#aside from the obvious penetration imagery

[anxiety-elemental-kay]

Vash's Dual Powers in Trigun Stampede

Or: Christ on a cracker episode eleven really was that fucked up holy shit

Here’s that essay about Stampede Vash’s powers I mentioned a while back. This is another where I yell about Trigun and gender and worry I’m spouting shit that was obvious to everyone, but you’re getting the essay anyway.

Content warnings include discussion of sexual assault, pregnancy, and forced pregnancy. I’ll be talking about episode eleven a lot so. Yeah.

The first time we see Vash manifest his powers is the same time Knives and Conrad do: when he creates a black hole in his arm. We see it absorb the corpses of the people Knives just killed, and we can see from Vash’s panicked expression he has no control over it. Knives then cuts his arm off because his brother just manifested an entire black hole like right there.

(It’s worth noting that the music track for this scene is called ‘Drain Gate’, and another track using Vash’s theme is called ‘Plant of Drain’. In the episode twelve stinger the Pieces of Earth fleet reference using something called a ‘drain gate’, which might be related to FTL travel. I have no conclusions for this point, just that this powers seem to have greater implications than just ‘black hole’ in Stampede.)

So far this is stuff the manga has more or less covered before. Vash’s power specifically was creating black holes. In TriMax we see July and its citizens consumed by a black hole. For Stampede though, Orange gave Vash a secondary power: fertility.

And I do mean fertility and not virility; the capacity to become pregnant versus the capacity to impregnate someone else. At the start of episode eleven, Knives penetrating Vash is pretty obviously phallic. His knives are the literal mechanism by which he seizes control of and violates Vash’s mind and body. On the other hand, when Vash sprouts roots which connect to the other plants in the tank, it doesn’t read as phallic to me.

They look like umbilical cords.

Each root connects to the plants’ stomachs, and aside from a brief red flash this doesn’t appear to cause them any pain or distress, contrary to Vash flailing away from his brother’s blades. We see energy move down the roots from Vash to the plants, and when they unfurl to reveal their pregnancies the roots remain connected at their navels. They look surprised and afraid. Those pregnancies are, almost literally, also his.

For all of Conrad’s technobabble about the plant core and souls and whatever, Vash’s powers seem to boil down to this: he can send things to the higher plane by creating a black hole, and he can take from the plane by manifesting with his, or others’, bodies.

I think this interpretation is reinforced by a series of three shots after Knives says “Happy birthday Vash". The pussy portal opens behind Vash (with a goopy sound effect), we cut to outside the tower to see the purple flowers blooming on the roots, and cut again to inside the tank where the plants unfurl to reveal they’ve become massively pregnant. Portal, flower, pregnancy. It’s all about biological reproduction.

And then Knives goes into the pussy portal and finds an inter dimensional ovum, which he then also penetrates with his blades, explicitly to impregnate all the other plants.

Like.

Studio Orange looked at the Fifth Moon chapter in the original Trigun manga and said “You are like little baby. Watch this.” and then made an episode which made me spend the rest of the day somewhere dark and quiet when I first watched it because holy shit.

(It shouldn’t go unsaid Vash and Knives are canonically trans in Stampede, it’s in the text even if it’s not what Orange was thinking of! Vash is surrounded by yonic imagery and Knives has no dong I don’t know what else to tell you.) (edit: okay so maybe not CANON canon but i'd still argue it's an easy interpretation to make)

There’s always been a dichotomy at the heart of Vash as a character: a desire for peace versus the necessity of violence. A living weapon trying to live and love among humans who constantly reject him. Avoiding hurting others while physically capable of great and terrible destruction.

When Vash regains control he transforms the growths he was forced to make into a MacGuffin that’s easy for the twins to fight over. He transforms what he was forced to create into a bomb, because there didn’t seem to be any other way for him to neutralize the mass. (I assume this because Vash seemed to have immediate and almost perfect control of his powers in episode twelve, and it would be strange for ‘make a bomb’ to be his first choice for dealing with the roots.) Vash has been forced to create something that poses a danger to himself and everyone around him.

Vash was a weapon, even in creating life, from the roots growing to choke all of JuLai, to the pregnant plants, to the nuke cube obliterating the largest human city on the planet.

Forced creation is no different from destruction. Reproduction is not beautiful or honorable when unwilling.

(This is my essay so I’ll allow myself another aside: episode eleven is a good demonstration of why I tend to prefer genre above more realistic stories. Here, like in the manga, we see a metaphorical rape scene stripped of anything that could be (intentionally) titillating, leaving only the victim’s fear and pain. I feel like only in this kind of metaphor can sex be stripped away from assault, and instead put the focus on the emotions of the scene.)

Vash having fertility as a power is (one of many) things that fascinate me about Trigun Stampede. I’m an afab nonbinary person, I’ve always been afraid of getting pregnant, and I’ve never wanted kids. Sexual assault is something I’m deeply afraid of, and I would genuinely rather die than give birth. It’s all tied up in my feelings about my gender and my body and how it’s perceived by others. Vash is pretty much experiencing my literal worst nightmare.

All this circles back to what might be my favorite topic when it comes to analyzing Trigun: how it depicts masculinity.

There’s a lot about masculinity in Trigun that I think is genuinely radical to some degree, and whether it’s something Orange intended to add or if it’s just easier to do a queer interpretation of this version of the story isn’t a question I’m interested in. I’m gonna rub my gay trans little hands all this anime and you can’t stop me!

Stampede doesn’t depict fertility and masculinity as opposites or even incompatible. Vash and his body isn’t made repulsive because he has this power, in fact when he regains control he gets a color change and a sick new hairstyle. Vash possessing this power isn’t depicted as that different from the black hole, it’s just a thing he can do, but here it’s being taken advantage of by his brother. The disgust and horror isn’t from the metaphor of a man becoming pregnant, it’s because he was violated by someone who claims to love him and want to protect him.

For contrast, imagine a similar scene, in which a masculine character is surrounded by feminine/pregnancy imagery, and consider how it would likely be framed in most other mainstream media. Those of you who don’t live under rocks might even think of some examples! Typically in media, men seen anywhere in proximity to femininity are mocked and humiliated.

Vash’s masculinity, his identity, his personhood, are ultimately disconnected from his capacity to reproduce, and by what means his body is or is not capable of making babies. He regained agency because Meryl called out to him, and she called out because he inspired her, and she was inspired because he was out making human connections with people, trying so hard to do the right thing even when he failed. His powers are a part of him, but not what ultimately make Vash truly powerful.

I’m curious to see if/how Studio Orange will continue with this theme going forward. So much of Vash’s character is about contradiction, and in this way they’re making some of those themes even more literal. More contrast-y.

To wrap this up, here’s one more thing I’m curious about: what will become of the Independents who will be born from this? The pregnant plants escaped with Conrad and his flying saucer lab. Assuming any children survive, and considering how much the twins grew in only a year, they could have a role in the future story. What will they be like? How will their origin shape the people they become? How much will Knives control (or fail to control) his children? What will they think of humanity, of Knives, of Vash, of themselves?

[watching-pictures-move]

Movie Review | Caligula (Brass, 1979)

Decided to make the trip out to the west end when I learned the Revue Cinema would be playing the new "Ultimate Cut". To be perfectly honest I didn't like the movie very much when I saw it a few years ago, but I figured a movie so defined by excess would benefit from the big screen. And as my viewing was preceded by a trip to a South African restaurant where I enjoyed one of their delicious meat platters, making me a bit of a modern day Caligula if I do say so myself, perhaps I was in an appropriately decadent state of mind to enjoy it this time around.

The selling point of this version is that it's constructed entirely from previously unseen footage. It's been too long since my last viewing, so I can't attest to the specifics of how this compares with the uncut hardcore version I saw, aside from the obvious absence of the hardcore footage. (Given how explicit the movie is, scenes of penetration are hardly missed.) The most drastic notice in the feel of the movie that I noticed was that it now gives more shape to the performances, particularly Malcolm McDowell's, which feel more modulated and grounded in character than what I remember of the other version. In the earlier version, I only remember Peter O'Toole's performance, which embodies the movie's combination of decadence and decay, working as expected, but this time around I think the characters feel more fleshed out and the actors' presences feel more pronounced across the board. Roger Ebert in his review of the original release made a pretty astute criticism: "Nobody in this film really seems to be there." This version corrects for that pretty effectively.

If anything, I think the changes lean a little too heavily in this direction. I understand Thomas Negovan in putting together this new version is trying to respect what he perceived to be Brass' original vision (and maybe a bit of Gore Vidal's too), but he's also bringing modern sensibilities to his construction of this cut. In particular, the way this version lingers on individual notes in performances and lays on the music invites unfavourable comparisons with bad prestige television. I'd also need to do a side-by-side comparison, but the framing of a lot of the shots seem tighter, which undermines the sense of decay, of characters framed against cavernous sets, that I did find effective about the earlier version. Perhaps the alternate footage really was framed differently, but given the colour timing on some of the earlier scenes being quite a bit different from what I remember, I have the sneaking suspicion that Negovan applied a heavy hand to a lot of this, and at least in some cases, it seems he picked different footage for its own sake. (I also question the wisdom of someone who claimed to have not seen the earlier version until well into their reconstruction project, even if I respect the overall project.)

And even with the better developed characters, the movie retains the problem of lacking a clear arc. Basically, when you start with something as excessive as the Peter O'Toole orgy with its dildo wheels and disembowelings, it's hard to go up from there. While the movie offers no shortage of outrageous imagery, structurally, it's the same scene over and over again, Caligula acting like a goofball and then ordering someone executed and then resuming his goofball routine. No individual scene is boring, but three hours of this stuff is a little exhausting. Part of this is the result of Brass' and Vidal's conflicting ideas about the character, the former approaching the character as insane from the get go, the latter interested in how absolute power corrupts. There are shreds of political satire here about the difficulties faced by those who actually do the work of running a government while underneath a leader reliable only in their unceasing erratic behaviour, a theme which may resonate given recent history. But I don't think this version is able to shape that element into something substantial.

So I can't say I liked the movie all that much this time around, but I like that it exists and in multiple versions, and I would absolutely recommend going to catch this in a theatre if it's playing near you. There will never be another movie like Caligula, even if some of what makes it distinct is excised in this version, and a movie this lavish and decadent ought to be seen on as big a screen as possible.

[whatevertheywant]

Can we talk about the symbolism of them clumsily smashing the jars of cherries during the Pantry Scene???? Poetic fucking cinema

[mrskurono]

Mommy || Choso + Yuji

Tag(s): Mommy Series Continued; tw:incest, tw:age gap (Yuji), mommy kink, nursing, mmf threesome, fingering, squirting/pissing, double vaginal penetration, frotting, breeding kink (kinda), dumbification, dirty talk, lewd imagery below cut

Character(s): Choso (jjk), Yuuji Itadori (jjk)

Choso loved his mother. With everything in him, he loved her.

As the oldest son was always supposed to do. He was her knight in shining armor and he wore that badge proudly. Ready to help mommy whenever she needed it. Keeping that smile on his mother’s face was more important than anything else in his world. Because his world was her.

Rightfully so the oldest taught the youngest the same thing. Yuji was diligent to his big brother. Soaking in his wisdom and making sure to always watch him carefully to know exactly what to do to keep their mom smiling. He saw it too. What Choso saw. Their mother’s smile was his world and Yuji would do anything to keep it on her face.

The exception? Only when her smile was replaced by the fucked out expression on her face.

“Ani-chan.” Yuji’s face red from ear to ear. He had been since his older brother told to hold still for their mother, “It feels-”

“It feels good I know,” Choso nodded, enthralled by the sight of his little brother’s cock disappearing into their mother’s mouth, “Otouto-chan don’t forget we’re here to make mommy feel good too.”

Breath as shaky as his resolve, Yuji finally nodded. Regretful when his cock was pulled from his mother’s warm mouth, “Mommy-”

“-let us make you feel good too-” Unable to not take the lead, Choso brushed his brother aside. Needing to catch his mother’s lips on his own. Not even caring if the taste of Yuji’s cock lingered. He craved her lips every hour of every day. When she would indulge is when he would take the most advantage of it.

Pushing her down. Both boys were on her in an instant. Yuji replacing his older brother’s lips on hers. And Choso running kisses all down her neck and shoulder. More experienced in the curves of his mother’s body, Choso intended to teach Yuji just as much about this as he did everything else in the house. Mom’s happiness was always number one.

“Touch her breasts Otouto-chan.” Choso instructed softly. One of his broad hands already kneading away at the wonderful mounds, “She likes it a lot if you pinch her nipples too.”

“Like this Ani-chan?” Yuji mimicked what he saw him do. Hands nearly as big as Choso’s. Still though the little brother wasn’t about ready to supersede his big brother.

No need for his brother’s approval. It was when their mother’s legs squeezed and she rubbed them together. Moaning as both boys touched her breasts without hesitation. Yuji was slowly understanding what Choso meant by knowing her body.

They leaned forward. Together taking her nipples in their watering mouths. Nursing at her breast like they were infants again. Yuji’s eyes closed in the heat of the moment. But Choso looked up at her with adoring eyes. No need for her to even see him. It was enough for Choso to watch his beloved mother drowned in pleasure.

To stay at her breast was selfish though. And this time was for her and her alone. Choso reluctantly pulled his lips off her breast. Nudging Yuji to do the same. He pouted but complied. Knowing his big brother knew best.

“There’s one place,” Choso smiled sweetly, “That mommy likes touched more than anything else. Would you like me to show you that?” Not even up for debate as Yuji nodded eagerly, “Good.”

Dragging his palms down her navel. Choso watched his mother react perfectly to his touch. Bucking her hips up under him until his palm came to rest on her groin. Covering all of her slightly untrimmed mound with just one big hand. Both boys got between her legs and Yuji licked his lips expectantly waiting for Choso to move his hand.

Of course when Choso pulled his hand away. It wasn’t without dragging his fingers down through his mother’s glistening folds. The tips of his fingers grazing her sensitive clit enough to make her grab at the sheets under them with a white knuckled grip.

“See.” Choso presented his went fingers to his little brother, “She likes it so much when we spoil her body that mommy makes this delicious juice for us to lick.”

“I can lick it?” Yuji’s eye lit up at the idea of it. He then got Choso pressing his fingers to his lips for a taste. No hesitation to open wide and suck their mother’s wetness from his brother’s fingers.

When Choso finally drew his fingers from his little brother’s mouth. He  noticed how wet Yuji had left them. Knowing how much mother loved to have herself stretched, he felt the honor of using Yuji’s spit this first time was well earned, “Watch.” Choso instructed. Pressing his fingers back into her core.

Yuji as hard as he could be. Noticing Choso was too. But they would wait their turn because Yuji couldn’t take his eyes off the way his brother’s first two fingers sunk knuckles deep into their mother’s cunt.

“She took them both!” Yuji leaned forward enthralled. Choso’s fingers now gone inside her and the only sign of their movement was her bucking and moaning above. Each swipe and twitch of her eldest baby’s fingers inside her caused spasms throughout her body.

Choso desperately wanted to be closer. Back in the warmth of his mother’s most private parts. His cock twitching with anticipation at the thought of his cock filling his mommy’s pretty cunny with his seed as he always did. Still though he had to wait.

“Put your mouth here,” Choso pointed at the budding clit peaking out of the woman’s folds, “Mom loves to have it sucked. It’s supposed to feel even better than your penis in her mouth.”

