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thatndginger · 1 year

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15 Tags 15 Mutuals

thank you @ceph-the-ghost-writer for the tag! May everyone aspire to defy expectations! And it's always good to know another history/anthropology nerd ;D

Are you named after anyone? Partially! My great-grandma on my dad's side was an outstanding lady, and she hated her name so goddamn much. See, she was named June Hope because she was born in June and her parents hoped she'd be the last. Totally understandable reason to hate your name, imo. My mom used Hope as my middle name as an homage to my great-grandma (and because both sides of my family like to recycle names to hell and back). June was a lot happier with her name after that, and I like having a story to tell about it ^.^

When was the last time you cried? Oooh, that is both easy and difficult. I only cry when I'm having a panic attack, and I only have panic attacks every couple months or so. But I'm currently off my meds so my memory is shit and I don't remember the last time i may have cried...

Do you have kids? No. Absolutely not. Both me and my husband are very adamant on never having kids.

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I use sarcasm so often that I don't even realize I'm doing it. it's a problem.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? Vibes. Don't know how to explain it, but I can pick up on a person's general *everything* pretty quick and - as much as I try to ignore first impressions - they usually tend to be correct. Other things that tend to stick is height, build, hair color, tattoos... why yes, I absolutely do have some form of face blindness.

What’s your eye color? Hazel. People don't tend to notice that though, my bright red hair is much more obvious.

Scary movies or happy endings? Happy endings - and that's only because my anxiety wreaks havoc with scary movies. Seriously. I've seen exactly 3 scary movies in my life and they haunt me to this day. I'm better at scary books but they still aren't my favorite. (I maintain that there is a difference between 'scary' and 'horror')

Any special talents? Survivability, and annoyingly resilient optimism. Oh, and I can do that thing where you whistle and hum at the same time.

Where were you born? Kansas, USA.

What are your hobbies? Reading, writing, occasionally drawing, embroidery, sewing, hiking into the middle of nowhere, camping, training my dogs to do silly things (that they use for dastardly purposes), photography, collecting dinosaur figurines, witchcraft, historical research, the intricacies of movie/tv production, roadtrips with my husband

Have you any pets? 4 dogs and a cat. In order there is a 14yo collie mix named Bandit, a 6yo aussie mix named Echo, a 5.5yo rez mutt named Lakai, a 4yo husky-rottweiler mix named Artemis, and a 3yo tortie cat named Skylla. My husband got Bandit from a shelter long before we met each other, and I got Echo from my brother's ranch right around the time we met. Kai was found at a gas station in Arizona, and Artemis got adopted from a Facebook ad. Skylla was given to me by a neighbor at the last minute. Oh, and there's a betta fish named Astraea.

What sports do you play/have played? When I was in elementary/middle school I played soccer and volleyball, but I haven't played in a sport since I was 15. No competitive spirit and a severe lack of coordination really put a lid on that.

How tall are you? 5'4". It would be a respectably average height if I wasn't the shortest person in my entire family.

Favorite subject in school? History. No competition. My brief attempts at college were as a paleontology and history major.

Dream job? I... don't know actually. I can't see myself doing one thing for the rest of my life. Sure I could say writing, but I don't want it to be a job, you know? Maybe something in forestry or wildlife services. Not national parks tho, I don't like tourists enough for that.

No pressure tagging @nightcastor @moonscribbler @iced-ginger-tea @wisteriasadprose @lividdreamz @toribookworm22 @siderealcuria @adhdandquills @cryptidsandqueers @cmrosens @doom-inique-writes @writeintrees @thetruearchmagos

#tag game #this was fun ^.^#i am both an incredibly boring person and a weirdly fascinating one #you just have to dig *deep* down to get to the weird

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maryam0revna · 3 years

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Your OC as the solar system

I was tagged by @spookyvalentine, because clearly they have the coolest prompts. @ofsinnersandsaints you know you wanna do this.

This is for Christine (Kit) Barton, MC of Hell or High Water, who traded witchcraft for academia and was kind of hoping to use her shiny new Master’s of Anthropology to get a job...instead of being dragged back home to Attawala County, Mississippi. But when her gran goes missing (and the coven she led seems weirdly unconcerned about it), Kit ends up right back where she doesn’t want to be-- in the middle of rival magical factions, the coven she left behind in disgrace, and the goddamned humidity.

bold what applies - italicize sometimes - strike out never. tag some friends to play along! & repost don’t reblog!

SUN • egotistical • melted wax wings and fingers • stretching sunburnt skin • the most generous soul • blood in the fruit • halos • anger on fire • high vitality • thunderous laughter • is pride really a sin? • halogenic aura

MERCURY • expansion of the mind • silver-tongued• an everlasting wanderer • polyglot • high dexterity • handwritten letters • innately critical • en vogue • eyes in the trees• hidden libraries • there’s always room for improvement

VENUS • in love with strangers • iridescent waters • love potions for your mirror • selfless devotion • shattering crystal • seafoam upon sand • the golden ratio • drowning in your own passion • material value & high principles • luring • plush lips

EARTH • fresh springs • tree hugger • we can start again tomorrow • a blazing rainforest • respects survival of the fittest • nature’s adversity • lazy bones • constantly evolving • flowers sprouting from wounds • a granite altar • fossilized remains

MOON • illusory • silver shimmer off the ocean• secrets and gossip • cycles of reincarnation • a crybaby • physically ethereal • shared glances with a stranger • cat eyes • mistrusting their intuition • fear is a prison • ornate magic wands

MARS • healthy competition • attraction and repulsion • magma and rubies • a blade being forged • wrath wrath wrath • malefic • intense eye contact • cannon fodder & fireworks • blood floods • copper taste on your tongue

