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royalsunshinehotel · 19 days

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talkin' rings and talkin' cradles ( The Kid x escort!reader, 18+)

Something was different, in all of the months he came to see you, he’d been a gentleman. He’d never pushed you, only kept his hands where you wanted them, and he never, ever hid from you. Now, after a month of no contact, and begging the Gods for his safety, he was right here, hiding.

No, maybe that wasn’t true. He was just different.

Over a month, you’d heard nothing. You thought, for a moment, that he’d gotten bored of you, most men who came to see you did eventually, but deciding that perhaps he’d died hurt your heart less. It was all men were good for, after all.

But here he was, in the back room, eerily calm. Of course it was him, you’d know him anywhere. Tall, broad, a black suit, and a white ape mask covering his beautiful face. You knew it was him under there, but he held himself differently. His shoulders held back, like he wanted to be seen when he walked into a room.

“What’s happened? Talk to me.” You almost beg him, there was a time you’d have worried you were asking for too much. But not here, not with him. You hear a small sigh under the mask, and it makes your hair stand on end.

“Was it a fight?” You’d seen him at Tiger’s Temple, you knew how badly he needed to be hit, and hit hard. What if he’d quit pulling his punches. Maybe he’d knocked someone out he hadn’t meant to? What if -

Your anxiety sits on your chest, digging in deeper, but is cut off by him, slowly, steady as ever, he took your shaky palm in his hand, bringing it up to the mask, as if to kiss it. Of course your hair stands on end, even the lightest touch from him left you shaking. For a moment, you think of other men, the ones who paid to fuck you, and how they’d die to see you like this - obedient, soft, trained.

They didn’t matter, and never would.

He lets you fall to your knees. You look up at him like he was that western God he’d heard so much about. He knows he’s an absolute fool for coming to see you. It would be the last time, he just had to see you, he just had to tell you …

And it’s gone. Any plan he’d made of what he’d say evaporated the moment you put your hands on him.

You were quick with your hands, always, and it dazzled him, just like the rest of you does.

He breathes heavily through the mask, trying not to crumble at your feet…again…He shouldn’t have left you alone for so long, completely unprotected, with these people. It wasn’t fair. Nothing about this was fair. He shivers lightly, as you expose him to the cold air in the room, and slowly stroke him, firmly and evenly, as if that would hide your own hunger.

With a short, rough lick to his tip, he’s in pieces. He could sit and ponder the hold you had on him, but he wouldn’t. He’d had enough time to think.

You take his hands in your own, and put one large, warm palm in your hair. He doesn’t do it himself, so you’ll have to do it for him. You always felt he was far away whenever you had him like this, you wouldn’t allow that this time.

He, on the other hand, was too busy gazing at you, cock in your hand, begging for attention, and your sweet face totally focused on him. What did he do to deserve this attention? What had he done that warranted such care?

Your breath on his throbbing muscle feels like fire, it’s quite a contrast to the rest of you. He’d gotten used to your manner, but the way you completely softened to him felt like an honor. You lick lightly, and he grinds his teeth together. Teasing him brought you such joy. You couldn’t imagine a world where everything he passed didn’t fall at his feet and beg for attention, same as you.

Enough now, you think, as you end it.

A small puff of air through your nose, and he has to brace himself on the wall behind the two of you.

You fuck him with your throat. It’s what he deserves.

The ridges in your mouth drag mercilessly against his member. Your nails dig into his hips, your tears stream freely down your face, and you're determined to have your fill. He’d never spilled in your mouth before, and he wouldn’t today. Even if it would be the last time.

You whine, just a little, as he lays a warm, wide palm on your shoulder, a little signal to stop. The fold between your brows deepens, you want to taste him but all he ever does is deny you.

The white ape stares at you, blankly, only a hint of him underneath. He helps you off your knees, and you can’t remember why you were scowling.

He puts his injured palm against your cheek, and your chest is suddenly filled with feathers. He’s always so gentle with you, and you can't stand it.

Your makeup smeared, you grip his shoulders and press yourself against him, reaching up to grab that stupid white ape mask, pulling it off his face.

He looked better than when he'd last come to you, his face a little more round, like he'd smiled at some point since the last time you'd seen him. 'Better' was a good look for him, but the unbearable sadness remained the same.

He knows you see write through him, taking a fist of your hair, pulling your head back firmly, tracing up your throat with his tongue, only meeting your mouth when you keen for it, brushing your nose against his own.

He'd never make you beg, that doesn't mean you wouldn't

Your eyes roll, mouth falling open as he pushes slowly, confidently, inside of you. You allow him to coo at you, “always so good for me, such a good girl,” and you nip at the hand he’s resting on the side of your face.

You help him, as he moves you like he pleases, humming as he puts your legs over his shoulders, trying to hit deep. You want to keep him and his formidable cock hostage. Maybe you should.

He starts slowly, softly, praising you all the while.

"I've missed you terribly, have you missed me?" You nod, lovely warmth seeping out of every pore.

He thinks, for a moment, about his revenge, and he twitches inside of you. You don’t know a thing, that’s by design. You’re perfectly drunk on his cock, his fierce lover, completely sweet and soft. It makes him insane, the privilege you'd given him.

"Ah - You always take me so well, fit around me just right. Thank you," You put your thumb in his mouth, where it belongs.

Kid wants to tell you that he’ll keep going. He’ll keep fighting, that he can save enough to get the two of you out of the city. You wouldn’t know a moment of worry for him again.

He says nothing, tears stream down your face as he ruts into you, eyes glazed over as he takes a heated love bite out of your neck.

For a moment, you see yourself in a year - hopefully less, in a different bed, body changed by him, comfortable now. Maybe even free. Maybe you're retired. Maybe you've gone back to laundry, working like your mother, before you were taken away.

Kid rolls the sensitive flesh of your breasts with his burned fingers, watching you twitch against the wall. Your sad little whines sounds like music, and he can't tell you how he lives to hear it.

With your back arched in a silent scream, you shatter. Lost in heaven.

You drift - vaguely feeling him pound into you, chasing right behind. Your breasts bounce with each thrust, as if it only makes him hungrier. You think about the first time you did this, how you had to put his hands on you, to let him roam as he pleased. He dared now, he roams all over, and he pleases you by pleasing himself.

Good, you think.

"Jaana?" He calls to you from far away, voice rough, "Have I hurt you?" You feel him sigh as you smile at him, stunned. He’s still pulsing inside of you, and he’s asking how you are?

The heat of him makes you wriggle to get closer, and he almost laughs. Almost. You couldn’t get closer without becoming one, he wishes it was possible.

“No, you haven’t.” You hum, pressing your face into his neck, and inhaling. He chuckles lightly, and you want to drown in the rumble. Even after letting a stranger devour you, he still fucks you more sweetly than anyone ever has. Or ever will.

Face buried in your neck, your wrists tight in his grasp, you pray to yourself that he’ll stay with you. That he’ll stay overnight, and the two of you can be something more than what you were.

His grip on you tightens, safely stepping forward, and lowering you back on to a worn out mattress. He doesn't like to have you there. Your clawing grip on the back of his neck doesn’t release, your body won’t allow you to let him go. He doesn’t mind.

He leans down to kiss you like he loves you, and that was far too dangerous to dwell on.

#monkey man #monkey man 2024 #monkey man fanfiction #monkey man movie #dev patel #dev patel imagine #dev patel fanfiction #kid x reader #the kid x reader #the kid x escort!reader #fuck it we ball *send post*

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genericpuff · 2 months

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This has been buggibg me for a while. What is the reason why Rachel dehumanizing nymphs?

Cause from what I'm seeing the nymphs getting the most screen time is Daphne, Minthe, Thetis, Psyche and a little bit of Leuce and Echo.

4 out of the 6 nymphs we see are very open in their sex appeal and flirty. Yet for some reason they get discriminated when Hera, Persophone, and Aphrodite do the same thing but get a pass because the are white coded rich people.

For my knowledge (but I could be wrong if so please correct me) nymphs are known to be seductive and sexy but they were well respected just like any other God. They were given given sacrifices to please them.

Is this just another case of Rachel being the so-called "folkorists" who has done the first Google link she see or could there just be how she interprets then but like the rest of her story misses the mark?

So there are a couple different and equally interesting theories on this.

Rachel has established it as canon that the nymphs are lower class. And there are a lot of stereotypes and prejudices against lower class women going into sex work, which we see in LO through characters like Minthe who work as car girls (notice how in the present story Thetis and Minthe are both personal assistants which is also a role that's commonly stereotyped as "the boss' sidepiece" as it's a role often occupied by women in service to men). Even Leuce isn't safe from this:

Normally I'd just say "good for her" but it's clear with how much Leuce has been turned into the delusional girl who "manifests" her fantasies that Rachel is once again conflating sexuality with more negatively-associated character traits for any woman who isn't Persephone (because when it's Persephone it's sexual liberation always, she's not a "sugar baby", she's a "workaholic" who "earned her position and wealth", but when it's Leuce or Minthe or Thetis they're "homewreckers") And yeah, this is a common disconnect that happens between lower class and upper class people, where lower class people (especially women) are often judged and outcast for doing certain things or behaving a certain way which rich upper class people take and adopt and turn into something "trendy" and "empowering".

But there's... another theory that may explain why so many nymphs in the story are being pigeonholed into the "homewrecking sugar babies" stereotype. And you're gonna hate me for this, because I'm sure the gut reaction to reading this from many is gonna be "goddamit not Lolita again!" buuuttt yeah we're gonna talk about Lolita again.

CONTENT WARNING: We're talking about Lolita again, which means discussion surrounding the sexualization of minors is ahead.

There's a certain term the main character of the book Humbert Humbert uses to describe girls who are specifically, and I quote:

"Between the age limits of nine and fourteen there occur maidens who, to certain bewitched travellers, twice or many times older than they, reveal their true nature which is not human, but nymphic (that is, demoniac); and these chosen creatures I propose to designate as 'nymphets'." - Lolita, Chapter 5, Page 18, paragraph 5

It's also very clear from the way Nabokov specifies the definition of nymphet from Humbert Humbert's perspective that the use of the word 'nymphet' is intentionally referencing the root word of Greek origin:

"...I would have the reader see 'nine' and 'fourteen' as the boundaries - the mirrory beaches and rosy rocks - of an enchanted island haunted by those nymphets of mine and surrounded by a vast, misty sea. Between those age limits, are all girl-children nymphets? Of course not. Otherwise we who are in the know, we lone voyagers, we nympholepts, would have long gone insane."

Though Humbert Humbert is obviously not being literal here, the visual metaphor is strongly relying on the etymology of the word 'nymph', but twisting the depiction of nymphs in such a way to support his own fantasies.

And while I'm definitely not trying to accuse Rachel of having the same mindset of Humbert Humbert (seriously, I want to make it clear that I don't think Rachel is a pedophile, just horribly misled at best), it's interesting to me how this specific definition of a nymphet matches with that of Rachel's old descriptions of her own art:

"You have to be an artist and a madman, a creature of infinite melancholy, with a bubble of hot poison in your loins and a super-voluptuous flame permanently aglow in your subtle spine (oh, how you have to cringe and hide!), in order to discern at once, by ineffable signs - the slightly feline outline of a cheekbone, the slenderness of a downy limb, and other indices which despair and shame and tears of tenderness forbid me to tabulate - the little deadly demon among the wholesome children; she stands unrecognized by them and unconscious herself of her fantastic power."

What's interesting is that I did dig up an old profile of Rachel's that actually acknowledged that what she's doing with her art shouldn't be conflated with, well... child porn.

"It's not THAT kind of lolita" and yet the writing feels like it's been smeared all over the wall with shit. There are so many scenes and artistic choices throughout LO that scream "it is that kind of lolita".

Though it is still a theory, and I don't resort to using Rachel's old art of "proof" of LO's shortcomings, I don't think it should necessarily be ignored that the nymphs in LO seem to be characterized very similarly to Humbert Humbert's description of 'nymphets' - devious and promiscuous, and thus easier to blame when predatory men pursue them, rather than holding those predatory men accountable. And we see this in Persephone too, but unlike the nymphs, Persephone is rich, upper class, and of a "superior pedigree". So she becomes the desirable form of a 'nymphet' that's praised and celebrated by the narrative and characters like Hades, rather than the literal nymphs who are shamed and outcast for simply having sexual independence.

Whatever theory you roll with is on you, you can dismiss all this as just overthinking nonsense, but I do think it makes for interesting food for thought because at this point, LO is undeniably - intentionally or subconsciously - influenced by Rachel's relationship with Lolita, and whether or not that influence is aware at all of Lolita being originally written to be a precautionary tale, that remains to be seen.

#lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical #ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything

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fairyhaos · 7 months

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ᥫ᭡ // dude, i can see (through) you

vernon x gn!reader fluff, crack(?), supernatural au, non-idol au, ghosts, ft. ghost!jeonghan

3.5k+ words

warnings for: mentions of insomnia, pills

summary: when you move into your new house that seems almost too good to be true, you find yourself (not quite) face-to-face with the prettiest boy you've ever seen.

“Hey, hey, Hansol, did you hear that the family are finally leaving the house?”

“What? Already? Hyung, come on, why do you keep doing this?”

“It’s fun! I bet it was the floating pots and pans that did it. You know how much effort I put in to get those to lift up.”

“I liked these people. They had a dog!”

“Yeah, and the dog could see us. That’s a no-no.”

“Still, hyung, don’t you think we should just… try to live peacefully?”

“Ha! That’s funny. Anyways, I bet I can make the next tenant move out in just a month.”

“No. You shouldn’t do that.”

“So you don’t think I can?”

“I don’t think you should—”

“Oh, it’s on, Hansol! I'm gonna prove it to you!”

“Please don’t.”

───────────── 👻

There is something seriously, seriously wrong with your new house.

It’s nothing obviously wrong, however: on paper, it’s a perfect place. Situated in a nice town, not in an hugely overpopulated area, with various convenience stores and a park close by. Even the house is perfect: not too big, not too small, and, above all, startlingly cheap.

Everything about it is perfect. But from the first day that you move in, you realise that things are a bit… strange.

“Where the hell has my laptop gone?”

You thread your hand through your hair, exasperated. In the middle of your desk, where your laptop ought to be, there was an empty space.

You’ve always been a forgetful person, accidentally leaving your shoes in the wrong place or leaving doors open or forgetting where you put your keys, but this is getting ridiculous. Losing an entire laptop? That’s odd, even for you.

Frustrated, you open your various boxes that still contain half of your worldly possessions, wondering if you’d gone mad and somehow put it away in them instead.

When it becomes clear that your laptop has not been accidentally packed away, you straighten up, shaking your head and resigning yourself to the fact that your laptop is simply lost to the void that is your new house. Hopefully, you manage to find it again before you have to go to work in a couple of weeks.

───────────── 👻

“So, what’s it like, living by yourself?”

You huff, adjusting the phone against your ear as you crawl around on the floor, bending down to look under the sofa. “Really, really weird.”

Your friend laughs over the phone. “Weird? How?”

“Well, for starters,” you say, fishing out yet another fork that had somehow made it under your upholstery, “I think I’m being haunted.”

There’s a pause. “What?”

You don’t believe in the supernatural, or the paranormal, or anything mythical or to do with ghosts and vampires and the otherworldly. They’re all just tales, made up by idiotic people and spun into a capitalist plot by the media, creating franchise after franchise surrounding possessed dolls and muscled Hollywood men playing traumatised werewolves. It’s irritating, and most of all, it’s all fake.

Science and supernatural cannot coexist, after all.

