#m/m novel

[rangeralthynia]

Mid-ish June Update Blog!

Hello fellow writeblr peeps!

There have been a lot of moves for my novel and me the last several weeks.  It’s been hectic as we were preparing for Geekcraft Expo, so actual work on the novel had to be backburnered a bit - but I’m back in the saddle!

I’m on chapter 11 of the third draft.  I’m slowly making my way through, and I have a couple people looking at it and reading it to give me feedback.  Of course, I’m still looking for a few more beta readers - so if you’re interested in BL novels, hit me up for some early access to this one!

The expo went....well, not well from a financial standpoint, but I think it went ok as far as starting to get my feet wet talking to people at conventions.  A few people showed interest in Hidden Report, including one willing to beta read it, so yay!  I would say that made the weekend a success regardless.

Another major update is the COVER!  I have secured an artist, a very dear friend that has stepped up to take on the impossible task of working with me to design not only Ash and Faysal’s looks but to design the overall cover of the book!  We have confirmed Ash’s and are in the process of trying to get Faysal’s down, but both are looking fantastic so far!   I’m hoping it’ll be at a point soon where I could maybe do a cover reveal, or at least a character reveal - but we’ll see!

^This matches how I’ve looked seeing the work that my artist has been putting in and seeing them come to life!  I hope you all enjoy seeing them as much as I have!

That is -mainly- it for now.  Hopefully as we get into the second half of the year here there will be more and more, and we’ll be moving toward publication!

[childrenofcain-if]

DEMO: 𝕾𝖊𝖕 22

Wealth. Power. Death.

The Ballad of the Young Gods is a dark academia interactive fiction story, with dark fantasy and psychological thriller themes. Some of the romances also contain tropes and storylines which may be disturbing to some readers.

It is based on media like “Ninth House” by Leigh Bardugo, “The Secret History” by Donna Tart, “Masters of Death” by Olivie Blake, and SYFY’s “Deadly Class”.

It is rated 18+ for depictions of swearing, sexual themes, gore, violence, and death.

Getting into an Ivy League school is a dream that thousands of American students nurse from a young age. Luckily for you, that dream is your reality. Four years of continuous hard work and pressure have made you a proud freshman at Yale University. And as if that wasn’t enough, you have been handpicked to attend Rathore College, whose selection process is revered across all the nation’s top educational institutions. But you should’ve known this stroke of luck came with a catch.

Yale is a crucible of power, where secret societies wield arcane magic and the dead are far from silent. The illustrious House of Styx wants you and this is a situation that not even your money can get you out of.

They are powerful, elite, and most of all, controlling beyond recognition. They are also the heart of the eight secret societies that attach themselves to Yale. From the White House to Hollywood’s most acclaimed stars, their influence reaches farther than anyone can dare to imagine.

A sinister conspiracy brews under Styx’s watchful gaze, one that threatens to unravel the fragile balance between the living and the dead. But in a graveyard of secrets, you and your accomplices are the ones with the shovels. You’re now in a world where the past is never truly dead, and the lines between life and death blur with each passing day.

But some secrets are better left buried, and some prophecies are destined to drag you to hell.

Cédric Armand Lacroix / Céline Armelle Lacroix (M/F)

Vindictive. Conniving. Ruthless.

As the heir to the Lacroix fortune, C is every bit as arrogant as their bloodline demands them to be. Even after the messy divorce of their parents which further led to their disownment by their father, Alain Lacroix, they refuse to give up on their dignity. They’ve vowed to destroy him one day and take what’s rightful theirs, brick by brick. The world bent to C’s whims, what money couldn't buy them, those pale green eyes probably did.

There is nothing that they can’t have, especially if they set their mind to that. That is until you came along and stayed one step ahead of them every time in everything that mattered. It wasn’t just the fortune or the legacy at stake; it was the bruising of their pride, the constant reminder that someone—anyone—could outmaneuver them. But beneath the layers of resentment and anger, there’s something more—something darker, even more dangerous.

An obsession takes root, one that blurs the line between hatred and fascination. And they vow to spend their whole life despising you for everything.

Romance trope: Enemies / Academic Rivals to Lovers.

Vance Kasper Næsholm / Vanessa Karina Næsholm (M/F)

Pious. Haunted. Disillusioned.

Raised under the oppressive influence of a rigid, fire-and-brimstone faith in a Danish Catholic orphanage, they were taught to see demons in every shadow and sin in every touch. Forever haunted by the visions provided by a wrathful God they can neither fully grasp their mind around nor escape from, their only reprieve came on the day they got adopted at the age of six and diagnosed with schizophrenia. But the truth of their ‘psychosis’ may be far more sinister than any medical diagnosis could account for.

As the tides become even stormier and their medications become ineffective when they arrive at Yale, all V can do is hold on to the last threads of control over their lives. Your first meeting almost makes them teeter over the edge.

