#rue is a better woman than all of us

[ocalaghan]

i'm like hella late to the party but i recently caught up with season two of euphoria and i just gotta say if lexi was my best friend and she broadcast every painful detail of my adolescence including my FATHER'S FUNERAL in a fucking HIGH SCHOOL PLAY i would've scalped the bitch

#i know cassie's kinda lost it but she was right to go tf off at her sister #rue is a better woman than all of us #also where the hell were the school staff throughout that entire sequence ???! not one teacher gave a damn what was happening on that stage #euphoria hbo #tv: euphoria

[zafetycar]

what i was made for - LN4

⭐︎ lando norris & singer!female!reader - social media au

⭐︎ one in which lando norris' partner gets nominated for an oscar for "best original song"

⭐︎ warnings: ⏀

⭐︎ word count: ⏀

next part ⭐︎

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yourusername

liked by landonorris, barbiethemovie, icespice and others

tagged: barbiethemovie, landonorris

yourusername i am so grateful for greta, for margot, for this movie and for all of you who went to see in it theaters and who loved it as much as i did

thank you for liking "what was I made for" so much, it's a piece i'm very attached to. also sorry it made you cry that much haha. it was the point.

thank you everyone, so much

love <3

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barbiethemovie 🩷🩷🩷

user1 I didn't cry I BAWLED MY EYES OUT LISTENING TO THIS SONG😭😭😭

user2 mother is mothering

maxverstappen kelly and I went to see the movie, it was amazing to hear your song! congrats!

liked by yourusername

danielricciardo thank you for making music in the only intent to break us to pieces

liked by yourusername

⌞user3 she out here killing us

lilymhe best barbie ever 💅

⌞yourusername it's you🫶

dualipa amazing to share this experience you babe 💖

liked by yourusername

landonorris added to their story

seen by 958,332

yourusername added to their story

seen by 3,132,441

landonorris added to their story

seen by 1,521,779

tagged: yourusername

text: "to say I'm proud is an understatement. I love you darlin', you are such an incredible woman"

barbiethemovie

liked by dualipa, theacademy, yourusername, taylorswift and others

tagged: yourusername

barbiethemovie we are so incredibly honoured that yourusername has been nominated by theacademy for best original score with her heart-shattering song "what was I made for" !

thank you so much yourusername for creating this beautiful piece to complete this movie !

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user4 OMG OMG I love this song so much im so happy she deserves it🧡

user5 ugh not her again

⌞user6 lmao get tf outta here

yourusername 🩷

⌞user7 MOTHER

⌞yourusername kid

⌞user7 OMFG

landonorris

liked by danielricciardo, maxfewtrell, yourusername and others

tagged: yourusername

landonorris not a day goes by in which you don't amaze me darlin'

you are such an incredible, amazing woman. and you make me laugh more than maxfewtrell which is odd as much as it is amazing. I love you more than your favourite love song could describe it.

congratulation on your oscar nomination (I mean not the first one so who's really surprised but), you deserve it so much. can't wait to see you create more "crying, throwing up, ripping my hair off" pieces!

can't wait to celebrate with you all night tonight (please hurry up I've been waiting for you all day I can't hold on any longer)

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user8 my fav driver and my fav singer ✨

yourusername thank you love 🤍

liked by landonorris

yourusername i sent you pictures did you not see them ?

⌞landonorris I did not see them

⌞yourusername check your msg

⌞landonorris fucking hell baby

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⌞user9 rue what is this

oscarpiastri you do know this conversation isn't private right ?

⌞landonorris yes and ?

⌞danielricciardo oscarpiastri i've tried before it's no use

yourusername

liked by francisca.cgomes, sza, landonorris and others

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yourusername london, what a night !!! thank you thank you thank you so much for celebrating the nomination with me !!! this is all thanks to you ! thanks for setting the room on fire, looking forward to do this again ❤️‍🔥

madrid, better get ready ;)

thanks landonorris for the cool pics you took (you look hot af all sweaty), thank you for your support (especially when i'm too tired to ride) and your love (gimme the physical now please), thank you for everything <3

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francisca.cgomes such an icon

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user10 estamos listos !!!

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user11 apparently she sang wwimf ???

⌞user12 yes she did omg we got a surprise song

landonorris what a show babe (come take a shower with me please)

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user13 YESSSSS OMG best moment of my life I heard wwimf live !!!🩷

user14 getting to hear what was I made for live was my therapy 🥹

⌞user15 bro it broke me even more

lewishamilton thanks for the invite, I had an amazing time ! bless you queen 🩵

liked by yourusername

carlossainz55 can't wait to see you in madrid rockstar💃 !!!

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user16 QUEEN

user17 is nobody gonna talk about how they just basically have sex on social media ??

liked by yourusername

liked by landonorris

ps: this is my very first time creating a social media au, i hope i did it good, if you have any tips let me know !

note: hi! thank you for reading this piece, i hope you enjoyed it ! feedback is very much welcomed :) see you around ★

#lando norris #f1 x reader #f1 smau #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #lando norris smau #ln4 #ln4 x reader #ln4 fic #ln4 imagine #ln4 fluff #ln4 x you #lando norris imagine #divider by cafekitsune #zafetycar

[heavenlyakin]

Illicit Affairs

Vampire!Atsumu Miya x Fem!Reader - MINORS DNI

cw: 18+, minors DNI, reader is a british socialite, monster-fucking, religious imagery and language (reader isn’t necessarily religious but mentions god and the devil in the Christian sense), vore (bloodsucking), atsumu picks reader up, she falls a lot so if that annoys you don’t read this, “whore” is used in a derogatory way, Atsumu has electricity bc obvs (vampire science is better), violence (beheading on page and murder mention), age gap (like obvs he’s a vampire), virginity loss, oral (f. and m. receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, general smut, and violence on page. 

wc: ~15k 

a/n: This is long. I’m sorry. However, I had the best time writing it, so maybe I’m not sorry. I would like to thank Kashi, Mimi, and Rue for all your time listening to me rant about this fic, reading it, giving me suggestions, and just being great friends to me. I hope you enjoy this short story! Happy Halloween! 

–

Outside London, October 1845. 

Right foot first. 

As the music blasts through the chapel from the band to your right, you realize you can’t breathe. You try to inhale, but it does nothing. Seeing Graham standing at the end of the aisle makes you wish you’d skipped tea. 

Left foot. 

Your eyes scan the room, looking for the blonde head of hair of the woman your future husband has been fucking on the side. She’s from a London brothel, but Graham has given her an apartment outside of town and an allowance to live on. 

Right foot. 

Graham smiles at you. 

Left foot. 

All the smiling faces make you want to scream. Your father's hold on your arm, the bouquet, and the dress all feel suffocating—the dress’s pretty sleeves lined with baby blue lace and thread might as well be handcuffs. 

Right foot. 

He’s only a few steps away now. You spot the blonde face you don’t immediately recognize, two rows from the front. He would allow her to sit that close? It’s embarrassing enough to have the bridesmaids gossiping about it while you were dressing, but to sit her so close… it hurts. 

Left foot. 

The music comes to its crescendo. You have to get out of here. 

Right foot. 

You have to get out of here. 

One last step. 

Graham smiles at you again, his teeth pearly white and perfect. His green eyes sparkle. His brown hair combed back with product making him look older. As the music dies down, your father whispers something to you, but you can’t hear it. 

The Priest steps forward, his lips moving, the cross dangling from the long chain on your neck swings from left to right. It gets hushed, everyone on the altar looking at you and your father too. 

Did they say something to you? 

“Apologies, can you repeat that?” You smile the best you can, and the Priest smiles back. 

“We just need you to step forward,” the Priest answers and you realize your father agreed to give you away to Graham. 

Your father had released his arm from yours, and you realize nothing is holding onto you anymore. You look to your father, his sweet supportive smile greeting you. Turning back to face Graham, you try to take a step forward, up onto the altar but your legs shake. 

You can’t do this. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, dropping the beautiful bouquet to the ground. 

Turning, you feel your father's fingers on your dress sleeve, but you don’t give him time to grip on. You’re darting back down the aisle and out of the chapel. Your feet move faster than your mind, only able to think one thing. 

Please don’t fall or break a heel. Please don’t fall or break a heel. 

The chapel is on the outskirts of town, and running north of it takes you into the woods. You trip as you begin to climb the hill, your shoes catching on roots and debris. You push yourself off the ground, seeing your dress's hem is already caked in mud. Shaking your head, you ignore it and take off as fast as you can. The incline stops soon, and you’re fighting through the underbrush. 

The sun is setting, lighting everything in an orange glow as the fog begins to set in the forest. You’re still running, well, running would be a stretch. Your breathing is heavy and your lungs burn with each inhale. How long has it been since you took off from the chapel? The wedding began at 6, and with the sun setting you believe it’s nearing 7. 

How much distance can you put between you and them in an hour? 

You turn, looking back, and see only trees and brush. Even when you try to focus your eyes, you can’t see the lights from town. You must be at least a few miles into the forest now. You take off again, more at a speed walk than a run. Your legs are sore and your heels feel blistered in the heels you chose for this day. 

As you climb up another hill, you wonder what the fuck you’re doing. You could be off to your honeymoon now, two months traveling Europe and visiting castles and ruins. It would be warm in your rooms and only partly miserable, having to listen to Graham and suffering the consummation of the marriage. Not that you worried he’d be bad, but that you wouldn’t live up to what he's used to with that mistress of his. 

Graham isn’t friendly to be around alone, either. The few times you were left unsupervised he reminded you of the position you were in. Your mother ran off years ago, apparently with a sailor; ruining your family’s reputation, despite the wealth your father holds. Marrying him would restore your name, and he’d be the one to inherit your fortune since you are the only child of your father. 

He insulted you, a few times, but then smiled like he was saying something friendly. His kisses on your hand always lingered too long for your comfort. Something about him just made your skin crawl, honestly. The idea of spending the rest of your life with that man led you here to the woods. 

As you reach the top of the hill, it plateaus and the trees become more sparse, well if you can call it sparse. Looking around, the fog has entirely settled at the base of the trees and brush, making it hard to see. You slow down to a walk, letting yourself catch your breath as you go. You stumble on your dress and the fallen branches, making you fall on your face. Luckily, you caught yourself before your face took the brunt of it, but your right cheek does hit the ground. 

When you push yourself back up, you see a faint yellow glow across the way, through a few trees and bushes. You gather the skirts of your dress in your hands and make your way towards it, the chill in your body desperate for the hope of a fire. As you get close, you see the shadowy figure of a body, large and brooding. 

The light seems to be coming from a lantern, so you give up hope of getting warm anytime soon. You take a few more steps until you see what’s happening. The figure is digging a hole in the ground, a body lying beside the mound of dirt. As you step back, a twig snaps, and the figure turns towards you. 

You run again, getting a few feet away before you fall, your body hitting the ground with a thud. Unlike last time, you didn’t catch yourself. Your right ankle throbs and you worry you’ve broken it. As you turn to face away from the ground, the figure that was once yards away is now hovering over you. How did they get here so fast? It’s only been a few seconds. 

It’s a man, an extremely handsome man. His eyes glow gold, and it confuses you but something about it calms your nerves, even though you know you should be running. Yet, you’re frozen in place. 

He extends out his hand, and you see his nails are long, and sharpened to a point on the tips. “Are you in need of assistance, miss?” 

You nod your head, unable to make a sound. However, you still can’t move. Even if you took his hand, with your ankle throbbing the way it is, you’re certain you can’t walk. 

“Here, let me help you,” He leans down, and you notice something on his face. Is that blood or mud? In the light, you can’t tell. 

He picks you up, holding you bridal-style against his chest. His scent enthralls you, rose with a hint of mahogany. You inhale, the scent putting you at ease and your eyes flutter shut for a moment. 

This…, you think, this is what you’re supposed to feel on your wedding day. 

You shake the thought from your mind, opening your eyes and observing the man carrying you. His blonde hair falls over his forehead, his skin creamy smooth and almost glowing in the faint moonlight. 

“Who are you?” You find your voice. 

“Atsumu,” he answers. “Atsumu Miya.” 

You nod, looking forward and letting him carry you through the woods. You’re still well aware of the throbbing in your right ankle. “Where are you taking me?” 

“I live close by. You can rest there and clean up.” He says, still not looking at you. 

His eyes are focused on the forest ahead of him, and you wonder what close by means to him. It could be an hour if he considers that close. The sun has set now, and the only glow is from his eyes and the moon. He left the lantern back with the body… 

The body! He was burring a body! 

“Let me go!” You thrash against him and he holds you tighter, looking down at you with his eyebrows furrowed. “I said, let me go!” You yell this time. 

When your eyes meet his, something washes over you again and you begin to relax, no longer feeling the urge to fight. But… but… he was burying someone. A body! What was he doing back there? Why are you not fighting anymore? 

“Who was that back there? The body!” Even if you feel relaxed, you can still question him. 

Atsumu looks down at you, his face unreadable but his eyes giving that same intense look that he’s had on his face the whole time. 

“Nothing you should be concerned with.” He looks back ahead of you as he walks. 

The forest begins to open up, a clearing forming ahead. As you get closer, the frame of a large house… well, if you can call it a house. It looks more like a castle. The gates around the home open as Atsumu approaches, creaking as they go. The fog seems to have vanished, hiding out at the edge of the forest. 

Warm lights glow from inside the castle, and you wonder if running water is inside. In the last five years, running water has even been installed in the lower class homes, and with the amount of wealth, this castle shows… it must. A warm bath sounds so delightful now, you could almost beg for one. 

As if he’s read your mind he speaks, “I’ll have a bath drawn for you once we're inside.” 

You nod, looking up at him. He continues to look forward, but you see a vein bulging from his neck. Like something in him is straining. He seems to carry you just fine, so it can’t be you causing the strain. 

As the castle doors open, your eyes dart around to look everywhere. The entrance is grand, decorated in the latest fashion with dark wood, red rugs, and warm light glowing from every corner of the room. The staircase has a gothic feel, leading forward and then splitting to go left and right to the opposite wings of the castle. 

He carries you up the stairs that lead to the right wing of the castle, taking you down a long hall that curves as you go. A set of double doors open, as if he willed them to, and he sets you down on a forest green sofa. Your body relaxes into it, the soft cushions welcoming your sore bones. 

Atsumu brings the room to life with light, the chandelier lighting overhead. You admire the crystal work before looking around the bedroom. It’s larger than your father’s master bedroom in your estate back home. You watch as Atsumu sheds his cloak, lying it across a chaise near the four-poster bed. 

“Your bath should be ready, do you need assistance?” He asks, walking towards you and you shake your head. 

“I believe I can take it from here. Thank you,” you dismiss him. 

He doesn’t leave. He puts his hands behind him, stepping aside, so you can go through to what you assume is the bathing room. You stand, putting your weight on your left foot so you can try and make it to the bath. As you step on your right, you cry out in pain. You begin to fall, but strong arms catch you. 

“Stop being difficult, just let me assist you.” He growls, clearly frustrated with you now. 

He hooks his arms behind your body and lifts you again, taking you to the bathing room. There’s steam coming from the bathtub and your body aches for it. He sets you on a chair, his fingers moving to undo the buttons of your dress. You’re embarrassed, face heating more and more as his fingers lower on your back, exposing the corset beneath the bodice of the dress. 

“If you just get the corset undone, I think I can take it from here,” your voice feels small and weak. 

“I can help you to the tub,” he insists and you don’t feel like fighting. 

After the day you’ve had, there isn’t much fight left in you. 

You work on untangling the veil and pins from your hair as Atsumu unlaces the corset. His cold fingers brush your skin, and you begin to worry he’s freezing as well. Maybe you should let him bathe first… it is his home after all. 

“You should bathe and warm up first,” you turn your head over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of him as he pulls the last bit of the corset sting out. Your hands go up to catch the dress so you’re not exposed to him. 

“Don’t be foolish,” he shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

“If you insist,” you give in, the warmth of the water sounding too good to fight him on. “Will you turn away?” 

He turns away, not looking as you slip out of the wedding dress, shoes, and undergarments. You’re able to wobble to the tub, holding onto its side as you step in and settle down into the hot water. The sigh you let out is necessary, and you sink into the water to your collarbones. 

“I think I can handle bathing myself for now,” you tell him and he nods. 

You watch as he leaves, taking in his looming figure. Letting yourself sink under the water, covering your entire body in warmth, you take in today's events. The town must be gossiping about how you’re just like your mother. Running off and ruining your reputation even further. 

Your father, your poor father. He must be a wreck missing you. Will he send people to search for you? 

The part of the woods you ran into is rarely foraged or hunted. The more you think about it, the more you begin to remember the old fairytales your friends would tell you about this forest. Stories of missing children, vampires, werewolves, and even fairies floating around the woods. Maybe you’ve stumbled into one of those legends that the town’s kids will tell others. The runaway bride and the handsome spooky suitor. 

You come up for air, laughing as you think about it all. 

“Oh dear,” you sigh to yourself, and then you feel the presence of someone else in the room. You sit up, pulling your knees to your chest, too fast. Your ankle shoots like pins and needles, making you cry out. 

Atsumu is kneeling by the tub instantly, and you try to conserve some modesty as he examines you in the tub. Your hands cover your cleavage, hoping your knees suffice for the remainder of your breasts, even with your ankle threatening to give out. 

“What is it? Is it your ankle?” He asks, eyes soft and focused on your face. 

You nod. “I think it’s broken.” You tell him, letting yourself stretch it out as you cover your breast with your hand. 

“May I?” He asks, his hand gesturing to your ankle. 

You nod. 

“Let’s see,” he dips his hand into the water, and you lay back, making it easier for him to lift your leg out of the water. 

His hands are cold on your skin, and you wonder how he deals with being this cool all the time. He feels around your ankle, and you notice it's slightly swollen. Your heels look torn up from the heels you wore, and you notice some of the water dripping from your heel is red. 

“Please be gentle,” you squeak, worried you’ll pester him. 

“I assure you,” he tells you smiling at you before his fingers begin to lightly feel out around your ankle. “I believe it’s just a sprain. No signs of a break.” He sets your foot gently back down into the tub. “Just some rest, ice, and a wrap will take care of it. I’ll see to your care while you’re here.” 

“What makes you think I’m staying here?” You shoot back, suddenly irritated. 

His eyes lock on yours, and that strange calmness settles over you again. Finally, you realize what that look in his eye is, it’s a hunger you’ve never seen. His whole body is tense, really, and you swear he swallows every time his eyes go to your throat. You swallow now, keeping your eyes on him and sitting back up in the tub, struggling to keep yourself covered. 

“C-can I have some of that soap?” You ask, looking at the rack behind him, loaded with different soaps and salts. “And a washrag?” 

He nods, turning his torso to grab a bar of lavender-colored soap and a rag from the shelf behind him. You realize as he holds it out, you have to uncover your breasts. Your heart pounds against your chest, your cheeks heat up, and your breath quickens. Some part of you wants him to look, wondering what he will say or do; but the years of your Governess teaching you that your body is only for your husband. 

