#our bodies possessed by light
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L. Lawliet is a gifted photographer who believes he has understood the light and its secrets. Light Yagami is a young, unstable and slightly crooked model. Together, they kill time.
I had a bookcover design assignment so obviously I chose @devilinthebox's literary masterpiece of a fanfic Our Bodies, Possessed by Light
#I actually hate this already but its mostly because nothing I could ever draw couldnt even begin to describe the beauty of this fic#The way this fic is EVERYTHING to me#It literally tore me to pieces split in my face made me cry then cradled me and gave me a forehead kiss then threw me into cold water#over and over again#I could talk about it for hours#I love every single character so so much#my favorite portrayal of naomi EVER#also the fact that Beyond is turkish and speaks of his turkish mother missing İstanbul so dearly#literally made me cry#I love him so much#sorry Beyond is canonically turkish now and its my whole personality#anyway maybe I'll ramble more about how much I love this fic on another post sometime later#the photos on the wall are mostly my old art#I thought about doing an A portrait but I have no idea what she looks like#anyway yea#my art#lawlight#l lawliet#light yagami#our bodies possessed by light#obpl#lawlight fic#lawlight fanart
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a little doodle I made for @erisweek2023 day 1: brotherhood
"Tucked away in the corner, almost hidden by a bookshelf, is a childish drawing of two males and a hound, blocky letters carefully labeling them Eris, Lucien, and Cheddar. The "s" in Eris’s name is backwards."
—from our bodies, possessed by light [ch. 9] by @iftheshoef1tz
Of the many wonderful things to have stuck with me after reading obpbl, this mental image of child Lucien's drawing pinned up on a wall in Eris's study has always been one of my favorites :')
#erisweek2023#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris acosf#lucien vanserra#lucien acotar#lucien spell cleaver#eris's hounds#our bodies possessed by light#vanserra brothers#acotar fanfiction
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our bodies, possessed by light
chapter forty: have you passed through this night?
The disconcerting wind of the Hewn City drags across Azriel’s skin as he passes houses and carved stalagmite trees. The stones beneath his feet slant this way and that in a familiar pattern; his feet remember the cadences of his steps despite how long it’s been since he set foot here.
People occasionally stop and stare, and though their expressions aren’t kind, they’re not quite the fearful ones he remembers. He wonders how many of them know—about the beasts in the dungeon, about him, about the way he is a foreigner in a familiar land now.
It’s not long before the ruby-eyed snake knocker on Helena’s door is glaring down at him, the purple light making the jewels look like they’re moving. His fingers have just touched the ring when he pauses. He knows the sound will be eaten up by the heavy silence soon enough, but he can’t bear to hear it thudding like a phantom heartbeat, and so he knocks.
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Me on tumblr at 3am: house Md is a show about longing and loss and grief, it’s about learning how to live in unmanageable pain, and it’s about survival, but at its very core, it is about the essence of humanity, and the way humans will always, always love, no matter how much it ruins them.
Me irl: hatecrimes Md is a nonsense show about gay doctors
#and both are true!#but no house Md is so schehezarade#Richard siken#“tell me how all this#and love too#will ruin us.#these our bodies#possessed by light#tell me we’ll never get used to it#it’s so them!#Theo thinks#house Md
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tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us
#these our bodies possessed by light#tell me we'll never get used to it#rb to give him a forehead kiss#john soap mactavish#soap#mw2 soap#mw2#soapghost#ghostsoap#ive been listening to midwest emo for 2?? 3? hours straight while drawing this glad to get it out. i think u can tell LOL#UGH goodnight#redhhound art
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i havent read crush in a while (ive been doing fine mentally) maybe ill read it again (will kms when finished)
#richard siken#average crush enjoyer#fucking tell me how all this and love too will ruin us#these our bodies possessed by light#tell me we'll never get used to it#fucking hell
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microdosing on cannibalizing my own flesh by reading Richard Silken poems. and falling in love
