#midnight lie

[divno]

Tell me what you want,” she said, “and I will make it happen.”

I want my liar, I thought.

I want her mouth. I want her perfume to rub off on my skin like bruised grass.

Marie Rutkoski, the midnight lie

[aceinabook]

The Midnight Lie by Marie Rutkoski

Character 4.5| Setting 4| Plot 3.5| Writing 5| Enjoyability 4.5

Overall Rating: 4.3

Marie Rutkoski does it again. I loved the Winner's Trilogy, and was excited when I saw this series in her catologue because I loved the chemistry of the couple in that series and to see a lesbian couple? Hell yes.

Marie Rutkoski has such a great gift of chemistry with characters. I loved Nirrim and Sid. They were fun and made me want to hug both of them.

This felt more fantastical than The Winner's Trilogy and ya'know it was interesting to figure out this world.

Marie Rutkoski has such a great gift of chemistry with characters. I loved Nirrim and Sid. They were fun and made me want to hug both of them. Nirrim had such great character development through this and I am excited to see how this ends.

This book gaslighted me for a solid hour of listening to it. I was like dang her and this cell mate dude have great chemistry…I thought this was gay!!

Calm down girl let it unravel it is gay. So don't worry guys it's gay.

[itsthenovelteafactor]

if i had a nickel for every time netflix released a show about a diverse group of teenagers who become a found family while dealing with ghostly shenanigans that received critical acclaim and developed a passionate and loyal fanbase in spite of little promotion only to unceremoniously cancel it after one season for nonspecific reasons, i would have

four

goddamn

nickels

[gaysquares]

Kait Rokowsky || Mary Shelley, Frankenstein || @hopepunk-humanity || Jenny Slate, Little Weirds || Intricate Explorer || Melissa Broder, Problem Area || Kerri Maniscalco, Kingdom of the Wicked || Louise Eldritch, The King of the Owls || Stephanie Foo, What My Bones Know || Damir Omerović || David Leviathan, How They Met and Other Stories || Ariana Reines, The Cow || Anaís C., Am I Good? || Okechukwu Nzelu, Here Again Now || Max Muselmann || Fernando Pessoa, I See Boats Moving || Mary Maclane, I Await the Devil's Coming || Jhumpa Lahiri, Whereabouts || Mary Oliver, Spring || Jordan Steranka Tathlyn Auvrynval: On Endurance, Defending, and Being Made A Weapon

[mispelled]

I've been meaning to draw this for over a year

[fumifooms]

Hijoushoku to Gochisou / A Feast of Emergency Rations

Mayonaka no Waltz / Midnight Waltz

Nagabe

[midnightsun-if]

How Scarlett would react if in a ball the court held she founds baby!mc following her as a lost puppy? She would tease mc in the future?

I think if it’s something Scarlett cared enough to recall she might tease the MC about it, but I don’t think it’s something she’d look back on unless it was needed (she doesn’t really like to delve into her past, good or bad, for a variety of reasons as she tends to spiral a bit).

A soothing melody resounds through the ballroom — interspersed with the sounds of clinking glasses, light chatter, and even lighter laughter that rung with hidden intentions — allowing for the varying couples to move across the dance floor in an elegant display of grace; art coming to life in the face of measured movements.

It was all too much — too fake — for her to stomach for long; she had never been one to dally within the confines of court for extended periods of time. She played the part, of course. The dutiful heir, even if she’d never see the throne, and the even more doting daughter; one who laughed and smiled at each insolent lordling that wished to gain favor with her father, thinking she’d be too blind to see what they were trying to do by approaching her, and each moment she kept the demure expression across her face was a moment more that she felt something wither away within her.

Princess Scarlett Voltaire, in the face of many within the Etheric Court, was everything you wished for in a royal child: charming, docile, eloquent, and, above all, beautiful.

Princess Scarlett Voltaire, to Scarlett Voltaire, was nothing more than a caricature; a gilded cage that trapped her before the eyes of the many, locking her within herself, never letting the eyes of the few in to truly see what would happen when she’d finally be free.

