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em-writes-stuff-sometimes · 11 months

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gevivys (beauty) │ Chapter 5: Resolve

terms of endearment ‘verse: see my Masterlist for the correct series order!

Chapter 1 │Chapter 2 │Chapter 3 │Chapter 4 │Chapter 5 │Chapter 6 │Chapter 7 │Chapter 8 │Chapter 9 │Chapter 10 (COMPLETE!)

Synopsis: Daemon returns to King's Landing after ten years in exile, intent on rekindling his affair with Rhaenyra. He wasn't expecting you - the revelation changes everything.

Hello, all! I know, it’s so soon! But this one is a cobbled-together piece of stuff you’ve already seen, just padded out a bit more. I figured I might as well push it on out now, so here ya go! Featuring Jason Lannister for the very first time, to finally bring all this shit together a bit more cohesively. As always, thank you to my boobear @ewanmitchellcrumbs for reading though this and reassuring me it isn’t total shite!

TRIGGERS: incest, purity culture, age gap, general Daemon grottiness, allusions to non-consensual sexual situations.

According to most, Daemon Targaryen is a man in possession of little capacity for feeling beyond what is required to partake in lechery and barbarism. He knows himself; his disparagers are not entirely wrong. Except for one important, essential truth—he would die for his family. He loves his family.

Love, as he understands it, is what he has always felt when looking upon his brother, upon Rhaenyra. No matter the strife that has torn him from his kin time and time again, he can freely acknowledge that such sentiments will remain everlasting.

A kicked hound is one most loyal, he thinks with no small degree of bitterness. Or perhaps the meanest hound is more loyal. Either way, I am the hound—and my master, the King.

Love is what has wrenched harsh and twisting in his heart whenever he laid eyes on you, a toddling girl-child eternally eager for the cossetting attentions of your uncle, your kepa—and he had always been kepa, never Viserys, no, your father had never received an honour beyond being called ‘papa’ like any common pauper—now a stranger in so many ways.

The garden and the morning repast had served to ignite the wellspring of all his wildest desires, delivering to him seemingly all he had ever wanted in a prospective bride; young and beautiful, obedient and good-tempered, Valyrian of colouring and of status. But you had seemed smaller than your younger self—trapped in a prison of your own making, hidden beneath layers and layers of chaste courtesy and painstaking banality. And then, accompanying you to the Dragonpit had given him a curious glimpse into the power you kept hidden, the ancient strength of your lineage slipping through the cracks in your genteel veneer.

Regal. Arcane. These are the words that had come to mind watching you interact with your mount, none other than the famed Cannibal himself; something of the majesty of the Conqueror lay within you, waiting for the necessary spark to kindle the flame. Your exchange with Athfiezar—your silent fearlessness, your devotion to your savage beast, your unassuming poise—reminds him that, for all your equally meek and mild-mannered nature, you are still Targaryen. You are still his sweetling.

It is this that elicits a consuming curiosity to know more.

You are an interesting puzzle, a strange contradiction, one whose buttermilk skin and pert teats and spit-shine lips should herald as a welcome to sample the delights hidden by the fabric of your darling little gowns. Yet, you act not as a silly young thing learning of her sway over men—teasing with fluttering lashes and bit lip and lilting tone as Rhaenyra had—but as a docile girl disinclined to press the limits of propriety as all maidens do. You ride the most savage dragon in the known world, and yet there is no such quality in you that echoes your mount’s disposition; instead, a loveliness that is near to cloying, pure and unadulterated and surely too good to be true. You are a fucking princess, and yet you are perfectly content to fade into the periphery, drawing little notice to yourself and seeking none from those around you, not even your own blood. A scholar, quick-witted and erudite, but somehow still so sweetly unknowing of the depravities that rule the minds of men who lay eyes on you.

You fascinate him. And his newfound realisation does not lessen his temptation to fuck you—to ply you with praise and charm and no small hint of avuncular affection (the reminder of your shared blood thrills him to the bone as always) so that, over time, you might be swayed to give your maidenhead to him—but, rather, that it results in a metamorphosis, a muddling, his longing mingling the base needs of the flesh with a rekindling of his fondness for you.

Which is why he cannot stand the presence of Jason Lannister.

“Why are you entertaining this farce?” Daemon asks, fists clenched at his sides. “A pompous fuck like him has no business anywhere near her.”

“Whatever is the problem, brother?” Viserys says distractedly, hunching over his miniature of Old Valyria and studying the replica of the Targaryen manse on the outskirts with intent. “Jason Lannister is Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. By any standard, I would think he is the best contender for her hand.”

That fucking model of his. Daemon resists the urge to smash the King’s stone city into rubble, though doing so might grant him the attentiveness he is sorely lacking from the man. “Are you not hearing me? He’s an arrogant cunt. He’d bore her in a sennight, let alone whatever hellish span of time an entire marriage would last.”

Viserys hums noncommittally. “She will make do”—he waves Daemon off—“as all noblewomen must when their fathers command them to marry. That is her lot in life. Besides, Lord Jason is one of the wealthiest men in the Realm, and I am told he is rather pleasing to a lady’s eye. She could do worse than he.”

His brother’s remark is a fair one—of the trio, Jason is the preferable choice. And what a fucking miserable choice it would be.

He rolls his eyes. This is going nowhere. “And Tyrell? Your idiot son? Are they the ‘worse’ you speak of?”

Between that foppish peacock, his spiteful little twit of a nephew and the prancing Lion, the latter just barely scrapes by as the best of the bunch.

“Enough, Daemon.” The King sighs, finally deigning to look up from his pile of rock. “These are the suitors she herself has chosen. I care not for the particulars; only that the girl should be wed before her eighteenth name day. Each of them possesses some quality I am sure she finds worthwhile…”

At that, he pauses, brow furrowing. He squints up at Daemon. “What is your interest in the matter, anyway? It has naught to do with you.”

Shit. Daemon makes an evasive comment—something about sullying the purity of their noble lineage—and departs as quickly as he can, eager to escape the risk of Viserys’s suspicion falling on him. It would not do for the man to suspect his intentions toward yet another of his daughters.

He does not intend to seek you and the Lord out, truly; but it nonetheless does not surprise him to realise that, upon freeing himself from the wrathful spiral of his own musings, his feet have taken him to the very same garden where he had first laid eyes upon you again after so many years, where you are now enduring the attentions of the insufferable Lannister patriarch. On this occasion, Cole is nowhere to be seen, and the entry is instead guarded by one of the Cargyll twins.

Daemon spies you on the path just inside, a careful distance placed between you and Jason. Though he cannot make out your expression from his vantage point, he observes well enough the flourishing bow the lord proffers in your direction, the polite curtsey you extend in return, his smug prancing step as he leaves your company. He sees the manner in which your shoulders droop, your head bowing as you turn to wander past the great tree and out of sight. My poor girl.

And then his view is blocked by a garish wash of red and gold.

“Prince Daemon,” Jason says with a haughty simper. With a curt nod, Daemon wordlessly returns the salutation. His lack of warmth is noticed; the Lannister lord hesitates for a moment before returning to his condescending civilities, forcing a relaxed stance. “I was most glad to hear of your return.”

He doubts that. There is little love lost between him and the lord. Jerking his chin toward the garden, he asks, “Leaving so soon, are we? I had thought the entire afternoon was devoted to this little outing.”

Jason chuckles awkwardly. “Well.” He scratches his beard. “The Princess has another engagement to attend to. Something about a tutor.”

Thank the gods for that Lysan fellow. They had never met, but Daemon is certain he’d like the man well enough.

“Doesn’t concern you?” he asks, scarcely bothering to conceal the scepticism from his tone. At the confusion on Lannister’s face, he clarifies. “That she’d rather spend time with her tutor than with you?”

“Why would it, my Prince?” is the answer, self-assured as ever. “He is old, and frail. Best for her to spend as much time with him as she can before she leaves for Lannisport.”

That genuinely irritates him, and not simply the notion of you being shipped off to the lurid monstrosity that is Casterly Rock. Even he knows that your meetings with your tutor are less obligations and more gatherings of friendship—your spirit would surely crumble if you were denied your dearest companion after being coerced to marry.

Daemon suppresses a sneer. “Your confidence is… admirable.” If misplaced, he wants to add.

“There is little competition to be found,” Jason says with a toss of the head. His tawny hair rustles in the gentle breeze, giving him the appearance of the sigil his House has claimed. Fucking ridiculous. Then, the man has the audacity to clap a palm against his arm. “Never fear—I shall take utmost care of her. She’ll want for nothing as my lady wife.”

He shrugs off the over-familiarity, stepping out of reach. “For a time, perhaps. And in a decade? Two? A Princess of the Realm has no business playing nursemaid to her husband in his dotage.”

He is older than I, he thinks. And if she is truly considering him above the others, then…

“I might be the eldest of her suitors, yes,” the man says, a tense smile disguising his offense poorly. “But I have a rather substantial inheritance, unlike the Prince Aegon; and my constitution is more… pleasing than the Lord Tyrell, I’m sure.” His mouth curves into a knowing smirk at that, leaving Daemon with no uncertainty as to what he really means. That little—“I would not dismiss Jason Lannister from the competition just yet. She will choose me; I suggest you accustom yourself to reality, Prince Daemon.”

He grunts dismissively, incensed. There is no reply he can give in this moment that won’t incite the Lannisters to break faith with House Targaryen; and so, he chooses to remove himself from the odious man’s presence entirely, stalking past with nary a word of farewell.

You sit where your younger half-sister had a scarce moon’s turn ago, eyes fixed toward your lap, turning an ornament about with your small fingers. As he nears, the lion salient glimmers in the sun, gold against gold in dazzling vulgarity. Of course, he’d gifted her something with his own fucking sigil on it. What a worthless bequest.

When he calls your name, you hardly react. Your gaze flickers up to him for a mere moment before falling once more, resuming your surveyance of the item in your grasp. There is a pensive expression lingering in your frown, the crease in your brow. It tells him all he needs to know of your true feelings for the Lannister lord, regardless of the man’s own delusions.

“Why—you look positively miserable, sweetling,” he says, settling himself beside you. You glance up at him again, sullen pout puffing out your lower lip. Though your disposition is so downtrodden, it is tempting to press his thumb to that lip, to push inside and feel the wet warmth of your tongue pulse against his flesh in a coquettish tease. “Not enjoying being courted? The gifts, the attention, the romance…”

You take the bait beautifully. Starting at his reference to the pendant in your hold, your nostrils flare exasperatedly. “No. No. I—I just—” You stop, shaking your head. “Never mind.”

“Go on,” he cajoles gently, lowly. “Tell Uncle Daemon.”

It is all the encouragement you need. “There is little romance to be found in this—this charade.” You sigh, eyes fixed on some minute detail past his head. He’s struck by the melancholy in your voice. “These men—Lord Jason, Lord Denys, Aegon—they do not want me. They want an idea of me; a Targaryen bride with pale hair and Valyrian blood. One who will give them children they shall make little effort to raise, a silent doll to clasp onto and show off at feasts and balls… as though possessing me is somehow meaningful. They do not—they do not see me.”

It’s here your voice cuts off strangely. He wishes it hadn’t, for he finds himself enthralled by the mournful monologue that paints a picture of the loneliest girl in King’s Landing. There is something yearning and haunted in that saccharine stare of hers, he thinks. A babe with her arms held out, wailing at the world as it leaves her abandoned in the crib. It’s an eerie echo of a conversation that took place a decade prior, though the lead role lacks the infantile petulance of the previous star.

He finds himself retracing those steps almost without realising.

“Idīnnon dēmalio syt verdilla mērī issa. Dīnakson toliot, gaoso gaomagon kostas.” He is testing, prodding, waiting for what might result from his efforts. Marriage is only a political arrangement. Once you are wed, you can do as you like.

The words make your cheeks flush fetchingly and your brow wrinkle once more, glancing back at him apprehensively. Pretty pink girl with a pretty pink blush; how far down does it spread? You swallow; pause; look away, wrestling with a thought. You peep back up at him.

“Se skorverdon jessivo aōt kesrȳsi jiōrtas?” you ask with surprising cynicism. You exhale loudly, staring at some fixed point in the distance. “Ābrazȳri buttā, riñar daor, mērpāves… Tolī jaelan.”

And how much joy did this bring you? you say. A wife you hated, no children, loneliness… I want more. The quiet longing in your voice is palpable.

He grimaces at the mention of his bronze bitch—he’d rather not know how widespread the knowledge of the circumstances around her… accident… had been in the wake of his departure.

“What is it you want, then?” he asks, switching back to the Common Tongue, the corner of his mouth already contorting in anticipation of the naïve response. True love, a happily ever after… We don’t get to have happy endings, he thinks to himself.

“I want someone who loves me,” you say, pressing on crossly at the huff of laughter that escapes him. “I never said I would love him!”

The pessimistic elucidation takes him aback. Again, it is not exactly what he had been expecting. Full of surprises today. He tips his head consideringly at you, inviting you to continue.

You hesitate for a moment.

“I… They say my father loved my mother. I believe it, but—” You swallow, the corners of your mouth turning down as you mull over your words. “They say he had a choice when baby Baelon was born. That he could cut her open to get the babe out, but that it would mean her certain death.”

Gods above. Where in the Seven hells had you learned that piece of information? Viserys had kept the circumstances of Aemma’s death under tight wraps, never even deigning to mention it to his own brother. It was pure happenstance that one of the maids he enjoyed fucking at the time had been present on the unfortunate day.

Your eyes glisten as you speak, limpid pools of lilac glowing like fire in the light. “I do not think I could ever choose my own life over my child’s—but they say he did not even ask her, that he just… held her down while they—How could I ever trust a man to raise the babe I bore him if he would be willing to butcher his own wife in her childbed?”

He watches as you clench your eyes tight, set your jaw and exhale a few shuddery breaths. When they blink open, they are no longer so tear-bright. Daemon suddenly admires you for it, for the way you so ruthlessly suppress weakness. He wonders how often you’ve been made to force back your own pain for the good of your family.

“What happened to your mother was a terrible tragedy, sweetling.” He reaches forward to finally grip your small, pale hand in his. It is cold and dwarfed entirely in his own. “But you cannot live in fear forever.”

You make to pull your hand away. He closes his grip tighter upon it, coercing you to look up at him properly.

“When hope is gone, what choice left is there but fear?” It is a whisper, carried on the breeze, and the thinly veiled misery pains him in the chest.

I thought that beating thing was black and dead by now, he thinks to himself.

You shake your head, smile. The picture of the melancholy maiden fades from view as you affect an appearance of energy once more, gentle and muted as it is. “I know my father loved my mother, and so love is no guarantee of loyalty; but it would be helpful, I think.”

“You see love and loyalty as intertwined, then?” he cannot help but to ask. He is intrigued by this rare showing of spirit, of vitality, a resurrection of his baby niece from long ago. It is you, finally; his little girl, only now you possess the curves of a gold-gilded whore and the thousand-year gaze of an ancient, arcane being.

“Do you not?” Your head is tilted like an inquisitive bird’s, artlessly assessing. “You cannot have one without the other. Loyalty without love makes for an easy traitor, and love without loyalty makes for an unhappy marriage.”

He laughs again at the latter part of your pronouncement. A sweet, trusting little filly waiting to be broken in.

“There are many ways to love someone, Princess.” He ogles you shamelessly, savouring the affectation of outraged bewilderment painting your countenance. “I imagine you’ll find few of them in the marriage bed.”

He waits for you to question him—to ask him what he means, to ask him to explain, to teach you, show you—but instead, you pull back, taking all the warmth from his palm with you.

“I dislike your implication, Uncle,” you say stiffly, returning your hand to your lap and nestling it between your thighs to retain the heat.

Fuck.

He backtracks raising his hands in a jesting show of defeat. “I meant nothing by it, gevivys.”

Beauty. It is an apt title. an underwhelming one, even. Surely there is little else more beautiful than the sight you make here, now, a rich blush spreading along the unblemished expanse of your chest—regrettably enclosed by pale damask just above the protrusion of your tits—the planes of your throat, not quite travelling up to decorate your cheeks.

You sigh. “You never do.”

Daemon lets the conversation lull, deciding to instead look upon the little revelation before him. You are an interesting puzzle, one whose decorum in the face of his gentle compulsion—that same persuasion he had so often utilised to get fetching girls to strip bare for him and show off their equally-as-fetching cunts—had instead left him lacking. The body of a slut and the mind of a scholar, all wrapped up in wide eyes and honey-sweet words and wild hair the shade of Old Valyria. Of home.

A wild thought seizes him. If he leans forward, he could do it. He could grip you by the back of the neck and pull you to him, press his lips to yours and coax you past your panic and fear and into a hot, sweeping rhythm, a push and pull of tongue and teeth that would set you both alight. And from there, how simple would it be to murmur pretty praise as he lowers you down, raises your skirts up, cleaves you open until your blood wets his cock with the proof of his claim, incontestable, not even by the King himself? The deed would be messy, perhaps distressing and no doubt painful, but it would solve several issues at once. He would be free to do as he likes with his lascivious desires after you are made to wed him, and you would be free from your pitiful suitors and given a husband worthy of you. In time, the hurt and shock and fright would fade, he knows it.

He could. He could. He—

The spell is broken. Your attention is diverted by the squeals of a dark-haired boy as he bowls his way to you, throwing himself across your lap with a cry of your name. Daemon tries not to glare at young Lucerys as he tries to roughhouse with you. Having somewhat learned the schedules of his family, it baffles him somewhat that the child is not at his daily lessons. Should Laenor not have him now?

