#lamb of god who i got into when i was 12

[the-new-hip-priest]

The other night my partner was winding me up for moaning about the lack of goth clubs and prevalence of emo nights in Sydney, so I played him some Bring Me The Horizon and he shut right up. The full version of Bela Lugosi’s Dead doesn’t seem so bad now, does it?

[hauntingblue]

Gear 5 luffy's laugh is so contagious I just hear the drums and go insane how does this work. What did he do to me

[ctrlhope]

Bound By Blood (m)

synopsis: A servant to the state since birth, forced to work for the royal family until you die. These are the conditions that have granted you life, yet are they are the same ones that can take everything away. He can take everything away. But he would never, for you are his future, his eternity.

k.taehyung x f.reader

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: wc: 16.0k

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: genre: royalty au, soft yandere, fluff, smut, smidge of angst

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: content: soft yandere!prince!taehyung, maid!reader, power imbalance, talks about death/violence, blood, slight predator/prey dynamics, manipulation, misunderstandings, dom!tae, tae calls reader lamb, oral (f.receiving), marriage related dirty talk, virginity kink/loss of virginity, size kink, praise, reader is fucked dumb, implied kissing reader while she sleeps, implied offscreen somno, implied stalking, ownership, tae is rlly sweet and adorable

❦︎ ݁ ˖┊: notes: hello!!! this was meant to be a drabble but as you can see it spiralled out of control lmao. i got a little hyper fixated (and grew a really bad crush on this taehyung) so it ended up being way longer than i initially thought! regardless, i hope you all enjoy it as much as i did writing it!!

18+ -> minors / blank blogs dni

The Kim Empire. 

Your home, your family, your livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

They practically brandish your mind, have been since you were no more than a babe. Stuck in the clutches of everything Kim since you were born. Your mother a maid, your father gone from the face of the earth. At least as far as you are concerned he is, anyway. 

He is better off dead. The alternative of him living scott free in some far off land, meanwhile you have to serve the hand and foot of the king sets no more than the bitter taste of coffee beans against your gums. 

Bedding your mother, no more than a fresh-faced maid at the time. Outcasting her the second after when he had to have known the rules of the palace. The demise it would cost both her and her future daughter. Perhaps every generation that followed as well– if there were to be any, that is. 

Housestaff are not meant to have relationships. They are meant to serve the king and his bountiful family. How are you meant to do anything else with a child bouncing at your hip, a husband grabbing at your ass. 

You’ve heard the speech plenty of times. The words ingrained in your skull just as the brand you received when you were far too young to remember the pain of it. Evidence that you are bound to the palace by blood until the very moment you take your last breath. 

The punishment for becoming pregnant within the walls of the palace are simple: your child belongs to them. For anything within the Kim Estate is their rightful property, given to them by the grace of god. 

You, a gift from god to serve the empire. You would snort at the notion if training from a young age prohibited it. You are just a result of your mothers kindness, her naivety. 

You could never find it within your heart to blame her. She was just a girl who thought she was in love. Fired for her love. Had her daughter taken from her to serve for her love.

Love is something you will never be granted the property of. 

You will be granted an allowance to send home to your mother to keep her afloat. You will be granted a room to sleep in, clothes to wear, food to eat. A secure job in which you can never be fired– well. That is a lie. Though, your termination would come at the end of an axe, rather than a piece of paper. 

You used to muse at the thought– when you were a young girl, no more than 11 or 12. Going through your melancholy years, hating the rest of the world for simply existing. For putting you in a position where you could not change your fate, instead had to endure your present. Feeling like a  girl trapped in a tower just like the bedtime stories had always prescribed. 

One time you had caused such a ruckus in front of the oldest Kim son you really did think you were going to get the axe. Hell, you were even prepared for it. Locked away in a cell for two nights, brought before the executor. 

Right before the swing was meant to be brought down against your neck the head maid ran into the room, gave some sort of letter to the man. She apologised profusely, gripping your ear and dragging you away from the scene. 

You hadn’t acted ary since then. It taught you your place. Made you realise the need to survive buried deep within your bones. In the innate way some sort of wildcat would lash out until it was bloodied and on its last breath. 

You would not die at the end of a knife. You’d live your life, acting a maid until you could die peacefully of old age. Even if it meant surrendering yourself to servitude for the most annoying brat you’ve ever laid eyes on. 

A quiet sigh slips past your lips at the mere thought of him. The sound would get you punished if anyone were to hear, especially in respect to the coveted crown prince of the kingdom. Few share the same opinion as you of him– but then again most that work here aren’t forced. 

It is only when the stars are strung high in the sky that you allow yourself to feel such things. When you stay awake past the beginning of rest hours, most of the staff (save for the night shift) falling to sleep hours prior. Only then when you’re out in the gardens do you allow indignation to satiate your brain. 

For the few hours of freedom you may hold dear until the next morning begins and you are forced to live the same day once more. Over and over again until the end of time. 

Your fingertips reach out as you walk, bruised from the scrubbing of floors, to find purchase against the walls of flowers rimming the maze. Rough fingertips dance against the gentle petals of roses, lulling in the feeling. Picking themselves against the thorns without much of a thought, not withdrawing. Only pausing feet to observe. 

How can something so delicate and beautiful wish to cause harm? It does not. It simply desires a way to survive. You could never fault it for that. 

“Pretty, are they not?” A dark, husky voice sends cold down your spine. Hairs become on edge, back straightens taught, ears perk just as if you are an obedient dog. Fear flashing through your entire being.

You do not wish to turn around. Do not have any want to face the man that has caught the air in your lungs. The one catching you in the garden without any proper attire in place. Though you must. You must bow, grovel at his feet for forgiveness for allowing him to see you in your nightgown. For not being in bed as you should. 

Prince Kim has never been known for being kind. 

Your body acts for you while your mind sets on pause– taking several steps forward, bending your body at the hips to give a proper 90 degree bow. Your hands clasp before you, hair coming down in front of your face. 

“Prince Kim–” You rush, suddenly out of breath, “Please forgive my insolence. I-I am not of right attire or mind to be standing in front of his excellency right now. Nor should I be excused for touching the property of the palace. I have no proper excuse and any punishment you decide will be deserving. Please forgive me.” The words recite from your lips like a bible– instruction of them being heard time and time again. 

Cold night air whips at your ankles, fluttering the gown around your ankles. The chill only adding to the cold sweat you’ve discovered has perspired. Making your hair dance around your shoulders.

You expect something, anything really. A slap, a single word. Though there is only silence in response. Silence that extends far too long and feels far too pungent for your taste. If he was going to do something, you rather he just get it over with. 

After what feels like an eternity, you finally hear the baritone of his voice once more.

“Pretty, are they not?” He asks again, repeating the same sentiments as before. Confusion bristles through as a kite in the summer air. Why is he asking you this? Is he not annoyed he caught a maid in such a level of disrobement? What is he trying to gain? What does he want? 

All the questions you do not have any hope to answer rush through you causing you to feel confused and incomposed. Every boring lesson you were forced to sit through never taught you how to deal with this exact situation. You aren’t sure what he wants, nor your place in the garden. The thought scares you. 

Against your better judgement, you allow your chin to tilt up only slightly. Only enough to look at the man– to try and read the expression on his face so you can better analyse your next action. 

The shock you feel when you find his face is only inches from your own, frame bent down to make his eyes level with yours is something you cannot explain in words alone. 

You would prefer to scream and run, however that is not an option at this moment, or so it appears. Instead, your eyes only widen in shock, in trepidation. Your mouth opens into a small ‘o’ as you stare.

Never before have you made eye contact with a member of the family. Never before have you had the luxury to view one so close. In any other circumstance, you suppose, you would surely be punished for such a thing. Someone lower should never view a future king in such a way.

You wish you could say he was a heinous, ugly beast for hatred of the palace alone. Yet you can’t, for he isn’t. He is beautiful. 

Sure, you knew that already. Paintings of him are plastered across the walls– his face is everywhere eyes are able to reach. Yet this close, at this angle, you can’t stop the way your heart skips a beat. Can’t help but admire every facet of his complexion before being thrown in front of the lion again. 

A gorgeous, blinding smile wipes across his face the moment you face him. Lips forming into an adorable box after he finally has your attention fully drawn on him. You’re startled back once again, sending your brain into a further whirlwind than before. 

He desires an answer.

“I um… Yes. I suppose they are.” You nod slowly in response, following in his footsteps as he returns to full height. 

You must follow his lead– it is how you will survive. 

You usher a stray lock of hair over your shoulder, trying to stop it from hitting your face. The air starts to become stale again, feeling empty in the lack of his reply. It is awkward, and the way he stares at you, eyes darting around your face– your figure, has you feeling in some sort of girlish, embarrassed way. 

You think you dislike the feeling. 

“Are you a fan of roses?” His arms are pulled behind him, wrapped together as he bounces on his toes in something that looks like… boyish delight? The muddle of your brain can't help to understand a single thing. He is making no sense, trying to make conversation with you. Trying to find a morsel of companionship in someone who is meant to bow to him like he is the true god of your mortal plain.

You will have to oblige until he allows you to depart. 

“I suppose so.” 

He frowns. Try again.

“I adore them, the palace always has the most gorgeous petals all year round.” You smile at him, hoping it masks any discomfort you feel. 

The smile returns to his own lips as he begins to walk. Tilting his head to you as a cue to join him. You try to keep your paces a few behind his own, a maid should never walk beside a member of the family. Though he only slows in response, matching your gate even though it is obvious he hates having to slow down. 

Why is he behaving in this manner? It makes no sense to you. 

“The flower of devotion.” He nods, breaking the silence once more and keeping his eyes straight ahead. 

You almost want to admire his profile– the gentle curve of his nose, yet you refrain. Training your eyes ahead, keeping your fingers laced in front of you. Trying to look as put together as possible at this moment. 

“Is it?” You quiz, unable to take the awkward silence anymore. He doesn’t seem to mind it. Unbothered, tucking his hands into the pockets of his loose, flowing sleep pants. 

“Of many other things, as well.” He nods, sending a slight smile at you. 

“I don’t know much about the language of flowers.” Though it feels wrong to be talking with Prince Kim so casually, you try your best. The more you give in, mayhaps the sooner he’ll bore and the faster you will be able to run from the cage. 

“Tell me your favourite, maybe I can tell you its meaning.” He pauses and you find yourself at the foot of the gazebo. He reaches out his hand, offering to help you up the small stairs of it. 

All over again you find yourself taken aback. The prince is requesting that you touch him, not for his service, but your own. He desires to help you. Is for some reason treating you like a lady. 

You don’t understand it, yet with great hesitation you oblige. You place your hand on his much larger one, allowing it to encase it. Help you up the stairs.

“I don’t know many…” You hope he cannot hear the hesitation in your tone, “Though I’ve always been fond of lilies.” You tell him, attempting to pull your hand away from his own as you reach the top. 

He doesn’t allow it, keeping your small palm tight in his own. Fear trickles in once more, circling around your heart, constricting it. 

You knew you shouldn’t have trusted him in the slightest. It is here where you shall face punishment for all the previous misdemeanours committed. White stone shall be painted with red and you will be left to your own devices to clean up the mess.

Your lungs start to take in more air, though of course you try to disguise it. Turning around to face him, to discover why he has kept you held firm, air is leaving your lungs for another reason entirely. 

He holds your hand close, examining your fingers. Tilting it back and forth, smoothing his thumb over the back of your skin. If he takes note of the little dots of red, he doesn’t make comment of it. He only curls his fingers upwards, hooking against your own. Bringing your hand up to his lips as if it was the most delicate thing on earth. Staring at them with a passion you doubt you’ve ever seen before.

“Rebirth.” His breath fans across your knuckles, slowly lowering to place a gentle kiss against the skin. His lips are soft, so gentle against your weary flesh. So full of safety, so full of song.

When he retracts, he pulls away no more than a millimeter, though his grip tightens. 

“Purity.”

Your first meeting with the prince had left you with a flurry of emotions, none of which you could hope to syphon through. For hours he kept you in the gazebo, sitting with you. Talking until it appeared the sun was cresting over the horizon. 

He refused to release your hand the entire time. His fingers playing with your own, perhaps obsessed with the feeling of your tiny hand laced with his own pristine skin. Did not pay any attention the several times you tried to excuse yourself, only changing the subject of conversation to try and keep you in place.

It was strange. Confusing. You did not understand the reasoning or cause behind any of his actions. 

Well, at least until the next morning while you were scrubbing the floors. Your friend Annabell cleaning right by your side. Catching up, gossiping about the new recruits found in the manner. It is only times like these when you actually get the chance to talk, to giggle with someone meant to be your equal in both age and house status. 

The only chance you’re truly able to forget about the fact she is able to leave once her contract expires. But it does not matter– any small amount of spite you hold is slashed away by her kind smile. The understanding in her eyes as she treats you like just another maid set to work for the king instead of a captive. 

It is only after the 7th yawn of the morning she asks about the poorly covered bags under your eyes. You had gone to bed with the rest of the girls, there is no reason you should be so tired. You never appear to be, at least it is not shown around others.

You struggle with yourself for a moment, trying to decide whether the night before was meant to be kept as a closely guarded secret to your chest. Yet one look at your closest confidant had you spilling everything. 

The entire night– the stars, the flowers, the way he prattled on. How tight he gripped your dirty, calloused hand against his pristine soft ones. 

You feel strange speaking of it, remembering it in any way. It causes your cheeks to heat and a fury to settle below your ribs. 

It is a strange feeling, yet not an entirely unwanted one. 

Your eyes train to the floor as you spill your soul, unable to keep it in once it starts pouring out. You try to keep your tone as neutral as possible– to tell her about the night as if it was a simple news story you heard from a guard. Though, you’re unsure of your success in the matter. 

A poised laugh leaves the lips of your counter, her eyes cresting into half-moons. 

“You cannot be serious right? You tell stories.” She giggles, shaking her head before continuing her assault on the floor. 

You simply shake your own. 

“It happened, I was as shocked in the moment as you seem to be now.” She lets out a small bellow of giggles once again. 

“No, no. I believe it happened entirely. I’m only talking about the fluster of your face.” She giggles, lifting her rag and shaking it for dramatic effect. You roll your eyes, cracking a small smile.

“There is no such thing.” You laugh knowing that there is. 

“Oh my heavens. Y/n, you cannot tell me you’ve grown fond of the Prince, have you?” Her words are hushed now, much more so than before. As if someone may be listening to the conversation. 

You tense in reply, unsure of the answer yourself. The closest you’ve ever felt to fondness of another man was a stable boy a few years back. Only 17 at the time, head wrapped in romance novels that you didn’t entirely understand. He was handsome and he was kind. However just as you were starting to become closer to him, he was sent away to work at another palace. 

You had not been optimistic since then.

She takes your silence as an answer in itself. Moving towards you, gripping your shoulders and hauling you to sit on your haunches. Forcing you to look at her face as she speaks. 

“You cannot be serious.” She repeats again, hoping for any sign of doubt. All she receives is bewilderment in reply, “Y/n. You can never trust Prince Kim.” 

You sigh, “I know, Anne, I–” You’re cut off with her own voice again.

“No, not in the way you’re imagining.” She sighs, letting her hands drop from your shoulders to continue scrubbing at the floor. Making work of herself as she speaks, “The other maids don’t tell you of much, do they?” 

You can’t deny it. Your seclusion within the castle walls is only partly of your own design. 

Other maids do not feel as though they can trust you, seeing as you are full property of the crown. In their eyes, you hold not a crumb of loyalty to your own kind. Few maids speak to you like Annabell does for fear the second they say anything wrong you are going to tell the world. 

You would never, though your word is worth its weight in feathers to them.

“They don’t care for me as you do… no…” You admit, continuing to clean as well. She already knew the answer, letting out an exhale before she speaks.

“Prince Kim has a pension for… debauchery… I shall say,” She flinches at her own words, yet doesn’t know a better way to put it, “The variety in which he uses pretty words to seduce young ladies to bed with him. Royalty from other lands, general’s daughters, maids. It matters not. He likes them for the night then pretends they shall never exist again.” 

Each word she speaks sends another stab into your gut. A dull pain blooming from the same places which a swirling was forming before. 

Ah. It all makes sense now. 

“Oh.”

“He has a particular fondness for the other maids, you know. Bedding them without a second thought.” A grimace forms on your friend's lips, scrubbing harder into the already shining floors, “There is no reason to form any sort of affection for that man. It will only end with his seed inside your core and a knife in your heart.” 

Yes, everything she is saying makes perfect sense. You feel almost stupid to not see it before. Maybe you just didn’t want to see it– want to think about it in any sort of fashion. But this makes much more sense than the crown prince wanting to speak to you for any other purpose. Explains why he was acting as a true gentleman to someone so much lower than him. 

