#thousand autumns meta

[liberty-or-death]

Thousand Autumns Chapter 1 Explanation of Names, Historical Context and Possible Influences

THE WORLD BUILDING!! I could scream. I was so so so impressed with Thousand Autumns.

Aside from literary poetry devices, MXS also uses a lot of historical characters and places in her novels, which was probably why they changed a lot of names in the donghua lol. Personally, I find it really interesting and this was what drew me to this book.

Here’s a round up of Chapter 1! I apologise that it's lengthy and it's a a short history class. But you'll need to know or else you're going to get really confused later on lol. Anyway, it gets a lot better! I came across a few videos that were very helpful for my understanding so I've linked them below.

There are 3 demonic sects, and at least 5 righteous ones in the whole show. And that’s excluding the royalty members 😂 and the Tujue folks. I was so confused when I first started reading and I had to do a lot of historical research myself before I fully understood what was going on.

Locations

玄都 Xuandu - This is where immortals were rumoured to reside in. It was also the name of a Taoist temple (Xuandu Guan 玄都观). This temple is located on Mount Heng and was built in the Southern Qi Dynasty. I’m not sure if this temple was the inspiration behind Xuandu mountain, but it is pretty interesting! Also, incidentally, there is a pavilion named Half Mountain Pavilion that's situated on the same premises. Doesn't it sound a lot like Half Step Peak?

Political Climate/Characters - Northern Qi, Northern Zhou and Chen Dynasty

Thousand Autumns takes place in the Northern and Southern Dynasties, a period where China was split politically during the 420-589AD. During this period, there was the spread of Buddhism and Taoism. This period came to and end with unification by the Sui Dynasty. So lol, if you know your history, you’d know that Thousand Autumns would logically end with the establishment of the Sui Dynasty if the novels continues to the end of the Northern Southern Dynasties period. 😂

The video below explains the role of Yuwen Hu 宇文护 and Yuwen Yong 宇文邕 (Emperor Wu) and their impact on the Zhou Dynasty. MXS puts her own spin on it but it's good to read about it or else it'll get really confusing later on. (I personally feel that her world building is underrated and MXS should get more credit for this!) You can skip to 8:39 of the video if you just want to learn about Yuwen Hu and Yuwen Yong. I'd suggest to bookmark this video whenever you're confused with the timeline of events! The Zhou Empire storyline follows this!

Gao Wei 高纬 of Qi Dynasty - Yet another historical character. The same video talks about the decline of the Qi Dynasty around 32:10

Tujue - Here's a video explaining how the Tujue were a part of all of these.

Hulugu 狐鹿估 is a fictional character but his name is very similar to another Hulugu 狐鹿姑 (note that the pronunciation is exactly the same but the last character is different) who was the Chanyu (Supreme Ruler) of the Xiongnu Empire in 96BC.

Kunye 昆邪 is also a fictional character, but there was a King Kunye 昆邪王 (? - 116BC) in history. According to the historical records 史记, he was defeated by Hua Qubing's army and subsequently became a vassal under the Han Dynasty. After his surrender, he was granted the title of the Marquis of Luoyin (located in modern day Shandong Province). Interestingly, his descendant was called Hun Su 浑苏. (If you've read on, you'll probably know the significance of this haha.)

Other Notable Characters

凤阁 (Qi) Feng Ge - this either means a beautiful tower, or a government official position in the Tang Dynasty. It’s also the name of a star in Zi Wei Dou Shu, a form of Chinese astrology. People who were born under this star were cultured and talented.

青城山纯阳观易辟尘 Yi Bichen of Chunyang temple on Mount Qingchen - Mount Qingchen’s a sacred Taoist Mountain in Sichuan China. It’s greatly regarded as one of the birth places in Taoism. Chunyang Temple’s a real temple in Guangzhou that was first built in the Yuan Dynasty. (MXS is clearly mix and matching temples with locations 😂) Yi Bichen’s name can be broken down to 易 = Easy, 辟尘 = avoid the mortal world.

雪庭禅师 Zen Master Xue Ting - Xue Ting’s name likely comes from the renowned monk, Xue Ting Fu Yu in the Yuan Dynasty. Xue Ting was his monastic title. He was an abott in the Shaolin Monastery and was famous for inviting martial artists to gather in Shaolin Temple.

临川学宫的宫主汝鄢克惠 Ruyan Kehui, Gongzhu of the Linchuan Academy - Linchuan, located in Jiangxi, has always been known as the “Home of Talents 才子之乡” as many talented people came from Linchuan since the ancient times. The Xuegong/Academy 学宫 is a place of learning. This term has appeared since the Western Zhou Dynasty and was commonly associated with Confucianism. The 宫主 Gongzhu was the title that’s given to the one who was in charge of a Taoist temple. (Okay MXS might not be historically accurate here 😂😂)

Previously discussed topics

Half Step Peak

Regret Peak

Yu Shengyan

[fateandloveentwined]

wuxia, xianxia, and cultivation differences meta

translations: wuxia 武俠, xianxia 仙俠, and cultivation 修真/修仙 (xīuzhēn/xīuxiān)

think i've seen posts on this eons ago, and i'm pretty sure there are tons of these online, but since this has been written up already let's just have another one.

wuxia 武俠

wuxia and xianxia sound similar, but basically for wuxia it is about the pugilistic world (江湖 jiānghú). It is relatively more down-to-earth, and people practice martial arts ("kungfu") in their current life -- they do not do it to become xians (仙) and gods (神) however.

Like Thousand Autumns and Faraway Wanderers/Word of Honor, it has more historical background and ties to the current court and kingdoms, because people are living in the moment and concern themselves with worldly issues.

Martial arts may seem unrealistic, but in view of chinese fantasy it would be considered "real". It consists of fighting moves and internal energy, which they call qi or nèigōng (內功), and at times you see people flying around, climbing hills and jumping across rooftops which is qīnggōng (輕功).

xianxia 仙俠

A level up would be xianxia, where characters in the story cultivate to become xians (and gods, like in the heaven official's blessing). They don't really care about earthly issues here now, because their ambitions lie beyond the current world, and cultivation, getting stronger, and an immortal life are majorly all their goals.

You may not always see them working towards that purpose, such as in mdzs they are considered a lower-xianxia society (低魔), meaning people don't go through all the steps of cultivation and only stay at the stage before the "golden core" stage.

In xianxia, characters still learn basic fighting moves aka. martial arts, but to direct the internal energy they use línglì (灵力), zhēnqì (真气), and fǎlì (法力), all xianxia terms you commonly see. "neigong" is practically nonexistent in this genre. That's why people building up their "neigong" instead of "lingli" are likely never going to be able to cultivate.

cultivation 修真/修仙

A subgenre in the xianxia category would be cultivation. Characters actively go through the stages of cultivation, and likely for the MC, because they are the main character, they successfully become a xian and exit the world at the end of the novel.

There are many stages of cultivation, usually defined at the beginning of the novel in the synopsis, and a typical example of the different levels would be this:

练气，筑基，金丹，元婴，化神，炼虚，合体，大乘，渡劫

And with a cursory search, an English translation would be something like this, albeit not with all the cultivation ranks identified.

Qi condensation (练气), Foundation establishment (筑基), Core Formation (金丹), Nascent Soul (元婴), and the names after that vary too greatly with translation and fandom so I'll jump straight to Immortal Ascension

extra info: getting into the philosophy of it all

It'd be interesting to note that the word "xiá" (俠) permeates all these genres. This is something akin to the concept of "hero", but not at all also, and I'd love to speak more on this but this post has already gone way longer than I hoped it would be, so perhaps another day.

Regardless, it is interesting to note that wuxia has a greater emphasis on "xia" than xianxia. (some joke that cultivation doesn't have the word "xia" in it, and much of that is because characters have foregone heroism and focused on gaining powers and working towards ascension instead). As a result, wuxia is more confucianism-oriented, though not without its taoism and buddhism influences.

xianxia, on the other hand, is mainly derived from "dào" (道), from taoism, which is another lengthy concept if I ever get to it.

And some may have heard of the "farming" genre, 种田 (zhòngtián). This has to do with golden fingers (mary sues) in imperialistic china, earning a wealth of money, and all that. It has nothing to do with cultivation, alike they sound in english.

that's it for now, hmu if you wish to ask/discuss!

(and apologies for the pinyin translations, hope it's understandable still! formally writing pinyin they are supposed to be two separate words not one.)

[distort-opia]

I'm sorry, I will go nuts about Thousand Autumns on main, because this bit from Volume 2, Chapter 46 has been living in my brain rent free:

Yan Wushi literally just traded Shen Qiao for a sword he didn't even need, to a man who very likely would rape him and kill him, knowing Shen Qiao's only choice was to self-destruct and die. The worst possible betrayal... right after Shen Qiao had started to see Yan Wushi as a friend, to think that even if Yan Wushi was a monster to everyone else, maybe to him he could be different; maybe there was a speck of humanity hidden inside him.

And still, after all that, in excruciating agony after having shattered his own foundations and barely alive, Shen Qiao goes over every interaction they ever had and thinks that even if he could go back, and undo it... he wouldn't change it. He wouldn't take back knowing Yan Wushi, learning about the world, breaking out of his naive and secluded worldview. It makes me want to chew glass, because of course I've also seen people go "But when did Shen Qiao develop feelings for Yan Wushi?" and it's all... right there, with this being one of the most beautiful and subtle moments. Shen Qiao did fall first, and then couldn't even take it back, didn't want to take it back. And then cried about it. Someone save me from the Yanshen shaped Hell I find myself in!!

And I love MXS's writing because this isn't forgotten. Later on, in Volume 3, Chapter 79, Yan Wushi himself asks this, right before he sacrifices his own safety to lure Sang Jingxing away from Shen Qiao, in a reversal of what he did before:

Shen Qiao says he doesn't regret it. And I swear, when I first read the novel, at this part I instantly went "OH GOD YAN WUSHI WHAT ARE YOU ABOUT TO DO YOU HORRIBLE BASTARD NOOO" but then he proceeds to save Shen Qiao. All while spewing bullshit about how it doesn't actually mean anything. There's no feelings involved, of course not!

It's just. I love the symmetry of it, which is clearly intentional. Of having Shen Qiao, after Yan Wushi's betrayal, find himself unable to regret having met him. And then the same thing, but explicitly, right before Yan Wushi's one conscious, unselfish act of kindness.

[liverbiver9]

The more I read danmei in my monthly book club that I otherwise wouldn’t have read or even known about, the more it becomes painfully clear that most of the mdzs fandom (and possibly the other 2 mxtx fandoms but I’m not as well versed with them) have not interacted with the genre at large beyond mxtx, and it shows in the meta analysis people make (especially westerners).

And I am not excluding myself here! So much of my initial assumptions and interpretations of mdzs has changed after reading other danmei authors, especifically the less western-internet-popular ones.

My point is this: when reading a book from a culture that is not your own and in an unfamiliar genre, it will be impossible to grasp all the intricacies and subtleties nestled within the narrative and characterization until you’ve become more familiar with the culture and genre itself.

Don’t limit yourself to mxtx. There are more and more danmei being translated into English by publishing houses and even more are fan translated.

If you’re looking for a place to start, I have some recommendations!

1. Golden Terrace by Cang Wu Bin Bai.

Literally one of my favorite books I’ve ever read in my life, and I’m an English major. It is only 2 books and both are already published, so you won’t have to wait. The most tender, loving relationship I’ve ever had the pleasure of reading about. The translation is phenomenal, and it feels very similar to Jane Austen in its diction, plot, and characterization. I literally cannot explain with words how much I love this book.

2. To Rule in a Turbulent World by Gu Xue Rou

This series is just being translated and published, so it may take a while for the other books (I think 3-4?) will be out, but don’t let that scare you away! Without too much spoilers, the vibes of this first book reminds me of Harvest Moon games. Also a very sweet and tender main couple. Plus, this book is written by a male author!! Pretty rare in danmei, at least to my knowledge.

3. Thousand Autumns by Qian Qiu

Pretty dense with lots of philosophy, poetry references, and a more traditional wuxia world. This series is finished with 5 books in total. I had a hard time reading the first book, mostly because I didn’t connect that much with the mc at first, but I loved the world building and all the information I learned. I did eventually start connecting with the mc and ended the series fully besotted! Not a quick or easy read, but a worthwhile one.

4. Ballad of Sword and Wine by Tang Jiu Qing

The first book is out for this series, with the second being published later this month. It’s going to be a long one like tcgf, so it is a commitment read—but absolutely worth it!! Lots of palace politics and more Taoist-focused martial arts (think Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon). It is both fast and slow burn (I know that doesn’t make sense now; trust me, it will later on) and the main character is SO FASCINATING!! I want to study him like a bug. The overall characterization is phenomenal. The cast can be… intimidating, as there are a LOT of named characters, but they’re mostly there for world building (and the world building is fantastic!). Also, the translation here is GORGEOUS. You can tell it was translated by a writer, or at least someone who’s read the whole text (you’d be surprised…)—everything is so vivid!

