#Victorian letter style

[empresskaze]

I'm no @hurt-care but gonna try my hand at historical style letters.

~~~~

Dear Ambrose,

In the letter Molly sent updating me on the affairs of the house, she informs me that you have taken ill?

She tells me you've not left your bed for two days as you're affected by a terrible cough, severe head congestion, and fever. I told her to summon Dr. Fairchild to see you at once, your health being of the utmost importance.

It pains me to be away while you're ailing. I pray the good doctor helps with your recovery.

Please write at your earliest convenience as I worry.

Yours faithfully,

Cecil.

***

My dearest Cecil,

I apologize not only for the lateness of this letter but also for the state of my hand. This accursed illness not only robs me of my breath and keeps me confined to bed but also racks my body with chills hard enough to shake my normally steady hand. Forgive any illegible words.

Even holding a pen takes all I have. Molly volunteered to dictate for me, but I politely declined her offer as I prefer to keep our correspondence private.

Please know she, along with Dr Fairchild, have taken the best care of me whilst you're away. I am in good hands. The basin next to my bed always has water, and a cloth is never far from my brow. The good doctor has visited twice since I took to bed, hoping to bring me some relief. His assessment of my ailment is much like the others that afflict me; it must run its course. A mixture of medicinal herbs rub has lessened my congestion considerably. If only my poor lungs could extract their illness, I know I would turn the corner.

I long for when you return, I hopefully will be right as rain by then. The house feels colder without your warm hand cupped in mine.

Please write soon as your letters ease my suffering.

Ever yours,

Ambrosia

[bl00dfroma-fairy]

[labyrinthofstreams]

A lace Valentine's card with flowers and a woven silk message, c. 1870s.

[vamptastic]

i think when i read the picture of dorian grey i got way too into trying to understand and form a defensible argument for the philosophy in it because i was very much in my debate team reads the stanford encyclopedia of psychology for fun phase. i mean obviously hedonism is an interesting ideology and the book does talk about it a lot, but i think the prime appeal of the book and why it's a classic is not the philosophy whatsoever it's definitely the drama and the art discussion, and i was so caught up on keeping notes on hedonism that i kind of neglected to pay attention to the characters in the literal and not subtextual sense until the tail end of the novel.

[marzipanandminutiae]

Logic Exercise

Claim: Victorian socialites often had full sleeve tattoos or chest pieces.

Things to consider:

Would Tattooed Ladies have been as popular a sideshow draw if upper-class, taste-making women had tattoos?

If the tattoos were hidden by clothing as this claim may further state- long sleeves and high necks, what about the most common style of low-necked, short-sleeved eveningwear of the period? Socialites go to many formal events, and while high necks and long sleeves were acceptable for evening, surely many upper-class women avoiding more standard revealing formalwear would have changed the trend or at least warranted notice in fashion publications.

Is the article making this claim accompanied by unsourced photos of women with tattoos in the Victorian era? Should I reverse-image-search them to make sure they aren't...just spitballing here...photos of aforementioned Tattooed Ladies in circuses, divorced from their context?

Does the article cite a newspaper but no letters, diaries, memoirs, or other sources traceable to a specific, named person without conflicts of interest? Were Victorian newspapers known for their credibility and fact-checking?

And most critically, am I believing this just because I want to and ignoring compelling evidence that the whole notion falls apart under the slightest bit of historical understanding or logic?

[wholoveseggs]

Hi there!! I been reading your works and I love your writing. This my first request ever.

I had this idea, and I was thinking about a gothic vampire reader with the personality and the looks of Morticia Addams, and the love for the macabre. And Elijah catches her attention and she catches his attention. Of course, they meet at a gala, a opera etc. And for weeks, they have been getting to know each other. Until one day, he comes over to her house, they are having a good time then the visit turns steamy and smutty, it is passionate and feral. And maybe with blood sharing between the two.

But of course, if you don’t want to then you don’t have to and you can ignore this.

Decadence

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Elijah meets an intriguing woman at the opera, leading to an evening of music, wine and vampiric indulgences.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @thealienartist!! Absolutely obsessed with this idea, I LOVE gothic romance & horror!!! This was an absolute dream to write. Can Elijah please be the Gomez to my Morticia heart? ♡♡

5.9k words - Warnings: smut, oral sex, blood drinking, I was self-projecting hard with this one... {I just want to be her}, black cats, chocolate cake, vintage wine, a love letter, Victorian gothic everything... I listened to Totentanz on repeat while writing this... {its a vibe}

Elijah had always enjoyed the arts, whether that be in music or literature or even painting and live performances. He found that the arts were one of the only things that made him feel truly alive. Even with his undead heart beating within his chest.

Around the turn of the century, Elijah discovered his love for horror. It amused him to see how humans depicted the supernatural, their interpretations of his kind were rather off. Vampires living in run down castles, with no regard for the world around them, their main purpose to drain the blood of the innocent. It was almost laughable, though some of his kind did enjoy that lifestyle.

It was during this time that he fell in love with opera, something his siblings didn't exactly agree with. Rebekah found it to be dull, Klaus found it to be pretentious and Kol didn't care either way.

They just didn't get it, the music, the drama, the costumes, had him completely enraptured.

So, when he heard that La bohème was being performed, he immediately made plans to go. He had seen it many times, but never got tired of the performance. He just wished that he could have somebody to go with, but none of his family wanted to attend.

He put on his favorite four piece suit, combed his hair, grabbed his black trench coat and made his way to the opera house.

As the lights dimmed and the stage lit up, Elijah couldn't help but feel a little sad, wishing he had someone to share this interest with, but he was content watching alone.

He watched as the curtains parted and the actors began their first scene, he immediately fell into a trance as he took in the performance.

Intermission was announced and he went outside for some fresh air, he was surprised to see a woman, who looked like she was plucked straight out of the past, standing on the balcony.

She was smoking a cigarette, the long stick held elegantly in her fingers. Her nails were red talons and her dark hair cascaded down her back, stopping at her hips. She was dressed in a all black Victorian style dress, which complimented her pale skin, making it look almost ghostly.

She tilted her head at him in acknowledgement, then went back to staring out into the night.

Elijah usually wasn't the one to approach women, he preferred for them to make the first move. But something about this one intrigued him, he was curious about her.

He stepped onto the balcony and approached her slowly. Watching the wisps of smoke rise into the air.

She looked up at him and smiled.

"Elijah Mikaelson, I presume?" Her voice was deep, but still feminine, her eyes darker than his own. She was strikingly beautiful, there was no doubt about that.

"You know who I am?" Elijah raised his eyebrows.

She chuckled, gracefully flicking her cigarette butt away.

"Who doesn't? The infamous Mikaelson's, who rule the streets of New Orleans with blood and fear... I'm a big fan," she said.

He smiled and shook his head, "We do not rule the city, we simply protect it from our enemies."

She hummed, a smirk gracing her ruby red lips.

"You do have a reputation," she replied.

Elijah nodded and stepped forward.

"What is your name, darling?"

She chuckled and leaned against the railing, gazing up at him with a smirk. "Y/n," she said, extending her hand out to him.

He grasped her hand gently, his lips brushing against her knuckles, her eyes sparkled as she watched his lips.

"Hmm, they don't make them like you anymore," she mused, her eyes traveling up and down his body. "You are so very old-fashioned," she added with a sly smile.

"Well I am quite old," he jested, matching her smile.

They stood and stared at each other for a moment before Elijah broke the silence. "What do you think of this performance?" He asked, gesturing towards the theater.

She shrugged, "I've seen worse, I've seen better," she replied.

Elijah found himself smirking at her response, not really knowing why. Maybe because he had found himself feeling the same.

"May I ask what brings you here?" He wondered why she was attending an opera alone.

"I was bored, looking for someone to eat," she stated. Her eyes roaming over his body once more.

Elijah let out a chuckle and ran a hand through his hair. There was only a handful of times in his long life that a woman actually made him nervous, this being one of those times.

She reached forward and placed her hand on his chest, leaning closer towards him, her lips ghosting against his ear, her scent surrounded him, it was intoxicating and Elijah found himself leaning into her.

"I'll see you around Mr. Mikaelson," she whispered and gently pulled away from him, giving him a wink before going back inside. Elijah watched her go, letting out a sigh as he shook his head, not being able to wipe the smile off of his face.

You considered yourself a solitary creature. Even in your human life, you tended to keep people at a distance. You felt misunderstood, even a bit judged by your peers, you didn't really like being around people.

After you were turned, things hadn't really changed that much, you still found it difficult to connect with others, but now you were mostly untethered and unburdened by society's rules.

The freedom of being a vampire was nice, to be able to go and do whatever you pleased, whenever you pleased and live however you saw fit.

You spent most of your years traveling, seeking out new places, experiencing new cultures and meeting people along the way. And with all this knowledge you learned exactly who you are and what you like.

New Orleans was one of your favorite places, full of vibrancy and life. It was an aesthetic heaven for you, a place that celebrated death, promoted the macabre, had strong connections to magic. Not to mention their appreciation for the arts.

For the last few decades, you had taken up residence in an old Victorian home. You compelled the local historical society to allow you to paint the exterior completely black. Planted dark red roses along the windows and hung little chandeliers made of animal bones along the porch.

You had spent quite a bit of time decorating the interior, making it a space that you could feel truly comfortable in. Something that made your home feel like it truly reflected your personality.

The house fit you perfectly; outside looking like something from a B-horror film, but the interior was homely and feminine, decorated with macabre pieces, gothic furniture, tapestries adorned the walls and candles were scattered everywhere.

You never really acclimated to modern society, you were turned in the 1800s and preferred to live according to the time. You liked old things, dark antiques, things that held a certain kind of energy within them.

So when you met Elijah Mikaelson at the opera house, you knew you had to add him to your collection.

You had heard about the Mikaelson family for a long time, whispers of them among the vampires. You had become intrigued, they were the oldest of your kind, the knowledge they possessed fascinated you.

You couldn't help the smirk that had stretched across your lips when you finally came face to face with Elijah, he was exactly how you imagined him. Tall, dark and handsome, dressed to perfection, emanating wealth and power. Finding him at the opera added to your attraction, knowing that his interests matched your own made it all that more charming.

Elijah Mikaelson was the fine wine of men and you wanted to bathe yourself in it. Wanted to drink up every drop of it, savoring the taste of it on your lips.

You sat in your living room, your cat on your lap, purring contently as you ran your fingers through his fur. You were dressed in a large silk robe, your hair tied up in a bun, dark wine colored lipstick on your lips. A mug filled with blood sat on the table beside you.

