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vtoriacore · 1 year

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✧ they feel too much, too deep, too fast

note: huzzah, me waxing weird fvnking yandere poetry (not really) at ungodly hours of the night when i should be writing an essay.

extra note: PLS tell me i’m doing sebek justice, i didn’t want to bring malleus up at all (because i don’t really like him don’t really want this to be sebek’s yandere personality lol). also didn’t really proofread this enough so there probably are silly errors but spare me the shame thank you mwah!

characters: cater, vil, sebek, ace, jamil

tw: gaslighting, manipulation & bit of mind games if you squint, delusional mindsets

synopsis: in which the boys' love is a bit intense, but you don't necessarily pay it attention with how focused you are on them reciprocating.

✯; It was a novel experience, really. He couldn't surmise the feelings he felt in that one moment that seemed to change the trajectory of his entire life - and this was by no means exaggeration.

Cater felt the rapid beating of his heart, felt the way his breathing picked up dramatically, and most of all felt the warmth as it spread throughout his body at the notion of feeling wanted. Feeling cared for. And by the great seven he didn't even realise how much he craved this until now.

It was almost comical how it only took a simple "i want you to be honest with me" on your end to absolutely send his heart into overdrive, how the phrase "i care about you, you know" escaped your lips so easily and just how effortless it seemed for you to look at him with concern gleaming in your eyes when you noticed his smile didn't quite feel genuine that day.

He felt his entire world flip for just a second before everything came crashing down and the sudden weight of emotions he couldn't even begin to name grounded him into reality - where he actually felt he wanted to stay for once if just to see you for a second longer.

There were so many different thoughts swimming around in his head but most importantly- you were still waiting for an answer. And he'd sooner combust than keep you waiting any longer.

"I know you do, prefect! But really don't worry so much~ I'll be fine as long as you keep me company," he silently prayed you couldn't see the raging crimson hue settling on his skin under the darkening sky. It was a miracle he managed to vocalise his sentence anyway with how abalze his entire body felt.

"I'll worry anyway, but I'll always be here if you do want to spend time with me. Just us two or with others."

'Just us two, just us two, just us two'; he nearly squealed, feeling the temptation to take you up on that offer immediately. In fact, he really did not want to go back to the dorm and have to share your attention. No, he needed it on him and only him and he wouldn't let anything get in the way of that soft gaze of yours.

"Hmm, I actually wouldn't mind getting away from the crowd just this once!" with a grin, Cater's eyes bore into your frame with an intensity he couldn't quite halt but he figured you wouldn't notice anyway, seeing as you offered a smile and a nod in return to his statement. He simply couldn't wait to get you on his own after that revelation.

✯; Vil carefully threaded his fingers through his platinum blond hair in front of the vanity mirror, knowing you were beside watching his every move. He could feel your stare burning into his side profile and in that moment, he was so grateful that years of acting had allowed him to keep his calm when all he wanted to do was combust into flames.

"Hm? Is something the matter, dear?" he purposefully lowered his tone, made it sound as sultry as possible, expecting the little surprise on your face as you quickly tried to keep composure when he side eyed you. The urge to take you into his arms was incredibly strong in that second, especially when you cast your eyes to his lips momentarily.

God, he had never wished to smudge his lipstick by locking his lips onto yours more than in that particular moment, when the soft lights in his room highlighted your face in a manner that made you look so ethereal that it was hard to breathe.

"I'm . . . Fine. Yeah," you swallowed thickly, willing yourself to look away so you wouldn't do anything stupid. The blonde found himself delighted at your reaction, willing his own gaze to rip away from your face otherwise he might just end up making his own intense decisions on a whim.

And yet, he found that he almost didn't mind. Sure, he had wanted to make his confession of love absolutely perfect (having asked Rook to give him all the information on you he possibly could get away with) but at the end of the day, he flourished in the way his efforts to enamour you had been paying off. And, and, and! He could clearly see you wanted him, maybe not as much as he wanted - no, needed you, but still wanted him nonetheless. It was progress all the same.

However, at the same time a part of Vil had wanted your admiration to be deeper . . . more intimate. Although he knew it was wrong and absolutely sick, he had hoped you would do something more. He wanted you to secretly follow him, thinking he can't sense your presence when it's the only thing filling his mind. He wanted you to take pictures he wouldn't ever find, but would know were taken since his gaze never leaves you. And he so desperately wanted your attention all on him, and nothing but him, never straying away for more than a second.

He was going to make you obsessed with him, one way or another. And soon, he will be the only thing occupying your thoughts - he simply has to be.

✯; There wasn't a semblance of sense to Sebek's thoughts, and he knew it. Just how could a simple 'human' (he refused to admit you were more than that, so much more than that) be so captivating? If anyone had asked him in that second, on who was the most fair in his eyes, his answer would've been you. Delusional or not, your name would inevitably slip past his lips.

The conflicting feelings he felt within him didn't ease at all; he felt like he was betraying his master, but at the same time, he didn't really have control over what he was thinking. And this once, he didn't want to think about anything other than you. He wished for you to be the center of his attention, and he couldn't even describe why. It just felt so liberating, despite it holding his mind captive. The irony didn't even register as his lime coloured eyes simply inspected your form.

Great seven, you were just so beautiful. And he so wished that you saw him that way too, because lord knows he was addicted to your gaze whenever it landed on him. He always needed more and more and more. But he wasn't selfish, no! - he was willing to give back twice as much and he would do anything to get the chance to do so.

His rational thoughts telling him this isn't normal be damned! That overpowering need to have you to himself was too strong. His own master and Lilia expressed that this is something worth pursuing anyway, that his adoration is 'perfectly reasonable' and 'aww, so cute!'. How could he stop pursuing you this way, if his own role models encouraged him to keep going? How could he stop when they affirmed this is normal, completely okay?

And besides, it wasn't as though you were rejecting his advances; you were actively awaiting his next move and he could tell from the teasing glint you held in your eyes each time. Even now, as you simply looked at him, he could tell you wanted him to do something. Anything. If he wasn't actively feeling what he was doing, he would've suspected you had complete control over his body with how his rationality couldn't win over.

But well, he wouldn't have minded if that was the case. This line of thinking may not be right, but it sure as hell does feel it.

✯; Ace could really be cruel at times. Really cruel - and he knew it, you knew it, everyone knew it. But even he could recognise that this time, maybe he went too far. Scratch that 'maybe' actually, he may have just ruined whatever friendship you two had. And what better way to do that than kissing you senseless against the empty alchemy classroom's door as you both struggle for air?

"Ace I- I need . . . Some, some oxygen," you barely managed to rasp out against his lips as his ruby red eyes barely shifted into focus. Great seven, he felt so incredibly dazed with how tightly he was pressing against you as could barely keep his hands from moving through your hair.

"Fuck oxygen, I wanna kiss you," the redhead felt his heart hammer (even more so than previously) against his chest at the sound of your giggle. Without a second thought, not that he could think in the first place with what you were doing to him, Ace dove right back in to slot his lips against yours.

Could you really blame him though? It wasn't his fault you were so breathtaking that he could barely keep his eyes away from your form. It wasn't his fault that every time you looked at him, you had that certain look to you - the kind which told him that if he'd ask you to pluck the stars out of the sky for him, you wouldn't even hesitate. And it sure as hell wasn't his fault that you were actively trying to pull him into you more, if that was even possible with your current proximity.

Ace was never one for discipline or self-control, and he was completely aware of it. Sure it proved to be a hindrance most times, but he thought that today, when he spontaneously decided to press you up against this door, it wasn't such a bad thing after all. He knew he had gone too far, that the carefully crafted friendship was now over, that he was being particularly cruel with the way he kept biting your lower lip to get a reaction and, that by kissing you senseless in this very second, he knew that he couldn't ever let you go.

✯; They say that love at first sight is a very magical experience, and that it can completely change a person and their outlook on things. But Jamil would have to disagree with this notion. There never was a love at first sight, nor a love at second sight, or the third and fourth and so on. It was never about sight anyway. Because the first time he met you, he just felt it. He felt how the universe had perfectly aligned itself for that one fateful meeting, how you simply had to accidentally run into his arms as if scripted and how effortlessly he had caught you as if taking stage directions like a professional actor.

It didn't register immediately of course, quite the contrary as it took him a few weeks, if not months to understand what he was feeling. He did eventually come to the realisation that maybe he had liked you as more than a friend (in fact, liked would be putting it mildly) but each time he thought back to that certain encounter, he just knew the feeling was there from the beginning.

At least, he remembers it that way, and has memorised it to be that way. Every time he thinks back to your smile and eyes when he had helped you, they seem to get brighter and brighter and more clouded with emotions he could never transcribe. And it simply has to be true because you had to have felt the exact same thing and he is convinced.

Sure, the jolt of electricity and sparks and the effect of time slowing down were missing - you two weren't in some half hearted romance movie after all - but he just knew that you both felt it. Maybe you didn't remember it that way initially, but after enough description on Jamil's end, you were finally starting to remember!

And it made the heat creep up his skin at alarming rates, as it simply solidified one thing; you were meant to be together. It's cliché, and he knows it. But does he care, with the way you run into his arms every time you see him? With how he feels his heartrate pick up just as upon your very first meeting?

It feels like the first every time, and he could see you were starting to believe it too. If he wasn't certain of his own strong ideology regarding this, he almost would've thought you believed it even more than him by this point! But he knew it wasn't because he was blindly making up excuses to keep you tied to him, despite what Azul was trying to claim. Azul was simply wrong; there were no rose coloured lenses involved, nor any gaslighting into making you think he was the only person worthwhile in your life and certainly he wasn't making you depend on him so you could never leave even if you tried to.

Jamil was convinced your love was pure and it was honest and it was true, and he didn't have to convince you of anything any longer, because by this point you were the one trying to convince him.

[;-] i usually never do this but i’m thinking of expanding that jamil thought into an actual fic because whoo shared delusions and manipulating each other (and he’s my fave anfkgn). plus originally i was gonna get his UM involved but it would’ve gotten too long whoops.

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mxcat777 · 1 year

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So what if

Dream is sort of Shakespeare's patron, right? So would that make Shakespeare on of His™? And if so, would he reside in the Dreaming after his death instead of the Sunless Lands?

'cause if so. Consider.

He's still writing. (A lot)

He keeps up with modern literature, but keeps writing (at least mostly) in Early Modern English (that's it, right? Do I have my lit facts straight?). Imagine his recent plays littered with slang, disney references, (un)subtle references to shit that was based on his stuff that he either loves or hates, both are good.

He's kind of a favourite of Dream's. The same way Lucienne and Jessamy and The Corinthian are. He can get away with saying shit, because if he offends Dream he can turn around and start sprouting some poetry at that vain-ass bitch and all is forgiven. (In the worst cases it takes a new play about his royal majesty the Dream King and how generous and benevolent and regal he is)

Fishbowling happens, not sure what Will would do, the plot bunny didn't care.

Dream is back, all is well, he goes to the New Inn, Hob and Dream are now officially Friends.

They meet up more bc friends see each other more often than once a century. Oh yeah friends also know each others' names and such. So Dream tells Hob a bit about himself.

At some point he's like, hey hob u wanna see the dreaming?

Hob's like yES PLz??

Hob gets a tour, and from that point on usually gets the option at night to dream normally or visit the palace.

On one fateful night, Hob decides to take a stroll through the library, goes looking for Marlowe's shelf, because he kind of wonders what other stuff that genius would have written had he lived longer.

Only to (maybe literally) bump into, you guessed it, Will Bloody Shaxberd.

He stares.

Will goes 'hey'.

And then Hob goes somewhat feral.

(no he is not over it, sue him, he's allowed to hold a grudge.)

He goes off on a rant about, see, ofc ur still plagiarizing marlowe he was so much better i can't believe dream left me for you you useless twat you couldn't write shit without him so why did you get the fucking privilege of living with him and knowing him for fucking centuries i had to fight 600 years for his bloody name and i'm guessing you got it right that first meeting hm?