#this post was brought to you by kaz. ty for the organposting kaz#cannibalism#the triangle of cannibalism#got to have a delightful car ride w#cosmic#and his mom this weekend where we talked about technology and volleyball and poetry#and i got to lose my mind about ''these our bodies possessed by light/tell me we'll never get used to it'' which still rips my guts out#and feeds them to me. to this day. every time i read those lines i become a little more unraveled. my god#richard you minx. i could hug you#richard siken#snowswords#oh yeah and the inherent destruction of building a partnership. its good destruction. you gotta figure out how to be part of a whole#that's life in general too. i think doing romance with people really puts a microscope on the process. at least for me.#like damn being with cosmic means i have less freedom to up and do whatever i want. i can still do almost anything i want but now it's#important to give him a heads up. or maybe he'd like to do this too i should wait for him. or there's something he'd like to do that#im invited along for!! i'll do the original thing i wanted to do another time so we can do this now#yknow? yeah. im destroying snow (singular) to create snow (member of duo). and that helps me remember ive never really been a singular enti#this is its own post isnt it. ok wait#Richard silken#sigh spelled his name wrong the first time my bad
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i can't wait for the blogs to all change their headers to apophenic as a haruspex (:< calling it right now on may 9 2023
#this is how you lose the time war#it's gonna be the new these our bodies possessed by light and it's gonna rule
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Best friend informed me this evening she feels bad for Azriel and wants to see him happy so tragically, I will be writing more of him for her, and even more tragic, the suffering will be minimal
#she didn't say who he should be happy with#so perhaps I will send her our bodies possessed by light#and see how she feels
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these, our bodies, possessed by light
the master regenerates alone. he doesn't stay that way
tags: ginger (meaning alcohol/intoxication), dhawan!master immediately post-regeneration, caretaking in the most utilitarian way
it's rotten work. especially to me especially if it's you. I'll fucking do it but christ alive. (annabelle--cane)
ao3 link in the notes
—
In a brilliant burst of light, Missy ends.
And restarts. The golden energy leaves her vision; her clothes are tight, too tight—taller this time—she kicks off her shoes and pulls herself up and lands on her backside again. She growls.
Doesn't like "she" anymore—come to think of it, they don't like "Missy" much, either. Back to Master, then.
The Master opens the back of their dress and finally, he can breathe.
He sits. Breathes. It's all a blur; he doesn't quite remember how he got here. Doesn't have the first idea how he's getting back. The Doctor was here. He isn't now. Probably got killed too. The Master probably killed him. Or one of the Cybermen did. Same difference.
The Doctor isn't here now. He can't see him like this. Good thing, too, he might just enjoy it.
He pulls herself up and his elbows buckle. Stuck here.
Resigning himself to her fate, the Master lies down, soft leaves cushioning his head. Closes her eyes. Wind ruffles his skirt as the air is pushed from the space in front of him—the Master opens her eyes to see the Doctor's TARDIS appear.
He groans. Just his luck.
Opening the door is a woman—shorter, younger, blonde, grey coat and tired eyes.
"Got your eyebrows done?" asks the Master (not Scottish anymore).
"Funny," she deadpans (not Scottish either). "Get in; you'll get yourself killed out here."
"Already did." He makes a feeble attempt to sit up. The Doctor rolls her eyes and offers him a hand—reluctantly, the Master takes it.
With a grunt, she pulls him to his feet. "When did you get so heavy?"
"Maybe twenty minutes ago." He's taller, finally; can't help a grin. Sways and staggers on his feet. His shoes are on the forest floor behind him, his skirt ending inches above the ground. Holding his hand, the Doctor tugs him into the TARDIS.
Oh.
It's changed—she's changed, how long has it been for her? Columns of glowing crystal, the inside wider than ever before; if he had his usual heels they might echo on these floors.
Unceremoniously, the Doctor lets go, and the Master grabs onto the nearest wall for purchase. Then she's at the console, watching the screens. (Out of sight, out of mind.) Right, they're still by a black hole.
"Want me to drive?"
"I want you to stay out of my way." Not angry, not cold, a matter-of-fact statement as she pushes buttons that the Master can't see with his vision swimming.
His head hurts, a nagging ache in the back of his mind that snowballs into a splitting migraine the moment he becomes aware of it. He groans and slumps to the ground, massaging his temples.
"Catch," says the Doctor, and something flies at him. His hand shoots up a moment too late as a plastic bottle half the size of his palm hits his shoulder.
"Ow," he says, then, "What is it?"
"Got it at Tesco. For emergencies. Should help with the growing pains."
He laughs shortly—growing pains, nice way to put it. The Master hasn't gone so numb he can't feel the burning through his muscles, cells reforming and knitting together, his system screaming for energy. The smell of ginger hits him the moment he opens the bottle, along with—turmeric? Maybe.
He should be more wary of the Doctor trying to get him drunk, but being drunk sounds exceptionally pleasant right now. She won't be willing to take care of him, anyway. Doesn't seem too concerned.
"How about dinner first?" he says.
She snarls. "Get over yourself."
Well then. He drinks it and grimaces—a lot of ginger very quickly; that should do it. Still needs something to eat; it's been a while.
