#courtship Masterpost

[writingtraumaforever]

Courtship Masterpost!

Main Story:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Sequels:

Home Alone

AO3 Link

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 11)

Masterpost

When Jason arrived at the manor to meet Danny it wasn’t him who greeted him but Damian. Jason tensed as he always did when he saw Damian, though now the feeling he got when he saw Damian made more sense to him. He had read the slide show, he knew that the urge to fight Damian wasn’t hatred, and neither was the way Damian lashed out at him… at least probably not. They should spar more, but not right now, he still needed to overcome the urge to fight Damian in the lobby.

“Todd,” Damian greeted.

“Demon-Brat,” Jason said, insults were practically his love language now anyway. 

Damian sniffed disdainfully, but he was shifting from foot to foot. He had something to say and was struggling to figure out how. Jason crossed his arms and dutifully waited for Damian to spit it out. “Danny has warned me about the role that combat has in courtship for his kind, I do not know why on earth he would want you to court him But that is his decision. I will not interfere but understand that he is vulnerable and he is protected. If you hurt him in any way there will be consequences.” 

“I’m not planning to hurt him, but I also don’t even know if we are ‘courting’ yet,” Jason said rolling his eyes. 

“Well then you’re even more of a fool then I thought,” Damian said with a disdainful sniff. “He’s a very powerful being, Zatana says that he will likely grow to be a god, you should be grateful he is willing to let you court him.” 

Jason blinked rapidly, he hadn’t been here for that conversation so that was the first he was hearing of that! It also occurred to him that Damian had a baby-crush on Danny and considered teasing him about it but decided not to. “Huh, good to know,” He said, simply reaching out to ruffle Damian’s hair and missing on purpose as he dodged away. “So where is Danny?”

“He’s waiting for you in the dojo upstairs,” Damian said, sounding a little resigned as he gestured upwards. “I hope you made reservations for somewhere worthy.”

“Don’t worry Dami,” Jason snorted, brushing past him to head towards the stairs. “I’ve got it under control.”

Once again as soon as he entered the dojo and saw Danny the violent urges surged but he wasn’t alone and he didn’t swing first. Danny came at him first and Jason rose to meet him. The fight was longer but less desperate this time. It felt like they were getting out their energy and anger without meaning it, and by the end Jason and Danny were both breathing hard and purring again. It really did feel like bonding, they were closer now then they had been at the beginning of the fight, even if they had hardly said a word.

It ended in a stalemate, or, Jason got Danny pinned but it couldn’t have been more obvious that Danny let him. Jason was glad they didn’t have an audience this time so later he could deny that made him blush. Danny gave him a cheeky grin and reached up to pull Jason down, slow enough that Jason was able to scramble away before Danny got hold of him.

He coughed to clear his  throat awkwardly, grabbing one of the towels that sat on a shelf on one side of the dojo, using it to wipe his face and the back of his neck. The fight had been intense enough to make him sweat, though Danny still seemed unbothered, and there were some gym style showers off of the dojo. 

“Well I’m glad I brought a change of clothes!I’m going to have a quick shower and then we can go out for dinner okay?”

“Sounds good, I’ll go change too. Alfred bought me a Ton of new clothes, I really didn’t need that much more. By the way, what sort of place are we going? I mean, should I dress up?” Danny asked a little awkwardly, Running a hand back through his hair to try and push his bangs back.

“I mean, probably a little bit?” Jason said. “If I didn’t take you somewhere nice I think Damian would shank me. It’s cute how protective of you he is,” Jason teased. 

“Alright, so we talking jeans and a button down? Or proper dress pants?” Danny asked, cocking his head to the side. 

“Better to go with dress pants. The good ones are pretty comfortable anyway, and Alfred wouldn’t get you bad one. No need for a jacket though, unless you’ll be cold?” 

“I have an ice core, I never get cold,” Danny laughed. Jason was just going to pretend he understood what that meant.

“Alright,” Danny agreed, bouncing to his feet in a way that denied gravity and bouncing out of the room to go get changed.

Jason grinned like an idiot after him before shaking off the feeling and going to have a quick shower and get dressed for their date.

Jason showered and dressed in a red shirt and soft brown pants before meeting up with Danny who was wearing a blue that brought out his eyes and black pants, he looked… very good. Judging by the blush on Danny’s cheeks he thought the same thing about Jason. 

“Have you ridden on a motorbike before?” Jason asked rather than acknowledging any of that.

“Oh! Ya I have, not that often but I know the basics,” Danny assured, following Jason eagerly towards the door. 

“Great, I have an extra helmet for you.”

“Do I have to?” Danny sighed dramatically. “It wouldn’t kill me anyway if I fell off.”

“Yes you have to,” Jason said firmly, his stomach twisting at the idea of Danny getting hurt. “You have to be more careful Danny! I get that we’re all bad about risk taking, and you’re tough, but you don’t have just yourself to worry about anymore!” Jason said, trying not to sound too much like he was scolding Danny. He wasn’t sure it worked because Danny did look pretty chided as he took the helmet. 

“The babies aren’t in my head, the helmet wouldn’t protect them,” He muttered as he put it on. Jason just hummed and rolled his eyes as he put his own on. 

Danny got on the bike behind him and wrapped his arms around Jason’s waist, snuggling up against his back even as continued to sulk. “Hold on tight, and the helmets have mics so we can still talk without having to yell. It’s a bit of a drive,” Jason warned. He could have gotten there a lot faster, but not without breaking traffic laws and he was in civvies so a half hour drive it had to be.

Danny hummed and tightened his grip on Jason as he kicked back the stand and revved the bike, peeling out of the driveway in a way he knew would piss off Bruce. It also made Danny yelp and cling tighter though so Jason slowed down a bit once they were out of the driveway. 

Danny was quiet for maybe ten minutes and Jason was starting to worry he’d upset Danny more then he realized and maybe should apologize when he spoke up. “You’re right. When Cass clocked that I was pregnant it was the first time I’d talked to anyone about it besides Vlad. I’m not… Honestly the way I’ve survived most of the shit that’s happened to me was not thinking about the implications. I’m not sure how I’m going to do this. I’m in a way better position now then I was even a week ago but it’s going to be such a big change I’m having a hard time imagining what it's even going to look like.”

Jason hummed, nodding and taking a moment to consider his response. His first instinct was to remind Danny that he didn’t Have to have the babies since it was still early but he knew that the other bats would have already brought it up. If Danny was anything other than fiercely protective and utterly determined to have the babies Bruce and Dick would still be trying to convince him to not be a teen parent and focus on his education. The same way they had tried to convince everyone in the family not to be vigilantes and utterly failed. 

“You’re going to be a good dad Danny, and you’re not going to do this alone. Bruce never got to have any of us as babies, the youngest of us was 12 when he adopted us and I know he’s looking forward to having a baby around. Alfred is too, and Damian and Dick will compete for best uncle. Money is no object, you’ll get everything you and the babies need. It’s still going to be a big change obviously but there’s nothing to be scared of I promise,” Could he make that promise really? Well he just did so he’d better do his best to make sure it was kept. 

“It’s not just that though,” Danny said and hesitated again. Jason stayed quiet to let him organize his thoughts. “My binder is hurting more to wear, my.. Chest aches, I told Bruce I was just incubating ghost cores. And that’s what I’ve been telling Myself too, but I got sick this morning and the babies are clones of me, and I’m half human. What if I actually am pregnant?

“I told Jazz I’d bring up going to a human doctor but then dodged it. I haven’t been in years and I am nervous about going again but it’s more than that. I don’t like my body, I’m too young for hormones or surgery but if my body changes. What if my chest hurts too much and I can’t wear my binder anymore? What if they grow more? They’ve always been small enough to hide before.

“I don’t mind the idea of my stomach growing, or even really being a mom. I’m a man but I do feel like I identify more with maternity than paternity. It’s really just my.. Breasts. God I hate that word. I don’t want them to grow, I don’t want to lactate or breastfeed. I mean, I DO, I actually really do but just the idea is giving my dysphoria at the same time that I really want to do it to bond with the babies.” It was like a dam had broken and Danny’s words came fast and a little loud, breathing hard between bouts of talking. 

“Deep breaths please Danny, take a few deep breaths,” Jason soothed, taking one hand off the handlebars briefly to pat Danny’s hands where they were clasped over his stomach. He was a bit at a loss about this, none of his siblings were trans, he knew trans people but he’d never had to talk anyone through these particular problems. “These are a lot of what ifs to be panicking about. It’s totally your choice, the babies can be bottle fed if the time comes and you’re not up to it. There’s nothing wrong with that. We’ll all be here for you no matter what happens, but you really should go to the doctor Danny. At least then we’ll know what to expect right?”

“Will you come with me to the doctor? I’m a bit scared of human doctors, I’ve heard people talking about experimenting on me so much as Phantom that every time I’m in a lab-like environment now I can’t stop thinking about it,” Danny asked, a pleading edge to his voice.

“Ya, I’ll come with you, and whoever else you want,” Jason promised, because what else could he say? “We’ll make an appointment for you with Dr. Leslie, she sees all of us vigilantes, she sees just about everyone involved in the night life and never Ever talks to the cops or the feds. Trust me no one can get that woman to talk to anyone, she’s safe.”

“Thank you,” Danny murmured, leaning his cheek against Jason’s shoulder. The rest of the ride was a quiet one as Danny recovered and Jason tried not to overthink his lackluster responses. 

-----

Jason parked a block away from the restaurant rather than trusting any concierge with his bike and waited for Danny to get off before he did. He took off his helmet and took Danny’s from him and locked them both in the storage compartment on his bike before leading the way, shoving his hands awkwardly in his pockets. He was never the most… socially competent. He was better than Tim but he was worse than Dick and Bruce and in moments like this he wished these things came a little easier to him.

