#the fat one who looked like neither a man nor woman

[someone-will-remember-us]

There is no collective noun for rapists but spend a week at the Pelicot trial and you wonder why. As the early morning queue of women who’ve come to support Gisèle Pelicot passes through security at the Palais de Justice, Avignon, you spy men with downturned faces scurrying across the lobby past the press. In court they sit on the left, clustered around a glass box containing more men, those in custody for the gravest crimes. Since there are 50 in total, the alleged rapists have been tried in batches and I’m just here for the final seven: Boris, Philippe, Nicolas, Nizair, Joseph, Christian, Charly.

Plus Dominique Pelicot himself, who invited them all into his marital bedroom, where he had his wife waiting, drugged and naked, and who joined in and filmed it all. Pelicot, 71, crumpled and fat now, but with a residual bulky power, sits sullenly alone with his guard in a separate glass box, protected from the other men who blame and detest him. Often after lunch he appears to doze off.

Such nondescript men. Grizzled, middle-aged (the mean is 47 years old), smart-casual in windcheaters or leather jackets and their best trainers, like minicab drivers waiting for fares. Ordinary men in many respects, not vagrants, junkies or career criminals. This week’s seven includes a fireman, an electrician and a journalist; several are fathers, two were keen weightlifters, one bred dogs. French trials helpfully begin with a personality profile formed from interviews with the men, their friends and colleagues. Poverty, domestic violence and mental breakdowns feature, but also that a man is “kind” or “gentle”, had a lovely childhood, adored his grandparents or is devoted to his mum.

Yet each one had sex with an unconscious woman, that is beyond doubt, thanks to Pelicot’s camera mounted on a tripod beside the bed, and by his own admission. “I am a rapist,” he has declared, “like the others in this room.”

From the Pelicot affair have come demands for reform to French rape law, for sexual violence to be treated more seriously, for an investigation into “chemical submission” — the coercive use of sedatives. But one question overshadows all others. How many men would have done the same? If Pelicot could recruit at least 70 willing participants (a number could not be identified) within a 25-mile radius of Mazan, the Provençal town where the couple retired, how many in the whole of France? As I walk through Avignon with Juliette Campion of radio station France Info, who bears the strain of reporting this case since September, she gestures to a bureau de tabac: “You think, ‘Would a guy in there have raped Gisèle? Or men in the boulangerie or those on the street?’ Women are looking at men differently: they’re asking, ‘Could you or you or you?’ ”

On the right of the court, behind her counsel of three serious, dark-haired young men, is Gisèle Pelicot with her female companion from victim support, leaning on the wall, as far from the men as the room allows, but facing her ex-husband. Her composure is remarkable. Although clearly tired and strained, she retains a quiet vivacity reflected in her clothes. Instead of shrinking away in black, she dresses each day as if meeting friends for drinks on a sunny terrace. A chic scarf, a faux fur bag, patent leather boots. Clothes that say, “I still have a life.” Every evening, when women line up to clap her out of court, she speaks to them warmly, neither reticent nor relishing the attention. Every day she walks through the cobbled streets past graffiti saying, “Gisèle, les femmes te remercient” (Gisèle, women thank you) to lunch at the same excellent brasserie, and people turn to gaze at her in awe.

The extraordinary woman who refused to be silenced

The humiliations of Gisèle Pelicot have a mythic quality. This is a woman who discovered the man she married aged 20, with whom she had three children and seven grandchildren, waited until she was deeply asleep before removing her pyjamas, dressing her in “sexy” underwear or writing on her buttocks, “I am a good submissive bitch,” then he let a stranger penetrate her inert body, filmed it, washed her intimately and replaced her pyjamas. This is a woman who thought she was going insane, had Alzheimer’s or a brain tumour, whose children thought she was dying, who stopped driving and going out alone, who slept all day and once woke puzzled why her hair was shorter. “But madame,” said her hairdresser, “you came in yesterday.” This is a woman who had mysterious gynaecological problems, including a swollen cervix (and still lives with four STDs), who thought her husband wonderful for accompanying her to medical tests, including an MRI.

This is a woman who, when her husband was arrested for “upskirting” in a Leclerc supermarket and police found the contents of his phone, discovered her whole 50-year marriage was a travesty, that he’d raped her in a service station car park, on Valentine’s Day and on her 66th birthday, and may have raped their daughter too. This is a woman who has listened to legal arguments about whether a man put his tongue inside or merely kissed her vagina, who heard another man say he’d only returned to rape her a second time because he couldn’t find anyone better, who sits in a courtroom while three giant TV screens show clips of her body being coldly humped by yet another “ordinary” guy.

Yet this is a woman who gathered up every scrap of her humiliation and with it constructed a mirror that she holds up defiantly to the court and to French society itself. “Shame must change sides,” she said, and in insisting the entire trial be conducted openly, that the worst men can do to women is witnessed by the whole world, she has done exactly that.

I ask many women I meet in Avignon how men in their lives regard the accused. They say they call them losers and freaks, that these are men on the margins, with no relation to themselves. But, along with the testimony I hear, the people I talk to believe this case raises many questions about French sexual mores. Whatever the decision later this month by five judges — there is no jury — Gisèle Pelicot will never be forgotten.

The court turns to Christian L, a fireman with a straggly castaway beard, who speaks from the glass box because after he was arrested, police found 4,000 child sex abuse and zoophilic images on his hard drive. We hear from his girlfriend, Sylvie, a small blonde in a grey hoodie, who says he’s a wonderful man, and is suspected of destroying evidence. Christian L recalls the victims he watched die in fires, the coffins of 11 colleagues he carried, the mental breakdowns that ensued. He was married but after his two daughters were born says he went off sex with his wife and turned to libertinisme. Strange, I think, that the French have coined this noble, philosophical concept, with its whiff of the barricades, to describe what we call swinging or dogging.

Like all the men, Christian met Pelicot through coco.fr — the murky, unmoderated site since closed down and now the focus of many major police investigations — on a forum called À son insu (without her knowledge). Christian L had already enjoyed “Sleeping Beauty” encounters with ten other couples. He spells out the rules: that you only dealt with the husband, sending him photos for approval, and during the sexual encounter he ran the show. Sometimes the wife woke up, other times not. How did he know, asked Gisèle’s lawyer, Stéphane Babonneau, that she consented?

“In a libertine encounter,” Christian L explained, “it is the husband’s responsibility to ensure consent.”

But how could you be sure?

“Are we expected to sign a contract?” Christian L spluttered.

“You could ask the woman,” Babonneau suggested.

How the case could change French law

Given the overwhelming video evidence, the defendants can only claim Pelicot deceived or drugged them, or they believed Gisèle was collaborating in a game. If this case were before a British court, rape would be decided by two tests: whether Gisèle had “capacity to consent” (tough to argue given Pelicot admits to drugging her) and whether the men had “reasonable belief” in her consent. Unlike most European countries, French rape law has no concept of consent. Rather, it is defined as penetration “by violence, constraint, threat or surprise”. (The prosecution case rests on a convoluted definition of surprise.)

But rather than demand consent be added to the law, French feminists are divided. Some agree with President Macron, who supports change; many others argue that consent would put the onus on the victim to prove her conduct was not an invitation. This seems an odd objection, especially as the whole purpose of the video evidence is to show no one could believe Gisèle capable of consent, given she was so lifeless one man asked Pelicot, “Is your wife dead?”

Alice Géraud is the author of Sambre, an investigation into how, due to the indifference and cruelty of police, a caretaker called Dino Scala in northern France managed to rape 54 women over a period of 30 years. “The Pelicot case with 50 defendants and one victim feels a strange inverse of Sambre.”

Géraud believes the Pelicot affair could provide the same impetus for change as a famous 1974 case of two Belgian tourists, Anne-Marie Tonglet and Aracelli Castellano, who, camping near Marseilles, were brutally raped by three local men. As was normal practice, the crime was downgraded from felony to misdemeanour on the basis the victims eventually stopped resisting. But the women, a lesbian couple, persisted and thanks to their feminist lawyer, Gisèle Halimi, it became the first rape case to be heard in the higher assizes court. Like Gisèle Pelicot, the women waived their anonymity. “We believe that it’s one thing for a man to rape,” said Halimi, “and another to know it’ll get around his village, his work, the papers.” Shame changed sides: the men were jailed and the French criminal code was rewritten defining rape as a serious offence.

For Géraud, the greatest current injustice is that whether a man has raped one women or 50, the maximum sentence is 20 years (here a serial rapist can be jailed for life). “This is law made by men,” she says, “with a grave lack of knowledge of rape culture.” She is scornful too about libertinisme as a universal excuse for male sexual exploitation. “Libertinisme was why Coco existed for so long,” she says. “It is the justification for prostitution, for the porn industry.”

Charly A is the youngest of all the defendants, just 22 when he first entered the Pelicot house. Small, bearded, now 30, we learn his childhood was chaotic, his father an alcoholic, his mother had many sexual partners; there are hints of abuse. “This is a family of secrets,” concludes the personality profiler. A psychiatrist adds he is immature, struggles to sustain relationships and instead consumes porn, “especially the Milf [Mother I’d like to f***] category with mature women”. In 2016, he made contact with Pelicot via Coco: “He said his wife would be lying there pretending to be asleep, he doesn’t tell me more.”

Over time Pelicot asks Charly if he knows anyone they could drug for sex and he proffers the only woman in his life — his own mother. Pelicot gives him pills (which Charly claims to have thrown away), shows him how to crush them, keeps pressing him to use them. “When can I come and we f*** your mother?” he asks in one video, but Charly keeps stalling, saying his brother is at home. Yet he returns to violate Gisèle, always with Pelicot, once with another man, a total of six times. “Did you feel like you were in a porn film?” asks Babonneau. Charly shakes his head.

Until this point, very late in the trial, the influence of internet pornography has barely been explored. The court only notes paedophiliac images, not “normal” usage. Yet Mathieu Lacambre, a psychiatrist who evaluates Charly A, remarks how porn sites not only push users to more extreme content but to enact porn fantasies in real life. “Until now Charly A was behind the screens,” he says. “Now [in Gisèle] he has an object served up on a platter a few miles from home. The sleeping princess Milf, voilà.”

A rented home in a quiet cul-de-sac

I drive out to Mazan, a lovely honey-stoned French village set in the vineyards below Mont Ventoux, where the Pelicots retired from Villiers-sur-Marne, a Paris commuter town where he was electrician and she was a manager at EDF. I imagine Gisèle browsing the little boutique, dropping into the beauty salon, sipping an aperitif outside the bistro. The home they rented for ten years is five minutes away in a quiet cul-de-sac of four houses behind tall cypress trees. It is lemon yellow with blue shutters, a pool, a very prominent alarm system, and new tenants. Given how many men knew her address, Gisèle fled four years ago for her own safety, with just a suitcase and her dog.

Today an immense cloud of migrating starlings swoops over the house like pixels in a photograph. This was where their grandchildren loved to visit in the summer, but also the centre of Dominique Pelicot’s porn operation. For what else was this grotesque man but a pornographic auteur?

We leave our car, just as Pelicot instructed the men, in the sports ground car park, by the bottle bank. I think of them texting their arrival, then creeping down the lane. (One man made his girlfriend wait in the car.) Pelicot would meet them at the door by the light of his phone, tell them to undress in the dark living room and warm their hands on a radiator. (They’d been instructed to be clean, not smell of cigarettes or wear cologne.) Then they were led into a bedroom with a TV, a chest of drawers, a bed with a naked Gisèle motionless on white sheets, and a mounted camera.

Whatever followed next was carefully orchestrated by Pelicot, a director urging on actors in stage whispers, since the objective was to do what they desired without waking Gisèle. Pelicot would tell them how and when to penetrate her, or hold his wife’s gaping mouth to facilitate oral sex. Given four Temesta (lorazepam), a powerful anti-anxiety drug he’d crushed into her wine or ice cream, his wife was like a patient on an operating table. Even so, if her arm gave an involuntary spasm,the men would scuttle from the room. A friend who has sat through many court videos says it was Pelicot ordering the humping men to go doucement — softly — that upset her, since she knew this was not out of tenderness for Gisèle.

All the while the camera rolled. Why did these men agree to have their crimes recorded? They say it was part of the deal, that Pelicot told them Gisèle was shy and liked to watch the sex later. But perhaps also because, in taking part, these men were promoted from porn consumers to creators. Filming was central to their fantasy. When Christian L finally climaxes he turns to give the camera a cheery thumbs-up.

For Pelicot, each film added to his oeuvre. Police discovered a carefully curated archive of 20,000 images and videos on hard drives and memory sticks showing 200 rapes. He gave each film a title like “Squirt on the ass”, “Cock in mouth” or “Jacques fingering”. This man, once caught by his daughter-in-law masturbating at his computer, was now a porn impresario.

The question at the centre of the case

Why did Pelicot do all this to a wife he professed to love, whom he called “a saint”? Was it to punish Gisèle for an affair early in their marriage (although he was serially unfaithful himself)? Or because when he’d asked her to join him in the libertinisme scene she’d refused — so he devised a way to make her. But Gisèle was not his first victim: Pelicot has admitted to the rape of an estate agent, using ether to drug her, in 1999, and will be tried for the rape/murder of another young estate agent, Sophie Narme, in 1991. The French police cold case bureau is investigating his possible links to many other unsolved crimes.

But as the “Without her knowledge” forum suggests, his was not a unique fantasy. The Pelicot case has illuminated the issue of “chemical submission”, not only drinks being spiked by strangers in bars, but drugs used to control partners within relationships. The French health service is noted for being blasé about prescribing heavy-duty medications, which is how Pelicot stockpiled his vast stash of Temesta.

Documentary-maker Linda Bendali has made a film for French TV about chemical submission, featuring seven cases, including a 13-year-old girl drugged by her father with medicine supposedly for her allergies, put in lingerie and raped over two years, and a 60-year-old woman drugged then raped at home by a man she was mentoring at work. “I’ve looked back at 30 years of press reports of rape,” says Bendali, “which includes dozens of women saying they woke up — mainly with men they know— unable to remember what happened.”

The Sleeping Beauty scenario, she says, is not merely a means for a man to get easy sexual access, but a way to enjoy absolute domination. “You are not even giving her the chance to consent,” says Bendali. “You can do anything you want to a drugged woman, for as long as you want. You can dress her how you want. These men want total power.” Pelicot is typical in filming his crimes: “Pictures are trophies. He was driven by a mix of desires for blackmail and voyeurism.”

Gisèle’s daughter, Caroline Darian, who was also drugged and photographed naked by her father, is heading a campaign on chemical submission, demanding police take samples of hair from rape victims, the only way sedation can be proved.

In court, I hear another psychiatrist tasked with assessing whether each of the final seven defendants has the profile of a sexual abuser. One by one, he exonerates the men, saying they are not dangerous or likely to reoffend, to the growing exasperation of Gisèle’s team. Then he reaches Charly A. “He doesn’t search [for victims] systematically,” says the psychiatrist. “He’s not a predator.” Finally, Babonneau explodes: “Six times with a sleeping woman and he’s not a sexual abuser?” The men do not identify as rapists because, like this psychiatrist, they define rape as frenzied sexual violence, not an opportunistic act performed to whispers in a private home. As one defendant put it, “It’s her husband, his house, his room, his bed, his wife.”

Women unite in the town of Mazan

Both in religious and political terms, Mazan is a conservative town: for 500 years it was part of a papal enclave and in the recent French election voted heavily for Marine Le Pen. Villagers regarded the Pelicot case with horror and sympathy which turned quickly to resentment when press named it l’affaire Mazan. Amid longstanding families who’ve known each other for generations, the Pelicots were outsiders who’d brought disgrace into a rural community. Tired of inquiries, the mayor, Louis Bonnet, 74, told the BBC, “It could have been far more serious. There were no kids involved. No women were killed.”

At the Lucky Horse Ranch outside Mazan, women victims of sexual violence receive equine therapy. I’m sceptical at first about how grooming and riding horses could help rape victims, but somehow these large, placid animals are calming and restorative. Here I meet Latika, 33, who at first was too timid to touch a Shetland pony, but now sits high on a saddle for our photograph.

Latika was separating from her husband, the father of her two children, but still sharing a house. He was violent, hitting her daughters, putting her in hospital with cuts and a broken rib. Two years after they’d last had sex, she woke to find him inside her. She believes the sweet tea he often gave her was laced with sedatives, but that night she hadn’t drunk it all. She realised he’d been drugging her for years — her mother recalls finding her deeply unconscious early in her relationship — and, worse, she was pregnant with a third child. She told the police, who addressed the domestic violence but ignored the rape. Her husband fled to Guadeloupe and she was left traumatised, fearful of leaving the house.

