#the reason is one word: tchaikovsky

[lambilegs]

THE TENDER SANCTUARY BETWEEN MONSTER AND HUMAN

contains: vampire!lee, 18.5K words, cursing, graphic descriptions of blood and violence, detailed killing of animals for vampire feeding needs, lots of self-shame and existentialism about being a vampire on lee's end, lee drinking blood from reader (becomes quite sexual in nature), sexual content (so minors dni!!) (+ specifically, making out and dry humping), mentions of shooting + gun usage, injuries (+ a bullet wound described in great detail), internalized shame about kink, religious trauma, reader's genitals are spoken of but aren't referred to w/ any direct terminology

inspired by the following asks: ask #1, ask #2, ask #3, ask #4 (thank you SO much to you guys, you're the ones who really planted the seeds of this story and gave me the ideas + inspo for it mwah mwah)

soundtrack: night shift by lucy dacus, 505 by arctic monkeys, apocalypse by cigarettes after sex, k. by cigarettes after sex, romance in f minor, op. 5 by tchaikovsky, swan lake act 1, no. 5, pas de deux: ii. andante by tchaikovsky, romeo & juliet, balcony scene by tchaikovsky

divider by: @faeberrywine

taglist: @2jewelz, @sillysillyparty, @jinxvex

lee is never going to trust carter's judgement ever again. that's the first thought she has when she's suddenly yanked back into reality, into the throes of life, when she was certain that she was on the edge of death just moments ago.

she had warned him that something seemed off about this case, something bent from reality. but, just like always, he refused to believe her, claiming she was just being paranoid and there were no supernatural ongoings. but, lee felt it. the history of the family they were investigating was seeped with mystery and unexplainable occurrences. people who looked the exact same for years upon years, a tendency to only be witnessed publicly at night, an intense beauty. 

she had known something was off, and now, because of her superior's stubbornness, here she is: convulsing and writhing, tears leaking from her eyes as the daughter of the family, a woman who looked close to her age, but whom she lee suspected of being alive for two hundred and twenty three years, presses a fresh cut on her palm to lee's gun wound, intermingling their blood together. she feels the effects immediately, her body surging with an energy that soaks into her veins and drenches her nerves.

carter witnesses it all from where he was shooting the mother of the family, but to no avail. all she does is cackle, watching him with a wicked gleam in her eye. she makes no move to chase him, or attack him, which is only more unnerving. it implies that even if he gave chase, and had the advantage of her lingering at the back, she's certain she'd still win. carter seems to realize this, for his eyes are wide, desperately flicking to lee. it seems like he finally understands. 

but, it's too late. lee can feel the tight ball of anxiety wedging into her stomach as a new feeling wraps around her body, making her feel lighter and easier to move, as though her limbs no longer weigh anything, as though her bones are made of plastic. it's terrifying, and she finds herself paralyzed to the floor, overwhelmed by the flow of power beginning to push through her body.

"I didn't think you deserved to die," the woman by her side whispers, pressing a kiss to lee's cheek before slinking back to her mother.

the two women let carter and lee go, taking advantage of the vulnerable position the latter is in. lee knows that in their mercy, they're silently telling them to keep to themselves about this and that they won't be so lucky if they pursue this case again. lee hates to leave a case, especially one right at her fingertips, unresolved. but, she knows in her weakening state, body flooded by all the new sensations and unable to cope, along with the abilities both women possess, her and carter will never reasonably be able to arrest them. and even if they did, what would happen then? they'd spend an eternity in prison?

there are too many questions, and lee's mind is a bit too numb to answer all of them. and so, despite her internal protests, she lets carter wind his arm around her waist and help her stumble out of the home. it looks like any other suburban house. if only people knew.

carter insists on keeping her at his family home in the guest room, and lee knows it's not just care for a partner that's driving him, but an acute sense of guilt too. she could detect it in the shaky way he tried to explain what happened to his wife upon the two of them tripping past the threshold, bloodied and bruised.

lee doesn't exactly like it. she's appreciative, sure, but she'd prefer time away from carter after what happened. time by herself, where she can research as to what happened and if it'll result in what she fears most. she felt a change, some change, in her body, that's for certain, but a part of her weighs heavy with the desperate, bottomless hope that it's not what she thinks it is. 

she wants to deal with all of that alone. but, carter is still her boss, so she lets him bring her soup everyday, and she comes down for family dinner with him, anna and ruby. and in the evenings, she talks to ruby about the child's day. if it were under any circumstances, these conditions might be tolerable, nice even. lee doesn't exactly enjoy the constant stimulation of being around people, but here, the carters give her space due to what she's been through (not that anna even knows the whole story). so, it's not too bad. the first day, it's actually surprising to her. it's been years since she's actually had a taste of a family dinner with so much laughter and affection. not since she was a child before her ninth birthday.

on the third day, though, all of her neutrality towards the situation shatters. she wakes up with a ravenous hunger, her stomach wretched with a deep, grumbling pain from how badly she needs it. the back of her mind whispers what it is -- the answer is right there, but lee's always been good at compartmentalizing, and she practically drains that ability of its use through her denial of what she's become. 

that is, until anna comes in with her kind smiles and soft eyes, and lee nearly lunges at her. her mind is screaming for her to sink her teeth into anna's neck, grip her body and let it go pliant as she drinks and drinks. her hands are itching with it, her stomach is rumbling in desire for it, and by the time anna leaves the room, lee nearly throws up at how hard she had kept her body stiff in order to control the urge. 

she leaves that night. carter presses that she doesn't, but all it takes is for lee to say, "carter, I'm becoming what they are. it's not safe."

the firmness of her tone, or more likely, the underlying threat to his family that hides within the words, is what finally has his lips pursing. after some moments of contemplation, he nods and drives her back to her cottage.

the entire ride is torturous, and lee, very unlike herself, slams the door without a goodbye and runs into her home. 

at nighttime, it worsens. exponentially. her gums ache and bleed, and a choked sob bursts from her mouth at the sight of fangs protruding from her teeth. her nose starts capturing everything. every musky leaf amongst the trees surrounding her, every mineral and rock, every animal--

her head whips up when it's near. the blood. 

she makes her first kill that night. a rabbit, a poor creature who froze upon seeing lee leave her door. but, the hunger was too much, too consuming, lacing her body in ropes of it and tugging, too tight. on her porch, her hands rolled into fists, nails digging into her palms, her stomach sunk with guilt and horror for the urges pulsing through her. and she tried, so hard, to go back in. she almost made it, one step in. 

but, then it moves, and lee catches a whiff of the scent again. her legs move faster than she can process, and seconds later, her teeth are sinking into its small, innocent body.

that night, she can't even sleep, mind whirring with memories of what happened. the way the animal's eyes widened, flashing in the darkness, before she gripped it so brutally, biting into it. it barely even resisted, just squirming before accepting its death to lee's mouth. 

the reminder of it makes her sob into her pillow, her chest aching with the weight of what she’s done, the sin she’s committed. what's worst is the fact that her stomach no longer growls and tempts her -- it's satisfied. she's satisfied. 

she knows what she is now. logically, there's no denying it. these urges, these primitive wants -- they've never existed within her until that woman pressed their wounds together, sending their bloodstreams intermingling. she's a vampire. or if not one yet, she's becoming it. 

lee, for days, ignores the revelation, an irrational part of her hoping this is all a nightmare she'll shudder to a brutal awakening from. or that maybe these symptoms are temporary. but, the more she compulsively researches her conditions, sneaks into libraries at night to dive into literature about it (because, yes, the morning after her first kill, she found herself writhing in pain, her skin stinging from all the open windows), and observes her own behaviours, she can't ignore it. this is a part of her now, if not who she entirely is. a horrible, disgusting part she tries to ignore, she tries to shove aside as much as she can.

for months, she isolates herself, sunk into a complete abyss of melancholy and devastation over what's happened to her. she doesn't know what she'll do, how she'll cope with all of this. some days, she throws herself into books and readings, filling her mind with all the information so that she does not have to linger on the more tender, emotional and difficult parts of the situation -- a tendency she approached almost everything in life with. but, other days, when a new facet of her condition rears its ugly head, like the thought of will I outlive mom? after one of their daily phone calls, or will I watch all these people die? when carter talks to her on the phone about their coworkers, she forgoes the rationality and pretense. she cries, screams, tears at branches of trees, disgusted with what she's become and hating herself, carter, and the entire family they investigated, for that horrific day.

she even resorts to praying and reading the bible again. it only lasts a month, for that’s how long it takes for her to reconcile with the fact that she can’t convince herself of the religion even if she’s desperate to do so for the sake of an answer. but, for a while before that, she truly wonders if what she is is linked to the devil – if her mother’s warnings and skeptical tones of evil did indeed have some place in reality. for if vampires exist, maybe all of it does. and so, she prays to the god she gave up on years ago, pleading and begging for something to change. she goes back to wearing her cross, and sleeping with her bible. an irrational part of her, a part desperate to do anything to go back to how things were, even if it means sacrificing her true beliefs, hisses that maybe all this has occurred because she gave up on her faith. maybe all of this is punishment and she needs to earn forgiveness to be released from this horrific state.

but, just as before, when she was a teenager teetering on the edge of disbelief, god doesn’t answer her. and it doesn’t take long for her to lose her hope in him again.

she continues feeding. she soon learns that she needs to do it every three days, lest her body become a rotted vessel for broken reservations and pure instinct. and so, she shamefully lurks in the woods on those days, kills an animal, and uses it to satisfy herself. she whispers an apology to the animal each time. she hopes the practice will help her retain some sense of humanity, a bit more of control.

in a matter of months, she's back to her life before the incident. well, not entirely so, but enough to keep her satisfied. she no longer visits the bureau unless it's at nighttime, and in the daytime, she works on cases from the shadows of her home, only dimly lit by lamps. her and carter spend many long hours reviewing cases and witnesses together at bars or his home, and they only explore places in relation to a case after nightfall. all of this is something lee grasps onto desperately – the normalcy of work, as well as having something less existentialist to devote her attention and skills to, is akin to a cool sip of water on a hot, suffocating day.

what surprises her most is how much she misses the pump of people, of life. she's never enjoyed being in crowds, and has always preferred her solitude, only talking to people when it's necessary of her or when it'd be disrespectful not to. but, having the choice removed from her, being left with no option other than visiting the bureau when the amount of people there is cut by half, being so much more restricted in her interactions from all the late-night grocery runs and unoccupied spaces she visits, feels off. after a while, she actually misses the buzz of people around her, of having faces and bodies to observe. she hated being subjected to conversation, yes, but it was always somewhat comforting to have the option of doing so, especially in the rare moments of longing for something more than herself. maybe a companion.

carter urges her on the one night she confesses to missing going places less isolated, smacking her back and telling her she's young (a sentiment that makes a small part of her stab with hurt, knowing she most likely won't be aging now), and ought to go out and enjoy some night life. when lee asks what constitutes as night life, already having a tentative, and frankly, unappealing, idea of it in mind, carter does nothing to ease her suspicions by saying, "you know, bars, clubs."

which is how lee finds herself exiting a club later that night after a mere half an hour inside, her mouth twisted in disgust over how pungent it smelled in there. she rubs her neck, eyes observing down the rest of the street, trying to capture any sign of life within the other shops. she shortly gives up, walking to a creaking table and chair outside a convenience store still lit up, sitting there and pulling out a book from her backpack.

despite everything, the moment gives her some relief. the quiet of the night, not completely removed from humanity with the hoots and howls coming from drunk inhabitants of the club, the low thrum of music pounding from the building, and the murmurs of conversation from people still lingering upon the pavement, up for whatever reason. if lee listens closely enough, she can capture the content of distanced conversations, but she refrains from doing so for privacy's sake.

"hey."

her eyes snap up, widening at the sight of you. whoever you are, lee's sure the two of you have never met, and her eyes flick away hesitantly before returning your greeting. "hi."

"are you here alone?"

her eye twitches at the question, suspicions immediately swimming in her mind. "yes."

you sit yourself opposite to her, and lee tenses up. she's not sure who you are, and she knows better than to trust a random stranger making conversation with her. she watches you, awaiting some sort of explanation. 

"I just came from the club," you explain, thumb jutting in the direction of it. "it was kind of overwhelming, I needed some air."

"okay.” it’s a sensible explanation. but, it doesn’t account for why needing some air includes sitting with a stranger. “why talk to me, though?"

you flinch, but lee doesn’t apologize. it's a valid question for her to ask, considering you're strangers. and it's not rude, it's simply honest. but, still, the twist of your mouth has her feeling a twinge of regret for how bluntly she worded it. she always struggles with that.

"well, I don't know, you seemed kind of alone out here, and I just thought you might like some company." your gaze drifts from her, head ducking down momentarily before lifting back to her. "did you?"

"not really." lee places her book on the table. at this point in the night, after the torture she endured in the club, she had been happy to resign from anymore efforts to talk to people. but, your company isn't entirely unwelcome. you seem nice, she supposes. "but, it's fine. you can stay."

"no, no, I can go. seriously, it's okay."

lee shakes her head. "I wouldn't offer it unless I was okay with it. really, it's fine."

you shift, shoulders rolling. "you sure?"

"mhm."

you nod, and turn your head to the expanse of the street stretching beyond you two. lee takes the moment to observe your features. you're clearly dressed up for the night, but under your eyes are dark circles, and your mouth seems dry, lips cracking. it's apparent you need some rest. 

you lick your lips, and she looks away from the peak of the pink muscle.

after a quiet moment lingers between you both, you say, "it's a pretty night, isn't it?"

lee's eyes raise to the star-studded sky. "it's peaceful."

"do you prefer the night or morning?"

lee blinks at the unexpected question. "um, night. I'm more productive then." in a way, the transformation actually aligns with the schedule she held prior to it, for she's always stayed up late into the night to do her work. "you?"

"does afternoon count?" you ask, the corner of your lip quirking up. 

"it was your question, not mine."

"mm, true. what do you like about nighttime?"

"it's quiet. easier to unwind and hear my own thoughts."

you nod slowly. "why, what kind of stuff is on your mind that you need quiet for?"

lee's stomach squeezes in discomfort from the question. it's a bit too personal for her liking, but she tries to answer it, vaguely tip-toeing around reality. "I don't know. there's been a big change in my life. so, I guess dealing with that." she pauses right after, wondering if a lie would’ve been safer.

"I see, that sounds rough. I hope you get to figure it out soon."

lee nods, appreciative of your lack of prying. she picks at the corner of her book. "why do you like afternoon?"

"the sun is out, it makes everything bright -- and, you know, it's a period of time in the day where there's still, like, hope."

that catches lee's attention. "hope?"

"hope to be more productive, to do more in the day. to still, you know, take any chances and seize at something you wanted to do that day."

she swallows, a bit intimidated by how open you've become to her. you two barely know each other, and yet your words have taken on a note that feels so private, so exposing to your thought process. 

"that, um, sounds like a good outlook to have. good for productivity."

"I mean, not just productivity. good for any life choices made, really."

lee's mouth twitches. "so, all important life choices should be reserved for the afternoon?"

"yes, of course," you say with a smile. "not too tired, then."

she hums, eyes resting on the table. 

"so, what brings you out at this time?"

"my boss."

your eyes flicker about. "I thought you said you came alone?"

"he's the one that suggested I try coming out and socializing."

you raise an eyebrow at her, your mouth stretching into a grin. "and how's that going?"

she feels a bit self-conscious under your knowing gaze. you both are aware it's not going anywhere. but, she'd rather dismiss that fact than admit it out loud. "you're here."

"I am, aren't I? see, you're pretty lucky -- now, you can tell him you did make a friend."

"friend?" she asks, fingers tapping on her book. "that wouldn't be accurate. I don't even know your name."

"wow," you chuckle, and lee would probably blush at it if not for her bodily conditions. "smooth. was that your way of trying to subtly ask?"

lee nearly laughs. if only she were that cognizant about the ins and outs of conversation. "no, it wasn't." after a beat, she swallows, curiosity beginning to swarm in her. "but, you can tell me it nonetheless."

"if I tell you mine, will you tell me yours?"

her eyebrows furrow. "sure. why wouldn't I?"

"well, you know, mysterious woman, out at night, all by herself."

"except you know why I'm out," she points out flatly. "regarding names and basic information, my name is lee and I'm a special agent."

"special agent?" you shoot back, eyebrows zapping up. "wow, and the mysteries only persist."

lee's lips crack into a smile -- she can't help it. her life isn't exciting enough for her to be considered mysterious. and if it is, it's only because of what she is now. before that, everything in her life was designated into orderly, neat categories. work, home, work, home. that was her life. there was the occasional visit to her mother's, which she supposes was one complicated part of her life. but, it was a part she often avoided and didn't touch. honestly, most complicated aspects of her life received such treatment. both due to a lack of time with how immersed she was in work, as well as an absence of courage.

"it's not that mysterious." she shrugs, drawing her nail along the edges of her book, gaze following the path it makes. 

"yeah, but you seem pretty private."

"'private' and 'mysterious' aren't the same. one is about secrecy, another is about simply wanting things to yourself."

"but, why would you want things to yourself?" you ask, perching your cheek on your open palm, leaning in.

lee clears her throat, shifting in discomfort from the proximity. "what do you mean?"

"it can help so much to share with people."

lee's face twitches. "I think we can disagree on that." not that she would know, really. when she was a child, she barely spoke at all, and her mother was the only one she leaned on in that way. as she grew up, and became more surrounded by peers and co-workers, she was no longer forced to spending most of her days with her mother. but, the privacy stayed, and the isolated feelings made a home in her. she had no desire to burden others with her pain, nor undergo the humiliation of baring herself naked in all of her secrets and dark thoughts. she'd prefer to handle it in her own solitude, where no one can judge her and where she doesn't have to grapple with the weight of unloading things she can barely handle thinking about, let alone giving permission to transform into words.

"and why's that? or would telling me also count as sharing?"

lee's eyes narrow on you, feeling a spark of defensiveness spring to life in her stomach. "I don't because... I don't--" shit, you were right. even admitting the reason why she doesn't share things that are vulnerable is a vulnerable act of sharing in and of itself. "I don't feel comfortable with it."

"why, because you're scared people will judge or something?"

she blinks at you, sighing. she's already kicked the door down. might as well humour you for a bit more. she doesn't expect you two will see each other again, anyways. "amongst other things." at your prodding eyes, she gulps. "well, it's hard for me -- to, you know, communicate sometimes. the topic being one that's serious makes it feel all the more difficult."

"yeah, but if it makes you feel better, it's hard to a degree for everyone, you know? and anyone who cares for you would be patient when listening to you. plus, the comfort you'd receive -- well, it'd make the temporary discomfort worthwhile, you know?"

lee fidgets, her stomach tight with tension at the gentleness your tone takes on. it's smooth and soft, like sand that's been coated by the ocean, so fragile that it just slips through a person's fingers. she'd maybe appreciate it more if it weren't for the embarrassment at feeling so cornered. "why does it matter to you?" she asks, her tone more timid than she wishes it was. "I'm just a stranger to you."

"still a person."

just barely. if only you knew the kind of temptations that raged within her, the violent impulses she needed to lean on in order to survive. she's certain your sympathy wouldn't be so present if so. 

"but, a stranger."

you roll your eyes, and lee might've felt insecure if not for the way your lips still curl up. you don't seem irritated with her, so at least there's that. "my point is that even if you don't share with me, you can still do it with someone else, you know? just take the chance, it'll feel good with the right person."

her lips purse. you seem insistent, but still, she's not entirely convinced that the pros outweigh any potentially harmful repercussions. but, you certainly seem sure of it. and what reason do you have to lie to her? unless you were the kind of person to go around, deceiving strangers. with lee's line of work, she can't say she'd be surprised if you are. 

"I'll think about it."

your face beams as you laugh, and lee feels ambushed by the lifted cheeks glowing from the moonlight, the teeth that flash in the darkness, the lips that crack at the center from the cold. she licks her own, suddenly hyperaware of the direction her thoughts have gone in. she tries to will them back to your words -- which, despite their openness, contain a safer, more comfortable territory than attraction. 

"I suppose that's the best I'll get out of you for tonight?"

"yeah, pretty much."

"then, we'll just have to work harder next time, huh?"

lee's eyes tentatively raise to you, uncertain of what you mean. "next time?"

"yeah." you pluck out a notebook and pen from your bag, and rip a corner off her page (much to lee's alarm) before scrawling something on it. "this is my number and name. why don't we, um, hang out again?"

lee's body jerks a bit in surprise. the last thing she expected was that. she knows she's far from entertaining, or even pleasant, when it comes to conversation. any interaction with a stranger is something she anticipates to be short-lived and reserved to one day only. "uh, why?"

"why?" your lips pinch down.

lee's caught off guard, again, at the onslaught of panic that slams into her at your expression. she tries to pick out her words carefully before clarifying, "I just mean, you were kind of doing the leg work in this conversation."

"yeah, and you entertained it, and didn't shy away." you shrug, and lee's relieved to see the frown melting away. "that's good enough for me."

lee would like to be considered a bit more than good enough, and to be subjected to those words sting, but she supposes it's a natural result of her own reservations. besides, it's surely not the worst thing someone has said about her conversational skills before.

she lifts her hand up to take the paper from your hand, eyes immediately catching the way yours trembles. her eyes flick between the digits and your face. you hadn't seemed nervous, but maybe you were just talented at hiding it. or maybe lee was just unable to detect it. the thought is rather humanizing, and it makes lee ache with the sudden guilt that she hadn’t been more forthcoming.

you stand from your seat, glancing warily at the night club, which continues to pulse with life compared to the deadly stillness of the rest of the street. "so, call me. I should be free, like, saturday morning if you're cool to hang out."

surprisingly, lee is. you didn't overwhelm her, despite the insistent questions, and your perspective was enough to pique her interest. something in her is craving to know more -- a rare sensation on her end, unless it's applied to an investigation. "sure. but, let's meet at night." she licks her lips, trying to keep her voice steady and deprived of any trembles of hesitation. she can't lie for the life of her. "I, um, work a lot during the day, so, yeah." and she's surely not about to invite you into her home during a mere second meeting.

