#still beautiful still Dorian Gray

[everythingdestroyingme]

Will never be over how Basil was just concerned for his friend. He just wanted what was best for him. And even when shown the epitome of Dorian’s soul, and forced to face the monstrosity of the painting, all he could think to do was point out all the places Dorian was still himself.

[stellaluna33]

Save me Aestheticism! Aestheticism save m-

Reads The Picture of Dorian Gray.

Uhhhhhhhh... nevermind.

[lesbians4armand]

billy russo and frank castle are alternate universe versions of dorian gray and basil hallward. im right

[sanguinaryrot]

for the love of fucking god: loustat painter/muse au

[boyruggeroii]

Pacing in my house thinking about The picture of Dorian Gray

[rexaleph]

looking at helmut berger's filmography what with the news of his death, and i didnt even realize that he played the aged yves saint laurent in one of the 2 french yves saint laurent biopics from 2014. which btw did anyone ever explain why there were 2 of them in the same year, some kinda rights issue?

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

My Purpose

Mad Scientist Husband x Reader x Yandere Clone

Now your husband, Dorian Goodman, truly believed he was doing you a favor with his newest creation… or should he say creations? He felt like a horrible husband by being away from you for long hours but he was allergic to pet dandruff so that was out of the equation… so why not clean himself? That way you wouldn’t be lonely! He only had his genius to blame for the horror he inflicted on you from this…

So imagine waking up to see your husband laying beside you in the bed still? His arms felt colder than normal and he smelled like preservatives… something was off but you couldn’t put your finger on it… his black hair was still long and beautiful just like his dark lashes. But something in your gut told you this wasn’t him.

And that’s when the figure beside you wakes up and gives you a bright smile. “I’m Dee. I’m your husband’s clone to keep you company while he’s away.”

You never shot up from the bed so fast to call your husband. You were extremely upset with him for creating a replica of himself rather than spend time with you himself… the nerve!

But your husband reassured you it was fine. That Dee was essentially him in every single way and that Dee could be your companion. He brushed off your concerns on this being cheating since Dee was a complete biological copy of Dorian himself but Dee could be deactivated by Dorian’s voice… it frustrated you. Why couldn’t he just leave his silly inventions behind and just spend time with his own spouse once and awhile? You were so lonely in this mansion…

But you didn’t take your frustration out on Dee. The poor clone was as clueless as you but he insisted he was created to serve you. Dee’s purpose was to take care of your needs

Dee would clean around the house and do the yard work. He was the complete opposite of the stoic Dorian. He felt more like a real human being than your own husband… minus how abnormally cold he was. He didn’t talk much but he was there. You started to grow attached to him

You spent a lot of time with Dee. He’d cover you with a blanket if you sat in your reading nook to read, he’d brew you your favorite coffee/tea, and he’d rub your shoulders. You constantly had to tell Dee that it was okay. That he didn’t have to be at your every beck and call but he would always say, “you’re my purpose.”

And Dee took notice of your sexual frustration when he peaked in on you touching yourself in the privacy of the bathroom within the glass shower walls. Curiosity began to settle in him. The cute whimpers and cries from your lips stirred something within him and he pushed the door open

You nearly screamed when Dee entered the bathroom, the only place he wasn’t beside you. But what shocked you more was the large erection in his gray joggers. It seemed he was more human than you thought and you were aching for something inside of you…

You let Dee have his way with you. He truly was a copy of your husband from how much he stretched you. Dee felt so good. He was so big and he was so strong. And he oddly smelled like your husband now… like clean linen and citrus. It was comforting and sexy. It was like Dorian was with your right now. Like Dorian was inside of you.

And in your passion it spilled from your lips once your orgasm rocked through you. Three little words that changed Dee forever, “I love you.” Dee held you while he rode you through your orgasm until his finally came. His strong arms held you up and his cheeks were filled with color. You loved him. You loved him. Dee didn’t want to ever be deactivated. Des wanted to be with you.

Dee would big spoon you every night. His large body pressed as close to yours as physically possible. There was a change in him. He was starting to become warm. Warm like a furnace. It was strange…. Dee became more and more human as the days turned to months. Your texts to your real husband became less and less but he probably didn’t even notice since he was busy with his inventions.

Dee would make you breakfast every morning and have his face between your legs to please you while you ate. Breakfast and sex became the norm for you and him. It felt so wonderful to feel wanted again. And every time, Dee begged you to tell him how you loved him. He would do anything to you to hear those words. Anything.

A shame you started to neglect your real husband. Dorian was shocked to see you folded up in a pretzel in your bed while Dee slammed into you like a mad man. This wasn’t what the clone was built for. He wasn’t built to fuck you. What the hell?

And that’s when Dee gave him a smirk. It was like looking in a mirror except there was something terrifying behind those ice blue eyes. Something sinister and Dorian didn’t like it at all. Dorian needed to get rid of Dee quickly… Dorian gave Dee one last look before he walked out of the room before you noticed

Dee kissed your head as he tucked you in. “I’m going to go get some water, okay?”

Dorian waited in the kitchen for Dee to come to him and the clone did. Dorian and him stared at each other for a few minutes before Dorian sighed.

“Deactivate.” Dorian told Dee but the clone remained standing there menacingly rather than deactivating like he was supposed to. “I said deactivate-“

And that’s when Dee launched himself toward Dorian and began to strangle him. His ice blue eyes filled with glee as the color slowly drained from Dorian’s face. An evil smirk on his face.

“It’s my purpose to make (your name) happy and there not happy with you so you can’t deactivate me anymore.” Dee whispered in Dorian’s ear. “They don’t love you. They love me.”

Dee ended up burying Dorian in the backyard before you woke up. He didn’t want you to be sad about your old husband any longer….

