#i think i post these poems that no one's sees in the hope that someone will read it and feel what i mean

[humanmorph]

Lye „Lyke“ Lychen as a sacrifical altar (to Aterika’Kaal) (but he's also kind of the sacrifice)

my @secret-samol gift for @bronanlynch! for the Aterika’Kaal/Lyke prompt of „what if things had gone differently and Aterika'Kaal was still with Lyke“.

notes on this under the readmore!

AU

In this scenario Lyke would succeed in getting the heart of the Motherbeast in Episode 47 and while Alaway would notice & probably still call out to Aterika’Kaal the way he presumably did in canon, Lyke would be there and get to make a compelling case to Aterika’Kaal the likes of „If you stay with me I am going to feed you. I’ve taken care of you until now, I’ll keep doing that“ (argument supported by the fact he’s currently holding the heart of an incredibly powerful dead god). Aterika’kaal agrees and they barely escape through the Sanctum of the Stone Chorus portal. I think it's fun if Lyke then stays there after the hour described in the move is over, maybe knowing he can't convince Pickman & the others that what he's done is actually good, and fine, there's not even anything to worry about he has this totally handled, But yeah he then sets out from whereever in Sangfielle Aterika'Kaals domain is (Austin did say it was an actual place somewhere), and the rest of the Blackwick Group is left to wonder what the hell happened since Lyke just vanished! Alaway has possibly fucked off too after losing the heart. And them getting fired, the Carnival of Moted Light etc. would still happen (and I guess Chine would succeed at what they were doing since Lyke isn’t there?) and who knows if they’d take any action in finding Lyke after that! All that aside though, Lyke basically offers himself to feed on (through blood and/or energy) and to sustain that he keeps consuming(not literally eating) powerful objects/artifacts/resources and possibly eventually living things (I’d imagine he'd still take work as a „please deal with this weird shit for us“ person and when he has to kill a cursed beast or whatnot... might aswell feed Aterika'Kaal?) (What also plays into that decision, and is part of Lyke justifying this to himself, is that without him, Aterika’Kaal would become too powerful. So he aims to function as kind of a conduit & control the power intake so to speak. I think this probably doesn’t work for very long.) I think this eventually goes bad for him because it’s super taxing on his body and the whole deal kind of flips with Aterika’Kaal feeding/keeping HIM alive. He starts finding bodies in the domain again (alternatively, Aterika'Kaal gets better at hiding them because it knows Lyke doesn't particulary like it when it does that). Lyke probably gets stronger due to this power/magic wise, but also way more fragile (he's constantly anemic!). („I love you. I want us both to eat well.“ - Christopher Citro) („When I write of hunger I am really writing about love and the hunger for it, and warmth and the love of it and it is all one.“ M.K. Fisher) Notes: I put some resources Lyke’s canonically had in-game + some extra stuff in this picture (the arrow is a reference to Marn’s epilogue, the bugs are bugs (with possibly sinister connotations. If you want them to have those, it’s optional) and the fur is from the Ravening Beast). Another detail I came up with I might aswell tell you because otherwise noone might ever know: the ring with the blue stone is a gift from Es. Sketch Notes: 1. Lyke turning his head to kiss a rose / exposing his neck was one of my very first ideas/sketches I made while working on this, and I liked it too much to not include it. 2. This is supposed to be Aterika'Kaal giving Lyke a blood transfusion but it rather looks like it's feeding on him instead...! I like how the relaxed pose turned out. 3. I wanted to draw something smaller in a simpler style to fill the big canvas I was drawing these on (even though now I put them in separate files anyways...). The day I drew this I saw a tweet about a medieval monks sketchbook, so I was still thinking about that. I didn't even plan to color it originally but I ended up getting invested, haha

Inspired mainly by these 3 quotes: „KEITH: I’m a walking- I am a shrine to Aterika’Kaal.“ (Sangfielle 12: The Secret Ledger of Roseroot Hall Pt. 4) „KEITH: There's a version of dealing with Aterika'Kaal that ends with Lyke being satisfied that he rehabilitated a god or at least it looks […] like what he thinks Aterika'Kaal would have been before the YVEs showed up. That's probably his main retirement path, but it also might kill him instead.” (Sangfielle 47: Wax, Iron, and Ichor Pt. 4) „AUSTIN: As you’re fading, the last thing that you do is make this blood sacrifice to Aterika’Kaal. Your own blood.“ (Sangfielle 52: Six Travelers: Lyke)

[lynxalon]

there is something to be said

days pass nights pass

but this remains

there is something to be said

it rings ceaselessly in my head

weeks pass months pass

but this doesn't change

there—where is it, why is it there—is something—something, but what? a feeling? emotion? thought? ideal? dream—to be said—how could this ambiguous amalgamation, this monstrosity of feeling both powerful and unkind, be said in any worthwhile capacity

there is something to be said

you watch it pass i feel it pass

but we won't—remain/change

[fayes-fics]

The Secrets We Keep: Pt I

Part II >>

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Knowing someone your whole life doesn’t mean they can’t surprise you…

Warnings: none yet… fluff and angst. Childhood friends, yearning, arranged marriage, kissing. Pt II will contain a warning/rating change.

Word Count: 5.1k (this part)

Authors Note: Part 1 of 2. My longest gestating WIP! It’s been more than 18 months since I received a request for this secret diary fic. Tulip Anon, I have no idea if you still follow me, but I hope you think I did your detailed request justice. I won't post your ask yet, as it contains spoilers for the second half. Betaed by the awesome @colettebronte, who I can’t thank enough. I’m in the process of writing Pt II, so there will be a gap between instalments. Enjoy! 🫶

-i-

For as long as you can remember, you have loved one man secretly. To the point that you cannot imagine your life without a deep, burning affection simmering in your very core, as fundamental to your existence as drawing air into your lungs.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Your families have been neighbours in Mayfair and Kent for many generations—two aristocratic dynasties that, despite enduring friendships, have never seen intermarriage. There have been attempted matches down the years, according to family lore, but nothing came to fruition. 

So when you were brought to Aubrey Hall as a mere babe in arms, the eldest daughter, there were many good-natured jokes that Anthony’s future wife had been born. But the Viscount, wonderful as he is, was not the man who stole your heart just a few short years later. A bright sunny day in June that you suspect Benedict may not even be able to recall, but you can with perfect clarity, even now, some fifteen years later. 

He picked you as the first person to join his team for a round of garden games. Paying you heed and ensuring you were included, patiently showing you the ropes and applauding your achievements, ignoring the ridicule from the other twelve-year-old boys for letting a girl - and a little five-year-old at that - join in their games. 

Ever since that day, all you have ever seen is his enormous heart and steadfast empathy: always the one to reach out to those excluded, to be supportive, and to love harder and more expansively than his siblings. Thus, unsurprisingly, he became the focus of your singular devotion—a childish adoration transmuting into something more profound and complicated as you matured.

On your fourteenth birthday, your mother gifted you a thick notebook. And it became your refuge, the private canvas on which you outlet your innermost secrets and thoughts. The beautiful but now slightly battered, silk-covered tome is still your most treasured possession even now, more than six years later, so close to filled now, with only a couple of blank pages left. Never long from your hands, but when it must be, carefully stashed under the floorboards of your bedroom. Its pages the reflection of a naive, growing heart. There is one person who features frequently on its crammed, jumbled pages. Sketches of his handsome face, mostly from memory, interspersed with ardent notes and poems that, while they may not mention his name, are written for him. Adoration writ large in every pen and pencil stroke.

Little were you to know that the secrets you keep within its hallowed pages would one day alter the course of your life…

-ii-

It's the evening of the Bridgerton Ball, and usually, you would be brimming with anticipation for such an occasion, a chance to see the man who holds your most ardent admiration. Instead, you find yourself glum, mechanically stepping into the dress your ladies' maid Rachel assists you with, staring blankly into the vanity mirror as she adorns your hair with jewels. Still reeling from your father's shocking announcement the previous day.

The inheritance of a European title had seen him spend eighteen months abroad. In his absence last spring, you were able to persuade your more indulgent mother to delay your societal debut—a yearning to be free in the ways you know no woman really can be for long. A compounding factor was spending the summer in the Highlands with her sister, your Aunt Eliza, a spirited, independent woman who taught you many things and encouraged your artistic whims. And when you were back in London, your mother’s somewhat inattentive running of the house meant you were often able to slip away in the evenings, spending your time deepening your passion for art. Frequenting galleries and conversing with artists led to you being drawn into the bohemian, artsy underbelly of Bloomsbury, a beguiling, exotic contrast to Mayfair. Another secret you keep.

Upon his return to England, your father was not best pleased to learn that not only had you been allowed to skip the previous Season, but Eliza had also taught you to fish, fence and hunt—most unladylike pursuits in his opinion. He, therefore, made it his mission to ensure not only would you debut this year but also a swift match should be made, lest you “get other fanciful, dangerous ideas”.

Perhaps that is why, yesterday, nary two weeks into your first season, he abruptly announced over afternoon tea that he had secured a match for you and the man in question would be dining with you all that evening. A deal no doubt brokered in a private gentleman’s club as if you were merely chattel to be traded.

Revulsion filled your every fibre as you were introduced to Lord Farringdon a few hours later. A wiry man twenty years your senior with a hawk-like countenance and a disdainful disposition. Apparently, a brilliant intellectual mind but accompanied by a mercurial, malevolent reputation. You had read in Whistledown rumours about his mistreatment of his household staff and his previous wife. A forlorn figure who became a recluse long before she died of consumption tragically young. The idea of being betrothed to this cold, abusive man turned your stomach—a seemingly outsized punishment for your rebellion. Once the man left, you had begged and pleaded with your father to reconsider the arrangement, but sadly, your appeal fell on deaf ears. 

And so here you are. Going to a ball at which your father plans to announce your engagement. The stately beauty of Bridgerton House is not as heartening of a sight as it typically is. Tonight, it feels more akin to a gallows.

As soon as you arrive, you are scanning the crowds for the only friend you know will understand just how ghastly your predicament is—Eloise Bridgerton. A kindred spirit whose interest in marriage is as scant as your own. Bonding over your similar yearnings for freedom, you have been good friends since you were little, many a day spent together as children running through the Kentish fields, escaping expectation and flouting convention.

Acutely aware of time running out until your father speaks up, you fiddle distractedly with your fan, impatiently awaiting her entrance.

“For heaven's sake, y/n, please cease your fidgeting!” your mother chastises under her breath, snatching away the item. “I do not see why you are so agitated. Tonight is to be a wonderful occasion for you!”

A myriad of caustic comments are on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down. The last thing you want is to draw attention, and you certainly don't want to be gossip fodder; these ballrooms are a veritable hotbed of eavesdropping if Whistledown is anything to go by. 

When the collective Bridgerton family finally enter their ballroom as hosts, however, your eyes can't help but drift to Benedict instead. A reflex from years of longing, even though it is his sister,  arm looped into his, whose counsel you seek tonight. You excuse yourself to fetch a lemonade as soon as you spy a window of opportunity—Eloise standing alone, looking excessively bored. Abandoning your glass, you hurry over to her.

“I have news…”  You try to keep your voice neutral but grab her arm and practically drag her away from anyone within earshot.

“Well, it cannot be good if you are willing to rip my arm off to impart it,” she remarks dryly as you lead her down a hallway.

“It is not,” you pull a face that you know will convey to her the gravity of what you need to divulge.

With a nod of understanding and a look to a nearby footman, she leads you beyond him into an area of the house off-limits for guests. 

“Tell me…” her tone is sincere as she ushers you into the library and closes the door.

“My father has seen fit to arrange a marriage for me. He is planning to announce it tonight, right here at your family ball!”

She says nothing, only a sympathetic noise as she pulls you into a consoling hug. The emotions you have been tamping down for hours escape as a couple of bitter tears, her arms banding tight around you. You are not sure how long, but you stand in a hug, just grateful for her steadfast support.

“What am I to do?” you whisper.

“I do not know,” she confesses. “Have you tried to reason with your father?”

“A hopeless cause…”  

Her mouth twists in understanding, knowing you will have put up a spirited defence as much as she would have. She detangles from you and goes to a nearby brandy decanter.

“It's the very least you deserve, frankly,” she points out, handing you a glass and pulling you into a loveseat with her, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, clinking her glass against yours in a silent but bittersweet toast about your seemingly futile situation.

-iii-

Half an hour later, your parents are distracted across the far side of the room with friends when a large hand grabs yours out of the blue. You startle when you realise it is Benedict, your heart suddenly in your mouth. Before you know it, you are wordlessly being pulled out of the French doors behind you and into the night air.

“Where are we going!?” you demand when you recover from the initial surprise, his gloved hand tugging yours along through the darkened gardens. 

“Shh, make haste, we must not be seen,” he hushes you but keeps moving, furtive and fast, your feet having to take extra steps to keep up with his long stride over the lush, dewy grass.

“Benedict…” you try again once you round a thick hedge into the rose garden.  “What is going on?”

He slows a little but does not relinquish his tight hold. Gravel path now crunching under his boots as the honeyed scent of damask hangs heavy in the air. 

“Eloise told me,” is all he offers. “So we are escaping.”

“W-we are?” you stutter, frowning, a claggy tumult behind your ribs at his use of ‘we’. 

“Yes! Or at least we would be if you would keep quiet… please…” he amends, sounding a touch contrite about his initial brusqueness, but speeding up again, headed straight for a small wooden door in a high stone wall, almost hidden behind long, draping ropes of ivy, glowing silver in the moonlight.

When you reach it, he releases his grip on your hand and shoulders the door open with considerable force. The weathered wood creaks loudly, almost splintering under the duress. He signals to the inky blackness of the deserted mews behind Bridgerton House.

“It is now or never, y/n,” he warns as you look back at the house, lit up with the life of the ball inside. “So what is your choice?”

He may be presenting it as an option, but really, you know there would only ever be one answer. You would accompany him to the ends of the earth if he so much as asked. And so wordlessly, you step through the doorway and into the narrow street beyond.

“Good choice,” he compliments as he follows suit and closes the door behind him. “You may stay at my friend Granville’s tonight,” he offers sagely, “I have not seen him in a while, but I will explain when we arrive; I am certain he can provide shelter.”

“Benedict, I already know Henry… Quite well, in fact.”

He looks taken aback as if it had not occurred to him that you may move in the same clandestine circles as he does. To be fair, you have always been discreet in your outings, and it’s not something you have divulged to anyone, including Eloise. Still, what confounds you more is why he is suddenly so seemingly invested in seeing you escape from your predicament. It doesn't entirely make sense.

“Well, then,” he cuts into your brief reverie, “you know Henry is a generous host and discreet about the affairs of others. Your father will not come looking for you there. It will buy some time to figure out what to do next. To ensure your freedom.”

“Freedom?” You scoff. “Benedict, as much as I may wish it, there is no other path open to me. Tonight is merely a delay tactic at best. The only way to stop my father’s pursuit of this union is if I marry another….”

The admittance of this truth out loud makes you restless, belatedly realising that it truly is your only way out. You stalk towards the main road, the faint glow of the street lamp guiding your way over the cobbles. You soon hear Benedict’s footsteps behind.

