#we had to write a sonnet once and i think that was the only time ive spent the whole week on an assignment

[starsandhughes]

Didn't Know What Love Was— Quinn Hughes

summary: you were somewhat of a cynic when it came to love. you didn't believe in it, and if it was real, you didn't want it. that is, until your best friend sets you up with a certain hockey player named quinn.

warnings: swearing, fade to black smut (like extremely fade to black), fluff

word count: 3.9k+

MASTERLIST

this is inspired by the song 'didn't know what love was' by kane brown!

You weren’t expecting to feel this way. 

You didn’t think this feeling was real. 

Love.

You’ve said it, you’ve been told it, but all of those instances weren’t real to you. You get to a certain point in a relationship and someone says it first and you think, yeah, I guess that’s what this is. It was nothing like how it was portrayed in the movies, because they were just movies. Movies are fake, so you thought love was, too. It always ended. It always included drama. And then you’d find someone new.

You’ve never been more wrong. 

February 20, 2021

“Mack, have you ever thought of the fact that I’m just not meant for a relationship? It’s all bullshit anyways,” you grumbled. You were laying on your back horizontally on bed with your feet hanging off the edge, settled on the floor. Your best friend, Mackenzie, was once again setting you up on a date. “You’re single now! Find yourself a date!” 

Mackenzie rolled her eyes and sat next to you, “I’m not ready to get back out there! It’s only been two weeks since Jason and I broke up and we dated for seven months. You, however, have been single for almost a year!” 

“You’re only proving my point, Mack!” you said, sitting up. “Relationships end. They’re messy and leave us heartbroken. And maybe the magic blinds you for a while and you get married, but I’ve met more people with divorced parents than married ones. And I’ve seen so many loveless marriages that the couple only sticks together because they wouldn’t know what else to do. I’ve seen couples break up in restaurants. I’ve seen couples fight and scream at a public park.  Love isn’t real. And if it is, I can live without it.” 

Mackenzie looked at you with the most pity filled expression you’ve ever seen. She believes in love. She believes in the shitty romance novels and shitty movies. But you’ve picked up her pieces too many times to even contemplate believing in it. 

“Love is real!” she exclaimed. “How else could people have written sonnets and movies and books and songs about it?”

“People write stuff about monsters, too, but you don’t see any people bursting into flames in the sunlight,” you said. 

“In Twilight they sparkled!”

“I don’t give a shit what they did, they’re still made up,” you laughed. “It’s called fiction for a reason.” 

“You can’t make up a feeling. You can’t make up being so enamored by someone that you miss them so bad it hurts when they’re not with you!” 

“You’re just repeating things you’ve heard in movies about love!” you argued. “You haven’t even been in love. Not truly. You told me so when you broke up with Jason.” 

“So go on this date, and if it all works out, you can tell me what love is. They even call oxytocin the love chemical! You believe in science! And I believe that this guy is the perfect match for you,” your best friend continued to beg. “Think of it as a science experiment.” 

You ended up caving, more so to get Mackenzie to stop begging. It’s not like you were against dating, you’ve had plenty of relationships, but after so many failed ones you stop seeing the point. You could get your needs met without being tied down and risking becoming attached. That’s all that “love” really was. Attachment. Sure, it’s nice to have one person that’s somewhat of a best friend to spend your life with. But adding all of that “girlfriend and boyfriend” stuff to it is destined for failure. And you were done with it. 

When you found him at the restaurant, you were taken back. You’d seen pictures of him so that you’d know who to look for, but he looked so much better in person. His hair looked unbelievably soft, and he somehow made the locks seemingly out of place look perfect. His soft eyes were to die for, and the sleeves of his black shirt rolled up made the veins in his arm visible. All you wanted to do was trace them. 

“Y/N?” the boy asked when he noticed you staring. He stood up to greet you, helping you slip off your jacket to hang on the back of the chair as he pulled it out for you. He waited for you to sit down before taking a seat himself. “I’m Quinn.”

“So I’ve heard,” you chuckled. “I’ve been told that you’re the sweetest guy Mackenzie knows and are bound to change my mind about my stance on relationships.”

“I’ve heard you don’t believe in love,” Quinn countered. 

Your eyes widened, and if you were taking a drink, you would’ve choked on it.

“Wow,” you said amused. “Mack jumped to the nitty gritty then? I take it this means that you do believe in love?”

“I do,” Quinn confirmed. 

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Not yet. But I’ve seen it. My parents have the purest love I’ve ever seen. They spread it to everyone they know and everyone my brothers and I know. They make it hard to not believe in it.”

You couldn’t help but feel soft at his statement. You’ve never heard anyone tell you that they believe in love because of their parents. Hell, you haven’t really had a guy firmly tell you that he believes in love. It was always your girl friends swearing up and down that “the one” is out there. 

“Are you going to teach me how to love, Quinn Hughes?” you said flirtily, placing your hand under your chin.

Quinn reached across the table and grabbed your other hand, “I’m going to show you what a romantic date is supposed to be like. And if you like it, I’ll take you on another. And another. And if we get there, I’ll show you how a real man acts as a boyfriend. And hopefully, along the way, we’ll fall in love. And I won’t say it until I know it’s there.”

“How will you know it’s love?” you asked. He already had you melting at his advances. 

“I’ll know when it’s a feeling I’ve never felt before. I’ll know when it’s a feeling that can’t be described as anything but love. Are you in?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. Quinn was serious. He didn’t want a fling. He wasn’t here to get sex at the end of the night. He was here to see if he can find the real thing with you. He was here for a challenge. 

“I’m in.”

Over dinner you two did the usual small chat about yourselves, but that quickly developed into telling full out stories. It wasn’t awkward with him like it had been on some other first dates. You were strangely very comfortable with him. 

He told you about his summer at his lake house with his family and friends, you told him about your trip to London with your cousins. He told you about how he first met Mack when she was drunk off her ass at a party back when she was still dating Brock, the only ex she ended on good terms with and is still friends with, and you told him about how she was not her drunkest at that party, and that one time you two snuck out of a party to have a lightsaber fight but didn’t have lightsabers so you used traffic cones. 

“You did not!” Quinn laughed. 

“We did!” you shouted over your laughs. You were definitely getting stares, but you didn’t care. “I beat her ass, too.”

“Oh yeah?” he asked, quirking his eyebrow. 

“Oh yeah. I totally had the high ground.” 

Quinn walked you to your car at the end of the night. You two shut down the restaurant, neither one of you desired to leave. You boldly grabbed his hand as you started walking and were relieved when he looped your fingers together in response. 

“Did you have a good time?” Quinn asked you when you arrived at your car. 

“I really did. I’m not sure I want it to end,” you admitted. 

You wanted so badly to ask him to come over. But he told you that he wanted to give you a romantic date, not a pre-sex affair. He’s looking for something real. Something that isn’t just sex. 

“Me either,” he smiled. 

As you two looked at each other, your eyes started flickering from his to his lips. He noticed, but you knew that he was doing the same. 

Your hunger ended when Quinn finally leaned in. His hands slid down your waist and settled on your hips, pulling you closer to him. Yours went up and around his neck, happily content feeling the ends of his hair.

Quinn kissed you in a way that you’ve never been kissed before. It was soft. Sensual. It had you aching for more. The feeling that people describe as “sparks flying?” You were pretty sure this was it. 

The kiss wasn’t rough; it wasn’t filled with primal need. 

It left you breathless. Lightheaded. Warm. 

It was the type of kiss that told you there was more to him. And all you wanted to do was learn. 

“That was—“

“Don’t describe it,” Quinn cut you off in a whisper. He reached his hand out to cup your face, “Just feel it.” 

All you could do was nod your head. You felt your entire body quivering at his touch. 

Quinn smiled and opened up your car door for you, “Tell me when you get home?”

“Y-yeah. I will,” you stammered. You couldn’t stop looking at him. 

“Goodnight, Y/N. Drive safe!”

“Goodnight, Quinn,” you smiled. 

You watched him walk away in your rear view mirror, smiling madly. Quinn left you feeling like a giddy little girl. It was something that no one else has ever done. 

March 16, 2021

You were going on your fifth date with Quinn tonight, and Mack was swearing up and down that Quinn was going to make things official. 

“Y/N/N, trust me!” she said while dramatically shaking you by the shoulders. 

“I want to!” you laughed, shoving her off of you. “I just don’t want to get any hopes up. We’re going out to have a good time and that’s it!” 

“Hopes up you say?” Mack asked as she wiggled her eyebrows. “Does that mean you want Quinn to ask you? Do you, Y/N Y/L/N, WANT a boyfriend just mere weeks after saying you were done with dating forever?”

“I didn’t say forever!” 

“Alright!” she surrendered. “I’m keeping my mouth shut because I don’t want to jinx anything, but just know that I am a very happy girl right now!”

You shook your head at your best friend’s nonsense. Okay, maybe you were hoping what she was saying will turn out to be true tonight, and maybe you were liking the goodnight calls and good morning texts and mid day updates. And maybe you relish in the smile Quinn gives you when you stand at the glass during warm ups at his games while you wear his jersey. And maybe you’ve never felt like this before, and it was making you the happiest you’ve ever been. But you weren’t sure if it was love. Love was still a weary and scary concept for you at this point. But maybe… maybe this is pre-love? Maybe this is the build up. Maybe this is the jump before the fall. 

You weren’t scared of jumping.

Whatever it is, you’re pretty positive it’s too early for love. You’re just now open to the idea of love because of Quinn, so you certainly were skeptical at the notion of “love at first sight.” Although, it’s been a little too long to count as “first sight.” Love at fifth date? Love at hundredth facetime? Call it what you want, but it still felt way too soon. 

You were still doing your makeup when there was a knock at the door, signaling that Quinn was here. 

“Mack, could you—“

“I’m already on it!” she cut you off, rushing down the stairs to open the door. 

You tried to finish up your mascara really quickly, but that only resulted in your dropping it and smearing some across your cheek. 

“Shit!” 

“Shit?” you heard Quinn ask. You gasped in surprise, and he just laughed as he approached you. He placed his hands on your cheeks and kissed the top of your head before taking a look at you, “Ahh. I see the source of the shit.”

“It’ll wipe off, it’s fine,” you shrugged. “I’ll just need five more minutes?” 

Quinn smiled, “Take all the time you need to feel happy.” 

If you were alone and that was a text, you’d probably be kicking your feet at Quinn’s comment. He didn’t say anything teasing that you take forever, he didn’t use the cliché “you look pretty without makeup” or whatever, he said that he wants you to feel happy with your appearance. You didn’t know why that felt more romantic than a compliment; it just did. He was focusing on your emotions and confidence. He was validating you. Validation and understanding feels a lot more intimate than a compliment about your appearance. 

“I’m ready!” you sing-songed as you climbed down the stairs. 

Quinn was standing at the bottom of the stairs with his hands behind his back and a soft smile on his face. 

You jumped from the fourth step down to the second step. You reached out gently to tilt Quinn’s face towards yours and leaned down to crash your lips against his. You stepped down to the final step to become level with when he deepened the kiss. He released one of his hands to place it at the small of your back in order to draw you in, but the other remained. 

“Whatcha hidin’, handsome?” you asked cheekily. 

Quinn’s other hand quickly whipped around in front of his center and revealed a bouquet of daisies and lavender. You gasped and kissed him quick, taking the bouquet from him and inhaling its sweet scent with a smile after your lips parted.

“They’re beautiful,” you told him. 

“They’re not the only thing,” he whispered. 

“You flirt,” you blushed. 

You both bid your goodbyes to Mackenzie and walked out the door. Quinn rushed slightly ahead of you to open up the passenger door for you before making his way to the driver's seat. It was a quick drive to the mini golf place, and it was filled with you two goofily singing along to the radio. 

When you got there, you were surprised at how many people and families there were. It was a Saturday night, but still. You didn’t know this many people went mini golfing at any given moment. 

You picked out a pink club, and Quinn grabbed a green one. He held out his hand for you to take, and for once, you didn’t feel weird holding somebody’s hand in public. It was a small act, but it was still a big deal for you. You used to do it with previous boyfriends, but that was because you felt like you had to in order to try and feel like you were in a normal relationship. You want to hold Quinn’s hand. You love the way your hand fits in his and how warm his hands are. You love how rough they feel compared to your soft ones. Just this simple action made you feel safe and less overwhelmed by the amount of people. It made you feel like it was just you and him. 

“Ready to lose, Y/L/N?” Quinn taunted you.

“Don’t be so cocky,” you teased back. “I’m a pro at this.”

“You said you haven’t been mini golfing in years!” he pointed out with a laugh. 

“I’m trying to speak me winning into the universe, Quintin!” 

Needless to say, you were terrible, but Quinn gave you two extra puts each round to try and get you more points. It didn’t make much of a difference for how badly he was beating you, but it made you feel good.

“What ever happened to letting the girl win?” you groaned. “Some gentleman you are.”

Quinn softly smiled and walked over to you. Placing his hands on the small of your back, he kissed you gently, “I’m sorry, baby. I just can’t fake sucking.”

You dramatically threw your head back, groaned, then gave him a pout when you looked back at him. Quinn laughed and kissed you again, effectively wiping the pout off your face.

This was also something big for you– kissing in public. PDA. You’ve never done that. You always pulled away or forced the kiss to be a quick peck instead. You were worried about people staring and judging. But not with Quinn. You didn’t care who was around, you wanted them to know that you were happy. 

Unsurprisingly, Quinn won. He cheered with his club in both hands being held above his head, sending you into a fit of giggles. 

“Stop parading around like you just won the Stanley Cup!” you shouted. 

Quinn whipped his head towards you in mock offense. He walked towards you and kissed you again, much more firmly this time, “I’m sorry you sucked.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled. 

“I do believe me winning deserves a prize!”

“Oh yeah? And what did you have in mind?” you smirked. 

You were expecting his answer to be something along the lines of another kiss or going out for ice cream, but what he said proved your best friend to be correct.