Danny was quiet, his hands swinging loosely by his side as he followed, Jason noted the way he kept looking around them. They all did that, looking for threats civilians might not see, it was how you spotted a hero even when they weren’t trying to be spotted. Still there were no problems between the bike and the restaurant and when they got inside Jason softly asked the host to make sure Danny got one of the menus without prices. He was knew to this lifestyle, Jason remembered the first time he’d gone out to a fancy dinner with Wayne the prices had nearly given him a heart attack and he was younger and less set in his ways then Danny.

He didn’t want Danny to worry about the prices, he’d be paying and he was both the son of a millionaire and a crime lord, he could buy the entire fucking place without blinking. The host nodded understanding and ushered both of them to the most private table in the establishment. 

They settled in and ordered drinks, Jason a coke and Danny a signature lemonade before they were left with the menus. Danny gave Jason a suspicious look when he noticed there weren’t any prices but when Jason innocently pretended not to notice Danny huffed and decided not to bring it up. 

“Order whatever you want, appetizer and dessert too,” Jason encouraged, putting on his innocent face again when Danny gave him a Look. 

“Alright,” Danny agreed with a dramatic sigh, he didn’t need to be pushed too hard though, Alfred had mentioned Danny was almost always hungry, wish was why Jason hadn’t chosen one of the fancy places with ridiculously small portions.

Danny took a while to choose, and asked Jason about a few items and words on the menu. Finally he sighed and put his menu down to indicate he was done. It wasn’t long before the waitress returned to take their order for appetizers and main before vanishing again.

“So,” Danny asked leaning against the table and clasping his hands. “You have questions?”

Next

[sporadicthingcollection]

Hey, I noticed you are under the influence of Buggy’s clownussy (me too). Do you have have any headcanon for him?

I mean, I might have a lil somethin somethin. lemme see here...

also plz never say clownussy again i already had to have this talk with my irl bf about clenis and i'm getting sick of it

Buggy Headcanons (SFW + NSFW)

SFW (◡‿◡✿)

True blue bisexual, but leans ever-so-slightly towards women. There's just something about boobs, man. Can't explain it.

He wasn't born with the nose. It just kinda happened over the course of a few weeks when he was really, really young. Or so they told him, anyways. Not like he remembers.

Surprisingly attentive and romantic when he's not overthinking it. Unfortunately, he's always overthinking it. He shoots himself in the foot and ends up not doing anything.

A really good partner dancer! He's not doing any soft-shoe routines, but he can whirl and twirl with the best of them. Get him a little sloshed beforehand and he might bust out some fun Chop Chop-assisted moves.

Show him unconditional love and he's yours forever. Leave, however, and you're marked for life... in theory. He'll howl at you until he's blue in the face if he sees you again, but smooch his cheek again and he'll quite literally collapse into a thousand pieces.

NSFW ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Very inconsistent sex drive. A bang here and there if he's not hyperfixating on someone, but when he is, not even masturbation will cut it. He needs you.

Trims a little bit down there when it gets itchy, but it's mostly unruly curls. Smells musky in a pleasant, masculine way.

Below average length cock, but nice and t h i c c. Fully intact. He hisses most deliciously when you ease his foreskin back.

He's a very noisy lover. Whispers while he kisses, grunts like a boar while he fucks, whines like a dog when he cums. Snores like a beast after.

Doesn't matter how leisurely a lay it was, he is winded afterwards. Needs either a good night's sleep or a solid-ass nap. Take this opportunity to cuddle the fuck out of him.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

[mimisempai]

Story of a Real Romantic Relationship - Day 6

This back and forth, this bickering, if it isn't the beginnings of a courtship… ( a bumpy one as said Owen)

Masterpost : here

[havendance]

Velveteen vs The Masterpost

When I was in high school, I stumbled across Seanan McGuire’s series of “Velveteen vs.” stories, staring Velma “Velveteen” Martinez, a former child superhero with the power to animate toys, who stumbles from one misadventure to the next. Taking place in a world where superheroics is run almost entirely by a single corporation and child heroes are put through some of the worst abuses of child stars, the series features fun characters, worldbuilding, and relationships, and of course, cool fight scenes. In true comics fashion, it ends on a rather open-ended note and, as far as I can tell, she hasn’t written any stories since 2017, but most of the main arcs are tied up and I definitely recommend you check them out!

(I became obsessed with these stories after finding them. An example of me getting into comics before I actually got into comics.)

(Thank you to https://broken-engines.blogspot.com/ for compiling directory of story links I could borrow for this post.)

Velveteen vs. The Isley Crayfish Festival

Velveteen vs. The Coffee Freaks

Velveteen vs. The Flashback Sequence

Velveteen vs. The Old Flame

Velveteen vs. The Junior Super Patriots, West Coast Division

Velveteen vs. The Eternal Halloween

Velveteen vs. The Ordinary Day

Velveteen vs. Patrol

Velveteen vs. The Blind Date

Velveteen vs. Blacklight vs. Sin-Dee, Part I

Velveteen vs. Blacklight vs. Sin-Dee, Part II

Velveteen vs. The Holiday Special

Velveteen vs. The Secret Identity

Martinez and Martinez v. Velveteen

Velveteen vs. The Alternate Timeline, Part I

Velveteen vs. The Alternate Timeline, Part II

Velveteen vs. The Retroactive Continuity

Velveteen Presents Victory Anna vs. All These Stupid Parallel Worlds

Velveteen vs. The Uncomfortable Conversation

Velveteen vs. Bacon

Velveteen vs. The Robot Armies of Dr. Walter Creelman, DDS

Velveteen vs. The Fright Night Sorority House Massacre Sleepover Camp

Velveteen vs. Vegas

Velveteen Presents Victory Anna vs. The Difficulties With Pan-Dimensional Courtship

Velveteen vs. Legal

Velveteen Presents Jackie Frost vs. Four Conversations and a Funeral

Velveteen vs. Jolly Roger

Velveteen vs. Everyone, Part I

Velveteen vs. Everyone, Part II

Sponsorship: Velveteen vs. The Epilogue

Velveteen vs. The Aftermath

Velveteen vs. Hypothermia

Velveteen vs. Santa Claus

Velveteen vs. Global Warming

Velveteen Presents The Princess vs. Public Relations

Velveteen vs. The Thaw

Velveteen vs. Balance

Velveteen vs. Spring Cleaning

Velveteen Presents Polychrome vs. The Court of Public Opinion and Not Punching Anyone

Velveteen vs. The Melancholy of Autumn

Velveteen vs. A Disturbing Number of Crows

Velveteen vs. Trick or Treat

Velveteen Presents Action Dude vs. Doing the Right Thing

Velveteen vs. The Consequences of Her Actions

Velveteen vs. Going Home Again

Velveteen vs. Everything You Ever Wanted

Velveteen vs. The Retroactive Continuity (2)

Velveteen Presents Jacqueline Claus vs. The Lost and the Found

Velveteen vs. Recovery

Velveteen vs. Temptation

[emry-stars-art]

👑 ROYAL AU WRITING MASTERPOST 👑

New? Here’s the first and second overview/random plot posts about this au, and the lore masterpost :)

A first meeting

(A little of Day’s pov from that same afternoon)

Fencing

Andrew’s casual behavior (tumblr snippet)

His name isn’t Nathaniel

Lady Reynolds hand-delivers a gift

That same day’s ball

The prince makes his distance clear (mentions of canon abuse)

Abram discovers Andrew’s scars

After Abram’s background comes out

Andrew takes care of Abram’s hair

Abram’s return from Evermore

A collection of healing/comfort

Pieces of his recovery

Andrew taking over Abram’s care

First kiss

The first ball after Andrew’s official declaration of courtship

Abram discovers Andrew’s letters

Run in with Spear

Abram gifts Maserati to Andrew (& picnic)

[foggystarrs]

A Step by Step Guide on Mermaid Courtship [MASTERPOST]

“Read the complete guide explaining mermaid courting rituals, gestures, gifts and more!”

or basically, I info dump about my mer! Sun, Moon x reader fanfiction and what all of their gestures toward the reader mean. Some of these will be seen on future chapters!

Section 1.1:

Shells

“In mermaid courting, it is typical to gift potential mates: shells, trinkets and sea rocks to show their interest in the other. Each shell has a different meaning, similar to victorian flower language (in human terms).”

Here are some of the meanings:

- [ ] Sea rocks/Sea glass (romantic intentions. If they are bioluminescent it could mean “You brighten my day” or something similar, although the colors are also important. Typical courting practices make it so that the gifts are the color of both of the mer’s scales. If the mer doesn’t have scales, then of their favorite color.)

- [ ] Conch shell (romantic, usually in a shade of a mer’s scales to indicate who the gift is from. The first ever gift received as an announcement of their interest in courting you.)

- [ ] Olive Shell (friendly or romantic intentions, usually means “I love spending time with you.”)

- [ ] Scallops (friendly or romantic, usually used as an apology, “i deeply regret everything”. The amount of scallops gifted is equal to how regretful the mer is of their actions.)

- [ ] Sand Dollar (friendly or romantic, usually used to say thank you or express gratitude.)

- [ ] Queen Conch Shell (romantic, usually meant to say “you’re beautiful” or to compliment a mer’s appearance. Is used when trying to ask the mer to be their mate and is the next step in courting a mer. If the queen conch shell is given with a pearl they are asking you to “go steady” or to “start dating” in mer terms.)

- [ ] Banded Tulip (romantic, essentially means “be my mate” or “i am interested in you”, more casual like saying you have a crush on someone.)

- [ ] Pearl (romantic, essentially means “be my forever mate”, the equivalent of an engagement ring for humans.)

- [ ] Scales (romantic, “be my forever mate”, the final step to courting and most obvious one for mers who are more straight forward. Essentially asking you to be theirs. The equivalent of marriage for humans. After all, merfolk mate for life.)

“The act of rejecting a gift given to you by a mer would be rejecting the courting itself, letting the mer know you aren’t interested in them in that way. Be very careful how you react toward a gift, as they are extremely important in mer culture.”

Section 2.2:

Gestures

- [ ] Placing your hand’s knuckles against a mer’s forehead is the equivalent of kissing your hand to humans. Something more gentlemanly and polite. Can be used while introducing yourself, as a greeting or just a general act of affection.

