#Expect less poems for 3-5 days

[worldbuildingwanderlust]

Wish me well

In my descent

Into hell

[absolutebl]

This Week in BL - New & Old Tropes Galore

Entirely subjective yadda yadda. Organized sorta by favs in each category.

Sept 2023 Wk 4

Ongoing Series - Thai

I Feel You Linger in the Air (Fri grey) ep 7 of 12 - occasionally I forget that Yai is like 20 and this is his first love affaire. That poem bit gave me very Goethe vibes. Lots of doomed lesbians in this ep. Doomed love in general. Frankly? I was hoping for more oil less sad. Also, these two are making some v stupid mistakes. Also: MORE boys dancing.

Finally... who was it wanted a rain kiss? You got your rain kissing here, okay? No umbrellas to be had, apparently.

Dangerous Romance (Fri YT) ep 7 of 12 - I love them so much. They are so darn adorable. I like how forthright Kang is. Boy has no game and is such a dork but at least he's enthusiastic. I love the “my boyfriend smells good” trope that BL is into these days. I’m into it, too. The bff enemies drunken bathroom shenanigans was v funny. Also @heretherebedork your boys are couple dancing all over the damn place this week.

I guess we get the boyfriends ep next week?

Hidden Agenda (Sun YT) ep 12fin - The conflict really kind of wasn’t in this last ep. But I guess it was a fine, if not a particularly strong, ending. I wish we’d had the family conflict threaded throughout the series. It would have felt like a deeper more honest drama and the actors could have handled it. They’re ready. How pretty were Joong’s single picturesque crystal tears? Honestly, it's been lovely, boys. Not at all memorable, but lovely.

Quick pitch Hidden Agenda: 

A relatively simple and harmless old-fashioned style university Thai BL, that started out Cyrano de Bergerac style but then drifted away into forgetfulness. It felt like it could have fit into the En of Love universe, except that it was high quality GMMTV with very pretty makeup. I enjoyed it for what it was, it's just that wasn’t much. 8/10 RECOMMENDED

Naughty Babe (Sat YT) ep 5 of 8 - Am I mostly watching this for Est and annoyed he doesn’t have a pair? Yes. (Am I writing a whole revenge plot in my head: "seduced to the good side by my enemy's hot bodyguard" with him and the Tem character? Yes. Yes I am. But that’s way too KinnPorsche for this show.) That said, MaxNat really are a great pair. Nice that Dio is figuring out how evil his own family is. Weirdly, I kind of like this speculation that if gay marriage were legal rich families would use it for arranged-marriage power plays. Can you imagine what China would do with this concept if they had access to it? 

Love in Translation (Sat iQIYI) ep 7 of 8 - The morning after was sweet, I do like it when we get these scenes in BL. FYI no one misgendered Bojji except the caption writer. The screaming "discovery" scene was adorable. And I am very much falling in love with all of the side characters. I also love how aggressive Yang is, like he stepped out of a 2016 Chinese BL into Thailand. And I adore the main brother relationship.

I have to say, this is going to be a difficult BL for me to review. I didn’t like the first 4 episodes but it seems like I’m going to love the final 3. I’m actually really looking forward to the finale next week. Boy, do I feel strange about this. In other news, is it just me or is it weird to get a gay kiss from Ngern almost 10 years later? How late is too late for smooching a boy? 

Never too late...

Absolute Zero (Thai Weds iQIYI) - from 2021, Studio Wabi Sabi and New Siwaj finally brings us this “time loop to prevent tragedy” romance based on the novel of the same name. I think we can expect this to be sad (so it will likely slide down my list as I become more confident about this). Mix is a great actor, so I’m not worried about that aspect, but I am warning you this won’t be your classic fluffy Thai BL. It’s a bit slow moving for me so far. Meanwhile, a revelation:

Thai high school BL is all about the hands. I blame Love Sick.

FYI the outdoor movie they watch is Love of Siam Thailand’s first real queer movie, also featured in My Only 12%.

I'm in trouble, Ongsa is such a sunshine cutie and Sansoon is so lost and sad. Pretty sure I won’t have the patience for 12 episodes of this, but I’ll stick with it for now because a pair like this is yaoi-induced catnip for me.

Only Friends (Sat YT) ep 8 of 10 - Ah, Ray, baby, you can’t get what you want if you want the wrong thing. Also, corruption charges much? Is Ray turning into Ton or is that just me? I still hold that Jenny’s is the only story I actually wanted. Although, I did enjoy the two bi boys bonding over Freddie. GMMTV sure is making good use of Title now that they got him away from Wabi Sabi and I’m NOT mad about it (4 shows & counting). Under ordinary circumstances, I probably would have dropped this show by now. But something keeps dragging me back.

My Universe (Sun iQIYI) Right Time Right You ep 6 - This couplet ended up feeling like an amateurish short. It was interesting in that way shorts can sometimes push into unusual territory, but very slow. My favorite so far, but that’s not saying much since we've only had 3. Kinda amorphous ending. 5/10 watch it if you have nothing better to do. Next week's looks pretty but silly: You Are My Soulmate.

Venus in the Sky (Tues iQIYI) 5 of 10 eps - I don’t understand the bit with the girl, car & eyebrows. Was that all just ad copy? This show is so bad I’m mostly fast forwarding now. I mean the leads are cute and earnest but that’s it. NO SINGING! And... nothing happened this ep. 

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

Kisseki: Dear to Me (Taiwan Tues Viki & iQIYI) ep 7-8 of 13(?) - Buckle up I got A LOT to say. Ep 7 was the boyfriends ep! Look there’s a a lot of problematic going on here by western standards: age gap (FYI age of consent in Taiwan is 16) + teacher+student, but if you’ve been reading this blog for a while you should know that Taiwan likes both high heat and taboo content (and so do I) plus (unlike Mame) they just lean lube into those kinks. And I, for one, am delighted. I talk about taboo in terms of age gap here and stepbrothers here. I’ve never done teacher/ student because we don’t get it often enough (insert sad face). These are not things that I’m going to complain about or rehash, so, moving on...

I found a lot to love about ep 7: tie grabs, smiley kisses, communication, being held down, younger aggressor, AND preliminary research= all good things. They even brought in morning aftercare, and shared trauma! I love a show that’s both unexpected yet entirely classic Taiwanese BL. I love that the family appeared as a plot device and then disappeared again. It’s all highly amusing.

Gaga dropped ep 8 a week early, I’m assuming this was a mistake since they skip next week. But hey! 

Ep 8: def uhaul lesbians. Also cute queer fam moment. Ring finger biting = v hawt. Then of course it all goes south. Tres romantic means of taking the rap, gotta say. No one does gay sappy quite like Taiwan. Also, now we know why he loses his memory and Ai Di has to go in after him. Honestly, I’m not pleased to see yet another amnesia trope raise its ugly… head (why so many this year?). But it seems to be this year's trend. 

And I know there is more trauma coming, but in classic Taiwan fashion it’s all gonna be fine in the end even if that HEA is chaotic and entirely unearned. Don't worry, all. We good.

You Are Mine (Taiwan Fri Gaga) eps 4 of 10 - Oh noes, sunshine has a cold. And not from the rain... just, like, a normal cold. Amazing. But then when baby gets kidnapped, daddy gets v mad. Honestly, I am charmed by the show. It is very old-fashioned "domineering CEO puts little lady up against the wall" and it’s Taiwan, and thus I am not mad about it. This is what we would be getting from Mainland China if China we’re still making pulp BL. I am disposed to simply enjoy the utter "80s bodice ripper but gay"-ness of it all.

Bon Appetit (Korea Weds iQIYI) 1-2 of 8 - from 2022. If you have premium icky VIP you can binge it all now. I don’t, so instead I’m watching it 2 new episodes every Weds. Struggling heartbroken loser-ish office worker who lives off junk food + sunshine neighbor who loves to cook (from his past with a long-held crush). Also there is a "love class" element. Why does Korea like this conceit so much? Do their universities really engage in socialization training? Gotta say I’m getting whiffs of stalker... but only whiffs. Basically, this show is going poster child “way to a man’s heart is through his stomach“. Bit too much flashback, but I like that our chef is open about liking a boy, and I like that they remember things differently and in alignment with their own egos. And I like that we got a confession already. Ah KBL, it is nice to watch something that MUST move plot quickly. 

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho (Japan Sat Gaga) ep 6 of 8 - Jealous weatherman is ridiculous. Japan = queen of “why don’t you guys just talk?” 

Mr Cinderella 2 (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 2 - Ba Vinh & Minh Thao reprising their roles as Dung & Khoa what do we think? 8 eps? 10? We got the stepbrothers (or whatever they are) backstory. Also My Prettiest Cat-boy does certifiable nutcake v well. Psychopath looks hot on him.  

It's Airing But...

Crazy Handsome Rich (Sun Gaga) ep 3 of 10 - The sound. No. DNF 

I Cannot Reach You AKA I Can't Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai (Japan Tues Netflix-Japan & ????) - Adapted from the manga, childhood best friends: The cool, smart one who’s good at everything, and his average, dorky friend who struggles. Always by the other’s side, but not together in the way they truly want to be.

Unfortunately I Cannot Reach You, in classic JBL fashion, could not be reached. 

In case you missed it?

Viki dropped Our Dating Sim the movie. I didn’t notice any extra footage and they took out all the in game/high school flashback stingers. At first, I didn’t really miss them but by the end of the movie I really did. So this is going to be one of those rare KBL instances where I recommend sticking to the original series over the repackaged movie.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming October BL

10/1 Can I Buy Your Love From A Vending Machine? AKA Sono Koi, Jihanki de Kaemasu ka? (Japan cinema release in-country only) - This one is a movie from Japan so in customary fashion who tf knows when (or if) it will get international distribution. Salaryman Ayumu Koiwai just can't tear his eyes away from the strong, muscular man as he checks on the stocks of the vending machine in his office.

10/5 If It’s With You AKA Even If I Fall In Love With You AKA Kimi to nara Koi wo Shite Mite mo’ (Japan Gaga) - from MBS a live action adaptation of Kubota Maru’s manga ‘君となら恋をしてみても. Amane has stopped loving people due to trauma until he meets Ryuji. At first Amane just wants to play with Ryuji but… feelings. I am assuming 8 eps and rumored to be taking Weatherman's spot so that date is likely wrong.

10/6 What Did You Eat Yesterday Season 2 AKA Kinou Nani Tabeta? Season 2 (Japan Gaga) - 4th installment in this series (1st series, 1 special, 1 movie prior) about a lawyer who lives with his boyfriend, a hairdresser, and cooks for him. Season 2 will follow the couple as they enter their 50’s. Slice-of-life drama adapted from a beloved manga series of the same name.

10/6 My Beautiful Man: Eternal AKA Utsukushii Kare Eternal (Japan movie Viki & Gaga) - This is the 3rd and final installment the series. The 2nd season didn’t blow me away the way the 1st did, but I still liked it. I'm looking forward to the finale. I hope we get character growth for a change.

10/31 SHADOW (Thai VIU ????) - this is a horror BL featuring ghosts and other paranormal elements in a high school setting. I'm not wild about Thai horror (or horror at all, but if it must be done in BL let Japan do it). It features Singto (who did paranormal BL He's Coming to Me) opposite Fluke N (who's done a couple horror's before). Also Fiat. Dan suffers from sleep paralysis, and in his dreams he sees a shadow that suffocates him. It gets worse when he transfers schools.

