#keats for beginners

[familyabolisher]

Do you have any poetry recomendations for a beginner?

i'm not as well-read in poetry as i'd like to be tbh but maybe frank o'hara, langston hughes, june jordan, william blake, vladimir mayakovsky, edgar allan poe. keats is a bit of a tricky read but some of his shorter poems (eg. the odes) are really solid. shakespeare's sonnets too! my best piece of advice is to spend less time trying to "get" the poem or like figure out what it wants to "say" or whatever and more time focusing on how the poem comes to you, like the minutiae of rhythm and structure and word choice and so on, & i think all of these poets are decent places to start for that :~)

[deadpoetsandlivinglegends]

Only exactly one homie expressed anything bout my tags(screenshots cause I feel bad overrunning ops original post a second time) and although it didn’t even specify any actual feelings or say it wanted me to expand, I wanna talk about this more so I’m gonna take that as enough of a reason to blab more about this

Cause like bro Neil took so much shit from his father, and although we saw a pattern of him starting to be disobedient (quitting the newspaper at the beginnning vs going behind his fathers back to be in the play), but throughout the movie I would say throughout all of it, he still had some sense of hope, albeit his father not listening despite his hope. I would say that the reason Neil could get through all those rejections is because he would turn to others. The first time, with newspaper, he was with the boys and they in some sense urged him to talk about it and met him in a conversation when his father didn’t. The second time, we see when his father is upset, the first thing he does is go to Keating and talk to him. That’s two times Neil disobeys his father before immediately turning around and talking to someone about it, though he fails to connect with his father because his father, although occasionally trying to smooth it over and connect with Neil so Neil will empathize with him (comment about his mother, and comment about how Neil has opportunities he didn’t have), his father doesn’t realize that for true connection to be made, both parties must willingly listen to the other. But still, his father’s rejection works as a means for Neil to connect with others. The last time, when his father catches him at the play, Neil is dragged out without being able to talk to anyone, without his connections. He tries to talk with his father, but the first thing his father does is say he is going to pull him out of Welton. His father in one fell swoop breaks off every connection Neil has while also refusing to connect with Neil despite Neil reaching out and pleading time and time again. Before the scene ends, after his father walks out, just like before we see Neil reach out to form a connection, this time with his mother. He is unable to form that connection though because when he tries to talk about it, his mother changes the subject, thus his final failed connection (“I was good. I was really good” “go on, get some sleep”). He feels truly alone now, which is why he is hopeless enough that his very next act, the only option he feels he has left, is to end his own life.

There are two others who lose their connections I want to discuss: Cameron and Charlie. Foils who succumb, in some sense, to the same fate despite being the opposite of one another. Both their connections with the group fail but for different reasons. Throughout the movie Charlie fails in his connections because he refuses to listen to others. Throughout the movie, Cameron fails in his connections because others refuse to listen to him. But also despite the repeated fails at connection by both boys throughout, by the end it is through their own hand (literally) they both once and for all destroy their connections and end up alone, ironically within the same scene (Cameron through signing the document and Charlie through getting expelled for punching Cameron). And I would say they both play a hand in the other’s destruction because they are so intricately interwoven that it’s hard to discuss one without the other. Charlie goes behind the poets backs, bringing girls to the cave without asking first and printing the article without their permission under the club’s name, which is the start of his downfall as well as the start of the downfall of the entire club. He was ‘choking on the bone’ because he didn’t understand Carpe Diem isn’t about action, but about connection. His not communicating with the poets and speaking on behalf of the whole group without listening not only brings unwanted attention to the club, causing intergroup conflict and threatening the whole group’s existence, but also it allows the administration to have a scapegoat when Neil dies. Where Charlie is the one to bring light to the group, but refuses to out the members of the group in the end, Cameron does the opposite. Cameron kept the sacredness of the group, trying to connect with the poets and listen to them, only for them to make fun of him when he opens up and try to push him away. Cameron wasn’t the one who exposed the group itself, but he is the first one to give in after Neil’s death, telling the administration about who is in the club and signing the paper, cutting off his connections. It is fitting that Charlie and Cameron’s stories end at the same time, at the hands of one another. Both of their interconnected stories end with them becoming isolated, which we see illustrated within the end of the movie. We see every poet except these two and Neil stand at the end, because every other poet was able to form connections through Keating’s lessons (Knox takes Chris to the play where they have a good time together thus connecting, Meeks and Pitts got a radio to work which is a physical symbol of them forming connections together without having to be as involved in an already story heavy movie, and Todd we all know from the tags above). The three poets who lose their connections are the ones who cannot participate in the final scene, the final message-driving act of the movie that states we do not stand alone.

Like the whole point of the movie is that the only way we get through life is by connecting with other, why do you think the key poem they bring up is a Walt Whitman poem about Abraham Lincoln? The poem is about the grief over the loss of the leader of the country, who guided America through tough times. Walt Whitman used the poem to connect the country over the loss of their president and allow the grief to become a shared means of connection. As much as dead poets society is about learning to deal with grief and keep on living life despite grief, it is also about searching for connections as a key means to survive and overcome grief. That is why Oh Captain, My Captain was chosen. It is a poem about grief meant to connect people and make them feel less alone through their shared sorrow over the loss of a beloved figure who guided his people through tough times and led the good fight. And we see that same principle, the people who didn’t form connections could not make it through to the end, but those who did did so because they stood together. We don’t even need to just connect with people around us now, the focus on poetry and art is to connect us to the past as well as the present. In fact, it states the past is a means to connect people in the present. They sit in the theater together, the audience connecting with one another over a play written hundreds of years ago. They read poetry in the cave, poetry written by people from the last 5 centuries, so they can open up with one another and form connections, even writing and sharing their own poetry with one another. This whole movie revolves around these few principles and I can’t man it’s like so nicely put together and I think that is why this movie has stood the test of time so well, it knows what it wants to say about our relationships with one another and it makes sure every action taken is to say it.

