#just pronounce teeth with 2 syllables

[just-a-small-town-bird]

just some sweet lil collaborative tankas (ft me, my sibling, and their friend) :>

[atlas-library]

I'll definitely write a one-shot about this, but I headcanon Toge was forced to shut up when he was still a toddler, around 2 or 3 years old; before that, he was basically spouting gibberish, like most babies, so of course it would be rare for his cursed speech to affect people— I don't think he would have been powerful enough either way, and what could a 'Mama' do to anybody?

When he was a bit older, though, barely a toddler but now learning actual words, he probably misused his cursed speech and ended up hurting someone or something; it led to the entire family making sure he doesn't say a word anymore, shushing him or forcefully putting their hands on his mouth, even when he just wanted to have a good laugh— He also got the tattoos during that time, and although he doesn't remember the pain, he remembers the dread.

If we follow this headcanon, this probably means Toge has speech issues: he was never allowed to speak, therefore always struggles a bit saying new words— He knows commands and ingredients by heart now, and he spent so much time using them that they easily roll off his tongue; however, ask him to pronounce any other word, or even someone's name, and he'll struggle a bit.

He'll stutter, will feel the sound getting stuck on his tongue, and you'll see his teeth clench in frustration before he either gets it out in a shout, or gives up and zones out the rest of the day.

On this note, he knows how to pronounce Yuuta's name; what no one knows, though, is how much time he spent trying to correct it from "Yuuda" to "Yuuta" with a T, getting rid of the stutter on the second syllable, clenching his fingers in his hair in frustration— Because he's not mute but would rather be, why can't he pronounce two syllables correctly? He also tried with Maki's name, but kept stuttering on the M; Panda? The sound doesn't get out, it's stuck in his throat, sticking on his tongue unless he shouts it and loudly breathes in right after.

He doesn't even try with Nobara, Megumi and Yuuji; no one expects him to.

Megumi did catch him trying to say "Bunny" after he had summoned some while training; Toge was petting one, trying to get the sounds out naturally, like anyone else would— Megumi went back to training right after. This felt too private, and he knows not to pry, especially when it comes to Inumaki.

[phoebified]

the issue with chiyo is not that she's not a believable child character, it's that this character relies on watered-down stereotypes.

the fact that she's the only Japanese character and she's portrayed as a magical girl is also questionable. And "conniving, world ending east asian" + "Evil Asian Girl" are VERY much so stereotypes that STILL affect the world today. i would know, i have frequently struggled with overcoming other people viewing me through these lenses. i get that she hasn't come out in game yet, but the fact that we've even SEEN her in this light so far is a big issue for me. i want it to be clear this is probably the thousandth time i've seen these archetypes, and frequently i've seen them juxtaposed to one another. seeing them all in one place in one character is very frustrating when it's coming from a game that's supposed to be all about promoting diversity and being yourself. i mean, just the fact that she's showed as standing pigeon-toed -- i'm sure if any of you have watched anime, you know that's supposed to be a cute-factor thing -- tells me that she's definitely playing to stereotypes. the pose is really sort of the cherry on top for me.

is the issue that colorful, peppy japanese children can't exist? or even that they can't be "evil"? not at all. the issue is that these are not real people, these are fictional characters made up to sell a product. we have had plenty of colorful, peppy, evil japanese children that have been used to sell many products already. for once, it would be nice to get some representation that is... well, good.

reasons chiyo is a racist stereotype. lots of thanks for @goldngroves for helping with the post

first of all I'm not Japanese or east asian. japanese and east asian ppl please feel more than free to correct me on anything or add to the post.

second, she got a Japanese name, she's meant to be Japanese and her whole design supports it in worst way possible since it leans on stereotypes of Japanese person image.

and before i start, sso made this design for PROFIT. which might be the worst part. racism is profitable. stereotypes of japanese ppl are profitable, bc they lean on images ppl already hold and know. this also enforces those stereotypes and exploits harmful colonialist and violent imagery by very wealthy white people, aka ppl who dont have to suffer from the enforcement of those stereotypes and who are also the ones to create them in the first place

1. sso got 1 Japanese character and her look is colored hair and colorful childish clothes. leans very much on the weeaboo image of japan and implies we can't have a japanese character without it resembling an extravagant anime character. cute emoji cat thigh high socks, cute colorful and big shoes and jewelry.

2. asian person w colored hair, bc "all asian ppl look the same and boring" so we must give the asian person colored hair - repeating theme in western media. and shes the only one out of both dark and soul riders with hair in unnatural color while being the only east asian one.

3. her name might be actual Japanese name, but it's a two syllable name, very short, "cute" and "easy to pronounce" in western eyes. this is a common thing for east asian ppl in western media, god forbid western ppl have to encounter longer Japanese names or even worse, "uncute" short one sylabelle names

4. her whole design n fashion while being the only Japanese character is implication japanese ppl can exist only as small and cute, and that east asians are "not distinguishable enough" to be presented without crazy fashion. that's a problem across all western media, esp kids media

5. her face resembles east asian racist caricatures. shape of mouth especially together with button nose, eyes and eyebrows. i'm gonna add the examples of racist caricatures under cut at the end. please proceed under cut with caution.

6. the stereotypical image of japanese and east asian people in the west is very much "small, petite, cute". japanese ppl are infantilized regulary by the west, to the point western men go to east asian countries in the hope of getting either a "submissive" housewife or think they will get easy sex. this is also how east asian and japanese people are treated in the west, especially women. chiyo is an enforcement of the (very, very terrible and colonialist) stereotype. the only japanese and east asian rider, out of both soul and dark, is a child with a very childish design.

examples for caricatures under cut. trigger warning for racist slur

racist caricatures and yellowface by white actor examples:

[lale-txt]

what gets their heart pounding... ♡ [partly ns.fw] ↳ w/ Zoro, Sanji, Smoker, Rayleigh, Roger, Shakky

♁ pt. 1 w/ Kid, Killer, Law, Mihawk, Shanks, Benn

a/n: when i tell you this prompt hasn't left my mind... so of course there's a part 2! still so many blorbos to explore with this. it's a mix of fluff and smut again, so be aware before reading. reader is gn! small cw for use of "daddy" on Shakky's part (i have no explanation for this except that i'm weak and on my knees for her)

Zoro

you helping him with the clasp of one of his earrings, your face awfully close to his while your fingers brush over his skin, careful not to hurt him

the same fingers tracing the scar over his eye when you think he’s asleep in your lap, his heart about to jump out of his chest from your touch

your soft chuckle when you notice his blushing cheeks, however he’s not hiding it because it would mean he’d have to give up resting his head on your thighs 

when he finds out that it’s even better to rest his face between your thighs, making them shake with his skilled tongue

the way you pull his hair when the stimulation gets too much, forcing him up to your lips for a kiss, giving you a taste of yourself before he goes down on you again, drunk on you 

feeling your tight entrance being stretched little by little as his cock slides inside you, your chest heaving as you mewl out his name, sucking greedily on his fingers while you take him so, so well

Sanji

your happy face after taking the first bite of something he cooked just for you, a smile so wide for him in return; he still sees it like a photograph when he closes his eyes

how you roll up the sleeves of his shirt for him when he doesn’t have a hand free, your fingertips brushing over his skin, giving him goosebumps

the way you pronounce his name, as if you’re blowing a kiss for him with the second syllable, dripping from your lips like honey

your hand in his hair as you guide him to the aching arousal between your thighs, asking him to be a good boy for you

your sweet praise when he looks at you love-drunk as you pull him up by his hair, his lips glistening with your juices

him trying not to cum immediately from the way your tight hole twitches around him when he enters you in one go, filling you up completely 

you on all fours and your cries, begging him to go harder, as his hands dig in the flesh of your hips, watching his cock glide in and out of you in a broken rhythm

Smoker

the mischievous twinkle in your eyes when you reply “yes, sir” to his orders

your silhouette at night when you’re waiting for him at the same spot as always, an unlit cigarette dangling from your lips 

the way your faces almost touch when you lean in close to light your cigarette at his cigar, how you take your time and gaze upon him through long lashes

his gloved hand around your neck as he takes the other glove off with his teeth, spitting it to the side before his bare hand slides into your pants for the first time 

your fingers clinging onto his jacket, watching you crumble as he wrecks your body with pleasure from a few strokes alone

the tears in the corner of your eyes as you sob out another broken “yes, sir” every time he asks you if you’ll be good for him, his fingers rubbing that one sweet spot inside of you 

your face resting against his chest, breathing heavily as you come down from your high, while your curious hands already unbuckle his belt, being nothing but greedy for him

Rayleigh

the quiet mornings in the ship’s kitchen when it’s just the two of you, sharing the newspaper like an old married couple, no words needed

how you touch his arm gently when you want his attention, as if his thoughts weren’t radiating around you only all the time already

Roger and Gaban patting his back and encouraging him to be honest about his feelings after watching you two exchange longing gazes across the room for months, both of you hesitant to take the first step

your lips finally crashing against each other, a hungry kiss to make up for all the times he only thought about it but never dared to tilt your chin up

the way you moan his name when he fingers you, feeling your tight hole twitch around him, your eyes rolling back when he makes you cum for the third time, getting you close to overstimulation

your pretty little mewls when he fucks you bent over the kitchen table in the morning, not caring about the newspaper anymore, only the lews sounds of flesh on flesh as he fills you up with his thick hot load, moments before your crewmates approach

Roger

the absence of fear in your eyes when the ship docks at a new island and he grabs your hand to run off exploring it with you

the way you’re not letting go off his hand, ever, and realizing how perfectly it fits into his, almost disappearing in it

you mumbling out his name in your sleep when you dozed off on deck and he carries you to bed

feeling your piercing gaze on him through the hazy dark of your cabin, your tired but pleading voice asking him to stay, making it impossible for him to refuse

you climbing on top of him the moment he lays down beside you; your hands, your lips, all of you exploring every inch of him

your tongue swirling around the tip of his cock, licking up salty drops of pleasure before you take him down your throat until sounds of gagging and muffled moans fill the room 

his fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks in your thighs as you straddle him and sink down on his length slowly, struggling from the girth of it but unable to stop your hips from rolling, until you finally take him all in and cum from the sensation of it alone

Shakky

you taking her hand over the bar counter when you learn her husband is gone often and playfully proposing to her, promising her with a loud laugh you’ll treat her better

Rayleigh smiling and winking at her after your drunk confession many nights later, you hiding your face in embarrassment while you can’t stop stuttering out all the things you like about her

your shy kisses after you helped her close the bar and your weak knees after the confession falls from her lips

your kisses getting braver once you’ve invited her over in the safety of your own home, your hands lingering on the bare skin between her pants and her shirt before she guides you where she wants to feel you

hearing you call her “daddy” accidentally and feeling something awaken in her, making you repeat what you just said with a mischievous grin 

the sounds of you gagging on her strap as you take her so greedily despite her telling you to slow down, your pleading eyes seeking her gaze before you take her down your throat again

your shaking legs on her shoulders as she kisses and bites the insides of your thighs, her strap stretching you so deliciously as she makes a mess out of you

[taeyamayang]

hq boys reaction when someone flirts with you

a/n: finally, part two is up! i took a mini break from the soulmate series to post this before diving back to continue the series :D enjoy!

PAIRING: character x fem!reader

GENRE: JEALOUSY | fluff | established relationship

you missed part 1? click here

karasuno ver. part 2

(yamaguchi, tsukishima, kageyama, & hinata)

yamaguchi

he sees you talking to someone after school

a senior that's known for his looks and smooth words

he sees you oddly enjoying it, cue your smiles and shy expression, he frowns

he didn't want to barge in and act like an overprotective boyfriend

so instead he leans against the wall of your classroom, hands tucked inside the pocket of his pants and his eyes down, looking at his shoes

the senior finally leaves the room and shortly after you follow suit

you jolt in surprise as you see him next to the door with his eyes dejected to the ground

"yams!" you gleefully greet him

he nods at you weakly and you immediately know something is bothering him. he walks next to you as you exit the building

"what did he tell you?" he randomly spits out, catching you off guard

"who's he?" you genuinely question him, confused with who he is referring to

his eyes met with yours but he swiftly shifts his focus somewhere else but you

"t-the, uh, i didn't mean to eavesdrop but i saw our senior talking to you alone in the room." he stutters and his cheeks begin to paint deep crimson

"he asked me out." you study his face for a reaction.

his shoulders are pulled down and his eyebrows crosses.

"i was kidding!" you nudge his side using your elbow. his eyes are back on you as he blinks at you for a few times.

"he asked me if i needed notes for finals week."

"that's equivalent to asking you out." he mutters, biting the insides of his cheeks. the creases around his forehead begins to show again. you shrug

"is that what it means?" you search for his eyes but he kept his pupils away from you

ngl you can be densed at times

"yams." you call for him

he hums in reply, still his eyes fixed to the point ahead of you

"can i have your notes?" you look at him with your anticipating eyes. he peers down at you. his face confused and surprised.

"huh?" his mouth is slightly ajar. "but, uh, yes, of course you can have my notes."

"okay." your eyes disappeares in your smile. you walk next to him for a couple minutes before he decides to break the lingering silence

"what was that about?" he pulls his eyes back to you. you tilt your head to the side. you thought he knew what you meant.

