#the character has to be Unearthly Beautiful to make a point

[musical-chick-13]

Honestly, death to ALL portrayals of fictional characters involving Unearthly “Conventionally” Attractive™ actors, let everyone in your cast just look like a regular person.

[hackerqueen]

Shameless

warnings: sexual content, jealousy

a/n: it's short JakexMC fic, hope you will like it (some mirror stuff) ;)

He was aware of what kind of woman the MC was.

Namely, he was painfully aware that she acted on others like a magnet. Her unearthly beauty was complemented by her angelic character, charisma and sense of humor. She was a woman that men lusted after. She was the dream that everyone tormented by nightmares prayed for. So he couldn't help the constant inner irritation he had been feeling for the past few days during which he was with her and the group at the cabin in the woods. Everyone said that the search for Hannah would be more effective this way, and the young hack had to agree with displeasure. However, his ability to focus seemed to disappear with the MC, who seemed to have totally drive him insane.

They didn't have much time to enjoy each other's company as they tried to give their best to save his sister as soon as possible. They fell in love with each other at the worst time possible. But he couldn't help the secret glances directed in her direction. Nor could he hold back his irritation when he saw how often she joked with Dan, and her laughter echoed loudly in his ears. He couldn't contain his irritation when the MC showed up at the police station and several officers tried to flirt with her. And there was nothing he could do as he sat in the car with an earpiece in his ear, listening to their embarrassing pick-up lines and her answering.

However, his patience ran out the moment they found themselves in Aurora one evening to talk to Phil. How much he felt like breaking his nose with his fist when he saw his sassy smile and the words falling out of his mouth that were designed to seduce the MC. She, on the other hand, smiled and even tried to play his game - responding with half-words that could spark the boys' imagination. However, when MC sent him a blurry look then moved toward the bathroom, his legs steered him toward her on their own.

He followed her into the bathroom, which was meant for staff but there was no one inside so he locked the door. The brunette turned toward him and put her arms on her chest.

– Can you explain why you are looking at him as if you want his head to explode? – she asked, however, by the tone of her voice he understood that she was not angry

Although he didn't think about it, the image of his brain on the wall made him feel better.

– I already told you I don't like him.

She sent him a doubtful look.

– You are jealous.

– No. – he snapped out far too quickly than he would have liked – I'm not jealous, I'm being reasonable.

– I already told you not to worry about him. You don't trust me?

– It's not you I don't trust. – he rolled his eyes – He's almost undressing you with his eyes.

– He looks at literally every creature that has hips and tits like that! – she said louder, feeling the blood that filled her veins begin to boil – Understand that this relationship is purely friendly.

– You're naive if you think he just wants to be your friend. – he snapped out before he could bite his tongue – It seems that his flirting doesn't particularly bother you.

She clenched her jaw and sent him a degenerate look. Her pupils were enlarged and he also noticed that she was tense. She came close enough to him that there was no more than a few centimeters between them.

– And you didn't get the idea that I'm pretending to be nice and foolish just to make him trust me more? Just admit that you are jealous. And I remind you that I am not your property!

At this point he grabbed her firmly by the waist and turned her so that her back touched his chest. They were standing in front of a large mirror, hung over the sink, so they had a perfect view of both of them.

It was their first more physical contact, which caused the two of them to have quickened breaths and heartbeats and that constricting fire in their lower abdomens that they desperately wanted to extinguish.

As he gently pushed her hair aside with one hand to expose her neck, the MC arched her back, pressing her ass against his crotch, which made his blood heat up even more. He tilted his head and, still looking into the mirror searching for her eyes, placed a wet but still fine and tender kiss under her ear.

– My smart girl. – he muttered directly into her ear, and his voice was hoarse with lust

And that name made her completely wet and quietly moan.

It had been so long since they had both felt physical pleasure that they had completely forgotten how aphrodisiac it was.

Hearing her quiet, enticing moan, he couldn't control himself any longer and he wove his hand back into the back of her head firmly pulling her hair, tilting her back.

– You like it when I'm possessive, don't you? – he asked and she incapable of words, merely nodded. She gasped louder when she felt the cool fingers of his other hand on her exposed cleavage, followed by those on her hip and thigh. – Is it good when I touch you here? Or maybe here?

– Please don't stop. – she blushed with shame as in such a short time the hacker had her in a position begging him for more. She had never wanted someone more than him.

His lips once again attacked her neck with brutal and powerful kisses that drew sweet moans from her lips and quiet grunts from his throat due to his sizable erection, which she felt perfectly. She felt him sucking on her skin creating a red marking to show everyone that she was his. His hungry hands squeezed her boobs, making her nipples harden. When he reached her sensitive spot near her ear and his fingers roamed her thighs, she closed her eyes and threw her head back, resting it against his shoulder.

– Spread your legs. – he said, but it sounded more like a command, which she gladly obeyed

Then his long fingers pushed her lacy underwear aside and the hacker moaned, feeling how wet she was. She felt him begin to massage her clit in circular motions which made her see stars under her eyelids.

– Watch yourself in the mirror, MC. Watch me while I touch you.

She groaned loudly, knowing that if anyone was standing at the door despite the loud music they would know what was going on inside the restroom. She opened her eyes encountering Jake's focused gaze in the pane of the mirror. He was watching her, devouring every last inch of her skin. He studied her body, touching her in an absolutely shameless way. He inserted his middle finger into her, feeling how instantly her muscles tightened on him. How much he craved to feel it on his cock, her wetness and tightness. However, he also didn't want their first time to take place in Aurora's cramped bathroom.

Feeling her impending orgasm, he curled his finger inside her, seeking her spot, and sped up the circles on her clit.

She came with a cry, his name leaving her swollen lips. Her eyes never left the mirror, and neither did his. She felt embarrassed by how quickly he managed to bring her to orgasm.

– My clever girl. You make me so proud.

And his praise when he adjusted her underwear and dress or when he kissed her neck one more time made her beg him for more.

And no one in the group was particularly surprised when the two announced that MC was feeling unwell and Jake would drive her back to the cabin to rest and enjoy the quiet until the others return.

[brekkie-e]

Listen, I get that a lot of people's dislike of white-haired Lavellan's comes from over exposure, which is valid and happens to the best of us. But most of the time, when I see posts about folks not liking them, the frustration centers around them being this unearthly ethereal white-haired barbie doll. And I'm sure that is also common.

But as someone who loves my dinky white haired Lavellan, and also feels like she's one of my most human characters, I want to ramble about all the ways she is not just a beautiful barbie doll power fantasy. Because my nerd is pretty. She IS. But she also has the puffiest under eyes you ever saw. Depending on the day, there may be dark circles. There isn't a cream on the market that can make this lady look properly rested. When you combine that with the near constant sunburn on her nose turning it red, she has the air of someone that is in a permanent state of allergy season.

Going from the top down, she also has a tooth gap. And while we are here, they are pretty darn crooked. Thedas doesn't have orthodontists. I wouldn't say she has horrible teeth. But she has perfectly human imperfect teeth that make for a memorable smile for all the wrong (right) reasons.

Her left ear is missing a big chunk out of it from being hit by an arrow. It gives her the same lightly ragged look of a stray cat.

She has moles. The one on her chin grows a long and shockingly white hair out of it. She pulls it out. If it's because she's insecure about it or because picking at it is a nervous tick, she doesn't even know at this point because she's done it for so many years.

The hair on her arms is very fine and white. It is also very, very fuzzy. The kind of peach fuzz that catches the light and makes itself known. It didn't bother her when she lived with her clan because she has a lot of siblings, and they all have it. But someone casually remarks on it during her time with the Inquisition, maybe in jest saying her arms look more like a dwarf's than an elf's. Suddenly, she wears sleeves a lot more often.

I am pretty attached to the bean pole frame Lavellan gets in Inquisition because it's hard to headcanon out for me when it's constantly there on screen. That being said, her legs have some hefty cellulite going on in the back of those thighs. Her flat little ass is dimpled. There are stretch marks on the insides of her thighs, and on her butt. She thinks that's unfair given her complete and utter lack of curves. Knees? Knobby. Her shins always have bruises on them from bumping into something or another.

Various other things I think about and am fond of for her. Her sword hand is calloused. It's often dry and cracked, with hang nails like a construction worker. She tries to take care of it, but how do you out self-care the kind of wear and tear constant travel and fighting does to a person.

Her eyebrows are so pale and thin that it doesn't even look like she has them half the time. Her scalp can get sunburns where her hair parts. She gets a pimple in the same spot like clockwork every time her period comes around. She has one toe that's just inexplicably uglier than the rest.

And she's still pretty. She's still little miss doomed by the narrative.

Secretly, I didn't really have a point to this post beyond wanting to talk about my character's endearing imperfections. But I'll try to wrap this up with something coherent. You can use the stereotypical "pretty" color palette and still create a deeply human character. You can also use a unique color palette and still end up with a design or attitude that gives off "this character's sweat smells like roses and peonys."

I'm not saying that white-haired Lavellan's don't come with the baggage of over-exposure or the weight of heavy handed white savior energy. I'm not saying they can't be done badly. I am just sad thinking there are other folks out there that see all the "stereotypical Lavellan" posts, and also feel a knee-jerk impulse to redesign a beloved oc to be more like-able. At the end of the day, oc's are for their creator. Nobody is going to like your oc more than you. So make one that speaks to you.

And hey. Maybe you are guilty of making your oc's perfect pretty Barbie dolls. Nothing wrong with a pretty lady (or man but that's not really the point of the post.) But speaking for myself, I fall a little in love with every oc someone gives a perfectly normal "defect" to. So next time you find yourself making a hot girl... mix it up a bit and consider giving her toe hair. You might be surprised by how much that detail sticks with you.

[calmcoldevening]

Dance

TW: no

Characters: Vincent Sinclair

Description: just a little comfort from this pretty boy.

English is not my native language, so sorry about misspells.

The night always seemed like something forgotten and beautiful. Magical. The sky binds its entire boundless being into the embrace of a light black mantle decorated with a scattering of shining stardust; the wind begins to play with a bit of inexplicable tenderness, winding calmness and inner satisfaction; gentle songs of chirping insects and night birds hover in the air. You can also see something mysterious in the silent, cold light of the moon: the thrill with which silver rays encircle the roofs of houses and streets, wrapping the gloomy shadows of familiar things in beautiful unobtrusive images. There is something unearthly and painfully delightful about it. And to all the oddities that may seem to our wandering mind at this mystical time of day, we will certainly give one name, 'sleep'.

You were sitting in the kitchen, with your head propped up on your hand, with your other palm wrapped around a striped mug. The clink of a metal spoon occasionally hitting the ceramics cut the crystal silence. The tea has been cold for a long time, but you didn't pay attention to it, continuing to periodically sip the sweet liquid. The moonlight from the window gently outlined the features of your face when you once again looked at the wall clock; it's 00:30 a.m. You were sitting in the kitchen for a long time, continuing to burn through the impenetrable darkness on the other side of the window. Bo and Lester had been sleeping with full bellies and happy smiles for a long time, satisfied with tonight's dinner. In principle, they liked that there was a person in this house who could take care of them, as my mother once did.

The only thing that worried you and prevented you from falling asleep in every possible way was Vincent lingering in the workshop. At this time, and usually even earlier, a few hours after dinner, he was already in your room and listened to your measured reading of some book that you particularly liked. The man did not delve into the text, he was only interested in your pleasant, caressing voice, echoing in his head.

But for some reason, today he decided to break this peculiar tradition, and you were worried about it. Having gathered all your thoughts in a heap, you decided to visit the culprit of your inner anxiety. After all, if he's avoiding you on purpose, you should talk about it, shouldn't you?

Putting the mug in the sink, you look at the clock again and go towards the stairs. Climbing to the second floor, you tiptoe to your bedroom with Vincent, trying once again not to step on particularly creaky floorboards. You've been in this house for a long time, so you knew some of its features: for example, that the third step of the stairs is quite flimsy and makes a nasty creak to the point of trembling, as if you were forcefully rubbing a dry rag against a mirror polished to a shine; or that the farthest light bulb in the corridor has been blinking unpleasantly for a week, but no one dares replace it.

Closing the door tightly, you walk past the double bed and stop over the hatch. It was nice that a kind of doctor's or scientist's office was converted into a bedroom for the two of you; you are sure that the initiator was Lester, who immediately saw in you a really nice girl who would certainly take care of his older brother.

As soon as you opened the hatch cover, an unpleasant piercing creak of unoiled parts rang through the room. A pleasant enveloping warmth flows up from the basement, as well as from Vincent himself when he leaves the workshop: his body was so saturated with the smell of old wood, moisture and something else that distinguished this man from millions of others, what you really liked about him.

Going down the stairs, you wiped your sweaty palms on your t-shirt. Taking clothes from Vincent's closet turned out to be a good idea, at least you weren't so hot in it. When you got to the door, you covered the wet wood with your palm. The warmth touched your cold fingers, pleasantly calming and giving quite tangible confidence. The door, surprisingly, opened easily under your slight pressure, without making a sound.

It was even hotter in the workshop. How could Vincent work here in a sweater and a tight jumpsuit? It seems that the boiler was recently stopped: threads of steam were still streaming over the vat of hot wax. The room was spacious enough to accommodate all the equipment a man needed. Now the couch, habitually located in the middle of the makeshift office, was pushed to the wall, freeing up most of the room. An old radio was playing somewhere, giving out classic songs.

At the very end of the workshop, Vincent was hunched over a table. Now he was without his usual overalls, but in simple trousers and a long-sleeved jacket. No new 'guests' have come to Ambrose for a long time.

You quietly approached the man from behind, towering over his tense body. His entire desk was littered with a variety of sketches, ranging from projects of future figures to simple sketches of everything that caught Sinclair's eye. But most of all there were drawings with you. These were all kinds of portraits, both in full growth and in various poses.

"Vinnie."

You whisper, and the body under you shudders, straightening up to its full height. You step back.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," the man hurriedly puts the sketches in one pile, "Hey, don't. They are very beautiful."

You grab one of the most eye-catching drawings and see yourself sitting on the windowsill in your bedroom. The image was fuzzy, rather more like an unfinished work, just a sketch, but it already looked impressive. Pictures immediately appeared in my head, hanging on the first floor of the museum. You chuckled briefly. The next sketch that came into your hands was your portrait in profile. You were struck by the accuracy with which Vincent depicted all the outstanding features of your face: the shape of your nose and lips, the softness of your gaze and the moles on your skin. The last drawing you managed to get out of Sinclair's possessive grip was a sketch where you and a man were spinning in some kind of dance. You were dressed in a light light dress, playfully developing at your feet, he was wearing a classic suit and leather gloves, which he gently wrapped around your smaller fragile body. He must have fantasized when the right music was playing.