- [ ] Nuzzling is another act of affection, if a mer nuzzles your cheek it would be like they’re kissing your cheek. It is typically done with potential mates, mated pairs, or between mothers and their young.

- [ ] Scenting is something done only with mates,, but on special occasions it is done between friends or pods to ensure the other mer is safe. It’s essentially saying “this person is mine so back off” to potential predators or other mers.

- [ ] Cuddling/Touching/Hugging is obviously affectionate similar to humans. Not all mers are cuddly or like physical touch. Sun and Moon are both cuddly in general, but even more so toward someone they are interested in romantically.

- [ ] Sharing food or hunting together is only done between pods or mates. If a mer offers to share food with you they are probably trying to test the waters to see if they have a chance at actually courting you.

- [ ] Bioluminescence has a huge significance for mer culture. It can be used as a threat display or to attract mates. Body language is a huge indicator on which is the cause, however. For Sun and Moon, the most obvious indicator is their eyes. When threatened, their pupils are not visible anymore, and the bioluminescence on their bodies are almost blinding. When flustered or trying to court someone, their pupils are fully visible, the glow from their bodies softer and easier on the eyes.

- [ ] Bioluminescent mating dances are another aspect of mer courting culture. They often do intricate dances while flashing in bioluminescence for potential mates, in order to attract them (similar to how male peacocks use their feathers to attract mates).

“Surprisingly enough, mers have a lot of traits similar to cats. If they are purring, they are very happy and relaxed. The ultimate trust a mer could give someone is being comfortable enough to sleep while in their company. It indicates that they feel safe enough around you to rest, leaving them in such a vulnerable state in front of you.”

Section 3.3:

Sun and Moon

“Sun and Moon are both salt water mers, with markings on their tails similar to koi fish, yet sharp teeth and claws similar to sharks. They are both 7 feet long in size and can breathe both in water and on land. Being siblings, they each have similar markings along their bodies, each with respective colors to match their environments (with Moon being nocturnal, he has darker scales).

Sun is often friendly toward others, the happy and cuddly mer excited to make friends, while Moon is more cautious and suspicious, often taking up the role of protecting them both. That being said, both are equally protective of what they consider theirs (and equally as deadly toward potential threats). However, if you show Moon that you truly mean to harm, he can turn out to be the biggest sweetheart, oftentimes just as cuddly as his Sunny counterpart.”

How they hunt:

Sun often uses his bioluminescence to blind his prey, flashing it to life in a bright orange flash and using their temporary blindness to strike when they are disoriented. He can hunt, but often more than not can be kind of clumsy and end up missing, getting too excited in his thrill to try and get his catch (Moon tells him he should be more patient, but that’s so boring!! How can he stay still when the fish is right there??). That beginning attack is crucial for him, and if he misses, his prey can more often than not be able to slip away. If he does manage to get that initial bite, then the rest is easy, his claws allowing him to slice through his prey neatly and easily.

Moon is more of an ambush predator, choosing to hide in the shadows and blend in with his surroundings. He chooses rocks, corals and darker places to hide in where his scales can blend in better. He waits until the perfect moment to strike, often using the lure at the end of his head appendage to attract his prey. He is always very precise. He almost never misses an attack, if he does it’ll be by unforeseen circumstances, like unknown terrain, underestimating the prey’s strength or being outnumbered for example. His eyes help him hunt better in the dark, and although he can’t see the best during the day, he can sense the vibrations of his prey swimming through the water (Sun has this ability as well).

Affection:

They both love hugs and nuzzling, often quite touchy and cuddly with someone they are interested in.

Sun loves holding someone close to his chest, he loves the feeling of having his arms wrapped around you while he wraps his tail completely around you like a snake. If you are already mates, however, he is also very big on kisses. Often covering your face with kisses all over and melting when he receives some in return.

Moon loves curling up around you, not exactly trapping you like Sun but still being able to feel your warmth. He also loves holding hands, he loves the feeling of your fingers intertwined, feeling how different your hands are between his webbed fingers. If you caress his face or pet his head appendage he absolutely melts. His favorite moments, however, are when you are in each other’s presence. It could be just sitting near each other, talking amongst the stars or swimming together, he doesn’t mind.

Regarding love languages, both of them would be physical touch. Alongside that, however, they each show their love differently. Moon’s would be gift giving and quality time. Sun, on the other hand, would be acts of service and words of affirmation.

And with that we conclude our guide on mermaid courtship and culture!!

We hope our book was of use to you, and hopefully next time you encounter a merperson, you will be better versed on what their intentions with you may be.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

as much as i love buggy, i’m gonna request sanji for the fluffy alphabet!

let’s go foooor… C, D, N, U, and Y please! (my goldfish brain forgot if you said five at the most lol)

i love your work sm and i really wish you all the best!

Yay flirty chef!! Most of the requests for the Fluffabet have been Mihawk so far, which I am NOT COMPLAINING ABOUT I love him a very abnormal amount; but Sanji is just so precious and writing for him just

*melts into a silly giggling puddle*

Aaaaanyway. I very much want to thank you for requesting the letter U, I've kind of been looking forward to it, since it gives me creative freedom to brainstorm further and deeper into the characters and their quirks/psychologies, and I always love doing that.

Thank you for the request, and I hope you enjoy!!!

Also feel free to come back and make requests for Buggy, as I've gotten none for him yet at all. Sad clown noises.

Also also, since someone else asked, requests for the Fluffy Alphabet will remain open until all letters are claimed for all characters; and I'll still accept requests for other characters I haven't listed if I feel I can write them and do them justice, I just listed the ones I did because they're the ones I've written the most. Until I state on my Masterpost that requests are closed, they are very much open!!

C is for Courtship (How would they court you?)

“The heavens must be dull these days with their most beautiful goddess stuck down here.”

Firmly believes it was love at first sight, and Sanji is absolutely determined to win you over. As much as he wants to pull you in by your hands, wrap his arms around you, and tell you he’s loved you since the moment he first laid eyes on you; he also doesn’t want to overstep any boundaries and risk blowing his chances.

Flirty, flirty, flirty. He can’t help it, it's just what he does—but he’s respectful about it, dropping silly little lines designed to make you giggle, hopefully make you blush a little. Beyond that, though, he’s going to make every effort possible to legitimately get to know you; your likes and dislikes, your goals, your dreams, everything, wanting to ensure that you know he’s interested in you for more than just being a pretty face that happened to catch his eye.

If you flirt back, you’re never going to be able to get rid of him, he’s your responsibility now, basically a lost puppy that followed you home, end of story.

He’s bent on impressing you, so your first date he’s going to insist on cooking for you, just the two of you—meeting you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers (he made sure to ask in passing about your favorites at some point beforehand), with a light kiss on the cheek and a soft touch at your waist.

D is for Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning and other such household chores?)

“No, no, you sit down and relax, I can handle this, love. Really.”

Settling down with you would be a dream come true. He does have his dream of finding the All Blue, but if you’re willing to come with him on that adventure, then the journey there would be just as much of a dream to him as the destination itself.

It doesn’t take him very long at all to decide that he wants to spend the rest of his life with you, and he’ll do anything to make that happen.

He’s quite cleanly and organized in general—having spent the better part of his formative years working in a professional kitchen, it’s become a force of habit. If something needs to be cleaned, to be tidied up or organized, he’s going to do so automatically, without even really thinking about it. He would much rather just see you relaxing, will probably protest a bit about you “doing too much” if you lift a finger to so much as sweep a floor.

You already know that cooking is handled. Cooking, kitchen maintenance in general. That goes without saying. Even if you enjoy cooking as well and you want to cook with him (absolute bonus, he loves cooking with you), he’s going to be right behind you wiping down the counters, washing and drying all the dishes as you go before you even have a chance to drop them in the sink.

N is for Needs (What do they need in a healthy relationship?)

“I don’t know how I ever survived without you in my life, sweetheart.”

Sanji can be a bit on the needy side. It isn’t that he lacks confidence, or that he absolutely requires constant reassurance—he just adores you, and wants to spend every minute possible with you, making sure that you know how precious you are to him.

If you’re near him, he needs to be touching you in some capacity. Whether it’s subtle, his hand resting at the small of your back while he stands next to you, or his arm curled around you and touching your waist; or if he’s pulling you back against him, arms around your waist or hands at your hips, resting his chin at your shoulder and pressing a kiss to your cheek, he always wants to be close to you.

Constantly telling you how much he loves you, showering you with praise for every little thing you do. If it gets to be too overwhelming he will back off—but you’re still going to catch him out of the corner of your vision with his own eyes glued to you, smiling and sighing as if you’re the single most incredible thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

That being said, if you argue about anything at all, he’ll be an absolute wreck, apologizing incessantly and begging your forgiveness; and he might need a fair amount of reassurance after the fact that you aren’t upset anymore. He can’t stomach the thought of upsetting you, because losing you would utterly devastate him.

U is for Unique (What’s something unique about them that no one knows but you?)

“It’s fine, just couldn’t sleep. Thought I’d get a head start on breakfast. You can go back to bed.”

Cooking is of course his passion—but it can, and sometimes does, double as a coping mechanism. He has a deeply troubled past, and every so often it might plague him in the form of nightmares.

In which case you’ll often  wake up to find his side of the bed empty; to find him in the kitchen in the wee hours of the night or morning, while everyone else is asleep, either prepping meals for the day or experimenting with new recipes to set his mind at ease.

He’s happy to accept if you offer to help, or if you just decide to sit up with him and offer your company. He’ll probably try to convince you to go back to bed, that there’s no need for you to lose sleep, but he’s not going to turn you down if you insist. It’s a gamble whether or not he’ll talk with you about what’s bothering him, or if he’ll keep a bit more quiet than usual while he immerses himself in his work. Either way, he appreciates your presence and your support more than you could ever know.