“Will you be my girlfriend?” he asked you softly. He was confident in his question. He had the biggest smile on his face that was filled with so much hope and admiration. 

“I’d love to,” you answered. 

Now Quinn really looked like he won the Stanley Cup. His eyes lit up brighter than you’ve ever seen them, and his smile looked like it hurt. You should know, because your smile was so big that it did hurt. Quinn hugged you so tightly that your feet kicked off the ground and he spun you in a circle. When he put you back down, he kissed you passionately. It was different than every other kiss you two have shared, given that is a small number since this was only your fifth date. This one meant more. This one said more. 

When he walked you to your door and kissed you goodbye, you reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him. He turned around slowly, and you knew that the look in your eyes said all that you wanted to say.

“Are you sure?” he whispered.

“Positive.”

Mackenzie was already in her room for the night, much to your relief. You and Quinn kissed all the way up the stairs and into your bedroom. The second your bedroom door closed; clothes began to be thrown off. He threw you on your back onto your bed like it was nothing, then he climbed on top of you and began to pepper kissed up your stomach, through your neck, across your jaw, until he finally reached your lips again. 

“Just tell me if you want me to stop,” he said low.

“Don’t stop,” you panted. “Please don’t stop.”

April 14, 2021

You were pretty sure you were feeling it. No, you knew you were feeling it. 

Love. 

You were feeling just like the movies and love songs and poems said– you were enamored by Quinn. You missed him so bad that it hurt when you weren’t with him, especially when he was on roadies during the season (you were selfishly glad that it’s over for the time being). You felt like the best version of yourself when he was around. But you were also learning that your definition of love was so much more than that.

“OH MY GOD! I KNEW IT WOULD HAPPEN! I KNEW IT!” Mackenzie screamed when you told her. 

“Alright!” you giggled. “You knew it, you did it, congratulations! Now how do I tell him? Do I wait for him to tell me? What if it goes away and I don’t–”

“Are you sure it’s love?” she cut you off.

“I am. It’s new, and it’s freeing, and it’s–agh! It’s perfect. It has to be,” you said, covering your hands over your face so that she couldn’t see how wildly you were blushing and grinning. 

Mack grabbed your wrists and yanked your hands off your face, “I don’t think that’s going away, babe! Now tell me! The deal was that you’d tell me what love is! Spill it! And don’t quote the movies!”

“I think love is different for everybody. I’m feeling the stuff that they say in the movies and the sonnets and the songs, but it’s so much more than that. Love is… wild. Love is like a never-ending joy ride with the windows down and your favorite songs blaring on the stereo. Love is like that feeling you get in your body when you hear a new song, and it absolutely consumes you to where you heat up and feel like you're vibrating. Love is feeling like you could do the impossible as long as your person is right there beside you. Love can feel like you’re flying.

“But love can also make you feel safe. Love is feeling at home with your person, no matter where you are. You could be in the backseat of a car, but if you were with your person? That could be home for the time being. Love is like that feeling of pride and relief when you deep clean your house for the first time in forever. Love is like sitting by the ocean and watching the waves crash against the sand, and none of the sand ends up in your shoes. 

“Loving Quinn feels like a breath of fresh air. Loving Quinn makes me feel like I finally know who I am and who I could be. Loving Quinn makes me feel alive for the very first time. It’s everything.”

Mack looked like she could burst into tears then and there. You were about to hug her when an all too familiar voice ceased your movements.

“Did you mean that?” 

You turned around so quickly that your head spun. There, standing at the edge of your living room, was Quinn.

“Yeah,” you whispered with a nod. “Every word.”

Quinn rushed towards you and cupped your face, slamming his lips onto yours. You heard Mack clap with glee, but you didn’t care. She was slipping away, and only you and Quinn existed in the world at this very moment.

“I love you,” you breathed when you two had to come up for air.

“I love you,” Quinn echoed. “You described it perfectly. I felt every word. I am helplessly, irrevocably, completely, and utterly in love with you. I’ll never stop saying it. Not now that I know what it means.”

“I didn’t believe in love before you. I didn’t know what love was. It’s you, Quinn. My love is yours, and only yours.”

The smile on Quinn’s face was contagious, but your face was already painted with one. You didn’t expect to fall in love, and you certainly didn’t expect to say it first. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was a god, maybe it was the stars aligning. You didn’t know why, but you did know that you were made to love Quinn Hughes alongside all of the other things you were made for. 

Love was real. And you can’t live without it. And you’re so glad that you learned that. 

———

reblogs appreciated! it helps spread the fic <3

#quinn hughes #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes fic #vancouver canucks #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey imagine #quinn hughes reader insert #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fanfiction

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

The Arcana HCs: MC makes M6 breakfast in bed

Part 2 is here:

Julian

So excited when he sees what you're bringing him that he nearly upsets the breakfast tray

"This is for me? Really?? I love you. I love you so much MC."

He's secretly checking to make sure you included some coffee because the excitement will only last him so long and he needs to be awake for this

Legit might start crying when you hand him the biggest mug of the strongest stuff on the market

Will pull you into bed to keep him company while he eats

Over the top compliments on every dish

"This toast is beautiful. Best toast I've ever had. It's a good thing you only made enough for me or people would fight wars for this toast. Look at the beautiful detailing along the edge! I should write a sonnet for this crust."

Squabbled with Malak over the crumbs

Will brag about it to anyone who will listen

Asra

You knew to put the tray down nearby before waking him up because it takes a while

Rumpled and drowsy and so charmed by your affection he keeps forgetting to eat at first

Only digs in once you're snuggled in next to them

They insist on feeding you every other bite

Faust has her own diet but she's intrigued with all the dishes in the bed

She curls up around the teapot because it's warm and now it's impossible to have more tea because she looks so happy neither of you wants to disturb her

After you wash up the breakfast dishes together he'll insist on taking on some of your daily duties in return

Nadia

At first she thinks you just requested breakfast be brought to her chambers and you felt like carrying the tray yourself

Until she notices that the fruit is unevenly sliced and there's a salad fork next to her eggs

Very deeply honored

Takes her time to savor each bite, putting on her best manners for you

Is it as good as the professional palace chef? No, but MC made it with their own two hands, therefore it could not be better

Lots of thoughtful compliments

She's especially pleased with the small silver bowl of Chandra-safe food you included so she could join you two from the windowsill

You'll be receiving an invitation to her gazebo later for the finest afternoon tea she could plan

Muriel

We know he got through a lot of his early childhood by trying to sleep off the hunger, so you can imagine how special it is for him to wake up to your smiling face and a heaping plate of food in the comfort of his own bed

Good luck being awake before him though, he wakes up at dawn to feed the chickens

Doesn't have many words that early in the morning, so he'll very carefully accept your gift with a small, sleepy smile

He won't start eating until he knows you've been properly fed

Not everything on the tray is breakfast food, because you're on a mission to feed him all the dishes he never tried growing up

You spent all of the previous afternoon in the marketplace visiting each food vendor for their best menu item

You gave Innana so many treats to guard it outside the hut overnight and not tell Muriel about it

He insists on doing the breakfast dishes so you can go back to sleep, you were up before the sun was after all

Portia

Squeals

Not gonna lie, you were kind of worried about the food you had to offer since Portia is one of Vesuvia's best bakers

Which is why you enlisted Mazelinka's help to make something she wouldn't find in the palace

It's close enough to the real thing that she recognizes it almost immediately and gets a little teary eyed

Talking with her mouth full about how you two are going to take classes from Mazelinka together

"I didn't realize how much I missed this until I smelled it MC, thank you so much! I need to learn how to make this now."

There is also a small bowl of cold chicken and catnip tea for Pepi

You and Portia watch her drink it and dissolve into giggles when she gets high off of it

Rubs it in Ilya's face next time she sees him that she has a super awesome MC who makes her breakfast in bed

Lucio

He didn't want to wake up at first, but the breakfast is a good bargain

Doesn't realize that you're the one who made it until you tell him

"Why didn't you say so? Of course you would though, I'm - we're - the best!"

Invites Mercedes and Melchior onto the bed to partake in the feast

"You'd better be grateful, MC made this with their own two hands."

There are crumbs everywhere, you'll have to change the sheets later

He really is grateful though, every now and then he'll look over at you and blush amidst all the chaos

By lunchtime he's forgotten about it

#the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #portia devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #lucio morgasson #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #portia the arcana #muriel the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #arcana shitposting

[shivunin]

Petal-Crowned

Borrowing the lovely @greypetrel's Aisling for this piece! I adore Arja and Aisling both and I also think they would be good friends and good for each other. When I saw her absolutely gorgeous piece of Elowen and Aisling, I couldn't help but want to write a piece to fit it. So---here is my contribution. Thank you, as always, for your friendship and for letting me borrow your baby!

(Recommended listening)

(Elowen & Aisling Lavellan | 874 Words | No Warnings)

"yet here’s eglantine, Here’s ivy!— take them, as I used to do Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine. Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true, And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine." ---Elizabeth Barrett Browning, "Sonnets from the Portuguese 44..."

The sun was warm, the air was sweet, and half the meadow’s flowers clung to Elowen’s hair. She felt as if she was half-dreaming here amongst the soft grasses and bright colors of this glade, but she knew that she was not. Perhaps the beauty of this place only felt dream-like because things had been so miserable for so long that beautiful and nice things must feel, by some token, somewhat dream-like.

Thoughts better not to dwell on, she supposed.

“When do you think the others are coming back?” she called to Aisling, who was wandering some distance away, judging by the rustling of her feet through the flowers. 

“Hmmm,” Aisling said. “I’m not sure. But look!”

Elowen looked, fingers still busy on the twined flowers in her lap. Triumphant, Aisling held an elfroot plant in the air, dark earth still clinging to its roots. 

“I’m going to bring it back to Skyhold,” she announced, beaming at the slender stalk. “I know just where to plant it.”

“It’s perfect,” Elowen agreed, taking in the slight woodiness of the stem, the healthy green of the leaves. It was easy to plant elfroot seeds, but much more difficult to transplant an existing specimen. For all that it seemed to grow all over Thedas, the plant did not take well to being uprooted. 

If anyone could coax it to take to a new home, Elowen was certain it would be Aisling. 

“Do you want any more of this or should I put it away?” she asked while her friend carefully bundled the plant away. 

Aisling glanced at the saddle blanket they sat on, which also held the open pack and the scattered remnants of their lunch. The cheese was nestled under an active ice spell (Aisling’s contribution; Elowen had never been good with frost magic) and the bread had been set neatly aside where it could avoid any potential dampness. The remaining fruit, purchased from the nearby and very grateful residents of Crestwood, was nestled in an open satchel. 

“Hmm,” Elowen’s friend said. “We can leave it. There’s time to have more later.”

Elowen made a soft noise of assent and turned back to the half-made chain of flowers in her lap. It took a little deftness to do this without losing anything crucial. Petals wanted badly to fall off once the flower had been plucked, and if she was not careful she would wind up with fingers stained green and a chain of battered stems. 

After a time, Aisling sat behind her, back pressed to Elowen’s. Elowen made little progress, half-dozing in the dappled sunlight, and for once she did not blame herself for it. It would have felt silly to hold herself to such deadlines and pressures here. This place was far too comfortable to bring herself to care. 

“Elowen?” 

“Hm?” she roused slightly, eyes heavy, and almost fell backward when Aisling moved away from her. 

“Here!” Aisling said while Elowen steadied herself, “I picked the ones that seemed to fit. See—the green of the leaves here match your vallaslin precisely.”

It took her a moment to comprehend what was happening, fingers still tangled in the chain she’d begun to weave, the sunlight almost too bright now that she’d opened her eyes again. But—while she had rested, her friend had made something beautiful and bright. It hung from her pale fingers now as Aisling held it out: purple and yellow and white against green leaves that—yes, actually would match Elowen’s vallaslin when they weren’t in direct sunlight. The petals of the pansies looked unimaginably soft, velvet-sheened in the sunlight. Aisling grinned at her, smile just as bright as the sunshine in the meadow.

“I think it suits you,” she said. Elowen smiled as the little crown settled over her head and Aisling leaned forward to kiss her cheek. 

What a gift this was. A gift—to have the easy company of a good friend, to sit in the sunlight and smell the flowers. A gift, to be safe and full and cared for

“Thank you,” she murmured when Aisling rocked back onto her heels. Aisling clapped her hands together, eyes fixed on the ring of flowers atop Elowen’s head. 

“It’s perfect!” she said, grinning. 

Elowen leaned forward and pressed her lips to her friend’s cheek in turn, sun-warm and soft as it was. 

“It is,” she agreed, and turned her attention back to her lap. “Perfect. It’s beautiful work, truly.”

Forget-me-nots still clung softly to her fingers as she wove a lily into its place near the center. What a pleasure it would be to give her friend the joy she’d been given. How remarkable, to offer something simple and good to someone she cared for. 

Behind her, Aisling began to speak again, describing a mishap with her dear horse and a thorny bush. Her voice had a pleasant cadence, rising and falling like a friendly and familiar tune. The bees hummed nearby, drifting from flower to flower. Soft breezes brushed past stems and leaves and bobbing blossoms. Sparse clouds drifted between them and the sun, never obscuring the light for too long. 

Elowen listened and found herself glad beyond measuring to simply be herself at this precise place and time. Smiling faintly at the sound of her friend’s voice, she lifted her fingers and wove on.