However, you find that it does not take away the cavernous pit that has formed in your gut. 

“I see, I have no desire for either.” You nod your head in understanding, not sure of what else to say. “I don’t understand why he’s taken an interest in me, though.” 

She gawks, “I don’t understand why it has taken him so long to in the first place.” She shakes her head.

“Nevertheless, it doesn’t matter. Y/n, you must promise me. You will not fall for him, nor give any part of yourself to him. He is not someone that will care for you like you deserve.” She states, blue eyes piercing icicles into your own. She is determined and will not relent until you agree.

“I do not wish to. Not after hearing all of…” You make some sort of motion with your hand, “that. Anyone would be a fool to like him.” 

You nod your head while Annabell smiles in agreement. 

“Good.” 

Those are the last words you exchange with anyone for hours. The rest of the day passed by with lightning, an endless turnstile of things to take care of. A ball was to be held soon meaning the castle would be a wreck for the next few days. Too much planning, cleaning, sewing, coordination had to take place before anyone could rest. 

Honestly, you were grateful for it. A break from thinking was much needed. As is a good night’s rest. 

You sigh, already imagining how lovely it would feel to pull off your shoes for the day. Peel the cotton off your body and replace your dress with something more comfortable. 

Oo! Hopefully enough warm water will be left for a quick bath. That would be just wonderful, your muscles would be able to unfurl. The perfect thing to lull you into a glorious sleep.

Your arms stretch over your head as you finish descending the staircase into the maid hallways. Bones in your back pop from the pressure, causing a sigh to make its way from your lungs. Your nimble fingers make their way to the ribbon holding your hair in place, untying it and allowing the tresses to fall. 

Soon you would be in the maid resting quarters– your appearance would matter not there anyway. 

You send small smiles to other staff members passing you, those that have either just woken for the night or those who still have work to do. Yet in return, each one of them just stares at you with an incredulous look. Turning and whispering to their friends as if you were not still in front of them. 

You can’t help to understand why. Those around you may not have considered you a friend, but they were never rude. Always polite when need be. It has you feeling strange, some type of nervousness as you get closer and closer to the hallway extending to the maids personal rooms. 

Rounding the corner, you discover exactly why. 

His frame looks entirely out of place standing there. A perfect, pristine picture in a hallway of drab, illuminated only by the lanterns hanging on the wall. Royal blue tunic draped on his shoulders only emphasising his status. 

He looks as though he was never meant to be here. Like a mistake was made along the cobblestone walls. No, he looks as though he is meant to be among the living. Not in your dreary, windowless life. Nothing could change that. 

You stand there frozen, a deer caught in the lanturn of a hunting party. A pounding of your heart, as well as the dark swell of your gut coming back to life. Why is he here? Why the hell does he have a bouquet of flowers?!

You wish to scream, but you don’t. You have already been caught. 

His eyes look up from where he created a small pile of dirt on the floor. His face coming alight in an instant, pushing himself to full stature from where he once leaned against the wall. Long legs making their way towards you while he suddenly has the decency to hide the bouquet behind his back. 

Annabell certainly did not mention this method of Prince Kim’s seduction. You had never seen him down here before. 

“Hi.” Is all he says once he is finally face to face with you. His face bright and youthful. Excited.

It seems all formalities have been dropped in his mind, though you refuse the notion. 

“Prince Kim.” You simply reply, lowering yourself in a curtsy. 

He pays no mind, almost pretending you never did it in the first place. Instead, he simply rocks back and forth on his heels, bouncing slightly in delight. Wanting something, unable to voice it. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, hoping to end the encounter swiftly to stop all of the prying eyes leering into your being. 

“I brought you something.” His eyes do not break contact with yours once and you can see his hand twitch by his side as if it wants to reach out for something. You're glad he has the decency to hold back, so you shall do the same by pretending you never saw the flowers in the first place. 

You choose not to ask yourself why he brought you a present. It must just be a trick of seduction.

“I am honoured to accept such a thing.” You send a small smile his way, something between real and fake. It seems to make him beam. 

His arm comes out from behind, holding the flowers between both of your bodies. You look down at them, shock written across your features. 

Sure, you had noted them as flowers before. But you think these may be the prettiest ones you’ve seen in your whole life. Petals of orange, white, and purple cloud in your eyes. Stomatas filled with the sweet pollen.

Lilies. All different kinds– ones you’ve never seen before.

They’re out of season, at least you think they are. How did he get these? Why is he giving them to you? Why is he trying to get the butterflies to return? Why is he trying to make your heart explode?

“Prince Kim…” You’re not sure what to say– instead gently reaching out to feel the velvet of a petal. Staring intently at their colours, unable to pull your eyes away. 

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” His voice is a husk of a whisper, as if you’re the only two in the hallway. As if other maids are not passing, as if they are not staring at the two of you.

“Yes… I… I’m not sure what to say.” It is all so hypnotic. 

“Thank you would be a good beginning, no?” His smile is soft, a light chuckle present in the tone.

You pause, tilting your head to look up at him fully– a large, real smile donning your lips.

“Yes. Thank you.” 

You feel as if you are floating, just as you would when reading those romance books in your late teen years. Like the world has stopped moving save for the prince in front of you slowly passing the flowers into your arms. 

Your hands brush against each other and you feel his fingers twitch, tightening ever so slight. Wishing to grab onto your hand just as he had done the night before. Wishing to insect every line that traces over your fresh once more.

However, he refrains. Allowing his ringed fingers to sink themselves into his pockets.

“I was just going to have them delivered. I’m not really meant to be down here, you know,” His smile is shy, “But I didn’t know your room. That, and I wanted to see you again.” 

You look down, unable to keep the eye contact he presses you for. Prince Kim is too much for you. You don’t understand how he couldn’t be too much for anyone. 

“Oh…” You’re a flush, “Thank you for saying that.” 

“It is nothing to thank me for.” He chuckles, bangs dimming the hues of his eyes, “I’m sure I bored you with all of my ramblings.” 

He did, partly, but that was more discombobulation for the situation and a sense of tiredness creeping into your bones. You shake your head quickly.

“Of course not. I had.. Fun.” Mayhaps fun isn’t the right term, yet there is no word that exactly describes your emotions of last night, nor the ones of today.

“As did I.” His lips are tight in a smile again, feet bouncing on their heels once more. He’s nervous, wants to say something again but isn’t sure how.

You’re not sure how to feel about learning what that habit means. Not sure how to feel about what any of this means. You have not had a moment alone to truly dissect what all of it is. 

“I would love to spend the night talking to you again, if you would allow me.” You don’t think you would love anything more, yet you know you would not be able to function. Would probably make a fool of yourself, too. 

“I-I think it would be best if I were to get some rest… I had not even an hour before I had to start working last night.” 

He frowns, “That’s not good for your health…” He pauses, searching your face for any signs of distress, “Then let's talk in your room. I will only stay until you sleep.” 

You pause, air drifting back into your lungs.

Ah. Right. 

The words of your friend sink in once again, breaking you out of whatever trance he had put you under. Whatever spell he laced through both of your ears to have you singing songs of praises for him and the crown. 

He wants you as a notch in a bedpost. Nothing more. It is clear as day and you are a fool to think anything other than that. This is all just a cleverly rehearsed show. You will not fall victim like your mother. 

All royalty is the same. Use use use. Beat a dead horse until it stops coughing up any sort of reprise. 

Your posture is suddenly tense, fist gripping the flowers so tight your knuckles appear white. 

How dare he think so low of you. How dare he think he might be able to fuck you for nothing. 

“Men are not allowed in the women's private quarters.” Your voice is staunch, though it is not as if he can tell nor cares. 

If he does, he doesn’t show it. 

“Ah,” The lilt is still evident in his tone, the cat playing with the mouse, “But I am not any man, am I?” His body leans a bit closer, pulling his face parallel to your own. Smirk playing on his lips. 

Beauty is a deceptive thing, isn’t it? “When I am king I’ll make it so I can see you whenever we both desire.” Something heats in your gut at those words, yet anger quells it just as fast. 

“It is a shame that you are not King yet, then.” You nod politely in his direction, trying to excuse yourself. Yet your words only seem to excite something in his eyes, lighting a fire behind them. 

“My, I didn’t know you felt that way.” He smiles coy. A flustered sensation overcomes you as you realise the double meaning behind your words. You had made it sound like you wanted him in that way when that could not be farther from the truth.

“I do not.” You state, your voice ice. Though once again, it seems that it does not pierce him. 

“There is no reason to be so cold, Y/n.” He sing songs, tapping one of his long fingers against the side of his head. 

“I am not being cold! You are just not listening.” You sigh in exasperation. Exhaustion and annoyance make you forget yourself, causing your volume to rise just as his own does. This only seems to excite him more. 

“I have heard enough.” He giggles, boyish and what others would describe as cute. Right before you’re able to argue back once again, he cuts in with his own voice once more.

“I will leave you for now. Find a pretty place for the flowers.” 

He smiles generously at you, beginning to walk away, “Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.” 

In your shamble of a disposition, you’re left stuck there. Staring at his back as he retreats down the hallway. 

The shock of everything that had just transpired coming over you all at once. How poorly you had behaved. How you spoke to him. He could have you killed for any one of those things however instead he left you with a bouquet of flowers and a promise for another night. 

You scramble to find yourself, to move yourself from out of the eyeline of every other maid. To make your way to your room, your one sanctuary as quickly as possible. 

It is only when you’re in those walls, hard oak door shut firmly beside you that you have to remind yourself of your promise to your best friend. Remember that the prince fights his battles with words and emotions. 

Your second meeting with the man had left you even more confused than the first. Thousands of questions and emotions real through your bones at a pace your brain can’t manage to understand. Leaves you fuming, trying to form a single coherent thought as you analyse the last two nights with a ferocity unimagined. 

In your state, however, you neglect to think of the one question that should be dancing before you, held on a string just out of reach. 

Why did he know your name? 

It is apparent that since that night, Prince Kim has located which room you find habitance in. 

This morning, another letter has found itself slipped under the base of your door. They have become commonplace now– letters detailing apologies for why he was unable to visit, what he had gone about on his day, his regrets that he has not heard back from you in what feels like ages. 

He’s tried to speak to you a few times in the palace when you work. His eyes always trained on you with something you’re unable to describe when you clean nearby. 

You wish you could say it was perverse in manner, but it was nothing of the sort. 

Every once and awhile you would catch a lily pinned to his breast pocket. He would send you a secret smile whenever it caught your attention. As if it was a tale meant for only the two of you to know. As if he wanted to carry a portion of you with him.

You may be naive in saying so, nor do you have much experience in the matter, but these do not feel like the actions of a man who simply wishes to find home under your dress. These feel more personal. More extravagant than anything else. 

Nevertheless, you ignore every single advance. Annabell made you promise, and it was a promise you were intent on keeping until your dying breath. 

Put the letters away in a box, never to be responded to. Avoided looking at him whenever he was near. Rushed out of rooms when it appeared he was intent on  making his war for you.

Icing out the prince is what is best. Whatever lilies he will wilt and die and you will be able to continue on with your hatred of the Kim family as well as your blood pact with the throne. 

You only wish it was that easy.

“Y/n!! Miss Y/n!!” There is a scramble outside of the door, voices hailing for your presence. You don’t know why– you’re on wash duty. Anyone, unless they’re extraordinarily new, would know that. 

The voice grows more erratic, more panicked. As if their life depends on finding you in that very moment. The other maids in the quarters send their glaces to you, urging you to go yet not one opens their mouths. 

At least one bonus of endenturing your entire life to the palace is that you have grown in rank. More than 10 years has granted you a decent position. 

A hushed sigh slips past your lips and your hands find themselves forcing the pile of sheets into the washing tub. Your hands quickly wipe away at your apron, ridding them of any moisture before pushing open the door. 

Stepping into the hallway lined with stone you notice only a single girl. Her entire form shaking as she paces the hall– panicked. Blonde curls bouncing with every step, cheeks a fluster. 

A new recruit, indeed. Celley is the name she wears. 

She had just entered with the last batch of new maids, starting at the palace no more than 2 months ago. She was a recruit you were unsure of– not having a lick of grace or balance, nor any experience with serving. But you suppose there are many reasons maids are chosen. 

You do not like to think of them.

Her feet are suddenly clamouring over to you, noticing your presence for the first time since you’ve stepped in the hallway. Her small, shaking hands grip your shoulders, holding you with all the will she seems to possess. 

“Excuse me have you seen–” She stops herself, tiny pants pausing as her eyes go wide, “Oh my days! Miss Y/n! You must hurry!” She rushes, hand gripping your wrist as she tries to pull you away. 

Though your face twists in confusion, your feet remain firm. 

“What’s the matter?” You ask, both sympathy and concern entering your frame. You can admonish her later for her lack of manners, however now, the girl seems truly frightened. Her large steel eyes looking back at you, pleading. 

“The crown prince! He’s!” She’s out of breath once again, continuing to try and urge you on.

This time, the second the word prince is muttered, you begin to follow her pace, “He’s lost his mind! He’s going on a firing spree! Locking up anyone who tries to calm him!” 

“What? Why is that? Did something happen?” You ask hushed, urging the girl to keep her voice down. Though you both are similar in age, it is apparent who has experienced this type of thing before. 

“He got into some kind of spat with his father. His instructor was fired when he tried to continue on with their lesson.” It seems she understood your message, continuing to hurry you down the halls. 

“And what am I meant to do?” 

“I-I don’t know!” She lets out a quiet yelp, pulling you closer as you exit the maid hallways and enter the palace ones, “His personal maid is away visiting family. She said to leave everything to you if something were to happen! I-I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Damn Eleanor and everything she stands for. Why the hell did she have to bring your name into this?! Shouldn’t the head maid be called in times like this?! Not you, someone who wants nothing to do with any member of the royal family. Especially the crown prince himself. Sure, there must be rumours spreading around but you had managed nearly three weeks without speaking to him!

You let out a sigh, squaring your shoulders in an attempt to appear more confident, more put together. You will do this, and you will come out victorious. Every battle before has left you victor. What is one more?

“I understand. It will be dealt with.”

The least you can gain is the idyllic picture of the prince to be shattered forever. That would be the most ideal outcome, something to truly force him out of your heart for good. You will not fall prey to him and his earthly desires. He will not win your heart. 

At least that is what you hope. 

The throne room's doors stand before you, delicate lacings of gold worth more than your entire being etched into its surface. A glittering picture for what is sure to be a bloodbath behind its contents. 

A deep inhale of warm air fills your lungs, hand pressing against the door as you force it open. Face someone you have not wanted to see nor extinguish the flames of in nearly a month. 

He stands before you, 20 paces ahead. A broken bottle in his hand as he heaves, shoulders rising and falling with the passion of ten thousand suns. The look of murder in his eyes as he stares down at a maid, her form on the ground. Bowing with as much might as she can possess, looking for any exit possible. Few other maids stand around the room, keeping their heads low, avoiding any eye contact possible. 

Though he looks like a mad man– mayhaps a god of war himself, not a single hair is out of place on his head. He is still the picture of sovereignty. And though your breath spikes, you find that you are not afraid. 

What a strange feeling it is.

The creak of the door sends single to him, has him whipping his head to face you. Anger etched into his features, a new target befalling his sight.

You stand tall, moving towards him. You will rise to the position given to you, even if it shall mean your inevitable downfall. As long as the new staff are safe.

Only, when he looks to you, no wrath is found. No anger or deceit. The second his eyes meet your own, his expression drops along with the bottle in his hands. More glass littering the floor in its wake. 

His eyes soften, his lips turning from a sneer into a gentle frown. His shoulders automatically lower, and suddenly it appears that there is no one else in the room. His legs move automatically, carrying themselves to you with such a hurried pace you would have thought he had seen a long lost friend. 

Oddly, this scares you more than when he was angered. 

You start into a bow, “Prince Kim, I’ve come in place of–” 

His arms wrap themselves around you before you can speak another word. Pulling you in, wrapping you into his scent as you're pressed against his sturdy chest. Strong arms keep you in place as he tries to make his body become one with your own. 

His face buries itself into the crook of your neck, one hand raising to tie itself in your hair. It forces you to stay in place, stay attached to him just the way he wants you to be. Allows him to inhale, breathing in all of you. Finally delving into the scent that he has been craving.

Your eyes only widen, hands staying firm at your side in shock. Heart beginning to race, head becoming lost in the soaps that only a member of a family could possibly own. 

You’re not sure what to do. How to behave. As far as you are concerned or aware, this is something that no other has had happen before. At least not so openly. Not so brazenly in front of a myriad of other people. 