But now, you’re beginning to question whether that’s really the case.

“—turned all my clocks forward by four hours. Four! I thought I was going insane,” you say, standing up and returning to your kitchen with the fork in your hands, after finding your cutlery drawer empty an hour earlier, despite the fact that you’d put away all your cutlery only yesterday.

You put the fork away, and then open up a cupboard to grab a glass, only to flinch and scream at what you see.

“Oh my god, Y/N? Y/N, are you okay?”

“This is ridiculous,” you breathe, staring up at your cupboard.

Every single row is squashed full of your soft toys.

“Hey, Y/N, are you listening to me? Hello? Can you hear me?”

You blink up in extreme despair at the cupboard before shutting the door. You don’t have the energy to deal with it right now. “Yeah, I’m here,” you say, holding the phone more securely against your ear. “Listen, I might have to call you back. I still haven’t fully unpacked yet.”

“Are you okay? You screamed and then suddenly went silent.”

Heaving a sigh, you close your eyes for a moment and then open them again. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you later, alright?”

You hang up, and walk out of the kitchen and into the hallway, before pausing in your tracks, staring wide-eyed at the front door.

The front door that was wide open.

You blink.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the door begins to swing shut, before suddenly closing with a sudden bang.

You stand there for a moment longer, before shaking your head and walking up the stairs.

Whichever ghost was haunting you, they sure were weird.

───────────── 👻

“Hey, Hansol, why is this tenant not leaving?”

“I told you. You shouldn’t do this.”

“Hmm, nah. It’s okay. It’s only been a week. I can do this.”

“Should you, though?”

───────────── 👻

Hansol is, unfortunately, so dead.

Very much in the literal sense as well, because he's a ghost. Don't ask him about the logistics of that, or how it came to be, because he doesn't know. All he knows is that one day he died and the next, he opened his eyes and no one could see him.

But he's also so dead in the figurative sense, too. Because he and his Jeonghan hyung (who was technically a year or so younger than him when he died but still insists on being called ‘hyung’ because he died around a century earlier than him, and “you ought to respect people’s deathdays, Hansol”) have been inhabiting this house for several years, now, but he’s never had a desire to be human again in all that time.

That is, until he meets you.

You’re the latest owner of this house, and you’re… well, you're interesting.

Never before has he seen someone so tolerant of Jeonghan’s schemes. In his attempt to win at a bet that he’d created by himself, Jeonghan was pulling out all the big guns on you: starting off by being a nuisance, then an irritant, then infuriating before escalating into downright chaotic, in a climax where he made all the doors open and slam repeatedly in the middle of the night.

It’s enough to make anyone want to move out. Hansol half-expected you to leave within the first five days, but instead, you clench your jaw and plaster a smile on your face and keep on going.

He thinks it’s a little curious that you’re putting on a smile, even though there’s no one to see it. Like you’re constantly always alert of people watching you, and feeling the need to put on a mask. It makes him want to be human, just for a second, to put a hand on your shoulder and ask if you’re really okay.

During the second week, however, he realises that you really aren’t okay.

“The tenant still hasn’t gone to sleep,” Jeonghan sulks, floating through your bedroom door to sit (well, hover) beside Hansol on the floor just outside.

“You can just say Y/N,” Hansol reminds him. “What do you mean, though? All humans are meant to be asleep by now.”

“Yeah, well, ours isn’t,” Jeonghan huffs. He crosses his arms petulantly, and his translucent ghost self flickers and wobbles at the dramatic movement. “Why not?”

Hansol shrugs. “How am I meant to know?”

Before Jeonghan can say something snarky in reply, the door to your bedroom door swings open, and the two ghosts flinch and freeze up, momentarily forgetting that they're ghosts.

They watch as you slowly trudge down the stairs, muttering annoyedly to yourself. You had a dressing gown drawn over you, and you hug it against yourself while you shuffle through your house, before walking into the kitchen.

Hansol looks at Jeonghan, and the other just shrugs, and they both decide to follow you and see what you’re up to.

Hansol peeks his head through the wall just as you pop a few pills into your mouth.

“What’s going on?” Jeonghan asks, pushing Hansol through the wall so that he’s standing in the kitchen properly. “Are those drugs?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Hansol says, and then floats closer so he can see the writing in the bottle you’re holding. It doesn’t help, though, because the writing is all faded, like this is a bottle you’ve had for a while. “Medicine? But what for?”

Jeonghan folds his arms, sitting on the table. “Great. Our new tenant is dying.”

“Does this mean you’ll stop being mean now?” Hansol asks, coming to sit next to Jeonghan.

“I’m not mean.”

“Yes you are.”

“No I’m not! When have I ever been mean, hm? Tell me, Hansol!”

Suddenly, there’s a clatter, and a mess of white pills spread out across the floor, under the table and throughout the entire kitchen. Both of the ghosts, pause, and when Hansol looks up, his eyes widen.

You’re looking directly at him.

No one says anything, and for a long, long moment, you continue to stare directly at Hansol, and he swallows uneasily, glancing over at Jeonghan. The other ghost is just sitting there, too, but he’s looking at you with interest, eyes flicking between you and Hansol.

“It’s… it’s not me, right?” Hansol says hesitantly. “Surely our tenant isn’t seeing me.”

“Try moving,” Jeonghan says, and directs his gaze back to you. There’s not a trace of wariness in his eyes, and Hansol feels more confused than ever. Jeonghan was the one who said that the last family ought to be kicked out because their dog could see them.

Nevertheless, arguing with Jeonghan wastes fifteen years of Hansol’s (undead) lifetime every time, so he does as he’s told, hopping off from the table and almost falls on his face when your eyes track his movements as he does so.

“Holy shit,” you whisper. Hansol’s beginning to feel a bit panicky now. “Dude, I can see through you.”

And then your eyes glaze over and you crumple into a heap on the floor.

───────────── 👻

“Y/N can see us,” Hansol says, pacing frantically. “Hyung, we’re doomed! We’re—we’re gonna get exorcised and go to Hell and have to meet the Devil!”

Jeonghan just hums, looking down at your sleeping form. “I don’t think so.”

After you had fainted, the two ghosts had (very painstakingly) carried you back up the stairs and back into bed. It takes a huge amount of effort for ghosts to be able to make themselves felt in the living plane, and Hansol had been gasping from the effort for a solid hour afterwards.

Now, though, the exhaustion has worn off, and he’s currently making Jeonghan mildly dizzy with all his pacing.

“Hyung.” Hansol whirls around again to face Jeonghan, making the elder ghost raise his eyebrows. “You know what this means, right? This tenant is unwell. You’re not allowed to play your tricks anymore.”

That makes Jeonghan pause. He bites his thumb, then, thinking, before nodding his head. “Fine. I don’t like tormenting the sick, anyways. It hurts to think about.”

Hansol sighs at that, mouth twisting in sympathy. He pats Jeonghan’s shoulder. “Don’t think about it. You’ve been dead for ages, hyung. I’m surprised your memory is still intact.”

Jeonghan scowls, pinching Hansol’s side, making the younger ghost yelp and then laugh. “Hey! We’re basically the same age.”

“Give or take around a hundred years.”

“Yeah, barely anything!”

The two ghosts continue bickering, their voices absorbed into the nothingness that was the plane of the dead.

In your bed, you turn your head towards the direction of warped voices, squinting at the faint outlines that you can see near the window.

───────────── 👻

“—really handsome dude, oh my god,” you’re saying while you sort through your papers. Your laptop still hasn’t turned up. “Is there any side effect of taking sleeping pills again after a long time of not using them that, like, causes hallucinations of hot guys?”

Over the phone, your friend laughs. “I guess living by yourself really is making you go insane, huh?”

“I’m not insane,” you insist, chuckling. “It sounds insane, but I swear, he was so…” You hide your face behind your hand, despite the fact that no one can see you.

“That gorgeous, huh?” comes the response from the other end of the line, and you get the distinct feeling that your friend doesn’t really believe you. You take your hand away from your face, trying to rub away the blush on your cheeks.

“Yeah, actually, he was! Anyway, I gotta go. I still haven’t found my laptop, and doing all my work by hand isn’t going well.”

“Go to the library and use a computer there.”

You pause. “Oh. Good idea. I’ll do that tomorrow. Goodnight, I gotta go now.”

There’s a laugh on the other end. “Okay. Goodnight, Y/N.”

The two ghosts sit on your bed, watching you as you hang up the phone and go back to your work.

“So,” Jeonghan says, and his tone is light and teasing, “Y/N thinks you’re pretty gorgeous, huh? I guess you really were seen, after all.” He nods his head in your direction. “Our new tenant is definitely really interesting.”

Silence falls again, and Hansol watches you agonise over your sheets, one hand permanently buried in your hair.

“Hyung,” he says after a moment, “You should give Y/N the laptop back.”

───────────── 👻

“Stupid goddamn insomnia,” you mutter to yourself, trudging down the stairs yet again. “Why can’t I go to sleep?”

You’ve been in your new house for just over two weeks, now, and things are… normal. After the initial weird things happening during the first several days, everything seems to have settled down, almost like the house had gotten used to its new owner. It makes you laugh, every time you think of it in that way, but there’s no other way to explain how the sudden door slammings have stopped, and all your things seem to be exactly where you left them.

And even the other day, you’d found your laptop again.

Everything was going well.

A flash of big, translucent brown eyes flash across your vision, and you shake your head, trying to dispel the memory.

You despise taking your pills, hate them for how drowsy they make you throughout the rest of the day, but just over a week into moving in, you’d caved and succumbed to their awful numbness. Your insomnia had flared up, almost, as if panicked by the new environment, leaving you unable to sleep for several days.

Strangely, though, after you’d had that… vision, you’d been able to sleep easier for a while.

Large, surprised eyes flood your memory again, and you frown, scrunching your eyes and attempting to get rid of it.

That boy hadn’t appeared in your vision again after that night, and you’ve reluctantly convinced yourself that it had just been a side effect of the sleeping pills and your own lack of sleep. Hallucinations weren’t uncommon with strong sleeping pills, after all.

You finish downing your pills, drinking the entire mug of water for good measure, before wiping your mouth and setting the mug down on the counter.

Groggily, you rub your eyes and attempt to head out of the kitchen, stumbling a little as you go. Just because you can’t sleep doesn’t mean you aren’t tired, after all. It’s just your stupid body not allowing you to fall asleep.

Abruptly, your foot catches against your other ankle, and you slam into the doorframe with a cry of pain. Eyes still bleary, you move jerkily only to feel yourself keeling over backwards, falling faster and faster towards the floor, and then—

A pair of arms catch you, and you fall back against a sturdy chest that stumbles, just slightly, under your weight, before gaining control and slowly lowering you to the floor, still in their embrace, head in their lap.

Your head is spinning, vision blurry, but as you look up, the sight that stares back at you is as clear as day.

Big, brown, translucent eyes.

Your own eyes widen in shock, and the pair of eyes staring into yours widen too.

“Oh my god,” you say. “How did you get into my house?”

The boy above you opens and closes his mouth wordlessly. “Um… I live here?”

“Like hell you do,” you return. Before you can say anything else, however, the feeling of his arms disappears and you drop the last few inches onto the floor, back making contact with the hard wood. You yelp in pain, and he cringes apologetically.

“Sorry! Sorry. Uh, it’s hard to make myself tangible for long. I didn’t meant to do that. Sorry.”

You sit up, rubbing your back. “Wait, what do you mean? Are you not…”

Another boy steps into your vision. No—he floats, feet constantly millimeters from the ground. He bends down over the boy sitting on the floor next to you, looking down at you with interest. “I’m surprised that you’ve managed to make yourself visible to our tenant for so long, Hansol.”

You blink, lost. “Hey, I can see you too, you know.”

The new boy looks bewildered at that. “You can?” Then his eyes widen. “And you can hear me?”

“You’re talking, aren’t you?” You narrow your eyes. “Is this some prank? Halloween is right around the corner, after all. Are you playing with me?”

“No, no!” The boy who caught you shakes his head frantically. “No, we’d never. Well, Jeonghan hyung might, but I wouldn’t.” He pauses, and then smiles hesitantly, standing up. “Um… we’re ghosts?”

You don’t say anything for a long moment. And then you tap your chin thoughtfully. “Prove it.”

“Please don't pani—what?”

“Prove it,” you say, and then shrug. “I gotta make sure that you’re really ghosts, you know? How do I know that you’re what you say you are?”

The other ghost, Jeonghan, raises an eyebrow. “Why would we lie to you?”

“I dunno. You’re bored?”

Jeonghan thinks about it for a moment, before nodding. “Fair point.” And then, abruptly, he walks up to you, and you expect him to stop right before you, but to your surprise, he carries on going and walks right through you instead.

“Jesus!” you shiver, a horrible coldness running down your spine. “Don’t do that!”

Jeonghan just beams. “Do you believe us now?”

You look back at Hansol, thinking. If you tilt your head just slightly, he flickers out of focus, like a mirage. But when you look at him in just the right angle, he looks as present as any human, only a little less so. Like he’s almost here, but not quite.

After a second, you nod your head. “I suppose you really are ghosts,” you say, and there’s just enough awe in your voice to make Hansol’s eyes widen in confusion.

“You’re… not going to run away?”

“Are you kidding? This is so cool,” you say, clasping your hands together. You grin. “It was getting lonely here anyway. And besides, you’re also really pretty.” Your eyes widen at your own words, and you backtrack. “Uh, pretty cool. That’s what I meant. Ghosts are cool, you know?”

Jeonghan laughs. “Hansol already knows that you think he’s gorgeous. We heard you.”

Instantly, a flush surges up into your cheeks, and Hansol rubs at his nose, embarrassed, before punching Jeonghan in the shoulder. He doesn’t deny it, though, which makes you feel kind of really flustered, but there’s a shy smile on his face as he looks at you.

“I think you’re also really pretty, too,” he says, and goddamnit, a ghost shouldn’t have the power to make you blush like this.

Jeonghan is about to say something, but then gets interrupted when, abruptly, a yawn wracks your frame and you cover your mouth, face scrunching up.

“Well, I think I need to head to bed,” you say, rubbing at your eyes. “Think I’m finally getting tired.”

That makes Hansol almost wilt in disappointment, and it’s such a cute sight that you almost reach over to ruffle his hair. Which is weird. Because he’s a ghost, and also because you hardly know him, but there’s something just so endearing about Hansol that makes you feel like you want to know him forever and ever.

Slowly, you make your way back upstairs, the ghosts trailing after you.

“I’m going to pester you both with questions tomorrow,” you inform them as you get into bed. “Like, about how I’m able to see ghosts and why I can hear you and how long you’ve both been here. I really will.”

Jeonghan laughs. “We look forward to it. It’s been a while since we’ve had someone other than each other to talk to. I think we’ll both like your company.” He nudges Hansol in the side, smile turning devious. “Hansol even more so than me.”

Hansol groans, covering his face, and you just smile, too drowsy to think of what that means at the moment.

“Leave my room before I go to sleep,” you say, as your eyelids close. “I heard you talking in my room a few nights ago, you know. You should know it’s not good to spy on people in their sleep.”

Jeonghan might reply with something, but you’re not entirely sure. Sleep is already pulling you under, pulling you far away from the state of being awake.

