#diaries published after death

[lottieurl]

on that subject tho i do think the journals might get published after shauna's death but without her consent and THAT would be horrible (GOOD) unlike the idea of her just surviving everyone and deciding to publish them to get rich - horrible (BAD)

[martha-laurens-official]

Hold up I’m new here who was your first husband? What happened?

Mr. Ramsay were a cruel man… *averts gaze*

[i2sunric]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 (l.hs)

PAIRING: demon!heeseung x angel!reader (f)

SUMMARY: in a world where you either become angels or demons in the afterlife, heeseung and you were fates of high ranking. despite all the strict rules cast upon you, you two couldn't help but drown in the forbidden feeling of your love.

WARNINGS: kinktober. frforbidden love, mentions of blood and wounds, angels and demons, lucifer and God (i do not intend to offend anyone), sexual tension, smut, dry humping, making out, missionary, this is basically love making, cream pie, unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!) fluff, pet names (angel, baby), bad jokes abt heaven and hell (lame ik), lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 26th October 2024

WC: 3.7k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey @destinyhoon @jakeflvrz @emislove @astratlantis @tunafishyfishylike @branchrkive @insommni4 @kirinaa08 @leiclerc @nxzz-skz @laurradoesloveu @beomluvrr @heeshlove (oneshot) @mitmit01 @lost-fantasy @annoyednblax @j1sb4e @eneiyri @strayy-kidz @victoriasvz @farashawhee @mheretoreadff @hazycottagedreams @kxppachu @rayofsunshineeee @moon368 @punchbug9-blog @strxwbloody @starggukies @wonbonie @304files @ethelia @moonpri @chuckychangmin @roslayy @cyjhhyj @iamliacamila @lanpanaz BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED

NOW PLAYING: MATCH MADE IN HELL by Dutch Melrose and benny mayne

a/n: honestly (yet again) i don’t really like how it turned out, lol. the smut is mid and isn’t very filthy but hey, i tried. please lmk your thoughts and REBLOG to spread 🫶🩷. i’m not sure i’ll publish my other kinktober works (vampire sunghoon and werewolf jay), cause i won’t be able to finish them on time.

In a world where in the afterlife you become either angels and demons, based on the amount of sins one commits in their previous life, you were the wisest angel.

Of course, being God’s right arm didn’t always mean having cool jobs, like at that moment, while you were searching through all the death certificates of your chosen region to see who would become an angel and find him a place in heaven.

You remembered how it used to be overcrowded, but now it was almost empty.

After a certain amount of time, you stopped being someone’s guardian angel to either reincarnate or stay the eternity in heaven, helping newbie angels and making sure everything was at peace.

Demons would always try to bring chaos into the mundane world, throwing unlucky cards or haunting people’s dreams, trying to drive them insane or make them commit crimes, such as murder, mugging or even as cruel as suicide.

At least, you were given a room to rest for a couple of hours and to be able to do your job properly.

It was white, mostly, with a little bit of beige and pinkish tone. Glittery as well.

Sitting on your desk, you were scanning through the nth file of the night when you heard a loud cracking sound and a groan behind you.

You turned around just to see that Heeseung had teleported there, a deep frown on his face caused by the even deeper cut in his chest, where blood was spilling out.

“Heeseung!” You gasped, and he stumbled as you stood up.

He was the nastiest demon of hell, you two had arrived around at the same time and had always been in a fight since the beginning of your astral days.

Heeseung chuckled, his face paler than usual as he clutched the gash on his chest “It’s just a little cut.” He tried to brush it off, though you were sure if any human had that kind of injury, it would’ve been fatal.

He limped forward, leaning against the wall, giving you one of his usual cocky smirks “No need to worry.”

His smirk would’ve even been hot if he wasn’t bleeding out in the middle of your room, which happened to also be in heaven, a place he definitely shouldn’t be.

Heeseung couldn’t die because, well, he already did. But the healing process would’ve hurt as much as dying another time would.

You hurried towards him, forgetting the work on your desk as you helped him on the bed “What happened?”

He groaned loudly, lowering himself onto the bed and flopping onto it as he clutched his chest, trying to keep the blood from gushing out of his body.

Heeseung hissed, looking up at you with a frown. "Got into a little fight", He muttered, "Can't you just heal me up?" He asked, tilting his head to the side slightly as he smiled at your worried expression.

“With who?” You asked as you unbuttoned his mutilated black shirt and winced when you noticed in what state his skin was.

Dark blood spilled out of the gash, his veins had turned black from some kind of venom you couldn’t quite point out “Or what..?” You asked, knowing it wasn’t made from mere humans or other kinds of demons.

He knew it wasn't a pretty sight. The pain was bearable for him but seeing you so worried made him hate being injured.

Heeseung looked to the side, avoiding your gaze. "You know I can't tell you..." He murmured, his voice low with a hint of guilt.

You frowned, hating that he had to keep it a secret “I don’t care about this hell versus heaven issue,” You snapped, feeling highly frustrated in that situation, “I know you’re hiding your aura so that God won’t sense you here, but you must tell me what hurt you so badly.”

He knew you only wanted the truth, and he didn't like lying to you. “ I can't tell you what hurt me," He whispered, his voice filled with pain that he hid behind his stubborness.

He looked at you, his eyes pleading as he reached to cup your chin in his palm. "Please, stop asking me, angel."

You sighed softly. No pain was comparable to seeing him hurt, “Okay,” You breathed out “I’ll see if I have some healing potion, it should help you.”

He nodded his head slightly, giving you a weak smile “I’d appreciate that.”

Heeseung laid in the bed, his chest feeling heavy with the pain. He didn't dare move to watch you as you frantically searched the drawers, trying to find the potion that would help him.

You opened and reopened drawers in desperate search of the healing potion, but nothing seemed to come to you.

“I’m sure I put it here somewhere,” You murmured as you threw out of your drawers white clothings and other items.

The panicked look in your eyes made his heart ache. He didn't want you to worry so much about him.

Heeseung sat up slowly, wincing as he did so. He reached out towards you, his voice strained as he spoke. "Angel, come here."

“No,” You frowned, not even turning around to look at him “I have to find it- I must.”

He let out a small sigh when you refused to come towards him. He could sense your anxiety rising as you scoured the room for the potion.

“Y/N,," He said, his voice firm but laced with desperation. "Please. come here. You don't need to find it for me right now, just come here."

“I’m sorry,” You whispered as you turned around. The blood dried a little, fortunately the flow had stopped completely.

You moved to the bed, sitting beside him as you adjusted the pillow behind his back.

“Don’t apologise,” His voice was a little too soft for a demon, “I just need you with me right now.”

You chuckled softly, “This looks like a bad joke. An angel worried about a demon.”

A light, amused smile appeared on his face. "It does sound quite ironic, doesn't it?"

He continued, “But I suppose it just shows the power of love, breaking boundaries even between heaven and hell."

You looked at him and nodded, intertwining your hands together, “It indeed is powerful.”

You looked at his gash again, it would take at least a whole day for it to fully close, and a week too for the scar to fade away.

At least, he was in your bed and not somewhere in hell-

bed. bed. under the bed you had some healing potion.

That’s where you had secured it. You jumped off the bed and quickly kneeled to rummage through the boxes.

He looked up in surprise at you when you jumped up so suddenly, his grip on your hand loosening as you rushed towards the bed.

He watched, a puzzled expression on his face, as you knelt down and started to rummage under the bed “What are you doing, angel?"

“Here it is!” You exclaimed, holding up a casket with bottles of healing cream.

He smiled faintly at your enthusiasm. "I can't believe it was right under the bed this whole time," He said, shaking his head slightly in amusement.

You helped him lay on the bed again, making sure he was comfortable. You opened the small bottle and poured some of its contents into your hand.

“This will help your healing process,” You informed as you opened his shirt better, “But it might hurt… a lot.”

Heeseung gave you a quick nod and you gently put the cream on his wound.

He hissed and gripped the sheet beneath him, trying to breath in as much air as he could as his skin burned.

“Shhh,” You soothed, putting the bottle on the ground and caressing his face “Don't fight it baby, it’ll be alright.”

“This ain’t got nothing on me,” He murmured, trying to be strong for the both of you.

The pain was just like dying another time, his skin was slowly healing, but by doing that his body would suffer.

Heeseung’s eyelids slowly grew heavy until they shut because of the pain.

You stayed with him the whole time, until his body stopped rocking in tremors and his skin stopped sweating cold.

He woke up just a couple of hours later, thanks to his high dark aura, making it easier for the healing cream to work.

His chest had been wrapped in a bandage, now being shirtless, just with his black jeans.

His eyes opened, taking in the light colours of your room. You sat beside him, continuing with your heavenly task, but also willing to stay by his side.

Heeseung groaned lowly, his body feeling heavy and sore from the intense pain he had undergone.

He looked around for you, his eyes landing on your figure sitting beside him.

“Angel.." he muttered, his voice weak and hoarse.

You widened your eyes at hearing his voice and quickly discarded the documents on the bed “Hey,” You whispered, turning toward him.

He could feel the effects of the potion, making his body stronger by the minutes “How long was I out for?” He asked.

“No more than a couple of hours,” You informed him, brushing his bangs away.

He nodded, wincing slightly as he moved to sit up in the bed.

Heeseung looked back at you, his eyes meeting yours. "Still doing your work, huh?” He asked, gesturing at the closed documents and pen beside you.

“Angel duties.” You shrugged, giving him a small smile “How are you feeling?”

“I’m doing okay,” You replied, sitting upright “The healing potion is working.”

“That’s good.” You nodded, letting out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you for healing me, angel.” He said, the look in his eyes full of love and devotion.

You smiled gently, “I’m glad you came to me.”

He took your hand in his, “Where else would I go, if not to you?” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze “You’re my safe haven, Y/N.”

Your eyes softened at his words and something warm spread all over your chest. They then fell onto his lips, they looked so plump and soft. You had the urge to kiss him, but you couldn’t.

It was impossible for angels and demons to kiss due to the curse cast upon them, a curse that would make their lips burn as soon as they met.

He sighed softly, Heeseung knew exactly what you were thinking. He was thinking the same, “What would I give just to taste your lips, even just once.” He murmured.

“Me too,” You frowned. “This is so… unfair.”

He nodded in agreement, "It truly is unfair," He said, his voice filled with suppressed anger.

"I wish I could pull you in my arms, hold you close, and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. And most of all, I wish I could kiss you, feel the softness of your lips against mine."

You shivered at his words, each one igniting a fire inside of you that could no longer be contained. You needed him and you needed him to need you back.

Still, you joked, trying to lighten the mood “You seem a little too soft for a demon.”

He chuckled softly, a hint of sheepishness in his voice. "I know, I know," He replied, a small smile on his face. “I suppose you bring out the softer side in me, angel.”

You traced your fingers on the bandage you used to cover up his gash, for finally just a small amount of blood had dirtied it “Does it still hurt?”

“No, not anymore.” He gave you a reassuring smile “It’s just a little sore now, nothing I can’t handle.”

Even if his reply was really important, you couldn’t seem to hear it as your eyes settled on his lips.

You moved unconsciously closer to him, and he noticed, licking his lips.

Heeseung held his breath as you leaned closer to him, his heart fluttering in his chest. He could feel the warmth of your skin, the gentle scent of your hair, and the soft touch of your breath against his face.

In a moment of lucidity, you shook your head and moved away. You craved his kiss, but you couldn’t hurt him just because of your selfishness.

“Would it be worth it?” You asked, your voice soft “If we kissed?”

He held your gaze for a moment, his eyes searching yours. He could see the determination in your eyes, the willingness to ignore the consequences.

“God help me," He muttered, his desire outweighing his caution.

He pulled you closer, his hands on your waist, and gently guided you onto his lap.

“Not the best thing to say in heaven.” You chuckled as you settled on his lap, holding yourself up on his shoulders.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” You murmured, making sure not to add too much pressure on his aching body.

"Well, I'm not exactly welcome in heaven, aren’t I?" Heeseung shook his head slightly, his hands gentle on your waist. "Don't worry about me, angel," he whispered. "I can handle a little pain if it means I can hold you like this."

He moved your hair out of your eyes as you sighed at the contact “You’re so beautiful.” He stated. “You too,” You replied.

“You truly are an angel.” He caressed your cheek, tracing your featured “And you’re mine.”

You smiled back at him, and for a moment he didn’t even look like a demon. He looked like a human boy, holding his lover in his arms and not caring about anything in the world but for you.

And well, the worst part was that you loved him to the extreme as well.

You knew Heeseung was capable of breaking heaven and rule hell if he wanted, but he would never even consider it if it had the chance to hurt you.

He would set the world on fire to keep you warm, crave out his own wings to give them to you.

And you were no better, you thought you’d turn your back on heaven the second someone threatened to hurt him.

“What happens…” You murmured “If heaven or hell take me away from you?” You needed to hear his answer, to hear just how much he cared about you.

The thought of losing you, of heaven or hell separating you, was something he couldn't bear.

He looked into your eyes, his voice low and filled with determination. "I'll burn down heaven and hell themselves before I let them take you away from me," He said fiercely.

Heeseung pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you protectively. "Nothing, not heaven or hell, can keep me from you."

At his words, you moved your face closer to his, feeling the ghost of his lips on yours, the electricity between the two of you.

His eyes flicked down to your lips, his own parting slightly in anticipation. He ached to close the distance, to feel the softness of your mouth against his.

His voice a strained whisper. "Y/N."

“Heeseung,” You whispered back “Please— kiss me, even if it hurts.”

The thought of the pain they would endure paled in comparison to the aching emptiness of not kissing you.

He took a deep breath, his voice a hoarse murmur “Damn it, angel. you'll be the death of me."

“Too bad you’re already dead.” Since he wasn’t closing the distance, you did.

You crashed your lips together in a desperate kiss. But as you braced yourself for the stinging sensation, it didn't come.

You pulled away, a surprised frown forming on your face “W-what?”

Heeseung’s expression mirrored yours, stunned, coating his sharp features.

“Maybe the curse was a lie.” You exclaimed “Maybe—“

“I don’t care.” Heeseung breathed out as he pressed his lips against yours once again.

The only thing he wanted was to focus on the sweet taste of your lips against his, the sound of your moans being swallowed in the kiss.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and sighed softly, drowning in the feeling of him.

His usual cold skin was now burning hot, even so the mere contact made you shiver.

“I love you,” He whispered on your lips, “Even if my heart can’t beat, I can feel it within me.”

You could feel his growing desire under you, making your body ache for him, “I can feel it too.” You whispered, taking one of his hands and guiding it to the middle of your chest “The pull.”

“Fuck,” He groaned and kissed you hard again.

“No curse words in heaven.” You murmured on his lips, making him smile.

The kiss was hot and anything but pure lust. “You drive me insane.” Heeseung murmured “Damn it, Y/N. The things I want to do to you.” You knew you shouldn’t feel that way, towards a demon. It was against every rule set in heaven.

But who cared? With every swipe of his tongue against yours, you couldn’t even remember what was your porpoise in there.

Unconsciously, you ground your hips on his, making him groan in your mouth.

One of his hands cradled your head, massaging your scalp and pulling your hair gently.