[tonyglowheart]

Thinking again (more, lmao) about The Contentious Chapter 45, and my Why It Needed to Happen thesis, so here are some more semi-organized thoughts on this topic:

Why It Needed to Happen: Yan Wushi edition. So, we don't ever really know what specifically Yan Wushi went through/experienced in his life and more specifically his childhood - we get hints here and there that seem to imply or can be interpreted to be that he's gone through some shit as Xie Ling, and that's (partly? mostly?) what led him to reinvent himself as Yan Wushi, and then there's also the New Years Extra that has a line about how he'd (already) witnessed countless evils borne of the human heart - but the text does tell us he has this belief that human nature is wicked, slash humans can be pushed to do wicked things no matter how "good" they may think themselves to be. As far as YWS knew by Chap 45, SQ was no different -- he'd received no proof yet that SQ was different, he just hadn't found SQ's bottom line. This is sort of similar to the abused child or abused dog thing, where they will lash out to try to provoke the abuse they're expecting either to "get it over with" or so they know where the line is with this new person (except these are purposeful tests that YWS is doing and not like a reactionary mechanism). Basically, this needed to happen for YWS to know/believe that Shen Qiao is different from what he's observed of human nature -- he needed this proof of concept that the world isn't just rival(/rival peers) -- the closest to equals he has, and rabble. This needed to happen to show/prove - to him and the reader - that there may be a thousand Chen Gong's in the world, but there is only one Shen Qiao.

Why It Needed to Happen: Shen Qiao edition. Shen Qiao is a good guy, but he WAS very sheltered and naive. He holds his beliefs firmly, but his worldly experience was limited and so his character was untried. It's the "it's easy to be a good person when you're rich" idea -- he doesn't know if he has a bottom line yet if he would snap. It's easy to say that you will stay true to your principles when they're not tested - it's when they're put under the stress test that you can truly say that you know yourself and your character. Yan Wushi threw him into a fire, yes, but in many ways this was a tempering of his character, much as one would temper steel. This whole experience very much was an absolute low for Shen Qiao, and it's easy to see fire (analogy) as only destructive, but fire can also be a creative force -- e.g. the forging/tempering analogy from earlier, fires used to clear out brush and weeds choking up the land so that new growth can germinate in the new fire-enriched soil, that kind of thing. This isn't to say that Shen Qiao doesn't experience agony in this metaphoric fire, but he also very much textually experiences a sort of epiphany and rebirth. This is both a spiritual (character-based) sort of rebirth, as well as a rebirth of his wugong. It's after this and after traveling with Yan Wushi that we see Shen Qiao exhibiting much more wisdom when it comes to people, where he's not just naively believing and expecting the good in everyone (I don't have specific citations but iirc this is textual, there's whole parts where it's like, before he might have thought x, but now having traveled with YWS he knows xyz, etc.) Yes this was "bad," maybe, but it tempered Shen Qiao, catalyzed his recovery/"rebirth," and overall led to the strengthening of his wugong and his character. (The conversation they have in Chapter 124 underscores this point, actually.)

Why It Needed to Happen: Yanshen edition. Or maybe more like, what does it do for us from a yanshen perspective lol. Cuz imo, it does a lot. I've posted about this elsewhere before lol, but like aside from the above for the YWS side of things, an argument can also be made that this was YWS going "wait. oh shit, I'm experiencing... feelings? for him" (narrator voice: that feeling was friendship, although he had never experienced it before) and like, lashing out at Shen Qiao like "that'll show you for thinking of me as a friend (and maybe making me feel friend-like feelings towards you..)" -- he was already softening before this (him digging that grave for the dead boy unasked, for example), and the way he's like. ....so you think of me as a... friend? before he pulls the rug from under SQ's feet. But this is important because it tells us that YWS *does* care. He's flippant and teasing and gives the impression that he does it for personal amusement and not really out of affection or anything, so really Shen Qiao may be his latest target of amusement, but it could be anyone. But the fact that he reacted like this to Shen Qiao declaring him a friend instead of just dismissing him as not being worthy of being his friend, not being on his level, etc (I mean he does also do that, but it's not the FIRST thing he does, and also I'd argue that when he Declared it contextually he was purposefully trying to hurt Shen Qiao's feelings), or like, just laughing at him and ridiculing SQ for something so preposterous -- this tells us that he IS feeling some kind of way about Shen Qiao already, that something HAS changed and Shen Qiao went from "latest disposable amusement" to at least "point of fascination." We're not in the endgame yet with this, but it does show that for all that Yan Wushi is trying to influence and "experiment" on Shen Qiao, traveling with Shen Qiao/being around him is conversely having an effect on him, too. That he's not just some unchangeable flat "evil" archetype but is also a complex character that responds to stimulus/reacts to his environment and is capable of being influenced by Shen Qiao. Theirs isn't just a one-sided relationship of one influencing the other or one trying to change the other-- it already by this point is a mutual communion between the opposing but complementary worldviews they hold and embody. They're already like if the taijitu were people (sans the dots in each section-- that comes through the course of the story with their mutual temperings). The same or similar actually holds for the SQ side of things too. Actually, the very fact that he feels anguish from this act and finds it a betrayal is also a very huge indication that Shen Qiao also already cares. I mean, yes, he declared YWS his friend, but like YWS said when they were burying the boy - you didn't even cry when your shidi Yu Ai betrayed you - or later when YWS was about to face Hulugu and SQ says if he were to do it, it would seem natural, but if a friend were to do it, he'd worry. and YWS is like, a friend? If LQY were to face Hulugu would you feel the same way? -- Basically, a similar idea holds here. Would you feel the same way if it were someone else? Yu Ai betrayed him, we didn't see him experience this level of individual, personal anguish. Chen Gong betrayed him, he just kind of sighed and moved on. But coming from Yan Wushi... he reflects on how much it hurt, actually. I still hold to my theory that SQ fell first and by this point was already at least kind of in love with YWS, but even that aside, the very fact that this "betrayal" hurt SQ shows that Shen Qiao, like Yan Wushi, despite seeming above worldly/petty matters slash is disconnected from such normal-people-problems like getting your feelings hurt or, godforbid, heartbreak -- are very much not above that, at least, not when it comes to each other. They're not just two ships passing each other in the night -- they're already mutually entangled together, and this growing bond will only grow stronger as they travel more together

[mejomonster]

Modu by priest was truly such a good read. If you like romance? It has a sweeping romance, with a well done bisexual and gay lead (and straight best friend) all written in ways that manage to feel realistic, it's got features people likely found it for when looking for a danmei - rich manipulative younger man, older investigator who's got a hero streak, and yet those categories don't really do justice to them (and of course tao ran is the more grounded detective story lead who keeps his theories to himself and worries about dragging others into his mess).

They're so much more... Fei Du is a traumatized young man who's worried he's as monstrous as the people who scarred him, who is preparing to take the leap and cross the line to become an even more terrifying version of himself if it will destroy the corruption poisoning this city and harming so many, Luo Wenzhou is a cop that used to want to be a hero and learned he will fail people and be unable to save people and holds onto Fei Du as someone who reminds him he DOES fail but also reminds him why he wants so hard to keep Trying to help people even when it seems impossible... why trying and putting in effort to care and help Even when its too late to fix things is Worthwhile. Tao Ran is a contrast to them both, Fei Du living in a world where there's only monsters and victims and Luo Wenzhou desperately trying to force the world to be a place where justice CAN prevail and win even as he sees it fail over and over, trying so hard to believe all people have the capacity for everything and are worth trying to save. Even though Fei Du doesm't believe that, being around Luo Wenzhou makes him want to consider it. Tao Ran, their contrast? Believing the world can go either way, and its up to people like him to create any justice at all, any structure at all, or else everything is just meaningless suffering chaos. As characters, the three of them serve to explore how the world works and views on it in terms of a detective murder mystery encompassing the whole city, the small scale version of the world. Modu is a romance, but its also fully commited to being a murder mystery that wants to tackle the kind of themes that come up in the setting it's created. Its characters are so much more than Insert Character Ship types here. These characters were made this way to explore these ideas (just as the villains are all made to parallel and contrast Fei Du to explord these ideas in comparison to our point of view Fei Du moments, our impressions of Fei Du from Luo Wenzhou and Tao Rans varied perspectives, all of them are different lenses to view humanity and how it works, if the world is just or if we have to make it good, if we can be inherently good and if good people will reach out to us if we just keep treading water to survive, if its luck and chaos, and how much... and much more frankly).

Modu is like. If you want a story about a corrupt city and its victims, symbolizing a corrupt world and all of us at its mercy, and you want to see the heart of the people doing something about it. First the main trio, but also every victim Fei Du recruits to help, every murderer recruited to the corruption, all the people in the cases swayed to some side. Thats what Modu is about.

The romance is just one facet of exploring that, the personal debate about what these things mean about the world as told through two people who view this world incredibly differently. Yet find some way to exist in the same space, same mutual world, when together. It hooks you in and doesn't let you go and youre wondering right there with them, left to draw your own meaning in the end. Hopefully that its worth trying, that doing something is worth trying even when its just the trying you can do and not the succeeding, at least thats what I got from it (at least in regards to Fei Du and Luo Wenzhou meeting each other, unable to live up to the pillar they put each other on but trying anyway, is what I felt from them).

Then like? Modu gives you THAT story, which in its own right is enough to make you contemplate.

And if you're like me and care about people, about characters? Well it gives you, like I said, those big themes and a city's nightmares symbolizing the world, and brings them down to an individual level. You read from the mind of the little girl who grew up in this (one of my favorite scenes and when I felt this novel was going to not shy away from dark psychological moments and bringing them to you). You read from the mind of Fei Du when he knows himself, when he doesn't. You read from the minds of all kinds of people, and the heart of much of the investigation is peoples motives and things they'd gone through and how that shaped what they'd do next. Why they'd do it. Leaving you to wonder who's right. Jaded idealist Luo Wenzhou who wants to believe in the goodness of the people he loves, but also is willing to risk that strangers may have good intent? Fei Du who thinks theres only victims and perpetrators and everyone is going to fall into one in the right circumstance? Tao Ran, who feels the world is too messy to dare declare predictable, who thinks even your closest can betray you and even you can accidentally hurt them, nevermind strangers, and the only thing you can control and rely on is your own choices? Some mix? None of them? The side characters as they come up, grow and evolve, do they understand the world better or worse, and is the world they experience different than anothers and justify why their worldview is likewise different? Modu gives you that up close and personal, over and over. Im still thinking about it. And the way its done, they all get to feel like lived in people. Not structures to tell the themes only. But on their own, there's a personal struggle between Fei Du feeling like a monster who'll destroy Lup Wenzhou if he loves him, like his dad destroyed his mom, and Luo Wenzhou carrying the guilt he could never save Fei Du and desperate to believe in Fei Du (and keep trying to save him in that way if only that way) as person who can do good despite not being saved and despite Fei Du's fears. You could cut the entire city's plot away, all of the crimes and make the city calm, and still that core of their plot would be carrying a Lot of weight. Theyre playing a game of "enemies" to lovers sure, or whatever romance story structures they fit into. But they're also made to be deeply rooted into each other, their personal beliefs tied into the outcome of what they hope or fear happens if they are close together. Modu made me care about that. Its like the fears many people might have, abiut theur own flaws, about getting close to others, about trusting and being unsure if that trust is safe to give. Its that and magnified into bigger form, in this landscape of a fucked up city and the tragedy of Fei Du and Luo Wenzhou's meeting and former lives.

Its like. Id love to to read another danmei (Ive got a lot on my to read list). But what's going to give me roo

[bisexual-horror-fan]

"No Place Like Home." Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader.

Okay! So the amazing and wonderful @applesontheground wrote me a Leslie Vernon fic for my birthday and I adored it so much I didn't want it to end. She encouraged me to continue it, and so I did just that, and then she joined in and kept it going, and it became this beast of a collaborative piece that ended up being thirteen thousand words. It started off as being just for me, and true while it is still very self-indulgent, it's turned into something for all of you as well! I hope you enjoy!

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 13K. Leslie Vernon X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Reader Is A Killer Obsessed Freak. Banter. Drinking. Murder. Blood. Gore. Ropes. Restrained Reader. Threats. Reader Kinda Wants To Die But Not In A Suicidal Way. Canon Aligned Meta Talk. Man Handling. Vaginal Fingering. Cunnilingus. Blow Job. Messy Oral Sex. Throat Fucking. Cum Eating. Scar Worship. Many Feelings. Vaginal Sex. Multiple Orgasms. Overstimulation. Raw Sex. Cream Pie.

---

You understood that it was a joke to begin with.

Living in a rural area, there were a lot of empty spots between the bricks that made up Glen Echo. Most of it was the usual urban legends and small businesses that just didn’t keep up with a world changing around it, turning to joke about it amongst themselves.

To you, though, there was something comforting and endearing about the pace. You were a bit of a way from home out here but found yourself filling those gaps and making the best of it. At the end of the day, being somewhere new had its moments that paid in turn for the shortcomings it could put you through.

Simply being “attracted to the area” was only half of a lie; you had shown up because of research on the mythos. You could admit that you even looked into it a little too much. The idea of the enigma who nested in the area – a man that fabricated his whole being just to relish in the spilling of unsuspecting blood – was utterly fascinating. You could find the Photoshopped news clippings and chase almost laughable clues sitting around town for days if you didn’t have a day job to occupy you.

Even remembering the life outside this Autumn night, silent and swift as a cat under a new moon, was something you finally decided to release from your attention. Halloween was no time to worry about a day job, and with that you began dawning your costume. Think like the woman you dress as, you told yourself with a smug grin to the mirror. The iconic blue and white dress fell into place on your body, resting on the midway point between your thighs.

Prudes would call it too short, and company you meshed with way better would tease that it’s far too long. It didn’t help that you wore accents that drew attention to your legs on top of that, those knee-high socks with laced hems and the ruby red slippers, which had a taller heel for an accent.