The last thing you recall is a cool pressure against your forehead, and a warm voice whispering your name.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @thedensworld @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @butiluvu @sakufilms @eightlightstar @aaniag @amxlia-stars

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abaddown · 1 month

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Breakup

OK, OK, I'm going to go home and break up with her. But what do I tell her? "I deserve better." Jesus, no, definitely not that. Even if that's true, only women say that. "You deserve more." Now, that's pretty good. But she's gonna start to get all unintelligent and tell me I'm good just the way I am. That's the way it is. Haha. "I want to live." That'll take the edge off. I might as well say I want to fuck half of Europe. Let's see. "I think we should be apart now so we can be together later." That's not bad, but I don't want to be together later. I'd spare you the hysterics, but I'd be constantly harassed about when that later was. "I'm in love with someone." That seems pretty definitive, but she'd want to know who the bitch was, and it would start a never-ending interrogation about where I met her, when we met, was the sex good, do I regret it, did I think about her, why I didn't tell her, blah blah blah blah... "I cheated on you." Same thing. Oh God, the easiest thing would be to just disappear without a word, never pick up the phone, never answer her texts again. Okay, it's a little bit of a chick thing. "I don't want kids yet." And then she says, "Neither did she. "I want a baby now." She'll end up saying she does too. "I need to focus on my career now." I'm sure her mothering side would come out and assure me that she'll be supportive, patient, that I can build my career, that she's there for me and won't abandon me in the hardest times. Too bad. Wait a minute! I should make her want to break up. Then how much unnecessary crying and screaming would be saved. I'd pretend a little bit, "Oh, no." and then that's it, hat, coat, goodbye. But it would be too long a process to wait. "Something's wrong, this isn't working." I can hear her saying, "But what, tell me what's wrong, I'll change, just tell me what I can do differently! I know you love me, it's just a moment of desperation, believe me, we can work it out!" No, we can't, I don't want to. Okay, I've got a big mouth now, but I actually loved her and I still love her. Just not the way it should be. Like she did me. But I don't want to hurt her. She's a sweet girl. If I said, "I'm sorry, but I don't love you the way I should and the way you deserve. I'm sorry.", you know what? She'd start to tear herself up, eat her insides out, cry for weeks and look for reasons why she'd gone wrong. I don't want to hurt you. That feeling either comes or it doesn't. Or it comes and then it goes. I'm gone, what do I do?

If you break up with a woman, why does she always, at all costs, try to convince you that you're stupid and don't feel what you feel? I can just decide if I want to be with someone or not. Women, I swear, think that we men are so mentally retarded that we don't recognize when we really love someone. God, how many times have I listened to break ups and say "I know you love me. Deep down, you love me so much, you just don't realize it. You're really going to regret this." It's simply impossible to break up cleanly, without scandal. What do you have to say to that? Fuck, is it that late? Look, she's calling again, asking where I am, what I'm doing, when I'll be home. I'm gonna have to talk to her and break up with her. I'm gonna go. I'll call you later.

- Hey, girl, I'm home. What's all this stuff, you going on a trip?

- No. I'm moving.

- You're moving? Where are you going? Why are you going away?

- Out. You know why. I can't do this. Listen, I think we should cut this short. I don't know about you, but I haven't been happy in this relationship for a long time, and I don't think you have either. I think the best thing we can do is just quietly accept that this is the way it is and break up. We have no reason to be angry with each other, so we can separate from each other peacefully. I've got some stuff left here, and I'll pick it up sometime.

- But hey, wait a minute. Just like that? Are you seeing anyone? What's the matter? You want to talk about it or work it out? You're just gonna throw everything away? I don't get it. Is it me? But I love you. Let's talk about it. Let’s fix it!

- Forgive me, but I don't love you the way I should and the way you deserve. I'm sorry..

***

Then she walked out of the apartment. And I've never felt more in love with any woman in my life than I did with her, staring at the closed door.

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little-star-bun · 11 months

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⋆｡‧˚ʚ 𝘽𝙤𝙨𝙨𝙖 𝙉𝙤𝙫𝙖 - (𝙖｡𝙖｡) ɞ˚‧｡⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ a/n: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA this was so ahskjhskhsj to write I love abby also if its wonky just pretend you love it;; as requested by the lovely @cottoncandytomu ;;

warnings: 18+ lesbian fanfiction!! Men and Minors DNI!! situationship between r! and abby, f!reader, jealous!abby, modern college au i guess, Abby is slightly emotionally unavailable but its hot, drinking (of age), actual sex, porn with plot, strap usage (cock, dick), oral (r! receiving), groping (r! recieving), kind of drunk sex? very slight mommy kink, overuse of commas, author procrastinated writing the smut part, ending is kinda rushed;

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

"ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ˡᵒᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵖʰᵒⁿᵉ… ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵉ ʷʰᵉⁿ ʷᵉ'ʳᵉ ᵃˡᵒⁿᵉ… ʸᵒᵘ ᵇᵉᵗᵗᵉʳ ˡᵒᶜᵏ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵈᵒᵒʳ.. ᵃⁿᵈ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵃᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵃ ˡⁱᵗᵗˡᵉ ᵐᵒʳᵉ…" ~ ⤹˚˖ ♫ ୭

She had you wrapped around her finger. And she knew it. She loved it, the way you tried to pull away, avoid her. A cat and mouse game, really. The mouse always came running back..

Yours and Abby's relationship was.. rocky to say the least. You wanted a real relationship, something with depth, a true connection with someone else. Abby was ever afraid of commitment, fucking you and then shutting off her emotions. You never knew what was going on inside the blonde's head. You couldn't allow yourself to be in a relationship with someone who wasn't vulnerable.

But it was all her fault. It was her fault you couldn't get with other girls despite your attempts. It was her fault that everytime you were by yourself, your mind drifted back to her. Her and her stupid pine scented soap, her and her stupid blonde hair that always looked effortlessly good, her and her stupid warm grey eyes, her and her muscular physique that felt just so good under your hands, the way her strap fit into your pussy and she fucked you like no one else could.

Everytime you tried to end it, you ended up coming back. God, she really did have you wrapped around her finger. And she really did enjoy it. Everytime you ran off on your own, claiming to be done with her. She sat back, let you have your way, let you have your freedom. You weren't committed, so who was she to hold you back? She knew it was only a matter of time before you'd had your fun, gone on a date or two, maybe had a hookup. And then you would call her, sobbing and begging her to come over and comfort you, show you who really loved you.

Of course, the thought of someone else's hands on you, touching you, their lips kissing you, you screaming someone else's name made her blood boil like nothing else. She'd grind her teeth, her mind filled with jealousy and a strange sense of betrayal, an almost animalistic state, wanting everyone to know what was hers.

Oh, but she knew you were hers. No matter how pissed off you made her by running off to find someone you thought better, she knew that at the end of the day, it was her who truly had your weak heart.

Not that everyone on campus was always invited to the same parties, but it always ended up that 9 times out of 10 you and Abby both were there. Some rando's house, drinking and partying and hooking up. It had become a pattern, a cycle, an essential part of your back and forth.

This time was no different.

You walked into the apartment where the party was allegedly. Upon entering, the music hit your ears and the flashing lights told you this was the right place. You walked in, finding your friends and quickly grabbing a solo cup, filling it with whatever alcohol was there. It was always a surprise.

Making meaningless conversation about classes, work, and studies with your friends. But your eyes were scanning the room, almost instinctively, looking for the tall blonde who took over your waking days. More and more people arrived. Women in short dresses and men who put in no effort as usual. Just might hookup with one of em, you thought to yourself.

Trying to pay attention to your friends was tasking, the music pounding in your ears, drowning out their conversation anyways, your mind completely clouded with the possibility of Abby. You shook your head. You really were pathetic. It hadn't been even a week since you said you were over (again) and yet here you were. Hoping she would show up, just so you could see her.

Taking a swig from the solo cup, the pineapple juice and vodka stung your throat, but you played it cool, swallowing a few times before walking into the main room. Fuck it, you thought. If she shows up, she shows up. If she doesn't, I'll be too drunk to even notice.

You held onto your cup, seeing the makeshift dancefloor of students grinding on each other, groping, swaying, getting totally shitfaced. This was your time to shine. You soon joined the mass, rocking your body to the music that played, finding the nearest girl who let you press against her. You downed the solo cup, tossing it on the floor. You hummed to the music, hips moving, sweat forming on your forehead. You closed your eyes, the alcohol taking over as you moved rhythmically, letting hands roam over your stomach, neck, thighs, hips. Someone's lips grazed your shoulder and you only pressed into them.

This was the feeling, this was what made Abby leave your mind, even temporarily. Alcohol and desperation making your head feel full of cotton, your body sweating and hot, everything felt slow and fast and you forgot where you were, lost in the bodies.

Abby had arrived sometime after you had left your friends by the door. When she walked in and saw them, she knew you had to be here. She already knew how this night would go. You'd get all drunk, desperate and hot, needing a fuck. And she would be there, your vice, to fulfill that desire. To fill every cavity and ache, to make you whole again.

The thought of it propelled her forward towards the sounds of the bass and synths. Her eyes immediately found you, almost trained to do so.

The way you got under her skin was impressive, her eyes squinting slightly as she watched you and your mini black satin dress that you just didn't wear a bra under, your flushed cheeks from the heat and the alcohol, the hair sticking to your face. The way you let any and every girl on that floor grope you, their undeserving hands touching your hips, your ass, your shoulders, pulling up the dress to just reveal more of your thighs as you shamelessly grinded on them, any inhibitions out the window.

She continued to watch you dance, the way your body moved smoothly and sensually, as if lost in a trance. Her brows furrowed as she leaned back on the wall, taking in the view before her.

You were so fucking easy. And that's what made Abby the most pissed off. That everyone knew you were easy, desperate, that they could get with you if they just got a little vodka in your system and whispered a sweet word or two in your ear. Everyone thought they could touch what was really hers.

It was obvious you really hadn't noticed her in your drunken horny state, so, in her confident and Abby-like attitude, she walked over to you in easy strides, pushing through the crowd. The almost 6' jock didn't need to be any more intimidating, but she still glared at anyone surrounding you. They were sober enough to know messing with Abby wasn't a good idea, and they backed off.

And you whimpered, the loss of contact causing you to open your eyes. But just as soon as it was gone, it was there again. But stronger, better, familiar.

Through your haze, your eyes focused on the blonde, whose arms had come to hold you around the waist, a hand pressed against the small of your back, her signature cocky grin on her face.

The way you gasped her name, and your lip puffed out into a pout told her everything she needed to know, everything she already knew. You'd drank the vodka and juice like water, and now your pussy was throbbing, your judgement clouded and desperate.

She had you right where she wanted you.

"Miss me, baby?" she whispered right into your ear. Despite the loud music, she was loud and clear.

You shivered, hands coming to grasp at her varsity jacket, your grip needy and wanting. You wanted her. You always wanted her. No matter who you took home, no matter who you kissed or flirted with, you wanted abby.

"Why you here, Abby?" You slurred, the crowd pushing you closer and closer to the woman in front of you. She didn't mind, pulling you closer and moving a hand down to grab your ass.

"Oh, you know why, don't you, pretty?" She chuckled, a sound that went straight to your cunt. You did know why, she had gotten invited, she knew you would be here, she knew you'd want her. She always knew.

You didn't respond, letting Abby start to guide you out of the crowd, back to the entryway. She leaned down, pressing a kiss to the spot behind your ear. "Come on, pretty girl, let me take you home."

Home. Abby's place. Abby's room and Abby's bed. Musky and dark and everything you needed.

Your head bobbed in agreement, and Abby took your hand, the way it fit around yours making your knees weak, and led you out of the apartment door. Your friends weren't there to see it, and you made a mental note to tell them where you'd went later.

Out on the sidewalk, your heels clicking as you made your way to her Jeep. Ever the charmer, she opened the door for you, helping you climb inside before buckling your seatbelt, pressing a kiss to your neck.

A gasp left your throat as you tilted your head, wanting Abby to keep going. Here, now, you wanted her.

Abby rubbed your exposed thigh, smirking at you. "Oh baby, you missed me, yeah?" She whispered, her voice full of desire for you. You knew what you did to her, nodding as you pried your eyes open, gazing at her with an almost fond look.

She let out a small laugh, pulling away from you and closing the jeep door, walking to the other side to open hers. She climbed in and soon you were making your way to her apartment, her hand holding yours tightly as she drove.

She stopped in front of her apartment, parking and then shutting off the engine. She unbuckled herself and turned to you, her hand coming up to brush the stray hairs out of your face.

"Hi," you smiled drunkenly, looking into her grey eyes. Oh how you could get lost in them, cold and comforting.

She smiled back at you, the smile that tugged your heart strings and played them like a violin. "Hi, sweetheart."

She paused for a moment, looking into your sweet eyes, the way you looked so at peace when you were beside her. She wish she could take a picture, permanently etch it in your brain. Beneath the alcohol and hormones, you truly felt better around her.

"You want me to take you inside, babe?" She dropped her voice down, a husky whisper as she cupped your cheek, stroking it with her thumb. She always wanted to make sure that this was what you wanted, especially with the added influences. "Want me to fuck you?"

The ache in your legs took over your mind, anything you would have said going out the window. You nodded pathetically, and soon you were laying in Abby's bed, the familiar scent of the woman filling your senses as you were pressed down into the mattress by her body weight.

Her lips were working hungrily against yours, pulling whimpers and gasps from your puffy lips. One hand on your neck, holding you in place, the other one gripping your thigh so hard it would leave beautiful bruises later.

You struggled to kiss back, her lips pressing against yours as her tongue slid deliciously against yours. It was clear how much she missed you, pure jealousy fueling her actions.

Drool slipped out the corner of your mouth. She was truly making a mess of you, but this was what you loved. She finally pulled away from your lips, leaving you gasping for air. She moved her hands behind your back, unzipping your dress and sliding it off your body.

She was right, you didn't wear a bra underneath. Your tits were on full display, nipples perky and eager for attention. She quickly latched her mouth to one, pinching and rolling the other, moans leaving your mouth, forgetting about Abby's neighbors. Your hand latched to her blonde hair, pulling out her braid and tangling your fingers in the free strands.

She groaned, feeling your hands working as she sucked harder. She missed this. She missed you. As much as she seemed like a brick wall, she was just afraid of losing you. Having other people even being around you was difficult and you drover her crazy playing your cat and mouse game.

"A-abby~" you whimpered, trying to pry her lips off of your throbbing nipple. She had gotten distracted, lost in the feeling of sucking, licking, kissing your pretty boobs.

She broke contact, holding herself up over your lips. "Say my name again, baby," she breathes, one hand gripping your jaw.

A buzzing sound interrupted you, the screen of your phone lighting up. Text after text after text. You had forgotten to tell your friends where you went and now they were looking for you. you turned to your phone, going to answer them, but Abby used her free hand to pin your wrists to the bed. The one on your face tightened, forcing you to look at her.

"Fuck them. right now, you only need to look at me. Focus on me. Say my name again, darling," she said, peppering your cheeks with kisses. You whined, the buzzing growing louder.

"Abby... But they're gonna keep bothering us..."

Abby huffed, letting go of you and grabbing your phone. She turned it on silent and then tossed it to the floor where it landed face down.

"There, now you can pay attention," she muttered, her large hands coming back to massage and paw at your tits. She almost love your boobs more than she loved your pussy, the way they squished and fit perfectly in her hands. You just enjoyed the massage, little sounds of pleasure leaving your lips, as Abby continued to rub the soreness out of the fatty tissue.

"God, you for such pretty tits, babe. Can any other girl touch em like this? Make you feel good like i can?"

"no, abby! Only you, only you can m.. make me feel this good..!" You whimpered, the heat growing in your pussy. You needed her, you needed her so badly it hurt.

