#And it's poetry that can only really be shared through performance

[movietonight]

I know that original sign language poetry is a movement of the 80s but I desperately want to feature it in my fic set during the 50s and like surely some individuals were producing their own poetry before it became a larger movement right

[ihavetoomanyocsdealwithit]

Yuu has the audacity to ask a question. It leads to some interesting moments  

Jade Leech, Rook Hunt, Vil Schoenheit, Floyd Leech

Jade Leech 

“Jade, can I ask you a question?” It’s not often that the library is so packed that you end up sharing a table but if it had to be with anybody, at least it was Jade.  

Jade wasn’t naturally academically smart. He took a lot of notes and studied in order to come out in the middle. There were folks that thought he was simply keeping his head down, but Yuu found out by accident. She knew Jade was incredibly street smart and people savvy though, no matter what grades he got. It worked in her favor though, as Jade let them copy notes from last year in exchange for not sharing the information anywhere. Not that Yuu planned too, but they weren’t going to pass up such an opportunity either.  

“Of course, I will assist in anyway I can.”  

“Do you have any books that you would recommend for scavenging for local flora and fauna in the woods back at Ramshackle? I’ve tried searching through the library but it’s a bit too vague for what I need.”

If Yuu had blinked, they would have missed the brief surprise and delight on his face.  

“Well,” he sets his pen down, “As the president of the Mountain Lovers club, I’m sure we could discuss that during our meetings. If only you were a member.” he sighed  

“If only Crowley would allow me to join any clubs.” Yuu muttered, “I know it's a requirement for first and second years to be involved in at least one, but he says I have far more to offer as his unofficial assistant. Unpaid is more accurate but what do I know.”  

Jade smiles, the one that matches his brothers. Wide and full of teeth.  

“Leave Crowley to me, dear Prefect. You just meet me in the morning behind Ramshackle. Bring a basket and your camera, oh, and dress warm. It'll be cold for you.”  

He writes some extra instructions on a slip of paper and collects his things, turning left at the library doors. Damn, that was straight to the headmasters’ office too. Jade really doesn't play around when it comes to the Mountain Lover's club.

While Yuu isn’t able to attend every meeting, the Mountain Lover’s club apparently includes trips to other countries, recipes cooked in the Ramshackle kitchen as well as appreciating cultures and crafts made by various peoples which slowly starts to decorate the rickety dorm into something interesting and unique. Jade becomes a different person as a traveler and seems to find joy in just exploring and discovering all the different ways that people create and eat and live.  

After he graduates, Yuu gifts him the book that the two of them created, with pictures and descriptions of all the Night Raven College fauna and flora, their uses, if they are edible, and different recipe and potion ingredients, the regions it comes from, and even snippets of stories and memories they share.  

Jade is not an emotional man, but when he asks you to come with him on his next expedition, his smile is full of joy.  

Rook Hunt

“Rook, can I ask you a question?”  

Rook looks down from his spot in the tree, a camera perched in his hands. “Amazing eyesight, Mon Trickster! I did not anticipate being found. Ask away, but be quick, less Roi de Lion suspects me.”  

“Are there any plays or poetry books that would be good for a beginner? I read a lot back home but I know there is cultural and historical context I'm going to be missing-” 

“I am so happy!” he practically drops the tree, taking both of her hands to kiss the knuckles, “I would be happy to help you. Come, come!”  

Oh, they are going to the library now. Right now. Ok, Yuu should have expected that.  

Rook is always excitable, but he’s mindful as well. Picking out smaller volumes at first, and adding some reference materials, putting a few back as he asks questions about what she has already read or what she typically enjoys. He also writes out a list for audio books and radio performances. Thank the Seven that Crowley finally got them a phone and they could excuse the data usage for school.  

“I have the films I would be willing to lend, but I would ask you be incredibly careful.”  

“Oh, I don’t have a TV or any type of DVD player at Ramshackle. We try and keep the places as authentic as possible. It helps when the ghosts come to visit on Hallow’s eve.” They don’t have wifi either and their electricity runs off a backup generator, but Yuu doesn’t mention that. They are distinctly aware of how rundown Ramshackle is, but they try not to advertise how badly.  

“What dedication you have to your dorm and the history of Night Raven College. We may do so in Pomefiore!”  

And that’s how they end up having movie night basically every Wednesday night, sometimes with other Pomefiore members or even Vil himself refreshing on the classics. Rook would sit close by, quietly explaining certain contexts and even joining Yuu on reading through some of the poetry books. His passion comes out more with his knowledge than his speech in those moments, and it’s...nice. Normally Rook is the most reserved person she knows. He’s family is still a mystery, but she’s learned more about his beliefs and insights into how he perceives life in general. 

“This is how I met Roi de Poison, you know. He enchanted me at first sight, but his mind...he understood my passion for theater, music and beauty. He respected me, once I proved that I loved him for more than his looks and roles.”  

Crazy fan he might have been in the past, it was definitely more of an equal relationship once you saw past the surface level. Yuu eventually started picking a few habits and fashion tips, slowly becoming a bit more refined. Elegant even, she might say.  

When she hesitantly asks for help with other things, it's easier each time. Help with skincare routines, or experimenting with make-up, what colors work best and how silhouettes come across. It’s never been this fun to experiment with her style. It helps that Rook, while thinking certain things definitely work, will be gentle in the things that aren’t.  

“They do not enhance your beauty,” he says, sounding like Vil, “And you are already magnifique.”  

He is the first person that she shares her book of stories with, the precognitions that she has  

“Do you think fairy tales are fiction?” He asks her, quietly skimming over the passages of Snow White. The Fairest Queen is barely mentioned, but without her, there is no story.  

“Living here feels like a fairy tale, but if it is, you’ve made it a wonderful dream.”  

Rook looks at her, a surprised chuckle slipping out. Before he can hide it, his nose crinkles, a smile wide enough to show his gums, and Yuu thinks it enhances all the best of him.  

Vil Schoenheit 

“Vil, may I ask you a question?” 

“At least somebody paid attention when I went over manners. You may.” Vil says, as he adds in some sort of lilac powder. Normally, they wouldn’t have any classes together, but with Yuu acting as an ‘assistant’ towards the teachers to make extra cash, they got to see the second and third years more than even the other first years in their dorms.  

“How do you make time for it all? Between the acting jobs, getting good grades in school, indulging in potionology and homebrew makeup in your limited free time, it seems like you get so much done with just as much time as the rest of us.”  

“Thank you for noticing.” Vil says, looking up from his potion work. “And yes, I do keep a very organized schedule. Every minute is planned and my down time is spent decompressing efficiently.”  

“Is there any articles or techniques you would recommend? Or a template you used?” 

“You could just ask me for help, you know.” he retorts, huffing a bit.  

“I know I could, but I also want to be respectful of what you have on your plate.”  

“Ah, potato...I have plenty of time, especially in this season. I don’t schedule anything this close to finals. Come sit with me this evening for dinner and we will talk goals and progress markers. There is more to this mentally than most people think.”  

Vil is a bit less than impressed when he sees just how much Yuu accomplishes for Night Raven College with no credit and makes a note to talk to the teachers and Crowley about getting her properly compensated or at least. But overall, it goes well, making time for exercise, hobbies, studies and even some time with him. Telling her about the techniques he used and actually practicing them were two different things, and some things are just easier to show rather than tell.  

“Alright, let’s start here.”  

Mindfulness, ironically for somebody outside Scarabina, is important to Vil. Sinking fully into the experience of his daily life, looking at all the colors, enjoying his foods with no screens, or just enjoying the quiet while he removes makeup. His decompress is like a valve that he releases in minutes throughout the day, not hours at the end of it.

“This takes practice. Don’t discourage yourself if you don’t get it every time, eventually it will come more naturally.”  

And it does. Over the months, Yuu feels more productive than ever, even finding time to wonder about her own style. It is a bit embarrassing when Vil enters Ramshackle to use the Guest Room to study and sees her hastily trying to wash off eyeshadow. 

“Oh, spudling, not your color. No, no, here.” He sits, and teaches, a bit harshly at times, but he wouldn’t be Vil if he wasn’t direct. Much like Riddle, he fully believes that people can reach his level, and sees no reason why they shouldn’t. And while Yuu will never be Vil pretty, she certainly feels more beautiful and confident now than she ever has before.  

It isn’t until Vil is reviewing one of his performances that Yuu makes a comment, some offhand remark about the script not quite matching the vernacular expected for the period, that he invites her to sit and review more.  

Yuu doesn’t think it’s anything spectular, it’s kind of obvious, but apparently it wasn’t to the rest of the audience.  

Vil sits at thier usual tea table in the Night Raven Gardens, and slides a ticket over to her.  

“If you have time. I know you recently picked up a few photography jobs in town that would be a shame to miss. Rapport with clients is key, you know.”  

It’s the red-carpet event to a 5th year anniversary movie he did as a child. All glitz and glam, showing just how much they have grown as actors and people since their debuts. It’s a milestone even for Vil, the first and only role where he was played a supporting role that wasn’t a villain or antagonist.  

“What colors are you wearing? I might have something that compliments.” Yuu asks, already going through their mind for anything suitable in Ramshackle.  

“Well,” Vil preens, opening his laptop. “We will just have to buy something together to ensure we match, won’t we? When are you free?” 

It’s so small Yuu almost misses it, but hidden underneath his painted blush is a heated blush, quiet and pink and delighted.  

Floyd Leech

“Floyd, can I ask you a question?”   

Floyd doesn’t even bother looking up from his spot at the table, “Better not be a boring question Shrimpy, or I’ll squeeze ya~” 

“Where do you go to get your shoes repaired?”  

His head snaps up just a bit, left eye brighter than usual.  

“Ace had mentioned that your sole had torn during practice,” Yuu continues, feeling like they have to explain themselves with how intensely he was staring, “But the next day it had been stitched back on like new. There are some fantastic leather boots from the old NRC uniforms that I'd love to use, but I’m trying to find somebody who won’t butcher them or tell me they aren’t repairable just cause there old or out of style, you know?”  

Floyd nods, eyes still searching before ultimately just shrugging his shoulders. “Hmmm...at least it wasn’t boring. Meet at Monstro Lounge at 6 lil’ Shrimpy, bring the shoes!”  

He walks away before Yuu can even say that they have to meet with somebody else, but that really isn’t a possibility when a Leech brother has demanded your attention. Looks like you’ll have to reschedule with Deuce.  

The Monstro Lounge is fairly steady, though Yuu has never seen it slow. Always some sort of deal or exclusive that sets these rich bastards running through the doors, even if it’s just so they don’t have to deal with the lines in the cafeteria or cook their own food.  

Jade waves you in, taking the box from your hands in a gentlemanly manner, and leading you to the side. Floyd is quick to intercept, mumbling a thank you before his long strides leave you almost jogging.  

“Alright, let’s see what we are working with.”  

The dorm is clearly shared between him and Jade. Crisp white walls, a seashell and sea motif on the desk and headboard and some floating shelves that look vaguely like drift wood, exactly what she expected from Octanvinelle. But that’s about all the two sides have in common. Jade’s is organized, of course, but notable is the terrariums on the shelves and a stack of geology books tucked into the corner, along with photos of places he may have been or plans to go.

Floyd’s half is a mess, yes, but it’s organized chaos, like looking at Ace and Deuce’s dorm. High protein snacks are tucked on the shelves, completed 3D puzzles, and...fashion magazines? Huh, he did say that merpeople didn’t really have a reason to wear clothes so land peoples being so obsessed with it would be interesting, especially in different regions or cultures. And the trends are constantly changing. It actually started fitting, the more Yuu thought about it.  

Floyd set the box on the desk, picking up the shoes and bending them this way and that, pressing on the heel or pinches the toe.  

“You’ve taken good care of them,” He says, “The stitches are loose and the nails need to be hammered back in, but the leather is clean and strong. I’d get some new leather laces though, the wax on these has completely frayed from misuse. How old are these?”  

“They're from back when Ezra and the others went to school, but they don’t have a great concept of time.” Floyd raises an eyebrow. “Oh, the ghosts at Ramshackle.”  

“Huh, no wonder it felt like the place was trying to kick us out.” Floyd walks over to the walk-in closet and Yuu has to double take. She would have mistaken the closet for Jade’s! On the left, the clothes are hung neatly on the rack except for the everyday items like the basketball or school uniform which have their own spots hung neatly on the door itself. Below that are clear boxes that seem to hold all sort of tools. Are these hobbies that Floyd has picked up and gotten bored with?

But the right side of the walk in closet is just racks and racks of shoes. Wing tip dress, loafers, even a few kitten heels and red backed stiletos. All perfectly shined and displayed.  

“Floyd, you repair your own shoes?” Yuu taking the box he hands her.

“When you are as tall as me and Jade, you end up having to customize and fix a lot of your own clothes, unless you wanna pay some stupid prices, and standing there while they pin and stuff is boring. I’d rather just do it myself.” He takes out a wicked looking needle and a stand, securing it to the desk with a flick of a lever. “Which pair is your size?”  

“Oh, these.” she says, picking up a pair of loafers and ankle boots. “I can’t afford for you to do this for me Floyd. I don’t have the funds right now.” 

He just leans against the table with a laugh, “Oh, I aint doin’ it for free. Your gonna pay me by letting me keep a pair, specifically those.”

He points to the bottom of the box, a pair of thigh high riding boots from what she can tell.  

“Those are the ones in the worst shape?”  

“Oh, I won’t be able to get them to their original form, but I can lengthen the sole and toe area a bit, add a heel, and have a wicked pair of thighs high stilettos that’ll have even Betta fish jealous~” 

“With your legs, you’d look really good in a skirt.”  

They both blink.  

“Shit, sorry, my mouth ran-” Floyd laughs, something softer than usual.  

“Your damn right Shrimpy.” He smiles, “I do look damn good in a skirt. I prefer dresses though.”  

He takes a seat, motioning for her to take the other side, sets the shoe inside the stand, and starts explaining the process. It doesn’t always make sense but he’s clearly passionate about it.  

This might be a truer version of him, Yuu thinks, seeing him carefully take out a rusted nail to pull out a fresh silver one from an even smaller box. One that isn’t bored or moody, but just...getting able to do something that actually interests him.  

“Hey Floyd. Do you want to go thrifting with me and Kalim on Sunday? I think you’d have some interesting things to say about some of the finds, especially the clothes mart. They literally have a bin of vintage pieces for a dollar a piece.”  

He leans back, and does that smile again. All teeth but his eyes relax, all boyishly charming.  

“You got all the audacity in the world, don’t you?” He chuckles, “I’ll get my shift covered.”  

[eraenaa]

The Prince and the Poet

Aemond Targaryen x Lannister Reader Tag List

Synopsis: It is established that Prince Aemond hates poems and sonnets; it was just a pity that you adored them. 

Warnings: Mature, 18+, Mutual Masturbation, Aemond Writes a Poem, Childhood Friends, Hidden Attraction, Not Proofread

Word Count: 2,900

Inspired by my Original Fic on AO3, The Den of Dragons and Lions

Aemond scoffed and rolled his eye as he watched you completely enthralled by the sonneteer who performed before you. It had been un-endless hours he had to suffer as the court was subjected to watching poets read their works for the day’s entertainment. It was all too boring, all too frivolous, it was an utter waste of time. Aemond could not understand why you would willingly subject yourself to these men's trite and untrue words— whose delusions and desires were projected in their works. Aemond strongly believed that those who write poems and epics are weaklings and cowards. They do not have the courage to go on great adventures and woo their loves, so they can only imagine and write them down on parchment. And you were the sweet, naive fool who brought into their words—declaring their works beautiful and unparalleled. Blinded by flowery verses and empty promises. 

You sigh longingly in your seat as the sonneteer before you recited your favorite sonnet of them all. Your lips silently move unconsciously as you recite your most favored work with him. Aemond, who sat by your side, sneered at the sigh that left your pillowy lips and the enchanted look in your eyes. His gaze traveled the court; every young maiden swooned by the words and looks of the sonnet who stood in the middle, reciting the work that you clung on to. When his torment finally ended, Aemond rolled his eye once more as you quickly stood and clapped your hands, an ovation for the young man who had finished his performance. Aemond did no such thing, only staring down the sonneteer who bowed and savored the praises given. 

“I hope he shall return soon— and with new material!” You exclaimed to Helaena as you two walked the halls, arms linked together, Aemond trailing behind you. It was an old scene, your actions instilled since childhood. You practically grew up in the Red Keep with the princes and princess, a lion fostered by dragons. 