“I didn’t feel people really believed what had happened to me until Gisèle Pelicot spoke out,” says Latika, who has since made the police reopen her case. In October, as women across France holding white flowers protested in support of Gisèle, Latika headed the local march into Mazan and the next day Gisèle herself visited the ranch. “She said it is almost unbearable to return to this place where terrible things happened,” says Latika, “but she wanted to thank us. She told me, ‘I didn’t know the meaning of my life before this happened — but I do now.’ ”

Watching Gisèle take such sustenance from her supporters, you wonder how she will cope when the trial finally ends. She is writing a book and could, if she chose, become a global campaigner. “There is something particularly powerful,” says Linda Bendali, “about her being an older woman — she represents all our mothers. All generations identify with her.” But those close to Gisèle say that, at 72, she may just return to a quiet life of friends, grandchildren and her garden, in the secret location where she now lives.

But she is already an icon of courage for the women who come from across France and beyond just to watch the trial on a screen in an overspill room. Some want to witness history, a few enjoy the sensational evidence like tricoteuses at the guillotine, but many have risen at 5am, taking a day off work, to support a woman they deeply admire. Marion Spiteri and Amélie Planche, both 24 and law graduates, feel the case opened their eyes. “How can it be,” Spiteri says, “that so many men did this without her consent?” “It is terrifying,” Planche adds, “that a woman cannot even trust her own husband.” They tell me, astonishingly, that neither they nor their friends ever go to the toilet in a bar or club alone.

But then the nation of libertinisme lags behind in its attitude to violence against women. Until 2021, France did not even have an age of consent, effectively decriminalising even incestuous relations between children and adults, allowing several high-profile child abusers, including firemen who groomed a 13-year-old girl, to evade rape charges. Each time a prominent Frenchman is accused of rape — whether politician Dominique Strauss-Kahn or, currently, actor Gerard Dépardieu — famous French actresses leap to defend him. This is the nation that convicted child rapist Roman Polanski fled to from America, and is still fêted. The #MeToo movement was regarded by many as a wave of Anglosphere prudishness, contrary to the spirit of French seduction. So what can the Pelicot trial achieve?

I meet feminists from Les Amazones d’Avignon, the creators of graffiti across the city supporting Gisèle. (So as not to spoil the city walls, they write slogans on paper that can be removed.) Their latest reads “20 ans pour chacun” — 20 years for each one. I suggest a drink in a café nearby: “Not in there,” says one Amazone, “that’s where all the rapists go.” Blandine Deverlanges, 56, is part of the Coalition Féministe Loi Intégrale putting 130 proposals about sexual violence before the French parliament, including a ban on lawyers harassing victims in court. They are disgusted the defence asked Gisèle why she swam naked in her own swimming pool.

“This is a trial,” says Deverlanges, “of one extraordinary man, the monster Pelicot, and many ordinary men.” And as we talk I see a group of them emerge nervously from their favoured café and head back to the court. A collective noun for rapists? A violation, a banality, a shame.

(archive)

[back2bluesidex]

Hard Luck - JJK & KTH (18+) - Chapter 1

◆ Pairing: CEO Jungkook X Fem employee Reader X Legal advisor Taehyung. 

◆ Summary: You have a good face, a nice body, a fat amount saved in your secondary bank account, a stable job that you love, loving friends and family, you are good in bed. You have almost everything other than a good luck in love. Sleeping around with random dudes don’t feel enough when your friends are getting married and having kids. If you are being honest, you have started getting bored of this prolonged singlehood already. 

Your last light of hope fades away when your work crush, aka the hot guy from the legal department, Kim Taehyung (with whom you might or might not have slept once, okay! twice!), asks you to set him up with your work best friend (who, apparently, is the most asked out woman of the company). But what you don’t know is that the CEO of the company has taken a liking to you and has started on a mission of winning your heart. 

But wait… Taehyung might have started developing feelings for you in the process of receiving your help.

◆ Chapter summary: Two meetings - One went good - another went downhill.

◆ Theme: Romance, drama, light angst, my poor attempt of humor, fluff and eventual smut. office romance au,

◆ Warnings: Tiny bit angst.

◆ Word count: 3.2k+

◆ A/N: let me know your thoughts.

Minors aren't allowed in this blog!!!!

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You have a very love-hate relationship with weekends. 

Love because who the hell doesn’t like free times, no rush to drive to work, a quiet time on their couch with some unhealthy snacks and a good movie playing on the TV? 

Hate because weekends make you feel alone. Today is just a copy of yesterday.  

On most Friday nights you end up going drinking with your teammates, save your Saturdays for your friends and your precious Sundays are for yourself and yourself only. 

But lately, your said friends have changed, not by choice but by circumstances. Two of them are married, one is engaged and another just started dating after a prolonged singlehood - leaving you completely out of the order. Now they name most of their Saturdays to their partners, which makes you angry but you know that’s the only normal thing to do. 

So, now you are the one that neither has a partner and nor anyone to spend most of your Saturdays with. 

You sigh as you scroll through netflix. 

There is nothing that catches your eyes, intrigues you enough to start watching. 

Just when you are about to read the description of this new cheesy romcom, your phone vibrates with a call. 

It’s your mom - she calls you ten times a day. 

“Hmmm?” you greet her absent-mindedly. 

“Mia just gave birth to a baby boy!!!” she squeals on the other side of the phone. You can feel her excitement through the vibration of her digitized voice. 

The news lights you up as well. Mia is your favorite cousin and older than you by a year only. 

“Really? Woah! Is the baby fine? Is she fine?” 

“Both of them are fine, ddal.” Your mother, now, replies calmly, “it’s only me who is not.” 

“What? What happened? Joint-pain again?” you sit up on the couch. 

“No. That's not it.” your mother whines. You love to hear her whines. 

“Then?” 

“When will I have my grandchild?” she huffs, making you laugh. 

“Eomma, I’m only 27.” you remind her. 

“That’s why I am reminding you, darling. If you start looking for a man now, you will be able to gift me a grandchild before I hit seventy.”  

The mention of a ‘man’ draws a very particular face on your vision. 

You know you should not think too much, read too much into someone’s actions. But at this age, when you already started feeling alone, feeling the desire for someone to come back home to, you can’t help but to feel the need of holding the next best person who shows you a silver of interest. 

And Taehyung has shown a lot of it. 

You will win in life if you manage to bag someone as nice, hot, handsome and successful as him. 

“Maybe… maybe very soon, eomma.” you add a trail of words to end your thoughts. 

“Omo! Really? Are you seeing someone?” she’s now way too much excited and her excitement makes you want more from the guy who only fucked you twice. 

“No- it’s not that. I am just talking about the possibilities.” your voice sounds frail for some reason. Possibility is what it is. Nothing is confirmed. 

You know you have a crush on Taehyung but at the same time you have no idea if there is more than just lust in his mind.

You try not to think of negative things and engage your mother in off-topic conversations. But in the back of your mind, Taehyung stays still, with his baritone voice and boxy smile. 

“Good morning, sweetheart” Hani, the colleague you are the closest to, chirps in with her sweet voice. 

She is the epitome of perfection. 

The girl looks like a goddess, very friendly, the life of the party, smiles at everyone - doesn’t really matter if she knows them or not, is an amazing cook, and good at the job she does. 

Her amazing persona accompanied by that next level face card, makes her the most desired woman of the company. 

There is hardly any bachelor who hasn’t asked her out yet. And Taehyung is one of them (which makes you think that he must be into you). 

Sometimes you are jealous of her - okay! Scratch that! Most of the time you are jealous of her ability to make friends, to have people wrapped around her fingers without having to do anything while you practically have to beg your own friends to spend their weekends with you. 

And being asked out? That’s a completely different story. 

What you have understood from your experience is that guys love to have you on their bed. You are a good fuck, you know that. But a wife material? No. 

You are way too aloof, emotionally unattached to entertain anyone more than normal boundaries allow you to. Hence, you end up pushing people away.  

And now - at an age where you should be in a long term relationship - you are alone. 

“Good morning, Hani.” you reply with a genuine smile gracing your lips. Honestly, very few people can pull a genuine smile out of you and Hani is certainly one of them. 

Had it been anyone else as popular as her, they would have a big fat ego. But Hani is different and that’s why you love her. 

“How was the weekend?” she asks, placing her order for her usual iced americano. You still don’t understand how people consume this as the first thing in the morning. It’s nothing but cold and bitter.  

You grab your iced vanilla latte and take a mouth full of the sweetness, “as usual. Boring. Only me and my couch and netflix” 

“Oh? You could have called me in. I was mostly alone too.” she sips her aa-aa, and makes a delightful face. You scrunch your nose at that. 

“Really? I thought you do those volunteering stuff on weekends?” you two walk towards the elevator while sipping on your beverages. 

“That’s for day-time. I am usually free during the nights. So, try calling me if you need a companion.” she eyes you expectantly. 

You know she feels alone too, just like you. 

Hani came out of her two year long relationship just a few months ago. She probably feels alone during her free time as her partner is not there to entertain her anymore. 

And maybe it’s a good idea. 

Even though you don’t like to extend your professional relationships beyond the gates of your workplace - Hani can be different. 

You can take this friendship a little further, you guess. 

The elevator door slides open, revealing a certain someone you look for a lot these days. 

Taehyung smiles brightly at you. Two strands of his dark hair fall on his forehead, his siren eyes are full of mirth as they quickly dip down to check you out. But then his eyes fall on Hani. And if you are not wrong then they have a brief eye-contact before someone behind asks you and your friend to get inside and make space already. 

An odd feeling blooms inside your chest. 

Taehyung checked you out, that’s for sure. But what were those love eyes that he regarded Hani with? Did he just fall in love at first sight or something of that sort? 

You settle inside the dingy space of the elevator rather uncomfortably - both physically and metaphorically. 

Hani is standing in front of you and Taehyung is just behind your back. You are sandwiched between the two of them and weirdly enough - you don’t feel too good about the situation. Because you can see Taehyung staring at Hani through the glazed metal door or the elevator. Something churns inside of you at the thought of Taehyung being smitten by your work best friend. 

But maybe you are thinking too much? Maybe time will soon prove you wrong. 

Wrong. Everything is wrong. 

Your teammates do an impressive job everyday except for the days when there is an important meeting and you need documented reports. 

Today is one of those days. And today is even more horrifying because this will be your very first meeting with the new CEO who took over less than a month ago. 

Streets say he is as strict as his father if not more. That’s basically all you know about Jeon Jungkook. You don’t know what he looks like or what he sounds like. And that makes you anxious. 

The prospect of having an one-on-one meeting with the new, young CEO has been freaking you out already and now your subordinate had to do a sloppy reporting job.  

“Oh lord! Sooho! Why did you write ‘no penetration this month’ when the chart is at its peak?” You don’t like to scream at all but the migraine that is climbing up through the path of your neck mixes with your frustration and turns your sentence a little more high pitched than what you usually use. 

“Oh?” your teammate blinks at you being dumbfounded, “is that called penetration?” 

“Yes of course? What did you think? We are asking about your sex life in the reports?” you can’t help but mock the boy. 

Laughter echoes through your workspace but it quickly dies down when you glare at your teammates. They mumble apologies but you pretend not to hear any of it. 

“Sorry, seonbae. I will fix it right away.” he runs towards his cubicle. 

“You have five minutes.” you issue a warning. Taking your phone in your hands, you find a text sitting on your screen. 

Taetae: Any plans tonight?

Your chest heaves with the long breath that you inhale upon reading the text. See… Taehyung still wants to see you! It’s you he wants to see! And you went on an overdrive thinking he might ditch you now and start chasing Hani like the other men of the office. 

Your nails clink against your phone screen as you type your reply. 

You: nope. 

You don’t even get the chance of putting down your phone because his reply comes right away. 

Taetae: Then let's get a coffee after work. I will wait at the lounge. 

You: Sounds cool. 

You don’t know what you feel about this one-on-one meeting situation. 

The previous CEO, Mr. Jeon Jae Gyeong, had meetings with all of the department heads at once and got done with it. 

But the younger Mr. Jeon has sent out emails to everyone stating very clearly that he would be changing the meeting format. 

So, now you are here. Waiting outside his massive office (that could fit your entire workspace and still leave space for a snack pantry), on the verge of an anxiety attack. 

The more you wait, the more restless you feel. Your heels start tapping against the floor creating a rapid sound. The CEO’s assistant, a beautiful guy with blonde hair and soft features, looks at you with an assuring smile - as if to tell you that ‘it’s okay. Don’t get your nerves worked up.’ 

you smile back at him feeling a tiny bit better. 

Just then the huge door of the CEO’s office slides open. The head of the finance team walks out and from the look on his face you can tell that his meeting didn’t go too well. 

Your throat dries at the assumption of what you might face when you go inside. 

You are not going to get fired, right? Right?!

Mr. Bae, the finance head, walks out in haste heightening your anxiety even more. 

Just then the assistant receives a call on his line and murmurs something. He looks at you and says, “you may go inside now.” 

Your legs almost give out. You start planning to go home and update your resume to look for opportunities.  

Taking a long breath, you push the door open. 

Your eyes fall on the prominent figure that is sitting on the large mahogany table. His eyes are focused on the ipad. Mouth shut tight, lips pursed, his downturned face is casted with a shadow, which prevents you from taking a good look at his face. 

What you see is the silver ring that glints on his eyebrow. And are those tattoos on his hand? 

Even if he heard you coming in he clearly didn’t plan on providing you with any of his attention. 

“May I come in, Mr. Jeon?” you curse at the way there is zero confidence in your voice. 

He then looks up at you and locks his eyes with yours. 

Holy shit! He is handsome! 

Your chest heaves with another long breath. 

You wait for him to call you inside but he just sits still staring at you with big doe eyes. His gaze is piercing, intimidating and makes you weak on your knees. 

His Adam's apple bobs as he gulps once before clearing his throat, “Miss Y/N. Please come in.” 

You take careful steps towards his desk praying that you don’t trip and embarrass yourself. He ushers his hand towards the chair, asking you to take a seat voicelessly. 

You do as he asks. 

“How are you doing, Miss Y/N?” Jeon Jungkook asks without diverting his piercing gaze from yours. 

He is looking at you so intently as if he has known you for a long time. 

You give him an easy smile, “I’m doing fine, Mr.Jeon. What about you?” you return his courtesy. 

“Doing great.” Jeon Jungkook gives you a very pretty, heart fluttering kind of smile. 

If your heart really flutters a little  - you are not going to dwell upon it. 

“So, let’s talk about work.” he hums as he dives into his laptop and probably opens the reports you have mailed him earlier. 

Taking a minute to check all the reports, he opens his mouth to speak, “pretty impressive. I have gone through the reports from previous months as well and as I am seeing this month's reports - you have been bringing great results. Online traffic is at an all-time high, ad-clicks have gone past the five million mark, there are an average of 20 real-time users and at least 5 of them are from the states. Great. I must say” he pauses to look at you, “I am very impressed.” The last part of his sentence comes out breezy, a little bit suggestive as if his words are not only about your work. 

Your stomach feels light. 

“Thank you sir.” that’s all you manage to reply. Absent-mindedly you take your lower-lip in between your teeth and nip on it. 

The action catches Jungkook’s eyes. 

“Are you nervous?” he places a very unexpected question, catching you off-guard. 

“Ah- yeah. I mean, It’s my very first encounter with you as the CEO, so I could not help being a bit anxious. Apologies if my actions have disappointed you in any way.” you straighten your back and speak confidently this time. 

He doesn’t seem rude at all. You allow yourself to feel at ease. 

“Don’t worry about that. I get you. But be assured I am not going to eat you up.” he giggles. His giggle makes you break into a smile as well. 

“That’s all for the day. Looking forward to working with you…” Jungkook extends his hand towards you. You wrap your smaller one around his palm and he mutters, “...closely.”  

When you look into his eyes, you see mischief. 

“Sure.” you reply, sucking in all the air you could. 

By the time you come out of his room, your heart is thumping inside your ears. 

What the fuck was that? How is he so handsome? And what were those eyes he looked at you with? Why did he murmur ‘closely’ like that? 

No! You are overthinking again! You scold yourself. 