The TARDIS takes off again and the Master sways; loses his grip; falls on his side. His head has been filled with cotton, dampening the headache, removing his balance and making his limbs harder to control. He holds onto the empty bottle for dear life as the TARDIS shudders and shakes and wobbles in flight.
"Doctor," the Master calls, and curses himself for it a moment after. She won't help him—he doesn't want her to help him, except, he sort of does.
The Doctor hurries to him and the Master can't help his relief. The ginger bottle falls to the ground as she takes both his hands, pulling him upright once more—he falls against her chest and her knees almost buckle.
"Where are we going?" he asks into her coat.
"Try to sleep so you don't fall over the moment you go out," the Doctor answers—no, she doesn't answer; she doesn't even react to his question.
"Where are we going?" he asks again.
"None of your business."
"I want to know," he insists. The Master pushes himself away from her, an unsteady hand on her chest, just below her throat, and she freezes.
He tucks it away for later.
The Doctor pushes him towards a mattress on the other side of the console—he tries to grab at buttons in passing to see if he's still biolocked out—then falls heavily as the TARDIS hits turbulence.
The Master winces. "Turn on the stabilisers, will you?"
"No." And she's gone again, adjusting the flight path.
Might as well make himself comfortable. He shifts in the dress—still too tight around his shoulders, arms, waist. Will have to get himself a properly tailored suit wherever he ends up. The skirt has too many layers; it's obnoxious; how didn't it bother him before?
"Doctor," he says, then whines, "Doctor," when she ignores him.
"What?"
The Master wants to say something, but the TARDIS lurches and he has to focus on not being sick instead. She sighs.
The Doctor sits on the side of the mattress and helps free his torso from the bodice. His eyes shut, the Master draws in a deep breath. Better. Fingers brush through his hair and he opens one eye as the Doctor picks away bits of leaf and drops them on the floor.
He pillows his head on his arm, curling up on his side. A can cracks open—the Doctor stops brushing his hair to drink. Lazily, the Master reaches for it. "Let me have some."
"You've had enough." Sweet ginger beer, not nearly as concentrated as the shot she gave him but enough to leave her with a buzz. She's smaller now; he wasn't able to carry his ginger this well in his old body; he doubts that she will in hers.
"Can we go for tea, then? I'm starving."
"Sleep." Her fingertips press gently on his temple and it's more than a suggestion—ginger drunk and high on regeneration, still trying to discover the right mind he's out of, the Master can't resist.
—
The Master wakes up in a TARDIS. He's on the floor in a torn dress, beside him a cleanly folded stack of clothes and a bottle of water, the TARDIS brightly lit, aggravating the ache in his skull.
He regenerated. He remembers that much. From there on...
A pair of trousers, pants, socks. White button up and undershirt. Twentieth century, Earth, formal wear. His shoulder aches as he sits up and gets dressed—someone ought to put carpet in these.
As he pulls on the shirt, a note slips from it, messy circles drawn in pencil, handwriting so poor he has to sound it out to decipher it.
'Keep out of trouble.'
Gallifreyan—the Master didn't know the Doctor still remembers it. How long has it been since they've been home?
He ought to pay it a visit.
—
thanks for reading!!
the title is from scheherazade by richard siken, that and the ao3 link will be in the notes as always
i super appreciate asks/comments/reblogs/anything else you may have to offer, let me know what you think!
have a great day <3
#thoschei#doctor who#doctor who fanfic#thirteenth doctor#the master#thirteen#master#poppy scribbles#🥀#these‚ our bodies‚ possessed by light#spydoc
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i’m still not over scheherazade losing to how to be a dog in those poetry polls. absolute betrayal.
#UNFATHOMABLE to me#this is supposed to be the richard siken website#these our bodies possessed by light tell me we’ll never get used to it !!!!!!!#like !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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i am reading richard siken again and feel inconsolable, nobody talk to me.
#richard siken#crush#these our bodies possessed by light#TELL ME WE'LL NEVER GET USED TO IT#cries#bites the rug#goes feral#immortal poets society#some are born to endless night
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our bodies, possessed by light
chapter thirty-nine: this world is only gonna break your heart
Another flurry of letters accompanies the next two weeks. The meeting will still be held in Dawn, though the impending summer solstice has thrown the timing into disarray. Summer and Day, of course, have days-long celebrations on either side of the longest day of the year, ones that cannot be rearranged for something as trivial as a meeting about trade.