Dee slipped the ring he took off Dorian’s finger onto his. The shiny gold band now proudly on display. A smile on his face. Your real husband was with you now and he’d make you happy.

[urfavleo777]

Warnings: SMUT18+, strong language, oral (m receiving), choking, hair pulling, fluff.

It was an October evening. The sun had long since set, causing all the streetlights to go out. Now, the moonlight shining through the window was the only light you could use to continue reading your favorite book.

Accompanied by the sound of rain, you devoured the pages of The Picture of Dorian Gray. With a sigh, you turned the next page. You were getting close to the end, which made you even more sadder. Your weak spot was your attachment to books and some people.

Specifically to one person.

“Baby?“ Your boyfriend's voice caught your attention. You put the book on the bedside table and bit your lip at the sight of your boyfriend standing in only his lovely pink pajama pants. “Are you still reading?”

“Oh..“ you sighed softly, completely dazed.

"Whoa, you alright?" Colby looked down at you, concerned on his face, "Y/n."

You shake your head slightly, "Yeah." You stand up straight, "You just.." You found a more comfortable position, "Look so beautiful tonight"

“Only tonight?” he laughed brilliantly, moving closer to the bed. Then he lay down and took you in his arms, giving you a tender kiss on your forehead. You immediately forgot about the plot of the book that you were reading eagerly just moments ago.

You gently brushed his hair away and planted a kiss on his bare shoulder, only realizing you'd tickled him when you heard a small, muffled laugh come from the crook of your neck where Colby was resting his head.

During that quiet intimate moment the only sounds that could be heard in the room were your breaths and the sound of your kisses.

“Have I interrupted you in anything?“ he murmured dreamily, after a while.

“No, I was just reading.” You denied it immediately.

"I love you." He muttered as he gently pulled away from him, after some moments, and you cupped his face in your hands after tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “We can continue, if you want.”

“Continue what?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Reading your book.” He replied with embarrassment.

"My sweet, smart boy." You laughed before placing a soft kiss on his lips. "I love you too. And sure, we can continue reading my beloved Dorian Gray.”

“Oh.” He clutched his heart dramatically.

A smile appeared on your face. “Are you jealous because of a fictional character?”

He pretended to feel offended, making you laugh again. Just as he was about to answer, the loud sound of thunder interrupted him. You flinched unexpectedly.

Now he was the one laughing. You huffed in mock outrage.

“My little girl is afraid of thunderstorms?” He gently ran his fingers through your hair’s. “Let me take care of you properly, love.”

You nodded and tried not to smile too wide when you leaned in to kiss him.

You do a whole lot more than just kiss him, though. You open his mouth with your own and lick inside with a confident tongue. You take the breath from his lungs with little effort, leaving him more breathless than he has been all night.

“Wanna suck you off,” you murmured, slurred and muffled against his mouth.

Colby breathed out a laugh, one mixed with amusement and disbelief. “I rarely know this side of you, babe.” He told you, smoothing wide palms up and down your arms.

“Do you want a blowjob or not?”

“Well, yeah, but I—”

“Good,” you hummed with a smile before sinking to your knees in front of him. You unbuttoned his pants and free his half-hard cock from the confines of his pants. You tugged at the hem of his underwear until his heavy balls hang over the plaid fabric. 

Finally you decided to have mercy on him as you flattened your tongue against his dick, deciding to follow the vein from his base to his tip. Colby let out a high-pitched whine followed by a "thank you", but you didn’t really care. Yes, it felt good for him, but this was also for your pleasure. You swirled your tongue around his leaking tip, tasting the salty essen.

“Jesus fucking christ— you’re so pretty, baby— fuck.” He tilted his head back, gripping the sheets. “Fuck, please baby. Don't stop.”

You smiled up at the wrecked man, the man begging for you to continue. You could feel the light pressure of his hand against your head trying to push you closer to his groin.

“Can I kiss you?” He surprised himself as the question had left his mouth.

“Please.” you whined with desperation, making Colby groan as his lips found yours in a frenzy.

Your fingers slowly trailed down, finally wrapping your dainty hand around the sheer girth and length that was Colby’s cock.

Another unashamed whimper fell from between his pretty lips.

“That feels good, baby?” You murmured into his mouth between the smacks that echoed off the walls.

“Fuck, yeah mhm, it does.” He rushed out awkwardly, making you giggle into the kiss.

You took him back into your mouth, but that time without mercy as you relaxed your throat, slowly moving down inch by delicious inch as you tried not to gag, his tip now bullying your uvula like his own personal punching bag.

You fucked his aching cock into your throat, bobbing your head up and down, over and over.

“I need your cock so bad Colby.” You moaned.

“Use me, please. J-just fuck, just use me pretty girl.” Colby whimpered.

“Yes, sir.” You whispered into his ear before placing a gentle kiss there. You turned around, hand grabbing onto his still hard cock, you lower yourself into his lap, pink tip already prodding at your hole as your back became flush with his chest, you lay your head back against his shoulder and burrowed it into his neck, both of you moaning in unison as you sink onto him, slowly.

He was so big it was like he was ripping you in half, but you welcomed the burn. The pleasure and pain of it all made your cunt drip even more, further creating less pain and a whole lot more pleasure.

“Shit, you’re so wet and so fucking warm, baby.” Colby huffed.

You wailed as your legs begin to shake, your cunt clenching around him as your nails digging into his thighs that continue to slap up into the backs of yours.

“Colby– I’m cumming, oh my god!” You sobbed, when the most intense pleasure was coursing through your body, turning you into a twitching mess.

“Fuck, me too baby, wher-” He didn’t even get to finish, before you were begging him to cum inside you. Of course he obliged, eyes rolling back into his head and cock throbbing as his heavy load shot deep inside you.

“Goddammit.” He whispered into your neck.

