Sure children don't deserve to vote, but you know, very few people do. I don't think I should vote, but hey. Unless the kid is less than twelve, I don't have too much of an issue with good writing. How long ago was it that menarche meant you were a woman and should therefore go and be useful for once and spawn? Juliet wasn't yet fourteen when she fell for Romeo, her mother had been married younger than that. Not that fiction is historical accuracy, but note how people went to those plays to be entertained, not to bitch.

Apply the usual disclaimers, if you would.

So there were some... problems last time I decided to separate a story by suitability for work(can you believe that? 'follow the link' was too hard?!). God knows I shouldn't, but I'll try to make it easier this time around. For part II either the use the link at the bottom, or click the one on my profile page.

And for anyone who, like me, learned all the major Greek mythology by grade five and all the minor by grade seven, well you know this story and hopefully the parallels I make are acceptable to you. Cheers.

What's going on on the floor?

I love this record babe, but I can't see straight any more

Keep it cool, what's the name of this club?

I can't remember but it's alright, alright

Lady Gaga, Just Dance

The Persephone Story

She's obviously underage. She moves too fucking sweet, promises too fucking much with each sway of her hips, with each golden glimmer of hair. If she were older, she'd believe, believe all the cautionary tales the teachers tell her, the TV shows were pretty young things like her end up in a lake, battered and broken just 'cause they tempted some twisted impotent shithead. Not that he's impotent or anything, but she's playing with fire; those jewel bright eyes peeking back at him, that cheerleader/stripper mix of flexibility, the ways she runs her little hands up and down that corset. This isn't a club to him, even if it's just the flavor of the week to her, some place to be on a school night. This is a hunting ground, and he's a big fucking predator.

Even if he knows how to dance, he's clearly here for a piece of ass, and too hot to be some fag fucker. She's watching him move appreciatively, but totally unaware of him, that she's his prey and that the tiny dicks around her are slowly drifting away, to find something safer.

She might think that little thing of pepperspray in her purse is protection, that little circle of friends is a cockblock, that napkin of a skirt puts her in control of the room. She doesn't know it, but she's vulnerable and alone and she won't believe it until it's too late. She won't care though.

The floral perfume she wears blends will with the alcohol and the sweat, and it's making his mouth water. She looks so very delicate, even in the pulsing dark of a nightclub, moving like no virgin ever should. It makes him want to break her, strip her of that girlish romance and make her fucking choke on it.

She smiles up at him, like a willing sacrifice, and lets his touch desecrate her.

"I'm Ino," she chirps, all sunshine and kittens in the middle of the night, amid a pack of wolves.

"Hidan." She likes what she sees, he can feel it. And it turns him on.

She should have figured that a Black Orchid had more than a little alcohol in it. She wouldn't have spoken to him first otherwise. And then he bought her some kind of pomegranate martini, which she shouldn't have started, much less finished. But it went down, rough like his voice, and she liked it.

It's dark and rushing and cold but for where he touches her. She doesn't know where she is, but it doesn't matter really, his lips are chilled from the ice in his drink, but the string of obscenities he's muttering into her skin is so hot.

He knows where all the little hidden corners in this place are, makes use of them often. Now that he's got her alone, where only he can hear her, he can run his hands and his tongue over her exposed skin. Statutory be damned, she's too fucking good not to eat. He knows he'll have a hard time not leaving a mark on her creamy flesh. He buries his nose into her neck, lazily peers down the neck of her shirt and suddenly he doesn't really care if someone else knows he's breaking the law tonight.

She gasps and wiggles with each press of his fingers, giggles when his tongue scrapes over her, breathes in lust through her teeth when he suddenly pulls flesh and nerves into his mouth and sucks. She barely notices there's a thermostat digging into her back, his hands are sneaking into her skirt and she doesn't care about anything else.

She's a tight little thing, but if he's going to have her, he wants to take his fucking time. His hand glide up her thigh, reveling in the feel of her smooth skin against his fingertips. Her underwear is nothing special, probably didn't think anyone else would find out. He tells her the wet, sticky, panting mess she'd be in if they had a room with a bed as he traces the elastic band. He pulls her close and rubs her against the front of his jeans for one brief glorious moment.

Sparks dance up her spine, and the air in her lungs seems to melt like cotton candy and puddles low in her belly and in all her fifteen years she's never felt this good. She can feel the button and the zipper through the thin cotton and more than that there's a hot, hot heat pushing her and she wants it. And because she's silly and fifteen, and she really did think she'd find a prince or something like that by coming, she kisses him. She's fifteen. It's not like she doesn't know what she wants.

She's real fucking cute, and the only thing he regrets right now is the time it will take him to find a room with a door that locks. There's barely an ounce of fat on her; there's only the pale white skin protecting her precious little insides. The area under her ear is nearly purple, and he's barely touched her. He'd been trying to control himself. Well, fuck that.

PART II :

http (colon slash slash) community (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) inked (underscore) in (underscore) purple (slash) tag (slash) pairing (colon plus) hidan (plus) x (plus) ino

and I use this page as one more obstacle to navigate because I believe people who read can not be stupid, and, like reading banned books, effort is rarely wasted on stories. I refrain from commenting on Steinbeck.