Now that they’re your roommate, they’re bound to you by fate or folly, but whether they’ll be a stable ally remains to be seen.

Romance trope: Roommate Romance.

Wilhelm Johann Ostendorf / Wilhelmine Johanna Ostendorf (M/F)

Exhausted. Abandoned. Lost.

What does the world think of you when you’re a product of brilliance and neglect at the same time? With an Oscar-winning filmmaker for a father and a mother ensconced on the American board of directors at the Louvre, their pedigree is undeniable, yet it is a legacy more hollow than it appears. While their parents sculpted their careers into masterpieces and amassed accolades, they left W to be raised by their paternal aunt and uncle. A sizeable trust fund and periodic checks served as their parents’ only gestures of care, a shallow substitute for the love and attention their only child so desperately craved.

The only times they had felt more than someone who was deeply unlovable were the summers you spent on rusty swingsets and fast bicycles with training wheels. But the swingsets have long been dismantled, and the bicycles have been traded for cars.

The only questions remain—are you the same kid who saw them, really saw them, beyond the reality of being unwanted and the suffocating looks filled with pity that came with their name? Or will this reunion only serve to confirm their deepest fear—that they are, and always have been, truly alone?

Romance trope: Forgotten Childhood Friends to Lovers.

Dumitru Constantin Diaconu / Dumitra Constantina Diaconu (M/F)

Charismatic. Reckless. Guarded.

D’s name is the one that comes up in almost every conversation about Yale’s wildest parties. A natural-born rockstar charmer with a magnetic presence, they effortlessly draw people into their orbit, collecting hearts and bodies with the ease of someone who’s always been in the center of the gold rush. Despite the countless admirers and the trail of broken hearts left in their wake, you’ll always find them with a Marlboro between their lips and a new person in their arms to warm their bed at night. Their smile is a promise, and their laughter a siren call. In the haze of flashing lights and the thrum of bass that pulses through the walls, they are a heartbreaker in every sense of the word.

Feelings are a complication they don’t allow, a line they never cross. They’ve perfected the art of detachment, of keeping their connections strictly no-strings, because to let someone in would be to risk the vulnerability they’ve long since sworn off.

Will you be the only person they'd let peel back the barbed wire surrounding their heart? Or will you be left with nothing but the faint scent of cinnamon and a tale that wasn't meant to be?

Romance trope: Friends with Benefits / Sex First, Feelings Later. [You will only be able to unlock their romance route through a hookup.]

Maxwell Edmund Whitlock-Singh / Maxine Edythe Whitlock-Singh (M/F)

Duty-bound. Noble. Untouchable.

Politeness and decorum are second nature to M. They are the embodiment of manners, a living testament to the art of subtlety in a world where spectacle often trumps substance. They are the sort of person who commands attention without seeking it, a product of both royal blood and rigorous self-discipline. Dubbed the “Paragon of Styx,” M is a modern Plato, someone who finds as much solace in philosophical debates as in the classical texts they’ve devoured in multiple languages. As the second-born child of the Crown Princess of Wales, they have always understood that their life would be one of service with every action scrutinized, and every word weighed.

Their intellect is vast, but it is their passion for the esoteric that sets them apart. For all their convictions, there is a restlessness within M that even they cannot fully articulate. It is the paradox of their existence—a life of privilege that feels at times like a gilded cage, a role that demands both reverence and obedience. Indeed, heavy is the head that wears the crown.

Will you make them realize that life is more than duties and expectations? Or will you become yet another figure in the background, another reminder of the golden cage they were born into?

Romance trope: Forbidden Royal Romance / Secret Relationship.

Step into the shadows as the wealthy heir apparent to a billion-dollar industry who is just starting at Yale University as a freshman.

Be a part of Yale’s most enigmatic secret society, the House of Styx.

Fully customize your character including: pronouns, gender, physical appearance, personality, sexuality, and more.

Romance 1 out of 5 love interests (all of them are gender-selectable). Or not. Platonic relationships are valid too.

Study forbidden knowledge, practice dark magic, and try not to fail at your actual coursework.

Test your mind, body, and soul in rituals that blur the line between reality and nightmare.

Learn about the secrets that your mother took to her grave. Is she really the same woman you remember so fondly from your childhood?

Will you rise to navigate the sinister plans brewing under the nose of the House? Or will your actions drag you and your companions to the fiery depths of Hell.