"ah, running on the nocturnal schedule, I see."

lee nearly laughs. you don't even know the half of it.

and so, begins the routine you two weave together through: nightly meetings, talks until the earliest hours of the morning, then an abrupt quiet thrusted upon lee when you depart. you two usually walk through parks, frequent gas stations and convenience stores, and on some occasions, lee picks you up and you two drive around for hours, stopping to walk through the measly, dead grass of fields on the outskirts of town, or to visit abandoned stables and houses. 

for two or three nights a week, lee lets herself forget everything, falling into whatever adventure you drag her into, and becomes surrounded by nothing but the stars, the chirps of the crickets and your laughter at the things she says, even when lee's convinced it isn't funny at all. 

but, she likes your smile, so she’s glad that you laugh. and with time, and more evenings spent with no one to focus or gaze upon but you, she comes to like many things about you.

despite that, it takes weeks before she shares something secretive with you. she doesn't know what coaxes it out. if it's the stress of the case her and carter have been working on, the nervousness derived from wandering along the creaking floorboards of the half-destroyed home, or your eyes, which are so wide, so curious, almost begging for her to give you something. and lee can't find it in her to refuse you. that's what she learned three weeks into your company. she can evade, she can gently deny -- but, if you want something bad enough, there's little chance she has it in her to shut you down.

"my mom collects trinkets like these," she muses to you, fingers brushing against the dusty head of an angel. "even I used to have some in my bedroom."

"does she still?"

lee tenses, rubbing the dust off her fingers -- the only motion her body makes, grounding in its repetition. "yes. but, well... she collects lots of things. she hoards."

"oh." your voice goes soft, faintly echoing in the empty room. "why?"

"I think to have a sense of control after she dealt with some difficult things." she hesitates, a pierce of guilt stabbing in her as she voices out her next thought. it takes her a minute or so to select the words she wants to express herself with. she could only hope her face doesn't come off as so neutral that you think her heartless. she signs in frustration -- this is why it's so hard to open up. "I dislike visiting home because of it. but, I know I should, especially because..." she might die, and I'll be left to mourn her for decades upon decades. "because, you know, anything can happen."

"I'm sorry, lee." you're far, but she can hear your voice, crystal clear. "that must be hard. but, it's okay to step away from it sometimes, you know? better than forcing yourself and getting resentful, you know? the fact that you're already visiting her is admirable."

lee's ears pick up on your approaching step, as well as the way your jacket makes a scratching noise when you lift your arm, then lower it back down in hesitation. after a moment, you reach up again, and lee tenses as you rub her back through the blazer she had on from work. your palm is so, so warm, even through the fabric. lee can't even remember the last time she felt such warmth, her own body more of a freezing corpse above anything else. 

"thanks." she wishes she could be stronger, and visit her mom more. avoid the cowardly decision of staying away just so she doesn't have to face the ruins of their home, and the longing face of her mother. but, your words ease the shame some. it makes her feel like perhaps she isn't too terrible of a daughter after all.

maybe your words from that first night had some merit.

"you're welcome."

lee gulps at how low your voice sounds, quiet and laced with velvet in the silence of this night. she breathes in shakily, before forcing her gaze to lift to yours. your eyes are latched onto her, tracing every inch of her face, and lee feels her skin itch from the focus of it, almost as though your gaze is your finger, dancing along her features and connecting your skin to hers. or as though it's your tongue.

lee clenches her jaw at the thought, unwanted thoughts now flooding her mind of your tongue stroking her cheek as you press wet, slippery kisses down her neck. 

"why are you staring at me?" she forces out, just for the sake of breaking this tension between the two of you. she doesn't know how to handle something that weighs so much despite being intangible. and even if she did, she wouldn't want to subject you to any pursuit of her. no matter how much she dislikes thinking of it, she will outlive you. you'll age, continue to grow, and she'll be stuck here, just as she is. in a matter of years, she'll probably have to leave oregon in order to avoid arousing suspicions over her unaltered appearance. she suspects she'll need to do so every ten or twenty years. and you don't deserve that. a life so utterly detached from normalcy, comfort and the intimate closeness of moving through the years together.

"I just..." you trail off, your hand sliding down her back. lee nearly sags in relief before she stiffens right back up upon your fingers tenderly cradling her wrist.

"you just?"

"I want to, um..."

lee's body thrums under your touch. it's interesting -- her body is drained of life, nothing but a cold, walking stitch of limbs. but, still, your eyes resting upon her is enough to make her feel revived to life, pumped with energy and heat that makes her feel alive. almost as though she's right back at the moment at having been turned, except this time, she's brought back to the depths, the humiliation, and the fleetingness of humanity and impassioned moments that will die in a mere second, that one could choose to seize, lest they face death without having ever really lived with bravery.

but, she doesn't have the luxury of death being a source of encouragement. 

tugging her wrist from your grasp, she mutters, "let's get going," walking through the door, and heading back outside to her car.

something in her aches when she hears you sniffle from inside the house, but she tries to ignore it. you deserve at least a moment to yourself after what she's done.

she can sense your embarrassment and anger during the next week. you handle her less delicately than usual, and even though she didn't think she needed the special treatment in the first place, to lose it after weeks of being on the receiving end makes her feel a bit emptier. 

she's not sure if you're upset that she dismissed your attempt to -- well, touch her, whatever it was, or if it's because she did it so cruelly and without any later mentions of it. she supposes she could've been gentler. at least give you an explanation as to why she didn't want you doing what you did. but, what would she even say? that she doesn't want it, too? that would be a complete lie. there's a smouldering desire that's been burning these past few weeks, flaming to life when you touch her or get close. to deny all of that, and lie straight to your face, makes her feel wrenched with anxiety. 

but, maybe a lie is permissible in this situation. maybe it's not so immoral when it's to avoid hurting you or allowing you to be tied down to an unknown monster for life. and even if she was known to you, exposed for what she is, she still wouldn't want you to suffer through a life with her.

though, it's hard to convince herself of doing the right thing when she's in your bedroom, watching you recall the date you went on as you undress behind a screen. lee fidgets, a burning jealousy scraping at her stomach, fused with discomfort. when the shadow of your figure lowers the straps of your top behind the screen, she can't help but bite down on her lip, her self-control slowly waning with every new glimpse you give her into the map of your body. lee feels like you're unlocking a new secret to her attention with every new spot revealed, it only causes her thoughts to stray to one specific to her interests. would it be coated in wetness? would it be swollen and thick and weeping for some attention?

she nearly releases a small groan at the mere mental image. she's not sure if the vampirism has stirred her desires to a stronger degree. after all, she did always have wants, fantasies and ideas she played into when between her sheets at night, worn out from a long day at the bureau. but, beyond those private moments, she often did a good job at forcing that lust dormant, pushing it to exist in a deep, hidden nook in her mind that was guarded by shame and hesitation from just how depraved her mental wanderings were. in other words, she was good at reserving those kinds of musings for when she was alone, even if there was someone she was attracted to close by. but, now, all it took was a flash of skin, and her mind was whirring with thoughts of bending you over the bed she's seated on, and ravishing you, over and over, until you're so pliant and drained that any dates are the last thing on your mind. 

when you bend over, and her eyes stray to the shape of your ass then flick away immediately, she sucks in a shuddering breath. she can't do this. even if she knows she can't, and wouldn't, act on those desires, there's no need to sit here and undergo this torturous form of voyeurism. especially paired with the frustration that swarms inside when you tell her how the girl you went out with opened every door for you. she can do that too, don’t you know that?

"listen, I'm, um, glad it went well, but maybe you’re tired, so I think I'll just--"

"but we said we'd hang out," you whine, poking your head from the screen.

lee grits her teeth together. she can't tell if you're doing this innocently, or with the intention of riling her up. her romantic experience is both too limited and too lacking in an understanding of social cues to know. frankly, though, as much as she's entertained your petty words and pitiful looks this week, she's not interested in having to go through the frustrating ordeal of this. "yes, under the impression we'd actually be doing something. not just me watching you relay a date."

"I just wanted your opinion on how it went!"

"is that really all there is to it?" lee snaps back, her voice steady and hard. she's not interested in the petty little games. at least her dishonesty and avoidance is rooted in actual care for you. yours is simply spite. "or are you upset because of what happened last week?"

your eyes widen, lips flapping like a fish. she has her answer.

she sighs at your spluttering. "well?"

"no!"

lee feels her eye twitch. from here, she could hear how hard your heart is thumping. you're nervous, and she's tired. might as well call it a night.

when she moves to leave, you slip out from behind the screen, grabbing onto her arm and tugging hard. but, lee has always been strong, and the changes in her body have only emphasized that even more. she stands there, completely unamused as you try pulling her forward, trying hard not to let her eyes stray down to the trimmings of your bra that are revealed from your shirt’s straps hanging off.

"jesus, you're like a rock."

she hums, simply watching you for a few moments before saying, "can I leave now? is the yanking all you had intended to do?"

you huff loudly, planting your hands on your hips. "I was going to say that you shouldn't just leave in the middle of us talking."

"I wouldn't if you'd just be honest."

"I am!"

"you're not," lee hisses, stepping forward to you. immediately, your back presses against the screen, eyes wide as she leans in closer. she's not sure what's gotten into her, but arousal and irritation make for an ugly combination, sending an urge through her to shut you up but also do it in the most filthy way her mind can think of. "you're upset I left when you were doing whatever it is you were doing in the house. and now, you're trying to… get back at me or something?”

your eyes stray down at that, lashes fanning your cheeks. lee watches you quietly. you look so sweet, so pure, like this. fingers fidgeting at the material of your sweats, the warmth on your face flowing right from your skin to hers. eyes, so shiny in the faint coat of light, casted down in embarrassment. lee grits her teeth. something in her goes slack at the sight of you like this, wanting nothing more than to draw out more humiliation from you. she immediately retracts the thought back. what’s wrong with her?

“fine, I– you’re right.” you sigh, a deep frown planted on your face. “I’m sorry, okay? but, you should’ve been more clear about what you were thinking at that moment when it happened. rather than just leave. that’s what hurt me. not that you didn’t want it, but that you left so… coldly.”

she sighs, wincing at the hurt in your voice. even if she has a good reason for avoiding your advances, she never wants to cause you such pain. she makes a silent vow to tread more carefully next time. not that you’ll make another move after this occasion, most likely. rather than reassure her, the thought only stings lee. it’s selfish, but she doesn’t want the sweet gazes and light touches to reside. “fine. I’m sorry, too. I should’ve actually spoken in that moment. rather than just leave.” she gulps hard. “I’m sorry.”

your throat bobs as you swallow, and lee watches the smooth skin of it roll. it looks soft to the touch, so delicate. lee can imagine how easily you’d bruise, how her teeth would sink in so easily. lee blinks hard, forcing her gaze to shift back up, her center beginning to pulse at the thoughts running through her brain. 

“do you wanna go home?”

honestly? “yeah.” she’s tired of the little games and secrecy, and would prefer to go home and devise a plan as to how to handle this new state of your guys’ friendship.

“okay.” your voice is low and meek, like you’re a wounded child, lee hates it, guilt stabbing at her. maybe she should just stay. “can you unzip this before going, though? really, I can’t do it.” with your gaze slid to the ground, you turn your back to her.

“um, sure.” with trembling fingers, lee raises her hand to the zip, tugging it down. when it doesn’t give on her first two tries, she uses her other hand to pinch the fabric and hold it taut, finally getting the zipper down. as more and more of your back gets revealed, a sprinkle of spots and pimples painted upon it, lee feels her breaths shorten. it doesn’t make sense. she doesn’t even need to breathe in the first place. but, habit is a hard thing to let go of, her body all too accustomed to the little rituals its been wound up for since birth.

she can hear and feel every little puzzle piece of your body’s reactions. your increase in heart rate, the heat sinking into every morsel of skin on your neck and face, your breathing shattering into tiny pants. it’s overwhelming, to say the least – she’s always been observant of these things, but ever since she got turned, they’re now thrusted onto her, relentlessly. it stimulates her without limitation, especially considering most of the time, she doesn’t even know what to do with these cues and hints.

when her blunt nails brush against your back, she tenses up at the sight of you squirming, her grip tightening on the fabric on instinct. to know she has this effect on you makes her head spin. she never thought she’d be capable of such a thing.

you lean back against her, your shoulder blades brushing her chest, and she nearly gasps, fingers twisting into the fabric of your top. when your head dips back to lean on her shoulder, her eyes flutter shut. god, she can smell your skin. forget that, she can smell your blood. it smells sweet, the aroma filling her nostrils to the brim and almost making her feel drunk in the way it tips her entire world over. animal’s blood only satisfies so much, she knows that. when she works too many hours, and forgets to feed, she needs to zoom past everyone when leaving the bureau, for close contact makes her muscles seize, her eyes burn, and her gums ache with the fangs itching to lash out and sink. it’s a human’s blood she craves the most. but, she has no desire to put anyone in that position. 

and so, for now, she settles for inhaling a deep whiff of your scent, her nose brushing against your jaw. her eyes squeeze shut as she sucks it in, greedy for it. so achingly greedy. she wants to shove you on that bed, strip you naked so she can push the tip of her nose into every plush point of your body and just breathe you in until it’s as close to drinking as she can get. her hands begin to shake with the want of it. 

you must feel it, for you ask, “you okay?”

god, lee shouldn’t be doing this. she can’t tell you what she is – it’s too much of a burden and responsibility on you, and for her own sake, she swore she’d keep it secret to prevent any complications. and even if she did, in a hypothetical and non-existent future, tell you what she was, she’d have no intention of letting you be with her, nor being on the receiving end of her obligatory feeding. she doesn’t want to hold you responsible for that. she can’t. 

with a jolt, she releases you, backing away. “I–I should go.” her voice is like stone, steady and hard with the way she forces it to be drained of any ounce of arousal or excitement. 

“okay, I–” you swallow, slowly turning to her. lee can’t even meet your eyes. but, she can pick up on the way your fingers rub together. “I’ll see you later?”

she nods. she can’t imagine staying away.

as she turns the doorknob to your bedroom door, you whisper, “lee?” 

she stills herself. “yeah?” 

“do you– did you want what I wanted? last week, at the house?”

she remains silent, her body feeling like it’s been webbed into stone.

“I’m guessing that’s a no.”

the hurt in your voice slams into her like ice, and she continues to freeze in its midst. she doesn’t want you feeling such pain, not in her hands. and lying was an option, but now that she’s faced with the decision of doing so, she finds herself speechless. how can she lie, when you’re so open and waiting? monster she is, she’s too human to resist fibbing under your gaze. she braces herself, choosing her words cautiously. vague enough that she can take time alone to figure things out afterwards, but enough of a confirmation to sate you for now. she could always admit her feelings, then later tell you she’s simply not in a position for a relationship.

and so, she leaves you with, “‘no’ would be the easier answer.”

she leaves before you can say anything.

and in a cruel twist of irony, the next time she sees you is during a moment where most people would expect her to be close to dying. if there is a god, her mom was right about him having a sense of humor. we plan, god laughs.

her and carter hadn’t seen him fast enough, and in a blow to her ears and a jolting tumble to the ground, she was shot in the arm. 

carter had managed to get him in the knee and disarm him, but they couldn’t wait for backup to come. both of them knew if their coworkers arrived, they’d insist on taking lee to a hospital. and if that happened, her secret would be unveiled.

and so, carter had carried her to his car, letting her lie in the back seat, and drove her home quickly, muttering breathless apologies everytime a speed bump sent her lurching, bile rising in her throat. 

she supposed it was a comfort, to know she wasn’t going to die. it ought to have been. but, the fear she first felt when the bullet struck her, seeping into her skin and lodging its way through, had actually been a relief. for a split second, she had been fooled into thinking her life was a fragile thing, the temporary nature of which resurfaces in life-or-death moments like these. she had actually felt human, like she belongs with the people she used to share the label of species with. it felt nice, to feel human again.

but, then, the pain settled in. and it only flashes hotter in her arm when her and carter arrive, and you’re sitting on the steps of her porch, waiting upon her return. 

all she remembers is the deep creases embedded into your forehead as you rushed to her side, shakily gripping the uninjured arm that slings as carter helps her to the door. and the way your voice reaches an inconceivably high pitch as you screech, “what are you doing? we need to take her to a fucking hospital!”

“you should leave,” carter grunts as he kicks down the door to lee’s home, immediately setting her down on the couch. “I’ll look after her here.”

“no, no, but I should help–”

“let me handle this, you can visit her tomo–”

“it’s okay,” lee mutters, her eyes half-lidded, the stinging ache in her arm seizing every inch with a death grip. “it’s okay. I trust…” she nods in your direction, too exhausted to explain your presence to carter. she’s only mentioned you as the someone she met during her night out, but kept it to herself afterwards. as she did with most things when it came to carter or anyone else at work. she probably would’ve never confided in carter about her true nature had it not been for him bearing witness to it. but, in a way, she’s glad. she doesn’t know how she would’ve managed juggling every other part of her life without his help and commitment to keeping her secret safe. even now, he’s still eyeing you warily, as though debating as to whether or not you can be trusted.

and she’s not so sure, either. you two have only known each other for a few months, and maybe that’s not a reasonable amount of time to measure up to trusting you with a secret this gave. but, in the throes of pain, the nonsensical reach for survival, she knows in her guts that she trusts you. and feelings don’t measure to fact, so yeah, maybe she shouldn’t act on this notion. but, she can’t find it in herself to care about turning over and inspecting every possible outcome of having this revealed to you. it’s not like you’ll actually agree to leave, and lee needs to heal herself. now. you’ll see her in her true state, using her powers, no matter what. the worries of burdening you, of you letting the truth out – lee can deal with it later.

“really, it’s okay,” lee murmurs, rolling her head onto her shoulder, panting heavily. “I just… help me.” the words taste new and unfamiliar on her tongue, feeling open and almost childlike in the small plea laced into them. she needs you both right now.

with some shuffling movements and awkward hands, you and carter manage to slide off her work jacket and unbutton her shirt so that one side is draped down her arm, the wound revealed. it’s a gaping hole with metal lodged in, smeared with blood and ripped flesh, searing with pain. she knows it’s not nearly as bad as what a full human would experience upon a gun wound, but jesus, it hurts.

carter turns his back to her for privacy’s sake. “take your time.”

she first did it when she got cut when cooking. she did it again when she had gotten badly bruised during an investigation of an old farmhouse with carter. she’s managed success every time, and she’s certain this time won’t be any different. 

her eyes flicker to you. she doesn’t want to show you this part of her. but, she knows you don’t intend to leave her side. and if you do abide by her wishes and look away, then turn back to see her magically healed, you’ll never believe her if she makes up an excuse or tells you the truth. and she’s not exactly in the right state to come up with a lie, anyways, for the healing process will be exhausting. it’s the truth on display, even in spite of the protest raging in her, the worries that you’ll leave upon realizing how monstrous she is. it’s now or never. 

she clears her throat and wordlessly gathers up spit in her mouth while raising her uninjured arm, hand cupped and ready to gather the wetness that comes dribbling from her mouth. she avoids eye contact with you the entire time, entirely conscious of just how… feral and unappealing this must all look to you. but, she can tell you’re perplexed, disgusted maybe, due to the still silence surrounding the two of you. 

the spilled saliva in her palm is delicately pressed to her wound, and she hisses at the contact. but, immediately, her body begins to run into overdrive, the inner-workings of it churning and rolling to push energy to the tender bit of pierced skin. immediately, her skin starts crawling in on itself, weaving back together and meeting at the center, the bullet slowly getting pushed out of the gaping hole as it sews itself back together.

she drinks in a deep breath, then wills herself to meet your gaze. in another circumstance, she would’ve smiled at the way your eyes bulge out in wonder, mouth agape as your gaze wildly runs up and down her body.

“lee, what the actual fuck?”

at first, you leave, much to carter and lee’s concern, the two of them exchanging questioning stares, which are alert with the question of: will you tell? but, then, in a matter of twenty minutes, you return, and sit right down in front of lee, demanding she tell you everything.

and so, she does. she explains how it happened without mincing words (which may account for why carter winces a bit), how she’s been managing since, and some features of her vampirism, trying to keep the more bloody ones tucked away under vague explanations, such as, “every few days, I need to, um, feed.” but, when your eyes widen imperceptibly, her stomach sinks, and she hastily adds, “not humans. animals.”

your silent question makes her feel slightly sick. did you not trust her at all? though, she couldn’t fault you. she herself doubts her humanity and goodness everyday, and she’s the one living in this lifeless host. the host that would be unfurling and rotting if not for the powers she’s so repulsed by.

that night, you send carter off, insisting you’ll take care of lee. she wishes, privately, that you’d let her be, for it’s only a matter of time until her body will demand replenishment. then, again, she hasn’t suffered from an injury this serious since she was turned. she doesn’t even know if she has it in herself to hunt for prey, not when her body is so depleted and weak. but, what choice does that lead her then?

as you change the sheets to her bed, for she drenches them every evening from over-sweating, her eyes roam over your figure, languidly skimming over every dip or curve. there’s a solution to her problems right in front of her. but, she refuses to engage in it. she can’t help but fear the addiction human blood might trade to her in order to have the sweet taste of it filling her mouth and coating her gums. she can’t put herself in that position, not when it might lead to this happening more than once. she doesn’t want you tethered to that. sure, it may not happen – it may just be a one-time thing and she’ll manage. but, the possibility of an alternative path is too much.

you help her back to the bed with an arm hugging at her waist, warm and soft even though the fabric of her old t-shirt. when you lower her, she’s reminded of past memories, kinder ones, of her mother looking after her like this. she doesn’t enjoy the vulnerability that comes with being taken care of, but every other part of it – the tenderness in your hands, the way you’re alert to all her needs, the brief touches… those feel nice.

by the second day you’ve stayed with her, lee feels it edging on. her stomach is beginning to faintly grumble, the craving beginning to set into its motion. she’d resist it, ignore it, if it weren’t for the fact that she needs it in order to regain energy and complete the final stage of her healing. otherwise, she will continue to be weakened by the exertion it took her body to heal itself.

and, so, she tentatively brings it up with you, mouth twitching in half-amusement when you raise an eyebrow and say, “hunt? I can’t do that for shit.”