[adawritesfanfic]

My Ex-Boyfriend

cf. My Last Duchess

BROWNING

That’s my ex-boyfriend’s work you’re looking at. He liked to make digital art; this tat- Too—all my ink, in fact—began as files On his computer. Bet they’d stretch for miles If laid out end to end, all his designs. Oh yes, they’re finely drawn, these several lines— But never mind the tracery on my skin. Tell me about yourself. Like, what’s your sin Of choice? One’s vices mold one’s character, I think, into such curious shapes. Incur A few like mine then, since you claim you’ve none. The worst of them? It’s jealousy: the sun At midday burns no brighter than my rage When I suspect a partner’s false. A sage Guess, that, but no, this boyfriend didn’t cheat On me; that’s not why we broke up. A treat It might have been though, to have caught him out: I rather like to rage and scream and shout.

Instead, I found myself fending off “I Love you’s” till, to forestall more puppy eye- S, I finally said it back: “I love you too— So much I can’t quite bear it.” Right on cue He kissed me like the world was burning up. And then he set to with a will: my cup Ran over many times that night, to put The matter biblically. Ouch! That’s my foot. Don’t worry, we’re all klutzes in a crowd. Ha! Since you ask, yes, he was well-endowed. Yes, very smart. His parents? Well, had we Got married I’d have been spared in-laws; he Was orphaned at thirteen. A car crash, yes, You guessed it. No, thank God, he got the mess Out of his system long before we met And never fussed about his loss. What, debt? No way. Impeccable, his finances. He did read, yes. That poem about Cortez, Or was it Homer—right, by Keats. His fav- Orite, or one of them. Yes, you bet he gave Great gifts (and head). No, I don’t mind at all, Ask anything, however big or small. Ah, that’s the million-dollar question. Truth Is, I left him. — Oh hey, look, there’s a booth Just opened up, let’s grab it. — Anyway, Do stop apologizing, it’s okay: You made the natural assumption. I’m Not impressive, so how’d I catch this prime Guy—just to dump him? I can’t speak to what He saw in me: I’m pretty, kind of, but I’d call myself a seven, tops. My ex, Though, smashed the scale. Just—one of those perplex- Ing people standards don’t apply to, who Don’t even know it, much less care—imbue- D with excellences they’re as heedless of As fish of water—yeah, you gotta love The type, right? They should form a club and shine Among themselves sequestered. Then—more wine? You’re very welcome—we mere groundlings might Pretend to quality. And yet, despite My ex’s membership in that elite— Or rather, different from the rest replete With gifts—he didn’t make you feel compelled To catalog your failings. He dispelled Your insecurities—the opposite Effect. Imperatives like being wit- Ty, pretty, perfect, best, which motivate Our daily doings—these just dissipat- Ed in his presence. Alex—yes, his name— Just—was. Around him you forgot the game. He radiated wholeness, centeredness, And just by being gave you worthiness. —I’m waxing over-eloquent, forgive Me. But—exactly!! It’s one thing to live A light, another to live with that light. It blinded me. It burned me. With no night To rest my sight, no blight however slight, I, hollow-eyed, began to crave a fight. I went big, that’s my style. I lied and said I cheated. I concocted, stirred, and fed Him quite the tale. He believed every word. He took it calmly. Yes, I’d have preferred Hysterics, anyone would, but I knew Better than to expect a grand debut Of temper even then and there. He asked If he might borrow my car. “For air.” I masked My irritation—Jaguars aren’t the best Beginners’ car—said yes to his request— Undressed and got in bed. Suffice to say, I never saw that car again. Obey- Ing traffic laws, apparently, is hard To do when freshly broken up with. Charred, Completely totaled, that poor car. Alex? Wasn’t it clear? He died. Ha, the apex Of my career as storyteller’s not Tonight: the misdelivered punchline’s shot. You guessed his parents’ crash, why not his own? I see. Yes, movies give us plotlines sewn Up neatly with a bow. We don’t expect The same of life. In this case, the direct Parallel between son’s and parents’ death Arrests our sense that life’s not art. — Hey! Seth! —I beg your pardon: that’s the friend I was Early to meet. Like who? My God, he does! A dead ringer, you’re right. Well, Cary Grant’s Clone texted me to join him by those plants. It’s been so lovely talking with you. Oh, Sure! Have another look. It’s a tableau: The angel sleeping, devils gather round. The deity presides, aloof and crowned.

[57basilochre]

"She had no knowledge when the day was done, And the new morn she saw not: but in peace Hung over her sweet Basil evermore, And moisten’d it with tears unto the core." — Isabella or the Pot of Basil by John Keats

basil: an aromatic annual herb of the mint family, native to tropical Asia.

ochre: an earthy pigment containing ferric oxide, typically with clay, varying from light yellow to brown or red.