The thought must conjure the man himself, the Velaryon scion appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Laenor’s expression is forbidding as he strides over to you and his son, silver locs swinging with the velocity of each step. With his glare affixed to his face, he reaches a hand down to you in silent command, staring daggers at Daemon all the while.

What the hells is his problem?

You take hold of your goodbrother, bewildered, and allow him to tug you gently from the bench beside Daemon. Lucerys slides from beside you with a rustle, easily revolving around to dart toward the grass. You are already grabbing at the boy’s hand to stop him running off.

Daemon watches Laenor attempt to rearrange his countenance into something less violent. “Would you take Luke off to the training yards, sister?”

A look of vague incomprehension cross your face at the question.

At least she senses the oddity, too, he acknowledges.

Laenor’s head turns down to where he sits, and it is then that it dawns on him that his nephew-by-marriage had very possibly been watching him stare at his baby niece’s tits for longer than he could claim plausible deniability of.

Ah, shit. The darting, mistrustful gaze suddenly makes sense.

“Of course, Laenor,” you say sweetly, biddably.

Daemon cannot help but wonder what else you might comply with if gently persuaded. He glances up at you from where he sits, smirking playfully as you turn to him.

“It seems we must part for now, sweetling,” he tells you. He ignores Laenor’s grimace from behind you.

“It does.” You shift lightly. It is clear to see that there is something about your shared conversation that has unnerved you. The notion sends a trail of perverse excitement through him. He wonders what other reactions he might prompt out of you with gentle teasing. “I—thank you, Uncle. For listening.”

The words are honest, free of artifice. It is surprisingly warming to hear. When you make to depart, he calls you back.

“What—no goodbye kiss for your beloved uncle this time?” he asks, hoping he’ll bait you into action. He determinedly disregards Laenor’s huff, eyes trained on you as you swallow with trepidation before quickly making the short few steps back to him.

Your knee settles on the seat beside him, clearly meant to be no more than a brief resting place so that you may carry out his implicit request and leave—if not for the way in which your skirts gather around your leg in a manner assured to result in your toppling over should you attempt to rise without fixing them. Daemon turns his head to yours as you free yourself from the tangle. Up close, closer than he would ever dare get usually, he can see each lash that frames your eyes, the hairs that sprout from your brows, the slick cherry bloom of your mouth—a whisper-sweet gather of plump, plush fruit he wants, needs, to take a bite from.

Would you let me, little girl? he wonders.

You gasp, a short little breath of surprise, and lurch away lightly at the closeness. A brave little thing, you return to him, pressing those precious petal-soft lips to the skin of his cheek. Your covered breasts press involuntarily against his arm.

Fucking hells.

“Sȳz bantis, kepus.” Good evening, Uncle, you say in that light little accent of yours, an unintended provocation of his basest yearnings.

With that, you bundle the boy up in your capable little hands and make for your destination, the Cargyll knight falling into formation behind you.

“Care to explain—well, all of that?” Laenor asks.

Oh—yes. Daemon pushes himself from his seat, deliberately stalling while he thinks of a response that isn’t what the fuck how the fuck when the fuck and why.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says idly, slyly, glancing over at him.

“No!” His goodnephew leans forward into his space. He is taken aback by the vehemence in his tone, uncharacteristic of the bumbling, affable man. “You don’t get to do this to her; not this one, not this time.”

“Whatever do you think I plan to do to her?” Daemon laughs, wondering at the answer himself.

Whatever would she let me do to her?

Laenor sighs, steps back. “Look.” He lightly nudges him to walk alongside him as they make for the garden’s entry. “She’s not one of your whores, Daemon. She’s just a girl. She’s not the type to play your twisted little games, so leave her be—please.”

He is warmed by the defence of your goodbrother, an admission of familiarity and care that is sure to have flourished since the man’s entrance into the family some years ago.

“What makes you think I have any intention of—how did you put it—playing games with her?” If he were a little less honest with himself, he would be affronted by the manner in which Laenor had jumped straight to an accusation. But Lord Flea Bottom’s reputation is inescapable, even after so many years. “Perhaps my objective is pure and wholesome.”

“Right.” Laenor snorts, shaking his head as he folds his hands behind his back. “You’re far more likely to fall in with her horde of suitors than to believably claim familial interest.”

True. And yet… why not? He’s conceived all manner of plots to satiate his wants, from drunken fumbles in the dark to his half-baked impulse from but a moment ago. Unlike his previous conquests, though, he doubts the need will dissipate after a single fuck. You are too important to him—his precious girl turned darkest desire, the only woman he could ever deign to carry on his line with.

Viserys has been pressuring him to seek out a bride. He mightn’t be happy with the prospect of his brother asking for his daughter’s hand, exactly, but there is surely no debate that he is the best contender. Not Jason. Not Denys. Not fucking Aegon. Daemon. And, well, if the asking should go poorly—how simple would it be to whisk you away to Dragonstone, to speak the vows and seal the deed before it can be undone? There is no risk this time, no Iron Throne to lose, no treaty or agreement that cannot be broken…

He can see it now. Your sweet little face peering up at him, marked with his blood, lip dripping red with the pledge of entangling your souls together in savage Valyrian custom. Your pretty little eyes wide with maidenly shock as he breaches your untried cunt, tight and pulsing and hotwetwarm, binding you to him irrevocably. The slow waddling of your gait as you round with child, his child, his sweetest babe bringing forth life of her own, belly ripe with seed and leaking his spend—

“Laenor,” he says slowly, eyes glinting as his lips upturn in a wide grin, “I do believe you have the best ideas.”

Read the story on AO3 here:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/42100623/chapters/120880855

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niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian · 3 months

Text

New Story time!

This one is dedicated to the ever so talented @cosmoshard, who made the rough sketch that inspired this piece in the first place,

also, this serves as some semi-revenge on her for making me cry on my birthday XD

This time, the story is focused the ARK siblings themselves, Shadow and Maria!

=========================================

“Are you almost done yet grandpa?” Maria impatiently rocked back and forth on her feet, earning a light wack on her head from a piece of paper. “Hey!”

“Hold still, Maria! Your back needs to be straight and still.” Gerald exclaimed, the marker he was holding nearly creating a mark on top of Maria’s head, taking a moment trying to rub the stain from her hair with his fingers.

Maria made a face at Gerald, moving her head away from his hands. “I am holding still, grandpa! I’m trying to make sure I’m getting taller!”

“Well, you’re not making it easier with you doing all this fidgeting.” He placed his hands and her shoulders to keep her still. “Now just keep still. And don’t stand on your toes either.”

The girl fought the urge to roll her eyes as her grandfather finally made a mark on the wall, drawing a straight line while she backed away, bouncing on her feet. “Ok, you’re all done.”

She looked among marks and lines from previous measuring sessions, seeing that the current one was hovering above the previous line.

She let out a gasp and started jumping up and down. “I grew! I got taller, grandpa! See, look at it!”

”Yes, yes I see it.” He gave a pat to her head, taking notes on his clipboard. He walked over to his desk with Maria following close behind him.

She moved in front of him while he continued to write. “I can’t believe the new line you drew was higher this time! How tall am I now?”

Gerald paused and lifted up one of the papers to read it. “Well, according to the results, you’ve grown…” He stopped mid sentence, a look of surprise. “Oh my, this is odd.”

Maria stopped her joyful skipping, sensing his change in tone. “What, what is it?”

”It says here that your height from this month is less than it was last month.” He hung his head down, sighing dramatically and placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m afraid that you're shrinking, my dear.”

His granddaughter’s face went from worried to annoyed in a second flat, pushing his hand away and rolling her eyes. “Grandpa….”

The man chuckled at her unamused expression. “I’m only teasing, you’ve grown about a total of 6 inches from last month. You’re about 4’3 now. Almost getting to 5 feet already.”

Maria’s face lit up and did a celebratory dance with some spinning involved, nearly bumping into Gerald in the process and tripping over her feet. He quickly caught her before she fell over, slinging an arm around her and pulling her close to his side.

”My goodness, I’ve never seen you so excited about something like this before, may I ask why?”

Wrapping her arms around him, she raised her head with a wide smile on her face. “Because! It’s the first time I’ve gotten this tall in awhile. You always told me that healthy kids grow big and tall whenever they eat their veggies and get enough sleep, it’s finally working for me!”

The smile on Gerald’s face faltered when she finished by hugging him tighter. Bless this child for keeping her hope high with a statement like this.

He always told her when she was younger that those things were important to do, eating as much healthy food to keep her immune system from failing, getting enough sleep so her body can get its rest, even those times where he told her not to tell lies otherwise her nose would grow long each time she did.

It made him grateful knowing that these little things were making a difference for her in her lonely life up here in the colony, even though it felt like it was wrong giving her such high expectations for her condition, since there was no cure for it but making her think that something like this is actually helping her illness when in reality it would barely make a dent in it overall broke his heart even more.

He forced a smile on his face and squeezed her back. “You're very right on that. I told you it would work out eventually.”

Maria beamed a wide smile, skipping towards the door. “Where are you heading off to?” Gerald called after her, making her nearly slip on the floor when she slowed herself down.

“I'm going tell him about it!”

“Who?”

“Shadow! He's been wondering if I was getting better, I gotta go and tell him before he gets worried!” She ran out of the room as soon as she finished, her pigtailed hair flying out wildly behind her as she disappeared before the doors even closed.

Gerald stood there in ear numbing silence, his hands clenched up into fists as those last words lasting through his ears like a forever frozen echo.

‘Wondering if I was getting better’....

A grim expression masked over his face. “Oh my child, if only it were as simple as that for you.”

Read the rest on Ao3!

#posting this on Ark Sibling Sunday :p /j #I’m joking but I wonder if we should do something with them? since they movie featuring them is coming out this year…#idk maybe if enough people want to do it 🤷‍♀️#ark siblings #shadow #maria robotnik #shadow the hedgehog #gerald robotnik #sth #sonic fanfiction

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the-moon-lullaby · 1 year

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Headcanons : The HSL Boys + Priya Drunk

N/A: So this random but the other day I was talking about MCL with a friend and as summer approaches and plans are being planned (chaotic ones mainly) we started to wonder how the LIs would be like when drunk. So I thought I'd share my opinion on the matter.

* little disclaimer : always drink alcohol with moderation and if you don't drink, don't let others influence you (f*ck them if they make fun of you about that, they're the problem) and if you do drink though, always drink glasses of water between glasses of alcohol (you'll thank yourself the next day)

𝙲𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚕 :

Emotional drunk

Not every time though, it doesn’t happen that often but when it does ,just give him a compliment or tell him something sad and you just launched the machine

This will be likely followed by this « I love you guys » speech (he’s probably really drunk at this point so his discourse doesn’t make sense but it the least of his concerns right now)

Will never admit it or accept to talk about it the next day (might even pretend that he doesn’t remember it as if it was enough to make everyone forget about it lol)

But when he’s not emotional, he’s actually extrovert ???

Like he talks with everyone and have good laugh with them (my boy has become a social butterfly for the night)

Would accept a cigarette if someone offers him one so PLS STOP HIM (he has to protect his voice come on)

Totally up for karaoke but don’t you dare try to make him sing these commercial songs he always complains about because he certainly won’t and he’ll rant about how they suck

Bonus point : I can picture him ✨slaying✨ a Lady Gaga karaoke. Like he knows the lyrics and even some bit of the choreo (probably won’t do it though, I guess that’s where he draws the line). That would depend on who is around tho (for example if Nathaniel is around, haha no. He’ll never let this guy catch him singing Bad Romance, no matter how drunk)

If he keeps drinking, he might throw up and he’ll try to be slick about it (but everyone knows that when he left in such a hurry, it was because the end was near for him)

He has the worst hangovers. It takes him 3 whole business days to get back on his feet (he has to get over the physical consequences but also the embarrassment. Because, ew, talking about feelings and all when he’s drunk cringes him so bad lol)

𝙻𝚢𝚜𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 :

Philosophically confused drunk ?

Literally, anything could become matter to philosophical debates at this point and out of nowhere he’ll just start pondering existence and the meaning of life.

And he has a lot to say (which is surprising according to the fact that Lysander isn’t really talkative in general)

Can get anyone captivated because he speaks from the heart and he kinda make a point (he make people rethink their whole life so that can be a bit of a buzzkill as much as it can be fascinating. It’s 50/50)

Honestly, I struggle to imagine Lysander drunk because I don’t think there’s a lot of circumstances where he would be likely to drink a lot. Especially that I don’t think he’s really fond of strong alcohol (like vodka, rum or else) but more of a wine kinda guy.

(Which is why that if he does get drunk, he’ll get a dreadful hangover the next day because there’s nothing like a wine hangover y’all)

I feel like if he’s not pondering existence, he’ll be just listening at people (you know the people that overshare when drunk, spilling the tea without judgment or just telling their life story, I kinda love these people)

He would be a really good listener and would conclude the conversation by a inspiring quote he just made up (you can’t silence the poet in him)

If you leave him on his own for too long tho, he might get an existential crisis (like « Where is my life leading me ??? What should life be like ?? What’s after life ??? How do you know you’re living and not surviving ???) Yeah, he asks himself a lot of questions and that can be overwhelming (relatable)

If people pressuring to sing, he’ll just be annoyed so don’t. He don’t really like to sing when drunk because he knows that this won’t be his best performance

Bonus point : I believe he’s the kind of person that can get sleepy from alcohol (add to that the fact that he spends his days working hard) so he’s likely to be one of the first that want to leave the party lol

𝙰𝚛𝚖𝚒𝚗 :

If you’re going to an event or a party where Armin might get drunk, please bring a leash with you

Not but for real, he’s the runner type of drunk

Totally that friend that’ll randomly disappear in the middle of the party to do some side quests without warning ANYONE

So everyone’s start wondering : WHERE DID HE GO AGAIN ?

And he’ll come back as if nothing happened with some random items he found on the way (bonus : or some random guy he talked with and now they’re buddies ???)

I said he was a runner but it’s because he likes to be chased. He just finds it fun and it becomes sort of a escaping mission in his mind

(That’s funny because usually you can’t get him to do anything that requires physical investment lol)

If you guys finally catch him and make him stay in sight he’ll just be super friendly

He’s kind of get "happy drunk" and everything’s seems so funny

Alcohol really does cloud his judgment so he’ll get some stupid ideas that sounds to him like genius-like behaviours (it’s not, pls stay on your chair dear)

I feel like if he finds a partner in crime, it’s over, he’s out of control (and that might very well be Nathaniel but I’ll go back to it later)

Would dance (pretty badly)

He really can’t sit still for more than two minutes so it’s better if you keep an eye on him at all time (he’s basically the result of if a 9 year-old was drunk which can be as entertaining as it can get exhausting)

Would ‘strategically throw up’ (you know when some people will make themselves throw up when they feel like they’re going to be sick so that they can keep going)

𝙽𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚎𝚕 :

He doesn’t get drunk often (it is actually pretty rare as he said in UL) and he says that it’s because he doesn’t really like the taste of alcohol

However, that’s only one part of the truth, the other part is that he’s out of control when drunk

Literally, his brain seem to stop cooperating when he reaches a certain point

Will have no filter about what he says (says anything that comes to his mind and that can be problematic)

Could easily get into fights because of that but also because his patience is very thin when drunk. Not that he’ll be looking for a fight but he won’t take any shit (literally the "fuck around and find out" meme)

Would talk to people then looses patience and leave in the middle of the conversation (then the person in front of him is just like « ??? »)

He’s a flirt x10. He’s a flirt sober but when he’s drunk it’s even worst because as I said, he has no filter anymore

He just seem horny and he's not even subtle about it (if he's here with his partner, he'll want to go have a “talk” at some point and no, drink some water that's for the best)

(Which I believe that back in UL, may have caused some « problematic black-out get with », another reason why he doesn’t like to drink - self awareness king)

Now, I said that Nathaniel could very much end up being Armin’s partner in crime

I meant it. It’s just that Nathaniel when drunk just wants to have fun and has no patience, Armin on the other end, can’t stay still more than 2 minutes and just wants to mess around so that kinda of a match

Chaotic duo (the chaos is real, if you thought drunk Armin was hard to manage, you don’t want to imagine drunk Nathaniel by his side)

I can picture them doing shots together even though they hate the taste of it (but just for fun you know)

However, you have to admit that despite the chaos they cause (in the limits of the law ofc. Well, most likely hum hum), they are very entertaining

𝙺𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗 :

Clingy drunk. Whether he’s clingy with his girlfriend or his friends, he just can’t help it

It’s not like he’s going to do the emotional speeches and all

It’s more like he’ll randomly hug them. If he’s here with his girl, he always has an arm around her or he’s holding her hand (cute)

If there’s pets where you guys are, you lost him

He’s going to spend the night playing with them (and that way he can avoid talking with the people he doesn’t know, clever)

He would also be the one that want to go on a walk in the middle of the night because why not ? It’s mostly because he wants to get some fresh air (I have the feeling that Kentin wouldn’t feel at his most comfortable in the middle of a party)

He rely on his more extroverted friends to introduce him to other people (because he’d rather don’t to do it on his own)

I think that just like Lysander, Kentin wouldn't really be the type of person to get drunk because he can hardly handle alcohol. Maybe a beer here and there but that’s it. So it got to be a very special occasion for him to get in that state

Would get sleepy from alcohol too

𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚢𝚊 :

She’s the life of the party

The kind of person that won’t let anyone stay sat for to long and then proceed to drag them to the dance floor

Also a master at making cocktails and she’ll invent a new recipe by the end of the night with the alcoholic beverages’ leftovers

(The drink could seem nasty but it’s really good ??? Like how ???)

