#complete with more words and thoughts than literally anyone wants myself included

[incognit0slut]

Lose Control

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Spencer finds himself locked in a room with his rival. Based on:

warning: 18+ explicit content including oral (both), hair-pulling, chocking, and unprotected, semi-public, hate sex

words: 6.8k (I'm a smut-with-a-plot kind of person)

a/n: this is not enemies to lovers. This is, quite frankly, enemies to (fuckable) enemies. Also, we hit 1.2k followers!! Tysm!! I legit made this blog 2 months ago that’s crazyyy😳

MASTERLIST

“…mind games until you lose control…”

CHANGE WAS INEVITABLE WHEN IT CAME TO HIS WORK. Spencer encountered many great people walking through the door of the bureau throughout the years he worked as a profiler. Most of them he genuinely liked, and most of them he considered more than mere colleagues. But from all the people he had to work with, there was one person he really couldn't stand.

"Move out of the way, Reid, you're blocking the way."

He turned to see the last person he wanted to indulge in standing close to him, a hand on her hip and a frown on her face. "There is literally enough space for you to pass through."

"And jeopardize myself by touching you?" She wrinkled her nose. "I think I'll pass."

His gaze, usually warm and welcoming, hardened into a steely resolve. It pierced through her like an icy dagger, radiating an unmistakable contempt. He then backed away, walking further into the room that held rows of shelving units lining up the space. "What are you even doing here?"

"Well, ever since we found the victim's body surrounded by those cryptic signs, it reminded me of the cult massacre which happened in—"

"St. Joseph, 1947," he finished.

"Yeah, although this isn't mass murder, I thought the nature of the death was very similar to that old case." He could practically hear the smugness in her voice as she continued, "I also knew you'd be here and wanted to beat you to it."

His gaze settled on her standing by the door. "I don't think that's going according to plan considering I was here before you arrived."

"Please, you just got here. I bet I can find the files before you do."

His brows furrowed. How could he not feel some kind of disdain when she was acting the way she was? One might say he was acting too immature for his age, for a man who was close to pushing forty he did consider himself too old for petty fights. But it was hard to keep his composure when she was often the one taunting him, ridiculing him with that haughty mouth of hers.

It was better to ignore her presence completely, so he did just that, focusing his attention on the files in front of him as she stepped into the room.

She frowned, feeling her throat clenching before coughing out loud as dust particles greeted her entrance. She was busy trying to swat the specks of dust away from her face when something solid suddenly nudged her feet. Her eyes swept towards the floor.

"Why is this massive book laying here?" She picked up the thick paperback and read its title. "The Anatomy of Motive?"

Spencer's head snapped in an alert. "Wait! Don't—"

But it was too late. The old wooden door hanging loosely on its rusted hinges creaked without any support to keep it ajar, and with a resounding thud, it closed, the sound echoing through the stagnant air. "I put that there for a reason," he grumbled. "And now we're stuck here."

She leaned forward and wrapped her hand around the handle, trying to yank the door open. The panic on her face was evident when it didn't budge. "Shit."

"You can only open it from the other side."

She turned towards him. "Do you have your phone with you?"

"No."

She groaned because her own device was also securely tucked in her bag. Not wanting to be locked in a room with the last person she wanted to be with, she started pounding on the door frantically. "Help! Penelope! Luke!" Bang. Bang. "Anyone!"

"Nobody's going to hear you."

She tuned him out.

"Emily! JJ!" She pressed herself against the door, drawing her mouth close towards the tiny gap between the wooden panel and the wall. "Help! We're locked in!" She suddenly caught his movement from the corner of her eyes and turned to him, noticing the way he was already studying a file.

"What are you doing?"

He slipped back the document into the cabinet and went through the other folders. "Might as well work until they realize we're gone."

She straightened herself and glanced at the watch around her wrist. "But it's late. What if everyone's gone home and we're stuck here for the night?" A thought struck her and she looked up in horror. "Or for days?"

"Then you have yourself to blame."

She glared at him. "You're not helping."

Spencer looked up to see her jaw clenching, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. Her normally composed features, so delicately balanced, now seemed to unravel in a heat of fury. It was the only expression she held every time she had to deal with him.

He glanced away and focused back on his task. "Don't worry, we have a team of competent profilers. If they can find dangerous criminals throughout the country, they can also find their two missing agents."

She considered his words and acknowledged the truth behind them, so she reluctantly moved to the other side of the room, going through the shelves opposite of him. The space went completely still as they both went through the stack of folders shelved between the old cabinets. It wasn't until curiosity got the better of him that he finally looked up, his eyes falling onto her form.

Her back was facing him, giving him a view of her tousled hair falling down over her shoulders. His eyes involuntarily trailed the contours of her body, betraying a mixture of intrigue and curiosity. His gaze lingered upon the gentle curve of her shoulder, the graceful line of her spine, and the sway of her hips as she moved onto the next shelf, her steps echoing through the silence and it was then he realized she was wearing heels.

Again.

This wasn't the first time she decided to wear shoes that looked very uncomfortable to wear. Who even wore heels in this line of work? Being an FBI agent meant you had to be quick on your feet because anything could happen unexpectedly. He once voiced out his opinion on this matter, which she only answered with, "My choice of clothing won't reduce the capability of my brain, Reid. You and I are still doctors even if I wear a bathing suit to work."

"It's not about your choice of clothing, it's about being practical."

"That's why I keep a pair of sneakers in my drawers,” she had haughtily replied, then narrowed her eyes at him. "And don't comment on my shoes when I've held myself from judging on your ugly cardigans."

His cardigans were not ugly.

He shook the memory away as eyes roamed over her again, noticing her very exposed legs. She was also wearing a skirt today, something she often did and something he never dared to have an opinion on, knowing she would probably bite his head off if he did.

"Stop staring at me."

Spencer cleared his throat at being caught. "I wasn't."

"I could practically feel your eyes on me." She looked over her shoulder. "I have great spidey senses."

There was a sudden pause. "Spidey senses?"

"Yeah, like Spiderman." When he didn't respond, she turned around and faced him. "Please tell me you know who Spiderman is?"

When he returned her gaze with a frown, she couldn't help but laugh, turning her back towards him again. "You know this is why people like me better than you. We both may be smart, but you got to admit, my knowledge doesn't simply stop on academics."

He should've been offended by her words, he should've countered back a vile reply, but her voice became white noise to him as he watched her body leaning down, picking up a document that slipped from her grasp. His eyes caught the way the tight skirt clung to her form like a second skin. The fabric, stretched taut against her curves, highlighted the alluring lines of her figure. The skirt's snug fit caressed her thighs, tracing their slender form and hinting at the softness beneath.

This wasn't the first time he noticed her beauty in this type of way, beneath all that glare she often carried whenever he was around her, he knew she was an attractive woman. It was her personality that often stopped him from marveling this insight. But being in this closed, tight space, Spencer was forced to study her, and with the way his body was reacting, he knew his lingering stare was more than simple admiration.

He could feel his blood pulsing down south, tightening underneath the confinement of his pants.

As she straightened herself, she felt a sudden shift in the atmosphere. She turned her head and noticed his eyes training on her body.

"You're still staring." She then caught a glimpse of something unguarded in his gaze, something that was definitely far from hatred. Her mind whirled with questions, trying to decipher the meaning behind it. "Stop looking at me like that."

A hint of a smile played on his lips. "Like what?"

"Like you either want to strangle me or—"

"Or?" He prompted.

Like you want to eat me alive.

It was the only way she could describe it. She was aware of how his eyes usually pierced her, how every movement she made or word she uttered could trigger this immense disdain radiating from him. But now the weight of his gaze bore down upon her, casting a palpable heat that danced across her skin. Something had changed, and she felt it in the intensity of his eyes, so different from the usual hostility she had come to expect.

They held a predatory gleam as if he could pounce on her at any moment.

“If I hadn't known you better," she carefully spoke, watching as he took a step towards her, and she took one back, bumping into the wall. "I'd say you're trying to flirt with me with those eyes."

"Me? Flirt with you?" He cocked an eyebrow. "Don't flatter yourself."

She scoffed, squaring her shoulders as he closed the distance between them. "You're right. What was I thinking? You can't even flirt to live."

"You don't even know how I flirt."

"Reid, I've seen you flirt," she said between fits of laughter. "Remember you tried getting that cop's number? You were stuttering and suddenly giving her facts about oil paintings. Paintings."

"She had an interest in fine art," he stated. "And if you must know, after giving those informative facts, I told that no amount of art could ever compare to her beauty as a compliment.”

She snorted, shaking her head in disbelief. "And that actually worked? She gave you her number?"

"No." Then a smirk curled on his lips. "But she did come home with me."

She frowned. That was new information. She never really thought about what went on in his love life, but hearing him implying his active sex life had her feeling strange. "She did?"

He took another step forward. "If I hadn't known you better," he carefully spoke, mimicking her words before. "I'd say you're jealous."

She tilted her head up and scowled at him. "Even if you were the last person on this planet I wouldn't consider breathing in the same air with you."

She waited for his response, but he didn't even seem to be bothered by her words. And as they stood there, holding each other's gaze, she became acutely aware of everything; their close proximity, the warmth radiating from his body, and the rise and fall of his chest. His unfamiliar scent lingered in the air, a distinct combination of earthy musk and a hint of something indefinable. She had never allowed herself to notice it before, but now it was impossible to ignore.

Her eyes then traced the lines on his face, sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and finally settled on his eyes. At first, she thought her eyes was deceiving her, but she knew exactly what held behind his gaze. It was the same expression she saw in all her past lovers. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see the same intensity on other men, but to see it on him? The guy who had always hated her guts the moment she corrected his statistic rants the first time they met?

Spencer fucking Reid?

It was too much for her to handle. She was used to his piercing gaze, his evident disdain. Not this. It became almost overwhelming that she decided to step away.

Just as she turned to retreat from the intensity of his gaze, her body froze as she felt warm fingers gripping her wrist. The contact sent a jolt through her body and her eyes snapped back at him. "What the hell are you doing?"

Ah, there it was, that hatred she was looking for blazing in his eyes again. "You see, I don't like you."

"Good." She held her chin up. "The feeling's mutual."

"You think you're better than everybody else, you think you're better than me."

She was about to retort another response when he suddenly yanked her, a gasp leaving her mouth. "But somehow I can’t help myself from wanting to taste you.”

Then it happened so fast. One moment she was trying to register what was happening, the next thing she knew his lips were on hers, moving frantically in desperate hunger. She couldn't believe he was actually kissing her. It also burned her up inside to find he was good at it. She wanted him to be all teeth and awkward so she could sneer at him and push him away, but he was holding her face in his hands like they hadn't spent months sniping at each other.

A turmoil of thoughts swarmed her mind—What are you doing? Why are you kissing him back? What the hell is wrong with you?—while she gripped onto his arm as a pleased sigh slipped through her mouth before she could catch it.

He slowly pulled away from her, eyes glittering in mischief. "Would you look at that?" he muttered, gripping her jaw and tilting her face like he was appraising her. "All bark and no bite."

She shoved his hands away from her face, ignoring how nice it had felt, wide and warm and firm. "Don't test me."

"Yeah?" His hand settled on her hip, pulling her against him deliberately slow, giving her every opportunity to knock his hand away, to sidestep him, to tell him to stop, but she didn't. He took it as a sign to run his hand behind her. "I think you're bluffing."

Her heart quickened when she felt him gently squeezing her ass. "A-About what?"

"All this bravado of yours," he taunted, his hands now trailing down to her sides. "I bet there's something sweet underneath all this bitterness."

"You don't know me," she hissed breathlessly. It was difficult to keep snapping back at him when his other hand ran up her leg, pushing her skirt up as he went, his grip encompassing the entire width of her thigh.

"Maybe not. But I'm always up for a challenge." His calloused hand brushed at the lacy edge of her underwear and she sucked in a shaky breath. "Let's see how long you can keep up with this attitude."

She opened her mouth to say something snippy, but he ducked down and kissed the words out of her mouth with a low groan. Her brain suddenly froze when his finger curled under the outline of her underwear and tugged it to the side, trailing his slender finger through her bare slit.

A smirk curled at the corner of his lips as pulled away, trailing his mouth along her jawline. His finger brushed along her slickness and it took a lot of self-control for her not to moan. "How are you already so wet?"

Although a small gasp emitted from her as she felt him sliding a finger, and when his thumb pressed against her clit, she closed her eyes, tossing her head to the side at the feeling of him filling her up.

"You're awfully quiet," he murmured against her neck, sucking a bruise against her soft skin as he began to pump his finger. "Who would've thought I had to touch you to keep your mouth shut."

She bit her bottom lip, fighting against the pleasure that surged through her, desperately trying to suppress the enjoyment coursing through her veins. "I hate you."

"No, you don't." His tone was vexingly calm, and all it did was rile her up more. She wished he'd match her frustration because his composure was annoying. Then to make matters worse, he let out an amused laugh. He fucking laughed. "Look at you trying to hold yourself back."

"I'm not—fuck." She gasped as she felt his finger curling inside her.

"Keep telling yourself that." He added another finger and she slumped against the wall, pressing back hard to keep herself upright as he pumped his wrist. "It's okay to admit you're enjoying this."

"I-I'm not," she huffed indignantly.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a bad liar?"

Her breath mingled with the sound of her arousal echoing in the narrowed space as he drove his fingers into her faster. "Shut up, Reid." She then grabbed onto his arm as the pleasure intensified, nails digging into his skin. "You think you're so smart, so full of yourself—"

"You really like picking up a fight, don't you? That's why you always have an attitude with me." His lips brushed her ear. "It gets you worked up. It gets you wet."

She quickly shook her head. "I just don't like you."

"Hmm." He leaned back and watched the way she tensed beneath his touch, her muscles coiling with delicate restraint. It was as if she fought against the pleasure that threatened to consume her, seeking to maintain control even as her body betrayed her desires. "I wonder if you'll like it as much if I put my head between your thighs."

The thought of having his face buried right where her arousal burned drove her over the edge. Her body betrayed her and she knew he could feel it too. "Oh wow, you're clenching around my fingers," he hummed in satisfaction. "Is that what you want? You want me to eat you out?"

"No," she mumbled but he found her hips bucking against his palm.

"Your body is saying otherwise." He withdrew his fingers but kept rubbing tight circles against her clit. Her blood was hammering under her skin and her legs shook as she tried to roll her hips up against his hand again. "Say you want me between your thighs."

She gritted her teeth, her muscles tightening in a valiant effort to hold back the mounting pleasure that begged to be unleashed. "I'm not saying that."

"Are you sure?" His other hand traveled along the back of her head before fisting her hair in his hand, exposing the column of her throat to him. "Don't you want to come all over my face?"

"Reid..." she mumbled hopelessly, her head spinning as his hot breath brushed against her skin. The thought of admitting that infuriated her because him actually getting her off was something she'd never live down. This was Spencer Reid, the man who had always infuriated her with his know-it-all statistics as if she hadn't already known half of the things he said.

But damn it, she really wanted him between her thighs.

"Say it," he repeated, moving his hand away entirely, and she grabbed his wrist desperately, pulling his fingers back to where she wanted them. "Say I want your mouth on me, Spencer, and I'll happily oblige."

"Reid—"

"Spencer," he corrected. "Say it."

Her body quivered, a taut wire stretched to its limit, yearning to snap under the weight of the pleasure that coursed through her. And then his finger suddenly stopped its movement and she knew he wasn't going to touch her again until she gave in. If that's how he wanted it, fine. She was going to consider this as one of their silly mind games, their usual banter whenever they tried to outwit one another. She could figure out a way to get back at him later. She could swallow her pride for now.

"I want your mouth on me," she reluctantly caved in.

"Did you forget my name?"

Unbelievable.

"I fucking hate you," she sneered. Then she pushed him away from the crook of her neck and leveled her gaze on him. "Just put your fucking mouth on me, Spencer."

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly. "You have a very foul mouth."

But true to his words, he eventually dropped to his knees, his hands trailing on either of her sides before he slipped her underwear down her legs. His fingers trailed along her skin as he did it, prickling the depth of her anticipation even when her mind was still trying to comprehend what she was letting herself in.

Because she had never thought of getting eaten out at work, let alone with someone she hated. Sure, hate was a very strong word, but it was what she was used to feeling whenever it came to him. It was easy to engross her hatred every time he treated her differently from the others.

Hate she could do, it came naturally to her. But to desire him, actually wanting him to bury his face between her thighs, was starting to mess her up, and not in a bad way. Not in a way that had her feeling repulsed, but in a way that made her want to grab onto his hair and pull his face right at the center of her heat.

Spencer looked up at her and smiled, as if he knew what she was thinking, and pushed up her skirt around her hips. His eyes bored into her as he hiked one of her legs onto his shoulder. His gaze traveled down her body, taking in her flushed cheeks—out of anger or embarrassment, he didn't know—and continued to sweep over the curve of her breasts before they stopped right in front of him.

"Look at you." He leaned closer, his breath brushed her damp skin. "Aren't you a pretty thing?"

There was something compelling about having Spencer sinking on his knees before her, but having his mouth wrapped around her clit pulled away her senses and her legs started to buckle that she had to grab onto the nearest cabinet for support. She stifled a moan, not expecting the enthusiastic way he devoured her from below with frantic motions of his wandering tongue.

This was so wrong. However, heat continued washing over, traveling up towards her face and burning at the tips of her ears. The more his mouth sucked onto her, lapping his tongue through her slickness, the more her body coursed with pleasure that she couldn't stop herself from sinking her fingers into his hair, holding him in place as she ground her hips over his face.

"For someone who claims to hate me," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin, his tongue pushing into her walls. "You sure are enjoying this."

A moan was thick in her throat until she swallowed it down, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of how true his words were. "You're annoying. So fucking annoying," she hissed.

Spencer hummed. "And you taste so good."

She gasped in surprise when she felt him lick a long stripe along her slit, the rough pad of his tongue catching her clit as she jolted. His fingers dipped into her thighs as he held her steady, lewd sounds leaving his lips as he continued to suck her wetness. His movements were suddenly fast, so feral and animalistic as he shamelessly lapped her skin, swallowing every liquid dripping off her body.

The built-up pleasure inside her continued to grow as she rolled her hips into his mouth, trying to focus on the sensation of him pressing his tongue against the same spot each time. Her chest was heaving as she tried to focus on the pleasure that was slowly taking over her rational thoughts, the coil inside her desperately close to breaking.

"Oh, god," Her voice shook, head tipped back and eyes staring at the ceiling as she felt herself dance on the precipice of release for a few agonizing moments before she finally started to shatter. Then a strangled cry left her lips as she began to buck her hips as he continued to suck her clit through her climax, the pleasure clouding her mind. It wasn't until he finally stood up, looking down at her with a grin that she finally took in what just happened.

"Do you still hate me?"

Yes, yes she did, especially with that smug smile of his taunting her. Yet she found herself hooking her fingers around the belt strap of his pants, pulling him closer as the weight of her resistance began to crumble under the force of his unwavering gaze. "So fucking much." The triumphant smile on his face grew as she started to unbuckle his belt, the sound echoing in the room. "Do you have a condom?"

"Do you really think I'm the type of person to be carrying a condom in my pocket?"

"I think you're the type of person who never gets laid." He threw her an uninterested stare which she decided to ignore. Then she let her hands fall to the side. "I'm not having sex without a condom."

Spencer weighed in her words. If he was smart, he would've stopped himself, pulled away, and accept her admission. But he didn't want to be smart, after depending on his intelligence throughout his life, he didn't want to be rational. It was definitely out of his character, but there was something about her that stirred a dormant part of him, awakening desires and emotions he hadn't known existed within his soul.

He had always prided himself on his restraint and self-discipline, but after finally having a taste of her, he found himself unraveling. He wanted more. So he leaned closer, and pressed a desperate kiss at the hollow of her throat, marveling at the way her body trembled from his touch. "Why not?"

She was going to regret it. She really was. But damn it, how could she restrain herself when he was sucking into her skin like a man starved. She splayed her hands on his chest and pushed him away before giving him the deadliest glare she could muster.

"I swear to god if you finish inside me I will kill you."

Then a smirk pulled at the corner of his lips. "Was planning to come in your mouth anyway."

She was about to retort a haughty response when he suddenly grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around, pushing her against the wall. She was taken aback by the newfound dominance he exuded in his touch. It was a side of him she had never witnessed before, and it sent a thrill of surprise and intrigue coursing through her veins, something she would never admit out loud.

He dragged his tongue across his lips at the sight before him as his hands reached for his belt, unclasping the strap before unbuttoning his pants, the sound of his zipper being pulled down echoing in the narrowed space. He then slightly pulled down his briefs, slipping out his cock before his knee wedged in between her thighs, parting her legs to open.

He slightly shifted, his jaw twitching as he gathered saliva in his mouth, craning his neck down to spit on her pulsing core before the head of his cock gently nudged her clit. Embarrassingly, she clenched around nothing. Her vision went white and she felt herself tremble as he positioned himself at her entrance, pushing in inch by inch.

"Fuck," he sighed, hips twitching as he finally slid into her fully, feeling her walls clenching hard around him. "I can get used to this."

She could get used to this too. She had never felt so full before, never felt herself being stretched like this so deliciously, but she certainly didn't need to feed his ego by moaning about it. "Well don't, this is the only time I'm letting this happen."

He pulled back his hips, leaving only the tip as he watched her slickness coated around him. "We'll see about that."

And then all hell broke loose.

He slammed into her with so much force that she let out a muffled scream as her eyes shot wide open. He relentlessly bucked his hips, his cock filling her over and over without self-control, the tip of him hitting her deepest parts relentlessly. She could barely even think as his hips fell into a rhythm, sending her higher and higher with each thrust.

Her legs tensed up even more at the pressure, his hands gripping her hips so hard his fingers dig into her flesh that she knew she would leave bruises. Behind her, he was grunting and growling through gritted teeth as he repeatedly buried himself into her without remorse. It didn't take long before his vicious thrusts had her eyes rolling back behind closed lids, her mind going entirely blank to everything but this very moment.

One of his hands released her hip before she felt him grabbing a fistful of her hair, just at the base of her skull, and sharply pulling. A high-pitched, breathy noise tore out of her at the feel of it. "Poor baby," he cooed. "Look at you so desperate for my cock."

She couldn't help but be stunned by his words. Who would've thought Spencer Reid was good at dirty talk? Definitely not her. It was as though he had unveiled a secret facet of his personality that had remained hidden until now, and she found herself captivated by this revelation.

Not that she was going to admit this, of course, so instead, she solely focused on the way he addressed her. "I am not your baby."

"You want me to call you something else?" He asked between bated breaths, hips thrusting into her. "How about Angel? Darling? Sweetheart?"

She let out a frustrated groan at his teasing but it was probably impossible to discern it from the rest of the noises she was trying to hold. "Are you always this chatty during sex?"

"No," he hummed as he picked up his pace, sending a helpless spasm through her.

"R-Really?" She mused breathlessly. "I must be special then."

He then tugged on her hair even rougher, causing her to curse loudly in response, her hips beginning to eagerly press backward into him as his hips jutted into her relentlessly like a man possessed. "Don't get too cocky."

"Just admit it," she whispered, pleasure racing down her body in waves. "You like me."

With another sharp tug on her hair, he abruptly plunged his cock so deep inside of her that she couldn't stop herself from arching her back. He held himself there as he used the grip on her hair to haul her backward to him, a surprised yelp falling out of her. "I don't like you."