“well, I need you to,” she mutters. “carter’s swamped at the bureau right now for his trip to washington, so this is the only option.”

“ah, well, I do love being a last resort,” you drawl.

she rolls her eyes. “it’s not about being a last resort. this is just the situation we’re in.”

you sigh, glancing down at the gun she had handed to you. “but, I don’t know if I have it in me to, you know, do that.”

lee’s lips fold in, guilt piercing through her stomach. she hates to ask this of you. she hates doing it herself in the first place, and she needs it for sustenance. she can’t imagine how it must feel for you, whose life does not depend on it. but, she doesn’t know what else to do. she rummages through ideas for a few seconds, anything that can make this easier. 

“maybe, um, you can drive my car out deeper into the forest. and we park there, wait, then I can shoot it.”

you wince at the proposition, and lee chews her bottom lip, wishing she had been more delicate in the vocalization of it.

but, ultimately, you agree, saying if it’s for her health, you’d do anything. lee supposes it was meant to be a comforting sentiment, but it only makes her feel embarrassed and ashamed. for even when she is at a state where she ought to be stronger, she still needs assistance from someone else. and the worst of it is the fact that in this instance, your assistance requires you to sacrifice your morals.

and so, you drive her car to the woods. you wedge your eyes shut, crinkles and all, as she aims and shoots a rabbit. as per her request, you look away and turn up the music as she weakly crawls to it and drains it of its blood. lee wipes her hands and mouth clean of the sin, her stomach squeezing in hot, curdling shame as she returns to the car. she could only hope you stuck to your word and didn’t look. when she looks at herself in the door’s side mirror and sees a spot of blood remaining splattered on her chin, she feels her eyes burn in humiliation.

you two go back, and she waits for her energy to be fully replenished.

something that never comes.

the blood helps, but only some. she waits, hours and hours, and still, she cannot walk or stand for long before needing to sit down. when you two separate for the night, you resting on her couch just as you’ve been for the past two nights despite her protests that you should take the bed, she can’t help but feel a sense of dread wash over her. this isn’t how animal feeding is supposed to work. this isn’t how it ever works. it usually sustains lee and provides her with enough energy and strength for three days, maybe four if she stretches it out. but, then again, she’s never relied on said diet after receiving such a harsh injury. 

she reconciles the situation by deciding that upping the dosage might be the required course of action. and so, you two repeat the same line of events the next day, and she feeds. and again, she returns home, hands fiddling in her lap as she sits up in her bed. but, still, it doesn’t go away – the light-headedness, the exhaustion, the inability to move for long.

she knows you pick up on it too, for the next morning, you sit on the edge of her bed, shooting her a soft, wary smile. “do vampires have special doctors or something?”

“not that I know of.” she sighs, resting back on the headboard. while your question was spoken light-heartedly, she truly has been meaning to get back into contact with the family that turned her. though part of her, a huge one at that, still despises what she’s turned into, she knows being acquainted with other creatures like herself will make situations like this, ones where she’s still untrained and, therefore, at risk, easier to understand. 

your smile slowly fades, and lee’s lips pinch in, wishing she had joked back with you. “I’m worried about you, lee. you still seem really weak.”

“you don’t have to worry,” she mutters, eyes downcast. “it’s not your responsibility.”

“stop that,” you interject, shifting your body closer, lee instinctively flinching from the proximity. when she feels you move back, she swallows down the protest, waiting for you to continue. “I’m not doing this out of obligation. I’m doing this because I care about you.”

that’s the problem. if you were doing it out of obligation, lee could at least assure herself that you’re deriving some self-satisfaction from doing something that fulfills a responsibility on your end. but, when it’s all dependent on pure care, it feels burdensome for you. you’re doing this all for her. and she isn’t certain how to deal with that. beneath it all, though, is gratitude, warm and comforting. she doesn’t like being anything other than self-sufficient, but if she has to be, you’re one of the only people she’d feel at least mildly comfortable doing so with.

“I know,” she responds, forcing her eyes to meet yours. “but, at this point, our options are limited. and soon, I’ll get too hungry, and it won’t be safe for you here.”

you lick your lips, blinking hard at her. she feels uneasy with the possibility that you’re growing to fear her, now that you’ve borne witness to the uncontrollable nature of her desire for blood.

which is why she freezes when you say, “well, why don’t you take my blood then?”

her eyes, wide and straining, are fixed on the blanket, a flash of thoughts blasting through her mind. why would you ask such a thing? where did you even get that idea from? sure, like most people, you’ve probably always been aware about vampires’ tendencies to feed on humans. but, what could’ve caused you to get the idea that you and her should do that?

worse than her lack of answers is the stirring in her stomach, the quiet rumbling. it’s like an ugly beast has turned its head, reminding her of what she is, what she needs. she sucks in a shaky breath, trying to tame it.

at her pained silence, you continue, your voice slow with what she senses is trepidation, as though she’s a wounded animal. “listen, lee, I did some research with the books in here – the ones you bought on vampires and all that. and human blood is more reviving for you guys than animal blood. so, like, maybe you just–”

“no.”

you blow a puff of air, sharp and hard. “lee, now’s not the time to be stubborn.”

she shakes her head. “no. I won’t let it happen. you can’t– no, we don’t do it.”

“lee!” you scoff, your voice rising to a borderline squeak. “what the hell is the alternative?”

her jaw clenches. she racks her mind for something, anything, other than trying this – especially when this includes something that she’s never done before and therefore isn’t sure how much restraint she’ll have with it, as well as how desirous she’ll be for more afterwards. “I-I don’t know. maybe I’ll continue trying with animals, and it’s just a matter of time until it works. and if it doesn’t, I’ll, I don’t know, call carter. he’ll be back in two days, and–”

“and what? you’ll drink from him, but not me?”

lee’s eyes flick up at your wayward tone. “yes.” 

you splutter, eyes burning into her. “why?” 

“because I–” I know that carter won’t continue giving me his blood if he believes it’s going too far. I know he doesn’t care for me in the same way as you do, so he won’t give up too much of himself. I’m scared for you in a way that’s incomparable. I think your blood will be all the more tempting because it’s yours. “I just think it’s riskier for you.”

“why, because you think I can’t handle it? or, like, it’ll be less effective to drink from me?”

she can hear the way your voice breaks, and inhales a steadying breath to keep her own levelled, firm – rational. “no. it’s not a competition, okay? I just don’t want to do that to you.”

“but, why?”

“because, carter won’t give in if he feels it’s going too far. but, you will.”

you flinch, and lee hisses quietly at the sight. “what, so you think I’m just gonna be, like, stupid and let you do anything to me?”

“I never said that.” she ponders on her phrasing for a few seconds, before slowly saying, “I just– you and I share a… personal relationship. more than I do with carter. because of that, I’m worried you’ll be more lenient about how much or how often I can, well, drink from you. especially considering I may ask for more, or too much, once I get a taste. I’ve never had human blood, so my first taste might make me more prone to requesting for more. but, if this injury really does demand human blood, I want to drink it once, then never again so long as I can help it.”

“okay, so then I’ll leave for a few hours after you feed once, so that there’s no chance I give you more. or, I don’t know, I leave for a few hours, and you call to let me know if you feel energized afterwards so you have to digest it before taking more blood. and if you don’t feel better, we can deal with the situation then.”

she shifts. could that work? no, no – not a chance. even if it could work, that’s only by chance. “still, I don’t want to.”

“why?” you cry out, shifting further to peer into lee’s eyes, which flicker about. “if the difference between carter versus me is that he’ll ensure you stop, and I promise to do the same, then what difference does it make?”

her eyes widen, something in her chest twisting. you care so deeply, so effortlessly, without bounds. lee can’t help but admire it, even if it’s to her own detriment right now. you’re just too good.

“because I–” she turns away, gritting her teeth. “I’m more scared for you.” her voice lowers at the vulnerable admission.

“but, why?”

she says nothing, her fingers curling tighter into the sheet. she trusts in you to put the pieces together. she had already indicated her feelings last week, and has suspected since that you must, at least vaguely, know of them. and so, she doesn’t imagine it’ll take long for you to figure out her meaning.

after a moment, you quietly say, “oh.”

she nods. “so, no. we won’t do it.”

“lee.” your tone softens, breaking at the edges into something delicate and fragile. you shift closer, your hand resting on hers. she jerks in surprise from the contact, feeling her breath still when your other hand slides to her face, turning her gaze towards yours. your eyes are wide and imploring, eyebrows drawn in what she suspects is concern. “please. you need this. and I want to do this because I care for you. and I know that you’ll be extra careful because you… care for me.” you hesitate at the word “care,” and lee wishes you knew just how much she cares, and wants, and needs. “I trust you, okay? we can take preventative measures to be careful. and, wouldn’t you prefer to do it for the first time with someone who’s, um, a friend?”

her eye twitches at that word, but she shakes it off, trying to resist the part of her that is beginning to lean into your proposition. it’s hard to do so, though, considering the rules and regulations you’re laying on the line, which even she has to admit is giving the situation a more comforting level of structure. it’s making her mind wander, wondering if the measures you speak of are enough to secure a safe exchange. she’s aching for it, her bones weary and her insides deprived of the hot, strong energy usually surging through it. and with each argument you put out, her stomach pulsates stronger for it.

“no. I-I might be too tempted to keep going, to keep drinking if I…” she clears her throat, voice lowering. “... like it.”

“then, we’ll tie you up or something!”

that gives lee pause. her lips purse together, mind running a mile a minute. what if that’s the solution? she’s certain she could, eventually, undo anything you could tie or lock her with. but, if it’s something strong, like her handcuffs, it’d take her enough time to undo it to secure your departure if she’s tempted to do anything particularly… depraved.

at her pondering, you seem to realize that she’s considering it. “c’mon, lee, just do it.”

her eyes flutter close. it’s almost as though you think she needs to be coaxed into drinking your blood. but, that’s not true at all. what scares her most is the fact that every cell in her body is pinched and stretched with the desire to lean into you, bury her face in your skin and sink her teeth in until warm, wet splashes of your blood burst in her mouth. the only thing she needs convincing of is how safe it is to give into that desire, how she can ensure you won’t be burdened or pained.

“I– I don’t want you doing it just for me,” she murmurs, her chest still tugging with resistance. “it’s an… intimate process, and you don’t have to do it just for me. we can find another way, or, well, I can and–”

“lee,” you say, your voice hardened with a stern undertone. “I want to, okay? and I am comfortable. a bit anxious, yeah, about how it’ll feel. but, we can stop if it hurts, right?”

“that’s what I mean – what if I’m not able to stop?”

“lee, you just fed yesterday – I don’t think you’re desperate enough to not stop right as we start.”

she shakes her head. you’re too trusting – she can barely stomach herself and how unkempt her desire is. and you’re here, plainly talking about it, declaring the faith you have in her as though she’s not more beast than human. as though you see and know of these monstrous, dark wants in her and are so hopeful of the person she is that you do not notice them. or worst, that you do acknowledge them and have an easier time embracing them than herself. she doesn’t know if it’s a testament to naivete on your part, or proof of self-loathing on hers. “I don’t know.”

“well, I know. and I’m willing to try if it means you’ll get better.” you cup her jaw, tilting her face up. “please?” 

her breath shudders. she shouldn’t she knows she shouldn’t, but you’re going to keep coming up with solutions because you’re sweet. and her resolve is going to keep breaking with each one you serve, the hunger getting too strong. so, with eyes squeezed shut, she gives you a curt nod. 

you go with the handcuffs, chaining lee to her bed post. doing it requires you to sit in her lap, and lee needs to intentionally keep her breathing steady from the warmth of your body so intimately close to hers. but, as you wind your arms around her torso, perching your chin on her shoulder to get a good sight of the handcuffs, she becomes hyper-aware of everything about you. the plush of your thighs entrapping hers, the tickle of your hair brushing her cheek, how your breathing is stuttering and your heart is pounding. you’re just as nervous as she is. it only deepens her own fear, sending it plummeting into the hollow of her stomach. you guys also set an alarm for ten minutes – according to her calculations, it’s not nearly enough time to drain you of a harmful amount of blood, so it works.

when you lean back, your nose brushes past the lobe of her ear and a small shiver snakes down her spine. she prays for some refuge from this desire hanging around her neck and tightening with no relent. but, instead you remain where you are. her eyes remain stuck to your neck to avoid your gaze, which she can feel the weight of resting upon her.

“lee, should we start?”

she licks her lips, anxiety beginning to tie her body into twists and knots, tight and nauseating. slowly. she has to go slowly, cautiously and while paying close attention to how your body responds to her touch. she vows to do that, devoted to ensuring your safety and comfort. 

“mm, okay,” she quietly affirms.

“look at me,” you mutter, voice so breathy and low that it’s almost as though it’s a tangible object on the brink of shattering.

she abides by your request. she’d do anything you ask at this moment, really. anything to make this easier, anything to translate the gratitude that pools beneath the disbelief and fear at what you’re letting her do to you.

you watch her with eyes that are relaxed, steady. nothing like lee, who wishes to break away from the stare as soon as possible. it’s unnerving, yet lee holds onto it as an anchor. your courage and trust in this situation is what’s propelling it forward, what’s holding it at the seams. she wants to rely on it, just as you’re relying on herself to handle you with care. 

“it’ll be okay.”

three words and it makes lee’s mouth twist in emotion, her eyes beginning to burn faintly. but, she doesn’t give herself over to the urge. not like this, not when she needs to remain level-headed.

“I just…” she’s close enough to count your lashes, and she almost does – anything to distract her from the next words she utters. “I don’t want to hurt you. I want you safe.”

your lips slowly curl up, and it makes the skin by your eyes crinkle. how you have it in you to smile in this moment, she doesn’t know. “and you’re sweet for that. but, I trust you to keep to that, okay?”

“why?” she asks. “you’ve only just found out what I am.”

“and? I’ve known for months who you are. and that, to me, matters more. in fact, part of who you are is the fact that you’re this. and I don’t think that that, like, exists separately from the parts of you that are loyal, just and smart. I think it coincides with them. it’s just who you are, and so it wouldn’t make me distrust you. because, well, I trust all of you. not just parts.”

lee’s teeth make a soft click as they crash together and grind, trying to keep her emotions at bay. maybe she could set some time aside to think about this and cry later, but not now. now, the two of you had a goal to complete. but, still, compartmentalizing is easy only in theory after what you just said. for months, she has experienced a range of emotions, from discomfort to complete disgust, with what she’s transformed into, considering it a part of herself that she cannot bear to accept as being infused with her core being. rather, she’s seen it as a faraway facet of her existence, something she was forced into, and may have to adjust her life to, but that she wants bearing no significance in the long run. like a sort of parasite. so, for you to emphasize how infused that part is within her makes her feel not only uncomfortable, but unnerved, because she knows that in the union of these parts, you don’t turn away. you don’t look at her the way she sees herself. you see her as a whole, entirely filled figment that you will openly embrace. because you trust who she is beyond the division of human and monster. 

“thank you,” she manages to force out, not wanting your words to go unacknowledged. one day, she’ll tell you what they mean to her. she has to.

you two lock eyes after that, yours boring into hers with a focus that makes her shift underneath you. instinctually, your hands raise, gripping her shoulders tightly. she swallows hard, the sting of your nails digging past the fabric of her sweater making her body strain with the urge to squirm. and there’s something about knowing you’re depending on her to stay balanced that forms a warm pleasure in her abdomen. 

“of course.” after a moment, you shuffle closer on her lap, and lee nearly groans. you only stop once you two are nearly chest to chest, her eyes levelled with your nose. after a moment, you raise your chin up, revealing the slope of your neck to her. “we can start.”

her breaths begin to tremble, the momentum of the occasion feeling heavy on her mind. she can do this. you can do this. she doesn’t believe herself, of course, but she hopes with enough repetition it’ll absorb into her brain, even if just barely.

she leans in, her warm breath coating your skin. this close to you, she can hear the faint tremors of your breath, and she shuts her eyes in guilt. god, what is wrong with her? you’ve tried so hard to reassure her this entire time, and she’s barely done the same for you, too clouded by her self-doubt and anxieties to do so.

“hey,” she murmurs, raising her mouth to your ear. “it’s me. it’s us. I’ll take care of you, okay? I’ll be careful, and I, um, may not know how I’ll react. but, I’m going to try my hardest to make sure you’re safe. okay?” 

your fingertips press harder into her shoulders, which flex automatically. “I know you will.”

she gulps. “still, I wanted you to hear it from me.” just to emphasize it, she leans back, her eyes locking onto yours, which gleam prettily from the orange light of her bedside table. she forces the thought away – now’s not the time. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it before. but, I’m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

you nod, your lips curling into a gentle smile. “just–just go slow, okay? so, I can call it quits if it hurts too much.”

she nods immediately. “yeah.” after a pause, she adds, “we really don’t have to–”

“lee, I want to,” you repeat, once again, grip tightening on her. “trust me on this.”

she sucks in a shaky breath. she supposes that’s all there is to this. her trusting your strength, you trusting her fragility. “okay.” 

when you give her one more affirmative nod, she lowers her head back to your neck, slowly, carefully. the sight of the spot, different freckles and pimples sprinkled about it, has her stomach shifting with longing, the ache for a taste beginning to stir stronger. it hisses at her, makes her feel like your neck is beckoning her forward. 

your arms envelope her neck. “is this okay? can I… can I hold you, lee?”

surprisingly, she finds that she doesn’t want to deny you. your arms around her feel steadying, something to focus on and absorb the sensation of when the entire world seems to be spinning. something to focus her thoughts on momentarily, sink into the feel of so that not every single sense of hers is anxiously pinpointed onto the impending bite. something to shudder against and find a bit of comfort and solace in when she’s about to expose to you the horrors of what she’s become. 

“it’s okay,” she breathes, her head dipped against your shoulder. your hands smooth over the fabric of her sweater, easing into gentle, rhythmic circles that loosen the tension in her body. it feels as though this touch translates your support, your affection, and is another way of reminding her that you are here for her despite the horrific display she’s about to put on. and it means so much to her – that kind of unwavering loyalty, especially coming from you, the one she holds in such esteem. the one a stray part of her has been wanting to be held by for an aching number of months right now. your touch is so unfamiliar, and it feels so solid and real against lee. something finally flung out of her dreams. it makes her want to pull away, put distance so that she can reside in the familiar place of physical isolation. but, she knows it’s just her own stumbles and struggles with intimacy causing this strain. because if she closes her eyes, and pretends this is something you two have done before, something she’s good at, she’s able to sag against you, sigh as your fingers dip into the strands of her hair.

finally, she leans back, her breath ghosting against your neck once more. she marvels at your sensitivity, goosebumps immediately breaking over your skin at the cool puff. she can hear your breaths growing shorter, faster, and she repeats, once more, “it’ll be okay.”

your grip in her hair tightens slightly, and her eyes squeeze shut at the slight pain. “I know. I just keep telling myself it’s like a piercing, or a shot.”

her lips twitch, fondness breaking through. “yeah.” she opts to say nothing else, not wanting to shatter your self-assurance.

with a heavy breath, she closes her eyes, letting her fangs protrude out of her gums, the act sending a slight ache into her mouth. once she adjusts to the newly extended teeth, she leans forward, grazing them against the tender skin of your neck, wanting you to get a sense of what’s to come. 

you suddenly shiver against her, and lee swallows down a noise at the indication of how sensitive you are. when she does it again, she knows it’s a lie to say it’s solely to help you adjust, her body feeling completely on edge when you softly gasp again, your fingers wound tight in her brown streams of hair.

“still okay?”

“yeah,” you heave, the nails of your other hand digging into lee’s back. she nearly groans at the sensation, the hunger beginning to grow stronger in her guts, mixing with arousal at having you so close to her, so pliant and waiting. it’s to help her feed and survive, but she can’t help but wonder just how submissive you’d be in other contexts.

“are you sure?”

“mhm,” you hum, the noise slightly squeaky. that, paired with the flush of heat crawling along your skin, which lee catches onto as soon as it snakes over you, are indicators enough that the intimacy of the moment isn’t lost on you.

“I’m gonna do it now,” she whispers. the declaration is for both you and herself. she’s never been a person of words, but in this moment, she believes that her announcement of the act is the only thing that’ll push her forward to go through with it. 

you tense against her, and lee suddenly wishes she wasn’t handcuffed, that maybe she could comfort you too. it’s an unfamiliar urge. “okay.” 

you trust her. you trust her more than she trusts herself. lee reminds herself of this, focused on the fact that even if she doesn’t like herself in this form, nor has a lot of faith in herself in it, you do. and even if you didn’t, she took it upon herself to care for and protect you the moment she first called you to meet again all those months ago. and for those reasons, she owes it to you to store some certainty in herself that she won’t hurt you and won’t lose control. she’ll trust herself, at least for you.

her eyes are wide and focused, her breaths still as her teeth easily give way into your skin, piercing the surface of it, which is soft and taut. it’s almost like biting into a soft, creamy dish, easily breakable and so much more delicate than one ever anticipates. she goes slowly, willing herself with repetitive mantras to take her time and listen closely for signs of anxiety or discomfort from you. while your grip on her tightens, heart continuing to thud fast and hard against the confines of your chest, you say nothing.

her fangs sink in a bit deeper, totally breaking the barrier of skin as the thin tip of them dip in, and lee finds herself entranced by the feeling. becoming a vampire has taught her of the fragility of the human body she encompassed before she was turned. the kind of energy and strength that ran through her body after being turned, the capabilities she possessed in her everyday experience, were unmatched to anything she was physically capable of prior. so, she’s well-aware of the weakness of the human body. but, she never thought your skin would be this soft, this tender.

“ah,” you suddenly wince, gripping onto lee’s head tighter.

she stills her movements, torn between pulling back to ask if you’re okay or remaining frozen. if it turns out you are okay and want her to continue, then she’ll have to undergo the process of re-inserting her fangs, which may cause you more pain. but, maybe you’re in so much pain you need her to stop and take them out now. she racks her mind for a few moments, before humming lightly, hoping that probes you for a response.