You were writing out a letter to him, with ink and parchment, your favorite fountain pen adding a certain flourish to your lettering. Your cat jumped off of your lap and you grabbed an envelope to place the letter inside. You folded the parchment and stuck it in the envelope, sealing it with wax and writing Elijah's name onto the paper.

You hoped he would like the gesture, you knew he was an old fashioned man, so sending him a letter with a gift was bound to catch his attention. It had been a long, long time since you felt nervous, and it had been at least a hundred years since you had a crush like this.

You grabbed the parcel with his gift in it and walked over to your front door, slipping on your heels, you headed out of the house and down your side walk, plucking a rose along the way.

The postman was close to leaving, just as you approached his mail van.

"Hello," you greeted, and watched as he turned and jumped, clearly startled by your sudden appearance.

"Jesus lady, I didn't hear you coming," he stammered, looking you up and down, a nervous smile on his face.

"I'm sorry, I just wanted to catch you before you left."

He shook his head and smiled, waving away your concern.

"I have a parcel for you to deliver," you said.

He nodded and held out his hand for the letter.

"What's the address?" He asked, staring down at the envelope, taking note of your fine penmanship.

"The Abattoir, in the French Quarter. For Elijah Mikaelson," you told him, running your fingertips along the thorns of your rose.

The postman nodded his head and placed the letter in his van.

"Have a nice day," he said as he walked away.

You watched him climb into his vehicle and drive away, a smirk playing on your lips, hoping your letter would get the attention you desired.

Elijah was spending the day lazing about, enjoying a rare day of peace and quiet, catching up on his reading. He wasn't expecting any visitors, but a knock sounded at the front door, which was a highly unusual occurrence.

He wandered downstairs, a nervous looking postman was waiting at the gate, looking around the old compound with fascination and hesitation.

"Elijah Mikaelson?" He asked timidly.

"Yes?" Elijah looked at him in bewilderment, it had been a long time since he had received anything in the mail, it wasn't like he had a registered address.

"This is for you," he said, handing him the envelope and a small package, wrapped in crimson coloured paper and tied with a black ribbon.

Elijah thanked him and made his way back into his home, he wondered who could have sent him a letter, the handwriting was immaculate, a skill that wasn't common in today's world.

He realized who it was from instantly when he saw the initials, y/n. A smile graced his lips, feeling like a giddy schoolboy instead of a thousand year old vampire.

He quickly undid the black ribbon and opened the paper, revealing a beautiful piece of art, depicting a flying demon eating a young woman's heart. The detail was incredibly fine, and he realized after a quick sniff, that the red of the painting was not paint. It was blood.

A thought crossed his mind, he wondered if it was a piece of your art, he found your work to be truly frightening, beautiful and enchanting, reminding him of the piece Nighthawks, though darker and macabre.

Opening the letter, he read it carefully,

Dearest Mr. Mikaelson, I hope this letter finds you well, if not please pardon my forwardness. I never understood the flirting etiquette of the modern woman. I find myself longing for the company of a man with your refined tastes, such a delicate palette. I was intrigued from the moment we met, our meeting felt fortuitous. I must confess that I have not felt this way in centuries, being in your presence awakened something within me that I wasn't aware still existed. I find myself completely enamored. Perhaps my feelings are returned? If not, then please accept this gift in hopes of extending our friendship. Though I do wish you share in my hopes of something a little more. I will be home tonight, perhaps you would do me the honor of joining me for a drink? Until then I remain Your Admirer, y/n.

Elijah couldn't wipe the smile off his face as he gently folded the parchment and placed it on his desk. He immediately went to check himself in the mirror, fixing his hair, combing it neatly to the side. He found himself anxiously changing his tie, nothing matched what he was wearing, but he wanted everything to be perfect.

He found a pair of ruby cufflinks, feeling that they complimented the letter and would perhaps set the mood.

Grabbing his black wool jacket and adjusting his tie, he made his way outside before stopping and running back inside, he couldn't possibly come empty handed and he knew just the thing to bring you.

You waited nervously inside your house, you had decided to wear a simple black slip dress, your hair flowing over your shoulders in waves, your black winged eyeliner perfectly defining your eyes.

You needed a way to quell your anxiety, so you decided to play a tune on your organ, something to fill the silence, create a soundtrack to go along with the nerves that bounced around inside your mind and heart.

If he didn't show, you would understand. It had been quite a while since you've expressed your affections to anyone. It had been a lifetime since you were courted.

Your fingers idly drifted over the ivory keys, producing a somber yet melodic tune. Your nails were filed into sharp talons, painted a deep crimson, matching the lipstick on your lips.

The melody flowed through the house, the tune reverberating against the walls, seeping through the floorboards. Your cat jumped up and settled in your lap, the soft vibrations from the organ lulling him into a purring trance.

A soft knock broke the melody and you felt your heart stutter. Placing your cat on the seat you walked over to your door. Taking a steadying breath, you grabbed the handle and opened the door.

Men usually didn't have you so utterly flustered, but with Elijah, it seemed like even your centuries old blood could grow warm.

"Good evening, I received your letter and gift, thank you."

He greeted you with a genuine smile, an excited glint in his eyes. You let your eyes wander over him, taking in his appearance, he was dressed to perfection, like always, obviously following along with your old fashioned aesthetic. You liked that you didn't have to ask him, he just got it.

"Please, come in," you stepped to the side to make room for him, you shut the door as he walked inside.

"Quite a lovely home you have here," he said, admiring the interior of the house.

You took his coat and led him into the sitting room, pointing to one of the antique sofas.

"Please, take a seat."

He sat and placed the bottle of wine he had brought on the table.

You took the bottle and marveled at the label, your interest peaked, feeling slightly taken back, it was one of the rarest reds, bottles of this were difficult to come by, most of them now lying at the bottom of the sea.

You knew it was not a simple gesture, this was the kind of thing you save for very special occasions. Knowing that he considered this date that special made your stomach flutter.

"Now how did you manage to get your hands on this?" You asked, placing the bottle beside the two glasses you had set out earlier.

"My brother was the culprit behind a number of shipwrecks, during the golden era of piracy," Elijah responded, a smirk gracing his lips.

You chuckled as you grabbed the corkscrew. "That is no surprise," you replied as you popped the cork out.

You grabbed the glasses and walked over to him, passing him one of the glasses before sitting across from him.

You both raised your glasses and clinked them together, taking a drink, closing your eyes and savoring the taste.

"I heard you playing as I approached the house, you have a lovely talent," Elijah said.

You smiled and nodded your head, looking down at your wine.

"That was very sweet of you to say," you looked up at him through your lashes, admiring his handsome features.

You took another sip and watched him over the rim of your glass, his eyes watching you as well.

"What were you playing? Totentanz?" He asked.

"Indeed, it’s one of my favorites," you said, tilting your glass in his direction, "and it felt appropriate," you jested.

A beautiful smile stretched across Elijah's face as he let out a chuckle. His smile made your lips curl up, mirroring his expression.

"So tell me," he began, "What made you decide to come to New Orleans?"

You shrugged and crossed your legs, the sliver of skin left exposed as the fabric cascaded over your thighs, capturing his attention.

"I love it here, the culture, the art, blood tastes sweeter here," you said, letting a sly smile grace your face. "I like the way this city weaves death and beauty," you paused and took a sip, "it just feels like home to me."

Elijah nodded his head in understanding, he appreciated what you had said. "Yes, there is a certain allure about this city,"

"Your family helped build it back in the 1800s, no?" You asked, running your finger along the lip of your glass.

He nodded, "yes we did, from swamps and brothels to one of the wealthiest cities."

You chuckled and shook your head, "yet the swamps and brothels remain," you mused.

"But not nearly as much," he joked.

You both sat and talked for hours, getting to know each other, laughing and drinking. Elijah was surprised to find that you didn't mind listening to him talk about his travels and life, in fact you hung onto his every word. To him, you were utterly enchanting, the way your eyes lit up as you talked, your laugh, the way you looked at him.

At one point he got up and sat closer to you, his hand gently grazing your thigh, leaning in close as you spoke, his eyes locked on yours. Your lips parted and you felt his breath ghosting across your mouth, his eyes flicking down to your lips. He was such a gentleman, waiting for you to initiate the kiss, but you wanted to do one last thing before you tasted his lips.

"I made something for us, if you would like to try it," you whispered.

He leaned back and tilted his head, his eyes curious.

You smirked and placed your wine glass down, slowly standing up.

"Follow me," you told him.

Elijah trailed after you into your dining room, a large wooden table in the center of the room, filled with silver platters and a centerpiece of black and white roses.

You had made a decadent chocolate cake using human blood, the dark rich blood mixing with the cocoa, making a sinfully dark and delicious dessert.

You pulled out a chair for him and motioned for him to sit.

"This looks delicious, did you make this?" Elijah asked.

You nodded and cut a slice for him, placing it on a plate.

"Yes, I made it from scratch," you said, a small smirk playing on your lips. "Gathered all the ingredients from local suppliers."

Elijah hummed, taking his first bite, his eyes widened and he let out a soft groan.

"This is divine," he exclaimed, the veins around his eyes darkening.

You sat and watched him eat the entire slice, his eyes were blown out, the bloodlust apparent in his expression. You bit your lip, trying to hold in your excitement.

You pushed your plate towards him, a wicked grin on your lips. "Would you like another slice?"

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, the bloodlust making him look feral, his eyes completely black.

"I would prefer to taste something else," he said.

Your lips curled into a smile as he stood, pushing his chair back and pulling you out of yours.

His arms snaked around your waist, his hand coming up to tangle in your hair, pulling you flush against him. You ran your hand up his chest and wrapped it around his neck, your lips meeting his.

He tasted like red wine, chocolate and just a hint of blood, his mouth soft and pliant, his tongue brushing against your lips. You nipped at his bottom lip and he growled, pushing his hips against yours, walking you backwards, pinning you against the wall.

"Where did you come from?" He marveled, his hands grabbing your ass.

You laughed and ran your hand through his hair, giving it a light tug.

"Does it matter?" You whispered, pressing your lips against his again, kissing him hungrily.

"You've been in my city for so long, yet I only just met you, how very unfortunate," his voice was gruff as he spoke, his hips rolling against yours.

"I guess we will have to make up for lost time," you said, your voice dripping with lust.

Elijah picked you up and flashed up the stairs, his hands cupping your ass, his lips attached to your neck. He walked you into the bedroom, tossing you on the bed.

You laid there, propped up on your elbows, staring up at him, a teasing smirk on your lips, your dark hair fanning out on the pillow.

He looked at you in awe, your red lips were swollen from his kiss and the hem of your slip had risen up your thighs. He climbed onto the bed and crawled towards you, hovering over your body, his mouth finding yours again, his hands running up to the hem of your stockings, his fingers teasing the skin under the material.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and flipped him, straddling his hips. Your hands ran over his chest, undoing the buttons of his shirt, revealing his toned chest.

