#i know he's just a fictional child but its so hard to want to do that!!!

[kingsbride-moved]

learning that Andreas Does end up with burns in the ending where his apprentice lives </3

[alicesivory]

Old Habits Die Hard [4/?]

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Pairing: Nightwatch! Aemond Targaryen x wildling female! Reader

Genre: Historically accurate Aemond

WC: 3370

Summary: Aemond ventures beyond the Wall.

“Your hair looks nicer when it’s braided now.”

It seemed that the she-wildling could not keep her mouth shut. Rolling his eyes, Aemond changed the subject quickly, “How long ‘til we reach your people’s camp?” Aemond asked. “Just keep the horse in a steady pace up ahead and we’ll reach them in no time,” she answered him whilst comfortably sitting in front of him, between his arms that held the reins of the stallion. The reins were relaxed, and the stallion responded effortlessly to his light guidance through the cold and dark forest. The forest stands in eerie silence, its dense canopy casting a perpetual twilight over the twisted, gnarled trees. Shadows dance menacingly across the forest floor, where fallen leaves and branches lie in disarray, as if disturbed by some unseen force. The trees themselves seem alive, their bark scarred and contorted into grotesque shapes, carrying with it the faintest whisper of forgotten secrets, and the occasional creak or groan of the wood echoes through the stillness, adding to the sense of foreboding. 

No wonder they call this the haunted forest. 

“What lies in these woods?” Aemond asked once again. “Wild animals, mostly. But we don’t really hunt at night. It's a bad omen,” she replied. “Sometimes we see them at night, that’s where they emerge.” Her words made Aemond wonder, “Who do you speak of?”

“What do you think the walls were made for?”

Aemond thought for a moment. 

“To keep your kind away from entering the realm,” he said, hesitantly. Not quite confident with his answer. For he knew that the wall’s purpose was more than just keeping a few wildlings out of Westeros but, he does not know what. “It wasn’t even built because of us. My people were separated from yours because we were unlucky enough to live beyond the wall when it was built,” she explained. “It was the others that they were afraid of.”

“Others? Other tribes?”

“No. The undead.”

Chills ran down from Aemond’s spine.

The White Walkers. 

He has read countless books about the white walkers and the long night. How the battle for the dawn unfolded, yet all he knew was that it was all a myth. A fairytale. Stories to scare your child so they would sleep for the night. He recalled how the White Walkers were first written and mentioned during the Age of Heroes. Born of powerful and untested magic, they were created to protect the Children of the Forest during their war with the First Men. What once used to be puppets and soldiers for the Children of the Forest, the magic within the white walkers took a turn and rebelled against their creators and brought nothing but destruction to the realm. 

“But they were nothing but old stories. Fiction, even,” Aemond protested. 

“They are far from fiction, snow-hair.” 

The wildling looked back to him, surprisingly close since they were cramped at horseback. 

“What did they call you back there? I couldn’t recall. Was it Almond?”

“Aemond,” he grunts. 

She chuckled, “I like snow-hair better.”

“And what of you?” Slowly speaking her name which seemed foreign to his tongue. 

“Close enough,” she shrugged with a smirk, looking back into the road. Aemond wondered once again of the undead she mentioned. Were they lurking behind the old trees of this very forest? Were their lives at stake when they stepped their foot to this forest. “They took my brother,” she said, capturing Aemond’s attention. “The undead?” She nodded at his question. “He seemed to forget about time that day. But what kind of child remembers time, really? They wanted to play all day. So he did, running inside the woods without me or my mother’s attention, wanting to become a great hunter who enters the forest with no fear like my father. And he never came back.” 

He felt sorry for the girl, for he himself had felt the same kind of grief when he heard of Aegon’s death. Especially when they could’ve done something to prevent their deaths. “Sometimes I wonder if they buried him at all. If they did, I wonder where they buried him,” she said, spacing off into the distance. “There is no sympathy from the dead. Nor do they care for the living,” he said to her. “I know. But I’d like to think they did. He was just a child.” 

The whole ride quickly became gloomy and sour as the pair battled their grief as bad memories and remorse overcome their thoughts. “Does that stop you from hunting in the forest?” Aemond asked, trying to bring peace to her. “No, not really. I think I became eager to hunt here. Maybe one day I can find him well and just…cleverly hiding between trees,” she said with a bitter chuckle, sensing her denial of her brother’s disappearance. A sense of protectiveness washed over Aemond, knowing what it felt like to see light in the midst of darkness. Denying the truth to comfort yourself. He knew of that feeling. 

“Maybe one day you would. One day.”

Crack. Swish. 

“What was that?” 

Crack. Crack. Crack. 

“A wild beast?” Aemond asked. 

A figure emerging slowly behind the tree as they pass. “That is no beast,” the wildling alarmingly said, taking over the reins and snapped it making their horse gallop through the dark forest. “I would’ve preferred it to be a wild beast so we can take it home, yet you and I know that is no beast, snow hair,” she spoke as the harsh winds of the north hits their faces. Aemond looked back, seeing two..three...four figures catching up onto them. 

“How do we escape them?” He asked. 

“Hold on tight.” 

She took a turn in a swift motion, galloping off the road going between trees. In hopes for them to stop gaining on them. The wildling kept snapping the reins ordering the horse to go faster with only the moon being their source of light. “C’mon…c’mon…,” he heard her grunting as she took a glance behind and saw some still following their tracks. Galloping between trees, their horse finally took them to safety at the edge of the forest, to a clear opening. 

Making Aemond have a clear vision of the undead. 

Their skins were pale, almost blue. 

They look like humans yet they were not at the same time. 

The creatures frightened him more than anything else, but as they neared the edge of the forest, the White Walkers ceased their pursuit and vanished behind the trees. Aemond exhaled deeply, relieved that they had escaped the forest unharmed. Suddenly the horse neighed, abruptly stopping. Making both of them grunt in pain when they nearly fell. “What’s wrong?” The wildling asked the horse before an arrow striked a tree behind them. They looked around, trying to find any signs of life. 

“What are you doing?” Aemond hissed when she stepped down from the horse. “Where’s my dagger?” She whispered, ignoring his previous question. Aemond sighed, tossing her the dagger beneath his black cloak. Catching it with ease, she spoke into the air,

“It’s only me! Gruff? Yuri?” Aemond was curious about those people she called out. Were they one of her people? Who were they?

“Blimey kid, you scared the shit out of us!” 

A loud booming voice suddenly said, emerging from the snowy ecosystem. Their thick fur coats also seemed to be efficient for camouflage. Aemond saw how his peculiar she wildling smiled brightly when she spotted her friend, running towards the tall red haired man giving him a tight hug making them both laugh as he picked her up in his arms. 

Aemond rolled his eye.

“Thought you were gone for! We saw those creepy dead people- thank the gods!” The red haired wildling said, ruffling her hair. “Oww! No! Do you think that low of me, old man?!” She asked with a laugh, shoving the man away from her. “Oi, I'm not that old, young lady.” Locking her head once again with his arm. “Yuri! Look who just came back from the dead!” The red haired shouted, now another wildling emerged from the opening. His hair was blonde, almost as light as the hair of the Lannisters. “We really thought you were dead, kid,” Yuri said, patting her shoulder. 

Who were they? Why were they awfully close with her? 

From what he witnessed, a young woman could only interact like this with the opposite gender if they were siblings or wedded. Even he never saw any of his wedded acquaintances interacting this way. Were they her siblings? They don’t seem to resemble one another, were they bastards? Did they came from different mothers?

Aemond cleared his throat, stepping down from his horse, interrupting their reunion. 

“Ah yes- Gruff, Yuri, this is ehm..Aemond Targaryen. The man that I spoke of to the both of you,” she said. The red haired, who was named Gruff looked Aemond from head to toe. “Gruff and Yuri are my hunting friends. We’ve been hunting together since we were children and fun fact, we have the same grandsire.”

Gruff slowly approached the one eyed prine, keeping an eye on him. Aemond straightened his back to appear taller, gripping the handle of his sword, preparing himself. Once Gruff stopped in front of him, their noses bumping into each other, he spoke, 

“Did your mum fucked a snowman?”

“I beg your pardon–,” Aemond stepped closer, ready to draw his sword out.

“–Alright that’s enough!” She quickly stepped between the two men. “What Gruff was trying to say was, how is your hair silver?” She asked. "My father, my grandsire, my great-grandsire—all of them had silver hair," Aemond hissed, his gaze fixed on the red-haired wildling. "How did they end up with silver hair?" the red-haired wildling asked, crossing his arms. Aemond couldn't believe how absurd this conversation had become. Frustrated, he let his hands drop. "We're from old Valyria," Aemond explained with resignation. "It's simply a trait we have—silver hair is just part of who we are."

“Valyria? What’s that?” The blonde wildling asked curiously. “It's a place far from the north, Yuri– Now come on! We must bring him to the Chief.” Walking past them, she held the horse’s reins and started walking ahead. Gruff purposely bumped Aemond’s shoulder as he passed through the one eyed prince. Aemond rolled his eyes again, resigned to the childish behavior of these people, before catching up and walking alongside her. Compared to the two wildlings, he found her more tolerable. At least she didn’t ask pointless questions.s. “I have told our Chief about you,” she said. “I am sure he will take it easy on you,” she said.

 “Does he takes it easy with anyone else?”

“No, not really. He’s quite rude if you ask me.”

“As rude as your friend there?” Aemond chuckled bitterly.

“You’re in for a ride,” she chuckled, patting Aemond’s shoulder. 

As much as Aemond would like to worry, he could not as he knew that she was the one who brought him to her people. For her people needed him, not the other way around. He hoped that this agreement would be the means for her to fulfill her promise and return him to Westeros once and for all. Additionally, he couldn’t help but notice her diminutive stature compared to his own—she barely reached his shoulder, smaller than any lady from Westeros yet possessing a fierceness and demeanor that defied conventional femininity. A smirk tugged at his lips.. 

And there he saw it. In the vast expanse of snow-covered terrain, a tribe lives a nomadic life, their existence marked by resilience and adaptability. Their tents, typically made of sturdy animal hides or woven materials, scattered across the field. The tents are insulated with layers of fur and cloth, designed to withstand the biting cold. The camp itself is a lively hub of activity despite the harsh environment. Smoke curls up from several central hearths, where fires are kept burning to provide warmth and to cook meals. The scent of roasting meat and simmering stews mingled with the crisp, cold air when he stepped closer to them.

Like when he first entered Winterfell, all eyes fell upon him, following him as he walked side by side with her. “It seems you have captured the people’s attention,” she teased with a cocky smile. “Why is it because of my hair or my eye?” He asked. “Neither. It’s your attire.” Aemond looked down to his clothing. Of course, he’s still dressed like a member of the night’s watch.

“We hate the crows in here, so it’s better for you to strip those clothes after you meet our Chief,” she said, giving him a wink. Before he could protest, a snow hit his cloak, making him flinch. Turning around, he saw a couple of children running around, even snickering at his presence. “Careful now boys!” She chuckled, greeting some of those children. “Never seen a crow, huh?” She crouched down, talking to the children surrounding her. 

“He only has one eye!” One of the children tried to whisper to her. “Scary, isn’t he? Tell you what, I’ll let you pick on him when I’m not around,” she said to the kids, making them snicker and giggle in excitement. 

She was really good with children. 

Throughout his life, he rarely sees his mother or even his sister being this natural with children. It makes him wonder if she has one. 

“For the meantime, can all of you keep an eye on our horse?” Offering the rein to the children, in which they eagerly accepted before taking the horse away. Aemond curiously kept his eye on the horse as the children led it away. “Don’t worry, they are very gentle with horses. They know their purpose,” she reassured him before she started to walk once more. 

Approaching one of the biggest tents in the area, the spearwife stops beside him, “If the Chief likes you, you’ll live another day.” Before smiling mischievously stepping inside the tent. Slightly on edge, he hesitated to follow them inside. But he would not cower in fear and enter anyways. Reminding himself to keep himself in check if he wants to go home. He stepped inside, his eye falling onto a man sitting in his chair as his companions surrounded him, whispering to each other. 

“Chief, I would like you to meet the crow I spoke of. This is Aemond Targaryen,” she introduced him. Aemond nodded with respect to their chief, an older wildling who carefully inspected Aemond, standing up from his seat. “Targaryen,” he said. “A peculiar tribe. Was it true that your family had power over dragons?” The Chief asked in which Aemond instantly nodded, “Yes, my Lord.”

All of them chuckled humorously. 

“Lord? I’m flattered to be called a Lord,” the chief said in humour. 

“So, where is your dragon now?”

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Aemond spoke. 

“She was killed at war.” A sense of bitterness, trying to mask his grief and sadness for Vhagar’s death. 

“A shame,” the Chief said. 

A pregnant pause.

“I want everybody out of this tent.” Aemond’s eyes widened. Was he going to be murdered? Did he not fulfil the Chief’s expectations? 

“But Chief–,” 

“–Especially you, girl. I shall talk to you when I’m done with this crow.”

Aemond instantly locked his eye with hers. Even her expression was unreadable as she hesitantly turned around to exit the tent. She gave him a nod, giving him support before leaving him alone with the Chief. Aemond turned his gaze back to the Chief who was crossing his arms inspecting Aemond from head to toe. 

“The girl likes you,” the Chief chuckles. “If it wasn’t for her you’d probably be dead by now. Killed by those crows.” Aemond kept his expression stoic as he brushed off the Chief’s words. “Speaking of crows, she told me you were forced to be one. Was that true?”

Aemond nodded.

“Yes, Chief.”

“What was your crime?”

“I was called a traitor to the Starks. Yet I beg to differ, for it was them who were traitors,” Aemond bravely said. 

“Traitors to whom?”

“The Throne. My brother.”

“Your brother? Your brother sat on a throne?”

“Yes, Chief.”

“That makes you a prince, then.”

A title he deeply missed. Aemond stood proudly, straightened his back as he kept his chin up high. 

“I am–,”

“You were.” 

“For you are currently not in Westeros, my boy. You are beyond the wall. Everyone beyond the wall fights for survival. For nature does not care if you’re a king or a criminal. And so far as I know, you stand before me,” the Chief said, telling Aemond to abandon his title as prince. “Where does your loyalty lie, boy?” The Chief asked, stepping closer to the one eyed prince. “To the crows?–”

“–No,” Aemond spoke with no hesitation. 

“The Starks?”

“Never.”

The Chief hummed in agreement. “The girl told me you wished to be rewarded. To go back to your family.” Aemond nodded, wishing nothing more than that. “So you’re loyal to your family,” he pointed out.

Aemond nodded. 

“Good. A man should always stay loyal to his family.”

