#but this was the first romance novel i chose to subject him to

[somuttersthesea]

[8/10] favorite grace burrowes regency couples :: gayle + anna windham

the earl was silent behind her, winding her hair into a long braid.

“were your parents happy?” he asked at length.

“i believe they were, and my grandparents were.”

“as are mine, as were mine,” the earl said, fishing her hair ribbon out of his pocket and tying off her braid. “can you not trust yourself, anna, to choose the kind of husband i describe rather than that nightmare you recount?”

“the choice of a woman’s husband is often not hers, and the way a man presents himself when courting is not how he will necessarily behave when his wife is fat with his third child a few years later.”

“a housekeeper sees things from a curious and unpleasant perspective.” he hunched forward to wrap his arms around her shoulders. “you will not be my mistress,” the earl said again, “and you are very leery of becoming a wife, but what, anna, would you think of becoming a duchess?”

{the heir}

[onwhatcaptain]

Back again with another snippet from my fic. This is from chapter 10, and the conclusion of part 1.

For the first time in the longest time, Spock cries. He weeps as he did when he was just a child. He sobs because he is in pain, and because his heart hurts. No other reason. He is under the influence of nothing but a deep welling pit of grief, and he cannot summon the mortification and self-censure it takes to stop. When he wipes the tears from his eyes, more drip down his cheeks.

If you are curious, my fic "I Shall Do Neither" is here at AO3. Details below as always, and big thank you to everyone who has read along so far.

I Shall Do Neither (59729 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 11/22 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations, In spite of the description Kirk features heavily in this novel Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool. How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human. How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 21 chapters, and will be updated on Sundays.

[misspearly1]

Thoughts?

So the other day I wrote A Lover Fairytale and touched lightly on the subject of Joel being slightly inexperienced. What I mean by this, is the man not knowing there are sexual acts that he's already doing in the bedroom which he doesn't know have a name or is actually a kink of his.

Well, I had some ideas of course and I would love to go into further detail about Joel and his Female S/O exploring different kinks and sexual acts of pleasure. I'm thinking about making a 'kink masterlist' for Joel. I don't know yet, haven't officially decided, but let me know what ya'll think of the first one I have written for him.

Smut under the cut - Minors, move along please. Thank you.

Cock Warming

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

WC: 1k

Warnings: 18+ Content. Minors DNI. Unprotected PIV Sex. Cock-warming. Needy Joel waking up his lady with a sex. Pretty much PWP with a reference to A Lovers Fairytale.

AN: I honestly couldn't get the idea of Joel being so desperate and needy out of my head, and hearing him choke on his own moans of pleasure, hence where this kinky fic came from. So anyways, I do hope you like it. Thank you, my loves <33

You awoke to the breathy exhale of Joel’s voice directly into your ear. The sound was so needy and passionate, it caused a heat to form in your lower abdomen in a matter of seconds. Though, he stopped moving after you awoke, no doubt trying to steady his breathing and take back control. 

When he continues however, he chokes quietly with his lips sealed over your neck, muffling all of those pretty little sounds he makes. The bed was rocking back and forth, and you suddenly remembered about last night's activities. You fell asleep, both of you did, but it’s the position you chose before falling asleep together. He’s still inside of you, and was chasing that blissful high he so desperately needed. 

You could feel his cock, hard and stiff, grinding into your cunt from behind. It felt so good, but it was even more pleasurable knowing that he had awoken before you and continued where he left off last night. The idea of cockwarming never even occurred to you and Joel. Not until you suggested that romance novel for him to read a couple months back, A Lovers Fairytale. 

Ever since then, you have been exploring all kinds of sex play with the man. Some that you like, some that you don’t, but perhaps cockwarming is something you should have tried sooner because he sounded absolutely wrecked right now. He could barely breathe. It was a mighty struggle for him to stay quiet, but rutting into you from behind stroked his cock so nicely that he just wanted to cry out with satisfaction. 

You were clenching around him in your sleep. That’s what woke him up at first, and when he felt your slick oozing out of your pussy, he started to grow hard and hungry, ravenous. You feel his pace pick up speed, his hand on your hip tightening to keep you steady and the action makes you gasp. “S’ok darlin’,” he whispers reassurances, regardless if he knows you're fully awake or not. “I’m almost there,” he pleads. 

You reach out for his hand, your fingers slipping between his with a comforting squeeze. “Don’t stop” you sigh, clenching around him tightly that just draws out the dirtiest grunting sound he could produce. “Feels so good,” you whine needily, and beg between his gentle thrusts in and out of your cunt. “Don’t stop… please, just… It’s ok… Joel.” 

“Oh fuck, babydoll,” he cries, finally releasing the breath he was struggling to hold in for so long. “I won’t stop… can’t stop.” He buries his sweat-covered forehead into your neck, grunting into your skin like a wild man with a deep primal need to spill his seed. You suddenly become the one who could barely breathe now as his pace picks up once more, his rhythm becoming hard and ferocious. 

The bed squeaked against the floor violently, his hand now splayed across your lower stomach before he gently pushed his palm into you, as if he were trying to feel his cock inside. The added pressure made you mewl, your hand darting over his to reassure him that it was a mewl of satisfaction. He used the new position as leverage, keeping your body pinned against him to fuck you hard and fast. 

He’s so hard right now, painfully hard, and you can just feel in his movements that he’s trying to hold off his climax and wait for you. Ever the gentleman, you thought, but to help him, you lowered your hand to your cunt and rubbed nameless shapes on your clit, the added stimulation pushing you closer to the edge. 

“Fucking love when you do that,” he grunts, praising your efforts, “Keep going. Faster, baby,” he pleads, his voice harsh and out of control. You wouldn’t care if he lost all sense of control. You hope one day that he feels comfortable enough to just use your cunt for his pleasure and his pleasure only. The thought of him doing just that makes you whimper and pulse around his dick, feeling every vein and ridge surging through your velvety walls. 

“Doll, I’m cumming,” he warns abruptly, and you feel his rhythm stagger; a pause in his pace as you clench around him with a vice-like grip. “Fuck! So fucking tight,” He pushes through, burying himself to the hilt to release his warmth deep inside and fill you up with his seed. “Nughh! Oh fuck…” he gasps sharply, followed by a long pause of silence as the stars explode behind his eyes. “...Fuuuuck,” he sighs breathily, and you swear the man isn’t even here with you consciously anymore. 

He’s just lost within the ecstasy of your pussy squeezing around him, the pleasure simply too enjoyable for him to speak anything other than a string of moaning nonsense. Only until you relaxed around him did he return to you, and it was with an opened mouth kiss to your neck, the sound of his thick southern voice hoarse and dry, “I need a minute, darlin’,” he drawls tiredly, exhaustion heavily audible in his tone, “I love you so much, just give me a minute.” He says. 

You had wrecked the man. Absolutely destroyed him with your cunt and he simply needed a minute to regain his composure. You would say it was satisfying, but satisfaction could never come close to how you feel in this exact moment. The ability to render Joel into a complete utter mess, speechless and breathless, while coming down from an almighty high, is rewarding. It was more than a minute that he needed though. He instead, fell asleep with his cock softening inside of you. 

And hours later, the hunger to be pleasured grew insatiable once more when he awoke with morning wood.

Tagging:

Perma Taglist (Everything): @marydjarin @kirsteng42 @supernaturalgirl @supernaturalgirl20 @harriedandharassed @joelmillerscoffee @joelsrifle @swtaura @alexxavicry @boliv-jenta @dragonsondragons @practicalghost @janebby @faceache111 @sleepylunarwolf @tusk89 @anismaria @graciexmarvel @munsonownsmyass @jmillerswife

Joel Miller Taglist: @extraneous-trip @readsalot73 @luvmeijii @pale-gingerale @joelsflannel @something-tofightfor @ponyofmilfmom @hb8301 @squidwell @spideysimpossiblegirl @mooraakath @michele131 @chxpsi @zeida @wordsfromshona @dins-cyare @maggiehelene @trickstersp8 @killergoddessmm  @kunakizen @scorpio-marionette @churchofrain @oogaboogasphincter 

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

Do you have any advice for pointers or punching up dialogue? I've often gotten notes that characters aren't distinct enough.

One piece of advice? In dialogue, the person hearing a line is just as important as the person speaking the line. When writing fiction, you need to justify why Character A is offering information to Character B, using both A and B. The more personal the information is, the more justification you need.

In psychology, there's a thing called Social Penetration Theory. It says that, the less we know and/or trust a person, the less we share about ourselves, and vice versa:

When talking to a stranger, we either stick to social scripts ("How are you?"/ "I'm fine"), or we use conventional conversation topics ("Hate this weather."/ "Same here!").

When talking to an acquaintance, the topics get both broader ("Where'd you get that tie?"/ "Macy's!") and somewhat deeper ("You hanging in there?"/ "Stressed, but still going!") but not too broad and not too deep.

Friendships are marked by having broad shared topics to the point of in-jokes ("Last episode was plusungood, yeah?"/ "Try double-plusungood!") and conversations around real vulnerability ("How you doing?"/ "Today sucks").

It's only when you get to the really intimate relationships — best friendships, long romances, close siblinghood — that you start to see the heavy stuff come out ("I wish my mom supported me more"/ "Yeah, you deserve it").

Note 1: the levels are cumulative — close siblings can talk about almost anything from the weather to their deepest fears. Note 2: sometimes people do violate these norms (e.g. through telling strangers about their romantic troubles), but most listeners find such violations very off-putting.

Anyway, the common error in fiction is the California Conversation: when Character A starts telling Character B on their first date that deep down he feels he'll never be worthy of his father's love. The joke is that the California Conversation only happens in movies because maybe that's how Hollywood people talk to each other, but out in the real world people have a sense of boundaries. If A tells B all that father-stuff after knowing B for an hour, then the audience is going to conclude that a) A's father isn't that important to him, b) A is an awkward over-sharer, or c) this dialogue is weird and unrealistic.

One example of dialogue done wrong: the novel Throne of Glass. The protagonist Celaena is described as tough and aloof, but in an early scene she starts telling a guard she met that same day about how heartbroken she felt to have her hair cut off when she was sent to prison. There are several things that feel off about this moment. We humans do not, as a rule, tell near-strangers about things that break our hearts. A hardened assassin trained in secrecy seems especially unlikely to share like this. And a guard who is holding said assassin against her will seems like an especially unlikely target.

This kind of disclosure can come off like info-dumping: the author wants us to know the hair is important, so the character blurts it out. It can come off like social incompetence: maybe Celaena doesn't understand boundaries, which would be an interesting flaw if it fit with her other characterization. It can come off as implying that the subject isn't important, because if it was then you wouldn't tell a guard about it during your first meeting. Not ideal.

One example of dialogue done right: the novel What Could Be Saved. It's about a brother and sister rebuilding their relationship as adults, after the brother disappeared as a child 50 years ago. The brother's deepest disclosure [SPOILERS] is that, after he was kidnapped by Thai insurgents trying to get leverage on their American spy father, his captors told him that his family refused to ransom him. Being 11, he believed this and chose to run away rather than return home when he did get free; it was only much later he began to question that story enough to try and contact his family [SPOILERS END]. But it takes the entire friggin novel for the brother to build up to telling his sister that. Over the plot, the siblings go from stilted small-talk, to casual chats, to half-remembered in-jokes, to serious conversations, before finally feeling comfortable enough to edge their way up to the reason the brother never returned after his escape. That disclosure, when it finally comes, is a gut-punch. An earned gut-punch. A gut-punch that caused me to tear up, because I was on the entire journey it took to get these characters here.

If you don't feel like spending an entire novel building up to one conversation, simply establish who the characters are to each other before they start talking. A classic example is the story "Hills Like White Elephants." It's a stifling near-horror story about a man pressuring his girlfriend into an abortion, only no one ever uses the words "abortion" or "pregnancy." Not only does the couple's growing distance come through in their inability to discuss the issue directly ("'It's not really an operation at all,' the man said... 'It's just to let the air in'") but we see the woman repeatedly respond to her partner's assurances with "They're lovely hills... look like white elephants" or "Can we have another beer?". She's losing trust in him, so she's resorting back to small talk. Her discomfort is palpable, even though verbally she agrees with her partner. We learn a lot about him, and about her, through what they don't say to each other.

One last example: FBI tapes. NYTimes has an excellent set from January 6 rioters, and there are a lot of other transcripts around. They're interesting because they involve experts trying to get personal disclosures out of strangers, which ends up being the verbal equivalent of trying to pin down a drop of mercury. In the January 6 set, there is video evidence of the crimes, but there's still a ton of verbal dodging and distracting and soft-pedaling in the face of undeniable guilt. Note what words real people use when making real disclosures that personal, and note what they don't say. That's how dialogue works, and that's how you can inject characterization into your dialogue.

[thatgirl4815]

“No legacy is so rich as honesty”

I’m not sure if this has been mentioned/analyzed anywhere else (if it has, I’d love to read it!), but I just realized that Pete’s tattoo is a quote from William Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well. As someone with quite a bit of experience with literary and rhetorical analysis, this is a bit embarrassing for me...not so embarrassing that I’m going to refrain from making a post about it, though, because why not?  I also happen to have a lot of free time at the moment, so might as well figure out my own thoughts on this subject. 

“No legacy is so rich as honesty.”

When I first saw this line, I took it at its most basic: one’s reputation is not more important than leading a life of honesty and integrity. We all know this quote isn’t about Pete. He clearly believes it, but it’s more about bringing this notion to Vegas. Before I move onto Vegas, I want to talk a little bit more about Pete specifically.

Pete has expressed not once, but twice now, his beliefs on humanity’s morality and immorality. He’s in the mafia, so it’s tempting to say that his morals are incredibly loose--and I agree. I haven’t read the novel, but I know some people have said that Pete had a tattoo in it as well, all because of Tankhun. We have no confirmation of this in the show, but regardless, I think Pete chose the contents of the tattoo himself. This is important for several reasons. 

Legacy, Freedom, & Honesty

We don’t have any real proof of this, but I think Pete likes to keep himself grounded--that’s why he chose this tattoo. I believe Pete has made peace with the things he must do for his job, but it doesn’t mean he doesn’t contend with a question of ethics on a regular basis. Pete is honest in his acceptance of both the good and the evil inside of him. Honesty goes in two directions: being honest to others and being honest to yourself. Only when you are honest to yourself can you lead a fulfilling life. 

“Only the fool thinks that honesty is real.”

Vegas says this at the beginning of Ep11, but by the end, he’s already had an awakening. Pete is slowly (or quickly, depending on how you look at it) teaching Vegas to be honest both with and to himself. 

Now, how does the concept of “legacy” tie into this? Legacy broadly refers to a person’s impact and reputation. In the context of the mafia, this is extremely applicable. Everything is about legacy. We’ve seen Kinn try to put his family’s legacy over the truth of his feelings for Porsche. It’s similar for Vegas, with an added ✨ flair✨ of parental abuse and a distinct lack of romance. 

Until. Pete. I’ve said before that both Porsche and Pete represent similar themes of freedom for their partners. But I think freedom and honesty go hand in hand. In many ways, freedom is honesty and honesty is freedom. I won’t get into the deep philosophical and moral arguments associated with this, but it’s all very compelling.

All’s Well That Ends Well

Now for the main event. I personally haven’t read this play, but here are a few summative points:

It’s a comedy about a young ward, Helena, and her dedication to winning the heart of the countess’s son, Bertram. Spoiler alert: they end up in love. Happy endings for everyone (see: the title).

There are some elements of cynical realism, though I couldn’t define all of these in detail.

Lying plays a role in the plot. Helena even fakes her own death. 

My first takeaway from this is how terribly ironic it is. For Pete, the ending doesn’t look so great. We, of course, know that Pete will escape his immediate situation, but will he really get a happy ending? (Rhetorical question. No book spoilers, please & thanks.)

The next takeaway is the romance aspect of the plot between Helena and Bertram. Helena’s objective is getting Bertram to fall in love with her. Pete’s objective seems to be the opposite, as he’d rather put as much distance between himself and Vegas as possible. But without him even trying to, he’s gained Vegas’s affection. Love is the story between Helena and Bertram, but I don’t think it’s the same for Vegas and Pete (more like an added bonus). VP’s plot is about the difference between legacy and honesty, between Kan and Pete, between what is expected of you and what you truly feel and want for yourself. They might grow to love each other in whatever twisted way they can, but there’s a personal level to their attachment that focuses on the “self” rather than the “pair.” 

To conclude, all of these themes are like dozens of small threads interwoven into a beautiful tapestry that is this television show. And the preview already proves that Pete is affecting Vegas on a deep level. But I swear, if it’s just another one of Vegas’s manipulations, I will have some words for BOC...

[schneereggen]

Do you honestly think guren and mahiru will not end up together? (or die some tragic, romantic death) I ship gureshin but as far as canon goes there is no hint guren will end up alone. When you mention guren doesn't want to be with her in the last ask I feel it's subjective. He's a big tsundere and he's constantly an unreliable narrator (pushes friends away, shoulders an apocalypse as if he was solely responsible for it, lies to friends about mahiru). I feel the story atm does show mahiru's love for guren turned toxic but I don't think it was meant to be that in the beginning.

In the end I think kagami might round back to the life they could have had together with her being a "simple girl" and guren not needing any extra power to protect her. (this either by them dying and dreaming back to that day or her being somehow revived as a human with no demon or other influence and guren too)

As for Shinya I mean obviously guren cares a lot about him but I feel romantically he has 0 chance in canon and it's all baiting. Do you seriously see shinya as a possible romantic interest in the end, even if subtle? I don't think kagami dares tbh :/

I honestly think that and it’s definetly not only me or only Gureshin shippers. There are friends of mine that aren’t Gureshin shippers that don’t see any romance between the two. Because Mahiru is a threat and the light novels don’t spare to remind the reader of that fact.