You hear Aemond’s third scoff of the afternoon, making you glance behind only to see the consistent look of annoyance on his face. “I would take it you did not enjoy?” You say and face onward, feeling Aemond fasten his steps and now walking beside you and Helaena. “It is an utter waste of time; why must we spend hours on this frivolity when pressing matters could be attended to?” You roll your eyes at the Prince’s complaint. 

“Aemond, your attendance was not required. If you believe poetry is a waste of time, I do not understand why you came there.” You say simply, pausing in your tracks. Helaena, a silent audience as you and Aemond began your ceaseless squabbles once more. Aemond was silent for a moment; the truth of his actions may not be revealed. “We did not force you to sit there and listen to Sir Liam— if anything, I’d prefer if you did not come; your glares and scoffs were seen and heard, and are very much unappreciated,” Aemond clenched his jaw as he had no response that he’d like to share. His eye traveled to his sister, who had a knowing smirk on her lips whilst you waited for his response that would not come.“I’ll see you both at supper,” Aemond grumbled as his eye landed on you, who bit back her smirk, the prince stomping away as you finally let your smile slip your lips. 

“Must you really tease him? You perfectly know why he sat through the readings,” Helaena said as you and she sat in the gardens for tea. You picking at the candied lemons that you and Aemond would usually fight over. You smile as you lick your finger clean of the sugary syrup. “Yes, I know why he suffered through the readings. However, he is not aware that I am knowledgeable of his intent,” Helaena sighed, “How long will you make him suffer?” The princess asked, already impatient for the day her closest friend and brother would finally admit their attractions. 

“Suffer?” You ask in shock, “I do no such thing! He inflicts his suffering himself—“ Helaena shook her head and laughed. “You’ve known of Aemond’s attraction to you for years! Yet you still act so clueless with him!” She reasoned. “I am a lady! I am expected to act chase and reserve. I cannot just go up to Aemond and confront him with his secret attraction!” You exclaimed with a fake and exaggerated look of scandal on your face, making Helaena laugh. 

“If you are waiting for my brother to acknowledge and confess his attraction towards you, then you must wait— it might take him a lifetime.” Helaena mused, a hint of frustration and pity in her voice, for Aemond had wanted you since childhood; he was just afraid to let it be known. “Then I pity him… he could have had the golden beauty of the realm, but he chose to stay silent.” You say confidently— proud with the title bestowed upon you by lords and ladies, small and noble folk men who agreed that your beauty was as valuable and desirable as the gold your family was known for. Helaena hummed quietly and quickly prayed to the gods that her brother would soon admit his attraction, for Helaena knew that your pride would not subject you to confess your feelings first. 

“Just because you do not understand or care for poetry does not mean they are a waste!” You exclaimed as Aemond picked another fight with you. You were peacefully seated in Helaena’s chambers, stroking your cat's fur mindlessly as Aemond’s own pet lay beside you. You were in no mood to fight with him and battle his views of poetry. “They are! They’re pointless. If you must say something, then say it— why must they dance around the matter? Why must they go on and on about something that could be said in one sentence? Cowards, the likes of them are!” You let out an exasperated sigh, making Aemond smirk at your annoyance. 

He finds you quite endearing at the state, which is why he often takes time out of his day just to annoy you. Relishing at the roll of your enchanting eyes, the sighs that leave your plump, pink lips, and the furrow between your perfectly arched brows. If he were lucky and had annoyed you to quite an extent, you’d stomp your foot like a spoiled child. Or simply wave him off with your pampered hand because you no longer had a word of defense. 

“Because they are poets! They do not wish to come to the answer and their intentions all at once— they create beauty with their words. They are capable of making subjects so dire be of great interest that they, in turn, create spectacles upon it!” You defended but Aemond only rolled his eye and shook his head, the former action he had gotten from you. Ever since you two were young, you would always roll your eyes when you found something disagreeable; Aemond would mock you for it— would mimic your actions in hopes of getting more from you. However, in time, he managed to adopt the same mannerisms. 

“Archmaester Sisco believed that poetry is of great danger,” he said, taking a goblet to his lips. Your eyes followed the way the ball on his throat booed as you waited for him to continue his thought.  “He says they mislead and are obscure and false— that poets are seducers of the mind,” He finished, noting the way your eyes were on his throat. Guessing you’d want to strangle him out of annoyance, Aemond was amused with the thought of you thinking about strangling him. 

“The Archmaester’s proclamation and thinking is old— irrelevant in our times. Even his student, Archmaester Aristedes, disagrees with his views on poetry. He reasons that it is not harmful— it is a form of expression! Cathartic to those who read and write it!”Aemond let another scoff of derision slip his lips, pushing your annoyance into frustrated anger. 

“You would not understand the beauty of poetry because you keep everything you feel inside you! You do not know what great relief it is to say or even write what you desire and hope for!” You exclaimed, and Aemond tensed in his seat. Silence surrounded the room as Aemond could not work out a response. You saw him fisting the arm of his chair, the knuckles of slender fingers turning pink from his tight grip. 

You sighed heavily, “What I meant is… I understand that you do not like poetry and find it pointless and a waste— but I don’t. I am not forcing poetry onto you, nor am I trying to change your views upon it. I enjoy and adore poetry— I just wish you would stop discouraging me from enjoying it. 

“Why do you enjoy it?” Aemond asked after a short while. You try to hide your surprise at his question. “Because… I find it romantic. For someone to take time to depict you with such beautiful imagery and flattering words, to love and admire you enough to dedicate a work of literature to your name… for me, it is the best way to express to someone how much you truly love them.” You could not look at Aemond as you said the words. In truth, a part of you felt silly because your love for poetry was only solidified because you loved a boy who you knew would not subject himself to create such works. When you read your favorite epics and songs, you would humor yourself and imagine it was Aemond who wrote it for you, knowing he would never do such a thing. 

Days passed since your and Aemond’s interaction and you noticed that you had scarcely seen his presence. You would pass by him whilst in training and join him and his kin for supper— but other than that, you could not feel a trace of his presence. He would usually join you and Helaena for tea or would suddenly appear by your side as you walked along the keep. He didn’t even pick fights or tease you anymore. Him growing more silent and reserved. Now you regret speaking— wishing you had just held your tongue and let him continue to disparage the sacred thoughts of poems and songs. 

It was high night, and you sat silently in your chambers, staring at the fire, trying to find ways to approach Aemond. Already missing his teasing presence— the only presence you would muster the patience to endure. 

You furrowed your brows as you heard shuffling at your door. Your eyes catch the shadow of a figure outside. You cautiously and quietly stood, going to your door only to see a piece of parchment being slipped at the slit of the wooden door. Your confession only grew. You quickly took the parchment and opened the door, revealing its sender. Three eyes went wide as you were met with Aemond, who blended in the dark. However, his silver hair shined in the light of the moon. “What are you doing?” You ask and turn to the parchment he had slipped. 

“Nothing— I… this—“ Aemond fumbled for words; you had never seen him in such a state. He was usually composed and stoic. You thought seeing him bashful and embarrassed was a nice gift from the gods. “What is this?” You ask and unfold the parchment. “No! Don’t—“ Aemond bit his tongue as it was too late to hinder you. Your eyes already consuming what was written. 

I’ve known you for half of my life yet; you consume the whole of it I’ve had you near and close to me yet, I only gaze from afar

I do not know how to proclaim I’m not certain how to say it without blame, but you, my beauty, are the cause of my desire and, most of the time, my ire

I know I pick countless squabbles, but I do it because I love to hear you babble about things I have no care for but you just simply adore

We disagree for many reasons, but I’d rather fight you through the seasons You, my beauty, so lovely and carefree my heart could not help but love you, most ardently 

Aemond watched you bite your lip as a wide smile started to spread. Aemond felt heat all over his body— anticipation did not sit well with him. He was ready to meet your laughs at his attempt to make you a poem. Ready to face rejection, but instead of the pessimistic thoughts in his mind, he was met with your sweet, pillowy lips. You were so excited and thrilled that you could not help but kiss him. Show him how you adored him as well. 

What was supposed to be a short and chaste kiss turned deep with passion. Lips dancing and refusing to part. You and Aemond stumbled to your bed, uncaring and ignorant of the teachings of the gods, for you and him had long surpassed your desires, and they could no longer be denied. They were ready to claim without thought of consequences because both of you knew that you’d happily take all punishment that would be presented if it meant neither of you had to stop your actions. 

“Gods, I want you,” You uttered as his lips traveled to kiss your soft cheeks, then trailed downward to the side of your neck. His hands were on your waist and threading dangerously close to your bosom. “Say it again,” Aemond almost begged. Savoring your scent, delighting at the way you feel against him. “I want you, Aemond. I’ve wanted you for years— you, only you.” You sighed as he left marks on your necks, earning quiet moans from you at the new sensation.  

Aemond let a low moan rumble as his cock painfully strained against his trousers, throbbing at your admittance of want for him. It was all he wanted. He thought his deepest desire in life was to have a dragon, but that was wrong. He desired you more than claiming a dragon— his deepest desire was to claim a lioness.

Aemond tangled his hair in your hair, finally letting his other hand move from your waist and cup your breast. Your hand, in turn, went to palm him through his trousers, watching as his jaw clenched and the ball of throat bobbed once more. “We… we must not lay until we are married,” Aemond said, voice pained and filled with impatience. Yet, he still did not move atop you; he kept his hold, but you relinquished yours. “We don’t have to,” You said, trying to push away your need for him to touch you. Aemond sighed and hurried his face in your neck, his lips and breath tickling your skin. “Then how…” Aemond trailed, and a thought passed your mind. “We must not touch each other….yet. However, I do not recall teaching forbidding us to touch ourselves,” You whisper, Aemond’s lilac eye flying to you, dark and filled with lust, mirroring yours. 

Aemond moved to remove his weight from you. You keep your eyes locked as you back away to the back of your bed, resting yourself on the pillows as Aemond kneels by the edge of your feathered bed, watching each move you make with his glazed, lone eye. 

You bit your lip harshly as your hand threaded a path that it threaded plenty of times, the thought you had as you did the actions now watching you. You slipped your hands, and you resisted moaning as your fingers brushed over the pearl of your cunt. Aemond admired the way your breasts peaked and traced through your silk nightgown. The way your eyes were hooded and how your plump lips finally parted and moaned his name. 

Aemond could no longer resist. Slipping his hand into his trousers just like he did every night, the image of you no longer in his mind but now sitting before him, calling out his name.“A-Aemond,” You stuttered as you felt the familiar cold within you. How desperately you wanted it to be, him to make you feel such a way. Aemond groaned and tilted his head to the heavens as he felt his cock twitch; he was quick to reach his peak; just the way you called for his name was enough for him to spill so quickly. 

Aemond closed the space between the two of you, each of your hands still pleasuring yourselves while lips met and wanted to be together when both of you reached your peaks. “You will be mine soon, my heart… mine to pleasure and please, all mine,” Aemond swore against your lips. You nod your head as you fasten your pace. “I’ve always been yours, Aemond.” You said truthfully, the final push for Aemond to come undone; you quickly followed as his moans spurred your peak. Aemond kissed your lips once more and boldly prayed for patience, patience, and restraint to not take you that night.

It was not enough for Aemond; pleasuring himself as he watched you pleasure yourself was not enough, but it had to be for now. Because when morning comes, he’ll demand that you shall be his, just as it ought to be.

If you enjoyed the premise of this story, you might like the inspiration for it!

[madddays]

camera shy

pairing: yoongi x reader (f) summary: after his last Oakland show, you carve out a little alone time with your husband, away from the stage lights and the cameras and the million people who always seem to be around rating/genre: explicit // fluff + smut + slice of life-ish (it’s a tour fic!) + an attempt at humour warnings: smut -- oral + fingering (f receiving), missionary, unprotected sex (they’re married it’s fine), terribly thought-out plot note: hello!!! i haven’t written anything in this format in a long time (poetry is my medium of choice) so pls be gentle!! also this is set in what is the “current timeline” but is of course fictional and i took every creative liberty i could :) also there was supposed to be a little bit at the end that i cut out bc reader was getting a little too cuckoo but that’s where the title came from and i couldn’t think of another. okay. anyway. 

Being on tour is exhausting.

You’re not sure you have the right to complain – you’re not the one performing high-energy shows in sold out arenas every night. But you are lifting your share of your husband’s emotional weight as he does his solo tour. His first solo tour, as is stressed to you. 

And you’re dodging cameras left and right. While it was impossible for you to stay out of the picture completely — the team at HYBE had convinced you that there was no need to hide your presence — being an idol’s wife didn’t really make you the most… sympathetic character. 

So you try to keep the complaining to a minimum. 

“If I have to duck out of one more cameraman’s way today…” you grumble under your breath. Sejin laughs. 

“There’s only so long they can spend in your room,” he placates. “And tomorrow you’ll have use of the business centre again.”

You harrumph. Fucking businesspeople using the business centre for their business shit. Hunkering down over your laptop again, you attempt once more to read over the article you needed to finish editing tonight. You’re finally making a little headway, getting into the groove, and then —

“That’s it!” you snap in English, frantically trying to catch the open water bottle that almost spilled all over your computer. The culprit, a man looking through the lens of his giant stupid camera on his giant stupid tripod, glances at you with a bored expression. 

“Whoops,” he says lightly, wheeling the contraption slightly to the left of where he’d bumped the desk. “Should probably keep that closed.”

You see red. Just as you’re about to toss this man and his equipment out the 50th story window, your husband appears. 

“Jagiya,” Yoongi murmurs to you, placing a grounding hand at the side of your face. You instantly relax about fifty percent. “I’m sorry, just the rest of the afternoon.”

You look up at him, at his soft pleading face. He’s turned away from the filming crew, hiding both his expression and yours. You relax the rest of the way, resting in his palm, a little guilt creeping in. 

It’s not his fault. Obviously, everything was going to be filmed — a BTS member’s first solo tour. There was going to be a documentary, and like it or not, you were going to be in it. As marginally as possible, everyone had insisted, but you couldn’t afford to look bad. Unfortunate that the filming crew was full of a bunch of dicks who didn’t give a shit about anyone who wasn’t the star. “No,” you shake your head, “I’m sorry. I know you hate this as much as I do, probably more. I’ll try to be good.”

At this, Yoongi smiles, shoulders jerking with a laugh. “I’m not asking for a miracle,” he teases. “Just a little patience.” You roll your eyes. You can behave. 

Just then, the same nimrod shoots a look at you, almost goading, as Sejin picks up your laptop and its accessories so the Christopher Nolan wannabe can put some more douchebag equipment where it just was. You look Yoongi straight in the eyes, dead serious. “If that man crosses me one more time, I’m going to kill him. And I’m going to film it with his stupid fucking camera.”

--------------- xxx ---------------

Most people expect you to be ecstatic about the proximity to free tickets that being married to Yoongi brings. And you love watching him perform. Up on the stage, in his element. He’s never more radiant than when he’s singing and rapping, leaning in close to the edge of the stage so he can look into the fans’ eyes — gloss, a fitting name for the shining star you see giving his all. 

And the confidence is incredibly sexy. So you have a competency kink, sue you. 

But god is it tiring being there. Even in the nosebleeds, or in the VIP box. You can’t exactly abandon Yoongi afterwards, so you have to make your way discreetly backstage with the security team, and then you wait through the undressing and the debriefing and the security checks and the filming. Sometimes the media circus. Only then can you sneak into a car with him and head back to the hotel. 

So you stay behind tonight. It’s the last day of the American leg, and you’ve already seen a few spectacular shows. You have your own life, your own responsibilities. Which includes deadlines. 

You were able to come with Yoongi for this leg of the tour because you’d promised your boss an exclusive — first dibs on Agust D’s experience touring in the U.S. While you wouldn’t be allowed to take part in the spread (a very clear conflict of interest, no bueno) you’re excited for it. The potential of the photoshoot alone is making your head spin. 

But part of the deal was also to keep working. The list of articles your Senior Editor ass has to go over is slowly dwindling, this feature on Korea’s impact on global fashion getting to the finish line. 

“Yes!” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in the now blessedly empty hotel room. Email with the finished article sent, you roll your chair to look straight into the little camera that’s trained on the desk Yoongi’s claimed and flip it the bird. 

Job done and borderline invasive filming (it’s only on when Yoongi decides to get some working shots for them, but still) disrespected, there’s not much left to do but wait. 