His hands roamed over your body, slipping the straps of your slip off your shoulders, revealing your black corset, his hands trailing over the boning, the lace covering your breasts, the garters that held up your stockings, and the panties that were already ruined.

"I miss when women would dress this way," he sighed, his eyes drinking in the sight of you, a look of hunger in his eyes.

You chuckled, bending down to nip at his bottom lip, your lips moving along his jaw.

"Happy to keep the tradition alive," you whispered, nuzzling your nose against his neck, your fangs running along the artery, feeling his pulse against the tip of your fangs.

Elijah flipped you over and pressed his body against yours, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing the sides, his thumb tilting your head back. His other hand found the ties inn the front of your corset, slowly undoing the knots, the ribbon sliding through the eyelets, the corset loosening with each pull.

You watched his eyes flicker over your breasts, his fangs extending, his breathing heavy. He looked up and met your gaze, his face shifting, his veins spreading underneath his eyes.

He bent down, his fangs sinking into your chest, your blood filling his mouth, dripping down his chin. Your eyes rolled back as he fed from you, his hand squeezing your breast, his fingers pinching and twisting your nipple.

The pain of his fangs and the pleasure of his hands were overwhelming, you felt drunk, you felt euphoric.

You grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back, your mouth colliding with his, tasting yourself on his lips. He groaned into your mouth and rolled his hips against yours, his bulge pressing against your core.

You both frantically began to undress, his pants and belt tossed aside, your dress and corset ripped off, thrown onto the floor. You laid back, wearing nothing but your stockings and panties, his boxer briefs the only piece of clothing left on his body.

He grabbed your hips and pulled you back underneath him, his lips finding yours, his hand running up your leg, hooking his finger into the thin strap of your panties, tearing them off.

"That was entirely ungentlemanly," you said, a teasing glint in your eye.

Elijah smirked, kissing his way down your stomach, stopping at your pelvis, his fangs lightly scraping the skin above your pussy.

"You don't seem to mind," he mused, his hand pushing your thighs open, his lips wrapping around your clit, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Your hips bucked and your hand grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging it, urging him on. You appreciated his enthusiasm as he indulged in pleasuring you.

His tongue felt deliciously warm against your skin, your eyes shut, your breath ragged. It had been so long since you had a man between your legs, and Elijah was no ordinary lover, his skill level matched his age.

You moaned and writhed beneath him, his thumb pressed against your clit, your wetness covering his chin.

"Fucking hell," you panted, your body starting to tense.

Your hands gripped the bedsheets, your body a ball of pent up tension, with one final stroke of his tongue, your orgasm broke through the last sliver of control.

You shook and gasped as your climax took over, your whole body erupting in pleasure. Elijah lifted his head, watching you, his lips curling into a sly smile.

"That's a sight," he praised, sitting up and wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

You slowly opened your eyes, a blissful smile plastered on your face.

"Indeed it is," you replied, your breathing uneven.

"But you should watch your language, I thought you were a lady," he teased, his eyebrow raised, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

You narrowed your eyes and smirked, leaning forward, grabbing his shoulders and rolling him onto his back. Your bodies were slotted together, your faces close to each other.

"When have I ever claimed to be a lady?" You asked, kissing along his jawline, nipping the soft skin at the end of his neck.

Your hands trailed down his body, running over his chest, letting your nails run down his torso, breaking the skin, long bloody tracks appearing.

You kissed your way down his chest, licking the blood up, your fangs scraping against his abdomen. You looked up and caught his hungry gaze, his body tensing under you, his erection straining against the fabric of his boxers.

Smirking, you kissed the fabric that separated you from his cock, your hands reaching up and tugging at the waistband, pulling them down slowly.

Your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, licking the pre-cum. His eyes fluttered shut and he hissed in pleasure, his hands tangling in your hair.

"Mr. Mikaelson," you said as you slowly descended on his cock. "I may look like a lady," you popped off him and kissed the head. "but I fuck like a dirty, filthy whore."

Elijah groaned at your words, the hands in your hair tightening, gripping your strands, guiding you back down, taking in more of him.

You bobbed your head along his shaft, sucking and lapping at the vein along the underside, one of your hands pumping the part you couldn't fit in your mouth, the other gently cupping his balls, squeezing and massaging them.

Elijah slowly began to rock his hips, matching your rhythm, his breathing heavy and rapid, his voice hoarse as he murmured your name.

Pulling his cock out of your mouth, you looked up at him, tilting your head, "yes?" You smirked, blowing air onto the tip.

Elijah pulled you up and kissed you, flipping you over and once again pinning you underneath him. He pulled your thigh up to hook around his waist, gripping your ass, letting his cock rub along your slit. He pulled on the hem of your stocking, letting it snap back against your skin.

"Gorgeous, intoxicating thing," he cooed, slowly sinking into you.

You threw your head back and let out a moan, your leg hiked up to allow him deeper access. He placed one hand under your thigh, holding your leg in place, while the other found your neck, his thumb grazing your windpipe, applying the perfect amount of pressure. The hand under your leg holding you firmly. You knew that a part of him wanted to give into the bloodlust, the animalistic side of him that was desperate to sink his fangs into your neck. His gentleness mixed with his aggressiveness drove you wild.

You felt every inch of his cock as he slowly rolled his hips, pulling out of you almost fully before entering you again. He leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing along yours. It was intense and overwhelming, the way he had all your senses tied up in his touch, his mouth, his taste, the sound of his breathing, his movements.

You struggled to hold it together, your pleasure building with each stroke, and he knew, he loved seeing you come undone.

He began to pick up his pace, his hips snapping against yours. It was like the perfect dance, his hips moving so smoothly and perfectly in time with yours, both of you chasing the inevitable crash.

Your eyes met, and everything else seemed to fall away as you lost yourself in his gaze, everything slowing down. He kissed you softly, tenderly, making you melt in his hands.

You brought one hand down to rest on his cheek, holding his face against yours, kissing him back just as tenderly. You ran your index finger along his jaw line, your sharp nail drawing blood, dipping your finger between your lips. He tasted so much better than you imagined, like pure power and divine lust.

Elijah groaned at the sight of your blood stained lips and he sped up, his lips on your neck, his fangs running over your skin.

You tugged on his hair, urging him to bite you, to drink his fill, you wanted nothing more than to give yourself over completely.

His fangs sank into your neck, your blood spilling into his mouth, some of it dripping onto your chest, his teeth slicing into your skin.

The sensation pushed you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you, your hands grabbing at his shoulders, a strangled cry of his name leaving your lips.

He didn't stop, just as he was reaching his peak, he sank his teeth in deeper. He growled, his hips losing their rhythm as his climax hit him. You were both a gasping, moaning mess, clinging to one another, your fingers digging into each other's skin.

The two of you collapsed in a sweaty heap, tangled in the sheets, your skin glistening, breathing heavy.

You felt light headed and euphoric. His gaze was piercing and loving, his fingers brushing across your neck, softly wiping the blood off. His mouth gently caressed yours, his hands cupping your face.

He brushed your hair behind your ears, pulling you into his embrace, his fingers tracing your skin. It was hard to believe that you had only known him for a night, it felt like a lifetime.

A long overdue release of tension and you were happy to be the object of his affections. He was by far the most interesting man you had ever met.

You melted into him, his hands wrapping around you, holding you close. Everything felt perfect, the dim lights, the sound of rain in the background, the weight of him beside you.

The slow creak of your bedroom door opening, cut through the stillness of the night. The soft mew of your cat greeted the both of you, followed by the sound of him jumping onto your bed. The comforting feeling of his paws walking along the sheets as he came to investigate the disturbance in his home.

He walked along Elijah's body, bumping his head against Elijah's outstretched hand, purring happily.

"And who might you be?" Elijah asked.

"Erebus," you responded, stroking Erebus' fur. "It means darkness."

Elijah nodded, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

"An appropriate name," he mused, watching the black cat turn around on his chest, finding a comfortable spot to settle.

Erebus yawned and curled into a ball, closing his eyes.

You smiled and snuggled in closer to Elijah, your head resting on his shoulder.

"I guess Erebus wants me to stay," He chuckled.

You laughed and reached over him, scratching the cat behind the ears.

"It does seem that way," you teased. "And I have no intention of kicking you out."

Elijah smiled, kissing the top of your head.

"Good," he said. "Because I intend on staying right here."

You looked up at him and smiled, your heart skipping a beat. You had never met anyone who could make you feel so special and desirable.

Elijah's face was gentle, his eyes crinkled, his mouth curled into a smile. He kissed you again, a sweet, chaste kiss, and then he turned his attention back to Erebus, who was now fast asleep on his chest.

"Did you know that Erebus fathered Eros, the god of love and desire?" He asked.

"I did," you chucked, watching your little cats chest rise and fall.

"There is a play house not far from here, they are putting on a performance about it, the play is called Sweet Eros. Would you like to go see it? It's quite twisted, it seems like something you would enjoy."

You nodded and kissed him, a grin on your face.

"Mr. Mikaelson, I think this is the start of something beautiful," you teased, your fingers tracing his collarbone.

"Oh my darling," he said, his lips brushing against yours. "It already is."

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to A Great House (19th-20th Century) - Anatomy of the House

When we think of the Victorians, the grand old Gilded Age or the Edwardians, we all think of those big mansions and manors where some of our favourite stories take place. But what did a great house look like?

Layout

All great houses are different and some, being built in different eras, may adhere to different styles. But the layout of certain rooms usually stayed somewhat the same.

The highest floors including the attic were reserved the children's rooms/nursery and the servants quarters.

The next floor would be reserved for bedrooms. On the first/ground floor, there will be the dining room, drawing room, library etc.

The basement/cellar would be where the kitchens and other food related rooms would be. Servants halls and boot rooms may also be down here too along scullery, where sometimes a maid would clean.

Rooms used by Servants

Boot Room: The Boot Room is where the valets, ladies maids, hallboys and sometimes footmen clean off shoes and certain items of clothing.

Kitchen: The Kitchen was usually either in the basement or the first floor of the house, connected to a garden where the house's vegetables were grown.

Butler's Pantry: A butler's pantry was where the serving items are stored. This is where the silver is cleaned, stored and counted. The butler would keep the wine log and other account books here. The butler and footmen would use this room.

Pantry: The Pantry would be connected to the kitchen. It is a room where the kitchens stock (food and beverages) would be kept.

Larder: The larder was cool area in the kitchen or a room connected to it where food is stored. Raw meat was often left here before cooking but pastry, milk, cooked meat, bread and butter can also be stored here.

