#live shows are such a treasure trove | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

candycandy00 · 10 days ago

Text

Once Upon a Time - A Choso x Reader Fanfic Part 1

Retold fairytales featuring the JJK men! This is Rapunzel featuring Choso! While gathering herbs in the forest, you stumble into the garden of a strange man living in an abandoned watch tower. He talks often about his three little brothers, but you’re beginning to suspect they’re no longer there.

Read Sukuna x Sleeping Beauty Here!

Read Gojo x Cinderella Here!

Smut. 18+. Fem Reader. Reader as Rapunzel. Reader has long hair (she kinda has to for this story) but no other distinguishing physical characteristics. Choso as a classic Yandere. Possessive behavior. Toxic love. Manipulation. Reader is locked up. Mentions of characters dying before the story began. Bondage (not used in a sexual context… yet).

Dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more and @benkeibear!

You bend down to pick some of the herbs you just found, carefully placing them in your basket. These will be perfect for several different medicines you make for the other villagers. You can’t believe what a treasure trove you’ve found. How have you never seen this place before?

The basket is feeling heavy on your arm by the time you finish, but you’re so happy with what you’ve gathered that you don’t mind the extra weight. You pick one last handful and turn to head back through the woods and to the village.

That’s when you see him. A pale man dressed in black, dark hair pulled into strange ponytails on each side of his head. He’s standing directly in your path.

“Why are you in my garden?” he asks. His tone is curious, not accusatory.

You freeze in place. This is a garden? And it belongs to him? You dip your head in a slight bow. “I’m very sorry, sir. I didn’t realize this was your garden. I picked a lot of your herbs,” you say, holding out your basket. “Would you like to keep them?”

He stares into your basket, then at your face. “What do you want herbs for?”

“I make medicines,” you tell him. “Tonics, ointments, all sorts of things.”

He’s silent for a moment, then asks, “Could you make some for me?”

“Of course,” you say, happy that he’s apparently going to let your accidental theft slide. “What kinds do you need?”

“Something for scrapes and cuts. I have three little brothers and they’re always getting hurt while playing in the woods.”

You smile. “Alright. I’ll make some and bring them back to you, as a thank you for the herbs.” You glance around the forest. “Where is your house?”

He hesitates for a few seconds, as if reluctant to reveal where he lives. You’re just about to offer to meet him here in a few days when he turns and begins walking through the woods. “Follow me. I’ll show you.”

You tag along behind him, waiting for a house to come into view. You really didn’t know anyone lived out here. But instead of a house, he leads you to a clearing with an enormous tower standing in the middle of it.

“You live here?” you ask, using your hand to block the sun as you squint upwards, trying to see how high it goes.

It’s made of stone, gray in color except for a deep red door and matching red shudders all the way up at the top. A window? But why so high? The grass around the tower is thick and unkempt, wild rose bushes climbing the sides, going at least thirty feet up. Red and white roses are blooming beautifully, making the tower look like something from a dream.

When you step closer, you notice there are black roses blooming here and there. What an unusual color!

The man opens the red door, made of heavy wood, and motions for you to come inside.

You follow in behind him, finding a living area with chairs, a fireplace, a rug, and a desk. Off to the side is a cozy little kitchen with a stove and a small table with four chairs crowded around it.

“Do you live here by yourself?” you ask, looking around.

He looks at you with a slightly confused expression. “No, I have three little brothers, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right! I’m sorry, I forgot.”

But the tower doesn’t look like three kids live in it. Things are too neat and orderly, and there’s only one place setting on the table. Maybe they’re just very well behaved.

He notices you glancing around and says, “They’re out gathering wood for the fire right now. They’ll be home soon.”

You nod, then look straight up. “What’s up there?”

He follows your line of sight, tilting his head up. “A couple of bedrooms shared between us,” he answers. “This used to be a watch tower during the war. My brothers and I found it abandoned a few years ago and moved in.”

“That was fortunate,” you say. “I bet they love playing in this tower.”

He smiles, the expression lighting up the room. He has a really nice smile. “Yes, they love it here.”

You smile back, then start toward the door. “I’ll make some medicines for you and come back in three days. Is that alright?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you.”

As you step outside, you turn back to wave goodbye to him. He waves back, and you leave. Walking back through the woods, you half expect to run into his little brothers, laughing and playing. But you never see another soul until you reach the village.

In the comfort of your own home, you remove your bonnet and let the long ponytail slip down your back and hit the floor. Even with the ends looped around and tied at the top, your hair brushes the wooden floorboards as you move around the room, assembling your tools. Pans, bowls, a kettle of water set to boil, stone cups and mortars.

As you begin your work, you realize you never asked the man for his name.

Three days later, when you return to the tower, the man meets you at the door with a smile. He really does look so kind when he smiles. You wish he would do it more often.

“I brought the medicines, uh… sir,” you say, holding up a leather bag.

“Choso,” he says. “My name is Choso. And you?”

Feeling just a bit shy, you avert your eyes as you tell him your name. You’re not sure why you didn’t realize it last time, but he’s very handsome. Even the faint dark circles under his eyes can’t diminish his lovely face.

“Come in, please,” he tells you, opening the door wider and stepping to the side to give you room.

Once inside, you go to the kitchen and begin pulling the glass bottles of medicine from your bag and sitting them on the table. Choso walks over and listens intently as you explain their uses.

“This one is great for scrapes and minor burns or cuts. Wash the wounded area first with warm water, then apply the salve. Bandage if necessary. This one here helps with a cough. Give them one spoonful before bed. Oh, and this one relieves itching from bug bites or rashes they might get from plants while playing.”

You pick one bottle with a purple colored liquid inside. “This will help them sleep, but it’s strong. Only a few drops into some water or milk, okay? Otherwise they’ll be knocked out all day.”

Choso looks at you warmly as you finish explaining them. Then thanks you again. “These will be a big help. My little brothers can be unruly at times.”

You look around the room. “Are they out today?”

Choso nods. “They went to fish in the stream nearby. They should be home later.”

“That’s a pity. I’d like to meet them someday,” you say.

As you start to head for the door again, Choso places a hand lightly on your shoulder. “Wait. Would you like to join me for dinner? My brothers will be late, so I’ll just give them leftovers.”

Your eyes shift to the stove, where iron pots and pans are sizzling and steaming. You realize then that you can smell food cooking, and it smells delicious. There’s definitely some sort of bread baking, and you’re fairly certain an onion has been sautéed. They’re warm, comforting scents. They remind you of when your parents were alive.

“Are you sure you’ll have enough?” you ask.

“There’s plenty,” he replies, gently ushering you to the little round table and pulling out one of the chairs. “My brothers don’t eat much. You know how kids can be picky eaters.”

You sit down in the offered chair. “Alright then. Thank you.”

“Oh, thank you,” Choso says, filling a plate for you. “I haven’t had company for dinner in a long time.” He pauses, seems to think of something, then adds, “I mean I haven’t had a guest for dinner in a long time.”

You look at the plate filled with piping hot food that he sits in front of you. “This all looks incredible!”

Choso fixes a plate for himself and sits down next to you at the table. “I hope you enjoy it,” he says before beginning to eat.

Everything you try is divine, from the freshly baked bread to the fried potatoes with onions to the seared pork loin. You wonder how his brothers could possibly be too picky to enjoy this, but you suppose there’s no accounting for kids’ taste.

After finishing your meal, you stay for a little while to chat with Choso. He’s not overly talkative, but he’s friendly enough, and seems to genuinely enjoy your company. He asks you questions about your medicine making, the village you live in, and eventually reaches the topic of family.

“My parents died when I was sixteen,” you tell him, “and I have no siblings. My only relatives live so far away that I never see them, so it’s just me.”

His expression softens. “Don’t you get lonely?”

You place your elbow on the table and lean your face onto your hand. With your other hand, your fingers trace over a name childishly carved into the wood. “Yuji”. It must be the name of one of his brothers. You can imagine a little boy doing that, and Choso gently chastising him for it.

“Sometimes I do,” you answer. “Sometimes I miss having someone to tell my problems to, or something fun or interesting will happen and I’ll want to go home and tell my parents, but there’s no one there. Most of the time I’m fine, but sometimes at night the house is so quiet, all I can hear is my own breathing, and it feels…” You stop and look at Choso. His eyes have a strange intensity to them as he stares at you.

“I’m sorry,” you say, feeling embarrassed, “I shouldn’t have rambled on like that. You have your brothers, so it must be hard for you to imagine what I’m talking about.”

All at once his expression returns to its normal warm and kind one. “Ah, you’re right. I’m sorry for asking something so personal.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him. “I’m an open book. Ask whatever you want.”

“Really? In that case, why do you keep your hair so long?” he asks.

You took your bonnet off to eat dinner, and it would be strange if he hadn’t noticed how long your ponytail is. You reflexively reach up to touch where it’s looped and tied at the back of your head. When loose, your hair drags far behind you.

“My parents come from a very isolated clan, where a person’s hair is considered their spirit. Hair is sacred to us, so I’ve never cut it since I was born.”

His eyes seem to follow your hair from your head down to the floor. “It’s very beautiful,” he says. “I’d love to see it let down.”

You blush at that remark. He couldn’t know it, but in your parents’ clan, only your spouse is allowed to see you with your hair completely loose. Though your parents left the clan, they raised you to respect many of their customs.

“Maybe someday,” you say with a faint smile. “Letting my hair down is a very… intimate thing.”

Choso’s pale face turns slightly pink. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, you didn’t know. The clan was a bit strange.”

You leave later that evening, still seeing no signs of his brothers.

Over the next few weeks, you visit Choso often. He lets you raid his herb garden in exchange for making medicines for him, and you always stay a couple of hours to have dinner with him and talk.

Choso is still a little quiet, but he’s an excellent listener, always seeming engaged with whatever you talk about. The only topic that makes him chatty is his brothers. He loves telling you stories about their mischief. He clearly loves all three of them, but he seems to have a soft spot for the youngest, Yuji.

But the more time you spend with Choso, the more you talk to him, the more you start to suspect something terrible.

Maybe his brothers are gone.

You’re not sure if a relative might have taken them in, or if they simply ran away to one of the nearby villages, or… if they’re dead. But you’re starting to believe they don’t live at the tower with Choso anymore. You’ve never seen them even once, despite visiting at different hours on different days. Choso always has plenty of food to share, and you’ve never seen any evidence of them still being there.

