#poem about nudity

[jude-thedude98]

I discover nudity

Like candy

How free it is

To not give a damn if people think you suck.

Because I'm naked and beautifully made.

[stevesgother]

Savior Complex - S.H

Paring - Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 1.9k

Warnings - Blood. Mention of vomit. Partial nudity. Let me know if I missed anything!

Authors note - This is my first fic...ever. Constructive criticism always welcome but pls be nice. Takes place directly after the events of S3. Hurt/comfort, angst, acknowledging Steve’s trauma bc damn.

Summary: ANGST, hurt/comfort, happy ending but not a lot of resolution, friends to ? lovers? idk its up to you!

Inspired by my favorite poem of all time, that has always reminded me a little bit of Steve.

“In this space right here that we have made for each other, you can say anything and I will not abandon you. Unwrap the worst things you have done. Watch me hold them up to the light and not even flinch”

The air inside Steve’s car was heavy with tension and the thick July heat.

You sat parked in his driveway, the rest of The Party having dispersed to their own homes; their parents waiting for them with open arms and misty eyes. 

Not you. 

And Certainly not Steve Harrington.

You and Steve weren’t what you would call “close”. Until now, that is. Shared trauma tends to have that effect. He knew you had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, and it didn’t take much deducing to realize his parents weren’t in the picture. Barely in Indiana, let alone spending anything close to quality time with their only son.

The idea of spending the last few hours of this nightmarishly long day in his big, empty house was sounding lovelier by the minute. On the grounds that it ‘wasn’t safe to be alone right now’. You didn’t read too much into it; he was right, after all. Part of you wonders if he just didn’t want to be alone. Sluggish, and noticeably more bloodied than you, Steve made his way to the front door with you in tow. His house was silent; eerily so. Everything pristine and well manicured, as if no one lived there at all. 

“There’s a guest bedroom upstairs, and a bathroom down the hall, to the right. Towels in the cabinet next to the shower.” He doesn’t even look at you as he says it. You try not to feel like you’re burdening him, blaming his avoidance on the exhaustion and not the unwelcome presence of you in his home.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He finally meets your gaze. The shiner he sports on his left eye is still swollen, but less so. The front of his sailor suit you once thought so endearing, is now stained with blood and vomit.

“You’re bleeding.” You say quietly. “You have -” you wince, “- open wounds on your face Steve. Probably a concussion too and that’s if we’re being modest.”

He wears a tight-lipped expression you can’t quite read. You can tell he’s frustrated, and his exhaustion is bone deep. It nags at your heart. Maybe that’s why you don’t just drop it when he answers you.

“Not my first rodeo, I’ll be fine just-” He pauses, “go shower, and get some rest. God knows this shit won’t just be over come tomorrow.”

You take a tentative step forward. “Please just…just let me help. I can disinfect the cuts around your eye. I was a girl scout! Though in hindsight I realize how useless that sounds and-” you’re rambling now; nervous.

“Stop.” You’re taken aback slightly by his tone, you haven’t known Steve to act hostile. Not in a long time. “I don’t need your help, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not ‘pity’ Steve! Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might want to help you?” You take a step forward from where you stand a few feet from him. You reach up to touch his forehead with the hope of better assessing his injuries.

‘Enough!” He swats your hand away, “God, I should’ve never offered for you to stay here. You think you’re some type of savior, but you’re not.”

His words feel like a knife to the chest. You knew what he was trying to do, you knew he didn’t really mean the things he said. Not when he’s like this. For the first time since you arrived tonight, you thought of how many times he’s had to come back to this empty, soulless house all alone. Damaged, emotionally and physically. Wounds he’s had to patch alone. No gentle caress of another’s hands. Just the stinging of antiseptic in his nostrils, and the heaviness of everyone he’s ever loved abandoning him.

“You don’t mean that.” You say, shaking your head in a disbelieving way.

He laughs, humorless, “Yes I do. I really, really do.” A bitter sharpness to his words. It burns like liquor washing down your throat. “Go.” 

“No!” Now you’re the one raising your voice. “Being stubborn is for when someone is haggling you at a flea market. Not when someone is trying to love you.”

Love. You realize what you’ve said a beat too late, but you stand defiant despite it. You do love Steve. This fact, collecting cobwebs in the back of your brain for months, being spat out onto the floor in front of you both is what compels you to what you do next.

Steve, who was previously standing with this index finger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose, is now staring at you like a deer in headlights. Before either of you can blink, you’re closing the gap between the two of you, sure of yourself. You wrap him in a suffocating embrace and he struggles against your grip.

“Stop! Please I don’t need you-” He all but shouts. Still, you sense a dent in the armor.  A crack in the wall he’s spent so long building to keep you out; to keep everyone out.

Eventually, he stops struggling. His knees give out from underneath him as the trauma and the pain and the events of today catch up to him. But not just today; a year ago when his girlfriend broke his heart at Tina’s stupid party. When Michael Harrington cut him off on the grounds of him being a disgrace to the family name. Everything flooding back to him all at once. Everything he’s spent his youth avoiding.

You sink to the ground with him, still holding him tight. He stops making an effort to hide his sobs, but instead clings to you like you’re the only tangible thing keeping him here. You sit beside him, with one arm wrapped around his shoulders and your free hand cradling his head to his chest so he can hear your heartbeat. A heart that finally beats for him.

“I know.” You soothe. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” The hair you’re gently stroking, which is usually so voluminous and perfectly styled, is now dampened with blood and sweat.

“I’m sorry-” He sobs, “I'm so sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t want you to be sorry. I’m not sorry.” 

He cries harder at that. Shoulders shaking and breath shallow, he looks at you. You cradle his sweet, bruised face in your hands. You think, like a pomegranate, Steve Harrington is beautiful, and worth the mess. Wiping his tears with your thumbs and careful to avoid the cuts and swelling that decorate his face, you give him a smile. Shy, but earnest.

“Can you take me to bed?” He asks you, eyes bleary.

–

Neither of you speak as you turn on the faucet and watch the porcelain tub fill with scalding hot water; still not hot enough to wash away the memories this day has tainted you both with forever. Tentatively, you lift your shirt over your head, and slip your shorts down your scraped legs, revealing your mismatched bra and underwear. A pang of guilt washes over you when you look down and realize Steve took the brunt of the Russian soldiers. He was the bravest and most selfless person you had ever met.

You give him a look that asks “is this okay?” as your fingertips brush the cotton of his ruined Scoops uniform. You aren’t sure what the boundaries are anymore. Momentarily Steve worries this will irreparably change things between you two. He nods anyway. You lift the shirt over his head, catching a glimpse at the real extent of his injuries. His ribs were badly bruised, and he had clotting cuts all over his abdomen. Something swirls in your stomach at the sight of his chest hair. You wish the circumstances of this moment were different.

He pulls his own pants and socks down with a hiss, eyes screwed shut, leaving you both in just your undergarments. He steps into the tub and slowly sinks beneath the hot water. You step in behind him, and he looks over his shoulder at you, a look of confusion contorting his features. You don’t bother to explain, for the fear that speaking would break the trance you both seemingly were under. You had built a space here for each other, one you didn’t want to leave just yet.

Sitting behind him now, you wrap your arms around his chest and pull him flush to you. You rest your chin in the space between his shoulder and his neck, and close your eyes. You can feel how he tries to match his breathing to yours; slow and rhythmic.

You reach up to the hanging shelf on the wall above your head, and grab the cedar and sandalwood body wash. The second you open the bottle, your senses are flooded with him. Only in your wildest dreams did you think you’d ever get to smell his scent in any way other than passing. A slight brush of shoulders in the hallway; a friendly hug when you’d gotten back from a month long vacation.

With a dollop of body wash on a washcloth you found on the edge of the tub, you gently start to scrub the blood and grime off his freckled skin. Like this, you can see every birthmark, every scar, the way the hair at the nape of his neck curls up around his ears in the damp bathroom air.

Steve rests his calloused hand on your knee and squeezes. A silent reassurance that what you’re doing is okay, that he’s okay, that he’s here. Everything feels overwhelmingly intimate as your hands explore his body. You lather his thick, brown locks with the shampoo you found next to the soap. With a heavy sigh, Steve allows his head to fall back into the crook of your neck. He doesn’t tell you, but this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for him.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in the tub together, but at some point he turns to face you, cupping your jaw in his larger hand. The look he gives you is so tender, you think you might cry. His caramel eyes flicker to your lips and back up to your eyes, so fast you would’ve missed it if your senses weren’t dialed up to 11.

With the delicacy of someone touching a flower petal, he closes the gap and presses his cut lips to your soft ones. Hesitant at first, giving you the option to pull away. He fears he may have misread the moment when you separate from him, a look in your eyes that he can’t read. His worry dissipates as you take his face into both of your hands and kiss him deep and slow. You only break when the air feels too stiff to continue, the water droplets accumulating in the air and Steve's kiss making it difficult to catch your breath. His hands slide from where they were grasping your hair, and down to your neck where they stay.

“I love you, too.”

[shogunish]

𝗽𝗼𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗲.

pairing. true form! sukuna x f! reader

genre. some sort of romance (?)

contents. set in the heian period, true form sukuna, reader is a concubine, after sex + casual nudity, creampie, violence, blood, mediocre poetry that i wrote myself

summary. sukuna who neither loves nor hates anyone, finds himself attracted to the poetry you write so elegantly.

words. 2.4k

note. based on this random sukuna thought i had.