Her back fell onto his chest and she felt his body vibrating behind her. "Then why is your heart beating so fast?"

"Well, sex is physically exerting so..."

How was it possible to be this aroused and annoyed at the same time? Wasn't sex supposed to be enjoyable? Well, she was clearly enjoying this, but it was hard to fully sink into the pleasure when he was driving her insane. Unless...

It dawned on her, that was her move. That was how she could play his game. Maybe she should be enjoying this to the fullest, maybe she should stroke his ego, get into his head, and have him feel as desperate as she was. A fierce determination ignited within her, fueling a newfound resolve to turn the tables on him. This was how she was going to get him back.

"Harder," she asked, pushing her hips into him.

His pace suddenly slowed down, uncertain whether he was hearing her right. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "Please?" she added before he could prompt her.

A satisfied sound escaped his lips—it was a sound she had never heard coming from him, loud and crude emitting between a growl and something coming close to a whimper, which had her smiling triumphantly. "L-Look at you begging now."

This was easier than she expected. She rolled her head back against his shoulder and let out a moan she had kept so hard on controlling. "I want you to fuck me harder, Spencer."

His sharp intake of breath at that moment was worth it. "I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing, baby?" she asked sweetly, dripping in forced affection that sounded nothing like her at all.

He instantly released the hold on her hair, his hand snaking around to grip her throat as his other hand slid around the front of her. "You're messing with me."

She let out a strained sound as she felt his other hand traveling down where they were connected. "I-I thought you wanted me to admit how good you make me feel? Is that not enough? You want me to cry out how amazing your cock feels inside me?"

Then she couldn't help her next words.

"Should I call you daddy?"

Oh, that got him. He hissed as the hand on her throat tightened. "You're a menace."

"A menace you enjoy fucking?"

His lips curled into a snarl. "I'm going to wipe that smug look off your face."

Only then he began to thrust back into her roughly. A series of breathy, needy gasps fell out of her as she held tight onto his forearm that was holding her by her throat. His other hand on her clit circled around roughly, touching her just right that she entirely lost it, her hips quaked against him as he groaned out in response, her walls clenching his cock.

Then his hand left her clit a few moments later, instead landing hard on her ass with a sharp smack that sounded throughout the room. His fingers dug into the flesh there as his hips began clumsily ramming into her, his cock twitching inside of her. The stimulation was too much for her that she clamped a hand over her mouth, trying to keep quiet as he stretched her harshly, the delicious burn only adding to the pleasure.

"You're still holding back?" He taunted, bringing back his hand before another loud smack rang in her ears, her ass burning from the pain. "Let that voice out, no one's going to hear you."

It was amazing how long she could hold in her pleasure because now her walls were starting to crumble when a particularly deep and brutal thrust had his cock hitting her just right. And then, it happened—the dam of restraint finally burst. A low moan escaped her lips, a primal cry of pleasure that echoed through the room like a song of surrender

"That's it," he grunted. "You sound so pretty."

As the sensations intensified, her breaths came in shallow gasps, her heart pounding in her chest. Once she let herself go, she couldn't stop herself from moaning out his name, to which he responded with his own moan, especially when she clenched around him even tighter.

"You gonna come for me now?" She helplessly nodded, not trusting herself to form any coherent words, squirming her hips against him for more. "Go on then," he demanded, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "Come for me."

She finally snapped as she gave in to the sensation that had been gradually crawling its way up her spine. Pleasure was soon coating every inch of her and as her eyes closed. She didn't bother to muffle her cries this time as she fell apart around his cock, her body convulsing as he continued to thrust inside her, forcing the pleasure to keep growing stronger and stronger until small black spots started to appear in her vision.

When her climax had washed over, she was left dizzy and breathless, still leaning against him. His loud panting breaths quickly filled her ears, his chest heaving beneath her head and she could tell by the way his hips were fluctuating in their pace, the feel of his throbbing cock inside of her, that he was very close to his release.

Panic suddenly crept into her daze state and she craned her neck to look back. "Don't you dare finish inside me, I swear to god—"

Very abruptly he slipped his cock out from inside of her, his arms releasing their hold on her just as fast before turning her to face him.

"Get on your knees."

The ground scraped her skin as she quickly sank onto her knees, and just because he looked so damn good tethering in his pleasure as she stared up at him, she gripped his cock in her hands and took him fully in her mouth.

"Fuck," the gravel in his voice was prominent, her lips gliding effortlessly down his shaft until her nose hits his stomach. His hand finds its way into her hair as she kneeled there before him, fisting a bunch of it at the scalp, desperately needing something to tie him down to reality.

She slid back off his cock to take just his head inside her mouth, swirling her tongue around it before flattening it against his tip, licking a fat stripe while looking up at him through her lashes. Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, tightening the grip on her hair.

Maintaining his gaze, she took him completely down her throat again, essentially swallowing him, holding herself there until she gagged around him. She could taste him on her tongue as she continued to repeat the motion, tears welling at her lids and saliva building at her lips, seeping down her chin.

He groaned at the sight.

"I-I'm gonna come—"

And he did. She felt lightheaded as the first shot of liquid filled her mouth, and then he jutted his hips a few more times before another surge of his release spilled down her throat. She swallowed him whole, swallowed every drop of him into her mouth as he continued to look down in wonder. She never thought of ever being in this position, but now she decided there was nothing else more satisfying than to watch her rival come undone from her touch.

Although she couldn't dwell in her contentment for long because as she released him from her mouth, the sound of the door rattling waked her senses. Panic flashed in her eyes as they met his gaze, and they instinctively stepped apart before sprinting into action, Spencer tucking himself back in his pants, while she quickly got to her feet and pulled down her skirt, scurrying to the other side of the room.

It wasn't until she spotted her underwear laying by his feet that she realized she was still naked underneath. Spencer followed her line of sight and just as the door creaked, he bent down and quickly grabbed the fabric, shoving it in his pocket at the same time their friend entered the room.

"There you are," Luke sighed in relief, casting them both a look. "We've been searching everywhere for you guys. Are you both alright? I thought I heard screaming."

In that fleeting moment, they both exchanged a glance laden with unspoken messages, each silently urging the other to maintain composure.

"Yes. I-uh." She cleared her throat, struggling to suppress the heat rising to her cheeks, willing herself not to betray the blush that threatened to expose what went on before this. "I was screaming for help."

Luke watched them with keen eyes, skepticism etched upon his face. A subtle tension crackled in the air, barely noticeable to most but not escaping the scrutiny of his gaze. He watched as Spencer hid his face behind a file he was holding, and she was studying her nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything, before stepping back towards the door again. "Well, come on, there's a new lead on the case. Everyone's waiting."

When he finally left them alone again, she let out a breath she wasn't aware of holding and quickly held out her hand. Spencer raised his eyebrows at her. "What?"

"My underwear?"

He stared at her empty hand, then at her face, and shrugged nonchalantly, leaving her dumbfounded as he started to leave the room before the door closed on them again.

"Reid," she hissed, following behind him. "Give it back."

He looked over his shoulder and gave her a smile, or something close to it because even after what happened a few minutes ago his smile was far from looking genuine. "Come by my place after work and I might give it to you."

Her steps faltered.

"Might?"

But his back was already facing her as he strode down the hallway. She stood there, feeling extremely exposed wearing nothing but her own skin underneath her skirt, and the only way to get back her missing piece of clothing was to force herself in his presence again.

She closed her eyes and sighed, not sure what she felt right now was either anger or exhaustion. Probably both—no, wait, definitely both.

Because what the fuck did she get herself into?

.

Quick question, if I make a taglist for my one-shots does anyone want to be added?

[kupidachillea]

is it okay to ask for your hcs on Apollo? Specifically yandere headcannons? I loved the way you wrote him in the last yandere Olympians so I just wanted to see more of him :3 (totally ok if you don't want to do it!! Love your works!! 💞💞💞)

(Yandere) Apollo x You Hcs

Author note: Ah- I see the Apollon fans have been using requests to their advantage and I love it, lol. Sorry that this took so long, I prefer quality over quantity. So I don’t want to rush myself and give you also something you won’t enjoy! So I hope you like this💕

TW (trigger warning):This will have a Yandere themes in it. And while the Olympians themselves aren’t really yanderes- they do share similar tendencies considering their myths. Please note that this isn’t completely accurate to their mythology- but it’s just a bit of fun so please take no offence and be nice in the comments.

CW (content warning)⚠️: Readers please be either 17-18+ to read this I mean. This includes light mentions of nudity, toxic behaviour. General Yandere behaviour. Reader’s discretion is advised.

☀️- Apollon was your boyfriend. Not the most normal partner you’ve had but definitely the most attentive and loving.

🎵- His caresses feel like the sun itself is holding you in a warm, tight embrace. And his kisses are even better..they remind you of the sun’s rays peeking through the curtains in your bedroom and landing gracefully on you.

☀️- You were literally sun kissed. To put it lightly, he was everything you wanted and you were everything he wanted… and more. He loved you so much.

🎵- At first, Apollon was nervous to even consider a relationship with you. Not because he didn’t like you but because he knew how most of his other relationships have played out in the past.

☀️- Being happy one minute with his lover before death ripped them away from in one cruel swoop. So he had procrastinated quite a bit before finally asking the question that’s been eating him inside.

🎵- When you said ‘yes’, he was beyond ecstatic to say the least. And he will admit, the more time he spent with you the more he seemed to show a mixture of love and obsession.

☀️- For a moment he thought that it was the work of Eros once more just trying to harass him like in the days of old with his late love, Daphne. But no..this was all him. He wasn’t sure if he were to be scared, or embrace this side of himself…but over time, the decision was made for him.

🎵- As the days wore on, his love for you grew. You were just so perfect to him…so pretty…yet so fragile. He couldn’t let anything happen to you- hell- he can’t let anyone touch you. No one deserved to touch your precious body. No one but him..

☀️- “Mmm…you’re so beautiful..” He would slur as you both laid in bed cuddling each other bare. His body was so warm against yours…he felt like a living breathing heater.

🎵- “So beautiful..and so mine…” Apollon would grumble..firstly kissing your neck and gently weaving his finger through your hair. “All mine…isn’t that right, love?” He asked, though you weren’t entirely sure if you could respond, your body trembled slightly when he bit down on your neck..causing a love bite to eventually form as he sucked on the area.

☀️- His hands getting greedy, gently tugging your hair back so your neck would crane slightly. This allowed him more access to your delectable neck. “Of course you’re mine…only the best for someone like you…only a god can satisfy you and give you what you need.” He almost growled his words as he licked a long strip up to your jaw, causing you to gasp and shudder. His tongue flat against your neck, tasting your skin and his free arm curling around your waste only for his hand to grip the meat of your arse tightly.

🎵- “No mortal man or woman is allowed to have you…not even the gods…only me.” He would utter. He couldn’t bear the thought of someone other than himself having you. It didn’t seem right to him. How could did he go so long without knowing you before?

☀️- You knew Apollon was a possessive man, and it couldn’t be helped..You actually excused most of his behaviour. Passing it off as just deity behaviour. Besides..he meant you no harm. He just wanted you safe and sound in his arms. Right?

🎵- Of course he did..that’s why he thought he was perfectly within his right to…eliminate and threats or competition.

☀️- It’s not like you’d notice a few of your pathetic so call ‘friends’ going missing anyway. You were too busy focusing all your time and energy on him.

🎵- All your love was his. He’d often watch you sleep…smiling dreamily to himself as he watched your chest rise and fall. That sweet little mortal heart of yours beating steadily. Oh how he’d do anything to keep you with him…permanently..

☀️- “Let us get married, my Love…~” He said one day. Your eyes widening and your brows raising. Marriage..? With Apollon? You definitely didn’t take him for the ‘setting down’ type.

🎵- You smiled softly and told him as much as you loved him and how you adored him, you thought it would be best to wait a few more months. That led the god of sunlight to pout like a child.

☀️- He didn’t understand. If you loved him, why wouldn’t you marry him? Sure he isn’t really known to have anything beyond lovers but he was serious about this. But for now he dropped it and nodded. You would smile at him and place a sweet kiss on his lips that made him melt.

🎵- But if you honestly thought Apollon would quit there then you’re wrong. It wasn’t fair. He deserved to have you for eternity. You were his and he was yours. He couldn’t allow another partner to slip through his fingers like this..no..he couldn’t..he wouldn’t.

☀️- He wanted you..he needed you. Just how the flowers needed the sun…so he did something..slightly drastic on his part…

🎵- He carried you to Olympus while you were asleep. Was it smart? He thought so…and he hoped you would think so too. This way you both could be together forever and you’d be safe from harm and any mortal disease.

☀️- When you awoke, you found yourself in a room that wasn’t your own ..the bed was way more comfortable than your own and the designs and art were..ancient to say the least.

🎵- Before you could fully process what was going on, Apollo appeared and brought you into his arms. Oh..now you have an idea of what was happening.

☀️- “Ah, my Love..don’t be mad but I did you the courtesy of moving you in with me..” He started..his voice soft yet a hint of excitement laced his voice along with something darker as he stroked your hair..

🎵- “After all- you did technically day you wanted to spend more time together before we got married. So what better way to do that than living together?” He asked. It was obviously rhetorical, he was grinning from ear to ear as he spoke. Meanwhile you were just in shock..you wanted to argue and protest- saying that this is not what you meant but he promptly shut you up with a firm kiss to the lips.

☀️- You felt your breath hitch in your throat..this kiss felt different from the ones you usually shared with him. This one felt more forceful and possessive. As if he was trying to claim you.. after what felt like an eternity he finally pulled away..his gaze now softer as he stroked your cheek.

🎵- “You need not worry, Dearest…I am all that you need. No one else deserves to have you..only me. We deserve to be together.” The golden haired god spoke. His voice having a slight purr to it as he nuzzled your neck, a shiver went down your spine at the feeling. “And I won’t let anything or anyone stop us from being together….unlike the others…I will have you for eternity…~”

Author note: Oof- sorry this took so long. Trying to pace myself here so I’m not rushing and there’s more quality than quantity. But I appreciate all the love and the requests. I promise to get to them all!💕

[fatuismooches]

principiis amoris.

synopsis: In other words, five times Dottore swore he hated you and the one time he realized it was the opposite.

includes: dottore w/ gn! reader

notes: I wanted to try my hand at these 5+1 fics, and Dottore seemed to be the best candidate. Behold, 6k+ words of fluff. Reader and Dottore are complete menaces (and not very good people) and you also throw a book at someone.

I. blindness

Much to anyone’s surprise, Zandik was having what he would call a good day. Today was the last day of all of his especially boring and easy classes, the illegal parts he secretly ordered came in, and he would be able to stay in his dorm for a while before classes started again. A break from these all these so-called scholars would be much appreciated. He was growing rather tired of them and was greatly looking forward to the much-needed retreat of progressing his research. He could feel it already - the sweet sensation of tinkering with the new parts quickened his pace.

What he was not expecting was his door to be open, voices and rustling noises coming from inside. Immediately a frown appeared and his good feeling was lost. Quickly, he entered the room and saw an unknown figure donning the Akademiya’s robes, and an academic counselor he recognized standing in his room. Now he was glad he made sure to put his tools away. Ones that were totally not prohibited.

“What is the meaning of this?” He didn’t try to hide the loathing in his voice.

The counselor shifted in place, clearly not wanting to be here anymore due to his presence. You, on the other hand, didn’t seem to care. In fact, Zandik could see that you were smiling.

“Ah, hello Zandik. Good to see you are doing well,” she lied through her teeth. “This here is [Name], your-”

“Your new roommate!” you chimed in. The counselor shrunk in her place even more, probably regretting all her life choices now as Zandik’s laser gaze was on her now. 

“I thought I made myself clear when I informed you that I did not want anyone in my dorm?”

“Yes, well, as per the rules of the Akademiya, every scholar should try to have a roommate for the purpose of cooperation…” Her voice became progressively smaller as Zandik continued to burn his gaze onto her, “a-and collaboration. Regardless of your thoughts, [Name] has to try to dorm with someone, and that someone happens to be you.” You nodded your head in agreement as the counselor spoke.

“So please, um, try to get along!” She quickly excused herself and scurried out of the room, leaving the two of you alone. You smiled at him yet again, sticking your hand out for a handshake, to which he only spared a glance and turned away.

“Pleased to meet you! I’m excited to live with you!”

“We’ll see about that,” he scoffed. You’d be out of here in less than a week, just like the few other roommates he had. But to think he had to spend his break with a nuisance in his room now? That irritated him to no end. Though what confused him more was your sunny disposition. Quite literally everyone in the Akademiya knew him and acted the complete opposite.

“Hehe, sure. By the way, I call the top bunk bed!”

It was from that moment he knew.

Zandik hated you.

II. relentless

Zandik had been giving you the cold shoulder since the moment you stepped into his (now yours too) dorm. You knew this would be a tough journey, but damn. At least he was good eye candy and wasn’t loud. (If you excused his eerie laughter in the middle of the night.)

On this particular night, Zandik was at his makeshift workbench tinkering with Archon knows what, as usual. Unfortunately, even though you found it to be interesting, you were unfamiliar with all of that mechanical stuff. You always would look at him while he worked, and while he would sometimes snap at you to stop staring, he never actually did anything about it. Today was one of those nights.

“You’ve certainly been at that for a while,” you commented. Zandik showed no sign of reaction.

“You don’t want anything to eat? Or drink?” you continued.

“Don’t have time,” he responded with no hesitation, far too interested in his new play toys, and also wanting to shut down this conversation immediately. But, you didn’t think these were the ones he usually used. You think he kept the deadlier ones hidden away in case you reported him or something.

“To consume something?”

“To make something right now,” he corrected.

“Well, yeah, I know. That’s why I’m going to make it for you,” you clarified, kind of surprised (but also not) that you needed to say it directly. This managed to make your roommate pause.

“So you are offering to cook for me?” he clarified your statement yet again.

“Yes?” This time he freed his hand of items completely and looked you dead in the eye.

“Explain.”

“E-Explain? Well, I mean, we’re roommates and all, habiting the same space. It only makes sense that we do things we each other once in a while.”

“So you expect a transaction.”

“A transaction…? Huh? No! This isn’t some kind of business deal or whatever. No, I do not expect anything back from you. I am doing this for you because I want to. There’s nothing more to it.” There was no response from Zandik, and he was silent as if he was trying to process what you just said, which was rather cute.

“I do not understand.”

You mentally sighed. “That’s fine, for now. I’m gonna whip something up anyway.” Before he could protest further, you disappeared into the tiny kitchen the Akademiya’s dorms provided.

You had to think of a suitable snack. He probably wouldn’t eat it if it was too cumbersome and distracting from whatever he was doing. He needed some kind of finger food… and you had just the idea. You believed that when you were a struggling Akademiya student, it was only natural to have some good recipes up your sleeve.

Samosas. Delicious bite-sized pieces of goodness. Although they would take a bit to make, you didn’t think Zandik would care. He hardly realized the difference between minutes and hours when he was in this kind of scientific state. And you were glad you stocked up the pantry with your own products because you really had no idea how Zandik lived in these conditions.

Soon enough, you had made a portion for him (and secretly snuck a few for yourself) and you had also made a piping hot cup of coffee, a student’s best friend of course. You then plated it and brought it to your roommate, setting it down in front of him wordlessly, to which he seemed surprised.

Zandik did not realize you were even still doing that. He thought you were bluffing. But now that such aromatic food was right in front of him, his stomach came to life and he noticed the dryness of his throat. With squinted eyes, he tentatively picked up one of the samosas and inspected it. (Did he think you poisoned it or something?) But then he popped one into his mouth and began to chew experimentally. His face did not betray his emotions, but your questions were answered by his next actions.

“Hmm,” he said matter-of-factly, before nomming on another samosa. You peered at him from the top bunk bed as he polished off the bowl of samosas rather quickly. Now, he was waiting for the coffee to cool.

“Sooooo, how was my cooking?” you questioned, already internally knowing the answer even if he didn’t admit it.

“It was convenient,” he admitted. Most of the time, Zandik did not cook for himself, as he found the process a waste of time when he could be doing other things. 

“I’m glad. And the taste?”

“It was fine.” Actually, it was far more than fine. The constant consumption of the easiest food to make had dulled his taste buds and made him accustomed to bland food. Though your food was quite tasty, Zandik was not about to let you get a big head now.

“Just fine? Seemed like you scarfed them down pretty quickly,” you teased.

“The quicker I eat, the quicker I am able to devote my full attention to the research,” he corrected you. You pouted but still felt pleased.

“Then I’ll make something for you every day.”

He felt on guard again at your kindness. “Why?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Didn’t I already say? ‘Cause we’re roommates and all, and also soon-to-be friends. And friends usually help each other out, yeah? And also because I’m kind of worried how you eat the same thing over and over.” 

He immediately frowned at your proposal. “I am not your friend. And never will be.”

You shrugged your shoulders and moved to lie down instead, pulling the blankets over you. “Ehe, we’ll see. I have a way with words, you know!” You smiled and winked at him, to which you received a deadpan glare. “Good night, Zandik! Oh, and make sure to clean up afterward!”

“Hmph.”

Friend. He toyed with the word and idea in his head, mocking it internally. Friend… friend, as if that could ever be feasible. Of course not.

Zandik hated you.

III. possessiveness 

It had been a while since you moved in with Zandik, and he stopped treating you with disdain. Though, Zandik was Zandik, so you still got a tongue-lashing from time to time. (But you could never take him seriously anymore, which irritated him.)

Lately, though, he had begun to show you some of his research, and even begun to let you tinker with some of his stuff! Only while he was present of course, but you were elated. Though, he seemed to be enjoying this more than you somehow. You could ask one question and suddenly he’d be on a tangent. But you were just happy he was talking to you.

You had been upgraded from hated stranger to tolerable stranger to okay acquaintance in Zandik’s eyes. You had insisted on calling him your friend, to which he still did not understand, but for some reason he allowed it. Perhaps it was because it felt nice.

Actually, you were a helpful, okay acquaintance. You frequently looked over his notes for him, correcting spelling and grammar errors from when he scribbled so fast. Tidied up his bed and work space too. The best part was that you had begun to run errands for him so he didn’t need to leave the dorm himself. After these series of events, you had declared yourself his assistant without even asking him first, but he supposed that was okay. He valued usefulness. And maybe your company a bit, too. And although he enjoyed silence the most, maybe he liked how nice your voice was in the background.

Today was one of those days where he waited for you to get back from an errand. It was quick and easy, and the seller wasn’t too far away. Like always, he occupied himself with his work and awaited your return, which proved to be fruitful as usual. But after a while, something did not feel right.

Zandik could not put his finger on it. Why did he have this feeling in the back of his mind? He was quite irritated at this itch he could not reach. Perhaps you would have-

That’s right. You. You. You. Where were you? That’s when he realized that you were gone longer than you usually were. To think that his body and mind would get so accustomed to your presence. He wasn’t sure whether to feel disgusted or not by this feeling.

He wondered what was the holdup. But there was naught he could do except wait. And wait. And wait. Until the jiggle of the doorknob drew his attention and you stepped through the door with the items he requested. 

“Hey, Zandik,” you greeted, locking the door behind you and dropping the bag on the table. He didn’t respond, but you didn’t think that was anything strange since he never cared much for greetings. “Got your stuff,” you continued your normal routine, kicking off your shoes and shedding your sweater, expecting the silence to continue.