Servants Hall: The Servant's Hall was where the staff ate their meals and spent their down time. They would write letters, take tea, sew and darn clothes. The servants Hall would usually have a fireplace, a large table for meals, be where the servant's cutlery and plates would be kept and where the bell board hung. (these bells were the way servants where summoned)

Wine Cellar: The wine cellar was where the wine was melt, usually in the basement. Only the butler would be permitted down there and everything would be catalogued by him too.

Butler's/Housekeeper's sitting rooms: In some houses, both the butler and the housekeeper had sitting rooms/offices downstairs. This was were they held meetings with staff, took their tea and dealt with accounts.

Scullery: The scullery was were the cleaning equipment was cleaned and stored. The scullery may even also double as a bedroom for the scullery maid.

Servery: The Servery connected to the dinning room. It was where the wine was left before the butler carried it out to be served. Some of the food would be delivered here to be carried out as well.

Servant's Sleeping Quarters: All servants excepting perhaps the kitchen maid and outside staff slept in the attics. Men and unmarried women would be kept at seperate sides of the house with the interconnecting doors locked and bolted every night by the butler and housekeeper. If the quarters were small, some servants may have to share rooms. Servants' bathrooms and washrooms would also be up there, supplied with hot water from the kitchens.

Rooms used by the Family

Dining room: The dining room was where the family ate their breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was also where the gentlemen took their after dinner drink before joking the ladies in the drawing room.

Drawing room: The Drawing Room was sort of a living/sitting room. It was mainly used in the evenings after dinner where the ladies would take their tea and coffee before being joined by the men. It could also be used for tea by the ladies during the day. The drawing room was seen as more of a women's room but any of the family could use it. The drawing room was a formal room but could also be used for more casual activities.

Library: The library is of course where the books are kept. The family would use this room for writing letters, reading, doing business with tenants and taking tea in the afternoons.

Bedrooms: The bedrooms would take up most of the upper floors. The unmarried women would sleep in one wing with bachelors at the furthest wing away. Married couples often had adjoining rooms with their own bedrooms in each and equipped with a boudoir or a sitting room.

Nursery: Was where the children slept, usually all together until old enough to move into bedrooms. They would be attended to be nannies and nursemaids round the clock.

Study: The study was a sort of home office where family could do paperwork, chill and write letters.

Dressing room: Dressing Rooms where usually attached to bedrooms where the family would be dressed and their clothes would be stored. The valets and ladies maids would have control of the room.

Hall: The hall was where large parties would gather for dancing or music or to be greeted before parties.

Furnishings and Decor

Most of these Great Houses were inherited which means, they came with a lot of other people's crap. Ornaments from anniversaries, paintings bought on holiday, furniture picked out by newly weds, all of it comes with the house. So most of the time everything seems rather cluttered.

As for Servant's Quarters, most of the furnishings may have been donated by the family as gifts. Most servants' halls would have a portrait of the sovereign or sometimes a religious figure to install a sense of morality into them.

[hazbinhazmeinachokehold]

Hello!!! I don’t normally request stuff so idk how to format this, but could you please do like hcs on what it would be like dating Velvette & Rosie (separately) and preferably as a girl?

Not forcing but tysm if you do!!!

a/n: not really gender but written with fem reader in mind

-Very sweet and old timey cartoon-eqsue (but like the cute ones)

-slow dancing, big bouquets, maybe even some love letters. Which is still a thing people do but when at least one of you is wereing a Victorian-era dress it carries a different meaning.

-if you're also a cannibal here then expect to be chilling when she comes in with a dead person like "Hey honey I decided to get lunch!"

-If you're not a cannibal She'll do her best to make non-human-meat good.

-which might be hard cause you live in cannibal colony but y'know.

-values communication tremendously.

-likes to buy you clothes. Mainly dresses in the same style as hers. If dresses ain't your thing she's happy to get suits instead. If you don't like formal wear well fuck.

-Overall very sweet and lovey-dovey, great women to date if you ignore the cannibalism

fashion icons.

-about media posts and making fun of the vees

-Posts a lot about you. To be fair she does that with everyone she has any form of relationship with (whether it's positive or negative.) It's like a ride of passage to show you made an impact on her.

-Brags about you to Vox and Valentino

-Her partner has to be the best of the best so there isn't any reason not to.

-She also does it to make fun of Vox with his weird Alastor obsession.

-GOSSIP GOSSIP GOSSIP

-On both sides.

-Like you could have the most boring life yet she wants to hear about it.

Listen it may have just been petty work drama but she's ready to square up with random middle-aged women for you.

[zagreuses-art]

a poster/cover for The Truth I designed in printing class. It uses risograph printing, relief carving, and typesetting.

[ID: a black and white relief print in the style of the illustrated police news. At the top inside the title "The Truth" is printed in bold . Below, in a room a photorealistic Gutenberg press is highlighted by a spunky halo of news print. Gunilla Goodmountain, a dwarf with a black beard and medieval style clothes, is standing with a hand on the press. His husband Boddony, another bearded dwarf, is holding a box of lead type. In the foreground William deWorde, a man with long-ish hair in a collared shirt, is sitting at a desk with a hand in his har, editing something with a pencil, he looks stressed. Sacharissa Crisplock, a woman with long curly hair in a vaguely Victorian dress, is leaning over the end of the desk with a sheaf of paper. Otto chreik, a dracula style vampire in a tailed waistcoat, is holding up an iconograph. At the bottom of the illustration "Pratchett" is printed in a border in smaller bold text. End ID]

Easter eggs:

- the printing press is a reconstructed Gutenberg press

- the news text behind it features an apology from the Oxford Gazette (arguably first newspaper) about the last edition being delayed due to The Great Fire Of London; a letter to the editor of the London Times by Charles Dickins; a page of ads from the 1800's; and a article from the Illustrated Police News about a 'orrible murder

- i based the art style on the Illustrated Police New's more cartoon-y illustrations

- I based Gunilla Goodmountains design on a illustration of Gutenberg

- I meant to have the text be in Boddoni (because that's the other dwarfs name) but I mixed up font trays and it ended up being Weiss I think, the "Pratchett" is in sestina I believe

- it was really hard to line up all three layers of this

[reareaotaku]

Bloody Home

Summary: You are search of your baby, not knowing the dangers that lie ahead of you Tw/Cw: Blood, Gore, Death, Horror, Y/n is Rose's Mother/Married to Ethan, Yandere Themes, NSFW Themes, Obsession, Dubious Consent Themes? [They talk about fucking reader and it's implied the reader has no say], Forced Cheating Word Count: 2k+

Pt II:___ | Pt III:___ | Pt IV:___ | Pt V:____ [Almost made Mother Miranda into Father Mark, but I changed my mind]

The land was dark and cold, causing shivers to run down your body. The misty skies did nothing to ease you as you made your way through the forest. As you look over the horizon, you see a large Victorian-style mansion. You felt a strange pull towards the mansion and you knew you had to go there.

You traveled through the seemingly abandoned village. The snow-covered ground soaked your shoes. You heard a gunshot and the sound of flapping wings. You quickly find yourself into a house to hide from the creature.

You hear growls and a loud scream before silence. You peak through an opening and see a wolf like man devouring the flesh of a human being. You cover your mouth to stop yourself from the scream that nearly escaped.

You run through the village, before you run into a witch like lady.

"In life and in death, we give glory..."

"Uh, hello? I don't know if you noticed, but there's these- uh- creatures. You shouldn't be out. It's not safe."

She does not respond and you look at her confused.

"Hey, can you hear me?"

"Ah, it's you. The child's mother."

"Child? Do you mean Rose? My daughter is here? Where is she?"

"Rose, Rose, yes! She is in great danger. Since Mother Miranda brought her to the village, we have fallen into darkness."

"What are you talking about?"

Before the woman can respond, there is a chiming bell, causing your eyes to look up into the sky where the castle stood.

"The castle bell heralds danger. They're coming!"

"Who's coming? Whose Mother Miranda?" You try asking, but she shuts the gate on you, leaving you hoping for answers.

As you wonder around, you find this stone wall that led to the castle. It looked like it was missing two pieces and you probably had to find them. Luckily one was stored in a house nearby and you were led to Luiza house. Though, the doors were locked, frustrating you.

Thankfully you saw a little opening in the wall and where able to slip through and open the gate. Though as you opened it, you deemed the gesture pointless, as you were already inside. But, you were bombarded by a girl and her elderly father? who rushed in, thanking you for letting them in.

You knocked on the door, but no answer. The girl, Elena knocked, and a man opened the door with a shotgun to her face. He told her to hush, as she was drawing in the monsters. A woman's voice came from the back telling the man to let them in, but was confused when seeing you.

"You're not from the village?"

"No.. I'm uh, Y/n..."

"Well, if Elena trusts you... then so do I. Come inside, Y/n."

"Wait here, I'll check on the others."

You looked around the room, reading the letters and such, hoping the find the other piece of the stone wall. 'Mother Miranda' kept getting brought up and you were sure she was important. She didn't seem like any mother you had ever known and you sure were nothing like her. Just from what she had gathered, it seemed as if she was letting these creatures attacked the people here as she no longer saw any use for them.

You wondered if this Miranda woman knew how these creatures were made and if she allowed it to happened. They looked like they were once human, so you wondered if they were the humans from this village that had been experimented on- And now Mother Miranda had no use for the experiments and was letting the people die.

You shook your head, feeling the idea was stupid and over complex. Besides, it didn't make to much sense... But surely when did anything ever?

The lady, Luiza, lead you to the back where others where, but they didn't seem pleased to see you. They rebuked your involvement, thinking you would get them killed. Thankfully Luiza stood up for you.

"Please, Y/n, take a seat."

You were hesitant to sit down, but ultimately decided to, as to appease the others. You look around the room, before frowning.

"Are you all that's left? From the entire village?"

"All that's left? All that's left??"

You look towards the angry voice to see a man who looked angry. He stood and ran up on you.

"There is no one left! A worthless invalid! A stupid, wailing bitch- And you," He points to a lady in the corner.

'God,' You thought. 'Maybe those creatures should have taken this guy.'

"You drag a bloody man and an outsider in here like it's nothing... and expect us all to be safe?"

He goes on and on about how there is no safe, but you truly can pay his temper tantrum any mind. You needed that piece to open that wall so you could get your daughter back.

"That's enough! This house has protected my family for generations. And drunk or not, you re all welcome- and safe- in here."

"Whatever."

"What's even going on here?"

"We don't know. One day we were a quiet, devout village and the next the monsters came and attacked us. And they-they kept coming, and-"

"Wait, Luiza, where is your husband? Did they...?"

