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youremyheaven · 4 months

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Mars, Sex & Celibacy

i have wanted to make this post for a long time and this may probably be my last post of 2023. (edit: this is my first post of 2024 lol)

earlier i had briefly mentioned about Mars and its relationship with celibacy and sex.

I had spoken about how Mars makes the native crave carnality and not sensuality. Its also telling how Mars is associated with impulsiveness, fieriness and passion but Mars also makes natives prone to abstinence, restraint and reluctance.

Mars is often interpreted to be explosive with its energy but while that may be the case in other areas, when it comes to sex and relationships, these natives have a tendency to restrain themselves a lot. This could be due to many different reasons. ive noticed a tendency for many natives to self reject or co-opt out of the system instead of playing it at all because they're afraid of being rejected or not being good enough (Mars influence and even disproportionate Venus influence can manifest as deformity/ugliness or make someone feel like they're not good enough) but a strong Mars can manifest differently. Mars is the soldier and is the planet of aggression, therefore they tend to be natural leaders and leaders are ones who set the standard for others, they naturally think of others as being a few rungs below them since they're always on command mode.

Mars is the master however, so Mars influence makes a native exercise immense self control. Its VERY easy for them to shun certain things and abstain entirely. Mars natives are very disciplined and are almost Saturnian (a good/stabilized Saturn influence that is) in terms of their work ethic. Its interesting because even though Saturn is associated with hard work, discipline etc it often manifests as laziness, sluggishness etc because the extremes of anything is a meeting point with its opposite. They are prone to feeling burnt out.

Adriana Lima, Mrigashira Sun, Chitra Moon was a virgin until she was 27 years old and married.

She was a bikini model since she was a teenager but she chose to abstain from sex until she was married. I'm not saying the two are contradictory but its unusual in the sense that its not something that's expected from someone in her position as one of the sexiest women alive.

random observation but Mars rules over eyebrows and gives its natives very thick lush eyebrows with no arch that are a standout feature and thick dark eyebrows are considered a sign of sexual maturity which makes sense consider the over sexualization of Mars natives

Brooke Shields, has Mrigashira Moon & Venus as well as Rohini Sun (Rohini & Mrigashira have similar themes and often manifest as incestual/sexual abuse, stalking, obsession etc in the lives of its natives).

She was pushed into acting and fame by her abusive, controlling mother at a young age and was very sexualized by the public and media even as a child. She has talked about how obsessed her mother was with her and how she remained a virgin until she was 22years old despite being a hugely renowned sex symbol for most of her life.

Drew Barrymore, Mrigashira Rising

Drew grew up with a mother who was obsessive & controlling with her and almost grew up too fast before turning to a playful and childlike personality as an adult.

She also spoke about how she's been celibate since her 2016 divorce. She also underwent a breast reduction in her 20s because she did not like being sexualized by men.

youtube

This interview where Drew & Brooke talk about their mothers is so Mrigashira coded, its especially telling when Brooke says that despite everything they've been through neither of them emerged from it "jaded" or "angry".

I've noticed this with a lot of Mrigashira natives, they have very playful, happy go lucky personalities despite all the abuse and trauma they've endured.

There is an unhappy pattern in the lives of many Mrigashira natives of having been subject to incestual abuse or sexual abuse as children.

Mary Kate & Ashley Olsen have Mrigashira Sun and although there is no actual evidence of it, there are many speculations as to whether they were subject to abuse as children and their subsequent withdrawal from public life as adults only added fuel to the rumours.

Many child stars who gain notoriety or are sexualized from a very young age tend to have Mrigashira placements or other Mars ruled naks in their big 3.

Judy Garland, Mrigashira Sun & Mercury

It is very well known how she was exploited by her mother who gave her "performer pills" to keep her awake and then to help her sleep, all before she turned 10 years old.

Shirley Temple, the OG child star had Mrigashira Moon, she was severely abused, exploited and overworked since childhood.

Natalie Portman has Mrigashira Sun and she's talked about how being sexualized as a child made her relationship with her sexuality very fraught.

“Being sexualised as a child, I think, took away from my own sexuality because it made me afraid and it made me like the way I could be safe was to be like, ‘I’m conservative,’ and ‘I’m serious and you should respect me,’ and ‘I’m smart,’ and ‘Don’t look at me that way.'”- Natalie Portman

Many famous women and men who have either very few sexual partners or lose their virginities later in life or wait until marriage often have Mars ruled nakshatras.

Tina Fey lost her virginity at the age of 24 to the man who would become her husband. She has Chitra Moon

Jessica Alba, Dhanishta Moon said this:

"I didn't really [seriously] go out with any guys until I was 18 and met my ex-fiancé, Michael Weatherly,"

"It just didn't work out. I was so young, 18, when I started dating him. I was a virgin. I knew I wanted to be in love with the first person I slept with, because for almost everyone I knew, the first experience made them feel like shit," she continued. "So I wanted to be really careful that he was going to be in love with me and wasn't just going to leave me."

Celine Dion, Ketu in Chitra lost her virginity to her husband Rene Angelil.

Courteney Cox, Mrigashira Sun, lost her virginity at the age of 21

Another nakshatra(s) that I've often noticed coming up in the charts of many people who are sexually conservative or have traditional values is Punarvasu and Pushya.

Tamera Mowry waited until she was 29 to have sex and then felt guilty about it and was celibate until she got married. She has Punarvasu Sun (amatyakaraka) and Jupiter in Punarvasu (atmakaraka) along with Moon & Mercury in Pushya

Miranda Kerr, Punarvasu Moon & Pushya Rising dated her now husband for 3 years before marrying him and they waited until they were married to have sex.

"Not until after we get married," she said "He is very traditional. We can't … I mean we're just … waiting."

Jennifer Lawrence, Mrigashira Moon has said this:

"I always talk like I want d---, but the truth is when I look back at my sexual past it was always with boyfriends," the actress told The Sun. "I am mostly also a germaphobe. I have made it this far without an STI. D--- is dangerous. If I was at the point where I could get an STI, doctors have already been involved. That is how much of a germaphobe I am."

She has admitted to never having had casual sex and has often been subject to stalking, and following the leak of her private pictures, she's talked about how violated she feels about the whole experience. All of these are themes that manifest in the lives of many Mrigashira natives.

Jessica Simpson, Punarvasu Sun & Mercury was a virgin until she married her husband Nick Lachey when she was 21

Justin Bieber, Chitra Moon, Dhanishta Mercury & Mars went through a period of celibacy and waited until marriage to have sex with Hailey.

“[God] doesn’t ask us not to have sex for him because he wants rules and stuff. He’s like, I’m trying to protect you from hurt and pain. I think sex can cause a lot of pain. Sometimes people have sex because they don’t feel good enough. Because they lack self-worth. Women do that, and guys do that. I wanted to rededicate myself to God in that way because I really felt it was better for the condition of my soul. And I believe that God blessed me with Hailey as a result,”

Kevin Jonas, Mercury & Mars in Chitra was a virgin until he married his wife when he was 20.

Lady Gaga, Mrigashira Rising once said:

"I don’t really have sex. I’m quite celibate now," she went on, "I don’t really get time to meet anyone. don’t trust anybody. And I don’t know if I ever will. But it’s okay. It’s the trade-off."

While revealing that she was 'perpetually lonely' when it comes to relationships, Gaga also understood that it's her 'condition as an artist'.

"I also think I’m afraid of depleting my energy. I have this weird thing that if I sleep with someone they’re going to take my creativity from me through my vagina."

the story of Rapunzel is intricately connected to Mrigashira.

we're familiar with how Rapunzel is held captive in a tower with an evil witch pretending to be her mother gaslighting her into thinking the outside world isn't safe enough for her to navigate, the myth behind Mrigashira nakshatra is of how Brahma tries to have an incestuous relationship with his favourite daughter Rohini who tries to escape this by leaving heaven behind and coming down to earth and taking the form of a deer. This deer is Mrigashira.

due to this background, Mrigashira natives often spend their lives running from things or feeling like they're being chased. Being gaslit is also (unfortunately) a big theme because they're running away from their home where they were being abused and its looked down upon as them misbehaving or causing trouble because its considered taboo to run away from your home. even though they're the victim they're constantly gaslit into thinking otherwise. this is the reason why so many Mrigashira natives stay in abusive relationships/homes for far too long.

in Tangled, Rapunzel is voiced by Mandy Moore who is Mrigashira Rising

in the movie A Beautiful Mind, Jennifer Connelly, Mrigashira Moon plays the wife of an economist with schizophrenia. She initially believes that his hallucinations are real and only learns of his condition much later and even though her and her baby's safety is under threat she still chooses to stay by his side and support him.

Jim Carrey, Mrigashira Moon plays the titular Truman in the movie The Truman Show where a man unbeknownst to him is a character on a show that is telecast to the world.

Being gaslit and struggling to fully understand the nature of reality is a common theme in the lives of many Mrigashira natives.

Returning to the theme of how sexualized Martian women tend to be, here are several examples:

They tend to be so sexualized by others that they feel cut off from their sexuality themselves, i.e, it does not feel safe to indulge in pleasure.

Jennifer Lawrence, Mrigashira Moon

"Anybody can go look at my naked body without my consent, any time of the day,” she says. “Somebody in France just published them. My trauma will exist forever.” She shakes it off with a wincing grin. “Have you ever wanted to be an actress?”

Pamela Anderson, Mrigashira Rising

Her sextape was stolen from her house and circulated widely and later on a biopic about her and Tommy was made which portrayed her in the worst possible light. She has been deprived of autonomy over her own narrative.

Another thing to keep in mind is how Mrigashira is the only Deva gana nak among the Mars ruled nak, both Chitra & Dhanishta are Rakshasa gana and as such they feel little shame or guilt in owning and embracing all aspects of their sexuality.

Here's an example of Amber Rose, Chitra Sun who was similarly sexualized and slut shamed by the media and she had a vastly different response that some of the above mentioned women who sort of went incognito and dialled down on things:

"I just got to a point where people were saying: “She’s sex, she’s a slut, she’s a ho, she’s this, she’s that…” and I thought, okay, well I’m going to piss you off even more and come out with a sex toy line. There you go people, you can have that. You get to a point where you literally can’t give a shit and live your best life."

Kim Cattrall, Dhanishta moon

“It was so much fun to leave behind this kind of sexual icon thing. I was so ready to shed it. I’ve been sexualised since a very early part of my career. I understand it, I’ve made it work for me, but I’ve always felt that I’m a character actress stuck inside a leading lady’s body. Now, I feel like I am doing my best work.”

Look at how different their responses are in comparison to many Mrigashira natives.

Many Martian women attain fame and notoriety for their bodies and sex appeal

Kate Upton, Sun & Venus in Mrigashira

Marilyn Monroe was Dhanishta Moon

Kat Dennings, Mrigashira Sun

Dita Von Teese, Mrigashira Moon

Claudia Schiffer, Mrigashira Moon

Candace Swanepoel, Chitra Sun

Ashley Graham, Dhanishta Moon

Denise Richards, Dhanishta Sun

Ariel Winter, Dhanishta Moon

Carrie Fisher, Chitra Sun

Jennifer Garner, Mrigashira Moon

In 2013, Jennifer gave a testimony to the California legislature about her experience and urged them to pass a bill that would grant children some protections from paparazzi. That bill ultimately passed. She has talked extensively about being stalked and how she lives with a lot of anxiety because of it.

Sandra Bullock, Dhanishta Moon , with Mrigashira stellium (inc Rising) experienced a horrifying home invasion in 2014 when a stalker broke into her house. He killed himself in 2018. She's had multiple stalkers and has chosen to live a very lowkey life to protect the privacy and safety of herself and her family.

Nadya Suleman better known as Octomum is a Dhanishta Rising and became notorious for her brief tryst with porn stardom and posing nude along with working as a stripper after initially becoming infamous for having octuplets.

Janis Joplin, Dhanishta Rising grew up in a conservative household and ran away to San Francisco as an adult where she entered a relationship with a man who soon left her. As he was walking away from her, Janis literally grabbed his leg and was dragged along the way. At that very moment, she decided she would never again beg for love.

“I’d’ve fucked anything, taken anything…I did. I’d take it, suck it, lick it, smoke it, shoot it, drop it, fall in love with it….”

"My music isn’t supposed to make you wanna riot! My music is supposed to make you wanna fuck!”

I mention these two as examples for how Dhanishta natives are examples of the type of Martian women who don't feel guilty about their desires or urges and refuse to be shamed for it; they may be hypersexual or chaste but they do not let others tell them what to do.

......................

This post is a bit all over the place but I hope you'll excuse that, I wanted to talk about the relationship with sex, sexuality (among other things) that Mars natives have, I feel like went into several different tangents but :/

I hope this was informative and interesting.

Happy New Year!! <333

#Youtube #vedic astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astro community #astrology #astrology observations #astrology notes #astroblr #vedic astro notes #vedic astro #vedic astro observations

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pecanwriter · 2 months

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Gluttony (WG story)

Themes: urban fantasy, supernatural creatures, rapid weight gain

Words: 1851

Part: 1/1

Gluttony. Lust. Greed. Wrath. Sloth. Vain. Pride.

“Is he the new one then?”

“I liked it better when we had the old Gula.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion now, have they?

“Siblings, please, calm.”

His eyes open for the first time and he sees that he is seated at a table. There are six others there, sitting around it in a circle.

He never saw them, he never saw anything before, but as he looks at them one by one he knows exactly who they are.

An androgynous person; perfect beyond belief, pale and white-haired and beautiful. They are naked; Luxuria. Lust.

Next, a man, dark-haired and dark-skinned, wearing a perfectly tailored suit, smiling widely. His teeth are bright white and his eyes gleam with ruthless sharpness; Avaritia. Greed.

Next to Greed, a woman. Gaunt, breathing heavily, eyes ablaze with fury, her red hair floating around her like a halo of fire; Ira. Wrath.

Next, a ragged man in a stained, threadbare shirt. He smiles lazily with a set of yellowish, uneven teeth; Acedia. Sloth.

Following him, an androgynous figure, as dark as Luxuria is white and equally beautiful. They are sitting perfectly still, all sharp cheekbones and a long, perfectly poised neck; Vanagloria. Vain.

Lastly, between himself and Vanagloria a tall woman, sitting straight as an arrow, her mouth pressed into a thin line, her green gaze daring and unyielding. She is wearing a suit as perfectly tailored as her brother’s; Superbia. Pride.

They are the Seven Deadly Sins. And he is one of them. He is Gula.

Gluttony.

“Welcome back, brother,” Pride says.

“What happened to my previous body?” He asks, lifting a hand to look at it.

Sloth snorts a laugh, sticking a greyish tongue out between his yellow teeth.

“Silence!” Pride snaps.

“You know we cannot tell you, brother!” says Wrath.

“Why are we here then?”

“Ceremony, of course,” Lust says rubbing their flat chest with long, slender fingers.

“Just making sure you go right back to work, brother dear.” Greed says, his bright smile wide and predatory “Just remember, brother.” Greed continues, his voice shooting right through Gluttony “You are not immune to your own power.”

“What does that mean?” He asks, but before Greed can answer, the table dissolves into mist, and his siblings disappear like snuffed candle flames.

Earth.

It felt like a thousand years since Gula’s last visit. He knew that his death and rebirth didn’t even last a second in the material universe, but he didn’t think he would ever get used to that. As usual, the feeling of not knowing what happened to his previous manifestation is disconcerting, but not enough to distract him from the overpowering urge to get back to work. Sensing a familiar stirring in his gut, he stalks down the street. A fat middle-aged man stood in front of a candy store, looking at the display with deep longing.

“You deserve a treat, Peter, you had such a long day at the office. And you’ve been so good with your diet! Mary surely wouldn’t mind if you just had a few caramels…” Gula whispers into Peter’s ear, looking at their reflections in the shop window. Peter’s is the only one visible.

Gula watches as the expression on the man’s face changes from longing to determination and he disappears inside the store.

Feeling rejuvenated and pleasantly tingly all over, Gula continues down the street, feeling the voices calling to him. Ah, how he missed working.

A boy stands on a doorstep, bearing a gift bag in his hands, gazing into it with a conflicted expression.

“Mom indeed gave you this to take to Andy’s birthday party, but surely Andy doesn’t need a toy, a chocolate and a whole pack of candies too, right? He will probably get so many sweets from other people anyway, the toy will be enough.”

He stays just long enough for the boy to stuff the candy into his pocket and tear it into the chocolate. The smell is enticing, almost enchanting to Gula, but propelled by his nature, he moves on to the next one.

He stopped by two women sitting in an outside area of a cafe. The older one is slim, stiff and superior, the younger fat, glorious and visibly enraged.

“Your mother will always be a hateful bitch, Carla.” He says, leaning over Carla’s chubby shoulder “She will never stop pestering you about your weight, so you might as well show her how little you care. Go on.” He urges.

