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hirukochan · 4 months

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I know you are busy right now with your fics and I really admire how brilliant they turn out to be with you working on multiple projects. I really appreciate all your hardwork and dedication and ugh, I just love your work so much.

But can I just say that I saw your comment in one of your fics about a potential forbidden Malfoy OC/Reader x Voldemort and I am really looking forward to that? I'm a huge Harriet x Voldy fan but i really love the Malfoy idea and the whole corruption concept. I have this weird imagery of them like Voldy being the snake from the apple tree in Eden and Malfoy Reader being naive, trusting, and too curious for her own good Eve.

Thank you so much!!! It means the world to hear that! I am thrilled to know so many people enjoy these silly little stories I come up with :D!

I am very much looking forward to writing that story! And I will. First I need to finish some published stories but this one is at the top of the list! I hope I'll get to it some time next year and I will be certain to post about it here too!

I don't know from what perspective I will be writing it yet.

Corruption is a main theme for the fic as I've been planning it right now. The youngest child of Narcissa and Lucius is a very sickly girl who had little influence outside her family and who has never even left her family's estate! Voldemort shamelessly preys on that and revels in the slow but steady destruction of her innocence and purity - something he never got to have.

I have a little snippet/teaser here of that fic for anyone who is interested! I have yet to find a name for the fic - because love coming up with names for stuff!!!! (not.)

Malfoy daughter X Voldemort Snippet

words: 1200

warnings: none that I can think off :D

Astrea Lucretia Malfoy knows there are certain expectations that come with being a member of the ancient and most honourable house of Malfoy. Astrea knew these expectations before she could as much as crawl. They were handed down to her from the very first beat her heart took inside her mother’s womb and Astrea would sooner throw herself off the roof of her family home than do anything that would bring shame to her house and her parents.

Astrea loves her parents.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy are proud people and Astrea would never want to embarrass them. Astrea knows how to behave. She knows how to greet people and how to make pleasant conversation. Astrea can play the piano and dance and yet despite having devoted her life to trying and be the perfect heiress to her proud parents - she is not.

She is a smudge on her family’s proud family tree and there is nothing she can do.

Astrea looks down at the crimson spots on the snowy white handkerchief in her trembling hands. Steps sounding from the hallway have her hastily fold it and stuff it in her dress. The corset her governess put her into for today’s special occasion.

Time has run out. Astrea can’t escape him any longer. She knows it was an endeavour doomed from the beginning but she had to try.

Her governess opens the door, looking like a banshee coming to announce Astrea’s death, dressed in her stern black uniform. Astrea hates the sight of that uniform. Hates the black dress that makes her think of death every time she sees it because death is the last thing Astrea wants to think about it and yet it’s the first thought on her mind when she wakes up and the last when she falls asleep. Death hunts her in her dreams and she knows death is approaching steadily in reality as well. The handkerchief stuffed between her breasts and the corset bears the proof of that.

Astrea has been sick for as long as she can remember. Despite hiring the most renowned healers and researchers and even shamans nobody has been able to give the proud Malfoys and their inexhaustible vaults at Gringotts an answer as to why their only daughter is a sickly, weak child. She just is. Getting infected with the Dragonpox that would later take her severe, powerful and feared grandfather Abraxas Malfoy did little to improve her condition.

Nowadays Astrea can at least leave her bed and walk freely about the Manor but she knows that little and treasured freedom will be snatched from her the second her overprotective father learns of her relapse.

Astrea pushes her governess' hands from her hair and gets up. She ignores the lightheaded dizziness rushing through her at the swift movement. She does not let it show either.

She can wait no longer.

He is expecting to be introduced to her after all.

The Dark Lord. The most powerful wizard of all times, once believed to have vanished and now returned, reborn. Of course, Astrea knows all about him. She has been taught about him alongside her older brother Draco all her life. Taught of his greatness, his might, his goal to save wizardingkind and she has been taught of her duty to serve him.

And yet she stole from him.

The precious dress made of fairy-spun silk slides over the carpeted stairs. Astrea’s chest strains against the corset. Her governess tied it tighter today against Astrea’s protest.

Nobody here listens to her.

Nobody cares.

Oh, they all ‘care’ - they bend over backwards to delay the inevitable, forcing her to go through heinous treatments to expand her life and yet nobody cares.

Expect for her Uncle Sev perhaps. Her godfather, her father’s best friend and also on the few occasions she is allowed to practise magic, her tutor. He always has an open ear for her and a shoulder to cry on when she needs it.

But there are a few secrets she keeps even from him. The handkerchief and her impertinence. Both she carries on her person tonight. Perhaps a mistake though she seriously doubts the greatest Legilimens to ever live would need her to carry her sin with her to detect it. He’ll know the second he sees her, therefore her avoiding him. In the days before the Dark Lord’s arrival to take up residency in her family home she strategically scattered gasps and moments of pause into her demeanour and speech, then on the morning of his arrival Astrea dipped the thermometer her governess forces past her lips every morning in her teacup for a few seconds as the old hag was preparing her bath.

She spent the past week in her bed but she can’t keep this charade up for long without risking her feeble sham-freedom.

Astrea treasures her freedom above all else.

She enters the sitting room. Her parents are sitting on a sofa with Draco in between them. Uncle Sev sits on their opposite, his face as expressionless as always, swirling whiskey in his glass lazily. There, right across from Astrea is he.

The dark one.

The most powerful and dangerous man to ever walk the earth.

And Astrea not only gets to walk on the same earth at the same time, she gets to be in a room with him, to breathe the same air as him, share dinner with him.

Her chest is bursting with pride, her heart flutters in its cage of fragile bones like the many exotic birds in their cages in her room. Her father keeps bringing them home in hopes of making her smile but Astrea finds no joy in dooming others to share her fate and yet what can she do? These birds, much like her, have no chance of surviving outside their cages and yet she can’t help the occasional thought of just letting them all go, letting them try their luck and run after them, with bare feet and no shawl and wouldn’t that be worth the impending death following them? Living and if only for one second?

Astrea has never felt so alive as she does right now. Her trembling fingers grasp the edge of her dress and lift it slightly as she sinks to her knees, bowing her head at the same time. She struggles to keep her back straight and her body stiff, to not fall over and to make it all seem effortless too. Her long pale blond hair falls over her shoulder. She doesn’t even pause to remember she has never curtseyed in a dress cut like this one, doesn’t remember the corset, doesn’t realise her hair is shielding the sight from her parents and Uncles and doesn’t notice how crimson eyes darken as they skim over her, lingering on the neckline of her dress.

Astrea has grown up well-protected and so she does not realise the different ways men look at quickly coming-of-age girls like her. Merely a year away from being presented to society, something Astrea has never had to worry about as her poor health will hardly allow for such a thing her mother has neglected to prepare her, to warn her of the more unsavoury desires of some men. And still - Astrea knows more than her parents think. She is no idiot and has read nearly every book in the Manor, even those her father keeps away from her in his own library and especially his study and what she can’t find in books her friend tells her about. Her only friend.

“Rise.” The high-pitched voice caresses her skin like morning dew, the leaves of her flowers in front of her windows. Like the wings of her feathered companions, her bare arms. Astrea shudders and - against all her formidable education - she stares.

Amusement twinkles in the crimson eyes of her lord and master, dark red like the drops on her handkerchief. They assess her, gliding over her body, her dress and eventually coming to a halt on her eyes. The corner of his lipsless mouth twitches and for a second Astrea has forgotten everything. The blood, the fatigue, the guilt at lying to her parents, the weight of her sin pressed against her naked thigh beneath her dress.

