#Three Tips For Making the Forbidden Ritual More Fun

[thatsbelievable]

#Three Tips For Making the Forbidden Ritual More Fun #tips #tricks #life hacks #helpful hints #advice #unreality #cheese #crackers #cheese and crackers #Sun #dancing #Duck Duck Goose

[deepdarkdelights]

Run Little Red (Namjoon x Reader)

Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Warnings: 18+, Yandere, Werewolf Namjoon, Stalking, Obsession, Forced Relationships, Blood (Lots of it), Gore, Fear, Panic/Anxiety, Discussions of discovering dead bodies, People going missing, Devious Intentions, Depictions of Guns, Mourning, Wolf Courtship Rituals

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. 

<<Forbidden Fables Masterlist>>

Preview:  A calm life in a small village was all you ever knew, your days spent in the bakery and keeping to yourself. You liked the quiet and gentle nature of your life, but one day a wolf stands outside of your window, a stranger arrives, and people begin to go missing. Do you dare don your red coat and enter the forest?

A/N: Hello babes! My fellow authors and myself decided to change up the order of our release dates for our Forbidden Fables Collab! And, since I recently finished this little beauty, I get to release it first. yay! Now I can sit back and savor the delectable writings of my fellow authors 💜 I hope you enjoy Run Little Red it was fun to make! I can’t wait to read the comments and asks 💜

There was a wolf outside your window. 

It’s eyes gleaming in the early morning light like molten gold with silver fur that melted into the snow. 

You sat up in bed, wrapping your patchwork quilt around your shoulders as you scooted to the foot of the bed. It was staring at you, that much you were sure of. And that startled you, the almost human like appearance to its gaze was intense and unsettling. It was an animal, but it appeared to be far more intelligent than you had first anticipated. 

Maybe it was hungry, perhaps that was why it was so intent on peering through your window.

No, it certainly wasn’t, that was evident. What you had missed before was glaringly obvious now, its silver muzzle was stained in red. It had made a fresh kill before it had wandered over to your cottage mere feet from the woods. 

So, if it wasn’t hungry, why was it here?

You watched in morbid fascination as its tongue slipped out of its mouth and laved over the fresh, thick, crimson blood that decorated its muzzle. You could see the rows of sharp canines hidden within its maw for mere seconds before the wolf clenched its jaw shut and settled on its hindlegs in the drift of snow.

“My, what big teeth you have.” You whispered to yourself, your voice seemingly louder in the empty room.  

You couldn’t help but wonder what it had made it’s meal. Perhaps a deer, or a squirrel, maybe a bird, or even a small, innocent, little rabbit. 

That would have been ideal. But, you knew it was most likely one of the poor farmer’s livestock. Your village was small and self sufficient, rarely reaching out to its neighboring villages and rarely receiving visitors of its own. So, when the cattle and the goats began to disappear, only their entrails remaining, the town quickly became suspicious. 

It was either one of two things, rebellious teenagers making a hassle for everyone, or a wolf amongst you.   

If only you had known what was to come. 

You stared back warily out the window at the creature, suddenly realizing just how easily it could bust through your flimsy window if it wanted to. This wolf was probably the largest you had ever seen, it was almost the size of a pony, with long limbs that held thick muscle from the time it spent chasing down its prey. You were certain a simple snap of its jaws would kill you in an instant if it desired to do so. 

It’s gaze had not left you, petrifying you to your very spot. You felt like the two of you were playing a game, waiting to see who would be the one to make the first move. 

The call of your mother’s voice was the tie breaker. 

You rose to your feet, your bare skin brushing over the cool wood of the floor as you retreated through your door, back first. 

“Yes?” You replied, angling your neck to the hallway for a moment. 

“Hurry, sweetheart! You’re going to be late!” She called back from the kitchen. 

The bakery had been in your family for the past three generations now, starting with your grandfather, then your mother, and now you. Your mother was showing signs of her age now, her hands were unsteady and unreliable creating more of a mess than a sellable meal. So, it was your turn now. It was the only thing you could do for her, besides be married off and you weren’t quite ready for that. No one was. 

At least that was the gentle way of putting it, in reality you had made yourself quite the social pariah. You were a determined woman, one who liked to keep to herself, one who liked owning the bakery and not having to sign over the ownership to a husband. You had your mother to care for, a business to run, and a grandmother that lived deep in the woods to fret over. 

It didn’t really matter what you wanted, you did what was necessary to stay afloat. 

“Just a minute!” You called once more before slinking back into your room. 

There was a noticeable difference about the space now, the wolf was gone. The only sign he had ever been there being the large dip in the snow that his form had disrupted and a track of paw prints headed into the forest. How strange. 

You shook your head in an attempt to clear your thoughts, you didn’t want to think about what you would have to do if the creature returned. The shotgun looming over you from above the front door said enough.

You couldn’t allow a predator to get comfy around your home, that would only invite trouble into your life.

You dressed yourself quickly that morning in as many layers as you could. The walk to the bakery wasn’t a far one, but it was a frigid one. You made sure to wear your wool stockings and your leather boots, the snow looked to be thick and you didn’t fancy the idea of wet feet all day while you worked. 

You leaned over the side of your bed, scooping up your bag and throwing the keys inside of it in one motion. The extra sleep you had gotten the night before had cost you the time you needed in the morning to ready yourself. 

Once you gave yourself a quick look over and ran through your mental checklist, you rushed out of your room and into the main room of the house. Your house was more like a cottage, it was incredibly small. With only your mother’s room, your room, and the kitchen in one corner with the fireplace in the other it made for a quaint and cozy home. Albeit a cramped one. 

“Your breakfast is on the table.” Your mother said, smoothing a stray hair behind her ear with trembling hands. 

You could see her cleaning up the mess she had made that morning in an attempt to show you kindness. Normally, you were the one to wake early and prepare the both of you for the day ahead. But she had also told you many times before that she was your mother and she was supposed to take care of you as well. 

You eyed the bowl of steaming porridge that sat upon the rickety table. “I don’t think I’ll have the time to eat it.”

“Then you’ll make the time.” She huffed, wiping a wet rag over the counter in two swipes. 

“I shouldn’t have overslept.” You sighed, resting your bag on the floor as you took a seat. 

“You needed the rest, dear. You’re up every morning at the crack of dawn and you don’t come home until nightfall. You don’t need to work that much.” She chided you, smoothing her hands over your hair in a fond manner. 

“I do, for you and for Grandmother.” You reminded her. The cost of living was not cheap. 

“And what about you? You should be spending time with people your age, not working yourself to the bone.”

“I don’t need anyone but you, and Grandmother.” You smiled before sipping at your spoon quickly, hissing as you burned the tip of your tongue in your haste. 

“Youth is wasted on the young.” She chided under her breath, spurring a giggle from your throat. 

You finished your food as quickly as you could before excusing yourself from the table and heading for the door. 

“Your cloak, dear!” Your mother called as you pulled the door open, the chill of the snow seeping into your bones. 

“Yes, mother!” You chirped with an amused roll of your eyes as you curled your fingers around the crimson fabric of the cloak. Your grandmother had made it herself two winters ago, as much as you loved it and her you had to admit it was a tad ostentatious and you weren’t exactly one for attention. But it was warm and it served its purpose well. 

The door creaked shut behind you, squeaking softly as it settled back into the frame. The snow had fallen much higher than you had previously anticipated. You tightened the ties of your cloak and delicately flipped the large hood over your head before gripping your layers of skirts and hiking them up as you began your journey. 

It was rather slippery that day, you couldn’t restrain the slight squeals that fell from your parted lips each time the heel of your boot found a patch of ice and sent you sliding. You were certain you should have caught the attention of a few passerbys, but to your surprise a large group of them had become preoccupied. 

There were about fourteen of them, all in one great circle fervently discussing something. They seemed to be worried, panicked even. It had caught your attention now that the group was made up mostly of men excluding the butcher’s wife and daughter. Both’s cheeks were stained red, their eyes brimming with unshed tears as they held onto each other tight in the crisp air. 

Your face tensed in confusion as you approached the bakery, the group not too far away from you. 

“Oh, poor Sarah.” A tender voice cooed worriedly from next door. It was the tailor, she and her apprentice were stood outside, thick shawls wrapped around the both of them. 

You occupied yourself by rifling through your leather satchel, pretending to look for the shop keys you held in that very hand. You knew that eavesdropping wasn’t very polite, but you also were the curious sort, and that curiosity demanded to be satiated. 

“Don’t worry, miss. I’m sure they’ll find him soon, you know how the young ones are.” The apprentice said, her hand resting on the tailor’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. 

“It’s not like William though, he’s a sweet boy. It doesn’t make any sense for him to go up and missing at the crack of dawn.” She replied, her dark eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I just find it funny is all, that a stranger shows up here the same day that Sarah’s boy disappears.”

“Coincidence isn’t evidence.” The apprentice hummed, pulling her shawl tighter around herself  as she began to back up against the shop door, aggravated by the chilly air. “I’m sure he’ll turn up, with a search party that size he’ll be back home in no time.”

With that, you finally retrieved your “missing” keys and unlocked the door, sliding into the safety of the bakery. You knew William as well, he really was a sweet kid...to most. Your heart did go out to Sarah though, you didn’t know the pain of a missing child but you could empathize. The sight of her broken face remained burned into your mind as you readied the shop, lighting the hearth and preparing your materials to start your first batch of bread for the day. Your late start was going to nip you in the behind, most of the women arrived by noon to get their first pick of goods and the two hours it would take to make your batches was going to loom over your head the entire time. 

You were mid kneading your dough when the familiar tinkle of the bell above the shop door demanded your attention. You paused for a moment, your aching arms thanking you for the short reprieve. Almost immediately your breath was caught in your throat. You had been expecting one of the regular mothers wandering their way in, or perhaps even one of their children running errands. Not this man that stood before you. 

This was most obviously the stranger the tailor had been referring to moments earlier, there was no mistake. Your village was small, everyone knew everyone and this stranger looked nothing like any of the people in your town. 

He was so much taller than anybody else, broader too. But most astonishing was his pure silver hair and the deep honey shade of his eyes. You had never seen anyone as young as him with hair that light, it surely wasn’t grey, the shade far too bright to be mistaken with something that dull. He was damn near ethereal and unfairly attractive. His looks had almost distracted you from his attire but now that you were paying attention, he was severely underdressed for the weather. He had to be freezing cold. 

“Hello, can I help you?” You asked softly, patting your hands against your apron to remove the excess flour from your skin. 

He had a rather confident stance, like he was the owner of the shop instead of you, you who was slightly cowering and thrumming with anxiety. 

He sent you a wide grin, his teeth were pearly white and for some unknown reason that sent your heart crashing into your stomach. You could have sworn they even looked slightly pointy at the ends, not unlike those of the creature you had seen outside your window that morning. You had almost been distracted by the sweet dimples that rested in his cheeks. What duality he had. 

He tilted his head back slightly, peering down at you from above, “Hm, I’m looking for something sweet.” He hummed. 

“Sweet?” You mumbled to yourself, resting your hand on your hip in thought.

“Oh! I made some sweet rolls yesterday, how about that?” You said with a snap of your fingers, retreating further into the shop without a response from him. 

Now in work mode you busied yourself with preparing the stranger’s order. You couldn’t help but wonder why he had arrived, what his reason for being there was. Barely anybody passed through your village, and they certainly didn’t stay as long as he had. 

Once you had retrieved the tray of rolls you set them on the counter before grabbing a pot of freshly warmed icing and gently drizzling it over top. Once each roll had been thoroughly coated, you set the pot aside and headed to the cupboard to retrieve a bag for them.  

“Perfect.” You sighed in irritation, craning your neck back to see the top of the shelf. 

Normally, you had endless amounts of bags and never needed the ones stored on the top shelf. But this winter had been far more difficult than past ones and your stock had not been refilled in quite a while. 

Desperately not wanting to search for your wooden stool, you stubbornly resorted to balancing on the tips of your toes, your fingers just barely brushing against the material of the bags. You groaned in frustration, bouncing up slightly only to knock the bags back further on the shelf and worsen the ache in your shoulder. 