Little Yuji’s eyes wide he inhaled the musky scent of the juices being stirred up by his big brother’s fingers, “What is it...?”

“That’s her clit,” Choso smiled sweetly, slipping another finger in to the two already in her, “Suck mommy’s clit and she’ll give you something.”

At the idea of a reward, Yuji was eager and quick to latch his lips onto the bud. Slick and slimy in his mouth from the gush of juices. He wasted no time swiping his tongue around and slipping just the tip of his tongue up under the hood of her clit to see what exactly it was Choso said was a reward.

Neither hand to wait long. Between Choso’s three fingers stuffed in their mommy’s cunt. And Yuji’s nursing of her clit. He got to see first hand the body wracking orgasm take over their normally quiet mom. To really drive it home Choso pressed his free hand hard onto her stomach and Yuji’s eyes popped open when he saw the golden spray gush over his brother’s hand.

Thick and muskier than before. When she finally stopped squirming under them. And Yuji took his lips from her swollen clit. He was even more excited, “What was that??”

“Mommy’s specials pee,” Choso still didn’t remove his fingers after his mother’s gift to him, “It means we made her feel good. Here-” He moved over a bit, “Put your fingers in here with me to see what her insides feel like heaven.”

“Won’t it be too much?” Yuji asked, already seeing her twitch around Choso’s three fingers.

“We have to stretch her out so she feels good when we show her how much we love her.” He insisted.

Under his big brother’s directions. Yuji tentatively put a finger against the slick pooling in his brother’s palm. Gathering enough of it that when he pushed in alongside Choso’s fingers. Yuji was met with only a little resistance. Instantly getting the gratification of his mother’s warm wet cunt walls swallowing him up. It was obvious on his face as Choso chuckled at him.

“We came outta here??” Yuji said almost not believing something so wonderful could push a human out of it.

“We did and it feels so much better being back inside too.” Choso mused with a soft smile. His eyes locked in on the sight of four fingers violating his mother’s cunt. Encouraging Yuji to add another after he saw her creaming around their combined effort.

The lovely sight of both of them massaging her entrance until it was gaping. Like her walls wanted to suck their fingers back in. All Choso could focus on was the aching strain in his cock as he longed to be back inside her. It wasn’t until Yuji had another three of his fingers paired with Choso’s three did he think she was finally stretched enough.

“Since this is your first time making mommy happy,” Choso slowly drew his fingers from his mother’s now gaping cunt, “You can be behind her and follow my lead Otouto-chan.”  

“Behind here?” Yuji still a little dazed from just the way his fingers felt inside his mother, “Where do you go?”

Choso smiled and leaned down to kiss his mother’s navel, “I go under her, as the oldest I’ll always be the one to support mother.”

Excited by what this meant. Yuji was little help in getting into position. What he did help with was when their mother was on top of Choso. Able to hook his hands in her hips the strong little brother hefted his mother up so she was on her knees. Choso praised him for his gentle touch. Reminding him that mother was to be cherished and always shown a soft loving touch.

“Do we take turns? Or...?” Yuji was unsure as he looked at his mother’s twitching cunt spasm around nothing. The way he wanted to bury his cock in her was unreal. So warm and soft as he thought about what he felt around his fingers just now. Desiring nothing more than to be back where Choso said he came from.

Choso, who didn’t get his mother on top of him without kissing her tenderly as he cupped her face. Ended the kiss only after tucking his wonderful mother’s face against his chest and reaching down to gently grab her ass, “We can together. She would very much love that. Having both her boys back where we came from.”

Under close instructions, Yuji sat back on his haunches, cock in hand. Pumping himself slowly as he watched his big brother. Choso very gently swiped his cock up his mother’s slit. Wetting his tip with the slick glistening off her lips. Earning but a meager moan when the tip of his cock grazed her clit. Yuji watched enthralled as that simple motion made her entrance twitch like there was something in her. Only to be followed by Choso pressing the tip of his cock against her entrance.

Slowly and carefully he urged their mother onto his entire length. Just as his fingers had disappeared. Now every inch of his cock was hidden within the twitching walls of their mother’s cunt.

“How....does it feel?” Yuji leaned forward, feverishly squeezing his cock trying not to cum yet as precum oozed from his swollen tip.

An audible sigh from Choso. Like his entire body relaxed. With long arms coming up around to hug their mother close to his body, Choso pressed his lips to the side of her head just to take a deep breath. Filling his senses completely. Sweet floral scent of her hair. Warmth of her skin. And the way her squishy walls sucked more of his cock in. Like her body wanted more of him. Choso hated this was all he could give her but still reveled in every second of it.

“Like heaven,” Choso murmured. Soaking in the pleasure just for a moment before returning to his big brother duties.

As he had said, Choso intended to guide Yuji through this just as he started. Letting go of the hug held on the woman. He thrusted up a little to get her to stay on her knees a little more. Not without the guttural moan that left her lips that made both boy’s breathing catch in their chests. Nothing was as beautiful as that lewd noise. Even Choso hearing it a thousand times couldn’t stop loving it. He had a duty though and needed to focus.

“Here,” Choso’s hands returned to their mother’s ass, “Just like your fingers, press yourself into her slowly so mommy can adjust.”

Finally given the signal he was waiting for. Yuji lined his hips up with his mother’s. Smearing his precum along her slit and the underside of Choso’s cock as much as he was wetting his cock down with her juices. When he thought he was sufficently wet enough, Yuji pressed the tip of his cock against his brother’s larger one and the tightness of his mother’s entrance.

“It’s too tight...” Yuji met some resistance and was unsure how far to go.

“Keep pushing,” Choso encouraged, “I’ve got her so everything is alright.”

With his approval Yuji pressed much harder into his mother’s core until there was almost a pop. And suddenly his tip was swallowed up with the warm of her core swallowing him and the surprisingly pleasant sensation of his brother’s cock rubbing against his own.

Reminded not to wait too long. Choso told Yuji to press all the way into her so she could adjust properly. So his little brother did just that. Stuffing his cock inside his mother’s overstretched pussy. Tighter than anything he felt with his fingers. Yuji for a split second wondered if he was loosing his mind with how tight and warm his mother’s most intimate part felt around his cock. Taking a moment even as he put his hands on her hips and just bowed his head trying to compose himself.

“T-Tight-” Was all Yuji could manage.

A deep hum in his chest while Choso nodded in agreement. He knew how good the walls of his mother’s cunt felt. What he hadn’t bargained for was how amazing his little brother’s cock would feel grinding against his own inside those pleasurable walls.

“Move slowly-” Choso groaned, unable to finish his entire sentence before Yuji pulled back to thrust his cock in along side his brothers.

Their mother a quivering mess under them as her juices leaked around both her boy’s cocks.

“I’m in mom’s pretty cunt-” Yuji hardly could get half a stroke in from the tightness, “Back where I came from- Fuck- ani-chan you were so right.” He swallowed hard as the sensation of their mother’s walls fluttered around him in the unknown sensation of one of her orgasms, “I wanna fuck mommy’s pretty little cunt all the time. I wanna go back from where I came ani-chan.”

Smiling to himself, Choso had wrapped his arms around his mother once more. Introducing his own in timed strokes with his little brother’s. When Yuji would pull out is when Choso would push in. Leaving no second their mother wasn’t full of her boy’s cocks going in and out of her. And the grinding of their own dicks against one another was a sensation totally new and wonderful.

The way Yuji’s balls slapped against the underside of Choso’s cock with each rut into their mother. And Choso’s thick cock head grinding against Yuji’s as his big brother thrusted back into her. It was so much and so wonderful that both boys were guilty of forgetting their mother’s pleasure in leu of their own.

That was ok though. With both boy’s inside her. Pressing places she never knew she had and stretching her out more than anything. Their mother was a bundle of nerves cumming over and over again on her boys cocks. Soon becoming numb as they fucked another orgasm out of her. Dumb and drooling on top of her eldest. It really was Choso’s job to hold his mother up until both of them gave her their gifts.

"Ani-can-" Yuji's voice cracked. Giving it away he wasn't going to last much longer, "Ani-chan I'm gonna-"

"Give mommy all of it-" Choso grunted. Forceful thrusts up into their mother's cunt to push her back onto his brother's cock. Just as his own orgasm was coming up quicker than he anticipated, "Give mommy your all, love her with all of you."

A pleasurable cry, Yuji's toes curling and hips rutting into their mother, he slammed his cock as deep as possible into her. Giving into the warmth of his mother's cunt as Yuji's cum spilled inside her. Seeping into her deepest parts. Spilling onto his big brother's cock as well. Yuji's moans filled the room as his twitching orgasm was drawn out by his cock being milked dry by her cunt.

Just as the tightest did him in. When Yuji's cum spread into her deepest parts. And Choso could feel then slippery wetness of his brother's seed coating his cock along with his mother's juices as well. It was too much even for the oldest brother.

Choso pressed his lips against his mother's. Disregarding her hardly aware enough to kiss him back. It didn't matter Choso groaned against her lips and jolted his hips hard up against his mother's. Washed over once and for all with the familiar warmth taking over him. Cock spasming in his mother's warmth and against his brother's. Choso added his load to the mixture all at once.

Finally when both boys came down from their high. It was Yuji to slip out of his mother. A small flood of cum following him. But not all of it as Choso's cock remained buried inside her. And where it would stay as Choso eased his mother's weary body down against his own. Holding her close as he wasn't sure if she'd passed out or not finally. He kissed the side of her head and stroked her hair gently as he savored the feeling of his and Yuji's cum still inside their mother. A gift so intimate he wished never to have to pull out.

"We get to do that with mom again?" Yuji asked with a twinge of excitement even if he was laid out next to them catching his breath.

Smiling to himself. Hearing how enthusiastic his little brother was. Choso knew if the day ever came he needed someone else to watch after their mother. That Yuji would indeed do him proud.

"Of course we do," Choso muttered into his mother's hair. Holding her to him as his cock softened inside her, "It's our duty as her sons to love her with everything we have. Always."

[tomsrebeleyebrow]

attraction |  hs vampire au

moodboard made by me so don’t use pls

Pairing: Vampire!Harry x NewbornVampire!Reader

Warnings: major mention of blood, basically a slow burn with sexual tension/teasing, SMUT including unprotected sex (wrap it up before ya tap it), kids), voyeurism, oral (f receiving) and so much more, fluff and a tiny bit of angst

Word count: 10.9k (oops)

A/N: well... hi again? i guess?? 🙃 back from the dead agaaaain 🙌🏻 okay but i had a major writer block since my last one shot and oof, was it tough... but now i’m back! more relax and feeling inspired for halloween? so hope you will enjoy this special oneshot about one of my fav brit boys ❤️💞

masterlist  |  tag list

Somewhere near London, UK – year unknown.

Tonight was probably the worst one you ever experienced in your life – well, afterlife –, aside from being turned into a monstrous blood creature against your will just a few months ago. Despite your new inhuman abilities, the mob running and screaming after you still gains ground since you’re leaving a most vivid trail for them to follow.

Though your heart no longer has a normal pulse it feels as if each thump is excruciating pain. The obvious reason might be because you haven't been able to feed yourself properly since you've been... reborn. And so very little human blood was running through your veins because you couldn’t seem to control the hypnosis power. That’s why you’ve been sticking to animal blood but if you were honest, it didn’t give your body the same strength.

Now your body starts to grow heavier by the minute, along with a most painful throb to your fangs that threatens to turn you into a mindless monster that will slaughter aimlessly just to get fed. But that's not what you want. No. No. It may have been four or maybe five months since you could no longer be considered as normal, but still you thought of yourself as a human. And hurting any human was just not conceivable at all for you. You just couldn’t... But sometimes, even the biggest will in the world wasn’t enough anymore.

I feel so sick, I can't go on much longer...

If only these damn hunters knew I wasn't going to kill anyone...

All I wanted was some of her blood because she was alone... just a little bit...

Tears form in the corner of your eyes, feeling like a lost and hopeless child despite being in your twenties. Though you suppose you won’t age anymore now? Or maybe age in such a slow manor you will not be able to see the changes until dozens of years pass. You have no idea at all. The person whom turned you didn't even care to explain a damn thing and just left saying it would be “quite amusing to watch you struggle”.

Your fangs grit in anger just by remembering all this, remembering how and why you could have been so naive – stupid being the right word actually. Willing the tears away you jump into the nearest centenary oak on the side and climb as high as you possibly can. The leaves and branches obscure most of your body, making it easier to hide yourself as you wait in breathless silence for several long minutes. The humans bellow carry guns and crossbows, even torches with blistering fires waving in the cool British wind so hiding from them is definitely the best solution here.

They seem confuse at losing sight of you and your tracks, but the conversation you pick up with your improved hearing foretells how they believe you're still in the area. A tall man with a buff body and dirty blond hair seems the most knowledgeable and well prepared as he dictates how everyone should fan out to cover more space.

Sweat is now dripping all over your body in a way that lets you know your consciousness is going to fade if you don't feed yourself soon. So you use the little strength you have left to escape their sight, silently crawling from a branch to another to reach the next tree. Your senses are becoming dull as well and you know by now you’ll never be able to put up much of a fight if they spot you.

Since there is no one around right now, you decide it may be the best opportunity to climb down and try to get further away into the forest. However, you barely make it to the ground, crunching some leaves beneath your feet before a bullet was fired directly at you. With the quickest slam of your body to the ground, you avoid being hit. For the moment, at least.

“Don't let her get away!”

“Shoot her down! She's weak now!”

Your head shakes, body shivering in a sense of mixed cold and fear, hearing dozens of weapons getting loaded before bullets and arrows start whizzing your way, thanks the lords most of them missing you due to your astute senses. Like blondie said, you are now really weak and can’t help but fail to avoid all of them as one wooden arrow pierces through your shoulder, sending you tumbling to the floor with a screech of pain.

It hurts more than you expected it to, but you grit your teeth and yank it from your skin in one motion. The wound may not be that deep but you can feel blood oozing down your back, staining the fabric of your long dress. After forcing yourself to stand you try to keep running, but after a few steps your body succumbs to your fatigue and falls, noticing the humans have now formed a pretty wide circle around you to cut off every single path possible to escape.

If you weren't this weak and starving for blood, you could fight them off and get away but at this moment, that’s completely impossible. A man with long black hair approaches, extending his hand forward as he’s holding out a wooden cross. The closer he gets the more a headache pounds inside your head, causing you to hiss in agony, tears swelling in your eyes and claws scratching the muddy ground.

Is this the end?

I never got to really live...

I never got to properly love... Love in a way that was true and fulfilling.

A tear slides down your cheek but it's too late. Everyone readies their crossbows and guns to fire at the behest of the long raven haired man. Both of your eyes immediately clench shut, preparing for your upcoming death...

But it never came.

Suddenly, screams and several wet crunches invade your ears while your eyelids slide open the moment you feel an imposing shadow looming over your body. A broad but not too bulky back comes into view as you note a peculiar style of clothing, the vivid red suit they wear contrasting with the dark surrounding of the London outskirt. However the smell of fresh blood rushes through your nostrils, causing your eyes to pulsate and your fangs to throb hungrily.

“How dare you filthy humans attack one of my kind.”