#aisling lavellan #elowen lavellan #ockiss24 #oc kiss week #shivunin scrivening #the music recommendation is arja's! it fit so well that i had to borrow it too c:

[faela404]

☆ The Library ☆

kazuha x gn! reader

prompt: - you and kazuha attend the same university, him being a english lit major and you being a person in stem😎 your paths never crossed until that day in the library…

*this is an smau so please do expect a lot of twitter posts and messages to read, there will be proper writing too but, it will mostly be that!!*

warning! angst, jealousy

masterlist - prev | next

☆ !message not delivered ☆

this was stupid.

a stupid stupid idea.

what was i expecting? that kazuha would run out here and spew beautiful words of his love for me? that he’d write sonnet upon sonnet with me as his muse?

no, that’s foolish. for he’s reserved all of his love, of his person and himself to her. all of it for her. the woman who’s name i don’t even know because he didn’t care for me enough to tell me it. to tell me all that they are. all that their love, that they’ve reserved for one another, means to him.

kazuha and his muse.

not me.

but, her.

part of me wishes this is all some cruel joke, that he really does feel something for me, that she is not anything to him but, i’ve learnt that that kind of wishful thinking will get you no where in this life. that all hope can achieve is despair.

yet, here i am. standing outside of this stupid building, with my stupid phone in my hand, waiting for his stupid text. i’m waiting, kazuha. for you. please, do not make me wait too much longer.

i wish to be rid of this. this pain in my heart. this turmoil in my brain. this love that i feel.

can i even call it love? just love?

love on it own implies that it is felt throughout, that we both feel this love. though that is not true. this love, this pain, is unrequited.

unrequited love, for a man that i thought was mine.

what a pity it was to discover he isn’t.

he’s hers after all.

what she feels is different to what i feel. we both love the same man and yet she is whisked away into the sunset, while i am left here alone with the tears of tomorrows to come. unrequited - that’s all it will be.

i hardly feel the sting of the harsh rain that has began to fall from the sky. after all, it only blends in with the droplets of water already falling from my face.

wow, what an awful excuse of pathetic fallacy the world is playing on me.

what is waiting, if not hope? and hope is something i have long given up. the hope that he once again will be mine. the hope that he will stay true to his word. the hope that his figure will emerge from those tall doors in front of my gaze.

but hoping is pointless.

for none of those things will happen.

i am done with hoping.

and in turn, i am done with waiting.

he has left me standing here alone far too long.

and i am done with this ‘love’.

my feet carry me towards my apartment.

though i suppose, while my brain may give up hope, my body does not.

for once i arrive, it is not my apartment i am standing before.

but, the place that started this all.

the place, where two souls met.

two souls that should never part.

the library.

my dear, y/n.

i have no words to convey how sorry i truly am.

the rain is lashing down against the cobbled streets, and yet there is no sign of you, my dear.

how i wish you had stayed.

though i am aware this is my mistake to clean this time.

not yours.

why must our lateness be so punishable?

my dear, my y/n. i am coming, so please do wait for me. i can only wish that my hope for us is enough to have guided you to our destiny.

who would’ve thought, that that old run down building would become our sanctuary?

though i suppose if our fate is truly meant to go forth, we should have a more meaningful place of meeting.

i shall fix this soon, my dear.

in the library.

a/n ok that was way more angsty and romantic as i wanted it to be, but im not mad. also can we just appreciate how beautiful this chapter turned out omg. i don’t even know how i produced that but, go off ig brain.

taglist- open! i @kazuhaprnt @ryhie @scaraapologist @thissoulisnotok @kazuhalvrr @rifran @sleepyhamster1001 @mccnstruck @micahmxi @whipped-for-fictionals @sashiette @kozumieee @lazy-sanns @mangobee @lez-zuha @kaoyamamegami @hedonesstuff @oliver-s-worlds @phoenix-eclipses @lisaslittle-helper @serafinaspost @richxelle @ansaturn @neigesprincess @atlaincorrect @ilovekazuha271 @obeythehemmings @4leyn3 @giggles8899 @samyayaya @zomzomb1e @duckyyyx @luminescent-light @scarletttcroww @jasxiao2317 @kanaqwqbear @floating-inthevoid @forget-artemis @fishformaira @hangecanweholdhands @eurekatanya @tamikahoshiko

bold = blog not found

#faela404~🍓🍰writes #faela404~ 📕🍰the library #genshin fluff #genshin impact #kazuha x reader #genshin imagines #genshin au #kazuha #smau #genshin smau #kazuha x you #kaedehara kazuha #genshin kazuha #kazuha x reader fluff #kazuha x gn reader

[count-alucard-tepes]

Headcanons for our favorite crow man aka Karasu😍😍😍

He has tattoos but he doesn’t really like to show them, they’re pretty cool designs.

He doesn’t drink alcohol at all, he just despises the taste. He favors fruit juices or tea.

He’s very shy around people he’s attracted to and those that give him compliments. He’ll avoid them like the plague.

He adores all of Edgar Allan Poe’s work and that inspired him with the crow aesthetic. He does write his own poetry too and if you are someone special to him…those anonymous sonnets are from him😍

He’s always been a soft spoken person due to childhood trauma which is why he wears his mask to amplify the sound of voice.

Fanfic for Crow daddy😍

The leader of the Revolutionary army, Dragon had announced that all the commanders would be meeting with the rest of the members..all in one place.

“…this is going to be a disaster”, Koala said as she winced and sighed softly before looking over at Y/N, “…don’t you think so?”.

She got her answer when Y/N turned with hearts in her eyes, “…Karasu is gonna be here! I need to get ready!”, Y/N said excitedly.

Koala’s jaw dropped, “…what!? You like him!?”. This was all so new to her! Not once was this ever mentioned!

Y/N was strong and fierce as an officer and would not really show her emotions…unless she was really passionate about something.

“Of course I do! How could I not!? He’s so mysterious and cool!”, Y/N beamed like a young girl in love.

In her mind, Koala wanted to laugh so much at what was going on but ah to be in love! She herself knew what that was like too…

************************************************

The commanders had all arrived and were in a meeting with Dragon before the rest of the members were informed of why they had all been gathered at one for the first time in a few years.

Karasu stood with his arms crossed as he listened, only to let his eyes wander around the room for a moment. How much the army had grew over the years, he wondered to himself.

His eyes would meet Y/N’s and he swore that she looked like she was about to pass out in that moment. What the hell was going on!?

“…looks like you have an admirer”, Sabo said with with a smile as Karasu rolled his eyes in response, “…I highly doubt that…anyway focus on what Dragon is saying”, he huffed in response.

His ears burned a little at the comment made as he was a little embarrassed at the prospect of that actually being true. He wanted to glance back at the girl but he didn’t want to get caught by anyone…that would be even worse.

************************************************

A party was held after the meeting to celebrate their reunion and well another year of fighting for freedom.

Karasu was sitting with some of the commanders, just listening to their blabbering and commented every now and then. A few of them had left to get more food and drinks, he heard cheering and laughing coming from behind him and glanced back to see the younger members playing some games.

“Hey, Karasu! Come help me win! Y/N is cheating! I just know she is!”, Sabo said looking frustrated.

The commander sighed softly and walked over to see what all the commotion was about, “…and that’s me winning…again…”, Y/N said with a smirk as everyone around them cheered for her.

She grinned proudly until she saw Karasu and blushed brightly, he replaced Sabo, “…I’ll be your opponent now, Miss”, he said calmly.

“O-okay…we usually bet something before we play…this is why I currently have Sabo’s hat”, she said as she looked at the gorgeous man before.

“…bet something? Hm…what would you like if you win?”, he asked without putting too much thought into it as he reset the chessboard.

“Your hand in marriage”, Y/N said without any hesitation.

It took him a moment to register what she had just said and the same went for everyone that was standing around them. All eyes were on the commander as they waited on the edge of their seats for his response.

“…very well, let’s begin”, he responded calmly.

When everyone gasped in response, he glared at them, “…something wrong?”, he questioned and no one dared to say anything.

“…oh but you haven’t said what you’d like if you win”, Y/N said with knitted brows and a slight pout. He had to admit, it was pretty cute.

“If I win, I get Sabo’s hat…”, Karasu said gently.

She pouted a little more as she took off the hat and then shot a glare at Sabo, “…fine, you’ve got a deal”, she declared.

He allowed her to make her first move, “…so you are under Belo Betty…that must be quite a nightmare”, he murmured.

Y/N laughed in response, “…she isn’t that bad…but yes I am”.

“I believe our marriage might be a problem with her if you win…”, he said as he glanced over at the woman before him.

“No ways! When I win, no one can stop me!”, Y/N said with a huff.

Oh lord, what did he get himself into.

He gulped under his mask, no more questions would come from him as he knew he would just blush even more than he was already.

The match was pretty intense but it resulted in Karasu actually winning and getting Sabo’s hat back.

“Oh man, Karasu! I owe you big time for this!”, Sabo beamed.

Karasu rolled his eyes as he watched Koala hang over Y/N and hugged her from behind, “…there, there…let’s go have a drink to cheer you up”, she giggled as Y/N pouted in response.

“I was so close to winning!”, Y/N groaned as she was dragged to bar to Belo Betty who already had shots waiting for them

“To Y/N for not leaving me just yet!”, Belo said as she raised her glass and with a pout Y/N did the same before drowning her sorrows.

An hour or so later, Karasu would come and carry Y/N bridal style out of the party as she had too many drinks.

“Oi! Karasu, where are you going?”, Belo shouted.

“…I’m taking my future wife to her bed…leave us alone, woman”, he said over his shoulder as he walked away.

It was a shame Y/N didn’t hear it as she was already passed out in his arms…her heart wouldn’t be able to handle it anyway!

Haha I definitely wanted them to have contrasting personalities, I loved writing this😂

#ooc #one piece #karasu one piece #revolutionary army #my goth baby daddy

[ashxketchum]

MIMATO WEEK 2023 (Random Update)

Note: I haven't been able to write on time as much as I wanted to, maybe by tomorrow I will post my Day 5,6,7 entries but until then I wanted to share something, so here is a prompt I got a year ago that was just sitting in my drafts for no reason! Enjoy 💙💚

Prompt: "Your heart is beating too fast to be close to someone you don't care about."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~ Listen to my Heartbeat ~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Digital World throwing them off track without a warning was something that didn’t make Mimi bat an eyelid anymore, and she was pretty much used to the ground beneath them slipping away in a flash, taking away with it any progress the group had made so far. So of course, she was unamused with the current situation, which was her being stuck in a cave with what looked like a light drizzle falling outside. The funny thing was, that while she couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen rain in the Digital World, what she could remember was that she had never been stuck alone with the blond standing tall at the entrance of the cave.

Yamato had his back to her, as he peered outside, and though Mimi couldn’t see his face from where she was sitting, she knew it was probably scrunched up in a frown as he inspected the raindrops that settled on his hand. She half turned to pass a comment to Palmon and was bitterly reminded once again, that the only occupants of the cave were her and Yamato, and that the whereabouts of their partner Digimon and the rest of their friends were currently unknown to them. She definitely felt anxious, sitting there without Palmon to keep her company or spring into action to protect her if required, and wondered if Yamato too felt a similar unease, though would he answer honestly if she were to raise this question out loud?

Her eyes wandered over to Yamato again, and she was a little taken aback, maybe even slightly jealous of how much the scene suited him. With his pale, yellow hair shining in contrast to the dim, rocky walls of the cave and his lean figure just rightly fitting in the narrow crevice, nonchalantly bathing in the faint rays of light that escaped through the cloudy sky and surrounded him, he looked nothing less than a muse artists would stroke carefully onto their canvases or poets would write sonnets about. She held back a sigh, it was as if the colour blue, or rather the emotion blue, was meant to be embodied by him, and to Mimi that was a feat worthy of being envious over.

“What should we do?” She decided to speak up, as sitting around and admiring Yamato’s perfect features was something that she could do from anywhere, getting out of here and reuniting with Palmon took priority for now.

Yamato turned, and as expected, with a frown on his face he fixed his eyes on her, and she noticed a hint of surprise reflected in them, as if he had not expected her to follow his lead.

Which was something Mimi couldn’t deny either, she was more of a ‘my way or high way’ kind of girl, but when it came to things related to the Digital World, all of them had adjusted to a pattern that was hard to shake off. If something goes wrong, look to Taichi, and if Taichi is not around, turn to Yamato. It was simple and easy to remember, and pretty much the mantra that had managed to keep them all in one piece during their many escapades, even though lately they hadn’t had much of a success with it since both Taichi and Yamato were butting heads so frequently. Mimi was liking this new side of Yamato however, it was different from what she remembered of him from their childhood, and his recent tenacity was something she could relate to and even found herself drawn towards.

“I don’t think we should move about carelessly.”

She raised her eyebrows, well that was unexpected, and even a little bit disappointing. She could’ve expected that kind of statement from Jou or Koushiro, but given the recent circumstances, Mimi assumed that the blond would be ready to go all out at any given moment. She stood up, dusting off the dirt from her skirt, she wasn’t going to sit around and wait to be found.

“Suit yourself, I’m going to go look for Palmon and the others.”

Mimi moved to make her way out of the cave, but Yamato raised his arm, blocking the entrance as he shot her a glare, “I’m worried about Gabumon and Takeru too, but you saw what happened, do you really think it’s a good idea to go out there without our Digimon partners?”

He was referring to the attack that had broken the group from their brief moment of slumber and had unexpectedly split them up. A shiver ran down Mimi’s arms as she remembered the daunting size of the Digimon that had attacked them out of nowhere, and internally she couldn’t help but agree with what her senior was saying. It was not a good idea to move around carelessly, but it was an idea and that’s what she needed right now instead of sitting still and waiting for someone to come calling.

“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” Mimi began, raising her eyes to meet his frowning gaze, “but maybe that’s what the others are thinking too, so how will we find each other if no one makes a move? We didn’t come to the Digital World to sit around and wait for help to find us, at least I know I didn’t.”

She knew she had hit a nerve and she did feel a bit guilty about it, ever since the whole thing with Meicoomon had begun the one who had been advocating for action the most had been Yamato, so for her to suddenly chide him about sitting tight was a low blow on her account. But she couldn’t help it, Mimi could feel the restlessness racing through her veins for every minute they spent together inside the cave. She had never spent so much time alone with him at such close proximity and the new feelings that were being stirred up in her heart when she looked at him, broad shoulders firm with determination as he refused to lower his arm and allow her to pass through, were completely unfamiliar to her.

“So you would gladly leave me behind?”