Just as you were about to give up and resort to looking for your rickety stool, you felt a hand settle on your waist and a chest press against your back as the stranger reached up and grabbed the bags for you. He was incredibly warm, so warm you thought he may even be sick. He felt as warm as the heat emanating from a fire of fresh coals and that was incredibly alarming, but also explained his state of dress.

You flinched in surprise as you felt him set the bags aside and settle his other hand on your shoulder. It was deathly quiet, the only sounds being his slow, steady breaths underlying your panicked ones accompanied by the calm rise and fall of his chest against your back. You had never been this close to anyone before, it was incredibly uncomfortable. 

You felt much like a rabbit, cornered, panicking, and believing that if you stayed still enough he wouldn’t see you and would go away. 

He gently rested his forehead against your hair, nuzzling from side to side before reaching up and playing with a stray strand. You could feel him taking a deeper breath this time, humming softly like he was pleased. 

“Sweet.” He mumbled to himself. 

Oh. Oh, no. Who did this man think he was? You were not on the menu. You shuddered in fear before jerking away, smacking his hands off of you. 

You turned on your heel, backing away from him as you fixed him with an annoyed glare. The look he gave you was one of clear confusion, a layer of hurt and frustration buried beneath. 

“I’m not sure how things work where you come from, but normally you ask for permission before you go touching someone you don’t know.” You huffed, slamming the empty bag on the counter as you began to package the rolls. 

It didn’t matter if he was attractive or not, you were not going to let him touch you as he pleased or get the wrong message that you weren’t even conveying in the first place. 

The stranger rounded the counter, the block of wood effectively separating the two of you, making you feel a little safer. His eyes looked darker than before, less like honey and more like amber. 

His confident demeanor had returned, effectively confusing you even more. 

“Forgive me,” He said, another smile gracing his lips as he rested his forearms on the countertop, “It seems we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot? My name is Namjoon, and yours?” 

So, he did have the capability to be somewhat of a gentleman. He was rather well spoken, and his strange mannerisms and quiet demeanor had all but disappeared in a flash. 

So, begrudgingly, you replied with your name. 

He repeated it after you, his tongue swiping over the full flesh of his lower lip like he was tasting it, sending a chill down your spine. 

“I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, you were correct in assuming where I come from we do greetings a little differently.” He said with a soft chuckle, his amber eyes tracing every movement you made. 

You did feel a little bad now for how you had lashed out at him. Normally, you weren’t one who was quick to anger, but that still didn’t excuse what he had done. 

“It’s alright,” You said, slowly, “You need to be more careful though, if that had been anyone else I don’t think you would have gone unscathed.” 

“Are most of your people so quick to violence?” He asked, titling his head slowly, a strong sense of intrigue exuding from his form. 

“I wouldn’t say so normally, but we’re all a little on edge as of late. Our livestock has been attacked and just this morning one of us went missing.”

“Missing?” He asked, a new glow to eyes. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so. The butcher’s son hasn’t been seen all day, it’s very unlike him.” You said, your teeth sinking into your lower lip, unsure if you should tell him more. But, considering it concerned him you felt maybe it was in his best interest to tell him. 

“If I were you, I wouldn’t stick around for too long. Some find it suspicious you turned up the same day that William went missing.” 

“And what if I don’t feel like leaving just yet?” He asked, disregarding the information you had just given him as if he had no reason to be worried. 

You had no answer for him, truly you didn’t. The packaged rolls sat between the two of you and a long stretch of silence as he stared at you and waited for a response that didn’t come. And, without another word, he dropped a few too many coins on the counter, gathered up the bag, and headed for the front door. 

He stopped for only a moment, his fingers gently stroking at your red cloak you had hung up beside the door. His amber gaze trailed over each stitch as he lightly grazed the material a few more times. 

“I’ll be seeing you soon, little red.” 

~~~~~~~

After he had left, your day had not gotten any easier. Just as you had expected, it had been another busy day. You had managed to satisfy all of your customers, despite that late start you had made. 

There were a few upsides to the job you had, one being that it allowed you to tune into any gossip you would normally miss out on. You were more of a hit with the older women of the village, the people your age finding you to be a tad strange and off putting. 

That day your shop had been filled with hushed whispers of what had come to pass, the search party still had not returned from their trip to recover William. The outlook was not in the boy’s favor, not with the increase in predator activity you had been receiving as of late. You weren’t so sure you would be seeing William walking back into town any time soon. 

Once the day had come to an end, the sun dipping just below the tree line and casting shades of red over the snow, you had extinguished the lights of your shop and were locking up, your hood drawn over your head. That was when you found out the horrible truth. 

As you slid the shop keys into your bag and turned on your heel, you saw the search party emerging from the woods. And with them, you could see a blanketed form lying in the snow, the sheet swaddling the body slowing turning red. 

You swallowed harshly, turning as quickly as you could and beginning to make your way through the snow and away from what you knew was coming. You didn’t want to see the look on Sarah’s face, you didn’t want to watch her go boneless in the arms of her husband. But it didn’t matter what you saw or didn’t see, you would never forget the sound of her screams piercing the crisp, snowy air.

Your breath was visible in hot puffs in front of your face as you felt the burn of tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes. It didn’t matter if you didn’t care for William, it didn’t matter if you knew what he was really like, there was nothing quite like the sound of a mother’s heartbreak. It was enough to send anybody down to their knees. 

Your numb fingers wiped away the warm tears rushing down your cheeks, and amidst your blurry vision you could have sworn you saw a familiar figure slinking off into the woods, a flash of silver hair that just barely materialized. You could have sworn that that was Namjoon disappearing like a ghost into the frigid depths of the forest. 

You shook your head, you shouldn’t bother yourself with what he was doing, your main goal should be getting home before the sun completely dips below the horizon and plunges you into darkness. So, with that thought, you rushed home. 

Once you entered the cottage, things didn’t get any better. Your mother was stood there, waiting anxiously for your arrival. As soon as you had stepped foot inside she whipped the door shut and helped you remove your cloak as you toed your boots off. 

“No more working late, do you hear me?” She said, gripping your shoulders to get you to look at her. “It’s not safe out there.”

“Word travels fast then?” You asked humorlessly. 

“It’s a shame what happened to that boy, and I’ll be damned if that happens to you.” She replied sternly. 

“And what about Grandmother then? What do we do about her? She’s out there, all alone, with no one to protect her.”

“She has the lumberjack-”

“And he only checks on her every two weeks.” You interrupted, “Let me go out tomorrow and bring her back to us. I’ll go first thing in the morning.”

Your mother bit her lip, her hands shakily settling on her hips as she thought to herself. “I’ll go with you then.”

“No, you can’t possibly think you’ll be able to make the trip. The snow is thick and it’s a long walk there, you’ll exhaust yourself. It’ll be better if I go, faster too.” You said as you approached the fireplace, raising your hands to the flames to warm them. 

“And your grandmother, you think she’ll be able to make it back through the snow?” She probed, raising her eyebrow. 

She had a point, if you were saying she wouldn’t be able to make it there how would you expect your grandmother to make it back with you? 

You rested your hand on the back of your neck, pacing the floor and causing your layers of skirts to swirl around your ankles. You came to a sudden stop, your eyes settling on the shotgun that was mounted above your front door. Idea.

You didn’t like the thought of her being out there all alone, but if you knew she had something to protect her from the wild animals that would make you feel much better. 

“Alright, what if I bring her some supplies instead? I’ll grab some things that’ll last her a good while and I’ll show her how to use the shotgun. I’ve saved up some money of my own, I could purchase us a new one.” You mused out loud.

You loved your grandmother, she was the last living member of your father’s side of the family, she was the only connection you had to him at this point. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing her just yet, not when you could prevent it from those creatures that were beginning to terrorize your people. 

Your mother was silent once more, her thumb settled between her lips as she nervously chewed at the nail. She didn’t like the idea of you headed out into the woods alone, but she was comforted by the thought of you taking the shotgun with you, that much you were certain of. 

“We don’t know when the next storm will hit, and the last thing we need is for her to be stuck out there, all alone, with no food, surrounded by the wild. Let me go.”

And that was enough to break her resilience. 

“Promise me, promise me that you’ll come back.” She whispered, her body visibly sagging as those words left her lips. 

“It goes without saying.” You murmured, wrapping her up in your embrace. 

It was easier this way, you didn’t want to make a promise you had no certainty in keeping. 

The air in the cottage had lost all tension, everything was much calmer than before. But your peace could only last for so long. It was when you entered your bedroom that you realized something else was wrong.

The room was positively frigid, and upon further inspection you realized that your window had been pried open, the cold winter air surging forth and snuffing out any traces of heat. 

You surged forward and grasped the window, attempting to swing it shut as quickly as you could to try and insulate whatever warmth was left. But the thick scent of copper quickly stalled your movements. Instead of closing the window, you found yourself leaning forward into the brisk air, sniffing intently as you tried to make out where the scent was emanating from. You didn’t have to look far.

Your hands sealed themselves over your mouth, smothering the scream that threatened to break through them. 

Sitting in the snow where the wolf had once laid, was a human heart. The snow seemed to sizzle around it, the organ still warm and slick with blood that carved rivers and valleys into the pure ice. 

You could feel bile rising up your throat, your vision shaking so violently it made it appear that the heart was vibrating with steady pumps like it was still alive. 

And, to your horror, you could make out a form a few feet back in the snow. The only thing that was visible in the pitch black were it’s molten gold eyes, shining back at you in recognition before it scuttled away into the darkness.

You frantically slammed the window shut and drew the curtains closed tight. 

There was no mistake now, someone or something had been following you. 

~~~~~~~

When you awoke the next morning from a restless sleep, you elected to keep your discovery to yourself.

Although you were incredibly frightened by what you had seen, the last thing you needed was to scare your already frail mother. Your grandmother was still in need of assistance, and you couldn’t allow your mother to halt your plans. You had a mission to accomplish, and you were set on completing it with a shotgun slung over your arm and a picnic basket on the other. 

So, you shakily grasped your red cloak and wrapped it around your shoulders in haste, your fingers struggling to do up the ties at the base of your throat. Once you had completed the normally easy task, you slipped your basket onto the inside of your elbow and pulled down the shotgun from its resting place above the door. 

You regularly cleaned it, a task your father had enjoyed teaching you at a young age, so you were certain it wouldn’t jam if you needed to use it in a hurry. You slid a box of ammunition into your pocket, one for you, and another box into the picnic basket, one for your grandmother. 

And then you were off, bidding your mother goodbye with a hug and a swift kiss to her cheek, and an unspoken promise tittering on the edges of your lips saying that you would be home for supper. But those words were better left unspoken. 

The sun was just barely peeking through the thick clouds overhead, you were certain a blizzard was brewing. This only urged you to move quicker through the cleared paths. 

But the clouds weren’t the only foreboding message that morning, it was the mother’s wailing in the town square. There were three more now, holding each other in a comforting manner as they wept into each other’s shoulders. 

More children had been snatched from their mothers.

Sarah sat by herself, of her own volition, an obsidian mourning veil obscuring her tear stained features. A chill ran down your back as you urged yourself to walk by them quicker, she looked more like an executioner than she did a mourner, surrounded by a choir of weeping women. 

You could still hear the echoes of her cries in the back of your mind, the raw chords striking your ears once more. 

You tightened your grip on the strap of your shotgun, your pace slowing as you reached the bridge that led you into the forest. You felt like you could breathe now, despite the knowledge that people your own age had lost their lives in the thick overgrowth before you. The relief that you felt from the women in the square outweighed your fear.

The bridge creaked in protest as your boots tapped against the wood. It would need to be repaired come spring. 

“Little red!” A voice called from the treeline causing you to suddenly stop, snow kicking up beneath your boots. 

Moments later, a familiar figure emerged from the frost coated trees, tall, ash hair, and honey eyes. Namjoon. 

“Where are you off to, little red?” He cooed, his voice low with a sultry edge that sent shivers down your spine. You couldn’t tell if they were delighted or terrified chills. 

“My grandmother’s, what are you doing here?” You asked, your body tense and defensive. 