Lord Voldemort looks different than she could have ever been able to picture him. Pale skin that’s scattered here and there with a bundle of scales that shimmer in the flickering light of the gas lamps on the walls, shimmering like the expensive opal jewellery her parents brought back for her from one of their trips to France once. His pupils are long, shaped like those of a snake and where there is supposed to be a nose, only slit nostrils stretch across his skin.

He is tapping his nails on the armrest of his armchair, one with a regal, high back and luxurious tropical wood, stained dark to fit the room’s aesthetic.

“It is an honour to meet you, my lord.” Astrea says, though her voice sounds strange even to her own ears. “I am saddened to have missed your arrival.”

“I am as well.” Voldemort says, his voice silky smooth, sounding so familiar and yet so strange. Though the fluttery feeling it ignites in her belly is very familiar. She has only ever felt it around her only friend…

Voldemort rises from his seat, abandoning his untouched drink on the table beside his armchair. He towers over her, taller even than her father and uncle. Astrea feels minuscule next to him, not only due to the size. She doesn’t even reach his shoulder.

“Join me? I am curious to learn more about the youngest Malfoy offspring.”

“I am an open book for my lord.” She says with a chaste incline of her head, hiding both from the intense gaze of her master and the redness spreading across her cheeks. “My lord merely needs to ask.”

The stolen leatherbound diary pressed against her thigh she accepts Voldemort’s arm and follows him into the dining room where he even pulls out her chair. No man who does not also share blood with her or is made of ink and magic has ever treated her like this. Astrea sits down and is glad for the rest, ignoring the sweat drenching her back beneath her dress and corset. She doesn’t notice the eyes wandering to her décolletage once more.

“I hope my family’s home becomes my lord well?”

“Yes.” He says, red eyes blazing. “Alas I was uncertain for a bit but it could convince me after all.”

“I am relieved.” Astrea looks up and smiles, finding it contains the same amount of joy it has when addressing it to her ink friend and all the joy it lacks when looking at her family.

“So am I.” His upper lip twitched into a crooked grin, revealing a single, sharp, long fang. The grin looks so familiar-

Astrea shakes the thought off.

Perhaps she should not have brought the diary but she can’t leave Tom in her room alone! He is her only friend and she has to keep him safe! Perhaps Voldemort does not know she has stolen it from her father’s study all those years ago in a fit of infantine anger and desire to hurt her father back for all that he is keeping her from. All she wanted was to join Draco’s birthday celebration and he forbade it. Tom said she did no wrong and that she should believe him but Astrea finds it difficult at times.

She has considered putting the diary back many times but Tom has told her how lonely he was before she saved him and one does not abandon friends! At least that’s what Tom says. Astrea has never had a friend but she trusts Tom. He would never want to harm her.

***

What a curious little creature, Voldemort thinks as he slips into the girl’s room unnoticed. She is lying in a huge bed framed by flimsy, delicate curtains, as delicate as the girl they give fleeting shelter to.

She is asleep, her lids closed, hiding the bright blue of her big eyes. Her luscious lips are slightly parted. Beneath her hand, curled into a feeble fist on top of her pillow, beside her head sits it.

The impertinence. The utter impudence to bring the stolen object to her first encounter with its rightful owner. It’s almost charming. Like an ant that believes itself so powerful it can revolt against the boot.

He will take pleasure in crushing her. In ripping her chaste innocence from her to savour it, to claim it for himself. He’ll punish her for her crime and Lucius for being so careless he has not even realised it’s missing. The object Voldemort entrusted to him. A piece of his master’s soul - though that part he is obviously unaware of. Voldemort is not so stupid as to hand over crucial information to a mere henchman like Lucius. Though his daughter will make a lovely addition to Voldemort’s bed.

He reaches out a pale hand with skeletal fingers to take the diary, reclaim his stolen Horcrux-

Voldemort is pulled away, something tugs on his mind and he falls forward, like dragged into a pensieve and he finds himself in the Slytherin common room, standing by the fireplace he once tossed the annoying cat of a classmate into. In front of him on the leather sofa lies the girl, the same girl, in the same flimsy, nearly see-through nightgown and she is asleep in his arms. In his arms.

Within the blink of an eye his younger self, looking the role of the proper Prefect he had been at the time, stands in front of him. Voldemort had never been short but his adolescent self can’t match the height of his new body and yet he doesn’t seem impressed or like he even remotely cares.

“She is mine!” He hisses in angry parseltongue, his eyes flashing red and Voldemort is forcibly expelled from the diary, such force he stumbles a step backwards, staring at the girl sleeping on his diary as peacefully as humanly possible.

Read it here

#ask #upcoming fic #Astrea x Voldemort #Astrea x Voldemort excerpt #wip ask #fanfic wip #voldemort x reader #voldemort x oc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x oc #dead dove fic #possibly edible tho #don't know yet #excerpt

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softsan · 7 months

Text

NCT WEREWOLF AU (AESTHETIC)

A remake of this: X

Taeyong

alpha

seven hundred and one years old

suspicious and dubious of humans

puts his pack above all

can be rash and unforgiving

encounters his mate on a non-routine hunt

mate: councilman's daughter

Taeil

elder

eight hundred and fifty-six years old

oldest member of the pack

works as an adviser to the alpha and the betas

breaks up and resolves pack conflicts

stumbles onto his mate who's wearing a disguise

mate: physician

Johnny

hunter

four hundred and eighty-nine years old

has the best sense of smell in the pack

the pack's number-one tracker.

exceptional at mauling his enemies.