Eris lounges on the chair in his study as he tells Azriel all this, one finger tapping on the back of his other hand. Azriel perches on the corner of Eris’s desk, reading slowly through the collections of letters that had arrived today. “No one has called this meeting trivial.”
“Not in so many words,” Eris grouses. “But I know they’re thinking it.”
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[ tag drop 4: RELATIONSHIPS. more tba ]
#( love as consumption: william & henry. )#( haunting the house: william & evan. )#( what he can’t save: william & elizabeth. )#( someone has to leave first: william & rosa. )#( a lifetime of nostalgia: william & orel. )#( afraid to be lesser: william & william. )#( she’s been dead since the beginning: william & addy. )#( the art of jabbing knives is hereditary: william & ollie. )#( a father is a claw lodged deep: william & michael. )#( old dog new tricks: william & chief. )#( our bodies possessed by light: william & artemis. )#( stain your clothes with blood: william & vanessa. )#( tale as old as tragedy: william & juliet. )
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“ i don’t need you to hover, okay? i got it. “ / teen elizabeth
THE WORST PART ABOUT BEING AN OLDER BROTHER IS BEING CHRONICALLY AWARE OF HOW ANNOYING HE’S BEING. When it’s deliberate, that’s alright — flicking hair bands at his sibling or purposely embarrassing her (or terrorising his brother until he sobbed every night and then. And then) but it’s his fussing and mother-henning that embarrasses him now. Being that ridiculously overprotective brother incapable of giving his siblings space, even though he knows how annoying that can be. He’s just used to tragedy by now: tries to cling on to the good stuff, his loved ones, before it disappears.
Still, he removed stiff hands from her shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he mutters, face flushing— “I know you do. I just know that— I worry, Liz.”
Especially now they’re back here: the Circus Baby Pizza sign glimmers down on them and Michael just wants to grab Elizabeth, hold her close, and run while never looking back. The last time she’d been here hadn’t ended well. And, with him under instruction from his father to monitor the place “until further instruction,” he doesn’t imagine anything here ending better. This is still a Freddy location, after all. This is always destined to be a place of tragedy.
Trying to save his own reputation, he scuffs one hand through her hair as he steps away, […] offering her a smirk at his own teasing gesture. It quickly fades as the door unlocks, allowing them both entrance to the complex. “…Y’know you can still go home, right? I can drive you, make sure you get there okay, and just come back here alone. You don’t have to do this.” Resists the urge to fuss over her again, smooth down her hair and fix her collar and promise her she’d be alright. She’s old enough to make her own decisions, though Michael isn’t going to let her out of his sight whenever he’s patrolling. The Fazbear sister location may be unused, a relic of a time gone by, but he doesn’t trust that their father’s work is safe — especially not after what happened last time to his sister.
#(discarding the broken crown): threads.#( V3 ) — THE QUIET LIFE.#tw dysfunctional family#f; roseguided#(our bodies possessed by light): elizabeth & michael.#(( i love Them. sorry liz he’s the most motherly big brother ever ))
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SERENITY.
Part 2
Dad!Aemond Targaryen x wife!niece!Reader
With Aemond’s arm around you, and his lips pressing against your temple, the fatigue you were feeling could wait for a little while, if it meant you got to indulge in those rare moments of serenity for just a little bit longer.
WARNINGS: Canon typical incest/Targcest, fluff, female Reader (no mentions of appearance besides color of her eyes), mentions of difficult pregnancy and birth, soft dad!Aemond
WORDS: 1.1 K
“Hae mērot gierūli. Se hāros bartossi.” As one we gather. And with three heads.
The voice was a distant rumble. It held a familiar edge to it, yet your tiredness made it difficult to make out where it came from. The calmness of it made you want to sink further into the silk sheets, the soft sigh leaving your lips indicating that you were close to falling asleep again – until it settled that you heard voices in your chambers. In the midst of the night.
Reaching to your side to check for the man you had married three summers ago, you couldn't feel his body right where he was supposed to sleep, the vacant spot already cold, which suggested he had been gone for quite some time by now.
And if you had to guess, you’d say it was late into the Hour of the Owl already.
“Prūmȳsa sōvīli. Gevī dāerī.” We shall fly as we were destined. Beautifully, freely.
When your lilac eyes eventually opened, your marital chambers were only dimly illuminated, forcing them to adjust to the dark. Most candles had gone out, and not more than an ember glowed in the fireplace. The light of the moon, however, shone through the drapes hanging in front of the windows, highlighting their subtle movements in the gentle breeze, and the tall frame of your husband standing behind them.