He poured his drink onto his cup, “But will you stay loyal to us as you serve my tribe? And lead us to victory?” Aemond looked down, seeing the cup lent to him. Offering a friendship– an alliance– trust. Trusting a wildling. It seemed impossible for him, but he recalled simple questions by those wildlings about his hair. They were a simple tribe, living out of the complicated politics of Westeros. He could outsmart them easily and they’re offering him friendship. 

She paced back and forth in front of the Chief’s tent, waiting for the Targaryen to exit the tent unharmed. “You seemed stressed, kid,” Gruffed snickered, crossing his arms as he took notice on worried expression. “Of course, I am,” she said, stopping her steps abruptly. “May I know why?” He chuckled.

 “Is it because of the crow?–”

“–He is not a crow. He loathes the crows as much as we do.”

Gruff chuckled amusingly. 

“And? I bet Chief will tolerate him–,”

“–What if he doesn't? What if he beheaded that man and puts him on a spike?!–”

“–So what? What if he were beheaded? You should not care for that outsider—,”

“–I don’t care about him! I-I-I just want what’s best for our people–,”

“–You like him,” Gruff points at her with a mocking laugh. “I don’t! You pig!” She shouted defensively, quickly slapping Gruff’s arm repeatedly. “You do! You like that snow haired boy!” Gruff kept pointing at her as he teased her. The young she wildling grunts in frustration as he denies her feelings for the Targaryen. “If you speak of this one more time, I will kill you in your sleep, Gruff.” 

“Oooh you’ll kill me in my sleep, eh? Right, sure you don’t like that boy, surely if he one day betrays us will you kill him in his sleep?”

“I will. And I’ll cut off his cock and hang it in front of your tent,” she speaks bluntly. 

“Right, you sure you won’t use that for anything else?”

Her face turned red before she threw a hard punch across the red haired’s face. Groaning in pain, Gruff still laughed at her being so flustered with his words. “Why do you like him anyways? Is it because of his hair? His eye? Ooh his other eye, the sapphire?” Gruff asked, sitting up curiously looking at his friend. “For the last time, I do not like our new comer,” she repeated herself. “Keep telling that to yourself, kid. If I see silver haired babies one day–.”

The tent opened, Aemond stepping out of the tent.

Unharmed. 

“Ah, so he gave you a chance to live another day,” she said quickly, changing her once worried demeanour into the confident young wildling she is. Aemond could only nod, towering over her. “I shall, and I will.” 

His purple eye fixed on hers, “Where can I find new clothes?”

a/n: stay tuned for the next chapter and I apologize if this is not my best work but😊✨

[lazycats-stuff]

Ummm hi I just wanted to ask if you know the Netflix series called The Queen's Gambit? If you know, can you make a story where the reader is Bruce's son Is a chest master. Where he beats everyone in his chess game. Well I would love it if you retained the Queen's Gambit title but if not that's fine too🤣.But in the middle of the story he was angry because someone had managed to beat him in his match so he became annoyed and locked himself in a room to find a strategy.To defeat the person who defeated him. If possible, the one that will distract the reader is the OC. Thank you. Sorry if there are too many requests hehe

Oh I heard about, saw a few clips and all, but never watched it. But I know about it so no problem. I absolutely can do it. Also, I know nothing about chess. If there are people who play chess reading this, I don't know chess.

Summary: (Y/N) is a chess master. Until someone takes the title away.

Warnings:

All of his children were smart and had their specialties, so to speak. And Bruce was more than happy to help them explore that. Bruce wanted all of their sons to be explore their potentials. Why not? He had money and resources to help them out. That's also what he did to (Y/N), since (Y/N) was very interested in chess, since he was a small child.

Often asking Alfred to play chess with him. Which is ironic since Bruce taught him the rules for it, but hey. (Y/N) was happy whenever he played chess and since he was the youngest out of the 5 of them, he had 4 people to play with. Damian was more than happy to play, since his grandfather taught him.

Damian couldn't beat him. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. That made him even more stubborn, making it a life long mission to beat his younger brother. And if it's the last thing he does, then so be it.

Tim was also good in chess, but couldn't beat (Y/N) as well. He has tried every single strategy he could find and think of. But nothing. (Y/N) could not be beaten. Not in the slightest. Just like Damian, he swore to beat him one day, even if it's the last thing he ever does in his life. Until then, he was going to research every single strategy and make sure he takes the honor of beating his brother.

Dick simply enjoyed playing chess, even though he always lost against (Y/N). He didn't mind it, he has always liked spending time with his youngest brother, although he always lost. He always allowed (Y/N) to use different strategies during their plays. Had it been Damian, he might have exploded.

And Jason?

Jason isn't well versed in chess, but that didn't stop (Y/N). He was patient when teaching Jason, explaining the different pieces and the way they moved. Jason felt frustrated, wanting to sometimes flip the table. But (Y/N) was patient, knowing that not everyone liked chess and he liked the fact that Jason didn't kill him yet.

So all in all, (Y/N) was happy whenever he played chess. Whether it be at home or at tournaments.

And once Netflix aired its Queen's Gambit, that was his nickname from that point forward. (Y/N) hated it at first, but then he didn't care. He could deal with it, since it was in reference to Beth Harmon, although a fictional character, but still one hell of a chess player.

And yes, (Y/N) was participating in many tournaments. He got the title of chess master, since he beat a lot of amateurs, but he wanted to have the title of grandmaster. He wanted to be the best. He wanted to be respected doing something he loved more than anything in his world.

(Y/N) came into the manor like a bat out of hell. He stomped upstairs, slamming the doors of his room. Bruce was confused as to what has happened, but knowing (Y/N), talking to him while upset would do him no good. (Y/N) would only snap back at him.

Teens need some space to cool off and collect their thoughts.

The only thing that could happen to upset (Y/N) is losing at chess. So Bruce went to his detective work and sure enough, (Y/N) lost in a tournament. Bruce sighed. Losses are a normal part of life, because you need to know how to deal with set backs in life. Bruce made sure to teach (Y/N) how to lose gracefully.

And his opponent is a known chess player too. And Bruce has decided to check the clip too, just to make sure that he wasn't a sore loser. Because he didn't raise his boy like that. Thankfully, (Y/N) was polite, smiled at his opponent and shook hands, congratulating him.

Bruce sighed in relief as he saw it. He would have been disappointed if he didn't lose gracefully. But holing up in your own room is not a healthy coping mechanism. Hopefully food will coax him out of hiding and make him talk about his feelings.

(Y/N) is a growing boy and needs to eat.

Soon enough, (Y/N)'s brother's caught wind of it and tried to help (Y/N) out, trying to coax him out with food and talk. (Y/N) took the food like a goblin and went to investigating different strategies on how to beat him opponent. He said to them all that he'll beat his opponent, no matter how long it took him.

Bruce wasn't sure how to feel about that. (Y/N) needs a distraction. Bruce is slowly but surely out of options. He doesn't know how to pull his son out of the slump.

Jason had the idea to call (Y/N)'s friend, Simon Moore. Simon Moore is a good friend of his and Bruce suspects something more, but he still didn't ask about, thinking that (Y/N) isn't ready to come out yet. Either way, (Y/N) needs help.

" Simon is here. " Jason walked in with him, a tall blond boy with blue eyes.

" Hello everyone. (Y/N) lost a match and won't come out? " Simon asked and Bruce nodded.

" Alright. Just to warn you, if you hear yelling, don't be worried. " Simon walked up the stairs and Jason smirked to himself.

" (Y/N) is going to blow a fuse. "

Bruce sipped his coffee as he heard the door being kicked in. (Y/N) would have never opened up on his own and Bruce could always pay someone.

Perks of being rich.

" Alright Queen's Gambit, up and at them! " Simon yelled and (Y/N) was yelling back.

" Simon is a friend we all need to be, " Jason stated and Bruce sipped more of his coffee as he listened to the commotion.

" What's going on up there? It sounds like World War 3. " Tim walked in to get some snacks and coffee.

" Simon came by to help (Y/N) out, " Jason explained and Tim nodded as he poured himself some coffee.

" Father, what is going on upstairs? " Damian popped in to get himself some tea, looking through the different flavors in his box.

" Simon dropped by to help. " Jason leaned on the kitchen island and Damian nodded.

" Moore came to help. Good. Are we still in the belief that they are a couple? " Damian put the water to boil and Bruce nodded.

" Nothing is confirmed though, so not a word to (Y/N). " Bruce extended his cup to Damian to refill it for him.

" Is (Y/N) okay up there? " Dick walked in through the back door and Bruce nodded.

" Simon dropped by to help us, " Bruce gave a short explanation and Dick let out an oh.

" Well that explains it. "

Bruce nodded as they listened to the commotion upstairs. Soon enough, everything calmed down and Simon came down.

" (Y/N)'s in the shower, " Simon announced and everyone nodded.

Bruce took his cup of coffee back from Damian and sipped it.

" Does he look like death warmed over? " Damian asked and Simon chuckled quietly.

" Oddly enough, no. But the room stinks a little bit so I opened all the windows. Also, my apologies about the door mister Wayne. " Simon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly and Bruce smiled and shook his head and wave at his dismissively.

" Oh no worries Simon. Also, don't call me mister Wayne, just Bruce will suffice. "

Simon nodded. " He said that he would come down to get some food too. And he's hungry, let me tell you that. "

" That boy will be the death of me, I swear. Thank you Simon. "

[hamsternella]

Something with Muzan?👀 kinda obsessive

Muzan being obsessed with you

cw: yandere, stalking, MDNI

Muzan considers you an interesting person. Beyond your humanity, which repulses him in the extreme, everything else that makes you up as an individual generates a wild intrigue in him. The way you talk, the way you see things; the way you analyze life as a set of typical and atypical events, as well as the flow of the universe and its purely logical variants—never something spiritual. You did not believe in the flows of fate or divine judgments. You were not by any stretch of the imagination a copy of Ubuyashiki; nor of his family, or of his followers and faithful cronies.

You were no different either. No kind of exception to the rule, because people like you would be all over the world. Muzan knew that very well. But it was you who held yourself in front of him, with the face he had grown accustomed to; with the silhouette appearing every morning where he took it upon himself to monitor your routine. Because of course he was going to keep his eye on you. And no, it wasn't because you were exactly important. You didn't add or subtract to his plans; the truth is that outside of your position you were a boring person.

But didn't he consider you an interesting person?

Another truth —and this time a pure, unfeigned truth— was that Muzan was beginning to be deeply affected by your existence on this earth. And yes; it was obviously going to burn into his ego. Inside him a pitched war would break out just imagining how much he missed seeing your silhouette in the morning, training among the trees; or monitoring your missions with weak demons that he himself commandeered to entertain himself during the heaviest hours of the day.

And you had no idea. And that bothered him in a fucking way you couldn't imagine.

Eventually, that initial intrigue turned into an intense desire, which used to manifest itself in fictional scenarios where Muzan was the protagonist. Repulsive and useless scenarios; crude ideas that descended from a silent obsession at the back of his head. It was almost offensive when he stopped to think about how much he was being affected by a human he had never met; and in turn, the same so-called human who had no fucking idea who was following them around like a dog.

A fucking animal.

But you were the animal! You were the one who should be chasing him like a dog. Your eyes wild with fear; your body trembling with anxiety, your heart in your throat at the thought that your encounter with the Father of demons could happen at any moment. Not him—not Muzan. Least of all on a ridiculous whim. No way, all whims were ridiculous.

You were ridiculous.

And suddenly, in the heat of the moment, a decision would be made. And the result? A disaster.

No reaction. Muzan held himself in front of you —well-dressed, because of course he wouldn't wear just any suit to meet you, even if it was hard for him to admit it—, and he was imposing. The crimson gaze glowing in the slight gloom of your estate's garden. But no reaction from you.

"Are you a demon?" you asked in a weak, tired voice. The ghost of sleep pouring over your body. The laughter you let out was barely audible. "Of course you are one."

"Is this the best Ubuyashiki can offer?" replied Muzan with another question; too affected by your disinterest to think of anything else. "And your sword, child?"

"I think I left it in... Uh, I really don't know. But why would you want me to have it? You could kill me right now."

"Aren't you afraid?"

"From death, or from you?"

"Isn't the same thing?"

You picked your shoulders, and for him it was impossible not to frown, annoyed. But what do you mean, annoyed! Furious.

"Death, a demon, or even so be the devil himself," you mumbled through your teeth, holding back a yawn. "Why would I be afraid?"

"Because fear is necessary," Muzan replied, "and especially for such weak creatures as you. You should be afraid of me."

The smile that rested on your face felt like a cut over his heart. Muzan couldn't find enough anger inside him to match the hot emotions expanding through his chest.

"I must not be weak enough, I'm afraid; to have eyes on me even when I go to the bathroom." You put down the cup of tea you were carrying in one hand on the table beside you. "And it feels strange, because even now I still don't believe that you want to kill me. What am I supposed to recognize about you? Moreover, am I allowed to be flattered?"

"Excuse me?" Muzan took a couple of steps forward. An unfamiliar feeling occupying his head when there was no reaction from you. Nothing, there was nothing. "Flattered by what? What are you trying to assume from all this?"

Your eyes remained on his, unblinking; even when the demon raised a hand in your direction. His fingertips suddenly brushing the skin of your forehead. The approach had been immediate—even Muzan himself had no idea why it was necessary.

"Well, I don't know," you mumbled. "It's just that plain and simple you look so pathetic-"

His hand slapped against your mouth, choking your words. Your head jerked momentarily, but your gaze remained fixed on his; the color dulled with what Muzan identified as an attempt to focus on him. On guessing what he was thinking about, what he wanted to do to you.

In fact. What the fuck did he want to do with you?

As soon as your eyes narrowed with the birth of a hidden smile, Muzan pulled away, taking with him the warmth of your lips against his hand. He tried not to make it so obvious the way his fingers trembled remembering the texture of your skin.

"That's all I needed to know," you said.

With a snort as you rose from your seat, you took the cup in your hands again before climbing the steps behind you. Muzan didn't utter a word; lost in your gait and how the moon reflected its light in your hair. He didn't even notice your glance at him as soon as you reached the sliding doors. Half body in, half body out; face obscured, with your voice echoing from the shadows.

"Ubuyashiki offers money, and I get it by doing the only thing I can be useful for. It's not a matter of honor, hence, it's not about the demons." A long pause. A sigh, and seconds later the beginning of another word. "It's not about them; much less would it be about you, Muzan."

He took a step back, suddenly feeling oblivious to the situation. If you had noticed, then you simply ignored him.

"So go back the way you came," you continued. "Do what you always do, and if possible without me in it. Do your job and I'll do mine; and try not to let our next meeting be the result of such a pathetic obsession, concerning your self-centeredness or loneliness, or whatever bullshit you have to deal with as to end up here."

You clicked your tongue. Annoyance in your voice. You closed the door in one motion, hiding your body behind the walls. Out of Muzan's eyes; away from his despair, his hunger. So close and yet so far away.