I think what we have to keep in mind is, that first of all, ONS isn’t a love story but a story about family. And this shows by the story constantly putting friendship and family over all lusting/romantic relationships. The moral of the story is, that you need your family, you need people to support you. This is why Guren chose his friends and family over Mahiru constantly in the light novels and this is the reason why Yuu is like a brick when it comes to romance and rather collects family members like pokemon.

Why I say, Guren chose his friends and family over Mahiru. He was offered multipe times to come with her, and yet every time, he declined because there were other responsibilities he had to fulfill. Till the end, he doesn’t abandon his friends and he even choses to fight Mahiru for them and the world.

In resurrection we learn how happy Guren is to see his friends and how little reaction he has towards finding out Mahiru is still alive. He didn’t even think about her death until she appeared again.

It’s this lack of reaction towards Mahiru, that speaks for itself. Yes, Guren can be a tsundere, but with his friends he shows this affection in what he’s doing. Even when his words can be harsch, he is always shown secretly smiling when he’s around them. Also we also get some parts of the narrative that show us how happy Guren is. Unless when he’s with Mahiru. If he was supposed to like her, shouldn’t there be any description that he likes spending time with her? Shouldn’t he waste a thought about her death? About her as a person? We have never seen Guren smile or feel comfortable with her around apart from the times they were children.

It’s not what Guren says, but how he acts. Even though we don't have direct thoughts from Guren, we still have how the light novels are written and there is a lot in the description to tell the reader how Guren feels and thinks about people and situations without directly stating it.

Though Guren told Mahiru two times he hated her, and this was both, when she was responsible for him turning into a demon (book 4) and when she killed his friends (book 7). Also in Resurrection it says that Guren knows he and Shinya are both victims of the same monster. Guren directly compares her to Shinya by saying that it’s easy to talk to Shinya and that he doesn’t have to be afraid of him.

What you are describing as an outcome, would need Guren still wanting to protect her, isn’t it? When we look at the current events, the plan of “resurrecting humanity” was never stated to be connected to Mahiru. I know a lot of people claim that Guren might do this to still save Mahiru, but neither in Resurrection nor Vampire Reign was this even mentoined. Even Mahiru tells Guren “do it for Shinya”. Guren’s story isn’t anymore about saving Mahiru. He failed that in Catastrophe at Sixteen. Resurrection started to build up a new goal for him and this is the “Resurrecting humanity” thing to make up for his even greater guilt and keep everyone save.

Guren isn’t a person that would be happy with a single person. Guren needs his family. And he wants to make everyone equally happy, just like Yuu. I didn’t mentioned this in my previous post, but we see with Mito that Guren is also willing to give his body for a friend in need. And this scene is even repeated twice. Guren would do everything for a friend. Mahiru isn’t special. She was just the friend in most need at that time.

So was this planned from the start that their love would turn out toxic? I’m not sure. Though Guren clearly didn’t want to be with her since book 1. I can’t say if Guren was supposed to kill Mahiru in the end, I can’t say if he was supposed to love her but decieded not to when the story progressed. I just can say that I trust Kagami to not pull a “how I met your mother”. Though I sometimes fear he could do that as the writing quality decreased lately. But he said in one of his last interviews that the end of the story is not decided yet, because characters keep progressing. And this gives me hope that he will write an ending that fits into the narrative of his characters and not bulldoze their personalities and needs.

So, if you say that there is no hint that Guren would end up alone... um... so why does that mean he has to end up in a romantic relationship? This brings us back to the beginning. ONS isn’t a story about romantic love or finding a partner. It’s about family. And if Guren wouldn’t end up alone or dead, he will end up with his chosen family. The people he actually cares about. People don't need romantic relationships to be happy. People need others that care for them and vice versa. And having just one single person that you put all your expectations and needs (including sexual needs) on might not be the solution for everyone. And the story if ONS emphasizes this so often by putting a much much higher value on family than any sexual attraction. (And this comes from a person that writes romance stories :D)

For example we see that very well with Kureto. He kisses Aoi, and the next second he calls for Shinya and Guren because these are the people he trusts and basically lets Aoi standing in the rain. Wasn’t that romantic to be honest.

So what does this mean for Shinya? Guren loves his friends most, and Shinya is THE special friend among them. As this is a story about family, and I think there won’t be any romantic couples in the end, at least I feel that Guren and Shinya - as long as they survive - will end up together as super bros in a bromance where they well hang out even though Shinya annoys Guren to no end but he will be happy he's around and alive. Along with the rest of the Guren squad and Yuu, and his squad... Guren's and Shinya's love for each other is super platonic after all. Yet, it’s what I yearn for in a romantic relationship, because their trust and unconditional love is way more important than sexual attraction. All I want is for them to hug an realize they both need each other. That’s all.

[theartofdreaming1]

I have a friend who hates Peeta so much, because they only watched the movies. They said that Peeta is a weakling and a stalker etc.

What key point or best qualities of Peeta's I should tell them so they change their mind? Thank you 😊

(Please don't answer with, "they should read the novel, it's so good!", I've tried many times, fail every times 😑) @curiouspeetamellark

Oh boy, that’s a tough one - if your friend is only willing to engage with the THG movies, they are definitely going to miss a lot of Peeta’s best qualities and moments... Some of Peeta’s main selling points (imo) are his compassion, selflessness, resilience (his mental and emotional fortitude) and cleverness.

Compassion

What I love most about Peeta is his compassion for others - giving Katniss the bread (a scene that was unfortunately not utilized to the full extent of its importance in the movie, I admit), talking to the morphling that sacrified herself for him in Catching Fire, offering some of their winnings to the people of D11 in CF, taking care of Haymitch (bringing him bread in the beginning of CF). The first thing he does in Mockingjay after going through the treatment he needed after the hijacking and everything else, is going to Katniss’s house and plant some primrose to honor her dead sister - he didn’t have to do that, he wasn’t even that close to Prim, but he knew that Prim was a kind soul and is deeply missed my sister, so he chose to pay her his respects.

Selflessness

In a similar vein, Peeta is a very selfless person. He gave Katniss the bread, even though he knew that he was going to get punished for it (again, this moment is not that well presented in the first movie, unfortunately), he entered his first Games without planning on making it back. When he realizes that Katniss might not be as invested in their (romantic) relationship as he thought, he’s sad, but doesn’t hold her to anything she said or did in the arena. He doesn’t hold a grudge against Gale, but helps out when Gale is getting flogged. He volunteers as tribute in CF so he can be with Katniss in the arena and do anything in his power to ensure that she survives. And in MJ, even after the hijacking, he still offers himself up as a distraction so that Katniss and Gale may have a better chance of getting to President Snow’s Mansion.

Resilience

Peeta shows incredible emotional and mental fortitude - so much so, that he becomes Katniss’s safe heaven (from her nightmares). He doesn’t come from the happiest of families, yet he is kind, he is determined to not let himself be changed by the Games into something he is not (THG). Even when he has been subjected to torture (MJ), he still manages to warn D13 of the incoming bombing, plus he’s the only person we know of to have recovered from getting hijacked.

Cleverness

Peeta is smart, especially when it comes to people skills - he knows how to play to a crowd in order to make Katniss look desireable (THG) and he gets the bloodthirsty Capitolists so invested in their romance, that, for the very first time, two victors survive the Games. Most importantly, he drops the baby bomb, effectively rattling the Capitolists and pushing them to consider the morality of the Games, which, after a tradition of 75 years, is no small feat.

These are some of the main qualities of Peeta Mellark that I admire most about him as a character, which I think also still shine through in the movie adaptations - unrelenting kindness and the persistence to stay true to yourself are about the most attractive and strong qualities there are, if you ask me ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[whetstonefires]

What if Itachi was isekai'd into MDZS? As Jiang Yanli of course. He is killed by his little brother, as he wanted, and he can finally rest... And then he wakes up. He is Jiang Yanli. Jiang Yanli has /two/ little brothers. She also is sickly/has weak cultivation/both, so overwhelming violence is not a viable response to any immediate threats, depending on how soon to Plot he lands in. If she only has weak cultivation because she simply wasn't expected to, Itachi can fix that, but I'm pretty sure she was sick as well and well. At least he has experience with that? Whether he knows any plot at all or where he is is debatable. I don't know if he would read something like MDZS, but if not I thought it would be funny if Kisame liked it, despite all the duplicity involved, but he liked to imagine what would have happened if everyone had just been honest with each other (for better or worse). Or maybe Itachi has to go on a mission with a pre-Hidan ninja and they just wouldn't shut up about it. Or maybe he just saw the cover of the book somewhere and would recognize whoever had been on it if he saw them but otherwise has no clue what he's got landed in. I don't know really know what he'd do once he became Jiang Yanli, but the thought was very entertaining last night when I was trying to fall asleep.

ANOTHER OF THESE BASTARDS. 😆😆😆 it is in fact true that i am basically a gacha machine where you put a deranged question in and a torrent of relevantly deranged words comes out but a;lskjdf

Okay so first response point is, I cannot imagine mdzs as it exists being written in the Naruto setting.

A lot of the way subjects like Magic Sword War are handled by the narrative derives specifically from how those elements are 'escapist' and unrealistic to the intended audience, which creates a specific type of narrative distance that makes certain stories easier to tell.

You could get the general plot of mdzs, especially the backstory setup for the actual main plot, into a Naruto-setting novel, fairly easily. Mdzs is, after all, constructed of cliches rotated several degrees and slotted together into a slightly weird machine that is then displayed from a weird angle.

You could do the whole story centered on Jin Ling and have it be a relatively standard mystery-adventure bildungsroman with a vastly more interesting Undead Gay Uncle subplot going on in the background, we've all seen something like that lmao.

You could do it as a tragic romance about Jiang Yanli fantastically easily. The resulting work would look almost nothing at all like mdzs due to how few scenes she's actually in and how little of all the drama she ever learns about, but what wwx would look like in a jyl-pov novel that ends with her throwing herself in front of a sword for him is a fascinating thought-exercise.

Technically I think he'd be the villain of such a book but the kind you blubber over and wish you could have saved.

Which is, after all, the point.

(Actual mdzs as elaborate post-canon fix-it slashfic for the Jiang Yanli tragic romance novel--plausible. This also, I think, is somewhat the point. Fun with archetypes!)

But the specific work being done with the framing of the meta nonsense around Wei Wuxian and the concept of 'villainy,' and the social reception of deviance and restorative versus retributive systems of justice, etc.--you could maybe pull it off effectively with the same overall plot structure in the schizo-techy not-Japan of Naruto?

But you'd still handle some elements quite differently, writing it there, simply because in a world where 'Magic Combat Clans Kill Each Other' is a politically relevant issue, the symbol-language wouldn't do the same things. What you chose to shorthand in what ways would be different as what counted as 'realism' and 'genre convention' were different.

Naruto ninjas have better healing magic than the mdzs setting's cultivators! That alone alters a lot of beats, even for civilian readers who don't personally have access to healing techniques. Similarly, the narrative conventions around bullshitting up tricks with talismans would be a bit different in a setting where the similar but non-identical art of sealing is just. A real technology that exists.

And by the standards of the Naruto setting Jiang Cheng's character design with the yelling and wearing purple and having an iconic purple lightning whip is restrained and elegant.

Also no one in Naruto is openly gay, suggesting a repressive environment on that front, and they don't have the internet to circulate trashy novels on. I suspect the Naruto universe version of mdzs would, among many other differences, need to be vastly raunchier in order to pay for its own printing. I don't know how it would manage this exactly. Not my department.

Anyway though yeah, it would all depend on when he landed and how much he wound up identifying with/as Yanli.

I think if he wound up close to Plot it would have a dramatic impact because Itachi at time of death is wayyyyyyy too damaged to convincingly portray Jiang Yanli. Even with all his infiltration skills whatever those are and a detailed character dossier. It isn't happening. Everyone would be Concerned.

He would feel really bad about taking this person from her family? But like, Itachi is as we all know a past master of not letting the fact that he feels bad about something affect his behavior in any way, and these aren't people he personally cares about, so he's probably not going to be that broken up.

Also he just...doesn't want to be alive, was looking forward to not being alive, and has no ability to observe or affect the situation his brother is now in, which has been the only thing he's cared about for many years, and would mostly be upset about that and disinterested in his actual environment. So that's just a huge mess. Getting a satisfying narrative out of that would be a job and a half.

Drop him in as a baby and he gets some time to recover and move on and bond--it depends. I feel like he'd be initially so relieved to be without talent?

Just, the evaporation of that parental pressure around excelling that defined him so much as a person...but unlike actual Yanli he's got an existing history and relationship with power and duty, so he wouldn't develop quite the same way even if he did find his way to being kind enough to himself to lean into I Don't Have To Become Good At Killing This Time Because This Body Has No Talent and therefore did, in fact, enjoy being left to spoil little brothers and get good at soup.

Unlikely to manage to crush on Jin Zixuan lmao. Not out of the question would be willing to be romanced by him, eventually. Would, I think, be positively disposed toward having baby, but less willing to leave natal family to do so.

I think Jiang Yanli's disposition and body were both ill-suited to cultivation; Itachi having already been molded into a weapon once would have different emotional stumbling-blocks? But I have no idea how e.g. experience channeling chakra would translate into utilizing the related but distinct magic system of xianxia taoist sword cultivation. If you wanted you could bullshit prodigy Yanli out of this but that is boring.

It's possible Itachi!Yanli would give her(?)self repeated qi deviations fairly early in the process of trying to cultivate a core by trying to balance yin and yang energies in a way that a cultivator body is fantastically ill-suited to do.

(Because, as I understand it, the taoist practices this fantasy milieu draws on emphasize developing the masculine yang qi, while the Naruto worldbuilding states that the default chakra draw is a fairly even blend between spiritual yin and physical yang. Arbitrarily medical as well as genjutsu techniques require yin iirc, which is fairly transparent Girl Gating but may have some precedent idk. But anyway these habits could cause problems.)

Having experienced the traumas he had...it wouldn't matter how weak Itachi was in this lifetime, he'd push himself harder than Yanli did, to have murder and/or political options of some kind, because he 1) expects the world to fall apart and 2) thinks it's his job to fix it. Neither of these apply to Yanli, even after her world falls apart once--she persists in regarding peace and happiness as the default and trauma as an aberration.

Once the war hit, assuming having had most or all of a lifetime to naturalize and care, this version of Yanli would go kind of feral. Everyone would be scared.

Well, everyone who knew. That's probably not a lot of people. Wen Chao might not live long enough for Wei Wuxian to catch up with him, depending on where this Yanli chose to focus--Itachi's abilities as an accomplished assassin wouldn't be entirely neutralized by a lack of physical superpowers. A lot of them are tactical.

Even if 'searching for unofficial brother' and 'vengeance' weren't topping the priority charts, Wen Chao would be a good target because he's more exposed than Wen Ruohan and despite being an incompetent deputy he still is one of this father's generals, and also his incompetence frequently takes the form of careless destruction.

Assassin!Yanli crossing paths somehow with DoubleAgent!Meng Yao would be a fun scenario.

Itachi!Yanli would favor Jiang Cheng over Wei Wuxian because of his lasting Sasuke issues resulting in Little Brother Tunnel Vision that would be pretty well set by the time the secondary target was added. But that doesn't mean he/she/they wouldn't get pretty attached to wwx too, especially in the face of Madame Yu making further favoritism over blood relationships feel like puppy-kicking.

Itachi!Yanli would undoubtedly be much more authoritative after the sacking of Lotus Pier, being up to 20+ years older than she looks and having experience at working through this kind of trauma as well as in small-unit command, so the sequence of events that led to the core transfer and thence to the rest of their family's unspooling tragedy might get disrupted at the root.

Or they might not! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[yandere-society]

pjm | “carnal lechery”

pairing: yandere! vampire! jimin x novice nun! virgin! fem. reader

rating: M

genre: yandere au, supernatural (vampire) au, smut, angst

word count: 10.5K

Headline: Halloween Night Massacre; Police Baffled By Murdering Spree

warnings: yandere themes, dub con, angst, graphic sexual content, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, oral (m.rec & f.rec), bonding, blindfolding, biting, loss of virginity, virginal blood worship, overstimulation, use of feathers and chains, mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of slaughtering, mentions of religious cults, mentions of christianity, mentions of sacrifices, gore.

synopsis: Attempts to precede his arrival made you ornery as he slipped like thin air from your fingers, even when you’d have him so close. You had almost ultimately fixated in your mind that you’d never know your secret admirer. Meanwhile— mysterious murders, disappearances and uproars about the return of the most fabled coven of vampires: ❛The Rouge❜ leads you to expect your imminent death. However, you do not expect the turn of events and the appearance of the one you’d been seeking for.

admin: @unfurlingtwinklingstar​

It was one of those macabre mornings when you’d find an oh-so-familiar garland at your doorstep.

The very same kind of flowers that you’d prefer for decorating your little reading nook with, would lay wrapped in a delicate paper foil. The dew on its petals would appear golden as it would kiss the ray of dawn streaming through the porch of your fern-scented cottage.

A feverish shiver would run through your spine at the sight of a caramel-colored envelope right underneath the lavender foil in anticipation of what this letter would say about you.

It would be hard to persist the laden need to find the giver first when the lovely pink petals would almost frown at your resistance.

You cherished calla lilies. There wasn’t a day when they’d not sit on your vase with their trimmed stems soaked in lukewarm water, smiling as they bloom.

Every Friday, this was to be expected. Yet, you weren’t fully comfortable with the handwritten cursive that’d make your fingers slack at its message.

The meander cursive masked the obscene descriptions of your curves, the filth in the mind of the writer was impeccably reflected in the flow of the dark ink.