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! <3

you had no other choice but to bang your fist against wooden gates in the pouring rain, mud staining your once white robes and strands of hair sticking to your face like a second skin.

"please, let me in!"

what else were you supposed to do when a swarm of curses suddenly terrorized your village, eating your parents' flesh alive and feasting on their corpses once they had died of shock? you had barely made it out of your home, throwing stones at the winged cursed spirits in hopes of gaining some sort of distance, an advantage.

"i'll do anything! i swear!"

you banged your fist harder until splinters pierced your skin and jumped off the wood. but the pain of it wasn't greater than the anguish of losing your loved ones, your home – a place you could no longer return to, a graveyard for the living.

tears of despair ran down your cheeks and you sobbed. wings flapped in the distance. you didn't need to turn around to know that those cursed spirits had caught up to you in the matter of a few minutes. horror crawled up your spine, slinging itself around your neck like the burn of a noose.

"please! i'm begging!"

your heart had already given up when you sunk to your knees, your mind made peace with the fact that this was it. but before you even knew what happened, someone grabbed the collar of your robes, dragged you inside and tossed your body into a puddle of mud like..like you were nothing.

"huh..?" sitting on your knees, your head shot up and your eyes widened once they caught sight of your savior and downfall.

he looked like a beast. four arms and two faces with pink hair slicked back amd an aura that nearly suffocated you. a pair of his arms was crossed over his chest, red eyes glared at you, stared right through the essence of your soul.

ryomen sukuna.

your grandparents always told you stories about him, but you never believed that anyone, or rather anything, like that could exist. nothing but a scary fairytale meant to teach children not to misuse jujutsu or else he'd eat them in their sleep. but he was real. silently, you wished you had listened to grandma and grandpa.

sukuna didn't ask for it, but your trembling body was on autopilot when you lowered your forehead to the wet ground and squeezed your eyes shut.

"do you have any idea how loud you are?" his voice was deep, obviously annoyed by your obnoxious begs and pleads to let you in, to grant you shelter from a horde of lousy cursed spirits.

you dug your fingernails into the ground. "m-my apologies.." your voice died in your throat, hoarse from screaming and begging and trembling out of pure fear. "my village..it got slaughtered and i..i just.."

"did I ask for any of your excuses?" sukuna couldn't care less about your sob story you tried serving him in an attempt to keep your life.

you were about to apologize again when clawed hands grabbed your cheeks, jerked your head upwards and forced you to look at sukuna who appeared to be bored out of his mind. wide-eyed, you stared at him with mud, tears and blood on your face. truly disgusting did you look.

"you said you'd do anything?" sukuna questioned as he regarded your fear-stricken face that looked like it was about to cry again when you dumbly nodded your head.

despite that, he had to admit that your skin seemed well taken care of and the fabric of your robes was neither too shabby nor too expensive. you were neither a farmer nor a noble, but something..in-between.

you reminded him of a poem he once read.

"the ugly little duck that many would have slaughtered

grew into a beautiful swan with grace unknown and beauty unmatched."

a silly swing of mood was all it took for sukuna to change his mind. originally, he wanted to spill the blood of the person who disturbed his rest, but he decided to give you chance to grow into something beautiful, something even someone like him could admire like the poetry he liked to read.

"you'd make a fine concubine." a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

was this..it?

you'd get to keep your life in exchange for pleasuring a mass murderer? you cringed at the thought and had half the mind to say that you'd rather be fed to the wolves than existing for a man's pleasure, but then..the images of your killed loved ones flashed before your eyes.

saying those words out loud would result in a painful, slow death. those cursed spirits would tear the flesh off your bones until you'd die of shock or blood loss.

you yielded. you did say you'd do anything.

"yes..i shall be your concubine as a sign of my gratitude."

those words sealed your fate.

sukuna called for someone named uraume, an androgynous-looking person clothed in monk robes and they took you inside where you were not only granted a bath but also a fresh pair of robes. they said they'd show you around the coming morning, that you would be to sleep in a room with the other concubines and that you had nothing to do but satisfy sukuna's sexual desires.

if you were to disobey, you would die.

just what had you gotten yourself into?

.

.

sukuna liked to believe that he didn't care about anyone. people, humans, were nothing but the dirt underneath his feet. maybe even the ants he'd squish if they were lucky enough. but even a curse such as himself found himself drawn to one of the arts humans gave birth to.

it was poetry.

those words would likely never reach sukuna's soul, but he liked the art of putting words together, to think about their meaning. after all, writing was the same as laying your soul bare – similar to showing your nude body to strangers like one of his many concubines.

in full bloom were the cherry blossoms, plum and vibrant. a spring breeze blew by and the engawa creaked underneath sukuna's bare feet. the pond's surface was disturbed by the occasional koi fish getting a little too close to the sun, the water rippled silently before coming to flawless stillness once more.

one more step and a glance towards the ground – what was this? sukuna bent down, picked up a piece of paper and upon turning it around, he was met with fine, onyx brush strokes and a neat handwriting. it was poetry.

sukuna shouldn't be as interested as he was, but maybe it was the good mood he had which allowed him to indulge himself in such silly thing.

"dreams are like bubbles.

fragile and transient, one touch and they cease to exist.

so why is it that i keep blowing bubbles,

hoping that the wind will be more gentle with them than my own fingertips?"

.

.

"if pain is time, then this must be eternity."

.

.

"his claws, so sharp and lethal and drenched in his arrogance's blood, almost feel as gentle as the breeze ringing in the spring."

and when sukuna raised his gaze, wanting to find a trace of the person who wrote these lines with such anguish, ruby irises found your form sitting underneath a tree. a little book was in your hands, black ink on the tips of your fingers as you dragged the brush across the paper. a faraway look in your eyes and glossy lips parted ever so slightly as you wrote down word for word.

who would've thought that a mere concubine, a woman whose purpose was to please sukuna in any way possible, was capable of creating such beauty? of executing such etiquette and carrying the brush with the sorrows of days gone by.

what else was going on in your mind, in that little soul of yours?

"sukuna. is everything alright?" uraume asked as they emerged from a sliding door. they had just come back from aiding the maids with a task that they needed help with and upon coming back, uraume immediately noticed the foreign expression on sukuna's face.

was this..awe..curiosity..or something entirely different? they couldn't tell.

sukuna crumpled the piece of paper in his fist. "yeah. no need to worry." he reassured his subordinate, but..those words were directed to himself as well.

.

.

.

soon after, sukuna requested you more often and kept you by his side for a little while before you'd pick up your kimono from the ground to go back to your own chambers to wash the sin off your body.

candles lit up sukuna's chamber, dipping the walls in hues of orange and yellow as the flame flickered. paintings as well as weapons made for war decorated the space – tools which still scared you, because what could a being such as sukuna do with these weapons? he could likely do worse than just murder you, you thought.

a sheen of sweat coated your nude body. your breasts rose and fell with each deep breath you took and sukuna's marks littered your skin. his bites on your neck, fingerprints on your thighs and the marks of his claws on your hips which were partly bloody. semen leaking from your entrance, you shivered.

"may i assume you're satisfied for the night, sukuna?" you looked up at him through your lashes, eyes still hazy from your orgasm.

sukuna's lower arm was wrapped around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. it was the most gentle touch you had ever received from him.

he hummed as if he was in thought. "..not quite."

immediately, you squirmed into a more upright position, eyes wide and shimmering even in the dim light. "i promise i can do better! if you let me just–" deft fingers attempted to raise the blanket from sukuna's lower half, but he stopped you, shaking his head.

"no, not that. rather.." he trailed off, watching the confusion grow in your eyes. "..i desire to know whether it's you who's lost a page of poetry?" sukuna's voice was deep, smooth like velvet, yet as dark as the abyss in his pupils. "the other concubines wouldn't even know how to write poetry, so..the only one left is you, [name]."

heat rose to your face. ashamed, you raise the blanket up to your collarbone as if it could hide the words sukuna had found. "..how did you..?"

"i found it when i stepped on it." sukuna was gentle when he cupped your chin with his clawed fingers and made you look at him. "consider me impressed."

surprise was written all over your face, lips parted, eyes wide and all that. you swore your heart was beating in your throat. did sukuna, the king of curses, just praise you?

he never praised anyone.

"..pardon..?" you breathed out. was this some kind of dream? a lucid dream? or maybe you were put under a spell? whichever it was..it felt pleasant.

"i'm not going to repeat myself." sukuna brushed a few strands of hair out of your face, tucking the strand behind your ear. "but i am going to keep you by my side. it appears that you're good for more than meets the eye."

that night, sukuna handed you a brush, ink and a piece of paper. he kept you by his side the entire night, wanting to hear the words you put to paper until you had fallen asleep with your head on his shoulder and his marks on your skin.

.

.

.

people said that love came all different shapes and forms: platonic love, familial love, erotic love, the love one held towards a pet and so on. if one were to ask sukuna what sort of affections he held towards you when you sat by his side, filling pages of poetry for him to read, he likely would remain silent.

because as arrogant as he was as the king of curses, as much as he didn't care about anyone but himself, he could not deny the fact that, in your company, he found peace amidst the violence that he caused himself.

sukuna liked the way you sat next to him with no fear, gentle eyes focused on that little notebook and a brush in your hand. silently would you sit next to the catastrophe that was sukuna, pouring your feelings onto paper that would one day fade and crumble like leaves in the wind. yes, even your tranquil self would one day fade into nothing like the ink on your papers.