"It's beautiful, my love."

You hear a quiet, lingering whine under the mask because of a pet name. Cutie. You'd like to tease him a little longer.

"It's true."

You smile at him affirmatively. Vincent's eyes are barely visible under the mask. You look at the drawing again. Did he want to dance? You pay attention to the music playing for a moment. Something like a waltz should have come up. At least you're familiar with this dance because of a few years in music school, so it shouldn't be a problem.

You put the drawings on the table and cover Vincent's massive hand with your palm. He looks at you questioningly.

"Would you like to dance?"

You give a man a gentle smile, holding out your hand to him. He looks back uncertainly. You wait patiently, rolling from heels to toes in longing. Finally Vincent makes up his mind and puts his hand in your palm. He gets up from his chair and, putting his arm around your waist, leads you to the middle of the room. The man squeezes your hand, interlacing his fingers, puts his free palm on your side. You touch his broad shoulder with your fingers.

Only now do you see this difference in height, which is why you have to lift your head to see his eye through the mask. You hear this wonderful music, and the beating of your heart echoes the pleasant notes. Your breathing quickens, and you look at Sinclair with eyes shining with anticipation.

A particularly strong note sounds, and Vincent begins to lead you. The man gently squeezes your supple flesh, you modestly look away, trying to focus on the music. Vincent grins at your sudden shyness. Your feet move quickly and skillfully on the hard floor; the sole of your favorite sneakers rubs against the stone slabs with force; you hear the light click of Sinclair's heels when he once again, holding your palm with his, spins you around. You can't see his face, but you can feel his gaze watching the movement of your body with fascination. A man strokes the delicate skin of your palm, and you feel goosebumps running down your back. His every touch or glimpse makes your heart flutter wildly in your chest, and long-lost butterflies come to life in your stomach. It is at such moments that your inner rhythm gets lost and your feet begin to slide incoherently on the floor, causing Sinclair to chuckle. You try to regain your inner composure when his big hand presses you especially hard against his body behind the small of his back.

Finally, the waltz ends and is replaced by some light melody. Probably just a few minutes, but it felt like hours to you. Vincent wraps his arms around your back, hugging you to him, and you wrap your arms around his neck. You put your head on his chest and press your ear to his fast-beating heart. Now you can clearly smell his body. The gray turtleneck is soaked with a light aroma of smoke and oil candles that you gave Vincent for Christmas, his sweat-soaked skin smells of citrus soap, and his tousled hair has the smell of your shampoo. You close your eyes, enjoying the moment while a man rocks your couple in an impromptu dance.

He gently runs his palm along your spine, and you shudder, a satisfied laugh comes from under the mask. Small electrical impulses seem to run through the body, they burn, but they do not carry pain, but rather a strange warm feeling accumulating in your stomach and chest. His fingers, rough from constant work, touch your hot skin and gently massage, from which you relax in his arms. Sleep begins to exert its direct influence.

"Shall we go to the bedroom?"

You ask, and Vincent nods, touching the mask of your forehead with his lips in a simulated kiss. You giggle, and he picks you up in his arms, heading for the stairs.

[berrypass-de-murdler]

2 - 8 A Deadly Tour

I found a new website where I can make cursed murdle gifs.

So uh duke of vermillion crunch

I've turned him into a meme because he's so useless he had NO lines in the first series-

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

VIOLET: Oh, come on. Are we really gonna let that geezer stop us from having a good time?  LOGICO: You know… the invitation really didn’t sound like you were inviting me over for a ‘good time’.  VIOLET: Let’s take a tour of the grounds!

And so, Logico reluctantly follows Violet through the gorgeous courtyard. Only problem, she’s ALSO giving a tour to Baron Maroon and Signor Emerald.

VIOLET: Welcome, to the VIOLET ISLES! 

Logi has a looming sense of dread of course, but he can’t help but admire the beautiful complex. The buildings are gigantic and flawless, and the courtyard is made of a bedazzling maze trimmed to perfection. 

MAROON: [snort] My palace is better… LOGICO: Oh, shut the FUCK UP! MAROON: [growl…]

Emerald is inspecting every corner carefully, looking for anything he can pickpocket. Violet smacks him.

VIOLET: By the way Logico, while you’re here… do you think you could figure out why the OG tour guide is dead?

She points to a body (A sentence present in nearly every episode). 

LOGICO: …such… a fun vacation already

The first thing that catches Logico’s attention is the giant stone statue of Lord Violet. He’s able to get a better look at his figure now - a gazelle creature, with a long flowing mane… and a disturbing human-like mask. 

LOGICO: So this… is your father? VIOLET: Yep! 

Logico is quite confused at how they could possibly be related - Lord Violet doesn’t even resemble a person, more so some unearthly beast. But he can’t say that out loud. 

Baron Maroon quickly gets in the way.

MAROON: Want to go out with me.

He’s well over 70, and Violet is in her 20s.

VIOLET: That’s gonna be a hard pass thanks!

There’s a torn-up bag of acorns with a squirming beast inside. Kind of a weird weapon choice, but Logico doesn’t want to go near it even for clues. Depressed from being unable to steal some pricey trinkets, Emerald is drowning his sorrows in wine on a bench.

LOGICO: Let me guess - you got that from Father Mango! EMERALD: Not… every bottle of wine is from Father Mango. There is other wine.

Logico encounters something familiar on the cliffs. ‘The Scimitar of Death’- it’s a marot card (albeit not a very normal one)! Suddenly, he remembers Irratino!

LOGICO: Oh no.

Irratino feels this, and quickly tries to send Logico a telegram. But nothing is reaching. He then feels a new kind of pain - Logico already forgot about him??

The murderer was Maroon, apparently because he was that mad that Logico told him to shut up. Violet shoos him off.

VIOLET: When the civil war ended, the so-called Free Drakonia never made a claim to this island, and so it became an extrajudicial territory. Unlike those barbarous Reds, we do not execute our prisoners - we simply force them to leave! LOGICO: How polite, I suppose. Now, I have some questions…

He can’t wait to lore-dive into this incredible settlement.

The end!

I'm so excited for minimurdle now that i know it has the same suspects.

BABY EMINENCE.

The Roblox Murdle RP server now has over 40 characters, and also

^ I don't like this at all!

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[ilikereadingactually]

Lady Macbeth

Lady Macbeth by Ava Reid

i gotta admit: i am not a Shakespeare fan (though there are notable exceptions). i requested this galley partly because of the striking cover, and partly because as a teen i was an obsessive fan of Gargoyles (i have definitely brought this up on the blog before), and Gargoyles as a show was a Shakespeare fan. Macbeth was a recurring character whose history the show reimagined in delightful ways, and that tenuous connection attracted me to this book. i really had no idea what to expect from it, and was surprised in so many exciting ways!

there were some aspects here that felt to me like what i might find in any good historical retelling done from a woman's point of view: the constraints of Roscille's life, traded away as a bride to the Thane of Glammis; the expectations of a woman at the time and her fear and resistance and pain; the cleverness she has developed and the ways she conceals it from the men around her. and layered on top of that almost gothic horror sense of dread was a very exciting coating of witchy magic rumors that all prove to be true, like the assertion that Roscille can control men by looking them in the eye and so must wear a veil, or the story about a cursed king's son who becomes a monster when he sleeps, or—of course—the three witches who prophesy Macbeth's rise to the throne.

it's a fast, compelling read as Roscille's plans get more complex and harder to conceal, and her will to not just survive but have what she desires most leads her down dark and bloody paths. fantastic!

the deets

how i read it: another e-galley from NetGalley, it's been a series of bangers lately and i'm excited to get to whatever's next on my list there.

try this if you: are into the Middle Ages, love a bloody retelling of a bloody story, like to see a woman climb out of the mess she couldn't help but make, or are here for a horny dragon.

some lines i really liked: the language in this book is gorgeous!!!

She is useful for the same reason that the Duke's effort at disguising her is doomed: She is beautiful. It is not an ordinary beauty—whores and serving girls are sometimes beautiful but no one is rushing around to name them lady or robe them in bridal lace. It is an unearthly beauty that some in Wrybeard's court call death-touched. Poison-eyed. Witch-kissed.

___

The water is black and muscular, and where the moonlight catches the small crests of the waves, it shows a pattern like a serpent's belly.

pub date: August 13, 2024! Get thee to a bookstore!

[thejaytapes]

Love Tilda, please tell more about her

Seeing this ask made me smile a lot - I'm really glad to see some interest in her! <3 The drawing page I posted of her was her around 14 years old. A lot has changed about her since then!

This is Tilda now, in her late twenties. I made her current design first, and a big thing when considering her backstory and how it applies to her character now is the fact that she's made a life for herself through supervillainy. She went from a skinny, ragged teenager, to the sleek, beautiful, and healthy woman she fought hard to become! She is both muscular and plus-sized. She has rock-hard muscles underneath her body fat!

Along with super strength, Tilda's main super power is shadow manipulation. She can blend into shadows completely and travel through them stealthily, as long as there are shadows present. She can command them to form physical matter with enough focus and energy - forming powerful masses of pitch-black force. She also has formed two unearthly beings with gnashing teeth that she can command, and they are quite deadly creatures! I'll draw a new reference for them soon.

She LOVES the finer things in life - high fashion, delicious food, and luxury creature comforts that she could never indulge in as a teenager. She has very expensive tastes, and spends the money she hoards on complete pampering for herself once she's done paying her henchmen.

After being trained and abused by her former mentor for so long, as a young teenager she went out in search of help. She knew about the city's mayor at the time, who had promised to crack down on the rampant crime (courtesy of Tilda's abuser). Tilda went out of her way to contact the mayor so she could finally take him down. She believed that the mayor was a hero, especially with her employing superheroes. As she attempted to betray her mentor, however, she learned that the mayor also took bribe money underneath the table from him. All of her promises were lies. All the superheroes she was trained to face against only had their own interests at heart - not the public as a whole.

Tilda was desperate, especially after her mentor only doubled down on his control over her after she attempted to double-cross him. She did the only thing she knew she could do. She killed him herself, and usurped his position as the top villain in the city. She immediately used the power she built to assert dominance over any villains that worked underneath her mentor, and then her first target was the mayor. Taking out the mayor in cold blood cemented her as a threat and a supervillain in the public eye. To this day, she makes it a point to punish the wealthy, corrupt, and hypocritical in society, but it will always be framed as criminal activity and complete debauchery to the public. In short, she may be a supervillain, but she has very strong moral stances. She could probably be described as an anarchist.

Tilda despises superheroes, and always believes that they have dirty secrets underneath their noble and heroic presentations. She openly degrades them and knows how to expose any selfish intentions they might have. That is until she meets her match - a superhero with equal strength to her, and what's more... a hero who genuinely believes in doing the right thing. Even if it isn't the moral framework the public and media present.

[theultimatenonbinarynerd]

New Who Kid Watches Classic Who: Genesis Of The Daleks

Introduction

Classic Who is something I owe a lot too even though I have never seen it. Without Classic Who my Grandma never would have gotten my Mum into Doctor Who and without my Mum getting into Doctor Who I never would have become obsessed with New Who. Its a generational cycle in my family that only my brother has broken.

With all of Classic Who being put on BBC I Player well most of it. (I'm gutted about an unearthly child) I decided it was time to get into the era that thrived my Grandma (Rip) and Mum's love for scifi. But before I started from the beginning there were three episodes I knew I needed to check out, let's say they were for lore curiosities sake. The TV Movie, Genesis Of The Daleks and The Five Doctor's. I'll share my thoughts on The TV Movie and The Five Doctor's in separate blogs, for now I gotta talk about Genesis Of The Daleks. It's gonna take me a white to get use to the 6 part stories and dramatic cliffhangers but I'm willing to give it a chance.

Okay I will say as a disabled person I see what Russell T Davies means but he needs to rewatch this episode as The Disabled Villian trope becomes worse if the character is motivated by their disability Davros isn't. I completely understand the thoughts though I just hope that skit was non cannon or an alternate universe and they treat him with respect. He was a manipulative menace in this episode and its pretty ironic that in the end he got out manipulated. I hope his other appearances are just as good and they explain his survival well.

What I Liked

There's a lot I loved throughout this six parter it was very tense and climatic. I also thought our tardis team of The Doctor, Sarah Jane and Harry Sullivan worked together masterfully. Whilst The Ponds reminded me of A Married Couple Babysitting their goofy Son, These three reminded me of Two Siblings trying to keep up with their Older Wise But Mad Sibling. It's the first time I've seen Sarah with a Doctor other than 10 and 11 and they work together beautifully.

Firstly I have to praise the incredible cinematography. Man the shots despite this episode being filmed so long ago are absolutely beautiful even on a wide screen TV. The angled shadowy shots of the Daleks are really menacing and it adds to the dark tone of the story as it is. All the settings including the clean white aesthetic of the karld labs create a deeply unsettling feeling in your stomach. I also think the cuts to Davros make you very uneasy as well, his introduction and reveal was absolutely magnificent.

Secondly I have to praise the incredible themes and philosophy incoperated into this story. Toxic Fans like to scream and yell at Moden Doctor Who calling it woke when it always has been. Terry Nation crafted a really good story about the ethics of war and genocide even if you know that the very think you plan to stop might become an earth shattering unempathetic killer. It was very heartbreaking but seeing all the karld scientists wiped out by the Daleks was so important to include as it shows the deep juxtaposition between Davros and The Doctor which makes them brilliant rivals. Despite all the Daleks will do The Doctor can't bare to initiate a genocide of them in their earliest form, a mistakes that will haunt The Doctor's character for many years to come. Whilst Davros would happily kill his own men and play a Palpatine chess like game between The Karld's and The Tharls just for the survival of his creation. Its a story with very important messages and themes that the audience need to evolve. Its also a bold one as we finally get to see the orgins of The Daleks and why they are so Heartless. My mum pointed out but I already knew that the Daleks are definitely a metaphor for a certain group in World War 2. The Cybermen too you could argue.

Finally I have to praise the high stakes and thrills. My mum stared at my gasps and started laughing when I said that Classic Who seems to be more of a blood bath than the New Series. I know Bad Wolf and Parting Of The Ways was brutal but this story is just on a whole other level. As well as laughing with me she did hold my hand too I was absolutely heartbroken at some of the deaths and was routing for The Doctor, Harry And Sarah to survive and over come everything. Not to mention the cliffhangers showing this deep danger are characters were in. I was glued to my seat anticipating what might happen next. Nobody was safe and I definitely felt for all the characters that fell to The Daleks peril. This story is definitely worth it for The High Stakes alone.

What I Disliked

Okay so it might be because it's early days of me watching but I didn't like the cliffhangers as they felt disruptive to the flow of the story and very repetitive as half of the cliffhangers were are tardis team in peril or being kidnapped. My mum saids its just the fever of being a new who baby and that it was exciting at the time but for me it was a bit frustrating.