JUPITER • red robes and a suit of armor • beacon of stability • leader by birth • thunderbolts and lightning • guilty but can’t stop • secret rich kid • golden touch golden tears • innate optimist • failure isn’t an option • constantly reaching for more • unfinished symphonies

SATURN • traditional • overbearing energy • a sculptor of reality • this existence is a karmic one • has a heart it’s just. way down deep • law, order & justice • avoid all necessary risk • the sound of shackles clanging • sisyphus’ struggle • grappling with the reality of time • self-governing

URANUS • psychedelic funk music • overflowing cups• a rebellion with skin • looking good in photo id • oblivious but caring • middle fingers in the air • double rainbows • icy diamond exterior • holographic • afraid of their own mediocrity• pearlescent smoke

NEPTUNE • an elegy for the lost • dissolving boundaries • white horses • the burden of mystical conditions • deceptive • escapism is their reality • a polarizing entity • artists soul • paranoia • searching for the unseen • a siren’s swan song

PLUTO • angel statues over graves • power • the cycle of necrosis • transformative • unfathomable depths • an ivory tower toppling over • screaming at the sky • violets and irises • eclipsed darkness • speaks with their shadow • sex, death, rebirth

#mercury earth and jupiter are def her big 3 #i should give kit a zodiac sign #pls suggest a zodiac sign for my chaotic good at best/lawful evil at worst main character #bc she doesn't want to be the boss she wants to be the renegade!#but also she Has to be the boss bc none of you fuckers will do a good job and she Might get a little iron fisty #my girl is 0% diplomatic unless actively manipulating someone #kit has two speeds: silver tongue and mouthful of foot #zero inbetween #(and only enemies/rivals get the silver tongue; her friends and loved ones get footmouth Only)#also All of my sensory imagery for her is water-based-- im talking churning tides and undertow babey #waves and droughts #hol up while i go immediately make a mood board bye #me

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ghoulciifer · 4 years

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submission:

@androgynouswordsmyth: “Hi Tum c: this is for your matchup event! 5’6”, with an hourglass figure, has that broad shouldered goddess energy going on. Used to swim competitively in highschool & still have a nice shape. Would describe my style as athletic comfort meets swamp witch. Love wearing black, it goes with everything. But also one of those people that wears workout clothes because they’re comfortable & easy. An admirer of all things relating to the occult & witchcraft. I have two tattoos small ones on my upper thigh & on the inside of my bicep. Often asks “What’s your sign?” Green eyes & shoulder length brown hair that is dyed seafoam green. I am soft spoken & gentle when I interact with everybody. All about self growth & healing. A huge advocate for self care. Love venting about my dumb corporate job. Deep down I'm a rebel anarchist. Often says things like “I’m just a cog in their machine” or “metal till I die”. My end game is writing fantasy novels for a living writing is my passion. I am a person who gets lost in thought & day dreams, a homebody who is fatigued & curls up in bed with Netflix playing in the background while I write rp responses or some of my own stuff. I have depression & anxiety, which I manage with both medication & therapy. Am attracted to bad boys/girls. Kindness & respect in my relationships are important, emotional maturity & a sense of humor are huge & my favorite color is dark pine green. Someone from BNHA, NSFW. Write what feels right.”

notes: aiden! i’m so happy you participated in my event, also you seem like the coolest person? ever? so of course i had to pair you up with one of the coolest dudes in bnha! your support means the world, thank you so much for being my mutual on this hell app ❥

why i matched you:

» you and dabi would get along exceptionally well, both with how you are and how you present yourself. your inner anarchists would collide beautifully and no doubt lead you two into trouble, but who else would you rather start a riot with than someone like him? he thinks it’s kickass that you understand what it means to be a pawn in society’s game, and has no issue with having you by his side to tear that shit down.

» dabi really adores your aesthetic. he finds it incredibly intriguing and thinks it suits your personality well; your hair, your occult lifestyle, and boy does he love your tattoos. he often offers to pay (w stolen money ofc) for you to get more if you want them - one of the best ways of self expression is covering yourself with art, and he supports it wholeheartedly. he likes to trace the ink on your skin during intimate moments and often finds himself admiring them elsewhere, thinking about how gorgeous you’d look with a few more pieces in places only he could see.

» though he might not be as poetic as you, dabi admires your creativity and urges you to keep up with your passion. he’s going to be super lowkey about it but he shows that feeling by doing smaller things, like picking up notebooks for you here and there or offering to get you better quality pens for when you’re brainstorming a story. he won’t tell you but he sometimes reads your stories at night while you’re sleeping (only the ones you’ve offered for him to read, though), and is always left in awe of how talented his girl is.

» when he’s not painting the town red or burning someone to a crisp, he’s more than happy to stay at home with you and curl up with a good show. despite his wicked, cold demeanor he’s actually very affectionate with the person he chooses to pursue! so expect lots of gentle touches, lazy kisses here and there, soft whispers here and there about how warm you are and how nice you feel against his charred skin. he’s not afraid to show you his love because if you can stick with someone like him, well, that’s proof enough that you’re worth it all.

» dabi never does anything without purpose. every action he takes is a part of the grander scheme of things, and he does so with such a drive that is rivaled by most heroes. so you can definitely check maturity off your list. as far as humor goes? he’s a smug bastard, and his sly remarks and teases are aimed directly at you for the sole purpose of making you smile. sometimes he’ll just sit and say the dumbest things to see how hard he can make you laugh, because in a life surrounded by death and darkness, your giggles really help him see it all in a different light.