left heartbroken by his mate's rejection

mate: rival pack member

Yuta

hunter

four hundred and sixty-seven years old

incredibly quick and stealthy

is labeled the 'ambusher' for his cut-throat hunting tactics

despises the prospect of a mate

believes fate is cruel and callous

mate: city guardian

Kun

beta

six hundred and eighteen years old

second in command

rules in taeyong's absence

known to be morally strict and stern

goes against his beliefs by stealing his mate away

mate: stolen bride

Doyoung

delta

five hundred and thirty-two years old

is the support unit of the pack

on standby to fulfill the duties of ill or injured packmates

finds himself in a hopeless situation

accidentally marks his mate in a poisoned haze

mate: north's princess

Ten

head scout

five hundred and sixteen years old

has an unparalleled control of his inner wolf

works as the pack's eyes and ears in the city

warns the pack of dangers outside their territory

overcomes his heartbreak by meeting a nifty pickpocket

mate: thief

Jaehyun

delta

four hundred and forty-nine years old

strongest member of the pack

formidable opponent in battle

responsible for guarding the pack's territory

comes across his mate in the scorching sands

mate: she-wolf

Winwin

sentinel

four hundred and three years old

routinely patrols the pack's territory

greats new visitors and learns their intentions

will harshly punish aggressive and disrespectful intruders

accidentally kidnaps his mate instead of his actual target

mate: royal governess

Jungwoo

scout

three hundred and twenty-one years old

has great command of his inner wolf

can avoid shifting on a full moon

gathers and shares information for the pack

blown away by his sweet mate

mate: royal maidservant

Mark

delta

three hundred and twelve years old

known to be sunny but stubborn

incredibly fast learner

teaches hunting skills to younger pack members

saved by his mysterious and magical mate

mate: thread coven witch

Renjun

salutary

two hundred and sixty-three years old

is the pack's herbalist

makes tonics and concoctions for his fellow wolves

plagued by dreams of the past

gives the cold shoulder to his mate

mate: old soul

Jeno

hunter

two hundred forty-eight years old

a distinguished pack fighter

often organizes hunts

is the first to volunteer to go on nightly patrols

captured by his formidable mate

mate: general's daughter

Haechan

omega

two hundred and twenty-four years old

rash and impulsive

has poor control over his inner wolf

frustrated by his low status within the pack

taken in by his beloved mate

mate: baker

Jaemin

hunter

two hundred and twenty-two years old

very talented tracker

is the most versed with their territory's terrain

lovestruck by the idea of love and fate

has his memory wiped by his elusive mate

mate: siren

Xiaojun

scout

one hundred and eleven years old

has mastered controlling his inner beast

recently elevated to the position of scout

is eager to prove himself within the pack

rescues his mate from the cruelty of humans

mate: seer

Hendery

hunter

eighty-three years old

loves running under the moon's light

known for his great speed and stealth

recently elevated to the position of hunter

taken down by his fearless mate

mate: assassin

YangYang

omega

twenty-three years old

only recently had his first transformation

is the pack's forager

searches for plants and provisions to help feed the pack

is reunited with his childhood friend and mate

mate: greenskeeper

Chenle

pup

twenty-two years old

is eager for his first transformation

spent his early years on the run with his aunt

thankful to be accepted into a pack

ambushed by his wicked mate

mate: star coven witch

Jisung

pup

twenty-one years old

is nervous about his first transformation

last to join the pack

spent years hiding underground from humans

shyly taken by his doting mate

mate: seamstress

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asnowfern · 9 months

Text

We’re Not Strangers, We’re Lovers

Summary: Cassian's muscles twitched as every fibre of his being screamed at him to go after her. He didn't know her, not in this lifetime, not yet. OR another take on the reincarnation/soulmate trope.

Rating: Mature

CW: Implied character death

Word count: 3.1k

Read on AO3

A/N: Written for day 4 of @cassianappreciationweek : Lover💕💕💕

Enjoy!

Hazy sunlight streamed through the curtains into the room, brightening up the room in the orange glow of sunrise. Cassian's eyes fluttered open to observe his surroundings.

The room was functional and barely decorated, the kind that said bachelor's pad without being overly obvious about it. He shifted his hand and sunk into soft flesh, pulling the warm body close. Slender arms wrapped around him in response.

"Good morning, governess," he greeted, his voice hoarse from sleep. He traced her neck with his lips, watching in delight as it left a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

The bed creeked slightly as she flipped around to face him, fixing him with a mock stern look with those piercing green eyes.

"Good morning," she returned primly, her hand moving to fist his morning arousal. A flicker of amusement sparked in her eyes as he groaned. She continued, tutting, "Didn't your Oxford educators teach you that this isn't the way to greet a polite lady?"

His lips tugged up to flash her a rakish grin, "Perhaps I'm due for a refresher, governess."

He leaned in to capture her lips and-

A loud beeping blared across the room, the synthetic sound at odds with the suddenly archaic furnishing of their environment.

Cassian snapped his eyes open, taking in the familiar modern room fittings. He sighed heavily as he looked down at his raging erection.

He padded lazily to the bathroom. His eyes shut close as his brain too easily conjured those emerald eyes and how those plump lips would feel wrapped around his cock, quickly drawing out his release with a grunt.

It was one of those damned dreams again.

They started when he was ten as he was playing around with Rhys and Az, foolishly racing to be the first to top the tree. One misstep later, Cassian was knocked unconscious on the ground with two panicky boys.

It was during that bout of unconsciousness that began the first of a very, very long series of dreams. It was of a beautiful girl, similarly aged around ten. She had flaxen hair that glowed with the sun and crystal blue eyes that could get her anything she wanted. They played in fjord, chasing sheeps and each other. Cassian never wanted the dream to end.

And it didn't.

The dreams continued to follow him even after he had fully recovered from the fall. Dreams of him with multiple girls - chasing the beautiful blonde in the fjords, splashing water with an Indian girl who sported cute dimples along the Indus River, running and giggling around the English countryside with a ginger, scouring through Chinese libraries with the delicate female with the beauty mark. As he grew, so did the girls in his dreams. Many girls but Cassian knew from the whispering voice deep within him that they were all one person. His soulmate, a love that transcended lifetimes.

Haunted by the stories of past loves was a curse and a blessing. A blessing to know that there was someone out there for him, a curse that got bothersome after nearly twenty years of waiting. That left him oscillating between doubting his own sanity and wondering if the fates skipped out on him this go round.

Turning off the tap with another sigh, he stepped out of the shower and toweled himself dry, mindlessly getting himself dressed and ready for the day ahead. He internally hummed along to the boppy tune as he waited for the traffic light to turn. Glancing up to the red man sign, Cassian's mouth went dry.

Standing at the opposing end of the crossing was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Golden brown hair swept into a neat coronet braid with bored stormy blue eyes that assessed her surroundings with casual ease. The voice whispered to Cassian once more. There she is, the one you've been waiting for.

His muscles twitched as every fibre of his being screamed at him to go after her. He didn't know her, not in this lifetime, not yet. With his mind so wholly focused on figuring out how to approach her, he failed to notice the rushing commuter barreling his way into Cassian's back with his eyes still glued to his phone, failed to seize his muscles and absorb the impact. Instead, Cassian fell headfirst into the oncoming traffic.

The last pair of eyes he saw were wide, concerned stormy blue eyes. He attempted to lift a heavy hand towards her only for darkness to overtake his being.

***

Alarm and panic surrounded him as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Amidst the chaos, soft fingers interlaced with his, radiating comfort and warmth.

"There's so much blood," a small gentle voice sliced through the noise, reaching his ears effortlessly, "Hang in there, love. Help is on its way."

So Cassian did. Through the sirens and curt instructions from paramedics, Cassian clutched on tightly to the warmth in his palm. Don't let go, never let go.

He looked up with hooded lids at the look of breathless ecstasy on his wife as her thighs clamped tightly around his head. With a satisfied smile, he rode her through her release. He slid up the length of her body, taking care not to press any weight on her belly.

“Well, breakfast was delicious if I could say so,” he said smugly, licking his fingers.

“Cad!” She laughed, playfully pushing his face away as he leaned in for a kiss. She glanced at the rising sun through the window and heaved a gentle sigh, “You should get ready for work.”

He rose from the bed to wash up, letting the covers slide off his body and blanket his wife. Just as he was about to leave the house, he rounded back to the bed, dropping a kiss on her forehead and lowered to level himself to her middle, pressing his forehead to the small bump, “You be good today and not give your mummy any trouble, alright?”

She smiled, pulling him up for a chaste kiss, "Have a good day at work, love."

"Catch you later, stranger," he promised, his heartstrings tugging at him as a cloud of sleepiness visibly descended on her.

"Not if I catch you first," she murmured, sighing contently as he adjusted the blankets.

With one last longing look, he exited the house, counting down every minute until he could return to his growing family. It was with the same drive to return that got him through the day and happily walking back home when a fire truck raced past him. He quickened his pace, an unsettling fear blossoming in his stomach. His heart leapt to his throat as he saw the fire that engulfed his home.

No.

No, he thought desperately, sprinting towards the building. Not when they had finally found their little cocoon of peace, not when he had finally returned from fighting in the Great War.

He ignored the blustering warnings from the firefighters and rushed headfirst into the inferno. His heart pounded in his ears in time with the roar of the flames around him, overpowering even his own frantic cries for his wife. The world around them slowed as he spotted the familiar collapsed feminine form.

His breath only returned to him as she blinked her eyes opened. "Let's go, baby. Let's go," he murmured into her hair as he enveloped her with his large frame, protectively shielding her out.

Just as they were a couple of steps away from the door, he heard an ominous creak in the ceiling. Instinctively, he pushed her out of the way and allowed the heavy concrete to crush him instead of her.

Because it would always be her. There was only ever her.

So he stopped her from trying to lift the heavy structures crushing him and shakily reached for her hand instead, pulling her close enough to gently stroke her dirt smeared face for the last time.

"No, you're not leaving me like this," she declared tearfully, steely stubbornness bright in her eyes, "I'm going to get help so promise you'll hold on."