But what does that matter now? You ran away from your fiance. You can’t go back nor do you want to. You move your hands from your breasts, taking the soap and rag from him, lathering it after dipping it in the water. 

“You have some cuts on your face, probably from the briars in the forest.” He says, not looking below your collarbone. “Would you allow me to treat them?” 

You nod and scrub the mud from your ankles and the dirt on your hands. Once you get to your heels, you realize the blisters have busted and could easily become infected. 

“You might need to treat my heels when you treat my ankle,” you say sheepishly. 

“Anything you need,” he tells you, gathering supplies at the medicine cabinet across the bathroom. 

You’re able to scrub yourself clean, even reaching out of the tub to grab a bottle of shampoo to scrub through your hair. You’re embarrassed by the amount of leaves you found. By the time Atsumu has returned to your side, you feel refreshed. 

“This may sting,” he tells you, before taking the white cloth and patting it gently to your forehead. 

He’s right it does sting. There must be half a dozen cuts on your face, you realize as he continues to clean the wounds. You didn’t notice it as you were running but with all the falling you did, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

“So, will you tell me what you were running from?” He asks finally, a few moments after cleaning the cut. He drops the cloth into the small bowl where he had the cleaning solution and puts it on the shelf behind him. 

He rests his elbows on the edge of the tub, cupping his face in his hands. When you look at him you can’t help but think how pretty he looks like this. 

“It’s a long story,” you say, sounding exasperated. 

“Trust me, I have all the time in the world.” He laughs like it’s an inside joke with himself. 

“I want to dry off before I give you the gossip of my tragic life.” You laugh, smiling at him. “Can I have a robe?” 

“Of course,” he leaves the bathroom, coming back with a red robe, holding it out for you. 

You stand, holding your weight on your left side and trying to balance and step out of the tub. As you step out, your foot catches on the tub and you begin to fall. Atsumu catches you, your wet naked body pressed against his. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, looking up at him through your lashes. It’'s embarrassing how many times you’ve fallen today, let alone the times he’s had to catch you. 

He swallows slowly, and you watch as his features change, his eyes darkening and jaw tensing. His arms tighten around you, pressing your breasts against him tighter. His face moves towards you, and your eyes go wide. 

His lips taste like iron but with a hint of sweetness. Your eyes flutter shut, and your lips move against his. You’ve never kissed anyone before, and now you see what all the girls giggle about behind their fans. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you part yours, letting him in. His fingertips dig into your skin. You grip his shoulders, steadying yourself on him. You break away first, gasping for air, unable to sustain yourself just on him. 

His eyes look even darker than before. He looks at you with that same hunger as earlier, and you feel something stir inside you that you’ve never felt before. What is this feeling? It’s like hunger but stronger and in your chest. Your heart is pounding so fast you worry it may explode. 

Is this desire? 

Atsumu clears his throat, “Let’s get those feet of yours treated.” He lifts you once more, carrying your wet body to the bedroom and laying you gently on the bed. “Stay here.” 

Like you’re equipped to run away from him after all this… 

He disappears down the hall for a few minutes, so you take your time examining the room around you. You had time before, but your mind was so foggy you wondered if there was anything you missed. Looking around, you see there are no mirrors in this room. That’s odd. 

“I found some bandages. They should help keep infection away,” Atsumu tells you as he walks into the bedroom. “Also, the cleansing solution will help. I’ll clean and change your wounds daily until they’re healed.” 

He sits on the bottom of the bed, taking your legs in his lap. 

“It may help if you lay on your stomach.” He smiles, looking at you. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” you roll around, laying on your stomach and propping yourself up with your elbows. 

You try to look over your shoulder, but the angle Atsumu sits at while cleaning and bandaging your heels and wrapping your right ankle so it doesn’t strain anymore. Once he’s done, you sit up, dangling your feet off the bed. 

“Can I get that robe now?” You ask, a laugh passing your lips. 

“Oh,” Atsumu blushes, and you smile. “Let me get that,” he goes to the bathroom, likely where he dropped it on the floor before catching you. “However, if I give you this robe…” he dangles it in front of you, just out of reach, “you have to tell me what happened to you.” 

You nod and he hands you the robe. You manage to stand just fine, slipping it on and tying it around you. With the wrap on your ankle, you find the throbbing has stopped and it’s fine to put some weight on it. Sitting back down, you let out a sigh. 

“So, I was supposed to get married today.” You tell him and he laughs. “What’s so funny?” 

“I find you in a wedding dress, clearly distraught, and that’s not obvious?” He sits down on the bed with you, crossing his legs and resting his arms on them. His hands fold into each other and his focus seems entirely on you. 

“Well,” you laugh, “you’re right.” Then, you get into the nitty-gritty. 

The engagement and how it came about due to your family reputation. Then the ex whore who sat front row at your wedding. Then the decision to run because of Graham and his terrible personality. All of it comes flooding out, and you don’t know when but at one point you start crying. 

“And my poor father,” you sob, “he must be so confused and worried and cross with me.” 

Atsumu flexes his hand like he wants to reach out to you, but something makes him stop. You look down at your own hands, in your lap, nails biting into the skin. Sometime during the retelling of your miserable day and engagement, you began squeezing them into fists. 

“I’m sure he would understand if you told him all this,” Atsumu says, his voice soft. “I can arrange for someone to take you back in the morning if you’re worried about him.” 

That’s the last thing you want. 

“Or not, it’s up to you.” He relents, probably reading the look on your face. “You can stay with me as long as you want.” He laughs, gesturing with his hand around the room. “I clearly have more than enough room.” 

“I don’t know how to thank you, truly.” You wrap your arms around your body, a chill running through you. “I’m in your debt.” 

Atsumu leans forward, and you wonder if he’s going to kiss you again. “You don’t have to thank me,” he touches your face softly, his skin still cold against yours. 

You yawn and realize you need to rest, seriously rest… perhaps for a week. “Where am I sleeping tonight?” 

His hand drops from your face and you swear you see a flash of disappointment on his face. “I have a room down the hall for you. I started a fire in there when you were bathing, so it should be warm by now.” 

“Th-” 

“You don’t need to thank me.” He interrupts, standing and holding his arm out for you to take. “Let's see if you can handle walking that far.” 

You hook your arm with his, knowing you’ll need him to support your right side. He walks slowly, staying at your pace as you limp down the hall to the room he points out. It’s only a few yards away from his bedroom. The fire is roaring in the fireplace, illuminating and warming the room. He helps you onto the four-poster bed, covering you in the thick blankets. 

“If you need anything, just call for me. I’ll leave the door open so I can hear you.” Atsumu smiles, his face warm and full of something you’re unsure of. 

Quite frankly, you’re unsure of a lot today. 

You thank him several more times, and he accepts them all with grace. He leaves the room after some time and you’re left staring up at the ceiling, wondering what tomorrow will bring. After the chaos of today, you’re sure it can’t be any worse. 

–

You awake and it’s not quite dawn out. Your ankle no longer feels like it’s throbbing, so you swing your legs off the bed and stand, unbalanced at first but after a few steps you’re fine to walk on your own. You grab a chamberstick and light it with the matches you find in a drawer near the fireplace. 

The hallway is dark, as you expected, but not too chilly. You walk down the long hallway until you come to the top of the stairs where Atsumu carried you in. You go past them to the other wing of the castle, which is much darker. No rooms have any glow coming from them and you wonder why. At the end of the hall, two grand doors are open and a faint fire is illuminating it. 

You hold out your candle, lighting the entrance, and realize it’s a library. Fumbling around you find the switch to turn on the lights, illuminating the room. The walls are lined with hundreds, no… thousands of books. The western part of the room goes back deeper than you could have imagined, with lines and lines of shelves holding books of all shapes and colors. 

The room is daunting, to say the least. 

There are several tables spread out, mostly clean with a book or two, but a desk catches your eye. Against the far wall in front of a row of windows, a long mahogany desk sits with stacks of books and several opened and tabbed in multiple places from what you can see. You approach the desk, interested to find out what Atsumu has deemed so interesting himself. 

The largest book is about 800 pages thick you’d guess, if not longer. It looks old, the ends of the pages frayed and yellowing. Looking at its contents you see there’s a language you can’t quite read, old English or German you presume by the looks of it. After carefully marking the page with a blank sheet of paper, you flip to another bookmark. 

This page is in English, listing names and dates of birth and death. You scan the names, none you recognize of course. The name Lestar is similar to your mother’s family name, Lesair.  However, something is strange about the dates… they’re too far apart. Many of them say they’re well into their third century of life before they die, some more than that. This can’t be right. Is this a fictional novel with a family tree given for context? 

You turn the page, showing a family tree with portraits of each of the names. They’re all eerily beautiful, the men and women. This family was surely blessed. The family tree continues into the next few pages until it abruptly stops in the late 1790s. A small asterisk with a note reading: 

Lost to history is the remainder of the bloodline that carried the sun's blessing. 

What could that mean? 

You shake your head, too tired to try and play games with a book. You flip back to the page it was left open on, placing the blank sheet of paper back in its stack. Turning your attention to the book to its right you see it has a family name on its spine, the same family name as the characters in the book you were flipping through. 

Opening the page, it looks to be biographies of each character. What dedication must an author have to write that out for each character in their stories? It’s something you can’t imagine plotting out, but you admire it. Placing it back down, you look to the left. Another stack of books, the one on top opened to the middle of the book. 

You sit on the chair, take the book, and mark the page with that same blank paper, turning to the first page. 

It is not known when we first awoke, but what is known is that we are not some fairytale come to life. The reign of Vampires ended in the early 1300s, but we still persist and exist in the far corners of the world. Tucked away we may be, the bloodlines of those still around are strong. 

You laugh. Atsumu is into Vampire lore? 

The page continues to give a brief history of vampire beginnings and how their bloodlines decreased as centuries passed. None of this was allowed in your schools or at home with your family. Anything that mentioned the unholy was strictly burned or taken by the church. 

After a few chapters, you place the book back, making a mental note to remember you’re at chapter 4 if you decide to come back to it. After you’re certain you’ve left everything exactly how you found it, you leave the library, turning the lights off as you go. 

The candle lights your way back down the hall and down the steps, following the trail of light to the right wing of the castle once again, this time just on the lower level. You pass what looks to be a kitchen, and then you enter a dark room that gives you chills as you step inside. With no light switch, you struggle down a few stone steps further into what reminds you of a dungeon or jail. 

“Water, please,” a hoarse voice chokes out and you jump back, managing to not scream. 

You shakily turn your candle towards the voice, finding a frail man in a jail cell, his arm reaching out towards you. The scene is horrific. He looks to be your age, but something about him seems older. Perhaps being jailed will do that to a person. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t have water.” You tell him, kneeling down in front of him. 

His jail cell is disgusting; it takes everything in you not to gag as the smell lingers. 

“The key, it’s back on the wall by the door. Please let me out.” 

A chill washes over your body. Suddenly, you remember that Atsumu was burying a body when you ran into him. Now, you're finding he has someone captured in this cell. Who is he and why is he doing these things? 

“Why are you here? Why did Atsumu do this?” You ask, a flood of different emotions racing through you. 

“He’s psychotic,” the man hisses, rage seeping through his tone. “Please, madam, I’m begging you to set me free. Hurry before he finds out you’re here.” 

You stand up, going to search for the key. Maybe this man will help lead you back to town to your father. Then perhaps your father will take you back in and help you fix the life you’ve screwed up. After finding the key, you unlock the jail cell. 

“Can you help me find-” before you finish your sentence, the man has pushed you to the ground. 

The candle you were holding falls to the side, illuminating only his face. His eyes are glowing red and wild. You scream, but the man covers your mouth with his hand. 

“Stupid girl, I’m surprised Atsumu hasn’t already taken a bite out of you.” As he talks you notice his canines are strangely long and pointed. 

Your eyes widen and you realize that this isn’t a normal man. His strength, despite looking frail, is abnormal. His eyes, his teeth, his strength… he can’t be. 

Vampires aren’t real. 

They’re not real. 

They’re not. 

“Get. Off. Her.” The sound of Atsumu’s voice burns your ears. 

The man looks up from you and his eyes narrow as he hisses Atsumu’s name. He jumps off of you and towards the sound of Atsumu’s voice. You scurry to the corner towards the candle, grabbing it and holding it towards the sound of fighting. 

As the light illuminates the two male figures, you see Atsumu snap the man’s neck. The body falls to the ground while the head remains in Atsumu’s hands. He drops the head when he sees you looking at him, horror clear on your face. 

“-----,” your name rings off his lips. 

“No!” You scoot back further into the corner, your back hitting the wall. “Don’t come near me!” 

He doesn’t listen. 

“Please, let me explain.” Atsumu is in front of you, kneeling in front of you and holding his hand out to you. “I’m begging you to hear me out.” 

You don’t feel inclined to grab his hand this time, the feeling of urgency still racing through your body. When Atsumu had scared you, you almost felt compelled to relax and not think about what you’d witnessed. Now, everything feels clear. 

“I want to know what is going on now!” You yell at him and smack his hand away from you. “How did you rip that man's head off? Why did you have him in that jail cell?” 

Atsumu stands, turning away from you and walking a few steps away. “If you come with me, I’ll answer any questions you have.” 

You watch as he goes, stepping over the body by the door and down the hall. After a few shaky breaths, you stand up and walk to the door leading to the hallway. You have to step over the body of the man and around the severed head. When you get in the hallway, you see Atsumu going further down into the foyer of the house. 

Following him, he takes you down the only hall you haven’t explored. The room he walks into appears to be a large kitchen from the hall. You take a few moments to collect your thoughts before walking in. When you enter the room, a wave of warmth hits you from the brick oven on the wall. It seems to have been firing all night. 

“Do you like tea?” He asks and you nod. 

“With honey.” You sit at the counter where a long bench is under the overhang. 

After a few minutes, he sets a white teacup with dark tea steeping in the cup. You let it sit for a few more, Atsumu pacing to your left by shelves full of different herbs and teas from what you can tell.

“Are you going to answer my questions?” You finally ask after taking a sip of your tea. 

“That man you saw me kill, was a despicable being. He’d killed at least a dozen girls in London in ways you could not begin to fathom.” Atsumu turns to you, his eyes dark. “I was planning on letting him starve to death down there and you ruined it.” 

“What was he? His eyes were glowing red and his strength was… inhuman.” You tell him. “His teeth were sharp like a…” you don’t finish the sentence. 

“Say it.”  

“No.” 

“Say it, —--.” 

“A vampire.” 

He nods and your world feels like it’s been turned upside down. 

“It’s okay, you’re safe.” He assures you but you smack his hand away again. 

“Don’t touch me.” You tell him, reeling away from his touch. 

“I’m sorry.” He steps back, his face falling. 

“So those books in your library… they’re not fiction.” He nods. “What are you?” 

“You know.” He says, turning away and looking out the window into the dark sky towards the moon. 

“Fuck,” for the first time in your life, you feel like you’re never going to come back from this. 

Even after running away from your wedding. That could have been solved, fixed even. This? Will Atsumu even allow you to leave now that you know what he is? It’s terrifying to think you grew up not far from this immortal being, lurking in the woods you played in as a child with friends. 

However, when you think about it, no one ever went missing in the village. No one was ever found suspiciously dead. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” He says and you narrow your eyes. 

“Can you read my mind too?” 

“What?” His face contours in confusion. “I can’t read minds and what do you mean by too?” 

You sigh in relief and lean forward, elbows on the counter. “You have some sort of relaxation power, don’t you? It’s the only reason I didn't freak out after I saw you burying that body… I wanted to run away and scream but I felt compelled to trust you and calm down. That’s not natural. I shouldn’t have conveniently forgotten about the body until now either.” 

Atsumu sits across from you, his eyes watching you. Those golden brown eyes are mesmerizing in every way and something about the golden hue is also unnatural. Everything about him is, you suppose. After all, he isn’t a creature of God’s making but perhaps the devil. 

“I do have the power to compel people to my will, that is what you’ve felt.” He admits, his posture stiffening. “I’m sorry for using it on you, but I couldn’t have you running off in that panicked state blabbering about what you saw in the woods. The best case scenario is the town comes looking for me, the worst case is you end up in an asylum. I was burying the body of another vampire who I’d imprisoned for similar crimes to the man who attacked you earlier. I don’t harm humans when I can help it.” 

“When you can help it?” 

“I do have to feed,” he tells you, “but I try not to kill or turn them when I do it.” 

You nod, taking another sip of your tea. “Are you planning on doing that to me?” 

He grins, actually grins, then says, “Only if you want me to.” 

Something in your stomach flutters and you’re scared of this side of yourself. Why do you have the inclination to let him? 

“Something wrong?” He asks, that same grin on his stupid face. “Did that intrigue you?” 

You shake your head no. 

“Liar.” He stands up, taking your empty tea cup and placing it in the sink. “It can be pleasurable,” he says, running water over the cup. “Some people volunteer for the satisfaction of it all.” 

Your face burns now, looking down at the counter and your hands turning into fists. Why would he be flirting with you after all of this? You move your hands to your lap, relaxing them and rubbing your thighs through your nightgown. Atsumu turns the water off and you look up as he dries the teacup with a towel, placing it back on the shelf it came from. 

“I have a proposal.” He says, turning back to face you. You tilt your head in curiosity. “We no longer lie to one another. Even if it’s hard, we tell the truth. I suppose you don’t want to go back home after running away and I clearly would rather you stay here and keep my secret.” 

You nod. “I agree to the terms, but I still have questions.” 

“I would assume you have many. It would be strange if you didn’t.” 

“What were you studying in the library? I read some pages from a few of the books, thinking they were fictional and now I’m more confused than ever.” 

“Come with me. I’ll show you.” He offers his hand, and you hesitate. “Honesty, we promised.” 

“I didn’t promise, I agreed to the terms.” You correct him, placing your hand in his. 

He leads you out of the kitchen and down the hall further. “There are steps on either end of the halls as well, just so you know. That way you’re not running back and forth to get to the main staircase.” He leads you up a less ornate staircase, leading right into the dark library. Atsumu releases your hand and steps away, the lights illuminating the room a few moments later. 

You walk over to his desk by the windows, noticing the drapes are not shut. Why did they close? Ah, it will be morning soon. Opening the largest book on the center of the desk you flip to the page with the asterisk you remember. 

Lost to history is the remainder of the bloodline that carried the sun's blessing. 

You read the line aloud, looking at Atsumu. “What does this mean? Who are these people?” 

Atsumu lounges in his desk chair before answering. “The sun’s blessing means that these vampires were able to be out in the sun, living more normal lives than most of us. It’s unknown why they had the ability to withstand the star’s light, but they could.” 

“They live among us?” 

“They did before they went missing. One morning they were in their familial homes, and the next vanished as if into thin air.” He sighs. “I want to know what happened to them. It doesn’t make sense for them to uproot their lives without reason. They were a secretive clan amongst us, but there are theories.” 