Secondly I feel like Sarah who was beautifully written in New Who didn't get much too do at all. It feels like she was running around for the sake of it and I would have loved her to play an even bigger role then she did. Whilst Harry got to help The Doctor rescue Sarah I felt like Sarah only got to hang around with other characters for the sake of it. I loved Elizabeth Sladen and will forever miss her so I want to see more awesome moments with a younger Sarah.

Conclusion

So those are my first thoughts after watching Genesis Of The Daleks. It was a really good story arc to the point I can tell why it haunted The Doctor so much even in The Time War. Poor Eight especially was haunted by it. I think it still holds up well despite the effects. My mum's right I just gotta lose myself in the story considering it's media that came out during her time. Very invested though. I can see why so many people like Four but like how everyone loves Ten he's probably not gonna be fav Classic Doctor as I tend to route for the underdogs.

Davros is so menacing and I generally can't wait to see his other appearances in Classic Who apart from the one where he's a floating head as I do think that's problematic and it makes me uncomfortable. I seriously admire the boldness of the stories and can see how they've shaped New Who. I hope New Who can make the Daleks as scary as they were in this episode. I miss when the Daleks weren't just a running gag.

I'm gonna definitely be excited when I get back to this Tardis Team. Sarah and Harry are companions that beautifully compliment the 4th Doctor. I really am excited for this journey though as a whole.

This has been Mel with a classic who review over and out.

-Melody-

They/Them

[burningchandelier]

Tropes Game

Rules

How much do these tropes affect your decision to click on a fic?

-10 -> very dissuaded

0 -> don’t care either way

10 ->  very enticed

nope -> if it’s a hard no and you’d never click on a fic with that tag or or you even have the tag blocked or you’d insta click out of the fic if it wasn’t tagged.

Bonus points for explaining the rating and whether it’s conditional.

(To be honest I disregarded the rating system. I rated these 0-10 with 0 being not interested and 10 being my favorite)

Trope List

Age gap:   4/10 Age gap isn't really my thing and I am not likely to go out of my way to seek it out, but if it serves the purpose of the plot and creates an interesting dynamic, then I can be all about it.

Codependency   10/10 I am SO ABOUT this. Give me those (fictional) unhealthy relationships for daaaays.

Enemies to lovers   9/10 Absolutely, absolutely. This can be so good. I do find that this trope can be employed as a substitute for character development, and that can be disappointing. When applied in the context of a larger story I do enjoy this a lot.

Enemies with benefits   10/10 Now, THIS works for me basically all the time.

Fake dating/relationship   3/10 Eh, it's mid. I could enjoy this and have. It fully depends on how it is executed and the context of the story. Is there enough emotional investment to make the story and characters interesting? Do I care about the characters ultimately getting together? Are the stakes worth the fake relationship in the first place? It has to be worth it.

Found family   4/10 I am not a fan of the way this trope has evolved. Are we talking about "found family" in the way that Buffy's friends became a family? Are we talking about the Intrepid Heroes from Dimension 20? then HELL YES! I am so interested. If we are talking about what happens much more often (imho) where the characters get assigned certain roles and end up recreating the nuclear family, crammed into uncomfortable boxes??? HELL NO.

Friends to lovers   8/10 Why not?

Friends with benefits   8/10 Sure!

Hurt/comfort   10/10 What more can you ask for? It is essential story structure. Establish a character > Give the character a problem > Take care of the problem I love it every time.

Love triangle   1/10 Very, very little interest here. What I DO find interesting is how authors can subvert this trope or approach it in unexpected ways.

Mistaken/hidden identity   10/10 "Sign me the fuck up. Identity porn is almost as good as actual porn." Prev, you are so right.

Monster fu… relationship   10/10 (100/10) I am WEAK. I am not into tentacles, but I am deeply into the unsettling, disconcerting love of the unseen and little-understood. I want characters to fall in love with ugly, frightening reflections of themselves. I want them to find beauty there. The revelation that humanity is the monster after all? Too good. And, yeah, sometimes your fave gets railed by something unearthly or from the underworld and that's rad as fuck.

Obsession, possessiveness, etc   10/10 Unhealthy relationships my beloved (see codependency)

Opposites (like grumpy×sunshine, etc) ��  7/10 It can be fine. This cannot be the only point of a story, though.

Poly   9/10 YES! Be creative with characters and relationships! Depict healthy poly relationships! Show communication! No unnecessary pining (some is great, but not ton). Let those characters have their cake and eat it too.

pregnancy   nope/10 It's not my thing. I am viscerally uncomfortable with this one.

Second chance   5/10 I need more to go on.

Sex to feelings   8/10 This can be great, but there has to be more to it than just "we boned and now I'm in love."

Slowburn   10/10 YES YES YES YES YES Give me 100K+ words to set it up and I am there. I love the hell out of incredibly slow, slice of life stories that revel in and treasure the beauty of the mundane.

Soulmates   3/10 I like the idea, but have rarely enjoyed the actual fics.

Another case of either 10/10 or -10/10 10/10 Weird, fucked up, sometimes off-putting stories that make you question the boundaries of genre, free from the confines of the publishing industry, television networks, streaming services,and record lables? That's the whole fucking point.

Tagging (no pressure) @static-starfish, @telegraphavekiss, @fleacollar999 @100percent-unimpressed, @shitpunsforshitnuns, @bootlegfrnk, @jurassicpark45, @biganimal92

[adarkrainbow]

Face Off: Bugging Out (season 4, episode 6)

Challenge: Reimagining an iconic female “fairytale” character [they actually included nursery rhymes in the list, typical American move] into a “bad girl”.

Note: All the challenges I presented you before were “Spotlight Challenge”, aka the main challenges of each episode. A challenge where the contestants have to make a full-body work of makeup, costume and prosthetics in three days. But this challenge is actually a “Foundation Challenge”, which is basically a smaller, bonus challenge that opens some episode, and where the contestants have a few hours to create a design heavily focused on face-work and makeup more than prosthetics or costumes (they’re still here, but in a secondary way).

Given Foundation Challenges are fast and act as the opener of some episodes, we do not get a full spotlight on each of the makeup - so the rest of the candidates are quickly rushed by.

Snow White: She got her heart frozen, and now wanders in the realms, searching for the live, beating hearts of princes (we don’t see it here, but her hands are covered in blood)

Rapunzel: The idea here was to make her pale and ghostly, entirely unearthly-white from her skin to her hair, including her eyelashes. 

Cinderella: The concept here was that, due to constantly working in the cinders, Cinderella ended up actually burning her face.

[As a side-note, if you are not familiar with the show, one thing that is quite recurring in those early seasons is that the contestants ALWAYS have a propension towards horror. It is something that has been adressed several times, for multiple seasons the contestants always tried to bring their projects more towards the horror side, sometimes to the point of missing the cues of the challenge. Apparently that was what special-effects makeup artists were into in the early 2010s... And here it shows when their definition of “a bad girl” involves creepy looks and mutilations Xp]

Little Bo Peep: The candidate for this look actually was very unfamiliar with the story and rhyme of Bo Peep, so she just took the idea the title brought to her mind (”cute little girl”) and decided to add some traits making her more “evil”.

Beauty (from Beauty and the Beast): Here, all that the contestant said was that he wanted to add some scars and sunburns to his Belle - and from the overall final look, I got the feeling that he wanted to go for a “survivor Beauty”, living literaly among the beasts.

Gretel (from Hansel and Gretel): Not much was told during the challenge, except that the contestant wanted Gretel to be “badass AND beautiful”. 

[musical-chick-13]

What do you think is up with the male protagonist of Apothecary's Diaries???

Prefacing this by saying that I'm about two-thirds of the way through the show, so I don't really, completely know all of what Jinshi's deal is. Nonetheless, I shall try and collect my thoughts so far!

Spoilers through episode 16 of The Apothecary Diaries under the cut.

Jinshi is an odd character for me to try to define. Because I do genuinely find him annoying at times (and not just in an "All people are annoying sometimes and characters should have flaws to enrich their personalities and feel more real" kind of way), but...I don't find myself hating him.

For one, his interest in Maomao (despite her open and obvious abhorrence of a good portion of his behavior) isn't based in any of the story beats I hate that frequently accompany this kind of dynamic (i.e. "Interested guy maintains long-standing attraction toward disinterested woman"). It's not, "I hate women, except for this super special one who is my Only Equal," it's not, "She's the only person who doesn't fawn over me, so she's the only one here who isn't Completely Stupid," and it's not, "I think winning her over is a challenge that will prove how macho and cool and suave I am."

Jinshi is considered unearthly beautiful, to the point where people are constantly making passes at him, leaving him creepy gifts to express their obsession, and trying to slip him aphrodisiacs to push romantic and/or sexual contact on him. It's so bad that he can't have younger servants, no one except his older attendants (and later Maomao) is even allowed to see him when he wakes up in the morning, and he has to bar the doors to his office at night. Despite her consistent disdain toward his antics, Maomao is, paradoxically, the only person in Jinshi's relative age range who actually sees him as a person; because her hatred of his behavior means she's evaluating him for something other than his beauty. Even if she doesn't often like how he presents himself to her, her judgment of him is based on who he is and what he does, rather than how he looks.

And this lends a level of nuance to the show that I think prevents me from just being frustrated at Jinshi and that being the end of it. There's other nuance there, too: he does take his political work seriously; he obviously possesses significant analytical ability, and is pretty good at fighting, but doesn't think those qualities mean anything because he doesn't supremely excel at them (which, wow, what a mood, as the kids say); he tries to play nice with Lakan despite finding him incredibly off-putting because he knows it'll help keep things stable. Jinshi has some. Trouble. With personal boundaries (more on that in a second), but we are shown that he has some standards. He's willing to let Maomao go when he thinks that's what she wants. He seems genuinely horrified at Lakan's predatory comments about the courtesan he was attracted to, and at Maomao's story of how she got kidnapped. He pays for Maomao's removal from Verdigris House, but this only happens after he makes a comment to her about it and she says that it might be a good idea. And (at least so far, again, I haven't finished the show yet), when he takes her on as his personal servant, he never considers using that position to order her to accept his romantic advances. He definitely has some flaws (and I can understand if those flaws make him too off-putting to care about to some people). But I do recognize and respect the obvious effort that was put into making sure Jinshi doesn't come across as a one-dimensional character.

I've seen a theory that his, uh...less-than-stellar understanding of day-to-day personal boundaries are related to all of the things I mentioned above, in regard to how doggedly people keep pursuing him. (My sincerest apologies to whoever wrote that post, I tried to find it again and I can't.) And I do think this makes sense--that he internalized a lot of negative behaviors from his immediate environment and the way people act toward him. (I even think you could argue that, since beauty is so important for women in this setting--to the point where it's almost seen as a necessity--extreme physical attractiveness is more broadly viewed as a "feminine" quality. And since Jinshi possesses this """feminine""" quality, plenty of people treat him the way they would a woman: as an object to be looked at and obtained for clout.) I think it's also worth noting that Maomao only really responds positively toward him when he's not being flirty or pushy, during moments where he's being genuinely thoughtful (like the hairpin giving scene, Jinshi taking her to the infirmary after ingesting poison at the garden party, and catching her when she falls off the wall after drinking with Ah-Duo). So, between the deeper aspects of Jinshi's characterization, the fact that he does clearly have some principles, and the specific way Maomao's reactions to him are framed, I still find myself interested in seeing what will happen with him next.

All of that being said. I also frequently find myself going, "Dude. Wtf." And given my own personal preferences in characters and the types of relationships I like to see (which I will not get into because it's not particularly important and this response is already very long), I doubt that will change during these upcoming episodes.

[aro-kai]

I absolutely love this analysis so so much.

Also, as an elaboration on some of those facets from a metatextual standpoint--

Lotr, the books, were written ("translated", so says Tolkien, in both sense and word) from the perspective of the hobbits. The things they deem familiar are written as familiar things to a British audience (even to the point of changing names, looking at you Maura Labingi), the things they deem strange and otherworldly are written as such. Names in Westron are translated to English, but names in Sindarin and Quenya remain themselves to give that textual feel of the elves as strange, old, unearthly, etc.

PJ's elves reflect this kind of perspective--they have a kind of otherworldly beauty, they're poised, and they're more advisors and drivers to the flawed and whole and living main characters than the focal point of development themselves. (okay yes to some degree they do both, obviously, with Galadriel's Ring Moment and the movie style enhanced Peredhel romance drama, but the fellowship are the main characters, and even their one elf is pretty young.) Our characters see the elves for a (admittedly very dramatic) fraction of their long lives, and so of course they seem unimaginably ancient.

But RoP is from the perspective of the elves. This is the second age, and they may not be up to first age levels of bullshit but they're certainly making loads of questionable decisions. They are some of the movers and shakers of the second age. They're not otherworldly or distant, they're very very real and very very flawed and very very living, and their portrayal reflects that.

Annatar, though, is to the elves as elves are to hobbits. He has that distance, that immutability, that otherworldly quality (literally), and giving him that PJ elf treatment tells us so.

(As a bonus--he doesn't look this way all of the time. He's out there doing his own mistakes and is arguably the chief mover and shaker of the whole age. And I kind of love that too)

Elves, aristocracy and life as a personal experience

It's interesting how, among other things, The Rings of Power argues with Peter Jackson's films.

Look, the only one in this series who looks like Jackson's elves is Sauron. I just now realized why.

The thing is that Sauron is neither an elf nor a man, nor even a living being in the sense that we put into this word. This, as far as I can judge, is one of the ‘traps’ of Tolkien's legendarium and his books, where two modes of thought collide – the living one, the mode of beings whose life is finite in one way or another, and therefore is real life, and that of the immortals, who do not know death and decay, do not understand what finitude is – but do not live either. Therefore, the immortals, be they Valar or Maiar, make the wrong choice time after time, because they simply do not understand what life is. To understand it, one must immerse oneself in it.

You cannot look at life from the outside and build it. You are not a foreman at someone else's house. Not an editor of someone else's text. Your life is you. The Valar do not understand this and therefore create a reservation in Valinor, and when this idea fails, they create a reservation in Numenor. In this sense, the story of Mairon-Sauron, who reached the limit in his desire to arrange someone else's life, looks incredibly bold and very ironic.

Take a look at him. Everything in him is beautiful, everything is elegant, everything is new, untouched, everything flows and shimmers. It is as if he has no folds, does not move, does not change, does not smell of anything.

Jackson's elves are like this because this is the typical idea of ​​elves as representatives of a ‘fantasy world’ where everything is beautiful and epic. But Sauron is like this because he is not an elf, but only imitates elves, without understanding who he imitates.