You can’t ask Choso about it. Whatever the truth may be, it’s obvious that Choso doesn’t want to deal with it. He’d rather live the lie that they’re still with him than face the truth, and it’s not your place to try to change that.

So you go along with it. You don’t act suspicious when he says they’re out playing in the woods. You don’t ask any questions about what they’ve been doing lately. It’s none of your business anyway, though it does make you sad.

One night you end up staying at the tower a little later than usual, wrapped up in a conversation with Choso. When you head home, it’s dark out, and the woods seem a little creepier.

You start to walk the familiar path to your village, but you hear a wolf howl in the distance. Another wolf howls, then another. It sounds like there’s a pack on the path you need to be on. Deciding to take the long way around, you step onto a different path, one that would take around the other side of the tower.

On your way, you spot a small clearing. The full moon shines down through the trees, illuminating three identical objects. Stepping closer, you realize what they are. Small cross shaped grave markers. There are no names on them, but the fact that there are three sends a chill down your spine. Three graves for three little brothers?

You can’t be sure, so you choose to ignore them for now. You’ve already decided to go along with Choso’s sad lie, so what’s the point of saying anything now?

Continuing on the path, you hear wolves howling again. Are they on this path as well, or did they catch your scent and follow you?

The air is unseasonably chilly, feeling like winter despite being early autumn. The trees are still full of leaves, and during the day their foliage creates a rainbow of lovely colors: golden yellows, burnt oranges, lush reds. But tonight, they just look dark brown.

You wrap your thin cloak a little tighter around yourself and hurry along, hoping the wolves are farther away than they sound. Your footsteps are nearly silent on the soft forest floor. It rained yesterday, so the ground is still slightly damp, and the woods still have that earthy smell that always follows the rain.

A howl again, stopping you in your tracks. Should you run? Or go back to the tower? You’re not sure which option is safer, especially in the dark. It’s hard to judge exactly where you are on this unfamiliar path.

You hear a growl, and it’s definitely close. Close enough to make your heart pound wildly and the hair on your neck stand up.

A twig snaps somewhere behind you, and more than one growl can be heard. It sounds like you’re surrounded! As the first wolf emerges from trees to your right, you let out a terrified scream.

Choso is cleaning up after dinner, humming quietly to himself as he washes the plates he and his guest ate from.

He finds himself smiling often these days, feeling happy and content for the first time since…

No, he refuses to think about that right now. He has someone to talk to, to eat dinner with most evenings, to share things with. He’s not alone anymore.

He’s never really had a guest before she wandered into his garden, and every day since he’s thanked the stars above for sending someone so lovely. She’s sweet and honest and talks to him about her life and seems to actually care about what he has to say.

And she’s beautiful.

Choso hasn’t been with a woman, or even been interested in one, in years. Before finding the tower, Choso sometimes sold his body to make enough money to feed his brothers. He didn’t hate it, but most of the encounters felt hollow to him.

Now, for the first time since he was a teenager, he feels actual desire for someone. But he’s not sure how she feels about him. Maybe he can figure it out if he spends more time with her.

A shrill scream pierces the night, causing Choso to drop the plate he was washing. A tiny piece of it chipped off.

He pauses, listening carefully. He hears another scream, and this time he’s certain. It’s her. She’s in trouble!

Terrible memories flash through his mind as he runs for the door and throws it open. Other screams, calling for Choso to help, begging to be saved as he ran toward the sound. This time, he’ll make it! This time, he won’t lose anyone!

He sprints through the forest, following her voice, tearing through the trees and ignoring the branches scratching his face.

Another sound fills his ears. Growling and snarling, the snapping of teeth. He knows what makes those sounds all too well.

As he breaks free of the tree line and onto a path, he sees her. She’s lying on the ground, curled up to try to protect herself, as a small pack of wolves circle her. In the small patches of moonlight, Choso can see that her cloak is torn and there are bloody marks all over her. There’s blood soaking into the dirt beneath her, and she’s alternating between screaming and whimpering.

Choso yells at the wolves as he rushes forward, kicking the closest ones away. They turn on him, baring their teeth, but he glares at them with the sort of animalistic rage they can understand. They whine as they slowly walk away, leaving him to crouch down and pull her into his arms.

“I’m here! I scared the wolves away!”

She looks up at him with a tear-streaked face, terror in her eyes. “Choso?”

“Yes, it’s me!” he assures her. “I’ll take you back to the tower to bandage your wounds. It’s closer than the village.”

With that, he scoops her up and carries her back to his home, lying her on a rug in front of the fireplace. She’s awake, thankfully, and fully alert.

“I’m going to take off your cloak. Is that alright?” he asks.

She nods, raising up to help him remove it. Then he begins looking over her wounds. They’re not deep, though they are bloody and look quite painful. Choso breathes a sigh of relief to know they’re not life threatening. Unless they get infected.

He looks from the bite marks, mostly on her shoulders, hands, and calves, to her face. “We should really clean these,” he tells her. “But I don’t want to pull up your dress or your sleeves without permission.”

She gives him a weak smile. “It’s okay. Get some of the ointment I made for you. It should help.”

He leaves to get the ointment from the kitchen, as well as some cloth and warm water. When he comes back, her bloody dress is lying in the corner, and she’s sitting up on the floor in a thin but modest slip. It’s sleeveless, falling to knee length, and it perfectly reveals her wounds.

Choso doesn’t take the time to stare or blush. This isn’t that type of situation. His only concern is bandaging her up and ensuring her safety.

With her directing him, he cleans the bite marks and applies the ointment, then carefully wraps them in cloth. One arm had to be wrapped from shoulder to fingers, but the other only had a couple of scratches on her shoulder. Both calves had bites that required bandages, and one foot was bruised.

Choso steps out of the room while she examines herself for any hidden wounds, and is relieved that she found none. When all is finished, they sit together by the fireplace.

“Thank you for saving me,” she says. “Those wolves would have killed me.”

“I would never let that happen,” he tells her, looking her in the eyes.

She looks surprised by that comment, but then smiles in that sweet way that has captivated him. “You’re a wonderful person, Choso. You know that, right?”

He feels himself blush a little. “I’m not. I’ve had… many failings. But I’m glad you feel that way.”

They talk a while longer, sticking to light topics that occasionally make her giggle. He thinks she’s marvelous when she laughs, like a bright ray of sun in his dark world. He can’t imagine his life without her in it. He can’t fathom going back to the crushing loneliness. If anything ever happened to her…

His thoughts freeze when she reaches up and begins untying her hair. He watches in stunned silence as she pulls out pins and thin ribbons, finally letting it all come pouring down, fanning out around her. It shimmers in the flickering light of the fireplace, almost seeming to glow.

It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Then he remembers all at once what she said about her hair before. Letting down her hair is intimate to her. It’s not something she does for everyone. Does that mean she feels comfortable with him? That she trusts him?

He wants to touch her hair, to run his fingers through it, but he doesn’t want to offend her. Instead he stares at it in wonder.

She looks a little shy as she asks, “Do you want to touch it?”

“May I?”

She nods.

He reaches up close to her face and touches one shiny lock, moving his hand down to run over the fine tresses. It feels magnificent. But most wondrous of all is the look on her face: heated, flushed… aroused?

“You’re so beautiful,” he tells her, his face close to hers.

You don’t know what you’re thinking. Letting your hair down? In front of a man who is not your spouse? Your parents would be turning in their graves. But in the moment, it just felt right.

There’s no point in denying it to yourself any longer. You’ve fallen for Choso. When the wolves attacked you, all you could think about was how sad you were that you’d never get to see him again. These past few weeks you’ve spent visiting him have been your happiest since your parents were alive.

And unless you’re reading him completely wrong, you think he feels the same way. So when he leans close to you and tells you you’re beautiful, your natural reaction is to kiss him.

It’s not a deep kiss, just a soft, slow kiss to his lips. When you part, he’s looking at you as if you’re a goddess that has descended to earth. Then he kisses you back.

In a whirl, you’re wrapped in each other’s arms on the rug, his hands in your hair, his mouth on yours, his body pushing against you. While kissing you, his hands move down to your shoulders and slide the straps of your slip down your arms. You feel the silky fabric glide down over your breasts, revealing them to Choso before the slip is pulled down your hips and off your legs, finally discarded near your dress.

He pulls back to look at you with awe, and you feel like some rare treasure, almost too precious to be touched. Choso’s touches are so light and gentle, it feels like he’s afraid he might break you. So when he stares at your panties, clearly wanting to remove them but hesitating, you pull them off yourself.

Choso removes his own clothing, displaying his surprisingly well toned body. You had no idea he was hiding such a perfectly sculpted torso beneath those loose fitting clothes.

He eases you onto your back, then softly pushes your legs apart before positioning himself between them, a little too far back for what you’re expecting. Then he scoots back a little more, bends forward, and kisses your exposed pussy.

The action sends a shiver down your spine, and soon you feel his fingers opening your slickened folds so that his tongue can reach the most sensitive parts of you. Your back arches off the floor as pleasure radiates through your body. His thumb strokes you, his tongue massages your clit, and one of his fingers slips inside you.

“Ch-Choso!” you cry out between gasping breaths. His eyes flick from his work at hand to your face, but he never stops. Not even when you cum, trembling and panting. And soon enough, with his lips wrapped around that tiny little bundle of nerves, you cum for a second time. It washes over you, making your entire body tingle, your wounds forgotten and lost in a sea of ecstasy.

He takes the time to lick up any juices, as if he can’t bear for a single drop to go to waste, before pulling back and sitting on his knees. That’s when you notice his erection, already twitching and leaking.

You raise up and reach toward him, but he gently catches your hand and smiles at you. “It’s alright. You don’t have to do anything. It’s enough for me to know I’m giving you pleasure.”

It doesn’t look like it’s enough. He looks like he might burst. You slip your hand free and reach out again. This time he doesn’t stop you as your fingers brush over his tip. He sighs, his eyes closing, as your hand glides down his shaft. “I want to make you feel good too,” you tell him. “I want us to feel good together.”

His eyes open and he looks at you, a soft blush across his face. “Do you mean…?”

You lie back on the rug, your thighs parted. “Make love to me, Choso. I want to feel you inside me.”

His eyes shine in the fire light, and you think there’s only one word that could describe his expression: love. You look back at him, hoping your expression mirrors his. Because now you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that you love this man.

You’re not entirely sure how this will all work out, if you’ll be able to convince him to move to the village and live with you, or if you’ll end up living in the tower with him. And you don’t even want to think about how to deal with his grief over his brothers right now. But you want to help him. You want to put in the effort required to make this work.