Life beyond the fantasy you were basking in was far behind you, tightening the red bows that kept two well curled pigtails hanging down behind your ears. With a touch like that, only the thickest of skulls wouldn’t know who you were.

Leaving home, following that yellow brick road that lead out of the small confines of the shabby town and into the rural space, you soon caught up with similarly dressed heathens who were raising their flasks and opened cans of alcohol to you, recognizing you were part of the pack that was heading to the supposedly haunted orchard as part of some middle finger to the belief that anyone smart enough to live out here would abstain.

The possibility had been mentioned that he – a walking spirit or man that pulled the strings as quickly and seamlessly as he did steal souls, whatever he did – would find everyone there, and he would not like what he was seeing despite the high spirits.

“Then what?” A girl expertly stepping along the uneven road beside you, a little too tough to be dressed as Princess Peach, but you quickly digressed because she wore the white elbow-length gloves well.

“Then, we become history.” Someone up the road replied, “Immortalized as the idiots who tried to party with Leslie Vernon.” Putting a fist up, you saw the blue and white Letterman jacket he was wearing had a few rips in it, and that his face was painted a ghoulish grey and rooted with purple veins along his jawline to accent it. Something about him seemed eerily familiar, but then you considered it could be something generic, very plain in the visage of an undead high schooler that the Halloween stores would sometimes parade for the uncreative minds. The fact he was holding a bottle of Jagermister only made you squint a little harder before centering your thoughts back to the road beyond the crowd again.

It was a joke to begin with, but you were still finding yourself wanting to believe it. Almost as if you wanted the party to be at real risk despite the blanket of calm everyone had draped over it, additionally nursing with booze and jokes. Surely, there would be a twist from him to combat the weak one that these costumed groups thought they were pulling.

He can’t deal with all of us, right?

You found yourself needing to take a deep breath at the thought that in your wildest fantasies that he somehow could.

After passing a fence down the trodden path, the air around you was wordlessly shifting. As though it was on a cue from where you were standing, trees were clearing from the sky to allow a half-moon to illuminate the dirt road before you, and somewhere in the lump of unclear horizon sat the dilapidated Vernon farmhouse. Bunches of yellow and rouge apples rest within the first trees that you were passing, a signal you had made it to the orchard.

A breath pulled tight into your chest; eyes as wide as you could make them while you continued to peruse, to listen to every little noise outside of the murmur of people. The Jager man offered you a drink from the cooler that they were lugging out with the rest of the crowd, and after fiddling through the soggy ice, your hand secured a vodka shot between index and middle fingers while the rest of your hand found the rim of a canned pre-mixed drink. He then said something in a pompous tone, but it was otherwise unintelligible to you, so you just laughed it off to go back to soaking in the sight before you instead.

Even after basking for a good portion of the party’s setup, you still weren’t done. You decided to give it a rest, be a little more social. It was the omniscience embedded within you to realize how you looked, staring wistfully into the orchard surrounding the clearing that everyone was gathering in, not interested in any person at a Halloween party. Too suspicious, and despite knowing there were no tricks up your frilly short sleeves, you were aware no one else knew yourself as well as you did.

You began striking up conversations to avert any of the oddly placed suspicion that might have been drummed up, complimenting costumes as the two drinks you had snagged were put down between giggles and conversations about what kind of final girl was the best kind You fell elbow-deep in bringing up a classic archetype, the movie buff who called plot twists and elements that would play out in their own story before they happened, someone locked eyes with you. You didn’t stop, of course, but held the stare from across the party as you went on.

“Please, where would we be without those dudes half-baked and quoting The Creature from the Black Lagoon? They’re the ones painting the picture for the rest of the clueless victims.”

You couldn’t quite pinpoint what about him really excited you. First off, the thrill of him being the Scarecrow and unintentionally matching you passed as you failed to recognize the shape worn on his mask, and the absence of straw in the torn holes of the rest of his getup was only a final nail in the coffin of your hopes. He was just…some mope-mouthed zombie, or a haunted doll.

The people you had been speaking to were well into buzzed territory, taking the lull in your conversation to go stumble into another aesthetically appropriate chat circle while you waited for this new acquaintance. He continued to wade through the crowds that you had been standing off to the side from, and finally piped up as soon as he could be heard from behind everything.

“Looks like you forgot Toto.”

You snickered at that, and shrugged, “Yeah. None of my friends’ dogs wanted to do it, sorry.”

He made an amused noise at that, then pointed to the drink in your hand. “Want me to grab you another one?” You shook your head, grimacing a bit, “No, no. I’m still working on this, and besides- Even in stoppers, not a great combination to keep drinking with these shoes on.”

“Even in what?” He stooped a little to hear better, and you demonstrated it by walking perfectly stable along the uneven terrain, wading off the dirt clearing everyone was gathered in to show off a pair of high heels in all their red, glittery glory on forest brush. “Heel stoppers. They keep me from sinking in all this mud and dirt around the property.” He whistled a bit as you did a fancy little turn, accenting the agility they provided, and he complimented, “Pretty smart. You do that just for parties?”

You bit your tongue, smiling as you walked back over and admitted, “More to just keep in the race should I need to run.” The inquisitive glow to wide eyes suddenly narrowed, and he scoffed, “Run from what? It’s pretty harmless out here, save for those dudes who won’t stop saying they’re gonna climb the roof. It’s gonna give out the second any weight gets put on it…” He faltered, arm shooting out to the farmhouse like it was obvious from where the both of you stood, “Looks that way, anyways.”

“That’s what you think, dude. Do you know where you are right now?” He was silent; merely staring on at you, almost through you. You smiled and elaborated for him, “The Vernon Farm. Leslie Vernon’s resting place?”

He scrunched his eyes and hummed, “Can’t say that’s ringing a bell. Enlighten me.”

You felt as though the words couldn’t fall faster from your mouth, crafted into the same story you loved to tell the locals (as if they weren’t native to the area that it all started in, hearing the tall tale since they were in grade school).

“Isn’t that fucking ingenious?” You paused partially through the story on how he had committed a few murders within a span of the last three years, part of you trying to steady yourself as you realized you had spilled your guts to a man whose face you hadn’t even seen, “He’s up and coming still, but I think he’s taking a lot of cues from the greats of these serial killer types. I mean, morally abhorrent, but I’m no snob to that.”

“Wow.” He looked away in a rather brisk motion, but seemed amicable to the subject, “It sounds like you’re really banking on this dude to be some kind of mastermind.”

“Please.” You shrugged, “I mean, these murders that happened over three years seem pretty real to me. Whoever, whatever’s been utterly elusive on a rural farm for so long – still Vernon as we see him – he absolutely knows about stuff like this coming on the horizon. I can see it already, it’s so practical now that I have my actual eyes on this place.” You pointed up to a tree you had been perusing, “There’s an electrical wire trailing up this tree, perfectly on the outskirts of the crowd where someone can – no, will run towards it if they get spooked. Seriously, doubt anybody in our group put that up there, it’s not covered in all these goofy Halloween decorations.” His own eyes slowly trailed up your arm, catching on an exposed tattoo before briskly tearing away to see what you were talking about, following your pointed finger.

You then gave the unimpressed tone right back, “That’s going to do something. Electrocute someone, take power to something that’s even more gruesome. It’s too high off the ground to be some sort of cutting wire, right?” His eyes went back down, sizing up your confident expression with a halfhearted blink, “Pretty sure whoever, whatever Vernon is, has more than rocks in his head. Fueled by more than just hearsay, ghost stories…”

Finding humor in your almost asinine explanation, you found this was better timing than anything that’d come afterwards. You were surprised he was even still standing in front of you, as you figured you may as well introduce yourself, still caught in a starry-eyed smirk. You offer up your name.

He shook your hand nicely and replied, “Nice meeting you. I’ll let you in on mine after the party.” Finding it almost bold in nature, looking to fulfill some type of promise with that reveal, you blew him off. Rolling your eyes, you asked, “Sure. Then what can I call you until then?”

Still holding your hand in a mockingly polite way, he mulled, “Just call me the wizard himself. … Or the Scarecrow. Whatever works for this costume, Dorothy.” Taking his hand out of yours, he flicked one of your pigtails while pulling away slightly, just enough to leave you able to recall the subtle warmth from standing beside him as something so much stronger just mere seconds ago.

He had glanced at your arm again, so you decided to keep the topic going. “If you can’t tell, I’m kind of fascinated by these slasher types.” You gave him a good view of your tattoos, and his eyes traced over it, silent at first but the approval shining through in a thoughtful roll of his neck as he took in the entire picture again, every detail having soaked in through painted eyeholes.

“You know, I didn’t take you as someone who saw so much in a dynamic like that. The killer and his final person, I mean.” He carefully crossed his arms, like he was letting this creepy façade rest its head for a moment as he speculated, “Almost sounds like you want that for yourself, or at least to see it for yourself, straight out of the movies and the stories.” You smiled unapologetically, and although it sounded like you were playing along it was spoken in earnest, “Oh, do I.”

He stared off into the tree line with you for a beat, and hummed, “A girl like you really seems to chase after that, stick around in places where it can’t help itself.” You rolled your neck a little, adjusting in the scratch of the costume, as alcohol started permeating on your tongue a little heavier. You admitted, “Can’t help being such a go-getter with this. I almost live for it, which means I have to die for it too, I guess.”

“Go-getter.” The words themselves felt like they could be sarcastic when he echoed them back to you, but something earnest coated his voice as he suddenly affirmed that, “You’ll find it. It’ll find you. One or the other.” A hand came up, grasping at an imaginary subject in front of him as he spoke in even more earnest. “Ghost stories or not, something about that attraction. It’s palpable…magnetic, even.”

He then pulled a handle from his pocket, and you soon saw from the size of it that it hadn’t been inside, but rather sitting right in plain view over the top. The stranger shrugged rather peacefully. “It’s like the two can’t keep away from each other.”

That blade didn’t look plastic. You raised an eyebrow; it didn’t even look chrome; it was chipped in certain spots and narrow in a way that fake weapons just couldn’t emulate. Wear and tear made marks like that. You got one more look at his mask, a few second thoughts shutting you up well and fine.

“I’m keeping that promise, by the way. We’ll talk a little later. Can I count on you?” he asked, friendly enough as you merely nodded, trying to act like you were thinking before the nonverbal answer. He slid right past, not towards the crowd, but into the shadows of the apple orchard that surrounded the farm. No one even looked twice at the noise, so minor that it was easily blamed on the wind, should you not know better.

“Oh.” You spoke to yourself, staring down at your drink, “Oh, now that just isn’t fair.”

~

What in the fuck was he doing?

You felt the rope constrict tighter, one of his long arms stretching over one shoulder to take the other end towards your back. Silent, you merely matched his own lack of words because you were more confused than terrified. Maybe even a little let down.

This was how you told him you had wanted to go, at the hands of some dude like him, and he isn’t even killing you.

Between the small talk by the tree and reuniting with him now, to say you had been put to the test to be his victim would be an understatement. Between the classic straggler at the party who disappeared for far too long only for a severed arm or head to turn up to people hanging from the rafters of the farmhouse or in the trees, everyone had scattered, herded together by the supernatural entity of Vernon, and picked off to the best of his abilities. The ones he hadn’t been able to physically get a hold of got caught, you had noted when you ran by that wire and saw someone electrocuted at the foot of the tree it was wrapped around.

What do you know? I was fucking right.

Securing the entire hog tie, he suddenly lifted his haunches from you. Before you recognized he was gearing to leave, that was it. Turning onto your back and haphazardly sitting up, ignoring how your dress rode up slightly in favor of looking through the trees, he had slipped off again like the ghost that he was trying to emulate. You almost wanted to holler at him: The fuck is THE Leslie Vernon doing taking live captors? Is he getting bait? Playing with the food before consuming it?

Pondering had honestly brought you to a comfortable seat on the dirt beneath your backside, not caring if it was starting to pour into the backs of your socks, or even accidentally slip under your skirt, peppering your bare thighs before you readjusted with a huff. You had a hunch, one that finally helped your dry throat find its gloss and find its voice again.

“Not gonna lie, you’re kind of screwing this up.” You called out, and he emerged from the dark, like he knew your own speculations that would come to the light, much like himself: He couldn’t run off yet. Still saying nothing, he tilted his head to one side. It was impossible to tell if he meant it in admiration or disbelief. Regardless, you heard a shuddering breath behind his mask.

“You know,” You crossed one ankle over the other, calming the pulse between your legs, “I always assumed you’d want to keep this brief. Especially if I’m not your final victim.” He made a beeline back over to you, crouching to one knee. Instead of an unnerving whistle or hiss, he gave you an honest mutter in disbelief. “Please. For you?” He asked, and you curiously let him go on, “If anything you’ve told me tonight is true, about yourself and about your passion for what I’m doing, I almost want to ask for permission.”

A hand came up, sans his weapon but nail just as pristine, as he ran feather-light tracks over the outline of the tattoo resting. “I mean, you weren’t lying about your commitment to this sort of lifestyle. These all look pretty real to me.”

“Rub a little harder, even.” You dared, looking down at the primed muscles stretched on the back of his hands, “I don’t mind if you need to prove to yourself that I’m the real deal.” The pristine curl suddenly became lighter, intimidated even as it fell away, and he quickly digressed.

“It isn’t about that, the sweet honeypot at the end of every horror movie. I always thought it had something more to do with the journey, the planning…” He swung the sickle, breaking through the itchy rope and not courteous enough to keep it from catching threads from your dress. He gasped, “I’m a lot like you, in that I will admit it’s nice, but…I want this whole event to be special, you know?”