You hummed, loving the way he was so gentle with you.

You placed one of your hands on his chest, but gasped as you felt the bandage. He was still hurt, you couldn’t do it.

But Heeseung just smiled and held your body against his as he turned you around, so you were the one laying on the bed.

He unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off, as well as his underwear.

You looked down at him and lord, if you didn’t need him. He wasn’t huge, but he was long and thick and eveything you ever wished for.

“I need in you so bad angel,” He murmured, prepping kisses down your neck “Can I have you, hm?”

Mindlessly, you nodded. You thought that if he even asked you to give everything up and run away, you’d agree right away.

His hands roamed your body, groping your breast, then down your stomach as he sucked on your skin, leaving reddish marks.

Not even caring about the consequences, your hands tangled in his locks, encouraging him to continue.

In just a matter of seconds, your clothes were forgotten on the floor as he took in the sight of you. So ethereal and so his.

Heeseung licked his bottom lip and leaned in to kiss you once more, “It might hurt.” He informed.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing his chest flush to yours “I want the pain. I told you you’re worth it.”

His hips unconsciously bucked at your words, making his forehead press against your shoulder.

Heeseung took his length in his grasp and aligned with your entrance, “If you need me to stop or slow down, tell me.”

You nodded, breathing out a quick reply before he pushed himself in.

You had expected it to hurt, to burn the same way your kiss should’ve. But all you could feel was him and the sweet sensation it sent through your body.

Heeseung groaned, your walls hugging him so tightly. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to go at a slow pace.

“You’re so perfect.” He murmured, kissing your collarbone “You’re just so perfect, I don’t know how you ended up with someone like me.”

You shook your head, wanting to tell him he was wrong but his pace quickened and each thrust sent ripples of pleasure through your body.

“I love you too.” You replied to his previous confession “S’much.”

His hips stilled at your words, his breath hitching. And then, his pace resumed, quickened as he held himself up.

He rested one of your legs on his shoulder and lightly kissed your ankle.

“So good, angel.” Heeseung grunted, the sound of skin slapping filling the heavenly room.

“Ugh!” You exclaimed as he hit a certain spot that made your toe curl “There, Hee, there.”

“Got it.” He chuckled and deepened his thrust, repeatedly hitting that spot, “Found your sweet spot, mh?” He asked, his voice low and husky.

Heeseung looked so perfect, his muscled body on full display, the bandage wrapped around his torso and his bangs sticking to his forehead.

He bit his bottom lip as he tried not to release before you, one of his hands moving down to circle your clit, wanting to bring the both of you to the edge at the same time.

Your body shook in tremors as he did, the pleasure almost too much.

Your back arched as you breathed out his name, needing him to stop and continue at the same time.

“Just a little more, baby.” He snapped his hips faster, letting your ankle go and hovering over you.

Both of your breaths mended, just panting onto each others’ lips as you felt your orgasm approaching.

You cradled his face in your hands and kissed him hard, teeth clashing.

You squeezed your eyes shut as you reached the edge, your body shaking. Heeseung throbbed at each clench of your pussy around him, emptying his seed inside of you.

His hips slowed, but he didn’t pull out. He intended staying like that for as long as he could.

He laid beside you not to crash you, but not even having the energy anymore to hover your figure.

He wrapped his arms around your body and held you close to your chest, “I don’t ever want to let go.”

“Don’t.” You stated, holding onto him for dear life “Don’t ever let me go.”

“As long as you’ll let me.” He whispered and kissed you again, deeply and slowly. For all the times he had wanted to kiss you but couldn’t because of the nonexistent curse.

Oh, but if only you knew the curse existed, but didn’t work for those who were soulmates in their past lives.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Dear marzi, for reasons of trying not to give period characters too modern fetishes in my smut, may I have some recs as to where I may find some of that olde fetish content you've previously seen?

On the Wikipedia page for the "corset controversy," unfortunately!

Historians have been taking obvious tightlacing fetish letters seriously for...way too long. And sometimes still are. Confirmation bias is a hell of a thing. Of course, there's no way to 100% tell which letters are fetish fuel and which are real, but generally any that use particularly heightened language or common erotic tropes- or that seem to fly in the face of evidence from extant garments, unedited videos, stock and advertisements from real corset companies, etc. -are to be viewed with suspicion.

(The same is true for letters used now to claim that nipple piercing was a real Victorian trend- for, indeed, the only source is anonymous magazine letters and many of them fall into the same obvious patterns as the tightlacing letters. One DOES describe the alleged process in detail...but it's basically the same as the process for ear-piercing, a service jewelers did commonly offer back then. Just applied to nipples. So whether it's real or not is still uncertain, but it's highly doubtful that large numbers of Victorian women were running around with nipple piercings given that no extant nipple rings have been found, such piercings are never mentioned in letters or diaries or other more concrete sources, etc.)

Besides that, I've seen glimpses of most modern fetishes in various sources:

the Psychopathia Sexualis, a medical manual of "sexual mental illness" (in heavy quotes because things like homosexuality and gender variance are mentioned under that heading), talks about everything from a fetish for tight boots and gloves on women, to bloodplay (initiated by a woman, actually, who wanted to drink her husband's blood), to force-femming, to some very elaborate femdom scenarios that I hope the sex workers in question were paid well for. Of course, since the cases are anonymous, these are also difficult to confirm- but clearly someone had THOUGHT of them, since they're written into the book.

And I've seen at least some of them in other sources, too, including some of the magazines that published the nipple piercing and tightlacing letters. The Englishwomen's Domestic Magazine was notorious for its letters on tightlacing, tight gloves, spanking, etc.

Photographic porn was definitely a thing almost as soon as photography came into being. A lot of it is pretty vanilla, but I could swear I'd seen piss kink photos (with urine painted in after development) before the blog where they were hosted went defunct

James Joyce's letters to his wife get into farting and scat fetish territory. Yes, really.

Speaking of letters, there was one man living here in Boston who, in the late 19th century, wrote letters to his wife describing erotic dreams of her as a giantess who pissed on him and then ate him. I cannot remember his name and it's going to drive me insane all day, but he was the head of Boston's censorship organization, the Watch and Ward society and these letters were first released by his own children for an unauthorized biography written five years after his death. Guess there was little love lost there.

BDSM is old. Like, really old. Old, to quote the sacred texts, as balls. I'm pretty sure there are sexual flagellation texts going back to the Renaissance, but don't quote me on that.

Basically, Rule 34 can be back-applied, too. If it existed, there was a fetish for it, probably. Of course, things that specifically involve modern technology or properties are out, but beyond that...the sky is the limit

[florencemtrash]

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Chapter Two

Azriel x Day Court Librarian Reader

Summary: Y/n's clairvoyance is a gift from the Mother, but it feels more like a curse. With the power to gain knowledge through touch alone, Y/n holes herself up in The Alcove and hopes her powers and parentage will remain a secret. But things will change after the Summer Solstice ball and a chance encounter with a certain Shadowsinger.

Warning: None :)

The Shadowsinger & The Inkbird: Masterlist

Masterlist of Masterlists

“The sun’s barely gone down!” Cassian grumbled, following behind Helion, Rhysand, and Feyre as they walked the cobblestone streets of the Day Court. Every block of the small city contained at least two local bookstores, one cafe that also sold books, one flower shop that also sold books, and/or a small glass box filled with - as anyone could have guessed - more books to be given away for free. 

Helion chuckled, “You’re not in the Night Court any more. My people are early to bed, early to rise. Unless of course you spend a night with me.” He winked at Cassian, who had the sense to blush. Indeed the Night Court members had been shocked when the party cleared out not even two hours after the sun had slipped beneath the ground. 

Aside from the small scale bookstores which housed the most popular and recently published novels, every sector of the Day Court also had between one to three athenaeum’s - elaborate buildings of ivory stone laced with filigree and windows that lit up like the glowing eyes of an ancient beast. They were the pride and joy of all Day Court members. The windows flickered and shone with the magic used to protect the volumes from the sun. Even as the neighborhood lights slowly winked out, Azriel could track the diligent minds scouring the brightly lit shelves. There was a loving madness in their hunched backs, craned necks, and squinting eyes. 

As their troupe reached The Alcove, one of the smaller and cozier athenaeum’s, Azriel couldn’t help but imagine you in a similar display of passionate madness, when you forgot about the world around you and could actually relax.

The Alcove specialized in housing diaries and novels of everyday comforts - quiet, unassuming stories that could steal your heart as swiftly as the grandest tales of war and romance, but with much more discretion. Here, the knowledge pressed between pages with ink was full of warmth and subtlety. The others in your cohort had scorned you for your choice in The Alcove. Why would anyone choose such a dull place to live and work? Why not be surrounded by books on war tactics or history or religion or biology? Someplace useful and worthy of a Librarian’s gifts. But The Alcove had offered you something you’d missed since your mother’s death - a sense of home. 

You sat by the bay windows overlooking the darkened street below, breathing in the crisp and cool air that snuck in through the glass. On the other side of your apartment, a similar window overlooked The Alcove’s interior. Hundreds of mahogany shelves lined the high walls of the octagonal building with its signature domed roof. Grand staircases of gold twisted their way up from the ground, connecting to walkways that gave easier access to the volumes housed higher up the walls. 

It was a blessing in disguise that you’d chosen to sit on this side of your apartment. Otherwise you would have never seen the Shadowsinger watching you with careful consideration, his eyes faintly glowing like the eyes of a cat. He raised one gloved hand up at you in a wave, a solitary gesture as the rest of his companions and Helion walked towards the stairs that led up to your apartment entrance. 

He saw your mouth open in a shocked oh and couldn’t help the faintest smile gracing his lips as you disappeared from view.

“Oh shit.” You sprang up from your seat, eyes madly racing over the contents of your apartment. You were in the middle of a research project on magical signatures and your living space reflected the madness in your mind. Books lay open on the floor, on the desk, on the coffee table surrounded by carefully documented notes and half-scribbled ideas in equal measure. You wouldn’t be able to clean it up in time and, quite frankly, you had no interest in disrupting the chaotic organization. Did you really care about impressing the Night Court and Helion? 

The terrifying answer was, yes.

The dining room. 

It rarely saw use since you were disinclined to receive guests, and had more recently been repurposed to house stacks of romance novels… best not to let anyone see those… 

In the five minutes it took for Helion and the members of the Inner Circle to climb up the dozen flights of stairs, and knock on your door, you’d successfully managed to hide all the smutty romance books in your bedroom, throw a table cloth and candle on top of the dining table, put away the dried dishes that had been displaced on the kitchen countertops, and set a kettle on the stove. Was there anything more that could be done? 

Helion smiled brightly when you made your appearance, keeping the door slightly ajar to keep the worst of the living room out of sight. Perhaps this would be a short visit and they wouldn’t even ask to come inside.

“Y/n!” Helion said with a grin, “I present to you the Inner Circle of the Night Court.” He gestured with a grand flourish to some of the most beautiful fae you’d ever had the honor of witnessing.

“Some of us at least.” The High Lord’s voice was liquid honey and filled with enough charisma to seduce a nun.

“The most important ones.” The Lord of Bloodshed said with a boyish grin. The faint scar on his cheek pulled back with his smile.

“I’ll let Nesta know you said that.” The High Lady had swapped out her dress for a more simple pair of black slacks and a billowing shirt that cinched in at the waist, flowing over her body like smoke on water. 

“Wait, no. Feyre, I was only joking. Feyre-” 

She laughed, tipping her head back while her husband and mate looked on with a tenderness in his eyes you hadn’t expected to see. It wasn’t the love that shocked you so much as the casualness of it. High Lords and Lady’s - from the limited experience you had reading about them in books - were either unreadable or such outrageous flirts they looked ready to jump into the bones of anything that could stand upright or lay down for long enough. Both methods were appropriate to hide their true feelings, but Rhysand and Feyre seemed to take another approach entirely. 

Helion coughed when you made no move to introduce yourself, still shell-shocked at the caliber of guests currently at your door, “And to the Inner Circle of the Night Court, I present Y/n Y/l/n. My dear friend and one of the most talented researchers I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” 

“We’ve heard so much about you.” Feyre said, moving forward on instinct to embrace you. She stopped immediately when she saw you flinch back, but recovered quickly, smiling brightly, “My name is Feyre, and this is my mate Rhysand,” The High Lord tipped an imaginary hat, “And his brothers, Cassian and Azriel.” 

“It’s an honor to meet you.” You said politely.

“The honor is all ours.” Rhysand said. He held Feyre closer to his side, one hand ghosting close to her stomach in memory of the child that had grown there not even two years ago. “Helion told us everything you did. Our daughter is alive and well thanks to you, as is my mate.” 

You blinked in surprise. You didn’t know Helion had told them about that. 

“Oh um, it was a joint effort. My High Lord is too kind.” You said with a respectful dip of your head and all at once your manners flooded into your brain again, “Please, come in.” 

You sheepishly opened the door further, allowing the two High Lords and High Lady to grace your apartment. The Illyrians crossed the threshold last. Muscular, leathery wings rippled with power and prestige and it was incredible they managed to stay upright, let alone keep them from dragging on the floor. 

You made a mental note to revisit some old anatomy texts on winged fae. 

“I um,” You hurried to the kitchen, hearing the kettle start to screech, “I apologize. I wasn’t prepared for guests.” The screaming stopped and you remembered that you didn’t have any matching tea sets. 

You reached into the cupboards, face blushing at the assortment of novelty mugs you’d acquired over the years. Hardly fit for a children’s tea party let alone some of the most powerful fae to have ever existed. 

“There will be no apologies from you, tonight, my dear.” Helion said with a charming smile, “Not after we’ve barged into your home uninvited and taken over your dining table.”

From over the island you saw that Helion had already settled down at the table, the others following suit. Everyone except for the Shadowsinger. 

He lingered by the kitchen archway, keeping a respectful distance as you poured boiling water into the teapot over a mixture of chrysanthemum and rosehip. 

“Would you like any help?” He gestured to the tray now loaded with the teapot, cups, and a platter of biscuits that shook in your hands. 

“Oh,” You stared at his outstretched hand, soft black leather molded over graceful fingers. “No, that’s alright. I can do it. But thank you for offering.” You stood face to face with him, silently begging him with your eyes to move to the table with the others so you wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of touching him.

His hand quickly dropped to his side, then slid behind his back. You caught the flash of hurt in his eyes before he masked it. 

“There are some cookies in the living room!” You said a little too loudly, “On top of the coffee table. If-if you wouldn’t mind bringing those-” The Shadowsinger was already gone on his mission and you breathed a sigh of relief. 

There were more books on the floor than swords on a battlefield. Azriel stepped over them gently, careful not to disturb the precarious arrangement. Books on anatomy, microbiology, human medicine, and magical theory flared outward, tracing the path of Y/n’s mind. Azriel walked it with wonder at the brilliance hidden within the midnight thoughts that had been spilled on paper, before being organized later on with a loving hand. Because that’s what this all spelled out to him - some chaotic, maddening love. He was almost jealous not to be on the receiving end of it… almost.

