#summery poetry

[ruyi-li]

CHERRY BLOSSOMS.

a love story bloomed with the cherry blossoms one spring, but spring doesn’t last forever 

Cherry blossoms are blooming 

Bright pink stars in a cosmos of green and grey

Cherry blossoms are blooming 

Signalling new beginnings 

New families, new friends, new work

Thawing the harsh ice of winter 

Cherry blossoms are blooming 

So why can’t i still move on 

I think it's because you are not here 

Cherry blossoms are blooming 

So why hasn’t my heart thawed 

Why is it stuck in the never ending winter 

Cherry blossoms are blooming

I know i should move on, so why can’t I

Cherry blossoms

They remind me of you 

The pink petals in your  hair 

Splotches of pink in a sea of black 

Cherry blossoms

They fall gently around us

I remember you presenting me a petal 

They are blooming

Blooming so brightly 

They fall around my fingers 

Onto the smooth stone 

I lean my forehead against your grave

And bid you goodbye 

For i will remember you in cherry blossoms 

I wish you were here to see th

[ofmonstersandmagicians]

august cherries are kisses in my mouth while i say goodbye to summer with a feral girl's grace-- that is to say none-- and i know biting their pits will only chip my teeth and leave the bitter taste of bone but oh please Lord i need something to hurt inside me. i have chewed my fingers into skeletons and if you try to touch them they'll draw blood like cherry spit, but all my pits are in the ground, oh, Lord. all my pits are in the dirt and there they will rot until i can learn the art of kissing softly, breathing, remembering how to speak without an explosion like a galaxy burning in my mouth

[markrothkono61]

I wish I had bilocation, I have about a gazillion things to do today and most of them slightly overlap

[rootbeerworshiper]

Under the Table

Reader x Matt Sturniolo

summery: you’re left with no choice but to tutor the star hockey player, Matt Sturniolo, but as much as you pride yourself on not being into hockey players, not even you can resist.

warnings: smut!!!! fem!recieving, unprotected sex (reader on birth control), dumification kink if u squint, dom!matt, male!receiving, slight aftercare, fluff, yeah guys idk

love, sienna <3

being an english major at Boston University was no easy feat.

you were constantly engulfed in numerous amounts of homework, from essays to poetry analysis, you were swamped.

money wasn’t something that you grew up from, and with the large amounts of school work piling up, you didn’t have time for a job.

so when your professor mentioned tutoring, you were sold.

english was always something you were naturally good at and you prided yourself on keeping the same grades you had in high school while in college.

tutoring can’t be that hard right?

wrong.

you had put out a few flyers that offered your services and the one person who took you up on that offer was none other than Matt Sturniolo.

although the two of you went to the same high school you had never spoken outside of a couple class assignments—this was more than okay with you.

Matt fit the description of a dumb popular jock to a tee, and you considered the fact that he got into the same college as you unfortunate.

after hours of hard work and effort went into your acceptance, the last thing you needed to see was a post from your highschool congratulating the Matthew Sturniolo on his D1 scholarship to the school.

hockey was a pretty big part of New England but it was never a sport that spoke to you, well not that most sports did.

the entire atmosphere of hockey boys was enough to give you the ick and yet here you are, sat alongside the schools top player, trying to get him to form an essay.

“you have to have an argumentative statement, something to base the whole essay off of and interest the reader” you state, trying your best to not get annoyed at the clueless boy.

he stares at the blank google doc. “well what am i arguing?”

you sigh. this was harder than you thought. “the main theme of this essay is supposed to be on complexity. you chose ‘Beartown’ as your independent novel so you have to argue how the text is complex, or what makes it so complex.”

it was like talking to a toddler, the information going in one ear and out the other. “i can’t write the essay for you Matt”

he groans. “why not?”

you think for a second, once again attempting to not get frustrated. “the story is told from multiple perspectives right?” he nods. “why might that be more complex than a story just told from one?”

it’s clear he’s thinking, and you just hope what you said made sense. “well adding more perspectives would make it like complex because it builds a story that has layers”

subconsciously you smack his arm out of excitement. “yes! there you go. in better words you have your statement to build this essay off of”

you’re heart melts at his smile in response.

sure, you hated his guts, but you’d be lying if you said he wasn’t incredibly hot.

it’s difficult to peel your eyes off of him as he maintains eye contact with you, but you have work to do, and you won’t be yet another girl who grows infatuated with Matt Sturniolo—you just won’t.

the next few sessions were as normal as they could be.

it wasn’t easy to keep him on topic, he was always distracted by something.

sometimes he just looks at you, and you weren’t entirely sure how to feel about it—often diverting the conversation to something else.

trying to get him to understand poetry was a whole new headache.

you had spent hours in the library at this point after finally completing the dreaded essay, now crafting an analysis on different poems.

if you hadn’t picked such a comfortable outfit for this session you’d probably hate your life right now—so you mentally thank yourself for choosing a sweat suit.

to say you were both exhausted would be an understatement.

trying to teach a hockey boy the importance of the placement of words on a page and why capitalization can help emphasize certain points was tiring—you could tell he was tired too by the way he buried his face in his hands periodically.

“maybe we should just call it a night” you say, closing your laptop and yawning.

the last thing you expected was for him to disagree. “no wait i really need this done for tomorrow’s class it can’t be late. if i fail this class i can’t play in playoffs”

right. how could you forget the beloved hockey player will miss out on the big game if you don’t help him.

“i’d stay and help you but the library closes in ten minutes so there’s not much more we can do” you reply, already defeated.

Matt however has more ambition to complete this assignment than you expected. “we can go to my dorm”

you give him a look of slight disbelief. “your dorm?”

he just nods excitedly. “yeah my roommates out of town right now and we only have like 2 more poems left. it’s perfect”

“i don’t know Matt i’m tired” you sigh. not only were you tired but the idea of being in a college boys dorm was not the most appealing.

the eyes he gives you might be the death of you. “please?” you rub your forehead with your hand as if to release tension. “i’ll buy you red bull”

you smile at this. “fine. but i can’t be out for forever”

“you won’t be i swear. i’ll be so dialled in” he smiles. a sight that you are more than okay with seeing.

the walk to his dorm is short, with a stop at the campus confectionery for two sugar free red bulls.

not a lot is said as you enter the main building, walking through the halls as you near Matt’s room.

he goes to open the door but pauses. “don’t judge the decorations in here”

you smile at this, expecting something along with lines of hockey sticks taped on the walls. but what you were met with was much different.

there’s white christmas lights strung on the wall and shelves filled with numerous books and journals. all the furniture was a cohesive shade of brown and alongside the hockey posters were different vintage prints.

in the least weird way possible, you were jealous of his dorm. “this is not what i was expecting” you gawk as he shuts the door behind you.

it’s visible how embarrassed he is so you do your best to shut that down. “i love it actually, if you showed this to any of my friends they’d assume that i decorated it”

he smiles now but doesn’t touch on his ‘girl english major’ room decor tendencies. “uh i’ll just clear off the desk here and then we can get to work, you don’t want the overhead light on do you?” he asks, immediately earning a shake of the head from you.

so now you’re sat next to him, opening your laptop in the midst of the dim lit room as you sip on the red bell purchased by the brunette. “okay where do you want to start? you have two more poems to analyze”

he just rubs his eyes. “you pick”

getting him to focus would be an impossible task “if you’re too tired we can stop or-“

he shakes his head immediately, as if to wake himself up. “no i’m good to keep going, just need a sec to wake up” he defends.

“okay we’ll start with this one then, do you wanna read it?” you look to the tired boy.

“can you? i’ll listen i swear” you groan but agree, it’s been a long day and you don’t want to push him too much.

so you begin reading. “you must not wonder, though you think it strange” he places his hand on your thigh almost immediately. “Matt”

“keep reading, don’t worry about me” he leans into you slightly more, looking at the words on the screen over your shoulder, his breath hot on your neck.

“to see me hold my louring head so low” you continue, his hand inching closer to your centre.

normally you’d be against this—you’d be standing up and telling him off.

but something about the way his hand covers majority of your upper thigh and the smell of his breath has you insane.

so you try your best to focus on the words, not the pooling wetness in your underwear. “And that my eyes take no delight to range” he places a kiss to your neck—so incredibly gentle it could make your skin crawl.

you let out a sigh, trying to avoid throwing your head back as his hand makes contact with your clothed clit. “keep reading baby cmon”

you do as you’re told. “About the gleams on which your face do grow” he kisses down your neck now as his hand increases his gentle pressure.

subconsciously you buck your hips up—eager for more stimulation. “yeah you like that?” he whispers in your ear as you fight back a moan, instead just nodding. “i need words” he takes his hand off, still keeping his face close.

“fuck Matt yes i like it, i need more” you whine, shutting your eyes as his hand toys with the hem of your sweats.

“can i take these off?” he asks, tugging slightly.

you nod eagerly. “please” you lift our hips up and he slides your sweats off, leaving you in your underwear.

his hand roams your lower half, his palm placing pressure on your clit as his fingers explore your clothed entrance. “god your soaked. i knew you’d fall apart under my touch”

there’s the cockiness that normally you hate, right now though? it only turned you on more. “keep reading cmon pretty girl”

you open your eyes to look back at the screen. “the mouse with one hath-“ you let out a breath as his fingers go back to toying with your clit. “broken out of trap”

“not so smart now huh?” he whispers.

you’re a whimpering mess now with the way his thumb rubs small circles on your clit as his mouth places sloppy kisses on your exposed neck. “Matt please i need you”

this must have been enough for him to stop teasing because he immediately stands up, placing your hands on his shoulders as he grabs you legs to pick you up—finally placing his lips on yours.

it’s messy and it’s desperate but it’s also fucking hot.

he leans over, letting your back fall on his bed as he hovers over you.

wasting no time he signals for you to lift your arms as he brings your hoodie over your head, revealing your bare chest. he smiles at this. “such a fucking slut tutoring me without a bra on”

he hovers back over you now, whispering in your ear once more before his fingers begin to toy with your already hardened nipples. “couldn’t focus when i saw your nipples poking out of your hoodie, begging to be touched”

you can’t even reply with words, too focused on the way his thumb grazes your sensitive nipple.

you’re a mess and he’s barely done a thing, already arching into him, but you try to gain focus—if he gets to see you like this you deserve the same.

without words you reach for his shirt, struggling to lift it up as you’re overcome with pleasure.

he knows exactly what you want through, taking his hands off of temporarily, now hovering over you once more.

you can’t help but gawk at his physique. it’s hard to focus on the tattoos when your eyes are drawn to his abs that are extenuated by the dim lighting.

“gonna make you feel so good baby” he begins to make his way down. “you’ve spent so much time on me, gotta make it up to you, yeah?” he kisses your clit through your underwear.

at this point your throbbing. “yes” you spit out.

he pulls down your underwear, leaving you completely exposed for him as he stares at you once more, fully taking in the sight in front of him.

you hide your face with your hands, too embarrassed at the mere vulnerability. “let me see your face baby” you shyly remove your hands, looking up at the boy now—you’re practically begging with your eyes.

“you’re so fucking perfect” he leans back down to give you one more kiss, this one more intimate than the last few. “so much better than my imagination” you giggle at this but before you know it he’s back down where you want him, pushing your legs open as he spits on folds—mesmerized by the way it slides down.

before you can complain again he finally makes contact, licking up the wetness his voice has caused before focusing on your clit.

you’re already incredibly turned on, the feeling of his warm tongue on you causes you to let out an almost uncontrollable moan.

he lifts off, kissing your clit. “shhh baby, i have neighbours” he brings his hand to your mouth and you waste no time sucking on them to muffle your moans.

almost immediately he gets back to work, as if he’s starving for you—and to be fair he might be.

his constant flicking of his tongue on your clit has you whimpering and moving around under his touch—you’re already incredibly sensitive.

it’s like he’s in a trance, giving you his full attention, until momentarily he backs out for air. “wanna cum on my fingers?” you practically moan at his words, nodding frantically. “what’d i say about your words”

his hand continues working on your clit at a slow pace while he speaks. “yes- fuck wanna cum on your fingers” he smiles at this and immediately brings two finger into your entrance, if it weren’t for his hand that immediately covered your mouth the neighbours would be sick of you.

he goes slow at first, hitting your g-spot with every curl of his long fingers. “you’re so good Matt” you moan as he speeds up. “so fucking good”

it’s clear he liked the praise by the way he dips his head back down, his tongue making familiar contact with your clit.

you’re gone. absolutely spent under his touch.

his pace quickens when he feels you clench around him, his tongue forming small teasing circles on your clit while his fingers dig impossibly deeper into you.

“fuck” you throw your head back. “i’m cl- fuck i’m close” his already fast pace quickens, his tongue now applying a pressure to your clit you didn’t know was possible.

before you can even warn him your legs close on his pretty brown hair as you arch your back. it’s practically impossibly to stay quiet, his pace not slowing down at all as you rock your hips through your orgasam.

eventually he pulls back, not wanting to overstimulate you too much.

your practically out of breath from holding back your moans but his face comes to meet yours once more. “you did so good for me” he kisses you before you can reply, the rhythm of your lips together is comfortable.

as great as it is, you can’t help but feel his buldge through his pants on your thigh, so you do what you’re sure he appreciates and you reach your hand down—immediately wrapping your hand around the outline.

he stops kissing you and immediately drops his head to your shoulder and you fingers continue. “you gonna take your pants off or am i making you cum in your underwear”

he chuckles softly at this, but nonetheless gets straight to work sliding off his pants and leaning in to kiss you once more.

you decide to take initiative, flipping him over and immediately straddling him—the look in his eyes is priceless.

if you could take a picture you would. never in your life has someone looked so incredibly fuckable, but here was Matt Sturniolo, laying beneath you with his messy hair and eyes full of lust.

you waste no more time, grinding your hips on his clothed bulge and kissing along his collarbone—the poor boy practically shivers at your delicate touch. “if you don’t do something i swear to god-“ you grab his bulge now, looking at the boy who’s eyes have just squeezed shut.

“what was that?” its unlike you to be dominant, but it’s also unlike you to fuck a hockey player so really all cards were on the table.

you give in though, crawling down to lick his pre cum through his boxers, teasing slightly more before pulling them down all together—the sight is mouth watering.

he’s a mess beneath you as you look at him, his dick is a good size, longer than it is thick, the way his wetness practically glistens on his tip is enough to have you flustered. “cmon pretty girl stop teasing” he says from beneath you, his hands behind his head as he watches you.

you pull your hair back slightly as you place your flat tongue on his tip, making him hiss above you as he uses his hands to keep your hair out of your face.

almost instantly you get to work, taking as much of him as you can, letting your saliva drip down on his length as you slowly lift your head up and down.

his whimpers go straight to your core, your body already begging for more as you swirl your tongue on his tip.

you pop off almost unexpectedly, and speak before he can even say anything. “i wanna ride you” you wipe the saliva off your mouth as you look at the shocked boy who’s smile grows slowly.

