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xiaotails · 1 year

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Hello!! Hope you’re doing fine, happy holidays🫶

I was wondering if you have any header that matches this icon? Tysm💙🙏

Hello!! I am fine thank u, here are the headers i hope you enjoy and happy holidays 💙 (this icon is so CUTE)

#idv embalmer #identity v embalmer #embalmer layouts #embalmer icons #embalmer packs #idv layouts #idv icons #identity v #identity v layouts #identity v icons

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faeriekit · 4 months

Text

"Okay." Danny slowly laid the already cold body back onto the table, ready to slide back it into the refuge of cold storage. "Okay. Dead guy. Stay there."

The body didn't move.

"Fantastic. Now. Hang out while I pour the embalming fluid into the pump, alright? It should only be a minute."

And it usually did; working in a funeral home wasn't extremely glamorous, but it paid the bills, and Danny had already been used to the rhyme and rhythm of negotiating death with the public by the time he sent in his mortuary school application. It had been a transition that made sense. And in the end, the degree had only cost him a few extra years post-graduation and a little dig into student loans, and now Danny had a stable 12-8 job and health insurance valid in the state of new jersey.

Today, though, the pump had that decided enough was enough. With a bang and a boom, the pump spat out a cloud of smoke and clunked uncomfortably.

The dead body sat up.

Danny scrambled over to push it back down. "No. We talked about this. Dead people don't move. If you want to stay here and have me put you back together all the time, you have to stay put. Got it?"

Whatever the weird gold-eye corpses were on in Gotham, they at least listened to him on occasion. They weren't ghosts, per se— they never pinged on any of the ghost detection devices Mom and Dad had packed in his going-away-to-college bag— but they were, despite being occasionally animate, perfectly deceased.

Weird. Danny had never gotten used to it. Still, they came in droves, too eager to sit on the top of the basement stairwell and lurk in the corners and stare endlessly at them with their weird, avian eyes, and sometimes they heralded the arrival similarly weird-ass bodies that had lost their heads or their arms or their limbs through the more conventional channels.

"I'm losing too much thread to all y'all coming in all the time," Danny complained to the dead body, who, at the moment, was the only person present to blame. "Stop getting your limbs cut off. This stuff is expensive, you know. It's a specialty order."

The body didn't even have the courtesy to blink. Rude.

"At least let them bury you this time. Every time one of you darts off when my back's turned, my boss thinks I'm stealing corpses. My coworkers think I'm building my own Frankenstein or something."

The corpse neither verbalized nor blinked, but Danny hadn't expected it to; with a sigh, he rolled the corpse back into cold storage, locked its little door (not that locking it in had ever stopped it) and called it quits for the night.

It's not like anyone was paying him for the extra hours anyway.

#I'm very pro Danny accidentally adopts a whole bunch of Talons #people have definitely done it before but this scene came to me in a vision #a horrible caffeinated vision #could absolutely be an excuse for #talon!dick #talons #dp x dc #faer fic #dpxdc #dcxdp #talon!au #dcu crossover #death tw #well. the funeral industry anyway #medical tw #just in case #corpse tw #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#free to a good home

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agustdiv1ne · 7 months

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telepathy (m) — cbg

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok???)

wc: 11.7k

synopsis: most people would abhor a packed subway car — but beomgyu, telepathist extraordinaire, relishes in it. with a career in the funeral business, he finds his morning commute to be the only thing that keeps him relatively sane. reading the mundane thoughts of mundane people maintains his tether to his humanity, but when he goes to read your mind...oh, things get a whole lot more interesting.

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, ageless blogs dni!!!, mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), gyu's honestly a little strange + obsessive in this...anyways, dom!gyu, sub!mc, solo male masturbation, on my big cock beomgyu agenda, very brief mentions of daddy/sir/master kinks, explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way (it will all make sense, trust 🙏), degradation, praise, pseudo-fingering (idk how to explain it, f receiving), gyu calls mc: pretty girl, sweetheart, slut, whore, princess, mc calls gyu sir like once...whew! that was a lot, lmk if i should add anything!

note: you know i have a terrible bout of brainrot when the warnings are all nsfw related...yeah. Yeah. *presses post and runs away*

☆ playlist ☆

masterlist

beomgyu’s commute to work is, by all means, uneventful.

the train is packed as per usual, filled to the brim with businessmen and office workers and other miscellaneous passengers on their way to whatever the hell their destination is. like most days, he finds himself towards the middle of the passenger car, snatching a rare open seat between a stone-faced man adorned in a suit — his head buried in a newspaper — and a slumped over college student nursing a cup of coffee. the poor kid almost looks like death itself, sporting dark under eyes, rumpled clothes, and a prominent slouch to his spine. not that beomgyu could really blame him; he remembers how easily college living (if you could call it living) can chip away at a person’s mental well-being.

people-watching like this is what keeps him sane, he thinks. being surrounded by corpses all day, every day is more than draining — it sucks the soul out of him, really, being the only person on shift most of the time that he’s working, having to embalm and clean and pretty up all those cold, gray bodies so that their loved ones can say one last goodbye. it’s quiet in their minds and it’s all too quiet in the funeral home, the only sounds being the clanking of the embalming tools he’s been trained to use, his footsteps echoing down the tiled halls, his sighs of contempt when something small goes wrong — yet the living, breathing, warm people on the train provide a sense of normalcy, something to look forward to every day. to hear their thoughts, as prosaic as they are, has become a sort of saving grace from the lifeless, cold building that he finds himself in five out of the seven days of the week. honestly, if he can maintain a little bit of his humanity via strangers among the subway, even if it’s just by hearing their thoughts, then he’ll take what he can get.

yeah, that’s the thing: beomgyu is a mind-reader, a pretty talented one at that. not that anyone knew, of course — he wouldn’t risk the government finding out. beomgyu is not usually one for promises, but he has promised himself one thing: there’s no way in hell that he will ever become one of the government’s sick little science experiments, even if his life ever hits rock bottom. he has no idea how his powers work — just that they do, and he would like to keep it that way. it’s bad enough that he doesn’t know where he got such abilities; his parents never mentioned anything about it and only ever grew worried whenever he read back their thoughts to them, so obviously the existence of his powers is some statistical anomaly in the universe. normal people can’t read others’ minds. he was forced to learn that at a very young age in order to keep himself safe.

“how do you know that?” he remembers his mother’s alarmed tone when he first did it unknowingly, repeating back her own thoughts to her without realizing that’s what he had done. he was maybe six at the time — innocent, curious, plagued by voices in his head that he didn’t quite understand. those voices weren’t his. rather, they were his friends’, his family’s, his dentist’s and his doctor’s and his soccer coach’s voices that ricocheted about his mind uncontrollably;it was overwhelming for the young boy’s mind. the day he first admitted that he could hear them was the first day he heard his parents argue, their yelling from downstairs colliding with their internal voices in beomgyu’s mind, their terribly poignant concern for him and this development louder than any of the venomous words that they spat at each other in the living room. all he remembers from that day was himself crying, unable to block out anything that they thought, let alone his own thoughts. too much for his young mind to handle.

he heard their fear when they took him to the doctor for the first time of many, their heartache when the doctor came back and said that he might have psychosis, but more testing was needed. he heard how they started to deny it — their little boy couldn’t have that, could he? no, no he couldn’t. there’s no way he could.

although beomgyu was young at the time, guilt ate at him. he was the one hurting his parents, he was the one making them worry. despite his official diagnosis when he was seven, something inside him knew that the doctors were wrong. those voices weren’t just the result of the machinations of his mind at work — they were voices of the people he knew, strangers who passed him on the street. what they said wasn’t evil, it wasn’t out of the ordinary. usually, it was quite mundane. at some point, he started to practice with it, trying focus on one certain voice out of the buzzing hive in his mind, blocking out the others, switching and focusing and blocking out until the action was as natural as breathing. it took him about five years before he reached that point, and after nearly two decades of living with his abilities, he’s gotten quite used to it. his mind is usually quiet — besides his own stream of consciousness — unless he allows others in. or, rather, they allow him in, which they always do. he sees it like a set of doors; open one, and you can hear that one person’s thoughts. close it, and he no longer hears them. and none of them are ever locked since no one expects to their thoughts to be read, which simply makes his life that much easier.

if he’s being honest, he didn’t used to read minds as often as he does now, but there isn’t much he can do about that now lest he go insane. beomgyu could admit that his habit was a little creepy…okay scratch that, extremely fucking creepy. these people had no idea that their minds were being infiltrated, their mental walls bypassed and their privacy violated like a computer infected with a malicious virus. it’s borderline depraved, how nonchalantly he robs these strangers of their utmost privacy, sometimes of their deepest, darkest secrets that they would never want anyone to find out about. he could sequester quite a bit of money out of some of these people, now that he thinks about it.

and sure, that may sound immoral, but beomgyu has never considered himself to be of particularly virtuous character.

without a second thought, beomgyu taps into the mind of the kid next to him. he’s thinking about how he’s failing his statistics class because he just bombed his midterm. no, now his mind is full of what he’s going to eat after his 8 a.m. class. he shifts his focus on the businessman to his right. stocks, his cheating wife, how he’s considering leaving with his mistress in the coming days…

”what a prick,” beomgyu thinks to himself, smirking a bit. just a few more stops until he gets off, now.

he pulls his phone from his jacket pocket, scrolling aimlessly just to keep his eyes busy. sitting on the opposite side of the college student, an elderly lady walks herself through the stew that she’s going to make for her grandchildren tonight, excitement coloring her words. it’s cute — he loves hearing things like that. wholesome thoughts are not easy to come by nowadays, given the state of the world. exhibit a: a teenager standing on the other side of the train car worries himself into a frenzy over whether the girl that he has a crush on likes him back. exhibit b: a middle aged man contemplates if he should quit his job. for a second, beomgyu thinks that he might be in the same boat as him, before realizing that he has nothing else to fall back on — exhibit c. he could keep going.

a clear, robotic voice overhead announces the subway’s arrival to the next station — his station. sighing, he sits up a little taller, slipping his phone into the pocket of his slacks. a vague sense of dread weighs down his shoulders, knowing that he has a service to set up for the moment he clocks in.

he’s not looking forward to today, and yet the train still slows to a stop, the doors still slide open, and he still grabs his work briefcase from the spot between his feet. like clockwork, beomgyu maneuvers through the crowd, out the doors, and climbs the stairs up to the chilly streets of seoul.

decompressing after a slow-moving shift can take beomgyu’s night in many directions. sometimes, he simply returns home and hops into bed after a long, scalding hot shower that removes the invisible layer of grime that lays heavy on his skin. other times — typically on fridays — he’ll stop by a bar and catch up with his friends, occasionally leaving with a woman hanging off of his arm if he drinks enough to lower his inhibitions. more often than not, however, his excursions at the underground bar that taehyun is partial to end in him stumbling home alone and waking up the next morning with a raging headache. nursing a hangover alone, eating breakfast alone, bathing alone…he has never really become acclimated to it. the monster that festers inside beomgyu’s chest craves for love, for connection, for somebody to hold when the nights are too dark and his thoughts match the shade of the sky. the lack of connection is slowly getting to him. is this what insanity feels like? he wouldn’t know, nor would he like to find out. he’s sane. he’s perfectly sane.

beomgyu understands that his profession can be off-putting to potential lovers, but it’s not as if he had much of a choice in the matter — not when his one shot at the career of his dreams crumbled below his feet when the company filed bankruptcy, sending him tumbling back down to earth, to the reality that his college degree meant little to nothing to the vast majority of employers nowadays. though he applied to dozens of jobs, the only one he ever heard back from was from the listing titled “mortuary assistant,” and in desperation, he accepted the position without much thought. maybe if he had tried a little harder to find a different company where he could apply his skills, maybe if he had pushed himself to make connections in the industry when he had the resources to do so, maybe if he had pursued music production a little harder, had not given up so readily when things grew difficult…maybe things would be different.

beomgyu often thinks about the maybes.

this particular night, he finds himself leaned over a bar counter, a glass of amber-hued beer in hand. he half-listens to yeonjun’s slurred account of his dance crew’s latest win while he stares down at the mahogany tabletop. some condensation has gathered on the wood, and he swipes a finger through it. a slap to his shoulder brings his focus back to his surroundings.

“gyu, dude, y’should totally try out,’’ yeonjun pitches as he sloppily swings an arm over beomgyu’s shoulders. “get out of that. that—” he stumbles over his words for a moment, expression warping into a confused grimace. “that gross ass dead people building.”

beomgyu exhales a laugh as yeonjun’s head lolls against his shoulder, quietly whining about how his head hurts. while yeonjun is substantially gone already, beomgyu is only on his second beer. scanning the spacious, dim-lit room, he shakes his head. it’s times like these where he does not feel the need to slip into people’s minds — being surrounded by his friends is enough. “nah, man. i don’t think i could keep up. it’s been a while.”

