#it's my favorite excerpt

[fairydrowning]

"The language of flowers and silent things."

– Charles Baudelaire, from Elevation; Fleurs Du Mal (tr. by William Aggeler), 1857

[lucassinclaer]

@stcreators event 3: comfort

friendship as one of the primary themes to the words of david whyte, consolations.

[recurring-polynya]

today my husband and i were talking about the rich tapestry of captain-lieutenant relationships in Bleach, and out of our rambles my husband suddenly came out with "I can see Akon becoming a captain before I could see Nemu" and my brain is now overcome with the idea of Akon-taichou. His tired captain energy would so immaculate. He would never agree to do anything and then he would do it anyway. He would explain stuff in so much extraneous detail that people would start talking over him but he would keep talking. He would get shat on even more than Hitsugaya. I want this. I want this more than I have every wanted anything.

[kybelles]

damen love fest 2023 / day 5: relationships

rare pairs: damen & lykaios

[howifeltabouthim]

You must remember that most people don't like to hear when bad things happen. They can tolerate only a little here and there . . . If there are too many bad things, they plug their ears and vilify the victim. But a hundred very bad things happened to me. Am I supposed to be quiet? Bear my pain like a good girl? Or shall I be very bad and take it on the world? Either way I won't be loved.

Lisa Taddeo, from Animal

[creatinganewwlife]

And suddenly it’s 12:33 am and i realise how i don’t have any favourites. I never really thought about what i would like, what i would want, a color that makes me feel warmth, or a dish that comforts me, a place where i could run to, or a show i could watch over and over.

Why? You ask. I guess i never really thought i could have a favourite, or maybe even allowed to have a favourite, as if it was something out of reach, that came with privilege, and me? I had none. In all my life, i’ve always made people comfortable, made them priority. So much so i never really asked myself what is it that i like. So much so that whenever i would go out with friends and it came down to ordering the food, i’d remember their order by heart, like an oath, i’d keep a track of everyone’s favourite like a hawk. Or sometimes just say, “you guys should order whatever you want to eat, i am okay with anything.” At that moment, i would not think what i wanted to eat. I always wanted everyone to be happy around me. I spent so much time trying to make everyone happy that i started to cut my flesh and feeding it to them, if that meant that satiated their hunger. Now don’t get me wrong, i would still do it, all over again. I would literally burn myself off if it meant it would make them smile.

But then, i guess i just want to know what is my favourite? What do i like? What does make me happy? With so much time on this earth, isn’t it sad how i don’t have a favourite color? Even so i never thought about it until recently. I wonder why? I guess i felt having favourites puts a burden on people. If i don’t have a favourite, they don’t have to think what color sweater should they be getting me for my birthday gift. Although i haven’t received many in my lifetime but the ones i have, i cherish.

And so i figured if i kept diluting myself, it would be easier.

This life is not mine. This life that i’ve lived has been for my loved ones and I don’t regret it.

I just want to know what my favourite color is.

12:51am // 12th of April, 2024

[stratospheric-bebop]

— The Uses of Intelligence, by Caroline Kizer, 1959.

[brother-emperors]

Hi. I want to read Camus' Caligula. Which translation have you read (if you read it in translation)? I would search under tags but my tumblr is currently acting up. If you've read more, which one would you recommend, or what did you like about each one?

I've read camus' caligula in french and a couple of translations in english, the only one I like is Stuart Gilbert's translation, the other ones aren't even worth talking about tbh

I'm incredibly obsessed with phrasing of 'this ghoul-haunted wilderness of mine,' 10/10

[spokenworded]

"When Love Arrives", Sarah Kay & Phil Kaye

[fairydrowning]

– Edith Sitwell

[TEXT ID: "Winter is the time for comfort, for good food and warmth, for the touch of a friendly hand and for a talk beside the fire: it is the time for home." END ID]

[trensu]

an excerpt of the newest chapter of the halfway house fic based on this past post. Enjoy :)

“Steve, come get your furry little menace! He’s chewing up my laces again,” Robin grumbled.

“Maybe if your laces are ruined, you’ll finally buy a new pair of shoes,” Steve snarked. Steve walked to the living room to find Robin attempting to tie her old Converse only to snatch back her hands every time the kitten took a swipe at the laces in question. “He’s just a baby. He wants to play.”