» dabi’s experienced enough trauma to understand what your inter turmoil is like, but he’s beyond proud of you for taking charge and handling it however you can. he’ll be your biggest supporter when you need it and is so goddamn protective of you. you’ll never not feel safe, because it’s that constant worry in the back of his mind about how just being with him puts a target on your back that pushes him to take extra precaution. you might have a few close calls here and there because, let’s face it, villains are ruthless - but at the end of the day he’s always able to pull you right back to him and remind you he’ll always come for you.

drabble:

Dabi rolls off of your spent body with a slight groan, the thin sheen of sweat covering both of your bodies glowing in the dim light of the bedroom. Your chests rise and fall to a steady rhythm of labored breathing - and as much as you both loved being tangled with each other mere minutes ago, you need a second to let your sweltering skin cool off and your aching muscles to relax after that particularly tiring session. Dabi catches the exasperated sigh escaping your lips and grins from your slumped form in his peripheral.

He always thought you looked the most beautiful like this. When your eyes were half lidded and pupils blown, skin covered in teeth marks and bruises, hair haphazardly strewn about on the pillows. It was a sign he did a job well done, and the image brands itself into his memory every time he’s lucky enough to see it happen. Lost in his daydream, he doesn’t see that sinfully innocent smile tug at the corners of your mouth when you catch him zoning in on your post sex euphoria.

“Y’know, you’re more than welcome to take a picture… they last much longer.”

He laughs, a short exhale from his pierced nose, “I might just do that, doll. Next time.”

Your smile grows wider and you prop yourself up on your elbows, sliding over the tangled sheets to get closer to him and be able to reach and trace over the stapled skin of his chest with delicate fingertips. He closes his eyes at the feeling before loosely wrapping an arm around your lower back, thumb gliding back and forth just below your ribs.

You bask in this comfortable silence for what feels like a lifetime. This was your favorite part of the aftercare, just enjoying each other’s presence that much more as you regain a stable heartbeat, eventually letting Dabi gather you in his strong hands to lay you over his scarred chest when the cool air overstays its welcome on his skin. Once your cheek meets his chest he leans forward to ghost a kiss into your damp hairline, lips lingering there a bit longer every time. The steady beat of his heart usually lulled your eyes closed with its melody. At this point, it was all routine.

Dabi is the first to break the silence, the deep gravel in his voice reverberating through his chest against your ear, “Y’know… if we’re gonna fall asleep like this, the least you could do is read me a bedtime story.”

“Too tired… s’your fault.” he feels your smile and hot breath against his pectoral, broad chest rumbling in laughter at your quip.

“Hm, guess I need to go easier next time. But you weren’t complaining when I was balls dee-“

“Dabi!” You smack his skin and whip your head upward to look him in the eye with a look of feigned shock, and it's hard to contain the giggle that escapes from your dropped jaw. He chuckles again before craning his neck to leave a peck at your bottom lip, his hand raising to push your head gently down to his chest again, the other finding its way beneath the pillow under his head.

“Shh, just go to sleep, stupid.”

“Shut up… dummy.”

matchups are CLOSED! thank you to those who entered or have been keeping up with this event! remember you can check to see updates on matchups + if your matchup has been posted via the #tumplaysmatchmaker tag!

#tumplaysmatchmaker #nishiikun’s events #dabi x reader #dabi matchup #dabi fic #dabi x y/n #bnha x reader #bnha matchup #bnha fic #dabi bnha

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artificialqueens · 5 years

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les fleurs de l'enfer (Branjie) - PinkGrapefruit

A/N - yes i swear im working on some non-branjie, fight me. anyway, this is hanahaki, the lowercase and the pronouns are a style choice, @freykitten is an awesome beta, @aftificialqtip is a babe and also gets title credits (as promised) and as usual, all characters are my own interpretation. Hit me up if you enjoy it and please send me prompts if you want some more non-branjie xx

when he first lays eyes on her, he knows he is doomed. it is like a fairytale, some sort of witchcraft as he feels his heart fall out of his chest and onto the floor, he tells himself the pounding is a symptom of excitement, it is not a symptom of her.

he goes over to say hello, greets each queen with a canadian smile and soft hugs. nina is the loudest and as he hugs her, warmer and harder than the rest, he asks why the room smells of roses. the look she returns is full of the deepest kind of pity, cruel to both the recipient and the purveyor. her eyes turn wet and she grips on harder, pulling him deeper into her. when she lets go, she gives him a wet smile. he hopes the rest of the competition hasn’t noticed. he does not understand her reaction.

he watches her undress with a sense of longing that is too new to fathom. her hair remains perfect despite the heavy wig that was stacked on top and through the glitter, layered thick over her small frame, he swears he can see a different kind of sparkle. he looks away before she can catch him staring, he does not need the world to try to understand what he himself cannot. he does not wish to share this yet. brooke fails to notice that she is watching him too.

his mouth tastes like sap and cigarettes. he smoked every day, trying to remove the bitter taste from his mouth but to no avail. it would always return, as reliable as morning breath and morning wood. similarly, the smell of roses clung to him, no matter how many showers he took. when he asked nina about it, four days into the competition, she told him he smelled like cedarwood and walked away.

he’s de-dragging after the second runway when it happens. one second he’s wiping off his eyeliner, the next his throat is raw and eyes watering frantically. when he finally opens them there is blood in the sink and a single, perfectly formed rose petal. it stares at him as he looks on in confusion. there is no explanation that he can think of, doesn’t understand why it is there or how it ended up scratching in his throat. tears threaten to fall but they don’t. later, in bed, he will struggle to remember if the petal was red, or if that was his blood.

its nina who he tells. he’s convinced himself that he’s insane, its the competition getting to him. that he just swallowed one of vanessa’s petals when he hugged her in that goddamn libra costume. as he thinks about her the taste gets stronger. he doesn’t notice the correlation.

nina looks at him like you would look at a child who broke their arm. her voice is soft and kind and yet the words are like punches. they are well placed in his soft flesh and suddenly his fingers are deep into his own arms, scratching till he reaches blood.