When the third time cycling through all your social media apps doesn’t provide any groundbreaking entertainment, you decide to call down to reception for some reading material. It’s not technically work if you’re just reading a dozen trashy ‘Who Wore It Best?’ segments. “Anne Hathaway, hwaiting!” you mutter to yourself.

--------------- xxx ---------------

A couple hours later, you’re still thoroughly immersed in your magazines and your music, completely missing the cacophony in the hallway. The knock on your door startles you so thoroughly you hit your head against the headboard. 

“Unnie, are you okay?” asks Ari, one of the stylists. “I was coming to call you to eat!”

“Oh, you’re all back! One sec!” You scramble off the bed, excited to see the aftermath of the show. You barely remember to put on a pair of pants before rushing out the door, Ari’s surprised face greeting you. “Thanks, Ari-yah,” you grin, locking arms with her. “How was the show?”

“It was great! Oppa is always good, but tonight he was especially energetic.” Her face screws up a little. “He ripped another one of the jackets, though.”

An inconvenience to her, but you don’t share the irritation. Yoongi’s broad shoulders busting his clothes, yum. “Oh,” you say anyway, your sympathy unconvincing, “that’s annoying.” Ari snorts.

“Sure. At least it’s new costumes for the next leg. We’ll refit them.”

You practically vibrate with excitement at that. “I haven’t seen them yet! I’m sure you all did an awesome job!” 

She blushes. “I think it’ll be good! They’re not totally finalized yet, but I’ll send you a ton of pictures.” Her eye drops in a wink, making you giggle delightedly. 

Dinner is a buffet in one of the conference rooms of your beloved business centre. One of the security team members escorts you down with a group of the staff, but most people had gone down earlier, apparently very hungry. Yoongi among them. As you approach the doors, you hear someone complaining to him that they should’ve done this at a restaurant and where is his sense of celebration.

“Come on,” you hear him grumble. “It’s not like the entire tour is over. We can all go out tomorrow.”

You snort. “And then tomorrow you’ll say ‘tomorrow never comes’.” If it were happening to someone else, you’d never let them live down how quickly their husband’s head snapped towards them, but you make an exception because yours is so cute. 

Despite his enthusiastic surprise, he doesn’t miss a beat. “Great, now I have to come up with a new excuse. Thanks for that,” he rolls his eyes, but immediately swaps the empty plate you grab with the one he was filling up for himself, no room to argue. Your giddy mood sours a little when you catch sight of the filming crew again. 

Yoongi holds your hand over his bouncing knee and the two of you sneak food off and onto each other’s plates. The mood is bright and light, despite everyone’s obvious exhaustion (at least three people by your count are in danger of falling asleep into their food). You expect to see an extended shot of the staff and crew laughing and eating, a flushed Yoongi being plied with praise and encouragement, under some sort of pensive voiceover. 

And you’re right, because right after he’s done eating they whisk Yoongi away to do what is sure to be a thorough recount of his adventure in the States. You’re a little jealous that they get to hear all about it before you do. Fuckers. 

As the room starts to clear out, you bid everyone a good night and trudge back up to your room, planning to crawl into bed and wait for your husband. 

But when you open the door, he’s already there. Your immediate thought is that the air conditioning is up too high for him to leave his hair damp like that. Your second thought is how pretty he looks — sharp eyes focused on his legal pad, sinful hand flying across the page trying to get down whatever lyrics are thundering through his brain, cheeks flushed and pouty mouth puckered. He must’ve gone straight from the shower to his desk.

After a few moments he must sense your eyes on him, because his writing falters and he turns to you, a soft smile breaking out across his face. Your heart flutters. 

“Hey!” he says happily, pulling out his earbuds. “I was waiting for you.”

“Clearly,” you laugh, moving to perch on the table in front of him. He pulls your feet into his lap, putting his papers aside. You resist the urge to sneak a peek, instead asking “did I interrupt something?”

“No,” he assures you. “I got everything important down. You were right on time.” His fingers are drumming on your thigh like there’s still something on his mind, but you’re feeling greedy tonight, so you let it slide.

“Apparently, I was late.” His hair is cold when you ruffle it. “Let me dry your hair. You still have schedules to make it to, can’t get sick.”

Under the gentle whirr of the expensive hair dryer and your hands in his soft locks, you coax out some of the details of the night from him. Stuff those production company jerks would never get to hear, wouldn’t think to ask about. How he was so glad to never have to wear one of his costumes ever again. The way he didn’t even feel the heat of the stage lights, the thing that drenched him in sweat (aside from the jumping and running around) was nerves. You laugh when he tells you about the girl in the pit who danced so hard the veil of her wedding dress outfit ended up on one of the lights. Your heart swells, swells, swells.

There’s still a restlessness about him when you’re done. You suggest he goes back to his desk but he shakes his head. “Let’s go to bed.” The first time in ages you can do so without the weight of anticipation and stress over him – hopefully it will settle whatever is making him twitchy.

There’s a spark of arousal in your belly when you feel his eyes on your backside as you change into your pyjamas. A breath stutters out of your mouth when you meet his sleepy gaze, getting a soft smirk in response. “Come here,” he says softly. “I missed you.”

In your eagerness to get to him, you collide with the bed a little too fast. “Oof,” you huff, making him laugh. He sits up to haul you into his side, another surprised noise leaving your mouth.

“Dummy,” he teases. “Not even safe in a cushy hotel room.” You kick at his shin.

“Quit giving me bedroom eyes then.” You see his eyes sparkle and mouth start to open and smack a hand over it. “Yes, we are in a bedroom, ha ha, you are very funny.”

He moves your hand away, unimpressed. “It is a funny joke,” he grumbles. Truly funny thing is, if he’d said it, you would’ve laughed. You’re down horrendously and he knows it, although you do your best to keep his ego in check at least some of the time.

Giggling anyway, you let him press you closer to his chest. You especially love him like this, warm and soft and silly and all to yourself. 

Yoongi turns over onto his good shoulder to face you, tipping your chin up. His gaze flits across your face, tender and deep, like he can see everything you’re thinking. You hope he can. You think he does. “I love you,” he murmurs, and he kisses you.

Your eyes flutter closed, relishing in this closeness. The way his mouth moves over yours, slow and deliberate. 

This isn’t a kiss just because, or goodnight or I’ll be right back, this is a kiss because I want to be touching you. I want to breathe you in. I want to forget everything but you.

You let out a sigh. Yoongi hums against you, a rumble you feel in his chest, and slides his tongue to meet yours. He shifts some more so he’s over you, braced on his forearm. It’s urgent now, but the way he licks into your mouth is languid, a creeping heat. 

He knows just how you like it, just how to drive you wild. Where you push and pull and grasp at him, he slows you, pins you down, makes you feel every second like it’s an hour.

When he pulls away, panting slightly, you realize – it’s been a long time. The last time the two of you had had a chance to get horizontal (or otherwise) had been the week you left Korea. More than a month ago. No wonder you’re so desperate for him, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling him back in, feeling his smug little grin against your mouth. 

He grabs at your hip with his other hand, and just that contact, his hand deliberate against the bare skin between your shirt and pyjama shorts, is enough to have you gasping.

He pulls away again with a low chuckle. “I’ve been neglecting you, my love,” he noses against your jaw. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver.

“You’ve been such a good wife,” he continues, sitting back on his heels, raking his gaze over you. His tone is soft but his eyes are so, so hungry. You reach for him, desperate to be back under his body, but he just smiles, closed mouth and innocent. “Shh, let your husband take care of you.”

He climbs back over you, settles his weight on you like he knows you like and hovers an inch from your face. His hair, longer again, hangs in his eyes, but you can see the mischievous shine in them. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Yoongi,” you whine. His smile grows even bigger, but before you can crush your lips to his he leans down and kisses you, slow and searing again. 

“I’ll make you feel good,” he promises, mouthing down your neck. You know he’s going to leave marks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. It’s been so long since you’ve felt properly like his. “Smell so sweet,” he sighs, opening the top button of your sleep shirt and burying his face between your tits. “Sweet, sweet girl.”

You moan, sensitive from his touch. “You’re –” he nips at you, drawing more breathy noises from your mouth. “You’re unusually talkative tonight.”

He smiles up at you. “You like it,” he says simply. And you do. You want him to keep telling you how you look and feel to him, what he’s going to do to you.

You start to fall apart under his mouth, his hands, his words. Soon your shirt is gone, tits shiny with his saliva. “Your fucking tongue,” you grab his hair, hold him in place, and his groan against your skin makes your sensitive nipples shoot fireworks into your brain. He presses your tits together tighter, sucking them noisily in turn as you grind up against his hardening cock.

“Taste fucking perfect,” his voice is so deep. Your pussy is already clenching, desperate for him. 

Yoongi helps you out of your pyjama shorts, wanting you completely bare to him. “Need to see you, jagi.” He settles between your legs, settled over his shoulders. His warm mouth over your cunt has you spreading them wider, eager.

“That’s my girl,” he rumbles approvingly, expecting the ensuing flood from your pussy. He uses two of his long, callused fingers to spread it all over, sliding almost coincidentally over your clit. Your hips cant towards his hand, wanting more than anything to have them inside you – fuck. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Yoongi, please,” you choke. It’s getting nearly unbearable, this desperation. You’re so wet, so sensitive, your entrance clenching around nothing.

“Pretty, pretty,” he says in a soft rasp, talking to himself. He gets comfortable between your legs and you can see his sharp, dark eyes zero in on your cunt, tongue wetting his lips like someone’s set a meal in front of him. You suppose you have.

“Ahhh-hhhh,” you moan, the first broad sweep of his tongue over your folds like electricity. Like he’d just set a firecracker off inside of you – buzzing and sparking from the tips of your toes to your scalp. Eyes squeezed shut, a broken noise comes out of your mouth. 

He keeps going, lapping at your pussy in an even rhythm and making low sounds of appreciation. It’s so, so wet you’re sure he must be drooling, and the thought is enough to have you clenching your legs together. “Careful, baby,” he says against your skin, but the vibrations of his voice are just fuel to the fire. “Watch me.”

You lean up shakily on your elbows, and the sight of him is nearly enough to knock you back down again. The mop of dark hair between your legs, working away as though you’re barely there, like he’s just using this to get himself off – except his eyes, watching you under the harsh slant of his eyebrows – shit shit it’s almost too much already.

“Fuck, baby, please,” you plead breathily, not even sure what you’re asking for. He’s already giving you everything you want. The close of his pouted lips around your clit has you jerking, the fiery crackle in your nerves making everything hazy except the places he’s touching you – big hands clamped around your thighs, face buried in your cunt, fingers pressed into the meat of your ass. He’d taken off the rest of his rings, but you can feel his wedding band pinching your skin slightly. Your matching one catches the light as you twist your hand into the sheets. “I need – I nee –” you break off, keening when he rubs a finger over your hole.

“Don’t worry, love,” he slides a digit in, feeling the way you clench around it desperately. “I know what my girl needs.” On the next stroke, he slides in a second finger, groaning when you clamp down on him. You collapse back onto the pillows, hips kicking up despite the way he’s pressing you into the mattress

You’d teased him mercilessly, way back when the two of you had started dating. “Tongue technology, huh? Do you have any songs where you’re not bragging about how good you eat pussy?” He’d only smiled, smug and amused, like he knew something you didn’t. 

Boy, did you find out. Again, and again, and again. The way he flicks his tongue over your clit, a fast, even tempo that has you curling your toes. Combined with how fast he’s pumping those long fingers in you, the squelching sounds absolutely obscene. 

“Another?” he asks, voice almost disinterested, betrayed only by how hoarse and low it’s become. You nod frantically, knowing you’re close. 

When he adds his ring finger, you know you’re done for. There’s a searing heat all down your body — your belly’s tight, your feet digging into Yoongi’s back with how tightly you have them tensed. Your face is flushed and sweaty and you can barely hear your own breathy whining through the rushing in your ears. It’s building, the wet slick of his tongue joining his fingers as your legs start to tremble around him, threatening to squeeze his neck, your hands finding their way into his hair to bring him with you when your back arches off the bed, and when he sucks your clit back between his lips —

“That’s it, fuck, baby,” he growls against you. He pumps you through your orgasm, almost struggling to get deep because of the way you’re gripped tight around them. Lets the gush of come slick his tongue further, shaking his head side to side as you ride out your aftershocks. You grind against his face, stuttering as the oversensitivity kicks in, whining when it becomes too much.

“N’more,” you slur, gasping when Yoongi eases out of you. He sits back on his heels again, his mouth, nose, and chin shiny from the way you’ve drenched him. 

He seems content to let it sit as he meets your eyes, popping his used fingers into his mouth, eyes rolling back and groaning at the taste. “Pussy monster,” you sigh deliriously.

He laughs, having sucked his fingers clean. Pushing yourself up to lean back against the headboard, you try to get your bearings. Your legs are shaking a little and between them is still sensitive, but away from Yoongi the cold air of the hotel room makes your nipples tighten and you want more. 

Your husband focuses his attention back on you. Your legs, open just enough so he can see the mess he’s made of you, and the way your skin is flushed, from your face all the way down to your chest. You shiver. 

“Cold, sweetheart?” he asks in a low growl. He pulls his shirt off and wipes his face with it, giving you an uninterrupted moment to ogle him. His broad shoulders, defined chest and arms, and toned stomach. The tattoo on his pec. The dusting of hair leading from his belly button down, down, down…

“Warm me up,” you say coquettishly, spreading your legs further. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, reverent. Even after all these years, you have the exact same effect on him as the first time. It’s evident in the bulge in his pyjama pants that you eye hungrily. He wraps a hand around each of your ankles, pushing them up to bend your knees, crawling up so he can settle against you and lock your legs around his waist. 

You let out a pathetic little sound at the feeling of him against your cunt. You’re still leaking, juices sticking to the insides of your thighs and probably leaving a patch on his pants. “Baby,” you whine. He leans down to kiss you and the grind of his cock against you has you gasping. “Need it,” you whisper into his mouth. “How do you want me?”

Yoongi kisses you one more time, chaste, and shakes his head. “How does my sweet girl want it?”

You flush even warmer. “Like this,” you say shyly. Yoongi smiles at you, fucked out and endeared.

Your hands find their way to his sweaty skin like magnets. Shaky fingertips tracing from his hips up over the flat of his stomach, hard muscles twitching as he sighs under your touch. When you reach his chest, you look up at him from under your lashes – he’s already looking back at you, pretty mouth agape. “The abs are new. I like them.” Then you scratch your blunt nails down them, feeling the muscles jump under your hands. 

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning into you. You gasp at the twitch of his cock, the head rubbing your clit. “You’re in for it now.”

“Then fucking give it to me.”

He kisses you again, and he’s just so predictable. Despite his big talk and the way he’s pinning your hips down hard, he takes his time, opening you up to him. Your husband kisses like he drinks – slow and savoury, loves the taste of you, the way you make him feel dazed and light. Letting out little satisfied noises in response to the way you kiss him back, the way you let him have his way with you. If it were up to him, he’d work you up like this for hours. Drinking you in. 

Unfortunately for him, you’re worked up enough. He’s grinding into you in tiny movements but the sensitivity from your prior orgasm, the insistent press of his cock between your lips, and the knowledge that you haven’t had him inside you in probably the longest stretch of time since you’d met is driving you insane.

“Take off your fucking pants, Yoongi,” you snap against his mouth, pulling at his waistband. He just laughs. “If you don’t fuck me right now –”

He keeps laughing, breathless and fond, but tips away from you enough to get his pyjama bottoms off and kicked away and hell yeah.

He runs his fingers through your folds and you gasp. Your hips cant up towards his hand but it’s gone immediately, and the sight of him jacking his cock with your wetness makes you whimper.

“So wet,” he murmurs, guiding the head to your pussy. The previous teasing mirth has vanished and there’s only the dark, focused look as he presses forward and – “Fuck.”

“Yoongi!” you cry out. His fingers hadn’t done nearly a good enough job of stretching you. The burn of him as he pushes into you makes your eyes roll back as you feel him pepper kisses over your cheek, down your neck to your collarbone. “Oh –”

“I must be out of my fucking mind,” he grunts, bottoming out. You choke on a sob. His big hand kneads your tit and it feels so fucking good you think you’re going to lose your mind. “How did I go without this for so long?”

He pulls out almost all the way then thrusts back in hard. “Y-Yoon – “ you whine breathily, barely able to make a sound at this point. 

“My gorgeous wife, in this bed every night, so needy. This perfect pussy — shit.” He sucks the other nipple into his mouth, buried in you so deep you can’t think of anything but the way he’s filling you so good. The way you hadn’t realized you’d needed. 