The intensity of the moment consumed you, as he poured every ounce of himself into you, leaving you both utterly spent and satisfied. You both were breathless and drenched in perspiration, your legs entwined with his.

The storm seemed to be going away, the quiet rumbling was barely audible. All of a sudden the street lights came back up. Colby chuckled and sighed.

“So, you still want to read that book of yours again?”

[fataldrum]

Dorian Gray is queer art, period.

Apparently Netflix has decided to make an adaption of The Picture of Dorian Gray with Dorian and Basil as siblings. Unless they're planning to go the gothic horror incest route, they've completely missed the point of the relationship between these characters.

If you haven't read the book, Basil is a painter who becomes infatuated with a beautiful young man, pouring his feelings into a painting. Dorian becomes jealous of the painting's beauty, realizing that he will never be as young and unspoiled as the version of himself on the canvas. He finds himself wishing that the painting could age instead of him. His wish is granted, allowing him to stay young and beautiful until the end, with his moral and spiritual decline reflected only in the painting.

I cannot overstate how queer this book is. Dorian is so beautiful that their first meeting inspires a wave of existential terror in Basil. Dorian changes Basil's entire understanding of art and beauty. This book is so queer it was used as evidence at Wilde's sodomy trial.

The existence of the portrait itself is tantamount to a confession of queer desire. Basil tells his friend, Lord Henry, that he can't exhibit the painting because "I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry (who will later lead Dorian into a life of vice) laughs, but Basil explains:

“[E]very portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. [...] It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

This is how he describes meeting Dorian:

When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. [...] I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

Notice that turn of phrase--it was not conscience but cowardice that made him attempt to flee. Why would conscience factor into his decision? Because he felt shame at his reaction to Dorian's perfect, beautiful face.

Lord Henry is shocked to discover Basil cares for something besides his art.

“He is all my art to me now,” said the painter gravely. “I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the world’s history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me.

Basil goes on to confess, "I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there."

Lord Henry still doesn't understand why there is too much of Basil in the painting, so Basil explains:

“Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expression of all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never know anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry—too much of myself!”

Lord Henry asks how Dorian feels about Basil, and his response is absolutely tragic.

The painter considered for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered after a pause; “I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”

Any adaptation that ignores the way Dorian's existence and beauty utterly destroyed Basil is doomed to be shallow and insipid. This is not just a book about a magic painting. It's a monument to queer longing.

[voidcat]

— the maker, far away and the muse, ardent

characters: endo yamato, you

notes: this is more in the style of my typical dazai content so iykyk. artist!reader, gender neutral pronouns used. small picture of dorian gray reference. a mini post explaining my vision for this fic basically

Drawing Endo Yamato is a tricky feat.

Despite his simple looks, you realize there are more details to him that meets the eye. Sharp edges and curves, eyes and lashes that cut through, wavy locks of hair that fall with an order to itself.

It is difficult but so is to create. That’s the thing with art, and that’s what you love about it until the very end.

No matter how hard, how detailed something is, no matter how long it’ll take you to reach that level of skill required to make it, it is never impossible.

And so you sit back and keep observing him, smoothing out the page before you, you sharpen your pencil.

Despite the numerous pages adorned with his face, you’ve never spoken with Endo Yamato, not even once. Nor did you feel the need to.

Does god often seek an audience with their followers, does a nature artist eat the apple even after days of mold has accumulated— does everyone kill the thing they love? Or do they just leave it be, to their happiness or misery.

To you he is nothing more than a pretty face, beautiful features and an impressive body, one he uses as his own canvas, recording his life and feelings onto his skin permanently.

Endo Yamato never sits still, as if offering a challenge to you. Another thing that helps you in the long run, your pen begins to hasten, your sketch line improves and you begin to remember and transfer every small detail of a millisecond to paper without breaking a sweat.

It begins piece by piece, part by part. When one thing proves difficult to grasp, you have no choice but to dissect it one by one.

You begin with his structure, how he carries himself and his body. You have confidence in your figure drawing but it takes something extra to show off his pride and nose high up attitude in his posture. You don’t know Endo Yamato all that much but you know enough that you don’t like him or his kind at all.

Then comes the face, the edge of his jaw and the softness to his cheeks despite coming off as thin. It’s the details that prove the real challenge. When drawn apart, be it his eyes or the hooked nose, you’re good. Yet the way they have been placed on his face, you have to remake the dough figurine over and over again. His hair proves a great distraction, you’d suppose it is the real source of your problems. It hides everything characteristic to him, every small detail, the arch of his brows, the wrinkles on his face when he smiles or furrows them, the angle of his nose and how the bridge comes down, the light in his eyes though they are absent majority of the time.

You sketch over and over, the pencil glides off the pages. You change the materials but the subject remains the same. Noticeable changes begin to appear after some time. You’ve lost for how long you’ve been drawing, but it comes natural now.

So you switch up the medium, and try the process from the start with watercolors. The uncontrollable nature of the medium met with the difficult subject growing familiar on your muscles perfectly.

Too perfectly in fact, as you are lost in the thrill of it, that you don’t even notice how time passes nor the shift in scenery unless it contradicts your paintings— and you’re slouching over the papers once more, face contracting in focus as shadows disturb your view and lighting.

When you steal a glance above, you’re met with not a cloud but none other than Endo Yamato himself.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets and his confident yet relaxed posture, he glances down at you and the papers, wearing a smug smile the whole time.

You wait for a moment of breath then divert your attention back to the work before you, adding shadows currently.

You hear him let out a slight grunt, and maybe you’d see his expression shift into something of surprise too, were you to be carefully watching.

“It’s sublime knowing I have a fan.” He says, still not stepping one step to the side, adamant on blocking the light apparently.