October? Bump Up Project AKA Bump Up Business (Korea ????) - BL staring OnlyOneOf that released(??) as a movie in July but is now being recut and reissued as a series. Stars NineMill and from Idol Romance bulled as a love story between a trainee who is about to debut and a celebrity from the same agency (based on a webtoon). OnlyOneOf have been auditioning for this since Libido IMHO. You can watch me chronicle their BL MV work in this post. Idol Romance will do sad but can do good kisses (Wish You, Nobleman Ryu, Once Again, Kissable Lips, Poongduck 304, Tasty Florida, Tinted With You) but I don't think we will get any in this. After that OmegaX Shoulder bullshizz buisness I am very wary of this show.

2023 forthcoming BL master post (see comments, some are inaccurate, NOT KEPT UPDATED).

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

There was a ton of truly great stuff in this week's Kiseki, but this was hands down my favorite. (Pun intended.)

Oh and the neck kisses of course.

I LOVE HIM your honor.

GMMTV's ongoing love affair with the scent trope.

Calling out out new couple's dance trope. (Both Dangerous Romance)

(Last week) 

[justapoet]

these roads are changing me (but they all lead back to you)

Annabeth wanted to ask if everything was all right, but Percy beat her to it. "Stop the car," he requested, his voice seemingly stuck in his throat. Annabeth frowned in concern, but did as she was asked, turning the wheel and parking the car on the curb, watching her best friend as his mind seemed to race and he didn't quite know where to run to with it. "I—" Percy mumbled, swallowing hard and looking breathless. "I don't know, I..." he interrupted himself, feeling the tears that hadn't fallen fill his eyes and roll down his cheeks. "It hurts to breathe."

read on Ao3

chapter 1: to those who ask

chapter 2: to whose who wait

chapter 3: to those who gaze

chapter 4: to those who left

chapter 5: to those who went so far away

chapter 5: to those who remain

to those who never saw me

It was pretty early in life when Annabeth discovered that failing wasn't a thing.

Or, rather, perhaps it was — but it never was, and would never be, a possibility for her, in her life, in her future, in her past.

Failure was bad, and she was supposed to be good. A good daughter, a good sister, a good student, a good person that shouldn't, and wouldn't, by any means, waste her father's time and money by not being somewhat successful in whatever it was that she had to do.

Because being good meant not failing, of course; but she was supposed to be the best in everything she attempted, even if it was something that came from someone else's mind and ideas and ideals.

The best, and the best at what they did couldn't fail. They couldn't misstep, or make a wrong choice, or take the wrong path — according to her father, her mother, her stepmother. She was supposed to know better, to be the best, to never make them once doubt her ability to be someone in life.

She was five when she first learned that she should be ashamed of things she couldn't exceed expectations on. She was five, and had just learned how to write, and she hadn't remembered that 'fish' didn't have plural when it came to a shoal, and she had lost a few decimals on her grade of the small poem she was supposed to write.

She was six when she learned that it wasn't an option not to be the best in Math, and that she should know how to divide things regardless of how the numbers swam all over the page. Annabeth had gotten two out of five questions wrong, and her father was more than displeased with the whole thing.

It was when she began hiding the rare papers that had anything less than an A splattered clearly on them. And even those, when she handed them proudly to her father, were considered nothing more than her obligation — she was expected to be the best student, and she was expected to make sure every penny spent was worth the trouble.

Annabeth was nine when she first won Student of the Month, and she was nine years and six months when she realized that the same achievement would be a burden more than a blessing. Her father wasn't happy, not exactly, beyond sharing Helen's happiness that they would only pay half the school's monthly payment, and she was now expected to win it every month.

And that she did, because she didn't want to learn how it would be when she didn't win it anymore.

She was eleven when she figured it out, and it was the first time she had had a panic crisis. Alone, in the school bathroom, missing one class for the first time in her life — and she made up something, so she didn't have to go back home that day, only to end up on Thalia's doorstep and not say a word for eighteen hours straight.

But Annabeth tried, because it was normal in her reality that she needed to be the best, the best, the better. She tried, because that was the least she could do — she wasn't good at anything else, but she was smart (or so people said) and, therefore, studying and being a good student, the best student, was the bare minimum she could give her father in return.

Annabeth tried. She tried to make Math as easy as trigonometry and history were. She tried to make reading less headache inducing. She tried to make algebra less teary-eyed. She tried to make her panic crises less frequent, and her anxiety less visual, and her presence in the house less noticeable. She tried to make her trophies take less space, her medals a little less loud, her pride a little less shining.

She tried to keep a brave face when she won the Mathematics Olympics of New York and there wasn't someone clapping for her in the crowd in front of the stage.

She tried to not jump out of the moving cab when her final tests came with a nine point two instead of the glimmering ten that she usually held because a headache didn't let her read the last questions properly.

She tried to smile at the pictures someone took as she held up the first-place medal for the judo competition that her father couldn't attend because Helen had just done her hair and the rain would destroy it.

She tried to keep herself together when the article she spent so long working on didn't make it to the nationals past the regionals finals she had presented it to, and her father's smile disappeared as soon as she stepped in his office with the news.

She tried not to listen to how her future would be compromised by the one B in her scholar history as her father held it with defeated hands, Helen screaming how much money they had spent on her education for her to throw everything away with excuses, excuses, and more excuses — and Annabeth didn't dare tell them that, in the semester in question, she had been battling a kidney infection Sally took her to the ER for after she fainted from dehydration.

She tried to understand when Bobby failed a math test and Helen took him for some ice cream, patting his head and saying that there was always a next time for him to do better at school.

She tried to comprehend when Matty lost the swimming competition he had been training for and Frederick bought him a small, shiny trophy and told him that, in their house and hearts, he would always be a champion.

She tried to make sense of how Helen's and Frederick's faces scrunched in displease and their breaths huffed in bother when Annabeth told them she had missed a test in High School because she was nearly delirious with fever and there wasn't any medicine in the house.

She tried.

She tried.

She tries.

✉

"To those who never saw me,

I did all the right things. Cover to cover, I followed the script — the lowering my voice, the acting more polite, the studying enough, the telling them goodbyes. I did all the right things. The being the best one, the never being late, the knowing where I stand, the keeping things at bay.

I did all the things right. The hiding my body, the laughing so much quieter, the cleaning everything. The not biting my nails, the never taking fails, the not saying anything. I did all things right. The taking one more hobby, the swallowing the tears, the talking calm and slowly, the repeated "I am here's".

I did all things right. The being the smartest, the making a plan, the trying the hardest, the trying again. I did all things right. The studying more, the doing new things, the not being sore, the taking the guilt. The masking the pain, the never complain, the last to remain, the using the brain. I did all things right. The changing my ways, the "being like her's", the playing it safe, the hiding the hurt.

I did all things right. The doing too much, the punch to the gut, the keeping it shut, the never enough. The trying my best, the being the last, the begging for help, the turning to ash. I did all things right. The waking up early, the doing one more, the always in a hurry, the beating the score. The swallowing tears, the going out there, the making it clear, the always aware. The knowing the footsteps, the quiet acceptance, the taking the blows and the asking for pardon. The hearing the keys, hating the "we're here", the trying to scream, the not being heard.

I did all things right. The faking a smile, the stepping more quietly, the cooking in silence, the eating by myself. I did all things right. The never more asking, the having the doubts, the forever questioning how it came crashing down. The running away, the coming back scared, the wishing I hadn't, the leaving again. The keeping the backpack, the learning to land, the tracing my footsteps, the making amends. The trying so hard, the learning the rules, the falling apart, the throwing the book.

I did all things right. The hiding the grades, the going on stage, the not getting offended, forever the mender. I did all things right. The doing for others, the changing my colors, the agreeing for silence, the trying to run. The hiding the pills, the taking it still, the praying someone, the then waking up.

I did all things right. The hiding the hurt, the being too much, the lowering the tone, the dying alone.

I did all things right.

How, then, am I still in the wrong?

Rightfully,

Minerva."

✉

Annabeth had always been a curious person.

Ever since she was a child, he would ask questions about everything she saw around him. From why a window is called a 'window' to where we go after our hearts stop beating, and it never changed over the years, much to her mother's, and then her father's, dismay. Her curiosity only grew, because the answers didn't exist, and Annabeth would always find herself asking questions that would make her go after answers that weren't there to be found, anyway.

Annabeth wondered why the stars shine, or why the sky is blue and who called it 'sky' anyway? How come the same thing is called the same thing in different languages, and none of them are wrong? Why does fire burn, and how do we feel the heat? Why can't one breathe underwater, and why can't one breathe in the sky? Who chose the name of the sea, and who was the first person to decide that fish were edible?

Her parents would say that, as a baby, she touched everything she could and was mesmerized by anything new that came into her sight. They would say that they knew she would be a problem when she started walking, because her hands wouldn't be afraid to touch anything. They would playfully, around their friends, remind of how much of a trouble-seeker she was with an unquiet mind.

Annabeth would only realize the hint of distaste much later on in life.

As a child, she would ask too many questions until her mum ran out of patience and asked the kind lady that was so often cleaning their house to take her to the nearest bookshop or library so she could have a source of questions and answers. As a pre-teen, she would ask her teachers, and some of them would be thrilled to be challenged with their knowledge, while others would simply say that they weren't an encyclopedia and, therefore, she should sit still and be glad that they weren't kicking her out of the classroom.

As a teenager, her doubts and curiosity led her to periodic obsessions that kept her awake at night, or it was just something she used as an excuse not to sleep, after all. Either way, it was an escape from her twisted, screwed-up mind — so, for what it's worth, her curiosity kept her alive when the bare facts didn't want to.

When she became an adult, her curiosity was never abandoned. However, her questions changed and she essentially wanted to know what it was like not to feel as downtrodden as she did and what it would be like if someone ever loved her the way she'd always read about in books and fiction. Annabeth wondered why the world wasn't as bright as how she used to see it and ask herself how she could disappear for just a little while.

Asking 'why' was something Annabeth was better at than anyone she knew.

But she never asked herself why it was like that.

With curiosity, Annabeth also learnt that she had to be patient and observe the world around, which led her to get to know people from a different angle. She noticed their movements, word choices, and how their eyes moved in each situation they were put into — she read people like she read books, and tried to place them like puzzle pieces in what she could see of their realities.

Most of the time, anyway.

When she arrived in her father's place after her mother had taken off without her and the burden she represented in her life, Annabeth was still furious at the world and at herself for being so stupid as to believe that Athena would come back, turn the car back around and tell her she was sorry for the mistake she had made when she first decided Annabeth wouldn't be her daughter anymore. Annabeth's anger got the best of her most of the time, as did her sadness — she was a good kid, or she tried to be, but a very revolted one about everything that could and would change as the years went by.

When Luke left and the world was even crueler than she believed it could possibly become, Annabeth found out that anger was something that could grow larger and faster than love ever did — she was pissed, and tired, and wished the world would just stop being the blue hue she had learned to see it as. And while it weighed on her heart and made everything a little harder, a little worse, a little brutal, it opened her eyes to some new lenses.