Would get political if someone brings up the topic

Because you know my girl don’t joke about that

Really, that could lead to an endless debate about societal issues

But no matter how drunk she is, she still got that charisma and that eloquence (which I wonder how but I just can’t imagine Priya drunk slurring her words ???) so give it a few moments and she has an audience

I mean, she could also get an audience while doing karaoke or dancing ‘cause she really has this energy that captivates people

Great at comforting people who are ‘sad drunk’ or at handling those who are getting out of hand (we can think of the chaotic duo mentioned above)

She knows how to hold her liquor quite well so it’s very rare that she ends up being a mess (queen)

She sounds like so much fun to hang out with honestly

Priya <3 (we won’t talk about her arc in LL, I am still in denial and I intend to keep gaslighting myself into believing that it never happened)

Hope you guys enjoyed it !

#mcl #mclul #mcl priya #mcl nathaniel #mcl alternate life #mcl lysander #mcl castiel #mcl armin #mcl kentin #amour sucre #my candy love lysander #my candy love castiel #my candy love nathaniel #my candy love armin #my candy love kentin #my candy love priya #my candy love #my candy love university life #amor doce

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vote-gaara · 7 months

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This is neither here nor there but I love the idea of gaara being super into music but *solely* to have deep thoughts about the lyrics while almost disregarding the music itself entirely. mcr famous last words 'I am not afraid to keep on living/ I am not afraid to walk this world alone' 🤔 wow just like when I spoke to kankuro. carly rae jepsen call me maybe 'before you came into my life I missed you so bad' 🤔 the depth of yearning for a precious thing missing from your life that you dont even realise you're missing. billy joel piano man 'they're sharing a drink they call loneliness/ but it's better than drinking alone' 🤔 the pain of loneliness leads one to seek companionship in the most unlikely of places. Do you see my vision

Thank you for this ask as it has allowed me to consider aspects of Gaara I would've never thought of.

Mostly, I think Gaara is a little...hmmm....BORING! But then again, I don't think that's true, either. Let me explain:

I don't think that, according to his "default", he has appreciation for things like music, art, fiction or movies. Likely this is the result of how he was raised in isolation, where the feelings conjured by artists eluded him because he couldn't relate to the characters nor appreciate the source the story came from. This habit of disregarding things that weren't "more serious" or "relevant" to his everyday life then carried over to his current self, as since becoming Kazekage, he really has no time to partake in leisure (but very necessary) practices like experiencing art.

Now here's where the complexity of Gaara's character really comes into play:

I believe, wholeheartedly, that Gaara would actually make a FANTASTIC artist, and that he could learn to be moved through art with the right guidance and proding.

Gaara has poor art literacy. He doesn't see a movie or read a book to explore themes; rather he sees them as very objective plot lines such as "first A happened, then B, then C, then it ends."

Basically, Gaara can parse through a story for information but he needs to work on tapping into his empathy for characters that may not exist.

I guarantee that if you get this man into a book club, he would show up to the second or third meeting after reading a few chapters and he would be BLOWN AWAY by what other people had observed; the emotion, the themes, the ambiguity, the subtle things he missed because he wasn't reading the book "correctly."

It would be a borderline religious experience for him, I swear to you.

Even with music, as you suggest. Gaara would see it as "noise" but you get him to really think about what emotion in conjures - what power can be moved through lyrics - and suddenly his mind would be completely and totally blown. Especially if you get him with the symbolism of different instruments. He would suddenly see it as a language that he didn't even know existed (which he would find really cool)!

As I said before, he would probably make a really great artist himself. If you sit him down and you tell him to paint, draw, sculpt, or even write a poem about his life you would get something very moving and powerful. The type of art that brings you to your knees. But alas, he wouldn't really be moved by his own piece, either. Sure, it would be lightly therapeutic for him to have created something from his soul, but it would seem almost mundane to him.

Any art he creates he would see as just being a reflection of his life - or at least how he would see it - and it wouldn't mean anything to him passed "this is what happened to me, and it hurt, but things are better and the world is a better place."

Which begs the question:

Is Gaara really artistically illiterate? Or has he experienced so much in his life that anything that would move the masses, emotionally destroy you or me, simply be too elementary to him?

Either way...I vote that you drag him to concerts and plays, and you share music with him. At the very least, he would (as his current self) appreciate the bonding moment.

#gaara #sing barbie girl gaara #do it #enjoy the bop #kazekage

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peekapen · 4 months

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Into the Deep Chapter 4

Summary:

Sun does something stupid and you get really scared. Thankfully afterwards you find out another thing Moon likes.

"Soooo~," Sun asked as he lay beside his brother who was busy eating the tuna you had left for him. "They're pretty great, aren't they?"

Moon glared up at his brother as he ate his meal. Moon had been in a bit of a sour mood since Sun had chastised him about how he had treated you, but he had totally deserved it! You had been nothing but nice to them and he almost drowned you! He tried to pull you back in after having let you go, what else could it have meant except for that he had wanted to drown you unlike all of those before you?!

"They're...fine. But you need to be more careful. Don't think I didn't hear you speak to them earlier in their language." Moon chastized and Sun whined.

"Why?! Moonie, they're so, so sweet and gentle! And so fun too! They brought almost every toy I've seen the other humans play with the Mers here and let me choose what I wanted to play with! It was so, so thoughtful of them!" Sun said as he excitedly started waving his hands around.

"Did they now?" Moon asked, disinterested as he continued to eat his treat.

"Yes! They brought a whole bunch of those puzzles I've always wanted to try out and some I'd never seen before! One of my favorites were these Japanese Puzzle Boxes. They were so, so, so complex but also so, so, so cool! And they were so impressed every time I solved one of those puzzles. Apparently, they've never been able to solve even a single one in their entire life, but I was able to solve all of them in a few hours." Sun boasted as he puffed out his chest proudly. "They even brought a little notepad and things called markers to draw with. It was so, so, so, SO much fun! I really love spending time with them, they're such a great, great, great friend!"

Moon had finished his tuna at this point and had now turned to face Sun fully, but Sun didn't like the look on Moon's face when he did. He always hated it when Moon carried that tired and worrying look, it always made him feel like a pup again. Moon should trust him! He's a grown Mer now and doesn't need to be constantly looked after!

"Sunny...I'm glad you're having a good time with them, but they're a human. More importantly, they're supposed to be looking after us. If they found what you did interesting, it was probably just to write it down and tell their superiors about this. What do you think they'll do to us if they found out that you're capable of solving these puzzles easily? They'll keep us here, whether we're ready to go home again or not, and use us as attractions. And that's nothing compared to what will happen if they find out we can speak in their language! Remember what happened to Mom and Dad." Moon hissed and Sun winced at the memory.

Mom and Dad...He hadn't thought about them in a very, very long time. He'd almost forgotten what they looked like, but he remembered his mom being super duper pretty and his dad being really, really strong. Back when he and Moon were still pups they had been killed by some sailors they had considered friends according to Moon, leaving them on their own. Sun didn't remember much from that day, but Moon had and became incredibly protective of Sun afterward. It's because of that protectiveness that Moon had gotten so many scars...and how they ended up here in the first place...

"They wouldn't." Sun said shortly, claws coming out as he started pulling lightly on his head fins. "They wouldn't. They're too nice, too sweet. Would never hurt us. Nevernevernever!"

"I know you think that Sun, but please be more careful. Don't get your hopes up like I did, it will only lead to more pain when they betray you." Moon told him, but Sun wasn't listening anymore.

He shook his head from side to side wildly before rushing to and diving into the water, leaving his brother on the shore as he raced through the reefs, kelps, and caves that made up their tiny underwater pen. Granted it was big for a pen, but it could never beat the feel of swimming through the endless ocean. He swam and swam until he made it to the farthest point of their glassy prison where he could see the large building you came from and left to every time you'd come to visit. You were somewhere in there, probably resting up so that you could come and visit Moon later. He nervously swam from one side of the pen to the other, growing worried about what you'd do with the information now that Moon had put it in his head that you could betray them. You wouldn't tell on him though, of course not! You were too kind to do that, too sweet...right?

He whined, worried before coming up with an idea: He would just stay here and wait for you until you came back! He needed to know what you were doing with all of that information, needed to be sure you wouldn't hurt them by telling anyone. He needed to show Moon that his trust in you wasn't silly, that it was well-earned. He needed you to be different, to be good unlike all those who came before you. He needed an actual friend that he knew he could trust unlike all of the other 'friends' he'd had before. He let out a loud whine at the last thought and continued worriedly swimming from side to side by the glass walls, waiting for your small form to appear.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You groaned in annoyance as you looked down at your notes, hating how lazy they were and how little you spoke of the truly incredible experiences you had had yesterday. As a part of your job as a caretaker for Mers, you had to write an account about what happened during your sessions together and you were at a loss about what to write. Had it been before your meeting with Vanessa, you would've happily filled in all of the incredible things you had witnessed, no questions asked, but now you weren't sure. The fact that so much information on the Mers had not been given to you in the beginning, and which still has not been brought to you was already triggering alarm bells in your mind. But the threat of firing you if you didn't put those weird collars on them when no other caretaker had been able to do that before you just made you feel more and more ill at ease.

Something weird was going on, and until you figured out what it was there was no way you were going to put those collars on your boys! They were under your protection and nothing, not even losing your dream job would force you to put your responsibilities as their caretaker aside. For now, you would keep it as vague as you could and not mention anything about just how much Sun had done during your visit and look into what these collars were actually for. Maybe you were being paranoid and they really were just for keeping track of their vitals, but considering the threat you were given if you did not put them on Sun and Moon, you had your suspicions about things being a lot more than they seemed.

You sighed and finished the very lazy report before sending it off, ignoring your perfectionistic tendencies to add more detail to it. It seemed just proper enough to not raise suspicion, but if you were called out on it you'd just make stuff up until you knew for sure you could trust the people here. God, you felt so silly being so paranoid, but something in your gut kept telling you that the way you were doing things now was right, that something was wrong here and you were doing the right thing. You sighed again before pushing yourself out of your seat and getting ready to meet with Moon.

Now that you had seen how clever Sun was, you wondered if Moon was clever too, and if he was, how clever. But you weren't sure if he would be as interested in puzzles as Sun was, so you'd just have to find out in time. You were sure to pack a few tunas to try and coax him out of the water, a medkit if he got close enough to check him, a small tranq gun for emergencies, a harmonica, all of the toys you had brought for Sun, a set of goggles in case he pulled you under the water again and finally a collection of short folk tales from the library. The last one was more for you than for Moon. This way if he didn't show himself at all during the night you could just read for a while instead. Maybe if you read aloud, you could entice him to come out and listen!

Once everything was ready you headed out to their enclosure, ready to start the night. As you walked you decided to look up at the sky and you were very, very happy you did. Because the island you were on only housed the Sanctuary and the Sanctuary in question had dim lights at night, so you could see the entire sky filled with beautiful, twinkling stars of a variety of colors. You smiled as you caught sight of a few constellations before wondering if Moon'd scales mimicked the constellations too. They looked almost exactly like the sky as it was right now, so it could be a possibility, however small that might be.

You were torn from your thoughts though when you heard distressed cries coming from one of the enclosures. Concerned you looked around you before freezing as your eyes landed on Sun and Moon's enclosure. Sun was floating near the front of the tank, unresponsive as Moon tried to feed Sun some fish that were floating around him which could only be leftovers from dinner time earlier. Your eyes widened in shock and you quickly grabbed the medkit and goggles before rushing into the enclosure and jumping into the water.

You swam as fast as you could over to the two Mers, but when Moon saw you as you neared them he blocked your path to Sun, baring his teeth and his claws as he did so. You tried to get past him, but every time you'd try he'd get in your way or swipe at you, keeping you from doing your job. After a few more failed tries and close calls, you swam back to the surface and thought of a new plan.

"Sunny! Sun, where are you, buddy?" You yelled out, hoping that you could coax him towards you instead of having to go through Moon. After all, Sun was very responsive to your voice so far, so it was worth a shot. For a moment there was silence and then you felt movement by your feet. For a moment you worried Moon was going to drag you under again, but when you saw a bunch of orange-gold fins poking out followed by a pair of tired white eyes you relaxed. Sun let out a happy chirp as he saw you and tiredly swam up to you before putting all of his weight on you, causing you to sink into the water. You yelped and gently pushed him off of you and instead stroked the fins on his head, watching as his eyes closed and he let out a content purr. "Hey, Sunny. I'm happy to see you too, but before we can hug, we need to get to the shore, okay? Then you can get a bunch of hugs."

Sun let out a happy chirp at this and started swimming to the shore, you close behind. After a couple of seconds though Sun lost speed before he started to sink, but before you could grab and tow him back up above the water, Moon had grabbed his brother's arm and slung it over his shoulders before following you. You knew that Moon was displeased by you being here by the glare he was giving you, but you could tell that his brother was his first priority as he focused most of his attention on keeping Sun afloat rather than on hating you.

Before long you made it back to the shore and as soon as you were able to stand you turned back around to help Moon get Sun onto the shore, but Moon growled at you, so you kept your distance and waited instead. Once Sun touched the dry sand he nearly fell in his eagerness to lie there, but thankfully Moon was able to slow his descent enough so that Sun didn't fall flat on his face. Once he was lying down, you slowly walked over and when Moon failed to react negatively, you crouched down next to Sun and opened your medkit to grab the stethoscope and started listening for his heart.

As you did your check-up on Sun, Moon curled up next to his brother, curling his tail around him but staying perched up on his lower arms, watching you work with an intense glare on his face. The more time that went on though, the more you saw the dark Mer redirect his attention to his brother rather than you, showing just a sliver of trust in you and you smiled to yourself, grateful for it. As you finished your small examination, you double-checked your list to make sure you had gone through everything that could be the cause for Sun's strange condition when you noticed something with Moon's tail in the corner of your eye.

It was hard to see, but halfway down the underside of his tail was a large lump that you had not seen before. Your eyes widened at this discovery, realizing that this had to be what was making Moon swim crookedly. You immediately wanted to start working on it to relieve Moon from his discomfort, but before you could work on Moon, you needed to finish up with Sun and figure out what was going on. Huh, nothing seemed wrong with his vitals...His heartbeat was fine, his blood pressure was good, his stomach was grumbling a lot and he looked tired but-oh my god. You laughed as you realized what was going on, startling the two Mers before you put your stuff away and turned to Sun as you cupped his face in your hands

"Sunny, my silly boy no reason you're looking so out of it! You haven't eaten dinner and you're not asleep, silly Mer." You cooed at the Mer affectionately as you petted a few of his 'rays' as you've now decided to call them. Sun let out a few churrs of denial before yawning and you giggled before standing up, ignoring his pouty stare as you did so. You had just taken one step forward when Sun grabbed your leg with a loud whine, keeping you in place as Moon growled at you which made you sigh as a fond smile found its way to your lips. "I'll be right back boys, I just need to get some food for Sun and my other equipment. How does tuna sound, Sun?"

At the word tuna Moon quieted down and Sun let out a happy trill at this before letting you go to grab him something to eat. You smiled and quickly headed back out through the door you had carelessly left open in your worry. Infinitely grateful that the two hadn't noticed due to the drama that had just occurred you quickly closed it before grabbing the cart you had left outside, opening it again, and closing it once more behind you. When Sun saw the cart and the toys in it that you had brought for Moon he let out an excited squeal and tried to grab them, but Moon growled at him, lightly smacked his head, and curled on top of Sun, using his weight to keep Sun down. Sun growled and whined at Moon, but the Moonlight Mer didn't respond and instead opted to pretend to be asleep so as not to hear his indignant brother. You let out a quiet 'aww' at the scene before grabbing two tunas, one for each of them, the harmonica and the book of stories you had grabbed earlier.

Once you had collected all that you needed, you handed Sun his tuna which he quickly devoured and placed Moon's nearby. However, Moon didn't make a move for it and continued to pretend to be asleep, so you tried pushing it a little closer to him whilst keeping a safe distance. When he still didn't reach for it, you slowly picked it up and nervously handed it to him, thinking he was probably asleep and you didn't want to disturb him. He quickly snatched it from your hands before he started tearing it to shreds, leaving you stunned, but happy that he was growing to trust you. As soon as Sun was done eating he tried to reach for the toys again, but you grabbed his clawed hand instead, prompting him to turn to you instead.

"I know you want to play Sunny, but we can't right now. You need to sleep, cause without sleep, how can you have a fun time playing?" You asked and Sun paused, glancing between you and the toys before letting out a defeated whine.

Once Moon heard it, he moved off of Sun, continuing to eat as you followed the Sunlight Mer to the spot he had been sleeping in before. But before he started burrowing under the sand, he turned to you one last time, an anxious look on his face and you felt your heart hurt a little at the fear shown in those pretty white eyes of his. You slowly walked up to Sun, careful not to make any sudden movements as you gently took his face in your hands and pressed your forehead against his, knowing that touch would be the best way to soothe this anxious Mer.

"Aww, don't worry bud! remember, I'll be back soon to check up on you, but you need to sleep. No more staying up at night, okay?" You said and Sun chittered before giving you your usual lick, but this time in the middle of your face. You gasped a bit in surprise which made Sun let out something akin to a laugh before he disappeared into the sand to rest. Grateful that Sun was finally asleep, you turned back to Moon to find him still eating, but that wasn't really a surprise. You shrugged your shoulders and decided to take this time to relax next to him so that he could get used to your presence and started reading your book.