"No, n-no. He is out there... somewhere. He went to get help. Yes, yes, that's-that's it. He went to fetch help."

"Let us pray."

"For him... For all of us."

"Great one, hear our voice, together as one in reverence. We call on thee within the endless dark to deliver us into fate's hands. As the midnight moon rises on black wings, so we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end. In life and in death, we give glory, Mother Miranda."

"Now the tea should be ready."

As kind as some of the people had been, you truly wanted to find your daughter, not be stuck in some house.

"Come help me Elena, please."

That prayer- I've heard it before." You mumble mainly to yourself. There was an old woman near the graveyard."

"You mean the hag? Dumb bitch is crazy as a bag of rats."

His words didn't make much sense, as you had sensed something off about the woman.

"There is wisdom in her devotion, though." Luiza scolds the man. "And I hope it protected er as it shall protect us."

Leonardo laughs, before he falls on the table and the lattern falls, starting the light the carpet of fire.

"What the fuck are you doing?

"Leonardo, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

One of the men try to stop the fire and before you can help, you watch Leonardo stab Luiza with his machete. You run out the door, but the man gets ontop of you. Thankfully, Elena shots him, before the man can hurt you. She shoots him again when he tries to stand and you look at her in awe. You were impressed by this girl's skill.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry, Father..."

"Hey, hey. That isn't your father anymore. You did the right thing."

She tries to go for her burning father, but the whole place was collapsing and you quickly pulled her back, knowing you'd want the same done for your daughter.

You looked around for a key, before finding it in one of the kitchen drawers. You nearly jump with glee when finding it. There was also a screw driver, though you weren't sure what for. You start the car, hoping to bust out.

You weren't able to get past the second wall and hear Elena call your name. You felt stupid that it hadn't worked. You saw an area where you could climb and grabbed her as you both headed up.

You go up, but fall through. Thankfully you see a window and see your way out. Elena is quick to jump to fear because of the monsters, but you tell her there is nothing to fear and that it's going to be okay. You tell her you'll find her a safe house until you find your daughter that you assume is in that old castle.

"No! That place is full of nothing but blood and death. And I don't want to be alone while you're-" She stops midsentence when seeing her father. "Father?"

"Elena, no! That's not him- not anymore!"

"Elena!"

"He said my name! Father!" She goes down and you try grabbing her, realizing it wasn't safe, but it was to late. They both fall to their death as you watched horrified.

You jump out the window, before jumping to the ground. You go over to the closed area and use the screwdriver to unlock it and grab the other stone piece.

You go to open the gate, only to hear gunshots, confusing you.

"Stop! Mother Miranda!"

You open the door to see a woman holding the man from before.

"Hey!" You yell, to no vain.

She then kills him, causing you to gasp. She laughs, before disappearing.

"Who was- what was that??"

You go through the grassy areas, before seeing the hag, becoming relieved, even if you had felt strange about her before.

"Death. Yes. Death has visited them all!" She then laughs, freaking you out a little. You decide to ignore her and head towards the wall, of which you put the last stone into. The walls open, causing you to cheer in glee.

You go across the bridge and are led up a staircase. It led you to... a winery? You go to pull a lever, before hearing a man's voice.

"Well, well. Didn't think anyone was left! You must be pretty tough, huh?"

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Oh, you're not local! Even better."

You're then stabbed and you fall unconscious.

--

"The woman is of no use to anyone else. And my daughters do so love... well, pretty women. Furthermore, I can assure if you entrust the mortal to House Dimitrescu-"

You awake to see a creepy doll, taking you aback.

"My daughters and I shall take extra good care of her. She will not bother you in the slightest."

"Out of the way, ugly! I want to see-oh! She's awake!"

"You mean- Y-you mean?"

"Both of you, shut the fuck up!"

"You mean you'll fuck around with her in private, and where's the fun in that? Give her to me and I'll put on a show that everybody can enjoy."

"Oh, so gauche. No one wants to watch you fuck some mortal. Please! What do we care for bread and circuses? Keep it in your pants."

"Yack, yack. And if that woman is fucked to where she can't walk in the castle- blah, blah, blah!"

"I've heard all your arguments. Some of you were less persuasive than others, but... I've made my decision. Heisenberg. The woman's fate is in your hands."

"Mother Miranda. I must protest! Heisenberg is but a child and his devotion to you is questionable. Give the mortal to me and I will ensure she is... pleased."

"Shut your damn hole and don't be a sore loser! Go find your next fuck somewhere else."

"Quiet now, child! Adults are talking."

"I'm the child? You're the one who's arguing with Miranda's decision!"

"You wouldn't know responsibility if it was welded to that hammer."

"Oh, keep growing, one day your head might actually fit your ego!"

"Fight, fight, fight, fight!"

"Hey, don't I get a say in this?"

"Silence!" Miranda's wings open, causing everyone to hush. "My decision is final, there will be no argument. Remember from whence you came!"

"Thank you, mother."

"Lycans and gentle man, we thank you for waiting! And now let the games begin!"

"Let's see what you're really made of Y/n Winters. Get ready!" He slams down your chains and counts down as you are forced to run, not knowing what he'd do if he catches you.

You run down the tunnel, ignoring the voice, hoping they don't get to your head. They spoke of you as if you were some pet- A play thing even.

"Very nice, Y/n!"

You made it to a cave, only for Heisenberg to land infront of you. He swings at you, but then you start falling? You were unsure of what was going on, as you were in so much pain.

"You're still alive? Impressive... I will have so much fun with you."

The walls start to cave in, but you quickly find some boards and bang them open. You rush through the tunnel, before finding a hide out spot and getting your hands unchained. Those freaks- They must have Rose, your baby.

You ran about, before finding the place you had been at before. You pulled the lever and are lead back outside. You head up the hill, and a man comes out of a wagon.

"I've been waiting for you Miss Winters."

"How do you know my name?"

"Anyone who is anyone has heard of the likes of you. A hero searching for her daughter. Though I must say, that castle arouses suspicion."

"No shit. But so do you."

He laughs, waving you off. "I am but a humble merchant."

"Here?"

"Forgive my manners, call me the Duke. Now to business."

"Weapons, ammunition, healing salves- Anything you desire, I can provide."

You have little money, so you go on your way. You open the doors to the castle, before heading in and seeing a portrait of 3 noble ladies. You head around, before hearing a scream- Catching you off guard.

You go to read a sign, but you are stopped by three women.

"Looking for Rose?"

They corner you, before one of them pushes and stabs you. "Oh, you're very pretty. We'll have fun with you."

[ghxstyfae]

Pearly kisses ♡ 2 ♡ J.Webber

Tags: @olislays

Warnings: nsfw under labelled section

Part one

Sfw

One day gf decides to put bows everywhere. Jakes car, his house (including Johnnies room??), she even ties one around his bicep

Jake may eventually get a small pink bow tattoo

Gf writes Jake love letters like shes from the victorian era. Calligraphy writing, a kiss to seal it, wax melt and a stamp🤭

Expect fresh flowers on her desk every week, he even makes lives of making little bouquets for her

Definitely follows this rule of keeping a flower from her bouquet so he knows when its wilted.

When shes on her period, he knows the best ways to make her happy.

Cuddles and snuggles, snacks, a heating pad, netflix, and some online shopping.

"What the hell is crockqette?"

"Why are these your most recent emojis?" 🎀💕🩷🍓🍬💌♀️💝🌸 "your so weird"

Lets her braid his hair if she wants, which of course she does. This eventually leads to him having little mini pig tails in his mullet (with bows!)

Gf wears heels a lot, but she doesnt want to get the dirty so Jake usually has to carry her/keep an extra pair of shoes in the car

He didnt understand the hello kitty obsession at first

But after a mini mental breakdown on Gf's part over loosing her favourite sanrio plushie, he atleast tries to understand

Nsfw

He does buy her lots of little nick nacks and other hello kitty memorabilia. (Check pinterest board under sanrio gifts)

Of course she also begs to tie a bow around his cock and he agrees *if* she'll ride him afterwards

I think he'd be kinda into shibrari styles and definitely tie her up with pink ribbon

Pushing her head into her teddybears as he pounds into her from behind, whispering the nastiest little words

He bought her one of those giant pink teddy bears and ties her arms to it while he holds a vibe to her clit

...

Um-🫢 thats all folks.

[kingconia]

Hello! I love your works. I wanted to know if I could request the S/O who writes letters (the one you did for Diasomnia), but with Rook, Riddle, Idia and Cater. I think these would be funny combinations. Thank you and have a good day!

A/N: Thank you! Have a nice day as well.

The Diasomnia post is here.

IDIA SHROUD, CATER DIAMOND, RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS AND ROOK HUNT WITH OLD-FASHIONED S/O, WHO WRITES AND SENDS THEM LETTERS, INSTEAD OF USING THE PHONE

Idia Shroud. 💙

— Idia is speechless. What do you mean you don't want to use your gadgets? What are, a victorian lady?

— He almost offended about your carelessness towards phones and messengers. Makes a whole PowerPoint presentations to help you understand the benefits of technology;

— If you accept his opinion, but still continue write him letters, Idia will easily get used to it, though, still through fuming. And, don't expect letters from him—he will only email you;

— But he decides that it is still a win. Because, you know what? You are almost from the pages of his favourite love interest in one of these manhwas he secretly consumes at nights.

•

”Hm,” Idia rests cheek against his palm, glancing at Ortho lazily. ”What is it?”

”Another letter from Y/n-sama!” The boy exclaims, extending a familiar beautiful blue envelope.

A tired sigh escapes Idia's lips, but he can't help but smile at this slightly.

There is something, indeed, charming in way you send him letters in a certain part of days, well-knowing when to catch him free.

’My dear king of the Underworld,

I recall you having an important meeting today, and so, I am sending you this letter only now, when there is less labour for you to deal with. Tell me, how was your day? Had you eaten well? Should I bring you some fruits when I come? Perhaps, a pomegranate?

My day was remarkable, yet...’

His cheeks flush instantly.

If you only knew how his heart aches for you...

Cater Diamond. ❤️

— Another chronically online person is here! Cater spends half of his free-time, scrolling through different social media, and so, he is surprised that you don't do that, too;

— But he is actually really amused by your unique habit. Cater sees it as a game, and he likes how interesting you make everything. Definitely will never judge you;

— He keeps photos of all your letters! He doesn't post them online—though, he can snap a photo of the closed envelope and write some teasing description—but he makes sure he has everything kept down;

— I think, sometimes he tries to write you letters, too. But it is rather an exception than something usual. And... He is much clumsier with words than you are.