My name is Basil Ochre!! It's a double name, and therefore is my full first name, no matter how lengthy people find it. It's only four syllables but perhaps that's plenty? My name is a poem, plant, and color, all shown (?) above!

I am thirteen going on fourteen, and I go by she/any pronouns, and I am a lesbian!! I play violin and I write things every so often. I like A Series of Unfortunate Events, All the Wrong Questions, Yellowjackets, and the Hunger Games trilogy the best, but I do like other things as well, though I might not post about them as much. I also like coding and HTML but I'm a beginner!!

I like to think I am like Lemony Snicket when he was young and simply just not as good as he was when he wrote ASOUE but I come to realize that I am just cringe.

Fandoms in No Particular Order

bold + italic = fav!! bold = i like it a lot italic = i like it but not super duper plain = i just like it normally

A Series of Unfortunate Events All the Wrong Questions The Hunger Games Yellowjackets The Good Place Anne with an E / Anne of Green Gables Bridgerton (don't worry i skip all the inappropriate bits) Peanuts (the one with snoopy not the nut) Ace Attorney Derry Girls Bee and Puppycat

Ships by Fandom

(I will only be adding ones from my most prominent fandoms and I'm skipping ATWQ entirely cuz I am unsure who I ship there yet)

bold + italic = fav!! bold = i like it a lot italic = i like it but not super duper plain = i just like it normally strikethrough = I HATE IT A Series of Unfortunate Events:

Lemony Snicket/Beatrice Baudelaire Violet Baudelaire/Quigley Quagmire Klaus Baudelaire/Fiona Widdershins Kit Snicket/Dewey Denouement Klaus Baudelaire/Isadora Quagmire Violet Baudelaire/Duncan Quagmire Violet Baudelaire/Count Olaf

Yellowjackets:

Lottie Matthews/Natalie Scatorccio Jackie Taylor/Shauna Shipman Taissa Turner/Van Palmer Misty Quigley/Natalie Scatorccio Lottie Matthews/Laura Lee Travis Martinez/Natalie Scatorccio i literally cant think of any other ships idk i just like lesbianism

The Hunger Games:

Annie Cresta/Finnick Odair Katniss Everdeen/Peeta Mellark Haymitch Abernathy/Lenore Dove Baird Annie Cresta/Johanna Mason Haymitch Abernathy/Effie Trinket Katniss Everdeen/Finnick Odair Katniss Everdeen/Gale Hawthorne Haymitch Abernathy/Maysilee Donner

tags: #basilochre #ochrewrites #ochreasks

DNI: Basic DNI criteria, nsfw accounts. I interact with older people but I block immediately if you're weird. BROTHR IM 13

[kvothes]

Hi! Don’t know if you’ve answered this previously but I really want to get into poetry (especially Richard Siken) but often feel kinda lost and out of my depth whenever I read. Do you have any good resources for beginner poetry enthusiasts or maybe some writing that’s more easy to follow? Thank and love your blog!!💓

bah i always worry that i'm going to sound like a fussy schoolteacher but here are some thoughts: allow yourself to sit in the feeling of being lost. it is necessary. john keats coined the term "negative capability" to describe the ability of poetry to delve into the shadowy, the uncertain, the unreal—exploring those things without necessarily needing to define or understand them. similarly, rita dove calls this "writing around the void."

it can be helpful to actually interrogate what is confusing about a poem. to pick one and sit with it for a while and ask questions. is it using words or making references that you don't know? from there, i think it can be help to pin down the things you do know. does the poem seem happy or sad? where do you think it's taking place? what's the Vibe, basically? what gives you that vibe? connect the dots on what you do know and it can help illuminate what you don't.

it might also be helpful to get some of the poetic vocabulary under your belt, like the difference between lyric and narrative poetry. the poetry foundation is a really good resource for this, and for finding poems in general, as is poets.org

finally, some poets i think are great to start with: li-young lee, ada limón, mary oliver, adrienne rich, marie howe, maybe some wisława szymborska... i hope this helps <3

[kamana-mishra]

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[lwlrence]

WONDERWORLDS: 8TH DOCTOR'S COMPROMISE

DEEP RED: CRUS WOOD (SLENCIO)

MAN OF GLASS STORYLINE

HUMAN SAND PHYGON (INHABITANTS OF OLD, FEEDS OFF AIR (SPACESHIPS DIE BY SIGHT)

WOMAN OF STEEL (PROFESSOR MAYFAIR'S STORYLINE: THE MAN WHO COULD NOT EXIST)

RED ORANGE: HORSEHOP (SOCKTOWN: TONIGHT)

MISSONI (CARBON KNITTED FACTORY: ALIAZ)

EYES OF OOO

MISSIONARY BAIT (FRIDAY AGENDA: ADVENTURE TIME)

FUSCHIA: SIMON KEATING (AVARICE: THE ELEVENTH HOUR PART 1)(THE STARLESS SEA)

88TH (MAN OF INK: TREBULA)

MUSES INCORPED (INNOVATOR'S EAGLE)

ORIGIN OF THE LOVIATAR (DEMI LOVATO'S NOVICE)

PINK ORANGE: -HIMSELF- (LITTLE BIRDS)

BASTARDS

EVIL EYE

MEDICINAL HEALTHCARE SYSTEMS (BLEEDING CONFIRMED)

ORANGE: TOYMAIDEN (THE INVENTOR)

UNO

BEGINNER (ADAM)