He gets up, as if excited, walking quickly to a shelf across the room. He takes a few moments, scanning the spines of books before grabbing an emerald green book and bringing it to the desk. When you see it, it also has several tabs on it. 

“You see, there are stories of other vampires inheriting this ability as if the family gifted it to them. There’s no record of how it happens, but there has to be a way.” He turns to a page about a third of the way into the book, full of notes in the margins. “Here this author theorizes it was from something they ingested, but we can’t stomach the food humans eat, so it could have been an herb of some sort in a tea.” 

“You can drink tea?” You ask, taken aback.

“Of course,” he laughs. “It’s why I keep so many.” He opens to another page. He smiles as he reads some of the lines and you lean on his desk. “Here the author suggests that they blood let and shared it with the vampires who inherited the gift.” 

“Did they ingest it?” You ask and Atsumu shrugs. 

“It’s against our laws to feed from another vampire, so I wouldn’t think so. But, that is a possibility. They could have injected it into themselves, but even that seems too close to feeding.” Atsumu closes the book and takes it back to the shelf it came from. 

“Why are you so obsessed with them?” You ask, looking at the portraits and names once more. 

Charlotta Lestar died in 1767, 343 years after her birth by your calculations. Her child, a son named James, seems to still be living. There’s no death date for him and a few others, but that could just be unknown since they all disappeared. You flip to the next page and it begins to give the family history, starting with the first recorded Lestar family member. 

“Did you know any of them?” You ask when he doesn’t answer your last question. 

He nods and sits back in his chair. “Our families were friends. I knew Charlotta’s children well.” 

“How old are you?” You ask, partly scared to hear the answer. 

“213, respectfully. You?” 

“24,” you answer, feeling ashamed. All of your friends had married by 20 and you were here, still unwed and slowly turning into an old maid. 

“A drop in time to me,” he smiles, taking your hand and squeezing it. 

“You never told me why you were looking into the family,” you remind him. 

He sighs, then rolls up the long sleeves of his shirt. Starting at his wrists and all the way up to his elbows, you notice small white patches, almost like scars. “I’ve been testing my methods with the sun. When I was a child I tried to follow James out one morning and nearly died. I have these marks all over my body.” He looks up to you and there’s something like desperation in his eyes. 

“My work would be so much easier if I could go out during the day. Having to hunt and feed at night makes things harder. I can research during the day just fine, but being confined to this home drives me mad.” He continues. 

“Being trapped at home is something of a nightmare,” you agree. “Can I help? I love reading and maybe some fresh eyes on the material would help you.” 

“You’d want to do that?” He asks and you nod. He smiles and jumps up from his chair again. “You need to start with the histories, first. I know it’s here somewhere,” he scans a shelf by his desk. “Ah, yes, here it is.” The book he hands you looks to be recently rebounded. The pages are much older than the bindings. 

“I’ll read it today.” You open the cover and look at the author, noting the name Osamu Miya, relation of Atsumu’s perhaps. “Do you rest during the day?” 

“I don’t need sleep like humans.” He tells you. “I do rest, but it’s mostly to keep from having to feed too often I usually spend my days in here. The human staff I have take care of the house during the day and believe me to be one of you. I beg of you not to make them think otherwise.” 

“My lips are sealed.” 

Atsumu nods quickly with a smile, “Thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a friend.” 

– 

The next few weeks are full of studying, time passing quickly. Atsumu has his staff fill the kitchen with food and your dressing room with clothing. All your needs are met, but something else is pulling at you. The days you spend reading in the library with Atsumu become your reason for waking up. 

You rarely think about Graham or your father. Whatever they have been doing seems to not concern you, since no one has come knocking at the castle doors. Perhaps they’ve forgotten about you, something that stings but isn’t all that bad. You hope they’ve found happiness in the way you have. 

Atsumu even begins to let you in on what he does during the nights when he disappears from the castle. He’s been charged with capturing vampires who are gluttonous or vile in their killings. There are no laws about killing within their society, but they don’t like to draw attention to themselves. Atsumu handles the situations where some are. However, he stops keeping prisoners in his home. 

He educates you on the histories of vampires, the different covens, clans, and even families within them. After a month you are pretty sure you’re a walking history book, but you’ve learned nothing about the Lestar family. One afternoon, you decide to ask about them. 

“When will I begin helping you with the Lestar family?” You ask, putting the last book you finished on the shelf. 

Atsumu looks up from his writing, his hair disheveled. “Do you feel like you know enough about my kind to begin?” 

You sit across from him at the table he’s been at since last night. “I believe I am. Quiz me!” 

“Question one, what do we eat?” he grins as he asks. 

“Shut up, ask me something serious.” You laugh, your foot rubbing against his leg as you swing your feet under the table. 

He grins at you and you pull away, mouthing a sorry to him. It’s not like you haven’t touched Atsumu before, after all, the kiss you shared was the most intimate thing you’ve experienced in your short life. 

“Where should I start now?” You ask, eager to read about the family of vampires who lived among humans and walked in the sun. 

“Any of the books I have on them are just fine places to start. However, if you want theories, you can read this one here,” he slides the same emerald green book from that first night in the library. “My brother wrote this, actually.” 

You open the cover and see a familiar name, “Osamu Miya?” Atsumu nods. “I guess it seems you’re not the only one obsessed.” 

“We all grew up together, it’s not that surprising, is it?” He laughs, resting his head on his hand. “Osamu is just better at writing than me. I send him everything I come up with and he does the same.” 

“I’d like to meet him one day,” you decide. 

“We’ll see about that.” He goes back to reading his book and you begin yours. 

The theories his brother presents on the family are numerous, but nothing is conclusive. Everything about the family was kept so secretive that even family friends had no idea how they were able to be in the sun without being killed. The trait was passed down to family members by birth, no matter which parent had the trait. 

The only vampires granted the power were those who married into the family, and most of them seemed to be random. The reasoning behind the partnerships isn’t love, power, or money. Whatever their deciding factor was, is still as unclear as the transformation itself. 

By the time you’re through the book, it’s evening. You yawn and your stomach growls. Despite the snacks the staff brought you throughout the day, you’re starving. 

“Would it be weird if you joined me for dinner? I know you can’t eat, but it gets lonely in the dining room.” It feels awkward asking, but after a month of silent dinners, you’re not sure you can stand another. 

“I’d love to join you. I’ll have tea while you eat.” He smiles, standing from his chair. His clothes are as disheveled as his hair. “If you’ve been lonely, why didn’t you ask me sooner?” 

You shrug, “I didn’t want to bother you more than I already have.” 

Atsumu halts walking, stopping atop the stairs. “You’ve never been a bother to me,” he takes your hand. “I’ve been delighted to have you in my home.” 

Your face heats up and you bite your bottom lip to keep the smile from growing too wide. “I’ve had a better time with you than I’ve had in the last ten years of my life.” 

Atsumu steps closer to you, his hand caressing your cheek. You look up at him, lips slightly parted, but you’re unable to speak. 

“I hope you know what you mean to me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead and your stomach flutters. 

You grab his waist, pulling his body closer to yours. “Atsumu,” you whine. 

“What is it?” He asks, his lips grazing your forehead. You whine again. “You have to tell me what you want.” 

“Kiss me,” you say after a few moments. 

“I thought you’d never ask,” he kisses you quickly, his lips moving against yours with a hunger you’ve never experienced. 

His lips taste sweet now, but the tinge of iron is still there. You wonder when the last time he fed was, a pang of jealousy washing through you. Your fingers grip him tightly, your body flush with his. His tongue teases your lips and you part your mouth, letting him in. 

He pulls away, resting his forehead on yours, eyes on your lips. “I want to show you so many things,” he whispers. “Will you let me?” 

You nod. 

“I want you to say it.” 

“Please, show me everything.” 

Atsumu grins, picking you up in his arms, your gown riding up around your thighs as you hook your legs around him. You kiss him again, biting his bottom lip and making him growl. Before you know it, he’s slamming his bedroom door shut and dropping you down on his bed. 

“What do you want me to do?” He asks, crawling on the bed on top of you. 

“Touch me,” you breathe out. 

“Have you ever?” 

You shake your head no and something flashes in his eyes. 

He leans down, kissing you and sliding your dress up your thighs. “You can tell me to stop whenever you want,” he whispers, kissing down your throat. 

Your heart races, knowing how easily he could drain you of your blood now is something you never expected to worry about. Each nip of his teeth at your skin reminds you of it. You begin to feel too hot, desperate for him to rip this godforsaken gown off of you. 

“Get this dress off of me,” you beg, writhing under Atsumu. 

He sits up, his eyes wild. He pulls you up into a sitting position before flipping you onto your stomach to undo the many buttons down your back. You feel the cooler air hit your skin and whimper as Atsumu’s fingers drag down your skin. Undressing in this gown isn’t easy but his hands on you is worth it. 

By the time you’re left in the slip you wore under the dress, you’re desperate to feel his kisses again. He smiles at you, standing by the bed and looking you up and down. Your cheeks heat and you want to cover yourself, but remember the first night you met him he saw every part of you anyway. 

His hands grip your thighs, pulling you down to the edge of the bed. He kneels in front of the bed, licking his lips once before kissing your inner thigh. You gasp at the sensation, chills running up your spine and curling your toes. You sit up on your elbows, watching him kiss up your right thigh, pushing the slip up over your waist. 

He looks at you as if he’s looking for permission and you nod. 

The first touch of his tongue on your cunt is overwhelming. His tongue continues to move on you, his hands gripping your thighs while he laps at you. You moan, unable to keep any form of composure. Your fingers dig into the sheets as his tongue teases your clit. You fall back, unable to watch any longer, wanting to focus solely on the feeling. 

He stops for a moment and your eyes flutter open, seeing him suck on his own middle finger. He grins as he sees you watching him. He slowly teases your entrance with the finger, leaning back down to suck on your clit. You close your eyes again, whimpering and bucking your hips. As his finger presses into you, you still, take in the sensation. Your mouth falls open and you breathe out. 

“Shh,” Atsumu hushes you as you begin to whimper. “It’ll start feeling good and not foreign, I swear.” 

He slowly pumps his finger out of you and back in, curling it inside you as he goes. He was so right, oh so right. You moan, the feeling sending shockwaves through you. When you open your eyes, Atsumu is hovering over you, his finger still pumping inside you. 

“See,” he grins, “feels good, right?” 

You nod between moans and reach for Atsumu above you. He leans down, kissing your lips and teasing you with his tongue. He tastes like you, his lips coated with your arousal. 

“Do you want more?” He asks and you nod. “When will you learn to use your words?” 

“More, please,” you whine, looking up expecting to see his brown eyes but they’ve been replaced with the glowing gold you’ve only seen when he’s been hungry. 

Your stomach flips and the fear you feel is nothing compared to the pleasure of his second finger pumping into you with the first. He stretches you, his fingers working in tandem to bring you feelings you can’t explain, leaving you breathless. Something in your stomach snaps and you feel yourself coming to an end, ready to let go. 

“Cum for me,” he whispers against your ear, his breath tickling you. 

As you climax, you grip onto Atsumu, holding his hand on your right and his arm on your left. It’s unlike any pleasure release you’ve ever had. What you used to do desperately at night at home with your fingers is nothing compared to this. He chuckles as you come down, looking at him with glossy eyes. He kisses your forehead, praising you with quiet words and pulling his fingers out of you. 

“Lay back,” you demand, sitting up and pushing against his pillows. 

He looks pleasantly surprised, your abruptness is not something he was expecting. He lays down against the pillows, spreading his arms and parting his legs enough for you to crawl between them. You smile at him before pushing them back together and sitting on his lap, your cunt sensitive against his trousers. 

His arms wrap around you and you kiss him, holding his face between your hands. “I want to learn to please you too,” you tell him. 

He smiles, biting his bottom lip before speaking. “What do you think you should do?” 

You take in a shaky breath, remembering some erotic scenes from some books stashed in the back of his library that you snuck into your room. “I think I know,” you admit, “but I want you to tell me what you need.” 

“You. You’re all I need.” 

The feeling pangs at your heart but you refuse to give in to it and name it. 

You kiss him feverishly before unbuttoning his shirt, kissing his neck, and working your way down his body. He was right, he’s covered in these white splotches. They scar most of his skin, all the way down to his waist. Settling between his legs, you unbutton the three buttons on his pants, noticing the tenting as you go. 

He holds his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches you, his chest noticeably moving as he breathes. He lifts his hips and you shimmy the pants down over his waist and off his legs, tossing them on the floor to your right. His underwear is tight, the bulge prominent now. 

“Why do you look so nervous?” He teases, so you stick your tongue out at him. “I bet that would feel nice on my cock,” he tells you, leaning forward and grabbing your face. “Don’t you want a taste?” 

You nod, kissing him again before pushing his chest back so he lays back against the pillows once more. He tenses as you feel his cock through his underwear. He closes his eyes and titls his head back, enjoying your touch. 

Reaching up with your other hand, pulling at the waistband and pulling them down over his hips. Reading about something for the first time is nothing like seeing it for the first time. Everything about Atsumu is infuriatingly beautiful, and his cock is no exception. You take it in your hand and timidly stroke it once. 

“Fuck,” Atsumu moans, his eyes still closed and head tilted back. 

You smile at his response and lean down, taking the head of his cock in your mouth. He moans louder as your tongue swirls around the tip. 

“Just like that,” he whimpers. “Use your hand like this,” he opens his eyes and places his hand over yours; showing you what to do. 

Your hand gets wet from your spit dribbling down from where your lips meet his cock, making it easier to stroke him. He lets go of your hand and you’re able to learn on your own now. Every sound Atsumu makes encourages you further. Soon enough you’re able to take more than half his length in your mouth without worrying you’re going to hurt him by doing something wrong. 

He thrusts up into your mouth, forcing you to take him all in and you choke, pulling away and coughing. 

“I’m so sorry, I just lost control,” he sits up cupping your cheeks. 

He kisses your lips, pulling away and a trail of drool follows, still connecting your lips. You grin and break it with your finger. 

“You don’t have to be sorry, I’m okay. You can’t break me.” 

He chuckles, “If only that were true, darling.” 

You giggle, kissing him again and climbing on top of him, straddling his thighs. He grabs your hips, pulling you further up his body, pushing your hips down so your cunt grinds against his cock. You whimper against his lips, feeling his length against you. The tip of his cock prods at your entrance and you break away from the kiss. 

“Do you want to stop?” He asks looking up at you. 

“No, God no.” You shake your head. “I-” you stutter, stopping yourself. 

He sits up closer to you, your bodies flush with each other. “You can tell me,” he says. 

“I want you.” 

His eyes flash with something you can’t read, disappointment maybe? No, it couldn’t be that, could it? You’re saying exactly what he wants to hear even if it's not what you thought originally. He couldn’t know that, though. 

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he warns you and you nod. “Go at your own pace,” he kisses your cheek, laying back and letting you take control. 

You sink down on him about an inch, letting yourself get used to the stretch. His cock feels so much bigger in your cunt than when it was in your mouth. You bite down hard on your lip, holding in the sounds of discomfort as you sink further down on him. 

“Don’t do that you’ll bleed,” Atsumu’s thumb pulls your lip from your teeth. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimper and sink as far down as you can, sitting in Atsumu’s lap and taking him in entirely. 

“Don’t ever,” he rasps, “apologize while taking my cock in you like that.” 

His hands move to your hips, his fingers digging into your ass. You use your knees to rise up again, feeling his cock drag against the walls inside of you. It doesn’t feel as good as his fingers, the pain overwhelming you. 

“It’s okay,” he hushes your cries. “Go at your pace.” 

You try again, sinking down, rising up, and sinking down again. You’re used to the feeling now and even begin to feel good as his cock reaches further inside of you than his fingers. You let out a moan the fifth time you came down on him, finally feeling what you felt before. 

“There you go,” he encourages you, using his hands to help you ride him. 

He pulls you down by your face, kissing you and beginning to thrust up into you slowly. Your thighs shake but you hold onto Atsumu’s shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.  That familiar feeling from before creeps up on you, and you whimper, clenching around him. 

He flips you onto your back, pulling out of you and smiling at you wildly. “You can’t cum yet.” 

You nod, sitting up and kissing him and pulling him down with you, desperate to have him in you again. He pulls away and grins. 

“Are you greedy already? I told you I wanted to show you many things.” He teases, his fingers playing with your clit. 

You gasp, “We have other nights for that. I need you now.” 

He laughs, moving closer to you and spreading your legs wider. He pushes into you, sending a wave of pleasure through your body. The sounds that leave your mouth ring in your ears, but you try focusing on Atsumu’s cues. His eyes focus on you when you open yours, and that feeling in your stomach builds back up. 

“Tsumu,” you whine, slurring his name. 

“That’s music to my ears,” he moans. “Need to cum darling?” 

You nod. “Wanna cum.” 

“Cum with me,” he whispers against your lips and you do. 

It feels like waves across your body, the first strong and fierce. The second ringing through your body and lingering as Atsumu cums inside of you. You hold onto Atsumu as if he’s your lifeline, both of you breathing hard and heavy. 

He kisses your forehead before rolling to the side of the bed and pulling you close to him. You cuddle up to him, taking in the last hour. He stares up at the ceiling, his breath evening out sooner than yours. You tilt your head up looking closer at his expression. 

“What are you thinking about?” You ask. 

“Honestly?” 

“We promised to be truthful.” 

He smiles. “I’m thinking about how many more rounds I could take you before you’re too sore for more.” 

You smack his chest and sit up. “I think we’ve reached that limit.” 

He grins, sitting up on his elbows. “I guarantee you’ll be begging me for more before you even finish your dinner tonight.” 

“You’re awfully full of yourself,” you giggle, pulling your knees to your chest. 

“You’re also full of me,” he grins, kissing your temple and getting off the bed. “Come, bathe with me. Then I’ll make you dinner.” 

“You’ll make me dinner?” 

“I can read a recipe book and figure it out. Besides, there’s probably something edible in case I ruin everything.” 

You laugh, taking his hand and following him to the bathroom. 

The bath is always relaxing, but a bath with Atsumu is anything but. He’s constantly dumping water on you and splashing you like a child. The few moments when he relaxes and lets you lay against his chest, you relish. 

At some point, you fall asleep in the tub against Atsumu. You awake in his bed, under the cover of his thick duvet. Atsumu is nowhere to be found, so you find a shirt of his from a drawer and slip it on. Walking down the hall, you see a faint light coming from the wing where the kitchen is.

“-----,” your name on his lips sends chills down your spine. “I think I’ve made you a sandwich.” 

He presents in front of you something that does resemble a sandwich, but the ingredients are questionable. You still take a bite and swallow it. It isn’t the worst thing you’ve ever had. Your father hired a terrible cook for a few weeks before you insisted on getting a new one after a bout of food poisoning. 

“How is it?” 

“Honestly?” 

He nods. 

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever had,” you laugh, putting the half down on the plate. “We should stick to what your staff prepares.” 

