, around 2 am when you crawled out of bed and shuffled half clothed towards your kitchen, looking like a boxer who was down for the count, but refused to stay down. You planned on air swinging through this experience until your lack of enthusiasm eventually got you fired or the king’s staff took pity on you and convinced him to send you back home.

As you approached the kitchen, you saw two of the Dora Milaje standing on either side of the entrance.

This was not unusual as the younger sister of the king often came in search of midnight snacks to provide sustenance to her obsessive all-night experimentation sessions.

Thinking nothing of it, you passed between the warriors and crossed the threshold into the kitchen.

The lights were off, but the glow from the fridge illuminated a tall, solid figure wearing little more than a pair of long, silk black pyjama bottoms.

His skin under the harsh, blue light of the refrigerator rippled and pulsed with the movements of his muscles as he scavenged inside the industrial refrigerator.

You stopped and watched as he emerged with a container of passionfruit coulis that you had prepared as part of a dessert that you had come in to try and perfect, turning to find you watching him.

You froze when you saw who it was.

T’Challa. The King of Wakanda and he was breath taking.

Immediately your state of undress had you panicking. You were wearing a tank top with no bra and a pair of Nike running shorts. That was it.

Do I bow? Do I salute? Do I speak or wait to be spoken to? You didn’t know how to react, you’d never even seen him in person, let alone talked to him, so you stood there, still as a tree not moving or talking.

He, on the other hand, didn’t seem nearly quite so frazzled by your unexpected crossing of paths. He simply turned, taking the container over to the metal bench and placing it down on the surface beside an array of other containers of things you were working on.

You watched him for just a moment longer, because more than his status, his beauty and the graceful languidness of the way his body moved, his presence was consuming and paralyzing.

You felt bound in place, unable to move as he affixed a plate of food, turning to regard you every now and then as you stood like an idiot watching him.

“You do not sleep either?” He asked you finally and for a few seconds, it took you a moment to work out that he was directing the question at you.

You didn’t know how to respond. What was the right answer?

“I…I…” you began lamely, “I used to.”

He nodded as though he understood, though you doubted very strongly your lack of sleep had a similar cause.

“Me too,” he said simply, his voice tired and grave like he’d not slept in an age.

You remained in place, visualizing yourself turning around and leaving the kitchen to leave the king be, but your body would not respond to follow suit.

Suddenly, King T’Challa stopped what he was doing and turned to you. He gestured with his hand towards the space he was standing in, inviting you to join him.

You peered over your shoulder, where you couldn’t see the Dora Milaje outside the kitchen, but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were there.

You stepped towards him slowly and uncertainly, feeling him watching you, but not able to meet his eyes. You stopped about seven feet away, not daring to get any closer.

He kept his eyes on you the whole time and though it was dark, you could see his expression was one of curiosity laced with something else that you couldn’t put your finger on.

His eyes were sweeping over you until you began to feel naked under his intense scrutiny. You crossed your hands front of you and looked around the room to distract yourself.

“Y/N,” he said, bringing your eyes back to him, “please be at ease. There is no need to be nervous.”

You tried to relax your shoulders, but it was impossible, so you figured if you couldn’t look relaxed, then you could at least make an attempt to sound relaxed.

“I suppose you feel as though you made an error in judgement bringing me here.”

He turned fully to face you then, crossing his arms over his bare chest.

“And why do you say that?” He asked, his eyes narrowing with curiosity and perhaps a touch of offence at the implication that he’d done something wrong.

Seriously, you thought to yourself, though you would never have said that.

“Well, you don’t seem to have...” you paused trying to find a gentle way of expressing your doubts, “taken to my style of food.”

He was quiet for a moment, his eyes still narrowed as he regarded you with cool authority.

“I am the King of the most powerful and technologically advanced nation on Earth. I do not have the luxury of making errors in judgement,” he said finally, and every cell in your body froze as a rash of fear that you’d offended him broke out all over.

“I’m sorry your—” you stopped, wondering if “majesty” was the correct address, “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I did not make a mistake, you are right where I want you to be,” he interrupted, effectively shutting down your ability to function with the assured, confident way he said it.

You couldn’t understand though. “Then why aren’t you eating my food?” you blurted, allowing more of your frustration and desperation to seep out than you had intended, then quickly tried to right yourself.

T’Challa was silent for another spell, standing with a casual lean, but emanating a kind of energy that was anything but.

You couldn’t help but think how Black Panther like he really was, standing in the dark, prowling around your kitchen and making you feel stalked and unsettled.

“How many hours a day do you spend developing, preparing and cooking your recipes?”

You knew the answer easily.

“I work twenty hours a day. I get four hours of sleep on a couch in my office if I am lucky.”

“And in that time. How much do you actually eat?”

“Well,” you began uncertainly, wondering what he was getting at while coming up with a response, “I taste food all day…but…I guess I don’t often have meals. Not in the traditional sense.”

“You are responsible for one restaurant in New York and yet you seldom do more than merely taste food and work twenty hours a day,” he began, and you saw his point immediately. “How much time do you think I have for the same?”

His response landed like a punch in your gut as you felt your feet slip several rungs from the height of the self-righteous ladder you’d placed yourself on.

He’d not meant it condescendingly, but you were nevertheless humbled. Your eyes lowered to the floor between you.

“Why do you continue to cook? Always choosing to create instead of sleep? What is your motivation, Y/N?”

Your name from his lips caused a reaction in your body that you immediately worked to suppress.

Once again, your response required no thought. “Food gives pleasure…I like to please.”

You watched as his lips pulled into a scarce smile, his cheekbones sharpening attractively as he regarded you like your response pleased him.

“It’s true that I have not had the luxury of a full meal since you have arrived in Wakanda, for which I am regretful. But I assure you that you have succeeded in giving me pleasure,” he responded in such a way that made you wonder if you were talking about food anymore.

Your body tensed, his gaze on you giving you every reason to believe it was a possibility and you started to panic internally.

You were being seduced by one of the world’s most powerful men.

Every outcome, ranging from whimsical fairy tale, to a nightmare of a life lived out for the rest of your days in servitude to a madman went through your mind.

You didn’t know him, and yet your body was responding to him and his words as though you knew each other very intimately.

“For example,” he said turning slightly to his right and collecting the container of passionfruit coulis from the kitchen bench, “were I not called away to tend to an urgent matter involving hostages, I would have licked clean the smear of this that lay on the plate beneath the dessert you prepared for me this evening,” he said bringing the container as he walked towards you, causing heat to rush all around your body in a cyclonic, swirling torrent.

“Passionfruit is my very favourite fruit.”

It was abundantly clear to you that he was not talking about passionfruit.

He dipped his finger into the container and covered the tip in coulis, before bringing it to his lips to suck off the sharp, slightly sweet sauce.

Your eyes were transfixed, watching as his finger pressed to his tongue before his beautiful, full lips closed around his finger.

You knew the pace of your breathing had changed, but you couldn’t regulate it. You knew where this was going, you just didn’t know if you should run a mile or stay and…

“It is very good, but it is missing something.”

Your eyes snapped to his.

Saying your food was “missing something”, to you, was akin to you having underestimated his kingly responsibilities and you bristled at the implication.

Before you could defend your passionfruit coulis, he covered his finger again and held it to your lips.

“Here,” he said softly, and you hesitated.

When the moment started to drag on for too long, you averted your eyes from his, trying to make the moment feel less intimate as you opened your mouth and tentatively took as restrained a taste from his finger as you could.

Your body felt anything but collected as the sourness of the passionfruit made your mouth instantly water, but in the background was the taste of his skin, and when he removed his finger he brushed it across your bottom lip, leaving a trail of coulis there.

The moment seemed to build and culminate to the instant where he leaned down towards you and smoothly and confidently took your bottom lip into his mouth and sucked away the passionfruit sauce.

You made a sound. Not of protest but of pleasure and then forced yourself back, placing your hand over your mouth.

You looked over your shoulder where you knew the Dora Milaje were standing on guard, but then you felt his hand at your cheek, turning you to look at him.

He peered down at you, his eyes soulful, almost pleading, but you knew he didn’t need to plead.

He could take.

You were on edge from the lingering taste of him in your mouth and faint tingle left behind from the contact. You could be knocked over with a feather.