she speaks of a flower disease. hanahaki or something like that. she talks about unrequited love and time limits and then, as sweetly as she began, she asks if he knows who it is. he cannot blink back the tears that threaten to fall, just lets them pour out of him like a lifeforce, draining. he tells her that they were roses, goddamn flaming red roses. she just holds him, she understands.

he asks again, it’s the end of the first day of episode three and he’s collected his mind up. he’s locked away the flowers like a hoarder would with their possessions, placed them in a box marked ‘do not open’. he hopes that he will not get any more, lest he needs a bigger one.

she tells him it passes through generations, skips some, maybe a few. says she has it too but she has not met her love. he feels like he should pray for her, he is far from religious but also knows that the taste of sap is unpleasant. he loves her enough to want to spare her from the pain. she talks about how she is worried by every new face, glad when the people she meets smell like earth and fires and grapefruit, and how she once kissed a man that smelt like honeysuckle.

he asks if he will die. she only says she hopes not.

they kiss in the workroom, it is a greeting but to brooke it feels almost like a goodbye. they smile across the room and he drinks in every second, watering the rose garden that is growing in his lungs, prays that the thorns do not puncture him before pruning season. nina said he would have years, the flowers seem to disagree.

they kiss in untucked as he tries frantically to calm her down. with every panicked inhale she takes, he mirrors her and he feels petals dislodge. he has to run to the bathroom at call time, coughs up a petal into the toilet and sends thanks to the lords above that his lipstick is red. nina gives him a look as he returns, barely in time. he smiles, fragile and flimsy and it tastes like blood.

from then on they act like a couple, hugs and tactile gestures thrown around like confetti. it feels like he’s walking on a cloud but they do not talk about it. they use words like ‘crush’ and ‘good friends’ and it feels oh so middle school as he explains his feelings to nina. she points out that he didn’t need to do that at all, he’s still coughing up petals and he tells her that he just wants to feel normal, begs that she allows him that. they don’t talk about it again.

the petal amnesty lasts until vanessa’s third lipsync. he is watching from the back, cheering her on like the supportive kinda-boyfriend he is when he feels something climbing his throat. nina swears that he turned blue as he tried to suppress the gnawing urge to choke up whatever was caught. he scarcely makes it off the stage before he’s vomiting up his own blood, warm and heavy into the sink of the disabled bathroom. nina runs in after him, keeps the wig off his face as he surrenders his lungs to the white tiles. she counts three petals til he hastily turns on the tap, notes the deep red colour even as they are washed of the blood. he picks them out of the filter and wraps them in toilet paper, squeaks out a ‘coming’ when production knocks on the door. the paper goes in the bin and she wipes a droplet of blood off his chin before they head back out. vanessa smiles at him, happy and loving and when she kisses him he prays she cannot taste the blood. if she can, she makes no mention of it.

they celebrate the top five with sex, hot and needy and when they are done he drops sweet kisses on her head, relishes in the way the room doesn’t smell of roses. he wakes up the next morning to the taste of sap on his tongue, knows that it is not over yet.

the night he sends her home, he watches as her eyes turn dark. as she promises him something, he tunes out, feels vines scratching at his diaphragm, whole orchards in his lungs. she is angry, and she is hurt and none of it is directed towards him but all of it is. he spends the following nights crying into one of her hoodies, sprays so much cologne on it he can almost forget that it smells like roses. like his whole goddamn world smells like a rose garden on a summers day. he can’t understand how it hurts him so much.

as he packs up his things, safely in the top four, he finally opens up her note. he cries as he reads it, watches the ink smudge under the weight of his tears. he picks up the pointe shoes he wore that night, notes the spots of blood on the toes and vows to get them cleaned. pointe shoes are expensive he justifies, like he can’t buy more. he doesn’t think about where the blood is from, just needs to rid himself of the evidence.

he coughs up a petal on the plane home, disguises it as travel sickness before burying his nose back into the worn copy of “adventures of tess of d’urbervilles”, tries to forget his own life for a second.

he calls his momma. when he tells her about the petals she relays folk story after folk story, family member after family member. he questions at length why she had never warned him and her answer hurts more than the roses. “i didn’t think you’d need warning” she tells him and he can hear her sorrows through the crinkly connection. he cries that night, heavy sobs wracking his body as he remembers every moment with her in his mind. a cinema of memories playing in imax and he’s the only person in the audience to watch. he remembers his mouth grasping at his straw as he watched her fight with such ferocity he promised himself to never get on the wrong side of her.

he checks his phone religiously, coughs up petals every few days. calls nina like she’s his mother and his mother like she’s an old friend, long forgotten. he almost forgets about her for a few months, although he smells roses as if they were planted all over tennesee.

then he gets an email. it tells them, in a group email, to play up their relationship when the show starts airing. he finds it patronising and embarrassing to be told in such a public manner, feels like it undermines what they had. if he had any guts at all he would call vanessa, tell her she means the world to him and he needs her to come back. he’d tell her about the rose garden in his chest. how it’s always in full bloom and he can’t breathe without thinking about her. how when his breath hitches, it’s the thorns scratching lines into his lungs, scars that will always remind him of her. of them.

if he was an asshole, he might even tell her that this has a time limit. that it could run out if he’s not careful and that every mouthful of sap brings him nearer to his deathbed. but he is not cruel enough to be kind to himself, just kind enough to give her freedom from the flowers in his heart and his lungs and his mind.

one night, when he’s lonely and a week away from the cast reveal, he finally googles roses. he reads about the colour types and how to grow them. tips for first-time gardeners and how to prune them for maximum growth. he reads that red roses mean true love but wonders why his have so many thorns.