“yeah?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows, unsure.

you nod your head sitting up more now to face him. “yeah” you smile and before he can fully reach for his bedside table you stop him. “i’m on birth control” you begin to crawl down leaving kisses on his stomach.

“and i.”

kiss.

“wanna.”

kiss.

“feel.”

kiss

“you.”

his breathing immediately increases as you line yourself up, his hands making their way to your waist to assist you as you lower onto his length.

you let out a breath as you adjust to the size. “fuck you feel so good around me” Matt practically moans out.

it takes a moment for you to adjust fully, but you begin moving up and down and the boy beneath you is a moaning mess.

you rock your hips a little faster, leaning forward now he places his mouth on your nipple and you can feel the way he moans into you—it’s hot as fuck.

it doesn’t take long for you to feel close, and it’s like Matt can tell because he immediately places his hand in between your bodies and places a familiar touch to your throbbing clit.

you pick up the pace, chasing your high. “Matt fuck i’m so-“ you just moan again, unable to speak.

through his many heavy breaths he replies. “me too pretty girl”

a few more rocks of your hips and you feel his warmth fill you up as your stomach feels the familiar clenching feeling, his hand moving quickly beneath you, causing your second orgasam of the night.

by now your both exhausted, tired from doing so much school and well, from fucking too.

you basically plop down beside him, the two of you out of breath.

“i like that form of payment” you joke, causing Matt to nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck while your fingers begin to play with his hair.

you feel his smile on your collarbone and his hand makes its way across your stomach. “guess i’ll have to get tutored by you more often” he sighs, standing up and placing his boxers back on. he walks to the bathroom and you’re confused for a second, but he comes back out with a damp cloth, and begins cleaning the mess the two of you made.

Matt may be a dumb hockey player, but his pros definitely outweighed the cons.

he offers you one of his shirts which you welcome with open arms as you slide your underwear back on. it’s safe to say this is the giddiest you’ve ever felt after a hookup.

now that he’s back in bed you immediately lean into him, as tired as you are you still want to me close to him, wrapping your leg over his waist.

he rubs your bare thigh as he unplugs the lights and kisses the top of our head. “goodnight baby”

you nuzzle yourself impossibly closer to him. “goodnight Matt”

and with that the two of you pass out. the day completely drained both of you, and with the comfort of each other you were gone.

the next morning came by quick, the sun immediately waking you up. the boy next to you is still sound asleep and as cute as ever but the new day means his poetry analysis needs to be completed—for once you weren’t opposed to cheating.

you get up as slowly and quietly as you can, grabbing the laptop off of his desk and bringing it back into bed with you.

it doesn’t take long for you to complete the last two poems, you make sure to use less big words and get a couple things wrong so as to hide your actual identity.

just as you finish writing the last sentence Matt wakes up, tossing and turning slightly before his eyes meet you.

you smile at the sight of the sleepy boy. “good morning, how’d you sleep?”

he brings his arm to your waist, pulling you into him as you place the laptop to the side. “i was knocked the fuck out. what are you up to?”

“may have just finished your poetry analysis” a grin enters your face at the shocked expression Matt shows instantly.

“holy shit really?” he sits up now, hands still on you.

you play with his fingers. “it didn’t take that long or anything”

he scoffs. “i forgot you were a genius” you just kiss him in reply.

“you need to get ready, you have playoffs to train for” you say, you had noticed his calendar had a practice today when you were analyzing his room last night.

a few minutes later and Matt is ready, it really doesn’t take long at all to be a man.

you sit at the edge of his bed, putting on your sweats from last night.

he walks over towards you, hovering over you as he brushes through your hair with his fingers. “i’ll see you tomorrow night yeah?”

you furrow your eyebrows. “what’s tomorrow night?”

“playoffs” he smiles. “figured you might wanna watch your boyfriend score a few goals”

his confidence never fails to amuse you. “boyfriend huh?” you tease and he just nods, looking for confirmation. “guess as your girlfriend i’ll stop by for a bit” he misses you immediately, a smile still on his face when you pull back. “but don’t expect me to be screaming for you, that’s really not my scene”

“i’d expect nothing less”

a/n: this literally spawned out of mid air but omg so cutesy i want hockey matt in my life rn

taglist: @lolasnoww-blog @tastesousweet @ivypoison @1hvrrington1 @disturbedwoodelf @sturnswift

@junnniiieee07 @ellie-luvsfics @flowernoemie @sturnified @alicejwebster @s7urnfilms @queenofawkwardfangirling @madsdogst @justlivinglive @safara05 @k-312-xx @sluttycupsworld

[grumpygorman]

butter drips fromtender fingers, salty skin forrolling in- on picnicsunday, by the river, lovers on a latemorn swim.

[grapejuicestyless]

Unforgettable

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Y/n Y/l/n is a classic rockstar with a magnetic pull and a bad reputation with men to her name. Turns out Y/n might not be such a bad girl after all and the men she used might have not been the truth.

Pages bursted from every seam of her notebook, littered in scribbled lyrics of failed beginnings, one night stands and the most innocent poetry writings that reflected the opposite of the devilish woman behind the pencil marks.

Everything about her was shiny. Her glittery deep purplish blue eyeshadow and the highlight on the tip of her nose to the glistening sweat that dripped underneath her top.

She was messy, yet so detailed. Every hair out of place seemed to fit perfectly a top her head. The lazy smear of lipgloss and eyeshadow applied carelessly yet laying in such way that it almost looked intentional.

It was that careless attitude that was so magnetic about her. The rockstar exterior she possessed attracting the innocent into her wild web of her craft.

But, despite her rockstar complexion and her love life reputation, the girl had an undeniable talent that could not be ruined by the poor press that swirled her name.

So it could only be fitting to place the most standout woman there into the cleanest band reputation wise. It was humorous, when it was announced. Y/n Y/l/n, joining Harry Styles for his long awaited Love On Tour.

Harry, who had hand picked her from the bunch of bassists waiting to wow him, was immediately aware of her presence. Her look sharp and eye catching, but her talent even better. She had a skill for her craft that nobody else was even able to come close to achieving. It was almost destiny she had shown up, notebook stuffed full of sloppy writing and bass scratched from her frustration.

Truthfully, Y/n hadn’t really longed to be placed into the band. She didn’t exactly enjoy the bright pinks and pop music that blasted through the speakers. She had only gone to the audition because she had been itching to play. Having traveled the world with some of the biggest inspirations, and by herself on a successful world tour a couple years ago, Y/n found herself bored in her home for so long. She was just about ready to go out a preform to a room filled with angry elderly people who hated all loud noises. Anything to give her the thrill of being in front of the crowd again.

So, when she was emailed one August evening, detailing of an audition for a bassist to join a well known artist on stage, she pushed aside her unfamiliarity with the genre.

It wasn’t that Y/n disliked pop music, it just wasn’t her favorite. She’s spent most of her time closer to a soft rock sound, pulling from past inspirations and old sounds that could be reworked into her work. The glitz and glam of the fresh and new sounding pop music was only something she hadn’t really gotten into, explaining why she felt more nervous than glad she was selected.

Yet, her ability to adjust and charm her way through her lack of experience within the genre was enough to keep her going, placing her where she was now. Standing next Harry, under the intense lights of Madison Square in the middle of one of the hottest summers to date.

…

A year had passed, just about, since Y/n first stepped onto the stage, her bass slung around her neck with a tattered strap that was practically molded to her shoulders. She gave a good amount to the band, adding in bass lines that ascended the songs into a better form of themselves. Making sure not to overpower the other instruments, but to lift them up and amplify how they sounded collectively as a band.

“That was good, that sounded great actually!” I turned back, the side of my lip pressed into the surface of the microphone. My hands found their way around the cord, untangling it to gain some more movement around the stage.

“Why don’t we recollect, get some water and stretch out?” I shot a thumbs up to the sound guy, who had been playing around with some switches behind a small barricade farther back in the arena. After the go ahead was given, the lights dimmed to a soft glow on top of the stage and the heat seemed less intense.

“No way, that’s so cool! Where did you find that, I’ve been having so much trouble looking for a new bass recently.” Her voice was slightly raspy, deeper too, I noticed from the dryness that I assumed was itching at her throat.

I watched her toss her head back, lips wrapped around the plastic water bottle until it crinkled beneath her hands and was left with nothing more than a few stray drops of water pooling at the bottom.

Elin, who she had been conversing with enthusiastically, seemed to match her energy precisely, showing Y/n the same amount of excitement over the new piece of equipment. Eyes gleaming with interest and passion over the topic. It felt warming knowing that work felt less like an obligation but instead was a privilege.

A close knit family that brought a dopey smile to my face at only the thought of it. I listened to them and there insane energy inconspicuously, eyes avoidant of the women and instead settled on the ledge between Sarah’s drums and where the trumpet players would stand later that night where the nearest supply of water was.

From afar, underneath the sound in my head of my aggressive swallowing of water, it sounded like the pair were dispersing. The conversation ended with a faint laugh that dwindled out the longer the conversation ended.

It was a true laugh, sincere. Almost a belly laugh but just not quite there yet. The sound so familiar it was instantly pinned in my mind as Y/n’s.

The common misconception about Y/n was that she was shallow, unfeeling and unknowing of basic relationships and proper manners. The media had poorly labeled the innocent woman, her lyrics thought to be too provocative and explicit. Too in depth and detailed that gossip accounts were ready to start this false narrative about the most undeserving person of the hate.

Maybe it was her careless expressions after completing a hard bass line, or her rockstar style that made her such an easy target for the untrue opinions and thoughts. She had that old grungy thing about her that both made her desirable and criticized, yet she made it work.

Y/n was the sun, in my eyes. A bright, young woman with wisdom beyond her years and heart so full it was overflowing with empathy and sympathy. Her lyrics reflected her past experiences, like any other artist. Her failed relationships that left her in the darkness and her distantly timed hook ups to fill the cold loneliness beside her bed.

Truthfully, she was more like the rest of the industry than any gossiper could comprehend. Her writing abilities expressed so freely, so vulnerable that it caused that discomfort, that pit in the listeners stomach forming with each song she put on her albums. The real truth was that she wasn’t some shallow, sex driven girl who dated guys to write about how they did her wrong. She was a loving woman who loved everyone more than life and was overly naive. She dated trying to find someone who could understand her like she understood everyone else. She spoke what was on her mind completely true and unfiltered constantly. Not fearful of the backlash her opinions would bring. That’s what continues to draw me to her throughout our time together.

“Hey, Harry.” Her voice was sweet, laced with honey and dripping in sweetness. I barely noticed her touch on my shoulder until I looked down at her guitar string scarred hands and found myself smiling.

“What’s up, Angel? What’s going on?” I turned my back to her, head thrown over my shoulder to look back to her face while my hands worked on screwing on the cover to my water bottle.

“You know, the usual. Just wanted to tell you I thought that note change during Sign of the Times was beautiful. You should go for those higher notes more often, you hit them every time.” She was completely honest in her opinions, which is why I held her words dear to my heart.

Y/n had no issue telling me what she thought. She was rather quick to give pointers of what worked better and how to substitute those notes that were strained and uncomfortable. Yet, she did it with such a down to earth point of view. She remained humble, even if everyone here knew she had talents beyond all of ours. She acted like she was just as good as the rest of us, like we were equals.

“I know, it’s just hard with so many people around. Don’t want to fall flat and ruin it.” Shrugging, we walked together to the stairs at the edge of the stage.

“Don’t psych yourself out, Styles. You nail those notes all the time. Your range is unbelievably complex. You have that ability to hit the higher notes every time.” She placed her hand in mine, following me down the stairs cautiously as the last one was always less steep than the rest, causing mishaps occasionally.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” We nodded at each other, silently understanding that the conversation was ending but still taking each other in. It almost felt like something was pulling us closer, eyes growing heavier and smiles getting looser. Breathing sharper.

“I’ll see you tonight, yeah?” It was breathy, the way it came out of her mouth. Almost like it was something she hadn’t wanted to say but forced herself to.

I nodded, watching her eyes crinkle before she turned away briskly, quick to find her escape through the illuminated tunnel. For a moment I felt like a fly in a web that was her creation, stuck in place to just stare as she left.

…

The show was unworldly. An atmosphere so intense and the energy so insane the floor swayed beneath my feet. The shows were structured the same each night, yet each one felt like a completely new experience. It was how the fans danced together in a formation that they’d created during Treat People With Kindness and how they’d share different experiences drawn out on their cardboard signs. It was surreal, something I felt lucky enough to experience with some of my closest friends, my band.

It went by smoothly, as projected to. The lights and the transitions between each songs igniting an excitement beyond no other I had ever experienced. Sarah played the drums precisely, hitting every beat necessary as her husband, Mitch, created the familiar tunes that were the songs of the past few albums. Within in the music, Y/n stood perched just next to Pauli, continuing to support Mitch and Elin within her bass playing.

By the time Kiwi had reached its end, I caught myself looking back to catch a glance at Y/n. Telling myself it was only to get a short moment to observe her living in her passion. Really, deep down I knew it was something more, something that had always been there yet I hadn’t had the courage to admit until that out loud.

…

The dressing room was quiet, after the show. The post show blues, as I used to refer to it as. The ultimate high coming back down with the realization that it was all over.

I let myself peel the sweaty chevron shirt off of my body and kicking off my green Gucci shoes. I left on the mismatched bottoms while ruffling through the pile of clothes packed in my suitcase for a shirt and shorts.

“Hey, rockstar. Trying a new look?” My head raised, turning halfway to meet her eyes.

“Yeah, really going for that oiled up 2000’s boy next door idea.” We laughed, eyes closing at how stupid I must’ve looked to her. Finding it funny and slightly embarrassing as the rose tint spread like wildfire across my cheeks.

Soon, our laughs turned into silence, warm smiles reflecting off of our faces onto the others. It was comfortable, lip caught between her teeth and mine pulling at the skin of my bottom one.

“I heard what you did tonight. Proud of you. I told you, you could hit that note change. Honestly, sounded better out there than at soundcheck.” My heart fluttered.

“I could say the same about you. It’s like you gain more power with each show.”

“Stop it, you just might make me blush.” She stepped closer, merely a few inches left separating the two of us. Her breath tickling my skin, her hands clenched by her sides nervously.

Suddenly, she had lost all that confidence that told the world she could play anyone like a fiddle. Suddenly she lost that fog around the mirror that created the illusion of a rockstar super player who moved from one man to the next, without rhyme or reason. She became what we’d all learned of her. The girl who loved long and hard on the people close to her, and the girl who despite was she was destined by the media to have been, had only had a couple relationships past the one night stands that filled her notebook. She batted her eyes, and I held my breath.