He drew nearer now, a wide grin gracing his lips with a set of teeth so white they resembled the snow beneath your boots. The closer he got the more you noticed about him. His perfect white teeth seemed a little sharper than most, and the clothes he wore were once more, not suited for the frigid weather. 

“I caught sight of this old thing,” He hummed, his finger tracing over your cloak and the strap of your shotgun as he slowly circled you, “And couldn’t help but see you.”

You stepped back hesitantly, his presence was unnerving. Without saying anything more you pulled away from his reach and began to walk by him briskly, headed into the woods. 

“Leaving so soon? We only just met.” He laughed, it would have been a nice contagious laughter had you not heard the bitter edge to it. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have the time to dawdle, Namjoon. I need to reach her before the storm hits.”

“Well then, won’t you let me accompany you?”

“I don’t need an escort, I know my way just fine, thank you very much.” 

“And what about the beasts then?” He asked from beside you, sending you halting to a stop. 

“Beasts?” You asked slowly, gazing up at him from beneath the cover of your hood. 

“Well, surely you know?” He asked in a patronizing tone, his honey eyes narrowing. “Four people from your village have gone missing, red. Surely you know that wasn’t an accident. Great beasts have roamed this forest for centuries and they don’t take kindly to intruders. It would be much safer if I came with you.”

You stood there for a moment in silence, contemplating his words. He was not wrong, two people were much safer than just one. 

So, begrudgingly, you accepted his offer. 

His hand quickly captured your own, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pressed his side tightly to your own with a grin. How bold. You were struck once more by the fact that he was incredibly warm, it was no wonder why he wasn’t bundled up like you were. It felt like he had struck a fever. 

Namjoon filled the silence between the two of you surprisingly well, telling you stories of the great beasts that roamed the woods, effectively scaring you and holding your attention. He had a way of speaking that drew people in, like a siren from the stories your father had read to you. 

It was easy to forget with him, easy to forget why you had been frightened in the first place, easy to sink into his side as his warmth seeped into your flesh, and easy to get lost in his voice. 

That was of course, until you felt him pulling you off of the path. 

You dug your heels into the snow, tugging at his hand violently. “Namjoon!”

“Yes?” He asked.

“What are you doing? Her cottage is this way, we stay on the path, we never leave the path.” You said, gesturing towards the dirt pathway beneath the two of you. 

That was a spoken rule in your village, never go off of the path. 

“That’s ridiculous,” He chuckled, “If we continue the way you were going, that doubles the time it takes to get there, it’s better we take the shortcut.”

“No.” You sternly said. 

“And why not?”

“Because, there’s predators out there! Mountain lions, bears, wolves!”

A mischievous smirk pulled at the corners of his lips, “Are you scared of wolves, little red?”

“I’m scared of anything that wants to eat me.” You replied with a dry tone. 

“Well you do smell very sweet-”

“Namjoon!”

He took a deep breath, his eyes darting between you and the shortcut. “I promise you, nothing will hurt you while I’m here. Besides, did you know some flowers bloom in the winter?”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I am, there’s a field of flowers this way, all different breeds that bloom in the dead of winter. Don’t you think your grandmother would enjoy those?” 

You chewed at your lip uneasily. He knew exactly what to say to make you question your own actions. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to see what he was talking about, and you knew that yes, your grandmother would be elated by something so cheery in the bleak winter months. 

So, after a few moments of consideration, you agreed.

And Namjoon had not been lying. After a few minutes of trekking through the deep snow the two of you emerged into a clearing, and just like he said, it was filled with flowers of all different breeds. 

You found yourself crouching down into the field, your fingers trailing over each velvety petal that had somehow found a way to survive in the clutches of an icy death. Your favorites were the deep red roses. They were a dead match for your cloak, a beautiful color that was delicately dusted with soft flakes of snow. 

You couldn’t help but greedily pluck several blossoms from the foliage, slipping them into your basket. 

And, amidst your excitement, you hadn’t noticed just how close your companion had gotten until you felt him. That incredible warmth had returned as he crouched down behind you, and just like he had in the bakery, you felt him lightly nuzzling your head and breathing in your scent as he pressed himself closer to you, his arms winding around your body in an attempt to pull you even tighter to him. 

You froze, your finger mid pull on the rose’s stem causing you to slice the appendage on a stray thorn. You hissed in pain as you watched the blood drip from the tip of your finger before rolling down your wrist and carving a pool into the snow beneath you. 

And, without a thought, Namjoon’s hand encircled your wrist and yanked it up to his face. 

His once honey eyes appeared brighter than before, his long lashes fluttering as his warm breath misted over your skin. And before you could stop him, he licked a line up your wrist, collecting the blood, and pressed your finger to his lips swiping his tongue over the wound. 

You yelped in surprise, wrenching your hand free from his grip as your heart pounded violently. You rose to your feet and stumbled backwards through the snow. 

Namjoon remained where he was crouched, a sudden hunger evident in his honey gaze, a gaze that was not so unfamiliar. 

“We-we need to go!” You stuttered, turning on your heel and retreating from whatever had just happened. 

You held your hand close to your chest as you walked, frightened by what had just transpired. A part of you suddenly wished you had made your journey alone as you had previously intended.