“I’m okay, I just,” you softly gasp. “it just hurts a bit, but I think it’s getting better. just keep still.”

lee’s stomach tightens with the knowledge of you in pain, the fact that’s caused by her only making the guilt pierce harder. she takes your words diligently, remaining frozen, tongue still locked into her mouth, not daring to taste your blood until you’ve confirmed you’re okay. god knows what she’ll do if she lets herself taste it right now.

after a few more soft pants, lee can hear your heartbeat slow down, your hands beginning to stroke her hair, nails lightly scratching against her scalp. lee’s eyes flutter shut at the sensation, feeling utterly doted on, the itching sensation giving her an unexpected wash of satisfaction. it’s almost embarrassing – she’s right on the edge of tasting your blood, and head scratches are what have her sagging in your arms. that, paired with your other hand continuing to rub between her shoulder blades, feels like the closest she’s gotten to a massage in years. even in spite of carter urging her to go to one after she spends hours in all sorts of positions and contortions on the ground when sorting out evidence.

“it feels better,” you slowly say, your tone low and hesitant, as though you’re confused. “it just stings now, I don’t know why.”

lee wonders if her saliva is already helping you prematurely before she even heals the wound. maybe it falling from her open mouth, and mixing in with the process of biting, is helping you handle the injury. lee can’t help but desperately hope for that, wanting to eliminate as much pain as she can.

“you can keep going.”

she blinks, her stomach flaring to life at your permission. with her nose digging into the soft skin of your neck, she can smell the sweet nectar of your blood. her limbs stiffen in anticipation for it, shoulder straining as she lets her teeth sink in further. as she enters you, the curve of her teeth curling just right into your flesh, her breaths get shallow, hitching in excitement as she finally feels that first, warm splash along her tongue.

she can’t help it. she immediately moans, eyes squeezing shut as the first drops of your blood, leaking from the puncture wounds of your skin, smear along her lips and run onto her tongue. it’s so warm, sharp in how utterly sweet it tastes, and as it slithers down the length of the muscle, she trembles against you. her stomach twists, begging for more. to let these few measly droplets be the only tastes she gets of you seems impossible, but she scrunches her eyebrows together in focus, tensing as she gives you a moment to feel your way through her first sip. she wishes she could see your face, know what you’re thinking. 

“was that enough?” you whisper softly, stroking through her hair. “hum once for yes, twice for no.”

lee hesitates, then gives her honest answer. the blood she took from you was so little that it hasn’t even slid down her throat.

“take more,” you say, your voice hard with determination and surety.

lee’s head is whirring so much with the first brief taste of you, her entire body shaking in your arms for more, tight at the mere lick of euphoria. she can’t wait for another confirmation from you and immediately presses her lips against your neck in an open-mouthed kiss, teeth fully embedding into your skin. your blood bursts from the two small stabs, gushing into her mouth and sliding down the slope of her teeth and down her tongue. when it travels through her throat, lee whimpers at how easily it runs down, smooth and slippery, burying itself into her guts and infusing with the raging hunger that she’s forced to lay dormant for months. 

she gets so lost in the milky sensation of it, flowing so easily through her body and feeling like a dunk of ice cold water on a steaming hot day. so lost that she nearly misses a soft noise that comes from you. just nearly. but, as her mind registers it, and she hears another, her body tenses with the realization that you’re – you’re moaning.

though her insides wail for her not to, she forces herself to remain still, content to continue swallowing down the gulps of blood already pooled at the center of her tongue as she awaits something, anything, from you. though the spot between her legs is throbbing from the quiet, high noise that had drifted from your lips, she tells herself to focus, listen in for any signs of your discomfort.

but, then, you’re tugging on her hair, and you sound like you’re pleading for mercy when you say, “lee, don’t stop. ah, it feels nice.”

lee’s eyes bulge at that, the news taking her several long moments to fully absorb before she begins to suck again. but, even as she does, her mind is seized by equal measures of curiosity and confusion. why does it feel good? how does it feel good? could it be her saliva?

but, then, more of your warm, velvety blood seeps into her mouth, sliding between the gaps and curves of her teeth, filling the cavern of her mouth with fresh honey that has her feeling nearly drunk off of ecstasy the more she hungrily tightens and gulps down more. and, then, god, you make that fucking noise again – a high pitched, broaken little whine that has lee’s fingers tightening into the metal of the handcuffs still chained to her. you tug hard on her hair, and lee groans at the sting of it, the sensation pulling her out of the chains of logic and rationality and into the hot, burning throes of pleasure. her mind is wrapped in the silks of hunger satiated, the pure delight and high of it softening every sensible truth she’s ever known.

she pushes her mouth harder, teeth pushing in with a fervour her first bite didn’t possess before. she’s about to pause, fear springing into her that she went too far, but then you jerk in her lap, crying out, your arms tightening around her neck. 

“oh,” you mewl out, “do that again.”

fuck. lee will do it a thousand times if it means she gets to become surrounded with more of those noises.

she pushes in harder and you instinctively grind on her crotch again, inciting a grunt from lee. she doesn’t feel much from the friction of it, but the mere fact that your pleasure is so great to stir up movement like this has her tipping into something akin to hazy obsession. 

“sorry,” you gasp, “was that okay? one hum for yes–”

lee gives a firm, short hum. somewhere in the back of her mind, there’s the nagging voice that this can be precarious for your friendship, but she doesn’t care. she can’t care, not when you’re writhing on her lap, pliant for the taking, lost in pleasure just like her. when will she ever have the nerve to do this again? when will lee harker, in any other moment of her life, let herself fling into such reckless abandon, with her reservations crumbled by sheer arousal?

she shoves her face into the warm slope of your neck, prodding her teeth in deeper, your blood gushing into her mouth and coating it as she continues drinking. she whines loudly, her arms straining with the stretch of being handcuffed, rattling her wrists against the metal loops desperately. they pinch into her skin, but she doesn’t care, her fingers itching with the urge to burrow into your hair, your skin, your clothes, anything.

your restraint seems to dissipate just as fast as hers, for moments later, she feels your arms envelop her as you shakily plug in the key, setting her arms free. they immediately fling up to encircle your body, and she keeps you wedged against her as she continues slurping your blood, one hand on your hip digging in and pushing you back and forth on her lap. you cry out, hugging her close. in a string of dissolved moans and squeaky breaths, you say, “lee, yes, please, like that.”

she grips tightly onto your body, helping you continue to move as she keeps her eyes clenched shut. the taste of your blood staining her mouth has her enthralled, adrenaline pumping through her body relentlessly. 

when her nails dig into the dips of your back, you release a choked out, raspy noise, your hips stilling from their motions, letting her drink and drink and drink. she can’t even imagine how this can get better until you’re suddenly convulsing on her lap, entire body jerking wildly as a loud wail flies from your lips, bouncing off the walls of her empty bedroom. lee’s fingers sink deeper into your skin, short, rounded nails pressing into the strip of skin right above your ass as she continues to eat you up, relishing in your warm blood as you shudder in her arms, which grip onto you with a sudden blast of protectiveness. you clutch on just as tightly, hugging her to you with soft coos, shivers racking your body.

the next string of moments unfold too fast before lee’s alarm suddenly goes off, yanking her from her trance. the blaring noise, which stills her movements in shock, are followed by you tugging on her head, urging her to pull away. her mouth is longing for more, but her stomach feels full, sated, and she knows anymore of your blood would be for greed’s sake only. but, god, she wishes she can remain with more and more of it resurfacing on your tongue, but she doesn’t know if your urgency is due to wanting to remain on track or because you’re in genuine discomfort. and that’s enough to have her pulling away, her teeth slowly slipping out of the warm clamp of your body. you let out a soft noise, jolting on her lap as the points slide out, and lee nearly groans at the loss of being so close to your neck.

which, now that she opens her eyes, adjusting back to the orange light of her room, is coated in smears and dried drops of blood, leaking from the two incisions wedged near your pulse point. lee’s stomach flares at the sight of it, a deep, dark part of her relishing in seeing you physically marked as hers. but, when another drop of blood slips from it, she’s reminded of your own sense of comfort, and murmurs, “does it hurt?”

your voice is quiet, fingers still curled in her hair. “a little.”

she sucks in a sharp sigh, before leaning in and pushing out a wad of spit onto the marks. her tongue darts out, spreading it along the patch of skin, trying to ignore the way you gasp from above. when she pulls back, she whispers, “that should take care of it.”

“yeah.” 

she swallows hard, her tongue itching to lick up your dried blood. but, you’ve seen enough of her depravity today, and her hunger is quelled for now. 

which only leaves her to now face you, the heat of the moment dissipated, the goal accomplished, and motive no longer pushing you two to remain in such an intimate embrace. but, she can’t find it in herself to coax you off her lap. and she needs to know what you’re thinking. if you hate her, think less of her, never want to see her agaon. she knows those may not be logical possibilities, considering how much you seemed to enjoy the feeding (a fact which she still is having a difficult time deciphering), but still. maybe the impassioned moment wearing off will reveal to you the grim reality of who – what – she is.

she pulls back, eyes roving from your neck to your chin to your nose before finally setting upon your eyes, which are wide, pupils dilated. lee feels struck from the lack of anger or despair they hold, your eyebrows relaxed and face absent from creases of tension. 

“that was nice,” you half-laugh, head ducking down in what seems like… embarrassment?

lee’s clears her throat. “nice? really?” 

“yeah, I, um…” you trail off, the hand in her hair straying to pick at her sweater. she takes notice of the nervous tic – it’s something she herself would do. “I don’t know why, but it felt, like, so good after the pain subsided. I, um… I came.”

“came where?”

you give her a pointed look, as though you’re silently urging her to piece it together.

which she does a second later, lips parting as a shock pulses through her, stunning her into moments of silence before she quietly splutters, “you, uh – you had an orgasm?” so, that’s what the shaking was.

you bite your lip. “yeah.” 

lee’s eyes flick to the way your teeth sink into your bottom lip, an impulsive thought bursting through her mind about latching her fangs into it and watching the skin split. she shakes it off. she’s demanded enough of that of you today, and now has an unexpected orgasm to deal with. god, even the sentiment has her feeling secondhand embarrassment. how did you come from this? she skims through the possibilities, the only sensical one being that the bite actually felt good enough to cause, or contribute, to you coming. but, how?

“I don’t get it,” she flatly says. “how did you, um… you know?”

“I don’t know. it just felt so good,” you say, your tone lowering to something husky that has lee nearly shivering.

“it–it did?” she quietly confirms, her voice becoming a quiet murmur to match yours. when she looks up, her breath hitches at how close you are, your eyes entrancing, just as tempting as your neck had been just moments ago. similarly to the hunger, something in her throbs to get closer and inch in for a taste. 

but, she can’t, she shouldn’t. your friendship is already hanging on a thread that grows thinner with every new breach of intimacy you two embark on this evening. you guys haven’t even spoken of what occurred when she fed from you and what it means. another intimate act is not the answer. besides, even if she throws caution to the wind, what then? she can’t ask you to be with her, not when it’d succumb you to a lifetime of temporary living situations and outgrowing her. she can’t–

god, you’re moving closer, your eyes half-lidded, so similar to that one time you got high with her. “it felt really good.” 

you’re so close that your moist breath tickles her nose, hot and heady. your lips, a bit chipped from the cold, glisten as you rove your tongue around them to smooth them over. lee nearly whines at the sight, her center beginning to throb as your warmth wraps around her.

your eyes flicker down to her lips, and she immediately shakes her head, her breaths embarrassingly raspy when she says, “no, we shouldn’t.”

“please,” you plead gently, the tip of your tongue hanging out as you gasp softly. “please, lee.”

her teeth grind together at how you say her voice, a little whine lingering at the edge of it. “I– we can’t, you’d suffer for your entire life.”

“I won’t if it’s with you,” you interject, your voice raised in what sounds like broken desperation. “please, we can talk about this, figure out a way to be together.”

it sounds so good, too good. but, she knows it’d only end in pain, and she can’t do that to you. she won’t. “you would get hurt. I can’t do that to you.”

“I’d rather have you and get hurt than not have you at all,” you whisper, your fingers sliding up to softly grip her face, coaxing her to stare into your eyes, which are glossy with tears and earnestly sharp. “please, lee.”

could that really be good enough? having you for just a few years within the long, long life she’s going to live? is the heartbreak and agony that’d result from those years ending better than the emptiness of never having had a chance with you? lee really doesn’t know – both feel like a unique kind of hell, except one is of loss and the other is of an unlived possibility. but, at least the first would give her memories to warm by her side for the rest of her life, no matter how lonely it may be.

that tender thought is only heightened when you chew on your bottom lip, looking like the encapsulation of innocence and purity as you watch her carefully. “lee?” 

can’t she let herself have this with you? just once, have something based on pure want rather than need and efficiency? the prospect feels so goddamn tempting the more it whirls around in her mind. without realizing, she feels an invisible string, hanging between the two of you, tugging her towards you. her eyes are honed in on your pretty lips, so inviting, so ready for the taking with your small pants and excited little sweeps of your tongue.

“we–we shouldn’t,” she whispers as she leans in, eyes hooded as they remain trained on your mouth. 

“please, please,” you plead under your breath, the two meek words making lee’s head spin with thoughts of how else you’d beg under different contexts. “we can talk about it after. let’s just have this now.”

you’re right – you guys should talk about it. but, maybe before you kiss. doing it after seems risky, for the act will have been done by then, already shoving you two past the threshold dividing friendship from romance. it’s not a good idea, it’s not–

lee lunges forward, capturing your lips in hers. her arms are immediately hooked around your torso, shoving you close to her. she’s greedy, so damn greedy for every inch of you, her hands running along your back, nails tracing mindless shapes over the slip of skin revealed from your shirt riding up. you shiver from the cold of her touch, and she adores how your body moulds with hers. you’re so soft, so real, so good for her. a sentiment that only becomes more apparent as the raw taste of your blood swaps between your mouths as the tip of your tongue desperately curls along her teeth, prodding for the bits and pieces of your dried blood staining them. she doesn’t know why you’re so desperate for it, why you want to taste yourself in her mouth so bad. maybe having a part of yourself in her mouth drives you as insane as it does her. though, the notion only sends lee’s thoughts to a much more shameless place, and she finds herself sinking her fingers harder into the plush of your thigh, forcing you to be wedged tighter against her body. your chests press together as you two lick, suck and devour, the union feeling downright feral.

spit begins to leak from your mouth as your lips hang open to release all the noises pent up in you. lee’s mind feels hazy from knowing she’s causing those noises, and she worms her tongue into your mouth. she’s had your blood, and now, she wants to taste every other part of you possible. she wants to suck your chest, bite your lip and lick off all the slithering arousal from that spot between your legs. she wants you all, completely. 

“I wanna do so much,” she mumbles right before wrapping her lips around your tongue and sucking, more of your spit bursting onto her mouth and down your chin. she releases with you a pop to lap at the skin, starving for more of you. 

“then, do it,” you moan.

“some of it is wrong,” she rasps, her mind flooded with all the shameful desires she’s held in her chest for months. 

you pull back from her, resting your forehead upon hers. “trust me, none of it is.” after a pause where nothing rings through the rooms but your little pants, you whisper, “I want you to do so many things to me. things I’m so embarrassed of. but, wanting it must mean it’s not too bad, right?”

still hung up on your admission of wanting her to do things to you, she takes a few long moments to fully digest your words. she’d hate to ever contribute to making you feel ashamed of the fantasies you have, and she’s sure she’d want them all just as much as you. the realization gives her pause – will you be that for her? someone whom she can share with all of these secretive wants she’s always kept buried within, only allowing it to have rare glimpses against the light of day. 

with the way you’re staring at her, so desirous and trusting in your touches and gazes, she feels that just maybe, you can be that for her. you’ve already seen her at her most primal state of necessity and survival. if you can accept her in her desperate, graceless, thoughtless need, maybe you can accept her in all the desires she’s kept hidden for so long. 

“right,” she breathes, her nose rubbing against yours as she pushes her lips against yours again, dragging her nails down your back as you wrap your hands into her hair. 

maybe for a moment in her great span of life, she can let herself fall into the sanctuary of being with you. maybe, for some time, she can be drained of shame with you. maybe, if she hopes hard enough, she can feel human with you. or, even stranger of a possibility, she can be anything but human with you. she can stop pretending.

it seems like a faraway, impossible dream. but, as you seize at her with unfiltered desire, holding her close as though she’s something pure and good and precious, her chest splits open with a flood of hope. a flood that whispers maybe you’ll hold her tenderly as a creature that, yes, is still stuck between monster and human, but just as deserving of a life. despite the coldness of her skin, the breaths she only takes out of habit, perhaps this kiss is a vow that you’ll keep her alive through something beyond physicality, something deep in her that still sparks tears and laughter and empathy. something like a soul.

she lets you write the promise upon her skin that night, drinking and drinking it up, and letting it wash all over her. and she continues to for many years to come.

[judesmoonbeauty]

IkeVil Act 2 Prologue Thoughts & Theories

This will contain spoilers, and some 18+ remarks at the end, so MDNI. Please see under the cut. As usual, these are just my thoughts and feelings.This is a word salad. And not that this is important or anything, but I was totally listening to Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake while writing this.

My first thought is: That's it?! With the Act 1 prologue being as long as it is, and even with other IkeSeries games like Pri, I felt it was too short. I was expecting and wanting more. Perhaps, Cybird will release more later, but I doubt it. Seems that they are keeping Vogel underwraps as much as they can. Less is more, maybe that's what they were thinking?

Next: The spotlight is on Vogel (as it should be), since they're apparently debuting with Roger's route. We're excited to meet them, still I didn't like that other than Victor and Harry (with his two lines of actual dialogue), no other Crown members had any lines. Their sprites just pop up (sans William because he's away per Victor), to show that they were present. Where is that amazing stare-off that went down in Roger's PV?

Tell me this wasn't it! Hopefully, we get more of their first meeting within the first chapter of each of their main stories. Which leads me to......

When Act 2 Takes Place: It takes place a week after Kate's tenure of being the Fairytale Keeper begins, and honestly, I LOVE that. We need a change of pace. Now, don’t get me twisted, there's nothing wrong with seeing her start her journey from the very beginning, but consider:

Act 2 is supposed to delve deeper into the topic of the Curse itself from what I understand. If that's the case, we need to move things along. It would make storytelling easier (I feel), if Kate has already spent a week with the villains and isn't completely ignorant about curses.

Also, we're moving further along in the routes, which tend to become progressively darker with each route passing (my opinion), not starting from the day after she arrives at the Castle will allow the writers to delve deeper into things, and give us more chapters for - hopefully - more lore.

I mean when Roger's route finally releases, I'd expect maybe some flashbacks in chapter one of the night after Kate bumps into them on their mission, and then she agrees to be his assistant. I don't personally want an entire chapter or three of that, and I would love to see Kate already with a week's worth of experience of working with Jude & Ellis (when Jude's route releases). I want her to be someone who is already capable, not stumbling around with (How do I prove myself?), we already know how she needs to do this, as she's demonstrated in their events. Let's skip that and get to the good stuff. Now about the new meat on the market.....

Darius: Well, we all know that we can't trust him, and he's super interested in William for some reason. I'd love to see that meeting happen. His disappointed face made me chuckle when he was told that William was away, and you can clearly tell that he isn't a fan of Victor. WHY?? Is it the scones? Is it because Victor keeps his precious Cursed babies safe from those who may try to destroy his family? Can't wait for the explanation, because as Victor has said in the past, he doesn't want his time with Crown to end, and Darius seems like the one who is going to end it. I know Darius hasn't done anything yet, but I feel like I need to say this: Don't be mean to Vivi!

He seems to be focused on recruiting other cursed members into his "family", and his vision of the cursed and non-cursed joing hands together and work alongside each other (so he says).

He seems to be the big-bad (Gilbert tragic backstory vibes from this one?), I could be wrong, but that's what my gut tells me. I mean they all have one, but I feel like his is going to be twisted. A type that I am weak for.....so I am trying not to look at him at all.

Anyways....He's certainly angelic looking, and because he's wearing such an obviously painted smile, I would like to see him irked (not that I hate his character or anything), I just think it'd be funny as hell to see a blood vessel pop up on his forehead.

Nica: Right, Nica is gorgeous and he is the one I look forward to the most out of the three. His sprite has teeth when it's a full smile (congrats, my man), and a part from him making a comment that he's happy that Kate is present because he doesn't want to be stuck with a bunch of guys, he's very sharp.

He discerned by himself the real reason why she was at the castle. Also, he seems to love money and power....my other weaknesses are men who enjoy those things (stares at Jude & Silvio).....he doesn't seem to have a tyrant attitude, but I look forward to learning more about him.

Also, I have a theory I believe he may be involved with Roger's betrayal of Ellis' cursed predecessor. In Roger's main route preview:

Roger: Oh, me and…..this person……We aren’t friends. This person and I are strangers.

Mysterious Youth: ….Thank you. - “That’s enough”. (screen shakes)

Now, this could be Ring, but I think it's Nica also because of the relationship chart. I re-read the relationship chart. .

So, it'll be interesting to see how this plays out and how off I am. On to our darling......

Ring: Beloved, sweet, cold, blunt and Disney Princess Ring. He is the next villain I look forward to the most. I mean, a shared cursed ability with your twin? Moody emo vibes? Adorably quiet and strong? Please, I love him and want to cuddle him. Not to mention that skin-tight, black turtle neck....yummy. A part from this, Ring doesn't seem to like making speculations based on limited information, and I appreciate that about him. I think it's also notable that is very upfront with everyone at Crown, that if they try to harm Vogel, he won't sit quietly. Love a man of action. My question is: Why is he Darius' puppet, but not Nica? Ok, last but not least......

Sprite Designs: As usual, Nana-sensei has incorporated symbolism of their fairytale group into their clothing with lots of sharp edges. Personally, I love her art style over all, I think it's beautiful. Of note, Darius has a feather as his belt buckle and I quite like that. His brooch on his neck is the recognizable symbol of Vogel (seems like a swan's head with feathers to me), and the brooch on his floofy coat looks like the face of a swan staring at me. *Ahem* And I think his little neck window could be bigger....just saying.

Nica & Ring both have identical tassels, although they are different colors. One of their tassels likewise feature the symbol of Vogel, but the other looks like cross-hatch marks(?) Feathers(?). They apparently share the same curse, perhaps it represents their shared cursed since they are connected as twins??