The first time you had gotten such a letter, you had a recurred session reading it with obscure scrutiny, only to find the title ‘Third youngest of the Rouge’ in the sender name column.

The letters had chanted your name like a prayer, it’d beckon for you to have a taste of the kind of pleasure that you were trying to celibate yourself from, the kind that’d be a sin to indulge in.

It made your body thrice warmer, your body blazed into a pretty rouge like the robes you wore during service hours in the church.

Eroticism and romance were taboo subjects to conventuals and canonesses at the convent of Volterra. Being a novice in service to the almighty, you were taught to be a holy carmelite, a slender benedictine, devoted especially to scholarship and liturgical worship.

But the intimate descriptions highlighted the black traces of sin in the depths of your soul as if the devil awaited his chance to stand erect and applaud in sheer satisfaction at the sight of your crumbling control.

Sucking in shaky breaths, you grab hold of the stirrer and kindle the crackling flames dancing in your fireplace.

Without a second thought, you toss the expensive pieces of poetry into the topaz flames and watch as the fire comes to life and blazes the parchment to ashes.

You were considered too much of a vestal to submit to this admirer of yours.

The choirs at the convent church were different compared to other choirs that didn’t sing hymns. Their voices were almost like the angels’, high notes soaring over the clouds, graceful notes dancing on the staves, they sang for the almighty only.

This was halloween at the monestery. Whilst the town wore spooky robes and went around sharing treats in exchange of spared tricks, you sang along with your fellow sisters, honouring the almighty and paying tribute to saint Marcus.

You sang along, keeping a low voice and swaying to the gentlest harmony in devotion. The stanzas are clutched to your heart and you cherish this moment when you feel the string between you and your god. You cannot fathom how satiated you feel. Your mind strays to your past, when you were under foster care.

You were a doting, little child despite how the other girls prayed for a future where they can possess expensive goods and glittery jewelry. You only kept away from their notions of want and sinful desires for pleasure even as you became an adult.

You chose to bake cookies, share blankets, study the Bible, smile and croon at the praises the church would give you, rather than read obscene novels and join the young woman of your age in subjects that were atrocious in the eyes of the holy.

Sister Siena walked you to your dwelling at the convent’s residence while she chattered about her moss garden and herbs that could treat flu. You listened quietly, letting out little nonchalant hums. Gardening wasn’t a subject of your interest and you were much more fatigued to feign enthusiasm.

“The halloween rituals might probably need an addition of prune juice, don’t you think?” she asks while you unlock the latch and walk into your home.

You let out a small smile and usher her in whilst nodding to everything in your surroundings. A little envelope peeks out from the gap between the floor and the hallway door, making your chest tighten at the realisation.

A letter from your mystery admirer was unforeseen and definitely unwelcome, especially in the presence of a fellow nun in your dwelling.

The attention of sister Siena is brought back at the sight of a cream-coloured envelope with a rather unfamiliar stamp on its surface.

Her olive eyes narrow to two slits and makes perspiration bead out and down your clavicle in fear. In the blink of an eye, the envelope’s seal is torn and the letter is perused by the chestnut haired female at once.

Her response however, gives you a cursory shock. Her lips turn into a smile and she stares up at you, eyes in awe as if she had witnessed the grand work of Caravaggio.

“You have an admirer”, she infers and you scour her face for signs of offense only, to find nil. She seems rather, glad.

“I— I usually burn them there” you point to your fireplace and her shoulders buckle in a brief fit of giggles, as if you had shared an anecdote.

“Who would pray to have a vestal nun? It is like counting the stars.” she mumbles into her mug of tea, eyes flickering from your face to the letter, absent-mindedly.

You shrug and get seated opposite to her, straining your eyes on the flickering flames that warms your numb, cold toes. You sigh in bliss at the tranquil frame of your nook and almost the next minute, your eyes flutter shut and you sink into the lulled sounds of the crackling fire.

Unbeknownst to you, the young nun seated at your opposite has her nerves ossified at the glimpse of the sender’s title. Comprehension of ‘third youngest of the rouge’ sends her mind into frenzy. Dismay sinks into her heart and makes it thud and toll like church bells at the realisation of the plight that you have been pulled into and she shudders.

Without so as to even a noise, the letter is slid into her crimson tunic and the envelope is thrown into the fire.

The coolness of the midnight is deceptive; the sun has barely risen and this altitude is always cooler. Siena’s destination is low down and deep into the interior, well away from the onshore winds. When she reaches, the heat of that region makes her compare the temperature to her kitchen’s, on a baking day— like a friendly warmth instead of the inferno it always is.

Her footsteps are ushered as the heels of her moccasins rap against the laid out cream carpet in dull thuds, her breathing is in a frenzy too for, hundreds of thoughts swarm in her head at once.

Siena is cold to the bone despite striding across the blazing heat of the deep, dim chambers of the three elderly canonesses, at the convent. The canonesses— head nuns are rather reserved and hostile about their roles in the society.

Before the 17th century, such chambers were often considered clandestine— precisely, before the battle of Tuscany. The battle held a significant place in history, for how saint Marcus and his veterans fought and impeded entire Tuscany off of sanguinarians— a term used to describe vampires.

The rise and fall of the most fabled coven of vampires was inscribed in the olden scriptures and was forgotten to tell tales about wizards and curses as of the present. Siena had studied about them at school.

The mere image of the counts brings shivers down the woman’s spine and she shudders as she holds onto the letter and walks, toward the canonesses’ chambers.

It is dark when she arrives; gnarled trees hung low over the baronial church, creaking ominously in the howling winds. The heavy oak doors broke open, echoing around the empty church.

The moonlight shone through the heavily cracked stained-glass windows, casting an eerie glow onto the dusty alter. Thick cobwebs hung on every surface and her footsteps sounded deafening on the cold stone floor.

Two elder ladies sit perched on their carpeted thrones with their veils over their heads and backs turned toward Siena. They hold hands in a circle and mutter chants to themselves.

Siena’s eyes capture the silent movements of their fingers and the incessant nods of their heads. She gently walks— almost stalks, until one of the elder canonesses perk at her arrival and seek her to sit with them.

The chamber walls radiate off its warmth and the conversation is lulled as Siena breathes out her concerns with utter respect, her expression remains composed despite her rapid breathing.

The canonesses nod with eyes widened at the size of fire lanterns, their fingers tremble slightly in comprehension of the magnitude of issue that the young nun had brought to them.

In the next hour, right on the death of halloween, nuns and monks are summoned from the monastery and a ceremony is held right in their place to seek peace once again.

The seven Rouge sanguinarians, the fabled coven of vampires have returned to Volterra.

The four canonesses sit in a circle and one of them draws a circled figure at their center. The symbol seems ominous to Siena, it seems almost like a satanic pentagram. A silver crucifix is fixed right at the junction of the chalked lines and the series of chants begin.

For almost a quarter of a hour, Siena sits— rooted and in the careful look-out for queer changes in the surroundings. The next minute, one of the canonesses jerk as if she had felt a foreign presence and collapses on the canoness next to her.

The chamber queerly begins getting chilled as the chants get more louder in unison. Whooshing noises of the wind soon fills the chamber and an eerie figure settles through the open window, making Siena freeze, petrified.

At the end of the hallway stands a slender yet, robust, almost surreal, young-looking man sheathed in a heavy, scarlet cloak. His eyes are shut, as if he is in deep thought, and once they open, they make Siena jump out of her seat in fear.

Skin almost translucent, a bloodless hue, reminiscent of cave dwelling creatures that never saw the light of day, as pale as the living dead, as pale as a corpse. His bleached skin was as white as a sheet of paper next to the sleeve of the black woolen sweater, his orbs seemed bloodshot, yet, they held a life of their own like the burning rouge of a ruby.

“Third youngest of the Rouge”, Siena hears a canoness announce, the latter’s voice seems both startled and in disbelief.

“Ann. Fancy seeing you there, you seem older than in our last meeting, don’t you agree?”, the young count seethes and takes steps toward the eldest of all the canonesses.

Siena stares at the duo, perplexed. The two seem to know each other like old acquaintances yet, their eyes hold an unexpressed rage that she does not fathom.

“I am afraid greetings will have to wait, Park. You and your brothers must be well aware of the treaty you have broken.” Ann almost hisses, stepping in front of the rest as if she is unafraid to emphasize her point.

The ethereal man quirks an eyebrow at Ann’s actions in disapproval yet, curls one side of his mouth in a smirk, eyes reflecting a certain devilish glint.

“Ah. You accursed humans never seem to learn, do you? Fifty years ago, we made a pact. For our coven to never be disturbed by you humans, in exchange for us to move our grounds”, he accentuates the words and sets his eyes on Siena, making the latter freeze.

“Twenty years ago, there was a lovely young woman with round orbs and curves more enrapturing than the meanders of Tuscany’s hills”,

At the mention, something turns in the face of Ann as it hardens like wilted musk. Park further continues walking and retracing his steps, eyes glued shut and jaws clenched in raw rage.

“She was bonded to one of the youngest counts and the war—” he pauses in his steps with his sculpted back turned toward the canonesses, as he stares blankly ahead, grieved.

“The war, it killed her. She lost her life, she died in vain. She was destroyed by her own race. The pact was shattered broken at that moment, that moment when the light left her bewitching eyes.” he croaks a bit, shoulders slacking as if the memory was his venom.

“She was innocent yet, she was killed. By your people.”

There’s a shadow casted in the slender man’s eyes and it was quite clear. The rage for revenge that was cloaked in it.

Even whilst his back was turned, his head seemed calculative of the canonesses’ immediate response. Ofcourse, humans never seemed to learn.

Ann’s eyes reflect death and almost the next second, she strides forward with the silver crucifix in her hand and tosses it at the empty black space where Park stood, moments before.

The next second, a heavy, red, mushy liquid is splattered onto Siena’s face as she screams and crawls toward the exit, horrified for her life.

The canonesses’ throats had been cut and they lay like butchered animals in a waste of blood. One corpse had slipped from the low throne to the right of the door and lay staring up at her, the mouth open, the head almost cleft from the body. She saw again the severed vessels, sticking like corrugated pipes through the clotted blood. The second was propped, ungainly as a rag doll, against the far wall. Her head had drooped forward and over her chest a great mat of blood had spread like a bib.

Tuscany’s most esteemed dignitaries of the church society lay like ghoulish mannequins, the esophagus and arteries sticking out like so much corrugated and rubber tubing. The smell that vapoured from their bodies could only come from slaughtered animals.

Thick, warm blood crawled into Siena’s throat and clawed at her air sacs like muck. Spewing with every glance at the mass slaughter, she struggled to wipe away the splutters of blood stuck to her skin and crawled on her limbs not any different from a five-sensed mutt, heaving and croaking for mercy.

Her pleadings for mercy fell upon deaf ears. When the bone of her ankle was seized to pull her toward the ghoulish young count, Siena thought the night would take away the last of her breath.

Her jaws were clasped in the count’s fingers and her eyes were a hair away from the orbs of death. The young count was sheathed by the moonlight in a silvery halo.

Without the traces of blood on his mouth, skin resembling the late winter and rage on his sculpted visage as red as his name, anyone could mistake the monster to be an angel.

His temper was on a hair-trigger and his eyes were lethal.

“You will run to the town’s mayor. If you want your soul to be spared, you will run there and shout to those mucks that the Rouge have returned”, the count spewed venom with each word.

“You will throw this parchment on their faces and demand that they comply to every syllable that’s scribed in the sheet!” he speaks, spelling out thunder claps and boulders at the poor nun.

“If not, Tuscany will have every breathing and crawling creature slaughtered like its canonesses”. He warns and whooshes away like smoke— ungraspable by bare hands.

Even in the wintry morning when town folks discussed the daily’s headlines with an uneasy settlement in their guts, you pursued boiling tea and folding your blankets neatly, unmindful of their great fear.

The afternoon too was eerily quiet and folks everywhere preferred to speak in a whisper and contain themselves in their abode. It seemed rather dubious and as heedless as you were, you never perceived that your innocence would lead to your downfall.

The sun sank lower in the sky, draining away the golden hue of the warm and gave path to a velvety dark night. The same moment when the crickets came out to chirp, dusky colours subdued in the fading light as shrieks and collective roars were heard at the heart of the town.

You, along with some of your fellow nuns peaked at the commotion and threaded through the crowd that swarmed in front of the Mayor’s office. On the board was a derogatory notice. Although, the crumples and rusty stains gave away the fact that the notice wasn’t pinned by the authorities. Its calligraphy looked eerily familiar to you.

“Tunic as red as our coven’s name, skin shining like beacon, tresses sheeny and burnished, eyes like the forest floor and gentle flowers with mirth, feminine curves softer and untouched like a laden bush of peony,”

The fear is a weight on the Mayor’s ribs and there exists a dull ache in his eyes, an unwillingness for his mouth to lift past neutral, to charge against but, words are lost in the hollow of his throat. Fear stills his lips as he pursues it to read out the rest.

“—The young vestal nun with a name that echoes across valleys of Tuscany, the one who dwells in the only fern-coated cottage near the gates of the lush forest.

Bring her to the place where human ritual pyres blaze, those who dare do otherwise, prepare to meet death as painful as a swine’s.

Against you rise, prepare to pay a deathly price.” he ends and mutters hurriedly in the commissioner’s ear and you notice the skeleton of his wrinkled fingers tremble at the slightest.

There’s a hushed eruption of conversations that bubbles ever so slowly amongst the townfolk at the astonishing notice and you freeze, petrified when eyes stray toward you, almost accusingly. You realise, with horror, they’ve recognised the vestal nun in the description.

You breathe heavily and your gut begins to twist into an uneasy coil when the commissioner’s fingers point directly at you.

Your desire to evaporate heedily rushes into your mind and something akin to being a criminal overwhelms you. When you step away to sprint far, you are seized by heavy men as they haul you off the earth by your limbs.

The thousand pair of ears at the town’s center fall deaf to your scattered pleadings— screams. Heartlessly, they drag you to the threads of your last few breaths and you helplessly submit, falling prey to your fatigue from the endless stream of tears that races down your rosy cheeks.

Your wails are unheard as the elder women of your town shield you from the public view, sit you in a warm creek and wash you in the clear stream, no different from a creature to be sacrificed for their religious rituals.

You croak out the last of your pleadings before the sun sets, and the women only watch you with nothing more than pity in their eyes.

Their hands are hurried as they strip you and dress you in the most rouge of all cloaks in the town, steam your hair dry, stain your lips with sliced beet, trace the lines where your lashes lie with charcoal.

Other than the sizzling charcoal that dries your tresses and your dull sobs, the creek is silent even as the herd of women stand together.

When you are sat and tied to the sacrifice stone, you shriek with more violence than gales. The ties that bound your limbs to the stone would not come loose at the desolate way you cried.

You sobbed and sobbed and sobbed until your throat closed on itself and you felt the heaviness on your eyelids. Fatigue beckoned you and you obeyed, submitting to it unconsciously.

The stillness of the air seemed to suck even the sound of the chain’s clanks when you moved your limbs into the nothingness of the cave. Even the trees seemed not to rustle as if they were tense with nerves for what was to come.

You jostled awake when the trees rustled and a strong wind blew from nowhere, chains rattling at your limbs’ sudden motion.

Trees stood naked as they had before, but their twigs curled in a distorted way, as if the tree itself screamed in pain.

The sky was a mass of grey cloud, again so ordinary for autumn, but instead of letting small shafts of light through they emitted an ethereal glow.

The wind was just as bitter as before, coming straight from the north, but the scent was something else, metallic almost, with a tinge of acrid burning.

The fire that kept you warm flicker, casting an ominous glow throughout the tunnel, causing shivers to ripple across your body. You drag your legs across the surface of the sacrifice stone, gathering yourself into a ball.

Wind streams through the tunnel, waking the bats in the cave, twirling them in the air, only to drop them off into the void. All signs of life vanish from the tunnels that were once so full of warmth and the fire becomes extinguished.

You peer as you stare at the mangled stone beneath you.

A heinous laugh echoes throughout the tunnel, rebounding off the crumpled walls, and you crawl closer to the wall in sorrow. Like the cave, your soul is too abandoned and then all fades to black.

You shut your eyes and sit, quivering in fright as footsteps echoed menacingly. There was a hoarse breathing heard dully and you began to hear your own whimpers.

At an unexpected chime of the hour, through the empty night, a gentle voice calls out your name.

Your arms tighten around your body and the curtain of your hair falls around your face, shielding your view of the silhouette growing in front of you.

“Tuscany’s most loveliest lily”, the voice shallows into a soothing whisper and a woody fragrance tickles your nostrils. Your mind ticks at the familiar syllables uttered out and something blossoms in you besides fear, your features contour into slight puzzlement.

“I climb so high, lost in the sensation, I succumb to the scent of the stream that runs in your veins”, you listen more closely.

“I cry out in pleasure, my body on fire, I cling to your scent, hunger feeding my desire”, by then, you are sure of the stanza. It was what licked your insides, it was what beckoned you to sin. The lines were your admirer’s.

Then, it pauses.

The voice is gone, so is the scent. You push your tresses off your eyes and cautiously look in the dead of the night that seemed alive a few moments prior.

Something creeks and rustles at the faintest— right behind your neck, causing its hair to stand. There’s something behind you. Or rather, someone.

Your eyes shut at the feeling of a cold breath tickling the locks of your hair. When a thick strand is pulled and a deep inhale is heard, you whip to find only emptiness.

There’s a few moments of listening to only your anxious breath and thuds of your breathing heart before a fine piece of silk is wrapped around your eyes.

You let out a startled scream at the sudden hindrance of your sight and the feeling of a glacial pair of brawny arms sheathing around your waist. A set of black dots disperse in your vision and your mind is lulled by a hushed, smooth voice into your ear.