But the harsh crunch of snow behind you reminded you of the choice you made, and the molten glare digging into your back exemplified it. 

~~~~~~~

The rest of your journey was made in complete silence, a new tension had settled between the two of you. And, true to Namjoon’s word, the way he had taken you was indeed a shortcut. So, you felt no remorse as you sprinted toward the cottage ahead of you and threw a weak thank you over your shoulder. 

You couldn’t stand the awkward tension anymore, you couldn’t stand being in his presence any longer than you needed to. 

As soon as you approached the front door, you threw it open and let it shut behind you. You leaned against the door for a moment to catch your breath before you shrugged the shotgun off of your shoulder and strung it up on the hook beside the front door. 

“Grandmother!” You called as you began to approach the kitchen door, “I’m here!”

And upon opening it, a blood curdling scream broke free from your lips. 

The sight before you could only be described as a massacre. Your hands desperately tried to cover your eyes, but the damage had already been done. There was blood, so much blood amongst other things laid out atop the counter. 

You fell backwards, your body sliding down the wall as hoarse screams raked through your throat. The unmistakable scent of blood was thick in the kitchen sending your stomach churning in your gut. You knew that scent, it was clear as day whatever had remained in that room had once been human. 

“Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out to you. 

And upon opening your eyes, you saw your grandmother standing before you. The sudden feeling of elation surging through your body at the sight of her alive quickly died out. She wore a leather apron stained with blood, both fresh and old, and her hands were gloved. You quickly stood and began to back away from her, your sense of self preservation suddenly kicking in, your eyes zeroing in on the meat cleaver she held in her left hand. 

“Sweetheart, calm down.” She whispered softly, carefully setting the blade down on the counter beside the gorey mess. 

Your eyes were darting everywhere but her, panicked breaths leaving your parted lips. Your gaze finally settled in the corner of the room where a pile of clothing sat and a familiar axe. The lumberjack, she had murdered the lumberjack. 

“Why?” You cried, trembling as if you had been drenched to the bone. “Why did you do it?!” 

“I had too sweetie, I have to feed them.”

“Them? Who?” You asked, backing out of the kitchen as she followed your trail, her face soft with sympathy despite the flecks of blood that decorated her cheeks. 

“The wolves, of course. I made a deal with them long ago, if I fed them in the winter I could stay here.” She replied, her voice alarmingly calm. “The lumberjack was a sweet man but this winter was a rough one, not many travelers I’m afraid.”

“You’ve gone mad.” You whispered. 

“I know this is a lot to take in, but it’s best if you listen to me darling. Your grandfather was one of them, he courted me and then we had your father and your uncles. It’s always tricky with litters, you never know who is going to take after who. Your father though, he was the most human out of all of them. Poor thing couldn’t even shift.” She sighed, her eyes glazing over.

“You need help, you’re not well.” You tried again, doing your best to keep distance between the two of you.

“I know you’re a bit shaken up, but you need to listen to me, it’s in your best interest.” She sighed, untying the leather apron from around her waist. 

“That cloak you’re wearing, it’s a symbol that you’ve come of age and Namjoon has had every intention of courting you. He’s been rather obvious really, he’s becoming quite frustrated with you.” 

You suddenly became still, your mind flashing through every time Namjoon had ever touched the very item you were wearing. What she was saying, although deluded, had some semblance of truth. 

“I-I have to go.” You mumbled, your throat tightening from the copper scent and smell of flesh that hung heavily in the air. You needed to get home and far away from her before she killed you too. 

A deep sadness spread over her features as her head hung low, shaking from side to side. “Don’t run,” She breathed, “They find the chase seductive.”

All this time you had been slowly backing away from the person you loved the most, and now you had been stopped by the feeling of a solid form behind you. You quickly spun around, a shriek of horror escaping you as you met the bright, gold eyes of your escort, Namjoon. 

And, without thinking, you ran. 

Your cloak was fluttering behind you rapidly in the harsh, cold winds, the snow coming down thicker than it ever had before. And, to your absolute horror, a loud howl was echoing throughout the trees. 

You peered over your shoulder as you sprinted to the best of your ability through the snow drifts. The wolf that had sat outside your window days before had returned and was chasing you down. Now that there was nothing separating you from the creature you were terrified, it was massive and hunting you down. It had the clear advantage, you were inevitably going to die. You were never going home again, another child was going to be ripped from their mother. 

Tears were pouring down your cheeks like waterfalls as you blindly ran, unsure as to where you were going. You knew that you didn’t have time, four legs were faster than two and you were greatly impaired by the weather. 

With no goal in mind, no destination in sight, you ran in hopes you would be able to live for a little longer. You did your best to weave between the trees, slide down hills of snow, and keep running for your life. Your lungs burned and your legs ached but still you ran, even as you heard the loud steps of the wolf coming nearer and nearer.

And, just as you had lost all hope, an outcropping of rocks became visible at the base of a snowy hill. And with every intention to save your life, you recklessly threw yourself down the hill allowing gravity to take over for you. 

The second you felt yourself cease rolling, you rose to your unsteady legs and dizzily stumbled into the cluster of rocks, pulling yourself into the shelter away from the blizzard.

But your hope was fleeting as you came to a realization. The shelter was a den, one that had clearly been in use. It was littered with furs, blankets, books, and materials for a fire. The creature had been corralling you to this very location. 

You turned as another burst of adrenaline shot through your body only to be stunted by the sight of the silver wolf blocking the exit to the den. 

It’s bright eyes stared back at you with a gleam of satisfaction as it crouched down, shimming it’s way into the den and backing you up further into its depths. 

You watched, horrified, as the wolf began to whimper, it’s body shaking violently as the sound of bones beginning to snap and crunch echoed throughout the space, reforming and distorting themselves into vaguely familiar shapes as it’s fur began to melt away. 

Those bright golden eyes faded to a recognizable honey shade, and the silver fur disappeared and showed itself as ashen hair. On the floor of the den sat Namjoon in the place of where the powerful wolf had once stood. 

He carefully rolled his head from side to side, his neck cracking loudly in response as he rose to his feet. A mischievous smirk pulled at his lips, a triumphant gleam to his eyes as he confidently approached your trembling form. 

A broken cry escaped from your throat as you felt him press his forehead to your own, lightly nuzzling his head against yours. His strange behavior now made sense, he had been courting you in a way that was unfamiliar to you, but natural to him. 

All of the people that had gone missing were male’s your age, he had been wiping out the competition. 

And the bloody organ he had left outside of your window, had been a horrific present. A show of his dominance and his twisted affection. 

You were crying uncontrollably now, everything you had experienced suddenly crashing down on you. You flinched in terror as you felt his fingers grip your jaw, his lips just brushing against your own and he hummed happily.

“You have nowhere left to run, little red.” 

#bts #bts namjoon #bts x reader #namjoon #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #kim namjoon x reader #yandere #yandere bts #yandere namjoon #bts fanfic #yandere namjoon x reader #yandere kpop #yandere bts x reader #werewolf namjoon #werewolf namjoon x reader #yandere werewolf #werewolf bts #werewolf bts x reader #hyrbid namjoon #hybrid bts #bts rm #yandere rm #yandere rm x reader

[benevolentbirdgal]

“Thirteen″ Tips for Writing About Synagogues / Jewish Writing Advice / Advice for Visiting Synagogues

So your story includes a Jew (or two) and you’ve a got a scene in a synagogue. Maybe there’s a bar mitzvah, maybe your gentile protagonist is visiting their partner’s synagogue. Maybe there’s a wedding or a community meeting being held there. For whatever reason, you want a scene in a shul. I’m here as your friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional to help you not sound like a gentile who thinks a synagogue is just a church with a Star of David instead of a cross. 

Quick note: The are lots of synagogues around the world, with different specific cultural, local, and denominational practices. The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. I’m also writing from the view of Before Times when gatherings and food and human contact was okay.

Bear in mind as well, in this discussion, the sliding scale of traditional observance to secular/liberal observance in modern denominations: Ultraorthodox (strict tradition), Modern Orthodox (Jewish law matters but we live in a modern world), Conservative (no relation to conservative politics, brands itself middle ground Judaism), Reconstructionist (start with Jewish law and then drop/add bits to choose your own adventure), and Reform (true build your own adventure, start at basically zero and incorporate only as you actively choose).

Synagogue = shul = temple. Mikvah (ritual bath) is its own thing and usually not attached to the shul. Jewish cemeteries are also typically nowhere near the shul, because dead bodies are considered impure.   

A Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah is the Jewish coming of age ceremony. Bar (“son”) for boys at 13+, Bat (“daughter”) at 12+, and Bnai (“children”) for multiples (i.e. twins/triplets/siblings) or non-binary kids (although the use of the phrase “Bnai Mitzvah” this way is pretty new). 12/13 is the minimum, 12-14 the norm but very Reform will sometimes allow 11 and anybody above 12/13 can have theirs. Probably a dedicated post for another time. Generally, however, the following will happen: the kid will lead some parts of services, read from and/or carry the Torah, and make a couple of speeches. 

Attire: think Sunday Best (in this case Saturday), not come as you are. Even at very liberal reconstructionist/reform synagogues you wouldn’t show up in jeans and a t-shirt or work overalls. Unless they are seriously disconnected from their culture, your Jewish character is not coming to Saturday morning services in sneakers and jeans (their gentile guest, however, might come too casual and that’d be awkward).  1a. The more traditional the denomination, the more modest the attire. Outside of orthodoxy woman may wear pants, but dresses/skirts are more common. Tights for anything above knee common for Conservative/Reform/Recon, common for even below knee for orthodox shuls. Men will typically be wearing suits or close to it, except in very Reform spaces.  1b. Really, think business casual or nice dinner is the level of dressiness here for regular services. Some minor holidays or smaller events more casual is fine. Social events and classes casual is fine too.  1c. Even in reform synagogues, modesty is a thing. Get to the knee or close to it. No shoulders (this an obsession in many Jewish religious spaces for whatever reason), midriffs, or excessive cleavage (as I imagine to be the norm in most houses of worship). 

Gendered clothing:  3a. Men and boys wear kippahs (alt kippot, yarmulkes) in synagogues, regardless of whether they’re Jewish or not out of respect to the space. Outside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew” but inside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew or a gentile dude who respects the Jewish space.”  Outside of very Reform shuls, it’s a major faux pass to be a dude not wearing one.  3b. There are little buckets of loaner kippahs if you don’t bring your own and commemorative kippahs are given away at events (bar mitzvah, weddings). Your Jewish dude character not bringing or grabbing one is basically shouting “I’m new here.”  3c. Women are permitted to wear kippahs, but the adoption of a the traditionally masculine accessory will likely be interpreted by other Jews as LGBTQ+ presentation, intense feminism, and/or intense but nontraditional devoutness. Nobody will clutch their pearls (outside of ultraorthodoxy) but your character is sending a message.  3d. Tefillin are leather boxes and wrappings with prayers inside them that some Jewish men wrap around their arms (no under bar mitzvah or gentiles). Like with the kippah, a woman doing this is sending a message of feminism and/or nontraditional religious fervor.  3e. Additionally, prayer shawls, known as tallit, are encouraged/lightly expected of Jewish males (over 13) but not as much as Kippahs are. It is more common to have a personal set of tallit than tefillin. Blue and white is traditional, but they come in all sorts of fun colors and patterns now. Mine is purple and pink. It is much more common for women to have tallit and carries much fewer implications about their relationship to Judaism than wearing a kippah does.  3f. Married woman usually cover their hair in synagogues. Orthodox women will have wigs or full hair covers, but most Jewish woman will put a token scarf or doily on their head in the synagogue that doesn’t actually cover their hair. The shul will also have a doily loaner bucket. 

Jewish services are long (like 3-4 hours on a Saturday morning), but most people don’t get there until about the 1-1.5 hour mark. Your disconnected Jewish character or their gentile partner might not know that though. 

Although an active and traditional synagogue will have brief prayers three times every day, Torah services thrice a week, holiday programming, and weekly Friday night and Saturday morning services, the latter is the thing your Jewish character is most likely attending on the reg. A typical Saturday morning service will start with Shacharit (morning prayers) at 8:30-9, your genre savvy not-rabbi not-Bnai mitzvah kid Jewish character will get there around 9:30-10:15. 10:15-10:30 is the Torah service, which is followed by additional prayers. Depending on the day of the Jewish year (holidays, first day of new month, special shabbats), they’ll be done by 12:30 or 1 p.m. Usually.  After that is the oneg, a communal meal. Onegs start with wine and challah, and commence with a full meal. No waiting 4-8 hours to have a covered-dish supper after services. The oneg, outside of very, very, very Reform spaces will be kosher meat or kosher dairy. 

To conduct certain prayers (including the mourner’s prayers and the Torah service) you need a Minyan, which at least 10 Jewish “adults” must be present, defined as post Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah. In Conservative/Reform/Recon, men and women are counted equally. In Ultraorthodox women are not counted. In Modern Orthodox it depends on the congregation, and some congregations will hold women’s-only services as well with at least ten “adult” Jewish women present.

In Conservative and Orthodox shuls, very little English is used outside of speeches and sermons. Prayers are in Hebrew, which many Jews can read the script of but not understand. Transliterations are also a thing.  In Reform synagogues, there’s heavy reliance on the lingua franca (usually English in American congregations). Reconstructionist really varies, but is generally more Hebrew-based than Reform. 

We’re a very inquisitive people. If your character is new to the synagogue, there will be lots of questions at the post-services oneg (meal, typically brunch/lunch). Are you new in town? Have you been here before? Where did you come from? Are you related to my friend from there? How was parking? Do you know my cousin? Are you single? What is your mother’s name? What do you think of the oneg - was there enough cream cheese? What summer camp did you go to? Can you read Hebrew? Have you joined?  A disconnected Jew or gentile might find it overwhelming, but many connected Jews who are used to it would be like “home sweet chaos” because it’s OUR chaos. 