The assistant gives you another smile as you bow at him a little and walk away. You find Hani waiting to be called inside. 

When she sees you, she approaches you with a nervous grin, “how is the new CEO?” she whisper-yells. 

“Very nice and handsome.” you whisper back. She makes an “O” with her mouth before she gets called inside. 

You check your lips once more in the mirror. 

Being too focused on perfecting your lip liner, you don’t see Hani coming inside the washroom. You only become attentive of her presence when she smacks your ass. 

“Ouch!” a painful groan leaves your lips, “don’t do this! People might think we are dating!” 

“I’d have totally dated you if I wasn’t straight.” Hani chuckles standing beside you, “what’s the occasion tho? Have a date or something?” 

“Nope. Gonna meet Taehyung for a quick coffee.” 

Hani’s eyes wide at that, “Taehyung? As in Kim Taehyung from the legal team?” 

“Yup.” 

“Ohh hooo” she sings “I didn’t know you guys have coffees with each other, huh?” 

“It’s not what you think, Hani.” you look at her, raising a brow. 

“Oh? Really? But I think he is a good guy. He even greeted me when we met during lunch and I’m sure he didn’t even know me before this morning.” 

Huh? Taehyung greeted Hani? That’s weird. Because he hardly ever smiles at people he doesn’t know properly. 

You don’t let your expression give away your thoughts when you murmur a little ‘yeah’ to your friend. 

Teahyung looks like a painting - or better - a sculpture as he sits there facing the huge window of the lounge. 

He is devastatingly handsome. A smile creeps up to your lips without you realizing so. 

This time you walk confidently, marching towards him as if you own it all. The sound of your heels against the floor makes him face you and look up at you.

“Hey” he greets you as you sit down across from him. 

“Hi” you greet back, waving your hand to a waiter. 

“How was the day?” Taehyung asks, once you are done placing your order. 

“Nerve-wracking. I almost fainted before the one-on-one meeting.” you recall the incidents, then the man. 

Jeon Jungkook’s handsome face flashes before your eyes for a second. 

Taehyung chuckles at your answer, “I know. Jungkook can be really intimidating.” 

You pout, “oh? You’re talking as if you know him personally?” 

“Actually yes. We are not at all close and probably talked a few times but we share the same group of friends.” 

Your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline at the information, “Really? That’s great. It would have been easy for you to face him then.” 

“Oh god! Not at all! He had me pinned at my seat for the entire meeting. All serious expressions and no smile.” Taehyung grimaces at the memory. 

“He smiled at me though. Actually… giggled. He was super nice.” you start recalling the encounter again. 

“He must have really liked you.” Taehyung muses. 

Is he jealous? You ask yourself. Even though Teahyung sounds anything but envious. 

“By the way, Y/N. I asked you to meet today for a selfish reason.” he smiles sheepishly. 

“What is it?” you ask sipping your coffee that just arrived. 

“Are you close to Hani?” 

As soon as the words leave Taehyung's lips, your world stops moving. You know what is about to come and it breaks your heart but you are determined not to show it on your face. 

“Yeah. why?” you manage to voice upon gulping the lump that formed in your throat. 

All of a sudden Taehyung lunches forward grasping your hands with his big ones, “help me please. Set me up with her! Pleaaaaseeeee” his boxy smile is on full view. 

Once that smile warmed you up but right now you feel nothing but cold. 

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[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.26

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

Something cold wakes me up in the middle of the night. With half open, I look around, only to see a silhouette standing before me, with a face I have seen so many times. It's him! I smile at him gently, believing I am in a dream from the past, far away from the reality where he was no longer. For just a second, I think I feel hands brushing some hair from my face, but I don't think much of it because dreams can be strange.

Just hearing his voice is oddly comforting, even if it sounds a little broken, but I don't care; all that matters is that I still dream about him. Even though I'm not entirely sure what happened to him, I know he's no longer with me. Just thinking about it brings tears to my eyes. I almost start to cry, but at the same time, I wipe the moisture from under my eyes. Out of nowhere, he sits next to me. But when I see his face this close, my heart fills with pure terror. Although his body looks like him, his face is a grotesque mix of his and those my people have fought against since our world existed. His face is green, with almost black scales.

My heart is racing. I've never dreamed of them before. Why now? I've never seen one with my own eyes, so how can it be so detailed? Have I forgotten something? As my heart races, panic rises so quickly that I'm ready to jump up and scream, only for this... this thing to close my eyelids again. I fall into a sudden void. Neither asleep nor awake either. At least, until the void swallows me whole.

Not long later, or at least it feels that way, I wake up again, only to see a different hand in front of me through my dazed, annoyed eyes. 

"Whoa!" I squeak and jump away. My hand is clenched into a fist, ready to strike forward and hit the person before me. With my eyes closed, I do just that. I wait a moment, but since I don't feel anything at the end of my fist, I slowly open it again.

"Should I examine your fist? Sniff it?" I hear the snarky voice of someone I unfortunately know all too well. "Nice of you to want to hit someone who just wanted to wake you up for breakfast. I guessed you were a dickhead, but that much?"

Staring into the purple eyes of this person, I could only groan in displeasure. "Who asked you to do this? The last time I remember you waking me up, you slammed an ice pick in my side and left it there so I wouldn't bleed to death."

He looks genuinely shocked; I almost believe his innocent act, but something tells me I shouldn't trust anything he says, does, or shows me. People like him can lie like it's their second nature, while their first is being cruel.

For a long moment, he stares at me like I have a second head or something. When he doesn't say or do anything, I click my tongue and push past him, not as hard as the day before, but enough to seemingly snap out of it, making him follow me. He tries to get my attention by talking to me as if all the torture never happened. But all his words only make me angrier. Even though my anger is mostly clenched thanks to the teacher from the day before, I'd probably snap at him if he didn't stop.

Luckily for both of us, we reached our room before I could lose my patience. As soon as I open the door, I find myself standing in front of two almost completely naked guys. I have never been so aware of a situation as I am at that moment. Plus, Brandon is just as much of a scumbag as Riven, who still follows me, but his body is to die for: tight muscles and a lean frame, but enough to make my mouth water. Sky, on the other hand? Man, this guy is the product of every man and woman's dream: incredibly tall, broad chest with pecs bigger than my head, big upper arms, veiny forearms, and instead of Brandon's six-pack, he had eight of them; every single muscle on him was big and maximally defined. He doesn't have a single ounce of fat on him.

It feels like an eternity as I stand there staring at the two of them as if they were freshly cut meat ready to be eaten. Even though embarrassment is rising within me, I can't take my eyes off them because their every move looks and feels like they're trying to attract me. Never before have I felt this obvious. Most people to this day have no idea about my preferences. Although they would find out at the latest when I got married, as it is completely normal in our society, somehow I never felt comfortable telling people since I am always surrounded by men. Even most of the servants in our palace are men.

"Is everything okay?" Sky's concerned voice snaps me out of my dirty thoughts. My cheeks are warm, and my stomach feels like a thousand little bugs are trying to break out of it. On an empty stomach, I almost puke right there. I put a hand over my mouth and gag at my behavior, barely able to hold it back. As I just realized, I am actually a pervert, just not in the way people thought.

I try to turn around because both guys are still standing in front of me in their way-too-tight underwear, with Brandon's black briefs going well with his pale complexion, while Sky, with his slightly tanned skin, is wearing pearl white briefs. I'll probably have to burn my mind to forget this image.

Looking the other way, I tragically gaze at Riven, standing by the door, just as stunned as the other two. I can still hear Sky babbling for a bit, but when he suddenly stops, I look over my shoulder worriedly and see Brandon smacking Sky's head with his wild blonde hair flying everywhere. He whispered something in his ear, only for Sky's brown eyes to widen. They flash in my direction, capturing my eyes in a storm of emotions.

"I had no idea!" he suddenly screams as he rushes towards me, pulling me in those big arms that he could literally chok—no, I shouldn't stick my head in that gutter. I don't need a new obsession or love. My heart is still empty from the last one that left me. “I’m so sorry. If only I had known!” he continues to lament.

To calm him down, I gently pat his large back, which has even more of these beautiful, seductively tight muscles. I want to scratch his back with my fingernails while—What's wrong with me? Realizing my predicament, I quickly try to push him away, but he is undoubtedly much stronger than me. He's certainly a great sword wielder for a reason; with that level of strength, he could probably even use a Bulwark Shield.

I keep trying to get away from him, but he just won't let go; it almost sounds like he's crying, but nothing wet ever drops on me. I'm at my wits' end, yet I know I won't get rid of him anytime soon; I'll freak out, and no one wants that.

He pulls me to his chest once more. I look for a way out, and to my surprise, I think I'm literally facing a possibility. Somehow I manage to snake my arms under his arm until my palm rests on his flawless, muscular pecs, perfect for holding on to. No, don't think about pushing him down, and—no, get out of my head. I could only groan in annoyance. Where did these thoughts come from? I remind myself to keep my naughty thoughts under lock and key and use my hand to do the unthinkable.

A sudden yelp alerts the entire room, and Sky even jumps back, almost falling over his feet, but is barely caught in time by Brandon.

"Your nipples are extremely sensitive for a guy your size, but it's good to know how to get you off me," I tell him in a teasing tone that makes poor Sky blush like I've never seen before. Still smiling, I step closer to him. "What did he whisper in your ear that made you jump on me like that?" I nod in Brandon's direction as I ask him.

Sky, on the other hand, seems reluctant, but I only need to show him my fingers and make a twisting motion for the color to drain from his face. "He told me that you must have had bad experiences with men like us, and that's why you reacted like that!" He burst out like a fountain of unnecessary knowledge.

Honestly? It left me speechless. Why would anyone think that? But when I think about it again, I can see it.

My smile softens, and I carefully place my hand on Sky's chest. "Something like this has never happened to me before; you don't have to worry."

"Then why did you look like you had seen a ghost?“

I take a deep breath, unsure if I should tell the truth or continue to lie like I do to the public in my home world. When I look back at Sky, his eyes are already wide open. Confused, I look at Brandon, who seems even more stunned. The only one not stunned is Riven. When I hear him laugh, I quickly turn back to him. He is hunched over, holding his stomach, as if he just heard the funniest joke ever.

Now I am confused too. Each of us is irate in our own way. Not a word is spoken; only the laughter of the maniac at the door keeps us company in our collective confusion.

When I turn back to Brandon and Sky, they both have their arms crossed over their chests, hiding their nakedness as best they can, refusing to look me in the eye, which baffles me even more.

He always looks so stern and angry, but now he seems too happy. And it pisses me off, so much so that I can only roll my eyes while swallowing my need to punch him in the face.

“A way to go, dude!” he shouts, only to burst into bellowing laughter again.

I'm starting to get annoyed and merely stare at him with deep anger. "What's wrong?" I hiss through clenched teeth. My words finally stop him from laughing at me. Instead, he's searching my eyes for something I don't understand.

"Don't you remember?" He asks me, his voice almost as confused as I feel. I shrug my shoulders and don't know what to answer him. So he clears his throat. "You just told us you would jump on one or both of them"—Riven pointed at Brandon and Sky—"If you looked at them for any long."

“I would never!” I scream back and try to free myself from his grip, but his hand on my shoulder holds me tight.

His lips almost touch my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. "I don't think you want to know what you said word by word," he begins to whisper, his hot breath scratching the hairs on my neck. I roll my eyes, closing them to hide my shame. "Let's just say it was steamy. And very detailed, making me wonder if you only like boys?"

Finally realizing that I've probably spoken my naughty thoughts about her out loud, I try to hide my face behind my hands. But Riven, being a menace in his very existence, grabs my hands and pulls them away from my face. When I push him, he only giggles as if I were a small, annoying insect that can't hurt him. It turns into a full-blown fight where we shove and hit each other, and I end up throwing us both onto one of the beds.

I press my hand to his face as he taunts me with words I believed I had only thought. Embarrassment and deep aggression take hold of me because of his strange change of behavior. I feel something monstrous whispering in my ears, telling me to draw the dagger Riven apparently has hidden behind his back and plunge it into his rotten heart.

At that exact moment, something clicks in my head. Sitting up on Riven's body, I look around. For some reason, I feel like something important is missing. With both hands on his chest, I feel his heart beating; somehow it's getting faster than before.

I know I've heard that voice before, but where? I've never forgotten a face, but voices? No, I'm not good at remembering those, yet I feel deep in my gut that this one feels important to me. Somewhere in the darkness of my mind, I am sure I could find the face to go with the voice, but how? Have I forgotten more than that?

"Is everything okay?" Sky's deep but gentle voice snaps me out of my worries. I blink a few times, but I can only look at him. Unsure whether to answer him or not, I shake my head from side to side. A moment later, he starts scolding Riven for playing too roughly with me. But I don't stand up from him, holding his pecs, which are much smaller than Sky's. A pain is growing in my head, and the world starts spinning as the pain quickly overwhelms me.

For a few moments, I see people without faces threatening me with weapons. I feel like I'm losing my mind, but I hope I will be okay as long as I can feel Riven's body beneath mine.

Even after all of this, I still feel like my mind is drifting off into nothingness, to the point where I almost believe what I see. I'm sure something similar happened, but why can't they have faces? It's just a feeling, but it's so heavy that I'm almost too sure of it.

"Hey!" I hear someone shout. "Hey! Don't fall asleep!" The voice sounds so muffled I can't even believe they're real. Call one of the teachers!" The voices slowly fade as my thoughts race at a speed I can't comprehend.

"It's not time yet," another voice tells me, echoing in my shattered mind. "Don't stress. You'll remember in due time. Like you always do."

"Please don't go! Don't leave me again." He appeared right before my eyes, as beautiful as ever. He was more of a man than I could ever be—so powerful. We were just children and later teenagers, but he had always been a beast.

When I saw him standing over me, with his sharp features and small nose, breathing down on me, I thought back to the time in the fields when we ran away from my instructors. I fell over my own feet and landed right on top of him, pulling him to the ground with me. I remember his laughter bouncing around until I could feel his low voice deep in my bones. He was dirty from the fall, and when I made fun of him for it, he grinned mischievously at me and then rolled us around until we were both muddy. Our laughter caught the attention of my coaches, but they only scolded us briefly before leaving. We were twelve, but even then I knew I would marry him. He was an ugly duckling then, but when puberty hit, he could hold his own against 'Gardon the handsome,' the most beautiful man our world has ever seen.

"Don't worry, we'll see each other again; just be patient, you idiot. I promised you once that I would be by your side forever and ever, didn't I?"

Even though I know he's dead, I just can't bring myself to not believe his words. "I love you. I always will!"

He smiles at me, closes his eyes, and shakes his head. "And I love you to the depths of despair and to the heights of happiness until both of our souls vanish."

Tears roll down my cheeks, and I can only helplessly watch him leave, his ghost disappearing, until I can no longer see him. Although I tried to reach him, he still disappeared, which obviously left me devastated.

[Masterlist]

[elliebyrrdwrites]

Vampy Draco 3

Leather straps, around my face, hold the mask in place. My mouth is covered with this mask that has little iron bars built into it, just over my mouth, and there is a slot for air cut out for my nose.

I finger the rough leather hide that forms around my chin, my eyebrows pulling together as I glance up at Theo.

He shrugs. “It’s for my protection.” He explains as he gestures to doorway that leads to a chamber where a large cauldron sits on a large stone structure. “At least until I can concoct a potion that I can ingest, altering the way my blood smells and tastes.”

I don’t think he can change the scent of death in his skin. It’s forever imprinted there.

Inside of the room, Theo uses his stabbing stick — no, his wand — to light a fire under the large black cauldron. Theo is a wizard and Granger, she is a witch.

“You were a wizard, too.” He says as he begins to add ingredients into the pot. There’s garlic and verbatim. The smell of them together make my nose twitch.

Now I am nothing but thirst.

“You still have magic.” He nods as he begins to cut big fat slugs into threes.

He tells me that there is a legend that the first vampire was cursed by a cruel and horrible dark sorcerer. It says, this legend, that the man was stabbed in the heart and allowed to bleed out before the sorcerer took the blood from a rabid Vampire bat and injected it into the poor bloke.

“Hence, the term Vampire.” Theo sings as he tossed the gooey, bloody slugs into the pot.

Theo tells me about the world I came from. Different from non magical folk. They call them muggles. It is usually the preferred victim of most vampires. Which is what makes me so interest, he says.

I called them meals.