“Y/n…” It was a whisper. A soft murmur beneath my breath, but I was sure she’d heard it.

I found myself slowly reaching for her hand, opening it on top of my palm and brushing my fingers gently over the creases that ran along them before letting it fall back to her side. My eyes lifted from where we touched back to her face. Only to allow myself to find contact again. I let my hand slip around her waist, pulling slowly until our bodies were pressed together. The only thing separating our lips was the small gap we’d placed between them.

“Harry..?” She seemed conflicted, unsure almost. Hesitant.

“Is this okay?” It came out shaky, the nerves reaching a point that could only be cured by her acceptance.

“I…I just…” She thought on it, “I don’t want you to believe everything about me. I don’t want to lose you when you realize I’m not who you think I am.” The confession sounded like it was almost painful to admit.

“Oh.” I blinked, “Y/n, angel, no. I would never think that.” Her eyes were avoidant, her body more tense than moments prior.

“Please, look at me.” I let my other hand raise under his chin, pointer finger hooking underneath her chin to raise her gaze to mine, “To me, you are everything. You understand me. You see things that nobody else sees. Y/n, you bring out the best in me. I would have never had the courage to push myself and change that note tonight if you hadn’t pushed me to do it. You have this honesty that makes everyone value your words and you have this power over me that continues to draw me to you. I can not explain it, but believe me when I say you are all I want.” Her eyes fogged with what I believed to be her taking in my sudden confession. Yet, with her realization at what I had just said, she still remained silent and I felt the instant regret growing harder in my heart.

I had been through enough rejections to build a home. Yet, the thought of her rejecting me hurt more than anything I could’ve put myself through.

“Shit..Im sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ My explanation was no use, her hands on my cheeks and her lipstick smearing across my lips in a red hue as her lips pressed hard into mine in a sudden burst of confidence.

My eyes shut quickly, settling into it, only for it to be taken away quicker than I had longed for. Eyes opened in a lustful haze. Yet it wasn’t sexual, but completely innocent and perfect in every sense.

“I love you.” The words slipped passed my lips before I could stop them. A smile growing in a lovesick fashion across her face as my confession Is held in for so long reached her ears.

“I love you too.” She returned the confession, leaning in again to press her lips harder into mine and a heavenly sigh escaping her throat.

It was passionate and loving in a way that I’d never experienced before. The shared feelings were strong, new, vulnerable. A new beginning that both of us secretly longed for.

How funny the public would find it if the news ever broke that their precious bad girl rockstar was actually a giant love bug and an angel on earth. How much of a shock it would be to those who tore her down for her fashion choices and her lack of precautions in the public eye.

She might not be who she was made out to be from the exterior, but the one thing the press had gotten right about the devilish woman who broke too many hearts and dished out too many fights she could handle.

She is unforgettable.

[isoobie]

moots and what they remind you of!

omg sorry this took so long 😢

@boyfhee / she reminds me of cats, bubble tea (even though she hates it), webtoons, kdramas, video calls, late night walks, shared playlists, making food together, baking, bsf tiktoks, sharing airpods, album unboxing, badminton, enoclock, heejay, mirror selfies, best friend dates, cute cafes & big fat HUGS

@weoris / she reminds me of cherry blossoms, spring, rain on a sunny day, ice creams, jungwon (of course 🤞🏻) & train rides !!!

@urszn / she reminds me of jelly 🫰🏻, dyed hair, field trips, sports day, filming funny tiktoks, mark lee n riki & curly haired guys

@voikiraz / mari reminds me of love hearts (the sweet), summer time, park sunghoon ur bf, the word pookie & funny reels

@hoonvrs / saint reminds me of coca cola, funny memes, relatable tiktoks, uncontrollable laughter, accidental voice calls (iykyk 🤞🏻) & HOON

@yeokii / hana reminds me of anyone but heeseung (jokes u remind me of hanni sm), the colour baby pink, angst fics 💔, discord, gaming, cheese corn dogs & floral perfume

@hysgf / mika reminds me of kiss of life, chaeryeong & heeseung, nude colours like beige grey n black, pinterest 👏🏻, black cats & madison beer

@okwonyo / jiji reminds me of mochi, pretty pink bows, compact mirrors, soft makeup, the colour pink <3, wonyoungism, pilates, wonyo & jake OF COURSE

@tyunni / may reminds me of skittles, riki obviously, yuqi + minnie, vintage cameras, sneaking out of lessons together 🙉 & theme park rides

@wonryllis / she reminds me of sweet drinks like milkshakes, halloween, late nights, tulips, the colour beige + purple, fantasy and historical webtoons, cyberpunk core, jungkook (your loml 🙈) & the city tokyo

@wvnkoi / seol reminds me of dancing competitions, fun days out, r&b rap music, mark lee n jaemin, the whole of zb1 n boys planet & the colour deep blue !!

@seongclb / kat reminds me of jayhoon SO MUCH, kdramas, big chunky black glasses, rap music, fluffy blankets 🤲🏻, teddy bears & an older sister!

@atrirose / seiu reminds of a pink girly, milkshakes, strawberries n cream, MINGYU, being a passenger princess 😾, barbie, banana bread & anything coquette !!!

@yenqa / yen reminds me of yunjin, nayeon + jay all combined into one, pretty nature, the colour lilac and sage, vanilla, bows, coquette fashion & stars

@100203s / chae reminds me of tall green plants, all the riize members, the colour green (a nice one like emerald) & wave to earth 🙈🙈

@jjunae / she reminds me of mocktails, summery fruits like watermelons and grapes, leehi the singer, yunjin n jongseob :D, cute decorative lamps & silly diy projects 🙌🏻

@bywons / sru reminds me of coffee, the colours light pink and light brown, seashells, quiet music, daffodils 🔥, JUNG WON (more than hee i think and maybe bc of ur user) & poetry

[valaenatargaryensdragon]

Legacy of Fire (II)

Chapter Two: Departure

Summery: Vaeloria Targaryen begins her journey

Warnings: Cursing, death by sword, death by fire, death by hanging, war, humiliation, betrayal, violence, use of the word bastard, incest, angst, fluff, burning, threatening, future smut, P in V, fingering, cunnilingus, scissoring, blowjob, handjob, anal sex, girl x girl, boy x girl, boy x boy, dragons

Word Count: 2,6K

The moon hung low in the night sky, its pale light casting long, ghostly shadows across the chamber of Vaeloria Targaryen. The room, once a sanctuary where she had dreamt of dragons and heroic deeds, now seemed oppressive, its walls closing in around her. She moved with a sense of purpose, packing her belongings into a simple leather satchel.

Gently, she folded her Targaryen garments, each thread infused with the weight of her heritage. The dragon and wolf pendant, its silver chain cold against her fingers, rested next to her heart. It was a reminder of the legacy she bore, a legacy she had only recently discovered.

Her father, Rhaegar Targaryen, had always been a distant figure in her life, his memory a hazy specter of a time she could barely recall. The tales of his songs and prophecies had always intrigued her, but they had never truly defined her until now.

As she reached for a well-worn book of Dornish poetry, a soft, hesitant knock sounded at her chamber door. She paused, her heart quickening, and then hurriedly stashed the book in her satchel. Her life had become a tapestry of secrets, woven together with threads of deception and danger.

“Come in,” she called, her voice steady despite the turmoil raging within her.

The door swung open, revealing two figures who slipped into the room with the grace of whispers. They were Tyene and Elia Martell, her cousins, the daughters of Oberyn Martell. Their expressions were a blend of confusion and concern, their eyes wide with worry.

“Rhaenys,” Tyene began, using the name they had known her by for years, “what are you doing? Why are you packing in the dead of night?”

Elia’s hazel eyes, so much like her sister’s, mirrored her worry. “Is something wrong?” she asked softly.

Vaeloria hesitated for a moment, torn between her duty to keep her true identity hidden and her love for her cousins. She couldn’t tell them the truth, not yet, not until she understood it fully herself. “I’ve had restless dreams,” she replied carefully, “and a yearning for something more than what Sunspear can offer. I need to find myself, to discover who I truly am.”

Tyene and Elia exchanged uncertain glances. “But why so suddenly?” Tyene pressed. “And in the middle of the night?”

Vaeloria knew she needed a convincing lie, a tale spun from threads of half-truths and crafted with the care of a practiced storyteller. “I’ve heard whispers,” she said, her voice tinged with false concern, “whispers of a Targaryen resurgence, of a new dawn for our family. I cannot ignore it. I want to see the truth for myself, to be a part of this change.”

Elia’s expression softened, and she stepped closer, her hand reaching out to touch Vaeloria’s arm. “You could be in danger out there,” she said, her voice filled with sisterly concern. “You must take someone with you, at least for your safety.”

Vaeloria’s heart sank. She had hoped to slip away unnoticed, to embark on this journey alone, but her cousins’ protective instincts were unyielding. After a moment’s thought, she relented, realising that their concern was rooted in genuine love for her.

“Very well,” she said, her voice tinged with reluctant acceptance. “I’ll take Lara, my trusted maid, and Ser Ian Caerlight, my sworn protector. They will ensure my safety.”

Tyene and Elia exchanged glances once more, finally relenting. “Promise us you’ll return safely,” Tyene implored.

Vaeloria nodded, her eyes glistening with gratitude for her cousins’ love and concern. “I promise.”

With that, she closed up her satchel, her hands trembling as she secured the last of her possessions. The room felt emptier now, as if a piece of her heart had been packed away with her belongings.

As they left her chambers, Tyene and Elia walked by her side, their presence a comforting reminder of the family she would leave behind. They descended the grand staircase of Sunspear, the ancient castle that had been her home, and stepped out into the moonlit courtyard.

The night air was cool against her skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the Dornish sun she had known all her life. Vaeloria felt a mixture of relief and sorrow as she crossed the threshold. Her departure marked the beginning of a journey filled with secrets and uncertainty, a journey into the heart of Westeros where she would uncover the truth of her lineage and fulfil the legacy she carried in her heart.

Under the watchful gazes of Tyene and Elia, Vaeloria took her first steps into the moonlit night, accompanied by her trusted Lara, her loyal maid, stood by her side, her dark eyes filled with determination. Ser Ian Caerlight, a towering figure in gleaming armor, had taken his place as her sworn protector. The road ahead was shrouded in darkness, but Vaeloria was determined to navigate it with courage and purpose.

She turned to her cousins one last time, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “Thank you,” she said, her voice soft but filled with gratitude. “For understanding, for caring.”

Tyene embraced her tightly, whispering words of love and encouragement. Elia followed suit, her hazel eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Take care of yourself, Rhaenys,” Elia said, using the name they had always known her by, a name she no longer possessed, it did not belong to her. This name she did not deserve, apparently the story of a servant's child having taken the place of poor baby Rhaenys was a lie after all and the real one had died the horrible death people shuddered when reminded of. Vaeloria wanted to tell them, but she did not have the heart to throw this truth in their faces, their poor hearts wouldn't be able to take it, not after their father's death, not after everything they've been through.

With their blessings and promises of reunion, Vaeloria, Lara, and Ser Ian Caerlight set out into the night, leaving behind the familiar walls of Sunspear. The path ahead was unknown, a tapestry of uncertainty waiting to be unraveled.

As they ventured further from the palace, Vaeloria couldn’t help but wonder about the truths she would uncover and the challenges she would face. Her heart beat with a sense of adventure and the weight of her true name, Vaeloria, that had been revealed to her, a name that meant the Valiant Queen in the language of her ancestors, a language she insisted to learn from a young age.

With each step, she moved closer to her destiny, determined to rewrite the story of House Targaryen and fulfil the legacy she carried within her. The journey had begun, and Vaeloria Targaryen was ready to face whatever lay ahead.

The night was alive with the sounds of Dorne as Vaeloria and her small retinue made their way through the winding streets of Sunspear. The city had always been a place of vibrant colours, exotic scents, and bustling markets, but tonight, it seemed different, as if it were holding its breath, waiting for something to change.

Lara, Vaeloria’s trusted maid, walked beside her, her steps soft and sure. She had been with Vaeloria since childhood, a loyal confidante who had shared in both her joys and sorrows. Her presence brought comfort to the young Targaryen as they navigated the unfamiliar terrain of secrecy and uncertainty.

Ser Ian Caerlight, the sworn protector assigned to her by House Martell, kept a vigilant watch over their surroundings. His armour gleamed in the moonlight, and the hilt of his sword was within easy reach. He had sworn an oath to safeguard Vaeloria’s life, and he took that duty with the utmost seriousness.

As the moon cast its silvery glow upon the road ahead, Vaeloria could no longer bear the weight of her hidden truth. Lara and Ser Ian Caerlight had been her loyal companions, steadfast in their support, and they deserved to know the full extent of her identity.

Vaeloria slowed her pace, causing Lara and Ser Ian to do the same. Her voice quivered with the magnitude of the revelation she was about to make. “Lara, Ser Ian,” she began, “there is something I’ve kept from you, something that no one else in this world knows.”

Both Lara and Ser Ian turned their attention to Vaeloria, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and concern. The night seemed to hold its breath, waiting for her to continue.

“I am not who I’ve pretended to be,” Vaeloria confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. “I am not Rhaenys Targaryen. My true name is Vaeloria. Vaeloria Targaryen.”

The words hung in the air, a revelation that shattered the foundation of the life they had known. Lara’s eyes widened in disbelief, while Ser Ian’s stern countenance softened with understanding.

Vaeloria nodded, her heart heavy with the weight of the truth. “Yes,” she confirmed. “Jon Snow is my brother, and we were separated at birth to protect us from those who wished harm upon House Targaryen.”

Ser Ian, ever the stoic protector, absorbed the revelation with a sense of duty. “My lady,” he said, addressing Vaeloria by her true name, “your safety and your mission remain our highest priorities. Your lineage does not change our loyalty to you.”

Lara’s eyes shimmered with emotion as she spoke. “You are our lady, Vaeloria Targaryen, the true heir of House Targaryen. We will stand by your side, as we always have.”

Vaeloria felt a profound sense of relief and gratitude. Her decision to reveal her true identity had been a momentous one, and she was relieved that her trusted companions had accepted it without hesitation.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “We are embarking on a journey that will reshape the fate of House Targaryen and the entire realm of Westeros. Together, as a family, we will navigate this path and reclaim our legacy.”

With her secret finally unveiled, Vaeloria, the Dragon, continued her journey northward, her heart filled with newfound strength and purpose. She was no longer burdened by the weight of deception, and her true identity would guide her as she sought to reunite with Jon Snow and rewrite the story of House Targaryen.