There wasn't only one perspective, or only one way to know and see people. And learning was something Annabeth excelled at doing.

The people she knew, she discovered, were more than the things she thought she had already figured out. Because there were versions and times and places to be and to become, and she wouldn't be so surprised — like the thought she would — to know more about them than the everything she thought she already knew.

Annabeth couldn’t quite know how she ended up surrounded of such wonderful, different people.

Thalia was, and had always been a star, talented and charming, with strong opinions and more feelings that she let slip out of her sleeve. And despite her pride and the stubbornness that seemed to run in her family, there was no denying how sweet she could be to those who would allow a mask to fall without any judgment. She was strong, fearless, and should have been a little less acidic to those who were only trying to help — but she was a best friend that Annabeth had missed for so many years in her life. A sister she couldn’t even try to explain.

And while she could read Thalia so well — for they were quite similar, and had always been —, Grover was an enigma at first, and Annabeth suspected that this was what he wanted people to think about him. He was observant — a little too much so —, alarmed and always had good advice on the tip of his tongue, even if he rarely followed the suggestions of anyone other than Annabeth or Thalia or Percy. Grover was attentive, patient and wise; and Annabeth sometimes got a little scared, but she wouldn't trade a best friend like that for the world itself.

He was kind when they met, kind when she was just a slippery excuse of a friend, kind when she tried to be better. He was gentle when she hurt, loving when she thrived, constant when she was erratic. For all the answers Annabeth could seek in her life, there was very little she could find to justify what she had done to deserve someone like Grover right by her side, and for so many years.

And when it came to things she couldn’t quite answer, Jason and Leo were an irritating pair, especially as they acted like the siblings she considered them to be, at the end of the day. Interested in theater plays, comic books — Annabeth was to blame for that, honestly —, golf, for some reason, and quite keen to making fun of Annabeth, Thalia and Percy, they were a nice addition to their group when they moved to New York and knocked on Sally’s door under Thalia’s suggestion.

And Sally — gods and heavens bless that woman — was more than kind, more than welcoming, more than anything she should have been to two complete strangers who claimed to know Thalia. Even if Jason was Percy’s cousin (something they would only come to realize a shameful three days into their stay), it was still a miracle that Sally Jackson existed and was as reliable as they knew she was.

The funniest thing is how Percy’s entire family seemed to join their little group, little by little. Even when she didn’t know they were related, even when they didn’t need to get along, even when Annabeth didn’t even know how she ended up in the middle of so many cousins and siblings and oddly comforting presences — Thalia, then Jason and Nico and Hazel.

An odd little group that couldn’t be more different. Annabeth would often wonder how family reunions would go.

Nico was reserved, just like Grover and a little less so than Annabeth, and he was something like a box of secrets. He was kind, did things more from the shadows — however brightly he shone in all of them — and was always there, willing to help or just be present. Some kind of brother that Annabeth got as a present, too — but who could be even more competitive than Thalia when it came to video games, and Annabeth didn't even know that such a thing was possible.

And then there was Percy.

At first, Annabeth didn't want to read into it enough to regret the fact that, sooner or later, she would fall in love with Percy's sincere smiles and sparkling eyes. It was notorious, almost as a fact known to all mankind, that Percy had kindness hanging on his every word and movement. His words were nothing but sweet, and every one of his actions seemed to be careful and calculated.

From the start, Annabeth also noticed how patient Percy could be and how he would never push anyone to do anything. He was devoted to his friends — ever since they met, Annabeth lost count of how many times he would stop by the station where Thalia was to give her something she mentioned she wanted to eat or offer her a lift — and to his work, being a damn good business partner and even better boss whenever he helped his father.

From the start, too, Percy would be a mystery that Annabeth didn't really know how to begin to solve. Contrary to everything she could have predicted or hoped for, Percy didn't seem to want her around just because she knew a lot of things or even because there were no other options — he seemed to want to get to know her, and that was something Annabeth really couldn't understand.

Curiosity about Percy, then, was inevitable.

However, it was a choice. And a choice that Annabeth would never regret making, even if only at the incessant insistence of her friends, who vehemently believed that the two of them would get on well if they could get to know each other beyond a dialogue about a tragedy outside the camp.

They were right, after all. Grover was, mostly — and he'd love to take the credit for that.

She wasn't fluent yet, but the architect would take the time to learn every word Percy had to say, imply or delete. It was a book, a whole universe, that Annabeth was willing to find out more about.

It turned out that Percy never touched anyone without their full consent, but he loved being hugged and cuddled whenever he could. He never complains, and on difficult days, he almost purred at any skin-to-skin contact.

Annabeth loved knowing this, because she was a big — and secret — fan of hugs.

She also discovered that Percy was quiet most of the time, not just in public, and talked a lot when around anyone who made him comfortable. She discovered that he liked to listen to those who made him happy — and she discovered that he didn't mind spending hours listening to all the new things Annabeth had learnt about stars just because he had absolutely nothing to do.

As the years went by, Annabeth couldn't even see how she was getting deeper into a feeling she kept unnamed, too terrified to even think about messing with what was quiet — or not so quiet but growing slowly enough to be ignored.

Now, when she could put a name to that familiar, friendly warmth, Annabeth couldn't help but notice every little detail that she had missed every once in a while.

She was sure that she was falling in love all over again with every passing minute, because that was just the consequence of knowing Percy as he was.

Percy was punctual, had always been much thanks to Sally's education and Tristan's annoying manners, but to discover that he got ready for every appointment about an hour before was surreal for Annabeth, who had witnessed it an incredible few times over the years. He was messy, but never late — and he had an astounding ability of getting ready in just three minutes.

He loved giving people gifts just to make their day better — Annabeth had cried when, after a bad day in which she'd just got too stuck inside herself, Percy had given her a single dandelion, telling her to close her eyes and make a wish, just throwing things to the universe and trusting that it could, and would, listen to genuine things she wanted.

Annabeth had wished that the stars could offer her a new Universe. She didn't regret waiting so long.

Out of all the details Annabeth could have learnt about Percy, one that would always be in red letters at the back of her mind was that Percy could keep quiet not just for his own comfort, but for the comfort of others, as well. And although she had learned a lot from the years they'd shared and the conversations over their pasts and trauma, there was still much she wished and hoped to figure out from Percy's eyes and silences. He wouldn't talk about his feelings or open up to anyone. He would be in pain, miserable and silent, not wanting to bother or worry anyone around him. Annabeth hated how alike the two of them were when it came to that.

The point was that Annabeth paid attention. To Percy more than anyone, in fact, and she had learnt some details that she believed Percy didn't even know about himself, but she was delighted to have noted. Like the way the man talked to himself when he thought no one was looking. Or how his nails always had some remaining nail polish from Estelle's experiments, or how he bit his tongue when concentration was taking over his worries.

There was also that permanent wrinkle at the top of his nose that deepened whenever he was confused and even more so when he was concerned. Percy's eyebrows followed the movement when he was emotional, and he pressed his lips together when he was speechless — and that was when Annabeth most loved catching his attention and watch his face melt into the easy smile.

Annabeth was lucky enough to say that she knew Percy behind all the quietness and politeness he showed anyone who didn't know him at all — she knew the lows, the fears and the clever jokes. She knew him as Percy knew her, and it was the best thing in the world to realize after so, so long sharing a life they chose to walk as companions.

And that's why she knew something was wrong when they were driving back to the hotel after visiting a trail someone had recommended to him when they said they were in Monique on a Saturday afternoon, the sun already parting, sinking into the horizon.

Percy hadn't had a drink, not even a sip, and seemed to be enjoying the company, the conversation, even if he was quieter than usual, and the children that were around — some random kids who were driving their parents crazy and immediately fell in love with Percy after a mere thirty minutes he was trying to keep them from touching the grass they were warned to have snakes hiding in. However, he had given Annabeth the car keys as they were leaving the café they went to after finishing the trail and didn't say much before circling the vehicle and taking the passenger's seat.

Percy loved to drive, and Annabeth usually only took the wheel when he was way too tired to keep himself awake. She didn't ask any questions, though, and got into the car, taking Percy's hand and squeezing his fingers with hers carefully, looking at him attentively with furrowed brows.

The man smiled at her, almost gratefully, and then looked out of the window with searching eyes that wouldn't find anything, she knew.

It was a thirty-minute journey, which had never been a problem for both of them, who, for some reason, liked to go for drives whenever they could, regardless of whether or not they were familiar with the roads they were taking. Ten minutes into the vehicle, however, Annabeth noticed that Percy was moving around too much — even with the ADHD considered —, his hands fondling his trousers and his leg tapping against the floor of the car. His blue eyes weren't focused either, and he swallowed dryly more times in a minute than anyone should.

Annabeth wanted to ask if everything was all right, but Percy beat her to it.

"Stop the car," he requested, his voice seemingly stuck in his throat. Annabeth frowned in concern, but did as she was asked, turning the wheel and parking the car on the curb, watching her best friend as his mind seemed to race and he didn't quite know where to run to with it.

Annabeth didn't have to wait a second before Percy opened the door and stepped out of the car, crossing the field of flowers they'd stopped beside and not looking back, looking too scared to do so. The man's legs seemed to work automatically, and Annabeth quickly snapped out of her preoccupied state to realize what was happening as Percy walked towards the empty gazebo further along the field.

A lovely place to be under normal circumstances, sure; but she didn't really pay much attention to it as she usually would.

Percy kept walking further away, his palms sweaty and his feet seeming to work mechanically. He wasn't looking at anything around him, his eyes unfocused and searching and lost, his mouth dry and him completely unable to hear anything beyond the thin, high-pitched whistle inside his ears.

The man found himself walking towards a small empty gazebo, unconsciously groping the air to find the small gate and then opening it, not even bothering to close it before placing himself against the column, leaning almost in vain against the structure. He took a deep breath, the warm, sun-kissed air entering his lungs and almost hurting his insides. But Percy didn't mind it too much.

He closed his eyes, feeling the world and his head spin a few times. His brain was only able to reproduce a strange sensation of danger time after time, but Percy couldn't utter a single word or move. Not even when he noticed a movement next to him and could assume that someone was ducking. He wasn't sure, and he couldn't be sure at that moment. He didn't want to think about it, or about anything else in the world.

It was when the person sat down next to him, also leaning her head against the wall, that he could connect the dots to the smell of perfume that Annabeth always wore. The architect said nothing, just bent her knees and put one of her arms over her legs and looked straight ahead, not speaking, breathing loudly, waiting quietly by his side.

Because Annabeth knew him well enough to know that he hated being seen in such a vulnerable situation. And she knew that Percy knew it was because she, too, felt the very same way — and had been feeling the vulnerability from the moment she had knocked on their door back in New York.

"I—" Percy mumbled, swallowing hard and looking breathless. "I don't know, I..." he interrupted himself, feeling the tears that hadn't fallen fill his eyes and roll down his cheeks.

His lips trembled and he felt frustrated. Percy threw his head back, knowing it would hit the column that kept the gazebo up. It was then that Annabeth finally faced him and put one of her hands over one of his, the one that was slapped on the floor, while the other reached for the fingers that were pulling his curls on the back of his head.