And Will goes oh shit it's you! And then cuts Hob off with a "you're so right! I was an absolute shit playwright before your friend helped me!"

And Hob is... Understandably lost. This was not how it went in his head.

And then Will continues, I was so nervous the time right after that meeting, I knew he was some sort of supernatural being, no clue what though, he's really not good at introductions, is he, so I sort of assumed you were too, and I was waiting for your revenge for stealing your date away, recently found out you're actually human, albeit immortal, and it was not a date, though, speaking of, have you sorted yourselves out yet?

And Hob, quite understandably even more baffled, sort of gapes for a bit.

Before very nervously denying anything of the sort.

Will just stares.

And goes, bruv, you weren't subtle then, still aren't now, spare everyone else the UST, please, for the love of god, you two need to fuck post haste.

And Hob is like, hahaha, eh, yeah, nope, fun seeing you, BYE.

So Will sighs. And goes to see Lucienne, as any sensible person would.

Lucienne sighs as well. At which point Will steps to Dream himself.

"My lord?" "Yes, William?" "Forgive my directness, but so as not to risk any misunderstandings, what exactly is your relationship with Hob Gadling?" "We are friends. Why do you ask? Is that not clear?" "Well, to be perfectly honest, m'lord, I assumed you were... Involved™." "We are not." "But you'd like to be though, right?" "You dare presume to know-" " I dare presume to know what attraction, romance, love, all that looks like, sire. I must do, after portraying it in my plays for over four centuries. After writing several hundreds of sonnets on the topic." "I-" "In my humble opinion, my lord, it is a good match. He understands you, you continue to fascinate each other, he can provide a safe place where you need not be monarch for a moment. And of course, you are quite obviously attracted to one another sexually." "WILLIAM SH-" "Oh calm down! I'm certainly not judging either of you!" "...he is attracted to me?" "..." "Is he?" "YES! Lord give me faith! Kiss him! Go to him and teleport the both of you onto a bed! Or if you want to be sappy go slow and bring him a rose, but please, for the love of the collective sanity, do something!" "But how do you know? What if you misunderstood? What if it is unwelcome? I cannot lose him!"

At which point Will turns around, leaves the throne room, goes back to the library and rant to Lucienne

"I swear I'm going to write a play about them, just to point out how stupid this is. I feel compelled to call it a tragedy, but I think it needs to have a happy ending, otherwise Lord Broodphius would get stuck on the but what if it does end in tragedy, so I suppose a comedy would be fitting, but then again, this is too painful to watch to qualify as a comedy. Tragic comedy? Comic tragedy? I'll figure it out..."

And Lucienne is like, if you'd like to perform it properly I'm sure there are a few dreams who would be more than willing to help out, take on a role.

Hob comes back to the Dreaming a few days later and finds Will up to his elbows in paper, reference books, thesauruses and rhyming dictionaries (handy things those), and empty mugs and the like.

Will looks up, somewhat manic, and is like, Hob! Great! Just the person I wanted to see! Would you help me, please?

Hob's like, sure? Kind of apprehensive, but he gave everything some thought and decided that as long as he could go on dunking on him, he could let go of most of his jealousy (cuz that's what is was, he's mature enough to admit)

Will goes, Awesome! Tell me about you and Morphius! How do you see him, what's your story, I only ever get bits and pieces from his lordship, so I'm in severe need of some context...

And Hob is somewhat suspicious, but he indulges him, and really, telling the story comes too easy, so he gets into it completely and doesn't even notice when he starts slipping into rants about Dream, about how beautiful, and magnificent, and misunderstood, and kind, and way-out-of-his-league-but-god-dammit-he-went-and-fell-in-love-with-the-bastard-anyway he is

And Will takes studious notes.

And then goes like, so some of the sonnets I've written were with you two in mind, you wanna give me some feedback? (Ahem, sonnet 24/29, some others work too, undoubtedly, but I am no Shakespeare expert, unfortunately)

And he does something similar with Dream, maybe citing Hob's dislike of him as the reason he wants to know more about him without having to bother him overly much, like, I want to set things right between us, but I need to know more about him to do that, will you help me, m'lord

And he does

And Will just sits back and takes notes as Dream also spirals into a passion fueled rant about Hob

And all those notes end up in the eventual play

Auditions for the roles happen when Dream and Hob are out on a Not Date™ in the Waking.

There are surprisingly many auditioning for Hob's role, and surprisingly little for Dream's

Until Will points out that Dream would probably be more offended by an unworthy portrayal of his Love that of himself, at which point some of the dreams bow out entirely, bc Will knows how vain their lord is, so they decide not to risk unmaking and tactically retreat

Will is in his fucking element, it's been way too long since he's properly directed a play!

Eventually Will comes up to the Mutually Pining Idiots like, hey m'lord, Hob, I've written a new play, and I've been working with some of the dreams to make it happen, do you want to see??

So they watch. They watch as two absolute fucking idiots stumble around each other, everyone on and off stage can see how stupidly in love they are except for them, and both start sweating profusely when they start recognizing their own words quoted back at them.

The end of the play is something of a direct call-out and a plea from the dreams to please just talk to each other, fuck and get married, preferably in that order, but they're not picky.

Then everyone leaves them alone for the Conversation that is most likely going to happen.

Will stays behing hiding unobtrusively in the shadows tho.

He's not about to let all his work go to waste if these idiots ty to play it off again. He will lock them in a broom closet if he has to, watch him.

They don't.

Luckily.

There are like three sentences total spoken. Then they're aggressively making out.

Will leaves the room very content about his matchmaking skills.

And hey! He got a good play out of it, if he does say so himself!

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fayes-fics · 1 year

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Portrait: III

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: An evening session causes some leaps forward.

Warnings (for this chapter): nudity, flirtation, discussion of sex.

Word Count: 2.4k

Authors Note: Things are hotting up now ;)

III

Benedict is busy with family matters for a few days, so it is almost a week before you see him again. Unable to do the usual mid-morning time you had previously agreed, he sent word via messenger that he could do that evening only. Usually, on Monday evenings, your parents are home, but conveniently today, they are both out - your father on business, your mother on her social merry-go-round. So it is just you and a few staff members when Benedict arrives after dinner.

“I wasn't sure that evenings would work, Mr Bridgerton,” you comment as he sets up his supplies, lacking a valet today. “I thought perhaps the light would not be sufficient,” you gesture to the various sconces and candelabras flickering gently.

The room has some light, but it is very different from the sunlight he has been painting you in until now.

“It is perhaps less than ideal, but I will do my best. I preferred not to wait any longer to see you. To continue the painting, that is,” he rushes out. “I hope you do not mind my company so late in the day.”

“Nothing gives me greater pleasure than your company.” Your answer is honest and forthright, the late hour making you say things you otherwise never might. Perhaps the couple of glasses of wine you had with dinner are also making their presence known.

His eyes flash in a way that makes you unable to look away. Like that first time your eyes met across the gallery, your gaze on each other is almost magnetic.

“Tell me something about yourself, Mr Bridgerton,” you implore softly as he begins to work. “I find our sessions can be entirely too quiet on occasion.”

He huffs, bemused. “I find chatter when I am attempting to paint somewhat distracting, miss y/l/n,” he supplies, “hence I am perhaps a little taciturn, but if it pleases you…. I am from a large family….”

“I know the Bridgerton family,” you interrupt, “everyone does. Yours is among the most prestigious families of the Ton, after all. I am interested in you. What makes you, you? Not what makes you a Bridgerton.”

He seems lost for words, and the intensity of his gaze seems even heavier.

“No one has ever really asked me that before…” his voice taking on an unusual tone, just like it did yesterday when you waxed lyrical about his art. “Or at least none outside of my friends. To the members of the Ton, I am usually seen as a number in the family. The second. The spare.”

“I am certain you are so much more than that,” you respond spiritedly. “I have only spent a couple of hours with you, and that is entirely lacking as a descriptor of the man I see before me,” the wine is definitely loosening your tongue. “I would like to be considered a friend if it means you will share more about who you are with me?”

“I write poetry,” he suddenly blurts out, looking temporarily surprised at his admission, but pushes on. “I collect rocks; I am a good shot; I enjoy Pall Mall. I would like to be an artist.”

“You are an artist,” you interject, “if not, I wonder what on earth you have been standing there doing during our sessions to date.”

He laughs at your joke, adorable little lines crinkling the corners of his eyes, and again you feel filled with light. “I dabble, but I fear my work will never be taken seriously.”

“You just need more of a portfolio to showcase your wonderful talent,” you argue back. “And perhaps a few portraits to balance out the landscapes,” you tease gently.

There are a few moments of silence and shared smiles, but your glances are more heated, lingering, and unapologetic in ways they have not been before. Something in the air tonight speaks of inevitability—a shift in dynamic. The lateness of the hour lends something decadent to your session. Tonight, you don't look away as he paints; you keep your eyes on him.

“When I told you I had never painted a woman’s portrait before, I wasn't being entirely truthful,” he confesses from behind the easel, bending so his face is out of sight.

“Tell me more, Mr Bridgerton,” you volley back, the gentle teasing a growing pattern with each minute you spend in each other's presence.

“That is to say, I have painted a female. But she was by no means a lady,” his voice is laden with something dark, and your heart speeds up.

“What does that mean?” your voice curious.

“It means she was a lady of pleasure. In Paris. And… she did not wear clothes when I painted her.”

All you can hear is blood rushing in your ears. You have the strangest compulsion to expose your body to him.

“Is that how you would prefer to paint all your female subjects?” the bold question out before you can stop yourself.

“What do you mean?”

You know he is being intentionally obtuse, but his eyes are visible again now over the top of the easel, and you are struck by his expression. He looks hungry, but not for food or drink—you want to bathe in it.

“Would you prefer all your female subjects be without clothes?” you meet his burning gaze, your lips tingling.

“Only if that is what they wish too,” he seems to purr.

Your heart is pounding in your ears as you stand up and walk over to the door, legs feeling almost stiff, flicking the lock and removing its key. You know his eyes follow you as you cross the room again, and he looks stunned as you walk up to him and hand the key to him. You watch him place it on his easel, and then you turn your back, presenting your dress buttons to him.

“I wish it,” you murmur.

He makes a noise that sounds like a swallowed growl. Your whole being responds. You want him to strip you nude.

“Miss, you are promised to another,” he wavers.

“One that I do not wish to marry,” you appeal over your shoulder, “please, I wish for this. So very much,” your last words are a pleading whisper as you turn back.

Victory crests in your blood as you feel a warm gust of air stir your hair, and then warm fingers land between your shoulder blades, sliding over each button, undoing them achingly slowly. He doesn't push you further; he just touches your back gently to signify the buttons are all undone.

You walk back to the chaise and stand facing him as you push your dress down over your arms, talking the chemise with it. Heart pounding in every cell, blood running hot, your skin alive. Your dress hits the rug, and his inhale is sharp and musical.

The heat from the fire licks your bare skin as you stand there in just stays that hold your breasts up and out. You do not wear stockings or underwear; you thought it would be an illicit thrill for yourself to forego them in his presence. Something you thought he would never know.

You bite your lip and stare at him as you pluck the criss-cross pattern of laces across the front of your stays; glad you chose one you could undo yourself today. Each movement makes your breast bounce slightly, and you see his eyes covetously watching them. When his tongue peaks out of his mouth and licks his bottom lip, you feel something happening between your legs, some wetness leaking there that you know he alone is responsible for.

As the laces give way, you pull the fabric to each side, exposing your chest, and there is a noise from the back of his throat that sounds so delicious you almost run to him and throw yourself into his arms. Instead, you let the material fall away on top of your dress. So now you stand before him utterly naked. Feeling vulnerable but so powerful all at once. His face is a maelstrom, desire writ large in his dilated eyes, a bloom of pink dusting high on his sharp cheekbones.

“Miss….” he begins, and it sounds like a harbinger.

“Sir…” you counter, and his large hand flexes visibly.

The silence in the room is almost deafening.