“What can I get for you, ladies?” The waitress asks, approaching the table.

“Just black coffee for me.” Carla’s mother says, her smile as stiff as the rest of her.

“I will have…” Carla leans over the menu, her fat stomach pressing into the edge of the table “The chocolate Sundae, a wild berry milkshake and a lava cake.” She smiles sweetly at the waitress before shooting a satisfied smirk at her mother’s enraged, poorly subdued gasp.

“Nice work, brother mine.” Someone whispers into his ear and a shiver runs through him.

“What are you doing?” He asks, whipping around to look at Lust.

Luxuria points to another table where a pair sits elbow to elbow, pretending to be deep in conversation, but Gula sees that their hands are under the table and in each other’s pants.

“Leave me be, sibling,” Gula warns and Luxuria saunters away, leaning over the lovebirds and whispering into their ears.

The waitress appears, carrying Carla’s order and Gula’s stomach growls. Oh, how delicious that lava cake looks. Oh, how that milkshake calls him…

“Careful, brother mine,” Luxuria calls, but when Gula turns they are no longer there.

He turns back around and as the waitress walks by him he snatches the lava cake off the tray.

“Here you go…” She says, but then stops, examining the tray in confusion “I’m so sorry, I forgot your lava cake! I will be back in a moment.”

She scurries away but Gula doesn’t pay the woman any attention anymore, all he can think of is that glorious cake, dark and rich, with a dollop of whipped cream and three raspberries on top.

His mouth stretches inhumanly wide as he slides the entire thing into it. Gula chews and the taste explodes in his mouth. Sensations play a symphony in his mouth, making the entire physical plane shift.

Body ablaze, Gula stalks down the street, and suddenly every desperate need and yearning is amplified, every human longing for a sweet morale screaming at him.

“Do it, Anthony, what’s a few more pounds?” He whispers, snatching a piece of greasy, mind-numbingly delicious pizza as he walks by.

“Come on, Gretchen, you’ll start the diet tomorrow,” Gula says, grabbing a piece of a piping hot apple pie.

“Who is Doctor Amir to tell you four hundred pounds is too much? You’re just big-boned!” He laughs, snatching a piece of layered cake in every hand. He stuffs them both into his mouth at the same time, already moving on to the next one.

More, more, more.

He wants more, he can feel it all. They want it, every single one of them wants it with such deep, unyielding desperation.

But none wants it as much as he does.

His gluttony is rivalled by no man. He isn’t gluttonous. He is Gluttony.

It is not coming to him, it is coming from him.

His gift for humanity.

Gula stalks down the streets, tempting human beings everywhere. In every city, in every town, every country.

Everywhere.

The more he tempts the bigger his hunger, it overpowers him. Soon, he doesn’t stalk down the streets, he walks. Sooner still, he waddles, swollen and overfed, but still wanting more. His jaw constantly working; chewing, stretching, ingesting.

“You…want… it…” He pants into the ear of a man staring at a hot dog stand.

Gula has grown too enormously fat to say more than that, the accumulation of lard pressing on his lungs too much to speak. Still, he grabs two hot dogs from the stand and stuffs them whole into his mouth.

He waddles down the street, gasping for air, the enormous rolls of fat covering him swaying with the movement. His gigantic gut almost dragging on the floor in front of him.

“You fool!” He hears a sharp bark of laughter.

Avaritia stands in the street, almost melting into the group of businessmen talking loudly next to him.

“What… do you… want… Greed?” Gula pants, snatching a massive burger out of a woman’s hand. He inhales it whole and the additional weight of it is the tipping point. His body grows too enormous to support itself and he falls, the impact shaking the street and sending shockwaves across the fatty expanses of his flesh.

“I told you, brother.” Greed says, walking over to stand over Gula. “You are not immune to your own power. Once you taste human food it’s already too late.”

“What happens now?” Gula demands.

“Here.” Greed laughs, snatching a chocolate cake from a nearby vendor and placing it on top of Gula’s enormous mountain of a stomach. “Enjoy it before He comes.”

“Avaritia!” Gula bellows, but his brother is gone.

Unable to move, trapped under his flesh, Gula reaches for the cake. He can barely grab it, but he is determined to consume.

“Hello, cousin.” An oddly neutral, flat voice says and, out of the dark corner of the street, He steps out.

Gula swallows, his enormous chins shaking with the movement.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, already knowing the answer, but unable not to ask. This is how it must go. This is how it goes every time. He’s starting to remember. And with that memory arrives the knowledge of what comes next. Gula shutters, wanting more than anything to run, but he’s trapped. The enormous body overflowing with fat is too heavy even for his otherworldly powers to control

“I am the Eldest.” says He, hovering in closer.

“Must you do this?”

“You’re unable to perform your duties, thus you must be remade to begin anew.”

“Why do I have to forget every time? If I remembered maybe I wouldn’t let the human food tempt me…”

“Such is your fate, Gula.” says He, now hovering over Gula. He’s so close His cold, freezing breath wafts over Gula’s face.

Such is your fate.

You are not immune to your own power, brother.

He understands.

He is Greed and Greed is him.

As He moves in, outstretching a black-fingered, skeletal hand towards him, Gula stuffs the last piece of cake into his mouth. He won’t remember, but he savours the taste.

The black hand snatches and everything dissolves.

“Is he the new one then?”

“I liked it better when we had the old Gula.”

“Nobody asked for your opinion now, have they?

“Siblings, please, calm.”

His eyes open for the first time and he sees that he is seated at a table. There are six others there, sitting around it in a circle. They are the Seven Deadly Sins. And he is one of them.

He is Gula.

Gluttony.

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eunxhan · 3 months

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❝ You are my object of admiration, my precious and perfect possession. You're mine and only mine. From now on, you will always belong to me, and I'll always praise you and worship you ❞

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Ꮺ 😻 Requested ⨾ Hiii just 😻 Anon passing by again, I wanted to request one final time (for now) a simple yan! bloody marry, Btw luv your writing, Thanks!

Ꮺ Eun Replies ⨾ Hello! I'm so grateful for your request and I'm happy you came by again, Your kind words hit my heart. I love her character and how they design her.

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ Disclaimer — I do not condone this kind of behavior in real life situations. Unhealthy relationship, violence, delusion, observation. English is not my main!

Reader & Genre ⨾ GN!reader, ( You, They/them, Darling, Beloved ), Can be seen as platonic and/or romantic

Words used ⨾ 8,100 ( 18 headcanons )

Character ⨾ BLOODY QUEEN / BLOODY MARY

Links ⨾ My Navigation and Mandates

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

I view her as a possessive and controlling type of yandere. She would have deep and intense feelings for her object of affection, and a strong desire for exclusive companionship and ownership. Her possessive behaviors would likely involve a willingness to monopolize the affection of the one she loves and a need to control and possess them. She would likely see herself as entitled to the sole attention and devotion of the person she is obsessed with, and would probably use manipulative and aggressive methods to ensure she is the only one who has access to her beloved.

She's very observant when it comes to her object of affection. She would pay close attention to all their behaviour, movements, and actions in order to maintain a high level of control. She would likely be highly aware of any potential threats to her dominance and control over the one she loves, and would be quick to take action and make sure that the one she loves remains dedicated to her and only her.

Mary constantly noticing and observing the minute details of their behaviors and actions. This attention and observation include a heightened awareness of their emotions, thoughts and feelings, allowing her to quickly pick up on subtle shifts and changes in their moods and states of mind. No dear, of course she will not use your emotions against you. She just love watching you.

She's easily jealous and prone to intense episodes of possessiveness when the reader is with other survivors. She would likely become extremely controlling over her beloved, demanding absolute exclusivity and ownership over the reader. Any presence or interactions of darling with other survivors would likely cause intense feelings of jealousy and insecurity in blood queen, causing her to respond with anger, aggression and a desire to remove or eliminate any competitors for the Darling's attention and affection.

She'll become extremely possessive and clingy, demanding excessive attention and time from the reader. She would likely become extremely possessive and possessive over her darling, demanding them only interact with her and no one else. She would likely resort to stalking, spying to ensure their attention and affection remained solely with her. She'll show extreme levels of jealousy and aggression towards any perceived romantic competitors for the reader's affection.

She'll manifest in her intense and unhealthy fixation on her beloved, to the point of losing sight of the difference between fantasy and reality. She would likely start to lose the ability to differentiate between their actions and behaviors in reality and those in her fantasies. She would likely act as if she is actually in a relationship with Darling, and would start to act as if they have actual real feelings for her, blurring the lines between the relationship she wants the two of them to have and the actual state of the relationship.

she's likely be plagued by recurring, intrusive thoughts or urges about her darling, such as the need to possess and control over you, or the need to keep you in her life. These urges would likely manifest in her obsession with you and her obsession with owning the you.

Mary would suffer intense feelings of anxiety and discomfort when those urges or thoughts are not being satisfied or followed, and struggle to function regularly unless she is able to fulfill those urges.

She would likely feel frustrated and angry that you're avoiding her, feeling as if you're purposely not interacting with her and trying to snub her. Bloody queen would likely react with more obsessive behaviors, becoming even more possessive and controlling of you in an attempt to force the reader to interact with her and give her attention. She would likely become even more intense and aggressive, becoming more volatile and unpredictable to force you to stop avoiding her.

Bloody queen would react with extreme anger and aggression if her beloved always hit her with the reality that you don't care or love her. She would likely feel hurt by the rejection, and would likely respond with a strong display of anger and hostility, potentially leading to violence and an attempt to hurt you.

Mary would not handle the rejection well, and would likely respond with more obsessive and controlling behaviors that could lead to a greater level of aggression and hostility.

If she felt rejected and ignored by you during trials, she would likely become very angry and aggressive. would likely feel deeply hurt, angry and insulted by the rejection, and might not be able to control her violent impulses or outbursts. She would likely want to cause physical damage to the reader as well as psychological damage, and an attack would likely be a way to do both.

She would likely attack the reader as a way of venting her frustration and expressing her anger at the reader for not giving her attention and affection. She will launch violent attacks towards you, trying to harm and even kill the player as a way to express her angry and aggressive feelings. She would likely want to make you feel the same way she feels, and would likely want to inflict a similar level of pain and damage that you have caused her.

She would act soft and gentle towards you in certain situations. She'll become soft and gentle when you're showing a level of kindness and compassion towards her that you do not normally have during trials.

There are some cases where you may see a softer side of Bloody queen in certain special events. Mary could show mercy or kindness towards the reader in these situations. Her sudden gentleness toward her darling would be jarring and unexpected after her usual hostile and aggressive behavior, but it would also be refreshing to you.

Though she is known for her violent and aggressive behavior, Bloody queen has also been known to express some gentleness and affection towards the one she loves, and dolling you up could be a way she expresses a softer and kinder side of her. Dolling up her beloved would likely involve applying makeup, hairstyling and dressing them in a way that emphasizes your beauty and appeal to Mary.

Bloody queen likely have a desire to see the one she loves look and feel their best, and this would manifest in her dolling up her lover. She would likely pick out nice clothing, accessories, or hair and makeup that she thinks suits you, and would likely feel proud of the appearance and beauty she has bestowed upon the person she loves.

Bloody queen sees you as a source of satisfaction and validation for her obsessive behaviors and her attachment to you. She would likely want to please you and make you happy, and would likely consider your praise and worship as the highest form of attention and affection.

However, her worship of you would likely be in a somewhat dominant and controlling manner, rather than truly praising and worshiping you as a superior being. Bloody queen might express her praise and worship towards you, but with the intention of reminding and enforcing that you're within her control, and also to further express her authority and dominance in the relationship.

•◦✦────•◦ᘡᘞ •◦────✦◦•◦•

Ꮺ ⨾ I DO NOT CONSENT TO MY WORK BEING COPIED OR TRANSLATED.

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engie-ivy · 2 years

Text

(@wolfstarmicrofic No Angst, just a (maybe funny) Fluffy Wolfstar Get-Together! That I somehow managed to incorporate an olive into😂)

7th: Olive

Sirius can't go out with Dearborn because Mary is having a party. Remus just has to inform Mary about this.

You Should Tell Him

“So I asked my mother, ‘which one is it?’ I asked, ‘do you want to punish me, or do you want me to stay away from the annual family dinner?’ I told her she was being quite contradictory, and it’s either one or the other.”

“Sirius, you didn’t!” Remus laughs, and takes a sip from the cappuccino he got on his and Sirius’ daily coffee run before their last class of the day.

“I sure did!” Sirius exclaims. “So what do you thing she did? Well, she-”

“Hi there. I was hoping to run into you.”

Sirius stops walking as Caradoc Dearborn approaches them. Caradoc Dearborn, who’s looking like he’s on his way to the gym, though Caradoc Dearborn always looks like he’s on his way to the gym. He looks like the kind of guy works out every day, Remus thinks sourly.

“Oh, hey Dear.” Sirius gives Dearborn a small wave. “You know that on a day packed with classes, you’ll most likely find me where the coffee is!”

Dearborn laughs. “That I do, B.”

“B?” Remus only realises he said it out loud when Dearborn turns to look at him.

“Yeah, I figured if Sirius calls me by an abbreviated version of my last name, I should do the same for him, and there’s just something so unsexy about Bla, don’t you think?” Dearborn turns back to Sirius with a sly smile. “And anything unsexy is definitely not fitting for Sirius.”

“As opposed to the immense sex appeal of the letter B,” Remus mutters, but he’s not sure if Dearborn even hears.

“So, B,” Dearborn says. “I wanted to ask you out for a drink tonight.”

“Oh!” Sirius looks surprised, though Remus can’t understand how he didn’t know Dearborn is into him. Sirius briefly glances at Remus, who does his very best to look uninterested as he takes another sip from his drink. Sirius looks back at Dearborn. “Uhm, yeah, I suppose I-”

Remus has no idea what on earth possessed him, but before he can think better of it, he says “Mary is having a party tonight.”

Sirius blinks at him in confusion. “A party at Mary’s? Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Remus says, surprised himself at how convincing he sounds. “Did you forgot to put it in your calendar again?”

Sirius frowns and scratches his head. “I guess I must’ve.

“In any case,” Remus says. “You can’t make tonight, Mary is expecting you.”

Sirius gives Dearborn an apologetic smile. “You heard it. I’m sorry, Dear. Another time, okay?”

“Sure,” Dearborn mutters, throwing Remus an annoyed look.

Remus just smiles innocently at him, feeling very pleased with himself, until he remembers he now has to convince Mary to throw a very last-minute party.

Crackling music is playing from Mary’s laptop in the corner. On the kitchen table are a few old bottles of beer found at the back of the fridge, a couple of half-empty bottles of wine, half a loaf of bread to tear off a piece and dip in a jar of mayonnaise, and a jar of olives with some tooth picks.

Besides Remus and Sirius, Mary and her roommates Lily and Marlene are there, though none of them seems entirely pleased with that themselves. Peter, who luckily let himself get dragged out of the house to a party he knew nothing about without asking too many questions, and James, who’s always excited to go to Lily’s and is probably the only one who doesn’t seem disappointed as he’s happily dipping his bread in mayonnaise, are there. Amelia and Edgar are there, though they don’t seem to know why themselves, and the Prewett twins are there, as they always seem to manifest themselves out of thin air whenever someone mentions the word ‘party’.

“Mary!” Remus hisses. “This party is terrible!”

Mary gives him a deadly glare. “Gee, I wonder why,” she says through gritted teeth. “One would almost think I had to throw it together in an hour!” She turns on her heels and stalks off to yell at Peter for using his fingers instead of a tooth pick to pick an olive out of the jar.

A very groggy-looking Lily walks up to Remus. She’s wearing pyjama bottoms and has got her hair up in a messy bun. “I asked Mary what possessed her to keep us away from our beds for this,” she says, placing her hands on her hips. “And she told me to take it up with you. So, Remus, what the hell?!”

“Caradoc Dearborn wanted to take Sirius out tonight,” Remus says sourly.

Lily blinks at him in confusion, then understanding dawns on her face and she pinches the bridge of her nose. “Remus John Lupin,” she says slowly. “Are you telling me that the reason we’re all missing out on our vital sleep is because you don’t want Caradoc Dearborn to get into Sirius Black’s pants?”

“What else could I have done?”

“What else could you have done?” Lily asks. “What else could you have done?! You could’ve just told him you don’t want him to go out with Dearborn because you’re absolutely mad about him yourself, like you should’ve done bloody months ago!”

Remus goes pale, and Lily sighs deeply. “He’s standing right behind me, isn’t he?” She turns around to indeed find Sirius standing there, wide-eyed, frozen in place, his hand tightly gripping his beer bottle. Lily shakes her head. “You know, maybe tomorrow I’ll feel guilty about this, but right now, I’m just too damned tired to even care,” she says, before walking away.

Remus wishes the ground would swallow him up whole.

