#irreverent synopsis

[s0dium]

PEEPING TOM

A/n: Its good to be back, I also will be doing kink tober! Yay!

Synopsis: In which you find a peephole in your wall, allowing you to spy on your neighbor Gojo Satoru

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: Peeping Tom, mutual masturbation, masturbation, slight dub-con, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, breeding, Dom!Gojo, fingering, rough sex

MINORS DNI

~

The first time it happened, it was an accident.

It was day numero uno in your new dorm at Tokyo Jujutsu High. You were hesitant at first enrolling, being suddenly uprooted from an overall normal life into a world of curses and sorcerers was a, well, definitely a shocking experience for you. In fact, today was a boring blur for you, by the time you were done moving in it was nightfall and the only people you met were principle yaga and an old guy.

So you didn't expect the most exciting part of your day would be finding a peep hole right at eye view of you when you sat up on your bed. 

Of course you pay no attention to it, this was a pretty old Japanese building after all. It was when you were searching up what the hell “spackle was” when you heard a loud “FUCK” coming from the other side of the wall. 

Well that's interesting.

You know it's wrong, you wouldn't want peering in on you. But curiosity got the better of you as you sat down on your bed and aligned your eye with the hole. 

From what you could see, your nameless neighbors room was pretty neat, but your mind went completely blank when a set of abs came into your vision, followed by the side profile of one of the most handsome white haired man you had ever seen.

So yeah, the first time you peeped on your neighbor was a mistake. 

The second time. Not so much. 

~

"Hey! My name is y/n l/n im your neighbor"

Piercing blue eyes look you up and down and your breath catches in your throat. His eyes, framed by a shock of defiantly white hair, hold a mysterious depth that seems to invite you into an endless ocean of secrets. They twinkle with a mischievous glint.  His lips, full and inviting, flash you a devilish smile that hints at an irreverent sense of humor. The white hair man leans on the door frame.

“Ahh so your the new girl”

You gulp, trying to keep your eyes from raking over his well built body that were sporting sweat pants that rode just slightly low on his hips and a black shirt that exposed the tone muscles of his arms. 

Lawd have mercy, we must stay focused, we must stay focused. 

"Yeah uh, I just wanted to get your name, you know, since we are gonna be neighbors and all….." You trail off at the end, fiddling with the ends of your uniform skirt.

You can feel his eyes bore into your head as you averted his gaze. He chuckles and blows out air from his nose in amusement.

“Gojo satoru. You can call me Satoru, since you know, we are going to be neighbors and all” He almost coos mockingly.

You nod and hold out your hand.

“Nice to meet you Satoru.”

~

For the next two weeks you find yourself slowly adjusting into your new life. You spend most of your time either training or hanging out with your new friend Shoko, since you are deemed ‘too new’ for any missions which is fine by you. During this your interactions and conversations with Gojo are kept rather short. You laugh at the jokes he and Geto come up with during class, roll your eyes at the snarky comments he makes about how ‘new’ you are, and occasionally even give him a smile in the hall. But for some reason you can't seem to get him out of your head; your eyes often wandering to stare at the back of his white hair during lessons, watching how his long digits gracefully twirl a pencil around, finding yourself wondering what else he can do with those fingers.

And it is for those very reasons you find yourself lying in your bed, unable to sleep.

Huffing, you sat up in your bed and turned on the light on your night stand. As you leaned toward the wall to grab your phone, that’s when you heard it. 

A faint groan. 

….

You shouldn’t.

It's wrong. You already peeped once, and that’s enough. 

But god, curiosity is killing you right now. It was eating away at your brain like termites and you couldn’t seem to let the question go. 

So you made a promise. One look. One final quick last look and that would be it. 

Oh how curiosity killed the cat. 

The moment your eye was aligned with the hole, your mind went blank and in front of you was a sight ever to behold.

There on white bed sheets was Gojo, shirtless, sweatpants slightly lowered furiously fisting his dick. For a couple seconds, you couldn't seem to take your eyes off of him; how beautiful he looked with his head thrown back, the glide of his hand up and down his long dick and how the top of his fist captured his redish pink tip with every thrust. 

Once the initial shock was over you immediately pulled away, hand covering your mouth to silence your gasp. You should've never looked, never crossed the threshold between curiosity and invasion of privacy. But as you move away to go back to sleep and forget all about this, you wince.

Oh no.

An all too familiar ache has started to form between your thighs and you felt your stomach twist into knots and form into a million butterflies. Frantically, you pull down your short, silently cursing when your eyes are met with a small damp stain at the base of your underwear. 

This couldn't be happening. Quickly you crawled back under your covers and turned off the lights, praying that the feeling would go away. Surprise surprise, it didnt. 

Biting your lip, you grabbed a pillow and placed it between your legs, squeezing your thighs together. A couple seconds later without realizing it you had started to slowly roll your hips on the soft object, desperately seeking some way to alleviate your pain. 

But it seemed like that only made things worse. 

Your skin was buzzing, and your breaths had turned deep and heavy. The slick accumulating in your cunt has started to become borderline uncomfortable and the twisting in your stomach didnt seem to cease. You needed release. 

One more look. One more look than one orgasm and thats it. 

Frantically you crawled back to the small hole, letting out a soft whimper when you're met with the sight again. This time his eyes were squeezed shut, and white substance filled the space between his fingers as he hurriedly fisted himself. Without even thinking, you slipped a hand under your underwear and letting out a sigh of relief when your index finger came in contact with your clit. 

Quick, you'd make this quick.

Using your wetness, you began to circle your finger around the nerve, falling into a slow rythm. You tried your best to cover the wet clicking sounds coming from your ministrations, but after a couple minutes you couldnt see to care any more. You let your mind drift to thoughts of Satoru. How would he look above you, sweaty and in euphoria? Oh you bet his dick would feel so good inside of you, fill you up and hit all the right places. Fuck it you'd probably let him cum in you, spill his seed in your cunt and fill you up over and over again.

Your movements had become frantic now as you desperately chased your orgasm and from what you could tell it seemed like he was getting close too. You had to cover your mouth with your hand to suppress the moans and your thighs started to tremble as you got closer to finishing. Suddenly, your stomach dipped and tightened as a surge of mind numbing pleasure took over you, your eyes rolling to the back of your head and mouth falling agape. 

After a couple seconds passed, you were left panting and you dazedly glanced back through the hole to find that Satrou had also finished; white streams of cum painting his toned stomach and fist. 

You blink back the euphoria that slowly escaped your brain.

Ok. Never again. 

~

That was a lie. 

You started to pick up the fact that Gojo had a routine. He’d jack off once in the morning and once at night, and boy, where the sounds impossible to ignore. So, you started to fall into this routine with Gojo. On cue, when you heard his shaky breath and silent whimpers, your hand would automatically slip into your pants, circling around your wetness to the sound of his shaky sighs. On the days you slept through the ones in the morning and missed it as night as well, you’d touch yourself on your own time, cumming over and over again to the thought of Gojo pumping his thick cock in and out of you. 

You didn't know what the end goal was to this and hell you knew it was wrong. But the pleasure was too overwhelming, the sound of Gojo was too overwhelming, too damn compelling.

So here you were again, another night laying next to the peep hole, hand down your pants intently listening to the fast pap pap pap that came from the other side of the way. 

But something was different tonight. Your skin felt like it was on fire. Your walls pulsed and squeezed around nothing with every light rub for your clit. This was becoming dangerous, the pleasure was becoming too much, the thought of gojo fucking you was becoming too much. 

You let out a whine that comes out louder than expected but you can't seem to care. You dig your ass into the mattress and arch your back slightly. You're not thinking of your fingers as your own right no, no, they are Gojo’s long pale ones rubbing fast circles on your throbbing clit. His name falls from your mouth like a silent plea over and over, begging him to fuck you. You're so engrossed in the pleasure that it took you 20 seconds to fully realize that the sounds on the other side of the wall had stopped. Confused, you align your eye with the peep hole and a gasp rips out of your throat.

Instead of finding Gojo’s body layed out your met with the sight of another eye. A blue eye. Staring right back at you. 

You pull away from the wall and cover your mouth. Before you can even process a thought your door swings open and in steps the last person you wanted to see.

"You've been peeping on me." Gojo coos, a shit eating grin spread on his face. Hes disheveled, white hair tousled, black tank top slightly riding up and grey sweat pants riding down showing his white happy trail. But most notable was his hard dick pressing against the fabric of his pants, a slight stain adorning the material right where the tip is. 

"You've been peeping on me!!!" You stammer, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“Oh really? Is that the best defense you’ve got?” Gojo chuckles and rakes a hand through his white hair, taking a few steps closer to your bed.

“What are you doing? Get out!”

“Oh? Is that what you really want? You want me to leave?” Gojo is at the foot of your bed now, and your breathing becomes faster when he climbs on. “Because I can leave. I can leave and tell everyone what a little whore you’ve been, listening to me morning and night.”

“You-” You can't even finish your sentence because he's on top of you now, legs on either side of your body and you gaze up helplessly at him.

“Of course I noticed princess,why do you think I was doing it so much anyway?” He places his index under your face  and tilts your chin up so your lips align with his. “Loved hearing those whines…. Wanna hear more so badly” He murmurs before placing his lips onto yours. You sigh into the kiss, letting his warm tongue entangle into yours. He holds the back of your neck to deepen the kiss before peppering his lips along your jawline and your neck. A hand slips below your flimsy tank top and another pulls at the hem of your underwear. Before you know it your completely naked, your chest rising and falling and Gojos hungry eyes scan your body. 

He licks his lips.

“You gonna let me hear more?”

 You gasp when you feel a long finger slide down your slit connecting the wetness before dipping into your tight hole. Gojo leaned close to soothingly press dry lips to your temple. “Shh,” He whispered, the resulting puffs of air washing over the side of your face making you shake. “This your first time being touched like this baby?Or did you not know about this special little g-spot you’ve got right here?” 