Before long you were absorbed in the short stories in the book, happily reading tale after tale as time ticked by. Yes, you knew a lot of these stories already, but you hadn't read them for a while and had found a bunch of delightful and horrific little details you didn't remember from when you last read them as a child. As you finished your fifth story and started on the sixth you heard sand shift and felt a long, warm body curl around you. Thinking it was Sun, you got ready to remind him he was supposed to be sleeping, but the words died on your tongue as you saw Moon curled around you whilst he looked out at the water, his upper half on your left and a part of his tail visible on your right with the rest being hidden behind you. Your eyes widened in amazement at the sight of the usually elusive Mer so close to you, but you quickly looked down at your book again. The last thing you wanted to do was spook this magnificent creature when he just got comfortable around you!

Sadly, he wasn't nearly as focused on ignoring you as you were on trying to ignore him. It only took about a few minutes after you realized Moon was there when said Mer started peaking over your shoulder, curiously looking at the pages as he did so. You tried to be cool, and you think you succeeded decently on the outside, but on the inside, you were squealing like crazy at the incredibleness of this moment. Moon was just lying with you! He was chilling with you! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-

Your inner excitement was interrupted though by a singular, clawed hand reaching over your left side to point at the picture on the right side of the page, showing a beautiful mermaid kissing a young woman. Confused, you turned to him only to be met with an equally curious Moon cocking his head at the picture. When he saw you staring though he growled, so you promptly looked away before coming up with an idea. turning a few pages back, you started the story of The Siren and the Sweet from the beginning.

"There once was a Siren who lived far out at sea." You started and Moon jumped before turning his attention to the paper, probably figuring out you were reading from it, which made you smile, but you didn't want to lose this moment yet, so you continued. "The Siren was known far and wide for being the most beautiful woman in all the land and she coveted this title, believing it to be hers and hers alone. One day she heard news from passing sailors that a gorgeous young woman had moved into the nearby lighthouse and that she was the fairest lady they had ever seen who was so lovely she was named after the sweetness of candy. Enraged by her title being stolen, the Siren swam until she came to the old lighthouse where she turned her tail into legs, ran up the stairs, and started banging her fist on the door, ready to kill the woman inside. But when the door opened, she changed her mind as there stood the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. The woman gave her a dazzling smile and invited her in, and the Siren accepted her invitation. The woman introduced herself as Sweet as she served delicious food to the Siren, who ate it all happily. A very fitting name, the Siren thought, for a lady as sweet as she. The Siren stayed for three days and with every day that passed she fell deeper and deeper in love with Sweet, but sadly she would have to go as she could not stay away from the ocean forever. But before she left, she confessed to Sweet who felt the same and, with a kiss full of love and devotion, Sweet was transformed into a Siren herself and the two swam into the sunset, living out the rest of their days happily by the sea."

You ended the tale and snuck a peak at Moon and nearly aww'ed at the sight. Moon was staring at the last picture of the two mermaids swimming through a vibrant golden sea with stars in his eyes and his tail wagging slightly, making you smile. Looks like you found something he liked outside of tuna! You were going to continue reading the next story when you noticed your watch that showed it was nearing 6 a.m. causing you to jump up in surprise. Moon let out a startled yelp at your sudden movement before growling and pulling your legs out from under you, causing you to fall. Before you could try and get up, Moon draped himself over your lap, using his weight to keep you down just as he had with Sun not too long ago. Now you really, really didn't want to go, but you needed to get some rest before working with Sun later!

"Moon..? Can I please get up?" A loud snarl came from Moon at that and you sighed before thinking of what you could do to convince him to let you go. After all, you didn't have any tuna s0-WAIT A MINUTE!!! "If I read you an extra story next time can I leave?"

That got his attention. The tip of Moon's nightcap fin inched toward your face and you giggled as it tickled you before it abruptly pulled away and Moon moved off of you. You were sad you couldn't cuddle with the beautiful Mer anymore tonight, but you knew it was for the best. You quickly grabbed your cart and started moving toward the door when Moon scooted in front of you, barring your way out. You jumped a little, surprised you hadn't heard him before smiling.

"Want to choose a toy before I go? I brought as many as I could." You said before gesturing to the cart.

Moon stared at you for a moment, expression unreadable before he went to the cart and carefully started digging through them. After a few moments, he chose a large ring meant for mouthy pups and Mers and a ball with a paddle on it that would start moving automatically as soon as it got into the water. Once he had chosen his toys, he rushed away from you as fast as he could before diving into the water with his prize. You chuckled, but right before you opened the door you noticed he had also taken all of the leftover tuna without you noticing. You stared at the empty space in your cart for a moment before laughing, impressed at how he had done it and because you found it cute that the big, scary Mer seemed to have a major sweet tooth. Well...not a sweet tooth, but he loved his treats, so kinda..? You shook your head before you could go down another meaningless rabbit hole and headed home for the night, as usual, locking the door behind you as you did so.

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aronarchy · 1 year

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something i was thinking about yesterday/the day before—various ways the Patriarchy and State mirror each other, are interconnected, common points of origin, analogous function. & about how both treat abuse & sexual violence. artificially creating helplessness & vulnerability in the oppressed; concentrating the ability to respond to abuse & assault in hands of the above. so common trope of the husband furiously avenging a rape of his wife (by an outsider), parent raging about Predators attacking “their” child, threatening violence against the preds, doing gruesome tortures. under the logic that wives & children are property of the father, & violation of them by an outsider = violation of the father’s property right over them (how dare you damage my things) (violation of “purity”); not actual solidarity with the victims themselves as persons or the trauma they experience, according to them, or their wants/needs.

crucially, this → victims cannot defend themselves; encountering a Predator = need to have your man around to protect u, need to tell a Trusted Safe Adult so they can handle it, and the only problem nowadays is that the kids don’t realize that these adults are trustworthy safe adults and if they just told everything would be okay, and there needs to be no other possible routes. self-defense is still criminalized overall; the patriarch reserves sole right to defend the woman/child’s “purity” and to attack outsiders.

i remember another thing i read like in early 2022 or so—a CSA survivor talking abt her experiences & saying, that commonly when someone is sexually assaulted the offense is viewed as a crime against the state, not one against the victim’s sovereignty over their own body/self. see the carceral logics of state punishment—how long or violent sentences are commonly being justified based on how to preserve Law and Order because of this crime against our peace and justice and law and order, crime against the System. following the correct rules, technicalities, to the letter (without considering the victim’s perspective/needs, ofc).

and yet.

most reported rapists & sexual assaulters & abusers (already few) do not get sentenced at all. even illegal offenses. rarely is the crime even viewed as a true crime in the first place. clearly they do not care.

state reserves a sole right to determine public safety. “don’t take justice into your own hands.” “still have to respect the rule of law.” “if you’re assaulted then you must report it so we can do state-y things about the perp.” this means survivors rely on a dice roll for safety after. if the state says nope we don’t care then you’re fucked. the state reassures that they are the optimal method to decide correctly, they’ll never answer wrong. but they almost always do.

a way of thinking abt this is that the above systems draw differences btwn “legal” & “extra-legal” violent abuses & victimizations; some forms are mandated as policy, and some forms are technically outlawed/claimed to be wrong; in capitalist systems you have “soft” authoritarianism/rule which are the official/legitimized forms of liberal economic exploitation, institutional abuse, domestic control of women/queers/youth, + conservatism & fascism & “totalitarianism” working to consolidate total control, technically “illegal” (there’s hate crimes legislation! some nazis get arrested!) but ultimately not combatted effectively, still sanctioned enough to allow them power, still an arm of the oppression we experience (antifa far more criminalized). they say that country or that past era over there was “extremely” misogynistic and violent towards women and queers and children but you’re here now and here we have Equality now and you’re probably just experiencing microaggressions and sure you’re being controlled but it’s just “mild” “not as bad” this over here is completely totally qualitatively different from Them we are actually against Them and would ban them if that ever happened here. (legitimized, or technically legitimized vs (constructed as) (technically) illegitimate but still quietly sanctioned)

compare: sexual assault w/in the family or other similar “legitimized” institutions, vs sexual assault by outsiders, even the things they usually use for moral panics and blow up the visibility of such as (actual) sex trafficking gangs who distribute csam online, both are still ultimately part of the same system of oppression, with both the patriarchal status quo is an enabler. compare: sexual assaults that are mandated or explicitly permitted as a part of policy (i.e. “if u get married u have to allow him to have sex w/u bc Marital Rights”; “rule says trans kids get genital inspections”) vs sexual assaults that occur slightly outside of that sphere of explicitly legitimized (some friends ganging up on a woman to rape her. cis adult grooming and sexually assaulting a trans kid they have authority over. not in the rulebook in words but they all know they can get away with it).

it’s very difficult for most ppl to conceptualize actual survivor autonomy everyone thinks there must be at least someone in a higher position to do it for us, decide on our behalf, (with)hold the potential of our safety from us/monopolize it in their hands. when people complain about ostensibly pro-survivor/anti-abuse initiatives that ultimately end up “going too far” (as in goal of punishment, using torture, taking power over a perpetrator/taking away their basic rights, doing genuine injustices to them) these are always used as evidence that the premises of leftism/anarchism are entirely wrong, all violence against oppression/abuse is wrong, we must have pacifism see checkmate extremists, but the issue here is that they only ever conceptualize privileged parties as potential actors/agents in situations of abuse, and no one thinks of the victims, and the conversation never turns to so how do we empower survivors better, show better solidarity, get them what they actually need instead of misdirections that are just selfish self-interested personal ventures, as if these types of social-capitalist vigilantes are truly on the same side as survivors, as if they don’t harm survivors the most, completely brushing aside the long very frequent violent histories of how groups like these are abusive to victims & other oppressed ppls, how they both fail to strike at the actual sources of power and they also take power over the vulnerable and the “anti-abuse” claims are a facade, they don’t truly believe in what anti-abuse activism actually is, don’t truly have what it takes to free us, these are often abusers of the marginalized themselves, but when we fight them or when we fight our abusers [of the first group] neither is viewed as acceptable by liberals, always something to criticize, never listened to or believed

nuclear family abolition is anti-rape activism prison/police/state abolition is survivor activism

#OP #ramble #adultism #feminism #three way fight #abolition #anarchism

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suzy-queued · 1 year

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Artist Interview

Happy Boxing Day! I was tagged by @you-are-so-much-better-than-that in this artist interview.

1. Do you post on AO3? If so, how many works do you have on AO3? If not, where do you post?

I do post on AO3 as Suzy_Queue. I have two art galleries there, one for general art and one for Kinktober 2022.

2. What is your total art count?

If you count art done for other people's stories, headers for my own stories, and Gallacrafts pieces, it's around 150.

3. What are your top 5 pieces by likes/kudos?

I use this cool website to get my full Tumblr stats. According to them:

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes! Although I'm not the fastest at it.

5. What is your current fandom, and what was the first fandom you drew for?

Currently, it's Gallavich all the way. The first fandom I remember drawing for was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, making my own comics. (they were 7th-grade-girl bad).

6. Have you ever received hate on any art?

Nope, people are very supportive, even on pieces that I know aren't that great.

7. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t drawn for yet but want to?

I can't really think of any.

8. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

The one that has lived in my brain for the longest part of my life is Han/Leia.

9. Do you draw outside of fandom?

Yeah! I was an art major in college. I've been a professional artist for 20 years and have created art for book covers, movie posters, album covers, logos. I go to figure drawing sessions at a local art school and am in a nature journaling group. I've displayed my horror art at conventions around the country.

10. What’s the an art piece you’ve drawn that came out completely differently than you expected?

This was the first piece I ever drew on a tablet with a pressure-sensitive pen. It was an experiment to learn the tools. I had no idea how it would look, and it turned out all right.

11. Do you draw smut?

Yep! There's some smut in this gallery.

12. Have you ever had any of your art stolen or copied?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever collaborated on a piece?

I've created art for stories working with the author, but I've never co-drawn a piece of art. Unless you count playing Exquisite Corpse with my children.

14. What’s an idea you have that you have yet to draw?

Oh, I have a lot. The one I think about most is a picture of Ian and Mickey in a lineup at jail, looking disheveled, hung over, and completely in love.

15. What are your drawing strengths?

I like my compositions a lot, the flow of items throughout the picture. I feel like I'm good at drawing what I see in a realistic way, whether it's a photo or real life.

16. What are your drawing weaknesses?

Drawing from memory/imagination. I have to have reference photos of what I'm doing or I go off the rails. I need to develop more trust in my own style and lean into weird proportions and my own skewed vision.

17. What’s your favorite art piece you’ve drawn?

I'm quite partial to this book cover art I did. It's spray paint, pastel, and acrylic. It's about 4 feet tall.

18. What is one thing you’d like to tell people about your art that they might not know?

Just because I've been doing it for a while doesn't mean I'm not still learning every day.

19. What inspires or motivates you to create for fandom?

I have a lot of emotional energy churning below the surface. Creating art and fics helps get it out. It's a much more positive outlet than letting it brew.

20. And finally, can you describe your process a little? Do you have a favorite place to draw? Do you play something in the background? Do you do research or just go for it? Give us a little insight.

I have a basement office where I write and draw. I bought a new table this year which I absolutely love. I do most of my creative work between 9-11 pm after the rest of my family has gone to bed. I do love music and play it a lot while I draw.

I research a ton. I spend a lot of time making photo compositions for every piece I draw, which are collages of body parts and other images.

Thank you so much for the tag for this interview!

#fan art #about me #artist interview

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humanrindswrites · 1 year

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something new

summary: corey's girl wants him to be dominant

pairing: corey taylor x female reader/oc

warnings: smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, light dom/sub, hair pulling, biting, finger sucking, safeword use, begging, unprotected sex, aftercare

word count: 2472 words

originally posted to ao3 december 27 2021

“Baby, I want to try something different,” she said to him from the door to his home studio, dressed in only his shirt and her panties. He looked up from his notepad and let his eyes trail over her body.

“Different like how?” he asked haltingly. He would never have called himself unadventurous, but he knew what he liked and what he didn’t like, and the same for her. She made her way across the floor to him and sat in his lap, his arm wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer to him. Her mouth opened to speak but immediately snapped shut, embarrassed by what she wanted to say. “Hey, come on now, don’t get all shy on me. Tell me what you want.”

His palm stroked up and down her bare thigh, skirting dangerously close to her panty line, her skin tingling with each pass of his hand. She toyed with his hair as she watched him look at her expectantly, waiting for her answer. He wasn’t going to give her anything that she wanted unless she asked him to, this was no time for her to clam up.

“I want you to be a little more dominant with me,” she said quietly as if she was afraid someone else would hear their conversation.

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you, sweetheart,” he said, a tone of concern in his voice.

“No, I don’t mean for you to hurt me, just boss me around, overstimulate me, that sort of thing.”

“Alright, just tell me if you don’t like something,” he said softly before kissing her temple lightly.

He could already feel himself growing hard just from the thought of being in total charge of her body. They were usually on an even playing field in the bedroom, sometimes with him being the more submissive one, but he couldn’t deny that being in charge excited him.

She shifted in his lap to straddle him, her clothed pussy brushing against him and drawing a soft groan from him. His lips met hers in a soft kiss as his hands travelled up her back, bunching up his shirt and exposing her soft skin, before he laced his fingers through her hair and pulled gently, making her whine against his mouth.

“Is this what you wanted?” he husked against her lips, swallowing her gasps.

“Yes,” she breathed, her hips starting to buck against him of their own accord.

His free hand played with the hem of the shirt, his fingertips ghosting against her skin, goosebumps appearing on her skin.

“Take this off. Let me see you.”

He released his grip on her hair, stroking her scalp soothingly before moving his hand back to her hip to let her reveal her soft naked breasts to him. The old fabric slipped across her skin as she pulled it up and over her head, eager to feel his hands on her hot skin.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he whispered, in awe of her body on display to him. He leaned forward to place damp kisses on her neck as his hands trailed up her body to play with her breasts. “My pretty girl.”

His mouth slowly trailed down her neck to her collarbone, leaving her a writhing mess without touching her where she needed him most. He let his lips linger over her pulse for a few beats before baring his teeth and sinking them into her skin, sucking her flesh into his mouth just hard enough to leave a nice purple bruise. She cried out at the mixture of pain and pleasure, feeling her inner muscles clench around nothing, eager to be filled.

His mouth never leaving her throat, he shifted forward in his chair, wrapped her legs tighter around him, and stood up with her in his arms before making his way to the bedroom.

Once there, he threw her down onto the bed and removed his own shirt before crawling on and sitting among the pillows, his back rested against the headboard. He spread his legs wide and patted the space between them.

“Come here and take your panties off,” he commanded, beckoning her to him. She looked at him through hooded eyes as she pulled her panties down her legs, letting them dangle off her foot and giving him a good view of her dripping pussy.

She took her seat between his legs, her back rested against his bare chest as she hooked her legs over his and angled her hips up. Her hand snaked up to play with his hair, one of his blond curls wrapped around her finger.

“What are you gonna do to me?” she asked him coyly. He leaned down to kiss her sweetly and stroked her face.

“You’ll see, just try to relax for me,” he said as he trailed his hands back down her body, one keeping her legs open while the other stroked the inside of her thighs, dancing dangerously close to her sopping pussy.

“Please, Corey,” she whined, squirming in his grasp.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

“Touch you where?” he teased, his fingers tapping her clit lightly, her arousal sticking to his skin. “Here?”