They also share swan-faced holster clasps. The one on Nica holds his gun holster, and Ring's holds a book holster (?).....it looks like a book holster. Is it a book about flowers? I mean, it could be a snack pouch, but really it looks like a book holster to me. Just saying.....

Last, but not least, Nica's rings. My first thought: That's hot as hell. Next thought: Shit it's going to hurt like hell when he fingers Kate. This entire time I've been worried over William's and Jude's long ass fingernails cutting Kate up when they enter her, but this this amount of rings (assuming he doesn't remove them), that's going to scrape her so much inside. They're like a toture device.....wait.....maybe he's a sadist too? Oohh, yay if he is! Either way, he is a fan a jewelry.

Well, that's it. There's a ton more that I could write about, but I'm sleepy and I'm rambling.

[Master Lists]

[kingstarkingslay]

Platonic Moonwater Headcannon

Remus was the first friend Regulus made when he joined Hogwarts. Remus knew Sirius and Regulus weren’t on speaking terms ever since Sirius got sorted into Gryffindor and about the abuse the both of them experience at home so he takes the first chance he can get to befriend Regulus. The both of them get along really easily cause they both have a lot of common interests, majorly in books but Regulus only knows wizarding books so Remus starts introducing him to muggle books - literature and poetry. Regulus absolutely falls in love with them and they spend hours talking about them. They’d share notes on them.By now Sirius knows that the reason why Remus spends so much time in the library is cause he’s hanging out with his brother and he loves it cause now he knows his brother is in safe hands. Plus this gives him the chance to keep tabs on his brother through Remus.

Remus and Regulus start confiding in each other. In fact Regulus was the first one to know about Remus’s crush on Sirius. Remus finds out that Regulus loves playing the piano even though it was something his parents forced him to learn and that they actually have a Grand Piano back at Grimmauld Place but Regulus only knows Wizarding Piano Compositions cause that’s what his tutors taught him and you know what his family thinks about muggles….. so Remus then starts researching everything he can about Muggle composers- Beethoven and Mozart, Tchaikovsky and Bach , and he tells Regulus all about them. Once during the holidays Remus found a book called “ The Greatest Pianists ” at a bookstore so he buys it and brings it back with him to Hogwarts and lends Regulus the book, promising him that next time he’d look for a book with piano pieces ( or music sheets ) in them so that Regulus could maybe learn Muggle compositions.

But Regulus never got to return The Greatest Pianists because that was the year Sirius ran away and after that Regulus closed up completely. He stopped hanging out with Remus because of his anger at Sirius, even though he really missed his time with Remus. Remus knew Regulus was avoiding him but he didn’t push it cause he knew the younger Black brother was in pain.

So whenever Regulus was back at Grimmauld Place , he’d lock his bedroom door, take the book out of the little secret compartment he had on the floor under his bed and read it and cry cause he missed Remus. He missed being able to talk to him and spend his time with him. So he’d cry over all the people he pushed outta his life.

But then the letters started coming.

Letters written in a familiar handwriting.

Remus’s handwriting.

In the envelope were two pieces of paper.

One was a small piece of paper with the words “ I thought you’d find these interesting ” written in Remus’s handwriting.

And the other- A music sheet to Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata

Regulus immediately runs to the Grand Piano , rests the music sheet on the piano rack and starts playing the piece. By the time he’s done with it he’s in tears.

The letters don’t stop. Everyday during the holidays he wakes up to an owl dropping a different music sheet on his table and he’s rush to his piano and start playing them. By the end of the day he’d have learnt the piece by heart and could play it without looking at the music sheet.

His parents never found out about the letters cause Remus never signed his name on any of them.

More importantly, the letters were hidden in that secret compartment under his bed, folded neatly in between the pages of The Greatest Pianists.

[icanseethefuture333]

hello! can you do stray kids hyunjin’s ideal type??? thankss

Hyunjin from Stray Kids' ideal type

Qualities

(channeled song: Cherry Bomb by NCT 127)

Hyunjin is attracted to someone who has big dreams and has the yearning desire to achieve them. Someone who has a burning passion for life and willpower to turn their dreams into reality. He also admires a person who has an abundant mindset and the innate sense of creativity. Hyunjin could enjoy dating someone who is also interested in the arts (acting, dancing, poet, singer, etc). It is important that they have a close relationship with their friends as well or has a group of friends that they bond with. Hyunjin in particular is someone who values his friendships dearly and has a strong attachment to them. So if he were to date someone who would betray their friends for an opportunity or ditches them just to spend time with a partner, Hyunjin would be turned off by this. He greatly appreciates someone who never goes back on their word and has friends that support one another. He could also judge someone by their said friend group "Birds of a feather flock together". Hyunjin cherishes his relationship with the other members of Stray Kids as well, so if his partner could get along with them. This would make him very happy

(channeled song: Wannabe by Spice Girls)

"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends

(Gotta get with my friends)

Make it last forever, friendship never ends

If you wanna be my lover, you have got to give

(You've got to give)

Taking is too easy, but that's the way it is"

Personality

Hyunjin would love, not like, a partner who is confident and knows their self worth. He dislikes when people act like a "groupie" around him or a person who puts themselves down for a partner's approval. For example, if someone were to say "OMGEEE step on me daddy I'm nothing compared to you 😫" Hyunjin would just be like "...wtf? 💀". He finds it tasteless and believes it shows a lack of class. Hyunjin admires a person who shows self respect and has a sense of dignity. Although, he does not mind someone who is shy or nervous (he might actually like that oop 👀😏). Hyunjin enjoys teasing people he finds attractive and is enamored with their reactions. If someone were to actually hold eye contact with him and continue to engage with the conversation instead of pulling away, Hyunjin would fall head over heels for that person immediately ("I folded, I folded, I folded, I folded, I-"). The reason behind this is because it shows security and bravery despite being nervous or feeling under pressure. They would pass the test so to say in his book (I remembered the door test from A Bronx Tale so if you're unfamiliar with that movie go watch that specific scene). (channeled song: Romeo & Juliet by Tchaikovsky) I am getting a vision of him puckering his lips and I also heard kissy noises. So Hyunjin would become like Pepe Le Pew (minus the scandalous behavior 💀) with his partner if he were to experience this interaction. "Madam, j'taime 💋 *continues to profess love in french and repeatedly kiss their face*". Basically Hyunjin finds a person who is noble, charming, friendly, creative, secure within themselves, and "princess-like" (brat tamer?) to be his ideal type. Someone who is sweet but can also stand up for themselves when necessary. A little bit of enemies to lovers dynamic would add to the spice. Hyunjin is very dramatic tbh he is definitely a hopeless romantic.

Physical traits

As I was shuffling I got this aroma of "bubble tea"? It was a sweet and milky scent. So I interpret this as Hyunjin being attracted to someone who seems to have an appearance that is sweet as well as their demeanor.

Dark long hair (he does not have a hair texture preference)

Hyunjin likes to play with his partner's hair or braid it

"Diamond in the rough"

Natural beauty, someone who appears to down to earth.

Soft and approachable

Someone who is unconventionally pretty

"Beauty is the eye of the beholder" their appearance could not be everyone's cup of tea, but it is special to Hyunjin

"I am in need of a muse" one that could inspire him to paint

"Phantom of The Opera", "Black Swan", "The Nutcracker" - Hyunjin could wish to be protective of his partner or be the "darker" counterpart to his lover. So someone who is the opposite of him and is accepting of his flaws. Could have a "pure" presence in comparison

Long eyelashes

Eyes that seem sleepy, melancholic, or pure (Shape or size does not matter, but the feeling behind them. "Eyes are the window to the soul")

Aysmmetrical features (I.E: One eye being bigger than the other)

Unique facial structure (their face shape could be wide, round, or oblong)

"Cheeks" I saw Hyunjin like kissing someone on their cheeks, so someone with round cheeks or chubbier face

Cherry 🍒, this is sensual 😳 so I was getting a visual of someone feeding a person cherries and admiring the way their lips take a bite. So Hyunjin could find someone with plump, darker lips very sexy. Their lip color could be a dark red, mauve, or even two toned.

"Texture" Hyunjin find someone's skin that is considered "dirty" in society's eyes beautiful. This could pertain to freckles, beauty marks, moles, blemishes, and fine lines/wrinkles, whatever it is he just likes it

Stretch marks, I honestly believe Hyunjin has not seen this that often but when he does he feels intrigued by it... ("I would like to see it") Respectfully would want to strip his partner just to see them

I do not believe he has a skintone preference, I am seeing that he is attracted to various shades (I see pale to dark brown but it is interesting because I see it all on one person's skin? So Hyunjin could be open to dating someone who has vitiligo as well)

"Girl next door" clothing style

Jewelry or accessories that have a special meaning (I.E: lockets)

Height is not important to him

Balanced body proportions

Average in weight

Celebrities/influencers who are similar to his ideal type: Devery Jacobs, Emmy Rossum, Tsunaina Limbu, Theresa Hayes, Bae Yoon Young, Musette, Christina Nadin, analfaviu, Meltem Akçöl, Natalie Portman, Poppy Okotcha, jiaoze, Erika Blanc, & elibedy

Fun fact: I felt compelled to listen to music, so throughout the duration of this reading I played classical music the whole time to connect with Hyunjin's energy 🎻

[physics-of-one-piece]

Aaaaa the latest chapter was so good!!!

I loved the way you built up to the horror of Doffy sitting on the couch. The whole reason why it felt like an insult with HIM sitting on it after everything Y/N and Rosi went through to get that couch 😭

The Dressrosa kiss? Oh my god. The tension. I felt shivers. I could *feel* the disgust and fear through the whole scene, it was beautiful!!

Also, I bring to you: Tchaikovsky Swan Lake as another song rec. Listening to it I can envision it's the musical equivalent of what it's like for Y/N falling for Doffy. The sweet opening, feeling like he's just a huge sweetheart with all his live bombing, then the part where his true nature is revealed and everything after that feels like being trapped by him, the feeling of helplessness. Man. Something about it just feels so Doflamingo.

Can't wait for the next chapter!!! 😍

-🎶 🐦

Hi, 🎶🐦 anon!

Aaa, thank you, I'm so happy you loved the chapter!

I love love building up the horror and tension for Doffy. I hope I made some people cry over that couch, not gonna lie 🤣

I only came up with the Dressrosan custom kiss a few days ago but the moment I did I was like "YES! YES! YES! YEEEESSS!" 🤣🤣

I'm so glad you felt all the emotions. I loved writing it.

Omg, Swan Lake absolutely fits Doffy & Reader. Aaaaa, yes, absolutely, agreed. This is exactly that sort of scenery that you described, Doffy acting nice and all, love bombing you, the perfect gentleman, but then after you start dating him or after you move to Dressrosa or marry him, the curtains starts to fall... But it's already too late, you're deeply in love with him by then and all you can do is just be happy in your golden cage, little bird. Doffy will take care of you 😌

Whenever I hear any classical music with a lot of string instruments or piano I think of Doffy. Swan Lake is very much Doffy. Gosh,I love Swan Lake.

For another son trec for Reader & Doffy, may I offer Vivaldi's Winter to the table? Lots of quick, sharp violin in that one, really gives some sort of... Suffocating, tense feeling.

Thank you for the song rec, song bird anon, and thank you so much for the kind words! I'm so happy you enjoyed the chapter!

Lots of love to you! ❤️❤️❤️🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻💕💕💕🦩🦩

[couldawouldashoulda50]

How William react to Loren getting attention from guys in Sweden? I mean he got lots of love and attention during the summer so she needs some love too and get his ass in gear and make it official lol make him work

Nonnie - I like way you think.

Please don't get me wrong - I love William but I love the idea of someone turning the tables on him a little bit. Not maliciously - Loren is not an attention seeker…but William starts to notice that, whether she wants it or not, she’s an attention getter wherever she goes. I have mentioned before about reading about Taurus traits - they apparently can be a bit possessive and that's sort of how I picture William to be after he's spent more time with Loren.

This is what I imagined:

It was 3:22 AM and William was in a snit. In a mood. Pissy.

Beside him, Loren slept soundly and peacefully. She deserved it—she was completely fucked out. Loren often matched, or even exceeded William's sex drive, but tonight, his appetite for Loren was insatiable. After her last orgasm—where she spasmed so hard on top of him that she flopped over and clung to the mattress like it was her only saving grace—blissful exhaustion swooped in. She had almost passed out in that very spot but she willed herself to go to the bathroom first. The minute she returned, she kissed William appreciatively and fell asleep straight away.

William was tired but sleep wasn't finding him easily. A slew of thoughts began to weigh on his mind. Despite what most people assumed about William's cool and unbothered persona, sometimes things got to him, much like in moments like this.

The time Loren had spent in Stockholm was nothing short of perfect. Her presence was like a breath of fresh air—whether it was a family get-together, or a post-nap fika with friends, or even just the two of them out for a walk or lazing in bed—she just radiated goodness wherever she went. However, the one thing William noticed early on was that Loren stuck out in Sweden like a sore thumb. Her eyes were the colour of dark chocolate and her dark olive skin was that of a Mediterranean goddess. William saw it every single time they walked into a packed bar or club. He may be the reason they were escorted past the line-ups, but all eyes seemed to bypass William and fell upon Loren once they entered.

On one hand, the pride he felt knowing she was there with him… it wasn't just about her beauty. It was the way she carried herself. Her friendliness and kindness towards others. She could be reserved or be exuberant. Display her biting wit or be totally serious. How she could mouthed the words to Eminem and then gush about her love of Tchaikovsky in the same breath.

On the other hand, men, and in many cases women too, fixated on Loren. Women would approach her asking about her hair—her long, wavy mane that naturally gave off a sexy, freshly-fucked look.

But the men eye-fucked her over and over. Loren was slender with curves—seemingly a lethally magnetic combination that they could not avoid. William could mostly handle the gawking and the muttering under their breath about her tits and ass.

But it was when they approached her that he really got his back up.

It's not that he didn't trust her—he did implicitly and without any reservation. It revolved around his own hesitation about making things more official between them. He was still trying to navigate his meteoric stardom and worried about all the temptations that went along with it. So perhaps it was more that he didn't trust himself.

He didn't know what he was waiting for. Until he figured it out, she was very much fair game for other interested parties.

Which led to him sitting in bed in that moment, avoiding the hundreds of DMs and text messages that he received from the myriad friends, past hook-ups, and ones that hoped to be a future option.

Instead, he scrolled through the comments from one of Loren's segments that was edited for Instagram and TikTok. Her videos were picking up traction. Some of the comments were from her target audience, expressing appreciation for her love of languages and her easy-to-follow methods of learning conversational French.

But more and more, there were heart-on-fire emojis, fire emojis, and so on. There were offers to whisk her away for some "private lessons," some guy flaunting his yacht and asking "would she be his personal translator in Monaco," a smattering of marriage proposals, and a good number comments about her looks.

The thoughts of her being with someone else freaked him the fuck out.

William rubbed his eyes and set his phone down. He looked at Loren—she was stretched out on her back with one arm bent above her head. The sheet that covered her had slipped off, exposing her upper half to the cool air in the room.

William, who always ran a little hot, slid his hand along her midriff and then over her breasts. When she stirred from the warmth of his hands, he crawled on top of her, brushing his lips across her skin. Loren smiled and let out a soft moan as she wrapped her arms and eventually her legs around William's body.

She murmured responses to some of his lingering questions. Mainly "Do you actually know—or see—how men look at you?"

Her response was simple. "I don't care if men look at me like I'm this or that. I only care if you look at me that way."

He smiled against her skin.

Fuck, she really is a keeper, he thought.

[rhetoricandlogic]

BOOK REVIEW: Cage of Souls, by Adrian Tchaikovsky

May 22, 2019

Alex Hormann

The sun is dying. The Earth is all but dead. The last of humanity is clustered in a single city, as corrupt as it is vulnerable. But Stefan Advani has bigger problems. . .

I’ll cut straight to the point. Cage of Souls is the best book I have read so far this year. It’s bleak, depressing, brutal and with barely a drop of hope contained within its numerous pages. But that doesn’t subtract from the fact that it is vivid, wildly imagined and utterly brilliant.  For some reason I thought this was going to be a novella, and I am so glad it turned out to be a full-length novel. Because the story and idea within really need that extra depth and investigation.

We open with our narrator being shipped off to an island prison for vague crimes against the state. Cowardly and well-educated, Advani relies on both of these traits to keep himself alive. A task not made easier by dangerous wildlife, murderous inmates and a tyrannical Marshal who’d rather see the whole lot of them dead. The prison itself is as dangerous as any of the prisoners. A rusting mass of pumps and cages that appears to serve no purpose other than to get people killed.

Tchaikovsky’s future Earth is a uniformly bleak one.  Outside the prison and the lone city of Shadrapar, the world is all but uninhabitable. There are deserts that will burn you, jungles that will poison and eat you, and a toxic, plastic-choked sea that holds only death. It’s a world that has turned against humanity, a fact that most of the human race appears to have accepted. We have become a species that no longer looks to the future, because there probably won’t be one. A sense of darkness pervades the entire book that’s enough to keep you up at night, and give you nightmares even if you do drift off.

As he settles in to prison life, Advani slowly reveals  the events that led to his incarceration. As you’d expect, it’s not exactly happy reading. But it’s a change of pace that keeps you reading for just one more page. And then one more chapter. And then the whole book. These flashbacks to Shadrapar’s more cultured life are so far removed from prison life that they almost seem to be from another book. But rather than being disjointed, this only amplifies the sense of loss that fills the narrative.

One of the things I enjoyed most was the use of book-as-artefact. That is to say, Advani’s memoir exists within the world of the book. It adds another layer to the story, knowing that he himself considered the events important enough to record in text. While this technique lets the reader know the narrator survives, it allows for more intimacy than a regular first-person narrative. Playing with the unreliable narrator, while also directly addressing the reader, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the style used quite so well.

While I wouldn’t go so far as to call the book a wake-up call or use that dreaded word ‘timely’, the world is definitely informed by the ongoing conversation around the climate crisis we are currently facing. I can’t say that the book is an accurate depiction of where our species is heading (and I certainly hope the future can be a little brighter) it’s a worrying-enough possibility to make you think. Think, and fear. It would be easy for a setting like this to become nihilistic, but Tchaikovsky avoids that pitfall. Instead the book reads more sombrely. Like a lament for the future of human civilisation.

Adrian Tchaikovsky is one of Britain’s greatest living SF writers, and here he is on the top of his game. A serious contender for book of the year.

[dinoplantsghost]

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: mentions of WW2, teenage behavior: drama and language, mention of assault

word count: ~4.6k

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- Tchaikovsky Winter is here and in full swing despite it being late Autumn

Chapter List

Yule Break in France [9]

After exam week, Abraxas became fiendishly impatient. He wanted to leave, to get away from all the studying and the papers and the constant ticking of the large clock that stared him down in the Great Hall throughout the entire week. The night before the weekend rolled around, the boy dragged Saoirse to the Slytherin dorms to help her pack. However, when she told the Knights she barely had any clothes outside from her uniforms, all Hell broke loose. 

Eloise, being the group’s fashionista other than Miles, was devastated. “What do you mean you don’t own at least a dress or two?” He circled Saoirse, his red hair in disarray and his hands tugging at the girl’s black robes. “You seriously don’t have anything else other than this?”

“We never wore dresses, and there was no reason to,” Saoirse argued. “I’ve never been to a ‘ball’ before, Avery!” 

“Saoirse, you’ll be fine,” Miles said. “We can walk to the town that’s not far from the main manor. Besides, you have that dress from that Gryffindor girl.” 

Apparently, it was also common for old families to have multiple manors, or châteaux, as they called them. Most, if not all, of the Knights were French, or at least descended from another European country. English was already difficult for the average Japanese speaker; French, however, could crash and burn for all Saoirse cared. 

“Oh, you know, I’ve been hearing a lot about that girl,” Avery gasped. “What’s her name—de la Rosa? I heard some rumors about her and that Hufflepuff bloke. According to Walburga, Griffin tried to force himself onto her or something. Apparently he was complaining about the girl to his friends and people came to that conclusion. I always thought he looked like a weird goblin, to be honest. It’s surprising since I always see him walking with a random girl for a few months before hopping to another one.” 

“Don’t talk about Ava-Lynn like that, it’s rude.” Saoirse frowned. “That’s none of our business; drop it. Black’s cousin isn’t a good source, anyways.” 

“I know,” he sighed. “But honestly? Even I know not to do anything like that; I know when to cut my losses. Are you sure you can hang out with Mayfield? It’s not like he’s dropped the guy, you know, even with the knowledge of what he may or may not have done to her.” 

“I’m sure it’s more complicated, we can’t assume anything. Tracy badmouths Griffin any time he gets.” 

Eloise made a noise of sarcasm, a concept Saoirse caught wind of quickly when she first learned English from Merrythought.

The door slammed open, and Abraxas stomped through with his hair pushed back with a headband. “Enough gossip, we need to be packed by lunchtime so we can leave for France.”

“Don’t say that,” the red head whined. “We always have time for gossip, it’s what we do!” 

“Well, we’ll have time for more gossip if you hurry up!”

He opened his mouth, finger pointing to the blond before he considered his friend’s words. “I don’t like that you’re right.” 

Saoirse dragged her hand across her face, her eyes heavy with exhaustion. She drowned out the noise with her thoughts, mentally going over their plans one more time. 

While they wanted to goof off and show Saoirse what France had to offer, the Knights needed to focus on figuring out Riddle’s dilemmas for him. Exams had drowned the group in studies and they had no time to find anything about the Chamber of Secrets before the break. If the main Malfoy Manor in France did not have anything, the blond heir said that was another, smaller manor six hours south near the Spanish border. But with the Muggle War, it would be a risky move; the whole trip to France was entirely dangerous within itself.

With a snap, Saoirse closed her suitcase, its fresh leather and gold locks shiny. France already sounded troublesome before stepping foot on its land.

───────────

Saturday, December 19th

The Knights of Walpurgis left Hogwarts midday, carrying their luggage through Hogsmeade to a comically small carriage pulled by Unicorns. Abraxas made it his personal mission to push Saoirse into the carriage first to avoid familiar mishaps the first time she encountered the horned creatures. 