“sure y’could! you’re like th’second best dancer here!” yeonjun says as his torso slumps down against the table. the bartender eyes him from further down the bar top with concern, but beomgyu sates the employee with an apologetic smile, ensuring that he turns away before setting his attention back on his friend.

beomgyu scoffs. “and i’m assuming you’re the first best?”

“uh, obviously. i literally run th’thing,” yeonjun retorts as he glares at him with a single eye open, an ear now resting on top of his crossed arms on the counter.

“yeonjun’s right,” taehyun butts in from the other side of yeonjun’s collapsed body. though his glazed over eyes give away his inebriated state, taehyun’s tolerance tends to lean much higher than yeonjun’s; this fact is confirmed by the crystal clear enunciation of his words as he continues, “you’ve been acting differently ever since you started working there. it wouldn’t hurt to try something new.”

great, even his friends have noticed. exhaling deeply, beomgyu nods.

“yeah, i’ll think about it.”

as the conversation meanders off into other topics, beomgyu sinks back into his own little world. curse taehyun and his acute perceptiveness. he knows that he’s been acting off, but maybe his friends are right; he once dreamed of being a choreographer, back when he was a teen, before he discovered his love for music production. perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to try.

unintentionally, he meets the gaze of a girl sitting at a booth with her friends. he quickly averts his gaze, and by the time he looks back up, she has been roped into what seems like a shot-taking contest. six other girls circle the table, one joining the first girl in taking rapid-fire shots, four others egging them on, and one laser-focused on her phone, occasionally sipping water through a straw. from what he can gather, she’s likely the group’s designated driver — though it seems her role has morphed into more of a babysitter. she’s pretty, he’ll admit. just his type. if he was on his third or fourth beer, he’d probably be over there trying to strike up a conversation with her, rather than any of her drunk friends.

as she looks up and throws a cursory glance around the bar, she catches him staring, her kohl-lined eyes meeting his own. an eyebrow raises as her gloss-coated lips twist, as if to say “don’t even try it.”

oh, how terribly he wishes to slip into her mind and let her know that he has no intention to.

the ear-piercing screech of yeonjun’s barstool to his right tears his gaze away from her. yeonjun now stands, one arm around taehyun and the other around soobin, the latter sporting a borderline disgusted grimace directed at the older boy hanging off of him while kai simply stands behind the trio of men. yeonjun’s head hangs low below his shoulders, chin nearly touching his chest, as he emits a pathetic groan. at least he’s not puking this time.

“we’re about to go grab some food. this one,” taehyun’s head nods to yeonjun’s sagging frame. “definitely needs it. you coming?”

unwilling to allow the night to end quite yet, beomgyu hums, quickly pays his tab, and allows the brief, silent encounter with the woman to fade away into the back of his mind.

the rest of the weekend passes without fanfare, and monday returns to rear its ugly head once again. monday is beomgyu’s least favorite day of the week; it brings a raging headache from his 5 a.m. alarm, a bone-deep fatigue that lingers for the rest of the day. it brings grumpy commuters whose knees and elbows uncomfortably bump against his own. it brings people who think that he should give up his seat, and silently tell him so with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. how selfish, they all think whenever he actually bothers to read their thoughts. what a fucking dick, some of them even snarl within the so-called impenetrable walls of their minds, walls he so easily breaks down. he levels those ones with a half-awake glare, pupils gloomy and lifeless. internally, their uneasy reactions make him want to laugh, hysterically cackle in their faces because wow, is he really that scary? he shouldn’t be, but maybe the dark under eyes are doing something for him.

surprisingly, the subway car he frequents is less crowded than usual. not as many people stand in front of him, and he’s actually able to see directly across the car for the first time in a while. doors shut, and he’s left to look around at the regulars and the new patrons that often don’t show up again. they’re easily less interesting than the regulars. really, what can he say? the daily life updates satisfy his nosy tendencies.

still, he hates mondays. mondays suck. mondays make him want to crawl into a hole and eventually join the bodies at his workplace. they bring out the worst in his mind. all they do is remind him of the neverending cycle that he has trapped himself in — wake up, work, go to sleep, and do it all over again the next day.

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you.

it’s split-second eye contact. nothing more, nothing less. your eyes grow wide, your lips parting just the slightest bit in surprise. though he has not invaded your mind (yet), he can already tell what you are thinking. fuck, he isn’t blind — he knows that he is handsome.

your eyes shoot downward, your head hanging low with your phone clenched between your fingers. one of his eyebrows raises while a small smirk plays on his lips — you’re new, and even better, you’re cute. his dark, seemingly bored gaze trails over to the earbuds nestled in your ears, then to your crossed legs. you glance up at him again, eyes blowing wide again as your thighs press together just enough for him to notice the movement. his own eyes narrow slightly, evaluating the sight.

you seem...interesting. prim, proper, sitting in a modest-length skirt and a plain blouse and coat that paint you as an unassuming character, just another random person in this sardine can of a train car. yet there’s this glint in your eyes that tells him there is so, so much more to you than what meets the eye — that the innocent, put-together little front that you display to the world is a complete and utter lie. it’s intriguing. new patrons come and go from this particular subway car every day, but you and your fresh face have caught his interest — and so has your odd behavior.

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

you were there the other night, with those girls at the bar. the one sitting at the end of the table with the small glass of water as you scrolled through your phone. the one who shot a piercing glare at him as you looked out for your inebriated friends. your current behavior is a far cry from the strong front he first encountered that night, small and oh-so meek and lacking the sharp, piercing edge to your gaze that initially piqued his interest in you. the change, for some reason, intrigues him more. what happened to that feisty glare, that confident air to your posture? he wants to know why you seem so meek, so he taps in to your mind and—

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he’s never had this happen to him before. he’s accidentally stumbled upon the occasional horny thought before, sure, but listening to porn on the subway? that’s a new one. he decides to give you another glance; your lips are pressed together now, eyes pointed towards the floor as you further shrink into yourself. fuck, you’re so cute, but now he knows you’re also awfully perverted — and for some reason, he feels himself getting hard in his trousers at the thought of entering your mind again.

he should do something about this little development, shouldn’t he?

yeah, he thinks that he should. a sick sort of curiosity wins over the more logical side of his brain, the side that tells him that he should feel guilty for even thinking about what he’s about to do. he can’t, can he? no, he can — he wants to, he really fucking wants to. opportunities like this don’t just present themselves on a silver platter like this on the regular. if he doesn’t take this chance, then he’d be an absolute fool.

the subway slows to a stop, the weirdly cheery, robotic voice calling out another stop. not his, thank god. he takes this opportunity to open that pesky little door to your mind again, now fully expecting the depravity echoing in your brain — and rather than do anything drastic too quickly, he simply sits there and listens. he listens through an entire audio alongside you, ignoring the twitch of his cock as he listens to the woman be degraded and praised, in missionary and in doggy, her moans mixing with the man's in a cacophony of pleasure — he loves the way you jump when the sound of a hand striking flesh sounds through your mind. your fleeting sigh of “god, i wish that were me,” causes him to bite his lip. you like being treated like a slut, huh? like a stupid little whore only made to take cock? that’s music to his ears, really — because he likes treating girls like that too.

as sick and disgusting as it is, he continues to listen as if mindlessly tuning in to a podcast, subtly adjusting himself in his pants as he fights off a raging boner. he wants to be the one to do those things to you. he wants to make you scream and sob and beg for mercy as he completely ravages your body, fuck you until you’re brainless, perfect little slut for him. you’d love that, according to the audios you consume for the remainder of his commute — to be fucked so hard you legs give out from under you, to be owned, fully and completely. he likes that sound of that as well.

a few minutes into the second audio, you take another glance at him, eyes squeezing shut right away once you catch his gaze — and suddenly, your thoughts are full of him. he’s encountered countless strangers who can perfectly visualize their streams of consciousness, and you seem to be yet another one of them. images of you on your knees between his thighs and sucking his cock in the middle of this subway car flood his own mind, switching to one of him fucking you from behind against the wall while everyone else watches, then to him finger fucking you with a hand around your throat…what the fuck. what the fuck? how do you just do that? how do you think of such terribly shameless things while looking so pretty and demure, as if you’re a shy little thing rather than some fucking whore? he shifts his briefcase over his lap again. fuck, he’s so hard it’s starting to hurt. shit, fuck.

he should be appalled by you, but fiery, ardent lust is the sole emotion that floods his veins. would it be a bad idea to talk to you? no, you want it. you want it so fucking bad. just look at your mind — and he can make all your dirty little fantasies come true, if you would let him.

just as he’s about to actually do something about you, the subway slows to a stop once again, the same cheery voice announcing his stop. god dammit. pushing himself up to his feet, he finds that you’re doing the same, wide eyes flitting around nervously as you move towards the door and stop nearly right next to him, those earbuds that hide your biggest secret in plain sight still stuck in your ears. he can still hear those degrading words and moans and slapping sounds that still echo through your mind, loud and clear as if those white earbuds are sitting snug in his own ears.

the doors slide open, and soon enough, he loses sight of you in the surging crowd. stepping out of the subway, he looks around once, twice. you have completely disappeared; nowhere to be found, your mind has grown too far from his own for him to locate nor access, the tether between the two of you frayed to the point of snapping in half. with a brief purse of his lips, he sets off up the stairs. it’s fine, there’s always another day. it’s fine, he tells himself over and over again. there’s nothing he could have done in such a short time, anyway.

the sun sits high in the sky today, but the bone-chilling air cuts through his puffy coat like tiny needles puncturing his skin, or millions of scalpels slicing open flesh nearly to the bone, cold and sterile and far from comforting. autumn shouldn’t be this cold, and his slightly soured mood isn’t helping his case right now. he should have done something back there, he should’ve opened up the channel between the two of you and taken the plunge. it wouldn’t have hurt to try, but no. no, he let that opportunity go like every other one he’s had in his life. with his jaw set, he promises himself that it won’t happen again. it won’t, because if he keeps living like this — allowing all these opportunities slip through his fingers like grains of sand — he’ll never be able to forgive himself.

and honestly, beomgyu is no clairvoyant, and he should brush off the tickle in his brain as a stupid, naive hunch…but he has a compelling feeling that he’ll be seeing you again tomorrow.

when beomgyu returns home, the sun slowly sinking towards the horizon, he doesn’t unwind like he usually does. today’s shift was a slow one, with no bodies to preen and primp and no services to set up for, so most of his time was taken up with cleaning, filing documents, and sitting around aimlessly. no matter how much he tried to fend them off, thoughts of you bounced around in his brain for the entire eight hours he was on shift. fuck, he doesn’t even know your name, much less anything else about you, yet he wishes he could travel back in time and redo this morning all over again. he’s not sure how it would have panned out, exactly, but he has a few tricks up his sleeve that would’ve made it exciting.

he shakes his head. the current moment presents much more pressing matters than ruminating on this morning’s terrible decisions; the strain in his trousers proves to be a pertinent issue, a tent formed in the black fabric and aching to be touched. now that the public eye no longer holds his gaze, his apartment door locked shut behind him, he allows himself to give in to his most base instincts. a hand comes down to cup his hardness as he imagines his fingers as yours, you on your knees below him, those adorably wide eyes staring up at him in desperation. you’d wait for permission, right? you’d beg so prettily like a good little slut should? fuck yeah, you would. you’d be good, you’d take what he would give you — and you would love it.

groaning, he crashes onto his couch, head throwing back against the back cushion as he gropes his cock harder. he’s forgone slipping off his dress shoes and has barely even slipped his coat off before he’s giving in to the pulsing ache in his groin that’s nearly unbearable, the white hot need swirling in his stomach that demands his immediate attention. his belt quickly unbuckled and his trousers pulled halfway down his thighs, he slips his cock from his boxers, gasping at how sensitive he has become.

“oh fuck,” he breathes out into the quiet air, a shuddered sigh following when his thumb swipes over the angry red head, the bead of precum that has gathered there spreading across his skin. he brings his hand up to his lips, gathering some spit beneath his tongue before letting in loll into his palm. bringing it back down, he drags his hand up and down his shaft, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as pleasure rushes through his veins. he pumps his cock steadily, hips rolling up into his hand as if fucking your throat. eyes fluttering closed, his free hand grips the couch, fingernails digging into the worn leather and leaving half-moon indents in their wake. “fuck. god, fuck.”

would you be able to take him? he’s been told he’s big, most women barely able to take him even after extensive prep. he imagines how you’d keen as he enters you, your back arching so prettily and your walls stretching to their limits to accommodate his size. how you’d choke and gag on his cock if he decided to use your throat, tears streaming down your cheeks as you peer up at him pathetically, fingers digging into your thighs as you resist the urge to touch yourself. would you like to be slapped around a little, punished with spankings and little taps to your cheek?