he sees her across the room on press day, dressed not in red, but pink. he reapplies his lipstick, he switched to red after he started choking up the petals so regularly it ruined the perfect nude he used to apply. they do not talk, sit on opposite sides of the room for no one’s benefit but their own, although, by the end of the day, he begins to doubt even that.

nina follows him around like a puppy, he jokes that she’s his emotional support animal and between interviews, she tells him she found a man that smells like sweetpeas and how grateful she is that he can smell it too. how they both cough up petal but are learning to love each other. he is so jealous and it hurts him to think about how he could have a chance at love one day.

they make eye contact across a crowded room and then the vines constrict and he throws up a whole rosebud into a trash can. he assumes the new yorkers walking past must have seen weirder things. he hopes so because he is a man in a wig throwing up flowers and attention is the last thing he needs right now.

watching himself fall in love on tv breaks his heart a little more. he wakes up to blood on his pillows and rose petals between his teeth. when the blood hits his bathroom tiles he thinks it looks like drag jewels, cheap and hard but beautiful. he thinks he looks like drag jewels these days.

he does viewing parties, always takes cigarette breaks in between numbers and show clips. the only lipstick he wears is a deep red that doesn’t move in the face of stomach acid and crushed dreams. people ask about them, they call it a showmance and laugh it off. they flirt on twitter like they have been told but it feels too real to brooke. he hands his account over to his best friend and tells him to be nice, he hopes vanessa doesn’t notice.

it’s slipped his mind when they started to text again but he knew as soon as it started that it wouldn’t stop. they talk constantly, like teens who cannot yet flirt but they are adults and they flirt well. conversation flows like a river between them, fuelled by tears and vodka and when they facetime for the first time he feels like a little bit of him has been returned.

vanessa asks him on a date. he is hesitant but he says yes. she offers up a seafood restaurant, fancy enough that neither would have afforded it pre-drag race but it is a new life that they are living, theirs to enjoy. she wears a suit jacket and he gapes at her all night, never noticing how she returns his looks. he cannot taste anything, the sap is too strong, but he assumes the food is good and moves on because he is there with her and that is all that matter to him.

they wake up to blood on his pillow, he cannot explain it but sees her face when she notices the roses scattered around her head like a halo. he calls nina, frantic and panicked and when she answers he gives cliff notes of the nights’ events. he pretends not to hear the man in the background who calls her babe in a voice soft like honey. he makes french toast as nina explains everything, the flowers and the death and all of the in-betweens and as she sips her coffee, thoughtfully, vanessa hums. she chimes in occasionally with little ‘okays’ and ‘shittts’ and when brooke has plated up breakfast, the look he receives is something between understanding and anger.

the toast is eaten in silence and then, when he has cleared their plates and made another round of coffee, she speaks. she asks him why he hid it and he replies in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want to worry her, scare her, unnerve her in any way. and then he adds, he didn’t know if she’d believe him and her face damn near splits in two. now she is angry and she is shouting and he just holds her because he felt all of this, months ago in a hotel room all alone and just wishes someone had done the same thing for him.

she rubs his back as he coughs up the french toast, littered with blood-red rose petals, whispers love to him as he lays on the couch, in pain and lonely despite her company.

it is four in the morning when she kisses him.

they wake up to clean pillows and as he inhales, he smells sandalwood and apple cider. he has never been so happy for his morning breath and as vanessa rolls over, he kisses her with all of the burning passion he has felt for almost a year. he melts into her with the 11 months of yearning and takes a deep breath of her shampoo when she pulls away. for once his chest does not burn when his breathing hitches, his lungs do not have the telltale feeling of thorns and rose stems, he cannot taste the sap or blood or petals and as he smiles into her head, she snuggles against his lean frame.

he decides he needs another tattoo, he hasn’t smelt the roses in months and he can finally look at them without his windpipe closing up from fear. nina tells him it’s a terrible idea and upon reflection that may be a part of why he is doing it but really he just wants to remember what it felt like to be so in love that you couldn’t breathe.

vanessa loves it, kisses it softly every time she can, whether in drag shows or in bed. they say that roses brought them together and so what if no one quite knows what they’re talking about - they do.

their wedding is simple and not at all vanessa-like (although very jose) but when brooke faces her at the altar, both in black suits with white shirts, her red tie is the same shade as the rose in her lapel and he begins to cry. his own lapel bears a white rose and when they kiss, the two meet in unity.

they name their first daughter rosie, too committed to this game they are playing to slow down anytime soon. she looks like brooke, all blonde hair, lithe and long limbs. he promises her she will be a dancer, strong and beautiful, vanessa just promises her that she will be protected from all the monsters in the world because she is special. she has two dads and when brooke hears her say it for the first time, he can’t help but well up a little bit.

she is fifteen when he walks in on her sobbing in the bathroom. they have weathered every storm together and while vanessa will always be her fun dad, brooke is her shoulder to cry on. between breaths, she tells him about this girl who smells like violets and he holds her tight to his chest, lets the whole world melt away. he explains how he once met a man who smelled like roses, how it hurt him more than anything else but how now he gets to wake up to her father every morning and he remembers that roses are a blessing. he tells her that one day, violets will bring her joy and he wipes the blood off the tiles, washing white petals down the plughole, praying to each and every deity that he is right.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #hanahaki #angst #fluff #pinkgrapefruit #tw mentions of blood #concrit welcome #submission

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maracate · 7 years

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Fic rec list for @maternalcube

I avoided everything explicit and most of the things that haven’t updated since feb (unless I really liked it) which makes this list about 300% shorter (and also means there are very few soulmate aus, people do not like to finish those)

it’s still long though, so under the cut

Finished:

Unwritten (T)

Every Victor Nikiforov fan has three things in common. 1. They have unrealistic expectations for romance. 2. They mark their calendars with the dates of his newest book releases and the premieres of his latest movie adaptations. 3. They either passionately hate or love his greatest rival, a mysterious author whose pseudonym is only two letters: “KY.”