“He can get his own laces to play with, then. And there’s nothing wrong with my shoes. I’m not going to go buy new shoes when these are perfectly functional. And my favorite color.”

Steve scooped the kitten up even as he kept reaching for the laces and cuddled him to his chest. Steve rubbed gently behind the kitten’s ears until the kitten relaxed into tiny purrs.

“What do you think, Dustin? Should Robin get new shoes? Raise your paw if you agree with me,” Steve said. He lifted the kitten’s right paw and waved it a bit, making the kitten squirm. “See, he agrees with me.”

Robin snorted and rolled her eyes at his teasing smile. “I still can’t believe you named him Dustin.”

The kitten chose that moment to start climbing up Steve’s shirt to reach his shoulder. His tiny claws pricked at Steve’s skin through the thin fabric but they were so small, they barely hurt at all. Steve laughed as the kitten settled on his shoulder and began to mew at the top of his lungs.

“It’s not my fault he looks like a Dustin,” Steve insisted. When he brought the kitten home two days ago, Robin tried to name him something else but Steve put his foot down about it. He found the kitten, and he thought the kitten was a Dustin, so no other name was allowed. 

Dustin let out another mew so loud he nearly toppled over. Steve pulled him off his shoulder with an amused huff. Dustin wriggled incessantly in his hands. Steve lost his grip on him but thankfully he had gotten him close enough to the ground by then that the fall was negligible to a cat.

“Okay, okay, we’ll play for a little while, you needy baby.”

He and Robin were waiting for payday to run to the pet store for more supplies. They were lucky that their neighbor across the hall had an old litter box that her cat had outgrown, and a couple of spare food bowls. She had even given them a few cans of wet food, cooing over the kitten all the while. Dustin, apparently, was a charming little guy. He obviously took after Steve. Robin had punched him on the arm when he said as much.

In the meantime, they were using old bits of string and a little orange ball Robin had stolen back when they worked at a mini-golf place. The kitten seemed to enjoy them well enough but Steve planned on getting him fancier playthings and some catnip. He rolled the ball across the floor and the kitten chased after it. He pounced on it, wobbly, which sent the ball rolling again for another chase. Steve laughed. Robin giggled along with him.

“He’s lucky he’s adorable. Otherwise we’d be having problems, him and I,” Robin said with a grin. Her mischievous demeanor softened slightly. “I’m glad you found him, you big old softie. Now you can stop moping so much.”

Steve ducked away when she reached to ruffle his hair. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, lightheartedly. “Maybe if I do a good job with him, someone will finally let me have a kid.” 

The kitten had apparently gotten bored of the ball and was attempting to climb up the back of the couch. Steve quickly grabbed him so he would damage the upholstery. He booped the kitten’s nose.

“What do you think, baby? Will I be a good dad? Be honest.”

Dustin grabbed his finger and gnawed at it while making the most precious sounds. A purring mew.  Steve’s heart melted; though from what he had read, he really shouldn’t let Dustin get accustomed to using his hands as playthings.

Steve resigned himself to losing half his paycheck to cat toys.

Continue on Ao3

ps: i do not do reader tag lists or whatever those things are called. i tag all my writing with 'trensu tells stories' so please just follow that tag if you wanna keep up with my stuff, thank you

[bharatiya-naari-sab-pe-bhaari]

An excerpt from my drabbles gathering dust in my drafts.

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

Draupadi gaped at her husband, completely baffled. She just couldn't wrap her head around what he had announced to them all, rather subdued.

The next moment, Vrikodhar and the twins burst out laughing. The entire situation was so bizare that not even Yudhishtir could resist a little smile.

Arjun looked a painful shade of embarrassed and annoyed. He grimaced as his brothers continued expressing their amusement at his predicament.

It was an alien expression on this otherwise perfectly chiselled face.

"Yes, laugh it off. As if being a man, I have no autonomy over my own body. Who would have known that the apsaras of Amaravati have never been refused by anyone in their extremely immortal lives."

Arjun snapped sharply at his chortling brothers and got up fluidly from where he had been sitting on the ground to storm off towards the hut.