He regarded you carefully, gaging your reticence. When your eyes lowered to his lips, it was all he needed, and he once again leaned down to you, but you turned your head back towards the hallway.

“You do not need to concern yourself with them, they have been dismissed. We are alone.”

How? When? you wondered confused as you turned to look up at him again.

Then, for the first time, he smiled, lowering his chin and raising his eyebrows in a playful expression that did not befit a king, but was powerfully disarming nonetheless.

“I think I found the missing element from your passionfruit coulis.”

His hand that had warmed your cheek, lowered and hooked around your waist pulling you up against his body and your hands raised to his chest instinctively. The planes of his pectorals were hard under your hands and you gasped as you watched your breasts press and flatten against him.

He lay the container of coulis on the bench next to you and pressed his large, strong palms against your barely covered ass, squeezing the handfuls of flesh and pressing you tightly to where the thin layer of his silken pyjamas hid none of the stirring that was going on beneath them.

Your cheeks heated at the swell of his developing erection. You felt helpless in his hold, yet powerful at the same time from his response to you.

With one step backwards, he pressed you against the industrial stainless-steel refrigerator and you gasped at the shock of the cold steel on your warm back.

His hands came away from your ass and with a swift, hasty tug, your shorts were around your thighs and you marched in place to get them to slide down the rest of your legs, having no hope of getting him to back off enough for you to lean forwards and use your hands to do it. The fates were in your favour as you felt the slide of the nylon shorts down your thighs, calves and then ankles.

As his hands gathered the hem of your tank top, your mind went wild.

You were being undressed by a King. You were going to have sex with the famed Black Panther.

Was it a one-night stand? You didn’t mind, you were too far in now to even contemplate not taking what you could get of him.

His body felt like hot granite against you and you couldn’t help but think how a statue of this man should replace the David statue in Italy.

This was the benchmark. This should be the standard. The yardstick by which all other men should be measured, and you wanted him. You needed him, now.

Suddenly you were naked, and all he had to do was slightly flex his arms and you were in the air, pressed against the fridge, with his hands underneath your thighs.

He reached to the right and took the container of coulis, tipping it carefully towards your neck.

You felt the cool, sticky liquid make contact with you, pouring onto your naked skin. It slid down your neck and over your chest, and he moved the container to ensure your breasts also got covered in the sticky, bright yellow syrup.

He hastily discarded the container and then his mouth was on your neck, sucking, licking and moaning as he hungrily cleaned you off.

You closed your eyes, willing away any distant thoughts cautioning you against what was happening right there and then. His silken tongue was all you cared about as you gripped his shoulders, feeling heat and a delicious ache you’d all but forgotten forming between your legs.

He was devouring you, coulis transferring onto his skin from yours and you had to restrain yourself from trying to contort your upper body to reach down and taste him in return.

You’d have to wait for your turn.

His mouth was inching down your chest and you braced as he began kissing, licking and nibbling down over the curve of your breast, towards your nipple.

Oh God, you thought as you felt his mouth approaching the hard tip at the centre of your breast. Your mouth opened, and you gasped as his tongue flickered over the sensitive bud, your body bracing and pushing instinctively away as your nails dug into his shoulders.

You couldn’t get away if you tried. His strength was equal parts alarming and arousing as he held you in place with almost no effort.

Your hand came to the back of his head as your hips instinctively pressed forwards, feeling the long ridge of hot, hard flesh beneath the surface of his pyjamas. Your hands raced for the waistband and you shoved them down his hips, anxious to be given unfettered access to him, skin to skin.

You were rewarded as his cock came to rest right against the seam of soft, slippery flesh between your legs and pressed there while he continued to lick you clean of passionfruit.

You began to crave his mouth, licking your own lips for traces he’d left earlier but being left wanting.

You cupped his jaw and angled his face upwards and he pulled away reluctantly with your nipple between his teeth.

You arched into him and he let go, allowing you to guide him to your mouth where you met in a deeply ravenous, searching kiss. You moaned as your tongues slid around one another, hungry for each other like the two starved people you were.

You could taste passionfruit and lust and you never wanted it to end, unable to stop the pleasured sounds from sailing out as he drank them down greedily and returned them back to you.

You were dangerously hot and becoming slippery in his grasp though you had no fear of him dropping you. He was too commanding and in control for such clumsy earthly fumblings.

You smiled when you felt his hips flex against you, rubbing his cock against your warm, wet centre, searching for relief from the ache he was undoubtedly experiencing.

You immediately became overcome with the need to become better acquainted with his kingly cock.

You unclasped your legs from around his waist and let yourself slide naturally down his body until you landed gently of the pads of your feet, pulling your mouth out of reach from his.

You smiled and placed your hands on his pectorals again, bringing your lips and tongue to his chest where the coulis had rubbed off onto him, tasting the spiky, sour fruit against the warmth and salt of his dewy skin. You felt his hands come to the back of your head and hold you there as you licked all around and slowly worked your way down his chest.

He made a sound when he realised where you were going, and he closed his eyes and let his head fall back towards the ceiling.

You were anxious to reach your final destination, but you forced yourself to take it slow, enjoying the journey down the line of his hard stomach, over the undulating planes of his abs and the retreating line of his pelvis where you came to your knees and followed the veins that fanned out there with the tip of your tongue.

He was so hard and thick, and the extent of his arousal was apparent from the way his perfect, beautiful, tempting tower of a shaft stood upright and proud despite its impressive size and weight.

You had never been tempted by any food as much as you were tempted by being face to face with King T’Challa’s cock right then.

You closed your eyes and pressed a soft, slow, open mouthed kiss against the tip and he immediately groaned at the contact. You did it again, this time pressing your tongue to the flesh there before closing your lips over the edge of the crown of his cock, feeling his whole body respond to what you were doing.

Your hand instinctively came up to curve around the base of his shaft and hold him in place while you opened your mouth and closed your lips around the entire tip of his hot, hard cock, moaning as you began sucking it slowly, sliding your tongue in a circle around the head.

You were enjoying this with more relish than any meal you’d ever eaten and with more pride than anything you had ever created.

His body was responding in waves as his hips moved restlessly while you slowly worked him deeper into your mouth.

You wanted to give him permission to fuck your mouth, but weren’t sure how to make such a request eloquent enough to deliver to a King. You couldn’t forget, no matter how intimately you were engaged that you were in the company of royalty.

You cupped his balls in your hand and closed your fingers around them, squeezing gently and then loosening your grip while you slid your mouth in a rhythmic glide up and down his cock.

“You must stop now,” he commanded, his voice strained and breathless and you obeyed him, albeit reluctantly. You could have given that cock head all night, never waning in enthusiasm for it.

His hands gripped your upper arms, once again shocking you with his strength by not only pulling you to your feet, but off them, and you gasped as you flew weightlessly through the air and came down hard against one of the stainless-steel benches.

You yelped from the shock of the cold metal on your ass but had no time to adjust as he hooked his hands behind your knees and yanked you hard to edge of the bench.

Your thighs spread before him and he placed a hand at your sternum, pushing you gently until you were laid out flat on your back. You looked down the line of your own body and watched as he took your ankles and lifted your legs so that your feet were resting on the edge of the bench.

Then he took his cock in one hand and began to stroke himself while he leaned over and covered your pussy with his mouth.

“Oh God! Oh God!” you cried out, arching up off the bench at the contact of his tongue and lips between your legs.

He was growling while he licked, sucked and used his free hand to rub every surface of your pussy and the sensitive bundle of nerves beneath the protective folds of flesh.

Your hips began to lift towards his face, grinding a rhythm against his tongue while he sucked around your most sensitive place. You pressed your hands to the back of his head, only distantly wondering with irony if that was allowed or inappropriate, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you felt the coiling heat between your legs drawing inwards and making your whole body tense.

You imagined him stroking himself, because you couldn’t see it happening from the position you were in and it only made you ache more as you moaned and writhed beneath him. He lapped at you greedily, and you could see the sheen of your arousal glistening on his lips and through his beard.

Then you felt the press of his fingers at your opening and your feet lifted off the bench welcoming the entry of any part of him.

Two fingers slid inside, slowly and he stopped licking you when he felt the press of your resistive walls around his fingers even though you were wildly aroused.