He looks defeated but grins anyway. “You should go back to bed. I’ll have a big breakfast sent to our room in the morning.” 

“Our room?” You smile, biting your bottom lip. 

He nods. “I’ll join you after I clean up. I’ll take tonight off.” 

You smile at him before heading back towards his room. Most nights he spends them hunting down other vampires who’ve committed crimes. His determination and commitment to his task are unlike most of the men you’ve known. 

Atsumu’s room is warm from the fire, but the flames are starting to die down. You throw a log on the fire and crawl back into bed. Atsumu keeps his promise, coming to lay in bed with you soon after. You talk about your life with him, telling him everything you’ve been holding onto. He offers nothing but a listening ear, just what you like. 

–

The weeks that follow are much the same as the ones before, except your nights are full of more and more learning. Atsumu pleases you in ways you’ve never imagined possible with his fingers, tongue, and cock. However, you begin to become concerned with how often his eyes seem to turn golden with hunger. 

“Tsumu?” You chime one night after a long session with him between your legs. 

“Hmm?” He hums. 

“When was the last time you fed?” You ask, sitting up on the bed and playing with his hair from where he lays in your lap. 

“It’s been a while.” He answers, looking up at you, his eyes now golden once again. “I probably should tonight.” 

“Who do you feed from?” The jealousy is in your voice. 

“There are some people who volunteer for the pleasure of it. I think I told you this before. In London, there’s a home where my kind likes to go when we’re hungry.” Atsumu’s honesty doesn’t do anything to curb your feelings. 

“I don’t want you to go there,” you tell him, keeping up with the honesty you swore to keep. “Use me,” you offer. 

“-----, are you sure?” He asks, and you nod. 

You pull your hair from your neck, revealing the supple skin. 

Atsumu laughs, “I could kill you feeding from there.” 

Your face heats in embarrassment. “Where do you feed from?” 

He sits up, taking your arm and pointing to your wrist. “Lay back, it will hurt at first.” 

You lay back, looking up at the ceiling and then at Atsumu. He smiles at you as he hovers over your body. His lips press against yours and he mumbles some reassuring words. He slowly brings your wrist up to his mouth, and you see the flash of his fangs before they seep into your skin. 

Crying out, you instinctively pull away but Atsumu keeps your arm still. The pain turns to an unimaginable wave of pleasure, not unlike the way he makes you cum every night. You moan, actually moan after a minute of it. The burning is intense, but not unmanageable. After another minute, he pulls away from your wrist, blood dripping from his lips. 

When you look in his eyes, something has changed, and not just the color of them. He moves off of you, walking quickly to the bathroom. You sit up, checking your wrist and admiring the two small red puncture wounds. He tosses you a bandage from the bathroom entryway. 

Something is wrong. 

“Atsumu?” You lay the bandage down and get off the bed, your head spinning as you do. 

“Please, lay back down.” He moves to catch you, but you fall back onto the bed. 

“What’s wrong?” He shakes his head at your voice. 

“I have something I have to do.” He rushes out of the room and you don’t see him for the rest of the night. 

Sleep doesn’t come. You stay up all night, worried that you did something to change his feelings for you. Did you taste bad? 

Can blood taste bad? 

You pace for a while in front of his windows, waiting for dawn to come. As the first spots of daylight begin to show you see Atsumu enter the castle. You rush down the hall and down the steps. 

When he sees you, there’s not a glimpse of joy on his face. 

“Ats-” 

“I think you should go back to your father.” He interrupts you and you feel like the castle is crumbling in on you. 

“But… Atsumu… why?” 

“I think it's for the best. I’ve called for a carriage. You leave in an hour.” He rushes up the stairs and towards the library.

The sound of the doors slamming shut echoes through the castle as you fall to your knees. You’re not sure how long you lie there, perhaps for the full hour. You can’t even cry it hurts so bad. He’s betrayed the honesty you promised to one another. 

“Madam, the carriage is waiting for you,” Arthur, Atsumu’s butler, taps on your shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I must ask that you go.” 

You nod, pulling yourself together and walking to the carriage. You’re numb the whole ride home. It takes about an hour for you to arrive at the doorstep of your father’s estate. When you step off the carriage, your father isn’t there to greet you, but instead it’s Graham. 

You step back, nearly tripping over the carriage steps. 

“Where on earth have you been?” The sound of his voice makes you want to vomit. 

“Where is my father?” You ask, stepping towards him, but keeping more than enough distance between him. 

“He’s in London, searching for you. I’ve been maintaining the family home while you’ve been what? Whoring yourself to stay afloat?” Graham laughs, watching as the carriage leaves before he insults you. 

“Graham, I swear to God if that whore of yours is in my home, I will have you castrated.” You remember the mistress he keeps in London. If he’s been here, she probably has too. 

“I’m not stupid enough to bring her here with all the attention you’ve brought us. Do you know what you’ve done? What you’ve caused?” His words ring with hatred. “We told half the town you had a breakdown just to keep your name from being ruined! We tried to defend you!” 

“Why are you even here? I thought it would be clear I didn’t want to marry you by running away!” You yell, frustrated with the way your life has gone in the last four months. 

“You trifling whore, how dare you raise your voice with me,” he steps closer to you, his anger reaching its peak. “After all the trouble you’ve caused, you’re not going to treat me this way. You’re lucky I decided to stay engaged to you and that you still have a future.” 

“I’m never going to marry you, Graham. Never.” You walk past him and into your father’s home, slamming and locking the door behind you. 

The staff in the house scurry around, looking at you as if they’ve seen a ghost. Perhaps some of them thought you had run off and died. None of them stop you from going to your old room, and none of them stop you from tearing everything off the walls. You scream, throw things, and even toss old dresses out the window. 

If they want a madwoman, you’ll give it to them. 

Several hours later, your father's carriage pulls up. You watch him run into the house and hear his clumsy footsteps leading to your room. He bursts in the door, calling your name in a sob. You let him hug you and cry on your shoulder. You let him beg you to never go away again. 

Everything feels numb now that you’ve been shown the life you want and can’t have it. 

After half an hour, he leaves you to your destroyed room, mentioning he needs to discuss things with Graham. If he even tries to plan another marriage, you’ll run away and never look back; and in the opposite direction of Atsumu’s castle. 

When you’re called for dinner, you don’t bother dressing. You go in your worn dress from the night before, your wrist still bandaged from Atsumu’s fangs. The dining room is too warm from the fire and the warm spring day. Your father sits at the head of the table and Graham beside him, both of them engaged in the conversation they’re having. 

As you sit, your father comments on your appearance and you glare at him. 

“Sweetie, he’s just concerned,” Graham’s facade makes you want to rip his hair out. 

“We think it would be good to spend the spring and summer in London. A change of scenery for you, and perhaps you can make time to plan a new ceremony for the fall. They have great doctors in London, as well.” Your father’s optimism is something you’ve always loved, but in your mental state now, you just want him to shut up and give up on you. 

“I’m not planning another wedding.” You tell him. “I would like to go to London though.” 

“Then we will go in a week! I’ll have new dresses sent to our house there, you won’t need to bring anything but yourself.” Graham tells you and your father as the staff sets your food in front of you. 

The thought of putting anything in your stomach makes you want to vomit. You sit there through dinner, listening but not adding to the conversation. Graham seems to have your father wrapped tighter around his finger than before, and you don’t blame him. You left, after all. Once dessert is served, you dismiss yourself and head to your room. 

Sinking into the covers, you finally allow yourself to cry. 

– 

London in the spring is something you used to love. Your mother always dragged you and your father from your country home to the city for the peak season, going to shops, cafes, and all the music halls she could find. After she left, you quit going altogether. 

Stepping into Graham’s house feels surreal. All week, you argued with him whenever your father was gone, listening to his empty threats. You threatened to have his food poisoned at one point, but he just laughed. At some point, you stopped talking to him altogether. 

“Your room is on the third floor, the second on the right,” Graham tells you, dropping bags down in the foyer. 

“Thanks,” you mutter, walking up the steps and not looking back to him or your father. 

You hear mutters of worry about your sanity, concerns about where you’ve been all winter, and more things you can’t care to remember. The staircase is steep, but you take your time. By the time you’re in your room, you feel like he picked this room just to exhaust you. He must have noticed you haven’t been eating most nights. 

There is a nice view of the city from your room, at least. 

It’s past noon now, and there’s discussion about going out to dinner tonight to change things up, but you know you’ll fight tooth and nail before having to be reintroduced into society. Your father begs you to dress, telling you he’ll do anything to make you happy. 

To get him to shut up, you agree. 

Dressing with the assistance of one of Graham’s maids, you find yourself in a pale blue dress, the color awfully similar to the trim of your wedding dress. Perhaps he likes this color. Perhaps you’ll ruin it for him. When you make it to the foyer, your father is still not there, leaving you uncomfortably silent with Graham standing by the door. 

“You look decent for once,” he comments and you turn your head. “This could be easy, you know. A business transaction for us both.” 

“I’d rather die than marry you.” You finally look at him, really look at him for who he is. 

“That it seems.” He sighs. He steps towards you, his hand reaching out and moving a loose strand of hair away from your face. 

His hand is warm on your skin and it makes you cringe. He steps back, looking at you from the head down. He almost looks like he’s working on a puzzle, trying to figure out what piece of you to place next. 

“I can be kind. We could have a satisfying life, you and I both. I swear to be faithful to you until we have a few children if you do the same. You can spend money as you please. We can even live separately if you wish.” Graham really wants your father's money if he’s offering this. 

Before you can answer him, your father joins you in the foyer. “I hope this restaurant you’ve chosen is a good one, boy.” He claps Graham on the back of the shoulder and laughs. 

“Oh, you know I always pick good ones. Why else would I want to be with your daughter.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes. 

They both ignore you. 

The walk to the restaurant is not unpleasant, the umbrella you carry covers your face from strangers who may be looking at you. Once you arrive, they seat you outside. You fold up the umbrella, leaning it against your chair, and sitting down. Graham and your father continue talking about the horse race they’ve seemed to bet on for the upcoming weekend, but you watch the people walking by. 

Your mind begins to wander to Atsumu and your heart hurts. You never were able to be completely honest with him either. You kept what you felt to yourself. 

However, he completely shut you out without giving any explanation. He broke the trust first. He never asked you how you felt and if he had, you may have told him. 

“Would you like that, sweetie?” Graham asks and you furrow your brows. 

“What?” You ask. “I wasn’t listening.” 

“Your father suggested I show you the block after dinner. He’s planning on joining the gentlemen at the next table at the club tonight after dinner.” Graham tells you. 

“I suppose I’ll walk with you,” as if you have a choice now. 

Dinner is served not long after, and you manage to down a few vegetables and a bite of your chicken. Graham and your father have both given up on commenting on your eating habits, which you’re grateful for. It’s made it easier to manage. Once it’s over, you regret taking the few bites that you did. You have to stomach Graham for the next hour before you make it home.

At least the days are longer now, so if he tries anything, there will most likely be a witness. 

He takes your hand and places it on his arm, portraying the scene most Londoners expect. A couple in the spring, out for a stroll. He talks about the town, telling you about his favorite restaurants and music halls. He tells you he wants to take you to a play when you notice a name that you recall. 

“What is this place?” You stop in front of Lestar Manor. The sign is large and imposing with the name of the vampires who were blessed by the sun. 

“It’s almost like a joke,” he says. “The manor was abandoned and people swear it’s haunted now. I’ve never learned much more about it.” 

“I want to go look inside.” 

“Are you serious?” He frowns. “You refuse to do activities for a week, but want to explore a haunted mansion.” 

“So what? Let me explore it!” 

“We’re going home!” He says sternly, grabbing your arm. 

“Let go of me,” you hiss, pulling away. 

“For the love of all that is holy, stop acting this way and just do what’s good for you for once in your stupid life.” Graham raises his voice and you push him away from you. 

“If you touch me again, I’m going to scream.” You warn him. 

As you look around there is no one around, but you’re sure someone will hear you. Graham’s eyes go dark, his grin gone and his face contoured in anger. He steps towards you and you step back, but he’s faster than you. 

His grip on your arm hurts, so you begin to yell out. His hand clamps around your mouth and your eyes go wide. 

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid whore,” he hisses. 

“Let go of her,” a figure yells from the Lestar Manor. 

The voice makes your stomach drop and you try to pull away from Graham. As you turn your face, you see Atsumu standing in the shade of the Manor, his fists clenched at his sides. 

“Who are you to tell me what to do with my woman?” Graham spits back, letting go of your face. 

“Atsumu, go away.” You breathe out, your eyes welling up. 

He has no business butting into your life after sending you away to this fate. 

“Graham,” Atsumu hisses, stepping too close to the edge of the shade for your liking. 

“Graham, let’s go. Please,” you beg him, tugging him away from Atsumu. 

He smacks your hand away, missing your hand and hitting your cheek. You fall down on the sidewalk, catching yourself with your hands and scraping them. 

“Bastard!” Atsumu yells and before you know it, he’s launched himself at Graham, his skin vulnerable to the sun. 

“Atsumu! No!” You scream, watching as he punches Graham in the jaw. 

You expect his skin to start burning, or for him to catch on fire, or turn to dust. All your reading on vampires, none of it gave a solid answer to what happens when they go in the sun. Almost as if it was taboo to mention it anywhere. 

Nothing happens, in fact, Atsumu stands up over Graham’s body and looks at you with a smile. For whatever reason, he’s not dying in the sun. Did he discover something in the week that you were gone? Is that why he was in the Lestar Manor? Or is that the feeding house he mentioned before? 

Either way, you don’t want to hear from him. 

He broke your heart. 

You turn to run away from him and from Graham. As you take your first step, Atsumu catches your arm, and you turn to push him away. He pulls you into his arms instead, holding you against your body. 

“Atsumu, let go of me,” you sob, not pulling away but instead going limp in his arms. 

He picks you up, carrying you into the Manor and holding you against his chest as you sob. You hate him. You love him. You want him dead. You want him to give you the life you’ve always wanted. 

He doesn’t compel you to calm down, he just holds you as you cry. It takes a good ten minutes for you to gather yourself in his arms before you’re able to look up at him. His eyes aren’t glowing, instead, they’re the warm brown you love so much. 

“I hate you,” you whisper. 

“We told each other we would be honest with one another.” He shakes his head. 

“Atsumu,” you whine, “I love you more than life itself.” 

“I love you, —--,” he tells you. “You saved my life.” 

“What?” You frown. “You just saved me from that horrid Graham.” 

“Your blood…” he replies and you begin connecting the dots. 

“Lesair, Lestar… You don’t think that my family is?” 

He shrugs, “We need to find out the history of your family line before I can draw any conclusions... But since the night I drank from you, I’ve been able to walk in the sun. I was going to come find you and beg you to forgive me, but I needed to stop here first to collect some more books. That’s when I heard your voice and I saw him-” 

“You don’t have to explain. I’m just happy to be with you again.” You interrupt him. 

“I promise, I’m never letting you go now.” He tells you before kissing your lips. 

#atsumu miya smut #atsumu smut #atsumu miya x reader #miya atsumu smut #miya atsumu x reader #tw monsterfucking #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #hq smut #hq x reader #tw religious themes

[jjsmaybank20]

Finally Got the Girl

Maddy Perez x Fem!Bennett!reader

Summary: Maddy had feelings for you before you graduated, there is no denying it. What happens when you come home for summer break, a little different than you were when you left?

Warnings: language, mentions of smut, mentions of Nate (🤮)

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: Requested by someone over on my wattpad. Hope y'all enjoy this!

navigation euphoria masterlist

---

You had always intrigued Maddy. She knew of you because she knew everyone, but she really only paid attention to you at first because you were her best friend's little sister's best friend's older sister. Distant connection, but enough of a connection that she decided that you were worth watching.

You were a quiet girl, the calm to your younger sister's storm. You were the type of person that adults would talk about, whispering things like, "Don't doubt that one, they're going to be gorgeous someday." When Maddy knew you in high school, you were awkward, lanky, and constantly nervous, but nonetheless attractive in your own way.

The two of you were close, some would say closer than friends should be. The only real fights the two of you would have would be about Nate Jacobs, Maddy's then-boyfriend. You hated him with a burning passion after what he did to your sister, and any chance you got you would pick him apart. You didn't understand what she saw in him.

She couldn't help but be saddened when you went off to college, but she was happy that you had made it out of East Highland. You had managed to stay in a hidden back corner of her mind, making her believe that the feelings she had had for you had been practically forgotten, but as soon as you came back for summer break, they came rushing back instantly and even more intensely than they used to be.

Because while you were away at college, those adults's predictions about you had come true. You had fully grown into yourself, flaunting a new air of confidence that you never used to have. One contributing factor of this was that you had gotten absolutely jacked.

Maddy's first encounter of your practically new self was at the Howard residence. She was hanging out with the girls, Rue mostly being there for Jules and Lexi, when they all heard a car pulling into the driveway. Confused, Cassie moved towards the window of her room to try and catch a glimpse of who might have just arrived at her house. To her surprise, a familiar tall, muscular woman pulled herself out of a stylish sports car and folded her sunglasses before hooking them on the neck of her muscle shirt.

"Holy shit, is that Y/N? Goddamn!" The rest of the girls crowd around the window, trying to spot you as you walk towards the front door. As soon as Kat sees you, she gasps before exclaiming, "She got hot! I'm sorry Rue, I know she's your sister, but I would totally let her rail me and I'm not even gay."

Maddy rolls her eyes, muttering to her friend, "That's a pretty gay thing to say," even though she was thinking the exact same thing. The group hears the doorbell ring, making them all rush towards the stairs but trying to stay out of sight. They watch Suze open the door before hearing your distinctly deeper voice.

"Hey, Ms. Howard. My mom said that Rue was here? Just wanted to say hi to my little sister, and maybe a few old friends if they're around." Suze stares at you in shock for a few seconds, surprised by your new stature, before pulling you down into a hug. "Holy crap, sweetie! I almost didn't recognize you! Have you been working out?" The older blonde woman playfully squeezes your arm to accentuate her question.

They hear you laugh uncomfortably before Rue pushes her way through the pack and runs down the stairs towards you. She practically jumps into your arms, and you let out a groan and a laugh before squeezing her tightly. "Hey, RueRue. How are you doing?" You then pull back and give her a serious look, stating dangerously, "You better be staying off those drugs. I am not dealing with you going to rehab again. If that happens, the drugs won't kill you, I will."

Rue laughs, saying, "Yeah, yeah. I haven't been doing any of that shit. My girlfriend's really helped me out." You smile at her, and Rue waves towards the stairs, gesturing for the rest of the group to come down. They slowly make their way towards the two of you, and the people you already know you pull into a hug.

When you get to Maddy, you hold her tightly in your arms. "Mads. I missed you." Maddy buries her head in your neck, breathing in your scent. You hold her for a while longer before Rue uncomfortably clears her throat. You pull back awkwardly, turning to Jules and missing the silent conversation that Maddy and Kat have with their eyes.