You’re blubbering at this point, beyond words, as Yoongi chases his orgasm inside you. Kissing every part of you he can reach as the sound of his skin against yours fills the room, playing with your tits the way that drives you wild. You come again with a shout, tears streaming down your face. 

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing the tears away. He’s still going, deeper now instead of fast. “Can you give me one more, love?”

You’re dizzy with pleasure and overstimulation, but he loves to come with your pussy squeezing him. “Yeah,” you pant. A kiss, slow and deep, as he pushes back in. 

Your legs are wrapped so tightly around his waist he can barely pull all the way back out. All you can do is hold on as he takes what he wants from you. 

“Shit, shit,” Yoongi groans, hips stuttering. He’s close. “Love you, pretty girl, so fucking good to me,” his voice low and raspy and warm right next to your ear. “Do I make you feel good?”

“Y-yes,” you manage to get out and you can feel his cock throb inside you, rubbing your g-spot and it’s enough. Your vision goes white and you see stars as your entire body tenses up and you tremble all over when it suddenly releases. “Yoongi!”

“Fuuuck,” he grunts. “Squeeze me just like that,” and he’s coming too. 

You lay there, panting under Yoongi as he softens inside you. The sweat makes you stick together where you’re touching, and anywhere outside your bed it would make you push him away. But you’re content to lie under him, soft, laboured breaths puffing next to your ear. 

“Should’ve used a condom,” you say hoarsely. There’s going to be a mess when he pulls out, you can already feel it. 

“Fucking raw used to be so hot,” he sighs, kissing your cheek. “Now it’s a chore.”

Your snort turns into a gasp as he pulls out. Reaching for his discarded shirt, he cleans up as much of his come as he can. You watch him, eyes zeroed in on the mess, licking his lips. 

“Reel it in.” You boop his nose and he scrunches it. “I really cannot go another round. You’re gonna have to drag me to the bathroom.” 

--------------- xxx ---------------

And he kind of does. On a good day, he could definitely carry you. But after three weeks of touring and a semi-vigorous round of sex, he hitches you onto his back in some semblance of a piggyback. You actually could probably walk, but you know the mood Yoongi’s in. 

He lets you pee, then comes to clean you up the rest of the way. Both of you wrapped in fluffy robes, he washes the sweat and tears off your face gently, brushes through your hair with his fingers. Puts up with your halfhearted whining about expensive skincare as he pats it carefully back onto your face. 

By the time you’ve dragged yourselves back to bed, the California King large enough that you don’t worry about the mess you’ve made on the other side, all the tension has drained from his body. The frantic energy of performing in a foreign country alone for the first time, melted away. 

He’s soft and sleepy when he hitches your leg over his hip, pulls your head onto his chest. “Thank you,” he mumbles. You don’t have to ask him what he means. 

You laugh softly. “Silly,” you say, drifting off.

[ipostdumbthings]

Romantic Headcanons for Bard Reader with BG3 Companions

Astarion

Well, won’t you be the easy target? What could be easier to seduce than a bard? Honestly, he probably could just wait for you to try to seduce him first. Too easy. At least that’s how he thinks about it at first.

It’s not hard to choose you to seduce, of course, not only are you capable and competent, you also provide a little taste of civilization and creature comforts in the way of making camping more pleasant. Your music and aesthetic skills are the sort of luxuries Astarion loves to indulge in whenever he can.

In some ways he’s a little more guarded with his feelings around you, at least to start with. Bards have a reputation, and he finds your company just so pleasurable, that he realizes how easy it may be for him to slip. So until he is forced to confide in you, you’ll find he defaults to flowery praise of your talents as a tactic to avoid having any meaningful discussions.

When he does have to actually let you in, the thing he feared, being connected meaningfully with you proves to be almost immediate. After all, he just enjoys you so much. You’re fun. When you accept him for all the struggles, he finds himself vulnerable in a way that he may actually enjoy. He quickly becomes more willing to have these conversations with you.

While playing your music in camp, you’ll often spot him just watching you with the most lovely smile on his face.

Shadowheart

Shadowheart distrusts you, well, she trusts you initially because she has no choice, but she’s aware you have expert skills in deception. Something she herself trades heavily in, and that being the case, she knows she has to be careful taking you at your word. She does respect you for it though, she respects a well executed lie more than anyone.

Actions help her trust you, but honestly what really does it is being on the same side of the deceptions. She often finds herself fancying you as a partner in crime of sorts, you two having the same interests and needs has made you someone she can count on.

She doesn’t seem interested in your music at first, in fact, she’s often hanging in her tent while you are playing for everyone else. She can hear it from there, and does very much enjoy it. Just privately.

Once you two are on the path to romance together, though, you’ll find she’s the first to ask you to start playing. It’s one of the rare things that gets her happily interacting with the rest of the team.

She’ll tease you for it, but she does genuinely love the songs you write for her. Especially if they’re dark and mysterious sounding, it makes her feel understood and flattered. But to reiterate, she won’t actually tell you that. You’ll just have to realize it from the look on her face as you perform for her.

Gale

Gale finds himself smitten by you quite quickly, as a matter of fact. He’s a verbose man, and there’s few skills outside of magic that he respects as much as verbal cleverness.

So he quickly seeks you out during the evenings at camp for stimulating dialogue. You’ll likely have to endure quite a bit of him prattling endlessly about his passions, but if you engage with him on those subjects enthusiastically, he falls hard.

He may come off condescending about your magic at first, he kind of is, but the more he hears of your experiences the more impressed he is with what it is to you. For you magic is your art, it’s an expression of passion, skill, and freedom. He finds that so very charming.

He’s a bit shy at first sharing his poetry with you, more so than he’d be with others. Afterall, you’re sort of an expert on such matters. In the same breath, your approval of his work carries so much more weight. You’ll never see his chest puff out with so much pride as you do when you tell him you like one of his poems.

The next several he writes are all about you.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel finds you frivolous at first, and why would she not? She’s carving through the enemy with blades while you play an instrument.

It doesn’t take her long to figure out just how talented and useful in fights you are though. Be you casting a quick spell to patch up an ally, or rendering your opponents weak with a well delivered insult.

In fact your devastating burns are the thing she may find most appealing about you. You can do with a few well chosen words what others have to do with weapons. That’s a skill she doesn’t take lightly.

It’s this that causes her to reassess all your talents she’d deemed worthless to begin with. The way your fingers pluck at a lute speak to a dexterity and an expert level of skill. While she may not appreciate music the way others do, she often finds herself watching you play with admiration for your well honed craft.

She’ll tell you as much when she’s trying to entice you into sex, she’s always quick to highlight your talents as proof of your worthiness.

Wyll

Before there’s even the hint of feelings caught on either side, Wyll makes it known he’s very much a fan of your work. And that means the music, the magic, the skills, all of it. You’re a person that has a solution to almost every problem, and that’s something truly special about you. You’ll get no bard jokes from him.

He finds himself quickly picturing adventures with you. Imagine the tales of a bard and the Blade of the Frontiers! It’s just so easy to see a future with you where the two of you ride off into the sunset, righting wrongs and saving the day.

He actually finds himself nervous of your response when Mizora turns him, wondering if that could jeopardize that wonderful future with you. Your acceptance of his new form means more than anyone else’s. 

In fact he feels similarly about the dancing, a bard's disapproval of his skills would cut so much deeper than anyone else’s. You are worth the risk though.

Karlach

Finally, someone to actually perform the music for her dances. She adores you the second you first catch her dancing and immediately pull out your instrument for her. It even encourages her to test out new dances to see what songs you supply in response to them.

You are her fun, you are the lightness and the joy that she so desperately thrives on while dealing with such horrific circumstances. In that way, you’re her safety from the misery. 

Whenever you two are connecting and discussing those horrific things, she always asks you to play a nice song when she’s ready to move on from the subject. When you do, the softness in her eyes make her affection for you all the more obvious.

She’s very defensive of your instruments, she won’t let anyone in camp touch them when you aren’t around. She’s sweet about it. But firm.

Her favorite moments in camp are when everyone’s around the campfire while you play your music and laughs are easy. Those will be the moments she turns to when she handles her most trying moments.

Halsin

Halsin makes it clear very quickly how highly he thinks of your musical abilities, especially since it’s something he lacks. He’s quick to thank you for songs you play, and he always stops what he’s doing to listen and enjoy your music.

In fact, he finds the most beautiful and romantic moments between the two of you to be when you take your instrument for nature walks. He loves to find a place to sit and enjoy nature, as well as your talents. He could honestly do that for hours, especially if you’re cuddled up beside him while playing.

He’s just as impressed by your charm and magical talents. He loves watching your games of verbal chess in situations, and is honestly just so impressed with how much you can accomplish with your wit alone.

He’s probably the one that first most respects and values what bards are truly capable of, and he considers you a fine tribute to the profession. He has fewer preconceived notions about bards and their antics, and as such you find it easy to simply be yourself around him.

[moralesmilesanhour]

what you're searching for.

summary: Margo goes to a shitty poetry slam and gets more out of it than she expects. wc: 4.9k warnings: alcohol consumption, and it's like very VERY lightly implied that they had an Adult Sleepover if you get my meaning. Nothing really too suggestive in here I promise. One singular reference to a tiktok. a/n: this took me a whole ass week but I'm very proud of where my writing style is going! somewhat inspired by the film 'Love Jones'. If you enjoyed this pls feel free to leave your thoughts or your favorite line if you have one! EDIT: OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO ADD: the first poem is actually taken from the Junior novel 'Miles Morales: Suspended' by Jason Reynolds! The poem at the end is mine though lmao I'm not the best poet

Margo can’t stand poetry.

Someone gets up in front of you with a piece of paper clutched in their hands, and recites what is simultaneously the most vague and the most painfully obvious string of fragmented sentences you’ve ever heard as if they’d just touched your soul.

It’s not rapping, not preaching, but the ugly middle child standing between them. Some odd bastardization of music for people who thought they were too smart for either of the first two, but weren't brave enough to just give speeches.

Speeches, at least, are coherent, specific, and can be scrutinized.

So far, sitting in the front row of the bar that her classmate Zoe had invited her to for poetry night, no one has changed her mind. 

Tonight’s performances consisted of an assembly line of men (and a couple of women) in vintage sweaters ranting about their exes to the rhythm of bongo drums, or some mildly relevant social issue that none had the lexicon to really say anything in stanzas that hasn’t already been said. She had heard nothing yet that sounded much more profound than an Instagram post.

Although, one girl had come up and recited a short poem about her late mother that Margo thought was quite sweet, and the least tortuous to sit through.

The crowd erupted in snaps again for a poet with long braided dreads and an ankh tattoo whose words she had tuned out. The host took the mic and announced the final (thank god) participant:

“Now this next one I had to practically drag over here to get him to share his beautiful poetry with us tonight. Everyone, please give a warm welcome to one of my close friends and colleagues, Miles Morales!”

A lanky young man–Margo suspects about six feet even, given the way he’s towering over the host–awkwardly shuffles over to the center of the stage, offering the crowd a tight-lipped smile. 

He’s in a plain green sweater with the sleeves hastily rolled up to his elbows and a bomber jacket tied around his waist. As soon as he’s handed the microphone, it seems to dawn on him that there’s no turning back, and his body visibly tenses. 

He clearly just got here, and for once Margo doesn’t know what to expect.

Squinting beneath the bright spotlight, he clears his throat and speaks into the mic. 

“Um, hi.”

A few scattered ‘hi’s from the crowd.

There’s something bright and sweet in the tone of his voice that makes him sound a little boyish, and she wonders what he could possibly have under his sleeve that warranted him getting dragged up here last minute.

He takes a deep breath.

“It’s said

That nobody

Is ever more

Than ten feet

From a spider.”

Miles began the poem carefully, like he was confessing something. 

“They be everywhere you and me are.”

A few members of the crowd laugh, others shudder at the thought and frown. 

“And even though

We see them only

When they big enough to see, or when

They move,

Like a cursor

Across the blank white

Page of a wall…”

His voice loses some of its airiness in exchange for confidence as he recites the rest of the poem, and Margo realizes that he isn’t reading off of anything. 

Either he’s improvising, or he has it entirely memorized.

“Or when we trip

The web-like wire

Of a booby trap

Or when they

Fang our flesh

We should probably

Assume most

Just be right there…”

Miles paused and looked somewhere far beyond the crowd, lifting his arm to point to the back of the room. Then he repeated:

“Right there,

Right here,”

He gestures toward the front row, where his eyes land directly on Margo. It’s not so close to the stage that she can tell for sure, but she thinks she sees a hint of a smile cross his lips.

“Looking at us,

Looking over them.”

Silence. 

His arm falls limply to his side as his eyes frantically scan the audience, searching for some kind of response. 

Then, someone begins to clap. Then another. Then another. WIthin moments, the entire room erupts in applause, causing a shy smile to spread across the young man’s face.

“Uh, thank you!” he says, surprised at the positive reception, before shrinking into himself again and leaving the stage the same way he came.

The host returns and takes the mic from him.

“Miles Morales, everybody!”

-

After the poetry slam, Margo insisted that Zoe take her to the sushi place across the street. It had a bar sitting off to the side, one with significantly less poets. The decorative lights hung directly above the shelf filled with glass bottles and shrouded them in cherry red.

Zoe takes a sip of her sherry and leans in.

“Sooo, how was it?”

“It was a’ight.”

The light-skinned girl’s lips pull into a pout. “Seriously?”

“Hey, I told you poetry wasn’t my thing,” Margo pauses, then amends, “I liked the last guy, though. Breath of fuckin’ fresh air.”

“Right? His style really caught my attention, subtle.”

“Glad you liked it.”

Zoe’s eyes widened as she glanced just beyond Margo’s shoulder.

When Margo turned towards the familiar voice and froze. 

The poet in question was standing just inches away, a friendly smile gracing his features. His jacket is no longer around his waist, neatly folded over his arm like an expensive coat. He is with the excitable darker-skinned man who’d just hosted the event, and a man the shade of sandalwood standing just behind him.

They’re both wearing the same type of muted cardigan as Miles, but they’ve got actual coats.

“Y’all were in the front, right?” Miles asks the both of them, though he’s only looking at Margo.

She nods wordlessly. Zoe picks up the slack.

“M-hm, you were great up there! You’ve really never shown anyone your work ‘till tonight?”

Miles snorts at the wording of the phrase. ‘His work’.

“I wrote that poem in high school,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Wasn’t supposed to be anything serious, but my roommate…” 

He gives the dark-skinned man a dirty look. 

“...swiped my journal and found it. Told me I should read it out loud somewhere.”

Margo examines Miles’ face and imagines him as a baby-faced high-schooler, sitting in the back of the classroom with a protective arm around the beat-up red composition notebook he’s writing in. He stuffs it in his bag as soon as he’s done, because he has just poured his heart out onto that page, and his crush’s name is in there. Maybe there are tiny doodles of her in the margins.

“Yo,” the sandalwood-colored man claps Miles on the shoulder. “We about to hit up Tiff’s place, you coming?”

“Yeah, in a minute,” Miles nods dismissively. “I’ll catch up with y’all.”

The two other men give each other a knowing look before brushing past him.

“Alright man, catch you later then.”

Once she finally regains the ability to speak, Margo remarks, “You were the only performance I really liked, if I’m being honest.”

“Is that so?” 

“Oh yeah, this one hates poetry,” Zoe places a hand on Margo’s shoulder and laughs. “Tried to change her mind by bringing her over here, but no dice.”

Miles raised an eyebrow. “What made mine so different?”

“Hm, I dunno…” Margo’s eyes float over his form before making their way back up to his face. “Your delivery, I guess.”

Safe to say, he looks amusedly unconvinced.

“My…delivery.”

She catches herself and quickly adds, “I-I mean, it also kinda felt like everyone else was trying too hard. So.”

He tilts his head at the remark.

“Are you just saying that to flatter me?”

.“I don’t flatter people. Too close to lying.”

“That sounds like half a poem already. Maybe you should go up there next week.”

She gives him a lopsided smile.

“Only if you’re there. I need something to actually look forward to.”

His tongue darts out and passes over his lips.

“What’s your name?”

“Margo.”

Miles hums, softly repeating the name before inching his way over to the counter where he leans his hip on it.

“Pretty. Can I buy you a drink, Margo?”

She doesn’t think her name is all that pretty, but he makes it sound that way.

“Knock yourself out.”