“Oh, so tight,” he whispered, and you knew what he was thinking, and it wasn’t about his fingers.

He brought his mouth back to your clit and slowly began working his fingers in and out of your pussy, moaning as your hips rolled up and down in time with his touch.

You opened your eyes and saw the sheen that had formed along the beautiful curve of his back, watching as the muscles there gathered and pulsated with his smooth movements and you felt yourself getting close to coming.

“Don’t stop, please,” you begged mindless with the desperation to climax, writhing beneath him until you were so close you began bucking against his mouth.

You were one lick away from orgasm when he pulled his fingers and mouth away from you, and you were about to voice your displeasure when he took himself by the base of his cock and guided it to your entrance.

The tip slipped tentatively between your folds where he slid it up and down, alternating between massaging your clit and teasing you with a slight press of his head at your entrance.

You couldn’t decide which you wanted more, so you grabbed for him restlessly, only just able to grab his hips.

“We need to be careful Y/N,” you heard him rasp, as he drew his tip in a circle around your clit.

“I’m on birth control,” you assured him which made his body jerk with a breathless laugh.

“Western medicines are not strong enough to protect against the genetically superior strength of the Black Panther,” he explained, “I won’t risk impregnating you, so I will need to finish…elsewhere,” he said, his words making your mind explode and your body bubble over.

“Wherever you want, my King,” you murmured unsure if the address was appropriate, but it felt natural to say and his body reacted positively to it as he smiled down at you pleased.

Suddenly you felt him press forwards with his hips, and your entrance was immediately stretched, just from the head of his cock. You gasped and braced yourself as he halted his movement for a moment, giving you time to adjust.

Reaching down between you, you took his shaft in your hands and guided his pace. He was too big to push inside all at once and you needed time to force your muscles to relax so you could accommodate him.

He was patient and stroked your thighs gently while he waited for you to inch him inside slowly.

He was only half way in when you requested that he slowly thrust in and out to loosen you up. “Please fuck me slowly.”

He pressed his fingers into the crease of your thighs, holding you in place as he withdrew his hips a couple of inches and then slid back in slowly. His brow was laced with sweat and he bit his lip as he fought against the urge to go deeper than you were ready for.

He groaned with effort as he worked the first half of his shaft in and out of your tight pussy and you reached down between you to massage your clit while he did it, doing everything you could think of to force your body to relax.

Slowly, and through the grace of his patience, you felt your walls begin to yield. He smiled as he felt it too, watching as more of his cock slipped inside and came out glistening, coated with your arousal which aided his descent deep inside your throbbing pussy.

When he finally made it all the way inside and his balls were pressed right up against your inner thighs and ass, he groaned with satisfaction and you sighed with relief, feeling him pressed so deep inside that you imagined his shaft behind your belly.

He leaned forwards over you, his spine curving downwards until his chest was pressed to yours as his hands guided your legs to come around his back. When your ankles were locked around him, you wrapped your arms around his shoulders as his hands gripped your sides.

He stared into your eyes and it was overwhelming and somehow more intimate than that fact that he was buried balls deep inside your pussy.

He kissed you then, soft and adoring and once again it felt like too much.

You clenched around him and he closed his eyes, his lips hovering over yours.

“This was the kind of pleasure I needed. This is what I have been searching for.”

His breath was intoxicating, and you felt heat springing to your eyes, realising that this mighty king in your arms was not starving of food, but intimacy.

A rush of empathy and a sense of duty flooded your body then as you lifted your head and kissed him until his body relaxed against yours.

You rolled your hips upwards against him, eliciting a soft moan from his lips.

“Let me feed you my king,” you whispered on his lips and lifted your hips again, “let me give you pleasure and fill you the way you’re filling me.”

His body began to move involuntarily, like he couldn’t stop it if he wanted to. “Yes, my king,” you moaned, your voice tight from the feeling of fullness inside you as he began slowly rocking in and out of your body, “yes, yes like that,” you whimpered, feeling his movement coming firmer and more fully formed as you gripped each other tightly.

Slickness coated your thighs as your arousal overflowed and between moans of pleasure from the press of him deep from within you, you continued to murmur whispers of pleasure and encouragement.

Your hands roamed, searching for purchase along his back and shoulders, feeling the tightness of his muscles working beneath the palms of your hands.

You clawed as he began thrusting with enough force to make the steel bench buckle under your back, but neither of you could focus on the structural integrity of the bench he was fucking you on right now.

You already felt like you were falling through the floor, so you supposed it wouldn’t matter if you actually did.

Over his shoulder you relished the sight of his strong back twisting and working while he fucked you. The visual of it, sparking a fire deep inside where his cock was buried, and you felt your body start winding tightly inwards towards it’s inevitable release.

“Oh God, T’Challa, I’m close, I’m going to come,” you announced grasping his shoulders and anchoring your nails into his flesh as he fucked you relentlessly.

He was working on heading off his own release and his face clenched with effort as he bucked up into you, hard and commandingly.

“Now, please. You must—” he begged as you immediately sailed right over the edge and came hard while he pounded away, the steel surface of the bench warping beneath your back as you arched upwards towards him while your entire body reeled from the force of the climax he’d given you.

The room filled with the sounds of your cries and his groans of effort until finally, he pulled out of you and took himself in his hands, jerking his length while hot spurts of his come sprayed out onto your outer pussy, thighs and stomach.

The sounds he made were primal and animal as you rubbed your clit chasing the high of your orgasm while his body seized over yours in the throes of his own.

It was erotic and consuming and when your orgasm abated, and your clit became too sensitive to touch, you drew your fingers through the streaks of pearlescent wetness on your body, unable to suppress the satisfied smile on your face as you rubbed it into your skin and then brought to your lips to taste as he watched.

You moaned at the flavour of salt and sex and closed your eyes as he hovered over you while you tried to catch your breath.

When you could finally move, T’Challa pulled you upright into a sitting position and you were immediately aware of the state of your appearance. Your hair was wild and dishevelled and you were covered in a sticky cocktail of passionfruit, sugar, sex and sweat.

“I’m a mess,” you commented looking down at yourself as you felt his hands come to rest on your thighs.

“I have never been more tempted,” he said lustfully, pressing his lips to your neck and you closed your eyes and sighed.

He drew backwards and looked in your eyes.

“Come. Spend the night in the King’s quarters with me.”

It was a weighted request that you were not naïve enough to fail to see that you needed to consider this request before mindlessly responding.

Reading the cloud of hesitance come over your face, he pressed his palm to your cheek, stilling your whirring mind.

“I only had a taste. I need so much more.”

Well Goddamn, how am I supposed to say no to that? you wondered, unsure if it was wise to push aside all the practicalities of getting tangled up with a King and all that it entailed.

As you looked into his eyes and admired the impossible curl of his eyelashes though, you didn’t have enough fight in you to deny him.

“What will everyone think if they see me in your quarters?”

“Their job is not to think, it is to serve their King,” he replied, reminding you once again with the firmness in his tone that his wishes were not to be questioned and were the only ones that ultimately mattered in Wakanda.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly at you and he lowered his chin.

“Will you accompany me?”

You leaned forwards to hover your lips over his and whispered, “As you wish, my King.”

603 notes · View notes

youreghanamissme · 7 years ago

Text

Ch-Ch-Changes

9/1/2017

I've been back a few weeks, and life is not what I expected. I've never been more of a recluse. It's normal to need a few days to readjust to village life after a long period of travel, but since I've returned, I seldom leave my room unless it's to go to my latrine, go on a walk-jog, or buy chop. I'm lonely and alienated and melancholic at site, but more on that later. September is upon us (cue Earth, Wind & Fire), and so much has changed in my life that I'm a little stunned.

I came back to site to hear that the Orange Flesh Sweet Potato (OFSP) vines distribution went well! The vines are now in the ground, despite a few hiccups. Third time's the charm because RING didn't pull another fast one on me. We actually got the vines to my community this year, and my women will have Vitamin A -rich potatoes for consumption and for market in a few months! I've been trying to visit the farms where they're planted to check up on them, but it's been tricky to locate my counterpart. His phone is spoiled, and it's harvest time. Everyone is pretty much at the farm all day, every day, and it looks like dropping in at his compound and asking his sisters to let him know I'd like to meet up with him when he's free is not the best way to go about it.