"You must be the girlfriend. I'm Y/N. Now, at some point I'll probably give the protective older sister speech, but for now I just wanted to say thank you. You helped Rue get better, and that automatically puts you in my very good graces." Jules smiles at you and introduces herself. She holds out her hand for you to shake, but you shake your head and pull her into a hug.

Once everyone has been greeted, you clap your hands and exclaim, "Okay. I just stopped by to say hi, and also to tell Rue to be home for dinner. Invite your girlfriend. I am going to head out then-" Maddy can't seem to stop herself as she blurts out, "Stay."

All heads turn to look at her, each showing a different expression. Kat's and Lexi's displaying shock and realization, Cassie's and Rue's lean more towards confusion, and yours surprisingly holding nervousness and an expression that Maddy can't quite place. She looks down at her feet, feeling embarrassment quickly taking over her, but thank goodness Lexi notices and covers for her as fast as she can.

"Yeah! We haven't seen you in months, Y/N/N. Hang around for a bit. Please?" You sigh and nod, and the girls cheer before dragging you upstairs. You hear Suze laughing behind you as you get pulled towards the inevitable interrogation about college, love, and probably sex.

---

Almost as soon as you sit down, the questions come at you, rapid fire. You gesture for them to slow down before pointing at Kat and saying, "Go." She nods before shooting a mischievous look towards Maddy.

"Any special someone? I bet the girls are all vying for your attention. You're fucking hot." You laugh at her boldness and shake your head. "Nah. Haven't met the right person yet. Went on a couple dates, most of them turned into one night stands or they just didn't work out."

Maddy can't help but be happy with your answer, even if she was jealous of the women who were able to sleep with you before she could. You catch sight of her elated expression, which makes you smile. If you were being honest with yourself, ever since you had met her, you had hosted a healthy crush on the feisty latina woman.

You thought it would fade when you left home, and when it didn't, you tried to distract yourself with other women. That didn't work either. Every time you slept with someone else, you couldn't help but imagine that it was Maddy underneath you, moaning your name.

You are snapped out of your fantasy when Rue calls your name. "Huh? What's up?" She shakes her head, smiling. "You're still so fucking spacey. Pay attention. Cassie asked about hot dudes or some shit." You laugh, pulling out your phone, which causes multiple confused looks to form on their faces.

You pull up a couple of pictures of your friends from college, passing your phone to Cassie. You point to two brunette boys, a blonde, and a raven haired boy. "Okay, so. The tall brunette is Jack, the short one is Liam. The blonde is Turner. That last one is Ben. All of them are single and honestly, quite annoyingly desperate. You're hot, you basically have your pick."

Cassie 'ooos', and the rest of the girls crowd around to look at the boys besides Maddy. You glance over at her before moving to sit next to her. "Your not still dating that fucker, Nate, are you? Not looking at the boys cause you're being loyal to the asswhipe?" She lets out a small laugh, shaking her head.

"Nah. I've been into someone else for a while now." You smile at her, rolling your head to the side. "Who? Give me a hint." Maddy pretends to think about it for a second. "It's... your mom. She's just too hot." You shove her shoulder good-naturedly, muttering, "Oh, fuck you. But seriously, who is it? I wanna know who I have to beat up to get into your heart."

Maddy practically chokes on her spit at your bold statement before trying to recover some shred of her dignity. "Well, you can't really physically beat yourself up, can you?" She watches as the smile on your face grows before you grab her phone from the floor in front of her and hold it in front of her face to unlock it. She watches you, confused, but all you say is, "Putting my number in. Got important shit to text you about."

---

Mads 💖

You

if u work on a farm, and ur job is to take care of chickens, u are a chicken tender

Mads 💖

this is the important shit that u needed to text me about?

You

just a thought, dont be a hater. also, nope. im taking you out tomorrow night. be ready at 7ish, i'll stop by ur place.

Mads 💖

do i even have a choice?

You

yes ofc, but im assuming you want to go out with me.

Mads 💖

true

aight i'll be ready and waiting

You

can't wait 😉

---

Maddy stood anxiously by her front door, waiting for the doorbell to ring. She had spent at least 3 hours on the phone with Kat trying to get ready. She finally settled on a revealing but not 'too slutty' dress, in the words of Kat.

When the ring of the bell finally sounds throughout the house, Maddy practically throws the door open. There you are, standing slightly in shock, prepared to ring the bell again. You are wearing a white dress shirt with the top buttons undone and nice black pants.

You stare at Maddy for a few seconds, in awe of her. You finally shake yourself out of your stupor, holding your arm out so that she can hook hers around it. "Your chariot awaits, M'Lady." Maddy pushes you playfully, and you grin back at her.

"We have a great night planned. First, a restaurant. Then, a moonlight stroll on this super dope path I found. Then we can do whatever you want." Maddy nods excitedly, and the two of you hop in the car and head towards the restaurant that you had chosen.

---

The restaurant had been delicious, and Maddy couldn't help but swoon at your chivalry and adorable charm. You seemed to have put up a confident front for the rest of your friends, but deep down you were still that same shy, insanely intelligent kid that she used to watch.

As you walk through the park, you chat with her about the most random things. Suddenly you stop, forcing Maddy to back pedal so that she is even with you again. She is about to ask you why you had stopped, but then she catches sight of what you are looking at.

A beautiful pond that is sparkling with moonlight is directly in front of you and you can barely stop yourself from moving forwards and closer towards it. Maddy comes up beside you and slowly weaves her fingers through yours. You turn to say something to her, but your breath gets caught in your throat. The moonlight is reflecting perfectly on her, making her hair shimmer and her eyes glitter.

Instead of speaking, you quickly move your hands to cup her cheeks and kiss her quickly. When you realize what you had just done, you pull back quickly and try to turn away, apologizing profusely. Maddy just shakes her head and cuts off your apologetic rambling with another more intense kiss.

You freeze for a second before melting into the feeling of her soft lips on yours. She tastes like strawberries, and you feel her grab your face to try to pull you closer. Your hands find her waist, and you pull her flush against you, causing her to let out a soft sigh. She nips your lip, which makes you groan, and soon your tongues are intertwined and dancing together.

When you finally have to pull away for a breath of air, you rest your forehead on hers. "That was..." Maddy nods, finishing, "Really good. Really, really good." You let out an elated laugh, pulling her in for one more short but still intense kiss. When you look into her eyes, you ask, "Will you finally be mine? I really like you Mads. So... be mine?"

Maddy grins at you, replying, "I'm already yours." You reconnect your hands, and walk the rest back to your car, enjoying each other's company. Since you had met her, your goal had been to be Maddy's person. In high school, you had never had the confidence. But now, you finally got the girl.

---

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#maddy perez x you #maddy perez x y/n #maddy perez x reader #maddy perez #maddy perez imagine #rue bennett x y/n #rue bennett x you #rue bennett x reader #rue bennett #euphoria imagine #euphoria x reader #euphoria x you #euphoria x y/n #euphoria

[josefavomjaaga]

Ida meets Ney in Russia

I dimly remember that somebody (Cadmus?) mentioned they wanted to read more from Ida. So here’s a brief snippet of Ida – for once – getting in trouble with her hero, of Ney scolding her and … being jealous of Eugène?

The meeting takes place somewhen in late 1812 or early 1813, as much as it’s possible to tell from Ida’s chronological rollercoaster ride. In any case, after or at the end of the Russian retreat. Because of course Ida had joined the Russian campaign as well.

And not only she. If any tumblerinas here plan on learning how to time travel and want to go back to see the Grande Armée march towards Moscow, they don’t need to worry about incognitos. Most likely they would barely be noticed, as apparently there were wagonloads of groupies following their heroes around.

Okay: four. But that’s only those ladies Ida travelled with. Plus, two of them died on the way back.

Ida was particularly fond of a Polish-Lithuanian girl named Nidia, as madly in love with general Montbrun as Ida was in love with Ney. Not that either of the two got to see their idol much during the march. As a matter of fact, the first thing Nidia learned before entering Moscow was that Montbrun had been killed at the battle of Borodino. Other than that, Ida claims to have had a bad feeling about this city from the start:

As we entered Moscow, occupied at last by our troops, this immense city seemed to us like a vast tomb; its empty streets, deserted buildings and solemnity of destruction were heartbreaking. Despite the pomp of victory, I felt struck by I don't know what new kind of melancholy when I saw it; the flags seemed to me gloomy and almost surrounded by funeral crêpes and black forebodings. We were staying in Rue Saint-Pétersbourg, near the Miomonoff palace, which was soon occupied by Prince Eugène. The sight of this young hero and the cheers of the soldiers, who adored him, gave us back all the illusions of victory.

Okay, so I just added this because it’s so rare to see Eugène receive some praise. (I should also mention that the adored young hero was growing bald at an alarming rate and that his bad teeth were killing him.)

As a matter of fact, Ida claims that Nidia was especially interested in Eugène because he was rumoured to maybe become king of Poland (yes, another candidate). These rumours did really exist, Eugène mentions them in a letter to his wife before the campaign started. (And he also makes it pretty clear that these are just rumours and that he has not the slightest ambition to stay in this country. He may have used different vocabulary than Lannes but he didn’t like the region any better.)

The following night, Ida and Nidia wake up to a burning Moscow and are saved by soldiers of 4th corps. On the retreat, they seem to have followed headquarters as closely as possible, which was their safest bet to stay alive (because where the emperor is, there’s food and firewood and a resemblance of order) but still witness horrible tragedies. After the crossing of the Berezina, they apparently followed the remnants of Eugène’s 4th corps to Marienwerder, before Nidia says goodbye and goes back to defending Poland.

But before, on the way, at Valutina (?), Ida finally sees Ney again

At this point, after the retreat, Ida at least starts to question her decision to follow the Grande Armée around. Or something like that.

I have just recounted my fatigue, my difficulties and my perils in a war beyond human endurance, because of the new aspects it seemed to give to destruction and death. A powerful feeling made me undertake everything and endure everything. Why was I going to face the hazards of a campaign? Why was I going to expose the weakness of a woman to the rigours of a climate of iron? In order to obtain yet another glance from the one whose smile had always paid me for my military errands. This look was always like a world offered to my hopes; the dream alone of this reward had made possible all the impossibilities of time, distance, sex and fortune. My life was thus burnt for a few hours, still uncertain. I was giving up everything for a moment in space. Alas! this time, how I was going to regret this moment that had cost me so much to conquer! I had just gambled my existence for a flash of happiness, and this flash, the quickest of my life, became the cruelest.

I had to spend three fatal hours in a miserable shack on the outskirts of Volutina. My dress was so horrible that it was a real disguise. In a person dressed like that, one could hardly suspect a woman. Ney, however, only had to look my way to recognise me. To have been seen was enough to have been discovered. I was about to rush to the front of this first happiness; I was about to testify to the soul of my life how proud I was of this divination of friendship, of this perspicacity of memory, when words of an energy which was far from that of the feeling of which I was possessed, intimated to me the order of the most positive dismissal: "What are you doing here? What do you want? Go away quickly." With this address and a few short, curt rebukes about my reckless rage and my fury at following him everywhere, I only had the strength to reply: "It is a rage, indeed, but it is not at least the rage of pleasure or vanity," pointing to my coarse clothes and my face burnt by the sun and faded by fatigue. He took no notice of either the harangue or the costume. He was off and running. His displeasure at seeing me there was so great; he let it out so vividly that I thought he was going to push me back to the opposite bank of the Dniéper in his anger. Stunned by the reception, struck by lightning, I remained motionless for more than an hour, staring at him, thinking I saw him; he had disappeared without paying any more attention to me or worrying about me.

From which we can deduct that Ney was not a reader of Jane Austen novels. Otherwise he would have known that whenever you have behaved in a way that made a woman fall in love with you that’s f-ing your fault, monsieur!

In 1813, when I recalled to Marshal Ney this scene of such violent fury, followed by such cruel silence and abandonment, he told me that he had been so mortally frightened by the extravagance which had pushed me into the midst of so many perils and the licentiousness of an army, that he had even been tempted to beat me. Truth requires me to admit that the temptation had been so strong that he had, I believe, yielded to it a little; it was without his knowing it, for the great passions know neither all they want nor all they do. Anger is therefore still love, since it is as blind as fury.

Girl, get help. Seriously.

When we crossed the Dniéper at Serokodia, I could have had another word with him. A new laurel had just hidden his wrongs and healed my wound. I could have, I wanted to say to him: You have just added to your immortal glory here; you alone have just saved Frenchmen lost in deserts of ice; I would have liked to express to him what all parties repeat today, what posterity will proclaim on the ashes of the brave... But I stuck to the joy of hearing the distant cheers. There was then a little fear in my delirium for him, and I almost have the idea that I idolised him even more by fearing him in that way…

Did I mention the thing about getting help?

Yes, even the reproach was appreciated by my heart, and still seemed to me a tender interest. I found I don't know what pleasure in hearing myself scolded later for my association with Nidia, my marches and counter-marches with the Viceroy's troops. No matter how many times I told the Marshal that Eugène's protection had been focused exclusively on the young Lithuanian girl, and that I had slipped unnoticed into this benevolence, he took it into his head to believe nothing of these sincere protestations. To make him reconsider such a strongly conceived idea would have meant exposing myself to a repeat of the Dniéper order and military correction. I had no intention of trying the same pleasure twice. Finally, he saw the evidence of my attachment, and he found the generosity to prove this belated but strong conviction to me [...]

By calling her his brother-in-arms, by the way. And this, I believe, really meant a lot to Ida.

#napoleon's marshals #michel ney #ida saint-elme #memoirs #napoleon's family #eugene de beauharnais #russian retreat #russian campaign #russia 1812 #also #we have a phone call by a certain vice-queen interested in the exact definition of the word “protection” in this particular context

[dolphin1812]

Cosette is happy! And I love that Toussaint sleeps consistently and deeply.

Not only is Cosette happy - she’s much more balanced than Marius, still putting lots of time and thought into her relationship with her father. It’s part of why Jean Valjean doesn’t suspect anything, true, but it’s also good in that she (unlike Marius) doesn’t toss aside her relationships in favor of romance.

Courfeyrac’s frustration is very understandable, though. He doesn’t know what Marius is doing exactly – just that he’s with a woman – and he lives with him (and comes back late every night). Marius refusing to communicate was a problem before, but now he shares nothing and is too absorbed in his love.

And that absorption isn’t just bad for his friendship with Courfeyrac, which he seems to be neglecting. It’s bad for everything else in his life, with even his father’s memory being pushed aside. It would be great if he stopped helping M Thénardier, but he’s a bit oblivious to Éponine, who’s only been kind to him and is a better recipient of that supposed debt. As a Romantic character in love, Marius’ passion is so all-consuming that he can’t uphold the other parts of his life – namely, friendships – and becomes accidentally hurtful. It’s frustrating to read.

And Éponine’s presence is heartbreaking. In a sense, it’s a bad sign; she stopped Patron Minette from investigating the Rue Plumet too closely before, but she represents the unresolved question of the Gorbeau House. Marius and Cosette aren’t guilty of anything with regards to that, but the mystery around it is still an obstacle to their relationship, as a good relationship would include the other people important to them. 

Gorbeau also reminds us of Marius’ poverty. He may only think of Cosette now, but he’s in an awful state, with his clothes being worn down and his friend being his only housing choice.

And poor Éponine! It especially hurts when she finds she can’t smile. His repeated formality hurts her so much, and her chance for conversation is gone.

#les mis letters #lm 4.8.3 #cosette #toussaint #jean valjean #marius pontmercy #courfeyrac #éponine thénardier

[emyn-arnens]

How about Aegnor and warmth for the writing prompts?

Aegnor & Angrod, 1.1k

The sounds of the coals popping in the iron braziers, the fire crackling in the hearth, and the soft scratching of Angrod’s quill filled the silence of the room as Aegnor polished his armor. The pleasant warmth of the room and the monotony of his task might have lulled him into comfortable quietude, but for the thoughts that warred within him and turned his mind this way and that.

Across the room, Angrod pushed away the small pile of correspondence he had responded to and turned to collect the mending he had set aside earlier, examining his previous stitches. 

Aegnor hesitated, the words that he wanted to say crowding on the tip of his tongue even as his mind urged him to stay silent. Stalling, he held his breastplate up to the light of the fire and watched the reflection of the firelight flicker upon its burnished surface.

“You wish to say something,” came Angrod’s voice from the other side of the room. “Speak.”

Aegnor sighed and lowered the breastplate to look at his brother. “Do I wear my thoughts so plainly?”

The corner of Angrod’s mouth curved as he threaded his needle. “You were polishing with more vigor than the task demands.”

Aegnor set the breastplate aside, using the moment to gather his thoughts before he spoke. “How did you know that you wished to marry Edhellos—that what you felt for her could not be mistaken for aught else, and that you must either act upon it or forever rue not doing so and think ever of what might have been?”

Angrod regarded him over the sleeve of the tunic he mended. “Do you ask because of Boromir’s eldest daughter, Andreth the Wise-woman?”

Aegnor’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Have I worn my affections plainly, too?”

“Not to others, but I know you better than any other,” Angrod said, returning to his mending. “I have seen your eye upon her at the feasts, and you have spent much of this visit out upon the heaths and hidden in the woods. Doubtless you know better how the birds and beasts of Dorthonion fare than how its people do.” Though he jested, his voice was warm.

But all mirth faded as he looked at Aegnor again, and his voice when he spoke now was no louder than the popping of the coals or the crackling of the fire. “But I need not tell you that such a union would end in great grief, Aikanáro. There is no painless friendship between Eldar and Edain, much less the deep love of marriage.” Angrod’s gaze was gentle and compassionate. “Though she is young now, Andreth’s years are few, and the grief of the sundering would be fast on the heels of whatever brief joy you may find together.”

Aegnor smiled sadly. “That I well know, and it is that which complicates the matter, for I know my heart and what it would have me do, but that which I know in my heart is tempered by the voice of my mind, telling me that such desires should never be.”

Angrod watched Aegnor but said nothing, and his silence encouraged Aegnor to continue.

“I had thought that I would never marry, for my heart turned toward none in my youth, and the grief of the kinslayings and the bitter crossing drove any such concerns wholly from my mind. I was content with guarding the leaguer and protecting these lands, but now I find myself at a crossroads, and I do not know in which direction I should turn.” Aegnor twisted the polishing wax in his hands. “My heart tells me that I should not squander what I have found, nor the short time that love lays to my hand, but my mind tells me that the grief such a course would bring would be my ending. 

“And were I to follow my heart’s bidding, where should I take her?” He moved to stand in front of the fire and clutched at the mantle, peering into the flames. “North to the siege and draw her nearer to danger, or flee to the east or south and so leave everyone I and she hold dear? Were I to do so, the guilt of not holding to what has been entrusted to me would dog my heels even in the short time of joy I would have while Andreth lives, and yet were I to choose my duty, I could not escape the guilt of forsaking what has grown between us. The choice before me is bitter and full of woe, and I must lose something I cherish in the choosing."

