#and was pointed out by a bunch of people already on sunday

[kingofthering]

endless list of random motogp things - fucking lovemaking in parc fermé

[planetdream]

PLUTO !

CHARACTERS ! vampire!lee minho, human!reader [ft. human!kim seungmin, servant!han jisung]

GENRE ! horror/thriller—vampire!au. “romance”. smut. minors dni.

SYNOPSIS ! when your fiancé, seungmin, fails to return home after notifying you of his departure from count minho's estate, you decide to search for answers yourself.

WORDS ! 12.2k more or less

THIS FIC CONTAINS ! writing inspired by the various varieties of dracula. horror [vampirism. gore—body horror: details of blood and bloodsucking. spiders. strange creatures. nightmares and overall very lucid dreams. allusions to character death.] hypnosis. hallucinations. manipulation and gaslighting. kidnapping? and references to religion [christianity/catholicism], prayers and comparisons to a Higher Power™. mentions of food. infidelity and smut [one wet dream. pussy eating—a lil bush appreciation. hair pulling. big dick minho. grinding. fingering. worship. term master used once. degradation—whore shaming. choking. nipple play/breast fondling. lots of spit. squirt n cum.]

💌 extremely self indulgent. all the thanks and love in the world to the homie, @cosmicbyeol for beta-ing for me n overall being an incredible help !!! 🥺 also, as always, accepting feedback and constructive criticism!!

The last three weeks have been weary, to say the least. You had been elated as your fiancé, Seungmin, was scheduled to arrive back in the city after a nearly two-month-long business trip. With the day of his return steadily approaching, you found yourself excitedly performing various small tasks in preparation for the moment you finally see him again. Then the big day arrives and Seungmin is nowhere to be found. No big deal; perhaps his arrival is a bit late, or he may need time to himself to unwind after long travels. If anything, he’ll show up at your door the next day with flowers and a gift, ready to tell you all about his journey and the people he’d made connections with. 

Then the fourth day comes, and by that point, you’re knocking on his front door but to no answer. You stroll past his home on your evening walks and the lights aren’t on. You’ve revisited the post office, checked in with relatives; and still, nothing. Seungmin is seemingly lost to space and time. By the sixth day, you’ve written a letter to Count Minho, the friend and business partner that Seungmin had been staying with; explaining the situation and the fact that you’ll be visiting while in search of Seungmin. 

Count Minho is a mystery to you. Seungmin never spoke with you about his relations with the Count, and you never pried into the specifics of his work business. From what you do know, Seungmin’s work involves him being in contact with several different people from real estate to archaeologists and historians, to priesthoods and other religious leaders. You simply assumed Count Minho had been one of the aforementioned, or possibly an artifact seller or buyer; as Seungmin is interested in the hobby himself, and has countless other buyers and sellers he knows. While the Count is a mystery, you feel that there is a possibility that he can lead you back into the arms of your lover. 

After a few days of planning and packing, you finally decide to get started on your journey. By the Sunday of the third week, you’re lodging with some very nice people in the town nearest to Count Minho’s estate—which is only about a two-hour distance away—you choose to stay in the village to get the word out about Seungmin. 

The townsfolk are a welcoming and lively bunch. You were fed, rested, and told stories of both local legends and the juiciest gossip around town. On the eve of your final night in town before you join the Count, you mentioned him, and the room fell silent. A feeling of unease weaved its way into the small kitchen you’d been standing in. The two women beside you failed to meet your gaze. You had already been told of the creatures said to be lurking through the forests between town and the area of the Count’s estate. A classic story of a wolfman who is out to kidnap unsuspecting young men and women; only brought up because of very recent alleged sightings. 

A third woman finally spoke up. Urging you to forego your plan of visiting what she called such a vile and off-putting man. There’s a legend about the man who lives in the castle at the edge of the forest—whom you presume to be Count Minho—who comes into town during the night of the first full moon of the spring season, with the sole purpose of terrorizing people in their homes; feasting on their organs and drinking their blood. The last occurrence happened nine springs ago: a family of five, two completely drained of blood and tossed to the side, with another two torn piece-by-piece; left mixed in a pool of wasted blood. There had been one remaining survivor, eyes removed from their sockets, who only could say one thing: “He called himself God.”

Though the story terrified you—you refused to let that stop you. If Count Minho is some extraordinary beast, then let you be the one to stop him if it means you get to become one with Seungmin again. 

Alas, the day to meet Count Minho has come, and the women you shared dinner with last night are appalled to hear that you were insistent on making your way to Count Minho’s estate. Knowing that they cannot stop you, they wish you luck and pray for you, gifting you a crucifix for safety on your journey. 

By the time you approach Count Minho’s estate, it is about an hour after sundown. The sky begins to dim rapidly, as the former golden-pink hue of the sky begins to turn into a deep purple and later fading into black. The temperature drops by the hour but thankfully the winter season is coming to an end. The snow is already clearing up, and in a couple days it will have been long gone and forgotten for generous showers of rain. 

Your arrival, predestined and arranged to be brought by carriage, led you here. And as you pull into the gates of the estate, an unsettling feeling hits you. Deep in the pit of your stomach as if something had crawled inside of you and is now scratching to be freed. Despite that, the feeling of discomfort quickly begins to wash over you, seemingly dispersing into fascination—like a group of butterflies or a bouquet of flowers flourished within your body and spirit. You feel a lot lighter, elevated as if a veil was pulled over you. 

You can hardly see the castle in the darkness, but if you strain your eyes hard enough, you may be able to see the silhouette of the grand estate. Though that’s no use, the surrounding forest, and deep black sky work as a void, shielding away any ounce of natural light, encompassing the castle within its secrets. The moon, nearly full, and friendly to those who respect it, is useless as the structure of the castle casts away the inquisitive nature of the celestial body—nothing will be brought to light or justice tonight. 

The carriage, drawn by three black horses, halts in front of the main entrance. Several long, white, cylinder candles light up the main door of the Count’s castle. The entrance is similar to that of a cathedral’s—two heavy-looking doors adorned with indescribable red patterns; swirling into shapes that seemingly recreate human-like faces. It’s vague. At a simple glance, the patterns reflected by the candlelight look like faces, but the longer you look at them you realize otherwise. The patterns seemingly have no rhyme or reason, endless red swirls that are simply just decorations. 

Atop the door is a large arch, and in the dead center is a sculpture of a man—perhaps it’s of the Count. In the brief flicker of the flame, you can see the face of the sculpture. Its face is horrid, angry even; a permanent scowl displayed. But in that short second, you notice its eyes, big and red, fixated directly on you. There’s a chill that runs down your spine in that brief moment of eye contact. And while every nerve in your body warns you, there are matters that the Count needs to assist you with that are bigger than just a feeling. 

In your deep thought, one of the doors opens with a loud screech, almost like the scream of someone. It garners a gasp from you, shaking you out of your head and back into reality. Before you know it, your feet are moving faster than your brain and you step out of the carriage. Collecting your bags and holding them tightly, thanking the coachman for bringing you safely. As you turn back to the door, it’s open wider than before, but still, the Count is nowhere in sight. 

You walk closer, hand reaching up to touch the door and you enter, eyes unable to find a resting place. There are candles everywhere, several of them as if there are no electrical lights within the place, despite the huge chandelier hanging from above. The smell of the place does not come from the candles—it’s something else that draws you in, a familiar scent perhaps from your past, but you’re unable to put your finger on it. You step further into the home and when you do, the door behind you slams shut, making you jump and turn back. 

The slam is followed by an unsettling silence, practically deafening. You call out. 

“Hello?” You look around. Just ahead of you is a long hallway, lit up with candles. You’re not sure how long the hallway is, as at a certain point, the light from the flames is no longer visible, fading into a pitch-black blanket. The walls are decorated with cobwebs and a boring gold and red damask; the colors are fading, or at the very least very dusty and in need of upkeep. The floorboards are wooden and when you shift, they make an awful creaking noise. This castle has been around for a long time—centuries even, likely and believably kept within the Count’s family. Modernity has not caught up to it. 

“Hello?” You begin again. “I’m Y/N. I wrote to you a few weeks ago as I had some inquiries for you about Seungmin.” 

Your voice trails off. There’s a cloud of unease that reigns above you, and still, as you stand in the foyer of this already strange place, there’s a familiar warmth that surrounds you. When you breathe in, your chest expands, hair brushing against your neck as you sigh in both contentment and exhaustion. 

“Good evening,” You heard his voice, but you hadn’t heard him come over. “I have been expecting you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but any aforethought words get caught in your throat at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Absolutely stunning. You catch his eyes immediately, locked into his stare, lost in the deep sands of his chocolate brown eyes. There’s a soft yet teasing nature behind them and it draws you in, latching onto you. He looks to be a lot younger than the age you heard him to be. His lips curve into a smile as he sticks his hand out for you to shake. Though, quite frankly, you’re not sure if you’re supposed to bow to him or not. 

“Yes, um,” You shake his hand, giving a small, shy smile. You’re unable to take your eyes off of him. 

“Come on. You must be cold and tired, let us go sit.” He speaks before you get the chance, letting you collect your thoughts. “Feel free to leave your things there. They will be collected.”

You nod, setting your belongings down and following Count Minho deeper into the castle. You’re unsure if it is because you’re a bit tired, or some very serious architectural error, but the interior of the castle is like a labyrinth of sorts. The Count opens a door you initially assumed to be a room—but instead turned into another hall of rooms. He turns left on his heels and into a side room, you follow along. 

The room you enter is small but comfortable enough for three or four people to have their space. Ahead of you are big windows, covered with thick black curtains that scrape against the floor. To your right is a fireplace, a huge flame already burning and keeping the room nice and toasty. On the right are three large bookcases that reach the ceiling, the multicolored spines of the books add little pops of color. In front of you are two velvet chairs facing the fireplace, divided by a porcelain side table and atop of it are two books and a tea set. 

The room is very neat overall. A couple of misplaced books here and there, sat on the floor. Otherwise, it’s eerily neat. As if the Count rarely uses the room but chronically dusts because everything is just for decoration. The Count takes a seat and as he beckons you over, eyes diverted from your face, as he pours you a cup of tea. You move hastily, sitting at the chair across from him. 

“Hibiscus,” He says, a small smile on his face. “It also seems that I’m forgetting my manners. Those in the town call me the Count, however, you are welcome to call me Minho.”

“Thank you for taking the time out of your busy schedule to meet with and host me,” You begin, ready to get to the point. The Count—Minho—nods. “As I mentioned in the letter sent, I’ve arrived here to look for my fiancé, Seungmin. I’ve only received letters from his arrival and departure, and not many in between those times; which is unlike him on his usual work trips. It’s been weeks now, three to be exact. And since you are a friend of his, I was hoping you knew of his whereabouts.” 

“I fear I will be of little to no help to you, my dear.” His choice of words, while peculiar, are selected carefully. “Seungmin is a near and dear friend to my heart and I truly hope that he is safe, wherever he may be. The thing I can say is, he had been acting a bit—” He pauses, seemingly pondering on the right word to say before continuing. “A bit…abnormal.”

“He had been here at your home for nearly two months, what exactly do you mean by abnormal?” You inquire, pressing Minho to say more, not caring of how your tone might sound.

“He began to have these dreams, and some active hallucinations. Completely plagued by them. Night terrors, I’d say. He feared whatever he had seen, and while he initially confided in me about it, he soon concluded that I was untrustworthy. Somehow, Seungmin lost touch with reality.” 

Plagued by nightmares is something that you take note of. A month into Seungmin’s stay at the Count’s castle, you began to have these vivid dreams. Some good, some horrendously terrifying and, well, a large percentage of particularly electrifying dreams. The most recent—waves crashing together on a violent stormy night on the sea. You’re aboard a ship, standing in the center of the forecastle, and all around you are piled up bodies; and there’s blood on your hands and arms, staining your skin. Blood soaking into the fabric of your clothing. It felt immensely real. You felt the unease of the rocking boat, you heard the crashing of the waves and the squawks of the birds circling overhead. Weirdest of all, you could smell the blood; almost craving it. The dream ends with the sounds of a heart beating and the rushing of blood flooding to your brain. And then there’s nothingness. 

The Count takes a sip of his tea, and you choose to follow suit. Though, the tea is bitter, even with the added sugar, and not slightly tart as Hibiscus tends to be. Quite frankly, the taste is gross, but you drink out of respect. You do your best to keep a straight face at the taste, quickly setting down the cup. A small smile appears on Minho’s face, exhaling with a short laugh. 

There’s a knock at the entrance of the door. In the frame of the door stands a slender figured man who seems to be a tad shorter than the Count. He’s rather cute with his medium length hair and round cheeks, though he wears a blank expression on his face. He turns to you, doing a brief bow and opening his mouth to speak. 

Minho interjects first, walking towards the other man. “This is Han. Very simply, Mr. Han is my servant. Forgive me, Han here, was supposed to see to your arrival, but he had other obligations to take care of.”

The two look at each other, but only the Count smiles. Han keeps the same stoic facial expression, looking more exhausted than anything. The Count begins speaking once again. “Y/N, here, is the fiancé of Mr. Kim. You remember Mr. Kim, don’t you, Han? Y/N informs me that Mr. Kim didn’t arrive safely back home, now is that right?”

The Count looks to you, and you stand from your seat, nodding. “I’ve gotten a letter of his departure but he hasn’t been home yet,” You let out a deep sigh. “I just miss him so much. I hope that he’s safe wherever he is.” 

The air in the room is thick with tension. For the three of you, this has to be an outstanding situation right? For you, as young as you are, to have the love of your life—the man you plan to marry and give yourself to—to go missing without much word. And for the Count, who has been a longtime friend of Seungmin, having to deal with the weight of potentially being the last one to see Seungmin. 

“A friend of Count Minho is a friend of mine,” Jisung smiles. “I’ll do my best to help you find Mr. Kim.” 

Han and the Count step off to the side to exchange words briefly. Han turns to leave and the Count turns back to you. “Hungry by chance?”

The dining room is rather spacious, and includes a fireplace, which seems to be a running theme within the Castle. The wooden floor panels are mostly covered by a large, deep red rug. Red is the main color of the decor of the room; the velvet dining chairs and all the flowers,—from the pansies to the roses—even the dinner plates; are red. Despite this, it’s clear that Count Minho has quite a bit of money to have afforded all of this: from paintings to small artifacts that decorate end tables and small statues of gargoyles. Perhaps he is indeed a collector of sorts. 

Minho pulls out your chair, pushing it back in once you’re seated. He then takes his seat at the other end of the table. There’s a spread of food on the table and various bottles of wine, to which the Count motions for you to help yourself to. After making yourself a plate, you pour yourself a glass of wine—a red, twirling the liquid within the glass, foregoing the tradition of smelling the aroma and instead shooting it straight back. The wine is rather sweet and washes down smoothly; more like juice than a wine. 

Count Minho watches you eat with inquisitive eyes, studying you. He drinks from his wine glass as he stares at you. “What exactly do you know about your fiancé’s career?”

You meet his gaze, eyes fixated on you with a squint; it all makes you a bit uncomfortable. It’s like Minho can read every bit of you with just a simple look. 

“Not very much.” You admit. 

“Oh?” The Count is especially interested now. “Had he told you anything about me then?”

“No. Only that you were a long-time friend.” You pour another glass of wine. “Although..”

You trail off, unsure of if you should mention the story you heard from the town. You look at the Count, and he raises an eyebrow to you. 

“I had been staying in the town nearby for a few days before coming here. And well, I’m not too sure how to explain it. The only things I know of you come from word of mouth, and well, they aren’t very good.”

“Go On.”

You recite to him the story you had been told about the man in the castle who would come into the town and terrorize its citizens. At the end of the story, Minho erupts in laughter. He’s holding his stomach and chuckling, wiping faux tears from his eyes. 

“Let us just say, I have more valuable things to do than whatever that is,” Minho rolls his eyes. “I only ask because you intrigue me. That, and I never thought of Seungmin as someone who would lie to their lover, really.”

The word lie is interesting. You’d always perceived Seungmin to be an honest man, really. The two of you forged your relationship on the basis of being fully honest with each other. You never thought you would ever come close to doubting Seungmin nor his truthfulness, his faithfulness even; but Count Minho’s tone of voice—the seriousness coating every bit of breath he takes—along with the fact that you don’t truly know of Seungmin’s work, has you second guessing yourself. Now it’s your turn to press him. 

“Continue.”

“I’m saying, you don’t know what the man does for a living but you choose to throw away all inhibitions and potentially roll yourself into danger for a man you almost transparently know next to nothing about.” The Count pauses to sip more of his wine. “Seungmin was into things of the rather unusual variety, I’ll have you know. If you want, I can show you the things that he and I were discussing.” 

You take Minho up on his offer, and he gives you a small smile in return. 

“While I’d love to get to work on such matters tonight, I’m afraid I must go to sleep. I have some important matters to tend to in the morning. Shall I show you where you’ll be staying?”

—

You follow Minho, out of the dining room and down the endless hallway. The wallpaper is practically peeling, and the higher ceiling riddled with cobwebs notably hasn’t been cleaned up in quite a longtime. The obvious decades old paintings that were placed against the walls had been covered in dust and grime, dimming the vibrancy intended by their various artists. He then stops at a white door, turning the knob to open it. The room is dark and cavernous, but with the help of a lit candle sharing its warmth with the candles previously naked and cold, you see that it’s actually quite spacious and bright. White and light brown decor gives the room a light and more alive look in comparison to the thick dreariness of the parts of the castle you’ve seen so far. It’s almost like venturing into another world, or peeking back into an oddly shaped past. 

“Breakfast will be served early in the morning. Sleep well.” And with a smile, Minho exits, closing the door behind him. 

In the silence, thoughts begin to fester, nipping away at your well-being. You’ve gotten next to nothing so far from this meeting with the Count, but tomorrow is a new day and you hope he can give you insight into this world of Seungmin that seems to be unraveling. It’s confusing—for a brief moment you find yourself questioning your decisions. Have all of your life choices led you to this exact moment? The Count is vague in his ways of doing things—it’s like he’s not even trying to hide the potential of his true nature. He appears like any other person, but there’s something more to him than what meets the eye. You’ve been caught in a web of mystery, slowly sinking deeper and deeper.

You find that your bags are sitting next to the bed and you reach in to find your night clothes. Once you lift your shirt over your head, you cannot help but feel like eyes are watching you. Covering yourself, you scan the room in an attempt to soothe your psyche, and as expected, you remain completely alone. Shaking the feeling, chalking it up to being nervous about being in yet another new place, you continue to change your clothing. Sitting at the edge of the bed, you reach into your bag to pull out a letter you received from Seungmin. 