“That is ridiculous!” he exclaims as he attempts to catch up with you. “There are other options available to you…”

“Such as?” you whip around, raising your hands, countering his assertion. When he falters, you return to walking, throwing a tart addition over your shoulder: “Unlike you, a man, I do not have the freedom of choice.” 

“You should always have a choice…” he counters earnestly, still catching up to your furious pace.

“Should and do are different things, Benedict. You do not even know how lucky you are!” You add bitterly, rounding onto the main street.

A gust of wind causes you to pause and a shiver to run down your arms, your gauzy dress not enough to ward off the unseasonable chill in the air tonight. Ever the observant gentleman, Benedict shucks his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. Uncharitably, your ire makes you attempt to shake it off, even while knowing it is intended purely as a chivalrous gesture. You are surprised when he seems to grasp your shoulders tighter, holding the heavy velvet in place. It is cloaked in his woodsy, citrus scent, your vexed state turning into an entirely different type of flush as he crowds closer to you.

“My birth has allowed me certain privileges, I concede,” he replies, his stare seemingly far away as you are unable to look anywhere but the dampness of his bottom lip, shimmering slightly in the lamplight. Then he tilts his head down to meet your eyes. “But that does not mean I am able to have everything I wish for in life, y/n…”

Your tongue burns to ask what it is that he wants but cannot have, yet you do not allow yourself to pry. But seeing the wistfulness in his gaze deflates your irritation, your long-held adoration for this man taking over, making you sigh.

‘You deserve the world, Benedict….’

His face morphs into one of breathtaking intensity, and you realise, horrified, you spoke those thoughts aloud. 

“As do you, y/n,” he murmurs, eyes sincere, your heart beating wildly as his chest vibrates against your own. 

The upheaval of the last day, the man you secretly adore abetting a somewhat daring escape, your heated exchange of words, the lateness of the hour, and the feel of his tall, lithe body pressed against yours…. It's all a dangerous cocktail that culminates in you being utterly impetuous, pushing up onto your tiptoes and mashing your mouth against his with no thought.

His lips are plush and warm, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. It's like a cannon firing in your chest as his warm mouth opens yours. Suddenly, you are urgently taking from each other. A sweeping tidal wave through you obliterates any kissing experiences you have ever had before. It’s a desperate slide of tongues, a passionate continuation of your sparring. His hands are like a hot brand through your thin dress as they sweep around to your back, tugging you into him, his heat, scent and taste overwhelming.

But all too soon you are pulling apart, a need for air in your lungs overriding the spontaneous, reckless moment. For a few seconds, you stare at each other, breathing each other's panted air, hands still grasping onto each other, almost confused by what just occurred… until the whinny of a passing horse carriage has you springing apart as if burned. 

Realisation engulfs his entire being. “Oh god! Please, please forgive me!” he stutters, backing away, holding his hands out in a conciliatory gesture, almost tripping in his haste to put space between you, even though it was you who kissed him. “Please, just go to Granville,” he counsels rapidly before turning heel and disappearing into the night, leaving you standing alone, unmoored and breathless, utterly turned upside down.

-iv-

You drift home in a daze, your family’s London residence only a few hundred yards away. Your escape plans are forgotten in the haze of tumbling thoughts about that blistering kiss. How fervently and immediately Benedict had kissed you back, how wonderful it felt to be caged in his arms….  Climbing into bed and passing out, still bewildered. In fact, it’s only the rude awakening of your bedroom door slamming open the following morning that brings you crashing back to your senses.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Your father roars, holding aloft what looks like the latest copy of Whistledown. “You have brought shame upon our family and likely ruination to your prospects!!”

Utterly alarmed, you sit bolt upright, blinking, taking a few moments before you can find your voice. “What are you referring to, father?”.

He glares at you, then throws the paper onto your bed and stalks out of the room without another word, puce with outrage. You know there will be crossed words at the breakfast table. The sight of your name on the crisp ivory page immediately draws your eye, and your stomach plunges as you read the paragraph:

The annual Bridgerton Ball last night was, once again, resplendent. A triumph that the dowager Countess can be rightfully proud of. Although less contentment could likely be gleaned from the behaviour of her offspring. The second eldest of whom was allegedly seen escaping into the unlit gardens hand in hand with none other than the most reluctant of this season's debutantes, the spirited Miss Y/n Y/l/n. Perhaps the rebellious Miss will not have to endure many more of society’s events that she so patently abhors, should a proposal from the most wayward of Bridgerton sons be forthcoming? I, for one, however, Dear Reader, am not holding my breath…

Hiding in your room as long as you can, hunger drives you to join the frosty lunch table, apologising for inadvertently ruining your father’s plans to announce your betrothal and meekly explaining the incident with Benedict as a complete misunderstanding. It was merely an old friend helping you to gather some air before the big news was to be proclaimed. His taking your hand was out of benevolent concern, nothing more, and when you suddenly felt unwell, he chivalrously saw you the few hundred yards home. The lies feel odd on your tongue, your thoughts only of Benedict’s mouth and body moulded hotly to yours as your father lectures about appropriate behaviour for a young lady and your family’s long-standing friendship with the Bridgertons not being an excuse for a lackadaisical attitude to impropriety.

“There is nothing else to be done now—I must secure you a special licence to be wed tomorrow before Lord Farringdon hears about this,” he decrees with finality, his tone brokering no argument.

You slump silently into your chair, dread creeping through every cell, silently chastising yourself for not following Benedict’s advice and running away. If only you hadn't been impetuous and kissed him, you might have been in your right mind to do so. It feels cruel that the one moment you chose to throw caution to the wind is the one moment that sealed a worse fate.

-v-

That afternoon, your mother ushers you to the Modiste, paying handsomely for a very rushed wedding dress. Something simple that can be finished at such a late hour. It will only be your family in attendance anyway; so much else seems unnecessary. As you stand forlornly upon the raised dias, ivory silk tacked up around you with pins; your mother announces she needs to depart to secure other last-minute arrangements, leaving your trusty ladies' maid to accompany you home once alterations are complete.

“You do not look a happy bride…” Madam Delacroix mutters after the tinkle of the bell above the door signals her departure.

“Your observation skills are certainly not lacking,” you respond quietly, craning to double-check that Rachel, your maid, is out of earshot, sitting listlessly in the front of the store, staring out of the window.

“I do read Whistledown, my dear,” she remarks delicately, “and this does not appear to be a dress someone marrying a Bridgerton would wear.”

Your stomach vaults at the implication; the thought of marrying Benedict has your heart going haywire, even as you know it would never happen. The crestfallen look as your mind flits to the awful man you will be marrying instead is one you cannot hide as she meets your eyes in the reflection.

“It is not indeed,” you sigh, “but Whistledown has rather accelerated my unfortunate fate. Hence the rushed dress…” you gesture to your outfit.

“Mr Bridgerton is a friend?” she digs delicately.

“Lifelong,” you admit, “but Lady Whistledown could not have been more erroneous in her assertions…”

“That you and Mr Bridgerton are together? Or that he would marry you?” 

You look away from the mirror and down to where she is crouched by your hem on your left side, taken back not only at her astuteness but her drive for information. Almost as if she were Whistledown herself.

“I do not mean to pry,” she modifies, “merely to understand your predicament. Maybe I can be of assistance? I have privately counselled many a young lady on the eve of their wedding. Be it a happy occasion or not. And have kept many a secret of the Ton. ‘Tis the reason my business is so successful, Miss y/l/n. A good modiste can be a trusted confidante.”

“W-we are not together,” you stumble out without meaning to.

“But you wish to be? Or perhaps something has happened between you?”

Your eyes dart furtively, and your cheeks heat at the memory, but you say nothing. 

“You need say no more,” she chuckles and offers a knowing smile that appears as much reminiscent as sympathetic.

You rapidly attempt to deflect. “I do not wish to be married to anyone, really. I do find it so unfair a man is free to pursue his passions in life, but merely due to my sex, I am not.”

There is a nod of understanding, and she stands up with her hands on her hips. “I keep a certain array of refreshments for special clients such as yourself.” She nods to what looks like a liquor cabinet partially obscured behind a curtain at the back of her shop. “If you can dismiss your maid, I can assist you on your last night as an unmarried lady.”

The suggestion is too intriguing to refuse. And Rachel will greatly appreciate your pin money.

A few hours later, you are sat upon a circular conversation chair, Gen, as she insists you call her, pouring you another snifter of brandy.

“Tell me, what is your passion?” she inquires, her polished French accent slipping a little, sounding far more East End than Parisian. Something about that makes you like her more.

“Art,” you answer wistfully, “not that I have many opportunities to practice beyond a private notebook. But it is my most prized possession.” You gesture to your pelisse, hanging on a nearby hook. “I have it with me always. I have sewn a secret pocket into all of my coats myself.”

“Ingenious! ” She declares. “You shall have my job one day!”

You laugh, feeling light for the first time in what feels like days, as Gen leans in, raising an eyebrow. “I can also see well why you may have bonded with Mr Bridgerton…”

You giggle and lower your eyes, taking a fortifying sip.

“But it is not just that, is it?” Her tone is thoughtful, delicate even, as she continues: “A life outside the boundaries of so-called polite society can be so very beguiling, can it not? I have seen you, Miss y/l/n, at parties in Bloomsbury…”

A panicked bile rises as your head snaps up.

“As I said before, I am always discreet,” she reassures, “your secret is more than safe with me,” she winks before taking a generous sip from her glass.

Possibly, it's the alcohol, but her understanding of your predicament and the fact she has, unbeknownst to you, moved in similar circles brings an odd sense of relief. Having a confidante, someone to finally share your secrets with, albeit a somewhat stranger, lifts a burden from your shoulders. Wonderful as Eloise is, being the sister of the man who secretly holds your heart is not without complications in many ways.

“Another?” she chimes animatedly, holding aloft the bottle.

You cannot resist that offer.

-vi-

It’s close to midnight when Gen loops her arm in yours as she guides you, quite inebriated herself, away from the hackney cab to the familiar abode of one Henry Granville. Her declaration that a party is what you need on your last night of freedom is definitely not one you would dispute. A myriad of heightened emotions roil inside as you await the door being answered: contentment at your newly cemented friendship with Gen, bewildered every time you think of your kiss with Benedict and abhorrence for tomorrow. 

As you wander into the debauched tableau of a party in full swing: the air thick with smoke and merriment, the sounds of pleasure, people consorting together, a hedonistic swirl of self-expression unfurling all around you—it all consolidates into a yen to be reckless. Take part this time rather than just observe as you have before. Alcohol mutating the simmering rage about the injustice of your circumstance into a yearning to experience pleasure, especially physical. To get lost in sensation on your one last night of liberty.

So when you encounter Sir Simms - Matthew - friend to your older brother, renowned rake, but quite handsome, you throw caution to the wind. He seems delighted to see you, instantly flirtatious and familiar in a way you would rebuff any other night but this one. Whispering in your ear how very bold you are to be at such a bohemian event and pondering what other adventurous experiences you might be willing to indulge in. At one point Gen pulls you aside, her breath sweetened with fermented fruits, as she leans in and counsels you to be cautious. But you rebuff her concerns, swatting away her hold and returning to Matthew, allowing him to pull you into a kiss. 

It’s not the same as with Benedict; your mind screams at the altogether more jarring experience. A wet invasion of tongue that is less pleasant and certainly doesn’t fire anything inside you the way that he had. Merely kindling a defiant resolve to rage against the dying light of your freedom. And so when he slurs into your ear, you consent to his invitation upstairs, knowing fully the implications of what will transpire—feeling vaguely detached from yourself as he pulls you along by the hand towards the staircase. 

Suddenly, your field of vision is filled with dark blue velvet, a strong arm wrapping around you, caging you into a warm body mass, disconnecting your hand from Matthew’s—crossed words in two male voices. A momentarily confusing blur that only begins to make sense when you tilt your chin up… and the breath is quite stolen from your lungs.

Benedict.

At first, it feels like a cruel mirage, the man you most desire here to stymie your last gamble at impulsivity. His hold is strong as you sense Matthew shrink away, defeated by Benedict’s threat to expose some dalliance or other. But as he whisks you to an empty room within the house, all you feel bubbling up is anger.

“Stop trying to rescue me!” you rail, reeling out of his grip and stamping your foot to emphasise your point, uncaring that you may be behaving more akin to a petulant toddler.

“Stop making foolish decisions!” he lobbies back after a fleeting wounded look.

You glare at him momentarily before turning your back and staring out of the window into the inky blackness of Granville’s garden, frustration prickling a tear in the corner of your eye.

Behind you, there is a sigh; then his voice turns softer. “Why did you not follow my advice? I came here this morning only to be informed you never arrived…”

That he came to check on you weakens your bluster, although you still have no earthy idea why, once again, he is so invested in your actions. But you are not done saying your piece. 

“What does it matter now?” you bite bitterly before spinning around to face him. “Benedict, we are in Whistledown. My father would have arranged a special licence for tomorrow regardless of whether I had come here or not…”

“He did what?” he splutters, shock almost choking the words.

You square your shoulders and cross your arms defensively. “I am to be married in the morning. 11am at St George’s.” When all he offers is floored silence, you uncharitably dig the knife in. “No thanks to you...” 

Your words are like a body blow, a world of hurt in his quiet tone as he stares at the ground. “I was only trying to help.” 

Regret floods your every cell; why you would choose to lash out at him, even you don't know—so many conflicting feelings and strong liquor coursing through you.

“Please… let me return to the party,” you sigh wearily, after a beat, gesturing to his blocking your exit from the room.

“You would regret what you were about to do until your dying day,” he attests, lifting his head, a vein on his forehead pulsing as his jaw tenses.

“Perhaps,” you shrug. “But that is my burden to endure, not yours.”

“I am your friend,” he frowns, “I will always want to alleviate your burdens…”

“I do not want a friend, Benedict, not tonight. I want a beau.” If you aimed to shock him, you are successful; a cavalcade of expressions warring on his face as you plough on. “So please move so that I may continue with my most inadvisable plan….”

“No.” It's soft but unequivocal, resolute.

When you realise he is not going to budge, you throw your hands up in exasperation. “What do you want from me, Benedict?” 

There is a gruff noise in the back of his throat, and then, with two determined strides, he is pressed up against you, his breath hot on your face. Then he is kissing you, ferociously, wantonly, opening your mouth with his, his hands encircling your waist and pulling you roughly into him.

And you are lost.

masterlist • wips • taglist (follow this blog to be tagged)

Benedict taglist pt1: @makaylan @longingintheuniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[hunxi-guilai]

so I know that a lot of chinese names are references to specific poems. Is there a way to determine this (vs general auspicious meaning) and which poem specifically? I'd love to be able to figure this out for character names and I haven't been able to find any resources (in case it's helpful, I'd say I'm my understanding is maybe HSK4-level so I can clumsily make my way through the chinese internet with the help of a dictionary)

feel free to make this public so that others can benefit if you have any suggestions

oof... unfortunately I suspect that this, along with one's repertoire of chengyu, is something that one simply Just Learns with reading more. my personal repertoire of poetry is embarrassingly thin, so the horrible horrible process I've been going through is, well, throwing the name into a search bar and hoping for the best.

here's an example of how I (think I) went about doing this for Xiao Xingchen's name, way back when I wrote this post:

I went ahead and dropped "星尘 诗词" ("Xingchen poetry") into the search bar, which turned up this:

Generally speaking, I'll only put the name (minus the surname) because putting the character's full name into a search bar will probably turn up the character themselves, and if someone's name is being derived from a poem, it's usually independent of the surname anyway.