"It hurts to breathe..." said Percy, then sobbed. Annabeth's grip became more solid, and Percy couldn't stop crying even if he wanted to — he felt pathetic, overwhelmed, and hated to be facing this fact about himself in front of anyone. Even if Annabeth knew a lot about it. Even if, out of everyone he'd pick to see him like that, her name was at the top of the list.

Annabeth inhaled deeply before saying anything, putting her thoughts in order and trying to keep her voice as soft as the wind that bent the flowers and messed a bit with their clothes.

"You're in a gazebo," the woman began, her voice sweet. "There's nothing here but the two of us and the flowers called portulaca, and known as 'eleven-hour'," she said, and she was sure that Percy could hear a small smile in her voice. His hand released his hair, and he began to breathe a little slower. Annabeth kept talking. "The floor is old, dark wood. The fence is sectioned and of dark wood, too. There's only us here, the two of us. And the sky above us."

Percy took a deep breath. Once, twice, three times — just him and Annabeth. Just him and Annabeth, he tried to remember. No one else, nothing more. It was all right. Everything was fine. He was safe, and the world was still the same as he remembered from that morning.

Another breath, and then one more. It didn’t seem to be enough, even if it felt like the air tried to squeeze itself a bit more inside his lungs. Percy tried again, and again, and one more time. Annabeth’s hands were real and solid against his, and her presence was warm and real — still, it felt dizzying not to breathe, not to think, not to see.

He held her hands weakly, and Annabeth made sure to squeeze a little the hand she held carefully. She was there, just her, and everything was fine. He could breathe, there was air, and there was no one else but him and Annabeth by his side — he could breathe, he should breathe, and there wasn’t anyone there to hurt him, to hunt him, to haunt him.

Just him and Annabeth, and nothing more.

Annabeth didn't say a word, her thumb softly stroking the back of Percy's hand and her eyes analyzing each of his breaths as he exhaled just as slowly as he breathed in. His heart was pounding in his chest, so loud and so strong that Annabeth could almost hear it; she could see it in his face that he feared she could.

She had a few questions, or a lot more than that. But everything was fine — everything was fine, and they would have time to talk about it. Later. When Percy didn’t seem so disturbed, when his eyes weren’t so wide, when the fear wasn’t so carved in his face, in his shaking hands, in his stuttering voice.

The minutes continued like that, in silence and thoughtfulness until Percy, just slightly calmer and with a little less shaky hands, opened his eyes, swallowed hard and carefully studied his surroundings. The blue irises looked alarmed, red, and his breathing was still as shaky and faulty as his hands as they tried to grip Annabeth’s.

"You should be a florist," he chose to say, then, his voice weak and hoarse, instead of anything else he could’ve told her. His breathing was softer now, and Annabeth smiled when she realized such, although she hadn't understood what Percy had said until he gestured towards the flowers with his head.

Annabeth chuckled silently, amused to see that Percy was still there despite the distant look in his eyes, and leaned his head against the column again. They stood there for a while — Annabeth couldn't say how long, much less did she care about it — until the man's breathing returned to normal and the whistling in his ears was low enough for him to hear the whole place around the two of them.

The silence, the breeze, the care.

"I'm sorry," he told her, and Annabeth turned her head towards Percy, still leaning against the brick wall. "For—” he swallowed. “—all this."

Annabeth frowned, slightly concerned.

"Percy," the architect called out in a low voice, interrupting him before he could blame himself or try to explain what he wasn't ready to put into words. "You're such a seaweed brain," she chuckled, and Percy tried to smile, she noticed. It didn't quite work, and it broke her heart all the more. "It's all right. You don't have to apologize or justify anything. It happened, it's fine," Annabeth said confidently. Percy swallowed hard. "It's alright, Percy. I promise."

Percy nodded but didn't seem very confident in agreeing with his best friend's words. Annabeth looked again somewhere in front of her, and Percy let his head drop until he was staring at his own lap, his hand on his outstretched legs and his mind racing with sneaky thoughts. He inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and threw his head back, not allowing it to actually hit the column, this once.

"I never told anyone," he confessed, then, suddenly. Annabeth turned her head in his direction, hanging it a little with the piece of information given. "About this. The— crisis or the... The disorder," he explained, and Annabeth frowned in concern. "Not even mom. Or you. Obviously."

Annabeth waited, not wanting Percy to close himself off with any questions. She knew all too well just how excruciating it was to admit something one doesn’t want to acknowledge themselves, and she would never try to take it out of him, the words and the confessions.

She was slightly disturbed to realize that it hadn’t been the first time it happened. Slightly terrified that it was something clinical, and absolutely crushed that, not once, she had noticed anything that could’ve been an indication.

After a minute or two, Percy spoke again.

"I feel pathetic," he said, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips. "I know I shouldn't because it's perfectly normal and all, but..." Percy swallowed dryly, his lips twisting in some shade of sadness. "I'm an adult now. I should have left this in my teens, shouldn't I?"

read the rest on Ao3

[romanticsparkle]

Cedric Diggory headcanons<3

Oh, how I love this man.

I imagine him as the biggest gentleman in the world. He would definitely hold your hand at all times, open every door for you, pull out chairs for you, get you flowers (hand-picked which makes it even better).

If you ever questioned him about it, he would just say “Because why would you do that?”

He would surely have a fantasy of being your knight in shining armor / prince on a white horse.

Cookie baking dates. That’s all.

If you’re sick, he would shower you in kisses and cuddles. He would bring you notes from class you missed out on, or would even rewrite them all for you.

This man would spend every free minute he has with you.

He would read to you before bed and would talk to you about the book he is reading, or if you like reading, he would enthusiastically listen to every little detail you have to say about a book.

I headcanon him being really good at cooking and baking. He would love baking and/or cooking with you. (Sneaking into the Hogwarts kitchens late at night with him just to make a midnight snack.)

In class, he most definitely would send you notes, telling you how good you look today (and every day), or just drawing two stickmen who are holding hands and writing your names above them.

He would spend every last penny he has on you. Even if you look at something in a store for more than 2 seconds, just expect it to be yours in less than 5 minutes.

He would buy you records of your favorite albums, for sure. He would also research and listen to all your favorite artists, even if he didn’t like the music they make.

Poems. Poems. Poems. He would write you poems.

He would never complain when you ask him to do something for you. For example, making you tea, handing you something, helping you with your homework, etc. (As we know, some men are whiny and lazy and complain about having to do anything).

Kissing your hand as a form of greeting, but he wouldn’t kiss your knuckles, this boy would kiss your ring finger, oh God.

Always talking to you about marriage and children. (If you want any, of course. He would be just fine with cats or dogs instead of children.)

So considerate, so respectful, so handsome, so boyfriend material, so perfect.

A/N: This was requested by @deftonesgirlsblog and I'm so happy that she was my first fanfic request, since she's so sweet :).

Requests are open! &lt;3

[stupidgtblog]

Trying writing

just a disclaimer that I have never written before - EVER! so don't expect this to be some life-changing top-tier literature. It's mostly self-indulgent, about 1.6k words, got a bit of cursing, and elements of fear, but that's about it. I don't really have a title hope u like it pls give criticism but b nice abt it <3

...

Mira had always found stories and folktales interesting. She liked humming the tunes, thinking about the morals they taught. She'd even (much to her parent's dismay,) decided to pursue a career in cultural studies, opting to focus less on the gift of her magic. Her parents always told her that magic was something that gave her endless possibilities, and she was lucky to have a supportive family, and not one that decided they'd rather burn her at the stake. She'd learned to ride a broom to cut on cost-of-travel, and a bit of minor healing spells for first-aid, but, her training had stopped there.

Her interest had been piqued by a new character popping up in some folklore in some mining regions. These places weren't the best to witches, so she'd be going a bit undercover. She'd come in, write as much of the oral stories as she could, translate, and then publish them for the general public, so more people could experience the stories. That was her mission.

She hadn't known much about the character yet, but descriptions had been inconsistent to say the least. Some swore by the figure being a cruel, powerful witch, others claimed the figure was clearly a horrible, evil wizard.

the only snippet of undisputed lore was a poem called “Titan of Ore”, that went as follows:

Skin of Bronze,

Hair of Silver,

Eyes of Gold,,

Axe of Iron,

Heart of Stone.

Mira was interested in such a character, popping up in only the last 5 years or so in the culture, with so much mystery surrounding it. In Mira's own experience, cases like these would just end up being stories around a new species of animal, or even weather phenomena. (Mira had gotten her hopes up in a previous case of a giant, twirling lady, just to find out they were talking about some dust storms that had been recently passing the area.)

Mira knew it was stupid, but one day, just once, she wanted these folktales to lead to something. She wanted - at least once, for them to be real.

Mira's travel plan was to fly as far as she could, then rent a horse for the cheapest she could to go the rest of the way. Sure, it'd be annoying, but far less annoying than being burnt alive. After she'd taken down everything, she'd fly as far away from those witch-roasters as her broom would take her.

...

The town was very quiet. Nothing really happening, just people doing their errands, buying goods, coughing (a lot), and going about their day.

Mira didn't really know where to start, But found a hopeful lead as a group of children gathered around, hearing a story from a woman standing in the middle. It was a nice thing to see.

As Mira sat a little farther and listened, after she wrote down as much as she could, she tried to ask the woman some questions.

She started to introduce herself.

“Hi! Hello- I'm Mira, I study culture, folklore, y'know, the stories? I noticed you were-”

“Where are you from?” The woman didn't let her finish. Rude, but Mira didn't want to give a bad first impression.

“Oh- I'm from Willowstead, It's pretty far, but - I came to study some particularly interesting stories that've-”

“You come all the way from Willowstead, for children's stories?” OK, that's just mean.

“Well, uh, you could say that, but to me, they're just so much more than that- They're magical, they're wonderful-”

The woman cut her off, “Witch!”

Was she seriously only talking to her to accuse her of witchcraft? Ok. These people might've had interesting folktales, but unfortunately, they were also crazy.

“What? Why would you say that about me?”

Turns out this wasn't too good of an idea. Turns out the townspeople were very keen of accusing her of witchcraft. (They weren't really wrong, but, y'know.)

“Listen, listen, hear me out, I'm just here to listen to your folklore! I've done nothing wrong!”

“Quiet!” Now they were getting mad.

“But- What did I even do?!”

Mira felt someone grip her hand, tight. Maybe she was actually about to get burned at the stake. For real.

“No! NO! Let me go, let me go right now!”

“You can't do this to me! I didn't do anything!”

...

They'd put her in the jail. It was a cold, single cell, with nothing but brick walls and a cold, dirty floor. She had not but one conversation in this town, and they already wanted to kill her. The walls were covered in all types of written curses, some names.

“MINERVA DIED GRACEFUL” was scratched into the corner wall.

“KIMARI, FOREVER SERVANT OF THE DARK” was written with some ink-like substance Mira didn't want to touch.

“BELARA WUZ BBQ'D HERE SEE U IN HELL” was funny at first, but then made realized that the message was addressed to her. And that all these people were real deal witches, and they were all dead.

Mira considered writing, but what would she even put down?

She took a rock and scrawled

“I WAS ONLY HERE FOR A DAY!”

It was funny for a second, but then reality hit her. She was going to be killed. Really. Killed. Dead. Would her parents ever know? She told an acquaintance where she was going... but would they remember? It was too much for her.

What was she going to do? She couldn't do anything! Was she supposed to just sit here and die? She didn't want to die!