"i just asked you out. that's what it means, right?" you link your arms around his and he jolts in surprise. his cheeks already in deep red. "now, you're stuck with me until finals week. and we can eat takoyaki too as we study!" you flash him a teeth showing smile

he fights a smile as your hand creep inside his pockets to intertwine with his'.

he looks at you in pure endearement before kissing the top of your head

"i love you."

tsukishima

he immediately sees you with him or rather sees him trying to hit on you

emphasis on the word trying

bold of him to try to charm you in when he's literally inside tsukishima's lair

tsukki taps his foot into his volleyball shoes as he places one hand on the door frame of the entrance to steady his stance

"can i get your number?" the stranger says

tsukki's eyebrows cruve upward and the right corner of his lips pulls up into a sneering smile

"stu-pid." he says as he pronounced every syllable with conviction and his tone glazed with ridicule

everyone, including hinata who's already shaking by the time he figured what was going on and suga who's basically thrilled with the drama unraveling before his eyes, turn their heads to the blonde boy

"you really think it's that easy to get y/n number?" he mocks him as his taunting smile grows wider

the stranger tilts his head to him. you gulp in nervousness

"so who do you think meets her standards, huh?" the stranger retorts. heaven knows how much you wanted to be swallowed by the ground right now. the man continues. "you?" he scoffs.

tsukki closes the gap between the three of you

he keeps his eyes on you as his feet takes him next to you

he anchors his arms over your shoulder and he speaks

"why don't you ask you my girlfriend?" he says poking the sides of his cheeks with his tongue

his smirk widens when he sees the man startle in surprise with his revelation

he stared at the man until the latter cower down, knowing exactly that tsukki won this unplayful chaff

kageyama

it's been ages and this stranger has been talking to you for so long that you lost track of time

you made sure to give them subtle hints that you're not interested in them

but the adamant suitor chooses not to read between the lines

then you finally see it

your hope, the only person who will snatch you out of this dreadful conversation

but tobio kept his feet intact to the ground

you shoot him a questioning look but he's determined to keep his distance and stare at the man instead

you turn your head back to the stranger when he asked "right?" as if a cue for you to bring your attention back at him

you nod although you have no idea what he was talking about

you feel an intensed aura next to you so you shift your eyes to the source

tobio is nearer this time but still not enough for him to join the conversation

soon enough, his steps lead to you and he stands next to you...

he just.. stands

the man notices his peculiar tactic and begins asking

"what do you need?" he asks

tho he's the one who needed to be questioned lmao

"she's mine." his tone is flat. he narrows his eyes at him and his lips pouted as his forefinger points at you

you can't help but burst out a chuckle. you purse your lips as you try to stifle it in.

"yeah, and he's mine too." you copy his gesture at the same time biting your bottom lip as you try to hide your smile

he's so stupid yet you find yourself falling harder for him every single day

hinata

hinata can't keep his focus on the match at hand when he's well aware of the situation you are in

"oy, deal with it later." even kageyama sensed his distress

he doesn't get easily riled up over small things like dudes trying to hit on you

but when he sees something in the pursuant that he is lacking at

*cough* his height

he gets overly sensitive and agitated

"kageyama, toss me the next ball." he says through his teeth, keeping his eyes glued to you

"i won't toss to you if you won't do it properly." kageyama squints his eyes at hinata

"ill do it." he says as he turns his head to the raven boy. hinata's eyes burn with emotions kageyama isn't familiar of.

this is a new side of him but might as well trust him on this one, he thoughts

the toss is finally made for his hand to make contact with in the air

hinata pushed himself against gravity. his calves touching the back of his thighs. his right shoulder makes a full swing before his palm slammed against the ball

it falls into an intensed straight spike. a loud thud resonates within the four corners the gym, shaking the opponents by surprise.

when his feet touches the ground he immediately pulls his left arm upward. his point finger laid on you and he shouts

"y/n, that's for you." his eyes held passion and aggravation all at once

a/n: this is so much fun to write ♡(｡- ω -) as always thanks for reading! likes and rbs are very much welcome and appreciated~

Masterlist | accepting reqs for headcannons

[sternbilder]

hello there!! i've been playing Buried Stars (and loving it!!) and i was wondering if you could help me with how to pronounce the character names? the one giving me the most trouble is gyu-hyuk T_T and he's my fave so it's killing me not knowing how to actually pronounce it. thank you!! ^^

Sure! I believe they say most of the characters' names in the intro so I'll put a link as an example if I can find one. All of the characters' names are exactly 3 syllables, which is most common for Korean names, so to make it easier to explain that's how I'm going to write them.

Lee Gyu Hyuk (x): The L in Lee is silent, it's pronounced more like "ee" or "yee". Gyu is like. It kind of rhymes with "few" I guess but with a shorter vowel sound if that makes sense? Also non-native Korean speakers have told me that our hard g sounds like a cross between a g and a k, so something like "gyoo" but with a little hint of a k sound? Hyuk is one syllable but sometimes Korean speakers tend to slur the syllables together so the h isn't as pronounced. So "yee gyoo hyuck" or "yee gyoo yuck" altogether.

Han Do Yoon (x): The "a" in Han sounds closer to the one in "cart" than "can". Do is like "doe", not "do", and Yoon is pretty self explanatory.

Min Ju Young (x): Min has a long e sound like "meen", Ju is "joo" (with a sliiight "ch" sound), and Young is just like the English word.

Oh In Ha (x): Technically "oh een ha", but similar to Gyu, since the h is in the middle of the word it can be more subtle when the speaker is actually talking, closer to "oh ee na."

Seo Hye Sung (x x): Seo is pronounced kind of like "suh" (like the vowel in "tough", or "pho"). Hye is 1 syllable just like "hyeh", and Sung is just like the English word.

Chang Se Il (x): Chang is actually technically written as Jang in the original Korean. It's somewhere between "jang" and "chang" but closer to the former, and has a similar vowel sound to "father" or "car" (rather than rhyming with "fang"). Seil is 2 syllables and is pronounced "seh" and then something between "eel" and "ill".

Shin Seung Yeon (x): Shin is somewhere between "shin" and "sheen". Seung is probably the hardest syllable for English speakers to pronounce here. It's probably easiest if you try to imagine how you would say "sng"—you should be able to say it with your teeth closed. Yeon rhymes with "shun" or "fun."

**Spoiler Characters**

Ha Su Chang: Ha is pronounced just like it reads. Su is like the English name Sue but with a shorter vowel. See Seil's name for Chang, except in Su-Chang's case it's a true "ch" sound rather than "j." So all together, "hah soo chaang."

Ha Su Yeon: This is just a rehash of syllables from Su-Chang's and Seungyeon's names, so "hah soo yunn".

[pakhnokh]

~ Later that evening ~ Lan Wangji was making final preparations for dinner, setting the bowls and the food on the table. He was worried for Wei Ying, but he knew his husband. No matter how upset he was, he was never the person to give up on food. Besides, even if Wei Ying got a little jealous earlier, Lan Wangji was sure that he’s not so senseless as to be jealous of a little girl who just wanted to play.

MianMian was already at the table, circling her finger on the hem of the bowl. Lan Wangji was just about to tell her to stop playing with the tableware when the front door suddenly opened with a bang, and inside stormed a very colorful person. This person was dressed in a dress of whites and greens and purples, with a light, almost transparent scarf. Their hair was tied in a high ponytail with a lotus pin sticking at its base. The face of this person was powdered white, with red outline to their eyes, blush on their cheeks, and bright red on their lips. “Husband~~~~ I’m home!” Wei Wuxian strolled from the door to his seat at the table, his step confident, his attire making him look like the mistress of the house. When Lan Wangji saw him, he nearly dropped the dish he was holding in his hands. However he quickly gained back his composure and set the dish on the table. “Wei Ying…..?” He whispered, turning unbelievable eyes to his husband. “Hmm? Yes, darling?” He stressed the last word teasingly on purpose. Before Lan Wangji was able to interrogate him any further, Wei Wuxian stretched out his hand to grab a bun from the dish “Ahhh I see you already cooked for me, such a thoughtful husband you are!” “Hmph…” Mianmian stretched out her hand and took two buns. “Who are you!?” “Oh.” Wei Wuxian eyed her. “I didn’t realize we had a guest. Well, little girl, I am Hanguang Jun’s wife. I am the one and only, Lan Furen. And you are?”

His whole mannerism was too much. Eyes cattish, as he pinned them on the girl, the faint color painted on his lids showing. He sat on the pillow with one leg on top the other, gentle folds of the dress gathering in between his legs. One arm propped on the table, hand supporting chin, the sleeve rolling down to show a graceful wrist adorned with a decorated bracelet. When he spoke, his lips moved and stressed each syllable in an excessive way, but always keeping the form of a smile – bright red stretched over white teeth.

“You are not his wife!” Mianmian concluded. “Of course I am! Or what, do you think *you* are?” “Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji warned. Oh, let him. Now it’s Wei Wuxian’s turn to have fun. “I….I’m…” Mianmian stuttered. “Then show me proof!” “Haaah? That’s not the way you should speak to the mistress of this house, is it? But very well! You wanted a proof then I will give you one.” He then turned his coquettish eyes to his husband who already sat at the table between the two quarreling ladies. “Hanguang Jun….” Lan Wangji had a hard time meeting his gaze as he was caught by the sight of his pouting red lips pronouncing his name. “Take off your ribbon for me, won’t you?” a few bats with the eyelashes. “Behave.” “Hmph. Well, in any case” Wei Wuxian moved to grab a strand of the Gusu forehead ribbon from behind Lan Wangji’s back. “You know what this is? This is the most sacred object of the GusuLan sect, where our Hanguang Jun is from. No one can touch it but the person himself, his parents, children, and...his fated other, the one he loves most. Now look at me, I’m holding it, am I not?” The color of Mianmian’s face turned as red as the spices on the table. Wei Wuxian reached his graceful hand towards her, holding the ribbon “Here, now you take it”. Before she could attempt touching it, Lan Wangji grabbed Wei Wuxian’s hand tightly and growled, angry golden eyes searing silver ones “That is enough.” “Aiya! You’re hurting me, husband! You’re so rough on your poor wife, have mercy, look how your fingers dig into my delicate skin, do you wish to leave marks all over me….?” Lan Wangji’s eyes widened, and his chest heaved a couple of times. Then, even his lips parted slightly. Really, how could Wei Wuxian be so shameless? And in front of a little girl! “Oh, forget it! Let’s eat, everyone! I can’t wait to try the dishes my husband prepared for me!” “How can you be his wife!” Mianmian suddenly exclaimed pointing an accusing finger at Wei Wuxian “If he cooks for you and not you for him!?” “Oh, sweet little girl! Let this furen give you a piece of advice” Wei Wuxian flashed his most devilish smiles, “The secret is making your man do whatever you want, without him even realizing it! Hahaha~~” he covered his laugh with his wide sleeve.

Wei Wuxian was paying back. Now it was his turn to talk about Lan Wangji in his presence, without even addressing him.

“Watch and learn.” All of a sudden Wei Wuxian moved from his pillow to sit directly on Lan Wangji’s lap. He nuzzled his head in the gap of Lan Wangji’s neck and then lifted his eyes “Hanguang Jun…..husband….darling, er-gege….feed me?” Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 3]

<- Part 2 | Part 4 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Chilton struggles with his discomfort being touched and desire to cuddle, and grapples with his conscience.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide attempt & noncon (from previous chapters). Angsty fluff. 

2,300 words

“You’re coming home with me,” Dr. Chilton said with the authoritative tone of your boss, the hospital administrator. Then you looked at him with questions in your eyes, and his confidence quickly broke. “That is… I would like you to come home with me. It would be professionally irresponsible to leave you alone. You just tried to—”

“I didn’t,” you interjected. “I didn’t try to do anything. I just…” Thought about it. Planned it. Began to execute the plan. But you didn’t do anything.

Chilton watched you, his analytical gaze muddied with guilt. He held your arm as if you might drift away if he didn’t. You glanced down the wide marble hallway of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, but no one was there to see him grasping you so familiarly. You should have known it was safe—Dr. Chilton wouldn’t have risked public affection if there was a chance of being discovered. The main hall was darkened. This wasn’t an emergency hospital, so there were only one or two medical personnel on call overnight, and guards whose rounds Chilton knew by heart.

“If you prefer, I could have you kept under observation. However, it would be more pleasant if I did it myself. Simply to make sure you are alright.”

“Don’t worry. It’s not like I’ve never thought about killing myself before. I’ve never gone through with it,” you shrugged dismissively.

“That is not a reason not to be worried,” his voice pitched up in alarm. “In fact, I am more concerned that this is a pattern.”

Fuck. You forgot you were talking to a psychiatrist.

How could you make him understand you didn’t need help? You would never have the guts to actually go through with it, however much you wanted to. Were you even depressed? Probably not. You were just a dumb, dramatic, half-assed piece of shit who couldn’t even finish—STOP!

Fuck.

“OK,” you conceded, tongue numb and heavy. “If you think it’s best… I’ll go with you.”

***

It wasn’t until you were sobbing in the passenger seat of his classic red cabriolet that Chilton began to have doubts about his own intentions.

“Perhaps it would be better if I brought you to a friend’s house,” he offered softly. Your head shot up, puffy eyes filled with—of all things—betrayal. “Or a hospital.”

“You’re going to check me into a psych ward after fucking me?”

He stiffened. In the few months you’d worked at BSHCI, you always seemed cheerful and naïve—the cutting remark took him by surprise.

Right after you made it, your hands flew to your mouth. “Sorry…” you murmured, equally taken aback. “I didn’t mean that. I know you would never take advantage of me.”

The apology cut deeper than the insult, though you wouldn’t understand why. He fell silent and stricken as he turned the ignition.

Dr. Chilton’s home was an obscenely modern monstrosity with all white walls, white kitchen, hard angles, and open spaces that gave it an air of luxury, but moreover, vacancy. It was a five-star hotel: grandiose, without a single hint of a person living in it.

He offered you the guest-room, like a gentleman—no! He would take the guest-room, and you could—

The press of your lips cut off his nervous babbling. You smiled (a weak, tired smile so different from the sunlight that radiated from your face in public) and said you didn’t want to be alone. So he led you to his bedroom, another pompously large space that dwarfed the king-size bed at its center. He often had trouble sleeping, but never considered that his bedroom’s fishbowl quality could have anything to do with it.

His blood pressure was dangerously high as he stood next to his bed. How was he supposed to sleep next to you? Undress in front of you? He was near panic at his foolish decision to bring you home when there was a sudden weight around his middle grabbing him from behind. He gasped and jerked away before realizing, quite obviously, it was you. But his heart was still racing in his ears, and he winced as you reached for him again.

“Don’t… touch me, please.”

Your eyes widened, mortified. “S-sorry sir,” you stammered, and it didn’t escape his notice that your entire body went rigid, or that you reverted to calling him “sir” like when he was reprimanding you at work. You must have been expecting him to blow up at you. He’d conditioned this response. He’d successfully made you afraid of him, and his reward was a sharp pang in his chest.