This ball, this room, and the people that moved within it? Were nothing but spectators to a show they weren’t even aware they’re a part of. An almost voyeuristic entity settling within her gut, sending a chill down her spine, every time someone turned to look at her; a gnawing entity that made her want to rip herself open, to show what was being hidden away, to reveal that they were looking at a beautifully constructed mask — something that conformed to what they wished to see, but wasn’t truly there.

It’s a feeling Scarlett could only handle for so long — her nails biting into the palm of her hands — before she decided to slip away into the shadows that such events provided; going unseen, unwanted, for her duty had already been completed. She ensnared people towards House Voltaire, delighting them by feeding their egos, and letting them loose to speak about the accomplishments King Alaric had been able to procure while raising such delightful children.

Standing within the shadows now, watching her handiwork in action, makes another chill run down her spin, a sickening weight settling within her gut, as she watched various individuals laud over someone that wasn’t even real.

“You’re pretty.” The statement, along with the fact that she had been so lost within her mind that she let someone sneak up on her, causes a frown to settle over her features; annoyance sparking within her chest at the continued homage to her physical appearance. However, when she turned to spit fire towards the person that addressed her so, Scarlett’s eyes fall down to the small child that she had seen with her peripheries throughout the night; always looking in her direction with wide, innocent eyes.

Such innocence doesn’t deserve to be around this… Entrapped within the belly of the beast without a true way to escape.

Smoothing her features, adopting a serene expression, Scarlett tilts her head. “You should be with your parents, young one.” She takes a cursory sniff, ensuring that her assumptions were true, and a heavy weight settles across her shoulders when she realized that child before her was human; woefully, unequivocally, human. Even a shifter pup would be better than this — for they’d at least stand a chance if things went awry — but Scarlett couldn’t allow for her burgeoning feelings to show. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. “Where are they? Are you capable of getting back to them?”

The child still continues to stare up at her with wide eyes — observing her with a nonjudgmental gaze; no hidden agenda lurking within the innocent expression — and Scarlett, despite her years doing the opposite, couldn’t help the softness that edges within her own in return. She had never been good with children, even if they tended to flock to her, but she had also never been able to turn them away either; even if it’d be better for everyone if she was left alone. It seemed that now, even with this human child, her record wouldn’t shift in the slightest.

Crouching down, balancing easily on her heels, Scarlett maintains eye contact. “Do you need help locating your family, young one?” She looks out across the room, not spotting anyone frantically searching for a missing child. “Are they even in this room?”

Another slow blink, before a large grin stretches across the child’s face. “You’re pretty.”

Scarlett can feel her left eye twitch slightly at the repeated phrase — faintly feeling her dearest ones amusement, at the situation she had found herself within, through their bond — but she maintains focus and, what she hopes in any case, a pleasant, even if slightly exasperated, expression across her face.

“We’ve established that,” she replies. “What we have yet to discern is if you’re in need of assistance. Are you lost? Do you know where your family is? Did you come with anyone?”

It briefly crosses her mind that the child could be leftover meal; even if the practice had been dying out, and Scarlett herself found it utterly abhorrent, she’s well aware that there were some still within the court that feasted on new blood. But, looking at the demeanor of the child, and the elegantly tailored clothes, it’s something that was dismissed as a possibility; if the child were to be a meal then there’d be definitive signs. None of which being that the child was actually looked after to this degree.

Which only meant the child belonged, in the familial sense, to someone and it seemingly was left to Scarlett to return the little human.

“Come now,” Scarlett finally mutters, not enjoying the action she was about to partake in to ensure this endeavor went as quickly as possible. “Let’s go find your family. You shouldn’t be wandering by yourself in this place. It’s dangerous for people twice your age.”