“My dearest heart, 

There is not a moment that goes by where I am not thinking of you. On my lonely and rather daunting work evenings, I look to the sky and am reminded that we share the same view together. You are the one thing keeping me balanced and sane. I know that you are waiting for me to return, and I want nothing more than to return to the safety of your warmth. Until then, look to the sky and be reminded of me. 

K.S”

Once finished reading, you press the letter against your chest. The second to last letter you received. Initially, it was rather hard to sleep at night after you received it. You had longed for your lover—missed his existence to no end, and you still do. There is nothing in the world that you would rather have than the gift of your lover returning to safety. You long for Seungmin, aching for the chance to finally touch him again. To hug, to kiss, to feel every inch of him once again. Today marks the third week since you had last heard from Seungmin, and from tonight onward, you demand to get the answers you deserve. 

You gently place the letter onto the nightstand. You kneel onto the floor, elbows pressed against the bed with your hands together in prayer. You had never been religious, nor, in a situation in which you felt you needed to pray before—but it has become a habit of the last few weeks. Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply. 

“Dear God,” You begin. “Please align me with my lover. Please return him to me safely.”

Pulling back the covers, you snuggle into the bed, drifting off into an idyllic night's sleep. 

You’re stuck. Seemingly, your body is paralyzed; hands resting at your sides, legs pressed together. You try to move, starting with a pinky and then your foot, but the longer time goes on, the more your ability to move lessens. Unable to even move your head left or right. You’re completely stuck. Not to mention, stuck in some complete void of a room, unable to see anything. 

There’s a vibration around you. It’s a subtle vibration, though you can feel your body swaying back and forth as if suspended in the air somehow. Just then, there’s a spotlight. It shines in your face before spirling in circles, lighting up various parts of the area you are in; but still, there’s nothing but darkness, even in the brightness of the light. Just until you view a quick flash of something briefly catching the light. The light runs from the figure before spinning back to shine itself on the mystery. 

Despite its distance away, you can see the thickness of the short hairs that decorate the body of the arachnid. The many eyes of the spider sparkle in the light, its eight moving legs speeding their way over to you. You watch as it clicks its mouth, salivating as it makes its way to its fresh catch. 

Here you are: a mere fly in the realm of the spider. 

At a blink of an eye, the spider is circling you, inching closer and closer until you can no longer see it from your horizontal position. Suddenly! It lurches, jumping atop of you. The spider sinks its fangs into you, piercing your skin harshly, burning. The attack against your skin causes blood to splash everywhere, spraying onto your face and body. You shriek in horror—attempting to send signals for your body to wake up from its terror. Your entire body burns; throat dry and brittle from yelling so much. The area around where the spider’s fangs are latched inside of you, both itches and stings. Feels like you’re getting pumped for your blood yet also injected with its venom. 

If possible, your body gets stiffer. Cold. Vision fading.. And fading until there’s nothingness. All you can feel is the body of the eight-legged creature draped over you; taking and taking freely. 

Despite the nightmare, you feel rather refreshed waking up. A minimal amount of light shines through the curtains. Stepping out of bed to the faint smell of food, you yawn and stretch briefly before heading to the closed door. Stepping into the hall from the confines of the room you spent the night in, you take a few steps across the hall to look out into the window. It looks bright and comfortable outside, a stark difference between the drab, dreariness of the castle’s interior. 

When you arrive at the dining room, there’s a full spread of food. Toast, tea, and a plethora of fruits and berries. In the daylight, the interior of the dining room looks a lot dustier, as if it's barely used. And to be fair, it seems as though only the Count and his dedicated servant occupy the estate. Which you wonder about—does Count Minho have no family? And what about Mr. Han? Any lovers? Who exactly is the Count and what was Seungmin’s business with him?

“Will Count Minho be eating with us?” You ask as you take a seat. 

“Sir is taking care of some business this morning. This breakfast is all yours.”

“You won’t be eating?” 

“Ah,” Jisung sighs with a smile. “I had a big breakfast earlier.”

With that, Jisung lets you begin eating. He simply just stands there, and while his eyes aren't on you, you can feel him observing your presence, similar to Minho. 

“So, Mr. Han,” Playing with your food as you speak. “How long have you worked for Count Minho?”

“Only a few years. Feels like a lifetime, though,” He turns to you, a small smile on his face. 

“Are you also a friend of Seungmin?”

“I’d only spoken to Mr. Kim a few times before his most recent visit. I typically stay out of all of Count Minho’s business affairs. I prefer to deal with the home side of things,” Jisung nods. “Speaking of, you’re free to explore the castle if you’d like. The Count won’t return until later.”

“Really? Are you sure he’ll be okay with it?” The opportunity to explore this grand castle piques your interest. You raise your eyebrow towards Han and he nods in response. 

“It’s no problem, really. To warn you, some rooms aren’t used as much anymore so they might be a bit untidy. Almost time for some spring cleaning.” Han gives you a short, dorky laugh. He’s adorable, if that’s the word. He seems to be on the more timid side, probably doesn’t speak to many people other than Count Minho on any given day. “Jisung, by the way, you can call me that.” 

“It’s nice to officially meet you.” You smile. “Can I ask you one more thing?”

Jisung nods. 

“What room did Seungmin stay in?”

“The room that you are staying in.”

The castle looks rather different during the daylight. The hallways feel hollow, completely blank despite the moderate amount of clutter in the form of various books and paintings littering the sidelines. While the idea of a large estate is stunning, it is clearly a bit too much for only the Count and Mr. Han. You wonder if Count Minho has been previously married—or even married at all; to be fair he looks a little young, but it’s possible he’s had a lover in the past. Perhaps that’s why he’s so understanding of your pursuit to find Seungmin. 

You return to your room. Beginning at the bedside table, you tour around the room, looking for clues that might help you. Searching the dressers in the room, you make your way over towards the small desk in the far corner. Opening the drawers of the desk, there remains nothing but untouched letter paper. Scanning the area for any unchecked marks, your eyes fall towards the bed. Dropping to your knees, you crawl the short distance to the edge of the bed. Pulling the bed skirt up in anticipation only to be left with nothing but dust bunnies. This initial search leaves you empty handed but you go off to make your way through the rest of the Castle. 

The castle is indeed like a labyrinth. Some doors open to an empty, decrepit room of various doors. Admittedly, you’re a bit too afraid to open one of the random doors. You’re not familiar with the layout of the estate, and you refuse to get too deep into this trap of a home. One door opens to a windowless room, and the singular wooden chair in the middle causes you to back out of said room slowly. 

Continuing on your pursuit through the endless halls of Count Minho’s estate, you approach a doorless room. Without needing to walk in, you can tell by the bookcases that it’s a library of sorts. Making your way through the entryway of the library, you find that the temperature of the room is noticeably colder than the hall. The library has dark wooden shelves filled with books from the ceiling to the floor, and you know that if Seungmin was here, he’d be able to tell when and where the shelves were constructed. He would always pick up little pieces of knowledge like that—claiming that he didn’t know why yet, but knowing such would help further him in life; and importantly, in his studies. 

You run your fingers over the spines of the books as you stroll your ways through the library. There are books spanning across language and subject—the majority of it, completely unidentifiable to you. 

You come across a leather-bound book displayed on one of the bookshelves, cover forward. It’s dark, dusty, and might even be a little dirty. The cover of the book itself is twisted, the skin of the book twists and dives into different layers, somehow folding the cover of the book inside of itself. It’s complex and strange, unlike anything you’ve ever seen before. Just to hold it, the weight of the book is heavy, somehow warming up in temperature. To feel the book, to hold it in your hands, it intrigues you just as much as it disgusts you. 

The language of text presented on the pages is unknown to you. The drawings that accompany the writings, however, are disturbing. Dark and detailed illustrations of creatures that you would never have thought of. Upon the first page is a visualization of a winged creature with the distant silhouette of a man. Only there’s a huge eye where the head would be, and its legs are tangled and twisted together. Turning a page, you’re presented with another drawing. An illustration in charcoal of a dark figure. The drawing looks as though it’s been drawn in haste; a rushed, frantic effort. Alongside is another illustration of a mouth—though without ink, the artist did their best to emphasize the splotches of blood that stain the mouth. What stands out the most are the set of razor sharp canines that protrude from the teeth—two sets, specifically. Beholds, the only romanization on the page: Vampyre.

A chill runs down your spine, but you’re unable to remove yourself from the grasp that the book has. Turning page after page, overstimulating yourself with various images of creatures that are likely to lurk in the shadows. The longer you examine, the more your head pounds. Nausea interrupting all plans you may have had. Head spinning and spinning, visions bending and thrawn within itself. Figments of the images you’ve viewed imprinting themselves on your vision in dark splotches like a memory. The new and the strange tangling itself within your memories, hiding within them for safe keeping. 

“Y/N?” There’s a light voice that breaks you out of your spell. 

When you come to, Count Minho is standing over you, his cold hand pressed against your forehead. You look around the room, sitting in an opposite corner of the library than you originally remembered. 

“Are you alright?” He asks. 

“I’m not too sure,” You sit up straight in your seat. You look towards the open window and the sky outside is completely dark. Somehow, it appears that hours have passed. What a freaky and strange thing. 

When you look up at Minho from your position on the chair, you’re immediately pulled into the pools of his eyes, locked in. “You must be hungry, yeah? It’s dinner time.” 

Just like last night, Minho leads you to the dining room. Just like last night, he slides your chair out and pushes it in for you. The spread of food tonight is different from last night, and you notice that some of the decor around the room looks different as well. Your vision hasn’t quite recovered from its hectically blurred state, and in your moment of disillusion, none of this interests you.

“Is there something wrong?” Minho asks as he sits. What isn’t wrong? You feel a rather painful shift in your own mood. 

“I think I might be a bit tired.” You exhale. Despite aching for the continuous pursuit of knowledge, sickness continues to trail behind you. Uncertainty creeping its way up to the forefront of your thoughts. You’re unable to escape the feeling that there might be something seriously wrong. Anxiety rests in the pit of your stomach, slowly eating away at you. Refusing to look at Minho, you pick at the food on your plate. Honestly, you feel rather sick. Your vision, while still painfully blurry, continues to spin ever so slightly. Placing your hand flat against your forehead to find that you’re burning up on flu type levels. You look across the table toward Minho and your vision doubles, triples, then suddenly you're seeing eight versions of him. 

It’s a bit of a hassle to move the heaviness of your hand, fingers slowly creeping up to grasp onto the wine glass. You close your eyes to soothe your vision, taking the glass into your hand fully. 

Minho coos. “I was really looking forward to dinner with you; but if you’re tired we can postpone our conversation.”

Taking a sip and allowing it to savor on your tongue. The slight, unsuspecting note of pomegranate makes you smile—something comforting in the mixture of mess you’re currently feeling. 

Grace be to God. When you open your eyes, your vision returns to normal. It’s something of a miracle. 

“No. It’s fine. That strange book in the library,” You look at Minho and struggle to find the words. All that remains in your head is visuals of every creature you saw depictions of. 

“What book?” He doesn’t follow. 

“It has drawings of these strange creatures in it. Some kind of horror book, I think it made me a bit sick.”

“I’ll tell Han to search for it so that I can have a look,” 

Dinner continues with only a few moments of silence. The topics range from a variety—the original focus of conversation on Seungmin before venturing off elsewhere. Count Minho gives you insight on what he does; referring to himself as someone who studies human nature, communication and our state of existence. He loves the study of humans and thus dedicates his life to it, choosing to be of help in any way he could be. Of which, is how he met Seungmin, and from there, they became partners due to their similar interests. Somewhere, is a layer of information that Count Minho refuses to give up so soon. 

“May I walk you to your room?” Minho asks, rather politely, but your room is not too far from your current position. Still, you say yes to him. 

Unlike dinner, the very short walk is in total silence, but Minho’s presence is comforting. You reach the door to your room in no time and Minho steps in front of you before you can say anything. The silence continues as Minho and you stare at each other. Though, the silence turns to static when Minho leans in to kiss you. His lips on yours and you don’t even bother to pull away. Instead, you kiss back, allowing him to deepen the kiss. He pulls away in haste, muttering a goodbye before walking off into the darkness of the hall.  

You step into your room and therefore, instantly step into a pool of guilt and confusion. Seungmin is so far from the forefront of your mind—for you to indulge in a kiss with another man and to not think once about your lover. What kind of monster have you become?

Once changed into your night clothes, you peel under the covers and you pray. You don’t feel like yourself, and the feeling creeped upon you. The thoughts in your brain are mixed together, both elaborate and unintelligible, a mixture of things you know and things you never knew. Images of those same creatures stain the darkness when you close your eyes, peeling back layers of the person you once knew to be you. Before sleep finally engulfs you, you pray for the guidance of whoever is listening. 

Minho guides you towards the bed. Red and black satin sheets fitted across the bed and the pillows. Minho pushes you against the bed and huffs out a short laugh, smirking at you. You bite your lip out of nervousness, peering up at him. 

“You’re so beautiful, my rose.” Minho’s hand is soft against the skin of your knee. Lightly, he drags his nails against your thigh, inching closer and closer to the material of your nightgown. 

Before he does anything, he leans down to kiss you; eyes closing as your lips work in sync, souls melting together. The kiss deepens for just a moment until Minho pulls back, brown eyes staring into your own. He plants one more quick kiss against your lips before his hands begin working beneath your gown. He slides your dress up to your waist, admiring the softness of your belly and the smoothness of your skin. One kiss above your navel and another kiss below, is all he lets himself have before he gets too deep into it. 

You make it easy for him, foregoing underwear to allow your lover easy access. Minho can only scoff, but he shuts himself up with another kiss to your mound. “Just for me, my dear?”

“Only you, love.” You smile at him, motioning for him to come closer. Minho, of course, follows suit. He would give you a billion and one kisses if he could. 

When the kiss breaks, Minho drags you towards the edge of the bed. Spreading your legs apart, he drops to his knees beginning his worship of your cunt. Tongue flailing out, slurping up every drop of your wetness, soft lips drenched in your flavor—and there’s no other way Minho would rather have you than at his complete surrender. His hands grip your ass, trying to push you into his face. Lips covered in slick and spit, puckering around your clit, sucking it in; Minho’s head bobbing up and down slightly, moaning into your cunt. 

“So fucking delicious,” Minho mumbles, continuing with his feast. Your hands fly to his hair, pulling with every lick and suck he gives you. Moaning freely, not caring if the entire world can hear you. In fact, maybe the entire world should hear you. 

Minho eats you sloppily, savoring not only your taste, but the feeling of your cunt against his skin. The feeling of the softness of your pubic hair against his skin is like heaven to him. Sometimes, he’ll spend time rubbing this face against the hair before he dives into your cunt. Not to mention the feeling of your juices soaking into his skin, which he’d use as a natural moisturizer if he could. Minho’s obsessed with every inch of you; from your cunt to your skin, to the very blood that courses through your veins.

His fingers push into you as his tongue swirls against your cunt. His lips suck your clit into his mouth, tongue lightly beating against the tip of the bud. Minho pushes his saliva to the front of his mouth, soaking your clit in a mixture of his spit and your juices. 

Your fingers pull against Minho’s hair, tugging harshly against his scalp but he wouldn’t have it any other way. He might even ask you to pull harder. You push Minho against your cunt, slowly grinding your hips against his face. Moans bouncing off the walls as you drip onto Minho’s tongue. Minho takes this opportunity to suck on your clit just a tad harder, triggering your pending orgasm. Eyes rolling to the back of your head allowing you to see colors as warmth rocks through your body. Limbs daring to curl together, Minho doesn’t allow you to move from the hold of his hands nor the warmth of his mouth. 

Minho slowly kisses up your body. You can feel the remnants of his kisses even after he’s long gone from a spot because of the wetness on his lips. He kisses at your neck, then your cheek, and finally your lips. Deepening the kiss as he taps his cock against your cunt, you invite him in. 

Three long orgasms later, you and Minho are snuggled in bed, snoring softly beside each other. Suddenly, you’re woken up by a loud bang. Looking to your side, you find Minho unbothered, still asleep, chest rising gently with each breath. There’s another bang, louder and possibly closer than last. You slide out of bed, looking back at Minho’s sleeping figure before making your way towards the door, hand reaching for the glass door knob. 

There’s another loud crash as you twist the handle of the door. You step into the hall of darkness, wooden floor cold against the bottom of your feet. Closing the door behind you, you venture out into the darkness. The halls of the castle are quiet, unmoving; day in and day out they remain the same, even in the dead of night. It’s rather sorrowsome, actually. So full, yet so empty—the castle feels like it's dying. 

Another loud bang. Followed by another and another. One after the other, four beats apart. The knocking appears to get louder with each step you take towards the staircase. You raise your foot to take that first step, there’s another bang once you firmly plant your foot against the stair. Quickly but carefully, you make your way up the staircase. In the near distance, towards the end of the hall presents a glimpse of golden light. 

Letting your legs guide you, you make way towards the door at the end of the hall, almost floating. The knocking doesn’t stop, getting louder and louder the closer you get to the door; but when you try to halt, you’re guided to your destination by a sudden force; body stiffening, neck making a sharp turn as you peek into the room. The crackling warmth and light emitted from the fireplace sets a gorgeous, homey scene. 

“Help.. Me..” 

Your eyes shoot towards the ground until you find the fingertips of a man laying in a puddle of blood. But before your brain can process who the person is, you’re snatched away. Falling fast into a pit of darkness. 

You awake in the dead of the night to a knocking at your door. It’s soft and subtle, but has been consistent enough to pull you from your sleep. One knock after the other, four beats between each knock. 

Tossing the covers away, you step out of bed. Muscles tough and sore, there’s an unease as you rub the sleep from your eye, feeling as though you’re encumbered in your own head. You take another heavy step, the knocking still not ceasing. One step after another until you reach the handle of the door, and only then does the knocking stop, floorboards creaking as the sound of footsteps shuffles away. 

A minute goes by until you decide to open the door. The hallway is dark, the only light is coming from the window across the hall. You look towards the moon—there she is, full in all of her glory, bringing the spring equinox along with her. You walk towards the window, looking down towards the ground and noting that the snow has completely melted. There’s a dark, shadowy figure in your peripheral that breaks your appreciation for nature. Turning in the direction, there’s nothing in the distance. You follow, passing by the kitchen and making your way to the stairs. The shadow dissolves into the darkness at the top of the stairs, beckoning you to chase after it. 