His words register far too late for you, you let out a hum at first, “hmm… oh?” The sound fades into surprise on your end, “ah, no, you see-“

You dip the brush into water and to the shades of blue and purple, mixing and lightening the amount of paint on the brush. 

A tapping of feet brings you down to earth and reminds you for once you are not alone in your leisure time of painting.

“Ah… sorry.” You say more as an apology for forgetting he was right there up until a second, “it’s nothing like that.”

Your words take him out like a chain of inconveniences following one after another, building up until you’ve lost your temper.

You don’t notice this either, focus solely on perfecting the shading, calling it another painting done and complete.

To Endo, your nonchalance is odd to say the least. Here he stands, the subject of your attention for many a while now, from what he has seen, and you don’t seem to care one bit. Or is it the paper that is holier than him? Or is this another, albeit looser case of Takiishi, not caring for the people but for their reflections, their end products, what comes out of them and the hand that crafts them into something bigger, brighter.

Along the lines Endo Yamato says to you, you do catch something like ‘having the real thing before you already.’ An enlightenment perhaps, a revelation you didn’t need nor asked for.

So he is a charmer, you think, or tries to be. Considering the things at hand it’s the former most likely— walking up to you without a care in the world as if you’ve interacted before. It takes some sort of confidence, as most charmers carry with them. He is just not trying it to the fullest with you, but is it because he thinks he already holds a part of you in his hand, you’re unsure.

In the short timeframe of thinking over a man you couldn’t care any less, you notice your brush staggering, slowing down. Any more and the drops of water will be too much for the paper, ruining all your hard work on this completely.

“So… listen,” you begin, cutting off whatever he was saying. “If you don’t have anything important to say, would you mind-“ 

You wait and wait for him to catch on. Instead met with empty eyes looking at you with not a single clue inside that brain of his, you let out a sigh.

“The light at this hour is very good and you’re making me lose it minute by minute right now.”

Endo looks at you, in disbelief again. Not the reaction he was expecting and definitely not the words he expected to hear. And compared to how quiet and just shy you sounded up until the last sentence— that last demand, all that timid nature of you dispelled within a second. 

Deflated, he admits his defeat for the time being and leaves, stealing one last glance at the paper.

As the man leaves, you watch his back for a bit, waiting for your brush to dry.

Odd, you think. 

What did he really expect you to do or say? 

You may not know Endo Yamato but all you’ve observed is more than enough to deem him as weird. You are somewhat aware he is filled with burning passion down to his very being but that’s just not who you are as an artist.

The views people have on you, and by extension, on artists has always been far fetched from what you’ve seen.

Must art always be loud and intense, waging war upon any heart that gazes at it? Should you too be destructive and heavy— not all artists see their subject like Basil to Dorian, not all art is an all consuming fire, an endless devotion, a declaration of war. Art can be natural and gentle, like a breeze, like a stream of river.  Love can be accepting and gentle, unifying and kind with the familiarity it brings, the comfort hidden in the routine, as he fails to see.

By the time the painting has come to an end, darkness has fallen. Endo Yamato has already left, and the sunlight soon after him. The sky begins to darken, purple spreads of paint among the clouds. You turn the page and leave today in the past, crossing another thing off the list and moving on.

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

Might be a hot take maybe not but I for one am extremely glad that the Nimona movie did not go with the original plan of making the director secretly bald or making her secretly a goblin like in the comic

Like no shade to those stories I adore the comic and I'm sure that movie would have been fantastic in its own way but I'm glad that that's not the direction they took. The idea of physical attractiveness corresponding to morals goes back a long time and was most prevalent in the west during the Victorian Era, when a person's appearance was believed to represent who they truly were inside. So a beautiful person MUST be good and kind and an ugly person MUST be evil. It was and still is extremely harmful.

We still see it today in tropes like the one that the Nimona movie was going to use-- "Beautiful Good Person is Exposed for their Evilness by Exposing their Ugly Appearance"-- this trope is most associated with A Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde.

But in reality, the "ugly" people who are forced to hide their true identity, to pretend to be something they're not, who have to go to great lengths to look a certain way so people won't despise them, those usually aren't the people calling the shots and leading powerful scary organizations.

Not like a pretty white woman with a kind, trustable face. Someone who has spent their whole life being able to manipulate others based on being perceived as unassuming, that's a much better depiction of the Director and all she represents in my opinion.

[littlemisspascal]

Today marks the 3rd anniversary of my fic The Infinity Cube. I can still remember posting the first chapter, hoping at least one person out there liked it, and I can still remember how it felt to reach the end, a feat that wouldn't have been possible without the support of so many kind souls 💗 I wanted to make something for the occasion and having seen so many amazing web weavings out there, I thought I'd give it my best shot 😊