She started to cry. She cried for a pretty long time, until she got tired and, somehow, slept.

...

It was a couple hours later. She'd woken up, been paraded through town, dark, save for bright, hot torches, some held by children. Jeering and chanting were loud in her ears all the way. Maybe this was where they got their entertainment, not their stories.

They'd bound her up tight to half of a log, and placed that log on top of a bunch of firewood. She was half-expecting them to let her down, But then, a torch was thrown, and the whole thing started to go alight. With Mira still on it.

“Haah... Oh my god. No, nonono!”

It was agony already. Just watching the flames creep up menacingly, heat rising, heart sinking...

“Wait... wait! I'm only 19! I'm still in school! I don't even use my magic! I didn't do anything!”

It was getting to the point where this started to hurt. The flames danced at her ankles, And the smoke was already getting to her head.

The flames grew more gradually, Like a wall of fire had been built all around her, closing in, slowly.

“No! I, my family! I need to talk to them!” It's like everything had gone quiet, but the roaring of the flames.

“I can't breathe!”

She could hear her heart beating in her ears, drowning out everything -

It was almost like the ground was shaking beneath her...

Was she dying?

*WOOOOSH!*

In an instant, she felt the strongest wind she'd ever felt ruffle through her hair, the only thing stopping her from being blown away herself was the formerly-on-fire log. She was back to feeling the cold, night air. It was like someone blew her out like a big birthday candle. She was actually really, really cold.

“...huh?”

She looked down at the once-cheering mob all looking utterly horrified, eyes staring up, At something Mira couldn't see. It was night, but Mira could tell a very, VERY long shadow was being cast behind her... and two, bright golden spotlights shone on the crowd.

Eyes of Gold...

Oh god, If she thought burning to death was bad, what was this thing going to do? This was the worst day EVER-

She felt a rope *snap* behind her. Her hands were still bound, but she was off the pyre.

She tried to move, but she wasn't coordinated enough, shivering and bound, and fell forward. But almost instantly, something closed all around her, firm, but comfortable. Warm. A hand. She was being held in one, huge hand. Moving until she was put up into something. Something almost leathery to the touch, close to the chest.

Whatever this thing was, it was holding her in it's pocket. And, to Mira's shock, it spoke - to defend her.

“I've warned you idiots far more times than you've deserved.”

The voice was deep and rough, but not necessarily masculine or feminine. Its defining trait is that it was angry.

Their apologies were almost inaudible through the fabric - muffled, but desperate. The response was furious and immediate. They clearly didn't want to hear it.

"SHUT UP! If I ever see you fucking weirdos do any of this sadist shit again, I will curse you all to death!”

Mira was scared. Scared of everything. They were true. They were real. Everything was extremely confusing, and she had no idea what this person wanted. She shook like a leaf, she couldn't tell if it was because she was cold, scared, or both.

They must've noticed how shaken she was, because they pulled her out of the pocket, into what could only be described as a big, big hug.

“You're gonna be alright.”

—

The girl was so horribly cold. She'd almost just burnt to death, and now she was freezing. Just wonderful.

Taking her back to the house seemed like a good idea, but she guessed she'd be scared half to death - but wasn't she already?

Well, didn't matter now. They'd started on the path already.

...shit. Is she crying? Yeah - she's definitely crying.

“Hey, calm down, you're alright, ok? I'm just gonna take you inside.”

”I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologize. You haven't done anything.”

”I was really stupid.”

“If you're stupid, I'm a complete idiot.”

That made her laugh. It was cute.

She liked her.

“You have a name?”

”Mira.”

“...Mira.”

What a sweet name.~

I actually found writing this pretty fun even though it's not the best I think it's still cool beans radical pls give me all ur criticism pls and thx

[whyisthereacentaur]

Modern Monsters 2: The Kelpie

Me less than 24hr ago: “Don’t expect too many of these to be illustrated.”

Me this morning: spending far too much time on drawing the statue of Wellington in Glasgow for another illustration

Oops.

On to part 2!

The water horse (Each-Uisce in Irish Gaeilge, Each-Uisge in Scottish Gaelic) and the kelpie are often used interchangeably, but do have some differences.

While I’ve used the term Kelpie prominently here, that’s mainly because I think more people might recognise or at least remember how to spell that term. The creature in the poem is inspired by the more vicious Each-Uisge.

Both creatures are shapeshifters with an affinity for water, who like to take the shape of horses and so entice humans to trust them and climb up on their backs. This doesn’t tend to end well for the humans.

Skip the more detailed paragraph below if you’re squeamish…

The Each-Uisge in particular was said to allow humans to mount, only for the unlucky people to find that they had immediately begun to meld to the creature’s back. They would be dragged into the nearby river, where the creatures could tear into them at their leisure and throw their entrails towards the shore. In some stories several people (usually children) would try to ride the “horse” together, with the slowest only managing to get a hand on the beast before it ran off, taking his friends and his hand to the deep with it.

So.

How would this change to fit into the modern world?

Honestly… it’s intelligent, but it’s far more animalistic in lots of ways than some of the other monsters I’m looking at. I think the instinct to hunt and eat in its traditional way would never leave, and that while it would want to have plentiful food nearby, and therefore probably move to an urban centre on the river, I don’t think it would want any humans to know it was living among them.

It relies on attracting people to it then springing a trap, a bit like a carnivorous plant - it doesn’t tend to chase them down, although it does need to be able to carry them off underwater quickly once they’re stuck.

The horse disguise is a bit outdated, though, and the creature quickly learned that people would be much more likely to call in the authorities immediately upon finding a straying horse in town these days, rather than risk getting too close to a half-ton block of muscle and hard bits that could be spooked by a plastic bag blowing past.

Luckily, the lore doesn’t limit the Each-Uisge to only horse shapes, and it’s not hard to find a free space in the e-bike parking ranks.

If you’re ever walking past the river at low tide and spot a bike in the water, just be happy that it’s resting comfortably and probably won’t need to eat again for a while.

See you tomorrow!

Modern Monsters series - more & links to follow

Modern Monsters 1: Dullahan

Modern Monsters 2: Kelpie (here)

Modern Monsters 3: Kuchisake-onna

Modern Monsters 4: Cuca

Modern Monsters 5: Vampire

Modern Monsters 6: Dr Frankenstein

Modern Monsters 7: Frankenstein’s Monster

Modern Monsters bonus: Frankenstein, Monster

[3terna15unshin3]

Then Because She Goes

When you leave, I cry on the inside

★ Chapter 11 of 15, 5082 words

★ Matty Healy x Original Female Character

★ warnings: !!! mature content, minors please do not interact !!!, smut, thigh riding, edging

<< 10

9 June, 2019

“Fuck,” Este cursed, as a loud sound in the flat below hers caused her to spill a drop of tea on her pants. She quickly wiped it away and got up to grab her beloved Tide pen—drawing on the spot to prevent any staining.

With a film on the TV, it was a quiet morning and a relaxing day off for her. She stayed in comfy clothes, hair tucked away messily in a clip, not worrying about work or bills needing to be paid or how desperately her room needed tidying. Her body had been stationary for most of the morning. It was a deserved laziness, in her opinion. But, a buzz from her phone signalled an incoming text, interrupting her and her tea once more.

matty <3

Sun, 9 Jun at 10:59 AM

Attachment: 1 Image

Thinking of you x

It was a photo of a small yellow origami star. He held it delicately between his thumb and middle finger, raising it up in the air in front of his hotel window. Este could see the architecture of the city he stayed in in the background. Germany, I think, she considered, though she couldn’t remember which city.

Sun, 9 Jun at 11:00 AM

Xx

:((((((((

Why the sad face

You’re getting all sappy on me and i miss you

Am I being too sweet for your liking??

Yea like chill for a sec

I’m smiling at my phone and everything

Soz x

But you’ve got me doing little crafts alone in my hotel room just because they remind me of you so maybe you should chill

Or maybe be less chill bc why are you never sappy or sweet with me ????? Hm???

hey I’m sweet !!!!!!!!!! Don’t be rude

The star thing is like painfully cute tho how do you expect me to top that

--- 22 June, 2019

Este ★

Sat, 22 Jun at 18:35 PM

Hey, I know it’s been hard lately and that you’ve been busy writing but this poem makes me happy and I think you need some hope at the moment

Attachment: 1 Image

Maybe you’ve heard of it already or will think it’s too simple but it's what I want to say to u :)

Matty’s heavy eyes stared at the bright blue light of his screen. The band were closing out on their sixth month of touring, and his head had gotten a bit cloudy. Desperate to get Notes On A Conditional Form out as soon as possible, any free moments they had were spent writing and recording. He poured so much of himself during every show and even more into every song written that not much was left when he was on his own. It was nonstop. Slumps like this were bound to occur while on the road, and now that Matty had healthier ways of coping with them, they weren’t as big of a deal. But they were still there, eating away at his energy—blurring the lines of his self esteem and self hatred.

The poem Este attached was “The Orange” by Wendy Cope. He hadn’t heard of it before. So, he read the words quietly to himself.

“At lunchtime I bought a huge orange—the size of it made us all laugh. I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—they got quarters and I had a half.

And that orange, it made me so happy, as ordinary things often do. Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park. This is peace and contentment. It's new.

The rest of the day was quite easy. I did all the jobs on my list and enjoyed them and had some time over. I love you. I'm glad I exist.”

Este was right about it being simple. But it was its simplicity that made Matty feel it deeply in his stomach. If he’d been sent such words by any other person in the world, it might have felt patronising—but coming from her, it made sense. There wasn’t anything that he loved more than things, art, that commanded him how to feel. Este knew that. And the words she sent commanded him to find light in the simple things. To bask in the innocence of life. To realise that if he isn’t happy, he’s just human. Fleeting moments of beauty are what matter. It was exactly what he needed to hear.

Este ★

Sat, 22 Jun at 19:00 PM

Please never stop sending me stuff

Reading the line “I’m glad I exist” felt so important

Because I am

Especially with you around x

--- 1 July, 2019

Luckily, flying from Stockholm back to Manchester wasn’t very far. So, it was easy for Matty to get on a plane to catch Este’s 28th birthday between his shows. He was a day early, but it was the only chance he had to come see her—so he took it. And somehow managed to keep it a surprise.

With Cate’s help, Matty followed through with his plan to Uber to their flat as soon as he landed; to drop off his stuff, grab food, and set up birthday decorations before walking over to Greenhouse to see Este. A bouquet of variously coloured tulips with brown paper surrounding it was cradled in his arms as he made his way. The sun peeked through the partly cloudy sky, beaming down on his tired state. He shook the nerves out and reached for the door handle.

The familiar chime caught him by surprise, as the seven months it had been since he’d last stepped into the shop forced him to forget that they were there. It brought Este’s attention to the front from her spot in the back corner where she was shelving. Sam poked his head out from the back room in curiosity.

“I heard an ‘Este Manansala’ turns 28 tomorrow…” Matty announced sarcastically before she realised who he was. The look on her face once she did was priceless.

“Oh my god. Shut up,” muttered Este as she weaved through the cramped furniture to embrace him excitedly. A giddy and uncontrollably happy laugh came from her belly had Matty leaned back while they hugged to lift her feet off the orange carpet.