Once you reach the top of the stairs, there’s a sliver of light peering from the far end of the hallway. The trek over isn’t that long, and once you’re within a few feet you slowly approach the door, tiptoeing your way over. Creeping up to the doorframe, you hold your breath as you peek into the crack of the room. There’s not much to see, just a steady fire and its continuous cracking. Until you hear a moan and your eyes dart to the location of the sound. 

There, you spot Jisung sprawled out on the chaise, half of his limbs hanging off as Minho straddles over him. Attached to his neck, Minho wastes most of his meal, letting blood slip from his mouth and drip down Jisung’s neck. You gasp, fully taken aback by the action you are witnessing. The townspeople were right to warn you—the Count is a monster. Or maybe something worse. 

After the accidental announcement of your arrival, Jisung locks eyes with you. Your gaze, however, is stolen by Minho once he turns around, peering up from his feeding position. He’s wide-eyed with blackness covering the entirety of his eyes, lips and chin stained red with blood. Once Minho realizes it’s you who interrupted his feed, he gives you a wide, bloody smile—showing off the two sets of fangs at the top row of his teeth, the outer fangs just slightly bigger than the inner fangs. For a moment, time seems to slow down; you watch as a small droplet of blood drips from one of Minho’s fangs, and before it fully releases, Minho swipes it with his tongue, licking over his fangs for extra blood. 

Before you can turn back and run, Minho is already behind you in the blink of an eye. 

“Unfortunately, my dear, running is useless,” The Count grabs you by the collar of your pajamas and forcefully drags you into the room. You fight him off but your hits do nothing to him. Letting go of you, Minho pushes you onto the ground. “Stay.”

Jisung stands up from his position laying across the chaise, dipping a rag into a bowl of water sitting on the side table. You watch Jisung with inquisitive eyes as he wrings out the rag, carefully cleaning up the marks and the blood stained to his neck. Minho, meanwhile, is facing the fireplace with his arms crossed and one finger pressed to his lips. Jisung finishes cleaning himself up, and begins moving around to avoid eye contact with you. In horror, you watch as Jisung takes a tarantula out of its cage and places it into his mouth, chewing as he turns to walk out of the room—leaving you alone and helpless in the clutches of Count Minho. 

Minho tsks once, then once more. A hand on his hip as he shakes his head. He extends his arm, quickly swiping away all of the candles and books the rest atop the fireplace as a loud, angry cry escapes from his chest.  

“I thought that maybe,” Minho begins. “Just maybe. I’d have an extra night or two before having to do this to you. You’re a curious one, aren’t you?” 

Minho turns to you. An insincere smile on his face, fangs hidden away but some of Jisung’s blood still covers his face. You spring to your feet, not wanting to stay on the ground when it’s clear that Minho has the advantage. Backing away from him slowly, eyes searching for anything to use as a weapon, though Minho can tell your every move. 

“Did you..did you do that to Seungmin?” You’re near tears. They don’t fall, only brimming along your tear ducts. 

Minho’s jaw clenches at the mention of Seungmin. “You really do care about him, huh? Seungmin this and Seungmin that. I fear your admiration for your lover has made you blind. You have played right into the palm of my hand, little lamb.”

“You want to know where Seungmin is? He’s dead.” Minho laughs. A deep belly laugh. “Though, it wasn’t me who did it.”

“Years ago, I showed Sir Kim something that I thought he could handle, only to find out otherwise. I promised him knowledge, the freedom to view the extensive, valuable, book collection within my library, at any time he chooses; and most importantly, the opportunity to discover something otherworldly—new to him, although very old to me. Something that could provide him everything he’s ever wanted. At least, that’s what this power did for me. Seungmin wanted to become a new man, and I was the only one who could offer that opportunity.”

“Then, two months ago, Seungmin showed up at the door. Exclaiming that while he wasn’t ready in the past, this time he’s ready to surrender his soul. Turns out, it was a ploy to kill me. I should’ve known better, truthfully. Seungmin is smart, almost as cunning as I, and well, he very nearly gave me a run for my money. But let’s just say, how should I put this, I have someone who is willing to do anything I say. Including kill.”

You shake your head in disgust, backing up from Minho; but he pursues.“What are you?”

“I once referred to myself as a God. However, over the years, I realized that I am God. I have seen men with beast-like abilities and looks, men with the ability to rise from the dead, but the simple power of those imbeciles doesn’t even come close to mine. It’s something entirely different.”

“I mean, you read that book didn’t you? A dull-looking half-dead creature with fangs? You’re quite different from Seungmin, but you’re still special. You might not have understood the text, but perhaps, you used context clues?” Minho continues, “You might not have known it, but your fiancé was a part of a very dark world, angel. You see, he was actually the one that wrote the book. And he left you blind to it all, not knowing of his inevitable future. And now, yours.”

Minho winks and moves closer to you with each word, though you take steps back, not wanting to be too close to him. Eventually your back hits the wall and Minho almost pressed against you. His sharp nails come up to your neck, tracing over until he finds exactly what he was looking for, inhaling deeply. 

“Are you going to kill me, too?”

“There,” He taps the tip of his finger against your neck, just above your collarbone. The sharpness of the nail presses into your skin, breaking the initial layer, not deep enough to cause bleeding. “If I put my mouth right here, I could drain all of you in less than six seconds. Kill you? Heavens no, I actually believe that you’re pretty valuable to me.”

Minho looks into your eyes, passing along discomfort in the form of a stare. Then he pouts at you, mockingly. 

“No need to be scared. I mean, it’s not like you can ever leave me, at this point, so it’s best you put your fear aside.” Minho smirks once more. “From the night you’ve arrived, you’ve been drinking my blood. I’m already inside of you. I know every little thought in that pretty little mind of yours, I’m in all of your dreams. And guess what? You will never, ever be able to get rid of me.”

“Now tell me, has Seungmin ever touched you like this?” Minho asks, the tips of his fingers tracing against your neck, palm cupping around your throat, he stands firm behind you. There’s dense heat against Minho’s fingertips and a slight burning sensation from the sharpness of his nails; it’s such an intense feeling, unlike any you’ve experienced before. As electrifying as the feeling of his touch is, it’s also revolting, horrendous. There was a spark whenever Seungmin touched you, but Minho’s touch is different; it burns in all of the right ways. 

“I could give you things Seungmin would have never even dreamt about,” Minho’s voice is soft, silky. The heat of his breath against your skin tickles, but ignites a particular burning of desire. Minho is something similar to the devil and still, despite it all, there’s a familiar heat that creeps up within you. “I could open doors for you that were previously closed. Anything you want, could be yours. All you have to do is accept all of me.”

The hand that had previously been resting against the softness of your belly, is held out for you to accept. You stare down at his hand, biting your lip at the temptation. Minho plants his lips against your neck to give you one small kiss after another. 

For the sake of Seungmin, you want to turn away. If this had been just a few days ago, you would have likely fought in honor of Seungmin. The entire reason you’re even here, in the Count’s castle, is because of Seungmin. And still, in spite of all of that, as much as it makes you feel physically ill, stomach turning at the thought, every single fiber of your being craves Minho. You can feel the heat of your bodies meshed together every time you imagine what it’s like to have him between your legs. When he looks into your eyes, it’s familiar—like home. 

Every alarm is firing off and still, you put your hand in Minho’s—accepting his offer. Minho’s hand interlocks with yours, and you can feel him smile in between his tiny butterfly kisses. His hand holds yours tightly, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. Plump lips dragging against your skin, until he stops momentarily—taking a deep breath. Minho lets out a sharp, rich groan; knees throbbing as he bucks into you. And it’s at that moment you can feel Minho’s cock pressed heavily against your ass. Minho holds you against him, hips moving against your ass slightly, as he breathes in your scent. 

The moment is broken once you feel four razor sharp punctures in your neck. Minho’s low, guttural moans vibrate against your skin as his teeth penetrate layers of skin. The feeling is strange—it stings and burns, but also has a light cooling sensation. 

With the more blood Minho takes, the more his eyes fade into black until the whites are no longer exposed. Minho is absolutely captivated by the taste of your blood. It’s absolutely bewitching. He can taste every memory, every inch of trauma and pain, all of your love and most importantly, Minho can taste a bit of your soul—completely unguarded and vulnerable; ready for him to take and do as he pleases with. 

Minho continues draining you of your blood. It’s around this time that your vision becomes blurry, the room grows disorienting, tipping from side to side with each blink. You’re clutching Minho’s hand as tight as you possibly can be, jaw slacking and freely giving away soft moans. Even though he’s drinking from you, Minho never stops the movement of his hips. Hand clutching your own, pressing your arm against your stomach firmly. His other hand is tight on your hip, holding you in place. Somehow, your body feels both light and heavy, like you’re nailed to your spot but also elevated, floating in space. Your eyelids are getting heavier, a milky white film covering your eyes as Minho continues to take and take from you.

By the time you feel like your legs are going to give out, Minho gives up on drinking from you. “I can’t believe you’ve been hidden from me all this time, my little lamb.”

Minho whispers into your ear, voice equal parts soft and sweet. The way he can easily slip between calm and composed and dominant and overbearing is scary. 

“Let’s make this official, what do you say, love?” It’s less of a statement and more of a demand. Minho bites into his wrist, pushing it towards your mouth. But you refuse, attempting to turn away, though Minho does not allow it. Forcing your mouth open with his other hand, fingers dipping into your mouth, watching with a smirk on his face as droplets of his blood drip into your mouth one by one. 

There’s not really any significant taste to Minho’s blood. Indeed, his blood is thicker than water—but also very smooth going down. Minho spins you around, lips fast against yours. This kiss is full of iron and spit, completely messy, tongues fighting against each other. You, surprisingly to Minho, are the one who deepens the kiss further, pressing your body against his. Hands running all over his body, tugging against his clothes. 

You can feel yourself changing rapidly. Inside of you is a particular burning passion that you haven’t felt in years. It’s amplified when Minho’s fingers trickle up and down your sides. When the kiss parts, you and Minho lock eyes. Your chest rises, breathing in deeply because the room has gotten a hell of a lot hotter—or is the oxygen leaving your lungs? 

Minho takes the lead this time, pushing you atop of the sofa. He stands over you almost menacingly, clouds of lust like darkness clouding his eyes. He takes the chest of his shirt and tears it in half with two hands, as easily as it takes one to blink. He lets the shirt fall from his body, pulling his arms from the sleeves. Unbuttoning his pants just slightly before he kneels on the couch beside you. His lips on yours once again, though briefly. Minho takes the fabric of your clothing and tears it in two, just as he did his own shirt. You’re completely exposed to him, completely naked beneath his stare. You put your arms up to shield your indecency, but Minho doesn’t allow it. Taking your wrists in his hands and pinning you to the comfort of the sofa. 

Holding your wrists with one hand, Minho holds your jaw in his other hand. “Wish you could see how heavenly you look right now.” 

At this moment, Minho decides that you’re the closest he’ll ever get to heaven. So does he worship this embodiment of a higher place? Or does he further defile it? Should he ravish you? Perhaps he should take his claim over a body and soul that is now his forever. The worship may come a little later. He looks down at you, a frenzied little fledgling overtaken by uncontainable lust. A near mirroring reflection of sin itself. You pupils are completely blown and the whites of your eyes grow into a red color. He stands tall above you, like a God. Eyes of lust looking back at you, so deeply into the crevices of what’s left in your soul. 

You claw up at Minho, wanting to feel him. Wanting to be comforted by the glory that is Minho. The Ultimate Being—your master. 

“Imagine if Seungmin were to see you like this, intoxicated with such lust—and none of it towards him,” Minho kissed over the spot where he bit you, planting more kisses against your neck. “Would he be pathetic? A coward who cums in his pants at the sight of another man touching you?”

Minho’s lips move from your collarbone to your chest, displaying a range of kisses against your skin. “Or would he demean you for disgracing him in such a way? Would he call you a whore at the sight of you, turning his face in disgust?” 

Minho continues talking in between kisses against your skin. Lips kissing down the valley of your breast as his left hand creeps up to fondle your left breast. You moan at his touch, the coolness of his skin against the heat of yours. Minho looks up at you. “My precious little lamb isn’t a whore, are you?”

You shake your head vigorously at Minho’s statement. He can only laugh at you. He doesn’t believe it and deep inside, you don’t believe yourself either. 

“Your whole purpose of being here was to find your fiancé, and instead, you’re beneath me and dripping onto the chaise. That doesn’t sound like something someone who’s not a whore would do, does it, little lamb?” 

You shake your head in denial. Reaching up to him, dragging the tips of your fingers down his chest. With each exhale, with each minute that goes by, it becomes harder and harder to fight your cravings. Thrusting your hips up, gyrating in the air, trying to entice Minho into touching you. Unable to sort the words in your head to form a coherent sentence. 

“But you’re fine with being a whore aren’t you?” Minho nods, pouting just slightly. When you’re not nodding along with him, he grabs you by your hair, forcing you to nod along with him. “What a good little lamb. From here on out, you’ll only be a whore for me, ok?”

Minho releases your hair from his clutches. Licking his palm, he drags it down from your navel to your cunt, pausing a moment to bury his fingers within the hair on your mound, slightly tugging at it. He teases you for the moment; fingertips feathering lighting against the skin of your inner thighs. He brings his fingers back to your cunt, dragging down your slit, teasing into your wetness. Minho circles over your clit with two fingers, watching your face as you bite your lip. Two of his fingers slowly slip inside of you soon after, thick, already knuckle deep inside of you. 

Minho’s free hand finds a new position, tightening around your neck. The roughness of his hands is missed when he slides his hand down your chest, cupping your breast. He leans down, sucking your nipple into his mouth, coating it with saliva, teeth slightly grazing against it. He continues scissoring his fingers into you, thumb pressing down flat against your clit. Minho moves his thumb in tender circles, still applying pressure. Swollen lips leave a mess of spit on your breast, dripping onto his hand. 

He lifts his head from his original position, eyes covering every inch of you. Once his eyes land on your cunt, Minho kneels—a quick kiss planted at your clit before he attaches his mouth to it, sucking you in. Warm, wet mouth slurping and licking, voice vibrating against your cunt. You moan into your hand, but Minho snatches it away; a quick, stern look up at you. The more he hears your moans, the sluttier and messier that Minho gets; moving away slightly to spit against your cunt, watching as it drips down to his fingers. All before he’s back at it, slurping and moaning against your cunt. 

“Fucking cum,” Minho talks into your cunt. He speaks his demand into you. The climax hits you hard, cum spraying all over Minho’s face, even drenching a bit of his hair. It takes Minho and yourself by surprise, and you’re almost ready to cover your face in your hands, but Minho flashes the most gorgeous smile to you. Face soaked, licking his lips to taste more of you. 

If he wasn’t firm about his desire to devour and conquer you, he was now. Minho fully undresses himself, cock hard and heavy, leaking and aching to be buried inside of you. It’s like your minds come together. Just with a touch you know the things that Minho wants to do to you. Your desires are equal and because of it, you’re a step ahead of him. Your eyes land on him, completely sucking into the visual of his cock. Large but not too veiny, a shade or two darker than the rest of his skin and it’s absolutely glorious. He’s thick, the tip of his cock heavy and shining with precum. It’s hard to keep your appetite for lust contained, and for a moment, you wonder why you’re even holding back—you’ve seen just a glimpse of freedom, is it too much to indulge and savor the taste of what you’re becoming? 

Your movements are faster than what the logical part of your brain can comprehend. One moment you’re spread open and the next, you’re straddling Minho, hand caressing his face. Minho looks at you with such an insatiable gaze. He hadn’t read it in the cards that you could possibly take control of the situation, and it enthralls him—what a wonder you are. You grind against his cock, sliding your slick cunt across his shaft. Pressing your hands to his chest for balance, adjusting the speed of your grinding until you’ve finally found the spot that sets off the fireworks within your brain. Unfortunately, it’s not enough for Minho, grabbing your hips and pressing you onto his cock, controlling your movements. Other than the added pressure, Minho guides your hips just a tad bit faster. 

Sliding up, you reach behind to hold Minho’s cock into your hand. It has a bit of weight to it and is slick with your juices. You tap the head of his cock against your cunt a time or two, then slowly sink down, engulfing him into your cunt. The thickness of his cock gives you a fervent sensation, cunt fluttering to take more of him, inch by inch. 

You throw your head back as you continue riding Minho. There's a brief, but slight sting of pain when you open your mouth to moan. When you look towards Minho, mouth agape, he looks back at you with such adoration and awe—the first time you felt his genuineness for something other than rage.  Minho helps you continue to ride him, his hands on your hips to guide you up and down his cock. You bring your tongue up to lick your lips when you finally notice the feeling of the fangs protruding from your gums. 

The feeling of exhilaration encompasses your whole being. You can’t help but let out a laugh at the current situation. You feel elated. You feel powerful. Pure and utter bliss slowly peeking out beneath the many layers of lust. 

“Bite me, my dear, go ahead.” Minho reassures you, a hand soothingly rubbing against your thigh. 

You indulge in the opportunity. Sinking completely down on Minho’s cock, crying out at the sensation of being filled by him. You press your nose against his neck, breathing in Minho’s scent before you sink your fangs into his skin. You can feel the shift in your eyes when you drink from him. His blood tastes immaculate like this. What divine nectar he carries within. It’s insanely sweet—not exactly in a tart or sugary way; he tastes similar to fresh fruit. 

You continue to drink from him, tongue licking haphazardly, unwilling to let any of Minho’s blood go to waste. 

From his blood to his cock, Minho is all around you. You feel so full of him, and you are in every sense of the word. His arms wrap around you, caging you in as you take your time feeding from him. He moves a hand between the two of your bodies, thumb pressed against your clit to rub in circles. You gentle rock against him, slowly increasing the speed of your hips once you realize you’re fairly latched onto him. Unwilling to free him from your hold, you would die like this if needed. 

Your climax hits you and transforms you into such a state of pure ecstasy. Every nerve in your body is electrified, and the blood of Minho amplifies that. Minho has you under a spell: blood coursing through your veins, cock pinned deep, spilling his cum inside of you. He’s so cold to touch, but you’re both on fire. It’s way too much yet you’re still captivated by him. Sent into overdrive, your body gets heavier—it's hard to control and you continue to take and take from Minho. It’s no problem to him, though; hand on your back to soothe as your body becomes stiff atop of him.

You awake in Minho’s arms, not completely sure of where you exactly are. The second you open your eyes, you’re not nearly ready for how extraordinarily bright the lights in the room are. You groan in response, but Minho is alert to soothe you. 

“Be still, my little flower.” Minho is whispering, purposefully; he knows first-hand how troubling it can be to be reawakened like this. But still, his voice rings around your head. 