His hands found your shoulders, and he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “It is all right,” he said. His best effort to be comforting came out dreadfully stiff and monotone. “And you… you may call me Frederick, if you like.”

He watched your throat tighten as you swallowed. With relief, he felt your shoulders relax, and then you looked up—your eyes fell on his like dawn breaking over Chesapeake Bay. Your mouth shaped into the first syllable of his name, but paused as your eyes locked on his left cheek.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. “Is it because…” You reached up to caress the round scar where a bullet had entered, but withdrew your hand quickly before making contact (and had the decency to blanch at your faux pas).

“Yes,” he gritted his teeth. “Because of that.” And because of the ones left on his abdomen by Gideon’s scalpel. And the scars not visible on the surface, left by years of neglect.

You shifted uncomfortably, seemingly at a loss if physical contact was off-limits. “I’m sorry.”

“It is all right. I am fine.”

Your lips twitched upward at that, and a gentle, sarcastic puff of air escaped your nose. Chilton straightened his posture—he’d been called out, and he knew it. If anyone else had dared laugh, he likely would have gone into a defensive pique and shut down, but instead, he returned your lopsided smirk.

Look at the two of you, pretending you’re fine. Just fine.

“That is to say, I am not incapable of touch”—he squeezed your shoulders as if to prove a point—“Our… rendezvous earlier was… enjoyable. I simply do not like being caught by surprise,” he explained haltingly. His cheeks heated. The truth was, he was bluffing: he had little experience with affectionate touch, so he couldn’t say what he was comfortable with. But surprises he was certain he did not appreciate.

“Then are you sure about sharing a bed?” you asked with tentative shyness. “I like cuddling. But if it doesn’t feel good to you, then…”

“It will be more than all right,” so long as you do not thrash too much in your sleep, he added mentally. He frowned. “I would like to enjoy cuddling.”

But he was never conditioned to enjoy physical contact by affectionate parents or by lovers, and life experience had done little but teach him to anticipate pain. Dr. Chilton understood how abnormal brains functioned. He knew he might never gain that oxytocin boost normal people get from the act of twining their bodies around each other. Still, it meant a great deal that you wanted to twine your body around his—that his simple presence pressed claustrophobically to your skin might invoke a positive emotional response.

Exposure therapy was the only treatment. If he was to become accustomed to being touched, he must practice.

“What should I do to support you?”

“Just go slowly,” he yielded. “Give me warning.”

***

He didn’t know why he showed you. Perhaps there was no other choice—sleeping with contact lenses always made his eyes red and irritated by morning. But perhaps he hoped that you would run away and get it over with. A masochistic side of him wanted to see your face contort in horror, disgust. For you to realize this hideous thing had fucked you, and curse him for hiding the truth.

Anticipation of your impending rejection felt like a boulder lifting off his chest. He was being crushed under his own happiness, unaccustomed to bearing your thoughtful gazes and kind words. The world would be right again when you ran.

“Come here a moment,” he called you into the master bathroom, voice calm but a quarter octave too high with strain. “You deserve to see this.”

Every muscle in his frail, hacked-to-pieces-and-put-back-together body tensed as you cautiously poked your head through the door and saw him standing in front of the mirror. You remained placid, but your eyes registered shock as they fell on his ghostly blue dead eye, then shifted down to his sunken cheek—the bullet hole more pronounced without makeup covering it, a gap of teeth missing where the bullet tore through his jaw.

Instead of disgust, you approached him, padding across the bathroom tile in your bare feet. You asked if it was alright, and waited for his faltering nod before caressing his tattered face under your warm palm. You called him handsome. Rugged. You called him a thousand beautiful things in a tender, soothing voice that held such magic in it he almost believed the words were true.

***

Dr. Chilton held you warm to his chest through the night, barely sleeping himself. Sleeping was impossible under those conditions. The scene of his dark bedroom would give, from the outside, the impression of peaceful stillness, but uneasy emotions roiled inside him, rocking him like a boat on a stormy sea.

Fucking was different.

When his cock was buried deep inside of you, claiming, possessing you, a primal urge took him over, blinding all his senses with desire, blotting out his over-active thoughts. But the feeling of you resting silent and trusting in his bed sickened his stomach.

He stroked your hair, watching your perfect lips move ever so slightly with each exhale that passed between them. He had been so wrong about you. Underneath your bright, friendly, forced smile was a garden as thorny as his own, and he loved you all the more for it. More than you could ever know. More than he imagined possible when he thought of you as a sunflower soaring toward heaven, high above his reach—an unobtainable treasure he admired with envious eyes.

For once in his miserable life, Dr. Chilton found someone who understood his pain.

A sunflower was just another plant trying to escape the cold, dark soil.

He flinched at being touched, especially on his abdomen or face. Holding you while you were deep in a sound sleep from which you barely stirred was tolerable. Not as pleasant as he thought it should have been, but not unpleasant. The sensation of contact was a bit squirmy, like worms writhing under his rib cage, but the warmth of your body, the sight of your peaceful face nestled against his chest made him feel protective. Strong. Desirable. You felt safe with him. A new kind of contentment washed over him, and so he bore the squiggling worms and hoped they would go away with time.

You felt safe with him.

His stomach turned again.

You felt safe, because you didn’t know that Dr. Chilton heard everything inside the BSHCI walls, including the staff break room. You didn’t know he was listening when you told Nurse Clerval that your boyfriend’s night shifts were putting pressure on your relationship. That Chilton began scheduling your shifts to conflict with his, hoping it would be the last straw. And it was. A few weeks later, you were single, and he celebrated his victory alone with a Scotch in his office, a smirk on his lips as he watched you cry to Clerval on the security feed.

You wouldn’t have let him hold you if you knew how deliberate his efforts had been to break you—to dull your shine enough that you might consider him an option, even though he was too cowardly to ever ask you for a date.

In the end, everything worked out better than he could have planned. The ends justified the means, did they not?

Forget the fact that, had a janitor not been cleaning his office, you would have been found dead on the floor of the supply closet tomorrow. Gone forever. How could he have known he pushed you that far?

Dr. Chilton had given up on himself long ago, but he had never considered ending his life. Instead, he used his misery to justify all manner of unscrupulous conduct. He hated himself so deeply that he might as well prey on a disassociating patient reliving memories of sexual abuse. After weeks in a coma, losing an eye, a kidney, half of his hearing, did he not deserve to take what he wanted? The possibility of getting caught was worth a moment’s pleasure when he hardly had anything to lose.

Was he preying on you, he wondered, as you slept in his arms?

No. This was different than Julianne. You were consenting, aware of yourself and your actions. A little depressed perhaps, but nothing that would have you deemed mentally unfit to stand trial. If you ever committed a crime, you would not be sentenced to his care.

You were wonderful, kind, and melancholy, and you wanted him. Your skin was soft, and your lips softer. He dipped his head to kiss them with the lightest ghost of pressure so you would not wake up. Your fingers curled in his silk pajamas, and you murmured a few cooing syllables, nuzzling closer before you stilled again. He would take care of you from now on. Do right by you. Everything he had done was worth it, because you were here with him.

Still, his stomach turned. The worms wriggled in his intestines, and no matter how heavy his eyelids, he could not sleep.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Tags:  @beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom​ / @thatesqcrush​ / @dianilaws​ / @permanentlydizzy​ / @mrsrafaelbarba​ / @madamsnape921​ / @astrangegirlsmind​ / @neely1177​ / @onerestein​ / @dreamlover31​ / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes​ / @barbasimp​ / @storiesofsvu​ / @welcometothemxdhouse​​ / @feedthemadness-sweetie​ / @law-nerd105​ / @amelia-song-pond​ / @michael-rooker​ / @xecq / @madpanda75​ / @alwaysachorusgirl​ / @bananas-pajamas​ / @leanor-min​

[zaffrenotes]

[TRR] A Tot Debate

Pairing(s): Liam x Katrina, Drake x Alyssa Stiles Rating: G Author’s Note: Here’s my belated birthday fic for @cocomaxley based on a conversation we had with @ao719 and @the-soot-sprite with oddly impeccable timing 🙃 * Happy Birthday to my fellow stubborn ram baby, Gen! I am so happy to be friends with your sarcastic ass, lol and I hope we spend more years coming up with random inside jokes about rice and half a dozen other things 💙 Author’s Note 2: * All main characters belong to Pixelberry, I’m just borrowing them * Katrina Bailey is my MC, Alyssa Stiles is one of my OCs * Many, many, MANY moons ago I wrote a fic where Katrina is pregnant again, expecting twins after she and Liam already have four little princes * Creative liberties were used for canon character birthdates for the sake of this one shot * This is a bit of silliness and my submission for @wackydrabbles​​ Prompt 87: No offense, but I’m not interested. * Word Count: 1099

It was a rare Saturday afternoon in the Cordonian palace, where King Liam and Queen Katrina were gathered in a sitting room with their friends, free of appointments and scheduled appearances. Katrina’s feet were perched upon a plush footstool while she rubbed the small swell of her belly, and she grinned when she felt a flutter from one of the twins.

Liam and Maxwell were in the middle of a discussion over what to watch next, while Drake and Alyssa replenished their drinks and assembled a small plate of snacks. Katrina opened Pictagram on her phone and scrolled through the latest posts, tapping on images she liked, when she paused on a comic. “Huh,” she murmured, looking over the image.

“What’s that?” Drake asked, peering over her shoulder before returning to his seat.

“Comic strip about what kind of potato you are, based on your horoscope.” Katrina scoffed at the screen. “I am not a plate of curly fries!”

“What am I?” Maxwell craned his neck, curious to their conversation.

Katrina looked at the screen again. “Potato chips,” she giggled. “Lyssa's sweet potato fries, Liam’s sweet potato mash, and you,” she paused, pointing at Drake, “are a big bowl of mashed potatoes.” Katrina pulled up a web browser and typed away at her screen, quickly reading through the lines of text. “It’s okay, with the new star signs I’m now a Pisces, and I accept my new fate as a bowl of ube ice cream.” She grinned brightly at her friends.

Everyone’s brows furrowed at Katrina. “The what now?” Drake inquired.

“According to the new dates with the thirteenth astrological sign, I’m a Pisces,” she repeated. “You haven’t heard about it? It was a whole thing last year.”

“Wait. What? Why would they need to add a whole new sign to the zodiac?” Maxwell pulled his phone out of his pocket in search of answering his own question.

“It’s always been there,” Katrina replied. “NASA looked into it, and I guess the ancient astrologers omitted…” — she looked down at her phone screen — “off…offy…?”

Drake held his phone in his hands, having pulled up a similar article about the 13th sign, and glared at the name. “This is crap,” Drake added. “There’s no room for it because I can’t even spell it, let alone pronounce it.”

Liam leaned over to look at Maxwell’s screen, peering down at the name in Greek. “Ophiuchus,” he repeated, stressing the last syllable. “Or perhaps off-ee-yoo-kus?”

“That sounds like a weird cross between Ryu’s dragon punch and mucus,” Maxwell chuckled. “Why would they leave out an entire constellation?”

“It’s easier to split up three hundred and sixty degrees into twelve even pieces and match up with calendar months,” Alyssa answered.

Katrina looked down at the article. “With the new signs, Max would be a potato salad Capricorn, Lyssa’s an oven roasted potato Virgo, Drake gets to be twice baked potatoes as a Gemini, and Liam…” Katrina stopped reading and glanced up at her husband, smiling awkwardly as she bared her teeth. “You’re the new sign, and have no potato representation.”

“Pardon?”

Alyssa stifled a laugh as Katrina held out her phone to Liam so he could read the screen. “Looks like your birthday falls in between Scorpio and the new sign, so you could go with either.”

“But neither of those are the sign I’ve grown up as!”

“None of us fall under the signs we’ve grown up with,” Alyssa replied. “I am not a Virgo.”

“I don’t like this new zodiac. I refuse to acknowledge it,” Liam said, shaking his head.

“Li, it’s okay, you can be any kind of potato you want to be this way!” Katrina bit back her smile as she spoke.

“Don’t patronize me, Trina,” Liam quipped. He glanced back at Maxwell’s screen. “Why does Scorpio only get a week to make room for this…this…what is that symbol even supposed to be?”

Alyssa squinted at Katrina’s screen. “A man wrestling with a snake, apparently.”

“Cordonia won’t acknowledge this information, even if the rest of the world decides to. I won’t allow it.”

“Don’t you want to be a modern leader? Someone the people can look up to and admire for taking steps towards becoming an innovative country?�� Katrina tucked her lips between her teeth, but the corners of her eyes crinkled as she restrained her amusement.

“No offense, but I’m not interested.” Liam rose from his seat and pulled his phone out from his pants pocket. “I need to speak with the head of our space agency as soon as possible…today, if need be,” he spoke into the phone. “It’s important.”

—

Half an hour later, Liam paced back an forth in front of one of the large palace windows, running a hand through his dark hair while the other pinned his phone to his ear as he engaged in a heated discussion with the head of the Cordonian space agency, with a look of utter disbelief across his face.

Drake and Maxwell had gone back to scrolling through movie options on the screen, having lost interest in the constellation conversation. They were more interested in debating over whether the group could handle the four hour Snyder version of Justice League.

Alyssa smirked when she turned her head to look at Katrina, who was holding a bowl of the purple tuber ice cream between her hands. “Y’know,” she began, leaning over to nudge her friend’s shoulder, “would’ve been easier to just ask for the ice cream if you had a craving. You didn’t have to make your poor husband’s brain implode.”

Katrina shrugged, pleasant smile on her lips as she withdrew the spoon from her mouth, savoring the cold, creamy dessert as it melted down her throat. She felt another flutter from one of the babies. “I take joy in knowing I've blown your minds about astrological signs solely because I don't wanna be a curly fry. Ooh!” She sat up a bit. “Fries would be great with ice cream!”

The ladies looked over at Liam, who continued to pace in front of the window and spoke rapidly in Cordonian. “Should you tell him now, or after his phone call, that NASA eventually debunked the whole thirteenth sign thing?” Alyssa cast a wary look to Katrina.