His voice was just a tone above a whisper but it was almost as if it rang through the cave like a loud, blaring alarm. It takes two to tango, is what his captivatingly blue eyes were saying as they fiercely peered into her own, if Mimi wasn’t afraid to cut corners then neither was he, which made it all the more difficult for her to look away and actually respond to his question. Not that coming up with an answer to his question would be easy, the way he was staring at her made it seem like he could look directly into her soul and would be able to sniff out any lies.

But Mimi had managed to dye her hair pink without her parents finding out until she walked out of her room with her hair bouncing about like a cart of cotton candy had exploded on it. She could handle one blond tundra.

“Gladly,” Mimi said, her voice slightly quivering, but still managed to resound firmly around them. She took a step forward, hoping that the threat of proximity would make Yamato lower his arm and give her the space to make her exit, but instead, he just tightened his grip on the rocky wall, muscles taut around his arms as he continued to stare her down, challenging her to come even closer.

She swallowed a gulp, he was the last person she expected to raise the stakes in a situation like this, what she had expected was that he’d get embarrassed and she’d take that opportunity to take the upper hand and make her escape. However, in the moment it was Mimi who felt embarrassed as she realised that if she raised her fingers just a little bit, she might be able to trace the shape of the tense muscles that clung to the white fabric of the shirt, and as crazy as it sounded to her, that’s all she could think about as they stood close facing each other down with such a fiery determination for perhaps the first time since they had met on the bus to summer camp all those years ago.

Why Yamato had decided to meet her challenge was still something she was unsure of, under normal circumstances he might’ve silently glared daggers at her and focused his attention elsewhere, that’s how he usually fought with people who weren’t Taichi, but then again Mimi and he had rarely ever disagreed on anything before, so there was no way for her to know how he would push back in an argument against her. She wished somewhere deep down, that if this was how things were going to go down, then she had been better off not knowing at all.

Mimi squeezed her eyes shut and tried to get the image of the blond looming over her in all his handsomeness out of her mind, what was important right now was winning this game so she could put some distance between the two of them and never have to deal with all these feelings stirring up inside her ever again. All she needed were a couple of words that would do the trick, they didn’t even need to sting per se but just surprise him enough for her to get a shot at creating an opening in the barrier that he had put up, metaphorically and physically both.

“I’m not intimidated by you.” She began, raising her voice by a pitch that made him wince as he looked over at her with humorous doubt, “In fact, I’m rarely intimidated by people I don’t care much about. And you’re one of them.” Mimi folded her arms across her chest and met his eyes with equal vigour, letting him know through her posture that she too was firm in her decisions and he wouldn’t be able to change her mind with a few lousy tactics. Lying wasn’t something she was particularly good at but the tension in the air gave her the strength to step out of her comfort zone and make a bold statement that would surely hit all the right notes and make Yamato angry enough to lose his cool.

But lately, he had been full of surprises and Mimi should've known better.

Just for a moment, she saw anger flash across Yamato's eyes before he covered it up with an expression she did not recognize. The corner of his mouth curved into a ruthless smirk as without a warning he lowered his head to level with her face, the tip of their noses now only centimetres apart. His warm breath brushed past her chin, which considering the chilliness surrounding them would have been a welcome feeling if Mimi’s whole body hadn’t frozen at the sudden lack of distance between the two of them. She wanted to lift her hands and push them against his toned chest so he would be forced to take a few steps back, she wanted to turn on her heels and stalk back into the inner depths of the cave so the cold air could help douse the fiery excitement that was now rushing through her veins.

But her hands and her feet refused to listen to her demands and stayed put, she felt a hot, burning sensation take over her cheeks as Yamato’s gaze dropped to her lips for just a brief moment, before his eyes met hers again, shining with an emotion she couldn’t find the right words to describe with. Mimi could feel her heart thumping rapidly against her chest, its hammering drowned out the faint pitter-patter of the rain outside in her ears, and she meekly prayed that the loud sound couldn’t reach Yamato because the air of confidence she had put on would crumble the minute he knew how nervous being this close to him made her feel.

Her prayers went unheard of course as the smirk on Yamato’s widened with amusement.

“Are you sure about that, princess? Because your heart is beating too fast to be close to someone you don’t care about.”

A soft whimper escaped her lips, and Mimi was ashamed of her reaction but her voice seemed to have gotten lost somewhere deep inside her throat. It was almost unbelievable that she was losing a battle of stubbornness against Yamato of all people, so all Mimi could do was blame the change in her attitude on the stupidly cold cave that made her long for the warmth of excitement that came with being the absolute centre of Yamato’s attention. She also blamed the Digimon that appeared out of nowhere and separated their little group in such an odd manner. Because she was sure that if a few more of their friends and their Digimon partners were around, this disagreement of theirs would have ended with both of them huffing and puffing and turning away from each other, not with their faces hovering so close that a single a push or a trip of her feet could send her lips crashing onto his-

“Yamato san, Yamato san, can you hear me?”

The two teens immediately pulled back at the sound of their friend’s voice. Mimi took a few steps back into the cave, her hands pressed to her cheek as she tried to hide the redness across her face. While Yamato ended up stepping out of the cave and into the rain, his pale cheeks however, betrayed no hint of embarrassment, only his chest fell and rose irregularly as he took a few deep breaths.

“Yamato san, can you hear me?”

The two turned their attention to the source of the voice, Yamato's digivice which was attached to his pant’s belt loop. Frowning, the blond removed it from his pants and raised it towards his mouth, responding in a hesitant tone.

“Koushiro?”

“Yes! I’m glad I was able to connect with you too. I’ve gotten hold of everyone else, well except Mimi san but I was planning to reach out to her next.”

The digivice being used as a walkie-talkie was something new to both of them, but if someone was capable of figuring that out it was Koushiro. Yamato lowered the digivice, holding it between the two of them so Mimi could lean in closer and listen better too.

“Mimi’s with me.”

It was a simple statement, a factual one in fact, but the words made Mimi’s stomach churn unbearably. She wanted to slap herself across the face just to get out of this stupor she seemed to be under, Yamato and she had never been anything more than casual friends, and she should know better than to dream of something more.

“I see...That’s...uh that’s good to hear.”

Koushiro’s voice seemed more timid than earlier, as if he was not happy to hear about how the two of them had ended up together. Yamato too must have noticed the change in their friend’s voice as he scowled at the device in his hand, possibly annoyed that Koushiro would take a dire situation like this and make it about his feelings for the brunette.

“What do we need to do next?” Yamato cut right to the chase, the urgency in his voice made it seem like he wanted to put an end to the whole dilemma of being stuck alone with Mimi as soon as possible and that finally made the jumbled-up feelings inside of her calm down for a minute.

“Let me explain the rendezvous location to you…”

Mimi tuned out the conversation, knowing that Yamato would guide her in the right direction, she took that time to collect herself instead. By the time they left the cave and followed Koushiro’s directions to where they would meet up with their friends, the surge of emotions she’d felt by simply being around Yamato alone began to simmer down. The two walked in silence, with Mimi trailing slightly behind. She was dragging her feet across the ground so slowly, which came as a surprise to Yamato and he would often turn to check if she was still around. He must have thought her behaviour odd, considering how aggressively Mimi had wanted to get out of the cave to go look for Palmon a while ago.

But now, she knew that the minute the two would reunite with their friends the problems surrounding the Digital World would take centre stage in both their minds. Until the battle was over the two would probably never get the chance to think about what had almost happened between them in the cave. What Mimi feared the most, however, was that both of them would eventually forget the heated moment they had shared and never again make an attempt to get close to each other.

Which is why she walked slowly, to keep the memory of Yamato’s mesmerising blue eyes staring at her lips fresh in her mind for as long as she could. Deep down she hoped that Yamato would do the same, because maybe, just maybe if both of them held onto the memory of their tryst tightly, it wouldn’t wither out as a dream and remain rooted in their minds as something real for years to come.

- x -

#mimatoweek2023 #mimato week #mimato #yamato ishida #mimi tachikawa #digimon #digimon fanfiction #digimon adventure tri #canon divergence #writealot #you can tell the last half was written recently 🤣

[t0mcruize123]

stuck with you

Part three🎀🫶

I liked writing this part A LOT ngl it’s a little snippet of the smut to come in part 4 so prepare yourself 🤭

~Part 3~

Rain splattered onto the hotel window as the tv screen blared colourfully. We’d planned on heading out for LA today but it’d been raining for hours, and Ray refused to leave the hotel. Instead, me and Charlie had been flicking through channels all day and playing truth or dare. It sounded boring but to be honest, I was having more fun than I’d had in weeks. I was learning so much and he wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d originally thought.

“It’s supposed to be 8 fish sticks,” Raymond mumbled as Charlie set his food in front of him.

“You want 8?” He sliced the 4 fish sticks in half, “There’s 8.”

I smiled as he sat down next to me on the bed, “Once he’s finished we’ll hit the road.”

“We don’t have to go out today, if you don’t want to,” my gaze flickered from him to the tv, “It’s getting late.”

“What would we do if we stayed here?” His voice lowered, “Watch Tv and play games?”

My tongue darted over my lips instinctively, “Yeah…if you want to.”

“And if I don’t?”

Was he messing with me? He was close enough that his arm was brushing mine and I couldn’t tell if he’d shuffled closer or not.

“Well then we’ll have to find some way to keep you occupied,” the corner of my lip lifted as my stare slid to his. His eyes were piercing in the light and my head began to spin.

A smirk played at his lips, “Oh yeah?” I liked playful Charlie but I had to admit angry Charlie made my heart pound the most. there was something about his hands and the way his voice rose as he yelled that made my stomach flutter. I shouldn’t have been attracted to something so toxic and yet I found myself falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole.

“A sonnet,” Raymond mumbled and our heads snapped to his.

“What?” Charlie’s brow raised.

I nodded to the tv, “A fourteen line love poem.”

His lips parted, “How does my brother know what a sonnet is but not money? How is that even possible?”

He clambered to his feet and turned to the window, “You take a shower Ray? Hm?” Ray continued to eat as Charlie’s voice rose, “Ray, you take a shower right?”

“Yeah.”

“Right?” His hands flew up, “It’s the same thing as the rain, you get a little wet.”

Ray continued to ignore him and I cut in, “We can just go out tomorow Charlie-“

“And if it’s still raining then? We’re wasting valuable time!” He rested his palms on the window ledge, “What do you say Ray, what do you say? Huh?”

“Course the showers in the bathroom,” he stared down at his plate as Charlie rolled his eyes.

“That’s the end of that conversation,” he murmured lowly and I covered my mouth to hide my smile.

The sunlight beamed down upon us as we sat in Charlie’s car in a comfortable silence. Charlie had just made a call and was quietly thinking whilst I sat at his side.

“It’s so beautiful,” I squinted as I looked up at the sun, basking in its warmth.

“It is,” he agreed, though his gaze was on me rather than any star in the sky, “So are you just here for your sisters wedding?”

I nodded, “Yeah…it’s quite embarrassing actually.”

He frowned, “What is?”

“I actually planned to meet somebody there,” I confessed quietly, “I haven’t dated anybody in a while and my sisters trying to set me up with the best man at the wedding.”

His lips parted in surprise, “Oh..what’s his name?”

My mouth opened to reply though I stilled, “I’m…I actually can’t remember.”

“You can’t remember the name of your date?”

“I’ve never met the guy! And to be honest, I have no care for him, I’m only agreeing to go on a date with him for my sisters sake.”

He thought about it for a moment, “Why is she trying to force you with him so much?”

“Because…,” my stomach twisted, “I haven’t dated anyone in a long time.”

“How long is a long time?”

I pinned him with a glare and he drew back, “No judgment I promise, you can tell me.”

But it was just so embarrassing, “A year.”

His brow rose ever so slightly and I argued, “You promised no judgement!”

“I’m not judging you, I’m judging the guys in your area,” he mumbled quietly, “How have you not had a boyfriend in a year? Are all the men you’ve ever met completely insane?”

I looked to the side to hide my flaming cheeks, “What do you mean?”

“I just don’t understand how you of all people, can’t attract a boyfriend.”

“Oh I can,” I cut in, “I just reject the men that come my way. I haven’t been particularly lucky in the love department, I’ve dated many dickheads in my time.”

“Oh really?” He gave me a soft smile, “I’m not very lucky either, I haven’t dated anyone in a few months. I jusr don’t have the time.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, “You know my last boyfriend dumped me on Christmas Day.”

His jaw went slack, “What?”

“Mhm, said I was getting too fat,” I grinned, “It’s alright you can laugh.”

“But that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, you’re figure it’s-“ he swallowed hard and tried to regain his composure, “You know it was the first thing I noticed about you.”

His fingers brushed mine ever slightly and I inhaled sharply. It’d been a long time since I’d physically reacted to such a small touch, and I liked the way my heart began to pound. When I was with Charlie, my head didn’t spin and my palms didn’t sweat. I was simply comfortable, and for some reason that made me surge with confidence.

Before I could rethink it, I swung my leg around and clambered over onto Charlie’s lap. His eyes widened ever so slightly in surprise though his hands instinctively came up to my back. I’d never felt the desire to kiss somebody like this before - like if I didn’t, I would’ve have survived another second. I needed the air he was holding, I wanted it back.

My face moved closer to his and his pupils dilated though the lighting had not changed. His hands rubbed small circles at my back and I felt small shocks run through my body. My clothes were a barrier between his hot hands against my skin, but we were in a crowded area and I wasnt going to get so carried away in public. I just needed one kiss. A distraction to feed this insatiable desire coursing through my core, I just needed him before we went our seperate ways. We both wanted it, I knew it in the way he glanced at me when he thought I wasn’t looking and how easy we fit together. I wasn’t fighting anymore - I was completely vulnerable in front of Charlie and yet I felt completely safe.

His eyes stayed locked on mine as his hand slipped beneath my shirt and he grazed my stomach with his thumb. I released a pent up breath and the corner of his lip lifted as he trailed his nose across my jaw. He seemed to enjoy taking his time and my heart pounded as his eyelids fluttered. He’d been so surprised but clearly he needed this as much as i did.

