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You may like that guy but I like him in a worse and more perverted way than you

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i’m like if an angel fell from heaven and got insanely fucked up from the impact

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once again some more experimental stuff

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I know it’s over for me when I catch a glimpse of my previous hyper fixation and I get heart palpitations

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It's that time again

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Attention, attention. Dropping two little teasers for fics that I have in the works. One is definitely not been sitting in the drafts for almost a year.

I’m a sucker in envisioning Jazz Singer Alcina but I also wanted a Tango dancer reader. (Do you see what I’m concocting here? )

***

Everything and everyone drowns in a veiled darkness. Smoke drifting by. The light of the stage casts a halo around her. Dripping in pearls and jewels, mink fur, and a silky dress providing an angelic glow. You were staring at the devil in disguise. Sharp grey eyes and sanguine lips. Onyx-like hair full of life and shine.

Everyone else vanishes, and it’s just you and her. Slow is the rise of smoke. The steady flow of words and song. Every velvet-like note she produces tickles your ears, and you smile. She has lured you into a hypnotic state, much like how you had lured her with a dance. 

***

😮‍💨, Then there is idea number two that has been sprouting its little roots for about a week or two. I was uh watching Narcos. (Go figure.) Amongst other things that were possibly watched and read.

That I went… hmm. What would Alcina be like if she were a notorious cocaine Queenpin? In which her product gets stolen and our dear reader ends up being ‘collateral’ and a small little scene came to mind—

***

“Are you telling me she is worth ten million dollars of Coke?” Her voice cuts through like ice but is rich in timber and smooth.

Silver-like eyes fall on you, inspecting, carnivorous and predatory like. Different than at the diner. The snap of her finger. You’re thrust towards her. She grips your chin. Her tongue roved the inside of her mouth. You stare up at her, terrified, confused, and queasy, feeling the day's heat seeping through the desolate warehouse's walls— a trickle of sweat. Your legs quivering beneath.

“I’ll keep her as collateral.”

***

Both have a chapter partially written out. I do have to rework some things. Maybe they will see the light of day soon. We’ll see.

This heatwave is killing me. That’s it. Nothing else to see here. Just two small vibes and a dream. 🤭

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Common Emerald Moth

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Margaret Atwood, from a poem titled "Last Day," featured in Paper Boat: Selected Poems

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John Keats, from a poem titled "La Belle Dame sans Merci. A Ballad," featured in Poems

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Alci hands art part 2 😈

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sorry for being romantic, i‘ll go back to being scared of love. give me a second

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the lady d brainmold is unending

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What if I shared a small little snippet of that idea I have been chewing on?

That moment you get a new idea, and it's diabolical but delicious. I want to talk about it, but I shouldn't because I have enough to work on already.

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Light, shadow, and reflection in the heat wave

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I feel like my skin is peeling off from how hot it is today.

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fireflies lighting up a rural Pennsylvania field at dusk

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Caroline Walker Bynum, Holy feast and holy fast: the religious significance of food to medieval women