"will you miss me when it's my turn to go?" you asked without looking at sukuna. a few cherry blossoms petals got tangled in your hair.

sukuna was gentle when he used one of his hands to pick the petal out of your hair. he should've said no without hesitating so long, because despite your appearance, you were awfully perceptive – that much sukuna had learned.

a smile graced your lips. seated next to sukuna on the engawa had become your favorite pastime even though he would use your body later on with no regard for your aching limbs.

"what? am I dear to you?" you teased the king of curses. within the last few months, you had become attuned to each other without meaning to.

"..if it is possible for a curse to love."

a sigh slipped sukuna's lips. he begrudgingly entertained your thoughts. "it seems that my treatment towards you has got to your head, [name]."

at that, you giggle into your notebook, eyes closed and the apples of your cheeks tinting a hue of red. "maybe a little bit. i was merely wondering if.."

sukuna was certain that he didn't love you, but rather the words you wrote. they flowed like water, written with grace unknown and beauty unmatched. each syllable was either fragile like a petal or sturdy like a warrior on horseback. it was funny how your poetry was a reflection of yourself.

when you sat next to sukuna, you were tender but when he'd order you into his chamber, you'd take and obey his orders like a samurai with nothing but moans on your lips.

"my affection has nothing to do with you." sukuna said after a pause.

"how sad." you mused, putting your brush down. "a being who has been living for so long and never experienced any sort of love. it must be lonely."

that day when you pressed a kiss to sukuna's cheek like a lover would, he wondered…if maybe you were attached to him instead.

[tell-me-a-tale-that-tells]

TATTOOS

┏━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┓

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

Summary: Eddie is your friend and your crush since childhood. On a hot summer day, you couldn't take away your eyes from his tattoos.

WARNINGS: none, no spoilers, no explicit sexual content, and no vulgar language, just mild nudity I guess?

┗━━━━ ☙ ☪ ☙ ━━━━┛

Chapter 1

It was a very cliche summer day in Hawkings, too hot to do anything and go somewhere.

You and your friend since kindergarten, Eddie Munson, were at your little yellow house in Lover's Lake.

Sitting under the shadow of the porch, you were reading a poetry book while he was on the pier, throwing stones on the flat surface of the lake, making them bounce.

It's better to say that you were pretending to read, a hard task since Eddie, due to the heat, has discarded his black t-shirt, remaining only in his torn jeans.

You couldn't help yourself to watch his pale back, the expanse of white skin in contrast with his dark curls and his muscles shifting and contracting with each throw.

If only you believed in God you would have thanked him for making Eddie Munson that way, you loved him since third grade but It was a secret only you knew, no whispered confessions at pajama parties or to the pages of your diary.

Your book was long forgotten as you tried to take a peek at your best friend's tattoos, sure, you saw them before, but closely only the ones on his right arm.

After a lucky throw, Eddie called you.

"Y/N! Did you see that? It bounced about seven times before sinking! Damn, I'm learning how to do this, sweetheart!" he said turning around.

You thanked your reflexes because, by the time he was fully turned, your volume was in front of your face.

"Oh, sorry Eddie! I was reading a poem" you responded trying to be believable and apologetic.

He melted in a kind smile, and ran a hand between his hair, combing some strands that were sticking to his forehead.

"I hate to ask you, Y/N-" he commenced "but there's a possibility that I could steal one of your father's beers? I'm dying of thirst and he made his best puppy eyes.

The truth is that he doesn't even have to try hard.

"If you're thirsty, drink some water," you said playfully, not raising your gaze from the pages.

"You know? you're no fun Y/L/N" Eddie said laughing.

You closed your book and stood up from the wooden stairs and gestured to him to follow you inside.

He entered your kitchen and leaned against the counter, arms crossed while you opened the fridge looking for a beer.

You couldn't see him, but he was peering at you, the way your tank top raised on your back when you leaned down, the curve of your waist, how those shorts were fitting you well.

Twisting around you found Eddie staring back at you, but your eyes were glued to the tattoos below his collarbone.

A sly smirk appeared on your friend's features.

"You just have to ask, if you want to see them" he teased you.

"I-I just... Sorry, it's that I don't know many people with tattoos and I was curious about yours since the day you got them" you blurted out, embarrassment colouring your cheeks.

"Hey, no need to apologize, come here" Eddie reached out for your free hand, took the beer from the other, and pulled you close to him, the heat of his metal rings made you gasp a little.

You had to restrain yourself from running your fingerprints on the inked skin, wanting to follow the black lines.

"The spider is beautiful" you confessed and it was his turn to blush a bit.

He could almost feel your breath on his heated face and decided he wanted more.

"It's a black widow, one of the most dangerous spiders in the world" he told you, lifting your hand to touch the arachnid legs, to you It was like being electrocuted by a loose wire.

"And this," he said moving your fingers lower "it's a demons head"

"Creepy' you commented, leaving out a chuckle and he followed.

You were about to step away when a question crawled into your mind, so you lifted your head, watching shyly Eddie in the eyes.

"Do you...have any others?" you wanted to know so badly.

You saw his face reddens and his pupils dilate, while a sly grin played on his face.

Still guiding your hand, he trailed down his chest and abdomen, stopping right at his belt.

"Yeah, but only pretty girls get to see 'em" he whispered placing your chin between his fingers.

"Oh" you said almost disappointed.

"So I guess it's your birthright to see them" he grinned before letting you go and taking a big gulp from the beer bottle, locking I'm his eyes with yours.

You remained frozen to the spot as he passed by you, heading from the stairs to the first floor.

"So? Are you coming or what, isn't your room upstairs?' he called.

"Hell, yes" you murmured before sprinting to him.

──────⊱⁜⊰──────

Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. If you have a request for a fic just drop me a private message and I'll write it for you.

[startrekdiscoverycelebration]

Star Trek: Discovery might have wrapped its fifth and final season, but it’ll never truly be over!

I’m currently seeking submissions for the first annual Celebrate Discovery Zine, a collection of art, fanfic, essays, poems, how-to’s, and photographs.

Submissions are open August 1-September 1, with publication scheduled for September 24. At this time, only a digital release is planned; however, a high-res, print-ready version will be available for anyone wanting to print the issue for themselves.

Submissions can be sent as attachments (rtf, doc, docx, pdf, jpg, or png) or in the body of the email to jordanlafordan [at] gmail.com. Please do not send links.

Nothing created using AI generative tools will be accepted.

Unfortunately, this is not a paid opportunity. Reprints (meaning the piece already appears elsewhere, like AO3, your blog, Tumblr, etc.) are welcome!

For all pieces:

- Star Trek characters, settings, timelines, etc, from other series are fine, but it must include something/someone from Discovery.

- Original Characters are welcome, as long as they’re Discovery-related.

- Don’t worry about canon, and any Discovery timeline is welcome.

- While thoughtful critique of Discovery is welcome, the intent of this zine is to celebrate the show.

For written pieces:

- Nothing over 3,000 words will be published, though if your piece is longer and available elsewhere or if you’re submitting one chapter of fanfic, we’ll provide a link to the rest of it.

- Content warnings will be included at the beginning of the piece, if applicable, though we won’t accept anything that includes sexual violence, violence toward animals or children, or “open door” physically intimate scenes.

For art and photographs:

- No depictions of sexual violence, violence toward animals or children, or nudity will be accepted.

- Please only send non-blurry, high-resolution images.

If you have any questions, please send an email to jordanlafordan [at] gmail.com, or send an ask!

[strawurberries]

Scars

Summary: Scars to some are something to be proud of, a story that unfolds across flesh; but to others, scars are something to be hidden, something shameful and disgusting. But here is a man who thinks so lowly of himself, yet upon him is an artwork of peace and love.

Authors Notes: This is something I wrote a while ago but I think it's still good enough to post :) Hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: Slight nudity, nsfw themes.

“Your scars,” she lightly grabbed Vash’s chin and let the pads of her fingers run along his jaw. Small nicks and lines of new flesh rested on his neck, the further down you went the more gruesome the injuries became. Fingernails lightly pressed into his soft skin; she wanted him to know she was here, alive and real—not some illusion or figment of his imagination, but a breathing being that found it in herself to worship the God before her; he didn’t believe he was worthy of such a title. He always ignored the praise, telling her that no God would look so terribly ugly. The mere thought that he saw himself as some monstrous creature made her heart hurt. She smiled and finished her sentence, “—tell a story.” 

He faced away from her, blonde hair damp from the shower he had taken moments before. “A story?” His voice was quiet, nervous. A lamb standing before a slaughterhouse. He was sitting on the edge of the hotel bed, hands gripping the sheets like his life depended on it. She knew that he didn’t like being vulnerable like this, shirtless and trapped in a room with a woman who always seemed to walk right past his walls and barriers, right into his very soul. He needed to know though, needed to realize how much she truly, utterly loved him.

She hummed, staring at his light blue eyes—they reminded her of humanity, of the good that rested in the world and all the people that rested under the skies, waiting for another day to arrive—as she smiled softly. She let her wall fall slowly, each brick cracking with determination. She had to let him see how she really felt, how every time she looked at him all she could see was beauty. Godly. Divine. A relic of some holy religion that has been long forgotten. “Do you want to know what these scars say?”

He turned his head and made eye contact, only to break it immediately. A light pink dust covered his cheeks, and from the way he kept trying to move away from her touch, she figured he would refuse her advances. She would accept his refusal, but it wouldn’t be any less disappointing. She wanted to get on her knees and pray, beg to be able to touch such a divine being—someone who, despite the horrors of the world around them, managed to keep a heart so pure and truthful. No human could do such a thing, he had to be something else, something completely heavenly. 