"Swear it!" She repeated forcefully when he remained silent.

He held her gaze for a sorrowful beat, acutely aware of the darkness edging his vision. "Go, it isn't safe here for the both of you."

Conflict warred in those sapphire orbs before her body angled towards the exit, "You hang on for as long as you need to."

He pushed past the heavy agony to give a shaky smile, "I'll catch you later, stranger."

The beautiful angelic voice reached him easily even as his eyes shut close, likely for the last time.

"Not if I catch you first."

***

Cassian blinked blearily, his vision sharpening with every steady beep of the machine next to him.

"Cass" a familiar baritone voice breathed next to him, shrouding him in a rain of salt and citrus.

Rhys, friend, his brain helpfully provided.

He groaned as he turned his head to the side and the small movement triggered a pounding against the inside of his skull. Rhys's usual sharp violet eyes were alight with worry, his brows creased as he swiped a thumb over Cassian's damp cheeks, "You're crying."

Cassian slouched back into the hospital bed. His insides twisted achingly as his brain caught up with the dream. He wanted so desperately to be with them and Cassian could still feel every pain, regret and longing. He inhaled sharply, taking in the ache in his lungs and exhaled, feeling the pounding in his head and heaviness in his leg.

These pains were his and his alone. He focused on the thought to dissociate himself from the man in his dreams.

"What happened?" He asked.

"You were hit by a car about two junctions from the gym," Rhys said, concern and uncertainty lacing every word, "Do you remember?"

Rhys continued when he didn't respond, "You suffered a blow to the head. I heard a blonde woman accompanied you to the hospital."

Something twinged in him at those words.

"A blonde?"

"Yes, a blonde lady was at the scene. She called the ambulance and rode it with you to the hospital." Rhys's shoulders loosened as he raised an arched brow, almost in amusement.

The image of the stunning female with the braided crown and piercing blue eyes cut through the fog in his brain. Next to Cassian, the machine beeped a little faster, something Rhys clocked with a quirk of his lips.

"Is she still here?"

"The woman? No, the nurse mentioned she left right after hearing your condition wasn't serious and we were coming." Rhys replied, continuing with a scowl, "But really? You just woke up from an accident and the only thing on your mind is picking up a girl?"

Cassian flashed him a grin, "Is that not how you know that I'm alright?"

"You're an idiot."

***

Three years later

A buzz from his phone dragged Cassian away from his computer screen.

Emerie: I invited a friend to class later. Don't be weird about it.

Cassian: Excuse me, I am a professional😤

Emerie: Sure💁🏻‍♀️

Putting his phone away, Cassian returned his attention to updating the gym's website and did not give the conversation much thought for the rest of the afternoon. Not until evening rolled by and Emerie entered the gym with another woman trailing behind her.

Cassian halted as his world froze to a standstill around him.

It was her.

With cheekbones so sharp one might cut themselves with it (oh, how his hands itched to try) and assessing steely blue eyes, she appeared exactly as Cassian remembered. But somehow, even more breathtakingly beautiful.

Their gazes locked for a moment as she scanned the gym, her lips pursed into a tight line. Cassian cut across the practice mats, stretching his arms, knowing full well how they flexed in his muscle tee. Next to her, Emerie rolled her eyes.

"Hey, Ems. This, your friend?"

The brunette tilted her head to the side in confirmation, "This is Nesta."

He turned to her. Her eyes burned with a fiery strength as her chin tilted up, daring him to make a move. His lips twitched, "Do you have any experience in MMA or martial arts in general?"

She shook her head, "First time."

"You'll do great," he said sincerely.

His belief cemented into conviction as she gave a derisive huff. She had a fighter's spirit, that's for sure.

He clapped his hands to gather the students, barking loudly. "Let's start with warm-ups. Laps around the gym. Let's go!"

The training proceeded smoothly, Nesta possessed far more grace than any beginner should, catching on the legwork with a natural ease. She stood fists at the ready to swing at the punching bag, grunting in frustration as her wrapped knuckles made a lackluster impact on the apparatus.

"May I?" He asked, raising his arms and hovering them around her shoulders in question.

At her nod, he stepped behind her, so close that he could feel the delicious heat that she radiated, and gently grasped her forearms. She stiffened in his grip, a tenseness that made the muscle in his jaw feather and sent a surge of cold rage through him.

He could kill whoever tried to hurt her. Instead, he swallowed the lump in his throat and guided her arms into the two-step jab and uppercut motions, his body twisting and swinging in tandem with hers, "Use the momentum of your entire body."

He released the grip, his hand flexed at the loss of contact. With a look of renewed determination, Nesta attacked the bag once more. The bag swung hard with her strengthened blow. Exhilaration and relief overtook her face, splitting it into a white smile that took his breath away.

"Now you get it, Nes."

She raised a perfect brow, "Nes?"

He crossed his arms and shrugged, "I like it."

"I don't," she returned, the words not having much heat to it.

Cassian leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, "But I think you do."

He couldn't help but laugh at her scowl as rose tipped her ears.

The words echoed soundlessly across the gym as Nesta attacked the bag relentlessly with a series of strikes, each blow getting more precise than the next. Never again will I be powerless, never again.

***

"Flat white for Nesta?" The barista's voice boomed over the noise of the cafe.

Cassian's head snapped up as his attention on his phone vanished instantly. He instantly drifted to her, his body moving on its own accord like a magnet.

"Nes"

Azure orbs widened a smidge as she tilted her head to him, the micro muscles of her face jumped as she scalded herself on the hot beverage. She maintained a careful silence as she capped her tumbler.

Finally, she turned to him, "Didn't expect to run into you here."

The place in question was a quaint coffee shop whose patrons consisted primarily of staff and students of the nearby Velaris University.

He held the door as they exited the building, his steps falling in line effortlessly with hers as he answered, "I'm pursuing a degree in physiotherapy. Expanding my reach as an instructor."

"That's incredible," she admitted as grey blue eyes flashed with admiration, "You're a decent instructor. It suits you."

"I'm still at the halfway mark," he nudged her shoulders teasingly, "You'll still see me at the studio for a couple more years yet."

"Well," she scrunched a button nose, a sight so adorable his heart squeezed in response, "I prefer Azriel anyway."

He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, “Az always steals the good ones.”

They settled at a bench overlooking the Sidra which leads into the sea, silver light glinted and twinkled in the reflection. The light gush of the moving water accompanied Nesta’s small sigh of content as she sipped on her coffee.

It was a perfect view of the river and the skyline of the skyscrapers that towered over Velaris. But all Cassian could and wanted to do was to stare at the woman seated next to him, at the curl of golden tendrils framing her face, her lips shaped in a slight pucker as she blew on her coffee, steely blue eyes stared pointedly at the body of water. He could do this forever.

Something in him purred in agreement like a lazy cat resting on a heated surface. Keep her, make her stay, it crooned.

"I got into an accident a few years back," he said suddenly, shattering the easy silence that settled over them. His hand unconsciously rubbed his healed knee, "the doctor said it was a miracle I regained as much function in my leg as I did. But it wasn't just me, I had an incredible physiotherapist who literally walked me back to health."

"That's why you do this," she surmised.

He smiled, "That's why I do this but that's not why I'm telling you this."

Hazel eyes bore into silvery blue, "What really pushed me through my sessions was a mysterious beautiful woman who held my hand the entire time I was in the ambulance, only wrenching it away when I was pulled into the ER," her lips parted as her breath hitched imperceptibly, "a mysterious woman that disappeared before I woke up, leaving no trace of how I could find her, thank her, ask her out."