After a very awkward moment, Sirius scrapes his throat to undoubtedly have a very awkward conversation. “She does have a point, you know. It would’ve been better to tell me rather than making poor Mary go into the books as the person who threw the worst party in the history of college.”

“Yes, thank you,” Remus replies. “In hindsight, I can indeed see I made some unfortunate decisions.”

“Would’ve been more effective too.” Sirius is looking down at his beer bottle, playing with a loose corner of it’s label. “I mean, if I had known you’re interested in me like that, I wouldn’t have told Caradoc ‘some other time’.”

“What...” Remus scrapes his throat as his mouth has suddenly gone completely dry. “What would you have told him?”

Sirius looks up at Remus. “I hope I would’ve told him I’m not interested in having drinks with him ever as I’m already dating this amazing guy whom, for the record, I’m also absolutely mad about.”

“Yeah, that... that’s...” Remus swallows. “You should tell him that.” He takes a step forward closer to Sirius. “Next time you see him, you should tell him that.”

Sirius smiles and arches an eyebrow. “Should I?”

Remus leans in so that his next words are almost whispered against Sirius’ lips. “Yes, you should.”

#my tumblr writing #wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #wolfstar fic #marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black #remus lupin #remus x sirius #wolfstar college au

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donnerpartyofone · 11 months

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Yesterday morning I woke up early to go to the Corpus Christi event in the park where several local parishes were converging for an outdoor mass. The point of the celebration was to affirm the literality of transubstantiation, since communion has started slipping into the realm of symbolism in a lot of people's minds and the Vatican doesn't like that. I really enjoy the pageantry of Catholicism and I will do anything for a look at the monstrance, the extremely fascinating luxury container for the holy wafer. It looks like something out of DAGON and in fact I wouldn't be surprised if that story were meant to refer to Catholicism in some way, I'm sure Lovecraft hated Catholics as much as he hated everybody else.

At one point the homilist addressed the accusation that eucharistic adoration is a form of idolatry, an impression he corrected by reminding everyone that the eucharist is not a fetish object but the literal body of Christ: "We don't worship a piece of bread!" (congregation laughs appreciatively) But I thought, why not? Even though I'm an outsider who can't take communion, I find it easy to think about its meaning in a general way; like if you believe that there is some sort of generative superlayer to reality, which I'm learning that I kind of do, and if you think everything natural manifests from that, then it's not so hard to think that food is divine. And I mean food is divine, it's what perpetuates life. We SHOULD be treating food with reverence and respect, whether you believe in a spiritual lifeforce or only a chemical one. I'm often surprised that Christians are not hardcore ecologists by nature, if you believe that everything comes from God for humanity to steward, you should have a powerful feeling for your environment--but for whatever reason this is not a standard part of the package. After the park part we processed down the street, which had been closed off for the occasion, to St. Mary Star of the Sea (even more Dagonesque!), and this part was totally amazing. The church was packed to the gills with people from all different parishes and the organist was playing some absolutely demonic music that I had never heard the likes of. When the people sang, the whole place vibrated powerfully, and in a moment of silence an old italian lady started praying at the top of her lungs, startling everyone. It was an exciting thing to get caught up in.

After that my husband and I went to a bar around the corner to stalk the building owner, who is renting a couple of apartments on the upper floors. Unfortunately he wasn't around but we got sucked into a conversation with a local who didn't look like he would want anything to do with the likes of us, a gruff older Brooklynite who engaged us about our weird shared neighborhood for much longer than I meant to stay. I tried to take it as a good sign, like maybe we could put our "vibes" on the place by integrating with the regulars, at the same time that our associates have been recommending us to the owner as good future tenants. It would be amazing if we got in there, we could move almost our whole apartment by hand.

Then it was time to go to the film festival. The screenings I saw the day before were in a theater that is hip but not particularly luxe, which made me feel pretty relaxed about what I was going to have to do--but these screenings were in a VERY nice theater, the lines were huge and everyone was dressed to the nines, and I started to freak out a little bit. The staff rushed me through my instructions with such intensity, I was just praying I actually understood it all. One of the actors on my panel is this cult film goddess who is a terrific person in addition to being shockingly beautiful, and she showed up in this like fairy tale dress that accentuated her otherworldliness to absolutely ridiculous heights. She introduced herself to me and I just started blathering; I'm not attracted to women but she's so beautiful it's insane, it almost qualifies as a deformity. Looking into her face is just confusing. Many other people there were startlingly beautiful. The director of the movie I was there for is someone I had seen on screen many times, and I always perceived him to be kind of an ordinary nerd, but in person he was enormously charismatic and sharply dressed and groomed and he had fully transformed into fucking George Clooney or something, I almost wasn't sure I had the right guy.

I also saw two other actresses-of-a-certain-age who looked so much better standing in front of me than they did in the movies I'd just seen them in, I honestly felt like I was tripping on acid. One of them was Alicia Silverstone, who sat in front of me at a different screening; she wore a highly reflective plastic tube dress and stiletto heels that were almost entirely transparent, and she had to be helped around by her entourage. The aforementioned actress I would be interviewing was also having a lot of trouble locomoting in her amazing Glenda the Good Witch getup, she too needed to be attended by aides. It occurred to me that maybe when your career is (in part) being extremely glamorous, you have to do these things that cripple you, you have to be strapped into these hobbling appliances and carried around to formal appearances. There is something fascinatingly morbid about this.

My panel was really great. I knew I was killing it. All my jokes landed with the audience and I got the film cast and crew in a really good place right away. It was late on the Sunday, the last screening of the festival, and everyone on and off the stage was exhausted until I wound them all up, which I consider a significant personal achievement. Everyone thanked me in this moving way and some stranger on the street told me I did a good job. I was aware that this was my introduction to quite a number of people, including several recognizably established folks who have certainly been vaguely aware of who I am and what I do, but now they've all seen me at full power and I could tell they'll remember it.

When photos of the event started turning up, that was NOT so thrilling. I was a complete mess and I didn't even know it until it was too late. It's probably GOOD that I didn't realize it earlier, when I couldn't have done anything about it. I found myself looking in the mirror at home, where things seem not so bad somehow, and trying to match what I saw there to the person that everyone's camera saw. It was pretty shocking, but I have to say that it wasn't a complete downer. I had the feeling that I can see what I need to do, and that is positive in and of itself. I might not have even realized the degree to which I need to take better care of myself if this hadn't happened, at least not for a while. Right now everything needs to change. My house needs to change, my state of employment needs to change, my body needs to change. If I can treat these things like hobbies, like projects I am authoring, rather than like obligations or fuckups I need to fix, then my chances of success are strong.

#star of the sea

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tilldeaths · 4 months

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okay i think i have a concept for maggie, combining ones i've had in the past with ones i just came up with in the shower

maggie craved a life outside of working on her parents' farm, wanted to be in the big city and to have a permanent place in history

one day when she was downtown, she met a woman who noticed she seemed distraught and told her there was a way to get everything she wanted

unbeknownst to maggie, it was a pact with the devil. that night, she went home and performed a ritual, promising her life, her soul, her everything for a chance to be something more

before any part of the pact could be fulfilled, though, maggie died in the chicago fire

her soul was thrown through time itself and landed in modern day, and now her promises can be fulfilled

i think maggie always has a demon or a dark force stalking her, though i don't think it's like, a specific demon, and she never notices it. other people (like sister mary catherine, one of the nuns who found her in modern times) CAN see that maggie has a demonic force around her

despite being found outside of a church, i don't think she can actually tolerate being inside of one anymore. it manifests as asthma attacks or irritation to her skin (especially if she touches holy water or a rosary) but that can be written off, given the injuries she was found with/her health problems

#[ biggest fool that’s ever hit the big time – maggie. ]#[ when you and sleep escape me – maggie headcanons. ]

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writeranon69 · 2 years

Note

I know how their are different interpretations of what "Something" is, two of my ideas are

Something isn't actually Sunny's trauma but actually a thing that likes Sunny and tries and fails to take the form it thinks Sunny would like to see, like Mari, a spider, a fish etc and it keeps accidentally scaring Sunny.

Or if Something IS a manifestation of Sunny's fear, Aubrey has her own Something, but instead of being made out of fear, Aubrey loves Sunny so much her love became sentient. Aubrey's Something or her "crazy little thing called love", eventually merges with Sunny's Something into "Philophobia" and it helps Aubrey stalk Sunny more effectively.

Aubs probably:

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fandomwriterstuff · 3 years

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It's my fault, but it is our problem

Rick Flag x Reader (drabble)

1.6k words

Rated T

You were on another mission with the suicide squad, also known as the idiots you liked to call your friends. Your powers didn’t lie in agility like Harley, or rely heavily on physical training and brute force like Rick, you didn’t even have crazy aim like Captain Boomerang. You had what you liked to call ‘chaos magic.’ You could manipulate the fabric of reality, but you never knew how it was going to manifest itself. Usually it was situation based.

So like you said, you were on another mission. This was a stealth mission to collect some data that someone had stolen from the American government, but the guys who stole it were apparently dirty fighters and kept putting down the soldiers that the government sent in. So, Task Force X was the next best option: powerful and disposable.

The thing was, you weren’t supposed to be on this mission. You didn’t do stealth. You did grand entrances and extraordinary displays of power. But the team was looking pretty scrawny these days, so it was you, Harley, Boomer, and Bloodsport. Waller hadn’t instructed you not to use your powers, but you were hesitant to do so. You didn’t want to blow the mission to hell.

That was a problem though, because you had a big ole’ crush on one Rick Flag, and you would do anything to protect him. That brought you to the situation you were currently in.

Bloodsport was on a rooftop doing sniper shit, Harley and Boomer were taking on the bad guys in hand-to-hand-to-boomerang combat, and Rick was nowhere to be found.

“Um, guys? Should I be doing something?” You asked into the comms. Like you said, you didn’t have enhanced agility or strength, or even basic hand-to-hand skills.

“I need an evac, I’ve got the data,” Rick buzzed in, but his voice sounded strained. You bit your lip, and replied back to him.

“Like a stealthy evac? Because like I could get you out but I don’t know how stealthy it will be,” you were outside the building with a gun and a knife waiting for orders.

“ANY EVAC. Get me out of here!” Rick’s voice was stronger that time, and you tugged on your utility corset (not two words you would usually combine, but you liked to look sexy and be practical). It was your time to shine.

“I’m en route,” you muttered before stalking towards the building. You opened the door to see a large group of bad guys fighting with Harley and Boomer, so you backed up.

“Where are you?” You asked and Rick panted into the comms.

“Northeast corner, third floor,” he sounded rough, and you were getting more worried. You ran to the northeast corner of the building and felt the fuzzy sensation in your head and the tugging in your gut that meant your powers were building up. You took to the air, stepping out as the concrete below you crumbled and rose up like a staircase to get you to the third floor. You felt sort of like Elsa making the staircase to her ice castle. You ran up the stairs and threw your arms out, trying to burst the wall open like an archway to get Rick out, but you accidentally ended up blowing the entire side of the building off, exposing your friend below to the dark and cold night.

“Fuck, Priestess. What did you do?” Boomer called into the comms and you winced. He was using your codename. He was mad. But you saw Rick curled up on the floor behind a bookshelf, applying pressure to a bleeding wound in his abdomen.

“Okay, so I know that this is my fault,” you commented as you ran over to Rick and helped him to his feet. “But it is our problem. I think I ruined the stealth part of the mission.” You were greeted by a chorus of “Fuck,” “You think?” and “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” But you only cared about getting Rick out and to safety, so you tried to make an inflatable raft to take you gently down to the ground, but you ended up building a mountain in the parking lot that ended up working as a three-story slide that you fell into that took you to the ground. “I am so sorry!” You exclaimed as Rick groaned in your arms.

“It’s not your fault,” he muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

This time you didn’t rely on your magic, not wanting to hurt him even more. You helped him limp his way over to the awaiting armored truck and helped him in.

“Harley, Boomer, Bloodsport get out of there,” Rick grunted. The two of you waited like sitting ducks until your three companions jumped into the vehicle.

“Ricky, you don’t look so good,” Harley commented, and you couldn’t help but agree. He was looking paler by the second. “Y/N don’t you have healing magic or somethin’?” She nearly begged you, but you picked at your fingers.

“Yes, but my powers have already screwed us over tonight and I might mess things up worse,” you muttered, looking down at your bloody cuticles.

“You’re just gonna let the man bleed out?” Bloodsport asked and you paled at the thought.

“No, I-” You started but Boomer cut you off.

“Just focus, mate. You can do it.” You shook your head. There were too many arteries, and maybe a bullet, and organs.

“Hey,” Rick’s voice was quiet, and you were trying not to cry and break under the pressure when you looked over at him. “I trust you,” the words were simple, and maybe he was lying to make you feel better. But he smiled softly at you like you were the only two in there, and you pulled in a deep breath through your nose. When you exhaled, you cracked your knuckles and knelt close to him.

“You can do this, you can do this,” you muttered under your breath, but Rick must have heard you because he let out a little pained chuckle.

“I know you can,” he smiled warmly and made a show of relaxing back and unbuckling his vest so it was just a bloody grey t-shirt between you and the wound.

You concentrated on the wound, your magic swirling around the wound like a black cloud, letting you get a feel for what was going on. There wasn’t a bullet, so it must have gone straight through. You weren’t the best at healing, but you did your best to heal the major arteries that had been severed and slightly heal the skin. But just that amount of focus exhausted you, you were used to your magic coming out of your feelings and your heart, not your brain and thoughts.

“Should be good for now,” you slurred and leaned back against… Nothing. There was nothing behind you. You fell back and closed your eyes, ignoring Rick calling your name. You’d done your job. Time to rest.

When you awoke, you were arriving back at Belle Reve, and you fumbled your way into a sitting position.

“You’ve been asleep for hours, darlin’, you alright?” Rick asked you softly and you nodded, stretching and yawning.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” You wondered aloud and Rick smiled.

“I’m doing just fine because of you. I knew you could do it. You saved my life,” you were quiet as the others unloaded from the truck, but made to stand up. Rick reached out and pulled you back down.

“I’d like to thank you for saving me,” he was soft spoken now, voice low and heavy. You gulped and looked down at where his hand was holding yours.

“It’s really not a problem,” you started but he tutted at you.

“You knocked yourself out just to help me. It’s not nothin, pretty girl,” he was smiling now that you looked up at him with wide eyes. His hand glided along your skin from your wrist up past your shoulder and came to a stop when he was cupping your cheek. “Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, your faces a hair’s breadth away.

“I don’t want you to,” you breathed the words, and you felt his smile when he pressed his lips to yours for the first time. The kiss was everything you had ever wanted. It was warm and inviting, Rick’s lips were soft but insistent upon your own. You loved every second of it.

It took you a moment to move, but you reached out to hold onto his impressive biceps (finally, you’d been aching to feel them for ages) and pulled yourself closer to him. His unoccupied hand trailed along your waist and pulled you even closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough.

You pulled away to breathe and rested your forehead against his.

“That was nice,” you murmured and you felt his laugh brush across your skin.

“I’d like to do it again sometime,” he chuckled, but you frowned.

“I’m a prisoner, Rick,” you muttered, ashamed, and he stopped laughing.

“Y/N, didn’t you realize? This last mission ended your sentence here. You’re done at Belle Reve,” he shook his head at you, and you counted the years and missions in your head. It added up. You didn’t need to serve any more time. Your mouth popped open in shock and Rick held back his laughter this time, only allowing himself to reach out and close your mouth.

“I’m free?” Your voice was small, and Rick’s smile got all the brighter.

“You are. The real question is, are you free to go on a date tomorrow night?”

#rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag imagines #rick flag imagine #rick flag x you #drabble #the suicide squad #suicide squad #prompt #rick flag drabble #dceu fanfiction

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jesuisgourde · 3 years

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gay/queer references in Peter’s journals

Again, I have probably missed stuff due to going through pretty quickly and also due to having stared at this document for so long, everything has kind of blurred together.

Sometime close to the day that Carlos & I watched 'Love And Death on Long Island' (and afterwards paraded through the tea rooms of Picadilly) we both filled in application forms and were tres excited to be invited to the same group 'interview' - twas more like an audition though. I got the part. Carlos never. This did not bring any animosity - we both know that success for either of us is magnified a million times if it is shared by us both.

from 'A Diamond Guitar' by Truman Capote "Except that they did not combine their bodies or think to do so, though such things were not unknown at the (Prison), they were as lovers. Of the seasons, spring is the most shattering: stalks thrusting through the earth's winter-stiffened crust, young leaves cracking out on old left-to-die branches, the falling asleep wind cruising through all the newborn green. And with Mr Schaeffer it was the same, a breaking up, a flexing of muscles that had hardened. It was late January. The friends were sitting on the steps of the sheep house, each with a cigarette in his hand. A moon thin and yellow as a piece of lemon rind curved above them, and under its light, threads of ground frost glistened like silver snail trails. Tico Feo had been drawn into himself - silent as a robber waiting in the shadows."