Humiliation was an understatement. There was no word, no term, capable of encompassing the torment that had gripped Muzan since that encounter.

The revelation that you had been aware of his monitoring left him stunned; but at the same time with a slight feeling akin to admiration. And that was difficult, because he hadn't felt such a thing for anyone in a long time. Of course, admiring someone was necessary, and he did it whenever he had to replace one of the Moons; searching and analyzing candidates meant recognizing qualities that were useful.

But this was not simple admiration. No. Muzan understood it even if it meant being aware of other things concerning your existence, strongly related to everything that had to do with him and your way of being—thinking. You claimed to be useful for only one thing; but that supposed task had not been completed. Not even showing you to be interested in the demon in front of you. And that boiled in Muzan's blood with madness.

You tore off the heads of demons of all kinds. You swung a sword at anything that could give you money, and you were clearly good at what you did. You gave your full attention to what mattered to you; you sensed your surroundings, you took in the details, you were attentive. You recognized what you wanted; sometimes what you should, and this with the same face with which you had looked at Muzan.

You were just like any other member of the corporation, and somehow you stood out with a curious edge. At first because you were interesting; because Muzan considered you valuable enough as a human and as an individual. But what about now? What were you supposed to have, beyond the bright, shrewd eyes? Beyond the smooth skin and the light scent of your flesh.

It didn't take long for Muzan to start taking it out on the moons. Douma was one of the first in a long time to cast an eye on you, citing your agility and beauty; but he took it upon himself to eliminate that slim possibility. Reasons or not, there was one thing undeniable and that was that for Muzan, you were already somehow his property. He saw you first, beheading a lower moon; bathing your hands in the blood of your companions, carrying their bodies. He saw you first in training, seeking to know more about the new threat related to Tanjiro Kamado. He saw you first, intrigued by your strange relationship with Ubuyashiki; slightly attacked by the idea that perhaps your power would suit the demons.

I mean, what were you really doing with the demon slayers? If you had no honor, vocation or anything other than loyalty. Pure loyalty, something Muzan loved. That they were loyal to him; that they worshipped him, that they obeyed him. And who could do it better than you? No one. No one was going to be able to do things better than you did—things Muzan couldn't even accomplish. Everything was so yours. And this burned in his soul, deep down; something burned in his flesh and made his blood run furiously through his veins. To him it seemed repulsive to acknowledge this kind of fact, but it was about you, and then it was a different matter.

You had to be his. It wasn't going to work any other way.

[miskamix]

i saw your post saying that people who ship incest and headcanon dazai as liking that stuff are obviously going to be harrassed. I don't headcanon dazai as liking daddy kiddy stuff, but i want to ask how you think writing about that makes a person bad. because dazai has literally committed AT LEAST child abuse(akutagawa), 136 murders, 312 extortion cases, 625 cases of fraud and more. but if you think authors deserve to get harrassed for writing about sick crimes like incest because they support or like such things, then why aren't you harrassing asagiri for writing about all those things? and I've seen alot of people that act like sex crimes are somehow different from torture and murder. so I'd like to ask this. do you approve of cheating irl because you act like people who write about sexual related immorality are condoning it and then you say that you might write about cheating in your fic request rules. Also, If you're deep in the bsd community then you may have read no longer human, in which it is heavily heavily implied(to the point that there's literally no other explanation for what happened to her exept rape) that yozo's wife,yoshiko, was raped. do you believe that the irl dazai approved of rape?

I don't mean to come off as rude or argumentative, so sorry if i do, im genuinely curious.

I'm sorry but, are you stupid? you're asking why someone is a bad person for writing incest, pedophilia and rape content. OFC SOMEONE IS A BAD PERSON FOR WRITING THAT KIND OF STUFF. If someone writes it they normalize it, and normalzing disgusting shit like that is VERY harmful.

Its kinda dumb that you are compering Dazai, a fictional character to real people, Dazai is not a real person, so his actions don't effect real people, but people who make incest do effect real people. As someone who is a victim of sa, its very triggering to see incest, pedophilia, rape ect content being made of my favorite character. Making that type of content is normalizing it, and if we normalize kids being raped by someone they're close to, then its gonna end up making younger kids think that its okay if that happens to them.

"but if you think authors deserve to get harrassed for writing about sick crimes like incest because they support or like such things" i never said to harass the writers, i said that if they are gonna write that shit they need to be able to handle the hate, and yes they deserve hate for making it, and saying its for coping isn't a valid excuse, because they are hurting other victims at the same time.

"I've seen alot of people that act like sex crimes are somehow different from torture and murder" They are different, rape is done by the attacker so that they can feel sexual pleasure. And sadly in some cases, like junko furuta, people get raped, tortured and murdered for no reason. But still torture and rape are still different, and i don't know why you're bringing up torture and murder when this is about incest content.

"do you approve of cheating irl because you act like people who write about sexual related immorality are condoning it and then you say that you might write about cheating in your fic request rules." The answer is no, just because i said i MIGHT write for it doesn't mean i will, its meant as "in some cases i might write it" and even if you don't condone incest, rape and pedophilia irl, its stil very much wrong and disgusting and people who write it should really feel guilty about it, if you have thoughts about that stuff you need to seek help, not normalize and spread it around the interent. Also cheating and incest/rape content aren't comperable btw, one is a crime and the other one is breaking someones trust.

Now the book part, i have the book but i haven't read it, and bringing the real life dazai, into this is stupid, he lived over 70 years ago, people thought differently about rape back then so its hard to know. also the book is a fucking autobiography so ofc its gonna talk about stuff that happened in his life

Anyways please tell me if anything in here is wrong or if you wanna add anything to this

Btw saying "sorry if i come of as rude" after compering me to weirdos is something! 🥰

[lvdr-haze]

hii, can you write joost x female reader angst? they argue, he yells/says mean stuff but it ends with fluff? thank youuu 💋💋

here you go love, sorry for the late btw. :))

TW!! : mention of the death of a friend, angst with comfort ending

words : ≈1000

english is not my first language sorry if you can find some mistakes in the ff.

everything is fictional !!

REQUESTS STILL OPEN!!

NEVER FELT SO ALONE

Lately, Joost and you had been distant because he had a lot of work, and you knew that he didn’t like being disturbed while working, and you respected that.

But today was different. As you were walking home from work after an already bad and long day, you received a call from an unknown number. You usually don’t respond, but this time you felt the urge to pick up the call; you didn’t know why.

When the person on the other end of the telephone line announced the death of one of your dearest friends, your body just stopped moving, your eyes immediately filled with tears, and you felt quite dizzy.

You couldn’t believe it. How was it even possible?

You couldn’t even talk to the person who had called you, your body just moving from your sobs and your hands trembling.

The call ended and you stayed there, incapable of moving, just trembling and sobbing, trying so hard not to fall to your knees. You needed someone to hold you right now, and that someone needed to be Joost. You didn’t want anyone else because you knew that he would exactly understand how you were feeling right now.

You walked home with tears still rolling down your eyes, and after what seemed like an eternity, you finally entered your apartment.

You knew Joost was still working on his song in the room he had transformed into a studio, but you had to see him and you had to feel his arms around you.

You entered the room, but sadly for you, that clearly wasn’t the moment to do that because your boyfriend was so angry. He had just lost one of his songs and couldn’t find it anywhere on his laptop. So when he heard the door opening and felt your presence, he immediately yelled without even looking or checking on you.

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE, Y/N!! Just fucking leave me alone. Why are you pissing me off like this? Stop acting like a fucking child.”

His words were harsh, cold, and hurtful, but you didn’t want to fight. You didn’t have the energy for it. So you just stepped out of the room, crying even more.

You’d never felt so alone in your life.

You hated when people yelled at you, and Joost knew that. So after a little while, he came out of his room just to find you crying really hard on the couch. You couldn’t stop yourself, and your body was aching from sobbing. Joost immediately ran to you and took you in his arms to hold you tightly. He could feel that something else had happened, so he gently said with his calm and deep voice:

“What’s going on, lieverd? You can tell me everything… everything’s okay now…”

You looked at him; he was so comforting at the moment but yet really scary after how he had yelled at you five minutes before.

Joost could see the fear in your eyes, and that broke his heart. He never wanted you to be scared of him, so he held you as long as you needed to open up to him. And you finally did. You explained everything—the bad day at work, the call, the announcement of the death of your friend, the fight you had with him, and how you were feeling so lonely right now.

Joost’s heart ached at the mention of your dead friend. He had lost several people when he was young, and he knew how much it hurts and how hard it is to accept.

He sighed and played with your hair before finally speaking up:

“First of all, I’m really sorry that I reacted like this. I didn’t mean to, and I don’t ever want you to be scared of me. For your friend, you know I understand you perfectly, but the only advice I can give you is to let time do its work. Maybe it will take a while for you to heal, but I’ll be there to support you even when it’s not easy. You are not alone, Y/N… you’ll never be alone as long as I’m with you…”

Your sobbing had calmed down and your head was now resting on Joost’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he was speaking to you with all the tenderness in the world.

Your eyes were feeling heavy and your body just needed some rest right now.

“Thank you, Joost… I love you…”

Joost kissed your forehead and smiled at the sight of you falling asleep on his torso.

“I love you too, Y/N… I love you so fucking much…”

[sxfterhearts]

keeho dating a shy bookworm headcannons, i feel like hed be so sweet <33

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ highschool!au - theatre kid!keeho x student librarian!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff fluff fluff (i miss writing soft fluff and just writing in general omfg)

♡ word count: 1,171 words

♡ author's note: im crying anon thank you so so much for sending this!! it's my first ever p1h request and it made me so happy :") i'm sorry it took so long (life has been crazy lately) but i really hope this meets your expectations <33333

//

omg this is kinda giving our beloved summer (if you havent watched it, its my fav kdrama ever!!)

ok this might be cliche but i <3 highschool!au so let's roll with it

yoon keeho as a theatre kid (are we surprised) who practices his lines everywhere around school, has friends in every single class and is always being his friendly, extroverted self

y/n as a diligent, reserved student who is also a student librarian - you're usually stacking shelves or scanning books at the library after school on most days

your relationship blossomed through shy glances and soft whispers - keeho used to take note of the days you were on duty and purposely stayed behind to get closer to you

you were in the same english class - and being a theatre nerd, he was quickly intrigued by your ability to not only analyse shakespeare to a tee but also recite the plays word for word, line by line, without missing a single beat

keeho felt his heart speed up whenever he saw you in class, losing yourself in your work. in his eyes, you were always beautiful, but with the sunlight shining through the windows, illuminating your concentrated expression as you muttered to yourself and scribbled in your notebook - he thought that was when you shone the brightest

in the early days of getting to know each other, keeho would disrupt your peaceful reading sessions behind the library reception desk with endless requests of book recommendations earning many shushes from the head librarian

"i really like romance novels... what's your favourite?" hah, very smooth, keeho

you were confused, at first, because why was yoon keeho of all people taking an interest in you?

but then as you got to know him better you realised you shared more in common than you thought. despite your seemingly opposite personality types, the two of you had similar tastes in books, and music, and food, the list goes on

"hey y/n, have you tried the new bakery across the road? they're doing an opening deal - iced americano and a croffle for really cheap. should we try it together tomorrow for breakfast? only if you want to, of course..."

"y/n, have you listened to the new sza album? what's your favourite track? i love all of them, it's so hard to pick..."

"y/n, y/n, do you remember the author i was telling you about last month? they're writing a new book in the series! we should read it together when it's out, i wanna hear your honest review!"

even as a child, you were quiet and mostly preferred to read a book or draw and colour quietly while others played outside. this was both a result of your personality and also a few friendship fallouts that made you more wary (kids can be so mean...)

fast forward to high school, you retreated further into your shell, only keeping a handful of close friends. you preferred to bury your nose in your books and lose yourself in the fictional world of your favourite characters

that is, until keeho came along

the boy was as warm and bright as a summer's day. he had a way about him that just made people feel at ease. perhaps it was because he was so comfortable with being himself, that it helped others open up too

you were no exception. initially you were unsure of what to make of his unexpected friendliness and kindness, but you quickly realised that he was just a genuinely nice person who wanted to get to know you better

and you had to admit - after one too many mornings sitting on the bench overlooking your school field together, munching on your breakfasts and sharing an earbud each, listening to the summer's latest tunes under the gentle morning sun - you wanted to know more about him too

you could feel your cold walls getting dissolved by the warm, toothy smiles he always wore around you, and his melodious laughter

a few weeks into your daily ritual (consisting of breakfast in the morning and doing homework or stacking shelves in the library after school together), keeho finally made the first move

one morning, the two of you were nearly done your with your breakfast croffles when all of a sudden, the cloudy sky turned ominous and lightning flashed before your eyes

before either of you could react, the skies opened up, unleashing heavy raindrops all around you

"quick, y/n!" keeho grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers with his. the two of you ran to the nearest school building, trudging past wet grass and muddy soil, staining your white school shoes

when you finally made it under the awnings, you both looked down at the state of your uniforms - mildly soaked, and burst out laughing at how ridiculous you looked

naturally, your gaze wandered towards your joined hands, and you slowly looked up, only to find keeho staring at you as if you were the only person in the world

you couldn't read his expression - there was a hidden intensity behind his eyes

he hastily unbuttoned and shrugged off his button-down shirt, leaving him in his white t-shirt, and promptly placed it around your shoulders to keep you warm

"keeho, you'll get cold, i - "

but he cut you off, "i can't help myself anymore, y/n..." it's now or never, he thought to himself

"huh? what do you mean, keeho? i don't - "

"i like you, y/n." he whispered softly, so soft that it nearly blended in with the sound of rain. he stuffed his hands deep into his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting

"what?" you thought you misheard, cos there's no way...

"y/n, i... i like you!" keeho closed his eyes and repeated again, already blushing red, embarrassed

you had an inkling that he was interested in you, but you never allowed yourself to daydream for too long whenever keeho entered your thoughts, for fear that you would only disappoint yourself. but now that you knew his true feelings...

you inched forwards and stood on the balls of your feet. why is he so tall, you thought to yourself as you bravely planted a brief peck against his warm cheeks

keeho's eyes shot open in surprise. it was so quick, his brain failed to process it. "wait, did you just - "

you giggled, eyes crinkling up into the little crescents he adored, and held onto his wrists before leaning in once more

the first meeting of your rain-stained lips was clumsy, as most first kisses are, but the two of you made it up with an eagerness that mirrored your initial desires to learn more about each other

when you both ran out of air, you laughed against each other's lips, basking in the tenderness of a new relationship, blossoming like a flower bud after a bit of sunshine and rain

"so... will you be the juliet to my romeo?"

"they both die, keeho!"

"oh, true... but it's romantic, right?"