A deep unfamiliar voice penetrates your skull, making you lift your head and discover a tall man with dark wavy hair. He slightly turns towards you, sending you a stoic yet piercing type of glare with intense scarlet pupils that causes goosebumps to bubble all over your body. You have no idea who he is but you can feel in your guts that not only he is indeed a vampire as well but that he's extremely powerful, as demonstrated from the way he dismembers two humans with the vicious dart forward and jerk of his hands. The corpses join the other four on the floor who you discover have their heads decapitated in a clean swipe, no jagged edging to the flesh around their torsos.

The imagery is whiteout a doubt disgusting to even look at, but it's even more appalling that all you can think about is how delicious all this river of bloody disaster smells and how exquisite it would be sliding down you throat. You start to salivate heavily with the madness of hunger, the extreme sensation almost completely overwhelming you but you try your best to hold yourself at bay.

“I didn't expect to see ya again thi' soon, Harry...” your blonde pursuer sighs, his facial expression clearly showing that now, tables have turned.

“I don't want to hear it" interrupts your saviour (at least you hope he is?), his intimidating hoarse voice bringing chills to everyone – you included – while still in front of you. “Leave right now, Niall or I won’t hesitate to rip off y’head too.”

The man named Harry flares all ten of his claws to life, also baring his fangs to definitely reveal that nothing of this was just for show. “'m sick of you killing my people. If they're slaughtering the humans, it would be different but this one–” He turns pointing his finger at you, “this girl hasn't killed anyone. I can smell it... You're chasin' her down for no reason.”

“T-That's not– she was attacking someone, dat's why she got caught–”

"If you speak one more word to me that isn't beggin' for your life followed by leaving, I'll rip all of your limbs before I even go for y’head.”

Harry and Niall stare each other down, the tension as shape as a knife. The human may know how to counter his vampire foe but in all likelihood with most of their numbers dead or bleeding to death, he's aware that right now he has not a single chance. And once again, cohabitation seems the only way to get out of here in one piece (hopefully).

“Fine... we'll be goin'. I know thi’ is yar territory mate, we crossed da border” Niall apologises, a hand over his chest and a small bow before telling his fellow hunters to retreat back to the city.

Though Harry isn't usually happy about letting humans go his posture is finally relaxing a bit, claws retracting as he death glares everyone down until they are no longer insight.

With a long and heaved sigh he fully turns around, finding you holding your head and gritting your fangs in disarray. It's quite clear you are probably not even aware of your surroundings, the blood shot vessels in your eyes telling the brunette your current state of hungriness. As soon as he's by your side in a blink of an eye, he bends down on his knees in front of you, pushing your own hands away so he can clutch your cheeks.

“Calm down, dear, relax your mind. Open your mouth and let me see your fangs, please.”

Though you whimper in uncertainty, that man in front of you is after all the vampire that slaughtered those humans to save you. So you still let him give a look at your small white fangs, your whole jawbone hurting as if you just got punched right in the face.

“I see they haven't grown completely... You must’ve been turned recently, am I right?”

Harry seems slightly angry, though you're not entirely sure it's directed at you but more at his findings. When he pulls back, you follow his body as he grabs a nearby severed arm and brings it back to you. His brows raise in surprise, not expecting this reaction when you whine and push it away, clearly disgusted by it.

“There’s no time to be picky anymore, darling. Y'need to stop thinkin' you're still human, so drink the blood.”

Your head slowly raises, panting as you stare right into his most mesmerising green eyes, some scarlet red from before still outlining his pupils, with your own sorrow filled orbs. Though Harry knows what that look represents, he could hold no sympathy for your lost humanity as he delicately brushes his hand through your hair before pushing the flesh into your mouth for your own good.

It only takes a second for your fight to disappear, the taste of blood that your veins and taste buds have longed for these last weeks finally flowing in your system. Like a wild beast your fangs sink deeper into the arms flesh, sucking and gulping greedily until it's nothing but a shrivelled and discolored severed limb.

The older vampire watches your irises glow with the brightness of your eye colour. In like a snap the strained vessels inside your sclera dissipate bits by bits, assuring that the wound on your back would heal after some minutes as well. Harry expected it when you flicker with your new found strength over to one of the corpses and starts bleeding it dry.

He stands here, crossing his arms over his classy red velvet suit while watching over you. Once he judges you had enough and didn't want you to become addicted in a way that would drive you insane, he carefully but still kind of strongly grab your wrist. You let a little hiss at him, defiantly, which makes him smirk in a way that lets admire his now noticeable dimples and handsome features. Within a few seconds you calm down but Harry is now holding both of your wrists in his grip

“Stay still, dear” was his command, simple yet strict so it feels like you have no choice but to obey.

After letting go of both of your hands once you calmed down, Harry cups your chin with his thumb and index finger, gently turning your head back and forth. You are not sure what the brunette is doing until he finds feint punctures on the side pale skin of you neck. The wound itself seems healed but you still have little small bruises.

“How long ago were you turned and who was it? Why are they not here watchin' over you?”

His array of questions makes you frown, wiggling free of his grasp just so you can huddle your hands around your trembling sorrow body, memories getting their way back into your brain. Memories you consider more as nightmares that keeps hunting you like a damn curse, only to remind you at each breath you take that nothing will be like it was before.

“He was... s-someone I cared about. We'd been seeing each other for a while, and then one day... H-he bit me... a-and forced his blood down my throat.” Telling the story doesn’t really make you feel any better, specially when you let Harry know that the man you trusted only wanted to watch you suffer for his own pleasure.

Seeing a newborn vampire like yourself, looking as lost and fragile as a deer into the wildness, really gets to him. Harry lived for countless centuries he forgot the exact number, but he definitely knows since day one that turning people was against the rules for the most part. At least turning someone and not helping them come into their new desires, powers and hunger. Honestly he is quite impressed you lasted so long on your own when he heard you say it has been nearly five months.

“Come this way, darlin'. The air reeks of human filth out her’.”

With a sudden but graceful turn the vampire starts walking away and finds it amusing how you scamper behind him like a lost puppy. Even your hand grabs the back of his velvety suit, like you dread the feeling of being alone. His comparison to you as newborn is not to be mean or even condescending. You are just so new to your turning that it is perfectly plausible to be scared and anxious about literally anything in your surrounding.

Harry doesn’t mind at all and pretty soon, you both are stepping deeper into the forest your attack happened for a good twenty minutes if not more. Then in front of you slowly appears what looks like a field, a large meadow embraced by the night and in its middle a quint little cottage. It looks nice and homey, but not what you first expected from a fearful creature like him.

“It's not a castle...”

The older vampire sneers at your remark and then turns to you, showing a surprisingly charming grin before pointing to the east. “My real home's far away from here, that's where the castle of y’stories will be. It's vast an' much larger than y'could possibly think, but I don't really fancy it.”

Your eyes blink curiously at him before gasping and pointing your finger in disbelief, a sudden realisation sticking your mind.

“O-Oh my god– are you from r-ro-royalty?!”

“You could say that” the brunette grins while pushing some curly locks back from his forehead. “Lord Harold Edward Styles, is what they call me. Harry for short.”

He merely cackles when your eyes start to swirl in confusion, before babbling nonstop that you didn't know and hope in the same breath with fearful eyes that he won’t kill you. Harry can’t help but frown at this, letting out a sigh.

“Come 'ere and tell me your name, dear. I have no reason to kill ya.”

For some reason, the peaceful and serious expression on his face feel trustworthy, offering his hand like a safety net he knows you need to feel secure. So after a small nibble of your bottom lip, you slowly place your petite hand in his and let him pull you inside his home.

“My name is (Y/N)... Thank you for saving me, my Lord.”

It honestly feels awkward to refer to him like that but maybe was it his rightful term? Being now a vampire yourself, you assume your “rank” is probably way lower than his so “serving” him seems... obvious, right? Yet anything that was happening since you began this new life was a matter of pure confusion to you, even more now since your new encounter with this vampire from royalty.

“You wanted to know who turned me... well, his name was Nick. I don't know if he's still around here, I'm sorry–”

“Just call me Harry, darlin’. I don't care at all for useless formalities unless y’break the rules or try to attack me.”

You viciously nod your head. Never would you do that, you still feel incredibly grateful and intimated by just being in his presence.

“The name sounds familiar as well. A fugitive whose turns 'umans against their will for dozens of years...” Harry mutters to himself, looking pissed that the enforcers in charge of catching people like that still haven't.

And so over the next few days, you learned about your new species in details and got a low down on all the rules you must do your best to follow at all costs. Harry even began to teach you about your abilities and how to tame your appetite for blood, though he commented once again that you were handling yourself well from the beginning.

Harry is for sure a mysterious man and doesn’t honestly act like someone whom is probably rightful King to the vampire’s world. It’s pretty clear he lived a long life while yours had just started. He appears to you as a ray of hopeful guidance in a world that becomes murky and malleable.

“(Y/N), dear, come 'ere.”

At his beckoning call, you place down the book you're reading and come to sit down next to him on the couch. At this point you've been staying with him in the cottage for a few months and knew what to expect when his hands approach your visage to cup your cheeks. Though it’s still a little embarrassing, but still you part your lips and let him examine your fangs like he has many times before ever since you met.

“They're just 'bout fully grown, since you've been fed regularly.”

Your head nod as his hands delicately slide away. It looks like there is something going on his mind, an internal struggle based on his body language that you get used to understand by now.

“Are you still havin' headaches and painful pulses?”

Honestly you wish to say no so he wouldn't worry. But the man likes the truth and only the truth as if the word is his middle name, and you own him that.

“Sometimes... but I'm fine right now. I thought it might be a form of withdraw?”

“You're not too far off. That piece of– person who turned ya didn't give you enough blood. Your human cells an' new vampire ones were basically fighting for dominance at the beginning, but it's clear which one will win in the end.”

Lifting his hand he uses the sharp claw of his index to slice a gash across his palm. Instantly his dark red blood pools in his grasp, before holding it out towards you.

“Drink.”

“I... c-can't?” It comes out as a question because you are indeed confused. “I mean– am I even allowed to? You're the vampire Lord after all... I–I don't want you to get in trouble–”

Harry chuckles immediately, like there isn’t a being alive that could punish him for breaking the rules. With a lift of his unharmed hand looping around your hip, he has you feeling all kind of dizzy when he clenches his fist and dripped his blood onto your plump pink lips.

“Just drink, dear. Maybe I need to start teachin' ya not to question my decisions, mmh?”

His words and your newfound position that has you sitting in his lap makes you feel bashful. You barely begin to lick your lips when the brunette lets you grab his hand to hold it up against your mouth. He feels your warm tongue lap lightly at first along his cold skin, before pursing against the wound and slowly starting to suck.

“That's it... You can sink y'fangs in if you want. The wound will heal faster than you think.”

You blink your big doe eyes at him, your face wondering without a word if all this is alright but you know Harry doesn’t want you to doubt him. Pulling back for just a second you take a breath and bare you fangs again, gently pressing into his skin enough to gulp a little more of his blood. As soon as he decides you had enough Harry pulls back and to your surprise, his wound and marks of your fangs both disappear within a few seconds.

The corners of his pale lips edge up, amused by your astonishment but he startles you with a reposition of your body before you can even realise anything. Now your legs are suddenly straddling either side of his hips, both of your hands pressing timidly at the turquoise suit covering his shoulders with confusion and shyness as the vampire brushes back your hair and leans down to your neck.

“My turn, now” his voice enticingly rasps against your skin. “We can replenish each other thi' way... though my blood is more to stabilise your vampire genes.”

Harry aires the hottest breath along your neck as he then bares his long fangs and sinks deeply into your flesh. You can’t help but gasp, but it sounds more like a moan that you aren’t completely aware of as he starts sucking your warm liquid.

“O-oh Harry–”

He smirks at your honesty, looping both of his hands around your backside. Within seconds he feels your own unsure sway, with the slow pet up against the back of his dark curls. It's been awhile since the brunette had a woman in his arms so his instincts and desires are telling him to take advantage of it.

But in the end Harry resolves against himself as you are still new to his world, and just wants to help you without adding strings. After a handful of seconds and a gulp or two of your sweet wine he pulls back, tenderly lapping up and down the holes until they heal properly and then help you sliding off his lap to make you sit next to him, catching sight of a shy blush of your cheeks and slightly faze expression.

“You shouldn't experience headaches anymore, darlin'” he begins almost too indifferently, “just don't do anything futile an' you’ll get used to bein' a vampire in no time.”

Next Harry sits up more comfortably, flattening his cream oversize pantsuits over his thighs as he side-eyes your cute expression – though is kind of displeased that you’re not looking at him anymore. But he does have to admit that teasing someone was such a nice sensation.

"I’m goin’ to make us some food, so relax in the meantime.”

You simply nod as an answer, definitely not trusting your voice since only stutters would come out if you try. But Harry doesn’t seem to pay attention to your lack of vocal answer, a satisfied expression on his face since he keeps enjoying the reactions you get over anything he does. And as much as he could simply use pressure to dominate and have you sweating in fear, all the man wants is a companion that won’t mind being at his side for awhile.

And so that's exactly who you became to the vampire.

Even after a few months and display that you were functioning perfectly as a vampire and could live on your own without trouble if you desired, you stayed. But the disheartened expression you showed him when Harry said you could leave struck a chord inside his chest. It was clear you thought he’s got tired of you or that you weren't allowed to stay with someone like him for very long because of his status.

Instantly the older vampire put a stop to any of those thoughts by saying that if you wanted to stay, you could. He wasn't kicking you out, he was only giving you the opportunity to leave and see the world by yourself. You were still a young and inexperienced vampire after all. Though the thought of traveling didn't sound like a bad idea, the year you spent with Harry up to this point had been very enjoyable. He held a most gentle yet imposing aura, which was only right since he was not just Lord in name but mostly in power. However that wasn't why you wanted to stay.

Harry had taken care of you and made you feel safe. The feeling you began to experience for him was new but somehow, you wanted to nurture the desire to be with him and make him happy if possible. The way he talked, teased, touched, held you in his grasp and let you feed off of him felt so intimate and somehow romantic.

In this respect time flew by and in a way felt like it had frozen since neither of you would show any signs of ageing. Both of you grew closer and found out that Harry was (surprisingly) a great cook, received visitors from the castle he told you about almost all the time and had a soft spot for the graceful beauty of nature. It was not that hard to tell because the brunette admitted right away that he enjoyed wandering outside the cottage, might be only to walk around or appreciate the first rays of dawn or sunset. And you could tell he took care to not trample the flowers under his steps and sometimes, you saw him watering the ones around his front porch. Some days you would even notice a new bouquet freshly gathered, settled in a Victorian style vase on the living room table. It was a small most insignificant trait, but you adored finding out those types of mannerisms.

“Harry?” you call softly with a thoughtful finger under your chin. At first you thought he was reading in his study since he had a nice little library, but the room was empty. Turning back, you check the living room and kitchen but they are both empty as well.

For a moment you wonder if he stepped out without saying – he's done it multiple times before. However you stop in front of his bedroom and get the feeling he might be taking a nap, another thing that isn’t uncommon. If he indeed is resting you don’t want to disturb him but after a small knock, you peak your head inside the room.

Low and behold there the brunette vampire is laying sprawled out on his bed, the silly thought that it should have been a coffin makes you giggle but you learned with him that many stereotypical aspects of vampires are so wrong – though it's true you can't walk in the sunlight, that crosses can cause pain and any significant damage to your body will kill you.