“focus,” he mumbles to no one. to you. “focus, slut. be good for me.”

he’s delirious at this point, has dived so deep into his fantasies that he barely registers that he’s fucking his fist and not your mouth or sweet little cunt. that doesn’t stop his fingers from tightening their grip, squeezing the head before gliding back down again, then back up, the rhythm of his hips growing frenzied as his high inches closer. his free hand smooths up his stomach, taking his button-up with it as he clenches it with desperate fingers. he bites down on the fabric, pumping himself once, twice, three times before his high hits him, his cum spurting out in staccato ribbons. he’s making a mess, but he can’t bring himself to care when this is the best orgasm he’s had in months. the shirt falls from his mouth as he moans unabashedly.

“take it,” he groans, his hips canting upward. “fuckin’— fuckin’ take it. shit. such a perfect little whore for me.”

he cums and he cums, spilling all over himself until he’s milked dry. eyes closed, his contracted muscles melt into the couch, hot pants replacing his moans and groans. a few minutes pass before he fully comes down from his headspace and returns back to earth, only for him to realize just how much he came, staining his clothes and coating his skin in creamy white. he blinks.

reality crashes down on his head.

he just…jerked off to you. he just came so hard he saw stars just from the mere thought of you. oh, he’s in deeper than he first thought. too deep, too quickly, he can barely breathe.

“fuck,” beomgyu murmurs as he stares down at his cum-covered abdomen, his sticky hand. “fuck.”

beomgyu was right: you do come back the next day. and the next. and the next.

over the remainder of the work week, he watches you — well, more so listens to you, but he can’t deny himself the little glimpses he allows himself to take, drinking in how you worry your bottom lip, how the muscles in your throat contract each time you gulp. the poker face that you don crumbles oh so easily whenever he meets your stray gaze. it’s exhilarating, knowing the power he, a complete stranger, has over you. your microscopic slips in expression remain undetected to the rest of the passengers, but he sees every single one. they’re a perfectly entertaining backdrop for your explicit musings.

he knows he could approach you like a normal human being would, but where’s the fun in that? he’s not quite a normal person in his own right, anyway. instead, he’s decided to keep you in his sights, learning what exactly you enjoy, what you like to hear, preparing for the day where he again gathers the courage to toy with you within the walls of your mind. he’s in deep, and at this point, he’s accepted it if only to justify his sadistic obsession with you. actually, on second thought, he wouldn’t quite call it an obsession, perhaps a morbid curiosity more than anything. yeah, that’s all it can be.

it’s almost as if the universe has sent him a little present in the form of you, an apology for the trials and tribulations that whatever is above has rained down on him this past year or so. of course he’s going to savor it. who wouldn’t? so he sticks to his plan, and keeps watching you, listening to you, observing you, identifying your little quirks and deepest, darkest desires. they’ll be quite useful later, he’s sure.

over his…research period, he’s found out a lot about you. you like to be bullied, to be called a slut, a whore, but you also enjoy a little praise mixed in: good slut, good whore, pretty girl is so obedient for sir, for daddy, for master. you’re also not too picky in what you listen to, as long as it contains a male dominant in some capacity. couple’s content, threesomes, gangbangs are all on the table, as are solo audios that usually have some sort of plot to them — coworkers to lovers' first date that ends in sex? check. hot librarian who fucks over a table you after closing? that too. he could go on about what he’s heard in just the solo audios you consume, but even that list would be exhaustive.

by the time friday rolls around, he doesn’t even have to try to search for your mind; call him crazy, but it’s almost as if you, on some subconscious level, know that he wants in and are more than willing to let him. as if you keep the door cracked open just for him.

at least, he likes to think that you do.

staying close, but not too close, to you proves to be difficult today. fridays bring with them a surge of new faces that crowd the subway car, which is generally quite annoying, but at the moment, he also finds it to be frustrating. no seats are open when he boards, he can’t even see you through the dense crowd, but you’re there. your mind is there, open and waiting for him to enter.

though he won’t be able to see your cute little reactions, he steps through that mental threshold.

“it’s okay, baby. shh, don’t cry, you can cum. cum for me, just let go,” a gentle voice coos. aw, you must be having a rough morning, how sad. the only other day you listened to these kinds of audios, you looked absolutely miserable, the corners of your lips pulled down and a deep, pathetic furrow to your brows — it was wednesday, that’s right. two days ago, when you seemed frazzled and completely out of it. a little digging resulted in him learning that you had spilled your coffee all over the concrete on the way here, you thought your hair didn’t look right (even though, to him, it did, it looked perfect — he wished he could’ve told you that), and worst of all, your boss emailed you late the previous night to admonish you for your performance, demanding a meeting first thing that morning.

still, he wishes he could take care of your boss, eliminate that weight off of your shoulders. if it were up to him, your boss would be sitting in the morgue at his place of work, gray and comatose and unable to admonish you for things that beomgyu is sure you had no control over. because that’s how offices work, right? sink or swim, big fish eat the little ones, blaming those below them for everything they should be taking responsibility for. your boss has to be one of those. he was pig-nosed and donning a constant sneer when you pictured the verbal berating you’d be getting once you got to your workplace.

that day, he found himself thinking about how he’s become pretty talented with a scalpel.

“good girl. doing so well for me, pretty girl,” the same voice soothes, soft cries and sniffles from the submissive mixing with the gentle words. he could treat you all sweet too. he could be anything you want, if only you knew him.

he wants you to know him — needs you to, really.

there’s no clear cut reason for your current sour mood, your thoughts too jumbled together for him to properly decipher. are you picking apart your appearance? did you wake up late? is this all because of your boss again? he might just kill the bastard if that’s the case…if only he could approach you, tell you that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t want to knock down the house of cards he’s spent such precious time building over the course of the week. you’re too special for that. it’s the very reason why he tries to blend into the crowd, why he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum. the last thing he needs is for you to run away from him when you’re one of the only things holding him together.

when the car slows to his and your stop, disappointment nips at the space between his eyebrows. he didn’t even get to see you today, and the end of the work week means that he won’t be seeing you for two entire days. sighing, he falls into his typical routine: move towards the doors, wait for them to open, and follow the other exiting passengers out. where could you be? you’re still here, he knows that much since he’s still connected to you, still hears those soft words and moans, but where the fuck are you? you, as in your body. that you.

with a single cursory glance around, he swears he catches a glimpse of your figure before the crowd swallows you whole. as he’s shoved towards the stairs by the crowd, his chest grows heavy.

friday has just begun, but monday couldn’t come any faster.

“so, are you gonna try out?”

yeonjun is far more sober compared to last friday night, his eyes lacking that fatigued droop they always get whenever he’s had too much. beomgyu tears his glazed-over gaze away from the television screen to look at the yeonjun, sinking further into the couch below him. he points to himself. “me?”

yeonjun rolls his eyes, a knee swinging over the arm of the armchair he sits in. “who the fuck else would i be talking to?”

scoffing, beomgyu shoots him a glare. “i don’t know, man. y’don’t have to be a dick about it.”

the open bottle of beer in beomgyu’s hand chills his fingertips, so he switches it to his other hand before taking another sip. meanwhile, soobin plops down next to him with an already open bag of chips, offering some to him. he shakes his head, and soobin shrugs, beginning to munch on them by himself.

“i’m serious though,” yeonjun continues. “you should really try out. there’s not much to it, just dance to one song and you’re done. i’d probably pass you even if you sucked.”

“that’s nepotism,” taehyun chimes in from the floor, eyes trained on the screen as he shoots a player down in the game him and kai are currently obsessed with. the sound of gunfire fills the living room of soobin and yeonjun’s apartment, the murmurs of the two boys a low drone beneath it as they figure out their best strategy to win.

he almost wishes he lived here with soobin and yeonjun, or with the other two. yeonjun and soobin, taehyun and kai — only beomgyu lives alone. alone doesn’t necessarily mean lonely, but in beomgyu’s case, it does. maybe that’s why he’s latched onto you so hard: to cure his loneliness. he swats that thought away like one would a pesky mosquito. he hasn’t latched onto you, he admonishes himself, he’s simply curious. yeah, curious.

just a little innocent curiosity.

disregarding taehyun’s comment, yeonjun raises an eyebrow towards beomgyu. “i know i was drunk when i said that shit last week, but you really have been acting weird since you started at that job. we’ve all noticed.”

“yeah, it’s like you’ve gotten more reserved, or something,” soobin says, words muffled by his chewing. beomgyu grimaces, shifting closer to the arm of the couch.

“you’re the most introverted one here, you can’t say shit,” kai snorts. soobin throws a chip at his head.

“anyway,” yeonjun butts in with a scalding glare before an argument can begin. soobin and kai blanch, mouths closing. “we’re just…concerned about you.”

“is this some kind of intervention?” beomgyu laughs, disbelief apparent in his tone. he’s fine. he has you now.

“no, we just want you to know that there’s other things you could do that would make you happier than work at a fucking funeral home,” taehyun says, eyes still not straying from the tv.

“like joining my dance crew,” yeonjun tacks on.

beomgyu sighs. they’re kind of right, if he’s being honest with himself, but is he ready to put himself out there again? is he ready to face the potential of rejection, of failure? he’s had his life fall apart in front of his eyes once already, what if it happens again?

“...i guess.”

“c’mon.” yeonjun shifts around until he’s leaning on his elbows, focus solely on beomgyu. “tryouts are next saturday. i know how fast you can learn choreography. hell, you could probably learn something in a couple hours and be fine.”

“honestly, you’ll never know if you don’t try,” soobin chimes in. “it might end in something good.”

“yeah,” beomgyu says before taking another large swig of beer. “yeah, i know.”

and so another weekend passes, and monday returns once again.

soobin’s brief, sage advice plays through his mind again and again. although he understands that soobin meant for it to apply to his current career situation, beomgyu has adopted it for his situation with you instead. he should try, he’s going to try, eventually.

it might end in something good, he tells himself over and over again. he has to try.

mondays are a bit less excruciating now that you’re around. he has only known you for a week, but it’s been long enough to know that you make his day-to-day routine bearable — hell, he’ll stay at his terrible job as long as you keep showing up each morning. the day that you don’t will be the nail in his coffin — he chuckles at his stupid joke. yeonjun is rubbing off on him too much.

the sky is overcast today, and endless expanse of gray that contrasts the warmth of the changing leaves that line the sidewalk. it might rain soon, he surmises, but he hopes that it won’t. he’s forgone an umbrella today. digging his hands further into his coat pockets, he ducks into the subway station, descending the stairs and weaving through the crowd until he finds his usual platform. when he gets there, you’ve already arrived, ears vacant of those white earbuds, but it’s not a foreign sight to him. you typically put them in once you sit down. the fact that you get on and get off at the same stop as him…he almost likes to think of all of this as fate.

maybe the universe really is trying to apologize.

the subway arrives at the platform a few minutes later — minutes in which he tries not to stare at you. he’s not a creep, he swears that he’s not. he’s not a creep, he’s not a creep — he repeats this to himself as he follows behind you into the subway car the two of you frequent, he finds a seat across from you a few feet to your left. he can’t be too obvious.

and most importantly, he’s not a creep.

you dig around in your bag. ah, here come those infamous earbuds, he’s sure of it — but then they don’t, and then the digging through your bag grows a degree more frantic, your lips parting as you continue shoving whatever is in there aside in search of your most precious possession.

you feel like crying as panic surges through your veins. oh god, you forgot them. how could you have forgotten them? what are you going to do now?

beomgyu decides to tap into your mind in that moment, finding you in an unbelievably frazzled state. his heart clenches in his chest, he wishes he could help somehow…

wait. he could…oh my god, he could. no, that’s sick, he’s not a creep — well, no, he could. he definitely fucking could, and you’d probably end up liking it…

he could be your temporary replacement for today — no, he could become your constant source, the one you need to get through the day. he could become your audios. he wants to. they’d be far more…interactive, if he did, after all. you’d love what he could do to your pretty fucking body just with access to your mind. reading thoughts isn’t the only thing he can do — and soobin’s right: he’ll never know if he doesn’t try. how could he sit here any longer and not give in to his burning desire to ravage you? you know what? fuck it. this is the perfect opportunity, served up once again on a silver platter, waiting for him to take. he’s not going to let it slip away again — and oh, you just look so devastated right now, how terrible would he be if he didn’t help you?

in a split-second moment, beomgyu decides that today is the day. deep breath. focus. okay, he can do this. one, two, three…

“hello, pretty girl.”

you flinch before you look up and around, only to find no one is looking at you — well, he is, but through his peripherals. wouldn’t want to get caught, would he? suppressing a smirk at your reaction, he shifts in his seat.