[basimdasasonst]

snw spock rant

i've been watching strange new worlds recently, and the prevailing feeling i always leave with, no matter the episode, is that i would like it if not for spock.

don't get me wrong; i'm a tos fan to my core. star trek launched me into a love of sci-fi and space fiction and is the whole reason i'm in university studying astrophysics, why i'm writing a book using said inner astrophysics nerd, why i have any sense of purpose to me, cliche as it is to say. star trek was an integral, important part of my upbringing, and continues to be one of my main interests to this day. i love jim (and i love snw jim! especially after aos kirk (shudders)) and i love bones (i really hope he joins snw soon....leonard mccoy save us....save us leonard mccoy...) and i love scotty and i love spock. but not snw spock.

here's the thing about spock: his internal character conflicts have always had some sort of root in him being not enough/not vulcan enough/not human enough/etc. his struggles with relationships as a result – because, lets face it, both humans and vulcans are social creatures and need friends otherwise society as a whole wouldn't be a thing on either world – make up a core part of his character. in tos, his relationship struggles were nearly purely platonic, with a few offhand remarks about stray crew members having crushes on him (uhura in early first season, chapel in amok time). 

s1e4 "the naked time". spock, right before losing his figurative Marbles, sees "love mankind" written on a wall. later, he goes on to say to jim: "when i feel friendship for you, i'm ashamed." other posts have done and will do better jobs of explaining it, but in conjunction with "sinner" written on the turbolift near jim (about not being able to form lasting relationships with other crewmates because its too much of a power imbalance), the writing on the wall (literally) is that spock is inherently ashamed of his humanity. he has been raised on vulcan to be a vulcan.

his internal conflict is always about him struggling with his human side. he struggles with friendship, he struggles with his humanity, he struggles to be something that people don't immediately deem wrong. as a gay man, and certainly as a young queer child first watching tos, i felt closest to spock not just because of feeling ashamed of part of my cultural heritage, but also because of repression. spock represses these feelings of insecurity, of friendship, of the need for connection in others in a certain way, so much that it causes him pain. growing up gay, his pain was very real to me. writing on the wall. he’s silly and a cool character of course, but he resonated with me in a way that, at the time, i didn’t have anything to resonate with. 

what does this all have to do with me hating snw spock so much? i want to preface this by saying i went into snw really wanting to love it. i saw the intro and the planets and the nebulae and the black hole and the music and was like "damn, this is fucking cool." star trek, to some part of me, was also about the space exploration aspect as much as the characters. the whims of wacky crewmembers and sentient rocks. the impossibly infinite things nature can form on its own. snw looked fun. i really wanted to like it. and you know what? i almost like it.

except for spock. quite literally the only character i have any quarrels with is spock. dehydrated, glistening, oiled up spock. wtf. why is he in a relationship with t'pring? why does he (almost) cheat on her with chapel? and why chapel??????????? chapel has a one-sided (VERY CLEARLY ONE SIDED) crush on him in tos. why is it two sided now. 

what, and i can't stress this enough, the fuck? 

and don't come into my house and tell me "oh you know, it makes sense, because, because then spock gets all hard and Logical and shuts himself off and obviously the reason for that is a breakup–" No!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! no no no no. i don't care if it makes “sense” it feels so intrinsically wrong to his character. i’ve had much more character development from losing life-long friends than ending barely a year long relationships. spock wouldn’t immediately shut down because he kissed a girl once and then she said “acshually sowwy my work is more important” when that’s the exact sentiment he echoed to t’pring when they broke up.

more importantly, snw spock barely has friends. he calls pike a friend once or twice, but i hardly believe that they're friends. he barely interacts with la'an or erica, he has a few passing conversations with uhura in season 1 on episodes about her that don't really carry into season 2, and otherwise he's just There. he doesn't have friends in snw. the writers are prioritising him having a romantic relationship over a friendship. snw spock needs a friend way more than he needs a bone buddy. and it really rubs me the wrong way the way the relationship with chapel was portrayed to be first friendly and then romantic. i never believed for a second that he and chapel were friends – despite the screenwriters trying. every time they talked prior to s2e5 there was this odd undercurrent of sexuality that seemed to follow them. lingering looks, touching fingertips, long pauses – it was so unbelievably awkward and obvious that they were setting up a relationship between the two. i mean, for fucks sake, s1e1 uhura calls chapel "spock's girlfriend." boy did my blood boil when i figured out that was where the show was going. s1e5 was actually painful for me to get through (chapel sits down, gives spock relationship advice, giggles, smacks him upside the head, and calls him an idiot. 2017 wattpad is calling, they want their material back) and i had to take two full days to get through s2e5 because i was in anguish the whole time. it was a constant mental barrage of "spock wouldn't say that," and "spock wouldn't do that," and "this is not spock."

for the most part, i couldn't figure out why spock and chapel's relationship specifically bothered me so much. i mean i have my quarrels with la'an and jim, and i really don't give much of a care about pike and batel so why was spock and chapel grating on me so badly? was it because it was being shoved in my face? was the writing that much more atrocious than the others? was it the decimation of spock's character?

it was, i found, a product of all of those and the issue of queerness. 

look; i've survived sherlock bbc, i’ve survived the golden age of quotev fandom in 2016, i've bared witness to so much queerbaiting in my life that i don't even bother trying to hope for any sort of main character queer representation anymore. we’re going to be a footnote until someone does something about it. unfortunately, that’s not going to be me because i’m not a film director. so i look the other way and steam about it on twitter or tumblr or whatever hoping that i, like many other frustrated queer people, get noticed one day in the far future when it’s ok to have a queer romance in mainstream, it’s ok to have a queer main character, and it’s ok to let it simmer slowly and burn instead of jumping into it to say “look guys we’re woke!!!!!” (star trek literally was the pioneer for most of these things back in the day. but that’s another discussion on the heterosexualisation of progressive media that i wont get into. it just feels bitterly funny that this is happening to star trek of all things.) these days i just pretend the relationships dont exist and skip over them when they happen. i've developed a sixth sense for when weird, forced heterosexuality is about to be shoved down my oesophagus. i've just gotten used to it. 

but sphapel (or whatever it's called) burned through me. i've never felt quite this angry at an on screen relationship. and, trust me, i saw AOS. i didn't like spuhura then and i don't like it now but i wasn't angry so much as i was just tired and annoyed. but spock was – and always is to me, confused, queer 10 year old me – a queer character. his struggle with humanity, with friendship, with fitting in, with just being as a perceived "other" was what made him an interesting character to me to begin with. he was a certain outlet to vent that frustration for being "wrong" in society no matter how hard you try to conform one way or another. the knowledge that even if you are different, you still have people backing you up. his fucking friendships, guys. jim and bones. yes i know his friendship with jim is also inherently romantic dont worry im spirk #1 shipper but that’s not relevant here because, and forgive me for being pessimistic, i don’t believe for a second that these writers are going to lean into spirk anytime soon. their relationship went beyond friendship or romance or any of that stuff. coughs in the roddenberry footnote.

what i’m trying to say here, in layman’s terms, is that giving a friendless character a romantic relationship is exactly how you alienate a character. name one person you know in real life that can survive healthily with one single relation, that being their romantic partner that they have no friendly base of. you can’t. that’s a toxic relationship. that’s not romance, that’s alienation. that’s isolation. that’s loneliness. and that’s the OPPOSITE OF WHAT EXPLORING SPOCK’S HUMAN SIDE IS SUPPOSED TO DO TO HIM .

by stripping spock of his friends, and forcing his arc to be purely romantic, you have essentially stripped the character of all he is. i'd be mad if chapel was a dude, too, honestly speaking. but beyond that, corralling spock of all people into a heterosexual romantic relationship is – well. it's a choice i don't think i can ever agree with. the best way i can describe such a choice is like a dissonant chord – you can pluck the notes and they'll sound fine on their own, but when you put them together they will clash. there is nothing you can do with your fingers to play the same notes and not cause the clash. they will always clash. it is dissonance ringing through you, an inherent wrongness coupled with writing that is lazy and clearly meant for a very specific audience. snw spock is bad writing, fanservice, and extraordinarily out of character. notes i can tolerate on their own, but strung together – dissonant.

i really want to like snw. fuck, i love la'an, i love erica, i love jim (!!! thank you paul wesley for making him a nerd, and kind (glares at AOS), and generally a jim kirk that i can look at and say, "yeah, that's jim alright"), i love uhura, i love una, i love m'benga and i love pike but i hate spock. i really, truly, cannot like snw when i have to pause the show and take an irritated deep breath in every time i see chapel approach spock. it's – frustrating, and alienating, and wrong. so, so wrong. 

[pacific-rimbaud]

i was reading your thoughts on how fans felt about l&oha and while i concur it is a perfect piece of work in my head and have reread it 5x, i wonder if you think fans tend to be harsher/more critical of hermione and let draco slide? i see it a lot in fics where he's more of an alphahole type

Oh, man. Okay. The can is open, the worms are loose. Rant under the cut.

I'm actually going to set men aside entirely. Just. To the side with you. I desperately need more realistically complicated men, too, but that's a whole separate discussion. Right now: women.

There must be whole dissertations out there on the phenomenon of readers hating female characters with negative traits. I'm a fandom old, so I didn't grow up identifying with Hermione, and wouldn't have even if I'd been young enough to. I did that "which character are you" test just now and my top three matches were Janis Ian from Mean Girls, Jughead from Riverdale and April from Parks and Rec, which, massive grain of salt, etc. BUT gives you an idea. I am not a Hermione and never was, so she's never been a comfort character or self-insert for me. Some of my favorite fictional women are Sophie Hatter (mean, irrational, petty, old and mostly loving it), Harrowhark Nonagesimus (evil stick), Phryne Fisher (zero fucks to give). What I like about Hermione is how imperfect she is. I'm a "cleverest witch of your age I've ever met" truther (book!Lupin is absolutely saying "you're the canniest 14 year-old child I have personally met, saying this as a guy who doesn't get out much," not "you are a once-in-a-century genius"), and from my perspective, she's often wrong and often a dick, and not in a fun and fiesty burn-down-the-world BAMF way. Which. Good for her! Be human.

And that's the thing. I personally don't want Hermione to be perfect, I want her to be what I think she is, textually, which is intelligent, hardworking, loyal, competitive, compassionate, controlling, belittling, rude, petty, insecure, vindictive, volatile. She has the right to be that way, because she's human. The desire for perfected women (or unapologetically and unstoppably awful ones, another brand of female power fantasy) is not limited to Dramione fandom. I think it's amplified in DHr by many readers who DO identify as former gifted children, books-as-coping-mechanism kids and Strong Female Personalities who felt marginalized in childhood and want to see Hermione have it all: she's slim, she's tiny, she's fragile as a bird, she'll break your neck, she'll step on your throat, she'll tear down the system, she'll heal all wounds, she does not need help, she holds all the knowledge, she holds all the cards, she is forever wronged, she can do no wrong, her vagina is tight, her nipples are hard, her hair is on point, her waist is tiny, her tits are bouncing, her ass is in the style of Now. And like. This isn't at all unique to DHr and Hermione. It's pervasive in fiction written by and for women. Female power fantasies are obviously feeding a massive hunger. It's just not what I personally want. Personally, I find it alienating and uncomfortable, which I know equates to, "That is wrong and shouldn't exist" to a lot of people, but that's its own tale as old as time.

There's a disconnect that happens too often where a reader wants one (1) thing from their fiction, and receives something else, even when the contents are clearly labeled on the tin. In this case, wanting a female power fantasy and encountering a woman who's written with flaws makes people upset. And maybe if we could be more honest with ourselves about what we're looking for when we read, work to accept that not everyone wants the same experience, and learn to close a book when it's not working for us and say, "No shade, this isn't for me," it would be less upsetting when we encounter a character who isn't written to meet our personal expectations. I will open a book, realize the FMC is a female power fantasy archetype and close it, because that's not what I show up for. I like my women gritty and weird and foolish and vulnerable and liable to hurt people and feel terrible about it. Give me all the exhausting chatterers and evil sticks and jocks with swords and their hearts on their sleeves (their hearts ripped out), give me shy Anne Elliot and her suitcase full of regrets and the ugly fuckup who never has a glow up, give me dirtbag stoners and Fleabag and Alicent Hightower apologetics and every role Natasha Lyon has ever played. It's not a moral high ground, it's about a preference for seeing actual, demeritus flaws on the page and on the screen. Blame that woman. It's her fault. She has so many faults. Then show me how to forgive her so I can figure out how to forgive myself.

The thing is, I love women. I love women so fucking much. I want to be around them, to get to know them, to read about them, to watch them on TV and see them in films. And personally, I like them ugly. Physically. Spiritually. Morally. Give a woman a Bad Personality and watch her succeed in the most self-injurious way possible, fuck you. Give her a gaping chest wound and line it with teeth. Stick a piece of grit in that girl's tightly sealed shell so that a pearl is her only option. Make her love other women, make her fuck it up, make her have to earn them back.

Thankfully I do feel like we're getting more ugly women in fiction, especially BIPOC, queer and marginalized women who deserve gross, weird, nasty representation and not just didactic moralism, patronization and misguided sainthood. Some readers won't want that, and that's fine. Again, personally (it's all so personal, please, please remember that when you hit that comment button), I'm here for it. If you write about women like this, know that you have a thirsty reader here. I'm swallowing them up. I'm smacking my lips. I'm smashing my mug on the cafeteria floor and calling for another.

[hopeforkitten]

thanks to my head, which thought what if the devils were molting. (if we consider the skin of the cambions, then they have scales)

• you lived in the house of hope for a long time and seemed to know all its features. although, you probably should never say that you know everything about devils.

you returned from the balcony in the archive and did not expect to see an incubus here. Haarlep was sitting with his legs over the armrest and reading a book with an extremely bored look, flipping through the pages with one claw. how could this personification of feline nature leave the cozy bed of the boudoir? And why?

"Oh, Haarlep, why are you here?"

"Hello little mouse! Well, I'm obviously not here of my own free will." he was very inspired by your voice. "Perhaps you will find the answer to this question in my former place of residence." his eyes took on their usual cunning gleam, causing you to distrust.

"And what am I going to find there?..."

"Oh, you haven't seen him in his period yet" he let go of the book and made a gesture of quotation marks "Go, go, I'm impatient to find out how everything will go" he waved his hand towards the doors and you headed the same way.

Along the way, you wondered what could be the reason for Raphael's unexpected mood. Anyway, you haven't done anything wrong, so why should you be afraid of his anger, right?

The boudoir barrier let you through, and from afar you saw Raphael sitting with his back to you and fidgeting erratically. His housecoat was held on his hips by a belt, and his upper body was naked. He diligently moved his wings, even tried to scratch their hard edge against the horns, as well as scratch his shoulders with his hands and tried unsuccessfully to reach the base of the wings.

"maybe I can help?"

You said hesitantly. Raphael didn't even notice how you walked from the entrance to the edge of the bed. He looked at you briefly with displeasure.