But, it seems to calm him. To placate him in a way you’re not sure anyone could explain. 

You try to make a small twisting motion with your hand, try to urge everyone else to leave while they have the chance. 

They seem to take it, exiting the room as fast as possible. 

You’re sure word of this will spread throughout the castle quickly. You hope the consequences will not be dire. 

“Prince Kim–” You begin to speak after everyone has cleared out, after he holds you for what feels like a lifetime. You can’t find it in you to want him to pull away, no matter how embarrassing this seems. 

“Shh,” He quickly silences you with a gentle press of his lips to your pulse, “Let me stay like this for a moment.” 

You are unable to move. Unable to breathe after he kisses you. War could begin in that very moment and you’re not sure you would have noticed in the slightest. You are stunned into obeying his whim as he simply inhales and exhales. 

The umber in his voice only comes after a millennia, after his shoulders have completely sagged. After all the tension is removed from his body. 

“You didn’t respond to my letters.” He still doesn’t pull away, his grip on your hair tightening a fraction. 

You pause.

“I…I didn’t know where to send them.” You lie and his hand loosens. The correct answer. 

“My study. Put them under the door to my study.” He instructs like a king would. 

You’re not sure why the tone of his voice sends shocks to your gut. Pooling into something you only find in your dreams.

“But if someone were to see them–” 

“Let them.” Mumbles in your ear to you and you alone, a growl practically spiking through his voice, “I want them to know.” 

Oh. This is new. This is definitely new. This is not the same way you felt with the stable boy years ago. This has become something entirely alienating. A completely different beast. You know that now as his baritone voice sends waves straight through your gut. 

You simply nod in reply, your mouth unwilling to say anything back. The arm around your lower back grows more firm.

“Tell me where you will put your replies.” He commands into your ear. 

“Under the door to your study.” Your reply is automatic, years of answering to the kingdom evident in your tone. 

He sighs, unfurling his fingers from your locks to gently pet the top of your head, “Good girl.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, soft as he touches you.

“Good lamb.”

You sigh, fingers deftly searching through your wardrobe for just a single pair of underwear. But once again, you turn up empty. It seems like every day that passes, another pair disappears without your knowledge. 

Perhaps one of the new girls is causing a fuss, messing up the laundry for everyone else. 

That is the only logical solution, at least. 

But logic doesn’t seem to make much sense at all anymore. You couldn’t hope to understand why few of your other belongings have come up indignant as well. 

Your favourite perfume, one of your stuffed animals, even your toothbrush! All have magically vanished from thin air over the course of the last week. 

It is too bad that you haven’t had the time to think about it, either. Preparations for the ball have been raging throughout the palace. Everyone has been on their toes, unwilling to face the wrath of the planners as they try to make everything perfect. 

You have had not one moment alone to think, either swept up in cleaning, decorating, or well… recently you and the prince have been going on walks through the garden at night. Though that doesn’t matter much. It doesn’t mean anything– just another thing he made you promise to. Claiming he wishes to spend as much time with you as he can. 

His recent fixation is trying to get you to call him by his true name. 

You would never dare, nothing is more inappropriate than such a title. It is something only his most beloved is meant to call him, and that person is certainly not you.

You try to force any thoughts of him out of your head, though it is clearly a fruitless endeavour. Especially with the dream you had the night prior. 

His hands finding themselves between your legs, touching you in a way no other has. 

You flush, quickly shaking all thoughts of the night away. 

The tea! Your tea, yes. A prescription from the doctor for this very thing.

More often than not, you wake to find a mess between your thighs. Sticky arousal between them in a perverse fashion. The region sensitive and overstimulated combined with a mess of dreams. More sexual in nature than ever before.

Embarrassed, you had turned to the only person you could trust. The palace staff’s doctor. 

She had told you it was normal– that you were simply having what she described as ‘wet-dreams’. The title alone made you feel embarrassed.

Nevertheless, she prescribed you a tea to help calm your nerves. It was meant to be passifying in nature, calming any lush desires you may have beginning to form. 

You were not sure how it functioned, however you trusted her. Found that it quelled whatever fire burned inside of your heart for the time being. 

Perhaps just a new oddity to add to your reality, you suppose. 

Finally, you find a proper set of undergarments to pull over your legs. Letting out a breath in relief now that you finally have them. 

Today is going to be busier than the last month combined– the ball is tonight. You know for a fact you will be rushed around the palace all day, fixing everything into an acute sense of perfection that only the Kim family is known for. 

You reach to spray your second favourite  perfume across your skin, only to find that the bottle has gone missing as well.

Your hairs stand on edge, a dark pit forming in your stomach.

It is all too strange for you to want to understand. 

Okay, now you’re sure Annabell must be wrong. She has to be, right? There is no other conclusion possible. 

The thoughts run through your head as you pace the small confines of your room. Thumb between your lips, biting the skin feverishly. Contemplating what it is exactly that you should do. A heavy box sitting on your bed, a letter laying next to it along with a single lily.

A month ago, you met Prince Kim in the gardens. A month ago you spoke to him all night long. A month ago he brought you flowers. He has been leaving you letters ever since. Three weeks ago he held you in his arms, made you promise to write him back. Made you promise to meet him in the gardens as many nights as you can. 

But this, you could not accept. You could not possibly think this is real. Why has he gifted you something like this?

A dress lays on your bed. The most gorgeous dress you have ever seen, in fact. Lined with crystals and gems, many layers of tulle poof from the underskirt. It must’ve cost a fortune, but it was not meant for you.  It is a dress meant for a princess, not a simple maid of the palace. Not… Not someone the prince simply wanted to bed. 

So why did it lie here, along with a lace mask and a pair of shoes. Why did it come with a note from the Prince, telling you to put it on for tonight's events? Is this why the head maid dismissed you so early?

No. You could not. You will not make a fool of yourself. You do not belong up there, dressed as a princess when you are far from the thing. That is your decision. It will be the one you stick to.

Even as hours tick past on the clock, even as you can hear the night in full swing, you stay locked in your room. Feeling the same as you did when you were a girl locked in the dungeon all those years ago. Helpless, indignant, stubborn. 

Lost in your thoughts as you try to piece together a puzzle that has several spaces missing. Feelings for the stable boy– life with him, it would have been easier than this. You’re sure of it. 

You allow yourself to imagine what life could have been like if he stayed. It would have been a cosy, peaceful. A straightforward one that didn’t leave so many questions in your head. Jungkook was always like that, spoke his mind without leaving anything to be guessed. You adored it, wished you could revel in it now. Wish you could kiss him under the cherry tree once more.

A pounding wakes you from the dream you were just beginning to weave. Loud, angry knuckles against the firm oak of your door startling you to your feet in an instant. Chills running down your spine as if your body already knew who was behind it. 

You wait too long to reply, another series of rapts following in quick succession. You’re in trouble. You’ve angered the prince in a way you’re not sure you’ll be able to find your way out of, but you have no choice. He knows your inside. You know you must face him. You must be brave.

Right before another series of knocks can echo against the walls, you finally pull the door open. 

There stands the man you knew would be there all along, sculpted like the lord had made him himself. You wish you could behold him properly, to stare at his beauty in the suit specially prepared for this night. One he asked your opinion of several times during its construction.

But you are unable to, not when his shoulders heave like a bull planning its charge. Not when his eyes are narrowed into a glare that enters your soul without consequence. Never before had you felt his anger directed at you. 

The future king would be a fearsome thing. 

“It appears you are not dead.” He states, cold and detached in a way you have never heard before. It makes you feel small, feel weak. Though by now, you know he wants an answer. He will not accept the lack of one from you anymore. 

You shift uncomfortably on your feet, “I suppose not…” 

“Then what do you suppose.” You flinch. You’re not sure.

“I– Prince Kim…” 

“Taehyung.” He interjects, though you ignore him. Only his future wife is meant to call him by that name.

“Prince Kim, I could not possibly accept this gift. You have to understand.” The way he looks at you makes you want to shrink. To appear as small as possible to placate the lion you’ve wondered into the den of. 

“I do not. You are to accept any gift I am to give you.” He is stern as if lecturing the ground beneath him. He looks massive in your tiny room, taking up much more space than you wish to grant him.

You begin to grow frustrated, annoyed. Does he have no sanity? Does he really think it is okay to play with the hearts of women so carelessly? It is disgusting. Repulsive even! You do not deserve anything like this. You begin to grow tense, grow firm like a wolf cornered. Ready to lash out with no remorse. 

That is what you are, anyway. A cornered animal with no hope to escape. 

“I won’t.” You raise your shoulders, stand taller and stare him straight in the eyes. If this will have you sent to the axe then so be it. 

He grows just as tense in reply, his lips forming a sneer as he takes a step closer towards you. 

Never before has Prince Kim been opposed like this before, you’re sure of it. The way his irises become darker is proof. 

“And why is that, lamb?” He mocks, and the fire inside of you only begins to glow brighter Of course, you’re just the lamb that's wandered into the lion's den. The lamb being prepared for meal. 

Steam clouds around your head, jaw becoming tense as you try to hold back your rage. Rage for your mother, rage for the life she was taunted into the same way the prince is trying to do to you now.

“I will not become another woman you bed and then lay waste to!” You practically shout, unable to hold back your emotions anymore. 

His nostrils flare, “Excuse me?” 

“You heard my words.” You state back, indignant, “I will not be an idiot. I will not become another woman who you use for your own pleasures!”

You hear him scoff, head turning away from you for the first time as he looks around your room. 

“You think that little of me?” His eyes make their way back to you, his face having the expression of somewhat… hurt? 

Suddenly, you’re unsure. You feel stupid all over again though you’re not entirely conscious as to why. You hurt him? How could you possibly hurt the most powerful person in the country? 

You falter in your stance, and it is obvious that he takes notice. Uses it to his advantage as he takes another step closer, makes his hand find your own. His thumb brushing soothingly over the knuckle. His hands are always so soft. 

“What else am I meant to think? I’ve heard the stories, Prince Kim.” Where once was fire lays blistering coals. Hot to the touch yet unyielding in their passion. The air in the room has changed in much the same way.

“Tell me of them.” He asks you, his voice now gentle, soft. 

It is strange, the complete change he’s had since first entering your room. Has your brain going a little haywire. Especially with the way he stares at your hands. Like they could be locked forever. 

“I…” You feel flush, embarrassed to mutter the words in front of the prince, “I’ve heard you seduce women… princesses, noblemen’s daughters, maids… the lot. Then you abandon them the next morning with your seed in their core and a knife in their heart.” 

You keep your eyes to your feet, face feeling hot by repeating the words of your friend. You refuse to look at him, you cannot take the embarrassment. 

A light chuckle leaves his lips, a hand coming up to attempt to muffle them, “Sorry, sorry.” He shakes his head, a playful glint in his eyes. You’re baring your soul to him! How dare he laugh! 

He coughs to muffle the rest of the sound, returning to the moment, “I apologise. I just had the realisation. You’re jealous of them, aren’t you lamb?” 

A mess of flutters takes up your stomach, your shoulders raising in alarm. Your lips open to try and form words, to try and deny the allegations made your way, yet you are entirely unable. 

Especially with the way he moves closer, crowds your space with such ease. Leads close to you, whispers words in your ear, voice lower than before. 

“You wish it to just be you I lay with, is that so?” You can practically hear the smile in his voice as another, more erotic chill finds its way down your spine. 

“Th-That isn’t–” You try to speak, but your voice sounds as light as air. He moves closer, arm carrying itself around your back, pulling you flush against him as he speaks sinful words. Words only for you. 

“Ah…” He sighs in relief, lips practically touching your ear once you’re finally connected to him, “You don’t like it when I go fuck your friends then come to spend my nights talking to you… writing to you… touching myself to the thought of you.” 

You cannot take it. You cannot take this, take him. Your head is spinning, clouding with the drug known as Prince Kim. Your knees feel weak, your limbs feel all too heavy. How can someone so pretty say such sinful words without a second thought. It’s too much. Far more than your poor little heart can take.

Your arms come up, press as firm as they can against his chest despite how weak they feel.

“Mmm…?” He asks in response, pulling back to look down on your face. Mock confusion spread across his features. He takes a step back, pretending to look you up and down. Like he is just playing a game of poker while all of your tells are as clear as day. 

“Or is that not what you wish?” He asks, head tilted to the side like a confused puppy, “You would like things to remain the same?” He smiles, drawing conclusions all on his own. 

He pauses, waits for you to say something, anything before continuing. But you do not, so he will keep playing this game by himself. 

“Then I shall go find someone to keep me company for the night. Mmm..” He taps his chin in contemplation, turning on his heels, meanwhile panic and dread fills every facet of your being, “What were those ones you’re friends with again? Celley? That pretty blonde? Oh, or maybe Annabell. I’m sure she would be prepared to go for a second round.” 

What? What? No, No! What is he talking about? Why is he starting to walk away?! Wait, Annabell, second time?! She has before?! 

Oh heavens, oh gods. 

“Anyway, I'll be sure to write to you after. Have a good night, dream of me.” You begin to hyperventilate as he takes one step out the door. No, he can’t leave. You don’t want him to. You don’t want him to be with anybody else. You can’t let it happen. You can’t afford such a thing! Ever! That is not where he is meant to be! 

Your body carries you before your mind does. Hand slipping out, gripping onto the back of his coat with all of the strength you can muster. Feet planted firm in your room, doing everything in your power to not let him leave.  

It is really too bad you do not see the sick smile that forms on his lips. Maybe then the pieces of the puzzle would have finally clicked in place. 

Instead he only tilts his head backwards, painting a complexion of boredom.

“N-No! I don’t want that!” You finally manage to stutter out, knuckles turning white with the strength you hold onto him. Afraid if you let go in the slightest he will pull away and disappear forever. “I don’t want you to be with other women!”

The silence that follows your confession feels a mile long. 

“Then go put on the dress.” Out of any response there could be, that certainly was not the one you were anticipating. 

“What…?” 

His chin tilts in the direction of it, urging you on, “If that is the truth, then go put on the dress.” 

“I…” You hesitate for only a moment, but scramble to motion once the prince turns to leave once again. 

You make quick paces to your bed, keeping your back to him. You feel his eyes on your back, intent on giving you no privacy to ensure you follow through on his order. 

In fact, all he does is close the door behind you. Making sure no one will be able to see in. No one will be able to watch you save for him. 

You slowly peel off the cotton of your nightgown, trying to appear brave even though his eyes are trained on your form. Even if your slip still remains on, you have never been this uncovered in front of a man before. You feel entirely bare. 

You do not look at him as you finally find your way through the tool, slipping the garment over your head with struggle, yet his face is practically predatory. 

You don’t know his plans, or what he wishes to gain. You never do. 

As the fabric settles over your hips, half of you wants to question how the size is perfect, but you refrain. Too embarrassed by everything else to even consider it an option. Your hands reach behind you to attempt to lace up the back on your own, yet another pair are already present in their place.

When did he get so close? How did he get so close without you hearing a thing? Your heartbeat must be the only sound in your ears, that must be it. 

His fingers work down your spine, tightening the dress so it fits you perfectly. Tying it off with skill you did not know he had. You feel his breath on the back of your neck. A fire begins to grow in your core. 

“I was going to present you to my father tonight.” He admits, placing a gentle kiss to the base of your neck, “The ball was meant to find my bride.” 

“Oh.” Those are the only words you can say when he is so close, arms enclosing around your waist. Pulling your back flush with his chest. 

Only words you can manage at the revelation.

“Imagine his disappointment, more so my own when the girl I had been speaking to him about did not show.” He grunts, almost as if it hurt him. Guiding your body to stand in front of the full mirror in your room. Asking– telling you to look at yourself. 

The sight is strange, yet incredible. The crown prince of the entire nation standing in your bedroom, in the maids quarters. Surrounded by squalor and chaos. Arms wrapped around a maid dressed as if she could be a queen. 

You look up at him to the best of your ability, regret plastered across your features, “Prince Kim–” 

“Taehyung.” 

“--I’m so sorry.” He does not look you in the eyes. They stay trained ahead, not straying once from the mirror. One hand rubbing small circles into the fabric covering your stomach, the other sliding to your waist.

He touches you without care, without reason. Feeling you against him for all that it is worth. 

“Actions have consequences, that is all. They can come later.” He states plainly, “For now I just wish to indulge in you.”

He brings his face down, placing it right next to yours. His hand rises, making your chin face the mirror as well. 

He forces you to make eye contact with him through it, forces you to understand each of his words clearly. 

“You’ll let me do that, won’t you?” 

You take a deep breath, gulping down all the air you can manage. You don’t think you’ve wanted anything more. 