"Damn right," she sighed finally looking down to the red panties you wore, the wet spot that darkened the fabric right over your cunt. "Mhm, all wet for me per usual, baby.. i know that all those other girls probably need to use lube to fuck you. They can't get you this wet, darling..."

And she was right. It was almost irritating how often she was right. No other girl made you feel the way Abby did. Abby could just do everything right. She knew your body more than you did, every soft spot, how to make everything just feel so much better.

Abby moved her big thumb over your clothed clit, rubbing small circles that drew a loud whine from you. "No teasing! no teasing, Abby, please!"

"You tease me all the time, bun. Running away from me like you're scared..." she continued to rub circles, a sadistic smirk on her face as she added more pressure. "Dancing the way you do with other people in your whore dresses.. knowing I'm watching the whole time.."

She rubbed her thumb over the wet spot which was growing by the second, the outline of your folds tempting and teasing. She could practically feel the throbbing in your panties, the way you clenched around nothing, your pussy begging to be filled.

"Abby.." you breathed, bucking your lips against her hand. The heat was getting too much, the second heartbeat of your cunt becoming unbearable. You could feel the way your panties stuck to your pussy, and you wanted so desperately for Abby to take them off.

"If you want something, babe, you know you just gotta ask," she whispered in your ear, nipping at your neck and sucking a bright purple hickey on the spot. She was reading your mind, knowing exatcly what you wanted.

"Take em off Abby... Please take em off... jus wan you to touch my pussy..." you begged shamelessly, so drunk on Abby's touch (and the alcohol).

"That's my girl," she muttered, tearing the fabric off of you, nearly ripping them as they were yanked down and off your ankles. Her hand quickly returned to cup your glistening cunt, feeling you grind on her palm, the desperateness in your pretty moans making her own clothes feel a little too tight.

She pulled away her hand from your cunt, moving both of them to either of your hips, pulling your exposed pussy to her crotch, watching the realization in your eyes as you felt the strap underneath her jeans. You wiggled your hips, trying to get some friction on the thing you needed most.

Abby watched as you made a wet spot on the front of her jeans, the slick of your pussy coating the bump. "Need it that badly, huh?"

"Yes, yes Abby, need it! N.. Need it!" you pleaded, eyes screwed tight, trying to focus on the friction. It was taking everything in you to not cry of frustration.

"Fucking look at me, darling," she groaned, her grip tightening, God you were going to have so many bruises later.

You managed to open your eyes, meeting her hungry yet somehow adoring gaze. "There you go, good girl. Keep your eyes on me if you want to cum tonight."

She quickly undid her jeans, slipping them off and throwing them somewhere on the floor. Her black strap lined up with your pussy and Abby could still feel her own hot, throbbing cunt. Her clit practically twitched in anticipation of the harness's friction.

Abby drug the top of the strap along your pussy, the schlick sound it made when she parted your folds to rub against your hole, not pushing in yet. You whined, pleading for her to put it in already.

She loved how needy you got for her. She didn't need to see anyone else fuck you for her to know you'd never be this way for them. This was the version of you that existed for her. This was hers.

She slid the tip in, pushing her hips. She didn't need to pretend the strap was real, she swore she could feel the way you tightened around her and your wet, hot cunt that was formed so perfectly to her cock. She adjusted your position, putting your legs over her shoulders, pressing a soft kiss to you lips as she bottomed out.

"Shit, you're so tight, bun," she groaned against your mouth, looking into your eyes. The cock fit so deliciously in you, pressing that spongey spot that made your toes curl, breathless whimpers of please and Abby leaving your lips.

She wasted no time, pulling out and pushing in again, fucking you into the bed as she held onto your hips, pulling you onto her dick just as fast as she was pushing it in to you. Her oace was rough and brutal, but you didn;t care. You did as you promised, keeping your eyes on abby's face as you moaned pornographically, pleasure making your head feel like cotton.

Abby slowed for a second, repositioning you on the strap to hit at a better angle before she resumed her pace. Your back arched on the back, a loud cry of Abby coming from your throat as Abby's dick pounded into your cunt.

You felt the heat in your stomach start to grow, a coil getting ready to snap. "C-close, abs m so close..." you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks as she continued to fuck you, bruise your cervix and claim you as hers as she had done countless times before.

"Come f'me, baby, come with mommy," she muttered, feeling her own high creep on her as the harness continued to rub her clit.

A few more thrusts was all it took before you finally let your eyes roll back, you r mouth forming an 'o' as your orgasm washed over you, Abby following suite with her curses and groans of your name.

She tapped your side to tell you she was pulling out. She slid the strap off and got down on her knees, pulling your sopping cunt to her face as she greedily licked up your milky white cum like a woman starved. The overstimulation of her rough tongue had your reeling, trying to push her head away.

She couldn't help it, she just adored the way your pussy tasted, the scent of it washing over her as the tip of her nose rubbed against you mercilessly. She sucked on your sensitive clit for a second before pulling away with a pop, your slick coating her chin.

After she finished cleaning you up with her mouth, she laid down next to you, pulling you into her arms as you trembled from the way Abby had fucked you.

She stroked your hair, kissing your forehead. "Did so good, you always do so good for me, sweetheart," she murmured, rubbing your back.

You sniffled, tears welling in your eyes. "You're... you're not gonna tell me to put my panties on and go...?" you asked, knowing that she had done it so much previously that being in her arms was a shock. She hated being vulnerable after sex, which was what always pushed you away. But not this time.

"No, baby. I want you to stay. I want you to stay with me forever," she looked into your eyes, using her thumb to wipe off your salty tears. "I don't want you to run away anymore..."

And you agreed, teary-eyed. You wouldn't run from Abby anymore. She was devoted to you, and you would always be hers.

Moments later you were showered, with a glass of water in your hands as Abby rubbed lotion into your hips and thighs, blue bruises blossoming over the skin. She put you in a pair of her boxers and one of her t-shirts, gently holding you in her arms as you drifted to sleep.

'ⁱᵐ ⁿᵒᵗ ˢᵉⁿᵗⁱᵐᵉⁿᵗᵃˡ ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ'ˢ ˢᵒᵐᵉᵗʰⁱⁿᵍ 'ᵇᵒᵘᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʸ ʸᵒᵘ ˡᵒᵒᵏ ᵗᵒⁿⁱᵍʰᵗ.. ᵐᵃᵏᵉˢ ᵐᵉ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵐᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ʲᵉᵃˡᵒᵘˢ, ⁱᵐ ᵗʰᵉ ᵒⁿˡʸ ᵒⁿᵉ ʷʰᵒ ᵈᵒᵉˢ ⁱᵗ ʰᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘ ˡⁱᵏᵉ…'" ~ ⤹˚˖ ♫ ୭

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌𓆩♡𓆪﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

bun's taglist: (I hope you don't mind) @m-3-ijiworld @elliephobic

like always, my requests and asks are open ☆૮꒰•༝ •。꒱ა

#abby anderson #little-star-bun #asks open #wlw blog #abby smut #abby x reader #tlou #abby x reader tlou smut

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local-crying-boy · 2 months

Text

As If To Turn Back Time

Carlisle Cullen X Female!Reader

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Pairing: Carlisle Cullen x Female!Reader

Genre: One-Shot, fluff, reunion

Warnings: literally just ignoring Carlisle’s backstory a bit cause I’m too stupid to understand dates and such, failed attempt at me writing people talking from the 1600s with only Bridgeton as a guide

Summary: You and Carlisle met in the 1600s, you had grown close and wanted to come clean to him. However, you had no choice but to leave. The two of you meet years later, Carlisle realising you are a vampire and you discovering that he had turned.

Word Count: 2.7k

A/n: This poor draft has been sitting in my drafts for way too damn long, so long that you can probably see how my writing style changes half way through :(

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The two of you had often walked long walks during the day, talking about seemingly anything and everything. The conversations never pausing or becoming overbearingly dull, it seemed as if you could talk for hours on end.

You, despite not wanting to, grew close to Carlisle, even starting to be on a first name basis. He had always been gentlemen like and was not like the other men you’d talked to, simply wanting somebody to ‘woo’ and eventually marry.

Of course, you never stayed long enough for engagement to even be considered.

However, you didn’t want to leave this one. He was kind, kind unlike the others. His words were genuine, his smile was not faked nor was it practiced. He didn’t say the things he wanted you to hear, he was true about his thoughts and feelings.

He was as though he was too good to he true.

Carlisle thought this about you too. Kind, genuine, true. However, he was correct about being too good to be true, because you knew you had to leave, to break his heart.

Each evening, after parting ways with the Doctor, you cursed yourself. How could you be so careless with your heart? So quick to fall in love? You would outlive him for God’s sake! You would leave before you even got the chance to tell him you loved him, before he could even realise that you were going to leave.

There was no way to ever have a human and a vampire together, not without the Volturi knowing or without the human dying. Having both end up being dead, Carlisle would be buried and you would have half your heart ripped apart. There was no way to run from this problem. You loved him.

You loved Carlisle Cullen.

On June 2nd, 1661, at 3:26pm on a Tuesday afternoon, you had decided to come clean to Carlisle. He was already beginning to piece together that there was something wrong with you, not eating, ice cold skin, never being out in the sun, so coming clean was not going to be a big deal.

However, when you decided that, you had heard talk of your unusual behaviour and your never aging body. That was when it hit you, you had to leave Carlisle before being truthful to him. There was no time for rushed letters or quick apologies.

And so by the 3rd, on the Wednesday morning, you were already out of London and heading to Scotland where you planned to soon move to… Well, you weren’t too sure. You had planned to go to Scotland, but you knew you most likely had to go further, with all your time spent with Carlisle you didn’t think of where you would go next.

When it hid Midday of the Wednesday you left, Carlisle had gone to the house you were staying at, an old friend of yours. He knocked on the wooden door, expecting you to show up in one of your usual light blue dresses. However, one of the Lady of the house’s maids opened the door.

Confusion had hit Carlisle almost immediately, you were always there to greet him, as if you already knew it was him at the door, “Excuse me, Miss. Is Miss L/n home?”

The brunette woman shook her head slightly, “No, Sir. She left not too long ago, I’m afraid.”

“Do you know when she will return?” Carlisle asked, questions circling around his head, you never mentioned leaving.

Once again, the woman shook her head, “She won’t be returning, Sir. Miss L/n said she was not to return.”

Heartbroken, Carlisle almost forgot how to breathe, “She has left London?”

This time, the woman nodded, “I am afraid so, Sir, she said it was something of last minute arrangements, she was adamant there could be no postponing. She mentioned something about Scotland, or Germany.”

Then, right there and then, Carlisle was certain his heart had broken into a multitude of pieces, never to be pieced together again. Had it been something he’d done? Weren’t the two of you getting along well?

• 1936, Forks, Washington •

Thirst was making your throat burn, making you agitated and irritated. You haven’t been able to slip away and hunt yet, since the work you had was piling up and unavoidable, so you had been pretty much relaying on pure luck that you wouldn’t rip open these people’s throats.

It was tempting. Really, really tempting. Especially since the majority of your co-workers were stuck-up, stubborn, assholes of men who got on your nerves on a daily basis and did not respect women what-so-ever. However, with a seemingly unbearable thirst that made your entire body beg to kill them, it became more easy for your thoughts to drift to murder and made the thirst even more unbearable. Almost as if it would kill you.

If you could get headaches, you were sure you would’ve gotten one from these idiotic people. You watched the time and counted the seconds, hoping that focusing on the time would make the thoughts of their blood fade away into the back if your mind.

You barely made another minute before you abruptly stood from your stool and muttered, “Excuse me for a moment, I feel sick.”

You hastily left before anyone could say anything, then when you exited the building and was out of site, you ran towards the woods in hopes to find literally any animal.

You, centuries ago, decided to feed only on animals after slaughtering a family of four in the late 1500s and going into the early 1600s. The guilt still pulls at you randomly, which is why you started studying sciences, history and art wherever allowed women to have an education.

When you had gone far enough from the town, you tried to find anything. Luckily, there was a deer close, the pure smell of its blood had almost sent you mental.

Without even hesitating, you ran towards the sent, making it run from the loud rustling you caused. However, it didn’t get far because you had mercilessly murdered it and started feeding on it before it even fell to the floor.

You might as well have been a newborn with the way you were acting, impulsive and without a second thought. Well, perhaps this would have been a lesson to regularly feed instead of putting work first.

When you had your fill of the deer, and it was completely drained of its blood, you had stood from your space and simply started walking. You weren’t ready to go back to your workplace, certain that if one of those bastards said something stupid again, you would kill them and probably end up getting hunted by the Volturi from the inevitable frenzy it would send you in.

You had been in the of calming yourself down when you heard the very distant noise of footsteps, fast ones. Panic hit you almost instantly, you hadn’t been aware of other vampires in Forks.

Listening attentively, you prepared yourself for a fight. Often, vampires were somewhat territorial, if you’d accidentally wondered onto another’s land, you were expecting a fight. Usually, you were always aware if there were other vampires. However, clearly, you were not as careful this time.

However, you became terrified when you started hearing four pairs of footsteps. You definitely couldn’t fight four vampires, not by yourself anyway. Sure, your ability was good, but it took a lot of effort to hypnotise one person - let alone four.

Wiping the small specs of blood from your mouth, you spun your head around, scanning your surroundings. They were definitely getting closer, no doubt about that.

In seconds, four vampires appeared in front of you. One with short black hair - almost a buzz cut -, one with brunette hair, one with long blond hair and the last one, oh, the last one you knew too damn well.

“Holy shit…” You muttered, “Carlisle?”

If vampires could cry, you knew you would start sobbing right there and then. Ugly crying like you had done so when you were being turned over four hundred and fifty years ago.

“Y/n?” Carlisle asked, as if you’d been a ghost. Maybe, in his eyes, it was all you were. A phantom, a ghost, something of the unimaginable.

You took a step closer to the four, each eyes clouded with utter confusion, then Carlisle's whose eyes were clear with a multitude of emotions, “If I had known you’d been bit, I would have helped you.”

You were hesitant to hug him, even though all you wanted to do was tackle him down and feel his arms around you.

“Carlisle, who is this?” The woman with blond hair asked, she seemed hesitant to trust you and seemed defensive - as if ready for a fight, even if Carlisle knew you.

Carlisle’s eyes did not move from yours, a faint smile on his face as he recalled memories from lifetimes ago, “An old friend, from before I turned.”

This time, Carlisle walked closer to you and in a second, he’d wrapped his arms around you and had you in a tight embrace. It seemed so odd to feel his warmth completely replaced with coldness, he'd finally matched your temperature, you didn't find him warm and he didn't find you cold anymore.

You completely melted in his arms, breathing in his scent and closing your eyes in content, you'd never hugged him before, you and him had only exchanged quick and harmless touches of the hand when you knew him as a mortal. It was nice. “I’m so sorry I left, Carlisle. I’m so sorry.”

He had one hand planted behind your neck, making his fingers intertwined in your hair, while his other hand was rested on your back. You knew you would have felt chills go up your back if you were still human, “It’s okay, I understand why you left now.”

When you let go of Carlisle, he let go as well, though, you could tell the man was hesitant to let go. You took a few steps back and took in the other three’s appearance. They all had one thing in common, yellow eyes - one that always reminded you of gold, meaning they all fed on animals like you.

“Hi.” You awkwardly said to the three teenagers, “Sorry to intrude.”

“Who are you exactly?” The brunette haired boy asked, he seemed tense, he didn't trust you and you assumed he must have been one of the eldest - taking Carlisle out of the equation.

You awkwardly fiddled with your hands, a habit you’d had since you were human, “My name’s Y/n, I met Carlisle a few hundred years ago.”