“Found you, my little fawn”.

You regain consciousness in a dimly lit room, on a lush, oak-coloured duvet. With the movement of one leg the tell-tale clink of wine bottles rouses you and one blink of the eye tells you that your head is just as bad. You squint, dry mouth sticky with thick saliva and your legs are immediately pulled to your chest at the queer recognition of the place.

You feel as though you have lived a very long time in this colossal manor.

The Manor grew out of the manicured lawn like an infant castle. It’s nascent stone walls were a pale grey and were barren of the moss or ivy that clung to the walls of the older homes in the village. Its large oak door was double wide and was sheltered under a wide porch supported by stone pillars. The entry way was grandiose, sweeping into a wide circle in front of the dwelling with an ornate fountain in the center.

As seconds advance, your mind harks back to unfamiliar images in the same space— a young woman in an elegant frock chortling as she gets chased by a burly yet, slender man who looked youthful as well.

His laboriously chiseled face, cheekbones that had near pierced his flesh had led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them.

Dark hair covering his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns.His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, it succeeded in its purchase to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about it’s exit, to which his hand tended to itch.

A thick, velvety cape traces his sturdy steps— chasing after the woman and you gasp when her face comes into your sight.

It is you.

Only, more alluring in the gown that hugs your— her curves. Her laugh is unceasing and sultry mostly, seductive.

Your eyes dilate when you see her unhitch the ties holding her robe to her curves and like a vixen, she steps out of it, lying back on the duvet, beckoning for the ethereal man to her.

He seemed ravenous, his irises iridescent as they turn from raven to crimson at the sight of the slick between her legs.

She seemed brazen, like a cur in heat, in need of flesh when she crawled upon the alluring man, rolling her hips into the air provocatively, she caused the balls of the man to get filled, none similar to your dainty facet.

She takes his girth into her lips, making the count seethe in pleasure, her tongue wrapping around its head, she makes him bellow like a buzzard when she takes him deep into her throat and teases his balls.

He looks feasted, satiated beyond syllables when she licks every inch of his hard wood and takes him to a state of druken stupor.

Your breathing comes out in strained huffs as you watch him take her— you as he presses his lips against her skin and utters words that make her keen and bawl in pleasure.

You watch as their naked flesh twist gracefully into one and something else begins to unravel in your memories.

Where there should be blank space is blank memories, like a soft beige wall bereft of photographs. It brushes through the subconscious, recalling memories that bring out the deepest spark of nostalgia of the soul.

You recall every single one of it, your eyes shut intuitively and you sink into a rather familiar abyss of lost memories. In it, you hold hands with the same man who appeared moments prior. Only now, you know his name.

The one who loved you past all the years that went like streams to the sea, in all your lives as a mortal.

“Soft. Your hands. Soft and warm - on my face, on my chest, in my dreams, in the umbrella of dawn, under the first streams of morning light. Your hands in the pitch black of night, muscles and tendons dancing between each other in a lover’s dance. Fingertips like matches grazing my skin with flame, our scars being the measure of our love. I bare my scars, because I remember the time when your flame danced on me forever, before your hands turned to ice.”

All of your admirer’s words make sense to you. The lost passion, the lost memories, the lost life of yours as the light left your eyes when humans attacked the manor you had peacefully lived in.

There was a deep cut in the skin of your neck from the shattered pieces of glass and a heavy cry escapes the throat of the man at the dreadful sight— you, on the Jimin’s thighs, in his arms as he cried for you to not leave him.

You had smiled and reached your hand to his cheeks, engulfed his lips in one last passionate kiss before your eyes shut on its own, soul departing your frail body.

You see him, your past lover begging for you to return, you see his brothers lifting you into your grave.

Shudders rack your body and your cheeks are wet when you open your eyes to the present, to find the shadowy, familiar presence sitting right across you, his arms prop his chin upright and his eyes drink you in.

Jimin steps from the shadows, stealing your breath and the heat from your skin. Suddenly your defences are just paper, paper that is being soaked by the rapidly falling briny drops.

Before you can draw in the air your body needs, you have melted into his form. You feel his firm torso and the heart that beats within. His hands fold around your back, drawing you in closer.

You feel your body shake, crying for the missed time the two of you will never make again, crying to release the woe of long years in separation.

He caresses your cheeks and wipes the tears with a calloused finger, even this roughness brings more relief than your heart can hold. He is eating you with his eyes, running his hand through your hair, as if he cannot quite fathom you are not part of an almost forgotten dream.

When he kisses you, it is sweet, gentle, and it tastes of your tears. You want to speak but all you can do is croak,

“Jimin”.

His mouth paints a soft smile and he kissed you once before folding you in his arms again.

“My beautiful peony, my little fawn, my love, my heart, my entire world. It was never your fault”, he mutters and you keen closer to him, pulling his mouth to yours once again. You close your eyes shut at the feeling of his tongue twisting with yours and your knees lose strength, sending you spiralling into his arms.

“Oh, how I missed having you close to me, seeing yet, not being able to ravish is a curse” he whispers and you feel the heat pooling in your core when he noses at your jugular and inhales your scent.

“The scent of your blood remains heavenly through the ages” he sings, arms digging further into the curve of your waist.

“And this musky arousal—”

You gasp when you feel the tips of his nimble fingers brush the crotch of your undergarment, relishing in the heat of your wetness.

“This time, I’ll have you breathing for eternity, little fawn. I’ll turn you into what I am”. He declares with a stern voice, consuming the breaths that escape your lungs.

When you stare into his crimson irises, you pray for his touch, beg for what he promises. “Claim me, my lord. I’ll spend an eternity in your arms. Touch me, make me yours”.

Surely, it would be yes. The count was a notorious rake and libertine. He was called a thorough and absolute rouge, true to his name. How could he possibly turn down the chance to debauch the most delicious little fawn tempting him to revel in her taste?

With one kiss, Jimin swooped you off the floor and completely into his arms, transporting back to the cave you were sacrificed in.

He had planned for the entire town to hear your wails of pleasure. When you felt and heard the rattling of chains around your limbs, you shrieked, startled.

“No need to be afraid, my lovely fawn. I only wish to show these mongrels who you belong to”. Jimin expounds, making your core clench in need.

“Touch me, my lord” you scrounged like a fox, coaxing the ravished count with the tantalizing motions of your hips.

“Disrobe for me, little fawn. Take that sheer robe off, I want your naked flesh”, Jimin snarls and his mouth waters when your dainty fingers scramble to untie your gown. You sputter, your cheeks flush a vivid red at his grimy words.

Fear. Nerves. And illicit, forbidden, wrong physical desire. You felt it all at once.

Jimin bent to you and pressed his lips to your neck. The oddest jolt of fire leapt from there. It rushed through your veins like flames licking at the sky.

His hair tickled the bones of your cheek as he stroked and hollowed his mouth along your throat and reached the rim of your ear. He brushed back your hair. Surprisingly, his breath was cool. Almost icy. You had heard women speak of men blowing their breath by their ears—something that hadn’t sounded at all enticing—but the maids had described warm breath. Jimin’s breath was cold.

Still, the brush of it did feel surprisingly … good.

He nibbled your ear, making shivers tumble down your spine. He stroked the exposed skin at your collarbones. Goodness, how could it feel so hot—like a candle’s flame flickering close to your skin?

He tugged your cowering hands away to expose the swell of your breasts. His body tightened with arousal at the sight of your full, generous curves, erection bucking against his stomach.

Pushing you on the boulder, he ravaged your mouth, letting his hands venture down to the cleft of your arse. You bucked at the foreign feeling, gasping at the feeling of his tongue suckling the soft flesh of your lips into his mouth. His tongue curls around yours and he suckles it too, making you melt into a puddle in his full hold.

His mouth traces your throat and when it ghosts over the curve of your breasts, you shudder and your skin breaks into goosebumps.

He suckled. God, you were delicious. And you were moving beneath him. You arched to press your breast to his mouth.

Your scent reached his nose. And, he was lost. Lost in want. He rolled over you, coaxed your legs apart with his, and settled between, caressing your sweet cunny all the while. You gasped at the feeling of his thumb rolling your pearl and whimpered when his middle finger found your entrance, dipping to revel in your slick insides.

Oh goodness, he had flicked that most sensitive place—the little bump that lay between your nether lips, and you almost rolled her eyes back into your head at the pleasure.

Your hips arched up. He stroked you a little harder, as if he had known the rocking of your hips was a wordless signal that meant: I am begging you for more.

Then he slid his finger inside you. Between your nether lips, parting them gently. Goodness, he was inside you. You were doing the most intimate thing possible. With the man who remained an enigmatic admirer in your mind until the touch of his fingers tainted your soul, with the man who held your heart for eternity.

“Open your eyes.”

The first things you saw were thick, velvet-soft black lashes and gorgeous crimson eyes. Eyes that glittered at you in the firelight. “I want your eyes on me” he ordered huskily.

Then his finger slid deep inside, and you gasped at the sudden sensation—an intense quiver that rushed through you. You heard a shocking wet, sucking sound as his finger thrust in and out. It was the sound of your arousal.

“Let your moans out, little fawn. I wish to hear your sweet voice” he coaxed.

Biting your lower lip, you whimpered. You didn’t want to speak. The pleasure his wizardry brought was fervent, it felt foreign yet, acutely compelling and delicious. It made you drool, you needed him, flesh, bone, heart, soul.

His hand moved and he stopped stroking the little nub that vibrated with such intense feeling. You gasped in frustration.

He wrapped his hand around the shaft of his erection—you could feel the brush of his fingers against your stomach as he took hold of himself. Then, with his hand tight around it, he stroked the head of his erection against your nether lips. They had stuck together, resisting him, but he gently eased them apart.

Your arms were splayed on the mangled boulder beneath you and your eyes appeared to have gotten a taste of heaven, hands clenched in tight fists, toes curled and digging into Jimin’s hips at his ease into you.

Deeper he went, and his manhood stroked a place inside you that made explosions of light in front of your eyes. Then a twinge of pain rushed through you and you gasped in shock.

His fingers traced the curve of your cheek. “Shh, my fawn” he whispered. “Easy. It will hurt when I go past your little maidenhead. But after that it will be very, very good.”

“Jimin—”

He thrust. You squealed. You clenched. You tightened. You wanted to back away. But you couldn’t vanish into the boulder. Nor could you push him off. There was a searing pain that burned the walls of your insides yet, the delicious stretch of his girth brushed the softest tissue that made your mouth open wide, soundlessly and expose your luscious throat for his mouth to marr.

Jimin’s lips suckled every inch the clammy flesh of your shoulders and breasts— until lilac bruises respired in its wake. The perked peaks of your breasts were soft and toothsome in his mouth. And the tiny heels of your palms digging into his chest felt euphoric, he wished for it to caress his veiny member instead.

His nose nudged into your sternum, imbibed the scent of rushing blood to your breasts. His eyes shut as he sniffed deeply, his fangs grew in length and a gravelly groan rumbled from his chest at the redolent aroma of your blood.

“You feel warm and soft, my delicious little fawn. I could forever inhale this toothsome stream running through your veins”.

Without stalling, Jimin enveloped the teat of your breast into his mouth and laved, before piercing his honed fangs into the soft flesh, guzzling at the divine, rouge liquid that leaked onto his pearly teeth and sharp tongue, making you hiss at the feeling.

The feeling was gut-wrenching at the onset, it made you scream into Jimin’s shoulders.

He pressed against you, seating himself all the way inside, and he didn’t move. He stayed motionless, and he rained kisses on your forehead, cheeks, lips. It was hard to feel pain with such glorious kisses stealing your breath. And little by little, the stinging sensation ebbed.

A few moments of incessant suckling and your strained huffs at the strokes of his tongue on your tormented peak unfolded a queer pleasure, obscure to be produced by human males.

Soon, each suckle and lave from Jimin’s mouth pulled you to the white, hazed edge of pleasure and you cried out in ecstasy. Your cheeks were riddled hot, body spasmodic, in graceful waves as you began to roll your hips.

You whispered, “More”, Then you saw his sculpted visage.

He looked starved, ravenous. He looked raw, ravaged, tormented. His eyes were wild. His mouth was a slash, bracketed by harsh lines. He looked as though his control could snap in a heartbeat.

“My lord?” you called for him.

“You are tight, sweet, and perfect, my fawn. So no, I am no longer all right.”

You let your arms slip from his neck, but your legs were still wrapped around him, and his groin, hot and hard, was pressed tight into you. Then came the gratifying wave of pleasure as Jimin rolled his hips into yours, his girth slipping in and out of you, wholly, fulfillingly.

Gods, he was huge. The thick, hot, pulsing hard muscle of his legs throbbed against your thigh. His big manhood twitched inside you— feeling as thick as your arm. He groaned, kissing you fiercely as he moved his hips and nudged his swollen head further inside, almost into your cervix. You cried out, feeling it pulsing into your drooling slit.

With a moan into his lips, you strained your thighs and allowed him to pound in and out of you, the thick, slick shaft of his cock sliding wetly out from between your lips as you groaned throatily.

“Have a screaming orgasm, little fawn.”

He circled his hips as he said it, stroking his long shaft within you. He planted one sweet, sensual kiss after another on your lips, and kept your gaze locked with his.

You watched a smile touch Jimin’s full, handsome mouth. Then groans deepened the lines framing his lips. His eyes glowed as if they were on fire, and his deep, throaty moans … You drink all of them.

You were weak with pleasure, yet driven to rock with him. You clung to him, arching your hips, panting. Your nipples had hardened, and each thrust brushed them against his chest. Lips tingling from kisses, breasts throbbing from swift brushes, your quim pulsed … and fire raged in you, hotter than fire and you screamed as you came, body spasmodic.

He held you as his lips slurped at the slop of blood from the punctured marks on the peaks of your breasts.

It is when he pulls out of your body, he turns. This time, his eyes travel below your navel and licks at your core. There’s a thin stream of his release that flows from within you and there is a whit of warmth that seeps along with it, making his stomach clench with carnal hunger.

Carnal lechery for your blood and the musk of your release, it blows like a breeze over him.

Your fragrance consisted of a scent that represented freshly cut timber, like the damp forest after a rainy day; you smelt heavenly, like fresh-scented pine and honey, he wanted to indulge in the depths of the hint of cinnamon-like musk it produced.

It is the blood that reflected your lost virginity, your lost innocence. You are no more vestal, he has made you sin.

In the depths of night, your eyes were dew, scattering the nascent rays, ever illuminating the dark in his soul and he lusted vigorously for the taste of you, to let him be consumed by everything you offer to give him.

And so, he chains your limbs again, and blinds your vision for the nonce, for your senses to get heightened, for your slick to stream like nectar from ambrosia.

You gasp quietly at the impairment of your vision.

His fingers pluck a pair of pampas grass fluttering in the wind and when you feel it caress the tiny puncture holes at your sensitive nipples, you whimper, your slick caressing Jimin’s chest.

His lips find purchase at your inner thighs, fangs shallowly sinking into the soft flesh. The feeling makes your toes curl and you croak his name out in pure bliss.

“How delicious, your scent is divine, my fawn” he growls and pulls your core to his nose with vigour while you attempt to slither away, shyly.

“Trying to escape my grasp is useless, little fawn” he warns, making you cry out at the feeling of his arctic breaths blowing over your sensitive core.

“I’ll catch you faster than the wind could sheath around you” he gutturally breathes and spreads you beneath him, holding your soft thighs in his metal hold.

He moved lower, his breath teasing over your thigh. And then, you felt it, and the moan of pure ecstasy tore from your lips.

Jimin’s hot, wet tongue delved between your lips, dragging slowly and wetly up every bit of you until it flicked across your aching clit. You moaned in pleasure, crying out as his powerful hands pushed your legs wide apart and his wicked tongue pushed deep between them.

With a moan, your eyes flew open to see his face hovering above your delicate and exposed core. His eyes glinted wickedly at you, and you watched, panting in pleasure as he slowly licked his lips clean.

“Like nectar,” he growled. “Lie back, little fawn. Lie back and let me taste you.”

He moved back in, and suddenly, you moaned loudly. The feeling was like nothing else you had ever felt — this perfect, electric feeling of his icy tongue teased over your lips and clit. His wide, strong tongue dragged up and down your pussy, making your whole body arch and tremble for him. You balled your fists and cried out into the flickering firelight of the cave.

He slid his tongue deep inside, spreading your lips with his fingers, dragging your sticky wetness up from your opening to slide electrically across your aching clit. You arched my back and cried out as his tongue made contact there. It curled at your bud, bringing whimpering mewling sounds to your lips before sliding down through your folds again. You stiffened, and then moaned as you felt that hot, wet tongue slide wickedly against the opening of your arse, making you gasp as it slid over the sensitive ring there.

You couldn’t believe the sensations flooding your body at the touch of this rough, powerful, demanding, gorgeous man — from the rouge who was gentle to a creature with hound-like   lust for your dripping arousal and blood.

His tongue pushed against your opening, pushing in to curl sensually inside of you. His thumb moved to your clit, his growl rumbling through me as he teased your little bud and tongue-fucked your slippery core, making you clench and arch your back off the stone under you.

You screamed as the orgasm exploded through you, hips bucking against Jimin’s perfect mouth. Your core clenched at the invading tongue, spasming around its thick wetness while the orgasm ripped through me. The famished count hungrily growled and pushed his tongue deep inside, tasting all of your virginal blood as the aftershocks exploded through you.

Slowly, he pulled away, his lips trailing over the little seam of your inner thigh as your whole world spun under you.

The feathery leaves of the pampas grass caressed the seams following his mouth and you felt his arms lifting you onto his lap, straddling him. He gently entered you again, mouth tracing the prominent vein at your jugular, tongue teasing it.