The menial, repetitive task of preparing ingredients in particular offers a pillar of stability and structure that helps him to breathe a little easier, to sort through that turmoil and make better sense of it; while the act of experimenting with something new helps steer his mind back to the present rather than dwelling on what woke him in the first place.

Y is for Yearning (What’s something that they yearn for when you’re separated?)

“Oh, no, love, I assure you, I definitely missed you more.”

It would be better to ask what he doesn’t yearn for. He simply can’t stand being apart from you, for any length of time. It isn’t that he doesn’t trust you, that doesn’t even cross his mind. He knows you’ll come back to him. He just can’t stand the length of time that you aren’t there.

Your touch, your scent, your face, your eyes, your body—your smile, your laugh, your voice, your embrace, your kisses—whether it’s minutes or hours or days that you happen to be apart, you’re the only thing that he can think about, having you back by his side, in his arms, safe and sound.

Life on the sea isn’t the safest, and he’s going to spend the entire time you're apart worried that something might happen to you. Even if you’re capable of handling yourself, he would feel much better being with you, knowing that he’s there to keep you safe.

And when you are together again, he makes it very clear just how much he missed you, all but literally gluing himself to your side, incessant in his insistence of how much he missed you, how he doesn’t ever want to spend that long apart again.

Even if it was only five minutes. Doesn’t matter, time is irrelevant, any amount of time away from you is far too long.

[ichayalovesyou]

The Aesthetic of Vulcan

Home Decor:

Vulcan Architecture

A collection of canonical images depicting various structures and landmarks all across the planet, images provided by @capsfromtrek

Vulcan Home Decor

Analysis of Vulcan decorating habits from an anthropological standpoint in respect to the depicted emptiness of Sarek's home in Michael Burnham's memories of it in Star Trek: Discovery. Analysis provided by @captaincrusher and @unicorn-and-bluebells with a minor anecdote from me, and a even more insightful anecdote from @pepperpup86

Fashion:

Bronze Age Fashion (Masculine, Feminine)

Fashion aesthetics from Pre-Awakening T'Khasi, designs provided by @janey-jane

Vulcan Fashion: Personal Anecdotes

My take on the history of Vulcan fashion requested by @madllys

Vulcan Fashion History Analysis

A more educated fashion history take on the evolution of Vulcan fashion from the Enterprise era to The Original Series provided by @thornfield13713

Unraveling A Vulcan

Anecdote by @luftweht on the potential cultural practice of untying the various complex belts and knots common in Vulcan fashion as a courtship ritual.

Hairstyles:

Intricacies of Feminine Vulcan Hairstyles

Images and and an anecdote on the elaborate hairstyles of feminine Vulcans provided by @protectspock

Geometric Hairstyles of Black Vulcans

A collection of curated images depicting elegant and simple geometric and aesthetically mathematical black human hairstyles befitting of their Vulcan equivalents, provided by @wongbal, expanded upon by @parad0xysms

Click Here to Return to the Vulcantology Masterpost (Coming Soon)

[gingernut1314]

One Piece Reading List (Pt. 1)

I have a tendency to read really good fics that I want to re-read weeks later only to find I can't find them in the void. Soooo I came up with this little reading list solution--kinda like a GoodReads vibe lol. I want to be able to share what I’ve read and be able to show my absolute love for them!! This is part 1 of this little list so there will be a part 2 (mainly cause it isn't letting me add more 😂).

I recommend every last fic on here because they are amazing and they and their authors deserve all the love in the world!!!! 🩷

↞ to One Piece Masterlist | Request Rules | Blog Navigation ↠ Part 2

Buggy: 🤡

Buggy x smuggler!reader @ay0nha

I can't keep crying @galaxycunt

Unlovable @httpwintersoldier

lady marmelade. @httpwintersoldier

Funny Business @constantmourning

Like lighting when I'm Swimming in the Sea @rorywritesjunk

Didn't Mean to Make Your Heart Blue: @wood-white-writer Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9

Kid Buggy Series: @rorywritesjunk Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6/Epilogue

The Show Must Go On: @empressofmankind Part 1 | Part 2

Mihawk: 🟡👄🟡

The Warlord and the Duchess @dino-fart

Mihawk with his S/O @writingoddess1125

On the Run @constantmourning

Bloodhound @httpwintersoldier

Let Go and Grip Me Tighter @sordidmusings

Crocodile: 🐊

Sandcastle by @sunshinescribes

Croc x Chaotic pairing by @jesterwriting

On My Silent Days, I Miss You Louder @empressofmankind

Shanks: 🍺🧑‍🦰

I want your eyes only on me @luna0713hunter

Jolly Sailor Bold @httpwintersoldier

Net @sinning-23

Confession @hiddndaydreams

Sanji: 🧑‍🍳

Sanji x Vampire!gn!Reader @jesterwriting

bon appétit, baby @httpwintersoldier

"Love Cook" @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction

You're being mean @buckysxgal

Commit to the Bit @writingmysanity

Luffy: 🍖

To Breath Underwater @sinning-23

Usopp: 🤥

Retwist @sinning-23

Zoro: 🗡️🥦 ⚔️

Starless @stray-kaz

Zoro Jealous @undiscovered-horizon

Imagine Your "Zoro's Keeper" @gojo-mochi

Roronoa "I could eat a peach for hours" Zoro @yourtamaki

Nami: 🍊

I kissed a girl. @miloonmetis

Multiple Characters: 🏴‍☠️

What Marriage Life would be like with the Seven Warlord of the Seas by @one-piece-aus

"I feel kinda ugly" ft. Monster Trio! @coffetears

Shake a'lil Ass by @sinning-23

Supa Freak @sinning-23

Blowing Bubbles, Blowing ZAZA @sinning-23

Zoro and Sanji have their eye on the same girl @undiscovered-horizon

One piece kisses - Monster trio @indydonuts

Bickering in Love ft. the Monster trio @indydonuts

What they might call their fem s/o @one-piece-fluff-hell

How they lost their virginity @writingoddess1125

Shanks and Mihawk...share @thus-spoke-lo

Masterlists:

Fanaticsnail's Masterlist @fanaticsnail

One piece headcanons masterlist & One piece Masterlist @httpwintersoldier

The Curious Courtship of Buggy the Clown Masterpost @sporadicthingcollection

Clipped Wings @honeybeezgobzzzzz

Something Dread, Something Red @honeybeezgobzzzzz

Sordidmusing's Masterlist @sordidmusings

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Hello, let's say one would like to court a Gallifreyan: what would be the (general) best course of action and what is best to avoid.

How should you court a Gallifreyan?

Of course! Courting a Gallifreyan can be a bit of a minefield, so here's a general overview of pointers you may find helpful:

🧠 Be intellectually stimulating: Gallifreyans have brains bigger than their egos, and they adore a good intellectual debate. Your comprehensive knowledge of 21st-century reality TV shows won't score points, but a deep dive into the existential implications of time travel might just do the trick.

🍽️ Pick the right meal: Go for refined dishes or dishes that have historical or cultural importance. Gallifreyan taste buds are finely tuned instruments: a diverse range of flavours is welcome, while a chilli pepper apocalypse is probably not.

❌ Avoid mind games: Attempting strange human customs like "hard to get" with a five-dimensional being is idiotic. Not only could most Gallifreyans find these concepts primitive and pointless, but also confusing.

🫨 Don't be overly emotional or impulsive: A lot of Gallifreyans value control and stoicism over emotions. Engaging them on an emotional level is extremely rewarding, but it can take a while to get there. Trying to do this too early can scare them off.

🙏 Be forgiving: Gallifreyans, and Time Lords especially, can be insensitive and pompous. Their sense of superiority might slip out ('Oh, you still use linear time? Quaint!'). Don't take any of this personally, or else you're in for a very short courtship.

🌍 Choose good date locations: Your date's idea of a wild night likely involves a lecture on quantum entanglement rather than a rave. Keep your date locations less Ministry of Sound and more BBC4/PBS.

🤫 Keep it quiet: Don't pick overly crowded or chaotic places to go - a bustling environment might distract their telepathic senses, turning your date into a telepathic traffic jam where they're too busy listening to what all the drivers are saying to bother listening to you.

👏 Laud their achievements: Nothing warms Gallifreyan hearts like recognition of their brilliance, so remember to nod and say, 'ooo, you're so clever!' every so often.

🤲 Show respect for Gallifreyan traditions and customs: Even if you don't fully understand them, acknowledging and appreciating their cultural heritage can go a long way.

😍 Take it slow: Many Gallifreyans don't place the same level of importance on physical intimacy that some humans do. Make sure to build a foundation of mutual consent and respect before exploring that aspect of the relationship if you require it.

🔮 Embrace Telepathy: Just as some humans might require physical intimacy, for some Gallifreyans, intimacy might involve a telepathic connection. Don't shy away from this even if it's mainly one-way traffic.

Despite all of this, remember that every Gallifreyan is unique, with their personality traits, interests, and views. Tailor your approach based on the individual you're courting.

Related:

How should you court a member of Faction Paradox/a Celesti?: Advice on dating someone from Faction Paradox/a Celesti.

How do Gallifreyans flirt?: How Gallifreyans approach flirting

Factoid: What gift would suit my Gallifreyan and their biology?

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[dyinginlasvegas]

One Day We'll Get Nostalgic For Disaster

This is the first chapter of an ensemble Fallout New Vegas fic by Prix, starring Arcade Gannon, Benny Gecko, Craig Boone, and a female Courier Six. Masterpost here. AO3 link here.

Saturday, January 22, 2281. 2:08 A.M.

It is the coldest night in January. Of course it is. That makes it all the more cliché.

Arcade stares at the ceiling with one wrist resting beneath his head. It’s warm in bed, helped by the presence of the man next to him. He doesn’t look over at him. Judging by the steady, deep rhythm of his breathing, he’s probably fast asleep anyway. The darkness is another good excuse.

Arcade thinks of what he will say if he disturbs him as he gets up to leave.

Is it kinder to lie? To give some excuse so transparent it would border on insulting?

Or would it be kinder to tell the truth?