“Yes, right there,” she moaned as her back arched. He reattached his mouth to her neck, his kisses ranging from soft touches to bites, littering her skin with more bruises as he played with her sensitive clit, his fingers sliding over her slick skin torturously slow.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he whispered as he gathered her arousal on his fingers and brought them to his mouth to lick them clean. “You taste good, baby.”

She angled her face up to meet his mouth, her lips parted for him to slip his tongue inside, her taste still lingering on his mouth. She moaned into his kiss and relaxed her body into his more as he slid his hand up to her throat, wrapping his fingers around it and squeezing just slightly. Her body went rigid and she broke the kiss.

“No,” she gasped against his mouth and circled her fingers around his wrist, pulling his hand away from her throat. “Not there.”

He soothed his hand over her shoulder and down her arm, trying to calm her down.

“Sorry, baby,” he said before kissing her sweetly again.

“It’s okay,” she whispered into his kiss. “You didn’t know.”

She moaned cutely when she felt his fingers on her pussy again, her inner muscles clenching and tightening, already so close to climaxing so soon.

“I’m gonna cum, baby,” she whined as she squirmed in his arms.

“No, not yet,” he said, stopping his movements and moving his hand to her waist, stroking her side. She grabbed at his biceps as her body tingled, the fire in her pussy dying down the more she missed the feeling of his hands on her.

Once her breathing had evened out again, he ran his middle and ring fingers through her folds, slicking them up before pushing them inside her eager cunt. She hummed in pleasure as his fingers slid further into her, brushing up against her swollen sweet spot that he tapped a couple of times to gauge her reaction.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned in her ear, making her shiver. “Fuck, I can’t wait to be inside you.”

She whined his name as he started to steadily fuck her with his fingers, driving them into her wetness, hitting her sweet spot expertly and making her moan loudly, her voice bouncing off the bedroom walls.

“Don’t stop, baby,” she moaned. “Please don’t stop.”

“You want me to make you cum?” he purred in her ear, his fingers slowing down slightly. She whimpered and bucked her hips in a pathetic attempt to get him to speed up. “You’re gonna have to beg for me, sweetheart.”

“Please make me cum, Corey,” she moaned, her voice already hoarse. “Please, please make me cum.”

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” he said with a cruel chuckle. “Tell me how much you want it.”

��I want it so bad,” she said with a shuddering breath. “I want to cum on your fingers so hard, I want to cover your fingers, please, baby, let me cum.”

“Then cum for me,” he purred as he fucked her harder with his fingers. It didn’t take much for her orgasm to crash through her body, her cunt clamping down on his fingers as he curled his fingers, helping her to ride her orgasm out. A loud moan ripped its way out of her lungs as she tangled his hair in her fingers, her other hand squeezing his bicep as she spasmed and fought the urge to close her legs.

“Holy shit,” she panted as she tried to get her breath back. He pressed a soft kiss to her sweaty temple and gently pulled his soaking fingers out of her spent pussy.

“Good girl,” he whispered in her ear before stroking her bottom lip with his wet fingers. “Here, taste yourself.”

She took his fingers into her mouth and groaned when the taste of her arousal hit her tongue. She swirled her tongue around his fingers, cleaning them off and swallowing her sweet arousal, her cunt clenching again when she felt his cock twitch on her back.

He removed his fingers from her warm mouth and turned her around to sit in his lap, her wet cunt staining his grey sweatpants. Her hands shook as she raised them to cradle his face, the aftershocks of her orgasm still coursing through her body as she kissed him.

“You feel okay?” he asked her, his palms running up and down her back. She smiled and nodded, words unnecessary. He was getting painfully hard and had to be inside her again. He needed to feel her tight pussy squeezing his cock, to hear her sweet moans again.

“Do you think you’ve got any more left in you?” he asked, already moving her body without waiting for an answer. She nodded and looked at him through hooded eyes, her lips parted as she breathed slowly, her breasts rising and falling. “Good. Lie on your stomach for me.”

She crawled out of his lap and took her position on the bed, resting her head on her folded arms and raising her hips just high enough for him to slide a pillow underneath her. She watched as he removed his clothes, her mouth watering at the sight of his hard cock standing proudly. He straddled her legs and gently stroked her back, relaxing her tightened muscles before he pushed her hair off her shoulders, exposing the nape of her neck to him. Leaning over her, he pressed a gentle kiss to her nape, his lips curving into a smile when he heard her gasp and felt her shiver.

“You ready for me, baby?” he asked, his voice low as he waited for her response. She turned her head to look at him, her hair obscuring half of her face as she opened her mouth to speak, nothing coming out. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Taking hold of her hip in one hand and his cock in the other, he slipped inside her tight cunt, her slick arousal allowing him to enter here with ease. He stilled once he was all the way in, her tightness squeezing him and making his head swim.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” he breathed when he started to move, his length sliding in and out of her, hitting her sweet spot again. Her breathy moans were muffled by the blanket she was lying on, and that just wouldn’t do.

He gathered her hair roughly in his fist and pulled her head up, groaning when the sudden movement made her gasp and her cunt tighten. His lips took their place over her pulse, kissing and biting softly, drawing more moans from her.

“Keep your head up, darling, I want to hear you,” he purred in her ear.

He fucked her harder and gripped her hips tighter, his hips crashing into her ass with delicious slapping sounds. A sharp pang of pleasure shot through his body when she looked over her shoulder at him, her eyes large and pleading, wordlessly begging him to make her cum again and again until she couldn’t take any more.

“You getting close again?” She responded with a whine and bit her lip. “Me too. Tilt your hips for me, play with that clit.”

Her hand slid down and underneath her body to find her swollen clit, still sensitive and aching to be played with. She jumped slightly when her fingers made contact, swirling around the sensitive little button in time with his thrusts.

“Please,” she begged, her voice barely a whisper.

“I can’t hear you, darling, you’ll have to be louder than that,” he teased.

“Please make me cum,” she pleaded louder.

“Still not loud enough.” He angled his hips to grind into her sweet spot.

“Please, baby, please make me cum.”

“Louder.”

“Please, Corey!” she all but yelled. “Please make me cum! Please, please, I want it.”

He leaned over her body, covering her with his own, and kissed behind her ear, making her shiver.

“Then cum for me,” he purred in her ear, holding back his moan.

Her body seized up immediately, her mouth hanging open silently before an ear-splitting moan ripped itself out of her lungs, leaving her breathless as her body shook and spasmed through her orgasm.

“That’s it, good girl,” he crooned, relaxing his grip on her hair and allowing her to flop back down on the bed while he chased after her, his own orgasm starting to catch up to him. “Where do you want me to cum, baby?”

“Inside,” she breathed, her lungs completely spent. “Cum inside me.”

His thrusts sped up and became more forceful, his breath picking up and turning his small huffs and groans into full moans. Hips faltering, he pulled her up by her waist and held her body close to him, biting her shoulder and sucking harshly as he shot his warm cum into her, his body quivering with each pang of pleasure.

Both completely spent and exhausted, they both flopped back onto the bed, breathing heavily before he pulled out of her, rolled off of her body and pulled her on top of him. He kissed her softly and ran his fingers up and down her back as she lazily kissed him back.

“You okay?” he whispered against her mouth. She nodded against him. “I wasn’t too rough, was I?”

“No, you were perfect, baby,” she breathed as she played with his hair.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cum so hard, maybe I should be in charge more often.”

“Maybe, but don’t forget, I like seeing you be a brat.”

#corey taylor x reader #slipknot x reader #slipknot fanfics #slipknot imagine #corey taylor imagine #corey taylor smut #reader insert #rpf #real person fiction #self ship #x reader #*my writing #female reader

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spider-sense-and-sensibility · 9 months

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I know I wasn't tagged but I wanted to think about this - thank you @ladyaj-13 for asking anyone to participate! :)

Rules: List ten books that have stayed with you in some way, don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard - they don’t have to be the “right” or “great” works, just the ones that have touched you.

here we go! I literally just made a list of the first 10 14 books I thought of (and then whittled)

'A Prayer for Owen Meany' by John Irving

I read this in school and it really really struck me - I like things to have meaning, for puzzle pieces to slot together, for metaphors to hit home, and to hear a whole life story, and this book really told the whole story of Owen Meany. That so many things had to happen for the climax of the book to succeed is just so many things slotting together in a satisfying (and sad) way. I've read it a few times since and it means something different each time.

'The Hunger Games Trilogy' by Suzanne Collins

I have never before nor since felt like I visualized a book so thoroughly and completely that I actively set out to do costume plates for all the characters when I first read them. Like I researched stuff and made figure base drawings for all of them and got about 30% through and then the movie came out and I lost it. But truly I saw this so clearly in my mind so kudos to Suzanne for describing stuff so in tune with my brain.

'The Great Gatsby' by F. Scott Fitzgerald

I never had to read this in school, and so it was the first "classic literature" book I read of my own accord. The imagery really does hit you and I can still picture moments in the book as well as the ever present billboard looming over it all.

'The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time' by Mark Haddon

I still think about the way the inner commentary in this book is laid out and how it felt like the way I thought sometimes and yet sometimes so differently. I have a brother on the spectrum and we talked about it and it really just put some stuff into perspective,both in things it got right (for him) and not. Not to mention just being a great mystery book.

'The Princess Bride' by William Goldman

I think this may be the book I have laughed or smiled the most while reading. It is just so funny and the commentary he gives on this "abridged" version of this "famous novel" is just great. And while the story is similar to the movie they are totally different experiences and both excellent in their respective formats.

'Mudlarking: Lost and Found on the River Thames' by Laura Maiklem

I love London. I love social history. I love the history of everyday people and objects. I love collections. I love little treasures of all kinds. I love bodies of water. And this book manages to mix all of those in a wonderful meander down the Thames, telling the history of Londoners as well as the author along the way. I have also mudlarked myself (before it got as complicated as it is today) and it is truly just wild to reach down on the shore of a river and just find pieces of Victorian pottery or Roman roof tiles or animal bones from the 18th century.

'Calvin and Hobbes' by Bill Watterson

Along with reading the strip every Sunday in the paper, we had the collections of comics in our house growing up and I would POUR over them constantly. I think a lot of my humor and some of my social consciousness even stems from reading Calvin and Hobbes.

'The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales' by Jon Scieszka and Lane Smith

I enjoy stories that take familiar tropes or tales and twists them in clever ways, and I think that was born with this book. I loved it as a child. There was humor and silliness threaded throughout - in the endpapers, in the commentary, written really small and really large and it is just such a fun book to read.

'The Lovely Bones' by Alice Sebold

This was a really intriguing look at the afterlife and what it could be, and what it could mean, and the sense of watching life move on without you. I've read it on 3 different plane rides for some reason because it does really draw you in and I still can picture so many little moments from the novel.

'The Poisoner's Handbook' by Deborah Blum

This was a fascinating look at the exponential growth of forensics in 1920s New York, as well as Prohibition and crime in the city and the lives of working people. I never realized just how much literal poison people were willing to put in their bodies to get drunk (although the alcohol we drink today is also technically poison...) and also how much corruption existed (exists) in New York politics. I like true crime to some degree and this was a great story about poisons but also about the two dudes creating and running the forensic laboratory.

Phew! Honorable mention goes to the Baby-Sitters Club for being my personality for a few years, the Series That Shall Not Be Named that was a huge part of me and my siblings lives growing up, a Danielle Steele novel that I read secretly at 11 where the *imagery* realllllly stuck with me, and Sherlock Holmes, where I couldn't pick a favorite but I just like to imagine that Vincent Starrett poem "Here dwell together still two men of note / Who never lived and so can never die...Here, though the world explode, these two survive / And it is always eighteen ninety-five". Also to The Martian and The Perks of Being a Wallflower for being two books I read in one sitting that I can remember at this moment. Books are awesome!

(I'm not a good tagger because I get self conscious but feel free to do this yourself!! Anyone who wants to!)

#long post #reading #books #top ten #tag game

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bramblewatchescharmed · 5 months

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Honestly, one of my major issues with the Charmed reboot is the writing and how there are no consequences ever for anything in this show, like, nothing matters.

There’s a lot of fucked-up stuff about this show’s worldbuilding (and plotlines) that … just aren’t acknowledged in-universe at all? (Aside from everyone in the main and supporting magical cast universally agreeing that the Elder witches are dicks.)

the sheer amount of control the Elder witches have over Whitelighters here compared to Elder Whitelighters in the original show (Whitelighters in the original being humans destined to become Whitelighters after death, but they’re still given the option to actually choose to become Whitelighters, whereas in the reboot they’re random humans chosen by the Elders, mindwiped, and have their soul split in half without their consent or knowledge)

everything about the Darklighters + being forcibly imprisoned in smoke form in bottles, and then once they are released, they’re essentially slaves to whoever freed them with the talisman (holy shit, was that seriously messed up) [and the Vera-Vaughn Charmed Ones are apparently okay with this? given how they treat Jimmy?]

for that matter, as of late season 1 and late season 2 + Harry’s arc in season 4, Whitelighters are extinct, and it’s like none of the characters even care about this

admittedly I’m still “ehh” over the first season’s big twist that demons and witches draw their inherent magical power from the same source (Star Wars did this much better with the Jedi and the Sith, just saying), but that was completely forgotten about for the rest of the show and Abigael’s whole … thing with her witch vs demonic side

actually, for that matter, Abigael stealing Macy’s demonic pyrokinesis to add to her own demonic side by making Macy kneel before her for no apparent reason was incredibly messed up, and there’s no way the writers/director/producers were that blind to the racial optics, right? right???

apparently, according to Josefina, only female witches have active powers in this show’s universe and male witches might as well not be a thing, which… so then female witches are forced to interbreed with humans, Whitelighters, and demons to keep the witch population going, no? (Galvin’s grandmother was canonically a witch, but Galvin himself explicitly was not, so if male witches did exist with active powers on this show, Galvin should have been our introduction to male witches in this show’s universe… but he wasn’t.)

Harry’s whole storyline across the show was a major mess and total clusterfuck, because what. Not to mention what the Veras’ final decision was regarding Jimmy, because gods was that messed up (they basically just magically brainwashed him and we’re supposed to be okay with this because he’s a Darklighter and they’re the protagonists? nah, miss me with that)

the Elders really just straight-up tossed the first-ever Whitelighter/Darklighter they made into an insane asylum hundreds of years ago because they didn’t like the result and wanted to cover it up, huh.

there was a whole war on witches by demons for the first half of season 2, but after Abigael became Demon Overlord the Veras just… don’t have to worry about that anymore? even though they had no real reason to trust Abigael after all the shady shit she’d pulled and had no guarantee she wouldn’t start the war up again?

It feels like the writers played darts or spun the wheel or something in the writers’ room to figure out what they would put in each episode and then never thought through the implications of anything they wrote. Good grief.

That’s not even counting all the various showrunner teams trying to one-up each other with every new season and this show having even worse continuity than the original show.

#( Bramble watches Charmed 2018. )#anti Charmed 2018

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nbmsports · 10 months

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2023 French Open men's final: Novak Djokovic on cusp of historic 23rd grand slam as he faces Casper Ruud for title

CNN — For years, the ‘Big Three’ of men’s tennis – Roger Federer, Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic – have hoovered up grand slams, each providing their own reasons to be crowned as the greatest men’s player of all time. Now, with Federer retired and Nadal injured, Djokovic has an opportunity to stake his own claim in that unending debate and win a record 23rd grand slam title on Sunday at the French Open, surpassing the mark he currently holds with Nadal. Standing in Djokovic’s way is Casper Ruud, who has now reached three of the last five grand slam finals, including last year’s final at Roland Garros where he was dismantled 6-3 6-3 6-0 by Nadal. If Djokovic can win on Sunday, he will also return to the top of the world rankings and become the first male player to win each grand slam tournament at least three times. Such pressure, however, is familiar to the Serb, he said after his semifinal victory. “History is always something that’s hovering over me, but I’m very happy to be in this position to write history of this sport,” he said, according to the ATP Tour. “I’m just thinking about winning the next match. “Pressure is always on my shoulders, so it’s not going to be different. But it’s part of my sport, part of my life, all that I do. I think that having pressure is a privilege. But it’s a source of motivation, as well. Great motivation to play well and to reach Sunday.”

It has been a relatively straightforward route to the final for Djokovic, as he has dropped just two sets – one against Karen Khachanov in the quarterfinals and one against the No. 1 seed Carlos Alcaraz in the semifinals. That match against Alcaraz had been billed as a classic, but in the end, Djokovic coasted to victory after the young Spaniard suffered from cramp at the beginning of the third set, with the match finely poised at a set apiece. The Serb has been imperious in grand slams during the last three years, a loss to Nadal at the French Open last year the only blemish at the majors in which he has been able to compete. But lining up against such a dominant player is a familiar position for Ruud as he faces an opponent seeking to break or extend their record grand slam title total for the second consecutive year. “Last year it was against Rafa, this year it’s against Novak, so what can you say? It’s two of the toughest players in history,” Ruud said after his semifinal victory, according to the Guardian. “I’ve got to be the underdog like today, playing without too many feelings, just try to enjoy.” The 24-year-old Norwegian has never even won a set against Djokovic, losing all four of their matches, and that gulf ensures that he will walk onto court as the underdog, though he can now draw on the experience of two previous grand slam final appearances.