Your toes curl when he touches a spot deep inside you that sends bolts of pleasure coursing through your brain. You don’t even notice that he’s pulling down his pants until he pulls his fingers away, a string of wetness connecting his digits with your pussy, and your eyes are met with the sight of his length.

You unconsciously buck your hips up at the sight of it, practically humping the air, and Gojo has to secure your hips down to the bed to prevent you from hurting yourself. You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Shhhh, we are going to have so much fun together baby.”

You're cut off by the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, your cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Gojo let oout a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he said hoarsely.

“Satoru please-”

You dont get to finish the thought because Gojo pulls out and ram back into you with such fever everything goes blank for a second. His thrusts started out shallow and slow, testing the waters for how much he could get away with. What your limits were, and if you could fully take him for what he wanted. But that quickly changed to harsher thrusts, until he’s using you like his personal cock sleeve, shaping your insides and bruising your cervix until your entire body jolts with sensitivity.

Every thrust knocks the wind out of you, his tip smushing right against your cervix only to be pulled out and rammed back in again. And the sounds, god the sounds where sinful. Wet skin against skin echoed through the room the sloshing of cum 

 It was too much, the feeling of your wet gummy walls gripping him so tightly, fuck, his hand felt like sand paper compared to this, how was he able to fucking live without your pussy in the first place.  There was no way Gojo could stop now. His body had kicked into auto pilot, a primal need for you settled in as he thrusted in and out, creating a methodical fast rhythm that echoed in your ears. The sight of you right now, the feeling of your pussy clamped on his dick did not justice to the image his fucked his fist to. No, this was better, this was heaven.

“So good- don’t stop, please don’t stop!” your babbling strung out of your lips too absorbed in the thought of how god damn good he was fucking you, his thick cock driving in and out of your velvet walls. It was as if you were made for each other, your cunt sucking him in with each push and shove that hit at just the right spots.

“Say my name baby” he coos and an involuntary cry escapes your lips, a passionate fusion of pleasure and intensity. Amid the overwhelming waves of ecstasy that washed over you,  your mouth began to call out your boyfriend's name. Again and again.

“Beautiful girl, such a natural submissive” he whispered hoarsely. Your stomach coiled with anticipation, heat encircling your core like a tightening cord. Your senses tingled, your mind a haze of desire, all consuming thoughts centered around Gojos electrifying touch. You pressed back into him, arching off a second later and then your hips rocked down. Words became superfluous, you couldn't say anything, not with the way you were panting and twitching, so insanely close to your peak that you wouldn’t ruin it with your words.

“Do it,” Gojo said into your ear with conviction. “Wanna see you cum all over me, fu-fuck, been waiting for that.” 

His words seem to flip a switch in you. The heat on your stomach is unbearable, you can’t take it anymore, it’s consuming you, driving you over the edge so fast that you can’t put a stop on it. Your pussy tightens so hard around Gojos dick that he nearly has to stop his thrusts, your scream is muffled by a hand clamped over your mouth as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. Gojo doesnt stop, He fucks you hard into the futon; your eyes roll back, toes curling as waves of pleasure crash over you, your entire body trembles over his thrusts.

"Oh shit!" He gasps as your cunt clamps around him. He growls something unintelligible as his thrusts become erratic and sloppy. “"Gonna cum in you, gonna fill you up it's what you were made for- ah, fu-uck- cumming!" Gojo pressing him flush against you choking over his words as his hips sputter inside of you, hot cum fills you as much as you can hold inside of your stuffed cunny.

“Wa-wait! N-not ins-si-” You squeal but cut your self off when you feel something deliciously warm enter your battered pussy. You babbled and squirmed as it built and built and built, like there was a dam of his seed spurting into you. You unintentionally, probably instinctually, squeezed around him, drawing more out and he whined and murmured his praise. “Good girl, get as much as you can.” He petted circles over your stomach, over the bulge of where his cock and cum lay. “Such a pretty tummy….” You threw your face into your arms and shook.

The two of you stayed like that for a while–Gojo keeping you plugged with his cock while you both watched your breaths, listening to eachother and occasionally leaning in for a messy kiss.

“So, I guess we are both peeping toms then.”

A/N: Im too lazy to write an ending

[storiesbyrhi]

IT MEANS SOMETHING

Eddie Munson x Reader 1,606 words

Warnings: recreational drug use.

Synopsis: A short meet-cute featuring crossed paths, Argyle's weed, probable soulmates, and Fangoria magazine.

Author’s Note: Set in 1990. No Upside Down AU.

He is the last to get on the train. Patiently waiting his turn. Smiling politely at the other commuters. You watch him step off the platform into the carriage. He opts to stand against one of the poles, letting others take the vacant seats. He surveys his surroundings. It is at this moment his eyes lock with yours.

Instead of pretending like you’d only just glanced at him or nodding a casual acknowledgment, you look away too quickly. You feel yourself flush.

As the train finally pulls into your stop, you’ve used all your willpower not to look back his way. All that willpower amounts to little; as you stand, preparing to leave, you feel him staring. His gaze pulls yours back to him.

He flashes a brilliant smile, then ducks out the opening doors before you can clock his blushing cheeks.

You’re not a romantic by nature. Yes, you are prone to fits of fancy and the occasional delusional daydream, but you don’t find yourself frequently lusting after pretty people on the train. Beauty is viewed with a matter-of-factness rather than a force of attraction itself.

Some people are funny.

Some people are clever.

Some people are hot.

Some people are whatever.

And it isn’t as if this makes you less shallow or more holy than anyone else. It kind of just makes you a little more detached. Yes, you’ve dated. But there were never big, big feelings. No traumatic breakups. It had all been textbook mediocre.

It is all this knowledge of yourself that comes to the forefront of your mind as you lament the loss of the man in the crowd.

You track his fluffy hair through the station, but he is gone by the time you get to the city street. The sun is setting, a twilight glow making all the shadows seem worthy of an art gallery.

The man is gone. His dark eyes. Kind smile. His stupid t-shirt. What was it? The Burbs. That’s it. The Tom Hanks movie from last year.

Why are you still thinking about him?

The guy. Not Tom Hanks.

You walk slowly, in the city way too early for the party your friend from college, Robin, is hosting. Time to kill.

In a 7-Eleven you stand at the drinks refrigerator with too much consideration. Too much effort. Dr Pepper will always win over Coke. Flipping through magazines in the rack pulls you through a couple more minutes.

It occurs to you that the old record store a few blocks from Robin’s is open late. They have better magazines.

The neon sign sparkles against the darkening skyline as you turn onto the store’s street. Lured like a moth to a flame, you’re inside and pulling Fangoria from the stand before taking a second to look around.

There are a few customers browsing, one with a punk magazine ordered especially from the UK in his lap as he reads from the floor. You wonder if it might make more sense for the owners to open a library.

A music library would be cool, you think, as you look over at the counter.

You can identify them both.

The guy behind the counter has dead straight longer hair and one of the best speaking voices you’ve ever heard. Argyle works days mostly, since he delivers pizzas by night. He must be covering a shift for someone. Or maybe the night guy is late.

Opposite Argyle, leaning on the counter with a familiarity that tells you he has been here plenty of times before, is the man from the train. Though he isn’t facing you, the Dio patch and hair are a giveaway.

What are the fucking odds?

Fangoria back in the rack, you creep through the aisles, trying not to draw attention to yourself. When you get close to the counter, you listen to their conversation. They’re funny.

Argyle’s brand of humor is easy and irreverent. It’s how he ends up befriending everyone, including you and Robin. And, as it were, the man from the train. Train guy’s banter is far more purposeful, performative. He’s dramatic, or maybe it seems like that in contrast to laid back Argyle.

They’re talking about music but suddenly switch to films. Bill & Ted. Even more suddenly, they break out into impersonations.

It’s too late to catch your laugh. Far too late to pretend it was a coughing fit. The man turns around. He beams as he recognizes you. It’s almost enough to keep you there. Almost.

“Hey-” Argyle goes to greet you.

“Sorry. Hi. I’ve gotta go,” you say.

“See you at Robin’s later?”

“Yeah. Yep. Bye!” and you’re out the door before Argyle can think to introduce you.

This feeling is so foreign to you. You feel all gooey and icky, like maybe your skin is going to start to fizz and slick off your body. Stupid, pretty train boy, you think.

It’s still too early for Robin’s, so you detour to a bar and order a drink in a vain attempt to settle yourself.

Stupid, pretty train boy.

Four hours later.

“I jus’… Can it come closer? It’s too… too far away?”

Robin looks at you. If you look back, you would see the face of a woman equal parts amused and bored. But you physically cannot look away from the television. And the television seems to be getting further and further away.

“Quick… Robin… It’s going!” you whine. The television set is as small as your palm. You hold your hand up to compare it. “So, so small…”

“You, my friend, are so profoundly high. Argyle gave you that new shit?”

“Says try with pineapple,”

“I-What? Pineapple?”

“Says try before you deny,”

“Alright. I’m calling it. You need some time out.”

Suddenly, you are floating through Robin’s place. A conversation about whether you are okay by yourself floats along with you. Yes, you would be okay. You like rolling around in bed, high as a kite. The party is winding down anyway. You’d not be alone for long.

Alone, you play three games of I-Spy. The loser and the winner. You starfish out on the bed and make imaginary snow angels. Time passes. Maybe. You’re not sure. Then, you see the room explode into view. The light has been switched on and you yelp, diving for cover under a pillow.

Voices. The weight of someone being dropped into bed next to you.

Robin calling your name. So far away. “You alive in there?” she asks.

“Ah-huh,” you confirm.

Then, quiet. You emerge from under the pillow like a field mouse from its burrow. They had left you in darkness but for him, a bedside lamp has been left on. He doesn’t know Robin’s bedroom like you.

He is lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. In profile, he is just as pretty. You want to drive a little Matchbox car down his forehead and use his nose as a jump. Evel Knievel style. The thought makes you giggle, which makes him turn his head. He looks at you, blinking twice.

“I wondered where you went,” he admits. He rolls onto his side, tucking his hands under his head like a pillow. “Hi,”

“Hi,”

“Bit weird seeing you again,”

“Bit weird,” you parrot.