He saw the platter on the table, but ignored it for the pile of books by the windowsill. These ones were different from the rest. Older and more worn. The bindings were cracked and flexible after being read hundreds of times. He could even trace the faint outlines of your fingers on the leather bindings where natural oils had eaten away at the dye. 

He read over the titles and committed them to memory for no other reason than the fact that he liked things that had been well loved. 

“I made a mistake don’t-” 

Azriel straightened up, color washing over his cheeks as he turned to face you in a sea of paper and leather. 

Without thinking, he’d fallen into old habits of poking through people’s belongings. There was a reason Rhysand had made him Spymaster of the Night Court after all. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-” 

“Did you eat a cookie?” You blurted out in a panic. 

“No, no I didn’t.” 

Your shoulders dropped in relief, one hand brushing back your hair. Azriel caught sight of your ink stained fingertips, and the faint mark they left on your temple. 

“Oh thank the Mother.” You muttered under your breath, stealing a glance over your shoulder to the dining room where Helion was playing host in your stead and doing a far better job than you would have been capable of.

“Are they poisoned?” Azriel asked, but the joke fell flat upon seeing the horror in your face.

“No! No, that's not why-I should explain myself better. I would never dare try and poison you. Or anyone for that matter!” You scrunched your eyes shut, face burning brighter than the sun at noon.

I’m a fool. I’m making a fool of myself. He’s going to think I’m an absolute idiot. And right after Helion called me a gifted researcher. What a fucking lie.

Azriel, the blessing in disguise that he was, gave you a moment to collect yourself, pretending to find more interest in a volume on snake venom that was laid open on the ottoman. 

“A friend baked those for me.” You finally said. 

Azriel nodded, a faint smile gracing his face and it caught you off guard. He was beautiful, there was no doubting it so long as you had eyes. What had surprised you was the faint slivers of warmth behind the facade of the cold, brooding Shadowsinger. It was… surprisingly comforting to be standing in a room with him, just the two of you. It was certainly better than the party you’d unceremoniously winnowed out of earlier that day.

“I would never hold it against you if you wanted to save those for yourself.”

Your lips twisted in disgust, “Oh gods no, Cherp is a terrible cook.”

“Cherp?”

“He’s another Librarian I know.” Probably the closest thing to a friend I have. But you weren’t about to tell the Shadowsinger that. “He specializes in chemistry and food history.”

“He’s a food historian?”

“Yes.”

“And yet he’s a terrible cook?” The Shadowsinger tilted his head to the side. 

The corner of your mouth tipped up, “The worst.”

“How is that possible?”

You gave it a thought, eyes darting around the walls like the answer was hidden behind paint, “Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, um,” You weren’t sure what to call him.

“Azriel. Call me, Azriel.”

“Azriel.” You said, testing out the shape of his name. You liked it.

“Do you know how many different types of eggs there are, Azriel?”

He cocked his head to the side, “I do not.”

“Thousands, Azriel. Thousands. If I told you to bake a cake with an egg, would you know I meant a chicken egg?” This time you didn’t wait for an answer, “Because you’d be surprised how quickly facts we consider ‘common knowledge’ disappear. Will people know we meant chicken eggs 1 million years from now? Perhaps not! All this to say that when Cherp follows recipes, he usually doesn’t have the knowledge to make it correctly and they turn out bland at best, inedible and poisonous at worst.” 

Azriel tipped his head back and laughed, prompting you to explain further, “He once spent ten years researching the evolution of average spoon sizes because so many of his recipes were measured in spoonfuls.”

Azriel smirked, “Is this what you academics get yourselves so worried about?”

You couldn’t tell if he was ridiculing you or not, but the sincerity in his hazel eyes said he wasn’t. “Well we...among other things, yes, I suppose that is something we concern ourselves with…” 

“Y/n!” Helion called from the other room, “Stop romancing the Shadowsinger and join us at the table. It’s a futile effort. I’ve been trying for centuries.” 

Your face turned a brighter shade of red as you watched Azriel pick his way through the empty spots on the floor. You pressed yourself against the wall to let him pass, a fact that didn’t escape his notice. And when he took a seat at the table, you ignored the unoccupied seat next to him, preferring to stand behind the island like a woodland creature ready to dive into their den at a moment’s notice. 

His lips flattened. He’d hoped to make you more comfortable around him after the disastrous events at the party, going so far as to hide the shadows that were clamoring for release. He should’ve known better than to assume one conversation about the historical accuracy of egg recipes would make that discomfort go away.  

From your island you tossed pleasantries back and forth like it was a game. But you couldn’t help the stiffness in your posture, the hesitation in your voice when they asked you about your life.

“I’m a Librarian.” You’d first answered, as if it were all that needed to be said. But they pressed onwards, tried to make you laugh. Cassian, especially, liked to poke fun, and despite your best efforts, you laughed. 

“All these libraries would make Nesta go feral. She wouldn’t know what to do with herself.”

“What kind of books does she like to read?” You asked, refilling the kettle as the cloudy sky outside darkened into a rich purple-black.

Cassian coughed, face turning red, “Romance.” He answered simply.

“Smutty romance.” The High Lord said, punching Cassian in the arm. His face turned redder.

“Lucky you,” Helion said with a wink that had Feyre bursting out into laughter. It was no secret that Helion had added Nesta onto his list of fae he’d one day like to have in his bed.

“There is an athenaeum that specializes in romance, and there’s no shortage of those sorts of novels… if you’re interested.” You said, hiding your face behind a sip of tea. 

“And how would you know about that?” Feyre asked teasingly. 

“I… am a Librarian. I know-I know things.” You sputtered unconvincingly. “I went once. Purely for research purposes.” 

Azriel gave her a look, a look that said he somehow knew of the eight raunchy books that graced your bedside table and had been well-read indeed.

As the conversation evolved to less embarrassing topics, you were struck by the fact that you were actually enjoying yourself. It was a far cry from the parties that you’d previously been invited to. There was an ease to the Inner Circle. A familial love that flowed off them as easy as water off a whetstone. It was something you hadn’t experienced in quite some time.

Azriel noticed when you fell silent, your mind carried away to more sobering thoughts than Cassian’s most recent travels to the Human Lands. Feyre noticed as well and made her surprise at the time look natural and unscripted.

“Day Court members are early to bed and early to rise aren’t you? I’m sorry we’ve taken up so much of your time.” She said, gently pulling Rhysand up with her as she stood. 

“No, not at all. Thank you for coming. I-I hope your daughter is doing well.” Was that an appropriate thing to say? Perhaps it was too threatening to comment on the wellbeing of a High Lord and High Lady’s child. But Feyre didn’t find any fault with that, a glassy look sliding over her eyes as Mor let Feyre into her mind so she could look at little Velaria dozing away in her aunt’s arms back home.

“She’s getting to be more and more of a handful everyday.”

“I wonder where she gets that from?” Cassian chimed in, throwing Rhysand a look as they collected their coats and slowly made their way over to the front door.

Rhysand threw his hand to his chest in indignation, “I was practically an angel.” 

Cassian snorted, “More like the devil.” 

Feyre rolled her eyes, shuffling the pair out the door into the still night. 

Azriel once again lingered behind, the last to leave behind Helion. He stepped out into the night-chilled air, the edges of him disappearing like the darkness had come to reclaim him. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Y/n, the Librarian.” He said, dipping into a shallow bow.

“It was lovely to meet you, Azriel…the Shadowsinger.” 

He smiled shyly, then froze, the smile slipping off his face into a look of shock. You glanced over your shoulder, missing the explosion of shadows that spilled out from him. 

You leapt back upon feeling their cool touch wrapping around you. There was a curiosity to the way they wound themselves through your hair and got tangled up in the folds of your dress. But thankfully, they carried no memories with them. No feelings but a faint relief and comfort that washed over you and gave you back your breath. For the first time in years you were experiencing a touch that you could handle. A touch that was stillness and peace.

“Is everything alright?” You finally looked back at Azriel, his eyes blown open and panicked.

He was not a man of many words. Never had been, never would be. But he wished he could speak everything on his mind. 

You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re my mate. You’re the one I’ve been waiting over 500 hundred years for. 

But when he saw the concern in your eyes, the gentle tilt of your head that exposed the curve of your neck, he knew it wasn’t the time.

“I-I have to go.” 

This time it was his turn to disappear. He swallowed his words, forced down the bond that now burned in his chest with the light of a thousand suns, and fled past the shocked faces of his family members before shooting off into the night sky.

<- Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

______________

Author's Note:

Does this batboy deserve a nerdy mate to tease and have fun with? Yes. I will take no criticism (just kidding if you have thoughts about how my writing is, let me know, just be kind and respectful about it).

Love,

Florence B.

Taglist: @rosebunnysblog @icey--stars @laceandsuch @coralseacourt @cherryinsalemverse @flowerprincezz @valeridarkness @annaaaaa88 @deeshag @bluesiphonsbaby @allyjoe755 @sidthedollface2 2@auggiesolovey @cleverzonkwombatsludge @kemillyfreitas @transparentmoonglitter @ang-taylorsversion @ssmay123 @just-m-2 @sevikas-whore @lalaluch @svtwonwoow @user707sthings @cherryinsalemverse @evylynny @decrepit-bees-knees @eleganttravelercloud @ghostwritermia @smitty-werbenjagermenjenson @fussel9913 @st0rmyt

[shanieveh]

“ forget me not... ”

synopsis: neuvillette, too late to confess his love to you, is drowning from the suffering and regret that came along with it, especially after knowing that you felt the same all along.

tags: gn!reader x neuvillette, depression and low self-esteem, bittersweet ending, mentions of freminet, lynette and melusines, heavily implied reader death and neuvillette also kinda wanting to die

a/n: people want this and i have came to deliver (hopefully) enjoy~ this is my first long fic that i published

How can this be….?

Neuvillette sat in the corner of his office, all your letters in his right hand. How can you say you loved him… how dare you describe the love, the passion, everything you felt for him when he can't even say it back.

How can you love someone so unlovable?

His silent cries can't match up to the violent outbursts of the skies outside. Days went by when he first found out, the melusines were scared to death about who would report it to him. The way you dissolved into water, not even seeing you for the last time—not having the privilege to have a proper funeral.

He failed you… the monsieur wasn't too sure on many things but this one was certain.

Reading your diaries, knowing your thoughts and hopes for the future. It was an invasion of privacy but also in a way… the last remnants of your existence. One such entry was that of three years ago where you first met.

Encountering this, a profuse blush colored his face. The adjectives being used "handsome", "tall" and "kind" for your first meetingwith the chief justice. Far from the truth really, although Neuvillette knew you meant every word.

You always did.

You always were an honest person.

The very first day his lavender eyes met yours, to the very last. There was never a trace of impurity or a hint of a liar. Of course, the verdict went in your favor, because to him a precious rose like you can never steal and the plaintiffs were wrong.

Reading it now, not even a slightly negative comment was made to those who wrongly accused you.

"Maybe they had their reasons, after all, I was also in need of money at that time." you wrote. Adding on that you defended the "Monsieur Neuvillette" when people called "such a man of honor and kindness" a "merciless and arrogant man".

A man of honor and kindness? Your words became running thoughts in the hydro dragon's head. That day was one of the only days he didn't cry after a trial. Neuvillette was just happy that such a person of integrity was cleared of their name.

He turned through the pages of the diary, how you taught him to socialize and even mend his relationship with the hydro archon.

"Monsieur Neuvillette was too adorable! Being with a person of lowly status and treating me with such respect and humility, he truly is the epitome of mercy and loveliness."

How can you be so blind? Anyone with eyes will know that it's a privilege to be with someone so beautiful, especially to be with someone like Neuvillette. A cold and repulsive soul. You make him sound like a good person, when in fact he isn't both good and human.

He was a monster… these words of humanity you always used to describe a monster. Why do they sound so genuine? Why do they look so real? Maybe only you can make him like that, you and only you.

A few pages later he finally saw the words…

Words that should've made him scream in euphoria… tore him to a million pieces. Because even before this he already loved you… because you had so much time to confess but never did… and never will.

"I think I'm in love with the chief Justice."

And after that, he couldn't even get himself to read, he couldn't. His eyes got so blurry to see, his heart became too heavy to feel. Why were you… why you? In a world filled with monsters, they chose an angel. They chose a soul that still wanted to live, love and give. Those demons… despicable.

Remembering his shortcomings, maybe in some way he could've avoided all of this. Neuvillette shouldn't have given you his blessing to investigate the serial disappearance case.

But that glint of adventure in your eyes… he was too soft to reject you.

It was all his fault.

Wiping his tears he looked at the last entry of the diary… Oh.

Oh.

"After this investigation, I'll finally confess to him… I surely hope Neuvillette feels the same way, I even planted some forget-me-nots to give him in the backyard so that he'll know when it rains and he weeps. I will always be here."

The chief justice didn't know what was coming to him but he started running… and only then can he see the state of Fontaine. Many flowers have wilted and only a few people were outside. What had he become..?

"What's up with this weather? It isn't even the rainy season yet?!" A shop owner complained.

"I know! My crops have been drowning these days, at this rate if it doesn't stop we'll have a famine!"

It was all his fault, his running turned to a slow walk taking in all that he had done. This was all because of him. The lonely streets, the lowered morale. This was all because—

"Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, please don't cry!"

He turned to the voice and saw a young boy in the distance. Neuvillette remembered now, his name was Freminet. That child on which you doted extremely, giving him sweets and hushing his tears. The chief justice quickly let go of his gaze and continued to walk.

"You see Freminet, it didn't work... let's go inside."

The response was that of a stoic young woman, but he just continued his legs even if they wanted to rest all to see the last thing you cared for… those flowers. And when he finally was at the destination he saw it immediately outside.

It was in the bushes, he couldn't miss it. Every corner of your house was haunted, every tiny thing was a memory. The chairs you painted, the drawings pinned in the cabinet of you and him with the melusines. It was precious. All of it. Just as you are.

He finally saw them, most were almost to bloom and some were wilted. Picking one he unconsciously kissed it, perhaps mistaking it for you. These flowers were made to remind him he was never alone, but now he is.

More alone than he can ever be in one lifetime. Your scent still filled every corner, a remembrance of the biggest "what if" in his life. Your will stated that every single thing of yours is his just as you were always his. Bittersweet was he when reading it.

Neuvillete forgot that too included your house, maybe he was too consumed with your thoughts to visit this place. He was twisting the poor flower that looked so tiny compared to his hand. Perhaps that's what it's like to be with him. It's a curse…

He continues to caress the flowers, to treat them as if they were you. You were wrong on one thing about this, even if there were no flowers he will never forget you. Never, no way! The love he has for you can destroy nations and can cause millions of sacrifices. Just to keep you, to see your smile again.

But he can't even do that, you didn't give him the privilege to do something for you. If only he knew, he would've… done everything for you. The love that can create the strongest of floods failed to protect the one person he was supposed to protect.

At that moment, he felt the waters, the ocean, his home… you. It made his crying bearable, somewhat. Grief that could surpass a lifetime, wasn't enough. Nothing he can do will ever be enough to have you again. Perhaps he should also leave this world to stop being a burden to the people… and maybe to see you again.