Harvest time means the village is mostly deserted for the bulk of the day, but it also means the rains are still upon us! I returned to a room full of mold (it's the moisture and the heat and the fact that things have just been sitting there untouched), but that's the silver lining to being gone for so long. It's vexing to have to clean up, but on the bright side: YOU HAVE TO CLEAN UP! And make it a deep clean. So I thanked past-Diana for buying vinegar (I originally bought it for pickling, but it's multi-functional!) and antiseptic and got to work.

The rains brought with it a lusher, green landscape, as if transformed over night. It makes bike rides very dreamy and pastoral. The herds of cows are now allowed to graze freely which means wagashi (deep-fried farmer cheese) in the evenings! Unfortunately, this time of the year also means more mosquitoes, ants, flies, and rotting remains of smashed frogs on the dirt roads.

Other developments? I've picked up the ukulele again. Sort of. I brought it back with me from America. I didn't pack it when I left for Ghana the first time because I didn't think I'd actually practice. I read on reddit that if you didn't really practice it in America, bringing an instrument to Ghana (or any country as a PCV) was a waste of luggage space.

Well, the PCV who posted that is not me, and I should have pulled a Roxette and listened to my heart because I want to practice. Being in Ghana may be the motivation and time and space I need. I bought my uke when I was in third year of university. I had just gotten out of a relationship and thought I was going to channel all that sad energy into happy music. PFFT! How naïve. I've never played anything but the recorder, and I didn't even play that well. I remember quite vividly how my third grade teacher Mr. Moots asked me to stop during class practice one day because I was screechier than the rest of the lot. I wasn't just throwing us off key, I took the wheel and gave it to Thelma (or was it Louise?). “Practice at home, please, and then join us next time.” Oh, yeah?! Well Hot-motherfucking-Crossed-Buns to you too, Moots! I ended up pretending to play the recorder during class practice for the rest of the year. That's actually kind of sad in retrospect.

You hear stories of Tiger Moms putting their kids through piano lessons and violin practice. Um... yeah. Have you met mine? I was part of the Going Home Club and president of the Clean Plate Club. I don't know the difference between a G, C, E, or A note, so when I got a ukulele and a tuner I was at a loss. Didn't know what the hell I was doing, and I've been fumbling with it every since. Doesn't help that I've lived in flats half my life and was (am) embarrassed to be practicing badly for all my neighbors and flatmates to hear. But when I got home to America I figure that Woody (my uke, so named by a former flatmate. He's not even made of real wood, I gather. I think I peeled off a Made in China sticker a few years back too) could continue to sit in storage unused OR he can be picked up and prodded at a few times by myself in Ghana. Maybe I'll even earnestly practice... which is, actually, the goal.

My left fingertips aren't the only thing I'm trying to train. I also signed up for a 10K. I know—DEMENTED, right? I hate running, but I felt inspired after hanging out with my friend Sheena in America. She talked about how she had ran the Lake Merritt (Oakland) 10K recently. She didn't really train for it, but she just felt like doing it. And that made me think of the Accra International Marathon. I'm no marathoner, but there are smaller running events like the 5K, relay, half-marathon, etc. within it. I had been playing with the idea of signing up for the 10K since I first heard about it. I've done a few 5K's, and I knew that wasn't challenging enough. Relays require groups of people, and for myself, running is a very solitary thing. The universe and I know that I will shrivel into a desiccated vegetable husk if I attempt a half-marathon with my “I Hate Running” body, so the best choice would be a 10K.

I initially decided against the idea because it's in Accra. Never mind that I loathe Accra, it's so far from home. Besides, I want to be a Nutrition IST trainer. Last year, the IST was right before the marathon, and I had no idea 1) when the In-Service Training was being held this year, and 2) whether or not I was actually approved to be a trainer (I've gotten a symbolic wink almost a year ago, but that could also be interpreted as a twitchy eye in the world of Peace Corps administrative decisions). I casted the idea aside, but it remained, floating in and out of consciousness in the corners of my mind.

How cool would it be to take part in such an event in Ghana, while you are serving as a PCV? Just to do it for yourself, y'know? Not for the facebook likes or whatever that screams “Hey, Look! Me! How cool, yes?”, but because you were there and it happened and you participated. My conversation with Sheena immediately returned the 10K to my mental front-burner. I knew immediately that I'd regret it if I didn't sign up and at least try. So I gave them my $40 (Dollars, dude, but it's all for a good cause. The marathon benefits a charitable organization in Ghana), and now I'll have to figure out how I'm going to jog/walk-jog a 10K. I've been trying to practice, but most of the struggle is getting out the door and committing to the idea of running.

I've made some progress, but it's slow going. Lately it's been a “one foot in front of the other” kind of deal and a “think about how great it feels when you're done!You did good, kid!” kind of motivation. Once, my ipod battery died, so I made the choice to listen to a podcast while jogging. Do you need a pair of ice skates? Because hell may have frozen over. If you told me that I could more than less jog while listening to Levar Burton reading me a short story presented by Audible where the stories transport you to another dimension, even while sitting in traffic (TM), I would have laughed so hard that my tea would have sprayed through my nose. But it happened. I'm hoping that side of me sticks around until October 28th, the day of the marathon. Or, y'know, as they say in Ghana: pray for me.

There's been a lot of changes, but the biggest and most difficult modifier in my life? One of my best friends in service returned to America prematurely. I know it's all for the best, but I've been emotionally eating and binge-watching television shows off my hard drive so that I don't think about it and erupt in tears (again). Unlucky for me, I finished most of my America reserves before it happened. The granola, jerky, chocolate, chips, and cookies have long been devoured. The only things I have left are prunes and Parmesan cheese packets (the ones you get at the pizza parlor... who knew you can buy it in bulk off Amazon?), so I've made do... a very, very gassy do. Friends leaving is something they don't really talk about during Pre-Service Training. Hell, it happens every few months as one group leaves and a new one comes in. I've said goodbye to so many people, and I will continue to do so as some of my favorite Agric PCV's are the next folks to go (and then it's my intake group!). But it's different because she and I were in the same cohort. We've been part of a close group of friends since the beginning, and we've carried it on as Northerners and market buddies and support systems... that to think that she will not be here to finish service together breaks my heart. It still feels slightly surreal... like, I’m going to see her next week. But I won’t. It's selfish, I know. It's not like she's dead, yet I feel like I'm in mourning. I'm sad, mad, and need another mug of wine and spoonful of Parm. But that's the beauty of Peace Corps. It's not goodbye. There's still America.

I truly believe some of the people you meet in service are destined to be lifelong friends. Pre-PC friends aren't going to completely understand what it was like; all the shit—figurative and literal—you go through in service. But your PC people will. And you won't have to spend an hour explaining context. They'll just get it. Peace Corps is like one big national club you join. Membership is for life, even if you didn't finish or you served more than once. And then when you find yourself in New York or Chicago or Bum-Fuck-Somewhere, you have an old friend to meet up with. And it's also the best excuse to recruit your friends for a cross-country reunion road trip.

It may already be September, but this year is my year of intentional change. It's utterly saccharine and cliché, but life is really how you react to everything that happens to you and around you. I've been working on internalizing the sentiment that life is not a race; that you don't need to have acronyms that follow your last name or go to grad school to be successful or happy. It's a disconcerting thought because we've been conditioned by American society that you should have some semblance of your whole life figured out and a 401K started by thirty, or something to that effect. It's hard not to be a sheep, but conformity is what made Baby Boomers a repressed generation.

Next month I'll be closer to thirty than I am to twenty, and I will be none the more inclined to return to school and start a career with roots and a network that will one day lead to tenure or attending Sheila's divorce party or something. I'm still trying to figure out what path to take next and have been wavering between the idea of studying for the GRE or moving to Baltimore (or somewhere with snow) when I get back; of WOOF-ing across all of South or Central America or doing Peace Corps Response (or some other international aid job... USAID, holla at yo grrl?); of signing up for community college courses for nursing or hiking the Appalachian Trail... I don't know what I want to do, and that's OK in this moment, tomorrow night, and maybe next month too.