The trip to France took about three hours. The sun had begun to fall when the carriage settled at the front of the manor. The girl had never seen so much snow until now. France was covered head to toe in a thick blanket of white, all while snowflakes continued to pour throughout each hour. Being so used to the weather in Iwo Jima, which was further south from Japan, Saoirse was starting to miss the humidity. 

Stepping out of the carriage, Saoirse knew deep in her heart something was wrong. The moment her feet crunched on the path of sand and gravel, a sinking feeling in her stomach kept her from moving forward. It wasn’t until Patrick took her hand that she distanced herself from the wagon. 

The French manor of the Malfoy family was extremely large, rivaling the space Hogwarts took up in Scotland. The pillows of snow surrounding the castle reflected back, shining in Saoirse’s eyes and illuminating the navy blue roofs sitting high on the sixteenth-century architecture. As the group walked along the pathway, two muddy figures could be seen near the towering doors of the chateau. 

Abraxas immediately abandoned his luggage to greet them, the most comforting smile Saoirse had seen from the boy. “This is my mother and father, Lady Ayla and Lord Henry of the great House of Malfoy.” 

The boy was a splitting image of his mother. Both had the same polite smile, the same broad nose that arched sharply, and the same desire for diplomacy. His father, however, had a much kinder disposition. It was clear as day who Abraxas got his hair from, as well as his steel blue eyes. 

Avery ran up to the adults in a familiar fashion, squeezing both into a hug. “Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy,” he laughed. “It’s great to see you two!” 

The other Knights followed suit, each giving Henry a firm handshake and a brief hug, while Ayla received either a kiss to the cheek or the back of her hand. Henry and Ayla had the most favorable reactions when approached by Riddle, however. The man greeted Tom like an old colleague, going out of his way to pat the boy on the back while Mrs. Malfoy greeted him as if he were her son. 

“I’m so glad you decided to join us again this year, sweetheart,” she gushed. “Every time you visit I can’t help but feel for you, Tom, I wish we could take you in.” 

With a polite laugh and smile, Tom shrugged his shoulders. “You have done more than enough these past few years, Mrs. Malfoy; I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“Please, Tom, my mother and father would kill to take you in,” scoffed Abraxas. “Sometimes I think they love you more than me and my brother.” 

When Ayla moved to hit her son on the arm, she noticed the smaller figure behind the group of boys, her hands shivering next to her ashed and dry lips in an attempt to warm her skin. “Oh, and who are you, darling? You’re absolutely freezing.” She pushed the boys away, forcing all the attention onto the girl as she wrapped her shawl around Saoirse. “Let’s get you inside, dear. Richy,” a house elf popped in their view, “could you take this girl’s luggage? Thank you.” 

The large doors of wood heaved, swinging open to allow the teenagers inside the manor. The foyer extended far and wide, a sharp and shiny chandelier dangling from the ceiling as feet walked along the red carpet. Past the numerous moving paintings and the glamorous objects that were sure to be centuries old, Mrs. Malfoy sat Saoirse down on the leather couch in the middle of the parlor decorated in green foliage. 

“Now, what’s your name, sweetie,” Ayla smiled. “You must be the new exchange student at Hogwarts. Abraxas had mentioned you a few times in his letters home.” 

“Has he?” Saoirse mused. “I hope it’s nothing that ruins my image, ma’am. I would hate to leave this beautiful architecture behind.” 

The lady laughed behind her palm, taking a seat next to the girl. “Nonsense! This is the first time our son’s brought home a young lady. I would never want to see you out, dear.” 

“Mum,” Abraxas blushed. “It’s not like that! I’m supposed to marry that Torsia girl, remember?” 

“Oh, yes, son; how could I forget?” 

Lord Henry rested in his loveseat, fingers gripping his mug of coffee. “Say, girl,” he started. “You look awfully familiar. What did you say your name was?” 

“I didn’t, sir; my name is Saoirse.” 

“Really? I apologize, but that’s an interesting name to have considering your ethnicity. What’s your surname?”

“My family name is Watanabe. I highly doubt you would know anyone from my family, though, as it’s a fairly common surname.” 

The man nodded, a solemn look falling on his features. “I see. It’s just…Ayla and I have invited a business partner from Japan, and they just lost their daughter a few months ago. I was hoping you would be able to shed some light on that.” 

Flames from the fire flickered, warmth spreading through the parlor as attentive ears fell on Saoirse’s silence. “I knew of her,” she muttered. “Himiko was her name, Himiko Itohata. According to the rumors, the staff at Mahoutokoro found the girl tied to the wall of her dorm. To say she looked nothing like herself would be an understatement.” 

“Merlin,” Mrs. Malfoy gasped. “I couldn’t possibly imagine losing one of our sons like that…It makes me nauseous to even think about it.” 

Abraxas frowned, leaning forward on the back of the couch. “Surely, they brought the girl to justice, yes?” 

Saoirse nodded. “Her murderer was beheaded, supposedly.”

“Is that why you transferred to Hogwarts—because of her death?” 

“No, I was a problem child. I’ve grown a considerable amount ever since I came to Hogwarts, and I’m extremely grateful.” 

Maybe it was the rush of exams, or the rush to enjoy their Yule break, but a veil of quaint awkwardness was pulled off the girl’s visage and character. The Knights were very much aware of Saoirse’s capabilities as she easily rose in the school’s ranks just below Tom as their year’s salutatorian. She was on par with the Slytherin descendant, the constant reminder of her skill permanent on the boy’s skin. But since the Knight’s first meeting, all caution was thrown out the window. Saoirse was a friend, a comrade, and a Knight just like they were. She was one of them, part of their nightly debates and their weekly cloud watchings by the Black Lake. 

Abraxas hoped he was wrong, so painfully wrong. But with his previous theories coming to fruition, optimism was quickly drained like a vampire with their victims.

───────────

The Knights were crammed into Abraxas’ room, Eloise making divots in the carpet as he paced back and forth with his hands in his red hair. “I can’t wrap my head around it,” he wheezed. “Saoirse wouldn’t do that—would she?”

“Of course she wouldn’t,” Patrick reasoned. “Besides, you heard what she said; she hardly knew the girl.” 

“She could have easily lied, Patrick,” said Orion. 

“But why? Why would she lie to us?” 

“Patrick, we understand that you have feelings for her, but this is no time to be biased.” Tom said. He crossed his legs in his seat, his forefinger fiddling with the stick of glorified death, a cigarette, in his hand. “Let this be a wakeup call—to all of you. Need I remind you of what she did to me?” 

The boys were silenced, jaws tense and snapped shut. In retrospect, it was easy to forget what they had initially thought of Saoirse. She was always quiet, the very few words she decided to let fall from her lips sticking to their ears for as long as they could. The more she spent with them, the louder her voice would be, the more confident she was. Saoirse always argued with Eloise, Cassius, and Miles, entertaining the rest whenever she would give up in a fit of passion and resort to her hands to get her point across. In short, they had grown attached, as if she had been in the group for as long as they could remember. 

That was not to say that they had any problem with her actions; it was just baffling to think of the girl digging her hands in the bowels of someone the same age as them. Tom had murdered people before, so it should not be any different, right? But deep down, they knew; it was drastically different to kill for the sake of curiosity than to kill for the sake of revenge and pride. Tom had killed the only blood relatives he had while Saoirse killed a girl that used to roam the halls of the very respectable school that was Mahoutokoro.

Tom took a drag from his cigarette before continuing his monologue, his tone sardonically light. “You said it yourself, Nott; once we’re done with the girl, we kill her. Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts now. Let us put it this way: if we do not kill her, we have no reason to think she would attack or betray any of us, regardless of what she did to me previously. So, if you—and the rest of the Knights, are seriously putting her on some pedestal, then fine; we won’t kill her. However, don’t think for a second that I would hesitate to take action if she decides to do something stupid.” A stub of ash fell from his Lucky Strike. “She would be foolish to even try, anyways.” 

A knock hit the door, followed by the click of the doorknob to reveal the topic of discussion peeking her head through the crack. “I had a hard time finding where you all were,” she huffed. “I had to ask one of the house elves and I don’t think they like me.” Oblivious to the shared looks around the room, Saoirse slipped inside to lean against the round table. “So, when are we going to the library?”

“Right,” Abraxas exhaled. “We were planning to head there soon since dinner is going to take a while. After that, we can look inside the study rooms if we have the time.” 

“You look constipated,” Saoirse laughed. “In fact, all of you look tense. Are you okay?” 

Sweat pooled on the boy’s lips, his gaze looking anywhere but in Saoirse’s eyes of concern. 

“We were having a boy talk, Saoirse, you wouldn’t get it,” Cassius said, waving a hand of reassurance. “In fact, we had a man talk. About manly things.” 

After snuffing out his cigarette, Tom stood up and wiped his palms on his trousers. “Alright,” he sighed. “Take us to the library, Abraxas.”

───────────

While the others seemed to have these forced opinions of the foreigner, Tom held onto his instincts. He was far from dumb, but so was Saoirse. It shouldn’t take a genius to figure the girl out; she laid everything on a silver platter. Well, most things. Tom was positive Saoirse had killed that Himiko girl, no matter how hard his Knights tried to deny it. However, she was lying about one thing, but it was difficult to navigate through her vague and aloof demeanor towards her past. He was very familiar with the tactic, though, having fabricated his own background with half-truths. 

Tom did not know what to make of her, truly; she was a big, red question mark that stuck out from his plans to greatness. When the girl was not Hell-bent on being annoying, she was an airhead. The boy’s thoughts were only confirmed as the group walked through the long halls of the manor, Saoirse’s head swiveling on her neck with a few loose screws. She was as loud as she was quiet, a walking contradiction insistent on being a creeping nodule of irritation.

Abraxas, once they found the library, heaved the doors open to reveal a tall void covered in books and pockets of knowledge from wall to wall. A labyrinth of curiosity and power is what Tom could describe it as. 

“I’ve always hated the way books smell,” coughed Eloise. “It reeks of nerd.” 

As Saoirse walked past the red head, she couldn’t help but comment: “It really explains your scores, though, Avery.”

For a moment, a breeze of laughter reflected the way deep orange sunlight filtered through the giant windows, revealing each speck of dust. 

Tom, in all of his joyful cheer, pushed through his lackeys in stride, his mind set on ending the day with his nose buried in aged tree pulp. The air simmered in favor of silence, the occasional whisper or rebuttal here and there filtering through pages flipping and hard leather slamming against thin tables. 

Soon enough, it was difficult for the fifteen-year-old to be pulled from his flow state. With each word his brain drank up, he felt like a boy driven by naïvety once more. The dust in the library felt familiar as it clung on to the fabric of his white polo, a painfully warm reminder of his upbringings on creaky, moldy floors of wood. Books were always his escape, a way to breathe through the ostracism powered by weak beliefs. He never wanted to be harmful; never once did he ever think to maim little Billy’s rabbit until his fatty of an owner decided to get on his last nerves that day. He never wanted to live in that orphanage any more than Miss Cole wanted to take care of him, or any of those kids for that matter. It wasn’t his fault his poor excuse for a mother birthed him on the same dirty, disease-ridden floors he read on; it shouldn’t be his fault. 

“You’ve been stuck on that page for a long time,” said a voice. “Maybe you need glasses, Riddle.” 

Riddle. What a horrible, hair-raising surname of his. He pressed a forefinger between the pages before closing the book, begrudgingly lifting his head to meet Saoirse’s eyes. “I find it odd that you would stare at me long enough to figure that out.” 

The girl rolled her eyes. “I just came over to tell you that Patrick might have found what the monster in the Chamber of Secrets is. I’ve been calling your name for about a minute now.” 

That is certainly one way to catch his attention. Tom pushed the book in his hand back in its proper place on the shelf. “Speaking of Nott,” he sang glibly. “How have you two been? Surely he’s made better advancements in courtship by now.” 

As the two walked side by side, Saoirse recoiled. “Don’t act like you’re interested in our lives all of a sudden. If you really wanted to know, you would hang out with the boys more.” 

“Why would I? I socialize with them enough.” 

“Honestly,” she sighed. “With that attitude, it’s difficult to think you want more respect from them. They only reflect your own efforts for a connection—which are very feeble, by the way.” Before they turned the corner between two rows of shelves, she frowned at Tom. “Haven’t you ever wanted friends? Those are more loyal than any posse or follower, even for the most powerful figures in history.”

“How naïve you are, Saoirse.”

The girl did not bother to reply, making her place next to Patrick. The Austrian boy pushed the large tome in the middle of the table for all to see, the crinkles on the faded pages making its age archaic. 

“It has to be a Basilisk.” Patrick said. “If Salazar wanted to make an impact, he would have housed this in the Chamber of Secrets.” 

“That thing is huge, though,” argued Abraxas. “How would it navigate through the castle?”

“I’m not sure, but there’s no other answer; this has to be it.” 

The table creaked under the weight of Cassius leaning forward to read the cracked script. “‘A Basilisk will be birthed through the process of incubating a chicken egg under a toad for up to three months.’ That’s ridiculous! The Basilisk would be dead by now!”

“Salazar Slytherin would be smart enough to prolong its death, Mulciber,” said Tom. “It’s perfectly reasonable to assume the Basilisk is the monster in the Chamber. The problems that present themself to us now are the creature’s way of navigation and the location of the Chamber.” 

“If the Slytherin common room is below the castle in the dungeons,” Saoirse suggested. “Is it possible the Chamber would be built in a similar fashion?”

Abraxas shrugged. “Maybe. The only thing I can think of the Basilisk moving from place to place would be the pipes. My father has shown me the plumbing plans for this property before, and if Hogwarts is anything like this manor, then the pipes should be large enough to fit a snake like that.” 

“So, what?” Louis frowned. “The Basilisk just makes its way through the pipes? That would imply that the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets would be…” 

None of them wanted to say it, let alone think of the possibilities. There was no way in Hell a group of aristocratic boys would spend their spring semester lounging around lavatories and toilets.

┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

“I still can’t believe you’ve never celebrated Christmas before. Don’t tell me you would spend weeks studying for finals at Mahoutokoro.” Said Miles.

Saoirse shrugged. “The High Priestess found Christmas to be redundant, and it’s a western holiday anyways; she saw no point in it.”

The Yule Ball was set for December 25, otherwise known as Christmas. Having solved their problems as Knights, the Slytherin boys were more than happy to finally relax and enjoy the season. They had woken Saoirse early to get a head start in the day. Since the girl did not have any dresses appropriate for the upcoming occasion, they did their best to provide Saoirse with the best shopping experience Val de Loire had to offer. 

Miles and Louis hooked arms with Saoirse, the girl unable to stop a grin from crawling on her face as they skipped through the little town a few ways from the Malfoy Manor. The snowy breeze was cold on her cheeks, but she never felt so warm before in her life. 

“Now, since France is a bit occupied by Germany,” the Lestrange boy muttered. “The fashion is a bit…stuck in time. My personal favorite, and I think the period you fit the most, is Edwardian fashion from a couple decades ago. The shops here should have some dresses like that in stock. If not, I’ll have my mother owl you a few for the time being.” 

“‘Brax’s mum would lend some, too,” Louis said. “She looked so happy to meet you yesterday.” 

The group eventually stopped in the middle of the town. Miles and Louis begged the other boys to drag Saoirse and “shop-hop” as they called it, but Abraxas and Patrick were firm in their wishes to stay together. 

“We can’t afford to split up,” Nott sighed. “I want Saoirse to have a good time too, but an air raid could happen at any moment.” 

“Well, let Tom follow us,” Miles whined. “If something happens, we’ll be fine. The Ministry couldn’t possibly do anything if we use magic to save ourselves, right?” 

“And what makes you think I want to be part of your senseless gallivanting?” Tom challenged. 

Miles gasped. “You take that back! It’s never senseless if it’s a girl’s first dress. This is her entry into womanhood, Tom!”

“I got my first dress from Ava-Lynn…” Saoirse muttered. 

“Well—that doesn’t count.” 

Without another word, Lestrange tugged the girl along, Louis following as he hung from her other arm. They ignored the words Patrick, Orion, and Abraxas were yelling; Miles was too busy complaining that his dark complexion looked dead in the winter season. He was much more of a warm summer tone. 

Patrick turned to Tom. “Please go follow them,” he frowned. “It’s the least you could do for us—for her.” 

“This will cost you a packet,” Tom uttered, taking a cigarette from the metal container in his pocket. He shuffled over to a corner to cup his tobacco stick, using his magic to discreetly light the end. The boy made strides to catch up with Saoirse, Miles, and Louis, his hair moving with the chilling wind. He would have put gel in this morning, but he always saved the product for school and special occasions.

The small group had walked in and out of three shops due to Miles’ expensive taste and sharp eye. In the final shop, Louis stood by Tom as Miles helped Saoirse pick out her last dress, carrying the rest of her options in his arms. After some shuffling and not-so-subtle cursing, Saoirse stepped out of the changing booth in apprehension. 

“I don’t think this is my color,” she pouted. “I think purple makes me look sickly.”

When they first entered the shop, Saoirse was adamant on avoiding pink and yellow. Blues looked fine on her, since her hair was already cerulean, and brown complimented that as well as her jade green eyes. 

“I think the lavender looks nice on you, though,” Louis argued. “It puts a bit more pink in your cheeks. Actually, that might just be the weather instead. Whoops.” 

Miles nodded, taking a closer look at Saoirse’s skin. “I can see the vision, Louis. What do you think, Tom?” 

“It just looks purple to me.” He clicked, tapping off the ash from his Lucky Strike.

Saoirse frowned. “Don’t ask him, he’s such a Gloomy Gus about everything.” She looked at Miles expectedly, a hint of hope in her eyes as she stared at the boy. “Did I use that phrase right?” 

Ignoring the high-five Miles gave Saoirse, Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Maybe I have my reasons to be pessimistic.” 

“Forget about him, Saoirse, get the dress.” Lestrange smirked. “Besides, the only opinion you really should be worried about is Patrick’s.” 

“Nott would not know a single thing about color,” Tom nipped. “He’s colorblind.” 

“Well, he doesn’t have to choose by the color, necessarily. Every dress has a different design.” 

“If Nott is anything like me, then he wouldn’t know a thing about women’s clothing.” 

“Florian has a mother, a sister, and two cousins; what makes you think he doesn’t know how to distinguish dresses? The only person who doesn’t know a thing is you, Riddle.” 

Tom lit another cigarette, his heartstrings tugging at the thought wasting another in a fit of stress and annoyance. “What I do know is that purple doesn’t look good on her.” He sassed. “Saoirse was right when she said she looked like a corpse.” He pushed himself off the pillar he was leaning on, pressing his rough hands into his coat. “There’s no use in purchasing the other dresses, the only one she should wear is the brown one. She clearly looked most comfortable in that.” 

Stares burned into his black hair as he turned to leave the shop. The bell dangled against the door as he stepped out, only for the familiar ring of sirens to blare into his ears. 

The town turned into a cloud of black and gray, ears now ringing and bleeding at the shock of sizable bullets hitting the ground, glass, and any surface death could touch.

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

[ofmays]

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ❍﹒𝙼𝙰𝚈 𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙴. history major &&; stereotypical brooding bookworm : house pulgasari's vice captain with an expertise in BLOOD MANIPULATION and RBF. . . he also really loves tchaikovsky and wine ( ONLY RED !! ) and will one hundred percent talk your ears off about the rise and fall of marie-antoinette &&; the roman empire — the roman empire IS his roman empire !!

hi everyone !! really excited to get to writing with everyone and learn about your muses all the more !! i'm finn ( he/they, 24 ) & i'll be writing MAY while staying here !! here are some direct links to may's PROFILE, his ANOMALY and his unfinished PLOTS page that i'll definitely get to in due time !! ( here's a quick rules page too for reference !! ) below this i'll leave a tldr on his background and ability, feel free to like this post if you're interested in plotting, but be warned that i'm going to be messaging each and every one of you anyways !! :3c

tw: small mention of blood/animal death !! i tried to be as brief as possible so apologies for the word vomit fr...

⠀ ❍﹒ current : brief about may as of now !!

may "kwanchai" sailee — don't call him kwanchai though...nobody does... !! currently 25 and is a taurus sun, cap moon and sag rising to anyone who knows what that means !! he is currently on his post-graduate year of history and is house pulgasari's vice captain (its very srs to him ok ??) he's known to be a hermit and keep to himself, mostly tucked away in corners of the library or campus. he love love LOVES classical music and what he studies, don't ask him about his interests or he won't shut up !! oh, and definitely don't ask him about his anomaly or he'll try to k*ll you with his brain . . .

⠀ ❍﹒ background : he doesn’t really have a tragic backstory tbh…all of his current problems stem from his distaste for his anomaly and what kind of person it makes him !! below i’ve left some trivia points i guess ?? just to get to know him better !!

— may is born to two loving parents in bangkok, thailand as their first son, a product of their pre-arranged marriage. he has one older sister and one younger sister. although his parents would disagree, he’s incredibly spoiled by them and is their secret favorite child (for some reason…) they are incredibly wealthy due to may's father's involvement in the fuel industry.

— throughout his youth, he attended only the best of the best schools and after school activities. he picked up ballet at a young age and excelled at it along with his studies. he still loves ballet to this day, but is far too dedicated to his current major: history, to pick it back up. he settles on watching drama rehearsals for now. a certain hamlet is just way too eye catching for him to look away…

— he learned of his anomaly at age eleven when a mouse was caught in a trap at home. he didn’t like seeing the mouse in distress, it evoked something in him, and the next thing he knows he’s directing blood back into its wound, steady, steady…until the pressure became too much and he near explodes the creature in his palm, killing it. since then he’s had a distaste for his ability and only uses it on himself.

— blood based anomalies run in his family, and while may has never been shamed for his ability, he was instructed throughout his life to keep it a secret while he attended high ranking schools. little did may know that it would prove to be incredibly difficult to keep his ability to himself due to his blood empathy, and soon enough his parents realized that it wouldn't be easy to hide it. in search of answers they found nuvilli, a drug currently in production. along with providing generous donations to the drug itself, and later to seoul university for anomalies, may was admitted to the university on the base of a scholarship, but to anyone else he basically paid his way in.