W̶̗͖̝͆h̷͕̲̑̎̓̍̄̎͠͝a̵̢̛̫̾̓͗t̴̙̫͛̐͆̾̀̓̔̊͝ ̴̪́́̈́͛̂̉̀͒̊́ạ̸̗̯̲̘̬͗̀ͅr̸̢̪̜̭̼̠̟̜͚̂̈́͋͋̅͑̉́̎͝e̸̩̯͉̿̊̔͛̃̎͝ͅ ̵̢̹̜̤͍͙̩̬̰̜̏̃͝͠y̷̢̨͇̘͍̌́͐̍̆̓̑̐ǫ̶̢̧̡̛̥̤͉͎̟̃̏̍̓̒ͅu̷̓̂̾̇̇͜͝,̸͎̖̮̲̳̻̱̬̎̒͑͝ ̸̡̛̰̌͐c̶̛̪̗̰̻̜̲̘̺͗͊h̴̡͔̦̘̤̖͊̿̓̇i̵͉̘͙̥͍̼̜̐̐̄̅͝͝ĺ̶̡̧̧̼̦̦̗̰̝̼̓̊̀d̸̡͎͔͔̰̖̿̐̈́̓͊̌̃̓͜?̷̩̗̲̫̮͕̍̈́́̽͜͝͝

DEMO (Sep ‘24)

RO DETAILS

SPOTIFY (for RO playlists, click on their names in the cast section)

PINTEREST

WRITTEN BY: axel (he/him)

CODED BY: @albywritesfiction (they/them)

[fuckyeahlegionm]

From the Legion M website... The retail edition of Defiant: The Story of Robert Smalls Comic Book #1 will be hitting comic shops across the country on November 6th, 2024. From now until September 26th, retailers can pre-order these special editions (featuring a unique cover different from our Kickstarter and Comic-Con versions), but we need your help to get Defiant into as many stores as possible!

Typically, independent comics often don’t make it onto shelves unless there's demand, and that’s where the power of the Legion comes in. By reaching out to your local comic shops and requesting Defiant Comic Book #1, you can help ensure they stock it. More books in stores mean more people discover the incredible story of Robert Smalls, which brings us one step closer to seeing it on the big screen.

We’d be so grateful if you could share the order codes below with your favorite comic retailers and encourage them to place a pre-order. Even better, if you don’t mind spending a few extra dollars, you can place an order for one (or more if you are aiming to get the “virgin” variant cover) yourself. Your support makes all the difference, and we couldn’t do this without you!

WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW Catalog: In the "Diamond Previews" catalog (which comic shops can order from), Defiant Comic Book #1 will be listed under "Stranger Comics" which can be found in the independent publisher section on page 386.

What's Available For Pre-Order:

Defiant #1 Caanan White Main Cover - Diamond Order Code SEP242067

Defiant #1 1:10 Virgin Retailer Incentive Cover - Diamond Order Code SEP242068

Variant "Virgin" Cover: A virgin cover means that the full cover image is depicted without titles or logos. For Defiant Comic Book #1, there is a 1 in 10 ratio variant (often depicted as 1:10) that is a virgin of the main cover. This means that for every 10 regular copies a retailer orders, they can order 1 copy of the virgin cover, which helps to preserve the limited nature of the variant. With that in mind, while you may request the virgin variant from your retailer, they will likely charge more or require that you order more copies to be able to get it.

For folks that can't make it to stores: Can’t make it to your local shop in-person? You can pre-order through Diamond's Pullbox Service.

[marinusart]

I was interested to check can I draw backgrounds so here are the redraws of WOF GN covers

[damiengravehill]

𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐥𝐝, 𝐛𝐮𝐝𝐝𝐲, 𝐨𝐡 𝐧𝐨! 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬? :(

(I know it's technically not accurate since Renfield wasn't facing Seward when he entered the room, but I felt like drawing horror at the time so shhhhh ! 🕷🕸)

[grandwretch]

modern au; nonbinary steve

dustin bullies steve into playing their favorite MMO with them. to Dustin's disgust, Steve's favorite part is collecting all the different cosmetic items and making cool fantasy outfits for his avatar. unbeknownst to the party, steve creates an alt account where he can collect the female outfits and wigs, because there's a bigger selection and they're much prettier.

as Steve interacts w people on his new account, he realizes he likes it better-- for one, people pay attention to women in a way he isn't used to. not all of it is good attention, but steve relishes in it. also, he likes that people see him as a woman. he likes that they don't even think about it. quickly he joins a guild and actually starts playing the game in earnest, just so that he has these relationships with people who view and treat him as a woman.

he meets Eddie there. Eddie is charming and flirtatious with everyone, men and women, but it's clear that Steve is his favorite. Very carefully, Steve becomes closer and closer to Eddie-- close enough that Steve is full of guilt.

He feels like he's lying to Eddie about who he is, even though he's told the truth about everything but his gender. Even worse is the realization that he doesn't ever want Eddie to think of him as man-- which is confusing, because steve isn't exactly comfortable with someone he's falling in love with thinking of him as a woman.

Things get even worse when, after Steve drunk texts Eddie after a night out with Robin, they start sexting. Its fun, casual flirtation, nothing too serious, but Strve realizes he likes the idea of sex better as his alternate self. He likes pretending to have tits, he likes imagining what it would be like to have a cunt, he likes talking about wearing lingerie and being Eddie's good girl.