Katrina pushed herself up off the sofa. “You call down to the kitchen and ask for extra crispy fries and whatever snacks you and the guys want, I’ll make sure Liam doesn’t fire the poor guy on the other end of his phone call,” she giggled. “I’ll blame it on the babies.”

[lookotherway]

2021 writing summary !!

note#1: not really, just want to recount if i have been writing anything good this year since i’m just back in august.

note#2: i have never made public any of these, though maybe in the next year i will. most of them are from different fics.

note#3: order from newest to oldest. not the whole fic, but excerpts━ the parts that i can accept, as a method to cope with my past self and in order to move on to another year, better year.

no.1  ━━ in leaden cage

His caretakers were sage, perspicacious. They shaped him. They taught him how to face the dead in their own different ways. Live past the knives, bullets and shadows and he did, he lived. Enough that he wouldn’t be down on his knees with demented tears while rocking his breathless lungs. Just one thing they forgot was to teach him how to deal with the part of him that was gouged out together with the dead on his hands; if otherwise, he would have known this hollowness is shapeless yet demanding with mangled teeth, he would have known the fear of silence and imbalance when the world tilted at the less of ten-men weight on a Monday night, 1:07 AM and he would have known you beforehand, you and this strange, unknown, asphyxiated rattling throb behind his rib cage. If otherwise, he should have known that he would be a killer sitting next to another killer, you, in this closed black box running on a slowly-revolving world, parading in adult suits—eighteen was him and you, he pieced back the bluish picture of your blue plastic license and— nineteen was you. No alcohol.

no.2  ━━ sing it, the manifesto

She brought the package indoors, tore it open, same things, same name, same address, and for the next few days the only things she took out were the red-covered book and the card the shipper had told her. No, she didn’t read it. It began with ‘Sonada-san…’ and that’s all enough. She didn’t read it. She wouldn’t. Instead, she flipped the pages of the book. She retired into bedroom. She went to work. She pretended that the package and the rest of the things inside didn’t exist upon a part floor of her small living room.

Three weeks later, a call came in the middle of her baking. She didn’t know the number, she didn’t know who was on the other side. She didn’t know she would entertain the call that long. She, too, didn’t understand what kind of intriguing conversation held her grounded on her spot for two hours. Her skin must be green and blue, from the jarring weather or the content of the call, she didn’t know. But the other baker came out to call her only to frown at her. Concern laced in his voice when he leaned over, asking if she’s okay. She didn’t, logically. But she also didn’t think she had ever been okay for the last three years. Her colleague gave her the rest of the day, said he would call the manager for her. “Go home,” he said, nothing of a command. She rooted on spot.

no.3  ━━ your voices in unison

With fourteen heavy strokes, the name Shimura is never made for a place such as an orphanage. It’s gravely indicated in the first letter: 志 as ‘the mind of a soldier' and ‘the position where one sets one’s soul’, bearing two-thirds of the name’s meaning despite sharing equally seven strokes with the second letter. It contains ‘the heart’ and ‘the scholar’ in one pronoun and all it takes is one enunciation to demonstrate the greatness of one’s will yet also no little of undue egotism — ‘Shi’. A syllable that needs to be pronounced carefully or ‘Shi’ of Shimura will become the sneer of a clansman at any imbecile who reads the name as ‘the will of a village’ because it is not. It is hideously wrong. It’s said amongst clansmen that the pride their surname conveys mayhaps is not above the true concept of a village but it will always be above the profit of one’s self and never, never below any individual, any congregation. Every Shimura is an individual. ‘Shi’ of them is the will of one solely man bestowed upon his village and Shimura is spoken like an oath spoken by a solemn voice into the dignified silence: “Everything I have done is for the village, and for the village, I offer up everything.”

no.4  ━━ your voices in unison

Without doubt, this is— “The connection between us will transcend even time and space. I am sure of it. Even if the ocean completely boils away and the atmosphere vanishes, even if all the moons in the sky are pulled into the vortex of our planet's gravity, and even if the sun continues to mercilessly expand, eventually swallowing up all its children until none can be heard… I am sure we will meet again. At the far end of our civilization, once adorned by darkness and the brilliance of the stars up above, we will meet once again. I will wait until that day comes. I promise you I will.” How things start and how it comes to an end. The omen. How they were not supposed to be born. How, in order to move forward and pursue the art of living, something has to be sacrificed in their place.

no.5  ━━ today this sleeve of mine shall be your shelter

His childhood house stood lonely in the middle of vast green, under the brightest sky and welcomed by the most bracing winds brought along pieces of lazufetti breeze. In truth, he had never noticed it but mother seemed to as she pointed at the east, where the wind blew, where the hills rolling, and told him, “Over there bloom a garden of lazufetties.” But all he could see was verdant fields and the blue of the sky that perhaps could be even bluer than the lazufetti in mother’s description. How do you know, he asked out loud. Mother pushed the billowing hair away from his eyes and patted his head softly, the smile adorning her lips had become something tied to this land and the everlasting winds—timeless, changeless, unshakable. The winds had always adored their long hair and wide garments here.

Their life was simple. Windows plunged wide open, white lace laundry billowing on the clothesline, the everspring simmering with heat-haze. Dusk chased dawn, sunset then sunrise, wind graced book pages. When the Silver Sun enfolded the world in a veil of cerulean light, mother spent most of her time working outdoors to ensure the near village, and everything, were well-prepared for the upcoming cold that came along with the moonless nights. Silver Sun engulfed the moon in His wake, and the night without the moon was submerged in piercing darkness. Mother once said it’s very unlikely that nature would change into human’s profit, not since thousand years ago, not now, perhaps not even in the near future; He, in and of Himself, was a part of nature. Human adapted, that’s it.

so, five out of twelve excerpts... you’ve done your best, ci. keep this, and do better next year, and hopefully in both art and writing. i’m rooting for you, myself!

farewell 2021! farewell!

[adulttrio-imagines]

Yandere!Illumi x Reader Pt 1

A/N: This is going to be a 2-part series since I git a little carried away and didn’t want it to be too long. I’ll post part 2 soon. It’s also fairly dark, so please proceed with caution.

EDIT: I originally posted this answering an ask I was sent sometime back, but tumblr kept messing things up so I’m just going to re-post this

EDIT 2: Part 2 HERE

Prompt:  “I would give up everything for the chance to see your laugh again.” 

The man in the suit is beautiful. 

 He’s beautiful in a raw, delicate way that mirrors the unbridled strength his long lashes frame. It’s an uncommon beauty, unique to strange lands far beyond the clutches of York New. Some might even call him odd, with his arrogant face and brittle nose, hunched over the small booth his weak chin and long neck gave him the appearance of an overgrown crane. But as you continued to push your legs to the limit, stretching them wider and wider as you contort your back around the smooth exterior of your pole, you couldn’t help but to tear your eyes away from your adoring fans and observe his demeanor. 

This isn’t the first time he’s been to your shows, and based on the regularity he’s appeared at the past few months, you doubt it’ll be his last. He stares at you with impossibly large eyes that never blink (their starvation is pronounced, you feel their hunger even from here), lazily swirling a glass of whisky in one hand as he rests his chin in the other. You can’t see his legs from underneath the table at this distance, but from his posture you can tell they’re long and just as impossibly slender as the rest of his body. As you saunter around the stage, entertaining the roaring crowd that shower you with dollar bills, you note the silky texture of his suit (it’s expensive), the glint of his heavy-looking watch (possibly adorned with gold), and from the way he so effortlessly balances his glass in a well-manicured hand, you can tell he’s well-bred, wealthy, and sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the other noisy hooligans at the bar. 

The room spins in gaudy shades of pink and neon green as you twirl around some more, the rush of wind cooling your face. You make your way up the pole, taking extra effort to stretch your legs out and angling them just right to display the soft curves of your thigh, the heat from the room coloring your cheeks as you sneak another glance at the man. More than the money, you like the way his cheekbones arch and the pronounced slopes they produce, the way they shape his fine features when he curls his lips in pleasure and expose a set of perfectly straight teeth that makes your heart pound just a little too fast for it to be normal. 

You wink at the crowd before you, making sure to tilt of your waist just right to sneak a peak of your ass, teasingly arching your leg forward as you slowly hitched your already short skirt up just a little more, relishing in their excitement. You reward their charity with a flourish of your own, flashing your brightest smile when their thunderous cheers applaud your performance. 

Your eyes snap back at the man in the suit, who’s gaze has remained transfixed on you this whole time. He claps politely, but the amusement that your dance draws from your crowd isn’t reflected in his face as he returns your stare with an empty look of his own.

He’s beautiful yes, in a way that makes you want to twirl your fingers in his silky locks and tug then hard while you kiss into the early hours of the morning. A delicious shiver crawls its way up your spine and you blow a kiss to him. Groping hands reach out from underneath you, desperately reaching for your attention, but you keep your eyes on the strange man, who accepts your kiss with a curled fist. 

You lick your lips, unsure if the tremors you felt were from the rush of excitement, the heat of the room, the swirling pools of intent in his eyes, or a combination of all three. 

But you do know this. 

You’re making him yours.

.....

Your darling’s name is Illumi, and he doesn’t speak much.

It's not as if you aren’t trying. But he’s still as a statue and unmoving as stone, his face kept carefully blank as you dance around him like butterflies, slowly trying to coax him our his shell, whispering sweet words that drip with honey as you brush a hand against cheek (his skin is ice, and the tips of your skin freeze upon contact). He holds your eyes with his pair of dark abysses, directing your attention towards his mouth as you continue to wrap yourself around him, all but crawling into his lap, the hard wood of the booth creaking under your weight when you plant feather-soft kisses all around his face, paying special care to tease the corner of his lips as you press your hips hard against his throbbing groin.

He doesn’t return your steaming confessions, preferring to grunt one syllable answers in response to your questions, but he receives your affection with barely restraint lust, grabbing your thighs with spider-like hands as he nudges them open, letting out a low groan when you stop rubbing yourself against him and made movement to unbuckle his belt.

“Let me-“ He tells you between breathless kisses, “Let me take you home.”

You can barely contain your own pleasure as he slides a hand against the dip of your hips, struggling to nod.

“Sure.” You feel him smile, and a faint prick nicks the back of your neck.

The room goes dark.

And everything you know changes. 

......

The cellar Illumi keeps you in is better than most. There’s proper heating, a small equipped bathroom in the corner, and a warm nest of blankets for you to curl into whenever the coolness of the stone floor after a fit of misguided rage becomes too much and form sores on your delicate ankles.

There’re no windows here, so you make a game of counting the scratches on the wall, bathed in the comfort of the dark, to make time go faster, adding a collection of your own on the wall beside your bedding when the days slowly stretch into weeks, even when your nails are filed down to blunt tips and your fingers are raw and inflamed.

Sometimes the boredom of it all drives the final nail into your head and snaps your existence in half, and you would brokenly hum songs of distance past, following the buried memories of times long forgotten, dancing around the small room on delicate toes and graceful arches, so different from the bold movements you made from your stage at the bar, before the old pain from your left knee would force you crumpling to the ground and bury your screams into the blankets.

“Why won’t you eat the food I give you? Would you rather starve?” Illumi asks you calmly. You eye him warily and drop your gaze to the neatly arranged fruits that lined the plate. He visits twice a week, dressed in strange clothes dotted with circular yellow nubs of what you can only guess to be buttons, often bringing with him baskets filled with peace offerings of sweets and little trinkets, as if they will make you happy.

You nibble at a slice of apple, careful to keep your gaze on the ground as you fight down the urge to empty what little contents you had in your stomach, one part out of hunger, ninety-nine parts from the ache in your head when he slapped you into the stone wall and bashed your face into it with extra vigor for refusing to take a bite of the bread he brought down the week before.

“Good job!” And he’s empty, empty, empty. The hollowness in his joy almost scares you as much as when he leans down to pay the top of your head patronizingly, as if you were nothing more than a badly misbehaving puppy who finally learned to obey. His fingers dig into your scalp when he feels you flinch under them, and he rams you headfirst into the ground as you helplessly choke for air when he carefully applies pressure to your trachea, all but strangling you while staring down with sinking eyes that drown out everything else.

And you realize three things.

He’s neither human nor beast.

He’s a beautiful doll who carved his name into your flesh for no reason other than because he could do it.

And there’s nothing you can do to escape.

.....

“Dance for me.” Illumi demands one day during one of his many visits. You look up your cup of tea, and stare at the man sitting cross legged across from you on top of a checkered blanket, like some sort of demented underground picnic. Under the flickering light from his kerosene lamp, his skin looks especially pale, and the gaping holes that represent his eyes are especially haunting. His visits range in frequency, and you can’t tell if you like it more since his absence is peaceful, or hate it for how unpredictable he gets when he does see you.

Hesitantly, you get to your feet and walk into the center of the room where a lone pillar stands. You place a hand of it, inwardly grimacing from its roughness, and forcing your body to contort around it. But just as you start, he raises a hand and shakes his head.

“No, no, no, not that.” He says, hair shimmering like black waves out in the sea, as formless as his tone, “I want to see your other dance, the one you perform when I’m not here.” You blink, not surprised to learn that he keeps track of your movements frequently enough to see you dance on those rare occasions. Instead, you kneel down to his level and take a sip from your cup, smacking your lips loudly as you smile widely and say, “No.” He strikes you across the face, and breaks an arm for good measure. You can tell from how easily it crunches in his grasp that your nerves are destroyed, especially when it flop helpless next to you in the ground. It is the first time he inflicts permanent damage on you.. But it’s not the last. 

.....

You learn that your Illumi’s last name is Zoldyck. It’s hard to miss since it’s painted and hung high in every room he brings you in.

His change in mood is astounding and you’re cautious not too upset him. You’re unsure what flipped the switch, but suddenly your above ground for the first time in months and the sun that shines through the large French windows that span from ceiling to floor hurts your eyes, but it feels painfully good to feel the warmth of natural light grace your face.