With no more than a nod, his lips are on yours. 

Spinning you around, pressing your back against the mirror. His hands cupping your cheeks with such intensity you fear they may become etched into your skin forever. Keeping your lips closed against his own. 

His body cages you in, pressing entirely against you. Forming against you in perfect harmony, feeling two souls become one. Feeling each other fully for the first time– no pretence or public eye in the way to stop it. 

His teeth nip at your lower lip, biting in a way that has you opening them in pain. He takes the opportunity to lick his way inside, somehow pushing even closer to your body. 

Something hard presses against you and the discovery has your knees wishing to collapse. 

The prince can’t possibly be this big. He simply can’t.

The kiss has you reeling, unsure of anything. Unsure of what to do at all. It is nothing like your first kiss under the cherry tree with Jungkook. That was soft and sweet, docile as two people discover something new.

This, this is nothing of the sort. It is hungry. It is a beast that has been starved, finally getting its first meal. It is intoxicating. It is needy and desperate in a way that has your fingers trying to press themselves even deeper into the glass. It has your breath being robbed. Your lifeforce wilts away to satisfy only the prince. 

The groan he lets out as you finally give into him, finally allow him to take control of the kiss as arousal pools in your gut. It is one of the most deadly siren’s calls you think you’ve ever heard. One that would have any woman throwing themselves overboard for just a taste. 

“Finally,” He grunts, pulling no more than a millilitre away from your lips, wetness still connecting them, “My whole life I’ve been waiting for you.” He mumbles, hungrily connecting his mouth back to your own. 

Before you know it, you’re lost in the man once again. Allowing him to move you, to guide you to your bed without withdrawing from you once. Tangling your fingers into his hair, trying to make sure he doesn’t pull away. Making you drunk off of his taste, off of him. 

When he kisses you like this, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to live without him. 

Your knees hit the frame of your bed and all of a sudden you're falling backwards onto its plush lining. Panting, trying to regain some of the air he stole from you.

For the first time you’re able to look up at him, to discover the mess that he has become. Cheeks red, lips swollen. Eyes dark and twisted with lust. Hair ruffled messily from where your fingers laid. Shoulders rising and falling with effort as he catches his breath as well. 

He looks gorgeous and you can’t help yourself hoping this will be only a sight for you forever. 

He leans down, pecking your lips once more, “I couldn’t stop myself from imagining this. Since the moment I placed an order for your dress.” 

He huffs, dropping to his knees in front of you. You sit up on your elbows, face twisted into confusion as you look down at him. 

God. It is too dangerous to look at him right now. You know that as another wave of heat runs straight to your core.

“Pushing up the future queen's skirt.” He groans, hands gaining purchase on your hips, pulling you down so your waist sits at the edge of the bed, “Letting myself have a taste of her while everyone else at the party danced.” 

O-Oh. Oh. He sees you as, oh god. 

His fingers bunch in the material of your skirt, drawing in a shaky inhale as he holds onto any drop of sanity left. 

When he sees no hesitation from you, he slowly begins to push the material up your legs. Eyes trained on your own, looking to you for any sign of discomfort. 

“Have her come undone on my tongue while no else was the wiser.” He groans as he finally comes face to face with your panty covered core. 

Your brain moves at a snail's pace, trying to keep up with every tiny movement the prince makes. Trying to process his words while your head becomes fuzzy with your own arousal. 

You feel like mush, so pliable in his grip.

His large hands slowly begin to part your thighs, to look at what he has been craving for so long when your brain catches up with you, embarrassment overcoming your being. 

“Y-You can’t! I-it is dirty to do such a thing.” At least, that is what you had been taught. Though, the look in his eyes and the growl from his throat tells you the opposite.

“You could never be dirty. No part of you could ever be.” The sound he lets out is more akin to an animal than anything else, and suddenly you feel like a schoolgirl. Flustered and embarrassed beyond anything else. 

The muscles of your thighs untense, the look on your face blushed and biting. 

“You will let me?” He asks again, and despite your embarrassment, you nod. He is going to be king… his word is rule afterall. He wishes it, so it will happen. You could not be more pleased to oblige. 

His grip on your thighs is more firm than before, blunt nails digging into soft flesh as he pries your legs apart. He lets a groan resonate from the back of his throat at the sight. Panties sticking to your center, wetness pooling just behind causing the material to almost become transparent before him. 

You did not know it was possible for a man to have such an effect on you. 

Without a second thought, he pushes the material down your thighs. His tongue licking a long stripe up your cunt, savouring the flavour for every cent it is worth. 

He moans at the taste, not wasting a second before he dives back in. Lapping against you like it is his last meal. 

A mewl leaves your lips, too many feelings crossing you at once for any of them to be worth anything. 

Embarrassment, shame, fear all vanish the moment his lips wrap around your clit, sucking against the small bundle of nerves in a manner that has your back arching against the bed. Fingertips digging into the sheets to find a second lease on life. 

You try to look down at him, to find him between all of your small pants of pleasure, however he is gone. Disappearing until the layers of fabric while he brings you sensations you never thought were possible. 

His tongue moves like it is made to pleasure only you. Taking turns flicking your clit to lowering into your center. Licking up any bit of arousal he can make out. Trailing up once again to press flat against the bundle of nerves.

All of it has your legs kicking, your breath melting. 

He is not quiet either, letting you know exactly how much he adores this. Adores the feeling of your thighs wrapped tight around his head. Adores every little sound and reaction you have to give him. Adores the taste of you on his tongue. It was only meant for him.

It feels like he has been wishing to do this far longer than you would ever know. Consuming you whole from the inside out. Causing you to become addicted, to desire him just as much as he carnally craves you.

His nails dig into the flesh of your thighs as your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking out every ounce of pleasure that he is willing to give you. Your adorable mewls and whines grow louder, peaking every time he sucks on your clit. 

A coil has begun to form in your gut, feeling as though it could snap at any second. You wish you could see him, to look at his face and see the crazed gleam in his eyes. Observe the exact look on his face as he licks your cunt. 

You try to picture it. Try to imagine the way he would look up at you from between your legs. The dark umber his eyes would become, the gentle circles he would rub into your thigh as you finally make eye contact. 

Your walls clench around his tongue, sending a new waves of whines out of your mouth. He somehow moves faster, more precisely with every movement. Like he is able to hone in on the exact things that have your thighs quivering. 

His tongue moves up, takes your small, worn clit into his mouth. Alternating between sucking against it, flicking at it, and pressing against it firm with the flat of his tongue. 

Without warning, nor any reprise, one of his thick fingers is thrust into your wet heat. Filling you in a way you have never been able to do to yourself. Stretching you. And all of a sudden, you’re flying off the edge of a precipice.

“Prince Kim!” Your back arches off of the bed, head thrown back against the mattress as you let out a moan. Your hips jolt, cunt squeezing around his fingers, heels digging into the floor as you come undone before him. 

He works you through it with ease and grace, finger slowly thrusting in and out. Tongue firmly planted against your clit to ride you through your high. 

It would not be your last of the night. He must be gentle. 

Slowly, you relax against the bed, chest heaving from exertion. He pulls away from you, standing to full height before leaning over your shaking form. 

Your arousal coats his face, a sheen from his lips and chin evident against the soft yellow glow of the room. He looks down at you, concern and adoration written across his features. Though in his eyes, it appears that the beast has yet to be quelled. 

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. You taste yourself against them. 

“You are delicious. I wish to eat you every night until I die.” He mumbles against your lips, his knee sliding between your legs. Muscle pressing against your swollen cunt. 

You try to flinch away, yet the hand on your hip keeps you in place. 

He will not have you running away. 

Not now. 

Your cheeks flush at his words, wide eyes looking up at him like he is all that matters. 

He is. 

He presses his knee further against your pussy while his lips trail down the column of your neck. Urging you towards the headboard with no words spoken until your head is against the pillows. 

Your arms wind their way around his neck, keeping him in place, “I-if we were married, I would let you.” You manage to speak, your voice shaky.

He only smiles in reply. Fingers digging deeper into your waist as if he is holding himself back.

“Then we shall call this practice for our wedding night.” He smiles, sitting back on his heels. 

Marriage, wedding night. You allow the thought to ghost through your mind, willing it to be reality. 

He smiles down at you, taking note in the way you seem to gleam at the idea. A small chuckle leaves his lips, you really are too cute for your own good. 

His voice is no more than a whisper, forcing you to stay enrapt, “You will let me, right?” He asks, eyes glancing down to where his pants strain against his hips, “I wish to make love to my future wife.”

Your mouth practically waters at the sight, his hard cock pressed taught against the expensive material. You swear there may even be a wet spot where his cum has leaked through. 

Your pussy clenches, wanting nothing more for him to find his way inside. For him to claim you for himself. Destroy you so no other man can have you in the same way.

You struggle against yourself for no more than a moment, but the way his hand reaches down, grips at his cock. Brushes his thumb over the surface has you moaning in want. 

“Please.” 

He smiles, the motion following swift. All at once his hands unbutton his pants, pushing the material down his thighs just enough for his cock to spring free. He groans at the feeling, thick length hitting his stomach. Pretty pre-cum dripping down the side.

Your eyes go wide. If you imagined him to be large before, seeing it now looked impossible. He is thick, long. Far too big to ever hope to fit inside of you. 

But the desperate groan in his voice, the hungry look in his eyes only has you spreading your legs. Wishing nothing more than for him to destroy you.

One hand wraps around the base as he moves closer, the other forcing the skirt of your dress as high as it will allow. He makes space for himself in between your thighs, slotting himself in. Ready to do what he has been waiting years for. 

Not yet.

He sees the hesitation in your eyes, the worry. So he leans down, planting a gentle, soothing kiss to your lips. One filled with years of time behind it. 

He knows he must be careful with you. Knows all of his patience will have been worth it when he is finally able to take your virginity. 

“Will it hurt?” You as quietly, wrapping your arms around his shoulders to keep him close. You find comfort in him. Find a sense of safety within his eyes. 

He nods in response, “Only for a little while, I promise.” He mumbles against your lips, placing a soft kiss against them once more. 

He slowly rubs the fat head between your folds, coating himself in your arousal. Your hips buck slightly in response, and he can’t help but smirk. 

So sensitive. So ready for him. 

As much as he wants to be rough, he can’t. He can’t scare you away just yet. 

He looks into your eyes once more, “Ready?” He asks, giving you one final chance to back out. You only nod your head, pulling him close, hiding your face in his neck. 

His head catches on your opening with the final drag of his length through your lips. His hands practically shake in excitement, as he guides himself inside. Letting go only once the tip is buried within your walls. 

He feels your teeth sink into his coat, your body burning with the stretch of him. He only has the first inch inside, yet you think it is more than you could possibly take. 

A choked cry leaves your lips as he continues to slowly thrust inside. Your arms cling to him as tight as possible. Tears prick in the corner of your eyes as he fills you, forming your entire body just around him. Just around his cock. 

He pauses only once half of his cock is buried in your needy cunt. You feel his hand come up to caress your cheek, to bring you back down to reality from the pain you feel digging at your core. Trying to bring you some sense of comfort. 

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eyes, expecting to see them soft. Filled with concern. Though there is nothing of the sort there. 

Behind his bangs is only the look of pure insanity. 

Though he tries to be compassionate, he really does.

“Are you doing okay?” His voice is strangled, coming out in only desperate cracks. He shakes, wanting nothing more than to fuck himself inside. Fuck himself deeper and deeper, until your cunt is shaped for his cock alone.

But he holds restraint. Just enough.

The way he looks at you, the way he speaks has a wave of pleasure rushing through your  skin. Your walls clamp around him, tightening even more. 

He is falling apart before you, because of you. 

He has gone mad because of you.

The feeling only makes you want to urge him on. See just how far the prince can fall.

You nod your head, looking at him with all the affections in the world, “Don’t stop.” 

He groans at your words, mind losing itself as he snaps his hips forward, forcing his cock inside until his hips are firm against your own. Teeth digging into the fragile skin of your neck.

You cry out in pain, your walls squeezing around him in shock. Pain coursing through your entire system as you are filled to the brim. Walls stretched as wide as humanly possible. The head of cock so deep inside you swear you can feel it in your lungs. 

“Shit.” He groans, mouth falling open, “This pretty thing is wrapped around me so tight, lamb. So fucking tight I can’t think.” 

He slowly tries to move his hips, though you only shout in response. Your legs wrap around his back, doing their utmost to keep him in place.

“Hurts!” You whine, shaking your head quickly. 

Fucking hell. What is the point of a pussy as sweet as your own if he can’t use it properly?

His hand moves between your legs, growl of impatience slipping past his lips as his fingers find your clit. They work with urgency, with need. Rubbing tight circles into it, trying to get you to feel the same pleasure he does.

You whine, overstimulated. Shots fired in all directions leaving you messy and confused. 

With every circle, a mewl sounds from your throat. Slowly your legs behind him loosen, the pain from before mixing with pleasure to become something wonderful. Something that has you whimpering for him to not stop. 

“See?” He grunts, slowly slipping out of your heat until only the tip remains, “We were made for each other.” 

He forces his cock back inside, fucking you open just for him. Only ever for him. 

Your nails dig into his back, heels digging into the mattress as you moan for him. As your cunt becomes addicted to the feeling of him filling you so perfectly. Addicted to everything he has to offer.

He moves too fast, too hard for you to even hope to keep up with. Hips pistoning into you, forcing you to take everything he has to give and more. Forcing you to be the perfect little doll for him, give him all the pleasure he can want and more. White mixing with red around the base of his cock.

Your back arches off the mattress to try and get closer to him, to try and keep up with him in any hope of the sentiment. Hips trying their best to keep him as close and as deep as possible, knowing they crave one thing and one thing alone.

“Prince Kim!” You moan, yet he growls in response. A sharp slap to your thigh sounds throughout the room as his hips pause, fingers removing themselves from your clit. 

“That isn’t my name to you anymore.” His voice is low, menacing in your ear. One more poke of the bear and you will be punished. “Tae–Hyung.” 

He emphasises the words with a sharp thrust of his hips, one that brushes against the bundle inside of you. One that leaves you crying out for him. Clinging on to him. 

“Say it.” He grunts, animalistic and desperate. Yet you’re too lost in yourself to realise how debauched he’s become. Looking less and less like a man, more like a demon come to lay waste to your soul. 

That is close enough to the truth, anyway.

“Say it until it becomes the only word you know. Every question I ask, every time I fuck myself into this sweet little cunt. Your only reply should be my name.” He grabs your chin, forcing you to stare at him. 

Your fucked out little features as you bob your head in compliance.

“I-I” You swallow, trying to understand his words as he pounds away at your core, “I understand!” 

He smiles, almost proud of the work he has done today.

His hips only move impossibly faster, impossibly harder in a way that has that knot in your gut tightening once more. 

“We’ll start simple then. What is my name?” He asks, angling his hips to press against your sweet spot with ever slight movement. Breathe panting, his mind falling deeper and deeper into the thralls of your body. 

“P-Prin–” You stop yourself, a pinch coming down on your skin, “Taehyung!” 

He groans, almost coming undone as he hears your name fall from your  lips for the very first time. The pretty sound your voice makes with every letter. 

It could be the only thing he hears for the rest of his life.

“Who are you going to marry?” 

You whine, your head thrashing around slightly. He smiles. You must really enjoy the idea of that, huh?

“T-Taehyung!” You manage to stutter out again, feeling your release coming closer and closer as the seconds pass by. 

“Who is the man you have fallen for?” The answer to the question is easy, especially when he is fucking into you like you’re the only woman that matters. Nothing matters except for him. 

“Taehyung!” Your brain is too fuzzy to process anything else. Anything other than the way his cock fills you. Anything other than the one word he told you is your gospel. 

“Who is the boy that kissed you under the cherry tree?” You don’t even know anymore. 

Does any man exist beside Taehyung anyway? You doubt it.

“Taehyung!” He smiles into your neck. 

“Who was the boy that was going to have you killed? That saved your life?” His words don’t process through your ears, yet you know what you are meant to say anyway.

“Taehyung!” He groans, his hips stuttering, losing their pace ever so slightly. 

“Who do you belong to?” 

“Taehyung!” You whine, your thighs shaking. The coil so tight you think you may just die if it doesn’t come undone in this very moment. 

His breath is quiet, only a rough whisper in your ear, “Cum.” 

Just as your king commands, you fall apart around him. White dots in the corner of your eyes as you clamp down around him, your legs pulling him close. A cry of his name leaving your lungs as if it is the very air you breathe. 