How strange. You can hear every little sound a lot clearer, a lot louder. The initially faint crackling of the fireplace now louder than before despite the distance. The heat of the fire reaches you as well, blazing, although it does not stick. The ticking of the clock is a doomful reminder of the passage of time. Then you look at Minho, and you can hear how hollow he is. There’s an absence within him, a huge, dark, cavernous hole. He is nothing more than a host for whatever this disease is that he has given you. A man without a soul. 

And still. He holds the entire world in his hands. 

“There’s so much I have to teach you,” Minho expresses this with great excitement. He presses a chalice of blood to your lips and just a whiff of the smell puts you in a daze; salivating and feigning to taste. “Now here, drink up.”

© PLANETDREAM 2024

[inheritedbelly]

Weight of Life on the Farm

Every year my father dragged me to the family’s farm in the middle of nowhere. I never understood his obsession with the countryside, with the woods, with the mud. It was all disgusting and dirty. But nothing, absolutely nothing, was worse than the great-uncle himself, his uncle. A gross old man, in his seventies, and a retired truck driver. The first time I saw Uncle Frank, I had to hold back from vomiting. He was the kind of person who takes pride in being gross, you know? The kind of person who finds humor in being filthy. He would fart loudly, sneeze as if he were about to die, and didn't even bother to cover his mouth. And that smell? My God, it was as if the stench had been absorbed into his skin. It was a smell of old sweat, mixed with cigarette smoke and a bunch of other things I didn’t even want to imagine. I'll never forget the time he walked past me in the hallway and laughed when he saw me covering my nose. "Smell of a man, kid, get used to it!" he shouted, as if it were something to be proud of. Disgusting. Besides that, Uncle Frank made a point of always walking around the house in his underwear as if his body were toned and healthy—pathetic. That’s exactly what he was. Every summer was the same: I was forced to face the filth, the heat, the insects, and worst of all, Uncle Frank.

I was already counting the days to go back to the city, to my life, to the air conditioning, and away from the smell of the countryside. But my father had other plans. He wanted to make a Sunday lunch, but we were short on ingredients, so he decided that I should go with Frank to the neighboring town to buy some things. My father had an annoying insistence that I get along with my uncle. Of course, I would have much preferred to stay locked in my room rather than go in that old car, but as usual, I had no choice. At least I convinced him to let me wear something decent. There I was, in the passenger seat, trying not to breathe deeply, while Uncle Frank drove. The heat was suffocating, and his smell mixed with the old leather of the car made me want to open the door and jump out.

The drive to the town was hell. The dirt road shook the car, and every time Uncle Frank tried to make small talk, I only responded with monosyllables. There was absolutely nothing I wanted to discuss with him. But of course, the old man didn’t know when to stop. He started complaining about the city, how young people today didn’t know what real work was. I couldn’t take it anymore. We started arguing, and I didn’t hold back. He was an old-fashioned fool and had no idea what he was talking about. As if life in the countryside were something to be proud of. We were so wrapped up in the argument that we didn’t even notice when the sky suddenly darkened. A deafening thunderclap split the air, and suddenly, everything turned white.

When I woke up, the first thing I felt was a strange pressure in my stomach. What the hell was happening? My vision was still blurry, but I felt something was wrong. Very wrong… My hand instinctively went to my belly, but it wasn’t my hand. It was a thick, calloused hand, full of prominent veins and white hairs—a hand that seemed to have spent a lifetime carrying weight. And what was pressing on my stomach? My God, the steering wheel was sunk into a huge, round, hairy belly. What the hell was that? I looked down and almost screamed. A monstrous belly was there, where my smooth abdomen used to be. I could taste the sweat dripping from a mustache that had magically appeared above my mouth.

An unbearable heat enveloped me, and I realized I was sweating. A lot. As if I had just come out of an oven. The clothes clung to my body, sweat dripped down my face, neck, and back. I was drenched, and that stench, that disgusting smell, was coming from me. My breathing became heavy, and that’s when I heard a curse word in my old voice. I looked to the side and saw my body, my face, with an expression of pure terror. It was Uncle Frank. He was in my body, looking at me as if he had seen a ghost, but soon a wicked smile began to form on his lips.

— What did you do? — I shouted, or at least tried to. My voice came out hoarse, choked, like an old man’s. I put my hands to my throat, feeling the roughness of the skin, the hair on the chest. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare. I tried to move, but the body was heavy, slow.I could feel my balls, or rather, Uncle Frank's balls, sticking with sweat between my legs.

— It wasn’t me! — my uncle, now in my body, said with my voice, equally surprised. — But damn, this isn’t half bad.

I was about to vomit. I tried to get up, but the weight of the new body threw me back into the seat. The steering wheel was pressing into the belly, which seemed to have a life of its own, jiggling with every movement. I finally managed to get up, feeling the sweat dripping down my back, and looked at Uncle Frank, who was now admiring his own reflection in the car’s mirror, in my body. He was running his hands through his hair and over my clean skin.

— What are we going to do now? — my voice was desperate, and he just shrugged. — Go back home, I guess. — he said, still admiring his own reflection. The idea of going back to the farm in this body was unbearable. I could barely move, each step was an effort. The heat was suffocating, the smell of sweat was unbearable, and the feeling of the coarse beard rubbing against my neck was nauseating. I was sweating so much that my shirt was already soaked, sticking to my skin. But what irritated me the most was the old man’s grin. He was clearly enjoying himself, as if he had won the lottery. And me? I was trapped in this hellish body, with no idea how to get out of it.

In the car, I realized I had to adjust my posture to adapt to my new center of gravity. My man-boobs spilled out of the tight tank top that my uncle wore. The fat sweat dripping from the mustache was the worst thing after the giant belly. On the way back, I tried to think of how to tell my parents, but who would believe such a story? “Hi, Mom, Dad, so, I swapped bodies with Uncle Frank.” They would send me to a mental institution. So my uncle and I agreed not to tell anyone until we figured out a way to fix this. I hoped at least to wake up in the morning back in my body, hoping this would all end.

I woke up with that dry cough that felt like it was tearing my throat out from the inside. Nothing like a natural wake-up. I rubbed my sweaty forehead, trying to push away the feeling of fatigue that had been with me for months. I slowly raised my torso, feeling the familiar pressure of the mattress sinking under my weight, while scratching my belly. The rough skin stretched over the accumulated fat was something I had never managed to get used to. It wasn’t my body. It wasn’t what I should be feeling. But there I was, in that damned body, exactly one year later. I got up from the sofa, where Uncle Frank was sleeping, with the feeling of discomfort that had been accompanying me. The feeling of discomfort that came only from the extra weight he now carried. The tight underwear revealed a raging morning erection, something that became one of the few things that relieved me early in the morning. Every day I masturbated, and after orgasm I felt disgusted and repulsed, because the first thing I saw was my uncle's disheveled, hairy belly.

I went to the bathroom to clean myself up, each step making the floor creak under Uncle Frank's weight, which was now mine. I stared at the reflection in the mirror, as I did every morning. That old man, with reddish skin, unshaven beard, and deep-set eyes, stared back at me. I sighed as I always did. I started thinking. It had been exactly a year since the swap, and there was still no sign that it could be undone. I tried to maintain some level of dignity, even trapped in this repugnant body. I took showers, unlike Uncle Frank, and used deodorant. At least I tried to keep the smell under control, which was an ungrateful task, considering this body sweated non-stop. And the gas? It was hell. It was as if all the bad air in the world had accumulated in my stomach, with no escape.

Meanwhile, Uncle Frank seemed to adapt perfectly to my body, and my life. I saw his photos, now on my social media profile, showing off my body on the internet. Each image was a punch to my gigantic stomach. A reminder of everything I had lost. He was happy, smiling, enjoying life, like a city boy, while I was here, trapped in this old carcass. In addition to my routine masturbations, I still managed to pay some twinks to have sex with me. No one wanted to be with me anymore, not for free.

I sighed once again, wondering if I would ever be able to undo the curse. Or was he doomed to be a disgusting old man forever? I reached out and tapped her belly, feeling the soft flesh bounce on impact. It was surreal to still feel the repulsion when touching my own skin. But there wasn't much time to mourn. It was time to start another day of routine on the farm, in Uncle Rank's body. I opened the buttons on the front of my t-shirt so it wouldn't be so hot, I hated the feeling of my belly fighting against my clothes. As soon as I got dressed I was hard again, oh my, my body was massive and sometimes it ended up turning me on. My old dick hurt from so much moonshine against my huge dirty underwear. But I decided I should work, maybe Frank's twink helper would relieve me later if I paid him some money to suck me. Another day of pretending there was still a chance to get back what was taken from me.

[multifandomgirl08]

Race Day [Mini Verstappen Series]

Dad!Max Verstappen x Fiancée!Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Nico tags along with Max during a race day in Monza, well as much as he can.

Warning(s): Fluff

A/N: Request sent in by @mbappebby. I got to sit on YouTube and just watch a whole bunch of interviews on Max for this. Posting this on Max's birthday today. I will be publishing the last request that I got on Sunday instead.

Words: 2.1k

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Max had wanted Nico to spend every minute of the race that he could with him today. He wanted Nico to experience everything that he could. Walking through the paddock with him and even seeing Max talk to the fans and take pictures with them. Nico never asked why people wanted pictures of him. He had just accepted it, even thanking someone for supporting his Papa during the race today.

As they got closer to hospitality before the drivers' parade started Nico waved at Charles and Lando from Y/N’s arms, both drivers waved back. Y/N and Nico slipped into the McLaren garage to say hi to Oscar before meeting Max back in front of the Red Bull garage.

Nico would be with Max during the driver's parade wanting to take him around the track with the other drivers, before you and Nico would both be sitting in your normal seats while the race was going on.

"You sure you want to take him with you?" You asked Max as he was holding Nico getting ready for the driver's parade.

"He'll be fine, mijn leeuwin." Max said to Y/N. “Right?” Max turned his head to Nico seeing the little boy nod enthusiastically.

“Okay. Be good for Papa.” Max kissed Y/N’s forehead before Max and Nico made their way out to the bus that would take the drivers around the track.

Max knew that he wouldn’t be able to hold Nico the whole time they were making their way around the track. Max sat down towards the back, Nico in his lap pointing out little things in the distance, from the other people to the turquoise Aston Martin safety cars that were at the race.

They would be playing musical chairs for the first part of the drive around the track but he hadn’t been called up yet to talk to the reporter.

He enjoyed holding Nico before he was called over to answer a few questions. Nico wouldn’t let go of his hand when he sat down at the front of the car, “Max 14th consecutive pole of the year, congratulations. So what’s the plan for you and the team today?”

“Have fun, the car has been good all weekend. So, hopefully, we can show that again today.”

“Who is this little boy that you have with you?” She asked.

“This is my son, Nico. Wave hi to Mama?” Max asked before Nico waved to the camera and then quickly buried his head in Max’s shoulder.

“He’s quite cute. I’m sure your fiancée feels the same way as well.” Max gave a slight nod at her statement.

“And just a few words in Dutch.” Max was quick to respond rattling off something about having a productive race day and getting a good result out of the car.

“Well, I hope the two of you enjoy the rest of your day together, and good luck with the race.” Max gave a final nod, and then moved to the back of the car to sit next to Daniel and Checo.

“So, decided to take Mini Max with you before the race?” Daniel asked.

Max had never minded Daniel’s nickname for Nico, ever since the moment that Daniel met Nico, he had been Mini Max. He was the first person on the grid, not including himself, to hold his son.

“I don’t know. I guess I just want him with me.” This was the first time that Max had really spent a race day with Nico. Normally on race days, Nico would be with Y/N. They had their little routine of walking around the paddock before getting lunch and then watching the race when the time came.

“Maybe you’re now realizing that he’s getting older. He won’t be a little boy forever.”

Maybe Daniel was right. Nico was getting older, he had already started go-karting this year, almost the same age as when he started.

“Possibly.” He said before he started to wave out into the crowd.

“Does that mean when the time comes, you and Y/N are gonna have another?” Checo had asked.

“Another, what?” He said dropping his hand for a moment.

“Another one of these.” Daniel was quick to gesture to Nico.

It wasn’t that Max hadn’t thought about it. Sure, one day he could see himself and Y/N having kids but he liked that it was just the three of them. She was already an amazing mother to Nico, she would be an amazing mother to any children that they had.

“I don’t know. But not right now. Wedding planning and dealing with the house. It’s too much.”

“One day, right?”

“Yeah, one day,” Max said with sincerity. Y/N deserved to have her own children, even though she considered Nico her own.

Once they had gotten out of the car, Max was quick to find Y/N in the garage talking to GP while Christain stood by them.

“He’s starting from pole, I’m sure he’ll do fine.” He heard GP say.

"Max always does well under pressure Christian, you know that." He heard you say. Max couldn’t help but smile. You talking Christian down from whatever he was concerned about.

“I know. It’s just another record that could be broken today.”

“He’ll do great, and if he starts to get bored he’ll make jokes about wanting to test the pit crew or something.”

Max couldn’t help but beam. You had that much confidence in his win today even after the issues that they had earlier in the weekend.

Nico was quick to slip out of Max’s arms before running up to Christian, yelling “Grandpa!” capturing the team principal's attention. Christian welcomed Nico with a hug and an exaggerated, “When did you get so big?”

Max couldn’t help but think that Christian was the only grandfather that Nico would have as he grew up.

“I’m not that big,” Nico said, before reaching for Y/N’s hand.

“Not that big?” Christian asked back. “You’re up to here.” Christian gestured up to his hip to demonstrate how tall Nico had gotten since he had last seen him. Nico couldn’t help but laugh before pressing his face into the shorts that Max was wearing.

The small group stayed talking for a bit longer until Max had to go change into his race suit. Nico didn’t want to leave Max until he had to get into the car for the formation lap.

Y/N had been outside while Max was doing his post-race press conference after his P1 finish. She had been so occupied with talking to Alex's girlfriend Lily that she didn't see Nico slip away into the media tent where Max sat between Lewis and Charles.

Max had seen Nico walk into the tent, he knew he shouldn't be around the cameras. Max was able to look past the crowd of people to see Y/N just outside of the tent talking with someone.

The interview hadn't started yet so Max opened his arms for Nico to walk to him. Nico struggled to get on the couch before Max lifted him up and sat him down next to him.

Once the interview had started, Max waited until there was a question to be answered.

"In third place Charles Leclerc, in second Lewis Hamilton, and our winner Max Verstappen. And it seems like we have a guest with us today in Nico Verstappen. To the drivers, if you wouldn't mind telling us about some of the challenges that you faced today." He heard from Tom and fixed his posture toward the cameras.

"Yeah, my first lap was pretty good, was able to avoid a collision after turn 1. Luckily I was able to go wide as to not cause any damage to the car. Things finally looked like they were turning around after I changed to the medium tires given the issues that we had in qualifying. You know, every race is a challenge in their own right. One wrong move and it can change the race at any moment." He rattled off without having to think about the question.

Max saw Nico had tried to get Lewis' attention who was sitting to the right of him.

The question had gone in a semicircle, from him to Lewis and then to Charles before the reporter moved on asking how the car was today.

“Max, 14th consecutive pole this weekend and with a record-breaking 12 wins in a row. How does it feel?”

“It feels good. I never set out to break records. The achievement is something to appreciate and be happy with.” Max rattled off quickly before he thought the reporter would go to Lewis next.

"How do you think your dad did during the race today, Nico?" Max's attention was immediately drawn to the reporter. He never thought that any of the reporters would ask Nico a question.

Nico looked up at him from aimlessly playing with the zipper of Max's suit. Silently asking if it was okay to answer the voice coming from the small crowd of reporters. Max gave a slight nod, encouraging him to speak.

"Papa did well, even if he wouldn't have started from P1." Nico muttered into the mic that Max placed in front of him.

There were chuckles from the reporters.

Max couldn't help but pull Nico in a little closer giving him a proud smile. He loved that Nico didn't care where he was starting the race from, Nico though he did well regardless.

"Would you have changed anything during the race if it was you behind the wheel?" Nico looked back up at Max again.

He would need to ask Christian if he could start bringing Nico to interviews.

"Trying to overtake Uncle Lewis at lap 15. Small gap," Nico said with a shrug of his shoulders. Lewis reached over and gave Nico a little fist bump while Max smiled.

"Smart kid you've got there, Max." Lewis said just loud enough for the mics to pick it up. Max slightly nodded before laughing.

Nico revealing how close he was to the other drivers on the grid wasn't news. He was seen at races much more often now that Max wasn’t hiding his son from the media. It had taken Nico no time whatsoever to start thinking of the other guys on the grid as his family.

"Max, do you agree with that? Would you have tried to overtake Lewis at turn 3 during that lap?" Max couldn't help but laugh. Of course, that's what they'd ask him.

"It's just like Nico said, there was a small gap. But then you have to wonder if it's worth it to overtake or risk damaging the car. I knew that I would get another opportunity so I wasn't worried about overtaking him then."

"Okay, thank you, Max, Nico." Max gave a small nod before looking over the brim of his hat to see Y/N standing in the back behind the reporters with a wide smile on her face.

The reporters asked Charles and Lewis a few more questions. "Last few questions." He had heard.

"My question is for Max." Max moved to sit up a little taller.

"With your son here, do you think he'll follow in your footsteps driving in F1 for Red Bull?"

They were trying to dig deep, huh?

"That's the dream, right." He started before pausing. "No, I mean. If that's what Nico wants, I will support him, even if he decides that he doesn't want to drive in F1. I'll still support him. As for driving for Red Bull, that I don’t know."

Nico tapped Max on the shoulder before he started talking into the mic. "Ask Grandpa Christian." Nico said.

More laughter broke out from the reporters.

Max reached over and tickled Nico’s right side. He broke out in laughter curling up at Max’s side. He loved having his family here.

ynlnusername 📍Autodromo Nazionale Monza

Liked by yourbestfriend and 475,123 others

ynlnusername Second race back after the break. Congratulations to my better half on another record breaking win! You work every day to achieve your dream and I hope that our son is lucky enough to do the same one day.

charles_leclerc Lovely seeing you and Nico around the paddock today!

landonorris The only Verstappen's allowed in the McLaren garage. Don't tell Max.

View all 629 comments

fan76 Y/N calling Max her better half. Babe, you are the better half.

fan46 Was at Monza today. Loved seeing Max spend time with Nico before the race. He's such a cute kid.

fan27 Nico in his Red Bull headphones in the team garage!

wagsoff1

3,472 likes

wagsoff1 Max and Y/N see out in Milano, Italy celebrating after his 12th consecutive win in Monza.