“I’ll leave you two alone,” Zoe teases as she rises from her seat. “I’m gonna go order us some sushi.”

Miles takes the stool to Margo’s left as he waits on their drinks, his long legs never needing to leave the ground to do so.

He has a funny way of sitting, hands folded neatly in front of him with his back just a few degrees off from being perfectly straight. As if you needed to look distinguished at a sushi bar.

Church boy, Margo guessed. That, or his daddy’s a military man.

It’s adorable either way.

“You in school?” she asked.

“Yup. Princeton.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Oh shit, me too! I’ve never seen you on campus, though. What’s your major?”

“Physics. You?”

“Comp Sci. Been coding since I was in middle school, so…”

Margo remembers the echoing ‘click-clack’ of her keyboard as she sat in an empty computer lab for hours on end after school because she preferred it to her parents’ house.

The bartender hands Miles two glasses of white wine, and he sets the second glass in front of Margo, his warm eyes still focused on her. 

She’s intrigued by how clear they are - no trace of suspicion or calculation behind them. Just the warmth.

“So, where you from? My folks are over in Brooklyn.”

“Georgia.”

Miles’ brows jump to his hairline.

“Damn. What brought you all the way up here?”

To get as far away as possible. 

“Well, it’s Princeton,” she says beneath a forced laugh.

“Yeah, but you got, like, eight different HBCUs over there. How’d Princeton win you over?”

Margo breaks eye contact to stare into her drink.

“Needed a change of pace.”

When she looks up to gauge Miles’ reaction, skepticism is written all over his face. But he doesn’t push it further.

“That’s fair. Princeton’s got a cutting-edge quantum physics program that I’m aiming for. Had to beg my parents to come here,” he grins proudly, “but here I am.”

Margo is silent for a moment.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks suddenly, beckoning Miles to lean in.

“Yeah?”

Grinning, she half-whispers, “I’m actually here on a scholarship.”

He gives her an odd look. 

“Why’d you say it like that? Nothin’ wrong with getting a full ride. The opposite, actually.”

“Some people might feel otherwise. You’re like, the second person I’ve told other than my parents.”

“And why me?” Miles chuckles. “My poetry was just that good?”

“I just…Hm.”

Margo leans back and takes a contemplative sip of her wine, watching him over the rim of her glass. 

Why did she just tell him that?

“I guess I just sorta felt like telling you.”

Margo cautiously sets the wine back down. She figures if she’s not careful, he’ll have her full government name and social security number by the end of the night.

“Y’know, I actually get that a lot,” Miles laughs. “One time, I had this lady I was standing in line with at Target turn around and just start telling me stories about her dead son and how much she misses him. And it’s like, I’m sorry for your loss, but we’re in Target right now and I literally do not know you.”

“Wait, people just go up to you and…tell you shit?”

“Yup. There was this other time at church, too. Just as service ends and I’m about to get up and leave, this short old dude–Dominican, I think–stops me and starts telling me about his entire life. I’m talking start to finish! Apparently I reminded him of his nephew that died in the military or something.”

“Jesus.”

A crease forms between Margo’s brows. She wishes she could say she didn’t understand the old man at church or the lady at Target, but she does. No, it’s not the poetry. It’s got nothing to do with words. 

It’s the way that Miles looks at people. 

Like he already knows all of your secrets, but you’re not worried because they’re safe with him, so might as well tell them. It’s a merciful sort of gaze; you get the impression that he won’t judge you. You might even tell him more after his friendly ‘boy-next-door’ voice coaxes them out of you. The thought unsettles her because she had done just that.

“You ever had a girlfriend before?” She asks, all of a sudden.

Miles shrugs, “Yeah, in tenth grade, then again freshman year. Didn’t really work out.”

“Why not?”

His brows furrow gently for just a second, as if he’s still trying to figure out the answer to that.

“I…don’t know, actually. It goes well the first few months and then…”

“It fizzles out?”

“I get ghosted. Something about how they’re ‘not ready’. Understandable, I guess, but you don’t have to ghost me, y’know?”

He awkwardly examines his fingers, then his glass. 

Margo feels a bit guilty for suddenly bringing up his exes when they’d just met. Would they end up the same way? She saw herself there too, being in a relationship for six months before his weird pastor’s eyes get to be a bit too much and she takes off.

“Yikes, sorry I asked.”

“It’s no problem,” a smile starts to return to his face. “Onto better things, right?”

“Right.”

“And you?”

“Huh?”

“You ever been in a relationship before?”

Margo smiles awkwardly and messes with one of her fingernails.

“Well…not exactly.”

Miles’ eyes widen.

“Never?”

“I mean, guys offer, and then we talk for a little bit, but then…”

“They flake out on you.”

“Pretty much.”

“Damn shame,” he says with a bit of sharpness to his voice. “Not even a first date?”

“Nope, just ‘Read at 4:15’.”

“You know what I think it is?”

Just as he asks this, his knee brushes against her thigh. Margo isn’t sure if it’s an accident, but it distracts her nonetheless.

“What?”

“You’re too smart for them, I can tell. It scares ‘em.” But it doesn’t scare me, is the suggestion.

He smiles then, the kind that shows the whiteness of his teeth on every vowel. It’s wide enough that a dimple comes out of hiding on his left cheek, and she suddenly wants to tell him everything again. She takes another sip of wine.

“So! What’d I miss?”

Zoe finally returns from ordering their sushi at the front with an expectant grin. Miles still hasn’t taken his eyes off of her friend, while she is staring at him like a string of code, which, if you know Margo, is better than nothing.

“You didn’t miss much,” says Margo. “We were just talkin’ about our majors. School stuff.”

Miles checks his phone and lets out a low whistle.

“Well, it was lovely meeting y’all, but I gotta bounce. After getting dragged onstage, I get to be dragged over to a house party, too.”

Just as he rises from his seat, he stops and points at her.

“Before I go, though, d’you mind giving me your digits? I’d love to talk about, uh…computer science…over lunch.”

She snorts, “Who still says ‘digits’?” but hands him her phone anyway. 

It couldn’t hurt to try. 

“Sure.”

His eyes light up as if he wasn’t expecting her to say yes as he saves his number as ‘poetry slam guy’ in her phone, then hands it back.

“Cool,” Miles begins his walk towards the entrance backwards, holding eye contact for just a little longer before turning around. “G’night!”

“Goodnight!” the two women call out in unison as he leaves.

Margo looks to her left at the now-empty bar stool. The glass of wine Miles left on the counter is full, completely untouched.

It’s still on her mind as she's sitting in her single dorm room, re-writing her lecture notes on cyber security in a meticulous neat print that could almost pass for a font.

Every few minutes her pen stops because she’s distracted by the sound of clinking glass in boxes downstairs, or because she pauses to stare at the white wall in front of her that brings to mind one of the lines of Miles’ poem. 

There might be a spider that I can’t see sitting ten feet away from me right this second, she muses to herself. The thought gives her an idea, and the perfect excuse to call him without seeming too desperate.

Margo unlocks her phone and scrolls through her contacts. She smiles to herself at the contact name Miles chose. Did he think she’d forget his name that easily? 

His voice soon filters through the speaker.

“Hey, you didn’t throw out my number!”

“Yup, lucky you.” she replies. “I wanted to ask you a question? About your poem the other night.”

“What about it?”

“See, I was thinking about that first line. Are we really never more than ten feet away from a spider? Like, at any given moment?”

There’s a moment of silence from Miles before he asks:

“You…called me just to ask me that?”

“What? It’s a very pressing issue! There’s probably one in the corner  of my room as we speak!”

“Alright, I’ll humor you,” Miles laughs. “That’s actually a myth from the 90s. Your distance from the nearest spider really depends on where you’re at, so if you’re in a spot with hella bugs, you’re more likely to see one. You’re probably fine.”

“Now wait just a minute!” Margo gasps dramatically. “So you lied to all those poor folks in there?”

“Sure did. Played ‘em all like a fiddle.”

“Terrible.”

“So, why’d you really call? You don’t sound as concerned about spiders as you say you are, if I’m being honest.”

So much for an excuse.

“Don’t nothing get past you, huh?”

This earns a burst of laughter from Miles’ end.

“You’re a worse liar than me, I wouldn’t recommend making it a habit.”

“Ugh, fine,” Margo admits,  “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You could hear my voice in real life, you know. Offer’s still on the table, and I’m free today.”

Their second conversation, and already a lunch date? But as she’s reminded of what his voice sounds like, she quickly realizes that just the voice is not enough. 

Still, she tries to sound casual and makes a non-committal noise.

“Better than being cooped up in my room all day.”

“Great! Where you wanna go?”

Margo shrugs as if he can see her on the other end.

“Wherever you wanna go.”

“Ah, the ‘wherever you wanna go’ paradox,” he chuckles. “Okay, well–lemme ask you this then. Do you like eating with or without music?”

There’s a beat of silence as she considers.

“Hm…is the music good?”

“I’d never subject anyone to a place that plays shit music. Promise.”

“Music, then.”

“Cool, what time works for you?”

“How does two sound? I’ll catch you in front of the Engineering Library.”

“Bet. See you in an hour, then!”

-

The place Miles chose had a live band playing at the front.

A bass player, a keyboard pianist, a saxophonist, and a few background vocalists on occasion. All are propelled forward by the rapid-fire snare of the drummer. It’s jazz - the easy, conversational kind you hear in the background of 90s romantic comedies where the love interest wears nothing but dark lip liner and filled-in brows with a bit of smokey eyeshadow in the crease.

This is the look that Margo has decided to go for as she sits across from Miles at a mahogany table positioned ideally by the window.

It was all she could do other than frantically adjust the braided 'fro-hawk sitting atop her head and spin around in a mist of ‘Champagne Toast’ before bolting out the door.

She doubts he can even smell it right now through the curry and garlic.

“Figured out what you want yet?” Miles asks as he looks over his menu at Margo.

“Eh, I dunno,” she replies, running her index finger down her own menu. “I’m tryin’ not to blow half my paycheck on pasta right now.”

Miles gives her a strange look, then it clicks.

“Oh! Lunch is on me,” he laughs. “Your bank account’s safe for now.”

Her head snaps up.

“You should’ve mentioned that! I thought we were going half and half this whole time, I had my whole budget for the week planned out.”

Margo has to hold back an ugly cackle at the look of horror on Miles’ face right after she says this.

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t just say that.”

With this new information in mind, she orders a bowl of chicken alfredo with a glass of lemonade that she sips on as the band seamlessly transitions into a cover of Solange’s ‘Cranes in the Sky’.

“So, Margo,” Miles rests his chin on his knuckles and squints his eyes comically. 

“If that is your real name.”

Margo giggles, and plays along.

“It’s not, it’s my alter-ego for when I go on top-secret missions.”

“Is it short for something? Or just Margo?”

“Hm,” she puts on an affected, ‘action movie’ voice, “If I tell you, I might have to kill you.”

“It’s worse ways to die out there.”

Margo looks around her as if to make sure no one’s listening, then leans in.

“It’s short for Marguerite.”

Miles snaps his fingers.

“I knew it!”

“What? You think I look like a Marguerite? Seriously?”

“No, but you got a lil’ country twang in your voice. Ain’t no way in hell Margo wasn’t short for something.”

“Man, alright,” she laughed. 

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he winked, “I like ‘em country.”

“Boy, don’t give me that! You look like you’d pass out at the sight of a jar of pig’s feet.”

“Hey now, I got family in South Carolina. I used to go down there and see about ten of those every summer.”

“Fine, but you were still raised a Northerner. I could hear the Brooklyn from a mile away.”

Miles removed his hand from under his chin to clutch his chest.

“Ugh, I feel like I’m caught between two worlds!”

The reference to one of the more choice lines from the poetry slam makes Margo snort and let out a loud guffaw, which she quickly muffles with the palm of her hand.

“Why would you remind me of that!”

Miles is soon infected by the fit of laughter and has to put all his strength into not doubling over at the table and drawing attention.

“This nigga said,” he wheezed, “ ‘I keep doing the Achy Breaky to Suavemente!’ “

“I thought I was the only one who thought that shit sucked,” Margo sighed as she wiped a tear from her eye. “But I didn’t wanna be mean ‘cuz I’m not like, half Puerto Rican, or anything like that.”

“Well I am, and that whole poem felt like a microaggression. And I knew that guy!” He starts gesturing wildly with his hands at the outrage, which Margo finds hilarious. 

“He's like, one-eighth Boricua. His last name is fuckin’ Schwartz!” Miles scoffs, “He don’t know shit about no damn ‘Suavemente’. Bet he looked it up.”

“You should write your own poem, then. ‘Take up space’, as they say.”

“Hell no,” he said. “I left that behind in high school. The other night was an exception, remember?”

“Look, I’m not one to encourage more people to become poets, but you never know. Something might inspire you.”

Miles calms down and gives her a meaningful look.

“Maybe.”

The rest of the conversation saw Miles slyly gathering intel through bites of roasted chicken. He’d quickly learned from their meeting at the bar that his line of questioning with Margo ought to be less direct.

He even hit her with the ‘what’s your sign’ question, though Biggie would’ve advised against it (Margo was a Libra, he was a Leo). He didn’t actually care for astrology, but Margo wasted no time in proclaiming that she couldn’t stand Scorpios because they were ‘too nosy’. 

Miles’ only error was asking if she’d ever dated–correction–spoken to one, and her eyes hardened with suspicion again. He quickly elected to change the subject.

“Okay, totally random question, but humor me. How do you like your eggs?”

Margo blinks twice.

“What?”

“You heard me. You can tell a lot about a person by what kinda eggs they like, true shit.”

“Alright, fine. I like ‘em fried, with the crispy edges. What that say about me?”

“I dunno, but when I find out it’ll all make sense.”

Margo laughs.

“Okay, well, how do you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, fluffy,” A childish grin spread across Miles’ lips. “And seasoned with Adobo to make ‘em all orange.”

“Never had ‘em like that before.”

“Maybe I could make some for you sometime, if you’d let me.”

“Maybe.”

She remembers his promise a month later when she wakes up to the aroma of the seasoning and hears the pop of frying oil, letting out a sigh of relief at the realization that Miles is still there.

His back is facing her when she enters the kitchen, the morning light illuminating a tattoo she had never seen before. 

It’s a spider with sprawling legs that cascade all the way down the expanse of skin, the movement of his shoulder blades bringing them partially to life. She hadn’t noticed it in the dark, and he was not one to walk around in anything revealing enough for it to have ever seen daylight. It’s faded, which means he’s likely had it for years.

He’s only twenty-one, she thinks. Did he get it in high school?

Amusement creeps onto Margo’s face at the image of Miles sneaking around the house, darting in and out of the bathroom to clean it without his hawk-eyed mother or straight-edged father taking notice. Picturing this, it’s suddenly much easier to believe that their son would have to beg and plead for them to send him a measly forty-six miles away for school, even for an Ivy League. 

Miles doesn’t turn around yet, but Margo catches the way he stops, tilting his head playfully and placing a hand on his hip.

“Man, I can’t believe I’mma have to eat this whole thing of scrambled eggs all by myself, with the ones I just fried! How sad.” “You’re not very funny,” Margo says with a smile, pulling out a chair from beneath the dining table.

He switches the stove off, then does a dramatic spin to face her with fake surprise on his face.

“Oh! Where’d you come from? I didn’t see you there.”

He turns back around to grab two plates–ceramic ones, not the stack of styrofoam ones–from one of the cupboards to serve the eggs in, starting with fried.

Margo watches him silently. The tiny, squint-or-you-might-miss-it gold chain around his neck catches the light as he moves, and she remembers feeling the cold metal brush across her lips.

“The fried ones, are they–”

“Crispy at the edges?” he finishes, with a smile in his voice. “Yes ma’am!”

“You could really be a detective, can’t get nothing past you.”

“You’ve said that before.”

“See?”

The two burst into laughter, and the ink on Miles’ back does also. His poem was accurate, in a way. For the past five weeks, Margo has been no more than ten feet away from a spider.

They have a brief and quiet breakfast, wherein Margo finally asks to try the scrambled eggs and is delighted by the burst of flavor added by the Adobo. They aren’t too dry or too soggy the way they tend to be in restaurants - just fluffy, as promised. She thinks it might be time to finally start taking Miles at his word as she watches his back again while he’s washing dishes.

Once he is fully dressed and about to leave, Miles stops suddenly, as if he’s forgotten something. He reaches into the left pocket of his jacket and pulls out a neatly-folded sheet of paper, nervously running his other hand through the short dreads sitting atop his head.