You shook and rippled around his thick wood, chains rattling loudly as you bite at every inch of his skin that your mouth could reach.

“I am going to turn you, my sweet fawn. Tonight is perfect, the moon is hidden and the branches sing for us. Let it all out, scream my name” they are incessant breaths against your jugular and you clench around him, hearing him cry out his devotion for you.

“I am ready, my lord. Turn me, I— I belong to you!” you cry out as the tip of his girth brushes your most sensitive spot.

Then the whooshing wind caresses your bare bodies, you feel the chains loosen and fall to the ground while Jimin embraces your shaking body entirely, increasing the pace of his inhuman thrusts.

His mouth takes yours and swallows your pleasured pants, yours tongue mulls his own when he feels your fingers thread through his soft locks and dig into his scalp. His hold on your hips are deathly and when he feels you clench and pant harder, he bites into the inside of his cheeks, closing his eyes as his blood trickles from his mouth, into yours.

Your throat closes at the repulsive, metallic taste and you gag, making Jimin tighten his hold on you. He twists your tongues together and urges you on, making you swallow down the thick drops of his blood.

When you feel his member caressing that sensitive spot of your insides once again, you gulp faster and Jimin smiles blissfully into your mouth as his tongue traces the sharp lines of your protruding canines, they course rapidly into pointy knives and he relishes in the sharpness of your fangs, tongue drinking your breaths in.

There’s an ethereal glow of light sheathing around the two of you. For a nonce, the bright, golden-silvery stratum panelling over you in particular makes the deep, dark abyss of the night seem like day. The round curves of your orbs sparkle an aurish dust and makes you look more beguiling than any other supernatural power to ever exist.

Jimin feels the illuminance and shuts his eyes in ecstasy for the warm streams of your blood chills into familiar ice, the same temperature as his. Your thrusts are gentled and you cry out in a new found lust for Jimin’s blood.

He can feel the urgency in your gulps as you grow more hungry for blood, his blood. He shudders when you sink onto him again, tilting his head to pierce your fangs into his throat.

He groans at the pleasurable feeling of your mouth gulping his blood hungrily and he forces you to pause, for his eyes to drink in the birth of your vampiric form.

The moment you open your eyes and stare into his, his breath catches.

Your orbs are a beautiful, fierce topaz-crimson and there is a bleached tone added to the luscious sheen of your skin, when you lick the drops of his blood from your lips, exposing the knives of your fangs, he feels the carnal lechery for you boil in his heart and stir at his manhood.

You are fully turned, looking like the goddess of death herself, veiled in an ethereal halo in the deep, dark, inked night.

His eyes drink your appearance ravenously and he concludes. Carnal lechery for you, that’s what possessed him all those years ago, that’s what drives him to sink his fangs into your flesh and drink your sweet blood over and over.

You are turned and you are eternally bonded to him, there’ll be no mongrel mortal in this universe to take you away from him.

Autumn days wane toward the inevitable colder weather ahead, each nightfall coming sooner that the one before.

Seven days were gone ever since you were welcomed and brought to the Rouge’s dwelling, the rocky fort miles away from your grim, little mossy town.

Topaz leaves dangled from the shadowy skeletons of trees, each one like as ominous sword of Damocles. The river was almost ice, showing reflections of the heavy, ashy sky so thick. The chill breeze rattling at the closed windows of the fort seemed to cry autumn, the roads were moist with stealthy dew as the season deepens their graceful boughs will be the prettiest of charcoal sketches, drawing themselves tall, reflecting the light of a wintry sun.

You are huddled in the silky red sheets of Jimin’s large duvety mattress, the lines of your naked legs traced by the sheets. You lie fatigued after a thorough session of lovemaking with your mate while he wordlessly caresses your hair, eyeing your curves, breathing the essence of your hair as he licks the remains of your dried blood from your breasts.

The sudden slam of the door came like a punctuation. There were panicked calls all around in the veranda and one of the maids peek their head through the door to the master chamber, her chest rising and falling in urgency.

“Forgive me for barging in, master and mistress”, she breathlessly bows, making you both rise, startled. You scatter to cover your body with the sheets while Jimin groans and ties his night robes to shield his body.

“Master, we seem to have an intruder. The other masters summoned you to the court immediately”, she keeps her eyes low and Jimin barks at her.

“How would we have an intruder? This fort is well protected!” he grunts and turns to you, placing a soft kiss on your lips as you eye the maid scurrying away, bowed.

“I’ll be right back, my love. You might as well get dressed".

You smile and pull on your silky night robes to your body, mindlessly staring at the creaking trees in the wind while Jimin marches to the veranda, his booming commands slowly ebbing away.

For a few ticks of chime, you hear nothing but the rustling leaves, sparrows chirping at a distance and the echoes of voices downstairs. When the door to the chamber you lie in opens on the spur of the serene moment, you fall back and onto your elbows, on the cottony patchwork of the carpeted floor.

A loud gasp knocks your lungs at the sight of the familiar fern-eyed, thick woman looming over you, offering her hand.

Siena. She is puffing out harsh breaths and her legs tremble, hasten. She seems too afraid as her eyes cavort to the door in trepidation and you realise, she is the intruder.

“Y/N! Y/N. You should listen to me, you should run away, the one you are with is a monster!” she hastily whispers, gripping at your arm.

You yawp at her gnawing grip and attempt to pull your arm to yourself and grit your teeth. At the sight of your crimson eyes, Siena’s hold gets loosened.

“H—he turned you, didn’t he?” she utters in shock, something in her eyes clutches at her back again and she pleads you again. You sigh and move to the chamber’s doors, pulling the latch to lock and you turn to face her.

“I am sorry sister Siena, but I must ask you to leave. History does not tell the truth. The Rouge were innocent, it was the people who broke the treaty”.

You eye her pitifully. She had come all the way for vain.

“Jimin is by nature of laws, my soulmate. I cannot live apart from him, I am no longer one of the mortals”. You proclaim, clasping your fingers together.

“Now, please leave—”

“I am afraid you do not know everything” mumbles Siena quietly, her olive eyes swimming in a stream of exigency, her limbs still tremble.

“Who has Park claimed to have murdered you in the past, Y/N?”

The will to not let her affect your resolution faintly faltered at the sight of her tenacity, she shakes similar to a leaf jostled by storm gales yet, her eyes remain adamant.

“Tell me, please”, she begs to the extremity of crumbling, her orbs trembling just as much as her limbs do.

You release the air from your lungs and mutter softly— “Humans. The ancestors of our town. I saw it, the evocation of my past self, I was killed by the town folks”.

Siena shook her head, her face contouring into a brew of disdain as well as pity, you were almost uncertain if it was aimed towards you.

The whooshing gales and Siena’s voice seem the same when she mutters out what earth had not devised itself ready to hear.

“No, my dear. It was not the town folks who had killed you, it was the very man you share this bed with, the most conniving, astute count amongst his brothers— Park Jimin of the Rouge!”

And in that light the carpet of leaves became crooked, and all aurish colours vanished, the wind tumbling around the empty space. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest and your face morphed into one of disdain, you were abhorred yet, shattered to the ground like the dry twigs stepped on by passing carts.

You knew nuns took an oath to preserve and authentic despite the unembellished life they lead because you were one too. Siena was not lying, every single word of hers proves to be true only by the contours of concern etched on her face.

“H-how? I—” you flounder like a fish taken out of the pond.

Siena sighs dismally. “When I went to the elder canonesses on halloween night, the eldest of them apprised a hidden tale of a young town girl and her lover— Hyun woo whose throats were silt by the third youngest of the Rouge”,

“Only sister Ann knew the story behind it”. You listened carefully, feeling prostrated mercilessly.

“Park Jimin had found his consort and by the scent of her blood, he knew she was destined to be bonded to him by nature’s law. But, she was irrevocably in love with another mortal to whom she had been having love affairs with, even as she was taken against her will to the Rouge fort”,

“An infuriated Park had butchered the young woman’s lover in front of her whilst the woman pleaded and cried for the man’s life. As days passed, Jimin’s consort became coldly vacant in grief",

You were turned into stone at her words.

“She had ultimately repudiated to consummate their bond. The same night when Jimin had killed her to erase the memories of her lover, the town folks declared a war to avenge Hyun woo and rescue the young woman. Park Jimin had promulgated to his brothers that the woman was killed by humans, he must have recast your past self’s memories, Y/N! He is not the gentle lover you loyally surmise him to be!”

One time when you were blind in a tree, waiting motionless for wind to wander by, you dozed off and fell ten feet to the ground, landing on your back. It was as if the impact had knocked every wisp of air from your lungs, and you lay there struggling to inhale, to exhale, to do anything.

That was how you felt at the moment, your ribs felt crushed into a mere refuse, fear and disgust of your past killer’s touch burned everywhere, the faded puncture marks on the peaks of your breasts, thighs, neck, shoulders felt as if touched by the flicks of flame, you felt abhorred.

Even the loud rap of knocks and thuds on the door to the chambers were heard, you were frozen into ice. Eyes teary, vision blurred, you fell to the ground, crestfallen.

Siena shakes you harder in panic at the sight of the door’s latch rattling violently, the sundry of voices with Jimin’s voice rack unpleasant shudders through her spine as she attempts to resuscitate you to the present.

A single squawk like a squall causes the doors to shatter as if hurled to the ground by a tempest. Park Jimin stands sited at the other side. There is not a sliver of a plinth to hold his rage in place, he looks irked to the brim of extremes.

“Seize her!” he barks and by the tick of a second, Siena is hefted into the air by a couple guards, their grasps cause her to bawl in pain.

“Y/N! My dear, what did she do to you?“ Jimin’s voice is mellowy as he gathers you into his arms, perusing your form thoroughly.

Like the mountain river under sunlight, like snow melting under the beaming sunlight, like the gentle song of the topaz leaves swaying in the autumn breeze, his voice was pleasant as beautiful as his perfectly sculpted face.

You shake away weakly from his grasp and his face withers, twinging a deep cut into your heart.

“You cold-blooded murderer, let her free”. You mutter, abhorred and stare at him, as empty as the ocean at night.

Jimin peruses Siena and you wordlessly, taken aback by your sudden disgust. When you see his head lift and lips curl to one side, you see the once loving mate of yours turn into the callous, blood-thirsty hound of a creature that slaughtered so many lives for its own illiberal gain.

“I see my little fawn has discovered the truth”, he heinously chuckles, making you swallow down in utter disgust.

“It was worth the effort, was it not?” he perches himself on his lush seater loftily, a wicked grin stretches his lips at Siena’s struggles.

“Now that I have the maiden of my dreams to myself”, he wickedly whispers, his sharp eyes travel down your body as he slips his lower lip into his mouth.

“I can debauch her to my heart’s content” his eyes are demanding as they meet yours, his slender fingers tipping against the mahogany handle of his seater.

“What causes you to think I would submit to you?” you spew the words like venom as the haughty count feigns hurt, crumbling to the ground.

In a blink of an eye, Jimin whooshes at an inhuman pace across the chamber to you, gripping your jaws tight from the behind as he has his own clenched. Your wrists are pressed together at your back and he presses his chest to your back.

You attempt to wriggle away at the bulge pressing into the cleft of your arse and you screech at his hold.

“What can be done by a little fawn like you, against me? There is a reason why I did not wait even for an hour to turn you that night”. He lilts mockingly, lips brushing the lobe of your ear.

“Oh, little fawn. I had become the master of your body, soul and mind duly after turning you. Every single thought that runs in this little head, I can hear it”. He declares, arms slithering around your body in a vice-like grip.

“After decades of longing, I finally had you. Would I not have prepared for the same mistake to never occur again?” he presses his nose to your jugular, breathing your scent. It makes him roll his eyes in pleasure as the heavenly scent tickles his lungs.

Your fighting limbs fall limp as his fangs pierces the skin of your jugular, taking little gulps of your sweet blood.

Siena screams as she realises the actions performed on you by the count. She seethes and cusses, fighting against the guards’ hold on her.

“Forget everything that makes me bad in your eyes, little fawn”,  Jimin whispers pleasantly, making you fall into a lull of sleep with a soft hum.

“Only I am your love, only I am your lord, no other mongrel of a mortal owns you, forget it all, my one and only little fawn”, he sings soothingly, lifting you in his arms more delicate than a priceless treasure, cooing in adoration at the sight of your angelic face in peace and parted lips, memories flitting you away from him washed away profoundly.

In the course of a mo, Siena’s head is snapped and the poor nun’s body is embedded into the fertile earth heedlessly.

A famished count with an endless carnal lechery presses a soft kiss to your lips and envelopes you in a lover’s embrace, waiting for your eyes to open and say his name sweetly, oblivious to events that have unfolded a very few chimes ago.

Carnal lechery, it was what possessed him to possess you.

© unfurlingtwinklingstar 2020 | all rights reserved | do not re-post/translate

[shoutingdeku]

30 days challenge #8

8 - Can’t keep hands off each other (in public)

tdiz soulmate au, villain!Shouto (Kogeru); tw: cursing (lmao katsuki’s here), mild injury (non-explicit)

Katsuki threw the newspaper on top of the kitchen counter and stared down at Izuku hard.

“You’ve got to get your shit together.”

He didn’t need to look down from Kacchan’s furious face to know what he was going to see on the front page, but he did anyway. There it was, as expected, a picture showing him and the villain Kogeru close to each other, too close for comfort, considering the circumstances. Izuku focused on his hands and how they looked, cradling Shouto’s face. On top of the counter, he closed them into fists and pretended he could still feel the soft ghost of the touch on his skin.

“He was hurt.”

Kacchan scoffed. “He’s a villain.”

Izuku turned his face and looked sideways towards the window. Outside, rain was pouring and making it hard to see the night outside. It looked almost as gloomy as he felt.

“He’s my soulmate.”

“Don’t make me fucking repeat myself.”

Izuku kept quiet, too weary and tired of their ongoing discussion. It wasn’t the first time, and he was certain it wouldn’t be the last. It had been an accident, when he first told Kacchan about the fact they were soulmates. Coincidentally, it had also been because of the first time they made it to the front page, with Izuku holding Kogeru’s arm as he jumped them both out of harm’s way. That particular day, Shouto had been helping him against another villain, but instead the newspapers focused on what they looked like at that moment: the unexpected camaraderie between a villain and the number one hero. When Kacchan had barged inside his apartment and asked him what the fuck was he thinking, Izuku replied that ‘wow, Kacchan, please do come in, you look great in blue, is that a new haircut?’. And from that, was history. 

He guessed he still had the terrible habit of confiding his biggest secrets to Kacchan.

“Did you let him escape this time again?”

Izuku stopped to think about it. Did he? If he was honest, he didn’t try as hard as he could to bring Shouto in these days. Not when they were fighting, and definitely when they weren’t. They had struck up a fragile truce, one where they would only think of heroism and villainy when they were on opposite ends of a fight. If that wasn’t the case, then they were just themselves: Izuku and Shouto. If he was being honest, although he promised himself and Kacchan he wouldn’t let things get out of hand, he no longer had control over how he saw Kogeru and Shouto. To him, they were one and the same. And to him, they were the man he was vainly trying not to fall in love with.

“He managed to escape.”

Kacchan let out a frustrated groan. “How the fuck are you the number one hero? I can’t fucking believe I lost to you.”

“That’s not very nice.”

“I don’t particularly feel very nice right now, Izuku.” He tapped the image with two fingers. “Look at this shit. It looks like a romance novel. You gotta at least pretend. Keep your hands to yourself.”

Izuku didn’t have the courage to reply or defend himself, so he just shrugged, small. He probably looked like a kid being lectured. Hell, he felt like one. For once, he didn’t have any fight in him to go against Kacchan, and chose instead to keep quiet.

“You should know better.”

Shrug.

“Fuck you, Izuku. Fucking tell me something.”

“If it had been Kirishima, would you have let him go?” Izuku surprised himself by how fast he spouted that out, defiant gaze set on Kacchan. 

“Kirishima’s not a fucking villain.”

“And if he was?”

“He’s not.”

“So you see my point and now you don’t want to concede to it.”

They stayed looking at each other, waiting to see who would give in first. The silence didn’t help with the tension, nor did Katsuki’s scowl. There was nothing new to Izuku, not when it came to them and how many times they have antagonized each other, but the subject left him raw and exposed. He stood his ground until Kacchan scoffed once more and muttered what looked like a curse and his old nickname. Izuku considered that a win.

They silently chose to drop the subject and proceed with their dinner. The mood wasn’t the best still, not when the newspaper stayed open and staring at them like an intruder, but Izuku tried his best to enjoy the little free time they had. It had been too long since he managed to catch up, just the two of them without Kirishima or Iida or Ochako.

“By the way,” Kacchan started as they cleaned the dishes, “I’m going to propose.”

Izuku blinked in surprise, before grinning as hard as his face allowed him. “Kacchan! That’s amazing! Congratulations!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. That’s why I need you to get your shit together, I can’t have my best man fucking up before my big day.”

Izuku laughed. “Kirishima still hasn’t said yes. Wait, nor have I!”

“Are you saying you won’t be my best man?”

“Well, no, of course not, it’d be a pleasure-”

“So there’s that on that.”

“And Kirishima?”

Kacchan just gave him a look that spoke a million words. Right. Of course he would say yes, they were crazy for each other and they were each other’s soulmates.

“I’m kind of emotional right now,” Izuku confessed, his eyes a bit watery.

“Fucking nerd.” Kacchan smiled, all sharp teeth.

It didn’t take them long to part ways, Kacchan leaving with a last warning to ‘get your shit together, Izuku, or I’ll handle that good for nothing myself’ and finishing with a softer ‘at least keep your hands to your fucking self, for fuck’s sake’. Izuku smiled, complacent, and let him go with a last goodbye and a good luck he was sure Kacchan wouldn’t need. 