“What took you so long?” You almost did a double-take when he spoke.

“What?”

“What took you so long?” he repeated.

“Oh, on the way back, some students stopped me and asked if I could explain some stuff to them. I guess I did take a bit longer than usual. Why?” you questioned. Did he really notice the difference? It hadn’t even been that long, maybe ten to fifteen minutes extra that you took. And plus, it’s not like you two were doing anything together. Just sitting in silence with metal clanking as usual.

When you did not get any response, you raised your eyebrows and tip-toed your way over to him to get a glimpse of his expression. It was mostly empty if you ignored the eye twitching and the downward curve. You had to dig your fingernails into your palm to control the chuckles. 

“Could it be… did you miss little old me, Zandik?”

“Perish the thought,” Zandik immediately interrupted before you could even finish your sentence. “Your whereabouts are not my concern,” he vehemently denied.

“Mhm, alright then.”

“I simply do not see why you need to talk to those so-called scholars. They are not worth the time or energy to even look at.”

Ah, there it was. So he was jealous. You understood now.

“Well, I was just doing what a normal, nice person would do.”

“The fact that you are still living with me proves you’re not normal. As for the nice part, you don’t need to do that for anyone.”

“Oh really? So what should I do, turn a blind eye to everyone else and save the sweet words for you?” you joked.

“Yes. Were you not the one who declared yourself as my assistant? Assistants always follow their seniors,” he stated matter-of-factly.

You were completely surprised at his mini confession, that if you spoke carelessly, you knew you’d stutter. But you weren’t complaining. You ignored the heat on your face, and matched his words.

“Hmm… I would say in that case, you can’t speak to anyone either, but it’s not like you do that anyway,” you said simply, biting down on your lip to prevent laughing. Zandik immediately scowled at your statement.

“I don’t need, want, or care to speak to anyone. But since you clearly need to be around these low-tier scholars, you can get out this instant.” You couldn’t help but double over with giggles now at his defensiveness and landed on Zandik’s bed. He huffed. You loved when he acted like this.

“Ah, I’m so glad I asked to dorm with you,” you giggled with a dopey grin. Zandik paused his work, taking in what you just said.

“You… what?”

You turned to lay on your side and propped yourself up on your arm. “Hmm? Did I say something strange?” you questioned.

“You chose to live here? With me, of your own choice? I knew it was strange when the counselor chose me of all people. Surely there were others available?” Zandik was utterly baffled as he had now temporarily abandoned his tinkering to gauge your expression.

“Yes! Shall I recount the exact events for you?” Without waiting for an answer, you prattled on. “Okay so, I went to the counselor lady and she wanted me to dorm with this random guy, and I was like okay cool, but then I got this little sneak peek of the list she had and I saw your name in fancy handwriting. And then I was like, hey, that’s the smart cute morally dubious guy that I hear people talking about! So then I said, nah, give Zandik to me instead please- hey, why is your face kind of red?” 

You ended your little rambling and sat up straight, leaning into your roommate’s face. “Hey, are you embar-” Before you could finish your sentence, he quickly spun back around to face his desk, trying to block out your incessant giggling.

“Shut up,” he hissed in reply, quick to defend himself. “No one in this school would willingly live with me.” And how dare you call him that? That… c-word.

“Well,” you clutched your chest to prevent any more laughter, “That’s clearly not true anymore, because I’ve been here for quite a while! But wow, your face!” You toppled back onto his bed grinning. He swore you were brain-dead. 

Zandik hated you.

IV. like-mindedness

Zandik did not like being in public. That was something you came to realize and understand rather quickly. For the most part, you had no qualms with it. You were quite content with bantering with him in the privacy of the dorm or in the desert or forest looking for whatever specimens he wanted. There were no distractions, no other people to give you weird stares or looks.

It was another normal day for you, and you came to realize that you’d actually been living with Zandik for quite a while. You liked to think that you two were rather close now. The time had flown by quickly for you, but apparently very long for others. To say people were baffled was an understatement. 

People were shocked, fascinated, intrigued, fearful, any word you could think of, at how you managed to dorm with Zandik and still be alive, mentally and physically. Many people even applauded you for managing to live with Zandik for so long. You had people coming up to you asking for tips on how you confronted your fears so easily. The crazier ones even wanted to write a paper on your mental fortitude. (Thankfully your roommate hadn’t found out about that yet.)

Today, however, the two of you decided to stop by Puspa Café after class. It was a nice day to dine outside, and the coffee and food there was excellent. You had no complaints, especially since this was your first time doing this kind of thing with Zandik. It was going quite well, as the two of you read over your notes in silence until whispers began to penetrate the tranquility.

“Hey, look over there. Is that Zandik?”

“Oh wow, you’re right! This is my first time seeing him outside of class.”

“Really? This is my first time seeing him in general.”

“Well yeah, he only goes to class and then back to his dorm. Everyone knows he’s a freak.” Their blathering continued and you twitched your eye, unable to concentrate. You peaked at Zandik but he looked unbothered.

“We’re right in front of them and can still talk about you like that?” You were simultaneously shocked and impressed at their audacity and stupidity. Zandik simply shrugged his shoulders, his uncaring attitude shining through as he was practically immune to these kinds of scenarios now. You huffed and flipped a page in your book. Sometimes you wished you could borrow some of his ability to not care what people think.

But there was only so much you could take. And Archons above, these scholars and their incessant talking were annoying. You had no idea how Zandik could continue to read so intently with this racket. At least he was more pretty when he was quiet.

Slowly you stood up, and Zandik glanced at you, a bit confused but not too interested, still absorbed in his own book. His eyes returned to the text, but then he heard a loud thump from the side. Now more of his attention was on you, as he saw you now closed the thick book shut.

“[Name]?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. You were now retrieving some Mora, probably for the bill, and laying it on the table. “Do you have business to attend to?”

“Business? You know what, yes, yes I do,” you chuckled a bit eerily. “But it’ll only take a couple of seconds.” With that, you picked up the textbook and lifted it up and down like a weight. Finally, you positioned yourself properly and raised your arm toward the direction of the student.

You threw the fucking textbook.

It was a sight that Zandik would never forget. A heavy book that would hurt anyone’s arm from lugging it around, flew through the air, and with uncanny precision, knocked the scholar right in the face.

It was dead silence for a few seconds.

And then chaos.

Screams erupted from the other students at the table at the sight of their fallen friend. A commotion was born as people scrambled to the boy. Zandik was having a bit of trouble comprehending what just happened. Yes, he just understood that you just threw a textbook at a guy, but he did not understand at the same time. Even he knew not to harm someone in public. (Private was a different case.) And you did it with no hesitation, no logical thought process of what would happen. It was an activity far from what most scholars did.

While he was in a little stupor, you quickly pushed your papers into your bag and slung it over your shoulder. “Hey! Teyvat to Zandik! Don’t just sit there! We have to leave the scene!” you scolded him, taking initiative and stuffing his work into his bag as well. He wasn’t the most pleased with how you treated his precious research material but that was only a fleeting thought compared to what just occurred. You threw his bag over your shoulder as well and cursed at how heavy his damn textbook was. But what he did not expect was what you did next.

Rolling your shoulders back to prepare yourself for the weight, you then grabbed his hand and started pulling him away. 

Zandik then had no words to describe his emotions. He could only focus on the prickles that arose from all over his body at such prolonged and close contact with you. He was used to your teasing - running your hands through his hair on occasion, or leaning in close to his ear to whisper something, but this simply broke his scale. He felt as though he was moving unconsciously, feet moving in sync with yours, and he had no idea how to feel or even understand this phenomenon. 

“Hey, I know you can walk faster than that!” Your voice snapped him out of his unfamiliar sensations, and that’s when he realized what was happening. You had actually managed to drag him so far along that you were both probably halfway through the city looking like complete, bumbling fools. And you were still holding his hand, and that’s when he realized again how lovely you looked in this moment. He quickly discarded those thoughts.

“Release me this instant, [Name],” he threatened, immediately putting his vexed look back up. He could feel your warmth penetrating his whole body just from your hand.

“Sure, sure~! Let’s turn into this alley to hide,” He could tell that was a complete lie because your laugh was so loud it probably rang out all the way to Port Ormos. Zandik scoffed and bit his lip to prevent a smile.

Soon enough, you both reached a secluded part of the city, away from all the hustle and bustle and caught your breath. You slid down a wall in relief and closed your eyes while Zandik had his eyes trained on you for what you just put him through.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” he raised an eyebrow at your crazy behavior. You peeked at him and put your hand on your chin, in a thinking position.

“Hmm… well, that was quite fun, was it not?!” you tried to keep a straight face but you could not help but laugh at your friend’s incredulous expression.

“You- we, we are going to get in trouble with the dean you know. And the counselors,” he said, trying to bite down the smile that kept rising when he remembered the expression on the assaulted student’s face.

“We’ll be fineeeee,” you shrugged your shoulders and stretched your letters. “Haven’t you gotten into more trouble with the head administration with your little controversial experiments? Besides, if we’re lucky, he’ll be too scared to report the incident,” you laughed, completely nonchalant about what you just did.

“Hmph. The blame is on you if anything happens,” he attempted to speak in an irritated voice, but he could not help but be amused. A bit elated, even. There were many people he wanted to see get chucked with a textbook. And do worse things too.

But a bit of the thrill came from how you did that with no hesitation. It was a… strange feeling to have someone do that for him. Actually, this whole relationship was strange. You were strange. Even he felt strange. He was honestly a straight-up asshole to you sometimes, like he was to everyone else. But that didn’t drive you off. You still did things for him. You still spoke to him. You didn’t want anything in return, not money, not knowledge, not relics, but perhaps what you did want was-

Zandik stopped that line of thoughts in its tracks, trying to ignore how his hand was all tingly from you holding it. Things were fine this way, he declared. He could not admit he was enamored with you. Nothing needed to change. He had to maintain his view of you, otherwise… 

“You know, I’m surprised I even got you to do that. Did you hit your head too?”

“Shut up.”

Zandik hated you.

(You two did get into trouble. The Akademiya assigned you an apology essay which Zandik refused to do so you had to write two separate essays for each of you. With some begging, he did your homework for you in return, and somehow managed to get the blood stain off of that textbook you had thrown. You didn’t question where he learned that.)

V. kindness

It had been years since that fateful day, the time when you first moved in with Zandik. The Akademiya was a long and arduous grind, but that was to be expected. Your friendship with Zandik was one you cherished more than most things.

To say the two of you were close was an understatement. You still remember the counselor’s expression when you told her how well the two of you were getting along, and that there was no need for you to ever switch roommates. You think she became afraid of you too after that.

Tonight was a relaxed night. Zandik and you were not doing any work, simply laying side by side on his bed. (Even though he always threw fierce words at you, you knew he liked your touch.)

In the beginning, you would never be able to tear him away from that desk, but with time comes new things. You were just happy he was getting more hours of sleep.

The two of you lied in the dark as usual, simply enjoying the cool Sumeru breeze and the muffled noises from the city. You learned to grow content with these simple moments. But tonight you felt like talking.

“Hey, Zandik?”

“Hm?”

“Remember when you met me?” You could feel his head shift to look at you, probably for asking such a dumb question.

“Yes, I do. Too well, actually.”

“What was your first impression of me?” you questioned, realizing you never actually asked him that.

“That you were quite annoying and a thorn in my side.”

Anyone else might have been hurt by these words, but you did not mind. He made it pretty obvious that was how he felt in the beginning anyway, so it was no surprise. “But what about now?”

“You’re fine.” Even in the dark, he could feel your pout and pleading eyes. “And your intelligence and helpfulness deserve to be praised, I suppose.” And then he could feel your smile grow as your face was partially on his shoulder. From then the conversation flowed through many things. That research paper you two were working on, some kind of experiment he wanted to do on you (he swore it was painless), about that one scholar who was always annoying during the lectures.

The more you spoke, the more you realized how much of your life centered around being with Zandik here. You didn’t know if you ever wanted to graduate. To ever be apart from him.

“You know, I’ve been thinking. How long do you think we’ll live here?”

“Hmm, it’s hard to say. The benefits the Akademiya provides are far too good to let go of now. Speaking of that, there’s somewhere I want to visit.” 

“Oh, you mean those hidden ruins you think are connected with Khaenri’ah?” How nice it would be if you could just drape your arm over his chest.

“Yes. Though I don’t know if the Akademiya will let me make another trip back to the desert as of right now,” he pondered.

“Are you referring to how you’ve been on the Matra’s watch list for years? So they started following you everywhere?” you giggled.

“Not just me. You too, [Name],” he rolled his eyes. “At least I never threw a book at someone in public.” You pouted and playfully punched his arm.

“C’mon, that was so long ago! You can stop bringing it up!” you whined. He would never let that go, huh? The conversation died down from there, but it was a comfortable silence, which you loved. After that little banter, your eyes began to droop and you yawned. Zandik glanced at you.

“Tired?” You nodded and blearily rubbed your eyes.

“Sleep, then,” he commanded, and you had no qualms with following that. Soon enough, Zandik was the only one left awake, staring out at the open window. He had found these little resting sessions of yours good for clearing his mind. He closed his eyes too. 

Two people, on the same tiny, college-sized bed, arms brushing each other and talking nonchalantly. Totally, two good friends.

Friends. Friends, friends, friends. Long ago, the word left a distasteful feeling in his mouth, and it still did, but not for the reason he originally felt. Now, what he desired was more complicated.

Zandik hated you.

VI. endless

Zandik knew he would be expelled from the Akademiya soon, for the crimes he committed. And yet, instead of preparing for any future plans, he found himself following the directions of a note you left on his workbench. Meet me at our usual spot, 8 PM.

He was a busy man, more so in soon-to-be exile. He didn’t have time for your frivolous games. But for some reason, he found himself heading over to the cliff anyway. It was dark outside, but the stars illuminated your figure, and that was when he noticed the basket next to you as well. You noticed him and sat up eagerly.

“Hey, you made it! I was worried you wouldn’t come, to be honest.”

“...What is this?”

“Eh? A picnic, of course. The weather is real perfect for one.”

He was so astonished that the laugh building in his throat could not come out immediately. Surely you were aware of what he had done? Practically everyone in the Akademiya knew. You couldn’t walk for five minutes without hearing rumors floating around. Or perhaps you were that oblivious?

“Oh really?” His familiar, eerie laugh that you loved finally rang out. “Did a Ruin Guard finally toss you around well enough? Only an idiot wouldn’t know what I’ve-”

“I mean, do killers not like picnics anymore?” You replied so nonchalantly, he was actually a bit shocked. 

“You’re… you’re frustrating,” he murmured.

The way you managed to make him so tongue-tied all the time made him itch to put you in your place, to snap back somehow, but he found himself unable to lately. Actually, he struggled to do that for a while now, and he despised how you made him feel like a bumbling fool.

“Heh, perhaps some of your unhingedness rubbed off on me,” you shrugged, patting down the spot next to you. “Look, I made samosas for you again.”

The blanket was soft and comfy, and though he didn’t care much for the flavors of food, he did enjoy your cooking. You continued to polish off your meal before you spoke again.

“So, I hear you’re going to be expelled soon.”

“Correct. Though I care little for this place, it’s a shame to lose a suitable environment for my research.”

“Have you decided where you’re going? I’m sure you’re not planning to stay exiled in the desert for the rest of your life,” you hummed. “Leaving this country, perhaps?”

“That seems to be the most logical action. There is nowhere in this nation that would fund my research.”

“I see. You’re going far away from here.” Zandik nodded in reply, but the more he thought about it, the more irritated he felt. Far away from here meant far away from you.

To think he felt no remorse for murder but he felt a tingle of emotion (sadness? regret? anger?) at no longer being with you. Whatever it was, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He loathed to admit it, but he enjoyed your company. He enjoyed dragging you out of bed in the morning, and he enjoyed you dragging him to bed at night. He enjoyed your bantering, your inquisitive nature towards his work. He enjoyed being the only person you’d treat like this and having one person to himself. Zandik enjoyed you, thoroughly and fully.

“Well, keep me updated. I already got my bags packed and ready to go.” 

“What?” A quirk of yours, he realized, was being able to leave him surprised at the most unpredictable times. Although scholars must plan for every possibility, he found it difficult to prepare for yours.

“I’m coming with you, of course. You’re gonna need your number one assistant with you. Hey, why’d you stop eating? We still need to get through the Padisarah Pudding.”

“You? Accompany me?” All of a sudden, everything made perfect sense. Yes, of course! You were right, he thought, as a fit of laughter overcame him. It was a splendid idea, one that pleased him immensely. Having you with him would be a great asset for his research. No one suited the role better than you. And you, in general, were… nice. You didn’t grate on his nerves like everyone else.

“Ha! Good! Amazing, even! I shall be sure to tell you when we depart from this nation of fools.” You raised your eyebrows at his sudden enthusiasm, but witnessing Zandik’s bursts of inspiration was nothing new to you either. 

“Well, glad to see you’re so keen on it,” you chuckled. “But I have a request. Actually, it’s more like something I have to say to you before we embark on this. It’s crucial, really.”

“Oh? Do tell.” He wasn’t rich, but he had the ability to procure a wide variety of items. The Nation of Wisdom was more corrupt than one would think. But he did wonder what you would ever want. You didn’t chase after material goods like the majority of humans.

“To be frank, I like you,” you declared, looking right into his eyes. At that moment, it felt like the world had gone silent. The wind stopped blowing, the animals lied low, the grass no longer rustled. “I like you. I want to be more than just friends with you,” you stated bluntly. You felt that getting straight to the point was the best course of action with Zandik, since many things besides his research and manipulating people tended to go over his head.

“So, what do you say?”

There was no response. You attempted to build your case.

“By the way, did you think I’d go through all this trouble if I didn’t want to be with you? I didn’t dorm with you for no reason, you know.”

“...”

“For such a smart guy, you aren’t very good at this, are you? Well, I can’t be too mad. I’ve been dealing with the denseness for a few years now. You know, I’ve been making the first moves this whole time.”

“...” 

The lack of response was beginning to make you nervous. You preferred the maniacal laughter of rejection at this point. “H-hey, I’d like a reply, you know. You don’t need to accept-”

Zandik thought. And he found that the words he spoke next were genuine.

“I find you… agreeable as well.”

You couldn’t help but throw your head back and laugh, shoulders now relaxed. “Why, such an amazing compliment from the high and mighty Zandik has me even more lovestruck!” He wanted to be mad, he really did, but it was at this moment he understood what it meant to be mesmerized by another person. He had found himself mesmerized by ancient machines, ruins, texts, his research. But he truly found you beautiful, your giggles echoing through the night.

“I’m agreeable, yes?” You turned to face him, your body leaning in closer to his. “Am I agreeable enough to do… this?” You tentatively glided your fingers over his hand, gauging to see how far Zandik would let you go. He stiffened at the foreign contact, clearly unused to it, but let you continue.

“What about this?” You slid your hand up and down his arm, keeping your eyes on his face the whole time. He tried not to show any emotions, besides a half-hearted scowl, but you could still see the red tips of his ears. He was so cute.

You scooted closer to him and let your other hand rest on Zandik’s thigh. “I think I’m much more than agreeable in your books,” you teased, cupping his cheek. He scoffed in response but did nothing to refuse your advancement. You leaned in and connected your lips with your lover’s. It felt damn good. Zandik had no idea what he was doing, but it was endearing nonetheless. You kissed him again, and again, and he reciprocated, albeit a little awkwardly. Your heart soared as you pulled away, and placed a few final kisses on his cheeks.

“Now, how did that feel?” You already knew the answer to that, of course. You knew Zandik for a long time, and could tell when he was in a shitty mood, a bad mood, a grumpy one, an excited one, a happy one, and much more. This mood was one you haven’t seen until now, but it sure was a good one. Completely flustered was a great look on him.

“I… I cannot come to a definitive answer as of now. I would say that I need to carry out some more experiments to reach a conclusion.”

“Oh? Then I’m a willing participant for however long as you want,” you smiled, finding comfort in his soft, teal locks. 

And that’s when Zandik truly realized. You were more tolerable than the rest. You were bearable enough to want to keep you around forever. Smart enough for him to desire to hear your honeyed voice. Soft enough to want to feel your skin against his. Ah, he would never say it though, as he brushed his lips over yours once again.

Zandik loved you.

[starberriemilk]

ok. ok. i hope you understand how much sinclair being transgender fits in with his character. you probably do better than me, but i want to rant about how good of an idea it is.

like, first. his symbol. a cracked egg. for a long time, eggs have been used to symbolize those strugling with gender disphoria without any way to identify it as something outside the norm. (child sinclair probably struggled with that a lot.)

his entire motif is "between two worlds" from his splashscreen, to his base EGO art, to even kromer's boss theme literally being called "between two worlds"

of course it's referring to his transitory state between coward and hero, but this major theme of change passes through the entirety of sinclair's life. i would not be surprised if he actually is canonically transgender.

like... everything about him seems to SCREAM transgender.

if you have more, please rant it to me as well!

YES I fully understand it and IM SO HAPPY THERE'S ANOTHER PERSON WHO GETS IT TOO! YES! I AGREE WITH YOU SO MUCH! I really want to make a BIG BIG post that'd be transgender analysis of Sinclair, and the only reason why I'm not doing it is because I'm 1. nervous that people would be upset I didn't mention a possibility of him being transfem (sorry I don't like that hc/interpretation :( it makes me kinda uncomfy since I see him 100% as a trans man!) 2. HOW DO I WORDS (im so bad at wording stuff and putting thoughts into text)

But either way I AGREE SO MUCH WITH YOU! I like to think that the reason why his symbol is a cracked egg specifically is because he is starting to figure himself out and presents as masculine because he realized he's comfortable with it much more, so its a start! AND OF COURSE YES YES I NEVER THOUGHT ABOUT HOW BETWEEN TWO WORLDS CAN REFER TO HIM BEING TRANS TOO... But then I look back at the book and I realize how much sense it makes. The whole point of between two worlds in the book is that nothing truly is black and white and that includes Demian's gender identity (it's said so many times how he resembles both a man and a woman and clearly. transgender too), and I like to think Sinclair finds himself in that "between two worlds" state of gender identity too, seeing that he's different, between the world of cis women and cis men - transgender. If that makes any sense!

I COULD TALK ABOUT THIS FOR DAYS I SWEAR! Because you're right, everything about him screams transgender and it makes me incredibly happy. I genuinely think that Sinclair is transcoded, with how much feminity he shows in his character. And I know people will say "but feminine cis men exist" but I don't care because one way to show a character is transgender, is to make them have traits of their opposite gender... And obviously PM can't make it more obvious with queerness because we all know what Korea is like, but this? What we already have? It means a lot to me

Since I want to make a post about this one day, I want to say something from myself too:

Sinclair is the only male sinner who has a soft, feminine face, one that is usually drawn on women in PM games. Even other more feminine/twinkish characters like Yi Sang and Hong Lu have more sharp features, but Sinclair's are completely soft. And I think this includes his body too, like you can't really see it in his LCB sprite because he wears an oversized coat but in other identities he clearly has small shoulders and more of a.. feminine figure, I think, which again to me feels like he's a trans man that binds to hide his chest (if anyone asks about Boatworks- he had top surgery and his scars faded, and there's probably tech in the City that lets you have get rid of your boobs without any scars left)

[ilikekidsshows]

Gosh, I just remembered Destruction. That Marinette seriously let Cat Noir run around with the word Dimwit in his bell for all of season 4, never once spared it a single thought, never apologized for it either despite allegedly having "realized" how awfully she treated him, and then smiled proudly when Alya laughed over him behind his back after the Cataclysm incident Marinette just abandoned Cat Noir afterwards too and only cared about herself getting support.