As they made their way through the city, Vaeloria couldn’t help but feel a pang of nostalgia. She had grown up here, amidst the splendor of Sunspear, where the shadow of House Martell loomed large. It had been her sanctuary, and her cousins, Tyene and Elia, her closest confidantes. Now, she was leaving it all behind in pursuit of her true identity.

The streets grew quieter as they ventured farther from the palace, and Vaeloria’s thoughts turned to the challenges that lay ahead. She had learned the truth of her lineage, but the world beyond Sunspear was vast and unforgiving. She had to find Jon Snow, her long-lost twin, and seek out Daenerys Targaryen, her aunt, to continue the legacy of House Targaryen.

But she also knew that her journey would be fraught with danger. There were those who would stop at nothing to extinguish the last remnants of House Targaryen, and she had to remain vigilant.

Lara, ever perceptive, spoke softly, breaking the silence. “My lady, are you certain this is the right path?”

Vaeloria nodded, her resolve unwavering. “I must know the truth of my family, of who I am. Sunspear cannot contain me any longer.”

Ser Ian Caerlight’s voice was gruff but filled with loyalty. “We’ll protect you with our lives, my lady. You have our word.”

Vaeloria smiled at her two trusted companions. Their unwavering support meant more to her than words could express. “Thank you, both of you. We’ll face this journey together, as a family.”

As they continued through the night, the world of Westeros stretched out before them, a vast and mysterious realm waiting to be explored. Vaeloria knew that every step would bring her closer to her destiny, and she was determined to embrace it with the same spirit of courage and determination that had defined her life thus far.

The legacy of House Targaryen had awakened within her, and with it came the responsibility to rewrite the story of her family. The road ahead might be perilous, but Vaeloria Targaryen was ready to face it, armed with the truth of her identity and the unwavering support of those who believed in her.

As they walked on beneath the Dornish stars, the world watched, unknowing, as the Dragon embarked on her journey to reclaim her legacy and reshape the fate of Westeros.

Under the watchful gaze of the Dornish stars, Vaeloria and her companions ventured further into the night, the path ahead illuminated only by the pale moonlight. The world of Westeros was vast, and its mysteries awaited discovery. Each step they took was a step closer to the truth, a step deeper into the tapestry of intrigue that enshrouded their family’s legacy.

As they moved through the quiet streets of Sunspear, Vaeloria’s thoughts were a whirlwind of emotions. She carried the weight of her true identity, the knowledge that she was not Rhaenys but Vaeloria Targaryen, the lost twin of Jon Snow. The burden of her heritage was both a source of strength and a shadow that clung to her.

Lara, her loyal maid, remained by her side, her presence a soothing balm to Vaeloria’s unease. She had been more than a servant; she had been a friend, a confidante, and a pillar of support through the years. Her unwavering loyalty had been a constant in Vaeloria’s life, and tonight was no different.

Ser Ian Caerlight, the sworn protector, maintained a vigilant watch over their surroundings. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, scanned the darkened alleys and corners. His every movement spoke of unwavering dedication to his duty, and Vaeloria knew that he would defend her with his life.

Their journey took them through the heart of Sunspear, past the grand bazaars that had once been Vaeloria’s playground. She remembered the laughter of children, the tantalising aroma of spices, and the vibrant tapestries that adorned the stalls. Tonight, those memories seemed distant, overshadowed by the gravity of her quest.

As they reached the outskirts of the city, Vaeloria glanced back at Sunspear one last time. It was a city of secrets and intrigue, a place where the legacy of House Martell had thrived for generations. Now, she was venturing beyond its walls, into a world where the Targaryen name carried both power and peril.

The road stretched before them, a ribbon of moonlit silver leading to an uncertain future. Vaeloria knew that they would encounter challenges and adversaries on their journey, but she was resolute in her determination to uncover the truth of her family and forge her own destiny.

Lara broke the silence once more, her voice gentle. “My lady, do you have any idea where we should begin our search?”

Vaeloria paused, her mind racing with possibilities. “We must head north, towards the Wall,” she replied, her voice filled with conviction. “There, we may find Jon Snow, my twin, and from him, we may learn more about our family’s legacy.”

Ser Ian Caerlight nodded in agreement. “The Wall is a formidable place, my lady. We’ll need to tread carefully, for it is a land of ice and danger.”

Vaeloria acknowledged the warning, knowing that their journey would be perilous. But she also understood that she could not turn back. The truth of her identity and the destiny that awaited her compelled her forward.

With every step they took, the world of Westeros unfolded around them, a tapestry of kingdoms, alliances, and betrayals. Vaeloria carried the legacy of House Targaryen on her shoulders, and as the Dragon, she was determined to rewrite the story of her family.

The night was their cloak, the stars their witnesses, and the road their guide. The legacy of House Targaryen had awakened within her, and she was ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. The journey had just begun, and the fate of Westeros hung in the balance as the Dragon embarked on her quest for truth and redemption.

[lafcadiosadventures]

So, there's this scene in Cousin Bette, which has a pretty striking line:

– On a marché, dit le vieillard en se retirant, et les morts vont vite à Paris !

(Honoré de Balzac, La cousine Bette, 1846)

“The world moves on,” said the old man, as he withdrew, “and the dead move quickly in Paris!”

(tr. James Waring) (given the implications, I would translate the first half of Vautrin's reply as “We have made our move”)

and I was like, critique of capitalism, etc etc. My friend @madmerchant said she was pretty sure she'd read something very similar in Dracula. Was Stoker referencing Vautrin? Was it a coincidence? There's a persistent shroud of the Fantastic surrounding Vautrin, it would not be surprising if someone would have thought of him as a vampire, or an immortal creature of some kind... however:

“You are early to-night, my friend.” The man stammered in reply:—“The English Herr was in a hurry,” to which the stranger replied:—“That is why, I suppose, you wished him to go on to Bukovina. You cannot deceive me, my friend; I know too much, and my horses are swift.” As he spoke he smiled, and the lamplight fell on a hard-looking mouth, with very red lips and sharp-looking teeth, as white as ivory. One of my companions whispered to another the line from Burger’s “Lenore”:— “Denn die Todten reiten schnell”— (“For the dead travel fast.”)

oooh. this lead to discovering that Lenore, is one of the cornerstones of Romanticism. So it wasn't that Stoker was referencing Vautrin's last incarnation, but rather, the same originary poem Balzac hismelf was referencing. The influence of the poem was huge, and epsecially the french went crazy over it. The first translation was published in the Journal des Débats in 1811, translated from English. The newspaper published it, not without adding the poem put in display "the most odious vices of the German School".

It was not until Mme de Saël (she of the North vs South temperaments fame) wrote an article trully valuing the work as the poetic masterpiece it was, that the fever for Lenore started to root on the young minds of a Certain Group of Artists-and their readers- in 1820. Madame de Saël had thrown the gauntlet:

"No french translation, be it prose or verse, could express all the nuances and detaild of the German original."

and one Gérard de Nerval picked it up, offering FIVE translations of his own throuout the years...

The poem collects a German folk story, and as soon as you read the summery you *know* why the more edgy Romantics were crazy about it. Like other German folk tales (as Der Erlkönig) it features a frenzied ride through the forests, and a lover that is not what he seems to be (he is DEATH. The RIde is A TRAP) Embroildled in the poem are some anti nobility aspects:

"(in Lenore, we hear) The powrful and pained voice of a Titan, tormented until death by the aristocracy. (...) In German language, 'Bürger' (the poet's name) is synonimous to citoyen"

(Heinrich Heine)

and a desire to revindicate the autochthonous, popular poetry from the lower classes -the Lenore poem is recolected from a popular song Bürger heard a young peasant singing- as the true voice of a nation:

It will remain eternally true that if we have no Volk, we shall have no public, no nationality, no literature of our own which shall live and work in us. Unless our literature is founded on our Volk, we shall write eternally for closet sages and disgusting critics out of whose mouths and stomachs we shall get back what we have given.

(Johann Gottfried Herder)

So, what I'm saying is, I must read Lenore, and also, it is very likely that that Vautrin line is a direct reference to that icon of the dawn of French Romanticism, something the then elders (cousin bette was published in 1846) would have remembered and understood...

[weeklypoetry]

Foscolo, Alla Sera

Forse perché della fatal quïete Tu sei l’immago a me sì cara, vieni, O Sera! E quando ti corteggian liete Le nubi estive e i zeffiri sereni,

E quando dal nevoso aere inquiete Tenebre, e lunghe, all’universo meni, Sempre scendi invocata, e le secrete Vie del mio cor soavemente tieni.

Vagar mi fai co’ miei pensier su l’orme Che vanno al nulla eterno; e intanto fugge Questo reo tempo, e van con lui le torme

Delle cure, onde meco egli si strugge; E mentre io guardo la tua pace, dorme Quello spirto guerrier ch’entro mi rugge.

Poetic translation (pretty accurate):

Perhaps because of that fatal quiet you are the image so dear to me, you come, O Evening! And when happy summer clouds and the gentle Zephyr are your escort, and when from snowy restless air you throw darkness, and long, into the universe, you descend summoned always, and the secret roads of my heart gently hold.

You make me wander with my thoughts on tracks that vanish into eternal nothing; meanwhile flees this cursed time, and with it, the throng

of worries with which it destroys with me itself; and while I gaze on your peace, sleeps that warlike spirit that within me roars.

✦

Foscolo, my dear love - in poetry only. My guy is wonderful when thoroughly confined to his standard eleven sillables, and starts to become obnoxiously verbose in anything longer than that. Hope you'll forgive me for messing up the methrics in traslation; there's not much i can do about language, and i felt like the meaning was better to carry across than the rhythm. It is to be said that his adherence to the standard forms down to the rhyme - precise ABAB ABAB CDC DCD as it's usual for sonnets - really does add something to the poems. The mix of influences coming from both different art currents (neo classicism and romanticism, mainly) and direct cultures (italian, english, greek) comes in through the content as well as the form.

As his poems often do, this one talks of death, and contemplation of nature. A man pained with sorrows - it's Foscolo, so we're mostly looking at political turmoil, but classic romantic anguish and generic nostalgia are not excluded - takes peace in a quiet evening, taking in his own mortality (as it is death, in the end, that takes away everything). Even then, the poet isn't just sad, isn't abandoned to his own feelings: as every Just Soul would, a quiet anger simmers in his veins, waiting for the right moment.

There's something to be said, as always, on the mechanism phylosphy as a whole - even if it doesn't shine in this poem as well as others (go read De Sepolcri right now actually). Nature can be hard and cruel like it can be soft and summery, but it offers to all the peaceful rest of death, returning in Her. Many call it pessimism, but i personally can't see how being a smell little cog in the big machine of nature would be a bad thing - is it so cruel to be a being who's purpose in life is just to live, and be granted peace to any sorrows?

[pokikichuu]

MUSE | A Wangxian drabble.

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Warning: Major Character death.

This drabble includes: Immortal Wei Ying, Poet Lan zhan, Dead Lan zhan, angst but make it poetic, inspired by poetry (Iamnotapoet), love letter, this entire fic is a love letter, first person pov of wei ying.

Summery: Immortal Wei Ying falls in love with Lan Wangji, a Navy Soldier and poet. His faith catches onto him and he looses his love, down to the ocean. In order to forever engrave Lan Wangji's face in his mind, Wei Ying makes paintings and sculptures of him, waiting for the eternal end where he can get a glimpse of him again...

Word count: 969

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

M U S E

Lan Zhan, my dear,

The smell of soil after a drizzle, the sound of leaves grumbling with the wind, the sight of the sun setting under a blanket of purple and orange clouds, the taste of fresh water after a run, nothing can compare to the feeling of your skin against mine. 

I don't remember when my life began, I don't see it ending anytime soon either. However, I remember one thing, when your eyes met mine, I felt the most alive. 

You were frowning, I was not. I met you on a whim, in the midst of an adventure, but I forgot my purpose when I caught a glimpse of you; your brunette hair flowing with the wind. 

You sat straight viewing the vast ocean in front of you, the sunset in front resembled your hazel eyes. Oh, you were breathtaking. I had gathered my courage to approach you, and with God's wish, I had succeeded. 

And since then, I remember my days clearly. 

At first glance, one might assume you were somewhat of a crude man, even I assumed the same. However, you were as gentle as a lily on a lake, your soft gaze, kind laughs and gentle kisses kept me awake at nights. Even during the sleepless nights, you laid by my side. Then I would admire your lips, your eyes, your pretty scar on your left cheek and you would chuckle.

Your chuckles were my favourite, it still is. It will forever be. 

When I look out into the sunset, I see your eyes. When I make my way to the market and come across the water lily on the lake, it only reminds me of your touch, your fragrance. 

Pity me, for falling for a sailor, a soldier, a poet and a writer. You were all those things, but to me, you were always my friend, my family and my lover. 

You had pages after pages of poems about my eyes, I had a hut full of paintings of your face. How can we be so different and similar at the same time? As if, you were the full moon who only shows up every twenty eight days, where me, the sun, waited to meet you everyday. 

Pity me, for waiting for you still, knowing you will never reach the shore. 

Pity me, for being a widower without ever eloping with you, my love.

My love,

You were the one I would paint with, laugh with, the one I was willing to die with. If only I had known, you would never return, I would’ve drowned myself in you, with you. 

Dying with the earth seems to be a blessing to an outsider, only I know, how much of a curse that is, how dying and lying beside your astray grave is more peaceful than living forever with the thought of you gone from this world.

Why? Why must I suffer? Why must I be cursed with such a power? 

I remember very less, my family, their image is something I can’t seem to recall. I only linger with their voices and some words they have written down; I cherish them. My acquaintances from childhood, I neither remember their faces nor their names. They have escaped my memory; like wind flows through spring. 

However, I can not bear to forget you. Forgetting you is equal to losing the most precious treasure of my life. I can’t bear it.

Slowly, my little hut became your shrine. The painting of you, your details that only I know of, your smile that only I saw, your gaze that only I received, each moment, each fond memory ended up on wrinkled paper with paint made from berries you and I planted together. Your face, body, hands, I captured them in soil from the island I first met you on. 

Tears roll down my freckled cheeks as I sculpt your face, from memory that is as vivid as my dreams of you. The softness of the soil can not justify your soft skin, however I had to make do of what I had. As my fingers go over your jaw, I almost expect the lifeless sculpture to smile and tell me “I love you,” like you used to. Oh, how I wish that came true! How I wish I could sculpt you back to life! 

All I, a hopeless man, can do is wish for something that is not meant to stay mine. 

God gifted me you for only thirteen years, equal to spec of dust in a desert compared to my lifetime. However, how pathetic am I to hold onto that for the rest of eternity? Hold onto a grain of sand and think of it as my desert?