"Neuvillette…"

Now he was even imagining your voice, or was he? Maybe he was delusional but he still followed your voice even if it took him to an unknown path. But the end was in a small pond, where you used to keep the fish, all of which were alive and well.

"Neuvillette…?"

At this he didn't even care if was going insane, your voice sounded like a melody even if it uttered his name. It sounded like a rare jewel, a myth, a prophecy too good to be true.

"Darling?" He replied in a hopeful tone. He looked through his surroundings, no longer was he in a pond but a terrain of boundless water. In the middle was a flying Oceanid, a spirit. Was it—could it be?

"Even I could feel the heavy pouring of rain, monsieur… don't be sad."

It was indeed your spirit, a part of you that remained before that bastard—he'll make whoever did this pay. It wasn't for justice anymore, this one is for revenge.

"How can I not? When I have failed you over and over again, I couldn't even get to say…"

"That you love me?"

His eyes widened, looking at you. Even if it didn't look like you, he knew… he always did. A nod soon followed after that, it was barely noticeable even at this rate the chief justice was a bit shy saying it.

"I just don't know why you could ever say you love me, how you could even think of me so kindly. Why? How? How can you love me back?" He was clueless to what you mean.

"How can I not?"

The reply you uttered was one of a teary-eyed person. Even to this moment you still haven't accepted you had died, not when he was still alone needing you.

"Just as you said… how can I not? You out of all people my dear… know of the sacrifices we make for the person we love."

It was that moment where you took your normal form, you looked beautiful as the day he lost you. As beautiful as the day you met. And as you walked towards him, the clock ticking until your final goodbye, it was time.

"I love you Neuvillette, i always had and continue to do so." For the last time, you cupped his cheek and kissed him.

"I love you, darling from the very beginning and every single lifetime to come." He let go of the kiss and hugged you tight, closing his eyes, until you disappeared not knowing he was hugging his own.

Opening his eyes, the rain was long gone, and what remained were the flowers in the bushes, the ponds, the fish, and him. Maybe… just maybe he will bring you and the other victims to light.

Until then, this one last encounter and goodbye will make him content. He was sure… that finally his love will be at rest.

[impala-dreamer]

It's Fucking Unprofessional

A Story from The Boys Universe

~ While working as a PA for Vought, Y/N has made one promise to herself: to stay the fuck away from Soldier Boy. Some promises are too easily broken…~

Soldier Boy x F!Reader

2,434 Words

NSFW. Snark. Cursing. Assholery. Fucking. 

For @jacklesversebingo “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions”

JacklesBingo Masterlist

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works

He was terrifying up close. 

It wasn’t just the knowledge that he could rip her apart with a simple flick of his wrist, or shove her so hard she’d splatter against the wall like a bug on a windshield. It was much worse than all that. It was the fact that he was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. His green eyes behind that mask were piercing… the way his muscles pulsed beneath the suit was mesmerizing… the way he walked with that bow-legged swagger was sexy as hell. Being attracted to the epic piece of shit was way more dangerous than the threat of death.  

When Y/N got the job at Vought Studios, she made a promise to her diary and herself. In no way would she get so close to him as to give away the fact that her innocent pussy dripped whenever he was around. She would ignore him entirely. Besides, his behavior was reprehensible. His attitude toward women was disgusting. His ass was so perky and tight and… No. She was going to be strong. She was going to steer clear of all that nonsense.  

Not that he’d ever pay attention to someone like her. The key aspect of her job was to be neither seen nor heard; just a person waiting in the wings to hand off a prop, run and get coffee, and clean up the dressing rooms. It would be easy to stay in the shadows, completely off his radar. 

Soldier Boy was pissed. 

He may have actually been pissed as well as just angry: he stank of rye and stale cigarettes, and fumbled over his lines more than a few times. 

For over an hour, he held the crew hostage while attempting to film his required Anti-Drug PSA. Vought was trying to score some points with the public by helping out D.A.R.E. by pimping out their celebrity supes for commercial spots. Soldier Boy was next in line and very unhappy about it. 

After the twentieth take, he demanded caffeine and production halted until Y/N returned with a styrofoam cup full of black coffee. 

Y/N held her breath and tried to walk away without really looking at him, but Soldier Boy flipped. He sniffed the drink and sneered. 

“Is this hot?” 

Y/N stepped back as he stared into her eyes, daring her to say something. A wave of arousing fear washed over her as he slammed the cup to the floor. It splintered like rotted wood and the hot liquid went everywhere. 

“Iced!” 

She jumped. 

He raged on. 

“Iced coffee!” he screamed. “It’s not hard!” 

Nerves ran down her spine and Y/N moved to grab a rag from the craft table.

“It’s fucking unprofessional!” 

A knot formed in her chest and instead of shying away, she felt a surge of defiance. 

“You’re fucking unprofessional,” she ripped under her breath. 

Soldier Boy’s head cocked to the side. She felt his eyes on the back of her neck, digging in. 

“Excuse me?” 

Y/N turned back with the cleaning rag in hand. “Hmm?” 

His jaw clenched and his upper lip twitched. “The fuck did you say to me?” 

Batting her eyes innocently, Y/N shrugged and bent down to mop up the spill. “I didn’t say anything.” 

His anger followed her down, watching as she dabbed at the floor. Leaning close, he whispered a warning. “I have super hearing, you know.”

Y/N hummed as if she found him boring even though she was screaming inside. “That must be fun for you.” 

Again, his teeth gnashed together and she swore she could feel the air around them grow hotter. A deep growl rumbled in the back of his throat and Y/N met his gaze, unfazed but terrified. He was taken aback by her bravery and somewhat impressed by her attitude.

“You know-”

The director called for attention and Soldier Boy sat back up, getting ready while keeping one eye on the mouthy PA. 

“OK! Let’s run again!”

If he got through two lines in a row, it was shocking. More than once, he stopped just to glare at Y/N. She couldn’t tell if he was contemplating snapping her neck or undressing her with his eyes, so she kept her arms crossed and her expression cool. 

“If taking drugs is uncool,” he mumbled, laughing at himself, “then I’m the most uncool motherfucker on the planet…” 

Some of the crew laughed along, but Y/N sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. “You really are,” she muttered. 

His laugh died away instantly and he threw daggers with his eyes. “Fuck you.” 

Y/N cocked a brow. “Like I’d let you,” she laughed. 

Soldier Boy straightened up, surprised. His annoyance turned to interest and he licked his lips. “Oh, I think you’d let me.” 

She tongued her cheek and popped a hip. “You think?” 

“I know.” 

“Pfft.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t handle me even if I came with instructions.” 

His smile faded and she turned away, giving him a literal cold shoulder. 

The air shifted and her heart stopped when his big hand wrapped around her upper arm, jerking her back a step. 

His lips grazed her ear. “You wanna rethink that last statement, sweetheart?”

Y/N tried to wrench her arm away but his grip was absolute. She spun around to face him and nearly lost her footing. He was impossibly close and regrettably gorgeous. She gasped. 

“Get off me.” 

He blinked slowly and looked her over. He could hear her heart pounding, see the blood rush to her cheeks, smell her arousal. “You’re so… interesting.”

She swallowed hard. “W-What?” 

“Defiant and bitchy, but oh so hot for me.” 

“Fuck you, no I’m not.” Again, she twisted her arm to break free but it was no use. 

His fingers tightened, bruising her flesh. “You are,” he grinned. “I can smell it.” 

“You’re disgusting,” she spat. 

Behind them, the director tried to regain control. 

“Um- let’s uh- if we could just go one more time-” 

Soldier Boy shook his head. “No. We got it.” 

“We really didn’t,” the man pleaded. “I really think we should go again from the top.” 

“No,” he repeated, dragging his eyes down her trembling body. “That’s a wrap!” 

She wasn’t sure if he was carrying her or if they were simply moving too fast for her brain to register her feet on the ground. 

Soldier Boy broke the lock on a random office door and shoved Y/N inside. He flipped on the lights and kicked the door shut as he turned to smirk at her. 

“Now, where were we?” 

Y/N backed away, internally battling her desire and aversion. “I believe I was telling you what a piece of shit you are.” 

He laughed at her daring words. “You’re something else, you know that?”   

She shrugged, playing it cool. “It’s been said.”

“Yeah, but not by me.” With a smug smile, he pulled the mask from his face and ran a hand through his hair. 

Y/N felt her defenses crack. Her vision blurred for a second. “Um… I… really don’t care what you think, actually.” 

He clicked his tongue and took a step closer. “I think you do, actually.” 

Her heart skipped two beats in a row and then struggled to catch up. “Actually, you can fuck off.”  

“Maybe.” Soldier Boy grinned and closed the space between them. “Or…” He reached for her throat and her body tensed. Instead of a death grip, he slipped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her close. He was gentle, but she could feel the strength pulsing underneath his touch. “I can fuck you.”

She couldn’t think of a protest that would even remotely come off as true but it didn’t matter anyway. Before she could speak, his lips were on her and her mind melted. He slid his tongue between her lips and her breath stopped. He ran his left hand across her tits and her legs went weak. 

When he pulled back, she swayed forward, caught in his pull and utterly on fire for him. 

His laugh was smug. His lips were wet and plump. 

“Knew you couldn’t resist me,” he teased. “But it was a nice try.” 

Every bit of resistance faded into his grin and Y/N dove at him, grabbing a fistful of the fabric collar loose around his throat. He laughed into her hungry kiss and set his hands on her hips. He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a feather, and slammed her down onto the desk like she was simply a toy for his amusement. 

He rocked into her and Y/N moaned loudly. His cock was hard and she reached down, rubbing him through the spandex tights. 

“How- how do these come off?” she whimpered, tugging at his bottoms. 

Another deep kiss blew her mind and Soldier Boy held her chin in two fingers, stretching her throat and setting her face where he wanted. She held the pose while he backed away and stripped for her. Layer after layer of forest green and woody brown fell away and Y/N clenched her thighs tight as more muscle was revealed. 

“Fuck… you’re gorgeous,” she breathed. 

He smirked and spread his feet apart. “I know.” Grabbing his dick, he stroked himself slowly and nodded at her. “Now you.” 

Y/N shivered and hopped down from the desk. Nervously, she tugged at the hem of her oversized periwinkle sweater and yanked it up. 

Soldier Boy sucked his teeth. “No. Slowly.”

She took a breath and started again, this time lifting away the soft polyester slowly and deliberately. Next came her jeans and he hummed in lustful admiration as she tugged the acid-washed denim down her thighs.  

“Very nice.” 

Embolden, Y/N turned and shook her ass for him as she unhooked her bra. 

“Go on…” 

She tossed the garment over her shoulder. 

“Keep going.”

Aching with anticipation, she slid her hands into her panties and inched them down, bending at the hips and showing him everything. 

“Fucking hell…” 

He was on her in a second; big hands tight on her hips, hard cock snug between her thighs. He settled there for a moment, letting her juices drip down onto his throbbing shaft. She leaned back and he scratched his fingers up her sides and scooped her tits into his warm palms.

“Fuck… your hands are so big,” she mewed. 

He jerked his hips and the tip of his cock slid against her clit. 

“Just my hands?” 

Y/N bit her lip and wiggled against him. “Let’s find out.”

He flipped her over like it was nothing and threw her down on the edge of the desk. She spread her legs wide and he set up camp between them. 

“You ready?” he asked, already lining up. 

She nodded breathlessly and arched her back off the desk, begging. “Do it. Please!”

It was almost painful the way he snapped his hips into her. His thick cock spread her apart and her flesh burned at the pull. She bit back a scream when he pressed all the way in; dropped her jaw when he tugged her hips down off the desk. His blunt nails sunk into her soft curves, nearly drawing blood. She held her breath. He thrust his cock deeper inside. She lost her mind. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” It was all she could say and it amused him like nothing else. 

With a grunt, Soldier Boy lifted her legs high and pushed forward, bending her in half. The new angle pushed him in so deep Y/N thought she could feel his cock tap against the base of her throat. She gagged and her eyes rolled. He laughed and dipped down to lick at her lips. 

“What a good little bitch,” he teased. “Taking my cock so good.” 

She moaned with each hard thrust and her tongue rolled out of her mouth. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. There was nothing but mindless, pounding pleasure and his bright green eyes. 

He ran his tongue up hers and hummed. “That’s a good idea.” 

In a flash, she was on her knees, swaying side to side as he stroked his cock. His fist was a blur, her eyes were white. 

“Open wide.” 

Y/N dropped her jaw and he slid inside. 

“Suck.” 

Her lips clamped down and she took a deep breath, pulling at his velvety skin. Her tongue undulated against the pulsing vein of his big cock and Soldier Boy fit his giant hand on the back of her head. He held her in place and bucked his hips, jabbing his cock down her throat. She choked on him, moaning in bliss and protest as spit spilled from the corners of her mouth and coated her tits. 

“Fucking perfect,” he grit, throwing his head back and enjoying her desperate whimpers and the tightness of her throat. 

Her eyes began to water and he could hear her lungs screaming for air. He set her free. 

“Fuck!” Y/N wobbled on her weak knees and nearly fell to the floor. 

Soldier Boy caught her quickly and set her back on her feet, bent over on the desk. Her tits smashed against the wood and he kicked her legs apart. 

“You’re one hell of a PA,” he praised. 

Her cunt pulsed as he ran the tip of his cock across its lips. “It’s… my… job…” 

He grinned. “Sure is.” He pushed inside. “Gotta give the talent your full attention.” He slapped her ass hard. “Give them anything they want.” He grabbed the back of her neck and lifted her off of the desk, arching her spine awkwardly. “Isn’t that right?” 

She moaned. “Yes!”

“Correct.” 

He let her go and she fell back down, just a ragdoll for him to fuck to his satisfaction. 

When he was done he slapped her ass, leaving a welt behind as a souvenir. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled, already forgetting about her as he tugged his suit back on and fixed his hair. 

Y/N crumbled to the floor, her legs spread wide, her back against the desk. She sat there for a long while, feeling his palm print burn on her bottom and his cum leak from her cunt. He didn’t look back as he left, didn’t even shut the door. 

Soldier Boy disappeared down the hall and Y/N shook herself, wondering how the hell she’d broken her promise and let him get to her. 

Not that she was mad about it. 

Just sore. 

[hard--headed--woman]

Hello and happy Pride Month everyone ! 🏳️‍🌈

As promised, I am going to talk about an important lesbian in history everyday. And this first post is about one of my favourite :

Renée Vivien !

I have seen some people talk about her here but she clearly isn’t as famous as she should be, and she deserves way more recognition!

Renée Vivien, whose birth name is Pauline Mary Tam, was a British writer poetess, who wrote her poetry (and most of her works) in french ; born in 1877, she died in 1909, at only 32 years old.

Renée was openly a lesbian, and she never tried to hide it despite the society she lived in being extremely homophobic and considering homosexuality as an illness. In her poetry, she mentions her love for women a lot, and wrote a lot of love poems for several of her lovers. This even earned her the nickname “Sappho 1900”. ("Sappho 1900, Sappho cent pour cent").

Of Sappho, she was by the way a huge fan : in 1903, she published the work "Sappho", in which the poet's Greek texts are followed by a French translation, as well as verses by Renée Vivien, which thus "completes" the remaining fragments of Sappho's writings. This collection greatly helped to anchor Sappho's work and her identity as a lesbian woman in our culture.