WET NAKED STAR (IRONFIRE LINNA SHAHEEN DIAZ MONOLEUM)

ORANGE YELLOW: COOPER MALVERN IX (PUSHING DAISIES)

RACY LITTLE ADJECTIVES

CORNERSTONE 11

HYZELLFIRE

YELLOW: DALLAS HOPE (MINDHUNTER: GLEE)

BLACK LIPS SUNDOWN

(THE BOYS SAGA)

WUNDERWUNN

YELLOW LIME: BROADCASTER

ZILME

STRONKSTYOPP

BENIIFLAUERR

LIME: 0 (DOCTOR WHO)

SOLAR BIOLOGY: ACE

DIE ALONE

DUMBDIDDLYDIDDLYDUMBHO

LIME GREEN: CADE (RENEGADES: NIGHTMARE)

NO MARE: WINDOWS

LIGHTMARE: ABC

PRIMALLORA: GARACAFILIMIS

GREEN: WAYLON XIX (ELEVENTH HOUR: THE FALL (DEUS)

NURSE EVELYN

ZAYNIB ELIASS

HANDMAIDEN

TEAL GREEN: TROIA (FOUNDATION)

CAPTAIN AMERICA'S WORLD END (NEW DAY)

HATEBREAK: PIONEER OF HOMELANDER

RIZYN

TEAL: FRYE (HATTHEN)

NUMBER 1

ACE VENTURA

NIGHT

BLUE TEAL: DOPPRI ZHION (MADHATTER)

JINKX MONSOON HAZE

EARLY DAYS

FIRE MET ICE

BLUE: RUSHION (WINNIE (GHIBLI PROJECT)

SATANIC APPEARANCES IN CARTOONS

SIDE EYE PROJECT

NIGHTLY HEARTBREAK GOING SOLO: WONDER WOMAN

BLUE PURPLE: RIAZ C (DOCTOR WHO)

PUPPROPHECY

JADED ISLANDS: LOVATO

LALALAND

PURPLE: ALEC GUNNE (-SANDLER PROJECT-)

ENGINEERS GROUND: WHOSE LINE IS IT ANYWAY?

CASTAWAY

RANGMANATRAX

PURPLE MAGENTA: FORREST MCGINLET (SEVENTH STRING)

THE NUMBER 11

MAREN

ROSE TINTED MIRROR

MAGENTA: REED LONDON (PASSENGER)

CLOUDS

EXTRAORDINARY

DYING SONG

MAGENTA PINK: EVERETT WALLACE HOPE (-AARMAN PROJECT-)

WORLD OF WAR: WAR OF THE WORLDS

BROTHER DAY

NIGHT FIRE

PINK: N/A

WONDER WOMAN: FIRST EVER

9 NIGHTS (ECCLESTON'S REFUGE)

SONG UNDANCED: FEEL

WEST NAKE D STAT: -HIMSELF AS DOCUMENTARIAN- (ARK INGRESS: FINI MORTEM)

RADIO DJ SHOT THE FIRE

MINOGUE

RAVEN: EARLY WORD

ANALOG: -HIMSELF- (THE BOYS)

TRICKSTER: ENDGAME

ROBONALLYON: ARKHALLON

THE LAST KING OF ENGLAND

GLADE: GREG HOUSE (HOUSE.M.D)

DEATH OF A GOOD WILLED MAN

ROSE RED

THE FALL OF A HIGH PRIESTESS: REEVES SOLO

[talesofpassingtime]

As such he had to pass on to him childish beginner’s basics; but, with strange incongruity and on the side, so to speak, he had at the same time brought Adrian into first contact with the greatest things, opening for him the realm of world literature, awakening his curiosity with presentations that lured him into the vast expanses of the Russian, English, and French novel, encouraging him to study the lyric poetry of Shelley and Keats, Holderlin and Novalis, giving him Manzoni and Goethe, Schopenhauer and Meister Eckehart to read.

— Thomas Mann, Doctor Faustus 

[priyakhurana]

Kiya Learning stands out as a leading provider of online Spanish language classes in Singapore, offering a comprehensive and inclusive learning platform for individuals of all proficiency levels. Whether you're a beginner embarking on your Spanish language journey or an advanced learner looking to refine your skills, Kiya Learning provides tailored courses to meet the diverse needs of students.

[author-a-holmes]

*Innocent Whistling* *Angel Emoji*

Waiting for this... feeling that I'm... drowning in to subside. You make me... swim like a beginner. Like I'm new at life. And all these words... don't come easy. No, they always seem to stop. There is... awkward silence, yeah. Anytime we talk...

Lost For Words - Ronan Keating

no one told K falling of someone feels like drowning. they’ve heard it all before, the supposed fireworks in the pit of your stomach, the feeling of free-falling, only with the assurance someone will be waiting to catch you at the bottom. with their previous partners, the realization was like a soft “oh” spoken into the haze of a sunday morning. the second time was filled with more anxiety, said with a nauseating aura that almost made them hurl, but even that was eventually sated with time and care.

but the third is different. the third is with you.

it’s suffocating on their own breath, strained vocals and a panicked fear in their chest that they swear threatens to burst through their ribcage. it’s staring at your side profile, frustrated at the two halves of themself at war. it’s watching your expression morph into hurt when they pull away from your touch. it’s tears prickling their eyes when you do make contact, K’s fear urging them to simultaneously pull away and get closer.

they want. K wants and wants but never lets themself take. because they’ve learned that when they do, the universe will always find a way to set a balance. you’re given something only to have another taken away. your love is warm until it’s K holding the hand of a cold corpse.

but then why is it that each time their head goes under the waves, they see you reaching out for them? if you’re the one who brought them the ocean, why are you also the one trying to save them?

they whisper this question in the dark, to your sleeping figure after you’ve fallen asleep on their couch. you don’t answer, of course, but K can’t even fake resentment for it.

they just wish you’d make up your mind. because live or drown, they know they’re already doomed. it’s only a matter of how.