He found himself looking at a small dip in the wooden floor, memorizing the grain. His grip on the sheets tightened. She pulled her fingers back and let them hang by her sides. She should’ve known not to press too far—

He nodded. 

She paused.

He . . . agreed? She blinked and let a soft grin cover her face, heart pounding with both excitement and nervousness. This is it, she thought, this would be the moment she could show how much adoration laid within her bosom. “You can stop this story at any time,” she tilted her head and put her hands on his face, forcing him to look at her. The light pink of his skin changed into a deep red, slowly crawling down his neck. “I’ll always be here to recite this poem to you, so don’t worry about missing any of it. Don’t worry about pushing yourself. Okay?”

He nodded, fear seeping down into his very pores. She could tell that every part of him was screaming to run, hide away and cover himself; yet he carried on, and God, she wanted to cry from happiness. He was trying, he was starting to see himself from her eyes. He was starting to know how much she adored him. He was, despite the devilish terror that tormented him, pushing on. A soul so very brave yet so very paralyzed.

She traced her fingers down to his shoulder, where a large scar rested. He shivered as her touch moved across him so intimately. Knuckles brushing against the veins in his neck, making his blood roar and heart scream. “This one tells me of your bravery,” she slowly traced it and moved lower, towards his chest. She ignored the quiet, scared breaths, and the nervous twitches—what he needed right now was reassurance, a way to know that he isn’t a monster, but a God worthy of a devoted priestess. “And this one tells me of your kindness, compassion. How you care so deeply for others but ignore yourself. This one shows me how dedicated you are to your goal, your morals. How unshaking you are in the face of tragedy and pain—you know what you want and strive for it every day. Despite the hardships you face, you move on.” The pads of her fingers lightly caressed the scarred flesh, thumb rubbing circles. He bit his lip and opened his mouth, but she shushed him before he could speak any ill-words about himself.

“This one, oh, this one,” she leaned closer and tucked her face into the crook of his neck. He stiffened and let out a strangled breath, the tips of his ears burning red. She brought her fingers to his left arm, feeling the border between flesh and metal. “This one is important, do you know why?”

He was silent. 

“Because it shows that even in the pits of cruelty you manage to find a way to save, a way to choose the lesser evil—no, not even the lesser evil. You manage to find a way to avoid both and accomplish everything at once, you don’t take the devil’s offer, you forge your own path.” She pressed a light kiss to his neck. Her lips were cold against his warm, flushed skin.

“Mayfly,” he forced out, hands awkwardly hovering over her, not sure what they should do. “Please.” He wasn't sure if he was begging for her to stop or continue on; head dizzy with so much confusion and affection. How can she love me?

She kissed him again, slowly trailing down his shoulder. She took her time, pressing a kiss to each scar, uttering praises that would put any man in the grave from happiness. “Your scars tell me how you survive despite the pain. They tell me of how kind you are. They whisper about how you take on the world and suffer under the weight of it. They tell me of how you think you’re nothing more than a disgrace,” she pressed a kiss into the center of his chest, getting onto her knees between his legs. “But that is wrong, my Love.” He flushed bright red and snapped his head up to look at the roof, not able to find it in himself to look at her. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he saw her between his legs, uttering praise and kissing his flesh—the parts of him that he was so deeply ashamed of.

“You deserve kindness,” she kissed another scar, “compassion,” another, “love,” another, “and anything else you could dream of.” She grabbed his waist and slowly stood up, hands coming to a rest on his shoulders. “You think you are ugly, horrid,” she grabbed his chin and made him look her in the eyes. Tears glistened on his eyelashes, cheeks burning harshly with both adornment and embarrassment. “But you are nothing short of a God, nothing short of beautiful. Anyone would be lucky to be by your side, to feel your friendship and love. The world treats you unfairly, makes you think you are a demon, and I will not let those lies poison you, do you understand me?”

Silence sat in the room for a moment—thick with too many emotions to count.

Tears started to slip down his face. Abandoning all reservations he had, he grabbed her hands and pulled her forward, sending them both into the bed. Arms curled around her and pressed her body into his, warmth melding into a hearth of love. “What—” he managed to choke out, “what did I do to deserve you?” He shoved his face into her, overwhelmed with just how much he loved her.

“What didn’t you do?” she huffed and slowly ran her hands through his hair as he silently sobbed into her neck, “you’re a saint, Vash. If anything, God should’ve given you better gifts than me.”

“You’re the best thing I can think of. I wouldn’t trade you for anything,” his voice was weak and quiet, emotions pouring out of him so fast he couldn’t control them. He knew he'd be ashamed in the morning, cursing himself for being so open, but he couldn't help it. Love and safety were before him, tempting him with peace. How could he deny such a great thing?

She opened her mouth to argue but sighed in defeat. The night was about him, and she wouldn’t let her insecurities get in the way. “Even more than doughnuts?” She jokingly whispered to him, hoping to lighten the heavy mood that had overtaken the silence. He began to calm down, his sniffles fading from the room.

He paused and peeked his head out from under her, “that’s unfair.” 

She blinked and grinned, “are you saying you love doughnuts more than me?” 

He let out a strangled yelp. “No!” he shot up, dragging her into his lap and he pressed his back against the wall. “I just love them in a different way!” His hands came to settle on her waist, absentmindedly rubbing circles into her skin. Small tears ran down his cheeks, dripping off his chin into his lap. She wanted to catch each one and hold it close, making sure that every part of him was cared for.

She raised an eyebrow and leaned forward, nose pressing against his. “Can a doughnut do this?” She kissed just under his eye, wiping away his tears, before lightly tracing his bottom lip with her thumb. He shivered and tensed up, eyes focused solely on her.

“No,” he breathed out in a lengthy sigh. He glanced at her lips before meeting her gaze, face slowly heating up once again. He wanted to look away but something about her was pulling him in, making him face his fears.

“Or how about this?” She dragged her lips along his cheek before meeting his, tension snapping in the room all at once. He was gentle, nervous, as if the moment he gave into his desires she would wash away into the ocean of sand that rested outside the messy bedroom window. She pressed into him a little harder, slowly coaxing him out of his shell, and the moment he fully emerged, she drew away.

She pulled back and smiled at him. He hesitated a little, a small whine echoing out of the back of his throat. Her heart twisted hearing that sound leave him—she wanted to hear it again, and again. Such a sweet sound . . . something that made every nerve in her body ignite with excitement. “So, do I win? Am I better than a doughnut?”

He gripped her hips and pouted, “much better. Can we finish that kiss now?” He wiped his eyes on his shoulder, rubbing the rest of his tears away. He glanced down at her chest before trailing back up to her crimson eyes, which held so much love and affection he had to turn away before he became overwhelmed. 

Badum, badum, badum. When had his heart started beating so fast? It felt as if the winds of the desert had settled into his chest, roaring to be let out, to be free once again.

“Only if you beg.”

He thought for a moment, only a moment, and decided that he was in too deep—might as well finish the play? Right? The show must go on. Besides, maybe she'd give him something more. So, without even a moment’s hesitation he purred out a “please, love~” He tossed his head back and whined, “Please! Just one kiss, please. One?”

He blinked in shock at the sound of his own voice, so high-pitched and needy, and promptly screwed his eyes shut from embarrassment. He gripped his lover a little tighter, hoping she'd let him off the hook easily. Though, he supposed he wouldn't mind if she was—no! He shook his head and huffed. Don't think about that. He wasn't going to ruin this precious moment with his. . . unsightly desires.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and shook her head happily, “I didn’t expect you to actually do it.” She snickered and lightly nibbled on his ear.

He turned an even darker shade of red.

“I’ll do anything you say," he mumbled into her neck and wrapped his legs around her. He wanted her impossibly close—to meld into one, to be one.

“Love yourself then. Accept that you’re wonderful and deserve every good thing life has to offer.”

He pouted and pressed his nose into her cheek, “fine, but I’m getting another kiss.”

She hummed, “alright. Deal."

[shadowsingercassia]

Genuine Poetry | "If I can recite you a piece of genuine poetry that I've written, you have to give me a kiss."

DorianHavilliardxreader

Summary: Dorian is a charmer, a prince who liked to take women to his bed. With you though, it was different, he let you see a side of him he didn't show anyone. That side, included genuine poetry

Warnings: nudity (just a brief mention), a tiny allusion to smut (if you squint hard enough) and that's it!

Words: 861

Dawn creeped upon Dorian's bedroom, painting the room in streaks of sunlight. He surveyed your sleeping form, seeming serene and peaceful as you remained in a deep sleep. Golden rays of daylight hit your face, making your skin glow, and Dorian found himself enthralled by your beauty.

He stared at you as if you were a goddess, even if you were resting, naked in his bed from the events of last night. Dorian couldn't stop looking at the beauty that was you, looking even more gorgeous with your hair splayed out on the pillow.

Eventually, he felt you stir, and instinctively, his grip became a tad tighter, pulling your back onto his chest. Seeing the brief smile that tugged onto your lips when your eyes fluttered open, he couldn't help but to mirror your smile. His finger gently moved a strand of your hair from your face and he leaned in to kiss your temple.

A soft chuckle bubbled out of you and Dorian's smile grew into a loving smirk. He found himself yearning for these types of mornings. The ones where his arms envelloped you and you would smile at him.

Dorian also caught himself thinking how a future with you could look like. You were the daughter of the King of Anielle, Chaol's younger sister, it could happen. Perhaps he'd discuss it with his father, request a marriage alliance. Although he knew it wasn't exactly that simple.