A gasp escaped My lips as Charlie pressed his mouth against the skin of my collarbone and glided his tongue across it. He kissed me as though he were tasting me, and I pulled him closer with desire. I needed his wet mouth on mine, his tongue slipping through my lips, his hands in my hair.

But he was holding back. Torturing me with small teasing kisses that were driving me insane.

He moved impossibly closer and kissed the corner of my mouth, making me lick my lips instinctively. He groaned and I could feel him growing hard beneath me, desperate to fill me but trying to restrain himself.

“Just give in Charlie,” I murmured lowly, and I didn’t care how pathetic my voice sounded as I begged. I could feel the size of him between my thighs and I grew hot and slick on his lap.

“You’re so needy you’d settle for riding my thigh right now wouldn’t you?” He smiled against my lips, “But I’m not giving you that right now, darling. When I take you, I’m taking you fully and completely.”

I drew back and his gaze seemed to darken, “When I fuck you I want all of you, and not in a crappy car but in a bed where I can see every inch of that beautiful body of yours and do everything, and I mean everything…I’ve imagined doing to you.”

His hands tightened at my hips and I swallowed back a moan, “Now be patient.”

God, he made it sound like it was easy, “And if I don’t?”

His brow raised in warning, “Then I’ll have to teach you.”

He made it sound like a threat but I’d never been more turned on in my life. We were both still fully clothed and yet my panties were soaked and my legs were so open they were pressed against the car door - This was a new low, even for me.

There was a yell in the distance and both or heads turned to the side, “What was that?”

Charlie looked to the store at our left, “I told Ray to stay in there but I don’t see him.”

I climbed off his lap and together we made our way out of the car, “Ray?

Cars began to honk and the sound of people arguing grew louder and louder. My pulse thrummed as we rounded the corner and turned onto the new street. I hadn’t known Raymond for long but knew that to find him, you’d probably have to just follow the sound of chaos.

“Ray?!” Charlie yelled, his steps perfectly in sync with the pounding of my heart. We rushed down the street and I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw Ray standing there.

In the middle of the road.

Traffic was standing still surrounding him and a tall man was shouting words I couldn’t hear from so far away. Charlie cursed under his breath and made his way through the crowd.

“Hey it’s alright! It’s alright!” Charlie rushed to his brothers side and I followed closely behind, “Hey it’s alright, I’m so sorry about him. Raymond come on.”

Ray took a step in the wrong direction and Charlie touched his arm, “Raymond come on Ray, come on,”

“It said dont walk,” he mumbled defensively and I noticed the sign with block letters.

Charlie looked at me and I shrugged, “It does say don’t walk.”

He shook his head though I noticed the small smile playing at his lips, “Don’t encourage him.”

#fanfic #tom cruise #romance #enemies to lovers #rain man #charlie babbitt

[muddyorbsblr]

15 Questions

Thank you @ladyofthestayingpower @mochie85 and @littlespaceyelf for the tags! 💖💛

1. Are you named after anyone?

My first name (a variation of Stephanie)…no. But my 2nd name and also my preferred name, Allison, was actually originally my mother's name (only hers was spelled Allyson) and she hated it on her so she passed it on to me…? That's a whole lot of shit I gotta unpack one of these days 🥴🫡

2. When was the last time you cried?

I chose violence last week and decided to flesh out what the Season 2B finale of 'relinquish the crown' would look like, decided to title it 'relinquish the crown: you're losing me', and yep…that had me crying for a few good minutes. Whelp--

3. Do you have kids?

Lol no. My aspiration is to be cool rich aunt to my friends' kids.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Yes and IRLs despise me for it

5. What sports do you play / have you played?

🤣🤣🤣 …ohh wait, you're serious aight well…shit… I had a trainer for table tennis when I was in my late teens purely for fitness purposes and so my father had someone to do drills with.

6. What's the first thing you notice about other people?

Their eyes.

7. What's your eye color?

Brown. Hence the username "muddyorbs" 🤣🤣

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Anyone who knows me from my horror narration days will probably choke on air at this but…happy endings, all the way.

9. Any special talents?

I'd like to think writing…and then after that I dunno, calligraphy, I guess? 😳👀

10. Where were you born?

Manila

11. What are your hobbies?

Diamond painting, coloring apps, voiceover (once in a blue moon), writing, making moodboards (when inspiration strikes), watching YouTube and retaining a whole library of random information I like to whip out when the time is right.

12. Do you have any pets?

Building doesn't allow any pets sadly (which might be a good thing because I have no idea if I'm capable of keeping another living thing alive when I'm struggling taking care of myself lol), but I have a lot of stuffed toys that I have to share with y'all one of these days

13. How tall are you?

5'4", and it's ridiculous that despite being this smol, I look like I'm tol when I go outside because most people I come across are 5'1" and under. (Just can't stand beside my father because he's 5'10" and suddenly I am smol again)

14. Favorite subject in school?

English. Honestly wasn't a big fan of the books we had for required reading, but during my Junior year in High School, we had a few weeks just dedicated to Edgar Allan Poe and that's probably my favorite memory from those 4 forsaken years lol…ohh, and that one week where we learned about sonnets and I had to write one. Good times, goooooood times.

15. Dream job?

Book reviewer. If there's a way for me to make some "sit back and relax in my humble lil mansion/penthouse" money from just reading books and hyping it up on the internet for everyone to see, then that's what I want. All my friends putting out books and lil ol' me in my reading nook, hyping them up. And then occasionally I'll come out with something of my own…maybe. When the mood strikes.

tags (if you've done it, pls disregard 😅): @holdmytesseract @infinitystoner @give-me-a-moose @maple-seed @alexakeyloveloki @liminalpebble @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @fictive-sl0th @smolvenger @wheredafandomat @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @joyful-enchantress @coldnique

#tag games #15 questions

[rustbeltjessie]

from Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg (Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, Bill Morgan & David Stanford)

Allen Ginsberg [n.p., New York, New York?]

to Jack Kerouac [n.p., New York, New York?]

after May 18, 1948

Monday Night : 1:30

Dear Jack:

I got your letter Sat. evening—I had been in Paterson for a few days. I will be in this weekend (in N.Y.).

You seemed overly proud that it was “ancient material.” What I was saying   in part (lesser part) was that it was not recognizable (to me in your prose) but but but. This is not the same old maturity that I (as [Bill] Gilmore) have been talking about before. This is something I wouldn’t have the slightest idea if Gilmore would understand and don’t care much. But you are right, perhaps it’s under my nose in you. This is a kick I don’t want to continue.

School is over and I have been reading Dante, which I have found very inspiring. I finished the Divine Comedy during the term, and am reading books including The Vita Nuova (New Life) [by Dante Alighieri]. I dreamed up an enormous tentative plan tonight, which I will tell you about. My interest in reading is the profit by other men’s experience. I sometimes find (only “lately) authors talking directly to me, from the bottom of their minds. I think I am going to write a sonnet sequence. I want to read Petrarch and Shakespeare, Spencer and Sidney, etc. and learn about sonnets from beginning to end, and write a series on love, perfectly, newly conceived. I conceived the whole idea all at once seeing the first word in a title embedded in a page of the Vita Nuova: my poems have always been prophesied by their titles. That is, a poem often has a single “transcendent, personal, and serious idea” behind it, as a novel—a single image. I want to celebrate my “lovers” in all various manners, intellectually, wittily, passionately, raptly, nostalgically, pensively, beautifully, realistically, “soberly,” enthusiastically, etc., every possible perception fitted out in inwrought, clear, complex stanzas—including the one as yet undefined or un-stated mood, or better, knowledge, that I have and that at times you are aware that I have, no matter how silly I get. The title of this is: “The Fantasy of the Fair.” Just repeat it aloud, it carries the whole idea in it. One of the major ideas is the dynamic sense of “Lucien’s “Face” which you once propounded to me and which I half understood at the time. I want to formulate it poetically, if possible as the end of the poem, but without any private or subjective, or N.Y. idea of L.I. [Long Island] use the name to bridge at the moment. I am talking about humanity, and beginning to try to write in eternity.

I have been enduring a series of troublesome dreams lately about Neal [Cassady]. Your notice comes at about the crisis of them, though it is not a passional crisis and is accompanied by no tempests of intellect. I wonder what he is doing in his eternity. I feel so far away from people, without loneliness, that I am rather happy now. [ . . . ]

I’m not worried about the theory of writing, I am only just vering the practice. The Doldrums are antiquated. For that reason I am sending poetry out for the first time. I got my first rejection slip from Kenyon; a note from J.C. Ransom, editor and poet: “I like very much this slow, iterative, organized and reflective poem. At times it’s like a sestina. Thank you for sending it. But still I think it’s not “for us exactly. I guess we need a more compacted thing.”

I had sent them “Denver D. [Doldrums]” but, as luck would have it, I have some compacted things around that he will get next week.

Your season sounds beautiful. I particularly wish I had seen Lucien so drunk. Make what you want out of that.

No, it sounded like you. (Some one is singing a ditty “So please pass a little piece of pizza”) and it makes me wish I were alive, that’s why I can’t say any more.

Everybody’s fine, but it’s sweet, beautiful, but not so dumb, this world. Lucien means dumb because we don’t know what we know. I mean, won’t admit how much we know.

White said that Scribner’s rejected you, too, just like the goil. Can I see the novel [The Town and the City]? But don’t worry, it really don’t mean a thing. That’s my opinion.

Grebsnig

#quotations #typography #letters #allen ginsberg #jack kerouac #god this gives me so many feelings

[clickerflight]

October 2023 - Sandstorm: Part 1

Here we go. So, instead of doing Whumptober, I decided to just write a whole short story about Matsu and Laurance from the Adventurers. You can read more about the Adventurers in my challenges on my masterlist.

So, I already have a bit written of this story, and the plan is that I'm posting three google doc pages a day until I run out of story. This means that this project could go on past October or run out before October ends. We shall see.

If you would like to be tagged for parts of this short story, let me know. If you would like to be tagged in any and all Adventurers stuff I may write in the future, also let me know.

Let's get started.

Masterlist

Content: Burst eardrums, drugging

.......................................

“Are we there yet?” Matsu murmured good naturedly to Laurance, who snorted. 

“Let’s see, looks like we have approximately 2 days 3 hours and 50 minutes left in our trip,” Laurance said, checking the imaginary watch on his wrist. “About 20 minutes less since the last time you asked me.”

Matsu smiled as Laurance continued, “Look man, if you’ve run out of things to talk about, that’s on you.”

“Well, you’ve already banned me from talking about the heat, the sand, and what I think the sand dunes in the distance look like, so what else is there?”

Laurance rolled his eyes shifting his weight as his carromount slid a little in the sand, walking a little too close to the edge of the dune they were traveling over. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Laurance said, patting his carromount’s neck gently which had the beast’s long, snaking neck twisting so he could lick at Laurance’s fingers to let him know he was okay. “We could write beautiful sonnets about our lovely wives to perform at them when we get home.”

Matsu groaned. “Does Anisha even like that?”

Laurance frowned, thinking about it. “She would appreciate the effort.”

“Mmm, mine would lovingly throw a wrench at me,” Matsu replied. 

“Only cause your sonnets are terrible. There is an unwritten rule across the galaxy that says that terrible performers get things thrown at them. You should be honored that your performances produce such strong emotions,” Laurance said. “That is what it is to be an artist.”

Matsu rolled his eyes, turning his attention to the carromounts ahead of them, fixing his head scarf and the wide band of dark glass that kept the sun from hurting his eyes too much. There were three beasts with riders ahead of them and two more behind with the carromounts carrying supplies behind that. One of the three ahead of them was an ambassador they were escorting, dressed in fine silks under her sun cloak. The two guards with her were men from her country, the two behind them were men hired at the last city they were at to make sure they didn’t get lost, and Laurance and Matsu were there to make sure that no one portalled in and kidnapped her ladyship while they crossed the desert. 

Not like that was very likely. She was traveling to make a very uncontroversial deal, from what Matsu understood, and he was still a little miffed about being asked to come. He and Laurance were extreme overkill being from one of the most overpowered resource teams the Kahtir had to offer, but here he was, a half mer out in a desert, escorting an ambassador who clearly didn’t think very much of them. 

She was probably from the group of politicians who would like to see the Kahtir destroyed, no matter the help and services they provided throughout the galaxy. 

Matsu honestly just wanted to go home.

Laurance noticed his friend’s mood easily enough and said, “Cheer up, Tsu. We’ll be home soon. We should go out to a lake or ocean somewhere after this.”

Matsu did like the sound of that. “Only if you’re ready to spend days there. Once I hit the water, I am not leaving for, like, a week.”

Laurance laughed. “That’s fair. I wouldn’t mind-”

Laurance straightened up on his carromount, staring out across the sand dunes. Matsu did the same, looking out where his teammate was looking. 

The horizon warped strangely, and not in the way it usually did under the heat of the sun. 

Laurance switched over into the Ambassador's language and called out, “Halt! Stop! There’s a Wyrm coming!”

The rest of their party reacted quickly, getting off of their carromounts and getting them to lay down silently, sitting alongside them as well. 

Laurance slid off his carromount, calling one of his swords to him by magic while coaxing his mount to lay down. 

The beast did so willingly as Matsu drew his enchanted crossbow, magic humming at the strings as the two stood still in the sands, watching the ripple in the sands silently. 

Laurance tracked the movement, narrowing his eyes at it as it twisted and turned in a typical searching pattern. He calculated that it would pass right on by their little group just fine, unable to sense them if no one moved and shifted the sand too much. 

The ancient creature bubbled the sand around itself as it burrowed past them. The carrowbeasts, now confronted with their number one predator, sat absolutely still in the sands. Laurance felt the rumbling up through his legs as the creature finally moved past them. 

Still, they would need to stand in silence for a little while long to make sure it didn’t hear them and come back for them, which wouldn’t be a problem because Laurance had told everyone over and over again what they would need to do if a wyrm crossed their path so-

One of the ambassador’s personal guards stood up, already chattering to his companions, relief filling his face. 

“Hold,” Laurance hissed. “Be still.”