THE INFINITY CUBE: a journey home

Shades of Earth by Beth Revis // I Choose You by Adam Melchor // When Did It Happen? by Mary Oliver // First Love by Jennifer Franklin // The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde // The Bronze Horseman by Paullina Simons // The Amber Spyglass by Philip Pullman // 10 a.m Is When You Come To Me by Louise Bourgeois // Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You by Gaby Dunn // Maybe When the Time is Right You Will Find Me Again - K. Tolnoe // We Were Missing the Present by Mahmoud Darwish // Persona (1966) // Matched by Ally Condie // In the Pines by Alice Notley // It Wasn't Love // La Pointe Courte (1955) // "My better half" by Pablo J. Davis // The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller // Bioshock Infinite // Calling a Wolf a Wolf by Kaveh Akbar // Oh It Was Meant to Be - Kate McGahan // Pillow Thoughts by Courtney Peppernell // If My Body Could Speak by Blythe Baird // Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens // Unending Love by Rabindranath Tagore // The Blinding Star by Blanca Varela // Wild Spirit, Soft Heart by Butterflies Rising // Finding You by Kesha // Please, Please, Please Let Me Get What I Want by The Smiths // Web weaving about the untold story in you // "Feel like making a deal with the devil?" // A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara // Reborn: Journals ad Notebooks by Susan Sontag // I love you like a rotten dog // Sax Rohmer #1 by The Mountain Goats // The Bubble (2022) // Rabbit Hole (2010) // Beginning with O by Olga Broumas // How many times can the same thing break your heart? // War of the Foxes by Richard Siken // On Death in Heartbreak // Lonely Day by System of A Down // This Road (The Mirror is a Trap) by Poe // Memory for Forgetfulness by Mahmoud Darwish // "Do you think we're soulmates in another universe?" // Radio Silence by Alice Oseman // "In one timeline we kiss" - Elizabeth Hewer // Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed // Almond Blossoms and Beyond by Mahmoud Darwish // X // The Collected Poems of Alvaro de Campos by Fernando Pessoa // Excerpt from Moony Moonless Sky's 'I am an observer, but not by choice' // @/lookoflove // Stone Butch Blues by Leslie Feinberg // "Do you know what it's like to live somewhere that loves you back?" - Danez Smith // Home by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros // The Chaos of Stars by Kiersten White // Home // You and Me

All Pedro Photos - Pinterest // Reader in my story is physically a blank slate, I just really like the photo of Javi + Gabriela touching foreheads

[marlsswrites]

Books and beautiful eyes

Ice skating AU, part 3!!

August 3rd - words: 666

First part Previous part

Regulus let his hands smooth over the books stacked onto the shelves, some rough, some soft, all with pretty writing scrawled on the sides with the book title on it.

Bookstores were Regulus' favourite place to be - slightly less than the ice rink actually - they were just so calming. He spent so much time in this particular place, they'd offered him a part time job, which worked with his uni timetable - because he could do with making some of his own money and stop borrowing from his older cousin Andromeda.

He began to slot some of the new books he'd gotten in stock this morning, making sure to slide every single one into the right area - because god it was infuriating when the other workers clearly didn't do that.

Light music played through the speakers, Lana Del Rey's voice echoed beautifully around the small shop.

The place was rather quiet, just a few people curled into arm chairs as they read through a certain book they'd picked up, coffees in hand and eyes completely trained on the book.

There was a small cafe in the corner of the bookstore, letting people sit and get a drink while they read if they felt like it - that's mostly how Regulus spent his spare breaks.

As he stood on the tips of his toes to reach a certain high shelf, he felt a soft tap on his shoulder and the clearing of a throat. He placed the book on the shelf and turned around the fave whoever needed him.

Fuck.

He had the most beautiful eyes, brown and wide, pupils gradually dilating as Regulus stared him down, at utter loss for words at how his gold frames fell slightly low on his nose. Even the way he messy brown curls framed his face like they were aiming to mesmerise Regulus.

The man looked at him with a certain recognition to his face, then his oh so very gorgeous eyes flicked down to Regulus' name badge that was pinned to the right side of his forest green jumper.

Eyes lighting up with an answer, the man ran a tan hand through his messy hair and finally began to speak. Regulus really wishes he hadn't, because his voice was so raspy and biting and so attractive - it wouldn't leave Regulus' brain, bouncing and echoing around his ears for a lifetime or two.

"Regulus, right?" The paler of the two nodded slowly, still in a slight sense of shock. "I'm James." He added with a tilt of his head, while Regulus just fought away a smile and listened to him contently. "Right, so do you have any book recommendations I should get for my friend Remus..." he trailed off into thought.

"What does he like?" Regulus queried as James eyes seemed to grow even brighter.

James pointed at a book over Regulus' head, getting a bit too close for Regulus to cope with as he held his breath and waited for James to pull the book from the shelf.

The picture of Dorian Gray, the title read - that's a good one.

"He likes this one, oh! And little women I think it's called?"

Regulus hummed in response, a smile quirking into the corner of his mouth as James smiled such a genuine smile at him. "He's got good taste, has he read pride and prejudice?" Regulus asked as he turned his back to the man, walking over to the classics section and pulling out a copy of the book he mentioned.

He showed James the book cover, to see if he recognised it. He only shook his head. "No, I don't think he has." He took the book from Regulus' hands, their finger touching for a split second - sun-kissed tan meets pale, milky, silk skin - before Regulus pulled his hand away quickly and nodded. "Thanks."

"No problem." Regulus chewed on his lip.

"Bye Regulus!"

The raven haired boy chuckled, rolling his eyes and offering a wave of his hand. "Bye James."

Next part

[acheronist]

he's the superstar but not the darling. he's naturally blond and still bleached his hair. he got divorced from a girl who pretends she doesn't know who he is despite growing up with him. he's the greatest two-way hockey player to have ever lived. he speaks multiple languages. he was skating on a frozen river in his dad's adult sized skates as a boy. he wanted to be a backup dancer for madonna. he fucked steve yzerman AND wayne gretzky. he was a multimillionaire and put 90% of his salary towards helping children in poverty without telling anyone. he wears tinted sunglasses and outfit coord sets. he got called homophobic slurs for wearing white hockey skates. he likes mayonnaise. he keeps pictures of himself when he was young and beautiful in his basement like dorian gray. he has cried listening to guns n roses. he's from the arctic circle but speaks with a midwestern american accent. he keeps momentos. he only drives red sports cars. he won back to back championships, twice. he wears friendship bracelets with his daughter.

[st4rymoon]

Guardian angel miguel 😳👀

🤫 guardian angel/stalker mig….

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 ・𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘭 𝘖'𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘢 𝘹 𝘍𝘦𝘮 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

- 18+, fluff, “guardian angel” Miguel but this is giving more stalkerish, book geeks, kissing, language, p in v, unprotected sex, rough Miguel, breeding kink, genetically made for each other <3, protective Miguel, lap fucking, BD Mig, oblivious reader, praise kink

Miguel always found you fascinating. Whether that be the way your sweet scent intoxicated him or the lack of self-awareness you had, it didn’t matter.