You feel him paint the inside of your walls white, his hips stuttering– fucking himself as deep into you as he could possibly manage. If you had any sense left in your little head you would have told him to pull out, yet your brain is so high. Filled with pleasure that only Taehyung can provide. 

Waves of arousal crash around you as he slows his hips, ensuring that you ride out your orgasm to its fullest before pulling away. You wish he could stay buried inside of you, just like that. Yet you doubt that would be very wise. 

“Was that good for you, little lamb?” He asks, slowly helping you into a sit. You’re not sure how to properly answer– mouth feeling dry. Your head has not yet come crashing back down, though that is probably a good thing. 

Facing reality is too scary right now. Especially when Taehyung is so warm. So caring as he removes your dress. Slips your nightgown back over your soiled body. 

“Very…” You nod, unable to take your eyes off of him as he moves around the bed. Tucking himself back into his pants, removing his shirt and dress-coat. Placing them over the back of a chair. Neatly hanging the dress on a hook, taking care that it is not damaged in any way.

Your arms find themselves reaching out to him, trying to pull him closer to you. He smiles once he takes notice.

“Would you like me to stay the night?” It is clear he was already planning on it, but hearing the words make you smile oh-so bright. 

“Yes, please.” You nod quickly, eyes already feeling tired. You did not know how he had so much energy, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Right now he is meant to be in your bed, arms around you. In fact, you become annoyed that he isn’t already. 

“Alright.” He smiles, slipping next to your form. Wrapping his arms around you, pulling you as close as possible.

You feel so safe. So warm with him. So protected that you can’t stop yourself from falling asleep.

“Goodnight my lamb.”

The Kim Empire. 

His home, his family, his livelihood all wrapped up in those three little words.

Yet, the only thoughts that seem to brandish his mind since the young age of 15 are about you. 

When you first stumbled in front of him, carrying a tray of tea. Spilling it all over his shoes. That quick curse that left your lips before looking up at him. The wide, doelike vision you had once recognition had set in. One the realisation of error set into your bones.

He will never forget the way his heart began to race in that very moment. The way he felt a cloth of sickness overcome his whole body at the mere sight of you. Looking so serendipitous below him.

At first he thought it was hate, how silly he had been back then. Ah, the way he sent you to be killed was just funny to him now. He is grateful he talked to his mother before your execution date. Spilling his soul to her, detailing how he could not seem to remove you from his brain.

Ah, he was lucky he managed to get the letter to the executioner in time. What a pity that would be if he couldn’t. Then he wouldn’t have been able to lay next to you now. Wouldn’t be able to play with your hair, caress you like he pleases. 

It is truly too bad that was not his only trial on the road towards you. It was really a pity he had to send Jungkook away. Taehyung quite liked the kid. He was fun to play with and wouldn’t shy away from his games. 

But he just had to try and seduce you. Poor thing. You really were too innocent at the time. More than eager to kiss him for no reason. To give him even a peace of your heart that was meant for Taehyung alone.

He remembers as clear as day, the rage he felt as he watched your soft lips press against another mans. How terribly he wanted to go out and strike Jungkook with a sword. Of course he didn’t though, that would have scared you away. He would have hated that.

He thanks god every day he was really your first kiss, even if you didn’t know it. 

Patiences was the hardest battle of all, and he will admit, he has faltered a few times over the years. Kisses stolen while you sleep, a few of your belongings robbed to keep him satiated. Mayhaps a few trips to your room in the night. 

But who could blame him? He was a man in love. There was nothing that could stop him when he was so hungry for you. 

Ah, and then of course his father. He wanted to separate your love as well. A maid could never possibly be suited to be queen, blah blah. He doesn’t care. And at least that fight allowed him to hug you for the first time. 

God. You felt so perfect in his arms, then and now. You have always been meant for this. Meant for him.

If his father plans to keep standing in the way, he will simply have to remove him from the equation. His bonds to the man are as thick as water. He cares more for you than he possibly could anyone else.

You’ve belonged to him since you were born, anyway. If a maid becomes pregnant while working for the castle, her child becomes property of the state. Of the crown. Of him. 

It only makes sense that you are meant to be with him until death. It is the path lined for you. Your fate since birth. 

He knows it as his delicate fingers trace over the small patches of blood dirtying the sheets. Evidence of the hours before, of your virginity robbed. Of your promises to him.

You are bound to him by blood after all.

© all rights reserved to ctrlhope 2019-2024 ; do not copy, plagiarise, or translate.

[ghosts-and-glory]

Just curious!

In your AU, does Narinder have to openly come out as trans, or is it just generally understood even early on that he was trans?

If he does have a coming out, who do you think he told first? What were his siblings initial reactions?

How old do you think Narinder would have been when he realized?

When did the lamb learn? Was it common knowledge by then? Did they effectively look up at their God and go "ayo, nice battle scars, sick as fuck, anyway" and move on?

Also are we gonna see more little Narinder, and what got him all fucked up?

I am so invested in your story, but this aspect in specific I am latched onto like a tick. You cannot get rid of me. I am THIRSTY for knowledge.

Additionally, if in some hypothetical, little child Narinder met a young Lamb, do you think they would have been friends?

Totally not based on the time my brother came out to me and because I have the emotional bandwidth of a sea cucumber was just like “okay, cool.”

I’d say he’s around 12-14. In my heart Nari was one of those trans kids who the second he had the slightest understanding of gender was like “something ain’t right here chief.”

Fighting for my life trying to find a way to colour doodles in a way that doesn’t take ten years or look like shit.

More ramblings under the cut.

My Lamb is also non-binary so it’s not much of a deal to them. Dying on my casual trans rep hill. I don’t care if it’s not period accurate, I simply choose not to recognize transphobia.

Narinder gets slowly poisoned through his life. For the other Bishops, chaos, famine, disease and war will all eventually end in death, and dead men can’t worship. As a god of death he is to preach the glory and beauty of dying but, ironically, can’t die himself. He feels at odds with his family and trapped by life and this mentality slowly warps his view of the world and destroys him over hundreds of years.

Simply put he allows toxicity to pour and warp over toxicity. He lets it twist and compound his mind and it happens so slowly no one notices.

For the Lamb and Narinder theoretically meeting as children I honestly haven’t through much on how I’d characterize The Lamb as a child. My heart wants to say yes they would get along. My source is I made it the fuck up.

[bamsara]

A03 Questions Tag Game

I got tagged by: @kagedbird I tag: @onethirdofimpossible, @coffincrows, (first two that come to mind) and anyone else who wants to do the game

1 – How many works do you have on AO3?

At the time of writing this post, currently 30 fics. (Not including any fics or written works that are not posted to AO3)

2 – What's your total AO3 word count?

1,066,633

3 – What fandoms do you write for?

Formerly: Don't Starve, FNAF, Dragons Dogma, Invader Zim

Currently: Cult of the Lamb

4 – What are your top five fics by kudos?

Solar Lunacy, Celestial Omens, Bytes of Lunacy, The Rehabilitation of Death, Saturday Insomnia

5 – Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I also get very nervous responding because I often don't know what to say back and I feel like it's almost rude or disrespectful to respond to a comment, esp the very nice ones that are long and in-deph with just a keysmash or a bunch of emojis, but I do read every single one since I have email notifications on for them

I'd like to sit down and respond to many but I really don't want to make it awkward so pls dear god readers forgive me

6 – What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't like unhappy endings. I enjoy angsty stories but I like when it's at least ending happy to me

7 – What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Not posted? Solar Lunacy

Ongoing? TROD

8 – Do you get hate on fics?

Not really? Most adults (in my experience) know the 'don't like don't read' rule and know basic online etiquette. I've gotten some for discontinuing a fic or switching fandoms though

9 – Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't write or draw NSFW! I like to make some suggestive themes sometimes, but I'm a very ace person, it's not something I do often. (I do have a current running goal that if my friend reaches their donation goal for their medical bills that I would give NSFW a shot, but again its not really my cup of tea)

10 – Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

Nah I haven't written any cross overs, but I do draw them sometimes. Recently I've been spinning a Alice in Wonderland x COTL crossover in my head.

11 – Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep. I've had people copy and paste my work, go in with a thesaurus to change a few words (like changing 'angry' to mad, 'upset' to 'sad', and so forth) to try and avoid detection and re-posted my written work under a different title name. AO3 staff took them down for violating their policy against plagiarism though

12 – Have you ever had a fic translated?

No. I wouldn't mind it so as long as I'm asked before hand, though not on anon so I can actually work with the person to prevent any mistranslations or mishandling, and that I don't want my work posted to other websites

13 – Have you ever co-written a fic?

I think I did when I was a teen but I cannot remember now

14 – What's your all-time favorite ship?

Eh I don't have any favorites, just ones I really focus on for a long while

15 – What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Pass.

16 – What are your writing strengths?

I can sit down for hours or several days and work on a writing wip completely in the zone. I cant do it on command but its at least something I can do

17 – What are your writing weaknesses?

Spelling and grammar, and sometimes long running sentences. I just kinda write, theres not really a goal for it to be perfect though so as long as the story gist and vibe is right, im fine with it

18 – Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I've done it before but only minor, had a friend help me with it (one or two lines of dialogue) Aside from that, I'm not comfortably fluent enough in anything to do it again without assistance

19 – First fandom you wrote for?

Soul Eater, when I was wayyy too young to be posting anything on the internet. My fanfics I wrote are still on fanfic.net to this day

20 – Favorite fic you've written?

It's inbetween TROD and EE&E right now

[the-artist-grimm]

Hi, I have just discovered your AU and I like the design, also the name made curious about what's the AU about

Thank you! And for the ‘Crimson Angel AU’ think of it as translating to ‘Blood-Soaked Angel AU’, since I think that’s more of a better visual/description, but crimson just sounds prettier for an actual title.  This is gonna be a little long for more-in-depth lore dump so see the READ MORE for well, more! And my apologies for the rambles that have slowly taken over my brain, it's a little chaotic but the basic gist of it XD

(Note Anthea goes by she/they and I alternate between the two so if that causes reading issues let me know)

In this case, the ‘Blood-Soaked Angel’ is my lamb, Anthea, who starts off the story as being a seemingly kind, friendly, and optimistic person just wanting to help, but is really just someone who is trying to understand why they lived when their family and people did not, and just going with self-sacrifice and self-destruction as the only way to ‘prove’ they deserved to live. 

Got a mini backstory comic here with some explanations, though TLDR Anthea already had this sense of being responsible for keeping everyone else’s spirits up after losing their father, and when heretics destroyed the rest of their family/village at age 12 and they survived by the shear luck of just being out on a routine supply run, they feel as if they don’t deserve it. 

From there Anthea bottled everything up and wandered the forests for a bit until being found and taken in by Ratau, who taught her not only how to fight but also told her stories of his time as vessel, of which any involving The One Who Waits were the most interesting. A lonely, bitter, and kinda angry god of death, despite  his appearance, kept and appeared to care for the two young kits by his side. TOWW sounded different from the other bishops Anthea had only ever known to be violent, and thus she began to worship him as a sort of comfort-since thinking a gentler god greeted her family and would one day greet her was a better thought than the horror they must’ve faced prior to death. She lived day to day just pretending everything was fine, being a good kid, and helping out around the shack, while internally treating every moment like borrowed time, thinking she had to keep being useful to everyone else. (Ratau knew she had people-pleasing issues but didn’t realize the extent for a long, long time) 

Cut to Anthea being 26, and after she and Ratau were heading back one afternoon after some errand or visit were ambushed by heretics who managed to injure Ratau when they tried to escape, and though they got away, they were pursued. Thinking she’d lived on borrowed time long enough and wanting to prevent another person she loved from dying, Anthea took advantage of Ratau’s injury keeping him from stopping her and drew the heretics away, being captured as a result. 

Bishops, execution, Anthea gets the shock of hearing that they’re the final lamb prior to sacrifice, then suddenly they’re waking up in the gateway to the god they’ve worshiped for years, and he’s just as Ratau described. A lonely, bitter god with two young kits (I place Aym and Baal as teens since it leads to some interesting moments), by his side. Yet where that’s all Ratau saw, Anthea also saw the chains. The wounds bleeding an endless stream of ichor. The way TOWW struggled prior to their approach, how his voice and smile were strained. This god they’d built up as this better to the bishops is trapped and painfully so, and when offered the chance to help him, Anthea jumps at it. They must’ve lived for SOMETHING, must be the last for some greater purpose because there were so many other lambs who ‘deserved’ to live more, so if it’s for this prophecy then so be it. 

Game plays out, Anthea begins to see past the bitterness/anger Nariender puts up to see someone genuinely hurt by those he cared about and struggling to trust after while also seeing he’s not exactly perfect, whilst Nariender in turn starts to call Anthea out on the whole self-sacrificial stick as them just trying to die to make themself feel better instead of just facing the fact that they lived, others died, and that’s all there is to say. Slowly the two become friends, got an idea for example that Anthea starts to use the crown to show Nariender what he’s missed in the world as a means of comforting him/helping him remember not all was as bad as he recalls (aka they’re unintentional dates lol), Anthea also starts befriending the twins since they remind them of their own brothers which gains more Nariender friendship points at someone making his kids happy, and that friendship slowly turns to a genuine love from both sides. 

Anthea plans to keep her feelings hidden until after Narinder’s free, though secretly starts to work on an engagement present to confess by leaving the crown at the temple and going to the Lonely Shack at night. (the engagement also meant to be a symbolic ‘hey you don’t have to feel the same but just know I’ll be with you from now on I won’t leave you’). Is also Anthea finally taking steps to live life for herself and move on to something that makes her happy. Meanwhile Narinder has no idea what these feelings he’s having are-just that this weirdly kind, cheerful, but also melancholic and frustratingly self-sacrificial lamb makes his heart race, and is now for some reason being a little distant. He’s been trying to figure out how to return to the world above without sacrificing Anthea, but now has whatever this is distracting him, and thus has the crown follow one night, only hears part of Anthea discussing/being teased about planning a proposal but not who said proposal is for, and being unused to jealousy but very used to being cast aside and betrayed gets angry/scared/heartbroken and decides to just go through with the sacrifice anyway since it’s easier than trying to figure out why he’s feeling like this. 

Endgame battle hits, during which Anthea feels very confused/hurt by his order to sacrifice themself, as just the other day here was their dearest friend lightly scolding them for willingly dying just to visit. They try to reason with him and Narinder doesn’t want to hear it, so he orders the twins to fight Anthea which neither are willing but are forced, and Anthea has no choice but to kill both since Nariender refuses to hear reason. The anger, grief, guilt, and heartbreak they’ve bottled up finally boils over as red wings appear on their back like they briefly do in-game when the lamb refuses (this all started when I saw the scene in-game and thought the visual/symbolism was really cool), and they fight and defeat Nariender. 

When back at the compound Nariender’s just lashing out and cursing Anthea on the dais because he’s angry and hurt at her betraying him until Anthea just calmly tells him why he was spared-she loved him. Nariender finally looks at her and is hit with the realization that this lamb who’d always looked at him so warmly with adoration is now giving him the most blank, lifeless expression as she tells him he’s free to do as he pleases before leaving. And he now realizes that because he didn’t stop and think things through and instead let anger take the focus he completely neglected to realize that here was someone who loved him-who loved him even as they learned of his faults, saw his lowest, ect, and he just threw it all away over a misunderstanding he could've EASILY just asked about. He even sacrificed his guards (read sons) just because that was somehow easier than talking. Which begs the question, who else loved him? Who else did he miss? Was his imprisonment really all on the bishops, or was he also to blame? Whilst Anthea’s now stuck with a godhood she didn’t want, two more loved ones dead, and a broken heart. 

The two gotta learn where to go from here, the now blood-soaked ‘angel’ who’s begun to realize just how much giving pieces of yourself hurts, and a fallen god who’s begun to realize things aren’t as black and white as he thought. They get better! Eventually...

Might try making a fic, might just keep this as drabbles and rambles along with art, but right now I’m having fun making fanart/aus for the first time instead of just watching from the sidelines, so I hope you enjoy the ride. But for now enjoy some angsty doodles :D

[wolfjackle-creates]

My Writing Masterpost

List of Subscription Posts (Follow for Tumblr Notifications on any of my fics.)

Good Omens:

The Demon Piper: Crowley is in Hamlin, Germany in 1284 and offers to help the children of the town. They take him up on it and the legend of the Pied Piper is born.

AO3, 24k words, rated T

An Evening In: Human AU. Aziraphale has a bad day and Crowley promises to make it better. PWP

AO3, 18k words, rated E

Carry On: After the garden, the First Family has to find their way in the wider, more dangerous world. But Heaven and Hell aren't ready to leave them alone so Crawly and Aziraphale tag along. When Cain has the idea to sacrifice the best of his harvest to God, Abel also wishes to sacrifice the best of his lambs.