There was a woman I stalked through the streets as she walked home from the store. When she got to her house, I finally caught her eye.

She sensed what was to come. But, I’d think to myself. In my mind, I’d beg her; Don’t run.

She froze, her hand on the doorknob.

And when I had her head cradled in my hand and her body pressed flush against mine, my mouth latched onto her throat, I’d think to myself, and I beg her; just relax.

She did.

“Muggles can’t occlude,” Theo says.

My eyes are staring into he fire beneath the cauldron. It’s dancing, wildly, and the flames lick up the sides of the pot, as he explains the art of occluding. Witches and wizards use it to block their emotions or to block people from diving into their mind. It ensures that they cannot be manipulated the way my victims have been.

My hand reaches for the flames, curious as the cat.

Theo stirs his concoction three times clockwise and stops halfway through the fourth turn to stir the opposite direction another three and half spins before he sets his ladle down on the stone table.

“I’ve never worked with a vampire before.” He admits. “Mostly, I work with the dead, or the spirits of the dead that usually stay hidden between the layers of here and there.”

I feel like I am neither here nor there. Because I don’t remember who I was. I only know this.

And this feels like it is not here. And it is not there.

Everything is just thirst.

“Do you think you can bleed?” He suddenly asks, looking up from the pot to stare straight back at me.

I pull my hand free from the flames and shrug.

His eyes slide to the left before he clears his throat. “You’re on fire.”

I hold my hand up to find it like a candle, the tip of my index finger the wick. The singular flame dances from the tip and I look at Theo who pushes his lips out impressed before pursing his lips together blows it out.

I wonder if he makes a wish.

If any of this was real, I’d wish for a beating heart.

Theo comes in, the next day, smelling terrible. There’s too many scents to discern which one smells the worst but he grins when I flinch away from him.

“Do you like it?” He asks.

“No.”

“Good.” He nods and reaches up to untie my mask but there is a soft tap at his front door that causes him to freeze.

I can smell her before the door opens to reveal her face, smiling back at us. Granger is standing on Theo’s doorstep and she is smiling and looking over his shoulder.

I lift my hand to wave at her. “Hi,”

Her eyes bug out and her smile dies. “Theo!” She chastises as she shoves past him. She’s coming straight at me and all of that thirst that never ends, it widens. The hole in my chest, it widens and widens until my entire body feels tense and tired and full of all of the energy in all of the world.

Her hand reaches up to smooth a finger over the rough leather material pressed into my face. I flinch from her, but not because she smells bad. She smells good.

Too good.

She smells like cloves and marshmallow cream. She smells like cinnamon and sweet rice water.

She smells like she was made for me.

“You put a muzzle on him?”

Theo shuts the front door and hurries forward, removing her hand from my chin and tucks it into between his palms. He pats her hand, once, and says, “Do you have any sense of self preservation?”

My hands tighten into fists at my side.

Grabbing her feels less like one of those unattainable things that hovers just outside of my memory.

Grabbing her feels like something that might end badly.

She elbows him in the side and pulls her hand free. But she keeps her hands tucked into her sides.

I’m watching her, she’s watching me. As much as I want to taste her, I want to feel her hand against my skin. Possibly more.

“Well, I don’t like it.” She shifts under my stare but she doesn’t look away. “It’s very Hannibal Lector.”

Theo chuckles and digs the point of his elbow into her ribs, causing her to squirm away. “It’s just a precaution, love.”

She takes a deep breath and tilts her head and bites her lip. She’s running her eyes over my face, the muzzle, and then she runs them down the length of my body.

I mimic her.

She’s dressed in similar clothes from yesterday, except that her pants are black with white pin stripes. Her wand holster accentuates her breasts and the curve of her waist.

“Hello, Draco.”

I’ve been practicing. The more I do it, the quicker the signals move from my rotted brain to the muscles in my throat and my mouth. “Granger.” I say and her eyes flare in response. Her scent thickens in the air as a blush seeps into her cheeks.

She licks at her lips and forces herself to look down at her boots.

My stomach is started to twist and there’s a strange, faint pulsing sensation in my groin. Hunger isn’t the right word, but it’s the only one that comes to mind.

The rest of the day is spent in something between agony and splendor.

Granger sticks around, she has tea. She licks at her lips when drops cling to them. She smiles at me.

Theo shows her what his plans are.

There is a fridge full of bags of blood. He pulls one out and squeezes it between his fingers and lifts it up for us both to see.

“This is going to be lunch,” He says this to me and shoves it into my hands.

It’s cold and the scent of the plastic bag mars the floral scent inside. I don’t like it

I’ve only tasted blood while it is still warm.

Even as the skin grows cold from the lack of circulation, the blood remains warm to the very last drop.

Theo guides us back to the kitchen table. There is a bowl full of fruit sitting in the middle. There’s apples, and bananas. There’s plums and a peach and a pear.

Granger sits at the table and reaches for the peach. She smells it and her eyebrows lift in appreciation before she opens her mouth and sinks her teeth into its thin, tender flesh.

My eyes jump to her neck as she chews and licks the juice from her lips. She is just like that peach. My mouth waters as I imagine my teeth sinking into it. Tender, soft. Juices flowing out and into my mouth, running over my tongue. Easing down my throat, warming the gaping hole in the middle of my chest.

I think that is where my soul used to be.

The never ending thirst is just the result of an absent soul.

Theo is eyeing me and nudges the bag of blood toward my face just before the mask vanishes from my face.

I pretend it is her neck as I plunge my sharp fangs into the plastic. And I suck.

It’s terrible. It’s cold and it tastes nothing like the way she smells.

But I drink it all as fast as I can because there is something strange about this.

When you talk to people, and they talk to you, it’s hard to kill them.

When they smile at you, you don’t want to.

My hands fall to my side, the empty bag clutched in one hand and I gag.

I gag and retch but nothing comes up.

“I don’t think he likes cold blood.” Granger says it to Theo but her eyes are on me. My lips. She’s staring at my lips.

Stained red, they open and close as my tongue sticks out. I’m trying to accept the terrible texture of cold blood. The viscosity is thicker, the flavor less tangible. But the burn in my throat has dulled enough for me to roll my shoulders back, forcing my body to relax.

“That’s a good boy.” Theo smirks.

Soon, it is time for Granger to leave and we walk her to the door. Her scent is filling up the house and I know that when she leaves, it will remain. It will linger in the air and press into my skin for days. She lets Theo give her a quick kiss to the cheek before she reaches for my hand.

Warm skin, little hands.

My cold, dead fingers curl, wrapping around the entirety of her hands. Hot and cold. Sweet and spicy.

Good and bad.

That is who we are.

Life and death, coming together, remind the other that each of us exist.

Her warm skin is pushing something into my dead body. There’s a light that nobody can see it’s in the palm of her hand and it is sinking into me. I’m absorbing it and it’s spreading slowly to each of the fingers that are still curled over her hand.

“It was good to see you, Draco.” She says and her eyes are warm and bright as they look up at me.

The light is hot as it drips slowly into my empty veins. I have to let go of her and it feels wrong. But I do it, because Theo is guiding her to the door. So I do and say the only thing I can think over. It’s like there’s a sudden firing of neurons inside of my dead brain and my body wants to hold onto hers. Like I need her to complete the process of whatever the fuck is happening.

Because she started this.

I know it.

I step forward and tilt my head as he backs up toward the door, Theo’s hand on her shoulder.

“Come back?” The words come out more easily than I anticipated.

Granger, she smiles. She smiles and all of that hot light is suddenly shooting from her eyes and she nods. It's shooting from her and into me. It's no longer relegated to my left hand but it's in the center of my chest. It mixes there, with the never ending thirst and it is sparking wildly, sporadically.

“I will.” She says it like a promise.

And then the door is closing on her as she turns to step outside, just as I feel the painful jolt of the very first beat of my dead heart.

[sandu7174]

Men and Women Are the Same.

🤍Reblogs are appreciated!🤍

Some of you may be wondering: “What? Men and women are the same? That’s not entirely true.” But it is. Let me explain.

Most people believe that to be a woman is to have female sex organs, developed breasts, little body hair, high-pitched voice, wide hips, more estrogen than testosterone and XX chromosomes and that to be a man is to have male sex organs, no breasts, moderate to large amount of body hair, deep voice, narrow hips, more testosterone and estrogen and XY chromosomes, to name a few key features. And even though most men and women exhibit their respective typical gendered traits, it’s not the case for everyone.

This is proven by the existence of intersex and transgender people, which also proves that neither sex nor gender is binary. There are plenty of women (cis and trans) who have one or more of the traits exhibited by the typical man and vice versa. There are also plenty of people who blur the lines between what a typical biological male is and what a typical biological female is, be it that they were born with certain ambiguous traits (intersexuality) or got them later in life (medical transition). And even though certain types of traits are associated with a certain gender, the fact that those same traits can be found in people of other genders means that those differences are irrelevant. With regard to equality and dignity, those differences would be irrelevant either way.

Don’t get me wrong, when I say that men and women are the same, I do not mean that everyone should be or is bisexual and nonbinary or whatever. I am not here to dictate people’s personal sexual and romantic preferences and gender identities. I also don’t mean that everyone should receive the exact same resources regardless of their sex or gender, I don’t think cis men should be going to see a gynaecologist or that cis women should be getting a prostate exam etc. What I actually mean when I say that men and women are the same is that we shouldn’t decide how we treat someone based on their sex or gender. Even though there are a lot of cultural and societal complications when it comes to sex and gender, it doesn’t justify unequal treatment of people.

Including nipples. Which is what my artwork emphasizes. Topfreedom is an important part of the feminist movement that is often ignored and brushed away like it is somehow irrational and unnecessary. What REALLY is irrational and unnecessary is the fact that cisgender men can have bigger breasts than many cis women (see: fat men and gynecomastia), and yet those same cis women are still the ones who get censored, sexualised, banned and harassed simply for daring to do what men have been doing for 100 years, and that PROVES that topfree inequality is actually not about breasts at all; it’s about misogyny and oppression.

There certainly are some physical differences when we compare the average man and the average woman (note: AVERAGE, many people are not average); hormonal differences, cultural differences, genital differences etc. But when we look past all that onto the actually meaningful difference? There is none. Gender is a social construct, and while that doesn’t mean that gender doesn’t exist (it evidently does exist as a social construct in our society in which social constructs reside), it does mean that gender is completely and utterly meaningless. It has no purpose other than to let us identify ourselves within arbitrary standards. And it’s often used as an excuse to harass and oppress people, which is what sexism is.

The breasts of female-presenting people are not sexual organs. They’re just not. They develop to feed babies, and that’s it. Men looked at female breasts and decided they were sexually explicit, leading to the widespread practice of treating female nipples as taboo. That’s not right! It’s cruel and it doesn’t reflect the idea of what a fair society is at all.

It’s time we fight back and spread the joyful, powerful and freeing message of gender diversity, inclusivity and equality.

[sketchfanda]

A Little Moxxie Love:Lin's Rodeo

Never let it be said that Lin May wasn't a woman of her word,I tell you what. But right about now she had to wonder what the Anti-Christ she'd been thinking accepting her daughter's wager. Okay sure maybe call it karma coming back to bite her in the ass or someone's idea of a joke but she hadn't expected she'd lose. But here she was now, time to pay the piper as they say.

Right so context because it's key and king, it was once again time for the annual Harvest Moon festival which of course meant the farms on Wrath were in high gear for the occasion. And for the Goetia himself to grace them with his high classed presence along with his hired security entourage aka her daughter Millie and the rest of her misfit co-workers. Including that stringbean runt who somehow wound up marrying her, And Millie was especially not in any mood for her folks to be questioning her choices, not like they were ones to talk given the whole Striker fiasco. Least she could count on Sally May being civil towards him though Lin could swear there was something about the looks Millie’s sister would give their in-law but maybe she was reading too much into it.

But I digress so Millie had the bright idea to have her mom figuratively out her money where her mouth was by agreeing to a friendly little wager. That being that if Moxxie managed to do well during the harvest moon games then Lin would have to a favour of Millie’s choice and she be damned the little stringbean actually came out on top. Managing to best out Millie’s brothers and putting hi performance from last year to shame which meant it was going to be time for Lin to pay the piper. Now what was the favour she decided on you might ask?

Folks come on if you’ve all been reading this story long enough then you know what Millie chose? But to clarify, yes Millie chose that her mom should have a threesome with her and Moxxie, one night to have her man rock her world!! So here she was using the showers together with Millie at the modest little apartment that was their love nest at Imp city and the farmer gal still couldn’t believe she was still going through with this kinky nonsense. But a bet was a bet and Lin May was a woman of her word especially as this was one time thing and Joe would never know.

Far as Joe knew and the boys knew, she was just paying Millie a surprise visit in the big city, not simply because she had to pay the piper, no sir. But she could swear the look in Sally May's eyes and that smile of hers said she wasn't fooled for a second as that was neither here nor there of course. Not especially when Millie derailed her train of thought by giving her fat apple bottom heart shaped milf ass a slap, making those crimson blood red cheeks jiggle like jelly. Lin shooting her cheeky perv of a daughter a look over her shoulder as she tried to hold down how rather good that sensation had felt, seriously when had her baby girl become such a perv?

Seriously, she'd heard plenty about succubi and other sex demons here and there in Lust as well as the other circles of Hell but Millie seemed to put them to shame somehow. It was more mind boggling than the how and why she had settled down with a guy like Moxxie, okay sure he was easy on the eyes a polite city boy but come on!! But knowing Millie, part of this kinky forfeit was to prove her mama wrong on so many levels and you can bet she was going to get herself a show and some satisfaction. So as soon as the shower was off, mother and daughter stepped out to give themselves a quick dry off before wrapping their towels around their glistening wet bodies to go make some erotic magic with Millie's man.

Moxxie of course sat on the bed naked, save for a blanket covering his manhood shifting nervously and really who could blame him? He was used to Millie's peculiar little kink but seriously a threesome with her own mother? Of course his treacherous dick was already starting to swell and rise at the thought before his wife and her mom graced him with their presence, their modesty maintained only by the towels before they soon dropped them to expose their crimson red nude forms before him. His eyes widening, jaw clenched shut as his shaft was pitching a very visble tent as certain key switches began going off in his brain.

Neither he or Lin were sure when they’d started right into it but next thing either of them knew, the ranch owner milf and her daughter were kneeling on the floor giving Moxxie’s now exposed cock a double team blowjob. Taking turns licking and sucking on his length and girth to which Lin had To say, he was somehow as big of not eben bigger than her own husband!! The sight of such a prime piece of imo meat had pretty ensured any doubts or hesitation, let alone inhibition and shame went right out the damn window as she even found herself making out with Millie, their tongues dancing over the tip of the dick between them. Marking it from head to base and balls with lipstick as their pussies gushed and dribbled with nectar raining don to make growing puddles on the floor.

IT only got more intense once Lin found Moxxie grabbing their horns as he took turns giving each of them a deep, powerful facefuck. His hips jackhammering away as those heavy crimson red balls slapped and smacked their chins, making their drool splutter as his shaft became coated in a heavy coating of it. Lin feeling overwhelmed by the flood of bliss and ecstasy flooding her brain while Millie glsdly welcome this erotic assault, glowing hearts of lust tingling in her eyes as Her man once more asserted his latent alpha male skill of dominance. Knowing that it was only going to get wilder and more fun from here on in.

Which it most certainly did as she watched with mischievous pornographic delight at the sight of her mom riding Moxxie cowgirl style, fittingly enough. The MILF gasping and howling as she bounced her thicc cougar imp booty on his jackhammering shaft, making his twin rEd cheeks clap and jiggle. Before Lin soon found her daughter facing her as the kinky shortstack mounted and sat on her own husband’s face, his no doubt skilled tongue eating her out. All the whole Millie leaned forward to clasp hands tougher with her and press her lips to hers in an intimate, sloppy incest fuelled kiss.

Before !in knew it, she found herself being out through a veritable erotic montage of positions and combinations shifting from one on one to two on one, the former being for when one of them needed to recover and catch their breaths. For a stringbean looking runt, Moxxie had more stamina than some of the beasts back on the ranch! To say nothing of how it felt having Millie eat her out as Moxxie fucked her missionary or her eating Millie out as the secret stud fucked her doggy style. Now her sex life with Joe wasn’t vanilla by any means, after all look how many kids she’s had with the man.