You look wistfully out into the garden, where acres of woods stretched endlessly before your eyes, and a range of mountain lines dot the far edges of your vision. And wonder if you would even be so lucky to feel grass press against the soles of your feet again.

The Zoldyck mansion is huge, lined with riches and elegance that screams of old money, and it’s easy to lose yourself in the passage of time as you wonder aimlessly through the elaborate halls, admiring each ancient artefact that tastefully decorates each room. But even its size and grandeur pales in comparison to the aura Illumi exudes that makes you feel so insignificant and small, as if the universe itself would split and swallow you whole. You dance around the mansion, often in the dead of night on weeks where Illumi disappears into the shadows that cut unnaturally into the walls, your feet guiding you through both the lavishly decorated rooms to the empty halls. It’s easy to pretend that you were in a haunted mansion as you sang from door to door; you never see anyone else, but the continuous presence of following eyes that track each leap you take reminds you of old ghosts lurking behind corners. “Where’s your favorite part of your house?” You ask Illumi one sunny afternoon, when you’re both lounging in his sunroom and lapping up what limited time you had left with the sun before autumn arrived and brought the chill with it.

He is surprised by your question, as if no one has ever asked for his opinion in his life, and blinks impossibly slow in response. Placing a finger to his lip, he quirks his head and hums. “Hmmm. I don’t know. I don’t really care much for this house.”

And just like almost everything else he does, it’s horribly empty, and succeeds in shutting out your efforts and extension of friendship.

You return to starring listlessly at the lush gardens below, and make a mental note to ask Illumi if you could one day explore those grounds as well. There were only so many halls you could pass before turning into one of the many ghosts that haunt the mansion. 

..... 

Zeno Zoldyck is the first and only family member you ever meet. How you ran into him was mere coincidence. You’ve never left Illumi’s wing of the house. But by sheer coincidence do you run into the old patriarch on one of his rare ventures into the family library.

“It’s not easy playing chess alone. You don’t grow at all as a player if you’re only exposed to techniques you are familiar with.” He slams a pawn over your queen, ignoring the shriek of shock you return over his sudden appearance, and takes a sit across you. Despite yourself, you calm what nerves you had left and nervously prod your own pawn forward. He spares you fleeting glance and switches your rook out for his bishop.

And just like that, in the gaping hole that was Illumi Zoldyck’s home, you made a friend.

Zeno is a peculiar old man. He drinks only jasmine tea and likes it so hot it scalds the skin of his lips (you eye the scars that travel down his neck, self-inflicted and not from battle); like Illumi is gaze is piercingly empty, but unlike Illumi he can talk for hours on end and never fails to brighten your mood on days you felt as if your head was full of cotton and your eyes only saw the deaths of stars. You decide you like his straightforward ways and cheeky words, and you can only guess he likes how you’re the only person willing to entertain him in this lonely home on the most boring of days. He’s sprightly for an old geezer, and his wit tempt the corners of your lips ever so slightly.

And so you both meet once a week for a game of chess.

You’ll drink poison and burn your tongue if it meant filling up the empty spaces of time that suffocated you whole. 

“What was he like as a child?” You decide to ask one day. Zeno doesn’t take his eyes away from the board (you tried switching the pieces once, and now he knows better than to trust you). 

“Stupid. And ugly, if you ask me. Who knows what his mother ate.” He moves his king away from your bishop. 

“Like an ugly duckling.” You hum in agreement and move your knight over to his king instead. Grumbling incoherently, he retreats his king further. 

“Nothing like that. He’s was never really there,” tapping his forehead, he gives you a pitying grin, “I’m sure you understand.” You shrug in response. 

“He couldn’t have helped it.” His king narrowly misses your pawn, and you click your tongue in irritation. A comfortable silence draws on as you both analyzed the board. 

“Why do you defend him?” Zeno finally speaks after he slides his knight over to your king, and you bring your knees up to your seat, hiding the lower half of your face behind them before finally shrugging. 

“He was a child, there wasn’t much he could have done.” It’s difficult to ignore the bitter taste those words form, and you push them all away as you bring your surrounding pawn to his knight. Zeno frowns. 

“But he is now a man, and you are his prisoner.” 

You can’t help but sigh when his bishop finally corners your king, 

“I know.” 

..... 

On the nights where Illumi was home, he would occasionally demand you perform for him. Creeping hands dragging you from corner you curled into on the bed you unwillingly shared with him, not caring that the force of his careless throws injures your back further and colors your body with more bruises than you could possibly care to count.

“Why won’t you dance for me?” He demands you once again. It’s different this time though, you realize from watering eyes, choking on the cloud of poison that radiates from him, weighing you down to the floor as you feel your feet slowly turn to stone and merge with the tiles. You do not understand this sudden burst of anger (you think it’s anger; grief, rage and bitterness all swirl around you in endless clouds that it becomes very hard to differentiate one from the next) and you cannot stop yourself from begging for relief as the temperature in the room plummets to dangerously low levels.

“I can’t.” Dark circles creep dangerous close to the edges of your vision. He drives his foot further into your stomach.

“You can.” He nudges you hard, and the blood you cough out stains his foot.

“I can’t.” You want to scream in his face, and somehow he hears the resistance in your voice and digs his foot deeper.

“Why can’t you do this, for me?” He lifts you by your hair, forcing you to look right at him. “Is it because you can’t? Or is it because you won’t?” The last syllable rolls off his tongue with such harshness you never thought him possible of.

“Please,”  You plead instead, grabbing at his legs, “let me go.”

It’s only for a fraction of a second, but you see his eyes widen and the pure, unadulterated rage he spews strangles you, and it is so, so bitter that your heart stops and the world fades. He backhands you, and the stinging slap he gives hurts less than the searing pain that sets your chest aflame as holds your down and carves his name into your skin, right at where your collarbones dip and met, slowly and carefully etching something with needles he pulls seemingly out of his shirt. You put up a struggle, desperately screaming for someone, anyone to save you, but he just as easily pins you down and continues his task as if your screams were nothing (they probably weren’t).

“You are mine.” He says, after a long eternity, and your throat his hoarse and raw from all the begging. You can only stare at the name he forcefully carved into your skin with abject horror, shaking furiously, half from fear and half from grief, at how you would now be forever reminded of him.

He licks the blood off his needle, and whispers, “never forget that.”

[elaz-ivero]

The Worldbuilding Diaries- Chapter Five; Fantasy Languages Part One

Languages are an integral and crucial part of how we as a species connect, communicate and is susceptible to cultural evolution, it develops with the people who carry it and can be built on an already established language or be sprung out of a desire to teach beyond simple mimicking. 

It’s important to understand that implementing a fantasy language into your work isn’t as easy as mixing up the English alphabet and trying to find a word that sounds nice, your readers will be able to gauge whether your language includes things like unique phrasing, conjunctions and vowels. What you should aim to create is a conlang, a constructed language, elvish is an example of a conlang, a real language created through artificial means. 

First here are some important definitions; 

Language; the words, their pronunciation and the methods of combining them used and understood by a community. 

Accent; an effort in speech to stress one syllable over adjacent syllables 

Dialect; a regional variety of language distinguished by features of vocabulary, grammar and pronunciation from other regional varieties and constituting together with them a single language.

Jargon; The technical terminology or characteristic idiom of a special activity or group. 

Language is a large topic hence why this diary entry has been split into two parts, here we’ll discuss how languages originate and how you can evolve your culture and language simultaneously through understanding the process, sound theory and how to charecterize a group of individuals using their language and how biology can affect how language is spoken. 

Language originates when people, or intelligent life forms need to pass on information or discuss concepts beyond simple sounds, imitation and hand gestures, it’s important to understand that there must be an observable and instant benefit to your group if they use language for modern humans it allowed us to perfect tool making and make plans before executing hunts, leading to more food and an increased rate of survival. If your fantastical group is nomadic and isolated, hardly coming across another of their species they may not have ever needed proper or intricate communication and hand gestures and simple phrases might have worked just fine. 

Langauge is also diverse and I encourage you to listen to music and audio of the hundreds of spoken languages around the world, you’ll hear distinct differences in tone and pronunciation, for example, you might notice that a lot of northern languages use more rushed breaths, the mouth opens wider when speaking some African languages use clicking sounds as a substitute for words and these differences could help inspire some raw and new originality in your work.

For example, in one of my own fantasy languages, Nyefis , every word is spoken in two parts, Nye...Fis because the cultural group it originates from had to because of the protective gear in their mouths protecting them from the harsh arctic winds could only keep their mouths open for so long, words had to be spoken in two breaths and the words tend to be quite short until cultural evolution occurs and the group’s ancestors travel down the mountain to a warmer climate and explore literature and art more, later words associated with these things are longer and more romantic. 

By understanding how language originates you can also explore how your society originated and understanding how language dies will help you establish how fragile/well preserved the language in your story is. Has a language been outlawed due to war, is slang allowed or frowned upon, is everyone allowed to learn the language or can only a select few speak it? What birthed your language and what could possibly kill it?

Now you have your origin, what exactly is the language, if you choose to make your own alphabet (good luck making up over 20 new sounds) or use a pre-established one understanding how sound can indicate a culture or personality is interesting. I split my languages into three main types, light, harsh and medium. Light languages are built on soft sounds, H’s and S’s, whispered through pursed lips and delicately spoken, a lot of romantic languages play with lighter sounds, using o’s and frequently a persons’ pitch gets higher as they near the end of a word. By formulating a language using softer, sweeter, song-like tones and sounds the reader might already associate it with, civility, education, history, royalty.

Harsh languages are formulated with harsher sounds, k’s, t’s and q’s, it snaps on the tongue and you might notice a lot of ‘villainous species’ languages are either very huffy and low or sharp and loud this is because these sounds immediately convey anger, hostility and harshness. 

Medium Languages are a middle ground with both harsh and soft tones, it can be kind sounding or cruel and is open to interpretation. I like to choose the primary sounds of my language based on its origin, if the language originated from a hot climate it’ll likely be softer and shorter whereas if it originates from a harsher, survival against mother nature type climate it’ll be colder with stronger tones and sounds and include longer words. 

Treat your language like an art piece, chose the tones and shades carefully, did your people have the time to sit and chat and have long conversations or did planning have to be quick and concise and long words that mean several sentences had to be created. 

Biology is...important, human mouths are structured in a way that allows us to create a variety of sounds and yet some people struggle to roll their r’s or pronounce languages outside of their own, is their mouth structured differently? Nope, when we speak our mother tongue we cycle through muscle movements and tongue placements natural to us, pronouncing something differently forces us to figure out how to replicate the sound this is what leads to original accents poking through. If your society involves unique species that aren’t human clones with horns or longer ears think about their biological makeup, if they have fangs does that affect how they can open their mouths, can they whistle through one side of their mouth and that is a stand-alone letter in their language? For example, in my story I have a fantasy race that have black teeth which are shaped in a way that they have diastemas (gaps in their teeth) they can whistle through, a long whistle is a calling the equivalent of ‘come here’ or ‘follow me’, a short whistle is the equivalent of saying, ‘uhhhhhhhh’ its a thinking sound, a, please give me a moment I’m thinking. This is because they talk so much and so quickly they use this as a quick easy way to communicate to others without having to fully open their mouths. 

Think about other ways your species could communicate and how they could integrate that into your language, is a breath through the noise a way to breathe out after speaking for a long-winded period of time, is your language a mix of verbal and physical ques like signing or facial expressions. In order to avoid menial ‘small talk’ do the people wear necklaces with their name, parents and occupation on it so that they and a stranger can talk about what’s more important? 

Part 2 coming soon; 

Enjoy creating, there are so many amazing resources out there including the official conlang website https://conlang.org/resources/ 

Bye for now, -E

[secret-kpoplibrary]

Korean Lessons- The Alphabet

The first step to learning any language is learning how to read it! :)

The Korean Alphabet, known as Hangul (한글) has - 14 simple consonants and 8 simple vowels

In Korean, the consonants have names that correspond with the sounds each character makes based on its placement within a syllable (some characters will change their sound if they are at the beginning or end of a syllable or word)

For each of the consonants I have written the names both in Hangul and in romanization (that is, the use of English letters that correspond with the Korean characters- I will only really use them for alphabet purposes as it is not good to depend on romanazation) For the romanized spellings I have bolded the two sounds each character makes (for where it applies) ex; for ㄱ, it makes a ‘g’ sound at the beginning of a word/syllable and a ‘k’ sound at the end so I have bolded those sounds

Audio

ㄱ- giyok 기역

ㄴ- nieun 니은

ㄷ- digeut 디귿

ㄹ- rieul 리을

ㅁ- mieum 미음

ㅂ- biyeup 비읍

ㅅ- shiot 시옷 (this character makes an ‘S’ sound at the beginning of a syllable; except for when paired with the ‘ㅣ’ character- that makes a short ‘i’/’ee’ sound- in which case it makes an ‘sh’ sound

ㅇ- eeung 이응 (at the beginning of a syllable the ㅇ is what is known as a silent “dummy consonant” while at the end of a syllable it makes the ‘ng’ sound like in thing, this is because in Korean all syllable groups begin with a consonant so for a word like hello in Korean (annyeong) which begins with a vowel sound the first character is ㅇ)

ㅈ- jieut 지읒

ㅊ- chieut 치읓

ㅋ- kiyeuk 키읔

ㅌ- tiyeut 티읕

ㅍ- piyeup 피읖

ㅎ- hiyeut 히읗

For the characters ㄷ,ㅈ,ㅅ,ㅊ,ㅌ, and ㅎ; at the end of a syllable group they are pronounced more like a ‘T’ than their usual sound, however a tip for this sound is to aim for a “soundless” (in the audio clip that will go with this lesson you’ll hear it), as an example- say the word “HOT” or “GOT” and when you place your tongue just behind your front teeth for the ‘T’ at the end of the word stop before the sound of the ‘T’ almost like you are replacing it with a ‘th’ - it may help to catch your tongue between your teeth (you can’t make the T sound that way)

In addition to the 14 consonants in the Korean alphabet there are 5 double consonants, these double consonants are tenser sounds than their single counterparts- to make the correct sounds try to force the sound to come out harsher- like it’s stuck in your mouth and requires more effort to say (it may sound silly but when we get to vocabulary it will help)  - these will pretty much never be at the end of a syllable block- only the beginning