Even the sunset in a desert reminds me of your eyes. 

My lips have gone chapped, by kissing the hard stone that I made into your lips. My fingers have calluses from moulding your pretty face out of the soil. My cheek now has the same scar you had, whilst mine was intentional. All my clothes have the same paint stains as the hundreds of paintings I made of you.

I would rather die than forget you, I wouldn’t let you be the gust  of wind that flows through spring, that blows through my mind in a few years.

I don’t know when My time will come, but when I will get to meet you, if I do, I want you to look at me the same way you did for thirteen years. With your eye-smile, with your blushed ears and with a tight hug.

I will forever wait for that day, while I spend my life recreating you in every art form there is.

Except poetry, as you were the best at that.

[kvhasproblems]

Boy Next Door Part 2

Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist

Part 1 - Part 3

Summery: My whole life seemed to be perfectly planned out for me, the perfect family, the perfect house with a white picket fence, the perfect boy next door… the only problem is I can’t seem to take my mind off my best friend…

Warnings: Severe homophobia, discussion of weight and eating, reader has comphet, like hella slurs, super shity moms (I don’t think anyone has good parents in this show), bullying.

A/N: lol sorry this took so long I was putting off editing. Also I literally couldn’t think of a good reference so I just said Annie Wilkes but ignore how it doesn’t really fit.

Word Count: 2301

Very subtle background Jackie/Shauna and Lottie/Nat

At 15, I stopped hanging out with most of the friends my Mother picked for me. It was early September, soccer tryouts were coming up, and I was stuck eating lunch with Amy, Jessica and Angela. Shauna had gone to join the poetry club, and even though Jackie hated poetry, she couldn't let Shauna do anything on her own.

"I'm glad to see that Brandy's still ugly, too many people lost weight this summer." Angela sighed, pushing food away from her dramatically. I could see Jess immediately become self-conscious of the amount of food on her plate as she stared and moved it around with her fork.

They droned on about boys and diets and other topics my Mother begged me to care about, but I honestly couldn't care less, so I tuned them out, humming or nodding when they looked at me for my agreeance. It was only a few moments later when I spotted her walking into the cafeteria with Tai and Lottie. Van was only really friends with the girls on the team.

"Big surprise, the trashy dyke is still a trashy dyke." Amy preened as the other two girls let out malicious laughter. I felt my heart stop in my chest as my eyes whipped from Van to them.

"Wait, are you talking about Van?" I forced out, the crushing weight on my chest making it hard to breathe.

"I get you're on a soccer team with her, but come on Y/n, there is no way you don't see it." Jess seemed to taunt me.

"Omg, I bet she stares at you guys in the showers." The gaggle of girls burst into more laughter and mean comments, and I was seeing red.

"SHUT UP!" I stood up violently, slamming my tray down. "JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP!" My breathing calmed down enough to hear how silent the whole room had gotten. The room seemed to be constricting my breathing as all the eyes seemed to track my every movement. I swayed for a moment, almost unsure how to proceed, but their words echoed in my head enough for me to know that I was done.

"You are horrible people. Truly horrible people, and one day I hope you stop hating yourselves so fucking much so you can stop making other people feel the way you do." I spit the words into their faces before I grabbed my bag and made a run for the doors. I heard a few sets of footsteps follow behind me, but I really didn't care. I just wanted to be alone to have some quiet.

I almost ran to the girls' bathroom before realizing that it was the worst place to be if you wanted to be left alone, so I went to the next best place. The change room. No one was using it because it was lunch, and the benches brought me a sort of comfort.

I was really only sitting for a few moments before I heard muffled whispers behind the door. It slowly creaked open as blue eyes peeked around the door to meet mine.

"Can.. can I come sit?" Van asked with a small smile. It seemed like all my words tumbled out during my outburst, so I just nodded.

Van came and sat beside me the way she has been recently, not too close but close enough, my knee sometimes touching hers, sending a sort of electric shock through my body.

"Sooo… you wanna tell me why you went all Annie Wilkes back there?" Van asks, slipping in a reference to the movie she showed me last week.

My heart dropped in my chest as their words came to the surface of my mind while I stared into her kind blue eyes that never fail to make someone smile.

"They are just assholes," I mumble out, unable to muster up the courage to tell Van what they said about her. "I hated being friends with them, and I'm just done with it."

"Well, good riddens." She said in a surprisingly good Southern accent. "I guess this just means more you have hang out with me more." She seemed to joke, but her gaze felt oddly serious. She bumped her knee into mine as she spoke, and I tried to ignore the butterflies that seemed to find their way to my stomach.

I wanted to say I was surprised when kids giggled and whispered as I walked down the halls the next day, but I wasn't. I know exactly what type of people Jess, Amy and Angela are. It wasn't until Jackie was suddenly grabbing my wrist and yanking me down the halls to the bathroom that I realized it might be worse than their normal, stupid little rumours.

"Ow! What the heck Jackie!" I snapped while rubbing my wrist. Shauna was going around checking the stalls to make sure no one was eves dropping. Once Satisfied with her search, she stood by the door as if to stop someone if they were to walk in.

"Polly said she heard from Bella, who heard from Alex, who heard from Ted, who heard from Allison, who heard from-"

"Wait, Polly heard from who?" I cut Jackie off, already confused.

"Polly said she heard from Bella who heard from- Oh never fucking mind, someone's spreading a rumour that you…" Jackie stumbled for a minute, looking to Shauna for help.

"That… that you slept with Coach Martinez to make sure you got a spot on Varsity this year." Shauna rushed out all in one breath.

"And so that Tai and Lottie would stay on JV so you could be a star player." Jackie finished for Shauna. If it was any other situation, Shauna would have ranted to you about how even though she works just as hard (and has better footwork by a mile), she's never included with Tai, Lottie, Jackie and I. No matter what she does, she always seems to fade into the background.

But it was not the time, and Shauna knew that it didn't matter what Jess, Amy and Angela thought of her soccer playing because they were trying to hurt me not her. Trying to turn my friends against me, making the whole school think I'm something I'm not. Possibly ruining whatever chance I had of making it to Varsity. My face went white, and my blood felt red hot; it seemed to burn my entire body from the inside out.

"Everyone knows that if you do make Varsity this year, it's because you ruled club this summer, not because you ‘slept’ with Coach." Shauna tried to reassure me with soft eyes and a pitying smile.,

"Plus, everyone knows you haven't even kissed Steven yet so there's no way in hell you'd sleep with a gross grown man." Jackie seemed to regret the words the moment she said them as I push past her violently and storm out of the bathroom, distinctly aware of the whispers as I pass.

I went directly to my first-period English and tried to drown myself in mellow dramatic poetry written by stupid men who could never understand what it's like to grow up a teenage girl in a small town, and at the moment, I wasn't sure anything could be worse.

The rest of the day seemed to drag on in a dream-like state, people's taunting stares and snide remarks nearly fading to background noise like the old lights that hummed in the classrooms. I dragged myself from class to class. Hiding in the bathroom instead of facing the cafeteria.

The final bell finally rang, and I'd never been happier in my life. For once, I actually wanted to go home. I pushed my way through the crowded halls to my locker, determined to get out of here in record speed when I saw her there. Standing in front of my locker, scanning the crowd with her beautiful blue eyes full of concern.

My heart stopped in my chest. I contemplated turning around and making a run for it while I still had time, but her eyes seemed to find mine like magnets. With my brain screaming run, I went up to my locker.

"Hey Palmer…" I mumbled out as she stepped aside so I could get to my locker.

"Hey lady, ruff day?"

"Something like that." I fiddled with my lock, messing up the code so I didn't have to look at her.

"Look, me and Nat are planning on heading to the creek later tonight if you wanna meet us there."

"What makes you think I wanna go to the creek with you and Nat." I snapped, immediately regretting it as I briefly saw the look on her face.

"Jeez, like I said, seems like you've had a ruff day, and I thought it might cheer you up, but ____ a girl for trying." She rolled her eyes, but there was no bite in her tone or the sweet, sickly pity that anyone else who came up to me had. "Teenaged girls are assholes, I think I know better than most people here."

How I got into this mess flashed before my eyes, and my gaze softened at once. I felt like an asshole.

"Yeah… look, I'm sorry for snapping at you, like you said.. shity day." My eyes met hers with a small smile, and her eyes lit up in that way that makes my heart flutter. "But yeah, I'm not doing much tonight so why not." Her smile widened

"Be there or be square lady."

To be completely honest, the creek always scared me a bit. The stories of missing girls and ghosts tales told at sleepovers and a strict mother had kept me far away from there until now. As I pulled my bike from the garage and biked past the perfect white fence that seemed to taunt me every time I saw it, I realized that I had no idea what people even did at the creek. I mean, the older kids threw parties, but I highly doubt that Van invited me to a party on a school night. Especially if this is to cheer me up.

I told my Mother I was going to Jackie's to do a group study for English. I knew that even if she called Jackie's mom, she wouldn't be there enough to answer the phone, the new pills she has strong enough to 'take away the toughest headache'. None of us missed the way that she looked at Jackie as she said that.

The closer I got to the creeks, the more my heart rate picked up, and I found myself almost giddy. The closer I got, the farther away my problems seemed to be. I chained my bike to a tree off the path and stood waiting. Van had called and told me to wait at the north side trail entrance at 7. I didn't know if I was early or if they were late as I stood waiting. It didn't really matter as they came to the clearing soon after, having walked as they lived closer than I did. I had never been to Van or Nat's house. Barely anyone has, and I think that Lottie is the only one who's ever actually been inside Nat's house at least.

"Hey guys." I tried to ignore the fluttering in my chest at the sight of them. (Again, this most definitely has absolutely nothing to do with Van)

"Hey, Y/n, sorry we're late." Van gave me a cheeky smile

"So, spot stealer, you ready?" Nat singsonged; she had no malice in her tone, but it still stung nonetheless. Van elbowed her hard in the ribs before giving her a dirty look.

"Too soon, my bad. It's not like anyone would believe that anyway. If they were trying to ruin your life, they should have come up with something a little more believable."

"Whatever… let's just get moving."

Any tension had melted away the moment Van had started talking about the girl who somehow got stuck at the bowling alley while she was working there that summer. No matter who was in the room, she seemed to enchant her works, making it irresistible to not burst out laughing at the climax of her stories. We'd been walking off the path along the creek for about 20 minutes. As the sun had almost fully set, small peaks of pastel orange slipped through the gaps in the trees.

Van led us to a bunch of large smooth rocks before sitting down. Nat sat on her left and me on Van's right. Nat pulled out a pack before passing one to me without a word. I hesitated slightly before grabbing it and the lighter.

"Since when do you smoke?" Van raised one eyebrow.

"I don't really, but at that party before school started, I sat with Nat out back."

"Oh, I thought you were with your stupid boyfriend all night." Though it came across as light-hearted, the look in Van's eyes lacked her normal sparkle, making the comment have a sort of bite to it.

"He's not my boyfriend!" I was quick to correct; it made my stomach feel achy, knowing that Van thought that. "And he's not stupid. He's just my friend."

Nat met my gaze with a knowing glance before staring at the way the water slid around the rocks in front of us. Part of me wanted to tell Van. But I'd much rather just drop the whole topic in general. Van seemed to catch on. She cleared her throat, digging at the dirt with a stick she found on the walkover.

"Did I ever tell you about the time that Nat got hit by a parked car?" A smile crept up onto Van's face as Nat groaned, shoving her lightly.

[snoopysfriendwoodstock]

summer reading list recommendations? pls?

hi! i’m gonna share 2 lists. books i’ve read and would recommend and books that i am planning to read this summer if u would like to come along for that journey!

books i recommend

raw dog by jamie loftus (nonfiction)

motherthing by ainslie hogarth (horror)

the other black girl by zakiya dalila harris (thriller)

ANYTHING by gillian flynn but sharp objects is the most summery to me (tw sa & self harm for that one)

ANYTHING by megan abbott but if you’re looking for fun, my rec is always dare me. if you’re looking for something sweltering and suffocating and horrible that feels like july heat, my rec is the end of everything (tw csa)

such sharp teeth by rachel harrison (horror. tw for body horror)

wreckage of my presence by casey wilson (nonfiction, memoir)

anything by mona awad but bunny is a very summer book for me! alls well is perfect too.

just like home by sarah gailey (horror)

nightbitch by rachel yoder (horror. tw for body horror & animal deaths)

re-read a series you love! i just reread the hunger games and it was SOOOO GOOOOD

anything jane austen. anything anything anything!

any mary oliver poetry but it has to be read outside or right before a walk

my summer reading list!

beware the woman by megan abbott

tender is the flesh by agustina bazterrica

the ballad of songbirds and snakes by suzanne collins

(hopefully) scammer by caroline calloway (this book may never come)

if i had your face by frances cha

the guest by emma cline

leaving the rest up to chance :)

[newvision]

Poems/books for being seventeen?

Silas Denver Melvin, from Grit

I saw an exquisite pink and blue shell on the sea-bottom. I dove for it, and held it, smooth and hollow in my hand all the morning. I decided it was a lucky charm, and that I would keep it. I am surprised that I have not lost it, for I lose everything. Today it is still pink and warm as it lies in my palm, and makes me feel like crying.

Françoise Sagan, from Bonjour Tristesse (1954) // movie still from Bonjour Tristesse (1958)

Kara Jackson, Teenagers Are Not Exempt From Poetry (read full prose piece here)

Some recommendations of books I’ve read that deal with girlhood or being a teenager (not my faves, but enjoyable. Probably wouldn’t read them again, but objectively literature that might be of interest to you):

Brutes — Dizz Tate

The Virgin Suicides — Jeffrey Eugenides

The Ice Palace — Tarjei Versaas

Teenage Wasteland — Anne Tyler

Normal People — Sally Rooney

My Dark Vanessa — Kate Elizabeth Russell

We Were Liars — E. Lockhart

my notes on each recommendation:

SEVENTEEN: Exactly what being seventeen felt like to me. He has absolutely beautiful poetry on age, Seventeen is the first of those in the collection. I’ve loved measuring my growth by how I relate to these poems. You can download the entire collection for free, just check out his account @sweatermuppet, I’m sure he has a link somewhere (or drop him an ask)! One of my favourite collections, it really embodies the feeling of being young, so the rest of the poems might also be of interest to you. I find myself rereading them all of the time. Love your work, Silas! Can’t wait for more poetry

BONJOUR TRISTESSE: I don’t remember the protagonist’s age exactly, but the author was seventeen when she wrote it. Very breezy, very summery, contains the whole spectrum of teenage emotions, from raging anger to audacious freedom. The protagonist is both astute and very childish. This book is so obviously written by a teenager, and I mean this as the highest compliment. You don’t get adults writing about being seventeen like that. She is seventeen. Seventeen is this story’s essence. I haven’t seen the movie, but it’s on my watchlist. Heard it’s good though!