Now that you know he's asleep, you can't ask him what you wanted. Without getting too close you watch him sleep for a second and find his peaceful expression alleviating. Every now and then, you get the feeling the weight of the world was on his shoulders. And inside your heart, you know he was such a good man. After maybe a minute you turn back, ready to head out the room but his low and raspy voice calls out to you in a way that has you tripping over your own feet, bumping into the nearby wall.

“What is it, (Y/N)? Aren’t ya a bit clumsy, dear?” Harry snickers while sitting up, watching you rub your shoulder with a flustered expression.

From the look on your face and the way you avoid eye contact, he can clearly guess what you are bashfully unsure of if it's alright to ask of him.

“If you want to be fed, come ‘ere.”

The fact that Harry always knows what's on your mind is a little scary and reassuring at the same time because he has never used any of his power to harm you. With soft eyes, you step over to the right side of his bed and watch as he unbuttons the first few around the collar of his extravagant flowing shirt. As soon as his neck is exposed from the lacy collar, the vampire leans to the side beckoning you to take what you want without a word.

A gulp slides down your throat as you sit down on the edge of the bed. With the lift of your hands, you slowly push his pearly necklace up then press them on each of his shoulders before brushing your nose along his neck, fanning an ever soft breath against his skin with the bare of your fangs.

“I really like your personality, Harry... I-I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your tender confession catches him off guard more than the actual prick of your fangs, not that any bite you'd already given him comes with very much force. The brunette can feel himself enjoying the way you suck his blood out of his system. It’s definitely a hard thing to play off for him right now, and it has actually been every single day you shared with him.

When you had a gulp or two you then part a little and tenderly kitten-like lap at your punctures, speeding up the healing process for him.

“... do you want to bite me as well?”

Though your cheeks are a little warm you show a most candid smile, brushing back your hair to display your neck for him just as he has done for you.

“I do, but... I'll decide where I want to bite ya. Just relax, darlin'.”

Despite a little confusion, you don’t mind the tug of your body closer to his own. Both of his unblinking emerald orbs glanced your body up and down in a way that makes you feel embarrassed. If he’s not going to bite your neck, where else is he going to sink his fangs?

The dress you have on is a simple long white off the shoulder variety that honestly displays some of your skin while still letting you look sweet and innocent. Honestly Harry likes it a lot – maybe a bit too much actually – just because he would wickedly enjoy defiling that imagery in his mind. You are a kind and sweet woman, a total sweetheart indeed, but the man already found out vividly that you liked pleasure just as much as anyone else does.

Without thinking very much his cold hand raises up against your right knee, the tail of your outfit covering it. The way you shyly bite your bottom lip with your fangs is a hell of a nice image. Harry only caresses a little bit along your inner thigh before sliding his hand under the fabric, and then rest it directly on your skin. Edging his head forward he startles you with the way he tugs down the middle of you dress with his fangs, until he can see perfectly between your cleavage.

The location Harry chose is so confusing that your frame jolts the moment the vampire sinks into your flesh. Both his hands are against your body, enjoying its shape as he gulps your sweet nectar greedily. He savours your startled grasp on his shirt but the uneven pulse he feels beneath your flesh encourages him to keep going, his now scarlet orbs flickering with heavier desire.

All it takes is another small tug to reveal your bare breasts to his lidded sight. By time you realise his lips are already pursed around the closest nipple, warmly lapping the flat of his tongue in a way that feels exquisite. Like the male vampire you quickly get caught up in the moment, leaning your head back to moan and enjoy the added fray of his hand squeezing the other breast.

For a moment, you briefly thinks about how his saliva and tongue are both so warm as they suckle and lick your skin, when his flesh is cold and pale like your own. The answer doesn’t matter specially as his fangs tease your little nub. It’s clear Harry can’t hold back no more, now sunking savagely into your mound.

“O-oh my–!”

A ripple of pure ecstasy slides all over your body, causing you to moan Harry’s name not just once but a couple of times. The pleasure is so unexpected yet your arms circle around his shoulders, curving along his fine muscles but that’s when he realises how he’s letting his lust for you take over him.

Abruptly the brunette detaches from you, a small pop making you gasp but for the most part your hazy expression questions him with such want that he has to look away for his own sanity. The unhindered view of your breasts really dulls all of his develop senses. It had been awhile since he felt such powerful sexual desire for a woman, definitely way too long since his body was apparently getting out of control and a mind of its own. 

“Get out” Harry suddenly growls, making you frown and wonder what you’ve done wrong. “I didn't mean to do that– I just got caught up in trying to tease ya. If you're still hungry, go find a human.” When you don’t seem to move, still shocked at his harsh way of talking that rarely happen (in fact it never happens with you), the vampire turns his head back while flaring his menacing dark embers at you in a way that makes you tremble.

With a hurt expression you quickly cover your chest, trying to fix your dress the best you can before apologising like a hurt puppy and simply scamper at the speed of the light out of the room. Once alone, a now heavy silence settled in, Harry’s fists bowl-clawing his palms but it was the least he cared about. He didn’t mean to scare you, in fact he's been trying so hard not to use any of his powers on you.

The man is centuries older than you and shouldn't care about trivial feelings you may have, but both of you had such a good relationship since now and a part of him doesn’t want it to change... though Harry has always seen you as a beautiful woman. It’s not like he can’t admit that much at last, the man was kind of bad at expressing himself out loud most of the time. What he was most unsure about is if you really wanted him or if it was your vampire senses that tells you to submit to him like that.

With a heavy sigh he buttons his white shirt half way up, arranging his long and floating sleeves while deciding he should at least check on you. After all Harry won’t blame you for leaving if you want to create space between you two. Because now that he thinks about it, never did he ever speak to you like he did five minutes ago, and repeatedly calls himself a douche for that. 

The thought quickly – and thankfully – dissipates the moment he steps into the hall and hears the running water from the shower inside your bedroom. A relived expression formed on his face, glad that you didn’t leave. Abandonment was something he was used to over the centuries and had lived through many times. It’s honestly a miracle it had been about three years at this point and you maintained a good playful relationship with each other – well, until a few moments ago.

Soundlessly, Harry edges down the hall and notices the door of your bedroom open. As he approaches towards it, he finds himself inside the room before advancing to the closed bathroom door. Now in front of it he closes his eyes and place his hand on the wooden doorframe. His senses are far more astute than your own so every subtle breath you take, movements through the water or flex of your hands as they rubbed soap against your pale body... he could picture it pretty vividly. Just imagining the curves of your body is turning him on, specially thanks to the welcomed sneak peak at your chest from earlier. His fingers silently curl around the door knob, a light voice in his head reminding him once again he should stop before reaching the point of no return, that he should leave you in peace to wash up and later and offer you a nice meal as an apology for being a complete jackass earlier.

However, he can't. His senses twinge with the soothing aroma of lavender tickling his nostrils, knowing that's the soap he got you some weeks ago. With the slowest of movement that you won’t hear nor sense if you don't focus on it, the brunette opens the door wide enough to allow him a peak through the crack.

The first thing his eyes drag over is your long dress crumpled on the floor along with a soft cotton pair of light blue panties. Without waiting a second longer he tilts up and gets a completely unhindered view of your backside. His eyes follow the dip of your spine to the soft plush curve of your ass and long legs. Just observing this much of you has him gulping down hungrily but the moment you turn, using both hands to accentuate your breasts and stomach, there is no path to return to. All Harry can do is pant an uneven breath as you sway the water over your womanly shapes, washing away the soapy sheen of bubbles and suds.

The content and relaxed hum you air echoes inside the small space of the glass shower, bringing the man goosebumps of delight like a moan without sexual inclination. The more he watches your body and the subtle move of your fingers, the more Harry can't stop his own from unzipping his pantsuit to free his cock. His strong fingers curl around his girth, slowly pumping himself up and down as he watches you bend over just a bit to let water cascade down your back. An instant burn of want invades his entire body, the desire to squeeze those fine cheeks or even offer you a naughty little spank not leaving his mind.

Harry watches your hands do exactly what he desires when they pet down your hips and accentuate the shape of your bottom, like the water feels particularly nice cascading against it. Honestly, the smirk can’t leave his face. You're incredibly and undeniably sexy in a most natural way, so why holding back? His palm squeezes the tip of his manhood with excited fervor, still watching you smile shyly at the barely noticeable bite marks on your chest. You like to an extreme when the brunette vampire bites you, there’s no denying this fact as you moaned it to him many times. And Harry has a feeling you would have let him go further if he didn’t get confused about his fantasies.

The claws of his other hand dig into the frame of the door, scratching it all up as he pumps himself with the unbearable desire he has inside his guts for you to touch him. It doesn't even have to be his cock, he'd be fine with you admiring his body like you have before or stroking through his hair with that soft content smile on your delicate pink lips.

Thoughts inside his head become more erotic when he looks up at the sound of your soft voice humming a little tune. Both of his now dark scarlet eyes end up focusing on your mouth and gritting his teeth in a haze of wanting to feel those plump appendages against his girth. The movement of your tongue and warmth of your throat he can picture so vividly bring him closer and closer to the edge with each squeeze along his base and tip.

He even finds the way you rinse your hair to be erotic because you look so whimsical. A thought of wanting to devour you in every single way possible is what officially sends him over the edge, causing him to grind his teeth and grunt your name as he comes all over his hand.

His mind is so cloudy and hazy he doesn't even care that you’ve finally noticed him. Your eyes widen in total surprise, but your complexion darkens at the lewd sight of his arousal dripping from his fingers. Your head turns away before you can implode from embarrassment, hot water still running along your naked skin. You can’t help the deepest thoughts running wild and wondering if Harry was watching you shower to eventually pleasure himself to your body while doing so.

“Don't act shy now, my dear. I'm about to join you.”

At first you blink in confusion, glancing back in his direction to watch as he shuts the bathroom door to be inside the room with you. This signature showing-dimples grin enlightens his face in a way that reveals his pearly white fangs, before letting his already oversize black pantsuits fall to the floor. Harry is pretty quick to unbutton his shirt again, the soft and almost see-through fabric sliding off his shoulder to cascade on the floor soon followed by his trousers and underpants, leaving him absolutely naked for your eyes only.

Harry is the most attractive man you've ever laid your eyes on. A tall and sculptured vampiric body that probably hasn't changed for hundreds of years. With a few steps forward the brunette is on the other side of the shower glass door and wraps his fingers around the handle, ready to erase any distance separating you both. He pauses his movement for a few seconds, letting both of you take in each other’s new found appearance and what might be about to happen.

“If I join you, (Y/N)” begins Harry almost in a whisper, his eyes never leaving yours, “... I won’t ever be able to leave ya alone.”

Your eyes rise in surprise, his expression reflective of how serious he was being. For a second or two you turn away, your hands covering your face which is giving him the impression you might be having second thoughts. Though the croak of your voice and the tender expression you offer when you slowly spin back proves how you've been able to constantly surprise him these past years.

“Is that a promise?"

Without a second thought Harry is right by your side and looming over you in a possessive dominating way. Both of his hands pet along the warm and wet edge of your stomach, before gripping your hips and tugging you completely into his body. Without pretence his expression represents just how much he enjoys your whole and can’t wait but brush some of your hair sticked on your face, assuring you he can't wait another second to kiss you.

The distance between you both closes with the warmest capture of your lips that quickly becomes some passionate tongue action. It honestly feels that divine you couldn't stop yourself from moaning into the kiss. The warmth of the water doubles nicely the little fire forming inside your guts, in a way that affirms you’ve never felt such a discombobulating kiss before.

Right away Harry greedily begins stroking, groping and petting every single supple curve your body has to offer. Even your own hands note the nice shape of his back and every defined dreamy muscle. His lips curve up as he tugs playfully at your bottom lip, the gentle way you appreciate his shape really has him feeling some type of way.

“Give yourself to me, darlin’, this time I won’t be holdin’ back.” 

The air of his wanting rasp meets the underside of your chin, of which Harry is currently kissing his way down. With a press of both his hands on your lower back he has you arching and moaning as he licks between your breasts. When the vampire starts to nip at your plush skin, it’s even more overwhelming because not only is he pursing his lips but his tongue is gliding all over you. The flat of his wet muscle makes sure to whirl around the ridge of your nipple, assuring it’s perfectly erect before nibbling on it with his fangs.

“Oh Harry, that feels so good...” 

Hearing your honest pleasure encourages him to absolutely cover your breasts in love bites both a literal and physical way, each mark more blissful than the next. Your mind becomes so consumed you don’t even know Harry is backing you up until you meet with the wet and slightly cold tiles.

Just looking up to admire the shower water perfectly cascading over his rippling muscles – his weirdly yet attractive inked skin on full display and usual necklaces in place – is the most blessed image you could wish for. This Adonis of a man looks so perfect that you lean up to offer him your own slow and sensual desire filled kiss. Little do you know he enjoys your initiative, specially since you’re kitty licking around his tongue.

Slowly Harry begins to take over such as his more dominate nature, but you oh so don’t mind. In fact you’re getting lost in the way his strong hands fondle and squish your chest. The thumb of his left hand even circled around the perky tip, while his middle and index on his other give you some slow pinches like he’s determined to have you mewling into his mouth.

“I must ‘ave been out of my mind to wait three fuckin’ years to ‘ave you...” Harry growls while baring his fangs, pressing into the top area of your shoulder. The bite he gives isn’t even painful since the puncture is slow and the suckle he drinks your blood feels so pleasurable.

“H-Harry, I’ve never felt any pain w-when you bite me” you start, stuttering from all his attention on you. “I-I thought I was weird, b-but I can't help but want so much more...”

Harry’s lips curve up against your skin as you let a louder and more frequent moan, not only because the vampire leaves deep red hickeys on your neck and collarbones, but because his hand slides down to rest between your legs.

The moment you sense it outlining your womanhood, you arch your back while clutching your hands tightly around his shoulders. Without waiting his index and middle finger caress your lower lips for just a second or two, before encouraging your legs to spread further apart so Harry can thrust them effortlessly into your core.

“A-ah– feels so good!”

Enraptured by your praise, Harry increases his rhythm and feels the thump of your slow heartbeat. His own is probably pulsing in the same way, it's been so long since the man felt this exhilarated. With a caress at your hip for you to steady, the wobble your legs frays at his kisses all over your breasts and even a slippery curl with his tongue down to your belly button.

By the time you try to follow what’s happening, the brunette is already on his knees between your legs, kissing nonstop at your inner thighs. Out of the corner of his eye you can tell Harry is actually watching himself glide his fingers in and out of your slippery folds. It should be embarrassing, but you find that more thrilling than anything else. He’s so passionate as a lover, the attention he gives being excruciatingly euphoric whatever he does.

“Earlier” his raspy voice mumbles against your thigh before he proceeds, “I was so tempted to push y'down an’ bite your thigh...”

As he licks hungrily at your skin, you recall how he caressed up your upper leg earlier, the touch offered when you woke him up was oddly intimate. It made you bashful since it was so sudden, but if he had done as he wanted you wouldn't have stopped him.

“Now I’ve a second chance... so don't mind if I do, darlin’.”

Your chest heaves with the warmth bubbling all over your skin as you watch the bare of his pointy sharp fangs and the immediate pierce into your inner thigh. A loud moan echoes around the shower, the vibrations prickling Harry’s ears and assuring he won’t part from your delectable flesh until he gives you his most vivid love bite.