Then a meet with Bounds Green's African prince outside whitechapel tube, rugged lookies at I in military attire & to a ruptured Albion rooms tidied in hours and now lids drawn heated on the eyes. A young looking fella has a crush on me.

Jackie/Camillia/Marie/Kate/Chris/V. churchill Jackie/Evelina/Jasmine/Sachi/Dalston/Sussie Sandra/Carlene/FP/Jay/Dalston/Kraut

There sat a young black man, perhaps in his early or middle twenties. He looked for all the world like the archetypal rude boy. Clean, cheap reebok, nike, adidas variously rolled, laced & zipped about his lean, spreadeagled body that hung loosely about the waiting room chair. Gold & tattoos adorned his person, and a blank animal look was attached to his clear face. He sat before me in a row of four empty chairs, staring at polished floor or the mundane television. A balding white man minced in & all perceptions were suddenly proven to be false as they embraced and snuggled up to each other, giggling & whispering & touching each others noses.... very much in love, fingers crossed for the blood tests.

[Image: an article from Gay Times of an interview with Peter. For some reason, the portrait included alongside the article is of Carl wearing a grey and black t-shirt.] Name? Peter Doherty Age? 22 Where are you? I'm on the motorway just north of Southampton. What kind of day are you having? (Vaguely) Erm... quite misty. Something's waiting around the corner, but there are no corners on the motorway, so we'll just have to wait and see what lies ahead. Maybe something will happen tonight.... What's this we hear about you once being a rent boy? Well, when times are hard, duty calls. How long ago was it? When I was 19, about three years ago. How do we know this isn't just a Shaun Ryder-type lie? 'Cause if it was, it would make me a complete scumbag and I'm not, and I'm not interested in that kind of pantomime. It wasn't a very happy time. I didn't really enjoy it. Why did you give it up? (grimly) Well, certain people disappeared... and anyway, ultimately I found myself no longer in such a vulnerable position anymore. Dawn broke, and I realised that it was a beautiful world after all. Have you done any other dodgy jobs? All of us in the band have tried to deal, but it's not good if you like the drugs too much. You just end up using them yourself! I once was a gravedigger. I used to do it with my mate in Willesden Green cemetery. We didn't actually do the digging, a machine did that, but we used to have to fill them in. It was pretty grim work. So are you gay then? Love is love, wherever it comes from. I'm not anything, really. I am a very sexual person but... I dunno, I believe in liberty... The Marquis de Sade has a lot to answer for... Do you get a lot of gay fans? Yeah - well, there's one guy in particular. He's very shy and he follows us around. He brings in letters and cards and stuff, but he's very quiet. I think John (the bassist) is the main pulling power in the band. Are you jealous about that? Nah! I've known him too long.

You know I'm alright i dont even care i like it when they stare & stare call me queer, dear oh dear a million things & what I wear He's real hard when he's with his mates but I'll saw him again & he was too late

Dear NME I'd have thought after the Gay Times piece, the interview with Rapture fanzine & our recent gig at the Slum Club everything would be clear. No it still remains to give a big hearty fuck off to all these twisted suburban types calling me a liar. Vulnerable young men & women all over the world find themselves victims of circumstance.

she was dressed in suit & tie & lightly etched-on moustache. 'I've always wanted to kiss a bird in the back of a taxi.' she says, running her hand up the fishnet ladders of my thigh. Stepping onto the front line in Bow puddles, elevators, buzzing doors,

[Image: the original page in the book has been preserved. Two paragraphs have been boxed off with biro. They read:] “...cast Richard Burton and Rex Harrison as bickering queer barbers and then much more uncompromisingly in William Friedkin's adaptation of The Boys in the Band (1970), which introduced some of the plainer four letter words in the English language to the screen for the first time. 'Who,' asks Cliff Gorman, in his brilliant portrayal of the most effeminate of the homosexual group as they gather for a soul-searching party, 'Who do you have to fuck to get a drink around here?' Other homosexual manifestations to occur in movies around this time included an elliptical but unmistakeable male fellatio scene in John Schlesinger's Midnight Cowboy (1969) when Jon Voight, as a broke and disillusioned Texas stud importunes in a New York cinema....”

[Image, top left: a blurry photo of John onstage, playing bass. Image, top right, sideways: a photo of the band onstage. Carl and John are on the left, sharing a mic. Peter is on the right, playing guitar and singing into his own mic. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his bottom half from the chest down is visible. Image, centre left: a torn photo of Peter sitting in a chair, shirtless, playing guitar. Only his top half from shoulders up is visible. Image, bottom left: a torn fragment of a photo. What looks like a denim-clad knee and a yellow carrier bag are visible. Image, bottom middle: a photo of someone's knee in torn jeans, taken from under a table. Image, bottom right: a torn photo of Carl in a black sleeveless shirt, posing with his fingers in his mouth.] [A paragraph from the original page of the book has been left exposed and boxed off with black biro. It reads:] “The Boys in the Band was displaced by an immeasurably more powerful portrayal of homosexual groups, Fortune and Men's Eyes (1971). Set in a Quebec prison, this disturbing, factually based drama vividly recounted the corrupted of a heterosexual convict trapped in a tough, potentially vicious homosexual society. In one horrifying scene, a weak, put-upon prisoner is gang-banged by his fellow inmates; in another, the 'hero' is blackmailed by his cellmate into accepting him as his lover for the duration...”

Like a cat on a hot tin roof Like a macho man in a roomful of poofs I have tried in my way to be free.

[Written in Peter's handwriting] Jerome... is that how it's spelt? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes it is [Written in Peter's handwriting] Can I read you something? [Written in someone else's handwriting] Yes please.....

I insist, new book of Albion, befuddled by drugs I may yes about 2 but I do not miss out entirely on the subtleties of the inhuman relation ships that are this the mainstay of my stay here in one bounce of a loaf. Boys are fooled into fooling with boys. [...]

More general references/some extra explanations:

“The boy looked at Johnny” is a line from Patti Smith's song “Horses,” part one of a three-part song called “Land.” In the song, a young man named Johnny is assaulted by another man in a locker room; he then mentally journeys to other fantastical lands and visions. A lot of people interpret it as being about gay sex, although some people interpret it as being about a stabbing.

Peter quotes and references Jean Genet's writing and works about Jean Genet many times. While Genet's works are nearly all about crime and prison (one of Peter's main interests and points of fascination), all of his works are very explicitly gay. The Thief's Journal is more about Genet's various lovers than it is about his criminal history. Our Lady Of The Flowers is about a drag queen and her criminal lovers, and is also extremely erotic.

(“Jerome” is Jerome Alexandre, vocalist of The Deadcuts, who was friends with Peter and Mark Keds.)

#squash transcribes books of albion #peter doherty #feel free to request compilations of other kinds too

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teamhook · 3 years

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I want to thank the @cssns , my lovely beta @ultraluckycatnd and my very talented artist @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713

AO3

FFN

Emma had been stalking Killian’s place. She never thought she would have to stake out his home. She sighs as she tries to do a web search on her phone for the Norn. That old hag lied to them. Sure, Ruby didn’t pick up his scent, but there was something about that lady that was shifty as hell. Which leads her to another mystery—the woman looking for Killian. There was something off about her, too.

A knock on the window of her dad’s truck startles her. “Hey, Emma, I got a call about a suspicious vehicle. What are you doing here?”

“Really? You’re saying someone called in about my dad’s truck?” She rolls her eyes. “Everyone knows my dad’s truck.”

He smiled. “They do, but I think they’re worried about you. You haven’t moved from here in days. Emma, he will be home soon, and then you will get all the answers you need.”

Emma looks down, her eyes drifting to the passenger seat. The poptart wrappers and empty food containers everywhere make her wince. Since that day at the station, with the off feeling she felt in her gut when meeting that woman Autumn, she had gone to Killian’s place. In her mind, she was keeping Killian safe somehow.

Graham laughed. “Go home, you smell! I don’t need to be a wolf to notice that.”

Emma scoffs. “Whatever! I don’t smell that bad.”

Graham’s brows knit as he looks at his phone. “That was the station. The motion sensors we set up to alert us if someone needs us went on and we need to go back.”

Emma’s eyes widened. “I can go check. You haven’t had lunch. You were on patrol and Killian is on vacation.”

“You are my favorite honorary deputy. I can get you something too.” Graham smiles.

“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. Get me my usual. Tell Ruby I said hi.” Emma smirks and turns on the truck to head to the station.

As Emma arrives at the station, her heart speeds up. She was sure it was Leroy or one of the dwarves complaining about some nonsense, but the car parked in the deputy’s spot is unmistakable. The beloved grey and black 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle is back. This could only mean one thing. Killian Jones is back. Her steps get quicker as she races to the door. She opens the door and her heart stops as her gaze lands on the man she loves. His hair is a bit longer. The scruff is thicker and those eyes are storm-dark blue. She runs the rest of the way and throws her arms around his neck. Her lips land on his and for a brief minute she forgets how angry she is and all the questions she has. He stands still with his hands on her hips. Normally his hands instinctively land on the back of her head. Emma slowly steps away and smiles. “I missed you.” She raises her index finger. “You have some explaining to do buddy, but it’s really nice to see you.” She steps away as she looks for some change to manifest.

He feels frustrated, Belle had mentioned he needed to be honest about the situation and that Emma needed to know about what was affecting their relationship.

“Emma, we need to talk,” Killian says as he guides her to the break room for some privacy.

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Look, Killian, I know you went to see the Norn. I want to say, you didn’t have to do that. At least not for me,” Emma says as she stops moving.

Killian lets out a laugh. “I’m sorry, did you just say I shouldn’t have gone to the Norn to save you?” He pauses. “You are the woman I love. I cannot picture a life without you and you think it was a mistake?” He enters the break room and she follows slowly.

“I just don’t want you to hate me. I know that you felt guilty about Liam and—” Emma rushes.

“Aye, I felt guilty but that doesn’t mean you are not worth it.” Somehow he was now standing right in front of her.

“I just hate you had to make a deal with that wretched hag. She just made my skin crawl.” Emma shudders.

“Emma, what did you do? Did you go see her?” Killian tries to stay calm.

“Well, I wanted to know what had happened to you. I was so worried. Killian, where have you been?” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears. “You just left. No note, not even a text.”

His instinct took over and he pulled her into an embrace. “I’m sorry, darling, but now I’m back and we will find a way.”

She sniffles. “Find a way?”

“Ah yes. Emma, I think you need to sit down. We really need to talk,” Killian says.

“I find it when a man says that, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation,” she grimaces as she sits down.

He paced the room a few times before he met her gaze. “I’m sorry love, I don’t know where to start.”

Emma’s forehead puckered as his words registered. Since when did Killian not know what to say. “Killian, you’re scaring me-” she laughs nervously. “You always know what to say.”

The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose I should try from the start.” He pauses. “I was afraid I would lose you to this battle. I didn’t think twice and I went to go see the Norn. I made my offer and what I wanted.” He sighs. “I should have known better, she is known for her trickery. I just wanted you to be safe and I didn’t care about the price.”

“Your wolf, Killian I’m—”

Killian interrupted her as he sat in front of her.

“Emma, it was my choice to do this. Unfortunately, she decided to alter our agreement. She took something else.”

Emma feels her stomach drop and her eyes widen. “What did she take?” her voice barely audible.

His hand subconsciously covers hers. “Something far more precious, my love passion.”

Her heart is beating so fast. “Love passion, how can someone take that?”

“Ah, that would be with ancient dark magic, I’m afraid,” Killian says.

“Wait... what does that mean? I don’t understand,” Emma asks, baffled.

Killian bites back his anger at the situation and himself. He did this. “Emma, by taking my love passion, the Norn took my love for you. Although I care deeply for you, I’m afraid my heart isn’t yours. I should clarify, I can no longer feel passion for any woman.” Killian winces at the look on Emma’s face.

Her face went blank. “I don’t understand, we’re True Love. Why would you let her?” she screamed as she stood up. The room shook as her body started to glow brightly.

Killian stands, dumbfounded. As she gets brighter, he has to cover his eyes to approach her. “Emma, love, I didn’t let her take it! She tricked me and I promise you I will find a way to fix this. All you have to do is trust me. Please, calm down.”

Her body starts to dim as his words register. He was always her anchor. Her breathing evens out. “Haven’t you learned anything? We make a hell of a team. We do this together. No more doing stupid stuff on our own.” She laughs. They’re both guilty of that. To be honest, she was the one that was reckless and he normally would like to strategize; that must be because of his military background.

He smiles. “I went to ask for help. Belle will be arriving soon.”

“That’s where you went. You couldn’t call me to let me know you needed time away but you called Belle?” Emma scoffs.

“Emma, she’s the closest thing I have to family left.” He is astonished by her reaction.

“Is she? Because I thought I was your family. My parents love you like a son!” she fumes.

“Don’t you understand? I couldn’t face you after I ruined everything,” he says defeatedly.

At the sight of his defeated demeanor, Emma feels the anger dissolve. “Killian, we will fix this, together. We will take care of that sneaky hag.”

He simply smiles and feels like a fool for ever thinking she wouldn’t understand.

Emma returns his smile. “What’s the plan, Captain? How do we take this bitch down?”

“For now we wait; Belle and Scarlett will arrive soon. Then the fun begins.”

“Can’t we just go to my parents and have them make her give it back or something?” Emma asks.

“The Norn is one of the oldest Faes alive. No Stygia or Rioga would dare to reprimand her. It is said that she was once good and because of the threat of the Darkness she wanted to gain enough power to survive. She started making deals with Dark Fae and she became corrupt. Now she makes deals and sometimes alters them for her enjoyment. Our only choice is to play her game,” Killian states.

The Norn didn’t like waiting around. She’s annoyed that her quarry has proven to be elusive. It didn’t matter, though; in the end, he will be hers. The glamour potion was ready for her next attempt. She is so distracted by the plans she is making for the wolf she covets that she misses the glow between the hair and the wolf’s love passion, indicating they are currently together. The wolf’s heart essence recognized its one true mate.

Emma and Killian had gone to her parents to inform them of Belle’s arrival.

Mary Margaret and David want some sort of explanation, but one look from Emma told them to stand down. They listen as Killian tells them of Belle’s upcoming grand entrance. They agree in an instant to host the Rioga.

In a moment of privacy, Mary Margaret asks Emma if things between her and the wolf are alright.

“Mom, we are okay, I know you and Dad want to know what happened and I just want you two to give us space to solve our issues alone. We are grownups and need to take care of our own problems,” Emma says.

“Alright, Emma. I, that is we, are worried. You were so worried about him and now it seems that’s in the past.”

“Mom, what he did for me, no one would ever even consider to do before. I can’t hate him. I understand why he left. I wish he didn’t, but he’s back and that’s all that matters,” Emma assures her mother.

“Can you tell me why Rioga Belle is visiting?”

“She is coming because Killian needs her.” Emma shrugs.

Mary Margaret nods. “Alright, I know you two have your reasons.”

In a different room, David stares at Killian as he says, “I know you two are working things out, but I have to warn you that if you ever leave town again without a word to my daughter, I will hunt you down and kill you.” David warns. “Killian, she was so worried and we didn’t know how to help her. You have always been the one to tame her anxieties but this time, you were the one causing her pain. Whatever the problem is, True Love is worth fighting for.”

The following day, the Norn twirls the vials with her fingers. She was running out of the Savior’s hair. She had to use more because the last attempt failed. She eyes the potion gleefully; it looks perfect. She uncorks it and drinks it. Her body becomes enveloped by ash gray smoke and is transformed; her hair is platinum-blonde and the eyes are green. It’s closer to her goal, but not exact, but it would do for now. She just needed a kiss to bind him to her. She dresses in a modest green dress and heads to town.

She rarely goes to town, so she looks around. Humans are so vile. They destroy all nature around them. The beautiful trees are gone so they can have luxuries. She scoffs in disgust.

The station is just in sight. She smiles wickedly, it’s time to catch a wolf.

The station is busy with calls. Graham is out on patrol, while Emma is responding to a call at the docks. Killian was alone in the station answering the phones today. He’s running his hand through his hair because he is frustrated and annoyed. They really need to hire someone to answer the phones and deal with these idiots.

The Norn enters and the bell rings to announce her presence. She stands in front of the desk, tapping her fingers on the wooden desk.

Killian sat at his desk twirling a pen with his fingers. He looked down at his notepad. They had to come up with a way to defeat the Norn. Yes, they would still get back his love passion, but he had a feeling that witch would not let it end there. The bell at the front desk caught his attention. Well, he was alone so he better go check out what the problem was. He really hoped it wasn't Leroy.

He approaches the front desk only to find a woman with her back to him. It's an odd feeling. He feels as if he knows her but then his stomach flips and not in a good way. There's something about her. He makes his presence known hesitantly.