“was someone just talking to me?” you ask yourself, brows furrowing as your eyes continue to dart around. your hand comes up to your ear to see if you accidentally remembered your earbuds, your frown deepening when you register that they are, indeed, not in your ears. glancing around again, your eyes skirt over his form. he shivers at the thought of what’s to come, biting his lip as he avoids your gaze. “is this some sort of prank?”

“calm down, sweetheart, this isn’t a prank. now, stop looking around, you’re the only one who heard me.”

your brain flits from thought to thought so quick he can barely keep up, the volume of them rising as you panic. your fingers clench the strap of your purse as if to ground yourself. “am i hallucinating right now? what the fuck? this has to be a prank. should i go to the doctor’s? no, my boss would kill me if i called out, but fuck, i should really go if i’m hearing things—”

beomgyu chuckles, the sound echoing through your mind as well. freezing, your muscles lock up as you look around again. your distressed stream of consciousness stops for a moment, before resuming at a much more rapid pace. “what the fuck, i need to call out right now, where’s my phone—”

sighing, he leans back into his seat and closes his eyes. so cute, how easily you spiral. “quiet that pretty little head of yours, pretty girl. you’re not hallucinating, this is all real. very real.”

a few moments pass before your internal freakout quiets down. for once, silence fills your mind…and rather than him break it, it’s you: “someone’s…talking to me through my mind? this is real?”

“such a smart girl. you figured it out so quickly,” beomgyu taunts, resisting the urge to coo again. adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to continue. you need him. he can make you happy. he just needs to hear you say it.

your thighs press together at the praise, fingers digging into the trousers you had chosen to wear. you shouldn’t be feeling like this. this is strange, terribly strange, and even a little frightening, now that you are aware that someone — that a complete stranger, at that — has full reign over your conscious. yet, at the same time, you’re curious to see how this will play out.

“and you can speak to me, too, if you focus hard enough…” his voice trails off. okay, you can do that. allowing your eyelids to flutter shut, you begin to breathe deeply until even the mechanical noises of the subway and the murmurs of passengers vacate your senses. mind empty, you exhale a shaky breath. focus. stay focused.

“hmm, impressive. you’re a natural at this.” god, he needs to quit praising you like that with his deep voice. by the way he laughs, you know he heard that too. fuck.

“who are you and why the fuck are you in my brain?” you decide to ask. straight to the point, no fluff to it, it’s reminiscent of your attitude at the bar where he first laid eyes upon you. this is the wall you put up towards strangers and any other threat to your life, but little do you know, beomgyu’s breached that wall already. this is just a little front. “answer me, you fucking asshole—”

“woah, woah, watch the language. why would i tell you who i am? it’s much more exciting this way, don’t you think?” the smile in his voice is unmistakable, but he purses his lips to keep them from curling upward.

you start to gnaw on your bottom lip, biting hard enough for pain to bloom across your nerve endings. this is stranger you’re talking to right now, a stranger who you’re talking to through your fucking thoughts. this is weird. you never signed up for this. “get the hell out of my mind before— before i—”

“before you what? can’t kick me out, you don’t know how to do that, pretty girl.”

fuck, he’s right — wait, if he’s in your mind right now, can he also control it? is he going to hurt you? is he going to make you his puppet and go on a murder spree? is he in this car with you, or somewhere else? what if…what if…

beomgyu can almost feel your panic swelling in his own chest. fuck, he needs to put a stop to your spiraling before it gets out of control. if you freak out now, then all of his work over the past week will be for naught. after all, he’s not going to do anything without your permission. the last thing he wishes to do is scare you off completely before he can have his fun. with great urgency, he cuts off your ramblings, “hey, now, relax for me, princess. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m as human as you are, just a bit…different, i guess. and i am in the same car as you right now.”

rather than respond, you look around again, eyeing every single man around you with suspicion, even him. he stares at the floor, maintaining what he hopes to be a neutral, borderline bored, expression. he needs to keep it together. he’s gotten this far, he can’t ruin this. “looking around again, huh? if i were that easy to spot, then this game wouldn’t be very fun, would it?”

“game? fucking with my mind is a game to you?”

the corners of his lips twitch up before he’s forcing them back down. this is it, the moment he has been waiting oh so patiently for. keep it together.

“well, not really — i actually have a proposition for you, if you’d hear me out.”

scoffing, you urge him along. “just get on with it.”

“so impatient. that’s okay. i can work with that,” he smirks. “i know what you listen to every morning, you know.”

your heart drops to your stomach. he what? oh god, you think you’re going to be sick. your arms wrap around your stomach, squeezing hard. this is bad, this is really fucking bad. “do you want money, or something? are— are you trying to blackmail me right now? i’ll have you know, i’m actually kinda broke right now. i really don’t wanna end up homeless, can you just. pick someone else to fuck with? there’s like twelve different businessmen in this car, i’m sure they’re rich and corrupt—”

beomgyu’s brows raise imperceptibly. jesus, are you always this flighty? “woah, chill. i’m not here to judge you — or blackmail you, for that matter. i’m not evil. aw, don’t look all shameful now. i told you i’m not here to judge — i actually wanna help you, if you’d let me.”

“help me?” you dumbly echo. “help me how?”

“well,” he starts. “i noticed you forgot your earbuds today, and you just looked so sad and lost without them. how else are you going to get through your commute? and then i thought maybe i could do something about that. y’know, help you out, get you through the morning.”

“so you invaded my privacy just to tell me that you wanna dirty talk to me for the rest of my commute? is that what you mean? ‘cause if so, that’s pretty weird,” you reply, though your stray thoughts that dart around tell him that you’re actually considering his offer — it’s tempting, isn’t it? to give in, to let his deep voice get you all squirmy and needy, knowing he could be anyone in this subway car. still, your words make him laugh, because of course you’re deflecting right now. it’s okay, he hasn’t given you the full story quite yet.

“that’s only part of my offer, princess,” he starts. “i can read minds, yes, but i can also do…other things.”

oh, you’re really considering it now. maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let him. his voice is nice, and maybe, just maybe, it’s kind of making you horny. after a deep, long breath, you gulp once, then, with curiosity dripping from your tone, you ask, “...like what?”

jackpot.

beomgyu’s high on a mix of adrenaline and dopamine, utterly giddy because he’s got you right where he wants you, where he needs you. he’s played his cards just right, shoved your worries to the side and drew out your curiosity enough that you’ve taken his bait. perfect, oh, this is perfect. he knew you’d be good for him.

“it would be much easier for me to show you.”

“then show me,” you immediately reply, heat flooding your cheeks at the sheer desperation in your voice. god, calm down. he hasn’t even done anything yet.

chuckling at your internal conflict, he decides not to comment. “tell me if you don’t like something. i’ll stop.” he watches as you slightly nod to yourself, a soft “okay,” echoing through your head and into his — thus, he sets his plan into action.

something warm caresses your calf, but when you look down, there’s nothing there. your eyes widen — was that a hand? it definitely felt like one, the way it creeped up the back of your leg, calloused fingertips pressing into your skin. a shiver races down your spine. that had to have been him.

“it was,” he confirms, then his voice is growing impossibly deeper, adopting that gruff edge that you love so much. “you want more, princess? i can give you more.”

another phantom hand skirts over your waist, dragging down over your hips to your right thigh, just to stop there. biting your bottom lip, you nod, hoping that whoever is in your head right now sees it, wherever he is. the hand moves to your inner thigh; despite how tightly pressed together they are, it skirts over your skin with ease, seemingly beneath your trousers. “i need words, pretty girl, or i might just stop right now. and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

no, you wouldn’t, not at this point. the unbearable ache currently building in your core makes you want to cry; you haven’t felt this level of desperation in a while, and you need to be touched. you need it so fucking bad.

“please.” the single word comes out meek, quiet. shame flushes your face, a fiery heat that spreads up to your ears and down your neck.

you hear the way his breath shudders, causing your own hitch. “fuck, you’re so cute, but i need more than that. beg. beg for me to touch you.”

his voice — fuck, his voice is so deep, so dark and wanton. you wonder what he sounds like when he’s moaning, how he would sound if he fucked you, pounded you into the mattress so hard you saw stars. the image of a faceless stranger fucking you from behind, your back arched behind you and your face buried in the sheets, as he holds your wrists behind your back flits across the big screen of your mind. you shake it away, but the man in your head is already tutting. “use your words, sweetheart, not pictures — though i’d love to do that to you too. you’ve got quite the imagination on you.”

beomgyu’s cock twitches in his boxers as you whine, frantic pleas bubbling up from the deepest, darkest recesses of your mind once he takes the sensation of his hand away from your thigh. you sound halfway dumb already, begging for his hands, his cock, his tongue — anything. you’ll take anything just, “please, sir. please touch me. need you to touch me so bad.”

you don’t even know who he is, yet you’re being so obedient, calling him sir, begging so sweetly for him — it’s like you’re begging straight into his ear. his heart swells at the thought, as does his cock. you sound so pretty, but he finds himself wishing he could hear these words come from your lips instead.

“yeah? my little slut needs more?” he prods, laughing meanly when you whimper out a yes. “aw, ‘course she does. desperate whores always need more, don’t they? so greedy.”

you have to swallow down a whimper at that, focusing so intently on keeping quiet that your nails have dug into your palms deep enough to almost break skin. the pain seems to help keep you grounded — that is, until you feel the sting of a palm against your backside. you flinch in your seat, gasping sharply. the man sitting next to you glances over, but you only hang your head and shrink into yourself. he looks away.

“focus, whore. you’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”

two hands are touching you now. one cupping your pussy, the other wrapped around your throat, pressing into the sides of your neck so you start to grow dizzy. the hand on your throat releases its grip to slide down to your chest, circling around one of your nipples before a thumb swipes over the pebbled flesh. your back arches off of your seat when the sensation morphs into that of lips, plush warmth enveloping your tit before the sharp bite of teeth interrupts. you inhale a shaky breath from your nose as lips return to soothe the sting. despite the hard press of your thighs, the hand on your pussy drags up and down your folds, dipping down to your entrance before dragging up to your clit. a tiny squeak sneaks up your throat before you’re masking it with a cough.

“aren’t you just a sensitive little thing? so wet too,” he coos, shifting his briefcase over his lap to gain some semblance of friction. his fingertips tingle as if your wetness coats them right now. fuck, he’s hard. if it were up to him, you’d be taking his cock right now, moaning so prettily as he presses you up against the wall and fucks up into you, your legs giving out from under you because he’s just making you feel so good, isn’t he? never mind that, he has a job to do. “how about i just…”

two lithe fingers breach your walls while a thumb continues to slowly circle your clit, barely brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves. you feel like you’re going insane, trying your best to hold still as his fingers begin to move inside you, curling up into your walls. searching, he’s searching for that spot inside you that will get you crying—

then he finds it.

your knee jerks up, your legs falling open slightly before you’re pressing them closed again as he abuses it over and over again, crooking his fingers just right to find it with each thrust. your hips roll up into the sensation, stilling as soon as you realize that you’re squirming too much, being too obvious. people are starting to stare, calm down. calm the fuck down.

god, you don’t think you can. it’s too difficult to keep still with the way he’s finger-fucking you right now. with the way there’s lips suddenly circling your clit, sucking the pearl in so that his tongue can play with it. little kitten licks that make you want to scream and cry and beg for mercy because you don’t know if you can keep up this front of normalcy with the way he’s touching you.

it’s like he’s speaking directly into your ear right now, warm breath fanning over your earlobe, your cheek. “wanna see you fall apart, wanna see you lose it in front of all of these people, baby. bet you wanna cum right now, yeah? just wanna feel good, don’t even care if you quake and cry in public? you’re that fucking desperate for it?”

you nod to yourself, eyes squeezing shut. you’re so close. oh god, you’re going to cum. you’re going to cum like a brainless whore in the middle of a fucking subway car. you’re sick. you’re fucking sick for enjoying this.

you’re just as bad as him, beomgyu decides. he knew you’d like what he could give you, he knew you needed him. it was just a matter of time before you realized that fact. that’s okay, because he needs you just as badly. it’s a carnal need, white hot in the center of his stomach — fuck, he’s obsessed with you. he wants you to be his forever.

and beomgyu knows you’re close, but he’s not quite ready to give you what you want.