[gymmboxx]

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[andromedas-poetry]

Meet the Writer (blogger?)

I am new to tumblr so forgive any formatting issues I am still getting used to it! I wanted to add some info on myself just for fun

I am a college student and an English major 

I do use a pen name

My favorite poets are Bukowski and Keats!

I will forever fight that Dorothy Wordsworth deserves more recognition

I have a quote from Slaughterhouse Five tattooed on me!

Some of my favorite books are Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Pride and Prejudice, Brave New World, and the Shadowhunters books!

I love horror movies and anything spooky (very interested in the supernatural).

I wear way too many cardigans 

I am grey-asexual!

I’ll probably do another one of these later on, but just some fun facts to get to know me better! I really hope to find a lovely community here and be able to share my writing!

[curiousconch]

Chase You / Chase Me (Pt. 2)

Part 2: Before I dive right into you

Catch up here: Series Masterlist

Chapter Summary: In the aftermath of their pretend wedding in Las Vegas, Gabe begins to unravel his growing feelings for Alex. But as he attempts to bring his past to light, someone from Alex's previous life casts a shadow on the future.

Book/Pairing: Choices - Laws of Attraction / Gabe Ricci x MC (Alex Keating)

Words: 2.4k+ (sorry 🙈)

Rating/Warnings: Mature (16+) / alcohol consumption, some swears

Disclaimer: Most of the characters as well as some dialogue belong to Pixelberry. I am merely borrowing them.

A little after 1 AM, Las Vegas

Gabe can't help but smirk at the look of mischief in Alex's eyes as they stood by a quiet spot in the middle of Las Vegas. With her in that glittery dress, he somehow can't bring himself to part from her yet.

He knew it wasn't only him who felt that tingling in his fingertips when he brushed her cheeks, her breath smelling strongly of martini. He was very aware that Alex felt the same when she stared back at him, standing at that cramped cheap chapel while an Elvis impersonator stood nearby. The moment she stepped away when he said that it's just all pretend made Gabe's heart ache with regret.

So here they were, standing awkwardly after he shot down her advances again.

But he was sure he didn't want the night to end here.

After calling for a car, he shoved his phone inside the pocket of his slacks and turned to Alex.

"I was serious when I said I wanted a celebratory drink," he glanced apologetically to his side where she stood. "Our hotel bar offers my favorite scotch."

Alex raised her head, smiling. "Knew you had it in you, Gabe."

A car ride and a couple of glasses of Lagavulin later, there they were, lounging on stools at their opulent hotel bar, warm lights and jazz music providing a backdrop on the casual atmosphere.

"And I could not believe the rat thing worked! Who would've known they kept a rat in there as a pet? Like really?" Alex raised her glass to her lips, as Gabe sat on the barstool beside her, cradling his own drink.

"Beginner's luck, I would believe," he chuckled in reply, leaning forward, tie loosened and his coat hanging at the back of his chair.

"I am so offended," Alex gasped as she shoved her hands flat on her chest in mock disbelief. "I'm not only the boring nerd when I was in high school, Gabe. I was that nerd who sang and dance at the drama club!"

Gabe shook his head, his lips pursing. "That makes so much damn sense, Alex." He took another swig of his third shot, fighting for dear life from laughing his heart out. Not wanting to give her that satisfaction, he threw a sarcastic dig at her remark. "That's so believable, seeing you could snatch an Oscar from Meryl Streep herself and the no one wouldn't even bat an eye."

"Ah, law was plan A, sir." she saluted, placing her empty glass on the bar counter. "Acting was a fallback in case it didn't pan out." she giggled.

Gabe grinned as he rolled up his sleeves, beckoning the bartender for another round. "You should have made it your plan A, seeing how you turned out," he teased, bringing up the fun bit they did to retrieve a copy of Lydia Rothswell's marriage certificate. The very same act that almost made Gabe kiss Alex in the middle of The Strip.

"Aww, Gabe, finally found a better lawyer than you? Feeling threatened yet?" Alex leaned in, snickering as their glasses were refilled. "Don't worry, I' ll settle for being a Junior Partner for now," she said as she reclined, before throwing in a playful wink.

"Well someone's head just became bigger," he gave her a smug look.

"Just trying to keep up with all the cockiness in the room," she smiled coyly, watching Gabe's stupefied expression. It was clear then that she scored a slam dunk at the championship of comebacks, laughing at his astonishment.

Gabe finally gave up, joining Alex in her laughter. As their joy receded, he let himself take in the sight of Alex without any inhibitions. What he was beginning to see was the extent of her wit, her ability to keep her cool, and the sharp humor that matched only his.

Under the warm light of the lounge, she brilliantly shone. He couldn't focus at what she was now saying as he danced at the appeal of them becoming more than colleagues. Perhaps he resisted his own feelings long enough that he was past the point of denial. Or simply because he was starting to get drunk.