He was always on the sidelines, watching you from afar as you went about your day. He didn’t know why he took it upon himself to make sure nothing happened to you but he couldn’t help but worry about you after seeing you in his universe.

You were blissfully unaware of the ruby-red eyes that protected you as you walked out of your insufferable job. Miguel smiled as you bent down and pet a stray cat, watching you coo as the cat leaned into your palm.

Miguel’s eyes darted to a shadow walking towards you, eyes narrowing at the figure as it grew closer. You waved goodbye to the cat as you got up and made your way back home.

Still completely unaware of the fact that Miguel had a man wrapped in a choke hold in the alleyway a few steps away.

He made sure you got home safely, following behind you and making sure you locked the door.

That’s how most days went, Miguel would make sure you never got hurt but he never got too close.

Until he did.

You were scanning through the rows of books, about 5 books already in hand as you eagerly read through the spines of books. Miguel walked into the bookstore, eyes already in your direction as he walked through the aisles.

He was scanning through the science books, telling himself he might as well. Your eyes widened as you walked into the same section, stunned by the tall, brown-haired, Latino Ken doll right in front of you.

Your eyes darted down as he shot up. Miguel almost jumped at the sight of you standing at the end of the aisle with your head down low. He knew you were looking at him and he loved it.

You grabbed a few books on physics which caught Miguel’s eye. It was interesting to see Wuthering Heights and a book about psychics in the same pile together.

“Emily Brontë and Stephen Hawking in the same pile is something I thought I’d never see” Miguel spoke with a smile as he glared down at the books in your arms.

“Oh I- yeah, I mean why can’t I have a love for literature and science at once?” You chuckled “Hey I’m not judging, just an interesting pile” Miguel shrugged playfully.

“And you have… Principles of Biochemistry with some more chemistry books. Science lover, not much on the literature” you hummed as you took a look at the stack of books in his hands.

“Hey, I still love my classics, Frankenstein, The Great Gatsby, and Crime and Punishment. I’m not all science”

You laughed at the way he jokingly raised a hand in the air “Good to know” you smiled as you looked down at your feet.

“You got any book recommendations?” Miguel asked, trying his best to not pay too much attention to how he towered over you. “I always do, have you read the picture of Dorian Gray? It’s one of my favorites” You nodded as you made your way towards the section the book would be in.

Miguel followed close behind, mesmerized by your features and beauty that he couldn’t quite see from afar. “Here it is” You held the book out for him shakily as you used your chin to hold the rest of your books up “Thank you, here let me help” Miguel grabbed the books slipping from your grasp and carried them for you “you don’t have to, really it’s ok” you smiled as you felt a bit rude to make him carry your dozens of books.

“You sure? I don’t mind, it isn’t like I have much to carry” he shrugged “I’m about to pay so how about you just do me the favor of helping me with them to the counter”

Miguel eagerly agreed as he followed you upfront towards the counter. You chatted with Miguel as both of you paid and talked more about some of the books you picked out.

“This was nice” Miguel nodded as you stood outside the bookstore, bags in hand he smiled down at you “It was” you shyly smiled.

You felt like this was some sort of movie, a gorgeous polite man runs into you at a bookstore. What a dream.

“You know if you want any more book recommendations, I can always give you my number if you want some more” You were surprised by your boldness but you wouldn’t mind rejection from a stranger even if he was gorgeous.

“Sure” Miguel smiled, both of you swapping phone numbers with a glint of passion in both your eyes.

And after all of that, it led you to where you are now. Many dates, a few kisses, and hundreds of laughs later, you were straddled on his lap.

Miguel couldn’t believe he had you in his grasp. After years of making sure you were safe out of pure instinct, he was finally able to protect you and lose himself in your sweet kisses.

His hand cradled the back of your neck as the both of you hungrily pulled at each other's clothes. You moaned as you snaked your hand under his shirt, the warmth radiating off his whole body made you shiver.

Miguel let out a gruntled hum as you pulled his shirt over his head “Someone’s eager” he teased. You nodded in bliss, not caring for his teasing as he tossed your top somewhere behind him.

You could feel his bulging cock through his jeans and it was driving you crazy. You don’t know what’s gotten into you, you were grinding into his length in need. It felt like you’d die if he wasn’t buried inside.

Miguel felt the same, your scent filling every molecule of his body. He soon began to understand what it was that drove him so crazy about you, genetics.

You shaped perfectly in his arms, smelt like a dream, and kissed like an angel. He couldn’t help but protect you, watch you like your own guardian angel. You were his angel, his to protect, his to love.

You could feel your own body burning at the skin-to-skin contact “Please Miguel I need you” you whined. Your hips rubbed onto his lap eagerly, fucking yourself onto his lap as he hungrily yanked your skirt down your legs.

Hearing you beg was enough for him to lay you on your back and start pulling your panties down your legs. “Fuck” Miguel let out a moan at the sight of your back arching off the bed, pussy in full view as you held onto his arms.

“Please Mig” You were unbuttoning his jeans halfway before he slapped your hands out of the way. He couldn’t resist himself from being rough but you certainly didn’t mind it.

It turned you on seeing him so eager for you.

You whined at the sight of his cock springing out of his boxers. You clenched around nothing as you took in how big he was “It’ll fit, I’ll make it” Miguel hummed with a hand running your thigh in reassurance.

A raspy moan spilled from Miguel as he coats his cock with your slick, hips swaying and nudging your clit ever so slightly.

You gasped as with one swift motion, he rammed into your tight cunt. Your nails dug into his arms while Miguel let out a shaky groan as he steadied himself with his hands on your hips.