Aegnor fell silent for a moment, and the snapping of the fire filled the silence. When he spoke again, his voice was softer. “I know what Andreth would wish for me to choose, and I would choose it though it bring me grief until the breaking of the world, but for the warning in my heart that the leaguer will not hold, and my presence will be needed at the front ere her years have run their course.

"If the leaguer broke during her twilight years, it would grieve me beyond words to leave her alone and unaided, defenseless and dependent on the goodwill of others in the midst of great danger. Better it would seem to take her away from the north, but were I to do so, I would have the blood of all Dorthonion on my hands.” Aegnor closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the mantle, and he heard Angrod's soft step move toward him.

Angrod was silent for a long moment, and his voice, when he spoke, was quiet. “I can give you no wise counsel, Aikanáro, for I have no wisdom in this matter, nor, I deem, do any of our people, for such love has never existed between Eldar and Edain, nor, perhaps, was it ever meant to. But such words do not ease the burden of such a choice, nor do they bring comfort.” 

Angrod turned and clasped his brother’s shoulder. “So I will say this instead: Know that whatever choice you make, I will help you bear the burden of it, as I can, for it is a burden and grief none should bear alone.”

Aegnor placed his hand over Angrod’s. “That is a comfort greater than words could provide.”

crossposted to AO3 | send me a character and a prompt and get a ficlet

#the silmarillion #athrabeth #aegnor #angrod #andreth #my fic #tolkien fic #silm fic #thanks for the ask! #this was supposed to be sweet and light and then it got very sad and all of my aegnor headcanons crawled in and made themselves at home

[aegor-bamfsteel]

What do you think about the book 'A Caution for young girls' written by Lady Coryanne Wylde?

Nope, anon, I don’t like it.

I feel that some feminist critics talked to GRRM about the lack of known female authors in Westeros as compared to the real life European Middle Ages; women—often of the cloth—were writing since at least the 8th century about their relationships with G-d, medicine (particularly related to women), advice on rulership, plays, biographies/pilgrimages, rules for their monastery, philosophy, fantastical long poems, both plainchants and polyphonic music; it’s estimated that 10% of all troubadours may’ve been women. The first autobiography written in English is supposedly Margery Kempe’s, dictated to a scribe in about 1440. In Westeros, until the release of Fire and Blood, all known authors were male (with the exception of Daenys the Dreamer, who wrote the lost book Signs and Portents) and there were only a handful of professional female singers (it’s unknown if they wrote their own songs). However, as I’ve explained in another post about GRRM going out of his way to mock certain American feminist iconography in Fire and Blood, he introduces 2 alleged female authors with Coryanne Wylde and Rue, both allegedly septas…and they write about 1) her alleged “erotic adventures” including being sold into sex slavery or 2) a supposedly inaccurate and sexually-charged biography of a great man who was probably her lover. What variety, especially compared to real life female authors.

I’ll mention that the bulk of “A Caution for Young Girls”, while allegedly written by Coryanne, probably wasn’t. The first copy appeared in 90, about 40 years after she’d disappeared in the Disputed Lands. There are four versions of it around, and the first shorter one that says she was the handmaid to a queen (Alysanne) and paramour to a young knight (Howard Bullock) who fled to Essos at least match up with what we know of her life. The others are longer, since apparently mummers decided to add more erotic incidents to the story, probably those after she’s been abandoned in Myr and seemingly enslaved. “A Caution for Young Girls”, like the famous 1936 film “Tell Your Children” (better known as Reefer Madness), belongs to the genre of faux-morality exploitation; allegedly being a warning for young women to not engage in intercourse with married men or else facing terrible consequences; however, considering Baelor ordered copies burnt and it’s more popular with brothel people and mummers than the pious, it’s really a series of titillating (or, considering it’s known for depravity, possibly including disgusting or anatomically impossible sex scenes ala Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom) “adventures” that allegedly (but probably not, if you think about it) happened to one woman. And just like Reefer Madness, which is laughably inaccurate about the effects of marijuana, “A Caution for Young Girls” seems to gloss over the real horrors of slavery in Volantis, Lys, Qarth, and the Basilisk Isles in favor of eroticism. Considering slavery is a huge part in the main series, and a lot of Book 5 is devoted to how cruel and unstable it is, with enslaved women treated as sexually expendable trash…having one of the few female writers mentioned in the series seemingly make light of it isn’t that amusing to me. Yes, cruel reality being made palatable into songs is a big part of the series, but Fire and Blood isn’t written in a way that makes us empathize with Coryanne’s pain or struggles the way it does the sympathetic characters of the main series.

That the first English autobiography by a woman involved visions from her faith, her struggle with postpartum depression, meeting with other great Holy Women (Julian of Norwich), getting tried for heresy due to her faith multiple times but managing to be acquitted each time…there’s no comparison between Kempe and GRRM’s alleged female autobiographer. Kempe is her own person; Coryanne is a vehicle for sexual adventures (most of which are probably made up by people unaware of the reality of slavery), just like Rue is the scribe writing about the sexual adventures of Alyn Stu Velaryon. GRRM could’ve taken more from history and had in-universe female authors write about their visions (not just Daenys), music, plays, woods witches writing down medical knowledge, rules for motherhouse living, advice on government, etc; it would’ve gone a long way to convincing me Alysanne actually made positive lasting change for women, had she patronized female authors or artists (why is Coryanne the only one of her companions who wrote anything when most of them were septas?)

I can’t help but feel that some feminist critic complained to GRRM about no in-universe female authors, and he wrote Coryanne and Rue—known for highly inaccurate sexually charged biographies—to piss them off. Between the Maiden’s Day Cattle Show, the watered down versions of famous historical women (Eleanor of Aquitaine got imprisoned for 16 years because she encouraged her sons to rebel against their father, contrast Alysanne Targaryen; Mathilde of Boulogne rescued Stephen I’s cause by raising an army to chase Empress Matilda out of the city, then exchanging Stephen for Matilda’s strongest supporter, contrast Helaena/Alicent; Joan of Arc led the French to victory within months and defended herself Heroically on trial for heresy, contrast Jeyne Poore/Jonquil Darke), then naming an incompetent easily fooled knight who got brutally killed after the creator of Wonder Woman (Professor William Moulton Marston)…GRRM just showed how little he cares for the historical tradition that have inspired Western women for generations. Coryanne’s “writing” is just one example of that mockery.

#ask #anti grrm #anti fire and blood #female characters #male writers #rants #gif #feminism

[breathlesswinds]

Hello! I love your visual novel already sm but I wanted to ask how your thought process worked? Did you think of the characters first and then the whole story/place or the other way around? And will the full game be free or not?

Hello! This is Amelia, the game's writer. I somewhat spoke about this in more depth in this post here, but Doris & I created the concept/setting first and then created the characters around that. I remember excitedly exchanging ideas with her, and she would create sketches of those ideas, and those would inspire new ideas… it was a very fun, collaborative back-and-forth.

Here's an excerpt from that post I wrote regarding the creation of the love interests:

I wanted four love interests who would be completely distinct and compelling but still reflect the themes of Breathless Winds. The game’s story is about change and nature, so we wanted our characters to have a relationship with each of these concepts. I wanted to have a way to reflect ‘change’ and ‘nature’ in one - this led to me theming the love interests after the changing seasons. Although “the four seasons” is a very common theme, I thought that specifically the transition of seasons - Spring to Summer, Summer to Fall - would allow for more depth than “This person is serene but also cold, like Winter.”

The four love interests were initially distinguished around these themes (I also based them around the four humors to an extent, haha- I was really averse to having any of them overlap too much). Then, we decided things like their relation to the heroine, their role on the island, their backstory, etc.

However, I think that the story has shifted to better suit the characters as we've gone through development as well. The final routes look quite different from my original outlines in ways that I think are much better. Sometimes, I'll be writing and I'll think, "wouldn't it make more sense and be more interesting for Lantana to do this thing instead?", or so on, and then I'll try to adapt my original story structure around this emergent concept. Breathless Winds is a character-driven story, so our characters shape the plot quite a bit.

In terms of visual design, the character designs were mostly thought up by Doris, with some of my input. Doris wanted the designs to remain fairly simple while each having a unique 'appeal'. Gallardia is meant to be a big, cuddly lumberjack kind of guy while Rue is meant to evoke this idea of a gothy trans woman. Each of the love interests have some elements which reference characters or enemies from other fantasy games that were inspiring to us.

Although Poppy presents as a man through much of the game, we wanted her to still look like an otome or yuri heroine. Her hair style is meant to make her head shaped like an egg, which is the only egg-related joke we allowed ourselves.

I'm afraid that Breathless Winds will not be free on release, but we offer a free demo of the game's introduction as well as a free route preview demo-- now with scenes from all four routes! We'll also be offering a giveaway closer to launch, so please keep your eyes peeled! Thank you all for all of your support.

#breathless winds #asks

[lady-snowbl00d]

Undisclosed Desires and Power Plays

Coriolanus Snow x OC Warnings~ This chapter has no warnings. If continued, this will probably get spicier than paprika hendl though (?) About ~ Post-TBOSAS. Takes place when Snow is Head Gamemaker and he has to work with someone who doesn't exactly like him. Enemies-to-enemies with weird shit going on. If you want me to continue or tag you in future chapters please reblog or comment! Just please let me know if you like this. Also: Posted on ao3 as well. Not beta-read. We die like Rue. Enjoy (hopefully)!

“You called for me, Mr. Snow?”

The way she said his name, her heavy intonation of those last three syllables as compared to the easy way she said the beginning of her sentence, made him seethe. He knew she was one of the many who did not like him much. He also knew, however, that one day he would be President, and addressed as so by her and everyone else.

For now, he would relish in his role as Head Gamemaker.

“Ms. Fontaine.”

He nodded his head and gave a quick signal with his hand to motion for her to sit before his desk.

“Please, take a seat.”

Demetria Fontaine stood still for a moment, then looked down with a small smile and sat down in front of him. She tugged at the waist of her shirt, smoothed out her skirt, and folded her hands on her lap. She looked at him in a sort of unnerving way. She was proper, polished, and even had the polite hint of a smile in the corner of her lips, but her eyes were void of much. Disconnected. Funny he would notice something like that. But he had grown accustomed to that – inspecting people like the deceitful specimens they were.

“I wonder if you realize the role you’ve been given for the second year in a row is important to our efforts.”

She didn’t respond, only tilted her chin up a bit.

She was one of the Gamemakers working with him, or well, under him (he much preferred the term). She was the most skilled at the data and technological aspects, and in spite of the fact that she was…privileged and likely given her role due to her name and finances, she was skilled.

Although anyone was replaceable. It was good to remind those under him that they were. Especially those who bothered or disliked him.

“The more cooperative you are, the more you deliver to the Games, the better your future will be.”

He smiled, an easy, kind smile, and tilted his head a bit.

Demetria found it unsettling.

“Yes, I am well-aware. I was born into this, Mr. Snow. Have I done something wrong?” she smirked a bit, then stopped abruptly.

“Did I say that?” he blinked. He allowed a melodious sarcasm to enter his tone.

“Of course not, the Capitol is very keen on their choice of words,” she said in something close to a whisper, leaning forward towards him as if she were sharing gossip with a friend from University. Her eyes were even a bit wider then. It was almost comical.

Coriolanus almost smirked. Intrusive thoughts flashed through his mind briefly, in reaction to her poisonous words. He shook off his thoughts – and her words -- with a tsk, and looked back at her as she straightened back on her seat. Sorry – his seat.

“You work very well,” he assured her. “I only mean to remind you that we can all do better. Don’t you think?”

“I agree. We can all do better,” she said simply.

And he was unsure what she meant by that. Her hands remained still on her lap, shoulders back in good posture. Something irked him about her character, something about her seemingly physical stoicism made it hard to read her. He would look over her more if he could, but he wished to use their current eye contact to his advantage.

“I’m so glad you feel that way,” he said as he leaned back and looked into her dark eyes. For a moment there was only silence.

“Am I dismissed?” she said.

“No,” he said smoothly.

On his desk there were roses, paper, writing utensils, and a bowl with some green apples to snack on. He reached over and took one.

The young woman before him inhaled and exhaled sharply. A small crack in her demeanor, and it produced him great pleasure to see it - her chest rose and fell unevenly with the effort. He took a bite of the apple and Demetria’s eyes wandered to his lips. She withheld a sneer of some sort, obviously thinking – and rightly so – that he was wasting her time to assert his power over her. To remind her of who she worked under – and that she was being unreasonable to dislike or distrust him, who had gained such authority.

He relaxed in his seat and took a second bite. After a few moments, he regarded her with another kind smile.

“You are dismissed,” he said finally, raising his eyebrows a bit before taking a third bite.

She stood, probably a bit quicker than she intended to, and gave him a courteous nod before exiting the office.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x oc #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #the hunger games #hunger games #tom blyth

[practically-an-x-man]

Tell me about Calypso, Fangs, and/or Maleficent?

Thank you!! These are some of my more interesting ideas, I'm eager to talk about them!!

Under the cut for space :D

Calypso is the nickname for a future OC x OC Good Omens fic (yes, you read that right, this one's not an OC x Canon fic! what a surprise lol).

It involves an angel named Ithuriel/"Rue", the angel of community and music, who falls in love with a human woman (named Calypso) in Ancient Rome. They have a few years of beautiful romance, and Heaven doesn't pay much attention to it... until Calypso finds out that Rue is an angel, and Heaven punishes them both. Rue becomes Fallen, and Calypso is blinded (for looking upon an angel without being a prophet) and has her memory wiped. Rue keeps an eye on her from afar, keeping her safe and extending her life and even comforting her on her deathbed (though Cal doesn't remember her, and doesn't even entirely realize she's there).

For centuries she grieves, not only for her lost love but the love that was taken from her in Heaven's punishment, and then... in the modern age, she's out busking in a local park and finds a familiar voice singing along to the ancient hymnal she's playing. As it turns out, Heaven's punishment was out of line, and God made Calypso an angel after her death (the angel of small pleasures, like all the times she brought Rue a meal while she was out busking in front of her restaurant).

____

Fangs is an idea I came up with after reading the Southern Book Club's Guide to Slaying Vampires. It takes the book's themes of subtle abuse/manipulation and how the most "perfect" homes often house a darker side. One of the main characters in the book, James Harris, is a vampire who appears outwardly very charming but secretly is the cause of a lot of distress, and hardcore manipulation, to the other members of the town. In the book, he's a bachelor, but I wanted to explore the idea of him manipulating a romantic partner the same way he manipulates the other people he comes across.

Enter Rembrandt "Remy" Duvall, a werewolf from the 16th century and James' longtime romantic partner. Remy believes they're entirely in love - he's gentle, he's romantic, he helps her through her painful and dangerous lycanthropic episodes - but a deeper dive into their relationship proves that James Harris has only been using her for his own gains. People are more accepting of a couple than a single man in these sleepy towns, it keeps the illusion up, and he's been feeding on her when other victims are lacking.

Eventually, Remy does become a part of the titular Southern Book Club, and having positive female relationships does lead to her understanding the manipulation and abuse she's been tolerating for so many years now. The club takes care of James Harris, ensuring he'll never come back... and Remy, once she's learned to be her own person again, ends up striking up a connection with one of the other members of the book club (who canonically divorces her husband at the end of the book, for his similar manipulation tactics, and I want her and Remy to become life partners and support each other)

____

Maleficent is the code name for another unwritten fic, though this one does have an actual title: Of Cliffs and Deserts. It's primarily linked to Maleficent: Mistress of Evil, where we get more backstory into the Dark Fey and where they come from.

This fic in particular starts with Sable, a young Dark Fey from the rocky, windy cliffs at the far edge of the continent, who's moved to the Nest with her father after being discovered and attacked by human invaders. Because her home biome is incredibly stormy and windy, she's a skilled flier even as a child, and only gets better as she ages. Her other principle skill is camouflage: her particular branch of the Dark Fey had their magic evolve into the casting of illusions instead of growing plants, since there was such little plant life on the stormy cliffs where she's from.

She strikes up an immediate friendship with Borra (they're both about 6-7 at this point), which ends up becoming an incredibly strong bond that lasts years. They're inseparable... until Sable is seventeen, and her aging and chronically-ill father decides that the Moors will be a better place for them than the Nest. She goes with him, afraid he'll get hurt if he's on his own, and promises that she'll be back as soon as she can.

Two months later, an injured Fey from the colony that went to the Moors comes flying back to the Nest, warning them that humans came and slaughtered every Fey they saw, including all of the Dark Fey there. Borra is, justifiably, heartbroken, and it's part of what eventually prompts him to become the leader of the Dark Fey and call for war against the humans.

However, unbeknownst to the Nest, two Dark Fey survived - Maleficent, of course, hidden away in the depths of the Moors; and Sable, who had her wings cut off and was made into a "human" servant girl for a wealthy lord. Her illusion magic is captured in an amulet, which provides such a strong illusion that not only does she appear completely human, she genuinely believes herself to be Samera, a human girl who tends the queen's orchards.

Long story short, during the war they will reunite, and Borra eventually starts to suspect the illusion magic at play and tries to break Sable out of it.

That's all I'll say for now, I've rambled long enough.

#my friends!!! #answered asks #ask game #my writing

[littlemisspascal]

The Before

Pairing: Ruescott Melshi x Female Reader

Word Count: 4000+

Summary: There is a story before, when, and after Keef Girgo enters your life. This is the Before.

Rating: M (18+, minors please do not engage!)

Warnings: Prison/Narkina 5 storyline but an AU where woman inmates are assigned to each unit as 'peacekeepers', language, established relationship, non-descriptive smut + references of smut, possessiveness, rough handling, biting, references of violence + blood, non-descriptive suicide (not major character death)

- Reader has no official name and no physical traits described in detail. However, she is picked up twice + is implied to be shorter than Melshi (because I'm a sucker for height differences)

Author Note: So...Idk what happened, I just watched Andor and something about the prison arc really resonated with me. And I really loved Melshi’s scenes and his connection with Cassian (or, Keef, I guess technically lol) so I decided to give writing for him a shot. I am not a smut writer, it’s just not for me, but I wanted to also try to step outside my usual comfort zone a little bit too when writing and thus---this fic was born. Hope someone enjoys it 😊

Special thanks to @beecastle for beta reading and encouraging me 💜

The When

There is a scar across the top of Melshi’s hand that flashes silvery-white whenever the light catches it just right. You’ve been mesmerized by it for almost a dozen shifts now. His hands, in general, have starred in many of your dreams: the sandpaper quality of his skin, thick fingers covered in calluses, how they flex and fidget when he works. 

Once upon a time your mind used to torture you by fantasizing what those hands would feel like touching you. If he’d be rough or gentle. How lucky you are now to know reality is better than even your wildest fantasies.