Her work consists of :

Twelve collections of poems, totalling more than 500 poems

Several translations of Greek poetesses (including Sappho)

Seven books of prose

Around ten novels (written under various pseudonyms)

A posthumously published collection of short Gothic tales (written in English this time)

A book about Anne Boleyn's life

It is also possible to read her diary and the letters she exchanged with her lovers, friends and other personalities of her time, including Natalie Clifford Barney, Colette, Kérimé Turkhan Pacha and others.

Pauline studied both in Paris and in London, then decided, once she came of age, to come and settle in Paris. She published her first collection,"Études et Préludes" in 1901, under the pseudonym R.Vivien. This pseudonym later became René Vivien (the male version of Renée) then Renée Vivien, the name under which she will be remembered. We can easily guess that she first chose these neutral then masculine pseudonyms to be able to write and be published despite the misogyny and homophobia of her time, especially given the themes exploited in her writings.

Sadness, death, ancient Greece, love, despair, solitude and love are the most recurrent themes in Renée's poems. There is actually a poetry prize in her name, the Prix Renée Vivien, which rewards poets whose themes and style are close to those of Renée Vivien.

Among Renée's best-known lovers is Natalie Clifford Barney, a famous writer and poet, with whom she had a relationship for several years before leaving her, tired of her infidelities. It is said that Natalie never accepted this breakup and tried until the end to get her back by all means, sending her love letters even years after.

Renée then had a relationship of more than six years with the rich Baroness Hélène de Zuylen, married and mother of two children, with whom she traveled extensively around the world and collaborated on the writing of several works (under the collective pseudonym Paule Riversdale). In a letter to her friend Jean Charles-Brun, Renée admitted that she considered herself married to Hélène.

While still living with the Baroness, she received a letter from a mysterious admirer, Kérimé Turkhan Pacha. What followed was an intense four-year epistolary relationship, interspersed with brief clandestine meetings. In 1908, however, Kérimé, the wife of a Turkish diplomat, put an end to their relationship when she had to follow her husband to St. Petersburg. This break-up probably contributed to Renée's tragic end.

The writer was in deep psychological distress, which only worsened from 1908 onwards. Alcoholic and suicidal, she began refusing to eat properly, and attempted suicide with laudanum. After this failed suicide attempt, she contracted pleurisy, which left her very weak, and then chronic gastritis due to her alcohol abuse. She gradually fell into anorexia, and, with her limbs paralyzed by multiple neuritis, she died on November 18, 1909, aged just 32. Her death was attributed to "pulmonary congestion", probably due to pneumonia complicated by alcohol and anorexia.

After her death, intellectuals, artists and newspapers, out of lesbophobia, tried to make her forgotten by the literary world, describing her as a woman of evil and damnation, perverse and cruel, going so far as to invent for her a life of crime, debauchery, orgies with married women, violence and cocaine consumption.

Today, Renée Vivien's name is no longer known to the general public, and is never mentioned alongside those of great ans famous poets such as Arthur Rimbaud or Charles Baudelaire, despite her gorgeous poetry, her immense talent and fascinating work.

She's personally my favourite, and not only because she was a lesbian. Her poetry is the most beautiful, interesting and deep poetry I have ever seen. She deserves to be as famous as Victor Hugo or Paul Eluard (and even more famous, in my opinion lol).

Here is one of her poems, with its english translation :

A link to some of her poems (in french but you can use a translator) ;

And two links with some of her poems translated into english : 1 and 2.

You should totally buy and read her books and poems, I have them and they're amazing!!! I'll post more translations of her poems in the future for those interested.

Anyway, thanks for reading and see you tomorrow for the second post!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Emil Ferris’s long-awaited “My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book Two”

NEXT WEEKEND (June 7–9), I'm in AMHERST, NEW YORK to keynote the 25th Annual Media Ecology Association Convention and accept the Neil Postman Award for Career Achievement in Public Intellectual Activity.

Seven years ago, I was absolutely floored by My Favorite Thing Is Monsters, a wildly original, stunningly gorgeous, haunting and brilliant debut graphic novel from Emil Ferris. Every single thing about this book was amazing:

https://memex.craphound.com/2017/06/20/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-a-haunting-diary-of-a-young-girl-as-a-dazzling-graphic-novel/

The more I found out about the book, the more amazed I became. I met Ferris at that summer's San Diego Comic Con, where I learned that she had drawn it over a while recovering from paralysis of her right – dominant – hand after a West Nile Virus infection. Each meticulously drawn and cross-hatched page had taken days of work with a pen duct-taped to her hand, a project of seven years.

The wild backstory of the book's creation was matched with a wild production story: first, Ferris's initial publisher bailed on her because the book was too long; then her new publisher's first shipment of the book was seized by the South Korean state bank, from the Panama Canal, when the shipper went bankrupt and its creditors held all its cargo to ransom.

My Favorite Thing Is Monsters told the story of Karen Reyes, a 10 year old, monster-obsessed queer girl in 1968 Chicago who lives with her working-class single mother and her older brother, Deeze, in an apartment house full of mysterious, haunted adults. There's the landlord – a gangster and his girlfriend – the one-eyed ventriloquist, and the beautiful Holocaust survivor and her jazz-drummer husband.

Karen narrates and draws the story, depicting herself as a werewolf in a detective's trenchcoat and fedora, as she tries to unravel the secrets kept by the grownups around her. Karen's life is filled with mysteries, from the identity of her father (her brother, a talented illustrator, has removed him from all the family photos and redrawn him as the Invisible Man) to the purpose of a mysterious locked door in the building's cellar.

But the most pressing mystery of all is the death of her upstairs neighbor, the beautiful Annika Silverberg, a troubled Holocaust survivor whose alleged suicide just doesn't add up, and Karen – who loved and worshiped Annika – is determined to get to the bottom of it.

Karen is tormented by the adults in her life keeping too much from her – and by their failure to shield her from life's hardest truths. The flip side of Karen's frustration with adult secrecy is her exposure to adult activity she's too young to understand. From Annika's cassette-taped oral history of her girlhood in an Weimar brothel and her escape from a Nazi concentration camp, to the sex workers she sees turning tricks in cars and alleys in her neighborhood, to the horrors of the Vietnam war, Karen's struggle to understand is characterized by too much information, and too little.

Ferris's storytelling style is dazzling, and it's matched and exceeded by her illustration style, which is grounded in the classic horror comics of the 1950s and 1960s. Characters in Karen's life – including Karen herself – are sometimes depicted in the EC horror style, and that same sinister darkness crowds around the edges of her depictions of real-world Chicago.

These monster-comic throwbacks are absolute catnip for me. I, too, was a monster-obsessed kid, and spent endless hours watching, drawing, and dreaming about this kind of monster.

But Ferris isn't just a monster-obsessive; she's also a formally trained fine artist, and she infuses her love of great painters into Deeze, Karen's womanizing petty criminal of an older brother. Deeze and Karen's visits to the Art Institute of Chicago are commemorated with loving recreations of famous paintings, which are skillfully connected to pulp monster art with a combination of Deeze's commentary and Ferris's meticulous pen-strokes.

Seven years ago, Book One of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters absolutely floored me, and I early anticipated Book Two, which was meant to conclude the story, picking up from Book One's cliff-hanger ending. Originally, that second volume was scheduled for just a few months after Book One's publication (the original manuscript for Book One ran to 700 pages, and the book had been chopped down for publication, with the intention of concluding the story in another volume).

But the book was mysteriously delayed, and then delayed again. Months stretched into years. Stranger rumors swirled about the second volume's status, compounded by the bizarre misfortunes that had befallen book one. Last winter, Bleeding Cool's Rich Johnston published an article detailing a messy lawsuit between Ferris and her publishers, Fantagraphics:

https://bleedingcool.com/comics/fantagraphics-sued-emil-ferris-over-my-favorite-thing-is-monsters/

The filings in that case go some ways toward resolve the mystery of Book Two's delay, though the contradictory claims from Ferris and her publisher are harder to sort through than the mysteries at the heart of Monsters. The one sure thing is that writer and publisher eventually settled, paving the way for the publication of the very long-awaited Book Two:

https://www.fantagraphics.com/products/my-favorite-thing-is-monsters-book-two

Book Two picks up from Book One's cliffhanger and then rockets forward. Everything brilliant about One is even better in Two – the illustrations more lush, the fine art analysis more pointed and brilliant, the storytelling more assured and propulsive, the shocks and violence more outrageous, the characters more lovable, complex and grotesque.

Everything about Two is more. The background radiation of the Vietnam War in One takes center stage with Deeze's machinations to beat the draft, and Deeze and Karen being ensnared in the Chicago Police Riots of '68. The allegories, analysis and reproductions of classical art get more pointed, grotesque and lavish. Annika's Nazi concentration camp horrors are more explicit and more explicitly connected to Karen's life. The queerness of the story takes center stage, both through Karen's first love and the introduction of a queer nightclub. The characters are more vivid, as is the racial injustice and the corruption of the adult world.

I've been staring at the spine of My Favorite Thing Is Monsters Book One on my bookshelf for seven years. Partly, that's because the book is such a gorgeous thing, truly one of the great publishing packages of the century. But mostly, it's because I couldn't let go of Ferris's story, her characters, and her stupendous art.

After seven years, it would have been hard for Book Two to live up to all that anticipation, but goddammit if Ferris didn't manage to meet and exceed everything I could have hoped for in a conclusion.

There's a lot of people on my Christmas list who'll be getting both volumes of Monsters this year – and that number will only go up if Fantagraphics does some kind of slipcased two-volume set.

In the meantime, we've got more Ferris to look forward to. Last April, she announced that she had sold a prequel to Monsters and a new standalone two-volume noir murder series to Pantheon Books:

https://twitter.com/likaluca/status/1648364225855733769

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/01/the-druid/#oh-my-papa

[froody]

writing fictional Wikipedia articles as outlines for my historical fiction characters and having so much fun. dude look at this:

Daniel Ivey Clairville (3 May 1856 - 5 December 1941) was a prominent figure in the field of animal husbandry, early adopter of germ theory, animal behaviorist, cattle drover, diarist and Quaker theologian. Born in Philadelphia, Clairville apprenticed as a farrier until the death of his father in 1871 caused him to relocate to Texas to seek employment along the Chisholm Trail. Clairville was known for his ability to slow and halt the spread of disease among cattle using sanitation methods he pioneered, reducing cattle loss by up to 60% in herds under his care.

After retiring from the cattle industry in the late 1890s, he attended Cornell University, becoming an adjunct professor at Elgin Polytechnic Institute and publishing several texts on bovine husbandry and behavior.

Clairville was a relatively obscure scientific figure before his private writings about his sexuality, faith and experiences in the waning days of the Wild West were published posthumously.

^ Personal life

Clairville was gay and in a committed relationship with Joseph “Shortie” Alcott (14 November 1860 - 17 July 1906) until the latter’s mysterious death in Texas. Alcott was a train robber, outlaw, gambler, duelist and suspected serial killer. The couple met in the mid-1880s after Alcott was released from Utah Territorial Penitentiary and joined a trail drive lead by Clairville. Their relationship was described as inseparable but contentious by John Matthew Robertson-Clairville, Clairville’s adopted son, who often wrote about the couple’s relationship in his trail diary.

Having worked side by side for over a decade, Alcott initially followed Clairville east when he retired from the cattle industry in the 1890s but became embroiled in legal trouble in Pennsylvania and returned to Texas where he embarked on a crime spree that ended in a fatal two day shootout with a number of Texas rangers.

The details of Clairville’s private life and his connection to notorious criminal Shortie Alcott was largely forgotten until the 1970s when a box of personal letters and diaries was discovered in the attic of his former residence. The diaries of Clairville and Robertson-Clairville along with the correspondence between Clairville and Alcott in the latter’s final months form the basis of the book published by his great granddaughter in 1996.

Analysis of his writings and first hand accounts of his behavior suggest he had autism and OCD.

[ethelschapel]

do you have any idea about the story of willoughby and ethel and logan and can you explain it?

We don't know much about either character, especially Logan as the only real source material we have about him is the song Western Nights. However, I'll start with Willoughby as he's been hailed Ethel's first love. House in Nebraska is about him, the song clearly stating Ethel's extremely strong feelings for him but also outlining his departure or death or whatever happened to him that caused his split from Ethel. There's speculation that he died, that Ethel did something that caused him to leave her. A lot of what we know about Willoughby is purely conjecture, however in one way or another, Ethel and him separated before she met Logan and long before Isaiah.

There's an excerpt from a page of "Diary of a Preacher's Daughter" which Hayden posted herself saying, "As for me personally, I lost Willoughby that night. The only thing I've ever truly loved in this wretched life and I left him curled between the couch and the coffee table when it all got too loud. "Be mean" is what he'd tell me, every time I'd start my shaking. What he didn't tell me is that you can be mean and still be a coward. Some things you have to learn on your own."

You can read the full thing here.

Again, we don't know the full story surrounding Willoughby and probably never will until the book is published but that excerpt could lead us to believe that he died in the tornado. There's also another piece of source material, a fictional magazine called "Thoughts and Prayers for Ethel Cain," available to read here where the question "What about Willoughby Tucker? I know you two seemed pretty close before he moved away, have you kept in contact at all?" is asked. There's another interpretation here that he moved away, that Ethel could've done something to drive him away etc. I have to reiterate though that it's not confirmed what happened to him.

You may have also heard about the "B-sides" which are said to be all about Willoughby. You can find some collected information about them in this Reddit post. Note that although some of these things have been "confirmed" the artistic process is unpredictable and a lot of what's been discussed in asks and lives may not make it to the final project. The B-sides are also probably not coming for a while but Hayden has not scrapped the project as when saying her next project will have nothing to do with Preacher's Daughter she said, "no this doesn't mean b-sides are scrapped."

There's a lot to be revealed about Willoughby Tucker however he is a very important and frequently mentioned character by Hayden and the fandom.

Now, Logan is a different kettle of fish. He is Ethel's second love interest but is abusive, supposedly using Ethel for sex if you were to interpret the lyrics of Western Nights.

There's little known about Logan and he's very rarely mentioned by Hayden so just like with Willoughby, most of his lore is speculation. He is however a criminal, outlined by the line "Breaking in to the ATMs," and Ethel is dragged into the lifestyle alongside him. If it helps you visualise him better, Hayden has said before that Logan is a "hunky daddy." So...do with that what you will!

Either way, the relationship between the two is short-lived as he dies in a police shootout after robbing a bank causing Ethel to go on the run, ruminating on her relationship with Logan and how the abuse is a mirror of her relationship with her family, shown through the song Family Tree.

The most recent piece of lore we have was posted by Hayden on tumblr where she summarises the plot of Preacher's Daughter. See that here.

As I've said, it's not likely that much will be revealed until the book is out. I'm not Hayden and I don't have access to her head so understanding every detail is hard to do. I've tried to give different interpretations, piggy-backing off asks and source material that Hayden has posted herself, because the particulars are unknown and there's lot of contradictory things spread around. Art is meant to be interpreted though so do with this information as you wish.