“Paint me,” you offer over an exhale. “Paint me like your Parisian lady.”

He swallows audibly and reaches for a sketchpad tucked inside his portfolio.

“Lay down,” his request is pitched low, and your knees go so weak that obeying seems the only path available.

You recline on the chaise, and although your heart pounds, you force yourself to look at him, awaiting further instruction. Your whole body feels flushed.

“Put your left hand behind your head,” he instructs, and you can do nothing but follow the command. “Beautiful,” escapes his luscious lips that you cannot look away from.

You yearn for him to cross the room, close the distance between you, touch your body, kiss your mouth. But he does not. He grabs a wingback chair, drags it next to his easel, and places his left foot on his right knee, balancing the pad on his bent leg, something in his stance so utterly masculine. He glances at you and then runs his charcoal in sweeping lines over the paper.

“This portrait must not be hung anywhere,” you insist.

“It will be for our eyes only,” he assures. “I will happily let you keep it.”

“What if I want you to have it?” you posit and hear the charcoal slip on the page and a light curse under his breath.

“Then I would be quite the luckiest man,” he replies, his eyes fiery as he looks at your face.

“And what if I did not want to be alone in this picture?” throwing all caution to the wind, leaving no room for doubt.

“Who else do you wish to join you?” his voice cracking roughly, his gaze raking slowly down your body, so heavy you feel it.

“The door is locked, sir.”

“Don't call me that,” he hisses, more than a touch harried.

“Mr Bridgerton,” you amend, treating each syllable as a tasty morsel, letting your free hand stroke slowly down your sternum as you say it.

“Stop it,” he warns, sounding desperate.

“I don't want to,” you hiss vehemently.

“Have you laid with a man?” his voice is tremulant.

“Never,” you reply softly.

“But you know something of it?”

“Yes,” you admit.

“And you wish to know before marriage?”

“Only from you,” you confess.

“Fuck,” he mutters heavily, and it's the most arousing thing you have ever heard. “We… we should not…” he stumbles, the sketchpad very much left to languish unused in his lap now.

“You do not strike me as one who plays by societal rules,” you appeal.

“Indeed I am not, but...” he trails off and swallows heavily yet again.

He watches intensely as you let the hand on your sternum slip down the centre line of your body. You may not know everything about what happens between a man and a woman, but you instinctively need your fingers to quell the burning sensation at the apex of your thighs.

“You are engaged to another,” he bites out as if he is reluctant to say it himself as he watches your hand trail over your belly.

“Do not remind me of my future,” you lament. “Let me live in this moment, for now. And if you will not touch me, teach me how to pleasure myself properly. So I may be able to keep myself at least partially satisfied in my marriage.”

The moan he makes is so carnal and wanton that your whole body shivers, your nipples pebbling, none of which escapes his notice. He bites off a curse again and closes his eyes, his hand trembling. Suddenly he tosses the sketchpad aside and rubs his hands down his face. When his eyes reopen, they blaze at you.

“Nothing would give me greater pleasure, y/n. But I cannot do this here, not under your parents' roof,” he answers through gritted teeth.

You want to be impressed with his gentlemanly behaviour, but right now, you pine for him to be the opposite. To give in to the temptation that you can see him fighting.

“But….” and your breath catches with that one syllable. “...I think you should know; I will be insisting the last two portrait sessions be at my private studio—I have a scene curtain there that will make the perfect background to complete your portrait.”

You understand precisely what he is saying and not saying. The euphoric tide that races around your limbic system is better than any rush you have ever experienced.

“And I assume you cannot merely paint the background without me? My presence is very much required, is it not?” your ask is coquettish, your hand spidering circles around your belly button.

“That is indeed most correct,” a lopsided grin that causes butterflies spreading slowly and dangerously over his features.

“Then you may go,” you conclude quietly as the clock strikes 8 pm, standing and picking your clothing from the floor. “And I will see you there tomorrow morning.”

As you slip back into your chemise, he moves closer, so close you can smell his citrus and woody cologne, and he hands you a scrap of paper, your fingers brushing with a jolt of fire as he does so. It contains an address. “Ensure your parents and your fiance know this must be alone.” he intones. “After all, my very thorough artistic process demands it, does it not?”

You are almost quaking as he moves away and picks up his supplies. You attempt to re-dress, but your fingers seemingly cannot fasten the buttons at the back, so you leave it hanging loose, praying that you don't run into any staff in such an unkempt state.

“And miss y/l/n….” he calls as he unlocks the door and leaves the key in the slot.

“Yes?”

“...this evening, the sunset sky was scarlet red, so I expect it shall be a hot day tomorrow. I would suggest you wear your portrait dress and absolutely nothing more. I would not want you uncomfortable after all,” he rejoinders silkily with a wink as he slips through the doorway.

You know that statement had absolutely nothing to do with the weather or his concern for your comfort, and you have to grab the back of the chaise to keep yourself upright.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123

#benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut #bridgerton smut #bridgerton x female reader #portrait fic

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kiara-ish · 11 months

Text

In Poetry

Pairing: Jimin x Fem!reader

Genre: Angst, High School AU

Rating: nc17

Summary: You have always been a distant observer, another face in the crowd, when it came to Park Jimin. Until you finally realise that he was never as far as you thought.

Warnings: angst, high school bullying, fighting, toxic friendships, more bullying, coerced joint suicide, breakdowns in parental relationships, fire, pyromania.

Word count: 3.5k (approx.)

a/n: This is a part of what I wanted to be a birthday spree posting but ended up being a rather lone post. But nonetheless, here is In Poetry.

Also, immensely thankful to Freya @floralkive for this cover and again, Freya @sugarwithtea for beta-ing this mess that I handed over to her. Thank you so much and hugs!

Tagging: @apotatomashedbybts

but does it really make sense?

when I walks by your pen stills

and your lips fall agape;

you stare until I'm gone –

there's no way to escape

from this trance that you're in.

but does it really make sense?

When the class ended, you took the neatly stacked papers with scribbles for writing and shoved them far away from the eyes of your classmates. You were just in time too because moments later, a body was slammed loudly against your desk and you shut your eyes tight. Gasps and squeals passed around the classroom and hushed murmurs followed suit.

"Oh, sorry, you are not hurt right?"

"You're crazy, Dong-su. Why are you disturbing the lady? Don't mind him, please, he's a moron-"

"Hey, watch your mouth you-"

You opened your eyes to see the person who had been thrown against your desk slowly trying to stand up again. You knew his face but couldn't recall his name, not like he needed it that much; the rest of the school would just call him Dong-su's victim for the rest of whatever time period he had in his fate.

You watched Dong-su and his lackeys fool around among themselves before fixating on the boy who was slowly trying to move away again. Before they could snatch him up again, you moved out of your desk to join the rest of the class in scurrying away from the abusive hands.

It wasn't fun to watch the boy get pulled up by his collar and thrown into the lockers but maybe it was the slow poison of habit that made your eyes remain calm in the atrocities. It made you feel like a shitty person every night when you turned towards the dirty window by your bed yet it was the nagging reiteration of 'what could I do?' that made you make peace with the storming conflicts that raged in your heart. Because really, what could you do?

Harboring the secrecy of a sin didn't spare you from being a sinner, you knew that more than anyone. God forbid the Church becomes agreeable once in a while. But it was the light of one torch that attracted a thousand others until they could light up the dark cavern of negligence. You could place a thousand arguments back and forth until a third sense made you aware that you always fall back to square one, always.

"Woah, he is really studying in all this?"

"Not the class president for nothing."

It was the murmur of a discussion that made you follow their gazes until it fell on the first desk by the window. Throttling sunlight poured in through the open window and one couldn't tell from his cool that it was late June and the rest of the class wanted to lick a glacier. He had always been that way; a murmur of astonishment only when spotted.

Park Jimin always remained unbothered about the stares he got every once in a while. His duties as Class President were always fulfilled with admirable dedication yet unmistakably vague approaches. You couldn't tell if he did it because he wanted to do it or because he had to do it. Either way he was the model student no one wanted to be, not at all.

A shout of a teacher from the corridor had the class settling back down but Dong-su and his goons were gone with the boy. You sent a wish of luck silently and reminded yourself that there was nothing else to do.

it wasn't always like this—

I wasn't always a fool

it was a quest for gold

but I was miner of greed

it was the shine of peace

that I saw in you, but

it wasn't always like this.

"You lied to me, deliberately, while I'm still here asking you why."

You picked at the corners of your cuticle where the flesh was soft like it wanted to come off. Aware that someone who called you her best friend was speaking, you never looked up. Why meet their eyes when you can't meet yours?

Soo Ah called your name again, tapping her knuckles on your desk. You knew she was trying to keep herself calm and was on the verge of breaking, "Why are you not answering? Why didn't you tell me he was cheating on me?"

Why didn't you, really? What stopped you? Every time you asked yourself that, your mind broke into conflicted opinions and delved so far into it until your head started to hurt. But now that she was asking you, to your face, your mind was empty.

"I'm hurt. I feel like I am being torn apart every moment and you were supposed to be my friend," she was crying again and your hands itched to do something, anything for her. But you came up empty-handed. The corner of the cuticle of your thumb was bleeding.

"You haven't said a word this entire time. The guilt must be getting to you," she smiled cruelly or at least tried to; in her eyes still loitered her innate kindness as she continued, "You are not a bad person. I know that more than anyone. A bad person isn't aware of their faults. But you are trying and that makes me have hope."

She pushed back her chair and stood up while you didn't even try to move your eyes from the smoothie she was leaving untouched, "You can only be a friend to someone, if you are a friend to your own conscience first."

The feeling of despair and hopelessness even in a crowd was something you wouldn't wish on your worst enemy. The feeling was suffocating and you wanted to run after her, get on your knees and beg — beg for her forgiveness, beg for a chance to be her friend, beg for a chance to be wanted. But your body was way too numb to stand, let alone walk away. You tend to be weak like that and maybe that's why you never got a head start in all your apologies. If you had gotten one, would it have made you more wanted?

There was a familiar figure entering through the glass doors. A hoodie was thrown over his peeking school uniform. Head angled towards the ground, you didn't know why you wanted to meet his eyes. You didn't know why you were looking at him at all. Park Jimin could go wherever he wanted and that was none of your business. So why was the urge to pull back his hood and look at him becoming so insatiable?

By the time he was settling at the table far from the window, your legs felt steadier. Letting the smoothies remain as a memento of incomplete conversations, you sprinted after Soo Ah, aware that you were farther from her than before but you would beg on your knees and apologise until you couldn't breath. You would kneel again and again, be so pitiful that she would have mercy on you and pull you up, both of you knowing that it was just a matter of time before there would come a repetition.

and you were always so far,

the farthest from me.

the moon, your twin

this damp earth, mine.

could it really have been changed?

maybe if we were meant to be

it could really have changed.

"Have you heard? Lee Dong Su is being investigated," Soo Ah settled in front of you, visibly brightening the table with her presence. Even the bland lunch seemed better with her.

While everyone shook their heads no, you joined them. When all eyes patiently waited for her to elaborate, you looked away– you knew the school gossip before her, once again and you didn't tell her, once again.

"Apparently Kang Bok Su—"

"Who's that?"

"The guy who was recently Dong Su's victim!"

"Oh!"

"Well, I heard he retaliated and went to the police with a recording."

Collective gasps went around the table. You widened your eyes to join their film of reactions. Soo Ah looked satisfied with the reactions and it made you breathe a sigh of relief. Watching the table break into chatter again, you tried your best to keep your focus on what was being said until your eyes met a familiar figure.

His back was to you, a small booklet by his tray. Kim Taehyung, Jimin's good friend, was the only one with him, even with the other chairs empty. The sight angered you. You didn't know why even though it made you want to stride to him, grab a handful of the softness of his hair and just… just make him look at you; at least once.