But Christ on a stick was it any wonder Millie seemed to pimp her own man out and have him try to sow wild oats like he was a hell horse being out out to stud? An alpha male like this was too much for one woman to handle so of course why wouldn’t Millie have the kink she does, let alone figure her mom should have a taste? So of course Lin found herself experiencing a whole different level of paradise that she hoped wouldn’t make her too much of an addict. Wouldn’t want Moxxie feeling like he was becoming a homewrecker after all.

Of course with the kind of life and work he lead, Joe wouldn’t be around forever, so who knows if maybe Moxxie was more than willing to provide relief and comfort to his lowly widow of a mother in law? But of course the future was a distant thing and it was just a an idea that came to mind, as Lin found herself laying together in the messed up, sweat and juice stained bed with him and Millie as they basked in the afterglow. The warm light of sunrise brightening up the room after a wild night of a kinky passionate three way that the farm milf was certainly not going to forget for a good while. No doubt just as Millie had planned, the crafty naughty girl….

That was certainly on her mind as she later took the train ride home, that is after a very filing breakfast of waffles after another quick round of fucking. That stud of Millie’s really got some major morning wood that was for sure. Far as Joe and the boys knew, it was just a simple little visit to the city and some bonding time with Millie and her man but as said, given the look Sallie May was giving her? She knew damn well what has happened and it made the girl look forward to her own future visit to the big city, and how sweet it would be….

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: The Discarded Knight (Barristan II) [Chapter 59]

And the award for biggest piss baby chapter header goes to ...

All kneel for His Magnificence Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of That Noble Name, King of Meereen, Scion of Ghis, Octarch of the Old Empire, Master of the Skahazadhan, Consort to Dragons and Blood of the Harpy," roared the herald. 

Damn, his silly titles are way cooler.

Step it up, Daenerys.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan Selmy slipped a hand beneath the fold of his cloak and loosened his sword in its scabbard. No blades were allowed in the presence of the king save those of his protectors. It seemed as though he still counted amongst that number despite his dismissal. No one had tried to take his sword, at least.

In case you missed the last chapter, Barristan hates Hizdahr zo Loraq and refuses to acknowledge him as his king, but he's also offended Hizdahr isn't using him as a personal guard.

Barristan Selmy, ladies and gentlemen.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony

Sorry, quick clarification -

He's referring to those rare times when she actually held court.

+.+.+

Daenerys Targaryen had preferred to hold court from a bench of polished ebony, smooth and simple, covered with the cushions that Ser Barristan had found to make her more comfortable. King Hizdahr had replaced the bench with two imposing thrones of gilded wood, their tall backs carved into the shape of dragons. The king seated himself in the right-hand throne with a golden crown upon his head and a jeweled sceptre in one pale hand. The second throne remained vacant.

The important throne, thought Ser Barristan. No dragon chair can replace a dragon no matter how elaborately it's carved.

Love when people look for any reason to be upset. Dragon thrones seem like a pretty clear indicator of who's in charge.

Pretty sure Hizdahr would love for Daenerys to be sitting in that seat right now, Barry.

+.+.+

The day was young and fresh, and yet he felt bone-tired, as if he'd fought all night. The older he got, the less sleep Ser Barristan seemed to need. As a squire he could sleep ten hours a night and still be yawning when he stumbled out onto the practice yard. At three-and-sixty he found that five hours a night was more than enough.

Makes sense, the effects of sleep deprivation on cognitive ability are well-documented.

+.+.+

On a bedside table he kept a beeswax candle and a small carving of the Warrior. Though he was not a pious man, the carving made him feel less alone here in this queer alien city, and it was to that he had turned in the black watches of night. Shield me from these doubts that gnaw at me, he had prayed, and give me the strength to do what is right. But neither prayer nor dawn had brought him certainty.

If you're plagued by uncertainty and doubt, maybe sit this one out.

+.+.+

In the Shavepate's place stood a fat man in a muscled breastplate and lion's mask, his heavy legs poking out beneath a skirt of leather straps: Marghaz zo Loraq, the king's cousin, new commander of the Brazen Beasts. Selmy had already formed a healthy contempt for the man. He had known his sort in King's Landing—fawning to his superiors, harsh to his inferiors, as blind as he was boastful and too proud by half.

You've got to be fucking kidding me.

LMAO.

+.+.+

Skahaz could be in the hall as well, Selmy realized, that ugly face of his concealed behind a mask. Two score Brazen Beasts stood between the pillars, torchlight shining off the polished brass of their masks. The Shavepate could be any one of them.

How many times will George allude to this?

+.+.+

One woman began to wail about a brother who had died at Daznak's Pit, another of the damage to her palanquin. A fat man tore off his bandages to show the court his burned arm, where the flesh was still raw and oozing. And when a man in a blue-and-gold tokar began to speak of Harghaz the Hero, a freedman behind him shoved him to the floor. It took six Brazen Beasts to pull them apart and drag them from the hall.

It's not every day a freedman gets painted in a bad light.

+.+.+

Fox, hawk, seal, locust, lion, toad. Selmy wondered if the masks had meaning to the men who wore them.

That depends, is it a cat mask? A rat? A wolf? That would have meaning.

+.+.+

Did the same men wear the same masks every day, or did they choose new faces every morning?

She changes it every few weeks.

+.+.+

"Is it true?" a freedwoman shouted. "Is our mother dead?"

"No, no, no," Reznak screeched. "Queen Daenerys will return to Meereen in her own time in all her might and majesty. Until such time, His Worship King Hizdahr shall—"

"He is no king of mine," a freedman yelled.

Men began to shove at one another. "The queen is not dead," the seneschal proclaimed. "Her bloodriders have been dispatched across the Skahazadhan to find Her Grace and return her to her loving lord and loyal subjects. Each has ten picked riders, and each man has three swift horses, so they may travel fast and far. Queen Daenerys shall be found."

[...]

Ser Barristan let Reznak's oily words wash over him. His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing, especially useful when the speaker was intent on proving that words were truly wind. 

What the hell? What did he even do? He said nothing wrong!

#JusticeForReznak

His years in the Kingsguard had taught him the trick of listening without hearing

Boy, you aren't kidding.

+.+.+

Prince Quentyn was listening intently, at least. That one is his father's son. Short and stocky, plain-faced, he seemed a decent lad, sober, sensible, dutiful … but not the sort to make a young girl's heart beat faster. And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent. Like all good queens she put her people first—else she would never have wed Hizdahr zo Loraq—but the girl in her still yearned for poetry, passion, and laughter. She wants fire, and Dorne sent her mud.

It's hysterical how little credit he's giving Daenerys here. The people come first, unless it's a hot boy.

And Daenerys Targaryen, whatever else she might be, was still a young girl, as she herself would claim when it pleased her to play the innocent.

Glad he's picked up on that. Not that it will change anything.

+.+.+

You could make a poultice out of mud to cool a fever. You could plant seeds in mud and grow a crop to feed your children. Mud would nourish you, where fire would only consume you, but fools and children and young girls would choose fire every time.

In her case, literally.

The flames writhed before her like the women who had danced at her wedding, whirling and singing and spinning their yellow and orange and crimson veils, fearsome to behold, yet lovely, so lovely, alive with heat. Dany opened her arms to them, her skin flushed and glowing. This is a wedding, too, she thought. - Daenerys X, AGOT

Daenerys plants no seeds in mud.

+.+.+

Behind the prince, Ser Gerris Drinkwater was whispering something to Yronwood. Ser Gerris was all his prince was not: tall and lean and comely, with a swordsman's grace and a courtier's wit. Selmy did not doubt that many a Dornish maiden had run her fingers through that sun-streaked hair and kissed that teasing smile off his lips. If this one had been the prince, things might have gone elsewise, he could not help but think … but there was something a bit too pleasant about Drinkwater for his taste. False coin, the old knight thought. He had known such men before.

Gerris is confident, I don't remember him being false. Does something come of this?

Again, this could not be more insulting to Daenerys. I love it.

+.+.+

Whatever he was whispering must have been amusing, for his big bald friend gave a sudden snort of laughter, loud enough so that the king himself turned his head toward the Dornishmen. When he saw the prince, Hizdahr zo Loraq frowned.

Ser Barristan did not like that frown. And when the king beckoned his cousin Marghaz closer, leaned down, and whispered in his ear, he liked that even less.

Providing context for later.

+.+.+

Martell was dancing in a vipers' nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the queen to shield him from Hizdahr's wroth. 

I'm going to agree with Barry on this one. There's no reason for Quentyn to still be hanging around, and pursuing Daenerys. It's disrespectful to say the least.

With that being said, I've yet to see any evidence of Hizdahr being a wrathful man.

+.+.+

Although …

The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle. He is kin to the Red Viper. Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be free to wed again. Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king's own box. What if he was meant to be the victim all along? Hizdahr's death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and his marriage pact.

And they say Victarion is the dumbest point of view character. Quentyn doesn't have a single friend in Meereen, how could he achieve any of this?

Anyway, he did manage to consider a strong possibility: Hizdahr was the Shavepate's target.

Hizdahr's death would have smashed the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the Yunkishmen their war.

Great point, Barry.

Quick question, what happens if he's arrested?

+.+.+

The Yunkishmen had come. Three Wise Masters led the procession from the Yellow City, each with his own armed retinue. One slaver wore a tokar of maroon silk fringed with gold, one a striped tokar of teal and orange, the third an ornate breastplate inlaid with erotic scenes done in jet and jade and mother-of-pearl. The sellsword captain Bloodbeard accompanied them with a leathern sack slung across one massive shoulder and a look of mirth and murder on his face.

No Tattered Prince, Selmy noted. No Brown Ben Plumm. Ser Barristan eyed Bloodbeard coolly. Give me half a reason to dance with you, and we will see who is laughing at the end.

Reznak mo Reznak wormed his way forward. "Wise Masters, you honor us. His Radiance King Hizdahr bids welcome to his friends from Yunkai. We understand—"

+.+.+

"Understand this." Bloodbeard pulled a severed head from his sack and flung it at the seneschal.

[...]

Gingerly, so gingerly, the seneschal approached the head, lifted it delicately by the hair. "Admiral Groleo."

I'm sorry, can we take a second to go over this man's story?

Captain Groleo is tasked with bringing Daenerys back to Pentos.

Instead, she renames all his ships to Targaryen dragons, and commands him to take her to Slaver's Bay, so she may buy a slave army.

Daenerys realizes she can't take Meereen without siege engines. She orders his ships destroyed for wood.

Groleo is then named admiral by Daenerys, but doesn't actually have a fleet, making it an empty title.

After the peace deal, he's handed over to the Yunkish commanders as a hostage.

Finally, he's beheaded because of Drogon.

Wow.

+.+.+

Ser Barristan glanced toward the throne. He had served so many kings, he could not help but imagine how they might have reacted to this provocation. Aerys would have flinched away in horror, likely cutting himself on the barbs of the Iron Throne, then shrieked at his swordsmen to cut the Yunkishmen to pieces. Robert would have shouted for his hammer to repay Bloodbeard in kind. Even Jaehaerys, reckoned weak by many, would have ordered the arrest of Bloodbeard and the Yunkish slavers.

If that's what two Targs and Robert Baratheon would have done, then surely there's a better option.

Can you see Bran doing any of the above? Keep in mind the Jaehaerys option instantly triggers war.

+.+.+

Hizdahr sat frozen, a man transfixed. Reznak set the head on a satin pillow at the king's feet, then scampered away, his mouth twisted up in a moue of distaste. Ser Barristan could smell the seneschal's heavy floral perfume from several yards away.

You're not fooling anyone, George.

Can't wait for the honourable Barristan Selmy to be happily standing next to Daenerys when she kills this poor man.

+.+.+

"This," King Hizdahr said at last, "this is not … we are not pleased, this … what is the meaning of this … this …"

Use your big boy king words, please.

+.+.+

The slaver in the maroon tokar produced a parchment. "I have the honor to bear this message from the council of masters." He unrolled the scroll. "It is here written, 'Seven entered Meereen to sign the peace accords and witness the celebratory games at the Pit of Daznak. As surety for their safety, seven hostages were tendered us. The Yellow City mourns its noble son Yurkhaz zo Yunzak, who perished cruelly whilst a guest of Meereen. Blood must pay for blood.'"

Groleo had a wife back in Pentos. Children, grandchildren. Why him, of all the hostages? Jhogo, Hero, and Daario Naharis all commanded fighting men, but Groleo had been an admiral without a fleet. Did they draw straws, or did they think Groleo the least valuable to us, the least likely to provoke reprisal? the knight asked himself … but it was easier to pose that question than to answer it. I have no skill at unraveling such knots.

I'm inclined to believe this. I can't find the quotes now, but it's been made clear Yunkai has no desire to test the dragons, regardless of all their threats of war.

I have no skill at unraveling such knots.

We can tell.

+.+.+

"Your Grace," Ser Barristan called out. "If it please you to recall, the noble Yurkhaz died by happenstance. He stumbled on the steps as he tried to flee the dragon and was crushed beneath the feet of his own slaves and companions. That, or his heart burst in terror. He was old."

Fair point.

Edit: I didn’t even notice he said grace again. Twat.

Thank you, @kadarakey!

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq could not seem to look away from the head. Only when Reznak whispered something in his ear did he finally bestir himself. 

Is the newly developed sadist getting off on it or something?

+.+.+

"Yurkhaz zo Yunzak was your supreme commander," he said. "Which of you speaks for Yunkai now?"

"All of us," said the rabbit. "The council of masters."

King Hizdahr found some steel. "Then all of you bear the responsibility for this breach of our peace."

The Yunkishman in the breastplate gave answer. "Our peace has not been breached. Blood pays for blood, a life for a life. To show our good faith, we return three of your hostages." The iron ranks behind him parted. Three Meereenese were ushered forward, clutching at their tokars—two women and a man.

"Sister," said Hizdahr zo Loraq, stiffly. "Cousins."

Without more information, it's hard to say why they've chosen to return Hizdahr's family. Maybe they're avoiding further provocation. Maybe they're buying him off. Maybe they'd like him to look terrible. Maybe the author is baiting the reader, and making it seem like Hizdahr's in on the plot.

+.+.+

Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. "Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …"

"The others shall remain our guests," announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, "until the dragons have been destroyed."

Reznak's even speaking up for the other hostages!

+.+.+

A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. "The dragons …" said King Hizdahr.

"… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak's Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live."

Accurate.

+.+.+

Reznak replied. "Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—"

Reznak, who rightfully hates the dragons, is objecting to them being killed without Daenerys agreeing.

#JusticeForReznak

#JusticeForReznak

#JusticeForReznak

+.+.+

Hizdahr zo Loraq rose slowly from his dragon throne. "I must consult my council. This court is done."

I'm okay with this decision.

+.+.+

"Prince Quentyn," Selmy called. "Might I beg a word?"

Quentyn Martell turned. "Ser Barristan. Of course. My chambers are one level down."

No. "It is not my place to counsel you, Prince Quentyn … but if I were you, I would not return to my chambers. You and your friends should go down the steps and leave."

[...]

"Swords can be replaced," said Ser Barristan. "I can provide you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made note of you today. He frowned."

This is a -little- dramatic.

We've gone from Barristan believing Hizdahr is weak to Barristan believing Hizdahr is plotting to kill Quentyn in roughly 10 seconds.

+.+.+

Gerris Drinkwater laughed. "Should we be frightened of Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They sent him a head, and he did nothing."

Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. "A prince does well to think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him. The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …"

That can't possibly be the son of Doran Martell saying this.

Hizdahr elected to do exactly what Doran Martell would have done. Think it over.

+.+.+

"She warned you?" Selmy frowned. "Why are you still here?"

Prince Quentyn flushed. "The marriage pact—"

I feel for him, but this is beyond pathetic.

Go home, Quentyn. It's not your failure.

+.+.+

"—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about the queen or you. It promised your sister's hand to the queen's brother, another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never have turned aside for Slaver's Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and seems to prefer the both of them to you."

Anger flashed in the prince's dark eyes. "This Ghiscari lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms."

I don't disagree, but he's one to talk. Ask his sister how King Quentyn sounds.

Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn. Too well, I fear.

I mean, yeah.

+.+.+

The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn's face. "Poison … meant for Daenerys?"

"Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well, he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?"

Quentyn Martell went pale. "Me? I would never … you cannot think I had any part in any …"

That was the truth, or he is a master mummer. "Others might," said Ser Barristan. "The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have good reason to want King Hizdahr dead."

Is that what poisoners do? Frame people? Imbecile.