‘I’m sorry, Emmanuel, but this isn’t going to work. Your lyrics are the most poetic words I’ve heard in Freeside, but we hardly know a thing about each other. And I can’t tell you. I won’t tell you. So it’s better if we leave it at this.’

Arcade feels a metaphorical weight settle over his chest. At the same time, he feels the tip of Emmanuel’s nose brush against the bare skin of his shoulder. The warmth in his breath just makes him shiver instead of adding to the sense of being sheltered from the night. Suddenly, he wants to be back at the Old Mormon Fort as quickly as possible, back to a tent and layers of clothing and blankets. Braving the elements is easier than braving the disappointment of yet another awkward goodbye.

He moves carefully, keeping steady as he sits up and swings his legs down over the edge of the bed.

‘Our flirtation and… courtship… has been delightful, but here we are, and I can’t say it. I know I’ll see you around, and I won’t know what to say.’

He’s careful not to stub his toes against Emmanuel’s guitar case – priceless as far as he is concerned – as he searches for the rest of his clothes.

‘I hope you keep writing your music. It’s almost a lost art.’

One thing he doesn’t like is that there is a second bed in the room. He knows that, west of Hoover Dam at least, most people are too concerned with staying alive to have anything to say about another person’s choice of intimate company. He isn’t sure what ‘the King’ would have to say about it, though.

‘One day you may sing on a stage for an audience worthy of your craft. But I’m no suitable patron for that. I have to get back to my work. The wasteland needs music, but it also needs medicine, and between the two of us, you’ve got quite the head start.’

Arcade pulls on his white coat and squints at the mirror that hangs on the wall just behind the door. It has a long, jagged crack that runs along near its frame. There are a lot of mirrors in the “school,” and for the moment he’s grateful. He can barely see through the blue-gray, hazy dark, even after putting his glasses back on.

He reaches out and carefully operates the door handle so as to make as little noise as possible. He looks back over his shoulder, more concerned about being heard within than without. While he opens the door a bit further, some light comes in from the hall which startles him for an instant. It shines right onto the bed and Emmanuel’s face.

Emmanuel doesn’t wake, though.

His coiffed hair has held up pretty well under the circumstances. The thought makes Arcade’s lips quirk into something that is almost a sad smile.

“Good night, Emmanuel,” he says softly before stepping out into the hall and quietly closing the door behind him.

He takes less care when he reaches the stairs. He walks toward the door as though he has just concluded a house call and nothing at all is unusual about his presence. It’s almost the truth.

Outside, he grits his teeth to prevent the cold night air from making them chatter. He trudges back down toward the Fort. About a block out, he turns back to watch The King’s School of Impersonation’s purple and blue neon sign glow and flash. It seems appropriately ‘cool.’

“Impersonation,” he says to himself, as if chiding. He turns his back and hunkers down a bit as he walks on against the wind that manages to breach Freeside’s walls.

Im-‘person’-ation has nothing to do with being a real person. He wonders if they know that – the rest of the Kings. He thinks that Emmanuel is mistaken about the definition of the word, but he hasn’t had the heart to tell him about the difference in ‘impersonation’ and ‘self-actualization.’ As much diversion as the past several weeks of closer acquaintance have provided, the waters have never run quite that deep. And because he’s walking away now, Arcade is secure in the fact that they never will.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Moonflower #16

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: heavy drinking

“You did what?”

Iris stared at Kit. When Kit offered to talk to David, she expected… well she wasn’t sure what she expected. Not this.

“He didn’t want help, so I promised I would if he changed his mind,” he repeated.

“I heard you,” she pinched the bridge of her nose. “But did you have to make a promise promise? You can’t refuse that.”

“I know,” said Kit, an edge to his voice. 

“I get that you want to help, but I’m concerned. You can’t just promise things all the time. You’ll be compelled.”

“I know,” he bit out.

Iris stood from her chair, and Kit shrank back.

“I’m sorry. Please,” he whimpered.

She paused.

“It won’t interfere with our deal,” he begged, “Please.”

What was he afraid of?

“I just wished you’d talk to me first. That’s all.”

“Yes, Mistress. I won’t do it again.”

___________________

Iris sat back down, and Kit tried to steady his breathing. He gulped down air, and tried to ground himself with his palms on the floor.

Iris was still watching him from the corner of her eye, and he curled inwards.

“Why do you sit on the floor?” she asked, picking up another form. “It’s not like there’s an absence of chairs.”

Kit looked away. He didn’t want to say ‘because I got used to it’ or ‘because I’m a smaller target’ or ‘because I’m scared of you’ but these were all true things, and he could not lie.

“Kit?” He half expected her to compel him with his name with how angry she was with him before.

He worked the words in his mouth before answering. “It’s... easier.”

He could feel Iris’s eyes on him.

“Okay.”

She turned back to her paperwork, and Kit felt the weight of fear ease up on his shoulders.

They fell into an uneasy silence, the only sound the scratch of pen on paper and the clinking of the glass inkwell.

She moved on from forms to the stack of mail on her desk; tearing open envelopes and pulling out letters.

Iris frowned, scanning the first bundle of paper before tossing it aside. The next one got the same treatment, and the next after that.

“Toss these in the fireplace, would you?”

Kit nodded, getting to his feet. He gathered the papers and put them on the arranged wood in the unlit hearth.

“What were they?” he dared to ask.

“Proposals. Courtship offers.”

“Oh.”

“Most likely my aunt’s work,” she said, picking up an unopened letter and tossing it aside.

“Can’t you tell her to stop?”

“She wouldn’t.”

Kit hummed in sympathy. 

A knock sounded on the office door, and Kit rose to open it.

The door swung open before he could, and unfortunately it was Aunt Nicole.

“Speak of the devil,” muttered Iris under her breath.

Nicole walked into the room, past Kit. “Would you mind, dear?” she asked over her shoulder, smiling.

“Hm?”

“She wants you to step out for a minute, Kit.”

“Oh. Of course.”

He left, gently closing the door behind him.

Kit leaned against the wall, next to Brennan. The knight raised a brow, but said nothing.

___________________

“You shouldn’t be spending time alone with that disgusting creature,” said Nicole with a slight scowl.

“There’s no need to be crass, Aunt Nicole. Kit bathes every morning.” Iris didn’t bother looking up from her paperwork.

“You know what I mean. I hear he eats dirt.”

“Rumors,” dismissed Iris. “You know how they spread.”

“Exactly. Spending time alone with a man you aren’t courting is not helping your case.”

Iris put down her pen. “My case? You may want to rephrase that.”

Nicole looked taken aback.

“That’s no way to talk to your aunt.”

“And that’s no way to talk to your queen.”

Iris stood, her chair scraping against the wooden floor. She pulled more courtship letters from the pile on her desk.

“This-” she said, waving the papers, “needs to stop.”

Nicole wrung her hands. “I’m only trying to look out for you. If your mother-”

“Don’t you dare,” hissed Iris. “You aren’t my mother, and you don’t get to offer my hand to every man in sight.”

She tossed the remaining letters in the fireplace. 

“I know what you really want, Nicky. And you aren’t going to get it.”

Nicole stood stunned at her hard work getting tossed like the trash it was.

“I’m not getting married. Not now, not ever. Understood?”

“Yes, your majesty,” she said, terse. She turned on her heel, and stalked out.

___________________

Kit’s ear twitched as he listened in on Nicole and Iris. 

She was so angry with Nicole, and what did her aunt really want if not just a marriage?

“Are you really able to hear what they’re saying?” asked Brennan.

“Yes,” he admitted. “Mistress is very upset.”

Nicole slammed the door open and swiftly strode away.

They watched her round the corner.

“You don’t say,” said Brennan dryly. Kit snorted.

“Kit, come here,” called Iris.

He waved to a farewell Brennan as he obeyed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, cautiously making his way inside.

“I will be,” she said, staring down into the unlit fireplace. It was stuffed with letters. “Burn these. And fetch me some wine. A bottle, not a glass.”

“Yes, mistress.”

With an easy flick of his wrist, the letters caught a flame and began to burn. Iris stood watching them, a muted expression on her face, and Kit left to get the wine.

___________________

The wine cellar was just off of the kitchen, and Kit scanned the racks of bottles.

He grabbed two at random, and hoped Iris would like one of them.

She was still standing at the fireplace, the fire casting her in orange light like an autumn oak in sunshine.

Kit set one bottle on her desk and opened the other. He joined her by the fire and passed it over.

She drank straight from the bottle, a long swig that made him uncomfortable.

He was no stranger to drinking, but she was upset, and surely getting drunk in her office would not reflect well on her. Iris cared a lot about appearances, and having them cast aside so easily concerned him.

“Would you rather drink in your room?” he asked gently, and she shrugged.

“What’s the point? The kitchen staff saw you take the bottles anyway.” She took another drink.

“You’re wearing heels,” he tried again, “and this hall is carpeted.”

She took off her shoes and tossed them behind her. “There. Fixed.”

Kit said nothing.

Iris sighed. “We’ll go when the letters are ash, alright? You win.”

___________________

Kit put her heels and dress away as Iris sulked on the couch. 

She was starting on her second bottle, and drunk.

He pulled a nightgown from her dresser.

“Here you are,” he offered, and she tugged it on, pulling her bra off and out from underneath and tossing it away.

“Thanks. You can go.”

Kit didn’t leave, sitting on the floor next to the couch. She needed company, and not just because she was drinking so much.

“Today was awful,” she said aloud. “I think I really fucked up.”

He caught on to her train of thought. “Nicole deserved it.”

“No, I mean,” she sighed. “I told her I wasn’t ever getting married.”

“Good.”

“No! It’s not good! Why would I say that? Especially to her!” 

Iris took another long drink.

“You’re going to have a hangover,” he warned. 

“Couldn’t you just magic it away?” she waved, gesturing with the bottle.

Kit hummed. “I suppose.”

Silence fell as Iris put her feet up on the coffee table.

“I don’t want to get married,” she admitted.

“Then don’t.”

“If only things were that simple.”

“They could be,” he said. “You’re the queen.”