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

"Forgive them. They didn't mean to sound ingracious or mean."

Draupadi's gentle words nearly made him jump out of his skin. It was because of years of rigorous penance and practice that he could control involuntary reactions to perfection.

One of her husband’s many talents, Krishnaa mused affectionately.

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

Arjun almost scrabbled on the dusty ground with a white knuckled grip, stifling the agonized screams from just behind his gritted teeth, through sheer will.

A lesser mortal would have succumbed to the insane pain by now.

His entire body was aflame. It was like his internal structure was changing. Bones snapping and widening and narrowing, muscles tearing and reshaping, organs viscera and glands crumbling and reforming.

His eyes were shut painfully tight as he tried concentrating on a single point in his mind to focus on something else other than the blood curdling agony.

He felt Krishnaa's tear splash on his face. Her soft hands were busy caressing the slowly smoothening lines of his jaw and stroking the shiny, now speedily growing mass of his curls.

"Just a bit more, Arya. It is almost over. Oh God, why did the transformation have to be so painful?"

Her shaky words were choked with anguish and Arjun was sure her eyes were shimmering with tears still. His pain has always hurt her, irrespective of how undeserving he is of her devotion.

He gasped and groaned as waves of agony ripped into him with savagery.

Hell truly hath no fury like a woman scorned.

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

His hair was overly grown now, almost as long as Draupadi. It fell in silky tumultuous waves over his sweaty face and heaving body. His fingers felt thinner, his waise narrower, almost delicate, and his hips, undeniably curved. His muscles were there still present but much reduced in sharpness and bulk.

He had always been reedy, a lean fit, but now he felt oddly swan like but also athletic. His chest, though, was the real problem.

He was breathing through his hair, Panchali's saffron saree where he lay half hidden in her lap, and his newly formed breasts, oddly round and heavy, felt crushed and suffocated.

"Breathe husband... breathe. Its over."

Her voice was slightly wobbly but also relieved.

But was he her husband anymore?

What was he? A woman? A man? A eunuch?

Draupadi lifted his strangely silken hair strands, pushing them away gently with her fingers from his face to finally take a look at him.

"My God... you look... so beautiful." she whispered in awe and something else he failed to recognize.

At least he hadn't repulsed her yet.

He felt her lips press gentle, soothing kisses on the planes of his now soft face and even softer jaw.

"Brihannala."she said in a mild whisper, her lips fluttering close to his now even longer eyelashes.

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

PS: I dunno, should I write more?

[howifeltabouthim]

She held him secretly, possessively, in her heart with such a strength of passion that at times it was hard to believe that he was a separate person with other concerns who knew and cared nothing about how she felt.

Iris Murdoch, from The Philosopher’s Pupil

[acacia-may]

Hi!! Me again. Can I ask 15, 16 and 25 for the excerpt game? Thanks a lot! 😁

Hi there, friend! Thank you so much for the ask! 🥰 I'd be happy to answer these questions from the writing excerpt ask game for you.

15. An excerpt from an old piece that I like

Here's an excerpt from "I'll Be Waiting" which was a Finral and Finesse piece (and my third Black Clover fanfiction ever) ^^

“Finral?” The sound of his name made him stop in his tracks, and the portal flickered though it didn’t disappear. Lady Finesse paused for a moment before asking quietly, “Is there anything that could bring you back?” A breathy laugh escaped from his mouth before he could stop it, but he shrugged. “My family finally acknowledging me…me beating Langris…becoming the Head of House Vaude…so…a miracle?” He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “But that’s never going to—” “I’ll be waiting then.” Finral gasped at her gentle interruption. He blinked and whipped around in confusion on impulse. “For…for what?” he asked, and her kind eyes met his as she smiled at him with what he could have sworn was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. “For you to come home.”