Pausing, his eyes scoured your body for a couple seconds before his two hands, the curved blade falling in his lap to give way for nimble fingers pulling the rest of the rope apart, taking it from your body and letting it fall along with the weapon. Still, most of it fell to your own lap. Looking at each other, the sigh practically tumbled from behind the mask. Whether it was relief or exhaustion, neither of you cared to label it. He almost seemed put off by something, squinting at himself more so than anything about you or what you were doing.

Then, with the same hands, he pushed the mask up over his face. Seeing him, not the mirage he had been flowing through the entire evening like water vapor, he smiled through a painted on frown. It had been an accent paint, it seemed, something to abscond in case the wooden face didn’t fool a wandering eye. Everything was smoke-colored and smudged over his expression, beginning to get sweat through, and somehow making the smile lines in his face more prominent simultaneously. It was as though you could see everything and nothing at once.

“Special,” You echoed, “I know what you mean. I know exactly what you mean, Leslie.” You cocked your head at the sound of his name on your lips, “Can I call you Leslie?”

“Absolutely. Think we’ve both earned the right to be friendly with each other.” He answered with a harmless nod, and just as swift as he had stripped down to the man that he was, he was shoving you backwards with the heels of his hands. “I honestly don’t know why you’re asking. It’s so clear you knew to use my name long before-“ He framed your arms against the dirt, pinning both the extremities, “we ended up here.” You let your head fall back, the earth supporting heavier realizations as you simply murmured, “Yeah, maybe I did.”

He shifted, as though physically feeling you would do something about this. Rough denim pulled against your bare leg, and even if you could attempt to fix your skirt, you knew you were far past the point of wanting to. Anyone who could see either of you was dead, or rather you could notice from the peripherals of your stare into his own that there was a body nearby.

Whether or not it had been intentionally turned away from the two of you, that was something you enjoyed leaving up to the imagination. You couldn’t even register before he collided into you a little too hard, his hand slipping in a pure excitement that made it hard to keep steady when he was on top of you the way that he was.

It made the fact you talked about the things that you would do about your interest in him all the more diabolical, eyes snapping open and looking past his short dark hair that had been styled by accident to stand on end from how he had removed the mask. You told all of that to his face.

When he finally pulled back, he peered down with an almost euphoric, electrified look to his eyes. “Sorry. I get a little antsy – and you probably knew that, too.” You had no idea what he was talking about until the slow ooze of blood went over the cupid’s bow of your lip. “You’re fine, they happen easily.” You almost coughed through your speech, laughing at imagining just how dishevelled he had you in a matter of a few movements, a few touches that were far from the only ones going forward.

He flicked the sickle, and you watched some stray streaks of blood fall into the dirt, permeate into a diabolical splatter of what you could assume to call mud. “…Listen, we can discuss this away from the rest of the…the party, maybe?” He asked breathlessly, and when you nodded once again leapt off of you with the same pace, the same ethereal ability.

“Well,” You let a string of bloody spit fall from your mouth, as ruby in color as your lipstick and as your shoes, letting him pull you back up by the back of your neck and suddenly hoist you off the ground. You didn’t move as he hefted you over one shoulder; rather, you turned your head and asked, “So, let me just ask this. You’re not gutting me? Stabbing me? Not even slitting the throat, letting me go out in a more iconic fashion? Where the hell are we again?”

Leslie stopped. Readjusting you, the loose threats of your dress along with your soft hip pressing into the side of his neck, he straightened the skirt over your backside with a lingering hand and hummed, “I’ll put it like this: you are not in Kansas anymore.”

Your hands rest on his back, not for lack of support, or fear that he’d drop you, but just because you could, he was right here and he was letting you. Through rough thermal material you could feel how firm he was underneath, defined muscle definitely present, fabric slightly damp from sweat and whatever else from the effort he’d expended this evening thus far. Your nose hadn’t stopped bleeding, a slow drip, he was still carrying you away, somewhere, and you watched as stray drops fell to the ground, bright red standing out amongst dark and loose dirt, like a farewell to the rest of what the party had originally thought it had got itself into. In all honesty, they all assumed it was what it was: a joke.

This was no goddamn joke, tangible as the flexing back underneath your palms.

It’s quiet for a moment, your mind is whirring, wandering as it always is, and watching the faint blood trail, dressed as you were, perched on the monster himself’s shoulder? 

It’s like something out of a fairy tail in a way. The big bad wolf and the little red victim, but instead of a trail of breadcrumbs leading to a gingerbread house, it’s a pathway marked with blood mixing into the earth, and it’s leading to-

A glance around, gaining your bearings. It clicks as soon as your eyes leave the ground. The Vernon farm house.

Oh, this is what he had in mind. He wants to bring you inside. 

You would have been fine getting anything from him, you would have let him fuck you back there in the dirt and loved every single second of it, but apparently he had other plans, better plans. 

You love who he is, and more importantly, you love who you are. 

Furthermore, you have no illusions about yourself either, and certainly no shame. You would have let him do all manner of things in the cool evening air and under the light of the moon, no less than ten feet from a body that he himself had brought to the ground. He deemed you worth more, better than a nasty fuck in the dirt- No. He thinks what you are going to do together is better suited under a roof, in a proper bed.

He thinks you are worth that extra care and effort, and he thinks you deserve the Vernon home’s comfort, warmth, safety…

You suppress a laugh as the word safety floats through your mind. He takes you inside, barely mindful enough to close the door, but enough to give the needed privacy. Up the stairs, you have to stifle another giggle, his shoulder driving up over and over into your sternum inadvertently. He doesn’t even care to notice, let alone say anything about it – especially since you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying yourself. Into the closest guest room, he slings you off of him and onto the bed.

The idea that you are safe with Leslie fucking Vernon is, laughable, hilarious, and yet – seemingly and inexplicably – true. He looks like he is too excited, like he doesn’t know what to do first.

You jump into action, knowing the role deserves such from both parties. You reach out to him, propped up on one elbow, your other hand is open, a move of your fingers, a small invitation to join you on the surprisingly plush surface, it certainly beat the dirt outside (mythos ingrained couldn’t make it any more pleasant after all). He takes you up on it, starts to crawl onto the bed, it’s not as slow as before, as if now that he’s experienced it once, he is craving to be on top of you again too much to not rush it, and soon enough he is. 

You revel in his weight on top of you again, your hand that was previously reaching out touches down on the back of his neck, you sink further into the mattress with a sigh. You speak, you ask, “How are you feeling?”

“How am I feeling?” He asks, and you nod once, “Yeah, after everything, we kept you pretty busy tonight, running around, you feeling tired yet, Vernon?”

A shake of his head, small smile, addressing him by his last name is fine too it seems, good to know. He tells you, “No way, not at all.”

“No?” The question is innocent in tone, but not in what you hope to gain from it, and he says, “You have no idea the stamina I am capable of.”

“Show me?”  You asked, tone thoroughly hopeful, almost offended by the notion you’d underestimate him. Still, you wanted him to make you understand, and not only that, but to not stop until he was sure you understood.

The implication is obvious, the motives clear, yet he still tilts his head a little and asks, “And just how should I do that?”

He’s being so fucking coy about it, he has to know how endlessly attractive that is to you. You fight the urge to grouse, a playful musing of, must you do everything is left unsaid.

Hand on the back of his neck moves up, fingers slide through short dark hair and thread slightly, twist as much as they are able, and you use that to tug him down as you move up so your lips meet. It’s fitting you suppose, there has to be a point where this happens, right? A shift in your dynamic. He’s still instigating, doing the set-up, but you can’t be stock static forever.

That isn’t the point, it isn’t your role. It isn’t any fun if he’s the only one doing the moving, otherwise you might as well just be one of the bodies abandoned in the dirt outside, chilling and succumbing to the elements as you two lay here.

The flavour of him hits your senses due to the union you’d just forced, mostly it’s salt and the paint he wore. It doesn’t taste like any normal make-up you’d ever worn, but it’s him, just as much as the light apple you managed to gain a sense of was. The idea of him taking a small break and eating from the orchard on the job is weirdly endearing, if not a bit funny, but there are better things to focus on. Mostly like, where the fuck did he learn to kiss like this? Was he this good, were you this hard up, or was it everything else? The tension, the build up, the chemistry or as he so succinctly put it earlier, the magnetism? 

Either way, you simply cannot bring yourself to care as he settles in closer to you, body more flush to yours, really letting you soak up the feeling of him on you, letting it consume you more easily not just into him, but the moment itself.

The rhythm and ease, back and forth, push and pull, inhale and sigh, your lips part more, and then you’d realized something vital just now, in your haste to kiss him you’d honestly forgotten about the fact you were still bleeding. You pull back, about to apologize, but that look in his eyes makes you stop again, shining in the low light of the room. The words die a quiet death on your tongue, lingering there before being buried with the taste of iron on your palette.

He doesn’t let you, his hands are on you now, too. Your grip loosens while his tightens, another shift with one hand in just about the same place yours was on him, the back of your neck. His mouth stained differently than before, more red like yours was, and he says, “Not yet.” before leaning in to take further. 

He is getting bolder, more confident, dare you even say a needier edge to this, the thought passes through your mind, How does he like it? He definitely knows himself and what he’s doing. Also, how long had it been for him?

When was the last time he had someone in his bed, kissed someone, touched another person without the express purpose and idea being violent fanfare? Clearly you are not the first, no way anyone is this capable on their first go with no previous experience to back themselves up, but when was the last time he had penetrated a warm body below him in a different sense? It sends a thrill through you, weeks, months, fuck, years? The very idea certainly made you feel special. 

You’d been returning his affection this whole time, matching him in enthusiasm and pace. You wanted to ask, to know, but should you ask right this second when his mouth felt so good slotted against yours? You could talk more later. Right now, your body is betraying what you really crave: a move of your hips against his, a grind upwards, and you feel with perfect clarity how much this is getting to him too. The friction is good but nowhere near enough, the move is repeated twice more, and it just gets better, it makes you want to go further at the warmth that is blooming inside as well as kick off your sparkly heels and shed much more clothing than just that. Something eager, like how he had collided so harshly with you just prior to this, was rushing to the hilt. Practically gagging on its leash, the seams of your panties rubbing you to near pain before anything even passed the barrier of clothing.

Again, maybe you were just that predictable. His hand tracing from the waistband of your skirt to glide along the socks, his mind was going straight to those heels. You crease your brow slightly as you feel his fingers stick past the spot where the shoes still wedged fast to your foot, and without taking his mouth off of yours, he pushes one of them off. Then, the other with a similar urgency to his movement, the same brisk shuffle of the other hand. When you glance down, he’s holding both of them in one hand, caring not to throw them to the floor but rather set them gingerly by the foot of the bed.

“Those shoes got some thought in them,” He commented when he saw where your eyes had been, “I respect the craft, so I’m not here to wreck those heel stoppers.”

“Well, that decides it,” you say in a serious and emphatic tone, with your brows still pinched together, "I have to blow you."

A laugh, small and shocked, before he asks, "Right this second?"

"Do you have a better or more appropriate time in mind, Leslie?" You say it teasingly and even after you expounded earlier about all the things you would do, even after proving your devotion to the supposed “cause”, it was as if he still didn’t believe you to back it up and be so forward. He had a lot to learn about you.

In the interest of continuing to be forward, you lean in that direction, sitting half up to meet his now kneeling position he took when removing your heels, hands are back on, setting to work on his overalls as you say, “I think I can pencil you in for around four pm next Wednesday if that suits you better?”

“Lots of jokes from you right now-” He starts, and you laugh, as if he didn’t open with one himself earlier, didn’t set the tone, the snaps undone you tell him, “Trying to keep the mood light, it was getting pretty hot and heavy there for a minute.” 

“Are you complaining about some good, solid sexual tension?” He asks as you tug the denim down. You admire the way the dirty off-white material is stretched across his arms and torso, eyes linger while your fingers abandon the straps, settling into the openings near his hips to get it the rest of the way off. “Never, just don’t want you to blow your load too fast, you know?”

“Be honest.” He implores with a smile, and you shrug, eyes break away as you say, “Maybe I want to make this last a bit longer, don’t want to rush something I’ve been wanting for so long.” 

It is honest. You want to savour it, especially because who knows if this is a once in a lifetime offer that will expire after tonight. Perhaps the sun will rise in the morning, then proceed to set on whatever is between you and him right now.

You push the thought aside as easily as you do the rest of dark muddy blue fabric with his help, no time to think about all of that when you have this right now. Enjoy the moment as it happens, for what it is, or regret it forever. Either this is the one and only, the possibilities as infinite as the entire evening felt, or the hopeful first of many, and in either scenario your full attention is deserved.

“That is something I can completely understand.” 

You’re sure he can. Tossing the clothing on the floor with much less care than he gave to your shoes, you notice his current state and ask, “Woah, commando under there, huh?”

“Freedom of movement is important. Gotta stay aerodynamic with all the running, chasing...” He points out, and your hands come up. “Never said it wasn’t”. Verbally, you reply, “Fair enough.” That doesn’t put you off, the idea of him doing this so unencumbered wasn’t bad at all. You reach out again, hands help him with his shirt, and he is more than amicable but at the same time points out, “You are still awfully dressed.”

“You know you can do something about that, anytime you want to.” Making your own point in a similar tone that he did earlier, but before he can start to worry about removing white and blue checkered frills, you are much closer. Hands on his shoulders, another kiss not stolen, but willingly given.