I’m including the names however they don’t help with pronunciation really, just use the above paragraph and the linked audio post to practice

ㄲ - ssangiyok 쌍기역

ㄸ- ssandigeut  쌍디귿

ㅃ- ssanbiyeup 쌍비읍

ㅆ- ssanshiot 쌍시옷

ㅉ- sanjiyot 쌍지읒

The vowels in Korean do not have names so I will give examples of how to pronounce each sound using English words

ㅏ ‘a’ close to the short ‘a’ sound like in ‘father’

ㅓ close to the ou sound in ‘young’ but pull your tongue further back, away from your teeth

ㅗ ‘o’ pronounced like goat or go

ㅜ ‘u’ pronounced like ‘oo’ in ‘boo’ but shorter

ㅣ ‘i’ pronounced like ‘ee’ in ‘see’ but shorter

ㅡ ‘eu’ doesn’t have a good English comparison, my book uses the ‘u’ ‘put’ and compares the sound to  ㅜ without rounding your lips

ㅐ ‘ae’ pronounced like the ‘a’ in care

ㅔ ‘e’ pronounced like the ‘e’ in met or yes

*ㅐ and ㅔ sound almost identical in words, be careful with spelling

Along with its 8 simple vowels the Korean alphabet also has 2 types of diphthongs the ‘y’ diphthong and the ‘w’ diphthong

The ‘y’ diphthong is characterized by an additional short stroke to any of the simple vowels

ㅏ becomes ㅑ and sounds like ‘yah’

ㅓ becomes ㅕ and sounds like ‘yeo’

ㅗ becomes ㅛ and sounds like ‘yo’

ㅜ becomes ㅠ and sounds like ‘you’

ㅐ becomes ㅒ and sounds like ‘yay’ (without the second ‘y’)

ㅔ becomes ㅖ and sounds like ‘yeah’

The second diphthong is the ‘w’ diphthong, a combination of the ㅜ or ㅗ characters and another vowel

ㅘ - wah

*ㅙ - wae

*ㅚ - weh

ㅢ - ui

ㅟ - wi

ㅝ - woh

*ㅞ - weh

*yes they all make practically the same sound- one of those thing’s you’ll just have to have memorized when spelling words

Audio

[taezhu]

at dusk, death came in the form of a man [thaumaturgy - lty]

→ grim reaper!taeyong but its chinese mythology, ft. nct → he’s lee taeyong. a king tasked in one of the courts of hell, with one brown eye and one blue. heart as cold as the ice that covers over yama’s heart. yet the blood dripping off the nails of the girl in front of him this time hits him differently.

[2/10] - dark content ahead, mentions of suicide and murder/death

Do you know me, Lee Taeyong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

Lee Taeyong pauses before he answers. “I’m the reason that you’re here.”

“Why am I here?” You ask. Another pause prolongs your conversation. Taeyong meets your eyes before looking away again and picking a blade of grass up. The colour starts to become darker the longer he looks at it. You don’t feel the fear you once did for conversations. “Lee Taeyong, I’m asking you a question.”

“You died. There isn’t much else to it.”

“You killed me?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “I can’t kill you.”

Exasperated, you gasp for your breath as you hit the cold surface below. You cry out from the blunt force against your stomach and chest, pain seeping through every bone in your body until you are rendered numb, hunched over from the radiationing feeling of death that washes over you.

You bring your hand to your stomach, which hurts you most of all. Your fingertips shake as you press them onto the bruised skin, another cry falling from your lips. You bring yourself to look down and see the pool of blood around you, fingers covered in the dark red which still seeps from the wounds.

Despite your pain, the paralysing feeling of your body giving in to death, your mind is alert. You know where you are, you recall walking down the street and being stopped by a man who pulled out a gun. Asked you for all the money you were carrying and wasn’t satisfied with the twenty you had on your person.

Shot you two times. Multiple contusions and a wound to the lung sustained by a firearm. Effects of hypoxia seen. Possible exsanguination due to open wound. Your condition is critical. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know that diagnosis. Your body complied with the hypoxia but not the mind. Critical? You’re not so sure.

If you were so critical you wouldn’t have been able to pull yourself to your feet, albeit by using the objects around you, and stand tall in the dark room.

He pulled you in here because he didn’t want anyone to see you both on the street. He grabbed your arm and forced you through the open doors, pointing the gun at you until you reached into your purse and showed him that you really didn’t have any money. He was frustrated.

He being a forty-something year old man who looked like he hadn’t showered in a few weeks and wore clothes from the last millennium. Probably lived with his parents or resided on the streets, no money to his name and jobless for a good while. You couldn’t recall his face, though he hadn’t shaved and likely hadn’t washed his face for a while. You could have picked him out if you were shown a picture - but how many people are there like him on the streets of the city?

Of course he would pick on the first girl he saw who looked like they had more than a bit of money. Blame your expensive looking clothes and pretty face on your parents, as well as your boyfriend’s. Without them you would have been fine walking at dusk. You’ve never had to worry about walking around at night usually but there were roadworks and you thought it was okay to take a diversion. That was clearly the least wise decision you could have made.

Though you’re in pain, you manage to pull yourself to the door which leads out of the garage and onto the street. It’s still open like he left it, the door blowing back and forth in the wind. You push it open so it hits the wall it’s attached to and scares the hell out of somebody walking past.

You’re comforted by the frightened yelp, eyes searching for the person it came from. As you look out of the door you can see the back of a younger looking guy that appeared to be somewhat safe. He’s walking quickly, likely frightened by you. He’s almost past you but you’re willing to take a chance, your only chance at making it out of here.

“Hey!” you call, swinging around the door frame that you grasp on to for dear life, “please can you help me! I’m here!”

Your head begins to throb as you lose sight of the boy as he turns the corner. You try to call again but don’t get anywhere. You’re left with the same hope that got you into this. I hope that the street lights work down there, or I might get killed by someone. I hope they have the eggs in the store this time. I hope he remembers the eggs so I don’t have to go out myself and get them.

You let your back slide down the concrete as stars start to fill your vision. It's as though someone has a hammer and is hitting the back of your head; there is too much interference for you to concentrate on even the slightest thing.

You miss the footsteps approaching you, but mistake the figure in front of you for a saviour. It wouldn't matter how dark it was, your faded consciousness would have seen it as good either way.

It's the last memory you have of that place for a while.

~

“Hold her wrists,” the voice in the background continues, drowning out the clock ticking that you tried to focus on.

You’re met with the feeling of cold hands around your limbs, holding you down and preventing any movement. A second later and more hands are around your ankles. There is a sinking feeling around you that this is not a good situation, but you couldn’t help but feel the atmosphere be pushed away be the serenity in your bones. There was no emergency that your mind perceived; you didn’t feel as though screaming and kicking would help you.

Your eyes don’t even open, glued shut as a paradise builds in your mind and you’re transported back to your living room, on your couch with Hui on your lap as you caught up on Search: WWW. You wish to be back there in the same state of calm. No conjuring feeling of darkness surrounding your each step.

How did you get here?

The thought lingers for a moment. You try to come to a conclusion but are jolted awake by the feeling of electric surging through your bones. You realises then that there was method behind your enclosure. They were fingers, iced to the bone, around her.

Your eyes are wide open, staring into the jet black eyes of who you assume to be your captor. You can’t speak, you don’t dare to breathe either - all your attention is on him and how he stares at your like you are the prey he had been hunting his entire life.

He states your full name carefully, sounding out every syllable for what did not seem to be the first time, “pleasure to meet you.”

You grit your teeth as you feel his hand fall over the lower of your bullet wounds. He presses down ever so slightly, not breaking your eye contact. You feel it start to burn, your entire chest beginning to feel red hot from whatever he is doing. You think him to be a witch of some sorts, coming across your lifeless body in the middle of the street and now using you for whatever craft he follows.

The heat becomes unbearable, similar to that of when your hand slips and you’re taking a hot tray out of the oven. You can barely handle his nails digging into your skin and just as you think you may break one of your back teeth, he stops. Your heaving is halted and your head falls back against the metal bed.

And there is no pain in your stomach anymore.

“I don’t believe you would know who I am,” he states, feeling his palm over your chest and to the other wound. He begins the process once again, your back arching into his grip. “I shall leave it that way. I was alerted to your presence and thought it necessary to intervene.”

You try to recognise him. The taunt at his identity presented as a challenge to you, especially with such a presence as dark as his. You didn't ever show yourself as being religious, you often found yourself avoiding the topic with a passion, though there was something about him that told you no faith would protect you anyway.

He hasn’t the face of a monster. It’s sweet, really - his hair that falls in soft waves around his face, dark as the sins of those condemned, a smile that would wake up the dead and inviting eyes that drew your in. His skin was flawless, jaw strong and arms toned beneath his black shirt.

No, there wasn’t a name you could put to that face in a million years. “Say your name to me.”

You swallow the blood you could still feel in your throat, so swollen that you couldn't bare to attempt to talk. Breathing felt like a chore for you now. You only watch the man, following his steps as he moved around to the other side of you, slight grin from ear to ear.

“Say your name to me,” he repeats, bring his hand to your shoulder. The ends of your hair are brushed from the bare skin, the tips of his fingers drifting over your skin and leaving a cold trail. His grip reaches your collar bone, continuing until he clasps his fingers over your neck. “I won’t ask you again.”

You tell him your name gently, voice only audible to him if anyone at all. His dissatisfaction is made known by the tightening of his grasp, restricting the flow of air to barely a scrap. You try your best to speak louder like a dog who hasn’t seen food in days, repeating it for him.

He hums as he releases your neck. “Shot twice and lives onwards as one of us.”

Your mind ponders over his words. You look across to the men around you, each of them resembling a human. Much like him, with his words pronounced like a man who walked earth his entire life. One of us. His eyes don’t leave you, watching your every movement like you were the only light left in the room.

“Let me show you around,” he tells you, holding a hand out for you to take.

The pressing feeling at the back of your mind that it is truly wrong of you to follow him is dismissed when you take his hand. There is some hesitation since your entire life you had been told to never trust strangers. Though the man feels as though he has been with you his entire life, never once leaving your side and watching your every movement.

His skin is soft, but cold. His touch is somehow still comforting to her, reminding you of when your boyfriend would hold your hand when you were scared.

Your boyfriend.

Oh god, you forgot about him for a while. He must be panicking a little, not hearing from you for a while was so unlike you both as a couple. They would talk all the time and usually text if there was a problem. All he’s going to find out is that you're missing and if by chance they do find the garage you were in, they’re not going to find anything useful to him. A pool of blood will scare him more than anything.

"I'll only be like, twenty minutes," you states, pulling your coat from the chair you had thrown it over, "you can stay on the phone to me the whole time. I just want some cheetos."

You're met with a disappointed voice. “We don’t even need cheetos.”

“Yeah, but I want them,” you tell him, “so I’ll bring you back a reese's cup and some fruit loops. Stop complaining.”

Lucas, the boyfriend, had been in your life since a few years into secondary school. You were friends with a few people who introduced Lucas into their friendship group and you always noticed that he was really quiet around you. Thinking he hated you, you confronted him about it and he confessed to you that actually, he had a thing for you the whole time. A few dates later you kissed and a few kisses later you were dating. It all worked out well for you both given the origin of their relationship.

Except now you're... here.

“Am I dead?” you ask your company with curiosity.

He turns back to you with a dark gaze and raised brow. You are both being followed by his ‘followers’who stop behind the pair of you, ready for anything you may do. “Dead is a very ambiguous term.”

“But I am dead?”

He nods, gesturing for you to follow him once again. He wears a jacket that falls down to his ankles and commands respect with each of his steps. You would have mistaken him for a king if in a different position, though you would come to learn that you weren't far off with that comment, from his overall demeanor.

If he was dead too then he must have been someone important. You try to think though your history lessons to anyone he looks like but draws a blank. Not that anyone who would have been important enough to be him would have also been alive when you could also take pictures or realistic paintings.

“My name is Yuta,” he tells you, showing you into a dark room. His men stop at the door and he closes it behind them. Just you and Yuta in the room alone. The thought should scare you. “To answer your earlier questions to who I may be.”

“Yuta. Sounds fancy”

He hums at how you pronounce his name. His castle, home, whatever it may have been, was desolate and empty. Nothing on the walls and barely any lights apart from candles that lined the walls. There’s an opening behind him that appears to be a balcony that shines over an open hall.

“What am I?” you ask, loitering behind the tall man in fear of him. You press further with his lack of response. “What are you? What is all of this?”

Yuta looks back to her, pleased with himself. “This, my dear, is the afterlife.”

“Afterlife?”

“You died after being shot twice. I thought you had realised that this was your fate after such an ordeal.”

You shake your head. You look across the sea of people sat at tables, talking to one another, all which Yuta has control of. Do you fear the power he has? No, not at all. “So all of these people…”

“They died, too,” Yuta tells you, “and now they reside here, to serve me.”

“So you’re a god.”

Yuta is amused with your description. He turns his back to his people, leaning against the stone balcony and cocking his head to the side. “You believe me to be a god? Well, you aren’t too far off. I’m one of the kings of hell.”

“Kings of hell?” you question. “Like Dante’s levels of hell? We covered that in philosophy…”

“I don’t know who Dante is, but I am King Yanlou of the fifth court of Hell. I will tell you more if you submit to me and follow me. All you have to do is say you do.”

“I do?” you repeats.

“Great!” Yuta returns, pulling himself from the balcony and smiling widely. “All we have to do now is get you to Meng Po and you can give you the five flavoured tea. Then we can go ahead with my plans. Come, follow me!”

“I wasn’t…”

You follow him nonetheless, since Yuta was the only person here who actually paid attention to you. They are dead… maybe you shouldn't be so harsh. Your eyes meet that of the dead around you who look away without thinking, as if they are scared of you.

There is a looming feeling around your that they're afraid of the man you are with. Something about him screams power that doesn't play fair. A God. He must believe it to command that much power in the room over people who are nothing to do with him.