Xiao Xingchen's name is an interesting example because it doesn't quite come from a poem, but it doesn't not come from a poem. you can see that the search engine has automatically assumed that I am looking for poems about constellations, as "星辰" and "星尘" are homonyms, and one of these is more commonly seen. I usually consider that a solid indication that "星尘" (the name) is a novel formation of characters in a name, and not likely a poetic reference.

but! in for a penny, etc. I'm a huge fan of the first search result, gushicimingju, since it's a solid database of poetry and some prose. clicking into that listing informs me that gushicimingju is turning up. oh my. 119 possible matches:

note that these are matches for "星辰" (constellation), not actually our character's name. still! you can click in and peruse the selection if you'd like.

now that you're on gushicimingju's site, you can also use the search function within the site to search for more exact matches, without worrying that you'll accidentally activate the fandom itself.

looks like there's a few matches for "晓星," but nothing for the full name.

so! gushicimingju is a solid database I like to refer to most of the time. if for some reason I'm feeling particularly academically rigorous, I might also do some searches on ctext as sometimes names will come out of famous turns of phrases (a la Zhao Yun 赵云 / Zhao Zilong 赵子龙 from that post I linked earlier) rather than poems. searching the dictionary sometimes (Pleco, or zdic) doesn't hurt either. basically, I throw spaghetti at the search engine wall to see what results come back for these characters in this particular order to try and get the original referent (if any) to show up; I'll probably give up after a few permutations of search terms if nothing is actively jumping out at me

but back to the search results: sometimes, if your character is famous enough, straight up searching for "what poem is this character's name from?" will help you find like-minded people on baidu zhidao (basically yahoo answers):

although of course, take baidu zhidao result with all of the salt you would take with any yahoo answers (look for alternate sources to validate, good for a laugh most of the time)

best of luck!

[roosterforme]

Covering the Classics Part 12 | Bob Floyd x OC

Summary: When Anna noticed that a new poem by her favorite, amateur writer had been posted, she was afraid to read the finality in his tone. But Bob always managed to surprise her. And maybe she could find a way to surprise Kevin, too.

Warnings: Angst, Kevin is a dick, adult language, 18+

Length: 3600 words

Pairing: Robert "Bob" Floyd x Female OC (this story is part of the Beer Boy/Sugar and Jake/Jessica universe)

Covering the Classics masterlist. Check my masterlist for more!

After that, it was radio silence. Anna didn't reach out to Bob, and he didn't try to either. He went to the Hard Deck on Friday night and lasted about an hour before excusing himself. Nobody asked him why he was bailing after one ginger ale and a single cup of peanuts, and that was enough to tell him that everyone knew. Everyone knew he slept with Anna. Everyone knew she was married. Everyone knew that they shouldn't talk about it in front of him for fear that the ladies would snap their necks. Even Nat was being very kind and considerate which wasn't really like her at all. 

When Bob was halfway to the door, he felt a small hand curl around the back of his bicep. "I'll see you tomorrow night for D&D?"

He nodded down at Jessica's hopeful face. "Yeah. I can pick you up if you want."

Her face brightened a little bit. "I'll text you in the morning." He turned to walk out, and her hand slid down his arm. "Hey, Bob? Don't give up hope on her, okay?"

He didn't know how to respond, so he just kept walking. He had no idea what to say or what to think. It wasn't like he could stop loving someone overnight. He didn't really want to either. Anna's life was quite frankly messier than he had ever expected. She did a pretty good job of hiding it from everyone, and it seemed like she would have continued down that path if they didn't have sex. And that was the other issue; it wasn't just sex to Bob. Anna knew about the things he tried to hide himself, and she seemed to want him in that moment anyway. 

Her words from the previous night made him ache. 

'You're perfect. You're Sky Writing. You're the handsome man from the bookstore who smells like tea and soap. You're Bob, the guy my friends knew I would fall in love with as soon as I met them.'

If that meant she was in love with him or that she thought she could be someday, then he was afraid to walk away from her. But now he was terrified of getting hurt or somehow hurting Anna like Kevin had. Part of him believed if he could just see Anna's husband with his own eyes, confirm that he was exactly the way she described him, then he might be able accept that she just needed time to settle her divorce and to heal. If that was the case, he wanted to make it work. 

In the meantime, when he got home, he ended up standing in his living room, staring at his bookshelf before going upstairs and staring at his bed. He could still picture her red hair all spread out for him. He could still feel it between his fingers as the silky strands slid along his palm. He could taste her on his tongue. He could hear her telling him what she wanted.

Bob picked up his computer and slipped under the covers, knowing he wasn't going to be able to sleep right now.

----------------------------

It had been there since early Saturday morning. A new one. Anna desperately wanted to read it and memorize it like she had the others, but she was afraid to face the finality. Her email alert mocked her every time she looked at it.

Sky Writing has posted a new, original work! Click the link below to check out the subscriber that you follow!

Bob wrote a new poem, and she didn't think she could handle reading exactly how he viewed her now. He'd never be like Kevin, openly belittling her or putting her down, but she knew the shiny packaging had been removed now, and he saw what was really inside. Just a mess of a human. She put off reading it and put off reading it, but when she was sitting at her desk at work on Monday, she made herself decide between reading the new poem or calling Kevin. After a fairly short debate, she decided to read the poem. It was probably so bad, calling Kevin later wouldn't even feel painful in comparison. 

She tapped on the link in her email and was taken to something so unexpected, she gasped as she read it.

There is empty space on my bookshelf,

The one I bought with you in mind.

I didn't know it was for you at the time,

But one night made it obvious,

Before an instance took it.

Reality surpassed intention today.

Your worn favorites and mine pristine,

Should mingle and mix,

Genre forgotten.

Dog eared pages became so endearing.

But I'll never see them on my shelf,

Unless you come back and stay this time.

The format was different from what he usually wrote, but it was so obviously Sky Writing. So obviously Bob. So obviously about her. And he didn't sound angry. Could he possibly miss her after everything she did and said?

She jumped when her phone vibrated on her desk, and for a split second, she believed it could be Bob. Her heart beat faster with anticipation, but it was from somebody else.

Jessica Reed: If you don't come down to this weird tree right now, we're going to come up and get you.

Anna had lost track of time. It was after noon now. She knew that her friends were trying to make sure she was holding herself together after she refused to go to the Hard Deck over the weekend. How could she continue to go somewhere that Bob had the rights to first? It wasn't until she read his Sky Writing poem that she thought perhaps there was a chance he might not only be okay with her presence but perhaps even miss her like she missed him.

With her sad little lunch in hand, she dragged herself down to the quad, trying to decide when was the best time to call Kevin. She was tired of going through lawyers who couldn't seem to get him to budge, and each ninety day window just ate away at more of her soul. She should have been so much more careful with her writing when she had the opportunity, and now he'd completely locked her out of being able to access it. 

No, she was going to have to beg him, plead with him, anything it took to get what she wanted without giving away where she'd moved. Maybe if he agreed to let her have her manuscript, one of her friends would let her borrow money for a flight back to New Jersey to retrieve it. She was getting ahead of herself, but she couldn't help it. She needed to at least get this one thing.

"There she is!"

Anna looked up to see her friends directly in front of her on the bench by the tree, and the fact that they both looked happy to see her made her heart ache. "Hi," she said softly as she sat down between them when they both scooted over.

"Hummus?" her friend asked, passing along a container while she bit into her perfect looking chicken salad sandwich on artisan bread. Anna accepted a few bites of Bradley's gourmet snack, because she was absolutely starving today.

"Thanks," she murmured, and she let herself sink into the background a little bit as the two other women continued the conversation they'd been having. Now that she was down here with his friends, she couldn't stop thinking about Bob again. His soft hair and his kind eyes. The way he always paid attention to her when she was talking. How good he made her feel.

She listened to her friends argue about alumni weekend for a few minutes before she finally cut them off to ask, "Has Bob said anything about me?" Both of them looked at her, and she quickly added, "I can't stop thinking about him."

Jessica smiled softly and said, "Not a word, but I've never seen him look so sad. And I mean that in a good way, because although I know he's confused and hurt, I'm pretty sure he just misses you."

"But," the other woman quickly cut in, "the most important thing right now is making sure you take care of yourself. Even if you are in love with Bob."

"Oh!" Jessica exclaimed. "I have an idea! We could just kill Kevin!"

Anna snorted in spite of herself. "That would actually solve a lot of my problems. Maybe even all of them."

"Only one problem with that," Advanced Calculus said blandly. "You're not a killer, Jessica."

"I could kill someone," Jessica muttered under her breath, and truly Anna almost laughed, because Jessica Reed was one of the gentlest people she'd ever met. The most violent thing about her was her Dungeons & Dragons character. "I could at least probably slap him."

"He wouldn't know what hit him," Anna said, and all three women erupted into laughter. And it felt so strange to feel genuine happiness, even if it only lasted for a few seconds, that Anna almost started crying. As their amusement died down, she asked her friends, "Do you think.... Bob would respond if I texted him?"

Jessica squeaked, and then both women said, "Yes."

---------------------------

Bob was back to square one. Back at the bookstore. He was fifteen minutes early. He was already looking through the Classics. He was about to meet up with Anna. He was nervous.

Nat scoffed when he told her where he was going, and he truly did appreciate that his friend wanted him to proceed with caution, but she just didn't understand how Anna made him feel. Being friends with her after sleeping together a total of one time might kill him, but he knew that was probably all he could have now.

It was almost like he could sense that she was there. He looked up from the Shakespeare volume in his hand, and he saw her walk in the door. As he got closer to the loft railing, he saw her glance up and meet his eyes like it was some depraved version of Romeo and Juliet. She mouthed the word Hi before she headed for the stairs, and in less than a minute, she was standing right in front of him. 

Anna looked nervous, but everything else was just the same. Those perfect freckles decorated her face. Her brown eyes were bright. Her pretty hair was in a messy braid. He saw her burgundy nail polish as she fidgeted with her denim jacket. He wanted to know if she still thought he was the kind of person she could love. He wanted to ask her if her husband was any closer to signing papers. Instead he said, "I was surprised when you texted me."

Her eyes went wide, and he wished he could shove his foot in his mouth as she started looking around anywhere but at his face. "I need some books for my feminist literature course, and I just thought maybe you'd like more books for your bookshelf."

Had she read his newest poem? It was a sloppy one that he wrote late on Friday night and posted on a whim. She could have deleted her account by now or vowed never to read anything else by Sky Writing. But that didn't stop the poem from being about her.

"I do need some more books for my shelves," he replied, and her eyes finally settled on his again. "And you don't have to be nervous around me. I know you're dealing with a lot, and I promise I won't touch you or anything."

Now she just looked sad and distraught, but she nodded and turned down the very aisle where they first met. Bob had to fight to keep a few feet of space between them as she said, "I'm looking for Mary Wollstonecraft, Charlotte Perkins Gilman, and Elizabeth Cady Stanton."

They worked their way slowly up and back down each aisle, falling into a natural conversation in spite of the awkwardness between them. In spite of the way Bob couldn't keep himself from looking at her as she ran her fingers along the spines. When she wanted something that was on a top shelf, he reached it down for her. When her hands got full, he offered his up for her use. And to his delight and also sadness, she kept recommending books for him along the way. That's how he ended up with Miss Pettigrew Lives For a Day as well as The Importance of Being Earnest in his hand when she led the way downstairs to pay.

Bob cleared his throat as Anna reached into her pocket for some cash. "I can get them."

Her brown eyes snapped up to meet his, and her cheeks turned pink. He already knew what Kevin did, and while he didn't think there was any harm in saying it, he could tell that she at least had her pride intact. "The college is going to reimburse me," she said firmly before handing forty dollars across the counter.

"Right," Bob said before paying for his own books. When they walked out into the fading sunlight, he looked down into her pretty face. "Will you let me drive you home? Not because I think I need to, but because I want to?"

She seemed at war with herself as she looked across the street and pressed her lips together. But her eyes fluttered closed and she said, "I would really appreciate that."

The interior of his truck was quiet the whole way as their books sat on the seat between them. Only the soft hum of the radio helped Bob hold his thoughts at bay. The ride wasn't too long, and when they were most of the way there, Anna finally spoke. 

"I'm going to deal with my shit. I promise."

Unsure exactly how he should respond, Bob simply said, "Okay."

When he pulled up in front of her building, he turned toward her, intending to ask if she wanted him to walk her up, but she was gathering her books together as she said, "I don't know how you feel about me now. I don't know if you could want me again. But I am going to deal with Kevin. I am going to fix my life. Because I want to move on. I need to." When he was so flustered that he didn't immediately respond, Anna said, "You know where to find me. Thanks for the ride."

He watched her run up the sidewalk before struggling to open the door with her arms full, and then she ducked inside when he finally figured out what he wanted to say. "I'll find you."

-------------------------------

If Anna even had a hope or a prayer at a chance with Bob ever again, she needed to work up the nerve. A real chance with him now that he knew all about her disastrous marriage was what she wanted, but she needed to sort Kevin out first. 

As far as she could tell, everything came down to two options: keep her freedom by giving Kevin ownership of her manuscript, or keep her self worth by fighting until she didn't have anything left to give up. And both of them sounded terrifying. The whole weekend passed where she tried so many times to call him. She took her phone out again and again, let her thumb hover over her husband's phone number, and then chickened out. His voice was like a distant memory, and she didn't want to bring it back to the forefront of her mind. He hadn't reached out one time since she up and left without telling him where she was going, and she was afraid to let him know where she was now.

The worst part was, he would know immediately why she was calling. He knew that he had the one thing she wanted. He cut off her access to the cloud files where she should have been able to piece her writing back together. It would have been time consuming, but she would have been all too happy to do it. She should have known better than to let him have so much of her life and so many of her resources in only his name, but there was a time when she trusted him. That was the part that made her so sick. She had trusted her husband, and now look where it got her.

A shiver went through her body as she woke up for work too early on Monday morning. She wanted Kevin's computer where everything was saved. She wanted access to the cloud. She didn't want a damn penny from him otherwise. She was aggressively brushing her teeth, wishing she had more to eat than a granola bar when she spit out her toothpaste and rinsed her mouth.

She hated him. She hated him so much, she was going to call him right now. Without a backward glance, she marched over to where her phone was charging and pulled the cable out. Before she could even think about exactly what she was going to say, she tapped on his stupid name.

Anna was breathing fast and deep, her heart pounding in her ears when she heard his voice for the first time in so many months.

"Anna?" he asked, her whole body cringing after just one word. His voice was scratchy as if she had woken him up, but it was 9:16 in New Jersey. He should be on his way to work if not there already.