His pupils dilated at the glimpse of the bulge on your tummy, he slid in and out leisurely with a sly smile.

You mewled as he quickens his pace, his cock plunging deep inside you and stilling just to pull back and bury himself inside again.

“Oh- you have no fucking clue h- how long I’ve dreamed of this” Miguel hummed in his euphoric state. You nodded dumbly, as you squeezed around his cock. The vice grip of your cunt made him lose himself with each thrust “m- Miguel! Oh fu-“ you mewled out.

His thick fingers played with your messy clit, slow circles rubbing onto your throbbing clit. He smiled in accomplishment as you came around his length, your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure as Miguel continued his pace “Yeah, jus’ like that” Miguel purred as he buried himself into your neck.

His soft lips lapped and sucked onto your neck as he focused on your gushy walls throbbing around him. A loud groan spilled out of Miguel as he squeezes his eyes shut, mind going completely blank as he fucked his loads into you.

“You were f- fuck! Made for m- mhm” Miguel’s moans grew louder as he continued to fuck himself deeper into you.

When Miguel pulled out of you, his eyes were focused on your pretty face. You were completely fucked out, hair disheveled, and saliva all over your lips. He hummed at the sight of his cum leaking out of your tight hole “You look gorgeous” he cooed.

He laid beside you as he pulled you onto his chest, hand rubbing down your shoulder as you took a few breaths.

“You have no clue how much I love you” 







[wosoimagines]

Second Chance

part 2 of rivals

Jo's second camp with the team is nearly over and she gets news of her future.

2,367 words

previous part| |next part

“Hi, kid.”

I grinned at the familiar voice as I closed the door behind me.

“Hey, Becky.”

The woman smiled at me as I threw my bag onto the open bed. I hadn’t exactly expected Jill to room me with Becky again, but it was nice. Becky had helped to make sure that I actually got to bed at a responsible time and that I wasn’t late to any meetings or practices. After all, it had been quite easy for me to get distracted by everything else.

“Did you get to go to the lake?”

“Yeah, we went for a couple of days,” I admitted.

Becky nodded at that before she turned back to the book that she was reading. I tilted my head as I read the title.

“ The Portrait of Dorian Gray ,” I read off the spin. Becky looked up at me with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve never read it.”

“I could read it out loud, if you’d like.”

I smiled at Becky as I nodded. Becky looked back down at the book as I kicked my shoes off. 

“‘I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then--but I don't know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that Fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid, and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.’”

I grinned as Becky read the words on the pages. I knew that we had at least an hour, if not two, until our meeting started since they were still waiting on quite a few players to get into the hotel. I didn’t give Becky time to start the next paragraph as I crawled into her bed before ducking my head under her left arm so I could look at the pages. Becky stayed silent for a moment as I got comfortable.

It wasn’t until I had settled down and stopped moving that Becky continued.

“‘Conscience and cowardice are really the same things, Basil. Conscience is the trade name of the firm. That is all.’

‘I don't believe that, Harry, and I don't believe you do either. However, whatever was my motive--and it may have been pride, for I used to be very proud--I certainly struggled to the door. There, of course, I stumbled against Lady Brandon. 'You are not going to run away so soon, Mr. Hallward?' she screamed out. You know her curiously shrill voice?’”

Becky’s voice was definitely one of the most soothing voices I had ever heard. Maybe she could become a professional audiobook reader or something like that once she retired from playing. Or even just take it up during the off-season. I wouldn’t mind listening to Becky read me more books if her voice was always this soothing.

“‘Yes; she is a peacock in everything but beauty,’ said Lord Henry, pulling the daisy to bits with his long, nervous fingers.

‘I could not get rid of her. She brought me up to Royalties, and people with Stars and Garters, and elderly ladies with gigantic tiaras and parrot noses. She spoke of me as her dearest friend. I had only met her once before, but she took it into her head to lionize me. I believe some picture of mine had made a great success at the time, at least had been chattered about in the penny newspapers, which is the nineteenth-century standard of immortality. Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me. We were quite close, almost touching. Our eyes met again. It was reckless of me, but I asked Lady Brandon to introduce me to him. Perhaps it was not so reckless, after all. It was simply inevitable. We would have spoken to each other without any introduction. I am sure of that. Dorian told me so afterwards. He, too, felt that we were destined to know each other.’”

I couldn’t find it in myself to fight off the sleep as Becky’s voice lulled me into darkness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, pipsqueak.”

I looked at Hope who had sat down across from me. I titled my head at her sudden presence. I knew that she often sat at the table with Carli and Christie during our meals. But they were both seated at a table that was behind Hope.

“Hi, Hope.”

I looked over my shoulder where most of the team was still getting their food. Being small did come with advantages, such as being small enough to get around everyone so I could be one of the first to get my food. I spotted Becky and Alyssa who were just now grabbing their own plates to fill them up. I turned back to look at Hope.

“Look, I just came to say that maybe you aren’t that bad.”

I raised my eyebrows at that. Hope complimenting me had been the last thing I was expecting. After all, we still weren’t getting along that well. It seemed like we both tolerated each other just enough for a fight not to break out during practice, but that didn’t stop the two of us from exchanging words during practice.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Hope said as she kept her eyes trained on her plate as she stabbed some of the food with her fork. “You still aren’t better than I am. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t helping us out.”

I stayed silent, causing Hope to look up at me. She just stared back at me. I was trying to figure out if this was some kind of joke or something.

“Who are you and what have you done with Hope Solo?”

Hope chuckled at that as she nodded.

“That’s cute, pipsqueak.”