View all 120 comments

fan56 What is this look that Max is giving Y/N? Love?? Respect?? Devotion?? Can I get a man to look at me like that?

fan86 Wondering when the wedding is going to be.

fan29 Probably during the mid-season break next year. Makes the most sense given when Max proposed.

October 20, 2024

taglist: @karmabyfernando, @barcagirly, @sachaa-ff, @iamahallucinationnn, @musingsbyshreya, @glow-ish, @nonsensical-nonsence, @fanboyluvr, @champomiel, @gothicwidowsworld, @lighttsoutlewis, @itsalwaysgay

[katakaluptastrophy]

"I’ve already pretty much revealed that Alecto begins with the descent of Christ into Hades." - Tamsyn Muir

That's right...it's time for more Bible study for fans of weird queer necromancers!

It's currently Holy Week, the week where Western liturgical Christians reenact the events of Jesus' death and resurrection in real time. And today, it's Holy Saturday. So Jesus died on the cross on Good Friday. He rises from the dead on Easter Sunday. But what happened in between? His body lay in the tomb...but his spirit was otherwise preoccupied. Because on Holy Saturday, Jesus went to Hell.

But why would Jesus go to Hell? Because the resurrection was not just about saving the people who came after it - it was a bit more...wibbly wobbly, timey wimey.

To be a bit more specific, he didn't visit Hell Hell. The place Jesus visited isn't Hell in the sense of eternal punishment of the damned, but Hades or Sheol or the Underworld or Limbo - a place for those who were mostly good but lived before Jesus' resurrection had made salvation possible. So before his resurrection, Jesus went to make that salvation retroactive. Particularly, according to tradition, to major figures from the Old Testament, including Adam and Eve.

So Nona the Ninth ended with Harrow walking off into the River in search of theological truth. And Alecto the Ninth apparently begins with Harrow in Hell:

Alecto the Ninth, ACT ONE HARROW IN HELL CHAPTER 1 At a point in the slit she was carving through life, Harrowhark Nonagesimus woke to find herself lost in a dark wound. She had been walking when it had all gone black– any path ahead or behind was blotted out; now she was here.  - Tamsyn Muir reading at TorCon

This is riffing heavily on the beginning of Dante's Inferno:

"In the middle of the journey of our life I came to myself within a dark wood where the straight way was lost." - Dante Alighieri, Inferno

But lots of people go to Hell. What's so special about Harrow going there? Because the traditional name in English for Jesus' chthonic salvation adventures on Holy Saturday is "the Harrowing of Hell." "Harrow" comes from an Old English word meaning to attack or despoil - a very martial way of expressing the idea of Jesus as the victor over sin and death.

Harrow ended NTN realising that she cannot trust John's account of metaphysics. That she needs to discover the reality for herself. The faith of the Nine Houses and John's own styling as god rests on the foundation of the Resurrection - John is the "ransomer of death, scourge of death, vindicator of death", his power is understood to be absolute: "Let the whole of everywhere entrust themselves to him. Let those across the river pledge beyond the tomb to the adept divine."

And yet even that prayer - "let those across the river..." - introduces doubt. Magnus jumps in to silence Abigail when she expresses her heretical belief in the River beyond, and Harrow herself scoffs that "it has been thousands of years since anybody bothered to believe in the River beyond." Abigail believes that John knows nothing about what exists beyond the River. And what about Hell? In HTN, Ulysses the First is described as "languishing in Hell" after his run-in with a Resurrection Beast. John himself describes the stoma as "the mouth to Hell", "a portal to a place I cannot touch - somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless."

In the Book of Revelation - the Bible's account of the end of the world - Jesus holds "the keys of death and Hell". John may have resurrected the dead, but he does not comprehend what is beyond it. Both the destination of the good, the River beyond to which the souls of little Isaac and Jean should have traveled lightly after their short and brutal lives, and the Hell that lies beneath the stoma are outside of his power. He is a few keys short of the full divine bunch. He can manipulate death, but he is not really its master.

And so Harrow walks off into the River to look for something or someone she can call god. Harrow, who shares a name with the defeat of death across time and space. Harrow, who is of the unbroken line of Anastasia. Anastasia was kind to Alecto, who like Eve is the mother of all and like Adam walked on the empty earth with god.

In Orthodox icons, the Harrowing of Hell is depicted with Jesus triumphant, leading Adam and Eve by the hand from their tombs. The traditional term for this image is an anastasis, the Greek term for resurrection. Adam and Eve, whose sin broke the intended shape of reality, are restored to wholeness with god.

How will Harrow answer her questions about god? What really is beyond the stoma and what would it mean to conquer it? What does it look like, metaphysically, to restore the world of The Locked Tomb to wholeness, and what will it cost?

[ronearoundblindly]

Forgive me if I sent this ask before... I don't remember if I did 😅 but if not just know that I thought about sending it in since you started this series 🙈

For who would:

If you just hand them your baby niece or nephew or a baby you're watching for a friend (just any baby lol) who would hand it right back to you, silently hold it with a sheer look of panic till you come back and take it or be a natural and not give it back to you at all?

I love this bit of fluff and silliness for a Sunday; excellent question!

James Mace

He asks a lot of questions about what needs done or should be done. Is it changing time? How much head support should he provide? Is this a DND (do not disturb, D&D is for his own kiddos) baby ready for a nap? Is this play time? Should he be engaging the baby or keeping up conversation with the group?

Now, as to whether or not having the baby in his arms gives him any ideas: not any more than he's already had. You two have plans, you've talked about this and are on the same page, so his interactions right then have to do with that baby at that moment. He doesn't necessarily have stronger feelings when handling other people's children.

Curtis Everett

Curtis does not trust himself around babies especially. He goes extremely stiff and extremely quiet. He stares intensely. He will not do anything unless you tell him to do something with the baby. Even then he is not truly comfortable.

Babies bring up a lot of memories and emotions for him, and theoretically he knows he isn't in the same place/headspace as when he was younger, he knows babies aren't in as much danger as the old days, but he still gets so overwhelmed by it.

Yes, Curtis is even like this with his own children. He counts the days until his child is old enough to not be considered a 'baby' anymore. In fact, Curtis enjoys the memory of their infancy, pictures and videos, etc, more than he can enjoy being with them as infants.

Jimmy Dobyne

Honestly, a total natural. Small towns and rural areas mean closer-knit families, neighbors, and friends. They all help each other out. A bunch of kids shuffle around to spend afternoons here or Saturdays there. Babies get passed around to let parents get errands done or go on dates. It's not a big deal; it's just a way of life.

At this point, Jimmy has cleaned up after and fed a dozen different species of 'babies.' He's fine with it. He doesn't play much though, not with babies. Jimmy prefers when they're old enough to run around for catch or sports, etc. That's more his wheelhouse.

Johnny Storm

Fucking terrified to handle babies but LOVES entertaining them. Will do absolutely anything to make that baby laugh. To a fault sometimes because Johnny will get so animated he knocks shit over in the house or wherever you two are.

You give him credit for trying though.

Jake Jensen

Sits that baby up on his lap and continues to watch whatever screen he's focused on.

Jake isn't necessarily bad with babies, but he prefers to continue to enjoy the more adult entertainment/interactions around him. Like Jimmy, he will be more than hands-on excited once that baby can be active with their own interests (sports or otherwise) because he will participate and support 100%. Babies are just a bit too floppy and unreadable for him.

Lloyd Hansen

Thrilled to let those tiny baby fingers try to hold the grip of his switchblade. Adores how fucking angry the parents (or you) get when he plays with knives around them or has them play with the knives. Lloyd secretly finds baby facial reactions to be the funniest things on the planet--but, no, he doesn't actually like babies.

Ari Levinson

Ari is a playful papa through and through. Has more than once strapped that carrier to his chest and wondered around with someone's kiddo for whole parties. Endlessly entertained and entertaining when it comes to babies.

However, Ari really, really doesn't like when babies get grabby and pull at his hair. That shit hurts, and he hates it. Also he's oddly squeamish about spit-up and/or vomit. Technically, he is not a fan of diaper duty, like very, very, very not a fan.

Ransom Drysdale

The absolute fuck are you handing him a baby for??? Bitch, are you insane?! Be real. Seriously. Just don't.

There isn't even much improvement in this behavior when it's Ran's own child. Not a fan of the 'baby' stage, this one.

Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes

Lumping these two together because they do exactly the same things. Steve and Bucky physically treat female and male babies differently; they are sweet and cooing with girls, and then they talk about or mimic sports things with boys. They don't mean to be presumptive in this behavior, just do it be default.

Neither is afraid to roll their sleeves up and help with feeding or changing. They'll give equal attention to the baby and the group around you. They will both happily sit/stand/walk around with a napping baby in their arms--although they aren't thrilled to be unable to help with other stuff while they have no available hands.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would...? Asks List; Ko-Fi]

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses

@brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81

@bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries 

@rogersbarber @blogbog710

[pudgedork]

it’s amazing what surrounding yourself with the right people can help you achieve. you’d finally allowed yourself to give in to your desires just a few short years ago, and already your progress was pretty remarkable. you used to be such a skinny little thing, but now… well, things were a bit different now.

progress started slowly. the desire to eat was there in your heart, but unfortunately your stomach wasn’t ready for the sudden step-up in intake. it took a couple of months to build up your capacity, but you soon found an unexpected boost. there were a few other feedees in your area as it turned out; you weren’t really looking for a relationship, but it wouldn’t hurt to make some new friends.

from the moment you all met up for the first time, the floodgates opened. not just for you personally, but for everyone in the group. turns out if you bring a bunch of gluttons with a passion for fatness together, waistlines are going to bulge. sharing in the pleasure of stuffing yourselves to the brim – and often beyond – while encouraging one another to order one more dessert… it was an intoxicating combination.

so here you were today; you’d recently surpassed 500 pounds, and you had no intentions of slowing down any time soon. your not-so-little gang of bad influences had become tightly knit over these last few years. you all wanted to see each other get huge, and you loved spending time together. even beyond the food, you just enjoyed their company.

you’d recently become the heaviest in the group, and it was unanimously agreed that you had the potential to get seriously fat; as if you weren’t already. that original target you set yourself of 300 pounds had proven to be deeply unsatisfying; you were barely getting started at that size! now, you didn’t really have a goal weight. you just wanted to keep growing and see how it felt. those fantasies of immobility and transforming your body into a mountain of blubber were thoughts you tried to bury, but deep down you knew there was every chance of your reality becoming not too dissimilar one day.

the routine for the group meet-ups remained pretty consistent; every sunday, you all met up for what was essentially the fast food equivalent to a pub crawl. this lasted from lunchtime all the way through to the late evening, by which point you were barely able to haul yourselves to your feet. looking back on when these meet-ups started, it was funny to think how self-conscious you all were. everyone was too afraid of the inevitable judgement from the staff – and the other customers – to order as much as they actually wanted. with time though, you stopped caring.

who cared if people spoke in hushed tones when they saw this pod of whales waddle through the door? it didn’t matter that the guy taking your order was mortified at how much you intended to eat, nor did it matter how the people at the next table over reacted when you lifted your bellies out to rest on the table.

you thought it was hot as fuck, honestly. yeah, it was kind of embarrassing to be known across town as this complete pig. everyone you went to school with knew, and you’d seen all the discussions they had on the local social media groups about you. but god damn, becoming this spectacle for people to observe with morbid curiosity only made you more desperate to pile on weight.

on the way to this week’s hangout you were reminded of an ongoing problem caused by your exploits; squeezing into your car was becoming a challenge. it wasn’t the biggest, so maybe it shouldn’t have come as a surprise. it did however occur to you just how ridiculous it was to have to consider whether a car could physically accommodate your sheer mass like this. that wasn’t really a concern most people had, after all.

it didn’t half get you in the mood for your binge though. arriving at the first fast food chain, you parked up near your friend’s cars and headed for the door. these trips between your car and the various establishments you’d be visiting were the most intense exercise you got nowadays, and they were a serious workout. the thought of the day arriving where you were simply too fat to complete this journey had you biting your lip.

after a quick catch-up – chatting about what everyone had been up to that week – it was time to begin. you ordered a stack of burgers and several large drinks, and got to work. within minutes, you were releasing a satisfied belch and pushing aside your trash. your friends took a little longer to finish their first meals, but it was soon time to move on.

by the time you reached the fourth stop – your favourite bakery – one of your friends pulled you aside before you had a chance to order. you’d been one of the more ravenous members of the group for a while now, but they couldn’t believe your pace today. they were all completely stuffed from trying to keep up, but it was clear you were far from finished. so there was a change of plan for the rest of the day; all the attention was going to be on trying to find your limit specifically.

you didn’t have a chance to reply before they pointed out the feast laid out on the table. an enormous selection of delicious looking baked goods. there were more than you could count. admittedly, your mind was a bit fuzzy from the caloric assault it had faced so far already, but even still; this was an obscene amount of food. and it was all for you.

squeezing into the seat, you briefly questioned if it was sturdy enough to handle you. no time for that, there was already a cake being shoved into your mouth. the next couple of hours were a haze. your friends took turns cramming a seemingly endless supply of food into you, while the rest of them caressed your bloated gut in an attempt to ease the strain. the only breaks came to pour milkshakes down your throat to hydrate you.

the state of pure bliss you found yourself in meant you didn’t even register the crowd that had gathered in the building. phone cameras flashed and recorded the evidence; they couldn’t believe what they were seeing. what the hell were they witnessing? who was this absolute mess, and how the fuck did they let themselves get like this?

by the time your gorging was over, the crowd had long since dispersed. most of the employees had left as well; there was no chance of other customers coming in while you were eating your way through the bakery’s entire stock. you felt more nauseous than you’d ever experienced before in your life. your stomach was stretched so tight you were concerned it might actually split open. the jeans you’d worn into the building lay torn under the table; there was absolutely no chance of them ever fitting you again.

shuffling in your seat to try and find a more comfortable position, your earlier fears about the chair were suddenly justified. a loud crack as the legs snapped underneath your heft, and down you went. before your friends had a chance to ask if you were alright, you released an enormous burp that eased the pressure in your belly significantly.

leaving your jeans behind – and with your shirt covering only a fraction of your gut – your friends attempted to help hoist you to your feet. you could barely maintain your balance. it was clear walking to your car wasn’t happening. one of the employees said they’d bring through a delivery pallet so you could be dragged out of the building.

the realisation of how absurd this situation was finally hit you. you were so stuffed, so unfit, so far gone, that your friends were having to literally wheel you out of the bakery using industrial equipment. you were completely humiliated, and you could barely contain your orgasm.

the next problem came once your friends – with assistance from the remaining employees – finally managed to get you to your car. you really weren’t in a fit state to drive. there might not be any laws around driving under the influence of a biblical sugar rush, but your friends decided for you it’d be for the best if someone else took you home.

with great difficulty, they managed to shove you into the passenger seat. the seatbelts had already been getting pretty tight, but with your belly this inflated it simply couldn’t reach. the smallest of your friends – though that was relative in this company – offered to drive you home, since she only lived a couple streets over anyway. it took all her willpower not to get distracted by the cascading ocean of fat sat next to her every time there was a bump in the road, but soon enough you were home.

you had a mobility scooter in the garage. you’d picked it up cheap on the off-chance of an emergency; but it wasn’t as if you would ever get fat enough to actually need one for real. well, it sure came in handy now. your friend helped you shuffle from the passenger seat onto the scooter, and said her goodbyes. you rode into the house, and caught a sight of yourself in the hallway mirror. barely clothed, chocolate and cream smeared around your mouth, a picture of completely unhinged gluttony.

the thought of having to return to normality tomorrow hit you. you’d had a taste of life as your friends’ pet project, and you had no desire to turn back. you wanted more. you needed that experience again. this was everything you’d ever fantasised about. it was crazy, but you didn’t care. you wanted to spend the rest of your life stuffed to the brim, praised for how huge you were getting, for being such a good whale.

you felt your phone vibrate. it was a message in the group chat.

“enjoyed that, didn’t you fatass? don’t worry about work tomorrow. you’re our full-time pig now, and we’re going to help you achieve exactly what you want.”

[bellysoupset]

Max Meeting The Gang

"A whole weekend?" Max raised his eyebrows, watching the football practice as if he understood a single thing about the game. Next to him, Vince was his perfect opposite, actually enthralled by it all and occasionally cheering.

Vince was wrapped up in a cardigan on top of his sweater and he hadn't shaved in a couple days, so his perpetual five o'clock shadow had leveled up into a full beard. He still looked pale and gaunt from that horrible flu bout, despite more than a week having passed since. Frankly, Max had been surprised when Vince showed up to his classes on Tuesday, instead of taking the day off.

"Yeah, we leave Friday after class and come back Sunday night," Vince answered, waving to his sister as the cheerleaders entered the field, "it'll be fun, Max."

"I don't know, Vince," Max shrugged, rolling his eyes as he saw a bunch of girls look in his direction and start to giggle, "they're your friends, not mine."

"Yeah, that's how you make new friends," Vince reached in and squeezed his nape in affectionate manner, shoving Max slightly, "you know my girlfriend already, that's two."

Max crossed his arms, chewing on his bottom lip, "I guess... I'll think about it."

"Well, don't think too hard, I need to know by Thursday because I'm grocery shopping before heading there," Vin shivered violently, pulling his cardigan tighter around himself and Max eyed him worriedly, but didn't say anything, "if it's anything, I think you'll really like them."

That wasn't what concerned Max. Vince clearly was really really close with his friends, if anything they seemed more like family than just friendship, and Max had a weird fright deep in his guts, like he was just about to meet Vince's parents. Not that it made any sense, he had never been the type to meet the parents of the people he dated, he knew Mr. and Mrs. Monacelli already and, oh yeah, he was not dating Vince.

However the fear was the same, that he was going to meet Vince's friends, they'd decide they hated him, and he'd kiss his friendship with Vin goodbye.

"Get out of your head," Vince jabbed his elbow in Max's tummy, not too hard, "it's going to be fun... I'd like if you came."

And really, did Max ever stand a chance against such words?

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

Since Max had a car and Vince was going to go grocery shopping beforehand, they decided to go together. Max wasn't so sure about all of this, he wanted to bolt and his stomach was churning with nerves, but Vince was making a damn good job of making sure he couldn't, like by riding along with him.

"VIN!"

Max looked up in time to see a blur of dark hair and then Wendy was tackling her boyfriend into a hug, kissing his face all over, "oh my god, you look horrible," she whined mid kisses and Vince chuckled, planting her down on the ground.

"Thanks?"

"You look so pale, doesn't he look pale, Max?" Wendy cupped her boyfriend's face, "this is like the third stomach flu you had in six months, I'm putting you in quarantine."