"Kevin," she snapped, gripping her phone tighter. She was getting angrier by the second as she listened to him yawn while she looked around her tiny apartment.

His tone was condescending as he said, "Of course you'd call me at six in the fucking morning after I haven't hear a word from you except through a lawyer since July. What the hell do you want?"

She couldn't do this. She couldn't talk to him. While she felt strong a few minutes ago, her resolve was already crumbling. She wanted to tell him that he knew damn well what she wanted, but then she zeroed in on what he said. "What do you mean it's six in the morning? It's after nine."

His voice was suddenly loud and harsh. "I meant exactly what I said. I'm in California for a medical convention. Now get to the point of your call."

Her mouth felt like sandpaper as she carefully put her phone on speaker. She started searching for Neurological conventions in California while she told him, "I just want my manuscript. Please, Kevin. That's all I want, and then you can be rid of me."

The bite was gone from his voice, replaced by a lazy tone, and he spoke to her as if she were a very simple child. "It's not going to happen, Anna. I didn't cut off access to it for no reason. It's worth money. You can pay me for it, or you can kiss it goodbye. I might even publish it myself."

She was gasping for air as she scrolled through her search results, coming up with a conference in Carlsbad that was starting today. As the page loaded, she swallowed and told him, "I'll sue you if you do." But even she knew she was full of shit.

"What what money, Anna? I'm surprised you can still afford your lawyers. I don't even want to know what you're doing to make ends meet right now."

Then she saw it. She saw his name. He was a keynote speaker at the National Neurological Physicians Association conference. He was less than an hour away. She sank down to her knees in surprise and fear. Her mind was swirling with information and ideas, and she couldn't even comprehend what Kevin was saying now.

"What?" she gasped.

"I said come up with some money for me, or I'm not signing shit." Then he ended the call as her hands started shaking. She dropped her phone onto her bed. He was in Carlsbad. Maybe she could surprise him. Maybe she could talk him into it easier in person.

Anna had to run to the bathroom to be sick, but her mind was made up. Once she cleaned herself up again, she tearfully made the decision to cancel her morning classes via email, and then she started grabbing her purse and her essentials. She folded up the newest copy of the divorce paperwork her lawyer had emailed to her and tucked it away. Then she ran for the bus stop, nearly tripping several times as she read through the schedule of speakers who were at the conference this week on her phone. If she caught a bus within the next fifteen minutes, she might make it in time to see Kevin right before he gave his welcome speech.

---------------------------

We will meet Kevin in the next chapter. Now is an acceptable time to start sharpening your knives. Bob, please don't give up on Anna. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 13

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[akindplace]

I had a hard time growing up. I’ve met people who were bad for me - but were not evil. They were dysfunctional people who did terrible things that marked me in more ways than I’d like to admit. I know this pain has changed me and I’m not even sure it’s for the better. And that made me feel so hopeless about myself for years. But there is one thing that kept me going when I felt like giving up, and that was love.

Being loved changed me as a person, even more so than my trauma. Whenever I see old pictures of me, I feel love for her. Looking at a beautiful sunset knowing most people will see it and think about its magnificence, I feel love for being alive. Loving others and being loved changed me, surely, for the better. And maybe that’s good enough as a life’s purpose. It allows me to have hope.

Love makes me think that everyone can be helped when they are encouraged and validated and seen for who they are. People are capable of doing terrible things with their hatred but also capable of making positive changes when they act with compassion. Love has changed me in so many ways, and it was for the best, though it doesn’t erase the past, it gives me hope for a better future.

And if you don’t have a relationship with anyone in your family, remember that people find families in their friends. And they will love you. And you left a bad romantic relationship and are afraid of never being loved in this way again, don’t give up. Talk to your friends, their love is just as important. Someone else might come around later, and you will feel that romantic love again.

I’m not saying that someone’s love will immediately heal every hurt you ever felt, and that you should look for someone only to fix you, because that’s not a healthy way to be loved. I’m saying that love encourages you to grow, to look inward and see what needs to heal, to look at yourself with a little more kindness, to let go of the past to the best of our abilities. We change when we are loved, often because our loved ones make us feel stable, more confident, and they know how to keep encouraging us when we worry about our own capacities. They nurture the change in us.

While writing this post, the poem “Invitation” by Mary Oliver came to mind: “believe us, they say, / it is a serious thing / just to be alive / on this fresh morning / in the broken world. / I beg of you, / do not walk by / without pausing / to attend to this / rather ridiculous performance. / It could mean something. / It could mean everything. / It could be what Rilke meant, when he wrote: / You must change your life.”

[drchucktingle]

hello I hope this isn't annoying but I was thinking about your post about how harriet porber was written out of love for trans people instead of spite for transphobes and that is just... very important to me. I would have not batted an eye at you saying that the books were written out of spite, like, that is generally how people talk about stuff like this, and I am very used to it, and it's not bad exactly, but like, it's kind of soul-numbing. I firmly believe in the importance of centring love in things like this. it's one thing to know that people hate the people that hate the kind of person you are, but it's easy to slip underneath that into despair and loneliness and everything. it doesn't do much to really make me feel safe or good about anything. it's a lot more impactful to know that there are people that love the kind of person you are. and I have a tendency to think very rigidly, and so I was having a hard time thinking about myself in that way. and seeing someone say that they made art out of love instead of spite was very comforting. not sure where I am going with this, sorry.

thank you bud. i would like to go on record to say it is OK to make art out of spite and rage and envy and all of these other motivators they are all valid and i am not here to tell others their artistic motivations and their fuel is not important. we ALL have our own trot as we create on this timeline that is okay.

HOWEVER it is my advise and personal way to say that I CREATE WITH FUEL OF LOVE and i highly recommend this to others it is my number one advise when asked. love is most powerful force across any timeline. in all layers of reality it is only constant and i believe there is something to this. as artists and creators and SENTIENT BEINGS we exist in opposition to the endless cosmic void. just by taking a single breath we are crying out I AM HERE I EXIST IN DEFIANCE OF NOTHINGNESS.

creation and love are INTERWOVEN in such a powerful way that you might as well say they are the same thing. personally i BELIEVE they are the same thing and once you realize this it is hard to draw on any other artistic fuel.

YOU have the power of the dang big bang and infinite churning suns across infinite timelines sitting RIGHT THERE FOR YOU TO MOLD AND BEND AND USE AND CREATE so reach out and take it. paint a picture or write a poem thats ten thousand words or one word or no words at all. create a walk. create a sandwich for your dang kids before they trot off to school. create a sidewalk with one less piece of trash on it.

if you do this with love it will resonate in ways you cannot imagine

[alienoresimagines]

And so the weed of sorrow springs at the four cross ways

A/N : @hogans-heroes posted this about someone finding Bucky when he's grieving Buck in a fort after the latter went down over Bremen and @middlingmay said what if Harding found him and discovered how he felt about Buck and now has to make a decision regarding Bucky and the Münster mission. They both gave me permission to give it a go, so thank you to them both ! 💕 and sorry it took much longer than expected 😅 I hope you'll like this angsty piece of Chick trying to keep his boys together after Bremen :) (with a bit of Clegan of course)

Title is from Sinner's Rue, a poem by A. E. Housman (whose poetry book was in Gale's footlocker)

Word count : 6536

Mota Masterlist

Summary : Neil and his wife never had children, and yet, he realizes as he watches Bucky’s bottom lip tremble and feels the lump in his throat growing in answer, he’s already familiar with the grief of a father.

Still reeling from losing Buck, Chick tries his hardest to keep his boys together, especially Bucky. But an overheard confession that could get the other man sent home with a blue ticket forces him to make a decision that could change the outcome of the Münster mission and drastically change Buck and Bucky's fate.

--

This is way out of his comfort zone. He may have hugged his boys briefly after a particularly good game at West Point, but when was the last time he hugged someone like that? Not out of bursts of joy and pride but to offer warmth and comfort? He tries to think of something but he comes up blank. Perhaps when he hugged his mother after a particularly long stay away from home but even then, he’s sure the touch hadn’t lingered for long. He’s certainly never hugged another man like that. Yet, though he wrinkles his nose slightly at the sensation of his shirt getting damp as Bucky sniffles in his chest, he doesn’t pull away. He can only hope Bucky finds the tiniest bit of comfort, but he also cannot deny that it feels good. His own loss doesn’t compare in the slightest to Bucky’s but there’s something comforting about the warm weight in his arms, the rise and fall of his back against Chick’s arm, the breath he can feel fanning over his shirt, no matter how shaky. It makes him feel as though, for once, he can protect one of his boys, his trust worth more than every medal ever pinned to his chest.

He'd come fully expecting to see Bucky on a warpath, energy focused on revenge. That was why he’d stayed for a bit in his own jeep after stopping next to Bucky’s haphazardly parked one. Up in the cockpit, hazy from condensation, he’d seen the orange glow of a cigarette being pulled every few seconds and a dark silhouette tipping his head back every so often in a movement familiar enough for Chick to know a flask was involved, even if he couldn’t see it. Now, the flask lies on the floor, a few drops of alcohol around its neck. Given the smell emitting from Bucky, there’s no doubt it was already empty when it fell, but the wet spot on Bucky’s jacket gives him hope the other hadn’t actually drank his entire flask in just a couple of hours. But he had expected Bucky to be drunk. Drunk and angry, a reminiscence of Lt Dye’s celebration night, perhaps, but Chick could face anger and drunken soldiers. He’d expected it. And yet.

Read more here :

And so the weed of sorrow springs at the four cross ways (6536 words) by Thetrystingtree

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

Replica (Part 4)

Summary: The iron cage has slammed shut and you will never leave it.

Perturabo/fem!Reader

Warnings: incest (kinda), possessive behavior, manipulation, humiliation, smut (finally :D), dubious consent

Word count: 2601

Finally, after a while, I was able to finish part 4. Perhaps I will write part 5 with the daemon prince, but I need some time for it. Updated the images (what I love about Tumblr is that you reblog the old version of the post, but by going to the original you can see the new version, it's very convenient). Specifically re-read The Hammer of Olympia for this one. I hope you enjoy it, it was a lot of fun to write.

Song: Mitski - Washing Machine Heart

You still remember the first time Perturabo kicked you out because you mentioned Dorn. For two weeks he did not meet with you and did not have a heart-to-heart talk, moving away as far as possible. You thought that the primarch would do the same now, but the very next day he summoned you to his chambers.

You felt awkward for the first hour, but gradually relaxed. But still wondered why the Iron Lord behaved so strangely in the baths. Of course Perturabo was hard pressed by his responsibilities, but his sudden rage was unusual. You haven't done or said anything wrong.

Maybe he changed his mind about you? He realized that he became attached to you when a primarch should not have weaknesses. Does he see you as more than a mortal friend? Does he think of you as a sister or... something more?

These thoughts made you blush, and you hid your face in the book while Perturabo worked on the drawings. No, this is unthinkable. Of course, you knew that the primarchs had families on their planets. Parents, adoptive siblings and friends. But could they have romantic feelings for mortals?

And did you want to become his lover?

You could barely restrain yourself from jumping out of your chair and rushing around the room due to the abundance of thoughts. Feeling a strange sensation, you raised your head and with a gasp saw the attentive gaze of the primarch. You swore he could hear your heartbeat.

“Very exciting poems” - you tried to justify yourself by telling half-truths. You really liked these verses and it would be better if the lord did not know your thoughts. - “I never thought that I would love Olympic poetry about love so much.”

The primarch continued to glare at you and you shifted nervously in your chair. Did you say something bad? Since Perturabo called you, it means he is not offended or angry. But why does every minute with him last like an hour? Why is the room so hot, and the mere sight of a man makes you tremble?

“You can call me Bo.” - the primarch said quietly before turning to the table. - “During this time, I became attached to you almost like a sister. So why not make our communication even more... close.”

You smiled softly, accepting such a wonderful offer with all your gratitude. Your heart was happy. Enough time had passed to experience grief and yet you missed your parents and brothers. It was nice to feel part of the family again. Even if it is so unusual.

You involuntarily rolled your shoulders, throwing off the recent strange hot sensations. It’s as if you felt someone else’s emotions and desires that are unusual for you. But as always, you tried to brush aside the annoying thoughts and continue living in your “dome.”

***

You continued to live carefree, not knowing the sorrows of mere mortals, from time to time forgetting about the monstrous actions of the primarch. He was terrible in anger and did not value people, regarding them only as a piece of meat. He despised the weakest sons, “covered with rust” and unworthy to bear the title of Iron Warriors. He pumped out all the resources from the planets that came his way.

He had told you about his deeds before, but only the tiniest bits. Enough to frighten you and force you to obey him in everything. But you spent much more time talking about more abstract topics. Beautiful and creative. But Fulgrim's betrayal and journey into the Eye of Terror took their toll.

Now the primarch began to pour out his soul to you more and more often, sharing the terrifying methods of the art of war and enslavement. He spoke about the crimes of other legions and the warp space that you recently visited. Perturabo didn't seem to care what you thought about what was happening in the galaxies. You are just an ordinary mortal girl who will not survive in this world without him.

But you were truly frightened when the iron lord told you about the betrayal of Horus, the demons of the warp, the World Eaters and the daemon prince Angron, with whom Inron Warriors would go to their greatest battle. Siege of Terra. The man saw the horror you were in, watched as tears flowed down your cheeks and how awareness gradually came.

“I understand how difficult it is to find out all this. But nothing can be done. The False Emperor must be overthrown, and we will rule the Imperium as we deserve.” - the primarch, grinning darkly, stroked your head. - “I promised to take care of you. And I will continue to cherish you. Nobody cares about you except me. You would have become a slave or fodder for fuel in the hands of my brothers or continuing to live under my father's rule. Without me, you are a mere mortal girl, one of trillions. You are nobody. Nothing."

The man’s words hurt painfully, and yet you pressed closer to him. Thoughts swirled in my head. Your home world was far from the Solar System and yet your life was quite acceptable. You had a loving family, you did not live in poverty, and working as a chronicler was your long-time dream. Rogal Dorn brought your world into harmony, improving life on the planet and you were glad to become part of the Imperium.

But now it was just a dream. A deception. No, the primarch could not lie to you. The Imperium is rotten and sooner or later an unenviable fate would await you. The world was full of dangers and you could not resist these horrors. You would have been torn to pieces, gutted and eaten alive long ago if it weren't for Perturabo. He saved you. If he didn’t need new personal slaves, if you weren’t noticed, then you would... you would...

“Bo,” you whispered chokedly, swallowing tears and trying to calm your breathing. Fragile fingers squeezed the iron lord's tunic with force. - "I'm scared."

The man stopped stroking and you held your breath until you felt the touch of fingers on your chin. The primarch gently lifted your head, forcing you to look straight into your eyes. You could only gasp in horror and the feeling of safety next to Perturabo.

“You mortals do not obey me. You don't know what's good for you. There is no peace and kindness in this world. Only violence.” - your lips trembled and you let out a strangled squeak, feeling the grip on your face intensify. Almost possessively, the man held you close to him, never breaking eye contact. - “You promised that you wouldn’t leave me. So continue to listen to me. Love me and I will build a perfect world for you.”