God chooses Her favorite and the First Family is left to pick up the pieces as best they can.

AO3, M rating (Prequel to The Demon Piper)

DP x DC Fics:

Bring Me Home: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and when Danny's parents take his reveal poorly, Tim helps get him safe.

Tumblr prompt fill, 3.5k words, M rating (for fandom typical violence)

Subscription Post

Alternative Reunion: This is an alternate way the original fill could've gone if Tim hadn't been there to get Danny out, but Danny still managed to escape to Gotham.

Rewrite - Friend Request (Arc 1): AO3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Silver and Gold (Arc 2): AO3; Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20

Arc 3: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

Ghost!Robin Haunts Jason AU: Jazz is dating Jason, so she and Danny are invited to dinner at Wayne Manor to meet the family. Danny arrives and meets Jason for the first time only to be distracted by the ghost of the dead Robin that is hanging off of him. T rating

Original Prompt (and collab fill), Subscription Post

Arc 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13

Arc 2: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Answer My Call: (Wrong Number AU) Jazz, Sam, and Tucker manage to help Danny escape the GIW, but they can't follow him and are under too much surveillance to communicate with each other. Sam snuck Danny a phone as he ran and Jazz sends him a text every day, hoping to hear he is all right. But he's not the one getting the texts.

Jason was away for several months on a mission with the Outlaws. When he finally returns home, he is surprised to find dozens of messages from an unknown number begging a Danny to tell her he's okay. Looks like there's not going to be a break between missions this time around.

T rating (might go up to M for fandom-typical violence)

AO3 Link

Subscription Post

Tumblr Links: Original Prompt and Fill, (actual) Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Part 1, Part 2

I'll Carry Your Heart (Until I Find You Again): Danny and Jason meet in the zone after Jason's death. They become friends (and more). But Jason doesn't think it's enough. He finds Desiree and wishes for his life back. But for every wish, she exacts a price.

Chapter 1: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Danny's Arc: Part 1

The Two Ghost Motel: Danny is tired.

Endless ghost fights with too many responsibilities and too little time; he barely passed sophomore year. When Ember visits town for a bit of fun, she mentions the Two Ghost Motel, a place of peace and refuge for restless ghosts who aren't ready to cross over.

“I’m fine, Ember.”

Danny’s got a home and friends. He’s fine, really.

But when his parents begin experimenting with electricity to destabilize ghosts, it’s too much for Danny. Unfortunately, neither Sam nor Tucker can host him for the night and he’s left wandering in the night, alone. Then he sees it: The Two Ghost Motel.

He checks in.

“Welcome.”

AO3

Tumblr: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Want to Hold on and Feel I Belong: Danny is finally settling into his new life with the Waynes and loves them. But then he finds out their secret identities. The Justice League works with the US Government. And the US Government funds the GIW. He won't go back to them. He won't.

Tumblr Links: Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

AO3 Link

Subscription Post

Empathy Verse: Jazz literally runs into someone outside the library when she's distracted. She's about to apologize when she feels the ghost-empathy radiating off the stranger. Instead she relaxes into his embrace.

Tumblr Link: Parts 1-5

Something to Feel: Danny moved to Gotham for university. However, the lack of other ghosts in the city is leaving him restless. He needs to get away from people and let off some steam.

Then he meets another halfa in the park. They're about to start fighting when Danny realizes their might be a more fun way to vent their frustrations.

Rating: E (smut)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Remember, Remember: Danny is a failed clone of Dick by the Court of Owls. Erasing his memory, they threw him out onto the world where he eventually got adopted by the Fentons. If the portal accident somehow knocked loose the mental block hiding his memories… Who knows what could happen.

Tumblr Link - 1k

AO3 Link - 1.3k

Electricity: Danny Phantom has been brought into the Justice League and it's great!

Or, well, it would be if Danny could be paired with anyone who wasn't an electricity user. The post-mission panic attacks are getting old and Jazz is worried.

Tumblr Link - 1.5k, T rating

AO3 Link - 2.4k, T rating

School Nurse!Danny: Danny gets a job as the nurse at Tim's school. He recognizes the type of injuries Tim comes in with almost immediately but doesn't say anything, happy to patch him up in the office or let him take a nap when needed. Until Red Robin decides to go out in costume the day after Tim was in his office with a broken arm. Looks like he has to call a parent-nurse meeting.

Tumblr Link - 1.6k words, G rating

AO3 Link - 2.7k

Memes!!!

Kidnap Buddies: Tim and Danny are both kidnapped in Gotham when the goons couldn't figure out which black haired, blue eyed boy was Tim Drake. They bond as they're locked up and Danny uses is powers to help them escape.

T rating, 1.6k, complete. Tumblr only currently

No Place Left to Hide: Danny is on the run. He wants nothing more than to see his family, but they're out of his reach at the moment.

Then he sees a magazine article and accompanying photo of Damian Wayne. His long-lost twin brother.

Maybe he does have some family he can check on. Just to spy from a distance, of course. Getting too close would only make his situation worse. But when he gets caught in the halls of Gotham Academy, he might not have a choice in the matter.

Tumblr, AO3

T rating, 3.1k, complete

Solved with a Touch: Danny and Damian Twin AU. Danny seeks out refuge with his birth father after he is forced to leave Amity. But he and Damian just cannot get along. So much time has passed and both of them have changed so much that they just cannot figure out how to reconnect. Until Dick forces them to go to a carnival together and they get hit with Poison Ivy's cuddle pollen.

Tumblr only, T rating, 2.8k

Johnny and Kitty overshadow Batman and Superman: What it says on the tin. Danny thinks the Justice League is expecting him to take care of the ghost problem in Amity alone. But when he goes to Gotham apologizing profusely for letting Kitty and Johnny get past him, the heroes have no idea who he is. Or why he was left to deal with a problem so severe on his own. As a teenager.

Half filled prompt, opening scene with Danny rushing to Gotham. Then it skips ahead to the heroes discovering the state of the Fenton household in Amity.

Attack on Sight: Demon Twin AU. Danny is in Gotham with his parents and Jazz when he sees Damian. League instincts kick in and the two are at each other's throats before Jazz or Dick can intervene.

Tumblr only, 1.1k, G/T rating

Constantine Bingo: Danny is being introduced to the Wayne's as Jason's boyfriend. During dinner, he gets notice that he won that round of Constantine Bingo.

Tumblr prompt fill, 873 words, G rating

Stalker Danny: Jason is being stalked and threatened by some sort of pit demon. Danny hopes the new halfa he just came across will accept his courting gifts.

Tumblr prompt fill, 764 words

Justice League Mechanic!Danny: When Danny applied for his position as civilian engineer with the JL, he filled out the demographic information stating he was a half ghost. Apparently, a number of the heroes didn't get the message and are freaked out when his heart stops beating or he puts a pause on the whole breathing thing.

1,060 words, T rating

DC Only

Obligatory Truth Serum Fic: Tim Drake gets captured and injected by a truth serum. Now he has to escape both the up-and-coming villain and his family before he can be asked any questions he doesn't want to answer.

2k, G rating

[the-arcade-doctor]

[[ STOP KOSA ]]

[[ RULES ]]

[[ GAMES AND GAME RULES ]] [[ PRIZE CORNER ]]

Some context: Text Doctors are a collection of Tumblr-based RP blogs featuring plague doctors made out of ASCII symbols with their own unique lore, they're mostly variants of the first one to don the title, Doctor Screech, a eldritch monster who hails from the abyss and landed in a world of violet occupied by walking fungal-infected-corpses and other such nasties.

HEY YOU! ARE YOU BORED? WHO AM I KIDDING, YOU FOUND THIS BLOG SO OF COURSE YOU ARE, LUCKILY FOR YOU, THIS IS AN BLOG FOR THE MOST… INTERESTING PLACE ON THE WEB!

WELCOME, LADIES, GENTS, AND EVERYONE ELSE TO

A PLACE OF INTRIGUE AND DANGER, MYSTERY AND WONDER! WHERE GAMES FEEL ALMOST ALIVE AND THE OWNER IS OVERJOYED TO MEET NEW FRIENDS!

ARCADE SCHEDULE

OPEN - 9:00 OR 11:00 AM

CLOSE 11:00 PM AFTER HOURS - 12:00 PM TO 6:00 AM MORE INFO BELOW, ENJOY YOUR STAY!

ENTRY #1: THE DENIZENS J:\\ THE MAKER \\\\

>> Jay. a 5’8, 17 (now 18) year old boy (when he feels like) with tan skin, wearing a black hoodie with a green “87” on it, grey sweatpants, and black shoes, under his hood lies a led visor displaying green animated eyes. He runs an arcade, overseen by a plague doctor suit made out of keyboard symbols, it has a parasitic relationship with his soul that enhances his ego. he runs an arcade as a front to gain more power to cut the strings of fate the gods have cast upon him.

[ jay speaks like this. ]

Jay, he found his way into a mysterious world occupied by a lone plague doctor, a beast who wore a mask of violet, the first ever "text doctor", at least, that's what he called himself, the plague doctor made out of... ASCII symbols? His name was Screech (@the-text-doctor), they got to know each other, the beast was wiser, older, had a family and most of all? POWER. Jay eventually stumbled onto a stray portal, and found a dimension with a lone arcade in it. It was empty, abandoned. It was quiet at first. Then the trials began with new technology Jay founded. His suit. A green, distorted form of the plague doctor made of symbols he met from days before. it was a beast forever crying emerald tears.. It took over the dimension. Slowly at first, but then rapidly, the floors turned black, the walls turned a dark shade of green, the arcade grew, seemingly floating. It was all falling into place. J:\\ THE SUIT \\\\ A green plague doctor made out of ASCII symbols, slashes make up his limbs and torso, and tear streaks fall down his mask. His left arm is corrupted heavily, with claws made of black triangles. He also has one corrupted wing made out of corrupted textures and glitch artifacts, on his chest lies a dark green mantle with two mirroring "J"s. His belt is made of square brackets and equal signs. This suit was made a host of the place it is now known for, but also to fight, and fight it does, it would be unwise to pick a fight with it in it's unnatural habitat.

thanks to @just-hyper-active for jotette's neck fluff [ J:\\ JOTA SPEAKS LIKE THIS. ] [ ♀J:\\ JOTETTE SPEAKS LIKE THIS. ]

The suit, when worn, made him agitated, angry, violent, egotistical, envious, and any other sense of the words, so much so that it took over his very soul, encasing it in a green hue, and wings, ever since, everyone wanted that exotic, digitized soul for themselves. The Jotette side grade makes Jay feels as if he's the prettiest thing on two legs, still as pyschopathic.

It was perfect for what he needed. He's been researching other worlds for a while, so they were next, but until then? He needed somewhere to cover up his research... the arcade would do just fine. He'd get to lounge around all day, and work on gaining more strength by night. Eventually, he opened the arcade, and attracted quite a crowd. He didn't feel much for them, just lambs to the slaughter, he thought. but eventually he grew fond of some of his visitors, some he loved seeing, some less so. his power grew... but he needed more. He eventually found other worlds, more creatures like his suit, “text doctors” as he calls them, more forms to take, more things to assimilate into his growing matrix of code and hate. J:\\ THE LESSER GODS \\\ In the world of digital evils known only by "EXEs", there lie creatures who couldn't get their hands on the vessels everybody knows them for, Sonic, Mario, Pac-Man, the like. These creatures have been festering inside unknown and uncared for video games, i.e one-off titles or edutainment games. They all think the ranks of Sonic.EXE have it too easy since they have more recognizable vessels, so they've decided to form in gangs of sorts, Jay has felt pity for them, and built a refuge for some of them called Circuitboard City. ENTRY #2: THE DIMENSION, THE BOARDER BETWEEN THE PHYSICAL AND DIGITAL REALMS

J:\\ OUTSIDE \\\\ A vast, black expanse, adorned with grid-patterned green lines and shrouded mountains that conceal Circuitboard City. Green floating stairs serve as the arcade entrance, the space under the arcade leading to an underground subway entry point for access to Circuitboard City.

J:\\ SUBWAY \\\\ The Subway, a dark green and somewhat dirty underground passage, links the arcade to the wonders of Circuitboard City, some Lesser Gods have taken refuge here as opposed to Circuitboard City.

J:\\ CIRCUITBOARD CITY \\\\

helped by @just-hyper-active The cyber-city sprawls beyond the mountains, initially visible like a distant skybox. However, the true nature of this place is revealed when you journey there through the Subway, unlocking Circuitboard City in it's fullest. Jay shelters Lesser Gods amidst the skyscrapers, surrounded by advertisements for JOTA's Arcade.

J:\\ ARCADE INTERIOR \\\\ Inside the arcade, a surreal extension of JOTA's twisted yet whimsical persona unfolds with moving wall patterns and nonsensical floors. Rows of cabinets, a prize corner, and a maintenance room entrance mark the journey. As one ascends towards JOTA's office, the rooms defy Euclidean logic, with unconventional door placements, and other such glitchy mishaps.

J:\\ HALLWAY \\\\ A simple hallway stretching to both the left and right of the office. J:\\ MYSTICS ROOM \\\\ A room where Jay's been studying various deities and other such creatures, such as Zalgo, Screech, and more. This room is to the left of the office hallway.

J:\\ JOTA'S OFFICE \\\\ JOTA's office, a dark green room adorned with silver accents. A faux bird rug lies in the center, and a dark green desk bears a lunatic's scribbles. Nearby stands a simple polygon statue of a pixelated emerald-textured plague doctor. Wall sketches depict a green heart with expansive wings and stylized plague doctors drawn from simple lines and shapes. Above, a mounted skull with a "GAME OVER - JOTAPHOBIA" plaque completes the room.

J:\\ JAY'S BEDROOM \\\\ Jay's bedroom, features a beanbag bed, the sole Sega Genesis in the arcade ever since a run-in with Sonic.EXE himself, Sonic posters, and invisible ink-laden posters of the other text doctors, the Cade Crew, and Jay himself. The dark green room houses a simple stand with drawers, holding obscure games, and a basic TV. This room is to the right of the office hallway.

J:\\ JOTA'S THRONE \\\\ On the main floor, JOTA's throne, a giant green chair, stands amidst corrupted textures and computer parts, adorned with a "GAME OVER" banner. J:\\ SUIT JUNGLE \\\\ Behind the curtains of the throne room lies the enigmatic Suit Jungle, featuring towering, unreachable arcade cabinets and one of them stands far above the rest, displaying myriad copies of JOTA's suit, glaring at whoever roams by, amid twisted metal trees and digital leaves, static falls like water and error messages are the closest thing to clouds, more copies of the suit are found crawling around, acting as birds, glitching green messages, seemingly written by Jay himself adorn the place's floors and walls.

the voices I have for all of my anons unless said otherwise: https://tts.cyzon.us EXE

Jay first encountered Sonic.EXE, also known as "X," during an event called Incident X. This voidspawn manifested itself as Sonic and attempted to claim Jay's soul. The encounter took place fashionably late at JOTA's arcade, following the Halloween EXE Takeover in 2023. Since then, X has been engaging in periodic battles with Jay's suit.

X derives pleasure from toying with human souls, leaving Jay concerned about how long he can keep the entity amused before facing potential death. In the aftermath of the incident, Jay discovered the existence of other entities similar to X, collectively referred to as The Lesser Gods or The X Underlings.

[saradika-graphics]

thank you so much for answering my previous ask! i’ve thought it over and asked some friends, and we gathered some ideas. sorry if it’s a lot!!

for some of these, i removed will’s name from the quotes. i figured it’d look/flow better that way

- will’s clock (i attached an image as an example at the end)

- “this is all i ever wanted for you. for both of us.”

- “if i saw you forever, i would remember this day.”

- “this is my design.”

- “i’m not fortune’s fool. i’m yours.”

- “this poet wrote you a poem. are you going to let his love go to waste?”

- “i’ve never known myself as well as i know myself when i’m with him.”

- “killing must feel good to god.”

- here’s the full quote: “killing must feel good to god, too. he does it all the time, and are we not created in his image?”

- could maybe make cool matching dividers?

- “it’s nice to have an old friend for dinner.”

- “i am who i’ve always been. the scales have just fallen from my eyes. i can see you now.”

- “No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them.”

- full quote: “No one can be fully aware of another human being unless we love them. By that love we see potential in our beloved. Through that love we allow our beloved to see their potential. Expressing that love, our beloved's potential comes true.”

i also am a huge fan of the movie “the silence of the lambs,” and, if you don’t mind, i compiled some quotes from the movie you could maybe use?

- “a census taker tried to test me once. i ate his liver with some fava beans a nice chianti.”