Their faces were now inches apart, close enough that he could make out and count each freckle speckled on the bridge of her nose. Her gaze dipped slightly to his lips before raising back to his eyes, a small smile played on her lips just before she leaned in and closed the gap.

Cassian's mind was wiped blank. Then the sensation of soft lips pressed against him moved. That spurred him to action, raising a hand to envelope her cheek as he deepened the kiss and slid in a tongue through parted lips.

Nesta tasted like warm fire on a cool winter night, sending heat through his veins and lighting his entire being ablaze. A rough tug on his hair had him groaning into her mouth. He pulled her closer as tongue and teeth battled for dominance.

It was an effortless bliss that was simultaneously new and old to Cassian.

"So dinner tomorrow night?" He asked, chest still heaving from the kiss.

Nesta laughed, a sound so bright and lilting. "Tomorrow night," she agreed and recited her digits, pausing occasionally as his fingers tapped them into his phone, "I guess I'll catch you later, stranger."

He froze.

The words wrangled through his soul and left the organ in chest reeling. Finally, a heavy presence lifted and Cassian felt anew.

"Not if I catch you first."

End

#cassianappreciationweek2023 #day 4: lover #cassian #nessian #nesta archeron #nesta x cassian #nessian fic #reincarnation/soulmate fic #acotar

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gingerbreedhouse · 4 months

Text

Enter Mrs Sandwich!

Now that's what we call an appearance.

Meet Madame Tracy!

Enter Lady Ashtoreth

#mrs sandwich #madame tracy #lady asthoreth #nanny ashtoreth #nanny crowley #the stern governess #whores of shua #gingerbreed house #gingerbread house

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crimson0lake · 1 month

Text

BSD: One Time Sanity

Prologue: The start of a new era

Warnings: blood, guns, wounds, corpses, knives, alcohol, underage drinking, gangs, mafias, bullets, swears

A.n: sorry that it took a while but here's the prologue!

Word count: 1.771

"Those self inflicted 'mafıas' started to get on my nerves"

The raven haired boy spoke with a stern hush while taking another sip from his glass of liquor in his hands.

The bullets and blood had decorating the night city.

Once a silent and calm city had filled with groups of people who are fighting to someone very silly like to get the one rule the city after the biggest 'mafia's fall.

Night breeze blowing between the buildings and alleys. The Velvet Night in Yokohama. There was a mysterious air around the city..

A bar, where the two boys are sitting, hidden from sight but still reachable for who's looking for it. Hiding a deep secret and a deep bond in its walls. Holding many memories, hopes and dreams more than anyone could imagine.

"You are talking like we can do something about it now. There's more then 50 gangs across the country"

Other boy replied as he spins the liquor in the glass he holds.

"I don't care about that part but don't you think they are getting to comfortable and confident, Hirotsu?"

Raven haired boy spoke with a smirk as his friend sighed.

"That's another thing. They are indeed getting closer but I rather drink a whole bottle of liquor than go and deal with those egoist yet stupid people."

"I have nothing against your words but I still can't forget how you get rejected by that girl 3 days ago~"

"HEY!! You said you would stop, bastard!"

"How can I stop?? It was soo funny!"

Raven haired boy laughs and holds his stomach before speaking in a more feminine tone to mock Hirotsu who was red with embarrassed and irritated with his friend.

" 'I don't like black haired boys and you are quite ugly' HHAHAAHAH, the look on your face was priceless!!"

Black haired boy stands up before smacking his friend's head angrily.

"Haha! Weren't you the one who got rejected by total of 25 girls last week?"

"Why did you count all of that????"

The two boys conversation cut off with a sigh from the young adult bartender as he cleaned the glass in his hands with a towel.

The small bar was smell like all kinds of alcohol. Clean and new wallpapers were peeling off due to moisture.

"You two acting like you weren't just cornered by a gang just hours ago. I sometimes wonder why can't you two stay in your seats at least once, I'm tired of saving your ass'.."

"What we can say, Lupin? We need to be active to hold the title of 'stray dogs'~" Hirotsu shrugged as he drink the glass of liquor left in his glass in one go.

By the bartender man sigh and rub his temples, raven haired boy chuckled before turning to his friends. "It's not like we can possibly do something, right Lewis?"

"Yes, like two young and innocent boys like us can go against those delinquents.." Lewis confirm his friends statement before he pour more liquor in his glass with a small dark smirk.

Both of the young boys chuckled to themselves while the bartender was nervous till soon the realisation hit him.

"No! My answer is no and neither you guys are going to do what you are thinking! I can figure it out what you guys thinking by your expressions after all these years!!"

"Ah, don't be a spoilsport now! It would be fun!"

"Dancing with death isn't fun! You guys going to be in more chaos than you are already in!"

"Double trouble means double black! That's why we are called double black in the first place!!"

"That's just a title given you two by some coward, who lived enough to tell his story! What would happen if the goverment had heard about it then? They would had you two's heads!!"

"If they fear us, why this is our fault?! We haven't done anything to them yet! That doesn't make sense!!"

"It doesn't need to make sense!! They are scared of power and you two have too much than enough of that kind of power already!"

Lewis chuckled amusedly before holding his glass up and spinning the liquor in it a bit while he listen the two males argue. "In this topic, Lupin is right. Even though we are powerful, we are still naive and young."

The pitch black haired boy turned to his friend with confusion, flustration, and a small bit of betrayal while the bartender sigh and nod with a small hint of proudness and small relief, thinking the two boys finally give up on that dream.

"... But..."

The two of them pause as the raven haired boy turned to them with a innocent looking faux smile. "It's the era of gangs. We may increase our safety rate if we were in a gang. A powerful one"

"That could work out, but what if someone learns about you two's abilities? They would find you even in underground! Do you two forget what they done to that immortal?" Lupin said as he put his hands down on the counter with a distress.

"Then Wonderland can hide us."

"What if they killed one of you?!"

"But you won't let them, Lupin"

"You can't see every possiblity, Lewis! There would be alwasy a chance of a possiblity you never seen to come true!"

"In that scenario that's where I'm joining" Hirotsu add with a chuckle as the two boys look at each other and laugh under their breath of how much their friend was stressing over some thing this small.

They see this as a game, a winning game. While Lupin was distressing and anxious for the two careless boys... and his job.

Hirotsu rises his glass in air, breaking the silence with clearing his throat. "Then lets rise our drinks for the Port Harbor Gang!"

Raven haired boy turns around while holding his laugh back barely. "I could have take you serious if it wasn't for the flower patels on your hair-"

"Yeah, yeah.. Wait- FLOWER WHATS??"

Raven haired boy coudn't hold back his laughter more and laughed mockingly to his friend's attempt of cleaning the flower patels on his head.. 'Hirotsu would be very mad when he find out I put more in his hat and in his clothes..' Lewis think while still laughing his ass off. Even small tears had start to form corner of his eyes from how hard he was laughing.

"Lewis, YOU LITTLE-!"

Lupin take a deep breath while the two boys mess with each other. 'Why do I feel this is going to end up with blood again?' he thought while putting the last glass cup he just finished cleaning.

--------------------------------------------

'So this is the place where boss wanted me to meet with those important men' gravity manipulator thought as he entered the empty valley.

The grass was vey short and there wasn't any trees within the next few km.

Chuuya thought as he start to walk towards a big plane which seemed to landed on the valley not so long ago. The short grass under the plane slowly leaned towards ground with the weight on it. 'They seem to be already here, huh. Well with the information given to me, the documents they have is pretty secret. In that case, if we take the danger and risk they take by coming to Yokohama, this kinds of missions that are hidden from other executives are pretty understandable'

He stopped in front of the stairs and started to slowly walk up 'Still, it's pretty quiet...'

Chuuya stopped in front of the plane's door before taking a deep breath and knocking two times then after a second later three times more before stepping a few steps back.