He thinks he can't come clean without losing the best thing he's ever had, so Steve pushes his guilt down and pretends he's not in love.

Of course he gets caught out, eventually. Dustin and Eddie become friends in real life and Eddie isn't an idiot. Steve is mortified and distraught, but once Eddie is sure that this wasn't all a cruel prank, he's quick to assure Steve that nothing has to change-- Knowing that in real life Steve has broad shoulders and a square jaw doesn't make him any more of a "man" than his online avatar makes him a "woman". Not if that's not what Steve wants.

So Steve doesn't have to give anything up. He gets to keep his amazing, supportive boyfriend. He gets to keep his pretty clothes and avatar. He gets to keep experimenting in the bedroom, finding out what makes him happy instead of what he thinks he should be doing.

And he gets more, things Steve never even dreamed of having: He gets to start buying pretty clothes in real life, too, and they hang next to his polos like they belong. He gets to grow out his hair. He gets to slowly find out what he likes, how he wants people to think of him, how he wants to think of himself.

[supertaliart]

Hey! If you like my fandom comics and illustrations, you might like my graphic novel, M is for Monster. It's a Frankenstein-inspired story with non-binary and queer characters that plays with the "came back wrong" trope. It's available to order or buy from bookstores and a lot of libraries!

[theoptia]

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

Text ID: the night of the hunter.

[morrieandlicky]

Sweet Moments Between Maurice and Alec That You Have Not Seen Before (From E.M. Forster's 1st Draft for Maurice)

Context: Forster's first version of Maurice, finished in 1914, has a rather different ending than the final published version (no hotel scene, and no boathouse reunion). See here.

Forster's first draft for Maurice is, in my opinion, the rawest in terms of boldly displaying the love shared between Maurice and Alec. This version shows much more of Alec's emotion and tenderness, as well as of Maurice's sentiments and affection towards Alec. It is definitely not as subtle as the final version, with quite a few straightforward declarations of love.

Hence, I'm disappointed that Forster did not manage to integrate at least some of these 1914 texts into the final version: it would've made the love between Maurice and Alec much more pronounced and convincing, as well as made Alec a character with more depth and feelings.

Having read Forster's first draft for Maurice, I share below some of these moments between Maurice and Alec that are not in the final version (ordered on how lovely I think each moment is. Bolded texts are the highlights).

1. After running into Mr. Ducie in the museum and Maurice bursting out to Alec.

M: "I'd possibly have blown out my own brains."

A: "Why?" he asked, stopping dead.

M: "I should have known by that time that I loved you."

A: "You can't, sir, you couldn't."

M: "I love you, sir be damned."

A: "Maurice"—never before had the word been spoken—"you're an angel."

M: "I don't want to hear that."

A: "Maurice, Maurice" his voice failed also; he had once said the rest to a woman. "Maurice - what you've said I feel. Understand?"

M: "I think so, but I want to be sure. Remember those rose bushes in the other rain? - Look at me hard - That's right. That'll do. It's settled." (Maurice is referring to the moment when Alec ran in the rain across the rose bushes at Penge just to see Maurice's face.)

2. The conversation after Maurice refuses to stay the night with Alec—a scenario that only happens in the first draft in 1914. Be prepared for tears.

A: "Come just for a little to me."

M: "If I came it would be for ever."

A: "Ever's the best."

M: "Why, man, you sail Thursday."

Alec found no answer.

...: here's when Maurice explains in a long paragraph why they can't be together because of their class difference and the fact that they're both men. But in this long paragraph Maurice pretty much brings up wanting to marry Alec—"We can't have the particular thing we want (which is roughly speaking marriage) unless we sacrifice something else"

M: I thought from that letter of yours you might want me to come. But, Alec, come where to?"

A: "I'd know if you weren't a gentleman," Alec said. "We'd a' found work together as mates."

M: "Yes, and if you were a gentleman, I'd take you this minute to my home.

A: "I'd a' been what young Clive was to you, then."

M: "He's a saint and we aren't. Leave out him."

A: "I'd a' been yours till death, then." ("I would've been yours till death, then")

M: "Out there if you get a chance to marry, take it. That's what I wish.

A: "Maurice, what'll you do without me, dear? Have you no other friends?"

Maurice dared not look forward to his own future. He rushed on the parting.

M: "And if there's ever a child, I shan't ever have that, so remember me."

A: "I'll remember you, child or none. God bless you. O God bless you, and be with you if I can't."

3. Right after Maurice puts his hand on Alec's back in the museum

"Yes, awfully serious," remarked Maurice, and rested his hand on Alec's shoulder, so that the fingers touched the back of the neck, doing this merely because he knew that he loved Alec, that he loved him not as a second Dickie Barry, but deeply, tenderly, for his own sake, beneath weakness and vulgarity.

4. In the museum, Alec in pain and acting cute

[Alec] had bitten his lip, his eyes were red too; face and body were cramped with pain.