Dude, Marinette is so awful to him at times. Who DOES that to a friend? I would be downright ashamed of myself if I treated a friend like that and the show's telling me to CELEBRATE her for that??

Let's not forget that she also didn't think for months that Cat needs to know beforehand that her secret plan includes him having to run the risk of cataclysming Hawkmoth, or that he's once again reduced to a literal object in her plan who can't even breath with the villain's hand at his throat because all she deemed important was HERSELF being fine and safe and getting the Kwamis back.

Sure, just demand that of him on a whim. It's fine, girl, as long as it isn't you, right?

She also put every single civilian at Hawkmoth’s mercy in her plan, apparently just counties on him to be decent to the helpless civilians in his path who are even BOTHERING HIM with photos for her plan to work. That makes her such an awful hero. Humanity really was non existent in her plan, huh? Only she herself and the Kwamis mattered and she even monologued that into a full-blown failure. Not even getting a single Kwami because she had to brag about how much smarter and better she is than him. Such heroism. Much inspirational.

I seriously forgot how awful Destruction was for Marinette’s character. What the shit was that??

---

The group chat and I have been thinking that Marinette really is the least heroic “superhero” we’ve seen that wasn't a purposeful attempt at deconstructing superheroes. She very rarely goes out of her way to help people except when it's her way of forcing her views on what people need on others (think Guilt Trip), and a lot of the time she only fights Akumas and Sentimonsters because they're getting in the way of her plans for the day.

Marinette is only a hero technically, because, technically, he does stop the bad guys from getting what they want. But she also does the bare minimum needed. She magicked together a charm to try to prevent Akumatizations four seasons in, and it was basically because Alya told her to. She is also completely disinterested in finding out who Hawk Moth is. Félix spelled it out for her and she couldn't be arsed to do anything about it. The only time she's confronted Gabriel about anything was when she wanted to get his permission to date Adrien. I repeat: the only reason Marinette ever “goes after” Gabriel is to get his permission to date Adrien. The finale confrontation was an accident on her part. Marinette's motives are so often about herself over everything else. It's not just that there's a benefit to her in helping others, it's that she actually thinks about herself first in every single situation and anyone else is barely ever a consideration.

Marinette is the most passive hero I’ve seen. Even early series Usagi from Sailor Moon, who cried at the thought of fighting monsters, actively followed rumors around town to uncover the villains’ schemes and more often than not got involved in the plot of the episode because she met a random stranger she wanted to help when they explained their problems to her and/or asked for her assistance with something. Marinette has helped a random stranger only once, despite her supposedly having this trait being why Fu chose her in Origins.

She really has no idea what a hero is, considering her idea for doing a heroic act to celebrate “heroes’ day” was promising her parents would make a bunch of treats for her classmates instead of herself doing anything to help anyone. She only ended up making the treats herself because her parents didn't have the time, and even then, the classmates also pitched in to make her idea/heroic act happen. Despite Hawk Moth being a consistent threat, she's not proactive in trying to stop him, only patrolling for personal reasons, like keeping the principal from making “real heroes” (her words, not mine) look bad and going on “not dates” with Cat Noir.

She also far more frequently uses her powers for personal gain than any other character that gets a Miraculous, even when taking their time using one into account. Marinette uses her powers to sabotage people who have a crush on the guy she likes, embarrass people she doesn't like and manufacture situations where she can get closer to her crush. Meanwhile Adrien and Alya *flips through notes* genuinely enjoy being a hero and helping people, so much so they joke on the job. And people tell me the latter two are less heroic, because of some twisted idea that real heroes are the ones for whom the job is a burden. In actuality, Marinette viewing her heroics as such a burden makes her unmotivated and a worse hero for it. Her disregard towards civilians and her allies when she actually bothers to do the job is just another sign of how utterly unsuited to be a hero Marinette is.

Frankly, if Marinette’s hijinks didn't stop the Akumas and Sentimonsters, she'd be a villain protagonist. Because of the retooled show enforcing Marinette’s unheroic traits, her lack of motivation, her lack of sympathy for others, her selfishness and her self-aggrandizing, I personally feel that she still is a villain protagonist but the show just celebrates her instead of condemning her.

[idontknowreallywhy]

Thanks to @ficwip for the questions. Thought I’d have a go to see where I’ve got up to / maybe motivate myself out of a writing slump.

Didn’t quite manage to get it done by end of year but I never do finish anything by NYE and consequently as a mid-January birthday girl I often decide to have my new year start a little later in the month anyway so…

Herewith waffle mostly written while trying not to nod off on a plane…

1. How many fics have you worked on since January?

Complicated question… I THINK - 29 in total?

In terms of what I’ve actually POSTED here…

11 one-shots [ How to Infuriate Your Engineer , The Last of Them , Comb , Pressure , Push , Shine , Expert , Thread , Scott is Not Fine Catharsis , A Refrigeration Situation ] - 11,502 words total.

65 Chapters covering 10 fics [ Estera (3) ; Bearded (3) ; Presence (5) ; Composition (4) ; Resurface (36) ; Father’s Day (4) ; Teeth (2) ; 75 (3) ; Fishtank-ed Up (2) ; An Eyebrow-Razing Incident (3) ] - 72,263 words total.

54 WIP Snippets which haven’t become finished chapters or one-shots yet covering 3 of the above and 8 other fics [ Blue (15) ; Estera (12) ; Burn it All (8) ; Snapshots (2) , Octopus House (4) ; Red (3) ; Fishtank-ed Up (3) ; In a Glass Darkly (1) ; Oort Cloud (3) ; Resurface (1) ; ?? (2) ] - 17,703 words total.

All that totals 101,468 tumblr-posted fic-words so I did hit my target of 100k although I didn’t actually FINISH as many stories as I intended to!

Then there is an additional 46,000 I have in draft for the Estera universe… some of which might make in into publishable form at some stage, some just for my own amusement 🤣 plus another 4,000 or so for other fics including the end of Resurface… and a couple of brand new ones which may or may not see the light of day…

So objectively I really did do a fair bit of writing this year and shall endeavour to allow myself to be proud of this!

2. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year?

Err… Finishing one? 🤣

Did I though… um…

Ok scratch that.

I wrote a cheesy little song for one of them then threaded references to it through some chapters in a couple of fics. That was new. Whether successful? Well I like it but I can hear it in my head which probably makes it work better for me than anyone else. However I enjoyed myself so…

3. What piece of media inspired you the most? (This can be the fandom you wrote the most for, the one that spawned the most ideas, the one you thought about the most, etc.).

Well, my beloved Thunderbirds are Go, obviously! Hyperfixation much?

4. How many fandoms did you write for this year?

Just the one :)

5. What ships captured your heart?

Newly this year? I guess to interpret the word ‘captured’ literally to mean ‘possessed entirely against my will’ then I guess… Scott/Havoc (even though I still scream NOOOoOoOOoOOOOOO internally when I type that!). It’s not a natural fit for me as I do tend to favour some potential for a happy ending and it’s harder to see how it is possible with this ship but some fabulous fics have emerged on it. I do love a redemption arc though and I like how various people have developed Havoc’s character in their stories. But also still noooooooo my little guy deserves better-happier-uncomplicated. But also also yeeeeeesssssssss.

6. What characters captured your heart?

Weirdly, because I did not intend this at all and most of the time I want to slap him with a really large fish… I’ve written a fair bit of Jeff POV in the latter part of the year! Both pre-Lucy death and post-ZeroX. In between those times I still want to slap him with that fish.

7. Did you write for any new fandoms or ships this year?

A new ship, yes. And one that was completely unexpected and I don’t think anyone else has tried yet but I’m enjoying it. Not made a lot of progress yet so won’t say any more than that!

8. What fic meant the most to you to write?

Resurface I think. It covers a heck of a lot of headcanons and yeah… it turns out walloping Virgil is a fun way to prod at all of the bro relationships. And I have enjoyed the process of iteratively fixing Earth&Sky because (as I seem to have written it at least) their partnership is beautiful but kind of messed up and I have to believe they can get a better balance back. I hope the way I’ve done it works for people.

9. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

I think 75. It was really fun to look forward and imagine a good love-and-family-filled future for them all, especially my boy who didn’t think he’d get one.

10. What fic was the most satisfying to finish writing?

Well I was hoping to say Resurface but given I haven’t yet… hmmm. I might also have said Father’s Day until I randomly started to write more of it 😅 err… what have I actually finished? Let’s say 75 cos I actually finished that! (and pretend I don’t have an idea for a follow on)

11. What fic was the most difficult to write?

Estera. Which is a strange answer in some respects as I’ve compulsively written loads of it (as above!) but well… I’ve had a bit of a crisis of confidence and hit a silly, anxious wall about writing the actual chapter that comes next in the story and thus it has hung in limbo for months. My dearest co-writer is despairing of me perhaps only marginally less than I am despairing of myself!

12. What fic was the easiest to write?

The early parts of Resurface just rushed out as fast as I could type them… it got harder as I tried to heal them from the mess I made though 🙃 More recently the Oort Jeff stuff has been the topic for the most readily flowing words.

13. What were your shortest and longest fics posted this year?

Ignoring WIP posts, shortest would be “Scott is Not Fine” which is barely more than a Drabble at 202 words.

Longest? If it needs to be entirely within the year - Resurface (49,720 & counting) but I added a little to Estera which is longest overall (72,319 posted) but that word count is shared with some other wonderful writers and is mostly 2023.

14. What were your go-to writing songs

I have a few playlists for depending on what I’m writing :)

I do listen to the OST a lot when out and about but often not when actually writing as I guess each part of it is so strongly linked to what is happening in the episodes that it is distracting if I’m writing something different. Often I get ideas by listening to something totally random. I listen to a lot of classical and it may only be a few phrases that nudge something -any kind of soprano/tenor instructment interaction (e.g. cello/violin, trumpet/french horn, flute/bassoon) immediately conjures Earth&Sky for me. 99% of my writing is with music of some kind in the background (because I usually have an earbud in) although in retrospect I might not be able to tell what it was.

15. What was the hardest fic to title?

Resurface. Because I had another title in mind but it was already the title of one of my all-time favourite fics. But then this one came to mind and fitted perfectly!

16. What's your favorite title of the year

Haha, well I like what I’ve been doing with the chapter titles of Resurface. But “An Eyebrow-Razing Incident” is probably my favourite for the pun / spoiler combo.

17. Share your favorite opening line

Virgil’s forehead sank onto the bar and squelched slightly.

18. Share your favorite ending line

A brand new score had been opened. But Virgil knew the notes now. They’d compose this next version together.

19. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

This one because I worked on it for so long to get it right. It’s by no means the only important moment between Scott and Virgil… but is the first of a few steps to sorting things out:

“And I’m… grey, then?”

“No! Not usually! You’ve always been blue, like the sky… there are so many shades of it, with hints of yellow or gold…”

“There’s a but coming, I can feel it.”

Virgil grabbed Scott’s hand again as if to reassure himself his brother wouldn’t float away before he managed to express this.

“Sometimes it’s like you fade a little.”

“I fade?”

“You try to be a lot of things, Scotty and it’s admirable, it really is, and you do it so well but sometimes I worry there isn’t enough of you left to be you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re blue when you laugh at your own jokes, or smotherhen us and make a leaning tower of pancake… when you beat Gordy at his own prank game or act all melodramatic when you’re smuggling in the sweets Grandma doesn’t approve of. When someone says pie and your eyes gleam and when you randomly recite Shakespeare inaccurately and out of context or run up the stairs for no reason and surprise hug Allie… those times you’re a rainbow of blues. In the field when you’re problem solving at the speed of light and oh! That time you flew Shadow just for fun you came back shining so brightly…”

Yet again at the mention of Shadow, Scott had startled but recovered quickly and deflected:

“My Shakespeare is always in context.”

“Sure it is, Scott. And it’s very YOU.”

A flicker of resolve hardened his brother’s expression and Virgil was suddenly terrified as to how his clumsy explanation could have been interpreted by someone who was already chronically shackled to the ‘brave face’ impulse…

“But Scott, listen to me, this is important.”

He waited until his brother dropped his eyes from the horizon and met his own.

“I’m not saying it’s just when you are happy, you know? When you’re worried or angry or even sick or even… no, especially when you let yourself be vulnerable for one damn second, you’re you then too.”

“Then…” Scott sagged a little and an edge of indigo desperation coloured his voice “I don’t understand what the grey thing is meant to mean!”

“The grey thing… I guess it’s how my brain interprets the way I sometimes miss you when you are right in front of me. When you get hidden by everything else you think you are supposed to be. You lead so naturally, you do it without even trying but sometimes… sometimes you put on that damn grey baldric and it smothers you.”

“But the baldric is silver. My baldric is silver to match One!”

“It used to be blue though. Blue to match you.”

20. Share your funniest line

Ooh. I don’t know if I do “lines” - most of my attempts at humour are situation or context-specific…

But I’ll go with this little section from toddler-Scotty because it still makes me chuckle:

“Dada! ‘Cotty duck in fidge. Oh no!”

The tiny child lifted his apple sauce covered hands and looked at them as if suddenly realising they were attached to his arms. Bright blue eyes gazed down at him with an expression of extreme innocence:

“Oh no! ‘Cotty all messy! Ooopsiiiieee!”

Clearly realising his father had no follow-up questions to his comprehensive situational update, Scott plunged his hand back into the dish and shoved a fistful of pie crust into his mouth.

21. What's something that surprised you while you were working on a fic? Did it change the story?

This is a tricky one because frankly everything I manage to create surprises me.

Resurface surprised me with its length. I am a sucker for detail and dialogue and combining that with the fact I had a lot to get the boys to work through… it shouldn’t have surprised me really. But it did.

22. What writing programs did you use? Did you write by hand?

By hand? Hahaha, I’d never know what I’d written!

I’m still playing the risky game and throwing things down in apple notes on iphone, although have been trying to tag them a bit now so I can actually find things. I tried google docs - it drove me crackers by messing with my punctuation although I tend to copy paste into that when I’m finished to get a word count. Tried a couple of online drafting tools but they felt over-complicated. So am still in market for a good app I guess.

23. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

In retrospect I think maybe the end of Composition. Which is funny because despite having planned it for AGES as a kind of bridge between Presence and Resurface, I rushed the last chapter out in a hurry as I’d hit the point in Resurface that refers back to it and needed to ensure all the parts of the circle were in place. But exploring how Virgil sees the world is one of my favourite things and setting that short fic in a musical context was very satisfying. And it may be cheesy but this line still makes me smile:

With a satisfied hum, Scott pressed his cheek into his head and the timid, hopeful note in Virgil’s heart swelled into a triumphant chord of determination.

24. Did you do anything special to celebrate finishing a fic?

Yes. I commissioned a piece of fanart and it is beautiful and perfect and I desperately want to share it but I must not until I finish the darn story because the whole point was it was a reward for finishing (I just got it a touch early…)

SOOON THOUGH.

25. How did you recharge between fics?

What is this ‘between’ you speak of? 🧐

26. Did you create fanworks other than fic?

No, unless Tiny Tracys count 🤣

27. How many events did you take part in? (bangs, exchanges, ship weeks, zines, prompt memes, they all count!)

I’m not good at prompts with time limits, it seems. I did write a little for Fishtank Week and there was the Secret Santa of course.

28. If this were an awards show, who would you thank?

So many people, basically all of Thunderfam who have encouraged me to try something I never thought I could do. But if I start a list I know I’ll miss someone then feel bad so I’ll stick to just one shoutout to @sofasurf for constantly encouraging me in both writing and life in general and who is a most excellent co-conspirator.

29. What's left on your to-do list for 2024?

Well I WAS going to say “finish Resurface” but… *eyes calendar and sighs*

30. What would you like to write next year?

Obv finish Resurface, and then I want to find my confidence with Estera again. So many ideas for Scott & Jeff and Allie & Scott and some fish tank too… and I’d like to write more John and more Kayo… not to mention the big mad apocalyptic fic which I really need to plot out properly before doing any more with…

But probably I’ll just end up writing about the boys playing on an airport travelator or stuck at the bottom of a hole or something because sometimes the pieces I’m most proud of are the ones that come out of nowhere 🙄😅🤪

[idontwanttospoiltheparty]

I am so excited for you current wip! I love alt history, and the premise you are working on sounds really cool. Also, I know I'm just a stranger on the internet but I hope you're not putting too much pressure on yourself? You're a great writer and as long as you have fun with it I'm sure we'll love it too!

Also, great to hear you've considered a sequel to TOSMM. Ever since I read it, I kind of thought it'd be great if we could have more written for this specific universe. The premise offers so many possibilities of interactions between Paul and other characters.

hey anon!! thank you for this message, it's so sweet :)

I do probably put myself under a lot of pressure in certain ways, but it hasn't sucked out the joy of writing so I wouldn't worry too much about me for the time being. I feel like partially it's just the price I pay for letting a story stew inside me for literal years before actually starting to write it; it creates anticipation for myself more than anyone and so I feel compelled to deliver.

Yeah, my sequel idea for Paul was actually specifically Linda-focused because I think it would contrast TOSMM in interesting ways, but there's a ton of other scenarios which would be worth exploring, including what it might entail to revisit memories from early childhood. (Also, this is a longshot but I would actually find it very cool if other authors wanted to write something in the "Nothing-verse", as I've dubbed it.)

I also have a John perspective story in mind, a bit more general in scope, sort of capturing his experience through the years (both of these projects are only about 1k words long, to be clear EDIT: I just checked. they're 400 and 650 words long lol). The reason I started that was that, when I first started working on the fic three and a half years ago, the very first thing I wrote was the end (which I then completely rewrote before publishing); because I only had a vague notion of the full plot at that point, a lot of the original dialogue of the end scene was essentially lore-dumping and a fair amount of that lore (e.g. who John's "first" was) got left on the cutting room floor and I wanted to find a way to share it without overloading the TOSMM's last chapter.

I don't know yet what will become of those projects but know that they do exist and I may return to them one day :)

[im-immortal]

2023 Writing Wrap-Up

I'm a little late this time around since it's already 2024, but I haven't done a writing wrap-up since 2021 and I thought it would be fun to bring back!

So this year, I was on quite a roll for the first half of the year. And then July rolled around and I started slowing down until it came to a screeching halt. Not sure what happened. Maybe it's my ADHD and constantly shifting hyper-fixations to blame. But I gradually managed to come back around just in time to post something for Christmas, which I'm still working on finishing. However, my hiatus doesn't take away the pride I still have for what I was able to write during the year. And I look forward to writing more in 2024! So here's all I managed to finish/get a good start on and post during 2023.

A Kiss For A Drink: 6,740 words; one-shot I actually started writing this back in 2020 or 2021, intended to be posted on Valentine's Day. And then I got a point where I couldn't finish it and let it sit for about 2 years. I finally came back with some inspiration and motivation and finished it just in time to post for Valentine's Day 2023! I'm really happy with how it came out. It was a fun idea that turned into a fun fic with a few laughs included, even if it is one of my least-viewed fics lol I had fun writing it too, which is all that really matters!

Lunacy Fringe: 62,690 words; 8/8 chapters To say this fic suddenly came out of nowhere would be an understatement. I literally got inspired out of the blue while listening to an episode of the Therapy Gecko podcast and the next thing I knew, I was balls deep in a psychological thriller. I actually managed to write it in just over a month or so!! Which is really incredible for me, especially considering I didn't step away from it at all or lose inspiration before it was finished. I'm really proud of how it turned out, and I haven't really told anyone, but I am working on converting it into an original story and possibly self-publishing. It could end up being my very first original novel :) the feedback I got was far more positive than I'd expected, especially considering how I portrayed Beth. I'm overall so so happy with how it turned out!!

Longer Than A Heartbeat: 157,289 words; 29/29 chapters Now this... this fic is one of my proudest pieces by far. I'll never get over how happy I am with how it turned out, and how I was actually able to finish it. For the last few years, every time I rewatched "28 Days Later," I couldn't stop thinking about how it would make such a good Bethyl fic, and how I wanted to convert it into a Bethyl fic that included Rick and Judith. I finally did it!! Technically, I wrote it in 2022, but I didn't completely finish it and post it until 2023. When I say I write for myself... this fic really proves it, because I go back and read chapters from it all the time just because it's so fun and I love how I wrote it. I was also pleasantly surprised by the reception and how people who hadn't ever watched "28 Days Later" enjoyed it! Not to mention, @boltthrutheheart made some incredible custom manips for me that I can never get over!!

hot girl summer (playing by the rules); 167k+ words, 16/30 chapters Ah yes, here she is... the companion piece to the first 3 fics of "in for a penny, in for a pound" that I've been planning/contemplating ever since I did that first fic from Beth's POV for the series. I always wanted to show Beth's POV for all the major moments in the series, and then once I got started, I figured why not go all in and just do her POV for the entirety of the series thus far? It gives a little more insight into how she's feeling, why she does the things she does and says the things she says, and we also get to see exactly what she was doing all those times that Daryl couldn't help wondering about her (because I already knew in my head, but I thought it might be fun to share with everyone else). I also thought it would make the set-up for the next fic a little better, so we could try and understand Beth's motivations better and where she's at in her head. Of course, I got pretty into it and then hit a speed bump and then suddenly, lost all ability to write. It'll come back soon, though. I can't wait to finish this fic and move on to the next in the series, and eventually conclude Beth and Daryl's tumultuous journey in this fun little AU.

Small Miracles; 39k+ words, 6/10 chapters This is the fic that finally pushed me back into being able to write. I had no plans of writing for BHF 2023, and then I suddenly had this strike of inspiration for a very weird idea and decided to go with it and try and finish it in time to post for Christmas. I did manage to finish about 1/3rd of the fic in time, but I'm still writing it and haven't lost motivation yet, so that's a good sign! It's also just really fun and kind of cathartic to do a new exploration of Beth's journey through the eyes of an older Beth who survived Grady, with that fun little supernatural twist added to it. I can't wait to finish this one, because I've had a lot of fun writing it and really look forward to seeing what people think of her entire journey and the way it will conclude.

To everyone who's read my fics, left feedback, kudos, bookmarks, or even helped me bounce ideas off and come up with plans for fics... thank you so much! I appreciate everyone in this little fandom so, so much. Y'all mean the world to me, and I am so grateful that we have this wonderful community in our own little corner of the internet. Happy New Year to you all, and I hope 2024 brings you nothing but blessings!

[heylittleriotact]

✨Writing Interview Tag Game✨

Thanks you for the tag @preciouslittlebhaalbae - sorry this took absolutely forever to get to!

When did you start writing?