“It’s going to be tough, for sure,” Ruud said, according to the ATP Tour. “He’s playing for his 23rd. I’m playing for my first. So I’m going to just try to play without pressure and just try to enjoy the moment. “I think that was my mentality last year (against Nadal) as well, and it didn’t go my way. Obviously, I would like to try to do better than last year. Let’s see if I have learned something from the two previous (major finals) that I played last year. It just feels great to be back.” Despite coming into the tournament after a mixed start to the season, Ruud has found his form, winning against a top-10 player at a grand slam for the first time when he defeated Holger Rune in the quarterfinals, and dismantling Alexander Zverev in the semifinals. That semifinal performance will galvanize Ruud ahead of the final, as he seeks to upset the odds and take a first grand slam title. Source link Read the full article

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deepdarkdelights · 2 years

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Pygmalion | Taehyung x Reader

Pairing: Vampire Taehyung x Reader

Word Count: 11.7k

Series: (4/7) Predator Universe

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Kidnapping, Obsession, Fear, Non-Consensual Kissing, Non-Consensual Touching, Symptoms of Panic/Anxiety, Stalking, Mentions of Murder, Depictions of Gore, Blood, Lot’s of Blood, Like Intense Amounts of it, Mentions of Painting with Blood, Tae Basically Draws Lude Fanart of the MC, Insecure MC, Mentions of Childhood Bullying, MC Deals with Symptoms of Body Dysmorphia, MC Has Incredibly Low Self Esteem

I do not condone the acts displayed in this story nor do I believe any members of BTS would actually engage in this type of behavior. This is simply written for entertainment purposes and should not be taken as a reflection of my own values, opinions, or morals.

Preview: “Then let me show you how persuasive I can be,” He breathed, resting his hands on the desk on either side of you.

He leaned in a bit closer to you, his eyelashes fluttering subtly as his gaze traveled over every inch of your face. It was almost as if he was just as mesmerized by you as you were of him. The only difference was the fact that your knees were trembling beneath your weight on the verge of collapsing, you were about to go boneless.

And he hadn’t even said a word.

A/N: It’s almost 2 in the morning and I am delirious from lack of sleep, that midnight motivation really had me in a chokehold. I’ll edit this tomorrow I just need to get it out so I can sleep tonight lol. As always, I hope you enjoy and I hope to see you in the comments and in my inbox 💜💜💜

Your lips were pressed together firmly as you exhaled from your nose.

Your fingers fiddled anxiously with the shiny pearlescent buttons of your coat, you were in one of those moods again. You didn’t like to put a name to the feeling, for as long as you could remember it was better leaving it as one of those things that were to be left unsaid. The only way you could describe it was a strange sense of claustrophobia in your own skin.

You thought that you had been doing better, it had been weeks since you last felt like this and you were so certain that you were on the road to recovery. But the feeling liked to creep up on you when you least expected it as well as at the worst times possible.

You wanted to be better, you really did, but that was part of the problem. Years of feeling like you could be better, like you were nothing, had dragged you down into this cyclone of wretched feelings. There were days in between where you felt “normal” but those days had so often been overpowered and thrown into the shadows by those horrible thoughts that never totally went away.

It was on days like these, cloudy, foggy, and wet with mist, that their words would echo in the back of your mind.

“Ugly,”

“Boring,”

“Worthless,”

“Fat.”

They reminded you, that despite the popular saying, their words had indeed hurt you. A broken bone will mend itself, a cut will clot and stop bleeding, and bruises will mellow and fade away. But words when hurled at someone like stones have the same pain as a physical wound. The only discrepancy? Their impacts make craters that last a lifetime and sometimes never go away.

You were living proof that this was something you don’t just “get over.” Despite your years worth of attempts, you were still the same. You still cried yourself to sleep far too often, pulled at the skin of your stomach and thighs, and begged for a metaphysical force to fix you because some days you didn’t have the strength to pull together your fractured pieces.

Even now, you could feel your arms subconsciously wrapping around yourself, your forearms pressing tightly against the flesh of your lower abdomen in an attempt to hide something that no one was looking at. That didn’t matter though, when you got to feeling like this, you could feel thousands of invisible eyes digging into every part of you that you despised.

But, according to everyone else, you needed to “just get over it.”

Oh. If only you could.

“Beautiful,” A voice mused beside you, it was deep and rich and startled you.

With a jolt, you stepped to the side and took a look at the man beside you. Almost immediately upon seeing him you felt your heart thud and your mouth go dry. If you didn’t know any better, you would have assumed one of the marble sculptures in the room had come alive and spoken to you, he was that gorgeous.

“What?” You breathed, your brows pinching together in a show of confusion.

“Beautiful,” He repeated, a soft smile on his lips as he looked at you.

You had heard what he said, but once more you had become distracted by him. His eyes were a rich, burgundy color. A blend of dark brown and hues of russet. They weren’t totally dark, but they weren’t a true red. But what they were, was stunning. What you would give to find a color match for those intense irises of his.

He was looking at you now with an amused smile, one that had you coming to the realization that he must have been talking about the art piece that was hanging on the wall in front of the two of you because how could he be talking about you?

“Oh, oh!” You chuckled with a shake of your head, “It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

You gestured towards the piece in front of you, your teacher persona sliding into place seamlessly. “Are you familiar with Vante?”

His lips pressed together in amusement like he was stifling a laugh. His fingers grazed his mouth in an attempt to hide a smile that was struggling to free itself. But you, you didn’t notice, you were far too enraptured with his hands. Your own fingers twitched, the sudden need for your sketchbook overtaking you. You weren’t so sure if you were a great artist, you tended to have problems coming up with ideas and relaying them on paper or whatever medium you desired. The analogy that you liked to use was that of a printer, you were good at seeing an image and copying it down by eye. But originality? That was hard to come by and that drew another tally under your column of self-contempt. But, in spite of all of those feelings, you had an even stronger urge to immortalize him in your own binds of paper. You were certain you would never see a more attractive man for the rest of your life.

“I can’t say that I am.” He finally managed to say, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile that was even more unique than the rest of him.

And before you could stop yourself your mouth began moving and words poured out of your lips like it was your last chance to speak.

“Oh! You should see his entire gallery, it really is impressive how many works he has! I swear, he has to be one of the rare artists that has somehow mastered all mediums, but he really thrives in photography and painting. Well, I am a little biased considering those are all of my favorite pieces, but I also know I’m right.”

“Really? You think he’s that good?” He said with a slight tilt of his head.

“Of course! I’ve never seen anyone else be able to capture emotion in a piece like he can. The use of color, techniques, and brush strokes! It all seems so deliberate even in his most relaxed works!”

“Hm, what do you think of this one then?” He mused, gesturing to the painting on the wall.

“Oh, this one is my favorite.” You smiled, “It’s not one of his most popular works but I just love it so much. I think it may be the model, perhaps. She’s so lovely, so perfect from this view. You can just tell how much he admired this woman but there’s also a degree of mourning from the use of color. It’s a very complicated piece, emotion-wise, of course.”

“She looks pretty average to me.” The man said with a wrinkle of his nose. “Maybe he did like her, but this seems more of like a ‘good riddance’ than a ‘please don’t go’.”

“What? No way, there were obviously some strong emotions here. For instance, the use of red on the pillows for passion and the cool blues of the curtains for mourning, they contrast perfectly while also blending seamlessly at the edges. That would suggest the dying flames of passion for sure.”

The man shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat before turning to look at you fully, a soft smirk on his face. “Did you ever consider that maybe he had blue curtains for no other reason except that he really liked the color blue? Or maybe that the pillows were already there when he decided to paint?”

You stopped for a moment, your mouth hanging open as if you were getting ready to fight the very notion but you had nothing. “I...you know what? I think I spent a lot of money at a really expensive school to just stand here and analyze pillows.”

That one made him laugh and God was it contagious, so contagious that you found yourself laughing alongside him. And that was when the embarrassment finally kicked in, heat flooding your face as you realized that you had incessantly talked his ear off about something he may not even be interested in.

“Hm...I think you’re right. The painting is beautiful too.”

Too? Surely...he couldn’t have been talking about you before? Right? You couldn’t fathom the idea that there was even a slim chance he was talking about you of all people. Not when he himself walked around like a Grecian statue come to life.

So you did what you did best when you were nervous, you kept talking.

“He’s rather interesting, you know, beyond his work.”

The man’s face perked up once more in interest, his body shifting closer to you sending more floods of heat to your face. “Really how so?”

“Uh, well,” You swallowed, attempting to gather yourself, “He’s been active since the 1920s, but somehow works are still being produced under his moniker.”

“Hm...and how do you think that’s possible?”

“Well, the only conclusion I could come to is that he has an artist guild of some kind, a devoted group that studied his techniques close enough to produce works similar to his. But, if that’s true, then they have been doing a great job of keeping their existence a secret. The pieces keep getting produced but no one has ever come forward and said anything. Logically there would be at least one person who couldn’t keep it to themselves, you know? I mean, that’s why his works are only considered ‘genuine’ from his first piece in the late 20s to about the 80s and...I’m talking too much aren’t I?”

“No, not at all, I want to hear what you have to say.” He smiled, his gaze trailing over your parted lips.

“Oh.” You dumbly choked.

“What about his recent work? How do you feel about that?”

He was good at pushing and pulling you like the gentle low tides of the ocean. He knew how to surprise and soothe you like he had known you all your life. With those two simple sentences, your bashfulness was forgotten.

“Should I be honest?”

“Brutally.” He encouraged.

“I hate it.”

“You hate it?”

“I loathe it. Not many people would agree with me but you can admire someone without expressing complete devotion. I think, in part, the question of the genuineness of the works affects my opinion. But more so I find myself not being able to connect with it. It feels tired, repetitive. It lacks that spark and eagerness that his earlier works possess. These just feel like copies of the originals.”

Your companion had fallen silent beside you. A focused and somewhat bitter look appeared on his strong features. Oh, there was no doubt in your mind that you had managed to insult him with your opinion. After a few moments of silence, he finally spoke, raising his head so that his intense irises could connect with your own.

“There are quite a few people that would disagree with you.”

“Hm? Oh, I’m certain there are. But at the end of the day, it’s my opinion and I don’t really want to change it. Besides, he is just another dead artist isn’t he?”

“Teacher?” A little voice asked in time with a sudden pull on the hem of your coat.

Upon looking down you were met with one of your students, a little girl in a school uniform with adorable little plaits in her hair.

“What is it, Eunseo?” You asked gently, bending slightly at your knees to get a better look at her, your gaze flickering between her and your companion who was observing the interaction with keen interest.

“Yejun went under the rope and won’t come back.” She said, urgency in her voice as she pulled at her skirt.

“Under the rope…” You uttered before you finally put two and two together.

Your eyes flew open wide as you looked all around the room, and sure enough, there was Yejun who had managed to crawl under the velvet rope that blocked off guests from the art exhibits. He was incredibly close to a rather large marble sculpture and, to your absolute horror, was trailing his fingers all over it.

Today you and their regular teacher had taken your kindergarten art class on a school field trip to the museum that was about an hour and a half outside of your small town: Briar Hills. At first, you had been rather excited to show the adorable kids something you were so passionate about. But that morning had proven to be trifling. You and one other person were in charge of a class of twenty students. You had barely managed to get them all on the bus and keep them occupied for the long (long for them) trip.

Yejun was a sweet little boy, he was rather quiet and tended to keep to himself but other than that he was a fantastic student when it came to six-year-old art, of course.

Your heart was pounding in your chest from a mixture of embarrassment and fear. You could already hear the museum director banning you from the establishment. What would everyone think of you? What about Yejun’s parents?! Oh god, his parents. But more importantly, what about Yejun? That piece was so old. What if there was a fault in the marble? What if one wrong touch made it crack and fracture and fall on top of him?!

You quickly took hold of Eunseo’s hand and rushed over to the exhibit where your class as well as their teacher had already gathered, your companion left behind, forgotten.

“Yejun, come back here right now!” Their teacher was whisper yelling in an attempt to get the young boy’s attention without attracting the other guests.

Yejun paid her no mind, his wide brown eyes trained on the sculpture in front of him, his little fingers grazing the base of it and whatever was within his reach.

“Yejun! If you don’t come back here right this instant you are going to be in so much trouble!” She cried, attempting to scare him into returning.

Yejun did not care.

Your hands grasped the velvet rope tightly, the plush material collapsing slightly under your grip. You could feel Eunseo still tugging at your skirt, a panicked look on her face that you were certain matched your own.

You whipped your head from left to right and all around, trying to see if anyone was approaching. Your heartbeat quickened in stress as you realized that more and more of the guests were beginning to realize what was going on. It wouldn’t be long before the curator or the director came by and then you would really be in for it.

Your gaze settled on the man once more, and to your surprise he didn’t seem as concerned as everyone else was. His expression was unreadable but his face was intense, he was watching your every move with laser focus. Those dark, burgundy eyes were digging into every part of your body, from head to toe.

You let out a shaky breath, allowing yourself to close your eyes for a moment before you decided what you were going to do.

“Fuck it.” You mumbled before sliding under the rope exactly like Yejun had done.

You approached him slowly so that you wouldn’t startle him. You couldn’t describe the feeling that was swarming you. You had seen that particular sculpture many times before, but looking at it now closer than you had ever been before from angles that you had never seen in person, it was uncanny. Like a school at night-time, or an empty playground, or a grocery store at two in the morning, it felt uncanny.

“Yejun,” You kindly called, attempting to mask your anxiety with a soft smile.

The little boy wobbled unsteadily as he suddenly turned from the sound of your voice so close. He smiled after a moment when he realized it was you.

“It’s very pretty isn’t it?” You said, inching closer to him with your smile still in place.

“Very, teacher,” he grinned, “I couldn’t see from over there.”

“Yeah, it’s not very fair that they make us stand so far away, huh?” You fake sighed before squatting down a few feet behind him, he was almost in grabbing distance.

“You know, if you let me, I could pick you up and then you could see it even better. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

The little boy’s eyes lit up in pure excitement at the idea, a wide grin spreading over his chubby cheeks, “Really?”

“For real,” You said, your smile tight and uncomfortable on your face. The quicker you convinced him the faster you could get out of there and hide yourself away in the back of the school bus in embarrassment.

“Okay!” He agreed enthusiastically before rushing into your arms.

Your hand cupped the back of his head, your other arm winding around his back before you lifted him up securely in your arms. You rushed back to the velvet rope, carrying Yejun back to his classmates as he whined out protests when he realized you had lied to him. One day, he would realize that you needed to lie to him for his own good.

You set him down in front of his regular teacher, her hand quickly wrapping itself around his wrist and keeping him by her side.

“We should take them back to the bus before anyone else notices what happened.” You said to your coworker, her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

You did a quick head count, making sure everyone was where they should be before lingering at the back of the group to make sure there were no stragglers. You were just relieved that you were finally leaving.

“Miss? May we have a word with you?” An authoritative voice sounded behind you bringing your group to a stop.

Fuck, you had been so close to making it out of there.

Your co-worker looked back at you nervously, her eyes darting between you and the man that was definitely the curator behind you.

“Get the kids back to the bus and take them to the school,” You sighed, “I’ll take the public bus home.”

You had been right when you thought that today was going to be a bad day, that feeling you had had warned you and you tried to ignore it.