Absolutely incredible this muffin isn't able to apply that same spurned suitor logic to another candidate.

Hizdahr zo Loraq might be worth a careful look. Sooner him than Skahaz. The Shavepate had offered to set aside his wife for her, but the notion made her shudder. Hizdahr at least knew how to smile. - Daenerys I, ADWD

x

If I wed Hizdahr, will that turn Skahaz against me? She trusted Skahaz more than she trusted Hizdahr, but the Shavepate would be a disaster as a king. He was too quick to anger, too slow to forgive. She saw no gain in wedding a man as hated as herself. Hizdahr was well respected, so far as she could see. - Daenerys IV, ADWD

At least he knows Quentyn's telling the truth. How low can this bar go.

+.+.+

"So do others," suggested Gerris Drinkwater. "Naharis, for one. The queen's …"

"… paramour," Ser Barristan finished, before the Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen's honor. "That is what you call them down in Dorne, is it not?" He did not wait for a reply. "Prince Lewyn was my Sworn Brother. In those days there were few secrets amongst the Kingsguard. I know he kept a paramour. He did not feel there was any shame in that."

Look at him bend himself into a pretzel trying to justify the queen's open love affair with a homicidal sellsword.

Is there any shame in Daenerys producing an heir we don't know Hizdahr fathered, Barry?

+.+.+

"Daario would kill Hizdahr in a heartbeat if he dared," Ser Barristan went on. "But not with poison. Never. And Daario was not there in any case. Hizdahr would be pleased to blame him for the locusts, all the same … but the king may yet have need of the Stormcrows, and he will lose them if he appears complicit in the death of their captain. No, my prince. If His Grace needs a poisoner, he will look to you." He had said all that he could safely say. In a few more days, if the gods smiled on them, Hizdahr zo Loraq would no longer rule Meereen … but no good would be served by having Prince Quentyn caught up in the bloodbath that was coming. 

Do you understand that means war, you fucking muppet?

The man constantly asks himself what Daenerys would want ...

The Shavepate was not wrong. Daenerys would want her children protected. - The Queensguard, ADWD

x

What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew. - The Discarded Knight, ADWD

x

Was he doing what Daenerys would have wanted? I was not made for this. - The Queen's Hand, ADWD

yet every action he takes further erodes her peace deal.

I want no war with Yunkai. How many times must I say it? - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

"What name do you think they will give me, should I return to Dorne without Daenerys?" Prince Quentyn asked. "Quentyn the Cautious? Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?"

The Prince Who Came Too Late, the old knight thought … but if a knight of the Kingsguard learns nothing else, he learns to guard his tongue. "Quentyn the Wise," he suggested. And hoped that it was true.

Final thoughts:

The only ending I will accept is him watching her bleed out, immediately followed by the least knightly death possible.

-> return to menu <-

[zorilleerrant]

here's some characters I think people should write more of:

asian who is not any part white. and also looks asian

asian man who isn't queer in any way and has a completely normative relationship type. also the relationship is loving and mutually supportive. and no one is shocked by this they just let them do that

black man who is a good dad

black woman who is married

native who is not like. doing smoke ring magic

muslim who is devout. but just not an asshole about it

buddhists and/or hindus

of figures randomly selected from across the entire planet, someone who is not american

sociopath who is not evil

character with a dissociative disorder who is not evil, and also doesn't gain some superpower from their alters, or it's secretly a magic spell or something

character taking psychiatric medication who is not evil

character with burn or pox scars who is not evil

character with a missing arm who is not evil

competent fat character

bisexual who is gay married. and it's not like. a thing

aroallo character

binary trans children. nonbinary adults

it/its human character

teenager who is pregnant from having consensual sex on purpose many times without protection. and not slutshamed for it. but also with some commentary on need for better sex ed. and not blaming it on the pregnant teen

mom who is bad. but not like evil. just bad at it

woman with no love interest. she's not against having a love interest or dedicating herself to a higher purpose than having a love interest or pining away for a lost love interest or waiting for the right love interest to come along and sweep her off her feet. she just doesn't have one and it's not a thing

character with good parents who instilled the values of being a hero, neither coercing the kid nor abandoning them to it

BAMF chick who likes fashion somewhat

lady wizard

charming talking forest creature who is an asshole

alien who. does not have a sex-gender binary in their culture. like not a nonbinary alien or an alien from a species that is 'all male' or 'all female' or whatever the hell. not an alien where their binarist gender roles look different or The Females are in control or whatever. aliens that have a different set of sexes. or have genders that aren't based on sex at all

robot with a specific gender but no humanoid form

time traveler who is wildly off about the years that historical events took place, but within the right era (current)

hidden world, second world, or alternate world character who. does not have modern western political stances

character with a job specific to their story that isn't a job we have (or have as much of) here and now

nerd character who is. correct. about their fandom

[andromerot]

“Yes, I wanted to stay there forever and eat much spaghetti and drink much wine and make many babies and grow fat. You would not have liked me if I had stayed. I can see you, many years from now, coming through our village in the ugly, fat, American motor car you will surely have by then and looking at me and looking at all of us and tasting our wine and shitting on us with those empty smiles Americans wear everywhere and which you wear all the time and driving o with a great roar of the motors and a great sound of tires and telling all the other Americans you meet that they must come and see our village because it is so picturesque. And you will have no idea of the life there, dripping and bursting and beautiful and terrible, as you have no idea of my life now. But I think I would have been happier there and I would not have minded your smiles. I would have had my life. I have lain here many nights, waiting for you to come home, and thought how far away is my village and how terrible it is to be in this cold city, among people whom I hate, where it is cold and wet and never dry and hot as it was there, and where Giovanni has no one to talk to, and no one to be with, and where he has found a lover who is neither man nor woman, nothing that I can know or touch. You do not know, do you, what it is like to lie awake at night and wait for someone to come home? But I am sure you do not know. You do not know anything. You do not know any of the terrible things—that is why you smile and dance the way you do and you think that the comedy you are playing with the short-haired, moon-faced little girl is love.”

James Baldwin, Giovanni's Room

[fordecree7]

THE BIBLE BOOK OF GOD

New Testament

Matthew 22

The Parable of the Wedding Feast

22 And again Jesus spoke to them in parables, saying, 2 “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a king who gave a wedding feast for his son, 3 and sent his servants to call those who were invited to the wedding feast, but they would not come. 4 Again he sent other servants, saying, ‘Tell those who are invited, “See, I have prepared my dinner, my oxen and my fat calves have been slaughtered, and everything is ready. Come to the wedding feast.”’ 5 But they paid no attention and went off, one to his farm, another to his business, 6 while the rest seized his servants, treated them shamefully, and killed them. 7 The king was angry, and he sent his troops and destroyed those murderers and burned their city. 8 Then he said to his servants, ‘The wedding feast is ready, but those invited were not worthy. 9 Go therefore to the main roads and invite to the wedding feast as many as you find.’ 10 And those servants went out into the roads and gathered all whom they found, both bad and good. So the wedding hall was filled with guests.

11 “But when the king came in to look at the guests, he saw there a man who had no wedding garment. 12 And he said to him, ‘Friend, how did you get in here without a wedding garment?’ And he was speechless. 13 Then the king said to the attendants, ‘Bind him hand and foot and cast him into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.’ 14 For many are called, but few are chosen.”

Paying Taxes to Caesar

15 Then the Pharisees went and plotted how to entangle him in his words. 16 And they sent their disciples to him, along with the Herodians, saying, “Teacher, we know that you are true and teach the way of God truthfully, and you do not care about anyone's opinion, for you are not swayed by appearances. 17 Tell us, then, what you think. Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar, or not?” 18 But Jesus, aware of their malice, said, “Why put me to the test, you hypocrites? 19 Show me the coin for the tax.” And they brought him a denarius. 20 And Jesus said to them, “Whose likeness and inscription is this?” 21 They said, “Caesar's.” Then he said to them, “Therefore render to Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and to God the things that are God's.” 22 When they heard it, they marveled. And they left him and went away.

Sadducees Ask About the Resurrection

23 The same day Sadducees came to him, who say that there is no resurrection, and they asked him a question, 24 saying, “Teacher, Moses said, ‘If a man dies having no children, his brother must marry the widow and raise up offspring for his brother.’ 25 Now there were seven brothers among us. The first married and died, and having no offspring left his wife to his brother. 26 So too the second and third, down to the seventh. 27 After them all, the woman died. 28 In the resurrection, therefore, of the seven, whose wife will she be? For they all had her.”

29 But Jesus answered them, “You are wrong, because you know neither the Scriptures nor the power of God. 30 For in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like angels in heaven. 31 And as for the resurrection of the dead, have you not read what was said to you by God: 32 ‘I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob’? He is not God of the dead, but of the living.” 33 And when the crowd heard it, they were astonished at his teaching.

The Great Commandment

34 But when the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees, they gathered together. 35 And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 36 “Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?” 37 And he said to him, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. 38 This is the great and first commandment. 39 And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. 40 On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.”

Whose Son Is the Christ?

41 Now while the Pharisees were gathered together, Jesus asked them a question, 42 saying, “What do you think about the Christ? Whose son is he?” They said to him, “The son of David.” 43 He said to them, “How is it then that David, in the Spirit, calls him Lord, saying,

44 “‘The Lord said to my Lord, “Sit at my right hand,     until I put your enemies under your feet”’?

45 If then David calls him Lord, how is he his son?” 46 And no one was able to answer him a word, nor from that day did anyone dare to ask him any more questions.

Matthew 22

Diane Beauford

[arrowstheory]

ARROW THEORY BREEDINGS TS102 part1

start, at, www.kuby.pl in ninety-one languages in chapter TS001. BREEDINGS Part 1 Everyone commits sins and no one is blameless. You stayed even though you could have left. The knife remained beside you. How great is the Breeder you believe has accepted and loved you before you even began to be. Whoever is obedient and submissive will enjoy all worldly goods. Breeding predicts one in a hundred, an adventurous boar who pushes or runs away from the manger into the forest, or better still, to the tram, even though there is no food there and it is stupidly dangerous. And the boar is useless there! But that one in 100, or one in 1000, has the knowledge of what drives him! If he doesn't want to participate in breeding, what then? He neither wants to breed when given to him nor eat when given to him. He would like to go to the stars. He would like to walk slowly along the sandy paths, inhaling the scent of truffles growing just under the sand, just under the hoof. He would like to take a look at the forest with an eye calm and not bloodshot from antibiotics and steroids, the forest and the penetrating rays of the sun stroking the leaves and litter, where a lot of bugs and snails live among the moss and berries. To be free for once in your own forest. Beautiful and real. Admire trees rotten from old age, talk to lizards, be afraid of unfamiliar smells and sounds. be a pig! Dig up the ground looking for roots! Nothing of that! Instead of stars, the concrete atmosphere of a slaughterhouse. Kilograms of colleagues cut into pieces. Breeding effect. The fruit of breeders' thoughts. The result of a sick civilization that does not want to be hunted, absolute fat people sitting comfortably in armchairs.

Who breeds absolute fats? How are they eaten when the breeding reaches its goal? What is the goal? Who marked it and why is it important? Surely the target is invisible to the fat man in the kennel. This is always the case in any type of farming. No grain of truth, however small, is a round ball. This results in humps and exceptions.

Excuse me, can you repeat the name? Breeder of the One and Triple Gods Incorporeal Saints or in the Trinity of Ones. Why are One Gods bred, and what are Absolute Fats for? Excuse me, can you repeat the name? I already told you. Breeder.

In the aquarium, the automatic switch turns off and on the light. The fish light up or go out. Their feelings and thoughts are the breath of unknown and distant worlds. Their dreams have no hook.

The borders of the worlds are visible only when they are overgrown with algae. Today, a woman with a long paintbrush is walking on the railway tracks. They tell her something on a walkie-talkie and she barks back in a metallic voice. He scoops up tar and grease from the aluminum berry container. I mean loose bolts with tar and railway sleepers not filled with gravel. Step by step, he avoids the catastrophe of Europe's fastest train. Step by step, she becomes the short-wave heroine of the rattle of wheels. Because he who has oil in his head goes to the railway.

There the future and the rust of the past touch each other in a rush. They mean as much as the age of steel gave them. Hut whistles have already whistled victories over the deprived of childhood workers' fry. Wide, round mining shovels, called women's butts, have already traversed thousands of tons of coal. The red hot wire was forced through the fillers and became nails with checkered heads.

Today, in the era of rubber-glass, the merits of metal rifles and cannons of giants are not remembered. Stiff steel and stiff people. Rigid collars buttoned high at the neck. Aluminum pots for bitter cereal coffee brewed before dawn gave the warmth of a family hearth. Nobody knew what smectite or germanium was. The intelligentsia and those who wanted to be perceived as such tied thin strips of fabric under the neck, confusing the knot. The checkered shirt was the carrier of the lumberjack's muscles. The white bonnet was held by the lice of a pharmacist named panimagister. The clocks had to run in circles so that there was always zero hour after 10:00. Someone who has not experienced it will never understand its logic. But it was true. In addition, these infinitely distant infinities .... Who came up with it?

Eventually people couldn't deal with it culturally anymore so they diplomatically said: EVERY INFINITY STRIVES TO SOME LIMIT! Isn't it wonderful? It's infinite, and here's the tick, it already has a finite limit! How clever and impenetrable. But it does in the end, on the principle that with 0 we imply 1. And to raise the status of wisdom, let's call the border some dream word. And they invented the word LIMES. So each INFINITY has its LIMES and is thus limited. Some people's wisdom is infinitely limited. And already.

start, at, www.kuby.pl in ninety-one languages in chapter TS001.

[this-is-my-main-i-follow-from]

Ok so the hench person of indeterminable gender in the books had no use of pronouns for a bit, but they do have an "its" in the books. None of the dialogue uses pronouns from what I found tho.

[purpleyoonn]

Red Riding Hood

A Petrichor drabble

Summary: It was Halloween in Seoul and you were talking about your home traditions compared to South Korea’s with Haneul and Kingpin when you were interrupted. Now, your mates tried to tease you, but you were the one doing the teasing. 

Pairing: CEO! Werewolf BTS x Chubby Reader

Genre: petrichor drabble, fantasy au, werewolf au, mates au, halloween

Warnings: not much, bullying, fat shaming, threatening, Jimin being a tease, haneul being a badass, protective best friend kangmin, protective hobi, protective jungkook, some adult costumes, 

Happy Halloween Everyone!

Masterlist // Navigation

-------------------------------------------

Halloween was always your favorite holiday, your older brother often sneaking you out of the house to take you trick-or-treating, helping you hide the candy after the fact so your parents wouldn’t take it away from you.

Now, as an adult, you loved going to the pumpkin patches and doing other fall activities. Baking different fall inspired cookies, or just baking in general. Lighting your favorite fall scented candles and watching Halloween movies. Or even just cuddling with a blanket by the fire.

It was the week before the holiday, and you were talking with Haneul and Kangmin about the holiday, and how you celebrated it in the states. You learned that trick-or-treating isn’t really a thing, and neither is making jack-o-lanterns. Halloween costume parties were a big thing here though.

You were just telling them about the last costume you wore, before you came to South Korea, showing them a picture of you dressed as the Black Widow when a group of your coworkers walked by.

They were from the company that Bangtan bought out and had been merged with your building four a couple of weeks now. There was definitely a new hierarchy being established, especially with a numerous amount of alpha males coming in. Dominance being reestablished and it seemed like they had it out for everyone.

“Maybe you shouldn’t wear skintight clothes. No one wants to see your belly hanging out.” The man, Sangmin, squinted his eyes at your phone after ripping it from your fingers. You could almost feel his pheromones in the air, pushing out to exert force over you and Haneul.

“Hey, there is no need for this. Just give her the phone back.” Kangmin moved to step in between you, Haneul, and Sangmin, trying his best to diffuse the situation before the bosses noticed.

Sangmin just laughed, looking down as your picture again before showing it to his friends on either side of him. They too laughed at your costume. “No one wants to see this whale in her stupid costume anyways. What kind of a child still dresses up as a superhero?”

He practically throws your phone at you, making you stumble to grab it before it drops to the floor. Another group of people come over, this time a couple of women who also work here. You look at them, hoping they just walk past and don’t add onto anything, but your hopes were short-lived.

As you grabbed onto your phone, the picture on your phone had changed to one of you holding onto your carved pumpkin, a regular jack-o-lantern face adorning the orange food. When the woman in front sees it, she laughs.