He smiles. “Why’d you get sent to the naughty room?”

“Huh?” 

Your answer, or lack thereof, answers the question.

“Argyle not warn you properly about the Californian stuff?”

You shake your head.

He laughs, so you laugh. He wriggles a little closer.

“Hi,” he whispers, sticking out a pinky finger. You watch as he hooks it around yours.

When did you move to mirror his body? When did he arrive at the party? Was he here for you? No. Silly. So silly. That would be silly.

“You’re getting small… Like the television,” you tell him.

“Oh… I don’t want to get small… If I come closer, will I get big again?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. This close you can see his pale freckles. The tired purple under his eyes. The almost-wrinkles that are born of laughter. Long eyelashes.

“Long eyelashes?” he asks.

“What?”

“What?”

You snort, giggle, lost and happy.

“I need you to know I did not follow you here,”

“Okay,”

“I’m friends with Argyle,”

“Okey dokey,” you nod.

He holds in laughter, so you do too.

“I didn’t follow you either,”

“To Vinyl City? But you were eavesdropping.” It isn’t an angry accusation. It’s not really a question either. Still, you nod. “I’d be okay with it if you were following me. For the record,” he states, rather emphatically. 

He watches you watch him. He makes you feel as if you are getting higher and sobering up at the same time.

“I’m Eddie,”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Last I checked,”

“What’d you check?”

“Ah… Birth certificate?”

“Says Eddie?”

“Well… Edward.”

You giggle. Eddie’s heart flutters so hard it feels like nausea.

“Hi… Eddie,”

“Hi. Do you have a name?” He already knows it. He just wants to hear you say it.

You nod.

Eddie laughs. “Tell me your name?”

You do. Because he asked.

“So… Three times… Coincidence?”

“No,” you shake your head. You don’t know what three times he’s talking about. “That’s two. Two’s a coincidence,”

“What’s three then?”

You can’t remember. You shrug, which makes Eddie laugh, which makes you laugh. A repeated cycle.

“I think it means something,” he asserts.

“So do I,”

“Do you? Or are you just a little bit high?”

“Can it be both?”

Eddie makes a show of thinking. “It can. I’ll allow it.” He grins. “So, it means something?”

“It means something,” you agree.

End Note: I've been struggling to write post-Burning Yarrow. So, this was just a little something to try to get back on the horse. Soulmate meet-cutes are my bread and fucking butter.

I have some very vague ideas for a part two of this, but idk if it will amount to much. Lemme know your thoughts and feelings.

Eddie Taglist: solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @sweetpeapod @thorfemmes  @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob  @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @mel-the-fangirl @eddies-hid3out @siren-lungs @aheadfullofsteverogers @hiscrimsonangel @dashingdeb16 @cultish-corner

[loneliestluvr]

𝑻𝒐 𝑴𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝑰 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝑮𝒐, 𝒊𝒊.

i. ii. iii.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron OC

Synopsis: Caught up in a world of hollow grief for her people, her life, and her father, Blair Archeron is forced into a life under the light she wants no part of after ghosting through immortality since being Made. But what she finds, is not what she expects.

Warnings: should have added this in the last one but talking/thinking about loss of pregnancy, being controlled + used, angst, lots of description but Blair gets her lick back a bit 😛 this is also a bit of a slow burn

Word Count: 2.8k

taryn thinks: so this is gonna be a series and im just kinda holding its hand and letting it guide me rn, i have no planned ending at all or any idea where this is going. bear with me pookies and remember how attracted Feyre was to Rhys without knowing he was her mate please and thank you 🙏🏼

“Eris,” Rhysand’s voice boomed in that firm High Lord tone he only ever used outside of the River House— Blair had only ever heard it once and not ever directed at her. It was that same day and argument Nesta had told Feyre about the threat to her life, to the babe’s life in her womb, when Rhys’ power had exploded and grew so loud and angry Blair had covered her ears and closed her eyes.

Eris. The name rung in her head as her brother-in-law spoke it and her mouth moved before she could think as she tested it silently on her own tongue. Eris.

The second eldest Archeron still hadn’t brought herself to tear her gaze from the male—Eris—before her, taking in every inch of his face. Every muscle ticking in his jaw. Eris’s eyes followed her mouth as she traced his name with her lips and then he finally looked away. As if he couldn’t handle looking another minute.

“This is Feyre’s second oldest sister, Blair.” Rhys continued, and something like panic lit his every word. “She is beautiful, isn’t she?”

But it was almost muffled— the sound of his voice, the music and chatter behind them. Blair’s hands still neatly folded in front of her as she stood there, like there was nothing else in that marble room but her and Eris.

“Divine.” The red haired male murmured and by the way Rhys’ brows shot up just slightly, Blair figured the male wasn’t ever one for so little words.

The sound of his voice washed through her, the heat of her skin only intensifying as it echoed through her ears. She could hear her blood thrumming through her with it, like just this nearness had her body boiling. A sense she couldn’t describe pulling to him.

“Likewise.” The word was out before she could control it, like her inhibitions overtook all.

What is it that you feel, bright one? A cold, unnatural, and otherworldly voice spoke in her head. The same as always when the smoke cleared. Feminine, if Blair could tell— speaking to her as she was sucked back out of her body and it swallowed whatever words were working up her throat. Pulled right back into that unintentional irreverence. You do feel it, I can tell. Pushing me back, for this? For him— for what lurks under?

“I’m sorry for my tardiness,” Blair said, voice vacant. It was some part of their plan, but Blair had been instructed to follow along. Some quiet tucked away part of her, far in the forest of her mind, began to piece information together.

Things she’d learned simply by sitting and listening, and nobody cared about talking in front of the mute immortal who would sooner die than participate in politics or anything relating to the fae realm.

At least that’s what she thought of herself, nobody would say it. Even if that’s what she knew they were thinking. Even if it wasn’t entirely true.

Blair listened, mindlessly and absently, but what else was she to do when she sat in the quiet of her own mind day after day under something else’s control?

She tilled the soil of her mind, planting and working and tending as she sat and listened. Took in every piece of information that seemed so little to whatever she had become after, tucking it away and into her pocket.

But she never participated, couldn’t seem to ever make her mouth move. Could only sit and look out the window as everyone moved around her.

“Nonsense, sister.” Feyre smiled lovingly, the image of a shining star with the way her barely there gown accentuated her growing belly. “You’ve come just in time.”

As if on cue, a soft melodic music that sounded like the forest’s calm embrace started playing. Forest’s that Feyre and her had frequented in the summers when the younger of them was just hitting maturity, welcoming and lovely. Soft and slow, serene. A moment of peace in a world of pain and anger.

Blair took another breath and turned her head to the dance floor, it was her again this time as she spoke so softly it was almost unheard, “I love this type of music.”

“You’d like to know, Eris, that Blair is of the same talent our dear sister Nesta possesses. One that you seem so keen on having her hand in marriage because of.” Feyre says, but Blair’s eyes remain glued to the floor of people dancing so slowly. Seamless in their waltzing, her body almost began moving by itself— fighting every muscle in her to stay present in conversation as she slowed back into her body.

A rage filling some now faraway part of her, screaming and clawing and fighting to push her back again.

But this moment, this day, had been the most lucid she had felt in over a year— like she was waking up and blinking the fog away. Blair could hear clearly, and think, she could see from her own eyes, she was herself then. She was her own.

The reveal of another Archeron sister was not something that Eris had anticipated for. Certainly not something he’d prepared for, he had never let himself become so raw in front of anyone, let alone those of the Night Court.

One look at her… one gaze into those amber flecked eyes and his entire mask had shattered. For a minute too long he had just… stared at her.

Blair. The name danced around in his head, he could see it scripted on pages with a light hand. Those delicate fingers dragging the quill into a mess of curls and lines, her beautiful name printed in his mind. Blair.

“I’m almost certain at this point only beauty comes of your family, if Nesta was that graceful on the floor I can only imagine any of her sisters being equally as talented.” He said without another second, gaze now fixed wholly on the High Lady of the Night Court despite the pounding of his heart in his ears.

“Nesta continues to be… occupied.” Feyre added, almost ignoring any of his ploying compliments and Eris didn’t miss the whites of Rhysand’s knuckles showing as he clutched the arms of his throne.

And it was true, the Illyrian brute that had swept away his hopeful bride had passed her to the aggravating shadowsinger. Eris would not get her back again, not tonight.

“Perhaps my sister Blair would like to join you in a dance or two?” Feyre said next, the question directed for the female next to him.

Something in his chest felt like it would cave in and Eris thought he could have been floating just being next to her. The soft brown of her hair that went almost to her waist, even with it half up in a mound on the back of her head.

Accentuating those beautiful features under the light, lips pronounced and eyes that guttered all the need for dominance from his soul. His mind screamed: Kneel, kneel before your queen and beg to touch her. To smell and taste and feel, to know.

“Blair?” Feyre’s voice rang through his ears again and Blair had seemed like she was so enamored by the music, by the need to be with it, she hadn’t heard the question her sister asked. Then her head turned back to the thrones on the dais.

“I’m sorry,” She said quickly, furrowing her brow slightly as she tuned back in. “—what was it?”

“Perhaps you would like to join Eris for a dance?” Feyre clarified again and she looked from her sister to him, nearly next to Eris and stared for a moment.

“It’d be my honor to dance with the son of a High Lord.” She said, a small smile blooming on her lips.

By the confusion that seemed to broadcast on the High Lord and Lady’s face, Eris figured that Blair Archeron had secrets of her own. That just maybe, like him, she was undermined and looked over in aspects she shouldn’t be.

Eris stepped closer and offered his arm almost mindlessly, eyes tracing every curve of this smart and quick creature’s face. And Blair took it as that song faded out and the crowd prepared for the next one, the cold of her fingers seeped through the fabric of his tunic sleeve. Icy and bitter despite the warmth that flourished on her cheeks, and she let Eris guide her to the floor.