He closed the door and rested his forehead against it, head lost in thoughts. It didn’t take too long until he heard the window opening softly, the noise of the rain and of wet steps loud in the room.

“I thought he would never leave.”

Shouto’s voice raised goosebumps on Izuku’s spine and he turned with a cautious gaze. He shouldn’t let it show his eagerness, how happy he was just to hear his voice and see his face. In front of him, Shouto stood, soaking wet from the rain outside. Drops ran down from his long, white hair to his usual dark clothes, the blue of his eyes a striking point of color against the red of his scar and the white of his face as he took the mask off. 

“How long have you been waiting?” Izuku cursed how hopeful his voice sounded, desperate for any hint he wasn’t the only one in too deep.

Shouto continued to just stare at him instead of answering. His finger was still hooked on the mask, exposing the skin of his neck for Izuku to sneak a look at. It didn’t help his resolve.

“Long enough. I still don’t understand how you two are friends.”

Izuku smiled ruefully and took a step closer. “We have known each other since we were little, you know that. Besides, I think you would get along well if, you know. Things were different.”

Shouto hummed in reply. Izuku waited for their usual argument about Shouto’s disposition, but when he didn’t elaborate, Izuku privately thanked the heavens and instead offered him a towel.

“No, it’s ok. I can just-” he closed his eyes and soon enough steam started to rise from his clothes. Izuku watched, fascinated. A little thrill always arose inside him whenever he saw Shouto’s fire quirk in action, although he rarely saw the fire itself, just the side effects of a temperature rise. It was always like this, private moments and never in public. Izuku cherished these moments, the trust that had come with the time they’ve been having these secret encounters of just them -- the people they were, not the roles they played outside of Izuku’s four walls.

It’s been about six months now since he first learned Shouto had a dual quirk, and even longer since they had started with their secret encounters. For all this time, Izuku couldn’t help his glee whenever Shouto showed up and shared more of himself with him.

If Izuku were honest, he’d say glee wasn’t enough to cover the whole spectrum of feelings he had whenever he saw Shouto like that, standing in his living room as if he fit there. But tonight had been a night of many cowardices, and he will allow himself one more.

“There.” Shouto sighed. “All better.”

He took his coat off and shrugged it on the kitchen counter, besides the newspaper. He didn’t ask what it was. Instead, he grabbed it with soft hands and watched the front page for quite some time before looking back at Izuku with a raised eyebrow.

“Kacchan says I- we, well, I should take more caution when. You know. Out.”

“Ah.”

He looked back at the newspaper and Izuku chose that moment to step closer, softly. He noticed Shouto didn’t flinch anymore whenever he approached him when he was distracted with something else.

“This isn’t very good for your reputation, Hero Deku.”

“I don’t particularly care, Shouto.”

Shouto hummed once more and turned the page, looking for the rest of the story. Izuku had already done that earlier, on his own copy way before Kacchan had entered his apartment. He knew the story inside on page 5 would talk about Kogeru and his streak of villainy, of Deku’s years of public service, and how these two didn’t match up to the image they made and how they looked like on the photo. Besides the story, there would be another picture, this time of them standing in front of each other with their quirk activated, looking exactly like a villain and a hero should look like when confronting each other. The writer would then go off asking what happened that had Hero Deku so close to a villain lately, being photographed more and more besides Kogeru, either fighting alongside him against another villain or helping him out of harm's way.  

Izuku pushed the newspaper softly out of Shouto’s hand and dropped it on the kitchen counter, praying Shouto’s eyes hadn’t been fast enough to see the passage where the writer wondered what did their touching mean and what if the Hero had something else in mind about the villain.

“Shouto-kun. How are you feeling?”

“I told you already, it was nothing.”

“You were bleeding quite a lot.” Izuku whispered, voice a touch too worried. He couldn’t help himself, not when the thought of seeing Shouto get hurt made him sick -- always had. He raised his hand and let his fingers graze the edge of the bandages on the side of his forehead.

“That’s very common for head wounds, you know that. Doesn’t mean they were particularly damaging.”

“Good.” Izuku sighed, then let his hand fall down to his side. Shouto still wore his shoes inside and there was a puddle of water on the floor, but Izuku couldn’t care less, not when he had him again in front of him: just Shouto, not Kogeru this time. Or were they the same? Izuku couldn't stop himself from remembering the two were one and the same, and both were the sum of what made him Izuku’s soulmate. He couldn’t separate them any more than he could stop lo-

“Have you eaten already? I think we have some left over.”

“It’s fine.” Shouto reached out and touched Izuku’s hand. “May I…?”

Izuku smiled, resigned. Shouto always asked permission, since the first time, and he didn’t think he would change. 

“Of course.”

Shouto leaned down and kissed him softly, lips still too warm against Izuku’s mouth.

In another life, they wouldn’t have to worry about making the front page just from touching each other. In another life, Kacchan would have barged in their house and declared he would marry Kirishima and so help him, they better be his best men. In another life, Izuku could think about his own proposal and how handsome Shouto would look in a suit. A dark blue one, perhaps.

But in this life, all Izuku could do was reach out and touch Shouto softly, and hope he wouldn’t burn himself in regret.

[onwhatcaptain]

Chapter 4 is out! Here's a fresh slice from my novel-length K/S fic!

“That is not the word I would employ, but the concept is essentially correct. Your body’s thermoregulation has been impacted by your injury, and compounded further by the temperature on Aralis IV. Maintaining your body heat will be conducive to increased oxygen transport to your damaged tissues. However, there is little way to raise your core temperature beyond the sharing of body heat. I am certain you are aware of this, having taken the same survival course at the Academy that I have.” Spock does not have to remind the captain that he is the one who designed the ship's survival procedures training program. He inclines his head in the direction of Ensign May and Lieutenant Sulu, who are all but three inches from one another as they sleep. Their arms are around one another. It is logical, but Spock omits that he wishes to have his fingers on Kirk’s pulse for fear that it might just disappear sometime in the middle of the night—omission isn’t lying. “Very logical,” Kirk agrees, with an unreadable expression. “That’s the first time anyone’s used that line on me.”

As always, if you were curious about that bit, you should check out my fic "I Shall Do Neither" here at AO3! Details below:)

I Shall Do Neither (23039 words) by onwhatcaptain Chapters: 5/22 Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: James T. Kirk/Spock, James T. Kirk & Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Characters: James T. Kirk, Spock (Star Trek), Leonard "Bones" McCoy Additional Tags: Romance, Angst, Heavy Angst, Loss of Control, Psychological Trauma, Mutual Pining, Five Year Mission (Star Trek), Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Post-Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Pon Farr, Pon Farr Aftermath (Star Trek), Unresolved Sexual Tension, Friendship, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Sexual Tension, Sexual Content, Unreliable Narrator, Vulcan Biology, Tarsus IV (Star Trek), Vulcan Mind Melds, Non-Linear Narrative, Storytelling Through Vignettes, Missing Scenes Between Episodes, Plot, Cover Art, Canon Divergence, Digital Art, Illustrations Summary: In the wake of the kal-if-fee on Vulcan, Kirk is dead. When T’Pau tells Spock to live long and prosper, he knows he shall do neither. This is a story about men who love each other, and the lengths they will go to for one another. - Foolish, he thinks. I have been a fool.   How he had wanted so desperately to prove his Vulcan side. How all his life it had felt like a performance, and yet, to be finally subject to the most Vulcan thing of all destroyed him. The stripping of logic. All sense torn from him. His carefully constructed barriers had collapsed like a flimsy house of cards. To be granted his wish this way was a type of mockery. How he had wanted to be fully Vulcan. To prove that the blood which runs through his veins was not so human.   How wanting had been better than having. - This story is told in two parts across 21 chapters, and will be updated on Fridays.

[upside-down-uni]

Hey! Idk if this is too much t9 ask, but could you rec me 2, 19, 20, 45, 55, 63, 69, 71, 72, 75, 86, 104, 111, 116, 131? sorry if it’s a lot but thanks in advance if u can rec me some! :)

Hi, you're in luck! I have an essay to procrastinate on and this ask is just the right thing to distract me! Here you go, I hope you'll find something that you like:

2. a book with a blue cover

Radio Silence by Alice Oseman. When i read it for the first time I was just on the brink of going to uni, still figuring out what I even wanted to study and this book just wrapped me in a warm blanket and said "it's going to be okay". I love the main characters Frances and Aled, their arcs and especially the really nice and quiet queer rep in this book.

19. a book that put you in a reading slump

The Knife Of Never Letting Go by Patrick Ness. When I start a book I generally have the feeling that I can't put it away until I have finished it. With The Knife Of Never Letting Go my problem was that I did want to read it but it didn't fit my mood, so I couldn't bring myself to read it but also beat myself up about not reading it until I put it back onto my shelf. So, I basically pushed myself into a reading slump over this book.

21. a book with a red cover

Honey Girl by Morgan Rogers. I enjoyed this book so much but probably not for the reasons most people would think I enjoyed it? The wlw romance was definitely nice and I really liked them being dramatic but also kind of mundane? What really got me though was the strong theme of found family of young adults and queer friendships, that really yanked the yearning hours wide fucking open for me. (I also liked that in the end the book wasn't as much about romance as it was about finding yourself after surrendering yourself to academia for ages and working through your issues.)

45. a book featuring the friends to lovers trope

The Priory Of The Orange Tree by Samantha Shannon. I adore this book. It's so long and there's so much incredible world building and history in it that it made reading an untter delight! Coming in it was a bit hard to acclimate to the slow paste but after a while I just settled in and enjoyed the ride. It's a breathtaking story in a breathtaking universe and afaik there's a second part coming!

55. a book with a satisfying ending

Yolk by Mary H. K. Choi. Yolk doesn't really have an ending in the sense of a "happily ever after" but I really loved where the author chose to leave the characters and how she did it. The book is quite different from what I usually read, tonewise, but especially that ending made me leave the book with a warm feeling. (also the cover is yellow and really really gorgeous)

63. a book that actually made you laugh out loud

I would've reccd Red White and Royal Blue but judging by your url you've read that already...sooooo, it's Snapdragon by Kat Leyh! Super cute graphic novel, with a weird and adorable storyline and such lovable characters!

69. your favorite mythological retelling

I haven't read a mythological retelling in ages, so basic Percy Jackson by Rick Riordan will have to do.

71. your favorite LGBTQ+ fiction

now that's just rude how am I supposed to choose?? I'll say it's Every Heart A Doorway by Seanan McGuire and Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir and Loveless by Alice Oseman. I feel very strongly and very distinctly about all of them, if you can get your hands on them my only comment is READ. (and maybe make sure you're okay with gothic sci-fi horror for Gideon The Ninth)

72. a book with a gorgeous cover

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth. It's her adult gothic horror debut after The Miseducation of Cameron Post and not only is the hardcover just stunning in black and red, it also got illustrations inside!! (And all teh women are queer and it's deliciously fucked up!)

75 a book featuring the I'm not like other girls trope

I think the closest I can come to that is The Lady's Guide To Piracy and Petticoats by Mackenzi Lee. The main character has to unlearn a bunch of stuff really fast if she wants to get along with the only other people that will help her. We have road trips in the 16th century, kidnapping and asshole husbands to be, piracy of course and friendship!

86. a book with an insane plot twist

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand. Sawkill Girls was my first touch with horror and I have to say I have no idea whether there was heavy foreshadowing. I think I remember thinking that there was something else to come but when the shit hit the fan I just sat there with big questionmarks over my head because I had read the book in a frenzy in one evening and truly did NOT anticipate it. As someone who did not read horror or thriller before this I have to say I was already insanely confused and disgusted by a bunch of stuff that went down. But then...uh. the thing happened and I was just lost. (In a good way though.)

104. a fluffy sweet read

Let's Talk About Love by Claire Kann. It's been a while ever since I read it but it's essentially a cute summer story about Alice who's a disaster bisexual when she sees people she finds cute. Which is a little inconvenient because the new guy at her job is really, really, really extremely cute and she ceases to function around him. There's best friend drama, eating pizza iirc and figuring shit out!

111. a book writing a book

I assume it's either "a book about writing a book" or I am literally supposed to rec a book that is writing a book...I'm going to rec a book that is about books! (because I can.) It's The Girl Who Reads on the Métro by Christine Féret-Fleury and it follows a young woman called Juliette wo gets sucked into an old bookseller's world of life saving, life changing books. A really quiet, really cute book.

116. a book with multiple povs

the Reckless books by Cornelia Funke! Simply divine stroytelling, a vibrant world and amazing characters! I have to say that I only know the German original so I don't know what the English translation might be like.

131. recommend any book you like

um. so knife gang members and people who follow my main, you'll once again be subjected to me being a mess because of lesbian necromancers in space! I've mentioned it before, it lives in my head rent free, it is the one, the only Gideon The Ninth by Tamsyn Muir! It's an insane sci-fi horror fantasy blend where Gideon has to play cavalier to Reverend Daughter Harrowhark I-love-being- an-absolute-pain-in-the-ass-to-Gideon Nonagesimus to help her become an uber-necromancer (like Harrow needs motivation to become even more of a nerd and shockingly good at necromancy) for the Necrolord Prime/Undying Emperor. There's BEAUTIFUL WRITING sprinkled with MEMES when you least expect it. There is incredible toxic codependency and repression. There's MURDER. There's fancy necromancy theorems and DUELS. There's enemies to begrudging allies to ??? Staple your socks to your feet or this book will blow them clean off!

[cookietookie]

Geralt & Yennefer & The Fandom

I knew it was going to happen the moment the Witcher went ‘mainstream’. It partially happened already when The Witcher 3 Wild Hunt came out and the fandom suddenly became huge and popular, outside of Poland and other Central and Eastern European countries. But back to the point.

Since the Netflix show came out, I’ve seen several (ok, actually quite a lot) people (mostly new fans) complaining about Yennefer, Yennefer’s arc, and - the worst - how she is ‘getting in the way’ of a potential romance of Geralt & Jaskier because she dares to be Geralt’s love interest.

Look, I am all for “ship and let ship” policy, there’s nothing wrong with being a fan of a relationship that is not canon. I understand that there is a severe lack of representation of canon m/m relationships and that people would love too see more of it in the mainstream media. 

But in this particular case and in this particular story...some Things Need To Be Said. 

Geralt & Yennefer relationship is not boring and forced. As far as the romance goes, there is literally nothing ‘conventional’ or ‘typical’ about them, apart from the fact that he is a man and she is the female.

WARNING: There might be some book spoilers under the cut.

When Sapkowski was asked about their relationship, he often answered that the clue was to present them as the antithesis to  That Love Story that he often encountered in other fantasy novels or movies - a handsome, heroic man who falls in love with a princess, saves her and they live happily ever after. But in particular, it was Yennefer who was his main subject of ‘turning typical tropes on its head’.

When Geralt meets Yennefer, he’s presented with a woman who is..let’s say, unlikeable. She’s not a princess and she doesn’t need saving. On the contrary, she’s the kind of woman who could kill Geralt with a wave of her hand, before he could even blink. And Geralt not only knows that, but he likes that. She is also kinda mean, abrasive and controlling - both in the books and on the show.

But somehow...Geralt looks past that. He sees Something More in her and he sees that immediately. He instantly recognizes the trauma she’s trying to hide from the world and the mask she’s wearing (in the books there’s this long paragraph of Geralt’s internal monologue when he realizes that Yennefer used to be hunchback). And what’s more important - he sees in her the traits they both share. They both come from rough places, they’re both loners,they’re both unhappy and they both deep inside long to be loved. They’re also both isolated from the society which looks upon them (the show kinda failed to show this, but you need to know that  it’s not only witchers that are hated by the common people - wizards are treated like that as well.)

So..yeah, Geralt falls in love with her. And yes, it’s probably love at the first sight. Is it a trope? Yes, but it’s not presented in the ‘typical’ way. It’s turned on its head. There’s no knight in a shining armour falling in love with a cute princess. Geralt is not a knight and Yennefer is anything but lovable woman. And they don’t get their happily ever after (at least not for a long time).

Geralt makes a wish to save her because he already loves her and doesn’t want to lose her. And what’s important - In the books Yennefer knows exactly what he wished for (which is again something that the show changed) because she heard him. And no, she’s not pissed. She’s not angry. She’s “astounded” that Geralt - being able to chose literally everything in the world - money, respect, being ‘normal’ - ignored that and chose her. Despite her being nothing but aggresive and hateful towards him prior that. That is the moment when she for the first time starts to feel something for Geralt. Because she simply can’t believe that someone could make such sacrifice for her. It’s a huge moment which the show failed to portray correctly.

But like I said before - the bliss doesn’t last for long. Geralt & Yennefer for a long time have an “on” and “off” relationship. They meet and break up time and time again. They can’t last together not because they don’t love each other, but because each of them has such a baggage of emotional problems, insecurities that they need to work on, that it takes its toll on their relationship. Geralt feels he’s unable to love truly because he’s a “mutant”, while Yennefer longs for a ‘missing’ piece in her life (a child she can’t have). 

In the Sword of Destiny, Yennefer tells Geralt that she and him “are made for each other” but it’s not going to work because they “need Something More”. At that point of the story the reader doesn’t know what she means by that but later it’s pretty clear that this “Something More” is Ciri herself. She’s the missing puzzle both in their lives individually, but also in their relationship. She’s like a bridge between Geralt and Yennefer.

So as you can see - the core of this story is family. Family by choice, created by Geralt, Yennefer and their adopted daughter. It’s a story about broken people who somehow find each other and love each other, despite the odds and events not working in their favour. It’s not a boring cliche or a forced romance bullshit.