In Orthodox synagogues, men and women have separate seating sections. There may be a balcony or back section, or there may be a divider known as a mechitzah in the middle. Children under 12/13 are permitted on either side, but over 12/13 folks have to stay one section or the other. Yes, this is a problem/challenge for trans and nonbinary Jews.  Mechitzahs are not a thing outside of orthodoxy. Some older Conservative synagogues will have women’s sections, but no longer expect or enforce this arrangement.   

Money. Is. Not. Handled. On. Shabbat. Or. Holidays. Especially. Not. In. The. Synagogue. Seriously, nothing says “goy writing Jews” more than a collection plate in shul. No money plate, no checks being passed around, even over calls for money (as opposed to just talking about all the great stuff they do and upcoming projects) are tacky and forbidden on Shabbat. Synagogues rely on donations and dues, and will solicit from members, but don’t outright request money on holidays and Shabbat. 

Outside of Reform and very nontraditional Conservative spaces, no instruments on Shabbat or holidays. No clapping either. Same goes for phones, cameras, and other electronics outside of microphones (which aren’t permitted in Orthodox services either).  11a. In the now-times an increasing number of shuls have set up cameras ahead of time pre-programmed to record, so they don’t have to actively “make fire” which is “work” (this is the relevant commandment/mitzvah) on Shabbat, so services can be live-streamed. 11b. After someone has completed an honor (reading from the Torah, carrying the Torah, opening the ark, etc), the appropriate response is a handshake after and the words “Yasher Koach” (again, Before-Times).

Jewish services involve a lot of movement. Get up, sit down. Look behind you, look in front of you. Twist left, twist right. A disconnected Jew or gentile visitor would be best off just trying to follow along with what an exchange student we had once termed “Jewish choreography.” Some prayers are standing prayers (if able), some are sitting prayers. It’s just how it is, although a handful of prayers have variations on who stands. 

#jumlbr #jewblr #jewish #jewish writing help #jewish writing #jewish characters #writing jewish characters #jewish representation #writing advice #writeblr #writing jewish spaces #how to write synagogues #another long one sorry not sorry

[a-very-fond-farewell]

The forbidden crack! Untamed prompts: 15/? Kimi no Na Wa AU: “Seamless” [ok I changed stuff bc I’m well on my way to thirty and teenage love is fun and fresh until you realize you could technically be a parent yourself and then it’s all downhill from there. so the characters are adults, sorry about that] [title comes from (what I understand to be) a way of saying that goes “a goddess’s robe is seamless” which (supposedly) should mean a great plan coming together –which reminded me of fate and time and the whole underlying plot of the movie– or something perfect/the product of perfect craftsmanship. I was looking for info about weaving procedures and I stumbled across this:

From Wikipedia, under “Loom” “In Tang Dynasty, China, the goddess weaver floated down on a shaft of moonlight with her two attendants. She showed the upright court official Guo Han in his garden that a goddess's robe is seamless, for it is woven without the use of needle and thread, entirely on the loom. The phrase "a goddess's robe is seamless" passed into an idiom to express perfect workmanship. This idiom is also used to mean a perfect, comprehensive plan.”

There’s also reference to the legend of Vega and Altair, which is what the Japanese festival tanabata is based on. And my creative juices gave me a sugar high so...yeah] * No matter how isolated Gusu is known to be, preparations for the upcoming July festival attract people from all over the country. Time has relentlessly transformed what used to be a secluded and safe place for people to meditate in into a tourist location known for its cold springs and breathtaking sceneries. Yet, Lan Zhan wonders what cities and stories could possibly hide behind those mountains he has known for all his life.

Managing the temple of the goddess along with his older brother and uncle should bring him joy, but deep down he knows he’s still living beside them more out of obligation than anything else. Lan Huan himself feels trapped behind the usual mask of politeness and fake smiles, his heart still bleeding for the loss of his two precious friends in the span of five years. Their uncle Lan QiRen well may have taken them in when they were mere children, stepping in to take care of them in place of their mourning father after losing his wife... but Lan Zhan knows his brother doesn’t want to disappoint their elder in any way.

Falling in love not once, but two times in a lifetime should not be frowned upon... but Lan QiRen couldn’t stomach the idea of one of his nephews falling for a man the first time, let alone the second. Just having said goodbye to Nie MingJue when they were mere teenagers after their uncle had prohibited him from meeting with his nephew, Lan Huan thought he could have another chance at happiness with Meng Yao in his twenties... just for the other man to fall ill and move country to look after himself. Ever since, Lan Huan has stopped believing in ever being able to find happiness for himself and decided to accept his fate and manage the temple like their uncle did for most of his life.

The idea of celibacy doesn’t sit well with Lan Zhan, not for himself and certainly not for his heartbroken brother, but life outside Gusu seems so far away and unapproachable. Without them the ancient tradition of working the loom to create seamless robes would perish and most of the profits from the temple would fall dry if not for their hard work. Their mother used to be a seamstress herself, teaching them how to weave without breaking the delicate thread, setting the rhythm of their hearts with her feet moving on the pedals as they watched her work her magic day after day. Their robes are still valued for their absolute perfection, even if nowadays they’re bound to be bought not by emperors or kings, but by celebrities and politicians who just want to boast their ego in front of cameras and flashing lights. The set Lan Zhan himself has been working on will take another three months to finish and on top of that he uses his spare time to make the ribbons they sell at the local gift shop while his brother prepares the traditional talismans by hand, his calligraphy as delicate as the products of their weaving. 

As the nights of the local festival approach and they practice the rituals in full traditional gear more to appease the tourists than anything else, Lan Zhan feels getting more and more tired the longer he wears the long wig and the heavy robes himself, wishing his heart could stop being so ungrateful for the life he was entrusted with. But the news of a comet quickly approaching them brings the promise of change as Lan Zhan looks up at the sky and wishes he was born in a different body. Just for once. Just to live at least once in that existence of his.

[more under the cut]

Wei Ying is in university (engineering major), living with his brother Jiang Cheng (marine biology major) in their sister’s tiny ass apartment. They keep her company while she waits for baby Jin Ling to be born, ZiXuan working day and night in the hospital fresh out of med school to get their family a bigger house. Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng moved in from the tiny Yunmeng and secretly hate the big city life, but their studies come first and they didn’t want to leave YanLi alone while pregnant. Their parents are still working in the countryside and couldn’t properly care for her, living so far away in Lanling.

Wei Ying works part time in a bar and the usual routine is so rooted in his system that he doesn’t even care anymore. Study, eat, work, sleep. Rinse and repeat. He would like to think his brother has it easier than him, but he’s even more elusive than him, studying in the library until his night shift in an art gallery as a guard. The poor guy doesn’t even sleep, let alone have a social life. Spring has just begun and YanLi still has a trimester to go, her spirits low even if she loves her child very much already. Keeping her company and helping her leading a normal life is their priority as her brothers, but sometimes Wei Ying wishes things were easier.

He doesn’t really want to become an engineer, or, at least... he used to want that. But he’s more interested in actually making stuff instead of taking a hundred calculus classes per semester. He wishes he could enjoy his studies more and maybe get a girlfriend or boyfriend to pass the time, not that he believes in romance or anything. Commitment sounds scary.

One day he wakes up and... nah, he’s still dreaming. The ceiling is wrong, he doesn’t live in an old traditional cottage with a view on... wtf is that a mountain? Fuck that he doesn’t have time to waste, he has a test today. Studied hard enough last night he fell asleep on the desk... better start getting ready.

So he goes to the bathroom and showers, too tired to even open his eyes. But the shampoo smells all wrong, what even is sandalwood? And he doesn’t like mint toothpaste. And why are his clothes a size bigger? He doesn’t even own a button down, what in the...?

Who the fuck is that in the mirror??!?

On the other hand, Lan Zhan wakes up on a desk, drool on the books, late for a test an angry stranger reminds him he has to take in half an hour at best. He is presented with a soup his body mechanically ingests out of habit as he tries to politely nod to whatever the kind woman in front of him is saying. (“You look sick, are you really okay?” / “A-Jie stop babying him” / “But I’ve never seen him so... quiet?” / “He’s probably pretending so that he can skip his test.”) But if he really has given his word for such a commitment... maybe he should just go.

Still, he doesn’t remember going to any university. That may be a problem.

His body feels different, but he never paid attention to his reflection. They don’t even own mirrors back at home anyway. He doesn’t remember his hair reaching well over his ears and under his jaw. Should he consider asking his brother to cut it for him? It feels greasy, should he fix it or?

As he tucks a strand behind his ear he realizes something is terribly wrong. From the tip of his nose to the width of his shoulders, from the clothes he put on without even thinking. The window of the shop under the apartment he’s just left shows him a stranger that he cannot recognizes for the life of his.

And now some funny stuff:

(If you are not familiar with the movie, go watch it. But if you are you should be fine with the following list so... enjoy)

Jiang Cheng loves dogs, but Wei Ying is allergic and they cannot get a puppy... so he de-stresses at a local dog café whenever he can. Wen Qing works there even if she’s a cat person and comments on how he’s secretly planning to murder her so he can get her job. They’re good friends and dated for a while before Wen Qing understood her lesbianism was stronger and Jiang Cheng’s chaotic bisexuality was leaning more on the boy section of the partner store anyway. They bitch about everything and everyone anyway.

Lan Zhan (in Wei Ying’s body) manages to arrive in university and take the test, getting perfect scores even if Wei Ying’s never got such a high mark. For the rest of the day he roams Lanling in awe, believing it’s just a very nice dream. He also discovers the existence of pet bunnies in a pet store and his life changes.

Wei Ying (in Lan Zhan’s body) is a mess. Lan Huan immediately notices something is wrong, but he hasn’t really smiled in several months and whatever is happening to WangJi is extremely entertaining to him. He sees him skipping the morning prayers right in front of Lan QiRen’s salad (so to speak) and he doesn’t seem to remember the existence of their uncle’s punishing bamboo stick.

He also clearly never used a loom in his life, but luckily Lan QiRen is too busy to notice as he welcomes tourists in the temple and explains them the history behind it. Lan Huan takes “Lan Zhan” out for a stroll and they sit down as Lan QiRen’s mellow voice explains the legend of the weaver goddess and the importance of the artisanal work they still keep practicing to this day. Transfixed, “Lan Zhan” smiles big at his brother and Lan Huan knows for sure this is not his WangJi at all.

Wen Qing finds “Wei Ying” petting bunnies in the shop where her current girlfriend MianMian works and notices how... awfully quiet he is. She thinks he bombed the math test and might be sad, but he doesn’t seem to recognize her when she waves her hand at him. She then reminds him he should be getting ready for work and he blanches at the idea. Eventually asking her “where he’s supposed to depart for” and honest to the gods Wen Qing ends up convincing herself he’s high as fuck.

Imagine “Lan Zhan” being reprimanded by Lan QiRen for -gods forbid- laughing too loud? Asking for a beer at the local tea house? Saying out loud that he craves meat when he’s vegetarian? That’s just a dream for poor Wei Ying, whatever! He’s having a great time and Lan Huan is this close to lose it when they practice the traditional rites together and “Lan Zhan” doesn’t know how to put the long wig on anymore.

Now imagine “Wei Ying” not knowing how to use a shaker at work, or how to make a martini, or the fact that he and a boy named Wen Ning are actually coworkers and not strangers. He goes back home at 3am with the feeling he has forgotten something important, but when he finally (finally) finds his apartment he falls asleep on the doorway. Too drained by the city life to even change out of his uniform.

Next day there’s no switch: Wei Ying wakes up in his body by the doorway, with Jiang Cheng coming back from his night shift and panicking hard; Lan Zhan wakes up in his bed but he’s somewhat grounded at 20 for... drinking beer?

Technical stuff now!

Lan Zhan lives in 2010 and he is 20, Wei Ying lives in 2015 and he is 20.

It’s LXC who suggest his brother to keep a diary for his dreams if they get too crazy (later on it will be revealed something shocking about LXC, but for now the journaling is just a “suggestion”)

WWX and LWJ switch every other night or so, and things change when WWX wakes up in LWJ’s body and finds the diary.

They keep in touch with diaries [bc I don’t think LWJ would have a phone like...ever, but I digress]

WWX notices the two Jades of Gusu are kept outside of their peers’ circles because other people think their family is weird: they still use courtesy names; they don’t eat meat; most of their relatives are believed to have died in celibacy without actually being monks themselves; they don’t drink alcohol and are deemed unsociable... and so on.

But it’s when he overhears people bashing LXC for “his past with several boys” and for “running away from society like his father” that WWX (in LWJ’s body) actually loses it and starts a fistfight right then and there until those losers stop muttering behind their backs.

In the meantime, ZiXuan comes back home to surprise YanLi... and LWJ is there (in WWX’s body) and the younger man almost doesn’t let him enter bc he doesn’t know who this strange man is and what does he want from Jiang Cheng’s sister?

LWJ also follows JC to his night shift one day bc he’s never seen an art gallery (but apparently WWX often trails behind his younger step brother anyway, so JC doesn’t notice anything weird... aside from how quiet the other is)

JC then takes that opportunity to ask his brother (while LWJ inhabits said body) if... if he’s depressed and needs help [“Wen Qing saw you petting bunnies too many times for you to be ‘just fine’. You can talk to me.” / “it’s fine.” / “fuck that you’re not fine. Stop lying to me.” / “it’s just a transitional time for me, it will pass” / “who taught you such big words, what the fuck”] and then JC begrudgingly tells his brother than he loves him and doesn’t want him to be sad.

The next day WWX is back in his body and finds written down: “your brother tells me he loves you and that you should take better care of yourself” and WWX clowns the fuck out of JC the following day and JC is like “noPe. You’re fucking fine. Whatever, your fucking with me. You’re always fucking with me. Stupid of me to fucking care, gods forbid.”