"Excuse me, lass. How may I help you?" Killian says with a hesitant smile on his face.

The woman with platinum blonde hair and green eyes turns to him with a smile of her own. "Hello, I was hoping it was you."

Killian shakes his head in confusion because he knows he has never laid eyes on this woman and yet there's a nagging feeling. His wolf reacts as if he is under attack. "How may I help you today?" Killian says through gritted teeth.

"Oh, hello. My name is Hazel Forest. I'm here to make a report. I live on the outskirts of town and there have been some unlawful activities."

Killian quirks a brow as he writes down the information. "I can have Sheriff Graham go take a look. He is in that area."

"Oh no, I'd prefer it if it was you that checked it out. It's not a human problem."

She was saying it was a supernatural problem. He normally would offer his help right away, but there was something putting his wolf on high alert and he had long learned to trust his instincts. There was something wrong and it wasn't what the woman claimed.

"Alright. I will have Emma meet me out there. If there's a problem as you described, it will be better if she assists." He pulls his phone out of his pocket. "You said this was on the outskirts of town. Is this by the toll bridge?"

Her smile fades. "I think you can handle it on your own. I've never heard of a powerful wolf like yourself needing the help of some human."

Killian shakes his head in disbelief. Everyone loved Emma. She was the Savior and daughter of their Rioga, not to mention their bloody princess, but this woman seemed to think she was a simple human.

"Lass, the Savior is not some simple human. She has powerful white magic and I've yet to see her fail. She is the best option for any magical problem," Killian says with a smirk.

The woman tilts her head and scoffs as she walks out of the station.

Killian runs out after her but she is gone. She disappeared into thin air. There's a familiar scent in the air that makes him gag.

The scent lingers in the air for a while. He looks around the empty street because he feels as if he is being watched.

Emma arrives sometime later. He tells her about the encounter. She asks about the woman's description and once he provides it, she scrunches her face.

"How is it possible that there's this sudden influx of unknown women wanting your attention on their case? I know you are great at your job, but it feels off," Emma says.

"Are you saying these women are only out to gain my attention?" he says with a small smile. He has always loved her jealous streak.

"You know what I mean. Yes, I know you're hot and I'm used to women checking you out, but this feels like it’s much more than that."

"Alright, love. How about we go on patrol to see if there was something to it. We don't need a new villain making a play right now. We have yet to take the Norn down and get my passion back."

Emma smiles; she loved going on patrol with him. She knows things are different right now but in her heart she still has hope. The more time they spend together the better. She remembers how it was when they fell in love. It was a somewhat similar situation but with the roles reversed.

They spend the day out on the outskirts by the toll bridge. She glances at him when he is looking around; she knows he is smelling around to see if anything catches his wolf's attention.

Killian glances in Emma's direction when she is too busy looking around for clues. He is still in awe of her. She is bloody amazing.

"Hey, did you find anything?"

"Sorry, no I didn't love. Everything looks fine. I have no idea what the woman was talking about."

"I still think it's fishy. She wanted you to come out here with no back up. I feel something is off in my gut."

"I've learned to trust your instincts. My wolf senses something as well and normally I can pinpoint the problem, but this time it eludes me."

"So, Belle arrives tomorrow. We should be thinking of a plan."

"And we will."

"I guess we should get back to the station. We can continue this talk at your place." She gives him a flirty smile.

Killian scratches his ear. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

Emma tries to hide her disappointment with her reply. "Oh, are you afraid you will find me even more irresistible? Come on lighten up, we are friends above all."

"Aye, that we are." He smiled fondly. "After you."

Tag List:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch @hookedonhiddles @onceratheart18

#cssns20 #Captain Swan #cs ff

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tipsycad147 · 3 years

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Hag's Medicine: Mullein Plant Profile

I realized that it’s been a few months since I wrote my last plant profile for all of you and continuing the last few posts on breathwork and herbs for respiratory wellness, Mullein (Verbascum thapsus) felt like the wonderful ally to celebrate and learn from this month. So let’s do just that!

Mullein

(Verbascum thapsus)

Common + Folk Names : Hag’s tapers, beggar’s blanket, graveyard dust, candlewick, Jupiter’s staff, torches, velvet dock, witch’s candle, lungwort, shepherd’s staff, duffle, fluffweed, fleawort, tinder plant, Cuddy's lungs, hare’s beard, Our Lady’s flannel, Quaker rouge, Aaron's rod, Jacob's staff, verbasco, Nookaadiziiganzh. Tarot Cards : The Devil, The World, Two of Pentacles - learn more about tarot + herbs Element : Earth, Water Zodiac Signs : Capricorn Planets : Saturn Moon Phase : Waning Quarter Moon Parts used : Leaf, flower, root Habitat : Native to Eurasia and North Africa but naturalized throughout North America. Growing conditions : Grows in waste areas and roadsides. Likes full sun and well-drained soil. Collection : Collect the flowers and leaves from second year and older plants. Roots in the fall. Flavor : Pungent, slightly bitter Temperature : Cool Moisture : Moist Tissue State : Damp/Stagnation, Dry/Atrophy Constituents : Carotene, choline, calcium, magnesium, sulfur, resin, saponins, glycoside, flavonoids, mucilage, tannins, triterpenes, volatile oil.

Actions : alterative, anodyne, antibacterial, antihistamine, anti-inflammatory, antiseptic, antispasmodic, antiviral, astringent, decongestant, demulcent, diuretic, emollient, expectorant, pectoral, vulnerary. Flower: analgesic, anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, demulcent, emollient, mucilaginous, nervine, sedative. Root: anti-inflammatory, antispasmodic, anodyne, diuretic, nervine.

Main Uses : Mullein is described by Nicholas Culpeper as being under the guardianship of Saturn, which is in part why the herb is considered a plant of Capricorn. The herb is a great ally during the winter months, helping to clear phlegm from the system, reduce inflammation, and protect against infection. It is excellent for clearing out chronic, long-standing coughs, especially dry and spasmodic coughs, and can help with a number of respiratory complaints including bronchitis, asthma, and general lung weakness. Mullein has traditionally been used for tuberculosis, whooping cough, and pleurisy. Bartram's Encyclopedia of Herbal Medicine describes a traditional Irish preparation of Mullein for the treatment of tuberculosis prepared by adding a handful of the green leaves to two pints of fresh milk, strained, and then sweetened with honey which was then drunk once or twice daily. Think deep, thick, and chesty coughs. Look for signs of adrenal stress, especially after long bouts of illness and conditions worsening when lying down.

Add the herb to your cold and flu blends with Elder (Sambucus nigra) and Peppermint (Mentha piperita) for a lung-opening, immunomodulating blend. Mullein is useful, too, for Capricorn folk who tend towards stagnant cold states which lead to swellings and cysts as the herb helps to dissolve such manifestations of buildup. As a decongestant, Mullein is good for allergies such as hay fever, helping to clear phlegm and relieve pain. In her Physica, Hildegard von Bingen recommended Mullein for “one who is hoarse or has a pain in his chest” recommending that they combine the herb with Fennel (Foeniculum vulgare) in a medicinal wine. Use also for asthma (especially if there is heat and aggravation) and general chest infections. Mullein has immunostimulating properties which is another reason that it is excellent for cold and flu season and especially for someone succumbing to chronic viral infections. The herb is effective against viruses such as herpes, too.

As a moistening diuretic, Mullein helps to soothe an inflamed urinary system and help with the release of urine. Mullein is also well-suited for many cases of edema and water retention. The herb also helps to remove toxins from the body because of its ability to move water out of the body. Use in cases of arthritis, rheumatism, gout, UTIs, and cystitis. As a digestive, Mullein is a mild bitter that relieves indigestion, especially in cases of a damp and stagnant digestion, and can help alleviate the pain of peptic ulcers.

Mullein can be used for nerve pain and combines well with other nervines such as Skullcap (Scutellaria lateriflora) and St. Joan’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum). Use internally as well as an oil for neuralgia and especially nerve pain the hands and feet. In particular, the root can be used in cases of Bell’s palsy and facial nerve pain. The herb helps to loosen up stiff joints and connective tissue.

Topically, the mucilaginous Mullein is excellent for dry skin conditions but also as a healing compress or salve for boils, bruises, inflammation, hemorrhoids, eczema, sciatica, and joint pain. Use in a steam for lung conditions like asthma, bronchitis and other respiratory imbalances already described. In Plants Have So Much to Give Us, All We Have To Do Is Ask: Anishinaabe Botanical Teachings, Mary Siisip Geniusz recommends following a steam with Mullein a cup of Yarrow (Achillea millefolium) and then to bed to clear the head and chest. Mullein is used similarly as a smoking herb as well as an aid to help wean off tobacco. Mullein is useful in cases of bulging discs and bone setting. The herb helps the skin repair after a wound, burn, sore, and ulcer and can be used for skin infections, too. A compress of the leaves is excellent for alleviating the pain of swollen joints, sore muscles, swollen glands, eczema and for headaches. Use also for lymphadenitis and mumps. Create a gargle of the tea or extract for laryngitis, swollen gums, and tonsillitis. Mullein and garlic ear oil is a trusted remedy for ear infections helping to relieve pain and infection. I always keep a small bottle of Mullein and Garlic oil in my home care kit just for this reason. Mullein is also a common herb in smoking blends.

Magickal Uses : The long thick stems are sometimes referred to as Hag’s Tapers (the dried stalks dipped in wax will burn as a somewhat messy candle) as they are associated with the magickal workings of Witchfolk. Mullein is a plant long associated with the working of Hags - the womxn overculture has always feared who teach us to embrace what has been deemed unpalatable to value systems that our not our own into essential tools of our self-understanding. The tapers can be burned at funerals to protect against unwanted and malevolent spirits. You can also tuck the leaves into your shoe for added comfort and protection on your journeys. Use for general protection against sorcery, the evil eye, and malevolent spirits. Specifically protective against wild animal attacks and guards against the Night Mare. Use as a substitute for graveyard dust in spells and charms. Burn Mullein in your Midsummer bonfire for protection and gather the ashes to use in protection charms.

The Mullein Personality : The Mullein person has something to get off their chest which can sometimes manifest as chronic respiratory infections and a barking cough that doesn’t allow them to get a clear word out. Their adrenals are often run down and mornings - just as they are getting out of bed - can be some of the most difficult times for them physically and emotionally. Often, Mullein folk come off as dried out (which can manifest in their physical symptoms), but they may appear dry because all of their waters have pooled deep in the body. With their unexpressed truth settling in the body they are stewing, sometimes even bubbling over. They need to learn how to light their torch, even if the words that come out aren’t “perfectly” illuminating or fit in with the standards that they or others hold them to. Mullein folk can be confused about what they stand for because they have been so focused on “correct” social customs and traditions. Mullein will help them to become honest with themselves and release these stagnant patterns of seeking authority outside of themselves and help them to speak their words. Ultimately, they learn that morals, values, and laws aren’t of any use unless they align with their morals, values, and inner sense of lawful justice.

Contraindications : Considered generally safe.

Drug interactions : None known.

Dosage : Standard dosage.

Recipe: The following tea is useful for alleviating the pain and tension of backache and neuralgia. It can also be made into an herbal oil or liniment and used topically.

Stand Tall Tea

1 part Nettles (Urtica dioica)

1/2 part Mullein Leaf + Flower (Verbascum thapsus)

1/2 part St. Joan’s Wort (Hypericum perforatum)

Optional: 1/2 part Ginger (Zingiber officinalis)

Add the Ginger if the condition is worse with cold and better with heat. Sweeten with honey or coconut sugar and milk of choice.

I write more about Mullein and it’s uses as an herbal ally for fire season and it is featured in my list of herbs for breathwork and respiratory wellness. Mullein is one of my favorite herbs to use for Capricorn energy and learning more about the sign helps to understand the energy and magick that Mullein offers. Of course, you can always follow the tag for Mullein to see where it might guide you.

http://www.wortsandcunning.com/blog/hags-medicine-mullein-plant-profile

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anhed-nia · 3 years

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BLOGTOBER 10/30-10/31 (IT AIN’T OVER YET!): DISCONNECTED (1984) + PERSONAL SHOPPER

One night on a double date at a local night club, sweet, shy Alicia (Frances Raines) tries to tell the foursome about a strange experience she has had that day: She let an old man into her apartment to use her telephone, but he mysteriously vanished before she could let him back out. Her friends are not interested. Her boyfriend Mark (director Gorman Bechard), a smug radio DJ, dismisses her story as some sort of misunderstanding, and her vivacious twin Barbara Ann (Raines) cuts her off entirely by flirting openly with Mark, insinuating that she was with him that afternoon. This is the last straw in what appears to be an ongoing problem for Alicia. Outside in Mark's car, she refuses to accept his denial of sleeping with Barbara Ann, beginning an agonizing breakup process that drags out for days. Even at her job, Alicia can't seem to establish any personal boundaries; an awkward young stranger called Franklin (Mark Walker) visits during her shift at the video store, and reveals that he doesn't even own a tape player--he just found out who she was and where she worked from other club patrons the previous evening. Alicia rebuffs his unseemly advances at first, but with the insulting drama still festering between Mark and her manipulative sister, loneliness sets in. She could use some company to help insulate her anyway, since their town is plagued by a killer of young women...and stranger still, Alicia's telephone has taken on a mind of its own, broadcasting otherworldly sounds into her apartment, slowly driving her mad. She has a difficult decision to make about who or what she can trust, but it may be that there is no correct choice.

Gorman Bechard's atmospheric 1984 oddity DISCONNECTED follows in the footsteps of CARNIVAL OF LOST SOULS, joining a subset of subdued psychological thrillers about women alone. In Herk Harvey's 1962 classic, Candace Hilligoss plays Mary Henry, a withdrawn young woman who moves far from home after a traumatic accident. Where she hoped to find peace, she is stalked by a spectral male figure, and receives no help from the locals, who are all suspicious or covetous of her. The boundary between the living and the dead begins to dissolve, mirroring her increasingly ambivalent relationships with other human beings. Mary is torn between her longing for solitude and her fear of impending doom, having to choose between an intrusive suitor, and being left alone with her cadaverous stalker. Mary's unforgettable journey through her desolate surroundings, her isolation interrupted only by enemies both open and hidden, describes an experience that many female viewers have found familiar. Social life portends various threats--judgmental elders who pick at your morals and appearance, jealous females, emotionally and physically violent males--while solitude offers obliterating blankness, like a desert whose expansive monotony renders meaningless the defining lines of past, future, and self. In modern times, this distinctly female experience is complicated by the evolution of personal communication media. The telephone in particular--which has been historically and rather demeaningly associated with girls--is both a channel through which to reach out and touch someone, and an opening through which unwanted attention can insinuate itself into our lives. Two years ago, I saw DISCONNECTED--a loopy microbudget slasher movie from Waterbury, Connecticut--and one of my first thoughts was that it was somehow just like PERSONAL SHOPPER, Olivier Assayas' heady cyberpunk-flavored thriller from 2016, in which a servant to the stars receives threatening text messages from someone who may or may not be among the living. I've been trying to put the two together in writing ever since.

In PERSONAL SHOPPER, Kristen Stewart plays introverted American Maureen, the virtual slave of supermodel Kyra (Nora von Waldstatten). Maureen is a stranger in a strange land, travelling relentlessly around Europe to procure garments and jewels for her boss in Paris, and on her personal time, conducting a psychic survey of her late brother Lewis's mansion. Twin mediums Maureen and Lewis promised one another that whoever died first would send the other a sign from across the divide; Maureen has been waiting since his untimely heart attack for him to hold up his end of the bargain. So far she has only witnessed some scattered poltergeitic activity, along with the manifestation of a ferocious, unknown female specter, but the clock is ticking, as the manse is mid-sale to Lewis’ friends. Furthermore, it is her employment with the tyrannical Kyra that allows her to stay in Paris and wait for a sign from Lewis, so Maureen’s freedom also is dependent on the resolution of this situation. When she meets Kyra's arrogant lover Ingo (Lars Eidinger), he inappropriately insists that he can get her a better job elsewhere, but she explains that she can't change her life until she has closure with her brother. Shortly after this unpleasant encounter, Maureen begins to receive intrusive texts from an unknown caller. Due to her unusual relationship to the dead, she can't be sure if her new stalker is a part of her world, or not.

PERSONAL SHOPPER has very much the flavor of William Gibson’s speculative fiction novel Pattern Recognition, in "cool hunter” Cayce Pollard has the extra-sensory ability to detect what new designs will become popular next. Cayce’s special power manifests as a crippling allergy, and so she tries to remain in timeless, fashion-neutral clothes and settings whenever possible. Psychic Maureen feels a similar kind of existential ambivalence toward the super luxe materials she excels at curating for her client.