Blair could breathe. She could feel the race of her pulse, however immortal, she could feel the air on her skin and the warmth beneath Eris’s sleeve as she touched him. It felt like her body was on fire— awake.

Eris Vanserra— High Lord of the Autumn Courts eldest son, she had remembered. It had been like a splash of warm water, it had felt good. Different.

Rhys and Feyre’s ramblings about him, about their trades and need to stand against his father. Their effort to sway him should war find Prythian again, Azriel’s updates as she sat in the living room. Absent.

But that fog had cleared, and here she was. Preparing to dance with him. And everything came back screaming.

It was quiet as they prepared for the song to begin, Nesta and Azriel on the other end of the marble floor.

And then the music began and Eris’s arm wrapped around Blair until his hand laid on the small of her back, fingers of one hand each entwined as they stared into each others eyes.

It wasn’t that Blair couldn’t think or feel it, but her body moved absently off of memory alone as the dance began. Graceful and smooth, gliding as Eris guided her through the movements.

Spinning and twirling and whirling, she could only look at him as they moved. They did not speak, just danced and eyed each other.

Something charged went through the air between them, the close proximity of their bodies, and Blair wanted to know it as equally as Eris. Wanted to welcome it.

He smelled of spruce and warm honey, mahogany and citrus, flames and burning coals. Blair swallowed it down, drank it in and almost closed her eyes from how strong it was.

The pads of his fingers were rough, felt scarred as they held the small of her back and her own soft fingers. The freckles on his skin were similar to hers but brighter, a hue of ginger rather than her umber shaded spots.

And where he touched, across her waist and now one of her hips, burned.

The feeling like a fire, warm and welcoming and home, spilling into her veins like hot oil. And then Eris was dipping her, their faces a mere inch apart and Blair’s lips parted in a breathy gasp.

His eyes watching those perfect lips, trained on them as they stood like that. Dipped over and under one another, Blair’s leg hooked over his hip like she would fall.

But something in those pointed eyes, cunning and lethal, told her he would never let her go.

“Where have they kept you?” Eris asked finally, and brought her back up to a stand as they began again.

“A female is nothing to be kept.” Blair responded as easily as their dancing continued. Reminding herself of the proper terms fae used. “I have heard of how backwards Autumn can be, though. Perhaps that is your way of thinking?”

“You were not there for the war.” It was not the statement he made it, a rephrase of his first question. And he did not scold her for the jab she shouldn’t have made, supposed to be swaying and wooing but instead bit at him like a ravenous dog. “Nobody talked of a fourth sister.”

“I hadn’t realized I owed my life to the Court’s of Prythian or it’s people.” His hands left her body and trailed to the tips of her fingers as she spun out and when she returned his hold was firmer but he smiled, wicked and beautiful. “What?”

That look in his eyes, she couldn’t place it. And her voice held more venom than she intended, despite how soft and sweet it may have sounded aloud.

“You intrigue me, Blair Archeron.” He said and pushed her out again, her dress spinning out at the bottom as she twirled and came back to him. Pressed against his chest, one hand on the back of his neck and he might have shivered. “Trust the most beautiful of your sisters to be the smartest.”

“We’ve shared mere words, what are you basing my intelligence off of?”

“A feeling.”

“A feeling?” She repeated. He nodded and then she was keenly aware of where his hands were, trailing to the base of her own neck— close enough to be courting. More than that.

“Tell me,” Eris started, beginning a box step procedural that she followed. “—have they tucked you away out of fear of what you could become, or fear of what they could lose?”

“Who’s to say I’m not the one who chooses to stay away?” Eris’s eyes glittered with a need to know, like he wanted into her mind to see all of that intrinsic astuteness shrouded by firs and spruce. “Who’s to say I wanted to be a part of this life at all?”

“I offered to give them armies in exchange for your sisters hand and they bring you in.” He states as the song comes to an end and another starts. A rapid tempo, fast and harsh. Mostly string instruments, dramatic. “Why?”

“I was late,” Blair corrects, one hand holding the back of his neck as the other is gripped in his. Larger, muscled, and firmer than Blair’s delicate, soft, and teasing hand. “—you must be a terrible listener.”

Amusement lit Eris’s eyes as he held an arm around her waist, fingers brushing her ribs.

“Did they keep you away because of your mouth, then?” He crooned, their bodies moving seamlessly to the upbeat music. Stepping and spinning all at once, matched with the other pairs of dancers on the floor.

“What of my mouth?”

“What of it, indeed.” He smiled, eyes flicking to the rich ridges of her garnet colored lips. Blair’s cheeks heated and for the first time her eyes flicked away from his face. Anywhere but him as they landed on Azriel and she almost breathed in relief when she found that his eyes were already on hers.

A silent question in them and Blair blinked softly in response.

“Would you believe me if I said the second I saw you, I forgot about Nesta completely?” Eris whispered into her ear, lips brushing against the hair that curled there. So close she could feel the heat of his breath, like a flame licking her skin.

She cursed the part of her that wanted to feel that heat in other places and shoved it down. She looked back to Eris, noses nearly touching with the proximity this dance required.

“And what if I am already spoken for?”

Questions, so many questions with him. And Blair just fed them back as if the answers were in the questions themselves, a proper response unneeded.

“Are you?” His brows raised.

“No.”

It was simple, nothing further needed and she didn’t understand why she cared to tell a male she had met mere minutes ago that she was available. The first other than Rhys, Lucien, Azriel, Cassian and the blonde male she had set her eyes on since coming here. Since being forced here.

“They must do it to you all then.” Eris said, smile fading into a tighter one as he saw that look in Blair’s eyes. “Dwindle your flame, drown it out, waste you.”

“My sister and her mate have been gracious to me in my… adjustment. I have nothing to complain about, and certainly nothing to waste.”

Eris shook his head so barely as they spun Blair almost didn’t catch it, disbelief in every beautiful crook of his utterly handsome face.

“All of you is wasted, my dear Blair. They are blind if they cannot see what lives inside of you, your fire, whatever that power is and whatever you are now.”

Perhaps it was because Blair didn’t even know what was inside of her, why her chest warmed on its own for the first time in over a year just now, but she didn’t say another word.

When the music ended, she bowed before Eris as any graceful courtier would— a dismissal on her part before she stepped back and allowed for him to bow in return.

But he did not, and only stared at her as if he couldn’t—wouldn’t—bring himself to say goodbye. We are not done playing, Blair Archeron, was what his eyes added as Azriel swept her from the floor and the room all together.

His eyes followed her the whole way and that cold returned as soon as she left his line of sight.

🏷️: @prythianpages @impossibelle @readychilledwine

[i-llo]

The whole beeing soulmates thing

Beetlejuice × Fem O/C

Click here for more informations about this fic

Chapter 2

Synopsis: Sophie lives a normal and happy life in the 80s, she never worries about things beyond her reality, until weird dreams started to haunt her – flashes of faces and places she didn't recognize, and a strange gothic girl shows up with even more disturbing informations. What she can't figure out is that she's trapped in an endless cycle of death and rebirth, always ate the age of 25, and that her destiny is undeniably connected to Beetlejuice in some way. Centuries before, they should have met, but a cruel tragedy separated them and now the Deetz and the Maitlands, headed by Lydia, are determined to give Beetlejuice a chance of redemption, finding out about Sophie's forgotten past. As they try to reunite these two destined souls, something is trying to prevent this from happening, at all costs. Between ancient secrets, an inexplicable connection and they running out of time, Sophie and Beetlejuice finally have a chance to undo the curse that keeps them separated and trapped in this world.

Notes: Beetlejuice's medias will be mixed up (these works do not belong to me and all rights are reserved), so we'll use a lot of information from the 1988 and 2024 movies, but using the personality of the characters from the Broadway musical. I'm looking for someone to help me with beta reading the English translation.

Act 1, prologue: A Promise in the Shadows

It was a particularly cold night, a deep darkness, as the moon struggled to reveal itself through the thick clouds. The holwing wind made the trees sway, groaning in the gloom. In the open-air cemetery, where the silent witnesses of old times layed, the unease sense was almost palpable, a desolation that seemed to envolve the place with every wind blow.

Sophia, with her heavy dress and silent steps, had just revealed herself in the light of a nearby lamp, leaving a narrow alley, accompanied by a strong and austere man. Sophia's father, Edmund, was influential and feared in the region and was returning home with her after a social event, however, he decided to slightly divert his path for a short round. His concern for his family's property and investments led him to inspect the cemetery, now neglected and disturbingly exposed, three years after the start of the Black Death.

Among the rotting bodies, Beetlejuice moved with disconcerting intensity, searching for anything valuable, as soon as a cart unloaded, he moved to this new location. His carefree and irreverent behavior was evident as he manipulated the corpses with an almost frenzied dexterity. His eyes, darkened like two black spots on his face due to the low light, were an almost savage sight, his actions did't went unnoticed by passersby.

Sophia's father advanced with firm and quick steps, approaching Beetlejuice with an expression of absolute disdain. “Even the lowest scum have learned to respect the dead, what do you think you're doing?” he shouted, his voice resonating with an authority that seemed to fill the cemetery.

The thief, oblivious to the gravity of the situation, slowly turned around, a disdainful smile on his lips. "Me? I like to think that I'm giving a better destination to things that they will certainly no longer use". His voice full of sarcasm, directly challenged the power that Edmund represented.

The tension was palpable. As he continued to make ,threats and try to intimidate Beetlejuice, Sophia, hidden in the shadows, felt a mixture of fear and inexplicable fascination. Despite her father being an imposing figure, the strange young man faced the situation with a confidence that delighted her. Sure, the desecration of the dead made her shudder and the smell was unbearable, but there was something morbidly magnetic about the situation. Beetlejuice showed no signs of submission, instead, he continued to work, completely disregarding the presence of the intruders. Sophia, despite her natural shyness and respect for her father's suffocating presence, couldn't take her eyes off him. The way he challenged the established order was fascinating.