LWJ starts developing feeling when he learns WWX defended Lan Huan + LWJ goes every night he can to the art gallery when he doesn’t have to work at the bar and learns there’s an entire section of the gallery dedicated to Gusu + but he doesn’t want to think about home for now, avoiding the exhibit, and so he learns more about JC and starts to think he would have lots of things to talk about with LXC.

Lan QiRen takes his nephews to their annual purification trip to Burial Mounds, to a cave hidden on the mountain where it is said the goddess met with her lover for the first time in the past. They leave their offerings and change the ropes securing the entrance of the cave with sturdier ones, which they have made themselves prior that year. It is said that whoever enters the cave will be granted a wish, so it’s responsibly of the Lan family to keep everyone else out until the lover of the goddess returns to be granted the wish to reunite with her. It’s a privilege the goddess has left for him to enjoy and no mortal should dare take that from him. Only those who wear the sacred headband of the Lan family can enter without being cast out of the cave and be forced to leave by the spirits.

WWX falls in love with LWJ a bit everyday: the little gifts and notes he finds on his desk for WWX to open and read every morning; the beautiful drawings LWJ makes of the mountains; the care he put in the white robes that should adorn a deity and not common human beings.

crushed with longing for WWX, LWJ wishes to meet with him one day (the real him) and so he runs away from Gusu on train and reaches Lanling and searches for him at the university. But he’s not there. He looks everywhere for him, but doesn’t find him. Until he stumbles into YanLi and it’s almost like there’s a wall between them: shocked, LWJ recognizes YanLi even if he knows she has never actually met him in real life; but the worst thing is that... she’s not pregnant. She’s not even at home as she usually is, but going to university herself and it doesn’t even seem like she’s even in a relationship with ZiXuan yet: the two of them not even sparing a glance to one another in the university corridors.

LWJ finds his words at long last, asking YanLi if her brother Wei Ying is well. She beams at him at first, elated to see her brother actually has friends outside of the family... “but you look around my age, right? What business do you have being friends with a fifteen year old boy anyway?”

Shocked, the last thing LWJ can do before leaving her alone is to give her a ribbon he made himself, the one that represents his heart. “I just know him by chance, he... he helped my brother once. I was wondering how to repay his kindness so I made this for him. Can you give it to him?”

That evening he goes back to Gusu and he prepares for the festival knowing the comet is coming. The last thing he wishes is to forget about Wei Ying, because -having realized there’s a discrepancy in timelines and that he has interacted with someone from the future for months now- he cannot possibly justify having developed feelings for a minor.

There are no more switches and WWX is left wondering what happened.

Now the sad part:

Under the weather for what happened, WWX follows JC around a lot and he even adopts a couple of bunnies to cope. YanLi is closer and closer to the due date and gets restless, forcing her brothers to clean up the entire apartment with her until everything sparkles for the baby’s arrival. They dig out an old box with all of YanLi’s stuff from university and LWJ’s ribbon appears out of nowhere. WWX immediately recognizes it for what it is.

[“I’m sorry A-Ying, I was supposed to give you this back then, but I forgot.” / “What are you taking about... why do you have a Gusu’s ribbon with you?” / “Ah, was your acquaintance from up there? He said you helped his brother once, or something like that... and he wanted to thank you. I’m really sorry.” / “How long ago was that A-Jie?” / “Five years or so? I think?”]

To this JC startles, saying that’s awfully weird, considering what happened to Gusu exactly five years prior. To which WWX is like ?pardon? and then JC takes them to the art gallery to the traditional art section, where the exhibit on Gusu is: there, WWX finally remembers how a relatively small rock has detached itself from the comet and destroyed Gusu in 2010 on the final day of the July festival.

On a display there, the siblings find one of the few things spared by the fire: an unfinished set of robes weaved with the precious heavenly silk, which was said to be made from the stars themselves.

Wei Ying cries all of his tears, neither JC or YanLi can console him and the only thing they come up with is that -maybe- their brother felt bad for forgetting to cherish a friendship... but they don’t remember if he had reacted so badly five years ago when the news of the fire at Gusu broke.

In the middle of the night, with the ribbon secured around his wrist, Wei Ying runs away and takes a train to Gusu. There are no more direct lines and he has to hike all the way up there... just to see a lake where the town was supposed to be. The crater so big it swallowed the ground where half of the city used to be.

Desperate, he wanders the mountains without knowing where to go, until his feet take him to the secluded path Uncle QiRen took him once. He follows it, noticing the same ribbons knotted around the trees he saw the first time he walked there. He follows the path and reaches the cave.

Inside, nothing happens. The talismans are still there, but -as he imagined (*eyeroll emoji*)- there’s no actual magic preventing him from entering. So he jumps over the white ropes made of ribbons and silk and gets inside the cave of Burial Mounds. He takes shelter there from the storm outside and thinks of Lan Zhan, of how much he misses him. And then he cries thinking about him and his brother and their uncle and the entire Gusu: because none of them deserved to die. And he wishes he can rewind time and save them all.

He faints in the cave and his wish is granted.

Now for the good part!

He wakes up in LWJ’s body (in 2010), the day after the boy’s impromptu trip to Lanling, the last day of the July festival. He gets to work as soon as he goes downstairs, determination painting his (well, LWJ’s) features to the point Lan Huan notices... and he has to say something.

While they ate breakfast, out of Lan QiRen’s sight, Lan Huan sits his “brother” down and tells him something unexpected: that he used to switch bodies with not one but with two people at the same time, NMJ and JGY.

That he managed to finally meet NMJ in their teens when the older boy came to Gusu for a school trip... but he didn’t want to leave bc he had finally found LXC and didn’t want to part ways. Lan QiRen put end to the older boy’s silly antics and the two friends agreed to meet in secret, before Lan Huan put a end to the relationship for fear of displeasing his uncle. The three friends kept switching bodies until one day they stopped.

Then Meng Yao came to find him and told him he had discovered the truth of what happened: that NMJ had a car accident and lost most of his memories of their years as friends and that now was living somewhere else with the woman he fell in love with. Meng Yao himself tried to live in Gusu for a few years afterwards, regardless of his poor health, eventually deciding to not make Lan Huan worry and disappeared without a word to take care of himself (or to die far away enough so that Lan Huan didn’t have to see him at his worst).

Lan Huan said that it took him years to remember their names and that he was able to finally utter them in front of his brother only the previous year, at the last July festival. He also reveals WWX that trying to remember something so simple caused him great pain, to the point he believed he could let himself die that way, starving himself from human connection.

Impressed and sorrowful, WWX cries for him and wishes things were different for Lan Huan, who’s only 23 and yet had suffered more than anyone else. But Lan Huan is content with what he has, even if he feels guilty for being the reason Meng Yao neglected his health. Yet he’s happy for NMJ and doesn’t regret befriending them at all.

With his help, WWX alerts people in Gusu: LXC finally standing up for himself against their uncle in order to gain his respect and convince him of the emergency at hand.

On the other hand, LWJ wakes up in the cave in WWX’s body (in 2015) and doesn’t know why he’s there. Yet he knows the way out and travels back following the ribbons... but when he reaches Gusu he sees there’s only a crater filled with water and doesn’t know what to do. He knows of the time discrepancy between the two realities, but he doesn’t know what to think.

WWX realizes LWJ must be in his body somewhere on the Burial Mounds, from the top of which Gusu can be seen, but he doesn’t know if he would find his own body in the cave, since the year now is 2010 and WWX reached the cave by himself only in 2015. Yet something tells him to go and so he leaves for the mountain.

On top of the Burial Mounds, he doesn’t find anyone.

But Lan Zhan is there, on the other side of the veil between present and future.

And as the light of the sun fades away and dusk approaches, Wei Ying enters his body and Lan Zhan gets back inside his own. They meet for the first time and Wei Ying doesn’t know what to say, having never seen Lan Zhan’s body from outside and feeling suddenly very self conscious and uninteresting.

To which Lan Zhan responds with “are you legal?” / “what the fuck Lan Zhan.” / “I gave you my ribbon. did you receive it?” / “yes, my... my sister gave it to me like, yesterday.” / “yesterday as in... what year?” / “2015”

And then Lan Zhan kisses the hell out of him because nothing screams romanticism to him like a relationship between two contenting adults and Wei Ying gets blissed out of his pants for that single kiss on the spot. In between kisses Wei Ying tries to convince Lan Zhan to stop, that there’s something they should remember... or at least something they should not forget.

But Lan Zhan does not relent, hugging and holding Wei Ying, finally... finally keeping him close and never letting him go.

Until Wei Ying disappears and the only thing left of him is the white ribbon Lan Zhan has given him.

They forgot to write their names, so that they would not forget them like LXC has done for years.

And finally.....!

years have passed, it’s the beginning of 2020 [sans quarantine, thank you] and Wei Ying has graduated and is looking for a job. He doesn’t remember Lan Zhan.

Jiang Cheng has found a job close to the sea at the local aquarium and the only thing he talks about on the phone is “how useless his new intern is. a nobody late bloomer who discovered the mountain wasn’t for him and decided to study in the opposite direction, go figure. Gusu must have bored him alright. but the other day he reminded me mountains are actually ancient reefs and now I think I’m in love.” So all is well.

(Gusu did not fall and everyone was evacuated in time. Lan Zhan had descended the mountain and made sure his brother got his backup in convincing their uncle of the emergency. He doesn’t remember either, but he always keeps his ribbon on his wrist, feeling like he’s waiting for someone to get it back.)

On a snowy night they cross paths on a pedestrian bridge, but don’t recognize each other... until Wei Ying’s scent of lotus reaches Lan Zhan. But the other has already disappeared behind a corner of the ever busy Lanling and they miss each other once again.

The following day, when Wei Ying has just dropped Jin Ling at his kindergarten and is about to cross a road, he sees a familiar face on the other side of the street. Both of them are talking to the phone: Wei Ying to Jiang Cheng, who’s calling him from a toilet, panicking about his first date with the intern; and Lan Zhan with his brother Lan XiChen, who’s waiting for his date to come back from the bathroom in the restaurant they chose to meet at.

As they walk towards each other they sense something, but don’t stop. Until they have now reached their respective sides of the road and realize what just happened. They turn around, but there are too many cars in between them.

They look for a way to meet and run towards a pedestrian bridge right above the road. They make the steps two at a time until they’re out of breath on top and stare at each other after so long. Wei Ying has lived for five years feeling like half of him was missing, but Lan Zhan had spent twice as long waiting for something to change in his life.

(“I’m still legal, you know?” / “That’s the first thing you decide to tell me after ten years? Really?” / “you thought it was romantic last time” / “what’s that supposed to mean?” / “that you should kiss me right the fuck now, you big oaf.”)

They meet in the middle of the bridge and kiss.

Then, Lan Zhan tilts his head and ask “what was you name again?”, clearly amused, and waits until Wei Ying’s laughter resonates all around.

The fucking end.

Now I need a break.

*

#mdzs #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #cql #the forbidden crack! untamed prompts #mdzs/au: manga/anime inspired #mdzs/au: kimi no na wa

[brainsmut]

Happy Birthday, Mitz!

It’s @m1tz0‘s birthday today (Mar 26)!! Mitz, you’re an amazing artist, a dedicated fan, a wonderful improv rapper, and a great friend! I am so happy to know you and I hope your birthday is filled with rainbows and unicorns and lots of thick milkshakes! :3 

Also I hope you enjoy some Grey Warden Shallura with roleplay, femdom, light bondage, handjobs, oral, and, of course, pegging. ^_^ 

           It had become their usual anniversary plan. They headed to Denerim, reported in at the Warden compound, swapped the blue-and-silver for plainclothes, and headed out. Allura’s “plainclothes” were anything but plain: a gown of soft pink and a bodice of summer sky blue; Shiro lived up to the name though, in an undyed shirt, gray tunic, black pants. They still wore their Warden cloaks; they were the only ones they had, after all, and it made people leave them alone as they wound their way into the less-desirable parts of the busy capital.

           But nothing aside from their clothing truly changed until they crossed the Pearl’s threshold. He held the door for her, of course, but when he followed her in, he stayed three steps behind her, rather than coming alongside as normal. She approached the madam, who had begun to recognize the yearly ritual. She smiled and led them to a quiet booth in the common room (as quiet as the common room got, anyway). She took their cloaks and gave them to one of her attendants, to take up with them as they prepared the room. Allura already had Shiro’s share of the money they’d saved up for this; she paid the madam up front, in full, with tips included. (They received a small discount for being Grey Wardens, which they never knew about. But the madam recognized the value of their patronage and considered the discount a small price to pay for having impartial and skilled heroes on hand should something go amiss. Not all the city guards were so willing to spring into action to help the patrons – or staff – of a whorehouse.)

           This part of the evening was simple: a nice meal in the common room, as if this were nothing more than another inn. But someone who knew them would see the differences: how the food was set in front of her, and an empty plate in front of him; how she chose which food from her plate to give him, and in what amounts; how he thanked her with his head bowed, not daring to raise his eyes to her face; how he always refilled her goblet, but she never returned the gesture; how they spoke very little instead of their usual animated conversations.

           When their meal was finished, an attendant let them know their room was ready and gave Allura the key. She thanked them and rose, prompting Shiro to do so as well. And he fell in behind her again, staying three steps back. She didn’t remark him doing so, didn’t even check to see if he was with her. She headed for the stairs, daintily lifting her skirt just enough so she wouldn’t trip on it. Her gown was pretty, but still only cotton. It didn’t matter. She walked as if she wore silk.

           Their room was candlelit, with a large bed, and had a hot bath prepared. Their cloaks were hanging near the door that Shiro shut and locked behind them. “Undress me,” she ordered.