- “i do wish we could chat longer, but i’m having an old friend for dinner.”

- “well, clarice, have the lambs stopped screaming?”

- “you fly back to school now, little starling. fly, fly, fly.”

- “quid pro quo”

- full quote: “quid pro quo. i tell you things, you tell me things.”

- i think maybe this one could make a good divider too? or naybe like a matching set?

- “Caterpillar into chrysalis, or pupa, and from thence into beauty.”

- here’s the full quote: “The significance of the moth is change. Caterpillar into chrysalis, or pupa, and from thence into beauty. Our Billy wants to change, too.”

- "Of each particular thing, ask: What is it in itself? What is its nature?”

- full quote: “First principles, Clarice: simplicity. Read Marcus Aurelius, "Of each particular thing, ask: What is it in itself? What is its nature?””

- “his pulse never got above 85, even when he ate her tongue.”

- maybe as two dividers, split where the comma is?

- “memory, agent starling, is what i have instead of a view.”

i’ve looked over this list and it’s WAY longer than i initially thought it was, i’m sorry 😭 i don’t mean to flood you or anything, genuinely — i’m just a big enjoyer of the show & movie 😭🙏🙏 thank you for entertaining my ask!

and last but not least, will’s clock:

Thank you so much for these suggestions! I had thought of Will’s clock initially - the dividers are just so narrow, that I worried the detail would be lost. I have some ideas for it, though!

I’ll also pick some quotes from this list, and have a set queued for later this week (right now I am thinking about 12 or so dividers total, including the clock!) 💕

[karizard-ao3]

My reactions to Evangelion episode 23: Rei III

The really sucky thing about watching after my kid goes to bed is that by then I am wiped out and far less alert so I feel like I can't pay attention as well.

She's listening to the message again 🥲

Poor Shinji doesn't know what to do about his houseful of traumatized women. He's really so timid.

Poor class rep lol

I'm glad she has someone to open up to.

Poor Asuka. She just needs to feel loved the way she is.

That Angel looks like a halo.

Asuka has lost all her confidence.

It got unit 0 right in the gut!

Rei seems to almost be enjoying this.

"The person we call an Angel."

Rei has a very skewed and confused sense of self, and as a result I feel like I also don't know which version of her is the real version during this conversation. To me, it's not as clearly differeniated as when Asuka and Shinji had to confront their own inner demons. I think the bumpy one is the real Rei and the smooth one is the Angel trying to communicate. I'm going to rewind.

That's still what I think.

Poor Asuka. "Why didn't you send unit 1 when I was in trouble?" Well, Asuka, because Gendo is a douchebag. But Shinji did want to save her.

She sucked in the Angel. She's going to sacrifice herself for Shinji. Or is it for Gendo?

That was a very metaphysical explosion with the Eva/Angel hybrid thing turning into a giant Rei and then going up in a pink, sparkly puff (before the real blast).

So there are 17 Angels in the Dead Sea Scrolls.

"Another sacrificial lamb"

Someone who knows the whole truth. Of course it's Ritsuko.

Weird moment between Shinji and Misato.

"Rei. She was the product of my despair. I suppose she's always been a vessel of hope for you."

Are these the same injuries she had when he first saw her? Is this because she's a copy?

"No. I don't remember. It's probably because I am the third one." Well!

I was like, "If she throws out those glasses, I'll know she's a doppelganger" and then she starting squeezing them.

They made Ritsuko strip down.

They need 12 Evas for their plan and think the obliteration of Tokyo-3 will help their plans as well. Maybe I'm just making random associations, but there were 12 disciples. Is that relevant? Idk.

Ritsuko called Shinji and said he can safely go outside.

Misato shows up to threaten Ritsuko into telling her all her secrets and it turns out Shinji is there. Why are you dragging my baby boy into this drama?

Artificial Evolution Laboratory!!!

Okay, I'm not going to comment during this next bit. I want to watch uninterrupted.

Okay, so, first, when Ritsuko was inferred she had a secret love, I was like, "Ew, what if it's Gendo?" but I didn't want to speak it into existence, but it looks like it was. Maybe they weren't having an affair, but I think this confirms she at least has feelings for him. But, Gendo seems to have a thing for screwing lovely lady scientists so that they'll help him with his warped goals, so most likely they were fooling around.

Second, Evas being human is not a surprise. I suspected they were at least part from the moment I saw those fingernails. I knew there was something off about them. So, humans made in Adam's image, which is kind of delicious because the biblical Adam was the first human made in God's image, but in NGE Adam is the god and Evas are made in his image. Kind of feels like making a photocopy of a photocopy. No wonder the Evas are messed up.

Third, I knew something was up with Rei but I did not go so far as to guess she was an Eva! The only Eva with a soul. That tank full of smiling, empty copies that they use for parts to repair her with... chilling. I would not like to be in that room full of Reis. And then to see them all destroyed. When a Rei dies, does her soul go into another one, though?

Also, not totally clear on this, is there a blank Rei in the dummy plug, then?

If Rei is an Eva, is she reading the thoughts of those around her? Is that why she seems to have "synced" with Shinji in a way? Is her apparent issue with multiple personalities simply her vibing with people on a different, more psychic level because she is part Angel?

In Closing

We should be finding out what happened to Shinji's mother when she vanished soon. It's been referred to pretty consistently over the past few episodes and I'm wodnering if that will be the final key to everything. When she disappeared, did her soul go into Rei? Is that how she was the only Eva born with a soul? There's too much evidence that Yui and Rei are linked. And Gendo naming her Rei indicates he must see her as his and Yui's daughter of sorts, which also makes me further believe Yui is in her somehow. Or maybe the Eva merged with Yui and changed her into baby Rei.

The skeletons were an interesting touch. Were they trying to make the Evas big and pilotable at first or did that become necessary due to the need for them to have a soul (even if it's not theirs) physically present inside them to be functional?

Hm. Lots to think about.

Also, with Asuka, I'm not sure if she's going to have a burst of recklessness that endangers her or if she's going to give up completely. She and Shinji are actually a lot alike. They both want to be loved. They just handle it very differently. Asuka wants to force it out of them and Shinji just makes himself available and agreeable to coax them to care about him. It's like when people become low maintenance to their own detriment. Whereas Asuka has elected to become high maintenance, perhaps to make people prove their care for her by doing what she wants them to.

I really hope they get even a few minutes of relief from their suffering before they are unfortunately sacrificed to further whatever Gendo is trying to do or for Seele's goals. One or the other. I'm not expecting any of these kids to survive, quite frankly.

Do you think Ritsuko dyes her hair so she won't look like her mother when she hooks up with Gendo? Like, she doesn't want him to think of her mom who banged him first? Food for thought.

[stvrdsts]

Is that  MARY MACDONALD  stepping out into Diagon Alley? Ministry records tell us that they were born on  12TH JULY 1956  and are a  23  year old,  MUGGLEBORN  who works as a  HEALER.  Some have said that they can be described as being  CHARISMATIC, PROTECTIVE & REALISTIC,  however, they also see themselves as being ISOLATED, CALLOUS & VENGEFUL.  Apparently,  SHE  look(s) a lot like  SARAH PIDGEON,  whoever that is, and if they had to pick a side in the war, they would choose to  JOIN THE ORDER.

god hood is a lot like girlhood ; a begging to be believed.

basic.

Full Name: Mary Estrella Macdonald.

Name Origin: mary; star of the sea, bitterness, beloved. estrella; star. macdonald; world ruler.

Nicknames: mare, m, mack, little lamb ( this is a nickname she definitely hates)

Age: 23

Birthday: 12 july, 1956? did i math that correctly who knows

Gender & Pronouns: cis woman & she/her

Sexuality: bisexual

Relationship Status: single

magic.

Patronus: lynx

Boggart: being locked in a cage

Wand Type: i am going to come back to this

Occupation: Healer for St Mungos, sometimes helps the research department too

Affiliation: the order of the phoenix

Face Claim: Sarah Pidgeon

bio. trigger warning ; mentions of torture. general angst.

LIFE ISN'T FAIR. it was cruel and twisted, filled with bad creatures lurking in the darkest corners of the world. sometimes people who didn't love each other had kids. her father used to call her older brother the calm before the storm, with the storm coming two years later. her mother named her mary. for the first few formative years of mary's life it had been filled with laughter and love - at least that's what she thought, though it wasn't until her random bursts of magic had revealed the truth. her parents barely tolerated each other. that plus a daughter with unknown magic abilities? well.

she was a kid, trying to be the mediating adult between her parents - her brother was off with school friends, intent on never spending any spare time at home, so mary was often left alone with hushed squabbles behind closed doors, before one day her mother packed their things, and as soon as sebastian got home, she had taken the two of them from the only home they've ever known in scotland - travelling all the way to nottingham to stay with their aunt.

things seemed to be going well for a while ; mary was making friends at the local primary school, sebastian was hitting high marks in his classes, the macdonald family were slowly building a life. she was finally allowed to be a careless kid coming home with scraped knees and a wide smile, until the fateful knock on the door one saturday afternoon which changed their lives - mary was a witch, part of a magical community hidden to their eye. for a good while, she herself didn't believe it despite the facts laid out in front of her. weird things always happening in the vicinity of her, or if she was especially pissed off.

as she came around to the news, her mother had not, refusing to believe any of it was real until mary had to go and pick up her school supplies. her brother was supportive, but he was still a kid. he thought magic was cool. the days leading up to mary's eventual departure her mother had avoided her until the last minute, and it was sebastian that helped her carry her trunk to the platform.

despite the sour farewell, mary was well and truly excited to learn about magic, having poured over her school textbooks the night before, and when the hat was placed on her head it had called out gryffindor. home of the reckless. house of the brave. it was where she had made a home for herself, amongst the jokesters and know-it-all's. over the years mary had grown into a confident and kind girl, always willing to lend a helping hand. her easy going nature had made it easier for mary to make friends, and just as easy to make enemies.

[tw torture] because as kind as mary was, she was still a hot-head, often arguing with people in class, creating grudges bigger than she was. mary wasn't quite prepared for the bully named Mulciber, who had been sneaky with their attack; a facade of friendship until they had sunk their claws into her unexpectedly. a traumatic event at barely sixteen - all signs point to torture of some form, yet the night of the attack Mary's memory still remains blank. without the proof, despite being in the hospital wing for days afterwards, and a scar that kept coming back no matter how many remedies tried, mulciber was able to stay in school. [end tw] mary had reached out to her parents, at least to her mother and brother, but she doubted that her mother would even tell sebastian she had written to him - and after that night, mary stopped picking up a quill and parchment to write them.

it took mary years after the attack until she felt somewhat okay; instead of seeking help she instead buried herself in her school work, staying up until all hours of the morning with her head in her textbooks or drawing in her sketchbook by the window nook in the gryffindor common room. anger never looked good on girls that thrived from being kind to others, so within the new year mary had decided to put that anger to good use by joining the gryffindor quidditch team as a beater, and despite years of arguing that quidditch was a senseless game, mary felt like herself for the first time in years after her first match. she remained on the team until graduation, before being accepted into the trainee healers program.

that same day someone had come to her with a proposition ; one she couldn't refuse. sick of the injustice done to her, done to other muggleborns that weren't strong enough to get back up, mary gladly accepted the order's invitation with a fire in her eyes that no one had seen in years. she was grit. she was teeth. she was a girl who learned how to use her claws and smile while she was stabbing you in the back.

on the eve of her twenty second birthday, mary decided to go home, feeling nostalgic, missing the girl she could've been ; untouched by war, she'd almost be done with university, probably have a boyfriend she'd be planning her future with. instead she was in the middle of a war against her kind, a constant target on her back. what she saw made her stop her knock on the door - a crack through the curtains revealed her mother smiling and happy, with a man she didn't recognize. instead she decided to search for her brother, spending the night getting drunk on his couch and catching up. she might not have had her mother, but at least mary had her brother, promising to keep in touch - and to this day they still write letters back and forth, which has helped ground mary in the wizarding world.

her natural affinity for helping others and extensive knowledge had given mary a boost in her trainee program, and graduated a year earlier than her class, accepting a position at st mungos not long afterwards, while actively helping the order in her spare time; her flat soon becoming a pit-stop to patch up quick wounds if needed. a pillar of courage she's become, even if she's still haunted by her own memories.

[nnschneider]

I got tagged by @wurzelbertzwerg so her are my replies

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

30

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

296,244 as of today but I'm posting weekly updates on a story nowadays.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Primarily Northanger Abbey and Good Omens although I've written something for all of Austen's published novels and other TV shows (not all posted on AO3)

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I'm ordering these from most to least:

An Equitable Arrangement - GO. Sequel to Renovation. A/C go from pretending to be a couple of humans to pretending to be a human couple.

Origin Story - NA. Modern hero/villain AU inspired by Mega Mind.

Opposite of Retirement - GO. Sequel to Equitable Arrangement. A/C do not get a peaceful, boring retirement.

The Renovation - GO. C is unhappy with his flat and decides to renovate it.

The Smallest Angel - GO. A is shrunk.

5. Do you respond to comments?

Yes but I always feel like I'm doing it wrong. Like, I have posted whole pages of words just above here and I need to write something else like Thank you? But that feels a little skimpy given that so few people comment these days. And also, what's a reasonable time between the comment and the reply that doesn't feel like I'm stalking my inbox?

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Lamb - Mansfield Park. In response to a Halloween prompt ("illness").

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Northanger Federated? It very clearly ends happily ever after.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I got a relatively gentle, hate-tangential comment once on Welcome to Austenville. It has multiple couples in it from Austen's novels. I had changed one canonically M/F couple into a F/F couple and someone left a comment that they would not be reading the rest of the story due to that. Note: this was not on AO3 but on another site where I was cross posting.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No. I tend to try to watch my language unless it's character compliant, even swapping out "oh my god!" with "oh my goodness!" I tend to stay away from explicit scenes. I also typically note if there's violence, sexual innuendo, or implicit scenes as a warning. Long ago, I started posting on a site that abided by an ambiguously understood "family friendly" policy and I've internalized that recommendation.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I'm more of a "saw a movie, imma cram my blorbos in it" writer, but if you consider mixing characters from different Austen novels in the same story, then yes, I have done crossovers.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I don't think so? No one's told me.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I have had a fic translated INTO SONG! For years, I wrote a little parody of something Jane Austen as a Christmas Carol and blackglass actually sang Who Would Say No? (Austen crossover about heroines refusing a marriage proposal to the tune of Up On The Housetop).

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Does a beta reader count? I think I'd love someone to poke me along but also I'd need them not to poke when I am too busy IRL.

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

It has to be Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland. Boring but gets the job done.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

My COVID inspired P&P that focuses on Lady Catherine and her friends sending letters back and forth as England succumbs to a mysterious plague,,, of werewolves. I was angry at the time with how people in power (the Lady Catherines of the modern world) were so eager to put front line workers in danger to support their lifestyles. But now that everyone is actively, deliberately coughing on everyone else, it feels like the moment has passed.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'm willing to move from one fandom to another based on my inspiration. I'm willing to kill my darlings which is good for suspense.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Action and choreography. I struggle with these, have no idea if I'm using the right vocabulary for the expert who knows those terms nor the novice who just wants to read something entertaining. I feel like I'm never right.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I did a Casablanca inspired Persuasion piece which had some German and French in it. My peer reviewer at the time knew someone fluent in German and I've had enough French that I could sprinkle in a few lines for atmosphere without requiring my readers to know a second language. I did try to get clever and put the translations into a tooltip you could hover over so you didn't need to scroll or click around, and then I realized it doesn't really work on touch screens or sites that strip out HTML as a security precaution.

As far as writing a whole story in another language, I think it would need to be a very short story.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Pride and Prejudice, "Lizzy and the Three Ghosts" which has not been posted on AO3. I had read enough JAFF to be thoroughly comfortable with P&P, before I started to really get behind NA.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Origin Story is my favorite NA on AO3; you should read it.

I have no idea who else to tag but consider this your open invitation.

[good-or-bad-luck]

my Lamb cotl headcanons

child (11-12). didnt get to fully grow up before being sacrificed. pretty short

doesnt have a real name. only "the Lamb" or just Lamb. didnt get one when born and never chose one in life.

mostly silent. never speaks and all sermons are through the crown and any blessings or such equivalents are through non verbal action. only speaks twice ever which is to defy the one who waits and to say thank you t o Ratau after the tutorial

merciless. never got the chance to know peace and love so shows everyone none. would make every deal with the fox except the lamb cant--just cant-- give up the one person that showed lamb any true kindness

wolf lke features after sacrifice--teeth and front claws. hidden mostly. a pseudo protection incase the crown should ever fail

unlike the bishops, the lamb never changes form after becoming god of death. is always physically a child and any physical changes are outside forces should they happen. ie scars and such.

doesnt remember any other sheepfolk. all sacrificed before the lamb ever got to know their faces. does not see them in death.

keeps the (follower versions of the) bishops and narinder alive for far far longer then they or their bodies can handle it, lets them die only becuase if the lamb doesnt ??? will cause issues.

i think if the lamb just had one other sheepfolk or just one person to be something akin to a friend or family before the Events the lamb would be a different person but thast will never happen now

[earthtourist]

Am I a shadow musician? ✹ How music keeps me going.