16. An excerpt from a recent piece I want to brag about

Thank you so much for asking this dear! I feel bad because I haven't written anything Black Clover in a long time, so this will have to be an excerpt from a fic for another fandom. I've chosen an excerpt from "Tell Me Where It Hurts" which is a brotherly hurt/comfort (and eventually heavy angst) story that I wrote in January of this year. I'm really proud of this OMORI fic and how it turned out. This snippet isn't from my favorite part of the fanfic, but I chose from a portion that doesn't have any spoilers for the game. ^^ That said, I’m really happy with and proud of the descriptions in the last paragraph, so I thought it fit the "I want to brag about" prompt. Also, yes, my intense love of brothers getting along and supporting and loving each other extends to other fandoms as well... 😁 (I am so normal I swear...)

Kel shrugged him off, squirming away from him. “Hero,” he began to protest again, but he sniffled—wiping his hand across his nose then his eyes and leaving a streak of dirt on his cheek. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hero gently interrupted, rubbing his hand comfortingly across his brother’s back. “My bike—” “It’s okay. I’ve got it.” With a reassuring nod, Hero grabbed the orange handlebars and set the bike upright again. It was in much better shape than Kel who had been flung off of it when he had hit that uneven spot in the sidewalk outside their house. Despite Hero’s gentle warnings that Kel should slow down and look out for that infamous crack in the pavement, Kel had slammed into it at rapid speed, losing his balance and skidding across the sidewalk into the dirt with a painful scraping sound. Hero could only imagine how much that had had hurt. The thought made something twist in his chest. He couldn’t stand to see the tears caught in Kel’s long eyelashes, to watch his bottom lip trembling as he tried not to cry. He wished it had been him who had crashed the bicycle rather than his brother. It probably would have hurt less.

25. An excerpt that I consider a favorite

I had to pick from "Wine Therapy" for this! It might be my favorite of all the Black Clover fanfictions that I've written, and it's is definitely one of my favorite stories I've ever written for any fandom. This is kind of long for a snippet, but the whole sequence was just so much fun to write...

“Take off your shoes and socks.” Langris practically leapt backwards in surprise. “What?” “I would roll up your pant legs too. They’ll get stained,” she added with a tilt of her head. Langris blinked at her but his mind was so muddled he couldn’t seem to find his question. Vanessa continued, “Like I already told you, if you’re going to buy this wine, you need to replace it. You can’t supply the ingredients or age it with your magic, but you can stomp the grapes.” A teasing grin spread between her cheeks. “So get to it!” “You...want me…to get into that basin and stomp these grapes with my feet?” Langris repeated in bewilderment. Vanessa nodded. “Yep. That’s exactly it. Once we have enough juice for another bottle to replace this one”—she held it up for him to see—“you are free to buy it.” Langris looked from the basin full of grapes to the bottle. “That’s disgusting. You can’t actually expect me to…” “You said you’d pay ‘any price’ for the best wine we had. This, plus 1200 Yul, is the price,” shrugged Vanessa. “Is that going to be a problem?” “I meant monetary price,” muttered Langris bitterly. “This is…this is ridiculous…and gross.” “Oh, are your feet gross?” she bantered. “Definitely wash them off beforehand, then.” She motioned to a small washtub, soap, and water nearby. “You’re making me pay in manual labor?” protested Langris. “Can’t you just raise the price? I’ll pay double what you’re asking me.” “No,” answered Vanessa with a smile. “Consider this the ‘price of perfection’ Langris.” She paused and glanced over at a nearby clock on the wall. “I’d get started if I were you, otherwise we’re going to be here all night,” she teased with a wink. Langris shook his head and gritted his teeth. What a cruel woman—he knew she was enjoying this. He sighed. But what choice did he have? He needed that wine, that perfect wine, no matter the cost—which was apparently his dignity.

[sexynetra]

SIX SENTENCE SUNDAY

I have returned with rawnsyf content, now in lightly edited form :) did you know these bitches are gay?

~~~~~~~

“I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a coward,” Marcia bluffed, forcing herself to keep her eyes locked on Anetra’s. Looking away felt like losing, and Marcia never lost.

It took Anetra a moment to reply. “Marsh. Marcia. I’m not sure we should go down this road again,” Anetra breathed, face infuriatingly close but just out of reach, her brown eyes – bloodshot, huge, tentative – scanning Marcia’s.

“I am,” Marcia said, pressing forward. Her hands rested on Anetra’s thighs, their faces maybe a few inches apart. She wanted Anetra to kiss her first, wanted Anetra to want her.