You stared until your eyes met Taehyung's instead and the both of you looked away like it singed you. Would he tell Jimin that you were looking? You couldn't have that happening so even without an appetite, you stuffed lunch like a starved woman and laughed loud at the humourless jokes. You didn't look at him for the rest of the day.

there's a ring of fire around me, but

the flames don't touch me.

they don't let you come closer,

to only light in your darkening world.

so can you take a risk?

cross over knowing it'll burn, come closer–

tell me you want to take a risk.

"Please, mother–"

The sound of your knees hitting the ground only echoed in your mind as your mother threw out old pictures and albums from the dark depths of the ancient cupboard.

"Mother, please, don't do this. Please, please, please–"

You felt it before you saw it, a shard of glass gliding over your cheek from the photo frame she threw before you. The stutter of your kneecaps made your fragile attempt at standing up fail miserable as you watched your mother grab everything: every album, every photo and every last of his clothes in her shaking hands.

You always started a breath later so when you stumbled down the stairs after your mother disappeared, you were hearing a hysterical cry that sounded so akin to yours.

There was a fire in the backyard. The flames rose higher than the house, awfully close to the wooden shed where your father used to work. He wasn't in there, nor in your life but was that enough to burn down his remnants?

You heard your mother laugh as she threw in the clothes and pictures and albums, following each with a squeal of joy. You watched with numb limbs until you saw her approach you with a smile that made you want to run, walk, crawl away from her, farther than your father. Your own cruelty made you stand still.

"My precious little girl," a warm hand cupped your face and you saw a woman you've never seen before, "My darling daughter, we're so close to freedom, aren't we?"

She giggled and you gagged, there was a hurricane in your guts and it made you cave within yourself but your mother was having none of it, "No, no, my lovely. Don't slouch, be a good, strong girl for Mama, okay?"

She pulled you by your hand, pointing to the dark sky, "Look at the stars! Oh, so beautiful, aren't they?"

There wasn't a star in sight and you clenched your fist but she was looking at the sky so blissfully, you followed her vision for the sake of some semblance of serenity.

"Twenty five years of hell with him and I was quiet, wasn't I? I let him apologise for letting me step over the broken glass of his bottles because he was too drunk to pick them up. I let him come home later and later and prepared him a lavish lunch, knowing that looking at me made him lose his appetite."

"Ma-"

"I told everyone he was a closed off person but he… I told them that he- that he loved me, didn't I?"

It wasn't until the heat of the fire began to get scalding that you noticed how close to the fire you were, your mother closer. Your mother was still staring at the sky with a smile, leading you closer and closer to the fire. The fumes burned your nostrils and it made you tug at her arm, calling for her again and again.

"My little girl," your mother looked at you with that smile and held your shoulders, "A life is only worth living, if the living makes you feel alive. If everyday feels like death, you don't have to fear death at all."

Her eyes shifted to the huge flames now while you tugged at her grip, screaming to let go, trying to pull her away but it was all in vain.

"Let's go, my little girl. Let's step into peace-"

The next moments were a blur. You got surrounded by a white smoke that withered the flames. Loud sirens rang in your ears and arms pulled you away from your thrashing and shrieking mother. Her frantic, dark eyes were all you saw before a greater darkness took over your vision.

Sitting in the ambulance with multiple voices being targeted at you, it took a while to recall what had happened. There was a car with tinted windows far from the ambulance and the cops held the door open as your mother, handcuffed, was led into it. Familiar faces crowded around and their murmurs droned in your ears. You watched until they closed the door behind her.

"Do you have a relative or another guardian you can stay with for now?"

Maybe because the proximity of the question was closer or maybe the reality of it was clearer, you shook your head in negative but before the officer would ask another question, you heard a familiar voice, "She has! I'm her father."

You didn't look at him when he signed on papers for all you could keep your eyes on was the familiar silhouette that you keep seeing everywhere. Park Jimin had no business with you yet wherever you stalled, he was like a shadowing cloud.

can I hate you because of what was not?

they say you need to know of love

before you go for love

so do I reek of hate

now that all I do is hate?

I'm still stuck in this circle

I should hate you 'cause of what was not.

Soo Ah was scared of you. Everyone always said you had your mother's eyes and that was appealing until she was jailed and sent to asylum. You wondered why you moved on quickly. Your father's girlfriend ignored you like your father did your mother. Maybe it all had something to do with that insanity.

They didn't necessarily ostracize you, per se. It was all the empty desks around you and the group arguments that took place when the only seat available was next to you. They didn't tell you they hate you, per se.

"Hey, Park Jimin!"

You didn't look up at him anymore, not even when his name was called. Your eyes didn't go to him anymore. But Dong Su's voice echoed through the hallways and the loudness of it, made you flinch your head up.

Murmurs filled the room but none that you could perceive. As it appeared, you couldn't get up and stand amongst them anymore so you remained seated, watching Lee Dong Su barge in alone, striding towards an unaware Jimin. The song playing in his ears had to be exceptionally loud… well not anymore.

You blinked when he threw Jimin against the wall, ripping his earpods off and throwing his book out of the window, "You wanna play the hero, aye? You're gonna record videos for the wussy, huh?"

Gasps of shock went around the classroom. It was news to you, who's always listening to the shadows, that it was Jimin who did that.

Dong Su leaned in and whispered something close to Jimin's ears and a breath of silence passed before maniacally Jimin was lunging at Dong Su. Screams erupted from everywhere making your head buzz from the shrillness of it.

Jimin's attempt was lame. In seconds, he was on the floor and Dong Su was beating the life out of him, so near to you. You wondered if there was murmuring about you too since you refused to endorse in the horror even when a loud crack sounded. For a change, Dong Su wailed out in pain holding his fist while Jimin tried to slowly sit up, bruised black and blue.

Teachers barged in when the show was already over and took them both away, all the while you felt awfully at peace. Maybe they really weren't wrong about the insanity that lingers in your eyes.

I tried all I could

to despise you with all I have

but I was naive in my thoughts;

I didn't know what it was like.

what I thought was hate

turned my life all around and now

I don't need to try at all, it's all I can do.

You didn't know you had never heard him speak. You didn't know how soft his voice was and how every word sounded like a melody. You didn't know the timbre of his vocals could make goosebumps line your skin until you heard him.

Way past school hours when you climbed through the stairs of an under construction building, walking through the framework of doors until the mid summer night air was caressing the weights on your shoulders, you didn't expect to hear him; or hear anyone at that but especially not him.

"You can catch more colds in summer than in winter."

He was sitting on the edge of the unfenced roof of the ten story building. His lips and nose were still bleeding and one of his eyes was swollen shut. His shirt was torn at places and the tie hung loose from his neck. Jimin's eyes remained on the lights that dotted the town and the streets, the views that went as far as miles and more.

The chill of the cement seeped through your clothes when you settled beside him, shoulders touching his. It should have felt strange and thrown you off — sitting next to a person you have never spoken to before, that too so incredibly close. But for some reason that might have lingered in the familiar dark sky, you felt as if more than anyone, through everything, Jimin was with you.

He was cradling a leg close to his chest while the other was spread out before him. On the expanse of his thighs, you placed your handkerchief. You couldn't meet his eyes but you knew he was staring at you, maybe in question, maybe in surprise.

"Blow the blood out from your nose. Can't be that fun to breathe in that metallic stench."

The white of your handkerchief contrasted the dark of his pants so in your periphery you saw when he picked it up, heard him blow his nose before you spoke again, "Don't you feel lonely?"

You could have elaborated a lot more but you waited, letting his mind turn gears and dish out the well marinated intelligence that he harbors.

"Do you?"

"Don't answer my question with a question. Ever."

You didn't know where that dominating tone was coming from. You had never heard it from yourself. But neither had you heard the soft chuckle that Jimin let out so you allowed your mind to shut down for the time.

"If you sounded even half as original as you did now, maybe you didn't have to beg to everyone to know-"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Make me, then."

You stood up, breathing heavily. Jimin stood up too, a light limb in his step but a prominently infuriating smile on his lips.

"All your life," he spat out blood on the floor making you cringe, "all you've done is beg. Beg for forgiveness, beg for people to stay, beg for your life-"

He let you push him into the wall and wrap your fingers around the base of his dainty throat, "How do you know all of this? How do you-"

"You think you're the only one watching me? You think I can't feel your eyes digging into my back everywhere I go?"

You stepped back in disbelief, "You are always everywhere I go, even in my neighborhood. I saw you that day!"

Your mind couldn't comprehend the situation as it was so when Jimin picked up his bag and made a move to leave, you pulled back his arm in desperation.

"Tell me," he turned to you as if he was waiting for you to do that, "Tell me, why were you there? In front of my house? At the cafe? Why?"

Brushing off your hand from his arm, he sighed and spoke in a whisper, "Why can't you just let it be fate? Or just coincidence if you want? Because I didn't know, either. I was just there and so were you."

He looked at you with pity before slowly walking away, your handkerchief hanging out of his pocket. You didn't know you had called out his name until he stopped and turned to you again.

"Can you," you had no idea what you were mumbling, "Can you keep being where I am, by fate or coincidence?"

remember when I asked you

if it really made sense?

it does, a lot, now that the

the answer was in me.

I was looking at a dry well

when searching for a frog.

if I had just looked beside me

I would see the answer to all.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fic #bts x reader #park jimin #jimin fanfic #jimin x reader #jimin #bts jimin #jimin fic #jimin ff #btshoneyhive #btswritersclub

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verysium · 3 months

Note

what do you read in your spare time? you’re one of the most eloquent users i know, id love to hear how you find the media you consume and what your favorites are

omg ei 😊 welcome back to the inbox! thank you for your sweet words although i'm probably not qualified enough to be considered the full definition of eloquent. i am going to preface this post by saying that i definitely don't read as much as i should, so this list is not going to be comprehensive whatsoever. the last time i even visited an in-person library was like half a decade ago, and since then my spare time has been nonexistent lmao. anyways, here are some of my favorite/most recent reads as listed by author:

POETRY

richard siken: i think siken is already well-known both in the literary world and in whatever booktok deems is popular culture. if you don't already know him though, he is best known for his poetry collection crush, which delves into themes of obsession, gay love, and violent eroticism. i actually read this chapbook unknowingly. as in i was hounding sketchy pdf download sites at 3 AM and saw a man with bloodied lips on the cover and decided to read it. he basically became my summer fever dream after that. the way he juxtaposes images is seamless, smoother than water. only richard siken can talk about violence without making it sound violent. i also enjoyed his other poetry collection war of the foxes, especially "portrait of fryderyk in shifting light." i think light is a common motif throughout most of his poems, and he manipulates it effortlessly. the most recent piece i read from him is "piano lesson." i have nothing left to say that he didn't already say, so i would just recommend reading it for yourself. he is the og big brain when it comes to word play.

ocean vuong: he's unforgettable, and i mean that literally because nobody forgets a person named ocean. time is a mother was exactly what the name suggests: an exploration of grief, loss, and the rewind of time after his mother's death. some of the poems are almost cinematic in quality. "künstlerroman" is my favorite because it feels exactly like watching a video tape in reverse. i think his most famous work is "someday i'll love ocean vuong." it was the first piece i ever read from him, and to this day, it remains my comfort poem.

silas denver melvin: i only recently discovered him through his chapbook grit. i think he's also on tumblr @/sweatermuppet. he writes a lot on the trans experience, and his work gives me a mix of southern gothic and country vibes. would definitely read his other publications if i had the time.

chen chen: one thing about chen chen is that he always comes to devour. my favorite works from him are "self-portrait as so much potential" and "song of the anti-sisyphus." you have to put on your thinking cap for some of his poems, but once you grasp the meaning, everything makes sense all at once.

franny choi: "disaster means without a star" was the entire inspiration behind my first rin fic. i relate to her more personally in regards to the diaspora experience, but her collections are worth reading in general because of the sheer quality.

pages matam: his poem "piñata" was what got me into slam poetry. his work mostly consists of political commentary which i feel is particularly relevant in today's social climate. "on learning america's english" also resonates with people who have encountered the entire losing/learning immigrant tongues experience.

laura lamb brown-lavolie: i've only read one spoken word poem from her, and tbh i only needed to read one. "on this the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the titanic, we reconsider the buoyancy of the human heart" is my two-headed calf poem. one day i will get this tattooed.

brendan constantine: once again, this was the result of me being chronically online coupled with the boredom of an august heat wave. i found "the opposites game" through TED. honestly, i was a bit unsure about it at first, but it's a cute little poem that makes you really delve into the intricacies of craft.