The three exchange looks with each other, then the blond woman looked back at you, her voice was cold. Sharp, "How come we have never heard of you?"

That was when Carlisle spoke up again, turning to the younger vampires, "I thought she was dead." Then he turned to you, "I looked for you, but after you left for Scotland, there was no trace of you."

You stared at Carlisle for a few seconds, did you feel relief or upset that he knew where you had left for? "You knew I left for Scotland?"

"Yes." He simply said, "One of the women who worked for your friend told me, but also mentioned something about Germany."

"Ah, yes." You smiled softly at yourself, looking at your boots. It was almost as if you reminiscing over those sweet, old memories, "Miss Delphine, a sweet lady, a shame I had to leave in such a hurry." You looked back up at Carlisle. "I was headed to Scotland, but I knew I was going to go further, just in case."

When no one spoke again, and the silence grew awkward, Carlisle turned the other three, then back to you, "Y/n, let me introduce you to my family, Edward, Rosalie and Emmett."

You nodded at them nervously, you were never good at introductions, even when you were expected to do them so frequently due to your consistent moving. “Hello.”

There was an odd silence between the five of you, but Carlisle was quick to end the awkwardness. It must have been odd. He had spent this much time by himself, believing that a dear friend of his was dead, only to find out you were perfectly fine - well, aside from the fact that you were a walking corpse for over four hundred years.

It was odd for you, you knew that too damn well. After all these centuries, beating yourself up for the unfavourable situation you and Carlisle were given - him having been a human when you met and you being a vampire. You had loved him for so long, never being able to get his damned voice out of your head, his smile, his face.

He was different from when you last saw him, that was one of the many things you were going to have to wrap your head around. His eyes were no longer their beautiful previous colour, now replaced by the shining gold colour you both now shared. He was paler than before, matching your frozen temperature and you could no longer smell his blood. Perhaps, you could be grateful for not having to take in the scent of his blood - it was a struggle for you all those years ago, and still arose as a problem even after centuries of living as a vampire.

"You three should head back home." Carlisle suggested to the three teenagers, they seemed hesitant at the thought, so Carlisle continued. "Please, me and Y/n have catching up to do."

It was took them a few moments to trust that Carlisle had faith in you, trusted that you wouldn't pose a threat of any kind. It was only when Carlisle made eye contact with the Edward boy, giving him a small nod. Edward had taken only a few, short seconds to give an approving nod, before speeding off with the two other hesitant vampires.

When the two of you were alone, really alone, you both simply stared at each other. Both of you wanted to say something, anything. But how could you? It had been around three hundred years since the two of you last each other, what if that spark between you two had died out? What if you two could no longer hold a meaningful, flowing conversation like you did before?

"Carlisle, I-" You only sighed out quietly, rubbing you eyes with your hand. "I've missed you, so much."

Carlisle only gave you a small smile, he took a step closer to you. "I have too."

You looked up at his golden eyes, you would miss his old coloured eyes - you decided - because you had found his previous eye colour so mesmerising, so different from yours. You wouldn't have wanted this cruel fate for Carlisle, never in your entire immortal life. Though, how bad could it really be? He was like you now, there's was no longer anything stopping you from trying to rekindle that old flame that burnt in your cold, dead heart for him.

You swiftly wrapped your arms around Carlisle, hugging him tightly. It wasn't long before his arms around around you, too. It had been the first time you two had ever hugged in the long time you've known each other. It held up to your expectations, to say the least.

"I don't want to lose you, Carlisle." You admitted quietly. "Not again. I don't want to leave your side, not like last time."

"I don't want that either." The blond replied almost as soon as you stopped talking, he didn't even want you to move from his embrace. "So don't leave my side."

"And stay?" You asked slowly.

"Stay for good." Carlisle said, looking down at you as his hands moved to cup your face. "Please."

"You mean join your coven?" You asked in a hushed voice, looking up at him as he looked down at him. Your question only resulted in a quick nod from him, even if non-verbal answers always seemed so confident.

You wasted no time in leaning upwards and placing your lips onto his, closing your eyes as you kissed him, which he kissed back as soon as your actions registered in his head.

The best part about being a vampire was that you two didn't need to breathe, which meant you two could have stayed like that for a few moments. However, when you parted your lips, you looked up at him.

"I'm never leaving your side again."

Masterlist

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serendipityandbenevolence · 2 months

Text

Baizhu x Reader (Arranged Marriage)

I know this is a bit (lot) different to what I normally post on this account, but I am a SUCKER for arranged marriages in fanfic, so I am choosing to disregard my sagau roots (not permanently dw) It’s a bit out of my comfort zone, but I really hope it comes out well :)

Contains - You getting injured, you and baizhu having beef (enemies to lovers fr), you and baizhu not realising that you are engaged to each other, arranged marriage (duh) your dad kinda sucks tbh

It took you rolling your ankle to realise how bad an idea climbing a mountain unprepared was. Granted, when you had started climbing the mountain, you had thought you were prepared. Your clothing was (somewhat) practical, you had stolen a pair of your father’s shoes that he used when hiking and you had found a nice leather satchel to hold your snacks and hand shovel.

It had been fine at first, nothing more than a pleasant hike, with bird chirping and a soft breeze whistling through the trees. But with every step you took, the path became steeper, the sun became hotter and the god-damned shoes you bothered from your father hurt more. They had seemed a bit large when you first put them on, but now it felt like you were going to trip over them with every step.

Your clothes weren’t faring much better. Your good, practical clothing had caught on nearly every single branch and shrub you passed. You would have to hide them when you got home, because you did not want to have to explain to your parents exactly how your clothing got so tattered and torn. The only things that hadn’t let you down was the satchel and your snacks, although the snacks were long gone now, despite not even reaching the top of the mountain.

Looking back on the moment, it seemed almost like one of those comedy performances, that wandering artisans performed in the town square. It was ironic, truly, how quickly everything fell apart. A single stone in your path, that you hadn’t even noticed until you were stepping on it. Your father’s shoes skidded off it, causing your ankle to twist painfully and send you careening into a nearby bush, your shirt tearing even more as the branches scraped your skin.

And there you lay, facedown in a bush in the middle of nowhere, close to the peak of a nearly abandoned mountain trail, with nothing but a satchel and a sprained ankle.

All of this for a fucking flower.

It was silly, you were aware of that. Your mother had told you stories about a kind of flower that only grew on this particular mountain, whose petals formed a distinctive heart shape, and which was said to bless whoever received one with true love. It was cheesy, yes, but that didn’t stop many young men and women from climbing the mountain in order to pick them for their fiances. But as the years passed, the flowers became more and more sparse, thanks to the droves of hopeless romantics picking them all. And now, they are said to only be found at the very top of the mountain, where the lovers were too scared to climb.

You didn’t even know if Baizhu liked flowers.

You’d never met him, which was surprising considering how long he’d been a client of your father. Your father, a renowned supplier of medicinal herbs, was thrilled when Baizhu first began working with him. Prior to that, all his business had been to local doctors and healers, but having a client in far-away Liyue Harbor excited him, especially a doctor of such a stellar reputation.

You almost felt like you did know him, with how much your father talked about Baizhu. Every shipment of goods that was requested meant another long monologue over the dining table about how fortunate he was to have such a consistent and well-paying client. You almost asked your father if HE wanted to marry Dr Baizhu, but you thankfully refrained.

You knew your father had been dropping hints to Baizhu for a while now, about how he hoped his child would be married soon, about how Baizhu surely must be so lonely without a spouse, about how Baizhu really just felt like he was part of the family already. What you hadn’t expected was for Baizhu to accept.

And now, here you were, a week out from your wedding and nearly passed out on the side of a road, trying to get that god-damned flower.

There was no way that the situation could get any worse.

“Oh dear! Are you alright?”

Or maybe it could.

You truly had the worst luck. How was it that during the most embarrassing moment of your life, a person had to appear? This was an abandoned trail!

“Please … just leave me here. I’m already contemplating my life choices and regretting the actions I’ve taken to get here, my pride can’t take another hit.”

“I really… can’t just leave you here, you know that, right?” The voice, which you could now identify as male, sounded like it was trying to hold back laughter, while also truly sounding concerned.

“I assure you, you can. Please do. Keep continuing on your way.”

There was silence for a moment, and you almost allowed yourself to hope that whoever this man was had left, until you felt a pair of hands grab your shoulders and pull you out of the bush, depositing you in a rather undignified heap on the ground.

“My sincerest apologies about your pride. Are you injured?”

You sighed and made your best effort to fix your hair, attempting to look less like you just fell into a bush. Your saviour had the audacity to look perfectly put together, with barely a hair out of place, despite having just hiked the same distance as you. Though he also looked far more prepared, with shoes that actually fit and an entire bag filled with supplies.

“Only the aforementioned pride and my ankle,” You sighed, looking down at the already bruised and swollen skin, then up at the nearly vertical path ahead of you.

“I truly hope you don’t plan on continuing to climb with that ankle of yours?” He questioned, squatting down to get a better view at your injury, laying a gentle hand upon it.

You chose to ignore the question, still hoping to find a way to get to the top of the mountain, instead taking the opportunity to stare at the man. He had the most intriguing golden eyes, with slitted pupils like a snake, which were sharply fixed on your ankle.

“Your lack of a response speaks wonders, so let me rephrase. You will not be continuing to climb with that ankle of yours.” His eyes met yours, looking for any argument.

“And how do you plan to stop me?”

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For a man who initially seemed so polite, he sure had a way of getting on your nerves. You’d spent the first 10 minutes of him carrying you back down the mountain (over his shoulder!) trying to convince him to put you down and when that hadn’t worked, you’d settled on silent treatment. But even that was testing your patience, you’d become tired of watching the sun creep towards the horizon, of listening to the birds singing up above, of resisting the urge to ask him what hair products he used to make his hair so silky.

“So…”

“Oh, you want to make conversation now? Finally given up on ignoring me?” He laughed at you, making you grit your teeth.

“Alright, I get it! You’re acting in my best interests by not letting me continue climbing the mountain, you don’t have to act all high and mighty about it!” You cut your angry tirade off with an annoyed huff, turning your face away from him.

“Why were you even climbing up there to begin with? It’s certainly not a beginners trail.”

“Oh, uhm, you know…”

“I certainly don’t know, which is why I’m asking you, but I appreciate the faith you have in thinking I can read your mind.”

You smacked his shoulder once, then a second time when you noticed he was laughing.

“But seriously… why?” He turned to face you, eyes searching your face for some sort of answer, before sighing and turning back towards the path.

You were silent for a long moment before remembering that this man had seen you half-knocked out in a bush on the side of a road. Your dignity was long gone.

“Don’t mock me for it, but I was going to try and find one of those flowers…”

“The True Love’s Bloom?”

“Yes and don’t you dare make fun of me for this, I get married in a week and I’m emotionally sensitive.”

“I wouldn’t dream of hurting your feelings and anyway, that’s what I was looking for as well.“

It took you a moment for it to sink it, before you turned to look at him.

“Really? I didn’t take you for the romantic type. Which poor soul got roped into marrying you?”

“I could say the same to you. Here I was, being nice to you and you repay it by insulting me? I’ll have you know, I was the one who got roped in. I think I would’ve had assassins sent after me if I refused one more time.”

You laughed and turned back around, but as you did, a small alcove in the nearby rock caught your eye. It was becoming darker by the second, but even with the fading light you could make out the shape of…

“Over there!”

The man paused and gave a sigh.

“This better not be a ploy to get me to put you down, so that you can do something potentially life endangering again.”

“The flowers! Over there!”

He turned his head and gave a small laugh of surprise as he spotted them too.

“Well, what do you know? Maybe being forced to carry you back down this hill was a blessing in disguise?” He wandered over to the sheltered patch of dirt, where, hidden from most prying eyes, were two perfect flowers.

He placed you down next to them and began rummaging through his bag, pulling out two shovels.

“I’ll have you know that I actually brought a shovel, I don’t need your equipment!”

“Really, how surprising. Did you bring a pot as well?”

“...”

“... can I borrow one of yours?”

“Well, I’ll have YOU know…”

And as your bickering echoed across the mountaintop, bringing life to the abandoned trails of a once vibrant mountain, the flowers almost seemed to grow just a little bit more.

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“Baizhu, what’s that flower sitting over by the window? I’ve never seen anything like it before?”

“Ah Traveler, you have a good eye! It’s called True Love’s Bloom. However, those are actually two flowers. My spouse and I planted them in the same pot when we got married all those years ago and they have grown together over time, becoming so intertwined we can’t separate them. I like to keep them close to me at work, to remind me of my dearest.”

“Your spouse? I didn’t know you were married!”

“You didn’t? I could’ve sworn I had mentioned it? Well then, I shall have to tell you the story of how we met. It all started with them stupidly trying to climb a mountain…”

Guys, this was so much longer than I intended wtf. This was supposed to be a SHORT STORY to go with two other arranged marriage stories. I seriously need to throw my plans out the window at this point. Anyway, I love writing sassy characters, even though im shit at banter, so hopefully this is good/funny?

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin headcanons #baizhu x reader #genshin fluff

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deadpool15 · 2 months

Text

Let me

Beautiful. The only word fit to describe the Targaryen’s as a whole. They are viewed if nothing above society. Closer to the gods than men, as many would like to say. Though there is something quite different when it comes to Aemond Targaryen. The man is gorgeous, the most beautiful specimen you’ll ever encounter. There are times where I realize I don’t compare to such beauty or the royal life in general. You see, I have indeed grown from the silence and embarrassment I faced upon arrival. “You are to be wedded, a fine gentleman if I do say so myself. A match meant to bring forth unity for both houses. Securing us many things across Westeros.”

The words that had changed my life, in which I didn’t know at the time would mean for the better or worse. The life of status is quite new to me, from a certain age the idea of being a proper lady had been instilled in my brain. Then, a match as my grandfather believed the gods before us made themselves came along, the prince of House Targaryen wanted a wife. Aemond was the silent type, one couldn’t exactly understand what was going on with him. He was a tough one to figure out, and I was anything but patient except when it came to him. My dragon.

Watching as Aemond stepped into our chambers putting down his sword. He spent majority of his time training, I never blamed him for it, especially since he has started training me secretly. It took a while before I fully convinced him into the idea but with a few tricks up my sleeve if you know what I mean, he was on board. He starts to remove his tunic, leaving him in nothing but a pair of trousers. “It almost feels as if I’ve been waiting for hours, maybe centuries, dear husband.” He looks up so exhausted, it seems his usual high perception was gone. Not taking notice of me sitting up in our bed. He breaks out into a small smile.

That smile, it gives me peace. Anxiety and pain are forgotten, replaced with nothing but thoughts of Aemond. “It seems, you’ve decided to retire quite early to the bed chamber, haven’t you, gevī?” He moves toward the bed, caging me beneath his arms. “Yes, it seems that way. Yet, once I got here there was an absence of one’s presence. A person meant to ensure safety and warmth, but they aren’t in this very bed with me right now. If you would like a little help husband, there is currently no one blonde laying in this bed with me for our usual activities. Know any blondes?” Looking at him with a coy smirk he laughs at my statement.

A laugh only I can pull from him. Gives me a sense of grace, that only I have that power over him. “I would hope the only blonde you need is currently in the room with you. He says grabbing my chin firmly. Pushing him on the bed to sit beside me and whisper, “I would think we have the same person in mind, my dragon”. I grab a hold of his face, “in order to make this easier I would enjoy if you are the most comfortable, so let’s just remove this.” As I reach for his eyepatch, he takes a hold of my hand firmly. The other gripping my waist. “It’s just me husband, no one is here to judge or ridicule you. Even if they were they would have to go through me if they wished to talk about such lies.” I tell him while looking directly at his eyes. “They wouldn’t be lies.” He said quickly.