---

In the upcoming weeks, Sophia's life became a silent search. Observing Beetlejuice from distance, through the windows of her residence or during discreet walks, she began to feel a deep curiosity, along with a new kind of anxiety. The way he defied norms and lived freely enchanted her. Every sight of him was a mixture of wonder and desire, a desire to escape the restrictive and controlling life she knew, and he was the representation her feelings, as if all her inappropriate thoughts formed a whole new person. Finally, after the torturous weeks that followed, Sophia decided to act, she could no longer return to the confines of her existense, not after that encounter in the graveyard. She would run away and find Beetlejuice, she intended to confess her feelings and then they could run away, with her dowry's money that she would bring hidden, they could start a new life, just the two of them.

However, what that young woman could never imagine, was that this was also the day of his honeymoon. After meeting and marrying Dolores, an enigmatic and seductive woman, in a matter of days, joining together in a profane celebration, just like them, the moment came for the consummation of the vows. Dolores, however, had planned something dark: poison him to take his soul and ensure her own immortality. Sophia ran hurriedly through the deserted streets, the cold wind hurted her face like small cuts, while the sound of her own footsteps echoed in her nervous mind. Every corner felt like a eternity and every noise from the street seemed amplified in her troubled head, but the confidence in her feelings and her perfectly put together plan drove her forward, with her heart fixed on one person.

When Sophia arrived, she found the most horrific scene, Beetlejuice was dead from poisoning and with an enraged expression due the betrayal. His body was already pale and cold. Rage that resulted in Dolores' brutal death by axe, the woman's body was completely dismembered, causing blood to spread everywhere, soaking all the floor. Sophia then walked over, heartbroken and with eyes full of tears, kneeling beside Beetlejuice and crying over his limp body, the feeling of despair and desolation growing every second, "I love you" she whispered, her voice weak and broken by pain, almost inaudible. “And I promise that I will love you in every other life, we will meet again, and no matter what happens, I will never forget you.” Sophia's lament seemed to echo through the village, the sound of crying and sharp sobs, her promises of love and devotion caught in the darkness of that night.

---

Sophia's father after finding out what had happened, warned by his employees, was furious and decided that the situation needed to be resolved quickly and effectively. To protect the family's honor and avoid any scandal, he arranged a marriage for Sophia with Anthony, a man who was as cruel as rich, known for his brutality and power. Sophia's marriage to Anthony was the realization of her nightmares, he was ruthless and treated her with scorn, isolating and keeping her locked up, away from any possibility of escape and under strong physical violence. Sophia's life alongside Anthony was full of suffering and fear. Anthony, interested only in her wealth, constantly mistreated her. A few months after their wedding, Sophia, now at the age of 25, was brutally murdered by Anthony, who had already completed his goal and no longer needed her. Her life was ended short and filled with abuse, a cruel act that sealed her fate.

After Sophia's death, a heavy air enveloped the room, as if the world was suspended in dark mourning. That seemed to announce the sadness of an unfulfilled promise, in the dim light, the cycle of life and death continued. Time advanced until a baby's cry broke the silence. Her new life began as a child again, eyes opening to a world that was at once so familiar and so new. As the seconds passed fast, memories of her past life began to emerge, like scattered fragments of a distant dream. The love and the promise made to Beetlejuice, the losses and the very curse that now followed her, became clear in her mind. She slowly understood that she was doomed to repeat her story, trapped in an endless cycle of reincarnation, always seeking to find the one to whom she had promised eternal love, and then she heard “Welcome to the world, Olivia”.

[go-to-two]

You can have JLS & Tracy together again on your screen… what’s your dream show style/synopsis for them? Would you prefer show or movie?

I almost always prefer TV to movies.

But as for style, I'm going to reference a movie. I've said this before so it's a bit of deja vu, but there's a movie on Hulu called Plus One. It's a rom com but not super in its feelings. It's irreverent and raunchy and needs good chemistry between the leads to work. I'd want to see them in something like that.

[devieuls]

I’ve always been there for you. part.II

Childe (Tartaglia) x Fem Reader ¡smut!

Warning : Smut 18+ MDNI; Childe Dom! ; unprotected and rude sex; dirty talk; threats; slaps; spit; bites; hickeys; punishments; blood; voyeurism; power play; teasing; choking, jealousy and possessiveness; pseudo-toxic relationship; violent foreplay; BDSM.

Reader with Cryo vision.

Synopsis : You are the only daughter of the Tsaritsa of Snezhnaya, heir to the throne and general of the nation. The diamond of that place characterized by the eternal winter, loved by the people and adored for the angelic but fierce facade that you show. The only person with whom this mask fell is your secret lover, the one who manages to make you forget your duties with a touch and takes you to heaven whenever you end up in bed together. Your relationship was reserved for the bedroom, although you liked to tease him in public, as the 11th Harbinger was also your personal guard.

Everything was great and perfect... until one day your game was pushed too far, breaking the thin thread that gave you so much stability. Appearances were deceiving, and everything you thought you had under control suddenly hit you, dropping that house of cards you built for fun.

Length : 4k

Notes: In the story there will be some slightly violent or excessively harsh parts from the reader or Childe himself, read the warnings to better understand what it is. It’s a mini series, I hope you like it.

OH, CLICK HERE TO SEE WHAT YOU'LL WEAR IN THE MEETING!

Part 1 ; Part 2 ; Part 3 ; Part 4 END

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Still furious you headed to the part of the castle reserved for each of the Harbingers, who had a wing each to be always available for the Tsarina.

Once you got to Childe’s part, you walked into his room without even knocking, locking it behind you.

< y/n, what’s goin-? > You stopped him before he could finish the sentence, rushing to his lips, looking for an effective and productive way to release anger.

The kiss from the beginning was eager and wet, your lips were sought with breathlessness and lust. Your hands slipped on his jacket, taking it off easily and then immediately climbing on his shirt, going to unbutton it with enthusiasm. You made the red-boy back up to the bed, making him sit on the edge and straddling on him, not sticking out of the kiss until he completely lost his breath. Childe bit his lip and threw his head back when you sank your teeth and lips on his neck, then hands on your body, releasing the cloak that was part of the uniform.

His hand climbed up your neck and then ended up in the middle of your hair, squeezing between your fingers and then in a vise a handful of your hair, giving a slight tug so as to tear you away from him. You growled at him because of the pull of your hair, getting a growl from him and a cold but lustful look.

Your hand swiftly wrapped around his neck, squeezing the grip, making a slight pressure; take him to the mattress, opening his shirt totally, accidentally blowing a few buttons. The red pushed you against him again thanks to the grip that he had managed to recover in your hair; he unhooked the hooks that held the shoes tightly, taking them off with ease. He again carried his lips on yours, finding the same hungry rhythm as before, going to suck and bite your lip.

Your hand tightened more against his neck, causing the boy to gasp in your mouth and a subsequent smug smile.

< Squeeze more, baby, I like it. > He said between your lips with a mischievous and irreverent tone, playing with you and with the fact that you would never go to tighten to such an extent to really suffocate him.

You smiled keeping away from the kiss, trying to get away slightly, if it wasn’t for the firm grip in your hair that forced you to stand still over the boy. Maybe a little anger had gone, but how could you be angry if you were in your lover’s bedroom.

< I could say the same to you, Tartaglia. > You said leaning towards him, whispering his title on his lips, knowing how it lit up well when you said it, especially if in a context like this.

Her blue eyes became completely clouded by lust, pulling more of your hair, making you meow from the pleasant pain you were feeling. Your hand slid purposely into his pants, undoing his belt, then clutching his already hard package, he panted and then watching the way your hand groped his needy cock. < someone is already ready for me > you said mumbling.

He pulled your hand out of his pants and quickly changed your positions, slamming you under him and locking your hand over your head, also taking the one around his neck and joining it to the other. < oh, don’t play like that with me, baby. You might regret > he answered with a hoarse and deep voice.

He carried his face on your neck, sniffing it before leaving a painful bite from which a slight trickle of blood came out that he promptly sucked, making you moan obscenely.

You shook your hands in your fists as you felt Childe’s free hand slip into your pants, pleasantly feeling the absence of your underwear, which led to him squeezing your intimacy with three fingers, pinching it and making you tremble and groan.

< Well, well well... the fearsome princess of Snezhnaya moaning like a whore under her subordinate > he said taking you down, bringing two fingers down to the clitoris, where she began to pinch and massage.

Your hips moved left and right and then pushed closer to his gloved hands. There were very few things that could make you horny, but Ajax’s gloved hand while masturbating was something idyllic. Your body was arched on the mattress, trembling as it produced pornographic moans due to overstimulation.

The boy observed your reactions satisfied as his fingers got wet because of your moods, pressing on your hole with one finger, threatening to penetrate you, slowly following the line of the edges. You bit your lip as hard as you could, started drooling like any whore, pushing your pelvis against him, hoping that this would make him enter your teeth to please you.

< Not so fast, ma'am. You walked into my room without permission, you threw yourself at me without even giving me an explanation... what a naughty girl, should I reward you for your behavior? > His fingers pinched and pulled your pulsating clit, making you moan again and roll your eyes back. Even though you had the boy right the night before, you’d never get tired of feeling so rough with yourself

< Why not, sir? > You said defiantly, grinning as you held your head back. Hearing the sound of his smile against the already sensitive skin of the neck, feeling little chills climb on your body.

Archons, he liked as fuck to hear you so disrespectful to him, because then he would have had a valid reason to be more rude to you.

Childe left another bite on your skin, taking your breath away from the surprise. < mhmh, how about I take my hand out of here ? > He said by removing your hand from your intimacy and then lowering your pants completely, then detaching from you and releasing the grip on your wrists. < You’re gonna have to make it up to me, baby. > He said with a mischievous smile, then opened your legs in front of him, taking one of your hands and carrying it on your own intimacy.

< I want you to please yourself in front of me until I get bored and I fuck you so hard that I mess up your guts and take away your ability to walk. > He said seriously, backing up until he sat in the chair that was not far from the bed but in front of it.