TEEN POETRY & PROSE

yasmeen khan: she could mouth her words onto every square inch of my body, and i would still be coming back for more. ingraining them into flesh is not enough. "movie stars" is by far my favorite work from her. she writes about femininity and womanhood so profoundly. it's tragic, but really i wouldn't have it end any other way.

kaya dierks: her writing is basically middle-of-nowhere small town stoner teenage life but personified. "crushed" is my favorite piece from her. the soundtrack for this work was definitely by ethel cain, and you cannot convince me otherwise.

FICTION

madeline miller: i was first introduced to her when i read the song of achilles. let's just say that book had me nonverbal for the greater half of three months. it was my metaphorical hatchet. i buried it once, and i never want to dig it up again. i read circe a few years later. the first time was during the blue hour at an airport, right between one red-eye flight and another transfer. i don't even remember that experience because i was heavily sleep-deprived. i read it again recently for a literature course, this time for academic analysis. overall, i enjoy the the heroine-centric narrative. typically, i'm a bit wary of novels with heavy feminist themes because they either project their agenda too strongly or they run the risk of misrepresentation. circe doesn't exactly have that problem. it was more about empowerment and less about exercising power over others.

charlotte brontë: as a historical figure, brontë was questionable, but jane eyre most certainly was not. that book rewired my brain, and that is saying something because i have never read any classic by choice. and it is so important to me that jane was the ugliest, plainest girl you could ever imagine. also cus i unironically enjoy angst, and this book was full of dramatic misunderstandings.

yoko ogawa: i love japanese literature, so there is no reason not to include this one here. "a peddler of tears" is one of my favorite short stories. i did not expect the ending at all, but it was welcome. something about violence, body gore, and dismemberment being framed as romantic and semi-erotic just gets to me. sign me the hell up. hotel iris is a hit-or-miss with some people. either you like the fact that art makes you uncomfortable or you shut it down completely. for me, i was alright with exploring some of its darker themes, but read at your own discretion.

NONFICTION

ross gay: he lives up to his name both in optimism and in carefree joy. probably one of my favorite creative nonfiction authors simply based off the accessibility of his writing style. easy to read and understand but still hits you with the full force of a semi-truck. i would recommend his book inciting joy. it's a collection of essays that delve into grief, but since this is ross gay, he makes it seem like a quintessential part of life.

paul kalanithi: sixteen-year-old me was mind blown by him cus before that doctors were shrewish old men with bald spots and sterile coats, not poetic surgeons who dissected the anatomy of word and recited t.s. eliot in the most heart-wrenching way possible. he is everything i want to become in both life and death. when breath becomes air literally does take your breath away.

#asks #moots ♡

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judgementdaysunshine · 1 year

Note

Number 7 Remus Lupin X femReader with kissing the scars, wuv little werewolf boi <3

YES LOVE WRITING FOR THIS PROMPT THAT I MADE!

I will never be afraid of you

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Fem reader

Description: Remus shows you his scars for the first time so you return the favor along with a surprising reaction to them

You were writing poetry when you heard a calm knock at your door then as you got up the person on the other side opened it revealing an exhausted and pained Remus. You carefully grab and lead him to your bed putting a pillow behind him as you grab your med kit you kept under your bed Incase any of your friend mainly and especially the boys needed to be patched up at late hours when they couldn't go to the nurse's office or didn't want to. You carefully clean and bandage his wounds putting the kit up and bringing back a warm bowl of soup and water giving him spare comfortable clothes he brought to your room whenever he stayed the night with you or whenever like now when he came back to Hogwarts from the nights where the full moon would happen. A few weeks later the two of you in your room again as he was changing his shirt without noticing you watching seeing all the scars that ran down his back,wrapped around his torso,and stopped on his shoulders In many different sizes and states of healing you stare as he stops frozen while you get up gently putting your hand on his back causing him to tense for a few seconds then remembering that it's you and relaxed. You slowly trace each scar you see even the ones you can't see on the front of his body the wrap around from his waist or shoulder as he stay still holding the folded shirt in his hands that he was going to put on until now."You should be afraid...about what I can do" you shake your head placing a gentle kiss on a small scar on his neck "I will never be afraid of you" you continue placing gentle warm kisses on his scars slowly turning him around to face you. You look him in eye planting a final kiss on a faded scar on his chin as tears flow down his face "Your not the only one" you lift up your shirt showing a large pink and white scar on your right rib as he looks with a surprised look on his face "I got it when I was younger... I protected my sister who was 9 from getting stabbed when I was 12...I always make sure it's covered" you are both now standing infront of each other tears quietly running down your faces "I'm proud of you for doing that for your sister even despite what happened after...I am also very proud of how strong and brave you are to protect others" you hold each other for awhile until he leans down and slowly lifts your shirt back up looking at the scar tracing it gently "I love you" he places a gentle and warm kiss just how you did to him earlier all across your scar then placing one on your lips "I love you with all my heart" you both go and lay down under the covers and hold each other while tracing each other's scars until you fell asleep formed as one.

#harry potter #remus lupin #harry potter x reader #remus lupin x reader

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abeinginsand · 11 months

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S2 Teens and the Nurse's Office HCs Taylor: Knows his mom left his emergency inhaler in the nurse's office! Also aware that the nurse has a name....does not know what it is and has no idea where the room is in the school. He actively avoids acknowledging any scuffs he gets on school grounds (which he thinks is cool to do). "It's only a flesh wound!" Besides, he has a first aid kit in his go-bag anyway.

(Hcs continued below)

Pretty sure one of his first high school interactions with Normal was this one time he needed that inhaler and went into the hall pretty confidently but gradually realized he had no idea where to go. But Normal was also out in the halls for some reason and helped him out. Sometimes, Taylor has nightmares about the view of the hazy, ominous, teeny mascot looming over his crouched figure. The boy sat down to try and catch his breath at the time. He attempted to swear the nurse and Normal to secrecy about the incident due to his hurt pride. Whether or not he succeeded is up to debate. (At least Normal was easily convinced.) Anyways, he probably has one of those school maps in his go-bag now. Normal: On friendly terms with the nurse and often helps escort or carry other students (from cheer team or band or just gym class) to the office. Has his motion sickness related meds stored in the office. I think the nurse is the parent of one of the marching band kids, so they often go to the games/competitions. The two chat about the games/coaches/band teachers sometimes. Norm enjoys getting the latest gossip! He has gotten overheated twice, nauseous once, but mainly he visits due to workshop splinters and paper cuts. He's still trying to use those injuries as evidence he should be allowed to wear his mascot (foam hand gloves) at all times. Normal tries to keep Teeny in moderately good condition. When the costume is in need of repair, he'll go to the nurse's office (or the drama class) to borrow materials to repair it. His uncle and dad taught him and his sister how to sew. Scary: Notorious nurse's office guest, her make-shift piercings (mainly paperclips) keep getting her sent there. Her dramatic groans when she hears the usual lectures can be heard across the halls. Some people think that wing of the school is haunted. She's pretty happy about that and writes several ghost-themed poetry entries in her journal. Doesn't talk much to avoid having to stay there any longer than necessary. Unrelated to piercings, she's visited due to scrapes before too. While she scowls quietly in the office, the girl walks out of there while smiling just a tiny bit at the cutesy character themed bandages on her fingers. The nurse usually gives her black, gray, or pink ones. Lincoln: He was nervous about meeting the school nurse at first! Very used to his dads taking care of any first aid/med related stuff or handling it himself if they were working. Link, much like Normal, occasionally helps other soccer teammates/classmates to the office. Has convinced a few stubborn friends to go to the nurse's office too. (Scary and Taylor, Normal is thankfully reasonable). Most of his visits for himself are around spring and summer when his allergies tend to bother him the most. When he is resting, the athlete plays mobile games or counts the ceiling tiles. Like Scary, he keeps mostly quiet when in the office (its peaceful). Lincoln always leaves a thank you note for the nurse on spare, neatly folded notebook paper. Hermie: He prefers the San Dimas nurse over the Chaperal one any day. It may or may not be due to the pride pins the nurse wears or the various posters around the little room, the fully stacked bookcase, or the scattered figurines. Chaperal may have a fancy and big office, but this one...actually felt welcoming, lived-in, and cozy. He keeps the thought to himself though and is otherwise polite as necessary towards any school staff. During one of his free periods, he will sometimes come in to help the nurse reorganize stuff. Been getting more first-aid knowledge this way too. His favorite thing in the office is the little Harley Quinn bobble-head sitting on the nurse's desk. Some memorable moments at the office include that one time some small background props fell onto him and a surprise allergic reaction to a stage outfit's fabric. Neither were fun experiences and he is certain to prevent them from happening again. Well at least the outfit one since he takes charge of that part of the theater class/club soon after.

Hermie has plenty of opportunities to snoop around the office. But, besides getting the chance to slide his own cover info into the record cabinet, he hasn't gotten much else out of it though! At least being sneaky is a temporary thrill of its own?

#taylor swift dndads #dndads taylor swift #normal oak swallows garcia #normal oak #scary marlowe #lincoln li wilson #hermie unworthy #hermie the unworthy #dndads #dndads s2 #dndads headcanon #dndads spoilers #dndads s2 spoilers #hmm I couldn't remember how the rival school's name is spelled so sorry if that's wrong haha #abeinginsand talk tag #Was thinking about mainly Taylor and Hermie which is why their parts are longer but then I thought why not try to do one for all of them?#abeinginsand writing tag

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madtomedgar · 11 months

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Books read in May:

Where Reasons End, Yiyun Li: This is a stunning, devastating work. I almost felt like I shouldn’t be reading it though. The author had apparently been working on a novel about a middle aged woman whose child commits suicide when her own teenage son committed suicide, and this “novel” is mostly pulled from her journals in the months immediately after, and then only very lightly it seems, fictionalized. So it felt like I was reading her grief journals and that felt a little voyeuristic or invasive. I also don’t think I personally would qualify this as a novel, because to me it reads more like prose poetry, but she is very insistent that that’s what it is, so. It’s very spare, but almost in a way where it feels stripped. There’s a lot of meditation on language (she finds adjectives judgmental) and memory and of course grief, as well as the way a drive to be perfect strangles relationships and shuts people off to the possibility of love. I think the thing that struck me most, and that felt like a slow and subtle horror was the way in which it became clear that the deceased son in this story became the face and voice of the mother/author in the story’s internal critic. The way the after-image of her son that she was conjuring in her mind to talk to morphed into that voice that’s always noting everything she does wrong, or could do better, or the ways in which she thinks she isn’t measuring up or disappointing. It was almost as if the only way she felt she could keep the conversation going or keep him “around” even in her own mind was if he could sneer at and critique her, which is just so sad. Anyway. She’s a fantastic author and everyone should read something by her, even if this is not it.

The Rain Heron, Robbie Arnott: The author tried to do magic realism, and it was fine, but it didn’t really work. I think because there was just nothing that the world of this story was moored to, and imo magical realism works best when the magical thing is a way of making real some abstract and difficult thing so it can be grappled with. But his setting was just a generic post-coup vaguely euro/western anglophone country, and the characters were mostly archetypes. Even that would have worked if he hadn’t switched from a very limited 3rd person narration that gave the sense that this was a story being told in the last quarter to first person narration. It was jarring and it kind of ruined the almost fairy-tale quality that was working for the rest of it. There was also kind of a hamfisted ending where the character is healed and begins working for good things instead of destructive things because of the magical healing power of heterosexuality and like. yawn. I think maybe in a different genre I’d really like his writing but this book just didn’t come together for me.