"and this is you. go ahead and try it."

He turned back and waited for your actions. you swallowed and hesitantly stroked the base of your wings.

"No mouse, use your claws," Raphael barked back at you.

you started scratching the shoulder blade of the wings with your short nails and it did real magic to him. He let out a sigh of relief and tilted his head back a little. such a reaction was more than enough to make you do it for hours.

• This was just the beginning of Raphael's molt. the symptoms are a bad mood and scabies. while the various stages of his molting were going on, he always lingered on the first one - denial. He hated this time. Raphael was too sensitive and imperfect during this period. Everything should always be perfect in it, both appearance and endurance. But this rare period spoils all his plans.

during the molt, he canceled all his business and did not leave the house of hope. without you, he used to wait it out alone in the boudoir, moving around in short forays from there. it is better not to catch his eye at this moment.

However, with you.... he won't say it, but molting with you has become a pleasant vacation. To you, he grumbles nonstop, like a very big moody child. but your presence changed everything... you scratch his back and wings, smear him with moisturizer, (gently stroke his shiny new scales and admire his beauty? yes, please) sit by the pool while he soaks and only his head sticks out of the water.

you will timidly help him with the removal of dead skin, asking if it hurts him. (imagine how much work his wings need)

• You also became the devil's personal pillow during this period. He just won't let you go a step away from him, with the rare exception when you need to leave the boudoir and bring him something. it's better not to linger chatting with Haarlep, it can cost you dearly.

since his diabolical work was suspended, he switched from contracts to fiction and read it in tandem with you.

He was going into cat mode. Today, practically the archdevil wants to spend the day in bed, and you pathetic little man will be my pillow and a scratcher and bring me a book or soothing tea and I'll eat your soul if you disobey, yes.

• Raphael is horrified to realize that he has been scratching the skin surrounding the horns several times a day. this means that after the back and wings, the skin on the face will be renewed... Oh, how he doesn't like it. the mouse does not stare at him, you are on thin ice and now he will obviously spend more time using you as a pillow so that you cannot stare at him

• it will be strange when this ends and the former strict and perfect Raphael returns to you, and he will never bring up this topic. however, before the next molt, he will send you an order to come to the boudoir and it's good that you already know how to help him.

[sugaimhome]

country house setting kth -  part three

pairing: 19th century taehyung x reader

minors do not interact!!!

warnings (this part): age gap (10 years, readers 18, he’s 28), masturbation??,  smut, smooching, some kind of breeding kink is mentioned? idk either tbh, hes soft af, sex, yandere (? he’s very obsessed with her and her innocence, still, lol), hints towards previous abuse, distant father figure, the messed up society of 19th century britain. 

words: 7k

series summary: your isolated manor house has nothing interesting going on. but when the abandoned manor near to yours has a new occupant, things change. taehyung is obsessed with you from the day you first knock his door. he’d do anything for you, even if it meant going against your father’s wishes, even if it meant you losing something very important to your future marriage on the way, something that would force your fathers hand.

part one  part two  part three  masterlist

explanation of the title: a literacy genre where fictional characters are often isolated and alone living in a country house.

A/N: its been a month since the last chapter... i am so so sorry for taking such a long time but i am really happy with this. please enjoy the little cliff hanger at the end, though we all know what the answer will be... don’t we?

Taehyung woke in the morning, bars of light that filtered through his bedroom hitting his face. Here, the sun rose and woke him every morning. It dyed everything in his room orange, a colour that seemed to light his body and fuel his very essence. He had never been a morning person, but these past few days, that seemed to have changed. Taehyung had let you sleep in, he had pressed his ear to your door, just hoping to hear you, to make sure it all hadn’t been a dream, just hearing your soft breathing through the door. He sighed, knowing you were safe. 

“Care.” he had whispered into the chilly air as he climbed down the wooden stairs, being careful not to creak them and wake you up. Care was something he had not felt in a while, he had had friends in London, of course he had, but they were never the kind of friend you cared for. They were friends that were there but only when they wanted to be. It was hard to explain, hard to think about, but Taehyung did not feel a slight tinge of regret for leaving them without a note. He had loved his father, as every child loves their parents, but his care for him extended little past the age of 10, and that was over 15 years ago. He’d never met his mother, and his sister, the only one he had cared for out of all of them, had betrayed him. Care was a thing of the past, but he felt it for you… Pausing on one of the stairs, he lets that information sink in for a little bit. He had known you, what? Two days?

Now, he watches you. You're staring open mouthed at the blurb of a book you had picked up in this little bookstore. The two of you are stuffed down a thin line of two shelves of books, you’re between Taehyung and a wall, meaning that you’re completely safe, giving Taehyung an odd sense of calm he hadn’t realised he had needed, and had no need to feel, you were at a market, what was going to hurt you here? The book you had picked up read “Northanger Abbey - A Lady.” Once you had finished reading the back of the book, slowly, with your pinky nail tracing the words, you sighed, looking up at Taehyung and saying. “I didn’t know women could write!” you’re whisper- shouting with happiness. “Isn’t that amazing?” you ask him, and he only nods in response. It was amazing. You look at the book one last time, being gentle with its new, but fragile, spine you place it back on the shelf. 

“Would you like the Novel?” Taehyung asks, reaching towards it. It was only 12 shillings, that was nothing to him, you were worth thousands more than that.

“Oh,” you reply, that delightful blush spreading on your cheeks when you get shy. “No, I don’t expect that of you.” 

Taehyung could see that you were torn, part of you really wanted the book, the only books you had had access to were the ones in your fathers library. Y//N wanted the book. That was clear, but you also didn’t want to upset him, you didn’t want to use his money. He sighs, knowing he’ll have to work hard for you to allow him to buy this. “When was your birthday?” he asks. 

“March” you reply, your head tilting to the side in confusion. “Why?”

“Then I should buy it for you, as I didn’t get you a present.” 

“March was months ago!” you exclaim, a beautiful smile on your lips. “You didn’t even know me then!”

“That was very rude of me, not knowing you, let me buy it.” Taehyung grins, picking up the book and holding it at arms length from you. You don’t even try to fight him for it, you just follow behind him as you head towards the owner. He smiles at the two of you as you approach the counter. “Good Morning” Taehyung says, he can just see you smiling up at him from the corner of his eye. 

“Good Morning” the man says, watching Taehyung place the book down on the desk. “Oh, thank goodness someone's finally buying this, I haven't been able to sell it in months”

“Oh! Why's that?” you exclaim, turning your mouth down with the shock of it. Was it a bad book?

“Women shouldn’t be writing” he says, turning his nose up at both you and the book. “Sewing, that's your job.”

You step back a little in shock, the man's spit pretty much hitting you in the face. Taehyung steps in front of you, holding your hand behind his back. “Thank you very much, but we’ll be leaving that here. Have a good day.” He slides the book towards the shop owner, its wooden cover making a shrill noise as he pushes it down against the wood. Then the two of you are storming from the little shop, the bell and the door tinkling and slamming behind you as Taehyung rushes into the street. 

When he turns to you, he’s disappointed to see you pouting. “I am sorry” he says, looking down at you, he desperately wants to touch your face but such shows of affection in public are frowned upon. “I would have gotten you the book but-”

“It’s okay” you cut in, reaching out to hold his hand again, against his, your hand is warm. It sets flames up his arm and into his soul. “I didn’t know people could be so-”

He watches you as you pause, looking for the right word. “Rude” he finishes, and damn the public he raises his hand to your cheek, letting you find comfort in his soft touch. “I promise not everyone is rude.” 

It’s an unrealistic promise, he knew for himself that kindness is less common than it should be, people like Y/N shouldn’t be exposed to the awful part of the world. He takes in a breath, refraining from storming back into the shop and punching the shop owner in the face. “Shall we go?” you ask, possibly noticing his rising anger. 

“After the Dress-Makers” he replies, by then his anger would have dissipated anyway.

“Dress-Makers?!” you exclaim, pulling your hand away from his. Taehyung had half expected this reaction.

“You need dresses that fit you better.” he sighs. “Please let me buy you one.” 

“Only one.” you reply, trying to sound in control.

He nods his head. Once the shop had your measurements, he could buy you as many dresses as he wanted, and you could do nothing about it. Taehyung also promised himself he would go above and beyond getting you that book, you had looked so interested in reading something that wasn’t from your fathers library.

“Then we’ll go home, dinner will be ready then” he says, watching you as a curious emotion crosses your face. “If, of course, you want to eat with me.”

“I would appreciate that.” you reply, looking to the floor with that shy blush again, it makes Taehyung's stomach flip. 

***

“Where have you been all day?” your father shouts from his study. Obviously, much to your displeasure he was very aware of your absence, you had thought that you had just maybe gotten away with it. You were still on a high, flying amongst the clouds with the birds from your day with Taehyung and you were struggling to find the lie that you knew you would ultimately tell him.

“Walking the grounds!” you shout back, making your way up the stairs quickly so he wouldn’t see the dress you had borrowed from Taehyung's sister. Your father could be rude and inconsiderate, but he would definitely notice your different clothes. When he doesn’t reply, you realise you’d gotten away with it, and after shutting the door to your bedchamber / art room, you allow yourself to fly onto your bed, little specks of dust catapulting upwards with your disturbance. They dance around each other in the bars of light. Taehyung had insisted on walking you home, naturally, and he had kissed you again on your doorstep the way he had the night before. With one hand tangled through your hair and another gripping your waist. You realise how naive you felt in that moment, you had never known that such things as this were possible, and now, staring at your awful painting of two people kissing across your room you almost debate chucking it into the fire. Yet, despite your naivety, you knew there was more, there was more to a kiss than what Taehyung had already shown you. You could tell because, even when he pulled away from you, you could still see his hands itching to keep hold of you, to do more. You just didn’t know what that was, and you desperately wanted to. 

Tomorrow you will go to dinner with him again. You had met Victoria today, his maid, and you had loved her, her food had been amazing too. She had fussed over you this morning like no one had ever before, correcting your corset and pinning your hair back in light curls, something you hadn’t even known you were supposed to do. All of that had to go before you came home though, your father would definitely be suspicious if your hair was styled in the modern fashion. You sigh, half hoping your father would move to London for a month like he used to do years ago. It was always at the most random of times, and you would be left to roam the grounds and house with little restraint. He hadn’t been on one of those trips in over nine months, so that hope was out the window. 

All you wanted was for you and Taehyung to be alone forever. You had known each other for two days, but you knew that it was right. 

***

Months flew by. Most nights you would go to Taehyungs and eat, but you didn’t sleep there again. He kissed you whenever he got the chance, his hands roaming more comfortably around the rest of your body, but he hadn’t gone any further with you, a further that you knew existed just out of your grasp. There were a few times where you nearly got caught, like now, your father knocking the door when your head is resting comfortably against Taehyung's shoulder, the two of you just talking and watching the fire flicker. You had to hide upstairs whilst your father discussed a very important matter.

“Good Evening, sir” Taehyung greeted him as he opened the door, he did well at hiding the shock from his voice. “You are more than welcome to come in.” 

You can imagine him stepping aside to let your father into his home, somewhere that had been free of his taint for months. “Thank you, but I am in a little bit of a rush.” 

“That is not a problem. How can I help you, sir?” Taehyung replies, with perfect calm and patience in his voice. 

“It is just that I have received an urgent message, business you see, to return to London for a month.” you can almost hear the sigh in his voice. “I would appreciate it if you could watch over the grounds for me. Y/N should be home, but I would be a fool to trust the incompatibility of women these days. You don’t mind, do you?” There's an odd humor to his last phrase that has your stomach hitting the floor. Your value to your father seemed to lessen and lessen with each passing day. 

“No problem at all.” Taehyung replies, you can hear the tightness in his voice, with the want to defend you. Your stomach that had hit the floor rises again. A whole month with just the two of you. Bliss. Paradise. A miracle. “When will you be leaving?” he asks.

“By sunrise tomorrow, I would like to be on the road before Dawn.” 

This really was a last minute trip. Wonderful. 

“I will come up and make sure everything is in order as you leave, I will see you in the morning sir.” Taehyung says, in his voice, a sense of command that even your father could and would not deny. 

You assume your father nods his thankfulness as the door shuts downstairs. You worry momentarily that he had been looking for you, and you weren’t home. “Y/N” Taehyung shouts, pulling you from your thoughts. “He has gone!” 

You're sprinting down the stairs, holding your dress so as to not fall, Taehyung is at the bottom, arms open wide, waiting for you to fall into them. You do, wrapping your arms tightly around him, and he does the same, pulling you tight to him and kissing your head. “You better run home,” he laughs. “He’ll be looking for you soon.” 

Morning comes around quickly, your outside helping load all your fathers bags onto the carriage when Taehyung appears over the hill, it takes every strength in your body not to move to him, as you were so used to doing now. He greets your father, shaking his hand. Then he’s helping you move bags, the three of you working in an odd harmony. Once everything was loaded, and your father nods goodbye as he climbs into the cabin. You allow yourself to feel the first itches of happiness, of joy. “Goodbye Father” you say, waving as you watch the coachman push forward the horses, the carriage slowly inching away from you. Taehyung and yourself stand and watch as the carriage disappears into the distance, you wait for a while, to make sure he won’t turn around again. Once you’re sure he’s not coming back, you turn to Taehyung and smile. 

There's a small grin settled on his lips, as if he is holding back a huge smile. He tilts his head at you before glancing at the house. As you turn to look at your home, with your attention away from him, he sees an opening and you squeal as he sweeps you up from the ground. Carrying you along to your door with one arm under your knees and the other under your back. You giggle as he leads you up to your home. “Show me your art again.” he asks. Unlike before, you're happy to comply. You had wanted to show him for so long. He drops you to your feet at the bottom of the stairs and you race him to the top, a race he could have easily won, but he stays behind you to catch you if you fell, or to humor your childish side that would only be happy when you won. At the top he glances down once to your heaving chest, spreading a blush across your cheeks, before allowing you to take his hand and lead you towards your chamber. Your art had improved a lot since he had last seen it. Trading in the majority of your landscape art for pictures of the most important thing in your life at the moment. Him:

Taehyung stood outside the house, his back lent against a pillar as he pulled smoke from a pipe. 

Taehyung’s hand in yours, something that had taken you ages to master. 

Taehyung with his head tilted to the side in anger as he slides a book back towards the owner.

Taehyung walking through the fields, holding one of your new parasols in his hand as the rain falls around him. 

Nearly every painting had a connection to him, he stands open mouthed at your door, his eyes flicking between the paintings and you. 

Just over a month ago, you had realised that you had loved Taehyung. At first you panicked, and didn't see him for days. Love was for people who were married, love outside of marriage was a sin, that's what you had thought anyway. But you grew to not care. Marriage or not, you loved him, and there was no undoing that. You hoped that today that same love would get across through your art. Every moment you spent painting him had been the epitome of your love for him. But now, as he stands there with an open mouth you wonder if this is perhaps a little weird, this surely wasn’t a normal thing to do, maybe he had taken it the wrong way. Perhaps he saw you as mad. 