M: "Alec -"

A: "Alec am I?"

M: "I'm sorry I used that other name of yours."

A: "Don't speak to me," he growled, "let me go, you calling me Alec when I"

M: "Did you give me away then on purpose?"

A: "You're correct.

M: "Was it to get money - or only to do me harm?"

A: "I couldn't say."

M: "Come, let's get away where we can finish our talk."

A: "What? What do you say?"

M: "Come along, Alec."

A: "Do you call me that still?"

M: "Come away, man, don't break down for God's sake...." He took hold of [Alec's] arm. The touch was not reminiscent; it hinted at a relation to come.

A: "Oh but you must, I want it." Alec yielded.

5. Maurice at night thinking about Alec's letter

He tried to forget the treacherous letter, but it stole back to his mind, and he suffered most during moments in bed, when it masqueraded as a real love letter, and offered him the completeness that Clive enjoyed with Anne.

(This is brilliant writing because we, as readers, know that Alec's letter is a love letter, yet Maurice's "muddles" prevent him from seeing it as a love letter, and it is only at night, when he's craving Alec's presence, that he's able to allow himself to see the truth and succumb to his feelings for Alec.

Here, again, is also a suggestion of Maurice wanting to marry Alec, like how Clive married Anne)

6. One version of Maurice's and Alec's first night together

A: "Good evening - sir, said the low voice. Was you wanting something? Couldn't you sleep?" It was the gamekeeper.

On your rounds? gasped Maurice, trying to sound natural, and felt corduroys. Their touch disconcerted him. Whither was he tending from Clive into what companionship?

A: "Just wait till I've set down my gun - eh aren't you trembling?"

M: "So are you - ah don't."

A: "Don't you like that?"

M: "I don't know."

A: "Christ you're fussy. Don't you like me to touch you."

M: "That's you lad."

A: "Yes."

Side notes: hopefully these will shut all the detractors (of the relationship between Maurice and Alec) up—namely Clive apologists, Clive+Maurice shippers, and all of those dark academia classist out there.

[duohensheng]

i never expected the plot of tgcf to be so reliant on the concept of a group chat

[callmevenus]

🎀💗バンド .｡.:⭐️(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و⭐️ ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ 🐈★，｡･::･ﾟ♪☆｡ 🎀💗バンド .｡.:⭐️(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و⭐️ ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ 🐈★，｡･::･ﾟ♪☆｡ 🎀💗バンド .｡.:⭐️(๑•̀ㅂ•́)و⭐️ ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ 🐈★，｡･::･ﾟ♪☆｡

[gabriestat]

interview with the vampire : claudia's story, ashley marie witter (2012)

interview with the vampire (2022) S2 EP7 "i could not prevent it"

[childrenofcain-if]

legend say moles are where your lover had kissed you the most in your past life! how would the RO’s feel about an MC who says that softly and kisses them where their moles are? (eg: under their lip, on their hand) (i have a mole on my shoulder blade so i find that an adorable concept!!!)

C LACROIX

the air was thick with the smell of damp earth and something faintly metallic, the kind of scent that lingered just before a storm. C’s face, sharp and unforgiving, was tilted slightly toward the heavens, as if they could challenge the gods themselves to a duel. there was something tragic in the way they stood, their shoulders rigid with the weight of an expectation they could never quite escape, their posture a careful construction meant to keep the world at bay.

you had seen them like this before—brooding, simmering with an anger too vast to contain. they were always a contradiction, a child dressed in the trappings of a young adult, lost between the glory of their lineage and the wreckage of their own shortcomings. and now, as you approached, their eyes flickered with something close to desperation, though they would never let it fully manifest.

you noticed it first, the small, dark mole at the edge of their collarbone, just where their skin dipped into the hollow above their chest. it was a mark you hadn’t seen before, but the sight of it held your attention. a story your grandmother had once told you flickered at the edge of your memory, and before you knew it, the words were spilling from your lips.

“legend says moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life,” you say as a form of greeting, your voice low, like a secret meant only for C. your breath fanned against their skin, warm and soft, and you felt them tense, just slightly, beside you.

C’s transfers their gaze to you, like they were waking from a dream, and they looked at you with something you couldn’t quite name—something tender, and maybe a little afraid. their lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. instead, they just watched you, their gaze dark and searching, as if they were trying to decipher a language they didn’t know they spoke. the winter wind tried to creep into the thickness of their overcoat, but they didn’t even bother tightening it up.

without breaking eye contact, you raise your hand to pull the neckline of their long-sleeve sweater down. your lips lean in to meet their exposed collarbone, to that tiny, insignificant mark that suddenly felt like the center of the universe. you kissed it gently, reverently, as if it were a sacred thing. the moment your lips touched their skin, you felt them shudder, a breath escaping them like a sigh, like the release of something they hadn’t known they were holding on to.

the silence between you grew heavier, thick with the weight of things unspoken, things that had always been there but never acknowledged. at least not since the night of their confession. but there you were, hidden away from the rest of the campus, in a world where only you and C existed.