•

”What are you doing?” Trey frowns, quickly glaring at his housemate.

Cater is sitting on the floor, with thousand of letters scattered around, shuffling through them desperately. There is a one piece of empty paper in front of him, and a ink paper that seems to be leaking for a while...

”I want to write letter for Y/n,” Cater announces, tongue sticking out as he searches for something in particular. ”But for that, I need to match this... Bummer language style they have... But, shit, it is hard.”

Trey huffs. He leans forward slightly, almost meaning to say that, surely, Cater can't be serious, when he actually stumbles across a few of your writings.

’Through the fleeting sounds of birds, singing their omnipotent hymns, I had heard a news worthy of a feast...’

’I have this ocean feeling, when I am looking in your eyes—which can be for hours, truly—and when I do so, it seems like the love consumes every inch of me, hiding in lungs, and...’

”Good luck,” Trey cracks out, clearly amused.

Cater sighs. Luck is exactly what he needs right now.

Riddle Rosehearts. ❤️

— Honestly, Riddle is not a big fan of social media himself, so he doesn't mind your habit of writing letters at all;

— If anything, he takes your hobby very seriously. He thinks, it is a perfect sign of how truly mannered you are For him, it is almost you are a princess. And he likes playing a knight very much;

— He doesn't keep all of your letters, but, he chooses the most important ones to save. And the same goes with writing you back—mostly, Riddle likes to have you for a personal date, so it is invitation to his dorm he sends you usually;

— But the thing is... Riddle gets easily flustered by your letters. You write so beautifully and gently about him, that he can't help but blush... Sometimes, he can just space out for hours, staring at your letters.

•

”I wonder what is wrong with housewarden...” Ace asks, trying sneakingly throw another stare at Riddle over his shoulder.

”What do you mean...” Deuce asks absentmindedly, staring in the given direction. ”Oh.”

Riddle, their housewarden, sits in the opposite side of library. There is a paper in his hands, which he glares at without blinking—for a minutes now—and his cheeks are terribly red. He doesn't even move. He just stares.

”Maybe, he is sick?”

”Dunno...”

”He is reading another letter from Y/n,” a sudden voice appears out of nowhere, and as boys hardly conceal their yelping, Chenya smiles at them radiantly. ”Can you blame him? Even my cheeks heated when I read it!”

As Deuce and Ace exchange looks, equally annoyed by this stupid cat's sudden teleportation, Chenya starts to declare what he had read aloud, in a very thin voice:

”Oh, Riddle, a petal to my stem! There is not a single day, when I don't think about you sticking to my heart as if thorns...”

But, oh, isn't it Chenya? Surely he just being over-dramatic...

Right?..

Rook Hunt. 💜

— Rook is absolutely happy to receive letters from you. After all, his eccentric character is very weak for such things—and here you are, spoiling him even more;

— He keeps all of your letters, and he hangs them all over the walls. Even the shortest ones! He just can't throw away anything coming from you;

— And, of course, he writes you back. Always. He would never forgive himself, if he does otherwise;

— Though, his favourite part of your games, when both of you hide letters in places, where only you could find them! Much like a hunt, but a very lovely one!

•

You sigh quietly, fingers massaging temples that harshly that it almost hurts. Sadly, it doesn't help in the slightest. Just as all medicine you took, in order to be saved from annoying headache.

There is a lot of things to do for you, but instead, you lay down on the bed, helpless and tired. But when you turn on your left side, you are suddenly met by the violet envelope with the golden seal that lays on the second pillow of yours. Instinctively, you smile.

You know from whom it is.

’Good afternoon, celui qui tient mon coeur.

I am aware of the headache that bothers you throughout this morning, and thus, I will not pester you with additional questions about the sudden absence of letters—please, keep your rest from me and the outside world.

I also made sure no one tries to take your time today. Teachers and classmates are warned. Tout pour toi, mon amour.

P.S: If you don't mind, I am planning to visit you later, with new made tarts of mine.

Much love, ton admirateur timide.’

You push the letter to you chest as you relax completely, knowing that you have unofficial day off.

Ah. What a caring lover you have!

A/N: Translation for Rook—’the one that holds my heart’/‘anything for you, my love’/’your shy admirer’.

[labyrinthofstreams]

A heart shaped Valentine's card featuring silver lace and a picture of Cupid, c. late 1850s.

[joydemorra]

Do you ever start something as a joke and lose complete control over your life?

In a world of dwindling hope, love has never mattered more... [read the full blurb here]

What is Hunger Pangs?

Hunger Pangs, often shortened to “Phangs” by the self-proclaimed phangdom, is my debut romance novel, published in Nov 2020, featuring a deaf, disabled werewolf, a neurodivergent, mad scientist vampire, and an all-powerful enchantress who is the last of her kind.

It is the first book in a slow-burn, polyamorous gaslamp fantasy romance series focusing on the relationship(s) and antics of the three main characters, Nathan Northland, Vlad Blutstein, and Lady Ursula, as they work to save the world they love from imminent magical and ecological disaster.

The first book primarily focuses on the relationship between Nathan and Vlad, with Ursula heavily alluded to in the next book (Pride and Folly) via some shameless flirting and stolen, impulsive kisses.

No love triangles here. Just three highly competent, world-saving bisexuals sharing the same brain cell the closer they get to each other.

There are two editions of the novel. The Flirting with Fangs edition depicts on-page sexual acts, and the Fluff and Fangs edition which uses alternative scenes/fade-to-black scenes for those who prefer not to read depictions of sex. You can read more about why I decided to do this here.

How Did Phangs come to be?

Like most things on my blog, the original concept began as a joke. My friend and enabler, @jeneelestrange, and I were talking about our least favorite tropes in romance/erotica, including but not limited to toxic “alpha” werewolves, brooding stalker vampire boyfriends, and the absolute profound bullshit that is the Conflicted Love Triangle and Bury Your Gays.

Eventually, it culminated in this post:

(source)

It was meant to be a joke. I really cannot emphasize this enough. It was meant to be a shitpost between friends.

A throwaway ADHD impulse.

Tumblr, however, wanted more of these posts, and like a swarming mass of drift-compatible rats in a trench coat, grabbed hold of my lack of impulse control and Ratatouille'd me into becoming an international bestselling author, and, well, here we are.

I also started writing the series while dying, which I highly do not recommend as a functional creative process.

Absolutely do not start a 500k five-part novel series about love and hope while dying from an undiagnosed genetic disorder. Or if you do, make sure you actually die so you don't have to edit the damn thing. (I am mostly kidding.)

What are the themes/tropes/character dynamics of the book?

In the simplest of terms, Phangs is a queer-polyamorous-paranormal-satirical-romance series featuring vampires, werewolves, and all other manner of creatures that go bump in the night.

It is set in a pseudo-regency meets fake-Victorian Gaslamp Fantasy world, complete with gothic castles, enchanted forests, and just a smidge of industrial coal dust.

Style-wise, Phangs has been described by readers as "like reading the queer, goth love child of Terry Pratchett meets Jane Austen," and I've never been more proud of anything in my life.

If Game of Thrones ascribes to the idea that the night is dark and full of terrors, Phangs is the monster-fucker politely sidling up to them at the bar and asking if they can buy them a drink.

It is also primarily a love letter to fandom, which has led some people to believe it’s fanfiction with the serial labels filed off. But as the person who spent five years agonizing over the world-building, I can assure you this is all very much the product of my weird little ADHD brain picking up tropes, shaking them upside down, and running off with whatever fun and interesting things shake loose.

As already stated, the first book, True Love Bites, focuses primarily on the relationship between Captain Nathaniel J. Northland and Viscount Vlad Blutstein.

The first part of the book primarily focuses on Nathan coming home injured from war and trying to find his place in the world as newly deaf and disabled -- something which alienates him from his werewolf family, who don't know what to do with an injury that can't be mended by a full moon.

While working on the island of Eyrie, he encounters Viscount Blutstein -- Vlad-- a neurodivergent, mad scientist dandy vampire with an enthusiasm for demonic botany and a streak of unfailing kindness as broad and expansive as the sky.

It's not so much love at first sight for the pair as instantaneous lust hampered by the restrictions of polite 1880 society and old ingrained prejudices that make them think the other couldn't possibly be interested in them that way. They're just misreading all those heartfelt stares and sexually charged chess games.

(The love is requited, your honor, they're just idiots.)

Both characters are explicitly queer/mspec, as is Ursula, who drops into their world like a magical atom bomb going off, but not before she spends her own parts of the book desperately trying to figure out what manner of dark entity is killing the magical shrines around the world that keep the world alive.

Thematically, the series touches on many things, but the book’s overriding theme is love. Romantically, of course, and love between families, both found or otherwise. But also love as an act of courage. As a choice. An act of defiance in dark and troubling times, and what it means to be loved and belong even though you’re different.

Especially when you’re different.

And I really fucking hope you enjoy it.

To read the full synopsis and check out the heat ratings, buy links and content tags, go to www.joydemorra.com

[lilly-chou-chou]

Lolita fashion: A guide for beginners and love letter to seasoned Lolitas (Fashion guide part ll)

Hello everyone!! Few days ago I had made a guide for people interested and doing gyaru fashion (interested people please visit my account to read about it <3) moving on I was intrigued and ready to take on the world of Lolita fashion as well, I hope this guides helps newer people and makes other old followers of this amazing fashion culture realize that it is all about fun and feeling pretty. Some may agree with this and some may not either way I am posting this <3

(Kindly please stop sending d#ath threads regarding this post. Kindly also refrain from sending comments saying I deserve those threaths please 🙏🏼)

My guides start from here on. So as a lot of people know, this culture of fashion was started by taking inspirations from Rococco and Victorian era. Over the years this subculture of Japanese fashion has definitely evolved and this subculture has given birth to many sub styles like most famous being sweet Lolita, gothic Lolita and hime Lolita.

So now that you know the gist of this style let me educate you further that the reason Lolita fashion exists is purely just for fun. People especially women wanted to feel that elegance and olden time beauty and dressed up in Lolita just for fun!! So no. 1 rule of Lolita is to have fun. Enjoy what you wear and buy.

Yes, when you first begin it is necessary that you browse through the summary but make sure to ONLY browse through the history of Lolita fashion. Never pay too much attention towards rules of Lolita because again just like gyaru fashion it was and has always been foreigners who police others and are way too anal about rules when as a matter of fact the whole reason Lolita and gyaru existed was to have fun! Of course but only gyaru had a backstory of opposing with stereotypes of women in Japan.