He moves closer to you, crawling over top of you while bracing himself with his arms, ensuring he doesn’t let his weight rest on your body. Every move he makes seems to revolve around not hurting you, and you’ve never felt so cherished, so protected.

He leans on one arm while his free hand moves down between your bodies, positioning himself. Then, he pushes in. In true Choso fashion, he’s careful and slow, afraid to cause you discomfort. You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at his face. He seems strained, as if he’s using all his willpower to hold back.

“You’re not hurting me,” you tell him, pulling him closer. “Please, I want you deeper, harder.”

He hesitates for a moment, staring at your face. Then all at once he plunges in, all the way, making you gasp and tighten your grip on his neck. “Sorry,” he mumbles, but you shake your head, bucking your hips up to take him even deeper.

When he starts thrusting, you moan out his name, your nails scratching at his back, your body rising to meet him each time. His bare chest brushes against yours, one of his hands at the back of your head, holding you snugly, his fingers laced in your hair.

“I love you,” he mutters into your ear. “I love you so much!”

You shudder as he hits an incredibly sensitive spot. “I love you too, Choso!”

He thrusts faster, deeper, groaning when you clench him. His body is scraping across you, creating delicious friction against your clit, making you whimper into his shoulder.

Within minutes, you cum again, squeezing him tightly, almost sobbing. You feel so overwhelmed with pleasure, with love, that it feels like you’re unraveling in his arms.

A little after, you feel Choso pulsing and twitching within you before strings of hot cum fill you up. You stay latched onto him for a while, reluctant to let go and be out of his arms.

When you finally part, you both sit in silence, only breathing, until the two of you regain your strength. Then Choso helps you clean up before sitting back down on the rug beside you.

Feeling a little awkward after all of that, you decide to make light conversation.

“I think I can make it home tomorrow,” you say. “I have a lot of medicines to make. The villagers can get impatient. Would you like to come visit me sometime? I can show you how I use your herbs.”

He looks at you for a moment, a strange look on his face. “Are you sure you should try tomorrow? You’re still hurt.”

“I think I’ll be alright, thanks to you. None of the wounds hinder me from walking.”

He’s silent for several seconds, then says, “The wolves might come back.”

“I don’t think they’re as active during the day,” you reply. “Maybe you could walk me home.” You add the last part as a way to invite him. You really hope he’ll take a liking to the village.

He smiles, but there’s something off about it, as if the emotion isn’t genuine. “Sure. I can walk you home.”

Did you do something wrong? He’s being strangely closed off. He seems to be avoiding your eyes as he stands up. “I’ll fix you some tea.”

You nod, suddenly feeling insecure. When he returns with the cup, you’re so distracted that you barely glance at it before taking a long drink.

Maybe, if your mind hadn’t been elsewhere, you would have noticed the strange smell. But even so, you definitely notice the taste. How could you not? It comes from something you made after all. But why would Choso put the sleep aid medicine in your tea? And if it’s strong enough for you to taste this clearly, he must have used way too much.

Oh no. This will knock you out for at least a day!

As your vision gets fuzzy, you drop the cup and try to look at him. “Choso? Why…?”

His face looks pained. “I’m sorry, but it’s too dangerous for you to go home. Let’s wait until you’re healed up, okay? I’ll take good care of…”

You black out before you hear the rest of the sentence.

When you awake, you’re lying on a straw mattress on the floor of an unfamiliar room. There’s a blanket over you and a soft pillow beneath your head.

You sluggishly pull the blanket off and sit up, holding a hand to your head. You feel groggy and tired, your muscles sore. Looking down at yourself, you see that your bandages have been changed and your slip, the only clothing you have on, has been washed.

But most alarming of all is the metal shackle on your ankle. There’s a long chain attached to it, so long that you can’t yet see the other end. Underneath the shackle, strips of cloth are tied around your ankle, probably to keep the metal from bruising your skin.

You get to your feet and look around. The walls are gray stone. There’s a small dresser and mirror off to the side, a shelf lined with books, and the mattress you just got up from. On the dresser there’s a basket of fresh fruits and nuts that can be found in the forest. And on one rounded wall, a pair of deep red shudders.

Gathering your strength, you walk over to the shudders and open them. As you suspected from the minute you stood up, you’re in the top of the tower! You look down, the cold wind hitting your face and blowing your hair around wildly. It’s a straight drop, not a single foothold in sight.

You glance at the only door in the room, noticing the numerous locks attached to it. The terrible truth sinks in to your drowsy brain.

You’re trapped here. Choso has effectively taken you prisoner, and you have no idea why.

#choso x reader #choso kamo #choso #choso smut #jjk x reader #x reader #choso x you

81 notes · View notes

the-real-treasure · 5 months ago

Text

Treasure Treasure! Masterlist

[One Piece Live Action] Sanji x Reader

COMPLETED

**FULLY EDITED 20/09/24**

Summary:

"I'm not a mind reader Monkey D. Luffy."

"No! You're a dream reader! And that's even better!"

-----------------------------------------

As a child you were told eating the Treasure Treasure fruit was the stupidest decision you could have ever made. It was pointless, offering no additional skills to assist or support the Supreme Commander's family or scientific endeavours. As useless as the overly emotional boy you were assigned to follow and serve, branded with the number 3 with a line scored through it.

But, as you lay in a courtyard, surrounded by marines vying for your capture and execution, and stared up at the grinning boy in a scruffy straw hat, you realised no.

There were much much stupider decisions to be made.

Read on AO3: Here

Read on Quotev: Here

Total Word Count: 58,800 words

Chapter One: Shipwrecks and Hopeless Dreams

Chapter Two: Straw Hats and Treasure Maps

Chapter Three: Whispered Wishes and Demanded Dishes

Chapter Four: Big Big Top Trouble and the Risks of Show Business

Chapter Five: Sweet Syrupy Lies

Chapter Six: Let Sleeping Cats Die

Chapter Seven: Returning Tides of Home

Chapter Eight: Mon Cœur Est Un Petit Âne

Chapter Nine: Treasure Troves in Orange Groves

Chapter Ten: Poisson d'Arlong

99 notes · View notes

ghostgirl-22 · 2 months ago

Text

You may find yourself

18+ !NSFW!

Day 4: Two prompts in one 😊

SFW: Interview

NSFW: Strap on

___________________________

A year ago, Patrick would have never imagined staying up to watch Art on the Late Late Show deflecting questions about their relationship; but ever since they hugged each other at the challenger and that photo went viral, their life has been under a microscope. Clearly Art winning the US Open for the first time wasn’t as important as: Did you see Patrick Zweig sitting next to Art’s sister at the Open?

Even people who don’t give a fuck about tennis are invested in them for some reason. Half the world is convinced that he and Art are having a secret affair and that Tashi is just his beard.

“Which is ridiculous actually,” Art smiles at the host, shrugging it off. “I wish my life was that interesting. But the truth is me and Tashi… we’re very boring. I mean we’re usually pretty private. Obviously, the press and stuff comes with the job but on a regular day we’re doing our jobs and raising our daughter. And Patrick is…he’s just an old friend. We lost touch and now we’re just making up for lost time.”

Patrick is lying in Tashi and Arts bed sharing a bowl of ice cream with Tashi. “He’s such a good liar, right?” Patrick says.

”It’s not that far from the truth,” she says, glancing back at him with a smirk.

“So what I’m hearing is he’s an old friend that you only kiss sometimes?” The host asks, the audience laughs and Art smiles going along with it.

“Only when he’s nice to me,” Art says. The audience cheers and whoops like he’s confirming something and Art shakes his head smiling.

“Now that’s gonna be the headline,” the host laughs.

“I know, exactly,” Art says, grinning. “Art Donaldson finally admits...”

“He’s cute,” Patrick says, sucking on his spoon and gazing at her. Something about watching Art pretend they’re a boring couple is turning him on. And it doesn’t hurt that she’s wearing his t-shirt and panties and nothing else. Her pretty hair is clipped up loosely. “We should’ve gone to LA.” He says.

“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Tashi says pointedly.

“You think this is live?”

“I mean there’s a thirty second delay, but yes it’s live.”

Patrick grabs her spoon. “what—?” she snaps at him as he takes the bowl too and puts it on the nightstand.

“Maybe we should fuck again?”

“Are you serious?” She says, incredulous. “You’re hard again? It’s been five fucking minutes.”

“Yeah,” Patrick says distractedly, pulling open her nightstand for a condom.

“No, Patrick, wait!” She calls, diving over his lap to try and stop him from opening it, but it’s too late.

Her shirts riding up as she reaches over him and he’d be more distracted by her white lacy panties if he hadn’t just found their little treasure trove of sex toys. An open box, clearly accessed recently or he wouldn’t have seen it. It’s full of vibrators, lube, beads, handcuffs, etcetera etcetera.

“All we do is work and take care of our daughter.” Patrick mimics Arts television voice. “Such a liar, you’re both so fucking horny,” He grins moving her away so he can lift the box out completely.

Tashi settles back on the bed but hits his arm, mildly annoyed.

“This is actually fucking incredible,” he teases as he examines the contents.

“We went through a phase,” Tashi mutters as he lifts out a magic wand thingy. He presses the button. It starts vibrating and he holds it out to her like a microphone.

“Could you speak up please?”

“I hate you,” Tashi says, pushing his arm away.

Patrick laughs and shuts it off before droppping it back in the box. “Holy shit, please tell me you fucked him,” he exclaims, lifting out what’s clearly a strap on.

She shrugs. “Look nothing was working, okay. He was depressed and I knew I had to try something…that…that….”

“Did he come?”

She bites her lip. “No… but…I mean… he got hard.”

Patrick smirks and grips the fake cock. “You should fuck me.”

“Patrick,” She rolls her eyes but she’s so easy to read. He knows he’s had her since the moment he took the ice cream away.

“Come on,” he says, pulling at her t-shirt. “Fuck my brains out.”

“You’re such a freak,” She whispers but she grabs the strap on from him.

“Says the freak with handcuffs in their nightstand,” he smirks.

“It came with the set. You really think I’d buy furry handcuffs?”

“No, you’re right, you’d just tie him up.”

She sits up on the bed and straddles Patrick. “Jesus, you really are hard,” she says softly. “Help me put it on.”