If the excitement you felt when making out fully clothed before was good, him bare under your exploring hands was incredible. You are torn between the feel of his mouth on yours and how the planes of his skin under your careful palms. He had some good scars, ones you would be getting a much closer look at if you weren’t so consumed with how his tongue was working into your mouth. Lower and lower, fingers trace until you are down past his ribs over a particularly gnarly scar on his side that makes him tense. A small breaking apart, lips hardly lifting from his as you ask, “You good?”

A hum of acknowledgement with a nod as you trace over it again, you think this is it, you think this is the big one he got from Her and you are touching it, evidence of their bond and connection, foraging your own private moment with it.

You don’t linger, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable but from the way he is breathing you don’t think he is bothered by it, you think he’d let you do more to it and maybe later you will.

For now your hand is concerned with going lower, thumb slipping over his hip bone until you find what you really want, a fleeting thought of empowering yourself makes a smile pass your lips briefly before you kiss him again, swallowing up the gasp he lets out from the firm grip you take.

Christ, this was going to be good, you could tell, but you can make it better still. You break away to lean down a bit, spitting into your palm before taking back your position, your hand is gliding much easier. You think of putting your mouth to better use. You don’t want to use just your hand; can anyone blame you for wanting to satisfy an intense oral fixation, something that made you hit the ground running at the drop of a dime? Not only that, but you were good at it, and you wanted to show him just how good you could be. To see what reactions you could draw from him when your fingers dig into his hips and pull him in close and down your eager throat made a mantra clear as day cross your mind, almost blinding you as you felt yourself tense slightly in anticipation. 

Stop thinking, start doing.

You make the move, sliding lower on his body. More passes of your mouth, brushes of your lips, quick pecks placed as you travel down, admiring as you go and your hand never stopping. The look on his face made him seem that he was merely allowing it, but as he got more sensitive to each meeting of your mouth against his skin, his posture was starting to slack.

Jaw to neck and neck to shoulder, his shoulder to chest and his chest down his stomach and fuck, you see it: the edge of that brutal scar. You lick your lips quickly, and the pure impulse pushes you to lean in. While tightening your grip on his shaft, your tongue licks up along the length of the raised tissue. He responds as if he’s been electrocuted, a choked sound that was desperately trying to abscond itself made you clench the empty space between your legs. It seems you took him by surprise yet again. Thank God for the hand you have on his opposite side while you work him over, or he might have just toppled right off the bed.

You let the underside of your tongue pass over it once more on your way down until you are finally stomach down on the sheets, right where you need to be. After all, previous thoughts of knowing where Her story ended and yours began was a line you were willing to dance along.

The hand on him slows as you make that first contact, you start with a kiss, something soft and akin to reverent. It’s just to kick it off, but quickly the experimenting turned to knowledge, then knowledge to want. You’re quicker now, and a hungry mouth opens as you take almost half in one go. A light moan around your mouthful, lips close and with the seal formed you suck deeply.

Some people might be grossed out by the taste of him after a night's activities. You are not one of those people. The tang of him is strong, and it is very welcome. The taste of him and heavy weight on your tongue along with remnants of the drinks from what felt like an entirely different night ago made you grind your hips into the mattress as you bob back once before driving down again – harder, taking more.

A hand finds your hair along with a quiet curse, a half smile can be heard in his tone, “Shit, you’re eager, huh?”

Eyes glance up through your lashes, along with a nod that doesn’t stop your pace. You merely slow for a moment, fingers on his hip squeeze, and you use that to draw him closer. You are going to take him to the base and swallow around the head of his dick, even if it suffocates you. Forcing your head down is easy, taking him deeper is no issue, you are plenty motivated, a straining of your neck as you keep leaning, hand pulling him towards you until finally you achieve your goal.

It took a few rocks back and forth, a minute amount taken more each time, until your nose is buried in trimmed coarse hair. Another moan reverberates out of you, somewhere deep in your throat and then up his shaft. Nails bite into his hip as you move him back a hair, and you suck down a deep breath through your nose before your lips are locked once more around his base.

You suck, your tongue moves in slow lazy circles on the underside of his shaft as an opener, yet you still listen as his breathing pitches, becoming laboured. You take the chance and give a strong swallow.

He lets out a groan, the hand in your hair threads, and he tugs, “Fuck-”

That is what you need to hear. No, that is what you live for. A telling tone, rough and faltering into something less confident. It was almost like he was vanquishing that idea, and letting it go where it needed rather than where he saw to fit. You swallow him again, and another sound pours out from above you. You repeat yourself with another swallow, a sound to match once more, and you throb.

Finding some guarded clarity for a second, he then says, “You know you, ugh, you don’t have to do all this.”

Brows quirk, and you move back, pulling him out and noting how he’s dripping in your spit. Your hand locks onto him tightly as you move seamlessly, not breaking stride, and you squarely look up. “I thought you were smart.”

He laughs breathlessly, eyes hard to see from a half confused and half pleasured grimace before he questions, “What?”

Your opposite hand comes up, thumb dispatching the spit that had slipped out, while you maintain eye contact. You tell him, “I’m not doing this to impress you, Leslie. This is just how I like to do this, or else… What am I doing here?”

You lean in and slip the head back between your lips. You suck again, his head tips back as your hand works his shaft in tandem with your mouth and then a few pumps later pop him back out, finishing your previous train of thought, “This? It’s just as much for me as it is for you. Trust me.”

You set back to work, hand slows, and you work him back into your mouth, sucking indulgently all the way, a blanket of bliss taking over. Fingers are loose around the base of his shaft, and you bob your head up and down. The rhythm is casual and easy, you are just having fun with it at this point.

Like the loosening grip on control, he seemed more than happy to let you play. It gave him the time to have what you said linger on his mind.

A minute later, he then let his head fall back down and asked, “What do you mean, it’s just as much for you?”

You didn’t want to stop, so you think you can show rather than tell. Your hand that wasn’t holding him in place while you continue to fuck your mouth with him slips down. A hand goes up your skirt and into your underwear, finally giving reprieve to that wall that kept the last of hidden details from what was before both of you.

Fingers slip down, and you are soaked.

You pushed two into yourself, and gasp as much as you can with him in your mouth. You rock back and forth, fucking yourself on your fingers, and God, that felt so good. You linger for a moment before your hand is pulled out and held up, still shivering from the inside out from its protrusion. His fingers catch your wrist, and he brings it closer to see them slick, a mess running down them and strings of arousal breaking apart when you splay your fingers. 

Undeniable evidence of just how much this particular act does for you. 

You’d hoped he would understand, and he does. Synchronicity is further bliss, so much so that you have this much of a read on him. It was something more satisfying than just grazing the books, the articles written capturing mere glimpses of him. For fuck’s sake, he has your fingers in his mouth. He sucks and tastes you, and apparently likes it so much he moans (not in a dissimilar fashion to how you did upon tasting him.)

Fuck, you had it so badly for him. 

You hadn’t wanted to stop. Urges to keep going until drool was trailing down your chin and neck were throttling you, and you were a breathless mess who was somehow even wetter by the end of it. Looking up, it was becoming clear that he had other plans. It’s shown on how his face once again grew dark, similar to what you had seen when the mask had come off. Eyes fixated on your face, taking in features with a few restless heaves of his shoulders, a still ocean in his expression as he thought for another second.

“You want to know about me?” He asked, smiling as he let go of your wrist. “Let’s scratch that. This business is a lot about improv, if you didn’t already know, and here comes an improvised thought.” He readjusted, finding some footing in the way he was kneeling, and he leaned in a little more – to a point where you could smell yourself on his breath. Another grind against you, he shuddered out the words.

“Let me get to know a little more about you for a second.”

You were frozen in place, merely humming in response as he suddenly turned his attention lower. With a smoothing motion, your skirt rode up your hips along with the heels of his hands, pushing it like something in his way, which you suppose it is.

Suddenly, just as quick and almost erratic as he had been the more he was enjoying himself, enjoying this, and enjoying you – he was off the bed for a split second. You didn’t watch, just waited, made yourself more comfortable, because it was a pattern of his to come back when he did that. Your mouth feels tragically empty at the loss of him, but you have a good feeling whatever he is about to do will more than make up for it. 

“God, they’re the same color as the slippers-” He lamented for half a second, speaking of your red panties he had revealed when he moved your skirt out of the way, but as soon as he had left he was back. Something cold slid underneath the fabric of your underwear, and with a thoughtful turn to rest on a small edge between your skin and the elastic made you realize what it was.

How did you not see that coming? He held it with a steady hand, a semblance of trying to keep some control with something so sharp, as he caught his breath. Pulling upwards in an almost savage motion shattered the otherwise serene, quiet moment.

“Sorry if you were thinking about wearing those again.” He shrugged, no remorse in his tone. You chuckled at that and replied, “You think I’d get rid of them even after that?” As you finished the rhetorical question, you saw him holding them in an iron grip with the hand that didn’t have the sickle.

“Not what I meant.” He said the obvious aloud, and in a quick move of his arm he threw them out of sight, “Good luck finding those again.” You scoffed, head falling back on the bed as you lamented, “Will it be as hard as learning your na-”

He cut you off again, this time with a hand feeling your entrance with the same careful precision he had given with the weapon. It was your turn to shudder, fingers curling in response to the feeling almost immediately as you got your last word out, “Naaaame?”

“Everyone knows my name.” Leslie reminded you, “At least, around here. I’ve done a great job with making it all common knowledge, but…” You stared with lidded eyes as he finally let the middle finger pass your walls, unable to keep the expression of a surprise that broke the final assumption that you couldn’t feel this wet, this hot. Neither of you could keep talking, awe striking both of you from making the connection.

The moment overtakes, there is one thought that breaks through the haze, lingering in the now mostly empty space of your mind, “Leslie Vernon is inside of me.” 

To be fair, he always has been it seems, once you learned about him, it was like he set up camp in your mind, your heart – fucking Hell, into the very marrow of your bones, he took root, curling around your spine all the way up your brain stem. It’s like an infection, poisoning you, making you sick.

You never wanted to get better. If this is what being ill is, then you want to be staying under forever. He’s been in you in every way but a very physical way, but now?

As he almost totally withdraws his middle finger and then adds his ring finger next, he has broken that last barrier, and you need to hold on for dear life to keep yourself from spiralling out. You writhed slightly, trying not to clench your legs and prevent him from doing what he needed to. He started to pump a few times, but it was growing too much again. That same face falling over him like a blanket, he ducked down. His fingers felt incredible, but his tongue was something that made an involuntary gasp come with an inhale, then a shaky cry fall from you with an exhale.

He was mute, focused with a furrowed brow as his mouth merely ghosted, then settled into where he felt fit best. One lick up through your folds had him deciding quietly that he needed to get more comfortable for this, wanting as much of you exposed as possible. Fingers leave you and his hands lock onto your hips. He tugs you down as he moves, showing his strength, no matter how you had made him look weak in full view. The reminders he could do anything he wanted prompts a small moan to slip out.

He has his knees to rough hardwood, your legs remain splayed, and he gets to it. 

You’d thought about this very thing often. It had been an impossibility, a complete pipe dream to be taken by his mouth, but here he was turning the thoughts into one hell of a reality. There had to be a figure that he was rather good at that, even outside his other work. You look down the length of your body to see those weathered hands resting atop your thighs, his eyes closed and that mouth of his getting into a rhythm of doing some frankly criminal things, neck muscles flexing in the process.

His tongue was eager but minded its pace, going from bottom to top, hole all the way up and over straining and hyper sensitive flesh before repeating the action. It made you tense with a quick inhale as your body became taut, the easy simmer of pleasure from the first contact. The tension and tease of a rise upward culminating in the bright burst of feeling that hits when he passes over your clit, to then the leftover buzz when he pulls away briefly to drop back to do it all over again.

It’s wonderful, it’s maddening, and before you could even hope to start to put together the thoughts to form a sentence to complain he knew, somehow he knew just when to move on.  His mouth becomes much more focused, the movements are drawn out and unhurried. Very comfortable, light brushes of his tongue over your twitching bud through the hood make your body respond in kind, unable to remain still. You are so perfectly worked up, it is like you can feel every move, no matter how miniscule with rough palms holding your legs in place during the times they jerk more heavily, and a rough stubble scraping against the edges of your inner thighs. His lips, soft, slick and pliable – they’re phenomenal.

He’s intuitive. You knew this going in, but he is paying very close attention and realizes that gentle passes of his tongue are doing more than something firmer and with more pressure, the real winner though? Using his lips to, not even suck really, more he was just using them to provide smooth gliding and very wet friction, the heat and careful attention is doing you in, the amount of touch is perfect, the pleasure it hoists upon you is near overwhelming.

It’s like a kiss, honestly. A filthy, completely mind-bending, make your knees give out if you were standing kiss, but a kiss all the same. It’s intense, passionate, makes your head spin and fingers twist into the sheets harder. You aren’t even aware of the sounds you are making as your thighs squeeze his head, pitched moans and cries, out of breath and broken praise and encouragement that spills forth without thought. It’s quiet, whispered out hushed over the wet sounds of his mouth as he worked, “Leslie-”

You sound wrecked as you tell him, somehow finding the words to utter, “-jus-just like that-” and he does as asked, keeps the stride. In moments, it has you begging, a weak and pathetic plea of, “-don’t stop, ple-ase, fuck!”

He hums in acknowledgement, and that makes your legs move involuntarily again with a gasp. One of his hands lifts off your thigh, but you are much too consumed with the seal of his lips around your clit, the quick passes of his tongue and the pressure building steadily to notice his hand moving. The loudest moan of the night is torn from you when his hand is back between your legs, those same fingers taking up the same space they occupied before. 