           “Yes, my lady,” and he moved to obey.

           Hours earlier, he’d done up these laces for her, when they were still Wardens. They’d laughed about how tight to cinch them and he’d “accidentally” tickled her a time or two. There was none of that now. He was careful with his hands, no unintended touching of anything. He loosened and removed the bodice. Unlaced the gown. Pulled it carefully off her shoulders, down her arms, over her breasts and hips until it hit the floor and she stepped out of it. He carefully hung everything up, so that it wouldn’t wrinkle.

           Next her smallclothes: brassiere and underpants. He made sure to slowly kneel as he pulled the latter down her legs, no bending over. He held them as she stepped out of them, keeping his eyes on her feet. He set the smallclothes aside carefully, tried to keep himself in check as she slid into the tub and sighed softly in delight.

           “Wash me.”

           He acknowledged and obeyed, using the soft washcloths and scented soap provided. He didn’t dare touch her skin with his bare hands; the washcloth was always between his skin and hers (well, the metal of his right hand and her skin, anyway).

           The washing was delayed briefly when she issued a new commandment. “Rub my shoulders.”

           He kept the washcloth, of course. She hadn’t told him he could touch her. He rubbed one shoulder at a time, massaging through the cloth. She hummed happily and leaned back into his grip.

           “Enough.”

           He stopped.

           “Finish washing me.” She stood so that he could wash more of her skin. He kept his eyes away from anything untoward.

           Or he did until she chided him. “You’ll never do it right if you don’t look at what you’re washing.”

           “Yes’m.” He didn’t turn his eyes to her. Not yet.

           “You can look at me.”

           Only then. Then he drank in her shimmering-wet skin in the dancing candlelight, let his eyes wander her body, noted every scar and freckle as if it were new.

           “You have to keep washing me,” she reminded him.

           “Yes’m,” and he got back to work.

           When she was fully soaped-up, she sank back into the tub, rubbing her skin with the water to make sure she was fully clean. He retreated to fetch the towel, softer than any of their clothes were and twice as luxurious. And she rose again, and he began to pat her dry as she stood in the tub, water cascading down her spine.

           Eventually she took the towel from him to wrap it around herself. She turned to face him and found him half-hard, breathing quickly, unable to stop staring at her. She smirked as if his arousal was something new and amusing to her, then stepped out of the tub serenely.

           She took a single step towards him and he stepped away, mindful of the distance that must remain between a servant and his mistress – because that was what she was right now, what they were. That was the game they were playing, and he knew his part well. She kept this up – one step forward as he stepped back, over and over – until his back was against the wall, so that when she stepped closer still, there was no escape. She opened his pants, reached in and helped herself to his hardening cock. He bit his lip against the moan that wanted to escape as he closed his eyes.

           “Keep your eyes open,” she commanded him. “I haven’t rescinded the order to look at me.”

           And so he stared into her eyes as she toyed with him, teasing him, getting him hard and breathless. Then she tightened her grip more, stroked him more certainly, and it was a fight not to close his eyes and concentrate on how good it felt.

           “I’m… I’m going to…”

           She interrupted him to purr, “That’s the idea.” No more pretending she didn’t know exactly how to get him off, no more lingering hints of hesitancy. She jerked him off and he couldn’t help his eyes falling closed, his head leaning back against the wall, the rising groans until he came on her hand and the towel. They’d played this game so often that he even felt a little ashamed of himself, of sullying his mistress’s skin like this… but then that, too, was part of the fun: the idea that this was, on some level, forbidden.

           Her hand disappeared, and he focused on getting back enough air to apologize. He opened his eyes to see, his mouth to speak, only to find her staring at him as she slowly licked his cum off one of her fingers, as if this were a treat she was savoring.

           If he weren’t still hard, that would have gotten him well on his way again.

           Then she presented the rest of her hand to him. The command was implicit, but she gave it words anyway. “You made this mess. Clean it up.”

           And he obeyed, keeping his eyes on hers. He tried to suck one of her fingers into his mouth, but she pulled her hand away.

           “Lick,” she told him, “just as I did. I want to see your tongue.”

           So he followed her example: long, slow licks. Her breasts rose and fell more quickly; she licked her own lips watching him. And when she decided he was done, she pulled her hand away and unfastened her towel, letting it drop to the floor.

           “You’re responsible for another mess,” she told him, and widened her stance. “You have more to clean up.”

           “Yes’m,” he said. He started to take a step forward.

           “Stay where you are,” she said abruptly. “I don’t want you to try to get out of your duty.”

           “Never, mistress.”

           “Kneel.”

           He obeyed.

           She stepped closer, ran her newly-cleaned hand back through his hair, behind his ear, down and around until she could shove his chin up to look him in the eyes. “Do a good job.”

           “Yes’m.”

           She let go so she could move in that last little bit and spread her folds for him. “And you’re not allowed to touch me with your hands.”

           “Yes’m,” and that was the last he said as he got to work.

           She was very wet, and not only from the water. The usual musk of her was lingering there just beneath the faint scents of the bath oil and soap. He did the same long, slow licks he’d been giving her hand, in part because that was her last order – to lick the way she had – and in part because he knew she loved it.

           He heard her breath hitch and then release in a quiet moan, and couldn’t help grinning triumphantly. He set himself back to work quickly. His wonderful, delightful work.

           She arched, pushed her hips forward, sought to press more of herself against his tongue. He picked up speed, made sure to lick everywhere she could want.

           “So eager to please.” She meant it to be a purr, but she was running out of breath for such actions.

           He paused long enough to look up at her and say, “All I want is your pleasure, mistress.”

           She smirked at him before pushing his head back down into her crotch. “Then less talking and more licking. I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

           He obeyed happily, and he could feel her tremble as he lapped up the proof of her bliss like a cat with a saucer of cream. He ran his hands up along the back of her legs, starting at the knees and rising to her thighs, pushing her forward against his mouth.

           “STOP.”

           He did instantly.

           “Did I say,” she had to pause to catch her breath, “that you could touch me with your hands?”

           He dropped them. “No, mistress.”

           She stepped away. “Rise.”

           He got back to his feet.

           “Strip. Quickly.”

           He hurried out of his clothes, fully revealing how hard he was again, still.

           “Go lay down on the bed, face up.”

           He obeyed and hoped he didn’t look too eager.

           The first thing she did was move to one of the dressers where she knew their supplies would be awaiting them. She opened drawers until she found what she was looking for, pulling out a length of red velvet rope. She shut the drawer and walked over to him.

           “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’ll have to make sure you can’t use them.” She straddled his chest, and he could feel her pussy drip onto his skin. She tied one end of the rope around one of his wrists, then pushed back a curtain on the wall. Iron rings were set into the wall at various places, specifically for purposes like this. She pulled the rope through and bound his free hand with the other end. His hands were now tied, pulled back above his head. He could bring them forward a little, but not enough to do anything with them.

           (Of course, he could always activate his arm, burn through the rope, easily free himself. He wouldn’t, because that was something he could do as a Warden, and he wasn’t one right now. But also because he didn’t want to be free at the moment.)

           She moved forward to straddle his face. “Now finish what you started.”

           Her wish was his command.

           It didn’t take long before she was moaning again. “Mmm, yes. This is at least one use you have, you worthless shem.”

           This part had taken getting used to. But now, after so much time together, he actually kind of liked it. She needed to flip society’s script, needed to be the one who was exalted and revered for a change. And to the extent he was “worthless” in the game, it wasn’t because of his arm. So it had gone from slightly bothering him to not bothering him to actually being kind of hot.

           She grabbed tight fistfuls of his hair and rutted her hips against his tongue. “Deeper. Get that tongue as far in me as it will go.”

           And she still tasted wonderful to him, rich and primal and he could feel his cock twitching as she moaned louder. They could have played this game in any shared bedroom, but in the Pearl, they didn’t have to keep it down. She could be as loud as she wanted, and she was clearly taking advantage of it.

           “More! Ahhh, yes, such a good, obedient shemlen, with a very good tongue…” She was basically fucking his tongue, and he could almost feel her lose control just before she came. He didn’t stop as she flooded his mouth and lips and chin, didn’t stop until she moved away, and then he licked his lips before starting to catch his breath.

           She flopped onto her back next to him on the bed and hummed in happy contentment again. “Every time I think I’ll have to have you whipped, you change my mind.” She lolled her head over to smirk at him. “And I think you like serving me, don’t you?”

           “Y-yes’m.”

           She traced a finger along his chest. “You enjoy eating my cunt, drinking down my juices, don’t you?”

           “Very much, mistress.”

           She took hold of his erection. “And you want to continue serving me.” It wasn’t a question.

           “Absolutely. I will do anything you want.”

           She toyed with his cock. “Keep going.”

           He licked his lips. “My body is yours to do with as you see fit.”

           “Mmm, yes, it is.”

           “Every part of me is available for your use.”

           “And…?”

           “And… I want you to use me, mistress. I want it so badly.”

           “Be specific, shem. I don’t have patience for vagaries.”

           “Please fuck me, mistress. Please use my body for your pleasure.”

           “Better.” She kissed the tip of his nose before rolling over and standing up. That part was a little out of character – the haughty elven noblewoman would never do something cute and sweet like that, especially not for her shemlen sextoy. But Allura could be impulsive. And he loved that about her.

           He watched her walk around the bed, back to the dresser. She found what she was looking for much easier this time, and anticipation rippled through his body as she raised the strap on out of the drawer.

           He licked his lips as he watched her. She made sure he had a good angle to watch her fill herself with the interior phallus. Then she set about buckling it on, adjusting it to get a good fit. He couldn’t help himself from staring longingly at what she was about to give him.

           She pulled out a jar from the same drawer before shutting it. “This is what you want.” She didn’t phrase it as a question, but he still understood it as one.

           He nodded. “Yes, mistress.”

           “Speak plainly then,” she ordered as she walked towards him.

           He licked his lips. They both liked the dirty talk, but that didn’t make it any easier to say, especially when he was in-character. (And, again, the fact that it was difficult made it that much more arousing.) “I want your cock in my ass, mistress. Please.”

           “Spread your legs.”

           He obeyed – barely. Which was deliberate, of course.

           She arched an eyebrow. “More.”

           A little more.

           She got impatient, as he’d been hoping. She crawled up onto the bed and used her knees to force his legs apart enough for her to get in between them. She set the jar down next to her. Then she grabbed hold of his thighs and shoved them apart, back towards his chest. “Like this.”

           When he did nothing but nod, she grinned. “You like it when I’m rough with you, don’t you?”

           “Yes’m.” Ohhh, very much so.

           She leaned forward, hands either side of his body, prowling forward until her face was hovering just over his. She spoke quieter when she was this close to him, and her voice came out sounding smoky and rich. “You like it when I take you, when I use you to get off.”

           “Yes,” he exhaled.

           “Yes what?”

           “Yes, mistress.”

           “Better.” She leaned down as if she would kiss him, but instead she took his lower lip between her teeth, tugging on it, running her tongue against it before she let go. She sat back up and regarded him: wrists bound, legs spread, chest heaving. “You look like a desperate little shem slut.”

           “I… I am.”

           “What?” she prompted.

           “I am a desperate little shem slut.” He might protest the ‘little’ appellation, but he couldn’t argue the rest. Well, maybe he could object to ‘slut,’ but that was part of the game: that she used him, and he loved being used. Which was true enough; he loved surrendering to her. He didn’t want anyone else but her, ever again in his life, but he wanted her so much. Sometimes, it felt like his love and desire for her would burn him alive.

           “Desperate for what?”

           “Desperate to be fucked by your big cock, mistress,” and all of that was very true. She’d fucked him with a strap on the first time she’d brought him to the Pearl, and it was something they could really only do when they were here. There wasn’t this level of privacy among the Wardens. He’d been looking forward to this for months now, been almost giddy with anticipation the whole last week.

           “Watch me,” she ordered him as she opened the jar, dipping out two fingers’ worth of the ointment within.

           And he watched her take her time, slowly spreading the slippery, softly-scented ointment over the large, thick phallus she’d chosen. (He knew from experience that the dresser contained different sizes.) He watched her lick her lips as she eyed his waiting body, watched her essentially fuck her own hand and whimper a little at the sensation, since moving the outer phallus jostled the one buried inside her body. He watched and he waited and he wanted so badly, but there was nothing he could do.

           He watched her continue to coat her false cock in ointment until it nearly dripped with goo, then she closed the jar up and carefully set it aside. “Ready to be taken, shem?”

           “Yes, mistress.”

           She shoved his legs back, moved the tip to his entrance. “How ready?”

           “Extremely. Please.”

           “Beg for what you want, flat-ear.”

           “Please, mistress, please fuck my ass with your cock. You’ll find it tight and hot and ready to receive you.” Her eyebrows went up at that. It was a new line; he’d been working on it ahead of time. “Please take my body and use it for your every carnal desire. I want it, I need it! I don’t want anything as much as I want you to fuck me hard and deep!”

           She grinned. “Yell it.”

           “What?” Apparently, he wasn’t the only one coming up with new lines.

           Her voice was practically a hiss. “Yell, ‘please fuck me, mistress’ and I’ll give you exactly what you want.”