“I thought only children do that. What are you, five?” You can slowly see how this is going to turn out and move to grab ahold of Kangmin’s arm to tug on it, telling him it’s not worth it when a door open down the hall.

 The meeting room had been occupied for a couple of hours, and a couple of your mates were in there, Hoseok and Jungkook. The meeting was about the merge, and how best to incorporate the new employees.

Hoseok is the first to walk out, his eyes catching yours quickly, your sour scent making him latch onto your figure behind Kangmin, your friend in a protective stance. He could recognize the opposing force as a new alpha brought in through the merge, his stance forceful and menacing. 

Hoseok did not like the way he was looking at you, nor did he appreciate the way you needed to be protected by someone in his own building. Everyone should know you are their mate.

Jungkook is the first to move, his own steps forceful and powerful as he moves in between the two groups, his hand immediately latching onto your own.

“Are you okay? What happened?” His eyes move quickly over your form, trying to identify if you had any physical injuries, getting slightly distracted by the way your thighs look in your outfit.

“We were just telling them that it is not appropriate to discuss outside activities within the work environment.” The man pushing his pheromones out, Sangmin, interjected before you could speak, causing Jungkook and Hoseok to roll their shoulders back, anger visible on their faces.

When Hoseok turned away from you, he saw the man who spoke straightening his stance, trying to suck up tothe bosses no doubt, he though. He had a large smile on his face, eyes turned up as he switches his eyes from both Jungkook and back to Hoseok.

“Oh, is that so?” Hoseok grins back, causing some of the workers in front of him to step back, Sangmin not feeling the same threat coming his way. He doesn’t even realize what he had started.  

“Yes sir.” Jungkook cringes at the title, only liking it when it comes from your lips. “She was showing disgusting pictures to her friends and I said she should save it for after work.” Sangmin continued, placing his hands in his pants pockets like he did them a favor.

Hoseok turns back to you, his smile real this time as he holds his hand out. “And what were these pictures?” He opens your phone up with his own fingerprint causing Sangmin’s eyes to narrow in confusion before quickly changing back when Jungkook glares at the man.

Your phone immediately opens up to the photo of you as Black Widow, Hoseok’s eyes widening and his cock hardening against his pants. He has to use all of his control to stop the moan that wants to leave his lips. His knuckles turn white as he tightens his grip on your phone.

“Oh, darling, why haven’t you shown us these pictures before?” Hoseok turns to you, Jungkook peeking over his shoulder to see the picture, his own reaction mimicking Hoseok’s.

“I didn’t know you would want to see them?” You shrug, your shoulders still turned in, trying to make yourself appear smaller.

“I’m gonna send it in the group chat. I already know Jiminie is gonna wanna see you in it in person.” Jungkook takes your phone from Hoseok, grin to his lips as he imagines Jimin cumming in his pants at the sight of your thighs in your costume. Namjoon as well.

Sangmin’s “powerful” stance was now faltering, his confidence in the situation long gone as he notices the comfortability with you and the two CEO’s. He looks between you and the CEO’s, seeing the smirk on Haneul’s face as she stares him down. Taking the opportunity, Haneul speaks up.

“Y/n was just telling us about the different traditions for Halloween in America and we were telling her about our own. When she was showing us her in her costume, Sangmin came up and decided he would make fun of her for it. He called her a child and said, ‘who would want to see this clown in a costume anyway?’ after he grabbed her phone out of her hands.” Sangmin was quick to recognize his new situation, how fucked up he was, when both CEO’s turned to him, their eyes gold as their alpha’s take control.

“You called our mate a whale?!” Jungkook growled out, his body now in front of yours, a protective stance taking over as he tries to shield you from the perceived threat.

Sangmin’s eyes widen at the new information, not knowing the bigger women was the CEO’s mate. He had heard about it, people talking and gossiping, but he never knew who it was. Until now, and it was already too late for him.

“I want your things packed within in twenty minutes. If I see you near my omega again, you won’t live to see another day.” Hoseok’s alpha was poise, his control never wavering as he moved closer, now almost touching the other alpha’s nose with his own. He was doing everything in his power to keep from attacking the poor excuse of an alpha.

Sangmin was shaking in his leather shoes, fear leaking into his pheromones as he nods his head, quickly rushing off to pack his things and leave. Everyone knew not to underestimate the CEO’s, especially when it concerns their mate. Everyone in the city knew what happened with Jinae and knew better than to try anything.

When you finally peeked over Jungkook’s shoulder, you saw that everyone but Haneul and Kangmin had scattered, everyone scared over your fluffy alphas.

“C’mon baby, I wanna see you in a different costume.” Jungkook wraps his arm around your shoulder, tugging you away with a very large grin on his lips, a wink sent your direction as you let yourself be pulled away, knowing you aren’t going to be getting away any time soon. You just didn’t think he would be taking you home, where the rest of your mates were waiting for you.

A huge nest was waiting for you when you walked in, courtesy of Jimin and Jin, both standing in front of it with proud expressions and their hands on their hips. The others sat on the couch behind the nest, smiles on their lips as well but you could see the tension caressing their shoulders.

“Hi baby.” Jimin was the first to break the silence, coming forward and pulling you in, his lips capturing yours and tongue pushing past your lips to taste you. His hands moved to your lower back and continued to move lower until he was cupping your ass, making a small whimper move past your lips.

“Okay, move it aside pup.” Jin nipped at Jimin’s ear before knocking him to the side, your elder mate moving in and giving you a kiss of his own before he pulls away.

“Sorry ‘bout him, baby. He loved the picture Koo sent everyone.” You look to Jimin and Jungkook, who both have impish looks aimed your way.

“In fact,” Namjoon spoke up, pulling a bag from behind his back. “He even went and got a costume for you to try on.” They all wore grins now, mischievous in nature and fully dark as if imagining already what the outfit might look like on you.

You take the bag from him cautiously, a little afraid of what the contents are given that your sneaky mate picked it out. You kept looking back to them, their grins never wavering as you enter the bathroom and close the door behind you.

When you opened the bag, you couldn’t help but sigh and place it on the counter.

It was a Red Riding Hood costume, complete with the iconic red hooded cape. You cringed a little, remembering when you wore a similar costume in elementary school, but knew for a fact that Jimin picked this costume because of the stockings and see-through top.

That foxy little wolf of yours.

Shaking your head, you took the costume out of the bag and replaced your clothes with it. You knew you could have fun with it, and you knew that’s exactly what your sneaky mates had in mind. You were a little excited to see their faces when you walked out, and hoped they were going to be as dramatic and excited as you thought.

“Grandmother? Are you home?” You called out to the boys as you walked into the living room once again, turning the corner to see their excited grins fall into dark, lustful gazes. Eyes going straight to your thighs or your breasts, you walked forward even more.

“Yes, dear.” Jimin played along, happy you were going with his idea.

“My, what big ears you have?” You took another step forward, holding the cape a little around yourself causing small groans to leave your mates’ lips.

“Better to hear you with, my dear.”

“And what big claws you have.” Jimin moved forward, taking your hint and letting his claws grow out, gripping your hips with them and pulling you in, a little moan leaving your lips at the feeling of him manhandling you.

“Better to hold you with, my dear.” He grinned, holding you flush against him. He was waiting for you to say the last words, his cock becoming incredibly hard in his jeans and by the way you smirked, he knew you felt it too.

“Hmmm.” You hummed, moving your hands to fiddle with his loosened tie, wringing it your hands and making Jimin groan in your grasp at his own impatience.

“My, my, what big teeth you have.” You finally whispered, causing the boys to stand up from the couch, slowly moving to circle around you and Jimin, closing you in.

“Oh, darling, what better to eat you with.” And with that, multiple pairs of lips were on your neck, one nibbling particularly hard. Jimin had grabbed you with his hand under your jaw, holding your head in place before surging forward, devouring your lips with his own.  

[femsolid]

«When a certain kind of people see me on television, they take the time to email me or tweet at me to tell me that I’m fat or ugly or fat and ugly. They make memes of me with captions like “Typical Feminist” or “The Ugliest Woman in the World.” Sometimes Google Alerts takes me to a forum of MRA acolytes or conservative assholes having a field day insulting my looks with a picture of me from an event or magazine. I’m supposed to let it go. I’m supposed to shrug it off. I’m supposed to remember that the kind of people who would do such cruel things are beneath my regard.

In the early days, before there were a lot of pictures of me available online, I would show up to an event and organizers would often look right through me. At one event, a gathering of librarians, a man asked if he could help me and I said, “Well, I am the keynote speaker.” His eyes widened and his face reddened and he stammered, “Oh, okay, I’m the man you’re looking for.” He was neither the first person nor will he be the last to have such a reaction. People don’t expect the writer who will be speaking at their event to look like me. They don’t know how to hide their shock when they realize that a reasonably successful writer is this overweight. These reactions hurt, for so many reasons. They illustrate how little people think of fat people, how they assume we are neither smart nor capable if we have such unruly bodies.

There is a price to be paid for visibility and there is even more of a price to be paid when you are hypervisible. I am opinionated, and as a cultural critic I share my opinions regularly. I am confident in my opinions and believe I have a right to share my point of view without apology. This confidence tends to upset people who disagree with me. Rarely are my actual ideas engaged. Instead, my weight is discussed. “You are fat,” they say. Or, because, for example, I share that I love tiny baby elephants in my Twitter bio, they make an elephant joke where I, of course, am the elephant. The harassment is a constant, whether I am talking about something serious or trivial. I am never allowed to forget the realities of my body, how my body offends the sensibilities of others, how my body dares to take up too much space, and how I dare to be confident, how I dare to use my voice, how I dare to believe in the value of my voice both in spite of and because of my body. The more successful I get, the more I am reminded that in the minds of a great many people I will never be anything more than my body. No matter what I accomplish, I will be fat, first and foremost.»

- Hunger by Roxane Gay

[tchallasbabymama]

Instinct

Hello, fellow whores. You asked for it and I hope I delivered. I present to you: T’Challa in heat❤️‍🔥! This one had me blushing, y’all.

The next request I work on will either be sugar daddy silver fox T’Challa or Star-Lord T’Challa. I know I just threw the latter in the lineup, but apparently, people are seriously feeling the lack of Star-Lord T content here and I want to do what I can to help fill the void.

Check out my masterlist to read my other stories and oneshots, and, as always, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood! Enjoy😘

Word count: 4,903

CW: SMUT, infidelity

Instinct [instiNG(k)t] noun: an innate, typically fixed pattern of behavior in animals in response to certain stimuli.

For centuries, the descendants of the great Bashenga retained their hold on the Wakandan throne. Challenge Day after Challenge Day, they beat their opponents and were rewarded by Bast allowing them to ingest the heart-shaped herb. The herb imbued them with a panther’s strength, speed, and instincts, effectively turning each of them from an ordinary man into the Black Panther. Now, strength and speed are pretty self-explanatory, but what exactly were their instincts?

When T’Challa was crowned king and ingested the heart-shaped herb, he visited the ancestral plane and reconnected with his baba. Their reunion was one full of tears, but most importantly, T’Chaka took the time to impart his wisdom to his son. T’Challa spent hours talking to his baba about life, what to expect as king, and, most importantly, what to expect as the Black Panther.

T’Chaka had warned him about what was to come, but until it happened to him months later, T’Challa was in denial. It couldn’t be that bad, right?

Wrong. When T’Challa woke up one sunny Wednesday morning, he felt strange. He felt feverish but not sick. Like most days, his morning wood stood at attention, tenting the crisp white sheets that laid across his lower half. He looked at the clock and saw that he had plenty of time to take care of himself, so he rolled to his side and reached for the tub of shea butter in his nightstand. T’Challa bit his lip as he rubbed his hands together to melt it down, but when he reached down to stroke his length, he nearly bit clean through it. He was much more sensitive than usual, and he wondered why...then it hit him. He jumped up and grabbed his kimoyo beads with his slippery hands, and he frantically opened his calendar.

“Twelve weeks,” T’Challa groaned as he counted backward to the night he became the Black Panther (the second time.) “Fuckkkk.”

He was in heat, and it was only going to get worse. T’Challa wracked his brain for ideas on what to do to fix his problem, but all he could hear was T’Chaka’s words echoing through his head.

“You should find a partner sooner rather than later. The instinct will take over you, and it will become unbearable if you do not have anyone to aid you.”

T’Challa had been so busy trying to rebuild the kingdom that his cousin damn near broke that he had forgotten to look for someone. Sure, there was Nakia, but she had moved to Oakland and their relationship quickly fizzled out. Then, there was that one Dora Milaje after he regained the throne, but that was a one-night thing and she went back to her wife the next morning. He needed to find someone, but who?

As the king’s mind wandered through his options, sweat beads began to form on his chiseled body. He knew he’d be no good today, so T’Challa typed up a message to his family and staff that he would be taking the day off. With that taken care of, all he needed to do was figure out how to get through this heat in one piece. T’Challa looked down at his dick again. It was swollen with need, and he watched as droplets of precum escaped from his tip. He couldn’t take it anymore and decided to bear through the sensitivity. Carefully, as though he might hurt himself, he reached his hand down and grabbed it in his hand. The whimper he let out was foreign to his ears, but it was all he could do when he felt the intense wave of arousal wash over him. He gritted his teeth as he began to slowly move his hand up and down his shaft. It seemed that everywhere his hand went, it left a deep burning sensation in its wake, but he just couldn’t stop. He rutted into his hand, and as soon as his thumb swiped over his reddened tip, he came undone quicker than he ever had before. His body jerked as the milky white substance spilled over his hand, and it seemed that he had plenty to give. However, instead of leaving him sated, all that did was arouse him more.

T’Challa had made a mess all over himself and decided to take a shower, but every touch of his hand, or even the water, drove him up the walls. He needed some pussy, fast. He exited the shower and allowed his body to air dry as he moisturized his mahogany skin. Minutes passed before he noticed that he was still massaging himself, too caught up in the sensation to notice the passage of time. His dick was rock hard again, and he groaned in frustration as he attempted to stuff it into silk lounge pants. He called for his breakfast to be brought to him and spent the day in his quarters, alternating between desperately jacking off and going through his contacts to find the right person. It had been so long since he had opened that figurative little black book that all of his usuals were taken, and unfortunately for him, they were hellbent on remaining faithful for some reason. As the day went on, his hunger grew in intensity, and it got to the point where neither his hand nor his sex toys could cut it anymore. He felt lost, he felt horny beyond belief, and he felt...famished.

T’Challa looked at the time again and realized that he hadn’t eaten in hours. He placed another order from the kitchen and waited impatiently for it to arrive. It wasn’t that he couldn’t wait for the food to be brought up; he was impatient because every moment that passed without him touching himself brought him more pain. He didn’t need the poor kitchen staff walking in on him feverishly pleasuring himself, so he just sat there and attempted to focus his mind elsewhere. Eventually, there was a knock at the door, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Room service,” a melodic voice called out, and T’Challa smiled to himself at his friend’s playful tone. It was Xoliswa. He hadn’t seen her in almost a week, and he was sure she was out of town, yet here she was bringing him his dinner. Xoliswa started working in the kitchen at the palace seven years ago, and they grew close over the years. He was even in her wedding.

T’Challa unlocked the door with his beads, and she came right on in with the cart full of more food than he usually ordered.

“Somebody’s hungry today,” she joked. Just as T’Challa was about to respond with some smartass remark, an aroma hit him square in the face. It definitely wasn’t coming from the heaping portions of doro wot and rum cake he ordered. It was sickly sweet and made the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention, as well as something else.

The king began to salivate. “New perfume?”

“No, just the usual,” Xoliswa sighed. “Why?”

“No reason. You just smell different today is all,” he gulped to keep from drooling at her smooth, brown legs that were always on display. His eyes traveled up to the curve of her hips and the thickness of her waist before grazing over her delicious-looking chest and landing on her plump lips. Of course, he had noticed her looks before, and they would playfully banter and flirt back and forth from time to time, but this was the first time he was really seeing her beauty. Not only could he see it, but he could smell her from across the room, and his body was reacting in ways he couldn’t control. His dick sprung up and immediately started to harden as he watched her ass bounce in her flowy shorts when she pushed the cart out to the balcony. She had gone too far away, and he felt the intense need to be closer to her, so he bolted up and made his way outside with her.

“Here, let me help you.” T’Challa quickly picked up the heavy tray before she could and placed it on the table before taking his usual seat.