A deep sigh escaped your throat, one that gathered the attention of your occupied husband. You hadn’t even been aware that you had held your breath, and quickly placed a hand on your chest to stop yourself from making any more sounds, not wanting to wake your babe.
“Ēdrugon, ābrazȳrys,” he hummed, though his voice was slightly muffled. Sleep, wife.
Leaning over the edge of the cot standing on your side of the bed, there were no distinct snoring sounds coming from the boy it belonged to, his little blanket missing as well. It merely was the reddish dragon egg sitting neatly in the corner, having yet to hatch. Your boy was nine moons old by now, and it became less and less likely it was going to hatch at all.
You rose from the bed, quietly, and pulled a thin robe over your shoulders, tying a knot in the front. Sidling toward Aemond, you soon spotted the small head of your son resting on his shoulder with your husband’s lips pressed gently against the side of the boy’s face. A warmth spread through your body at the sight, your heart fluttering.
“Emā naejot ēdrugon hae sȳrī,” you purred, cautious to not wake the sleeping babe in his arms. You have to sleep as well.
As you came up to him, you brushed your hand over Aemond’s back, resting at his waist, and craned your neck to meet his eye. His sapphire eye was gleaming in the soft light the moon casted upon you three, making him look as if he had been forged and created by the Seven.
Your lips pressed to his shoulder, and only then did you notice that he was bare-chested, prompting you to raise your eyebrows. Aemond slightly turned and reciprocated the gesture, oblivious to your surprise, though his lips pressed to your temple with him taking a deep breath of your scent.
He carefully shifted the hold on your son, supporting him with his right arm as he slid his other around your waist to pull you against him and meet your lips for a kiss that robbed you of your ability to breathe.
“He was not able to find rest,” Aemond rasped, words fanning over your lips. “He sleeps most peacefully in our arms than in the cot, you know.”
You nodded, and allowed your fingers to ghost along the crown of his head, caressing the tuft of silver hair your son possessed. Your eyes crinkled at the corners, your heart swelling at the realization that you two had created the very being Aemond just cradled in his arms.
Turning your head toward the window overlooking King’s Landing, you were in awe that the rawness and vulnerability of the moment even made the filthiest of cities seem peaceful and quiet, yet the true sight to behold was and always would be the prince standing right next to you.
Despite the rift parting your House into two, Aemond had always been a dutiful husband, taking care of you and protecting you just like he had vowed to do on the day you wed in the traditions of the Faith. Duty. It had never been more than that to him. But with your pregnancy taking a woeful turn, and the much more miserable birth following, something in him had changed.
His training with the sword could wait more often than not, if it meant for him to get the chance to bond with you, and, after the birth, your son. And knowing all too well that he prioritized full nights of sleep, moments like these made you even more aware of how much he had grown into his newfound responsibilities.
For all that the people of court found the prince to be cold or even cruel at times, he was nothing if not incredibly gentle with you and your son.
When you looked back at Aemond, you already found him staring at you with the striking lilac eye of his, an expression of deep affection written all over his features. The warm look in his eye made you feel weak in the knees, just like it always did.
With a soft smile on his lips, his hand trailed from your waist to your stomach, gently rubbing over the small bump that slowly started to blossom. His touch was tender, loving even.
“You deserve your rest more than ever with the child growing within you,” he noted, “return to bed and get some sleep, my love. I shall watch over him.”
You nodded as you watched Aemond’s head tilt forwards to look at the sleeping boy that was cradled in the crook of his arm. You were exhausted, but at the same time, a part of you wished to spend every moment you could with your little family.
A cheeky smile grazed your lips. “But what if I want to stay?”
His brows raised slightly as he regarded you, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “I believe that we,” he nodded towards your son, “would not mind your company, provided you are not too tired.”
“Perhaps just for a few moments longer,” you replied softly to which he nodded in return.
With Aemond’s arm around you, and his lips pressing against your temple, the fatigue you were feeling could wait for a little while, if it meant you got to indulge in those rare moments of serenity for just a bit longer.
#house of the dragon#hotd#aemond targaryen#aemond targaryen x reader#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#prince aemond#aemond targaryen x you#aemond targaryen imagine#hotd imagine#hotd fanfic#hotd x reader#aemond x y/n#aemond x you#hotd x you#aemond stannies#aemond targaryen x female reader#hotd fic#house of the dragon fanfiction#house of the dragon fanfic#aemond imagine#aemond fluff#aemond fic#hotd fanfiction#hotd fluff#house of the dragon fic#house of the dragon imagine#ewan mitchell#ewan nation
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