“No seriously. Hope Solo would never compliment me. We go at each other’s throats,” I said as I shook my head. I turned my attention back to my plate. Hope had to be seriously sick if she was being nice to me all of a sudden. “Mine and Hope’s relationship does not consist of us being nice to each other. We’re like sweet potatoes and mustard. They don’t go together. I don’t give a shit what Mick says either. He’s a weirdo for eating sweet potatoes and mustard.”

“No, I’m serious, Jo,” Hope said. I paused at that before I looked up at Hope. “Can you just take the compliment?”

I shook my head. I really couldn’t.

At least not from Hope.

This was too weird. Hope wasn’t supposed to be nice to me. She wasn’t supposed to compliment me.

“Is everything okay over here?”

Hope and I both looked at Becky who took a seat next to me. I sent Becky a small smile before I turned back to Hope. I slowly nodded my head as I realized just what this was about.

“You’re being nice 'cause I saved your ass in the goal.”

“Jo! Language!”

I rolled my eyes at that. I already had a mom at home, I didn’t need Becky deciding to mother me while I was at camp too.

“No.”

“You said that way too fast for it to be true! This is about me saving you in the goal.” I grinned as I glanced at Alyssa who sat next to Becky. So it wasn’t because Hope actually wanted to get to know me. “You just feel bad that you tried acting all tough and like you could stop me and then you couldn’t back it up and I had to save the game against France so we didn’t draw again.”

“I don’t need help in the goal, pipsqueak .”

“Sure you don’t.”

It felt good knowing that Hope had felt bad after I saved her skin.

“You could have just said thank you.”

“Jo,” Becky said. I looked over at her as I raised my eyebrows. I wasn’t too sure why she really cared what happened between Hope and me. “Just take the compliment.”

“But she’s only saying it because I made the stop on the goal line.”

“Jo. Take the compliment.”

My jaw slacked a bit at that. I couldn’t believe that Becky was actually taking Hope’s side.

“Thank you for the compliment,” I said once I eventually turned back to Hope. The goalie smirked at me as she stood up. I rolled my eyes as I lowered my voice. “Good thing you’re good at soccer. Cause the porch light’s on, but there ain’t no one home.”

It wasn’t until Hope was well out of earshot that I felt the hand connect with the back of my head.

“Ow!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t hear that comment,” Becky hissed quietly. I slumped back against my chair at that. I really wasn’t in the mood for another lecture. “I get it. You don’t get along with Hope and you might never get along with Hope, but she’s our goalie. You are going to have to stop trying to provoke her.”

“She doesn’t treat me fairly. Why should I be the one to have to extend the olive branch?” I asked as I leaned forward to get closer to Becky. “She’s the adult. I’m only fifteen.”

“Jo-”

“No, it’s bullshit.”

“Langauge.”

“And I don’t need another mom. I already have one.”

Becky sighed as she leaned back in her own chair. I looked away from her. 

“What if I talk to Hope?”

Becky and I both looked over at Alyssa. I had honestly forgotten that she was sitting at the table with us because of how quiet she had been. It was something that Becky told me I would have to get used to though. 

“As if that would make it any better.”

“That would be great. Thank you, Alyssa.”

I huffed as I pushed myself away from the table. I had already finished my plate and if it gave me an excuse to be away from Alyssa and Becky right now, I would take it. I didn’t need everyone else fighting my battles for me. It was part of the problem. If everyone else fought my battles for me then no one would ever take me seriously.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“So, I heard that you and Hope got into it,” Jill said as I was wrapping my hand. I sighed as I looked up at her. “Is there a problem that I, as the coach, need to address between you two?”

“No.”

Jill nodded her head slowly as she still looked down at me as I finished wrapping my hand. I rubbed the bridge of my nose before looking back up at her.

“Is there anything else?”

“I really hoped that you and Hope would have gotten over this by now,” Jill said. I softly groaned as my shoulders slumped forward. “I’ll be honest with you, kid. I want to call you up for the August game and September-”

“I get it,” I assured her. I glanced at where the rest of the team was getting ready. Even though I had been friendly enough with Alyssa and Becky, the rest still seemed hesitant to get close to me. “Who wants a kid on their team when they’re the best in the world?”

“Jolene, that isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it?”

I looked away from Jill and down at my shoes. I knew that it was. It wasn’t the first time I had been left behind because I was the youngest one, and I doubted that it would be the last.

“Jo, you’re gonna be called to the U-20 team in just days,” Jill said as she bent down so that we were equal in height. “I encouraged them to do so. I think it would be a great opportunity.”

I looked back over to the rest of the team. But my eyes zeroed in on Hope. I knew what she would say when she found out that I wouldn’t be called to the team in August or September.

“The U-20 World Cup will be over before August. So what’s the point in keeping me out of the September camp?”

Hope would only boost and brag if I was gone longer than I needed to be. Plus, I didn’t want to lose the pace of play that came with the national team if I was gone for too long.

“Because you’re only fifteen, Jo. You will have to go to school and finish your education,” Jill said. I looked back at her. I didn’t care about that, I just cared about my future in soccer. “If your grades suffer too much, then I can’t call you up. You will be gone until late August if you guys make it to the finals.”

“So why have me go to the U-20 team instead of getting more practice with the senior team?”

“Because the U-20 team is going to a World Cup. It might not be the World Cup you were hoping for, but it will give you a taste of what it will be like next year,” Jill said as she sighed. I wondered if she would ever get tired of me and all my questions. “You’ll be expected to be a leader on the U-20 team as you’ve already been called up to the senior team. That will also be a good experience for you. I don’t expect that you’ll be seen as a leader on this team for years, maybe not until I’m gone even, but it will happen eventually, and leading a team at a World Cup, even a youth one, will be good for you.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Jill sighed as she patted my leg before standing up. If I had to prove myself to Jill at the youth level again, I was going to do it. Nothing would stop me from winning gold in August. Maybe then, the rest of the team would also start to see me as more than just some kid.