As soon as I was taught that a story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I was the weird savant kid in first grade that was writing far above the level of my peers, but my teacher became concerned about the content of my writing because it was all really graphic, vicious, violent horror stories that included scenarios like two girls walking home from school and finding a severed head on the playground - complete with a vivid description of its dead eyes and the gravel sticking to the gore and strips of flesh and viscera at the base of the neck. I got sent for some counselling sessions and was told by the adults in my life that I was a very talented writer, but that I should write nice stories that are happy and make people feel good. Clearly that didn't stick. Thank fuck for that.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I've been very lax on reading for the past ten years or so. I haven't been able to get into things or maintain focus on novels long enough to get properly into them, but I do enjoy a good biography or autobiography.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I'm very paranoid about my voice sounding too much like someone else's. I've been reading more recently than I have in years and it's reaaaaally screwing with my confidence when I start putting things on paper because I start questioning if it sounds derivative and has been subliminally influenced by the author I'm currently reading. I have been told in the past more than once that my style is reminiscent of Ne*l G*iman which is a compliment that has aged like milk, sadly.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I focus the best at work lol. I just chuck in a headphone, queue up some music, pull out my notebook and my fountain pen and away I go. I have a big, beautiful white marble topped reception desk and massive windows that look out into downtown. The reception area has nice warm pot-lights on dimmers so I don't have to suffer under fluorescent lights like everyone else. Overall 10/10 super cozy.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Music is a big one. I make character playlists for almost every major character I write with a mix of lyrical and instrumental music. It really helps me nail down motivations, personality, flaws, and how they feel.

Aside from that, going out and doing something always helps. Participating in something, observing people - all really great ways to find little pieces of life to cannibalize and turn into words.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

Hahahahahahahahahahaha

Alcoholism/substance abuse

PTSD/C-PTSD

Many other mental illnesses

Death and mortality

Magic as an entropic force that is largely misunderstood by those who study it

The first time I clocked the recurring nature of these themes I was like "huh" and now I just embrace them.

What is your reason for writing?

It's something I've always been compelled to do. As an abused child, it was very much an escape when I was young. As an abused adult, it was very much an escape when I got older. Writing has always been a great way for me to work through things that I've otherwise felt I have no control over. I can literally do whatever I want and it's very liberating.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

All of them. Any of them. The fact that anyone would take the time to not only read my writing, but also take the time to comment on it and give me their thoughts about it, how it made them feel, what they liked etc. is so meaningful to me. I write for myself and I don't change plots/directions based on what I think or know readers would like, so to have people trust in my vision and the direction it's going in and still come along for the ride is huge for me.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Hmmmm. I've never really thought about it. Mysterious and sexy, but pleasant and supportive seems like a nice way to be perceived.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

I've been told that I have a knack for battle/fight scenes, violence, and gore, which is unsurprising when one considers my tendencies when I wrote as a child.

How do you feel about your own writing?

I'm glad to be doing it again in the first place. I stopped altogether a few months into 2017 because I had used it as a coping mechanism for various abuses and traumas over the years, and then escaped the abuse and no longer required a coping mechanism. Anytime I tried to pick up a pen after that I just triggered myself and felt reminded of all the horrid reasons that I wrote in the first place.

Such a long gap has fucked with my skill and writing style and it's extremely noticeable when you hold up what I was working on in 2017 next to what I put out these days, but it's not necessarily a bad thing: the me that wrote like that doesn't exist anymore and that's okay. I'm having fun getting to know how I write now.

I very much danced around writing explicit sexual content for years on account of my face turning red and me giggling like a twelve year old every time I tried for years, but this year I've put serious effort into writing more smut and getting better at it. It's by no means perfect, but I'm really proud of how confidently I can approach sexual content these days.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

If I get too hung up on what other people want or might like I literally feel my characters cease to be mine and start to become weird gaseous inconsistencies in my mind. My stories deal with heavy themes, darkness, and personal struggles that I try to convey in a realistic way and that's not for everyone. Sometimes I wish I could just write nice happy stories like they told me to when I was a kid, but I feel like forcing myself into a box that isn't for me would be a betrayal to myself and this odd talent with words that I have.

Smut though? That's all about people-pleasing. Smut is written for me to enjoy, and you to enjoy, and anyone who comes across it to enjoy.

My brain is sore now so I won't tag anyone, but feel free to steal this if you'd like to!

[bluemooniegif]

besides bungo stray dogs, can u rcm me some manga having thought-provoking theme like that

ABSOLUTELY I CAN!! here are some manga, book and movie recs for you, cause I couldn't help myself :>

MANGA RECS:

1: The Case Study of Vanitas (Vanitas no Carte)

I knowww it's a cliche that BSD fans must also enjoy VNC, but it's genuinely just AHH so good!! it currently sits at 62.5 chapters (10 volumes & 9 uncollected chapters) and it has a 2-season anime adaptation. it's the second manga series by Jun Mochizuki, who's also well-known for her series Pandora Hearts, and is still ongoing.

set in 19th-century France, our story begins with Noe, a young vampire, who's excitedly travelling to Paris for the first time. in his travels, he encounters the strange and enigmatic Vanitas, a human who somehow possesses the power of the Vampire of the Blue Moon- a feared being shunned by the rest of the vampire world.

we learn from the very beginning that Noe is recounting this story to us, and that he kills Vanitas with his own hands- but why? how? nobody knows, but we're bound to find out!

2. Attack on Titan

I doubt anyone was expecting me to mention this one, because it has quite a reputation for being gore-filled and action-packed, but when I say this literally changed my life I'm really not kidding (I wouldn't have this blog or be into anime at all if not for AOT!). it's a completed story, with a four-season anime (including 3 OVA episodes) and 139 manga chapters (in the main storyline; there are multiple spin-offs and 2 bonus mangas/light novels).

many years ago, the final remnants of humanity were forced to flee into a city surrounded by three giant walls. these walls are the only things keeping humanity from perishing at the hand of the titans, giant humanoid figures who hunt and eat them. but a young boy, Eren, wants nothing more than to see the world beyond the wall- until a titan taller than their walls breaks into the city, throwing humanity (and Eren's life) into disarray.

though it's true that a large chunk of this animanga is action, the lore is incredible. I can't say too much without spoiling, but the thought-provoking aspects aren't talked about nearly as much as I think they should be. once you've finished watching or reading, I highly recommend you watch this video, which is one of my favourite video essays of all time!

BOOK RECS:

1. Slaughterhouse Five

this is one of my favourite books of all time, and it's only 177 pages, so it's a super quick read! not only is it severely anti-war, but it's deeply though-provoking. I think about it every day. I quote it regularly. I'd recommend it to anyone and everyone, especially now, with everything happening in the world.

I honestly don't have words for how much I love it, so here's the synopsis on Goodreads:

Prisoner of war, optometrist, time-traveller - these are the life roles of Billy Pilgrim, hero of this miraculously moving, bitter and funny story of innocence faced with apocalypse. Slaughterhouse 5 is one of the world's great anti-war books. Centring on the infamous fire-bombing of Dresden in the Second World War, Billy Pilgrim's odyssey through time reflects the journey of our own fractured lives as we search for meaning in what we are afraid to know.

2. No Longer Human

there are so many editions of this, and I would recommend all of them- this is my other favourite book of all time, by the way. I may be barking up the wrong tree when I tell a BSD fan to read Dazai, one of the most accessible and relatable Japanese authors for a Western audience, but hey, I've got to remind you just in case you haven't given it a shot.

No Longer Human follows the life of Yozo Oba, a boy born into a big rich family, who constantly feels at-odds with the world around him. it's an exploration of mental illness, social isolation, self-expression, and compassion. I actually have an entire youtube video talking about it and how BSD-Dazai reflects Yozo as much as irl-Dazai, and it's my pride and joy so please go watch it!

MOVIE RECS:

Okay, I only have one rec for you, but this movie haunts me (in the best way possible):

Forgotten (기억의 밤)

I really need more people to watch this actually because holy shit it was amazing and nobody talks about it!! WATCH IT!!! PLEASE!!!!

Jinseok watches his brother get kidnapped right before his eyes, and it powerless to do anything. 19 days later, he returns, and... something is different about him. Jinseok is determined to uncover the mystery surrounding his kidnapping.

the twists in this are actually insane. I can't tell you anything aside from the synopsis without spoiling major plot points. if you only take one recommendation I bed you to take this one.

okay that's all bye!!

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Dear diary,

I've been thinking why do I care what other people who don't know me say or think about me. I don't need to win some popularity contest yet I realize I've always cared about what others say. I suppose it was because I thought if I was being nice why would anyone be mean? The navieity of that.

I know I shouldn't think more on it, sure was there a little truth to what that random person said? yes but did they consider the effect of the words or give me a chance to better explain stuff so they might have a better understanding? No.

I could have replied with anger which I certainly felt and I could have pointed thier flaws out but I merely acknowledged thier perspective as informative while remaining calm.

I mean you think a person would appreciate calmness over emotional outbursts. Of course that's not to say I am always calm either.

Well onwards to another topic, I watched Red and Red 2 recently and very good movies. I don't care what anyone says there is something sexy about characters that are in the line of dangerous work, like assassins, spies etc. I wouldn't have called the police like the fl, (first movie) obviously Bruce Willis is just gorgeous and he could fuck me anytime.

I completed my workout and added in additional routine sets that I had taken a little break from and I remembered to stretch this time before starting sets, yay me lol.

As I was working out I got annoyed as some days I find it takes a little longer to complete set than other days. Although since recently upped reps it's to be expected that a couple of days may be needed before get into a comfortable pace during set. Honestly I feel like that can be the most difficult finding the right pace and literally remembering to breathe properly during workout sets.

I found a quiz that models or aspiring models use to help guide them with getting into shape and it made me feel so much better about myself. I mean maybe it's silly since I know am not a Victoria secret model physic yet but I am including the link in case others want to take the quiz as well.

It recommends diet and exercise focus regimens as well as has offer for program not that I'll be doing that as prefer not paying to participate in workout programs.

I also don't think it was accurate on diet, like do I love carbs? Absolutely but I can't just eat as many as I like without suffering the consequences.

I also found that my prior liking to believe I was an hourglass figure shape was incorrect so much for being a classic bombshell beauty..... I have a rectangular shape which apparently is considered less womanly and more girly. I'll take it tho as apparently such body types are recommended for model industry.

I also have according to the quiz results have what's classified as an Ectomorph body. It may just be marketing to get people to buy into thier workout program in hopes of achieving model physic of Victoria secret models but thanks for making me feel slightly better about myself.

Of course I think I'll wait til April before purchasing any sexy swimsuits.

[herunswithscissors]

None of this stuff is serious or complete and it all comes with a huge helping of "perhaps" and a grain of salt.

Nothing here is meant to be taken as the final word on anything. No matter how sure of myself and arrogant I may sound. I know most of this stuff I write is silly or off-kilter or flawed in major ways.

Caveat is on factual things and stuff in my wheelhouse. My wheelhouse is a network of really big wheelhouses. I know my shit about history, White Supremacy, archeology, paleontology, biology, chemistry, and physics to be able to say some things more authoritatively than others. When I say the Bible is a conglomerate of writings hand-picked by elite super-rich political priests out of all the choices they could have made and that it was assembled to control and inspire military and slaves to do what the rich want us to do, that is a fact. I don't mean

maybe you're right and Paul transcribed what Holy Spirit told him to, word for word, while dictating all those letters late at night and then those letters were carefully preserved and passed down like scriptures in a collection of scriptures that included the Gospels, Acts, Romans, Epistles, and Revelation exactly as they are in your Holman Christian Standard.

But moving on:

This is literally just stuff I thought of while high and wrote down on a tiny phone touch pad with my fumbly middle-aged thumbs in the middle of the night because they sounded like something interesting to think about in the morning. It ain't all coherent. (not that anyone is real coherent while sober either)

So don't look for the flaws. You will no doubt find them. Look for what is new, different, insightful, creative, revolutionary, outrageous, or true. Try to understand the ideas and test those. Maybe each blog entry, as a whole, is a wreck for you. But there will parts that are treasures for you.

It ain't all that earth-shattering or revelatory to the world either, just to me at the time. We are all becoming and we all figure things out or learn things at different times in our lives and often independently of others. Sometimes we really are the first person to think of an idea. Usually not. There are over 5000 years of recorded human thought and at this very moment there are around 8 billion other people. There is going to be a lot of convergent thinking going on. And a whole lot more of me hearing things sometime somewhere but forgetting where I heard it from (because I am a very curious and highly educated person who's been around and thinking for a longish time and it's hard to keep track of where all the shit in my head came from and which I created) from others or getting bits and pieces others worked on first and I had heard/read and then put a few things together in my head thinking it was all me.

So I don't promise they will all be new ideas. But they will all be new ways of looking at them. And I do think you'll find a few real originals in there as I transfer stuff from my gmail drafts over to this.

If I have a weird-ass idea or loving take on things that changes the world for the better, God bless it. But I'm just here to share what my brain spit out while high for our mutual shits and giggles.

Even if I think there might be some really good stuff buried in there for anyone to find if they have the eyes to see and the ears to hear and the heart to understand.

[apple-grass-and-smiles]

While everyone and their mother has commented on the scene from 2x10 where Dani and Malcolm talk about Gerald and his validity as a witness in the case, I have thoughts and decided I wanted to inflict them on you.

Basically, I come down on the side of neither of them really being in the wrong, but if pushed to choose someone who is most correct, it'd be Dani. I'll explain why below in the form of a list.

Some Things to Consider/Know About the Argument:

1. That I'm only calling it an argument for the sake of ease. I think a better term might be 'debate' or 'tense conversation' because while, at least from Bright's side of things, it may have the emotional weight of an argument, it likely wouldn't if a neutral third party saw it happen.

2. Both parties are entering the conversation in good faith. Dani has historically done nothing but be kind and try to be understanding of mental health as far as we've seen. There's no reason to think that anything she said was meant to be malicious. Same can be said of Bright, who is normally very happy to explain mental health issues if people aren't speaking as carefully as they should and has shown respect to Dani/Gil/JT when it came to expertise on police work.

3. Malcolm, bless his heart, is projecting SO HARD. It is a basic truth of Prodigal Son that Bright projects on people, but this is intense, even for him. It's clear from 2x09 that he is struggling not only with how his secrets are keeping him from people, but also how his mental health makes him feel like an outsider. Those emotions are heightened during this episode and then you add in Gerald who is basically Malcolm on the surface (both people who are exceptional experts in their field, who are kept from the life they want and the things they love by mental illness/shame/secrets, but desperately want to connect with the world, despite feeling they can never fit in). Therefore, when Dani talks about Gerald, Bright is assuming she thinks those things of him too and takes them personally even though we have no reason to think she means them that way or knows that that's how Bright is interpreting her words.

An edit after initial posting: I don’t blame Malcolm for projecting. It happens to everyone and he’s dealing with A Lot. However, my view of mental health is that while it limits your agency and choices, it does not relieve you of accountability. Just because Malcolm doesn’t choose the feel a connection to Gerald, doesn’t mean he’s not responsible to try and recognize that and then take a step back and remember that he and Gerald are separate people. It’s not fair that he has to do that, but it’d be equally unfair for him to expect everyone else to automatically compensate for his mental state, especially since he has not communicated to them how deeply he’s connecting with Gerald. It’s not fair or right, but sadly that’s how mental illness works in my eyes.

4. Dani and Malcolm are coming at this argument from two fundamentally different points of view. The biggest issue here is that Malcolm's background is in psychology, which is going to be more focused on health and improving the client's life, while Dani is in a police mindset, which deals with solving the case and helping people by getting the murderer off the street. Both of these views are necessary and they're why Bright is such a valuable addition to the team, but...

5. The conversation is fundamentally about Gerald in a POLICE/COURT CONTEXT. The start of this arguement is JT saying "I think we've got a problem. Let's say Clayton did murder Rosalie, could we even get Gerald to court?" and then Gil follows up with, "And if he did testify, what kind of witness would he be?" The argument stems from them needing to consider if their suspect would end up walking because their witness wouldn't be able to leave the house. Which is definitely something they should be concerned about because part of the job of law enforcement officers is making sure that your case is solid, which means your witnesses need to be as consistent as possible.

6. Context makes it clear that no one is making value judgements on Gerald's character; they're discussing if he'd be an unreliable witness. The first thing here is that being a witness, especially in a case where you'd be testifying as the sole witness of a murder, is a) stressful, b) pushes people out of their comfort zone, and c) a skill. My dad was a police officer for the first 18 years of my life, which meant he spent a lot of time in court and fundamentally, being a witness is something you get practice at. You learn how to answer questions, what lawyers are actually asking you when they say certain things, how far you can/should go in your testimony, all sorts of stuff. Gerald, to our knowledge, has never testified in court, is scared to so much as open his door, and deals with insane amounts of anxiety on a regular day where no one comes to his home. To ask him to leave his house for the first time in 14 years to go and testify at a murder trial where he would likely be brutally investigated by opposing counsel (you could very easily make a case that he's crazy/untrustworthy/unhinged because of his agoraphobia and it'd be hard to get a jury to forget those claims) would be fundamentally cruel. No one on the team, but especially Gil/Dani/JT, is in a position to give Gerald the proper emotional and legal help to make sure that he could hold up under questioning so using him as a witness would likely mean essentially throwing him to the wolves and, by extension, tossing their case. Their job is to catch the killer and if that means going in a different direction and looking for a witness who won't struggle as much in court, that's what they need to do.

7. "Agoraphobia does not make Gerald an unreliable witness." Bright is right when he says this, but Dani is also right when she indicates in the line before that Gerald does not qualify as a reliable witness. How can this be, you may be wondering? Bright is talking about being reliable as in being trustworthy. Dani is using it to mean consistent and able to hold up under pressure. Agoraphobia doesn't mean you can't trust Gerald's information or that he shouldn't be believed. However, it would make it difficult for him to meet Dani's definition of a reliable witness. That's not Gerald's fault or anyone's fault, but it is a reality of the legal system and Dani knows how to work within that system. (Bright likely does too to a certain extent, but as an FBI agent he would have been working on a federal level, while Dani would be used to state-level stuff and those are two VASTLY different arenas. Additionally, it's not entirely clear exactly how Bright's profiling cases worked out in terms of if and when he'd testify, but he mostly likely would have been testifying as an expert witness/leaning on his psychological training more than law enforcement training when he was in court.)

8. Dani calling Gerald 'messed up', 'strange', and 'cursed' is not the most tactful, but certainly not enough of an issue to throw her under the bus. First things first, 'strange' within context of what she's saying is referring to Gerald's situation, not Gerald, so I personally don't see a reason for that being an issue since it is a strange situation. Referring to someone as 'messed up' could definitely not be a great look, but I think it really comes down to personal preference. I wouldn't mind it because I know my mental illness does make me messed up at times so I don’t mind the term, but I also know people who would be hurt by that (granted, it's not exactly one of the worst things you can call someone). Really though, it’s dealer’s choice and if it hurts you, I totally get it; this is just my opinion/POV. Finally, Dani says Gerald is cursed to never leave his house and I could argue for a very long time that she's perfectly fine to say that because both in the context of the conversation and Dani's character as a whole, that comment is her trying to be empathetic and realizing that Gerald is not at fault for how he lives his life. It could be worded better, but she means well and the intention, as long as she's willing to improve her wording if it hurts people, is what matters here. She’s aware that sometimes mental illness feels like a curse and I think that wording makes it clear she doesn’t judge Gerald for his actions.

Final thoughts and TL;DR: I really don't think either party is at fault here. They both have very valid points and pretty clear reasons to think what they do. (Malcolm probably could have used a quick reminder that everyone was talking about Gerald and not him, but that's really it.) If I had to crown a "winner", Dani gets it because the conversation was always about the legal system and she's the most in the right about that issue. Malcolm had great points as well and might have “won” if this wasn’t a conversation specifically happening in the context of police work. She, like everyone, could definitely benefit from learning more about mental health and how to talk about it, but I think she has proven throughout the show that she tries to be as kind and accepting of others as she can. This was a point where she slipped up on wording, but her points were valid.

[sinnetsins]

Sunshine part 2?

SUNSHINE PT. 2

Part 1

WARNINGS: pining, angst, fluff

——————————————

The first time I laid eyes on regulus Black, I knew I needed him. He wasn’t the most talkative, nor was he the nicest but I saw him, I noticed him.

So I sat next to him in the library, everyday in fact. I was determined to break this face he put on, a face so transparent, that anyone who really saw him would see through it.

He knew everything about me including my favorite color, in exchange, though it took time, I knew everything he gave me about himself too.

I couldn’t help the looks I gave him even if he caught me, I just wish he knew how I felt.

He isn’t anything like people said.

It’s been a couple months since I’ve been in his company, we’ve shared a lot together in this time. I even knew his favorite color.

Blue.

But today was an exceptionally brilliant day.

Today was the day I finally decided to voice my feelings about Regulus to himself. I would tell him what he meant to me, the feelings I’ve harbored for these couple months would no longer be thoughts in my head.

He didn’t speak all that much, which wasn’t abnormal, I took to rambling more than usual. I blame it on my nerves but it felt worse because he wasn’t saying anything at all.

I rack my brain for a subject he would comment on hoping I wasn’t annoying him, “Oh! Have you started on your Potions essay? I still can’t choose which po-“

“Why are you here everyday I am?” He interrupts me.

Because I love you.

“What do you mean by that?” I look up at him and tilt my head, giving a small smile.

“Would you not rather be by your friends?” He looks up at me finally.

This might be easier than I thought.

“Well I- aren’t we friends? I want to spend time with you-” I smile and my hand goes to reach for his from under the table before he cuts me off again.

“Are we?” He spits.

I retract my hand and my smile falters as I furrow my brows in confusion. I open my mouth to reply but-

“I mean you’ve gone out of your own way to sit next to me for the past two months, every single day. I don’t exactly remember extending an invitation.” His words sting like salt and lemon in a wound.

I no longer feel the happiness to smile, instead I feel the overwhelming hurt that makes hot tears prick my eyes, that makes my heart beat into my ears, a hurt that makes my throat dry enough to silence me.

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth as I cry, “Y/N you don’t need to cry.” I look at him as he has the audacity to act annoyed, maybe sympathetic if I didn’t know better.

I wrap my bag around my shoulder, and with the question of ‘Are you leaving’, and with his insincere apology, I broke.

I broke and told him what I had planned to, he said nothing, which is in fact, worse than anything, literally anything else.

I walked away.

I walked away from him, I walked away and he didn’t even come after me.

So I sulked back to my dorm with tears streaming down my face and let my feelings loose. I cried harder. I laid there all day and felt sorry for myself, but I was warned.

You should’ve known better.

———————-

I notice the hurt less now.

I spend more time with my friends and also making them, I almost feel normal again.

Whenever I catch a glimpse of him I still feel the emptiness of his company everyday. Of our bonding, of his smile, and the way he smells. But he hurt me.

He gave me meaning to feeling blue.

It’s been a month now and I find myself missing him more recently. So I try to open myself up to other boys, but none compare.

I can’t be happy without him.

I stalk down the empty corridor stuck in my thoughts, running my hand across the brick as I walk.

“Y/N?” I turn to meet the voice.

I stand across from Regulus completely frozen. He stares for a moment before speaking again, “Can I please talk to you?” He takes a step toward me.

I move back a step, “Please I- please just let me talk to you.” He says quietly, taking a couple more steps forward.

“Please let me apologize.” He continues walking forward, I stay frozen in my spot.

He looks down at me, slowly bringing his hand to grasp my own pulling me nearly flush to his chest. I look up meeting his gaze.

“I miss you, so much.” His fingers interlace with mine, “I was such a fucking ass, you never deserved that. I’m so sorry.” His eyes are pleading.

I grip his hand back and let out a shaky breath, “It’s okay-“

“No. No it’s not okay, I hurt you and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I couldn’t wrap my head around why someone like you, would want to be around me.” He brings his free hand up to run his thumb over my cheek.