“please, oh god. please let me cum. fuckfuckfuck— no, please don’t stop!” you cry as he slows the pace of his fingers. “please no, ‘m so close! no no no—”

“you drive me crazy, it’s only fair if i return the favor. makes it more fun.” ripping the sensation away from you completely, he watches you bottom lip tremble as you blink back tears, your body melting into your seat as the pleasure fades away. “now, now, don’t cry, sweetheart. i have something even better for you.”

a few seconds pass before something breaches your entrance, your walls stretching to their limit, yet the sting of pain never arrives. filled to the brim, you throw your head back against the window behind you. to others, you seem to just be resting your eyes, but the way your mouth falls open is not lost on beomgyu. he knows you can feel him everywhere, knows you can feel the way the head of his cock nearly touches your cervix, how it presses into every single sensitive spot inside you. he knows he’s big, but you take it like a champ, your hips grinding down into the seat, as if to bring him deeper inside you. what a little whore, his little whore.

“y’feel that, pretty girl? feel my big fucking cock inside you?” he asks as your chest heaves, a feeble attempt in holding yourself together. “calm down, now. i’m gonna start moving, okay?”

he doesn’t wait for your response before he’s spoon-feeding you the sensation of his cock pulling out until nothing but his cockhead remains within your walls. a few seconds pass, then your begging returns. tearful, this time, fucking pathetic. he basks in the power that rushes through his entire being. you need him. you need him in order to feel good, and he loves that you do. he brings a hand down to adjust himself in his pants, hissing quietly at the ache that the action brings. he needs to fuck you right now. physically fuck you, none of this thought manipulation bullshit — but no, he has to be patient. he can be patient as long as it’s you.

the subway is slowing down again, and he comes to the gross realization that he only has a few minutes before both of you must depart. dammit, he has to make this quick.

meanwhile, you’re already halfway to your high just at the mere feeling of him inside you. as soon as his cock begins to move again, you’re choking back moans, head hanging low as your muscles tense and your hands press into your lap. you can feel him in your throat each time he thrusts back in, his thrusts growing faster and faster until he’s pounding into you.

“fuck fuck fuckkkkk!” you wail, encouraging him to continue. in reality, your walls clench around nothing, but your mind paints a different picture. you almost beg for him to cum inside, but you cant find the words, too fucked out to think about anything else but the knot in your stomach that grows tighter with each passing second. “fuck, please. please, fuck i’m, nghh—”

imaginary fingers swipe across your clit, and you’re a goner.

thighs quaking, your release coats your panties, walls fluttering, but the movement of his cock doesn’t stop until you’re begging for mercy. beomgyu almost cums in his pants at the depraved wails you emit, half-baked sentences pleading for him to “s-slow down, please. i can’t, no, i can’t — shit!”

finally — finally — he grants you reprieve from the onslaught of pleasure. your body slumps into your seat, your eyes shut as you begin to float back down to earth. the clack-clack-clack of the subway slows until it stops completely. the usual robotic voice announces his stop, but you seem so out of it that you don’t even register that you need to get off.

“good job, baby. you put on quite the show for me,” he praises as he rises to his feet. luckily, he decided on wearing a longer coat today which he uses to cover up his raging hard-on. this has to be fate.

no response. with an excited gleam in his eye, he disconnects from your mind and moves towards you. looming above you, he drinks in the beads of sweat that have formed along your hairline, the wrinkles in your trousers where you gripped the fabric a wee bit too hard, your dreamy eyes and how they blink down at his black loafers before raising to meet his own. concern has painted itself across his features, his head tilting as he holds your bleary gaze.

“are you alright, miss? you look a bit ill.”

you blink once. twice. god, how are you so cute even after getting fucked so hard? he can barely control himself from blurting out who he is.

“what—what stop is this?” you ask him, eyes wide and red-rimmed from your earlier tears. he tells you, and he watches those same eyes widen. “oh shit, this is my stop!”

attempting to stand, you stumble straight into his chest. he catches you with gentle hands before he’s helping you steady yourself. your legs tremble like those of a newborn fawn, sexy yet terribly adorable. he gulps at the image of you unable to walk, legs so sore that you’re forced to let him dote on you, that forms inside his mind. later. that can come later, don’t get too hasty.

“oh, you’re a bit shaky there,” he murmurs, a hand curling around you elbow when you stumble again. “are you sure you’re alright?”

“i’m f-fine, sorry for the trouble,” you reply with a polite, yet jittery, smile, stepping away from him. he wants to tell you to come closer again, he wants to smell your sweet perfume again, feel your warm skin beneath his fingertips.

but good things come to those who wait.

“no worries.” with a charming smile, he shuffles beside you, until the two of you have exited with the rest of the crowd. he catches your wrist before you can get too far, and you turn to face him once more. afterglow looks wonderful on you. “it looks like we’re getting off at the same stop today, so would you like me to walk with you until you’re feeling a bit better? i’m sure some fresh air will do you good.”

you pause for a moment, hesitating. have you seen him somewhere before? you feel like you have. “i…that would be great, actually. thank you.”

“of course,” he nods, holding back a smirk. he can’t help the words that escape him next.

“lead the way, then…pretty girl.”

the way you look back at him with alarmed realization — even a hint of fear — causes a grin to split open his lips. you begin to sputter as you back away, but he merely follows with light, casual steps. “w-what, who—who are you—”

his smile grows knife-sharp. the door opens — it always does.

“aw, c’mon, sweetheart,” he coos inside your mind, biting his lip as he watches your knees buckle. “who else could it be?”

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt x you #txt x y/n #beomgyu x y/n #beomgyu x you #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #💌 — gyu #agust.nsfw

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theunvanquishedzims · 8 months

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Okay, I'm making mummies the new monster du jour

We all know the story: daring adventurer and nerdy historian discover hidden treasure in a tomb, and just need to survive the undead and their curses long enough to douse themselves in holy water or whatever to sally off into the sunset with their bags of gold and live happily ever after.

What about the mummy's side?

You're dead. You've been dead for millennia, had your organs removed and rites read, been embalmed and dressed and laid to rest amid vast and well-appointed rooms chock-full of wealth. You strode into the afterlife like the king that you are, and have been reigning ever since. The river flows with milk and honey, eternal virgins attend your every physical desire, and your generosity knows no bounds as you shower endless wealth upon your adoring people.

And then...it stops. The river dries up, sour milk rotting in rivulets across the sticky bedrock. The maidens have vanished one by one, carried off by callous, disrespectful hands. The gold that once towered in piles around your palace disappeared much more quickly, not a single coin or ingot left. And your people turn on you. Not in anger, but in fear, hands clawing you, gaping mouths screaming soundlessly, bodies flattening and fading like living murals.

Anubis snatches you out of the waking nightmare, to something much worse: judgement. What? You have been judged already! Your heart weighed against a feather, the wisdom and love you so carefully curated in life keeping it light enough to guarantee your safe passage into an eternal paradise.

Except not so eternal, it seems. Robbers, he tells you. You cannot believe it. Even the bravest, most brazen, most despicably faithless dogs would not disturb your rest. Raid your tomb, yes, take your finery, yes, strip your body of its ornaments and peel the gold off the sarcophagus, perhaps, but not you. Your body in its wrappings, your organs in their jars, should be left alone. They could dump your empty bones on the floor of the pyramid and walk away with every material possession your people saw fit to entomb you with, but nothing of consequence would be taken from you in the afterlife.

They have not just taken your possessions, says Anubis. They have taken you.

Taken the sarcophagus? Surely they would remove your body to lighten the load--

They have taken you, he says.

Removed me to some lesser grave, to set up some new king in a glorious pyramid he himself could not afford to build? Tacky, and rude, but it has been done before--

They have taken you, he stresses again.

...have I fallen so far out of favor with my people, with Egypt herself, that they would strip me of my title and my rest?

Your god crouches, and looks you gently in the eyes, and says again, They have taken you.

And then he adds: You have ten days to return.

And you awake on a boat, a horrific thing of metal and smoke, surrounded by treasures packed in wooden crates and straw, admired by an endless parade of foreigners who ooh and ahh over your dead body and do not, cannot understand what they are costing you, making you their macabre trophy of the dullest hunt you can imagine.

You will teach them what a real hunt is.

(The rest of the movie is a timed horror-thriller as the hero, trapped in his own desiccated corpse, shambles around London trying to find his heart and return to Egypt, while attacked on all sides by monster hunters and grave robbers who don't understand that they're the bad guys. It is an epic struggle to stay the course and not fall into a vengeful frenzy, to keep his heart pure enough to pass the feather again, to FIND his heart in the first place.)

#the mummy #new mummy #You Woke the Mummy: An Imperialist Horror #maybe the real friends were the monsters we made along the way #Anubis does not have a jackal head he just wears one to parties #the virgins are totally into it the king is very cute and flirty okay #they stayed chaste their whole lives to score some royal D in the afterlife let them have this

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misforgotten2 · 6 months

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Be sure to choose the brand with the severed head on the pack.™

Raleigh's head was embalmed and presented to his wife.

People Weekly 17th October 1974

#vintage ad #vintage ads #advertisment #advertising #1974 #tobacco #death #ski lift #1970s #1970s ad #1970's1970's ad #funny #humor #humour

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nem0c · 18 days

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train ride next to a meeting of funeral officiants discussing the pointless expense of embalming

"I mean, you could preserve the body even at home if you had a few, you know, ice packs"

vivid image of someone's gran laid out on the sofa covered in frozen peas until the cremation date comes

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ithaquasbbg · 1 year

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Hi! I hope you're doing well! Can I request Aesop X GN! Reader where he knew the reader from before? But the reader doesn't remember him well? (It can be one shot or scenario, what you like ^^)

Hiya! Sorry this took a long time to get out. Funny enough, this has been written three times now and refuses to save. Otherwise it would have been so much sooner :,). Thank you so much for the request.

Aesop Carl x amnesiac! Reader

Genre: sort of angsty undertones, but it doesn’t last too long.

Pairing: Aesop Carl (Embalmer) x Gender neutral reader

You’re alone in the manor, the sound of your footsteps echoing through the hallways. You had supposed you were alone, at least, as it was abnormal for the other residents to be awake at this time. Perhaps you should have been tired as well, but you had been unable to sleep all night, every time you had gotten close, strange thoughts entered your mind. Thoughts that didn’t feel like your own.

So, against your own better judgement you found yourself where you were now, searching the manor for any kind of identification of what you could be seeing. Eventually, you find yourself looking through an empty office of sorts, finding diaries upon diaries. Hunters, survivors, people you have never even heard of had diaries of their own. Eventually, perhaps by a stroke of luck, you find your own diary. “Finally..” you mutter, rushing towards the nearest light you can find, you open the book and begin flipping through the pages.

Then, just when you’re at the end of your diary, you stumble across a name you had heard before you began having all of these visions, Aesop Carl. You had been in a match together, but when you got close to one another, the man had rushed up to you, almost like he was greeting an old friend. He was quick to find out that you didn’t know him, asking if it was a joke. After assurance that you were not in fact joking, the young embalmer walked off, since then, you have not seen or heard of him. Deciding that you could perhaps get better answers by looking in the other man’s diary than in your own vague one, you begin searching for it, eventually opening the pages and flipping through.

It likely would have been easier if you had never taken a look at the diary, as almost all of the pages were about his dear lover, you.

“In this manor, I wonder how life is for them. If there was one thing I could say to them now, I’d say sorry for leaving the love of my life alone the way I have.”

Your mind still didn’t remember much of anything, but your body, strangely enough did. The strange longing feeling that you had for the male since that encounter before resurfacing. Once you feel the all too familiar feeling of hot tears running down your face, you decide to get up and attempt to speak with the man. Packing both yours and his diaries in a small bag you had and leaving the room.

The search for his room feels like it takes forever, almost making you doubt coming to speak with him in the first place. Eventually, you find the door and knock before you get the chance to stop yourself. The wait feels like forever, but before you can force yourself to walk off, the embalmer opens the door. He stands in front of you with a look that clearly reads exhaustion, but in that same sense, it looks all too familiar.

“Aesop, I-“ you begin to speak, only for the other man to put a finger to your lips, motioning you inside. You oblige and enter the room, the man shutting the door behind the both of you. “How do you remember my name?” He asks, albeit quite bluntly, the exhaustion evident in his voice. Unable to voice what you’re thinking, you reach into your bag and hand him the diaries. Aesops eyes widen and he takes them from you “…so, you know about us, before the manor?”

It takes a moment to get the confidence to speak, but you eventually force it out. “I don’t know anymore.. everything that I’ve remembered since I’ve gotten here is all wrong, and with you..” He seems like he isn’t too used to this kind of situation, but after a moment rests a hand on your shoulder. He motions for you to sit down next to him, to which you oblige.

“…This is, not how I wanted to meet you again.” He scratches the back of his neck, looking around the room, “but, even now, it makes me so happy that you’re still here.” You nod in understanding, watching him speak as he continues. “..If you don’t remember me, do you still feel the way I feel for you?”