“That’s the problem. I need to marry well, and have lots of children, but not too many,  because I’m the queen. For the good of the country.”

“What about for the good of you?”

Iris went quiet. “I don’t know what that looks like.”

taglist: @paintedpigeon1 @cupcakes-and-pain @loserwithsyle @cepheusgalaxy @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @virtualbreadtale @bitchaknso @starfields08000

[sporadicthingcollection]

do you think buggy would let me squeeze his tits? i just wanna play with them a little

(hi it’s char aka vgilantee. we can reply from sideblogs but still can’t send asks…)

o hay gurl! 👋

Buggy absolutely would let you squeeze the tiddies. He'd pretend to be annoyed by it but he'd be basking in the attention at the same time.

---

Buggy's bending over to pick up his trousers when you come up behind him. Like a sloth draped over a branch, you lean against his back and let your arms dangle, resting your cheek between his shoulder blades. Your feet leave the ground and you put your full weight on him.

And then you start groping his chest. Long squeezes, short squeezes, squeezing with each individual finger, grabbing the sides, the middles, dragging your fingertips along the hair.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

"Nope." You keep squeezing.

He'd let you continue your ministrations all day if he could. Knowing you love his body so much is quite the confidence boost -- not that he needs it, but appearance is the one category that seems to be consistently lacking. The fact that you think he's a catch is all that really matters.

But his back is starting to hurt. "C'mon, I got stuff to do." You don't let go. He tries to shake you off, but still you cling. "Fine, be that way."

He straightens up. Instead of sliding off, you go from a sloth to a koala, still clinging to his back, still groping his chest.

He sighs. You're in that kind of mood. Getting dressed is going to take forever.

---

To the "Curious Courtship" Masterpost | To the Mastahpost | Tip Jar

[exponentialmass]

Figured that thursdays can be OC masterpost days, so at last, here's Allison Brande, Callsign: Company Man!

Some LORE on good ol' Company Man

She started out as a revolutionary in her youth, wanting to liberate her colony from SSC's corporate clutches

Part of a resistance movement, they made plans for one big push to finally kick SSC off the colony.

Her and her team of ragtag resistance members engaged SSC in a drawn out, agonizing bloodbath of a fight, leaving her as one of the few survivors

Convinced that dying for an ideal wasn't going to be her fate, she scampered off to the SSC and surrendered, trading her life for the locations and plans of the remaining members of the resistance.

Once she personally saw to the resistance's destruction, she was offered a job working for SSC by her new masters, and she gladly complied.

Has since done a LOT of shady shit just to stay on top, all so she can continue to enjoy a better standard of living than the rest of the universe.

For Allison Brand, the person whose happiness matters most is SSC's, and when SSC's happy, they keep HER happy.

Misc.:

Allison loves food, drink and a nice, hot soak, and she doesn't have a single mean bone in her body.

Deeply cares for and loves her teammates, which often makes her team leery of her kindness.

A big fan of other planets' cuisine, and an incorrigible gourmand.

Favorite food: pizza, pancakes, pastries, cheese, etc...

Has done several Omninet ads for SSC, part of a recruitment drive to get eager, randy minds onboard.

Pilots the Quiet Solutions, a Mourning Cloak customized for stealth and infiltration

And that should be most of it! She MIGHT be done for when I get back to our Lancer game when it starts back up, but here's hoping she manages to Corpo Slime her way out of certain death.

Bonus: Allison displays courtship expertise and flexibility.

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Chiaroscuro - Part 5 (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Vampire AU Rated/warnings: T - language, blood, descriptions of violence Word count: 5.7k Art by @bridgertontess

Part 4 Part 6 Masterpost

When you woke the next morning Ben was gone. You felt wonderful, more rested than you had been in ages. You had dreamt of nothing. Not the terrifying maw of nothing but the blissful, refreshing nothing. Remembering everything that had happened you half convinced yourself it had been another dream until you walked into your kitchen and found a single red rose lying on your counter with a note in familiar handwriting.

I hope you slept well. I’ll see you again tonight. -B

Your insides knotted like a teenager with a crush. You still weren’t sure what you had done to attract the attention of someone lightyears out of your league but you decided to stop questioning it. Life’s outrageous curveballs were coming thick and fast. You’d be pummeled a bit less if you allowed yourself to catch one. 

Thank god it was a Saturday because you were unable to focus on anything except the memory of Ben’s eyes, the cool trace of his long fingers, the glisten of his parted lips. You rolled your tongue in your mouth, wondering if you could still taste him. Giddy and horny in a way you hadn’t felt in years, you swanned through your day, donning one of your favorite outfits, splurging at your favorite bakery, reveling in the sunshine as you bounced between errands. At some point in your heady bliss you realized that you didn’t even have Ben’s number. He had said you would meet at night but you had no idea when or where. Granted, you knew where each other lived. But would he want to meet at one of yours? Would he want to go out? You smirked at what an antiquated dilemma it seemed to be - courtship without technology.

After a day of uninterrupted happiness you sat on your balcony and watched the sun sink, painting the sky with ombre pinks, oranges and purples. Then the anxiety kicked in. When would Ben show up? Should you go to him? After two hours of overthinking and the approach of dinnertime you decided to be proactive. You changed into a dress that wasn’t trying too hard but would look great whether he wanted to take you out or just take it off of you. Buzzing with anticipation you took the lift to the penthouse floor and hovered at his door. You knocked. There was no answer. You knocked again. Nothing.

Maybe you were being foolish. Overeager. Maybe he was out and planning to meet you later. Maybe he was awkwardly knocking on your door three floors below. You really needed to get his number to avoid this in future. As you pondered your next move, the lift suddenly chimed and Ben stepped out wrapped in his signature peacoat. 

“Ben!” you chirped. “I was just…are you ok?” You were so elated to see him that it took a moment to register how oddly he was hurrying toward you. His arms were tight around himself. He looked up with something like panic in his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he mumbled. “I’m just getting back.”

He couldn’t hide the agitation in his voice and the urgency in how he marched around you to the door. Then you saw the dark stain seeping through the left side of his coat.

“Is that…oh my god, are you bleeding!?”

He averted his eyes. ““I’m fine, really, I just need to get inside.”

He opened the door and brushed straight past you into his darkened flat. You followed down a short hall and rounded a corner into a kitchen.

“Ben, what happened?” You were frantic. You hadn’t even gotten to know him and now he was grievously injured. Your mind was dredging up random bits of first aid knowledge gained through osmosis. Pressure…bandages…what were you supposed to do? You stood trembling with indecision in the dim overhead light and watched him peel off his coat and rest it on a chair at the island.

“Holy shit, oh my god…” you gasped. The entire left side of his pale grey jumper was soaked in blood. A crimson stain that ran from the arm to the hem and was dripping on the floor with a patter. It was more blood than you had ever seen outside of television and you had no idea how he was still standing. Ben looked down at himself and grimaced. 

“I’m…should I call an ambulance? Jesus…” Your clammy hands patted your hips for your phone only to remember that you had no pockets and had left your phone in your flat. Without Ben’s number there didn’t seem any point in carrying it en route to him.

“I’m alright, honestly.” He was oddly calm, raising a bloody hand to placate you. This set you off. You would not allow him to be captain chivalry for your sake while he bled out in front of you. You would not hold him for just one night and then let him die on you the next.

“The fuck you are!” you barked, snatching a nearby dish towel and moving toward him. “You’re bleeding everywhere!”

Now he raised both hands to keep you back. “I was jumped in the park,” he explained. “Guy had a knife.”

It did not make you feel any better to learn he had been stabbed. “Oh shit, oh god, I…”

“It’s not my blood,” he said flatly.

“What?”

“It’s not my blood.” He lifted his soaked jumper and you swallowed hard to tame the part of your brain ready to swoon at the sight of his lean, rippling abdomen. You managed to focus enough to realize that though it was streaked red, he had no wounds. The blood had no discernible source. “See?” The cheeky grin had returned to his face. “I’m fine. You can relax.”

Between his mouthwatering body and your profound confusion over the entire situation, you stood short circuiting, trying to puzzle out his explanation.

“So…you fought him off?”

“Yes.”

“Is he…? I mean, is he bleeding out somewhere? Should we call the police?” Again you were kicking yourself for not bringing your phone.

“He ran off.” Something in his tone made it clear he didn’t want to explain himself any further. He closed the distance between you and gazed down into your eyes. Even without touching you, he made you breathless with his proximity alone. If he was satisfied to move on without further discussion, who were you to insist? “I’m sorry to scare you. I really just need a shower.” He chuckled softly and leaned in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek, murmuring honeyed words. “Will you wait here for me? Then we can talk.”

Your eyes rolled closed, powerless against him. You nodded and he kissed you, tender but with an underlying hunger. No one had ever kissed you the way he did; As if he cast a spell on you each time, his incantations pressed directly by his lips into your skin without the need for words. 

“Good.” He pulled back and grinned. You felt yourself falling into the glittering light of his eyes, nearly forgetting the gore and drama of the moment. You would do anything he asked when he looked at you like that. “Stay right here. Make yourself at home.” Then with one final peck on your forehead, he turned and disappeared into the flat.

You took a steadying breath, studying your surroundings. You had been so caught up in panic you barely knew where you were. As expected the penthouse was luxe, but not in the shiny new construction way like the rest of the building. It was decorated in a traditional style, regency if you had to guess. And it was dark. You moved through the open layout from the kitchen to the lounge and switched on each light but they only cast a dusty glow among all the dark furnishings. Dark wood cabinets, rich jewel-toned upholstery and massive velvet blackout curtains that were pulled closed across every window. Perhaps it was a peculiar setup for a young bachelor but for Ben it seemed to make sense. His dabbling in old wines, poetry, art, antiquities - this was a realm where tastes like that could flourish.