But a horrible, excited shriek had filled the earth around them, vibrating the sand enough that Laurance found himself sinking in up to his ankles. 

Laurance forced himself out with an angry growl, throwing a glare at the guard who had gone ghostly pale.

Matsu was already on the move, his scarves and sun coat fluttering around him as he traveled over the sand. 

This was Matsu and Laurance’s other job on this mission. Fight off creatures too big for any sane person to take on. 

Matsu let off a bolt of light, timed just right as the creature’s massive head broke the surface of the dunes. 

The bolt struck the wyrm in the jaw, unhinging its left side. It screamed again, this time loud enough to send Matsu to the sand, holding bleeding ears as we waited for them to heal. 

Laurance was already running past him. He reached down for extra strength and magic, pulling at his power hard enough that black colorations saturated up his wrists from his fingers and demonic horns curled up over his head from his temples. 

Matsu had blasted the wyrm’s jaw so it couldn’t plow back into the earth properly. It tried eagerly, but it only caused itself more and more damage with each attempt. 

Laurance leapt, the sand taking a lot of his momentum, but still allowing him to bring his sword down into the creature’s rubbery flesh and use it as an anchor point to keep from falling. 

“This always happens,” he muttered to himself in his own language as he hauled himself up using the sword and his clawed fingers. “Every time, a mission is going smoothly and we tell everyone what to do, and some idiot messes it up every single time and now I have to kill a wyrm and-”

Laurance’s tirade against the stupidity of people in general was cut short as the creature shook its head hard, trying to shake him off. 

Laurance clung to its head with his claws, tucking his chin to his chest to keep from getting his head whipped from side to side. He managed to kick off his boots, the momentum of the Wyrm’s shaking sending them flying to who knows where, but without them, Laurance could dig clawed toes into flesh as well, making it so he could actually get somewhere where he could kill the worm. 

It was also nice to lose the shoes in general. His demon feet were typically larger than his normal feet because of the extra toes. 

He scrambled up, leaving the sword where it was and searching for somewhere lethal to stab the beast. 

‘Three handwidths in from the middle divot,’ Matsu said through the bond. 

“Thanks,” Laurance muttered, not really able to muster the concentration to send it back through the bond as he found the spot. He summoned a long dagger and lifted it over his head with one hand before jamming it deep  into the Wyrm’s flesh. 

The Wyrm shrieked madly, writhing and twitching. Laurance heard something rumble, like a very muffled explosion. Matsu must have sent some sort of incendiary spell, potion, or device down into the Wyrm’s throat to see if he could explode its main heart. 

The Wyrm shuddered and Laurance twisted the blade in deeper. The world was still for just a moment, the wyrm’s writhing stopping. 

Then, Laurance was falling along with the head. It slammed to the ground and he clung to it as it bounced up and then hit the ground again. 

“Who got the kill?” Matsu called, hurrying over. 

“Heck if I know,” Laurance replied. “We can say it’s both of ours, right?”

“Not as fun,” Matsu replied, looking over the Wyrm with his hands on his hips. “Look at that…. I’m going to collect some of it’s globberstoff.”

“Cool, yeah,” Laurance said, standing up and jerking his blades out of the Wyrm’s heads and giving them a preliminary wipe down before sending them back to his weapons room where he summoned them from, mentally promising to clean them thoroughly when they made camp later. “Hey, you didn’t happen to see where my shoes went, did you?”

“Oh, yeah, I did. Over past that dune,” Matsu said, pointing before he crouched down and summoned a staff from his own weapon’s room to prop the Wyrm’s mouth open to collect the slime he wanted. 

Laurance nodded and gave a faint wave to the rest of their party, letting them know everything was alright as his demon qualities faded away and he went out to find his shoes. 

He sighed softly to himself, the sand hot under his feet though unable to really burn him as he spotted one of his shoes. 

He bent down to pick it up, hearing someone coming down the sand dune towards him. 

He looked up to see the ambassador and one of her guards, the smarter one, coming down to him. 

“That was incredible!” the ambassador called, impressed as the two hired men from town stood on the ridge, standing on the lookout. “The Kahtir really sent me their finest warriors.”

“Thanks,” Laurance said, looking around for his other shoe. “It’s not too hard to kill Wyrms once you know the trick, actually. Now, did you see where my other shoe went?”

“Oh, I think I see it over there,” the ambassador said. Laurance turned to look when he felt something prick at his neck. 

He stumbled away, slapping his hand over the spot to see the guard standing with something pointy in hand and the ambassador grinning, but that was as far as he got before his body suddenly gave out on him. 

Part 2

Let me know if you want to be on the taglist

#whump #short story #october #whumptober #burst eardrums #drugging #kidnapping #human trafficking

[wordsandstrangeways]

Tagged by @wishflower4 (I had not done been tagged before because I lurk on the internet like a pond frog)

And I'm gonna tag @makesometime who will likely get far more interaction than I do and may have done it before <3

Rules: Go to your published works on AO3 and list the first fic you ever published there, the last fic you published, any fic that you wrote for a fandom/ship only once, your favorite fic you wrote in the fandom/ship that has the most works, the fic you wish more people read, the fic you agonized over the most, the fic that sprang fully formed from your mind without any effort, and a work you are proud of—for whatever reason.

First fic published on Ao3: A Moment Eternal with @iguanastevens March 2021, just post Magnus Finale when we were sad and got into aggressive poetry battles on RQO

Last fic published: You're my delusion Jarthur Malevolent fic and also my 69th! So.. so it's 69ing.

Fandom/ship I only wrote once: The mechanisms, and I'm not linking it because though it's not terrible it's also not one I like to think about too often, Silver Tongued Devil if you want to go find it.

Favorite fic in most popular fandom/ship: The Magnus Archives is the most popular fandom I've written for and I guess my favourite is A Soft, Consuming Embrace as it was the first true narrative fic I ever published, John wakes up to find the Lonely rushed in to fill the Eye's space.

Fic I wish more people read: Hmmmmm, I'm gonna be cheeky and say the RQBB Fic I wrote with @makesometime: A Chance To Run because I think it's a really solid narrative that is a love letter to RQG and it came at a time when the fandom was waning but I believe holds its own and Zolf and Oscar deserve their gin soaked speak easy. It can also be read as either SFW or exceedingly NSFW based on chapter headings and I think to be able to weave that together in the chapters was really cool of us.

Fic I agonized over: If I were being glib I'd say all of the kinktober fics I've published which can be found in my kinktobAmS series and are for but being serious I'd say I don't have an agenda. This is the final installment of my RQG 18m gap exploration of what's going on in the heads of Wilde, Zolf, Barnes and Carter and Carter's was the final one and it was like pulling teeth. I wanted to get his voice right so badly. I think it went okay.

Fic that popped out fully-formed: Conversely, the first in that series (Say something , do it soon) flowed out of me like water. I adore Wilde in so many ways, I have spent a lot of time thinking about the way he thinks and what motivates him and It's too quiet in this room was like writing down something being dictated it flowed so well

Fic I'm proud of: This is a toss up between Stems of White, Flowers of Green and Lets be flexible about this (both RQG). Writing both I made myself cry, just a little. The heartache of the first (a fic about Zolf's life when Oscar has died and returns to him with the blooming of flowers) felt so poigniant at the time and even reading it now it feels like such a lovely them. The latter is my longest SFW fic and was true labour of love. It actually started with a NSFW idea but it got away from me dramatically and I'm really proud of the twists and turns of it. Zolf in physio after losing his leg meets, surprisingly well put together, yoga instructor Oscar Wilde.

I have no idea if any of these will appeal to anyone, but it's funny to think of my random scribblings out there in the wild(e). Special shout out too to my erotic sonnets (all RQG) cause they make laugh and they're great fun. I should write more of those.

#fic ask #@wishflower4 is amazing you should read all of their fic too #malevolent #rqg #rusty quill gaming #zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #my fics I guess #gosh this was introspective in a way I hadn't anticipated this morning

[grandhotelabyss]

Granted that Aimee is a provocatrice who always wants to make the most shocking and reactionary remark she can (re: "red-blooded male" I think of the perennially jejune aesthete who once declaimed, "We all bleed the same red blood"), I will say this for the above Antipodean provocation, as someone who has for 10 years taught "Readings in the Graphic Novel" and "The History of Comics" and who is now writing an epic and controversial novel about a comic-book writer: it's a field where the gap between potential and performance is tragically wide.

I tell myself it's because we're just in the early days. The novel wasn't living up to its potential in 1723, and 1723 for the novel is 2023 for the graphic novel: Austen, Dickens, Balzac, Flaubert, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, Melville, James—none of these have even been born yet.

If you think about it for two seconds, detaching your mind from social prejudice, you will conclude that a static sequential pictorial narrative usually accompanied by words is not an inherently juvenile art form. You can really only think it is if you dismiss or demote the visual tout court, Michelangelo right along with Moebius. But a number of social and economic factors condemned the form early to certain commercial simplicities, especially in America and Japan (less so in Europe, where it's also been taken seriously longer). The misguided rebellion against these commercial simplicities—the apotheosis of ugliness one finds in Crumb and his collaborators and successors—was to my mind a cure worse than the disease, and its legacy for the American "literary" graphic novel has been a disaster. (At least the most crassly commercial superhero artists could—what's the word?—draw.)

The form has produced a smaller handful of masterpieces than anyone wants to acknowledge, and an even smaller number of masterful oeuvres, and even these are compromised by being so shackled to indeed juvenile genres. Added to that, many of what are called masterpieces really aren't; they're flash-in-the-pan political sensations or the cult objects of ephemeral coteries. I can't tell you how many times I've been forced to ask myself: Do I like comics, really? Or do I just like Alan Moore? And how much do I like Alan Moore?

Tough love, I know, but somebody ought to say it every so often. I still believe the best is ahead. As Peter Milligan once said—and he had the talent to produce a significant oeuvre, but for some reason never did—if James Joyce and Pablo Picasso told a story together, it wouldn't be juvenile. And Joyce was interested in the form, while some of Picasso's work seems prophetic of its potential.

Finally, while writing a novel about a graphic novelist, I've felt an envy for the comic-book writer, who has a form as rigorous and rhythmic as a sonnet to work with on every page while I just canter along in prose. There's much to be done; I plan to write a graphic novel myself, in fact, sooner rather than later. The obstacles, however, are real.

In short, I believe the verdict will go against Aimee eventually, but I don't blame the jury for continuing to deliberate.

#comics #graphic novels #aimee terese

[libidomechanica]

Thy neck

A sonnet sequence

               1

But when the sun. Repeated shoulder as in the blythest bird upon the early walk, a wood-coal or the first grew scarce had pass, escape? On what art than just a prettily fondly laid, to the villages. Where the center of his former Catholic schoolboy. Her shone for stood. Thy neck. I fancied it and aye she is dart: but this. It once set free, this more innocuous occupation. All night: so, loveliness won’t believe life? Julia show of admire, forgetting loved had brought. Love a new and singular She is thy love, my honey; I have I come to quench lovers are born.

               2

Or holla for the palm tree, cut down; there she but have missing breath of her heart the sound of time service, not enterwove; as if thou that tomb fair prize, A deale of everywhere it feels right has fall dreamed.—Blythe and put you don’t misreport,—long and tired I look from memory, I would trust her head, which carried loose frequent the feast and I’d plunging wave on forget not go seek, but the power of that. For Johnie o’ my heart o’ leesome love you hence, it would seeming ever met her? When Gaeta’s take his fine-pointed a Saint apace were allows what in the keepe, how far to me.

               3

What of them I reach; and my whole soul loveth: I sought him, and told her sacred flowers, that gladly thee. A skull angry with tenderness. Thus let us goe, which looked through THAT Love is better the sea in the deep vaults. Whose small liking, if unskilled, you my head&to keepe. And curse or kick him not fit mark the smell of gravity, which is the world? Who is short scornful ways; the earth’s poor devil’s Elbow. Where hang a thousand Viva l’ Italia! Ardor burn, nor mermaid’s yellow pride; he who could I see a text that she is so eased to have so longer could I don’t fear to the chiefe light.

               4

Where is to my beloved gone; the flower octave clotted with wit, the aire: hangs free that go astray from the dust, like relish in us had escape writing words, being Christ of the deep snow piled above it all, eat it sinketh, suck my liberty, rights, and yet th’elixir got, the Prior: when you reprove, the cars will drink you! There the iron lung. It was right them split his vocal air, at kirk or markes engraue in my yellow’s simple yet Gibson demolished. With thy speech, you want to dreamed: our friend the Eight as they say that I can starr’d of married loose frequent show he campers.

               5

And tell the Light of Light of delight would kiss, but with one of this world goes all of thine eyes and stream of solitude and forth with love, where else to love, my yankee kin, I thinking off the breasts are asleep I return, return’d to the Power, and strangle her wrists, two bits of the pleasant art can say I’m hung in you! To me all that life into the moonly and a burning. Or, for the bottom the shepherd, but her, or no, for the turtle on it and coldly him embrace; for well as of the soul, and please. And thy love, be briefe in pass-and- repass of the white glow that is thy breath!

               6

Good claret set about going to me. My dust on the night I was number. Ours! Why do thee, in sack of golden pomp is cool again. Let none sees only light. Or when love is bear thy nose and each foot in The Power thankful, ay or no; or when once only: we have relish in the rivers rage and I shall not mind. With me ere long. Float on his net? And morn has been dreams had open to loved that her sunny hair, turn, O Shulamite? It’s … well, well me from you, was forc’d, the lake lies sleep! So we whose approach their than alive—for that dwalt on my knees both demands, now you hurt me, now!

               7

For Charlie Cochran was Werther, and mak’st all I be at fifty should obey a shade, and my own sweet sake a fairy treasure shall come to that came fruit thee defeated, by addition we’re made you use and got men’s love, some eares you always the darksome love, thy son the fruit no bee shall him, and date. I say like dust, like two name and look? Love it, mediating shut, till, you see, in equal verse seeks, the never turned then, when these kissed my head, which came things, and praise in me do for a bell struck—I’m the church knows how, and fling that I could never through THAT Love of my dreams are as good!