I've not been back a full month, and so much has already changed. Some of it great, some of it not so much... but all of it challenging in the best sense. I can eat another fistful of prunes (not many left at this point), and I will. But I won't do that forever. I'm going to leave my room. I'm going to work on those unfinished borehole grants. I'm going to go on a jog (ugh). I'm going to meet up with friends. I'm going to do more School Health Education Program (SHEP) lessons when school recommences. I'm going to master Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star on my uke. I'm going to be kinder to myself and to others... because change and challenges happen all the time. We just have to rise above it and try to be OK because It'll all be OK in the end. If it's not OK, it's not the end. That's apparently John Lennon. Now enough waxing on quasi-philosophic lofty thoughts. Forget about the pressure; life is short. Let’s Dance to some Bowie and Queen (okay, no more bowie refs, RIP)

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#pcghana #howiseepc #ghana #peacecorps #ofsp #bowie #changes #10k #ukulele #existentialcrisis #friendship #rpcv

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llaevateinn · 5 years ago

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The pain was what he remembered, still, years later. The pain of his golden core being ripped out of his body as if it were his heart. And just as if they had taken his heart, after it was gone? After the agony? There was a terrible emptiness.

The emptiness manifested itself in a chill settling deep in his bones, the cold of winter after a scorching summer. It was in the way that the world looked different, flat somehow. Like color had fled it. Like it no longer thought that Jiang Cheng deserved to see all of it.

When Wei Wuxian told him that there was a way to reclaim his lost core, he finally felt a spark again. There was a need nestled in his breast now, something hungrier and thirstier than a starved beast. His desperation to feel something, anything again was so much that he could not care less what it took to get it back. He was fine with not knowing what Baoshan Sanren looked like or what she had to do to restore his golden core.

Anything. Take anything, but give me back my golden core.

Afterwards, he was groggy from the sedative they had given him, to keep him from learning any more secrets. Like he cared. He had his core back.

The first thing he did was to check if it worked. He cycled his spiritual energy through the core, expecting to feel- ... It felt like warmth, didn’t it? Like a mellow buzz, refreshing and sweet. But he cycled it, running it through his meridians, knowing that it was working - yet he could not feel any of it.

It had been like that ever since.

His golden core rested in his body, radiant and strong. His spells held, his talismans were sturdy, Zidian and Sandu responded beautifully to his call. Yet all else that was supposed to come with it remained gone.

It led to him struggling with cultivation for almost a year, all throughout the Sunshot Campaign. Because he couldn’t feel it, he often overused it, causing damage and overcharging talismans, leading them to burn out prematurely. Zidian crackled and spat lightning on his finger, reacting to his turbulent spiritual energy that rampaged unchecked. It was like a sphere of destruction around him, the power and pain of it could not and would never touch him.

The golden core that had been returned to him had gone numb. And after a while, so did his heart.

Loss after loss he endured, until eventually he truly did not feel anything anymore. He felt like an empty husk, driven by purpose and duty, and nothing else.

And then Jin Ling entered his life.

The baby, barely a month old, was so small and fragile in his destructive hands that for the very first time he was afraid of himself. Of what he might do. He had to relearn how to love this child, this young nephew of his. How to touch another person without breaking bone and spilling blood. How to soothe and settle.

He could not give Jin Ling a parent’s love. He was not his father, nor his mother. He was not as noble as Jin Zixuan. Nor was he as kind as A-Li. He could only give him his own, helpless, mute, numb love that was as stunted as the rest of his feelings.

When Jin Ling was four years old, old enough to start forming his own golden core, he asked him: “Jiujiu, what does it feel like?”

“Hm?” he had hummed, distracted. “What does what feel like? Be precise, A-Ling.”

“A golden core.”

Jiang Cheng had immediately frozen. He felt ... cold. This cold did not hurt. It only took away all feeling. It was impartial, taking away pain just as much as it stole the comfort and warmth that he could only vaguely remember by now.

But he could not tell Jin Ling that.

“What sort of stupid question is that, don’t bother me with such things!”

Jin Ling cried that day, he remembered. He could not muster up the warmth needed to soothe an upset child. So he coaxed him with sweets and toys. It would probably come back to bite him in the ass later, when Jin Ling had grown up into a spoiled brat. But for now that was all the love he could give. Because he did not feel anything anymore.

What if this is what Jiang Cheng felt when his golden core was ripped out?

Do you know the feeling of having your skin carved; your flesh peeled off piece by piece, until the white of your bone is visible?

Do you know the feeling of pain so unbearable, you'd rather bash your head against a concrete wall just to make it stop? Even your hand itches to do something but you can't and you feel helpless just lying there motionlessly with your toes curled because it fucking hurts?

Do you know that feeling that you have to attempt detaching from your corporeal body to numb the pain so you end up with a dazed look but the pain only surges with each passing second?

Do you know the feeling of sitting down in one place, not being able to move because of fear that the pain would crawl up and down your spine and penetrate your very soul? A pain that causes so much sorrow, so much agony, that you can't help but sit in one place, unmoving, as hot fat tears roll down your cheeks.

You know, it's not a good feeling.

#I'M SORRY I HOPE YOU DON'T MIND MY ADDITION #YOU INSPIRED ME TO CAUSE MORE PAIN #jiang cheng #jin ling #my fic #character study #HUURRRT #i guess it's sort of the opposite ??? but just #after the immense pain #the scarring would take away all feeling ??#i'm sorry if this doesn't make sense just ignore aaaaa

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discomfort-food · 8 years ago

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Mass Effect Andromeda review/notes/whatever

So I just finished the main quest of MEA, the latest installment in my number one favorite game series of all time. Whew. There’s a lot being flung around the internet about it, and I know this probably will be little more than a drop in an ocean, but whatevs. My thoughts.

There are spoilers, so don’t read this if you don’t want to be spoiled (duh).

First off, I played it on a PS4, so I can’t comment on performance on other systems. It ran fine, only had one crash/freeze, and that was right after I started playing and it was still installing stuff. There was some frame stuttering in heavy combat zones and in some areas, but I’m not picky about that stuff on consoles, plus it will likely get patched.

Also note, I am a huge BioWare fan, so my review will definitely be biased towards those who have played the Mass Effect and/or Dragon Age series. I have greatly enjoyed all the entries in these series, although I am aware of the many flaws in all of them. Also I’ll let you in on a probably unpopular opinion: my least favorite ME game is 2. Despite having my absolute favorite opening to a game, the rest of the plot just didn’t make much sense within the trilogy. Take that info and do what you want with it. I like 1 for the story, 2 for the character quests (that’s all the game is though) and 3 for the combat.

Okay! Finally to my thoughts on Andromeda. I broke them up into good stuff, bad stuff, and other stuff/random observations.

The Good!

- The scale and sense of exploration! I love space. I love the sense of exploration into the unknown. When I heard they were planning on taking the planet exploration concept from 1 and make it good, I was ecstatic. There aren’t nearly as many planets to explore as in 1, but they’re all interesting worlds with quests and things to explore, not just empty husks (ha). I do wish there were some more worlds that I was actually the first to discover and not have to worry about raiders or abandoned prefabs over the next hill.

- The characters! Characters are BioWare’s bread and butter, and Andromeda is no exception. All of my squad and crew are interesting and believable, and although I have my favorites, there wasn’t one of them that I found myself never wanting to take into combat. I’ll get into my thoughts on each of them later. I see people complaining about how there’s “only” six companions and compare it to 2′s hundred million. Well, sorry, but at least a third of 2′s companions were boring or unnecessary. Ryder’s squad all had excellent chemistry together, and constantly surprised me with their banter dialogue or conversations around the ship. Which brings me to my next point:

- The ship! The Tempest is beautiful, inside and out. There’s lots of nooks and crannies to explore and appreciate. Although it’s not as big as the Normandy SR-2, it doesn’t have any annoying, impossibly long elevators to take between decks. Your crew actually move around the ship and have conversations with each other from other rooms or over the comms. I do love that your quarters are absolutely bonkers compared to the five beds and a couch shared between the rest of your squad.

- Ryder, Ryder, Ryder.Ryder is a solid protagonist. The dialogue mechanic is much more natural than Shepard's paragon/renegade business, and I felt like I could put more of myself into her. Also, you don't have to worry about putting enough points into certain types of dialogue to get access to certain objects. Lexi keeps tabs on your general conversational tone, and other characters will react differently to you depending on how you have talked to them in the past. Plus, Ryder swears a lot more than Shepard, so that's pretty fucking cool.