If you want to do some of your own reading/listening, here's some other sources that could be useful:

. The lore page on Reddit

. Preachers Daughter document

. Thoughts and Prayers Mag

. Alt Press Mag

. The Line Of Best Fit Mag

. Artist Decoded

There's also another document which gives the basic interpretations of the story rather than lyrical analysis.

I hope this was helpful! And I hope I've made it clear that literally most of this needs to be taken with a grain of salt lol.

[girlactionfigure]

Ona Simaite was a Lithuanian librarian who saved Jews including many children during the German occupation, and preserved literary works from the Vilna ghetto before being arrested by the Gestapo.

Born in Akmene, Lithuania in 1894, Ona was educated in Moscow and began working at the library at Vilnius university in 1940. A book lover and intellectual, Ona was excited to be working at the oldest university in northern Europe, in a city teeming with culture. However everything changed in 1941, when the Nazis invaded Lithuania. Immediately they created a squalid ghetto and imprisoned the city’s large Jewish population. Ona was shocked and horrified when her Jewish students and colleagues suddenly disappeared. 

Without a moment of doubt, she began visiting the ghetto frequently, under the pretext of collecting library books. She was shocked at what she saw there. It was hell on earth. Residents were barely alive, many of them starving to death, while others were shot in the streets, or beaten brutally and then sent to concentration camps. Ona spent the rest of the war helping Lithuanian Jews in multiple ways. In her visits to the ghetto, she smuggled food, medicine, supplies, and small firearms. After each visit, she left with documents: letters from ghetto residents to their loved ones, literary journals describing life in the ghetto, and various other important papers.

Ona helped Jews who managed to escape or avoid the ghetto by sheltering them in her own humble apartment, and when she ran out of room she found other hiding places for them. She procured fake documents enabling them to hide their Jewish identity. Saving Jews from the Nazis became the focus of her entire life. With superhuman strength and courage, she smuggled small children out of the ghetto in her big book sack, and found homes for them with people who would keep them hidden and safe. It is unknown exactly how many this mild-mannered librarian saved, because she spoke to no one about her heroic acts. 

In 1944, Ona was arrested by officers of the Gestapo, the notorious German secret police. She was brutally tortured by the sadistic Nazis, and sentenced to death. Miraculously, right before her scheduled execution, the president of Vinius University found out about it and paid a large ransom for her life. The Nazis agreed not to kill her, but they refused to free her, and instead sent to the Dachau concentration camp, and later an internment camp in France. Ona was finally freed when the Allies liberated France in 1945. 

After the war, Ona remained in Paris, living a quiet life as a librarian, in a home full of books. She was honored as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem in 1966, and a tree was planted in her honor. Ona died in 1970, leaving behind a trove of her own writing: letters, journals, articles, and diaries. Many of them were published in the book “Epistophilia: Writing the Life of Ona Simaite.” In 2015, Simaite Street in Vilna was named after her.

For saving an unknown number of Jews, in a multitude of ways, over four years, we honor Ona Simaite as this week’s Thursday Hero. 

[i2sunric]

𝐖𝐀𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 (p.sh)

PAIRING: knight!sunghoon x queen!reader (f)

SUMMARY: after your parents death, you were forced to be crowned queen of the north realm and decided to take a young sergeant as your personal guard. however, you can’t ignore the evident tension between the two of you, that will lead to some… illicit affairs. well, it never happened if nobody knows, right?

WARNINGS: 1800s au. mentions of war and death, fencing terms, sexual tension, unprotected sex (they didn’t have condoms, did they?), masturbation, dirty talk, missionary, fingering, cream pie, angst if you squint (like, really squint), mentions of scars, pet names (sweetheart), i abused the world ‘would’. i know. lmk if more. NOT PROOFREAD.

PUBLISHED: 20th August 2024

WC: 6k

TAGLIST: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @jwnghyuns @bangtancultsposts @shawnyle @jooniesbears-blog @skzenhalove @ro-diaries @onlyhyunjin @xcosmi @strawberrhypen @heeheeswifey y @destinyhoon (oneshot) @indigoez @astratlantis @shuichi-sama @skaterhoon @simsungsims @hoonatic @sammie217 @hoonics @kissesforthefangirl @woorcve @laurradoesloveu @capri-cuntz @whateverhoon @woninluv @cyjhhyj @alienqbrain BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED.

NOW PLAYING: War Of Hearts by Ruelle

a/n: honestly, i don’t like it. the idea was good, the outcome not so, but let me know your thoughts. i literally don’t know old english, my knowledge comes from pride and prejudice and bridgerton, im sorry (i gave up by the end and it shows). please LIKE & REBLOG (or don’t, cause this is the worst fic i’ve ever written lol)

You hadn’t realised just how drastically your life could change overnight until you woke up to the news that your father, the ever so powerful king of the North realm, had died in war.

Soon, your teachers were making you learn about strategies and alliances, not about history anymore, your legions kneeled before you, ready to be at your service.

You had to watch your mother, the woman you looked up to, being consumed by the grief of her dead husband until the grim reaper decided to make them reunite.

Leaving you all alone. Helpless, bearing a burden so heavy it crashed your shoulders.

In just the span of a month you found yourself leading a kingdom through war, sending hundreds of warriors to their death sentence.

The crown weighed significantly on your head, your desk was full of scrambled letters and quills dripping ink, and if it wasn’t for your most-trusted maid, Ella, you would’ve certainly already died of hunger, leaving your people without a ruler.

Fortunately, the same day of your coronation, the first day of you being a queen was also the first day of a young sergeant.

He was the youngest of all, just like you being the youngest of the monarchs, and was leading the loyal legion.

Doing a better job than you, you had to say. He was diligent, perfect in his tasks and polite whenever you interpellated him.

His name was Park Sunghoon, and it didn’t take much for you to nominate him as your personal royal guard.

He was an attractive man, barely a couple of years older than you but he indeed towered you by much.

Sunghoon’s face was sharp, with a defined jawline and hardly any trace of baby-fat left.

Despite his frail appearance, you knew he had defined muscles hidden under his white guard uniform, you had seen it.

Even if you were busy with your tight schedule, especially after your coronation, you still found the time to peek at him.

In the morning he’d train the royal legions, helping new warriors. In the afternoon, he would follow you through your travels around the realm, visiting villages and other castles.

The days you stayed at the castle he’d occupy his afternoons by doing some training alone and some evenings he would stand out of your bedroom to guard.

And Sunghoon? Well, he was as attracted to you as you were.

It always sent jolts of excitement whenever he was around you, walking you to your activities and always keeping an eye for possible harms.

Especially one day, when Ella ran towards him with a bucket full of water when he was guarding your bedroom “Sergeant!” She panted, “Please, would you be so kind to bring this into her majesty’s room? I need to get another one.”

Sunghoon was quick to nod “Of course.” He replied politely and took the heavy — for her, not so for him — bucket from her hands.

Ella sincerely thanked him and hurried away to complete her task while the young guard opened your bedroom door.

When his eyes raised to your figure, he saw you standing there… naked. Probably expecting your maid to enter and certainly not your personal guard.

Your hands quickly shot to cover your dignity, your cheeks tinting a deep shade of pink as you breathed “Dear lord.”

Had he been more reckless, he would’ve dropped the bucket, but he managed to keep his polite demeanour.

“My sincere apologies, my lady, I should’ve knocked.” He turned slightly to the side so as not to look at you, but still managed to peek from the corner of his eye.

“D-doesn’t matter..” You murmured, reaching for the nightgown on the chair of the desk and quickly slipping it on “I just didn’t expect it to be… you, sergeant.”

Sunghoon nodded, “Where do you want me to place this?” He asked, raising the container of water.

You stepped aside, hugging your arms like you were afraid your nightgown could reveal your body to him once more. Not like he would complain.

“Inside the tub would be great.” You replied, watching as he lifted the bucket and dropped the hot water in it.

Sunghoon dared to look at you only then, bowing his head slightly “I apologise again. I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

You let out a small breath and offered him a warm smile. You were always so kind and thoughtful to everyone, it made him want to lock those who dared to criticise you in the dungeons and make them all perish.

“Worry not,” Your voice was gentle, like a ray of sunshine through the storm “I forgive you, after all, it was an accident.”

Sunghoon thought that if he ever had the chance to take a glimpse at your perfect, naked body, he would’ve taken it right away.

But he chose against letting you know and opted for a “Thank you, my queen.” He bowed, “Anything else you need for me?”

“No, thank you.” You said “You can go back to your duty.”

He nodded and headed to the door, hesitating for a second and then walked out.

The image of your naked body was hard to remove from his mind. Sergeant.

Your curves, your dips, the colour of your skin, your breasts and your pretty pussy… Sergeant?

He wondered what you would feel like if he touched you, tasted you— “Sergeant!”

The voice of one of the royal guards snapped Sunghoon out of his thoughts. He cleared his throat “Yes?”

“It’s my turn,” He said, his eyes blinking faintly “Are you feeling alright?”

“Yes, worry not.” Sunghoon nodded and gave his farewell to the guard before walking to his chamber.

Since you had labelled him worthy of being your personal knight, his bedroom was in the same wing as yours, unlike all the other knights in the legion that stayed in the West wing.

He entered his chamber and closed the door behind his back, the room was dark except for the moonlight shining from the window.

It was better that way, he enjoyed the natural light, rather than the artificial one from the candles that also smelled bad and spread smoke in the room.

Sunghoon sighed, quickly removing his uniform to put on some more comfortable clothes, some black pants and a white, sleeved shirt.

He dropped down on the bed, another quiet sigh leaving his lips.

He rested one of his arms behind his head while he played mindlessly with the laces of his shirt.

It was stronger than him, his mind kept replaying the same scene over and over again.

Your body.

Perhaps, it was that you were so modest, despite literally being the ruler of the kingdom, or it was the fact that you were literally his type.

But he was drawn to you, the same way a donkey was to the apple in front of him. Maybe not the best example, but you get it.

At the thought of your flushed face, he felt his pants growing tighter. At your plump and tender lips, he palmed himself to soothe his growing desire.

At the memory of your perky nipples and your breasts, his hand slipped inside his trousers until he pulled them down to his ankles.

Sunghoon knew he couldn’t be loud, but the soft whimpers and groans that left his lips weren’t contained.

He imagined it was your hand, the one providing him relief, that you were down on your knees, batting your eyelashes at him.

“Oh yes, you’re so good.” He whispered, squeezing the base of his thick cock, it twitched.

The tip was angry red as he heavenly stroked it, never focusing on one place more than the other.

If it were you, would you lick his tip? Would you squeeze his balls and take him in your mouth?

Would you ever fit him all?

“Take my cock,” He groaned, thrusting his hips upward to fuck his fist “Take it like a good girl.”

He pressed two fingers on the tip of his length, edging himself “You like to tease, my lady?”

So many filthy scenes played in his mind, keeping him company as he felt the sweet sensation in his lower stomach.

“I’m so close, sweetheart.” He groaned, moving his hand so fast it almost hurt his wrist “You want it on your breasts? Of course.” He kept moving until he saw white, “Take it.”

He was left spent, dirty white all over his sheets as he tried to even his breath.

Sunghoon fell asleep with a smile on his face that night, and he woke up even better after you visited his dreams and showed him how much you wanted him.

…Too bad it wasn’t real, right?

𓆩♡𓆪

After your little and awkward interaction with Sunghoon, the previous evening, you decided to go find him during his late afternoon training.

You would’ve lied if you were to say it didn’t turn you on, the thought of being seen by him in such an intimate manner. But that, he mustn’t know.

He was wearing a black sleeved shirt and a pair of trousers of the same colour, a great contrast with his skin.

You quietly tip-toed, walking towards as he stroked in the air with the fencing sword.

His movements were calculated, precise and so mesmerising you hadn’t even realised you were right behind him until the blade stopped right beside your jugular.

You gulped “Good evening.” Sunghoon widened his eyes and quickly placed himself into a more polite position, removing the swords from your neck “I'm so sorry, my lady, I didn’t see you coming.”

You just smiled at him “You seem excellent at fencing.” You commented, your fingertips trailing the blade of the sword, careful not to cut yourself.

“Fencing is one of my favourite parts of training, my queen.” He replied, his tone serious.

You hummed “Is that so?” The way the sunset kissed his skin, how his hair was perfectly combed and matched with his fit looked straight out of the erotic novels you hid under your bed.

“I’ve always wanted to learn this type of art.” You informed him “Though, it would be too scandalous for a woman to do it, wouldn’t it?”

Sunghoon’s gaze was soft as he commented “There’s nothing scandalous in wanting to be able to defend yourself.” He threw you a french sword “Even if you have a whole legion before you.”

You swiftly caught it, circling around Sunghoon while he did the same.

“Nah ah,” He was quick to correct “Eyes on the enemy’s, never on the sword.” You diverted your gaze from the sword to his chocolate, warm eyes.

“Great,” Sunghoon praised. “You must study your enemy if you have the time, watch his body language.”

He stroked again and you barely missed it. A second time and you docked it.

At the third, you blocked it “You slightly blink your right eye when you strike.”

Sunghoon smiled proudly, “Yes, that’s right.” You squealed happily, making him slightly widen his eyes.

If it wasn’t the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Now, your strike isn’t bad, especially in second and third, but your position can be better.” He dropped his sword and walked behind you.

“Bend your knees.” He commanded and you obliged again, following his instructions “Your arm shouldn’t stay that far… tilt your elbow.”

“Your back is already straight,” His fingers trailed the laces of your corset, feeling your spine underneath them “But your chin should be tilted… like this.” He tipped your chin up with his index finger.

“How about how?” You whispered breathlessly, feeling the coldness of his skin against your burning one.

“Better, but not perfect.” Sunghoon replied and quickly put space between the two of you “Still, you’re one of my best students.”

You smiled happily and was about to reply when Ella called you from afar because dinner was being served.

You sighed “I must go.” You said, slightly hoping he would keep you with him.

However, obviously, he just nodded and bowed. “It has been a pleasure, my lady.”

As he watched you walk away, he hoped you hadn’t felt the proof of his desire pressed against your back when he fixed your position… the proof he had to fix before anyone could notice.

𓆩♡𓆪

Sunghoon’s footsteps echoed through the dark hallway as he made his way to your room. He wasn’t sure about the reason as to why you called him, given the fact that he was supposed to be patrolling the main gates, but it seemed clear when he noticed you had already sent the guard outside your room to rest.

He stood in front of your bedroom door, the hallway only dimly lit by the few candles on the walls.

There was something in his mind that told him he was still in time to turn his heels and simply ignore your late-night visit request, even if it would eventually get him in trouble.

Still, he aight and placed his hand on the doorknob, quietly opening your bedroom door and entering.

Out of precaution, he locked the door behind him and made a few steps towards you, nevertheless keeping some distance.

“My queen,” Sunghoon began, “I thought you’d be asleep by now.” His tone was quiet, almost concerned.

You were standing in front of the large window that gave you a nice view of the royal gardens, the moonlight illuminating the room as well as a few candles on the tables.

Despite the late hours, you were still wearing your pistachio green gown, your favourite one. The one that once belonged to your mother.