Maureen spends much of her screen time alone. Most of her personal contacts are with salespeople; she virtually never sees Kyra in person, and her boyfriend Gary (Ty Olwin) lives in Oman, which may as well be another world. Her chief relationship is to her dead brother, who is literally in another world, and who responds with frustrating ambiguity to her pleas for a clear message, even as his mansion rumbles with unexplainable activity. This void of connection seems somehow related to Maureen's tenuous sense of personal identity. With no close connections, she cannot accurately detect her own contours. Maureen is totally sublimated into Kyra's life, simply an extremity that grasps for whatever Kyra needs. At the same time, she is subject to Lewis's will, unable to make any moves--even to protect herself--until her late brother deigns to give her peace. Maureen's identity is entirely determined by other people, including the mystery caller who lures her into a confessional conversation with him. Although this third figure is the most predatory of them all, he is also the one who teases out the threads of Maureen's fraying individuality. When she admits to trying on Kyra's clothing, just because she's not allowed to, he entices her to stay in Kyra's bed while she's away, further feeling out her own limits. This is the only way Maureen can establish a self that is independent of the context of others: by violating the taboos established by those others. The rule-breaking method of finding oneself is an integral part of the human condition, as explained by media theorist Marshall McLuhan in a discussion of the self in the age of social media:

"Yes, all forms of violence are quests for identity. When you live out on the frontier, you have no identity. You are a nobody. Therefore, you get very tough. You have to prove that you are somebody. So you become very violent. Identity is always accompanied by violence. This seems paradoxical to you? Ordinary people find the need for violence as they lose their identities. It is only the threat to people’s identity that makes them violent. Terrorists, hijackers - these are people minus identity. They are determined to make it somehow, to get coverage, to get noticed."

By breaking Kyra's rules just on principle, Maureen moves toward self-actualization. Unfortunately, this comes at a cost, as the mystery caller who encourages this process wants to possess her just as much as Kyra and Lewis already do.

Maureen's phone has become a ouija board-like portal to another plane, through which alien forces can cross over and affect our fate. In DISCONNECTED, Alicia suffers from a similar problem. Alicia's social isolation, and the increasingly meaningless division between life and death for her, is underlined by the fact that she lives on the edge of a cemetery. Her phone is her connection to the world--to the ambiguous Franklin, to her sister who she can neither accept nor reject, to Mark who she can't quite leave behind. She can't get rid of this device, even when it starts to ring almost constantly, with a horrifying, vaguely vocal-sounding barrage of electronic noise on the other end. As in PERSONAL SHOPPER, Alicia is largely seen alone, pacing in her apartment, wandering teary-eyed in the depopulated streets of Waterbury, and eyeing her phone with nervous anticipation. She finds herself living out an appalling version of the classic Twilight Zone episode "Night Call," in which Elva, an old widow longing for her late husband, is harassed by increasingly disturbing phone calls from beyond the grave. Like Elva and Maureen, Alicia also suffers from the conflation of companionship and otherworldly threat: Just as she doesn't understand the source of the distorted calls, she also doesn't know that Franklin--her potential savior from this dark chapter of her life--is a serial murderer, planning to have her for his next victim. When Barbara Ann makes a move on him, perpetuating the cycle of sororal abuse that started with Mark, Franklin kills her instead, removing one of Alicia’s few contacts with the rest of humanity.

BTW, even though Alicia eventually takes a liking to Franklin (center), her experience at the video store--here, trapped between an aggressive suitor and a similarly aggressive porn consumer--forms the most realistic portrait of retail hell for girls that I have ever seen in my life. When Franklin first arrives, announcing that a) the movies there aren’t good enough for his refined tastes, b) he doesn’t even own a video player, and c) he’s only there because he’s stalked Alicia from her local watering hole, his intensely condescending attitude and presupposing come-ons gave me a hardcore PTSD reaction from the many years I spent behind the counter of a comic book store. Yuck.

While Alicia doesn't understand what is happening until it's almost too late, Maureen's situation escalates horrifically when her latest jewelry delivery brings her face to face with Kyra's mutilated corpse. As she reels from this gruesome sight, she also detects a malevolent presence vibrating deeper in the apartment that sends her fleeing in terror. When she goes to the police, her mystery caller suddenly becomes more sinister, demanding to know whether she has told the cops about him. In short order, the caller tries to blackmail her into meeting him in a hotel room, but this climactic union is circumvented by the police: It was Ingo guiding Maureen's journey of self-discovery, and Ingo who killed Kyra. The revelation is enormously painful, not because Ingo is so important, but because he managed to victimize Maureen using her most uniquely personal characteristic: her relationship to the supernatural. She believed that something personally significant was happening to her, according to her special understanding of the world, but she was merely being preyed upon by a violent narcissist. Her profound belief in her own paranormal sensitivity--the one thing she is sure of, that distinguishes her from others--is what made her vulnerable to the insistent texts begin with: She wondered if it was Lewis texting her. Ingo exploits Maureen's convictions about herself to perpetrate a deadly fraud, leaving her violated and humiliated. Even though we witness the presence of an unseen entity (Lewis? Kyra?) moving through the hotel, perhaps influencing Ingo's capture, Maureen is left to suffer for being gullible and vulnerable, to mourn her own privacy.

Of course, Maureen's journey is not over yet, and Alicia receives a similar shock with a full half an hour to go in DISCONNECTED. She is rescued by her own screams on her last date with Franklin, as the sounds of their skirmish draw the police to his apartment where they summarily execute Alicia's would-be killer. Now she is left with almost no worldly connections at all--save for the malign presence that keeps calling her phone, blasting her with waves of mind-melting noise. To make matters worse, there seems to be a new victim in the rash of murders previously tied to the late Franklin. Alicia plunges into a spiral of nihilistic despair, in which her closest relationship is with her conniving ex--mediated by the phone, and by his radio show where he dedicates songs to her--second only to the mystery caller who dials her number several times an hour. Craving a human connection, Alicia eventually relents and lets Mark take her out again, and things seem to be on the upswing...until Alicia returns home to find that something worse than electronic fuzz has entered her home, to put an end to her misery. We don't share her final vision, but we do see the mysterious old man (William Roberts) from the beginning of the movie, the fellow she let in to use her telephone, strolling into the cemetery--presumably, from whence he came.

Like Alicia in the aftermath of Franklin’s death, Maureen also has to find a new way to survive after an episode of shocking violence. For Maureen, the only way through is out. As she prepares to leave Lewis' mansion, she encounters his widow's new beau, Erwin (Anders Danielsen Lie). This encounter crystalizes the movie's themes regarding time. Early in PERSONAL SHOPPER, Maureen is turned on to the visionary paintings of Hilma af Klint, a 19th century painter who claimed that she made her art at the behest of ghosts. She mandated that her work only be revealed to the public after her death, creating a communication channel between the deep past and the distant future. Maureen argues with her doctor about the future; he insists that her brother's heart attack was purely anomalous, but Maureen sees no reason why the same thing couldn't happen to her. She sees no future for herself, and is chained to the past by the ghost of her brother, who withholds the spiritual message that would allow her to move on. Lewis thought a lot about the future, Maureen remarks cynically to her doctor, despite the fact that he was ultimately deprived of one. Later, Lewis' widow Lara (Sigrid Bouaziz) explains that she feels the future is in flux and unknowable--a desirable quality, in her book--and so she is moving on to be with Erwin. So, when Maureen encounters Erwin on her final night in Paris, they have a pointed conversation about the shackles of the past and the fossilizing force of guilt on one's life. Lewis's ghost cruelly teases Maureen at the end of the scene, demanding attention but refusing to reveal himself. With nothing to show for her devotion to her brother, she flees Europe.

In both DISCONNECTED and PERSONAL SHOPPER, the archetype of the twins is used to describe opposing states of being, and the threat of having one’s life usurped by another version of oneself. Alicia's sister Barbara Ann is lively, sensuous, and self-serving: everything that Alicia is unable to be, and the consumer of everything Alicia wants for herself. With her unrealistic desires for honesty and compassion, Alicia is the more death-oriented twin: cut off from social life, deprived of pleasure by more ambitious people, and vulnerable to parasitic attacks from both sides of the mortal veil. Alicia even dreams of Barbara Ann murdering her, and literally taking her place in bed with Mark. Maureen's twin Lewis is described by his survivors as passionate and living on the strength of his own convictions; Although Maureen still lives, she is inert, somehow chained to him, slavishly waiting for him to grant her release, though he is content to torment and manipulate her. The protagonists of both films are subjugated to these duplicates who refuse to stay on their side.

Maureen flees to Oman to reunite with her boyfriend Gary--heretofore only a pixelated image in a video chat who begs her to give up her commitment to the kingdom of death, insisting that only the material world exists and is waiting to embrace her. Of course, when Maureen arrives in Gary's placid and spartan world at what may as well be the end of the universe, her problems have followed her. We will never see Gary in the flesh; he has left a written note of welcome for Maureen, which she reads just as she detects a supernatural presence in his dwelling. Hoping against hope that Lewis is finally reaching out to her, she asks out loud: “Is it you? Are you at peace? Are you not at peace? ...Or is it just me?” And, hauntingly, she hears a ghostly knock in the affirmative for every question.

The ambiguity of this ending has troubled some viewers, although multiple interpretations present themselves which are not mutually exclusive. In the most literal sense, Maureen can be seen as a terminally frustrated Carrie White-like figure who causes material disturbances with the power of her own inner turmoil. The paranormal phenomena she perceives are, indeed, “just her”. On a more metaphorical level, we can see that Maureen is haunted by her own grief, over her brother, and also over her failure to forge a life of her own. In her mind, her brother was a superior life force to which she remains subservient; she identified herself entirely as a receiver for his message, and without his active participation in her life, she loses all sense of purpose. She scrutinizes ghostly disturbances and the spiritual conduit of the telephone to inform her place in the world. Without an internal, independent reason for being, people like herself, and like Alicia, are forever haunted.

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chelsfic · 4 years

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Tear You Apart - Dracula/OFC One-shot

A/N: I wrote this in response to a post from @dracula-s-bride in which they requested a “one shot where [Dracula] fucks OC’s brains out into oblivion.” My filthy mind immediately went to the scene at the Convent and Dracula fucking a nun amidst the carnage he’d created. So…that’s what I wrote. I really just wanted to spend more time in the head space of that scene. Unapologetic, much? YIKES!

Warnings: Murder, Non-con, Blood drinking (I mean…)

Rating: Explicit as hell

Sister Evangeline averts her gaze as the demonic form stalking outside the convent gates manifests into the shape of a very tall, very naked man. She fixes her eyes to the weathered cobbles and tightens trembling fingers round the wooden stake in her hands. Her arms are tucked close to her body, her shoulders hunch forward in an unconscious attempt to make herself appear smaller to avoid the predator’s notice.

She’s never felt such visceral fear in her life. It’s so intense she thinks she will either faint or be sick. Her sisters feel the same. Waves of terror pass from one nun to the next at the man’s words and actions. Had she not personally witnessed him crawl forth from the wolf’s twitching body she might take him for a madman. But as the confrontation between him and Sister Agatha plays out she learns he’s something far more frightful.

Count Dracula. The devil incarnate.

Once she allows her eyes to wander upward she finds she cannot look away. His naked skin glows in the light of the torches as if kissed by hellfire. His lips spread in a feral smile as he flicks his eyes from one stunned face to the next finally settling on hers and holding her captive in his hypnotic gaze. His voice rings through the courtyard, addressing them all, but his eyes stay focused on Evangeline.

“The first one to invite me in stays at my side!” he announces. “The others I will tear apart and LADIES! I will. Take. My. Time. One should never rush a nun…”

An icy shiver creeps down her spine at his words and she feels her feet moving of their own accord, stepping forward as her lips part to speak the words. Count Dracula’s smile widens and his eyes blaze in anticipation but Sister Agatha interrupts before she can utter the invitation that would doom them all. Agatha’s bold intervention saves her and Evangeline falls back in line with the others, panting in shock at the sin she’s nearly commited. Lord, save me, she prays to a resounding, oppressive silence from the cosmos.

Once Agatha has turned the demon away the sisters gather in the chapel for prayer. Mother Superior stands before them and her words are uplifting, inspiring, an answer to the emptiness she’s felt inside when her prayers go unanswered. She must look within herself for the voice of her God. She must find His strength in her own strength.

It’s a moment of pure serenity and peace after the misery of the confrontation outside. She bows her head in a prayer of gratitude just as the echo of sharp footsteps sounds from the corridor. Evangeline looks up in time to see the monster, Count Dracula, standing inside the chapel holding Mother Superior’s severed head aloft, grinning in delight as the nuns begin a chorus of screams.

Evangeline’s throat closes shut, she wheezes and gasps desperate to drag air into her lungs but her body shuts down in panic. Dracula stands before them, resplendent in his tailored suit and long, dark cape. The perfect image of a refined gentleman. Yet his actions and words are savage. He tosses the head into the crowd of terrified nuns, taunting them with their own impending death. Evangeline crouches on the stone floor, cowering beneath a pew. Some of her sisters are braver than she. They stand up, wielding their crucifixes against the vampire. At first it appears effective but Evangeline watches the Count from her hiding place as he settles casually into a chair, spreading his cape beneath him and leaning back with an air of one about to take in a show.

“So…” he begins, in a conversational tone as if holding twenty nuns hostage and threatening their lives is an everyday occurrence, “I suppose I’ll just have to control myself. But–between you and me–controlling wolves is just so much more fun…It’s a question of who you’d rather have tear you apart, I suppose. You have a choice of course. I’m undead, I’m not unreasonable.”

At his words the first howls begin sounding from just outside the chapel doors. Evangeline climbs farther under the pew, tucking her legs in close to her body as she watches a whole pack of wolves race by her and begin lunging at the crowd of nuns in the center aisle. Her lips tremble and a wail of sorrow escapes her throat before she slaps her hands over her mouth, muffling hysterical sobs. From her spot beneath the first pew she can see only the Count’s gleaming, polished shoes and the bottom of his cape. But she hears everything. The screams, the moans, the horrid ripping sound of teeth rending limb from limb. It goes on for hours. Or minutes. She can’t be sure. The whole time she lays curled in a ball, rigid and terrified of making a single movement or sound that would attract attention.

It ends with a resounding, chilling silence. Evangeline is frozen in place, desperately trying to control her heavy breathing. She can see the dead, glassy eyes of Sister Camille staring at her from the place she’d fallen mere feet away from her. She hears the low whines of the wolves, the soft padding of their paws over the flagstone floor. And she sees Count Dracula’s well-shod feet. He hasn’t moved from his seat at the front of the chapel.

Evangeline moans in terror when she addresses her, “You can come out now, little one.”

She doesn’t move an inch. She could not move even if she wished to do so. Her muscles are rigid, her limbs locked into place. With no point in further concealment she finally allows herself to cry. The wolves quirk their ears and lick their lips as they catch the soft sounds of her cries and the rich scent of her still-flowing blood.

“Now, now, Sister, do as you’re told. Unless you’d like me to have one of my pets drag you out from under there…” Dracula sounds intrigued by the idea.

Mustering all of her remaining strength, Evangeline crawls out from under the pew, exposing herself to the gleaming predator gaze of both wolf and vampire. She spider walks backward until her back meets the chapel wall, putting as much distance between herself and them as she can. The wolves are held at bay for now. There are six of them and they stand immobile around the Count. Awaiting his command.

She looks up into the vampire’s face, quaking at the sight of his cruel smile and cold eyes.

“Tell me your name,” he commands, rising from his seat and stalking toward her. His cape flows into place around him lending even more severity to his already intimidating height. He walks until the tips of his polished shoes brush the fabric of her habit. Evangeline is forced to crane back her neck to meet his eyes as she addresses him.

“My name is…” she tries to inject her voice with Sister Agatha’s bravery, “Sister Evangeline of St. Mary’s Convent.”

Dracula smirks down at her and holds out a hand before her tear streaked face. Evangeline stares at it for a moment, the long, elegant fingers tipped with wickedly sharp points. Drawing in a shaky breath she reaches up and places her small hand in his. She half expects him to crush her hand in a bruising grip, but he merely tightens his hold gently and assists her in getting to her feet.

“Evangeline,” he stretches out the syllables on his tongue, “I’ll give you the same offer I gave the others: Who would you rather have tear you apart, darling? The wolves? Or me?”

His hand on hers effectively holds her in place as the wolves circle them, baring their teeth and growling low in their throats. Evangeline’s eyes flick wildly back and forth, dancing between the genteel murderer before her and the hungry wolves all around. One of the wolves lunges forward and snags the edge of her habit in his powerful jaws, tugging the material and starting to pull Evangeline away.

“No!” she screams, reaching out her hands to clutch at the vampire’s sleeves. “No, no, please, not the wolves.”