Opening her arms, Scarlett observes as the child takes in the action with an excited gleam appearing within the innocent gaze and, before she can properly react, she has a tiny form burrowing against her chest, small arms wrapped around her neck with a little face nuzzling against it a moment later, and Scarlett just barely contains her innate reaction to push the encroaching entity away from her personal space. Instead, fighting against every instinct telling her to do the exact opposite, Scarlett rises, cradling the child closer, and begins to search around the room with an almost predatory gaze; she was on the hunt now, and she wasn’t about to fail. Still, looking down at the tiny form, it wouldn’t hurt to get some semblance of help — even if the request wouldn’t bear anything fruitful.

“Young one?” A sleepy gaze rises to meet her own. “Where is the last place you saw your family?”

Instead of answering directly, as she anticipated, the little face nuzzles back into her neck, tiny hands slightly grasping the dark auburn locks that spilled down across her neck from her elaborate hairstyle. Words slightly muffled, and intercepted by a yawn, but they were ones she had become quite used to while in the presence of this particular human. “You’re pretty.”

With the small form beginning to fall asleep, and while she’s still within the confines of the shadows, away from the prying eyes of the vultures that circle within this blasted place, Scarlett allows her gaze to soften completely as she looks at the slumbering child; for once, in a long while, actually allowing herself to believe the words, in the sincerity within them, and letting her heart rejoice in the happiness the warmth those few syllables provided.

[crybaby-bkg]

cw: this got long sorry 😔 but creepy/perv bakugou, recording, film major bkg x art major reader, masturbation, coercion, dubcon before it just becomes con, voyeurism/exhibitionism

as an art major, you typically did some works for a few students on campus; for their plays, as background pieces while they danced, a cover for their released songs. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for people to ask you to create something for them, and you enjoyed it more often than not. but, you weren’t usually the art itself.

Bakugou is a friend’s friend that you’ve seen a few times, ran into at the library or at coffee shops. he’s a film major, and always looks so unhappy about the whole thing, as if he didn’t choose it himself. you joke to Mina that you think he’ll graduate and become one of those directors that hate everything and yell at the actors constantly and later on get sued for being a dickhead. you never say it to him though—you’ve never spoken more than a couple words to the man.

it’s why it shocks you when he approaches you one day. it’s after one of your painting classes, and he stands outside the door with a frown and his hands shoved in his pockets, his eyebrows scrunched as if pissed at the mere sight of you. he asks you, in that low and gruff tone of his, if you could star in his final project for the semester. says it’s supposed to be a film made with this criteria and that, but, you’ve kind of checked out on the conversation after the first sentence.

“You mean, you want me to create something and that be the star of your film?” you ask him, feeling so intimidated at his stature. he always seems to loom, his hair shadowing the lights above, creates a cast over a portion of his face, makes his eyes look…unsettling. like they’re looking straight through your flesh, can find the marrow in your bones. he scoffs like you’ve offended him, rolling his eyes into his skull, mouth pulled tight.

“No.” his voice is firm, gaze concentrated only on you, like the halls are empty and you’re the focus of his lens. “I want you to star in it.”

his words confuse you—you’ve never presented yourself as an actor before, never alluded to wanting to be in the spotlight if not for what you create with your hands. but he shuffles on his feet, looks desperate even. there’s some hemming and hawing for a minute or so—why not choose Mina?—she’s busy—why choose me?—‘cause you’d be perfect for my short film—what’s it about?—you’ll find out once you get the script.

and even after you hesitantly agree and get the script—you still don’t understand what you’re doing. why you’re here, why you’re the only person, why it has to be a solo film, why there’s damn near zero lines in the entirety of the have-to-be forty five minute film.

the scenes are all so long, and maybe it’s because movies aren’t your forte or chosen major, but you just don’t get it. one scene; you’re staring at yourself in the mirror while Bakugou holds a small, black camera over your shoulder. he’s eerily quiet behind you, whispers out a faint fuckin’ go when you have to wash your face in the sink, makes you do it over because your movements are too jerky and unnatural.

the rest of the scenes go that way; you doing regular at home activities, being put under a lens, quietly barked at to do this and move that way and fix your hair and remember to frown.