Your head shakes at how all consuming the pleasure you’re gladly receiving feels. And as he sucks the sweet blood from your thigh, he doesn’t hesitate to add a third finger into your fold, now working a pace that lets you know in accurate detail that you're indeed incredibly wet. It’s not just the shower anymore, both of you know this for a fact. By now you have no problem admitting you’re turned on like a thousand lightbulbs.

“Your smell’s drivin’ me insane...!” came his lidded snarl, some little blood dripping down his chin but quickly washed away by the shower. Harry is darting for your womanhood like a famished animal, the instant curl of his fingers along your slit having you whimpering and yanking at his wet hair a bit too hard.

“F-fuck– I’m sorry Harry” you whimper out your sincere apologise along with a moan, the back of your head bumping on the tile wall as if the king of vampires like the one kneeling between your legs could get hurt from such a small type of friction. “It feels like I-I can't breath– feels so good!” 

"If you're that out of it, y'can be rougher...”

His warm breath hazes over the sensitive bead of your clit, making you convulse in pleasurable disarray. With his hands taking a fist full of your ass, Harry pushes you deeper against his tongue to then curl it up and down. The sensation of him lapping against your slick inner walls has you seeing stars, knowing a man has never eaten you out so hungrily before.

With the constant pant of your moans filling the primal space inside his head, there is only one and simple desire he has: to make you cum on his tongue and no matter what, he will not pull away until you do. It’s more rewarding than you'll ever know to have your writhing body in his grasp, not just your trembling legs when he had the chance to have you innocently straddle him, but the arousal coating his lips and the subtle desire filled push of your hands that want him even deeper inside you were exciting in a maddening way.

“A-ah please Harry, I c-can't–!” 

You are barely able to tell him how close you’re feeling right now, as drool ebbs heavily down your lips. Harry is already aware though because of the curl of your fingers, each tugging at his hair in your peak of utmost disorienting pleasure.

With a gentle pat over your soft wet body, he squishes both of your breasts and thrusts his red muscle in a most detail oriented type of way. Your praises grow in frequency as well, telling him how utterly euphoric you feels and how hot the knot in your stomach makes your skin burn, bringing you closer to your end. Everything kinda rushes to the tipping point with a pinch to your buds, causing the instant convulse of your folds and drench of your fluids flow down his chin, assuring the fangs in his mouth are vividly pulsating.

It takes everything not to sink in to your most sensitive body part. Harry manages to calm himself down with the caress of your hands falling limp, feeling one curve around his ear to hold him gently where he is. With the thought of how much he needs to claim you, the brunette gulps down your nectar and even laps the slippery sheen coating your slit.

As he raises back up to stand, all it takes is a small hazy blink for you to miss completely the way Harry yanks up both of your legs and positioned you right against his cock. “’m gonna take you hard an' fast– can't wait another second to make y'mine.”

Your lips part but all you’re able to say is a pant of his name, while coiling tightly around his neck and nodding your head.

“Have all of me, take me Harry–”

The vampire most certainly doesn’t have to be told twice, so without hesitation he thrusts deeply into your slippery folds. His speed is just as instantaneous as the pleasure you start to drown in. You never knew your voice could go so loud and high pitched until a man with much vigour and strength named Harry came along, thrusting his hips in a way that fills you to the brim with every movement he makes.

“S-Shit you're so fuckin' wet– so tight ‘round me, only for me–”

His fangs are on domineering display, getting off on your pleasurable honesty just as much as the throb of your tight folds. You don’t get to see his expression though as you leaned your head back again but this time caused by a every aggressive slam of your ass on his thighs. That gives him the perfect opportunity to enjoy your neck, so the vampire doesn’t mind.

Each electrifying kiss left on your skin feels exceptional, every sway of his hips lets you know he’s a well endowed man and quite honestly just being in his arms has you feeling this way. This man didn't have to save you or take you in and just could have gotten rid of your at any time. But the instant he's allowed you to stay and gave you a comforting space to get used to your knew desires and vampiric body.

There is a part of you that wishes you still has a conventional heartbeat just so you could feel how erratic it could be thundering against your ribcage. However, even without a human heartbeat you still knew you were excited beyond all belief. Just being able to run your hands along his shoulders, maybe even brush up against the back of his head has you feel like his long time lover.

“Fuck, I can't get enough of ya” Harry suddenly growls in madness, dropping one of your legs back against the floor while he pulled the other higher up and hold your thigh, basically watching himself rammed his thick cock into your body. There’re not a single word forming on the tip of your tongue other than whimpers and mewls of ecstasy.

His speed and precision to hit your most sensitive spots are probably only possible due to his improved senses and longevity. No doubt in your mind Harry probably had many past lovers before you but you don’t really care. He always tells you to live in the moment and not muddle through just because of your past.

“You're now a vampire, (Y/N). Act like one for your own sake.”

These are the words he told you over the past shared years together, which became your mantra to feel validated in your new life. Speaking of your new desires, your fangs are constantly throbbing and pulsating for the past minute, reason why your eyes have been glued to his neck and shoulder ever since. The need to bite him is so overwhelming that you simply don’t care to ask before diving forward to sink deeply into the space right bellow his ear.

“H-hah, y'little vixen– that feels so damn good, have your fill” the brunette encourages you with no malice but utter pleasure.

In fact he’s enjoying the twinge of your fangs so much his fervour keeps increasing. His hips edge even closer while his clawed hand takes a hold of your waist and starts slapping at your inner thighs in a way that have your arousal dripping profusely onto the shower floor.

You can’t stop yourself from moaning against his skin or salivating heavily as you absorb down his delectable blood. You swear his nectar tastes even more delicious then it ever has before, like the most finest aged wine. It's a thought you can barely focus on as you suddenly toss your head back, feeling yourself reach a most blissful end.

The moment Harry senses your insides clench repeatedly, he shoves his tongue down your throat and becomes enraptured in the way you meet his every slapping movements. Heavy saliva from both of you mixes together, dripping profusely down your chin as soon as you feels the deeply penetrating thrust of his cock slam into your womb. His arousal fills you to the brim in a way that makes you drift through euphoria.

After some time the brunette parts from your kissed swollen lips, a thin sheen of saliva still connects you together before quickly breaking when he licks his fine pale lips. The vampire smirks at you in complete satisfaction while ever slowly edging his girth away from your wall, not without admiring how thickly coated in your juices his manhood is. Maybe Harry even salaciously admires the dribble of your combined arousal from your slit, but it’s clear you are feeling utterly spent and can only keep yourself up by pressing a bit at his chest and shoulders, leaning your back against the tiles behind you.

With a soft expression that suits him so heavenly, Harry tenderly strokes his hands up your body while admiring once again the plush shape of your stomach, breasts and the slender trail up your neck to cup your soft cheeks. The smile you give him proves he’s offering all the affection he is able of with the sensual touch of your lips with his. This kiss is the slowest and most romantic you ever felt from him yet, while the brunette lifts you in his arms properly again before pulling away from the kiss.

“I'll help you dry off, dear. ‘think we've soaked in the shower long enough.”

“Thank you Harry” you thank him with a slight smile, your cheeks nuzzled into his wet chest before placing a kiss there that has him avoiding your gaze and wondering where a romance like this has been all his long life. 

You sit still once he settles you on the sink counter, wiggling cutely as he dries you off with purposeful caresses of your more intimate body parts. When he also dries himself both of you get dressed – you into the long nightdress you took before your shower and him back in his oversized pantsuits only. Afterwards, you take his hand as Harry walks you both out of your bathroom. It’s clear you wish for him to lay with you in your nearby bed but he hesitates at the edge of it, looking towards your still wide open door. It seems like Harry wants to escape but that’s not it at all. He is looking towards his study at the other side of the hallway where an item he had hidden was secretly and well kept.

“I'll be right back– hey, don't make that face, darlin’... I'll lay with ya when I come back.”

You lean into the palm of his warm hand that softly strokes your cheek, adding a hopeful nod. Your soft eyes trail behind his tall figure as Harry steps out into the hall, leaving your door cracked open behind him. With a little doubt forming in your heart you lay on the silk mattress of your bed and turn, rolling back and forth like a restless child waiting for time to fly as fast as possible.

It took him longer than he wanted as he struggled with whether this was the right thing to do or completely the opposite, tons of questions invading his mind: did you want him as much as he wanted you, and so should he trust you with a secret only a handful of the Royal vampires know? His hundreds of years differs so greatly from your barely twenty-five-ish ones. The brunette keeps rushing his thoughts because first, he wants you to be happy and second, he doesn’t want to be alone anymore.

With the item in his hands, Harry clenches his fingers tightly around it and makes his way back to your side. As he enters the silent room, smelling some faint aroma of lavender from your previous shared (hot) shower, you’re actually snoring softly while sprawled out in a way that takes up nearly the entire bed, which makes the brunette slightly chuckles at how silly yet adorable you are. He shakes his head with the soft expression you love so much on him, effortlessly scooting you further to one side before climbing in next to you.

For a couple of minutes Harry strokes your hair and caresses your skin, before taking your right hand and placing on your fourth finger a gold ring with a glimmering ruby jewel in its middle. Your eyes flicker open at the feeling, followed by a small yawn while watching the careful placement of your new jewellery with a bashful smile.

“... Are you asking me to marry you, Harry?”

His emerald eyes open wide in shock, skin darkening more than you thought a creature like him was capable of. Instantly the brunette uses your palm to cover his face and slowly shakes his head, the white pearl of his necklace softly jiggling around his neck at this. The breath from his parted lips tickles your skin and honestly makes you fall at peace.

“N-no– well n-not yet at least, uh–” Harry stutters, still hiding his face with your hand. He clears his throat before continuing “though this is my gift to you, love.” 

You can’t see the way he actually bites his bottom lip, but your eyes notice both his hands covered in rings that he always wears. And one catches your attention, the one with a similar ruby jewel in the middle yet of a different shape.

“This will allow ya to walk 'round in the sunlight, this way it will no longer cause you any harm, my dear.”

“Really? But you said that it would always hurt...?”

“Without an amulet blessed an’ enchanted by a powerful witch, the sunlight will cause us vampires harm. That’s why you must always wear it.”

Harry lowers your combined hands so you’re finally able to see the serious expression on his face. “You must never tell anyone abou' this. Not a single soul, vampire or human alike, my dear. No one.”

“I would never cause you trouble, Harry. And I promise I'll take this secret to my grave” you respond back, arms sliding around his hips like a silent wish to lay your head against his bare torso, a motion which your lover gladly welcomes by sliding his fingers through your hair. 

With a thankful smile you get comfortable, closing your eyes in hopes to snuggle with him while you sleep.

“People will not question it if y’tell them you were sired by me” proceeds the brunette vampire abasing your hair, fingers still entangled in your soft locks to massage your scalp. “It's a misconception tha' pure royal vampires are born immune to the hurtful rays of sunlight... Most of our kind think a person turned by us will also be immune.”

“I wish... I had been turned by you” you let out in a whisper while keeping your face nuzzle against Harry’s chest. “I want to be with you for as long as I'm able to.”

The vampire can’t resist but leave feather-like kisses on your forehead and hairline, your confession definitely making him feel... alive. His hot breath hitting your skin gently soothe you and so are his kisses, the sudden brush of his nose against your face bringing a delightful giggle out of you which Harry would never get tired of.

“Maybe I'll be the one to ask you to marry me, who knows...” you add, your index finger sliding over his pearl necklace with a define grin on your face. 

No words could describe how you make Harry feel. Never has he been more grateful for the quick way you fall asleep just so he could hug you tightly against him. Maybe later, he will be able to tell you that, as surprising as that may sound, the man has never been married in his long life either. There has never been someone this special to him to go for it. It's indeed hard to say if Harry wants to make that commitment with you at this point either the thing he’s sure of is his wish - no, his desire to be with you. Forever. 

“Good night, my love... Maybe tomorrow I’ll take ya to the castle y’ask me about all the time.”

* * * 

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[thoughtslikeaminefield]

Where Is My Shiny Gun?

PART THREE

Summary: Sam finds himself in a quandary when he realizes he has feelings for Donna by way of the obvious mutual attraction between her and Dean.

Pairing: Dean x Dona + Sam

Warnings: explicit, Wincest adjacent, dirty talk, voyeurism

Word Count: 1232

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

“Tell us what you want,” Dean says in between kisses. “And what you don’t want.”

“You askin’ me?” Donna replies in a low purr. “Or Sam?”

Dean smiles again, never parting too far with her lush lips. “Yeah, you,” he answers. “We need some boundaries to start. Then Sammy can…” Dean drags his lips over her jaw to the side of her face closest to Sam and looks him in the eye. “Give us some direction.”

Sam’s breath catches in his throat at Donna’s implication and the offer Dean’s making. Not only does he get to watch, but he can make requests. 

Jesus.

“Hmm,” Donna starts. “I sure like kissin’ you,” she says, draping her arms over his shoulders and toying with the short hairs at the nape of his neck.

“Maybe I should kiss you all over then,” Dean says, placing wet, intentional kisses across her delicate collarbones. “All the way down.”

The imagery of Dean buried face first in Donna’s cunt makes Sam groan out loud.

Donna grins bright and arches her neck, head back on a sigh, eyes closed. “Meh, I’ve never really enjoyed the oral experience,” she says before rolling her head to the side then back upright to look at Sam. “I like penetration.” A small, wicked smile twists her kiss-swollen lips.

“Well, darlin’,” Dean says, pushing her sweatshirt up and over her head to reveal a thin, white tank top. “You’ve never experienced my oral.” He mouths at her already tight nipples to make the fabric wet and Sam can’t get enough of the way she squirms and groans in his brother’s lap. 

“Ya see,” Dean continues. “Eatin’ pussy’s like eatin’ pie.” He’s made her tank top entirely see-through where her nipples are concerned. Sam licks his lips and grips his hard cock tight over the denim fabric.

“And you know how I love pie,” Dean says, gripping Donna’s broad hips and moving to stand. She squeals a little, wraps her legs around him and holds on tight as he walks three paces to the bed, lays her there on her back and kneels on the floor between her legs. “Can I?” he asks, playfully, blinking innocently and he traces the patterns on the knees of her yoga pants.

Donna’s sprawled on her back, arms flung wide, already looking so satisfied, her hair fanned around her head. She rises to her elbows then reaches to cup Dean’s jaw and he leans into it. “OK, cowboy,” she says. “Show me whatcha got.”

Dean’s grin is all mischief as he drags Donna’s yoga pants over her hips. Sam moves to get a better look. “How wet is she?” Sam asks his brother as he pops the button of his jeans. “God, I can smell her from here.”

Dean chuckles quietly, tossing Donna’s pants over his shoulder then dragging her ass to the edge of the bed by her knees. He drapes them over his shoulders and dips in to place a kiss to her center.

Donna gasps. “Dean!” She bucks instinctually into his face.

“Oh, dude,” Dean groans, bringing a hand up and pushing his thick middle finger inside her. “Sooo wet.” He wraps an arm around one of her thighs to keep her steady but for tiny pushes of her hips onto his finger and face. “Gonna fuck my hand and mouth, D? Hmm?” He takes her in his mouth full and moans.

“Shit,” Sam whispers, gripping his bared cock in his hot hand. He can hear how wet she is – hear the squelching noises as she grinds into Dean’s face. “Get her top off, man, I wanna see her.”