Sauron cannot be like them, he cannot share their life, because to do so, you need to be born into this world and live this life from the very beginning. Like Gandalf. When we see Gandalf falling from the sky, it is not only a reference to the film Wings of Desire, where an angel can become a man only by crashing to the ground and dying, but also a literal depiction of the only path a deity can take to understand a human. It is not about ‘the suffering that people endure,’ but about the taste of life, its essence. About how life grows through your body and soul, through every day you live, through joy and sorrow, through this incredible, incomprehensible, stunning mixture of colors. You are born, you look at the world, you breathe, you learn to speak. You are looking for your name. That is why Gandalf was able to become a part of the world and bring changes to it. Because he acted honestly and loved this world truly, honestly. Love is an action, not a reflection of the one you feel it to.

Sauron can only reflect and integrate into an existing system. He cannot give himself up, cannot change, and cannot distract attention from himself at all. This form he has taken is completely hermetic. Ultimately, it causes nothing but irritation. Because, listen, how long can you stand by a beautiful statue? A day? Two? A week? You will get bored anyway. But, as we can guess, Sauron's original desire was to turn the world into such a beautiful statue. At this point, he and Morgoth parted ways, because the latter simply wanted to destroy the world.

But here's what's interesting.

In Jackson's films, Sauron is confronted by equally beautiful statues. Elves, frozen in their sophistication and beauty. I can't help but think that in Jackson's system of images, elves are an analog of a hereditary aristocracy. Creatures whose world has not changed for centuries and who want it to remain the same.

But it doesn't happen that the world doesn't change. If changes don't happen naturally, the world gets sick, and they are initiated by illness. What Sauron represents at the end of the Second Age, and this is very well shown in The Rings of Power, is literally a boil breaking through. The world cannot be locked in the same state. All that can come out of it is an abscess. As a result, the abscess bursts, and the world develops further.

In The Rings of Power, unlike Jackson's films, the elves are just another humanoid race. They begin to realize that there is something wrong with their way of life. That their life is like a beautiful melody that repeats itself. They have not yet figured out that it is possible to escape from this cycle, but they have already realized that it hides pain and darkness. In the finale of the second season, we see how the elves, having realized what is happening, stand and look at this reality.

I absolutely love this solution. It is very smart, very reasonable, and mature. And promising.

It is what makes the viewer ask the main question of storytelling, ‘What will happen next?’

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Belle Of The Ball: Dark! King! Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this my first ever proper dark fic and I’m so nervous. I finished it but my mind thinks it’s garbage. so I’m gonna post this now when I’m feeling a random spurt of courage and am confident in my work. So here’s my masterpiece, cookies.

This is for Dark!MCU  Festive Fic swap hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor  and @darkmcuficswap

My giftee is @hermesmaximoff Hope you enjoy it love!

Thanking @firefly-graphics for the dividers: both personalised and general.

There is also an amateur somewhat okay shitty poster I decided to make which is included at the end.  

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC CONTAINING DUBIOUS CONSENT BORDERING NON-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. LOSS OF VIRGINITY, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY, BREEDING KINK ALSO PRESENT.

Summary: Invited to the Royal ball by the benevolent monarch, you could barely control your excitement to visit the Capital. While you were busy admiring his prosperous reign, King Steve was quite occupied getting enamoured by you. As you try to fulfil the King’s demands, secrets find their way out.

CHARACTERS + GENRE: DARK!STEVE ROGERS X READER, SUPERNATURAL STEVE ROGERS X READER (read to find out what), ROYAL AU, HALLOWEEN THEME (I tried for the request, hope you do like it)

King Steve Rogers invites the princes and the princesses of all Kingdoms, near and afar,

To celebrate his several years of reign.

He requests thy kind and noble presence

At the joyous regale

of his auspicious ball

On the thirty first of October,

after sundown, in His Majesty’s finest castle.

Challenging thy with the unique theme of

A Halloween Masquerade Ball,

The King expects exceptional indulgence from all.

 The Most Grandiose Halloween Celebration is being organised with the spookiest of events within.

Come here if you dare.

“We have been invited to a royal party! My day couldn’t have been better!” Your elder sister exclaimed, jumping quite unladylike in your chambers, as you went through the details of the venue. You chuckled at her antics, knowing rather well that she would be scolded if someone else was present. 

“Emma, Mother has to approve first. As Lady Ava always says, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“As if mother would really decline an invite from the King, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at you, not letting her enthusiasm die as you pondered over her words.

Your sister had a point though, the King summoning your presence was not to be taken lightly. The invitation came up handwritten in a scroll with the King’s wax seal atop it. It was placed elegantly beside a golden mask in a rectangular black box, that bore the Majesty’s sigil on the front.  

The theme of the ball wasn’t that peculiar if you reflected over it, the renowned monarch was also recognised for his distinct interest in eerie, unearthly beings. He was known for adventuring into haunted lands, mysterious manors and sinister soils, meeting up with people rumoured to be sorcerers and occultists.

Of course, the reason for his encounters was sometimes rumoured to be because of his familial distress, how he couldn’t find a mate to procreate with and conceive his own heir no matter what. Three females, who were pregnant with a progeny of his blood, none his wife though, had died during the first two or tercet months, reason unspecified why.  

Coming to You, you and your sister weren’t actual princesses, rather the daughters of one of the esteemed Ministers in the King’s cabinet. The benevolent King, however referred to the daughters of the town, more exactly, the Kingdom, as noblewomen. He held high reverence for the females and was the sole creditor to the improved condition of the women in this era. No matter how troubled his own life was, the King was the most merciful royal to be crowned to date, his people prospering under him.

Your sister nodded eagerly to your mother, drinking in her words like the fine tea you all had in the afternoons, while you just smiled at her advice.

 When you both met your mother for dinner, you were surprised to find her already informed about the invitation. Her conformity to the celebration astonished you even more, but Emma’s zeal was starting to rub off on you too by the end of the meal. 

Your mother continued, “Your father mentioned The Majesty is looking for a wife, quite possibly. He has been insistent in trying to get a successor the correct way this time, by courting the lady who piques his interest. Even though this might be a rumour, or some gossip spun by the ladies of the Cabinet, you both should try your best to be graceful and presentable. Among the hundreds of guests, he’d be having over, on the off-chance, if Gods allow, that either of you manages to entice him, it will only promise you the most pleasant of all forthcomings. It would also do me and your father some good, if you managed to find some other suitable bachelor, from a nice background to engage with.”

Your sister had always been one with the more overactive imagination out of you two, while you had been the more serene and poised one. When she’d be out playing with the children in your town, you’d be talking to the younger toddlers, drawing with chalks on the side. For every kid she splashed with water in the nearby sapphire river, you made tots flower crowns. These were the values you both grew up with, and these will be the values you’d die with.

After days of shopping velvet fabrics and silk textiles, and bothering your seamster to make sophisticated and stylish dresses, you both neared your day of departure. After some instructions to you both to represent your father and town well, your mother bid you adieu. It was nerve wracking to not have your mother by your side, for an event as big as this was, but since you both had passed more than twenty name days, you were expected to be proper, independent ladies. 

With a heavy heart and some self, positive affirmations, you and your sister embarked on the voyage, which was filled with her chitchat.

You only hoped that the gala was as exciting as your family made it out to be. That it was just a King trying to celebrate his sovereign with some western festival integrated together. That the event would not be as unnerving and creepy as the last line of his invitation made it out to be. 

For some unknown cause, it did not sit well with you. Your apprehensive intuition made you wary of the invitation for some reason, but you let your sibling’s zest take you over. What benefit would fretting get you?

The ball was far more pompous than anything you’d have imagined in your little head. All the ideas that Emma had come up with during your journey, to anticipate the extent of extravagance for the ball, were all exceeded with tenfold finesse. You had travelled to faraway, distant lands with your parents, but the King’s mansion, with all the festivity happening, was truly a sight to behold.

Entering The Capital had been the highlight of your excursion, you were sure earlier, but well you were proved wrong. Your father greeted you both when you had arrived, eager to see his angels after almost six moons, and had ensured you both got the best of the accommodations in the well-built, enormous fort. He introduced you to several of his comrades as well as their brooding, young lads and then, left you both to rest for the main event next eve. With two maids at your every beck and call, courtesy of your father, your time went smoothly and now you found yourself at the said Halloween themed celebration, staring around in awe of every little detail that had been so meticulously handled to make the event as dazzling as it was.

The servants were dressed rather ridiculously as cats, wearing some bizarre structure resembling cat ears, horribly short black dresses barely past their thighs and some whiskers draw using either coal or makeup, you weren’t sure. It was a poor attempt to make them appear feline. However, the food was as immaculate as everything else, entirely themed like only blood red wine, candied apples, chicken pumpkins, cheesecake brain, mummy muffins, some appetizer with bell peppers as jack-o-lanterns; these were the few that met your sights.

The hall was so grand, almost the size of three jousting arenas and playing fields combined with pillars having detailed architecture supporting the place. The walls were covered in scarlet, golden and black velvet drapes, the royal colours, and beautiful masquerade masks were pinned atop them, along the walls. Almost hundred round, white clothed tables filled the ballroom, with gold plated candlesticks and utensils upon them. The entire place had entertainers progressing around, the essence of it being magicians, clowns, contortionists, palm and tarot card readers. 

In the centre of the hall, was an empty space, reserved for the soon to be ensuing dancing. An orchestra on the side had beautiful instruments, playing soft melodies for now, reserving the upscale beats for later.

You had only read a few books on Halloween to be prepared but nothing could have geared you up for this. Your small-town self was gaping at everything with a childlike wonder while somehow your sister was quite composed and calm, somehow your roles had been reversed. 

Emma was wearing a blue gown, having several layers of nets and cloth, each a different shade of azure. She tried to dress as the mythical creature called mermaid, with crystal heels and a beaded neckline. Her masquerade mask had scales like fish, made using shining sequins. She looked so gorgeous, truly managing to look captivating.

You on the other hand were dressed like an angel, which you were against, finding it too mainstream and typical and wanted to dress like an enchantress with violet and jade colours, which your mother immediately negated. On demand of your sister, she let you wear a fluffy white ball gown, and had you made wings with dove feathers, an apparatus which was astonishingly light to wear. Using her art and craft skills, Emma made you a headband with two wires attached to a metal ring, shaped like an angel’s halo. The loop at top made of some special metal that glowed golden in the dark, making it look like a real, floating halo. Your mask had a fur lining on it, and silver sparkles were sprinkled all over you, with pretty makeup on your face, courtesy of your sibling.

The change in music brought you out of your reverie, as trumpets and harps began to hum, signifying the arrival of the King on the grand staircase. He had a crimson red velvet cape descending his broad shoulders, his tuxedo underneath could hide neither his long legs nor his bulging, protruding biceps. His black, shining shoes cost more than your entire apparel, you were certain. 

As your gaze ascended his masculine form, you were mesmerised furthermore with his high cheekbones, full lips tainted cherry pink, a Grecian slanting nose, sleek eyebrows, luscious blonde hair, a thick beard and the best of all yet, cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest you’d ever seen in the entirety of your small life. The ladies beside you, Emma included, had the same reaction whether they had witnessed his Highness before or not. Every female’s gaze seemed to flicker between his azure eyes and the Golden crown resting atop his blonde locks, flooded with rubies and emeralds and gemstones you weren’t sure your books had.

For a moment you felt his eyes land on you, which surprised you even more so, that you questioned yourself about it, but his cheeky grin and wink confirmed it, make you shiver involuntarily as heat spread through your face while a titillating stir ran through you, a first for you. His impeccably white teeth were clearly visible now, showing two elongated canines, which finally gave you a sense of his attire, paired with his blush lips, A Vampire.

He spoke a few words, eyes unsteadily wavering, observing different members of the gathering. He let the dances commence, partnering with his most suitable match at the festivity, the daughter of the wealthiest lord. After the first song was over, other couples joined alongside him while you stood at the side, observing everything. Only mere moments ago had your sister been courted by a young man, the two of them shooting each other coy glances since they had entered. 

A tap on your shoulder had you puzzled, you turned around focus landing on warm, brown eyes. You recalled him to be Lord Stark’s son, Peter, having met him yesterday at dawn. His familiar brown eyes gave you sense of comfort, which you liked, not being alongside Emma now.

“Shall we?” He asked, his cheeks ruby like yours were, as he extended the palm of his hand towards you. You giggled, smiling like a little babe who got extra cookies for dessert, and accepted his hand. Sauntering to the dancing arena, you only prayed to The Heavens above that Lady Ava taught you enough to embarrass neither yourself nor your guild.

Tracing his steps and following his lead, you did manage to dance without falling, which was a surprise seeing how spread out your wings were. You and him made easy conversation, about your hometowns and interests.  You saw your Father proudly looking at you and Emma, dancing with lads, you guessed, he approved of.

As the song ended and the orchestra played a transitioning tune between the melodies, a cough sounded beside you as you and Peter stopped. Your eyes widened as you nervously curtsied beside Peter, A ‘Your Majesty” falling from both your lips.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I share a dance with the most stunning dame here?” 

Peter politely stepped back, letting go of your waist, as The King’s wide stature more than filled his place. Your heart was beating rather loudly, blood pumping to your ears as you tried to make sense of what was happening. In your peripheral vision you could see the prying eyes of others looking at you both, ready to criticize you for one wrong move. Your father watched intently, a slight warning in his eyes to not mess this opportunity up while your sister comfortingly smiled at you. You tried to even your breaths and make sense of what he was saying, to not just stand and gape like a fool in court.

As the harmony played out, he swayed you around, lifting you up and twirling you around. Compliments spewed out from his lips, making you crimson like freshly ripened apples. You couldn’t keep up with your expression of gratitude through your words as he admired your eyes, your elegance and your ensemble which just couldn’t make him shift his eyes from you. 

After two songs had played out, he left as suddenly as he had come, with a promise to meet you later. You watched him dance with other maidens, who approached him when you were dancing together, entertaining every approaching lady like an excellent host.

You made your way to the side, hoping to get some liquor, or at least some fluid in your veins and not faint right there this moment. Emma came up beside you while you were having wine, and rubbed your back in a parental way. Her eyes communicated her understanding of how overwhelmed you felt at the instant. Her date and Peter soon came and kept you both company for the rest of the night. As duos danced and people got intoxicated, you had to call it a night on behalf of your sister, her incessant giggling make you worried for her inebriated self. 

You slipped her out before your father caught her and gave her a stern talking to and tucked her in her bed keeping a glass of water and some fresh fruits for her on the bedside wooden bench. You concluded retiring for the night yourself but only after assuring your father of your whereabouts and well beings. Before returning to the hall, you took off your wings and the halo, also opting to leave the mask behind as the fur tickled your skin. Your makeup hadn’t ruined in the heat of the hall, it was a miracle. You made your way to the Hall, hoping to find your father, assumingly drunk with all his entourage.