Dracula’s face lights with pleasure and he dismisses the wolf pack with a wave of his hand. The animals slink out of the chapel leaving Evangeline alone with the monster. He steps into her personal space, gathering her up in his arms and holding her to his chest in a parody of a lover’s embrace.

He bends his head forward to whisper into her ear, lips brushing sensuously against her skin, “I hoped you’d choose me, Evangeline. I knew there was something special about you.”

Evangeline quakes, her knees grow weak and she sags bonelessly into his arms.

“P-Please, Count Dracula,” she hisses, all thoughts of brave martyrdom fleeing her head. “Spare me.”

Dracula rolls his eyes at her and scoffs, “Don’t be boring, Evangeline. I can stomach a lot of things but not boring.”

She watches, wide-eyed as he raises a hand and softly unfastens the neck piece from her garment. The cowl and veil fall to the ground allowing soft waves of auburn hair to spill over her shoulders.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his eyes drawn to the hollow of her throat, the flesh pulsing with the erratic rush of blood beneath the surface. “Now, I’ll need you to try to calm yourself, Evangeline. Panic tends to sour the taste…”

He draws her closer into his arms all the while Evangeline is looking round for a means of escape. She struggles in his grip but Dracula puts a stop to that with a bruising squeeze of her upper arms and and a sharp hiss of annoyance. She hears the wolves in the courtyard echo him with their mournful howls and knows in her bones that there is no escape. No hope. She stills then, eyes shutting against tears.

Dracula leans back and unclasps the cape from around his neck, spreading the billowing cloth onto the cold flagstone floor as a makeshift blanket.

“Come, now,” he beckons, sitting down on the rich velvet lining of the cloak. “Sit with me for a while.”

Evangeline kneels down next to him on the cloth, relieved not to have to support herself on weak knees any longer. Even sitting down the Count looms over her. She looks up into his face and…simply waits. She is completely under his power and his earlier words have made her afraid even to beg for mercy. The Count brings a hand up to her face cupping her cheek and running his fingertips across her lips, over her chin and settling around the base of her neck. He feels her pulse raging under his touch as he begins to speak.

“It won’t hurt. I’ll make it like falling asleep into the loveliest dream. Won’t that be nice?” he soothes, gently rubbing his fingers against her pulse point, holding her wide-eyed stare. “I’ll hold you in my arms, place a kiss on that lovely throat, and then you’ll be gone from here. No pain. No fear.”

Evangeline’s pulse still thunders under his fingers and her breathing is erratic. With a sigh Dracula places a hand on her chest and gently pushes her back until she’s lying on the cape.

“Well,” he says, propping himself up on an elbow to lean over her, “I have a little bit of time. No need to rush.”

He slides his palm over the fabric of her habit, dragging it over her breasts, her waist and settling on her hip where he kneads the flesh with a possessive touch. He bends forward and brushes his lips over hers in a slow, tender kiss. Evangeline’s breath catches in her throat, her thoughts stuttering to a halt as he continues the kiss, stroking her plump lower lip with his tongue, probing inside her mouth. He buries a hand in her hair, tangling in the soft locks as he gives her her first…her last kiss.

“There, now,” he mutters into her lips. “See how nice it can be, Evangeline? We can’t let you die a virgin, can we?”

With this last question he starts hiking up the skirt of her habit and bunching it round her hips. Evangeline feels a flash of alarm that lasts a second before he’s reaching underneath and cupping her sex in the palm of his hand. She gasps at the intrusion, at his bold, confident touch. It sends a thrilling shock wave through her body and she feels herself arch involuntarily into his touch for a second before recalling herself and shrinking back slightly.

The Count is relentless in his ministrations, though. He strokes his long, elegant fingers against her through the fabric of her drawers, pressing the heel of his palm into her sensitive mound in a rhythmic motion, kindling a sweet ache inside her that pulses and stutters. She pants and moans, writhing under his fingers and looking up at him in a look that mingles arousal, awe and horror. Dracula smiles down at her, reveling in the nun’s undoing.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises as he snakes his hand up and under the waist of her drawers, delving into the wet apex of her thighs. “Do you want more, Evangeline?”

He pauses and lets his fingers hover over her hypersensitive flesh awaiting her response. Evangeline turns her face away, staring up at the crucifix on the wall and gasping in frustrated pleasure. She wants more. God save her.

“Yes,” she whispers, eyes still trained on the image of her Savior, witness to her sin.

Dracula grasps her chin in his fingers and turns her to face him, his eyes blazing with intensity, “Tell me.”

Evangeline’s cheeks flush a bright crimson of humiliation and shame as she says the word more firmly, “Yes.”

The vampire’s lips spread in a wicked smile and he caresses her face almost lovingly, “You really are something special, Evangeline.”

He places a soft kiss on her lips and then slithers down her body, disappearing beneath the folds of her habit. Evangeline’s eyes widen and her mouth falls open when she feels him slide off her drawers and press his mouth against her. He licks, kisses and strokes her in her most intimate place. The slip of his tongue against the tender bundle of nerves at her apex causes her to buck in shock and pleasure and she’s mortified to find that she’s reached down to run her fingers through his thick, black hair, holding his mouth in place against her and urging him to continue with his kisses until she feels the waves of pleasure within her quiver and suddenly peak.

As the nun shivers through her orgasm, Dracula sinks his fangs into the inside of her thigh, tapping the femoral artery and gorging on the rich blood that floods his mouth. His fingers dig into her hips, holding her still as he feasts. He tastes the wanton pleasure coursing through her veins, the sweet tang of wonder at the new feelings inside her, and the hollow echo of shame she experiences at breaking her vows. He takes it all in, drinking her soul and stealing her essence. The tension in her body ebbs as the orgasm passes and the blood loss starts to weaken her. Dracula pulls back, his mouth splashed with the bright red stain of blood, and crawls up her body.

Evangeline’s eyes are closed and her head is thrown back, a soft smile on her lips. She looks utterly debauched and…perfect. Dracula bends down and captures her lips in a slow kiss, forcing the taste of her own blood into her mouth.

“Are you ready now, Evangeline?” he asks, brushing his lips over hers as he speaks. He runs his fingers through her hair in a touch that’s gentle and almost comforting. His eyes are soft, a mockery of sympathy and caring as he looks down at her.

Evangeline looks back at him, still fuzzy in the aftermath of pleasure and nods her head slowly. She’s ready. Ready for what, again?

Dracula shifts his body until he’s hovering over her, his hips aligned with hers and his face tucked into the crook of her neck. He reaches down to free his straining cock and she feels the press of him against her, the stretch and sudden fullness as he pushes forward, the echo of a stinging pain as his fangs pierce the skin of her throat. And then she’s lost again on waves of bliss.

Dracula writhes over the nun’s form, lost in his lustful frenzy and pounding her ruthlessly as his teeth tear into her neck. He’s under a spell, overwhelmed by the eroticism of her hot, pulsing blood flowing over his tongue as he sheaths himself in her tight little cunt. He reaches his hands down to cup her buttocks, kneading the soft, round flesh with his razor sharp claws.

Evangeline is far away. She’s conscious of the pleasure of the vampire’s kiss and the blissful burn of surrender as he takes her virginity. But she’s dreaming too. Dreaming of the fields in springtime. The yellow flowers and the big, fat bees that spin lazily in the air. Dreaming of her father’s house, he’s still alive and they are so happy. The images are conjured, injected with the vampire’s venom, but they are beautiful and comforting. She clings to them as the images begin to blur and the colors bleed together. Her body feels so, so far away now.

Dracula groans in pleasure as he releases her from his “kiss.” He arches back and spills his seed inside her, coming with a final, ferocious thrust of his hips. His little nun is barely conscious and whimpering in her sweet slumber. He carefully pulls out, tucking himself back into his trousers and sitting back to regard her little body. Not yet a corpse. Still enough life left in her…

He stands and wraps the girl in the rich red and black fabric of his cloak, picking her up and cradling her to his chest.

“Sweet little nun,” he whispers into her hair as he places a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to make you last.”

#dracula x ofc #dracula x oc #dracula imagine #dracula fanfic #bbc dracula #dracula netflix #dracula 2020 #tw: noncon #tw: murder #claes bang #chelsfic

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minstrivia · 5 years

Text

; way down in bed stuy | m.

— a/n: this is my fic for the spring fic exchange gifted to the lovely @taendrils. enjoy babe xx

— pairings: jeon jungkook x reader

— genre: smut, light angst?

— word count: 5k+

— warnings: asphyxiation, rough sex, possession!kink, oral sex, edging, shameless infidelity, drug use/abuse (we got acid up in here. don’t do it kids), voyeurism, do people actually fuck in the rain like is that a thing?, unprotected sex cause like who wears a condom in the rain, smh who fucks in the rain tho, creampie, clearly he has a fat cock who do you think i am, dirty filthy talk, this is filth, morally i should be ashamed, i am not

— summary: as a final farewell you fuck your sister’s unbelievably attractive knave boyfriend that you definitely do not have feelings for...again.

This time you decide Jungkook is…pitiful.

You tell yourself that’s why you’d allowed him to approach you the way he did, his clothes tightly clung to him like a second skin, obsidian black hair that would normally adorn a disastrous fluffiness flattened to his head in a way that falls beneath his eyes in clumped spikes, and his skin flushed with a keenness that you’ve become way too accustomed to. He is palpably pitiful today—at least, more than usual. The temper surrounding him is a sombre stench, and the impromptu choppy slew of texts that had followed the silence of a missed call had been telling enough. So, when he’d stalked over to you, you’d expected it; expected his clumsy shoves at your shoulders, his incoherent rambling as his large palm haloed your wrist in a grating vise, recklessly jerking you behind him as he cantered fleet-footed, itching to reach his destination. And you’d counted on finding yourself stumbling, bereft of logical dispute, back to him—always back to him, everytime.

“Need you.”

“Jeon, what—”

Jungkook’s eyes are always glassy as they lure you in, drab dilated pupils seeking answers you won’t give (not now anyway) not when he’s hot, so fucking hot, his skin scorches yours perversely in a way that’d have you concerned if you didn’t know any better. But you know, you know he’s long consumed the insipid paper taste of acid and you’re getting the lusty aftershocks, the slated crest that befalls once the opiate has branched and ignited the blood in his veins—the peak of his trip, that’s when he comes to you, when he’s riding the most rhapsodic moment and he ‘needs’ to take you with him. You’ve gotten used to it too, letting him have you whenever and wherever he wants and you’d be more chagrined by the way you’re pinned up against him inhaling his suffocating musky scent of cinders and shorts on a merry go round smack bang in the middle of a children’s playground, if it weren’t for the steady retreating daylight. And the way he’s touching you—definitely the way he’s touching you, his hands wayfaring restlessly like they can’t decide where to perch, yet nevertheless, it’s vicious and fervent, earnest to make itself known, tips of his fingers cumbering at times and the amble thrums a sinful eagerness down the length of your spine.

“S’pretty,” he mumbles, lower lip sweeping across the washed plane of your collarbone as he does so. “Fuck, you’re so pretty, way too pretty, you know that? Tell me you know that.” His timbre is imploring, grasp that bit firmer like he’s afraid you’ll bolt from his arms—like you’re the only thing grounding him to this cruel reality, and you’re ashamed that you like it so much, ashamed that when his eyes descent pleadingly as he stares up at you, you feel that dulcet rush of empowerment, the one that voices how rapidly you could dismantle his treasured ego, how quickly you could make him beg and he would, he’d beg so tragically.

But it isn’t what you want, not now, not ever, so you give. “I know Kook.” Your fingers comb within the thickness of his tresses, the dampness making it weightier than it’d normally be as you rake it away from his forehead. “I know.”

You can categorise being with Jungkook when he’s like this into steps, advances that flow seamlessly into the other, and you’ve been doing this far too long not to know when the change comes, when something veers in his manner, morphs on his features and he’s feeling with an altered strain of vigour. This part though—this part is always your favourite. His sweetened tongue pampering you with enticing endearments and psychedelic compliments that have you reeling in want, in being wanted; it pours out of his mouth with zest, jumbles and clusters of vulgar curses and words that would put the both of you in trouble if anyone else were to overhear. And that’s when you think you hate him the most, when you have your flashes of clarity, fading out of the cosmos of everything Jungkook and sharpening to your surroundings. The rue frets at you then, a restless irritation manifesting at your nape his lips can’t chase away, and a spat formed to cut right at the pike of your tongue—it’d be futile though, because no matter what you say, you can’t blame him and selfishly you can’t blame yourself either. You blame circumstance, Bed Stuy, irrefutable attraction. That’s what you’re calling it, ‘irrefutable attraction’. The hours you occupy enthralled in the ardour of his steamy touch, intoxicated and heated whilst he consumes you in that gradual tack that makes you oh so delirious, your very own narcotic because that’s what he is—a vicious addiction.

Admittedly, you’d known from the start. When Irene had first brought him home, boozed-up on cheap spirits, mousy giggles bubbling up her throat as they tried and despicably failed to evade the wooden floorboards that had protested and groused under their ungraceful teeters; you’d been there to witness it all. The cringeworthy display of your elder sister, an arm slung around his shoulders as she hung carelessly off her ‘new boyfriend’, looking clammy and dishevelled as ever in her slurred greeting. And him, he’d seemed fine—later you’d realise he’d substituted the tart flavour of liquor for the earthy spiced mary jane—but then, he’d seemed in better condition than the wreck beside him. And something about him enticed? intrigued you, his magnetic stare studying you daringly, drawled speech bordering on mischievous and his smug smile, boyishly plagued. Too attractive, you’d thought. He is damningly way too attractive. His stunning features lost on the destitution of the neighbourhood, when instead he deserved to be plastered on posters, screens, billboards—still does. Except now you know he can also be so much more with the melodious voice you’ve had the privy bliss of hearing, that is so much foreign to his natural low huskiness, you’re sure he could sell out arenas, tour the world and leave this place and its memories behind for good. Like you want to. Like you are.

“God, I want you so fucking bad.” Jungkook’s hands finally root at the tapers of your waist, fingers splayed out possessively as if he wishes he could be touching everywhere at once. “You’re better than her, so much better than her.”

And there, the admonition of your vicious addiction. It had only meant to be a one-time thing, and even then was too much. But you’d given in—like you always do—give, give, give, playing into his wily wishes, and you weren’t drunk, and he wasn’t drunk, and it had been so so fucking wrong but you’d been curious, unbelievably curious; tumbling hastily into the unlit bar back storage room at your sister’s 21st birthday bash with her boyfriend in tow, his erection rock-hard and insistent on your thigh, mouth sucking and teeth clipping harsh mauve onto the surface of your skin and it had been way too easy to forget where you were when he fucked you, legs wrapped low on his hips, hiked up on the wall, hands clutching desperately at his nape for stability as he pounded into you brutally without falter. You liked what he had to offer, liked the way he dominated you in every way, liked the thrill of being in the arms of someone older, and it just felt right. It still feels right, in the moment at least, everything clicks and it feels like in some cruel twisted fate you’re meant to do this—meant to be with him.

“Jeon just—” You grasp at the base of his shirt. It’s cold out, not cold enough to have you shivering in seek of warmth, but cold enough to want his body nearer and it’s raining, previous heavy downfall simmering down to a softer spring rain. Regardless, it’s done most of its damage anyway, glazed you both over with fresh rainwater and his shirt has your palms feeling clammy; somewhere in the back of your mind you’re aware this isn’t a good idea, but it’s far back and you’re here. “—please.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook smirks haughtily, supple lips steamed on your skin and his breath warm with a choppy chuckle. This is how it always goes, your concise breathy pre-exchange on words of confirmation because he knows, you know, and you just both know. So, you allow yourselves to mould without inhibition, when he gives you what you want and you provide what he needs. Later, you’ll ask what’s on his mind—even though you’ve got a strong idea—and he’ll ask what’s on yours (you’ll never tell), but for now it’s mindless, a primitive yearning for sex and all it’s gluttony.

“Gonna make you feel so good, baby, fuck you like you want,” He rasps, creeping his wanton touch teasingly up your upper leg, palm grazing the soft flesh and hiking your skirt with the rise. “You’d like that huh?”

You croon mindlessly into his touch. “Hmm—” Your eyes flutter to a gentle close, the pads of his fingers alighting your nerves as you stable your rousing pants. “Gotta get me wet though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

He glances up at you, eyes wide and imploring framed by full wispy lashes, his teeth capturing his bottom lip cheekily when he cocks an eyebrow up. “Want me to eat you out?” He asks. “You’d like that?”

“Hmm…yes.”

“Yeah?” His breath fans over the tender pulse on your neck and you’re gorged with zeal at being so close to him. “Want to get my mouth messy with your pretty pussy?”