Mamaskatch: A Cree Coming of Age, Darrel McCleod: Ok look. I don’t think all books need trigger warnings. But I think if your book involves a lot of sexual violence against children, you should maybe put something in the description to clue readers in to that. Because it’s not a given that a memoir about growing up as a Cree boy in the 60s and 70s and struggling with poverty and eventually realizing he is gay is going to have that in it. So, here is your notification that this book involves a lot of graphic discussion of sexual violence against children, sometimes by other children. I don’t think that’s a reason not to read it, or that that’s some kind of literary sin. It’s just the author describing his own experiences. But I do wish there had been some indication. He makes a choice which I don’t understand to write this from the perspective of his child and then teenage and young adult self. I am used to memoirs involving a perspective that is an adult, now, looking back, and using that backwards looking knowledge and understanding to frame the anecdotes. One of the results of his choice to not do that is that it can read at times as just... a series of events that happened. Sadly, I want more from memoir than that. The other thing is that it makes for occasionally uncomfortable reading when you’re getting just his child-perspective on, for example, the sexual abuse he was suffering. So. I found his story interesting, heartbreaking, harrowing, sometimes funny, but I am finding a certain similarity amongst stories about growing up poor with an alcoholic parent and a marginalized identity. And I think part of it is that that is just the same no matter where you are, and that there’s nothing special, or to be learned, no unique insight, that this gives you, it really just is what it is. And I think I want something more from them than that, for my own personal reasons, and keep getting disappointed that it’s just always what I grew up with in a different flavor. But that’s more on me than on the book. The author seems like a wonderful man, and I’m glad I read the book even though I didn’t vibe with his narration choice.

The Unravelling, Karen Lord: Very fun fantasy whodunit with an intricate and dreamlike supernatural set-up based heavily in Senegalese folklore. The very end was a little neat for my liking, but the writing was great. I enjoyed the way the Undying were both personalities and also manifestations of certain traits or qualities, that was executed very well. I also enjoyed the metaphysical aspects of the worldbuilding, and how big a part of the narrative that was, to the point where the human characters often got lost in the natural domain of the supernatural ones, and I the reader also felt a little deliberately lost. Recommend for a quick enjoyable fantasy book, looks like the author has a few other books too that also look very good.

The Shadow System: Mass Incarceration and the American Family, Sylvia A. Harvey: I think I don’t like books about social issues written by journalists, rather than social scientists. Something about the journalism background tends, in my experience, to lead to sentimentalizing and simplifying, and an over-reliance on anecdote or over focus on a handful of examples. The author says she wants to write about the toll long-term prison sentences take on families, and wanted to focus on people that generally aren’t seen as sympathetic and worthy of release, specifically murderers. However, she shies away from the actual crimes, and then spends a lot of time mitigating what the 3 subjects (yes, only 3) did. She focuses heavily on what life is like for these men in prison, and how hard it is being away from family, which is not the same thing as looking at how mass incarceration effects families with a member in prison. I wish there had been more data and more data analysis. I wish she hadn’t relied on a heartstrings approach with 2 men serving sentences for murder and one woman with a drug charge. The problem with this approach is that if your readers don’t find the people sympathetic, they don’t buy your argument. She also valorizes the traditional family in a way that I think is uncomfortable and ultimately harmful to her argument, because it all falls apart if these guys actually... aren’t great fathers. She seemed embarrassed by, or at any rate hid, the fact that either all or 3 of one subject’s 4 children wound up doing time in jail or prison also, when to me, it seems like this is a point against the current system. If having a parent in prison long term increases the likelihood of the children doing time, regardless of the parent’s personality, that’s huge! But it felt like she thought that was a point against the subjects somehow and would make them less sympathetic. I also wish she hadn’t just profiled subjects in southern states, because that makes it look like a south problem, not an everywhere problem, that’s she’d included a family with an LGBTQ member, and that she had done more research into the particular issue of drug addiction in rural Appalachia. A for effort but C for execution.

The Red Threads of Fortune, The Descent of Monsters, The Ascent to Godhood, Neon Yang: God Forbid Women Do Anything.

#long post

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bi-bats · 8 months

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i am equally bored, so here’s a couple for the ask game, do however many you like ofc!

know yourself, don’t fall into my arms, and i know my brother (feral about this one)

omg hello hello!! Thanks for the ask, hopefully this spares you a few moments of boredom 💚 Here are my favorite things about all of those bc I have no self control

Know Yourself:

probably the way that Jay forces Jason and Tim to re-examine not only each other, but themselves? Like, of course Jay was going to make Jason take a closer look at himself. Of course Jay was going to make Tim take a closer look at Jason. But I really like the way that Jason also re-evaluates his idea of Tim and Tim also takes a closer look at who he is. also, the way Jason and Tim are slowly, slowly breaking down each other's walls and getting closer, the way it's messy and not easy but they keep trying to do it anyways because they both just need each other so badly, even if they don't want to admit it yet. I love making them messy and totally unable to resist each other 💖 and making them in denial about their feelings in totally different ways is also so much fun 😂

Don't Fall Into My Arms:

look, I just love giving them a good argument born from the fear that they're going to lose each other. I love when Tim gets a chance to cry, and I love that seeing him cry totally snaps Jason out of being angry because he realizes that Tim isn't just mad, he's afraid. But my favorite thing probably has to be that Jason just sort of traps himself into admitting that he considered them to be dating, and then he doubles down on it. He's like, "You know what? Yeah. We're dating. I love you." and as much as I love when Jason runs from the things he's afraid of and refuses to talk about things, I really enjoyed that in this, the thing he was the most afraid of was losing Tim, and instead of running he let himself be vulnerable.

I Know What My Brother Is:

oh, bestie. I am ALSO feral about this one. I am currently at 34k words on it and I'm just trying to resist the urge to upload all of it because I'm doing something I've never done before, which is just let myself write without worrying too much about the exact details of the plot, so I want the padding of the extra chapters just in case I get stuck. This is a chokehold fic, like. I can't write ANYTHING else right now because every time I try to think about writing I just get stuck on this one. Okay, my favorite thing about it. I'm really, really loving writing in Damian's headspace. There's something about writing from his perspective that activates literal poetry in me, and I'm really loving it. I feel like when I write Tim, he tends to be very deadpan and guarded, and Jason is always pretty honest and casual in his own head, but Damian? Damian is so dramatic and conflicted and sad and angry. I love making his anger this calm thing that he just lives with, because he's always lived with it. He's falling apart and writing him so deeply unwell is making some of my favorite lines I've ever written fall out of me. Also, every time I think that I've made him as deeply unwell as I could possibly make him, I find a new way to make him worse 😂 Don't worry, you'll see 💖

Hope this saved you from boredom for a while!!

🌸 Send me the name of one of my fics and I’ll tell you my favorite thing about it!! 💕🌸

#batsasks #ask games #☁️ eidoloony

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whovianwholikesgirls · 9 months

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😍🎵🖋 for Spencer?

-selfshippery

The way I screeched once I found this? Thank you for these. Talking about him gives me an instant serotonin boost

😍: things I like about him.

Okay let’s start with personality first. The man is loyal. Like, ride or die for the people he loves most and when you add boyfriendism on top of that? Holy fucking shit. He’d always make sure me needs were taken care of and obviously I’d do that same for him but just having someone that you know is always going to be your rock is super soothing.

Speaking of being my rock, he’s the most caring guy ever and I know he’d always be there for me. Especially on my grumpy chronic pain days.

All of his autistic traits because I have them too and it’s nice to have someone who understands my brain. Not that it’s a personality trait, our developmental disabilities just happen to line up perfectly. That why I fell in love with him because I knew I could be myself around him.

Started learning about my favorite books and music just too feel closer to me/impress me in the early stages of dating but over time he learned to love them too

I also go on rambles on stuff I’m passionate about and sometimes people are like, “Kate slow down I’m not getting the context.” Which is a fair response it’s just nice to have someone who gets it. Half of the time if I’m on a case in the field working doing tech things instead of doing them at Quantico with Garcia, I’m basically the, “Reid translator.” Which is cute. We could literally talk about books and doctor who all day

One of my favorite self insert scenes is when Spence is explaining the Death Star to Morgan and Morgan goes, “I’m taking back the last 5 minutes of my life.” Instead the scene goes like this:

Me: What was it? Your whole conversation about Morgan with the amount of jewels of energy and the Death Star?

Him: *chuckles* you haven’t even seen Star Wars yet

Me: then teach me, I wanna know. Literally the only thing I know about Star Wars is that Luke and Leia are the good guys and Darth Vader is Luke’s dad

Him: *oh my god I can’t believe I’m dating this person heart eyes* okay, *holds my hand just because after a year of dating he likes the contact until he eventually has to let it go because he gets really excited and started talking with his hands* let’s start at the beginning

The physical stuff. Because he’s him and he’s hot and before I start going on my own ramble I’d like to point out I fell for the emotional stuff first.

His hair, especially seasons 4 and 9. I just want to run my fingers through it and there’s a reason why I set our wedding during the beginning of s4 in cannon because I love the slicked back prince charming hair.

You can literally see everything emotion this man has ever had through his eyes and it makes my heart stop.

Sure he talks with his hand but they’re also very pretty. I’d hold them all day if I could.

I’ve always liked guy who ate lanky so there’s that lol

🎵: Songs that remind me of him/us.

Oh I’ve got two separate playlists. One for just him that’s random songs and one that’s all Taylor Swift songs and remind me of him and our relationship. I recommend my spate as told my Taylor lyrics tag because I assign soooo many good songs/lyrics there. Right now if I had to pick a Taylor song off the top of my head if would be Timeless

A specific Taylor song that’s just Spencer coded is this is me trying

Songs that aren’t Taylor songs that I love

Pancakes for dinner - Lizzy McAlpine

Home and Sink Into You - Deore

🖊️: which one of us would write poetry for the other

A 50/50 split. Mostly me because I’ll admit I write him letters in my journal to decompress, but I bet I could write him some love letters/poems too

I think he would if he had a reason too, not in his spare time like I would. For my birthday, an anniversary, or his wedding vows

#spate #self shipping ask game

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fly-like-egyptian-musk · 2 years

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Lost in the Eye of Zaun

Summary: Revolution is coming and freedom is in every Zaunite's horizon- but at what cost? A singers first hand encounter of scraping out an existence with her young sister who has big plans for the future, but plans change when The Eye of Zaun set's his sights on capturing the Siren and de-rails everything she once knew. A story of sinners and saints, and the lies between them. WARNINGS: Drug use, Sex Work, Past Child Abuse, Graphic Violence, Gang related activity, MORE WILL BE ADDED.. __________________________ Chapter 2 Sondre stumbled, bashing into the cement wall out of the dark room, slightly rolling her heel clad ankle as she moved with haste to escape the sweaty embrace of the spent john to her side. It stung, but she quickly moved down the dirty humid hall towards the back of the factory, deciding to rip the heels off and throw them into the corner and go barefoot instead. The show was supposed to start twenty minutes ago but her boss found her a last minute client to make up for the low-grade shimmer he had given her earlier. Bastard. Sondre’s empty stomach turned with the recent addition of bitter ejaculate, yesterday and today had been back to back business without much time for sustenance, she hadn’t even slept. She had asked for the shimmer to keep her from completely falling apart before the scheduled show tonight. The steady drone of one of Avor’s synths echoed in the PA system of the factory, she could hear the murmur of a drunken crowd collecting. Ruminating on what had just transpired, the sickening feeling in the pit of her grew after the forced session, the quelled rage she always felt for her master threatened to spill out but she had a job to do, another career, one that wasn’t given to her by him- one that was all her own. She was going to perform, to sing until she couldn’t anymore, to let out all her festering emotions of struggle in her poetry. That was her gift, her purpose in all of this degrading existence. They were going to be a part of the revolution, the survivors here in the new age of Zaun and no baron or upper city was going to snuff out their spirits. --------------> Hey hey, if you like this so far, please consider commenting and letting me know because I love and need feedback to continue to write fanfic. It would mean a lot!!