You are even wetter by this point, the two fingers slide into you with no resistance at all and at first? He doesn’t do anything with them, he just allows himself to sit inside, let you use him as something to clench on, to feel the effect he is having on you, the flex and pulsing of your walls. Within another minute of your breathing getting worse, more pleas that somewhat resemble words but fall short, that is when he curves them, curls them up and with one pass he finds it, the rougher and spongier tissue and he presses. 

You choke out the first half of his name, a cry of, “Les-!” 

His mouth is still providing that light and simple stimulation, exploiting how sensitive and easy you were, but his fingers decide to be steady, relentless, consistent presses to that same spot over and over. 

You were done, gone, fate was sealed, right on the precipice and nothing was going to stop it from happening, as inevitable as him and you ending up here, you were going to come. 

Words were not needed, as if you could form any right now. He knew, all too aware, with lips around your clit and two fingers deep inside you. Your eyes slip closed, brows are creased, and you are trembling; that bad habit of yours creeping up again, so totally consumed with feeling and sensation, on the bleeding edge of what might be the biggest orgasm of your life that you are not currently breathing. Holding a lungful of air in, your form taut and your body rife with tension. In that wonderful plateau of fantastic torture of that compact moment before it all hits, the space prior to the world splitting and your mind going blank from pleasure. He is consistent and that is just what is needed to slip over and finally fall. 

The first natural reaction is to let out that breath you’d been holding in, as the string snaps and the pressure begins to unravel you, an unsteady exhale that is broken in the middle leaves you, a sharp gasp back in. The sound you let out could be read as his name, it is like it starts off with the “Le-” sound and then instead becomes a chorus of this breathy sound, not a laugh, but close enough. It seems that way because of the open-mouthed smile that has taken over your face. Losing control of the breaths that followed after, you let yourself tumble through an ether of forgetting who you were, who he was – you just knew there was a connection feeling one hell of a hot flash, a touch between one another that could fuel your interest for lifetimes.

You squirm and shift, his fingers were still pumping in and out of you, the other hand on your hip, holding you firmly in place, so you couldn’t wiggle away, making you feel every second of it as he feels it from his side too, every twitch and clench. His tongue has slowed, light passes over your clit still caught between his lips, keeping the stimulation going is vital, ensuring the most feeling out of your peak but still managing to not overwork you. 

You don’t think you can adequately describe how good it feels, but you can’t describe much of anything when you are totally thoughtless like you are right now. It takes a while for the feeling to ebb and slow and eventually stop, and you to return to yourself. Your breathing returning to some semblance of normal was still a ways off yet. You felt weak, boneless and helpless. You barely notice him lifting his mouth or his fingers slipping out of you, the only acknowledgement of the loss of contact a short exhale and your eyes starting to open, you feel the movement of him before you register the sights, eyes taking a moment to refocus. 

How could you even begin to describe the look on his face at this moment? Eye’s alight, chin wet, grin on his face and teeth partially exposed, you’d think the look he wore was one full of mischief and promise of what is to come, pure unadulterated excitement for what is next. You think your own face is betraying your own true emotions as well, and you are positive that yours match his, if anything you think you have a much more distinct tint of want. When he adjusts, between your legs, hands hooked under your knees and grinding himself against you? That shows that you are more than ready, more than wanting. The small smile that was on your face, playful and light, drops as his shaft cuts through you, sliding up over and through your folds, the head of him passing over your clit, and it steals your breath again, 

Another movement of his body against yours, of his hips slotting against you, has you sucking in a hard inhale, and the next move to rush the exhale. Head tipping back, a hushed call of his name for the who knows how many-th time tonight. Enveloped by a thud that brings his hips into yours, a cover of heat that fills your entire body and makes you nearly lose grip of the bed underneath you as you adjust to the push.

Your vision is fixed on the main point of contact between you and him, of him hard against you, soaked, it felt much better than it had any right to. In the frenzied process of him eating you out your costume has gotten even more messed up, the hem of the skirt pulled higher, you are glad for that, more skin on skin contact is always good of course but with the blue and white out of the way there is no worry of the view being obstructed. 

The visual was stellar, his breathing was matching yours and that makes you tear your gaze away up to his face. Your eyes catch his, your breathing is pitched and in sync, chests rising and falling and staring into each other, it escalates further without direct communication. His body moves a tad lower, your hips angle, and then he is lined up just right, slick tip leaking pre-cum prodding at your more than prepared hole. It takes less than ten seconds for you to be telling him in a half annoyed and hurried voice, “Do it already Verno-”

You don’t get his last name out. A hand suddenly comes up from where it had been placed lower on your body to find a hold around the base of your neck, pushing the muscles on either side together. It was something secure, helping to keep your head angled up, but also a reminder of who needed to stay in control. Especially catching the glimpse of his eyes, elusive as ever. If you hadn’t been far too down this rabbit hole, you’d want to bargain that. Truly, who was pushing whose buttons?

His own face changing, a setting of his jaw, eyes harder and committing to focus on yours. He takes, slides home fucking finally and fills you to the hilt. You don't cry out yet, instead opting to make a sound akin to a strangled whine. Hands reach out blindly, unconsciously, wanting to cling to something, to him, a desperate attempt to ground yourself using his body as the means to an end. Your nails scrape against skin as he moves back, taking half of himself out before forcing back in all the way, changing the previous sound to a gasp and that sound, is what changes all of this, really sets it all in motion. Like he knew you had doubted the control within him, and that just made you all the more palpable to what came.

It isn’t tentative or nervous, confidence is gained quickly, it feels right, correct, a give and take that has you and him not working against each other but instead with one another. His hands lock back around your waist, you arch closer, a flick of your tongue against his throat, tasting the salt of his skin has him driving into you deeper, and so it goes. You are trying to hold on, literally, while you adjust to the stretch of him as well as the gravity of the situation, Leslie-fucking-Vernon is inside of you right now, holding you, fucking you. 

How the Hell are you meant to cope with this? You hoped, but weren’t even truly sure he was real until you met him, and now a good roll of his hips had you moaning something close to his name. You’d wonder what your life was, what it had turned into, but why would you question such a good thing? In fact, where you would be and go after this was as far from you as it possibly could. You, instead, in a very healthy move by the way, lean closer still, lips brush the shell of his ear, nearly chest to chest you ask quietly, rushed, “Fuck me harder?”

You are met with a simple and single word, hummed out in a tone that tried to find some sort of sharp edge of condescending but falling just short of fascination instead, “Demanding.”

There was a brief reposition, making sure both of you were ready for some goddamn finale that this night deserved. He’d more than proven his strength to you by this point, and yet you still find ways to be amazed by how he shows it to you, in the sheer force he exerts as he complies with your needy request. It’s good, more than good, but you know it could be better still, the mental stimulation was incredible alone, just a little more was needed. His grip on your waist is keeping you right where he wants, holding you firmly to the mattress, but you do what you can, what you need, feet finding some purchase on the sheets, a slight bending of the knees and you, or rather he, found it. The reaction is immediate and obvious, the moan you were midway through is choked, a tremble that nearly rivals the first ones that wracked your body when he made you cum with his mouth and your own mouth clamping shut. Thighs squeezing his hips and your soaked hole clenching around him tighter, he doubts the hint could be more obvious if it was a neon sign flashing in his face. 

Doesn’t mean he still wasn’t going to be just a bit of an asshole about that, mostly, because he knew you got off on that kind of thing. He holds in you, a purposeful grind that stimulates you both inside and out, a pathetic sound tries to break out as your eyes shut, and he asks, “You okay?” 

You nod, short, curt, he isn’t relenting, another grind but this one ends with him pulling halfway out before filling you completely again, this time you can’t stop the moan that slips out, “You sure? You are being awfully quiet.” 

Before you can try to conjure a reply or attempt to defend yourself, he stops playing around, no more easy but devastating grinds he is back to the previous pace he was setting. There is no true reason to be holding back, who was going to overhear you? The corpses outside? It was laughable, further still, you couldn’t shut up now, not with how he’d locked onto just where you needed him. The litany of moans and gasps might be embarrassing if you weren’t currently drowning in pleasure, you are very unaware of much, just focused on the fact that you needed this feeling to continue, it was overwhelming in the best possible way. Nails biting into his skin and your eyes locked on his, hardly able to process any visuals, you can hear his voice again over the heaving breaths and skin on skin. 

His question makes you realize he was responding to you speaking, brain on autopilot it’s sluggish but catches up. You are connecting the dots through the context clues of his words, his near saccharine and condescending tone and question of, “Yeah? Right there?” 

Makes you come to the fact that you must have been letting out a surely pitiful chorus of, “Ri-right there, right there-”

You lean in further, hoping if you debase yourself further still he’d continue, he’d see this through, he’d make you break apart as strongly and beautifully as he did before. “Yesss-”

You were not far off at this rate, perfectly worked up and so sensitive. 

If the build up before could be described as a slow climb of a staircase, you’d say this one is more akin to an elevator ride that you can feel in your stomach, a rushed ride to the top but one you wouldn’t dare dream of complaining about. The height feels as though you were on top of the world all the same, where nothing could reach you quite like the view would. Looking to him, you concurred it was just as breathtaking. You don’t need to tell him, again, everything else about your body language and the fact he is stuffed to the hilt inside of you tells him you are nearly there. 

The state of being stuck in that lovely frustrating plateau was nowhere near as long as the first, from near the edge, to on it, to thrown the fuck over happened faster than you thought possible. He helped you, continued to hold you, fuck you through it and wring every ounce of pleasure he can out of your spasming cunt. The come down isn’t easy because he simply is refusing to let up, even when you try to pull back a bit, adjust, he isn’t having it, hands slide from your waist to under your legs, resting behind your knees. You can’t escape, he holds your legs closer, pressing them down, he abuses you further, enjoying how you reacted to the intense over stimulation. 

You find your voice again, use it for something more than moaning incoherently, “Leslie-fuck, please, ease up-” 

A minute shake of his head, his grip under your knees tightens, a hard swallow he tells you firmly, forces out, “You can take it.”

You clench around him again, another pulse of heat races through you. “Oh my God-” You gasp out, he’s right, for him, you could and would do just about anything. 

You try not to be crushed under the intensity as you look up at him, and that’s when it hits you, the uneven pace of his breath, thrusts becoming more erratic, he’s close himself and the prospect of him reaching his own end buried inside you is unbelievably exciting. One more word is grit out, “Almost-”

In your fervent excitement, you nearly cut him off, begging for it, “Do it.”

You don’t plead for him to not pull out, you don’t wrap your legs around his hips, you want him to make the choice himself, willingly, craving him to take that leap and that risk with you. Your streak of good luck has not yet run out because he does just that, another slam of his hips into yours, and he cums, holds mostly still, the force of it makes him shudder with your name on his tongue, and you feel near endless pride at that. The shudder of his shoulders completes an already perfect picture, something that would linger like cobwebs in your head.

It’s quiet now, no more noise from the bed or from your bodies against one another, just heavy breathing, and you aren’t in a rush to go, but slowly you do untangle. Your hands slip away as do his, legs are back on the mattress, and he slips out of you, the mess that follows that action staining the sheets and thankfully not your hiked up costume. He falls beside you, and you aren’t sure what to do from there, is it weirder to want to cuddle up with him or to not? 

The same question about whether you should leave is on your mind but, he answers both, an adjustment, an arm around you as he sighs out, “You already ran enough earlier, you can stay a while.”

You let your eyes close as you get comfier and do just that, he might be a killer but he’s courteous enough to let you get a few hours sleep in his bed before you go. 

Even as you began the long walk out, you still weren’t quite sure what to do to cope with meeting Leslie Vernon. Even waiting until the Sun was up to let yourself be known to the world again, a new soul forged from a night you couldn’t even begin to explain to others – let alone rationalize to yourself – didn’t do much for your mind, bogged with a confusion that only knew one thing.

You had enjoyed it despite all that had happened. It still touched your skin, scents still held in your costume, and stepping onto the uneven earth again, you then concurred you knew two things.

You still had the heel stoppers on.

Traversing the uneven road back towards Glen Echo. They were doing their job fairly well, albeit the muscles in your legs were singing another kind of song, straining at any sign of a bend or a shift in your weight. Scanning the surrounding area, you were nearly left thoughtless – because speechless was well and achieved, sitting like a plug in your throat.

There was no one left. Presumably all of the people who had come with you were dead – or left in a state of hopeless confusion just like yourself. For them, it’d be time to put together the facts on what had really happened that night.

But for you? It was the time to paint alongside Leslie’s own fantasy. You had spoken with him about what to say, where everyone had gone, and what had exactly happened to you. It was as gorgeous as the rest of his work, and something you felt rather unique to be touched by, to know the truth behind the…

Behind the mask.

The feeling you were being watched was well weighted on your shoulders, and there was something ever so taunting about knowing when you turned around or tried to meet it, there would be no way to talk to him. Leslie was an open book – you could even call him an open heart, but he also had a job and a name to keep pristine and mysterious as it had been when you had entered the domain of the Vernon orchard.

You considered it a little funny, then a little unexplainable. That just made the thoughts tread foggier water. Part of you wondered if it had even happened, knowing that it didn’t sound serious as you kept telling the story to yourself while walking home. He had given you something straight out of a fantasy, and you then concurred that was his specialty, wasn’t it? There was a solemn recognition that you were going to be the only one that should hear about it.