Two hallways before the decorated ballroom were you pinned to the wall, one hand of your attacker covering your parted lips while the other held your face delicately, with a lover’s touch. A split second was all it took for you to be immobilised by this man and another by your wavering form to recognise the cobalt blue eyes and blonde curls. When The King was certain you wouldn’t scream, his hand left your mouth slid upwards, mirroring his other hand, with thumbs in front of your ears and palms resting on your cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” You mumbled back, your voice somehow even lower, afraid for yourself and even more so terrified to offend him.

“Say, would you come for a while to my chambers, the view of the creek from my balcony is splendid.”

His choice of words gave you an option, but his eyes, almost hypnotically told you there was only one correct answer.

“You are the one, I can feel it.” He whispered lowly but your heightened senses gladly picked it up.

You meekly nodded, your inner self surprised at your body moving of its accord alongside him, as your mind started voiding of thoughts like reporting to your father, checking up on Emma. You felt like you were trapped in someone else’s form and fought with an invisible force to take over the reins of your own body.

You did not fail to notice the lack of guards outside the King’s chamber and how every entrance managed to open itself. The King wasn’t lying about the picturesque scene though, as you stood in the balcony, hair getting ruffled by the strong breeze that seemingly came from nowhere.

Your body stiffened as King Steve came uncharacteristically close to you and slid his hands around your middle, his nose nestled in your locks, inhaling deeply.

His lips descended your neck, laying feathery kisses on his path as you stood there, unable to even move your hands or turn around. This out of body sensation was broken when you felt intense pain on piercing of your skin where your head met your torso. You suddenly gained all wits and enough strength to flail your limbs around but all your might wasn’t enough to even stir the man from his task. Your throat couldn’t gather enough energy to scream, though you doubted anyone would come. You started getting light headed and only then did he stop, carrying you in his arms to his widespread four poster bed, mattress as soft as sponge and sheets as silky as butter. Too weak to fight him off, you harvested all your energy in staying conscious as your gaze danced around, trying to make sense of every object present but not awake enough to notice too many details. The wine you drank did not make it any better.

As you laid on the stranger’s bed, you felt his body sit beside you, holding your neck; leaning down, his lips meeting yours for the first time. You did not reciprocate, neither did you have the strength nor the will, while his tongue slipped inside your mouth, roaming around like a traveller in foreign land.

As the kiss drew on, you felt some energy sidle inside you, enough for your mind to function again but not ample enough to fight off the brawny thief who robbed you of your first kiss. King Steve broke off the kiss and connected your foreheads together, his indigo eyes turning black in want, leaving you a frightening and gasping mess.

He backed away, sitting more straighter now as his hand drew back from around your neck and slid along your stomach, nearing the most intimate part of your body, even though there were still layers of cloth present. His hands did not stop there, however, and made their way downwards only stopping at the hem of your gown and slipping inside.

You shrieked out suddenly, becoming aware of his intentions quite late and grasped his wrist that rested now on your knee. 

“Your Majesty, I……I can’t-”

“Do you wish to refuse your King?”

You looked down, caught in the dilemma of wanting your safety and offending him once again. Your virtue had to be preserved till marriage, your mother had taught you, but on the other hand, the King’s words were the law.

“Answer Me.” The King’s cold voice broke through your thoughts, not a shout but still scarier than a yell.“

Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in s-” You started tearing up, lower lip wobbling and body shaking at the thought of the future. You did not see this ending beneficial in any scenario. If you lost your virtue, you would never get wed but if you refused the King and he felt insulted, your family and your connections would be in the ruins, he held that much power over you.

Cradling your face with his other hand, he began again, “You think I’m not already aware, pretty one?” The man who was reprimanding you only few moments ago upon not answering him, had a smile on his face this time: not assuring or comforting, but malicious and sinister to its very core. “I could smell your untainted scent from my room, before even descending the stairs.”

“Your e-eyes..” You gaped again as colours morphed in his eyes, red now swirling around in the pools of darkness, his words lost on you as you felt your fear rising due to the inhumane action.

“For an intellectual, bibliophilic girl, you sure are oblivious, sweetheart.” He scoffed, looking unimpressed at you, “Come on, prove to me you aren’t heedless like the rest, draw the conclusion." His eyes held yours, again altering into hues of different colours, seemingly mocking you now. 

You don’t know how the thought jumped into your head, maybe because the two holes on your neck stung suddenly or because the automatically opening doors entered your mind, the contemplation that his fangs appeared so realistic and authentic the more you stared at them paired with the blood on his collar, not just the fresh red stain of your plasma but also the burgundy stain present there, giving his lips the cherry red shade you admired hours ago on his arrival at the event.

“This is not a co-costume, no-” You inhaled a quick breath, “you are a vampire.” Your face paled in realisation while he smirked proudly, tapping your knee in a weird, twisted form of appreciation.

“Tremendous, my dear. But only half, you see. My mother was one, yes, but my father, he gave me an even better ability, he was an Incubus.” You shuddered as the words sunk in, your only worry being staying alive now, when your life was in the hands of this sex demon, having the greatest of powers and strength. Your mind did not spend any time mulling over the existence of supernatural beings, only dwelling on possible escapes now.

“That is why even your untouched body couldn’t help but react to my form and it is also the very reason, that I can read what goes on in your mind, all your memories, your hobbies, every book you’ve read, your precious sister, Emma isn’t it? So please, do not even think about fleeing if you don’t want your family to suffer.”

The threat loomed in the air, nasty sobs wracking your body as his thumb came to wipe the tears off. His hands started undoing the lace on the front of your bodice as you sniffled. Managing to quieten down just a bit, you begged, “Please don’t do this, I’ll have nowhere to go if my family found about me partaking in this unholy deed before marriage.” You had little hope about him seeing reason but there was optimism nonetheless. 

“Darling, do not fuss that I’ll leave you unhinged and deserted after finding pleasure in your body, you are to be mine now. Essentially, you already are.” His lips claimed yours again as the front of your dress slackened, bundling around your waist.

You pulled back, surprised at his promise, “You mean that?” He nodded, coming to kiss you again. You turned so that his lips met your neck, tongue licking the salt residue of tears there. “In what sense?”

“In every sense you could think of and more. I’ll give you everything, make you my queen, would you like that?” He mumbled in your neck, tongue now soothing the two punctured cavities residing there.

You could feel yourself crossing your legs involuntarily, trying to caress the abrupt yearning in your intimate part, your underclothes dousing with wetness somehow. Steve smirked in your neck, sitting upright and playing his trump card.

“I’ll marry you and we’ll rule together with the plenty of successors you’ll give me. Won’t that make your parents proud? Isn’t that what your parents taught you? Catch the King’s eye?” You meekly nodded, his charisma of an Incubus winning you over. “I’ll make your father The King’s Hand and send your mother the finest of jewels and gems, satins and silks.” He looked over at your submissive form, looking at him with the innocence of a toddler, swayed by his promises.

“I’ll let your sister have a grand wedding with the man she dears. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and be my Queen, rule alongside me. So I ask, will you?” You cut him off, your lips pressing against his as you tried to mimic his earlier movements. He held your waist, surprised but pleasantly so, crushing the layers of the rolled top half of your dress underneath his hands. You had very little idea about what bedding someone meant but you had this primal urge to not have any skin of yours covered or untouched by him.

Steve shed his cape and threw every cloth on his torso away, almost as eager as you to get skin to skin contact. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up and sat you in his broad lap, not before sliding your dress all the way down. As he broke the kiss and took in your body, parts of you hidden under the smallclothes, he let out a growl that frightened yet excited you with another shiver down your spine. 

He made quick work of his bottoms, his cock standing and reaching his muscled chest almost and you gaped. Your sister, Emma had informed you of men’s parts being far much smaller than what you had just witnessed. His member stood erect and proud, glistening as he pumped it with his fist. His eyes drank in your surprise and trepidation, getting amused and turned on even more. 

You still laid stretched across the bed, legs straight ahead of you while your torso rested on your elbows, eyes wary of his every next movement.  He eyed your scantily clad body, gaze filled with lust and nothing more and climbed between your legs, one hand coming down on your waist while the other grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a possessive kiss, robbing you of your breath. Your mind was slowly registering the reality of it all, this was going to happen no matter what. You were going to sin by engaging in fornication. But is it really wrong if your benevolent king demands that of you?

His hand sliding from your face to your bosom distracted you from your chain of thoughts. He slid the cups of your garment revealing your nipples and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his other pinched the abandoned one. You didn’t know if you should be more surprised at his actions or the rush of the feelings that ran through you.

He slowly released your nipple and trailed soft kisses down your stomach to your most intimate part yet, kissing it through the cloth there. His delicate touch was abruptly contrasted with him grabbing the fabric, tearing it into two and revealing you bare. 

You closed your legs out of instinct but his heavily muscled hand took them apart in a single push. He eyed you with a warning, to not obstruct him anyhow anymore.

“Let me taste that sweet nectar of yours, sweetheart. I really want to find out if it is as addictive as my senses picked it up, as sweet as the aura that surrounds you.”

And with that he dove into your pussy, his tongue roaming your wet cavern. Neither did you understand what he spoke of nor had you sister told you about the activity happening right now. But all you could do was focus on the astonishingly pleasant shivers running through you as you had an out of the body, more accurately an out of the world experience. You had no sense of the time that passed and how long you laid there clutching the silk sheets letting out mewls. But out of nowhere, something in you snapped and all your energy left you. 

As your blurry vision cleared and your eyes found his face, he licked his still glistening lips, his beard moist and wet but erotically so. He dove right into kiss again and you tasted your own sweet nectar for the first time ever. His hand roamed your body, grabbing your curves and caressing your soft flesh. 

One of his hands made its way down furthermore and spread your fluids along your folds, and then lined up himself along your hole. With a sudden push, you felt yourself being full like never before, and a sudden pain hit you as your face visibly flinched. Steve swallowed your grunts of pain with his kisses and started rubbing your bud above your linked bodies. 

The shudder that ran through you once again made you incapable of thinking, the ache slowly subsiding behind the pleasure you felt. When your moans filled the air, Steve kissed your collarbones and sucked leaving bruises there, and started thrusting again. As his movements became faster and consistent, and his callused hands rubbed you and pinched your intimate flesh, you ascended to another world. Each action of his introduced you to a new star in the wide galaxy. The same unknown descended upon you again as something snapped in your abdomen and you experienced pure bliss. 

“Going to make you the mother of my children, you will carry my seed and bring the Kingdom several heirs. This time I’ll succeed, you will be mine, my Queen in every sense.” His words made you clench around him and that was all it took for him to achieve ecstasy as well.

Your head lolled and your eyes met his sweating frame lying across the silk sheets as a sinister grin adorned his face again, “I need to fuck a successor into you tonight, you ready?”  

[oh-hush-its-perfect]

Alex Fierro's Introduction Full Breakdown

Okokok so. This is going to go full English-professor mode, where I'm drawing conclusions that are gonna seem a little far-fetched. That's what's fun about media analysis! I can say something is a symbol, and even if I don't have enough faith in RR's competency to know if he meant for it to be a symbol, it's still true! That being said, a lot of these choices I'm sure are intentional, either at a literal or subliminal level. Page numbers are going to be used not to assert a kind of authority or whatever— this is a Tumblr post, not an essay— but to help readers find the pages I'm referencing in case they'd like to do some digging of their own. Also, this is going to be really long. Really sorry to anyone with ADHD; I might make an audiofile of this so you can get the information without having to read the whole thing. With all that, let's get into it!

To kick off, let's talk about Alex being in the form of a cheetah when she first meets Magnus. Of course, there's the obvious impact of him seeing her but only so breifly, as well as introducing the conflict between her and the rest of Hall 19. But that could have easily been accomplished by almost any animal. The choice of a cheetah being implicated implies two qualities of Alex that will be recurrent throughout the two books she's in: 1. She has a tendency to run away, as we'll later learn when she describes how she became homeless, and 2. To Magnus, she's elusive. She can't be caught or held down. The event that shows this so transparently is how Alex refuses to define their relationship at the end of the series, despite it clearly surpassing the normal bounds of friendship.

But the cheetah isn't the animal Alex is in the form of when Magnus first gets a good look at her; she's a weasel. Weasel's bring up all kinds of connotations: ferocity, slickness, a lack of charm. When we want to describe someone as an untrustworthy person, we call them a weasel. RR had Alex take this form to play up her comrades' feeling of distrust towards her. She could be a double-crosser. But paradoxically, the up-front and vicious mannerisms of a weasel also have a transperency. She does not try appealing to her Hallmate's sense of goodwill because she doesn't have anything to gain from it. So even though there is the implication that she might be an antagonist, there's also evidence from her actions and mannerisms that she isn't. The weasel's long and skinny frame also allow for a smooth transition into Alex's actual body, which is convenient.

As Alex transforms into her usual human form, Magnus describes her as "a regular human teen, long and lanky, with a swirl of dyed green hair, black at the roots, like a plug of weeds pulled out of a lawn" (pg. 50). That simile at the end is of particular interest. Let's compare it to another time Magnus describes Alex's hair, in Ship of the Dead: "Her hair had started to grow out, the black roots making her look even more imposing, like a lion with a healthy mane" (pg. 136). By contrasting these two different examples, we can see the development of Magnus and Alex's relationship. The first time he sees her, he thinks of her hair as something nasty— note the word choice "weeds." Later on, though, he becomes more affectionate towards her, more complentary. The immedient negative reaction is less his actual impression, though, and more the reaction he expected to have based on everyone else's reaction to Alex.

Her clothes are equally as interesting; as Magnus describes it, Alex wears "battered rose high-tops, skinny lime green corduroy pants, a pink-and-green argyle sweater-vest over a white tee, and another pink cashmere sweather wrapped around the waist like a kilt" (pg. 50). Aside from the obvious fact that this outfit is a) bizzare, b) fire, and c) Alex's signature colors, which add a layer of style to what can otherwise be a somewhat boring series fashion-wise (excuse me, Blitz), the outfit reveals a crucial facet of Alex's backstory in a kind of subtle way. These are expensive clothes, like the Stella McCartney dress in Alex's room. Note the mention of fabrics (corduroy, cashmere) and patterns (argyle). These indicate wealth and status. Even the high-tops; shoes like that don't come cheap. But I'd like to return to the very first word of the section: "battered." Alex's wardrobe show-cases a proximity to wealth, but also shows that that proximity has been strained and lengthened, maybe for an extended period of time. Alex dresses like a rich person, but she isn't one. Least, not anymore.