“You could be with anyone, someone who isn’t so cold and sour all the time. Someone who’s as bright and wonderful as you. You could have whoever you want-“

“But I wanted you Regulus. I wanted you and I chose you. I will always choose you.” I feel tears run down my cheek and close my eyes.

He sighs and places his forehead on mine, his hand finds the back of my neck, his other hand grips mine tighter.

“And I will always choose you.” He whispers.

“Regulus?” I whisper.

“Hm?” His fingers find their way to my hair.

“Please kiss me.”

I can feel his smile as our lips meet, its as equally hungry as it is wanting. I wind my hands into his hair and pull him closer, wanting more of him, all of him.

We sigh into the kiss before he releases my hand and places his on the small of my back, he glides his tongue across my bottom lip, a silent ask for entrance which I grant.

Our tongues fight for dominance, the taste of him making me dizzy, I can’t help but want more.

“Never leave me again.” He breaks apart from me, panting slightly.

“Never.” I say breathlessly before devouring him all over again.

[rjalker]

Here is the text to read on tumblr. Copy and paste and download it wherever you want. Share it on a completely separate reblog so people I have blocked can also get it.

I have not actually read it while editing (it's a skill), so I can't offer any warnings for it. I will actually read it tomorrow, which is when I'll also upload it to the web archive. You can also upload it to the web archive, and other sites, literally whatever you want. It's public domain. Because I just sat here and fixed it and I fucking said so.

If you see any errors that are Obviously My Fault and not the original text, let me know.

(Archived read-more link that anyone, including people I have blocked, can click to read the story.)

The Black Vampyre;

A Legend of St. Domingo.

By Uriah Derick D’arcy

So have I seen, upon another shore, Another Lion give a grievous roar; And the last Lion thought the first—A BOAR!

-Bombast. Furios

_______

SECOND EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. NEW -YORK: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR.

1819.

TO THE

AUTHOR OF “WALL-STREET.”

MY DEAR SIR,

CHARMED with the success of your anomalous drama, which, without aspiring even to the character of nonsense, has already seen three editions, I have been myself induced to venture on publishing; with the sanguine hope of also scraping together a few shillings, in these hard times. Permit me to inscribe this tale to you, with a fellow-feeling for your lack of genius; and a fervent hope, that our names may be encircled by the same evergreen in the temple of the Muses; and that we may long flourish together, on the same pedestal, embellishing and elevating the literature of the Auction Room.

I remain, My dear Sir, Your affectionate Friend, And obedient Servant, THE AUTHOR.

Introduction

If any person should have patience to read the following narrative, and can discover the Author’s drift, it is more than he can do himself. If it be thought exquisite nonsense, it is more than the writer dares hope: and if it be pronounced simple, stupid, and unadulterated absurdity, his own private opinion will perfectly coincide with that of the public. He began to write without any fable, and before he had found any had spun out the thread of his ideas.

This tangled skein of absurdities is now exposed to criticism, from the laudable motive of showing, of how much nonsense an individual may be delivered, in the short space of two afternoons; without any excuse but idleness, or any object but amusement.

The prominent descriptions, which it is here attempted to ridicule, are fresh in the memory of all who have read the “White Vampyre;” and to those who have not, the Superstition must be so familiar, that it is unnecessary to make useless extracts.

That the Author may not, however, be misunderstood, it may be necessary to state, that in the speech of the Vampyre, he had no design of descending to that meanest of all intellectual exercises, a travestie on authors who are justly admired: but meant, if any thing, simply to show how passages, which were fine in their original use, when garbelled by the ignorant and tasteless, become a melancholy rhapsody of nonsense.

“But first on earth, as Vampyre sent, Thy corse shall from its tomb be rent; Then ghastly haunt thy native place, And suck the blood of all thy race; There from thy daughter, sister, wife, At midnight drain the stream of life; Yet loathe the banquet, which perforce Must feed thy livid living corse. Thy victims, ere they yet expire, Shall know the demon for their sire; As cursing thee, thou cursing them, Thy flowers are withered on the stem. But one that for thy crime must fall, The youngest, best beloved of all, Shall bless thee with a father’s name— That word shall wrap thy heart in flame! Yet thou must end thy task and mark Her cheek’s last tinge—her eye’s last spark, And the last glassy glance must view Which freezes o’er its lifeless blue; Then with unhallowed hand shall tear The tresses of her yellow hair, Of which, in life a lock when shorn Affection’s fondest pledge was worn— But now is borne away by thee Memorial of thine agony! Yet with thine own best blood shall drip Thy gnashing tooth, and haggard lip; Then stalking to thy sullen grave, Go—and with Gouls and Afrits rave, Till these in horror shrink away From spectre more accursed than they.”

-BYRON.

The Black Vampyre

Mr. ANTHONY GIBBONS was a gentleman of African extraction. His ancestors emigrated from the eastern coast of GUINEA, in a French ship, and were sold in ST. DOMINGO remarkably cheap; as they were reduced to mere skeletons by the yaws on the passage; and all died shortly after their arrival, except one small negro, of a very slender constitution, and fit for no work whatever. The gentleman who purchased him, charitably knocked out his brains; and the body was thrown into the ocean. The tide returning in the night, it was washed upon the sands; and the moon then shining bright, the gentleman was taking a walk to enjoy the coolness of the evening; judge of his surprise, when the little corpse got up, and complaining of a pain in its bowels, begged for some bread and butter!

The PLANTER supposing his business to have been but half done, kicked him back in the water. The element seemed very familiar to him; and he swam back with much grace and agility; parting the sparkling waves with his jet black members, polished like ebony, but reflecting no sin- gle beam of light. His complexion was a dead black;—his eyes a pure white;—the iris was flame colour;—and the pupils of a clear, moonshiny lustre;—but so peculiarly constructed, that, though prominent, they seemed to look into his own head. His hair was neither curled nor straight; but feathery, like the plumage of a crow. Having paddled again on shore, he came crawling crab fashion, to the feet of Mr. PERSONNE.The latter gentleman, in considerable alarm, (not knowing whether it was Satan, Obi, or some other worthy, with whom he had to deal,) mustered up sufficient resolution, to tie a large stone round the boy’s middle: then, with a main exertion of strength, he hurled him into the sparkling ocean. He fell where the reflection of the moon was brightest, and sunk like lead; but immediately rose again like cork, perpendicularly, with the stone under his arm; while the radiant lustre of the planet retreated from his dark figure, exhibiting in its most striking contrast its utter blackness!

In this predicament, he came buoyant to land; surrounded, as he seemed, by a sphere of magic lustre. He now walked up to the Frenchman, with his arms a-kimbo, and looking remarkably fierce. Mr. PERSONNE’S particular hairs stood up on end,but being ashamed that a little negro of ten years old, should put him in bodily fear, he knocked him down. The Guinea-man rose again, without bending a joint; as fast as Mr. PERSONNE could upset him, he recovered his altitude; just like one of those small toys, fabricated from pith, tipt with lead, called witches and hobgoblins by the rising generation!

The PLANTER, in utter amazement and despair, took hold of the child by both his extremities; and pressing him to the earth, set down upon him! Then, halloing for is attendants, he ordered a tremendous fire to be kindled on the sand!! This was accordingly done. The GAUL congratulated himself on his perseverance and sagacity; and as he had never heard of ignaqueous animals, was confident that though the water fiend was so expert in his own element, he could not stand the fiery ordeal. The boy, meanwhile, lay perfectly passive, as if he had been a mere log; but presently, when the pile was all in a light blaze, with a sudden expansion, like that of a compressed Indian Rubber, he popped Mr. PERSONNE up into the air many yards, and he alighted head-foremost into the fire, where he had intended to have dedicated the sable brat, with his nine lives, to Moloch!!!

Whatever the negro was, it is notorious that Mr. PERSONNE was no salamander. He was rescued from the pyre, which, like Hercules, he had, (though unwittingly,) erected for himself; looking like a squizzed cat, and having apparently no life left in his body. The attention of the domestics was drawn entirely to their master; who soon betrayed signs of animation, though he exhibited a most awful. spectacle: being one continual sore and blister. “His whole body was one wound,” as Virgil or some other poet has hyperbolically expressed himself.

Mr. PERSONNE, when he perfectly recovered his senses, found himself in his own bed, wrapt in greasy sheets, and smarting as if in a Cayenne bath. He called for a glass of brandy,—his dear wife EUPHEMIA,—and his infant son, who had not yet been christened. His lady, with streaming eyes, presented herself before him; and, after tenderly inquiring into the state of his health, told him, (with a voice interrupted with sobs and hiccups,) that when she went in the morning to see her baby, whom she had left in the cradle, there was nothing to be seen, but the skin, hair, and nails!!! She declared that there never was such another object; except, indeed, the exsiccation in Scudder’s Museum!

On the receipt of this horrid intelligence, Mr. PERSONNE was seized with a violent spasmodic affection; and shortly after expired, muttering something about sacre, and the Guinea-negro!

The amiable, but unfortunate Euphemia, was thrown into several hysterical convulsions; as well she might be, poor woman! when her husband had been made a holocaust, and served up like a broiled and peppered chicken, to feed the grim maw of death; and her interesting infant, the first pledge of her pure and perfect love, had been precociously sucked, like an unripe orange, and nothing left but its beautiful and tender skin. The disconsolate widow caused her husband to be embalmed; and he was buried amid the lamentations and tears of all the funeral; much regretted by all who had the honour of his acquaintance, particularly by his negroes; who could not soon forget him; as he had left too many sincere marks of his regard upon their backs, to be ever obliterated from their recollections.

Time, as all the Greek tragedians, Solomon, and others have remarked, is a benevolent deity. Mrs. PERSONNE’S grief yielded to the soothing hand of the consoling power; and her bloom and spirits returned with more lustre and elasticity than they had before exhibited: as the rose, that had drooped in the fury of the passing storm, erects its blushing honours, and shows more beautiful and vivid tints, when the squall is over!

Many years after these occurrences took place, while EUPHEMIA was in second mourning for her third husband, she was indulging in the luxury of solitary grief; and reading Burton’s Anatomy of Melancholy, and The Melancholy Poems of Dr. Farmer, in an orangerie. The refreshing breezes from the ocean, which now tempered the sultry heats of the declining day,—the soft perfume of the opening blossoms;—and the mellow tints of the evening sky, shedding that holy light, so dear to sensitive hearts, diffused a calm over her soul, wrapt in the contemplation of departed days. While lost in this pensive reverie, she perceived two strangers approaching her, in the extremity of the long vista of the grove. One of them was a coloured gentleman, of remarkable height, and deep jetty blackness; a perfect model of the CONGO Apollo. He was drest in the rich garb of a Moorish Prince; and led by the hand a pale European boy, in an Asiatic dress; whose languid countenance, slender form and tristful gait, were strongly contrasted with the portly appearance and majestic step of his conductor!

They both saluted the lovely widow, and after an interchange of compliments, accepted her polite invitation to set down, and take tea with her in the bower. She learned from the elder stranger, that he had brought out a cargo of slaves, whom his subjects had lately taken prisoners in war; and whom he had resolved to dispose of himself; as he was desirous of seeing the world. His Page, he said, was an orphan, left by a slave merchant in Africa.

The manners and conversation of the PRINCE had an irresistible charm. The regal port was manifest in his gigantic and well proportioned frame; and majesty was conspicuous on his brow, without its diadem. The turban and crescent had never graced a nobler front; but the win- ning condescension of his tones and language, while they could not banish the feeling of the presence of royalty, removed every restraint incident to that consciousness. He criticised the works, which EUPHEMIA had been perusing, with masterly precision; and displayed more knowledge than even the accomplished ideologist of Lady Morgan; with infinitely more discretion and good sense.

It is remarked by the Abbe Reynal, that there is a peculiar elegance and beauty in the complexion of the Africans, (when the eyes and nose are accustomed to their hue and odour.) This truth was realized by EUPHEMIA, as she gazed on the open visage of her illustrious guest. She thought surely that in him Nature might stand up and say “This was a man!” And certainly it is only the weakness and imperfection of our human senses, which, penetrating no further than the surface, is for ever deceived by superficial shadows. The empyrean is always blue, whatever vapours may float in our contracted atmosphere. And if we gaze on the rows of skulls, which festoon and garnish Surgeon’s Hall, we can apply no standard, to determine their relative beauty. They are all equally ugly; and the block of Helen might be mistaken for that of Medusa. Shakspeare, true to nature, has also remarked, “Black men are pearls in beauteous ladies’ eyes.”

The beauty then, the royalty, gentility, and various accomplishments of the BAMBUCK monarch, made captive the too sensible heart of the French widow. She forgot her ogles, graces, and even her loquacity; rooted to her seat, and fixed in immoveable contemplation of the AFRICAN’S face. What peculiar feature or lineament attracted her attention, she knew not: his eyes, though bright, did not sparkle; and the iris, though of a more vivid red than the roseate line in the rainbow, emitted no scintillations. In fact, his whole countenance seemed to look, and to perambulate her own.

The conversation gradually assumed a more empassioned and amorous complexion; and the little page, (who, though meagre and emaciated, evidently showed that he was no gump for his years,) taking certain broad hints, cast a mournful and intelligent look on the widow, said he would fetch a short walk in the plantation, and left the orangerie.

The PRINCE then spreading his glittering sash upon the grass, went down on his knees upon it; and broke out into the most ardent exclamations, of love and admiration; and professions of constant attachment. He said that the flat-nosed beauties of Zara; the scarred, squab figures of the golden coast; the well proportioned Zilias, Calypsos, and Zamas on the banks of the Niger; and even the great Hottentot Venus herself, had never for a moment made the least impression on his heart! His passion was a mystery to himself; its origin secret as the sources of the Nile ; but full and impetuous as its ample channel, when replenished from the celestial fountains of ABYSSINIA; while if Mrs. DUBOIS would shine upon its waves, its enlivened currents would fertilize his vast dominions, in the luxuriant realms of central Africa; making them to fructify yet more abundantly, with burning gold, and radiant diamonds!!!

What female heart could resist such pleadings, and the compliment implied in such a preference? When ZEMBO (the page) returned, the parties had agreed to be privately united on the same evening. The ceremony was accordingly performed, on the spot, by the family chaplain of Mrs. DUBOIS: not without many remonstrances on his part, as to the impropriety of marrying a negro. The PRINCE did not see to resent the affront; which, by the by, he had no right to do; as the priest got nothing for the job. ZEMBO, too, was extremely restless; till Mrs. DUBOIS gave him some sweetmeats, which seemed to quiet his conscience; after which he took some stiff punch, and fell asleep!

About midnight, the PRINCE came to him; and, shaking him by the ears, bad him rise and follow him. His bride was hanging on his arm, in an enchanting dishabille; and did not seem to be in perfect possession of her right senses. ZEMBO mournfully followed the new married pair.

They went silently out of the back door, with cautious steps, and proceeded through the orangerie. No breath of wind was stirring. The moon was on the zenith, surrounded by a pale halo of ghostly lustre. When they had crossed the plantation, they came to a place of sepulture; where the dark cypresses, and lugubrious mahogany, admitted but sparse and glimmering streaks of funereal light; which, falling on the rank foliage, the white monuments and broken ground beneath, presented a thousand dusky shapes, flitting in the dim uncertainty dear to superstition.

Vague terrors seized on the mind of the bride; and she began very naturally to inquire, what was the use of getting out of a comfortable bed, and trailing through the heavy dew, in her undress, to such an unusual spot for midnight recreation.

They now stood near the spot, where her three husbands, several children, and the skin, hair and nails of her first baby, were deposited in a row. At the foot of a tamarind, lay her third son; whose christian name was SPOONER, and who died, according to the tombstone, in a fit of intoxication, aged seven years and six months. On him she had bestowed a greater share of tenderness, than any of her other offspring; and his loss had caused her most affliction. The African, making observations on the grave, began to strip himself very expeditiously, assisted by ZEMBO; who seemed to recover from his blues; and by his activity and eagerness, manifested his expectation of soon seeing some fine sport.

Presently the two genii, or gentlemen, or whatever they were, turned towards the East, and performed certain antic prostrations; throwing handfuls of earth three times over their heads. Then returning to the tomb, they tore up the sods with ravenous fury; and soon drew out the last- mentioned son of the Lady, and threw him on the grass, beside the grave. ZEMBO fell as fiercely upon the corpse, as a hungry dog upon his dinner; but was arrested by the AFRICAN, who lent him a severe box on the ear, which sent him blubbering to a corner of the cemetery.

What added both to the mother’s horrors and admiration, was, that the body of her child was perfectly fresh, and the olfactory nerves experienced no unsavoury sensation from its proximity; while its cheeks were diffused with so deep a tinge of scarlet, that they shone like ruddy fireballs in the darkness of the spot. Her husband drew a golden goblet from beneath a large stone; then, bending over the corse, he scooped out the heart, with his long and polished nails; and, having pressed the blood into the chalice, mingled with it some dark particles, gathered from the newly turned up earth. From the pure and scanty lymph, which gushed near by and flickered like a streak of quicksilvery-light in the moonbeam, he added a third ingredient of the potion. Then seizing his passive and trembling spouse by the throat, and presenting the unnatural mixture to her lips; he cried in a hollow voice, whose very inflection thrilled through each fibre of its victim,—“Swear, or if that is against your principles, affirm, by this dirty blood,—and bloody dirt;—by this watery blood,—and bloody water;—by this watery dirt, and dirty water;—that you will never disclose in any manner, aught of what you have seen and shall see this night. Call them all to witness your wish, that in the moment when you even conceive the thought of perjury, your bowels may burst out, and your bones rot! Swear and drink!”

The affrighted woman murmured, (as articulately as the iron gripe of the monster would suffer her,) that she was not thirsty; and had not breath enough to aspirate such a terrible conjuration. “No trifling;” roared the fiend, “you have not a moment to deliberate.” But his bellowing and threats were vain; and he found to his mortification that he had gotten the wrong sow by the ear, or rather by the throat. She stuttered out, in the most pitiful accents, which would have softened any heart (but a Vampyre has none,) that though she was by no means partial to the delectable confectionary of the pharmacopeia, calomel and jalap, ipecacuanha, rhubarb, and tartar-emetic, she would rather take them all, collectively and individually, than the unchristian decoction he held against her teeth.

Foaming with madness, till the white slaver flowed down his sable limbs, the African hurled MRS. PERSONNE, DUBOIS, &c. &c. on the grave of her first husband, and stamping violently on the earth, it seemed to heave as with the throes of an earthquake. Immediately the tumuli yawned. The ponderous stones and slabs were shaken from their ancient sockets; and the ghastly dead, in uncouth attitudes, crawled from their nooks; with their hair curling in tortuous and serpent twinings; and their eyeballs of fire bursting from their heads; while, as they extended their withered arms, and tapering fingers, furnished with blood-hound claws, their gory shrouds fell in wild drapery around them, transiently revealing their forms, bloated as if to bursting, and often incarnadined with clotted blood, yet warm and dripping!!!

The Lady, (as those who have been in similar predicaments may suppose,) soon lost her recollection; not, however, before she had seen ZEMBO busily employed in tearing up the grave of her first husband; she saw herself surrounded by the spectres, and lost all consciousness.

When reason and sense returned, she found herself in the same place; and it was also the midnight hour. She was laying by the grave of Mr. PERSONNE, and her breast was stained with blood. A wide wound appeared to have been inflicted there, but was now cicatrized. Imagine if you can, her surprise; when, by a certain carniverous craving in her maw, and by putting this and that together, she found she was a—VAMPYRE!!! and gathered from her indistinct reminiscences, of the preceding night, that she had been then sucked; and that it was now her turn to eject the peaceful tenants of the grave!

With this delightful prospect of immortality before her, she began to examine the graves, for subject to a satisfy her furious appetite. When she had selected one to her mind, a new marvel arrested her attention. Her first husband got up out his coffin, and with all the grace so natural to his countrymen, made her a low bow in the last fashion, and opened his arms to receive her!

What were the emotions of this fond couple, when, after a lingering separation for sixteen years, they again embraced each other, with the ardour of an affection equal to their earliest transports, and which their long divorce served only to increase; tenderly inquiring into the state of each other’s health; and the accidents which had befallen them during their disjunction. They forgot even their hunger and thirst; and sitting down on a tombstone, made a thousand inquiries; which, however, they related to family concerns, might not be as interesting to the reader as they were to the parties concerned.

Mr. PERSONNE, however, looked rather glum, when he learned that his Lady had been thrice married, since his decease. But she assured him, that she would never more tolerate the addresses of another suitor: and as for the two husbands, they were rotten enough by this time; as she was confident they had not attended the Vampyre Ball, on the preceding night. As for her sable spouse, she trusted that he would never again appear to interrupt their happiness. But while she was expressing this hope, the gentleman in question, (like his relation below, according to the old proverb,) came upon the ground, with ZEMBO. Mr. PERSONNE, having neither sword nor pistols at hand, armed himself with a gigantic thigh-bone; and warned the BLACK PRINCE to stand upon his guard as he meant to punish him severely.

But ZEMBO, rushing between the parties, raised his hands in a supplicating posture; while the generous monarch, making a Salam to his antagonist, begged him, keep himself quiet, and look behind him. They both turned round on this intimation, when, to the utter confusion of the Lady, her second and third husbands, Messieurs MARQUAND and DUBOIS, arose from the graves, where they had been lovingly deposited by the side of each other. They both advanced to salute their wife; but Mr. PERSONNE, brandishing his thigh-bone, warned them to stand off, as he had the first title to the Lady. Much confusion would have ensued, had not the African Prince interfered. He told the gentlemen that so delicate a point could only be settled in an honourable way; and proposed that Mr. MARQUAND and Mr. DUBOIS should first settle their difference in a personal encounter; after which Mr. PERSONNE might give the survivor gentlemanly satisfaction. To this all parties assented.

As they were already stripped, the combatants shook hands, to show their mutual good-will; and proceeded to action, without further ceremony. Mr. DuBois soon brought claret from Mr. MARQUAND; who, in returning the compliment, fibbed Mr. DUBOIS so severely in the bowels, that he lost his wind; and gasping for breath, smote the air on all sides, without any of his blows telling. He came to the ground, and his bones rattled as he fell. But soon recovering his breath, he made a desperate attack on Mr. MARQUAND’S sconce; and favoured him with so terrible a facer under the gills, that he fell incontinently like a bull smitten in his front; but entangling his own heels with those of Mr. DUBOIS, they both came simultaneously to the ground; striking their heads against different tombstones; and knocking out their own brains.

They rose again, refreshed like the giant of old, by their grappling with the earth, and all the better for the loss of their wits, which, indeed, was a mere trifle. But the AFRICAN, who had no time to see more sport, fixed them to the sod by his superior strength; and ZEMBO dexterously pinned them fast, by driving stakes through their hearts, with a large sledge hammer, (which he carried about his person for such emergencies.) During the opera- tion, their roaring surpassed that which is performed by the Lioness, when bereft of her whelps; but as soon as they were fairly nailed to the counter, they lay motionless and breathless—a horrible pair of spectacles of sin and misery!

The AFRICAN assured the Lady, that she need never fear their second resurrection; and Mr. PERSONNE politely offered to settle their controversy, in any mode most agreeable to the PRINCE:—either to box with him on the spot, or appoint a meeting in future, with pistols, rifles, small or broad sword; or else they might toss up, who should set fire to a barrel of gunpowder. The PRINCE said that quarrelling was all nonsense, and offered his hand; but Mr. PERSONNE refused, saying, “Don’t be too familiar, Blackey;” and renewing his threats of cracking him over the noddle with the thigh-bone.