Grabbing both his hands firmly I place kisses on the inside of each palm. I wish for nothing but him to be his true self with me. To know I love him deeply. “You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever witnessed. Any woman should be lucky I even allow them to glance in your direction.” He laughs again, though this time it’s a full belly laugh. Coming straight from the depths of his throat. “You allow them, is that it little wife.” I start to place kisses all over his eye and then I remove the patch, this time he doesn’t stop me. Simply sits there basking in the glory. I grab my special tools. Whisking a brush hidden behind my back, slowly but surely start to smooth out the tangles and knots in his hair.

He finally takes notice of my appearance, a think silk nightgown. Leaving almost nothing to the imagination. For the right person, of course. He smiled holding me closely and placed a kiss on my shoulder blade. “I love you both.” I stop moving the brush, running my hands through his hair. Feels of silk. Glancing down to look at my growing belly and then back at him. Realizing this is paradise. Pulling him even closer, “I love you both as well, my love.”

#aemond targaryen #hotd aemond #aemond fanfiction #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #aemond x reader #Spotify

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fdelopera · 5 months

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today i opened Elie Wiesel's second volume of portraits of 18th and 19th century Hasidic masters. and i came upon this story about Rebbe Pinhas of Koretz.

Wiesel's portraits continue to resonate through the years. and the wisdom they offer is more relevant now than ever.

as Wiesel says, "a good story in Hasidism is not about miracles, but about friendship and hope — the greatest miracles of all".

that's true of the Jewish community too. the Jewish community continues to be a place of friendship and hope in the face of darkness.

here is the full text of Wiesel's anecdote:

One day, a young Hasid came to see Rebbe Pinhas of Koretz, known for his wisdom and compassion.

“Help me, Master,” he said. “I need your advice, I need your support. My distress is unbearable; make it disappear. The world around me, the world inside me, are filled with turmoil and sadness. Men are not human, life is not sacred. Words are empty — empty of truth, empty of faith. So strong are my doubts that I no longer know who I am — nor do I care to know. What am I to do, Rebbe? Tell me, what am I to do?”

“Go and study,” said Rebbe Pinhas of Koretz. “It's the only remedy I know. Torah contains all answers. Torah is the answer.”

“Woe unto me,” said the disciple. “I am unable even to study. So shaky are my foundations, so all-pervasive my uncertainties, that my mind finds no anchor, no safety. It wanders and wanders, and leaves me behind. I open the Talmud and contemplate it endlessly, aimlessly. For weeks and weeks I remain riveted to the same page, to the same problem. I cannot go farther, not even by a step, not even by a line. What must I do, Rebbe, what can I do to go on?”

When a Jew can provide no answer, he at least has a tale to tell. And so Rebbe Pinhas of Koretz invited the young man to come closer, and then said with a smile, “You must know, my friend, what is happening to you also happened to me. When I was your age I stumbled over the same obstacles. I, too, was filled with questions and doubts. About man and his fate, creation and its meaning. I was struggling with so many dark forces that I could not advance; I was wallowing in doubt, locked in despair. I tried study, prayer, meditation. In vain. Penitence, silence, solitude. My doubts remained doubts. Worse: they became threats. Impossible to proceed, to project myself into the future. I simply could not go on. Then one day I learned that Rebbe Israel Baal Shem Tov would be coming to our town. Curiosity led me to the shtibl, where he was receiving his followers. I entered just as he was finishing the Amida prayer. He turned around and saw me, and I was convinced that he was seeing me, me and no one else. The intensity of his gaze overwhelmed me, and I felt less alone. And strangely, I was able to go home, open the Talmud, and plunge into my studies once more. You see,” said ready Pinhas of Koretz, “the questions remained questions. But I was able to go on.…”

What did Pinhas of Koretz try to teach his young visitor? One: Not to give up. Even if some questions are without answers, go on asking them. Two: Doubts are not necessarily destructive — provided they bring one to a Rebbe. Three: One must not think that one is alone and that one's tragedy is exclusively one's own; others have gone through the same sorrows and endured the same anguish. Four: One must know where to look, and to whom. Five: God is everywhere, even in pain, even in the search for faith. Six: A good story in Hasidism is not about miracles, but about friendship and hope — the greatest miracles of all.

#this was exactly what i needed to read today...#jewish history #jumblr #judaism #jewblr #jewish tradition #elie wiesel

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ivestas · 1 year

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the lady of crime alley

Summary: Jason had heard rumors of a woman who ruled Crime Alley and all of its underworld connections, so he pursues her for a favor.

Tags: jason todd x fem!reader, canon typical violence, unedited

Word count: 1.2k

Notes: i’ve been on a red hood comic binge and i always thought his narration was corny in the best way, so i hope i was able to emulate that through this fic hehejejjejehe (also i use ‘tugging at your pigtails’ as a metaphorical descriptor, not an actual physical attribute of reader!) alsoo, please send some batfam requests!

Jason had heard murmurs of the woman who was the true ruler of Crime Alley and all of its underworld connections.

At first, he dubbed it a win for feminism, because women too can be major players in crime worlds!

But then it got annoying real fast, because for some reason, you were real good at hiding your trail; every turn he went, the moment he thought he caught a glimpse of you, you were gone moments later like ash in the wind.

It took him five of your men and his a few hours of continuous beating to get the vaguest clue of where exactly you resided; he spent the rest of the week nosing his way through that misty trail, his irritation growing by every second he had to march down Gotham’s shittiest streets, and it didn’t help that his red hood hardly had any breathing holes.

He was trying to keep his cool—he really was!—but the more you seemed to toss at him your half-starved homeless men at him, the more brutal the remnants of them became.

“God fuckin’—jesus, just tell me where the lady is!” He spat. “I just have some questions, that’s all, why does she keep sending you guys—“

“We’re telling you nuthin’, that woman’s an angel and you ain’t gettin’ yer dirty mitts on ‘er!” The man—a ragged, gaunt-looking guy—heaved, blood pooling out his mouth. "You’ll never see ‘er—!”

“You just wanna talk?”

Jason’s head snapped up, hand still wrapped around the man’s throat.

In the warehouse which he had 'accidentally’ beat everyone half to death, a woman stood at the entrance. Though it was night, the moon was bright enough for Jason to make out some of her features.

She’s easy on the eyes.

Suddenly, all the pent up irritation that had been writhing under his skin dissipated.

He’s a sucker for hot women.

“Hey,” He rose from the man’s body, standing tall. “You must be the ‘true ruler of Crime Alley’ or whatever—it’s a bit of a dumb name, don’t you think?”

You were silent, face scrunched.

“Jeez, tough crowd—”

“What do you want, Red Hood?” You sounded mildly annoyed, as if he’s just some pesky kid tugging at your pigtails or something.

You took a step forward into the warehouse, arms crossed. “Talk. You have my attention now.”

“Oooo-kay, great! So, I kind of need help with something—a favor, if you will,” he raised his sword. It was busted and dull, practically just a dented piece of iron than an actual blade. “I need a replacement for this—” he grinned. “—And all the information you have about Black Mask and his connections with Joker.”

“...are you dumb?”

“What?”

“Do you actually think I’m some ruler of Crime Alley? You weren’t joking?” You laughed, eyes wide.

“You’re not?”

“No! I’m not the fucking ruler of anything! Come on Red Hood, is critical thinking not your strong suit?!”

“Hey, hey, c’mon lady, go easy on me—“

“I’m just the woman who gives the people here a place to stay! That’s it! Is this the reason you’ve been up my ass?!” You scowled at him. Were you a model, because you even made pissed look delicious. “Beating up a bunch of homeless guys ’cause you thought I was a fuckin’ mob boss or something?—yeah, mob boss of the homeless? Seriously?"

He raised his hands. “Okay, when you word it like that, I feel dumb.”

“You are dumb—anyway, do me a favor and stop beating up the guys here? Please!?” You hissed, your hands balled into fists. “Because I’m the one that fixes up their wounds and I don’t have the money to keep buying gauze and shit.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry, I’ll lay off—though you coulda just have talked to me earlier?” He muttered the last part but you somehow still heard.

“You think I’m gonna go talk to the ‘Red Hood’? The guy that kills on his free time?”

He sighed dramatically. “Touche—and it’s for a good cause! I only kill people that—“

“Yeah, yeah, don’t list me your commandments to be on your fuckin’ hit list, God you’re annoying.”

He laughed. “I have a feeling I’ve pissed you off—”

“You beat a bunch of guys I take care of half dead. Pissed is hardly covering it.”

“—and you know what? I don’t like pissing off pretty women—I said it! I don’t like it. So, I humbly apologize.” He swept his leg and arm in unison into a grandiose bow.

You scoffed, going to one of the unconscious men and pressing your fingers to his pulse. “I only accept apologies in cash.”

“Oh, okay, that’s much easier,” making his way to you, he tugged off one of his blood-soaked gloves and rummaged his pocket. A couple hundred dollar bills were in there.

He extended them to you. “These enough to soothe any hiccups?”

You carefully moved the unconscious man to the ground. From the pockets of your giant jacket came a small bag with a bottle of antiseptic, bandages, and a bunch of other shit.

You then looked at him, brows furrowed. “That’s... a lot of money.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah? Do you have enough money for yourself?”

Jason stared at you for a moment before barking out a harsh laugh. That earned him a frown. “You’re worried? About me?”

“No, I just don’t want you to beat some person up for their money if this is all you have—“

“Baby, I’m rich, I shit gold bars, just take it.”

You glared at him for a second before snatching the money, shoving it into your pocket before tending to the man. Pushing up his shirt, Jason saw his body was covered in lacerations and bruises.

Jason whistled. “Damn, didn’t think I was that strong.”

“Fuck off.” You sprayed some antiseptic. The man groaned.

Jason sat. He should be going off and looking for more trails of Black Mask, but he didn’t really want to—not right now, anyway.

Even if you’re not some mob boss or whatever, you were still intriguing, and he’s a curious guy, he can’t help but want to watch you some more.

However, he was quick to notice how stiff you were under his gaze.

His head tipped to the side. “Hey, do I scare you?”

You ignored him, running a rag along the guy’s body. Blood stained the white cloth instantly. You lifted the cloth and looked at Jason.

“This is the worst you could do. Beat someone. Maybe flay them. Then they die.”

He hummed.

“So when you say ‘scare’, I assume you mean the idea of you beating me or whatever—killing me, or torturing, your shit.” Your eyes went back to the beaten guy, continuing with the cleaning. “You don’t.”

“If that’s the case, then why’d you avoid me?”

“Because I had shit to do, that’s why.” You unraveled a gauze. “Not everything’s about you—eugh, I can’t lift him, hey, since you’re just sitting here, help me a little—yeah, just like that, thank you,” you swept the gauze under the man’s back then brought it back up. You repeated that motion. “But yeah, not really scary. Death is just—well, death.”

Jason nodded along. You were weird.

He liked weird.

When you were done, Jason put the man back down.

“Well, I gotta go now, duty calls and all.”

“Okay.” You got up, moving to the next guy.

“Bye?”

“Just leave.”

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #batman x reader #batfam x reader

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lya-dustin · 5 months

Text

The Dornish Princess

Aemond x fem! Dornish!reader

Cw: mentions of murder, false identity, theft

Tag list: @valeskafics @queen--kenobi

You arrive in King’s Landing as a poor survivor of a shipwreck. All your nice things and clothes and servants and knights gone when the Wyldes found you on their lands.

The only proof of your identity was a waterlogged scroll naming you Coryanne Nymerios Martell, Princess of Dorne.

You looked the part, tan skin, dark hair and the haunting purple eyes of your Dayne mother and the manner of a gentlewoman. By the time you arrived at Court, you had been given all a woman of your station needed and letters were sent home to your sister to tell her of your rescue and invitation to court.

No one knew why your dead handmaid looked so much like you until you quietly explained she was your bastard sister and companion. But you didn’t really cry for her, she was just a bastard after all.

The bastard of Qoren Martell and a dragonseed from Lys.

“My congratulations on your betrothal, may the gods bless you and your intended, your highness.” You say quietly when you encounter the Prince Regent avoid his three and ten year old betrothed.

Little Floris Baratheon had been picked because it would be a good three years until she was old enough to be bedded, a smart move to prevent Baratheon from having too much power over the Greens and keep one’s freedom for as long as one needs it.

You were in a similar boat, your hand merited more than a vassal lord so your sister decided to sell you to the Prince of Pentos because she refused to wed. You were Aliandra’s heir; you were older than Qyle and next in line to be Princess of Dorne, you were everything Floris Baratheon and the rest of the ladies in Westeros were not.

Now it was all a matter of seducing the infamous kinslayer beside you.

His mother distrusted you, a smart decision, no one should trust you. If anyone looked too closely, they’d see it was not snake scales you wore.

“I am engaged to a child, and you are engaged to a man older than my dead father.” He said bluntly and you agreed. Both matches were bad, especially if you were a romantic at heart. It seemed the prince despite his appearance and cold exterior was one.

It wouldn’t be difficult to convince him you love him, or to make him love you. Everyone you met had that misfortune of loving you and becoming blind to your true nature.

It wasn’t the shipwreck that killed your sister, you had held her under the water until she stopped thrashing and came up with the story you fed to Lady Wylde and her company.

Aemond believed himself to be the exception to the faults of men, but he was only a man even if he rode the largest dragon since Balerion.

“A betrothed is not a spouse; the Prince of Pentos is not the first of my suitors to propose and die before the negotiations begin in earnest, you know.” You admit, hinting at the tragic and sudden deaths of all the men ---young and old--- who courted you since you first bled.

You sampled some of them when you grew older, those who didn’t satisfy you usually had hanger-ons who did, and tradition dictated that no bride prices cannot be returned should the groom die before the wedding takes place.

You had amassed quite a fortune in Essos, that was where you were heading. To find more unsuspecting men after your sister was forced to toss you out of Dorne after you slipped up and was almost caught.

Perhaps you could stay here instead. All signs pointed to the Prince Regent becoming King before the first chill came south.

If Prince Aemond was as good with his cock as he was with his sword, he’d be worth staying in Westeros.

Queen Coryanne, now that had a better ring to it than Queen Floris.

“And Lady Floris is not the first of mine to seek greener pastures.” His lips quirk slightly in amusement. He was notorious for evading matchmaking mamas and their daughters, Borros Baratheon may think a war would prevent Prince Aemond from going back on his word, but he’d never played against you.

“Shall we put it to the test?” you ask in a whisper knowing little Floris will be shuffled off to the youngest boy like an old shirt before the sun even sets.

You like him, despite it all, you cannot help but like him.

You are betrothed now, a small feast thrown in your honor as the Baratheon contingent leave and wage war against the Vulture King to spite both the Greens and Dorne at the same time.

But House Targaryen does not care, they got the better deal in you.

Gifts of money and finery and jewels were given to you by your soon to be husband, his mother and the nobles currying favor with the woman who is queen in all but name.

Your dowry would be partially paid in gold and in men. While Dorne was far less backwards than the rest of Westeros and women held equal rights like men, and end to the hostility between the realms.

“We can wed as soon as your dowry comes, my love.” he says as you lounge in your bed after a particularly trying morning. Aegon was growing weaker, Helaena and Jaehaera doing so terribly they had to be taken to the motherhouse in Oldtown to heal away from prying eyes and the need for men and heirs was as important as breathing.