It gave you a sense of comfort, reminiscing the days where you would drown in the fabric as you played queen and princess with her.

You deeply wished it was still a game.

“I’ve been having trouble sleeping.” You replied, still giving him your back.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. Yes, he’d seen you in that gown the same morning, but now, in the intimacy of your chamber, it made him want to drop to his knees.

He made his way so that he was standing just a few steps behind you “Any particular reason for your lack of sleep?” He inquired.

You sighed softly. The moon made your doe eyes sparkle, as if they held the stars in them, “Perhaps, thoughts of the upcoming war.”

Sunghoon’s hands hitched to hold yours, to give you the comfort you needed without any paternal figure to rely on.

Still, he kept them clasped behind his back. The need to be respectful of your position was still in the front of his mind.

“It is not confirmed yet,” He tried to reassure “The other kingdoms may decide not to attack anymore.”

You tried to find reassurance in his words, but even if your people thought so, you weren’t naïve. “They killed my father,” You gulped. “It’s just a matter of time before they come at me next.”

And that was true, everytime you ever tried to close your eyes to seek some rest, your mind would play any possible scenario.

You being slayed, you being beheaded… your kingdom going in flames.

“No one will touch you,” His voice was soothing, like a hand pulling you out of deep water, preventing you from drowning “Not while I’m here.”

You finally allowed yourself to look at him, afraid that if you did it the second you heard the key of your room twisting you would’ve kissed him.

His hair was still perfectly in place, his forehead in sight. His porcelain-like skin glowing under the rays of the moon, caressing his cheeks.

You offered him a polite smile “You seem confident, sergeant.”

Sunghoon let the briefest of a smile form on his lips “Confidence comes with the job,” He said, softly “It is my duty to protect you, my queen, and I take that very seriously.

“What else does your job offer?” You asked, fully turning your body towards him “Apart from private fencing lessons and a twenty-four-seven guarding.”

His breath hitched slightly when you stood in front of him, he hadn’t even realised the vicinity you two had until he had to tilt his head down to stare at you. It would be so easy to reach out and touch you, to feel your skin against his hands.

Sunghoon’s gaze slowly dragged from your chest up to your face. “That’s it, mainly,” He said, his voice a little rougher than before. “Though… my duties extend to anything you ask of me, my queen.”

“Anything?” You murmured quietly, your eyes widening.

He wanted to touch you so badly, to pull you against him so he could kiss you and touch you anywhere and everywhere. But he had to keep the professional veil going, even though he knew you were baiting him.

He nodded, his eyes on yours “Anything at all.”

You batted your eyelashes, trying to seduce him without boldly doing so “Is that so, sergeant?”

Sunghoon’s jaw clenched, struggling to keep his composure and hoping you weren’t able to see the effect of your presence.

He took a deep breath before replying “Yes, anything you ask of me.”

You gulped, your heart pounding in your chest as you gathered the courage to put into action your plan “I believe I need to unwind,” You stated “Any ideas?”

Sunghoon’s mind was immediately flooded with ideas, most of them very, very inappropriate for the moment. He bit his lip and tried to keep a straight face.

He considered keeping up the professional front but quickly decided against it. He was tired of forcing himself to maintain control.

“I do have a few ideas, my queen,” He said, his voice a low rumble. “Mind sharing them with me?” You asked.

Sunghoon stepped closer to you, so close that your bodies were almost touching. “My ideas may not be entirely appropriate, my queen,” He replied, “Would you like to hear them anyway?”

You closed briefly your eyes, just the brief feeling of his body near yours sending jolts of fire through your veins “I’m all ears.”

His eyes roamed over your face and body, taking in every single detail. He was practically salivating, desperate to touch you in any way possible.

Sunghoon leaned even closer, his breath now hot on your skin. “I have things I'd like to do, my queen,” He whispered in your ear. “Wicked things, to distract you from your stress.”

You let out a shaky breath, shivering from head to toe “Wicked?” You questioned.

Sunghoon felt his control slip as chuckled slowly, “Oh, very wicked, my lady.”

He brought his lips to your neck, planting soft kisses up and down your skin, taking you by surprise.

However, he kept his hands firmly by his sides, restraining himself from wandering. “I want to do things that would be highly inappropriate for a sergeant to do to his queen.”

“And who says so?” You breathed out, aching for him, your eyes flattering closed.

Sunghoon hummed against your skin, his lips moving to your collarbone. “That would be the royal laws,” He replied quietly, “Among other things.”

“I could get punished for this, you know.” He said in between kisses. “My actions are considered disrespectful.”

“I could change the law,” You replied, hooking your arms around his neck “For the night.”

His hands immediately went to your hips, grabbing you and pulling you even closer to him. “Just for the night, my queen?” He murmured against your skin, his lips trailing kisses up your jaw “I might want more than just one night.”

You chuckled lowly, “How do you know so already, sergeant?”

sunghoon’s hands moved from your hips to your thighs, caressing them through your nightgown, his thumbs tracing patterns against your skin.

Sunghoon pulled back to look at you, his eyes darkened significantly. “I'm quite sure, my queen,” He said, “The things I want to do to you are not something I can do just once.”

You shivered at his words, and the hungry way he was shamelessly looking at you. It almost seemed unreal, the polite soldier losing his cool in front of you, “How about you show me what you can do tonight, first?”

He looked at you, his gaze dark and intense, before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours in a rough kiss.

You moaned and gripped his shoulders tightly and he deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth desperately, like he was starving.

You tip toed, desperate to reach for him, to feel his lips on yours and make you forget all the duties you had.

Sunghoon chuckled against your lips, amused by your struggle to reach his height. He pulled back, a smirk on his face. “Too short for me, my queen?”

Without warning, he lifted you up with ease, and he continued the kiss.

You wrapped your legs around his waist to steady yourself, thanking yourself for not having worn an underskirt that would’ve made it impossible for you to straddle him.

Sunghoon groaned against your mouth as you wrapped your legs around his waist, the kiss becoming more desperate and rougher.

He moved his lips from your mouth and attacked your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites as he went. One of his hands moved from your thigh to your butt, squeezing it appreciatively.

You groaned and let your head fall back, goosebumps filling your skin in reaction to his lips.

Your fingers tried to tug his blue uniform jacket, desperate to remove any clothing between the two of you.

He gently helped you to remove it, chuckling against your neck at your eagerness.

You rocked your hips, needing to feel him, to soothe the aching sensation between your legs.

He pressed his own hips back onto yours, you could feel the proof of his desire for you, secluded in his pants.

“You have no idea how hard it is not to take you right now,” He thrust upwards, making you gasp.

“What’s stopping you, sergeant?” You asked breathlessly, you knew he was trying to restrict himself, to draw a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

But you didn’t care, all you had in mind was how good his touch was on your skin, his lips on yours and how better it would’ve been if he was inside you.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon whispered in your ear, his breath causing your body to shiver “Absolutely nothing, as long as you’re not opposed to it.”

You chuckled, looking down at yourself “Does it look like I’m against it?”

Your sweet laugh only made him madder and he kissed you, tasting your lips “No, not at all, my queen.”

“Then, take me.” You whispered on his lips, your hand caressing down his arm, still clothed from his sleeved shirt.

Sunghoon shivered under your touch, your words breaking the last strand of self-restraint he had. He grabbed your hips, suddenly carrying you to the bed and dropping you down on it.

He quickly dropped to his knees between your legs, his hands on either side of you, trapping you in “You won’t be able to walk tomorrow,” He warned.

Your hair formed a halo around your head, spread around the mattress. Your chest was heaving up and down as you replied, “That's fine by me.”

Sunghoon hummed appreciatively at the sight of you splayed out on the bed underneath him. You looked divine, like an angel sent to drive him insane.

He connected his lips to yours once again, his hands moving behind your back as you propped yourself on your elbows.

His skilled fingers worked on the laces of your corset, undoing them.

You frowned, pulling away “Experienced much?”

Sunghoon chuckled softly as he got the corset undone, pulling the fabric off you and discarding it on the floor.

He shook his head before replying, a smirk on his lips. “Just a few,” He said. “and I have been fantasising about this moment for a while now.”

“Have you?” You whispered, your hands caressing his chest, where the v-neckline of the shirt exposed it “Have you thought about me late at night, sergeant?”

Sunghoon sighed softly, his eyes closing briefly as he confessed “Yes,” He said “Every night I’ve wondered what you would taste like, how soft you were, what your moans sounded like.”

His words only made you bolder. “Have you touched yourself wishing it was me?”

Now that the corset wasn’t restricting your air capacity, it also made the dress fall down your shoulder, exposing them to him.

He leaned down and pressed gentle kisses on your skin, trailing them up to your ear “Yes, my queen. I’ve touched myself wishing it was you, craving your body and soul.”

You let out a shaky breath, the sweet sensation warming your lower stomach “Perhaps, I have done the same.”

Sunghoon groaned loudly against your skin, his body shuddering at your confession “You’ve touched yourself, thinking about me?”

You flopped back onto the mattress and hummed “Yes.”

He was completely losing it, the thought of you touching yourself, thinking about him, driving him crazy. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to regain some composure.

“Tell me more,” He rasped, his voice a low rumble. “Tell me what you've done, what you've imagined."

You bit your bottom lip, afraid to voice out your late night secrets.

“Go on, my queen.” His voice was soft and soothing, his hips just barely pressing against yours “I won’t judge you, I can’t… Can I?” He let out a quiet chuckle.

You breathed out “I’ve thought about your fingers,” You gulped “Touching me in places no one has touched before.”

“Where?” He whispered, his nose grazing your cheek “Tell me.”

Instead of speaking, you took his hand and slowly guided it down your body, you were still covered by your dress but he could still feel your core beating under his touch.

So, in one swift movement he placed his hand under your skirt, feeling just how damp your underthings were, making you gasp.

“You’re so wet for me.” He murmured, “Is this how you are around me?”

You nodded, all drops of self awareness down the drain.

Sunghoon smirked, taking your hand with his free one and placing it on the front of his pants, making you feel his hard on “That’s what you do to me.”

Amazed, you started to palm him, letting your hand feel “I do?”

“Yes,” He whispered, his hips bucking against your touch “All the time.”

“Please,” You pleaded, “I can’t take it anymore, I really need you.”

Sunghoon sighed “There’s no turning back from this, my queen..”

“Y/N.” You blurted out, eyes taking in his reaction.

Without having you to explain, he knew what you meant. You wanted him to call you by your name, crossing a boundary that would be hard to build back.

Still, he reached behind your back and unzipped your dress, slowly slipping it down.

You laid underneath it, the only thing separating you from him was your lace underwear, your upper body bare for him to see.

Sunghoon rested his chest on yours, his fingers grazing your clothed core as he whispered in your ear “Y/N.” Making you moan.

You nodded, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself “Sunghoon.” You breathed back.

“Y/N..” He murmured, slipping your panties to the side and teasing your entrance with his digits “My pretty, pretty girl.”

Your eyes flickered closed, senses awakened by his single touch.

“You’ve never done this?” He questioned, gathering all your juices in his fingers, your pussy clenching around nothing.

You shook your head, your mind already a puddle of nothing “No.”

“Then I need to get you all nice and lose, mh?” Sunghoon murmured, inserting one of his fingers inside your wet folds.

You gasped, your back arching against him at the intrusion “Oh lord.”

The sensation was so new but so welcome, you had never really dared to finger yourself, your orgasms were given by clit stimulation only, so when his digit thrust into you, your body jolted with each one.

Sunghoon’s lips attached to your left breath, tongue swirling around your nipple and you thought you couldn’t feel any better until he curled his fingers and found your sweet spot, making you moan out loud.

“Shh,” He cooed, pressing one hand on your mouth while his teeth gently grazed your abused nipple. “You don’t want anyone to find out what we’re doing, don’t you?”

You were quick to shake your head, but as he thrust a second finger in your pussy, you grunted.

One of your hands went to the back of his head, your fingers knotting his perfectly combed hair “S-sunghoon.”

You bucked your hips up, needing him to stop and continue at the same time “Feels so good.”

Sunghoon chuckled lowly, both his fingers brushing against your sweet spot “I know, Y/N.” He murmured “Let me take care of you.”

You nodded mindlessly; you thought that even if he asked you to hand over the kingdom you would’ve nodded anyways.

You whimpered, your other hand digging in the flesh of his shoulders from the amount of pleasure you were feeling.

“I’ve got you.” He whispered, brushing his thumb on your bundle of nerves “Relax.”

You could feel the knot in your stomach tighten with each thrust of his fingers, just a brief pain from the intrusion making your head spin.

“Oh lord,” You breathed out, “I think I—“ Another broken whimper left your mouth.

Sunghoon nodded, understanding you and crashed his lips on yours, drowning your moans in.

Another thrust of his fingers got you falling apart under him, your whole body trembling.

It took a good couple of minutes and his soothing words to calm you down, your breath still laboured but at least you could keep your body still.

You opened your eyes back and met his own, he offered you a sweet smile “You’re perfect.” He whispered, kissing your forehead.

You smiled back at him, slowly releasing your strong grip around his neck. “This has been… amazing.”

“I’m glad, my— Y/N.” Sunghoon quickly corrected himself, “But… we don’t have to do anything more.”

You frowned, worry coating your features “Was it because you didn’t feel good? I can help—“

He was fast to shake his head. “No, of course not.” He caressed your cheek “I just don’t want to overwhelm you.”

“You will not.” You sat up, looking inside his eyes to convince him “I want it, Sunghoon, I want it with my whole body and soul.”

He closed his eyes and dropped his head, as if he physically restrained himself from reaching out to you and take you in all the ways someone can be taken.

“I want you so much it’s driving me insane,” He breathed out, resting his forehead against your chest “My sweetheart, I would love to make you mine… will you allow me to?”

You nodded “Yes, please.” You tugged at his shirt, needing him to remove it.

Sunghoon complied, tossing it to the floor as well as his trousers, leaving himself bare to you.

At first, you hadn’t understood why he was so reluctant to be intimate with you, but as soon as your eyes met his bare chest, you did.

Your breath hitched at the sight of a wide scar all across his chest, looking like half a cross.

“Sunghoon…” You whispered, your fingers trailed over it. He flinched but quickly relaxed under your gentle touch “What happened to you?”

His eyes were so vulnerable and he looked like a lost boy, not like the sergeant of a legion. “I will just say that I had a close contact with a blade, back when I was still training to become a knight.”

He gulped “I understand if I repulse you—“

“No,” You quickly took his face in your hands “No. You’re beautiful.”

He frowned, as if not understanding what would you ever find beauty in such a scar.

Seeing that he wasn’t believing you, you laid on your back and wrapped your arms around his neck, taking him down with you.

Your hand reached to pump his shaft and it was as if he died and came to life again, nothing like those nights he touched himself thinking about you, could prepare him from this.

You slowly aligned him with your folds and nodded, wanting him to make the first move.

He let out a pained sigh and gripped your waist, finally pushing in you.

You were still wet from the foreplay and as well as your cum, but it didn’t mean you didn’t feel some pain from his thickness.

He moved slowly, his breath fanning your cheeks while he brushed his nose against your skin.