You nod heedlessly. “M’not getting my knees wet and dirty to suck you off though.” And you know it’s unfair, you know that he loves when you’ve got your lips wrapped around the thick girth of his cock, kitten licking at his slit and his fingers burrowed into your hair as he forces you to take all of him with fierce breaths through your nose. You know he craves the feeling of your nails digging crescent moons into his thighs, always too daring, too close to brandishing him with your telling mark. But you want to take this time, give less and take more, and you think that’s fair on you.

He chuckles gruffly like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his eyes trained on yours with something sadistic flickering past when he speaks. “Don’t have to, Irene beat you to that.”

You still instantly. “Fucking hell Jungkook,” you mutter with a pissy huff, throwing your head back as you glare at the clouded skies, the downpour of sleet dribbling jarringly onto your face. And you have half the mind to shove him away for that comment alone, in fact, you should but instead you retire to a overtaxed, “S’not even funny Kook.”

“Sorry.”

He’s not sorry. You know he’s not sorry. The mischievous drawl of the apology is far from meaningful and you hate it. “You’re a fucking prick.”

“True. You want to stop?” He asks, slowly sinking to his knees in that teasing way he does so, balancing his weight as he makes the floor seem further than it is with a smug smile. And when his knees collide with the metal, your leg is quick to leave stability, draped over his shoulder as you find footing with the other. “You know I will if you say the words.”

“I—” You sigh. You don’t. Of course, you don’t. “No just- just fucking continue.”

“Bit bossy for someone that wants their sister’s boyfriend’s tongue on their cunt, don’t you think?”

“Jungkook.” You spit his name out in clamant warning, it’s subdued but callous and your brows cleft bitterly because he’s the only one daring enough to make jest of this, pointing out exactly why what you’re about to do—what you’ve been doing is wrong. And even though you’re glaring down at him, eyes full of thunder and lips pulled in a sneer, his cheeky grin refuses to waver, stubborn enough to resist until he hears what he wants, like the fucking teasing imp he is. “Christ.”

You puff out a laborious breath, chest heavy with tiredness because that’s what you are tired, drained by this sneaky tirade and just being with him. That’s why this is it, this is the last time. “What d’you want me to do? Beg?”

He shrugs, “Would be nice.”

You scoff. You don’t know what you see in him. You don’t. Okay, you do. You do and it’s stupid—so horribly stupid because it’s wrong. It’s wrong that you notice the way that he smiles when he’s happy—really happy, not the stoned gauzy content. No. It’s the happiness he gets when he’s slaving away on a piece that he’s sprung inspiration on and for so long it’s sounded battered and sullen and lost and then it just fits, after late nights of heavy grunts and rapid tapping, everything comes together and it’s rejuvenating and yellow and warm. And sometimes you see it for yourself when his nose scrunches cutely, the ends of his lips tugging into something big, teeth all for show, the front two slightly bigger than the rest in a way that is so so endearing and you can’t help but relax into a smile yourself. And other times he’ll call you at incredibly odd hours, and you’ll be so groggy with nothing but sleep clouding your mind but then you’ll hear his voice, unapologetic and soft, needing to urgently share his triumph with you—no one else but you—and you’ll imagine his smile, so vividly you’d see it right in front of you and suddenly, suddenly sleep is the furthest thing from your mind.

It’s unfair that you think he’s misunderstood, that the ink that paints his skin in intricate designs is his armour and that it’s beautiful and that really you wish you could rest your head upon his broad chest, fingers twirling delicate, drawing over the kaleidoscopic garden of flowers that lies just beneath his collarbones as the sun sets and rises and sets again, streaking your bodies with a shimmer of gold before cooling it with a midnight breeze. And you imagine there’d be something playing in the background, muted and mellow, a playlist of his, the more romantic ensembles, making you feel cushy as he’d hum soothingly along, gentle palms floating over the length of your spine, duvet only coming up to his hips, your entangled legs covered beneath and it’d be so serene, his embrace warm and you’d feel it—feel his love.

It’s intrusive that you think his eyes never say exactly how he feels, that the chocolate orbs glimmer, wrathful and edgy, eluding to more than he tells; wanting someone to dig, wanting to be stripped layer after layer, wanting to be seen, to be called out blatantly on his shit. You see it because you recognise it, the same wretched storm that rocks hazard in his pretty orbs weigh the same as the ones you see in the morning, when you’re looking at the mirror and willing yourself to get by another pointless day because there’s something unknown waiting in the future however near or far; and it’ll be the reason you sigh in ease and say, ‘well done, you did it’.

It’s wrong that you insist that you don’t harbor something beyond platonic for him, that your skin doesn’t prickle with a potent green when he’s touching her in front of you, someone who is so blatantly wrong for him—not that he’s any right for you. He’s not. But he could be, he really fucking could. You don’t love him. You think away from here, away from this dump, away from the perils that swirl him further down into this never ending rabbit hole; you could love him—maybe. It’s so wrong to even think so, because when you look at him, pelts of rain dripping from the ends of his hair and down the curve of his patchy blush cold-pinched cheek, his eyes lustily hooded and his steely touch tightening at your thighs, urging you to speak. You realise he won’t change, not for you.

“Please.” You say, a defeated plea for him to drag you into his spinning orbit and make you a part of it for a while, the little he can provide. “Want to feel you on me, want you to make me feel good, please.”

“Hmm, so pretty baby, so good for me.” You’re unsure if he’s talking about the sight he’s uncovered when he pulls your panties to the side or the words that have spewed from your mouth, but either way you allow his words of praise to sooth your balmy skin. “Look at you so fucking pretty for me.”

Your thigh bounces on his shoulders when he moves in closer, his pointer and middle finger, coldish and coarse as they spread your lips apart and when you chance a look at him, you catch the way his tongue sways across his lips, eyes hooded as he stares—stares at you like you’re a fucking treat. And you love it.

“Jungkook.” His name is airy now, soft and lingering in a lustful plea that’s almost non-existent.

“Uh huh, I got you,” He says. “Always got you.”

You don’t have much time to dissect what his words mean nor do you have time to think about being leant up against the centre metal pole when his tongue delves into you, flat and wide, a torturous slide of wet heat over your exposed cunt; so erotically that the buzz of pleasure rises instantly, the impulse going straight to your head and you want more, you need more. And suddenly, you’re hyper aware of his every movement, his mouth cooling your heated cunt with a steady blow, the tip of his tongue swirling around your clit, teeth scraping lightly against the nub before he sucks it into his mouth drawing a needy curse from your clasps.

“Fuck, that’s good.” Your fingers place naturally on his hair, nails carding through it insistently as his mouth works wonders, knowing exactly how to drag shivers through your veins and have you open-mouthed as you swing your head skyward. His palms massage at your hiked thigh roughly, jerking you slightly forward in his attempt to delve deeper, causing your other shoe to slip on the wet metal, hands flailing instantly to curl around a nearby extended pole for stability. “Shit.”

He hums guttural, a growl that crawls from the back of his throat that you perceive as a form of agreement and the intensity of the vibration electrifies you. Sinful and hungry, it’s become entirely clear that Jungkook hasn’t got the slightest regard for holding back, his tongue laps at you sloppily, gaze dark and attentive looking at you in a way that itches until you’re forced to peer down and the sight has you releasing a loud broken indecent moan. His lips are dark and wet, and it’s obscene, so fucking lewd the way he slurps you up, his tongue flicking, twirling, slipping between your slit, only his tip, never pushing too far as to tease you and have you whimpering for it, which you are. With his nose pressed flat against your mound, drawing your clit into his mouth, tugging gently at it; you are delirious.

“Jung—oh.” Your fingers tighten at his roots as the words choke up in your throat and your hips rut forward acutely, because you ache for more, it hurts the way you ache for him, a rampant fire fusing in your abdomen and pinching at your waist, always wanting more and more and more of him. And he knows it.

He pulls away languidly, mouth dragging slow from your clit in his release, the vulgar soppy pop enhancing and accompanying his pornographic actions. “Taste so fucking good,” He slurs. “So so pretty, look at you, my pretty baby.”

His fingers trace where his mouth has just been, roaming delicately like he’s trying to familiarise himself and he’s quiet, unnaturally so, murmuring to himself as your chest rises and falls, your heavy breath the only disturbance to the peace. Your teeth dig anxiously into your lip, wondering what his lack of comprehensible words and his careful touch could mean, you can bet that you’ll come to the same conclusion; nothing, all of this means nothing and you’re thinking too deep into it like you always do. You don’t imagine his brain can form too complex thoughts at the moment, taken over by the primal base of needing to fuck and being clouded in dope. So, you feel it, feel the slimy glob of saliva that he expels from his mouth, you feel the way it dribbles filthily down to your fluttering hole and the pad of his finger catches it before he presses into you and you’re gasping sharply at the intrusion.

“Ohh….yeah.”

“Need to stretch you out,” he says, his finger dragging and chafing across your walls torturously, as you suck him in with every languid pull. “You’re so fucking tight around my fingers, gonna be fucking delicious around my cock, huh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Yeah? Fuck, you got me so hard baby.”

His finger is thick, so fucking thick and long that you feel him so wholey, when he slips another finger in, your hole stretching barely to accommodate the extra width, pumping them out in a quicker succession that has you trembling and keening. His thumb pressing between the lips of your cunt, flicking fast across your clit as he continues to fuck you with his fingers, curling them to brush against the barrier of your walls; driving you closer and closer to that steep-cliff edge. He’s got you completely at his will like this, persistent and vigorous with the way he’s pleasuring you and his words only send you reeling further. “You’re so fucking hot like this, almost ready to take my fat cock.” The sounds are downright obscene, moist squelches that follow the drag of his fingers and ring continuously in your ears. He’s got you like this, so wet, so ready, so desperate, teeth bruising at your lips in the hopes that you can curb the volume of your moans, fiery curses and the shameless whines of his name. “I should really use three fingers huh…you’re so tight, but you like it don’t you, little fucking slut loves it when it hurts.”

A strangled noise bubbles at the back of your throat as the term shudders through you. “Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“Close?”

“So so close,” you breathe.

He hums contentedly and before you know it everything's amplifying, the stress of his thumb increases to vigorous rubs, fingers pumping you raw, fast and rough, he’s shoving and jerking in and out of your cunt. And you’re sizzling, your skin is sizzling, the downpour of spring rain does nothing to cool you down and instead sinks and perspires like steam. Your eyes are screwed permanently shut whilst you feel it—everything, his insistent thick fingers, his breath fanning over your thigh arising goosebumps from the flesh, the fact that you both must look like a picture to passerbyers and ceasing to give a shit. Everything is too much and yet not enough. “Need, need—” You jolt.

Nothing. “Fuck.”

The feeling of emptiness crashes too suddenly when he pulls away from you completely, dismissing your oncoming climax, drifting you into a harsh halt that has you shivering, limbs rattling uncontrollably and gasping laboriously for air to fill your lungs. Briefly, you wonder if this is how it must feel for him, when he’s coming down from a high and sinking into reality, the dizziness, the numbness, the cold that invades you like violent waves. It makes you crave, crave for more, another sinful taste, to return to the overwhelming heady feels of beautiful pleasure. And you get it. His touch does nothing to calm you, searing in their trail to land at your waist, clasp persistent at tugging you closer and resting his forehead against yours.

“Christ Jungkook, that—” Words fail on you, fumbling at the tip of your tongue in the depth of the haziness surrounding you. It’s at this point that you know you’d do anything to have him, to prompt him in completing the wreckage he’s caused. “—that.”

His chest must be blooming in pride at your appearance, flushed and glazed wet, knowing he is still to make a mess of you. “You need time?” He asks, and his voice plays distorted and far in your ears, like he’s miles away from where you feel him.

You shake your head hastily, hands clasping the sides of his face to ground you from the shudders of elation. “No—no, fuck me now, like it when I’m sensitive.”

“God, you’re so fucking good.”

His mouth crashes against yours and there’s nothing tame about it, nothing that flutters at your heart, and releases butterflies to cause ruckus in your stomach. It’s raw and it’s carnal and it’s thrilling enough for you to understand why you love it, your teeth clacking together, lips squashing and merging, as he kisses you chaotically; messy licks into each other’s mouths, heads ducking and lolling about as you push and fight for dominance, his teeth, sharp and purposeful, sinking piercingly on your bottom lip until you submit. He draws blood and the tang of iron on your taste pallets has you feeling heady. His kisses, unloving and brutal, are still as ever breathtaking. And they travel, fleeting across your skin, curving at your jaw and making home in the nook of your neck. He pulls at the elasticity of your skin, scraping and sucking at it and your hands make work at his trousers.

“No marks.” You rush out in haste, yanking his trousers and boxers down. “No marks—Fuck.” You’ve got a leg wrapped around his waist, hands locked behind his neck when he sinks you onto his cock, mushroom head stretching at your hole painfully and it burns, supine heat that inflames your insides because his cock is so fucking big that no matter how well or not he preps you, your walls will always quiver at the girthy drag. “Fuck, you’re so big, oh my god.”

“Take me so well though—” His mouth is pressed at the crevice above your collarbone as he hums, bottomed out inside you, and waits. “—tight little bitch taking every inch of my cock.” Jungkook doesn’t listen to you though, never does, his mouth plucks and draws out marks of his stake on you that are always a pain to excuse. But you’re too far gone to care, all you can feel is him, so full of his cock that nothing else matters.

You clutch at him tighter. “Move, move, want you to fuck me hard Jungkook, make it hurt.”

The sensitivity of having him inside you hits when you feel his cock twitch at his words, you feel the rapid tiny sway, pressing him deeper and your breath hitches shakily. “Yeah. You want me to fucking ruin you, show you who you belong to?”

“Yes.” His cock slides out, the forceful resistance leaving you aching until it’s only the tip left and he’s bottoming out again, rocking slowly. “Yes—oh, fuck Jungkook, please.”

“You like that?” He grunts. “Like when I fuck you slow, when I make you feel every fucking inch of my fat cock.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes.”

The pace is agonising, leaving you feeling almost barren for moments that last too long. He’s fucking you deep, dragging out every single second, every inch so you feel it, so that it takes over and you’re mewling and whimpering pathetically. His hips slam into yours, lodging his cock, pressing it further and you’re drowning in it, like this it feels like forever, like you could be stuck in his arms and you wouldn’t mind it one bit. Have him biting at your skin, fingers bruising on your body, have him loving you. The thought itself is daunting, how much you want it, and it’s unfair he’s giving you this teaser, plunging his cock into you unhurriedly almost as if he wants this to last as well—almost. Not enough. “More,” you beg, the intensity is burning at you and you might just fall apart if he continues at this. “Please need more.”

He chuckles. “Always want more, don’t you? want me to fuck you fast, fuck you and own you like a pretty slut.”

You nod. Yes.

“Fuck, turn around.”

It’s quick now and the excitement of that roars at you, as he swivels you around, bending you over, stomach pressed up onto a metal bar and your legs spread behind you. There’s no restraint, and he’s thrusting into you without prior warning, hands tight on your hips as he begins to pound into you, how you’ve both wanted it. “Ah yes yes yes.”

He’s hammering into you, frantic and possessive, his cock filling you out and keeping you blissed as he brushes at your cervix, prodding, probing, adrenaline unwavering. And the sheer brute force reminds you exactly where you are, the merry go round you’ve been perched on, lurching at his actions, swinging you around in a way that makes you dizzy as the scene around you blurs. It’s unhygienic and filthy, the rain that falls causing the sound of your skins slapping together just that bit more raucous, and your skin feels murky with the mixture of your sweat dribbling down your face.

“Fuck, your cunt is so fucking good.” His palm splays at your stomach, the other prying at your wrist forcing an arm behind your back, as he re-adjusts himself, never ceasing up on you. “All mine, you take cock like a fucking slut, just for me huh.”

The whimpers tremble at your lips and your back arches away from him and it’s maddening. He’s got you so under his control, your thoughts are clouded with nothing but him, and he’s fucking you so so good, it hurts. “Fuck I— ngh, yes. All for you.”

“I know. My. Pretty. Slut.” His words are punctuated with steely thrusts, stealing your breath and choking you up with every one.

Your body is trembling, and you can feel the way the tension tightens in a loop as he continues to fuck into you with vicious intent, you’ll feel him tomorrow, you know it, feel the weight of his cock inside you, feel his balls, heavy and full slapping against you. His fingers reach to press at your neck, clenching tight and pushing further and further, you itch to scratch at his grasp and give you back the breath that he’s taking from you, the blood pounds at the back of your neck as you struggle and struggle and he pushes further. You’ll feel it and need him again, like a drug. When you’re so heady, you match his wavelength, floaty and submitted to the throes of hedonism. And the comedown is like a bullet train, the crown of his cock angling to hit right there, the spot that has you screaming his name as the loop snaps and you lose your breath. Everything is white noise, humming and buzzing as he chases the peak of his orgasm, cum released into you, string after string and he holds you. His arm loops beneath your breast holding you back onto his chest, tight, unwilling to let go.

“Don’t go.”

You won’t. Tomorrow, you promise. Tomorrow.

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