Yet the men, and they were all men, don't look like they are much different. A group of people who wish they were more than they actually are never mix well.

"Meng Po is this way," Yuta tells you. Though he is frightening, his smile is so inviting. To everyone but you, he appears as a force of evil and to your he is no different to the father that walks you down the aisle on your special date. "I'm sure you will enjoy her company. You are a lovely woman."

Like a kid at Christmas Yuta almost runs towards the painted red doors that stand out in the guarded hallway. The two men who stand either side notice him a bow, not daring to meet his eyes. You attract their attention instead, intense stares falling on your as you turn to look around and try your best to read the scriptures on the walls.

Meng Po sounds about as sinister as Yanlou does.

Yuta knocks once on the door, before standing back and looking down to the ground. He doesn’t spare another look in your direction, opting to observe the ground that fell before him. There is a shout from behind the door before cogs begin to turn and the doors, ever so slowly, begin to open and reveal what lies behind them.

You only get to see the very back wall, covered in what seems to be an ancient scroll or wall hanging, depicting ancient scenes that look to be directly from a textbook.

The only true part of the room you get to see is the number of gifts strewn across the floor in front of Meng Po, of whose identity is still remains a mystery. A lady, as far as Yuta called her, though you didn’t expect someone who looked like yourself.

You believe yourself to be the most human out of everyone who is here. Or, not here. You would have to explore your new afterlife vocabulary.

Though you wish to catch sight of Meng Po, you're stopped by a guard that runs to Yuta, whispering about something which completely changes Yuta’s disposition.

He looks up to the man with a questioning look and matters something incoherent to him which is responded to with a nod. Yuta is unable to hide the fear in his eyes but immediately calls for the doors to be shut. His command is obeyed without any questioning. Though, he rushes out off without sparing your a second glance.

You watch with a hint of confusion as you are left with the two previous guards who only look to you with intrigue. You offer a smile, forced nonetheless, but are met with the reaching for what appears to be a weapon from the left guard. Fearing what he could do, you look away and begins to walk the path which Yuta had already taken. Your steps almost exactly match his, though you are met by another man at the door who blocks your path.

So, you find yourself trapped in the hallway with all parties involved seeming to threaten you with a weapon or whatever else they carried in their pockets.

You are saved by the bell - or more accurately, the sound of an explosion from somewhere else in the building which sends Yuta’s men, guards, into panic mode. This means you are subsequently left alone once again.

Though that does mean that you're free to go wherever you want.

Alas you do not approach the wooden doors of the famed Meng Po and instead try to recall your steps to where you came from. The halls are desolate now despite the sound of others near to you, shouting from one to another. It’s like a battle cry from a lone soldier, separated from the unity between them all being with Yuta.

You wonder in your haze from being declared dead, if there really is all of this stuff going on around you or if you are insane. It is quite likely given your state. You could have easily passed out and forgotten the ride to the hospital and now you are laying in bed, sedated to high heavens, with Lucas beside you.

That, my dear, is lucid dreaming.

And you definitely aren’t dreaming you think.

God is that Yuta’s voice in your head already?

You step into a door that isn’t guarded to avoid being seen by another pair of lurking men. It’s only a small room with the usual stone walls and flooring, except this one has a window!

Your eyes practically light up as you gently close the door behind you and approach the tattered, broken window. You refrains from touching the rotten wood and chipped paint job, but peer out onto the water surrounding the place.

You are immediately reminded of Castle Volkihar, which reinforces the idea that you are, in fact, dreaming. The next explosion which shakes the ground beneath you tells a different story.

You have a moment to stop and think. Wow. You are calm considering that you are supposedly dead and that you’re currently with the possibly self proclaimed King of the fifth court of hell but is tryingto escape from him. You have to calm down and just breathe.

Which is highly unlikely - you can probably die twice in whatever realm you reside in.

Following that logic, You decide to ignore the horrified feelings of what had been on that window sill and decide to pull open the window with no immediate plan of action.

You peer out of the window, fearful that the wood may come crashing down on you, to see the water below. You must be about 200 and something feet from it, which alone terrifies you. There are no waves, just the calm water gently flowing into the corroded rocks and coating them.

You look back at the door and sigh to yourself. It feels like there has been an hour or so since you got here but the reality of it is there has been no more than two minutes since you entered the room.

Decisions, decisions andmoredecisions.

More to the point, you consider if it was worth trying to die again so that you are sent to another level of hell (or, whatever this must be) and can possibly live with a different hoard of imaginary creatures which were far more appealing than the ones you’re around at the moment.

Deciding to take a risk at finding your new fantasy world, you climb up onto the window sill so that your legs are dangling down the side of the building and you are sat on the ledge. You take a deep breath as you stare down below and shut your eyes. Yeah. You can make it to the water. Probably.

Possibly if you push yourself as far away from the wall as you could get yourself.

Because you are already dead, right?

It really wouldn’t matter if you hit the rocks. Except that you, sorry, your body would be severely damaged and you would have to find Yuta to fix your again. So you would be right back to square one.

Fuck it, you only die once.

Applying earth logic.

~

You sit up in a panic for the second time today, gasping for breath as you regains the consciousness you had already lost. Your heart is pounding, skin deathly cold.

Today? The possibility of time in the afterlife is something you will ponder over at a later date.

A moment of catching your breath passes and you begin to take in your surroundings. You’re no longer in the hell you were before and instead you lay in a bed of grass and other things. You run your fingers over the tips of the blades and feels them wither beneath you. The land around you is barely lit up by the moon but it’s enough for you to see the very basics.

Your bed is one of dead flowers, with the grass around you following the same fate.

You withdraw your hand, keeping it on your lap as you take another look around you and sees another beside you. He’s sitting next to you, knees brought up into his chest as he plays with a dandelion which slowly loses its bright colour.

He doesn’t notice you at first, attention solely on the flower he holds until you shift your body towards him and alert him. He looks up to you, eyes wide as he drops the dandelion. He seems scared of you, as though you had a power he could not yet decipher.

“Who are you?” You asks, fearing your safety when you recognise the same feeling with him as you had for Yuta. You think him to be one of Yuta’s followers that still saw you as a recruit and watched you try to make your escape. “You don’t want to tell me?”

He shakes his head, dropping his knees so that his legs are crossed in front of him. “Lee Taeyong.”

“Are you with Yuta?” you ask.

“Yuta?” he repeats with a questioning tone, “no, I’m not with Yuta.”

You nods twice before looking down to the ground. You feel familiar to the boy before you, his mismatched eyes reminding you of something that has happened in your life. Of what, you aren’t sure, but it’s not good. He doesn’t try to talk to you, instead opting to watch you until you meet his gaze again and he looks over into the trees behind you.

You try to bring his attention back to you but aren’t that lucky. “Do you know me, Lee Taeyong?”

“No.”

“Then why are you here?”

Lee Taeyong pauses before he answers. “I’m the reason that you’re here.”

“Why am I here?” You ask. Another pause prolongs your conversation. Taeyong meets your eyes before looking away again and picking a blade of grass up. The colour starts to become darker the longer he looks at it. You don’t feel the fear you once did for conversations. “Lee Taeyong, I’m asking you a question.”

“You died. There isn’t much else to it.”

“You killed me?”

Taeyong shakes his head. “I can’t kill you.”

“Then why are you the reason that I’m here? I feel like I haven’t slept in a few days and my body hurts all over and that guy, Yuta, whatever his name is, he touched me and got rid of whatever wounds I had on my body and now I feel fine. Part of me thinks that this is one of my worst nightmares but god, this is worse than any nightmare my unimaginative brain could conjure up. So please, Lee Taeyong, for the sake of my own sanity can you make some damn sense?”

“I am making sense, You,” Lucas tells you softly, pouting when you meets his gaze. He reaches for your hand brings it to his lips, pressing a solidary kiss to your knuckles. “Let’s just run away and we can get married and forget whatever life we have here. Open up a boarding kennels in the mountains and look after animals.”

You roll your eyes. “You can hear yourself, right?”

“Yeah, and I know it sounds far fetched but I love you. We do that kind of thing for people we love. I don’t want to listen to my parents or be stuck in a job I hate forever. Mark did it! He moved to Japan and forgot everything here. Let’s do the same thing.”

“And what money do we use?” You question. Your seriousness brings some doubt to Lucas, his childlike persona forgetting to mitigate any risk like you would. He acted in the moment and you looked ahead. It just worked for you together. “We share this place and our rent takes most of it. You can’t ask your parents to help us out again just so that we leave and never speak to them again. I want to, Lucas, and I would if I knew we wouldn’t be homeless and broke by doing it. It’s not a retirement plan, we’re in our twenties!”

“Yeah, but…”

“You’re dead. I came to take your spirit to Diyu to be judged as good or bad. Now you’re here,” Taeyong informs you. His black shirt blows in the wind that surrounds them now, the wind being the only noise that you can distinguish from your pounding heart. “I’m Wuguan, the xie of unnatural deaths. You were shot twice and it was unnatural. Therefore I was to take you to Diyu.”

You run your tongue over your teeth as you try to suppress laughter. “Right, so why am I here? This looks like earth to me. Whatever afterlife Yuta had me in looked a hell of a lot different to this.”

“Because…” Taeyong’s full attention returns to you when he realises that this is serious. He bites his tongue, he can’t reveal much. He could take your soul to the afterlife now and this would be resolved yet there was something about your which he couldn’t let go of. Think, Taeyong. Think about it long and hard. “You never made it to the afterlife. I didn’t take you to the afterlife.”

“What?”

Taeyong’s lips part when he hears that you don’t take it as well as he hoped, the sour tone filling his ears. “I--”

“You didn’t take me to the afterlife? I’m… what? I’m a wandering spirit? Like purgatory? Is this serious? I must be on some high dose of morphine right now beacause--”

“I couldn’t take you,” Taeyong interjects, “you asked me to help you and I did. You should be grateful.”

You scoff and turn to him fully. “I should be grateful? I should be grateful for you stopping me from seeing my ancestors and being able to live a long and happy life! How was I supposed to know that you were death, huh? You’re not scary, you look like you would maybe break my finger at best!”

“I’m not death! Did you even listen to my introduction?”

“I’m sorry for getting your title wrong, Lee Taeyong! Next time I’ll remember to call you by you full title. Wuguan, xie of unnatural deaths, I wish for you to take me to the afterlife so that I can rest peacefully and not be stuck as a… as...”

“Yon Hun Ye Gui.”

“Yeah, whatever that is! I don’t want to be that!”

“You are both honestly tooloud,” a voice behind you interjects. He sounds less fearsome but it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You turn your head back to see who speaks with you now. A boy, looking to be the same age as Taeyong, with his hair combed back over his head and attire completely black. The only way they matched was the back shirt and pants. He smiles at you and holds his hand out to you. “Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul. Or call me Ten. King of the tenth court. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You only roll your eyes and uses his hand to pull yourself from the ground. He appears to find amusement in you. “If I’m really dead, it doesn’t matter what you do to me. I’m not scared of you.”

“Are you a descendant of Songdi?” Ten, which you will call him since you didn’t catch his name properly, asks. You meet his question with a glare and he hums to himself. “Well, if you wouldn’t have been murdered and Taeyong wouldn’t have been in the area then I’m sure Johnny would have come for your soul.”

“Yuta already tried,” Taeyong states, looking past you and directly to Ten. He stands too. “She was with him until I found her.”

“I’m righthere.”

“She isn’t a soul that Yuta can collect, though?”

“No, she hasn’t done anything wrong for her to be followed by him. Yuta is taking in lost souls which means he is more powerful now.”

“He’s trying--”

“I appreciate that this is a private conversation but please can you explain to me what is going on?” You interject, looking between the two of them with narrowed eyes. You pull on the sleeves of your top so that they show your arms and then pulls your top’s neck down. “Yuta, whoever he was, healed where I was shot and introduced me to all the people at his… his whatever. I just want to know what the fuck is going on because I miss my dog and I hate to say it, but I miss my boyfriend. So can you explain?”

The pair share a look, one of slight confusion, before Ten turns back to your with his brows furrowed. Taeyong moves closer to you in a protective stance, though still refrains from speaking to you. “You remember your life from before you died?”

-----------

a/n: remember you can read this in third person with Taeyong x Minjee on my ao3! this is another intro chapter type thing to introduce the other main chatacters here. I feel like it may be a bit rushed but I have been stuck on this for so long that I can’t change any more 0.0

[real-sotenbori-hours]

Madness Among the Maddest - Loki x Fem Reader * smut * - Part 2

Not my gif <3

 Summary: The Grand Master is tired of you sneaking around Sakaar without his permission or understanding of what you’re doing. Since you refuse to explain yourself, he’s sure he knows just how -or who- can get you to talk. 

 Warning: NSFW, smut, multiple orgasms… y’know how it is.

***

 Speechless and titillated beyond words, you lie still and invite the fate so keenly described, snaking a clandestine hand between your legs to lull the burning ache that's currently howling from within. He allows you to touch yourself for a minute, watching your nimble and eager fingers work as you lean your head back, thrumming, “Take me, your majesty.” 

 His piercing eyes darken even further as his glare travels from between your legs on upward, fixating on the blush rising in your cheeks as you palpitate, whispering his name on broken, drowning moans. He grips your hips, weighing you down as you start to buck, nearing release.  

 Once again you begin to convulse. He grabs your hand, licking it clean and pulls you to a seated position and then turns you around, up against and facing the wall. He begins to tease you from behind, nestling his cock between your ass cheeks, leaning in closer to ghost along your neck. 

 Running his fingers up and down your sides, around your hips, between your legs and upward, he stops at your breasts, cupping them and delicately running his thumbs over your peaked nipples, pinching them, eliciting an involuntary moan. Watching you tremble, watching you shake, he slides his hand into your hair, twisting his fingers, tangling, yanking your head so far to the left that you almost wonder if his alien strength could rip it clean off... not that you'd much care. He plants his chin in the crook of your neck, scraping his bottom teeth up to your earlobe as he tugs it betwixt his lips and murmurs into your ear, "I'm only interested in taking what is mine. So tell me, love, to whom do you belong?" 