“Happy Birthday, love.” he whispered in her ear before putting her down. Este tried to wipe the dumb smile on her face but failed. She kissed him instead.

Matty tasted like cigarette smoke and smelt of the flowers he held. The month between their last kiss didn’t stop her from recognizing the familiar shape of his lips when they were against hers. It lingered long and deep. They sighed into each other with satisfaction.

“What are you doing here? You’re mad,” reacted Este when they pulled away.

“To take you out on your birthday.” His hand remained on her cheek as he responded, enjoying the feeling of her soft skin. “And by ‘take you out’ I mean take you to the food I’ve put on your dining room table.”

“Have you already been by my flat?”

Matty nodded. “Went straight there after I landed. We boarded early, so Cate said I almost caught you before you left.” He laughed at the dumbfounded look on Este’s face as she struggled to accept the fact that he was real and face-to-face with her. His arms extended to shove the flowers into her grasp. Tulips were her favourite.

“Are you going to introduce me?” His finger pointed at Sam. “Or will you just stare at me with your mouth open right in front of your boss?”

She snapped out of it and turned to face the blond shop owner.

“Gosh, I’m sorry. Sam, this is Matty. My, um, my—”

“Nice to meet you, mate. I’ve been in here a couple times over the years and seen you then, but I’m glad to be formally introduced, I guess,” interrupted Matty.

It was a bit odd that he cut her off so quickly, as the timing allowed her to almost hear his fear of the topic—audibly in his voice. Her smile faltered slightly as the two men made small talk, and she spiralled silently about what she could’ve said. I should’ve just stopped at ‘This is Matty,’ instead of trying to explain who he is, thought Este. Did Matty think I was going to say he was my boyfriend? Do I want him to be my boyfriend? Does the idea of me thinking he’s my boyfriend scare him?

Her ears perked and she snapped back into the conversation when Matty mentioned that they should be taking off soon.

“Food might be getting cold by now, E. We should get going,”

“Matty, it’s half two.” She looked over at Sam for confirmation that she couldn’t just leave in the middle of her shift, but was met with a smug smile instead.

“Go on.” he encouraged with little explanation.

“Who’s going to look after the—“

“Oliver’s on his way. He wanted extra hours this week anyway.”

Guilt settled into Este’s chest. “You didn’t have to call him in and make him rush over just for me, Sam. I feel terrible,”

“I didn’t call him in. I put him down for a three o’clock start when I made his schedule last month.” Sam reassured, as he came around the counter to stand in front and lean on it. He crossed his arms, waiting for Este to accept that he had been in on the plan to let her off early.

But, she didn’t let down. “Then why would you schedule me as well?”

“Jesus Christ Este, to surprise you! Now please leave, I’m begging. I can’t take this any longer,” Sam said while laughing in her face and forcing her towards the door. “Happy early birthday.”

“How long have you had this planned?” asked Este, turning to Matty and waiting for a response.

“A while. Any more questions, or can we go?”

-

Este’s arm tangled within Matty’s as they walked the few blocks back home along the pavement. Her work bag was slung over his shoulder as she held the tulips and sniffed them occasionally for the comfort of their fresh smell. Now that the shock had disappeared and she had the time to fully take in his appearance, Este smiled at his outfit. The Vans tied round his feet were paired with a bright and fitted graphic tee, tucked into high-waisted green trousers.

“You’re staring at me.”

A giggle escaped her lips as her and Matty turned down her street and approached her flat. “Am I not allowed to?” she argued.

He shrugged, with a smile. “I don’t mind. Just want to know why.”

“Dunno, really. You’re just pretty. And I like your outfit.”

Her keys jingled when she pulled them out of her pocket to let them into the building. As they stepped in and through the next couple of doors, soon finding and pressing the ‘up’ button for the lift, Matty said, “You know, you’d think I’d be weird about you calling me ‘pretty’, but it actually felt quite nice.”

“I can call you ‘pretty’ more often, if you want. I think of it all the time, so I’d just have to start letting you know when I do,” Este suggested, turning her doorknob and entering her place.

There was a banner of letters that spelled out ‘happy birthday’ delicately strung across the wall that sat above the dining room table. The decoration was slightly crooked, but colourful and iridescent—so the sun pouring in through the window bounced off of them and shone glittery reflections all over the room. Floaty balloons were trapped against the ceiling with their strings hanging downwards at different lengths. A vase of water was the centrepiece, ready to be the home for the tulips that Este still held as she looked around. Her eyes travelled to everything else littered on the table; noticing the handful of tall tapered candles whose colours matched that of the flowers, confetti scattered across the surface of the stained wood, a bottle of wine, and a couple of takeaway bags.

A nervous Matty stood behind and waited for her to say something. When silence remained, as she continued to search for ways to thank him, he filled the space by slinging his arm around her shoulder and rubbing it gently.

Bringing his face next to hers, Matty asked, “Do you like it?” and pecked her temple.

“Does the general public know that you’re this soft of a bloke?”

He shook his head at her inability to take things seriously. “They’ll catch on eventually.”

Este laughed and turned to him, grabbing his chin, pulling it towards her to give him a kiss on the cheek back. “It’s perfect. You have a good eye,”

“Cate helped pick everything out. I’m not the best decorator. But she was busy dealing with the helium tank to fill all the balloons so I ended up laying everything out by myself in a rush. That’s why it looks a bit shit.” Matty explained, pointing at the crooked letters on the wall.

“Stop it,” she insisted, unwrapping the tulips to dip their stems in the vase and complete the decor. “There’s nothing ‘shit’ about you. It would’ve been enough even if you’d shown up empty handed and sat on the sofa with me all night.”

Stepping closer to the table to copy her, Matty unpacked the food he’d ordered for them. He uncorked the bottle and poured a glass of wine for each of them. She sat down, getting comfortable and increasingly hungry as her stomach rumbled. Hearing its noises and laughing, the two of them dug in.

Once their plates were scraped clean, Matty threw out a “Room for cake?” while a smile sat on his face, knowing they were both too stuffed to even sniff something sweet.

She cradled her full belly, slouching in her chair. “I can’t bring myself to turn down cake but I’m frightened that like, anatomically, it won’t fit in here.”

Matty got up and walked to the fridge to fetch it anyway. “Let's just do the whole ‘sing and blow out the candles’ thing. We can eat it later.”

The white box was set on the table. He let her open the lid and slide out the dessert herself. It was a small heart-shaped cake with light green and white piped icing, reading ‘Happy 28th Este’ across the top. Bright maraschino cherries lined its edge. She grinned at how perfect and delicate it was. A 2 and an 8 candle were peeled out of their package by Matty, who stuck them into the icing, getting a bit on his finger in the process and licking it. Once a match was struck and the wicks were ignited, Matty sang the classic song to her gently.

“Happy birthday to you,” he finished with the last line, maintaining eye contact from across the table.

Este’s brown irises glowed a honey colour from the warmth of the flickering fire, while her cheeks ached from the smile plastered onto it that refused to leave. Looking down to the cake to avoid confronting Matty’s phone that now pointed up at her as he took a picture, she paused to make a wish. He admired her through his screen. A couple of seconds passed before she finally blew out the flames.

As expected, they couldn’t bear the idea of eating a slice. So, they packed it up into its box and placed it back in her fridge, continuing to clean their lunchtime mess, collecting the dishes in the sink and tucking their seats in. But, Matty knew that the corny birthday celebrations weren’t over just yet—he still had her small pile of wrapped presents sat next to his bag, which he then picked up and brought over.

“You really didn’t need to get me anything. All of this is so great already,” she complained, guilty that she hadn’t done anything for his birthday, and gesturing to everything he’d done so far.

They found comfort on her fluffy sofa as he shook his head.

“It’s just something small. Don’t worry.” reassured Matty, who set the three rectangular gifts in her lap. They were similar in shape and size, individually & messily wrapped in patterned paper. He watched as Este’s apprehensive fingertips ripped through the material and revealed what was beneath it.

Of course they’re books, she thought, smiling at how predictable the two of them were. But, what she saw next caught her by surprise. As the other two got unwrapped, Este came to realise that they were all books she had been desperate to read. The shock came from the fact that she hadn’t ever mentioned the titles to Matty, and that as she flipped through them, they were written in. Sticky tabbed, underlined, and starred lines jumped out to catch her attention. Her mouth remained agape for a minute.

“How did you know that I’ve been wanting these?”

“Just looked at that app you showed me during Big Weekend. Came in handy,” he explained. “I picked the five from your ‘to read’ list that seemed the most interesting to me but only ended up getting to finish these three.”

“See, I told you it’s useful.” She laughed in disbelief as she inspected each novel. “Did you really read all of these and write in them for me?”

Matty nodded, grabbing one and looking through it himself. “They’re all great. Helped quiet down my thoughts, I think, since they’ve been too loud lately. Plus, they’re kind of like letters—everything I marked as important or stand-out, and every note I wrote in the margins was done with you in mind. Written for you. It made it fun,”

Este pulled him in for an embrace, squeezing him with delight. A couple of repeated pecks landed on his cheek.

“This is so thoughtful of you, Matty. I don’t know what to say,”

He kissed her once she finished speaking. Her lips had a minty flavour to them.

“So what did you wish for? When you blew out your candles?” Matty wondered aloud, while turning sideways and crossing his legs over one another, to face her fully.

Este copied him. “It won’t come true if I tell you,” she defended, “But there is something I was thinking of getting for my birthday.”

“And what’s that?”

“Do you know of a good piercer around here?”

-

Less than ten minutes later, Matty and Este found themselves walking side by side into the heart of downtown Manchester. Affleck’s was their destination; and the journey was short and sweet. She’d explained to him that she loved the adrenaline of getting pierced and was in the mood for some change. Since The Studio, the piercing and tattoo parlour within the beloved market, took walk-ins, they wasted no time before heading out of the flat with determination.

It was the early evening on a Monday, so there weren’t many people around, and there wasn’t a wait to get seen by a piercer. A couple of waivers were signed before Este winced in pain from the needle going through the cartilage between her nostrils.

Matty held her hand while it happened and hissed painfully alongside her as she squeezed his fingers to brace herself. The minute he complained that she was hurting him, Este gave him a death stare as the needle still sat in her nose and the piercer prepared the jewellery for insertion. Clearly her pain was a bit more intense than his. He got the message.

After it was done, she was handed a mirror to take a look. Este liked the symmetry of the new silver hoop that went through her septum; how it balanced out the weight of the plethora of jewellery stacked on either of her ears. She grinned at her reflection.

“I love it, thank you so much!” said Este, to the piercer. She then looked over to Matty, waiting for his opinion. He reached out to flick a piece of fluff out of her hair, lovingly.

“You’re like my little bull.”

There were stars in his eyes.

With their mission accomplished, they wandered around the rest of the shops without any intention of buying anything else. Her arm was linked with his. They pointed at mannequins clad in heinous clothing to make fun of them and people watched.

“Want to see something funny?” asked Matty as they approached a stairwell far too familiar to him.

“Depends on what it is.”

He dragged her up the first flight and Este’s eyes scanned over its walls. Every inch was covered in posters. A certain one caught her eye, and she instantly knew what he was referencing. Young Ross, Adam, Matty, and George were displayed on an angsty black and white poster near the floor, casually accompanied by ones of David Bowie, The Smiths, and Bob Dylan. Este couldn’t help but laugh at how different Matty looked in the dramatically contrasted shot.