“How does it feel?” Sunghoon whispered in your ear “Mh? Tell me, Y/N.”

Your skin was sweaty and hot, “So good.” You murmured back, tightening your hold on his neck “Faster, please.”

You begged him so sweetly and politely he couldn’t refuse, his hips moving against yours slightly faster “You want to make love?” He questioned “Or do you want me to take you like how I’ve wanted since I laid my eyes on you?”

“Take me.” You choked out, your eyes squeezing from the pleasure “Hard, I don’t care.”

Sunghoon circled your waist with his arm and held you tightly against him, you could feel the shadow of his scar on your chest.

His hips snapped on yours so fast even the bed started creaking, and you secretly hoped no servant was walking by to hear your show.

“Open up.” Sunghoon said and you obliged, opening your mouth.

He gathered some saliva in his mouth before spitting in yours, watching as it went down your throat.

You hummed, gulped it, tasting him “Jesus Christ.” He shook his head, his cock twitching inside of you.

“I don’t think I can last longer.” He squeezed his eyes, his fingers digging in your hips as he tried to restrain himself.

“Don’t you dare unless I cum again.” Your fingers went to stroke your bundle of nerves fast “Together.”

Sunghoon hummed, his own movements getting sloppy but never faltering as he chased his high.

“Y/N.” He groaned, one of his nails piercing your skin, adding just the right amount of pain to send you over the edge.

“Now!” You cried out, your body shaking with your second orgasm of the night.

Sunghoon let out a deep growl and emptied his seed in you, coating your clenching walls.

“So perfect.” He kissed the top of your head, his voice soothing after the intensity of the night “You’re perfect.”

He got up and took a napkin from your table, carefully cleaning your legs while also prepping kisses on your inner thighs.

You were sure that if your body wasn’t tired you would’ve mounted him.

Sunghoon reached into his clothes but your hand darted out to stop him “Stay.”

His eyes softened, pondering between staying or leaving. He opted for the first.

You had never felt happier than falling asleep with the sound of his heartbeat next to your ear, aimlessly hoping it wouldn’t be the last time.

But your relationship made it so that he was forced to peel himself away from you when he thought you were asleep, gathering his clothes and quietly slipping out of your room.

And it was the best decision, soon, you would’ve had to find a husband, make an heir for your real, rule it with all your attention.

Good thing, late night was made to unwind, and it never happened if nobody knew… did it?

[thepastisalreadywritten]

•

Princess Diana Made Secret Tapes For The Future Bride of Prince William. ❤️

“Cherish my grandchildren. They carry my heart.”

Before her tragic, untimely death in a Paris car crash at 36 years old, Princess Diana thought she might die young and may never be able to meet the future wife of her son, Prince William, according to a friend of the late Princess of Wales.

Though she didn’t know her name then, Diana recorded an audio diary for Princess Catherine, a young girl living in Berkshire.

According to OK!, the friend — who asked to remain anonymous — said Diana got the idea after recording tapes for what would become Andrew Morton’s groundbreaking Diana: Her True Story (1992).

Even after the book was published, Diana continued talking into her little Sony cassette recorder, off and on, from 1992 until she died in 1997.

On the tapes, Diana offers motherly advice and reveals her hopes for the future of William and his respective family.

"As incredible as it seems, she told me she made the tapes for the day if she wouldn’t be around to help guide William.”

Diana asked for the tapes to be played at key points in her son’s future.

“That way, she could continue to be a part of their lives, even after she was gone,” the friend said.

“She thought it was quite clever — and loved the idea of being what she called a nagging mum from beyond the grave. She found it quite amusing.”

“This particular one was for William’s future wife,” the friend said.

“He was about 13 or 14 at the time, just discovering girls. Diana was fascinated by the idea that he’d marry and one day have his children. She was sure he’d be a wonderful husband and warm, caring father—more like her."

The friend said that Diana wanted William and his future wife to avoid divorce. This particular tape lasted about two or three minutes.

“What struck me was her honesty,” the friend said. “She was so sincere. You could hear it in her voice. She spoke straight from her heart.”

“It was so very moving,” the friend continued.

“I remember bits of it quite well, even after all this time. I was surprised she played it for me. And when it was done, we talked about the kind of girl William would marry.

She thought his bride would be beautiful, smart and independent. And, amazingly, she was right. Kate is all that and more.”

The tape shared memories of William’s childhood and Diana’s dreams of always wanting a daughter. Diana seemed to speak directly to Catherine when she said:

“Brace yourself for a one-way chat. We haven’t met, though I want you to know that I certainly wish we had.

I know I’d adore you, and we’d be fast friends. You have to be someone exceptional. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be my William’s wife.”

She gave marriage advice, specifically surrounding marriage as a future queen, saying:

“For your marriage to survive the public glare and the private pressures of royal life, it will take patience, compromise, understanding, trust, loyalty, and, of course, love,” Diana reportedly said.

“But you both must work at it. Daily. I’m sure you know my failings and those of William’s father. Learn from these mistakes. Build a relationship that endures. You deserve it. And so do your children.”

Diana then shared that her fondest dream for her and William was to have a life filled with love and joy and to raise happy, healthy children free of divorce, which both William and Diana had to endure.

“Family is the most important thing in life,” she said. “Cherish your children for me. They carry my heart. Let them know I love them and will always watch over them.”

The friend said she ended the tapes with a kiss and told William she loved him.

Though the friend wasn’t sure how many tapes Diana made or who was entrusted with making sure the recordings made it to William, the friend is confident that Princess Catherine had heard the tapes.

💙🥹🤍

[theniceandaccurategoodomensblog]

Good Omens and The Crow Road

I read the novel The Crow Road by Iain Banks—the book Muriel is reading at the end of season two episode six and the book that hints at the events of season three.

My thoughts are under the cut. You can also read it on AO3 here. Obviously it includes spoilers for The Crow Road.

The Crow Road

The protagonist of The Crow Road is Prentice McHoan. He is a young man (early twenties) and, personally, I found him to be a bit of a dick though he does mature over the course of the book.

The book meanders and leaps about in time, telling the story in a non-linear way and with switches in point of view. This means that the relevance of events is often not clear as you read them, only becoming clear later on.

The title The Crow Road is a metaphor for death as the novel introduces early on that “he’s away the Crow Road” is a way of speaking of someone being dead.

There are three key story arcs:

(1) No one has spoken to or seen Prentice’s Uncle Rory for years. Rory is Prentice’s globetrotting Uncle who became famous because he wrote a bestselling travel diary as a young man. Rory’s ambition is to write a serious novel he called “The Crow Road”. No one knows where Rory is but Prentice’s father believes that he is still alive because he regularly receives match book covers from different locations all around the world. He believes that Rory is the one sending the match book covers because Rory once confessed to him that as a child he lit a fire that accidentally burned down a barn. Prentice becomes increasingly obsessed with what happened to Rory.

(2) Prentice is estranged from his father and he struggles with this. The estrangement is over belief in God. Prentice’s father is a communist and an atheist. When a friend of Prentice’s dies tragically, Prentice decides that there must be an afterlife and hence a God. The estrangement begins and he moves in with a religious Uncle.

(3) Prentice has an intense and unreciprocated infatuation with a young woman called Verity and does not handle it well when Verity becomes an item with his own brother Lewis. Seriously ridiculous childish drama here. Prentice complains about this all many times and at length to Ash, another young woman who is a more patient friend than Prentice deserves.

Here’s how each story arc lands (obviously this is the big spoiler bit for The Crow Road):

(1) Prentice eventually works out through reading a rough draft of Uncle Rory’s novel that Rory was murdered by another of Prentice’s Uncles for realising that that Uncle had previously murdered his own wife (and Prentice’s Aunt) in a car crash by undoing her seatbelt. The match book covers were being sent to Prentice’s father by a friend of the murderous Uncle to convince him that Rory was still alive. Rory’s body is found in a lake. It is all quite proven as far as Prentice is concerned but the murderous Uncle dies and hence there is no sense of justice, just a mystery solved.

(2) Prentice’s father dies while climbing a church spire by being struck by lightning and falling. At the point of his death Prentice and his father are still estranged. In the end, after solving the mystery of Uncle Rory, Prentice decides that there is no afterlife and no God. Prentice hopes that his father died knowing that he wouldn’t be a fool forever.

(3) Prentice’s brother Lewis marries and has a child with Verity. Prentice finds peace with this and realises that he actually loves Ash, the patient friend who has been listening to his nonsense for years.

Prentice and Ash sleep together and confess their love—I kid you not—in Morse code during sex with a series of squeezes and pushes. Yeah. Sometimes I think we come up with weird stuff in fanfiction and then I read a published novel and… but I digress. Point is, they are in love and they both know it. Prentice is finally growing up. But Ash planned to spend time in Canada and she goes anyway (good for her) saying that if Prentice does love her then they can still be together and simply continue when she returns. That’s where it ends which might sound sad but it actually feels mature and real after Prentice’s carry on with Verity. There’s a general feeling that Prentice has finally grown enough himself to make a relationship work and they are both starting that relationship right.

Implications for Good Omens seasons three:

(1) Good Omens has also been jumping about in time. The story is not being told in a linear manner. I suspect that there are scenes we’ve already seen where the meaning of those events won’t be clear until sometime in season three. I suspect that there are missing pieces to the overall story arc that will also be shown in season three. In short, we don’t have all the information and we don’t know what we truly have.

(2) Season three will involve working out, possibly using a diary or a book of some kind, what has happened to somebody. From simply hearing about the plot of The Crow Road I thought it would be Muriel working out what’s happened to Aziraphale by reading his diaries. Perhaps season three will open with a very different Aziraphale to the one we are used to and Muriel will work out what is really going on (memory wipe, manipulation, Aziraphale lying to enact a plan). This might still be true but after reading The Crow Road I was left with a different idea.

After reading The Crow Road the obvious parallel to Uncle Rory is not Aziraphale but God. God narrates season one but season two is strangely lacking in God’s narration. As Crowley says she’s “not talking to any of us”. Just like Uncle Rory. Yet everyone assumes that Heaven’s orders ultimately come from her. What if they aren’t coming from her? What if they are being sent by the person who murdered her? I think a big focus of season three will be what exactly is happening with God. It won’t necessarily be that she’s dead like Uncle Rory. Not everything is going to line up perfectly with The Crow Road. But finding out where she is and why she isn’t talking to anyone, just what this ineffable game is, will be important.

(3) It is worth noting that in The Crow Road Prentice’s father is sent match book covers to convince him that his brother, Rory, is still alive and in Good Omens we have Gabriel putting Beelezebub’s fly into a Resurrectionist match box. Does this mean anything beyond simply making a connection between Good Omens and The Crow Road? I don’t know. I can’t see any extra meaning to this yet.

(4) Aziraphale, like Prentice, won’t be a fool forever. We can depend on that. He is currently fooling himself because the truth (that Heaven is corrupt all the way down or rather up I suppose) is too painful to contemplate. But this won’t last. Aziraphale and Crowley are currently at odds, but they won’t remain so. Aziraphale’s viewpoint will shift and align more with Crowley’s.

Unlike Prentice’s father, Crowley has already fallen and will be ready when Aziraphale comes to his senses. Their estrangement will have a full resolution.

(5) Aziraphale will move on from his immature infatuation with Heaven to focus on his mature love relationship with Crowley.

Crowley will clearly state his love during passionate sex in Morse code by rhythmically contracting his effortfully formed vaginal muscles around Aziraphale’s hard cock. Wait. What? Crowley, if you are reading this please don’t do that. I know you struggle to put your love into words but that’s not the answer. But seriously, the physical expression of their love will be important. It will be important to Aziraphale. This is consistent with fanon conjecture that physical touch is Aziraphale’s love language and that physical (ie human) expressions of love are what is unique to Aziraphale and Crowley.

(6) This quote slapped me on the face: “Places have an effect on people. They alter your thoughts.” It is very like the Good Omens quote, “form shapes nature”. Aziraphale has been on Earth a long time. I wonder how he will be affected by being back in Heaven? Even if he has returned with a plan, Heaven might start seeping back in. Our angel has never been more vulnerable.

(7) This quote slapped me in the face too: “Faith itself is idolatry”. I wonder what Aziraphale would say about that? Is his faith in Heaven a form of idolatry? Aziraphale needs to shift in his stance regarding Heaven but I wonder where he will ultimately land on God. Will his faith in God be preserved or must that die too? Much depends on what exactly has happened to God and just what kind of ineffable game she is playing. So I suppose we will have to wait and see.

[lovesick-girly]

the virgin suicides book review

author: jeffrey eugenides

genre: literary fiction, psychological drama

published: 5th april 1993

stars: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

synopsis: the lisbon sisters, five enigmatic girls, live under the strict control of their overprotective parents. their tragic beauty and mystique become an obsession for the neighbourhood boys, as the sisters' suicides loom over the town, unraveling the quiet suburban facade.

themes: isolation, the fragility of adolescence, obsession, suburban decay, the american dream, memory and nostalgia, death and innocence

fav quotes:

“That girl didn't want to die. She just wanted out of that house.”

“We could never understand why the girls cared so much about being mature, or why they felt compelled to compliment each other, but sometimes, after one of us had read a long portion of the diary out loud, we had to fight back the urge to hug one another or tell each other how pretty we were. We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together. We knew that the girls were our twins, that we allexisted in space like animals with identical skins, and that they knew everything about us though we couldn'y fathom them at all. We knew finally that the girls were really woman in diquise, that they understood love even death, and that our job was merely to create the noise that seemed to fascinate them.”

“It didn't matter in the end how old they had been, or that they were girls, but only that we had loved them, and that they hadn't heard us calling, still do not hear us, up here in the tree house, with our thinning hair and soft bellies, calling them out of those rooms where they went to be alone for all time, alone in suicide, which is deeper than death, and where we will never find the pieces to put them back together.”

“What lingered after them was not life, which always overcomes natural death, but the most trivial list of mundane facts: a clock ticking on a wall, a room dim at noon, and the outrageousness of a human being thinking only of herself.”

“We knew that Cecilia had killed herself because she was a misfit, because the beyond called to her, and we knew that her sisters, once abandoned, felt her calling from that place, too. ”

my thoughts/review:

the virgin suicides by jeffrey eugenides is, to me, the tragedy of being female. the novel explores how the lisbon sisters are misunderstood and objectified by the boys in their neighbourhood, who reduce them to mere sexual fantasies, failing to recognise them as human. this inability to see the sisters as complex individuals highlights the disconnect that ultimately leads to their death and why we, as the readers, will never truly know why they did it. despite the boys' attempts to understand—reading cecilia's diary, observing their lives, and even communicating with them—they remain incapable of seeing the sisters as anything more than sexual objects. their experiences and emotions are ultimately rendered invisible by the boys' objectification.

what i found most powerful about the novel is the way this detachment isn’t just something the boys experience; it’s something we, as readers, experience too. it’s tragic that we will never truly know the sisters, and that adds to the sense of mystery and sorrow throughout the novel. i really loved eugenides’ prose—his style is beautiful and haunting, which makes the tragedy even more striking. the themes of female invisibility and objectification are so layered, and despite how sad and dark it is, the novel still has an eerie beauty to it.