You cannot stand the excess of emotions and, sobbing, bury your face in the primarch’s chest. Some part of you knew he was fooling himself. He wants to destroy and recreate everything anew just for himself. And you were part of this vast plan, a chaotic and terrifying dream, recreated from the darkest feelings of a primarch.

But the world around you was disgustingly cruel and merciless. You won’t be able to take a single step, the monsters will immediately destroy your body and mind. You didn't have anyone. No family, no friends. There are no enemies left, and the strangers have disappeared. There was no human warmth around you and you didn’t notice how you were left alone in an iron cage. Only Bo was with you. You only had him.

And if Terra must fall for the Iron Lord to be happy, then so be it.

***

He lost. The opportunity to rise was taken away from him. He was deprived of his greatest triumph. The Solar War ended in victory only thanks to Perturabo. He alone bore on his shoulders the responsibility for the entire success of the traitors while the rest of the legions indulged in senseless violence and debauchery.

But the worst thing was that Horus did not allow him to storm the Imperial Palace. He was not allowed Dorn's creation to be destroyed. He was not allowed his once beloved father to laugh in the face, who preferred another son to him. The warrior turned out to be a slave of the Chaos Gods, having lost his power and strength. And his brothers would not have been able to contribute to the war if not for the Iron Lord.

He's so tired of it. Complete disappointment. Retreating to Mars, Perturabo continued to oversee the ongoing Siege of Terra. Rage and resentment overwhelmed him and he destroyed everything that came in his way. He did not spare his creations, nor his slaves, nor his sons. He was humiliated. Again.

He hated them all. And the Emperor, and the loyalist brothers and traitors. They all mocked him. No, that will not do. The Warmaster may win this war, but he won't be celebrating for long. Perturabo will not let them rest on his laurels, oh no. He will rise above them all. The Primarch was humanity's greatest creation, but that was not enough. He needed more strength, more power. He will become a deadly deity who will crush everything in his path. All galaxies will obey him. Everyone will fear and respect him.

He will rule over everyone. And with him his Legion. And with him...

The man stopped abruptly, sucking in a breath and slowly lowering the hammer. Containing his emotions, he slowly walked towards her chambers. How long had he been trying to drown out his feelings, to deceive himself? How long and unsuccessfully have he tried to suppress this desire?

She was a fragile mortal, unworthy of his attention. But she had been a part of his life since his childhood. Crafty and smart, so kind and beautiful. She was weak, but so pleasant and sweet to the taste. Only she was allowed to see his soul hidden behind the iron. He told himself that he almost loved her like the Emperor... No, he loved her much more than his father. And the whole world.

The primarch slowly opens the door and sees you cowering next to the bed, trembling in horror. Of course, you now know about what is happening in the world and what sacrifices Perturabo makes to make your life enjoyable. Besides, you probably heard him raging with anger. Well, now you just have to calm him down.

“Bo?” - your voice trembles with surprise and you almost sigh with relief. You rise to your feet, but you can’t even take a step from the tension. - “Is it over? I-I heard how angry you were. Are you-”

“Take off.”

It's that simple. No confessions of feelings, no long conversations. The primarch did not want to wait any longer. He let you close enough to him. Why use unnecessary words when you can strengthen your connection in such a primitive but intriguing way? You freeze and open your mouth in surprise. Hands tug at the dress, unable to remove the fabric stuck to the body.

The primarch notices a blush on your cheeks. Embarrassment is an unnecessary quality, but he likes to see you in this state. It's quite charming. But he doesn't want to waste another minute. With sharp steps, the man approaches you and with one hand, forcefully tears your dress, exposing your body. You scream and try to cover yourself, but Perturabo grabs your hands, not letting you.

The man swallows, looking at your perfect forms. On your femininity. This is an ordinary human body, nothing special. He had seen naked people more than once, and females too. But you aroused him. The Emperor removed such base desires from the Astartes, but the Primarchs were a different matter. They experienced a greater range of emotions than mere mortals. They knew and saw more. But the war for humanity and service for the Emperor did not give them the opportunity to experience carnal pleasures. To become attached to mortals in a different way.

But now Perturabo no longer serves anyone but himself. And he could do whatever he wanted. With these thoughts, the man begins to touch you, no, caress you. That's what it's called. His hands on your shoulders and waist. Touching your lips, kissing your breasts and stomach. Listening to your breathing. Lower and lower until it reaches your thighs. Primarchs grew up in flasks; they were not born naturally between their mother's legs. And you... you would have been a wonderful mother to his real sons.

The man throws you on the bed and takes off his clothes. It’s good that he took off his armor first. He couldn't stand waiting that long. The primarch climbs on top of you and is displeased to see the fear in your eyes. Because of the difference in height? Women can endure even more than that, and sharing the bed with a primarch should be the greatest honor. Especially with him.

Or is it because of the blood of slaves and sons that got on his face? Still fresh, it dripped onto your body and you shuddered every time. In truth, he doesn't care. Now you are afraid, but soon you will dissolve in him and thank him for this.

Perturabo abruptly enters you, tearing you apart and looking with ecstasy at how your face stretches out in pain. He feels your blood and cannot wonder if he is your first or if your tender body is simply not intended for a primarch. Even if it's not meant to be, you have to accept it.

“Be quiet. Control yourself. I don't want to hear your screams. I don’t want to see you hurt.” - He wants it in some way. Make you suffer for what you did with him. The man moves his hips and you bite your lip. - “I just want to hear your moans. You have to beg me for it.”

The Iron Lord continues to slowly fill you, peering into your face until he notices dramatic changes. How your mouth opens slightly and your eyes close from the rush of feelings.

“Bo, I”

"You were right. I crave love. I want love. And you have to give it to me, you have to.” - the primarch accelerates, not allowing you to get a word in. “They underestimate me, but it only makes things worse for them. I am the grandest, sister. I am superior to everyone in this world. I'm not a boy, I'm a man. And now you see it. You see it.”

Perturabo leans down with difficulty and begins to kiss your neck, leaving hickeys. He remembers the sound of crunching, he remembers blood and dead eyes. It wasn't you. It was a decrepit old woman who called herself you and dared to condemn him. Daring to mock him. And you, crying with pleasure, know your place. So continue to remain at his feet and he will show you a perfect world.

The man groans and pronounces your names, continuing to whisper about his grievances and shout about imminent divinity. Until he finally fills you and sinks onto the bed with a sigh. Burying your small figure with his massive body. Completely unaware of your tears and misunderstanding in your eyes. How a drop of love mixes with true horror.

But if he saw it, it wouldn't change anything. You belonged to him. You were his and only his. The iron cage was finally closed. And now the bird will sing only to him.

[storiesfromafan]

Obsessed Pt 3

A/N: I am finally back with part 3!! I am sorry for my absence, as I mentioned in anther post, I had taken time off work and it was my birthday on the 11/7. So I took some me time, haha.

I hope this part is alright, I finished it not long ago, so sorry if its not edited properly. Please don't come at me for mistakes or anything, haha.

Also, the last week or so, I have been thinking of a new series for one of Austin Butler's characters; Benny from The Bikeriders. Lets just say Austin has me in a choke hold right now lol. After this post I will be putting up something I wrote for him. I am finally branching out in my writing, which is terrifying lol.

With that, please enjoy the next part of the Obsessed Series.

Part 1 & Part 2

What was he thinking sending you that poem? What possessed him to act on his thoughts? Mattheo questioned himself over and over, tired from lack of sleep from his mind trying to figure out what was going on. It was like he was on autopilot when he done it. Mattheo had thought about the words, which his hand had written down and then mindlessly sent the words to you.

What had you thought when you got the letter? Did you read it? Did you like the muggle poem? Or did you hate it? No, you would like that poem as he had seen you reading it numerous times. Were you interested in knowing who sent it to you? Did you know it was him? Or did you think it was someone else?

“Mattheo, pass the juice” Theodore’s voice brought the worried boy from his thoughts.

Blankly looking to his mate, Theodore gestured to the pitcher of juice. Finally putting two and two together, Mattheo grabbed the pitcher and passed it to the male sitting down from him with their hand out.

“You alright?” Theodore asked taking and pouring the juice into his cup. “You seem out of it”.

Straightening up in his seat, Mattheo nodded his head. “Yeah, all good”.

From the look Theodore shot him, he didn’t buy Mattheo’s words, but let him be. If Mattheo wanted to talk to him, he would when he was ready. Mattheo went back to sitting silently, pushing his food around his plate, taking a bite here and there. He didn’t have much of an appetite, as his stomach was in knots with worry.

Looking up from his plate, Mattheo looked across the room to the Ravenclaw table. From where he sat, he could just see you sitting with your friends. You were talking and laughing like nothing was a miss. Maybe you hadn’t opened the letter he sent. But that still didn’t put him at ease.

Once breakfast was done everyone began to make their way to classes. Both Theodore and Lorenzo had gotten up before Mattheo, Theodore clapping him on the back in passing. With a look to you, he saw you were getting up with your friends, that was when Mattheo got up too. He wanted to follow you, even if you had different classes. But you had left The Great Hall before he could catch up to you and your friends. So reluctantly he followed his two friends, and went to morning classes.

First up Mattheo had flying class with Gryffindor’s. It was a pretty normal lesson; a few students falling off their brooms, Malfoy’s snarky comments, Potter facing off with Malfoy. Just a typical Slytherin and Gryffindor class.

Walking back into the castle, Theodore and Mattheo were pushing each other and laughing while Lorenzo strolled behind them. Pushing Theodore into a passing group of girls Mattheo roared with laughter, his friend apologizing for his mates actions. He then took off after his friend, grabbing him in a headlock. A small battle between them ensued before their next Professor made herself known.

“That is enough Mr Knott and Mr Riddle!” Bellowed Professor McGonagall. “This a hallway, not a dueling area”.

Both boys separated at her words, standing beside each other with their hands behind their backs. Lorenzo stood behind McGonagall snickering at his friends, all the while the students in the halls watched on with curiosity. The Professor took to scolding both boys, much to the amusement of those watching. To finish it, McGonagall escorted both boys to her class, which only gained more stares and snickers from their passing peers.

Once entering the classroom; Mattheo, Theodore and Lorenzo made their way to seats in the back of the room. Lorenzo and Mattheo sat at the back row, while Theodore and other Slytherin student sat in front of them. Throughout the class Theodore turned back to make comments to his friends, or share drawings he did out of boredom. Only after McGonagall caught them, did they finally settle down and take her class more seriously.

Now left to himself, Mattheo's mind went back to you and the letter. His stomach churned at the questions surfacing again. His mind was all over the place. The usually calm, cool and collected Mattheo Riddle was a worried mess. Part of him didn’t care about sending you a muggle poem, while the other half was worried about it getting out to the students. It would look bad for his reputation.

When class finally wrapped up, the three Slytherin mate’s packed up their stuff before getting ready to head to lunch. Theodore was already off a head with the Slytherin he had been sitting with, deep in conversation. While Lorenzo and Mattheo followed a few meters behind.

“You alright mate?” Asked Lorenzo with concern. “You seem out of it”.

‘So, it’s obvious then’ Mattheo thought to himself. He gave his friend a half smile, “do I seem like somethings wrong?”

Lorenzo nodded. “Yeah, what’s up?”

Looking to Theodore, Mattheo called out that they’d catch up later. Theodore looked back, not thinking much of it, but called back he’d see them then. With that sorted, Mattheo dragged Lorenzo off to an empty corridor. Out of the two friends, he knew Lorenzo would be the one to give him less shit for what he did.

So, taking a deep breath Mattheo began to explain to his friend what was going on. Starting from a year ago when you helped him, how he thought about that moment and you. Then how every time he saw you, he studied you, noticing minor things about you or what you did. How he wanted to be around you. And finally, the poem he had sent you.

“I sent her a bloody muggle poem!” Mattheo said holding his head. “Now I can’t help but think a million questions that I probably wouldn’t get answers to! I was an idiot!”

Lorenzo, still processing what his mate had just shared with him, lent back against a pillar. Part of him was amused at the situation Mattheo was in, while the other half didn’t think he had it in him to catch feelings for one singular girl. All three of them were known for their rotation in girls, never staying with one more then a few weeks to a month. But here was Matthe Riddle, looking to finally have grown out of his Playboy ways.

Lorenzo smiled at his friend. “You look to have gotten yourself into quiet the situation, huh?”

Mattheo groaned. “No shit. What do I do?!”

Lorenzo pondered his friends words. “Honestly, I don’t know” – Mattheo groaned again – “but maybe wait and see if you get a letter back? Surely, she wouldn’t just leave you hanging, maybe she is trying to think of what to say?”

 Thinking over Lorenzo’s words, Mattheo slowly nodded standing up straight. “Maybe…maybe you’re right”.

Lorenzo nodded. “Yes, we will see if I am. But I have to say mate, this is a new side to you. How feminine of you” he laughed, trying to lighten the mood.

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Haha. Have a good laugh” he sulked, putting both hands in his pockets and pouting.

“All jokes aside, I am happy to know you fancy a girl whole heartedly” comment Lorenzo moving from the pillar.

The pair began to walk from their secluded space, and head to The Great Hall for lunch. No doubt by now Theodore would be wondering where they had gotten to. Mattheo smiled at his friend, feeling less stressed after finally confiding in someone about his mindless moment.

They were laughing and joking as they walked when a head of them, they heard a whooshing noise. It only got closer before a letter came hurtling to them, suddenly stopping before Mattheo’s face. Blinking a few times, realization kicked in and he grabbed the letter, in case if anyone had been near by could or had seen. He stuffed the letter in his pocket, while Lorenzo gave his friend a sly smile.

“I told you” was all he said shoving Mattheo’s shoulder.

Mattheo shook his head. “It might not be from her”.

“Then open it, dare you to” Lorenzo laughed.

Looking around, the hallway was empty, but he wouldn’t take the chance. “Not now. After classes” Mattheo replied.

With that decision made, which when Mattheo thought back on and decided was a stupid one, the two males made their way to The Great Hall for lunch. And now Mattheo’s appetite had returned a bit, well compared to breakfast it had returned. After that he managed to get through his afternoon class, but barely. The letter in his pocket felt hot, warming his skin, itching for him to read it.

Finally free the three Slytherin’s emerged from the castle into one of the few courtyards of the school. Theodore complained how the building had been so stuffy, and that they were missing out on a beautiful day outside. So, they decided to lounge around in the courtyard till dinner. Crossing the yard to a large tree that they usually hung out at, Mattheo was fidgety, wanting to open the letter and finally know its contents. Seeing how his friend was, Lorenzo nodded at him. And so, they both came up with an excuse – the ruse of meeting up with a Hufflepuff girl – to let Mattheo slip away.