You visit Adarlan frequently, finding reasons to schedule meetings with the King and acting all interested in the King's Court. Dorian knew that, you'd told him, you trusted him. You also both knew that you weren't going to inherit the Anielle's throne either. So you claim to want to join the King of Adarlan's Court and that it would also benefit the kingdoms by forging a stronger alliance between them. Of course though, that was an excuse to visit Adarlan and Dorian.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he felt you lace your fingers with his. "Goodmorning, sweetheart," he whispered softly, pressing a few feather light kisses onto the side of your neck. Beneath his lips, your skin was soft and warm, and he relished in the feel of it.

"Mmm, what are you thinking of, love?" Your voice was still laced with sleepiness and he thought it was adorable.

Dorian was usually impressed with how you could see right through him. It amused him yet he didn't ever comment on it, prefering to have you reading him as if he were an open book. "Lots of different things," he answered simply, his face nuzzling further into the crook of your neck. For a moment, he breathed in your scent, before you spoke. "Care to enlighten me on what those things are?" How could he say no to you?

Even if it did feel slightly... strange to be sharing his fantasies about the future with you, Dorian wanted to do it. So he went through the summaries of tons of fantasies. Of more mornings like these, nights of passion, a future marriage alliance and some other stuff.

He watched you as he spoke, taking in the way you listened carefully to each of his words, absorbing them and commiting them to memory.

"And, I've also been thinking about poetry," he admited and your eyebrows raise as you turn your head to your side, looking at him from over your shoulder. Dorian read books, sure, but you didn't know he wrote poems. Knowing Dorian, you supposed he would have written a poem and throw in a variety of sarcastic things.

Dorian noticed your amusement and could practically hear your thoughts as you believed he couldn't help himself from adding a sarcastic comment into his poetry. "Surprised sweetheart?" He noticed your eye roll as he teased you.

"Believe me when I say, I can write genuine poetry," you shook your head, mostly to tease him. Dorian knew you still doubted him, and oh how he was going to prove you wrong.

"How about this sweetheart: if I can recite you a piece of genuine poetry that I've written, you have to give me a kiss."

Your chest shook with silent laughter and as you extended your hand and he grasped it in his own, the warmth of his palm seeping into your chilly skin. "You're on, prince," you challenged.

His gaze locked on yours as he began reciting a poem.

"Beneath the sun's golden light

A woman's beauty shines like a distant star in the night.

Her soft, hair dances in the gentle breeze,

A cascade of silken strands, a delicate, sweet release.

Her captivating eyes speak of kindness and grace,

Like a beacon of warmth, a loving embrace.

Each movement, a dance, fluid, and lithe,

A vision of loveliness, oh so bright.

Her tender smile, like a ray of light,

Radiating warmth, bright as the sunrise."

Once he was done, he still stared deep into your eyes, lost in the depths of their beautiful irises. Your mouth hung open ever so slightly, you were, for probably the first time in your life, speechless.

"So, sweetheart, I believe you promised me a kiss."

-------------------------☆-------------------------

a/n: This was so fun to write actually, and it's quite funny to think that I had started writing this at night and then continued it the next morning! I hope you guys enjoy some Dorian Havilliard fluff (Dorian is a cinnamon roll I swear he's the cutest and I'm thinking that I have write more of him)

general taglist: @blessthepizzaman @amara-moonlight @homeslices @flourishandblotts-inc @lilah-asteria

comment 💕'' if you want to be added to my general taglist!

comment '💙' if you want to be added to my Dorian taglist! (I'll make sure you all get your dose of our cinnamon roll Dorian Havilliard)

Love, Cassia ❤️

[maireadralph]

Entrapdak Zine 7 AND 8 - Submissions OPEN!

Trying something rather different and opening both this year's zines at the same time the email address is open more often that it's shut anyway

The Themes and Dates are as follows:

Zine 7 - Theme: Lucky - Deadline July 1st - countdown to deadline

Zine 8 - Theme: Wishes - Deadline Dec 2nd - countdown to deadline

If anyone needs an extension for any reason just get in touch, I don't ask questions as there is time allowed for this.

For anyone who's taken part in a previous Entrapdak Zine the submission guidelines are exactly the same as previous Zines. Anyone who's new or needs a refresher just have a quick read of the following Wall of Text under the Read More

BASIC GUIDELINES:

This Zine is:

A Digital Zine containing works created by the fans for the fans

100% Free

Preferred Language is English - other languages maybe used as long as there is an English translation available somewhere in the work (eg an author's note)

SFW content suitable for a Y7-PG13 age range (same as the show’s age rating)

Sign up period:

I don't do this, just submit work to the email address before the deadline - I’d rather you have more time to work on your pieces 

Anyone can submit regardless of age or skill level - this is not a job application - just follow the guidelines and email in your work

The email address to send work to is entrapdakzineisluvd[at]gmail.com (replace the [at] with @ I write it like this to prevent spam bots email me)

Submissions can be Fan Writing (poems, fan fiction, character analysis, eassys etc), Fan Art, or even photos of your Entrapdak IRL work (cosplays, fancrafts etc)!  You can submit an older work that you have published online previously if you wish - or even update a work you submitted to a previous Zine! Just have fun!

Guidelines applicable to all work:

Content Age Rating:

Like the show this Zine will contain content rated Y7 and PG13 rated - so please no swearing, censored out swears (eg skulls or **s instead of actual swear words is okay) 

No hate work of any kind - we're all here for a good time

There WILL BE NO NSFW or 18+ content - I will politely deny any work of this nature let's please keep this suitable for all ages thank you.

Beach/Summer other work with nudity is allowed please adhere to the minimum clothing requirements:

Male presenting character -> speedos/underpants

Female presenting character -> bikini/bra and underpants 

Unsure? Use the female presenting criteria

Theme:

The July Issue theme is LUCKY The Dec issue this is WISHES

This theme is a suggestion and if you’d rather make an Entrapdak piece without incorporating the theme please feel free to do so. I want you to have fun!

Allowed Characters:

As long as both Entrapta and Hordak are the main focus and the piece follows Age Rating it will be allowed.

Other allowed characters in the Entrapdak family include Emily, Imp and the Clones (also known as Spacebats)…yes weirdly this also  includes Horde Prime.

Other She-Ra characters will be allowed but Entrapdak is to be the core element.

Phew that’s a lotta text sorry about that - now on to the fun stuff! What sort of stuff is allowed?

Any AU, canon, Fanon, corssovers and head canons are all welcome. Make something Entrapdak related that’s PG13 rated and have fun!!

Fan Writing guidelines:

This includes fan fiction, analysis eassys, poetry or whatever else you’d like to write about. 

For Fan Fic I would recommend a minimum of roughly one page length. As some people like a work count goal I'll set that at 1k words minimum, please just write what your story needs. If you’d like to write Chapters then please do, just make sure to label them!

Written work can be emailed in the body of text, sent as pdf attachment or as a link to a Google Doc - I can work with any of those.

Please include you name/username somewhere as it helps with the filing. If there’s no name on the piece I’ll add one at the start with the title.

Fan Art guidelines:

Fan art can include rough sketches, screencap redraws, comics (appox 1-10 pages length), coloured sketches or full colour pieces. 

Fan art can be in the digital or traditional medium.  

Traditional fan art can either be submitted as a photo or scanned, which ever you prefer.

Preferred sizing for Digital art is as follows, my aim to to have everything on International (UK) A4 paper sizing where possible*

2480px x 3508pm DPI 132 

Portrait layout is preferred**

PNG is preferred but I will understand if you only wish to send a workable JPEG

The aspect ratio (width:height) of A4 paper is 1:1.4142 (1:√2)

If you need a template here’s one -> Here’s a prepared A4 Canvas PSD File (2480pm x 3508px 300DPI) if you’d like to download it and use it 

Notes: 

*Images outside these sizings are still okay but may end up with a white border on the edges due to the PDF publishing settings.  

**Images in the landscape layout will get boarders when posted on a portrait page due to the PDF publishing settings, however if I receive landscape art I will make some extra pages at the end of the Zine and attempt to turn landscape art into a two page spread (which does look awesome!).

How to Take Part:

Make your work and email it to entrapdakzineisluvd[at]gmail.com by JULY 1st 2024 for the July/Lucky issue or by Dec 2nd for the Dec/Wishes issue

Please make sure to include your Social Media contacts and which name or username you wish to be identified by.  If you forget to include social media details and have been a part of a previous Zine I’ll use the details I have on file 

I will reply to confirm I have received the content and that’s it I take care of the rest!

Please note I DO NOT KEEP any records of anyone’s email addresses.  When the Zine is out I batch delete all emails sent to the email address (this is usually done a week after the Zine is out) and I keep no further records of these address. I respect your email privacy at all times.  

The only records I keep on Zine applications is a private Google Sheet that has the following details: Submitter’s name, rough description of the item submitted and their social media contacts. I’m the only person with access to this Google Sheet as I use this as a Master List reference when compiling the Zine 

FAQs:

Why no Application form/Sign Up period?

I don’t want anyone to feel like they are applying for a job here, this is supposed to be fun.

Will there be Guest Artists or Guest Writers?

If they apply sure, I’m not advertising who applies to be a part of this Zine until it’s ready to be published.  I don’t want anyone to feel intimidated just because a certain person has chosen to participate.

Can I submit more than one piece?

If you’d like to certainly!  If you’d like to submit up to three pieces of art and 3 fan writings, sure go for it! I’m certainly not going to stop anyone having a good time

May I post a preview of my work to my Followers?