I am here to tell you that I have lived in Japan during the hype of Lolita and gyaru (also being an avid follower of both fashion culture since the age of 4) and having talking with foreigners and locals I suggest you to only LIKE ONLY listen to locals because they truly know what's up. My guides are filled with my experience and what they have told me.

So let's talk about rules like lace and materials and shit. What I have been told and have been doing my life is that pick any lace design that you feel pretty in because in the end even back then Lolita fashion magazines and shows would only tell you what a typical Lolita would wear like poofy dress and small details like pretty wigs and such but people in streets be it Harajuku or Shibuya or etc etc didn't follow these rules themselves and they were covered in latest Lolita trends from head to toe.

The magazines and such only give you an idea of what you can do or typical image of a Lolita fashion follower. That doesn't mean you have to do exactly that. Things like "stop wearing that" "your lace is ugly" "wow you purchased dress from Amazon? Fuck you" "that dress quality sucks you are NOT a real Lolita" is all doing of foreigner Lolita fashion followers.

I am so sorry if you ever encountered any of these people but Lolita girlies in Japan will never harass you like this.

Plus buying stuff from Amazon is OKAY because even though these days there are many affordable Lolita dresses and accessories, it is okay to still look for options and I understand that some people don't have budget and just because you are tight on budget doesn't mean you should be left out. YOU ALSO DESERVE TO FEEL PRETTY! Amazon might not be authentic if that's what you can afford atm then go for it please, enjoy and have fun because you were to meet other Japanese Lolitas they will say things like "wow I didn't know these days Amazon sold such good quality Lolita dresses" never feel guilty for buying off brand.

What people don't tell you is that these days even brands break some of the rules from Lolita fashion and honestly if the household brands break them then you also shouldn't feel bad about messing up. I just want Lolita fashion culture to be welcoming and I don't want beginners to be afraid and I don't want old members to feel the need to be always classic authentic.

Even the queen and ambassador of foreign affairs kawaii aka president of Japan Lolita Association Misako Aiko who has been doing Lolita fashion for 25 years also mixes and matches from different fashion and breaks so called rules like poofy dress shape, owning few dresses with no laces, hair usually styled in a simple way, not always wearing a blouse or a head wear etc etc.

In conclusion if the president of Lolita fashion and household brands are breaking rules then you should also not feel guilty for few little things here and there. Aim of Lolita fashion is to feel pretty and have fun. You are the prettiest person alive, embrace it and have fun with this style. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Do what makes you happy and don't ever feel guilty about buying off brands because sometimes food, shelter and bills is important and that is understandable.

I love everyone of you. Hope my guides help you a lot <3

[stareiiez]

𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆 ------ five

simon ( ghost ) riley x female reader.

content : dark?? ghost. fingering. orgasming. voyeurism. modern settings. mentions of stalking. gore. death. gun violence. graphic descriptions of gore. torture. obsession. drinking. sex. female genitals. unhealthy attachments. violence. blood. implied death. blood. smut in later chapters. dark topics. this is just my version of haunting adeline but for ghost. adult cis female reader. MDNI. 4.2k words. proof read to the best of my tired eyes.

note: just got back from the movies! decided to finally finish this chapter, so the ending to this chapter doesn't really sit well with me. Just another ' encounter ' with Simon :), he's getting ballsy.

likes and reblogs are loved and appreciated!

Ice water runs through your entire body at the single line of text that glares up from your illuminated phone screen. A feeling that isn't associated with the pure comfort of knowing a deputy had your phone number and decided to text you something wildly inappropriate just to make sure you had his number as well. Your fingers hesitate, hovering over the small keyboard while you watch in tandem another text comes in from the unknown number. Three dots bubble in a smooth wave of ups and downs.

" My pretty girl, you look so scared, what's wrong?" reads the text.

Your throat constricts. Skin deciding to grow clammy at the ever-taunting three dots that dance along your screen; your thumbs hung in a perpetual freeze over the keyboard. Your brain can't get your neurons to fire quickly enough to come up with some reply or snarky response. You can't even force the muscles in your small thumb to block the unknown number as any good-minded person would. You're the person who pokes the baby bear and waits around for the momma bear to come over and rip your throat to pieces while you scream out and ask why this happened to you in the first place.

Stick in hand, you poke the bear with sharp jabs of pointed wood. Thumbs slowly tap against the finger-smudged screen.

' Who is this? You some kind of weirdo that scams innocent people for fun?'

The swoosh of your green-colored text message floats on the ample space of your new conversation with an unknown number.

Your teeth bite down on your bottom lip, watching your phone. Your fingers tap on the screen to keep the bright LED awake just in case you miss another notification as if that were possible. Seconds turn into one minute of you standing stock straight in your bedroom, ignoring the pretty cream-colored beams of the full moon that now beam into your open Victorian-styled window. The gossamer of your curtains flutters on the rain-flavored breeze that filters through the small crack in your window. It brings goosebumps up your bare legs, and the short skirt you still are wearing does nothing to warm the external and internal chill you feel wreaking havoc on your body. You shiver, your arms close around your chest to tame the chattering of your teeth.

' No. Don't worry your pretty little head trying to guess who I am. You'll hurt yourself.'

' Don't need my girl aching so early over me.'

You frown at your screen. Lines appear on your forehead at the patronizing tone that rings loud and clear through the digital letters. You want to scoff and roll your eyes. You want to turn your phone screen off and flop onto your bed, just to count the number of rotations your overhead fan does till the sun graces the sky and you regret every decision you've ever made for the past few days of living here.

' Tell me who this is before I go and tell the police some no life is texting me for fun.'

Three dots do their familiar dance on your screen. They dance on your nerves. They do the tango on your growing irritation at your phone, at yourself, at this entire night. Then they disappear like your unknown number decided he spooked at the half-empty threat of yours. That little threat worked half of the time whenever you used it, you're glad someone decided to take you seriously for once. You expected the texter to laugh in your face with another patronizing text and keep up the game until it drove you into throwing your phone into the hallway and leaving it there till tomorrow morning. You exhale out through your nose with a victorious smirk on your lips when another minute passes and your text remains unanswered.

" Serves them right, " you mutter, setting your phone back down onto your nightstand and striding to your bedroom closet for a comfy set of pajamas to stay in for the night. A loose pair of superhero sleep pants warm your legs and a short messily cropped shirt threatens to slip further down your shoulders with every swing of your arms when you pull it on over your head.

The rest of your night routine goes unbothered, your phone pitch black and silent on your nightstand under the soothing glow of a thrifted vintage bedside lamp. Your pajamas are ditched onto your mattress when you decide a hot shower is something you need to forget about the uncomfortable texts you got from a random number. The pressure and spray of the showerhead wash away the traces of Graves' cologne from your skin. Another pang of worry clouds your brain at the thought of him. You send another prayer to some god to watch over him or even make sure he got away from whatever crazy person/ stalker decided to attack him for no good reason. Hot perfumed-scented steam follows you into your bedroom after a much-needed shower, your skin is a bright cherry red under the tight wrapping of a bath towel. Your phone screen lights up on your nightstand while the moonlight illuminates sweet-scented water droplets that bead on your shoulders and race down the planes of your chest till they soak into fluffy cotton. You're the picture of innocent seduction when you pass in front of your still-open window and grab your phone to see if another text infested your messages from the unsaved number.

' Good luck. '

Some say it's stupid for criminals to return to the scene of a crime after it happened, but Simon isn't stupid like those knuckle-headed twits who are sloppy with their work. He knows what he's doing. He's never done this before, the whole stalking the practical love of his life ( is that a little too early to say? ) after just seeing her once and for a couple of seconds at a buddy's bar. He's never done the whole ' touch her and I'll kill you ' kind of thing for women before either. He's always the one to sleep around if he needs a good stress reducer. Always doggy style and fast-paced so he can clean his dick off and throw the condom out on his way out the front door while his one-night stand wonders if they can cuddle after. Such a classic pump-and-dump dickheaded bloke thing to do.

But for you? For those pretty eyes and the way, your lips wrapped snuggly on the rim of a cheap beer bottle. His world exploded into every stereotype under the sun and moon. He would kill for you. He would kill himself if you demanded it. He would crawl on his knees over broken glass if he ever broke your heart when you two got together. You have taught an old dog new tricks, and this old dog wants to show you how it can blow you sky-high if you let it happen.

The deputy sitting in his car was not even an obstacle Simon had to bypass or even waste his time killing if he wanted to overstay his welcome. The cop did himself in by passing out on duty while listening to the static noise of his stereo and the monotonous droning of police chatter on his radio. He has to thank Price for putting the weakest member of the police force on active watch duty without even giving it a second thought. Always looking out for his boys is like a subconscious tick for old war-torn veteran John Price.

Simon's bulky figure strolls through your front door like he owned the house. Picking apart the lock in the dead of night under the beam of the moon was a cakewalk, his fingers prodding and poking at the locks that never got an upgrade when you moved in. Your aunt had stripped off the original walls and flooring and gutted out the attic to create an artsy smaller environment for her dotting niece. How kind of her to never fix the faulty front door lock that never really fully slid into its place. Bless your aunt. His eyes adjust slowly to the shadows of inky midnight in your home while he moves like a dead spirit in your home. His thick-soled boots make little to no noise on the glossy cherry wood flooring. His gloved fingers slide over the smooth marble of your kitchen island when he passes by it. He can almost picture you standing there, standing in nothing but one of his t-shirts and making yourself a coffee in the morning.

His delusions of you in his twisted brain show your pretty neck marked with teeth indents that are akin to a ravenous dog. Red and so dark blues that are nearly black are scattered on your jawline and throat like galaxies. Thick finger-shaped gangrene green bruises are splattered on your upper thighs that get revealed when you reach up for the bag of ground coffee, and his shirt rides up a little too much just to show your perky ass and the teeth marks and still red handprints left behind. You're every man's morning-after dream, still smelling of his cologne and sex. Your blood stains of too deep bitten marks stain his shirt collar a rusty red. Simon's chest puffed up just a bit in pride of how good you'll look when he brings his daydreams into a reality; yet for now, he ignores the sticky heat that works from his mushy brain down to the cock in his jeans.

The stairs audibly creak under his combat boots, yet he pays them no mind when he takes them one at a time. Memorizing which ones to step on next time he decides to break into your home so he doesn't cause too much unnecessary noise to echo in the warm interior of your home. His palm slides up the smooth, same-colored wood as your flooring, banister of your stairs while he takes his time to cast flickering glances at the framed photos displayed on deep green colored walls. Photos you have hung up that display pieces of your childhood home and you on your tricycle with two front teeth missing in your glimmering smile. Other photos of you in graduation cap and gowns of high school and college with friends that wear similar attire. The small glimpses of moonlight gift Simon with the warmth of your pretty smile from every precious picture you deemed important enough to hang in your home. Small normal accomplishments of your normal life and childhood only make the male fall further and further into a deeper cesspool of admiration for your quaint domesticity he vyes for with you.