“Before I leave, I, uh…I took your advice and wrote a lil’ something.”

He hands it to Margo, who takes it gingerly. 

“Well, good for you.”

“It’s been a while, so it’s kinda rough, but hopefully the sentiment is there.”

Miles plants a quick kiss on her cheek, and she smiles easily for once as opposed to the usual raised eyebrow.

“I’ll be sure to let you know if it is.”

Some time after he leaves, she finally sits down to read it while sipping on a cup of tea, because coffee wreaks havoc on her nerves. His handwriting is strange, overly graphic as if it’s the title card of a cartoon, but she reads it.

I know you don't like poetry 

but you said you liked mine,

and the way you sip your wine

has set my pen to paper,

so I hope 

you'll make another exception. 

You've already claimed

half of my sketchbook 

because I just can't get your eyes right.

I always make ‘em too soft,

or too round.

They don't pierce through me,

like they did when

you stared at me over your glass,

eyes narrowed.

When you search my face

and pick me apart,

I'd like to know what it is 

you're always searching for.

[radianceholy]

Owlcatober 2024 - Invisible

Arueshalae and Sosiel having a chat about art and love. No cws to speak of this time!

“It’s like a game, then, isn’t it?”

“…Some have made the comparison, yes.”

“Then… It's really only a step removed from a lie. Or, at best, another kind of performance… it's something that's real, but only as long as the performance goes on.”

“That is one of the conundrums at the heart of Shelyn’s faith, it’s true. Love is to be celebrated as a liberatory force. The ultimate expression of the beauty our hearts can conjure,” his voice rang out with a clipped grandeur. He’d heard those words hundreds of times too many, perhaps, and the meaning had long since drained away. “But it is a feeling ruled over by transient emotions, and but for the blessings of the gods, there are more tragedies than triumphs. Poetry and song work to conjure an image of the world far sweeter than we will ever know.”

Arueshalae’s lips twitched. She had to suppress the urge deep in her belly to pry her claws into a gap in his armor he’d so foolishly exposed, as a different kind of despair washed over her in its place. The walls of Drezen Citadel were damp and cool, and the cloud cover was thick enough that sunlight didn’t pierce through. She had come up here for the same reason he had: it is quiet, it is far from others, and it is easy to see everyone down below. He was avoiding the distraction and she was avoiding the very same, but nonetheless, she’d found it. She let out a sigh. “It’s no different, then. It’s just a comforting lie…”

Drezen was a rather cold and gray place. She often took comfort in the high stone walls and indifferent cobbled streets, the certainty of knowing where each road led and what each building held. She’d acquainted herself with every stray cat and memorized the routines of the soldiers in the barracks and she even knew a few of the faces personally– or as close to it as she let herself get with anyone, outside of the privileged few within the Knight Commander’s trusted inner circle. Anevia always seemed to spot her in her lonesome rooftop wanderings, catching her eyes with a sly, knowing grin, and she could sit in comfortable silence beside Arsinoe. Those two were rare exceptions.

Sosiel’s paintbrush was as much of a liar as she was, she thought, though it was hard to call it singularly ‘beautiful’ in the manner of the Silken Shadow. His artwork depicted things that were all rather common and plain. Ten-to-a-copper mortal lives, going about their business in a street whose colors seemed all the more vibrant than they had any right to be. She peered down from the parapets, and what she saw certainly didn’t live up to the brushstrokes. He cared to show a bit of green growing between the cobbles, or an unusually fancy brooch on a woman wearing rags. He saw so many more details than she, beneath a bright blue sky that they rarely ever enjoyed so near to the Worldwound.

“I’m not quite wise enough to have pierced through one of the oldest and most contentious riddles at the core of my faith,” he chuckled, a good natured smile on his lips, “that alone has caused schisms, even leaving aside the heretical cults and apostatic movements.”

She frowned, her tail lashing sharply.

“…What I mean to say,” he continued, noticing her impatience, “is that it’s an act of faith.”

“Of course. That kind of faith is a weakness all mortals share,” she murmured sadly. “Why would they believe in the promises of a demon, if not out of blind hope?”

His brow knitted, and he shook his head. “…The act of love itself is an act of faith in itself, I mean to say.”

“So it’s an act, a game, it comprises faith itself, and it’s a series of fickle emotions…?”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she could hear the finger-wagging in his tone. “That’s probably only scratching the surface. Shelynites have spilled gallons of ink contemplating the nature of beauty and love.”

“And the poetry? The declarations of love? The… courtly romance, with all of those grand gestures and heroic feats?”

“We exist apart from one another,” a stroke of his brush. She crept closer, moving on her toes silently as though her footsteps might break the spell of his inspiration. “Our hearts are hidden to one another. You said once that you felt like you understood mortals, as a succubus, but no longer.”

He seemed to follow her gaze, stepping aside and gesturing her closer to look. A little wave of his hand, in that flourishing, graceful way he tended to move. His brushstrokes were deliberate, and she could identify each and every one, now that she was standing before his canvas. From far away, it was a delusion. Up close, it was an act of careful construction. She wasn’t certain what it meant, even knowing that much. Their hearts must be quite well hidden, indeed. “You rarely seem like you’re lying.”

“…It’s not a virtue in the eyes of the Eternal Rose, to blind ourselves to the truth, nor to disguise it from another. I’ve failed her and myself both, but I’m not proud of those lapses. I wish to stay true to myself.”

Her shoulders sank. She wanted to see. She wanted to see it. Why wasn’t it there, yet? No matter how she stared, the Drezen he saw and the Drezen she saw were irreconcilable. “It’s not as though I don’t understand. You’re grasping blindly at something you know to exist, yet can’t describe. Poetry, art, music, dance… you pull them out of your heart, and you hope that they’re seen.” She felt herself reaching towards the painting, as though she might sink right into it. Even as she said it, she could feel her own skepticism in her voice. How can you do it? How can you trust them to see it?

“It’s alright, you know. Art isn’t meant to be understood immediately.”

She closed her eyes, letting the city as she knew it disappear. If it was like a dream… if Desna and Shelyn truly lay together as lovers… maybe she could have this, too. A bright, beautiful, lively Drezen. Full of life, and the chaos that follows life. Stray seeds pack into the cobblestones and grow into flowers, and anywhere else in the world, they’d be weeds. Here, they’re a welcome spot of color and beauty, like each mortal life that found itself at the edge of the Abyss by circumstance…

She sighed, opening her eyes. The sky was still gray.

She’d hoped to see something different, but at least she could see it wasn’t a lie. Maybe that’s all she could hope for, right now.

[khofiecloud]

how to preserve your mental health at school

School is probably one of the most mentally taxing things a teen can go through. It certainly is mine. With the pressure to be the best, to get ahead, and to generally succeed, it's hard to not be affected. The mental strain is unavoidable, and I struggled with it for most of my school years, but over time that has led me to find tips that could help anyone going through this cope.

There are a few signs that can tell you whether or not you are being severely affected. You might be unmotivated and apathetic throughout the school day, and just because of school itself. You might feel like crying in school during the whole day and every day. Reasons can range from academic pressure to bullying and social ostracization to feeling inferior to your over achieving classmates.(If it's bullying, please tell someone who can help you) But here's some tips that might help based on what I learned from experience:

Find a piece of comfort (that you can come back to whenever you feel bad) .It can be a show, anime, song , movie, fanfic, manga , book, food, piece of clothing, or really just about anything (my recs are saiki k, ghibli songs and movies) . It’s best to have multiple just in case you get too used to 1 of them.

Get a support system: the way you can get this may differ based on your specific problem but here’s some ideas : make new friends offline or online (best app is slowly) and strengthen your existing relationships with friends and family.

Find a 3rd place which is not electronic: A third place is any public area away from homes and school/work ,where people meet and interact in an open environment. But the real challenge is not making your 3rd place your device .It's hard but here are some ideas for a 3rd place : libraries, arcades, gym, yoga place, sport club, skateparks, playgrounds, parks, coffee shops and cafes, bodegas. Make sure to choose a place where you feel comfortable. 

Get enough sleep: being tired will just make you feel so much worse. Never underestimate the power of a good night's sleep. Just to make it extra too, listen to some calming music, light candles and wear your fanciest sleepwear.

Put your mind on other things and focus on finding things that'll make you proud of yourself: You could get new hobbies, especially creative ones since those allow you to express yourself easily. Some examples are crocheting, embroidery, drawing, painting, sculpting, pottery, dancing, writing music, performance art and writing (stories, poetry, essays)

Take a leap of faith: create or design something based on your interests and skills and share it with the world. This can develop into being your own personal extracurricular activity. It might be scary but that's what makes it so rewarding in the end.

1) Video editing : post videos on your favorite subject and post on tiktok or youtube 2) Fashion and Photography : take pictures of yourself wearing cute clothes (or just your fav ones) and post them on your social media 3) Painting and Sustainability : paint an exhibit and display it in public 4) Volunteering and Social Media: make and run the official Instagram account of a local business 5) Gaming : make a game on roblox 6) Reading: start a book review blog These are just a few pretty ambitious ideas. You don’t have to follow these. Create your own project, it all depends on who you are. Take the best out of all of you (pieces of your soul) and create a masterpiece. If you don't have any interests (post on tips coming soon) just make something out of your skills . Make sure to only take on a project if you have time and resources.

Lastly, this is a tip I got from Quora. It’s to make a slow nights document. You can write this down on paper or open a doc and write down your comforts, favorite movie, favorite art pieces, places you’d like to go in the future, what you think your life will be in 10 years and so on. Just write things that will make you you.

School can make you feel drained, insecure and hurt for so many reasons. It may end up in you being numb and apathetic. In most cases, the problems you have can’t be solved by just forcing yourself to look at the bright side or forcing yourself to avoid or ignore them. They are real issues. And when asking for tips on the internet isn’t enough, I hope this post will help you. It probably didn’t solve all your problems, but I hope it showed you a way to go. Thank you for reading and Good Luck 

[fearlessword]

I’ll meet you in my dreams - Chapter 2

Summary: You dreamed of the boy who played piano before you knew who he was. Humming the melodies you heard in your sleep brought BTS into your life and you thought it was just meant to be.When you finally have the chance to see him perform live, you realize that the dreams you have are more than a coincidence. You hope he dreams of you too.

Slow burn/ Slow build/ canon divergence/ d-day tour / soulmate- ish

Pairing: Idol! Min Yoongi x Reader

Ongoing

Masterlist

Author’s note: Hi tumblr! I’ve been wanting to post this fic here for such a long time! Seriously! I can’t believe I actually did it! I’m so excited for you to read this chapter! I post on AO3 first, but it’s nice to share my work on this platform too! Please send me your thoughts on this chapter, I’d love to hear it. I’ll come back in a few days with chapter 3, but if you want to read it before that, you can find it here. I hope you like it! Thank you for being here!

Chapter 2

February 2023

“…So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee…” you read.

“This is one of my favorites, and one of the most famous Shakespearean sonnets. You guys already know how much I love words but in this sonnet…” you pause with a sigh. “I feel so happy reading it, it took Shakespeare only 14 verses to explain how powerful and everlasting words are. Can you imagine how extraordinary it would feel to be the muse of a piece of work like this? I don’t want to go crazy over this, but how beautiful is that? And to see that he was indeed right, the poem does give life to his beloved muse, it makes me want to cry. How beautiful is that? Just think about it?!”

“Ms. _______, you are fangirling over poetry again” one of the students says.

“Well, it is my profession after all! I am also a fan of so many things, it’s the way I function!” You laugh. “But you guys need to agree, it’s beautiful. You should think about writing a sonnet like this to your Valentines next year… Does anyone want to comment on their first impressions of this piece before we go deep into our analysis?”

The students were ready to give their opinions when the bell rang, announcing your lesson was over and stopping the discussion from happening. The backpacks and chairs in the classroom combined in a messy, hustled melody created by your high schoolers. It was the end of the school day, after all.

“ Well, it’s nice to end the day with a hook. Please read Sonnet 18 one more time and write a short comment about it in your reading journals. We’ll discuss it in the next class. Enjoy your Valentine’s day, everybody!”

One by one, the students left the room, leaving you alone with the mess of the classroom. As usual, you organized the desks and chairs for the next day, erased the white board, turned the electronics off and put away all of the supplies in the cabinet. You only left out your pencil case and the piles of assignments to grade. It was Tuesday, but the faster you start grading, the easier your Friday will be. Even though being a teacher means that you eventually (or always) take work home, you made yourself a rule that you’d avoid working during your weekends. Also, no teacher wants to grade anything on a Friday afternoon. It’s not like you have anything to do on Valentine’s day, either way.

You directed your attention to the desk and a huff left your body as you thought about the few hours of unpaid work you had ahead of you. You didn’t know if the gray Tuesday made your situation worse or better. You tried to see it with a positive attitude: at least you wouldn't spend the next few hours inside, admiring a perfect sunny day through the windows of your classroom.

Before sitting down to start grading, you got your phone and your airpods in your bag, you didn’t bother to turn the airplane mode off, and, to be honest, that was probably the best option if you wanted to really focus on your work. A playlist of your favorite songs is the one selected for the occasion. You put your phone away, grab your green pen and start.

When The Truth Untold started, you were halfway through grading. You couldn’t help thinking of how unlucky you were. BTS came into your life only during the pandemic, which meant no concerts, but lots of content and late night meme videos and Korean lessons that distracted and helped you when you needed the most. When the concerts finally happened in the US, you were out of the country to complete part of your Masters in Literature in England. It was more than a dream come true, from visits to the Globe to visits to the lakes and all of the places your favorite authors and characters saw long before. It felt bittersweet. The timing was just wrong, and now, it felt like the chances of seeing all seven of them just escaped through your fingers. All you could do was wait. Wait until the seven of them come back, and trust them. It was hard, but was there another option?

Just fans understand how hard it is.

Alright, you need to focus on the grading.

The playlist kept going as you corrected and graded and wrote comments in each of the papers, carefully analyzing the work of your students. Every once in a while, you’d laugh at how they expressed their opinions on their essays. How fun their snarky comments were! The piles of paper were organized into folders. Thankfully, in less than three hours, the work was finally done, (until the next time, which will probably happen sooner than what you want.) It’s half of the week, and finally time to go home.

Winter was unusually warm this year. Still, the short walk from the school to the subway station felt longer because of the cold air. It wasn’t too cold, but it wasn’t comfortable either. The hot mass of air that embraces you as you enter the station is welcomed, at least during the colder seasons. The station was packed, it’s always a struggle when it’s peak time, but on days like this, when the busy people of the city go out to dinner to celebrate the existence of their love life, it is just the worst. When the train came, you found a spot where you could stay, close enough to the door so you could leave it three stations later.

You hope there is a seat for you in the Q train that will take you to Brooklyn. Deep down, you know it’s hopeless. At 6 pm Times Square station is filled with both New Yorkers and tourists. You could differentiate them easily, from their clothes to the kind of demeanor they have. The empty eyes were usually the giveaway whether someone was a New Yorker or not. You hoped you had the same curious eyes you had when you first moved to NYC for college, but you understand that, as much as you love the city and all it means to you and your journey, routine takes some of the magic away. Right now, you bet your face gives away your exhaustion too, if there’s someone watching you, you’re sure they know you live here.

People watching was your favorite pastime during your commuting time: imagining what each one of those people was like, their dreams and hopes, if they had any. Today, you could see a considerable amount of bouquets in the train, and it makes your imagination go wild imagining what expects these people once they get to their destination. You try not to get caught while you look at them for the next 30 minutes, then, you leave the train and walk home.

You were fumbling in your bag in a failed attempt to find your keys when the door of your apartment slammed opened.

“Where the hell were you?” Your roommate demanded.

“At the school, Cami.” You answered as you took your shoes off and went inside.

“ Why weren’t you answering your phone? I called so many times.”

“I was grading papers”

“On Valentine’s Day?”

“It’s not like I have a date”

“______ you seriously need to do a better job at answering your phone” she huffed. “I was freaking out here”

“Is everything okay? Are you okay? Is my family okay? It was in airplane mode and I just didn’t care to check it after I left the classroom.”

“Everybody is okay. Well, emotionally I’m definitely not okay. I’ve been freaking out here since I got home from work. Seriously, we need to communicate better so we can actually leave school together, we can grade here! Why do you have to stay there so late anyways? I needed to talk to you and You. Weren’t. Answering.” She paused. “Why am I freaking out? It’s not like it’s something I care about. Oh my God! Maybe I care about it because you care about it." Camila pointed at you. "What is happening to me?! Am I literally freaking out on Valentine’s day because of a tour of a guy that I’m not even interested in? I promise I won’t be alone for Valentine's day next year, I need a date to look forward to instead of getting crazy over a K-pop man. This is the worst day of my life!” Camila rambled while pacing in the living room

“Did you say tour?”