High flying, adored (G)

Being a superhero is hard. It's even harder when you're desperately in love with the most famous figure skater in the world, who never seems to notice you. Of course it doesn't help that he's a superhero too--and he's head over heels for your alter-ego.

Enjoy the awkward fumblings of these two erstwhile masked men as they dance the terrifying tango of young love and secret identities.

Starstruck (T)

(in which yuuri is a simple barista, viktor is a famous movie star, and yuri is an 8 year old kid stuck in the middle of it.)

Autumn in detroit (M but i think that’s for violence)

In a world where Viktor Nikiforov was forced to retire early due to a leg injury, he sought work instead as a police detective in Detroit. Now a young skater with a poster of him on his bedroom door has gone missing and Viktor knows beyond a doubt it's the work of a man who's been brutally murdering professional dancers for years. It's impossible not to take this case personally. Viktor will find Yuuri Katsuki.

Entwinning fates (T)

Imagine if Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, after the demise of you-know-who, started accepting foreign students in an effort for greater unity among wizarding communities around the world. Imagine that, in this changing climate of diversity and social acceptance, Hogwarts also decided to host an exchange programme with select students from Durmstrang Institute and Beauxbatons Academy of Magic for a semester.

Imagine, then, if a young Japanese wizard by the name of Yuuri Katsuki had transferred to Hogwarts to escape his past, just in time to meet a Russian Quidditch player who would blow open the very doors he was trying so desperately to close.

A story of love, magic, and teenagers trying to find themselves.

Dear mama (T)

In which Victor writes letters to his mother, who is fifty percent of his rationality and self-control.

Like your french girls (T)

in which Victor is an artist, Yuuri is his figure skating muse, and Yuri is so done hearing about their stupid love story through Instagram

Unwritten (T)

Soulmates AU where whatever you write on your own skin appears on your soulmate, but when there is a language barrier, meeting becomes just a little more difficult than it should be.

I love you, my dear (T)

Musician au where famous YouTube singer Victor is practically in love with a famous singer/lyricist named Lilith (who has never revealed his true identity to the public). Victor feels compelled to go to Lilith's first show of his world tour (even though he's never met him) and on the flight there, he sits next to this guy named Yuri, completely oblivious to the fact that Yuri is his idol, Lilith.

or, the one where Yuri/Lilith accidentally says "I love you, my dear" to a man he has never met before.

Unfinished:

The power of love (T)

“The two Japanese singles medalists make a beautiful pair! Here, at the 2009 Tokyo GPF, we have the start of this power couple’s reign!” Yuuko and Yuuri dominate the singles skating competition as Japan’s power couple—except they aren’t a couple, and when their old skating idol stumbles into their personal life, everything rapidly goes downhill.

The ice prince’s rose garden (T)

Light political struggle and mystery all spun up with master/servant Viktuuri.

bear your soul on the ice (M but it’s mostly in passing)

At age fourteen, Katsuki Yuuri had been determined to be Japan's next great figure skating hope, but with no coach that would never happen, so his ballet instructor packs him up off to Russia to train with Yakov Feltsman. The Yakov Feltsman, otherwise known as the coach to rising figure skating star -- and Yuuri's idol -- Viktor Nikiforov.

Dancing daffodils (M but I think it’s for violence? idk)

A god falls for a man.

Expomise (T)

Expomise: a transformation spell that bonds two objects together. / Yuuri is at Hogwarts. So is everyone else./

Nuclear hearts club (T)

Being seventeen and chronically confused isn't always a walk in the park - especially when you've been crushing on your brother's best friend since you were nine. You'd be crazy not to. Victor's the best thing to happen to the world since sliced bread.

(Join Yuuri Katsuki on this pine-fueled adventure full of teen angst and astronomical fuckery.)

A thread of silver (T)

Once upon a time, there was a boy who got lost in the woods... AU. Inspired by various fairy tales and mythologies.

That old-time religion (T)

Yuuri is pretty sure that when an impossible stranger turns up and tells you he’s the god of victory, it doesn’t matter how good-looking he is. The moment he asks you to abandon your mortal life and come back to his mountain kingdom with him, you turn around and walk away.

An AU based loosely around the Greco-Roman pantheon. Very loosely.

Death or glory (T)

aka 'The Hunger Games AU that happened by accident'. May the odds be ever in your favour.

I’d rather be skating (M for some reason idk)

Sometimes, when a muggle child gets an acceptance letter from a wizarding school, they say no.

Victor Nikiforov would rather be skating. Yuuri Katsuki would rather be normal.

The rules for lovers (T)

Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…

That’s a long story.

Like a fairytale (T)

In which Prince Victor gets swept off his feet at a royal banquet and will go to any length to find his 'Cinderella' Yuuri. (And Phichit is the fairy godmother who has no idea what he's doing).

not gold like in your dreams (T)

in which Victor and Yuuri are roommates and Yuuri has a secret

taking the long way home (T)

In which Vicchan never died, Yuuri won bronze at the Grand Prix Final, didn't get drunk at the banquet, and never made Victor fall in love with him./

Aria: Stammi Vicino, Non Te Ne Andare (T)

The tale of a lonely traveler, Victor Nikiforov, and his encounter with an equally lonely immortal man.

Alternatively: the tale of Yuuri Katsuki, who never ages and never dies and has lived frozen in time for centuries, and his attempts to keep his adopted son from killing the new guest.

Destiny may ride with us (T)

Viktor Nikiforov spent the first twenty seven years of his life waiting for something exciting to happen. And then, it did.

AU in which Yuuri is a little bit more than human, someone seems to be stealing all of Viktor's spoons, and Yurio is the only person who thinks this is all rather strange.