Letters from Dorne had come, mainly thanking your prince and his mother for their hospitality and the promise of sending a proper envoy to negotiate the wedding. You pray the envoy comes by land instead of sea.

Who knows, perhaps Dorne would join the six kingdoms without bloodshed.

But it won’t happen.

The moment the envoy comes, you are fucked.

He won’t want you if he knew the truth. Loathes bastards, killed one even if the little fucker had his blood. Worse, you made a fool of him as you rob them all blind as you plan your escape before Aliandra exposes you as the fraud you are.

What would he do to you when he knows you are Y/N Sand and not your dead sister, Coryanne?

“Why wait, my love?” you kiss him to show how much you care for him, how little it bothers you to see him without his eye as he fucks a bastard into you as he calls you by a name you spit like a curse.

And like the lovesick fool he’s become, the two of you elope in the night. Two strangers stand witness, and you give your real name as a jape as a drunken septon names you man and wife.

Aemond will hate you and hunt you down, you know this you spend your wedding night in his rooms and see how happy you’ve made him.

“I love you, Y/N.” he breathes out and your heart catches in your throat. The boy he was under it all didn’t deserve it, but you can’t have him and no matter how much you pray for the envoy to drown, you know your past will catch up to you.

You are gone when he wakes.

Nothing, not even the furniture, is left in your rooms, nor is there a speck of gold left in the royal treasury except a valid marriage certificate signed and dated with your true name.

He will hate you, but you’d rather he hate you than ever forget you.

Part ii

#aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x dornish!reader #ewan mitchell

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heliads · 8 months

Note

Not sure if you write for Namor from MCU, but could you write Namor x Y/N Enemies to Lovers where Y/N is a Greek demigod who helps Namor after washing up injured and Namor pays them back by helping them deal with a monster? They’re enemies bc he still distrusts humans. Could Y/N also be a child of Hecate please?

had not seen wakanda forever but this request is so good that i specifically sought it out for you, anon. a+ job

masterlist

At this point, the man washing up on the shores of the sea isn’t even the strangest thing you’ve seen all day. Nor is he your chief concern. Normally, the boundary spells up around your city would keep out any intruders, unconscious men who might be soldiers be damned, but the boundary spells haven’t been working well as of late. That’s kind of why you’re here.

You consider him for a while, his unmoving form, the weapons at his sides still softly clinking as the rolling surf pulls them together, then decide that this is so not your problem and leave. Men destroy themselves all the time. This one, although stranger than most, will either be able to sort himself out when he wakes or be far beyond the reach of your help.

This sort of sentiment would strike many as unkind, but to you, it is nothing uncommon. This is survival. It has never been pretty. It works as well as you let it, and one moment of mercy can spell your death in a second. Right now, you’re not just responsible for yourself, but your entire civilization as well.

If you ask most scholars and historical enthusiasts, they’ll tell you that the lost city of Atlantis is a myth. Nothing real, just a bunch of old stories all tied together into one perplexing knot. The world loves disasters. The idea of a highly advanced Ancient Greek society sinking beneath the waves, all that knowledge and power gone forever, is highly corruptive. Some people spend their entire lives hunting down rabbit holes and paper trails to see if they could be the one to track it down, but in the end, no one actually wants to find Atlantis. The allure is in the impossibility.

You suppose that’s why they never managed it. Atlantis is somewhere out there, ripe for discovery, just as so many thrillseekers have envisioned. The only problem is that its inhabitants have absolutely no desire to be found, so no one has found it. You would know, you live there. In fact, you have lived there for a very long time. Not as long as the oldest; some of you have died by now, others have left, and many have been forgotten, but the stories of what it was like before you cut yourselves off from the world have been passed down for centuries, and you’ve heard and told most all of them.

The Atlantaens were in danger, that’s why you left the ancient world in the first place. Many scoff at the idea of the Ancient Greek pantheon today; so many gods and heroes and monsters, none of them kind, all of them doomed. We love to laugh at that which we do not understand, but the gods laugh at us for not believing, and then they damn us with curses and agents of destruction. The gods are real, all of them, and they do not take kindly to insults.

Over the course of time, while the Aegean Sea was settled and fought over, a certain kind of people tended to drift towards Atlantis. At first, the progression of its society was slow, but as rumors grew of its inhabitants, those who found they had more in common with the Atlantaens than their own people left their homes to find a true one.

To put it plainly, Atlantis was home to the demigods, the ones chosen by the Fates for a higher purpose. Many Greeks went their whole lives without being called upon the gods. Others couldn’t have a good night’s sleep without being plagued by visions of future quests in their dreams. So much immortal attention attracted the ire of the Athenians, the Spartans, everyone. Out of fear for their lives and a desire for more, those of you touched by the Olympians went to Atlantis, and once there, you never wanted to leave.

For a while, this progression was fine. No one bothered you on Atlantis because they weren’t stupid enough to try and attack an island full of half-gods and heroes. During difficult times, though, when harvests weren’t bountiful and water supplies grew dry, it was easier for outsiders to blame the island of outcasts than their own city-states. Thieves started sneaking onto Atlantis, burning your crops before vanishing under the cover of night. Prized possessions went missing. Families were hurt.

Without a definable cause, infighting erupted between demigods. Old angers between godly parents renewed themselves among their children. Poseidon’s children swore destruction on Athena’s chosen scholars. Ares’ soldiers spit at the feet of any tinkerer of Hephaestus who crossed their path.

Eventually, it became clear to the island leaders that drastic changes had to be made before the island tore itself apart. The demigods never attacked each other before things started turning sour, so the enemy was obviously the outsiders. To solve the crisis, the strongest of the demigods turned to the gods for help, and for once, they answered. Atlantis was cast away from the rest of the city-states, veiled from mortal eyes and dragged further into the Mediterranean Sea. You still had all the resources you needed from your island, you just weren’t hurt by the mortals.

Thus life carried on for centuries. Your art and achievements continued to expand at a breakneck pace. You lived longer, accomplished more. The gods smiled upon you. Your island was huge, your society could flourish without being impeded by the limits of your land. It became clear that the bad times had ended.

Or, they had, and then the first monster showed up. Without constant invaders, the art of fighting had somewhat fallen out of fashion. Ares’ descendants would never allow it to die completely, but it had become almost archaic. The monster was eventually slain, but it sparked fear into the hearts of the Atlantaens, and made everyone realize that they weren’t invulnerable.

The people of Atlantis responded in two separate ways. Some flung themselves before their temples, praying to the gods to deliver them again. They waited in their homes for an inevitable second attack, shaking and scared. Others, like you, realized that the only ones who would save you would be yourselves. The gods respond to insult; they removed Atlantis from the mortals because their offerings were constantly raided. One monster on an island of many is not worth their concern. It is up to you to protect your people.

You have two ways of saving your island. One is through the sword. The other is with your spells. Your mother, Hecate, often visits her children in dreams to instruct them in the magical arts. You’ve learned many spells and incantations, and they’ve come in handy as more and more monsters appear. You can only hope that they will be enough to continue the defense of the island. It seems as if the attacks will never end.

And, chillingly, perhaps they never will. You and your fellow demigods, the ones that decided to fight back instead of waiting for a salvation that will never come, have made a plan to save yourselves. Part of that involves regular patrols and expeditions to the outermost reaches of the island to kill any monster that crosses your path. You have enchanted swords at the ready, plus half a dozen defensive spells burning under your fingertips. This is not the time at which you die.

You have enjoyed many patrols over the past few years, but today, your veins are thrumming with adrenaline even more than at the start. You know something is out there. A couple of farmers turned up with bloody livestock, scared of something poaching their animals. Scales and talons have been found. If you’re right— and let’s be honest, you really don’t want to be— you’ve got a Hydra on your hands.

That’s bad news. The monsters were small at the start; a lesser scourge here and there, a malevolent spirit, and then they got bigger. A harpy. A medium sized giant. If you’re getting hydras— well, maybe you’ll have to make some good offerings to the gods in addition to your regular training. Some divine protection couldn’t hurt at a time like this.

That’s why you can’t afford to worry about a man passed out on your shores, not yet. Yes, he is a problem, a definitive sign that the godly interference that should be protecting Atlantis has started to slacken, but you can deal with him after you kill the hydra that’s after both of you. Always the monster you know, right? Or the monster you know is lurking in the undergrowth, ready to slaughter you and your entire island.

You had planned on coming back for the guy, sure, but maybe his unconscious body doesn’t believe that, because you’ve hardly taken ten steps past his fallen form when he suddenly jerks to life. It’s like reanimating a corpse, how he moves; from nothing to everything all at once. His eyes go wide, and he gasps desperately for air, one hand reaching to his throat. Strangely enough, he doesn’t choke out water, but blood, a few scarlet mouthfuls before he lies on his back once more, twitching into stillness.

You peer back over at him. Not dead yet, his chest still rises and falls with desperate breaths. It would be smart to carry on your path and only check in with this man when you’re sure a monster won’t lunge at you out of the surrounding trees the second you turn your back, but he’s spotted you already. One hand reaches out towards you, trembling, from where he lies in the surf.

He starts to open his mouth, and you silently prepare yourself for some sort of desperate plea, a call for aid. Instead, you’re surprised when all the man says is, “Were you really going to leave me to die here?”

You blink at him. “I thought you were already dead.”

He has the audacity to frown at you. “I would have died if I needed help and you didn’t provide it.”

You can’t believe he’s washed up on your island– you know, the unfindable one– and has the nerve to question your hospitality. “Same difference.”

“Not to me,” he harrumphes, and starts to sit up. So he really isn’t dead. If he isn’t dying, though, that means it actually is your duty to help him. You’re more of a soldier than a nurse, so he’d better not have any broken limbs. Seeing as you really have no choice, you bite back a bitter groan and help him at last. He eyes you distrustfully, but lets you drag him farther from the tide. You had intended to prop him up against a tree or something, but he protests when he gets too far from the water, so you settle for a smooth boulder close enough to the surf that the waves still crash over his feet.

Strangely enough, the water seems to be helping him heal. You can see the ghosts of scars criss crossing his chest, but they don’t appear to be old wounds. Instead, they might be recent.

You squint at him. “Do you have enhanced healing?”

“And strength,” he adds. “I wouldn’t recommend trying to kill me. You would die before you got the chance.”

If this is how strangers act when you try to help them, you’re not surprised that the ancient Atlantaens asked the gods to cordon off their island. “I could tell you the same thing. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

He regards you for a second. “Why should I do what you tell me? I don’t bow to strangers.”

“Neither do I,” you force out through gritted teeth, “and right now, you’re on my land, so I suggest you learn to scrape at least a little bit.”

He narrows his eyes. The salty sea air blows his dark hair against his face, revealing more of the ornate jewelry around his neck. It looks ancient, perhaps even as old as your society. Although you’d like nothing more than for him to hurry off of Atlantis, you can’t help your curiosity and open your mouth to ask about it.

You’re cut off before you get the chance. The man doubles over all of a sudden, hands flying to his throat once more. Now that you’ve moved him farther away from the ocean, you have a better look at his wounds, and although they’re healing quickly, they look severe. Severe enough to kill him even with advanced health.

Swearing, you raise your hands and begin chanting. Healing spells have become increasingly useful as of late; Hecate’s children learn at least one before they're even knee height, and you’ve had plenty of chances to practice these sorts of incantations thanks to the sudden surge of monster attacks.

Tendrils of magic fly from your hands and wrap around the man. The spells target the injuries across his chest, his heart, his throat, and strangely enough, a few fly down to one of his ankles, repairing a set of wings above his feet. You chant until your throat goes hoarse, until he stops choking, until his breathing settles. Only then do you lower your hands, and wait there in terrible transience, waiting for him to say something.

At last, slowly, incredulously, he does. “What did you do?”

“I saved your life,” you say.

He nods. “I know. With magic?”

You incline your head. He ponders this for a moment longer, then extends a hand towards you. “My name is Namor.”

You stare at his outstretched palm, then take it. “I’m Y/N. Welcome to Atlantis.”

He doesn’t believe you at first. It appears that the rumors of Atlantis’ disappearance are more widespread than you thought if they’ve managed to reach an underwater Mesoamerican city across the world. Namor believes you soon enough, though, especially when he’s gathered his strength enough for you to lead him up a rocky cliff so he can see the majesty of your island sprawling out before him.

The sight stuns even you, with your years of remembering it, so you’re pleased to see that Namor looks appropriately stupefied. Atlantis is a marvel; crisscrossing colonnades, magnificent gardens, marble roofs shining in the sun, temples to so many gods and goddesses that even you can’t remember them all. Children run laughing in the streets, and their parents chastise them or smile at the fun they’re having. A flock of university students chatter on their way to class. Soldiers practice in an open training yard, and the clash of bronze echoes such that you can hear it even here, on the very outskirts of the island.

“This is your home?” He asks.

You smile. “It is.”

“Why were you all the way out here, then?” Namor queries, “If not looking for dying men to ignore?”

You roll your eyes. “I saved you eventually, didn’t I?”

He laughs. “Only when I asked you to. Some would call that heartless.”

You arch a brow. “Would you?”

He takes a step closer to you. “No,” he says at last, “I don’t think I would.”

You breathe out evenly and then, to hide the sudden pressure between your ribs, change the subject. “How did you come here, Namor? Our island is under enchantment to hide us from the rest of the world. You never should have been able to come here, especially not since it’s so far from where you were.”

Namor sighs. “I don’t know. I was returning home with my people after a truce with the Wakandans. We were attacked on the way by something, some sort of monster. I don’t know what it was. We managed to kill it, but while I was leading it away from our home, it struck me through the chest. I must have lost consciousness after I struck the killing blow, and then I woke up here.”

This makes worry tie up your stomach in tight knots. “A monster?”

You look back towards your shining city. Everyone seems to be happy and carefree right now, but if your monsters are cropping up in other parts of the world– if you cannot protect yourselves, not even if you had to run from Atlantis– there is no telling how long any of you could survive, especially not if the monsters keep getting bigger.

Namor lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Is everything alright, Y/N?”

“No,” you say firmly, “It’s not. Our peace has been shattered as of late. More and more monsters show up on our borders. I was out here to find another one that’s been spotted recently, a hydra. Even if I kill this one, though, it’ll be replaced by two more the next day. They never stop coming.”

The look in Namor’s eyes is soft, understanding. He knows what it’s like to feel as if you cannot keep your own people safe. “I will seek out this hydra with you. I have to go back to Talokan soon, but you have my word to return whenever you need help.”

You regard him questioningly. “Why would you make such a promise? We only just met.”

He lifts a shoulder. “You saved my life, I owe you a debt. Besides, we only have so many places free of humans left in the world. We should protect each other when we can.”

You smile, then decide to tease him a little more. “You know I’m half human, right?”

He feigns disgust. “I will only help half of your city, then.”

You laugh. “And kill half the hydra? That’s ridiculous.”

“No more than someone only being half immortal,” he points out. “How does that even work?”

You grin. “I try not to think about it.”

He matches your pleased expression. “Then I won’t, either.”

And so your daily patrol is joined by a feathered serpent god. The two of you stalk silently through the forests on the outskirts of Atlantis, marking signs of heavy travel. Intent on your prey, you manage to locate it with a combination of your spells and his experience. Killing the hydra is difficult, obviously; Tartarus does not make its monsters without wanting them to be impervious to most attacks, but when the dust settles, both of you are still alive and without too much damage. The same cannot be said for the dead monster, so a win’s a win.