— may is extreeeemely anti-social...like really anti-social, and it's mostly to protect his own mental health with his blood empathy, nothing personal !! (most of the time) he gets a bad reputation for his overall attitude and anomaly; most would see him as intimidating(? or something similar!) and weird. he's actually really sweet under it all though, he has a lot of love and care to give !!

— being the vice captain of pulgasari is like a full time job to him /srs. he seemingly becomes a whole new person while taking part in games and meetings; entirely more confident. it's the only time he actually gets to show off his anomaly without feeling like a freak for it !! he's known to be pretty involved on field during games-- he's kiiind of an ace but he definitely won't say that about himself . . .

❍﹒ anomaly : a brief breakdown !!

may has a blood manipulation ability, he can use it for blood-bending and blood links, and suffers from blood empathy as a by product. he can only use blood for bending (from himself and from others) when it is visible. he's kinda really ashamed of his anomaly and doesn't talk about it a lot or use it :/ his main weaknesses are sight proximity and water !!

❍﹒ plots : a few quick ones i just thought of rn !!

— tutor may where may tutors your muse and helps them with school work ?? he's very studious and likes to help others when it comes to school work !! he also has a lot of extra time to himself due to being in his post-graduate year of uni !! (less days for a whooole lot more work to do) this is one of those plots where may will actually force himself to be social . . . — house pulgasari members plz plz plz !! self explanatory but maybe they get to see a different more confident side of may !! — his one and only sole ex that ruined his mental for months after they broke up because he swore he wouldn't get into a relationship for that EXACT REASON but he did it anyways and it went way worse than he could have ever anticipated !! both of them probably sucked like it was bad for both parties . . . — people who also live in the yellow hall !! self explanatory again >< — those who are in different houses than house pulgasari...they probably don't like may and may doesn't like them either...a fun competitive plot :3c — overall just people that get on may's nerves and visa-versa !! he has a very short temper and doesn't have a lot of patience for people, this paired with his anti-socialness does NOT make him the most pleasant person to be around on a surface level fdghdf

ok shutting up for now but if you have any ideas for plots please do not hold back, may is very dependent on them for connections !!

[peppymintdreams]

uh hello peppy I like your work a lot. I wanted to request if my OC could be made out into a fic I saw that in one of your post you mentioned and I was wondering if you could maybe write it (it’s fine if you don’t want to I was just wondering) her name is Lira she’s pale a tad bit introverted graceful I’ll send more to you in your DMs if you okay with that but

the idea I had was

Sir Andrew is philosopher in literature and teaches the youth but an older student one who appears no more than three years younger then him attends his classes. Everything about this student seems so intriguing their flawless skin the delicate voice it reminds him of a swan Sir Andrew logs down his fascination in this student of his and he notices his student has began to disappear more and more frequent, rumors around the village speculate that student is a witch or a cursed being and enchants men to drag them

I hope you can write this maybe thank you

Mint Jesus christ- damn this is long (that’s what she said) damn my child yall need to summarize this shit or send me your whole…essay of the Bible to me via DMs…

Hmmm this is interesting and based on the information you gave me…I can make this work

A Swan's Cry

Andrew Marston x Lira

Sir Andrew, a literature philosopher, becomes captivated by a mysterious student whose ethereal beauty and frequent disappearances fuel rumors of enchantment or a curse.

Sir Andrew was a man of reason, a philosopher well-versed in the works of the greats. As a literature professor, he had always taken comfort in the certainty of his books and the logic of his teachings. But the moment they walked into his classroom a student unlike any other that comfort began to unravel.

The student was quiet, almost ethereal in presence, with skin as pale as the winter moon and a voice so soft it reminded Andrew of a swan’s song both fragile and haunting. Their name? Lira, a name as delicate as the person it belonged to. Lira was no more than three years younger than Andrew himself, and yet there was something ancient in the way they carried themselves. They sat at the back of the class, always attentive, eyes gleaming like the surface of a still lake. But what fascinated Andrew most wasn’t just their beauty, nor their apparent intellect, but the way they seemed to vanish.

At first, it was subtle Lira missing the occasional lecture, leaving before classes ended, slipping away without notice. Andrew might not have cared, had the student not been so mesmerizing, so different from the rest. As the weeks passed, the absences grew more frequent, and rumors began to stir in the village.

“She’s not human,” whispered the baker’s wife one day as Andrew passed by. “Some say she’s a witch.”

“A cursed creature,” said another, eyes wide with superstition. “They say she enchants men, luring them to the lake where she drags them beneath the water.”

Andrew dismissed the gossip as village nonsense, but the more he saw of Lira and the more he didn’t see the more the words wormed their way into his thoughts. He began to write about Lira in his journals, not as a student, but as an enigma. He became obsessed with finding out more about them, piecing together the fragments of who they were. Where did they go during those long absences? Why did they leave so abruptly, as if carried by the wind itself?

Andrew finds himself intrigued by Lira more than any student he has ever had. He takes note of the way she walks, the grace in her movements, how she carries herself with the calm of someone who knows that the world bends to her will. Yet, it is not just her physical presence that draws him in; it is the mystery surrounding her.

He begins to log down his fascination in a private journal, as though trying to understand the enigma she presents.

March 10th, 1X—

"She arrived late again. Her eyes, a strange mix of indifference and sorrow, never seem to meet mine, but I can feel her presence in the room. She does not ask questions, nor does she answer much when spoken to. But when she does speak, her voice is so soft, it feels like it might vanish on the breeze. Today, she was absent for an entire week, and I wonder where she goes. What does she do when she is not in the classroom? The others notice her silence, but they do not understand what I see. She is... different. Like a bird that should not be caged."

One evening, while staying late at the university to finish grading papers, Andrew caught sight of Lira from his study. The student was walking towards the woods that bordered the village, their slender form fading into the fog that clung to the earth like a veil. On impulse, Andrew grabbed his coat and followed.

He kept a safe distance, his heart racing as he trailed Lira deeper into the woods, his logical mind battling with a creeping sense of dread. The further they went, the more the rumors replayed in his head cursed, enchanted, not of this world. It wasn’t long before they reached the lake, the surface of the water smooth and black beneath the moonlight. Andrew watched from behind a tree as Lira stepped to the shore, their hands trembling slightly as they stood at the water’s edge.

And then it happened.

With a graceful, almost unnatural motion, Lira began to shed their clothes. But it wasn’t the sight of their exposed skin that sent a chill down Andrew’s spine, it was the way their body began to change. Slowly, elegantly, as if woven by magic, their arms became wings, their body shrinking and reshaping. Before Andrew’s very eyes, Lira transformed, their human form giving way to that of a swan, the silver shoes that had adorn their feet in their original form, still embellished her feet even in the form of a Swan. A creature so pure and haunting it felt as though the world had fallen silent.

Andrew’s breath caught in his throat, his mind racing to make sense of what he had just seen. Lira the student he had been so captivated by was not just a person. They were the swan, the very creature from the old legends, a being cursed to live between two forms, one human, one bird. The rumors had been right, but not in the way he’d imagined.

For several moments, Andrew stood frozen, watching as the swan Lira spread its wings and drifted across the lake’s surface, a creature of both beauty and sorrow. His fascination deepened, but so did his dread. What was Lira’s fate? Were they truly cursed? And if so, who had done this to them, and why?

Days passed after that night, but Andrew could no longer look at Lira the same way. In class, they seemed more distant than ever, their eyes heavy with the weight of their secret. Andrew tried to approach them, but every time he got close, Lira would vanish, slipping away like a dream at dawn.

Eventually, the pull was too strong. Andrew sought them out, late at night, returning to the lake where he had first seen the transformation. There, he found Lira, once again standing at the water’s edge, their expression full of sorrow.

“Lira…” Andrew whispered, stepping forward. “I know what you are.”

Lira’s eyes met his, filled with a sadness that pierced his soul. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”

“I had to,” Andrew replied, his voice trembling. “Why? Why are you—”

“I am cursed,” Lira interrupted, their voice breaking. “Long ago, I angered someone powerful. Someone who could bend the rules of this world. They turned me into this… this creature, bound to the form of a swan by day, only able to walk in human skin at night.”

“Can it be undone?” Andrew asked, desperate.

Lira shook their head, their tears blending with the mist rising from the lake. “Not without a sacrifice.”

Andrew’s mind raced, torn between his growing feelings for Lira and the impossibility of their situation. “What kind of sacrifice?”

“A life for a life,” Lira whispered. “The one who loves me most must be willing to give up their own life to break the curse.”

Andrew stood silent, his heart heavy. He knew in that moment that he cared for Lira more than he had ever admitted to himself. But could he make that choice? Could he give up everything for the fleeting hope of saving them?

The days following Andrew’s encounter with Lira at the lake felt like a slow descent into an abyss. He couldn’t stop thinking about the curse, the impossible choice Lira was faced with, and the heart-wrenching sadness that lingered in their eyes. But there was no time to dwell on his feelings; the village, it seemed, was beginning to turn against them.

The whispers had started as mere rumors, harmless gossip passed from one person to the next, like the soft flutter of wind through leaves. But as time passed, the whispers grew louder. A chilling wind of suspicion began to stir through the streets of the village, and every passing day seemed to bring new voices to the chorus of doubt.

“She’s a witch,” they said. “A cursed creature.”

“They say she makes men disappear, drags them under the water,” someone would add, their voice quivering with fear. “She’s not human.”

Andrew had heard these rumors. He had seen the fearful looks from townsfolk as they avoided Lira in the streets, the sharp whispers that followed her every step. But it wasn’t until one fateful afternoon that he realized just how deep the hatred had sunk into the hearts of the villagers.

Andrew had been walking to the local market when he saw them. A group of villagers, led by the blacksmith’s son, marched toward the woods. There was fire in their eyes, a righteous fury that made Andrew’s stomach turn.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low, trying to keep his presence unnoticed.

“They’re going after her,” the blacksmith’s son, a burly man named Roderick, said with an eager sneer. “We’ve had enough of her. The witch needs to be dealt with.”

“What do you mean, ‘dealt with’?” Andrew demanded, his voice shaking with disbelief.

Roderick glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “You don’t really believe in that nonsense, do you? She’s not just some strange girl who’s a little different. She’s dangerous. The things she’s done, the way she makes people disappear…” His tone became more sinister. “She needs to be stopped before she harms anyone else.”

Andrew’s heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to shout, to stop them, to reveal everything he knew about Lira, to defend her from this growing tide of hatred. But the words caught in his throat, weighed down by the knowledge that he was too late. The villagers had already made up their minds. They had already condemned her.

“No,” Andrew said, his voice fierce, but it faltered under the pressure. “You can’t. She’s not what you think.”

“Enough of your nonsense, Andrew,” Roderick barked, shoving him aside. “Stay out of this. It’s for the good of the village.”

As they disappeared into the trees, Andrew felt a cold emptiness settle in his chest. He couldn’t stop them. He couldn’t change their minds. And worse still, he had no idea where Lira had gone. Had she heard them? Did she know what was coming?

That night, as the moon rose high over the lake, Andrew found himself standing at the water’s edge once more. His thoughts were a chaotic whirl of fear, guilt, and desperation. He needed to warn her. He needed to protect her.

But as he stepped into the woods, he heard the sound of voices angry, yelling voices growing louder. He hurried toward the source, his heart pounding in his chest.

He found them at the lake, the villagers gathered around the water’s edge, torches in hand. The blacksmith’s son stood at the front, a cruel smile stretched across his face.

“There she is!” Roderick shouted, pointing toward the water. “The witch!”

Andrew’s stomach churned as he caught sight of Lira, standing at the water’s edge, her face pale and full of sorrow. She had heard them. She knew they were here.

“Lira!” Andrew shouted, rushing forward, but the crowd blocked his path.

“She’s no witch, you fools!” he cried, his voice breaking. “She’s not dangerous. You don’t understand she’s cursed!”

But the villagers were deaf to his words. They had already made their decision. The fear, the superstition, the years of whispered rumors had all led to this. They were convinced that Lira was the source of their misfortune, that she was the one who had caused the disappearances, the strange deaths, the accidents.

Lira stepped back from the water, her eyes meeting Andrew’s. She didn’t seem afraid. No, she was resigned, as though she had been waiting for this moment all along.

“They don’t understand,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the sounds of the crowd. “They never will.”

Roderick raised his torch high, his eyes alight with malicious excitement. “Burn her! If she won’t burn, she’ll drown.”

Andrew’s heart stopped. The mob was pushing forward, closing in around her. Lira stood still, her body trembling, her arms outstretched as though she were ready to surrender to whatever fate awaited her.

“No!” Andrew shouted, throwing himself into the crowd, but they shoved him aside with ease, too many hands to fight against.

Lira’s form flickered. Slowly, almost painfully, she began to transform before their eyes. Her limbs shifted, her skin turning pale and fragile as the feathers of her wings began to unfurl. In a single, fluid motion, she became the swan, a beautiful creature of grace and sorrow.

But even as she took flight, the villagers didn’t relent. They threw their torches into the air, aiming to strike her down, their voices rising in a collective frenzy. They believed her to be a monster, a threat to their safety and their way of life.

Andrew collapsed to his knees, his heart breaking. He had failed her. In his attempt to protect her, he had only pushed her further into danger. She had vanished into the night sky, but the hate of the villagers remained, and it was spreading.

The sound of the swan’s cry echoed across the lake, a haunting, mournful wail that seemed to carry all of the pain and sorrow of Lira’s curse. And Andrew, standing alone in the dark, could do nothing but listen.

The night after the villagers had attacked, the air in the town was thick with whispers, as though the very walls of the buildings held secrets that nobody dared speak aloud. The moon hung high in the sky, pale and heavy with the weight of the events that had transpired. Andrew could barely bring himself to leave the safety of his home. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, couldn’t shake the image of Lira her wings, her cry fading into the night sky.

The whole village had erupted into chaos, their superstition and fear culminating in the most senseless of hunts. Lira was no longer the mysterious, enchanting student he had once admired from afar. She had become something darker in the eyes of the villagers, something dangerous, something that had to be destroyed. The whispers had escalated into the open, and what had once been quiet judgment had now grown into an unrelenting demand for blood.

Andrew could feel it all, every ounce of that pressure, pressing down on him. Lira wasn’t just a mystery anymore; she was a symbol, an embodiment of everything the townspeople feared. And it was all because they couldn’t see her for who she truly was.

But what they hadn’t seen, what no one had known except Andrew, was that Lira wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t some dark magic conjured by ancient forces. She wasn’t evil, or cursed by wicked intentions. No, Lira was a creature of nature delicate and beautiful, but powerful beyond measure. And as he stood at the lake the following evening, staring out across the glassy surface, he realized just how much he had failed her.

The town had chased her away, maybe even driven her into hiding. But she would never be gone from his heart. He would find her. He had to.

Andrew knew the moment he saw her.

She appeared at the water’s edge, a silvery figure gliding across the surface, her feet barely making a ripple. The moonlight caught her feathers, illuminating her in a halo of light. For a moment, Andrew thought he might be seeing things perhaps his mind had begun to play tricks on him in the wake of the chaos. But no, it was her. Lira. Or the swan that had been her all along.

She moved with the grace of someone born to this world, as though the water had always been her home. Every step she took across the lake was fluid, effortless, as if she were walking through air itself. The water didn’t break beneath her; it parted gently as she moved, as though it were welcoming her.

Andrew’s breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer, his feet soft on the wet earth. She was so close now, within arm’s reach, but she didn’t notice him yet. Her eyes were focused ahead, her expression both sad and serene.

"Lira," Andrew whispered, his voice hoarse, trembling with emotion.

Her eyes flickered, her steps slowing until she finally turned to face him. The moment their gazes locked, a deep sorrow passed between them, and for a brief, impossible moment, Andrew thought she might speak. But no words came. Instead, she tilted her head as if weighing him in her mind.

“Lira,” Andrew said again, a soft plea in his voice. "You don't have to hide from them. They don’t understand. You don’t have to do this alone. Please"

But before he could finish, she stepped back, her feet barely brushing the water’s surface. Her wings were so magnificent, so wild flared outward, catching the breeze. They were sharp and pure, like something from a dream. Her delicate, haunting beauty was both ethereal and unreachable. She was a creature of the water, and she was beyond the world Andrew lived in.

“I don’t belong here,” she said, her voice a soft murmur, carried by the wind. The words seemed to come from some place deep within her, like a secret only the water knew. “They’ll never understand. They’ll never accept me. Not for what I am.”

Andrew stepped forward, desperate. “Don’t say that. You’re more than what they think. Lira, please, don’t go.”

But as he took another step, something in her eyes shifted, something that told him she was already slipping away.

“I can’t stay in a place that fears me,” she said, her tone distant, almost resigned. She turned her back to him, her bare feet gliding across the water once more. She didn’t walk on the surface as she had beforeno, she danced, the water flowing in perfect rhythm with her every move. She was part of the world now, part of the night, part of something too beautiful for the village to understand.

“You can’t change them, Andrew,” she continued, her voice growing faint. “You’ve tried. But I’m not meant to stay. I’m meant for something else... somewhere else.”

Andrew felt the bitter sting of realization settle in his chest. He was losing her. In trying to protect her, he had only driven her further away. He had failed, and now he was standing in the remnants of what could have beena love that could never survive in a world so full of hatred.

“No, Lira. Please, don’t go,” he begged, taking a step forward, his voice cracking with raw emotion.

She paused mid-step, her body almost floating above the water as she turned to face him one final time. Her eyes glistened with the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts. And in that moment, Andrew saw the truth the truth he had tried so desperately to ignore.

Lira wasn’t just a student to him. She wasn’t just the girl who captivated him with her delicate beauty, her unearthly presence. She was a part of something greater, something untouchable. And no matter how much he wanted to fight for her, no matter how much he loved her, he knew there was no place for them in this world.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and with a flick of her wings, she soared into the night, disappearing into the vastness of the lake, leaving nothing but ripples in her wake.

Andrew stood there, alone at the water’s edge, his chest heavy with the unbearable weight of her absence. The villagers had driven her away, their fear and hatred had forced her to retreat, to become something even more unreachable. He couldn’t protect her. No one could. And now, all he had left was the memory of her swan’s crythe haunting song that would forever echo in his heart, no matter how far she flew….

-Fin

Hey…hey yah you 🫵🏾 do you want more Sakuverse gay shit well hit that follow button or turn on notifications and send a request and you can get all the gay shit you ever want and brand new fics of Sakuverse Reimagined Twist Of Fate and maybe a chance to have your OC in a story

[masonhawthorne]

What I read in March

Hoo boy, it's taken me a while to get around to this again, huh? I want to say March was a busy month, but it's too much of a blur for me to remember what was going on. I feel like I was climbing a lot (I've taken up rock climbing, have I mentioned?) but otherwise, I have no clue where March went.

Anyways, I got some good reading done!

Edge of Infinity, ed. Jonathan Strahan ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Analysis & Critique: How to Engage and Write about Anything, Dorsey Armstrong ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Will of the Many, James Islington ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

And Put Away Childish Things, Adrian Tchaikovsky ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Gold Coast, Kim Stanley Robinson ⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Best Science Fiction & Fantasy of the Year Vol 11, ed Jonathan Strahan ⭐️⭐️⭐️

New Rules & Guidelines From HR for Working with Humans (ss), Derin Edala ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Angel (ss), Derin Edala ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Martian: Lost Sols (ss), Andy Weir ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Forever Peace, Joe Haldeman ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Merciless Waters, Rae Knowles ⭐️⭐️

Dune Messiah, Frank Herbert ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Cursed Heart, Derin Edala⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Lair of the White Worm, Bram Stoker ⭐️

Pacific Edge, Kim Stanley Robinson ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Phytophthora Nosferatu (ss), J Corvine ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Minty Fresh, J Corvine⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Labyrinth of Dreams, Derin Edala ⭐️⭐️⭐️

Angels Before Man, Rafael Nicolás⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Lure, Tim McGregor ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

The Fascination, Essie Fox ❌❌❌

There were a couple of surprises for me this month, some were nice surprises, and some were...somewhat less than nice surprices. It's good, gotta have some surprises to keep you nimble.

The Will of the Many by James Islington was the first surprise, I had thought I'd like it well enough, the concept seemed interesting, and it turns out that it was actually fantastic. A smooth take on the dystopic genre, with a great attention to detail, and handling of social forces on the characters. The scifi elements might have come off as a bit silly if they'd been handled less skillfully, but over the course of the novel the real horror of the hierarchy becomes ever more apparent. Also it ends on a killer cliffhanger--where is the sequel??

A slight disappointment was that The Gold Coast and Pacific Edge, books two and three of Kim Stanley Robinson's The Three Californias Trilogy were...just not quite as good as the rest of his work that I've read. I found that TGC focussed too much on the 'futuristic party boy hedonist' archetype that I find stultifying in fiction, and while the surrounding worldbuilding was interesting I just could not stand any of the characters.

PE on the other hand was kind of...boring? Now don't get me wrong, I love boring books, but it was boring in the sense that I was reading it feeling like 'ok now when's the story going to happen?' there are only so many softball games which are metaphors for small town politics and romantic relationships that I can sit through. The other problem with PE, I think, is that it is aggressively middle of the road. In the other California novels, the protagonists have Forces to Push Against, but PE is set in a kind of idyllic postcapitalist cooperative, where small town politics is the biggest thing going on and the main conflict of the book can be solved with a strongly worded awareness campaign. Like I GET what was being done, but I also feel like this one could have been a third as long as it was and carried the same weight, but perhaps with fewer softball games.

Dune: Messiah was a nice surprise, I only read Dune last year, and I really enjoyed it, but I've only ever heard that the series goes downhill after the first one. Absolutely not! I'm really looking forward to reading the rest of Frank Herbert's Dune books!

The two real clunkers this month were The Lair of the White Worm by Bram Stoker, and The Fascination by Essie Fox. Both for similar reasons, actually. There was a whole lot of racism going on, in ways that were, y'know, disappointing but not surprising from a guy writing shock novels a hundred-and-something years ago, but really pretty upsetting from a novel that was published in 2023 and has lots of very positive reviews.