Still, you then shifted, feeling that there were no longer panties under the dress, (he ended up being right, you couldn’t find them, unsure if they were genuinely lost, or he stole them). That was no joke.

[danmeiarchive]

Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know by Cyan Wings -- a brief review (no spoilers)

80 chapters + 2 extras

My Rating: ★★★★★ / 5

I went into this story fairly blind / un-spoiled as to the plot and characters and I really enjoyed it. If you like The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System I think you'll like this one. It's a pretty quick read (I read it over the course of 2½ weeks) and it also feels a bit lighter of a read -- in the sense that there's not a bunch of twists and turns or faceslapping going around. There's still narrative weight to the characters' choices but it feels more focused on the emotions of the characters than on making a dogblood drama.

I also really enjoyed the cultivation meta in this book -- there were sections where we would get insight into why the main character did a certain thing and how he belived that would / could impact the universe / world / dao.

Check for content warnings under the cut.

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What kind of story is Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know?

This is a story that really breaks the fourth wall and doesn't take itself too seriously. Like Cyan Wings' other stories that I've read it is really funny and the characters are fantastic. If you like transmigration novels but dislike the trope of an all-powerful manipulative "System" that keeps that transmigrator in check then try this one! The main character is NOT a transmigrator but he does gain knowledge that breaks the fourth wall and there are times when he considers the people around them as if they were characters in a novel. Several of the main characters can also be read as asexual and / or aromantic which is really nice too.

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Throughout the story the main characters are growing and learning more about themselves and each other -- there's several times when a character reflects on how they had misunderstood another character or not known what was really in their hearts. This leads to the story feeling very emotional and tender as you slowly get to know the characters. This is mainly in regard to the main character and his love interest but its true for some of the supporting cast as well.

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Ultimately it feels like a story of two people (who whole-heartedly trust each other with their lives) slowly opening up and allowing themselves to be vulnerable with the other. There's also a good portion of the story that talks about heart demons and how that affects one of the characters -- it becomes a plot point even. It certainly takes the main pair a lot of work but once they are finally on the same page (ha) and treat each other as equals... it's very sweet and intimate.

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Who are the main characters?

Without going into details here's a little bit about our main squad:

WenRen E - Our main character. WRE is the leader of the XuanYuan demonic sect and an absolute badass. He somehow reminds me of both Yan Wushi from Thousand Autumns and Wei Wuxian from Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation. He is arrogant and prideful but also cares SO MUCH about the commonfolk in the world. He is absolutely ruthless when he needs to be but he has a line that he does not cross and he forbids his minions from crossing it either. There's also a lot of times where he's sussing out why or how something works a certain way and his understanding of the dao and the universe felt profound.

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Yin HanJiang - Our love interest. There's a specific post I've seen that is coming to mind but I can't remember how it's phrased... YHJ is loyal to WRE and ONLY WRE. He is submissive in the way a guard dog is -- he would follow WRE's every order and do everything in his power to protect him but at the same time he would not hesitate for a moment to attack anyone he viewed as a threat to WRE. At the beginning of the story he keeps a certain distance between himself and WRE but as the plot develops that distance becomes smaller and smaller.

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BaiLi QingMiao - the protagonist of the book that appears in WRE's hand which serves as the impetus for the story. WRE finds himself frustrated and confused at her actions a fair amount of time but over the course of the story she too grows up and gains a new outlook on life.

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Shu YanYan - a seductress demonic cultivator. She only dual cultivates with consenting partners and uses her cleverness to manipulate people. She also seems fairly uninterested in romance -- I think she alludes to not wanting to get her heart broken but she also seems very happy as things are with her various lovers.

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Qiu CongXue - hands down my favorite character in the story. I liked everyone but QCX is always speaking her mind and stirring up trouble. She has strong himbo energy and I don't want to spoil anything about her, just know that anytime she comes up it's going to be great.

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What is the plot of Devil Venerable Also Wants to Know?

One day a book suddenly appears in WenRen E's hand. This is notable because he is a very strong demonic cultivator and he didn't sense anything before the book appeared. So he looks at the book and decides to take it very seriously. He reads it. And he discovers that he is a character in a trashy romance novel, as is his most trusted subbordinate Yin HanJiang. He becomes very curious to find out if the other characters are real and if the events that happen in the book are destined to come true or if they can be changed. So he sets off and meets the protagonists of the novel and begins experimenting. Without spoiling things he is especially concerned about what happens to Yin HanJiang in the book. He also wants to know more about the novel's protagonists and their motivations.

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Click 'keep reading' to see trigger warnings.

ptsd, depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, violence, manipulation and abuse, mention of torture, war, survivor's guilt, etc. The characters have some tragic backstories and there's some things in the novel that WRE reads that are disturbing -- but ultimately there's not "on screen" torture that the characters go through, the novel instead focuses on what's going on in the characters' psyche.

[liberty-or-death]

An Introduction to Cu Ci 楚辞 (A combined meta between 2HA, Blood of Youth, SHL, MDZS/CQL and Thousand Autumns)

If you’re familiar with Chinese historical media, you might have been familiar with the following terms. 

九歌 (Jiu Ge/Nine Songs -  Chu Wanning’s qin (2HA), Luo Qingyang’s Blade (Blood of Youth), 

天问 (Tian Wen/Heavenly Questions) - Chu Wanning’s Whip, SHL’s opening song

怀沙 (Huai Sha/Embracing Sand) - Chu Wanning’s third weapon

招魂 (Zhao Hun/Summoning Spirits) - MDZS audio drama insert song, spell used in 2HA, mentioned in the opening of CQL episode 1.

国殇  (Guo Shang/National Matyr) - Luo Qingyang’s sword skill

礼魂 (Li Hun/Cermonial Spirit) - Luo Qingyan’s spirit.

东君 (Dong Jun/Eastern Gentleman) - a character in Blood of Youth 

渔夫 (Fisherman) - Wen Kexing quotes a line from this.

离骚 （Encountering Sorrow/Li Sao) - Briefly quoted in Thousand Autumns 

But did you guys know that it all these come from the same source? 😂😂

These are various works by the Qu Yuan 屈原, who was a poet and statesman of Chu 楚 during the Warring States period.  And yes, this is the same Chu 楚, as that of Chu Waning’s surname.  I’m guessing it was a shout out to the poet. 

 Qu Yuan was known for his patriotism and various contributions to Chinese classical poetry.  The above are part of the Cu Ci 楚辞 (Songs of Chu), a collection of poems 

I’ll talk about these various parts in detail but could you imagine how excited I was to learn that the inspiration behind Chu Wanning and Luo Qingyang came from the same source? 😍😍 

[hunxi-after-hours]

LOVE your thousand autumns meta. you've commented how certain characters are heroes of some other novel and that's how i feel about lady qin 500%. it's her birthday party, someone accuses her of using a relationship with an enemy to steal his symbol of authority, her sons are OUTRAGED, and then she's just like "yeah i did that, no regrets, wearing it right now actually". not to mention her hidden sword moment when yuwen xian's killed. she's in like two scenes but WHO IS SHE WHAT IS HER STORY

ok but you see meng xishi just DOES this, she casually tosses out all of these side characters that can carry their own stories and then doesn't elaborate on any of them!!! which is like, 1) a power move but also 2) really makes her jianghu feel dimensional and populated. our narrative may be firmly anchored to Shen Qiao, and we follow his perspective throughout the political centers and the geographical frontiers, but you as the reader get the sense that the world continues to move and change beyond your sight, which is such an understated but deft turn of writerly skill

[jiangwanyinscatmom]

Once more, I do not post links directly leading to any blogs that are not from my mutual friends and followers regarding meta, anon, but I will break this down.

In cultural context, it is not meant to be romantic regarding the idiom of (青梅竹馬) qīng méi zhú mǎ. Literal meaning, green plums and play horses. The innocence of youth and the wonder of simple (childhood friend) games. Please note that endearments such as "sweet heart" in modern context, as the direct translation means, is vastly different than what is entailed by the idiom itself, and is bad, awful machine translation that does not take into account the linguistic meanings that are needed for tone meaning and reading.

If it meant the direct romantic connotation of romantic, it would be 恋人 (liàn rén) compared to the character used within the idiom 青 (qíng) (which does denote a more platonic meaning for the relationship and childhood friends). You do not use this to mean "lovers" as an idiom, it loses contextual meaning otherwise and loses the point of the word play.

The poem itself was originally a romantic poem, by Li Bai. And as such should be one of most well known Chinese poets and usual literary fair elementary students know as much as the West would with the usual school fare of reading assignments.

妾髮初覆額

折花門前劇

郎騎竹馬來

遶床弄青梅

同居長干里

兩小無嫌猜

十四為君婦

羞顏未嘗開

低頭向暗壁

千喚不一回

十五始展眉

願同塵與灰

常存抱柱信

豈上望夫臺

十六君遠行

瞿塘灩澦堆

五月不可觸

猿聲天上哀

門前遲行跡

一一生綠苔

苔深不能掃

落葉秋風早

八月蝴蝶黃

雙飛西園草

感此傷妾心

坐愁紅顏老

早晚下三巴

預將書報家

相迎不道遠

直至長風沙

My hair had hardly covered my forehead.

I was picking flowers,playing by my door,

When you, on a bamboo horse,

Came trotting in circles, throwing green plums.

We lived near together on a lane in Channggan,

Both of us young and happy-hearted.

...At fourteen I became your wife,

So bashful that I dared not smile,

And I lowered my head toward a dark corner

And would not turn to your thousand calls;

But at fifteen I straightened my brows and laughed,

Learning that no dust could ever seal our love,

That even unto death I would await you by my post

And would never lose heart in the tower of silent watching.

...Then when I was sixteen, you left on a long journey

Through the Gorges of Changgan, of rock and whirling water.

And then came the Fifth-month, more than I could bear,

And I tried to hear the monkeys in your lofty far-off sky.

Your footprints by our door, where I had watched you go,

Were hidden, every one of them, under green moss,

Hidden under moss too deep to sweep away.

And the first autumn wind added fallen leaves.

And now, in the Eighth-month, yellowing butterflies

Hover, two by two, in our west-garden grasses

And, because of all this, my heart is breaking

And I fear for my bright cheeks, lest they fade.

...Oh, at last, when you return through the three Pa districts,

Send me a message to home you come

And I will come and meet you and pay no mind to the distance,

All the way to Changgan.

I hope in comparison the vast sarcasm of the idiom is apparent in context to what the random nameless gossiper is exhibiting in the original reference this sentence used:

江澄居然就让这厮嚣张了这么久，换了是我，当初魏某人叛逃时就不是只捅他一刀，而是直接清理门户，否则他也没机会做出后来那些丧心病狂之事。对这种人，还讲什么同门同修青梅竹马的情面。

Translation (mine, seven seas and ExR:)

1: Jiang Cheng allowed that servant to live for too long. If I were him, when he defected, I wouldn’t have just stabbed him, I would have thoroughly wiped him out so he couldn’t commit his deranged acts later. Who cares about the sentiments about childhood friendship when people like him don’t care.”

2:

“I can’t believe Jiang Cheng allowed that guy to run amok for so long. If it were me, I wouldn’t have just stabbed him when he first defected, I would’ve cleaned house! He wouldn’t even have gotten the chance to do all those crazy things. What does a childhood friendship matter when facing people like him?”

3:

Jiang Cheng allowed this fellow to live for too long. If I were him, at the time of the defection, I wouldn’t have just stabbed him. In fact, I would have thoroughly examined the disciples of the clan again, so that he doesn’t do those crazy things he did later on. Who cares about the so called ‘considerations’ that he gave to his childhood friend.”

Now, with the idea that while the original meaning was meant to be sweet and sentimental, the idiom is certainly not any longer nor is the meaning to mean lover literally. Mandarin plays heavy upon the context of meaning for each of these words.

In short: this is why actual understanding of the language you are lecturing of is important as you can easily twist it to what is not there for ones that literally do not know and take it all at face value.

[autumnslance]

Hello Autumn! I love your stories! You’ve inspired me to make my OC WoL to write about. The thing is I don’t know where to start? Any tips or advice you could give that could help me get started? Thank you so much!

whoop, meant to post this one earlier and got distracted! But hey; maintenance day.

I found prompt lists are a good place to start; there's all sorts of character ones out there, some for WoL and some generic ones. Even if your answers changes as you write the character, they're handy for noodling out some ideas to get started thinking about who they are and why.

Otherwise, take a look at MSQ itself. Maybe play through it, first time or in New Game+ and take some notes; how does the character feel about this, and why? Not you the player; what about your rough idea of the character's background and personality would make them react to X event or Y person? How? Why? Some will be influenced by your own knowledge of the meta and plot, but there's a lot we can glean by seeing the story as the character experiences those events.

And then we can write about it later.

We all put a bit of ourselves into our characters, we can't really help that; they are reflections of our thoughts and experiences, even when quite different from us. A "successful" OC, In My Opinion, is one that you start to realize would do or say things you never initially intended, but it's the right course of action for them.

I've spoken on this before, that trusting our own character creation, how we determine some things about the character at the outset, even subconsciously, can and will have an impact. And sometimes we just have to trust ourselves and see where that unexpected thread leads.

*stares down thousands of words, hundreds of screenshots, and a handful of art commissions, over 5 years for a ship she never meant to write to begin with*

And it's not set in stone! You might change something, find some things work better later after all, retcon a few things, follow a random thread only to find it doesn't work out...and that's OK. Don't be afraid to experiment. This is all for fun!