Yet no sound or movement comes from the door. Chuuya knocks two times then three times more before taking a few steps back again. 'They should have get the code by now' he thought.

He waited a few minutes more before activating his ability and opening the door of the plane himself.

"Hello, I'm Nakahara Chuuya. I'm in the position who would take you to the Port Mafia ba-... What the fuck-.."

His words stuck in his throat upon seeing the sight in front of him. Blood everywhere, the wines and alcohols that are taken out to drink was broken. Some of the glass pieces stuck on the corpses, some of them on walls, floors, and the luxurious seats.

Bodies of the men and their body guardians were laying there and there. Some of their throats broken and ripped apart while some of them had food and cutting knifes stabbed in their body multiple times.

Some of their chins broken, gun shot wounds open and dripping blood from the open holes the bullets caused.

Chuuya take a deep breath before approaching the bodies the investigate and check if there was anything left he didn't see.

Chuuya was disgusted and disturbed slightly from inside due the state of corpses but the thing thats make Chuuya more disturbed was that there was a drawing on the empty wall of the plane where a painting was stayed not so long ago.

It was almost the same as the scars appear on his body the time he uses corrouption.

The sight of the drawing was making his breath stuck in his throat and awakening the memories he doesn't want to remember. He tried to take deep breaths but his breath seemed to turned against him.

'Someone knew...' he thought as he takes a step back instinctively. He felt like he was in a nightmare from long time ago that he didn't remembered.

The words written with a weird liquid didn't chance the fact it was almost calling for him, or the thing inside him..

He got out of the plane to get some air and called an investigation team, only to see there were no signals here. He had no choice but to run down the path he used to come up here.

Chuuya cursed under his breath while rushing towards the path he used to come to the valley. The sentence written on the wall was still lingering in his mind as he ran down the woods to find a signal. In deep down he was still nervous about the drawing and the words written there but now feeling a bit relieved that he was away from that memory.

"Hide the secrets, hide the lies, don't let them see

Real play is now starting, prepare the weapons, soldiers

Real ruler is returning, Lets see how much more you can hide"

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jazzfordshire · 3 months

Note

the tags you put for your supercorp victorian au sounds like sound of music au but victorian

I mean, maybe tangentially because Lena is a governess I guess? Kara isn't a stern parent or a naval officer and the kids are her wards and not her actual children, Lena isn't a rebellious abbess, there's no singing and no Nazis so. I actually wouldn't say it's a sound of music au at all lmao

#Lena's vibe is much more Mary Poppins than it is Maria tbh #Kara's vibe is like. absent-minded earnest frazzled writer forgets to take care of herself

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hotvintagepoll · 22 days

Text

Propaganda

Julie Andrews (The Sound of Music, Mary Poppins)—Oh where to start .... I'm not sure I even know how. She's just perfection. And it's not fair I can't bring post 70s work into this, because she just gets better and better, and her drag performance in to die for. But in the era I CAN talk about, she shows she has THE RANGE. Beautiful, feisty, funny, holding her own against Christopher Plummer, Paul Newman, Rock Hudson. Oh she's luminous.

Nadira (Shree 420, Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai)— She had a blast playing the femme fatal in Indian films in the 50s. Also the costumes she wore in Shree 420 are absolutely iconic. It's important to mention that she was Jewish. She was born Farhad "Florence" Ezekiel in Baghdad to an Iraqi Jewish family. They moved to India sometime in the 1940s. The funny thing is that she originally wanted to convert to Catholicism and become a nun but joined the film industry instead as her family desperately needed money. Even though she was unfortunately typecast in femme fatale roles after playing the nightclub entertainer Maya in Shree 420, she always gave 110% to every role she was cast in. Apparently she acted in a German film as well? She was also one of the most highly paid actresses in the Indian film industry and was one of the few Indians to own a Rolls Royce.

This is round 3 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Julie Andrews propaganda:

"She has such a simple but amazing beauty to her. Not to mention her amazing and melodic singing voice!"

"Roles like nannies and governesses can make us forget how attractive she was! A perfect combination of elegant and adorable, with the most incredible vocal range to boot!"

"Besides having one of the most amazing singing voices ever to grace the silver screen, Julie always had an understated beauty to her that wasn't always shown off on screen. But it's there nonetheless because her characters managed to pull some of the hottest men ever to grace the screen."

"The juxtaposition between carefree Maria and stern but fun Mary Poppins shows the power of the acting of this HOT VINTAGE MOVIE WOMAN"

"Charming, genteel, incredibly charismatic, beautiful, and has an angelic singing voice to boot. Her screen roles as Maria in The Sound of Music and Mary Poppins are absolutely iconic for a reason and she originated several well-known Broadway roles before those."

"the most beautiful woman 12 year old me had ever seen possibly"

"OMG OMG OMG she’s definitely been submitted before how could she NOT but!!!! I loveeee her so muchhhh rahhhh prebby!!!! cool!!!! mary poppins the beloved <33333 some people dislike it but I love jolly holiday so much because it IS a jolly holiday with Mary!!! no wonder that it’s Mary that we love!!!!!"

"I know many people who were taught in singing lessons "when in doubt, pronounce words how julie andrews would pronounce them." THATS CALLED INFLUENCE. THATS CALLED MOTHERING THOUSANDS."

Nadira:

I just submitted a whole list of golden-era Bollywood stars without whom I thought this tournament could not conscionably be considered complete BUT Nadira has got my personal vote for Hottest of the lot. She played a bunch of delicious vamp roles in her youth before graduating to being a creepy spiderlady antagonist type in middle/older age. Rare is the still in which she looks like she's NOT about to gnaw your face off. Yow!

#nadira #julie andrews #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 3

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offshore-brinicle · 4 months

Text

Partly for fun, partly for little fun facts: list of the Sinners who have siblings (either canonically to Limbus or from their source material)

Confirmed in Limbus:

Hong Lu: Jia Huan obviously, but in the original book they also have 3 other siblings who Hong Lu mentions sometimes in his anectodes.

Gregor: had his little sister Grete mentioned briefly in Canto I though not by name, implied to be dead but actual whereabouts and fate are unknown currently.

Sinclair: had an older sister (funnily enough had two sisters instead in the book but in Limbus only had one, probably for simplicity's sake)

Not confirmed canon to Limbus but part of their source material/inspirations:

Rodion: had a younger sister named Avdotya or "Dunya" for short who lived together with their mother. Similarly confident as well as caring towards Rodion. Worked as a governess (basically a private tutor) to help with her family's poverty, being close to trying to marry to get them out of their situation which served as further motivation for Rodion's murder.

Yi Sang: the real author Yi Sang was the eldest son of three children, having one younger sister and one younger brother. Was adopted by his stern uncle due to his father's disability, however he and his sister were remarkably close and had a loving relationship, even writing about her, until she eventually eloped from the country with his help. Not much is known about his brother. (and might have had an adoptive brother/cousin later in life but only found one source referencing that, but either way his adoptive family was very cold and abusive). Though Limbus isn't 100% accurate on how much it takes from the real author's life for the character and switches some things around or picks selectively for thematical purposes, but it's neat history + fun to speculate on.

#project moon #limbus company #I love project moon because I have an excuse to info dump about culture and lit on both my friends and internet strangers in an a weeby way #lcb Yi Sinclair #lcb Gregor #lcb Rodion #lcb Yi Sang #lcb Hong Lu

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welcome-to-ratterrock · 2 days

Note

Sorry to bother but can we get more of the cast's personalities or some short description about it or will it be a bit of a spoiler for the story? Thank you! And keep up the great work!