The last word of that outfit-introduction is also of interest: "kilt." At the current moment, Magnus thinks that Alex is male. No one has indicated otherwise to him. Everyone has been referring to Alex with he/him pronouns. Samirah called Alex her "brother" (pg. 29). His first thought in seeing what he at first perceives as a guy with a jacket wrapped around the waist is That looks like a kilt. This thought tells us about Magnus: despite being open and accepting, he still has some lingering notions of gender conformity from his years in wider American society.

Magnus also indicates that the outfit "reminded me of a jester's motley, or the coloration of a venomous animal warning the whole world" (pg. 50). This is rather self-explanatory, but it's still worth noting that Magnus sees the outfit as something bizzare, strange, and even perhaps comical. This places Alex at odds with the other people Magnus has met. It also reveals that Magnus has zero fashion sense. But we already knew that.

After finishing up staring at the ensemble, Magnus finally gets around to actually looking Alex in the face. First Magnus says that he "forgot how to breathe" (pg. 50), which, yeah, relatable. This is justifed by saying that Alex has the same face as Loki, but the very same sentence that asserts that that's the case also suggests an alternative reason: Alex has "the same unearthly beauty" as her father. Here we can see the beginnings of Magnus's attraction to Alex, though at this point, he still has a lot of internalized homophobia. Though there's certainly some truth in that Magnus was unnerved by Alex's resemblance to Loki, the idea that Magnus pointed out that Alex was pretty without elaborating on that thought until about a chapter later— after he was informed that Alex was presently a girl— can tell us a lot about how Magnus perceives sex and beauty.

Of course, Alex's eyes are given special attention. She has cool eyes; what can I say? But I'd like to focus in on how Magnus here depicts Alex's heterochromia as "completely unnerving" (pg. 50). Again, let's contrast this with how he describes them after getting to know Alex a little better in Ship of the Dead. In Chapter 3, Magnus describes "[Alex's] dark brown eye and his amber eye like mismatched moons cresting the horizon" (pg. 25). Once again, this shows the development of their relationship— but this time, it's in a much more personal way. Eyes are the windows to the soul; they are culturally important and biologically important in inter-personal connections. In you look into someone's eyes, you're giving them your full attention, and you're implying a kind of closeness. The way that Magnus describes Alex's eyes in the second passage is downright intimate. At this point, he is in love with Alex, and it is clear when contrasting the two descriptions.

As my last point, I'd like to discuss Alex's first words on page: "'Point that rifle somewhere else, or I will wrap it around your neck like a bow tie'" (pg. 51). First of all, Alex saying this with a "perfect white smile" (pg. 51) on his face implies that she is used to being threatened. She is not afraid of being shot; she counters the promise of an attack with a promise of her own. This pleads the question: why is Alex accustomed to violence? What events of her past or qualities of her life have brought her to this point? The threat itself reveals Alex's trauma from being genderfluid in a society with rigid gender norms, as well as her antagonistic relationship with her father. Magnus makes a comment that Alex "might actually know how to tie a bow tie, which was kind scary arcane knowledge" (pg. 51). Like Alex's wardrobe, the idea that she may have experience in high-class fashion also implies her former status as a rich kid.

I could go on. I could break apart Alex saying "'Pleased to meet you all, I guess'" (pg. 51). There is a wealth of information in this short page span that tells us things about Alex Fierro in the present moment, quietly demonstrates things about her past, and characterizes the narrator Magnus Chase. This passage is also effective in hindsight in marking the progress of Magnus and Alex's relationship.

But I'd like to take a step back and look at not the pieces, but the whole picture. Alex Fierro gets a full page of pure description— her outfit, her face— and about a chapter of introduction. This comes after several chapters of build-up. Alex Fierro is an important character you need to keep your eyes on. Alex Fierro is emotionally significant to the main character, Magnus Chase. Alex Fierro is one of the most developed and well-rounded characters that Rick Riordan has ever written— heck, she's one of the best characters in middle-grade books period. The extended emphasis on her and her alone tells us exactly what role she's going to play in this story: she's the star.

[sitp-recs]

(Perfect artwork for Modern Love, by @cambiodipolvere)

Today is the day of one of my favorite people! And I totally resent @tackytigerfic and Starry for almost sharing the same birthday, god the STRESS 😂 Tacky is my first and closest fandom friend. We clicked together so fast and easy that sometimes it feels like I’ve known her all my life, like we’re two dog moms living in the same neighborhood who happen to read fic in their free time. Despite our conflicting time zones and crazy schedules we manage to chat every other day, tagging and sending each other all kinds of stuff, coming together to cry scream about a brilliant fic we’ve just read or shaking our heads in embarrassment at every other unnecessary bullshit post. Tacky’s bright and wise energy uplifts my spirit even on my moody days, and makes me grateful for her friendship and for this fandom life. Okay so this got long and I had to put the rest under the cut:

It’s such a lovely and precious thing, to have someone with whom you can share every single thought that crosses your mind, your scariest, most embarrassing, petty or disturbing idea, without fear of being shamed or judged by it. I trust Tacky with all my heart to hear me out, share a joke or a piece of advice, even on the (rare) occasions when we don’t get the same perspective - that doesn’t happen often when it comes to Drarry, as we are taste twins!

Tacky my darling, you’re such a good person, and such an incredible friend. Thank you for introducing me to this lovely community, for being my safe haven and your unique self, with so many qualities I admire and feel inspired by: kind, witty, earnest, wise, and so very human. I love your humour and empathy, and your chill yet no-nonsense personality; I love your talent and how articulated you are; I love your passion for Drarry, and how you let this emotion inform the way you navigate the fandom and create for it. And god, but you’ve been creating some of the most beautiful content I’ve seen in these recent years! I’m permanently in awe of your ability to write Drarry in any shape, format or length, transforming even the most ordinary moment into an extraordinary and meaningful piece of character or relationship development. You know how you mentioned yesterday that some authors change the way you feel about a ship in a deep, definitive way? Well, you are that author for me. Your works made me fall in love with M-rated contemplative romance, and also allowed me to fall in love with Harry in a way I never thought it was possible before.

Some people - myself included - got to know you through the fun and intriguing A Lick and a Promise, others through the atmospheric and sensitive Modern Love, others through your contemplative and heartbreaking short form. Each story has its merits and purpose, and all of them share a Tacky trademark: the heartkick factor! Your talent has no limits and goes across different genres and tropes, that you explore with a bold twist full of personality and heart. And even more impressive is your consistency at always raising the bar - every new fic of yours becomes an instant fave and makes me think “wow I thought Tacky couldn’t get better yet here we are”. Seeing how your writing evolves as you find your narrative voice is a beautiful and humbling experience, I feel so lucky!

I’m really grateful for being active in the fandom at this moment in time, because that allows me to read and engage with your brilliant work, and to have you as a dear friend. I can’t wait to see what comes out of your beautiful brain next. It was an impossible job choosing a single fic to rec today, so I decided to do a belated Tacky reclist! Naturally these are my personal and biased must-reads, and I urge everyone to go check these beauties right now. Feel free to include your own favorites too, and don’t forget to leave them some appreciation.

Happy happy birthday my darling Tacky! This fandom life wouldn’t be the same without you. I hope you have the amazing day you deserve!

Between the Power Lines (2020, M, 3.2k)

The road trip fic you didn’t know you needed. I got utterly immersed in the heartbreaking quietness of this, feeling like a witness to an ordinary yet poignant love story. Such tender intimacy, such character development, such lovely American aesthetics with barely any dialogue. This is, IMO, the fic that reveals Tacky’s triumph in storytelling.

Even the Night (2020, M, 3.4k)

This fic has a surreal atmosphere, those Midsummer vibes unbelievably sexy and intoxicating linked to the sensorial experience of fumbling together in the night. Masterclass in tension building, a silky and languid dream-like affair.

Aim for my Heart (2021, M, 3.4k) - Harry/Draco/Ron

One of the most sensitive and stunning portraits I’ve ever seen of a poly/triad relationship, this fic packs so much character and longing! It’s a privilege to watch Ron and Draco’s tentative dynamics through the smitten eyes of the one person that loves them like no one else: Harry.

The Long Fall (2021, M, 3.6k)

I can’t even write about this tender domesticity without getting a lump in my throat. Best opening scene I’ve read in years, and a refreshing way to approach both mpreg and parenthood, painfully honest and lovely. This became an immediate comfort read for me, and it’s probably one of the fics I revisit the most.

Mortal Frame (2021, M, 6.6k)

This thrilling, fast-paced spy story left me breathless since the first paragraph, gods what an immersive ride! I’m so here for Drarry on the run, sharp and urgent with danger but mellowed by the silent trust and tender intimacy only Tacky can master. Major bonus points for the brilliant take on the Horcrux hunt plot line!

Last Offices (2020, M, 6.7k)

Oh, this fic 💔 I tend to avoid MCD but there’s something so deeply fascinating about body washing rituals that I caught myself mesmerized by this. I just couldn’t put it down, so emotionally compromised I felt. There’s a sort of strange comfort in the heartbreak of doing one last act of service out of devotion to someone. This fic inspired so many difficult but lovely feelings in me, and one of them was hope. Only Tacky could possibly achieve that!

Our Little Life (2020, M, 7.2k)

Inventive and singular, this story hit me straight on the solar plexus and left me speechless as I saw the (clever, magical and bittersweet) plot unravel. Such a fabulous take on alternate universes and all the angst potential behind it. Come and bask in the yearning melancholia of a short yet intricate and perfectly executed plot.

And One to Play (2019, E, 21k)

What a fun and delightful fic, I can’t have enough of pining Harry losing all sense of propriety when faced with a hot, competent and pragmatic Draco. This has fab dynamics, unhinged protectiveness, even more unhinged attraction between two idiots who can’t keep their hands off each other. A must-read for any Auror partners fan!

A Lick and a Promise (2019, E, 55k)

Hot, BAMF Professors carefully balancing a fuck buddies situation while solving a Hogwarts mystery, do we need anything else? I certainly do not. This fic is so fun and intriguing and immersive, with amazing supportive cast and a delicious get together feat secret shagging and oblivious pining. Love it!

Modern Love (2020, E, 61k)

My favorite read of 2020, this fic is a love letter to Drarry and will always hold a piece of my soul. Sensitive, wistful, tenderly aching and so very romantic, this is a Muggle Draco triumph with a superb Harry, exquisite slow burn and a side of suds comfort. I promise it will be impossible to listen to Bowie again without thinking of this love story.

Bonus: five stunning drabbles!

Something in the Way (2021, T, 119 words)

“Up,” he said, and Draco, sick with love, raised his arms above his head and allowed Potter to slide the jumper on him, big hands stroking it flat over Draco’s stomach until they both shivered.

Stir-Up Sunday (2020, M, 300 words)

“I want you always,” he said, tugging again on the fine curling length of it. “Is it okay to say that?”

Whalebone Arch (2021, M, 722 words)

“Are you still not talking to me?” Draco steered Harry towards the crisps. “Do I have to suck you off in the loo to cheer you up?”

Semiplume (2021, T, 923 words)

“Did you know,” Harry murmured, and he put his arms around Draco, fearless. “I’d be your mate. If you needed a mate, I mean.”

Relic Radiation (2021, M, 927 words)

“You’ll kill me,” Harry said, and Draco turned his face towards the darkened sky, lunar pale, his profile some stupid unearthly thing—a flaring blazar, a supernova—in the light from the kitchen window.

[byunbaekby]

title — the following pairing — demon!haechan x female reader, slight jaemin x reader featuring — jaemin as reader’s roommate and crush word count — 6.9k  genres — horror, angst warnings — language, religious concepts in accordance to demons and angels, mentions of murder, psychological and physical torture, elements of haunting, choking, degradation in a nonsexual context (donghyuck often refers to y/n as feeble or unintelligent), minor character death  inspiration — monster by red velvet

“under a single light, why are there two shadows?” “i’m a little monster, be scared of me / i’ll bother you by making you only dream of me.” “see i’m just playing, no bad intentions / try to come out of the dream but monster lives forever.”

author’s message — for the #neohalloween event hosted by @nct-writers​. this is my first time ever writing something of this genre, so i’m very excited and nervous to put this forward. thank you to @give-seconds​ for proof reading this and making it 100x better! much love ♡

also, this entire scenario is loosely generated from a superstition in hmong culture that you shouldn’t pick up anything you find laying around in public, for you might bring home something else with you. 

“Y/N? Is something wrong? Why are you calling me?” 

Your roommate’s voice rings clear on the opposite side of the line. Though you’re shivering as a result of the cold, barren winter air, you try to get a response past your shaking lips. “I-I’m walking home, Jaem. Can you… can you stay on the phone with me?” 

“Oh.” He immediately gets it; it’s never safe for a young woman to walk home alone, especially not in your neighborhood. “Of course… Where are you?”

You turn into the shortcut, your feet meeting the soft, pliable ground. The cemetery; it’s probably the worst shortcut you could ever take, but it cuts your walk home in half. “The cemetery…”

“Again? I told you that you should stop cutting through there, it’s not safe.”

You register his words in your ear as you eye a black bird resting atop a gravestone, peering at you with bright eyes. Casting your sight away from it, your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, roseate tier captured beneath the sharp incisor. “Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.” 

Jaemin sighs on the other side. “Even worse, anyone hanging out in a cemetery at…” He pauses, likely to glance at his watch. “10:28 PM, is probably going to be weirder than someone you find out on the street on a Friday night.”

“Hey!” You tell him, clutching your bag close to you. “I’m a person hanging out in a cemetery at 10:28 PM.” 

“My point exactly.” 

You roll your eyes, a laugh leaving you, but you’re glad for Jaemin’s teasing. It helps get your mind off the fact that the hill you walk past casts a dark shadow over the path. As you walk past, engulfed in what seems to be the darkest area of the entire graveyard, you attempt to make easy conversation with your roommate to get it off your mind. 

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask him, voice low as if someone were listening. Who knows, someone might be. 

Jaemin easily sees through what you’re attempting to do, but he follows along anyway because he’s nice. “I did. I tried to wait for you, but you took too long.”

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “Time passed by me in the library.”

“I know. Like damn, you should really lay off the studying sometimes and have fun.” 

“I know, I know. You tell me, Renjun tells me, Professor Kim even—woah!”

You drop to the floor, the air flying out of your chest and dissipating into nothingness as you fall forward onto your chest. All the contents of your bag spill out, along with your phone, which lies a few feet away on the dirt. 

Groan escaping your lips, you look down at your white jeans. Completely stained and covered in dirt. Damn.

“Y/N? Hello? Y/N, you there?”

You can hear Jaemin’s muffled worried tone from where you are, but you focus on gathering your things from your bag first before you grab the phone. In the darkness of the night, you can’t even see everything, you just hope you manage to grab everything. It would definitely be your worst nightmare if you lost your Calculus homework due on Monday to the graveyard because you hadn’t grabbed it. 