The corridor opened to the darkened side of the stage where her band was set up, everyone turned to spare annoyed glances at her to which she brushed off and raked her hand through the sweat slicked side of her temple, eyeing the drink in the hand of Georgie. The group knew what she had to do at a moment's notice, especially Avor, because they were also a sexworker just like her. Although, their leash was longer and the boss preferred femme individuals. Avor was her best friend and didn’t give her as much gripe about her behavior, they looked out for each other during jobs and understood the struggle. They supported her more than anyone else ever had. Grabbing the drink from Georgie’s hand she gargled and downed it to wash the taste of the stranger out of her mouth. Cerise adjusted her keyboard and craned her annoyed face to Sondre,

"It’s about time you showed up, kept us waiting long enough.." her posh, foreign accent bit angrily. She was originally from a province near Demacia but had to relocate when war struck- needless to say she’s been doing everything in her power to get back to high status and out of Zaun ever since. And rubbing it in everyone’s faces.

The truth was she was just as poor and dirty as they were, and no fancy accent would disguise the stench of ugly inside of her and the undercity.

"Yeah well, I’m here now- so let’s start with-"

"Aren’t you even going to say sorry?"

Sondre lit a cigarette, her eyes half closed in irritation as she stared at Cerise blankly, refusing to give her any type of reaction.

Exhaling smoke as she spoke,

"I’m sorry some of us have actual jobs to do.."

"Sucking dick isn’t a real job, Sondre.."

"Tell that to me when you’re down to your last coin and your bitch mouth is hungry, Cerise.." she squared up but the large body of Billie walked in between them quickly.

"Cut it out! We have a show to do and GOT PAID ALREADY FOR IT. Quit your cat fighting for one.fucking.night.." she yelled and double checked the connections to the mixer, mic and synth all while grilling both ladies down, daring either of them to open their mouths again. Billie was the significant other of Gavin, the leader of their motley crew, she was a boat hand that helped him receive and ship out the smuggled goods. Burly, red headed, and fiercely loyal to her family. Which meant she was the mom figure of their group, and would indeed whoop anyone's ass.

Sondre sauntered over to the mic and unhooked it, dragging the wire out from the stand so she could freely walk the stage. With her head down low she announced the first song to the group.

"We’ll transition to the next with the lighting cue, we could interlude for at least 5 minutes until it comes. Sounds good? Great." She stiffly finished, perching the cigarette between her lips with arms wrapped protectively over her head as she tried to get into a better headspace to start. Shuffling over to the looper, she exhaled and started crooning at different octaves and melding them together before everything started.

The group shrugged nodding in agreement and took their respective positions on the unlit stage, the small crowd of hungry eyed people becoming restless in the dark center.

Cerise was a cunt sometimes, Sondre knew this for a long time but she was still considered a friend of hers. She knew Cerise had a wealthy -Married- Piltie sugar daddy who supplied her with enough money from time to time so she didn’t need to work. But somehow, every once in a while she ran out and resorted to begging between friends who had less than her. It was annoying to say the least, but she made up for it by babysitting Phira, Sondre's little sister while she had to work her long nights. It wasn’t the best friendship, but out here it’s all that counted.

It’s not like Sondre was ashamed of what she did, she wasn’t. She’d been doing this since admittedly too young to be working the strip, barely done with losing her baby teeth. But every so often, the digs into her profession hit harder- hurt deeper.

It was real work, and it was hard work that she had been forced to do for years, no one could ever make her feel bad about supporting her sister and herself this way, especially not a spoiled delusional brat like Cerise.

Sondre was a survivor through and through, and there’s simply no room for shame in that.

The sweat of the night clung to her chest, making the fabric of her dress stick uncomfortably, her hair curled fiercer in the humidity and surrounded her head and torso like a long tangled, inky cloud. She looked bewitching, otherworldly in her dark somber guise.

The glow from the waterlogged gutter divot dividing the entire factory shone on every surface, carefully outlining her hunched form as the synth became louder.

It was time for a show. An oscillating melody gave way to a low bass line accompanied by slow pacing of the drummer, to which the shadowed figures of the band all became dimly lit. The billowing smoke fell around the stage creating a mirage floating above the crowd. The lights faded on and reflected off of the black stones adorning Sondre’s body as she slowly swayed with her head bowed down. The mic reverberated her sultry voice as she raised her hand to flourish the lyrics.

‘..I stand corrected,

Guess it just wasn't meant to be,

I know I am maladjusted,

Crush what's inside of me..’

________________________

Sevika became distracted by the macabre statuesque woman slinking across the stage. The way she cat walked across in a sensual daze, voice shifting between whispers, and grit. She was haunting, alluring and beautifully tragic.

The band moved like one unit, keeping beat and playing off each other in unison.

The drummer and bassist had their eyes shut in concentration, they were identical twins: tall and alabaster, with pale eyes, hairless and had similar extremely bold, black tattoos all over their bodies- including their face. Relaxed bliss graced them, silver piercings shining whenever their heads nodded with every downbeat. Cerise and Avor worked together at the keys and synths adjusting knobs, Cerise’s hair cascaded across her shoulders like silver spiderwebs gleaming under the sporadic lighting. Sevika tore her eyes away from the goddess on stage to watch the crowd.

Like a drunken feeding frenzy the crowd shifted sweatily together, some stumbling high and others glowing slightly purple with shimmer when the lights fell across their bodies. It was suspicious to see the shimmer fiends not tearing into anyone, not angry. Sevika wondered what chems they cut it with to make the effects change so drastically.

Her eyes followed across to the wall where she noticed little details of the concrete; an incredible amount of moss growing out of the cracks in broken sections with some sprawling across the ceiling and hanging like horrifying green fingers in the darkness. Despite its obvious safety and health hazards, this factory held an eerie fantastical charm.

Up a level was a grated balcony, empty save for one small silhouette watching the stage from afar, a child. Her thin legs dangled off as she held onto a mangy teddy bear, wiggling the paws to the beat as her tired eyes tried to focus on the band. She had frizzy reddish brown locs that she had twisted in two lumps on the base of her neck, bronzed skin and dirty feet. She couldn’t have been no older than 12.

‘Who the fuck would bring a child here?’ Sevika swore in her mind, but then sighed considering it was now the exact situation at The Last Drop.

Her train of thought was cut short by some movement along the more obstructed booths, no matter how darkly dressed the dealers were, the shimmer glowed brighter as it was exchanged for coins. Between the shaded sections of dealings were raised booths that were lit low by rustic chandeliers and packed with well dressed parties. A few young scantily clad women lingered with cigarettes and lighters, waiting on bated breath to light the elite’s smokes. No other staff seemed to be working these sections, and for good reason. There was Glub, his vile gelatinous form bursting at the seams of his too small three piece suit. He sat along with a few other baron’s living it up while the drinks were flowing. Sevika took note of who they were for her report, she knew she’d be paying them visits soon enough.

The voice of the siren crept in low again, she stood held high in front of the crowd, a red spotlight overhead that contoured down her body fiercely. The tendrils of hair fell over and stuck to her sheened skin, the humidity in droplets that sparkled like diamonds across her. She looked like a damp witch casting a spell over a crowd of minions.

‘..I know of no remedy, I know not how to cease, This feeling of hate in me, I just want to see you bleed..’ I only know what I want, I want to stop seeing red, I only know what I want, I just want to see you dead..’

To catch a better lighted view of dealings Sevika would have to return to the bar and post up, but it would be suspicious if anyone saw her return so quickly after she had just purchased a bottle. Turning around quickly, she frisked the hefty goon in front of her for his coin satchel. He sputtered into his glass confused and tried blocking her advances.

“Stop squirming and hand over more coin! I’m the one that bought those drinks to begin with..” she growled out, and the man keeping one hand in defense towards her took his other hand and dug out the sack.

“You. Stand where I was in about 10 minutes, discreetly. I’m going back up to the bar to scout a few guys from a better angle. Glub is here and with company, so keep it cool.”

She strutted back to the bar where there was no longer a Yordle seated, and made a beeline for the seat. Just as her butt made contact with the metal she was bumped into by an intoxicated young man falling into the counter, barely catching himself on the lip of the bar before he broke his chin.

“WATCH IT, ASSHOLE.” Her burning gray eyes were framed by sharp brows of irritation and the outburst got the attention of a different bartender.

“Nope. No more for you, Virion. You’re making a bloody fool of yourself as it is..” The barkeep yelled into the man while wiping the sticky drink that had spilled on impact. The intoxicated man who was dressed as what could only be described as a provocative circus worker, smiled slyly to the accusing barkeep. He batted his long black lashes and cocked his head to the side coyly, his angular cut of dark hair falling over to reveal head tattoos of an array of swords over his right ear.

He ran a finger over the rim of the empty glass as he scooted closer seductively. The barkeep matched him halfway with a stern look that was unimpressed, dirty blonde scruff around his mouth however held a slight smirk at his drunken ministrations.

The bartender had a braided mohawk pulled back with wrapped brown leather cords, his muscular arms had rough tattoos of Bilgewater origin and enough scars to prove it. Adorned minimally, he had a silver ring on his nostril and an etched leather cuff on his dominant hand that had a symbol of a water deity. He caught Sevika staring and winked, never turning from the man facing him. The carnie raised a slender hand to scratch at the scruff of chin before him,

“Come on..thas -HIC- no fun..” The taller man leaned over and put both hands on the counter, caging the drunk man's slender form and establishing his authority.

“You know I’m no fun..not at work at least. But later...if you’re good..” the barkeep sunk his head against the whining drunk before him, dragging his scruff against the smooth jaw, to his cheek and up to the tattooed ear to whisper something inaudible. The carnie nuzzled his face into the neck of the taller man and bit his lip at whatever he had said, both men separated with heated gazes as the drunk one stood up straighter- still wobbling. He nodded enthusiastically,

“You promise?” he purred, cocking a groomed eyebrow up.

The bartender grabbed the towel once again and started drying a glass, flexing his forearms while he turned to put it away while flashing a cocky expression as an answer.

Sevika cleared her throat loudly and waved the man over for an order.

As he approached she watched the eccentric man spin on a stool next to him, flourishing his spin with a heeled boot pointed elegantly out in the air. His expression was wildly pleased and he cackled to himself, but then as he turned back to the room he saw someone he must’ve known, and hopped excitedly up onto the stool to haphazardly wave and yell a greeting. He scrambled off the chair and launched himself forward, bumping into the metal fencing between the bar and dance floor.

“Gimmie another one of them waters.” she threw down monies and kept her eyes on the open room.

“Aye.” The sailor sauntered back to the wall of liquor, still grinning from the interaction and thinking about what his night had in store after his shift.

Everyone was either dancing, or gambling in the corners of the club. But Sevika noticed a fair amount of seafaring ruffians keeping guard. Some peddled clear liquid in jars, which made her wonder if it was the purified water or homemade shine. She guessed both, if they were smart- to double their profit.

There seemed to be a leader of the gang, a tall, tanned bear of a man, hairy and heavily scarred. He donned a leather vest with two bowie knives although a large machete was strapped at his hip. At his right came an equally solid woman with thick braided red hair, just as scarred as he was. They patrolled the room, handled the obnoxious drunks (bumping into the flirtatious and very inebriated carnie and giving him a warning) but mostly ones that were too rowdy and violent after losing a hand in cards or getting handsy with the staff. The ones that began meddling in their own operations were promptly thrown the fuck out.

Sevika narrowed her eyes to search the crowd for the black dressed individuals that sold the shimmer, finding it hard to keep track of them with the lights and commotion of the dance pit.

‘..I don't want your explanation,

I really couldn't care less,

I've got my own reminder,

This scar across my breast,

You are a faker anyway,

Ever up for a quick release,

Infect everyone around you,

Cover up your own disease,

I know what I want,

I want to stop seeing red,

I know what I want,

I just want to see you dead..’