Dean laughs, and Donna sits all the way up long enough to pull her tank top over her head. “Better?” she asks, tossing Sam her shirt and a look as she settles back on her elbows.

Sam catches the garment with one hand and smirks. “Much,” he answers, holding the piece up to his nose, inhaling her scent - clean sweat and honey - before setting the top aside and skimming his gaze over her full breasts. “You’re gorgeous.”

Sam works his length as he watches Dean bob between Donna’s open thighs. Donna lays back again, cups her breasts and moans in approval. “Hooo,” she breathes. “You weren’t kiddin’. Wow.” She pulls at her nipples and stares hard at the ceiling then drags her gaze to Sam. “He’s really good at this, Sam.”

She’s out of breath and so is Sam, but they’re both smiling. “Tell me what he’s doing,” Sam says, slowing his thrusts into his hand to drag it out. Just watching her breasts bounce with Dean’s movements is enough to make him come; he wants this to last.

“He’s…” Donna breathes heavy and hard. “He’s two fingers deep, and holy moly he knows how to find that spot.” She looks down at Dean. “Your mouth… his mouth is so hot right on my-” Donna hisses and squeezes her eyes shut. “Ah!”

Her back arches off the bed and Sam has to slow his breathing, take his hand away from himself, and close his eyes for a moment in order not to come with her. He listens to her panting, to Dean chuckling as he moves up her body. “I got mad skills, baby doll,” Dean says, and Sam rolls his eyes open.

“Dude,” Sam scolds, secretly thankful for the respite of cheeseball to keep his orgasm at bay.

Donna’s giggling and grinning wide, a sheen of sweat making her sun-bronzed skin shimmer in the low light, as she watches Dean stand and disrobe. Dean smirks and licks his lips, Donna bites her own bottom lip and scoots backward toward the head of the bed, and Sam’s cock jumps for his attention.

He palms himself again as Dean crawls on hands and knees over Donna, hovers above her, dipping in to kiss her long and slow. Dean’s jaw works hard. His kisses look so focused yet languid, deep. Donna brings her knees up along his thighs, welcoming him in.

Dean breaks the kiss long enough to say, “What’s next, Sammy?” before setting back to licking into Donna’s mouth, gently sucking her curved top lip between his own.

“Touch him, Donna,” Sam says, pushes his legs open wide, cupping his balls and stroking his cock, pressing down. “You want to, right?”

Donna nods, deepening the kiss, running her hands up Dean’s chest and shoulders, pushes her fingers into his hair. The sounds she’s making are quiet but so pretty. Sam squeezes himself hard and starts to pump again.

“You two…” Donna breathes, letting Dean kiss her wherever he wants. “Ya know I couldn’t do this with anyone but you two.” Her hands are in Dean’s hair, but she’s looking at Sam.

Sam takes in the honesty and openness there. He realizes that he and Dean couldn’t do this exact thing with anyone else but her either. “I think we feel the same way,” he says. “Dean?”

“Mhmm,” Dean answers. “Nobody else but you, D-Train.” He reaches for his bag on the floor next to the bed and produces a condom. “You know, Sammy and me – we’ve only ever been in the same room fucking once, and we were hammered.” He laughs as he rips the condom open. “And young.” He glances at Sam and they lock eyes. “But this is different, Donna,” he says. “You’re different.”

Dean rolls the condom on and Sam openly watches with interest, his desire flaming higher. “Fuck her good, man,” Sam says, his breath shaking.

Then Dean stretches out over her, braces a forearm beside her head and plays with her hair as he guides himself inside her. “Oh, I plan on it, little brother,” he says, kissing her again as he thrusts all the way to the hilt.

Part Four

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MJ's Fanfiction Masterlist

[sole-cuore-amore-e-droga]

Tel Aviv 2019: Straight outta Denmark to Eurovision with a cute multilingual jingle

Dansk Melodi Grand Prix is... a NF I don’t really have anything to say about. Like, you expect me to rile up 3 big paragraphs about the pre-NF dramas and what-not, but honestly... what’s the point.

Well, aside from the fact people did not really get excited over the lineup this year. Me neither from the names alone, actually. Even last year was more interesting to look at despite with another lineup of songs you can’t give a fuck about and then move on - I noticed they had Sannie who used to be known as Whigfield (”Saturday Night” <3333 the duck quacks <333), Ditte Marie (anyone remembers “Overflow” from 2012?) and Albin Fredy (which seems to be the same Albin that brought me my one of the two DMGP 2013 favourite songs, “Beautiful to Me”???). This year was a big “WHO IS SHE?? WHERE DID YOU FIND HER???”, so I just left DMGP in the corner where it picked cobwebs until not too long ago when someone got chosen.

Well, this NF keeps being a NF where I don’t personally feel too emotionally fucked about any of them entries, so that’s a big plus in my book, which will mean that I won’t throw a “THIS WAS ROBBED!!!1″ post on Denmark NF-wise... at least this year and the last year because I really loved “Venter” in 2012 and the said “Beautiful to Me” and “Invincible” in 2013 (I also liked “Only Teardrops” but I was mad its victory was so obvious xD). As for why I like it when the NFs don’t toy with my feelings, A Dal 2019 is an obvious demonstration, but more on that on my Hungarian writeup, which is significantly longer than this one - that’s how much of a demonstration it is.

Anyway, let’s talk about the chosen song, shall we? Performed by a smol skater girlie Leonora (Jepsen), here comes “Love Is Forever”, which was co-penned by the ever-so-notorious Lise Cabble - the champ-mastress of writing Eurovision songs for the Danes (by that I mean she wrote their 1995 entry... and then none of her entries got chosen for ESC until 2011 lol). And this is a significally softer turn of hers compared to “Only Teardrops” - ever since Anna Ritsmar in 2018′s DMGP, she tends to write cute, acoustic tunes sung by young ladies with their lil cute and lil crispy voices. “Love Is Forever” is just that, tbh.

Well THAT and also it sounds like a lovely acoustic background song for those funny photos/student quotes/test answers/etc. compilation videos on Youtube (I actually am talking about the channel Scoop, because other kinds of compilation videos use Youtube Audio Library-like pop songs or something straight off NoCopyrightSounds). Or the theme song for a TV programme for animals. Or the theme song for a children's programme they show at hospitals. There's so many places you can insert it into, I guess. At the same time it feels like a cupcake with pink frosting that tastes nice. And a cup of warm cocoa with whipped cream and sprinkles. It's a delightful bite. Yum.

Realistically though, the song itself has an easy noddable-along-to rhythm, cute violin string plucks, the capability to melodically progress to sound even more joyful (I mean, the chorus just adds more and more layers of brass as it keeps repreating, just giving it a bit more of a typical Scoop channel background music material), the D flat major key of this song’s uplifts the spirits of this whole shebang and it also somehow includes lines in some more languages than expected in a Danish song ever, how odd it seems like??? And it’s especially given that we haven’t really heard Danish in a song since like what, 1997?? We only got “shout insh’allah” and “taka stökk til hærri jörð, taka” ever since then, and these aren’t remotely Danish lines. But this year we’re getting some Danish, and French, and even German. Feeling the love in multilingual. L’amour est pour toujours, y’all! Liebe IST für alle da!

There are also people that aren’t buying into the song all that much because Leonora looks way too creepy to sell a song about love love peace peace, like someone emerging out of a demented cabaret. I suppose that other people think that this song was forced onto Leonora when she didn’t really want it, and now has to pretend that we have to spread love to the world, make friendships with others, don’t get too political, and then act all supercool about it. The saddest bit that she does sound like that person that would sing a song like that... young, with a passion for skating, looks like a person that could probably hug you when you least expect it, the one that posts light purple sweater pictures with a glitter effect applied to them on Tumblr, the one who would wear white mittens with a giant red snowflake painted on/knitted into them... I don’t know if that’s all Leonora wanted to compete with in DMGP to make a breakthrough with her singing career after skating so darn much, and if she even believes in what is she singing (this is my rare reminder of the war situation in Israel that’s going on, and I’ll probably never have to speak of this again in any writeup, hopefully. Yeah sure, love is for ever...), but I somehow buy it, sue me. Those acoustics and that touch of brass instruments won me over.

So my final thoughts on this song is that it’s a joyball with that kind of song message so overused I cannot be angry on it because it’s not slapped on a dreary Russian peace ballad - it’s a singer-songwriter-esque small showtune, which makes it all seem a lot different because love is cute and this song is cute. So I guess I have no issues with it, whereas I can’t stand the aforementioned Russian peace ballads all that much because if you remove the good singers singing it, they’re cliché af; “Wars for Nothing” (Hungary 2015) sounded too innocent while having a full gun tree serving as a backdrop for them and if you looked too much into Boggie’s eyes, you could very well feel her penetrating your soul with war imagery; and Iceland last year was a knock-off Russian peace ballad that sounded too good to be unbearably dreary and the vocalist wasn’t even a belting girl. So yeah, I like it. More adorable songs about spreading love, less overdone ballads about world peace.

Thing is though, why did she really dress like a barista from a late-night-open cocktail club? I get that looking like a princess à la Maria Olafs won't cut it anymore as it would look way more saccharine, but Leonora is up like she's there to serve you your damn drink as soon as possible so she could go outside for a small smoke break, not to advertise love. Watch me make "when you have Eurovision at 9 and job at a cocktail bar at 11" memes on the night of the 16th. Seriously, her image barely even fucking suits the song!

Approval factor: Well, one of my faves won DMGP again, for the 2nd time in a row, so why wouldn’t I approve? ^_^ Love from me is forever!

Follow-up factor: For Denmark it kind of seems like a decent follow-up? For all those out here that remember Denmark as the nation that plagiarises every other entry, it would just seem logical for them to finally send a generic royalty free ukulele song for Youtube videos. Which is spectacular! No one knows which song did this one exactly plagiarize - the entire concept was ripped off! Jokes aside, it’s an interesting one after Rasmussen. After a song that urges you to lay your weapons down in a war and go find higher ground more peacefully, we’re now getting a morale on the fact that love is for ever and everyone. Isn’t it sweet. I’d rather these than a bland love song about laying down armours and guns. ^_^

Qualification factor: depends. For now I feel like writing it off because to the 1% of the people who’ve already heard this song beforehand and hate this song, the whole thing feels like “love :) is :) forever :) please love everyone you little shit :) :) :)”. To some others however, like Luke Malam from ESCXtra, it’s a song that definitely makes them feel the love being forever, just like “yaaaay we love each other and the world yaaaay!!! ^o^”, so it’s perhaps a bit of a mixed bag. I wanna see it through though, just as much as I want to see Lithuania, about which I will be talking next in these write-ups. But I see it very much so as a borderline because... idk, just a gut feeling. Sometimes songs that ooze loveliness just don’t quite get themselves across the other hand side of the viewer thus they don’t really qualify, for example, Finland 2012, another song sung by a lady better known as a sportswoman rather than a singer (but maybe that’s just because there was too much intimacy of hers with her and her celloist’s mom, and she looked too awkward to pass the intimacy to the viewers so they too could feel the loving bond and the life metaphors coming from a Finnish entrant singing in Swedish). For now from me it’s a positive borderline. Yes, I think that it probably will make it and we’ll see that large Ikea chair prop with many people swaying to the rhythm on it next to Leonora on Saturday as well.

NATIONAL FINAL BONUS

Even with me not having much to say about DMGP, I will go ahead and cherrypick the favourite songs from the event:

• The big favourite of mine this year was brought by Julie & Nina, who served a bilingual schlager-like midtempo track, “League of Light”. Hats off to sounding properly Eurovision-y but without using a “rent-a-NF-songwriter” songwriter for to write this! It’s soaring, majestic, somewhat memorable and inclused Greenlandic. Yeah. Do you believe that this would have been a year where we could’ve gotten more exotic Language spins? Now we have lost both Aboriginal and Greenlandic out of Eurovision, hopefully just for this year so the languages can return again sometime. I’m proud of these women being so courageous and delighting some that really wanted schlager pop that still can click with some that are bored of Eurovision NF schlager cliches. Oh and this song is in A flat minor, probably one of my favourite keys in music. Not too bad, everything this was, although the aggression they transmitted through the song during their live DMGP performance kiiiiinda made them looked like pissed-off housewives imo?

• Them both and this guy below, Sigmund, were picked to the superfinal to compete against Leonora. What was Sigmund’s contribution and why did he deserve to be there so much? Well, I really love his colourful flamboyant electropop track that has piano influences, “Say My Name”, which lyrically reflects on the song’s protagonists big power that he will probably have if only the invisible force Sigmund’s singing to would just “say [his] name”. And I definitely think he deserved his spot over some really nice pop entries that the fandom definitely overrated. Oh and the song is in A flat minor too. Maybe I’m biased, maybe I’m not. You judge. >:)

• See, I don't feel like talking about the DMGP songs this year. It's a cool bunch of songs that some of them I like but nothing quite outstanding to talk about beyond those I already have paragraphs for. Well maybe you'd like to look up the entries by Humorekspressen (for to get a pub singalong song) and Jasmine Gabay (for to get yet another Latino-influenced Havana club track). But that's it. Here from me the last one you'll be getting is Simone Emilie with her teen-flavoured light radiofriendly dance-ish song "Anywhere". Why didn't it do better despite having the power to click with the Eurofans quite much? Well, maybe it's because her backdrop and the fairytale-esque dress went for another kind of atmosphere than it was required to have on the song.

• I don't know, I just find this particular winning reaction shot funny. Not sure if she's yawning or being like "yaaaazs bitchesss ;) 😄 ✨" in here. I gotta say - her lipstick was definitely on fleek that night.

That guy below her takes the cake at making this shot memorable too. Do you want the invisible meal Leonora is about to take a bite of too?

And besides that moment I don’t really have any on-show moments besides songs that were somewhat memorable. Why do Danes always have to be this vanilla in the Nordic country barrage, I will never get. That’s it. That’s their crime. Of being average. And being sued for plagiarism a lot in the past.

For now I’d just wish Leonora good luck in Tel Aviv and show ‘em that love can and will prevail before hatred does, if only people remember to love... ah wait, wrong kind of philosophy.

[reistoria]

Altered Belief of the Innocents

Nur Amalina, Kemala Tiara Annisa, Fitri Ayu Langit

2014

The Chimney Sweeper” is a title of two poems by William Blake which is published in Songs of Innocence (1789) and Songs of Experience (1792). The background of this poem is the dark side of a prominent child labor in 18th and 19th Century in England. Most of the children work as chimney sweepers. They were oppressed by the master because they should clean the chimney that has a small size and they paid low. This poem is Blake’s commentary of the child labor issue and the use of imagery is to portray the brutality of The Industrial Revolution, one of crucial period in history.

Wickteed says, “Deeper knowledge of Blake will reveal no darkly buried meaning, only a deeper sense in the meaning obvious to all.” (Hirsch: 7). After Blake’s “The Chimney Sweeper” is out, the fact that has been hidden for long time is finally read and the reader began to be care with this boys. How Blake use pun the language, makes the children subjected and society gives more attention to them. (Nurmi: 15)

If the poem is hard to read, you can read it here.

Type of Poem : Ballad stanzas

Diction             : Middle or neutral.

Theme             : Innocence

Tone                 : Irony, the difference between the reality and Tom Dacre’s dream.

Setting            : The setting of the poem is set in England, in the nighttime (Line 10)

Speaker          : The narrator of the poem.