Sure! Bonus points if you link them to this post so that they can take part if they wish

May I post my work online?

I would ask if you could please wait until the issue featuring your work is published. Of course this does not apply if you are chosen to submit and older work - in this case may I ask that you edit or add to said post to mention the work was also used in the Zine?

Is this only for people with a [insert certain social media account here]?

Nope, this is for anyone who wants to take part.  I only ask for a social media contact so that others who like you work for the Zine may follow you on your preferred social media platform.

Can I send an update to a piece?

Of course! Just let me know which piece you want to use and I’ll update on my end

Can I send another piece on later?

Of course that’s not a problem!

Ah I can’t get this done before the deadline - it’s almost ready!!!  I need another day!!!!

Contact me - my Asks and PMs are always open or emailing the email address. There is extra time allowed for an extension for anyone who needs it with no questions asked to why it is needed. Just get in contact, I'll put you name on the Extension List and that extra time is yours.  Once all names come in (or the deadline is reached) I will finish up my work and get the zine out. I will not be sending out a further reminder (because I’ll forget sorry 😅).

Why don’t you make the Extension time public?

Because I can’t finish up the Zine if extra stuff comes in at the last second - I get jittery enough with final deadlines so this is how I manage my stress

More Entrapdak Zines??

Sure why not? If the community still wants them I’ll keep compiling them ever three or so months.  I’ve seen what us nerds can do!

Where can I find the finished Zine?

All finished Zines are all hosted on a shared Google Drive folder https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1My_hDY8NmOWV7v6z0sYi0TSvxv07WowX  Please share it with your other Entrapdak friends when it is ready.

Thank you for making it all the way to the end of this WALL of TEXT.  It’s pretty much exactly the same as the previous Zines but with a few minor edits.

[makethatelevenrings]

O Me! O Life! // J.Todd x gn!reader

Requested? Yes!

Warnings: scars, non-sexual nudity, mention of what the Joker did to Jason

Summary: He hates the scars on his back and avoids seeing them any chance he gets. He slips up one day, but you’re there to assure him.

* - denotes lines from O Me! O Life! by Walt Whitman (my fave poem thank u for asking)

The thing about scars is that it’s easy to forget that they’re there sometimes. The raised white pucker along his jaw from a knife disappeared under his five o’clock shadow. The pinched circles of healed bullet holes changed shape when he flexed. But these scars…there was no mistaking it.

Ugly gouges only healed by the Lazarus pit marred his back. He hated looking at them the few times he turned his head when his back was to the mirror. It was as if he was back in that fucking werehouse with the fucking clown and that fucking crowbar.

Today was one of those days where the Gotham humidity felt like a fucking wet blanket smacking you in the face the second you stepped out the door. Sweat practically draped his shirt along his skin as he went for a morning run and by god, the only thing he wanted to do when he got home was take a shower.

You were still spread out under the thin cotton top sheet and even that was almost unbearable in the summer heat. You offered him a smile lined with the lingering sleep that clung to your mind. Jason made sure to swing by and press a kiss to your temple as your hand loosely curled at the collar of his shirt but he pulled away before you could convince him back into bed.

“Gotta shower, sweets,” he murmured as he extracted himself from your grip and made his way into the bathroom.

“Wow, without even giving me a show?” you called behind him. He snorted in response and his shirt landed on the growing pile of laundry on the floor across from the bathroom door. You booed and he sighed but stepped out from behind the door frame. His shorts hung low on his hips, revealing the cut of his abs as they descended behind the band of rayon. You waved your hand to tell him to continue and he rolled his eyes, but a smile grew on his lips as he pushed his shorts down.

“Once more, pretty boy,” you cooed. He tugged off his boxers and raised his arms to the side and spun in a circle like he was giving you a fashion show. You burst into laughter but your laughter faded when you saw his face fall.

His eyes were locked on his reflection in the full length mirror propped up against the wall. He trailed his gaze along the harsh stripes of mottled flesh that stood out against his tan skin. You slipped out from under the sheet and made your way across the room to press up against his chest. One of your hands came up to rest on his bicep and the other wound its way behind his back to start to trace along the lines and scars.

“Lover,” you whispered. “These are signs that you survived.”

A shuddering breath escaped him and you turned to look into the mirror, your motions following you in the silvery reflection. Your finger drew hearts, circles, and words along his skin. Praises, promises, sweet nothings created an invisible diary of your devotion to him and you pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

“What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here—that life exists and identity, That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse*,” you whispered. “You are here. Life exists. You may contribute a verse. You are here. Say it.”

“I am here,” he croaked out. “I exist. Life exists.”

“You are here. With me. In our home.”

The home with plants and cats and Wonder Woman curtains. The home with mismatched plates found at thrift shops and dollar stores. The home with his gun safe next to the stack of unread books that the two of you have been pointedly ignoring. The home with the walk to the bodega for breakfast sandwiches and the farmer’s market tucked away at a local park.

He was here. With you. Life exists.

He curled his arms around your waist, delicate and tentative as though he would destroy you with a simple touch, and you leaned into it. You welcomed him with soft caresses and careful kisses and he melted into the arms of the person he loved. He was here. Life exists.

Tag List: @mcrmarvelloki​ @gone-batty-fics​ @someoneimsure​ @perpetual-fangirl900​ @visagebrise​ @cursedandromedablack​ @alexxavicry​ @the-wayward-daughter​ @raging-trash-of-mind​ @kat-nee​ @khaylin27​

[curawrites]

Secret Admirer

Xavier Thorpe x fem! Reader

Warnings: smoking weed, skinny dipping, alcohol, nudity, reader has stalkerish tendencies but not really.

Note: binged Wednesday recently and this man is all over my fyp. This is also a bit self indulgent 💚

A new semester has started at Nevermore, which meant a bustling school filled with a bunch of new outcasts of all kinds. 

Xavier felt indifferent, not excited for the new semester with everyone gossiping about his break up with Bianca.

Nevertheless he set his painting stuff down in front of a brick wall, ready to paint a new mural. He sighed and tied his hair back before grabbing a large paint brush.

Instead of feeling the familiar wood handle of the brush he felt the unexpected texture of paper.

A piece of folded paper was tied around the brush handle. Curious he untied the little string bow and unfolded the paper to reveal a drawing of a camellia flower. He smiled to himself and put the little drawing in his pocket.

His secret admire was back.

Before he got into a relationship he frequently had found little sketches, poems, and tiny paintings from an anonymous person. He found them everywhere, on his desk, in his fencing helmet, in his art shed, in his Nightshade mask and cloak, and even in his dorm like someone had slipped it under the door.

He thought it was a little weird at first but eventually he looked forward to finding the hidden little pieces of paper. The way they drew him so beautiful and with so many cheesy hearts made his heart slightly flutter whenever he opened the folded papers.

Once he got with Bianca he stopped finding them. He was a little disappointed but he was glad his secret admirer respected his relationship.

After finding a fourth drawing, Xavier decided to put more thought into who was behind them. They had to be apart of the Nightshade considering he found one in his cloak. This slimmed down his options but he still had no idea who it could be.

“Got something from my secret admire today.” He said as he sat down next to Ajax.

“Oh they’re back?” Ajax grinned elbowing the long haired boy beside him.

“Seems so.” Xavier shrugged, “Do you have any idea who it is? They have to be a Nightshade.” He asked glancing at his friend.

“I think it’s Yoko’s roomie.” Ajax stated pointing towards you with his head.

Xavier knew of you obviously, you were in the Nightshade after all. But he knew very little, all he knew was that you liked art and that you were a siren. He’s had brief interactions with you but nothing ever significant.

You were shy and always kept to yourself, only ever really talking with Yoko and the other sirens.

“You think?” Xavier questioned, “I’ve barely talked to them like ever.”

“She’s the only one other than you who can draw.” Ajax shrugged.

Xavier nodded in agreement, “True.”

The conversation faded into silence and the boys went back to eating their lunches.

Now with a slightly better ideas Xavier kept an eye out for you in your shared classes.

In fencing class he found a little canvas in his equipment, it was a very tiny painting of the Kiss by Gustav Klimt. He smiled fondly to himself before putting it in his uniform pocket.

Stepping out to the practice room, he noticed your fencing partner Yoko was missing. You stood alone to the side awkwardly.

“Hey, you wanna maybe partner up? For this class?” He asked approaching you, accidentally startling you.

“Um, don’t you usually partner up with Ajax?” You asked fidgeting with your sabre.

“Yeah but he can go one class without me. So what do you say?” He smiled down at you.

“Sure. We can partner up, Xavier.” You agreed, smiling kindly up at the boy.

“Yoko’s planing a little party at the lake Friday night.” You whispered to him while watching Bianca and Wednesday spar.

“Yeah?” He leaned down to hear you.

“Yoko is planing on making drinks, I know Ajax is bringing weed, Divina wants to skinny dip, you know Nightshade party stuff.” He nodded, listening to you.

“Do you think you’ll go?” You asked looking up at him.

Xavier thought about it, the Nightshade hadn’t had an outing to the lake in a while, “Yeah sure.” He agreed.

“Great!” You nodded, before focusing back on the two girls sparring.

Friday came faster than Xavier expected and he kept finding more little sketches. He was a bit more certain it was you. In one of your shared classes (botany) he watched you sketch, your art style was suspiciously familiar and the pages of your sketchbook were ripped. But he couldn’t be certain.

He and Ajax made their way to the lake, Ajax had the weed while Xavier was carrying their towels.