Ok, that was longer than I intended it to be. I am not asking you to stop shipping Geralt & Jaskier or to start loving Yennefer. I just want to present a bigger context, which some of you may be missing right now. By disregarding Yennefer (who btw is a great character on her own, without Geralt) and her role in the protagonists’ lives, you’re doing yourself a huge disservice. I am simply asking to give it a chance and wait for the story to unfold.

P.S. : Some of Jaskier’s most famous ballads are canonically about Geralt & Yennefer. He basically made them famous across the world, with people gossiping and retelling tales about their love story ;)

[grimoire-of-seven]

I have a crush on you

PROMPT :: “I have a crush on you..”

Rating: SFW

Words: 350-450 per character

Characters: Demon brothers + MC/Gender-Neutral Reader

Note: Thank you for the request! Although you didn’t specify which character, I took it upon myself to write for all of the demon brothers! It’s a little long so please continue reading under the cut!

LUCIFER

You stood your ground before him, eyes determined to express all these pent up emotions into words. When you arrived at the student council office, Lucifer was busy with several of the student council papers but insisted that he is listening to you.

“Lucifer,” You called out to the black-haired demon infront of you, hands clutching your Devildom Law book for courage, “I have a crush on you.”

“Hmm, yes,” He nodded his head almost automatically, his focus towards the papers unwavering, “You can put your term paper draft on my desk. I shall attend to that shortly after I finish this–”

“I said, ‘I have a crush on you’, Lucifer.” You repeated with a louder and much more resolute voice.

With that, his hands stopped mid-way through putting down one of the stacks. He directed his attention towards you, there was no semblance of an expression in his visage aside from its usual stoicism.

After that one second of shock, Lucifer then smiled at you with… was that pity or sadness in his– “…take that away.”

You gasped his statement, appalled that he dares to tell you how to deal with your feelings. You finally gathered the courage to tell him and he’s telling you to ‘take it away’?!

Within an instant, you made your way to his table and slammed your hand at his desk, “Now, listen here, you little shi–”

Wha-?!

He pulled your necktie with enough force that had you reeling towards him, the tips of your noses barely missing a millimeter.

“I’m just teasing.” He chuckled in delight, those piercing dark eyes staring at yours with such intensity that made your knees weak like jelly. “Time and time again, you amaze me with your honesty.”

Goosebumps trailed your arms as Lucifer’s hand caressed your cheek delicately. If he comes any closer, you’re most certain that he’ll hear the embarrassingly fast beating of your heart. “I like that.”

 MAMMON

“Plus four!” Mammon exclaimed in glee, slamming the card in the low coffee table. Before reaching to the deck for four more cards, the white-haired demon stopped you in your tracks and placed yet another identical card, “Another plus four! I change the cards to blue!”

“You can’t stack plus four cards! UNO tweeted that before–”

“We’re using local rules here, dummy, get with the program!” He smugly replied, smirking at you as you reach for eight cards. “Taste my reverse card!”

“Yikes,” You sighed at his beaming energy of mischief, placing a blue card down, “You sure play dirty…”

“I get to ask ya one truth or a dare if I win!” Mammon nodded eagerly at your words as if it’s a compliment to him. He removed another blue card from his deck and exclaimed, “UNO!”

“Greedy… you’re too greedy for victory.” You changed the colour of the cards to yellow in high hopes that his last card isn’t the same.

Please don’t be yellow–

“Got’cha!” Damn.

“Truth or dare?” He asked excitedly with the energy of a toddler on a sugar-high.

He would definitely ask something very private and embarrassing if you chose truth, given that he’s animatedly eager to get you to lose this round. With that in mind, you chose the lesser evil, “Dare.”

“I dare you to tell the truth!”

This stupid idiot… You sighed and nodded, “Fine. But give me the cards, I’ll shuffle it this time.”

“Who are you interested among the seven of us brothers?”

Ah, so that’s what this is. You chuckled, his earlier demeanor making much more sense with his ‘dare’. “No wonder you’re pumped up when I said we should higher the stakes.”

“Ya didn’t wanna bet money!”

“It’s an UNO game, man.”

“So, who is it?” He asked, leaning back to his sofa with crossed-arms as he waited for you to hand him his set of cards, “Maybe if you slide in some cash, I can help you get–”

“He’s quite cute.” You began, taking a card as a starter and waiting for Mammon to put down his first.

“Oh? So that counts out Asmo since he’d beautiful!”

“He makes me laugh a lot.” You smiled, “Reverse card, reverse card, plus four, change colour to yellow.”

“GAH! I don’t have any yellow!!!” Mammon twisted from his seat at the realization of his misfortune, seeing that you only have three cards remaining in your hand. “That can’t be Levi or Lucifer or Satan! Those guys would choke if they’re asked to share a joke. So, it’s either Beel or Belphie, huh!”

You shook your head at his words, placing down another card, “I have a crush on you, Mammon.”

“Wh–” He looked up at you with wide-eyes, “No! Q-Quit playin’ dirty! I ain’t fallin’ for that.”

“Reverse card, UNO,” You stared back at him, eyes never leaving his as you placed your last cards, “I win.”

LEVIATHAN

What does Ruri-chan have that you don’t?

Dejectedly wiping the said figurine with a damp towel, you asked that question to yourself.

You were summoned at Levi’s room earlier that day for some ‘important friend training’ to be facilitated by the purple-haired demon himself… only to find out that he’s cleaning his figures and needed a few more hands on deck.

Why does he like Ruri-chan so much? She’s a fictional character, for god���s sake!

“Hey, Levi,” You started, looking up from your task, “If I say I have a crush on you, what would you do?”

The man in question stared at you for a moment before erupting into a boisterous laughter. “LMFAO,” he spelled in glee, hands waving off your statement as if it’s a mere jest, “That’s the funniest joke I have ever heard from you in a long while lolol.”

“Take this seriously, Levi!” You wrung the damp towel in annoyance and weaponized it against your companion, hitting him by the leg with enough force to have him yelp in pain.

“OW, TF you doing? That hurts!” He rubbed his leg in attempt to stave off the stinging feeling, only to realize your reaction to his answer, “Wait, that wasn’t a joke?”

“Do I look like-?!”

“WTF!? That’s a horrible decision!” Levi exclaimed in disbelief, his eyes scanning your expression for some sort of… mischief in your eyes or a slightly wolfish grin.

But all he saw was that you were genuinely serious - about him and your feelings for him.  

“Why?” He breathed out the question, his head thinking of the times when you must’ve raised his intimacy close enough for you to drop that confession bomb on him, “Compared to Lucifer and Asmo, I’m not even the most handsome or popular character in this–”

“We’re not in a game.”

Levi went silent at your words.

Have you done it? Is this finally friendship over?

Panic began rising up your chest as he sat still, unmoving from his position. Before you can speak, he looked at you with a hopeful spark in his expression, “Then… does that mean I can like the main character, too?”

SATAN

Satan had offered to walk home with you together after hearing that Solomon is graciously tutoring you for certain RAD subjects – those that doesn’t exist in the human world. The blonde demon insisted that he doesn’t mind waiting for you given that there are still some things he has to do for the student council.

‘It sounds like an after-school date’, Solomon grinned at you before leaving. You swear, he’s got some sort of voodoo magic radar for your emotions.

Removing the thought of Solomon’s jests before you blush too hard, you thought of confessing to Satan before a certain someone runs his mouth about it. Should you…?

Yeah, it’s better to hear it from you than someone else – namely Solomon.

“Hey, Satan, I have a crush on you.” You told him, as casually as you can without breaking voice.

He stopped in his tracks, looking at you with disbelief. Satan opened his mouth to speak but stopped, taking a moment to think about his words, then simply asked, “Why…?”

Eh? “W-What do you mean ‘why’?”

You couldn’t really answer that. You’ve asked yourself a hundred times why you fell for a demon, the actual personification of Wrath itself, yet you can’t seem to find an answer for yourself. At least, you had no answers aside from… “I just really like you, Satan.”

He continued walking, you can feel the gears of his head turning as he oversees the situation in its logical perspective, “I’m a demon and you’re a human, need I remind you?”

That felt a pang on your chest, hearing him say it even though you are well aware of the fact.

Taking a deep breath to muster up the courage, you asked him for his final verdict, “So, you’re saying you don’t like me back?”

“Yes–!” He answered automatically, but then almost immediately denied, “Well, no.”

Huh. That’s quite confusing.

“I like you, too,” Satan smiled at you for a moment, “But things will be complicated if we think about this logically.”

Scratching the back of your head at his words, you couldn’t help yourself in saying, “When did love become a logical thing, though?”

He blushed at your words, hastening his walking speed to stop you from further seeing his reddened face, “S-Stop being too c-cute! I’m not lending you any more romance novels if you keep being so adorable!”

ASMODEUS

Asmodeus held your hand as if it was the most fragile thing in the world. With great precision, he coated your nails with an even layer of nail polish to match his wonderfully manicured ones.

People adore Asmodeus’ natural charm. What can you say? He’s absolutely flawless and drop-dead gorgeous.

Just thinking about the way his eyes sparkle at the news of Jeffrey Star’s new palette collection. The way he speaks excitedly whenever Prada presents their new line of designer bags. Hell, even talking about hand cream is a treat in itself whenever Asmodeus does it.

Look at you, absolutely whipped for this man and his undeniable charm.

He insists that you’re immune to his beauty yet you’re still attracted to him. It’s unfair to be this handsomely beautiful.

“Asmo, I think I have a crush on you.” You spouted out randomly, feeling his soft warm hands against yours.

“Of course, you do~” He replies as a matter-of-factly, “Everyone lusts over my magnificent–”

“I’m serious, Asmo.” You cut him off from his usual sugar-sweet line, “I like you.”

“Alright, humour me, love,” He put aside the nail polish and intertwined his hands in yours, his face closing towards yours dangerously, “If I accept your confession and we become a couple, what would you like to do with me…?”

With heated cheeks, you opened your mouth to speak but he sensually placed an index finger by your lips, he whispered with that hedonistic tone of his, “In private, that is…”

In private?! Gosh, he’s asking for a lot!

Suddenly feeling parched, you gulp at the thought of what you wanted out of him if he ever accepts you as a partner. Eyes flitting anywhere except towards his, you tried your best to hold your trembling body before him - backing down now might show your lack of conviction towards him, after all.

You mumbled softly, hoping that he can hear you through your closeness, “…ds with you.”

“Tsk tsk,” The peach-haired demon grinned as he clicked his tongue, “I can’t hear you with such a silent voice. You can do better than that~”

“M-Maybe hold h-hands with you… or c-cuddle if y-you want.” You repeated a bit more audibly, your blush deepening by the second, “I-It’d be fun to go o-on a café w-with just the two of us, too.”

“KYAAA~! That’s so wholesome and adorable!!!” Asmodeus squealed in delight at your answer, throwing himself at you in a tight embrace, “Alright, I’ll be your boyfriend and we’ll do all those together~! This is so exciting!”

“No!!! Asmo, my nails!”

BEELZEBUB

From whatever ‘reliable’ and expensive source you’ve heard [definitely not Mammon], Beel apparently loves a certain sandwich menu from Hell’s Kitchen. Unfamiliar with Devildom’s cuisine and Hell’s Kitchen’s menu, you were faced with a dilemma.

The question would be… which one of the three sandwiches in the menu he likes most?

This frustrating situation made you want to curse Mammon for scamming your 100Grimm with this useless piece of information. Sighing at the thought of having to buy all three just for good measure, you saw the Avatar of Gluttony himself walking pass the restaurant.

“Beel!” You exclaimed to get his attention, waving at the tall ginger-haired demon as he looked towards your general direction, “I have a question for you!”

He greeted you with that heart-melting smile of his, eager to answer any inquiries from you. You whisked him away from the street and into the shop, asking, “Which of the sandwiches in the menu do you like most?”

“What for?”

“Just answer the question, please~”

“The one with the tartare and cheese…” He replied, eyes dreamy at the menu board, most possibly captivated by the memory of having such a treat. Beel snapped from his reverie, explaining to you why it’s his most favoured, “It’s like your human food ‘cheeseburger’!”

You nodded and ordered the exact sandwich for him, much to his surprise.

It’s like a date! You inwardly screamed, mentally giving yourself a high-five for taking advantage of this sweet opportunity.

“Let’s split up the sandwich, as thank you for buying me food…”

How sweet! The thought made you want to curl up in the floor and cry in happiness, but resisted, “Come on, let me treat you once in a while!”

You both took a seat on the less conspicuous booths of the store. As Beel ate with glee, you chatted him up, content at the moment both of you were sharing.

“Why’d you *munch* even buy me food?”

“I like you!” You answered without a sliver of a doubt, carried too much at the connection you were sharing at the time. Blinking once… twice, you realized what you’ve done.

Well, fu–

“This food sure is great,” Beel avoided looking at you and continued eating, his face noticeably red from his blushing cheeks.

Groaning in defeat, you buried your face in your hands. It’d be rude to suddenly take back what you’ve said. Stupid me, stupid, stupid–

“I thought I’m hearing things because I’m still hungry.” The ginger-haired demon explained, his hands taking yours and peeling them off from your heated face, “You’re like this sandwich, you know that?”

“W-What…?”

“It’s my favourite, just as you’re my favourite person to be with!”

BELPHEGOR

You stared at Belphegor’s sleeping face, so peaceful and at ease.

It’s hard to think of him as a demon when he’s especially languid like this.

He had invited you to watch a movie that Levi suggested, only to doze off within fifteen minutes of the production, his head perfectly placed by your lap. Deciding that the Avatar of Sloth would rather sleep than watch, you let him sleep to his heart’s content.

The moment the movie ended, you didn’t notice that your lap had fallen asleep with him. Great.

You poked his cheek, seeing if he’ll wake up. “Belphie~” You cooed, “Belphie, wake up… My thighs has fallen asleep with you~”

“Fiv.. m’nutes…” He stirred, making himself much more comfortable on your lap and on the sofa.

“What am I gonna do with you?” You sighed in affection, smiling at his sleeping visage. Similar to Belphegor, you also made yourself comfortable on the sofa despite the stinging feeling by your thighs, “Alright, five more minutes, but only because I like you.”

To your surprise, Belphie spoke again, “Say that again.”

“I said you can have five more minutes, Belphie.”

“No, the second part…”

He heard that?!

You gulped, eyes avoiding his as you slowly repeated, “B-B… Because I like you.”

The raven-haired demon closed his eyes once, turning away from you, “I must be dreaming.” And within seconds, he has fallen asleep again just like that.

“No, Belphie, don’t sleep!” You stood up at his reaction to such an important confession, only to remember that he was formerly sleeping on your lap.

WHOOPS.

“Ow,” He rubbed his head after being unceremoniously thrown out of the sofa, sitting up groggily from all of the commotion, “Okay, so it’s not a dream.”

You sat beside him on the floor and rubbed his head as well, apologizing for it, “Why would think that, though?”

He looked away with a blush, “Because it’s too good to be true…”

[thethoughtsfromthreeam]

Art History

Pairing: Marcus Pike x Reader

Warnings: Smut, public sex act

A/N: @pedropascalito wrote a NSFW alphabet for Marcus some time ago and had shown interest in a fic where Marcus finger fucks you next to a piece of art.  And like always, other people’s comments give me ideas.  So here we go, y’all.

Reminder:  I ain’t ever seen Pedro Pascal in FUCK ALL, I’m just coming up with this as I go along, using imdb.com, wiki, and 84,000 tabs I got open to plan out this shit.  I also write soft versions of his characters so if you’re craving asshole vibes, I ain’t got any but my own to offer.

Tags:  @zeldasayer , @romanticgumchewer , @beskars , @coolmaybelateruniverse , @the-feckless-wonder,  @pascalisthepunkest , @mandoandyodito , @randomness501 , @fioccodineveautunnale  

—***—

“Do you want to do inside first or check out the sculpture garden?” You looked at the map of the museum in your hands.  It had been his turn to choose the location for your standing monthly get away date and he had chosen well, a sprawling art museum housed in a Gilded Age mansion outside of Providence Rhode Island.  The impressive views of the Atlantic Ocean made the grounds an attractive place to start the day.

A slight chill in the air made you glad you chose you tweed cloak instead of the cardigan you debated on that morning.  It was just warm enough to keep the light breeze at bay but not heavy enough to overheat you.  Secretly you loved wearing the cloak, it made you feel like the heroine of some historic romance novel.

“Marcus?”  You prodded him gently with your voice as you watched his brows furrow in concentration. He was still looking at the map in your hands and you watched as something flashed over his face.  You could hear the gears turning in his head – he was clearly up to something.

He looked up at you and that boyish grin that never failed to make your stomach flutter was at full wattage.  He took the map and folded it up, putting it in his back pocket before taking your hand. You smiled as he began to walk towards the gardens.

“They have a spectacular selection of Holbrook sculptures on display.  You’re going to love them.”  As you walked, you passed an occasional person, but it was so quiet, it seemed as if you had the whole garden to yourself, allowing you to imagine yourselves as the only people in the world in that moment.

Marcus glanced down, watching the sunlight play peekaboo with your hair and face as you passed under the Japanese maples that lined the path.  He rubbed his thumb along your knuckles, almost absentmindedly, as you quietly chatted about the art you passed.  His deep voice was soft and your murmurs and comments seemed to flow like silk over him.

While history was more your speed, your passion for the subject matched his passion for art step for step and Marcus’ favorite thing about these dates was the way you bounced off each other.  For every story he had about an artist or piece or even style, you easily came back with facts and figures that put everything into further context. Sometimes you argued over meaning, but it was always stimulating.

By the time you made it to the far end of the garden where the Holbrook pieces were on display, an hour had passed, although with you, it felt like no time at all.  Marcus began to smile as the exhibit came into view.  Holbrook was easily one of his favorite artists and the pieces made his blood sing every time he saw one, a song usually only you could coax out of him.