Characters     : The narrator, Tom Dacre, and the angel.

Sound              :

Alliteration: “So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I s” (line 4) & “As Tom was a-sleeping, he had such a sight” (line 10)

Rhyme: A-A-B-B

Figures of Speech:

Onomatopoeia and Anaphora: the mention and repetition of the word ‘weep’ in line 3.

Simile: “his head [t]hat curled like a lamb’s back” (line 6)

Synecdoche: “thousands of sweepers, Dick, Joe, Ned, and Jack” (line 11)

Paradox: “Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm”

Dominant Imagery: Visual (line 15-16)

THE SONGS OF INNOCENCE & THE SONGS OF EXPERIENCE

“The Chimney Sweeper” from Songs of Innocence is Blake’s first version of the narrative poem about chimney sweepers followed by his poem of the same title in Songs of Experience. Unlike the poem in Songs of Innocence, which is narrated by a chimney sweeper, in Songs of Experience Blake retold the chimney sweeper story from an adult’s point of view.

Blake wrote the poems not only with significant similarities but also contrasts. The first noticavle difference is that the narrator in The Songs of Experience is not a child, but an adult. In Songs of Innocence, Blake focused on the dream of the Tom Dacre and the readers are brought to see the subsconcious realm of Tom. Meanwhile, in Songs of Experience, Blake shifted the focus to the reality which is expressed through the use of the word ‘heath’ as the contrast of ‘green plain.’ Blake also mentioned ‘church’ and told that the chimney sweeper’s parents were there “to praise God and his priest and King” (line 11), this aren’t visible in Songs of Innocence although it doesn’t mean  that the point isn’t there.

The fact that Blake used children as the main focus of the poems expresses his concern toward exploitation embarked upon children at the era of Industrial Revolution. Aside from that, Blake also mentioned other important points, such as ‘Angel’ and ‘God’ in Songs of Innocence and ‘church’ and ‘priest’ in Songs of Experience, these points could be put under the scoop of religion.

In Victorian Age, church developed important influence not only in religion but also in politics, the two then became inseparable (Yi). It goes for the Church of England (which Blake claimed he opposed to) as well. As the church develops dependency towards the state, the mass was divided into two groups of people from different social class and it develops an association called ‘elite hypocrite.’ Then it reached a point where the church seemed to be in the favor of the high society. The door of the church is open wide for aristocracy but not for the lower class.

FROM MARXIST PERSPECTIVE

Although both Songs of Innocence and Songs of Experience are the form of Blake’s voice towards the society he was in, each poem voices a different thing. Songs of Experience is strongly exemplified the political influence that has spread to spiritual place like church, while Songs of Innocence is more to show Blake’s utopian vision of humanity which is expressed through children’s innocence and pure perspective of the world.

In “The Chimney Sweeper” from Songs of Innocence, Blake used the children who work as chimney sweepers to establish working class or the proletariat. Using a child’s voice, Blake intended to create a unique perspective of the world because according to Western legal tradition, children aren’t supposed to voice their interest. Unlike adults, children tend to address a matter differently, especially with their innocence, the message will appear more sympathetic.

To gain sympathy from readers, Blake voiced out his concern and towards children exploitation issue using a child’s voice who talks about the misery the children experienced:

“And my father sold me while yet my tongue / Could scarcely cry ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep! ‘weep’” (line 2-3).

In the line 4, Blake used possessive pronoun “your” to include the readers to the poem:

“So your chimneys I sweep, and in soot I sleep.” (line 4)

Through this line, Blake questioned the reader’s ethos. Blake addressed the reader only once in the poem and it’s in a line that explains what these children do as a chimney sweeper. As “your” in the line indicates the owner of the chimneys or their employer, it can be assumed that the ideal reader of this poem is to the bourgeoisie, to whom the children work for. Blake used the word “your” in a cynical tone to grow a feeling of guilt for the bourgeoisie readers.

The second stanza centers on the sacrifice the children have to make to work as a chimney sweeper. This is demonstrated by the narrator’s interaction with Tom Dacre, a new sweeping boy who cried when he had to shave his head so that it won’t be caked by the soot. To reinforce the notion of the innocence of the boy, Blake uses simile in describing the hair: it is “curl’d like a lamb’s back” (line 6). Lamb is believed to be the symbol of innocence. Also, to emphasize the notion of innocence, Blake also uses the word ‘white’:

“You know that the soot cannot spoil your white hair” (line 8)

“Then naked and white” (line 17).

As the poem progresses, readers will see how the children surrender to the society, they let the society dictates what to believe and what to do. Blake shows this point through the dream of Tom Dacre. In the dream, Tom was with his fellow chimney sweepers in a ‘coffin of black’ (line 9) and then there’s an angel who set them free:

“And by came an angel who had a bright key / And he opened the coffins and set them all free;” (line 10-11) to a green plain where they are “leaping, laughing, they run” (line 12).

“if he’d be a good boy / He’d have God for his father, and never want joy” (line 15-16).

Apparently, the dream has somehow causes Tom to change his mind: “Though the morning was cold, Tom was happy and warm / So if all do their duty they need not fear harm.” (line 23-24).

The effect of the dream is mirroring an act of hegemony in a capitalist society. Tom Dacre, as a representation of the working class at that time, is reluctant to work as a chimney sweeper and that he was crying at the beginning is a subtle sign of protest. In order to avoid such resistance from the working class, the capitalist (the landlord/the employer) who holds the means of production, made an effort to maintain their influence on the working class without force. The way is through planting a false believe in the working class, in this case is the children, to the point that the working class falls into false consciousness, a situation where the working class believes that they have no other choice than to work and that’s the best thing for them. This very thing happened to Tom Dacre. Thus, it can be concluded that the society they lived in is a capitalist society and that the poem reflects capitalism.

Looking back at the poem, if Tom is a reflection of a working class of capitalist society, then the angel, the one who persuades him to go to work, is the symbol of a capitalist, their employer. The use of angel character implies that the capitalist is in disguise when they planted the belief by using religion as their mask. In Songs of Experience, Blake mentioned that the parents are “gone to praise God and his priest and king / Who make up a heaven of our misery” (line 14-15). The use of God, priest and king implies an organizational chart, it symbolizes there is a certain structure in the church. This refers to the time when churches are used for politics in the era. Hence, it can be said that the one that puts the children in the poem into a false consciousness is the oppression of the church by using religion power to make it easier to penetrate the worker’s mind.

Tom Dacre accepts the dominant ideology because he has fallen into false consciousness. It can be seen from the line “So if all do their duty they need not fear harm” (line 24) Although he knew the consequences of his work might cost his life, as what implied in the dream: “an angel who had a bright key” (line 10), “bright key” symbolizes the fire as the cause of their death and the line “he opened the coffins and set them all free” implies to the death that would set them free from the burden of being enslaved.

In Tom Dacre’s dream, the children were going “down a green plain leaping, laughing, they run / And wash in a river, and shine in the sun” (line 15-16). This dream reflects Tom’s desire of what he couldn’t have, freedom. The dream is the image and representation of utopia of the children. It also shouts out Blake’s voice concerning the issue of child labor. Using Tom’s subconscious realm, Blake tried to draw an image of innocence. That Tom only wishes to be clean and free implies the purity of these children. How horrible their life is that being clean and free is a mere fragment of dream.

IN A NUTSHELL

By applying Marxist theoretical framework, it can be seen that Songs of Innocence: “The Chimney Sweeper” by William Blake reflects a situation where children’s innocence is ruined by the oppresion of church. The church or religion which is supposed to be something holy where someone prays and put their faith in is misused by the capitalist or Borgouisie in order to hegemonize the working class. The children in the poem, whose belief is altered, innocently believe that they would be free if they keep working for they have fallen into a false consciousness.

A’s note: 

This analysis is written as a mandatory assignment for Critical Analysis of Poetry class.This is one of my first proper analysis of a literary work. And while it isn’t easy to put pieces of notions altogether to make an intact ideas (though there were three of us) this has been the best assignment and presentation (yes, the analysis was presented with an incredible prezi slideshow by my friend) in my college years. 

“The Chimney Sweeper” by William Blake: A Marxist Analysis Altered Belief of the Innocents Nur Amalina, Kemala Tiara Annisa, Fitri Ayu Langit 2014 The Chimney Sweeper” is a title of two poems by William Blake which is published in…

[how2to18]

IN A 1972 LETTER, Hannah Arendt speculates that a thinker has only one real thought in her life, everything else being nothing but variations on this single theme. First published in French in 2014, A Long Saturday is a short book of conversations between George Steiner and the journalist Laure Adler. The volume provides an overview of the main themes that have occupied Steiner’s mind throughout his life, but it also gives us reason to doubt Arendt’s conjecture. For while those of us familiar with Steiner’s oeuvre will hear in these conversations variations on familiar themes, we are left with no doubt as to the plurality of those themes. A Long Saturday shows Steiner to be a man of more than one book.

Steiner begins by speaking succinctly about his extraordinary biography, narrated more fully in his autobiographical Errata (1997). We hear of the effects of the “deformity” that has been part of his life since his birth in 1929, of his father’s prescience about what would happen in Europe (he had already left Vienna for Paris, where Steiner was born) and of the family’s narrow escape from Paris, in 1940, on the last American cruise ship leaving from Genoa, “just as the Germans were invading.” We are left to infer the relationships that may exist between Steiner’s biography and the themes to which his writing has kept returning over the years. As he says, “there must be some connection between statement and a life.”

Steiner’s reflections on Judaism and the state of Israel are penetrating and provocative. He has previously described Judaism as “this small, sharp-edged pebble in the shoes of mankind,” an image on which he elaborates here with instances where Judaism has held humanity to account. First, in the formation of monotheism, “the least natural thing in the world” (in contrast to the multiplicity of ancient Greek deities), the divine becomes inconceivable, unimaginable, and unreachable, yet continues — unbearably — to dispense exacting moral demands. Secondly, in Christianity, the Jewish Jesus’s commandment to sell everything and give the money to the poor reinterprets altruism not as a virtue but as a duty. (Steiner reminds us that the Sermon on the Mount is made up of quotations from Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Amos.) Finally, the Marxist championing of justice condemns a person in a fine house with empty rooms while there are people without homes. “Three times, Jews have demanded, ‘Become a person. Become Human.’ It’s frightening. And then as a side note, Freud comes and takes away our dreams. He doesn’t even let us dream in peace.”

Freud elicits criticism from Steiner: “I’ve tried, Laure, believe me, with all my strength, to desire my mother sexually and to make an enemy of my father; I’ve tried and it hasn’t worked at all.” Aside from his misgivings about the Freudian idea of the Oedipus complex (on an uncharacteristically literal reading, it has to be said), Steiner defines human dignity as “having the strength to carry your pain yourself. […] To unload on someone else, for payment, appalls me.” He objects that the practice of psychotherapy simply doesn’t exist in life’s “true horrors” — in the death camps, for example. But he is forgetting about Viktor Frankl, the founder of the third Viennese school of psychotherapy, after Freud and Alfred Adler. Frankl not only conducted group psychotherapy sessions for his fellow prisoners in Auschwitz, but also drew on his experiences there to write his unique “On the Psychology of the Concentration Camp.” These contributions are surely no less valuable than the “living books” of whom Steiner speaks: prisoners who could be consulted like texts because they “knew thousands of pages — including the Torah, the Talmud — almost entirely by heart.”

On the origins of anti-Semitism, in My Unwritten Books (2008), Steiner ventures to invert received opinion. The charge of deicide, which has been leveled at Jews for centuries, in fact stands for its opposite: “The Jew is hated not because he killed God but because he has invented and created Him.” Steiner reads monotheism as humanity’s self-critique, by means of which we have placed on ourselves an unbearable psychological and moral burden. From the unimaginable, unreachable God, whose name cannot be uttered, still emanate moral commandments beyond the best intentions of most of us. Whether or not Steiner is right about the origins of anti-Semitism, he manages to articulate a vexing philosophical tension that has persisted in almost all forms of religion since Judaism: that between divine ineffability and human answerability to a God who can never be grasped. Many of the anecdotes that Steiner recounts in A Long Saturday will be familiar to his loyal readers, including the one about the man in Kiev, who accosts Steiner in Yiddish, having recognized that he is a Jew. However, he doesn’t repeat the version in My Unwritten Books, where he asks the man how he knew (“But surely it’s obvious. The way you walk.”), and reflects beautifully on his reply: “Like one, I suppose, who has two thousand years of menace at his heels.”

At least since Language and Silence (1967), Steiner has been preoccupied with the power and limitations of language. Even as a child, he was aware that phrases, lines, and passages of great literature have the power to change everything for their readers, and he speaks compellingly to Adler about the “talismanic” phrases that connect us to life. Steiner views language as an essential vehicle for the expression of ideas, and he mourns the “billions” of thoughts that, for all we know, have been lost for ever for want of a means of expression. For him, the amazement is not only that someone “like you and me” could think as Descartes did, but also that such a thinker had the powers to capture his thoughts in writing. “Can we conceive of a person waiting for lunch or going to tea after writing down what God said in the book of Job?” Yet Steiner is as fascinated by language’s limitations as he is by its extraordinary powers. He reflects on forms of communication that go beyond speech, like music and mathematics, and on the ineffable, which transcends language — on what cannot be said or, like “the ultimate experience of the Shoah,” one shouldn’t even try to say. Steiner is drawn to the points at which language is felt to resist, where the poet and the philosopher each feel the continuity of the other’s work with their own.

These themes of ineffability and transcendence remind the reader that, for Steiner, theological questions (but not answers) are essential for an adequate understanding of artistic creation. Although the “God-question” no longer fuels the majority of contemporary art, literature, and philosophy, Steiner writes (in My Unwritten Books) that, in essence “poiesis, creation, has been an imitatio of, a wrestling with, what is taken to be divine making.” It is startling to find Steiner reaching for Christian imagery here, arguing that the nature of artistic creation is best understood Eucharistically, as the bringing into being of a “real presence.”

On this, he is part of an illuminating yet neglected line of European thinking about art. Drawing on Mallarmé via Valéry, Hans-Georg Gadamer used the same analogy to explain that, unlike prosaic, “everyday” language, poetic language doesn’t simply refer to something because that to which it refers is actually there, really present in the poem. Before Gadamer, Maurice Merleau-Ponty described the “transubstantiations” effected by the artist, as she transforms everything that she wants to present into paint or some other media. In A Long Saturday, we find expressed in summary form an idea developed at length and more or less systematically in Real Presences (1989) and Grammars of Creation (2001): that theological questions are prerequisite to a full understanding of the meaning of artistic creation — and indeed of meaning in general.

Steiner is a polyglot who has devoted his life to the study of the humanities. He is the epitome of a contemporary European humanist yet scathing about what Adler introduces as “so-called European humanism.” “Yes,” he replies, “it’s all in the ‘so-called.’ You might have hoped that Goethe’s garden wouldn’t be next to the Buchenwald camp; but you come out of Goethe’s garden and you’re right in a concentration camp.” The thought is not just that the humanities “put up no resistance” to the atrocities in Europe’s not-too-distant past, but also that in general they fail to humanize — perhaps they even make us inhuman. Our cultivated responsiveness to the suffering of fictional characters can perhaps displace and deaden our response to the suffering of real people. The cry of a character in a play or a novel may drown out the cry in the street.