He lifts her t-shirt so her little lace panties are visible. She’s so god damn beautiful he wonders how she’s surprised his dick is hard. He’s always at least half hard in her presence, he’d be more impressed if he could keep it down. He helps her buckle the straps.

It’s so intimate he almost ends up just fucking her instead but somehow they recover enough for him to watch her play with it. She’s kneeling over him. Rubbing it like she’s jerking off. “What do you think?” She giggles, the shorter strands of her hair falling into her eyes.

“I don’t buy it,” he says.

“Why?” She asks, just like the girl who’s used to getting straight A’s.

“You’re not selling the feeling. It’s supposed to feel good,” he says, gripping it.

“Mm, What about now?” She says, moaning as he jerks it, pushing hair out of her face only for it to fall back again.

He smiles, putting his other hand behind his head. “Yeah, like that. Fucking come all over me.”

She giggles again, a little breathless, he’s not sure how much longer he can do this with her without penetration.

Apparently she feels the same way. “Can you put lube on my big dick?” She asks.

He wants to laugh. He bites it back so she won’t yell at him but she hits him, anyway. “Shut up,” she says, grinning. “Act like I’m him.”

Patrick opens his mouth and then closes it again. He reaches into the box for the lube and rubs it over the toy.

“You should take that shirt off.” He tells her.

“Shh, turn around,” she tells him. “On your hands and knees.”

He sits up and kisses her before doing what she asks. She rubs his ass through his boxers. Something he does to her often and he smiles. Art’s not on the tv anymore, he can hear the host interviewing some singer he’s never heard of. That’s okay, he can still tell him that they fucked while he was talking about them.

“It’s gonna feel good,” Tashi says softly, taking his boxers down.

“Don’t come inside, I’m not on the pill,” he tells her.

She smacks his bare ass and there’s just enough sting there for him to like it. “You're so stupid,” she says quietly as she eases it inside.

”Mm and you love it,” he replies. It actually feels… kinda nice. He relaxes into it.

“You like this don’t you?” Tashi breathes.

“Mmhm,” he hums.

“I wish I could fuck you all the time,” she says.

”So fuck me all the time then,” he sighs as she slides it in and out.

“Does it feel like this when Art does it?”

Patrick smiles, his stomach tightens, his breathing is picking up. “Mm too gentle.”

“Really? He’s not gentle?”

“Sometimes, when he’s in his head.”

She picks up her pace and he groans, “How about now?” She asks, “still too gentle?”

”I can take more,” he says.

“Of course you fucking can, you’re such a slut for me,” she says. If he was in his right mind he would laugh but she’s found the perfect spot. This glorious aching white hot pleasure races through his body on almost every thrust, he wants to hold her there but he pushes back on her instead and she’s a genius so she picks up the pace. She’s so relentless by the end he’s practically begging her for it. He ends up coming untouched on the sheets. He collapses and rolls over, breathless as she crawls on top of him.

“Do you like it?” She asks. She’s a little bit of a mess and he pulls her closer for a kiss.

“Yes, fucking yes,” he tells her, undoing one of the straps of her fake dick. “A fucking plus.”

He unclips the other strap and pulls it off, before easing his fingers into her panties. She’s so wet he needs to take his fingers out again and taste them.

She rests her head against his chest while he finger fucks her. It’s easy, she was already halfway there while she was fucking him.

“Patrick,” she sighs, sleepily after a minute.

“Yeah?”

“I think my dick is bigger than yours,” she whispers.

Patrick smirks. “And he said you guys were boring.”

#tashi duncan #tashi x art x patrick #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #challengers 2024 #kinktober #challengers smut #challengers fic #challengerstober #no beta we die like men

60 notes · View notes

arcane-vagabond · 2 months ago

Text

Trapped in Silk: Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: The world has been turned on its head ever since news spread that vampires are not only very real, but many have walked the earth undetected for centuries. You keep to yourself, head down and out of everyone's way. That is, until you bump into a stranger while avoiding a group of men chasing after you. You think you've seen the last of this stranger, only to run into him once more. Your life is turned upside down as he envelopes you into his life and into his riches. Are you a passing fancy, or are you the latest addition to his treasure trove? Only time will tell. (Vampire!AU)

Content Warning: Lots of talk of blood, Excessive prose, Vampires, self depracation. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 1.2k

Masterlist || Series Masterlist

When considering all things sacred, blood is perhaps the one thing more precious than gold.

Blood not only keeps people alive, it carries their memories through their veins, cycling through them like the seasons that pass as time creeps on. Blood is sacred in that oaths are sworn upon it, one’s life tied to another in a promise so great that another’s life was staked upon it. Brotherhoods are formed in blood, cuts slashed into skin to allow the intermingling of one’s self with another.

The taking of blood was a great sin, condemning those who commit the act to an eternity of damnation, vying for salvation in any form they could find it. Cain stole Abel’s blood at the dawn of time, unleashing blood that was not his to give upon the earth and dooming all those that would follow in his path.

Humanity’s greatest monsters were those that ripped through flesh and stole blood from unwilling victims, rivers of blood like red silk against porcelain skin. Demons who once called themselves humans now drank their fill, casting themselves into darkness in fear of the shame the light of day would cast upon them.

These creatures had many names given to them over the centuries. Known as shtriga in Albania, vrykolakas in Greek, and strigoi in Romanian, most people knew them in modern times simply as vampires. Humanity had lost their fear of these creatures, writing them off as fairytales conjured up by ignorant, village folk who needed a reason for every bump in the night and a reason to keep their children in line.

Mutilations that were once the obvious work of the blood sucking dead, were now attributed to fellow human beings if not the odd wild animal attack. Humanity had strayed from the knowledge of their ancestors to favor the logic of the modern era. There couldn’t possibly be creatures that sustain themselves off the blood of other living beings, not ones that take the shape of a human, anyway. Of course you had insect species and small mammals that did so, but what evolutionary purpose would it serve a humanoid to sustain on nothing but blood?

How naïve they all had been.

No one was quite sure what to make of the press conferences at first, some believing them to be some kind of mass prank or some elaborate movie advertisement. It wasn’t long after that their kind started coming out in waves, no longer content to hide in the darkness that had once been their sanctuary.

The world had been in shock as droves of these creatures made themselves known, neighbors showing their true nature and some even advocating for the full integration of their kind with humans. Of course, there had been just as much pushback. People demanding that vampire kind leave, to where, they didn’t care. Just so long as they wouldn’t be forced to mingle and play nice with something they didn’t understand.

Vampire advocates had smiled placatingly each time, assuring the general masses that they had nothing to fear, reminding them that vampires had been there the whole time. Most people accepted this, most somewhat begrudgingly. After all, with their presence out in the open, at least there could be consequences and regulations, right?

Those in charge assured everyone that by working together, a new status quo could be created, the call for blood donors going out. While open feeding was not outlawed, it was highly discouraged—the powers that be wanting to maintain some semblance of control. A surprising number of people jumped at the opportunity to donate blood, whether it was through the hope that doing so would keep them from being attacked in the future or simply out of sheer curiosity and enthusiasm. It was the younger generations that seemed more at ease with the sudden development, a sense of cautious excitement ringing in the air in those first few weeks after the initial announcements. You had been finishing up some documents for a report to hand into your boss at the end of the day when Madison had stopped at your desk, a mischievous smile to compliment the spark in her eye.

“Can you believe that Dave from accounting has been a vampire all this time?” She whispered, though you don’t know why she bothered when her voice carried the way it did. You arched a brow at her, hands not stopping in their work as you waited for her to continue.

“I mean,” she scoffed, “who would have thought Dave of all people to be a vampire? He’s so…boring.”

“Vampires are just people, Mads,” you supplied, noting how strange the words felt on your tongue. It was true, of course, but three weeks ago, you’d never imagine having this conversation.

“Yeah, I guess,” she pouted, twirling a finger in her blonde curls. “I dunno, I just thought vampires were supposed to be these natural seducers or whatever. Hot and mysterious. Dave is…well, actually he’s not that bad now that I think about it a little more.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snorted, a smile tugging at your lips as you paused in your typing to look at her. The grin was back on her face as she waggled her eyebrows.

“You love me,” she declared with a shrug. “Besides, you’re going to tell me you’ve never thought about what it would be like to do it with one of them?”

“No, Mads,” you rolled your eyes. “The thought of never crossed my mind of what it would be like to ‘do it’ with them. They’re the same people they’ve always been, just like I’m the same person I was three weeks ago. Not much has changed, not really.”

“You’re such a bummer sometimes, you know?” Madison giggled with a shake of her head. “You can fool everyone else, but you can’t fool me, babe. I know you’ve got a wild side in you somewhere. We just have to find it!”

She didn’t wait for your response before she turned on her heels and walked away. You loved Madison dearly, really you did. You’d been friends since high school, and you knew she meant well, but you also knew that her words were more than just words. You’d find out what she was up to eventually, and you knew you wouldn’t like it.

You glanced at the clock—almost quitting time. You leaned back in your chair with a grunt, stretching out your back and shoulders before slumping forward. You knew you weren’t the most exciting person, that had always been Madison. Where she was the life of the party, you were content to hug the walls, watching the party go on around you in mild fascination. Madison had no problem going out and meeting people, the string of boyfriends and girlfriends she left behind her a testament of that. You hadn’t had a date in ages, vaguely recalling the first date with some random guy Madison had set you up with. He was a decent guy, Randy or Ricky or Rocky or whatever his name had been, but the spark just hadn’t been there. You supposed you were getting too old to believe in the possibility of true love or love at first sight. You’d have to settle like most anyone else.

With a sigh, you began closing out of the different programs you’d had open on your desktop, making sure that you had all the components for the report for your boss before slinging your purse over your shoulder. Yes, vampires may be real, but a fairytale romance surely was not.

A/N: Okay, yeah lol We're trying something new. We're branching out into uncharted territory. What of it?

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. I no longer do taglists, so if you would like to be notified on when I post, please follow my sideblog ( @sailoraviator-library ) and turn on post notifications! You can find me and my works on AO3 under the username arcane_vagabond. Until next time!

#tis #trapped in silk #vampire!bucky #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #james buchanan barnes x you #james bucky barnes #james bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky x reader

73 notes · View notes

cj-schlatt · 5 months ago

Text

Rewind

Pairing: Schlatt x gn!reader (no pronouns, no use of y/n)

Word Count: ~780

Summary: What do you get as a gift for someone who has it all?