“You make a good model” you say, hoping to break through the silence. Luckily, he laughs, turning to you and grabbing your hand. You relax, he wasn’t mad. He wasn’t about to call you a fool and storm from your house. To your surprise, he leads you to your desk, sitting you down on your wooden chair and crouching on the floor between your legs, he's staring up at you and you find yourself blushing. 

“Taehyung?” you whisper, hoping for an answer to this uncharacteristic behavior. 

“What does all of this mean Y/N” he asks, and your stomach drops, this suddenly feels like an interrogation. You gulp, hoping some divine being will answer this for you. You realise you’ve been sitting in silence for a long time when you speak.

“Um, well, they are paintings of you.” you close your eyes, hoping the confession will be easier without looking at him. “And I painted them because you mean a lot to me.”

You open your eyes again. “Is that all?” he asks. His head tilted to the side as it did when he was both confused and angry.

You knew that this thing that you had with Taehyung was not eternal. The only thing that made something like this eternal was marriage, and considering he hadn’t settled down, and he was already 28, you doubted that it was on the cards for him at all. What makes you say the next thing, you are not sure. Perhaps it was the years spent in your manor, like  Rapunzel, and it was Taehyung that had saved you, a knight in shining armor. Perhaps it was how you were sure that Taehyung already knew. But whatever it was, the words fell from your lips like they were meant to be. “Because I love you.”

Time and space freeze around the two of you. For a moment, you think Taehyung will get up and leave, he twitches as if holding back from doing that very thing. “It's okay if you need to go.” You say, trying to feign understanding instead of feeling complete disappointment, you lace your hand through his hair, letting the soft strands fall through your fingers like waves. It's an oddly intimate moment, with that confession hanging between the two of you, your promise that he could go, yet you're holding him down by touching him. He buries his face into your dress, it's an odd action that makes you freeze up, in doing this he has obscured his face from your eyes. “Taehyung?” you murmur, hoping for at least a response to your confession, was he staying or going?

Your shoes are being slipped off before you have the chance to even say anything, then Taehyung appears from the folds of your dress with a gummy smile on his face. All you can do is say his name again in confusion. Both shoes are placed slightly away from you on the floor, Taehyung had brought those for you, much to your displeasure. You had never wanted to abuse his kindness. He doesn’t reply to his name, in fact, you’re sure you're staring at a man you had never met before, he had never done anything like this. His hands run up from your feet, up your stocking covered calf. His arm was completely under your dress, fingers playing with the clasp of your stockings just above your knee. All of this, and he's staring directly at your face, watching every reaction that you make. He’s so close to you, the warm skin of his hand against your bare thighs has a feeling starting up in your lower stomach that almost makes you want to pee. You had felt like this around him before, when you were kissing, but never to this extent. Thinking that there's something wrong with you, you try to slide away on the chair, but Taehyung's finger is wrapped around your stockings and you can’t move. 

“What is it?” he says, genuine concern plastering his face, it’s the first thing he's spoken to you since you said it. 

“Feel like I need to use the bathroom” you say with a blush so profound that it feels like it covers your whole face. Instead of moving away from you and letting you use the toilet, Taehyung only smiles, a comforting light shining in his eyes. 

“You don’t need the bathroom, your body is reacting to me.” he says, and it's the most scandalous thing you've heard him say. You’d spent all these months wondering what came beyond a kiss, and your body had known all this time. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes” you breathe. The air around you lit by the morning sun lights up every small,  beautiful,  feature of Taehyung like the mole on the end of his nose, and the one on the right side of his lower lip. This is a moment you would paint. His hands rolling down one of your stockings, placing the delicate material to the side as he placed kisses to the inside of your legs, running his hands up and down your soft skin. You felt like you had ascended into another world. 

“Tell me if you need me to stop” he says, hooking his finger around your other stocking, and as he pulls it down your leg, peppering kisses as he goes you say,

“No. Don’t. Never stop” which seems to spark something in his eyes. Something untamable, and this time he chucks your stockings behind his head instead of placing them lightly to the side. You watch them as they fall on the side of one of your paintings, the stocking soaking up and blurring the fresh paint. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. In fact, you wanted Taehyung to ruin everything about you, and paint it fresh. Only him.

With your dress above your knees, Taehyung has one of your legs flung over one of his shoulders. Constantly kneading the flesh of your calf. Then, he's stepping back, standing above you as you fight to regain the breathing you didn't realise you lost. He stands there for a moment, just watching your chest heave against the confinements of your corset. "Do you wish to keep going?" He asks.

"Yes, please" you say, reaching a hand up to him. He takes it, the rustling of your dress the only sound as he pulls you from the chair. He pulls you onto his lips, his mouth catching yours easily, he does what he always does, putting a hand on your waist, holding you close to him as all the blood in your body rushes to your lower stomach. Then he's walking you backwards, weaving you through all your paint points and paintings. There's a humorous side to it that has you smiling into the kiss. You weren't sure where he was taking you, but you let him take you there. When your legs hit the cold metal of the side of your bed, you tense a little. Taehyung pulls away from the kiss, placing a light kiss to your forehead, but he keeps you close, both arms around you, smiling down at you. 

"Do you know where this is going?" He asks. playing with the laces at the back of your dress. 

"No," you say. You had very little idea of the adult world, you'd read a book once 'A maiden's guide to marriage.' you assumed it had been your mother's before she married your dad. Sex. But you had assumed that was something only married people could do. 'Sex outside of matrimony is a sin" the book had read. "Is it a sin?" You ask, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"Are you calling me a sinner?" He asks, returning that same open eyed vulnerability to you. Alongside it is a playful smile, one that has you smiling back.

"Perhaps" you say. Smiling. 

"Normally this is reserved for marriage" he says, tilting his head. 

"I know" you breathe as he begins to pull at the laces of your dress.

"Okay" he breathes, he leans down, going for a kiss, but instead of your lips he kisses your neck and all you can do is whine. You had never made such a noise before in your life. Tangling in the delicate laces, his fingers undo your dress, you suddenly feel the weight of this situation. 

"Will I be ruined?" you whisper, as he sucks at your neck. Though he pulls away from you to reply, a frown seated on his lips.

"Maybe, in the prying eyes of society. Yes." at his words, you feel your mouth flatten into a frown.

"Will you see me as ruined?" you ask.

"No. Never." He's holding the side of your face, peppering kisses on your hairline. His other hand stays behind your back, holding your dress together. "We don't have to do anything" he reminds you, nothing but sincerity in his eyes. You remember what you had thought earlier, that you wanted Taehyung to ruin every single part of you. You had meant that, 

"I want to do this" you say, staring into the delicious deep brown of his eyes. "With you." Your voice is sure, you're confident you'll be fine. All that matters is Taehyung stays with you even after, and you know he will, maybe not in marriage but always in friendship.

"I'm going to let go of this now." he says, giving a light tug on the laces of the dress that he's holding up to indicate what he's talking about. Just before he does he tells you "I'm going to talk you through every step of this, so you know if you need to tell me to stop."

You manage to murmur an "Okay" before your dress is released. It falls, pooling around your waist. Left exposed to the eyes of Taehyung and the cool air, your skin rises into little bumps. The intricate details of your corset is what holds your breasts into place as Taehyung does nothing but stare at you. "Taehyung?" you whisper, hoping to distract him from you.

"Mmmh" he replies, looking up at your eyes. "What's wrong?"

"You were staring" you reply, the need to pull away from him and fold into yourself is overwhelming.

"Because you're so beautiful" he smiles back, bunching your dress up in his hands, as if to pull it over your head. "Could stare at you for hours, I'm going to pull this over your head now, okay?"

You think you murmur okay, but everything seems a little blurry to you. Either way, you allow him to pull your dress over your head, raising your arms to help him get easier access. “See,” he begins “Absolutely beautiful.” he leans down, pressing a kiss to each side of your chest, all whilst maintaining eye contact with you. He folds up your dress carefully, placing it on the back of your wooden chair. It was the first dress he had brought you, the same day as the man at the bookshop spat in your face for being a woman. It was difficult being a woman, you had known that before Taehyung, but that day had solidified it for you. Taehyung kisses you on the forehead. “Now for these.”

He kisses you on the neck, sucking harsh marks onto your skin, whilst pulling at the laces of your undergarments. “If you need me to stop-”

“No, don’t stop,” you say. He smiles before doing as you requested and not stopping, he pulls down your undergarments, hardly even looking at you below the waist despite being completely bare to him, then he’s onto your corset, untying the the bow quickly, delicately pulling apart the laces and slipping it over your head. You cover your breasts on instinct, once he’s placed your corset gently to the side, he stares at you with such softness in his eyes, such kindness, that when he reaches up to pull your hands away, you let him. He stares at you for a moment, you wonder if he notices that one seems ever so slightly bigger than the other. You wonder if he’s judging you. 

You were unsure if this was how it worked, you being completely bare and him being completely clothed, but Taehyung didn’t seem to care either way. He mumbles something you don’t catch, before practically headbutting your left breast, causing you to cry out as he sucks at one of your nipples. He has his hands on your bum cheeks, holding you in place as he pulls at your nipples with his teeth, your head thrown back in pleasure, you had never felt anything like this in your life.

“Oh my goodness” you breathe, your hands felt empty, so you threaded them through Taehyung's hair. He switches nipples, the sensation remains painful but you feel like you’re floating on a cloud. Some instinct takes over you, knowing that this can’t go any further if Taehyung remains completely clothed, you begin to fiddle with the top buttons of his shirt, hoping that they’d pop open. He whines as your fingers brush his skin, it’s as if your touch distracts him away from your breasts as he pulls away and helps you unbutton his shirt. He’s breathing heavily, chest heaving up and down under your palms, and so are you as you see his skin, touch his skin. His chest is soft to the touch, his stomach smooth under your hands. His shirt joins your dress on the other side of the room, all you can do is stare at him, at the way he’s shaped, how smooth he looks. You run your hands up and down his body, even when he’s leading you backwards on the bed, until your back touches the neatly organised sheets. He hovers over you, his knee slotted in between your thighs, the fabric from his trousers rubs blissfully against your naked centre. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, when you nod eagerly he smiles. “I wanna go down on you, but we’ll save that for another time”

“Down on-?” you begin, confused at this new term.

“I’ll explain it another time. Can you open your legs?” you do as you’re instructed, the new phrase being quickly forgotten as he stands up, looking down at you wide open for him. Taehyung reaches down, grabbing your hand lightly. You think he’s going to kiss it, like they do at balls and dances, but instead he leads it down your body, resting it atop the small mound of hair above your area. “Can you touch yourself? Need to make sure you’re super prepped and comfortable.”

With the way he talks, the surety that you know what you're doing, you’re almost embarrassed to say that you didn’t know what that was, you had never touched yourself in your life, only in the bath, and that had only been to clean. With the painting of confusion sketched into your features, Taehyung’s mouth falls to the side. You feel wrong, as if you had missed out on something important in your life. “I am sorry” you apologise, feeling guilty for your naivety. 

He doesn’t respond, instead he starts undoing the laces of his trousers, pulling them down over his legs and kicking them to the side, leaving him in just his undergarments, you almost wish he had taken them off too. Then he drops to his knees, his face level with your intimate area. You can feel his breath against your skin. “What do you know about being a woman?” he asks. When you reply with,

“Not much”

He kisses the inside of your thigh. “Place your hand here.” he says, indicating for you to put your palm on your mound of hair, and you do. “Use your middle finger to rub this spot. I am going to touch you.” When you don’t stop him, he reaches up between your legs and presses his finger straight on what seemed to be a ball of nerves, for you’re almost shooting up the bed with the sudden shocking pleasure of it. “This is your clitoris,” he says. “It makes you feel good.”

You do as you’re told, using your finger to lightly rub around the clitoris, it felt so good, you could see what Taehyung meant. Whilst you circle this new discovery, Taehyung stands up again, watching your hand as he undoes the final laces of his undergarments. You wanted to throw your head back, but you also wanted to watch him. This part, you had been expecting. Somehow, as you had grown up, regardless if it had it been from the animals that surrounded you on the farms or just some kind of knowledge that everyone was born with, but you knew that that was a penis, and in that moment you knew that it was to go inside of you. Taehyung's penis, was beautiful, and had you ever seen another penis in your life, before or after this moment, you know it could not have been compared to Taehyungs. It was quite big, and you wondered what part of you could accommodate such a thing as that, it was also hard, erect, pressing against his stomach like something or someone had angered it. You’re sure your mouth falls open with shock. You don’t miss the smug smile that adorns his lips, this was something he was proud of. You could see why. 

You feel so safe with him, so at home, that when he runs a finger through the folds of skin just below your clit, you only revel in the feeling of his skin on yours, the shock of pleasure it sends up your core. He mutters something about being “wet” before climbing back on top of you, moving your hand away from your clit at the same time. “Are you ready?” he asks. You nod your head, but before he does anything he leans down, connecting your lips. The two of you stay like that for a while, Taehyung relaxes his arms that were holding him up from touching your body. He’s pressed against you entirely, his shaft pressing into your thigh. You had never been close to someone so emotionally as this. You feel so safe, so loved, you almost cry. This is where you wanted to be for eternity, between Taehyung and bedsheets. When he pulls away from the kiss, his eyes are dilated, wide as if he was holding something feral back, he hides the animalistic look from his eyes by leaning down to kiss your neck. 

When he pulls away again, leaving angry welts on your neck, his eyes are soft again. “Are you okay?” you ask him, running your hands up and down his arms. 

“Yeah, are you?” he asks.

“Yeah. I am good.” you reply, the two of you smiling. 

“It might hurt, we don’t have to do this, if you’re not ready.” he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I am ready. I trust you.” 

“Okay” he breathes, as he presses up to your center. “I am going to push my cock in now.” 

Cock. That was another new one. You don’t have long to think about it as he pushes his cock against your entrance. It takes him a considerable deal of effort to even push past an inch of you, but he stops, letting you adjust to the intrusion and the feeling of him inside of you. 

This was either hell, indicated by the pain this brought. Or heaven, due to the sparks you felt coming from your core, the warmth spreading along every bone in your body. Probably hell you think, this was a sin. Taehyung watches every breath you make, every look on your face as he pushes in another inch. Tears prick into your eyes here, but Taehyung kisses them away, his heart-shaped lips wet from the moisture of your eyes. “Just breathe,” he suggests. You had stopped breathing at some point, holding your breath in pain, but when you breathe again, steadily and heavily, the pain wears off.

“I am okay,” you smile up at him. And in the attempts to make a joke, you say “Push your cock in more.” 