Your bedroom door swings open without a creak in its aging hinges. Your sleeping form is swaddled so angelically in deep red colored sheets. Your curves are framed ever so slightly in thin satin threads that are twisted between your legs and tugged up to your chin. Simon doesn't close the door behind him when he enters your bedroom, his large figure casting their own monumental shadow on your body. His deep brown eyes watch your eyes twitch behind your closed eyelids now and then, signaling to the man you're off somewhere in your dreamland and far away from his opposing figure that reaches out for you. One of his pointer fingers graces the apple of your cheek with the gentlest of touches. His blunt fingernail moves a few strands of hair away from your face so he can admire your sleeping expression without anything blocking his gaze.

His eyes sweep from the top of your head, and how the way your hair falls in waves of colors to then fan out over your pillow, to the bridge of your nose, to your cheeks once again, then finally to settle on parted lips that glisten with the smallest amount of drool. You're gorgeous. There's no doubt about it, he confirms to himself as his pointer finger lazily carves a path from your cheek down to follow the curve of your soft jawline.

His finger stills its ministrations of gentle stroking when he watches your brows furrow. Your nose scrunches so cutely in his eyes, your damp lips mumble in sleep-talk gibberish and you roll onto your other side. Your back faces him. Even in your sleep, you reject his touches, which is mildly disappointing. No matter, that'll change sooner than later.

On the spare pillow of your bed, Simon sets another crimson-colored peony in a slightly wrinkled condition onto its surface. The confines of his pockets had caused the color of the petals to grow darker. What looks like watery red dye stains the pillowcase from such disgruntled-looking flower petals.

It's his goodnight to you, even if he much rather would settle on pressing chapped lips to the curve of your temple. He wouldn't want to rouse you from sleep by hunkering over your bed and nearly squishing you down on the thick mattress of your bed for just one kiss. Seeing the fear in your eyes, the look of shock that pales your complexion at the sight of an unknown skull-masked man hovering over you in the dead of night with an indescribable look in his eyes would surely send you into cardiac arrest. Simon wouldn't be able to contain himself if he saw his pretty girl looking like a little mouse under his heavy weight and on the verge of screaming for help.

The comparison suits you. Little mouse. His little mouse.

" I can't believe you never called earlier about this! This is insane." Victoria's hands throw up over her head. Her frustrated expression is something you expected after shutting yourself in your house for four days after your encounter with the police.

You finally had the balls to call at least one of your friends to tell her everything and beg for some kind of company when the silence in your home got a little too loud, and the sounds of your house settling at night were affecting your sleep. You hadn't gotten a proper eight hours of rest in what felt like in while, a couple of thirty-minute power naps, and the occasional luck of being able to get more than two hours of sleep at night was your new sleep schedule. Sick-looking bags dragged down your eyes with exhaustion. Your undereyes were starting to get that deep blue hue along your waterline, really selling the fact you're losing your health over some potential serial stalker.

The both of you were curled up on your leather couch, the cushions squeaking under you as you moved into a tighter ball of shame when she didn't lift her irritated gaze off your frame. The throw blanket you had decided to cover yourself when you two sat was pulled up to your chin. Rounded eyes portraying vulnerability flick away from the woman to stare out the expansive floor to the ceiling window.

" __, you need a security system. Put cameras outside or even a fucking bodyguard that follows you around, you can't live like this." Victoria's hands gesture at your rumpled complexion. The smell of sickly sweet bodily odor wafts off the thick throw blanket. Your paranoia was putting your hygiene at risk. You couldn't handle showering.

You tried once, the night after deputy dipshit hauled his donut-loving ass off your front porch when he told you he was no longer needed here; and to call the police if there was another sign of your stalker outside bothering you. It was Price's call, after all, he withdrew your protection with a condescending pat on your head and a ' you'll be okay, sweetie. '

The hot water was a comforting sting to your skin when you stepped in. Your head tilted back to soak your hair and allow the feeling of pins and needles prodding at your scalp to try to distract you from your shit-stained predicament right now. Your eyes closed as you stepped back further into the harsh spray, yet you couldn't begin to relax fully when your mind began to play sick tricks on your decaying sanity. Your heart picked up in erratic beats. Your ears strained too hard at the faux footsteps you imagined stomping your hallway right to your bathroom.

Behind your eyelids, you swore you could see the dark visage of a stranger growing against your floral shower curtain. One of the stranger's hands outstretched to grab at one end of the curtain and pull back just to touch you in your most vulnerable st----- NO!. Your eyes flew open, blinking through the downpour of water just to stumble forward and end up falling onto your bare ass. You ignored the prickles of pain shooting up from your tailbone and yanked back the shower curtain to stare out at your bathroom. No threatening stranger standing there with a knife in one of his hands. No presence of another person invading your bathroom, going through your things before they got to you. You were alone. Alone and dripping cooling water onto your floors while you ran naked through your home just to triple-check with yourself that no one was here with you.

You shrank further into your blanket as if that was even possible. Tired tears announced themselves to your sagging waterline, Victoria was right. Even if her words hurt, you needed security. You needed more than contemplating begging her to spend the night just so you could feel safe and maybe get through an everything shower without going into hysterics. Your sinuses clogged, and those hot tears of every frustrated emotion you felt to yourself, to the police, to your fucking life, and to the asshole who decided you were worthy of driving over the edge of insanity, dripped down your oily face.

" I'll call Izzy, see if she can come over later with some takeout and we can stay in all day." Victoria sighs out, reaching across the chasm of space you had put between her and you. Deeply tanned skin, the comforting color that reminds you of herbal tea, brushes against one wet cheek. Her thumb and forefinger swiped away salty water with loving caresses. You wanted to weep harder from your friend's consoling efforts to ease your feelings.

Her thick brows turn upwards with concern when you blink another fresh trickle of tears down your chin, your nose ruby red and threatening to snot with every sniffle you let out. "I can spend the night too, you don't mind sharing a bed do you?"

She's saved you from the embarrassment that would send you catapulting over the edge of your home, hoping to god you land on your head so your neck can break clean in half. You'd hate to bother your friends with your new fucked situation, but your angel incarnate of a woman named Victoria saves you from suicide. You give her a watery smile and lean into her lavender-scented palm when she swipes more salty water off your skin. "I'd like that."

Your angel smiles so warmly, her concern melting just enough to soften around the edges like melted butter at your acceptance. Damp fingers of her's gently pat your cheek. "That's my girl, why don't you shower? I'll call Izzy, and we can google security systems that are available to install on such short notice. I think my brother knows a guy, I'll call him after Izzy gets here."

You nod. The weight in your heart and head lift just enough to get your legs out from under you without any help. A shower sounds so good, and with the comforting noise of Victoria piddling around your home; filling the chilling silence with a playlist of her's playing on the living room flatscreen. You can get through the tasks of scrubbing and rubbing your entire body red till you think every greasy pore is clean once again.

One hot steamy and long shower later, you emerge back into your living room swathed in a fluffy cotton robe. You feel like yourself again, or as close as you can be to your normal self. Izzy, now present in your kitchen, is pouring through Google reviews of security companies and tech cameras that are up to a decent standard. Victoria is on the phone, pacing back and forth in your kitchen. Her voice is thick with Portuguese spilling into the speaker at such a rapid rate that it makes your head spin. She must have gotten a hold of her brother, which is good to know. Your heart flutters in your chest at the sight of having such support and help from the only two people you know in the city.

You can't help your lips pulling into a smile when both girls notice you're out of the shower. They smile at you back, Izzy wiggles her skinny fingers at you before she turns back to the computer screen she brought over.

Your phone buzzes in the pocket of your robe. The once fuzzy feelings you have about adoring how wonderful your best friends are are ruined thanks to the automatic pang of fear that comes from the vibration. You decide to climb up the stairs to your bedroom, your hand retrieving your phone with shaky fingers. The screen illuminates with the movement of your hand and your face begins to pale when another unknown number pops up on the lock screen. A different set of numbers than the one that texted you the first time. Yet, you wouldn't doubt in your mind it was a different sicko that would message you out of the blue.

A couple of days of silence on the unknown number's end after your last conversation. It was agony, to say the least. Every buzz and ring of your phone had your heart racing and cold sweat beading on the palms of your hands in anticipation of getting another text from your newly claimed stalker. No matter what the police denied or said, you wouldn't change your mind about it.

Now, your stalker decides to text you. Just when you thought you could have a moment of solace. Just when you thought you could enjoy the company of your girls and maybe pretend like it was just another night with them, they decided to ruin it. It's like they were watching you through your windows, taking a moment to wipe that happy little smile off your face and replace it with trembling lips and wide eyes. Your thumb presses on the text when your phone unlocks with a small click noise.

' Having a party without me, little mouse?' reads the text.

Your stomach begins to swim in that all too familiar ocean of nausea, yet you hold down your nerves enough to quickly retort before you lose your small amount of breakfast at the thought of being watched.

' What party?' ' Are you watching me right now?' Your fingers fly over the screen and hit send in a matter of seconds.

You swear you could hear the scoff through the text that gets sent back, just as quickly as yours. They dodge the question like your questions were too fucking dumb to answer. It's obvious.

'The girls are pretty, but not as pretty as my girl.' They're watching you and like the dumb blonde in every single horror movie. You get a little too curious and finish darting up the rest of your stairs, the sash of your robe slips loose around your waist as you crash into your bedroom and press against the open window for a peek at your stalker.

Maybe it's paranoia finally catching up to you and letting you witness early-onset schizophrenia that's most likely not inherited through your family. Or maybe you want to will and believe in the murky black and browns of the forest's shadows just enough to pretend you can see the outline of a person standing in the treeline—your palm streaks against the glass of your window. Your nose threatens to crack and pop like rice cereal from how hard you strain your eyes to hyper-focus on the humanoid-looking blob near your home. You don't even realize that if this is your stalker? You're giving them a titty show with the way your robe has fallen open just enough to reveal the soft curves of your breasts and stomach.

The rest of your tidbits and intimate curves are still concealed by the robe. Thank god for your failing dignity.

' If you're watching me, then wave, you sick freak.'

The final text goes, another round with the sleeping bear and your sharp stick. You want to prove it not only to yourself but to the small light not only in the police force's eyes but your friends when you told them you thought you were being stalked by some crazy person who gave you flowers and possibly hurt your potential one night stand.

The proof comes in the form of your phone screen gaining one small crack in the glass when you drop it without thinking. You miss the way the screen's light is suffocated by the cool hardwood of the floor, the next text you get back is unseen. You're too busy letting out a scream to care anyway because your proof for all those deniers in your life comes the way you demanded. With the human-looking shadow, you were having a staring contest with tilting its head up and waving up at you in your bedroom window.

' Hello up there, little mouse.'