The two of you stand there for a moment longer, weapons in hand, and then Namor slowly, remorsefully lifts his gaze from the dead hydra to look at you. “It’s time for me to go,” he says softly, “Talokan will be expecting me. They will wonder why I have not returned. I cannot afford for them to attack Wakanda again out of some nonexistent threat to their leader.”

“I understand,” you reply. You don’t like it, though. Not nearly as much as you would have liked it when you first found him on your shores.

“I should go,” he repeats, but his weapons are gone from his hands and he’s striding towards you, closing the distance in a breath, kissing you.

“You should go,” you tell him, but his hands are on your hips and you don’t want him to let go, not now, and certainly not to a city across the sea.

“I should–” Namor begins, but you interrupt him to kiss him again. His fingers curl against your sides, and you know for certain that he wants to leave just about as you want him to.

He does force himself away eventually. Both of you understand that there is and will always be something greater than the two of you at stake. Neither of you are just a person, just a god; the fate of your homes is far more pressing than any personal want. Still, when you walk back with him to the ocean and watch him disappear beneath the glimmering blue of the waves, you know that you’ll regret every lost moment.

Still, there is hope that you might see him again. He told you how to find Talokan, and Namor is familiar with Atlantis now. You could find each other again, frame it as a need for your countries to have diplomatic relations. You could be happy again. It might take time, but it could happen. You, for one, will be counting down the days until then.

marvel tag list: @mayfieldss, @rogueanschel, @mycosmicparadise, @ellobruv, @callsign-scully, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @23victoria, @watchreadfangirlrepeat, @gods-fools-heroes, @w1shes43, @deafsuperhero, @fadedver, @alex-1967s-blog, @crazyhearttragedy

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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watchmorecinema · 6 months

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Yukio Mishima has been trending this week for uh, reasons. He was a world renowned Japanese author and all of his work is overshadowed by his actions on November 25, 1970. You might not want to read more about this guy because he is horrible and disgusting, but he's utterly fascinating and the movie about him is brilliant.

He's a really interesting character, to the point that he sounds fictional. He's gay, obsessed with ritualistic death, a right wing lunatic, led a private militia that was halfway to a cult, and also was a legitimately great author. His life is covered in the film Mishima: A Life in Four Chapters and it's easily the most beautiful film I've seen in my life. Look at the stills I posted above; every frame of this movie looks like that. It's all just a series of beautiful paintings with people living in them.

The way the film is structured is that it tells the story of his life in three ways. His past is told in black and white flashbacks with static cameras. This is closer to how a movie from the 50's would look like (specifically ones directed by Yasujirō Ozu). The events of three of his books are told with this beautifully stylized look, with sets that look like stage plays. The events of November 25, 1970 is told in an almost normal fashion, with regular colors and competent camerawork. The past is nostalgic, the present is mundane and only in fantasy can you truly come alive.

Through this movie we see the ideology of Mishima coming through. His nationalism, his sexual feelings and his thoughts on beauty and death all come together. Death isn't just a violent and tragic end, it is in itself a beautiful act. Beauty is the only true goal of life and creating beauty brings honor. Growing old and ugly is an act of hate; to die at your peak is to give love back to the world. It is therefore treasonous to live long enough to die peacefully. He pities what heaven must look like now; when men died young and beautiful it was paradise, but now it is filled with old men.

This is an objectively insane way to view the world but it is also fascinating. How much of this was what he believed, and how much of it was just begging for attention? In one instance when asked why he moved to the right politically he said "because the left was full". It was a joke answer, but he clearly wanted to be in the spotlight. His shield society was a paramilitary group dedicated to living a virtuous life of beauty, honor and old ideals. It was also a group of good looking, athletic young men led by a (barely) closeted, conservative gay man. So much of his life could have gone differently but also he was pretty much in control the whole time; he was independently wealthy and revered on the world stage. He could do whatever he wanted, and apparently the way his life went *is* what he wanted.

What's special about Mishima, both in the film and in real life, is that he's a smart and eloquent guy. In films the guy with a crazy worldview is someone like Travis Bickle from Taxi Driver or D-Fens from Falling Down. Travis couldn't understand the alienation and loneliness he felt and he couldn't find any healthy solutions. D-Fens was smart enough but not emotionally strong enough to confront his problems or deal with them maturely. These are people that could benefit greatly from therapy (other examples include Joker from Joker, Rupert Pupkin from the King of Comedy, Frank Murdoch from God Bless America, Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, Tyler Durden from Fight Club and so, so many more).

These are either 20 something year olds that are lost in the world, alienated and lonely, or 40 something year olds with a mid life crisis when they realize that everything has fallen apart. People who don't know where to go, or realize it's too late to change things. Travis Bickle had basically no friends, no family, no charisma with women and a lot of rage and anger. D-Fens lost his job, his self respect and was estranged from his ex-wife and daughter. These are people who's lives are shit at best (Patrick Bateman is a bit of a subversion. He is rich and successful, but his life is completely hollow, his relationships are shallow and he personally is very, very pathetic. I need to write about American Psycho later that film is great too.).

Mishima is different. He's smart enough to understand his issues and how to find help. He's got the money and means to do so. He's famous and rich enough that he could basically get away with anything weird or eccentric so long as it was harmless. On the world stage he was a popular author, and at home he led a life of political activism. If he was unhappy he could easily find healthy ways to fix it. His self destruction was the most avoidable of any of them, yet he's the only one that existed in real life. You expect these people to have serious personality flaws and unfixable (or seemingly unfixable) problems, not to be poetic writers that adhere to healthy living and regularly journal about their emotions, while enjoying respect from their peers and fulfillment in their work.

It's a hell of a film. Paul Schrader has not written or directed anything better (he actually wrote Taxi Driver too, so he had some experience with this type of character before) and it stands out as an incredible experience to watch. Like, Mishima's life is public knowledge and you can probably guess how it went, but I've purposefully not said what happened on November 25, 1970 because I don't want to spoil it. It's an event that actually happened but it's better for you to find out via the film than some wikipedia page.

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thelargefrye · 1 year

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SWEET SORROW OF EVIL … series

PROLOGUE : DARK TÁLSYN | M.LIST

pairing : ateez x evil queen!f!reader

genre : mature, fantasy au, royalty au, angst, eventually poly relationship, dark

word count : 2k

warnings : language, murder (like a lot), blood / body gore

note : a collab series with the great @sanjoongie !! thank you so much for wanting to do this with me, it means a lot! let us know what you think!

network : @cultofdionysusnet

if you are not careful the dark tálsýn will take you from your home where you will never be seen again. she goes through the night stealing children who misbehave and eats them to stay powerful.

The eerie quiet of the woods was unnerving; not a bird chirping nor a squirrel angrily protesting the invaders. Mingi continued to guide his horse beside his father.

"Where are those damn scouts?" His father muttered under his breath, eyes alert, scanning the foliage.

"Father…" Mingi couldn't explain it but his gut clenched in worry. He knew his father would simply dismiss his feelings, since this was his first large-scale battle, but Mingi had to say something.

"Hush," Mingi's father cut him off. "I see something up ahead."

"Perhaps the scouts got ambitious," The King's guard grinned roguishly, turning around on his horse to speak to Mingi, "Eager for battle too, are you, Princeling?"

Mingi opened his mouth to reply but another guard held up his hand for caution. "Your Majesty, there's been a skirmish of sorts--"

A guard ahead gagged and then another bolted off his horse to throw up in the bushes. The same guard that teased Mingi clucked his tongue in disappointment. "Green behind the ears still, I bet."

But when even the king paled at the scene before them in the opening, Mingi knew his gut had not been lying to him earlier.

Something was terribly wrong with this entire situation, yet Mingi could not figure out why. Only that his gut was now telling him to run.

“My gods, what happened here?” Another soldier had spoken up once they drew closer to the battle.

Mingi began to recognize the colors on the bodies. Those weren't bodies from the opposition-- they were their own soldiers. And upon closer inspection, the deaths were gruesome. Mingi watched in shock as his horse stepped on an eyeball and--

A figure suddenly appeared in the middle of the opening in the forest. Mingi couldn't tell if it was male or female at first, their hood of their cloak hid their features, but they seemed to flash in and out of existence until they were suddenly in front of Mingi's father.

"Good tidings to the King of Soleil Eternel." A melodious voice said and Mingi's father stiffened. "How--?"

"Sire!" A guard pulled his spear back to throw at the figure by his king but suddenly his face went slack, almost like the man was daydreaming.

The only two people that seemed to be conscious of what was going on was Mingi and the King. The guards all around them whimpered and twitched, as if they were trapped in a nightmare.

"Did you really think I wouldn't notice a cockroach in my kitchen?" Mingi caught a glimpse of a pink, bow-shaped mouth pulled into a smirk. "I killed my whole family to rule, did I not? What makes you think you're safe?"

"Father…?" Mingi was frozen himself but it was purely out of his own sheer terror and unsureness.

The King stared at Mingi, and opened his mouth to address the hooded figure but was cut short due to the hooded figure's hand in his chest. A short jerk of their hand had it out of the king's chest but had acquired a new object. Mingi had a brief thought that he had never seen a heart outside of a human's chest before and then he screamed in injustice.

The hooded figure turned and Mingi had a momentary view of her face--because who else would have the terrifying power to be able to pull a heart from a grown man's chest than the new queen?--and then she was gone in a gentle sweep of red smoke.

Only the true horror began as his father's men slowly began to bear arms against each other. It was like they were puppets being pulled by some grand puppetmasters' strings, forced to kill each other without even realizing their purpose. Mingi had to watch in horror as the men whom he had trained with, grown up with, joked with, took spears to their bellies and swords removing heads.

Mingi wasn’t sure why he wasn’t targeted but he took the advantage to run to his father’s body and catch it before it fell from his horse. His father rasped only two words before passing from this world…

Kill…

“...her.”

Hongjoong placed a hand on Mingi’s shoulder, gently pulling him from his reverie. “Right, Mingi?”

Yunho, Yeosang and Wooyoung stared at Mingi expectantly. Mingi had been lost in his memories when you had been brought up. He shook his head of the nightmare that haunted him for all of his days and stood a little straight. “I can identify her, it’s true.”

Wooyoung shook his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe she left a survivor.”

Yunho was stoic but his own warrior background gave voice to reason. “You don’t have a story to tell if you don’t have a survivor.”

Yeosang took a large gulp from his wine-filled chalice. “Vicious.”

"If you think that's vicious, wait until you hear what she did to her family," Mingi muttered under his breath.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow to Yunho. "You want to tell it or should I?"

Yunho shook his head. "I know it like the back of my hand."

Everyone settled into their chairs at the gathering of countries, passing the bottles of liquor and fine food amongst them, preparing for a tale they may or may not have heard, passed from mouth to ear, growing and evolving into a fairy tale told to children who misbehaved.

"It all started one evening, when the moon was high in the sky, blood-red and full…"

The king and his wife had been sitting in the throne room when his two oldest children had bursted through the doors. The princess was clutching her shoulder as if she was in pain and the prince was limping as they both ran into the room.

The queen immediately on guard and worried about her children, stood up and rushed over to the prince and princess with the king following close behind his wife.

“My children, what happened to you?” the queen was borderline hysterical as the longer she looked at her children, the more and more injuries that stood out to her. Blood ran all over them, staining both their skin and clothes.

The king couldn’t help but feel his blood run cold as he took in the state of his children as well.

“I-It was–

“It was Y/N! She did this to us!” the princess cut her brother off, she was just as hysteric as her mother, if not more. Her breathing was heavy and deep as if she was attempting to calm her nerves; however, it wasn’t working.

Tears started streaming down the princess’s face as her mother brought her into her arms. Quiet sobs leaving the princess as the king turned to his son in order to question him about what happened.

“What happened?” the king asked, voice full of seriousness.

The prince looked panicked as his eyes darted around and the king noted how beaty they were and the sweat that poured down his face. The prince licked his lips, blinking rapidly and the king was starting to lose his patience with his son.

“It was Y/N, she– she attacked us, father. Completely unprompted! We think she’s gone mad or something,” the prince said and both the king and queen could tell just how short of breath he was.

The king was about to say something, his mouth opening wide before the doors to the throne room were thrown open. The four members of the royal family turned their heads towards the sudden motion and watched as a guard stumbled in much like how the siblings did not too long ago.

The guard is clearly more wounded than the prince and princess; however the largest difference between the guard and the siblings was the sword lodged through the guard's chest. He fell gasping to the floor, reaching out as if one of the royals would save him. But everyone was frozen in fear and shock at the sight and could only watch as the guard fell to the floor, lifeless.

Their attention was soon drawn to the figure that soon appeared above the guard. Looming like some otherworldly figure that didn’t belong here in the world of the living. Didn’t belong in the throne room.

“Y/N! What is the meaning of all of this?” the king questioned his youngest child as the queen and her children were forced to watch you remove the sword from the dead guard. The king could feel his anger rise the longer you went without answering him. “Speak now, child, or face the consequences!” he threatened; however, you could only laugh at your father, surprising the other three including himself.

“Isn’t it obvious what I’m doing?” you asked, your laughing never seeming to cease as you drew closer to your family.

“Stay away, you– you monster!” the king shouted as his wife and children seemingly cowarded before you.

You let out another laugh before letting out a simple, “No.”

The doors to the throne room slammed shut; however, the screams layering overtop of each other echoed throughout the castle. Guards, now suddenly alert of the screams, came rushing as they shoved open the heavy wooden doors. The sight they were greeted made some of the guards gasp in horror, while others had to turn their heads in fear or to vomit at the sight.

The throne room was covered in blood which was everywhere. On the walls, the windows, the thrones which usually sat the king and queen. In the middle of the room stood the youngest child of the now dead king. His body laying on the floor, head gone and blood seeping out of it. His wife was also laying in her own blood, eyes missing from her sockets as she was slumped over her son’s body who was equally as dismembered. However, the only body they couldn’t find was the eldest princess. Her body seemingly vanished, yet the guards in the room could piece whose blood was covering the walls and you.

You stood over your father’s body, a frown painting your lips as you turned to look at the guards who were frozen in fear.

“From now on, you serve me,” Yunho says with a straight face as if to mimic the face you had when murdering your entire family. Everyone else in the room was engulfed in fear at the story, except for Mingi who was still reliving his own nightmare of you murdering his father and men.

“I-is that really true? Did she really kill them in cold blood? Her own family?” Wooyoung asked, still shocked about the story that Yunho just told.

“She’s a fucking monster, cursed to turn into one and everything,” Hongjoong says with an almost irritated expression on his face at just the thought of the ruler of Illimité.

Everyone in the room has heard about the curse that runs through the royal family that rules Illimité, a curse that gives the bearer not only dark magic to wield and control, but to also be able to turn into a beast. Many people in all their kingdoms have started tales about the cursed beings of Illimité, telling their children to behave or the “Dark Tálsýn” will get you and take you away and eat you.

“Then what do we do about her? Can’t have her running around and killing every ruler that she comes in contact with,” Wooyoung asks jokingly; however, he realizes how bad his joke was when he looks to see Mingi’s grime face, devoid of emotions.

“That’s why I brought you all here,” Mingi says, voice devoid of emotion as well and no one, not even Yunho could tell what he was feeling. “Because we can’t let her continue on like this, I want to form an alliance between our countries.”

“And do what? Take her down?” Yeosang asks after he takes another sip of his drink.

“No,” Mingi says, fists clenched and eyes full of raw anger, “We kill her.”

#sweet sorrow of evil.#cultofdionysusnet #kdiarynet #poly ateez x reader #ateez x reader #ateez blurbs #ateez imagines #ateez fantasy au #ateez royal au #ateez angst

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