And the stuff. There were things everywhere. The lounge was in a state of orderly chaos. The built-in bookcases overflowed with old tomes, papers and antiques. Small statuary, musical instruments, photographs. He really was a collector. Books piled on the floor and buried what appeared to be a piano in a corner. Nearly every inch of wall space was covered in ornately framed artwork and even more pieces were propped against each other in stacks throughout the room. It reminded you of the museum storage. How could you have shared so much in common and never realized? 

There was a centrally hung landscape that drew your eye. Something was oddly familiar about the sweep of the countryside hills dotted with flowers and stretching back to a stately home in the distance. You looked closer and stopped dead when you saw the signature in the bottom corner. Two faintly squiggled Bs. Benedict Bridgerton. That was his mark. You had seen it dozens of times before. But you had never seen nor heard of this landscape. You peered even closer. It wasn’t a printed image, it was an original with the careful but sometimes counterintuitive brushstrokes that were characteristic of the artist. Your pulse picked up speed. How did Ben have this? Had he lucked out at some undisclosed auction? Was he ever going to tell you about it? Why didn’t he mention it when you were at the museum?

You inspected the painting beneath it, a still life bowl of apples, and saw it again - BB. A sickening sense of dread began to spread through you as you moved from painting to painting and realized all of them were signed the same way. A vase of roses, a riverside, a moonlit garden - another and another and another. You picked through the stacked canvases leaning against the wall and found even more. All of them originals. All of them bearing those initials. 

Shaking, you stumbled out of the lounge and began to scurry for the door. What the actual fuck? Who was this man? He must have been some kind of thief or a replica artist, maybe both. And then it hit you - you were the perfect accomplice for someone like that. You had the knowledge and connections to the art world. You were his target. Tears surged in your eyes as it all began to fall into place. Of course he hadn’t been genuinely interested in you. How could he be? He was playing you; trying to schmooze you into his criminal enterprise. He was probably lying about the knife fight too. No doubt he ran with dangerous crowds. You had to get away, you had to report him. You’d have to move, it wasn’t safe in your building anymore, you had to…

Then you froze. Not intentionally. Just meters from the door you felt every muscle in your body tense and completely refuse to move further. You couldn’t command yourself to take a step. It was as if you had run into an invisible wall. You tried to scream but couldn’t do that either. You could still breathe as evidenced by the fact that you were starting to hyperventilate, but something in your brain wouldn’t let you continue down the hall. You found you could walk in any other direction and tumbled back into the kitchen. You had no idea what was going on in this house of horrors but you weren’t going to fall victim that easily. Strung out on survival adrenaline you began to tear through the drawers looking for a knife - anything to defend yourself.

The drawers were empty. All of them. The cabinets too. You pulled them open one after the other and found not a knife nor a plate nor an ounce of food. It was as bare as if no one lived in the flat at all. He was a psychopath. This was a setup. You didn’t know what compelled you to look in the fridge but you knew, instinctually, that you would find something gruesome. And you did. Three bags of blood, unlabelled and half-empty, were all that was inside. A visceral fear gripped you in a way you had never experienced. You were going to die here. 

A noise behind you made you slam the door closed and spin around. It was Ben, sauntering toward you wearing nothing but grey joggers slung low across his hips. His hair was damp and a few drops of water still clung to his naked torso. You pressed yourself back against the fridge unable to breathe, heart pounding wildly, fueled both by terror and the unavoidable reaction you had to his body. He was magnificent. David cut from pale marble and stepped down off his dais to stand before you. Acres of white skin taught over perfectly defined muscles. His strong, tendoned neck flowing into broad swimmers’ shoulders; his arms impossibly long and etched with prominent veins; his chest and abs so sculpted they appeared unreal. The few freckles dotted across his sternum were the only thing to indicate that he wasn’t actually carved from stone. You didn’t know if you should feel grateful or bitter that your predator was so gorgeous.

You had nothing to defend yourself with and no way to call for help. You’d have to speak with him. Perhaps you could convince him to let you go. You could see in his eyes that he knew you had discovered his secrets. There was no playing coy anymore.

“Why can’t I move toward the door?” Your voice shook uncontrollably.

“Because I asked you to stay here.” His tone was low but not threatening. He almost sounded apologetic.

“What?”

He stepped closer. “I glamoured you. I don’t like to use it, but I need you to stay here so we can talk.”

Glamour? Was he implying he had some kind of magical power? Granted, you couldn’t explain why you had been blocked in the hallway, but…was he serious?

“Who the fuck are you?”

“I think you know who I am.”

There was something in the sureness of his statement, the incline of his head, and suddenly everything fit together. The blood, the paintings, the blackout curtains. For god’s sake his name was Ben. This had to be an act, there was no way this was real. You refused to give in to his delusion.

“I think you’re some kind of…Bridgerton fanatic. And you’re a sicko and you drugged me.”

He chuckled and shoved his hands into his pockets which tugged the waistband tantalizingly lower. “That’s an awfully convoluted fact pattern. And very impressive of me, considering I’d have to have drugged you with a kiss. There is a simpler explanation.”

Standing only a few feet away now, he looked up through his thick lashes expectantly. You knew he knew what you were thinking. He wanted you to believe it. Your world had been thrown entirely off the rails this week but you weren’t ready to acknowledge that it had veered into a fantasy dimension. But there was nothing you could do except continue speaking with him, hoping for mercy or an eventual opening to make your escape.

“Are you going to kill me?”

Suddenly he looked tremendously guilty and backed away. “No, no. Of course not. We were going to have this conversation sooner or later, you just caught me at an inopportune moment.” He moved into the lounge and gestured to one of the plush chairs. “Please, sit.”

You were still far from trusting him but at least you were buying time to find a way out. You walked stiffly to the seat, never taking your eyes off him as he perched in the wingback across from you. He sat with the same friendly air as always, waiting silently for you to initiate. 

“You want me to say you’re Benedict Bridgerton.”

The crooked grin spread across his face. “It is good to hear someone call me that again.”

Now you knew you were dealing with a psycho. Maybe he wasn’t dangerous, maybe he was just run of the mill crazy. “And I’m supposed to believe you’re a fucking vampire.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as his eyes bored into yours. “Life can take incredibly odd turns. But it explains my disappearance doesn’t it? Explains where all of this came from.” He swept an arm out at the room and its antiquities. “It’s that or I’m an incomparably talented replica artist who is really into bloodplay and successful enough to afford a stradivarius.”

You followed his line of sight to the bookcase behind you and saw a violin perched on a top shelf. You weren’t an expert but you had seen originals behind glass and this didn’t look any different. You wouldn’t let yourself be swayed. If it even was authentic, all it proved is he was a rich cunt.

Sensing you needed more convincing, Ben stood and walked to the landscape that started your descent into disbelief. “This is actually a variation on your favorite,” he explained, nonchalant. “Dreams at Aubrey. I kept this one within the family. I never quite felt that I got Kent right. I kept adding in a figure then painting over her. I suppose I hadn’t found a muse worthy enough to be included.”

All you could do was gape at him. The painting did look like a companion piece to your favorite one in the gallery. How detailed was his delusion? Then he moved to a bookcase and pulled out a small blue volume. “You’ll have read this,” he mumbled, handing it to you before continuing to dig through the shelf. You turned it over in your hands. It was leatherbound and exceptionally old, the pages yellowed and brittle. You gently pried it open and felt your stomach drop into your shoes. It was Benedict Bridgerton’s diary. The same published diary that you had studied for your art degree. These were the same words but it was obvious ink had been scribbled directly onto paper in Ben’s handwriting. You looked at the date embossed on the spine - 1822. Holding your breath, you flipped through to find what you knew was tucked in the margins of page 58. It was there - his self-portrait sketch. Looking at it now, quick and sloppy though it was, you could see it. You could see Ben in his features.

You felt like you might be sick and focused on just trying to breathe. Ben was carrying on, not even looking at you. “I did keep more. Here’s ‘23, ‘24…” He was piling more diaries into your lap, all with the same binding, all containing the same handwriting, all impossibly old. 

“I’ve fallen out of the habit after so long, I’m afraid,” he sighed. “And since you thought so poorly of my self-portrait doodle, how is this?” 

From some hidden corner he produced a small painting and held it out to you. Trembling uncontrollably, you set the diaries aside and took it. It was a portrait of him. Unmistakably, it was Ben. But he was dressed in a high collar and colorful waistcoat, with longer hair and more warmth in his cheeks. You knew the art style. You knew it was regency. Stippled into the corner was a flourished signature - Granville.

This only added to the confusion. To the impossibility of it all. He had to have faked everything. You deliberately ignored all of your senses, honed by years of education, that were reluctantly admitting everything appeared genuine. But none of it made any sense.

 It took a moment to find your voice. “It’s…Granville. You painted this.”

You looked up at him for confirmation but he only smirked.

“Don’t sell yourself short. Your eye is skilled enough to know that that paint is 200 years old.”

He was right. You knew he was. He knew you knew he was. You slowly began to accept that the man who stood before you was not your reclusive neighbor Ben Granville as you had always presumed. He was someone else entirely.

“Then who is Granville?”

He smiled faintly. “An old friend who did not get the acclaim he deserved.” He gently took the painting back and tucked it away.

Fighting both for air and to keep from either screaming or vomiting, you dug your fingers into the upholstered armrests and pressed yourself into your seat. “Holy shit.” 

Ben moved back to his chair and studied you, looking concerned.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. But you are safe with me. You have my word.”

You were still struggling to believe the reality of the situation but you did believe his promise. You weren’t sure if he was still glamouring you, but the sincerity in his expression didn’t leave any room for doubt. You would live to see another day. But that would be the day you had to navigate the world knowing that vampires existed and that one lived in your building and had kissed you and slept in your bed. Even if this madness were true, why was he sharing his secrets with you?

“What do you want from me?” Your voice was still trembling.

“To talk to you. To tell you the truth. Now that we are getting to know one another.” 

His lopsided grin exuded kindness and confidence. If he really was a vampire - and you couldn’t believe you were actually entertaining the notion - he would have to prove it and share his story. You were a leading expert on the life of Benedict Bridgerton. You would test him.

“When were you born?”

“1786,” he answered breezily.