Vince laughed at that, wrapping his arms around Wendy and giving her a hug from behind, pressing a kiss to her temple, "you sound like my mom, honey."

Wendy let out a little scoff at that, but it vanished quickly as her green eyes paused on Max and her pout melted into a smile, "hey, I'm so happy you decided to come," she perked up to give him a hug, leaving him stunned.

Max's whole face was a shade of red, when the front door of the cabin opened and a group of people stepped out. He recognized Vince's friend, Luke, immediately, the one with dark wavy hair and just as tall as Vin was. He was chatting with two other men, who were holding hands and clearly a couple.

"Guys!" Vince called out their attention, "Max, these are Luke, Leo and Jon. Guys, this is Daniels," he introduced them with a smile and Max wanted to shrink in his shoes. He felt clammy and nauseous all of sudden, but forced up a lopsided smile that communicated he wasn't so anxious he could vomit.

The man Vince had pointed out as Jon, raised a hand, all smooth and formal, "nice to meet you, Daniels."

"Just Max," he cleared his throat, shaking Jonah's hand and then Leo perked up to do the same, although he looked much more friendly than his boyfriend.

Luke didn't shake his hand at all, only offered him a tight smile, "hi Max."

"Where's Bell?" Vince asked, frowning and squeezing Max's shoulder, "oh there she is."

Max followed Vince's gaze and then raised his eyebrows as he saw a stunning ginger getting out of the house. She was wearing a black bikini top and jeans shorts, curly hair falling like a mane around her face and Max's jaw all but dropped.

He stepped aside in order not to be stepped on by her, as Bella apparently didn't even register him before tackling Vince with a hug. She squeezed him tightly, murmuring in a strained voice, "I've missed you."

Then her eyes landed on Max and she raised her eyebrows, scrutinizing him, "that's Daniels?"

"In the flesh," he answered before he could think better of it and she seemed momentarily surprised she had asked that out loud and that he had answered. Bella measured him up and down, then smiled.

"I thought you'd be taller."

"Well, this isn't awkward at all," Vince teased, while Wendy wrapped an arm around his waist and laughed, "let's go inside the house."

Max was more than a little dizzy with the amount of information he had to absorb in such a short time. Vince and Wendy shared a room upstairs, as well as Jonah and Leo. Downstairs, Luke and Bella had the third room and Max was delegated to the sofa bed, in the living room — which he didn't mind in the least but still made a big show of complaining about, just because he enjoyed watching Vince fumble over himself in search of a solution.

"You're mean," Leo whispered, leaning in his direction, as Vince continued to try and argue with Jonah and Luke that they should all draw straws.

"I prefer fun," Max retorted, smiling back at the other man, "so how long have you known Vince?"

"Since his first week of college," Leo shrugged, resting his back against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms to his chest, "he came to college already in the team, but I was doing try outs. Adopted me on the spot."

"And here I was feeling special," Max rolled his eyes, "he does that a lot?"

"Adopt strays? Not as much as Luke does," Leo let out an amused huff as his boyfriend told Vince he was not switching room and that was final, "not you though, he hates you."

"Couldn't have guessed," Max snorted, as if he could ignore the way Lucas was all stiff around him or the over the top PDA he was displaying with his wife simply because Max had looked at Bella.

"He's just jealous that Vince likes you," Leo shrugged, patting Max's arm, "it'll wear off by the end of the weekend, Luke can't hold a grudge."

Across the kitchen, Luke said something in a low, snappy voice that caused Jonah's eyebrows to jump and Vince to frown, shutting his mouth in a tight line.

"Maybe we should intervene?"

"Nah, let them hash it out," Bella's said, pushing herself between them and resting her back comfortably against Leo's arm. She was holding a beer and looking Max up and down like he was a zoo animal, "so how long you were in?"

"Jesus, Bell, you can't just ask people that," Leo exclaimed, while Max let out an amused snort. He hadn't ever told Vince that he had done time, so he wondered how she knew this.

"Just two days, protest arrest," Max answered, but never quite started that conversation, since Wendy wrapped a hand around his wrist and tugged at it, all the while saying loudly:

"Enough with the gossiping, we were all gonna go in the lake."

He did not, in fact, want to go in the lake. Ever since the day before his stomach had been a mess, which Max was chalking up to nerves, and he felt weirdly self conscious of stripping before this group, when his belly was sticking out, bloated and crampy.

Still, it was a warm, sunny day out and he had no excuse not to go in. He paced around the shore, as Bella raced Wendy down the pier and they both jumped, followed by Luke and Leo, the blonde spluttering up water and pushing his hair back as he yelled, "c'mon guys! Jon!"

Jonah was all smooth, unlike his friends who still behaved like kids, he took his time to strip and neatly fold his clothes, before walking into the lake instead of jumping from the pier.

"Aren't you gonna get in?" Vince patted Max's shoulder and the man shrugged, feeling horribly out of place.

"I don't know about this whole weekend, man," he started to complain, but Vin cut him off with a dramatic gesture. He always talked with his hands, really not helping the stereotype.

"You haven't been here for an hour," he said with a heavy sigh, kicking off his shoes, "if you still wanna leave by night, I'll drive you back, alright?"

Sounded good enough, even if Max felt a pang of guilt at the idea of Vin wasting another 3 hours of his weekend by driving Max back to Doveport, then back again to the cabin.

"Alright-" he stripped off his shirt, wincing slightly when his stomach let out a nauseated growl and rolled, breakfast sitting like a fucking brick.

Next to him, Vince stripped his shirt and threw it on top of Jonah's carefully folded pile, messing it up and causing the man to shout all the way back from the lake, "VINCE!"

"C'mooon, get in, Vin! Max!" Wendy squealed, drowning Jonah's shout and climbing on his back so she could have some leverage. She was the shortest of the group and while Luke was standing on solid ground, Wendy was panting as she struggled to keep her head afloat.

Max let his eyes wander, roaming over the expanse of Vince's naked back and biting down a dreamy sigh. By now he had seen Vin shirtless - and fully naked, thanks to the recent flu from hell - more than he ever thought he would. Still, the guy was a vision.

He removed his own shirt and grimaced at his stomach, wondering if it was visible to anyone else how upset the organ was, then dumped his wallet and cell on top of his shirt and kicked off his shoes, joining the group.

The water felt extremely cold against his skin and he shivered violently, letting out a string of curses when Vince promptly dunked his head in the water as soon as Max was close enough.

He came up spluttering and cursing, only for Wendy to be smiling at him and shut him up easy like that, "Welcome to the group, Max," she whispered in his ear and Max opened his mouth to reply, only for Bella to dive and tug at his feet, causing him to go underwater once again.

[etherealising]

hey vee! omg i’m so glad you extended your celebration. i’ve been drowning in schoolwork and kinda losing my mind but i totally wanna participate at least once!

ik we’re team barmy in this house but i’m curious to see a drabble on what this day was like from camry’s perspective.

that day baby came to work and he was on a date with claire. how did he bring himself to even go especially after their previous night together. (ik this may be a lil agnsty, i’ve been loving that kind of stuff lately) ��💞

stawph!!! this request excites me every time i read it and idk why lol. i love writing pre-aiekoy barby it's so much fun to just invent a bunch of lore!!

thank you so much for requesting!!! i see you in my inbox bestie and i promise i’ll get back to you love!! also your constant support really is one of the reasons i keep posting so thank you so much for indulging me 🫶🏽

After baby leaves the berzatto household carmy literally has zero clue what to do with himself, like man is just staring at his bedroom door 30 minutes later trying to figure out if what just happened was real or just his imagination.

He definitely brushes his fingers across his lips a couple of times, tingles racing through his body every time he thinks about your lips on his.

Carmy goes to sleep happy that night his mind full of visions of you as he finally lays his head to rest.

Sunday rolls around and he’s feeling a bit anxious that neither of you have seen or spoken to each other since that night.

Carmy is freaking out like it genuinely hasn’t even been a full 24 hrs since the moment the two of you shared and he’s sure he scared you off. Maybe you just kissed him back because you felt sorry for him man is running through all the worst scenarios in his head.

He’s definitely picked up the phone to call you and typed out messages but was too scared to do either one in fear of rejection or worse in fear of ruining your already rocky friendship.

At some point, he just relegates himself to finishing some English final essay to keep his mind off of you (it obviously doesn’t work).

It’s getting later as the day passes by and Carmy’s just staring at the few words in the notebook and the eraser marks decorating the page.

The sound of his phone vibrating against the table pulls him from his thoughts and that boy is racing from his seat to answer it, no hesitation no checking the caller ID nothing.

He answers breathlessly and calls your name with a smile on his face because who else would be calling him?

The devastation radiates off of him as Claire’s voice rings into his ears. He gives her an uninterested “Oh, hi.” Mans is not happy at all but he was raised right so he indulges her.

Carmy zones out as soon as he realizes it’s not you, moving through the living room to peek through the curtains at your house, your car is still in the driveway so you must be home, maybe he can go see you after this phone call.

Claire’s voice drifts through his ears asking where he’s at and homeboy is confused most of his focus going to how he’s gonna get his girl who isn’t yet his girl.

And then he remembers before his moment with you, before he knew what it felt like to feel the soft caress of your lips, the weight of your body in his lap. Claire asked him to lunch and he said yes!

He stumbles over his words, he can easily tell Claire that he’s not interested, that there’s someone else. But only an asshole would do something like that over the phone. So with one last look at your car, he decides he’ll meet up with Claire, let her down easy, and then you and him can figure out what this is between the two of you.

Carmy uses the back entrance not wanting to engage with any of the many people crowded in line at the front of the shop, easily finding Claire alone at a table a sigh of relief escaping him that she hadn’t chosen yours and his special table.

It’s awkward for the first few minutes after he sits down. He promised himself he’d start by admitting to Claire that he thought she was nice and pretty even, but that he realized he was in love with someone else.

Claire breaks the ice before he can even get his little speech out, maybe he’ll wait till the end of this little hangout maybe that would save the awkwardness of having to eat with someone you admitted you didn’t have feelings for.

Somehow the two of them go from awkward conversation to joking around about the previous night at prom.

Carmy’s back is to the entrance so he doesn’t take notice of your presence but he watches as Claire’s eyes drift from his face her eyes lighting up hand waving with gusto as she says your name.

Carmy doesn’t even need to turn around to see you, a heavy weight growing at the bottom of his stomach, but he does anyway and the way you avoid his eyes is enough proof that this whole situation upset you.

He doesn’t even give Claire a second thought before he’s out of his seat trying to find you, the muffled cries leaving the walk-in lead him straight to you, and he can’t help the annoyance that builds up in him at hearing Mikey’s voice.

His older brother, always there to save the fucking day. He stays a bit longer just listening to you sob and he knows he was the cause of your anguish.

Carm returns to Claire and apologizes for leaving and he doesn’t explain anything but he can see the sadness in her eyes as a silent conversation passes between the two of them her eyes watering with her hurt and realization.

Claire was kind enough to offer him a ride home, but Carmy decided to walk home, he didn’t know how he could live with the weight of making two girls cry in one day.

On the tedious walk home, Carmy comes to the decision that it’s best if he just lets you believe what you want. You’ll be gone soon and there’s no point in clearing anything up, no point in putting his feelings about you into words if the two of you will be apart soon.

So he self-sabotages allows you to think he’s the bad guy (i mean he kinda is lol) doesn’t clear up what you think you saw, and doesn’t address the kiss and intimate moment he initiated.

And as the days tick down to your departure he watches you grow closer to Hayden, ignoring Claire’s questioning looks as she tries to understand why you and Carmy aren’t together yet.

The time comes for your departure and he’s built up some false confidence about telling you the truth about everything but he chokes. Wishes you luck in college and mutters promises about keeping in touch, promises he knows are a lie as soon as he speaks them because he doesn’t think he could pretend to be happy for you knowing his own happiness lies with you.

a/n: gosh do i love making these two suffer, there’s some tidbits in here that i might expand on in a carmy interlude i have planned but only time will tell. enjoy!

[agendabymooner]

colour me your colour || toto w. x ofc (4)

Summary:  Tilly Marie nearly loses faith in her passion as she refuses to listen to everyone who told her to quit. Everyone but one. And it’s the man she met years ago at a racing event she didn’t want to attend. Who would have thought that her father’s partial ownership of three brands could take her to the zone of Mercedes and meet the love of her life?

Chapter summary: Can you actually fall in love fast? or is Tilly just fortunate enough to catch Toto's attention and gain his respect and determination in span of a day? As of this point, she might as well host a slumber party as Daniel and Lewis continue to pester her with the most important topics of her life right now: her family and the hypothetical ones she'd make with Toto.

Content warning: Age gap, brief use of explicit language, discusses the 2014 austrian gp, flirtatious banter, mutual pining kind of romance, platonic relationship with Lewis Hamilton and Daniel Ricciardo, fictional family and business involved (Hearth family and Hearth Automotives Group). NO PERSONAL RELATIONSHIPS INVOLVED SORRY

Note: Thank you all so much for the 50 followers! I honestly have been writing these just because I didn't have anything occupy my time and it's a good idea that I posted them up here. knowing that you're enjoying my brain's ideas, it fuels me even more into writing. As of this point I'm currently writing a spin-off for Rush and this series so keep an eye out, I suppose. I hope you all enjoyed today's race because I certainly did (Albon was way too fucking good this weekend, I shit you not). And I hope Alonso's 2nd place makes up for the Father's Day that I'll never get to spend with him. Enjoy xx

masterlist

iv. fast lane but not the race weekend kind

“Regards,

Tilly Marie F. Hearth…”

That should be okay, I tell myself silently as I put away my laptop. It’s only 6 pm, and I already wish to retire to my bed early. 

I can be doing a lot, but instead I’m moping inside my hotel room while I’m waiting for Lewis. Being on a paid vacation is nice; I don’t have to do anything and deal with people. But at the same time, I’m craving more tasks to occupy my time because truthfully, I do NOT want to be stuck in a hotel in Silverstone with nothing to do. I spent my early 20’s being away from people, but now I’m entering my early 30’s, I’m slowly thinking that I probably should’ve done more than attend festivals by myself or with my sisters.

None of the people I was around with earlier had looked my way until after they'd been told that I was working in communications and was a boss’ child. The staff from the other teams also did the same—but some of them knew who I was already and had already made themselves comfortable. Just how I wanted.

But then again, this is my first day. And Sunday would probably be my last considering that I’ll be back to my stuffy office the next week. 

I can take up the role as a consultant for communications. My father did offer me that role for Ferrari, Red Bull and McLaren—telling me that I can do so much more in Formula One than my no-good employers. 

Bunch of bullshit, I curse out. He wouldn’t let go of his legacy like that. 

I already told him about writing for magazines or simply writing in general, but he still placed these executive positions in front of me as if he knew I’d give in. Sad fact is that he actually is right; I’m close to giving up on my job. If The Devil Wears Prada didn’t warn me the first time, Lauren Weisberger should have at least taken both of my shoulders and shaken them. 

It didn’t hurt to think about balancing Formula One and journalism out. After all, it’s what I can do as a journalist—know enough about racing and engines and ensure that my knowledge is being shared through my writing and published works. 

I try my best to relax in my bed, lying flat on the mattress with my hands resting on my stomach. The silence is deafening and I can hear my steady breathing. My eyes are growing tired as they continue to look up at the ceiling of my room. 

For a moment, I debated whether or not I should come downstairs for dinner with Lewis. If there’s anything that I know about him, he takes his dear time to get ready—and I have an endless closet at home. That’s telling you a lot. 

A knock on my door makes me stand fast and rush to open it. Daniel Ricciardo stands there with a grin.

“Oh you,” I blurt out.

Displeased with my response, Daniel cries out, “I’m not terrible all the time, Tils.” 

“Sorry,” I shake my head as I correct myself, “I meant that I thought you were Lewis.”

“He phoned me and said we should head down instead of waiting for him,” he shrugs as he sticks his arm out and offers, “let’s go?” 

I nod and head to where my flats are, slipping them on with ease as I grab my keycard and wallet. 

Daniel only pulled his arm back when I wrapped my arm around it. We descend to the ground floor where the restaurant is located. 

A host takes us to a four table seat at a corner. Seeing familiar faces from the venue, I nod at them as a greeting before I find myself sitting across Daniel. 

Soon enough, Lewis arrives and we begin to talk about today’s events. Forty five minutes had passed, and we found ourselves conversing in front of our already empty plates. 

Daniel asks about my family and all I can tell him has something to do with my mother’s side of the family. I guess out of the wealthy people in my family, I can understand my mother’s connections to the automobile industry. My toxic trait is that I despise my father but love my mother.

The difference is that my mother loves us more than anything and cares for our half-sister more than he does. 

But it seems Daniel has focused on a different matter.

“Your mother is— you’re a Ford, Tils,” his eyes widen like an owl as his mouth gapes open. I can practically see a fly entering his mouth. 

“My mum is,” I laugh, looking at Lewis as he, too, laughs at Daniel’s shocked expression. 

“Mate, she’s a Ford,” Daniel reaches out to nudge at Lewis and gestures at me. “You carry that information around just like that?” 

“She’s not really putting it out there for everyone to know,” Lewis chuckles, sipping on his water as he puts it down. “Besides, if you were really into racing you probably have heard about her dad or mum’s family one way or another.”

“I don’t really go digging for information about old money families,” Daniel rolls his eyes as he looks at me again, “you don’t look like you’re happy to be here. For someone who came from families who are into cars.”

“My father insisted on having me work for his teams,” I tell him, “I’m not exactly the brightest for motorsport. I prefer the media more than what my father wishes me to pursue.”

“Have you raced before?” 

“I had a karting career at some point,” I shrug, “or at least I started at the age 4. Mum didn’t agree with it and I should’ve started at 7, but my father insisted. I was already competing by 7. My sisters were too, but some preferred equestrian over racing.”

“If my dad was a twat, I’d stop it just to spite him too,” Daniel says as I raise my brows at the statement. He then corrects himself, “What I mean is I’d pursue the karting career for me, not for him.”

“Gotcha.”

Lewis pipes up, “Blanche is a pretty decent woman. You should see her, mate.” He turns to look at me and asks, “Is she coming this weekend?” 

“With Aimee and Sylvie,” I nod in confirmation, “I’m not quite sure about Stevie yet but she wouldn’t want to miss out on your home race.” Not elaborating any further, I return to the topic, “My father is absolutely baffled when I quit karting but he can’t do much because Poppy, my mum’s dad, was still alive. So between him and Poppy, he chose not to interfere.” 