“Seriously? That’s all you heard?!”

“You were saying so many things”

“Alright, sit, and please, I am begging you to turn the airplane mode off”

You do as she says, and as soon as your phone connects to the wifi, hundreds of notifications pop on your screen, including notifications from the Weverse app. Your heart jumps. One of the members of BTS on tour? You opened the app.

SUGA | Agust D TOUR

“What?” Your voice was so low you could barely hear it.

“Why are you so calm? Isn’t he the whole reason why you are a BTS fan?” Camila pauses to massage her temples. "Why am I freaking out? Isn’t he the guy you dream about all the time? ”

Yes, he is. You thought. The one and only Min Yoongi. The reason why you became an ARMY in the first place.

Turns out, the mysterious guy from your dreams back in 2020 was real. You've dreamt of him so many times before finding out he was actually a living person and not a figment of your imagination.

After the first time dreaming about him, you were washed with a sense of comfort you couldn’t quite understand. The crying over your ex had gotten better with each dream, simply because the feeling of seeing him in your sleep made you feel happy the whole day and forget anything else.

You could see him… Writing, laughing with the most precious smile, reading, recording at the studio, and at last… playing the piano. A real piano. The first time you heard him, though, he looked younger, but you could still see the same focus and the same passion as he played each note so beautifully. That morning of quarantine, almost a month after the first dream, you woke up with the urge to cry from how mighty the scene was. The warmth of the presence of the boy in the piano was already a familiar feeling, but actually listening to his music? Ah, you wanted to stay in that scenario forever. You hummed the song throughout the day, you asked Camila if she knew that melody, just so you could listen to it again. You thought about that the whole time, until you remembered how technology existed and you could just hum the melodies to your cell phone.

It was a BTS song.

And so you listened to that sweet piano melody, and heard him rapping for the first time. And searched for the names of the guys in the band. And finally, you saw the face of that mysterious man on your phone screen. It was weird that you dreamed of an actual person that turned out to produce music before knowing the person actually existed, right? Why you were dreaming about a korean idol and why it made you feel so content was a mystery to you. You tried not to dwell on that, realizing this was the way the universe sent BTS to you, when you needed it the most. And slowly, moving on from your trauma was easier. Letting your ex-boyfriend go was getting simpler each day. You finished that letter (Was it a letter or a novel? With the amount of pages you wrote, you didn’t even know anymore) and just let it go. Yoongi helped you, the boys helped you, and they didn’t even know.

Sometimes when you watch stuff, you get washed with the sense of deja vu. But it is what it is. Yoongi keeps popping in your dreams from time to time, you started to write about him and you irresistibly became an ARMY. How could you not?

“Earth to ______'' Camila snapped her fingers in front of your face “ I thought you’d scream! For God’s sake, I did! Why aren’t you freaking out when I am? You are the fan!”

“Sorry, Cami, I just don’t know how to react. You know how much they all mean to me. But with him… I just can’t believe I’ll finally have the chance to see him” your eyes burned filled with tears.

“Oh, amiga… We will try all we can to get you the best tickets. You will see him play the piano in front of you. I know how much this means to you, how much you changed after you became a fan. I will make sure it happens. I promise.”

You looked at your friend, sitting by your side on the pink couch you insisted on buying for your living room.

“You can’t control that, Cami”

“I can’t, but I will sign up for the pre-sale with as many email accounts as I can. I will even buy the membership thing.”

“ You sound like a fan”

“Well, if he helps you so much, maybe I should be a fan, do you think one of them could visit me in my sleep too? I bet it would be fun” She jokes.

“I wish I could talk to him, even in my dreams”

“When you go to the concert, he will look at you and you guys will fall in love”

“Cami, this is not fanfiction”

“Are you really quoting me right now? Well, I will create my own fanfiction if I want to. Nothing’s impossible. It would be great, then next year you won’t be alone for Valentine’s day. Maybe we can go on a double date, cause next year I’ll definitely have someone.”

“I’m not alone, you are literally in front of me”

“You know the kind of alone I’m talking about. Now, let’s make our Galentine’s dinner. I saw this recipe of spinach gnocchi that seems very easy. I want to try it tonight. Then, we’ll have a date with Mr. Darcy.”

“Camila, have I told you that I love you?”

“Te quiero, amiga, but you better answer your phone next time”

🪷🪷🪷

After squealing during the entirety of “Pride and Prejudice”, you called it a night and went to your room. It was late, but you couldn’t stop yourself from checking all of the details of the announcement and texting your ARMY friends back.

It felt surreal. That your bias will go on a tour. That you’ll finally have the chance of seeing one of them. Excitement was an understatement. You could feel your heart beating against your ribcage. You needed to sleep now, but your whole body was already buzzing with anticipation of going to the concert, of seeing Yoongi in front of you in real life.

Instead, you open the Weverse live and watch it. You pay attention as he talks about Slam Dunk and shares about Fashion Week. You worry when he said he hasn’t eaten, you smile with him once you see his reaction to the tour announcement coming out. You are washed with a wave of love for the artist on the screen.

“It’s not good to be delusional, _______” you say out loud. But you are not sleepy enough right now, and it was indeed Valentine’s day, so your imagination starts making up alternate realities of what could’ve been. You get your dear journal and write a poem, a confession.

“Let’s see each other in person, Yoongi” That’s what you hope and pray for.

🪷🪷🪷

Yoongi POV

Yoongi woke up on that Wednesday with that fuzzy feeling on his chest again. He knew this was getting too weird for his own good, there was no way dreaming about a random person he had never seen in his life was a normal thing.

Three years ago, he thought seeing a woman crying while writing was just a way his brain found to deal with his own creative process and the frustrations coming with it. But the story was getting too complex, the scenes were getting too detailed. There’s no way he knew sonnet 18 by Shakespeare by heart to create that kind of scene. He didn’t even know it by heart in Korean!

He couldn’t complain. He was nervous about his solo tour and his album and seeing her in his dreams gave him a warm sensation of calmness. He hasn’t heard her voice many times, so listening to the teacher in his dreams reading that poem with such devotion made him happy. He closed his eyes, still in bed, trying to replay it in his mind. The big smile and kind eyes shining so bright while talking about the sonnet with so much passion… His heart shrinks a little, the good kind of pain, he wishes he could see her for real, if she’s real. She must be. She has to.

He knew that feeling wouldn’t leave him, even if he tried, the warmth, the pull and the want to see her one more time. This would follow him for the rest of the day and he was getting used to it after such a long time.

He didn’t know what to do. Yoongi knew people would say he’s crazy if he dared to talk about this out loud. So, he resorted to his old friends, the yellow notepad and the pencil. And just like the other times she followed him in his mind, he wrote her another song.

To be continued.

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[kageygreye-skies]

didn’t think chappell roan would impact me SO much after finding her and her artistry but she kind of literally made me fully accept that i was a lesbian and showed me there’s space for me in the community LMFAO.

allow me to take you on a fuckin journey lmfao. heres a lil story about a recent revelation about my identity that dominoed from listening to the rise and fall of a midwest princess. lol

i found chappell technically whenever she released pink pony club lol i just had never processed it was her. (i listened to midwest princess for the first time a long while who and when it got to ppc, i paused my phone, and yelled, “THAT WAS HER? THE WHOLE TIME??”), her pop sound and drag visuals were something i found refreshing and exciting. discography went triple platinum in my household fr.

watching a lesbian drag queen rise in the public has been so lovely to see, as a queer singer myself. watching that same woman be so open about her experience as a lesbian, pay homage to other gay individuals and icons, turn down the white house for a pride performance, perform at prides in states where lgbt rights are consistently under threat,,, its beyond inspiring to me! and reminds me to remember what i really want to do with my career as a performer and the people i want to lift up and pay my respects to.

this ultimately caused me to want to brush up on the queer history i knew and start learning about the history i didnt. at that time my focus veered to history about lesbians.. because i wanted to search for lesbians that shared my experience.. if there were any that did.

i have had a strange relationship with my gender and sexuality since i was 13, coming out first as bi at 15, and nonbinary at 17 (although i experienced gender dysphoria long before then). i have used the nonbinary label since, but my sexuality was something i was never sure i could settle on. i flipped between id’ing as bi and lesbian for months until i just stopped using labels so i didnt have to think abt that shit anymore😭

the term lesbian was what felt the most right to me, after years of periods of trying to convince myself that if i jump through strange loopholes and squint a little, that i could potentially like a man. i would worry and think things like, “what if im wrong and i just havent found one that i can maybe like? what if there actually is a boy who is exactly like the idealized anime-ass version of boys in my head who is also soft and girlie and would wear matching dresses with me?” i would have to use plenty of implausible what ifs just to entertain the idea. i did this even despite the fact that i cannot and do not picture a future with a man, i have only questioned my physical attraction to men when they “look like girls,” i am almost always slightly grossed out when men express sexual attraction to me, and have not had any kind of intimacy with guys where i didnt feel almost completely disconnected. i didnt find men fulfilling. it took me very long to realize that if i have to literally FORCE myself into liking them…i dont like them lol.

i have never had to question my attraction to women, butches + femmes,, ever. i could spend hours writing both prose, poetry, music, screenplays,, just fuckin dissertation after dissertation about women.. and sometimes it has taken me hours to list at least 5 reasons of “why i like this guy” that didnt involve him reminding me of a woman. guys, the comphet.. was rough. very grateful i have a therapist lol

once i accepted again that i was definitely solely sapphic, i still felt my more-than-partial disconnect from womanhood excluded me from being able to claim the lesbian label, despite how right it began to feel. i was also worried that the people around me would think i was completely detransitioning to cis,, which definitely was not the case. although i am fine with feminine gendered terms and pronouns, and while my expression and interests lean slightly more feminine, my relationship with “womanhood” has always been messy and complicated. i remember first-ish experiencing dysphoria around when i was 11, although i didnt know what that meant at the time. for as long as i can remember, the concept of “being a woman” was not something i felt was entirely me.

i knew there were lesbians that were gender non conforming, but i was not at all aware of the intertwining of lesbianism and gender identity until i began reading more about lesbian history. realizing there have always been lesbians outside of the binary (the popular sunset lesbian flag was designed by emily gwen, a nonbinary lesbian), people who used lesbian/butch as their gender identity, cis lesbians who use pronouns other than she/her, lesbians who use/have used hrt (like me i used hrt for 2 years👋🏾😀) lesbians who bind or pursue top surgery… they were always there. i am halfway through the stone butch blues now and it has actually changed my life. not only did it increase my already overflowing gratitude for my lesbian and queer elders and their experiences… but it made me really realize there has always been a space for me. when that sank in.. i felt immense relief. and then i cried for a fuckin LONG ass time lmao

since all of this i have felt a lot more sure of myself, and have embraced myself in a way i think i have always struggled to before.

so to recap… i am a lesbian. and its pretty rad. and i also love chappell roan. she reminds me of all the reasons why i love being queer and is someone i want to look up to as i continue in my finally-starting-to-go-somewhere career as a performer. one day we will collab and ill tell her all of this in person (watch out yall! it will happen i can sense it😤)

[ashoss]

My favorite option for Dick is Hermes legacy because of the whole traveling (circus) thing and Hermes has those flying winged sandals -> flying Graysons. He’s also the God of diplomacy which Dick tends to be good at, and languages, of which, at least in fanon, Dick speaks many.

I could also see son of Apollo (it was a triad with both his parents. If Apollo can have bio kids with male humans, he can have a bio kid with 3 humans). PJO!Apollo’s bad poetry => Dick’s endless puns. Sun god => sunshine boy. Drive the (flying) sun chariot => flies through the air on trapeze/grappling gun. Also PJO!Apollo’s personality just seems a little similar to Dick’s outward personality.

Legacy of Dionysus (performers and revelry) could maybe work as well.

Or, based on the way Nightwing is one of the most trusted members of the Justice league by so many, many different heroes, there’s a Greek god/personification of “good faith, trust, and reliability” named pistis. (Not to mention the shared penchant of those two names to be . . . Misinterpreted by modern English speakers, lol).

i do really like apollo as dick's parent- pjo!apollo and dick do have a lot of similarities but i think they're more similar if you look at dick's fanon portrayal rather than his canon one. i think if anything apollo fits robin!dick more than it does nightwing!dick. i do think hermes fits him a bit more, being the god of trickery and mischief might also fit how dick is a natural performer putting on an act a lot.

pistis is also good, but its kind of only relies on one aspect of dick's personality, and thats his reliability as a hero and brother.

[meetinginsamarra]

My fave Sherlock BBC AUs - Artists

Around mid-month I’ll do a fic rec list with my fave AU genres or tropes. Summaries are taken from OP on AO3.

ACTORS

“Performance in a Leading Role” (-series, +7 sequels) by Mad_Lori @madlori

Sherlock Holmes is an Oscar winner in the midst of a career slump. John Watson is an Everyman actor trapped in the rom-com ghetto. When they are cast as a gay couple in a new independent drama, will they surprise each other? Will their on-screen romance make its way into the real world?

“Lifetime Achievement” (part 9 of Performance-sereis) by Mad_Lori

John Watson has just won an Oscar and gotten engaged in the same day. Now what? (Sequel to "Performance in a Leading Role")

“To the Sticking Place” by blueink3 @blueink3

Renowned Shakespearean actor Sherlock Holmes has finally burned all of his bridges in the theatre industry save for his constant director, Greg Lestrade. John Watson has made a name for himself in the musical theatre circuit, but age and injury are working against him. Can they reinvent themselves for an all-male Macbeth without killing one another?

“Much Ado about a Whole Bloody Lot” (sequel to Sticking Place) by blueink3

"What do you mean John has to kiss her?"  "Sherlock, that's generally what happens when one is starring in a romantic comedy." Or, Sherlock goes to see John in his first role post-Macbeth and he's really not all that happy about it.

“Floating through a dark blue sky” by Lediona

Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

“Fading Stars and Black Holes” by lurikko

Sherlock Holmes, known from movies A Scandal in Belgravia and Don’t Make Me Choose, comes back to acting after two years. He’s starring in a romantic comedy about two men who move in together for practical reasons and stumble into a surprising friendship. The only problem is that his co-star is John Watson, a man whom he hasn’t seen since he left their shared flat two years ago, leaving John only a note. During the time they have been apart, John Watson has gotten to himself a wife, a child, and a divorce.

“The Short and Tragic Death of John Watson” by Calais_Reno @calaisreno

Thirteen years ago, Sherlock starred in a television series about an alien boy stranded on Earth. Now Molly has written a reunion episode and he's expected to join his old costars and recreate the role of Alex Tribble, now an adult returning to rescue his old friends from an alien threat. Having had some success since playing a teenage alien, Sherlock is reluctant to reprise the role. And there's another problem no one wants to discuss: John Watson, who played his best friend, is dead.

Warning: Nobody dies. John isn't dead. If you came here for angst and MCD, you won't find it. If you came here to find a cheesy, self-indulgent story with a ridiculous, contrived happy ending that I had way too much fun writing, here you go.

“Take Two” by Raina_at @raina-at

Six years ago, Sherlock Holmes, then a promising young actor, broke John Watson's heart. When the production John is working on needs a new lead actor two weeks before press night, they turn to Sherlock to save the production. Working together after six years won't be a problem. After all, both of them are professionals. And both of them have moved on. Or at least they think they have.

WRITERS

“How Novel-series” (14 fics) by StarlicghtAndFireflies

starting with A Novel Meeting

“Who should I sign it to?” The familiar question rolls off his lips easily, but somehow it feels more meaningful this time. He’s never met a fan quite so dedicated, quite so willing to lug an entire armful of books to get them all signed, quite so handsome even when he blushes. “Er… Sherlock,” the man replies. AU in which John is an author, and Sherlock is a fan who comes to his book signing.

“Poetry and Prose” by Jberry

John is a crime series writer. Sherlock writes serious poetry. Sherlock takes time on his writing blog to give John Watson a hard time about his writing, though he's secretly read all his books and in love with the author. Mistaken identity, new love, a little angst, fluff that progresses into... Well. You'll just have to read it, now won't you?