He crouched with his legs open, leaning his elbow on an armrest and then a temple on his fist, waiting for you to start touching in front of him. This one was really new to you, you never masturbated in front of him, and it embarrassed you a little bit, and he knew that, so he made a request like that.

You have brought your fingers to your red and swollen clitoris, beginning to give it attention and massaging it slowly already experiencing chills and breathlessness in the chest, leaving some soft, almost meowing moans. You have gradually speeded up the movements of the fingers, bringing the free hand to attend to the obscene and strong moans that you were leaving because of the pleasures, panting on the name of the boy who looked at you with longing.

You sobbed his name a couple of times before he ordered you not to cover your mouth, making you carry a hand in the sheets you squeezed with hope of easing the sweet pain of pleasure.

The predatory look of the boy watched as the folds of your intimacy moved at your touch, dripping on your red silk sheets; he watched as your body agitated and bent as you called his exasperated and needy name, The showy skin on your legs and how they trembled once you swallowed two fingers inside of you. His pants became tighter and tighter as he listened to you sobbing his name, begging him to come and keep on coming.

You felt like a total slut touching you in front of him in that way, letting him watch and study every little movement, listening to how you whined about his name in need of contact with him and enjoying seeing you so fragile and naked in front of him. Maybe he would propose something similar in the future, he was loving that version of you, so shameless and desperate for his dick.

You stopped the movements of your hand when you felt the presence of the boy standing in front of the bed, after all, sneaking around was one of his skills but you would have preferred to hear him first. Childe grinned bitterly but at the same time mischievous, looking down upon your face.

< Did I say "stop" ? > he growled and laid a hand on your neck, squeezed it slightly. < Is't so hard to be a good whore for me? Do I have to be meaner with you? > He went on, and then slapped your vagina, making you moan deeply, shivering. < You must have pissed me off today, didn’t you? > His voice was low and deep as she slammed a second slap into your intimacy. < my bad, I should have educated better a rebellious kitten like you. But you could be such a good kitty, right? > He cocluse by rolling up the sleeves of the shirt on his arms, putting on gloves later.

< maybe I don’t want to be. I know you like it when I’m mean > you answered brazenly.

He took you from your hips after sitting on the edge of the bed, settling with his belly against his thighs, taking off the shirt you were wearing and then stroking your bare back, passing a finger along your spine, causing you little chills. You took a deep breath before sucking on his gloved fingers at his command, mumbling slightly as you felt it in your mouth. < such a good kitten, so good... Go on, baby. > He whispered. You kept sucking and licking his fingers until he took them out of your mouth to enter sharply inside you, making you scream and stick your nails into his thigh. < Aw, if only you could see how pretty your face is drooling over my fingers like a sweet bitch. >

His fingers pumped fast in and out, hitting some spots he knew were sensitive to you, causing you to pant and groan shamefully against his thigh, blushing for strong pleasure. Childe let out a laugh at your reactions, which made you blush more, beginning to drool once he began to alternate some slaps on your intimacy with the fingers pumping.

The pleasure was too much, you felt the blood crashing on your lower abdomen concentrating the pleasure right where the boy was cutting. He came out of your intimacy and struck a couple of times your buttocks, letting slip disparaging words and totally non-royal titles. You bent your back trying to get up from this position that was becoming uncomfortable and painful, receiving the boy’s hand on your back, pushing it down to lock yourself in that position < You'll not get up from here until I feel satisfied. I’m not done with you yet. > He said leaving a bite on your shoulder and then licking the mark with satisfaction.

You kept moaning at every gloved slap against you, meowing to try to recover some air in your lungs. Your drool soaked his pants as you felt his cock pounding against your stomach for the excitement of punishing you. He entered you again, pumping harder and faster than before, until you come up with a loud orgasm, calling his name.  He took you by the hair, pulling you towards him, making your sore back arch. < Just because you cum don’t think I’m satisfied. > He said licking your neck smiling, then throwing you on his mattress, licking his fingers full of your moods, moaning with pleasure in feeling the sweetness of the liquid.

He took off the gloves with his teeth and then completely removed his shirt and pants, observing your exhausted and panting body on the bed, approaching you and pulling you to him by the legs. You bite your lip before leaning over you going to leave wet kisses and hickeys on your belly, and then end up on your breast, beginning it to suck and bite rough.

One of your hands crashed into your mouth, trying to take care of the sharp sound of your desperate moans, weeping quietly. The other hand ended up in the boy’s soft hair, pulling some strands when he sucked too hard or bit. After several minutes, Childe gave a respite to your over-stimulated nipples, recreating a wet river between your legs.

He came down between your legs, kissing your inner thigh until he got to your intimacy, blowing on it to give you more chills. < Do you want me, baby? > he said leaving a kiss right between the separation of the thigh and vagina, making you pant slightly. < Tell me. How much do you want me? > He kept teasing you. In other circumstances, you wouldn’t stoop to his little games so easily, but you needed it.

Your dangerous game in the meeting, the argument with Regrator, Childe in THAT uniform, and his being so rough in bed, only increased your libido. You needed Childe, every little part of you screamed his name, wanted it, needed it.

<  I want you terribly much, Ajax. > You said panting, hoping that this would be enough to convince him, but you would have lied to yourself in actually thinking it. He loved to destroy your power under him, totally nullifying your title and making you subject to his will, and that was what always brought you back to him.

< So pretty, you can do better. Beg me, baby. Let me hear how fucking you want me. > he licked the point that just before he was just kissing, and then massage the outer thigh with his hands, groping it with possession.

< Please, I crave you... I’m begging you, Sir. > Your words were meowing and gasping for the sensitive point he was playing with. Childe went completely on to hear that nickname, you knew it made him particularly hot and that’s why you used it to get what you wanted.

The boy moved away from your legs and stood up, taking off his pants with a speed never seen before, coming back above you and not hesitating a second to to enter you to the bottom. You opened your eyes wide, letting a scream followed by a groan come out of your mouth; your body arched again, while your hands clung to the sheets, clutching them between your fingers while some tear of pleasure came out of your eyes, closing them later. He didn’t even give you time to get used to it that he began to suck his sore dick inside you, took your face with one hand and tightened his grip on the jaw. < Look at me. You wanted me so much until now, what’s up? Princess, you can’t stand all this? > He said growling at you, then moaning because of your walls closing around him.

You opened your eyes to look at him, letting out of your mouth some curses for the pleasure he was giving you as he pulsed against your walls and pushed deeper and deeper. Your vision was a little blurry from the tears coming out of you, which made the boy inside you harder.

< Look at you, so pretty when you cry for my dick. > He said and then left a wet kiss on your lips, licking your tears later, narrowly increasing the intensity of the thrusts.

His hand wrapped around your neck, choking some of your moans and whimpers. Your eyes looked at him with irreverence and lust, you wished he would go stronger with you, you needed to feel him to the last, to focus your anger and libido on something. Between one push and the other his grip on your neck tightened making you moan and roll your eyes back, panting < more... > with a broken voice, continuing to cry on his sheets making him enjoy.

< You want more, baby? Okay. > He said smirking and then yanking your hair and leaving a slap on your face, not too painful, but you liked this. He had never gone so far with hair pulled, making you cry, choke and slap but you didn’t mind all this now.

You left a liberating moan when it totally entered you, hitting your most sensitive spot, leaving a slap on your breast and pulling your hair again, pushing harder and harder. Maybe it hurt a little, but you didn’t care, it was a pain that could be endured if he gave you the best cum shot of your life. The nails ended up scratching and clinging to his shoulders, cutting his back a little too, causing the boy to groan hoarsely.

He held you by the neck as he gave the last rough thrusts inside you, making you cum with a spray on his still hard dick but close to orgasm too. You missed your breath after the strong orgasm, gasping for air as the guy kept pumping in and out of you and then reaching orgasm too with a loud and deep moan, slightly growling. You carried your hands on his neck and shoved it against your lips, beginning yet another wet kiss, as the boy’s hands moved to hold himself.

< If I had known that coming to your room would have meant this, I would have walked into this room years ago > You said laughing on his lips, and then moved the boy to the side and dragged you over him, sitting astride on his belly. You left some sweet kisses on his chest and then on his neck. < I needed this so much > you whispered.

< And I thought I was exaggerating... > He laughed back. < I needed it, too, to see you dressed like this... fuck, you don’t know how much I had to stop myself from bending you over the table and fucking you there. > He counted, laying his hands on your hips.

< You stopped the presence of my mother, may I never see what we do. > You responded by laughing while leaving a bite on his neck. < I would have done it. I was already warming you under the table... who knows what the Tsarina would have said in seeing her only daughter jump on the dick of one of her subordinate... to try > you received a small spanking after what you had said, remembering how devoted your lover was to your mother.

< You are without rules... You know what I risk in doing all this > He sighed heavily.

< But we like the risk, the thrill of being discovered. I don’t think you ever felt sorry for possessing me, at least not after all these years > You snorted and then dropped on the mattress.

< I could never get tired of this. I live to serve the royal family and to serve you > he said approaching him, caressing your naked skin. < But you know that I have duties towards the Tsarina, don't be angry for this >

You turned to him, and then wrapped the bravvia around his neck. < Mh, I don’t like my mother’s power over you. The only one who should command you that way should be me. I’m jealous. > You grumbled with a soft pout.

< Mh.. but you have more power than her, I am totally yours. You know who should be really jealous ? Me. You sent me away with the others to stay with another Harbinger, I feel offended > He said moving some locks behind your ear.

You sighed, you hated to think back to that moment, knowing it was your big mistake. If you had talked to Childe about what happened, there would have been nothing in the world, not even the Tsarina herself, to stop him from killing his comrade. You knew your lover’s levels of jealousy, and that was enough to know when it was best to lie.

< I have my duties too, I had to check the nation finances, these things are not up to you, it would have been suspicious to make you stay to talk about something you do not understand. > You said and then wring his cheeks < You’re so cute when you get jealous > You giggled and then you printed a kiss on his lips.

Childe snorted and kissed me back < Something I understand too... > He said grumbling.