Content: Fluff, pet names (angel). Schlatt and reader are childhood best friends who recently reconnected :)

A/N: Hi! This is my first attempt at writing for Schlatt. Let me know how I did! :)

You’ve been stressing ever since you flipped the calendar page over this morning. Your first anniversary with Schlatt is this month, the date marked with a heart, and you have no idea what you’re going to get him.

What do you get as a gift for someone who has it all?

You’re in your parents’ attic, helping them to clean it up a bit, when you find the answer to your dilemma.

You come across an unmarked cardboard box, which by itself isn’t unusual; you’ve already sorted through a dozen just like it. What makes it special is what you find inside—it’s filled with VHS-C tapes from your family’s old camcorder. You’ve just stumbled upon a treasure trove of memories.

You know for a fact that there is footage of Schlatt within these tapes, from birthday celebrations to stupid “movies” the two of you made together. As you pick up a tape, labeled with both of your names and the date it was captured, you start to form a plan.

Your childhood bedroom is exactly as you left it when you moved out, down to the old CRT TV and combination VHS and DVD player. After some quick Googling, you’re turning on the TV and popping the first tape, along with a blank DVD, into the player.

Static. Then, a picture comes into view: a grainy scene of a much younger version of you in front of a birthday cake, Schlatt right at your side as he and the rest of the party-goers sing “Happy Birthday” and you blow out the candles. You can’t help but smile at the display.

The video continues, showing you tearing into your birthday presents (with Schlatt right there to help you, of course). You’re transported back to that day, long forgotten until now, where you almost had more fun playing with the wrapping paper and tissue paper than the actual presents you received.

Soon, the first tape ends. If all went well, it should be copied onto the DVD now. You stay up well into the night converting tapes, too excited revisiting old memories to want to continue later.

The next day, phase two of your plan begins, with you uploading the new DVDs to your computer and putting your video editing skills to the test. You’re grinning like an idiot when it’s finally done.

You just hope Schlatt will like it.

You’re pretty sure he will.

It’s a few weeks later when the big day finally arrives. You can’t even count how many times you’ve had to hold yourself back from giving him his gift early, so excited to see his reaction.

You’re practically vibrating when you lead him to the living room and turn the TV on.

“What’s all this about?” he asks, plopping down on the couch.

“You’ll see,” you say, smiling as you connect your laptop to the TV.

You watch with him as little you and Schlatt are projected onto the big screen. You join him on the couch, listening to your younger self introduce your imagined audience to what the two of you creatively titled “The Dumb Idiots Show.”

You glance over at Schlatt, who is completely glued to the TV. You think you see that his eyes are glistening a little, reflecting the light of the screen, but you don’t say anything, just let the video continue.

The video came out pretty damn good, if you do say so yourself. It had been so much fun reliving these memories, and it’s even better now that you get to share them with your best friend, the one who was with you for all of it.

Eventually, the screen fades to black, and the room falls silent.

“Wow,” is the first thing Schlatt says. He leans back into the couch, running a hand through his hair.

“Did you like it?” you ask, not quite able to keep the nervousness out of your voice.

“Are you kidding?” he asks, voice tinged with disbelief. “I loved it.”

“Really?”

“Really, angel,” he says, pulling you in for a hug.

You sink into the embrace, relief flooding through you.

“I’m impressed,” he says when you part.

“Hmm?”

“Looks like I’m not the only one with video-making skills around here.”

You grin at him. “I mean, did you see my camera work on episode two of ‘The Dumb Idiots Show?’ I’ve always had a knack for it.”

He laughs. “You oughta start your own channel.”

“Maybe I will,” you say with a little smirk. After a moment, your face softens. “Happy anniversary, J.”

“Happy anniversary,” he echoes, a lovesick smile on his own face as he leans in to kiss you.

A/N: Thanks for reading! :)

#schlatt #jschlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #x reader #cj's writing

103 notes · View notes

edmcmayonnaise · 3 months ago

Text

Months ago, I wrote "biographies" for Edwin and Simon in the style of the Edwardian (Third Edition published in 1915) study on "Sexual Inversion" (medical phrasing that pre-dates the term "homosexuality") in the style of Studies in the Psychology of Sex by Havelock Ellis. This book can be found for free online and is a treasure trove due to the collection of biographies written by queer people.

Maybe against my better judgment, I will share them now for Simon Appreciation Week, as they capture to some extent how I perceive their interpersonal dynamics.

HISTORY E.P. - English, student at public boarding school, aged 16. His father, who comes from an unremarkable middle class lineage, is a physician. His father has been deployed to France since 1914 for wartime service. His mother’s family has a history notable for hysteria in his maternal grandmother, and his mother he describes as a high-strung and nervous woman who herself has been intermittently institutionalized for afflictions of mood.

He has no siblings, and describes the relationship with his parents as distant. He lived most of his early childhood life in the care of a nanny. At age seven, was sent away to boarding school.

He has never been attracted to girls or women, though had minimal contact with girls his age, He takes little interest in women or in their society. There is nothing markedly feminine in his general appearance, but he does believe that his general kinesthetic disposition is not viewed by others as manly. Specifically, he says that he is concerned that the animated way in which his hands is too recognizable as a symptom of what he considers to be his congenital condition.

He is of average height and medium-slim build, but generally normatively developed and healthy. He considers himself to lack skill in athletic pursuits with the exception of fencing, but is an omnivorous reader and excels in academics.

In his own words:

“I have always been very shy of showing any affectionate tendencies. Most of my acquaintances (and close friends, even) find me curiously cold. For obvious reasons I have been unable to speak as to why this is. I fear being cruelly misunderstood, and I have at times felt as if wrestling in the folds of the morally reprehensible python of inversion.

"I find myself cut off from others, feel myself to be an outcast, and, amongst others my age, am intensely withdrawn. Privately, I am miserable. The desire to love and be loved is hard to drown, especially when treading through a veritable pool of ‘what-ifs’ as I am surrounded by male virality in all aspects of my life at school.

“I am not sure entirely what it is for which I am longing. Certainly, my parents neglected to impart to me any sort of knowledge of the adult modus vivendi. The only thing I do know with confidence is that no bodily satisfaction should be sought at the cost of another person’s distress or degradation, including my own.

“At my school, I have heard rumor, and in fact been the subject of rumor, regarding attachments and gratifications with other boys, which are all untrue. As with any topic that is discussed only behind cupped hands and in whispers, the stories become more and more fantastical as they are shared from schoolmate to schoolmate. Upon my truest promise, I have never yielded to the temptation of any sort of intercrural connection. I have preserved strict chastity. I do not know how long my mind can hold back the instincts of my heart and body, but I am terrified that I will soon lose this seemingly never ending battle.”

Shortly after E.P. submitted his history for publication in this book, it was reported that he and several other boys at his school went missing in what the school is calling an Act of God. Any additional information about what may have happened to this youth and his friends is not forthcoming at this time.

HISTORY S.M. - English, student at a public boarding school, aged 17. Father and mother both living; the latter is of a better social standing than the former. He is much attached to his mother, and she gives him some sympathy and companionship, when he is at home. He is the third of four siblings, all boys, and he suspects that his next elder brother is also inverted.

In early life, S.M. was of delicate constitution and his studies were often interrupted by illness. Though living under mostly happy conditions he was shy and nervous, often depressed. This he attributes to having been on several occasions mishandled by his next elder brother; concedes that his brother is prone to foul and violent moods. However, his brother is well-liked, by his father and other siblings, he says, because of his masculine character. His brother has many friends at school. Though S.M. does report that he does have some influence over some of his classmates, he has few close friends.

Of his inversion, he reports the following:

“There is a boy in my year who has become the absorbing thought of my school days, and who comes to me in my dreams almost nightly. I have absolutely no words to tell you how powerfully his beauty affects me. He is well-formed, lean, shy, and in my dream he sits beside me, allowing our legs to touch and for me to caress his thigh. He looks at me with desire in his eyes, green, but clouded over dark with his want for me to kiss him. And I do want to kiss him– on his wrist, and his palm, and into the gentle, milky curve of his neck, and to leave my lover’s mark on him, to say to anyone who might pursue him that he is mine and mine only.

“I keep my feelings hidden, however, hardly daring to look at him for fear of being found out. His bed is next to mine, and the rest of the dormitory is boisterous and lewd, and there is a good deal of bullying, which I cannot bear to have directed my way.

“I have tried to tell myself that these dreams are not due to a moral failing of my own, but indeed this boy’s own influence upon me. I love him and I resent him. His seeming indifference towards my existence, as he has never responded well when I have plucked up my courage to speak with him, angers me. I want him to look towards me and love me, too.”

S.M. was involved in the same incident as E.P., where he and several other boys went missing from their school. It is reported that their last known whereabouts were their school dormitory rooms.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #edwin payne #simon mould #dbda headcanons #simon appreciation week 2024

73 notes · View notes

david-talks-sw · 1 year ago

Text

When 'Star Wars' dilutes the impact of a "Kurosawa samurai standoff"...

It's no secret that one of the major inspirations for Star Wars was Akira Kurosawa movies. The Hidden Fortress influenced the basic structure of the first film, was a basis for Lucas' character archetypes and his use of narrative POVs.

But, really, all of Kurosawa's films were an influence on the making of Star Wars. Including the duels seen in his and other samurai films from the 60s.

Dunno if you've seen a kendo fight, but they're pretty similar.

The duelists size each other up, and there's a lot of mind games going on before the strike actually happens.

If you hold your sword this way, the other guy adjusts his stance.

You move your foot that way, the adversary responds accordingly.

Cinematically, this process allows you to play with a whole treasure trove of elements to build up the drama and suspense. We see this slow-yet-tense approach to dueling reflected all over the Original Trilogy. And we've seen it again in recent Disney-released content.

The perfect and first real example of this in Star Wars is the fight between Ben Kenobi and Maul, in Rebels.

The tension increases more...

... and more until the two fighters move, the music swells...

... and then it reaches its climax.

Beautifully executed.

Dave Filoni's done his homework, it shows, and while it's an awesome homage, narratively it also holds weight. There's a reason why this fight is so quick:

This time, Obi-Wan isn't fighting to avenge the death of his master, he's not fighting to save his own life... he's fighting to protect Luke's. And that means there's no time to fuck about. He'll end the conflict swiftly and decisively, he won't let it come to a prolonged acrobatic fight. So he lures Maul in by making him think he's taking Qui-Gon's form, and strikes true when Maul, increasingly consumed by his own rage to the point of blindness, falls for it.