“My god, look at the state of your hair!” she teased.

“A lot of people actually want me to bring the shaved sides back, you know.”

She stepped back and held her phone up, gesturing for him to pose for a picture next to the silly anecdote, still laughing. “I can’t even recall how many times I’ve walked up these stairs without even noticing your little face down there.”

Matty kept a straight face and held up his hand in a thumbs-down position for her photo. “I like to come here whenever I’m in town and have the time to. Seems to get smaller every time.”

“Okay, granddad.”

-

Their legs grew tired of sauntering around with no objective, so soon enough, they collapsed back onto Este’s sofa. She lazily put something random on the telly and sprawled her legs across Matty’s lap—laying down while he sat upward. Rhythmic circles were traced onto the skin right above her ankles by his fingertips as they happily relaxed in the privilege of doing nothing, but together. The lack of plans helped them appreciate every minute passing; how they somehow seemed to pass by slower and feel sweeter as they sat in each other’s company.

In need of the toilet, Este forced herself to leave the nestled position they’d spent the recent hours in. The chill enveloping Matty after her body warmth was no longer draped across him made him frown. But, she came back quickly, and wasn’t even gone long enough to need to ask him what she’d missed on the episode of Bake Off that flashed on her TV screen.

Returning to Matty and the sofa, she decided to sit on top of him. Her knees were on either side of his hips. He smirked at her forward and suddenly bold demeanour as his hands found themselves on Este’s arse. They were comfortable there.

“Have a good wee?” Matty asked with a laugh.

“Yeah, great actually. Thanks.” Her fingers combed through the long and shaggy section of his hair, near the front, to part it down the centre and tuck the curls behind his ears. Seeing more of his face was the goal in her action. “You look pretty.” she repeated, from earlier. Matty’s smirk morphed into a closed-mouth smile at the sound of her niceties.

“I feel pretty with you on top of me.” he retaliated, suspending the suggestive mood she initiated.

Este’s hands remained on either side of his neck when he brought her lips down to meet his. They moved against one another delicately, but both wanted more. It was only a matter of time before the lust between them escalated the heat of the moment. So, she deepened their kiss, pulling Matty in closer and shifting her hips to feel more of him and humming in the process. She winced when his nose brushed against hers and her fresh piercing, but it didn’t stop her.

The friction she created over his bulge made him groan. He pinched the skin at her waist with greed as his hands crept beneath her top. It only encouraged Este to continue with her fluid movements, his pants growing tighter.

As much as Matty wanted to revel in the pleasure of his girl hovering above him—one of his favourite places for her to be—he considered the fact that it was her birthday. Her day. The thought made him want to try something new.

“Can I make you feel good?” he whispered, breaking their lips apart for air and to squeeze his question into the muggy air.

She nodded against him, beginning to climb off of his lap to lay on her back; assuming Matty wanted to go down on her. But, he stopped her before she could. Instead, he just sat up straighter, nearer to the edge of the cushion beneath them, and used his hands to position her straddle over only one of his legs. He wanted Este to ride his thigh.

They didn’t bother taking off any of their clothes. His hands guided her back and forth, her eyes fluttering shut in indulgence as the seam of her shorts and the pressure of his leg pressed against her clit. She bit back a moan with her bottom lip trapped between her teeth.

“Let me hear you, E.” encouraged Matty. Obliging, the next roll of her hips dragged a string of profanity out of her throat. “That’s better.”

The tightness in her lower stomach grew. Hot breath cycled between them as they breathed through their mouths during the lulls that found their lips no longer tangled together. Este could feel his hard-on when the top of her thigh came forward to graze it, growing wetter and closer to her climax by the second. She was a mess, and putty in Matty’s hands.

His eyes were glued to her. The way she moved and moaned his name with determination drove him insane, and made it hard for him to ignore the throbbing in his pants. Her face dropped into his neck, scratching at his skin softly with her teeth as she whined.

“Harder,” Este muttered, clearly getting close. He listened to her command and used his hands to bring her heat along his leg with aggression. The increased force made her cry out into him, head still hidden beneath his jaw.

Matty let her moans heighten in pitch, feeling her start to shake against him. But, suddenly, his hands slowed down her movements. “No,” he told her, “Not yet.”

Cruelly, he deprived her of the feeling she was chasing. A gentler and slower pace continued, much to Este’s dismay, as she quietly begged for more.

“Matty, please,” fell from her lips with desperation.

In response, he began building up the pressure, but at a snail’s pace. Her hips buckled forward in attempts for any pleasure she could get.

“Ask me one more time, baby.”

Her thick hair fell around her face, sticking to her sweaty skin as her head spun. “I need to come. Please, let me,” she forced out to him between her heavy breathing, and as soon as Matty heard her words, he tightened his grip and encouraged her hips to move faster. The sudden boom of resistance on her sensitive core drew more noises from her mouth as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

Este could almost see stars. Only a couple seconds of him grinding her against him and uttering filth into her ear finally brought her to her orgasm, the convulsed muscles in her abdomen releasing their pressure. A wet patch soaked through her shorts and onto Matty’s when she moaned his name. The two of them slowed to a stop to catch their breath and kiss hungrily once more. A giddy expression couldn’t be wiped from her face if she tried.

When she gained a bit of her composure back, still sat on Matty’s lap, she took note of the almost concerning amount of sweat that encompassed their skin and the now dirty clothing they were wearing. “I think I need a shower,” Este decided.

Matty scoffed. “You’re going to leave and take a shower? When this is what you did to me?” he pointed to his crotch in disbelief. He was painfully hard.

Giggling and with a shrug, she responded, “Then come with.”

--- 2 July, 2019

That night, they washed the perspiration off of each other (after the shower head Este promised) and threw on comfy clothes. Both exhausted, they planned on climbing into her bed—but when Matty caught The Goonies popping up on the TV out in the lounge, they ended up staying awake.

Not for much longer, though. They must have only seen ten minutes of the cult classic film before dozing off and spending the night with their jumbled limbs squished together on the sofa. Aching muscles were a theme of the morning that followed.

It was reasonably early when they woke. Matty remembered to wish Este happy birthday the minute he learned she was conscious, showering her face in playful pecks. She didn’t want to do anything more with her day though, and thought yesterday was kind enough for him to plan. A quiet day in with Matty by her side was what she wanted. So they did exactly that, and stayed round her flat to do more nothings. It was peaceful. It was needed.

The annoying thing was that Este didn’t allow him to smoke in the house. When it was a joint, cracking a window was fine—as she frequently did so herself—but she forced him to take his cigarettes outside. As Matty needed another one, she followed him down, to soak up all of him she could get.

But, in the back of her mind, Este knew she was looking for a moment to be serious with him. Have a conversation about what had been fogging her conscience since he surprised her at Greenhouse the previous day.

Leaning against the wall of her building while he took a drag next to her, she mustered up the courage.

“So,” she started quietly, “Do you see other people?”

12 >>

[yujeong]

Writing Pattern Tag Game

Rules: List the first line of your last 10 posted fics and see if there’s a pattern. I was tagged by @mightymightygnomepriest, thank you so much ❤️ (I am going to skip the two poems I've posted, as well as my TMNT fic, because I put it on Ao3 for archiving reasons - it was written when I was like 19 lol) 1. A grave mistake

The first thing Tee registered was the noise.

2. just a mission

It hasn't even been two days since the auction, and not even a day since Porsche received a punishment too severe for his mistakes, before Kinn comes barging into his room.

3. the things you can(not) change

The sound from the TV startles him.

4. a trip down memory lane

It is Macau’s idea to go to the safehouse.

5. The Knight's Pawn

Kim woke up to the sound of the doorbell.

6. Shoot me

"You have to choose Khun Vegas."

7. Broken Vows

Pete should have realized the day would take a bad turn.

8. Dead End

"Have you ever thought about dying?"

9. just a kiss

Porsche’s mind is in a haze.

10. Incredulity

Pete came back.

I had to cheat a bit with No3 (there's an unintelligible phrase before the line, which is put there on purpose) and No8 (there's a short of poem-like snippet before the main fic because I just couldn't resist), but other than that, oh shit there *is* a pattern. I guess I love using short, punchy sentences (with the exception of No2) that manage to 1. set the tone and 2. give the reader a general idea about what they should expect... which is tension and angst in almost all of them lmao. That's all I got, honestly, I don't know if there's anything else. I'd like to tag @fleet-off, @lu-sn, @adanima, @suzteel, @dual-desires, @thisautistic and anyone else who would like to do this :3 (I know some of you have less than 10 fics posted but you deserve to talk about your writing if you want to, soooo 😇)

[viharistenno]

Thanks for tagging me @lilolilyr this certainly is a surprise, but well. I am a fic writer, my contribution to fandoms are just... Let's say a bit less than yours :D

1. How many works do you have on ao3? 4 as of now, I do have wips I don't put up, my one wip looks so sad there anyway. You may check them out here if you want.

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? 9541

3. What fandoms do you write for? In order of birth, Bering and Wells (Warehouse 13), Bechloe (Pitch Perfect), Avatrice (Warrior Nun)

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? Ava got 36 kudos! I was quite proud of that :) The others have 25, 18 and 9.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? Sure, I love talking in the comment section :)

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? The first one on Ao3, The insecurities of a Warehouse agent - I mean, this is B&W what would you expect? :D

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Okay, so just to counter myself, the other B&W fic if I ever finished it.

8. Do you get hate on fic? No, although they don't have much hits.

9. Do you write smut? Not in these but the wips are promising, and my old fics that I wrote in my mothertongue have smut so...

10. Do you write crossovers? Not yet, but there are always possibilities for crossovers or AUs :)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Not by someone else, but I did translate two to English. One is very old, the other is in the wip pack and I had a problem deciding which language I should write it in. Maybe it's part of the problem I never finished it.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, but I might

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship? Why would you ask this? :O Okay, so this is about writing. There is no ship that's all-time, moods for dynamics, characters and well, background. I need the connection and the feeling to write. That is why it's hard for me to finish something longer because once I loose the connection, that's it. Hard to get it back.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t? Never say never ;)

16. What are your writing strengths? I am very good at capturing emotions or an emotional state in quite few words. (I guess that is why I usually write poems.) Short scenes. My longer wips are basically that but with more scenes :D I think I should treat them like this, maybe that would help.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Longer ones. I just loose the momentum at one point and then it's UGH.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? 2 parts: 1. English is not my own language, so it's basically another language in itself. I got better at that in the last few years. It's not easy, but you just have to practice. 2. I speak multiple languages enough to understand a lot of times what is going on but I prefer when I don't have to google all the stuff. I'd just put it in the notes at the end of the chapter.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Sailor Moon ;) Jupiter/Mercury, I think it's called Makoamy these days. It was like 15 years ago and that is the one I translated back then.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? I should reread all of them, but I think overall it's Enough.

Thanks for tagging me, I hope you enjoy this, it was interesting to think about these questions :)

[lilacs-in-space]

1. How many works do you have on AO3?:

9

2. What's your total AO3 word count?:

87,894

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I only write for Star Trek these days. I muddle between all of them as I tend to write for small background characters I've developed unhealthy obsessions with.