The generous monarch pocketed the affront. “You have been,” he said, “sufficiently rewarded, for the cruelties you practised upon my person, several years ago. I forgive you, my dear sir, what you performed, and intended to perform on me. Here is your son, who has grown considerably, as you may observe; and I assure you that his education has not been neglected. To his exertions last night you are indebted for your revivification. And as, you may remember, you were embalmed, you have kept quite sweet and fresh ever since your interment. Amiable and virtuous VAMPYRES! may you long enjoy that tranquillity and contentment, which your merit and accomplishments so eminently deserve! A vessel lies in the port, ready to sail for Europe in an hour. The Island is no longer a place for you. Here is money to pay your passages, and all I have to say, is, that the sooner you’re off the better.—Farewell!” So saying he departed, without waiting for the acknow- ledgments of the party.

Mr. PERSONNE and his Lady, whom we shall again call by her first marriage name, did not exactly comprehend what their dingy benefactor meant, by bidding them take French leave of the Island, like pickpockets and outlaws; but, as they were yet wondering at their own existence, like Adam and Eve, the first day of their creation, and as they had reason to believe the PRINCE a potent magician, who could rouse the dead from their searments, and turn the planets from their courses;—for these reasons, they concluded to follow his bidding, without any impertinent scruples. But as the keen edge of their hunger had been whetted by delay, they would fain have taken supper, and digested a little something wherewithal to strengthen them, before they set out.

ZEMBO, who had filled his own breadbasket very lately, and was in no such urgent necessity, protested with all the vehemence which filial reverence would permit, against the unseasonable gratification of their unnatural craving; and recited with just emphasis and good discretion, an extract from Counsellor Phillips’s harangue, about “the cannibal appetite of his rejected altar;” which his parents did not understand, and of course thought very sublime! But even this master-piece of mystical eloquence would have been delivered in vain; had not the boy given other reasons of such cogency, that they licked their lips—cast a longing, lingering look at the grave-yard,—and followed him without more opposition.

They prosecuted their nocturnal march, through closely woven and solemn groves; until they descended into a profound valley, where the light of the pale planet of magic adoration, streamed and quivered on serried files of bright armoury. The leader of the band seemed to have expected their arrival; and mutual tokens of recognition passed between him and ZEMBO. The whole company then set forward their array in silence;—

No cymbal clash’d, no clarion rang, Still were the pipe and drum; Save heavy tread, and armour’s clang, The sullen march was dumb.

By continual descent, they seemed to have penetrated the bowels of a cavern, whose ramifications ran under the sea; as they heard a murmuring roar, as of the ocean, above their heads. The party, by the instructions of ZEMBO, dispersed themselves in different directions; until they had enclosed the interior of the rock where its largest chamber was, to speak catachrestically, so artfully concealed by nature, that no one, not instructed by an adept in its subterranean topography, could ever have detected the secret of its existence. It had been, in former days, a place of deposit and asylum for the Buccaniers; and its situation had been since known only to the Professors of the OBEAH art, who held here their midnight orgies.

Mr. and Mrs. PERSONNE, guided by their son, were placed in a situation, where, through the crevices of the inner partition of the rock, they could observe what was passing in the interior.

It seemed, at first view, a vast hall of Arabian romance; supported by immense shafts, and studded with precious stones; so various and beautiful were the hues, which the different spars assumed, in the light of an hundred torches, blazing in every quarter, and illuminating the farthest recesses of the cave. The walls were decorated with other appendages, which added to the mystery, if not to the embellishment of the scene; being irregularly stained with blood; decorated with rude tapestry of many coloured plumage;—and stuccoed with the beaks of parrots;—the teeth of dogs, and alligators;—bones of cats;—broken glass and eggshells; plastered with a composition of rum and grave-dirt, the implements of NEGRO witchcraft!

At one extremity of the extensive apartment, on a kind of natural throne, sat several blackamoors in sumptuous Moorish apparel; whom, by their swollen forms, and remarkable eyes, Mrs. PERSONNE knew to be GOULS; and among whom she recognised her late husband. The whole range of this vast amphitheatre, sweeping from before the throne, was occupied by slaves, rudely attired, and imperfectly armed with clubs and missiles; a decent platoon of black-guards were posted be- fore the Vampyre monarchs; and, in the centre, a band of musicians performed an exquisite symphony. The soft strains of the MERRIWANG;—the lively notes of the DUNDO;—and the martial accompaniment of the GOOMBAY, made, with their united noises, a discordant harmony, whose powers the lyre of Orpheus could not equal; and which would certainly be enough to frighten all the hosts of Pandemonium.

The oratorio being finished, the AFRICAN PRINCE arose, and making an obeisance to the company,—cleared his throat, and began to address them as follows:—“Gentlemen and Vampyres!”—but the VAMPYRES expressing their resentment against this breach of etiquette, he corrected himself: —“Vampyres and Gentlemen!”—but the NEGROES were no more willing to come last, than the Vampyres, and a loud growl accompanied by a slight hiss, again interrupted the orator. He was not, however, disconcerted, but like Mr. Burke, thundered out an iteration of the offensive sentence.

“Yes,” said he, “I repeat it, Vampyres and Gentlemen? Shall not the immortal precede the mortal?— Shall not those whose diet surpasses the nectar and ambrosia of celestials, precede the ephemeral race, who fatten on the unclean juice of brutes,—the rank essence of esculent productions,—or the nauseous liquor of the distillery? (applause—hear! hear! and see-boy! from the Vampyres—groans from the negroes!) Gentlemen of colour! I appeal to yourselves; shall not the descendants of the Gods be named before the offspring of the earth-born image, whom Titan impregnated with celestial fire?—For Prometheus was the first Vampyre. You must all know, as you have undoubtedly read Æschylus, that the vulture, who preyed on his liver, was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl. He is called a dog, which makes him a quadruped;—he is represented as ερπωυ, creeping, which proves him an insect; and is said to have wings, which shows that he was a bird. Now, from this amphibious monster have descended the Crows,—the Jackalls,—and the Bloodhounds;—the pirate Bat of Madagascar,—and the man-killing Ivunches of Chili;—the Sharks;—the Crocodiles;—the Krakens;—the Horse-leeches;—the Cape-cod Sea Serpents;—the Mermaids;—the Incubi;—and the Succubi!!! (loud cheering from the Vampyres.) From Titan himself, descended the Cy- clopes, and all other ancient and modern Anthropophagi; and, in lineal descent, the Moco tribe of our own EBOES, to whom I have the honour of being related. Those of you, too, are his posterity, who, after your deaths, return to your native land—the true Elysium; where the balmy bowl of the Coco, the soft bloom of the ANANA, and the coal-black beauties of the clime of love, shall for ever reward your fortitude, and steep in forgetfulness the memory of your wrongs. (hear! hear! from the negroes.) But none of these genera or species of our order, must longer engage your dignified and charitable attention. I come to ourselves, full- blooded—unadulterated—immortal bloodsuckers!—To ourselves—whether Gouls,—or Afrits,—or Vampyres;— Vroucolochas,—Vardoulachos,—or Broucolokas—To ourselves—the terror of the living and of the dead, and the participants of the nature of both;—To ourselves—the emblems at once of corruption and of vitality;—blotted from the records of existence, and replenished to repletion with circulating life;—abandoned by the quick, and unrecognised by the dead:—‘at once relics and relicts;— rocked on the bases of our own eternities;—the chronicles of what was—the solemn and sublime mementoes of what must be!’ unqualified approbation from both sides of the house.)

“The estate of Vampyrism is a fee-tail, and may be docked in two different ways. The first mode is the sanguinary practice of perforating the subject with a stake; and this is final. The other is produced by the gentler operation of the narcotic potion you behold in this phial; by whose lenient and opiate influence, the individual is restored to the plight, in which he was previous to his death, or his becoming a Vampyre, and belongs to the OBEAH mysteries.

“But to come to the object of our present meeting. Sublime and soul-elevating theme!—The emancipation of the Negroes!—The consecration of the soil of ST. DOMINGO to the manes of murdered patriots in all ages!—No matter whether the bill of sale was scrawled in French or in English;—No matter whether we were taken prisoners, in a battle between the LEOPHARES and the JAKOFFS, or in a skirmish between the SAMBOES and the SAWPITS;—No matter whether we were bought for calico and cotton, or for gunpowder or for shot;—No matter whether we were transported in chains or in ropes—in a brig, or a schooner, or a seventy-four—the first moment we come ashore on ST. DOMINGO, our souls shall swell like a sponge in the liquid element;—our bodies shall burst from their fetters, glorious as a curculio from its shell;—our minds shall soar like the car of the æronaut, when its ligaments are cut; in a word, O my brethren, we shall be free!—Our fetters discandied, and our chains dissolved, we shall stand liberated,—redeemed,— emancipated,—and disenthralled by the irresistible genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION!!!” (Unparalleled bursts of unprecedented applause!!!)

Such was the report of this oration, taken down in short hand by ZEMBO; of whose extraordinary sagacity so many proofs have been exhibited; and who was never unprovided with materials for any emergency. The fiery oratory of the Prince communicated such inspiration to the auditors, that the whole mass of their thick blood leaped up with the quickening pulse of anticipated freedom; they danced and sung, with violent gesticulations, like perfect Corybantes; but unfortunately, their Phyrricks were interrupted by the glittering bayonets of the soldiery; who poured in upon them from every quarter, and hemmed them in, with a bristling chevaux-de-frise of steel. The Vampyres, surprised but undaunted, unsheathed their sabres, and drew up in a gallant style, as if determined to die game; being, indeed, assured, that like so many Phœnixes, they would rise from their own ashes, as often as they might be cut down.

A desperate conflict ensued, during which Mrs. PERSONNE observed the phial, mentioned by the Prince, lying on the ground; and very thoughtfully put it in her ridicule. The slaves, seeing how the business was likely to terminate, prudently sneaked off, while the attention of the military was occupied by the Vampyres. The former were violently exasperated to find all their labour so unprofitable; since while they themselves were wounded by every blow of their opponents, the latter, like so many ninepins, were set up, as fast as they were bowled down; bending to the storm, like masts on a tempestuous ocean, and rising again upon the billow in perpendicular triumph.

But, being instructed by ZEMBO, the soldiers pinioned them as fast as they fell; and prevented their rising, by sitting in great numbers on their bodies; though the task was somewhat like that of detaining quicksilver beneath the fingers. The PRINCE, however, still fought desperately. Brandishing a huge scimitar in either hand, he swayed his arms like the sails of a windmill; while limbs, heads, and bodies flew about him, curvetting and dancing in the air; as when the ingenious Mr. MAFFEY pulls to pieces a coach, or an old woman, children, chickens, friars, and petticoats dance about in wild confusion, till the artist’s hand again brings order out of chaos:—Or, as when the renowned knight of the BED-CHAMBER, whose name eternal vases shall record, saw the ungenerous caricature on the wall, wielding a ponderous jug, he smote the innocent tables, chairs, and bed-posts, and strode victorious over the gory field: So fought the PRINCE; till being neatly pricked in the spine, unexpectedly, he soused (as Johannes Porco Latinus remarks) “in principia fundimentalia,” and was immediately set upon by a host. So when a Gœtulian lion is pierced by the light bamboo, overpowered by the hunters, he struggles in his thrall like an Enceladus under Ætna, and dies at last with heart-wrung tears of anguish, and re- verberating roars of hatred!!!

Stakes were immediately procured, and the whole infernal fraternity securely disposed of: as their compeers, described by Homer,

With burning chains fixed to the brazen floors And lock’d by hell’s inexorable doors.

With their bellowings, the vast chambers of the subterranean rung like the caverns of Delphos, when the inflammable air was fired by the crafty priests. The Inhabi- tants of the Island started up from their slumbers in shuddering terror, and believed that an earthquake was rumbling beneath their feet.

Mr. and Mrs. PERSONNE and ZEMBO lost no time in trying the effects of the African’s stolen prescription. Being thrown into a tranquil slumber they were conveyed to their plantation; and awoke the next morning, perfectly well, excepting slight colds in the head. Mr. PERSONNE, having been in statu quo, for sixteen years, was now much younger than his lady; a circumstance, for which she was not at all sorry; and which he himself declared by no means displeased him. The remainder of their life was serene as a tropic night; —illumined by the mild effulgence of domestic love;—fanned by the soft aspirations of peaceful bosoms;—and enlivened by the fire- fly scintillations of rapture!!!

ZEMBO, to whose taste and ingenuity they were indebted for their happiness, and who was baptized with the Christian name of BARABBAS, after an uncle of his mother’s, recorded what the reader has perused. One only circumstance, like one of those claps of thunder, frequently heard in the unclouded sky, passed over the tranquillity of their bosoms. Mrs. PERSONNE’S fourth husband’s child was a mulatto, and of Vampyrish propensities; of which his mother and Mr. PERSONNE were never able entirely to cure him, having used up all the African’s preparation.

The intelligent reader, (if any such there be,) will remember that this narrative commenced with the name of Mr. ANTHONY GIBBONS, of whom nothing has since been said; and whose adventures (to use a FORUM trope) “must remain buried in the bowels of futurity,” until a more convenient opportunity. He is a lineal descendant from the last-mentioned mulatto; and the manuscript, which is now given to the public, was transmitted to him from his ancestors. He is a resident in Essex county, New- Jersey; and candour requires us to state, that he is no relation to his celebrated namesake at ELIZABETH- TOWN; as it is notorious to all who have had the pleasure of witnessing the size of the latter gentleman’s waist, that he has too much bowels for so diabolical a profession; and it is to be hoped in charity, that though he is such a delicate morsel, when he is laid in the sepulchre of his fathers, he may not prove a titbit, to GLUT THE THIRST OF A VAMPYRE!!!

Moral.

N this happy land of liberty and equality, we are free from all traditional superstitions, whether political, religious, or otherwise. Fiction has no materials for machinery;—Romance no horrors for a tale of mystery. Yet in a figurative sense, and in the moral world, our climate is perhaps more prolific than any other, in enchanters,—Vampyres,—and the whole infernal brood of sorcery and witchcraft.

The accomplished dandy, who in maintaining his horses,—his taylor, &c.—absorbs in the forced and unnatural excitement of his senseless orgies, the life-blood of that wealth which his prudent Sire had accumulated by a long devotion to the counter,—What is he but a Vampyre?

The fraudulent trafficker in stock and merchandize, who, having sucked the whole substance of an hundred honest men, is consigned for a few weeks to the sepulchre of the jail; and then, by the potent magic of an insolvent law, stalks forth, triumphant with bloated villany, more elated in his shameless resurrection to renew his career of iniquity and of disgrace,—what is he but a Vampyre?

The corrupted and senseless Clerk, who being placed near the vitals of a moneyed institution, himself exhausted to feed the appetite of sharpers, drains, in his turn, the coffers he was appointed to guard,—is he not, I appeal to the Stockholders,—is he not a Vampyre?

Brokers, Country Bank Directors, and their disciples—all whose hunger and thirst for money, unsatisfied with the tardy progression of honest industry, by creating fictitious and delusive credit, has preyed on the heart and liver of public confidence, and poisoned the currents of public morals, are they not all Vampyres?

The whole tribe of Plagiarists, under every denomination;—The Critic, who. by eviscerating authors, and stuffing his own meagre show of learning with the pilfered entrails, ekes out his periodical fulmination against public taste;—the Forum Orator, who, without compunction, barbarously exenterates Burke, and Curran, and Phillips,—the Second- handed Lawyer,—Scholar,—Theologue,—who quote from quotations, and steal stolen property:—the Divine, who preaches Tillotson and Toplady;—what are they all but Vampyres?

The Empiric, who fills his own stomach, while he empties his shop into the bowels of the hypochondriac;—the Bibliopolist, “who guts the fobs” of the whole reading community, by ascribing to Lord Byron works which that author never saw; the philanthropic Contractor for the Army, who charges more for lime and horse-beef, than his quantum- meruit for the best provisions; who sets up his carriage and his palace, by blistering the mouths and destroying the intestines of thousands,— what are these but Vampyres?

The Professors and Disciples of Surgeon’s Hall, who, when a fine fat corse is rolled out of the resurrectionist’s budget, set up a howl of horrible transport, like he anthropophagous Caribs in Robinson Crusoe;—glut their gloating eyes with the pinguidity and unctuousness of the subject; and whet their blades like Shylock, impatient to attack the ilia,—what are they but Vampyres?

And I, who, as Johnson said of an hypochondriac Lady, “have spun this discourse out of my own bowels,” and made as free with those of others—I am a VAMPYRE!

Vampyrism; a poem

Utrum horum mavis accipe.

SOLOMON LANG & LAUNCELOT LANG - STAFF, Esquires.

GENTLEMEN, FROM the Gazette of August 17th, I am happy to learn, that you have entered into an alliance, offensive and defensive. The ties of kindred and the attraction of sympathy, one would think, ought to have brought about this union much sooner. You are, I believe, of one family;—although I am ignorant from whence LAUNCELOT has taken the Agnomen of STAFF: and I am equally unable to divine, why you have both docked the Nomen of your ancestors, which hath been written LANGEARS from time immemorial. Whatever may be your reasons for disowning your consanguinity to the great GENTILE family, the literary and political worlds rejoice, at least, in this consolidation of the talents of their two most distinguished members. The parity of intellect,—the similarity of taste,—the pungency of sarcasm possessed by both parties, justify the expectations formed by the public, from this conjunction of two such great luminaries. Both are imbued with that modest confidence, connected with the consciousness of superior talent. SOLOMON is formed, perhaps, of more impenetrable stuff: LAUNCELOT has more of the irritability and exquisite sensibility of genius.—Ira quidem communiter urit utrumque; but SOLOMON taketh the driest knocks with a good grace; LAUNCELOT is sooner thrown into a fever, and frets, to use a classic quotation of his own, “like a bear, with a sore head.”—SOLOMON is the better grammarian: LAUNCELOT hath, occasionally, greater command of language. Solomon, as he states, composes ideas and types simultaneously, a la mode de Wooler; Launcelot has the advantage of seeing his ideas embodied in black and white, in their flight from his brains to the printing office.— LAUNCELOT the FIERY, may be likened to the mad ORESTES: SOLOMON the PATIENT, to the faithful PYLADES.— SOLOMON is original in his own way: LAUNCELOT purloins from Swift, and Rabelais and others.—SOLOMON, pilloried in his own press, with no ally but the gray mare, bravely receives the missiles of the whole legion of editors; LAUNCELOT has only to open his mouth, or saw the air, or make a leg, on the literary stage; and all the gods of the Philadelphia gallery, pipe their shrill catcalls in discordant unison.—The castigation of both is equally dreadful. SOLOMON, with his “Good morning, Mr. Coleman,” and “Rot the sarpent,” condenses all his wrath into a laconic sarcasm: LAUNCELOT elaborates books, to the great terror and discomfiture of Gifford, Southey, and Scott. The Quarterly Reviewers received a death blow, because they could not find out the wit of the Scottish Fiddle; and the translator of Juvenal has never dared to show his face, since Mr. LANGSTAFF promulgated to the world, the secret of his origin. Poor Mr. Hall, the editor of the Port Folio,— because he criticised that Poem, (than which, in the language of Croaker, “nothing can be flatter or funnier;”) according to the canons of Martinus Scriblerus,—said Hall has been severely bemauled for his temerity. Many a heart-burning hath he experienced, from the caustic of Salmagundi Redivivus—Godwot!—magni nominis umbra!—On the whole, “none but yourselves can be your parallels.”

Allow me to dedicate the following rhymes to your firm; which will, I have no doubt, stand secure, amid all the present wreck of matters, and crashes of credit. Profound ignorance, bolstered by vanity, sits firmly on it own fundamental principles. Farewell, Gentlemen, accept the considerations of my high esteem—

Fortunati ambo—si quid mea carmina possunt, Nulla dies unquam memori vos eximet aevo!

-URIAH DERICK D’ARCY.

VAMPYRISM;

A POEM,

I.

IN this blest land, where valour burst The links which bound his children erst, And rent the vail whose darkness hid Legitimacy’s monstrous creed;— Where all that since the world began Had sway’d the sacred rights of man, With ancient dreams had past away, And bare in all its weakness lay;— Here reason, in triumphal hour, Asserted too her conquering power: From mountain, valley, plain and flood, She exorcised the shadowy brood

II.

When freshening gales had swept the mists, That wildly wreath’d the mountain crests, No cloudy spectre o’er the storm Reveal’d the terrors of his form;— When evening breezes curl’d the wave No wraiths disturb’d the wandering brave,— When lost in darkness, down the side Of craggy mount their path they tried, And stunn’d by torrents deafening roar, Downward were hurl’d, to rise no more; Men said their balance they had lost, But never laid it to a ghost.

III.

No more, around the guarded gold, Their wake were pirates seen to hold;— No elves the midnight circle tript; No fairies lunar vigils kept; Genii nor devils rose—except, Indeed, that once in godly Salem, Blue laws and preachings seem’d to fail ’em; Bed bugs and rats their slumbers broke, On Beelzebub they laid the joke; Took brandy to expel the fiend, Which answered quite another end! Old ladies then to swim were taught, In amorous league with Satan caught;— And some were hang’d:—but now no more ’Tis fit to rake up that old sore.

IV.

Of late the pole its fiends has sent, The ‘tarnal Yankees to torment; By water witchcraft long distrest, In vain with all their might they guest; Till when their gumption seem’d to fail One captain got him by the tail; But metamorphos’d, (such their story,) The wizard gave the man the go-by Turn’d out a tunny fish to be, The “shallowest monster” of the sea.

V.

And now they swear with might and main, That Monsieur Tonson’s come again: And Marshal Prince, his wife and daughters, Off Nahant, saw him walk the waters. The coachman there and Mrs. Prince Got at the odd fish several squints; But Mr. Prince, for weak his eye was, Look’d at him through a mast-head spy-glass; And took, lest men his word should doubt, An ugly likeness of his snout, With all the bumps the monster bore— He says, thirteen—his wife, two more.

VI.

In Morristown we’ve heard a ghost Wrought wonders to the people’s cost. ’Tis not long since, on New Year’s night, The devil gave three bad boys a fright; Who o’er their whiskey took to cursing, Spoke disrespectfully of his person, His government began to libel, And on the back-log put the bible.— But these things are of little moment, Unworthy of a further comment.

VII.

Yet SUPERSTITION! though thy throne Be rear’d in wilds and woods alone, Where the rude wanderer of the glen Invokes the souls of martial men;— Adores the torrent thundering loud; Calls on the spirits of the cloud;— And o’er the black and bursting heaven, Sees Ariouski’s chariot driven;— Yet, queen of terror’s sheetedband! Fiends worse than thine affright our land, While, stalking from their ghastly homes, The VAMPYRE host infuriate roams!

VIII.

Behold that EXQUISITE divine, Fit to hang up for fashion’s sign. In classic mould his wig is shear’d— SO SAUNDERS says—by all rever’d— (Yet much, with deference, due I doubt If Saunders’ science could make out Apollo’s nob, if slic’d off well, From J—n G. B—t’s bust to tell— Both are stuck up in the Academy— Yet for this query think not bad o’ me.) But to the Dandy—’neath his chin Hog’s bristles fiercely fence him in; One corset back his shoulders throws; His bowels other bones enclose; His ample chest is bullet proof, With cotton cram’d and such like stuff; And for his clothes—but here’s enough. For ere the printer’s tardy imp, Shall bid in type this doggrel limp, The swifter ninth part of a man Shall change the passing mode again; And waists now short shall then be long. All that’s now right shall then be wrong!