“But you’re still here on behalf of your father though,” Daniel points out.

“It’s to secure my position and family’s future,” I tell him with a sigh. I look at him then back at Lewis before I say, “Whether I like it or not, I still need to do my part regardless of how much I hate the surname. It’s an obligation that I can’t avoid but it’s alright. It’s not just for me— it’s for my sisters and my future children.” Wow, I’ve only been friends with Daniel for a month and I’m already airing out my dirty laundry to him. Is this what happens when your friends are your sisters and just Lewis?

“You’re taking your elder sister role way too seriously. You can’t even catch a break,” Daniel says incredulously. 

I can only nod as I agree; my mother’s capable enough of worrying about them and I should just be doing whatever I want. She cares for my sisters as much as I do but being cut off from my father’s side of the family isn’t something that I’d allow. 

It’s not as if my sisters don’t want to join me at the trackside; they want to keep an eye on one of each team in fact. They want to be able to know what kind of thing our father brags about. But much like me, they don’t want to be on the track itself—they’re better off being models because that's what they wanted to be. They’ll join me soon enough, they just need to make a career out of modelling and come to work for the driving teams whenever they’re ready. 

“They’ll be in a lot of magazines soon enough,” I shrug nonchalantly. “I’d like them to do that first unless they feel like carrying a headache coming from either Brown or Horner.”

“There are three of them,” Lewis chuckles, “if anything, those three would outnumber your team principals. With you alone I got scared, could you imagine Sylvie? She’s feisty.” 

“It’s not just to keep them sane,” I roll my eyes, my foot underneath the table kicking Lewis in the leg. The table shakes lightly. “I just started working in this kind of industry. What kind of a big sister would I be if I’m just as clueless? I need to know more, especially if I want to be able to teach my potential kids about it.”

Lewis, the piece of shit, decides that this is the right time to joke about it and say, “I didn’t know you’re already thinking about a future with my boss, Tilly.” 

I snap my head to Lewis’ direction too much that I’m thinking I just got a whiplash. My glare hardens when Danny and Lewis’ faces turn red from laughing too much. 

“You ought to quiet down, boys,” I hiss, not wanting to look at the people who are giving us the unnecessary attention being gathered by their laughter.

“You have to admit,” Lewis breathes deeply to refrain from laughing again, “you two got along well. Was it because of Dubai?” 

“I told you that in confidence,” reaching down in his thigh, I pinch it as he whines quietly. He slaps my hand away as I say, “You’re a shit secret keeper.”

“Wai— what about Dubai?” Daniel, clearly not understanding what’s going on, asks as he looks at me while he expects a context. 

I muttered to him, “Met Toto Wolff in 2006. Spoke to him and all that.” 

Lewis nearly cries in laughter as he speaks, “She told me about it years ago. She never knew his name–or she refused to tell me who. She said he was attractive alright but—ow, stop it, Tils.”

I pull myself away from Lewis and sit back straight on my seat as I claim, “He doesn’t remember nor think of me like that, Lew. He’s just a silly crush.” 

“Is he?” 

“He was,” I correct him even if I’m wrong. It’s like Toto Wolff got an on-and-off button in my life. One moment he’s there making me blush the next thing he’s already gone. 

“You’ve been single for as long as I know,” Lewis huffs out, “why don’t you try dating again anyways?”

“With your boss?” I raise a brow, “Are you that obtuse?”

“What? He isn’t bad,” Lewis shrugs, returning to his usual composure as he crosses his arms, “the opportunity’s right there. Why are you adamant on not taking it?”

“Because she doesn’t want to get on Christian’s bad side for fraternizing with the enemy,” Daniel jokes. 

“I’m gonna kill you, Daniel,” I threaten him emptily, making him giggle again. 

“I’m repeating what you said!” He cries out, still laughing as he laughs obnoxiously. Men! Seriously.

“He’s quite interested you know,” Lewis states, his arms now crossing as he leaned against his seat. “He’s playing 20 questions with me whenever you leave. I’m not sure if he’s interested in me winning or you.” 

“He’s not interested like that,” I insist, “I’m sure he means well because I just popped up all of the sudden today. Nobody likes to step on the wrong foot of a newcomer. You’ll just make an enemy.”

“Yeah, sure,” Daniel scoffs haughtily, “the guy who’s been asking Christian questions about you left and right— the same person who doesn’t like Christian— isn’t interested.” 

“I haven’t been in a relationship with anyone since 2004,” I scowl, trying to keep my voice quiet as I say, “What makes you think I’ll be able to have an interesting relationship with him?” 

“He isn’t subtle about wanting to spend time with you,” Lewis answers, “what did he say again? You’re welcome to be in our paddock anytime? Does that ring a bell?”

Of course I do, I almost huff out, it’s one of the things that I intend to do. Be able to spend enough time admiring his team…

“I know men,” Daniel adds, “and with the way of how he’s looking down at you during the interview? With the heart eyes making contact with another pair of heart eyes? Yeah, that man is in loooove~”

“Like it’s a fast lane.”

Now I can’t deny it. 

I like being around Toto Wolff, more than anything. Speaking to him is like a breath of fresh air after stepping out of a cigar lounge. He’s a gentleman; I’ve always wondered how he’s not married. Women deserve him. Yet he’s here, being the most eligible bachelor in the grid following Fernando Alonso. God, I will snatch him up if I can even meet his level. I doubt he likes his women like me… trashy trying to be classy.

But it turns out, my cynicism is unnecessary. I find myself thinking a lot about the things that could be. In an empty elevator, I wait as it slowly closes. But the call from outside forces me to keep the door open until the person catches up. 

The man makes it inside as he stands tall, trying to catch his breath. There’s no way in hell—

“Tilly,” oh my god. I’m seeing too much of him today. 

I turn to my left as I dumbly ask, “Bonjour, what floor?” 

Toto looks at me with confusion in his face, probably wondering if I’m playing stupid or just stupid in general as he looks past me and says, “You’ve got it.” 

Wow, not only am I seeing too much of him, I’m also on the same floor as him. 

I nod and look back at the front, I can see him through the reflection from the doors. His polo remains unbuttoned and his hair unruly after running his fingers through it. I can see traces of sweat dripping down his forehead. I probably shouldn’t do a physical examination on him.

I look at him and ask politely, “Have you had dinner yet?” It’s a polite thing to ask, right? Like I’m not coming off as desperate to speak to him?

“Ah,” he keeps his mouth shut for a second and answers, “it is something to take up in my room, unfortunately.”

“Is it?” I ask out of curiosity, “You could have joined others for dinner?” 

“Busy, as always,” he smiles sadly, “it’s an endless battle.”

“Quite a shame,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “Do people know time zones or just business hours or is it just something written on papers?” I ask no one in particular.

“My brain doesn’t shut off the moment 7 pm hits,” he tells me with a rueful smile. “It calls for work all the time. So, no. I don’t follow my own business hours policy.” God, I feel sorry for him. 

“It’s like a wire, Toto,” I nibble on my bottom lip, not knowing how to express my empathy without looking like an arse, “you can’t plug it back in if you’ve something to prevent it from happening. Like a baby proof.” 

“You’re right,” he laughs. “What do you suggest I should do? The baby proof, I mean.”

I watch him as the door slides open, thanking him as he gestures for me to walk out of the lift first. Then my mouth does not stop speaking, “Have a dinner away from your work, for instance. Never hurts to isolate your work once in a while,” he laughs at that, “read a book? I love reading novels— I am currently skimming through Das Parfum. You can even time your break before going back to work because I can assure you that habit isn't good.” 

“Do you understand the German language?” He asks me. Mentioning Das Parfum clearly piqued his curiosity. 

It was smart of me to bring it up. When he told me earlier that he came from Austria, I knew I could talk to him in so many languages. Like I knew what I should say next. Like a mastermind.

I'm such a fucking mastermind.

My mouth quirks up and I answer, “Wir haben schließlich viele deutsche fahrer.” We have a lot of German drivers, after all.

He nods at me like he listens to everything I tell him. As if he’s following an order or he’s rather impressed with my pronunciations. Nice. 

Our conversation leads us in front of my hotel room. 

I look at him and gestures to the door, “This is my bat lair.”

“Bat lair?” He chuckles.

“My little humble abode,” I joke. “I can unfortunately hear my bed calling for me. I have to go.” 

“Right,” he nods as I open my door and step inside my room. Telling myself to get my shit together, I turn around to see him still waiting for me to head in. That was a surprise. 

I suggest, “One way to turn your stressful work day around would be breakfast. If you’d like, you can have one with me tomorrow?” 

“Are you asking me on a breakfast date?” He teases, watching me fall apart with my face flushing red. He stops eventually and answers, “I would be more than happy to accompany you before we head out.” 

“Okay good,” I laugh nervously, “I’ve no one else with me anyways so there’s that… does seven sound okay?” 

“You can ask me for anything I think I’ll say yes, liebling,” boom. There goes my heart once more. He grins gleefully as he says, “I know a place nearby. Would you like me to pick you up tomorrow?” 

“As far as I know I’m the one who asked you first,” I roll my eyes in a joking manner, smile escaping my lips. 

“I’d love to have you pick me up but I know the place,” he tells me with a shrug. “Besides, it’s by the tracks. We can head down there together before they start piling up for the day.” 

Not wanting to fluster myself anymore, I nod almost eagerly and he exclaims, “I’m looking forward to it.” 

“Have a good night, bello. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, schatz. Sweet dreams.”

Oh I really am going to have the sweetest dreams ever. Trust me. 

[bereft-of-frogs]

since it is the last Sunday of Acolyte theorizing and I don't want to go get ready for the work week, here are my collected remaining questions / mysteries, thoughts, and whether I think they're likely to be solved in the finale, left up to interpretation, or saved for next season:

Is Qimir a Sith? Was he really once a Jedi? How old is he? How did he discover the cortosis mine? Who was the master who 'threw him away'? Likely Resolution: Saved for Season 2. I think most of the Sith stuff will be reserved for a season 2, if they get one. Allegedly his character was really only supposed to appear in season 2 but they moved some things up, so I'm comfortable saying most of the Sith stuff will end up being the 4-5 mysteries left on the table for future exploration.

How did Mae survive the fall? What has she been doing for 16 years, aside from training with Qimir? Likely Resolution: Solved in Finale. Confident this one will at least get a sentence or two explanation. Now that we've seen that Sol really does think Mae is dead, I can't imagine he won't ask how tf she survived.

What happened to Koril? What's she been up to? Likely Resolution: Solved in Finale, related to above. Honestly, I'm pretty convinced at this point that Koril survived, saved and raised Mae, until Mae decided to go make a deal with the Sith for additional training. Not sure we're going to get details but I'm pretty sure she'll at least show up.

Why did Mae think Osha was dead? Likely Resolution: Probably left to interpretation. But also I bet she was told Osha was dead either by Koril in the same way that Obi-Wan told Luke Anakin was dead in the OT (dead to them, beyond help), or to keep her focused on her training and her anti-Jedi mission.

How did Aniseya create the girls, and why was Koril so afraid of the Jedi finding out? Likely Resolution: Possibly left vague or for season 2, if it's Sith related. We know it definitely had something to do with the vergence, it was mostly Aniseya's doing, and Koril was very afraid of the Jedi finding out. My theories on this are either 1) it was a deal with the Sith. The Sith want to create life and they collaborate on an experiment with Aniseya. We know from other media and also confirmed by Indara/the Council's insistence on noninterference, that the Jedi don't actually care about other Force sects in the galaxy...with one big exception. Koril might be afraid they're about to uncover something that takes the vibe from 'live and let live' to a much more serious conflict. The Sith presumably would also be pretty pissed if the coven blew a thousand years of secrecy. And 2) the coven might be possessive of the vergence, if it's giving them power, and not want the Order to discover it so they could keep it for themselves. A bit weaker, but the coven might not realize the Jedi already suspect the vergence exists.

What IS the vergence? Likely Resolution: Maybe mentioned? Maybe not? I don't know I just really liked people speculating that the vergence is BOTH the Bunta tree and the spooky dark hole, would fit into the dyadic themes.

What are the origins of the Brendok coven and what did they do to get themselves exiled? Likely Resolution: Unresolved. There's the slightest chance they'd tie this explanation to what Aniseya did to create the girls but I bet they're not going to want to lock themselves into an explanation and will leave it up to interpretation. I'm not sure I even have theories, I could see it going a whole bunch of ways. People are going to come up with their own headcanons probably.

Why is Vernestra so afraid of a Senatorial audit? Likely Resolution: Left for season 2 / Hinted at. I think they might mention it a little bit, but I wouldn't be surprised if they leave it up in the air. Honestly, I sort of hope they do, personally I think it would be wise, because that would allow the books to wrap up and give us a better picture of Vernestra's position at the end of the Nihil crisis. I have my own book-related theories as to why she's so suspicious of the Senate (given where Temptation of the Force left off, I think the Senate is going to sell the Jedi out to work with Marchion Ro for the cure to the blight. This would also dig into her issues with Elzar, since he's the main liaison to the Senate and they've got a lot of unresolved issues. Feeling decent about it ending well though, he still hasn't given her Stellan's lightsaber and that feels like something that would happen at the resolution of their issues). I also would buy that she's starting to see into the future, maybe this is the new topic of her hyperspace visions, and is reluctant to let them be drawn in politically (all her 'something to turn the tide' stuff suggests she's sensing the growing darkness).

Did Indara know Mae was alive / how did Torbin know Mae was alive? Likely Resolution: Left up to interpretation. *Also technically includes 'Did Kelnacca know Mae was alive?' but we just have so little to go off of with that one, we do at least have Indara and Torbin's reactions to Mae. Up until the second flashback, I would have phrased this 'how did they both know Mae was alive' but I am no longer convinced that Indara did. It's possible Indara had no idea until she saw the mark on Mae's forehead and was just doing some very quick panic processing, which could have contributed to turning the tide of the fight. She's no longer focused, Mae can use the dirty trick with the bartender to catch her out. Obviously Torbin knew before Mae actually showed up (he calls her by the correct name, confirmed via CCs ), but they don't specify how long he's known. His 'I've been waiting for you, Mae' could mean he's known from the start and been waiting for 16 years. It could mean the 10 of the Barash Vow, maybe something happens and he finds out which contributes to his decision to take the Vow. But I've always had on my theory list that he'd seen Indara's death in the Force and that's how he knew Mae was alive and probably coming for him next. I think they'll probably leave this one up to us, considering the 3 murdered Jedi's narratives aren't really front and center, I think that ambiguity was just to add to the mystery around the flashback.

How did Torbin make master so quickly? Likely resolution: this is barely a question. This just keeps coming up on Reddit, especially from people who are still convinced 'to become a master you have to graduate an apprentice to knighthood' is hard canon. (Correct me if I'm wrong, I don't even remember where that comes from, but I'm fairly certain you don't need to have had an apprentice to be elevated to master. Or else Anakin's anger at not being elevated in RotS doesn't really make sense, if he knows he hasn't fulfilled an essential requirement, and Elzar's elevation is a big plot point in the books and he doesn't ever mention an apprentice, nor does Avar.) My personal headcanon is 'overcompensation and burnout.' Becomes an overachiever to try to make up for what happens. Given that they lied, the Order sees nothing but a model Jedi, and keeps rewarding that behavior while he tries to hide the cracks, until it all catches up to him. Alternatively, he's not 'really' a master, and it's just parlance, or there's some sort of ceremonial elevation for special circumstances like the Barash Vow. Nonissue, it's just come up a couple times.

Why did Osha leave the Order? + Why did Indara advocate for her to leave? Likely resolution: might be mentioned, might be left on the 'because I failed' line. I made a longer post about this one, but there are a few possibilities. I don't think they're going to explain it, just allow the audience to believe it was about not being able to let go of her anger at Mae, but if it ends up being my weird 'push-pull, when one twin gains power the other loses it' theory, they might address it.

WHAT AM I MISSING? Any final questions left on the table? Send them to me! I have had so much fun theorizing, I only wish this was longer. I keep joking that in a better timeline there's a 12 episode version of this show but it is not actually that much of a joke lol, it would have really been something if it had been allowed to develop the characters a little deeper and let some things breathe over a longer season.

My final prediction still stands: Sol is going down for training Mae, the deaths of the team of Khofar, and at this point probably the Brendok coven as well, since it's going to look like he took out Indara, Torbin, and Kelnacca to keep them quiet. And sorry, I highly doubt he's going to live out the finale. I think he's going to have a final confrontation with the twins, and Osha is going to kill him in an emotionally charged moment. If he was alive to provide testimony, that's problematic for the Sith, but dead he makes an extremely convenient scapegoat. Bazil has also seen a LOT of things out of context on board the ship leaving Khofar, I think his testimony could be damning. Sol's done a bunch of suspicious things, like when he didn't include himself on the list of targets during the meeting, failing to apprehend Mae, (seemingly to Vernestra) lying about Mae's death, Kelnacca didn't seem to put up a fight suggesting he may have known his attacker, turned off his transponder and disobeyed an order to remain, etc etc.

This is the solution to the riddle 'how to kill a Jedi without a weapon', destroying their legacy. Or, the riddle could have multiple solutions, it could also refer to Osha going full Sith. My only issue with the 'Sol is framed' theory is that there seems from leaks to be a formal funeral, which wouldn't necessarily happen if they thought Sol was a rogue Jedi or Sith. But possibly the Order will keep up Sol's good name for outsiders, and this is just what convinces the Council that there still aren't any real Sith out there. Funeral could also possibly be a collective one for everyone else who died.

I think Qimir and Osha are for sure going to live, I'm slightly on the fence about Mae but I'm leaning toward 'also survive'. I am 100% (ok I'll keep it at 90%) sure Koril is alive and shows up at some point. Leaks say there are a couple significant cameos, I'm guessing Sith pulled from Legends books or long-lived High Council members.

Will add on if anything comes to me in the next couple days but it's been nice theorizing with you all! I don't know what I'm going to do after this, wait for Tears of the Nameless to come out. Or, I guess, think about something else? Crazy.