< Ah, yes? You know about accounting and financial systems? > You asked mocking him, only to find his face in the hollow of your neck.

< A little, yes... I would learn more if it takes to stay more time with you > He whispered. < We don't train together for a long time... I am always traveling and I thought there was something with him > He said with a slight tone of concern in the voice.

You held your arms around her neck, laying your face over her head, looking sad and lost. You wanted to tell him, you didn’t like keeping secrets from him, but that was also to preserve his safety. < You’re the only one... I would never replace you with anyone. > Your voice was sweet and delicate as you were held in his arms.

< Don’t say it... one day you'll have to get married and you will not be mine anymore. You'll replace me and you forget me > He said bitterly. < That’s why I want to keep you to myself as much as possible. >

You swallowed and then sighed. < What if I married you? >

< The Tsarina cannot marry a Harbinger, is inconvenient and would not accumulate the force of the ruler. The Tsaritsa would never allow your marriage, especially if it is with me. > he responded by caressing your back.

< Pity, you would be sexy dressed as a King at my side... so sexy > You said laughing to break the tension in the air, trying to avoid the harsh reality.

< Sexy? I could make you scream for hours in the throne room and shout my name in the bedroom, without the fear of being discovered > He answered laughing too.

< Not that I’d mind... that would be nice, at least I’d have a good reason to kill all those sluts who hit on you. Even if I don’t say it, you belong to me. And I know you’re flirting with that traveler. Oh, Archons. if I find out you’re sleeping with her in my absence, I swear my mother’s torture would be your salvation. > You said playing with a lock of her hair, curling it around your finger.

< She’s not nearly as beautiful as you, because betraying you to a stranger. I’m totally yours. > He responded promptly.

< Swear. Swear to me that you are mine and that you belong to me.> Your voice was colder and more decisive.

Childe looked at you sincerely and then sighed. < I belong to you, every little part of me belongs to you. I think of nothing but you. Only you. >

[godspeedviper]

Claws - BatCat Kinktober (+18)

𖤐 Kinktober Prompt: Feet

𖤐 Synopsis: A call from Harley to Selina interrupts an uncomfortably intimate moment.

𖤐 Word Count: 232

𖤐 Rating: Mature || Foot fetish || Femdom

[Incoming call from: Harley]

  The words flashed across Selina’s phone screen. She picked up the phone, taking the call with an exasperated sigh accompanied by a similarly irreverent eye roll. Before she could get a word out, she was greeted by the overbearing sound of Harley’s girlish enthusiasm. 

“Hello Harley.” She groaned. 

“Whatcha doin?” Came the reply.

“I’m in the middle of a pedicure right now.” She looked down at her feet, and was greeted by a pair of familiar blue eyes which looked up to her with such blatant devotion that she couldn’t help but feel aroused. 

  Bruce Wayne was down on all fours before her, with a nail polish brush held between his lips. She shot him a glance of sharp disapproval, as if to inquire why he had stopped. Bruce seemingly understood, and continued the arduous task of painting her toenails with the brush in his mouth. The ongoing villainous phone call did not deter him, and in fact only stoked the flame burning in his core, the heat spreading through his pale skin and flushing his face red with lust. 

“Any faster? I’d like to go to dinner tonight with Harley and the girls.” She said dismissively. 

The thought of other people, other rogues , being able to see Selina’s carefully painted toes during her casual outings was pushing Bruce to the very edge. 

This was their little secret.  

Ao3 || Kinktober List || Ko-Fi

[thebanishedreader]

Book Bans in California

As of June 2023

This Book is Gay by Juno Dawson

Banned from libraries and classrooms as of September 2022.

Synopsis from BookTrust.org

"Following her previous book Being a Boy, young adult author and former PSHCE teacher Juno Dawson offers up a funny, frank look at all things LGBT in this intelligently-written non-fiction book. 

Including testimonials from people across the gender and sexual spectrums, this is an accessible and inclusive take on what it's like to grow up LGBT, addressing all the worries and anxieties young people may have about this topic - whether or not they are questioning their own sexuality. Dawson writes responsibly and sensitively about her subject, but has plenty of fun along the way - and Spike Gerrell's irreverent illustrations add an extra dose of humour too.

A fantastic book for classrooms and school libraries, This Book is Gay is a must-read for teachers and parents, as well as teens themselves."

Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Blackwell's (UK)

Statistics Source: Pen America

Support the American Library Association!

[ogradyfilm]

Recently Viewed: The Housemaid (1960)

The Criterion Channel’s synopsis describes The Housemaid as a “venomous melodrama,” and it certainly earns that label; director Kim Ki-young apparently doesn’t know the definition of the word “subtle.” His camera swoops and soars like a vengeful spirit, pushing in and dollying backwards with relentless, whiplash-inducing speed. His compositions are equally dynamic, fragmenting the image into claustrophobic sub-frames by observing the action through doorways, stair railings, and rain-drenched windowpanes. The music is likewise maximalist, characterized by eerie strings, mournful woodwinds, and a mercilessly abused piano.

The over-the-top visual style and sound design perfectly complement the sensationalistic story, which revolves around the gradual deterioration of an affluent teacher’s idyllic domestic life following a brief affair with the eponymous servant. While the movie’s social commentary isn’t terribly nuanced and its central conflict often comes off as rather misogynistic (the male protagonist, for example, lacks any agency whatsoever in his own downfall; his role in the narrative is akin to driftwood, passively buffeted by the dueling currents of his wife’s materialism and his mistress’ insatiable lust), the plot is nevertheless thoroughly engrossing—bolstered by an irreverent, absurdist tone that frequently borders on darkly humorous (tragedy and comedy are, after all, two sides of the same coin).

The Housemaid is a true cinephile’s delight. Its thematic density and moral ambiguity inspired an entire generation of South Korean filmmakers (its influence on Bong Joon-ho and Park Chan-wook in particular is plainly evident in every shot, every cut, every twist)—and that alone makes it absolutely essential.

[fearsmagazine]

DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS - Review

DATES: Sept. 4th, 2023 – Jan. 7th, 2024 COMPANY: Drew & Dane Productions THEATER: New World Stages, 340 West 50th Street, New York City ACTORS: Jordan Boatman, Arnie Burton, James Daly, Ellen Harvey, Andrew Keenan-Bolger, Kaitlyn Boyer and Sean-Michael Wilkinson. CREW: Director/Writer - Gordon Greenberg; Writer - Steve Rosen; Producers - Drew Desky and Dane Levens; Scenic and Puppet Designer - Tijana Bjelajac; Costume Designer - Tristan Raines; Lighting Designer - Rob Denton; Original Music and Sound Designer - Victoria Deiorio; Wig and Hair Designer - Ashley Rae Callahan.

(L-R) Andrew Keenan-Bolger, Jordan Boatman, James Daly, Ellen harvey and Arnie Burton in DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

SYNOPSIS: A pansexual GenZ Count Dracula is in the midst of an existential crisis. When he sets his sights on the brilliant young earth scientist Lucy Westfeldt, he meets his match for the first time – as well as a slew of other colorful characters including vampire hunter Jean Van Helsing, insect connoisseur Percy Renfield and behavioral psychiatrist Wallace Westfeldt, whose British country estate doubles as a free-range mental asylum.

(L-R) Ellen Harvey, James Daly and Arnie Burton TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

REVIEW: Horror comedies come in only two flavors - good and bad. DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS is a sensational, decadent satire that is the perfect treat for the Halloween season.

Gordon Greenberg and Steve Rosen's satirical and irreverent treatment of the Stoker novel resides somewhere in between “The Rocky Horror Musical” and a Monty Python film, with flares of the immortal Charles Ludlam. The tone is set right from the start as the cast tosses the novel and the hilarity begins. The previous productions of the play, including an adaptation of the piece as a radio play for The Broadway Podcast Network, clearly have sharpened the dialogue and wordplay to a razor sharp wordplay duel that had the audience laughing out loud within the first few moments. The writers have trimmed the novel down to a 90 minute tale that tries to incorporate key elements of the story, taking liberties with the novel’s climax to nicely dovetail with the themes of their play. The satire runs the spectrum from that of the novel, political, contemporary pop culture, and gender. Except for Dracula, the other actors have dual or multiple roles where the juggling of the characters adds to the merriment.

James Daly and Jordan Boatman in DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

Gordon Greenberg’s direction is superb. It is a finely tuned choreography of dialogue and movement that harkens back to the golden era of silent films to the Marx Brothers. There are some delightful props, including puppets, that add yet another level of humor to the production. Greenberg turns up the energy right at the start and maintains it for 90 minutes, giving the audience little time to recover from the side splitting laughter.

James Daly and Andrew Keenan-Bolger in DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

Tijana Bjelajac’s Scenic Design is a wonderful minimalist and still adds atmosphere to the production. Integrated into the set are nice visual and functional elements that are scaled down for an off-broadway production but are lavish enough, and easily would work for a Broadway staging. Tristan Raines’ costume designs are fabulous. The designs capture the period but also combine contemporary elements that highlight the performances.

Arnie Burton and James Daly in DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS features an award worthy ensemble cast. The delivery of lines, the body language and facial expressions, their interactions are flawless, and if there were any misfires I didn’t notice. There was a fluidity to their performances that at times it felt like choreography. James Daly is outstanding as Dracula. He is as dynamic and enchanting as Tim Curry’s Dr. Frank-n-Furter, combined with the physique of Rocky. He delivers this multifaceted performance rich with comedic timing. Actor Arnie Burton steals the show as both Mina and Jean Van Helsing. He creates two unique performances that embodies the comedic prowess that is reminiscent of Milton Berle to Harvey Fierstein, with a dash of Bugs Bunny. In contrast, actress Ellen Harvey brings to life Wallace Westfeldt and Percy Renfield. She brilliantly effects switching between the two extremes that eventually becomes an uproarious gag in play. The cast does an astounding job of maintaining the energy level of the play for 90 minutes.