C’s hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, their touch achingly tender, as if you were something fragile, something precious. they pulled you closer, their forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, you just breathed together, your hearts beating in sync, the world forgotten.

“is that true?” they murmured, their voice so quiet it was almost swallowed by the darkness. “about the moles?”

you smiled, a small, secretive smile that they couldn’t see but could feel. “maybe,” you whispered back, your lips brushing against theirs as you spoke. “i like to think so.”

C didn’t respond with words. instead, they tilted their head slightly, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as soft and tentative as the one you had just given them. it was a kiss that held no demands, no expectations—just the simple, undeniable truth that, in this moment, you were theirs, and they were yours.

and when you finally pulled back, you saw it in the pale green of their eyes—the way they softened, the way the walls they kept so carefully constructed seemed to crumble all over again. they didn’t say it, didn’t have to, but you knew. knew that in this life, in every life, you had been marked by them, and they by you.

V NÆSHOLM

the chapel was quiet, the kind of quiet that made you feel like you had to hold your breath, like any sound might shatter the stillness. the dim light from the stained glass windows cast kaleidoscope shadows on the stone floor, coloring the cold gray with muted reds and blues. V was sitting in one of the back pews, their head bowed slightly, fingers clasped loosely around the small cross that always seemed to be in their hands. you wondered how long they had been there, lost in whatever prayer they whispered to the man on the cross.

you slid into the pew beside them, careful not to disturb the silence. V didn’t look at you, but you could feel the tension in their body, a tight coil of worry or doubt or something else entirely. it was strange, seeing them like this—so still, so pensive. you had always known V to be composed, always in control, but here, in this sacred space, it was like they were unraveling thread by thread.

your gaze drifted to the small mole just under their lip, barely noticeable unless you were close enough to see the details of their face. it was a mark you had never really thought about, but tonight, it drew you in, a tiny speck on the otherwise perfect canvas of their bronze skin.

“do you know what they say about moles?” you whispered, leaning closer, your voice a soft murmur that barely disturbed the air between you. V’s head tilted slightly, acknowledging you, but they didn’t speak, waiting for you to continue. “they say they’re where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.”

V blinked, their fingers tightening on the edges of the bench as if it could anchor them. “is that so?” their voice was soft, almost hesitant, like they weren’t sure what to make of what you’d just said.

“yeah,” you breathed, your words coming out on a sigh, and without really thinking, you leaned in and kissed the mole beneath their lip, your mouth barely brushing their skin. the gesture was simple, almost chaste, but it felt like it held the weight of a thousand promises.

V’s reaction was immediate but subtle—their breath caught, their hand trembling slightly as it moved to your arm, not to push you away, but to hold on. their eyes fluttered shut, and for a moment, it was like the world stopped, like the silence in the chapel was no longer oppressive, but comforting, like a warm blanket wrapped around the both of you.

when they finally opened their eyes, there was something new in them, something soft and raw and maybe a little bit terrified.

“you shouldn’t… you shouldn’t do that,” they murmured, but there was no conviction in their voice, just a tremor that gave them away.

“why not?” you asked, your lips hovering near theirs, the question more a breath than a sound. “maybe it’s true.”

V’s grip on your arm tightened, and they looked away, their gaze fixed on the altar as if searching for answers in the flickering candlelight. “because…” they trailed off, their voice breaking, and you could see the conflict in them, the way their stony faith warred with something deeper, something more human. “because it makes it harder to... keep away from temptation.”

you smiled softly, a smile that V could feel more than see. “maybe purity isn’t about keeping away from temptation,” you whispered, your words brushing their lips like a prayer. “maybe it’s about knowing what’s worth giving in to.”

V didn’t reply, but the way they leaned back in to kiss you in that moment—hesitant, tender, as if they were afraid you might disappear—told you everything you needed to know. and when they finally pulled back, there was a tear slipping down their cheek, catching the light like a drop of liquid silver. you wiped it away with your thumb, and for the first time, V let you see them, all of them, without the shield of their faith or their fear.

and in that moment, you knew—this was a feeling that had been written into the stars long before you had names to give it.

W OSTENDORF

the night air was cool, drifting in through the half-open window, carrying with it the scent of pine and damp earth. you and W were lying on the old, worn-out sofa in their suite, the one that creaked whenever someone moved too suddenly, but right now, everything was still. the room was dark, save for the dim light of a solitary lamp that cast long shadows across the walls.

W’s head was resting against the back of the sofa, their eyes half-closed, their features softened by the quiet of the evening. There was something about the way the light played across their face, catching on the angular line of their jaw and the delicate curve of their pink lips, that made them seem almost ethereal. you noticed it then, just below the curve of their jaw, a small mole nestled in the hollow of their neck.

the words came to you unbidden, a soft murmur in the stillness. “legend says moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.”