[sequence-trotter]

i liked hsr 2.2 generally but man they sort of dropped the ball on a very classic and simple plot

traditionally when a bad guy is like "arrrrgh the world is bad and upsetting and painful, i'm going to jam everyone into the lotus eating machine and give them all perfect dreams and everything will be good,"you provide an additional, further reason in the fiction why retreating into the perfect dream (i.e. escapism and conscious blindness to the evils of the world) is bad. the infinite tsukuyomi is slowly draining the lives of those bewitched for someone else's power; no one else in the holodeck is real; while your every wish is being fulfilled, other people are dying.

but they didn't do this for sunday's plan. that's not bad in itself! stripping away that layer of "practical" concern and turning the conflict into a true ideological tussle can be pretty worthwhile. by demonstrating his awareness of those kinds of concerns, sunday sharpened his own point and made it clear he very sincerely wants everyone to be able to thrive.

the problem there is no attendant sharpening for the astral express and friends. their objections to it are pretty hazy: firefly bristles at the idea that she's seen as "weak," but it seems pretty obvious that the stellaron hunters (who, uh, seem to be at least indirectly responsible for plenty of death and destruction so far) are strong in sunday's reckoning; himeko points out that people will never suffer to live under the will of another, except that we just went over how many people already do (and even heroic figures like the express crew are subject to the whims of aeons); in theory you're fighting on behalf of the ostensibly "weak" people of penacony who don't want to live in a dream, except you never ask them and you only successfully wake them up because you explicitly summon a bunch of galactic superheroes with unusually strong resolve.

no one really engages sunday on his level. and worse, we actually see what his victory look like, and apparently it's a world almost exactly like the normal world except, implicitly, nothing "truly" bad happens to people. the game treats the idea of living in a dream where nothing bad happens as obviously fucked up...but we already have characters like black swan who literally exist only as perceived/remembered sensations rather than as physical people. there's a whole simulated universe with simulated gods with apparently sapient existences! the lines between dream and reality are already extremely blurred in the hsr universe. the game also doesn't ever clearly establish that everyone is in separate dreams, holodeck-style, and indeed at the very least black swan (who tbf is a memetic entity) is clearly actually inside your dream right next to you.

it's a shame, because everything with sunday and robin in the run-up suggests that they might actually engage on a slightly higher level than the game has handled a lot of themes to this point. the bird story creates an obvious space to explore the feelings of the one figure in the story whose feelings matter most but are never heard: the bird themself! but neither the bird nor robin get much of a hearing or a chance to develop their feelings or philosophies and the astral express crew can't muster much more than "freedom is generically and obviously good." it'll still work for many because "freedom is obviously good" works for a lot of people, but i found the turn pretty disappointing.

[scrubbinn]

Slime HRT 4 Months: Sunset & Sunrise

Content warning: Dark tone, Family trauma

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

 I'm writing this a bit sooner than I thought. I don't actually want to write this out, but everyone keeps telling me I'll feel better if I express my feelings. To be honest to myself, I really hope that's the case, I could really use a pick-me-up. 

So I ended up talking with my family. Telling them everything. Not like I could hide it anymore, now that my hair is made of goo. I guess I can write about that first. Might be nice for a bit to just think about myself. I woke up last Sunday to find my hair a lot heavier than normal, it was already pretty gooey, with strands of hair sticking together or just kinda always being wet. It also felt a lot more rough than before, I could find split ends everywhere, everyday. That night though, the change in my body sped into overdrive. I woke up to find some of my hair giving way and sticking to my pillow. It's really weird, like those sandy soaps made of a bunch of spheres. It made it feel like I was wearing a pile of clay on my head. It also suds up super fast. Just a bit of water and my hair turns into a perm of soap bubbles. It doesn't have a smell but it gave me an idea. Plucking some lavender I was growing outside, I stuck some in my hair, after a couple hours my house flooded with the scent of that purple plant. I definitely put too much in, way too overpowering. Still, it's super cool to be able to change my scent. so now I've been looking into soap making recipes, after all, might as well take advantage of it.

But with every upside, there's a bunch of downsides too. Nothing physical of course, well besides the fact there's no way I could pass off sandy sky-blue sludge as normal hair no matter how many hats I put on, and Sundays just happen to be the day that my family likes to get together for brunch. I still haven't told them, I just couldn't. They wouldn't get it. I knew they wouldn't get it. So I made the decision to call my mother, to let her know I was feeling sick and I couldn’t make it. That's all it was supposed to be, just that. But when that phone call was about to end, when she told me she loved me I…

Everything spilled out at that point. It felt like it wasn't even me talking, I just had to sit there trapped in this wrong, wrong, wrong body as words and emotions poured out of my mouth that I didn't have a faucet to turn off. I don’t really even remember what I said, but I know what I told her, what I was doing, the pain I was going through, and the plea for forgiveness. She didn’t speak, not for a while at least. Then I heard it. The three words I didn’t want to hear, before she even spoke I could feel myself mentally barricading myself away from the inevitable blast my psyche was about to receive. “Are you sure?” 

Are you sure?? ARE YOU SURE?! What did that even mean??? Am I sure of what I’m doing? Am I sure everything will go alright? Am I sure I want to smash every mirror that gets near me? No. I knew what she was asking. It was all of them. It was every question. Are you sure it’s safe? Are you sure you can handle the harassment? Are you sure you want to hurt me and the people around you because of this? Maybe that last one isn’t fair to her. I don’t know. It felt like she said it.

I remember that night, when I told my mother I was trans. I was still living with her at that time. She asked the same question, and I told her yes. We talked for a while after that as I explained more of it to her, but when I climbed up to my bedroom, and when I looked back, her face was in her hands, and she had started to cry. She later admitted to me that she was terrified of possible persecution and the hate I’d get by simply existing. But that image was still stuck in my head, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. I don’t expect to ever forgive it, and I could tell as I sat in my bed, holding my medication close, she had her head in her hands, holding back tears as she told me she loved me. I just apologized, I don’t know what for. I just felt like I had to. I said that I loved her, she said it again, and I hung up.

I spent the next few hours dissociating in my bed. Simply trying to stop thinking about how badly that all went. Bottling up every emotion I could get my hands on while the others I couldn’t reach in time became tears. It also turns out that goo for hair is really hard to maintain when under a lot of stress. When I came to, most of my hair had fallen onto my bed sheets. Spent way too much time scrubbing it out the scent of lavender. I don’t think I can stand that scent anymore. At least my new hair regrew quickly during my tea break. I don’t really know if writing all this helped. Maybe I’ll just have to sleep on it.

After I cleaned myself up, I spent the rest of the day ignoring my mental health. I just sat on my computer staring at a bunch of games I didn't want to play, and a bunch of videos I didn't want to watch. I sorta just stared at my monitor until I realized I had gotten around ten notifications from friends asking if I was doing alright. My girlfriend had messaged me before the phone call with my mother, and after not receiving a message for six hours, she started to get worried. She practically forced me into a voice call and wanted to make sure I was doing alright, I lied and said I was, she didn't believe me and didn't pry further. We talked for a while until I brought up the phone call on my own. Then she told me she loved me, and said she'd be there for me always. She stayed with me the entire time, as I started crying again, and she let me cry, waited patiently, and then asked if I wanted to watch some silly videos. I really did. Sometimes it's really hard to remember there's still people that do care about you. I'm sure my mother cares in her own way, even if she's not aware how much it messed me up. I don't know how things will go in the future, if there's going to be even more pain. But I think I'll be ok, at the very least there are people who can pick me up when I can't keep running, people who will slow down and walk with me. I'll be ok, I'm gonna run to see what the future holds.

Update: So, I'm not really sure how to say this. Writing about yesterday really helped me out so maybe today will help as well. I was working my shift today, construction work, and my legs suddenly gave out under me while I was carrying a heavy frame. It was like my bones just bent, and I couldn't stand up right. I basically got flattened but there weren't any serious injuries Or anything. My bones weren't broken, no bad cuts, just what's definitely going to be a lot of bruising. I got forced to take some extended medical leave. Paid of course, but I guess this means the next few months are just going to be focused on my changes while I wait around in bed. Which is good, I could use a change of pace.

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[tia-amorosa]

Sunset Died - Bunch Family

Connections (Part 3)

After staring blankly out of the window for a while, Judy felt her husband's hands gently embracing her, which made her flinch a little. “Hey, relax, it's just me, hn. Are you watching the rain?"/ ”I wasn't really paying attention to it and my thoughts are louder than the drops pattering against the window.” Judy's voice was quiet and sounded a little tortured.

“What's keeping you busiest at the moment?"/ ”You know that, Jack. Everything here… There's still so much to do. Winter's coming, most people here still don't have any heating. Smaller and bigger things are needed everywhere… Then the wedding, I promised Blair I'd take care of the organization… And…"/ ‘Why don't you listen to me, or at least to our son?’.

Judy knew what he meant, of course. She almost felt like crying, but she just swallowed it. “Someone has to help them, Jack…"/ ”But you can't be everywhere at once. It's only a matter of time and you'll get a burn out. Is that what you want?”. She shook her head in small movements. “You're so good at organizing. Then make a plan on how best to divide up certain tasks. You really need to relax again”. He gently stroked her shoulders.

Judy was silent for a while. She had to think hard about everything she had done to help in the last few months. It was almost too much “Let go. The people here are almost underwhelmed because of you, because you take so much off their hands. help should actually come from somewhere else.” Judy took a deep, shaky breath “H-hh, I don't even know how to relax properly anymore…”/ “I do…”

Judy was still wearing her old nightgown, which had actually become far too loose for her as she and her husband had lost a lot of weight in recent months. So it was easy for Jack to slowly slip the nightgown off her shoulders so that it fell to the floor. Then he pulled her close to him. For a moment, she looked at him almost skeptically. “Am I… still pretty enough for you?”. He stroked her chin and looked intently into her eyes “Always”.

It had been quite a while since Judy and her husband had been so close. But Jack was still able to seduce his wife. Even if a while ago he still felt uncomfortable about how his appearance would look to others. Sometimes such large scars have a repulsive effect on others. But no one has turned their back on him because of it. And for Judy, he is and remains the man she always wanted….

It's the next morning and despite it being Sunday, the family's day starts quite early. “Mom, can I go to VJ's?"/ ‘It's not even really light outside yet and you want to leave the house again? Can't we at least have breakfast together, is that too much to ask?’/ ”N-no. Sorry. Are you still mad… about the pictures?”. Judy took a moment before answering in a calm and gentle voice. “I was young once too, Lisa, but things like that didn't occur to us so much back then.”.

“It was just for fun. The pictures are just for the two of us, nobody else can see them"/ ”you say that so easily. fun quickly turns serious and then? I don't want anything to happen to you"/ ”VJ doesn't want that either. I know he's difficult sometimes, but…"/ ”You just know him better than anyone else here, you trust each other, I know. Please stay for breakfast, okay?”.

“OK, I'll stay until after dinner. “/ “Thanks…Lisa?”/ “Yes?”/ “I assume you two… Surely more has happened, right?”. Lisa knew that this time would come at some point. But now of all times, so early in the morning, while her mother was preparing breakfast? “You want to know if we've already had sex?"/ ‘Well, yes…’/ ‘No.’/ ‘No??’/ ‘Why are you so surprised?’/ ‘Well, because…hh, it's VJ, I thought he might be pestering you’.

Lisa slowly turned around and leaned against the wall. “No, he's not pushing me, Mom. It just hasn't been the right time yet. But he… He tries really hard, sometimes he even does romantic things…"/ ‘VJ, a romantic? Wow….’/ ”Yes, unbelievable, I know. But don't worry, there aren't even any condoms here anymore, so we'll probably wait until we're 30”. Judy had to smile a little. But the way Lisa had been talking about her boyfriend recently and all the things she'd said about him almost seemed to convince her a little.

A little later at breakfast. “Did you get anything done last night, Daddy?"/ ”Well… I hope so. Now we'll have to wait and see."/ ‘It's got really cold outside, winter's sure to come quickly this year’/ ‘That's exactly why I'll be on my way in a minute.’/ ‘Judy…’/ ‘Don't worry, darling. You told me to make a plan and I have’.

Ethan watched his father eat. “Is everything okay, Dad? Unlike mom, you're the one who looks pretty knackered today“/”cough, huh? Thanks too. I'm fine, I've just… slept a bit too little, that's all.“/”Then it's probably time for a midday rest today.”… After they had finished eating, Lisa stood up “I'm going now, Mom…”/ “All right. Oh… Please wait outside for a moment”.

As Judy was planning to go on a trip anyway, she accompanied her daughter outside. Before that, she went into the bedroom for a moment. When she was outside, she slipped something into her daughter's pocket without saying a word. When Lisa felt for it with her hand and realized what it was, she looked at her mother with wide eyes. “I hope you know how to do that, don't you?” Lisa nodded with a big grin and hugged her mother, who whispered something else in her ear. Then she ran off in the direction of VJ…. “I need to start trusting her too. Well then, let's go.”.

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End of this Part

@greenplumbboblover 😊

[blysse-and-blunder]

in lieu of a quiet sunday night

sunday, 11pm, September 22, 2024 ~ cider close to hand, both alcoholic and non; hozier playing in the background; evidently it's the first day of fall

reading since i skipped doing one of these last week, both of my reading picks tonight are actually from a little while ago. both were so, so compelling, but for different reasons. one an award-winning piece of twentieth-century canadian literature set in 1970s india, the other a scandalous semi-autobiographical account of drinking, dating, and divorce in roaring twenties new york.

i think that drew me into both of these first was their dialogue-- both authors are so good at writing distinctly unique, distinctly not-what-i-usually-hear character dialogue, without it sounding at all affected. i got the feeling that both authors were working from life, describing societies they knew inside and out, and had observed intimately. so much detail about the, like, material and sensory details of these two different settings-- what everyone wore out to dinner in the twenties, and what they were eating and drinking; what shopping for a chicken or going to the doctor was like in mid-seventies bombay, what school was like, how people were discussing the government... beyond that, these two feel so dissimilar that comparing them is going to do a disservice to both. though i guess both have, at different points in their histories, been the subject of some scandal. listening shout out to my 'for you' playlist last week, which was one hit after another-- but opened with this, and introduced me to rachel chinouriri! whose sound i really like. that first slow build up to the guitar bursting in? got my attention immediately. the lyrics to this one are, admittedly, wild to be singing while trying to write job apps, but it's melancholy in enough of an upbeat way that it almost feels calming?

No point in trying to prove yourself to them Why question who you are from deep within? No matter what, your youth is gonna end My god it’s sinking in There’s no point in anything

the whole album goes down so smooth, and is rewarding repeat listens. i love her voice. i love how late i am to discovering her, since she's opening for sabrina carpenter now apparently.

watching no shogun time this week, but the gang and i sat down to experience the first episode of a new series, which i cannot stop thinking about. imagine like. australian broadchurch, but only one of the main characters and all the victims are actually in a bleak crime drama, and every other character is doing like parks & rec. also it's extremely gay. and rude. and funny. favorite characters are dulcie, and sven the guy who keeps asking who he can delegate stuff to. also dulcie's wife, who i'm so worried about the world crushing somehow, she seems too optimistic to survive undamaged!

playing did i mention finishing act ii of pentiment? now that @blue--period is playing it, i realized i wanted to get further and be able to discuss. i was devastated by the end of act i, but the end of act ii feels... bleak in a way i wasn't expecting, at all. i'm already planning a second play-through using my other save file, since i failed a bunch of checks in act ii (a few i think based on the background i had chosen, aggravating since it was helpful in other ways) and no spoilers, but in other ways, i failed by succeeding. saving act iii for now, since i have a busy next couple of weeks. much love to caspar, my best boy.

making fallow week. check back soon for experiments with medieval ink making, though!! i have sourced ingredients, and parchment scraps, from kind friends and colleagues who won't ask me to pay for them, and will shortly be (i hope) benefiting from someone else's paper-making budget. stay tuned.

working on prepping for my students' quiz on thursday, and the following assignment due in early oct, by brainstorming what i want to ask them to do and then not actually writing the rubric or instructions. alternating with staring at the descriptions of various job openings and trying to pick up lots of detail about the hiring departments. wrote up a 2-page dissertation summary, which sucked. feeling more chill about the process than i thought, which is also because it doesn't feel like it's happening to me, exactly. writing sample and finalized cover letter this week?

[amethystheart2421]

Sunday Snippet

I wrote a bunch today so I want to share a snippet! Unedited sneak peak at something I'm putting together for moonwater-tober!

Regulus picks at the cotton candy, not sure he can eat much more. His stomach is swirling partly from the carnival food and maybe a little bit from something else. He feels constantly aware of the presence of the other boy next to him. He’s suddenly self-conscious, wondering what Remus thinks of him. He’s sure Sirius doesn’t say too many nice things, and he knows that the people he considers friends have never given a good impression to his brother or his friends. Remus interrupts his thoughts, standing up suddenly.

“I think I see them, in the line for the Gravitron,” he says, motioning for Regulus to follow him.

They stand by the railing that separates the Gravitron ride from the rest of the carnival crowd and wave their arms until they catch Sirius’s attention. He and James are near the front of the line, probably only a couple of turns until they reach the ride. Sirius points to his pager and mimes an apologetic shrug, pointing to the line behind them. They’ve probably been waiting in the line for at least an hour at this point. 

Remus sighs, “Well that mystery is solved.” He looks at his watch and adds, “We’ve probably got another twenty minutes until they are done.” He looks around and then turns to Regulus with a mischievous grin, “Looks like there’s no line at the big Ferris wheel. What do you say?”

Regulus shakes his head as mild panic starts to set in, “Oh, no, no, I don’t do rides.”

Remus gives him a skeptical eyebrow raise, “Even the Ferris wheel?”

Regulus swallows, unable to answer, but when Remus reaches for his hand and gently tugs him toward the ride, he goes along, his head already spinning. He’s in a daze as they are ushered into a strange little cage, a bar pulled down over their laps. Remus can’t seem to stay still in his excitement as the contraption starts to move forward with a small jolt. Regulus grabs the bar in panic, feeling his stomach drop every time the cage rocks.

“Wow,” Remus is saying next to him as he watches the carnival become smaller below them. “Isn’t it a brilliant view?” He turns to Regulus and sucks in a sharp breath when he notices his white-knuckled grip on the lap bar. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. Are you alright? Reg, just look at me, okay? Take slow breaths.” Regulus does and he starts to feel calmer as they breathe together, and the ride settles into a gentle motion. 

“Okay, Reg, are you ready? You don’t want to miss this view,” Remus says, and he puts a hand over Regulus’s giving it an encouraging squeeze. 

Regulus slowly turns his head and gasps in surprise. He hadn’t realized how high up they were. He thinks he can see the entire fairgrounds plus the lights of the city beyond. “Holy shit,” he breathes, his voice filled with awe, and Remus lets out a relieved laugh next to him.

Just then the ride jolts to a stop, the cage swinging wildly. Regulus instinctively grabs fistfuls of Remus’s shirt, hiding his face in the fabric, breathing erratically. Remus wraps his arms around him and whispers into his hair, “You’re alright. I’ve got you. You’re alright.”