You’re not a bother at all! It’s wonderful to have people interested in this story. To answer your questions…

In a world beneath our own, after the horrors of World War 1, a string of murders in the seaside city of Saltscratch force Sage Locke, a brilliant if unorthodox consulting detective, to infiltrate the Bloody Hearts, a notorious criminal gang that fights to rule the island rats have claimed for themselves. Of course, given his personal history with the leader, Padraic Regal, that’s going to be bloody difficult…

A murder mystery with dark romances, betrayal and bloodshed, gangsters and outcasts, steamy scenes and social commentary, featuring a cast of queer rodents. The sea washes away much, but not your sins…

Welcome to Ratterrock.

And as for our characters, here’s the core cast as our story begins:

Sage Locke: A brilliant and unorthodox consulting detective, Locke finds it far easier to deal with data and dangerous criminal investigations than society and sentiment. His life is his work, and he has gained both admiration and adversaries.

Padraic Regal: The eldest sibling of the Regal family and the leader of the fearsome gang the Bloody Hearts, Padraic is determined to get the power and respect his name deserves by any means necessary. With his staggering intelligence, endless charisma and utter ruthlessness, he makes a fearsome enemy but a far more dangerous friend.

Sorcha Regal: Like the diamonds she favors, Sorcha is dazzling, cool and always polished, her stunning beauty only matched by her cunning and charm. As the second in command of the Bloody Hearts, she has earned her reputation as the most dangerous woman on Ratterrock.

Lorcan Regal: A born brawler, Lorcan is the rowdy and reckless muscle to the Bloody Hearts, happily obeying the commands of his eldest siblings. Ferocious in all his appetites - boxing or booze, men or women - Lorcan is all heart and endlessly loyal to his family.

Randall Clifford: The Chief Inspector of the Saltscratch Police Force, Clifford is determined that the criminal underworld won’t escape the power of the law. He handles both his position and the unusual methods of one Sage Locke with well earned confidence and efficiency, and is a well respected figure.

Bogdan Nightshade: The stern and stoic leader of the Night Court colony, Bogdan isn’t one for trifling distractions, keeping his time occupied with ensuring his family's safety and stability. Between helping his beloved mother and keeping his wild brother out of trouble, Bogdan doesn’t lower his grim guard for anything or anyone.

Casimir Nightshade: An unfortunate incident with some downed wires left Casimir wildly unpredictable and deeply dangerous both to himself and others, much to the concern of his eldest brother. Utterly uninhibited, Casimir tends to bring chaos wherever he goes, whether he intends to or not.

Marilla Mackenzie: The only child of one of Saltscratch’s most wealthy and esteemed families, Rilla is a free spirit who wants nothing more than to live life on her own terms: dancing, flirting, and fun. As one of the most beautiful and blue blooded of Saltcratch’s debutants, she’s looking at a future that doesn’t have any of that.

Luella Woodmouse: Quiet, competent and determinedly demure, Luella works as a governess to the upper class of Saltscratch and prides herself on her calmness and courtesy. Despite her best efforts to keep out of trouble, she will often end up on “adventures” with one Miss Marilla Mackenzie.

Brigid O’Broin: Tough, gruff and fearsome, Brig is a dockworker and boxer who has had to fight her whole life to survive. Once the best mate of one Lorcan Regal, she keeps to herself and out of trouble as best she can.

More characters will be joining the story, and we’ll be adding character profiles on our official website when it is out of development, which will be updated as the story continues.

Thank you so much for the questions!

#ratterrock #original characters #sage locke #padraic regal #sorcha regal #lorcan regal #inspector clifford #bogdan nightshade #casimir nightshade #rilla mackenzie #luella woodmouse #brig o’brion #original story #murder mystery #furry webcomic #furry art

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theprettynosferatu · 1 year

Text

When I was a little girl, not even six years of age, my wet nurse would tell me stories. They were stern warnings in the form of tales, in which naughty girls were taken by the Fair Folk and replaced by a strange copy so their parents wouldn’t notice; they were about strange beings with large eyes and bloody teeth who bit the bellies of sleeping girls; they were about foul witches who turned into cats and bats and watched their victims from shadowed corners.

Once my mother learned of this, the poor wet nurse got a proper talking-to. The stories ceased, but the monsters never left me, and so I asked for a gas lamp to be left outside my door so I wouldn’t sleep in the dark. No matter how much my mother insisted that the creatures were not real, I would not budge on the matter of the light, much to her dismay. Soon after that, she was gone. I was told it was the result of a difficult pregnancy, and that my unborn sister had gone to heaven with my dear mother, but part of me never stopped thinking about those creatures with huge eyes. I Imagined them feeding on my mother’s big belly until there was no more to feed on, and so the gas lamp stayed well after I understood that monsters were not real.

My father was left with a business empire to run and a young daughter to raise. He was much more adept at one than the other, and so a succession of governesses and tutors made sure to raise me as a proper lady. Before he noticed it, I was nineteen and unwed, which he would not abide. He started throwing big balls and parties at our estate, and not once failed to remind me of the twin facts that they were both expensive and for my benefit. I understood the need to secure an advantageous marriage, of course. It was most unfortunate, however, that the sons of nobility and business consistently failed to provoke the slightest reaction in me besides a slight amusement at their attempts at seduction.

I confess I was quite adept at the secret arts of coquettishness and playfulness, and could swim gracefully through the social waters into which my father had thrown me. I quickly learned to keep suitors both interested and at an arm’s length, alternatively offering coldness and hints of warmth, silence and smiles. A most effective delaying tactic, I found, was to put two or more gentlemen in competition with one another. Their attempts to overshadow the others often took time and occasionally took the form of lavish gifts I was not able to refuse, such was their insistence.

Still, this dance could not last forever. My father was not a patient man, and even if he were, time made fools of us all, and spinsters of women who stretched their playfulness too far. I wasn’t such a romantic that I expected my world to explode in a million colors at the sight of a man, but I required to feel at least… something. Anything, really. It wasn’t too high of a demand for marriage, I felt. Father felt otherwise. His growing impatience was reflected in both the expense of his parties and his tolerance for my increasingly scandalous dresses: there was a beautiful mathematics in how I could measure his despair by how low my neckline got. I entertained myself in this manner to escape the inevitable, and to elude the question that plagued my nights: why, when so many others had found suitable husbands, did men bore me so much?

Father, one beautiful afternoon, decided to put an end to my hesitation. He spoke to me not as a daughter, but as a business partner. He explained the importance of securing good relations with certain families, the benefits of this candidate and that one, their impeccable pedigrees and their families’ prodigious economic ventures. I assented, since he spoke with impeccable logic and common sense, while I couldn’t put into words the malaise, the deep ennui that overcame me whenever I pondered matters of marriage. One final party, we agreed. There, I would have to choose.

Seeing as it would be my final foray into the dance of seduction, I had a seamstress make me a special dress, just to show Father that I was not pleased by his insistence. It was blood red, and something I imagined would make a seventeenth Century french aristocrat blush. Their decadence paled before my annoyance, and in any other setting I’d be taken by the constabulary for wearing such a revealing outfit. However, it was the event of my symbolic execution, so I felt I deserved some indulgences. Besides, what better way for my future husband to show his devotion than having to withstand a miniscule scandal to conquer my heart?

The scandal was perhaps larger than I intended, although I confessed the shocked gasps and mutters of the guests were quite musical to my ears. Father’s none too kind entreaties to put on a proper attire eventually wore me out, and I gave in to his mosquito-like buzzing. Still, I chose to walk by the estate’s grounds one last time as a free woman before changing.

“Boring party, is it not?”