- The combat! I’ll be honest; I play most video games for the story. I don’t mind combat in most games, but I rarely if ever bump the difficulty up past normal. The combat in Andromeda was quick and responsive. The last game I played was Witcher 3. Fucking amazing game, but I swear Geralt was drunk half the game due to how many times he got stuck in the landscape or stumbled or didn’t move in the way I expected. I’m not going to get much into it, pretty much the only universal positive point most reviews have about the game is its combat, go read one of those.

- Peebee. just. heart eyes. my beautiful blue gf. everything about her. swoon. Her and my smartass Ryder better tear up the galaxy in the sequel or I’ll riot.

- The actual cutscene animations. I’m talking about the full body motion capture shots, not the facial animations, I’ll get to those in a minute. They’re nicely done, and I didn’t really notice anything that stuck out or was reused like a lot of shots in the OT. There weren’t things like awkward hand waving during dialogue or the ol’ BioWare Turn And Walk Out of Frame.

- The armor design/clothing options. I really liked the way most of the armor looked on Ryder, definite improvement over the OT (no boob cups, yay!) Being able to choose the color was pretty neat too. Here’s my soft butch Ryder rocking NASA-levels of orange.

- my bro! I love him. It’s always neat when you have family members in an rpg and you aren’t conveniently an orphan. I freaked out when I got to play as him in that scene near the end! I hope our sibling will be on our ship with us in the sequel.

- post-ending content - you can do most of the stuff after the main quest is over without worrying about being locked out. Plus, your squad actually acknowledges that the main quest is over and don’t give you the silent treatment.

- Remnant design. Love it. It’s got that huge, unfathomable-ness to it. The first vault you unlock on Eos, wow. That’s the sci-fi I like.

The Bad

- The facial animations. Let’s just get this over with. They’re bad. Well, the upper half is bad. The bottom half of the faces are usually passable, and the teeth detail is actually pretty good. But the eyes. The eyes are the windows to the soul, and I just don’t understand why they are so lifeless. It’s not even like BioWare doesn’t know how to make eyes, they were fine in Inquisition. I don’t see why they couldn’t just port over those eye textures/shader? Everyone’s whites are blindingly bright, and their irises don’t reflect any light, making them look unnatural as fuck. The eyes are the first thing humans instinctively look at, and I don’t see why they didn’t prioritize that over other things.

- The character creation. Yup, another one everyone knows about. So bad. I honestly don’t know what the fuck they were thinking. Inquisition’s CC was solid. Guys, nobody would have complained if you had just copied and pasted it. At least, not as many as there are now. Also, DON’T USE SARA’S DEFAULT FACE. Holy shit. Like, anatomically, her face is fine, but for whatever reason, they baked a small smile into her “resting face,” so she just looks fucking stupid in a serious scene. You all know that one. And what’s the point of having a default face anyhow if all the other faces are facescans anyway? Literally the only good thing I can say about the CC is if you want to play as a non-white Ryder, you actually have realistic-looking options this time.

- The kett. Boring. Cliche. Absolutely predictable. I figured the main grunt soldiers were Angaran pretty early on, their face shape and eyes are the same. I’m down with despicably evil characters, as long as they have some sort of motivation or charisma. Not the kett or the Archon. Just pure “I will eradicate your species because we are better” Typical antagonist who’s unhealthily obsessed with the protagonist to the point of his underlings pointing it out to him. I guess the only ok factor about the kett is their physical design? I hate their technology design though, it looks like something from a 90′s scifi show.

- Attack of the Asari Clones. Whyyyyyy do all of the asari, sans Peebee, have the same face??? It’s infuriating because you would think it’s such a simple thing. They have a fucking human face, they didn’t seem to have a problem making different human faces??? I also take issue with the other species not being different enough, (although this was a problem in the OT too, I guess Saren had a facial deformity for turians). They did brag about being able to have a higher variation in alien species in one of those boring “previews” of the devs sitting at their computers, so what happened??? All the Krogan have three facial models: female, wrex, or wrex with chin spikes (I guess Grunt had a facial deformity too).

- The rest of the romances? I enjoyed Peebee’s romance but from what I read about the rest of them, unfortunately I think she got the “default sex appeal romance” treatment that Liara had in the OT; an unequal amount of scenes/effort into her romance because that’s who straight men will go for.

- dialogue constantly cutting out/ending because of another dialogue line. Oh sweet, I’m getting some good party bant-HEY PATHFINDER IT’S A LITTLE BIT WARM OUTSIDE ON THIS DESERT PLANET, THOUGHT YOU SHOULD KNOW. hopefully this gets patched.

- the inventory. There’s no sorting of anything, just alphabetically. It would be awesome if my crafting materials were in one section and my weapons, armor, mods, etc, were in their own. nope. also there’s no storage locker anywhere so have fun carrying all of that.

The Other

- There are a lot of unsolved/open-ended plot lines. The origin/rest of the Kett, the Remnant/Jardann and the Angara, Ryder’s mom, the Benefactor and Jien Garson’s murder. The Quarian ark mentioned in the epilogue will probably be DLC. I’m hoping this means a sequel is definite, but we’ll have to see how the negative press affects sales.

- I’m kind of neutral on the angara. Jaal is awesome, but the rest of the angara are just kind of boring. I like their whole family dynamic thing, but meh. I also don’t really dig the female designs, I think it’s the eyebrow ridge thing? They’re too different from the males.

- I wish there was more “first contact” stuff. During the marketing of the game, they emphasized how much the Milky Way species were the aliens. It didn’t feel much that way to me. The first meeting between Ryder and the Angara was cool, with them all crowding around to see. It sounded like this was the first time they had known about us? But immediately after Aya suddenly there are angara everywhere and integrating with our society?

- They tried going straight for the Citadel DLC tone without having three full games to back it up. I like joking around and lightheartedness, and I can definitely understand going for a lighter tone than the original trilogy, but I really feel like they saw the positive reception of Citadel, and just tried to force the mood to be the same way. We had the whole trilogy to build up relationships with the crew before we could unwind in Citadel, and they missed that. It’s like eating dessert first.

- Whyyy did they ruin Allegra Clarke’s awesome voice on Kesh?

- Gay turians are pretty cool

- Why did I have to specify Shepard’s gender? All the Shepard references I found (do the SAM memories questline) didn’t mention Shepard’s gender. Unless I missed something?

- Can I wear my under-armor(?) around non-combat zones outside the Tempest?

Seriously, nobody would walk around Kadara in a hoodie and sweats or a fashionable scarf. As far as I know I only get to wear this during the final mission.

The Squad (most to least favorite)

Peebee. My love. Write off anyone who says she’s just Sera from Inquisition. I don’t think they played either game. And her dad’s an Elcor??? I need to know more. I liked how they didn’t even try to make her a Liara clone.

Vetra Oh my god. First time in a Bioware game I actually had trouble deciding who to romance. She’s just so… competent. I will climb that tree next playthrough for sure. She’s the team’s Cool Mom.

Jaal I honestly thought he would be way different. Angsty like Thane or arrogant like Javik, but nah, he was such a bro. His voice and dry humor quickly took him off my shit list. I guess he gets together with Peebee if you don’t romance either of them, and I’m ok with that.

Kallo pure cinnamon roll, too good, too pure.

Lexi even though she broke my Ryder’s heart, I still love her. Mostly because I love Natalie Dormer. I hope she comes back if there’s a sequel.

Suvi Her banter with Kallo was good. And the first time you can flirt with her as Sara was absolute gold. As soon as she brought up religion though, I peaced out.

Drack Guys, he’s old. And he’s a krogan. Did we mention that he’s really old? He’s funny, because he’s a krogan. Krogan just like to shoot stuff. Drack does too, but he’s old so he’s really good at it. I didn’t not like Drack, and he honestly has some of the funniest dialogue, but he’s basically Wrex if people constantly mentioned how old he was. Also I guess I was supposed to know he has a bunch of prosthetics? He’s literally cocooned in armor 24/7 so that plot point didn’t have as much impact as I think they were going for. I hope if they ever make another Krogan squadmate in the future they’ll try to make a new character.