To illustrate his point that the humanities offered “no resistance,” Steiner gives the example of the subject of yet another of his books: Martin Heidegger, who became the first Nazi rector of Freiburg University in 1933. Intellectually, Steiner is enormously indebted to Heidegger’s writings — without, however, feeling able to defend the man who wrote them. It’s here, significantly, that Steiner does permit a metaphorical reading of the Oedipus complex. Adler asks about Heidegger’s troubled relationship with his Jewish mentor, Edmund Husserl, to whom he owed much of his professional success. Steiner rightly dismisses the unfounded, persistent rumor that, as rector of the university, Heidegger personally banned his mentor from the library. But Heidegger did sign the circular letter that forbade Husserl from entering the building used by the philosophy faculty. Steiner comments that,

as in all great relationships, the student will try to destroy the master. Here, if you like, you are welcome to use Freud’s word ‘oedipal,’ with my respects […] The murder of the father from an intellectual point of view, from a theoretical point of view.

Adler encourages Steiner to explain Heidegger’s refusal to apologize for his behavior after the war, despite encouragement from his friend Karl Jaspers. Steiner responds simply: “Vanity.” But Adler’s mention of Jaspers’s name implicitly raises a stronger challenge to Steiner’s “no resistance” charge against the humanities. Jaspers was married to a Jew, and he remained in Germany with his wife during the years of Nazi rule. Banned by the Nazis from teaching and publishing, Jaspers kept writing. After the liberation, he became among the first to reflect publicly on the collective guilt felt in Germany. And although he felt isolated, Jaspers was not alone. In fact, there were many humanist intellectuals — writers, artists, philosophers — who resisted. The problem is that their stories remain largely unheard. As Steiner describes in My Unwritten Books, Jaspers wrestled in his notebooks with incomprehension over Heidegger’s collaboration with the Nazis. Steiner observes that, in these notebooks (posthumously published as Notizen zu Martin Heidegger, 1978), “Jaspers comes to intuit that his own acclaimed labours may fade in the light of Heidegger’s outrageous, despotic stature.” Jaspers’s prediction of his own eclipse has to some extent proved correct, but, this brief passage notwithstanding, Steiner could surely do more to rekindle the flame.

In his essay The Idea of Europe (2004), Steiner refreshingly defines Europe not in the hackneyed economic and political terms that have been worn threadbare since Brexit, but as a cultural entity — in the more ancient and less restricted terms of the joint heritage of Athens and Jerusalem. In his conversation with Adler on the subject, he complains that Europe has become the continent of global tourism: “people travel there to see the old Europe. It’s turned into one big museum and living there is now a luxury. But talking about the future, a positive future, is difficult.” He speculates that we are entering “an era of derision,” where the religious questions that once drove civilization forward are now dismissed as “a romantic joke.” Shortly after the liberation of Heidelberg in 1945, Karl Jaspers was more optimistic about the fate of the European museum. Far from making those of us who remain in Europe into the tourist guides of a lifeless museum, he wrote: “To live as an interpreter who lovingly tends what must never be lost to the consciousness of mankind would not be to live badly […] Museum life becomes a life with an historical soul.”

It is perhaps with a similar sense of hope that Steiner sees the human condition mirrored in Europe, the reflection of a tragic vision incorporating hope as well as despair: “the two sides of the coin of the human condition.” Again, he reaches for Christian imagery: we are living in a “long Saturday” between the despair of Christ’s death on Friday, and the hope of his resurrection on Sunday. It is undeniable that the humanities have very often failed to humanize and, like Heidegger in the Third Reich, have even helped to shore up the establishment and unbalanced structures of power. But Steiner’s work shows that, in the hands of those who have been marginalized, the humanities also have the power to hold humankind to account and challenge us to become more human. There are no guarantees for the future, but this does not mean that hope is out of place. In answer to his own question, “Will humankind experience a Sunday?,” he gives a final, ambiguous response: “One wonders.”

We reach the end of A Long Saturday with the sense that not only in Steiner’s work, but for the future of the humanities, asking difficult questions is far more important than answering them.

¤

Guy Bennett-Hunter is a philosopher and writer based in London. He is the author of Ineffability and Religious Experience (2014).

The post Will It Ever Be Sunday? appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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IN A 1972 LETTER, Hannah Arendt speculates that a thinker has only one real thought in her life, everything else being nothing but variations on this single theme. First published in French in 2014, A Long Saturday is a short book of conversations between George Steiner and the journalist Laure Adler. The volume provides an overview of the main themes that have occupied Steiner’s mind throughout his life, but it also gives us reason to doubt Arendt’s conjecture. For while those of us familiar with Steiner’s oeuvre will hear in these conversations variations on familiar themes, we are left with no doubt as to the plurality of those themes. A Long Saturday shows Steiner to be a man of more than one book.

Steiner begins by speaking succinctly about his extraordinary biography, narrated more fully in his autobiographical Errata (1997). We hear of the effects of the “deformity” that has been part of his life since his birth in 1929, of his father’s prescience about what would happen in Europe (he had already left Vienna for Paris, where Steiner was born) and of the family’s narrow escape from Paris, in 1940, on the last American cruise ship leaving from Genoa, “just as the Germans were invading.” We are left to infer the relationships that may exist between Steiner’s biography and the themes to which his writing has kept returning over the years. As he says, “there must be some connection between statement and a life.”

Steiner’s reflections on Judaism and the state of Israel are penetrating and provocative. He has previously described Judaism as “this small, sharp-edged pebble in the shoes of mankind,” an image on which he elaborates here with instances where Judaism has held humanity to account. First, in the formation of monotheism, “the least natural thing in the world” (in contrast to the multiplicity of ancient Greek deities), the divine becomes inconceivable, unimaginable, and unreachable, yet continues — unbearably — to dispense exacting moral demands. Secondly, in Christianity, the Jewish Jesus’s commandment to sell everything and give the money to the poor reinterprets altruism not as a virtue but as a duty. (Steiner reminds us that the Sermon on the Mount is made up of quotations from Isaiah, Jeremiah, and Amos.) Finally, the Marxist championing of justice condemns a person in a fine house with empty rooms while there are people without homes. “Three times, Jews have demanded, ‘Become a person. Become Human.’ It’s frightening. And then as a side note, Freud comes and takes away our dreams. He doesn’t even let us dream in peace.”

Freud elicits criticism from Steiner: “I’ve tried, Laure, believe me, with all my strength, to desire my mother sexually and to make an enemy of my father; I’ve tried and it hasn’t worked at all.” Aside from his misgivings about the Freudian idea of the Oedipus complex (on an uncharacteristically literal reading, it has to be said), Steiner defines human dignity as “having the strength to carry your pain yourself. […] To unload on someone else, for payment, appalls me.” He objects that the practice of psychotherapy simply doesn’t exist in life’s “true horrors” — in the death camps, for example. But he is forgetting about Viktor Frankl, the founder of the third Viennese school of psychotherapy, after Freud and Alfred Adler. Frankl not only conducted group psychotherapy sessions for his fellow prisoners in Auschwitz, but also drew on his experiences there to write his unique “On the Psychology of the Concentration Camp.” These contributions are surely no less valuable than the “living books” of whom Steiner speaks: prisoners who could be consulted like texts because they “knew thousands of pages — including the Torah, the Talmud — almost entirely by heart.”

On the origins of anti-Semitism, in My Unwritten Books (2008), Steiner ventures to invert received opinion. The charge of deicide, which has been leveled at Jews for centuries, in fact stands for its opposite: “The Jew is hated not because he killed God but because he has invented and created Him.” Steiner reads monotheism as humanity’s self-critique, by means of which we have placed on ourselves an unbearable psychological and moral burden. From the unimaginable, unreachable God, whose name cannot be uttered, still emanate moral commandments beyond the best intentions of most of us. Whether or not Steiner is right about the origins of anti-Semitism, he manages to articulate a vexing philosophical tension that has persisted in almost all forms of religion since Judaism: that between divine ineffability and human answerability to a God who can never be grasped. Many of the anecdotes that Steiner recounts in A Long Saturday will be familiar to his loyal readers, including the one about the man in Kiev, who accosts Steiner in Yiddish, having recognized that he is a Jew. However, he doesn’t repeat the version in My Unwritten Books, where he asks the man how he knew (“But surely it’s obvious. The way you walk.”), and reflects beautifully on his reply: “Like one, I suppose, who has two thousand years of menace at his heels.”

At least since Language and Silence (1967), Steiner has been preoccupied with the power and limitations of language. Even as a child, he was aware that phrases, lines, and passages of great literature have the power to change everything for their readers, and he speaks compellingly to Adler about the “talismanic” phrases that connect us to life. Steiner views language as an essential vehicle for the expression of ideas, and he mourns the “billions” of thoughts that, for all we know, have been lost for ever for want of a means of expression. For him, the amazement is not only that someone “like you and me” could think as Descartes did, but also that such a thinker had the powers to capture his thoughts in writing. “Can we conceive of a person waiting for lunch or going to tea after writing down what God said in the book of Job?” Yet Steiner is as fascinated by language’s limitations as he is by its extraordinary powers. He reflects on forms of communication that go beyond speech, like music and mathematics, and on the ineffable, which transcends language — on what cannot be said or, like “the ultimate experience of the Shoah,” one shouldn’t even try to say. Steiner is drawn to the points at which language is felt to resist, where the poet and the philosopher each feel the continuity of the other’s work with their own.

These themes of ineffability and transcendence remind the reader that, for Steiner, theological questions (but not answers) are essential for an adequate understanding of artistic creation. Although the “God-question” no longer fuels the majority of contemporary art, literature, and philosophy, Steiner writes (in My Unwritten Books) that, in essence “poiesis, creation, has been an imitatio of, a wrestling with, what is taken to be divine making.” It is startling to find Steiner reaching for Christian imagery here, arguing that the nature of artistic creation is best understood Eucharistically, as the bringing into being of a “real presence.”

On this, he is part of an illuminating yet neglected line of European thinking about art. Drawing on Mallarmé via Valéry, Hans-Georg Gadamer used the same analogy to explain that, unlike prosaic, “everyday” language, poetic language doesn’t simply refer to something because that to which it refers is actually there, really present in the poem. Before Gadamer, Maurice Merleau-Ponty described the “transubstantiations” effected by the artist, as she transforms everything that she wants to present into paint or some other media. In A Long Saturday, we find expressed in summary form an idea developed at length and more or less systematically in Real Presences (1989) and Grammars of Creation (2001): that theological questions are prerequisite to a full understanding of the meaning of artistic creation — and indeed of meaning in general.

Steiner is a polyglot who has devoted his life to the study of the humanities. He is the epitome of a contemporary European humanist yet scathing about what Adler introduces as ��so-called European humanism.” “Yes,” he replies, “it’s all in the ‘so-called.’ You might have hoped that Goethe’s garden wouldn’t be next to the Buchenwald camp; but you come out of Goethe’s garden and you’re right in a concentration camp.” The thought is not just that the humanities “put up no resistance” to the atrocities in Europe’s not-too-distant past, but also that in general they fail to humanize — perhaps they even make us inhuman. Our cultivated responsiveness to the suffering of fictional characters can perhaps displace and deaden our response to the suffering of real people. The cry of a character in a play or a novel may drown out the cry in the street.

To illustrate his point that the humanities offered “no resistance,” Steiner gives the example of the subject of yet another of his books: Martin Heidegger, who became the first Nazi rector of Freiburg University in 1933. Intellectually, Steiner is enormously indebted to Heidegger’s writings — without, however, feeling able to defend the man who wrote them. It’s here, significantly, that Steiner does permit a metaphorical reading of the Oedipus complex. Adler asks about Heidegger’s troubled relationship with his Jewish mentor, Edmund Husserl, to whom he owed much of his professional success. Steiner rightly dismisses the unfounded, persistent rumor that, as rector of the university, Heidegger personally banned his mentor from the library. But Heidegger did sign the circular letter that forbade Husserl from entering the building used by the philosophy faculty. Steiner comments that,

as in all great relationships, the student will try to destroy the master. Here, if you like, you are welcome to use Freud’s word ‘oedipal,’ with my respects […] The murder of the father from an intellectual point of view, from a theoretical point of view.

Adler encourages Steiner to explain Heidegger’s refusal to apologize for his behavior after the war, despite encouragement from his friend Karl Jaspers. Steiner responds simply: “Vanity.” But Adler’s mention of Jaspers’s name implicitly raises a stronger challenge to Steiner’s “no resistance” charge against the humanities. Jaspers was married to a Jew, and he remained in Germany with his wife during the years of Nazi rule. Banned by the Nazis from teaching and publishing, Jaspers kept writing. After the liberation, he became among the first to reflect publicly on the collective guilt felt in Germany. And although he felt isolated, Jaspers was not alone. In fact, there were many humanist intellectuals — writers, artists, philosophers — who resisted. The problem is that their stories remain largely unheard. As Steiner describes in My Unwritten Books, Jaspers wrestled in his notebooks with incomprehension over Heidegger’s collaboration with the Nazis. Steiner observes that, in these notebooks (posthumously published as Notizen zu Martin Heidegger, 1978), “Jaspers comes to intuit that his own acclaimed labours may fade in the light of Heidegger’s outrageous, despotic stature.” Jaspers’s prediction of his own eclipse has to some extent proved correct, but, this brief passage notwithstanding, Steiner could surely do more to rekindle the flame.

In his essay The Idea of Europe (2004), Steiner refreshingly defines Europe not in the hackneyed economic and political terms that have been worn threadbare since Brexit, but as a cultural entity — in the more ancient and less restricted terms of the joint heritage of Athens and Jerusalem. In his conversation with Adler on the subject, he complains that Europe has become the continent of global tourism: “people travel there to see the old Europe. It’s turned into one big museum and living there is now a luxury. But talking about the future, a positive future, is difficult.” He speculates that we are entering “an era of derision,” where the religious questions that once drove civilization forward are now dismissed as “a romantic joke.” Shortly after the liberation of Heidelberg in 1945, Karl Jaspers was more optimistic about the fate of the European museum. Far from making those of us who remain in Europe into the tourist guides of a lifeless museum, he wrote: “To live as an interpreter who lovingly tends what must never be lost to the consciousness of mankind would not be to live badly […] Museum life becomes a life with an historical soul.”

It is perhaps with a similar sense of hope that Steiner sees the human condition mirrored in Europe, the reflection of a tragic vision incorporating hope as well as despair: “the two sides of the coin of the human condition.” Again, he reaches for Christian imagery: we are living in a “long Saturday” between the despair of Christ’s death on Friday, and the hope of his resurrection on Sunday. It is undeniable that the humanities have very often failed to humanize and, like Heidegger in the Third Reich, have even helped to shore up the establishment and unbalanced structures of power. But Steiner’s work shows that, in the hands of those who have been marginalized, the humanities also have the power to hold humankind to account and challenge us to become more human. There are no guarantees for the future, but this does not mean that hope is out of place. In answer to his own question, “Will humankind experience a Sunday?,” he gives a final, ambiguous response: “One wonders.”

We reach the end of A Long Saturday with the sense that not only in Steiner’s work, but for the future of the humanities, asking difficult questions is far more important than answering them.

¤

Guy Bennett-Hunter is a philosopher and writer based in London. He is the author of Ineffability and Religious Experience (2014).

The post Will It Ever Be Sunday? appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

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