Again: a wonderful fight and an excellent homage.

Then we get to Luke's stand-off with Kylo on Crait, in The Last Jedi.

An interesting take on the trope, also with meaningful narrative impact. As Rian Johnson writes in the TLJ screenplay:

"This is not like a saber fight. This like an old-fashioned samurai duel."

Here too, the tension gets built up...

... and every time we're close to getting that climax, Luke dodges.

It leaves a feeling of dissatisfaction, which is exactly what Kylo is feeling as he boils with rage.

Suddenly, we do get the climax...

... and a twist. Luke was never actually there. Boom. Those inserts during the build-up phase? If you look at them again they're clues (Luke doesn't leave a mark on the ground, salt doesn't land on his clothes, etc). Luke wasn't engaging because he wasn't actually there, he was buying time for the Resistance to escape.

Okay. Cool.

Next time we see a "Kurosawa" duel... it's here, in The Mandalorian.

Again, a lot of posing, slow movements and patience, as is expected from the trope.

But we know nothing about the opponent Ahsoka is fighting other than her name is Morgan... so no emotional impact, there.

At some point, Ahsoka loses a lightsaber. The apprentice to the Chosen One is struggling against some rando.

We find out later on that Morgan is a Nightsister from Dathomir, and that's cool... but we already know how Jedi-trained folks fare against the Dathomiri.

If you ask me, it feels like manufactured stakes. But that's beside the point. In fact, y'know what? It's fine.

Though the impact of this duel isn't as great as its predecessors, the whole episode is filled with visual homages to Kurosawa's work.

It makes sense that the duel would be too. Also it's the first time we're seeing Ahsoka in live action, in a lightsaber duel, the hype is real. Let's cut 'em some slack.

So we come to the series Ahsoka... where almost every duel in the the show has the Kurosawa posturing and tip-toeing and... I dunno. I was bored?

Like, the primary purpose of this approach to duels is that it's meant to be suspenseful and intense... and now it's not.

Because we know Ahsoka is gonna beat the crap outta these droids...

... so why even bother faking some semblance of "what's her next move gonna be?" suspense? There's a hole right behind her, gee, I truly wonder.

Oh, you think putting her against an Inquisitor's gonna make us fear for her life, wonder if she's gonna get outta this situation unscathed?

She was wiping the floor with two of them at the same time, a decade prior. At 17, she was killing Inquisitors while disarmed.

Do you really expect your audience to fear for her life in a fight against Marrok?

So we get to the fight with Baylan, and the posturing and studying opponent's next move would be welcome here (two Order 66 survivors, knew Anakin, both well-trained former Jedi)...

... if we hadn't literally seen that same dynamic with Marrok who, again, we knew was gonna die.

No tension was built in either moment, the only thing it achieved was me pressing >> on my keyboard.

It's not captivating anymore, it's just slow and un-dynamic.

Bottom line:

Tributes to Kurosawa are nice. They're part of what makes Star Wars what it is. But c'mon, we get it already.

Lightsaber duelists don't need to tiptoe around each other and change poses at every fight. Because when the actually meaningful duels come up (like the one with Baylan), the impact will be lessened.

The "Kurosawa samurai duel" is artistic and interesting, but it should be used sparingly in order to maintain its charm and not get old and trope-y. AKA too much of a good thing becomes a bad thing.

#ahsoka series #ahsoka tano #baylan skoll #marrok #ahsoka #star wars #meta #sw negativity #long post

327 notes · View notes

heauxvibez · 7 months ago

Text

Born Again Virgin: II

Part 2 to Born Again Virgin

Amaia confidently strode through the entrance of her clothing store, the very one she owned, heading straight for her office. Today was special, she was about to meet a new client. Being a rising star in the world of celebrity styling, Amaia was in high demand, just like the famous Kim Kimble.

A call had come in from a manager, pleading for her assistance in styling his client, a WWE Star who had been making waves in the industry for years – Roman Reigns. Known as one of the top wrestlers around, Roman needed a new stylist urgently, especially with the Espy Awards looming just a day away.

Initially, Amaia hesitated, her schedule already packed for the day. But when the manager mentioned the price, she couldn't refuse. Without a second thought, she accepted the job, knowing it would be a whirlwind of fittings and designs.

As she flicked on the lights, Amaia prepared for the arrival of her employees. Her frequent travels meant she wasn't often at the shop, leading her to hire more staff than initially intended.

Turning the sign to 'Open' and another warning against photos and autographs, Amaia reflected on the growing attention her shop received from fans eager to catch a glimpse of celebrity clientele. What started as a minor inconvenience had escalated, prompting the need for clear boundaries.

Unlocking her office door, Amaia breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to be back in her sanctuary after weeks of traveling with other clients. Her office wasn't just any ordinary workspace; it was grand, almost as large as her own apartment. Walls painted in a soothing violet hue, complemented by sleek black and marble flooring, created an air of sophistication. A delicate chandelier hung from above, casting a gentle glow, while a colossal closet dominated the room's rear. Overflowing with garments ranging from petite children's sizes to the sizes of Rick Ross, it was a treasure trove of fashion possibilities.

Every item of clothing was organized by color and style. From elegant dresses to sharp suits, the racks carried a plethora of options, some already worn by clients, while others awaited their red carpet debut at upcoming events and award shows.

Adjacent to the expansive closet were two discreet changing rooms, providing privacy for those hesitant to undress in front of Amaia. She recalled with a chuckle the boldness of certain clients, like Rihanna, who did not care about undressing in her presence. Amaia couldn't help but be thankful that she wore a bra that particular day, given Rihanna's notorious aversion to them.

She busied herself fluffing the plush pillows on her couches. Nestled between them was a sleek glass table, topped with a bowl of yummy fruit candies and a stack of glossy fashion magazines, inviting guests to indulge in both sweets and style.

Reserved exclusively for her esteemed clients, Amaia's office was off-limits without her explicit permission.

Taking her place behind the desk, Amaia sorted through the scattered papers, her schedule filled to the brim. With appointments shuffled to accommodate her newest client, she made a mental note to reschedule today's and tomorrow's clients for Monday.

The lively chatter of her employees filled the air, bringing a smile to Amaia's lips. Each member of her team held a special place in her heart, and she always felt a bit sad when separated from them during her travels. She wanted to wait a bit before going out to speak to them, she focused on returning calls to clients, informing them of the scheduling changes prompted by her latest styling venture.

Mid-task, the ring of her office phone interrupted her concentration.

"Hey Amaia, you got 2 men here saying that they have an appointment with you today,"

"Names?"

"Paul Heyman and Roman Reigns.."

"Okay, send them in, thanks Makayla."

"No problem, boss."

With a soft click, Amaia hung up the phone, tidying a few papers into the drawer of her desk. Just as she finished, three gentle knocks echoed through the room, she rose from her seat and made her way towards the door.

As she swung it open, her gaze was met with the towering figure of a man clad in a simple white t-shirt and gray sweats. Her eyes traveled slowly upwards, taking in the breadth of his frame before meeting his face.

Damn, she thought.

He was undoubtedly the most handsome wrestler she had ever laid eyes on, and she'd seen her fair share. His features were chiseled and defined, sharp enough to cut like a knife. Dark, almost obsidian eyes poured into hers, set against smooth, pretty brown skin. His lips, full and inviting, drew her attention like a magnet.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Roman but you can call me Joe.." His voice, deep and seductive, snapped her out of her trance, though it sent a shiver down her spine, her knees trembling slightly.

A faint smile played at the corners of his lips, noting her reaction. The way she couldn't tear her gaze from his lips gave away more than she realized.

Roman wasn't one to brag, but he knew his charm. He was well aware of his good looks and the effect they had on others, especially women. Seeing Amaia's response wasn't new to him.

Purposefully, he licked his lips, revealing a set of perfect teeth in a charming grin.

"And I'm Paul, his manager."

She tore her gaze away from the striking sight of Roman, turning her attention to the burly man beside him. He sported a black and white suit, a touch of gray in his tie, his balding head lending him a seasoned air. With a weak smile, she extended her hand to shake theirs, introducing herself.

"Sorry we're a little late, I just moved into a new place an-.." Roman began to explain.

"No, it's totally fine. No need to explain.." Amaia interrupted, ushering them into the room and gesturing for them to take a seat on one of the plush couches.

As she opened the door to her closet, she headed towards the section reserved for men's clothing, selecting a few suits to present to Roman. Laying them out on the adjacent couch, she turned back to face him.

"Okay, so I'm styling you for the Espy's correct?"

Roman nodded, "Correct.."

"So, explain to me your style. Like what do you like to wear, favorite colors, so on and so forth..",

"I'm not too big on name brands and stuff like that. I dress casually for the most part. Colors..hmm..I like dark, sometimes with a pop of somethin' bright..you get me?"

She chuckled, pulling out a few dark suits and colorful button-ups and ties.

"I definitely understand,"

Roman glanced at his manager, who seemed preoccupied with his phone.

"What?"

Paul glanced up briefly, "Nothing, don't worry about it. I'll be right back." he smiled, nodding towards Amaia.

"Take good care of him while I'm gone." he requested.

"I'm not a child, I can take care of myself," Roman said, rolling his eyes.

Amaia giggled, "It's fine, I got him."

"Thank you."

She held up a black suit, "Come here for a minute.."

As he approached, she felt a flutter of nerves. His presence was intense, his cologne intoxicating.

Turning to face him, she held up the suit, "How about these black slacks with a black button-up and a deep blood orange or red tie? Or you can wear the black slacks with a red button-up and a black tie..no suit jacket, though.."

Roman considered the options, his presence sending her thoughts into a tailspin.

"I like the all black with the red tie, that would be pretty dope. What do you think?" he asked. His eyes stared deeply into hers, almost as if he were searching for something. If you ask Amaia, she could've sworn he was trying to find her g-spot by staring into her soul.

"I..I think you will look great in that." she stammered.

"Yeah?" he leaned in closer, his breath grazing her cheek.

"Yes.." she breathed out softly, feeling a flutter in her chest. Gripping the clothes tightly, she fought to steady herself. If his intention was to make her lose her mind, he was certainly achieving it.

The door swung open, causing both of them to jump.

"Joe, we got to go. You have a meeting in 30 minutes. If we don't go now, you'll be late, and that's not a good first impression." Paul said, fingers tapping away at his phone.

"What about the outfit for the Espys tomorrow? She doesn't know my sizes.." Roman's concern was evident.