Too easy. He would have to tell you something no one could know.

“Then in your thirties you vanished.”

His brow knitted. “I fell ill. Brain fever.”

“Meningitis?”

He nodded. “It would have killed me. But my maker…gave me an option.”

You tried to picture it, some alternate history from the one you had always imagined. You had believed the Bridgerton family’s account that Benedict had sailed to Europe and was never heard from again. Now instead of envisioning him on a ship in the English channel, you saw him pale and sweating in a sickbed, tilting his neck for some dark, amorphous creature to bite into. 

“Who was that?”

He averted his eyes and moved to survey his paintings, keeping his back to you.

“It was a kindness,” he explained. “We had to travel a lot. We couldn’t stay in one place for very long or people would start to get suspicious. But we had each other. For a while.” There was something wistful in his tone. 

“You’re not together anymore?”

He sighed. “We grew apart.”

“Where are they now?”

“I have no idea.”

It was clear he wanted to change the subject. If he didn’t want to talk about his past, he could explain how he lived in the present.

“Are there a lot of you? Your kind?” Your confidence and curiosity were growing, even though you felt like a character in an Anne Rice novel.

Ben shrugged, pacing slowly around the lounge. “Not too many. Probably a dozen in every city. We tend to keep to ourselves and stay spread out. It helps to maintain our own food supply without drawing undue attention.”

Right, the food supply. The factor that made him more than just a beautiful curiosity. The memory of his bloodstained jumper was now more sinister. “So you…eat people? The man in the park?”

“No,” he turned to face you. “He did jump me but he sliced one of the bags and I scared him off. I didn’t bite him. I don’t do that anymore.” You watched him pad to the kitchen and reach into his bloodied coat. “For over a hundred years that was the only option. But now…” From an inner pocket he gingerly pulled out the hidden source of all the mess. Two more bags of blood, one of them ripped and leaking. He popped them in the fridge as casually as if they were bottles of beer, then cleaned the dark spatters they left behind. “I’m trying to be more humane about it. I got tired of seeing the fear in everyone’s eyes. And disposing of someone…it’s a pain in the arse.”

You swallowed hard. No one had ever confessed to murder in front of you before, but given the circumstances it all seemed so natural.

“Where do you get the blood?”

He smirked. “I have a doctor who owes me.” 

So you were not the only person he had revealed himself to. Your perception of the world was reorienting, having discovered two new communities that existed in the shadows of society. Immortal vampires and the mortals who knew them. Now you were one of them. 

“Are all of you…adapting to be more humane?”

Ben scoffed, leaning against a counter. “God, no. Everyone has their own approach. Some get so tired of the whole thing that they starve themselves. Or toss themselves out into the daylight.”

“And you haven’t tired of it?”

“No.” The wistfulness returned as he became contemplative. “I don’t know that I could ever leave the world willingly. It holds too much beauty. Too many things I love, even if I can only see them in darkness now.” 

The lyricism of his words echoed sentiments you had read in Benedict’s diary. He seemed to have an almost painful appreciation for the world. You had detected it in his notes, seen it brushed into his artwork, and now saw it etched on his face. Your heart fluttered at the notion that you may actually be speaking to the real Benedict Bridgerton. The mystery was finally solved. A man lost to history had suddenly showed up on your doorstep, almost as if you had willed him into returning. But the supernatural details of his existence were still enigmas.

“So the sunlight thing is true?” You already knew the answer given that your interactions had always occurred after dark.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Coffins? Garlic? Crucifixes?”

At this, he laughed. “I have to say it’s much more of a biological condition than one rooted in myth and religion.”

You couldn’t hide a bashful smile. Your curiosity was piqued and he could sense it. You had spent the night before snogging each other senseless and then fell asleep with him wrapped around you. How had you not noticed anything odd? A glance at his Adonis belt cresting over his hip provided a clue. You had been so entranced with the mere sight of him you had lost any thought for details. 

He straightened and put his hands in his pockets, voice dropping low. “You can come closer. I won’t bite.”

Your stomach flipped. Desire was starting to cloud over your fear. If he was still glamouring you, you didn’t care. You just wanted to explore him.

“Cheeky,” you lobbed as he chuckled smugly at his joke. Rising slowly, you walked to stand in front of him, drinking in the devastating perfection of his body. The low light cut precise shadows across his toned form, enhancing the effect even further. He was alabaster and strength, predation and pleasure. “Fucking hell,” you exhaled, shaking.

“Membership has its benefits,” he lilted playfully.

“So you didn’t look like this when you were…” ‘Alive’ seemed an odd thing to ask someone about in the past tense. “Before?”

“I looked alright,” he shrugged, his boyish face contrasting with the statue of the male ideal it sat atop.  

You returned his smirk. You knew he would have been considered exceptionally handsome in any era. You had seen as much in his portrait. You began to wonder how many lovers he had had. Likely as many as he wanted. But now, impossibly, he was offering himself to you. He stood completely still, letting your eyes rove. Cautiously, you brought a hand to his chest. Solid muscle and silken skin, significantly cooler than any healthy person should be. You had assumed it was the chill of the night air. 

“Do you feel cold?”

“No,” he looked down at you, eyes smoldering. “I can feel heat pouring off of you but in my own skin, I feel comfortable. Heightened, actually. I can feel every ridge in your fingertips right now. I could count them.”

You trailed your fingers up to his defined clavicle, your breath growing heavier, equal parts fascination and arousal. He didn’t move. And that’s when you realized.

“You’re not breathing.” Now the unearthly was colliding directly with your senses. Your mind’s denial and flailing explanations were being overwhelmed. But you didn’t want to pull away. “It’s…weird.”

Ben hung his head in apology. “I know, sorry. I have to remind myself to pretend.” He took an imitated breath and you pondered how exhausting it must be to keep up the charade around people. Your hand continued its journey across the expanse of his chest, counting the freckles down his sternum, pressing your palm against his firm flesh. Then you gasped. He may not have been breathing, but something was moving behind his ribs. His heart was beating as hard and as fast as a hummingbird’s, so rapid that you couldn’t discern one beat from the next, just a steady thrum, practically vibrating under your hand.

He quirked a brow. “That still works. All this blood. Have to keep it moving somehow.”

“But I thought…”

“It’s like we become just a circulatory system in overdrive, trapped within a frozen body.” He cut you off, sounding as if he had delivered this explanation countless times before.

You pulled your hand away, nodding and straightening your glasses. You couldn’t rationalize this anymore. Whatever he was, he was something you had never encountered before and he wanted you to know it.  

“Why are you telling me all this?”

His eyes grew gentle. “Because I know I can trust you. You know who I am. You’re not going to tell anyone.”

No, you certainly weren’t going to tell anyone that your favorite long-lost regency artist had been turned into a vampire and was in fact your neighbor and new paramour. “They would think I was mad if I tried.”

He grinned. “There’s that too.” 

Something still didn’t make sense. You had been passing each other in the halls for years and it was only in the past few days that he had approached you. “But even before this. Last night you kissed me. You had to know I would learn your secret. Why me? Why now?”

Tentatively he brought his large hands to cup your face. You remembered how tenderly he held you the night before and were just as weak to his touch, even with everything you now knew. 

“Because you reminded me how it feels to be human.” His tone was reverent; his pale eyes filled with a soft pain. “I felt your sadness seeping through the walls. Your melancholy heartbreak is eating into me. You have something to lose and that makes you appreciate how precious life and beauty are, which is something I was starting to forget.”

You were rooted to the spot, aching at the thought that your diagnosis had created a palpable cloud of misery he could sense. To know your pain was engulfing not only you but him as well, made you feel both guilty and comforted. You weren’t alone. He could understand. A tear ran down your cheek and he brushed it away with his thumb.

“I’m sorry you are suffering. I don’t want it to perpetuate. But it awoke something in me. It made me feel even more admiration than I already had for you, seeing you take such good care of my work.”

Maybe it was his attractiveness. Maybe you were half-mad with fear and adrenaline and hunger. Maybe he was playing mind games with you. But for the rest of the night you found immense pleasure in playing along and imagining he really was Benedict Bridgerton. Eventually you found yourselves back in the lounge as you peppered him with questions. You marveled as he answered them all with ease. He detailed his human years studying art, cool months in the countryside and summers in London for the social season. He blushed as you recited all of the accolades he received before his disappearance. He wouldn’t talk about his love life or other vampires he had met, but he shared stories of the world transforming as he had witnessed it. 

He detailed the great artists he had known and mourned, the birth of railways and planes, the rise and fall of kings and continental powers. Some of his most riveting memories were of guiding refugees through France under cover of darkness during World War II. After seeing the horrors visited upon a captured group of fleeing Romani he had shifted to an offensive approach, prowling frontline villages at night to dispatch as many Germans as he could stomach. His reminiscing seemed so genuine, you steeped in the wonder of it all, losing track of time as the nineteenth and twentieth centuries were narrated to you firsthand. Eventually you noticed light beginning to gleam around the edges of the dark curtains. You had sat up until sunrise.

“I can’t believe this,” you gaped at Ben, your mind whirling.

He sat across from you in his wingback chair with an easy smile. “A part of you does.”

“How do you know that?”

“I’m not glamouring you anymore and you’re still here.”

Your terrified dash for the exit seemed to have taken place years ago. Your entire understanding of the world had changed since then. You knew you should leave so you both could rest. Staggering under the weight of all you had learned, you stood and moved for the hall, turning to face him one last time.

“I’m going to wake up and think this was all a dream.”

For his closing argument Ben stood and walked to the window, tugging the curtain just wide enough for a sliver of daylight to pierce through the dusty air. Standing to one side, he stretched out a hand and brought the tip of his little finger into the beam. Instantly the hiss of sizzling flesh filled the room and a thin trail of smoke started to rise from his skin. You watched, speechless, as he nonchalantly pulled back and examined the charred wound.

“Get some sleep and see how you feel tonight. You know where to find me.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @colettebronte @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @mysticwitchcraftco @suspendingtime @faye-tale