Without a second thought Mattheo re-entered the castle, making haste to his dorm room. He didn’t know if it would be empty, but he’d find out as soon as he got there. Thankfully, upon entering he was relieved to find not a soul there. Dropping his bag by his bed, he pulled the letter from his pocket before sitting on his bed. Holding the envelope in both hands he noted the lack of a name on the front. What did he expect? His name? Yes, as many girls addressed their letters to him, but there were a few that kept it blank. Yet he had never signed his letter to you, so there would be no name on a letter. Turning it over he saw the wax seal, the last thing holding him from the contents and who the sender was.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Mattheo finally worked up the courage to break the seal. He sat there for a minute, as if rushing to get the letter out it would cause it to escape his grasp. Eventually he slowly pulled the letter out, before opening the parchment he took another breath and thinking to himself how silly he was being. It was just a letter. He gets them all the time from his fangirls. But if this was from you, it meant so much more.

Finally, he took the leap and unfolded the parchment. He was meant with a fair number of words, which read as such:

Dear Mystery Sender,

Thank you for the poem. I am glad to see there is someone else who knows of the muggle Lord Byron. Do tell, are you fond of his work? I can honestly say that poem you wrote would be my favorite of his.

Do you possibly have any other writers, poetry or anything, you enjoy? As I feel you know my enjoyment of literature, you could recommend something new for me to read.

Finally, if this was some kind of prank, please don’t bother to reply. I have entertained this for almost a day. I don’t like to be made the butt of someone’s joke.

Sincerely,

(Y/N) – don’t mess with me – (L/N) ❤

Mattheo stared at your letter, his brain slowly processing not only that you had wrote him but what you had written. You were messing with him, you thought he was pranking you. That was far from what he wanted to do. His intention was to show you, in a language you understood, how he thought about you. Cursing himself, Mattheo dropped the letter on the bed while hitting his head.

“Great” he sighed. “She thinks I’m fucking with her!”

Just then the dorm room opened, making Mattheo grab the letter and hide it under his leg. Lorenzo stuck his head into the room, upon seeing Mattheo rushed in and closed the door before crossing the room to his friend.

“So?! Is it from her!?” He asked in a hurry.

Mattheo would have laughed at Lorenzo if he hadn’t been in such a slump from reading your words. He nodded his head, to which Lorenzo pushed him further. Not knowing how to put it, Mattheo pulled out the now crumpled parchment before handing it over to his friend. Without wasting time, unlike Mattheo, Lorenzo read your words. Excitement dropping after reaching the last sentence of the letter.

Lorenzo dropped to sit at the end of Mattheo’s bed, placing the letter on the bed between them. “Well, that was not what I was expecting” he comments. “It started out promising, before crashing and burning”.

Mattheo half moaned and half groaned snatching the parchment up in hand. “I know! What am I going to do!?”

Silence settled between them, both thinking over the situation and possible solution. “Write her another letter, this time your own words would be best” Lorenzo stated, stressing ‘this’ and ‘time’.

“I figured as much” muttered Mattheo. “But do you think she will believe me? And not think it’s a prank?”

“Only one way to find out; write her. You won’t know if you don’t try mate” Lorenzo said, voice of reason.

Mattheo slowly nodded his head but decided to let this new revelation swim in his mind for a while. Opting to waiting till after dinner to construct a response to your letter. He didn’t want to rush a reply and make things worse. But to be fair, no matter what he reply’s with could go badly, as you might think it was still a stitch up.

Thinking Mattheo’s choice to wait to reply was a good idea, Lorenzo ushered his friend from his thoughts and their dorm, and to dinner. Before leaving Mattheo stashed the letter in his bag, silently hoping it would be safe and trying to think of a better hiding spot for future.

A/N: as always, let me know what you think and feel free to request :)

[lilacstro]

pac: what do your tumblr followers think about your blog

this was a seemingly unserious silly idea haha, lets go. this actually is very not serious, so if you dont even have a blog, you can pick a pile, and if you have one but dont post much or dont have much followers, maybe its your sign that your account might match the description in some while. haha, regardless, enjoy<33

this reading is not for you if you are hate blogger or spread hate/misinfo through your account :/

paid readings are open :)

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support me on ko-fi :)

Pile 1

Haha, it seems some of you could post a lot, and your followers do enjoy it. For some majority of you, you could also be into posting manifestation, self help related kinda content. There is an empowering and uplifting energy and some kind of strong feminine energy about your blog indeed. Looks like you guys actually might post a specific genre of content and your blog overall is quite organized. Some of you could also post about things like, spreading awareness on/donation links for gaza? or ukraine? or other such things, it was coming through, and your followers support you for choosing to post this actively. I also feel you maybe are kind of an old blogger? someone who has been on here posting for a while, some of your followers might actually like to read your posts when they are free or as stress relivers, in free times or look forward to your posts. I can understand this tbh, I also liked this one blog named something luciddownloading but i cant seem to find it, ig they activated their blog and it was super sad, I hope you all keep on posting, you should get the transaction you receive if you arent, and if your blog is doing well, it is possible that it gets even better. For some of you, if you are thinking about making money through tumblr somehow, it seems possible too!! all the best and I hope it resonated.

Pile 2

Some of you here might be beauty bloggers or actually post a variety of content, or have some quirky username haha but it seems you put a lot of thought in your blog. For some of you, you might have just started posting, or your schedule might not let you post as much as you like. Some of you might even be very non judgmental and post or reblog the things you like, your blog seems like a collection of things you like rather and not really following up with some specific aesthetic, but it still looks gorgeous. Some of you might also be into posting the blunt/honest truth posts/ unpopular opinions and I see your followers appreciate that. For some of you a message is, if you are holding back thinking what you should post/post how often or on what. just take a leap or action and start. Don't think about it too much, tumblr def needs one of your cute lil blogs even if you don't post something very big/important. Start and eventually you should know. Some of you also might do secret girl blogging lmao. your account has a lot of potential to flourish if it isnt already if you dont be pretentious and post what you really love honestly, whatever that is :)

Pile 3

Your blog definitely seems to have readers from all places or countries, for some of you specifically it seems like an astro-blog/spiritual blog. Some of you might have started recently too. Regardless of whatever, your account might see a lot of transaction if it isn't already or may actually see good engagement usually. You definitely seem to put a lot of hard work in your blog, I am getting specifically for explaining things or revealing things, and I'm strongly getting a astro/tarot/witchcraft kinda blog, some of you may actually also post random thoughts/feelings/poems kind of things that you end up saving on a pintrest board. There is a lot of scope for this being a well engaged account too. Your followers definitely seem to think your blog has a lot of comforty, earthy vibe to it haha. although most of you seem regular bloggers, just incase for a few of you im saying dont give up on your blog yet if you want to, a lot of people actually admire your posts and they will just keep on growing. your blog is well loved by people who come across/read it. so dont just go yet<33

thanks for reading a silly little reading. Have a good day <3

[alpydk]

Gone with the Weave

Took a few days off to think. Seriously considered deleting everything, Tumblr, all of it. Realised I'd become a little lost in my writing, getting jealous over other people, insecure about my own abilities, forgot who I was writing for and why. So today I sat down and actually wrote for me again and you know what? It's helped. And because I'm hypocritical I'm going to share it with all of you.

So, here we have post-Epilogue short. Hurt/Little comfort. Gale/Tav - Tav & Astarion - Word count : 2398 -

CW - PPD / Grief / Death / Dad!Gale / Scenes of child death (Hallucinations)

It was like tar. It pulled her down and filled her lungs, thick and black. Tav tried to fight against it, tried to find the light that she knew shone above it, but her limbs were weighted down by fatigue and longing. A part of her wanted to be dragged down by it, to be lost to the depths of her depression, to disappear and no longer have the responsibility that had been thrusted upon her. To sleep and never wake; to be with him.

To everyone around her, she was a natural mother, tending to her baby’s needs, a confident smile at the life she had brought into the world. Tav was proud, strong, had been through the hells and back, figuratively and literally, and survived unscathed. But as with most, her pride was becoming her downfall. She didn’t need help, didn’t want it because weakness was not the sign of a good mother. As the days passed, as sleep turned to hallucination, still she clung onto the mask of what they all wanted to see, the last remnant of a life before life.

The child cried, but she did not react instantly, a quiet hope that someone else would come and tend to its needs whilst she pretended to sleep. But she didn’t sleep. For so long, the gods of dream and nightmare alike had ignored her pleas, and she had lain there awake, watching as the infant took all from her, leaving her with nothing but guilt and misery.

She wished he was there to help her, that his weave touched fingers that brought calm to her soul could calm the one that lay in the crib. He should have been there for this, she told herself, his strong forearms cradling the baby, a soft poem uttered under starlight bringing it to soothe. If only she had known before the final decision was made; if only things had ended differently and he had stayed, then maybe there would be fewer tears shed.

Still it cried, and no one came, the silence broken by the shrieks she had come to despise. It would be so easy to just leave, to walk out and never return, but then they would all know what she was truly like. The tar that had filled her lungs and surrounded her heart, leaving her bitter and tainted, would be exposed and they would know the truth. They would hate her as she hated the innocent child in front of her. But what if…? The thought was fleeting, cruel and unspeakable, a horror even in her own twisted mind. As night turned to the day, as cries turned to coos, she watched the baby, always watching and waiting for something to change.

---

Evening had set in and though the stars shone brightly as he had promised her, the night brought Tav little comfort knowing the long, drawn-out hours that were to come. She carried the baby to the small tub, her body weary and mind wandering, and she placed it in the water, watching as the bubbles rose quickly from its soft lips, as the arms tensed and held out towards her, as the deep brown eyes she had once loved lost their light again.

A knock at the door brought her around to her senses as she sat in front of the empty tub, the baby cooing peacefully from its bassinet. This had not been the first time she had seen such sights in the weeks since the birth. At first, it had been minor things, a shadow in the room that she had mistaken for a friend, the child crying whilst it actually slept. Soon the images became darker, the newborn lifeless in her arms when she awoke suddenly during the night, a slight misstep causing her to drop it to the floor, its body like that of a rag doll as it hit the wooden floorboards. Nothing scared her more though than herself, her lack of reaction, the quiet pleasure she saw in the freedom being granted to her. Would murder or suicide be the more publicly acceptable option? Would they forgive her? Could he forgive her, should she make that choice?

Tav rose from the floor, the image shaken away, and the mask put back in place. A deep breath was released before the door was answered with a smile and the face of Astarion greeted her. She was thankful it was him and not one of the more caring of the group; it would mean fewer questions asked, less concern over her wellbeing, and a chance that the walls would remain intact for another night.

He entered without invitation, many nights like this in the last six months that had thankfully grown less frequent since the birth. “You look like shit, darling.”

She smirked at his words, fully aware that the lack of sunlight was making her as pale as him, that the deep bags hung under her eyes. “Well, we can’t all match up to you, can we?”

Astarion made himself at home. Wine was grabbed from the cupboard and his feet put up on the coffee table. He noticed the baby but chose to ignore it, instead watching as Tav quickly sorted her hair in an attempt to look less haggard. “Resident do-gooder Wyll has asked me to come and check in on you.”

“And since when do you take orders from others?” She sat near him on the sofa, the faint stirring of the child drawing her attention. All she wanted was a moment like the old times, of two friends chatting about something that wasn’t related to birth or parenting, of wine and shameless flirting that meant nothing.

He watched her, her eyes allowing him to see the cracks that lay so visibly. “Since, 1 – it’s my turn, and 2 – it’s been a year.”

Tav scoffed. “Taking turns? Is that what you all do?” She ignored his second remark, a year since the Netherbrain, since that day when everything was supposed to change for the better.

“Quite frankly, yes. It’s one thing to be holed up alone with seven thousand spawn, it’s another to be holed up alone with that…” Astarion gestured his hand dismissively to the infant.

She knew he was right, life would be better without it, she wouldn’t be alone here, needing to be checked up on as if she there were something wrong with her. “You know you don’t have to. We’re fine.” The lie slipped out as easily as it ever did, the painted-on smile meeting her dead eyes. The small cry made her bristle, made the lie falter, and she hoped it was nothing but that one whimper.

He sipped his wine, the quickening of her heart rate deceptive as it cut through the heavy silence. “Still, we should at least share in a drink, shouldn’t we? A remembrance of sorts.”

“No, that’s not needed.” Tav was quick to cut off this suggestion. It was one thing for the wall to crumble in front of him that she was tired of sleepless nights, another for the actual truth to be pushed upon her and the dam to break.

The cry could be heard again, now with little pause between breaths. She wanted to ignore it, wanted it to die down, wanted anyone else to deal with it. But no one else would come. He would not come. She could see Astarion tensing with the building noise, and she had to react to save face. She stood, approaching the bassinet, a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes as she glanced down and picked up the baby. It was as if it knew, was manipulating her and drawing her towards ruin, as if the gods were not satisfied enough with the sacrifices she had already made.

“Aww, you just want to see uncle Astarion, don’t you?” This was what people wanted, fawning over the infant, exaggerated displays of affection that she loathed to give. She carried the baby over, its cries stopping, and she gritted her teeth, knowing the moment she put it down, the noise would commence again.

“Oh, no, darling. It’s quite alright.” He pulled his legs off the table, a clear discomfort, and with it knocked over the bottle of wine.

The scarlet liquid spread across the wood, dripping quickly onto the floor, a lazy flow as it crept between the floorboards. Tav couldn’t take her eyes from it, the baby lying amongst it, the rag doll limbs amongst its own blood, lifeless brown eyes that stared back at her. Her heart didn’t beat, she stood not in panic, only a numbness lay in her mind at the sight.

Astarion grabbed a cloth and began to clear the wine, Tav seemingly frozen with the child in her arms, her mind a million realms away, a feeling he knew too well himself. “You know, they say white wine can clear out red…”

Her heart took a beat, a recollection of where she was, of the company present, and she hoped the vision she had seen had been instantaneous so as not to draw attention. The baby was thankfully silent, and she cursed herself for not feeling upset at the sights she was seeing. Murder or suicide…It would be so easy.

She sat with the baby in her arms, Astarion cupping the glass of wine as he leaned away from her on the sofa. She could see how uncomfortable he was becoming, as if looking for a conversation that was casual enough to fulfil his objective for checking in on her.

“So, Gale-“

“Is gone.” She interrupted him off before he could even start. This was not the topic she needed. He should be there with her, holding her through sleepless nights, soothing their child as it cried through the darkened hours. He should be sharing in her tears, her smiles, consoling her as she struggled with her doubts. The baby began to stir again, as if picking up on her emotions.

“Tav, it’s been a year and you’ve not spoken with anyone about what happened.”

She ignored him, his voice and the quiet cries already beginning to overwhelm her senses. There was nothing to talk about; there was only this lonely guilt filled existence. Days and nights of tar, of emptiness, of decisions she couldn’t bring herself to make. Hoping her mask wouldn’t slip, she rocked the baby in an attempt to calm it. She was a proud, strong mother. She was a good mother.

He sighed, not knowing if he should bother to help or not, but after all Tav had done for him in the past, he knew he had to do something. “Pass it here.”

She lifted her head, a defensive hold on the baby in her arms. Was it maternal love or the pride that prevented her from handing it over so freely? “No, I can handle this.”

Astarion reached over tentatively. The baby smelt odd, like spices he could not pinpoint, and his stomach turned slightly, but he would not accept what she was saying. He gently took it into his arms, Tav’s resistance minimal, as if her body was mutinying against her mind. The child grew quiet again, a small coo as its hand reached for his shirt and small pink fingers hooked around the cotton.  