From the other side of the table, where he’s twisting a bolt into place with a hydrospanner, Melshi’s eyes lift to meet yours. The sleeves of his uniform are rolled up, exposing pale skin rippling as his muscles tighten and slacken with every movement. You track the faint blue lines of veins along the tender flesh of his wrists, up his forearms, imagining you can follow them all the way to his heart. The whooshing of blood pumping in your ears is nearly loud enough to block out the ruckus of machinery sounds. 

Nearly.

Melshi’s brow twitches, a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it show of concern. An unspoken question only you hear. What’s wrong? 

Other prisoners have described this place as hell, but you're not so sure. Hell is pain and anguish on an infinite loop—a fitting description to a T, except for one glaring exception. Narkina 5 has Melshi. So it can’t be hell, you reckon, because Melshi is the best thing that’s ever happened to you. He’s your everything.

Nothing, absolutely nothing can compete with what you have within these walls. Fresh air, sunshine, the smell of the dirt after it rains. You’d trade them all if it meant staying by his side.

You give the smallest shake of your head. Nothing. An even subtler quirk of an eyebrow. Thinking.

There’s more you could say. A whole book of dialogue exchanged in shrugs, facial tics, and flaring nostrils. Melshi would follow along with every nonexistent word. 

But you don’t need to say anything else. Melshi understands your silences too.

He winks, sly as a fox. 

Back to work, little dreamer.

—

The view outside the window is the same above as it is below, dozens of skybridges full of men standing in lines with a single woman spotted here and there amongst them. You press your forehead against the glass, reminiscent of your childhood days on commercial flights. Behind you, Melshi stands alert, keeping an eye on Kino shouting orders further up ahead, ready to pull you back in line at a second’s notice. He holds your hand, thumb absently rubbing circles.

For a moment, you contemplate stealing his attention. Look, Rue, you’d say, tapping at the window, gesturing to the gaps between the ugly facility where water pours down in torrents, breathtaking in its intensity. And Melshi would turn his head, dark eyes burning like a wildfire, and you’d forget the view immediately, discovering a far more beautiful sight.

But Kino opens his mouth again and you’re tugged back in line and the moment’s gone. 

—

One morning, Ulaf gives you a scrutinizing look, his aged eyes dark and full of knowing, and says, “He’s it for you, isn’t he?”

The two of you walk side by side to the work ring, your turn to make sure he doesn’t get pushed around by the other prisoners. Up ahead, Melshi looks back every other step, glaring at anyone who gets too close to you, softening when he catches you smiling. 

“Yes,” you say simply, feeling warm all over. “He is.”

—

You’ve hit another milestone. Your sentence is now in the double digits. It’s not the lowest on the level, that honor goes to Ulaf, but still, not everyone lasts this long. All the Table Five guys come up and pat you on the back when they hear. All of them, except for Melshi.

You get it—or you think you do, at least. Because your time together has felt like a bubble, a separate realm from the rest of the universe. This milestone is a ticking bomb threatening to destroy that.

This milestone is one step closer to a goodbye.

“It’s inevitable, dream. Our ending was written from the start,” Melshi says, and goes into his cell. Lights out is near. You’re standing on the floor, arms crossed over your chest, loathing the tense points of his shoulder blades beneath the white and orange scrubs.

“Don’t say that.” 

“Why not? We both know it’s the truth.”

You stomp your foot and Melshi shoots you a look, squinting like he doesn’t recognize you anymore. You meet his stare unflinchingly.

He turns away a beat later, sighing through his nose. “C’mon, get inside.”

And that should be the end of it. You should let go of your churning frustration and join him in bed. Both of you should just keep on pretending everything’s fine, fall back smoothly into the same routines, and when your final shift comes you’ll leave without hesitation, never looking back. Just like the woman who left before you and the woman who left before her. 

You’re not like those other women, though. Everyone’s said so—you still smile, still laugh. Still dream. So you remain motionless, even as the buzzer rings out and the floor lights blink. 

“Quit fooling around, dream,” Melshi snaps, eyes darting between the floor and your face. His nostrils flare, mouth hard, but you know him better than anyone, see the cracks of worry behind his steely anger. “Either come here or get in your cell.”

Your eyes narrow. 

“Dream.”

The overhead bulbs switch off.

“Dreamer.” His fear is blatant now, the whites of his eyes shining. 

He’s not the only anxious one. Inmates are leaning out of their cells all along the block, some shouting at you to move, others watching with bated breath for a possible show of sparks and your bloodcurdling wails. You can feel Kino’s gaze drilling holes into you, and you know he knows nothing he says or does will influence you to move.

The only person who has that power is right in front of you.

Melshi.

The floor lights flicker their final warning.

Melshi, who’s snatching you around the waist and hauling you off the floor, all but throwing you into the safety of his cell. Melshi, who’s crowding you against the wall, grip harsh enough there’s sure to be bruises in the morning. Melshi who doesn’t want to say goodbye either.

“There are no inevitabilities with us. All we can depend on is each other, Rue,” you say, tilting your head back to lock gazes. He’s breathing harshly, chest heaving, but his eyes, oh his eyes are shining stars.

Defenses torn apart, emotions ripple across his face, one after the other like skipping stones. Anger, misery, panic, but underneath it all, what has your heart threatening to burst, is understanding. His right hand leaves your waist, seizing hold of your chin, forcing you to stay still. As if you’d rather be anywhere else. 

“Don’t you ever do something so reckless like that again,” he says through gritted teeth, accent bolstered by his turmoil. His thumb ghosts over your bottom lip then, belying his temper. “I won’t always be there to save you.”

You lean forward in his hold, and the mere fact that he lets you sink into his personal space, hands winding around his neck, is proof enough of his devotion.

Your lips hover centimeters away from his, noses brushing, and a teasing smirk curls at the corner of your mouth as you peer up at half-lidded eyes dark with desire. 

“Liar.”

—

The scarlet beam of a welding laser scorches the tender skin of your knuckles. It isn’t a severe burn—merely a painful inconvenience—but Melshi frets over it the rest of the shift and even afterwards in the sanctity of your shared cell, cradling your hand in his with all the gentleness of handling a baby bird. 

“You need to stay focused, dreamer,” Melshi chastens, making a tsking sound with his tongue.

But you’ve been christened your moniker for a reason. Mind frequently drifting into the clouds far, far above, envisioning alternate lives beyond your underwater cage, making a home somewhere even the Empire and all its corruption cannot touch. 

You grin back at him. “I kind of like it actually. We match now.”

Melshi glances down at his scarred hand, almost like he’d forgotten the mark was there. Something dark passes over his face, a shadow of a triggered memory. A chapter of his life he’ll never tell you about.

“Just don’t make it a habit,” is all he says.

—

It’s funny, in a way, how certain little elements of prison life start to feel comforting in their familiarness. A fresh set of scrubs every third day. Morning stretches with an ample variety of bedheads. Taga’s signing lessons. The boom of Kino’s voice. Flavorless mush in a tube. Feet padding along on chilled Tunqstoid tiles. The shrill whirs and whines of machinery. Melshi’s fingers trailing heat along your body, breaths and moans blurring together in the dark. 

You wish you could reach out and bottle these moments, use them as painkillers on days when Table Five finishes last and the floor threatens to burn holes in the soles of your feet.

Jemboc nudges your arm with his, wondering where you drifted off to this time. You nudge him back, then shrug your shoulders. “Nowhere far.”

—

The guards don’t give two shits about what you and Melshi do after lights out. As long as you hold out your arm for a contraception injection at the start of each month and your “womanly influence” continues keeping the men of Unit Five-Two-D coolheaded, they won’t even care if you fucked a different cock every night. 

They don’t need to care what happens to anybody dressed in white and orange—they’re not paid to care, only to press a couple of buttons and announce ominous messages over the intercom throughout the day. And you hate it. Hate them and the entire Empire manipulating the galaxy like a giant puppet on a string. 

But you’re also a selfish creature. 

What you have with Melshi, your messy and beautiful bond, has not only been allowed to grow in this gaping blind spot, but flourish. It’s like fate intertwined your paths. Like Narkina 5 was always in the cards from the get-go. And in the rare moments where Melshi looks at you with unbridled affection, that selfish part of you will sing joyously because this belongs to you, this is all you need to be happy. Nothing else.

The rest of the galaxy could burn to ashes.

—

You watch Melshi sleep, sometimes. Quiet, lower lip clenched between your teeth, not wanting to wake him up and lose the moment of indulgence.

You know what will happen if he catches you. It’s happened twice before and panned out the exact same way. He’ll give you a bleary-eyed look once he sees you staring. Followed immediately by unintelligible grumbling and a hand pulling you forward, burying your face into the nook between his neck and collarbone. A wordless command to go to sleep.

Holding his hand in the waiting lines and blowing him in the dark for three years, Melshi doesn’t mind at all. But watching him sleep, curled on his side with an arm slung over your waist, marveling at how much younger he looks while he dreams as the midnight hours tick by—that triggers the transformation of your strong and hardened lover into someone shy and wrongfooted. It does something funny to your heart, even funnier to your mind.

Makes you wonder how different he’d be if you’d met Melshi outside of prison, what would stay the same. Would he bring you flowers on your first date? Would he whisper mine in your ear and hold you flush against his chest while thrusting deep inside you?

Perhaps that’s the truth of why you keep watching Melshi sleep, to see glimpses of this alternate persona buried beneath the familiar layers. 

You look up when fingers close around your wrist. And for a third time, you find yourself looking into the eyes of a stranger.

—

You first kissed Melshi on your 1,352th shift in the semi-privacy of the refresher, taking his face between your hands and smashing your mouths together.

It was all clashing teeth and needy tongues, and you tried to sink into the experience for all its worth, to let yourself be consumed entirely. But your heart pounded like a wrecking ball against your chest, and a voice in the back of your head screamed stop it! He’ll take advantage of you, for fuck’s sake! 

The voice was momentarily drowned out by the wet heat of Melshi’s mouth, a teasing nip against your bottom lip, and a wave of pleasure rolled over you from head to toe, a dizzying and dearly missed sensation.

And then you forced yourself to pull away.

Melshi merely blinked at you, a little dazed looking, lips red and slightly swollen. Oh, Maker…

“Sorry,” you murmured, dragging your eyes away to look at a very interesting spot on the wall over his shoulder. “I-I wasn’t thinking. I just—”

“Liar,” Melshi cut you off, not unkindly. He smirked at your affronted look. “You’re always thinking, little dreamer.”

He wasn’t wrong. Your mind was always thinking, planning, imagining, drifting, analyzing. Still, you huffed and crossed your arms over your stomach. You’d rather he just reject you outright than continue exacerbating your discomfort.

“How often?”

You arched an eyebrow. “How often what?”

Melshi pinned you with a sharp look, like you were being purposefully difficult. He leaned closer then, and your breath caught as he brushed his fingertips over your temple, palm cradling your cheek. “How often do I cross your mind?”

You let out a shuddered exhale. You’d never been touched like that before. Touched like you were worth more than a quick fuck and a fake promise of calling again soon. 

“Melshi,” you began only to be silenced by a thumb against your lips.

“Ruescott.”

Something inside of you cracked wide open.

“Ruescott,” you amended, voice barely above a murmur. His breath was hot against your cheeks, sending your thoughts into a whirlwind. “You…”

Maker, why was it so hard to focus? 

You felt feverish all over. Every nerve ending ablaze. Melshi’s eyes never left yours. And he must have known. He must have.

“Ruescott,” you raised a hand, tentatively resting it over his, grounding yourself in the physical contact, “you never leave my mind.”

Something shifted in his gaze, a flicker of an emotion you couldn’t identify, and then Melshi lunged, swallowing your startled yelp with his mouth, lips colliding.

The sudden fierce moment had you stumbling backwards against the wall, but Melshi’s hand was quicker, protecting your skull from the hit. And you, you didn’t know if it were possible to pull him in any closer, hands fisted in the itchy fabric of his scrubs, his arousal grinding against your inner thigh, but fuck if you didn’t make an attempt. 

Seconds, minutes, hours later—time had no meaning anymore, you were drunk on the taste of him—Melshi was the one dragging himself away with a low groan. You made an attempt to chase after his lips, but his hold on your upper arms was impossible to squirm out of, fingers flexing warningly.

“Not here, dream,” he said before throwing a glance over his shoulder. 

Awareness of your surroundings abruptly came screaming back to you. 

Oh, shit, you thought, the heat in your core extinguished immediately. Kissing was one thing to be caught doing, but two inmates letting loose their combined pent up sexual frustration in a fit of raw, unbridled fucking was quite another.

“Tonight,” he muttered, an oath sworn with another searing kiss. “Tonight I’m going to take care of you. I’ll fuck you so good every man on every level will know.”

You barely stifled the whimper in your throat. Insecurity bit at you, a parasite you couldn’t squash on your own. “Promise, Rue? You won’t leave me high and dry?”

Or worse, wet and wanting. 

“Promise,” was the instant response; no hesitation, no thinking. And then, quieter, infused with such bleeding sincerity you felt the words like individual blows: “I’ll make you a second one, too. You’ll never have to worry about me leaving you.”

At the time you thought him romantic. Now you understand his real meaning: you’ll never know a day apart from him because your sentence is shorter than his. 

—

“I love you,” you whisper in the midnight hours. Melshi pulls you closer, lips pressing against the crown of your head. One of his hands rests on the back of your neck, fingertips gently rubbing at your pulsepoint. 

“When I…” he cuts himself off, and you can hear the quiver in his voice, the words catching in his throat. “When I dream about a life outside of here, you’re always there. Just you and me, somewhere warm…and...”

There’s a pause, a silence broken only by Melshi’s quiet exhale and faint snores from cells further down. 

Your eyes sting, tears spilling down your cheeks. “And?”

“And we’re happy,” he says softly. “We’re so fucking happy.”

—

Group showers provoke warring emotions twice a week without fail. 

On one hand, it’s nice to feel clean after sweating through your shifts. (Do you wish it didn’t require being tightly packed like sardines into a room with a bunch of unknown women and sprayed with frigid cold mist? Of course. But who’s gonna listen to your complaints? Nobody, that’s who.)  

On the other hand, you’re separated from your group, from Melshi. And it’s like there are thorns digging into your backside the entire time, from the second you’re hustled away by a guard all too happy to leer at you while his hand rests pointedly on his zaprod to the moment you’re reunited with Unit Five-Two-D in the work room. Only when you’re back in their sight again—each of your Table Five boys sweeping their eyes over you, looking for signs of harm, a single hair out of place—you feel like you can breathe easily again. 

You were brought here to be a peacekeeper amongst the men—negotiate with them, befriend them, be their punching bag or fucktoy, the method doesn’t matter so long as the conflict is settled—and on other levels you’d be expected to fulfill your duty to the utmost degree, but not here. Not here where Kino’s word is law and the men will suffer worse than a broken hand if they’re inappropriate with you. 

Inmates aren’t supposed to think of themselves as lucky, not on Narkina 5 of all places, but you do.

To the guards, you’re a sacrificial lamb in a den of lions. Rumors say more women leave in body bags than by walking. But they have it all wrong in your case. You aren’t a lamb and the men aren’t lions. 

You are a wolf, and they are your pack.

—

The odds are in Table Five’s favor today, resulting in a first place victory and flavored food waiting for you all in your cells. Between swallows the men banter and roughhouse like rowdy schoolboys, Xaul telling a crude joke about shaved banthas that makes you laugh so hard your ribs ache. Even Kino cracks a smile.

You lean back against Melshi’s chest, head tucked beneath his chin. Lucky, you think again, committing every detail to memory.

And you don’t know it yet—nobody does, not even the guards—but this is the last good day you’ll have at Narkina 5. 

Tomorrow, everything will change.

—

You wake up to shouts ricocheting off the walls, nearly falling off the cot out of alarm if not for Melshi’s fast reflexes. The morning buzzer hasn’t rung yet, floor still electric, but the whole block is an enraged swarm, an overwhelming cacophony of cursing and bellowing. Even more worrying, Kino won’t make eye contact when you look to him for answers.

And then you see it.

Melshi’s number has increased.

There’s a loaded moment where you can’t believe what you’re seeing. You tap at the screen with trembling fingers, thinking it’s a glitch, it has to be, because if it’s not then that means—Oh, Maker, you can’t even finish the thought—but the number doesn’t change, doesn’t flicker. Your insistent taps become slaps, palms aching, and you don’t realize you’ve joined in the shouting until Melshi’s pulling you backwards with an arm around your stomach.

“It’s not just me. Everybody’s tabs have gone up. Even yours, dreamer,” Melshi says hoarsely, holding you up when your knees go numb, sobs wracking your body.

“Why?” you whimper, shaking your head. “I didn’t do anything wrong, Rue. We didn’t do anything wrong.”

Through your tears, Melshi’s eyes hold more worry than you’ve ever seen, and you can’t stand it. You want him to reassure you, to tell you there’s been a mistake and everything will be okay.

He doesn’t. Instead, even worse, his arms tighten around you and he says nothing. 

Not one word.

—

Later, you’ll learn there was an attack on one of the Empire’s garrisons (a suspected rebellion strike, but you, along with at least half of Five-Two-D’s men, are still on the fence whether these so-called rebels even exist or not). 

Later, you’ll learn the Empire invoked the Public Order Resentencing Directive as a result. The reason why everyone’s numbers spiked overnight without warning. The reason why slight mishaps previously disciplined with a verbal dressing down are now punished with a zaprod to the gut, spine, head—wherever the guards think will hurt the longest. 

Later, Melshi will rub your back while you empty your stomach contents into the refresher, the sight of blood gushing from Ham’s busted and charred nose seared into your brain.

There’s tension in the air, every day intensifying a little more, squeezing your neck just a little bit tighter. There are nights where Melshi paces the length of the cell, fists clenched at his sides, and mornings where Ulaf can barely stand from his cot, gritting his teeth against the aches and pains of a weathered body pushed to its limits. 

You were brought here to be a peacekeeper. But there’s nothing you can do to quell this amount of rage. A rage you feel simmering beneath your own skin. 

There is a bomb in the heart of Narkina 5, ignored by the guards who shield themselves behind their electric floors and weapons. But what the fools fail to realize is it’s not a question of if this bomb will go off.

It’s a matter of when.

—

“We’re never getting out of here,” you whisper, pressed against the cot.

“Don’t talk like that. Not you, little dreamer,” Melshi scolds, breathing against your neck, and you fall silent, shuddering with every touch, teeth sinking into the meat of his shoulder to muffle your moans.

In the morning you’ll trace the bite mark with your fingertips, thinking that the thin line between animal and human has never looked blurrier.

—

You first notice Tress’ twitchiness during the third hour of your shift. Eyes just a bit too wide, gnawing at his lip like he’ll receive a reward if it bleeds. Panic attacks happen from time to time, but usually to newbies who haven’t adapted to the routine yet. Not to longtimers like Tress.

He gets worse with each passing hour, dropping his tools, practically vibrating with an abundance of nervous energy. You’re not the only one who’s alarmed by his strange behavior now. Melshi casts subtle glances in Tress’ direction after every finished droid piece, while Kino stares him down like he’s ready to tackle him in the next breath if Tress does something remotely dangerous.