           His mouth twisted and she grinned and he licked his lips. This is why we come here, he reminded himself, and don’t do this around the other Wardens. She hadn’t asked for ‘as loud as possible’ so he wasn’t going to do that. But he was sure he could be heard up and down the hallway – and perhaps downstairs in the common room – when he yelled, “PLEASE FUCK ME, MISTRESS!”

           And before he could really register the flame in his cheeks from embarrassment, she was pushing into him. He gasped and let his head drop back against the pillows.

           “Nnn, maybe I should have fingered you first,” she said with a grunt.

           “No… no, this is… oh, mistress, this is so good.” He’d barely remembered to use the title instead of her name.

           “You’re so tight.” She pulled out, then pulsed back in. “I’m going to have to spend all night fucking you to get you loosened up.”

           “Oh yes please mistress I want it so much.” He was practically babbling.

           “I can tell. Look at how hard you are.” She ran a still-slick finger along his cock, which twitched in response. She pulled back out before pushing in a little more. “Worthless shem whore, wanting nothing so much as to be screwed by your betters.”

           “By you,” he said. “Only by you, mistress.”

           “Good boy.” She was getting deeper with each slow thrust. “Ohhh, very good boy. I swear, it’s like your sweet little hole doesn’t want to let me go.”

           “I would keep you inside me forever if I could.”

           She smiled – not a smirk or a grin – and pushed in a little more. “Keep that up and I might grace your cock with my cunt someday. Ride your dick like it’s that hungry mouth of yours.”

           “I… I would be honored…” It helped that he knew ‘someday’ would be ‘probably after we’re done here and I can get you hard again.’

           “Yes, you would be,” she agreed. They both gasped when she finally managed to bury the phallus fully within him, and she licked her lips. “But first, I need to finish having my way with you now.”

           “Yes, yes, please.” It took him a moment to remember to add, “Mistress.”

           “Don’t you dare forget my title,” she warned him, pulling back.

           “No, mistress. I won’t. I’m sorry.”

           She wasn’t moving. “Why’d you almost forget it that time then?”

           “I’m sorry. I was too overcome with lust.”

           “Your lust does not concern me,” she told him, just before she slammed back into him. “And it should not concern you.”

           “Yes, mistress,” he panted when he could breathe again. “I only want your pleasure. Please use my ass to come as much as you want.”

           “That’s the way a shem should be.” And she proceeded to well and truly fuck him.

           She knew exactly how to move her hips to give them both the most pleasure, and she took firm hold of his thighs as she pounded him so perfectly. She had, over the years, gotten better about staying in character, but there was always a point where she faltered, where the mask fell.

           “You’re taking me so well,” she moaned, and the haughtiness was slipping out of her voice.

           “I’m… I’m happy to please you,” he panted in response.

           And she let go of him, leaned forward to whisper, “You do nothing but please me, my love.” Those last two words were too far out of character, but they made him feel warm, not just hot from the exertion but warm inside and out, loved and desired and truly cared for.

           And then she straightened up, grabbed his thighs again to keep his legs out of her way, and resumed fucking him like a possession. The warmth was still there but it retreated in the face of pure, unadulterated physical ecstasy.

           He wanted to hold her, wanted to pull her back down to him, but his hands were still bound above his head. She had a tight grip on his legs, and he was exactly where she wanted him as she plowed him deep and groaned almost gutturally.

           “My sweet, slutty shemlen,” she said. “Bet none of your fellow flat-ears could fuck you like this.”

           “I don’t want anyone but you.” True, so true. “Mistress.”

           She stopped. “If you’re going to forget my title again, I’m going to ‘forget’ to keep fucking you.”

           “I’m sorry, mistress. Please. I’m…” so close, he was about to say but that was something that her character wouldn’t care about.

           “You’re what?”

           “I’m yours. Entirely, completely yours, only yours. Please, mistress, finish using me.”

           She narrowed her eyes. “You just want to come.”

           “I want you to come.”

           “And you.”

           “Your pleasure is mine.”

           She smirked again. “Luckily for you, I’ve grown fond of the sound of you moaning wantonly for me.” She picked up right where she left off, no building up speed, but instead hard thrusts against and into his ass.

           He managed a, “Thank you, mistress,” but after that, it was all about breathing again.

           But he had been close. It only took a few minutes before he could feel it threatening once more. He gave her more of those “wanton” moans she was wanting; he couldn’t help himself.

           Allura knew him well after all this time. She took hold of his cock, pumped it in time with her thrusts. “Come for your mistress,” she purred, at exactly the right moment. And he did, jets of cum spraying his abdomen and chest. And, after a few more thrusts, he heard her cry out, giving full voice to her climax in a way she could never do in the Order.

           She pulled out carefully, crawled up, flopped onto her back next to him to catch her breath. He was aware of her motions because of the shifting of the mattress; he’d closed his eyes when his orgasm hit and hadn’t opened them yet.

           But then warmth flooded him again: not the warm feeling of being loved, but the tingly sparks of healing magic. He was only aware of his wrists, shoulders, and ass being sore because they suddenly felt fine again. He opened his eyes and rolled his head over to look at her. “Thank you, mistress. You take such good care of me.”

           She leaned in and kissed him on the lips, the first real kiss since they’d left their room at the Denerim compound. Out of character. He didn’t protest.

             They spent the rest of the night like that. No sleep, no more food, only “the mistress” using her shemlen “slave” in every way she wanted, both of them enjoying themselves immensely.

           Come the dawn, they cleaned up with the now very cold water, got dressed, pulled their cloaks back on, and left. Once they passed the Pearl’s threshold, he came alongside her again, her equal once more, though they still weren’t Wardens again. Not yet.

           A few more coins spent on apples and a thick crust of bread to split as they walked back to the compound. Hands held once breakfast was finished, as they discussed the night before (carefully, out of respect for the few people around them as the capital awoke).

           Then into the compound, back to the Order. Wardens already awake smirked at them for being out together all night, but they ignored them all. They weren’t on the mission list yet, and they headed back to the room they’d been given while visiting, to take off the civilian clothing and climb into bed. Tomorrow, they’ll take some missions, to do some good while they’re here, to formally mark their return to duty. But for now, they spared a few more kisses before holding each other as they fell asleep in each other’s arms, nothing more than a man and a woman, lovers who had found each other in a world that would otherwise have kept them apart.

#DA Shallura #lemon #well brained smut expert #Happy Birthday! #long post is long sorry

[dlamp-dictator]

Allen’s Rambling: The Four Dreaded Questions of World Building

Y’know, I was going to write this Rambling on my RP blog about why trying to mix world-building and RPing can make things confusing and difficult for your RP partners, but as of editing this I’m going to make this a bit more general.

For a lot us that want to make an epic fantasy or sci-fi world I’m sure we all took a few days or weeks to sit down and draft a bunch of notes on how we want to things to go down in that world. How people live, how they dress, how they talk, what kind of environments they have, and so on. Just... create a living, breathing world to get yourself and your readers lost in. I know the feeling, I’ve wanted to do that myself for awhile now. The issue is... how to exactly do that. Making a bunch of notes about a faction here or a faucet there can have building that world take forever. I’ve done a lot of thinking on this topic of the past few months, ultimately decided to not bother with it anymore due to my own... weaknesses as a writer. While I’ve personally decided to change how I write my original stories so I don’t have to worry about world building, I think I’d try and do a little good and try to share the system I made for world building before deciding to scrap it.

In short, world building can basically be boiled down to answering three to four questions:

Where/How does this group of people get their food?

What do these people do after they get their food?

Is there magic?

If yes, how does that magic effect how these people get their food?

You think I’m kidding, but that’s really it. Answering those 4 questions will lead to so many, many others. “But why the focus on food?” I hear some of you ask. A simple answer.

If there is no food, there is no world. 

If there is no grass for cows to graze, there are no cows. If there are no cows, there is no beef. If there is no beef, there is no meat for humans and predators to eat. You see my point? A few years ago I took a college course on ancient history as an elective, and that class went into great detail about how many great civilizations got started by the blessing of merely being formed by a river of large source of fresh water to grow crops. That history of Japan video that was floating around awhile back was a great example of my point, research ancient history in general is a great way to learn world building, but moving on.

Just to show I’m not all talk I’ll use one of my own worlds/societies that I’ve been trying to make. Awhile ago in one of my RP Ramblings I said that I had a group of female forest ninja that I was writing a story for. I’ve since then deleted that story due to... issues I was having, but I’ll answer those questions about that group here.

Where/How does this group of people get their food?

The forest ninja get their food by hunting and gathering in the forest they live in, eating while plants and forest animals like deer and bears. Most are vegetarians and only eat plants, but hunting and the consumption of meat isn’t forbidden.

What do these people do after they get their food?

Before actually eating, most will prayer in thanks of the meal. In terms of general activities most go through religious rituals. Prayer, dance, training in either martial arts or religious studies.

Is there magic?

No. At least not in this society.

See? Pretty easy right? 

WRONG. 

Now here comes the hard part. Answer those questions leads to so many others. Why do the forest ninja only hunt and gather? Do they grow their own food? Why don’t they if not? What kind of plants do they eat? If most are vegetarians why isn’t hunting and eating meat outlawed in their religion? Why do their leisure activities focused on religion? What is their religion? What are the tenets? What kind of god do they follow? Is it just one god or many? Are all members of these forest ninja religious? Why is there no magic? The list goes on, and on, and on. And even answering all of those questions will lead to others, and you just keep going, and going, and going until you run out of questions and every faucet of that civilizations daily life and existence is answered.

Sounds fun, right?

“No Allen, that sounds like a lot of work.”

Oh, you poor child, we aren’t even if at the fun part yet. There’s a fifth question in this I didn’t mention:

5. Do other groups/civilizations interact with your main character’s society? If so, how?

And this is the question that leads you asking the previous four at least 1 more time.

You see what I mean? You understand why this is a pain to do properly? And don’t even get me started on magic and superpowers. I’ll spare you all 5 paragraphs and just link these two great videos on Hard and Soft Magic and how they relate to world-building made by a Hello Future Me. The long and short of it that magic changes everything about your world. 

If your characters can spawn fire out of their hands to cook food it means harvesting firewood isn’t a thing that people need to do as frequent, which changes how much wood is gathered in your society, which changes how wood is viewed in your society as a resource. If your characters can shoot out lightning it means industrial-level uses of electricity works very differently, which my lead to certain jobs not existing and your economy running in a completely different way than our own. If you characters can spawn and control water it means that water distribution and droughts are probably not a thing, which mean there is likely a huge population boom due to the abundance or clean drinking water, which means a high disparity between rich and poor and large city areas in general, which mea- 

You see my point, right? World Building is complicated.

Thankfully, there’s a nice way to get around, which is to explain literally nothing about it. This was covered in that soft magic video, but a tumblr post I reblog a while back explains it much quicker than that video does, and I’ll just quote it here for those that don’t don’t want to be view several tabs.

Either explain it or don’t.

When authors include things that don’t fit within the real world–magic, time travel, anachronisms–there is an impulse to explain how it works. Which can be fantastic for worldbuilding, but if you don’t know what you’re talking about, it can make more problems than it solves.

Stephenie Meyer tried to explain some bizarre thing about chromosomes, and it made the biology of vampires and werewolves make no sense. Suspending disbelief worked better in that case before she tried to ground it in the real world.

Lemony Snicket, on the other hand, just has random anachronisms that are never explained, but because there’s nothing even close to resembling an attempt at an explanation, we can just shrug and go, okay, that’s how it works. The magic in Harry Potter seems to basically not be grounded in anything, but we can believe it within the context of the story because she doesn’t try to ground it in anything.

In Jim Butcher’s Codex Alera, on the other hand, he goes into a lot of magic theory, and it gives us a strong feeling of worldbuilding. There’s enough logically coherent explanation for it to feel grounded within itself.

It is possible to go too far (see: Orson Scott Card’s Xenocide and Children of the Mind) where the plot ends up so tied in the reader understanding intricately detailed scientific and pseudo-scientific minutiae that the story is incomprehensible without it.

Generally, though, if you’re going to make something up, either say it exists and leave it at that, or entirely figure out how it works. Halfway is always less believable than nothing at all.

So, while I could go through all the effort of explaining how the forest ninja live their lives, I could also just say forest ninja exist and show off all the cooler more interest parts I want to show off and not worry about explaining any of it. The major flaw in doing this however is the lack of immersion and the risk of losing a reader’s suspension of disbelief by having something really nonsensical happen.

So... why write about this? 

Honestly, I just... wanted to get my thoughts out on this topic before redoing my forest ninja story. I plan on moving to writing more short stories and little vignettes with my original pieces as opposed to writing longer, chapter-based stories since trying to do something longer will always lead me to writing myself in a corner. That’s a topic for another day, but for now... I suppose that’s it. Thanks for bearing with me folks. Feel free to reblog with your own tips about world building. I’ll be playing Under Night In-Birth in the meanwhile getting my butt handed to me by Merkava and Gordeau mains.

#your dictator is speaking #world building #writing #writing advice