His voice is shaking, almost as if he’s trying to keep himself together. Aesop is surprised, however, when you wrap your arms around him. “I may not remember you the way you remember me, Aesop.” You start, backing a way and keeping a hand on the man’s shoulder. “But, that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to love you. Nor does that mean that I don’t want to make new memories with you.” Now it’s your turn to feel arms wrap around you. Almost instinctively, your hands go to stroke his hair. You stay like this for what feels like hours, that strange hopeless feeling that you had ever since you entered the manor leaving. You’re able to relax, eventually, you fall asleep with the embalmer in your arms.

“Someday, no matter how long it takes. I’ll find a way to remember you. If what I’m feeling is real, then the love I still have for you is as well. Please don’t give up on me, I’ll remember you some day.”

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

Oh my god I finally finished… hopefully this draft doesn’t delete as well 🥲. Hope this was to your liking, and once again thank you so much for your request.

・‥…━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━…‥・

#idv fandom #idv fanfic #idv headcanons #idv imagines #idv x reader #idv scenarios #idv matchup #idv aesop #idv embalmer #aesop carl #aesop idv #identity v aesop

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depressedhouseplant · 3 months

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Just Fucking Write - Day 38

Prompt: Plot / Spoilers for possible full Apocalypse Fic

A/N: I cannot take credit for being holed up in a Costco. That was 100% Kevin’s idea. All the usual warnings about apocalypse fics apply. This is attached to Day 31 & Day 34

“Should you be poking a brain?” Changmin asked as he watched Chanhee examine a mostly intact brain.

“I’m poking the brain to see if I can figure out why we’re barricaded in a Costco because a whole bunch of dead people decided to start walking around,” Chanhee replied.

“That’s a zombie brain? How’d you get it?” Changmin moved back a little like the brain would start moving on its own.

“Hyunjae and Hoonie brought it back for me. We’ve been using expanding bullets which damage the brain to the point you can’t tell much about it. This time they used slugs so I was able to pick it out without doing much damage in the process,” Chanhee told him.

“And?” Changmin was still eyeing the brain warily.

“This person died 2 years ago, but there’s no sign of decay at all. They weren’t embalmed so there should be significant decay. There’s no sign of a prion disease either. I thought that might be an option, but this brain looks like the normal brain of a person who’s still alive,” Chanhee replied.

“Prion disease?” Changmin asked.

“Like Mad Cow. The only thing that’s wrong with this brain is there was a bullet in it. I don’t have the equipment to do a super detailed examination, but so far there’s nothing to suggest that this brain is from a dead person, much less a dead person who tried to eat someone,” Chanhee sighed and put his head in his hands.

“Well, zombie lore isn’t very consistent. The only thing anyone seems to agree on is they try to eat your brain, travel in packs, and bite you to turn you into a zombie. What we’ve seen is they rip people to shreds, pick the body clean, and if they do bite you and you survive then you’re dead within 24 hours. They do travel in packs, but it’s rare to see groups of more than 5 or 6. Also, every single person who rose died within the last 5 years. I bet if we examined a pack, there’d be someone who died every year like some kind of hierarchy. I’m not sure how any of that is useful in stopping them, but maybe something to think about while you keep quite literally picking that brain,” Changmin finally sat down across from him.

A pounding on the door made them both jump. Hak and Sunwoo appeared out of nowhere, guns drawn.

“Open the door!” they heard over the pounding.

“Password,” Sunwoo demanded.

“Fuck your password, we need help!” came the reply.

“I know that voice,” Hak said. He pulled back the sheet that covered the door.

“Yeonjun?”

“Hak?”

“Let them in,” Sangyeon told them over the headset.

#just fucking write 2k24 #the boyz fanfic #txt fanfic #apocalypse au

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taggedmemes · 8 months

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SENTENCE MEME ⟶ OXVENTURE PRESENTS: DEADLANDS / ch7 always feel free to tweak the sentence to fit your muse.

'they tried to hang him, but unfortunately for them, he's already dead.'

'not my dynamite!'

'why would you take a pack of cards away from a prisoner?'

'in fairness, it would be pretty suspicious if i was skilled at digging out a bullet from my own shoulder with my finger.'

'how about getting a condemned man his last meal?'

'i would like all of my jerky back.'

'i was already executed once today.'

'if we're going to die i don't suppose it matters if we do vomit!'

'i guess i'll eat the snake bones as well.'

'it was a terrible crime. i was cutting my lawn and i cut it too short...'

'we're planning a jailbreak, so...'

'let me know when we've got enough to form an ant battering ram.'

'i think that's a reasonable thing for ants to do.'

'there's nothing about this plan i don't like.'

'of the prisoners you spoke to, which did you like the least?'

'you wanna kill this old guy? i'll do it!'

'oh my god! he's been skeletonised by ants!'

'it sounds like they're playing your tune.'

'proper old-fashioned movie cowboy punch.'

'escape is going well, is it?'

'i wasn't using those legs anyways.'

'did i ever tell you about my wedding day? rained, it did!'

'i'm only three days from retirement!'

'i prefer my food to be as fresh as humanly possible, so i bring it live, then...'

'that's nominative determinism, that is.'

'it could be very bad for you if i get out of here.'

'but murder would be a no-no.'

'do you want to see a card trick?'

'half of it /is/ on fire.'

'still getting used to this whole undying thing.'

'how on fire would you say i am?'

'are there any more bottles of that delicious looking embalming fluid?'

'does it have any negative consequences for you?'

'yeah let's go! i mean, what the hell.'

'TNT? shovel? rope?'

'i've got a strong intuition that i should take this six-fingered hand.'

'that is definitely the most illegal-looking thing in here.'

'justice is cake.'

'how could a statue also be cake?'

'is this a gouging situation?'

'get back in your cell!'

'beans is right, you owl hoot!'

'i'm gonna maybe try and shoot him in the head?'

'stupid little beard...'

'what's the vibe? vibe check.'

'it's not really a card trick, it's more of a magic spell powered by demons.'

'no one's ever let him into a position of authority.'

'as soon as you let it out, it's going to be scratching to get back in.'

'he is now smoking like an old broken car.'

'i deputise you!'

'the shouting is fine, the shooting less so.'

'i'm fairly certain that this thing - and i know this is rich coming from me - is not natural.'

'i have a real urge to hang this man.'

#deadlands #oxventure #cowboy rp #wild west rp #fantasy rp #sentence meme #rp meme #starter sentences #roleplay meme #sentence starters

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id-pick-up-flowers · 3 months

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i wanna know abt other ppls “weird” hyperfixations. and i dont mean a fictional character or a series or anything some ppl would think are cringe. i mean the hyperfixations on things that u had absolutely no interest in before and it doesn’t really apply to u but suddenly u just had to know everything abt it. for example when my sister got pregnant i absolutely needed to learn everything there was to know about pregnancy and birth. i watched all kinds of birth and pregnancy vlogs. ppl talking abt their symptoms during each trimester, hospital birth vlogs, at home births, water births, c sections, twin and triplet and even quintuplet births, videos abt what ppl packed in their hospital bags and which of those things they actually ended up using at the hospital, signs and stages of labor, etc. i even looked into phantom pregnancies a little bit. i did that for the whole nine months that she was pregnant. there were things that i knew abt pregnancy that she didnt even know and she’s the one that was having the baby. another fun rabbit hole i went down once was the history of embalming. like did yall know that thomas holmes (the guy who invented arsenic based embalming fluid which is what was used up until 1910) also had a second invention that was a 2-in-1 sleeping bag and body bag but that one didn’t really take off like the embalming fluid. he also had a shop where he sold root beer and embalming supplies. anyways if u have any hyperfixations like this reblog if u want to bc i wanna know what they are lol

#autism #actually autistic #autistic #autistic things #asd #hyperfixation #niche interests #hyperfixiating #neurodivergent

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instituteslosttapes · 3 months

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S̵̲͒t̸͇͊̍a̶͓͗͆͜t̶̢͙͌e̶̦͝m̸̖̽̚ĕ̸̟̞n̷̞̣̂̚t̵͍̮̓ ̸̘̚#̸̱͘1̴̨̏0̴̢̓9̷̡̤̓̕5̸̧̔͝8̶̭͈̈́

Tw:

*bugs

*things crawling under skin

Statement of Abigail Hersh. Regarding her time working with Associate Professor Alessio Giordano in the summer of 2014. Original statement given the 19th of January, 2014. Audio Recording by Jonathan Sims, head archivist of the Magnus institute, London.

Statement begins

I was never a squeamish child, or a squeamish adult for that matter. Things like dirt, bugs, mold, hell even death never bothered me. As a child I used to keep track of all the roadkill I would see on the side of the road, sometimes I would even walk through the woods in the hopes of finding a decaying animal so that I could take its bones home and add them to my small collection that I had stashed in my closet so my mother wouldn’t find them. I would scour the shelves at my local library for books on taxidermy, embalming, all of the things that a well adjusted child such as myself would be interested in.

I started working with Professor Giordano in 2014 after completing my undergraduate degree in anthropology. I was excited to work with them, you see, my university was one of the few with a Dermestid lab on site and I had always wanted to see them work up close, so when Professor Giordano offered me a temporary position in their lab for the summer I couldn’t pass it up. Now, I wish I had though. My job was simple, I was to keep track of what the Dermestids currently had in their tank and make sure that I swapped them out with something else so that the Dermestids didn’t start to eat the bones. It was easy, and fascinating. I didn’t see a lot of Professor Giordano while I worked there, which I didn’t think was that odd. I had never seen much of Professor Giordano even when I was taking one of their classes. You see it was online and they had only ever reached out to me in email. I saw Professor Giordano once, but never saw their face. They had directed me to where I was going to be working and instructed me on a few things all with their back turned to me. Which wasn’t that much of a red flag, I have anxiety too and sometimes it's hard for me to make eye contact with people so I just assumed that they were extremely socially awkward which didn’t bother me.

I only saw Professor Giordano a few times after that, it was usually in passing when I was coming in to start my shift and they would quickly shuffle into their office at the back of the lab and shut the door behind them. The work was actually quite boring, I would spend most of my time scrolling on my phone or applying for Master programs on my computer, occasionally taking breaks to watch the Dermestids work. They are fascinating creatures, they will eat all of the skin, meat, muscles and tendons left on bones until they are perfectly clean and ready to be bleached. The job was fine, I liked it and it was a good way to make a little bit of money and I didn’t really get any grief from Professor Giordano for being on my phone or things like that. So many people would have killed to have the type of job I did, even my friends told me so. I wish one of them had gotten it instead of me. I know that sounds awful to say but If you had seen what I had you would understand! You would get why I would have rather had it been anyone but me.

Professor Giordano had sent me home early one day, they said that they had an emergency to attend to and that they couldn’t leave me alone in the lab so I had to pack up my things and go home. They looked like they were in a rush so I tried my best to get all of my things together quickly and get out of there… It wasn't until later that I realized I had left my laptop behind and I had to go back and get it. I was working on my application for my masters degree and the deadline was for that next morning so I had no choice but to hope that the doors were still unlocked and I would be able to go back and get it. I went back as soon as I had noticed it was missing, by then it was almost five o’clock and most of the staff had left the buildings already. I went directly to the lab, there were still some of the other professors there so I didn’t really rouse any suspicions as I walked towards the Demestrids lab. It was dark in there when I finally got there, and at first I didn’t think that the door would be unlocked but I tried it, and to my surprise it was so I went inside and that's when I saw it. I saw Professor Giordano, at least… what I thought was Professor Giordano, it- it looked like them, but it couldn’t have actually been them. P-people don’t… People don’t look like that. They were missing an eye and there were holes and- and abscesses all over their face and I swear to God that I could see something moving under their skin. I tried to speak, I tried to ask them if they were okay, if they needed help or needed me to call for an ambulance but they didn’t say anything. They opened their mouth and a thousand of those… those beetles poured out of their mouth and began to come towards me.

Before I knew it they were scuttling up my legs, under my clothing and I could feel them biting me. I screamed and thrashed as Professor Giordano or… or whatever they were started coming towards me. Limbs jerking and body twitching as if they were controlled by something other than themselves. Almost like they were possessed. I think at some point I passed out, because when I woke up I was alone again, Professor Giordano wasn’t there and when I looked at myself I was completely unharmed… There were no bugs and the beetles in the lab were still in their dedicated cases. I grabbed my laptop and ran out of there. I never went back.

I'm sorry about the blood… I just can’t stop scratching.

Statement ends

We attempted to contact Ms. Hersh for a follow up statement but were unsuccessful. We did confirm however that an Alessio Giordano did indeed work at the state university in the years which Ms. Hersh attended, but is no longer employed there and we can’t find any other trace of them since then. It appears as if they have disappeared.

Recording ends.