Am I living thru the lives of my audio engineer partner, friends, and the music I listen to? Because I’m not an active musician, I’ve never taken the time to reflect on my musical journey. But sheesh, it’s been there all this time and is here to stay. And more than ever, I’ve been having a calling to make music. But before I dive into that, let’s pay tribute to everything that’s led to where I musically am so far. (As a pretext, you’ll see me mentioning different places. I have attended 11 different schools, moved 12 times and lived in 8 cities across the US.)

Although my parents aren’t the most musically aware (their taste in music is strictly The Beatles, Elvis, and Filipino serenades)- I always had an affinity towards music. I recall my parents getting me my first keyboard. Then eventually heavy-weighted piano which still sits in my living room today. The piano lessons which I honestly despised because my young wild mind couldn’t sit still. Nonetheless, I never failed at performing for my relatives at family parties. And we never failed at singing cheesy Filipino renditions of f pop songs on Magic Mike. Because my family was extremely poor and didn’t like me listening to “trashy radio music”, the only CDs I had at the time were Gorillaz - Demon Days and The Black Eyed Peas - Monkey Business. Luckily, now-that-I-think-about-it, I had the gift of being part of the golden Limewire/pirating era. Literally remember being 10 years old (2006), downloading London Bridge By Fergie. Damn did we all destroy our parents’ computers, but at least we had all of the .FLAC files to our hearts’ content.

Middle school was when I first entered a formal musical setting. In 7th grade, I learned an embarrassingly masculine instrument. A more mellow and melodic low brass instrument, the baritone/euphonium. But unfortunately resembled a tuba. I absolutely loved band. I was pretty bullied when I first moved to Florida in 6th grade. So the movement I got away from my racist enemies, I found my hobby and went all in. Immediately signed up for Jazz Band as a keyboardist and insisted on proving myself. By 8th grade, I had a sort of an identity crisis and embraced my scene/emo kid side- but never let go of the band nerd inside. I became first chair in advanced band then switched to trombone, where I got to learn how to improve on stage. My parents weren’t the most pleased and never went to my concerts. This continued throughout high school, and eventually had the same response to my art career. But that’s a story for another. Although they weren’t the most thrilled- they still did the minimal support to at least keep me happy. Admittedly, my musical taste was pretty trash! A weird mixture of metal artists (Fall Out Boy, Paramore, The Devil Wears Prada, Lamb of God), ska (I LOVED Big D and the Kids Tables), and pop (Regina Spektor, Bjork - these two artists I give total credit to Allison). Aside from getting separated from my family at a Backstreet Boys concert when I was 7 years old- I have insane early memories from Warped tour. I’m having trouble remembering the band. But it was the middle of the Florida summer, with me heat-wave disoriented standing in the middle of the pit. The singer announces something intelligible. The crowd splits and at the count of 3, 2, 1- I realized that I too, am suddenly rushing towards the center. I immediately am shoved to the ground as piles of skinny men fall onto me. With nothing but my scrawny arm left- I reach upwards. Low and behold it’s my tuba playing classmate Charles, who helps me up.

In high school, the music department of VHS became my refuge. Students at my middle school were split between the beachside and inland school. I bid farewell to Kristen, Isabella, Alyssa, Lauren, and Alec. Although entering high school was always awkward, the band room became a place where I truly became myself. Learned to be loud, talkative, creative, competitive- and thrive around other people with the same passions. I had such a powerful friend group. Michelle, Lauren, Taylor, Kara, Jacob, Joseph, Allison, etc. But also honestly, every member of the music department was so endearing, sweet and creative. I found my place and became obsessed. All of my elective courses were taken up by Chamber Winds, Jazz Band, Marching Band, and Wind Ensemble. This might not sound much to you, but all of this involves going to school in the summer, before school starts, and after.

We had the best community an insecure but creative kid would ever want. What really helped is that I had these really extremely passionate band directors, Nick Egan and Wayne Bressette. Mr. Egan would have these huge emotional fits when we wouldn’t march the right way. Or if a section blatantly didn’t practice. But at the same time, we all loved him. He was incredibly encouraging and knew how talented we were. We later discovered it was because he was having huge family problems at the time. My life was still troubled at the time. But he always pushed me to try for All-State/County. Motivated me to go to the closest and most magical thing I ever experienced to Hogwarts, band camp at FSU. He even had me audition to become section leader after he found out I was moving. Maybe it’s because he was used to be a euphonium teacher too. But wow- thank you.

All of this probably has to do with the fact that that the South takes football seriously. And sequentially, marching bands were epic. And I mean fucking epic. We were the little nerds that helped fill the stadiums and work up the crowed. We practiced for weeks during the summer Florida heat waves. Spent our Friday nights at football games in the rain. Getting high off the bus chants and sweaty fumes. We recording every show and marching rehearsal. I remember one hood-ass band performed these hip-hop trap bangers that riled up the whole field. I’ll never forget those sober and energetic nights.

After moving to Massachusetts, although I attended band for my sophomore year, I chose not to continue the following. The Southern passion unfortunately wasn’t found there. Don’t get me wrong, there were some talented musicians. But god we sucked. There was only one level. Even though I was the top trombonist, I was forced to be 2nd because the older students had seniority. No jazz band. Marching band was still a thing I guess, and we had these town parade where band moms kept an eye of who was about to pass out from the sun. I remember when a flag twirler permanently knocked my front tooth into its now-half-crooked angle. My highlight from the Acton-Boxborough band was the DC trip for the cherry blossom parade. It’s not their fault. It is honestly just because New England schools care more about education than football and band…

The biggest blessing from being at ABHS is that’s how I found my friend group. Kris Roman was a saxophonist whom I knew was in my grade but also in band. But one day in my English class I noticed Kris wearing a light blue band shirt I also had! It was some random ska band (Maybe Less than Jake, Might Might Bossstones, Street Light Manifesto, or Big D & the Kids Table) which was freaking random. Eventually, he put up a flyer that he was having a ska show, which sparked my curiosity. At some point, he had Kevin, the singer DM on Facebook and was eventually added to the friend group. Little did I know, they had dubbed me as trombone girl. They invited me to band practice one day, and then suddenly I was in Mad Frolick. I played maybe 3 shows total and fucking loved it. Eventually, band practice turned into just smoking weed and drinking. I officially no longer attended band class. We got more into listening and enjoying than performing. Except for Kris who got into Berklee! Our whole crew was really into music, but me, Kris, and Colin were really into deep cuts. For example, I honestly wasn’t super into hip hop until Colin showed me the The Beatles X Wu Tang compilation. But I remember then getting really into witch house, trap, trip-hop. That was an epic music phase that paved the way for entering my first cultural experience and city: Boston.

Boston. Oh Boston. This will honestly need to be detailed for another day. But simply put. Having never lived in a city, and entering as a rebellious music nerd was wild. And taste-wise, I learned an immense amount about punk, EDM, deep house, and alternative hip hip. Now that I think about it, this is the first time I’ve ever revisited my time in Massachusetts. I’ve been extremely avoidant of the topic due to how painful the memories are. To the point that I forgot about all the other wonderful memories in between.

Skipping thru Boston, I made it back to my home state of California. But this time, in Santa Barbara, I landed in LA. My time spent in Santa Barbara didn’t go as planned. What started as an optimistic move to begin a new life, ended with another cool set of friends which I called “the tribe”. Ultimately, fled after one year due to a lost sense of self due to partying. It was a fun and frantic blur to say the least. But an eye-opening one that pushed my limits. Who knew that such a beautiful place could hold so much chaos. Those Santa Barbarians. My musical obsession took a bit of a turn there. Where I was forced to play music for a more skater turn-up type of crowd. Learned my bit about sad boy $uicideboys, hyphy Mac Dre, some electronic, and hmmm. Yup, that’s about it! Definitely didn’t spend as much time researching music, but hey- at least it was a good time.

After nearly dying in Santa Barbara, I finally convinced my parents that I wasn’t going to major in anything they wanted. Moved further down the coast, and ended up becoming a graphic designer in in the music industry of Los Angeles. (To this day, my dad still asks if I’m interested in going back to school for coding. But I still love him~). Finally living my dream, I initially lived alone- which allowed me much more freedom for my audiophile tendencies. There was a great deal of healing involved. What seemed to really help with keeping was indulging in the world of new music. As new chapters and events in my life happened, I tended to need a new genre to ease into the transitions. My musical phases ranged from dream psych, post punk, cold wave, electro pop, hyperpop, folktronica, UK garage, all things indie, french house, philly shoegaze, world folk, etc etc. I give huge credit to Spotify's radio, similar artists, and "create similar playlist feature". I experienced the horrors of working as an assistant at a music PR firm. Not that the job was bad, it was more of the revealing truths of working in the music industry. It’s a low-paying, unappreciated, but self-fulfilling sector. Learned how hard and what it takes to become a successful musician. I’ve made incredible friendships within the Berklee alumni. Then started a business with my incredibly talented audio-engineering boyfriend. Someone who I utterly adore and, best of all, shares nearly the same exact music taste- it’s unreal. So here, in the present day, I can’t believe I had a whole narrative to write about my musical journey. It was awesome framing things thru the lens of music. I often find myself wondering what my life would’ve been like I actually pursued my love of music. But the reality is- I always have. Music, annoyingly clichely put, has been my anchor all this time. And will probably continue to be my beam of light in the now and in the future.

follow me on Substack for my latest musings. Check out my Spotify Playlists here.

[arainmorn-art]

Do you like ciphers? I love a good hidden message and mysterious paintings, i really like how you set it up in deciphering, it's partially what drew me in to the comic, aside from your gorg art and funny&heartwrenching dialogue so. I was wondering if you liked mystery stories in general, what would be your favorite ones? Owo

Are you that mysterious person from DeviantArt who tried to decipher the canvas and Morse code sketches? If not, hi anyway! If yes, hello, dear!

The name of a last code type you asked about was really hard to track down because of some translation issue. I thought it was a cipher of the Knights of the Rose Croix, but Google was so confused it couldn't give me anything besides this next to the actual Rose Croix cipher, apparently.

And now I'm confused too, so let's make it easier and I'll show you the decoder. What is SPRC cipher Google doesn't know either.

And yes, I like ciphers, but before writing Deciphering I couldn't thought where I can use them. Now I know I can implement them into drawings x)

It's a little bit funny how I found out about ciphers outside of adventure and mystery movies. It may not look like this now, but in 2012-2014 I was pretty devoted fan of My Little Pony G4. I was 20 and went to Czech Republic to attend the pony convention Czequestria 2014. There was a quest, we split into teams and a part of it was to decipher little texts. It looked some gibberish and I couldn't thought what to do with it, until my teammate, a local guy Vojtech, took the paper sheet - and god damn recognised every type of coding was used. He was mumbling under his nose: "Ah, it's Caesar's one. Alright, rotate 4?.. No, it's rotate the alphabet 3 times". I was mesmerized. And you know what? We were the only team who finished this part and got the first place winning the quest - and all thanks to Vojtech! :)

Only a year after I've watched Gravity Falls - and still haven't figured that out how and where could I use ciphers.

And oh hell yeah, I love detective and mystery stories! As much as I love good romance stories, mysteries are my favourite genre. Isn't that the first reason a lot of us played Ace Attorney? It was mine for sure, besides being bored and wanting to play something silly. I didn't know ANYTHING about gay lawyers until I've launched the game last year.

What are my favourites, uf, that's a tough question.

I absolutely loved Endeavour TV series, watched 3 seasons in a row, and I should return to it. The main character is also so sweet, his large translucent blue eyes inspired me to paint Pheenie's eyes that way.

I also love The Silence of the lambs movie.

In terms of books I really love Alan Bradley's series about Flavia de Luce, the first part is called The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie. Flavia is a 12 years old genius chemist and the youngest daughter living in a manor with her father, two older sisters and several servants - and around her always happen murders. I like Flavia so much, I called my cat after her. She is so charming, funny and quick-witted, cynical and in love with chemistry, interested in poisons, graveyards, decomposition and, well, solving mysteries. It's really funny moments when adults are trying to hide her from corpses, but she leans in to investigate no matter what. She reminds me of Wednesday Addams, but still in a very fresh and entertaining way. I love a combination of sweet and jesus-fking-christ in one story, but it's mostly really sweet and wholesome. And, gosh, it's written so beautifully!

I also can recommend Daniel Pennac's La Saga Malaussene, first part is The Scapegoat. It might be not my favourite, but it is unforgettable experience for sure. The main character is an older brother of 10+ little siblings and the only adult, every one of his little ones are just a tiny bit magical, which makes the story a bit with magical realism. It also contains a combination of sweet and brutal, like Flavia, but here the contrast is even stronger. And the brutal murders, ouf, make the wholesomeness shine even brighter.

Woah, I feel like I should stop for now. Such topics make me really talkative, and I should go back to work. We can continue later, my inbox anywhere is open ;)

[awideplace]

What does pleading the blood of Jesus mean? And is that Biblical.

I don't see "pleading the blood of Jesus" in the Bible. I personally do not agree with it nor have I ever said it. Here is a great context from Got Questions for your question:

“Pleading the blood of Jesus” in prayer is a teaching common in Pentecostal and Charismatic circles. When people speak of “pleading the blood of Jesus in prayer,” they are referring to the practice of claiming the power of Christ over any and every problem by using the phrase “I plead the blood of Jesus over _______.” People fill in the blank with whatever they want: “I plead the blood of Jesus over my family/job/thoughts/illness.”

“Pleading the blood of Jesus” has no clear basis in Scripture. No one in the Bible ever “pleads the blood” of Christ. Those who “plead the blood” often do so as if there were something magical in those words or as if by using them their prayer is somehow more powerful. This teaching is born from a misguided view of prayer that prayer is a way of manipulating God to get what we want rather than praying for His will to be done. The whole Word of Faith movement, which teaches pleading the blood, is founded on the false teaching that faith is a force and that, if we pray with enough faith, God guarantees us health, wealth, and happiness.

Those who teach the value of pleading the blood of Jesus usually point to the Passover as support of their practice. (It is quite common for Pentecostalism to base its doctrines on Old Testament examples.) Just as the blood of the Paschal lamb protected the Israelites from the angel of death and led to their deliverance from slavery, so the blood of Jesus can protect and deliver Christians today, if they apply, or “plead,” it.

Those who plead the blood of Jesus often do so in the context of seeking victory over demons. Pleading the blood of Jesus is a way of taking up the authority of Christ over the spirit world and announcing to the forces of darkness that they are powerless. Some base this aspect of pleading the blood on Revelation 12:11, “They triumphed over [Satan] by the blood of the Lamb and by the word of their testimony.”

Again, there is no example in the Bible of anyone “pleading the blood,” so in that sense it is not expressly biblical. The phrase the blood of Christ in the New Testament is often used as a metonymy meaning “the death of Christ.” The blood/death of Christ forgives our sin, reconciles us with God, guarantees our inheritance in heaven, etc. Should a Christian be aware of all that the blood/death of Christ has accomplished for us? Absolutely. Should a believer be thankful for the blood/death of Christ? Of course, and expressing that thanks is good. Does a believer need to remind God of the blood/death of Christ every time he prays? Not according to the Bible. Do the words “I plead the blood of Jesus” give our prayers an extra kick? No, that’s more superstition than biblical prayer. Pleading the blood of Christ is not needed to defeat Satan. He has already been defeated, and, if we are born again, Satan has no power over us other than what God allows for His purpose and glory. We have already been “delivered” (past tense) from the power of darkness and “translated” (past tense) into the kingdom of God’s Son (Colossians 1:13). No need to continually plead the blood.

Rather than “pleading the blood” of Christ for protection or power, Christians should obey the command in James 4:7, “Submit to God. Resist the devil and he will flee from you.” The Bible gives us numerous instructions in victorious living in Christ, and pleading the blood of Jesus is not one of them. We have been cleansed by the blood of Christ, and now He is our High Priest and mediator who “always lives to make intercession” for us (Hebrews 7:25). As His sheep we are already under His protection; we simply need to live day by day trusting in Him for what He has already promised and provided.