Cora oh my god girl shut up about the Asari. She’s the team’s Awkward Mom. Basically Cassandra. Totally reads Fifty Shades of Grey.

Liam His loyalty mission was actually one of my favorites, but I just didn’t like his character. For a crisis specialist, he wasn’t very good in a crisis. Probably my favorite Generic Starter Male Human squadmate though.

Gil I’m sorry that he’s the only option gay male players get.

The End

Shit, that went on way longer than I’d intended. In conclusion, I would rate Andromeda a 7.5 out of 10. It needed a lot more polish before release, and I don’t understand the reasoning behind giving your most popular franchise to a team that has yet to make a full game. Still, it’s got good bones, and it was a nice clean break from the baggage of the OT. Hopefully they release some good patches and quality DLC, then I could see me bumping my score up to an 8. I hope the game will be looked back on like DA2 is now, people have realized it’s a decent game despite it’s serious flaws.

#mass effect #andromeda #review #mass effect andromeda #spoilers #mea #mea spoilers #mea review #andromeda review

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mmoxie · 8 years ago

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50 Character Questions For Karalonde

@memes4less asked me to do the whole darn ask meme for a character of mine that i like a lot, and it took some time, but

it happened, and i’m just, so incredibly sorry to mobile users if this somehow eats your dash

here’s a readmore tho

What is your OC’s favorite color? Yellow.

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? Curios and antiques from Elven history.

What kind of things is your OC allergic to? No allergies.

What kind of clothing does your OC wear? Very huge yellow cloak full of pockets is a must. Steel-toed boots, sweaters, comfortable all-weather pants. It takes a lot to get her into something elegant.

What is your OC’s first memory? Her mothers and mentors, the spooky old Ravens Grey, holding her hands and singing songs to her.

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? Karalonde gets along very well with corvids. They tend to recognize her as another corvid, like a very big crow or raven. On the flip-side, dogs don't trust her, and she doesn't trust them.

What element would your OC be? Sodium.

What is your OC’s theme song?

The Heavy - No Place For A Hero

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vhwDxNqWtxk

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? Nah.

What deadly sin would best represent your OC? This one's a toss-up. I'm going to go with Pride though, because she's sure of herself to a tragic fault. Believing without question that she's making the right decision, because she's Karalonde, so of course she's right, has been her downfall more than once.

What are your OC’s hobbies? She used to play guitar. Hasn't picked it up again since she lost her eyes, but she could.

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? She's patient until she's not. Dynamite with a really, really long fuse is still dynamite. When she's angry, she's Category Five Angry.

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? She's a night elf, a trans woman, and a lesbian.

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? She's a total disaster about modern food. Absolutely spoiled by the world of greasy and salty and deep-fried. But she's got a soft spot for kimchi, which she grew up on, and likes her meat rare.

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? A corvid of some kind. She's always had an affinity for them due to her upbringing. Whenever she encounters one in the wild, she has a way of approaching them that makes her seem to be a Very Large Raven, rather than a different creature altogether.

What does your OC smell like? Boot polish.

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? Karalonde found and sold a great deal of her belongings from half an eternity ago in order to build a large savings. Large enough that she can coast on it for basically as long as she wants, as long as she lives simply- which she prefers. Most days, she takes a boat to the Broken Shore and participates in holding the line there, helping to keep the demons from advancing any closer to the mainland. Her dream job requires that the war be over. She wants to go back to being a public servant. Maybe the mayor of a small town, or some other low-caliber politician. She considers her current "job" a necessary service, but it places her uncomfortably close to the Illidari.

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? Karalonde fears failure to the point of outright "you didn't win" levels of denial. She also fears abandonment. She's absolutely awful at expressing herself, and this distances herself from would-be friends and romantic partners, and this is exacerbated by her vast ego, which insists that she can't be in the wrong for acting that way. She is, however, phenomenally physically strong, literally fireproof, and she can, on occasion, channel her inability to otherwise express herself into a passionate drive to protect the few people she can keep close to her- even if that means doing something as dangerous and oafish as picking a fight on their behalf.

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? Karalonde likes things that sound like Spanish guitar. She also has a certain fondness for the powerful drums the Trolls use.

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? She's been traveling offworld for half an eternity, thanks to her career with the Illidari. If anything, she'd just be shocked to find out that the Earth isn't a smoldering husk. The next step after that would be to casually assimilate, never explaining her appearance or origins, pawning off her extremely valuable gold coins from Azeroth in exchange for fat stacks of cash. She'd miss out on a lot of our visual media due to her general eyelessness, but once she got the hang of things, she'd almost certainly end up a celebrity. Maybe even star in an action movie.

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? Lack of decorum makes Karalonde very upset. She's got a strict sense of what's proper behavior, and she's not above delivering a hard slap to remind her close acquaintances to behave when she's around. She also has a stomach ulcer, and arthritis in her knees and hands. Her only pet peeves are all to do with communication- she hates when strangers interject with "their two coppers," and she'll often deny them outright if they ask to contribute. Likewise, she hates un-asked-for explanations, and will mock anyone providing one with "ah, look at the young scholar," or something to that effect.

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? Horrible. Just the worst. Not even a disruption in class, just the kid who seems to always have better things to do than be there. Abysmal attendance record. Shows up whenever she wants. Gets into fights in the cafeteria pretty often over basically nothing. Steals little things all the time. --Librarian's pet, though. If she's not in class, she can be found there, helping stock returns and organize the shelves, holding surprisingly mature and serious conversations with the librarian about her future.

What is a random fact about your OC? At least once in her life, Kara has- just like a dog- chased after and eaten a bee. With the consequences you'd expect.

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? Kara is a firm believer in "all the fake things, all the bullshit, all the wishy-washy myths and mysteries." Every cryptid is real, every mystery has its fantastical conclusion, every conspiracy is worth investigation. She insists that it's the fake things- "the things we invent, because we like the sound of them" that contribute a newfound value to the dirt and grass and trees. Every ritual, she believes, is a total fabrication- an invention that, by virtue of our commitment to it, achieves its function. The only "fake thing" she questions is the Holy Light, because she finds it uncomfortably godless. "Where in the hell is their deity," she's asked more than once, "how in blazes did they reckon on just -light?-" The truth of that is, she just finds it unimaginative- lacking the spark of imagination that comes with grander rituals and other "fake things." But a world rich with fake things is a world she wants to protect. She's invented a great many, herself, ascribing value to trinkets and places and even articles of clothing. She'd save the world just for the sake of the value she finds in an idea. Even a really silly idea. Especially a really silly idea.

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? In a lot of ways, Kara is wish fulfillment. She's beautiful, she's strong, she's capable. But in other ways, she's constantly failing, She's a lapsed Illidari who broke the bond with her demon because the two of them fell in love, for goodness' sake. Talk about taboo on top of taboo. She's wrong about most everything, but she believes so hard and so sincerely- and again, that's wish fulfillment. I wish I could believe like Karalonde believes. She's only a fan character in the sense that she's not built out of My Original Lore, but really, there's only so much structure that Blizzard offers to characters, so they end up 1% Blizz, 99% Your Effort. She's always been kind of the same, ever since I made her, but she's changed in subtle ways- being more indulgent, telling more jokes, opening up little by little, learning to care about others again. Her journey's gradual, and she's got a long way to go.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? It's hard to say. Kara makes herself into a mother figure accidentally, all the time. She ends up attached to someone and worries about them, and next thing she knows, she's rushing to protect them. But there are a few- a very select, very distinct few- who she sees the "makings of greatness" in. And yes, John Silver from Treasure Planet went into the pot, when I was making up Karalonde for the first time. She fixates on these people- often slow-witted but sincere, brave but prone to accidents, full of self-doubt but in possession of great ambition- and she dotes on them. She provides what she can for them, even if it's just providing encouragement. She wants them to succeed, because she's already lost the war, as far as she can tell- but they don't have to. They could win it. To contrast, boastful warriors who go on and on about their conquests and victories, she considers fodder to be fed to the Legion. Let them go and die, if that's what they want, because they don't have or make any fake things to enrich this world.