“I thought you didn’t feel good today,” she crossed her arms over her chest, unintentionally pushing her ample breasts even closer together. His body burned at the sight, and he visualized his lips wrapped around her undoubtedly perky nipples. He needed her body on his, but he knew he shouldn’t. Xoliswa was a friend, a confidant, a married woman...

“I don’t,” T’Challa cleared his throat and tried to focus his mind on anything but her. It wasn’t working, though. “But, uh, it’s not what you think. I just needed a day, that’s all.”

“Want to talk about it?” Xoliswa asked as she leaned against the balcony. He was acting strange, and it concerned her. “You know I’m here for you if you need me.”

“Don’t say that,” he chuckled darkly as something flared inside him.

“Why not?” she tilted her head to the side and uncrossed her arms. He would’ve sighed in relief, but she just made it worse by stepping closer to him. Xoliswa placed her hands on his shoulders the way she always did and began kneading his bare flesh. Little did he know, he wasn’t the only one fighting back their arousal. Xoliswa had a small crush on T’Challa since the moment she laid eyes on his muscular frame. Had she not been in a relationship the entire time she’d known him, she would’ve dropped down on her knees and given him the business by now. However, Xoliswa loved her husband and wouldn’t dream of doing such a thing...except for the occasional nights where she closes her eyes and all she can see is him. All she can feel is the king.

T’Challa let out a low groan as her hands worked out his stress, and as usual, the sound made Xoliswa flood the panties that had gotten wedged between her fat pussy lips. The scent of her arousal traveled straight to his nostrils, and his pupils blew wide. He jumped up and crossed the balcony in just a few quick strides, needing to get away from her before he truly lost himself to his lust.

“Seriously, what’s up with you today?!”

“N-nothing, you just...you smell so good, and- Xo, I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Xoliswa narrowed her eyes as she tried to figure out what could possibly be wrong with him...but then her eyes fell to the large dickprint in his silk pants. She had seen him in those and similar pants several times before, and although they always left little to the imagination, she had never seen him in his full Bast-given glory. But this time? This time she could almost make out every vein through the soft fabric, which made her pussy spasm with need and release more wetness.

T’Challa could see that Xoliswa was staring right at his dick, and he knew she liked what she saw by the whiff of sweet honey that wafted his way. A low rumbling started in his chest like an engine revving as the burning need in his loins intensified.

Xoliswa spoke barely above a whisper, stunned but in awe of the man before her, “Why are you-”

“My heat,” he sighed.

“Your what?”

“My heat!” T’Challa snarled, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Any other time, he would assume he had scared her, but he knew better now. He could hear her heartbeat, he could smell her dripping pussy, and he could see her hardened nipples and the way her luscious thighs rubbed together in a feeble attempt to quell the throbbing between her legs.

“W-what’s that?”

T’Challa gestured for her to take a seat, and she lowered herself into the chair across from his, squirming in her pooled fluids. Her obedience just made him harder, if that was at all possible. He gingerly sat down across from her and just stared for a moment, her breathing getting shallower with each inhale.

“One of my newly acquired panther instincts requires me to, uh, mate every three months.”

“So...you basically ovulate four times a year,” Xoliswa joked in an attempt to break the tension, but he began to growl at her again, causing them both to shudder at the other’s arousal.

“It’s more than being a little horny and fertile, Xo. I have to- no, I need to find a release, or I’ll go crazy. My whole body is on fire, and masturbating just makes it worse. I’ve been in here all day-”

“You’ve been in here jacking off all day?”

“Yes.”

“And it’s not helping?”

“Not at all.”

“Have you tried-”

“Yes. Whatever it is, I’ve tried it. Trust me.”

Silence descended upon the pair as they both stared at each other, stuck in a lustful feedback loop, chests heaving and mouths watering. Xoliswa was the first to break, so she stood and headed for the door. She had to get out of there, the atmosphere was too thick, and she couldn’t think straight with him staring at her like a piece of meat. She couldn't stand to look at him any longer or she might do something she’d regret later, but when he grabbed her wrist and looked up at her with those pitch-black eyes, she knew she was in trouble.

“Xoliswa, please,” he begged. He knew he had no business asking that of her, but he was desperate, and she just looked so damn delicious.

She bit her lip as her eyes traveled back down to his bulge that had started leaking through the fabric of his pants.

“Shit…”

“You like what you see?” his voice was lower than she’d ever heard. It seemed like everything he did turned her on more and more. T’Challa took a deep inhale so he could know for sure, and his head swarmed with the smell of her. “Yeah, you like it. I can smell that sweet pussy; it’s dripping for me, Xo.”

He had never spoken to her like that before, and every word lured her further into his trap. She had a brief moment of clarity and pulled her wrist from his grasp, taking a step back.

“T-T’Challa, I’m married-”

“Tell your body that, then,” he grumbled as he stood and stalked closer to her. She backed up with every step he took until she was wedged between his body and the doorframe. His arms went up on either side of her, and he leaned in close enough for her to feel his breath tickle her lips. “Tell me right now: do you want me?”

Her eyes darted around, desperate to look at anything but the coal irises that would surely draw her in. “I-I-”

“Say it, Xo. I want you so fucking bad,” T’Challa growled with his face buried in her neck, imprinting her scent deep in his brain. He knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but take a little bite. As soon as his teeth made contact with her skin, she let out a light moan and set his body into overdrive. He pressed his hips into her, and the heat of her skin made him whimper. The noise shocked her, and she realized just how much he needed her...as if the ten inches of clothed steel pressing into her stomach wasn’t enough of a sign.

Xoliswa had secretly wanted this for a long time. In her dreams, he’d fuck her good and deep and leave her a sobbing, leaking mess. Truthfully, if he had ever come onto her before this, she probably would have caved then, too, but she thought he was too gentlemanly to do so and pushed the dirty fantasy to the back of her mind. Boy, was she wrong. Right now, T’Challa couldn’t give a shit about chivalry and certainly didn’t care about her husband. Right now, all he wanted- no, all he needed was her body.

She pulled his curls to remove him from her neck, and he growled again at the titillating pain and the loss of contact.

“You want me?” she whispered, her lips mere centimeters from his.

“Mmm, more than anything.”

Xoliswa’s hand traveled down his body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. T’Challa’s lip found its way between his teeth again as he struggled to maintain composure, but it all flew out the window when he felt her hand wrap around his throbbing length.

“Fuck! Xo, stop playing and-”

“You need me?” she teased as she pulled his pants down over his hips and let them pool at his feet. She wrapped both of her hands around his girth and stroked him softly. He was so sensitive that he jerked away from her hand, but she grabbed him and pulled him back in. Xoliswa had dreamed of this day, so why not make her dream come true?

Suddenly, T’Challa’s self-control went out of the window as he thrust into her hands and wrapped one of his much larger hands around her throat. She stared back at him with lust clouding her eyes as he met her lips for a hungry kiss. The taste of her on his tongue drove him wild, and she felt his dick begin to twitch. She picked up her pace and gripped him a little tighter, making him stick his tongue further down her throat. She melted into him. The firm grip he had on her made her knees weak, and just as they began to buckle, he pulled his lips from hers and said the three magic words he had uttered so many times in her dreams.

“On your knees.”

Xoliswa fell to the ground and looked up at him with her mouth opened wide for him to use. And use it, he did. T’Challa was surprised she could take all of him without any training, but he guessed her husband might have been around his size.

Her husband. He had a married woman on her knees, slobbering up and down his shaft. He had Xoliswa on her knees…

Just the thought of how wrong this was turned him on even more, and as if the same thought had occurred to her, Xoliswa started sucking harder. The spit foaming in the corners of her mouth and running down her chin soaked her chest, and the king longed to see more. He reached down and ripped her shirt down the middle, freeing her breasts from the confines of modern clothing. T’Challa grinned when he saw that not only was she not wearing a bra, but her nipples stood erect like two Hershey’s kisses ready for him to devour. Just the way he liked.

Xoliswa didn’t care that he had ruined her shirt; all she cared about was making her king cum. She wanted to taste him and swallow everything he had to give, so she grew impatient and turned it up a notch, fondling his balls in her hands as she sucked on him. Her tongue swirled around his tip, and he gripped her locs in his fist to hold her down on him as he exploded into her mouth. Splashes of him coated her throat, and she swallowed every last drop he gifted to her. She blinked up at him with those innocent-looking eyes as she sucked him like a straw, milking him for all he’s worth. Normally, he would get overstimulated at this point, but that seemed impossible. Xoliswa gave him the best head he’s had in a long time, but it still wasn’t enough to sate him.

T’Challa pulled her head off him, and the bridge of spit that connected them was a sight to see. He reached down and lifted her to her feet, kissing her once more to taste his saltiness on her tongue.

“You still...want...this pussy?” Xoliswa asked between kisses.

“Mmmmhmmm,” he grunted as he pushed up on her again.

Xoliswa pushed him away, and he looked at her like she had betrayed him. His face relaxed when he noticed the feral look in her eyes and the way her pheromones filled the air.

“Take what you need.”

T’Challa saw red, and the next thing he knew, he was buried deep inside her as he pounded her into the mattress. The arch in her back deepened as he fucked her rougher than her husband could have ever dreamed of. Xoliswa struggled to see as she reached for the sheets to hold onto, but he wouldn’t let her. T’Challa pinned her hands behind her back and continued to plow into her as she screamed.

“Fuck, yes! Just like that, baby! Ooooh, T’Challa-”

“You like that?”

“Yes!”

“Then take it. Fucking take it!” he roared as he released inside her, but neither was ready to stop. Xoliswa loved how his cum felt dripping out of her, making her pussy even wetter than it already was. Keeping it juicy for him to do whatever he needed to do to her body.

“This tight fucking pussy, Xo,” he groaned as he slowed down and grinded into her, stirring her insides. His heavy hand came down on her ass, and she let out the most adorable squeak. He smiled and did it again and again, her pussy tightening around him with every strike until she couldn’t take it anymore. Xoliswa’s body convulsed as she came all over the king’s dick.

“T’Challaaaa!” she wailed, and he stopped to massage her cheeks.

“Too much?”

She looked back at him and smiled mischievously with a glint in her eye. “No, my king.”

“I’m your king?” he teased while rubbing her clit, making her hips circle on his dick as he stood still and let her work.

“Yessss,” she whined.

“Then cum for your king one more time. I have another load for you,” he whispered in her ear with his teeth firmly gripping the lobe. His fingers tickled the underside of her clit, and she bucked her hips. “That’s your spot, huh?”

“Y-yes, my king!”

He alternated between circling her clit and strumming the underside for barely a few moments before her pussy began to grip him again. T’Challa leaned back and watched the way her pussy spasmed on him. He couldn’t hold out and exploded inside her once more.

“Mmmm, baby, I love when you do that.”

“You love when I cum in this pussy?”

“Mmmhm,” her voice grew higher in pitch the more she felt him twitch inside her.

“Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”

T’Challa pulled out slowly, and she moaned as his bulbous head dragged across her g-spot. He flipped her over with ease and slid right back into her slippery canal. She loved how full he made her feel, how he stretched her walls and beat the breaks off her pussy. But this? This felt so good.

His hips moved slowly as he stroked deep into her and gazed into her eyes.

“I just need one more, babygirl. One more, and I think I’ll be good, ok?”

“Whatever you need, my king,” Xoliswa whispered against his lips and pulled him into an open-mouthed kiss. She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, and he chuckled darkly.

“You want me in there deep, don’t you?”

“As deep as you can go, baby.”

“You’re filthy. Does your husband know what a little slut you are?”

Xoliswa released all over him again.

“Oh, you like when I talk about him when I’m in these guts? You like being reminded of how naughty you are, don’t you?”

“Mhm,” Xoliswa nodded with tears threatening to fall from her eyes from how good it felt to have T’Challa inside her.

“Let me ask you something,” he leaned in close to her ear and thrust harder. “Does he fuck you like I do?”

Xoliswa frantically shook her head, “N-no!”

“Then you come to me whenever you need a taste of what a king can do for you.”

“Yes, baby!” she keened as he picked up the pace and dropped his weight on her.

“You know this pussy is mine, now, right? He can use it if you want him to, but this shit belongs to me. You’re fucking mine, Xoliswa.”

“T’Challa-”

“Mmmhm, say my name, babygirl. Tell them who owns this tight little pussy,” he punctuated those last three words with thrusts so deep she swore she could feel it in her ribs. “Who owns you?”

“T’Challaaaa!”

His eyes rolled back in his head at hearing his name fall from her lips. Her voice was shaky and hoarse, but she screamed his name over and over again as his hips pounded into hers, the curve of his dick angling just right to keep her creaming all over him.

“Fuck, baby, here it comes. You ready?”

Xoliswa looked him dead in the eye and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “Cum in your pussy, Black Panther.”

He hadn’t expected her to call him that, but it lit something within him, and he came harder than he ever had before. He bit into her neck as he spasmed inside her, pumping her full of his essence. She came from the feeling of him releasing so much and putting it right where it belonged. Their bodies fed off each other, and when one would spasm, it would trigger the other to cum. T’Challa peppered sweet kisses all over Xoliswa’s face and spoke to her in hushed tones, “Thank you, babygirl.”

Xoliswa couldn’t speak; she could only moan incoherently. Minutes passed before their bodies began to tire of the constant state of arousal, and they slowly pulled apart. She whimpered as she felt their fluids escape her and drip slowly down her crack, and he could only watch in awe. He had never produced so much, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of Xoliswa or his heat or a combination of both. Whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to give it up just yet.

“Call Abdul. Tell him you have to work tonight,” he rasped, making a devilish smile appear on her face. She knew she was in for the night of her life, and just the thought of what was to come had her playing with her overstimulated clit. He swatted her hand away and replaced it with his own. “Call him. Now. Make sure your camera is off.”

T’Challa kissed from her neck down to her chocolate nipples and took a bite, making her yip at the sensation. “Be quiet, or he’ll catch you. You don’t want that, do you?”

“N-no, my king,” she stuttered out as she pressed Abdul’s contact card and called him.

“What’s up? Aren’t you supposed to be working? Or are you slacking off with T’Challa again,” he joked, and Xoliswa locked eyes with a smug T’Challa as his tongue swirled around her nipple.

“N-no, I’m at work,” she struggled to speak as T’Challa trailed his tongue down her body and suctioned his lips around her clit. She snapped her legs shut around his head, making him pry them open with a menacing growl.

“What was that?” Abdul asked.

“What was what?” Xoliswa chuckled nervously.

“I thought I heard something. Anyways, what’s up, sweetie?”

“I, uh-” she stopped herself and muted the call for a moment to let out a moan from the pits of her soul as T’Challa showed no mercy on her. His tongue masterfully maneuvered around her clit like he designed it himself, and the three slender fingers curling inside her coaxed another orgasm out of her.

“Take him off mute right fucking now,” T’Challa ordered with a mouth full of pussy.

“Hello? Xo?”

She scrambled to unmute the call and calm her breathing down as the king nibbled on her labia and sped his fingers up inside her.

“I’m here, baby. I-have-to-work-late-so-I’m-staying-at-the-palace-tonight!”

“Wait, slow down. I can barely understand you. Are you ok?”

“I’m ok,” she giggled as T’Challa nibbled on her inner thighs. “I’m staying here tonight.”

“Oh, no problem. Don’t let T’Challa work you too hard, ok?”

“I won’t!” she squeaked.

“Good. You get back to work, and I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Tell him you love him,” T’Challa whispered against her pussy lips, and Xoliswa couldn’t help but oblige.

“Abdul?”

“Yeah, sweetie?”

“I-I love you.”

“I love you too, Xo. Call me when you get off,” he blew her a kiss through the phone, and she hung up right as T’Challa started chuckling.

“You almost got us caught!” she fussed.

“You liked it. Don’t lie.”

Xoliswa bit her lip to hide her smile, but it didn’t work.

“Maybe a little.”

“Mmmhm. Nasty slut, letting me use you like this. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

Xoliswa’s pussy jumped, and T’Challa couldn’t help but smile at her.

“Maybe you should teach me a lesson,” Xoliswa moaned as she ground her hips on his fingers, and his dick hardened right back up. “Or punish me.”

“Fuck, Xo, where have you been all my life?” he groaned and pulled his fingers from her, lining the head of his dick up with her entrance.

“Married...to my husband,” Xoliswa teased. T’Challa’s nostrils flared, and she knew it was on.

She wouldn’t be getting any sleep that night.

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