Having read several Stoker books now, I found that there was little of the sort of charm that I've come to expect from his writing. The characters were kind of flat and unpleasant, and the antagonists were evil for the sake of being evil. I'm actually surprised that this is one of his later works, because it reads as so much less sophisticated than the other things I've read.

The Fascination was the gift that kept on giving, if the kinds of gift you like are things like racism, ableism, and biphobia which seem bad at first, and then keep doubling down on themselves. The book also has an air of smug superiority, presenting sequence after sequence of exploitation dreck and then turning smirkingly to the reader like 'see I bet you assumed [something racist, ableist, biphobic, etc]'. The end of the novel hinges on a big reveal, which is that...one of the focalising characters has a disability. Which should, apparently, reframe how we've understood the character from the beginning, and which should shock us out of our assumptions that people with that disability couldn't be main characters. Or something.

I think it takes a lot of work to write something that makes the disability representation in Game of Thrones feel subtle and nuanced.

There was so much wrong with The Fascination that I could probably spend another several paragraphs listing them, but to be honest reading the book was unpleasant enough, I don't really feel like spending my evening reliving all that. My final criticism is that the book is insufferably twee and self satisfied. There was not one sentence that made me think that it was worthwhile to read.

To end on a positive note, all of the indie books and stories that I read were delightful! I've included links to most of them above, and it's really refreshing to read stuff that is smart, well written, and which actually has something interesting to say, even if that something is 'hey wouldn't it be super fucked up if there was a vampire in your flower bed?'

Anyways, that's enough for this month!

[hey wait, psst, did you know, I've got a novelette? It's available now: https://books2read.com/u/3kOvKn ]

Stars awarded at my whim

ss=short story

[cassowary-rapture]

Tchaikovsky re: Piano Concerto No. 1:

I played the first movement. Not a single word, not a single remark! If you knew how stupid and intolerable is the situation of a man who cooks and sets before a friend a meal, which he proceeds to eat in silence! Oh, for one word, for friendly attack, but for God’s sake one word of sympathy, even if not of praise. Rubinstein was amassing his storm, and Hubert was waiting to see what would happen, and that there would be a reason for joining one side or the other. Above all I did not want sentence on the artistic aspect. My need was for remarks about the virtuoso piano technique. R’s eloquent silence was of the greatest significance. He seemed to be saying: “My friend, how can I speak of detail when the whole thing is antipathetic?" I fortified myself with patience and played through to the end. Still silence. I stood up and asked, “Well?” Then a torrent poured from Nikolay Grigoryevich’s mouth, gentle at first, then more and more growing into the sound of a Jupiter Tonana. It turned out that my concerto was worthless and unplayable; passages were so fragmented, so clumsy, so badly written that they were beyond rescue; the work itself was bad, vulgar; in places I had stolen from other composers; only two or three pages were worth preserving; the rest must be thrown away or completely rewritten. “Here, for instance, this—now what’s all that? (he caricatured my music on the piano) “And this? How can anyone …” etc., etc. The chief thing I can’t reproduce is the tone in which all this was uttered. In a word, a disinterested person in the room might have thought I was a maniac, a talented, senseless hack who had come to submit his rubbish to an eminent musician…. I was not only astounded but outraged by the whole scene. I am no longer a boy trying his hand at composition, and I no longer need lessons from anyone, especially when they are delivered so harshly and unfriendlily. I need and shall always need friendly criticism, but there was nothing resembling friendly criticism. It was indiscriminate, determined censure, delivered in such a way as to wound me to the quick. I left the room without a word and went upstairs. In my agitation and rage I could not say a thing. Presently R. enjoined me, and seeing how upset I was he asked me into one of the distant rooms. There he repeated that my concerto was impossible, pointed out many places where it would have to be completely revised, and said that if within a limited time I reworked the concerto according to his demands, then he would do me the honor of playing my thing at his concert. “I shall not alter a single note,” I answered, “I shall publish the work exactly as it is!” This I did.

[saintavangeline]

what are some of your fav artists (painters, poets, musicians,...) or which ones inspire you the most ?

Mentally and emotionally speaking, the person who inspires me the most is Anne Shirley (Anne of Green Gables).. so I suppose the author of the series, Lucy Maud Montgomery. The main reason I started writing music in the first place was because of how much Anne inspired me to share from the depths my heart. She was always so passionate in what she believed in, who she loved, how she felt. I loved how she could find the beauty and romance in anything and everything, and she was never afraid to show everyone her truest self and heart, even if she was frequently misunderstood by those around her. I think we would be kindred spirits if she were a real person.

I’ve always been incredibly inspired by set designs from 80’s/90’s dark fantasy movies. I’m not sure who designed these sets, but I write with a lot of that imagery and emotion in mind.

My favorite poet is and has always been Stephen Crane. I love literary realism, and his work has definitely inspired a lot of my thinking. I also love Flowers of Evil by Charles Baudelaire for imagery.

Musically, I’m very inspired by Vic Fuentes (his lyricism is just otherworldly), Ben Gibbard (also an incredible lyricist), and Hitomi Kuroishi (specifically her Angel Feathers album - she has the most heavenly angelic voice). I love reading lyrics to metal songs - they are some of the most poetic lyrics I’ve ever seen written. I also love Tchaikovsky, because I can feel him in his music, even if no words are spoken in his pieces.

Continuing with music: I have what’s called chromesthesia, where I can essentially hear color, and so a lot of my inspiration musically comes from the colors that certain pieces emanate. When I write, I always write with a color palette in mind. Writing and singing are just like painting to me, and I’m very particular with the exact words and colors I want to use. I love musicians that are consistent with their color palette (even if they don’t realize) in their songs if that makes sense. They inspire me most in terms of color.

[corner-stories]

on edge

Armin Arlert. Annie Leonhardt. Collisions. Skating. Awkward Conversations. Figure Skating AU. 2235 words. (ao3.)

Annie Leonhardt’s coach reminds her that ice time is precious and too valuable to be wasted. So when she arrives at the rink in the early hours of the morning, her mind is focused on only one thing and one thing only. 

Other dedicated skaters in her age group filter into the rink as she does, most accompanied by parents who look just as groggy as their children at this time of day. 

Annie keeps her headphones on as she stretches and practices a few off-ice jumps. The zamboni is smoothing out the ice as she works. Sometimes she’ll look away from her meticulous routine and glance up to see the driver. She’s gotten quite used to seeing her father on the vehicle — he’ll even wave to her on occasion with the same glum expression on his face. Even this early, his resting bitch face remains the same. 

But Annie’s used to seeing the grumpy old man performing such an integral task. Ultimately, he does what he does to support her career — driving the zamboni every morning in exchange for coaching discounts has been the edge she’s always appreciated. 

Once Annie laces up her skates and gets onto her ice, she can feel her worries becoming moot. A part of her — one plagued by stress, loneliness, and doubts — fades away as she glides. She’s never been able to explain it, but it’s helped her through every lutz and every loop, every sit-spin and every euler, every waltz jump and every flip. 

Annie’s rinkmates file onto the ice with her. The dancers and pairs skaters are moving hand-in-hand, while the other singles get lost in their own world as they warm up. 

As Annie keeps her distance, she only glances up briefly to get a look at everyone else. 

Pieck Finger seems to have the energy to chat her partner’s ear off as they get into the zone, but Porco Galliard doesn’t seem to mind. Historia Reiss is standing near the boards as she chats with her coach, who is already awake and ready to give notes on her triple salchow. Mikasa Ackerman has a focused look on her face as she skates next to her partner, and in contrast Jean Kirschtein still looks uneasy as he keeps up with her. Annie doesn’t know the whole story, but perhaps the excitement and newness of a partner switch had yet to fade off for him, despite having skated with Mikasa for the last two months. 

Then he comes to the ice. 

Annie glances up to see a familiar head of blond hair stepping onto the rink. Armin Arlert says a thank you to his grandfather at the boards before he glides towards the center of the area. 

And just like that, Annie feels a knot forming in her stomach. 

Unlike the stoic determination of Ackerman or the perky energy of Finger, Armin is somewhere in the middle as he eases onto the ice. He is neither chipper without reason or so focused that all joy saps from his face. Instead, Armin looks free. 

Annie tries to avoid his gaze whenever she passes him by, instead looking towards the bleachers, where her father sits next to Grampa Arlert. 

She tries to distract herself by recalling her choreography. Her coach had finally let her do a program to her favorite Tchaikovsky Waltz, but only if she worked on her musicality and facial expressions. Instead of arguing on whether the judges would deduct points for her lack of smile as she skated, Annie took Coach Zeke on the deal and promised to follow through. 

She only has a few minutes to practice her triple-triple combination until Zeke arrives at the rink. After landing her flip and just barely needing to touch the ice to steady her landing, she glides backwards on one skate as her body stabilizes herself. 

In her mind, she goes over absolutely everything that went wrong, from the way she didn’t hold her arms inwards enough during the spin or popped her lutz on the first attempt. She tries not to think about how her father is no doubt watching from the bleachers, or how Historia must be getting an explanation as to how Annie ranked half a point under her at last year's nationals. 

Suddenly, Annie hears a voice behind her. 

“Whoa, whoa!” 

Turning around, Annie is brought to the face of Armin Arlert. This time, the knot in her stomach tightens for completely different reasons.

The two manage to come to a halt, the blades of their skates turning the ice below into snow. Armin has to put his hands up to fully stop, his hands touching Annie’s shoulders to prevent them from colliding. 

“Sorry about that, Annie, I wasn’t looking!” Armin says, his tone sounding unendingly apologetic. 

The stoic face that Annie usually holds during morning practice falters, but only slightly. Her gaze goes soft as she looks towards Armin. 

“It’s okay,” she replies in a voice that is quiet and gravelly. 

When she glances around the rink, Annie can see the other skaters paying attention to them. Mikasa comes down from a curve lift in Jean’s arms, then looks over to the duo of blondes with genuine concern. Even Historia stares at the pair in the aftermath of her double axel-triple lutz combo, the puzzled look on her face saying it all. 

When Annie looks at Armin again, she sees his cheeks turning red. He takes his hands off her shoulders and stumbles back slightly. 

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh… hope I didn’t hurt you…”

Before Annie can say anything, she sees Coach Zeke entering the rink in the corner of her eye. He doesn’t look particularly enthused this morning, as he practically drags his feet across the floor and holds a coffee cup like it’s his lifeforce. 

It gives Annie extra incentive to not waste time, so when her gaze meets Armin’s again she says the first thing that comes to mind. 

“...I have to go.” 

And with that said, Annie turns around and skates off. At least her blush on her face fades away by the time she meets Zeke at the boards.

…

…

…

An hour of harness work to perfect her triple toe loop-triple salchow goes by with ease. Zeke is extra pushy today, meticulously pointing out the flaws in her footwork between elements. The half point that lost her gold at last year’s nationals seems to be nagging at his brain harder than hers, something that makes him even more stern as he watches her skate. 

But Annie’s good at taking it, even when she falls more than she would like. 

At least when practice is over, she finds herself actually looking forward to spending the rest of the day at school. 

Annie steps off the ice and finds a bench to sit on. As she unlaces her skates, she can see her other rinkmates either cooling down after a session or practicing their elements off-ice. Seeing Porco lifting Pieck in the air with a single arm is just one of the things that Annie has gotten used to over the years. Pieck even smirks and waves down to Annie like it’s the most normal thing in the world. 

As Pieck jokingly sings about how she’s had the time of her life, Annie leaves the rink and heads for the locker room to retrieve her things. 

With her gym bag slung around her torso, she nibbles on a protein cookie as she enters the building’s concourse. A text from her fathers tells her that he’s getting the car, as he had parked far away due to not finding a space in the actual lot. 

If there were three certainties in life, then it would be death, taxes, and Albert Leonhardt complaining about parking. 

Annie exits the rink and waits by the doors. Moments pass as she finishes her post-training snack. Her body is aching and it makes her dread the conditioning session that awaits her tomorrow. She’s not sure what will hurt more, her core or her hip flexors. 

As she waits, she looks up to the sky and sees the sun just barely rising in the cloudy horizon. Michigan at this time of year is slowly transitioning from winter to spring, but the chill still permeates the air and makes Annie blow on her fingers to keep herself warm. 

Before she can put on her headphones and block out the world, she feels someone tapping her shoulder. 

Annie turns around fast and Armin puts his hands up in surprise. 

“Whoa! Uh, hi…” he stammers out. “Uh… just wanted to check in and see if you were alright… again.” 

There is a beat as Annie recollects herself. She tries to pinpoint why she’s so on edge this morning, but for the life of her she can’t. 

On the ice, Armin Arlert is the embodiment of grace and balance. His slender frame glides across the surface with ease, effortlessly leaping and transitioning into spins, which are undoubtedly his speciality. 

But off the ice, Armin is nothing more than a skinny high schooler in a parka that’s a size too big. His blond locks are mussed and his disposition is nervous, a far cry from the usual composure he shows in his craft. 

“I’m fine,” Annie manages to say. “Thanks for asking, Armin.” 

“Good to know,” he replies, nodding along. “Nice sal, by the way.”

Annie avoids his gaze. “I’m still popping it.” She prays to god that he didn’t catch her eating shit on the ice during her harness work.  

“You’re on the way though, especially after the triple toe,” Armin assures. His voice is lighthearted as he speaks. “I’d give some pointers, but Zeke seems to know what he’s doing.” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Annie says dryly. Awkwardly, she looks down and keeps avoiding his eyes. “I never see you at school.”

“I’m homeschooled, actually,” Armin explains. He puts his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Gives me more time at the rink.” 

Annie lets out a hum. “Not a bad idea.” 

Truth be told, it would be nice having an excuse to only ever commute between her house and the rink. 

When Annie looks up again, Armin’s eyes are a shimmering blue. She’s never noticed them before — then again, she’s never been this close to him before. 

Despite their years training at the same rink, Annie realizes now that this may be the first conversation she’s ever had with the guy, aside from passing comments on one another’s jumps. She’s only ever watched him from afar, admiring his camel spins and ability to truly embody the music of his program. 

With the way Armin is looking at her now, Annie wonders if he’s ever done the same. 

Soon she asks, “Why are you talking to me?”

The question is very direct, but Armin is nonplussed as he smiles boyishly. 

“Because I thought it’s the least I could do after almost knocking you off your feet.”

And to think, all these competitions and training sessions they spent in proximity to each other and it took a near-collision for them to finally talk. 

Once more, Annie can feel heat rushing to her cheeks. She steadies her breathing, the atmosphere is cold enough to turn the air from her lungs into small puffs of smoke. Nervously, she rubs her ungloved hands together again to warm her fingers. 

Watching her closely, Armin scratches his nape again before asking — “Hey, would you ever want to-”

He is cut off by the sound of a car horn. Both blondes turn their heads to the parking lot to see Annie’s father pulling up in his car. His face is stern as he waves to his daughter from the driver’s seat. 

Annie faces Armin again, but glances down just enough to not look him in the eye. “...I have to go.” 

With that said, she dashes away from the curb and towards her father’s car. When she opens the door and plops her ass in the passenger’s seat, Annie only looks back for a second to see Armin’s wistful stare and his gentle, stilted wave goodbye. 

Beside her, Albert Leonhardt has an eyebrow raised at both his daughter and the young boy standing outside. 

“What did he want?” asks the older man as he shifts the car into gear.

“Nothing,” Annie lies through her teeth. Sucking in a breath, she tugs her hoodie over her head and pulls the strings tight to truly block out the world. 

…

…

…

Historia Reiss exits the rink like she usually does — bored, tired, and checking Instagram. At least she follows Coach Nanaba’s “no phones at practice” rule to a tee. 

Just as she shares a story about her early morning training session, she nearly bumps into someone standing on the curb outside the building. Looking away from her screen, Historia is greeted to the sight of Armin Arlert wistfully waving to a car pulling out of the parking lot. 

Historia is confused and glances towards the vehicle to see what on earth is going on. 

In the moving car, Historia spots Annie Leonhardt pulling her hoodie over her head and curling into herself like a human armadillo. 

Combined with the longing look in Armin’s eyes, Historia’s first reaction is to let out a chuckle. With her elbow, she nudges her rinkmate and says —

“Blondes, amiright?” 

[madwickedawesome]

i need classical music recs for a tragic love story

NOT putting this under a cut actually because i wish to curse everyone's dashes with these songs . they are all so good please listen to them if you like classical pretty please with like 3 cherries on top!!!!

anywaysOK!! a lot of these songs may seem like regurgitated Sad Classical Music that i use for everything but u have to trust me . when u listen to some of these in a Mood ur entire soul will be crushed i Promise u u have to trust me u have to believe m

i didnt know what Specific vibe u wanted so i kind of took my own creative liberties hope thats alright .. !!Also youre going to have to ignore how LONG classical names are

rachmaninoff - rhapsody on a theme by paganini, op. 43: var 18 (andante cantabile) --- this song plays moreso into the love story part of it but this piece is genuinely sooo beautiful (as are all of rachmaninoffs works lets be honest here).. it is SO romantic it kind of feels like being with someone you love and feeling fireworks and explosions upon realizing you love them, it's very very very lovesick and goes to show the giddy feeling of knowing someone is making you and your life better just by being near you <3

albinoni - adagio in g minor --- this specific arrangement in my playlist is my favoriteee ever.. it uses both harp and general orchestral strings to complete an overwhelmingly Emptying piece of music . this song is very like. "i'm lost without them" kind of thing.it's so melancholy but it also just emphasis any holes in a listener's heart; it's kind of boring if you listen to it while you're in a good mood? but Trust me if you're even remotely sad or yearning you will LOVE love love this piece

ravel - pavane pour une infante défunte, m. 19 (pavane for a dead princess) --- this one is another Especially Life Ruining If You're In The Mood piece; as the name suggests, it's a pavane (slow dance, essentially) which already gives it a lovely undertone, but it's for a Dead Princess and is full of grief and is notoriously played excruciatingly slowly. this song really feels like loss, whether it's post-argument or post-relationship or post-right-person-wrong-time, it emphasizes the feeling of being without someone in retrospect and how different emotions manifest themselves. some points in the song are lovely, full of reminiscing on memories of happiness, but the whole song has a freezing blanket thrown over it to remind everyone that it's for a Dead Princess and a Dead Connection

grieg - holberg suite, op. 40: iv. air (andante religioso) --- this piece is just generally soul crushing??? it feels like the air after particularly heartbreaking disputes, losses, rejections, all the like .......?? it generally carries an emptying vibe like the others do, but this one is laced with love through the middle, showing complexities in relationships and how love is inescapable, despite obstacles

cimarosa - sonata no. 42 in d minor --- this piece is short but sweet..... this is mostly a lovey song, but has a vague melancholy vibe if you really listen.. i always love to interpret this song as looking back on memories with a loved one and realizing just how much you miss them, how dull life is without them happy and right by your side . a quite simple piece but it illustrates the vibe perfectly :)

shostakovich - five pieces for two violins and piano: i. prelude --- about 30% of this reasoning behind this song is that it's shostakovich and i must have him inall of my playlists because he is my special guy. BUT this song is So many emotions . it is so heartbreaking initially, briefly grows into moderately upbeat happiness, then returns to a slower tempo soaked in both love and regret. it feels like the air after a loss, the air while missing someone to the point of it eating you alive; it's a gut wrenching rendition of . horrified love ? is the word that came to mind? it is so Sad

tchaikovsky - valse sentimentale, op. 51, no. 6 --- this song is just. emotional . it's full of love and you can hear the happiest parts of love fighting the worst, it's suffocating and captivating all the same??? i'm not 100% sure how i'd place this piece into a situation . maybe desperate pleas with oneself or another to be loved, to experience connection, something like that??? all that's to be sure is that this piece makes chests constrict it is so full of love and care and life but is simultaneously so full of despair and pain and ouuguhgh i just adore this piece really

poulenc - flute sonata, fp 164: ii. cantilena --- this piece is so sad it is so sad. it feels like the realization that you may be losing someone, whether it's to another or to nature or to life or really anything. halfway through, it evolves into more of a hopeful piece, with a flute sounding like a bird singing, but still falls down the steep downhill slope that Will make you So distraught if you listen to this while in the right mood

the entirety of prokofiev's romeo and juliet ballet --- this is mostly a joke but also. juliets death piece (it was WAY too long to put in here) is so heartbreaking so ..? stares at you with big classical loving eyes?

here's all of those wrapped up neatly with a little bow !! (tumblr refuses to let me link directly for some reason???) i hope they work for you!!!!

[badideasbureau]

Ok but also most English people can't pronounce Schwarzenegger as it would be pronounced in German either, he just started using a different pronunciation after a while, that fits better with English expectations.

https://youtu.be/GodRDRjHTk8?si=jAAZu1G82rdaSmnZ

And most people say Tchaikovsky with a "v" sound, not an "f" sound.

But also also... As long as you look it up when needed and make an effort and aren't super shitty about it being "weird" it's kind of fine? Like learning to make sounds that don't exist (or don't exist in that place) in your language is genuinely a hard thing, and nasalised consonants at the start of a word are mostly not a thing in English phonotactics (whereas the other two involve sounds that have closer approximations in English).

And the reason why it's a c is that Kinyarwanda has a couple of different sounds close to an English "sh", and it just happens that his name contains one of the bits of Kinyarwanda orthography which English speakers not familiar with the language are likely to get completely wrong.

And also also also, the other huge difference between Ncuti vs Tchaikovsky or Schwarzenegger is that the latter two you'd get close if you just sound them out as they're spelt using English orthography.

Language is complicated and there's a certain amount in this meme of shaming people for ignorance in not knowing how to pronounce a word they've likely only seen written down, and a certain amount of overconfidence in how well people pronounce more familiar names when actually that's partly because an anglicised pronunciation and/or spelling gets used.

okay okay I know the point of this is “White people need to put as much effort into learning how to pronounce Black people’s names as they do foreign European names” and 100% I totally agree, absolutely good point

but this tweet becomes hilarious in the context of this clip:

anyways, absolutely put effort into learning how people pronounce their names. just don’t feel bad if it takes you some time to get it right 😅

(also in case you didn’t watch the video it’s “N-SHOO-tee” not “SHOO-tee”)