“Hey guys!” Divina greeted from the water, tail splashing in and out of the water, spraying Kent behind her. 

The area was lit with decorative lights, and Yoko had set up her own area to mix drinks.

“Hey!” Ajax walked over to the dock placing down his weed on a box.

Xavier greeted some friends placing the towels down on the dock.

You were on the edge of the dock, taking off your nightgown. Your iridescent scales shined in the light, they shifted from orange to yellow to green.

“Hi.” You shyly waved at Xavier before taking off your panties and placing them with your other things.

“Hey.” He greeted returning your wave before you dove into the water.

Once you were fully submerged in the water your legs shifted into a green iridescent tail.

You swam around for a little while, scavenging for rocks and shiny things.

While you were off in your own world, Xavier got curious and started looking through your sketchbook. He flipped threw a few pages admiring your art until he landed on a drawing of him. The more he flipped threw the more he found torn pages, pages that were cut and uneven, and more little drawings of him. He quickly closed the sketchbook seeing you swim up to the dock.

You placed your findings on the edge of the dock, many rocks and lost jewelry before noticing Xavier’s hand on your sketchbook. You looked up at him shyly, a slightly guilty look in your eyes. You sank back into the water and swam towards Yoko. She made you a drink which you gladly took and started drinking.

After witnessing your reaction, Xavier started to panic, it wasn’t his intention to have you catch him. He didn’t want to scare you off, he genuinely enjoyed your admiration. He had to fix this.

Quickly he took off his clothes and got in the water. He swam over to the other dock where all the other Nightshade members were chatting, drinking and smoking weed. Ajax gave him a blunt, which he gladly took and lit.

While taking a hit of the blunt he glanced over at you. You were sipping your cocktail while chatting with Bianca and Divina.

“So girls night Sunday? Ok. That sounds great.” You nodded before downing your drink.

You swam closer to him setting your glass on the dock, “Hey Yoko? Can you make me another drink, please?” You asked politely.

“Course!” Yoko replied and took your glass.

“Thanks!” You smiled at the girl before turning to talk with the others.

Maybe it was the weed talking but Xavier couldn’t help but find you stunning. Your scales shined in the soft light, your skin and hair were wet, and of course you were topless. Your bare breasts were fully exposed, and your nipples were perked.

While he was admiring you, Yoko had finished making your drink.

“Here’s your drink!” She set the glass down on the dock

“Thanks Yoko!” You thanked grabbing the glass, before returning to the conversation you were having.

Feeling bold Xavier wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to his body. You glanced up at him surprised at his boldness. He smiled seeing the redness of blush bloom on your cheeks.

You were so flustered, the way Xavier looked and smiled at you made butterflies erupt in your tummy. Turning your gaze back to your drink to avoid his. You take a sip looking back at your other friends.

Xavier’s hand kept stroking your side, sometimes getting low enough to touch your more solid scales. The more you drank the more you leaned into his side, finally resting your head on his shoulder. Many people had already left to back to their dorms at this point.

“You look so pretty right now..” he murmured into your damp hair, blunt put out and left in the water.

You blushed, “Your prettier, Xavi..” you mumbled back. “I like you a lot y’know.. for a while.” you admitted.

“I know.” He smirked lazily, “I like you to.” He confessed.

You looked up at him wide eyes.

“God your so cute.” He cooed making you even more flustered.

“Stop..” you whined before downing your drink. “I’m ready to go back to my dorm.” You yawn setting down your glass.

“I’ll go with you.” Xavier offered more like stated, immediately.

You nodded and swam towards the other dock where you had your stuff. Your pushed yourself out of the water and sat on the dock, “don’t look while I dry off, Thrope.” You tease grabbing your towel.

“Same goes to you.” Xavier replied back before getting out of the water.

You started by drying your tail off until it shifted back into your legs. You put your panties back on before drying the rest of your body. You slipped your night gown back on and packed your things. Lastly you slipped your shoes back on.

“Ready?” Xavier asked, holding his now damp towel.

“Yeah.” You walked over to him, a bit wobbly because of the alcohol.

He wrapped an arm around you and helped you back to Nevermore. On the wall back you progressively started to lean and cling more and more into him until he was supporting you entirely.

The walk was long but the both of you made it to the dorms.

“Thank you Xavier.” You yawned opening your dorm door.

“It’s no problem.” He smiled and scratched the back of his neck.

The clacking of heels echoed in the silent hallways. Quickly you pull Xavier into your dorm and shut the door.

“Woah, easy there.” He said stumbling a bit.

“Sorry, just didn’t want to get caught.” You said matter of factly.

“Well.. what now hm?” He asked looking over your side of the dorm.

“You could stay the night.. um if you want..” You mumbled hanging you bag on the chair by your desk.

“Beats being caught by Thornhill.” He sighed, throwing his towel on the ground, “Where do I sleep.”

“Um..” you looked around your dorm, the effects of the alcohol had worn off by now making you much more shyer. “You could um.. sleep in my bed- or the floor I can get more blankets and pillows.” You offered, stress brushing your hair.

“I’ll take your bed over the floor. Is that ok?” He asked sitting on your bed.

“It’s all good.” You blushed and got in bed and faced the wall your bed was against.

Xavier got in after you, facing away from you.

The both of you laid in silence for a while. He could faintly feel you shiver against his back. He flipped onto his over side and wrapped an arm around you.

Half awake you scooted back into him, his body was warm and comfortable. No longer cold you quickly fell asleep.

Your soft breathing slowly lulled him to sleep.

Yoko had entered the dorm a few minutes later, seeing you and Xavier cuddled in bed made her chuckle. She took a picture of the two of you, for what? Blackmail? Perhaps. Mostly to show to the other Nightshade and win that bet she had with Kent. She grabbed her things and snuck back out to go to Divina’s dorm.

The next morning would be an interesting one to explain to your friends..

[transsexualunderground]

Niche - an aspec poem

Apparently, I’m not alone.

I showed my friends

my poems

unleashing the deepest whispers of my soul,

my yearning for intimacy, but never sex,

for sensual touch, for nudity and closeness, for even things considered sexual but aren’t sex to me,

and my friends,

they have said,

it resonates with them.

They get it.

And it isn’t something I expected

because nobody ever talks about us.

So here we are.

This one goes out

to the asexuals who want all that intimate depth

but with none of the expectations

of sex.

This one goes out

to all the aromantics who want that intimate depth

but with none of the expectations

of romance.

We’re out there,

and sometimes,

we are beautifully passionate

or quiet and subtle.

Whether it be to hold hands tenderly

or it be to bask in one another’s unclothed glory,

never feel an obligation to do it the way society says is Proper

because it is the allo way.

Disregard it, dear,

throw it to the wind,

and forge the path that works for you,

in all its complexities,

with all your specific wants and needs.

Do not let such things go unspoken and unfulfilled.

Let this world know what you want and expect.

And maybe, you’ll find

you’re really not as alone as you feel.

It turns out, more often than not,

someone feels the exact same way.

[youssefguedira]

Bullet Point Summary Of My Research (Googling Variations On The Return 2024 Film Review TIFF):

screenings seem to be over (ran 7th-8th september) so probably unless the reviews are coming out slowly we will not get too many more

the general consensus is: Ehhhhhhhh

received a total of two entire stars from the guardian (i say this because there is only 1 review with a star rating thus far) and a c- minus from thefilmstage.com, so do with that what you will. letterboxd doesnt have a numerical rating for it yet but the most common is 3 stars which is not necessarily a bad thing. none of this really matters anyway film is subjective

there is a total of 1 marwan kenzari performance judgement which i have already posted hes largely not mentioned in any of the others sorry everyone. i tried

generally the most popular points to make are: fiennes and binoche are good, slow burner, looks ok, kinda eh as i said above. the fact that it has largely flown under the radar compared to other stuff at tiff is an indicator that nobody but perhaps me is particularly enthusiastic about this one

also there's full frontal nudity in like the first part of the movie

in other news m son of a century is ALSO playing at tiff so i will be keeping an eye on that also (sep 9th, 10th, 11th, likely we will see more reviews of that soon probably hopefully)

i leave you with this line

"The film in question, The Return, serves as an adaptation of the last third of Homer’s Odyssey, where Odysseus (Fiennes) is long past the high-seas adventure part of his journey and rather stuck in a kind of limbo in his homeland of Ithaca; returned but not reclaimed. His queen Penelope (Binoche) is being pressured by followers to pick a new king, while their twink son Telemachus (Charlie Plummer) bides time in the background with daddy issues and insecurity over his long-away path to the throne." (from here)

anyway its coming out december 6th in the us so not too long to wait for all of you

reviews for you to read for yourself and form your own conclusions:

[butchfairyzine]

What content is allowed (text version)

~

What types of fae and mythology are allowed? Would the theme be extended to fae/goblin/other similar folklore and are non-european fantasy elements allowed?

While you are allowed to be inspired by real world fae and mythology, we would like you to mainly create original characters. An example would be, you can 100% draw your version of a Seelie Queen but not a known version of her like “Titania the Faerie Queen”.

You can absolutely extend your inspiration out to more than just winged pixies and fairies. This includes, goblins, nymphs, brownies, hobgoblins and more. You can also draw inspiration from non-European folklore, but it will also depend on a case-by-case basis that you can check with the mods once accepted.

~

What is the limit on injuries or violent content? Will there be anything nsfw like nudity?

We will be allowing minor elements of blood or injuries, Examples include a fighter faeries wiping blood away from their mouth, or standing over a creature they just slayed. But these will also be on a case by case basis.