Though before he can even begin to consider that, he was still sober enough to know that he first needed to tell her the truth.

The truth that sometime long ago, their paths have already crossed. And that he did something very horrible.

Call him cynical, but he wasn't kidding when he admitted he was an all-or-nothing kind of guy. And that meant laying down all his cards on the table. Because for him, Alex was more than the occasional one-night stand. And he can't be certain of how long he could keep himself from his budding feelings, all stakes be damned.

What better time to be honest when there was enough alcohol in his system to prevent all rational thinking? It's now or never, he figured.

"Alex, I -"

"Alessandra? Alessandra Keating?" a deep voice came from behind him, interrupting Gabe. He cocked his head to get a clearer view, as a man with slicked back blonde hair approached from a private booth nearby.

Without hesitation, the tall stranger in the dark suit stepped forward, his striking features Gabe would have easily recognized anywhere. That face was almost in every blockbuster movie in the last five years.

"Julian? What are you doing here?" Alex asked, as abashed as he was. Gabe saw how she clammed up the very second she recognized the man.

"Oh my, it really is you!" the man stopped beside Alex's bar stool, welcoming himself to their company. The way he was looking up and down at her made Gabe's jaw clench so hard, his teeth gritted. But the man's next movement stunned him all the more. In front of him, the man embraced Alex, making Gabe suddenly want to combust. His tumbler could've shattered if he tightened his grip on it a little more.

"Uhm, Julian, hi," Gabe surveyed Alex as she writhed within the man's arms, waiting for any signal from her so he could do something, anything, to make this man go away. But she assured him with one look, shifting a little, making the man who wedged himself between them release her.

"It's been so long! When was the last time I saw you, like, 12, 13 years ago?" the man exclaimed, his annoying smile making Gabe want to slam his fist somewhere. And it wasn't on the bar counter.

Gabe heard Alex scoff, fighting hard to regain her composure. "Yeah, high school," Her icy demeanor took over, one that Gabe only saw in the courtroom. She brushed her dress as she tilted her head to Gabe's direction.

The man turned to Gabe, the surprise evident as he acknowledged Gabe's presence behind him. The two men sized each other up sending an undercurrent of tension between them. Before Gabe could even consider acting out of impulse, Alex cleared her throat to diffuse his temper.

"Julian, this is Gabe. Gabe, this is Julian, my -"

"Ex," Julian interjected, before turning his attention to the lawyer. Apparently, this guy had a habit, Gabe observed. "We were together senior year. Alessandra, my angel, we had the best time together, didn't we? We looked good together, at least after Alex thought to improve her image here. Sadly, we had to break up. Teenage romances, you know?"

The picture couldn't be any clearer; this was the person Alex was speaking about during their dinner back in New York. And hearing the way he talked, no wonder Julian got under her skin. He was a damned manipulative pretentious liar. Gabe could hear the dishonesty between the words, not an ounce of authenticity in sight while the blonde hotshot rambled on.

Alex wasn't showing any sympathy either, her brown eyes staring daggers at him, as he went on about his monologue, emphasizing on how she was his back then. She was clearly infuriated by his attempt to own her, as well as his lack of shame. As Gabe quietly considered her reaction, he deliberated on a strategy to put her out her misery. The moment an idea came to mind, he gave Alex a subtle look asking her to back his play.

Alex nodded, sitting a little straighter. Finding the instant shift in her, Gabe made his move.

"Sweetheart," he slowly raised his voice as he said the endearment, enjoying the contempt from the other guy when he was interrupted. "You never told me Julian Wintour was your ex."

Alex smiled smugly, appearing pleased with the nickname Gabe chose, a clear pun on the whole high school sweetheart trope. "Never crossed my mind, babe. It's such an unimportant detail in my past," she waved her hand dismissively.

"Ah, nonsense," he finished his drink and gestured for the bartender to clean up. "Mr. Wintour's history would have made a good conversation starter." Gabe straightened his vest and stood, collecting his coat. He sauntered towards Alex, circling around the now speechless Julian. He draped his jacket over her shoulders, clearly making a statement before he reached for her hand, wrapping it in his.

"Why? Isn't the shiny nameplate of Senior Partner not good enough?" Alex expertly rode along, locking eyes with her former flame before gazing back at Gabe enticingly. "Forgive him, Julian. My lovely boyfriend here has a bad hobby of underselling himself," she smiled warmly, the irony of her statement eluding her ex. Gabe was about to smirk with her ingenuity, stopping when he felt her arm slowly wrapping around his waist. He barely stifled a groan at the intimacy of her touch.

The other man went beet red at the gesture. For embarrassment or infuriation or both, Gabe didn't fucking care. All he cared about was for Alex to slap this douche's face, metaphorically speaking.

"Anyway, Julian, it's been a pleasure. It's been a long night, and we're about ready to retire at our penthouse suite," steadily, she got up from her seat. The command in her was undeniable, forcing anyone to feel nothing but regret the day they decided Alessandra Keating wasn't good enough for them. Then with a flourish, she turned around as she let Gabe take her away from her past lover's scrutinizing gaze.

Inside the elevator, Gabe caught Alex's exhale of relief, probably thankful that Julian was out of her sight. Gabe still held onto her hand, though Alex didn't seem to notice. As they began their ascent, he waited for her to break the silence, deciding that the questions running in his mind can wait.