 God, you love this shit. You laugh, unwilling to give in so quickly, striving to appear strong in the throes of desperation. "I'm unclaimed." 

 He inhales sharply, which makes your cunt twitch even more. "Wrong answer, my dove." 

 Both of your palms are now up against the wall, he’s so close to you that you’re already nearing the verge of begging. He runs a sharp finger down your back, tracing your ass cheek and stopping to grip it. He moans and whispers, “By The Nine, you are astonishing. Deviant, fascinating, a vision of breathtaking beauty. I could know you a thousand years and still I’d never reach the bottom. I’d be perpetually piqued, in an eternal suspense, a thirst with no satiation...” he trails off, winding his fingers between your legs, sliding two back into you shallowly, drawing a soft whimper from your lips. You breathe in deeply, attempting to hold onto the air but your body betrays you as you suddenly gush, gasping, “Take my throbbing cunt. You must know by now that it’s yours.” 

 He leans in again and clicks his tongue. “I’ll take it when I see fit. But now, I plan to torment you.” You shiver. He laughs. 

 He takes himself in his hand, tracing your body with the broad, pronounced tip of his thick, divine cock. He runs it between your cheeks, up and down, and slides it against the slick of you, sadistically letting it sit. Motionless, save for the steady tumescence running like a current, he trails his thumb up to tease your swollen clit, sending reverberations throughout your body, again. You can feel the lust pulsing in your fingertips as your body starts to quake with desire. He feels your longing. He slides those two fingers in slightly deeper, applying the slightest-most pressure, slowly rubbing, pitching you over the edge again... and stopping. 

 “Please...” you eek out. 

He chortles. “Oh, we've only just begun, my dove... what am I to do with you next?" 

 You sigh deeply, shaking. “I want you to consume me...defile me.” 

 His breath catches on your last syllable as he lunges forward, crashing into your neck once again, biting down so hard that you can feel the blood being called to the surface, boasting a mark you wouldn't mind wearing, a mark only Loki could leave.  

 "I knew you'd be wild, insatiable... but melting into my hands as you have, imploring me to fill you, to pervade you... to govern you... nothing entices me like a bold woman begging to submit to me..." He tilts your head upward, speaking further into your ear, "...And know that I will satiate you beyond anyone you've ever taken before. I will make you mine, in the end... do you object?" 

 Sobbing, unable to control your faculties any longer, you cave, "I do not." 

 He continues rubbing along your clit, but slightly faster. Working those fingers, but slower. You moan again, “Please.” He chuckles in your ear and bites the corner of your jaw. You fucking squeal. He then cups your ass cheeks with both hands, spreading you open while lifting you up against and into the groove of the wall where you grab hold. He’s now standing over you, the tip of his magnificent cock barely kissing your hungry cunt, circling slowly at your entrance. 

 You prepare to scream, and his hand cups your mouth. He leans in again and whispers, “Do you think yourself fully prepared to take me, every inch? To be under my complete control?" 

 He holds you still against the wall for a minute and removes his hand, permitting you to speak, “Please, my King. Soothe my infernal aching.” 

 “No.”  

 He pulls away from you and steps back. Surveying your body, your position of subjugation. Straining to catch him in your peripheral, you watch him lick his bottom lip, trapping the tip of his tongue between his teeth, and smile. A hot chill runs down your spine. He laughs slowly, like silk unrolling and splaying itself around you.  

 “I could gaze at this sight for hours. It’s enough to move a god. You’ve such a cultivated form. Sweeter than anything I’ve ever tasted. Every inch of you warm, taut, pulsing with life, lust. You’re a true delicacy, my lady. A remarkable specimen.” 

 You smirk. “I’m aware. But thank you, my liege.” 

 Suddenly he’s at your ear, the ends of his hair swaying beside you in motion, hissing, “If that’s irreverence I detect in your tone, I’ll urge you to take care. Try again.” 

 You breathe deeply and he wraps his fingers around your throat as if to catch it as it rises and falls. You can’t take it anymore. Letting out a slow and deliberate sigh, you pull one hand free from the wall and begin raking your fingers along his thigh, to which he responds by catching your wrist and returning it to the wall. He breathes beneath your ear for a moment as two hands grip your hips and then work their way between your legs, spreading you open further... and a smooth, wet tongue slips right into you... once again. 

 Feverish arousal zips straight up through you, numbing your knees as a mouth rubbed past your other ear, “How does it feel?” In an attempt to catch your breath, you moan, “Glorious.” 

 You try to steady your grip on the wall and feel it faintly give way to your fingertips. Another Loki instantly appears, catching you between himself and the wall, tangling one hand in your hair and another along your neck, squeezing.  

 You look up to meet his gaze as the Loki beneath you continues to tease you with his tongue at a mercilessly slow pace. You attempt to lean into him and the one beneath you holds your hips in place. He chuckles and brings his lips to yours. In a low growl, his eyes locked into yours, he commands.  

 “Beg.”  

 “Please.”

  “Again.”  

 “Please. Take me. Take it.”  

 “Again.”  

 “I want to feel you. I beseech you. Give me what I ask.” 

 He takes in a long laugh and maintains his grip on your neck with one hand, while slowly rubbing your tit with the other. Leaning in to bite your bottom lip, you quiver, so close to the edge. He laughs again. 

 “I’m thrilled to grant your every desire, pet. After you tell me just how much you desire it.”  

 Lust is thinning the air, making breathing far more difficult than before. “Pleasure is something I derive from many things. But it has been some time since I’ve experienced anything of the like, and never at this intensity...” 

 He grins and presses his forehead to yours once again, tilting your head up to meet his eyes. “Tell me what means you use to arrive on Sakaar and I will give you what you so crave.” 

 You roll your eyes and smirk, fighting the panting building in your chest as the Loki between your legs picks up the pace, accelerating you to peak once again. 

 “A... a porthole. It’s a large planet, my liege.”  

 He clicks his tongue as your heart begins to race. You giggle and lean into his ear, “Fuck me, I’m about to come.” 

 He shoots you a glare. “You will come when I permit you.” The Loki between your legs vanishes as he swiftly turns you around, slamming you against the wall, replacing his duplicate as he finally thrusts into you. You squeal. 

 He remains still, finally inside you. He leans into your ear and muses, breathlessly, “Soft, wet, divine.” You try to catch your breath and fail. He wraps his fingers around your neck and thrusts, stifling your moan with his lips. 

 Breathing into you as you breathe into him, he pulls his lips from yours only to remark, “I should have come to you eons ago... but you were worth the infernal wait...” he thrusts again, “but now that I’ve finally had you, I couldn’t go long without knowing I’d have more of you...” 

 Your heart gives a flutter and you moan, “I believe I feel the same... my lord.” 

 This is madness.

 ***

 Do y’all want a Part 3? 

I’m toying with a continuation... let me know in the comments!

 ALSO - PROMPT ME, PLEASE! ;)

[enlacinglineswrites]

Part one of a mini series! 

I have a few request of these on instagram, so I’m making a 3 part mini series from 3 prompts. This is the first. 

I always write happy endings. Please remember that! 

————

Things you said when you were scared

Heavy fire is a ridiculous term. 

It doesn’t account for the majority of sensations, for the blast and flare of weaponry is only one part of the whole. There’s the noise, the cacophony of mixed ammunition launching, people screaming, directions from communicators in Keith’s ears, and the rise and fall of buildings, machinery and land. 

There’s the taste of fear and fire and ferocity; for despite the knowledge his helmet is blocking out any fumes, he has always insisted he can still taste battle. Perhaps because he’s lived it for so long, his mind can now just conjure the taste and sensation of skirmish. 

Then there’s what is seen. Destruction. Devastation. Death. Or sometimes almost nothing, he is so consumed in smoke and laser fire, or falling through the vastness of space on repeat. There is too much for his eyes to take in, to absorb in each instant. 

So two words can never be enough, will never be enough. However, it is almost done. They knew, as they flew into the haze of ships and onto the last Galra strong hold in the galaxy, this is the last time they’ll fall under heavy fire. 

The final battle. The very end. 

And now it’s dismantling further, for Keith is fighting, sword cutting through enemies so Allura can disable the last of Haggar’s schemes, her magic the only thing which can lead them to victory. The area is too enclosed for the Lions to land, so he’s fighting through the guards and soldiers one by one, clearing a path with Allura and Lance at his sides. 

His sword is coated in blood, as is Lance’s. It makes his head ring, a nightmare in formation. But they make it to central command. Allura runs past, a smile of fierceness and a nod of determination her last pronouncement before she leaves to save the universe. 

“Well, Mullet, looks like it’s you and me,” Lance says from next to him, sword rising at the remaining Galra who pursue, trying to follow the Princess. 

Keith grins, his own sword at the ready. As if they’ll let them. 

The clash of battle commences, and he’s back to back with Lance, the greatest partner he could wish for, the twist and slide of their teamwork perfectly aligned. For there is nothing they cannot face, no enemy they cannot defeat, not now-

“Guys! Incoming!” 

Pidge’s voice is terrified through the comms, and as Keith parries and stabs a sentry, he looks forward. 

It’s a beam. There are hardly any soldiers now, but this strange lilac light amasses as if from nowhere, filtering through the dark, highlighting bodies as it passes. Keith stares, a little enraptured and mostly confused as it approaches. 

Then, it’s blinding. 

He cries out, and hears another voice shriek as the air around him seems to charge and illuminate. It’s warm, swiftly falling into hot, and his ears begin to buzz, when suddenly he’s pushed. Falls to the left and hits the ground with a gasp, muscles only unlocking on impact. It hurts, the landing focused on one arm, and his wrist crunches in a hideous manner. 

The light though, fades. He is out of it’s grasp but it takes a moment, just a few seconds for him to align himself through the pain. 

But in those seconds comes the scream. 

It shatters through his bones, tears his heart into pieces like confetti, for he knows that scream like his own. Keith scrambles to his feet and turns, just in time to see the light vanish, and Lance hit the floor. 

The comms are going crazy with Pidge and Hunk’s shouts, but he ignores it as he skids down to the floor, knees cutting and bruising instantly on impact as he reaches Lance. 

There’s blood pouring from his nose and ears, and even more disturbingly, his mouth. As Keith reaches him he coughs, a spray of scarlet hitting his helmet. Keith immediately unclips the release, and Lance takes huge gasps of air as blood dribbles down his chin. 

Keith disposes of his own helmet carelessly, before, with a gentleness he previously didn’t think he was capable of, lifts Lance so he’s holding him against his body, propping him up. As he does, he reaches for the secondary communicator on his belt. 

“Pidge, Hunk, we need a rescue, now,” he hisses. 

“Keith, what happened? We can’t get through, the Lions will be cut to pieces,” Pidge says, with a slightly frantic edge. 

“Is Lance okay? That was him screaming, I know it was!” Hunk says, and normally Keith would try and do something, say anything to let Hunk know he has this under control. 

Except he doesn’t, for Lance is coughing up his insides in his arms, and he has no space in his mind for anything further. 

“Just get here, now!” he yells, and slams the communicator to the ground with a shaking hand. 

“Calm down, Mullet,” Lance says, and despite it all, he’s smiling and speaking. 

“Don’t talk, Lance,” he says, but Lance shakes his head, a barely there movement. 

“Need to, it’s important,” he says, a strangely earnest tone appearing, but Keith is adamant. 

“Anything you need to say can wait. We’ll get out of here and you can talk all you like,” Keith says, moving his legs around so he’s sitting with Lance practically in his lap. 

Lance coughs at the movement, and Keith whispers sorry into his hair, trying to keep him as still as possible. Lance clears his throat, and tries to raise his arm, but only makes a soft whimper at the failed movement, folding it back to his chest. 

Keith’s eyes sting. He swallows hard, and Lance looks up at him. 

“Don’t think it can,” he says, voice crackling like too-wet kindling, and Keith’s own breath rattles in his chest in reply. 

Lance closes his eyes, then opens them with great effort. “I promised myself I wouldn’t be a cliche, but I-I’m pretty damn scared right now, so I don’t care,” he says, before dissolving into a hacking cough that has his entire body doubling over. 

“It’s okay Lance, it’s going to be okay,” Keith says, knowing it’s not enough to say, but he has to say something. 

Lance’s teeth are stained crimson when he smiles. “You will be okay, Keith. I know it won’t feel like that for a while, but you will. You should know I’m glad it’s you right now, and I’m glad I get to say this,” he says, voice more air than syllables, so Keith has to bend and draw Lance closer in his arms to hear. 

“I’ve loved you from the moment you flew a perfect score in the simulator. I didn’t understand then, but that’s where it started. And it’s taken a long time for it to get here, to grow into what I feel now. And you have no idea how sorry I am I’m doing this, but you, of all people, deserve to know how loved you are. Even if it’s not a confession with roses and moonlight, it’s yours,” Lance whispers, voice catching on a sob or a cough, Keith cannot tell which. 

He feels his eyes spill, his heart beating so wildly it cannot be natural, clutching Lance to his chest. 

“You are not allowed to do this now, I was going to tell you when we got to Earth, I-”

Lance’s arm falls. 

A silence descends. Everything drops away as Keith slowly turns Lance in his arms. His head lolls back; mouth open, blood still streaming forth, eyes closed. He doesn’t move, doesn’t quiver, is just weight in Keith arms. 

“Lance?” Keith whispers, voice high and desperate. 

Nothing. 

Keith grabs him then, his wrist a searing pain, but he doesn’t care. “Lance, come on, please. Lance, I don’t need roses or anything special, I just need you to talk to me…Lance!” 

But there’s nothing at all. So Keith just screams. 

Screams with his entire being as he rests his head against Lance’s chest, so consumed he doesn’t notice Allura emerge from behind, her look of triumph replaced by horror as she runs to catch hold of him. He doesn’t notice the world shake as the final sinews of Haggar’s magic disintegrate, doesn’t notice Red burst through and almost crack herself in two in determination to reach her former and current Paladin. 

All he can hear are Lance’s scared words as they break apart his soul, piece by piece.

———-

(part 2 coming soon!)

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