Tears built up instantly in Tav’s eyes, a guilt that she hadn’t been good enough to do this one simple thing, that she had failed in being a mother. She wanted to hide it all, wanted to run away, but she also wanted to fall apart so that people knew how deep she had fallen into the darkness and could come and save her, save her just as he had done so long ago. She wiped at her eyes, but it made little difference, the sight of her friend holding her baby, a light in his own eyes she had never seen before, a moment of innocence on the face of a seasoned killer. Why could she not feel that way? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she love…?

Her words were quiet. Astarion wouldn't care, and she knew it wouldn’t faze him. He wouldn’t coddle her like the others would. He was what she needed now that all was lost. “I can’t handle this…”

---

The night passed in a blur. He listened as she spoke of all that had happened in the last few months, of the things she had seen, things she believed she wanted, of pride and guilt that filled her heart to bursting. She spoke of the loneliness that consumed her and the child she could not connect to, of how it reminded her of the past she wished to forget, a past she longed for desperately. One life had ended, and another had begun and all she had been left with was shadows.

The baby slept through for the first time in months, Astarion having settled it in its crib as she had managed an hour of sleep. She’d waited ages in silence, listening for the sudden interruption that never came. It was as if it knew of her confession, and she hated and loved it for what it had done.

In the early hours her friend left, the rising sun announcing his need to depart, and with it she saw the light between the grey clouds, a new day ready to start again. The child stirred, and she stepped towards the crib with hesitation. She saw the purple robes that had been draped lightly at the base where it slept, the subtle scent of the library lying amongst spices bringing calm to the bedroom, and she heard the sound of the waves on docks, brushed up with the morning gale. Picking up her baby gathered with the robes, she held them both closely, the tears building, the relief, the love for her child breaking through the walls she had built.

The guilt flowed, but it was not met with a resignation; it was met with the promise to do better, to be the mother she should’ve been, to be the woman he had once loved. The child gazed at her, bright eyed, and she saw Gale once again; for a brief moment he was with her. She was not alone. She would never be alone.

[ashisgreedy]

Hello! Hogwarts Legacy Fandom PSA!

I just wanted to encourage you to create anything you want no matter how big, small, or shitty you may think it is. Even one-paragraph ideas all the way to multi chapters! I don't care if its a 1 second audios, or a playlist with 3 songs! I'm talking to you.

It's a well known fact that the majority of us in this fandom are not professionals lol. We are just out here living our best life simping for fictional characters.

This post is just to encourage you to create and feel free to post it!! I know I'd love to see it and many many others would as well. I don't care if it's a half-finished wip you abandoned months ago, or a 2 sentence HC that doesn't fit with anything else you are doing.

I just want to encourage you to share your ideas and creations with us! It's not just about writing, audios, or drawing. You can create anything and share! Bracelets, poems, macaroni art I don't give a fk. Please share!!!

I see so many good takes left in Discord servers. This is tumblr, not some professional site you have to be perfect on. Share the gif! Share the doodle you did on a napkin! Share your ideas and I'm sure someone would be willing to make it a reality or just love hearing it!

I love this fandom and I'd hate for there to be some kind of glass ceiling people think they need to meet before their stuff becomes "worthy" of tumblr lol. Post your unedited fic if you can't stand editing it. Just post it!

It's not about the likes or the interactions. It's about having fun! Did you have fun making it? That's all that matters. Is it super niche and only caters to you or a select few? Post it! Go nuts!

I love yall and I hope this does encourage you! It's a fandom! You don't have to be part of some exclusive club to share your creations. Even if you ever share one thing, I am proud of you and happy to have your contribution to this fandom!

Lastly, fun fact, if you block an anon ask and look at your block list you can see who it was 😀

That is all. lol, Thank you!!!!

[kanmom51]

JK Live 4 October 2023

21:01 or 9:01 pm KST

cr./To all the creators of the media used in this post.

I was waiting for this, and kind of expecting this to happen, lol.

He said he'd be live at 9 pm. And yes, you can say, it's unintentional, a coincidence, but I say NO.

Both JK and JM have shown us over the years their attention to the numbers, the dates.

Starting the live at 9:01 was intentional.

9/1 or 1/9, however you look at it!!

Let's talk about the live, why don't we?

It was definitley an interesting one.

In a gist, JK shut down (well tried to) the whole Mingyu shipping shit. He most definitley shut down TKKs. I actually kinda, maybe (not really), felt sorry for them.

He listened to all the members songs, with certain degrees of favouritism and certain degrees of, well, not...

He drank. Like a lot. I think maybe someone needs to fill him in on the secret that alcohol does have calories. Yes, whiskey might not be as bad as beer on that front, but drinking as much and then not eating cause he's dieting... well, not the healthiest choice. And this is not, god forbid, me mothering or smothering him. His health is important for his performance (he says that himself), not to mention, man is constantly hungry. Eat more, is what I'm saying.

He once again demonstrated his neuro-divergency (that whole clean up session he had in the kitchen, lol).

He showed us, again that's it's all about choices.

He got pensive and serious at a point and said some very important things, which I will, of course, discuss here in my post.

He is super tired, but really struggling to sleep.

He is fighting so hard to drop the cute image, but man, it's just imbedded in him. He is so cute!!!

And he is so genuine.

He is genuine.

Let us begin our journey into JK's almost 1.5 hour live (yep, we are back to those, lol).

He starts out telling us he just got home from the company, and that he hasn't even prepared his glass (of drink) - kind of solidifies my belief that the 9:01 pm starting time was meaningful and intentional, because then he goes and prepares his glass and drink.

He invited us to have drinks with him, so as he's preparing his own drink he tells us to fill up our glasses as well, lol. Throughout the live he has 3 highballs, and by the end of the live admits he's kind of drunk. Which is not that surprising given he is drinking on an empty stomach (as high as his tolerance to alcohol may be).

He explains he came on Weverse on the 4th and not earlier because of his solo album announcement. Golden. Makes a toast with us to celebrate it. And he talks a little about it as well.

He tells us how Golden represented him after debut. We know him as the Golden maknae, he mentions I think GC (which for some reason they translate as golden chest and not golden closet, maybe because whoever is translating isn't aware of golden closet, who knows...), how he wrote a poem called Golden (the one JM went all gushy about, if you recall), And also "this moment is like a golden period for me." - Golden hour perhaps? Kind of fits with his choice of lighting for the live as well. Just saying.

And there you have it!!!

And after seeing this, go back and take another look at his concept photo...

The album includes 3D and the clean and explicit versions of Seven. 11 songs on it, which means we will get to hear 8 new songs!!!

He also explains how he thought he would release an ep and somehow it became a full album.

He didn't give too much info (well, he couldn't of course), but told us the title track has a performance and he's practicing, like A LOT. He wants to do well and is giving it his best. He also lets us know that the title song is a hard one and will be awesome!! I do hope this one is not a collab though (just my own wishes here). He is confident we will like it, and says we can look forward to it. I know I am.

He's complaining about how his body isn't the same, he's exhausted. Well JK my man, you wanted to be a adult, and us adults, we grow old too, lol...

He says "there is nothing that is making me stressed out, I am just tired." Now, that could be meant about the album being released, or the performance he's preparing for. But it could also be more...

He says he's keeping his voice down and wanted to be calm and have "older bro vibe", lol.

He wants to go with older bro vibe. Appear to be more mature? Since his full album is coming out?

Ok, so I'm going to say this here. The translation is somewhat off and wacky. I felt this with JM's live on 1st September with some of it, and I feel the same here as well. The whole golden chest thing, the "I'm keeping the weight down" when he's talking about the older bro vibe, and more... It feels like a. whoever is doing this doesn't know JK too much (the golden chest is a big clue), and b. are they just translating literally and not the actual sentence meaning?

JK shares with us how tired he is, how he's still having trouble sleeping, that he practiced real hard today and that his upcoming schedule is hellish. I can only imagine. He's really worried, "will I be good at this?"

Now, let's stop here for a second shall we? Didn't he just minutes before tell us he's not stressed out? So, perhaps that wasn't about the album and promotions at all? Perhaps that was more about the white noise shitshow that was going on in the background? Telling us that isn't bothering him, all while now sharing with us that what he is worried about is if he'll be good enough, do well enough with his performances?

He shows us he got an IV today, needs to replenish himself, yet he hasn't eaten. "I have to take care of my body too". Yes he does. But at the same time he says he has to lose weight. It kind of frustrates me, but then again, this is their reality, as idols. I just wish there would be less pressure on them in that aspect.

He reads a comment telling him to do well, says he will.

And then this:

Ok, so thing is, please raise your hand if you actually do believe the commenter was asking JK if he loves Taehyun of TXT.

No show of hands I see.

Lmao.

Nah, when this happened I didn't have the comments on and in any case wouldn't have been able to read them, not knowing Korean. But I kind of felt like maybe whoever wrote it wasn't Karmy and misspelled it perhaps? And then I saw this.

So here's the thing. If this was a misspell, makes sense that JK was maybe blissfully unaware of the intent of the comment.

But if this was indeed spelled out correctly, I kind of have my doubts he didn't read it right, especially given he says it twice before answering. And he's off telling us about TXT Taehyun. Whom he spoke with on the phone that day. He's so well mannered and cute, while being an old soul. Ok, here we go with another Taekook ship, lol. JK spoke to someone - must be something going on there. No wonder the man is so damn tired... Seven days a week seven sets of sheets... (eww... NOOOOOOO). No, but seriously, did we know that Taehyun was a good friend of JK's? No we didn't. Now we do.

Not seeing it doesn't mean it's not there!!!

It's funny how JK runs himself down constantly. Like the man is so intelligent. Perhaps not book smart (which is why he keeps saying he's not smart), but not everything about life is learnt from a book, and his emotional intelligence and artistic intelligence are next level. But he keeps running himself down, and I kind of feel that sometimes fans only hear or see that of him, instead of seeing his art and listen to what actually comes out of his mouth when he starts speaking about the deeper things.

Again, the "I'm Jungkook's girlfriend" comments. Ugh yuck. Like shut the fuck up already. But he just brushes it off. Reads it, asks what they are doing at this hour and snickers.

Comment "I really love you a lot". JK "I think I love you more". This is once again JK cementing just how great his love for army is. He will talk about it more later too.

Look, man loves army. We can't even start to understand the connection he has with army, given his whole career, starting out at such an early age and going through all the struggles that they went through to get where they are right now, feeling that it's because this sense of loyalty and love that army have for them. So yes, he loves army.

And another idiot in the comments asking JK to take off his shirt. Of course these people are flooding his comments. Funny how his reaction is:

Yes he giggles, but he's uncomfortable. And asks why they even said that. "It's embarrassing".

Happy that he called them out. As if it will help though.

JK shows us his Vogue magazine, the hip hop concept, which he says he liked the most.

Ok, so this was maybe intentional (I kinda feel it was), maybe not, but cute none the less.

He talks about how the comments are lagging, slow, and says:

and then he thinks for a second, eyes looking to the side (mind working), and goes:

Kind of random, don't you think?

Coming up with the 13 seconds lagging.

And happening to end up with 10-13. 🤣🤣

So, he started the live at 9-1 and now we have 10-13!!!

I'd say, either this was intentional (him stopping to think might just hint to that) or the man has 13 etched on his brain. 13 and 10, which is kind of coming up very soon...

Next JK talks about the TikTok he deleted.

Now here's the thing. On Stationhead JK said he saw the trend and wanted to do it. Not a word about doing the opposite of the trend. Going "the other way". JK isn't saying he didn't want us to see the clip he uploaded (which kind of might have been what was understood from what he said in Stationhead, and maybe that's why he's clarifying here). He says he wanted his TikTok to be for dancing and that's why he deleted. He also seems to be happy that army had seen it and spread it around regardless of him deleting. So, he wanted us to see it, but better it not be on his TikTok. And the thing is that he posted it to start with. He knew that army will catch it and spread it. He knew!!! And he wanted us to. I don't know how to articulate this properly to make my point clearly, but the whole thing screams Queer coding to me. I talked about it in a previous post, and I stand by my words.

This wasn't about doing something silly and then regretting and deleting. This was about posting something with a message, and then deleting because it couldn't stay up on his account ("as long as it's not on my tiktok"), but relying on army to catch it and spread it around.

"Let's talk in English", reading out a comment...

The Nah, though, lol.

"English is so difficult", he says in English, lol.

Talks about how the comments are slow and the responses in Stationhead were immediate, and then, out of nowhere he's going...

Puiriri...

Well, he actually does this during Like crazy as well.

Nope, not JM on the brain what so ever...

"Korean is sexy"...him going with that's right, Korean is the hardest language... He actually talks about how the translations from English to Korean differ from translator to translator and how interesting that is. True about the opposite way as well, seeing the difference in the structures of both languages.

"You want to see me laugh?"

Funny, the original translations were "smile if you're real". Either way, he's hilarious.

I can't with him. LMAO.

Prepares drink no. 2.

Again, this man doesn't want to be called cute, but he's so damn cute, lol. Like how can you be preparing this alcoholic drink and still be so cute about it? Lol.

No tequila or champagne for JK.

"You want to have a drink with me?"

JK: You already all know it.

Why does it feel like JK is talking about so much more than just knowing his address is up on YT?

"You want me to call out my address? But you really can't visit me." Boundaries set once again. With a smile. But set none the less.

Plays a song he tells us he was recommended by one of the dancers while filming 3D MV. 21 by Gracie Abrams.

Says we'll be like this today "let's rest". How you can call what he does later as rest I have no idea, lol.

He shows us where he shot the TikTok clips, the corridor. Shows and explains a little how he does it.

Does a little clean up sesh in the kitchen. The way he was rearranging the bottles and utensils, while on live, was that intentional? Was it just his neuro divergency, getting distracted perhaps? Idk.

Asked if he ate, asks "what will I eat?" in English and tries to say something else or thinks maybe he didn't say it properly initially, but gives up, lol.

Then someone askes to hear Hobi's song. And JK is happy to go put on Jhope's song, saying he misses him. 😭

Says "Arson", twice, but then plays "More", lol.

Ok, so this is where we start with listening to the members songs, and I do have something to say about this.

JK plays 2 of Hobi's songs, and puts on a show.

If this is JK resting... Lol.

Sure he's tired...

After Hobi, JK plays Tae's Slow dancing.

Then stops the song, sits down saying how tiring have to rest and then says "Let's go with all the major songs for the members".

And guess who's next... one guess allowed... Of course you know the answer to that.

He has Like crazy playing twice in a row and then SMF pt. 2. He really LOVES SMF pt. 2. You can tell it means A LOT to him. Not that LC doesn't, but I feel that emotionally LC is harder for him, while SMF pt. 2 is cathartic (for JM and as such so meaningful to him as well).

He's all playful with LC.

We have this as well...

And at some point wants to do something, walks off camera looking for a prop, I guess, only to come back deciding it's a no go - won't be fun (me sitting here dying to know what he was up to).

The whole bottle empty during LC.

He moves on to Jin, 1 and a half songs, RM (3 songs) and Suga (2 songs).