When you finally return everything to your bag, you press the phone to your ear. “Hey, sorry, I tripped.” 

“You had me worried there! I was about to run out there myself,” nags Jaemin, and you can see in your mind the way his dark eyebrows must be furrowed in distaste. 

“Sorry Jaem,” you apologize to him as you scurry down the path, ready to be free of the cemetery’s unsettling aura as soon as possible. “Please tell me you saved me some food, I’m starving...”

-

He feels it when you walk in. He senses the irrefutable change in the air, smells your delectable scent with his sharpness. His grave sits at the very top of the largest hill, giving him the perfect place to watch you from. The cemetery becomes alive with your entrance. 

Ironic, isn’t it?

Sitting rather stylishly with his thin, gauntly body atop his gravestone, Donghyuck watches you with sharp, focused eyes. You’re so pretty. He smirks, observing the way you flutter through the graveyard, feet barely touching the ground in your feeble attempt to escape the ominous lot as soon as possible. 

“Walking down the street at this time isn’t safe either. At least here there’s nobody else around.” 

That’s where you’re wrong.

The dark demon can hardly keep the devilish grin off his tiers, watching you. Beautiful, you are.

He’s seen you a few times, in the handful of times you’ve dared to cut through the cemetery on your way home. With an amused, almost teasing shake of his head, he tsks. “Bad decision, little lamb.”

“Did you eat dinner already?” You ask whoever you’re speaking to on the phone. Donghyuck can barely remember what human food tastes like. As a demon, he doesn’t eat humans, let alone get hungry, but if he had a choice, you’d definitely be his first choice.

Your soul is good. He wants it.

If he can’t have you, at least he can play with you a little. 

It doesn’t take much. The moment you glide through the path and under the darkness of his hill, all it takes is the slightest snap of his fingers to send you flying forward. He’d love to make you stay down there, perhaps drag you down below with him, but that would be no fun. 

Rather, he plucks off one of his rings, one of the many decorating his hands for absolutely no one to see, and tosses it seamlessly into the pile of your things spilled across the path. As he watches the way you carelessly shove everything back into your bag, his Cheshire grin grows even wider. Now, he has a reason to leave. 

As you scurry away, Donghyuck jumps off his grave which he had occupied for decades, and lands on his feet. With a wipe of his hands on his jeans, he watches you go. 

“Stupid little lamb. Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to take things that aren’t yours?”

The rest of the walk home, you can swear there are steps behind you matching yours.

-

When you get home, you quickly slide into your bedroom amid Jaemin’s nagging sounds and slip off your white (well, brown now) jeans from your legs. After getting on some more comfortable clothes, you grab your dirtied jeans and make your way to the bathroom. 

The restroom, however small, still has room for a washer and dryer, which you’re thankful for, seeing as you and Jaemin don’t have to pay a laundromat for your weekly laundry. You toss your jeans in the washer; normally you wouldn’t wash just one garment, but the dirt would likely stain your perfectly white jeans. After pressing start you make your way to the kitchen, where your roommate is reheating dinner for you. 

The image of Jaemin’s broad back standing at the stove makes you smile to yourself for just a millisecond, so quick that it’s fleeting. Before you can take another moment to admire your roommate however, he turns to you with his trademark smile. “Hey, pick a movie. Let’s watch something.” 

About fifteen minutes later, you’re eating your leftovers on the couch, Jaemin’s arm spread over your shoulders while the beginning scenes of The Conjuring play. You don’t have much, the apartment barely enough for the two of you to inhabit, and Jaemin is only your roommate, but you’ve gotten used to these kinds of nights. Simple, easy, sweet.

The light remainder of Jaemin’s daily cologne mixed in with his gentle cotton scent pervades into your senses, and you lean your head onto his shoulder with a smile. You’ve always wanted to be more with Jaemin, but you could settle for these comfortable nights of movies and platonic cuddling. 

It’s something about having a full belly, Jaemin’s warmth, and the everlasting light traces of his scent that has you falling asleep, eyes drooping closed slowly into a peaceful suspension of consciousness. 

-

I.

You wake the first morning. 

You don’t even remember falling asleep, but it doesn’t surprise you when you wake up in bed. Recently you’ve developed a habit of falling asleep on movie nights, and Jaemin is always kind enough to place you gently back in your room. 

Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you let out an unearthly sound as you sit up and stretch your arms above your head. When you unsheath the blanket from your legs, your unprepared toes meet the cold wooden floor, causing you to flutter across the room quickly and into the living area. 

It’s Saturday, but Jaemin volunteers at the hospital on Saturdays, so you only prepare a bowl of cereal for yourself. If your roommate were here, he’d probably scold you for the lack of nutrition, so you toss a couple of berries into your frosted flakes. 

After you finish up, washing your bowl at the sink, your eyes widen in realization; you left your jeans in the washer! Falling asleep mid-movie had caused you to completely forget about them, not drying them before you slept like you had told yourself. God, they probably stink by now, sitting wet for hours. 

But when you slide open the door to the bathroom, you see your jeans resting atop the drying machine, folded neatly like they had been waiting for you. Perhaps they were. 

Ah, you realize, mouth parting just the slightest. Jaemin must have dried them and folded them before he left for the hospital this morning. Another grateful smile spreads across your visage; you really do have the best roommate. 

You spend the rest of the day studying, and prepare a nice dinner (which also means going grocery shopping) for Jaemin, as a little thank you for always being so thoughtful. He appreciates it when he comes home to a fully cooked meal, and there’s something about the way he smiles that has you feeling as though you’ve finally done something good to amount to all the times he’s saved your ass as a roommate. When the night ends, you both retire to your rooms. 

In your lovesick daze, you fail to recognize that under the single lighting of your room, there are two shadows. 

-

VII.

On the seventh day, Donghyuck’s displeasure is enough to choke him—that is, if he needed to breathe.

He had wanted to tease you, follow you home and play with you a little before revealing himself. But God, you are so dumb; he should have expected as much from a feeble, stupid little sheep anyways. 

That first night, testing the waters, he had done your damn laundry for you. It was just a little fun, to get the ball rolling. Any superstitious person would have known. And what did you do? You had thought it to be your roommate. As the days went by, his teasing grew in quantity and intensity; hiding your keys, ripping apart your essays, perhaps all the menial and annoying things that some stupid schoolboy would do to grab the attention of a girl he liked. But your attention is lost, and he is not a stupid schoolboy. No, he is far from it. 

Even as his antics have built up throughout the following days, you always found some excuse to play it off; you must be more clever than he thought. No, you weren’t; you were either extremely clumsy and forgetful, or you were simply denying his existence. It’s time to make himself known. 

-

VIII.

It’s the eighth night when he appears in your dreams. No, not he. It.

You can sense it, the moment your suspension of consciousness becomes overtaken by him and you find yourself in a simple black room. It seems to extend in every which direction, as though you could run off in any given direction and never hit a wall. But you feel it watching you.

He’s behind your shoulder, and the moment his low, amused chuckle is heard in your ears you swipe around to face him, eyes wide. He’s beautiful; dark brown hair, smooth skin, a captivating honey color, and dark eyes. 

Those eyes.

They pierce into your soul, as though they can see right through you. They probably can. He is not a person, you know. He is… more. 

Dark eyes once overtaken with curiosity are now characterized by bleak amusement. Your breath hitches, and his voice comes out low. “Welcome.” 

“What is this? Where am I?” Your voice comes out rapidly, shaking. You know nothing of this… thing before you but you can’t help but feel unsafe under its gaze. 

“Now, that’s not very nice. I am very much a person, not an it,” he smirks beneath the shadow which casts itself upon his visage. You freeze; he can hear your thoughts.

This realization only further widens the Cheshire grin across his lips, and instinctively you take a step back further into the black nothingness. “G-Get out of my head,” you threaten to no avail.

The same mocking laugh leaves his lips. “Sweetheart, this is your head. This entire place is of your making. If you hate it so much,” he says, and suddenly he’s in front of you. His hand leaves the pockets of his black bottoms, lithe digits suddenly cupping your chin and tilting it upward so you are staring right into his dark empty orbs which come to life with the image of you. His fingers, dressed in various shades of gold rings, grip you. You should feel his warmth on your skin, you should feel the radiating human heat that you so often feel with Jaemin. 

“Erase me from it.” 

But you don’t feel anything behind his callused skin, and that’s what scares you the most. 

Your throat runs dry and when he parts his lips, even his breath is cold. “But you’re scared.” When you fail to respond, he licks his lips, and his next words are characterized by sarcastic rancor. “What’s wrong? There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Unless…” At this point, under his burning gaze that contrasts the ice-cold emptiness against your skin, your knees begin to buckle. The smile which accompanies his next words, revealing his pearly whites and perhaps his intentions, is sinister: “You’re not afraid of demons… are you?”

-

IX.

You wake in a cold sweat, and you’re more aware of Jaemin’s soothing voice telling you to breathe than the fact that you’re not breathing. Chest heaving and eyes wide, you search for something in Jaemin’s eyes to tether you back to earth, back to reality.

He’s not real, he’s not real. He can’t hurt you. 

It was just a dream.

“Hey, hey,” Jaemin calls out to you, hands on your shoulders to steady you from your previous thrashing. You had awoken him with your screaming. “You okay? Breathe, Y/N, just,” he takes a pause to take a deep breath, silently instructing you to follow with him. “Breathe.” In a few moments, when your breathing pattern has begun to return to normal, steady breaths, he asks again, voice dripping with nothing but pure concern for you, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod. It’s the first word you’ve spoken, so your voice comes out scratched and you’re reminded just how much air you need to actually speak coherently. “It was just… a bad dream.”

“Sounded a lot worse than a bad dream…” He responds, taking his respectful hands off of you and tucking them into the loose pockets of his fleece pajama bottoms. An image flashes before your eyes: that… person, hands tucked leisurely into their pockets, ominous smile enough to make you wonder what they were hiding in there. 

You blink, closing your eyes tightly and shaking your head, as though it could shake the image from your mind. When you open them once more, Jaemin is still standing next to your bed. “I’m okay, I promise,” you tell him, though it feels more as though you’re speaking to yourself. “Thanks.”

“Any time,” responds your roommate, who offers you a reassuring smile and another worried look before slipping out of your bedroom. When you’re finally alone, you bring a hand up to your forehead, where sweat has made your skin clammy and sticky. 

You’re warm. He is not.

-

XII.

“You’re a demon.”

You say this on the twelfth night, finding yourself once again stranded in the same dark and endless room with the sharp-eyed devil. This time, there are two chairs and the two of you sit facing each other. He sits as though he has all the time in the world, and perhaps he does. Legs crossed leisurely and arms over his chest with his head tilted at you, he stares. 

With your tense posture in your own chair, you wonder fleetingly how enough light exists in this black room that you can never seem to avoid staring at his mocking facial expression. You gulp, gripping onto nothing as you tighten your fists to prevent them from trembling. He’s not real, you have to remind yourself. 

“When did you figure that out, little lamb? When I told you, probably?” His tone is insulting, as though you were stupid. You narrow your eyes, biting the flesh inside your cheek. 

“Aw,” he coos, grinning at you with dark beguilement. “You’re frustrated.”

“Duh, I’m frustrated,” you huff, blowing some air from your mouth to push away a strand of hair that has fallen into your face. “You keep bringing me here with no jurisdiction or knowledge of who you are.”

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “Three questions. Don’t make them stupid, though I know that’s hard for an incompetent human like yourself.” 

“What do you want from me?” 

“I haven’t quite figured that out yet. Next question. I’ll even be nice enough to abstain that as a question,” he responds, as though he’s doing you a favor. 

“Why are you doing this?”

“Being a demon is rather boring, you see. Not here, not there.” He waves his hand around, as though pointing to heaven and its counterpart. “I found you, and you intrigued me.”

He leans forward, resting his chin in his palm. “Or rather, you found me. You invited me in.” 

“I never did that,” you reply, indignant. 

“But you did.” A dark eyebrow raises at you, and you bite down on your lip to prevent your anger from rising. “You never checked your bag, did you? Never found a gold ring, maybe?” He lifts his chin off of his palm, stretching out his fingers as though they were cramped. “Maybe one with DH engraved in it.” 

You had. You had found the ring in your bag on Saturday and had figured it to be one of your own negligible accessories, tossing it into your jewelry box. Had there been letters engraved on it? 

At the look on your face, a smile spreads across his features. “So you do remember.” 

Despite the umbrage bubbling in your stomach, perhaps more feisty than you should be in the presence of a self-proclaimed demon, you have another question. Leaning forward just the slightest you ask, “Why haven’t you hurt me? Isn’t that what demons do?”

There’s a glint in his eye, and the easy-going expression on his face is quickly replaced by a darkened simper. “Do you want me to hurt you?” 

Your fists tighten again. “N-No…”

“Don’t tempt me.” His voice is dark now, his earlier lilted tone now descending into a deep pit. It’s almost demanding, as though he’s daring you to push his buttons and send him plummeting into a torturous rage. At the look of fear that swipes across your face, he chuckles once more. “Relax, little lamb. I’m just playing, no bad intentions here.” 

You don’t believe him, not even for a second. If he’s really what he says he is… why does he torture you in this way, making you only dream of him? You push the thoughts from your mind, knowing that he has full access to your brain. “What’s your name?” 

“Now you’re asking the good questions. You may call me…”

The corner of his lips tug upward into a smirk.

“Donghyuck.” 

-

XIII.

The titles should shock you more than they do.

University Student Pleads Guilty to Murder of Three Female Students

College Killer: More Murders Revealed In Trial of Lee Donghyuck

Lee Donghyuck, Murderer of At Least Thirteen Victims, Sentenced To Death Penalty

He’s real. 

It’s Friday night again, and you find yourself back at the library. Except this time, it’s not calculus nor world history that you are pondering. It’s not your psychology textbook that you are poured over. 

No, the archives are open, and all it took was a little keyword into the filter to find just what you’re searching for. The only word you needed: Donghyuck.

He hadn’t been lying. Not about his identity or his demonic status. 

When you read over the headlines and their accompanying stories, you don’t realize the way your pupils begin to shake, or the way that your heartbeat begins to accelerate as the truth dawns upon you. 

He is real, he is dangerous, and he is haunting you. 

-

XIV. 

“So you know who I am.” It’s less of a question, more of a statement. Tonight, there is only one chair and you are sitting in it as Donghyuck walks circles around you. There are no chains, no straps to hold you down to the chair but you cannot move. Despite what he had told you the first night, that this is all your dream and that you have the ability to change anything, the opposite seems true. 

He disappears behind you, and suddenly his voice is in your ear. Your breath hitches at the sudden gust of cold air on your sensitive skin as he speaks. “Are you afraid?” 