Also don't try to determine every detail at the beginning; it's a way to box yourself in, or an excuse to not get started in the first place. I knew on chargen that Aeryn's bio dad was a Coerthan farmer who died in a lead-up attack to Ferndale; I didn't know anything else, not even his name, for years, until a random idea from a random prompts got me. I sat on it for a while, and then eventually followed the thread into the Avengret storyline. We also didn't have Thavnair until EW, so I left a lot of things about Aeryn's family vague and purposefully off to the side of the "mainland Thavnair culture" to give myself some breathing room, and it's worked out decently.

The game's always updating, changing, and evolving; give yourself the same space the game writers do themselves, and determine if new info makes you want to retcon something or work your own lore in alongside updates; flexibility is key, and characters can be wrong, misinformed, lying, or altered by events and people they meet.

Anyway; these are a few things I work with. I think some of the earliest things in my blog you'll find for any of my characters are some short prompt responses before I started writing and posting stories involving them (and some of those answers have changed over time as I grew more certain of who they were--or they changed!). I have notes from ShB and EW MSQ--some just sentence fragments, some short scene or dialogue ideas--to get how Aeryn reacted to MSQ events and interacting with people. Most of them never end up in stories, but they're important as they let me noodle out how to write about those events.

Hope this helps! And here's to seeing your WoL join the fray. 😘

[tonyglowheart]

"Does Shen Qiao even like Yan Wushi?"

I feel like it may be relatively easy for people to pick out "what does Yan Wushi like about Shen Qiao / what does YWS get out of yanshen." but I think a criticism/line of thought I see around is people struggling with "well what does Shen Qiao get out of all of this?" and like, "does SQ even like YWS, what with how YWS annoys him and gets him angry all the time."

But I think that actually is the crux of their relationship, lol. Because if you think about it, to everyone else, Shen Qiao is this lofty ideal, this untouchable immortal/仙, maybe even this obstacle or goal to conquer or shoot down.

Who else treats him casually and teases him and pokes at him to get emotional reactions out of him because they like that about him?

If he wants to seek people who treat him with respect and reverence, he just has to step out into the city square - hell, he just has to travel out and random people he meets are likely to treat him with that sort of dazzled awe or reverence too (we literally see this happen several times in the course of the novel).

So yeah, I think joking not joking, YWS makes him angry and feel Emotions and he likes that, YWS is enrichment for him, YWS pushes his buttons and his boundaries but reframing that it's pushing him out of his comfort zone and like hardening him off to the elements and realities of the world like a gardener with plants out of the greenhouse. But also, YWS treats him like a person, like a man, and not like Shen-daozun, Shen-daozhang, Shen-zhangjiao. To Yan Wushi, Shen Qiao is Shen Qiao. (and he loves to tease the shit out of him hehe (￣▽￣) )

CONVERSELY! This also gives Shen Qiao a space to *be* Shen Qiao. With Yan Wushi, he does not have to be Shen-daozun, Shen-daozhang, Shen-zhangjiao. He does not have to always be magnanimous and generous and a bastion of righteousness. These are in his nature, yet, but it's not ALL of his nature - he is, after all, still a man, a human, with human emotions -- including the full breadth of human emotions. Yes Yan Wushi annoys him and he shows it, but it's specifically BECAUSE of that that they are closer than him and anyone else in the world. He can "be himself" around Yan Wushi, he can get worked up and be petty and be snippy, and it's fine and won't cause catastrophes or undesired splashdown sociopolitical effects.

But also, he (lets himself?) get worked up by Yan Wushi - they HAVE that level of intimate understanding with each other where they can be like this and not have feelings hurt in any irreparable way. This isn't something that SQ does (lets himself do?) with just anyone, which we see throughout the novel reflected in his internal narration and comportment. So really, the fact that he DOES get annoyed with YWS shows that they are on a different, more "real" level with each other than SQ is with anyone else.

And like, they didn't get there in a day, sure, but imo we definitely see through the novel how they get there, so imo, the yanshen relationship is incredibly justified.

(I also say this bc I think literally every "I've connected the two dots" moments I've had in my reread, I would metaphorically flip the page only to be met with that connection I'd made spelled out on the page by MXS lmao. Like... yeah okay MXS *shakes your hand* you know your stuff. oh and also because I do think there may be some level of skepticism about yanshen esp from SQ's side floating around lol, but like... MXS did the legwork! yes chapter 45 happened, yes YWS never "apologizes" with words, but that doesn't mean that they don't share a deep mutual understanding of themselves and each other by the end, nor that they haven't moved past the events of literally 83 chapters ago, 96 if you count the extras -- a whole literal two-thirds of the novel ago. Like, I know we piss on the poor here and many educational systems around the world are in shambles these days, but work on developing reading comprehension skills, pls :') )

(lmao rip this post got long AGAIN. well, hopefully at least some people are reading all of this lol.)

[incorrect-web-novels]

About Me

Online Names: Sunnie (main), Web (for this blog)

Pronouns: 💫/💫 (January-March), they/them (April-June), he/him (July-September), voi/void (October-December)

Main: @weepingfireflies

Alts: @web-novel-polls & @web-novel-recs

Reading List

URL: incorrect-c-novels → incorrect-web-novels

I ramble in the tags a LOT and am just staying silly :3 

I believe in transgendering and aroace-ing characters, so if you’re gonna be a prick, DNI (tagged with “trans/aro/ace [character]” or “genderbend”)

If you came here for danmei, I'm sorry for all the Harem & action novel content you're going to get. It will not stop. I'm too far in

Mastodon: @/weepingfireflies@/blorbo.social

High Queue: 52

What do I post about? 

MDZS / the Grandmaster of Demonic Cultivation

SVSSS / Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System

TGCF / Heaven Official’s Blessing

Orv / Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint (still haven’t read it lol)

DPA / The Demon Prince Goes to the Academy

2ha / the Husky and His White Cat Shizun

Some other webnovels that I don’t post about a lot anymore (but have in the past) - Golden Stage, Thousand Autumns, MISVIL, Nan Chan, Liu Yao, FGEP, JWQS, Devil Venerble Also Wants to Know, The Earth Is Online, Let’s Talk, etc. 

Miscellaneous Manhwa/Manhua, usually ones based on web novels, such as Solo Leveling, Lout of the Count’s Family, Return of the Blossoming Blade, etc. (<- all less common)  

Literally anything that crosses my brain / dashboard that can be related to web novels tbh

Tags

Tags to Block (if you need to): partial nudity, suggestive language, spoilers, [fandom] spoilers, animal tw / animal mention, blood, death, murder, child death, physical restraint, suicidal idealization, suicide, genitalia mention, scars, rape (<-haven’t used it but if I need it), sa mention, pregnancy, mpreg, genderbend, food tw, feet tw, suggestive, nudity, cannibalism, fire tw, alcohol tw, intoxication tw, omegaverse, gun tw, blade tw, religion tw, gore, animal death, pro [character name], anti [character name]

If you need something tagged, don’t be afraid to ask! I try to tag everything, but if I miss something, just send me an ask or reply to the post.

Organizational Tags: incorrect quotes, not a quote, informational, translations, not a web novel, art, fanart, textpost memes, memes, my posts, my quotes (for incorrect quotes), my memes, excerpts, meta, polls, my polls

Fandom Tags: mdzs, svsss, tgcf, fgep, golden stage, 2ha, orv, liu yao, dpa / the demon prince goes to the academy, jwqs, misvil, nan chan, dvawtk / devil venerable also wants to know, the earth is online / teio, let’s talk, trash of the count's family / tcf 

Most things will be tagged with any characters or ships present in the post with the ship included in the organizational tag (Ex: wei wuxian, lan wangji, wangxian, mdzs, incorrect quotes, incorrect mdzs quotes, incorrect wangxian quotes) 

Everything except “incorrect quotes” will have the fandom/ship in front of it (Ex: mdzs textpost memes, mdzs excerpts, mdzs meta) 

Anything overly suggestive / sexual will be tagged via Community Labels (18+) AND/OR #nsft. Anything ~13+ will be tagged with "suggestive language" or "genitalia mention" (Ex: dick jokes)

Helpful Links

(Not mine unless otherwise indicated + to be edited every once in a while) 

Character Guides

MDZS Character Guide 

SVSSS Character Guide 

Those Years in Quest of Honor Mine Character Guide 

DPA Character Guide

Other

Webnovel Carrd Links - Part 1, Part 2

How do I see posts tagged with Community Labels?

Where to Read DPA / Why You Should Read DPA

Novel Updates - where I usually find English Translations & information about webnovels

Names for Japanese, Chinese, and Korean Comics & Animation 

How to Support Authors on JJWXC 

JJWXC Set-Up Guide

Baihe Reading List

[spockandawe]

OH, I can also consider rec posts or meta posts to patch over things for me. I can always pull together some shen jiu feelings and I've been legit meaning to pitch meng xi shi's books soon, because i love thousand autumns and peerless so much more than i remembered, and fourteenth year of chenghua is a DELIGHT.

So that's something to consider. Not tonight, but maybe while I'm in waiting mode between meetings tomorrow

[sizhui]

hi angie!! im jjst chilling today but today i plan to go out n buy my bday books!!!

anyways as a fellow bl intellectual i would like to ask u what u think abt general bl stock characters / archetypes!! also as someone whos doing shakespeare this year im curious abt how u would blend currently existing bl story formats w like more traditional lit genres / conevtuons IF YOU COULD!! WOULD U!!

how do u think bl being a mostly Not white people thing has affected its conventions like idk emotional intensity, typical tropes idk!!

looks at u like this 🥺

HELLO DEAR LAB!!!! i saw your birthday books, very good choices, i hope you'll enjoy! Now let us discuss one BL intellectual to another ^_^ as usual, I'll stick to danmei, since I'm simply not well read in Japanese and Korean BL to speak confidently even though I have experience with them...!

When googling people's favorite tropes, most people mentioned Enemies to Lovers. I do like a good conflict, but I like very specific shades of it... I like characters who are ideological opposites, but still hold some affection for each other since early on... Although i have been interested in thousand autumns in which the two leads start as straight up bitter enemies, so I'll see how I'm going to like that! Now, something slightly different that i really enjoy is characters being thematic opposites - demonic cultivator and orthodox cultivator, god and demon, soldier and librarian you name it! I have seen people call this the yin yang trope i don't know if that's a widely used term? I also enjoy slow burn - see Golden Terrace disappointed me in that regard cause they started sleeping together in like chapter 30 come on where is the drama the intrigue :(? I don't care for friends to lovers much unless it's written really well but i really much prefer strangers to lovers!!! A lot of people sigh at the trope of one Character being like "I don't like men it's..only for you ❤️" but i honestly think that's a convention you just have to accept when diving into the world of BL. I like badass shous that aren't annoyingly shy and talkative, charming gongs (sorry lan zhan is ok but strong and silent gongs usually piss me off) I'm probably one of the 5 western fans who actually like the gong/shou dynamic because like. Let's be honest there's nothing wrong with seme/uke in JPN bl either other than ukes being drawn as shotabait often, but since novel art for CN novels usually draws everyone looking like adults I really don't see anything problematic with gong/shou, heteronormativity my ass... i also kinda like when they call each other husband and wife SORRY. I also like the trope of the couple adopting a young boy. I'm not gonna call it found family I'm not gonna even try. I hate master/disciple and i hate school settings. I usually prefer the characters to be rougher men already hardened by life! I like reincarnation and revenge but i don't like Isekai ... Ummm what else is there? Nothing comes to mind rn , if you have some specific tropes you want me to rate, I'm here :)

NOW YOUR SECOND QUESTION HAS ME REALLY INTRIGUED...if i could, i would merge literally every literary genre with BL to be honest. Since you specifically mentioned Shakespeare, i think it would be fucking amazing to see BL adapted into stage plays - i don't mean those funny anime stage plays, i mean straight up tragedies on Hamlet level. Oh i would kill to see that!!! I would also love to see like, someone with an interest in narratology and metafiction write a super meta BL novel like enstars but like really properly yaoi. I don't think that danmei novels written by amateurs have "bad writing" - they simply exist on a different terrain and seek to communicate different ideas from traditional published novels, but i would love to see the two merged in some spectacular novel that takes inspiration from classics!!

Now your third question i would rather turn into a discussion with you, because while I've consumed a lot of East Asian media since a young age i don't claim to have such a good understanding of the cultures to be able to trace how the culture influenced BL literary conventions, but I would love to hear your thoughts on it and compare to what i know! I definitely find it interesting to compare East Asian BL with LGBT media made by white Americans and Europeans, cause they tend to rely on very different things, with American and European gay content being very focused on the issue of homophobia and stuff like family and cheating and coming of age, while Asian BL, despite tackling those sometimes, is more internal conflict-driven, less focused on orientation. I actually prefer it a lot for that - there are only so many coming of age homophobia stories i can watch -_- boring! I see some western fans annoyed that Asian BL rarely discusses orientation and stuff like LGBT solidarity and such, but i like, don't care cause i feel like they're too focused on realism and forget that bl is a genre not meant to perfectly mirror irl gay relationships, but rather provide romantic fantasies for women! Something just came to mind, i recently chatted with a classmate who is a white American, and she said that she finds Asian media confusing because emotional intensity seems amplified to her in anime and donghua, and that she just feels that emotions are expressed differently than in the American media she's used to. I think she's weak and stupid for giving up on watching just because it's different from what she's used to, but since you mentioned emotional intensity, i would like to hear your thoughts about it!

I hope my answer wasn't disappointing, and looking forward to hearing back from you!