TEENAGERS ARE NOT EXEMT FROM POETRY: I read this the other day and think it would have been very affirming for teenage me, who felt insecure about reading and writing poetry. Some lines really stuck with me and I think the writer’s youthful voice captures the solace teenagers might find in poetry very well. There is a freshness to that discovery. I remember reading Ginsberg for the first time and life feeling ten times wider even though my English was not broad enough for me to understand his work in its entirety. Discovering art at that age is a privilege, I believe most people will struggle to feel the same awe and wonder in later years. The author of this prose piece mentions many different poems that might interest you!

BRUTES: Read it last year and honestly found it kind of disappointing. Very interesting style, though, as most (all?) of it is written from the perspective of a group of teenage girls, using ‘we’ and ‘us’ instead of ‘I’ and ‘me’. I think I would have liked it a thousand times more, had I read it earlier in life. Fantastic book cover

THE VIRGIN SUICIDES: Very obviously written by a man, but nevertheless an interesting study of teenage love and obsession (there’s an excellent movie adaptation by Sophia Coppola!)

THE ICE PALACE: If I remember correctly, the protagonists are younger than seventeen, but it’s a very moving story about how young people grieve. Norwegian author, which I found very interesting, as I haven’t read a lot of Scandinavian literature

TEENAGE WASTELAND: Not for me, this one! But you might have different taste. After reading some reviews, it seems like people either hate or love this short story

NORMAL PEOPLE: I am not a huge Sally Rooney fan, but I do understand why people adore her so much. I thought Conversations With Friends was a better book, but that’s partly because I found it more relatable. Normal People is a very intelligent story on young love, class differences and the reality of many relationships. The opposite of a ‘happily ever after’ book, left me feeling unresolved and unsatisfied, as I believe it intended

MY DARK VANESSA: I’m not sure if recommending this too a teenager is wise, but it is certainly a very good book. Heavy stuff, though. Deals with emotional manipulation and violence directed at a teenaged girl in form of a predatory relationship. Rarely read something that made me feel so uneasy by manipulating me as the reader. I read it as a teen and it impressed me very much! Be safe, please. If you are easily disturbed, check any content warnings!

WE WERE LIARS: Something suspenseful that will suck you in, a summer-y and kind of light book. Definitely entertainment literature, but there’s nothing wrong with that. Probably won’t change your life, but also won’t bore you. Cool friendship dynamics between teenagers!

[causeilikelix]

During the Rainstorm - Chapter Two

↳ Pairing: Hwang Hyunjin x Yoon Seol (OC)

↳ Genre: Romance, comedy, smut (eventual), slow burn, enemies (idiots) to lovers, non!idol au, angst

↳ Series warnings: See Chapter One

↳ Chapter Warnings: None, nothing serious. Mentions of nausea and anxiety. Hyunjin actually appears in this chapter, so let's start the ride!!

↳ Read on my A03: Here

↳ Masterlist & Summery: Here

↳ Notes: This is a repost of this series and I think a re-upload of the first chapter. I also am taking the liberty of making a name change of one of the characters. Woojin and Minho are switching names/characters.

<- Chapter One - Chapter Three ->

THE BRIGHT TROPICAL sun was bright enough to blind even in the early morning.  Seol pulled a pair of sunglasses out of her bag and slipped them over her eyes.  The warm salty air blew through her hair, whipping it all around her head and across her face.  She tried not to think about the knots that she would have to brush out later at the hotel.  Seol decided that the concept for an open air Jeep with no doors, top, or windows was decent, but in practice she wished they’d never been built. 

Yoon Dayeon and her fiance Kim Minho sat in the front seats, laughing and smiling together about something Seol couldn’t hear.  She tried to ignore the happy and loving looks that the couple exchanged, but she figured she would have to get used to them at some point.  Seol tried to focus on the glistening ocean, the clear blue sky, and the warm summer air.  Maybe Eun Bi was right and being in a beautiful place like this would get the creative juices flowing.  

She took a few deep breaths, letting the salty air permeate her senses.  Blazing rays of sun seeped through her clothes and caressed her skin.  The ocean glistened, sparkling like diamonds under the summer sun.  Seol wondered if she could write a poem about the ocean or the palm trees or the bold blue sky.  However, nothing came to mind.  No words, no comparisons, nothing. 

Nothing yet.  Seol tried to remind herself.  It’s not like she expected to get flooded with inspiration in her first hour on the island. 

“Seol-ah.”  Dayeon turned around in her seat to call for her cousin over the wind.  “I hope you brought a swimsuit!  Our first stop after the rehearsal is the pool!”

“Did you really think I would come to Jeju Island without a swimsuit?”  Seol grinned.  “I brought my cute red one, too.  Surely there’s a cute guy somewhere out there for me.”

“That’s the spirit!”  Dayeon exclaimed, throwing her hands up.  “It’s about time you got out of your funk after that asshole you were dating.”  

“Honestly, he wasn’t worth my time and energy anyway.”

“Didn’t you write a collection of poems about him?”  Dayeon tilted her head forward to peer at Seol over the rims of her sunglasses. 

“Look, they weren’t all about him.”  Seol crossed her arms.  “Besides, I had to have my catharsis somehow and it’s not like my creative outlet is a secret.”

“Alright, alright.  Fair enough.  Did you write the lightning poem about him?” 

“No!  He doesn’t deserve that kind of brilliance.”  Seol scoffed at the accusation. 

“Damn right!”  This cry came from both Dayeon and Minho.  

“What did I do to deserve you guys?”  Seol laughed.

“You were literally born into my family.  Now don’t worry, maybe this weekend we can hook you up for someone a million times better than that asshole.  Minho has a bunch of his friends coming for the weekend.” 

“Oh, what about Changbin?”  Minho chimed in.

“Maybe... but I think he’s too... oh, I dunno...”  Dayeon hummed. 

“Loud?  I agree.”  Minho shook his head.  “In any case, a bunch of them will be at the rehearsal since my bachelor party is right after.  I can introduce you, if you like.”  Minho offered, shooting her a prince-like smile through the rearview mirror. 

“I appreciate it, but that’s not really my priority for the weekend anyway.  My publisher is cracking down on me to write a novel instead of just poetry so I’m going to try and develop that.  With any luck, I’ll be too distracted to care about men.”  Seol waved off the offer.  

“If you insist.  Maybe you’ll change your mind once you see the wedding hall.  It’s absolutely gorgeous!”  Dayeon clasped her hands together and sighed dreamily.  “It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“I hope it lives up to the hype.”  A laugh burst from Seol.  “You’ve only been talking about it for months.”

“It will, I swear!  This is going to be the perfect wedding.  I have the man of my dreams, a show stopping dress, my favorite cousin by my side,”  Dayeon threw in a wink for Seol’s benefit.  “And the most delicious dinner you’ve ever had in your life.  Honestly, I don’t know how this could get any better.”

“Me, either.”  Seol shook her head, turning to watch the glittering ocean.  There were no storm clouds on the horizon, allowing the spotless blue sky to extend as far as the eye could see.  

The road snaked and curved along the coastline, gradually ascending upwards towards a dramatically modern island resort.  The white sandstone and glass exterior reminded Seol of a Grecian villa.  Palm trees and vibrant flowers decorated the entrance.  They surrounded a large silver sculpture with an obscure shape, somewhere between a globe and a mountain.  Seol peered at it as the Jeep wound up the hill and around the roundabout towards the parking lot.  The sun’s reflection in the windows blinded Seol, even with the sunglasses and she winced away from the light.  She reached for her purse to dig for her chapstick as an excuse to hide from the light.  

From the driver's seat, Minho slowed the car and tapped on the horn.  He called excitedly to someone in the parking lot and Dayeon joined in when she saw who it was.  Seol glanced up from her bag but the person on the sidewalk was wearing a hat and looking away.  

“Hyung!”  Minho called again, stopping the car.

“Oh?  Minho-ah!  Did you and Dayeon go on a pre-wedding date?”  The man on the sidewalk responded with a deep, well rounded voice.  Seol glanced up instinctively, but her chapstick had migrated to the bottom of the bag. 

“No, we had to pick up Dayeon’s cousin from the airport.”  Minho explained.  

“The one who’s going to be reading at the ceremony?”

“The very one.”  

“I’m looking forward to hearing which poem you’ve chosen!  Look, I’ll see you inside, okay?  I want to put my bags away.”  

“Great!  See you in a few minutes at the rehearsal!”  Minho called. 

He let off the brakes and continued into the parking lot.  It didn’t take him long to find a spot and by then Seol gave up looking for her chapstick.  She hoped to maybe buy some in the hotel if they had an in-house convenience store.  Minho got out of the car first, making his way around and helping Dayeon out of the car.  He waited patiently for Seol to gather herself before offering her his hand.  Seol grinned at Dayeon, who watched Minho with hearts sparkling in her eyes.  On one hand, the romance between them was disgusting, but on the other Seol had to admit that Minho was a gentleman.  Once Seol was out of the car, Minho went back in for her bags.  He refused to let her take them from him.

“Who did we just stop for?”  Seol asked as the trio made their way into the building. 

“Ah, that was one of Minho’s friends from university.  They were in different departments, but took a bunch of the same classes.”  Dayeon linked her arm with Seol’s as they walked. 

“We’ve been best friends since college.  So, of course he had to come.”  Minho continued.  “I just barely managed to get him down here, though.  He’s had a thing about beaches recently.”

“A thing about beaches?”  Seol quirked an eyebrow at him. 

“Yeah, I dunno.  Something about how they bring him terrible luck.  He hasn’t told me much more than that.  But, Dayeon is a genius and can convince anyone to do anything and talked him into coming down.  He knew he had to be here anyway.”

“It would have been his loss.  That ocean is beautiful.”  Seol determined. 

“I agree completely.”  Dayeon beamed, turning her face towards the sun and sighing contentedly.  

“Are you guys staying in Jeju for the honeymoon?”  

“For a while.  We’re spending a week here before flying out to Greece and touring the country.”

“I’m so jealous!  I’ve always wanted to visit Greece.”  

“The next time we go on a trip, we’ll bring you along.”  Minho promised, falling back to let the girls enter the hotel first.  

“So I can be a third wheel the whole time?  What an irresistible offer.”  Seol laughed, only half joking.

“Oh, come on.  You wouldn’t be alone!”  Dayeon exclaimed.  “You’d have your three bags of notebooks with you!”

“You’re the worst.”  

Dayeon only laughed, unfazed by her cousin’s teasing.  The three of them made their way to the desk where Minho helped Seol check in.  Most of the hotel bookings for the wedding were made under a group reservation.  Surely there was a discount involved, but Seol didn’t know anything about that.  Not officially, anyway.  Dayeon and Minho kept insisting that Seol didn’t owe them anything for the room but Seol was determined to eventually pay them back for it.  Finally, Minho turned around and handed Seol her room keys.

“You’ll be on the third floor.  I’ll walk you up.”  Minho gestured towards the hallway labeled Elevators.  “Jagiya, I’ll meet you in the wedding hall, alright?”

“Of course.  See you soon.”  Dayeon smiled warmly, touching Minho’s shoulder gently.  “Seol-ah, when you come down make sure you’re dressed cute.  Some of Minho’s friends will be there and you want to make a good impression.”

Dayeon winked before setting off in a different direction.  Minho led Seol to the elevators, heaving her backpack higher on his shoulder as they walked.  Seol knew that her backpack was heavy, seeing as it contained mostly books and her laptop.  She didn’t expect to get too much time to do some writing, but she figured that if there was nothing to do after the reception then she should have her computer just in case. 

“Are you sure I can’t carry at least my backpack?”  Seol offered as they waited.

“Oh, I’m sure.  It’s not that heavy.”  Minho shot her a dazzling grin.  Dayeon sure did win the jackpot.  Seol knew for a fact that her backpack was very heavy.

“Well, thank you.  I appreciate the help.”  

“Anytime.  Ah, I asked if they would be able to take your dress and prepare it for tomorrow.  Someone will be meeting you at your room in a few minutes to take it so they can press or steam it or whatever they do.”  The elevator doors opened and Minho waited for Seol to get on before following her.

“Dayeon told you about my dilemma yesterday?”  Seol guessed.

“You were on speaker.”  

“I am... not surprised.”

The walk to Seol’s room was quick but Wooojin kept her entertained regardless.  He talked about the wedding planning and the nerves building up in his stomach.  Sure, he was excited to be marrying Dayeon, but the overall event was still nerve-wrecking.  Seol wished she could relate.  The more he talked about the wedding and his excitement about marrying Dayeon, the tighter she had to grip the bag of her purse.  She swallowed thickly, trying to wash the jealousy down.  

Ever since Dayeon met Minho six years ago, their love had been fairytale perfect.  Minho pursued her diligently before asking her on a date.  Dayeon called Seol after their first date to gush about how much of a gentleman he’d been the whole time and how he was definitely getting a second date.  From the moment Seol met Minho, she knew that he and Dayeon would be planning a wedding in no time.  While there had been some postponements due to illness in the family and a year-long business trip, the relationship persevered.  Now, Seol’s cousin was marrying an actual Disney prince.  Seol would be lying if she said that she didn’t want a prince herself.  Dayeon could have Minho.  Seol wanted one of her own.

They reached Seol’s room and Minho stepped inside just to drop her backpack on the bed and leave the roller case at the end.  When he finally stepped out and the door closed behind him, Seol groaned deeply and fell back on the bed.  The plush mattress and cotton blankets sucked her in.  Her eyes slid shut and she considered letting herself drift off.  Traveling always made her tired and since she had to catch an early flight to make it on time she had to wake up before the sun rose.  Seol determined that waking up before eight or nine in the morning was not for her and should be outlawed.  

Her consciousness was just beginning to drift when a loud knock on the door shocked her awake.  Seol groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes and wishing whoever was outside would go away.  The loud knock came again.  Seol heaved herself off of the bed and moved to the door.  

“I’m here to take your dress to be pressed.”  The hotel employee stated almost robotically. 

“Oh, right.  Um, let me get it.”  Seol folded the lock in the door so it wouldn’t shut and hurried back into the room.  

Seol unzipped her bag and pulled out her dress in its plastic protective bag.  Through the clear plastic, she could see that it hadn’t fared the trip as well as she’d hoped.  It didn’t look awful, but it could use a good press.  She carried it bridal style back to the door and passed it off to the employee. 

“It’ll only take a couple of hours.”  The employee smiled politely. 

“Oh, I’ll be out and about for a bachelorette party.  Will you put it back in my room?”  

“Yes, we can do that.”