"Text her your sizes and we'll deal with the rest tomorrow morning. Amaia, will you be able to be here at 6:00 am tomorrow?"

She nodded, "Great, problem solved. Let's goooo!" Paul exclaimed, ushering Roman out of the room.

Roman groaned, rubbing his temples.

"I guess I'll see you tomorrow.."

"Yeah, tomorrow.." she murmured, glancing down.

"Reigns!"

"I'm coming!"

"See you later, beautiful.." his smirk lingered in her mind.

As the door closed behind them, she sank to the floor, her knees finally giving out.

"My God, what am I going to do with this man?" she lamented, her box braids threatening to fall out of her bun.

This born again virgin thing is going to be harder than she thought.

-----------------

Tags: @harmshake @southerngirl41 @spritelucozade @empressdede @alichesmi @msbigredmachine @theninthwonder @blacst4r @sassginamillls @wrestlingprincess80 @saintmagx @headoftheetable

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #wwefanfic #romanreignsimagine #wwe #romanreignsoneshot #fanfiction #roman reigns x black reader

66 notes · View notes

subliminalbo · 3 months ago

Text

The Pleasure Method

This is a continuation of Return to Office

It was simply dumb luck that Futurum had stumbled upon their newest tech. The Conditioning Initiative was a success, but its limitations were beginning to show. If the goal was to create the perfect workplace free from distractions or inefficiencies, they needed their employees to embrace the Initiative in every phase of their lives. This was how R&D shifted to The Pleasure Method.

The Pleasure Method was reversed engineered from hardware discovered in the basement of a sorority house near the campus of Carpenter State University. The program was a sophisticated set of stimulants delivered through a pair of noise canceling headphones and a VR headset. Futurum recovered a treasure trove of hypnotic audio and video files from a hard drive in the basement, but the files themselves weren't fundamentally different from what Futurum had achieved with The Conditioning Initiative. What really fascinated researchers were the testimonies culled from members of that sorority.

The power of sexual stimulation in subverting a subject's will had been documented in the past, but Futurum's interest was in testing its absolute limits. In their deprogramming, the sorority sisters who were rescued from the Alphas house recalled being hypnotized and fucked senselessly. Deprived of sight and sound from the headphones and visor, there was nothing left to focus on but the feeling of hands on flesh, teeth grazing nipples, tongues rolling along clits, and slick, thick silicone cocks penetrating as deep as they could go. The sorority sisters were programmed to desire only this feeling, and after several hours of unceasing stimulation they would do everything in their waking minds to feel that level of pleasure again. They would even obey.

Futurum built their own program from the Alphas' testimonies. The Pleasure Method was a more sophisticated apparatus than the crude setup recovered in the Alphas basement. R&D had long rooms filled with rows of examination chairs where subjects were strapped in and treated to days—not simply hours, but days—worth of sexual stimulation. Mechanical arms loomed above every chair in these R&D rooms. The whole area was called a Pleasure Station. The arms were bolted to the ceiling and were fitted with long, motorized silicone rods for vaginal or anal penetration. Regular electric shocks were delivered through a subject's nipples to maximize the body's capacity for pleasure.

All of this was conducted under deep hypnosis. Audio files droned reinforcing messages of submission in a subject's ears while a visor lowered over the eyes ensured that the subject remained entranced with synchronized light displays. Subjects were fed intravenously so that they could remain under The Pleasure Method for days.

The end results were a monumental step forward from the simple subliminal messaging of the first phase of The Conditioning Initiative. The Pleasure Method had been one hundred percent successful in shaping Futurum employees into re-writable worker drones.

The applications were endless. The efficiency crisis that had plagued workplaces since the pandemic wouldn't just be solved, Futurum could guarantee that no energy would ever be wasted in an office or a factory or a boardroom ever again. The future of work was mental conditioning, and the key was sexual pleasure.

You would be hard pressed to find a better example of this than No. 14. Formerly known as Shelby Irving, No. 14 was a graduate student at Carpenter State University who had worked on the initial stages of The Conditioning Initiative as part of a summer job program. When No. 14 returned the following year, she dutifully submitted herself for processing at a Pleasure Station. Though technically still a student at CSU, No. 14 accepted a full time job as a researcher in Futurum R&D, assisting in the processing of new subjects. Despite balancing two full time jobs, the new perspective afforded to No. 14 by her conditioning made her exceedingly efficient and she felt no difficulty in transitioning between both worlds every day.

Sometimes No. 14's worlds would collide, like when she was tasked with processing a new recruit who studied in the same rhetoric program at the school. On Shelby's recommendation, Josie had applied for the summer work program. By the time she stood naked before a Pleasure Station, she had undergone hypnotic conditioning through Futurum's new on-boarding program. That conditioning began to slip when Josie was strapped into the chair and No. 14 inserted the IV into her arm.

"Shelby?" Josie squeaked. She awoke to the sound of a dozen subjects undergoing their own processing. The subjects' thoughtless moans filled her ears like a ghoulish chant.

It wasn't uncommon for a subject's conditioning to fail during preparation. This only proved the need for a more permanent solution to The Conditioning Initiative.

"Shelby, please!" Josie begged, but there was no recognition in No. 14's eyes. "Oh, god!" she cried as the mechanical arm dropped down from the ceiling. The longest dildo she had seen in her life was just inches from her pussy. "What is that?"

"It is advisable that you remain relaxed through the preparation process," No. 14 instructed. As her glassy eyes floated from the terrified expression on Josie's face to the mechanical arm in front of her, they lingered on Josie's soft, round tits jiggling with each sob. A subtle, nearly imperceptible twitch of No. 14's eye displayed a potential hiccup in The Pleasure Method: that subjects could be molded and trained, but an increased desire for sexual satisfaction could take them at any minute. This time, however, the desire passed, and No. 14 continued with her programmed duties.

"Subjects find the pleasure distributor to be extremely arousing," No. 14 explained. "It will be a pleasant experience for you."

"Fuck you, Shelby!" Josie cried. She pulled hard at her restraints, but she couldn't shake the straps free.

When Josie knew that she couldn't find her way out, she tried to appeal to the friend that she knew from school.

"Shelby, please," she pleaded again. "You have to fight this! Whatever they've done to you. I know you're in there. I know you're still you."

But No. 14 was unmoved by Josie's pleas. She slipped the noise cancelling headphones over her ears and lowered the visor plate over her eyes, a neon glow illuminating along the rim of the visor as the program took effect. Josie released a sharp, surprised gasp when the pleasure distributor entered her pussy. It started with slow thrusts and picked up speed as her pussy responded with more lubrication.

Josie's pleas quickly softened until there was nothing left but a hungry moan that was indistinguishable from the rest of the noise in the R&D room, Josie's voice becoming another part of the chant.

No. 14 was practically dripping as she watched Josie become No. 500. With that same little twitch of the eye, she came. It washed over her so silently that an observer would never know the level of pleasure firing off all over No. 14's body.

If No. 14 had a thought left in her head, it may have been that she fucking loved this job.

#hypnokink #mind control #hypno story #mind conditioning #serial recruitment #oc: shelby irving #whitewash eyes #if some of the language is decidedly unsexy it's because I wanted to make it as painfully corporate as possible #with a slight shift toward the end as we get to watch from more of Josie's perspective

32 notes · View notes

ratttgay · 4 months ago

Text

google search history is such a treasure trove of content actually. phil's searched for the avril lavigne clone conspiracy 5 years ago? dan puts in his comedy stage show. phil's searched for what root beer is in 2019? according to mukbang 2 he still doesn't know what it is. idk knowing what is to come while watching videos like these gives so much insight to the little parts of their lives that aren't very prominent but so so special

#phan #dnp #phil lester #dan and phil #amazingphil #daniel howell #dan howell

41 notes · View notes

probablyasocialecologist · 10 months ago

Text

Surveillance developments of the 21st century have replaced the traditional gaze of the supervisor on the industrial factory floor with an automated, digital one that continuously collects real-time data on living, breathing people. Even unionized workers do not have an explicit legal right to bargain over surveillance technologies; when it comes to the right to privacy, unions have an uphill battle to fight. We now live in a world where employees are stuck in a web of participatory surveillance because they consent to be monitored as a condition of employment. Today’s workplace surveillance practices, as in the case of Amazon, have become invasive and almost limitless. Technology has allowed employers an unprecedented ability to surveil workers. Management can minutely track and persistently push workers toward greater productivity at the risk of exacerbating harms to workers’ physical health, as the high rates of injury in Amazon warehouses show. And the growing business of selling workplace surveillance software has allowed for massive amounts of data to be collected on working people: when and who they talk to, how quickly they complete tasks, what they search for on their computers, how often they use the toilet, and even the state of their current health and moods.

#work #privacy #surveillance

96 notes · View notes

blueiscoool · 2 months ago

Text

Sword with Markings of Ancient Pharaoh Ramses II Unearthed in Egypt

Archaeologists unearthed a series of mudbrick rooms filled with religious tributes, soldiers’ personal effects, engraved weaponry and animal bones.

Researchers have discovered a 3,200-year-old Egyptian fort filled with archaeological treasures. Located at the Tell Al-Abqain excavation site in northwest Egypt, the buried structure contained religious tributes, military barracks and a bronze sword inscribed with the name of the pharaoh Ramses II.

The fort was unearthed during ongoing excavations at Tell Al-Abqain. A team led by Ahmed El Kharadly, an archaeologist with Egypt’s Ministry of Tourism and Antiquities, found a series of mudbrick architectural units in the area, according to a statement from the ministry.

Those buildings, or barracks, contained a trove of artifacts, including the necessities and personal effects of the soldiers stationed there during Egypt’s New Kingdom era, a period of prosperity, territorial expansion and peace that lasted from around 1550 to 1077 B.C.E. The barracks show the military power Egypt expended to grow and defend its territory during this time.

“It is an important discovery highlighting the strategic role of Tell Al-Abqain area as a crucial military outpost on the western military road, protecting Egypt’s northwestern borders from potential invasions by Libyan tribes and sea peoples,” Mohamed Ismail Khaled, secretary-general of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities, tells Ahram Online’s Nevine El-Aref.

The barracks’ advanced architectural layout exemplifies the engineering talents of the ancient Egyptian builders, who skillfully harnessed the existing landscape for military objectives, Khaled adds.