“Writer’s Block” by lookupkate

John has been writing detective novels for years, shitty, romance filled detective novels. That is until his last. Now he can't write a single chapter. When Greg seats him next to an asshole genius he doesn't have the slightest idea that it is exactly what he needs.

“Fortune Favours” by simplyclockwork @simplyclockwork​

On military leave, John Watson discovers that his sister has signed him up for a blind date book event. The set-up is simple: one person brings a book and ends up on a blind date with whoever chooses their contribution. To say that John is reluctant to attend is an understatement. Luckily, sparks fly between him and a stunning new author when he makes an unorthodox selection from the book choices.

PAINTERS

“Oxidation” by abbykate

as oil paintings dry, the process is not evaporation as there is no water in the paint to disappear; instead, the oils in the paint are oxidised causing them to harden over years in a process that never really stops.

“Bloody Brushes” and by jawbonesandjumpers

Sherlock Holmes is a world-renowned art critic and collector who rarely finishes any of his own work. He is brutal and ends more artists’ careers than starts them, and he abhors the state of the art world today. John Watson is a recluse who was invalided out of the army and paints the horrifying scenes of his nightmares. When Sherlock stumbles across one of his works, he becomes obsessed with his paintings and wants nothing more than to meet the man behind the canvas.

“Pastel Paints” by jawbonesandjumpers

Sherlock finds his muse and John paints an angel.

“Art of the Reasoner” by Tellytubby101

A world in which Sherlock is an artist, not a detective. Though that doesn’t mean he can’t help solve crimes. AU.

[lovelivingmydreams]

Questions about powers in your Raven Poetry AU because there is a voice in my brain that is screaming at me to learn everything possible about this world’s magic system. (Sorry if any of these were answered in an earlier chapter and I forgot about it) (and I’ve only read up to chapter 30 so if any of these are answered in a later chapter… yeah.) (also feel free to not reply at all, idc)

So, in this AU, everyone has a power, right? And they manifest/become strong enough to be noticeable during childhood. (how does that part work?) Are there any cases of people who don’t develop powers? Or whose abilities don’t develop until adulthood? Are there any really useless powers/powers with no practical applications like… idk, always switching radio stations at the right time to catch the beginning of a song? Being able to fold paper perfectly? Being able to lower the IQ of anyone within a metre radius of you by exactly 3 points? Does everyone have a completely unique power? Are some powers more common than others?

Functionally, Roman has multiple powers. But technically (and I would assume legally), he only has one. Are there people who technically do have multiple powers? Like, could someone have super strength and X ray vision with absolutely zero connection between the two?

Focusing on Roman, do his different gimmicks have some kind of time limit on them? Would they ever time out at an inconvenient moment like mid-flight? Or do they magically fade away when Roman wants them to, or when it’s safe for the power to disappear? There is an image in my head of Roman frantically trying to come up with a poem for flight while falling through the air, but (based entirely on vibes) it doesn’t seem like such a scenario would be possible. I know you’ve mentioned that he doesn’t tend to do more than two, maybe three powers at once, but that he probably could if he had to… and what would the repercussions of that be? Does conjuring powers wear him out?

Really curious about what’s going to happen with the Fortunas Trinitae (hope I spelled that right) plotline, but if any of the answers to these next questions would spoil that, probably don’t answer? Ultimately it’s up to you if you want to do spoilers though. (Might not even be spoilers, like I said I still have 20+ chapters to catch up on)

So:

Theoretically, could Roman summon powers of wealth creation, fortune telling, and luck manipulation? Or is there a plot device that keeps that from happening? Can Roman only summon physical abilities like the angel wings and fire monster? No, right? Cause he had that study boost thing. Are there any powers that he’s unable to conjure? Can he copy powers? Can he steal powers? (Is there anyone whose power is stealing/suppressing other’s powers?)

Virgil… definitely something is up with his spidey sense. Pretty sure that it has to do with Professor Daniel’s experiment thing, and also that I’ll probably find out once I actually read the rest of the fic.

uh. yeah. I think that’s all the questions I have? If there’s anything else you feel like sharing about the magic system, PLEASE DO. No worries if you haven’t thought super far into it, I just think it’s really interesting! Sorry for the long ask, and again, no pressure to answer. Have a great day!

Hi! No worries. I got so excited when I saw all these fun questions. It means so much to me that the world is of interest to you. So let's get started: (warning long ramblings under the cut)

Yes, everyone is born with some kind of power. Some cause physical changes in the body (like Logan's tail) and those will be noticable at birth. Other powers will present themselves sooner or later. Virgil's by example is a very intuitive power so he'd be using it from very young even if he didn't understand it yet. Roman's power wouldn't show up until he developed a certain way with words and found his passion for the performing and literary arts. In my head the power can change slightly with the personality of the person. The baseline is established at birth. But by example, Logan's curious nature made him understand all the animals. Someone else with the same 'baseline' power might have just developed 'animal instincts' or develop better senses.

There is always a power. Sometimes you don't realize it is a power until later. But developing a power is as much a given as having a heart or a brain. They might not all be equal but they are all there. There are always late bloomers but that's more a late teens situation. There might have been one or two cases of adults discovering their abilities. But that's more not realizing what it was. Like how do you know your power is attracting luck? Or maybe you have healing powers but every time you just figure you didn't hurt yourself as bad as you thought until you are seriously bleeding one moment and then perfectly fine the next.

There are plenty 'useless' powers. One of Virgil's teachers always knows when it's going to rain. There'll be a character who can change the flavor of food. Mundane stuff. We didn't give the main cast any of those cuz we were having too much fun comming up with them.

There are more common powers, you'll find that telekinesis is one of the comon ones. It manifests slightly different in every user though. But Ro's dad does a good job explaining that in a later chapter so that's all I'll say on the matter for now.

There is always a connection. Wether it is obvious or not. You get one power. That power can give you multiple benefits or be used creatively (Like using telekinesis to fly). But there is always a same point of origin. Being able to use multiple powers like Roman does is Extremely rare. So no Superman's in this universe except for in the comics where the artists can take liberty with the established rules behind powers if they really want to. Superman is an alien there cuz it gives a canonical reason to why he has multiple powers that have nothing to do with each other.

About Roman's powers. I'm pretty sure we elaborated on that before, but a refresher never hurts. Roman's powers run on his emotions. That's why he got so powerful when he was upset about Virgil being kidnapped the first time. So falling out of the sky likely wouldn't happen. It would mean he went form high emotional state to perfectly calm in a second. He always knows he's running out in time. He's practiced enough to be able to tell. Speaking of practice, the more practice he has with a power the easier it is for him to summon it. His charm barely requires any energy anymore as he's used it so much to keep his secret identity. Using a lot of powers or fighting for a long time, is emotionally draining of course. He'd get exhausted if he did too much for too long.

Trinitas Fortuna: He could defenitely do that. But they'd all only work temporarily. Maybe that's good enough for TF maybe not. We'll have to wait and see. If Roman can dream it he can do it. It does help if he is familiar with the power in question though. The study boost one was improvised and gets better with time. I'd say his limits aren't in his power but in his own disposition. If he's scared or grossed out by one it likely won't manifest. So stealing someone's power would only happen if it was the only way. And it would likely not be permanent as none of his powers are permanent. We don't have an All For One in this universe and I'm inclined to keep it that way. But there might be a few who can turn other people's powers off for a bit Erasure Head style.

Virgil. You should defenitely read on for that one yeah.

Something we'd like to add... Well not sure how obvious it is in the story. But in this universe, powers have been part of the human experience since forever. Every belief system has their own spin on where they come from. Scientifically it is just accepted as fact with no difinitive answer on the how and why of it. Of course there is an attempt at categorizing cuz we're humans and our love for boxes is only outdone by cats. So there are active powers (not always happening, only when you choose too. Roman for example) Passive (Can't turn it off. Ever. Like Logan). And within those you have a sub category of Body modifications. A power that changes the body of the individual from the standard humanoid form. Those can also be active or passive. There are still powers that lie in murky waters probably with this one, but it's the best they could come up with.

@skeletinmoss anything to add?

[sheisanimposter]

Some first TTPD thoughts now that I’ve listened a few times and processed a bit:

- My fears of an album made mid tour coming off as rushed have been somewhat confirmed, there is a reason most artists don’t produce albums during an active tour. Taylor’s best written songs were made during the pandemic when she had to slow down, and it benefitted from a ton of collabs. That level of quality simply can’t be reached during a huge tour like this with her insane schedule.

-Lyrically, so much of this hits close to home as a woman around her age. As a 92 millennial, her albums are often released in perfect timing with a relevant chapter of my own life because she is about 2 years older than me, so when she releases an album expressing her feelings from 2 years prior it ends up being just in time for me, this album is no exception. Sentiments of being in a relationship with men who refuse therapy, trying to appease them, waiting for marriage or babies, that intuitive feeling of time running out: this was written for millennial women.

-That being said a poem is not a song, converting poetry to music that translates the original meaning isn’t easy, and it feels like she handed a book of completed poems and random verses to jack and asked him to produce music for it quickly. In songs where the lyrics are really strong it’s often overshadowed by repetitive music that doesn’t match the personality or the intricacy of the writing style. Some of the songs are actually more enjoyable to read as poetry which is what we’re all doing with lyrics we’re sharing and analyzing.

-Some of the lyrics feel rushed too, you can hear in songs like down bad that she meant what she said and it was raw and real and fully expressed from her insides, but then songs like alchemy are reciting a cringey conversation and it’s not even poetic, it just feels like filler in some spots

-the vibe is telling me she rushed this on purpose because she needs public closure of this chapter to start something new sooner than later, whether that’s career wise, family wise, or both

I’m not saying I don’t like it because I very much do, but I’m enjoying this album moreso as poetry with a little bit of background music, whereas albums like folklore felt whole with lyrics and music that complimented one another and translated the message more clearly. Overall though, I actually just wish she waited another year to release this so it could have been reworked one more time through and come out fully cooked. Folklore and evermore is some of her best work because of the world making us all pause and slow down, she was able to put her soul into the details, which is just impossible to do while also performing a massive production tour. It’s not a bad album but it could have been better and feels like a draft at times for me. That being said, the underlying tone of a chapter ending is not only emotional for me as a fan, but as a 32 year old woman who relates to this vague theme of transition wholeheartedly.

[beckmessering]

Hey, new to your blog and to opera, and first of all I want to thank you for sharing all your informative, comprehensive and entertaining takes with us. Theatre fandom is so much richer for it! Secondly, I wondering if I might trouble you for some resource recommendations and some advice r.e. understanding opera technically and artistically as a newcomer to the genre. Myself, I only have highschool/College rudimentary orchestral (flute) skills and sadly cannot write music, sightread or sing well (would love to and have tried in the past to teach myself, but it's very difficult and hasn't...really taken well), so while I enjoy so much of the opera music to which I've been exposed, I feel so much is going over my head. What's more, though I have a theatre degree and poetry qualifications, my background is more performance Art and modern non-musical stage, so again I feel I'm missing so much nuance as I take in opera and the glitzy mad world around it. One of my tentative goals is to one day write a libretto, so it's important to me to figure it all out, however I know this will potentially be a long process. The podcasts Opera After Dark and Aria Code have helped somewhat with my understanding, but more knowledge and simpler breakdowns can only help more. Am interested in particular to know how you'd approach educating someone in opera, as you are so well-versed. In about a month I'm going to a screening of Rheingold, which is very much the scary deep end for me (I'm a fluffy French opera fan), so I'd like to go in forearmed haha. Thank you so much for reading and for your content, looking forward to the new season!

hey hey! first of all, sorry for taking half a century to respond to this ask - this is so sweet of you to say, i'm really touched 🥹

about the advice - first, to all the opera friends who see this, feel free to reblog with your own advice and ideas! i don't feel like the most qualified advice giver (lol) because for much of my knowledge, i don't quite remember how i got it. i played classical piano for twelve years, but i never "properly" studied operas anywhere, so most of my learning is and was autodidactic. i think i spent a lot of time on the internet reading interviews with my favourite singers. i also once joined an opera club/society at my university, where i learned more about practical aspects of rehearsals and performing. if you have the chance, going to any kind of open rehearsal is also great to learn about how music, staging, and acting end up together. then, it kind of depends on what you specifically want to discover about the operas you hear, whether it's music theory or aspects of stagings, etc.

i think i can say a bit, though, about how to approach a first-time rheingold (or a first-time wagner?). the most important thing is: the veil of seriousness that seems to surround wagner operas does not exist. at least it doesn't exist for me. it can be no less funky and fun than any other kind of opera. especially rheingold.

it depends a bit from which side you're more prone to approaching something: if you enjoy analysing music to get closer to it or if you feel you have to get closer to it first in order to want to analyse it. i am of the second type, which means i try to drop all worries before going to see something new and approach it with a "yeehee fun!!" mindset. something i find extremely worthwhile in wagner operas, especially because the words and the story are so old, is putting yourself in the characters' shoes and treating them as if they were real people. this helps if you tend to look at everything through the emotional lens - feeling emotionally close to the story in some way, either through understanding the relationships or properly relating, can help with appreciating the music and developing an understanding of why it was written this way. i'm no huge music analyst by choice myself, though, i have to admit. however, rheingold specifically is a very fun opera because it illustrates its own setting quite nicely with the music - there's a lot of atmosphere in the music and there's a lot of tone painting going on, like music that sounds like diving through a river, giant threatening footfalls, sounds of a smithy, and such. several of these reappear multiple times throughout the opera, so one thing i enjoyed playing around with while and after my first ring cycle was this playlist:

it has all the ring leitmotifs the heart desires and it's quite fun to play auditory bingo with them - you can either listen before you go or afterwards and then check out a recording.

as you were in orchestra, perhaps buying/borrowing a score and reading along would also be an option for you? i do this only for the works that really, really interest me, but i feel it does wonders for the amount of things i hear in the music, especially for wagner, because sometimes you can recognise motifs by sight on the page first and then you actually hear them better. i'd suggest doing this after the screening, though, if you liked it.

i'm not sure if this advice is any good, lmao - if you have any more questions, absolutely don't hesitate to be in touch! :) hope that rheingold goes well (which one will you be seeing, btw?) and i'd be curious to find out your opinion at the end!! :D

[octoberscigarettes]

Weekly Tag game thingy

Thank you for tagging me @abetterdaaye !!

how’s your day going? Pretty okay, I'm sick and still recovering from exam season, but getting to do nothing for a day was fun

are you okay? the sun started shining again, exams are over and suddenly i start to feel okay again

what is your favourite shade of your favourite colour? that shade of green when you're in a forest full of dark green trees, but then the sun shines through the leaves a little bit

are you single? yes

are you happy about that? yes and no, I've just been craving someone to share my life with recently

what age do you feel in your brain? its a pendulum that swings between 5 and 67, it's highlighted include feeling 15 again or my actual age (when i go out) and culminates in the old lady who sits on her balcony and crochets

do you feel like the good times are behind you or ahead of you? I feel like there aren't "the good times". I have had a lot of good moments in the past, I have a lot of good moments in my current stage of life and I am sure there will be good moments in my later life

do you have a best friend? yes!!

did you have a childhood pet? yes, she is my baby since I was twelve and I picked her up, I miss her desperately and I look forward to seeing her again soon

do you sing or whistle around the house? extensively so, yes

do you light candles or incense? candles yes, but almost only on the balcony, and not scented most of the time, also no incense bc I get headaches really fast

are you busy friday night? we'll see, my cold still has me in its grip of death so I'll probably spend the night watching something and crocheting

If you were a circus performer which act would you be in? honestly the closest thing to a circus act I would be is Charles Boyle from Brooklyn 99 in that one Jimmy Jab games episode

what is your favorite outfit? denim shorts, white top, the (basically just sleeves) shrug i crocheted and white sneakers, big hoops and hair open

what is the last thing you created? i work on so many things at once, maybe it was the cardigan, maybe it was one of my fics that rot on my computer, maybe it was a sentence meant to be poetry or maybe it was just a tumblr deep dive on a man (Ian Gallagher they could never make me hate you)

what is your favourite book/fic of all time? Book I would have to say either Demian or the Steppenwolf by Hermann Hesse or The good person of Sezuan by Bertolt Brecht. Fic would probably have to be Away Childish Things, anything Gallaplacidia has done or some obscure fic I only hold in my memories

what are you looking forward to? spring (and getting over my cold)

what can immediately put you in a good mood? seeing someone see me

do you like hugs? so much

what is something you wish people understood about you? That all I'm looking for is love, and looking how to show that love to others

Tagging everyone who wants to feel tagged!