W’s eyes flickered open at the sound of your voice, a small crease forming between their brows. for a moment, they said nothing, just looked at you with that intense, sapphire gaze that always made you feel like they were seeing right through you. there was a weight to their silence, something sacred, and you wondered if you had overstepped, if maybe this was too much, too soon.

but then W’s expression softened, the tension in their features melting away like snow under the sun. they tilted their head slightly, giving you better access to that small, dark spot on their skin, their breath hitching ever so slightly as you leaned in closer.

you pressed your lips to the mole, a kiss so soft it was barely there, but you felt the way W’s body responded, the way their hand held the back of your neck, as if grounding themself in the reality of your touch. the scent of their skin—faintly citric, with a hint of something darker and richer, like a strong cup of earl grey—filled your senses, and for a moment, it felt like the entire world had narrowed down to just this, just you and W, and the space between you.

when you pulled back, you could see the way their chest rose and fell a little faster than before, could hear the slight unsteadiness in their breath. W’s eyes fluttered closed again, but this time, there was something different in their expression—something vulnerable, something raw, that they’d never let anyone see but you.

“do you believe in that?” W asked quietly, their voice low and rough around the edges, like they were speaking through a dream.

“i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice just as soft. “but i like the idea.”

W didn’t say anything for a long moment, their thumb tracing absent patterns on your skin, a slow, rhythmic motion that was oddly comforting. and then, just as you were beginning to think they wouldn’t respond, they spoke again, their voice so quiet you almost didn’t catch it.

“if that’s true,” they murmured, “then i must have fallen for you in every lifetime. in every timeline. in every universe.”

you leaned in and kissed the mole again, a slow, lingering press of your lips against their skin. “then you’ll have to keep loving me for a thousand more lifetimes,” you whispered, the words a soft promise against their neck.

W let out a breath they’d been holding, their eyes opening to meet yours, and in their gaze, you saw something that felt familiar. it was the same exact gaze they had thrown at you when you were six, when you had defended them against a playground bully and promised them you’d always be there for them.

the realisation of it would hit you like a truck then—W has been in love with you for the better part of their entire life. it didn’t matter how many times you were both reborn, it didn’t matter where you were reincarnated, it didn’t matter how many times you’d remade the introductions; W would fall in love with you every single time.

D DIACONU

the night was alive with the thrum of distant music and the low murmur of conversations bleeding through the walls. the party was in full swing somewhere beyond the closed door and into the opposite suite. but here, in the dimly lit bedroom, everything felt suspended in time. D leaned back against the bed’s headboard, the half-smirk playing on their lips softened by the shadows that draped across the lines of their jaw.

you were perched on the edge of the bed, close enough to feel the heat radiating off their skin, but not touching. D’s eyes, a metallic shade of gray that seemed to shift colors with every flicker of the low lava lamp, were fixed on you, intense but playful, as if they were daring you to make the next move.

you noticed the mole just beneath their collarbone, proudly visible as they had discarded their t-shirt prior to welcoming you in their dorm room. it was small, easy to miss if you weren’t looking closely, but now that you’d seen it, you couldn’t tear your gaze away.

the words spilled out before you could stop them, your voice a low murmur in the intimate silence. “i heard that moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life.”

D grinned widely, a flash of white teeth against the paleness of their skin. they tilted their head slightly, amusement dancing in their eyes as they watched you, waiting to see where you were going with this.

“is that right? well, lucky me then,” they teased, but their bravado faded when you leaned in and kissed the mole softly. it felt like a branding iron against their skin, scorching and almost painful.

D’s breath stuttered, a slight choking sound that betrayed the storm inside them. for a moment, they were caught in a whirlpool of emotions, fear and longing mingling in a way that feels too intense, too fucking real. they didn’t know what to do with this feeling, this surge of something that threatened to drown them. their heart pounded loudly in their chest, each beat a reminder of how terrifyingly alive they were feeling in that moment.

they wanted to pull away, to retreat into the safety of their walls that they’d worked so hard to build, but they can’t. your touch was magnetic, drawing them in like the metal which shared the same color as their eyes; even as every instinct screamed at them to run. they stared at you, as if trying to understand the significance of that small, intimate gesture. trying to understand why did you even do it.

“that... that was the wrong thing to do,” D breathed out, their voice rough with an effort to push you away emotionally. “you’re playing with fire.”

but you didn’t pull back. instead, you smiled softly, your hand finding its way to D’s cheek, tilting their head just enough to meet your gaze.

“maybe i like the heat.” you replied, your voice is steady and reassuring. “maybe i don’t mind being burned.”

but there’s also a challenge in your eyes, alongside an understanding of the battle that raged within them.