At the site, researchers also found granaries, cow burials and pottery containing fish bones. In ancient Egypt, cows were “revered as celestial deities” and symbols of “strength, abundance and prosperity,” per the statement. However, these specific burials indicate that soldiers likely ate the cows: The bovine remains were found in an area near an oven, “which confirms that they were probably divided into parts and then stored in silos after drying,” El Kharadly tells Live Science’s Owen Jarus.

Along with evidence of soldiers’ daily provisions, researchers found accessories and toiletries, like ivory applicators for kohl eyeliner, necklaces of carnelian and faience beads shaped like pomegranate blossoms, and scarabs engraved with deities’ names, per the statement. The archaeologists also found two limestone blocks, one inscribed with the name of an official, “Bay,” and the other mentioning Ramses.

The pharaoh Ramses II, or Ramses the Great, ruled Egypt from 1279 to 1213 B.C.E., as the third king of the 19th Dynasty. Nicknamed the “builder pharaoh,” Ramses commissioned many temples during his reign, ensuring a lasting legacy. The newly discovered barracks also illustrate his sprawling influence.

One of the most intriguing discoveries was a bronze sword engraved with the cartouche of Ramses, or hieroglyphs arranged in an oval representing his name. Its presence suggests the fort was an important site during the pharaoh’s reign, per Ahram Online.

The barracks are an “important discovery” illuminating Egypt’s military strategy during Ramses’ rule, as Peter Brand, a historian at the University of Memphis who wasn’t involved in the excavation, tells Live Science.

“The weaponry demonstrates the place was well armed and may even have been able to produce some weapons on site,” Brand adds. The bronze sword was “likely given to a high-ranking officer as a royal reward. … The king’s name and titles engraved on it increased the prestige of its owner and ‘advertised’ the [king’s] wealth, power and generosity.”

By Sonja Anderson.

#Sword with Markings of Ancient Pharaoh Ramses II Unearthed in Egypt #Tell Al-Abqain #3200-year-old Egyptian fort #pharaoh Ramses II #Ramses the Great #bronze #bronze sword #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #ancient egypt #egyptian history #egyptian pharaoh

31 notes · View notes

beatinginavoid · 4 months ago

Text

The Volcano

Part 4 of 6. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

— — —

Don’t explore the volcano.

The volcano had an interesting and complex cave system formed by magma flows over many, many years. They were said to be beautiful, glistening with crystals of various types. Many spelunkers were drawn to the chance to investigate a whole new cave system that was easily accessible. Others were hunting for profit, wanting to extract the precious stones and minerals.

The area became crowded, people were going missing in the unmapped labyrinth, and safety leapt to the top of the list. Signs, fencing, and other barriers went up in an effort to dissuade people from approaching willy-nilly.

An office was established and exploration expeditions were scheduled, though many ignored the quick and shoddy set up. There were always people that slipped by, only known about when missing reports reached the area.

One newcomer, dressed in vivid, fiery shades of red and orange, was there to explore and to grab some shiny souvenirs. No fence or barrier was going to stop them!

So what happened when they went exploring?

— — —

Chain link barriers? Easy to step over or duck under. Fencing? Easy to cut through. The office and checkpoints were easy to circumvent, even in broad daylight while wearing bright clothing. It’s almost insulting how easy it is to sneak into one of the cave system’s entrances.

There are tiny glints of light speckling the tunnel’s walls, ceiling, and floor. Tiny crystals, or tiny parts of crystals showing – they don’t excite you though. You want ones from deeper in to make the trip truly worthwhile.

Excitement runs through your veins, your heart pushing you onward with every beat.

Sometimes there’s enough room for you to walk, while other times you’re forced to crouch or even crawl, dragging your backpack along with you. Good thing it’s mostly empty.

The magma flows have created interesting textures and patterns and you enjoy running your fingers over them as you progress. The flashlight attached to your helmet makes bursts of rainbows as it flashes around, catching on all of the crystalline surfaces. Every movement forward creates dazzling new displays.

The tunnels were a spelunker’s dream. Despite some tight spots, the way had been easy to traverse for anyone with a modicum of experience. It was fun, it was beautiful. After a good hour or so, you crawl out into a spacious cavern. There are crystals absolutely everywhere, spikes and spires of them forming stalactites and stalagmites all over. Piles and piles of them fill half of the floor space, some of them tickling the ceiling.

This is an absolutely gorgeous treasure trove you giddily giggle with glee over. It’s warm in here, but tolerable. You swing your backpack off and pick out a sizable specimen, stuffing it gently inside. You pick out another, and another. You reach for a fourth when the whole mound trembles, a few from the top tumbling down.

You step back to avoid the sharp edged projectiles.

A rumble resounds throughout the cavern. Is the volcano active? Is this a normal thing?

The whole pile shifted, crystals falling down like rain, and two long, dark, ridged, conical spikes appeared from the summit. You jump back further and gasp, watching as a reptilian head emerges, bright yellow, slitted eyes focusing right on you.

Wisps of smoke waft up from the nostrils and your brain screams dragon!

There is an actual dragon with a treasure hoard living in this volcanic cave system. Judging from that smoke, the stories of fire breathing are true. You don’t want to stick around and find out, so you finally get your legs to work and make a break for the way you had come in.

Something whips out from the side and knocks your feet out from under you. You tumble to the ground and something pulls you back. Fingers attempt to dig in, but the dried, hardened magma has no give to it, and you scream, lungs squeezing and heart pounding.

When you stop, you look around to see a black talon, half a dozen inches long, sunk into the hem of your pants. The dragon is now mostly revealed, and you can see a long, serpentine body, about twelve feet in length, with spikes jutting out from the spine. There were no wings, but the mouthful of fangs was very intimidating.

The dragon steps out of what is left of its crystal mound, and stands directly over you, your frightened gaze meeting its predatory one. It flicks its claw free of your pants and splays its scaly digits over your rib cage, holding you down.

Your heart thumps hard and fast and you begin to pant. The dragon’s skin is far warmer than the air and its heat seeps right through your clothes. With one quick swipe, the dragon rips the clothing off the front of your torso and lightly pins you again. The heat from its scales directly on your skin feels like a severe sunburn, and you gasp.

The beast opens its maw and growls. You can see flickers of flame over its tongue and between the fangs and try to flinch back. Sadly the ground does not yield and swallow you. Will it eat you before you develop blisters?

It moves its foot to pin down one of your arms and breathes onto your sternum, a thin jet of fire leaving its jaws. The heat is nigh unbearable and you scream loudly. When the fire stops, you lay there panting for a moment before you turn to look at the damage.

Your skin is unblemished despite the intense heat and pain. Your chest feels tight, every breath stinging your lungs. All of the organs in your upper torso feel like a piece of bread that just popped up from the toaster; now lightly browned.

You wriggle in a desperate bid to escape, but the dragon uses its other front foot to pin down your other arm. Your heart is beating faster than it ever has before, and you are left gasping and sweating in fright.

It gives a brief roar and breathes fire on your chest again. The heat quickly amps up and you swear you can hear sizzling, though the flames don’t seem to be physically damaging your skin.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, feeling like a burger on a barbecue, and your extremities tingle with warmth as the heated blood is pumped around. Everything starts to hurt as the heat spreads, like intense pins and needles.

The dragon stops the weird cooking ritual and leans in, sniffing your chest. Despite the reptilian face you can clearly see that the beast isn’t exactly pleased. Does it want you medium rare? Well done?

Another sustained burst of flame hits you, and every time your pump contracts there is a sharp ache, like you’ve stuck your heart in a fire. Your blood feels like hot water being poured down your veins and you scream again, fruitlessly writhing beneath the dragon.

It’s cooking your cardiac muscle like a slab of meat and boiling the crimson liquid it pumps around your body. Your skin is still unblemished, but the dragon is roasting you from the inside out.

It is utter agony and you barely have the breath to scream, the heat and your injured heart, desperately sprinting to the best of its ability, are stealing your oxygen. Are there bubbles in your blood? Is your pericardium filling with steam and smoke?

You imagine your lifeblood boiling away to nothing like an unattended pan of water on a stove top. You imagine your heart turning brown and tough, barely able to contract to pump any blood. You wonder which one will happen first.

Dizziness, light-headedness, blurry and fading vision plague you, and you fear what your heart looks like under this assault.

No one knows you’re here. You’ll be just another missing person to add to the statistics.

The dragon stops and sniffs your chest again. It gives a soft, low rumble, resembling a massive, reptilian house cat’s purr. It’s clearly pleased with the progress and you wonder if fangs will sink into you at any moment. But no, it breathes more fire.

Each breath you take is horribly painful, and now you can feel every rushed beat, each pump like pure torture. It feels like lava flowing through you instead of blood. You gasp like a fish out of water, your heart and lungs stealing every molecule of oxygen.

Ba-ow-thump-owba-ow-thump-owba-ow-thump-owba-ow-thump-ow

Your heart is beating and being stabbed at a rapid-fire pace, your lungs feel shrivelled from heat, and your vision is developing black spots as oxygen deprivation sets in. The scent of cooked meat invades your nose and you kick out and writhe in a last ditch, primal attempt to attain freedom.

Choking wheezes leave your throat and the dark spots increase, blacking out over half of your vision. Your lungs aren’t moving at all and your heart is no longer pounding. Each beat feels weaker and weaker, less blood being pumped around by the stiffened, barbecued muscle. You can literally feel your life slipping away.

As the darkness swallows your consciousness, you hope the wretched reptile chokes on your remains. Your heart finally stops as the fire cooks it beyond use. The complete lack of movement in your rib cage is a first, but it is also the very last thing your mind processes as death embraces you.

The dragon’s jaws snap shut, instantly cutting off the jet of fire. Sharp talons rend flesh and muscle. They curl around the top of the sternum and ribs and the dragon snaps off the exposed parts of the rib cage. The unmoving heart and lungs are fully visible.

A front foot delicately wraps around the heart, dark brown pericardium and all, and gently places it into fanged jaws. Another happy rumble echoes around the crystal filled cavern, and the dragon swallows the cooked organ as if it’s a delicacy. It licks its muzzle.

Don’t explore the volcano.

— — —

I wrote the latter half of this while watching Gordon Ramsey roast people on Kitchen Nightmares. Fitting, don't you think?

I have a couple of anon asks I'll probably get started on, but part 5 may be posted first depending on ease of writing and interest.

🔥🫀

#cardiophile #cardiophilia #cardiophile writing #writing #heartbeat #beating heart #dark cardiophile #volcano #cw: gore #heart rip #gender neutral reader

28 notes · View notes