Now look where that got you.

~~~~~~~

The fog was even thicker when you had finally left the museum.

It was a miracle that you, and the school by association, hadn’t been banned from ever returning. It had taken almost an hour of explanations and watery tears on the brink of running over for them to finally agree to not keep you and your class from ever coming back.

It was lucky that you were a regular there and that at least showed that you had some degree of respect for the museum. You weren’t so sure that the results would have been the same had you not been.

You wrapped your arms around yourself tighter, another attempt to give yourself a self soothing gesture. It was safe to say that you had just had your worst day ever, an actual nightmare come true. And now you were going to have to struggle with public transportation when you should be back in your classroom packing up for the day.

A quick glance at your phone showed you that it was already two o’clock, the school would be dismissing the students in half an hour and the bus ride back to the school would take at least an hour and a half. You could feel the familiar swirl of anxiety flutter in your stomach at the idea that your schedule had been so greatly disrupted. This was surely going to affect your lesson plans.

You let out a disgruntled sigh before pocketing your phone and beginning the walk towards the bus stop. But, with each step you took you became painfully aware of the second set of footsteps that were matching your pace perfectly, so perfectly in fact that it sounded like yours were echoing.

Given any other circumstance, this would not have alarmed you. But now here you were alone, separated from your students, and traveling through a thick fog and the eerie silence. It felt all too quiet despite where the museum was, no cars were passing by and even if they were you wouldn’t be able to see them, the fog so dense and menacing that not even a headlight would be able to permeate it if a driver were foolish enough to have them on.

All you could hear were the soft puffs of breath that parted your lips, the tap of your footsteps and the other’s, and all you could feel was the gentle touch of the breeze over your cheek. You were once again struck with that sickening feeling of the uncanny.

You hastened your footsteps and your heart jolted as the other set quickened their pace as well. You knew you weren’t thinking irrationally this time, there was intent in those footsteps. In a normal situation, the other person wouldn’t have rushed to match your pace, they would have continued on with their own business. Someone was vying for your attention.

You were feeling a mixture of emotions, but most prominent was confusion. How was this person even able to follow you? The fog was so thick that even you were struggling to make out the outline of the bus stop.

A sudden grip on your wrist forced a frightened shriek past your lips. The long fingers covering your skin were ice cold and firm as if a corpse had emerged from the fog and held you tight in its clutches.

“Hey, it’s just me.” A familiar voice said as you rested your hand over your heart that was violently pumping beneath your hand.

“It’s only me,” He smiled with a soft laugh, his burgundy eyes vivid in spite of the fog.

“You scared me,” You breathed, allowing your tense shoulders to relax.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Your hands softly dragged down your face tiredly before you spoke, “It’s alright, I’m just a little on edge after today.”

“Oh, you mean after you trespassed?”

“I - I didn’t trespass!” You choked.

“That’s not what it looked like to me,” He said with a teasing smile. “And that’s definitely not what it looked like to the curator.”

“Oh really? Then how come I’m still allowed to come back?”

“Maybe because I put in a good word for you.”

“What? Why would your word matter?” Well, that came out harsher than you intended it to.

“You could say I’m an investor of sorts.”

“Well, why would you bother to help me then?” You asked, unused to favor free kindness. You could feel your eyes narrow and your brows pinch together, your body was set in defense, waiting.

“Oh!” His eyes lit up in excitement as his hands slipped down your wrist to cup your hand, pulling you closer to him and setting your cheeks aflame. “I want you to be my muse.”

As soon as those words left his mouth your blood chilled, an uncomfortable tightness wrapped itself around your throat and those thoughts returned, whispering your lack of worth in the back of your mind. He had to be lying, perhaps even playing a cruel joke on you, it wouldn’t be the first time.

“No.” You immediately spat out, attempting to tug your hands out of his hold only for his grip to tighten.

“What? Why not?” He asked, a look of pure shock evident in his stunning features, almost as if no one had ever denied him of anything.

“Look, we had a nice conversation and all but I don’t even know your name and-”

“Taehyung.” He immediately interrupted as if that knowledge would be enough to change your mind.

“Taehyung,” You repeated, causing a smile to curl his lips, “and I’m not interested in being portrayed as some oddity that’s so ugly that it’s beautiful. I’ve had enough of that in my life and I don’t need it with a perfect stranger.”

“Ugly?” He repeated, a look of intense disgust taking over his features, “How could you even think that?”

You remained silent as he continued to stare at you, waiting for you to form some kind of response. As you were thinking, you noticed the faint rumble of the incoming bus.

“The bottom line is that I’m not interested, find someone else to turn into a fun little project.” You firmly stated before successfully freeing yourself from his bruising hold and walking in the direction of the bus.

As the doors swung open and you began to take your first step inside you heard him call out to you.

“You know you’re beautiful, don’t you?”

You pursed your lips so tightly that it hurt, your body ramrod straight. And then you shook your head and fully entered the bus, the doors sliding shut behind you.

You refused to be a joke to anyone but yourself because, in the grand scheme of things, you believed you were a Picasso in a gallery of Rembrandt’s.

~~~~~~~

The rest of the week passed by without a hitch. You held your classes as usual, within the building thankfully, and your lesson plans had worked seamlessly which was already raising red flags in your mind. Due to your background, you tended to expect the worst when things were going considerably well. You wouldn’t say that you were a pessimist, maybe superstitious would be a better title.

And what was even more frustrating was that you couldn’t get him out of your head no matter how hard you tried.

Your mind was at war with itself. A part of you genuinely wanted to believe that someone like him could find you beautiful, but the other half was too emotionally battered to believe that, not even a little.

Your hand had been moving in endless circles and swoops almost mindlessly at this point with a pencil held tightly between your fingers. Your students’ work laid upon the drying rack, organic watercolor blobs stained the surface of the paper. You should be checking on them, you should be going over your plans for the next week, but instead, you were held fast in a bout of motivation.

You groaned in frustration, throwing your pencil aside as you slumped down into your chair. Multiple sets of charcoal eyes were staring back at you from the page. His stupid, perfect face had been burned into your mind and no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, it bled out of you and into your work.

Your fingers wearily rubbed circles into your temples in a soothing manner, why couldn’t you just forget? Why did you always have to dwell?

“Is that me?” A deep voice asked, the sound coming from behind your right shoulder.

A loud scream shot through the room, the wheels of your chair practically spinning out from underneath you as you quickly rose to your feet.

And, to your horror, you had not imagined his voice. Taehyung was there, in the flesh, standing in front of your chalkboard in your elementary art classroom. It would have been comical to see someone who looked so serious surrounded by finger paintings had he not scared the shit out of you and for the very fact that he was not supposed to be there in the first place.

“Why is it that every time I see you you’re always screaming?” He asked with a pout.

“How are you even here?!” You shrieked, slightly embarrassed by the fact that he was right while also wondering if you had the ability to summon people and you were just discovering it.

But, most importantly, you were worried. You had met this man one time and you hadn’t even told him your name yet he had somehow managed to figure out what school you taught at and even managed to find your exact classroom in the building. To be honest, you were frightened, and rightfully so.

“Hm? Oh, I spoke with the curator. He told me the name of the visiting school from that day and here I am.” He explained, pressing closer to you so he could see past your body to the sketches that littered your desk.

You frantically spun around, scooping the pages up and hiding them in a stray folder before putting them in your desk drawer and slamming it shut.

“You won’t let me see my own face?”

“You can look in a mirror, you have a reflection don’t you?” You shot back, your tone uncharacteristically hostile as he stifled a chuckle with wide eyes.

But who wouldn’t be in your situation? A man you had spoken to once had tracked you down like some stalker after asking you to be his muse. He had all the makings of a serial killer at this rate and if you had any sense of self-preservation you would be calling the authorities. The most dangerous people had the prettiest faces, didn’t they?

“You really should leave, as far as I’m concerned you're trespassing.”

“Well, how the tables have turned,” He laughed, “Don’t you even want to know what I’m doing here?”

“Oh, I know very well what you’re doing here and the answer is still no.”

“Well, I’m afraid to inform you that I’m rather persistent.”

“I can tell.” You said, your lower back digging into the desk behind you as you had nowhere else to go.

“Then let me show you how persuasive I can be,” He breathed, resting his hands on the desk on either side of you.

You were hit with a few sensations all at once. The first was his scent, it was almost indescribable but it was just so inviting. It made you want to lean into him and be drowned by it. The second was his eyes, they were even darker than before, bordering an onyx shade instead of the deep burgundy you had remembered. And thirdly, you were once more bombarded by his beautiful face. It was unfairly perfect, so perfect it would make the most talented sculptors cry. There was not a blemish in sight, just smooth, perfect skin. He had the longest eyelashes, the straightest nose, and not to mention the most perfectly proportioned and supple lips you had ever laid your eyes on.

And he hadn’t even said a word.

Just like an innocent little rabbit, you had been cornered by the fiercest predator.

“I have so many plans for you,” he sighed, his cool breath ghosting over your neck. You hadn’t even realized just how close he had gotten to such a vulnerable place.

“Won’t you hear me out, honey?” He begged.

And there go your knees.

Before you could hit the floor he caught you beneath your arms and pulled you into his chest which shook with delighted laughter, “Well, I didn’t think it would go over that well!”

Your face had never felt so hot before. Not only were you incredibly attracted to him but you were also embarrassed, maybe even more embarrassed than you had been at the museum. You were going to blame it on your lack of male interaction. You had never received attention like this from anyone before, especially not from someone as beautiful as Taehyung.

And, maybe if you weren’t so distracted by him, you would have noticed quite a few things. The biggest thing was that despite the fact that your cheek was pressed up against his chest you neither felt nor heard a heartbeat. It was completely and utterly silent.

Taehyung chuckled to himself, picking you up from underneath your arms and spurring a squeak out of your mouth as he sat you down on your own desk. You released a few flustered breaths, pressing your hands to your cheeks in an attempt to calm yourself down. Taehyung occupied himself with his bag, popping it open and rummaging through it before removing a camera that was worth more than your own life.

After pressing a few buttons he clicked his tongue and spoke, “This was more along the lines of how I wanted to persuade you.”

He turned the camera towards you, showing you the screen. Once you had finally collected yourself, you lowered your hands and reluctantly looked at what he was showing you.

It was you, more specifically, it was you from that day at the museum. The picture had been taken from the side, you could make out your own expression, a blend of panic and relief. You could faintly see Yejun’s head, but his face was obscured by your own head. Your hand was delicately cradling the young boy and your head was slightly tilted back.

If you were being honest, it was the most flattering picture someone else had ever taken of you. And it was completely organic.

You could feel your eyes faintly stinging as an intense emotion welled up inside your chest. The days where you found yourself even remotely average were far and few in between, the ugliness of your thoughts vastly overwhelming your perception. But in this one moment, you felt pretty. And all you wanted to do was cry.

“I’ve been looking for someone like you for such a long time, I don’t think you understand just how much I need you.”

“I…I don’t know if-”

“At least give me a chance, just one session, that's all I ask. And if you don’t like it then you never have to do it again, I’ll leave you be.” He cut you off, his hands cupping yours once more, effectively drawing you into his magnetic trance again.

“Please, say yes.”

Your fingers trembled against his, they were so long and pretty and just perfect for his craft. They steadied yours, his fingers smoothing over your shaking hands. His onyx eyes were staring into your own, so big and so pleading you were struggling to say no.

It was just once, right? What could go wrong?

“Yes.”

~~~~~~~

Taehyung couldn’t deny the fact that he was a hopeless romantic.

Ever since he could remember he always viewed love through a fairytale-like lens. Love at first sight, dramatic twists and turns, and endless longing. But he could recognize his faults, and his fault was that he was known to fall in and out of love at an extraordinary rate.

He was nothing like Jimin though, his serial romantic friend. Jimin never sought love, only pleasure. The same couldn’t be said now of course, and Taehyung found himself marinating in a stew of jealousy. How could someone who so clearly avoids attachment be bound before himself? It simply wasn’t fair.

Taehyung had had his fair share of lovers over the years. If there was anything that Yoongi was right about in regards to immortality, it was that it could get lonely and fairly boring. But, none of his lovers had ever fully met his expectations. They fueled his art and therefore made him money, and they kept him well fed. But these muses never stayed around for long. When the inspiration melted away and the passion died, so did they. And then, it was like they never meant anything to him. They were merely obstacles in his way to finding true companionship.

Taehyung began to flip through the photographs that were spread over his table. These were his last works of his previous muse, his final bursts of inspiration before those flames of passion dwindled to embers and pitifully died out.

The first few pictures she looked happy, her cheeks flushed and glowing with her hair sprawled about around her, her body lounging on his bed. But as each picture progressed it became evident that something was wrong, there was fear in her eyes and it was exhilarating to him. And then there was the final picture, his masterpiece of her series.

Her body was still on the bed, but this time her limbs were limp with dead weight. Her eyes were glossy and empty, her lips parted from her dying breath. And his favorite part was the color. The sheets, the walls, and her clothes were white but were contrasted with the ruby pigment of her freshly spilled blood. Her throat had been ruthlessly ripped open, the red rushing down her pretty neck, over her collarbones, shoulders, and breasts, and all over the satin sheets. There were gorgeous strokes of blood over the walls from when his fangs had ripped at her major artery, geysers erupting from her writhing body. His ravenous hunger had always been a problem that he blamed on his previous life.

Taehyung winced at the feeling of his fangs descending on reflex from his gums, their sharpened points striking his tongue and drawing out a pool of black blood into his mouth. His tongue swiped over his teeth and fangs, hunger rumbling from his stomach.

Even though he was looking at her, he could only think about you. He could only see you in her place, curled up in his sheets, staring up at him with glistening eyes full of tears that were on the brink of spilling over. His breath was caught in his chest as he thought about licking up your tears, lapping at your lips, and drinking whatever you would give him. He was certain your blood would be the best he had ever tasted, the others bitter compared to your heavenly aroma and body.

And he knew that he wouldn’t have to wait much longer to have you. He knew that he didn’t want to kill you, not you, his one and only perfect muse. You had so much potential and he wanted to help you actualize that.

He could still feel the burn of anger he felt when you degraded his recent works, then again you had no way of knowing he was Vante. After all, it should be impossible. How could you even think that he was the same person? That still didn’t ebb his frustration. No, he would immortalize you in his own creations, he would prove to you he wasn’t boring and repetitive. You would make sure of that.

Being with you, it reminded him of the time before Namjoon. That was when he was young, reckless with his money, and driven for his passion. Creating had been as natural as breathing for him, it had been his purpose.

And then the stock market crashed and he lost everything, his fame, his money, his supposed friends. It was just him and Jimin in a cramped little shack just trying to survive. He would have gone crazy if it weren’t for his friend, Jimin kept him grounded, he had kept him sane. He was the only one that had stayed. And when Namjoon came along, offering them another chance at life, an easy way to satiate the constant hunger that gnawed away at him, he took it without another thought. He could regain his purpose, he could create forever and never die. He could be immortal.

And he loved it.

So, he had to kill a few people, they would die eventually anyways it wasn’t really that big of a deal. And it made him so, so, so creative. Who knew that blood could be a medium, it worked with paint. The only problem was that it never stayed its true, beautiful, crimson shade. It turned to rust, browning as the air ate away at it. That’s why he preferred photography nowadays, it captured the color perfectly and it never faded away.

His body was thrumming with excitement, he couldn’t wait to mold you into his perfect lover, his beautiful muse. You would be the Galatea to his Pygmalion, the creator that falls in love with their creation.

He knew you would realize just how beautiful you were when your bodies were tangled together and completely coated in blood, the perfect scene of sin.

He would never grow tired of you, his stunning Galatea.

Taehyung’s nose scrunched up at the sudden bouquet of aromas that flooded his nose, his eyes flicking up to look out the floor-to-ceiling windows of his studio. The studio was separate from the main house, surrounded by the thick greenery of the forest.

There was something special about each member of their “family.” They all had a heightened sense or gift they carried over from their previous lives and Taehyung’s was his sight. All vampires had better sight than humans, but none matched his own. He could see the furthest, the clearest, and the most. In pitch-black darkness, he could make out everyone in his vicinity with almost perfect clarity. And his peripherals were unmatched, he never missed a single movement that dared to even remotely enter his field of view. It had been overwhelming when he turned and woke for the first time, but now he cherished it more than anything.

He could make out someone running through the forest, the dirt spraying up from beneath their shoes, panicked gasps for air parting their lips as they dodged trees and branches in the dark. And slowly prowling behind them was Hoseok, his bright red eyes glowing in the shadows of the night.

Taehyung calmly stood, gathering his photos and putting them away before he opened the large glass door, stepping out into the night.

“Hoseok,” He greeted with a soft smile, running his hand through his own dark hair.

“Hello, Taehyung,” He greeted, coming to a stop in front of his fellow coven member.

“You wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the human that just ran by would you?” He asked, knowing full well that Hoseok had everything to do with it.

“You mean my dinner?”

“Am I interrupting? You can go on, I just haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I’m not worried about it, it’s more fun to feed on them when they think they’ve gotten away.”

It was true that Hoseok didn’t seem the slightest bit worried that his prey was getting away, and that’s because he didn’t have to worry. Hoseok was the fastest vampire he had ever met and vampires were already faster than the average human. But all others of his kind paled in comparison to Hoseok. When Taehyung had first seen him demonstrate his speed he had thought the man had teleported. That human was not making it out of the forest alive, that was certain.

“I was visiting our little Jungkookie,” Hoseok said with a smirk, his head craning back as he slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Oh? So that’s where you’ve been. How’s the fledgling doing?”

“More like who’s he doing,” Hoseok chuckled. “He’s been hanging around this little human.”

“And they’re still breathing?” Taehyung asked in utter disbelief.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, he’s still playing his games, he’s slaughtered any hiker that’s strayed off the trails. But the girl, well she’s still very much alive but she’s very weak. He’s been gorging himself, now that, that is very unlike him.”

“That….that is very strange.”

“Oh and there’s more, he practically ripped my head off when I approached him. I asked if he was willing to let me play one of his games with him and he snapped. He said ‘his human was off limits,”

“Are you going to tell Namjoon?”

“There’s not really a point in doing that, you know how Namjoon is with the young ones, they can do no wrong. I’ll leave him be for now, but he’ll be coming home soon. I told him it was only a matter of time before Namjoon came to get him himself.”

“You don’t think he’ll bring the human with him, do you?”

“I don’t know what game he’s playing this time, but if he wants to stir up trouble then yeah, I think he would.”

Their supposed family was already having enough problems with Yoongi’s girl and Jimin’s absence, Namjoon hadn’t found out about his little pet yet. The last thing that Taehyung needed was more problems with the introduction of another human. Not to mention, this would make it much harder for him to play with his own little project. Namjoon would be on high alert.

“I’ve kept you waiting long enough,” Taehyung finally said, breaking the silence, “Go on, enjoy your meal.”

“Oh, I will,” Hoseok laughed, and in the blink of an eye he vanished into thin air, or so it seemed.

And, not long after, a blood curdling scream echoed through the forest like a gunshot. And then silence settled into the night.

Taehyung stood still for a moment, an age-old question echoing through his mind that spurred a smile to stretch over his lips, “If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?”

But in this scenario he couldn’t help but think, if a human is ripped to shreds in the middle of the night and no other human is around to see it, did it even happen?

In the end, it didn’t even matter because no human would ever know about what happened that night. Not even the human that had been torn apart.

~~~~~~~

When Taehyung had sent you an address that led you to the edge of the forest at twilight you seriously thought about turning around and heading back home. If this didn’t scream “I’m going to kill you in the woods,” you didn’t know what did.

But you had made a promise, after all, Taehyung and yourself had agreed upon just one session, this was how you could repay him for putting a good word in with the curator. And, if you were being honest, you were chasing after that feeling he had inspired inside of you with that one picture. You wanted to feel pretty.