IX.

How came that puppy by his gig? What taught him how to look so big? For this behind the measur’d board His father scrap’d the growing hoard— Like him the pyramids who rear’d, To leave behind no name rever’d For, on the bowels of the heap, His revels shall this Vampyre keep; Till vigils late—and generous wine, And—things that suit no lay of mine; Have left him soon to die and rot, Be laugh’d at, pitied, and forgot! His species and his line to trace, And count the honours of his race, Let Mr. Wynkoop soar as high, As Scythia’s Cynocephali, And Mr. Langstaff dive as low As he, and he alone, can go;” Let this quote Greek—that crack stale jokes, The theme is worthy of such folks.

X.

Lo! thro’ the bustling world of trade, What monsters march in long parade; Gorg’d with the substance of a host, Swelling they strut with empty boast; The bubble burst, and credit fled, The money’d quack proclaims them dead;— Bailiffs in haste the corpse escort;— The turnkey says his service short;— Awhile in jail their bones repose, Till lo! the dungeon doors unclose! Insolvent laws, with potent spell, Have wrought the wondrous miracle; Their words of might the dead restore; And even more bloated than before, From that deep sepulchre, to prey On all the gudgeons in his way, Of shameless resurrection vain, The VAMPYRE BANKRUPT stalks again!

XI.

Temples of Mammon! O beware What priests the golden chalice bear! And let not hands profane approach The tempting, costly shrines to touch! Have we not seen what secret stealth Has suck’d the vitals of your wealth, When the weak dupe, quite drain’d himself, Grew hungry for the luscious pelf; Nor did his secret orgies end, Till fail’d a whole year’s dividend. And now once more in open air, Have we not seen the Vampyre pair, Stalk forth, from jails and juries free, In all the pride of infamy?

XII.

O HERMES of these latter times, I hail thee in unworthy rhymes! Great ALCHYMIST, whose art alone Has found the philosophic stone! Thou arch magician! to whose hand Alone is given the hazel wand, That finds the veins of glittering ores, Great DOUSTERSWIVEL of conjurors! What though thine art itself despair, And all the pageant fade in air? While harmless mobs thy doors assail, And blustering butchers curse and rail, Above thine own Flaminian roll’d, Shall thy triumphal chariot hold Its course majestical along, Before the whole admiring throng!

XIII.

O JACOB! JACOB! thou art keen, As thy great namesake;—him, I mean. Who manag’d for himself to keep The best of crafty Laban’s sheep. Immortal VAMPYRE of our age! O might this unassuming page Be read by all, whose fobs must bleed, Thy ravenous appetite to feed Behind thy coach and four might I Roll in an humbler tilbury; Beneath thy wings might D’ARCY’s name Soar to the solar blaze of fame!

XIV.

Plumb from the giddy height I fall, Amid whole herds of Vampyres small, CRITICS, who worn out common place With Author’s pilfer’d entrails grace; The FORUM spouter—barbarous Turk! Who rips up Curran, Phillips, Burke, And thunders forth bombastic centos, Of wasted time the sad mementoes; All those who QUOTE at second hand, And what they quote don’t understand; The PARSON who in sleepy tone Evangelizes Tillotson; All PLAGIARISTS,—concise to be,— Are GOULs of high or low degree.

XV.

The QUACK with brick dust who provides, Wherewith to line his own insides; Who fills up all his hungry chinks, While to a ghost his patient shrinks; THOMAS who vends as Byron’s own The works of doggrelists unknown; Honest CONTRACTORS, who are able To cheat both government and rabble; Who, worthy of the scourge and gallows, Set up their equipage and palace; While blister’d mouths deep curses pour And tortur’d soldiers writhe and roar, Who eat the beef of horses dead, And craunch corroding lime for bread— These, as the sufferers all agree, Are of the GOULE fraternity.

XVI. There are whose tongues around them throw The gall with which their hearts o’erflow, Like those from old Medusa’s head, Where’er its venom’d drops are shed, Earth’s verdure fades;—rank poison springs; Snakes hiss, and dragons spread their wings. Pale Dian’s hopeless votary old, Crabb’d, ancient dames, and bachelors cold, Nay e’en the blooming maid—will hie To the foul feast of calumny; On wisdom, worth, and reverend age, Beauty and wit, they glut their rage; And fondly hope, that as they tear The limbs of murder’d character, Their own fair fame shall prouder swell, Fatten’d upon the feast of hell!

XV.

There is a spot, unknown to fame, Where Vampyres haunt their hold of shame When ENVY left her noxious cave, Along Passaic’s winding wave, (Though Ovid has this fact forgot,) She linger’d by one cherish’d spot; She left her benediction here, The ground became for ever sere; Infected by her scatter’d slime And tainted to all after time; Whoever tastes its baleful food, A Vampyre longs to feed on blood— The blood of honour, virtue free, Fame, confidence and chastity!

XVIII.

But wouldst thou, in thy purpose bold The demon orgies foul behold— Mark where the SONS of SURGEON’S HALL, Upon their foul purveyor call; And lo, the plunderer of the tomb Brings up his budget in the room; Rolls out, their ardent gaze before, A huge, fat negress on the floor; Then with a savage howl they roar! Like cannibals, prepar’d to roast Their pris’ners on some barbarous coast; Like Shakspeare’s Jew, the joyous band Whet their keen blades with eager band; While all the putrid limbs excite Their foul and Vampyre appetite.—

XIX.

And what am I, whose spider skill Has thus contrived this sheet to fill; From my own bowels spun the lay, Until I find no more to say? Before to all I bid adieu, Confess,—I AM A VAMPYRE TOO!

If anyones interested in learning about the first black vampire short story, published in 1819, heres a link to the wiki, its called The Black Vampyre, and its about a former slave turned vampire who seeks revenge on his slave master. Its actually a first in many categories!

[bteezxyewriter12]

Give It a Try

Pairing- Jimkn x Named Reader

Word count- 3.7k

Includes- fingering, oral, pussy eating, cum eating, missionary, multiple orgasms, fluff

Tag List- @mingtina @jaxxmine

@yeosayang @delightfulmoonbanana

@tannie13 @borntowalkaway @y00nzin0 @marsstarxhwa

Masterlists- check out for more fics

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Jimin POV

"I'm sorry Jo", I answer

"Nah it's fine Jimin. It's not your fault"

"You should of told me sooner that you liked him. I would of helped you out"

She shrugs, "It's not like I was in love with him. It was a crush and I'd want to see where it went. It's not a huge deal"

"Still, I'm sorry"

I had no idea my best friend, Joanne, had a big crush on Jungkook

She never said anything to me until today

And I mean it when I said I would of helped her

I would of talked her up to him, try to set them up

But he just recently asked a girl he had his eye on out

Like he literally just asked her out two days ago

"He probably wouldn't go for me anyway", she says

"Why would you say that?", I ask, confused

She's really pretty, she's funny, sweet, awesome personality

Jungkook would be lucky to be with her

So why is she putting herself down?

"Because look at me Min. I'm no where near as pretty as the girls that are around you guys. I have a crappy job, I have a tiny ass studio apartment. Nothing like you guys are used to"

"Jo what are you taking about? Are you insane?"

She glares at me, "No Jimin. You live in this million won apartment. You are around gorgeous female idols. You can get any girl you want. Dating is so much easier for you. Why would anyone like you and Jungkook pick an ordinary boring girl when you can have anyone you want?"

I honestly didn't know she thought about herself that way

She's far from boring and ordinary

I can see why she thinks the way she does though because I'm a celebrity

But I don't just want any girl

I want a girl I like, one I could love

It doesn't matter if she's an idol or not

And it's not like I look at every idol and think they're gorgeous

Not at all

I don't like how hard she's being on herself

"Stop Min"

"What? Stop what?"

"Stop looking at me with pity"

"I'm no Jo. I promise", I assure her

But I do look at her and I don't know, maybe it's what she said about herself but now I see her differently

Like I'm seeing her with new eyes

More than just my best friend

More like a girl

A gorgeous girl

Before I can even stop myself, I lean closer to her and kiss her

I'm waiting for her to push me away but she moves her mouth against mine, kissing me too

And I can't describe what I feel while kissing her

It's better than good, better than amazing

It's perfect

She licks my lip and I open my mouth for her tongue

I gasp when her tongue touches mine, softly playing with mine and I'm loving every second of it

I don't know how long we kiss for but I don't want to stop

But of course it ends like everything does

Pulling away slightly, I look in her eyes, both of us breathing hard

I'm worried I overstepped some boundary and she's going to tell me off

To my complete surprise, she moves her arms around my neck, pulling me back to her lips

And I go willingly

We meet in another kiss, this one getting heated pretty quickly

As we kiss, our hands touch each other's bodies, roaming everywhere

Her hands slips under my shirt, pulling it up

I break the kiss, so she can get it off me, then I get hers off, my mouth back against hers as soon as the shirts are discarded

Her arms move around my body, her tiny hands touching my back, running up and down leaving fire on my skin

I reach around her and take her bra off, tossing it in my room

She drags kisses to my jaw, one hand moving to my chest, softly touching me

I close my eyes when her kisses travel to my neck, a soft moan coming from me

I move my own hands on her back, feeling her soft smooth skin

Leaning my head down, I press kiss after kiss on her shoulder, wanting nothing more than to feel her against me

Gently, I push her back on my bed, her taking me with her as she lays down

She holds me right against her, skin against skin and I fucking love it

Her hand moves in my hair, moving my head, her lips against mine

Kissing her eagerly, I move my hand around her boob, squeezing softly

"Mmm", she moans in my mouth, her hands moving down my back, to my sweatpants

I feel her pulling them down and I immediately get so excited, my cock hardening every second

Pulling away, I stand up, getting my pants and boxers off, then putting my hands on her jeans

I look at her, raising my eyebrow

She nods and I quickly get her jeans undone and down

Her panties are some tiny red lace thing and fuck it's such a turn on

I pull the strings that are holding it in place by her hips, peeling it off her

Dropping it on the floor, I get my first look of her naked

And I almost fall down

Oh my god, her body is fucking perfect

Absolutely perfect

"Wow Min", she gasps, her gorgeous eyes on my body

Wow is right

Not me, wow for her

I had no idea my best friend was the hottest girl I've ever seen on my life

Getting back on the bed, I move on top of her, leaning down

She lifts her head, meeting me, our lips in a fiery kiss

God I want her so bad

I don't know where this want is coming from but if she wants to be with me too, then I'm going for it

As I kiss her, I open her legs, my fingers brushing against her pussy

Moaning in her mouth, I feel how wet and slippery she is, turning me on

Running my fingers along her, I rub her clit and her body arches, gasping

Continuing to play with her, I pepper kisses all over her cheek, her jaw and finally her pretty neck

She smells so fucking good, not any artificial scent, she just smells like her

The scent I've known since we were babies

Licking her skin, I suck briefly but let go before a mark forms

I don't know if she wants that and I'm not pushing anything

Moving my lips down, I kiss her chest then all along one of her boobs

I wrap my mouth around her nipple, sucking softly just as I slide two fingers inside her

"Jimin!", she cries, her body slightly shaking

I move my fingers in and out, starting off gently, increasing my speed every time I go in

Her nipple is so hard in my mouth and I love sucking on her

Moving my fingers, I press down on what I hope is her spot

"Oh god", she whimpers, her cunt flooding my hand

Found it

Keeping my fingers inside, I concentrate on rubbing my fingertips on that spot

Switching to her other nipple, I lick it over and over until it's hard, then I latch on to her, sucking hard

"Fuck fuck", she moans, her hand going in my hair, pulling hard

Fuck, I love having my hair played with

Stroked, pulled, tugged, fisted, I love it all

Pressing on her spot, I move my thumb to her clit, playing while I finger fuck her

Her pussy tightens so much on my fingers, pulsing fast

"Jimin...Jimin don't stop", she whimpers

Oh I won't

I want her to cum

And I'm gonna make her

Her body starts shaking, her hold on my hair getting tighter as she squeezes my fingers over and over

Sucking her nipple, I press on her spot just as I flick her clit and she moans my name so loudly, her pussy going crazy on my fingers as she cums

"Jimin", she moans, "Jimin"

Goddamn, I didn't know that I would love hearing her call my name in her beautiful voice

She finishes and I pull my fingers out of her, sitting up

Holy shit

My fingers are covered in her creamy cum and it's so pretty

Moving my fingers in my mouth, I suck her cum off and I can't believe how good she tastes

So sweet, just like candy

I look at her, her pretty boobs rising and falling, her eyes closed as she lays on the pillow

I need more of her

Moving between her legs, I lay down, place my tongue on her and slowly lick up

"Jimin!", she squeals, sitting up on her elbows

"Please let me", I ask, swiping my tongue on her again

God she feels soft on my tongue, so wet, so good

I can't stop

"Please", I ask, running my tongue along her

"Yes Min"

I smile happily at her, then swirl my tongue, devouring her pretty tiny pink pussy

She moans loudly, the more I lick, the wetter she is until her juice is all over my face, running down my neck

Circling her slit with the tip of my tongue, I poke inside her hole just a little

"Yes Min! Fuck", she moans so softly

I take that as a cue and move my tongue in her as far as I can, wiggling while I do

Her sounds tells me she likes it so I slide my tongue up and out of her, then I go down, dipping back in

Her pussy tightens around my tongue sending shivers down my spine

Fucking my tongue into her faster, she holds me against her by my hair, her hips snapping into my face

Fuck that's so hot

We move together, me tongue fucking her, her fucking my mouth as I hold her legs wide open, gripping her thighs hard

"I'm gonna cum. Jimin", she whines

I look up at her, nodding

"Oh Jimin", she moans, her pussy throbbing around my tongue as her cum coats it completely

Goddamn, it's even better right from her pussy

I swallow and swallow everything she gives me, her cum like fucking candy to me

"So good", I whimper

"Fuck Min"

"Please give me more"

"More what Min?"

"More cum. I want more of your cum", I tell her, "It tastes so fucking good. Please"

"You can have whatever you want Jimin"

Hearing that, I immediately lick her clit

Over and over, her moans getting louder and louder

Her clit was throbbing so hard, begging me to lick and suck it and I just have to

Wrapping my lips around her pulsing clit, I moan feeling the throbbing on my lips

My cock is so hard it hurts

But I have her pretty tiny clit in my mouth and I'm going to suck on her if my life depends on it

I start off slow, keeping my tongue on her clit too as I suck

"Min", she whimpers, her body shivering

With each suck, I go faster, harder, her pussy drenching my chin and neck

I keep her clit in my mouth, playing and tugging, just enjoying having her in my mouth

God I never liked eating pussy as much as I like eating hers

Never took my time, never asked for more cum, never kept eating after the first orgasm

I don't know what it is

Maybe because she's my best friend or maybe because she has the best pussy, I don't know but I love eating her out

"Jimin"

I suck as fast and desperately as I can, knowing by the way she's calling my name that she's close

I hold onto her thighs tightly, waiting

She groans, coming, holding onto me, the sounds coming from her mouth so beautiful

I suck her through it, then dive into her pussy, licking all the cream I can, swallowing and moaning

My new favorite taste

Licking her pussy clean, I press a kiss to her swollen lips

Then her thighs

As I move up her body, I press kiss after kiss everywhere- her stomach, in between her breasts, her chest, her neck and finally her lips

She opens her mouth for my tongue, pressing hers against mine as her hands move around me, on my back, pulling me against her

At the same time, I wrap her legs around me, my head right at her hole

"Please", she whispers between kisses

I move my hips forward, moving inside her

I gasp in her mouth from how tight she is as I sink into her

I feel her open up for me, stretch around me just enough for me to pass through but still keeping a firm grip on my length

"All of you", she whimpers

I nod, pressing kiss after kiss to her neck, pushing all the way in until I bottomed out

"Fuck", I whimper, feeling her pulse around me

We shake against each other, her hands moving up and down my back slowly

"Oh Jimin", she whimpers, "You feel so good. So hard. So big. Fuck so big"

I Iike hearing that

I don't think I'm particularly big but maybe I am for her

Because she's tiny and I don't know where my cock is going, how she fits me inside her but she does

"God Jo, you feel amazing. So tight. So wet, so warm", I murmur, nuzzling into her neck, "So perfect"

"Please Min. Want to feel you"

"I want that too", I answer, lifting my head and kissing her

I pull out, feeling her cunt clench around me, trying to keep me inside

I like that

When I sink back into her, her pussy sucks me back in, making it so easy to fuck her

Each stroke, I move a little faster until I have a good pace and force going, bottoming out every time, pleasure filling me fast

My head brushes against a spot inside her and she screams in pleasure, "There Jimin! Please"

I experimentally thrust into the same spot getting the same reaction

"There?", I ask

She nods rapidly and I concentrate on that spot, plunging in and fucking her into my bed

She clings into me, her nails digging in my back, her sweaty skin against my sweaty skin, her face in so much pleasure

I love all of it

Rolling my hips into her, I go deep in, my pelvis rubbing her clit

"Min", she whimpers, her body arching into mine

I wrap my arm around her back, keeping her against me

He head pushes back into the pillow, exposing her beautiful neck and I can't stop myself, kissing all over

Her pussy clenches my shaft in a vice grip, pulsing so fast, her body slightly shaking

"Min", she calls, her breathing increasing

She's gonna cum and I'm so fucking excited

"Cum for me", I ask

"Jimin", she cries

I watch her cum underneath me, her face is so much pleasure and she looks so fucking stunning

And the pleasure I'm feeling is out of this world

I haven't felt bliss like this before and all I know is I want more

When she finishes, I get on my knees, hooking my arms under her legs, pushing them to her chest, the angle letting me go in deeper, hit her spot harder, her sounds getting louder

I look down, moaning when I see how much she's creaming my cock

It's fucking everywhere

It's so pretty

"So much cream", I murmur, my eyes staying on where we meet

I'm mesmerized by how her little slit opens so wide for me, how her hole takes all of me, how her swollen lips look wrapped around my cock

It's so hot

Her pussy pulls me back in with each stroke, opening just enough for me to pass through, throbbing and feeling so fucking good

I hear her moans getting louder, her pussy clenching over and over and I know she's gonna cum

I already know the signs

Shoving my cock in and out, I make sure I destroy her spot, wanting to feel her orgasm

"Make a mess on my cock baby", I demand

"Jimin!", she screams, "Oh god Jimin!"

I watch her hole strain around me, cum pouring from her as she orgasms

The pleasure runs through me, making it hard for me to keep moving because I just want to feel her

But I force myself to keep plunging into her, to make her feel amazing, fucking her through it

She screams my name so loudly, her hands twisting in my sheets so hard, her knuckles white

Dropping her legs, I move on top of her, holding her against me as her orgasm ebbs

I pound into her harder, feeling myself getting there

"Gonna cum", I choke out, "Need to get out"

She shakes her head, moving her hands to my hips and stopping me from leaving her warm cunt

"Wanna be full of cum", she whispers in my ear, "Your cum Jimin"

I groan loudly at her words

Oh fuck

I'm so close, her perfect cunt tugging and clenching on my cock

"Please cum inside me Jimin"

"Oh god fuck Jo", I moan, stopping my thrusting and sheathing my cock inside her as I shoot my cum in her pulsing pussy

Burying my face in her neck, I call her name over and over as ecstacy takes over me

I feel her playing with my hair and rubbing my back, whispering softly as her cunt milks my cock

"Yes baby, fuck Min, you feels so good. Your big cock throbbing inside me", she murmurs in my hair, "I love feeling your warm cum inside me. Give me all of it baby"

I am, emptying everything I have into her

When my orgasm is over, my body relaxes as I fall out of her

I force myself to roll next to her so I don't squish her

She turns to face me, coming into my arms, cuddling into me, her head on my shoulder, face in my neck

Her arm moves around my body, hugging me tightly

"Can we sleep Min? Please"

"Yeah baby. We can"

"Ok Min", she answers sleepily, snuggling into me

I manage to get the blanket around us as I hold her

I look down at her, her eyes already closed

She's so fucking beautiful, how did I not see it before?

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, I hold her and close my eyes

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

Stirring in my arms makes me open my eyes

What's happening?

"Min?", I hear her call

Glancing down, I'm surprised to see her in my arms

"Jo?"

She sits up and my eyes widen when her boobs are in my face

Right

We slept together and she stayed the night

And I loved every second of it

Her eyes move down, widening then grabbing the blanket putting it over her chest

Like I didn't see them all last night, didn't touch them, didn't suck on them

Like I wasn't everywhere on her body

Like she wasn't everywhere on mine

And a jolt of fear passes through me when I think that she regretted it

"Jo, uh"

"I remember last night", she mutters, avoiding my gaze

I hesitate but I have to ask

"Do you regret it?"

I don't

Not at all

In fact last night changed how I see her

"No Min. I don't", she says softly, her eyes finally moving to mine

"Did...uh....did last night change anything?", I ask, knowing my face is so red, "Any uh feelings....about me?"

Her brown eyes are huge and she doesn't say anything but she nods

"How?", I ask

"I uh....I....um", she stammers

It's ok

I'll go first

"It change everything for me", I answer, "I see you differently. Not just as my best friend"

She's looking at me intensely, waiting for me to continue

"I see you as a girl I...I like. A lot. As a girl I want to date"

She's silent and I think I may have fucked up

Until I feel her hand on my neck, pulling me to her, her lips against mine, kissing me softly

I go all in, kissing her back and pulling her against me, hugging her tightly

"I see you differently too Min", she says softly after the kiss, "I see you as a guy I like a lot. A guy I want to date. A guy who I'll be happy with"

I nod, "I'll make you happy Jo. I would never hurt you"

She smiles nodding, "I know Min"

"So...we...uh...are we giving this, us, a try?", I ask

"Yes Jimin", she giggles, "We're giving us a try"

A huge smile bursts on my face

"Great!", I say, then pull her to me in another kiss

Her mouth moves against mine and I swear, I cannot get enough of her kisses

After, I get out of bed and pull her up with me

"So let's go on a date", I tell her

"Now?", she asks, confused

I nod, "Now. Breakfast. I'm taking you out to eat. Then I have to go to practice so I'll drop you off and maybe we can hang out tonight?"

She frowns

What's wrong?

Did I mess up already?

"You uh....you don't want me to go to practice with you?"

I blink as I register what she's saying

"Of course baby but I didn't want to assume you'd want to come. I don't want you to feel like you have to"

She shakes her head, moving into my arms, hugging me

As I hug her back, she says, "I want to come Min. I love watching you dance and now that you're my boyfriend, I can oogle you"

I laugh, "Ok baby. You can come and oogle me. I promise I'll act extra sexy for you"

"Yay", she giggles, burying her face in my neck as I hold her, "And yes baby, we better hang out later"

"Yes ma'am", I answer

"And maybe do other things"

"Other things?", I tease, feeling her press her body againsty dick

"Lots of other things. I think someone needs a blow job. And to be ridden"

I get turned on hearing her and I so agree with her

"I think you're right baby"

Her hand, touches my semi hard on, squeezing gently

"Good baby"

Then she kisses my cheek and lets me go

"Huh?", I ask, wondering why the pleasure left

She smirks, getting her clothes, "But first breakfast"

What a tease

I roll my eyes but I smile, "Ok baby. First breakfast"