“Perfect, thank you!”  

The employee started down the hall and Seol let the heavy door slide closed behind her.  Seol made her way back into her room to rummage through her bag to find something to wear.  Apparently her jeans and simple t-shirt wasn’t ‘cute’ enough for the rehearsal, so she had to find something else.  Unlike Dayeon, Seol didn’t make it a habit to bring enough clothes to change three times a day when she went on a trip so she wasn’t sure if she had anything to wear to the reception that would meet Dayeon’s expectations.  As she rummaged around, Seol found her notebook with the pencil tied to the ring.  She took a deep breath, not remembering when she’d packed it.  Seol lifted it out of the bag and flipped it open to the last page with any words written on it.

“I think I need to see you again... there’s something I need to say... Even though we know nothing about each other.”  Seol’s eyes scanned the next line.  “You and I... after that night, I began feeling things I’ve never felt before and I’m scared.  I don’t know the right thing to do and I want to talk to you.  I think you would know what to do.”

Seol didn’t have the confidence to say that he would know what to do.  She didn’t even have the confidence to say that he would have wanted to talk to her, or given her a second look once she told him what was on her mind.  Luckily for her, the problem had been fleeting and she hadn’t needed to talk to him, to Hyunjin.  The fear and the urge to reach out to him had only lasted a couple of days but it was enough to send her spiraling.  A few of those poems ended up in her book, but luckily no one took much notice of them.  Seol didn’t want to think about it.  Not today. 

Thankfully, she found the sundress she’d brought to layer over her swimsuit and decided it was better than nothing.  She changed into her red bikini to layer under it before pulling the red cotton sundress over her head.  Seol toed on the pair of red flats she brought with her and checked her appearance in the mirror.  She grabbed her hair brush immediately to run it through her tangled strands, not realizing how badly the wind had messed it up.  The pull of the brush against the knots pinched her scalp and she winced.  The ride in the open air Jeep did a number to her hair and it took her several painful minutes to get it back to a healthy level.  When she checked her appearance in the mirror once more, she was glad to see that the simple makeup she’d applied at the airport had stayed.  

She grabbed a small plastic bag out of the front pocket of her backpack and pulled out a pair of earrings and slipped them into her piercings.  Seol hadn’t expected to ever wear the seashell earrings again, but Jeju Island seemed to be the most appropriate place.  She almost hadn’t brought them.  She’d stared at them for several minutes that morning as she put her wedding jewelry in the plastic bag.  Seol couldn’t describe why she needed to bring them, she just knew that she didn’t want to leave them there. 

For a moment, Seol paused, caught by her reflection in the full-length mirror hung on the wall.  She took in her appearance with her long hair, crystal earrings, and red dress.  She took a few deep breaths, letting her eyes fall on her own face, peering closer at her makeup to make sure it looked okay.  Her eyes dropped lower across her chest to her stomach and a hand lifted instinctively to cover it.  Her eyes slipped closed for a moment as she pushed down the emptiness.  A chasm had ripped itself open inside her months ago and no matter how hard she tried, the dull ache within her refused to subside.  No matter how much she wrote or how much she drank, the hurt remained.  

“Stop looking.”  His voice filled her ears and he appeared over her shoulder. 

She met his eyes through the mirror, ripping her attention away from her frazzled and unkempt appearance.  Her face and eyes were red and puffy from crying and from sitting outside in the cold for so long.  Her dress wrinkled where she’d gripped the skirt in lieu of gripping the neck of her ex.  Seol’s hair looked windswept and angry.  She’d only wanted to check and see if her nose was bleeding after something wet slipped out of it, but she got caught up in looking at her sorry appearance.  Heartbreak looked ugly on her.  Luckily, her nose wasn’t bleeding. 

Hyunjin’s large, warm hands covered her shoulders and he slowly turned her around.  He smiled at her softly and without pity.  She wondered why he didn’t pity her when the person she cared about had betrayed her so horribly.  Seol knew she deserved his pity but she didn’t want it.  Perhaps he saw that in her and was determined to be someone she needed instead.  And she did need him.  When she faced him, he lifted one of his hands to gently fix a small lipstick smudge on the corner of her mouth and he smiled when he completed his task.  Hyunjin’s plush lips looked inviting and Seol fought the urge to claim them for herself. 

“You don’t need to see what he did to you.”  Hyunjin’s soft voice filled her heart and helped the shaking within her subside.  She hadn’t realized the extent of her anxiety until he started whispering.  “Seol-ah, don’t look at yourself anymore tonight.  Instead, look at me.  Just me.”

“I’m not sad anymore.”  She declared.  Seol wasn’t sure if it was the truth.  “I just want to forget.  I don’t like that he’s the last person who touched me.”

“He doesn’t have to be.”

Seol blinked up at him in surprise at his words, wondering if he was insinuating what she thought he was.  Hyunjin’s gaze was soft and innocent, and for a moment Seol wondered if she was even physically capable of placing her hands on another man, much less her mouth.  For just long enough, she’d dedicated herself to someone else.  She didn’t think she would need to touch or kiss other men.  But Hyunjin... Hyunjin looked too beautiful to pass up. 

“Will you...”  Seol started but the words died in her throat.  

“Yes?”

“Will you hold me?”   

Seol shook her head and was almost tempted to wave her hand above her head to help the thought bubble dissipate.  She couldn’t believe how desperate she’d been that night.  She could believe how desperate she felt all the time.  Over the course of one night, her ex boyfriend had torn her down and Hyunjin had built her back up.  Something about him scared her, and she did what she always does when things get hard.  When things with Hyunjin began to feel real, she ran.  How could she let herself get hurt twice in a row?  She wondered if leaving Hyunjin there had hurt more than healed.  

She couldn’t stay here a moment longer.

Seol grabbed her small purse out of her backpack and decided she was finally ready to head out for the evening.  She grabbed her hotel key from her discarded jeans and set out into the hallway.  The long hallway was deserted but her room was close enough to the elevators.  She hoped that the inner workings of the hotel were simple enough and she wouldn’t get lost looking for the reception hall.  When in doubt, she knew Dayeon and Minho would always be there to save her. 

The elevator opened up only for Seol to come face to face with the man she’d only just parted ways with.  Minho smiled brightly when he saw her and stepped aside to let her out.  She waited for him to get on, but instead he gestured for her to follow him through the lobby. 

“You’re not going up?”  Seol trailed behind him. 

“No, Dayeon sent me after you.  We’re about to get started.”  Minho explained.  Seol followed him through the lobby and down another hallway.  The ceiling vaulted overhead and modern chandeliers hung from above.   Dayeon sure had good taste. 

“Ah.  I’m sorry I took too long!”  

“No, no.  I’m sure you’re tired from traveling.”  

“Yeah, I’m exhausted.  I’m going to need to sleep for a thousand years after this weekend.”  

“Tell me about it.”  Minho chuckled.  “I’m already tired thinking about it all.  But luckily, I think Dayeon and I will only be awake on Sunday to say goodbye to everyone and then we’ll be back to bed.”

“Oh yeah, I can’t even imagine how tired you guys are going to be after all this.”  Seol shook her head.  “I can’t say I envy you.”  Much. 

“This wedding has been crazy to plan, to say the least.  Luckily, Dayeon is pretty easy to make happy.  It feels unreal that by tomorrow we’ll actually be married.”  Minho grinned. 

“Yeah, it feels unreal to me, too.  You have to bring me some souvenirs and stuff when you go traveling!”  Seol nudged Minho’s arm playfully and he laughed. 

“Of course I will!  Hopefully you’ll get married soon and can go on a nice honeymoon.”

“Ugh, that’s not likely.  I don’t think I’ll ever get married at this rate, but it’s fun to daydream about.”  Seol shrugged. 

“Hey, maybe you could write about that?  I mean, doesn’t poetry come from desire?”  

“Sure, some of my poetry does, as you’ve seen.  However, poetry comes from all different emotions, not just desire.  I don’t think I have enough desire left in me to write another collection like that.”

“True.  Actually, one of my favorite poems you wrote is... oh, what’s the name?”  Minho mused, pausing outside the doors to the wedding hall.  The doors were propped open and the low murmur of various wedding guests and family members filled the air.  Minho stopped conveniently out of sight so no one would see them yet.  “It was in your last book, but I think it was about the loss of opportunity.”

“The chance to learn was lost before the day ended in the east...”  Seol recited the line and Minho perked up immediately. 

“My skin and my heart, like ice as the sky loses it’s sun... Night comes inevitably, to say the least.”  Minho continued.  “Exactly that one!  It was short, but impactful.”

“Well, thank you!” 

“Do you mind if I ask... what happened?”  

“Oh.  I don’t know, I barely remember writing it.”  Seol laughed nervously, gripping the strap on her purse for some kind of stability.  “We should probably go in before Dayeon sends someone after us.”

Without waiting for Minho to lead, Seol stepped forward and into the vast room.  The vaulted ceiling rose two stories up, making her a little dizzy.  A large, intricate crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the room, creating small refracted rainbows on the walls.  A large raised, white-vinyl aisle sat in the middle of the room leading to the raised platform where the altar stood.  Bouquets of white and pink flowers lined the aisle and served as centerpieces on the several dozen round tables set up around the room.  The tables were done up with white, pink, and gold tablecloths and decorated with white and pink china, gold candles, and flowers.  The chairs were draped with white cloth and held in place by golden bows.  Seol’s eyes widened as she did some mental math to see how many chairs there were in the room.  Did Dayeon really expect this many people to show up to the wedding?  Seol didn’t even know that many people, much less invite them to her hypothetical at best wedding.  

Dayeon herself stood at the end of the aisle with a handful of hotel staff who were listening intently as the bride gave them instructions.  A few of the girls Seol recognized as Dayeons friends from school had taken over one of the tables closest to the altar, talking among themselves and waiting for the rehearsal to start.  A handful of guys dressed nicely sat or stood around a table near the girls, also passing the time.  Dayeon sent the hotel staff away and turned to see Minho and Seol at the door.  She waved them over and turned to talk to the officiant, one of Minho’s uncles.  

Seol hesitated at the steps leading up to the aisle, not wanting any attention drawn to her.  Today was supposed to be all about Dayeon and Minho anyway.  Luckily, Minho ascended the stairs ahead of her and stared down the aisle, leaving Seol to trail behind him.  He must have sensed her nerves.  Minho seemed to vibrate as he made his way towards his future wife.  Despite the role reversal, the air buzzed with excitement as the bride and the groom got closer to each other.  The girls at the table sat up and took notice when Minho entered the room, sighing as the real life Disney prince gazed upon his princess as if there was nowhere else he would rather be.  In fact, there was no place he would rather be.  

Against her will, a few lines of prose invaded Seol’s head as she watched Dayeon and Minho embrace as if they’d been apart for days rather than a few minutes.  Minho smiled at her like she was his entire world and Seol turned her attention to her feet to ignore the pang of jealousy that overtook her.  Dayeon’s friends all sighed happily as they watched their friend receive the love she deserved.  For a moment, Seol wished she would have brought one of her notebooks downstairs.  

“Seol-ah!”  Dayeon called suddenly, pulling away from Minho to pull her further onto the platform.  “This dress is so cute, when did you get it?”

“A couple months ago?  I don’t know.”  She laughed sheepishly, tugging at the hem and trying to force it to sit a little closer to her knees.  

“Well, it’s perfect!  I love it.  Alright, since everyone is here let’s get started.  Oh, girls!”  Dayeon grabbed Seol’s hand and pulled her to the edge of the aisle and gestured to the table where a handful of girls sat around one of the tables.  “This is my cousin, Yoon Seol who will be reading the poem at the ceremony!  Seol-ah, did you bring it with you?”

“Ah, I forgot my book upstairs but I have it.”  Seol winced, remembering seeing the book in her backpack. 

“That’s okay, you don’t need to read the whole thing right now.”  Dayeon waved her off.  The girls around the table greeted Seol politely and she responded to the greeting with a shallow bow of her own.  “Seol will be joining us for the bachelorette party, too!  She’s been like my sister since she was born, so be sure to treat her well, okay!”  

The girls responded with a chorus of agreement and Dayeon linked her arm with Seol and led her back over to where Minho and his uncle stood.  Seol swallowed thickly and her hands shook as she glanced out over the large room.  She knew that Dayeon wanted a large wedding, but Seol hadn’t been this prepared to read her work in front of this many people.  For a moment, Seol almost wished she would have brought her book so she could practice in front of people.  However, the urge to scurry away into a tiny hole with a fluffy blanket overpowered that want.  Why had she agreed to do this again?

“After the rehearsal I’ll introduce you to all the girls properly.  All of them are girls from work or friends from college, but I know you’ll get along just fine!”  Dayeon continued, her excited energy practically sparking off of her.  “Minho will also introduce you to his friends!  Hopefully one of them will catch your eye!”

“Why is everyone here for the rehearsal if the party isn’t until later this afternoon?”  Seol inquired, sparing only a quick glance to the two tables.  

“Well, our family can’t be here until tomorrow morning and Minho’s are getting in tonight.  I wanted some support today and luckily all of them could be here!  Besides, once we’re done here they’ll be serving us brunch before we go out.  Ooh, I can hardly wait!”  Dayeon’s bright smile could have lit up this massive wedding hall on it’s own.  Seol grinned.  “Oh, by the way, it looks like one of Minho’s friends has already taken a fancy to you?”

“What?”  Seol started to look over her shoulder, but Dayeon hissed and made her look forward again.  “How?  Who?”

“Don’t look now.  But it’s the classmate we were telling you about earlier.  He is so handsome and tall and really successful!  Just your type!  He also works in your field.  He works at Mariposa Publishing.”  Dayeon whispered.  Seol’s blood turned cold at the name of the company.  

“Oh, really?”  Seol feigned ignorance, trying to ignore the horror settling in her stomach.  No.  It couldn’t be.

“Honestly, I don’t know why we didn’t think of him before.”  Dayeon shrugged.  “Isn’t he so cute?”

With permission to look finally granted, Seol slowly turned her head over her shoulder.  Her eyes drifted over the girl's table to land on the boy’s and her heart sank into the floor.  Seol found him immediately, just as he’d found her.  She didn’t know why she hadn’t sensed his gaze on her immediately, but she definitely could now.  His sharp, attractive features were curved into a frown that created deep lines around his eyes and mouth.  His thick eyebrows were furrowed and his jaw was so tense he could probably cut paper on it.  He had every right to be angry after he woke up to an empty bed without so much as a note.  After all this time, trying to avoid him and pretend as if she hadn’t made a total mistake, he sat right there with a gaze made of daggers.  After all this time, there was only one person who could make the ghost of the nausea she’d had after him return...

Hwang Hyunjin.