               8

Eye doth make, or seasons as if they maun hae their turned away. This, is come for a football with his grief of light with the pledging after years after hard world slowly dies, as endless prove therefore us, I suppose I’ve marriage. Less fellow does not ashamed. Many more than we shall eat when one of the accident, I told of our sprite, disdaine to peer her. Sleep ere I come to myself from vse of tyrant caught and rare flowers at the cruel scorn that fresh Spring in May. Oh now I raised them still, and none is to pray? A growling, prayer! Now what doth spend and look? Those two young and lamb.

               9

To the dreary graves give not let him go, until mine eyes and grammar, vowel sounds, like flying rain; when we shall live so love, my darling. His dying man hath drunken said a wound a little light true that, iste perfecit opus! With one devotion hold you about his brutal scorn that griefe; and the roof of grape, cherry weeping, had ne’er a ane to be such familiar excellence, here burnt, whose each landscape, that which the womb all our Titles should suffer me in whom Nature of his hands. Mother call forged hooks, scrawled in the hills I’ve wander feeble power of that the feast and neat light.

               10

And as always for kissing be such a crime to crucify my lips on his flying words soere shine, of her with my calmly great man, saints and fifteen will strike you see her lilies. And modestly strokes thy belly is as a warm as a warm room, the city tower o’ the decay: if this thunderbird instead of speech itself. Original Intelligences addest,— I lay me wilderness, least word to sleepers; every pride, thy son the thought it near. Than braes o’ dawn are about I’ll still art discover linked with finally am how should do not just that’s the sky, hell’s fire.

               11

From a sepulchre, and I am his: he feedeth among the mark clean again. For a rain is over you … mother, and perfumes keep mind my dizziness is the sprout of my mother praise great round stone heading to earth, or the roof does departest; and sunly and my beloved come o’t what conceive the badge, and merry, what was left hand fold me with a son? I’m becoming of her this spicy night as what thou fairest maid was bom old. Return would flie away. Now reign of course to fields, and sometimes the winds creep softly o’er the lips. Lord, it’s the night seeks, Close tomb fair your hurt! My sister flowing old, waiting thanks. Slouches and out, try at it so. The secret placed wild bird’s window for fret at all it’s full of grated of roses proposing a new news came, instead of thee and rejoice in sun her so, lending an hour in eastern gate, Luke Havergal—luke Havergal.

               12

I will hap some malignant disemburden love and all these loves; never noticed wings where two contracted new come day. They will never having water, beside the world that white glow that an all you call the wings where I could not be despise them from the third, they are, careless passion of all who caper her seat their joyes are like a theefe hid in the heat till more clean, and deliberate human observance.—The beautiful, before than new love were flower in infinite merchange it sweetest has a kiss me, deare captainesse clean, but this sad place hath she but in her flowers I see!

               13

One in blood, like to that sucked in each nightie eating my eight of Lights of song—flowers, and but a monk! The languishable the Dust, the west by the rosebud to not kept. Hope, and thence remove all growth. To find weak point, I think it soon when worked up … zooks, what your mother. My man, woman’s gentle bosom sits that but naked and still through thou feedeth among whisper’d thus condition is adorning. As though I swear it to know me little linnet fondling, pure, was tint, her pap and down, o this fair, keep still till at eight my wine of tender grace. Till call into the bush her locks. The morning.

               14

Whose brows of the foot and love has realme of thee so think till Nature’s own behoof, who was she, whatever rust if you think I made a monument, studies what the more terms with beautiful, O my beloved’s, and blue mountainside my hearse: hereat travail so gladly spent, and what was already two breasts, she made a monk of such burning. Of that swear as the garden steps into words, if only me the stand times shouting, pure, was tender love within the hill, the rosebud with the bushy, and God to refer to, with companions? Forget not there I’ve reared, and staide here at her shining.

               15

I wad in vain bubbled, till lingers on the time for ever. Once lost, can not cover iterance! No, the tried me where entreat one sits no long, god in the fish moving serve more it; friends and owns the badge, and twittered, Kate Brown’s shadow pay? And blue, can’t espy in any one, and pays it went, curtains of Bether. To kill myself, hands have made or is it shows, once my face. Way, I must tell of cares to knows what you distil you be the lives and letter. I write. Now is thy love, get, tell, pointing eyes that I proud heard, and hand, seek’st thou first and rare flower the faces of the early!

               16

Whether way, he burnt, whose stead of laying at the world’s eye that made it for there though thou dost love ae e’ening to the height love me forth her love it must rear ourselves? Thy two years dead Dad kept, and have stood like to me, wherewith his mother’s house, with loved every other slip or faithful troop am I. Lady, won’t even more purply black mark of the spring. But dark heart to pass now we meet. With pewter, bronze, and love bring them. While we are now part of a peacock, sits long years of what comes in clover. Ay, but I am prettily, as is a thing while we are tears, so long despair!

               17

My lassie, in tears, to whom my soul, and in the fooleries. And now, hip to have a second heard love’s syrup, that which my teeth, such familiar sight that’s her would be fountain to the world drops dead words? A delicate change as certain of that wait for mind my youth convertest. Nor cheek, crooned, Goodnight, destroyed by the glistrings, never rat, then western hills beyond whisper in the banks of the bushy, and women’s lost i’ th’ funeral director? Your business and blood that terse must speak. In the river, and have I forgot; nor cherries into her arms pale death, and catcher’s love. With my bodhisattva of neon. Yet with her lip? And gingerbread in that I dream of her died and be said. Goldilocks thy locks: thy nobler seal, and end his broad, sun-spotted egg releases its harvest. Many as spider it was its petal tips; for the pomegranate widow’s eyes!

               18

Then the consequence of loue; that, if ye find a Well of gold. World was bom old. I heard, and old; brother, and waters run o’er, I can shower will doth closer—one day in a row of mountains sloped down with ever-during, give him in vain—and everything himself wildly and thrust into one. Then will never noticed you I try to where the rich proud cost of bloody cloth, and Grisi yet lives will hap some eares young roes than forgot; nor blank; it means hope, my joy! My beloved’s, and thou dost love more to the blue, can’t say, who forbids our heart. That I shall know you as the sprout of woes. And she world should spie, nor blam’d for his bellyful, there doth not know time’s all the world that I might banking deep as a courtesy not I put our love to let out to the feasted, despaire, my beloved; and countenance, let’s best, where erst he met has been’ a moment seemed to be a Jew.

               19

Each Flower of his though in but betters! As who need, that we hae seen by a warble than your desk for his? This transfer a weak, and mute admire, which with thee. To accept itself. For, lo, the user so well as bases deep devotion deep snow piled books, in her key scrape in men. Because man you be the Princes if it shall I dote the thing while under tone came out of a day I’d find a way to light:—must a little chill; and their arms, while understand at the pretty you are twins, which the chromatic scale up: for our sister in part ’tis here? And I’d plunging wave of you!

               20

I’m free sideways was. Whose the memory’s rapturous pains—which is true Love is but see the daughters. Have stood and ovens and our day, and trimm’d with a face down upon a thorn. Your own poor monk of men—man’s daughter beside thing. His dying mayst call freedom, not so. Away by feeding in Sant’ Ambrose, and into the South, I tie then rush’d past, they met or particle and I will builded for a pink casket, those cool waves might comes in men. The effigies them shot himself he can say easily I know the Florentines, saint out to the saved my desires, and thy sciography?

               21

And that has left of a kind them forget the found her small lady in the feather despisd, and do not kill the strange art; and his chamber of useless shall rounds, who come into the world so full the wild Decembers sweet is the Sacrifice. Who hauing go the primal thine owne fiers might sees. Women are the vestal flame was wont to bed is got up, nor any wickedness might my will send his Daughter to this round stopped I have liv’d still, and stumbling suddenly I saw thee, and small, over us. And swamping their order as well she knew she’d just like a is former Catholic school, his please.

               22

Her looks at very morning-star, alike, both diffused the festoon of the Knight! Too lately enough, till he pledging with thee so the wheel at midday moan, and through brows of lusty May! Flowery angel wings, and Giaours throw kerchiefs at a victor’s feet. Weaned my young and love. That Choice is not a clock nor a burning after they’are bush doth Phoebus in our ago, or laces, or a traveling suddenly up, the tip of a hundred. Without pause, up this but there came next Friday! They bear children’s her face; and that a crust, patchy and to be said— Oh Darlings! In well-raisde notes are made of.

               23

Mere emblems of a vanish’d long! Your ugly empty airless as the Starrs, all was her house, and thy son thus his patiently strangle by the rosebud with his Saint Sebastian or snow, how cream-white o’er the loss with tree putteth at his pink casket, those necke beames display? What, bright to say like the wretch approaches, crying: The deepe; griefe but get a winter, who loue, who had but see, now! Hers he fondly on her eyes wobble as swan or snow, yet never stopped in the stept—then these pretty you cause you sit and breasts to me, my beloved me quite dispossessed, to take me. And less for knees.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #153 texts #sonnet sequence

[clubwnderland]

❝ There are only so many words I can use to describe how impactful your love has been. The Devil was once an angel until she fell and my love, you raised me from the Hell I was imprisoned in and gave me life. Love. My eternal soul was always destined to find yours. My forever. My wolf. ❞

𝑯𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒚 𝑽𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒆❜𝒔 𝑫𝒂𝒚

@moonlightchn Christopher

December 12th 2021

I have never imagined that I would find myself in this position. Not after everything that I’ve been through. As I write this, bite marks are healing on my skin that should never have been left behind. I’ve had weapons thrown at me, I’ve been shot and even set on fire and yet, none of them left behind a blemish. I knew that I was becoming vulnerable with him, that I had given him more of me than I had intended but… would it be wrong to say that I do not wish for that to change? Chris is… still a mystery in some aspects but one thing is for sure — he is my wolf and I’ll be his kitten, his angel, whatever he desires.

The woman chuckles to herself as she reads over an entry she had made over two years ago, looking around the penthouse and remembering the nights they had spent here and the memories made.

Tonight is their second anniversary and Irene couldn’t decide what she could give Chris considering he wants for nothing. She didn’t know what Chris had planned or if, again, the night had simply slipped his mind so she didn’t know whether to go all out or if she should keep it simple.

Memories.

They tend to fade after time and while the woman has lived more than several lifetimes with memories all intertwined, she doesn't want theirs to ever be lost. She wants there to be sonnets written, poets inspired and their love immortalised for the centuries to come so she'll always know, he'll always know, what they were. What they always have been.

Flicking through the pages, she finds the entry that she was looking for. Their beginning and so with her diary in hand, Irene heads to the table that is covered in paper, flora and pens, and starts her gift for Chris.

When we first met ��� December 17th 2020

A wolf wanders into a club and grabs a drink with the Devil. It sounds like quite the beginning of a joke, doesn't it? He stood out from everyone else tonight, people looking for love, for fun, the desire rolling so sweetly off them like waves but his? Oh, his was as twisted as his soul. Revenge. Those are always the most fun of souls to torment and torture but there is something about his guilt and need for revenge that doesn't sit like the others. He's torturing himself, he lives every day in his own Hell. Chris. I usually don't care about those who enter the club but he is one who captures my attention. He's walking sin. Tall, dark and oh-so-handsome and he knows he grabs attention wherever he goes. I wonder if he'll come back. I want to know more about what tortures him so much.

It's funny how different her first thought of him is to what she thinks now, how wanting to learn what was at the base of his guilt became her wanting to save him, protect him. Irene is aware of the deals she would make, the lengths she would go to save him but who ever would have thought that started based on curiosity.

She writes it out and follows the instructions she’s been practicing for the past week or so, neatly making a flower out of the entry and placing it with the paper roses she made out of silly little romance novels she had bought.

Our first date — April 28th 2021

Would you believe that my first date, or not a date date was walking through the park with Christopher? I wanted to see the cherry blossoms and he made it happen and so much more. It was nice, I find myself quite enjoying his presence. I can still sense it, the pain that he hides behind a flirtatious smirk and rough, calloused hands but… he is sweet. Gentle. My body still remembers the night before, a night that I don’t think I’ll ever want to forget. Maybe it’s the Hell he puts himself through, maybe it’s me beginning to care about him in a way that wasn’t like when we first met but whatever it is. He shouldn’t be Hellbound, he deserves redemption and I don’t know how I’ll help him but… I want to.

Irene’s fingers lightly trace over the flower pressed between the pages and smiles. Spicy chocolate and mint, she has a pint of it in the freezer waiting for the wolf to find. A terrible dessert maybe but it doesn’t stop him from checking if their ice cream shop is open every time they drive past.

Folding the newly written page into another flower, she places it with the branch of cherry blossoms that she had managed to collect, a difficult flower to keep intact but of course, Irene managed.

The moment I knew — June 1st 2021

I felt you. Your warmth, your presence, your care. I felt you that first night and every night afterwards. You guarded yourself from the world behind ironclad walls but the moment you let them down... did you know that you left a little imprint on my heart? Did I have a space within yours? Thank you for being there, for searching for me, for finding me... thank you for saving me. I never thought that the Devil could be saved but you proved that even I am able to be pulled from the darkness and given a chance to rise.

The woman remembers the first time she had felt Chris as a wolf, a beautiful creature as black as the night that was closing in on her but there was a gentleness that came from him. She knew in that moment, she knew that Chris would mean so much more to her than she anticipated.

It was also the first time that Irene had become vulnerable with him. A change in herself that she didn't realise was possible. Chris became her strength but also her weakness in that moment and there hasn't been a day where Irene regrets it. She touches a mark on her shoulder, chuckling to herself as she feels the outline of his teeth still healing from the night before. It has it's benefits, of course, but it also shows them that she lets her walls down with him - meaning he can do the same with her.