You stopped to read the interpretation sign before entering the space and Marcus let go of your hand to walk ahead.  Because you didn’t have his wealth of knowledge, you almost always stopped to read the signage, to learn more about an artist or a piece of work.  Your head bowed as you read and from a distance, Marcus had angled himself to watch your reactions.

Holbrook wasn’t an obscure artist, but given the sensual look to his pieces, you discovered why he wasn’t exactly in a lot of textbooks.  You stepped into the garden and it felt as if you had fallen into an erotic daydream.  The almost carnal aura of the space was softened by flowers and trees that were soft and dreamy.

As you began to view the pieces, each one seemed to capture a passionate moment so perfectly that a small part of you felt like you were experiencing memories that were your own but weren’t.  You were examining a piece so intently; you didn’t notice the flush that crept across your body.  But Marcus did.

He stood a few pieces away from you, taking in the subtle changes of your body – how your posture relaxed, the way your eyes began to spark, the blush against your cheeks that could be mistaken as caused by the breeze.  And when you turned to move to the next piece, he could see your eyes beginning to darken.

But you weren’t the only one affected by the art and as you were reading, Marcus had been looking at a piece where one lover was kneeling between the legs of another.  The Kneeler captured the moment when the titular lover was pressing their lips against the inside of the thighs of their object of affection.  

He could feel his pants becoming tighter the longer he looked at the piece, but when he watched at you as you moved from piece to piece, the soft fabric of his boxers became almost unbearable.  His heart always fluttered at the sight of you, but seeing you become aroused by one of his favorite artists made his heart pound against his ribs.

You stood in front of Embracement, that feeling of déjà vu passing through you yet again.  Like all of Holbrook’s pieces, this one was made of marble and yet something about it made it seem soft and yielding.  Before you could think beyond that moment, Marcus walked up behind you, placing his large hands on your hips, becoming lost in the fabric of your cloak.

You turned your head to smile at him, feeling his hard body press flush against your own, his strong arms wrapped around your waist and pulling you close. You drew your hands up to rest on his wrists, feeling his warm skin beneath yours.  It never failed to humble you that someone as handsome and kind and smart would be interested in you.  Although you’d be surprised that Marcus felt the same about you.

He pressed his soft lips to your cheek before dropping his chin to your shoulder.  Standing like this, you could feel his voice rumble through his broad chest as much as you heard it come from his mouth.  His lifted one hand just long enough to point to the piece in front of you.

“Do you know the story?”  When you shook your head, he dropped his arm back down.  “Holbrook was married for years to a woman named Marian.  He said numerous times that Marian was his muse and the only woman for him.  When she became pregnant with their first child, he made this piece to celebrate.”

You looked at it again.  A woman lay on a bed, leaning against pillows as her lover lay between her legs.  Hands were wrapped around the hips and the man’s lips were pressed against the woman’s pubic bone.  Both were naked, but the hallmarks of arousal were evident in the details. Marcus’s voice continued and between your attention on the piece and on his voice, you failed to realize that he shifted his arms through the side openings of your cloak, bringing his hands to rest on your hips, with only the fabric of your skirt and panties between you two.

“Holbrook admitted that the piece came to him in a dream inspired by a memory.  He said that Marian was made to be worshiped by his body and with his art.  Rumor has it that their maid found the two of them laying exactly like this in the garden of their home.”

As the words flowed over you, Marcus’ hands began to move and for the first time you became aware of his touch as his fingertips pulled at your thin sweater to urge the fabric up.  When he finally touched your skin, you felt as if you were being set on fire.  His skin was hot against yours and the flush that had spread across your cheeks earlier began to spread throughout your body.  

“He said that no skin felt as soft as hers, like silk” One hand snaked northward, skirting the edge of your lace bra before cupping one gently.  Your nipples began to harden into tight peaks that throbbed in time with your clit and your hips began to slightly move in time with his words.

“Her lips were reported to feel like brushed velvet.”  His other hand traced gently along the waistband of your skirt before dipping below and into the soft cotton of your panties.  Your breath hitched and you tensed, your eyes opening wide.  Marcus pressed his lips against your temple.  “It’s okay, we’re completely alone.  Besides, no one can see my hands under your cloak.”

You pressed against him harder when his hands didn’t move, and you were rewarded with a low groan as your ass pressed against his erection.  You couldn’t stop the smile from playing against your lips even as they opened into a sigh when Marcus pressed an open kiss to your neck.

Marcus continued to tell the story of the piece, his voice rough with want. You stared at the sensual scene in front you, hoping it would ground you even has the strong, large fingers of his hands slipped through the curls at the apex of your thighs and into the folds of your slit.  Your hopes were for naught.

He felt your hips jerk forward at his touch and again when his fingers pinched your nipple through the lace of your bra.  His smile could be heard in his voice as your body bowed away from his as pleasure danced along your skin.  But that smile was wiped away when you used the new space between your hips to drag your hand along the front of his pants, letting the cloak cover your movements from any prying eyes.

Now it was his turn to jerk his hips, chasing your fingertips as they moved northward.  Your smile was no longer hidden and out in full force.  You moved your other hand from his wrist to deftly unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants.  As you tugged the zipper down, Marcus began to gently rub against your clit.

You couldn’t stop the loud gasp from escaping your throat and he pressed his nose against the side of your face, urging you to keep it down.  You may have been alone, but the museum grounds were still open.  Someone could always walk into the exhibit and catch you.  When you nodded, he rubbed a little faster, his blood hot in his veins as he watched you dropped your head back and bit your lip to keep the groan from escaping your throat.

You forced yourself to focus more as you stuck your hand beneath the waistband of his boxers, feeling his cock hard and ready for you.  He dipped his head once again, using the fabric at your shoulder to soften his own moan.  Your hand went lower, brushing along the tip and gathering the moisture you found there.  With a sudden swiftness, you grasped his cock and dragged your hand as far down as your awkward position could let you.

“Fuck, sweetheart.”  His pants enveloped you and you lolled your head to the side to press your lips against his neck.  “So soft, like silk.  Like velvet.”

“Marcus.”  Your voice sounded desperate and he understood.  His fingers dipped lower to gather up your wetness before he plunged two fingers deep into you.  Your body tensed and curled forward as far as his arms would let you – his large hand still on your breast and keeping you pressed against him.

Soon his hand was setting a moderate pace, fingers continuously dipping into your dripping core, reaching that spot inside of you that made your toes curl inside your shoes.  You angled yourself enough so that you could match his pace with your hands, twisting and curling them against the heat of his erection.

Marcus felt as if he were on fire and it took all his will power not to drive his hips into your hands, knowing that at any moment someone could see him.  His blood rushed through his body and his nerves tingled at the thought. He never thought himself as an exhibitionist, but the close call of it all certainly spoke to his baser desires.

You, on the other hand, were lost in his fingers as the continued to pluck as your nipples and touch your very soul.  When he with drew his hand, your whine couldn’t be contained, but it was cut short when he began to rub your clit again.  Your hips continued to jerk as the passion brewing deep in your belly grew hotter and tighter.

“Marcus. . .”  You could barely get his name out, your voice raspy and filled with heavy desire.  He seemed to know what you wanted, and he dropped the hand at your breast down into your panties.  His stuck his fingers back inside of you and let his other hand continue to rub against your clit, the pace faster this time.

Your hands remained on his cock, tightening as your pleasure began to climb closer to its peak with every movement on his hands.  They barely moved now, but that didn’t matter as Marcus let himself fuck your fists like a horny teenager.  Both of your hips were moving faster, your orgasms drawing from your limbs and growing heavier in the pit of your stomachs.

Marcus began to kiss along your neck, open and wet against your skin. You focused on the scene in front you, knowing that the familiarity of this piece and so many others were not because you’d seen Holbrook’s work before.  No, it’s because these sculptures were your life lived.  You didn’t see Marian and Holbrook in front of you.

No.  That sculpture was you, nipples taunt in desire and lips slightly parted for the man laying between your legs.  It was Marcus’ lips that hovered above your public bone, kissing you so intimately until all thoughts were lost to you.  It was not Holbrook’s hands on those hips, it was the man behind you, whose soft skin brushed so lovingly against your own in an almost worshipful way.

When you came, your whole body seemed to explode and for a split second it seemed that the woman in the sculpture turned her head towards you and smiled a knowing smile.  You jerked against his hands, your moan low but deep and Marcus felt it reverberate through his body.  He followed you into the waves of pleasure, coming in your hand over and over until he felt spent.

The aftershocks rippled through your body as Marcus cupped your mound softly.  When you stopped shaking, he withdrew his hands and kissed your temple.  He pulled them completely out of your clothing and reached into his pocket for his handkerchief.  He wiped his hands and then yours, doing his best to clean the back of your cloak and the front of his pants.

Once all evidence of your tryst has been cleaned, he folded up the fabric and put it back into his pockets.  As he slipped himself back inside his pants, you straightened your skirt and looked back at the sculpture in front of you.  Nothing had change, the sculpture never moved and yet you felt an even deeper connection to the piece.

Marcus laid his hands on your hips, turning you towards him so he could drape his arms around your waist.  You did the same and as you looked at each other, the satisfied smiles on your faces seem to glow.  He dipped his head to softly kiss your lips and you willingly kissed him back, the soft sensuality of the kiss spreading through you.  It seemed to last long minutes, each brush of his lips drawing you back in until you could barely breathe.

He pulled his head back and looked down at you, the lust that had been there giving away to adoration and love.  His eyes reflected the same.  While he hadn’t anticipated this happening when he suggested you come here for your date, it was better than anything he could have hoped for.  You cocked your head to look at him.

“What’s going on in that brain yours, sweetheart?”  His voice was wasn’t as raspy as it had been, but it was still rougher than normal.

“I love a good art piece.  It’s very inspiring.”  You smiled.

He grinned and nodded in agreement.

[soybeantree]

pairing: do kyungsoo x reader  genre/warning: spoopy fluff word count: 1.7k description: thanks to bridgerton we all are back into our regency era feels usually preserved for late night bbc reruns or jane austen binges. here’s a little kyungsoo in her majesty’s finest.  a/n: september installment of our ‘trying to write a kyungsoo story for every month that he is gone’ series.

Beware the darkest corners of the ballroom for within them lurks the Spinster’s Doom. The gossip mongers say he is the spirit of a spurned suitor come to have his revenge on whichever lonely woman wanders into his clutches. He invites them in with a sweet smile and the promise of affection and attention. They place their hand in his, he whirls them onto the dance floor, and they are never seen again. He feeds upon their souls, so that he may continue his vile existence.

The salacious tale resurfaces again and again in polite circles, but everyone is quick to say they find it folly and laugh it away. Yet in recent years, you have noticed that ballrooms have been remodeled. The grand square spaces have become round. When you have commented on this change in your polite circles, everyone agrees it only makes sense for a ball to occur in a round room; otherwise, they would be called a square. The comment is inevitably followed by more laughter.

You wish he would whisk you away from the never ending balls. You are entering your third season, and if your mother continues to ignore the obvious, next year you will have your fourth. Rather than anger or irritation, you feel pity for your mother. She has tried ever so hard to find you a match, but doom would have been the outcome no matter how large your dowry or how good your family connections. You ensured that when you were little.

Your mother calls you special. Most everyone else calls you either a freak, demon possessed, or, if they are being polite, odd. You are simply yourself. While you have been born with a skill unique to yourself, the same can be said of most everyone. Your skill, unfortunately, happens to unnerve most everyone. 

Standing at the back of a yet square ballroom, you inch closer to the darkest corner and further from the young cad who continues to use his height to stare down the dresses of each lady with whom he dances. The images loop within his mind which means they loop within yours. The greater the distance between you and him, the weaker the images become.  However, in such a small space it is impossible to be far enough from everyone to escape all their thoughts. Closing your eyes, you rub at your temple and the brewing headache. By nights end, it will be fierce enough to bring tears.

Contrary to the whispers, you hate spying on others thoughts. Your thoughts are enough for you and sometimes too much. You have no need for everyone else’s thoughts. Perhaps, if drama was more to your liking, the skill would be more entertaining, but you much prefer mystery.

Reaching the darkest corner, you breathe a sigh of relief as sweet emptiness fills your mind. “I was wondering if you would make an appearance tonight.” You whisper to the Spinster’s Doom.

“I have sworn a solemn oath.” He responds materializing beside you. 

While he rarely smiles, his face is more than capable of enticing a young woman to take his hand. With dark brooding eyes which rival any romance novel rake’s and lips so plush one would spend a fortune merely to know their touch, he could have any woman with a raise of his brow. Despite his features and his fearsome reputation, Kyungsoo would never whisk anyone away to feast on their soul. He is also no spirit bent on vengeance for lack of love. You are uncertain what he is but are quite certain he could have had the love of anyone he chose. 

You met Kyungsoo during your first season, at your first ball. You had begged your mother during the weeks preceding to allow you to stay at home. Your arguments about your oddity and your belief that no one would show interest in you fell on deaf ears. She had already allowed you to delay your debut for two years. You would go to the ball, and you would dazzle every man, and at the end of the season, you would have a husband. Your mother is overly hopeful. 

As the minutes ticked to midnight, you had yet to receive a request for a dance, but you had heard the thoughts of every young man who dared to enter your vicinity. They supported your beliefs rather than your mothers. Some had been downright malicious, but you had experienced that reaction before and paid little attention to it. A mistake which you have since remedied. Tired of the constant stream of foreign thoughts and with a headache brewing, you wandered from the ballroom to the solitude of the gardens. 

The thoughts preceded the men. They had been drinking. Drunk thoughts are jumbled and, depending on the level of intoxication, can be indecipherable. These thoughts were indecipherable. As the men drew closer, you had decided it best to return to the ballroom. 

Unfortunately, the way back which you chose led straight to them. Their indecipherable thoughts became vulgar words. You lowered your head and attempted to push past them, but they pushed you back. Their thoughts cleared into a single idea. Fear iced your veins, freezing you to the spot. They advanced, the image in their mind pressing down upon you. Then it was gone.

You blinked. The men were still there. They were still approaching. You should have still heard their thoughts, but the only thoughts in your head were your own. You blinked again, and he was there, standing between you and them. They blinked as well; their glazed eyes slow to focus. 

“It would be best for all if you left.” His deep voice reverberated through your chest, cracking the ice. The men laughed. Their bravado returned as their confusion dissipated. They were three to his one. They advanced, and Kyungsoo nodded, squaring his shoulders. 

The middle one came first. Kyungsoo grabbed his wrist, twisted his arm behind his back, and raised it until it snapped. The man howled, but Kyungsoo threw him aside as the next assailant raced forward. He ducked beneath the man’s swing and landed a punch to his gut. As the man doubled over, he whirled and struck out with his foot, hitting the man’s temple. He toppled. The third man eyed his fallen companions before racing away.

As quickly as he had appeared, Kyungsoo was gone. After your encounter, you began to hear the tales of the Spinster’s Doom. Your assailants swore they had been injured saving you from him. You rolled your eyes at the gossip and, at each ensuing ball, would search for him. He was easy to find. After all, you simply had to find the one spot where you only heard your thoughts.

“Are there many young ladies in danger tonight?” You ask. 

While your knowledge of Kyungsoo remains small despite the growing number of interactions, you are certain of a few things. He is not as others suggest. Rather he is a protector of the overlooked and abused, ready to defend at a moment’s notice.

“You always seem to find danger.”

You give a most unladylike snort and are grateful your mother is on the other side of the room. 

“Rather I think danger finds me.” You raise a brow and quirk your lips, but he maintains his silence without sparing you a glance. “Even so, if no one is presently in danger, I find myself without a partner for the coming dance.”

“Perhaps, because you have secluded yourself in a dark corner far from the room’s occupants.” He continues to stare ahead, but you catch the slight lift at the corner of his mouth.

“Perhaps, because there is no suitable partner amongst the room’s occupants.”

“If that is so, why complain about the lack of a partner?” He flicks his gaze to you but quickly returns it to the room.

You open your mouth and close it. “Why do I even bother?” You huff, crossing your arms and slumping against the wall. Even across the room, your mother catches your display. One glance has you straightening your back and folding your hands at your waist. Beside you Kyungsoo licks his lips, and you know he is only doing it to hide a smile. “May I at least stay here? The thoughts, tonight, are particularly aggressive.”

He gives you his full attention for a moment. Your mouth goes dry as you stare into the dark depths of his eyes. Your fingers twitch against one another as temptation urges them to reach out and cup his face. “Nothing will come if you stay with me.”

Lowering your head, you sigh. Your fingers go cold as you squeeze them. “I know.” You whisper. Clearing your throat, you raise your eyes and thrust your shoulders back. “But still, I would much prefer spending the evening around someone who bears no hostility towards me.”

“Someone will come along one day.” His voice is soft, his words more a wish than a promise.

“I fear you are wrong.” You swallow the growing lump in your throat and force your eyes to remain dry. “But I refuse to let such fear cower me. Besides, I think I have found an alternative to life as a reviled spinster.” You smile.

“And that would be?” He encourages the change in subject.

“I think I shall follow your example and become a protector. It would be a good use for my unique skill.”

He blinks at you before shaking his head with a sigh. “I feel as if my assignment is becoming more difficult.”

“Come now.” You chuckle, swaying in your skirts as your hands slip behind your back. “Have I asked for your assistance? No. I will ensure that I am fully capable of the roll before I assume it, and besides, are you even able to help outside of balls?”

He rolls his eyes, and you chuckle once more.

“However, if you are able to appear outside of balls, I would accept training with fisticuffs. I feel as if I will need it in this line of work.”

He sighs. “I should have asked you to dance.” The words are a whisper, but you hear them all the same.