“Don’t say that again” he replies, muttering something about “innocence” before doing as you instructed anyways, pushing himself in another inch. He does this a couple more times until your pubic bones are flush against each other and you can feel him so deep into your stomach it's impossible to think of anything else beyond him, beyond how good you felt. There was pain there, waiting to flare up, waiting to protrude over the pleasure, but for the moment all you felt was a tightening pressure in your core. Taehyung spends this time running his lips up and down your skin, kissing over your scrunched up eyes, and asking you every couple of seconds if you were okay, each time you replied with a breathless yes. 

He pulls out, glancing down at his slick covered cock, before starting the process all over again, this time faster. The pain flares and dwindles again, like a flame. 

Again, he pulls out, pushes in, slowly.

Pulls out, pushes in.

Until he’s not pulling out completely, his movements fluid, like the brook between your houses as he transitions from pushing to pulling. The pain was non-existent now. With your eyes rolled back into your head, and your hands gripping onto his arms, your nails scratching down his back, you never want this to end. “Feels so good” you manage to say, your breath caught on each push in of his cock. 

“It’s only me that can make you feel like this” he tells you, he looks half out of it now, his eyes distant but still loving. “Only me.” 

“Only you.” There's a surge of pressure in your stomach, a building power that you were almost too scared to let free. Somehow, your body seems to communicate this to Taehyung.

“Don’t look so scared, it's an orgasm, it’ll feel amazing.” he moans a little before speaking again. “Let it go.” 

You do. Obeying him. White light blinds you, but you can still see Taehyung moving in and out of your vision with every thrust. It's like nothing you’ve ever experienced before, nothing you will experience again unless it was with Taehyung. It’s like jumping off a cliff, enjoying the view as you fall, like a brutal ending, or a happy one. This was a fairytale, a fantasy you hadn’t known you were waiting for. The bliss of feeling so full of him, so consumed by him. You never wanted this to end, you wanted him to be inside of you forever, he fitted so well. Through your orgasm he sucks on the flesh around your nipples again, leaving red marks over your upper body. You never wanted these marks to leave, you wanted them to be an eternal product of your love for Taehyung. You are completely out of it for a moment, but when you return to clarity, even with all your limbs tingling, the sensation of Taehyung's thrusting seems to have increased tenfold, it hurts in a beautiful way. 

He smiles at you, it's a soft smile, before wincing in pleasure and thrusting faster, already you can feel another pressure in your lower stomach. “I'm close,” he mumbles, bringing one of his hands down to press onto your clit.

***

Taehyung couldn’t think. Couldn’t think beyond how good this felt, how close he was and how desperately he wanted to bring you along with him for a second time. Your face when you had orgasmed the first time was unforgettable, he had never heard someone moan so loudly in his life, face scrunched up in that tumbling feeling of pleasure. He had done that to you, and he was damned for being proud. No one would ever get this experience of you again, he knew that, could see the future now. So he sucked at your breasts again, marking you as his for everyone else to see. 

The second he touched your clit he knew you were close again, tightening around him like a vice. “Together” he manages to say, refraining from going too fast and hurting you. When he orgasms, his essence shooting into you with each sloppy thrust, he contemplates the use of his seed, beyond pleasure. As he watches you writhe under him, twisting and turning in the sheets as you orgasm again, shocked with the feeling of his cum inside of you, he’s shocked to realise he wants to get you pregnant. Wants to see your stomach rounded with the product of this, have versions of you and him running around in his life. He had never wanted this before, been too scared to have this before. Tears well up in the corner of his eyes, tears that you brush away as they fall down his cheeks and he goes soft inside of you. He should be embarrassed, men shouldn’t cry. But you didn’t judge him, he felt safe.  

Damn the knees and the rings. He thinks as he falls against you, smothering you in his weight, but remaining inside of you, plugging his seed into you until it could take root. He tries to speak, but it comes out inaudible, something like “mazer ze.”

Which only makes you laugh. “Sorry?” you ask, a massive smile on your face.

This time, his words came out right. “Marry me.” 

Your smile drops, eyes going wide. “My father-”

“Don’t think of him, we’ll find a way around him, only think of me.”

[froggyfics]

For Your Pleasure - 3

The aftermath comes to light.

18+ only! I do not consent for this content to be viewed by minors. Please take heed of the warnings listed, though they are not entirely comprehensive. Do not continue reading if you are uncomfortable with the content. This story and its contents are 100% fictional, and are not affiliated with Marvel Comics.

Feedback is always appreciated. Feel free to message me privately or comment below to let me know what you think. Constructive criticism is always welcome!

Pairing: viking!dark! Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Warnings: violence, bloodshed

Word Count: 1,774

The invader – your assailant – leaves you writhing in pain in your home. You’re unsure if it’s because he wants to terrorize some other unlucky villager or if he just got bored of you.

You cough up spit, dust, and dirt. It’s impossible to keep your vision steady. Your legs are wobbly like a newborn calf and there’s a great pain in your abdomen. 

It takes every ounce of your energy to lift the barrel into your arms. A sense of remorse envelopes you. Although you are being forced by the invader to take your family’s food, you can’t help but feel like you’re stealing from them.

You grunt while you carry the heavy barrel to the rocky shoreline that sits at the edge of your village. Your peripheral vision notes that there are dozens of people scattered across the sandy shore. Some are your fellow bloodied villagers. The others are the barbarians. 

You remember your grandmother’s voice from when you were younger.

“The Vikings,” she ominously tells you. 

“Oh mother, don’t scare the poor child!” Your mother huffs. “The Vikings have not attacked in several years.”

Your grandmother exclaims, “They will return!” She shakes her frail hand in the air with as much energy as she could before hacking up some phlegm. She takes your small hands in hers, “This village has become lazy. The Vikings do not attack for a few years and all of a sudden, everyone thinks that they are safe. Ha!” She coughs some more. “You wait and see, child. Wait and see. The Vikings will always return. Be prepared.”

“Right over there.” A Viking shoves your shoulder towards a particular boat, forcibly bringing you back to the present. 

You approach the boat carefully. The stormy waves are crashing against it, but it does not yield to the power of the water. It holds steady in the wet sand. You almost want to marvel at it. The puny boats that the local fishermen had would have cracked and disintegrated against the power of the waters. 

You lower the barrel into the small boat, where there are several more identical barrels within. With the amount of food they are taking, your village will certainly starve before the weather warms again.

You turn around to look for your family. They’re not there and despair strikes your heart. Your legs take you to sit next to a crying Helga, wrapping your arm around her, like you did with Frida earlier. She does not speak, but you can tell the story of what happened to her by looking at the tattered remains of her clothes and various scratches and cuts across her. She suffered the same fate as you.

The two of you do not exchange any words. There’s still chaos all around. Screams pulsate in the air. Blood fills your nostrils every so often when you sniff hard enough. The Vikings relay orders to one another, readying their boats. There’s one behemoth of a ship a mile into the sea - waiting for the return of the barbarians. 

The lonesome ship piques your interest. It comes to your attention that there are actually very few Vikings around compared to the population of your village. They really overtook your measly village’s defenses with a skeleton crew. You all were easy to defeat. Just another village for them to conquer. 

Lost in your thoughts, you almost don’t catch Frida as your assailant drops her into you.

“Frida!” you cry out. 

“She certainly has a fighter’s spirit,” your assailant chuckles. “My men caught her trying to crawl away.” He meanly kicks her legs, as you cradle her body.

Her eyes roll to the back of her head and she does not regain consciousness despite your attempts at waking her. Slaps and pinches do not bring her back. Red splotches engulf her dress, but her chest moves up and down. She’s still alive, but hangs on by a thread.

“Please,” you stare into his eyes. “She is but a child. She needs to go to a healer.”

“A healer?” He scoffs. “Do not prolong her suffering. She may not be dead yet, but she will certainly cross that bridge tonight.”

Helga lovingly brushes her fingers through Frida’s hair. It was all she could do to communicate to Frida somehow that she was not alone. You rock Frida like you would a baby, trying to comfort her the best you knew how. 

There’s so much noise all around -  more than what you were used to hearing. The village was always so quaint. There were never this many screams.

The jarl barks out orders to his crew. The band of barbarians move swiftly like water, as if they have done this before. 

“Fear not! I do not intend to kill you. After all, who else will warm my bed while I travel across the sea, if not you?”

A shudder involuntarily comes over you. You pray with every part of your being that he didn’t mean what he said -  that it was just a scare tactic used to keep you compliant at that moment in time. 

Rocking Frida back and forth relieves you of your worries and your pain. Despite your chest and pelvis screaming in agony, she is all that matters at this moment. Splintered wood from the jarl’s arrow surrounds her gaping wound. Whoever found her must have yanked the arrow out, hoping that Frida would bleed to death. 

“Too bad for them. Frida’s a fighter,” you think. “She’ll come back to me soon enough, ready to talk my ears off.”

More and more survivors gather on the shore. The smell of defeat is in the air. You look around for your village’s chieftain, but he is nowhere in sight. In fact, you don’t see a single member of his household. 

Anger suddenly surges inside your chest at the thought of the chieftain’s likely death. You don’t quite understand why. You neither liked nor disliked the chieftain. Yet suddenly, in the midst of the turmoil and vanquishment, you’ve become a devout follower of his.

Your eyes survey your surroundings. You finally find the jarl, talking to his men with his back turned to you. You hope your eyes gain the divine power to burn holes in the back of his head.

As if he is clairvoyant, he slowly turns around to face you. You hope he sees the hatred in your eyes.

He does - you know he does because he grins. His teeth are still stained red. He motions you to come to him with his hand. You stubbornly look away.

“Go, girl!” Helga scolds. “Go, see what he wants. Otherwise, you will be the death of us all!”

Helga pries Frida from your arms. It feels like you’re losing Frida again.

“Oh, yes, please. Take your time! No rush!” The jarl shouts, his words dripping with sarcasm.

You hold your tongue, even though a growl froths in your throat. Shaky legs trudge to him. Every inch of you still hurts from his earlier assault. 

His hand gently grabs onto your shoulder. It feels like a mocking gesture. You know just how dangerous his hands are. You don’t think you could ever forget how his hands violated you.

“We’re going into that one.” He points at a boat some distance away. 

You inhale a shaky breath. The world becomes fuzzy and black spots take over your vision. The ground no longer supports you, and you slowly freefall into the dark abyss. 

A muffled voice exclaims, “Oh no, we will not have any of that!” 

He’s there to catch you. When you land in his arms, the darkness fades away, but then you’re left with the inescapable light. You take a moment to process your fainting episode. You peer up at the smiling jarl, with his blood-stained teeth. Your parents raised you right - you were nearly about to thank him for catching you. The words fumble in your mouth though, as your mind catches up to the situation.

Why are you even surprised? He quite explicitly told you that he would kidnap you earlier. You have an out-of-body experience as he marches you to the designated boat. This feels like a dream - a dream that you have when you have a fever so great that it deludes you.

When you’re within arms reach of the boat, you’re suddenly pulled into reality. 

“Run!” your mind screams at you. “Fight back or die trying! Die now with your brethren instead of far away from home!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts disapprovingly at your hesitation. “Do not provoke me, girl.” He leans in closely to whisper in your ear. “I’ll make you watch as I slit that little girl’s throat.”

You blink at him, and then observe the other villagers. Not one of them dares to meet your gaze. The shame of their silence is more nauseating than the blood.

The jarl laughs heartily when you voluntarily step into the boat. “I knew you were well-behaved!”

Frida’s limp body becomes smaller and smaller as the boat sweeps you away. Helga does not even look in your direction. 

The ship is so much bigger than anything you’ve seen before. If it were under different circumstances, you would take the time to marvel at its gorgeous architecture. It’s not like your captor would have allowed you a moment of reprieve. A flurry of bodies surround you as the crew prepare to set sail. 

You clutch onto the ship’s railing, looking longingly at your village. You’re in a daze until a certain sight piques your interest. 

The shoreline is barely visible from the ship, but you know it’s them. Despite the obvious injuries they’ve sustained, it’s evident that your parents have come out from their hiding places to the shoreline to survey the survivors. You can tell it’s them despite the tattered remains of their clothes and the large red stains. They are searching - trying to find their siblings, nieces, nephews, neighbors, friends, and children. 

You inhale as deeply as you could, so that your scream would be deafening. Your mother’s head whips in your direction.

A genuine smile stretches across your face. “Mother,” you croak - your voice finally giving out to the day’s trauma. You give a small wave before your hand is yanked and twisted behind your back.

You know it’s him before he even speaks. “Shut it, woman!” His grip on your wrist tightens tenfold. “You will speak only when spoken to.”

He continues to yap in your ear about obedience and compliance, and even though the village grows smaller in your vision as the ship sails away, you continue to smile.

[greenerteacups]

I think that the main problem with romione is that because jkr didn't want to deal with teenage sex, they took too long to get together and it ended up looking like they are completely incompatible.

Not being able to get together for four years when you are that young, very good friends AND you are bad at hiding your feelings is a big fat red flag for romione that is hard to get over. The narrative tiptoes around it, too, everyone knew they had a thing for each other, Fred and George didn't even make fun of them.

Draco didn't make fun of them! And you know he would!

If they started dating at the end of the fourth year with Harry becoming a perpetual third wheel (or at least in the middle of the sixth year) - that would have been a realistic teenage couple that had a shot at becoming a stable couple in their adult years. Also it would have been hilarious but thats neither here nor there.

When Ron and Hermione couldn't discuss their feelings and reach a consensus even when they were on the run in the forest and the society was their best friend who approved of that relationship - that's just pathetic tbh. They just don't like each other then, come on.

With hinny I think i was just triggered by them as a child, so I can't perceive them at all. Both the description of Harry's love for her (the beast metaphor frightened me, it was so unlike Harry, although now its just feels turbo cringe), and the fact that Ginny had to change into a tomboy popular hotgirl, who occasionally behaved like she and Harry were married for 45 years at least and was never unreasonable or angry with him.... it just sucks

Yeah, I don't disagree about the Ron stuff. I dunno if it was JKR's general weirdness with romance or her not wanting Ron and Hermione to get together early because it would third-wheel Harry and fuck up the dynamic — which you have to imagine is also canonically one of their concerns, too — but it didn't hit for me. In their defense, they are usually Preoccupied With Other Shit, but after a while the bickering gets grating and it ate up so much space in substantially crowded books that I gave up on it. It's definitely realistic; kids IRL will have these miserable situationships that last all throughout high school because they're so petrified of talking about it, and sometimes that's literally all that ever happens.

The problem IMO isn't anything that Ron or Hermione actually do, it's a problem with the author not creating believable chemistry. There are few plots that believable chemistry can't fix, and only few love stories that can survive a lack of it. But chemistry is also in the eye of the beholder.