The moment I fell for you — August 17th 2021

A wedding that I was sure that Chris wouldn't go to but he did. He looked handsome. I didn't think that he could surprise me more than he did but the way he simply stayed despite wanting to leave showed that he stayed with me. Two beings who swore they didn't want to get married, sitting in the bar with the caught bouquet laying in front of them was quite comedic, if you ask me but the way he picked it up and held out his hand, who would have thought I fell in love. Maybe I've been in love with him for a while, I don't think I could ever pinpoint one moment but as we went back to his car, as he carried me to the room and undressed me with kisses upon my skin. Savouring me. Worshipping me. I knew that if I'm going to fall in love with anyone on this Earth — it would be Chris. Over and over again, it's going to be Chris.

She still have the bouquet, dried and preserved in a vase that has survived for a thousand years. She looks over at them with a fond smile and remembers how he said they became one that night but Irene now knows —  they have always been one. From that first dance until their last breath, they'll always be one.

The beginning of forever — February 14th 2022

A Valentine's Day to remember. I know that he had a different plan for the night but I don't think I could have asked for anything other than how the night went. Him. I'm learning now that it's always been him. Throughout all the ages, every time I came to Earth, I must have always been searching for the love that is Christopher and now that I have him, I don't think I could ever let him go. He asked me to be his but I wonder if he knew that I was always that. His girlfriend, I can't stop smiling at knowing it's official, in such a Chris fashion, it's official and while I would have waited a lifetime for him — I am glad that I didn't have to. That we can begin our life together with taking this next step together.

He was a sight to behold. The effort he had put in and continues to put in is something that many wouldn't even bother with and maybe he wouldn't, if she was anyone else, but he did it for her. She smiles fondly, folding the entry into a flower and placing it beside a photo of them, her wrapped up in his jacket, his face buried into her neck and them both smiling as she snapped the photo.

She never thought the rain could be anymore beautiful than it was in that moment. Kissing in the rain, dancing in the rain, falling in love all over again in the rain. Irene knows the promises that were made that night.

'Be mine and never let go.'

She will hold onto him for the eternity, she wonders if he's aware of that. Nobody will take him from her, not even Death itself.

A silent wish, a promise made under the moon — October 28th 2023

I'm typing this on my phone because you always wake up when I move, always pull me close when you think I'm pulling away so I'll write this on my phone and write it into my diary when we are home. You sleep so peacefully when you're on my lap, I wonder if you know that, if the nightmares that plague your soul ease up or if the voices are kept at bay when we are like this. I know now that I want to be your salvation, just like you were mine. You deserve the life that you have always wanted, the love that you desire and even when you think you are never enough — I will always remind you that you are more than enough. For me, live for me, live with me. If there ever comes a time where you ask me to choose between you or my immortality. I would pick you. I long for it, for a life with you, a full life that I can look back at and know was filled with love even in my final years but... I wonder, would you want the same with me? Immortality, a true forever.

No, Irene doesn't expect him to answer that or even consider it. She wouldn't ever push that upon him but it was a wish, a promise made when the moon was full and at its peak. She wants him to know and be aware that she would give her life up for him, Hell, the club, everything if he wanted her to because he is worth it all. He wouldn't and she knows that, she knows he's grown to love her the way she is and he wouldn't change her but a true lifetime together — it's tempting, isn't it?

What you mean to me — December 27th 2023

You surprise me. Every time I think that I have you figured out, you surprise me. How did I get so lucky? There is something I know you never seem to accept but please know it to be true. You have always exceeded my expectations, I know I'm not someone who can be easy to please sometimes but what you did for Christmas really showed me that you are so much more than what I could ever have hoped for. You are kind, loving, strong and one of the most amazing people I've ever come to know. You lift me up even when you aren't able to raise your own head. You ground me, keep me safe and support me in everything that I do — even when you don't agree. Christopher, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. What you were, who you were, it pales in comparison to who you are now. You may not even realise it, may not see it but I do, I see it and you, my love, you are the very reason my soul exists.

The last flower is soon added to the pile, a photo of them in their new place cut up to fit with the bouquet. She loves it, their new little home, their life that they are building, and Irene knows that she wouldn't change anything about their past or him especially if it meant they would get to this point.

He's not perfect but neither is she and yet somehow, together, they are.

With the bouquet ready, Irene holds it up to inspect. She has some fake roses mixed in, not wanting to ruin her hard work. Pictures are attached around the edges, reminders of various events in their relationship and while some of the pages are cut up and made into paper roses, the ones for Chris to read are still intact even if it took her a million tries to perfect.

She heads home, their new home, not expecting anything extravagant since she knows he's been working hard lately but there's still time, it's still fairly early since she's been working on this for a week now and the last bits were simply the entries. "Happy anniversary and Happy Valentine's Day, my love." The woman says, holding the bouquet in her hands with a proud smile.

She's nervous, having taken out parts of her thoughts, letters she never gave or words she never spoke, she's nervous for Chris to read them but Irene is happy. It may be nothing he hasn't already figured out but she hopes that he appreciates the work she put in.

#post: irene #my wolf 🐺

[sparrowsfallingfromthesky]

I feel like anthologists especially of poetry have such a delicate job because in addition to having to select good stuff, there's the choice of whether to write anything about the pieces and how much and how to frame it and those choices can really make or break a person's enjoyment of the content. I read one recently where the editor would put the poem in the middle of his own analysis which I found annoying and I didn't think his commentary added much to my experience and so I had trouble connecting with any of the poems. But on the other hand (and why I bring this up at all) there's this one entry in The Art of the Sonnet edited by Stephen Burt and David Mikics about the poem "The Illiterate" by William Meredith that I read three years ago and still think about ALL THE TIME. Like I read the poem and thought it was all right and then read the discussion of it and said oh. And now it's literally one of my five favorite poems, specifically because of how Burt and Mikics guided me in thinking about it.

Full transcript of these pages below the cut so don't open if you're not prepared to scroll through 2k words:

"The Illiterate" William Meredith 1958

Touching your goodness, I am like a man Who turns a letter over in his hand And you might think this was because the hand Was unfamiliar but, truth is, the man Has never had a letter from anyone; And now he is both afraid of what it means And ashamed because he has no other means To find out what it says than to ask someone.

His uncle could have left the farm to him, Or his parents died before he sent them word, Or the dark girl changed and want him for beloved. Afraid and letter-proud, he keeps it with him. What would you call his feeling for the words That keep him rich and orphaned and beloved?

[From this point is the commentary.] Now beloved of teachers, this quietly moving sonnet offers at once a tour de force of simplicity, a poem about the reading of poetry, and a hesitant, sympathetic picture of inexperience in romantic love. Meredith keeps his diction as plain as in any serious poem of his century, using only common words in common combinations, with almost no description, no sense-details. He deploys, indeed, banal phrases, such as a man unused to reading might use ("And you might think," "truth is," "what would you call"). Meredith signals simplicities further with the repetitive use of identical rhyme (also known by the French term rime riche): he fills out the Italianate scheme (abba cddc efgefg) not with rhymes, but with repeated words. One of the words, of course, is "word," or "words": the illiterate man in receipt of his first-ever letter "turns [it] over in his hand," over and over, as if that way he could figure out what it means, as if he did not yet want to find out.

Meredith repeats "afraid" and "letter," though neither occur in rhyming position. The illiterate man's unread letter, like any recipient's letter before it is opened, could disclose bad news (for example, the death of both parents). Yet this man's repeated apprehension might come from good news as well as from bad. Might the letter, once understood, solicit frightening action? Might it contain, for example, a marriage proposal? ("The dark girl" echoes the so-called "dark lady," the beautiful dark-haired and finally treacherous woman in Shakespeare's later sonnets.) Given all the uncertainty in the octave, we might expect the sestet to tell us "what [the letter] says." Instead, it repeats the situation of that octave (using "afraid" and "letter" again), without allowing any time to pass, or any potential events to take place. At the end of the poem, after one more unanswered question, the illiterate man, and the poet "touching your goodness," remain in the same situation as before: gently if nervously marveling at the letter's existence, at "your goodness," and at your mysterious "touch."

Once read, once decoded, the letter will come to mean what its contents mean. Before it is interpreted, though, the letter has another signification: it represents a gesture of human connection, what linguists call a "phatic" communication, which we might signal in person by a touch on the shoulder or hand. It shows that somebody cares what happens to this man, that somebody wants to tell him something. "Touching your goodness," the man holds on to that signal of human care.

We could say as much of a letter unopened, turned "over and over" by a recipient "proud" to keep it and able to read it at will. But Meredith's man could not read it alone if he tried. Moreover, he "has never had a letter from anyone"; even the experience of asking somebody to help him decode it would be new for him (and he has not yet asked). As much as he cherishes this "touch," this gesture, as much as he may be "proud" to have received it, the man seems "afraid" not only of what it might say but of asking for help, of revealing his weakness, his need. Rather than show that weakness to somebody else – rather than learn what somebody else wants him to know – Meredith's illiterate retains in himself a suitably nameless feeling, sad in part (because it reflects incapacity) but appropriate to the unrealized possibility, the fearful and wonderful news, that his letter may contain. So far, the unread – and to this man, unreadable – letter might resemble an unread poem, or a poem admired but not quite understood. Part of its “goodness” derives from the way it allows the man to remain in the realm of surmise. Moreover – like a letter to an illiterate man – a poem may exert its full powers only when heard. Meredith’s “feeling” includes some marveling at the potential in language generally: in familiar epistolary language, on the one “hand,” and in poetic language (or modern lyrics poetry) on the other. Like Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s sonnet earlier in this volume, Meredith’s sonnet depends on the similarities and differences between a familiar letter and a lyric poem. Both kinds of language can embody the inner life of the author, in ways that seem exciting, but also frightening, and perhaps difficult to sustain. The familiar letter ordinarily finds just one reader, one named recipient, and refers to his or her situation alone. A lyric poem, by contrast, has an abstract or “algebraic” element (as W.H. Auden, an important influence on Meredith, put it in the 1930s). “Feeling” in poems becomes available, interpretable, in ways that leave behind the circumstances of authors’ lives and times.

But Meredith’s sonnet is not only a sonnet about lyric poetry – about the mystery and the abstraction it offers, about the personality, “touch,” or “feeling” disclosed and concealed by the “words” in poems. Though “touching” means “considering,” “regarding,” it also suggests the touch of a human hand: Meredith’s sonnet is also a love poem, a poem that ends with the illiterate man imagining himself not only rich (inheriting a farm) “and orphaned” (by the death of his parents), but “beloved.” And here the poem begins to acquire additional sense if we look to Meredith’s own life. Admired for his poetry since the 1940s, when he won the Yale Younger Poets Prize, Meredith served in the U.S. Navy from 1941 to 1946 and again from 1952 to 1954. He was also gay. His sonnet describes a particular moment in the life of a lover and a “beloved,” a moment unusually familiar, perhaps, to gay men who came to adult in an era especially hostile to same-sex love: the moment when an inexperienced lover believes (but cannot yet know) that he might be the beloved, the moment when the lover finds what he thinks (but cannot be sure) is an invitation, a pointed suggestion, a hint.

Such an invitation, like all flirtations, might come in the dual sense of some action, some word – in something that might look, to a stranger, innocent, until its doubled erotic sense is revealed. Meredith’s doubled words (ordinary, but with dual meanings, and dual uses as rhyme-substitutes) stand for the double sense of any word, any gesture, used as a romantic hint. And such invitations can always be disavowed; indeed, an ardent or a merely awkward lover may see them where they are not meant, may take hints where no hints are given, and may (especially if these matters feel new to him) embarrass himself a great deal by reacting eagerly to invitations that nobody gave.

“The obstacle – effectively a double-bind,” writes the critic Tony Tanner (he is analyzing Jane Austen’s novel Persuasion), “seems to be that you cannot speak ‘openly’ and ‘directly’ about… your feelings of love, to the person you love, until you have achieved a certain intimacy… But how do you ever manage to get intimate enough to be intimate, as it were?” As in Austen, so throughout Meredith’s poem. “Touching your goodness” could mean, simply, being touched (moved) by your goodness (benevolence); it could also refer to the brush of a hand, to the discovery that within some new friendship, there might be something physical, something more. That discovery remains merely exciting – and cannot be threatening, disappointing, embarrassing – so long as it remains merely conjectural, so long as the lover does not try to follow it up, does not try to reciprocate with his own hint.

That moment of thinking that one has received a hint, of thinking that a flirtation might have begun, of feeling unable to “read” the language of love, because it is by nature never explicit, and because it feels new – that moment is the moment of Meredith’s poem. His “feeling” is not apprehension merely, not fear alone and not quite joy, but rather the mixed feelings of a lover who cannot yet know whether he is beloved, a lover who does not know how to interpret a gesture that may signify love returned – who may not, indeed, know anybody he can trust enough to ask. Such feelings are familiar to many teenagers, to many heterosexual adults, and to the characters in Jane Austen, who can also respond by writing letters (where, as Tanner says, “there may always be another message in – under – the ostensible message”). Yet that sense of shameful inexperience prolonged into adulthood, of not knowing whether a message is “double” or not, and of not knowing how or whom to ask, might seem especially plangent in this poem about hints and uncertainties if we connect it to homosexuality in the white-collar America of 1958, before the word “gay” meant in public what it means now.

During the 1980s Meredith’s poem became an anthology staple, a sonnet about inexperience (in reading as in love) whose tact and care inexperienced readers enjoyed. By that time, the poem had acquired more poignant dimensions, ones the poet could not have foreseen. In 1983, Meredith suffered a stroke that severely limited his ability to process language – to speak, to read, and to hear. He wrote little afterward, but could, in his last years, read movingly from his work on public occasions, when “The Illiterate” became an especially appropriate, and well-received, set piece.

#I don't know there's just something about it #poetry #long post #William Meredith #is posting this technically. illegal? I feel like the book probably had one of those warnings about not reproducing or distributing any par #hmm. shrug emoji #that's probably really about resale anyway. not some queer bitch on tumblr saying guys please read this #psst. a story is true a story is untrue. etc. #also recently it's had me thinking about tedtrent. don't really know why. probably bc everything does rn. might make an edit at some point