#the magnus archives #tma podcast #original statement #original character #the corruption

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axl-ul · 10 months

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The Lakebed

(Shortstory)

Bang! A loud noise came from behind the thick door.

Kogar opened his eyes. They were black just like the night sky outside the small shed. His grizzled braids slithered around the pale nearly ashen face as he slowly got up from the sleeping bag. His bare feet ringed against the cold floor. He tried his best not to wake the child on the wide bench – Ulfrika, his latest disciple. The smouldering fire pit illuminated the parentless child who had been carried out of the forest by a wolf. The creature with coals instead of eyes and fangs for teeth. The cub was so grotesque not even the rest of his fellow demons had dared to take a closer look when the group of woodcutters had found her.

Kogar stopped in his tracks. These local frosts were biting through thin cracks all too much. Her tiny frame trembled as a harsh proof of it. All she needed was just a woollen blanket over those tiny shoulders to prevent them from further shivers. Just that old tattered piece of brown cloth to keep the little one warm. Just that so she can remain peacefully in her small world of dreams.

The man’s hand was soon stopped by another banging on the door. This time, a growl followed soon after, “Embalmer, open up! We know you’re there. And so that little dev…“

“Shut it, Ctibor! We’ll be doomed if you’re gonna use that nickname. Old Kogar’s more than sensitive ‘bout her,“ much younger male joined in. Kogar’s ears easily picked up on a terrible lump in his throat.

“Yes, sensitive. So is my nose when the danger’s nearby. I’m telling ya that thing better be gone by dawn. And the embalmer? Listen closely, ya foolish lad. We demons feel the same way people do. That doesn’t mean there aren’t any exceptions. Look at him. He’s a vrupir, a bat demon, a vampire. No way he’s getting attached to that disgusting, hellish piece of…“ Vainly the horned comrade tried to calm down the old leshy. It was all too late for them.

The embalmer jumped quickly to the door. His grasp on the handle was firm yet a distant tranquillity settled on his features. Anthracite eyes burned the forest spirit until there was no more courage left. All Ctibor could do was to lower the mossy head under the healer’s sharp gaze. Since then, he didn’t dare to cast another look on the figure. However, his younger neighbour held onto different intentions. With a foxy glint shining under thick brows, hands clasped with a massive slap, „Dear Master Kogar! We’re both terribly sorry to disturb…“

“The youngling is asleep.“

“Well, yes, sir. That’s why we were hesitant to wake you up so late at night…“

“The sun shall rise soon.“

“And especially in this terrible weather…“

“No surprise in this region around this time of year.“

Kogar blinked not once during sharp exchange. He stood his ground. As tall as a tree he towered even over the wisent demon Sivko whose palms were drowning in sweat.

“Master Kogar, would you mind inviting us, poor travellers, under your roof? As a host, it’s not very polite to keep us in the snowstorm.“

The resolute answer caught them off guard. “Yes, I would. I don’t need any snoopers. If you don’t get away now I’ll make you. But in that case, you’ll have to run. “

“Is that a threat?“ the leshy diffidently let out a small whimper.

Kogar’s eyebrows furrowed while his deep voice remained monotone as usual, “A warning.“

His gaze fell heavily once again upon worried locals. Little by little, two cloaked figures began to back away, shame hiding in the fuming noses. Not hearing two pairs of wet footwraps being dragged across the freezing snow anymore, Kogar finally closed the door behind. However, the Man with No Eyes stayed outside. His slim back leaned against the building while the whirlwind of thoughts surrounded the mind like a pack of ravenous beasts. At last, they now have the chance to strike. They’ve been waiting far too long.

Although he felt the clutch around the cold heart the pale man breathed slowly in and out. Soon, every muscle and tendon relaxed. The tension left his shoulders, too. He knew well they weren’t the last as they weren’t the first either. Even if the healer finds a way to drive them off, new ones will come sooner or later. The fact there was such a hybrid, a walking proof of an entity that is truly out of this world, a creature neither alive, nor dead… It… no. Not it. She. Ulfrika. The little girl who can be no more than five or six. A curious child cursed with a twisted body and a face of a corpse. Yet, there was more life inside than on a blooming apple tree. Though strangely, her heartfelt smile seemed to appear only in the presence of the venerable Master. Her beaming eyes, her ringing laughter. Her strong will to walk on legs properly. The mere possibility of becoming healthier. Stronger. More dangerous. Following the grim idea another thought popped into his mind. Thin lips contorted. She is deadly. There’s no doubt about it. Such agility and swiftness. That intelligence…

“Embalmer – healer for the sick, hunter for the damned,“ he whispered under his nose and returned.

Glancing sideways, there she was. Always cuddling her gaunt legs. The small nose was twitching under a thick curtain of dark hair. Suddenly, Ulfrika sighed. Certainly, the dream cannot be as engaging as she had perhaps hoped for.

The embalmer’s forehead furrowed. Inevitable must be done. And he was running out of time.

An owl hooted.

“Majstre, what’s going on?“ Ulfrika yawned and wiped big eyes.

“Put on some clothes, Ruta. We’re going fishing.“

The little girl casted a mistrustful look. “It's the middle of the night, Majstre.“

“Isn’t it what I promised you?“

“Well, I’m not denying…“ she turned her head to the left, ghostly skin tinted with slight pink. “It’s just that I made trouble. And you were angry with me. So, no tracking. No hunting. Or fishing. Especially the night fishing, Majstre.“

“You realise your mistake. You know what you did to those kids was wrong…“

“It was downright terrible.“

Kogar paused for a brief moment. Even now, he was able to recall the hubbub of approaching villagers from the nearby demonic settlement. In the middle of the chaos was his little Ruta herself; feet dragged across the forest floor, dark liquid pouring from an open skull, the fear written all over the pale face. No youngling, only the sight of an old damaged rag doll.

“Put on warm clothes. The snowfall has just reached its peak. At least, you put your reflexes to the test.“

“Yes, Majstre.“ Uncertain leap from the bench and she ran towards the pile of furs, nearly tripping and falling over.

“Hey, careful, lass. I don’t need another patient for today.“

The usual answer in the form of a silent nod wasn’t present. Instead, a low playful chuckle escaped from her.

“Ruta, are you disobeying? Or even laughing at me?“

“I would never, Majstre!“ a long arm shot up and clenched onto her chest. Dark brown eyes lit up with joy and mischief.

Kogar’s corners twitched upwards slightly. There it was again, a strange warmth inside. Eventually, both demons fell silent while they prepared for their common trip to the nearby lake. Of course, Kogar had hardly anything else for Ulfa other than his old tunics and trousers. It all hung on her. However, he was sure she would one day be as tall as he was. Maybe even surpass him.

Covered in brown and black they finally set out. Immediately before they ventured forth Kogar remembered to take one more item aside from a fishing rod and a small wooden box.

It didn’t pass unnoticed. “Majstre? Why did you bring a bow with yourself?“

Slowly, the Master looked down with mild annoyance. He was prepared to snap at the youngling. “Mind your business, lass,“ Master Embalmer readied himself. But gazing into those big eyes that were so familiar to him, so deep, so curious, so…genuine. No. What kind of Master Healer would he be? Instead, Kogar patted the hooded head with much kinder words on his tongue, “I need to try something out. Don’t worry.“ Listening to warm words Ulfa nodded and sprinted ahead in an attempt to improve her scouting.

Once more, the tall man observed the tiny frame with so many familiarities he questioned himself whether they truly hadn’t met before. The ridiculous idea played in his mind while he shouted, “Don’t wander off, Ruta. I won’t be looking for you.“

“Really, Majstre? Wouldn’t you miss your disciple?“ Somehow, she managed to return so silently it made Kogar unwillingly jump up.

“I must admit you’ve made quite the progress with sneaking. And though it is rude to answer a question with another one – since when are you my disciple?“

“Weeell…I figured out you’ve been looking for someone. Plus, you’ve never once scolded me over calling you Majstre.“ Small feet sheepishly drew pictures in the snowdrifts.

“What else? There’s still something on your mind, Ruta. Out with it, lass.“

“People call me Ulfrika because when I first showed up there was the wolf. But you, Majstre…you decided to name me differently.“

A line between his brows vanished, “Is that all? Besides, I remember calling you either Ulfrika or Ulfa. For example, yesterday on the market.“

“Others were around. But when you scold me or when you want to teach me something around the shed you call me Ruta. Why? And what does that mean? Majstre, please, I’m serious!“ Blinded by her own desperation to know more, her hand shot up. It grasped Kogar’s. When she realised that she touched him without approval her ears turned pink. Indescribable terror crossed the poor girl.

She prepared herself for spanking as it became a routine for her over the past months, a year even. Kogar himself was no different – squirming at any unappreciated touch from outsiders. Although this time it was different. It felt different. He welcomingly squeezed the tiny limb. A smile played with otherwise straight-faced features. Little Ulfa, miraculously, snuggled up to him. The alien look and gaping emptiness long gone. Last time somebody showed to the half-breed such a friendly gesture was her wolf guardian, Neron.

Does he truly need to do it? A lot of people, gods and demons preach about sparing lives. Giving another chance. But what about her? No soul? If so, why does she comprehend so much while still being a small child? Yes, a dreaming beast dwells inside. That ‘twin’ she has which appears whenever it feels like. On the other hand, maybe she truly needs only a good healer, not a hunter. Yet, this isn’t about him nor her. It’s about everybody’s safety. Only if she didn’t have those big eyes. As deep as these forests, casting a resourceful look into every corner. Why does she remind Kogar of his…?

“It is a medicinal herb. Slightly bitter with yellow flowers. It’s poisonous. If misused or not taken seriously, of course,“ he casted a side glance. The lass wasn’t very impressed. “But it can be helpful, too. When people give it a chance in a healthy amount this simple plant can cure many difficulties.“

“It can…treat. Just like you, Majstre.“ Again, that deep puppy-like gaze.

“Yes, Ruta. You’re right.“

“And you call me like that just when it’s only the two of us…?“

“It’s your first name. We, embalmers, are given it by our masters. It defines our true nature. But we keep it a secret. Only two people in the whole world are allowed to know the embalmer’s true name – the healer and the healer’s master. In other words, that is how I view you, my disciple.“

The half-breed's jaw dropped. A quick inhale. A blinking of widened eyes.

“That doesn’t mean you should neglect your other name. You can keep it as the proper one. The one on the more official note. Besides, it suits you quite well, wolf-child,“ he winked as Ulfa’s mouth widened into a broad smile. The healer saw through the thin veil, though – she might have been grinning but the rest of her movements remained reserved.

They fell into another comfortable silence. Tall pines, firs and spruces began to retreat in favour of rockier soil. A view of a great frozen lake displayed in front of the wanderers. It was as wide as it was deep, a common human would be able to see on its other shore with visible difficulty. By its shallow waters, some fishermen already created several holes in order to sustain income of their catches during merciless winter.

Kogar took a deep breath. His black eyes closed. “Lass, go over to the centre and cut out a hole with the hatchet I gave you. Be quick.“ A small nod and long legs started moving carefully stepping on places thick enough for walking. One, two. A jump on three. Now, it would be for the better to crawl for a while.

Meanwhile the little girl was making her way forward, the embalmer put on his gloves. Thoroughly he prepared the bowstring. The wood of the old bow pliably bent.

“Majstre?“ The harsh wind carried a smooth voice over to Kogar, “How big the hole should be? Enough for that rod? Or you’re going to throw in something bigger?“ The tone of the last word put him off. It sounded lower. Almost resignedly.

“Like what? Do you still have in mind the fishing net we made last week?“ In a swift motion he took out the only arrow he brought and readied himself for what was about to come. Now, the vampire’s thoughts revolved around a single thing. “Don’t turn around.“

“No, Masjtre. Not the net. Me.“

The bat demon cursed the youngling, the village, gods, the whole world. Himself. Yet, he never dared to break his tranquil stance and demeanour his people were known for.

“Majstre, I know I’m a hellish spawn. I shouldn’t have torn away that girl’s fingers. Neither her brother’s ears. Yet, I did. Though, they started first and threw rocks at me. I should have controlled myself. We should control ourselves. Others call us names because this body is but a shell of two minds.“

“Stop, lass. Just check whether there’s some fish in this lake.“ Unconsciously, the manly voice rose. He wasn’t asking anymore, he was commanding.

The wind rose up carrying tiny snowflakes away to the unknown. v“We know we don’t belong here. Nobody’s ever wanted us. Except for poor Neron who found us. And then you. But we’re a burden.“ Her voice altered here and there. It sounded like there were two people talking at the same time, not just one. “We destroy. We petrify. We devour. That’s not how the venerable Master Embalmer ought to be thanked for deeds. You had great confidence in us. Put all your trust into ‘little devil’.“ Upon the nickname reaching his ears Kogar gritted teeth. Gods, it’s been less than four months. It’s impossible he grew fond of her.