"I would have traded my rankings for the look of disbelief in Julian's face," Alex said turning to him, to which Gabe arched his brow.

He smirked devilishly, knowing Alex could take the hint. "I believe I could offer a sight better than that."

She grinned at the innuendo, further lightening up the mood between them. "One day, Gabe, I'll take you up on that," she said, crossing her legs as she leaned on the polished wall behind her. "Though I'm sure you're dying to know... How did I end up dating the Julian Wintour?"

Gabe pondered before answering. "Hmm, actually not the first one that comes to mind, no." He tapped against his temple. "I doubted you would ever bat an eyelash to his direction."

Her eyebrows rose. "Ah, you think so highly of me." She chuckled, shaking her head at his reply. "But yes, he was my ex. And yes, he was the red on my ledger. He was my first love," she admitted. "That ideal, once in a lifetime, true love everyone's talking about? Julian was it, or at least I thought he was." she sighed, glancing at her reflection on the polished metal panel beside her. "But when things started to go downhill for me, he was the first one to walk out," she paused, taking a deep breath. "By cheating on me."

Gabe's body went rigid, clenching his fists so hard until his nails dug unto his palms. What the fucking hell? I know I should have punched that guy's perfect teeth! He decided against airing his vengeful thoughts, staying quiet as he glimpsed at her image on the walls.

"Joey reminded me how Julian made me doubt myself. If I'm really over what he's done to me, if he's still in my head," she continued, rubbing at her nape. Gabe felt her gaze fall on him, which he reciprocated. "But after walking out from him tonight, I am much more certain that I made it out, after all."

Gabe felt her squeeze his hand as she said those words, and his heart somersaulted inside his chest. "So thanks. I needed that little nudge," she said in finality.

He turned to beam at her as he relished the triumph in her words, hoping that it was enough to convey that he was proud of her. And to be part of that discovery about herself, about who she always was in his eyes - someone who was his equal.

When they arrived at her floor, she gently freed her hand from his grasp invoking a sharp exhale from him. She stepped out of the elevator, her gait as undeterred as ever. But then she turned, her soft expression dimmed by the lack of light. "And while we're on the subject of appreciation," she uttered, before dropping one last revelation.

"Thanks for that save you also gave me ten years ago," Alex glanced up at him with half-lidded eyes, her words laced with meaning.

It took him a few moments before he could even comprehend what she was trying to convey. He searched her eyes for some explanation but found none. "What do you mean, Alex?" he said, managing to find his voice.

"I know exactly who you are, Gabriel Ricci."

With that, the doors slowly closed in front of him, her sly smile fading from his sight until he can only see his own reflection. He examined her last sentence, repeating the words over and over in his head. There was only one plausible explanation: she only knew half of the truth. His body sagged against the wall as he shut his eyes, angry at himself.

No Alex, I think you really don't.

Author's Notes: Thank you for your continued reading! As some of you may have already noticed, this part was written purely in Gabe's POV because I wanted to expose his conflicted feelings for Alex. It's probably my own version of revenge, with PB stretching that slow burn as much as they could 🤭 Share your thoughts in the comments, I'd really appreciate it! 💖

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@choicesficwriterscreations

It's my first time tagging a couple of folks, so please inform me if I missed including you. Also, want to be added or removed from the tag list? No problem - just let me know 😊.

[hctirdle]

ALEX: Next question is from Fxktn on Reddit. “Who is Martin’s favourite poet?”

JONNY: Ooh, that’s a very good question. I think he’s probably, er, I mean Wordsworth. I think he probably less has a favourite poet and more really has favourite poetry collections. He strikes me as someone whose poetry’s much more based on the anthologies he’s read than, er, diving deep into the work of any specific poet. That said–

ALEX: Poetry for Beginners, that kind of thing. [Chuckles]

JONNY: The Dragon Book of Poetry, that sort of thing. That said, I think he probably has a soft spot for Wordsworth and Keats and that lot.

If Martin reads anthologies of well-known works, and he's particularly into Wordsworth, there's no way one of his favorite poems isn’t “I wandered lonely as a Cloud.”

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

Jonny Sims, go to jail.

The thought of Jon being Martin's host of golden daffodils is too much for me. So is the idea of Martin producing some truly god-awful poetry along those lines and Jon experiencing every single human emotion simultaneously.

JON: I’m glad he’s moved out of the Archives, as it gives me a chance to work here without his constant presence. Also because he managed to leave some of his possessions behind, for the most part it’s just a few books of relatively awful poetry. There are a few pieces I feel could almost have been affecting if his style wasn’t so obviously enamoured with Keats [...]

Jonathan Sims, Archivist: Why is Martin so into John Keats, a tragic orphan sent to live with his grandmother, who found refuge in reading and was always fighting everyone in the name of justice and liberty.

Jonathan Sims, Archivist, also basically Keats: Keats sucks.  

True Love™ is having the longest, most pointless argument over the British Romantics as one wanders the apocalyptic countryside with the one he loves. Martin knows the poetry. Jon knows the poetry and all the dirt on everyone. He doesn’t even Know it, he’s just a history nerd. And Martin’s just like, “I like the poems, Jon, please stop telling me about Allegra Byron and Harriet Shelley, I don’t want to know these things.”