Lost and found (T)

AU in which: Yuuri is a cop who works at the Hasetsu policebox, and Victor is the new skate instructor in town who almost always ends up on the steps of the aforementioned policebox to flirt with him.

The Castle Atop the Hill (T)

In a cursed land covered in unforgiving ice, Yuuri becomes a knight so that he and his family can survive. In the castle is where he finds Viktor, a prince with a magical gift, whom Yuuri believed could save anyone. But maybe Viktor needs saving too.

One Shots:

Drunk on you (T)

A one-shot collection of soulmate AUs.

What you should know about dating a man with children (G)

"AU scenario where the skaters mistake the triplets for Yuuri's kids when they first meet him, possibly when he brings them to the skater-only area as a b-day treat, or something? (Kudos if you can work in jealous!Victor somehow, but the skaters having a fun reaction would be A+, tbh. Would be lovely if you could include Chris and/or Yurio :D )"

I’m just going to the store (T)

Accidental masked vigilante Victor Nikiforov.

Or: how Victor's impulsiveness backfires and creates one of the greatest living internet memes to ever come out of Russia.

hood and glove (T)

"I don't mess with the fae," Otabek says.

"I'm not asking you to mess with them," JJ flat-out lies.

"The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky." (T)

Critics have always considered "The Adventures of Sparkly Elf and Soft Hobbit, Endured With Great Patience by The Bright And Powerful, Best In The Land, Yuri Plisetsky." one of the most faithful descriptions of Legend Victor Nikiforov, the greatest elven fighter for more than eight centuries. Although it is narrated by Plisetsky as an adolescent, and thus contains strong language and spends more time ridiculizing his travelling companions than giving thoughtful insight into Nikiforov's psyche, it still remains as an essential reading in every scholar that decides to study Nikiforov [...] // Day 95: Caught Nikiforov writing love poems. Am appalled at bad writing more than anything else. Example: “I really like your dark eyes / and all the other parts of your face. Your butt is the perfect size / and I would love to see you in lace.” Hope the Hobbit cannot read, or am afraid this love story will not have a pleasant ending.

Never tasted rubies (T)

in which Yuuri is an unwilling radio host and Victor won't stop calling in to chat with him

love me do: a victuuri week compilation (t)

Every chapter is a short fic based on one of the Victuuri Week prompts.

The Goddamn Tie Has Got To Go (T)

Dear God. Yuuri was wearing the tie again.

The powdery blue monstrosity was not only unfashionable (and where did Yuuri even manage to acquire such a tie?), it also reminded Viktor, with shocking clarity, of a sweaty, half naked, pole dancing Yuuri. It reminded him of a night of joy, a night of passion. The night where he was finally, and without warning, lifted from the fog that had crept up on him in his last few years of skating.

Understandably, it elicited quite the unfavorable reaction in him when they were out in public.

For the sake of his remaining dignity, Viktor needed to improvise a plan to dispose of it as soon as possible.

Welcome Aboard Eros, Commander (T)

Commander Nikiforov is frustrated. For years, he has been chasing Eros, the most elusive pirate ship to ever sail the Seven Seas, and its even more elusive captain, whom it appears no one has ever been able to lay their eyes on. With the threat of every royal treasury in the whole of the Caribbean soon being emptied down to the last coin, the commander sets sail again, determined to track down Eros and its captain once and for all.

That is, if the mysterious Captain Katsuki doesn't find him first.

Victuuriweek day 2: Traveling AU: Historical

Winter Solitude (T)

Victor was cursed by a fellow competitor many years ago, jealous of his skills on the ice. The curse limited Victor to a lake in Hasetsu, Japan, where he appears to others as a blue-tinted human.

He can't age. He can't leave. And he can't let himself feel emotions for the pain it causes.

But a skater comes to the frozen lake one day and ignites a fire in his heart that he hadn't felt in years.

Series:

Cubicle gods

Flourist and wedding planner au

stop, erase, rewind

Haven (okay this series is E and kind of messed up maybe? but i love it)

have you heard there's a rumour in st. petersburg

A Real Life Cinnamon Roll

Even Ice Gods Can Melt

warm-up hogwash

must love dogs

#I've got like 10 more pages of history i could go through but it's late #yoi #fic recs #i did promise you a lot

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yespoetry · 6 years

Text

Stay Mad, Make Shit, Get Joy, Work Hard

By E. Kristin Anderson

It’s easier to be mad than to be depressed.

In March I was so goddamned mad that I woke up mad and I went to bed mad and I was mad in my nightmares and everything I saw made me mad and I just kept looking at it because if I was mad I couldn’t feel the things that made me want to jump off an overpass into MOPAC.

I have bipolar disorder. It’s a lot. I also have a rare autoimmune disease which, while currently in remission, has left my mind and body wrecked. The trauma wrecked me. The treatment wrecked me. The disease wrecked me. I’m a 35-year-old woman who lives her life exhausted, anxious, and in pain, but somehow I manage to get up and do things every day.

I get dressed. I put on makeup. I eat meals. I run errands. I care for my animals. And as often as I can, I write.

In March I went to AWP in Tampa. I had a good time (aside from all the goddamned stairs, like, seriously AWP) (also the cockroaches in my hotel room…seriously, Florida?) and while I was there I had this dream about [CENSORED] with Dave Grohl. I tweeted about it. I laughed about it with friends at the conference. But more, I felt something new but vaguely familiar.

Stay with me here. I promise this is moderately relevant.