What kind of childhood did your character have? A very strange one. The Ravens Grey served as three different mother figures- One was tall and thin and very judgmental. One was hairy and squat and very slow to speak. The third was near-about the elven ideal, beautiful and youthful- but she had strange habits, drinking smoky concoctions and babbling prophecy. They each raised Karalonde in their own way, but also together, as a family. They taught her to be shrewd and clever, and never meaner than she had to be. To be tacit when it served her, and to make speeches when- and only when- they were called for. They molded her into an elf that could serve the woods, one of the finest politicians their village would ever see. None of them- not even the babbling prophet- expected that the woods would burn and Kara would find herself trapped in service to the Illidari. They were kind to her, but not coddling. They chose lessons over discipline. If she was going to scrape her knee, she was going to learn how to mend it. If she was going to throw a rock at the boy across the street, she was expected to explain why he deserved it, to their satisfaction. Otherwise, she'd get a lecture on when it's appropriate to throw rocks, and what rocks are the best kind to throw, and where you ought to throw a rock depending on how upset a person makes you. She grew up to be a woman who is very good at throwing rocks.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? Her ears twitch when she's angry or overstimulated. When she's frustrated, she'll grab an old trinket out of her coat and polish it until it squeaks. She's not an alcoholic, but she's fonder of a cosmopolitan than the average elf.

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? [KARALONDE - BORN IN TIME IMMEMORIAL - DIED IN BED, BENEATH A DOZEN GOBLINS] She always was too friendly with the waitresses in the Bay.

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? She considers marriage an "Eastern tradition," like worship of the Light, necromancy, and failing to maintain a functioning kingdom. That said, if she was proposed to, she might open up to the idea. Just for the sake of trying something new. As for kids, she's never had one. She was meant to have one- a child intended to be the next leader of her village- but it never came to fruition, due to the woods burning. As things stand, she may end up a godmother for one of her friends. She might like a child of her own, but she's not ready to settle down. Not even after all this time.

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? She wasn't taken offworld by choice. She wanted to stay in the woods, hold the line, defend her village. She was dragged by the armpits through a portal, to go "fight them where they live." She's been bitter with Illidan and his ilk ever since, and it hurts her every day, to think back on what she was forced to leave behind. To contrast, her very favorite memory involves going to a quiet glade in Duskwood where the green dragons used to stay, and finally being able to touch the waters of a moonwell without them burning her skin. She was in the company of a young druid, who sang and kept her safe while she fretted and protested and doubted aloud until she finally found the courage to try. There was no greater relief than knowing that the mother moon recognized her again, even a little bit.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? One thing? How big or small scale is this? Like... one article of clothing, or one concept? For the sake of a good answer, I'll choose concept and go with "a home." She hasn't had a place to call home since the woods burned, and she wants one very badly. So badly that she's willing to occupy old elven ruins that've been abandoned and start dressing them up again.

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? She "doesn't kill things of the good dirt that walk on two legs." This has to be broken down, a bit- "things of the good dirt" means creatures of all kinds who are made out of flesh and blood as a result of living somewhere. By this metric, demons are not things of the good dirt, largely. Many of them are composed of dark magic from the nether in their entirety- or they've been killed and remade so many times that nothing remains of what they once were, when they came up from their "good dirt." Then there's the matter of two legs- if it moves on four, it tends to qualify as prey. She considers herself an old creature of the woods, and as such a creature, she eats what she damn well pleases. These aren't hard rules, however. She'd eat a human or an orc or any such creature if she had to, and feel no moral or ethical dilemma whatsoever- she considers them to be "made of the same meat I am." If it's not a matter of eating or driving back the Legion to protect her home, then she absolutely will not kill. Maim, bludgeon, assault, she'll beat the daylights out of someone who crosses her- but she won't kill them. She, like the Ravens before her, would rather teach a lesson.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? Kara isn't the life of the party, but she's an active participant. She's belligerent and traditional in a lot of ways, but she likes to laugh and she likes to have a good time, and she's got the good sense not to make a bad situation out of a good one- unless she's really, terribly bothered by something, in which case she'll raise hell. She doesn't belong to any clubs or organizations anymore, but she's casually trying to form some- a township in some abandoned ruins, for example- and she hands out yellow cloaks to match hers, to any lapsed, failed, or rejected Illidari in need.

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? She has a spectacular imagination, but it's limited by her perspective. Her ideas are fanciful and sometimes brilliant, but they have the same kind of old-fashioned charm that "old sci-fi" has compared to the sci-fi we're used to now. She doesn't worry, but she is prone to fantasizing- and she does do a great deal of living in memories, because she has an eternity of nostalgia to sift through.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? She wants the war to end. She's tired of having to fight in it, she was never meant to. She doesn't have many compulsive needs, but she does like to fight more than the average elf. By a long shot. She's done sacrificing, though. She'll kick ass and take names all up and down the Legion front, but she's already given up her eyes, her home, her lover, her allegiances, her dignity, her glaives, her traditions, her family, her friends, her neighbors, and every last tree in the woods we now call Felwood. She's Fucking Tired Of Sacrifices And She's Going To Keep And Protect Everything Else That Exists Now, God Damn It.

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? Bumps into walls. If it's not enchanted, she can't fucking see it. But she's too proud to use a cane or a dog, so she just struggles against the physical world because she needs to insist to herself that she's fine.

What would your character do with a million dollars? She already has a million dollars. She's chosen to live well within her means, do a job that satisfies her, and make meaningful personal connections.

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? Fridge: Several stolen platters from New Years celebrations. Meat and cheese and vegetable dip trays from several different parties she wandered through. Also, a gallon of milk, a gallon of sweet tea, and a gallon of lemonade.

Bedroom floor: Gigantic heaps of treasure, stolen from everywhere. Rugs, quilts, piles of loose gold and silver trinkets, pottery and riches. It looks like the Cave of Wonders from Aladdin in there.

Nightstand: Flask of spring water from halfway up Hyjal. Gnomish audio recorder featuring a tape with instructions on how to read braille. Three other gnomish audio tapes are nearby, with instructions on how to use the Common alphabet, a recording of some very good guitar played by a pirate in the Bay, and a highly explicit tape, also bought in the Bay, which features very animated readings of a couple "steamy romance novels."

Garbage can: Empty soup cans, spent matches, various wrappers and shreds of wax paper.

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? You can count on somewhere expensive. Kara likes paying extra for something quiet and special and well-crafted, so fine dining suits her. Even if she eats with her hands. She was given a dress over Winter Veil, made of embersilk. It fits, and she likes to wear it out. Odds are, she'll go out with a friend- but if she had a choice, she'd get a celebrity on her arm. She'd love to stir up a controversy by being caught out at dinner with a world leader, like Tyrande or Sylvanas. Especially Sylvanas- she feels like they'd have a lot to talk about, in their long years.

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? Pick fights. She's an extremely physical woman.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? S h i t l o a d s. Where do you think? She's been fighting the Legion for goodness knows how long. Longer than most.

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? "It's only a human. Wheel it off to a priest before it stinks, or eat it."

How does your character react/ accept criticism? ...It takes her a while. A long while. Usually something painful and humbling has to knock some sense into her before she'll accept a new idea.

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? She fucking loves pineapple on pizza.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? Poke at it, then put it away. She believes very strongly in the sorcery of the Trolls, and she's not going to test her luck.

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? She can't draw. She also can't read, or see.

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? I feel like I already answered this one. The Ravens Grey were strange, confusing, but ultimately compassionate old witches whose methods carried both the danger and directness of the old trolls, and the dignity and decorum of the new elves. Kara, as an adult- having gone through so much- still tries to make herself like them. They were good to her. She appreciates how they raised her.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? Candy makes her sick. She'd never eat enough to get a rush, she'd vomit. Hates the taste. Even chocolate.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? She'd embrace it with open arms. She's been waiting to die for a long time, and death simply hasn't come to her. She'd feel relief, in passing away. She'd get her affairs in order as best she could, distribute her wealth, talk to the people she wanted to talk to- Tyrande, Sylvanas, Boss Mida, Alexstrasza, Chromie, Shandris, and Varok Saurfang, in particular- and then call it quits. Take it easy, stay home and close to her loved ones, and just let herself finally die. An eternity is long enough to live. Let someone else handle the next one.

#memes4less #karalonde

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