Point being, the only member that gets only 1 song played is Tae. Ouch. The only member to have the same song played twice - JM.

So, let's talk a second about the whole Like crazy playing twice. Cause Idk if you get it. He listens to Hobi and then Tae's Slow dancing, then says "we have to listen to all the members", cause he ain't falling into the TKK trap, and he plays JM. Cause, of course it would be JM. But here's the thing. Each one of them was on a specific playlist. When he played a song it continued to the next song in line. Hobi he said Arson, but actually played More (which was interesting within itself), and then it went to On the streets. RM same, went down through his album, Suga the same. But not JM. He played Like crazy, and then following it, him not moving from his chair or changing the songs or going to play it again, it played it again. Same version. In the album Like crazy is followed by SMF pt. 2 (which did follow the second time LC played, and he did listen through that too). So my question is what kind of playlist JK has for JM? Does he just have these songs going on repeat? He gets up to stop it just at the end of SMF pt. 2, and I can't help but wonder what the next song would have been? SMF pt. 2 again maybe?

Of course he still remembers the choreo.

He talks about Jin and Super Tuna, how he's wild and that side of him is why the team is so bright. He really loves him so, and misses him.

"I miss my members".

Prepares drink no. 3.

The whole ceremony around the drink preparations... he's so funny.

He makes a comment about Jin's MV while looking towards where his whole music playing set up is. So, this is YT he's playing from? Which means these would be YT playlists? Which means he watches LC on repeat? I mean, who could blame him really?

Gets up to change the playlist to RM's songs.

While Flowerworks is playing he reads a comment and says:

"Did Mingyu cut his hair?"

Now, we know they saw each other later that night, getting together with others as well, but JK once again draws the lines here. He's a good friend definitley. Someone he hangs out with, of course. But knowing if he cut his hair... meaning being in constant contact with him or more than that, as there are some that might think... nope.

Ok, time to get serious.

He starts to talk about the members songs, their "colours are so different", and then he's asked after resuming activities in 2025 what he wants all the members to do together? Turns down the music a bit to get serious:

Make an album, quickly come out to see army, first priority of course. From the moment they get back together to find the way to come out as quickly as possible. "We will do Bon voyage...we will do In the soop..."

Stops, gets up to turn down the volume even more, and this is when you know he's delving even deeper, and getting even more serious. Sits down and continues...

Ok, I'm really not sure this is about the solo activities. He talks about that further on. I thought this when I first heard this during the live, and although the wording is slightly different I still think this is JK is sending us a message. They love us, they love each other. They will be coming back and they will be giving it their all. But that said, they will also have their own personal lives. Setting the stage, perhaps? For relationship announcements? Marriages on the way? He told us that he wants to make us happy, but to do so we have to understand that he deserves happiness as well. Is this one step further in that direction? yes their focus is on army, but with all of that they will also have their own personal paths.

He continues about them wanting to "look awesome" in front of us, or want to give us strength,

He knows what his top priority is, and he hopes we know that we are the reason. For real.

He continues to talk about coming back in 2025, releasing a song, saying it will be approx. 2 years.

They mustn't forget there are those rooting for BTS. Train, release an album, tour.

They will have to meet army around the world.

This is interesting:

They will reveal by doing shootings and "let your ears get pleased and let you watch our shows". Stories

"BTS is this kind of team". That is what they will show.

And what members each want to do, they can do that later. Him making clear that their first priority is the comeback as BTS.

Number one priority is about the group, and he makes sure we understand that this is not only him speaking but also true for every single one of them.

Again, army's importance to him. This isn't acting or being false or fake, this is genuinely what he feels. When said in a comment that army are because of BTS he corrects them, sets things straight: BTS are here because of army!!

And then this happens:

"Jeon Jimin?" he reads out a comment.

Now, I understand people think it's disrespectful because of the meaning it has in the West but the fact that in Korea people don't change their names after marriage. Thing is, Karmy nor JK, for that matter, really find it offensive? He doesn't even take it that way. To him it's someone putting their two names together, I'd say just like Jikook or minkook or kookmin. Nothing more nothing less. And he chooses to read it out. He could have just left it, but he decided to read the comment out.

This is when he remembers he has to play Suga's songs too, lol. Playing Haegeum.

"How can all the member have such different tastes in music? Isn't that fascinating?"

I love it that he feels that way. I love it that he knows how talented he is (especially knowing how he runs himself down intellectually). I love that he knows and appreciates the rest of the members talent as well. They are all different, and yet all outstanding each in their own way.

And not only does he see that in them, he also attributes his own growth as a person to them.

JK tells us how Yoongi told him off for not doing the Haegeum dance challenge, repeats it a couple of times too, how he was upset about it, lol. So he says he will do it. A little late, no? And he makes sure to make it clear that it won't be soon either. But it will go up on his TikTok.

Toilet break time.

Comes back, finishes up his drink and stops Amygdala to play Seven and 3D before he ends his live.

So, he chooses the explicit version of Seven. Sings along. Admits he's a little drunk and for now will stop drinking. Emphasis on "for now", lol.

Now, while he's playing Seven someone asks for him to play Slow dancing.

Once is enough, thank you very much!! Lmao. He just keeps shutting them down. It's also the way he says it, the intonation. Sound annoyed, lol.

Says he'll play 3D and say his goodbyes, which he does. Sings along to 3D as well, ad-libbing at the end, kind of wondering if this is something we will be getting in his live performances. It does feel like he chooses to sing certain lyrics while not others, in both Seven and 3D.

Then he says his goodbyes, to look forward to the album, to know that he is always thinking of us, to have a wonderful night and day and thanks us again .

So that's it. JK's live. Missed these lives of his, as exhausting as writing these posts are, lol. This is Jungkook. Cute and funny and serious and sincere.

[fictionalmenxyn]

So I was wondering if you could do something with 141+Alejandro and Rudy+Konig (Maybe Graves if you write for him) with an s/o who’s an author and they write a love poem for them not intending for their boyfriend to find it and they’re like embarrassed because they think it’s not that good when their boyfriend does find it if that makes sense? Thank you so much if you do this I love your stuff

Of course I can do this for you sounds really good! :)

Ghost

He knew you liked writing but he never really knew what about

He never pried at you to tell him what you wrote about or what interested you in to doing writing

He knew you enjoyed it and it made you happy so he was happy

But one day you were writing, sitting on the small love seat while Ghost sat on the sofa watching tv

Your phone started buzzing so you answered

After a few words shears between you and the other line you left the room to go grab something

Ghost felt like he was committing treason when he went over to look at what your were writing

But he was busting to know as you always talk about how you enjoy it you just never mentioned what it was about

As he read it with every word he became more red but lucky him he kept his mask on since he went out not so long ago

After you had finished the call you walked back in to find Ghost standing there reading

You stopped in your tracks embarrassed that he was reading your love poem

He turned around after hearing you walk in the room and said ‘you write love poems?’

You nodded turning red as a tomato

He asked ‘and you write these off the top of your head?’

You nod, he spoke ‘you need to post these somewhere or show someone these are amazing’

You smiled thanking yourself he didn’t feel awkward or weird about your loved up poem

Soap

Since you had a office in your house he would see you go in there for a hour or two a day and questioned what you did

He thought it was something to do with your job but he knew that was different to going in a room and he knew you didn’t do one hour shifts

So when you were downstairs and he was upstairs he investigated

He looked around to see some drawings but mostly writing

He spotted one on your desk and it was laying there and to him it looked like it wanted to be picked up

So he did, reading it he was amazed yet rather feeling flustered

He also hadn’t noticed you calling for him then you standing in the door frame

He heard you cough to catch his attention

He spoke ‘you do this often?’

You nodded nervously

Soap spoke again ‘wanna recreate this poem, lass?’

Your day just got better

Gaz

He is oblivious to you writing poems as you tend to do it in your own time

Away from everyone else same as if you were to read as well

One day he was bored so he went to your room and walked in

You turned around to see Gaz

Thinking he was just grabbing something then leaving you gave him a small wave

He spoke ‘what you up to?’

You spoke ‘uh I’m writing why?’

He replied ‘writing what?’

You knew you weren’t escaping from it and you got a little nervous

You spoke back ‘a uh poem’

Gaz thought you felt ill as they way you were so nervous and blurted out your answers

Gaz asked ‘could I read it?’

You gave in the love of your life wanting to read your live poem why should you keep it away from him?

You defeatedly handed it over to him and watch as he read it

Gaz starting to blush as continued reading the poem

He honestly was amazed and surprised at how well you wrote and what you wrote about

He smiled, complemented your work and gave you a kiss then left

You were speechless

And that day Gaz was the most happy and flirty man ever

Price

Since you both had an office each you’d both spend a few hours a day each in there and then spend time together

One day he had finished his work before you finished writing

You needed the toilet so you got up and left your office

Price not knowing went to go in and check if your alright

He knocked and walked into your office to see you weren’t there

And he thought he’d check to see if you were almost done with your work because he was going ti see if you wanted ti cook with him

So he walked over and started reading your poem

Once you came back you saw your door was open and heard Price quietly mutter each word as he reads out loud

Once you enter the room he looked up and saw you standing in the doorway nervously

Price asked ‘you alright?’

You replied ‘yes, why are you reading that?’

He knew you didn’t mean it in a rude way so he replied ‘only because I wanted to know how long you’d be.. you like writing stuff like this?’

You nodded

He replied ‘keep it up, let me read them they are good’

He honestly was proud and shocked at how well you could write such beautiful things

Alejandro

Similar to Ghost by how you went off to talk on the phone

He was curious so he went to investigate

He started reading the poem and he thought that it was a master piece

He felt his heart beat twice as fast while he tried to remain calm

Once you had walked back in

You saw he was reading your poem and started ti get nervous and flustered

He turned around since hearing you walk back in

He spoke ‘you write stuff like this, Querida (darling)’

You smiled a little and nodded

He walked over and towered over you

He whispered ‘let me know when you’d like to recreate this poem’

Rudy

You were downstairs either cooking or cleaning to pass sometime and get your chores done for the day

While Rudy stayed upstairs out of the way but also he had a shower in your shears bathroom

Once he came out of the bathroom he walked over to your shears desk to grab his deodorant he left there so it was easy to grab once he left the shower

As he was grabbing his deodorant he spotted a piece of paper that was lined with words

He didn’t think of much so he read it

As he was reading it he started to feel hot and nervous idk why nervous it he was

When he got himself dressed he walked down the stairs to look for you

Once he found you in the living room on the sofa since you had finished your chores

He spoke ‘Amar (love), since when did you write poems?’

You turned a shade of red

You spoke ‘they are bad aren’t they?’

Rudy replied ‘no, they are beautiful keep writing them. How come you didn’t show me?’

You replied ‘cause I thought they were bad and I didn’t think you’d like them’

From that day onwards he started buying you things to keep you writing and motivate you to keep going

König

You were on the sofa asleep with your hand just about holding your piece of paper and the other holding your pen

König walking into the living room to find you asleep and holding your paper

He wanted to make you feel more comfortable so he gently took your pen and paper

He thought you were writing down some things for shopping or notes for work

He wanted to see what you were going to buy so he started reading it

He didn’t realise till the third word in it was about love

He fell in love with your poem

He placed down the paper and pen on the coffee table and started to move you around so you were laying down with your legs on top of his lap

He placed a blanket over you two and you started to wake up

You whispered ‘hey’

He whispered back ‘hey, go back to sleep. By the way your poem is very beautiful, Mein Schatz (my dear)’

You blushed almost instantly and spoke ‘you read it? It’s so bad’

He replied ‘it’s not it’s brilliant. Keep it up my love’

You smiled and snuggled into the blanket more

Hope you like it! :)

[suntoru]

𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍

synopsis: you find a gigantic stuffed bear at your desk for valentine’s day! how does your genshin best friend react when it’s not from them?

a/n: hi everyone, this is my special valentines day post ( ＾◡＾)っ ♡ i hope you like it, it’d my second time writing for genshin 😋

warnings: a bit of swearing, fluff, crack, semi-angst

bnha version

diluc would be the cutest bby <333 he pouts slightly because that was his plan, he wanted to be the one to surprise you :( slightly salty n gets jealous of the bear, buys a bigger, cuter one in hope you’ll replace it. he gets urges to snatch it out of your hands, but he just can’t because you look so cute snuggling with it and he doesn’t wanna make you sad.

“…you got a valentines gift? …good for you.”

kaeya pretends to be happy for you, but in reality, he gets self-depreciating thoughts. was it really that easy to make you blush? what if you’ll leave his side one day? is he really going to lose you to some rando who doesn’t even have the courage to give a gift to you theirselves? his insecurities start to rise, but he’s quick to cover it up through his fake teasing and grits his teeth into a smile.

“ah, y/n, you got a gift! and i thought i was going to be the one receiving the most presents.”

childe is another salty man baby >:((( how dare someone try and steal his crush best friend? subtly insults the bear all day 😞 when he sees you protect the bear and call it cute, he literally growls at the bear 💀 first, it’s stealing all of your attention and hugs, now he gets in trouble because of it? because he’s petty, later at night he’ll swipe it and replace it with an identical one. don’t worry, you’ll never know, the only difference is that instead of the bright red bow around it’s neck, it now has an orangey ginger one <3

“pfttt, y/n, that’s the ugliest bear i’ve ever seen! whoever gave you that put in no effort at all!”

kazuha understands the feelings of your secret admirer. after all, how can he keep such a beauty to himself? your smile, your laugh, and your flustered gaze are all memories etched into his brain. he’s dedicated hundreds of haikus and poems to you, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling his heart slightly pang when you get all excited and happy, asking him who he thought it was. if he did the same thing, would you act the same way?

“someone left a present for you? …i see, how thoughtful.”

venti barters you for it. he thinks if he begs nicely and gives you a fair trade, you’ll let him take the bear and dispose of it! he begs you all day, following you around the school for hours. but when you refuse his offer multiple times, he’ll whine and cling onto you. it’s not fair! he swears he’s seen the exact same bear at dollarama for 4 bucks, so why won’t you trade it for his new ps5? you meanie >:(

“y/nnnn, stop being so mean! what else could you possibly want?”

scaramouche rips the cutely wrapped gigantic stuffie from your hands and marches out the classroom despite your protests >:( when he returns to the classroom, he comes back empty handed. he smirks in victory, thinking he’s won, but when he sees the shocked and sad look on your face, he realizes he fucked up. you ignore him for the rest of the day until you find him waiting at your locker with the biggest stuffed bear you’ve ever seen.

“listen idiot, the only reason i got you this was so you’d stop bothering me.”

xiao is… silent. but on the inside, he feels his heart twist. why is he feeling this? while yes, you were his best friend, he didn’t expect to get so attached. but now… you’re tugging on his heartstrings. while he doesn’t say anything, you’ve learned how to read him like an open book, or at least you think you do. when he feels you tap on his shoulder, knocking him out of his thoughts, you extend the bear to him. this is why he was frowning, right? it’s okay, you’ll just share it with him <3

“what? …i don’t want to hold the bear. in fact, keep it as far away from me as possible.”