Andrew Keenan-Bolger and Jordan Boatman in DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS is a side-splitting tour de force that would leave Bram Stoker and Mel Brooks rolling in the aisles, and maybe a bit envious. I’ve always advocated that there is a distinct bond between comedy and horror, and this is at its finest. Outstanding performances, fabulous production designs, brilliant directing, all deliver an energetic feel good and memorable theater experience. You must bring your friends for a night you’ll long remember as the perfect treat of this Halloween season.

James Daly in DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS. Photo by Matthew Murphy

Opening night is September 18. Performances are Monday, Wednesday, Thursday and Sunday at 7PM, Friday and Saturday at 8PM, with matinees Saturday and Sunday at 2PM. Tickets are $99 - $119. Premium seating is available. Tickets are now on sale at Telecharge.com, (212) 239-6200. For more information, visit www.DraculaComedy.com.

Review By: Joseph B Mauceri

Listen to our interview with director & co-writer Gordon Greenberg & co-write Steve Rosen on creating DRACULA, A COMEDY OF TERRORS – HERE

[llpodcast]

(Literary License Podcast)

Auntie Mame: An Irreverent Escapade is a 1955 novel by American author Patrick Dennis chronicling the madcap adventures of a boy, Patrick, growing up as the ward of his Aunt Mame Dennis, the sister of his dead father.

 The book is often described as having been inspired by Dennis' real-life eccentric aunt, Marion Tanner, whose life and outlook mirrored those of Mame, but Dennis denied the connection. The novel was a runaway bestseller, setting records on the New York Times bestseller list, with more than 2 million copies in print during its initial publication. It became the basis of a stage play, a film, a stage musical, and a film musical.

 In 1958, Dennis wrote a sequel titled Around the World with Auntie Mame.

 Auntie Mame is a 1958 American Technirama Technicolor comedy film based on the 1955 novel of the same name by Edward Everett Tanner III (under the pseudonym Patrick Dennis) and its 1956 theatrical adaptation by Jerome Lawrence and Robert Edwin Lee. This film version stars Rosalind Russell and was directed by Morton DaCosta. It is not to be confused with a musical version of the same story that appeared on Broadway in 1966 and was later made into a 1974 film, Mame, starring Lucille Ball as the title character.

 Opening Credits; Introduction (2.21); Background History (15.30); Auntie Mame by Patrick Dennis Plot Synopsis (17.01); Book Thoughts (21.56); Let's Rate (39.06); Introducing a Film (41.18); Auntie Mame (1958) Film Trailer (42.25); Lights, Camera, Action (45.31); How Many Stars (1:13.28); End Credits (1.18.01); Closing Credits (1:20.07)

 Opening Credits– Jingle Bells by Ella Fitzgerald.  Taken from the album Ella’s Swinging Christmas.  Copyright 1960 Verve Records.  All rights reserved.

 Incidental Music:  Auntie Mame Original Motion Picture Soundtrack.  Music by Ray Heindorf and His Orchestra.  Copyright 1958 Master Classics Records.

  Closing Credits:  We Need A Little Christmas by Angela Lansbury, Frankie Michals, Sab Saminino- Original Broadway Cast.  From the album Mame Original Broadway Recording.  Copyright 1966 Columbia Master Works Records.  

​

Original Music copyrighted 2020 Dan Hughes Music and the Literary License Podcast. 

 All rights reserved.  Used by Kind Permission.

 All songs available through Amazon Music.

[pridepages]

eARC Review: Gwen and Art Are Not in Love

A HUGE thank you to Netgalley and Wednesday Books for providing me an eARC in exchange for an honest review!

RATING: ⭐⭐⭐

GOODREADS SYNOPSIS:  It’s been hundreds of years since King Arthur’s reign. His descendant, Arthur, a future Lord and general gadabout, has been betrothed to Gwendoline, the quick-witted, short-tempered princess of England, since birth. The only thing they can agree on is that they despise each other.

They’re forced to spend the summer together at Camelot in the run up to their nuptials, and within 24 hours, Gwen has discovered Arthur kissing a boy and Arthur has gone digging for Gwen's childhood diary and found confessions about her crush on the kingdom's only lady knight, Bridget Leclair. Realizing they might make better allies than enemies, they make a reluctant pact to cover for each other, and as things heat up at the annual royal tournament, Gwen is swept off her feet by her knight and Arthur takes an interest in Gwen's royal brother. 

RELEASE DATE: November 28, 2023

See my full review under the cut!

MY REVIEW:  I first became a Croucher fan with their first novel Reputation, a regency romantic comedy that introduced me to their gift for irreverence, high-speed banter, anachronistic plots, and lovable characters. While all are present in Gwen and Art Are Not in Love, this book doesn’t quite hit its marks as well.

What initially made me quite excited about Gwen and Art was its elevator pitch as an Arthurian novel with a queer leading cast. The idea of the ill-starred romance between Guinevere and Arthur being spun as a lavender marriage was delightful. Unfortunately, I quickly discovered that’s not what this book is. Croucher’s Camelot is one generations separated from the great Pendragon. The current royal children--heir Gabriel and his sister Gwendoline--struggle to live up to this great legacy. It prompts a storyline of struggle against internalized--and potentially externalized--homophobia. There’s no denying that’s part of most queer people’s lives. But that tale’s been told over and over again. We’re finally seeing a crop of authors who are telling stories unshackled by these expectations. This is a pseudo-medieval world akin to the 2001 film A Knight’s Tale, so did this Camelot really need homophobia?

Croucher’s characters here are also hit-and-miss. Their lead characters--Gwen and Art--are quite grating. Each is selfish, entitled, stubborn, and superior in different ways. Art does grow on the reader and seems to evolve the most over the story, but Gwen is quite difficult to love. Literature definitely needs more difficult women, so the issue is not that Gwen has to be particularly docile or sweet, but it becomes hard to root for her when she is constantly carping at everyone while being deadweight when it matters. Luckily, the supporting cast in the form of Gwen’s brother, Gabe, her lady in waiting, Agnes, her love interest, Bridget, and Art’s man, Sidney, round out the cast with more endearing personalities to cheer for. 

Another grating mesh is the B-storyline of the politics in this fictional England. Readers are repeatedly told that there are ‘cultists’ who believe that Arthuriana and legendary magic are all real. There are ‘Catholics’ who seem to represent the opposing ‘realists.’ We learn the ruling family is not long on the throne because there were threats outside their borders and internal unrest is further destabilizing them. The problem, frankly, is it’s all too much for the tone. Firstly, this is a romantic comedy, not a history lesson about this fictional country. Secondly, if you’re going to introduce that much background world-building, then it has to conclusively tie to the plot. But the reader is left baffled: we’re teased by the idea the cultists might be right, but there are only brief brushes against magic. We never do hear about the threats that border countries pose after the first introduction. Infighting between contestants for the English throne could have been pared down without the multiple vague parties and plots. Ultimately, this book feels like two different stories that were stitched together, but not smoothly. Sometimes a plot thread would be abandoned for large chunks of the book and then return quite suddenly, jarring the reader into memory and then making you wonder why it was there in the first place.

However, Gwen and Art Are Not in Love remains an enjoyable read. One of its most endearing qualities is the friendship that springs up between Gwen and Art. The world could use more books that show solidarity between men who love men and women who love women. So here’s to Croucher for giving us a good one!

[libertyreads]

Book Review #38 of 2023--

Murder Your Employer: The McMasters Guide to Homicide by Rupert Holmes. Rating: 3.5 stars.

Read from April 2nd to 5th.

When I picked this one up in a small bookshop in Toronto I really didn’t want to purchase it. Why? It was the first bookstore my husband and I had stopped at while on our trip to Canada and it was the first book I picked up there. But reading the sarcastic and satirical foreword sold me instantly. This fictitious guide on how to commit (and get away with) murder was a lot of things I enjoy both as a reader and in my life in general: It was funny, didn’t take itself too seriously, explored the darker parts of being human, and was well plotted.

But, and it’s going to be so weird to say this, I don’t think this book really went there when it comes to its darker elements. “But, Liberty, it says right in the synopsis that it’s a school where they teach people how to commit murder.” And you’re right. Yet the second these characters step away from the school and into the real world we lose a lot of the humor, irreverence, and satire as well as the darker aspects of the story. We even watch as these characters attempt to complete their thesis (murder) in order to graduate McMasters and I feel this way. I also struggled with the writing style. We switch into and out of a student’s  diary as well as into and out of the main narrator’s perspective so it feels choppy at times. It also feels like something written by a General Fiction writer so it doesn’t go into the typical tropes the way I would expect from a Mystery author. And it’s so hard to categorize because it’s not really Dark Academia and I don’t actually think it fits in Mystery. Calling it a Comedy would add more levity than what’s actually in the book. It’s just a struggle here. It started out like a textbook and was really dry at the beginning. Yet it is definitely not a textbook.

Overall, I think it was a little slow but worth my time. I don’t know who the hell to recommend this to though. It’s a bit like John Marrs in that way, just not quite as good. Clear as mud? Good.

[inumerable]

revived notes from a cyborg manifesto synopsis / maybe I will make big drawings ever again.

Cyborg irreverence to origin

Monsters define the limits of community

[cyborg] forms as a pleasure of transgression and porosity

Blasphemy as rigor

Resistance to a single code of language/any unified semiotic

[howdarkgames]

The Demeter Club, an Interactive fiction game.

Synopsis:

A group of murderers are forced into a therapy session to try and 'return to humanity', but there's a force in the dark with a secret plan for them, one that threatens to unravel their evil.

Content:

Vivid descriptions of violence and some sexual encounters, depending on your choices(mostly). Some irreverent humour.

Story branches are written with care, as if every branch is the only main branch, so they're all rich with plot/meaning.

Written with lots of attention and love, and released with anxiety. Check it out if you feel it's your thing!

Thanks!

[movie-track01]

A new synopsis of #Thunderbolts* has released

Marvel Studios (and a crew of indie veterans who definitely sold out) present Thunderbolts*, an irreverent team-up featuring depressed assassin Yelena Belova alongside the MCU's least anticipated band of misfits.