On my way back from AWP, listening to Foo Fighters records on the iPod kept safe in my bra, I realized that I had omitted my childhood hero in my current writing. I have recently fallen in love with Foo Fighters’ more recent albums and I was rediscovering things from when I was younger that I wanted to write about. But if I was going to do this I wanted to approach it with techniques I hadn’t used before. While I often work with found materials in my poems, it was important to me that—if I indeed was going to write tribute pieces to Foo Fighters—I was going to do it in a way that was worthy of the material I was planning to use—their albums.

Working with song lyrics is tricky. With any found poetry, you need your poems to diverge enough from the original material that it is not recognizable as someone else’s work. With song lyrics, this can be exceptionally difficult from both a craft and a legal perspective. Pop songs tend to be repetitive and easily memorable.

One tactic I’ve used to work with song lyrics is scrambling the words from an entire album and then applying erasure techniques to this new text to create a poem. (My chapbook Fire In the Sky came from this process.) But I didn’t want to repeat that. I have this fear of being thought of as a one-trick poet. I’m always looking for a new path to take within my own writing practices.

So I stayed up late, angry that I couldn’t sleep, of course, trying in the dark to think of a way to do something new with the words of a band I’ve been enamored with since MTV actually played music videos. And for some reason I thought writing crowns of sonnets was a good idea. I hate myself a little.

I set up some rules for myself. I always have rules, maybe because I’m competitive (even with myself) and because I’m neurotic. Constraint has a way of opening creative windows while also forcing accountability. The more I bring this to my writing, the better the drafts that result. For my Foo sonnets, these were my rules:

1. I would write a crown(let) of three sonnets for each Foo Fighters album.

2. This would include the Saint Cecilia EP but no collections/compilations (like Greatest Hits) or live albums.

3. The double album In Your Honor would be split into two albums, because honestly they pretty much are and should have been and I think Dave Grohl even said so but I didn’t Google it to verify let’s just go with this.

4. For each crown I could only use words that were on the corresponding album. So “Feel This Real Forever,” which consists of three linked sonnets from the Foo Fighters album The Colour And The Shape, can only use words that appear on that album.

5. I could repeat words as many times as necessary. For example, if I wanted to use the word “ceiling” three times, but it only appeared on the album once, that was okay.

6. I wouldn’t have to use meter, but I did have to use end rhyme.

7. The end rhyme would be slant rhyme. Like really, obsessively strict slant rhyme.

8. In a crown, the sonnets are linked by line 14 of the preceding poem and line one of the next—the line repeats. Some folks who write sonnets might change a word or two, or change verb tenses. But my rule was to only change punctuation in these linked lines.

9. I would write the third sonnet in each crown first. (This was less of a rule and more of a really good tip from Cathleen Allyn Conway)

10. I would rite three linked Foo sonnets every day for 10 days.

This last rule showed up at the end of day one. Because I was feeling overzealous and obsessive. But it worked:

To prepare, I compiled the lyrics of each album into a Word doc. I removed line breaks and all punctuation except for hyphens and apostrophes, creating a paragraph out of each song. I then ran the doc for each album through the Cut-Up Machine at the Language Is A Virus website, creating a scrambled version of the lyrics. I saved these versions as separate docs creating two docs for the lyrics of each album.

Every day I started by printing out the two docs corresponding with an album. I read through these pages and circled words and phrases I liked or thought would be useful. The scrambled lyrics gave me Dave Grohl’s language out of its original context and the original version let me pick choice phrases that I could use to call back to Foo Fighters songs. As the days went on, I also started making lists of concrete nouns from each album, since songwriting tends to use more abstract language. I needed words that could anchor my poems.

And then I revised. I revised a lot. My first drafts were all hand-written (and occasionally illegible, ugh) and as I was typing up these drafts I revised. I cross-checked the language in my poems with the source text(s). My poems got better. They even got good.

I’m pleased to say that my efforts paid off. I wrote ten mini-crowns of sonnets. I actually really love them and many have been sent off into the slushpile ether.

And I was angry while I wrote. I figured if I could stay angry I could stave off depression. I could put that anger into these poems every day. I knew I could keep myself from feeling dark even when I was writing dark topics by using my anger fuel my creative work.

But what I didn’t expect was finding an absolute joy in this grueling routine. In the weeks since finishing the first drafts, I’ve missed writing these sonnets. I’ve missed the language. I’ve missed the process. I’ve missed the neurotic obsession. My rules—my constraints—continue to set me free in more ways than one.

And while I’m writing some erasures for the month of April, I’m already planning my next manic, fast-drafted project. I have an idea. Some rules. A notebook I’ve selected from my stash. A text from myself at 3 a.m. a week or so ago that just says “research golden shovels.”

I’m looking forward to chasing another poetry high all summer and I am excited to see where my new rules—and my new joy—take me. I’m doing another thing I’ve never done before. I’m going to write tough things and I’m going to have tough rules, but I’m going to have fun with it. And goddamn, I’m going to write a shit ton of poems.

E. Kristin Anderson is a poet, Starbucks connoisseur, and glitter enthusiast living in Austin, Texas. A Connecticut College graduate with a B.A. in classics, Kristin has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net. She is the editor of Come as You Are, an anthology of writing on 90s pop culture (Anomalous Press), and Hysteria: Writing the female body (Sable Books, forthcoming). Her writing has been published worldwide in magazines and anthologies and she is the author of eight chapbooks of poetry including A Guide for the Practical Abductee (Red Bird Chapbooks), Pray Pray Pray: Poems I wrote to Prince in the middle of the night (Porkbelly Press), Fire in the Sky (Grey Book Press), We’re Doing Witchcraft (Hermeneutic Chaos Press), and 17 seventeen XVII (Grey Book Press). Kristin is an assistant poetry editor at The Boiler and a slush reader at Sugared Water. Once upon a time she worked the night shift at The New Yorker. She blogs at EKristinAnderson.com and tweets at @ek_anderson.

#E. Kristin Anderson #essay #writing prompts

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