D felt the tension in their chest tighten, the fear of opening up their heart again clashing with the undeniable truth that they wanted you. needed you.

they swallowed hard, feeling the way that their heart was racing, how it was skipping all the beats it shouldn’t be. this was dangerous, they knew it, but they were too far gone to pull back now.

you leaned in again, pressing another kiss to their collarbone, lingering just a moment longer this time before travelling up to their neck. D closed their eyes, trying to anchor themself, trying to make sense of the emotions that threatened to overwhelm them. but they are being pulled in the currents of you, and for the first time, they weren’t sure if they wanted to be saved.

M WHITLOCK-SINGH

the library was a sanctuary for the thinkers, the poets, and the dreamers. it was where the only light came from the dimly flickering lamps and the soft glow of a dying sunset filtering through the stained glass windows. shelves rose like ancient trees, their spines a forest of forgotten stories, a testament to the weight of knowledge held within the four walls. dust motes drifted lazily in the air, suspended like tiny stars in the darkening room.

M stood by one of the tall windows, half-hidden in the twilight. the pale, cool light reflected on their tawny face like a heavenly mirage. their fingers rested on a leather-bound volume they had not yet opened, their attention instead on the gathering dusk outside. in the moment, they were a figure caught between the worlds of the living and the dead, as if they were both here and somewhere far from what normal folks would imagine.

you stepped into the room, making a beeline for them after you spotted them. your footsteps were almost soundless against the polished wood floor, but M sensed your presence immediately. there was a subtle shift in the air, a tension that wasn’t there before, and M’s hand tightened slightly on the book’s spine.

their eyes, a shade of deep umber, flickered toward your direction, curiosity mingled with the faintest hint of unease. M had always been told they are the very definition of posh, and they had worked hard to maintain that image—detached, reserved, a perfect balance of manners, decorum and intellect. but here, in the presence of you, that carefully constructed persona began to shift again, like the earth preparing for a quake.

for a long moment, neither of you spoke. the only sound is the distant rustle of pages turning, the soft creak of the old wooden shelves as they settled into the silence. your eyes glanced over the tome they’d been holding, and your lips quirked up in a knowing smile.

“there’s a legend in that book that says moles are where your lover kissed you the most in your past life,” you whispered, your voice low and full of secrecy. there was also a softness to the words, a kind of gentle magic that made them feel lighter, more significant.

your gaze fell to the small mole just beneath M’s lip, and without hesitation, you leaned in, your lips brushing against the spot with a tender reverence.

M gasped, a sharp intake of breath that betrayed the calm exterior they were known for. the touch was electric, sending a shiver down their spine, and for a brief moment, M is unprecedentedly unmoored.

they’d been kissed before, of course, but not like this. not with such purpose, not with a whisper that seemed to echo in all the chambers of their heart. they felt the weight of your words fully, as if they were touching something beyond the physical—a connection that transcends time and place.

“M…” your voice was a soft breath against their skin, and you pressed another kiss to the same spot, lingering a fraction longer this time. there was a sweetness to it, a kind of innocent affection that was almost unbearable in its swooning simplicity.

M’s hands trembled slightly, and they reached out, almost hesitantly, to touch your arm. their fingers brushed against the fabric of your sleeve, and for a moment, they just stood there, eyes closed, feeling the warmth of your body so close to theirs.

they didn’t know what to say, how to respond to such tenderness, such unguarded affection. they’d been trained to command, to lead, but here, they felt utterly lost, and good god, they didn’t want to find their way out of this labyrinth.

“don’t do this to me,” M whispered, but there was no real warning in their voice, only a soft, aching plea. “you know this can’t happen. we can’t happen.”

they were pleading for mercy, an admission that they were not as strong as they have always pretended to be. your hand came up to cradle M’s face, your thumb brushing gently against their cheek.

“whatever happens, we’ll get through it,” you whispered, your voice a balm to M’s doubtful heart. “i’m here for you no matter what.”

you placed one final kiss on the mole beneath their lip, and M felt something inside them break free—a dam that had held back months of longing, of wanting to be seen, to be loved not for who they are, but for the person behind all the titles.

M’s eyes fluttered open, and for the first time, they met your gaze without the shield of their usual poise. there’s a question in their eyes, unspoken but clear: can you really love me for who i am, with all my flaws, all my fears? for all that i am and all that i am not?

and in your beaming smile, they found their answer.

[dduane]

As there's been some discussion of How Much For Just The Planet? recently: above is the link to the Gizmodo review.

In the process, Kirk ends up involved in Shakespearean nightmare involving star-crossed lovers, Uhura is chained to a Klingon while they live out a Raymond Chandler plot, and Sulu and McCoy are captured by an evil queen who wants to make them her slaves. And best of all, Scotty has a duel with a Klingon, fought the traditional Scottish way: a round of golf. Also there’s a pie fight.

[mformarsala]

i can't begin to tell you how insane this line makes me

[suntails]

loyalty