~!~!~!~!~!~

<- Chapter One - Chapter Three ->

[justzawe]

Zawe Ashton, the star of new must-see period drama Mr Malcolm’s List, is the October cover

Wowee, Zawe! Miss Ashton is ripping up the Regency rule book in Hollywood’s Austen-esque Mr Malcolm’s List. Just don’t ask her about her own A-list Mr Darcy…

By Louis Wise

On a sweltering Friday night in London, The Soho Hotel is a surprising hive of big names. While the Booker Prize-winning author Howard Jacobson is in the doorway, Aquaman – aka Jason Momoa – passes around the back in a jaunty white beret. And, sitting in a corner of the restaurant, there’s Bridgerton’s Jonathan Bailey, whom Zawe Ashton waves to giddily when she walks in. ‘I do actually know Jonathan,’ says the 38-year-old actress once she’s plonked herself on the banquette next to me, ‘in case you think, “Oh! She’s bold!”’ She is wearing a black wrap dress, her hair simple and straight – all very low-key, except for the enormous ring, liberally encrusted with gems, on her wedding finger. This comes, I assume, courtesy of her equally starry fiancé – and father of her soon-to-be-born baby – actor Tom Hiddleston.

I had wondered which Ashton I’d get tonight – panicked that, what with an A-list partner, a superhero franchise job and a Broadway stint under her belt, she had been ironed out by the Tinseltown machine. But the smiley, huggy woman who has just swept across the restaurant, starting to say ‘Hiiiii!’ from a full 10 metres away, hardly seems to be some Garbo-like recluse. To be honest, the Hackney-raised star is always hard to miss. She can be monosyllabic, like Vod, her gloriously deadpan character in the cult sitcom Fresh Meat, or angsty like her ‘gallerina’ Josephina in Netflix’s Velvet Buzzsaw. Or she can be just a normal, serene, very adult adulterer, like her Emma in the recent West End and Broadway revival of Harold Pinter’s Betrayal – yes, the one where she met Hiddleston. But large-eyed, large-laughed, larger-than-life, she certainly can’t be ignored. Even less so when you consider that she is an actor-writer-director-activist – everything but the kitchen sink.

Ashton’s first ever job was on the kids’ TV show Jackanory when she was six. Since then, she has written several plays, including For All the Women Who Thought They Were Mad; she has directed short films and developed TV series; she had a phase of doing performance poetry (‘before it was cool’); and she has inevitably published her own book, Character Breakdown, which details her many travails in the showbiz industry. This summer, you’ll have spotted her in Maryland, a harrowing BBC drama by Lucy Kirkwood, exploring violence against women. And next year sees her in her biggest role to date, playing the (as yet unnamed) villain in the ultra-feminist new Marvel instalment, The Marvels. If she doesn’t always take the easy route, if she’s always fought to get her voice heard, you get the impression she generally tends to win.

‘I’ve been saying no to work that I didn’t feel was right for me, or right for the world, since I was about 12,’ she says, halfway through a dinner of fish and chips with mushy peas followed by a summery posset. This seriousness is offset by a very daffy and Tiggerish enthusiasm: ‘Excuse me,’ Ashton later says over the posset, beckoning a waiter. ‘I’m just triple-checking that I can eat the flowers on this.’ ‘Oh yes,’ replies the waiter happily – a relief for all of us, as Ashton has already scoffed them. ‘Do you see how I asked that after eating them?’ she sighs. ‘Other personality types would wait for that guy to come along first. I’m like, “Er, am I gonna die shortly?”’ It would obviously have been awful if Ashton had died, mid-interview, done in by a decorative flower garnish – but I rather think she would have relished the drama.

We’re here first and foremost to discuss Mr Malcolm’s List, which has clearly benefited from the Bridgerton effect. An adaptation of Suzanne Allain’s 2009 novel, it’s an Austen mash-up, where the two main romantic leads – Sope Dirisu’s Jeremy Malcolm and Freida Pinto’s Selina Dalton – have a Darcy-and-Lizzie-style romance, while Ashton’s character, Julia, comes across as a particularly hoity-toity post Emma Woodhouse, whose machinations and manoeuvrings end in a sweet self-reckoning. The familiarity of the tropes is offset by the casting, which, as in Bridgerton, is exhilaratingly diverse. Julia is, Ashton smiles, ‘a little Regency terroriser’. She is also, for long stretches of the movie, the baddie, as she strives to punish Jeremy for cold-shouldering her.

Is Ashton on a villain trip right now? She cocks her head. ‘I think that’s probably a phase I’ve always been in – certainly the outsider phase.’ She then tweaks her answer: ‘I’ve always played outliers, and that’s great. I think it’s where you can move the needle the most.’ Yet when pressed as to why she tends to play an outsider, or outlier, she demurs. Perhaps it’s too on the nose.

Zawedde Emma ‘Zawe’ Ashton was born in Hackney, to teachers Paul and Victoria: Paul from Britain, Victoria originally from Uganda. She is the eldest of three and her first name means ‘princess’ in Swahili. The young Zawe sounds particularly precocious, always encouraged to read and express herself; she recalls devouring Margaret Atwood’s The Robber Bride aged 11, which, she admits now, was probably far too young. (‘Is there arson? I remember there being arson.’) During her teenage years, Hackney rapidly gentrified. She does not view herself as part of that wave. ‘I remember when it happened,’ she says. ‘When lots of people who looked like they worked on The Big Breakfast descended on your postcode. They’d be knocking on people’s doors, looking through windows, asking when they were thinking of moving. We called them the Shark Fins because they all had that little shark-fin haircut – remember?’ (The capital remains her true home, although she’s light on current specifics, settling on the description: ‘I’m London-ish.’)

Her parents always supported her artistic ambitions. She signed up for acting classes at the illustrious Anna Scher Theatre in Islington and was soon working professionally alongside her school studies. But the standout family tidbit is a nugget on the internet that says her grandfather Paulo Muwanga was the president of Uganda. ‘Oh gurl, don’t go there,’ she mugs, full Drag Race-style. ‘He was actually acting president [for a few weeks]. I’m not like one of the Obama girls.’ Ashton mostly remembers him as ‘a very old, lovely grandpa’, who died when she was young. But, as a child, Ashton spent many summers in Uganda and still feels close to her heritage. ‘There’s a lot of strength in having a duality,’ she muses. ‘We’re finally seeing that more and more now as something to be celebrated. When I was younger, that wasn’t the case.’

Ashton has spoken about being ‘badly bullied’ at school when acting work gave her a profile. ‘I was this tall, skinny misfit who was unapologetic about the things I was passionate about. I had a sense of who I was and what I was into – and you’re not supposed to have that. You’re just supposed to blend in,’ she told The Daily Telegraph in 2019. The feeling of being targeted as an outsider continued when, as a young adult, she signed up for drama school in Manchester. ‘It was rough,’ she says. ‘They break you down.’ Why? ‘I think they saw my keenness, my enthusiasm…’ Her fashion sense, for starters, was ‘experimental’, she grins. ‘Carrie Bradshaw on acid. I remember, for one of the first club nights I went to in Manchester, I found this long, oversized, stripy silk dress with a massive bow on the side, and I had a huge yellow visor with another bow. Basically like I was going to Ascot in the 1980s.’ It went down ‘amazing’, she promises. ‘Sometimes I’d go to college dressed as a cheerleader.’ A pause. ‘Did I go as Snow White one time?’

She sighs. ‘I don’t know why, but sometimes they really want to wash you out.’ This continued even when she started working full-time. Right after Fresh Meat, Ashton had in mind to create a show similar to HBO’s Girls, which Lena Dunham wrote, starred in and directed, but instead she got lost in ‘developmental hell’. ‘There was just this weird resistance. And bullying. Bullying, demeaning, gaslighting… I was yelled at by one producer because I was questioning something about my own work.’ I venture cautiously that, to some, Ashton might just have been too much of a multi-hyphenate. ‘Yep,’ she says immediately. ‘We didn’t do that kind of thing here until the success of things like I May Destroy You or Fleabag.’

All this has made her extra eager to help others. During one episode of Fresh Meat, she struck up a conversation with a young bit-part actor. ‘I could see he was committed, clear-eyed about what he wanted to do,’ she says. ‘And so I gave him my number.’ Not long after, the actor texted Ashton to ask if she would write him a recommendation letter for his American visa, which she did. ‘And then, 10 years later, I turned on Bridgerton and…’ The actor was Regé-Jean Page. Ashton doesn’t take any credit for that (and she has texted him to check he’s OK with her telling the story) but she does think people should give each other a hand. ‘We don’t fuel the fire of genuine enthusiasm in the UK,’ she sighs. ‘It’s like, “Don’t get ideas above; stay calm; it’s not that good.” I appreciate that, because I’m London through and through – I love that acerbic quality and I love that edge. But it can be really damaging.’

Six years ago, Ashton moved to Margate to focus on her book, Character Breakdown, which is a play on words: a ‘character breakdown’ is the short description of a part an actor tends to get with a script – but it also means, obviously, a bit of personal disintegration. Unsurprisingly, during more than 30 years of pretending to be other people, Ashton has experienced both, as she details grimly and hilariously in the book, listing encounters with lecherous directors, callous agents, scary celebrity stylists and more. We laugh several times about how miserable she makes the industry sound. She also calls the book her ‘novel’ a lot, which I raise my eyebrows at a little sceptically. ‘Well, it’s a fictionalised memoir,’ she admits. ‘“Unconventional memoir” is what the publishing house recommended we call it.’

Margate was, she says, a conscious step back from acting, a way ‘to write myself out of the toxicity’, as she puts it. ‘I didn’t want to audition, I didn’t want to have lattes with people that went nowhere. I just thought, “I have to go and live by the sea and see what all the people who don’t act have been doing for a long time, and how they’ve been making themselves happy.” And then of course it didn’t work out, because I got bloody Velvet Buzzsaw.’ Dan Gilroy’s art-world horror satire, where Ashton’s Josephina ends up in a twisted romance with Jake Gyllenhaal’s cold-fish art critic, is exactly the kind of offbeat work Ashton wanted to do. So she went to LA to film it, published the book, and then got offered Betrayal, which came about after ‘Tom and I had done a reading together of the central scene, at a gala for Harold Pinter’s birthday’. Cut to four-or-so years later: here she is, engaged to Hiddleston and pregnant, too. But that’s pretty much the only time she’ll say his name.

Ashton and Hiddleston rarely speak publicly about their relationship, and reports suggest they got together during the play. Their first red carpet as a couple was last September, then in March this year to signal their engagement. But for the Mr Malcolm’s List premiere in June, Ashton appeared alone, visibly pregnant, and glittering in an embellished tulle dress by Sabina Bilenko. Recently, Hiddleston offered a full three words on the subject: ‘I’m very happy.’ Today, Ashton offers a few more, to the same effect. I congratulate her on her big news. ‘Thanks,’ she beams. ‘It’s wonderful.’ I’d read somewhere that she’d always wanted children. ‘I know,’ she acknowledges, grimacing. ‘I used to talk about it all the time in interviews – it was really unsuitable.’ Has she learnt the art of discretion now? ‘I’ve got to learn it,’ she says, with a groan.

Having a baby is another knotty decision in the life of an actress. ‘You’re told, “Don’t get pregnant” but also “Don’t leave it too long” because then you’re going to be an old maid. I’ve been prehistoric in this industry since I was 25,’ she says drily. ‘The mixed messaging is rough and has to be addressed.’ She hadn’t felt stressed by her biological clock ticking: ‘It was just suddenly this self-permission comes over you that goes against all that messaging.’

I ask about her red carpet announcement, but the drawbridge comes up. ‘I don’t want to talk about my personal life,’ she says, politely but firmly. ‘I didn’t feel like I had to do anything,’ she clarifies, but ‘it felt like [the pregnancy news] happened in the right way. [It is a] really, really, vital moment where we’re talking about women and their autonomy when it comes to their bodies.’ The Roe v Wade reversal had been announced just days before, and she had no desire to ‘be cute’ about it. ‘I’m not into “announcements” or “reveals”,’ she adds. ‘I’m into trying to carry the narrative as much as possible myself, rather than anyone else feeling like they have an exclusive on my body.’

At Anna Scher, Ashton says, ‘you were never allowed to use the words “fame” or “star”. They were swear words.’ She plainly approves – so she’s not a star in any way? ‘Gimme a break!’ Is she a bit like Adele, who has famously kept her privacy quite well? ‘I cannot put myself in the same privacy conversation as Adele. But…’ She pauses. ‘I think it’s like any choice. You make it and then do it as much as you can.’ I conclude by complimenting her ring. ‘Thank you,’ she smiles again. ‘And the wedding plans?’ I tease. She cringes. ‘Please don’t.’

On Broadway, Ashton pursued what she jokingly calls her ‘Zawessance – which no one asked for, by the way’, she honks. She signed with new acting reps she felt more aligned with. ‘I said, “Look: just send me the names of fledgling directors who are from under-represented backgrounds.” I felt that’s where I’d be of most use.’ And she has apparently followed that to the letter, with Maryland, The Marvels and, yes, Mr Malcolm’s List.

Growing up, Ashton loved Austen but there was always an assumption that she would never feature in those stories. ‘You just accept the status quo,’ she muses. ‘There’s this very strange acceptance that is definitely tinged with sadness.’ It’s weird, she says. ‘You don’t necessarily realise how long you’ve been locked out until you see the pendulum swing.’ There is certainly a swing now, though – and when I ask if she worries it could be a trend, she is categorical: ‘This is where Bridgerton comes in – because the language this industry understands is money.’

She recently went back to her old drama school in Manchester to address the students. ‘I can see that opportunities for so many under-represented students are suddenly there. I don’t worry about them the way I worried for myself – and that’s really lovely. Systemic racism isn’t going anywhere fast. But they can imagine themselves in huge franchises, in the new Netflix show, in the lead in West End theatres.’

Persuasion, by the way, is Ashton’s favourite Austen to read. She also adores the Emma film starring Gwyneth Paltrow, and Clueless, its ’90s Californian cousin. But ‘I’m not really a Pride and Prejudice girl’, she frowns. Not into Darcy? ‘No, too austere. People love that. I know friends who are like, “I love how emotionally unavailable you are.” I’m like, “Oh gawd!”’ Those seeking a tidbit could read in that a hint as to what she likes in Hiddleston. But it could also apply to her relationship with the acting industry, which has long been her Mr Darcy: infuriating her, misunderstanding her, undervaluing her worth. She seems to have a handle on it now, although she has said she’ll quit acting a few times. She chuckles sanguinely at this.

‘It’s the same as with marriage, isn’t it? You divorce multiple times in a long marriage: as long as you never want to do it at the same time, you’ll probably be all right.’ She’s clearly in it for the long haul.