[tseneipgam]

"Summer on the high plateau can be delectable as honey; it can also be a roaring scourge. To those who love the place, both are good, since both are part of its essential nature. And it is to know its essential nature that I am seeking here. To know, that is, with the knowledge that is a process of living. This is not done easily nor in an hour. It is a tale too slow for the impatience of our age, not of immediate enough import for its desperate problems. Yet it has its own rare value. It is, for one thing, a corrective of glib assessment: one never quite knows the mountain, nor oneself in relation to it. However often I walk on them, these hills hold astonishment for me. There is no getting accustomed to them.”

"the whole wild enchantment , like a work of art is perpetually new when one returns to it. The mind cannot carry away all that it has to give, nor does it always believe possible what it has carried away.”

"To pit oneself against the mountain is necessary for every climber: to pit oneself merely against other players, and make a race of it, is to reduce to the level of a game what is essentially an experience. Yet what a race-course for these boys to choose! To know the hills, and their own bodies, well enough to dare the exploit is their real achievement."

"The presence of another person does not detract from, but enhances, the silence, if the other is the right sort of hill companion. The perfect hill companion is the one whose identity is for the time being merged in that of the mountains, as you feel your own to be. Then such speech as arises is part of a common life and cannot be alien. To “make conversation,” however, is ruinous, to speak may be superfluous. I have it from a gaunt elderly man, a “lang tangle o’ a chiel,” with high cheek bones and hollow cheeks, product of a hill farm though himself a civil servant, that when he goes on the hill with chatterers, he “could see them to an ill place.” I have walked myself with brilliant young people whose talk, entertaining, witty and incessant, yet left me weary and dispirited, because the hill did not speak. This does not imply that the only good talk on a hill is about the hill. All sorts of themes may be lit up from within by contact with it, as they are by contact with another mind, and so discussion may be salted. Yet to listen is better than to speak. The talking tribe, I find, want sensation from the mountain — not in Keats’s sense. Beginners, not unnaturally, do the same — I did myself. They want the startling view, the horrid pinnacle — sips of beer and tea instead of milk. Yet often the mountain gives itself most completely when I have no destination, when I reach nowhere in particular, but have gone out merely to be with the mountain as one visits a friend with no intention but to be with him."

"This is the river. Water, that strong white stuff, one of the four elemental mysteries, can here be seen at its origins. Like all profound mysteries, it is so simple that it frightens me. It wells from the rock, and flows away. For unnumbered years it has welled from the rock, and flowed away. It does nothing, absolutely nothing, but be itself."

"it is the August-blooming ling that covers the hills with amethyst. Now they look gracious and benign. For many many miles there is nothing but this soft radiance. Walk over it in a hot sun, preferable not on a path (‘I like the unpath best,’ one of my small friends said when her father had called her to heel). "

"The more one learns of this intricate interplay of soil, altitude, weather, and the living tissues of plant and insect (an intricacy that has its astonishing moments, as when sundew and butterwort eat the insects), the more the mystery deepens. Knowledge does not dispel mystery.Scientists tell me that the alpine flora of the Scottish mountains is Arctic in origin — that these small scattered plants have outlived the Glacial period and are the only vegetable life in our country that is older than the Ice Age. But that doesn’t explain them. It only adds time to the equation and gives it a new dimension… My imagination boggles at this. I can imagine the antiquity of rock, but the antiquity of a living flower — that is harder. It means that these toughs of the mountain top, with their angelic inflorescence and the devil in their roots, have had the cunning and the effrontery to cheat, not only a winter, but an Ice Age. The scientists have the humility to acknowledge that they don’t know how it has been done."

"Half-closing the eyes can also change the values of what I look upon. A scatter of white flowers in grass, looked at through half-closed eyes, blaze out with a sharp clarity as though they had actually risen up out of their background. Such illusions, depending on how the eye is place and used, drive home the truth that one of an infinite number, and to glimpse an unfamiliar one, even for a moment, unmakes us, but steadies us again. It's queer but invigorating. It will take a long time to get to the end of a world that behaves like this if I do no more than turn round on my side or my back”

"So simply to look on anything, such as a mountain, with the love that penetrates to its essence, is to widen the domain of being in the vastness of non-being. Man has no other reason for his existence.”

"a flower caught by the stalk between toes is a small enchantment"

"It is nonsense to suppose, when I have perceived the exquisite division of running water, or a flower, that my separate senses can make, that there would be nothing more to perceive were we but endowed with other modes of perception. How could we imagine flavour, or perfume, without the senses of taste and smell? They are completely unimaginable. There must be many exciting properties of matter that we cannot know because we have no way to know them. Yet, with what we have, what wealth! I add to it each time I go to the mountain—the eye sees what it didn't see before, or sees in a new way what it had already seen. So the ear, the other senses."

"So my journey into an experience began. It was a journey always for fun, with no motive beyond that I wanted it. But at first, I was seeking only sensuous gratification – the sensation of height, the sensation of movement, the sensation of speed, the sensation of distance, the sensation of effort, the sensation of ease: the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, the pride of life. I was not interested in the mountain for itself but for its effect upon me, as puss caresses not the man but herself against the man’s trouser leg. But as I grew older, and less self-sufficient, I began to discover the mountain in itself. Everything became good to me, its contours, its colours, its waters and rock, flowers and birds. This process has taken many years, and is not yet complete. Knowing another is endless. And I have discovered that man’s experience of them enlarges rock, flower and bird. The thing to be known grows with the knowing."

[kamana-mishra]

Navigating the World of Brokers: HDFC Securities, Kotak Securities, and Angel One”

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