The master wasn’t the only one with pain squeezing his breath out. Ulfa’s voice was trembling terribly while she spoke, “You could have been luckier but all that you received for your deeds is a walking curse to burden your soul.“ Right hand closed the distance between the palm and wet cheeks. She was sobbing profoundly. It surprised Kogar. It never occurred to him what kind of turmoil must be boiling underneath the strange facade.

“Ulfrika, stop it. Just check the hole. Is it enough?“ He was shouting at this point. A single tear ran down his cheek. Though sharp tongues of winter tore it down quickly.

“It wasn’t a coincidence you chose the lake, right? All of us come from it. So, it makes sense we’ll return to water one day. That bottom is both the cradle and the grave…“

“Ruta!!!“

Suddenly, her sobs stopped. Her head gently shook. It reminded Kogar of mornings when she would wake up from dreams. “Majstre? Can I have one last request?“

A huge lump formed in Kogar’s throat which he didn’t find a will to fight against. For that his lips remained sealed.

“Will you pray for me? Only to remember me. Nothing else. And Majstre? I’m sorry I didn’t live up to your expectations. Especially as your disciple…“

Finally, the heavy weight of the situation left the thin body with the exhale. Ruta Ulfrika, the last disciple of Embalmer Kogar, the Master of Blades, relaxed eyelids and gratefully welcomed the darkness, waiting for the inevitable.

Kogar squinted. ‘The Embalmer is a healer for the sick and a hunter for the damned.’

“No. I won’t.“ The arrow left its owner. A silver shine of its head cut the night and the falling snowflakes as it rushed forward. It swished through the web of moonlight.

An owl hooted.

In the end, the arrow finally landed into the water. A red slick formed on the surface. Something quivered for the last time in its life.

Ulfa opened her eyes. She was still standing on the ice. The only wet part being the footwraps and simple boots. Underneath her, a catfish pierced with an arrow fluttered. Without hesitation, the half-breed grabbed fish in between her claws and brought it out of the lake.

“Congratulations. You passed your first exam. You shall now officially become my disciple.“ It was Kogar’s turn to surprise the child with a hand on her shoulder.

The poor thing fell down on her knees and tightly hugged the vampire. They stayed for a while in the fragile moment living fully through it.

“Thank you, Majstre. I won’t let you down,“ words which were merely a whisper nearly sank down to the lakebed. The demon’s ears caught them at the last moment.

“Thank me later. There’s a lot of training ahead.“

Ulfa glanced at him with curiosity written all over her. Although, it’d never held her back. It had only fuelled the desire to know, to understand. “For example?“

“You can start with the catfish. Tomorrow, I’ll teach you how to shoot from a bow. There’s a possibility I’ll show you how to catch an arrow mid-air. Because today you failed in this regard.“

“How did I pass then?“

“You dodged.“

“I didn’t.“

“You were honest, too. But promise me one thing, Ruta. Never repeat those words. Is it clear?“ Kogar stretched his back and folded arms.

“Yes, Majstre. Hm…Majstre? Did you truly want to shoot me down?“

He paused, “Never, my disciple.“

He patted the young head before diving into a quick lesson about proper fishing methods and life in lakes. In the meanwhile, the sun started to come out. Unable to resist the sunlight for long without the proper clothing and skin treatment the master and his disciple decided to come back.

For the last time, the Man with No Eyes looked behind where the ice was cut out. He found the right successor. Even though she’s not the typical demon nor that it’ll be an easy path. But he sensed the potential. And she deserved to get the second chance.

With unusual happiness settling down and unaware of the doom he brought upon himself on that fateful day he returned home with Ulfrika.

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

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added) : @vanessaroades-author @rubywrite @aohendo

#after some long thinking and me not having much stuff prepared for more 'regular' posting #i decided to post this short story i wrote about a year ago #is the pacing trash? yeah #do i kinda dislike some of the dialogue choices i made? also yes #put i wanted to post this to record my writing progress even here on tumblr except for the ao3 where this was posted first #so enjoy even though this could have been better?#no just enjoy #oh and yes this short story sort of reveals a bit from ulfrika's backstory and maybe some lore #and it also features the best dad in the universe master kogar #writing community #writeblr community #writeblr #short story #wip progress #my writing #writers on tumblr #writers of tumblr

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agustdiv1ne · 7 months

Text

telepathy (m) — cbg [TEASER]

OUT NOW! READ HERE!

pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: smut, strangers to ???, mind reader/telepathist!beomgyu, funeral home employee!beomgyu (it's for the plot ok??)

wc: tbd (projected to be around 7-8k)

warnings: mdni!! 18+ only, there isn't much in this teaser, but here are the warnings for the rest of the fic so far: mentions of dead bodies, embalming, and funerals (though not very descriptive — it's only bc of gyu's profession), reader is a freak that listens to nsfw audios on her way to work!, gyu is a perv so it's a match made in heaven (hell?), explicit consent is given before anything happens bc consent is sexy <3, mind manipulation (he makes it feel like he's touching her), exhibitionism in a way...it will all make sense, trust 🙏

note: this is inspired by a p*rn audio LMAO,,, lmk if you'd like to be tagged via an ask, or just drop a comment below ^^

masterlist

☆ TEASER ☆

mondays bring a lot of things he fundamentally dislikes, but this particular monday also brings you.

then, without warning, realization punches him square in the gut.

“you’re my dumb little slut, aren’t you? fuckin’ say it—”

beomgyu flinches in his seat, the door to your mind slamming shut as he sits there in shock. did he really just hear that? are you listening to fucking porn on the subway? what the fuck?

he should do something about this little development, shouldn't he?

again, if you would like to be tagged, shoot me an ask or comment down below!! and if you'd like to join my permanent taglist, please do so through this form!

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a-tale-never-told · 8 months

Text

The eyes of wrought Judgment.

Vladimir prison, September 1st, 2012, 9:33 am.

Language: Russian, English.

*The cold steps of the guards echo across the hallways of the prison, each step getting louder as they get closer to the cellblock on the west wing of the prison. Walking to the west wing is Nikolai along with two prison guards. As he moves, he looks around the cells, each showing the "enemies of the revolution", showing a variety of inmates ranging from industrial workers, to student activists, terrorists, spies, disgraced politicians, gang members, and foreign people of influential interest, like some Poles and Germans activists as well as counter-revolutionaries *

*Eventually, they reach Cellblock 5683 on the west wing, and sitting on the prison bed is a man with disheveled hair and a small goatee, with the number 4564 embalmed on his prison uniform. Without hesitation, Nikolai opens the cells and steps in with the other guards*.

Nikolai: Ah, comrade Tolstoy, I see you didn't sleep well.

Tolstoy: What the hell do you want?

Nikolai: Why, I came here just to congratulate an old friend, Is it bad to meet a fellow KGB member here? "chuckles"

Nikolai: But if you want to know why I'm here, it is to carry out your sentence that the court has decided for you.

Tolstoy: My sentence?

Nikolai: Indeed. "takes out a document of the final verdict", Boris Tolstoy, you have been found guilty of assisting enemies of the state as well as committing acts of terrorism against the nation. The punishment is death, do you have anything to say in your defense?

Tolstoy: What is there for me to say that I have not said to you animals?

Nikolai: "waves his hand at the guards"

*The two guards proceed to come to Tolstoy and one of them punches him clean in the stomach, sending him to the floor while the other one holds him up and puts his arms behind his back as they continue to beat him up in the body parts like the abdomen, the stomach, and the face with kicking and punching, like a beatdown as Nikolai just stands there*

WHACK!

Tolstoy: Agh!

KICK!

Tolstoy: Ugh!

KICK!

Tolstoy: "Coughs"

PUNCH!

Tolstoy: Ah!

*Nikolai continues to look at the beatdown at first glance with a stoic expression for a few minutes, watching the former agent get beaten to a pulp*.

Nikolai: Enough. Let him go.

*The guards look at Nikolai for a bit, then proceed to drop him on the pavement, and he falls to the floor, Struggling to get up, Nikolai proceeds to walk to the fallen spy, who has bruises on his face and body, with some blood dripping out of the lip *

Nikolai: "tosses a pack of cigars to the floor" See this? This is what you were trying to use to hide it, weren't you? Trying to smuggle AK 47s to Kenya for the capitalist government, weren't you? Under the guise that it would be for the revolutionaries, weren't you? On a shipment from Havana, in the proximity of one of my comrades?

Nikolai: All of that training and planning went to dust the moment I found out. All I had to do was to make a phone call, round up your fellow conspirators, and coerce them into giving you up, and the rest you have known already.

Nikolai: But I don't still understand why, Why would you do this, hm? Why would you betray your comrades for the West? What is the gain from all of this?

Tolstoy: Hnngh... why? B-because of men like you! Men like you are the reason why the country is suffering and so behind. The West has grown up and changed, meanwhile, we've been in the same bullshit since 1917 all those years back! This was not what the revolution was about! And besides, I could no longer be part of a regime with individuals that would continue this slaughter of the people and sacrifice them for the Western hordes to eat! So I figured that I could try to help them my own way, by sabotaging your expansion.

Nikolai: And it failed, miserably. All it did was just delay us for a few days and that was it. Besides, no matter what happened, we always were going to get Kenyatta, no matter if you betrayed us or not. I'm ashamed of people like YOU, comrade Tolstoy.

Tolstoy: Save me the comrade bullshit, asshole. I don't consider you a comrade as far as I'm concerned.

Nikolai: I see then. Well, that's not going to change much. I hate doing this to fellow comrades, Tolstoy, but not to people who would destroy the very foundation of equality and freedom we have built for decades. The triumph of world socialism is near at hand, a better world for workers around the globe. Sadly, you will not get to see that world firsthand, as you will just be one of the many who will be a speck in the new history.

Nikolai: This is the price of betrayal, Tolstoy. do svidaniya, goodbye. "looks at the guards" Dispose of him, please.

*And with that, Nikolai proceeds to leave the cell, as the guards proceed to beat on Tolstoy again, this time with batons as h*

PUNCH!

Tolstoy: Ugh!

WHACK!

Tolstoy: Ah!

WHACK! WHACK!

Tolstoy: Agh! Ah!

*The guards mercilessly continue to beat the agent to a pulp even when he starts to cough up blood. The sound of batons and the cries of pain from Tolstoy ring through the prison, as the rest of the inmates either watch or look away from this*

Future Hajime: (That was life back then, a life being dictated by fear and forced loyalty to the state. I've heard ghost stories about what happened to dissidents and activists in the Soviet Union from my peers. They say you have to be careful what you say over there about the government the communist ideals and the system itself, or else you may never come back or live to see morning)

"cuts to the Volga River, where they toss Tolstoy into the river, or at least, his ashes being scattered across the river".

Future Hajime: ( Some say you get shot to death, others poisoned, and even sometimes hanged for treason, plus a whole lot of disturbing methods the Reds use to torture you or have you dead. Obviously, I thought those were just rumors back then, but boy was I wrong. If there was anything I learned back then, it's that you oppose the Russians and their allies at the very peril of your own and loved one's life)

"Finally cuts to Nikolai, looking at the folder for Tolstoy, and then tossing it into the incinerator, walking away after doing that, closing the door just as the folder slowly begins to melt away into ash"

#mod talks #nikolai vasilyev #hajime hinata #dr2 #dr #twlight syndrome arc #a tale never told

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alphaman99 · 8 months

Text

Richard Ruggiero

September 8, 2022 ·

The conditioning phase of the comprachicos’ task is completed. The students’ development is arrested, their minds are set to respond to slogans, as animals respond to a trainer’s whistle, their brains are embalmed in the syrup of altruism as an automatic substitute for self-esteem—they have nothing left but the terror of chronic anxiety, the blind urge to act, to strike out at whoever caused it, and a boiling hostility against the whole of the universe. They would obey anyone, they need a master, they need to be told what to do. They are ready now to be used as cannon fodder—to attack, to bomb, to burn, to murder, to fight in the streets and die in the gutters. They are a trained pack of miserably impotent freaks, ready to be unleashed against anyone. The comprachicos unleash them against the “System.”

The student activists are the comprachicos’ most successful products: they went obediently along every step of the way, never challenging the basic premises inculcated in the Progressive nursery schools. They act in packs, with the will of the pack as their only guide. The scramble for power among their pack leaders and among different packs does not make them question their premises: they are incapable of questioning anything. So they cling to the belief that mankind can be united into one happily, harmoniously unanimous pack—by force. Brute, physical force is, to them, a natural form of action. Philosophically, it is clear that when men abandon reason, physical force becomes their only means of dealing with one another and of settling disagreements. The activists are the living demonstration of this principle.

- Ayn Rand, The Comprachicos

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