“Isn’t there another way to film this?” you ask him on the fifth day of shooting in his spacious loft. there’s a bubble bath scene coming up, one you dont understand the importance of, but Bakugou tells you it’s the most necessary part of the entire thing.

“No,” he grunts out, looking at you from under his lashes as he sits on the lid of the toilet. “But I’ll make it soapy, so the camera won’t see much.” the camera? much? you weren’t worried so much about what the camera captured as you were the man behind it. he looks at you with such intensity, you feel naked already despite the robe you wear that’s suspiciously already your size.

he leaves the bathroom when you sink in the hot water, returns before you can say it’s okay, hears the water splashing and thinks that’s good enough. he kneels on the floor beside you, camera pointed directly in your face, makes your chest hot and your skin feel prickly. the scene passes on regularly enough; you run the water over your arms, tilt your head back as you sigh, whisper the few lines scripted, lean back and close your eyes, sigh again. it’s almost relaxing, makes you forget about the friend of a friend recording you naked right now. almost.

“Touch yourself.” Bakugou suddenly demands, hushed and quiet behind the camera. your eyes immediately shoot open, looking to him in question, how he’s eerily still in his spot hovering over you.

“Huh?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly, looking around the rounded lens in your face, trying to ignore the red blinking light. but Bakugou only frowns.

“It’s a masturbation scene. Touch yourself.” he repeats, voice louder, more demanding this time. your stomach twists at the thought of doing something so intimate in front of him. he’s a handsome guy, for sure, even made you consider asking him out after this, figured he was just serious about his work and awkward about certain things. but…something had been off about this entire thing since the start.

“But—but I don’t, I’m not,” you stutter, sitting up a little, the bubbles covering your chest starting to disperse with your movements. but Bakugou only sits a little higher on his knees, finally pulling the camera away from his face for the first time since he’s asked you to do this for him.

“You want me to fail?” he asks, booming voice eerily quiet in the silent bathroom, carmine eyes dull, shaded over with something terrible. “Then do it.” he tells you when you shake your head quickly.

you stare at him until he gets back into position again, camera back pointed at you. when he doesn’t say anything else, you swallow thickly, wondering if the art that will come out of this will be worth it. so you listen, sneak a hand under the water, start touching yourself in a way you never have in front of anyone.

is it bad to say that it’s exhilarating? being watched and recorded by someone who breathes so heavily every time your voice hiccups? being directed to touch your chest next when the suds start to disappear and your nipples start to peek through? is it bad that you want him to send you this portion of his film, only, just so you can watch yourself again and again? make a portrait of yourself with your fingers on your nipples and your knees raising from the water and your head thrown back from the intensity in oil pastels?

“That’s a wrap.” Bakugou announces when you finish, head spinning and still panting. you look over to him, how he closes the camera, the obvious bulge in his pants. “I’ll get you a towel.”

you wonder when’s the next time he’ll need you. or better yet—maybe he could be the star in your final drawing project? you had finished it already but, what was the harm in starting over with him as your muse? as naked as you are? camera not blocking his face so you can paint the similarities of his blushing cheeks and eyes when you direct him to look at you? to touch his chest? to play with himself just like that?

[midnight-malls]

[ 2023 ]

Normal House Plant

》 Do not repost or edit my artwork, please and thank you!! 《

[vanesawye]

seriously just saw someone say "why doesn't mike flanagan do original stories"

[messierthanthou]

I just want an au where Shadowheart is royalty and Lae'zel is her sworn protector, is that too much to ask for

[sugarcoatedvein]

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

The moment my soul almost left my body-

[valewritessss]

The bad part about being an anxiety girly who needs a weighed blanket to sleep is that during the summer it’s either being comfortable for a while until it gets too hot or not feeling comfortable at all but at least you’re not all sticky

[imunonimus]

caspar getting ava—the genius theoretical physicist—my little pony pencils was everything to me actually. (also it being mentioned again in the finale is fucking gold)

[daily-lea-crosscode]

(read left to right) sakai siblings... my beloved...