I didn’t hear her coming, and as soon as I saw her my heart skipped a beat. I’m not sure how long I stared at her, at the way the moonlight reflected on her perfect, dark skin, that seemed masterfully sculpted in wood; her hair done up with exquisite ability, her long ballerina’s neck. My body almost trembled with alarm: not because I felt I was in danger, but because there existed the chance that this dark-eyed woman would not like me. I can’t tell why, but I wanted her to like me. I wanted to make her laugh. It was a feverish madness, one I could only half-recognize from my poetry readings. What was wrong with me? I managed to gather my thoughts somehow to reply.

“As always”, I said, trying to seem aloof and disinterested.

The woman sighed with deep, weary pity.

“As always indeed. The kraken feeds”

“The kraken?”

“My apologies. It’s just my name for it, for something that has no name and yet… The… dance of power they’re all subject to. The set of rules and ideas and norms of propriety that pulls on them like a puppeteer’s strings… except there is no singular puppetmaster. Tentacles wrap around us all… are you familiar with fractals? Endlessly repeating on every level. Inside us, the dance between desire and duty, the calculations of status and the wail of the tedious taskmaster we hold inside ourselves. Out there, everyone measuring their place, their role, knowing how to act and how not to act, following an unspoken choreography. Up there, business and bureaucracy and church pushing and pulling in their own waltz of control. And in the grand stage of nations carefully worded treaties, the threat of force, the unspoken deals set the tempo for the same dance. No puppeteer, yet all puppets. All clocks, their machinery working without a clockmaker in sight”

“What if a piece doesn’t fit?”, I asked before even realizing I was speaking.

“Oh, darling. There have always been pieces that don’t fit. A few we call poets and geniuses. Oracles, perhaps, once upon a time. However, most of them you can find in the streets, the prisons, the insane asylums”

“Now isn’t that a cheery thought. I’m sorry, I have to… try to fit in, somehow”

I was loath to leave her, which was exactly why I tried to leave quickly. I had no idea what was happening to me, but it was new and terrifying, and a cowardly part of me wanted to crawl back to the comfortable gilded cage of the familiar.

“What if you didn’t?”

Those words stopped me in my tracks.

“Excuse me?”

She walked towards me, her eyes pinning me in place.

“What if you refused the dance? What if you looked the world in the eye and simply said… no?”

It wasn't a concept I had ever even considered. There was a simple, unspoken command: one had a role, and one was expected to fulfill it; failure to do so would incur in punishment most severe, both unofficial and official, depending on the nature of the refusal.

“It’s not that easy”

“I never said it was easy. But then again, wouldn’t it be worthwhile? And in fact, you’ve already begun the most difficult part of the whole affair. You’re imagining yourself outside that place, aren’t you? The fundamental refusal to be what they demand you to be is already inside you, and growing. That word is there, even if you haven’t verbalized it”

“Saying the words is easy. Following them up is the difficult and painful part”

“And yet you are not saying the words”

“What would be the point? Words without power are but empty air”

“I’m sure you can find excuses to remain silent until you’re withered and bent, and if that’s your wish, I’ll leave you alone. Or you can speak up, even if it would only be a symbol, even if only for yourself”

She was right. I was making excuses, and my chest burned with the realization that something, some unseen jailor inside myself, was keeping me from even saying what I desired, making the words die in my throat. Was it that immoral to… want something else? To long for something different? It hurt and my mind battled itself with excuses for spears and bursts of courage for swords.

“No”

She smiled and I felt… brave. Powerful.

“No. I refuse. I refuse to do it. I refuse to go back in. I refuse to play the game. I refuse to be… anything other than what I want to be! I. Refuse!”

The world became a blur as gardens and flowerbeds flew past me, my feet off the ground, a rush of air roaring in my ears. By the time I could process how firmly she held me, how safe I felt in her arms, we were standing in an open field, painted silver by the moonlight. Her eyes seemed to shine with a light of their own.

“What… are you?”

She smiled.

“Does it matter? I am a way out. I am that ‘no’ made flesh. And I am also ‘yes’. Yes to freedom. Yes to being who you really are, to truly embody who you really feel inside, beneath layers and layers of fear and acceptance and meek malleability. I am power. The power to look the world in the eye and stand tall, without compromise. The power of pride, and the strength to let it be more than a word”

“And you would share this with me?”

“It’s not sharing. You already have that inside you. All you need to do is open your eyes”

It wasn’t my own eyes that concerned me. It was hers. They seemed to have a galaxy within them, swirling, drawing me deeper and deeper into them… an endless ocean punctuated with the glittering of a million stars, beckoning, imprinting inside me the truth, the irrefutable nature of her words. At that moment she seemed to me more beautiful than any sunrise, more compelling than the most exquisitely articulated discourse.

Suddenly a whole part of the world made sense like never before, a whole side to existence I had only glimpsed from a distance, in poems, in novels, in songs and the words of my friends. Not one of the endless parade of suitors had made me feel anything but amused derision. But this woman… whatever she was, whoever she was, had busted the dull gray clouds open and moonlight burst through to illuminate us in our play for two, our stage in the middle of the field.

I’m not sure when she embraced me. All I knew was that those eyes, those mesmerizing eyes put me at ease, made me desire her touch, her will, her words. I knew I could no more resist her than I could resist gravity. I wanted whatever she wanted. That was all I needed. Her lips on mine sent an electrical shock through every inch of my skin. I felt so alive, so sensitive, as if I was for the first time truly awake. I think a little moan escaped my lips. Her slender fingers brushed against my back and I shuddered, enraptured by the simple contact, the bond skin on skin forged. It was like discovering a whole new sense, a new side to the world. I couldn’t speak. I wanted her to take me, in whatever way she desired.

Soon her kisses moved down to my neck, her hand softly caressing my thigh. I had explored my body on occasion, always with the heavy blanket of shame weighing over me, but this was different. My body was free to feel, free to turn into an object of shameless, care-free pleasure, and it responded. I thought I would drown in the warmth between my legs, in the tidal wave of sensation and panting glory this creature had awakened in me. I was enslaved by her and free like never before, and I knew I’d do whatever she told me to, and I’d love every second of it. When she lowered my dress slightly and released my breast to the night air, I felt silly that I had ever hidden them in the first place. They were made to be seen, to be squeezed and fondled, to be sucked. And suck she did, with a skill that drained me of any thought or resistance, that made me weak, made me love my weakness.

I was on the ground. I couldn’t remember when I laid down. I was slipping in and out of coherence, overwhelmed by my own submission. I felt her tongue between my legs, her lips, her fingers. The world dissolved around me, and she was all that existed, all that mattered. I drifted on a warm ocean, letting wave after wave of pleasure take over me, happy to be led wherever this goddess willed…

“You are dying”

The words came as if from a great distance. They had no emotional resonance within me. I just accepted them. I was dying. I didn’t care. I just wanted to let go, to let myself be pulled by the currents of this new pleasure.

“You have lost a lot of blood. I… have taken a lot of blood. Tell me, do you want to die?”

Did I? No. Not anymore. Maybe before, but now… my only fear was to lose this new world I was just starting to explore, this freedom, this enslavement. I realized I had been dying for a long, long time, and now I was finally alive.

“No… I don’t want to die…”

“Then don’t. Refuse death itself. Refuse the light and join me in a world you’ve never imagined before”

It should have scared me, when she bit her own wrist. It didn’t. Anything would be better than the endless puppet show that had been my life. When she put her wrist near my mouth, I took her inside me, inside my veins, inside my soul. I sucked with the abandon of a nursing child, with the eagerness of a drowning sailor gasping for air in a black, merciless sea.

And so I died.

Perhaps they shouldn’t have. Monsters do exist, and we do watch from dark corners. However, as monstrous as we may be, we’ll never be as inhuman as the endless dance of politeness, of what you should be, of the grind that pushes you down day after day. So don’t fear us. Know that if we come for you, we might just set you free.

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