“No.” 

“You forget I’m in your head, sweetheart. I know everything, so don’t lie to me.” 

He’s caught you.

You say nothing, and so he stands straight and makes himself present in your vision again. “It’s okay to be scared. It’s in your feeble nature.” His finger starts at your hand, bringing a chill down your spine. As he drags it slowly up the scope of your exposed arm, you hardly resist the instinct to shiver. “I just want to know, what are you afraid of?”

“Is it…” he speaks softly, teasingly throwing each word in your ear, like tossing small bites to a starved dog. “That I know each of your thoughts the moment you think it, and you only know my name? That I’m a dark spirit and can bring you enough pain to make you forget your name with just a snap of my fingers?”

His trailing hand, once tracing over the curve of your clavicle, suddenly grips your neck. Though only a light pressure is applied, you feel the wind knocked out of you by his sudden, unforeseen movement. “Or is it that because of me, sixteen women died and you might end up the same?”

With the little air you have left, you manage to squeeze out, “They said thirteen.”

Amusement shows on his visage before he finally lets your throat go, and you heave as you attempt to refill your lungs with air. “No,” he corrects, moving back to his original space, circling you like a shark locking its prey in uncharted waters. “They said at least thirteen. They never found the other three.” 

The thought is enough to make you sick, but before you can manage to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up your throat, he speaks. “Don’t worry about them too much, my little lamb. You’ll join them soon.” 

“You’re lying,” you spit out. “You keep threatening me, but you’re all talk and no proof. You can’t do anything to me, that’s why you only bother me in my dreams.” 

Your sudden and unexpected quip seems to, rather than upset him, entertain him. “You think I can’t do anything to you outside of this box? Funny,” he scoffs, though he still maintains that grin on his lips. “Humans are so cocky, I learned that after they killed me.” 

He stops pacing, and instead kneels before you, his face placed before yours. “I’ve done things, sweetheart. Remember the pants? The essay you spent five hours on torn up the morning after you printed it out? How about the dress you bought that I cut up until there was nothing left but shreds? You got really mad at your friend for quote-unquote, ‘pranking’ you.”

But Donghyuck is nothing if not honest. You’ve learned this. 

“But on some level, you’re right.” His hand reaches up once more, but instead of resting it on your shoulder again, he gently caresses your cheek. It would be soft, romantic in any other case. But no, his touch makes your skin crawl. “I can’t hurt you, and I don’t know why. Don’t worry, I want to, but outside this dream…” His hand stops, and grips your chin instead. “I physically can’t. Tell me why?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“You have a cross on you somewhere, little lamb? Or, a guardian angel?”

“I said I don’t know,” you repeat, voice louder as you turn your head sharply, ripping your chin from his grasp. In your ear, he tsks. 

Now you’ve done it. 

“Getting too comfortable, aren’t we? You’re forgetting who’s in charge here,” he says, voice dipping into dangerous territory as he reaches forward, gripping your throat once more. But this time, he digs his nails into the softness of your skin, and your choked scream is caught in your throat by his hands before it can ever leave. 

-

“Y/N! Y/N, wake up!” 

Jaemin’s voice is the only thing carrying you back to sanity, and when you finally force your eyes open he’s before you, gripping your arms once again to prevent you from thrashing about. “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream,” he coos out in worry as you finally come to. 

Your hand immediately flies to your neck which is, to your relief, not at all sore. The moment your eyes fall on him and you realize that the hand around your neck is no more, you fall into a bout of tears. Instinctively, your roommate holds you to his chest in a protective hug whilst you sob into his chest.

It’s not real, it’s not real. You keep telling yourself this like a mantra in your head as Jaemin rubs your head soothingly. But why does it feel so real?

“It’s okay,” Jaemin continues telling you, voice soft as his sweet familiar scent pervades your senses once again and your tense muscles begin to relax. 

Minutes pass before you’ve calmed down, outright sobs now quiet whimpers. Jaemin begins to set you down back into bed, but you grab at his wrist before he can set you down. “What, what is it?” He asks, eyes immediately scanning your body for any sign of distress.

“Can you… can you stay with me?” It’s a large request, perhaps much too intrusive for someone who is supposed to just be your roommate. But lately, Jaemin feels… much more. Every night as you’ve been plagued by Donghyuck’s presence in your haunting nightmares, he has come to save you when you’re falling apart in screams.

He feels like a friend, and a… a protector. 

Not at all fazed by your sudden request, Jaemin wears an abiding smile and nods. “Of course,” he says, sliding into your bed whilst you move over to make room for him. You feel much safer with him around, and now with him in your bed, your personal dreamcatcher, you naturally find yourself in his arms once more while you drift away into sleep, Donghyuck’s presence no longer occupying your dreams. 

Neither of you take the time or attention to look, for if you had you would have seen, in the corner of the room furthest from the window, where the darkened corner seems to extend into an infinite world of black, Donghyuck looking less than pleased. 

Your roommate needs to be handled.

-

XXI.

Something seemed to have changed that night when Jaemin first slipped into your bed. You have since not dreamed of Donghyuck even once, and you definitely do not miss him. Perhaps he is gone for good. 

How stupid of you to think so, even knowing what Donghyuck is capable of. Perhaps you never truly knew, not before now, just how powerful he is, or just what kind of chaos he can incite. 

It’s 3 PM on the twenty-first day when you finally find out just how evil he is.

Jaemin is in the hospital. 

You had gotten the call on the bus ride home from campus; your roommate, jokes and boyish smiles for all the time you’ve known him, had been hit by a car just outside your apartment building. Now, he is in the hospital with broken ribs and a herniated disk, barely holding on for his life in a coma. 

You’re not allowed in his room, but you do catch a glimpse of your roommate when his physician enters, and just the sliver of him that you see is enough to make you turn your head away. 

You know who is responsible for this. 

-

The door to your bedroom is thrown open, and before you can recognize the emptiness of the apartment without Jaemin’s presence around, you’re screaming into the void. 

“I know you’re listening, you dick! Show yourself, fucking coward!” 

The obscenities that leave your mouth seem to do the trick because before you can register it, you’re on the floor. As though the carpet is pulled out from under you, you go flying forward and the wind is knocked out of you as you meet the ground chest first. 

You don’t have any time to breathe or recover, as immediately there is a force pulling you up by the shirt, and suddenly you’re no longer standing on the ground. 

You see him.

You’ve seen him before, of course. He’s appeared in your dreams enough to have his sinister expression sewed in your thoughts at all hours of the day. But now… now he looks stronger. Less pale and more colorful. Even the aura which exudes from him… is more dangerous than ever. 

Yet, he still wears that shit-eating smile on his lips as he watches you float in the air, collar squeezing at your throat and looking completely powerless. “Now, little lamb, those are not very nice words,” Donghyuck chastises as he approaches you. When he’s finally before you once more, he twitches his eyebrow upward just the slightest. “Missed me?”

“Not at all,” you manage, gathering the spit in your mouth to chuck it out at him. 

Not even fazed, he simply wipes at the spit on his face, flicking it off in a negligible direction. “I’m not feeling welcomed,” he comments. 

“Because you’re not,” you retort, thrashing about to no avail. “What did you do to Jaemin?”

The mention of your now critical roommate only makes his grin grow wider. “You see, sweetheart, I thought you’d be pretty proud of me. I found out what was keeping me from being able to inflict any real damage on you,” he says whilst his cold hand comes out to squeeze at your cheeks. “Your guardian angel has been taken care of.” 

Wait, what? Then it dawns on you.

Jaemin is… your guardian angel.

“You look surprised. That’s okay, I didn’t know either.” Donghyuck releases your face, instead choosing to pace left and right before you, though he never lets his eyes leave you. “But then he started sleeping with you, and I couldn’t get into your mind. I put two and two together. With him around, I’d never be able to touch you.” 

The glint in his eyes turns feral. “And you have an embarrassing school girl crush on him, so I was able to kill two birds with one stone. With every second that passes, his life is draining away, and I’m only getting stronger.” 

“Why are you doing this?” You cry out once again, though your voice is more desperate than it had been the first time around. “What do you want?”

“You see, I figured that out too.” His mocking tone begins to seep away and is instead replaced by that familiar dark timbre of his as he approaches you once more, gripping your chin again in his fingers. Tilting your head up harshly, he stares endlessly into you and whispers, “I thought I was done with those petty murders, that the sight of women begging at my knees like dirt for mercy wouldn’t excite me as much anymore. But no… I want you to suffer. I want to destroy you, take away your happiness, and break you piece by piece, until you’re just begging for me to take you out of your misery.” The semblance of a smirk quirks at his lips. “Just like those other girls. Except this time, there’s no limit to what I can do. And when you do die, I’ll be right here to welcome you back.” 

Tears sting your eyes at the horrible things he whispers to you, but you refuse to capitulate to him. “I’d rather die than do anything you say.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll be dead just as soon. The fun hasn’t even started yet,” he teases. Suddenly, it’s as if the paranormal restraints on your limbs are cut free, as your body immediately falls to the floor, collecting in a pile. You hardly have the energy to lift your head, but you register the sound of Donghyuck’s voice as he walks away from you. “Rest up tonight, little lamb. You’ve got a long eternity ahead of you.”

Then he’s gone. You swear you will make use of the last twelve hours of your life. 

-

First, you visit Jaemin again. You know you’re not allowed in, but you know his room number and there’s no one coming in to check up on him, you hope. 

You don’t know if he really is your guardian angel, but above that, he is your friend. 

“Hey,” you say softly, making your presence known as you sit down in the chair beside his hospital bed. It’s arbitrary… you know Jaemin doesn’t have parents around, and perhaps that only lends to the possibility that he really is someone sent here to protect you. 

“How are you?” You scoff at yourself. “That’s stupid of me to ask, you’re in a coma. I don’t know if you can hear me, or if you really are an angel, but thank you, Jaemin. For always… always being there for me, protecting me. Walking me through the cemetery, making dinner for me, chasing my nightmares away.”

Sitting there, staring at your friend’s lifeless body laying on the bed looking gray as a sheet, tears begin to sting your eyes. “I’m sorry for bringing you into this, I should have listened to you when you told me to be careful. And if I have to lose someone as amazing and… pure-hearted as you, I don’t think I can live with myself. So please, even if you don’t make it out of here, please… stay by my side.”

As your first tear breaks the barrier and begins to coast down your cheek, you reach out and grab his hand. It’s cold. 

-

XXII.

It’s a little past midnight and though your fingers shake from the cold, you throw everything of yours that he’s touched into the bucket.

Even the things you weren’t completely sure of, you toss away anything that could have been influenced by his dark magic; the leftover shreds of your essay that you had recovered from the recycle, the pieces of fabric that he had obliterated your dress to, the white jeans you had worn that first night, and more. Finally, you throw in that godforsaken ring that had started it all.

You swore that you would never return to the cemetery again, but here you are. This time, you really can see everything at the top of the hill. You turn your head back to glower at the tombstone before you.

Lee Donghyuck.

What a piece of shit. 

Though your fingers shake, you light the match without trouble. When you toss it into the basket of forsaken belongings, it is only a matter of seconds before Donghyuck appears, tethered to his tombstone once more.

Gripping at his body, he snarls out at you, “What the hell are you doing?”

That, you hardly even know. Following only the speculations found on the internet, you had unknowingly lured your monstrous demon back to his home. 

It seems to work, as the greater the fire grows, the more pained Donghyuck’s expression seems to become. 

Your voice finds its strength as you announce your intentions. “Erasing you.” 

“You can’t do that to me, you don’t get to win!” Donghyuck yells in growing anger, reaching out to you but failing. With this inability of his to touch you, you tilt your chin higher, the orange tint of the flames reflecting off your strengthened pride. 

“I believed you all this time, I let you scare me into thinking that you could overpower me. That you could hurt me,” you muse, staring without remorse at his pained form. “But I was wrong. You only exist as long as I let you. You can only hurt me as long as I believe you can.”

“I’ll be back,” declares Donghyuck as the fire roars, only sending him further into a realm of pain. Whilst he grips his limbs in pure fury, you shake your head. 

“No, you won’t. Because you were right, this is my world. I’m the one with the power here: I have blood flowing through me, I have oxygen in my lungs, and I have a soul. You have none of those.” With your anger bursting at the seams, you kick over the metal bucket burning from the inside, instead tossing the trash over the dirt of Donghyuck’s grave. “And because of that, I’m not scared of you.”

As the fire burns out at the final thread, and the spirit which had infested your mind for twenty-two days begins to fade away in a fit of rage, you offer him the same powerful, mocking smile he had tattooed into your mind. 

“Goodbye, Donghyuck. Rest in hell.”

-

CCCLXV.

“Hey, did you do the notes from the last lecture?”

Flipping through your binder, you nod and pull out the said notes, handing them over to the student sitting next to you. At this point, you’ve learned enough about her to know that on Mondays, she always asks for the notes. You’ve started printing extra copies for her. 

It’s been a year. 

You had taken a year off of university to return home. After everything that had happened and Jaemin’s death, you simply couldn’t bear to even step into your old apartment anymore. Over time, you’ve found that you’ve healed and you are no longer afraid.

Not afraid to return to school, at least.

“Here you go,” you tell her as you hand over the notes. “You can keep that copy.”

The look she wears is grateful. “Thanks!” 

“Hey,” calls a voice on your right. “Do you have a pen?”

“Sure, I—” You start, reaching into your pencil bag, but stop when your gaze falls upon the owner of the voice. 

No, it can’t be. It just can’t.

Before you is Donghyuck. Except it’s not. He’s… different. 

His hair is no longer brown, but rather a light shade of blonde that accentuates his honey olive skin tone. Rather than all black, he is dressed in a cream-colored sweater and a pair of light washed ripped jeans. Most strikingly of all, his signature sharp eyes are no longer clouded by dark evil, but are light with the sweet smile that he wears on his lips.

No… it’s not Donghyuck. After your return home, you had begun to see his face everywhere, and have since learned to distinguish between reality and trauma. When the stranger catches you staring, he tilts his head, smile growing further. “I’m Haechan.”

Shaking your head slightly to clear the thoughts, you go back to searching for a pen in your bag. “Uh, hi Haechan. Here you go,” you say as you hand the pen over to him.

When your fingers brush just the slightest, he’s cold. 

You pull your hand back quickly, as though you had been burned. No, you tell yourself. It’s cold in here, the air conditioning is always on in the lecture hall. Turning back to face forward in your seat, you try to calm your breathing, pulling your cardigan closer to cover you. The stranger next to you pulls out a notebook from his bag, and in full view, begins to write in the corner. 

Your professor is speaking, clicking on his projector, when Haechan slides his notebook over to you. There, written in perfect handwriting…

I told you I’d be back.