You lose track of him when everyone lines up to return to the sleep block. No matter how much you twist and crane your neck in either direction, you can’t spot a single glimpse of his blonde curls. Melshi squeezes your hand, and to everyone else he appears indifferent, staring straight ahead while waiting for Kino to give the order to keep walking, but you see the pinch between his eyebrows immediately. He’s just as concerned as you are.

Passing him safely in his cell has you breathing a quiet sigh of relief. Still, you can’t quite bring yourself to fully relax, a sense of impending dread lingering in your bones. You don’t say much during dinner, just sit on the floor of your cell next to Melshi, half-listening to his conversation with Taga—something about a new guard on the third level nearly frying a man to death accidentally—and half-keeping an eye on Tress who looks only marginally less weasley-looking than he did earlier. Marginally.

“Sleep, little dreamer,” Melshi tells you later on in the night, pausing your tossing and turning. His eyes are closed when you look at him, but you can tell by his wrinkled brow he’s hanging onto consciousness by a mere thread. You don’t understand how he’s able to sleep. Doesn’t he feel the wrongness? Like the walls are closing in, stealing the room’s oxygen?

Your mouth opens to ask him just that, but the agonized wail that pierces the silence doesn’t belong to you.

And you know, even before you’ve slid off the cot, before you see the body lying motionless on the floor at the end of the hall, that Tress is gone. 

—

The next day, a new inmate named Keef Girgo arrives.

And little do any of you know, he’s going to bring Narkina 5 to its knees.

#ruescott melshi #ruescott melshi x reader #ruescott melshi x you #melshi x reader #melshi x you #andor series #ruescott melshi fanfiction #andor fanfiction #my fic #my writing

[cloudmancy]

HI sorry ive been scrolling through your blog all day after finding it this morning and i am OBSESSED with your acofaf takes so i have an idea to present to you: emily said (jokingly) that wuvvy should hit her up in 80 years, after esme passes, as chirp loves people one at a time. she said this as a comedy joke, and a goof as well, but it landed in my brain and i am now obsessed with chirpwuvvy. wuvvy who is used to shaping herself into what she thinks can be loved. wuvvy who is used to waiting, to not being noticed, to being second best if she is considered at all. wuvvy who left behind her whole world for someone who said they loved her and never ever showed it.

chirp, who loves one at a time- who presents herself as fickle and frivolous but has such an unexpectedly big heart, who loves her wife and her daughter enough to give up flight for them. she may not seem it, but she has the capacity for extreme selflessness. she understands sacrificing parts of yourself for who you love. lady chirp featherfowl, hospitable. kind. loving. she presents selfishness and frivolity and whimsy, but she loves so deeply that she gave up flight for her daughter, for her wife.

i’m picturing wuvvy, post-canon and adrift after all the shit she had to deal with only to be cast aside anyways… and chirp. chirp, known for her hospitality. chirp, who would take wuvvy in- an open door, an offer of tea, a warm smile that wuvvy’s never faced the full force of before- and wuvvy, who has been shown scraps of kindness at most. who has been without anyone’s regard for so long. duty and love and suddenly, kindness freely given by a woman who loves so few but so, so deeply- and sure, her heart belongs to esme, but… wuvvy is used to waiting.

“come find me in 80 years”. im losing my mind. thank you ms emily axford. thank you ms aabria iyengar.

YOU GET IT! YOU GET IT! postcanon wuvvy deserves to take a break from being around rue and find someone who will devote themselves to her as equally as she devotes herself to the ones she loves. she deserves that reciprocation and I can't think of a better person for that than chirp. emily axford you are so right wuvvy WILL find you in 80 years and you can watch over your grandchildren together

as an aside I think it was a missed opportunity for chirp to not be a bleeding heart dove

#asks #r0sebutch #<3

[monstersinthecosmos]

... not to mention that most beloved trope, a girl or woman having to go through SA in order to grow, mature, "toughen up", and ultimately decide home wasn't so bad after all! The only option! No other way possible!! asdlfgkh ... Daniel Bogosian x Rashid for healthiest relationship in the series so far, which is both Rude and Wonderful, lol I'm fine

Right I'm just, really. Like.

Here's what I've been trying to say, and because No Negativity Allowed on Tumblr it's been tricky to navigate because suddenly I'm a loser book purist (?) and a "BOOMER" (lmfao??) but this is the thing when you make an adaptation that you need to be ready to defend:

Does this change make the story better?

If any random person turns this show on and doesn't know any better, cool! Enjoy! But it's *worth* asking what RJ is trying to say about women, and being queer, and being Black. And if some of these decisions are shaping up to be lazy, sketchy, harmful, etc, that's *worth* talking about.

And there's a CONTEXT here when it comes to Claudia, and the changes they've made. We lost a really excellent feminist character for this. And like, I've been saying the whole time, I understand if they didn't want to cast a small child for logistic purposes, but they haven't written a new character that has nearly the same care. Claudia on the show so far is just a bunch of sexist stereotypes about teenagers in a big trenchcoat, and to have her raped on top of that, is just. Beyond the pale.

It doesn't matter if a 14 year old still a "child" and it doesn't matter if we're all supposed to suspend disbelief a little bit to pretend Bailey doesn't look like she's 19. The show has gone out of its way to let us know that she can drive and she can blend in at college. This is a completely different set of struggles than a small child would have in navigating the world and the conflict is just, not there. The conflict they gave her is that she gets raped when she leaves home, and I just can't even begin to unpack it.

But BECAUSE she isn't a convincing child, it's introducing so many bad messages about. .. petite women? You aren't a real woman if you don't have tits? Only perverts will like you? .... cool.

Don't get me started on how the idea that she'd be hormonal for eternity is so fucking disgusting and stupid like she's dead bro why is she hormonal and why do you think teenage girls are fucking werewolves or whatever this is so gross but i'm already talking too much don't let me get into it now LOL

Plus like, don't get me started on all the smug meta moments breaking the fourth wall like Daniel acknowledging the story; it was bad enough that the show burns the tapes as if to say the novel is stupid (which is what RJ is telling us) but now we're raping Anne's fucking daughter. Cool!

It truly fucking baffles me that a show in 2022 is still leaning into this trope about SA, especially when we see that it affects the OTHER MEN in the show more than it affects Claudia herself. Daniel uses it as leverage for the story he's trying to tell. Louis (someone?) tore the pages out. If Louis is the one who removed the pages, he did that for his own needs. He altered Claudia's story because it makes *him* uncomfortable. It's painful for *him*. Louis waits around in squalor on Rue Royale for Claudia to get raped and come home to save him.

And the thing that's just, so fucking gross, is that they've given us enough information to know Claudia was abused already in her life as a mortal. Her response to recognizing Lestat as an abuser and sticking up to him does not need to be at the expense of raping her.

Also like, the entire reason that writing SA and violence against women is sensitive is because it's so likely the audience has experienced it. That's the entire conversation. We've had this conversation over and over and over. I wouldn't care about the lack of a CW if the show had NONE AT ALL but the fact that they put one in Ep1 for Paul but not for this is just really telling about the lack of care and sensitivity for this topic. And especially when they KNOW a huge portion of the fanbase is women and queer people.

I've been trying not to be such a raging misandrist LMAO but so many choices on the show for the past year and the way RJ and Alan Taylor talk about it kept sounding like IT WOULD BE SO COOL IF WE MADE IWTV BUT FOR MEN BC MEN DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TV TO WATCH and this really just hammered it home for me lol

BUT ALSO IT'S JUST. THE SHOW INVENTED THIS AREA OF DRAMA. Like the show made a decision to have the vampires be literally sexual. What the fuck does Killer need to RAPE someone for, anyway?! Like why.. would a vampire.. need to do that. What. WHAT.

All the talk about aging up Claudia (or Armand) because the sexy stuff is too gross is like, they could've just as easily not made it sexy? Especially on a network show that can't show too much anyway. I understand the need for a visual in a visual medium but this also will go towards my feeling that the show is not actually showing us a lot of queer intimacy anyway. It's like they threw Sam's ass into the first episode for shock value to reel everyone in and where is the rest? Blood drinking, cuddling, kissing, casual intimacy?

It's just honestly so fucking, pathetically and stereotypically Hollywood Cishet Old Guy to view love this way. It's subtext if they don't literally fuck. It's not scary to be 14 forever if you don't get raped.

idk man it's just. Wow.

#i feel like i've been trying really hard to give it the season to see what it's trying to say #like lestat hunting sex workers was Not Awesome #and making the brothel an analog for slavery was also Not Awesome #and i was like okay okay let's see though bc this is a morally ambiguous universe and louis understands what he's doing here #but treating claudia like this is such a choice #and the way it's framed is also a fucking choice #anyway lmfao #vampire pajama party on amc #amc iwtv #asexual vc

[josefavomjaaga]

Andoche Junot to Laure Junot, 13 October 1812 (II)

Sorry for taking so long with the next translation. This is the second (and last, I think) letter from Junot to Laure, intercepted by the Russians, his reply to her letter that I translated here. But just so it’s mentioned, before this one, the volume also cites a letter from Junot to his secretary Cissout, lecturing the poor guy on having sent him the wrong silk stockings and having bought eau de Cologne from the wrong manufacturer. Before giving him instructions on how to distribute the letters to the ladies, that is. This second letter was to be given to Laure only some time after the first.

Junot, Duke of Abrantès, to Duchess Laure d’Abrantès, rue des Champs-Elysées, Paris Mojaisk, 13 October 1812, 6 P.M. I had written to you this morning, my dear Laure, in order to complain about you not writing to me, and I told you that I was eagerly awaiting the letters that would scold me. I've just been given this one, which I'll send back to you after I've taken a copy, because it's quite curious. The first page pleased me (to the word: pity, which is not noble), but when I saw that I was a fool, all the more guilty because I was the master of recovering my reason, and that I was a sick man who did not want to take medicine, I said to myself: "My Laure still has her head full of recipes from Aix and is a little out of sorts to tell me that it was not to me that she promised her esteem with all her friendship as the price of the noble efforts I would make to deserve the name of man, by stifling an unhappy feeling. This poor Laure adds that she has been saying this to me for many months. To this I exclaimed: "But it was eight months ago the day before yesterday that I last heard you speak!" Perhaps it's in her letters that she wants to tell me, I reread thirty-nine of them straight away, which are still there in front of me, and I didn't see any of that. As I don't have the drafts of my letters, I couldn't remember if I had asked you for medicine for my wound, and really if you sent me some balm, I wouldn't know where to put it. I do have a few scars, and I'd be very happy if you could erase them if, by making me more beautiful, it would add more charm to our friendship. Until then, the only thing that had gone wrong with the rather disjointed letter was the misquotes. But the general confession brought me back and I saw clearly that a woman who so openly accuses herself to her husband has made up her mind and from now on will have nothing to reproach herself for. Go on, my Laure, don't give rise to feelings that you can't share, and even less to those that you feel ready to share; the others are all right, but those void, I don't want. How much I would have shared your happiness, if your letter had actually found me between my mother and my son. Alas, this first happiness has long since been taken from me, and when will the other come? Will it be without bitterness? I thank you for not having made the trip to Geneva that I would have disapproved of; you didn't tell me about it, but that's all right. No doubt the happiness and glory of your life now lie in your children, and by allowing me to keep my unhappy feelings for you, by sharing them a little and giving me your esteem and all your friendship, you would not be deprived of any happy future, but we should only say these things to each other.

I think, my good friend, that this letter you expected from me is good and reasonable, but I beg you not to press me to change my feelings.I assure you that you would lose out, and allow me to use the word constancy to express the sweetness of this feeling. It is always better to fear a little than to give oneself without reserve to such a sincere friendship, which always ends up not being all that severe. As far as I am concerned, I guarantee you that no matter what you do, you will never take away from me the hope that one day my friendship will be stronger than yours and that I will be able to drag it along in spite of it; so, if you want to believe me, keep your fears, they are necessary. The report on your health is what I disliked most about your letter, because it tells me that you are still suffering. Farewell, my Laure, write to me often, but more directly than that. P.S. - Send me my last letter, which made you feel such pity, I'll burn it.

As to the »Write more directly!« - I share the feeling, your Excellency 😁. And it applies to you, too.

But mostly I’m struck by Laure Junot apparently really writing about her husband being close to his long-dead mother.

I’ve tried to look into the personal situation of Laure and her Andoche a bit but I feel I would need to read all the 14+ volumes in order to understand. So I’ll just leave it to @snowv88 or other people in the know to hopefully shed some light on it all. Is Junot deliberately misunderstanding some of what Laure had written?

If it is of interest, I can also translate the letter to Laure’s friend Madame Caroline "Calo" Lallemand, who was instructed to write to Junot about how Laure reacted to this letter.

#napoleon's marshals #jean andoche junot #laure junot #russia 1812 #russian campaign

[dolphin1812]

Cosette!

There's a strong implication that the Rue Plumet house is an opportunity for romance, both through earlier descriptions of the garden (the emphasis on youth, weddings, love, etc) and lines like this:

"The convent is a compression which must last the whole life, if it is to triumph over the human heart. On leaving the convent, Cosette could not have found anything sweeter or more dangerous than the house in the Rue Plumet. It was the commencement of solitude with the commencement of liberty, a closed garden, but a sharp, kind, rich, voluptuous, and odorous nature; there were the same dreams as in the convent, but glimpses could be caught of young men,—it was a grating, but it looked on the street."

Most obviously, the passage mentions that Cosette could see young men through the grating, but the language used to describe the garden ("voluptuous") feels quite sensual. Romance would also be the specific subject Jean Valjean and the nuns couldn't/wouldn't prepare her for; if the nuns ever had experience with that, they swore it off when they became nuns, and Jean Valjean has never experienced romance ("Jean Valjean had never loved anything [. . . . ] [He] had never been father, lover, husband, or friend" - LM 2.4.3). I think Hugo centers romance and relationships for young women in a way that's uncomfortable (even if it's unfortunately realistic in some ways, given that they were financially very important [the struggle of having enough money if unmarried as a woman] and risky because of social pressures [like Fantine being ostracized because she had a child without being married]). Part of the discomfort is also from the way these societal expectations of gender blend with Hugo's ideas, like his notion that Cosette is especially lost because she doesn't have a mother to guide her with the combined experience of being a "virgin" and a "wife." Still, it's true that romance would be difficult for Cosette because she doesn't have someone to easily communicate with on the subject. Jean Valjean is the only person she has right now, and it's not a topic he's very aware of. Rather than the framing here, then, it's a bit more sympathetic if we take it as another instance of the importance of a broad network of social support. Romance would not be as dangerous to Cosette if she had a variety of people to learn from, just as it would have been safer for Fantine if she had had people to fall back on after being abandoned or if people had advised her more directly in the first place about what to expect from a student-grisette romance.

The house is also mixed for Cosette in that it contains remnants of a cage. The convent is the true "compression," so she's free now that she's no longer there. Still, the psychological cage might remain; we don't know if she'll break free of it. The grating is part-cage as well, giving her more freedom than the convent but still constraining her. She can see the world now, but she's not fully in it, either.

Most importantly, Cosette is still a child! Hugo's speculating on her future here, but Cosette just wants to find interesting insects! Her love of searching for creatures feels like a return to the gamins, who do the same when playing; it's a shared trait that defines them as children, regardless of their different backgrounds. They're all still young, so they play.

Her love for her father is so sweet. I adore that she tries to fight against Jean Valjean's total lack of self-esteem by demanding that he treat himself better, or else she'll treat herself the same way:

""Father, I feel very cold in your room; why don't you have a carpet and a stove?"

"My dear child, there are so many persons more deserving than myself who have not even a roof to cover them."

"Then, why is there fire in my room and everything that I want?"

"Because you are a woman and a child."

"Nonsense! then men must be cold and hungry?""

Cosette knows that Valjean would never make her suffer, so if she makes herself live like him, she won't actually live badly. He'll just raise his own standard of living to make sure she's comfortable. Valjean's love for Cosette is one of his main defining traits, but she really loves him, too, and it's great to see that expressed!

I also love that their bond transcends societal expectations and is unique to them. In the passage above, for instance, Cosette questions gendered expectations over what men, women, and children should respectively tolerate, rejecting the idea that women and children should be prioritized over men. Part of it is certainly that she knows her father could be living more comfortably, but it's also because she loves him and doesn't want him to suffer needlessly based on any justification, whether it be others' poverty or gender. She sees Jean Valjean as both her father and mother as well, calling him "father" and imagining him like this:

"When she thought at night before she fell asleep, as she had no very clear idea of being Jean Valjean's daughter, she imagined that her mother's soul had passed into this good man, and had come to dwell near her. When he was sitting down she rested her cheek on his white hair, and silently dropped a tear, while saying to herself, "Perhaps this man is my mother!""

It's especially moving because Valjean sees himself in a similar way, feeling that he is her father because she needed one just as he needed a child, but also "[feeling] pangs like a mother" upon adopting her (LM 2.4.3). Fantine is ever-present in their relationship (and Cosette's dream was both beautiful and sad), but not entirely in an upsetting way. Valjean's feelings are unclear, and Cosette loves her mother, but in a vague way, since she doesn't remember her. But in a spiritual/religious way, Valjean and her mother's spirits have merged to her, preserving what she's heard about her mother's love and combining it with her lived experience of love. It's very sweet, and it makes sense that she would imagine her mother this way after such a religious upbringing.

Unfortunately, the metaphorical prison of the convent and the cage of the grating aren't the only dark shadow in this chapter. The last line is a bit ominous. For context, here it is in English and in French:

"The poor wretch, inundated with an angelic joy, trembled; he assured himself with transport that this would last his whole life; he said to himself that he had not really suffered enough to deserve such radiant happiness, and he thanked God in the depths of his soul for having allowed him—the wretched—to be thus loved by this innocent being."

"Le pauvre homme tressaillait inondé d'une joie angélique; il s'affirmait avec transport que cela durerait toute la vie; il se disait qu'il n'avait vraiment pas assez souffert pour mériter un si radieux bonheur, et il remerciait Dieu, dans les profondeurs de son âme, d'avoir permis qu'il fût ainsi aimé, lui misérable, par cet être innocent."

Jean Valjean is still a "misérable," and he defines his worth through suffering. He's happy with Cosette, which is wonderful! But he also thinks he doesn't deserve her, even if she clearly thinks otherwise. His joy, then, is in constant tension with his status as a misérable, and while Cosette tries to help - she's making him live decently! - she also doesn't know why he has this mindset. Jean Valjean has love, but he still carries the logic of the prison system with him, and by that logic, he will never "deserve" happiness.

#les mis letters #lm 4.3.4 #cosette #jean valjean #I just want them to stay happy and accept that they're happy #but Jean Valjean's lack of self-worth is ever-present :( #I love Cosette so much though #she's so funny as a child and she loves her father so much