We will also be allowing some nudity in these artworks, but nothing pornographic or explicit.

Contributors will also need to be 18 or older to participate in this project, for tax purposes and payment. You will need to be 18 by at least February 16th (when the contract will be due) or you will be unable to participate. Additionally if you are not comfortable participating in a project with nudity or blood in it, then this zine might not be for you.

~

What written content will be included?

Each writer will be paired with 5 artists to work on the chosen theme and its subcategories. Artists will be submitting their concept ideas before the writers start writing, and so the writers will largely follow the artists’ lead. They will have freedom further fleshing out the visual information provided.

Written components can be (but are not limited to) character bios, descriptions of fairy types and their real-life inspiration, information about the fairy’s natural habitat, or poems/stories/legends about the fairy.

We will provide examples for writers to use as inspiration as well.

[pullhisteeth]

stuck | eddie munson x reader

bit of a random one but this is based off of one of my favourite poems of all time: 'Morning Love Poem' by Tara Skurtu. I'll leave it at the end in case you want to read it :)

summary you have a bad dream about Eddie and he comforts you (twice). [1k]

contains gn!reader, nightmares, death/dying (in dreams), panic, comfort, fluff, nudity (non-sexual)

-

The space around where Eddie sits is dark. He slips in and out of sight, form blending with the strange, bleak blackness, the table in front of him doing the same. It's the table in his trailer, the one you sit at together most nights, and yet here it stretches out before you, longer and longer until he's so far away you should barely be able to see him. Yet, at the same time, he's right up close, close enough for you to see everything: his pasty skin, tangled hair, hand gripping his throat.

He's spluttering, coughing but not really, because there's not enough breath. His elbows sit either side of the plate in front of him; the plate you gave him, with the food you made for him.

You can't move. The seat's made of glue or some intense force is keeping you there, you're not sure; it feels heavy, like your body can't lift. You can't help him, stuck instead watching him. Your eyes won't move, either, so you just look at him, hopeless and breathing fast. Around you, things end: cars collide, skies crack in two, shots are fired, fires burn.

Sitting bolt upright, you breathe a dry, deep gasp. The comforter falls around your waist and as your eyes adjust to the dim light, you realise you're in Eddie's bedroom. In Eddie's bed.

You turn to look down at the space to your left and sigh in relief when you find him where you left him, lying beside you, sleeping.

Except he's not sleeping; he's stirring. Hands rubbing his face he groans and sits, joining you.

"What's up?" he grumbles, sleepy words churned through gravel.

It's all you can do to just look at him, admire the way his face is soft from sleep, the messy mat of hair on one side of his head, the twist of his shirt where he's tossed and turned under the covers. His hands find your body, smoothing up and down your arm and your thigh.

It's now that you realise that you're crying, because when you try to speak the words get blocked, your throat inoperable. You just make a muffled, garbled noise, and Eddie pulls you into his side, resting his head on top of yours.

Hot tears drop from your face onto the sheets but Eddie doesn't say anything. You don't dare close your eyes, still lingering in that limbo after a bad dream wherein the possibility that it wasn't a dream is a little too high.

"You were gone," you manage, words rolling clumsily out of your mouth.

"I'm right here," he assures you, squeezing you tighter into his side, kissing the crown of your head. "Never goin' anywhere."

"It was my fault."

He pulls you away slightly and brings a hand to your face, manoeuvring it so he can look at you properly.

"What?"

"I killed you, Eds."

"It's okay," he coos as you cry some more, face crushed into the fabric of his t-shirt. "You gotta breathe for me, baby," he tells you as you struggle. "C'mon, in through your nose, out through your- there we go, you got it."

Eyes scrunched shut, you focus on his words, on calming yourself down. As you do he continues to mutter sweet nothings into your hair: I got you, I'm right here, never goin' anywhere, baby, you're not getting' rid of me that easy, I love you.

"Are you allergic to anythin'?"

He stills where he'd been rocking gently and asks again, "What?"

You pull yourself out of his side and look at him, repeating yourself. "Are you allergic to anything?"

"Wha- No?"

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, yeah."

"Okay," you respond, matter of fact, and it makes him breathe a laugh.

"Can I ask why you want to know?"

"I fed you something and it killed you," you admit. "I think you were allergic to it."

"Baby, you could feed me rocks and I'd lick the plate clean."

You shove him playfully, giggling with him, and then turn to look at the clock beside his bed. 04:29am.

"Gonna try sleep again?" he asks.

You hum and shuffle to lie back down. He joins you, wrapping you up, arms around your middle and face in the crook of your neck.

Sleep pulls you back quicker than you would have expected, but not without a catch. At some point you re-emerge in that twisted, twirling version of Eddie's kitchen and he's still dying. All his reassurances that he's not going anywhere are useless against this trick your brain is playing because right now, this is real.

When you wake this time, clammy and heaving, the room is brighter. The sun's up and as the blood stops rushing past your ears so fast, you hear the shower running in the next room.

It takes you a moment to regain your breath but when you do, you sit up and climb out of bed. There's only one thing on your mind, and your body's not stopping.

You tread quickly across the room and into the hall, and quietly you slip through the unlocked bathroom door. It's steamy and warm and you're in your pyjamas but it doesn't really cross your mind. Instead, you slide the shower curtain across and find a startled Eddie, mid-hair wash, staring at you with a dumbfounded look on his face that, under any other circumstances, would make you laugh.

Straight-faced, you step onto the shower tray, shuffling in next to him.

"Baby, you're in your PJs, what the fuck are you doing?"

There's no aggression in his tone, just genuine surprise, and all you can say to him is, "I need you."

He softens, bringing his hands down from his hair, and through the streams of hot water urges your arms up so he can pull your clothes off your body. Gently, he gets your top off and wrings it out in the corner where the water doesn't reach. He does the same for your shorts and hangs both over the curtain rail.

"Told you," he says lowly as he wraps his arms around you again, shampoo dripping suds down his face and onto his pretty wet shoulders, "I'm not goin' anywhere."

-

Morning Love Poem by Tara Skurtu

Dreamt last night I fed you, unknowingly, something you were allergic to.

And you were gone, like that.

You don't have even a single allergy, but still. The dream cracked. Cars nose-dived

off snow banks into side streets. Sometimes dreams slip poison, make the living

dead and then alive again, twirling in an unfamiliar room.

It's hard to say I need you enough.

Today I did. Walked into your morning shower fully clothed. All the moments

we stop ourselves just because we might feel embarrassed or impractical, or get wet.

[cinnamonspicevanilla]

maysa monjardim (1936-1977)

* maysa was a brazilian singer-songwriter. born in the city of rio de janeiro in 1936, from a wealthy and traditional family. she spent her childhood years in a mansion, studied in a prestigious boarding catholic school and have always dreamed of being an artist. she was a rebellious teen who liked to smoke and drink in public, use short hair and masculine clothes, things that caused family fights. despite that, she was extremely feminine, well cared and romantic, enjoying writing songs, poems and love letters. she married at 18 with a entrepreneur who has 17 years her senior, he didn't like the fact that his wife wanted to be a singer and not a housewife, she divorced him two years after the marriage and pursued her music career, her first album was a success and she was invited to sing all across the world, including the usa and europe.

* her style was melancholic and histrionic, with songs about love and intense feelings, the genre that her and another women of the time (like angêla maria, dolores duran and nora ney) who sang songs in the same format was called "fossa" something deep and full of suffering and lament, also known as samba-canção, who was inspired by the french chanson, the jazz and the afro-brazilian samba.

* maysa's life was extremely chaotic, marked by many trips and also by many loves, maysa had several relationships, among them, the songwriter ronaldo boscôli who also dated two stars of the brazilian music: elis regina and nara leão. She was also known for her temperamental outbursts, her depressive crises and constant complaints noted in her diary about the loneliness she felt, which were clearly expressed in the lyrics she wrote. she was addicted to alcohol, cigarettes, sleeping pills and amphetamines, had scandals involving fights with her partners, cheating, nudity and mental health issues, she was a person with a strong and sardonic personality, very sharp by standards, but also very humorous and ironic. a lot of her brazilians fans compare her to lana del rey, since both of them wrote songs about feelings, love, desire, suffering and loneliness, were very influenced by the jazz and have tragic and melancholic styles, in addition to both having striking and controversial personalities.

* maysa unfortunately died in 1977, due to a car crash, in the city of niterói, she was not in the effects of alcohol. one of her latest diary entries was:

"Today is November 1976, I am a widow, 40 years old and a single woman. What will the future say?"

* maysa is a amazing brazilian singer whose legacy lasts until today, whether with her authorial songs like ouça, meu mundo caiu, tarde triste, resposta, adeus, felicidade infeliz, diplomacia, bronzes e cristais and o que? or with her covers like ne me quitte pas, dindi, eu sei que vou te amar and l'hymne a l'amour, between many others. she was a amazing and inspiring figure, very ahead of her time and my favorite brazilian singer besides nara leão, i highly recommend her albums ando só numa multidão de amores and convite para ouvir maysa. i think her music is great for those who like jazz, chanson, bossa nova and wants a sprinkle of sadness and melancholy on it.

[daitsaisan]

Shapeshifter ⭐👑

An original poem about wanting to do anything to please someone despite the pain it brings; a story of parent and child.

CW/TW // Toxic parent, blood, slight nudity (not explicit), bruises

Tumblr's limit is 10 images orz so you can read the rest on my Twitter