Also, I think the parts in Book 6 where they make each other jealous on purpose with Cormac and Lavender are just awful, and that's just my thing — jealousy is and can be sexy in romance fiction, but trying to invoke jealousy on purpose is just like. Not hot to me. IDK. It reads as immature and as deliberately trying to hurt the other person, which I don't... okay, well. I don't find it hot in that context.

I like Ginny and Harry together, though.

[kaelio]

I’ve been loving your IWTV stuff but I haven’t watched the show or read the books. What is it about Anne Rice’s writing that makes it so insane?

Okay, I'm going to do a relatively long post probably.

First off, I want to make it clear that my love of her writing is completely unironic. I genuinely think that she is great. So I do want to lay that down because it's foundational to everything else I'll say.

Her writing is insane for a few reasons. The most basic of these reasons is that, I really think that she was intrinsically out of step with contemporary standards of mental wellness. On the other hand, I am not convinced she was as chemically or... neurologically?... insane as she's generally described. She had a lot of Experiences and those experiences fed into a perception of the world that is notable and characteristic, if borderline indecipherable, and it comes through in what she produced.

These books are steeped in very real trauma, and very real trauma that the world directly rewarded her for experiencing. I'm not sure if the rawness of that trauma was why she was so brazen about exposing it in IWTV, but whatever the reason, "story about how my child died and my marriage can't survive and I can't see any reason for living" made Anne Rice a bona fide recognizable author and commercial success. If "vampires are made from trauma", well consider that metaphor to have carried into the real world. Vampires did in fact give Anne Rice power and wealth (and furthermore, I'd argue, for her, they became essentially household gods).

There's that post that goes around about how Van Gogh made his best work (and really most of his work, period) when he was most stable. I'd posit that the world told Rice the opposite in explicitly material terms, and maybe there was a feedback loop there. Hard to say.

She did write shamelessly and almost aggressively. Her writing doesn't feel carefully tailored or polished for "an audience". It rejects many of the patterns you see in modern fiction (despite being wildly influential for several genres!). It highlights patterns you take for granted in other fiction because of how fundamentally it violates them. I'll splice together bits of a conversation I was having in another window:

me: And I do think that there's an interesting point to be made that the self-infatuation and the people-pleasing actually go hand-in-hand

Because there's a congratulatory aspect to having written something that you know will please other people

Like congratulating yourself ahead of time for the good person that other people are going to tell you that you are

3rd: and that also means you're afraid of writing anything that challenges or stretches the audience

which means you're writing pap

a friend and I were discussing R.F. Kuang whose book Babel was pitched as a 'response' to Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell and ... is not only not in the same league as that book but isn't even playing the same sport

This wasn't us discussing Anne Rice at all, she just feels relevant to it. We're getting increasingly streamlined stories which hit the "right" beats, but they're unsatisfying because they have no authentic skeleton. Why do people still respond to Toy Story but Inside Out is nearly forgotten? I despised Inside Out on its release because it perfunctorily landed all of its beats, but it's only pretending to have something to say. What it does pretend to say is... palatable. But it isn't interesting. It won't change you and it won't inspire a change in you, or give you the material to change yourself.

I go back to this comment over and over by @fofoqueirah because it's genuinely perfect. Peerless distillation:

But people often genuinely cannot write this way! It's overly revealing. We reflexively balk. How or why she didn't is hard to say, but it's gallingly, often horrifyingly, unapologetic. It's unapologetic for things it should probably be apologetic for.

Anyway, her writing is also maddeningly inconsistent, book-by-book, page-by-page, paragraph-by-paragraph, but it's thrilling in part due to its inconsistency. But when it's on, it's so fucking on. However, it's not didactic in any comprehensible way. There are quotes about how she trusted her meaning to come through in the end, which is hilarious because...?? I think you can derive more thematic meaning from a random pattern than you can from these books!! These books are less thematically straightforward than nonsense!

And she herself would regularly dump comments and lore and various things which made it all even weirder. God, I don't even feel like I'm scratching the surface here.

This woman had some kind of relationship with power, capitalism, BSDM, gender, family, religion, brain-eating, and dolls and God help us because she tried to tried to explain it to us and held back nothing and some times you're still. just. a wee babe in the woods.

[phoenixinthefiles]

Times like these I really wish this app had a text to speech function:

I’ve been thinking about citzenzhip a lot when it comes to the Batfamily, HEAR ME OUT.

Disclaimer: I am not part of an immigrant family so if anything I say is offensive please let me know

So Dick, Damian, and Cass, were obviously born outside the U.S, WHERE’S THE CHARACTER EXPLORATION FOR THAT?

Like Damian and Dick knew English before coming here but there are still other experiences they definitely would’ve gone through.

Damian probably hated/hates the U.S. He was raised on “you do things perfectly-good-you slip up-punishment” (that’s obviously horrible) but the U.S. and all its systems are oftentimes OVERLY complicated. Can you imagine how hard it would be to go from an abusive, perfectly, structured environment, to one that’s constantly divided over the simplest things?

Not to mention that if we’re going with the backstory of him having lived in the desert for the majority of his childhood, there’d be a massive climate change. Like he’d probably have allergies, and maybe eczema.

Can you imagine finally getting to meet your father and you breakout and nearly asphyxiate because of the air pollution. (Slight hyperbole)

Ra’s Al Ghul is a horrible, abusive man but he’s relatively environmentally conscious (still horrible and abusive)

And with Dick?

If we go off Haly’s Circus being an European traveling circus, and his mother possibly being a French-speaking Roma, we can understand why it’d be difficult for him to adapt to life at Wayne Manor.

You travel 3 hours from London and you end up in Paris. A kid who’s used to that type of learning environment would HATE the American school system. He’s sitting in an uncomfortable desk chair listening to a teacher drone on about something he will never use in his life. When he used to be taught physics, while doing a handstand on the railing of the freaking Ponte de Rialto.

Regardless of potentially having ADHD or not, he’s still fidgeting in his seat—yearning for recess. But because this is America (and likely around the early 2000’s or so) his teacher rudely points out his fidgeting and the rest of the class see the boy that looks different from them, acting differently from them as well. And Children can be cruel.

I can’t imagine the experience of being an extroverted child who is used to forming connections with children, who look different from him, BECAUSE of his talents and uniqueness, being thrust into an environment that discourages that,WHILE HE’S GRIEVING HIS PARENTS.

Also Damian and Dick are both tan/brown skinned, and they’re likely going to a rich private school without a lot of people that look like them. (Gotham Academy did not start gaining a more diverse population until Jason came around and that was the reason he wanted to go to public school[I stand by this headcanon…bcus fiction imitates life])

Not to mention the unreasonable amount of prejudice towards Arabs in this country and others. That’s a rough time for a 8-11 year old who JUST moved here and already has a disconnect with his peers due to his abuse and forced maturity.

SO, SO much I’ve said and so, so much I still haven’t. I haven’t even BEGUN to talk about Cass and how difficult it had to be to come to THIS country not being able to understand spoken language at all? She was a teenager when she met Bruce but that just makes different, not better.

Once again I am Black, so while I have experience as a minority in this country, I have no experience with being an immigrant so if I have said something offensive do NOT hesitate to let me know.

Also does this count as me writing something? Probably not huh?

@vhscity idk if you want to read my rant with horrible grammar mistakes.😭😭

[prettyboysdontlookatexplosions]

medialog june 2k24

watched

wordplay - rewatched this documentary about crosswords and particularly about the annual crossword tournament put on by will shortz while waiting for the anesthesia from my wisdom tooth extraction to wear off and found it about as charming as i remembered... i love a doc about a subculture made up of endearing nerds. i first saw it when it came out and on revisit it also has some intensely 2004 vibes - in particular jon stewart shows up as one of their crossword-fans talking heads and it really brought home for me how influential he was on the development of internet tone (like to this day the reason so many people on reddit sound Like That is because they're trying to be jon stewart and failing...)

the bourne ultimatum - movie go zoom zoom! still not convinced matt damon can act

artists and models - i had never seen a dean martin/jerry lewis film before and i don't really want to again but i'm glad i saw this one (this is how i feel about the two (2) wes anderson movies i've seen, and also pulp fiction & tarantino). some great colors & costumes, a plot that goes surprisingly bonkers in a final third turn that reminds you it was the cold war (between that and all the stuff about comics & violence this one also functions as a real time capsule), and (my main reason for watching) shirley maclaine the love of my life is so adorable and funny as a daffy sweetheart in a role that really lets her (a former dancer) show off her gift for physical comedy.

the secret garden - the cast in this movie is so good, including the children in the starring roles, and while it doesn't even attempt to do anything with the book's deranged relationship with things like the british empire and the concept of disability, watching it really did bring me back to why the book has been so beloved - the fantasy at its heart is ultimately about hard humble work paying off and about friends teaching each other to be nicer, which are i think deeply appealing narratives for children in a way that people sometimes forget. it's so funny that part of what cures mary and colin of their bad personalities is meeting another unhappy rich child for the very first time!

humanist vampire seeking consenting suicidal person - this was slight but sweet, a darkly funny romcom with some style and heart. also i had never seen a french-canadian movie before i don't think and it was a fun surprise to hear them talking like "frenchfrenchfrenchfrenchRRRRfrenchfrenchRRRR." not an accent with which i have much familiarity!

jurassic park - my somewhat inexplicable, even to me, aversion to raiders of the lost ark had me avoiding action spielberg for basically my whole life but i gave this a shot thinking maybe i would appreciate it if not enjoy it and was absolutely GLUED to the screen from about five minutes in. i understand why other directors are like that about spielberg now, and also what jj abrams is trying to do all the time and failing because he doesn't understand how it actually works. this is like the most famous movie in the world basically and i've seen so many clips from it over the years and yet even waiting for them and expecting them to come i was ON THE EDGE OF MY SEAT! like WOW! truly a movie that feels like a theme park ride more than any other i've seen except maybe fury road. anyway as you statistically speaking probably already know this movie absolutely rocks, and not just for (1) laura dern and (2) jeff goldblum with his tits out.

citizen kane - spent the last weekend in june at two different marches & closed it out sunday night with a screening of the movie that made me bisexual <3 one day i'll figure out a way to articulate how this movie did what it did to me but for now i will just say that it is great and its reputation is deserved and orson welles is one of the most entertaining screen presences of all time and it looks so cool and beautiful all the way through and it is so so so so gay

interview with a vampire season 2 - my opinion on this is at this point well established lol finally some good fucking food!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

read

megan abbott, the turnout - this & the zadie smith book are further steps in me catching up with authors i lost track of during some bad reading years! when i heard that megan abbott was coming out with a book about sisters who run a ballet school i was like LOL because that's like the peak ultimate megan abbott premise (girls and the nastiness of both feelings and bodies and ambition and hunger and an atmosphere of nightmares and filth and the insane dynamics of a tightly knit but deeply dysfunctional world, all to the nth power), and guess what as a megan abbott fan i loved it :) all the bad reviews on goodreads for this are like "why is this book so gross? why is she sexualizing the nutracker? there were scenes in this book that made me feel dirty reading them. way too much focus on the wet leotard crotches of little girls" and i was sickos dot jpg the whole time. but actually i think the reason that this wound up being my favorite abbott since dare me is that at its core it's a book about a woman with an unbelievably fucked up childhood due to her incredibly fucked up dead parents and the suspense that gives the book its tension and its form is less about what's going to happen with the plot and more about whether she is at any point going to put it together that the things that happened to her when she was young were actually bad; the further the book goes, the more deeply you understand the walls of denial and distortion around her entire life. it rules.

david j. skaal, something in the blood: the untold story of bram stoker, the man who wrote dracula - as previously mentioned, i have some real qualms with some of his dracula readings, but overall i found this an addictively pleasurable tome - 600 pages and he kept them turning the whole time. i love a biography that starts off with some background on medieval ireland, you know? skaal is a good writer with an engaging but learned style, and the book is clearly both exhaustively researched and intended for popular audiences (albeit popular audiences who have definitely read dracula, but, i mean, who else is reading 600 pages about this guy?); reading it often feels something like having a drink with a professor who knows his stuff and is NOT afraid to gossip. dracula qualms aside i may investigate some of his other books, particularly his book on dracula screen adaptations, since i'm curious about those but don't necessarily want to, like, watch most of them, lol

bonnie jo campbell, the waters - book club book that was objectively certainly not terrible and which had some things i did like or appreciate, like an 11 year old girl obsessed with math (representation matters...) but which i found just about the most boring thing i have read in my life. like i would definitely say campbell is a better writer than, say, taylor jenkins reid (to name another book club book) or whatsherface who wrote the book of fried green tomatoes which we also read las year... but i found those books much more aggravating but also easier to get through than this book, which really requires you to have some level investment in, like, the natural world of rural michigan, but mostly made me feel so glad i don't live in a small town where all the men have guns.

zadie smith, swing time - it's funny because when i started this i was spending a lot of time thinking about how maybe plot and structure have become underrated, but then this was like a very long book written in the style of someone just kind of talking at you about their life, with plot events technically happening but never feeling like the driving force of the book, and i was totally riveted, which was a good reminder that you can get away with anything if you're a genius! smith is just such a keen observer of people and how they operate, and so allergic to relying on any kind of obvious assumptions about the relationships between demographics & personality or beliefs, even as demographic realities are such a key part of the fabric of the book... i was a little worried i would be disappointed by the fact that she abandoned the modernist-leaning experimentation of NW for a more straightforward, even chatty, style, but "you can get away with it if you're a genius" applies to that too. this book is also an absolute masterclass in the universal through the specific - i cannot emphasize how much literally not one thing the protagonist experiences has ever happened to me, how much our lives and backgrounds and personalities overlap not at all, and yet constantly i found myself aching with resonance over things like "it's so true that's what it's like when you have a mom" or "that really is what it feels like when you are young and sort of smart but also sort of stupid" (which if i were to define it briefly is i think more or less what the book is about).

listened

charli xcx, brat - i remain after all these years a true romance truther and continue unfairly to measure all her subsequent work, much of which is frankly too sophisticated and experimental for my listening taste even if i recognize she's Doing Something, but this album sounds great and has some bops. as a straight-through listen it was too rich for my blood, but i find myself enjoying the songs on shuffle mixed in with whatever else i've been into more than i would have expected from that first exposure, and also 360 has been stuck in my head more waking hours than not for like a month and a half now and i'm still not sick of it (although i think my favorite song on the album is 365, and not just because i think it's really funny that she ended the album with "the opening track coming out of the bathroom after doing cocaine"). plus as someone who HAS been listening to charli since whenever the video for "you're the one" dropped it is nice to see The Culture finally rally around her even if i remain a little puzzled over why now, the all-star remixes getting rolled out have been pretty delightful (LORDE!!!!!!!!), and it's nice to have the zeitgeist coalesce for a moment over something i too think is fun (especially since the other thing gay people love this summer is chappell roan on whom i have yet to be converted sorry to everyone i'm sincerely glad you're having a good time)