And he was incredibly attractive, there was that too of course. It wasn’t often you received attention from men like him or at least attention that was so blatantly obvious and in your face about it.

You stared at your phone in stress, your fingers twitching over the screen, they were trying to find something to do despite there being nothing there.

“Let me guess, Taehyung?” A voice asked.

Your head jerked up in surprise as you frantically tried to close your phone and slide it into your pocket.

The voice belonged to a man, a man that was so handsome he rivaled Taehyung’s looks. And the look on his face, now that was purely intimidating.

“Um, yeah, are you his roommate?” You finally managed to ask.

The man barely managed to conceal his scoff, his eyebrows drawing together in disgust, “Oh, yes, you could call it that.”

Well, that was an odd reaction.

“Well, would you mind pointing me in the right direction? Taehyung didn’t really give good instructions and-”

“How like him, come along,” He said with a roll of his eyes, turning on his heel to quickly disappear into the tree line.

“Oh, thank you…” You trailed off with a pant, struggling to keep up with his long and fast strides, realizing that you had never gotten his name.

“Seokjin.”

“Thank you, Seokjin.”

Said man glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, his gaze darting up and down your figure, “You’re not his usual type.”

That felt like a punch to the gut and paired with the painful twang in your heart that insult was made even worse. All at once a million horrible thoughts made their presence known in the back of your mind.

“I…I know I’m nothing special to look at but-”

“That’s not what I meant.” He said, confusion contorting his face. “You’re not as gorgeous as me of course, don’t take that too hard no one is, what I meant was that you’re quiet, withdrawn, and incredibly insecure. You’re different, that’s all.”

Well, that was kind of a backhanded compliment and a stroke to his own ego, but it was better than a lot of the things other people had said about you. You were just different, not ugly, not like Seokjin, just different. Different was a step up from what you normally thought. So, you would take it.

“Go on, he’s in there, tell him to watch his strays for me,” Seokjin said, gesturing to the studio a few feet away.

“You’re an acquired taste, aren’t you?” You asked with a tilt of your head.

The look on his face was enough to have you trying to stifle a giggle. He had not expected that at all.

“You’re not as quiet as you seem,” He scoffed before waving his hand at you in a shooing manner, “Run along, I’ve wasted enough of my day cleaning up after him.”

“Goodbye Seokjin.” You grinned before walking up the steps to the studio.

As soon as your feet touched down on the porch the door to the studio was ripped open, you hadn’t even had a chance to knock.

“Hello, darling!” Taehyung excitedly called, his hand quickly grasping yours and yanking you inside, the door slamming shut behind you. “You kept me waiting.”

“Well, it wasn’t very easy to find this place, especially at this time of day.”

“Oh, I forgot about that…” He trailed off, you could faintly hear him say words like “eyesight,” and “weaker than,” but the rest was unintelligible as he mumbled to himself.

You, on the other hand, were completely in awe of his workspace. The exterior had been eye-catching enough, its sharp modern angles and tall windows in the middle of the greenery of the forest were beautifully juxtaposed. But the interior was so inviting. The space was still very large and modern but was filled to the brim with beautiful works of art. Some of them were paintings, others were charcoal sketches, some were photos pinned to what looked like clotheslines strung from wall to wall. You could spot some smaller clay pieces and what even appeared to be an incomplete marble sculpture. And the smell, the smell was wonderful. It was fresh paper and cardstock and canvas laced with the prominent scent of paints. It smelled like home.

You couldn’t help but drop your bag to the side and travel through the room, looking at everything there was to be seen. If you were being honest, it was an artist’s wet dream. Everything in there was high end, some of the supplies so prestigious your meager teacher’s salary would never allow you to afford something so expensive.

The twilight tones of the day completed the room, the lingering glow of the departed sun accompanied by strokes of purple, ochre, and ultramarine in the sky casted an impeccable filter over the studio. It looked like a fauvist had painted the scenery in front of you and you were in awe.

But what really caught your eye was the collection of works that were all signed with the same signature: Vante. There were many works that were familiar, but there were even more you had never seen before. And being the dedicated art nerd that you were, you were struck by just how similar they were to his style. Everything about it screamed “original” and your heart was thumping so fast in your chest from the belief that you may be seeing works the world had never seen before.

“Are these real?” You asked, turning around only to realize that Taehyung had been mere inches away the entire time. The two of you were so close that your face almost brushed up against his.

“What do you take me for, a copycat? I can assure you every single one of those is genuine.” He said, his tone riddled in mock offense which was ruined by the amused smile on his lips.

“How did you even get these? I’ve never even seen some of these before.” You said, taking a few steps back.

Taehyung regained those steps, following you closely. “It wasn’t too hard, very easy if I’m being honest.”

“Easy? These would be worth millions, Taehyung! That’s far from easy.”

“Who said I purchased them?”

“If you didn’t buy them, how did you get them?” You continued to pry, your face set in determination.

And then it started to click together.

“Are you implying that you’re-”

He immediately silenced you with the soft press of his index finger to your lips which in response slightly parted in surprise from the unexpected touch.

“Questions can wait until after the session, you’ve kept me waiting long enough.”

“But, Taehyung-”

“Questions,” He paused, his intense stare freezing you to the spot, “After the session.”

You released a heavy breath from your nose, your silence speaking volumes as to how displeased you were. Taehyung pretended not to notice, instead he guided you by the wrist to where he wanted you to go.

There was a lounge set up in the corner of the room and with it were the supplies for the photo shoot. You could smell a strong floral scent from one of the boxes and upon further inspection you realized it was full of crimson red flowers of all different shades. Your nose scrunched up from the smell, it was overpowering and not exactly pleasant as some of the flowers did not compliment one another's aroma.

Beside that box was a garment bag with a label that let you know it was just as expensive as everything else in the room. But, the even bigger problem that was presenting itself was the fact that you had to change.

“Can I just wear what I have on?” You quickly asked, your fingers wrapping around your jacket and tugging it tighter around your body.

“Hm? No, it doesn’t match the vision I have for the shoot.” Taehyung said, looking up from the camera he was fiddling with to take in your outfit.

“It probably won’t fit anyways, just let me stay in this.”

“Darling,” He said with an exasperated sigh, “It will fit, go through that door over there you’ll find the bathroom. And don’t come out unless you have it on.”

God you were feeling sick to your stomach and you hadn’t even seen what was inside the bag. But all you could do was panic, the thought of someone seeing you even more vulnerable than you already were was enough to have tears pricking at the corners of your eyes and your lips trembling in fright.

“Remember, it’s just one session.” He said, gentler this time in an attempt to soothe you.

Just one session, you had agreed and you couldn’t back down now. It would probably take what, an hour at most? You could handle it, just this once. You hadn’t even tried, at least try, do it for yourself.

All of those positive thoughts almost immediately went down the drain when you entered the bathroom, stripped down to your undies, and uncovered what the garment bag had concealed.

There was a storm of emotions raging through your body. For one, the mirror above the sink was mocking you. Your eyelashes fluttered helplessly as you tried to avoid your reflection but there was no use, the mirror took up the entire wall. You could see yourself so clearly despite not wanting to and every flaw was glaring back at you. And, just like you always did, you picked and prodded and pulled at every inch of your body that offended you.

This was what you were afraid of. You were no better than an addict, relapsing back into the old behavior that you had been trying so hard to abstain from. But even your abstinence had harmed you because at the end of the day it was purely avoidance. And in that avoidance those dark thoughts festered and your anxiety grew exponentially.

The second problem was the dress. It was horribly revealing, well revealing to you. Despite its long flowy sleeves the dress had a dramatic plunging neckline and not one, but two leg slits that ran all the way up your waist. If you were being honest, you had no idea how you were going to wear a bra or underwear in such a dress.

But that problem had been partially solved for you. To your utter embarrassment, there were panties that were cut the correct way to be hidden from the leg slits hung inside the bag behind the dress. But there was no bra. You knew that there was no way to wear a bra with a neckline like that, but you were beyond embarrassed by the thought of going out there completely free in front of Taehyung.

This was already hard enough.

You leaned against the sink counter, harsh pants of air breaking your lips as you attempted to calm yourself. You were slowly losing it. So, in a panicked haze to just get everything over with, you changed as quickly as you could, your eyes trained to the floor almost the entire time.

And when you finally built up the courage to leave the bathroom you didn’t stray far from the door, your arms wrapped around your torso in an attempt to hide everything you didn’t want to be seen.

While you were busy panicking, trapped inside your own mind full of spiraling thoughts, Taehyung was extremely satisfied. To him, you looked absolutely perfect. And the dress had fit just the way he thought it would. So what he had cheated a little, his perfect vision allowed him to know just exactly what he was working with and he did enjoy looking at every inch of you. But it all worked out in the end, he had you here and his vision was finally coming together.

“Can I please wear something else,” You whispered, pinned to your spot by the door.

“You’re beautiful, why would you want to do that?” He asked, once more grabbing you by the hand and leading you towards the chaise.

“Please stop saying that.”

“But it’s true,” He sighed, guiding you into a seated position that looked pleasing to him before he began pulling the crimson flowers from their box.

“You remind me of women from renaissance paintings and romantic art, do you know what romanticism is darling?”

“Of course I do.” You said, pure offense blatant on your features.

There you were, he was slowly easing you back into things.

“Of course you do,” He chuckled before snapping the head of a rose off of it’s stem. For some reason, that made a pit settle in your stomach.

He continued his work, beheading flowers and placing them in your hair as his ice cold fingers were just barely brushing along the skin of your cheek, your jaw, and the column of your throat. You noticed him lingering there, his fingers and his onyx eyes mesmerized by the bared, vulnerable flesh.

“You look like all of the incarnations of beauty in sculpture and canvas, Psyche, Aphrodite, and Galatea. And yet still you’re far more beautiful.” He sighed, his fingers ceasing their work to gently caress your bottom lip.

You felt like you were on the brink of a heart attack.

‘You’ve done so well for me, you’ve been so good. Do you think you can hang on for a little while longer?” He gently asked, his fingers moving to trace the curve of your jaw.

He looked absolutely stunning. How could he compare you to all of those icons of beauty when he looked like that. There was such soft lighting in the room but it still managed to cast the most beautiful shadows over his face, emphasizing each perfect feature that you had mapped out before in your own sketchbooks.

All you could do was nod, your voice having left you along with your breath.

And so the session commenced.

It wasn’t as painful as you had thought it would be, not when you didn’t have to look at yourself. That made it much easier. Taehyung was good at what he did, he was great at direction and he knew exactly what he wanted. He made it easier for you, and for that you were grateful.

After what felt like a while to you, he paused, lowering his camera. His fingers tapped rhythmically along the top of it as he thought to himself before glancing at his wristwatch.

“I have to go and grab something else for the shoot, wait right here, I’ll be right back.” He finally said before setting the camera on top of a tripod and briskly heading outside.

Good, you could have a moment to breathe.

Instead of staying seated you came to stand, your legs, back, and bottom had fallen asleep and were begging you to move around and shake the numbness away. So, you decided to occupy yourself in the meantime.

You headed over to Taehyung’s desk. To your surprise it was fairly clean, there was a stray eraser and pencil here or there but no actual works. And that really didn’t make sense.

You weren’t particularly one to snoop, but you were inquisitive and that part of you was getting the better of yourself. So, you looked over both shoulders with a sense of paranoia before you began to open and close the drawers of his desk.

The first drawer you opened held a few items, but the ones on top caught your attention. There was a thick sketchbook and a dense folder beneath it. You checked your surroundings once more before you finally decided to flip open the sketchbook.

On the very first page you were met with yourself. You were shocked to say the least, but you too had been guilty of immortalizing Taehyung in your very own sketchbook. And that all would have been good and fine had you not come to realize that every single page was filled with images of you. The sketchbook bound one hundred and twelve pages.

The sketches started off fairly tame, some were of your profile, others a straight on view, and a couple were at a three quarter angle. All sketches that were intended to familiarize himself with your image. But as you turned each page, you became more and more disturbed.

There were photo references of you next to drawings of yourself, photos that you had never taken and never seen before. Some were of you in your classroom, some of you at the coffee shop, and more frighteningly were the images of you in your home.

But it only got worse.

There were drawings of you fast asleep, your t-shirt drifting away to expose a bare shoulder and the rest of your body from the waist down disappearing beneath the curve of your comforter.

And then things became pornographic.

Those too started off tame, sketches of your lips, your hands, and the shape of your body. But then it became too much, images of your body doing things that it had never done before, sketches of sexual acts that no one had been privy too. A stranger's hand holding you down and gripping you so tightly that purple and red bruises were left behind.

And you had thought those were violating and horrible, the more you flipped the worse it would get. The drawings became violent, chunks of your throat ripped apart, blood smeared over your face, neck, and waist, and bloody handprints littering your body. Sometimes you were screaming, other times your eyes were lifeless and your body still.

You had witnessed Taehyung’s grotesque and violent fantasies that he had kept hidden from you.

And you wished you had stopped at the sketchbook but you were already in too deep. You threw it away from you before dumping out the contents of the folder across the tabletop. And these were even worse because they were real.

There were so many different women in the pictures in varying states. But, from what you could tell, it always started the same. They looked alluring, stunning, and glowing with happiness. And each picture after showed them steadily fading away until it all ended the same. They all died gruesome deaths.

Most of the pictures were in black and white, the only color being the crimson hue of the thick pools of blood in their portraits. The women were sporting horrendous injuries that looked like they had been attacked by an animal. There were claw marks and teeth marks everywhere and chunks of their flesh missing from their bodies.

It was so horrible that it left you gagging, fighting the urge to not vomit up the contents of your stomach.

In a panic you turned, ready to flee the studio and try and find your way back to the road. But when you did pivot, you were face to face with Taehyung.

He didn’t exactly look upset, but he did sport disappointment on his features. He had changed his clothes, his pants and his shirt were both white, the shirt on the looser side exposing his pretty neck and some of his chest. And in his hand was a fairly large container that was filled to the brim.

“I wish you wouldn’t have done that, you told me you would be good. But, I suppose you would have found out eventually.”

And before you could even get a word in or try to confront him or even run, he gripped the container by the handle, braced the bottom and threw the contents of the container all over you.

A cry of shock and disgust left you as you felt it slap against your skin, hair, and clothes. It was sticky, thick, and ice cold. And when your eyelids were clear of the substance you finally opened your eyes and let out a piercing scream.

“Let me paint you red, darling,” He calmly said.

You were drenched in blood. The thick copper scent assaulted your nose, the sticky mess soaking into your dress and dripping down your skin in what could only be described as a scene from a horror movie.

You watched horrified as he poured whatever was left over himself, not even phased by the blood. He ran his soaked hands through his hair, slicking it back with the fluid as he watched you with a gaze that could only be described as hungry.

“It took me quite a while to collect all of this, let’s not let it go to waste.”

You stumbled backwards, panicked and distraught cries still leaving your body as you tried to make a run for it. But there was no use, you couldn’t escape a monster like him.

He caught you in his bruising hold, roughly spinning you around to face him before he pressed your lips together in an urgent and hungry kiss, effectively swallowing your screams. Although your eyes were closed in pure fright you could still make out the intense pulsating flashes of several cameras. He had various ones set up in the room on automatic timers. He had hidden them well enough that you hadn’t even noticed them.

You tried to pull away from him desperately but he had a grip that was firmer than steel, with his hand holding your jaw in place and the other wrapped around your back you had nowhere to go. Your head was starting to spin, not only from the screaming and the panic but from the lack of air. He wouldn’t let you go, his lips never leaving yours for long.

When he finally stopped kissing you, you took a breath, completely overstimulated from the scent of blood and roses, his bruising touches, and the never ending flashes of the cameras.

“Keep being a good girl for me, I’ve been so good for you. I didn’t feed from anyone since I met you and I’m so fucking hungry.”

“Taehyung please, please let me go I swear I won’t say anything!” You cried, ugly tears rushing down your face and cutting through the blood that stained your cheeks.

“You’re not going anywhere, you’re mine now and I intend to keep it that way,” He said, shoving you down onto the chaise and pinning you there before he lunged forward and buried his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

And the next thing you knew, there was a blinding hot stabbing sensation in your neck. You screamed in pain as you realized that there were teeth cutting through your flesh, and not just teeth, but fangs. Your hands gripped his shoulders and pushed, trying your hardest to dislodge him from your throat.

But, the harder you struggled, the more you fed him. The two of you were covered in blood and now your own blood was rushing down your neck, throat, and chest as well as flooding Taehyung’s mouth.

And he was in pure ecstasy, his chest rumbling in what almost sounded like an animalistic purr as soft moans of pleasure bubbled up past his blood soaked mouth. And the more he drank the less you began to struggle, your body going weak with euphoria and trembling with bliss and desire. In this state, all you could focus on was the feeling of his chest pressed against yours, his soft lips pressing against your throat and his arms wrapped around you, pulling you in tight.

Through your foggy brain you could feel his hand sliding over your exposed thigh before gripping the curve of your hip and tugging you unbearably closer to him allowing himself to rest in between your legs.

You were utterly distraught and confused, how could you be enjoying something that had been so painful and distressing moments ago?

When he finally pulled away from your throat you could only see him through hazy vision, you felt high.

His hair was still dripping with blood, his lips and chin stained with the red that came from you, and the serrated tips of his fangs poked at his lower lip. He licked his lips greedily before swiping his tongue over your own mouth, chasing after every drop that he could get without accidentally killing you. You were stunning, his goddess decorated in carnage.

“My beautiful Galatea,” He sighed, “You really are my greatest masterpiece.”

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