Sevika rested casually, sipping her glass of water and still reveling on the crispness while trying to play it cool. From the side Glub laughed haughtily and smacked the ass of one of the ladies who visibly was repulsed, the other baron indulged in various substances laid out, yet no vials of shimmer were visible, there was however a pile of sparkling purple powder.

‘Hmm laced shimmer, is that what they’re doing nowadays?’ The older baron to his side scooped up some of the powder with a tiny spoon and hesitated to inhale. Glub slapped his back and gritted out,

‘YOU’LL NEED COMPANY TONIGHT AFTER A HIT OF THAT, THAT’LL MAKE YOUR DICK HARDER THAN STEEL HEHEHE…I’LL FIND ONE OF MINE TO SEND TO YA FOR A GOOD TIME..' he coarsely coughed out, hacking up phlegm and spitting it to the ground near the dainty ankle of one of the waitresses.

Sevika gagged into the cup at his brazen slovenliness, she felt bad for whatever whore had to service the corpse of a man beside him.

Shimmer was relatively new to the Undercity but gaining popularity at an alarming rate. Its chemical makeup was under development, constantly becoming more potent and advanced by chemists employed by Silco and only Silco. Now, she knew Silco couldn’t control how people used shimmer, but if Glub was creating and selling shimmer and dust he’d be in direct violation of terms. She’d have to find out where they distributed from and who worked there. She herself was too recognizable as Silco’s number two, so she’d have to pay some poor schmuck to spy for her.

The slick bastard was at least smart enough to not be caught with any vials of shimmer or at least dealing them himself, and dust wasn’t exactly illegal to have- but it was to make.

From afar she watched as the flamboyant man, apparently named Virion by the swashbuckler behind the bar, bounced between crowds of people chaotically networking and rather well for a blackout drunk.

Sevika weighed her options, she could use him to her benefit- he clearly knew the entire crowd, but considering the heavy flirting between the bartender it seemed they were into men. She grimaced, seduction was the easiest way out most of the time and that was out of the question..and if she put up a fight she’d probably lose another limb from the insane demolitionist with the bouncer outside.

So bribery it was. _______________________________________ Songs mentioned: 1. Aviary by Ego Likeness (imagined as the first song, yet I didn't write it in) 2. Stained by Android Lust

Like I've said before, please comment and let me know what you liked or didn't like. I have several chapters of this written, it's just a matter of posting it here if people actually give a shit. Feel free to head over to my AO3 to check out my other Arcane smut shots and more chapters of Lost in the Eye of Zaun. xx

#ao3 fanfic #arcane fanfiction #arcane fanfic #silco x oc #viktor x oc #arcane smut #arcane #song fanfic #lounge singer AU #arcane au

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attonitos-gloria · 1 year

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What are your top five poets?

ahhhhh friend, hi. great, GREAT question.

louise gluck. there's a part of me of which this woman is a keeper. and she doesn't even know me. but when she said "you will not be spared, nor will what you loved be spared," i need you to believe that she was talking about my family, specifically, and when she said "it does me no good to be good to me now; violence has changed me", i understand this with my blood and bones and all the viscera inside me. i feel like if you read all of her poems you'll know me better than half of my friends.

mary oliver. and it's pathetic but i feel like crying now because i didn't have the best of the weekends, and i was thinking earlier about dogfish, that line about hurrying into the work of your life and then, like a fracture right in the middle of the poem, "you don’t want to hear the story of my life. And anyway I don’t want to tell it, I want to listen to the enormous waterfalls of the sun." i feel like she translates hope into a language that i can understand.

carlos drummond de andrade. brazilian, and, i think, the best we've got. funny fact: he wrote a poem called "the flower and the nausea" that was recited at the opening ceremony of Rio's olympic games in 2016. unfortunately, they took some verses out of context and made it sound like it was about global warming. and well, nothing against education about global warming, really. but the poem is not really about that? it happens to be one of my favorite poems ever and i was really mad at the time because it sounded lame and drummond is anything but. i think a part of the force of him is lost in the translation, at least the translation i found available online, but i know these lines by heart: "A flower bloomed from the street! Far away they pass by, trams, buses, rivers of steel traffic. A flower, though faded, evades the police, breaks the asphalt. Be completely silent, stop your business: I assure you that a flower bloomed. Its color is unnoticed. Its petals don’t open. Its name is not in the books. It is ugly. But it is truly a flower. [I sit on the ground in the country’s capital at five in the afternoon and lightly pass my hand over this frail thing.] Beside the mountains, dense clouds swell, little white points dance on the surface of the sea, startled chickens. [It is ugly. But it is a flower. It pierced through the asphalt, the boredom, the disgust and the hate.] "it is ugly. but it is truly a flower" every time i get that lump in my throat i'm telling you T_T this man was a genius, absolute favorite. (and i think it should be obvious, even without the whole poem, that this is not a literal flower and this is not an environmental crisis poem. this man was a COMMUNIST the name of the book is THE PEOPLE’S ROSE what do people think the flower stands forrrr aaaa i’ll be bitter about this forever)

adélia prado, also brazilian. and she reminds me (and everyone, lol) of drummond a little, but adelia translates a particular kind of religious sentiment that i just adore. it's so kind. she reads like prayer to me; i was raised evangelical and conservative, so when adelia wrote "God is no longer severe; His wrinkles, His creased mouth are expression lines from smiling too much at me", she instantly healed like, years of religious trauma. also love the way she writers about writing, makes poems about poetry. she reminds me of mary oliver, too, because she uses a lot of nature references?

katie ford, because while i love that adélia taught me a god who is soft, i still need someone to express all the religious angst. and she does that. my god she does that. the first time i read the line “I want a god who stands mute with me / a long, dull night on a hill, very still, without reaching” i stared into nothing for a very, very long time. i had a revelation, i think? i don’t know. to this day, that line remains one of my favorites to express my feelings about the divine. a god who stands mute with me...! katie ford knows what is going on.

the summary is that while i love poetry overall, my heart lies with the modern and contemporary ones. xD

now tell me your top five poets!!

(everyone come here and ask me my top five of anything <3)

#ask me stuff #poetry will save us

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romegaketh · 2 years

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i'm really in love with your writing style. What books do you think have influenced your writing style the most?

anon!!! this is so kind of you. i am such a fucking baby about how distinct my style is - i am keenly aware it's not everyone's cup of tea! i'm listing authors under the cut. most of these i've posted about #onhere and none of them are particularly deep cuts. hopefully this isn't too dull! it is pretentious tho. sorry can't be helped.

ursula le guin. i (re)read her entire bibliography earlier this year and the depth and strength of her prose - as well as her ability to align it with polemic! - blows me away to think about. (top three: the dispossessed, tehanu, five ways to forgiveness.)

margaret atwood. particularly the poetry collections. i haven't read a lot of atwood in recent years - she's politically intolerable, among other things! - but power politics is definitely at the root of how i want to write and wish i could. parts of the handmaid's tale are, on a craft level, simply astounding.

seth dickinson. i never shut up about how wonderful the traitor baru cormorant is, because it is that wonderful. dense and complicated prose, dense and complicated plot, all of it excruciatingly beautiful to read. laws of night and silk is a beautiful short story with similar themes that i adore, and there's a neat post on his blog about how he structures sentences that i think about often.

jeff vandermeer got me at a good time. borne is the book of his i'd recommend most - i think his less linear work is very beautiful but revels in its strangeness too much to be easily accessible.

china mieville has abuse allegations against him and seems like a total asshole. (also his new stuff sucks.) that said, iron council is a tour de force i loved so much i finished reading it and immediately bought a copy to send to a friend (before i learned abt the allegations). you have to like mieville's style to like it - you can't really half ass your way in, he's complicated and self referential - but if it works for you, it works. the denouement of iron council is... i get shivers when i think about it. (illegally download them, though. fuck that guy.)

i would be remiss if i didn't include Formative Fanfiction. i could never cover it all but i really like the specific house style used in like, mid 00s sorkin fic, which you also see sometimes in stargate atlantis fic of the same period. kind of spare, talky, vivid. a super specific often obfuscatory narrator. i don't do it bc i like parentheses too much, but it's in my heart. (i do the narrator thing though.) in no particular order:

even sugar peas run out of snap. sports night. you don't need to know sports night to get this fic, you just need to like breakups and getting your ass kicked by a narrative.

shoeless joe and the sunshine kid. captain america. this fic is my north star, lol. it's incredible. the shit it does with genre and expectation! unreal! if you can go in unspoiled that's best, and i never say that.

take clothes off as directed. sga. incredible construction, both word by word and as a functional world. (and as commentary!)

this was very fun to think about, sorry none of it is cutting edge! feel free to ask for specific recs if there's something you like, or warnings, or whatever. god i love... to read. thanks again <3

#ask: anon

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kstrolotea · 2 years

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Hi! May I take part on your free readings, please?

Hmmm... about me, I'm recently playing Animal Restaurant again and I think it's very fun. I love cute animals and food but I hate when a character comes to steal, someone orders food that I can't unlock or stinks the whole place lol (I usually don't notice bc I'm tapping as fast as I can to get customers)

If there's a song (or at least one I really like) is Momotaro by Wednesday Campanella. The tale is also very lively, imagine being born from a peach (is like Kaguya being born from bamboo)

And my fav flower could be lilly of the valley, I would like to have a tattoo with some

If it's okay, it would be nice if clairvoyance or tarot is used. The questions are:

1. What's my ideal career?

2. How will be my life in three years?

3. Am I with my future spouse? (Most of the time I've had readings that sound like him)

Thank you!!!

Thank you for allowing me to read for you! Please send feedback letting me know how accurate the mentions of your current situation are and how things play out for you❤️

I see you working somewhere quiet. you’re at a desk in a bedroom on a rainy day. it’s possible you live in the uk, ireland, or somewhere near there. the colors of the room are a soft pink and orange with some white, beige, and browns. you work for yourself or a small company. possibly a freelance copywriter or graphic designer. things feel cozy and peaceful. you are on a call with someone who speaks softly. it is rare that you speak to people over the phone. i see you doing mainly writing. this feels creative and peaceful to you. maybe you’re writing a book in your spare time. your boyfriend makes you coffee in the kitchen for when you get off your call to take a break soon.

page of swords, the lovers, knight of swords - it will feel very fresh and inspiring. things seem balanced and warm. in a commuted relationship—engaged to be married very soon to someone you’ve known for awhile. lots of projects and activities. you are always moving on to something new. very intellectually stimulated. possibly back in school or taking a random history of poetry course.

strength - i’m psyching myself out with this one… it feels like you’ve got your eye on someone and you desperately want it to be them so you’re bringing up the topic all the time and sticking yourself to their side like one of those annoying dryer sheets you find up your butt halfway through the day and the experience of finding it completely sours your mood for the rest of the evening. more than an answer, this card feels like a warning sign for you to be patient and chill the fuck out. i’m hearing something about enjoying the present moment instead of worrying about where things are going. i’m seeing you having a boyfriend right now where you’ve been around each other for awhile but the romantic relationship is fairly new, think 3 or 4 months ish, and you keep talking about marriage. not even asking him to marry you directly, but asking him for his hypothetical opinion on wedding cakes or showing him your pinterest board of dresses and rings and it’s freaking him out to the point of wanting to break up with you. your energy feels very frantic and fluttery like a bumblebee and he’s afraid of being stung. i see him shutting down emotionally, wanting to spend way less time with you, and making excuses to be at a friends house overnight or throughout the weekend. maybe he’s planning a trip without you. do you guys live together? did you just move in together within the past couple of months? i’m seeing two toothbrushes on the bathroom sink and you talking with a mouthful of toothpaste while he’s taking a dump so maybe it’s not a new relationship but a new living situation? unless you were friends for awhile and things moved way too quickly so you’re already living together within the first 6 months of making it official. those are the words i’m hearing from his head btw “way too quickly”. you need to be more patient.

#tarot readings #tarotblr #free readings #free tarot #tarotcommunity

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slothklein09 · 1 month

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Why The Irish Love Song "Raglan Road" Was Written

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