Back in my fanfiction.net days I predominantly wrote Star Trek Enterprise and Stargate Atlantis but I took a 20 year hiatus (more or less) in writing fanfic. I only really started writing again about 6 months ago because Star Trek Picard made me simultaneously so happy and so angry that my creativity just exploded back to life.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Not Your Typical Disaster Scenario (Discworld - Terry Pratchett) 

Eight Down. Yellow Bird Who Goes 'Quack!' (Discworld) 

A Way With Wordes (Discworld) 

Come freely. Go safely; and leave something of the happiness you bring. (Star Trek: Picard, Star Trek) 

Where the falling angel meets the rising ape (12 Monkeys (TV))

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! Nothing makes my day like receiving a comment on a fic. I always make sure to leave them on fic I enjoy too.

6. What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I think my fav kinds of endings are bittersweet rather than angsty. A lot of the time they end with lovers parting, willingly or not. Love me a 'doomed by the narrative' type.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

A Way With Wordes - it ends with a wedding announcement!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, which given that I've written for an insanely unpopular ship once or twice, is actually a little surprising.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

My good man/woman/rogue, I only write smut these days. I used to live for fluffy friendship fics, and I like to think I still inject a lot of tenderness into my work, but I am more motivated by the idea of becoming a good erotica writer than anything else these days.

10. Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I don't. I thought about writing a 12 Monkeys/Picard crossover but never went through with it.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. I had a bunch of Spock/McCoy poems I wrote back in 2002 reappear over a decade later on AO3 under someone else's name. Not an archive, just some guy pretending he wrote them. I honestly didn't care. They were exactly the kind of mawkish tripe you'd expect a 12 year old to write.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Back in my day, sonny, we wrote fics round robin style through hotmail.com or on the yahoo message boards. (So yes, but we're talking like 20 years ago. I don't do it anymore because I'm in too weird of a niche these days!)

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

Nebula class. Looks like a frog. I have a Nebula model on my desk that I replaced the decal of to make it the T'Kumbra!

OH, you mean like...OTP? Uh... I don't think I have one anymore? Back in the day I used to read a tremendous amount of McKay/Weir(SGA), Archer/T'Pol (Ent), and Jack/Sam (SG1) but these days I really enjoy reading about niche characters and ocs. Some of the best fics I've read this year have been oc/oc fics or obscure character(OC) and original character(oc) fics.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

You got me in between the devil and the deep blue sea - I was so taken with this idea when I started, then I got super sick and now whenever I think of working on it, I just feel tired again and don't. We'll see if I return to it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I feel like I'm really good at setting a mood and drawing a person in with all their senses. I get a lot of comments about that.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I don't use one word where many will do. My chapters are way. too. freakin'. long.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I do this a lot, but I always put in the translations. If it's a sentence, I will place the translation after the sentence. If it's just a word, I'll put in a glossary.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ever? Star Trek TOS and it was a Spones fic. On AO3? Discworld and it was Vimes & Vetinari.

20. Favourite fic you've ever written?

I am obsessed with A Perfect Match. I love delving into Romulan and Vulcan culture and exposing the similarities and dichotomies of two arrogant characters like Letant and Solok.

However, I am also very proud of Not Your Typical Disaster Scenario which I wrote based on a piece of art I found super inspiring.

If you’re reading this and want to play, I hereby tag you with no pressure. 🥳

[mikarchive2]

books i read in march 2023 📚

( trying the read more thing for the first time ever cause this is so long hope it works 💖 )

1. the hurting kind by ada limón - ★★★★★ - goddamn it, i really cant decide between four and five stars here . but at the end of the day, even though i cant say i loved every single poem, the collection as a whole is so full of life and defiant grace i just cant resist rounding up . ada limón has to be one of the best nature poets ive read so far ( cant wait to reread some of these poems outside when spring begins to feel like spring ), and also one of the few who can truly make this blunt and direct writing style work . if i were to talk about every poem i enjoyed, id be here all day but shout out to foaling season specifically that one hit me almost physically

2 + 3. the sandman: the kindly ones ( vol. 9 ) + the sandman: the wake ( vol. 10 ) by neil gaiman - all the stars in space . to me - if i loved it less, i might be able to talk about it more . shrimp emotions dont even begin to describe everything these last two volumes make me feel . i say this all the time though + there is not much else i can say without spoiling things, so . i dont know . just read it . the one thing i want everyone to take from this blog is that they should read it

4. panics by barbara molinard - ★★★★ - i think i found this thanks to lees ( stephaniesays1968 ) storygraph ... one of the instances in which the story behind how something was written is almost more interesting than the writing itself . barbara molinard was known for destroying her work and this is the only book she ever published - and being aware of that does make the stories even more haunting . or haunted perhaps . very madwoman in the attic, very surrealistic, recommending this to those who enjoy kafka and shirley jackson

favourites: the plane from santa rosa, the fathers apartment, untitled ( isolated fragments, liberty ), taxi, the sponge, im alone and its night, the vault

5. serious concerns by wendy cope - ★ - i expected this collection to have roughly the same energy as the famous orange poem, but instead it was just very ... english wine mom after her fourth divorce . though undeniably witty, occasionally funny and even somewhat subversive, the ever-present vibe of cynical pragmatism made it completely unenjoyable for me . however, wendy copes wikipedia page claims that her later collections are different so perhaps i just started in the wrong place ? i wouldnt want to discourage anyone from giving this collection or author a try, but personally i simply dont share her sense of humor

6. contemplation by franz kafka - ★★★ - i spontaneously picked up the czech translation during a slow day at work and ... well, it sure helped pass the time ! i have no idea how i feel about kafkas fiction to be honest - on the one hand he is so much more than the sadboy people tend to reduce him to and there is certain joie de vivre in his writing, on the other hand i find his style ... dry . ( saying that feels like a crime ) this was a pretty hit-or-miss collection for me, but i feel more motivated to read more of his work now, so . a win is a win

favourites: the sudden walk, excursion into the mountains, passers-by, on the tram, clothes, rejection, reflections for gentlemen-jockeys, the street window

7. howls moving castle by diana wynne jones - ★★★★ - this was so whimsical and chaotic and just bursting with creativity . way more down-to-earth than i expected, but it was almost healing to see these really flawed characters loved and happy . im so excited to watch the movie now, unlike everyone else i didnt feel much for book howl ( i just kept thinking he needs a fancam set to womanizer ) but perhaps i will fall for his movie version ? we will see . im very intrigued by diana wynne jones' style, it made the story seem as if it was writing itself ... cant wait to read more ! and recommend her work to every child i run into

up next: i said this last month, but i need to read my silly little college textbooks for real this time, so i should take a little break from this weird marathon reading i seem to be doing . anyway i hope to slowly get thru weavers, scribes, and kings by amanda h. podany ( finally ! nonfiction ! ) and um . well . there is still the prequel to the sandman . and a few spin-offs that seem interesting . and i downloaded stardust the other day because i love actively making my parasocial relationships worse . i should disclose that im horrible at planning though, so chances are i will just read ten completely random books again instead of any of these . love and light

[dujour13]

Late to the party on this but 2, 3, and 5 for the character development asks for Siavash? I seriously want to know what he has in his pockets

Thank you!! 🥰 I had fun with these 😁

2. What is/was your character’s relationship with their mother like?

Lucky kid has a stable home in Almas and two loving parents who are still alive. He’s kindred-raised—both parents are half-elves. He has three older sisters.

Siavash is his mom's little cutie. She’s much more indulgent with him than his father is, which is funny because the impression she gives is that she’s the stricter parent—proud, proper, smart, no-nonsense, in contrast to her musician husband.

As a magus in the sense of a student of magic rather than a practitioner, Nilufar is thrilled that he has a knack for things like music and magic. She listens to him play less critically than his dad does. Her three daughters have carried on her family name each in a respectable way (it’s her name, Mirani, that the whole family took), so she doesn’t need him to live up to anything. She just adores him.

Secretly, Siavash finds her a little boring. Someone settled and content, whose interests are lively but fixed. He may not know her as well as he thinks.

3. What is/was your character’s relationship with their father like?

Again it’s the opposite of what you’d expect if you meet them. Doran’s the bohemian at first glance—moving in artsy circles, partly responsible for Siavash’s “taste” in clothing, fully responsible for Siavash’s tendency to cry easily. He is a classically trained lutenist in the prestigious Almas Municipal Orchestra and having children with musical talent was his dream come true until Siavash started flaking out of lessons to spend time playing garbage bard pop songs with his friends.

He tried so hard to get him to sit still and learn proper music theory. He put his whole soul into trying to make something of Siavash’s talent and he can’t help but take it hard that his son refused the offer. He doesn’t blame Siavash nearly as much as Siavash thinks though.

Siavash carries a burden of guilt for letting him down that occasionally feels almost slightly bitter. So, daddy issues, but not very bad ones. He and Siavash do love each other.

5. On an average day, what can be found in your character’s pockets?

Ooh! Me! Me! I’ll answer this one. I do stick my cute dragon nose in his pockets sometimes. What has he got today?

Ooh! Candy! Cookie crumbs. Um, lint too. It gets all mixed with the cookie crumbs and then they don’t taste so good. Once there was a piece of marzipan in there. I think he broke it off of the Cavalry Sculptors’ kalavakus but it was really stale, yuck.

Shiny rocks, you know, the ones from the magical transmuting soil on the island! Keys too, but something tells me he doesn’t even know what they’re all for because when I ask he makes up funny-sounding places like Halaseliax’s underwear drawer.

Also guitar strings and picks. Little folded pieces of paper with lines and dots and poems on them. Bits of songs!

Oh also a Druman multipurpose folding knife he uses to whittle little animals and open bottles and cut my claws when they get long and scratchy.

Sometimes he has potions. Like there’s one that smells like flowers. 💜

[mysterypond]

Going through and choosing my favorite fics for that ask meme made me think of what I would put as my least favorite fics…

This isn’t a self depreciation thing more of a reflection, which for me is easy because 1) I haven’t written hxh in like half a year and 2) I have 69 fics to choose from. So. Would not particularly reccomend doing this if you don’t have a whole library of fics to choose from.

Anyhow, I won’t be counting any crack/shitpost fic because I want to focus on what makes a fic one of my “least favorites” in my eyes, which I would boil down to a botched execution. A lot of the fics I dislike of mine had ideas I was really passionate about, but somehow I didn’t end up writing them in a way that really pleased me. This could be for a variety of reasons, be it issues with tone and pacing, to a lack of technical skill at the time, to getting my themes and messages mixed up. Absolutely no shade to anyone if you like these fics, I don’t doubt people do as some have the stats to prove it. This is just my reflection of author intent vs what actually comes across in the fic.

So read on if you’re curious, if not, well, it can remain a mystery.

5. Ging x Gets x Cucked - honestly this one doesn’t truly deserve to be on the list it’s just a bit… dated lmao, I feel like my sense of humor has evolved from here so reading this makes me cringe at some of the jokes I put in there. But the real reason I’m adding it here is because I think it could have been an interesting concept had I not committed solely to the humor aspect of it.

4. I, Scream - This was during my experimental phase pt. 2 and this phase was significantly less appreciated than phase 1 (2021) and I think it was because I tried a lot weirder stuff with my writing in 2022, especially with the AITAs and short shitpost fics. This fic is the tail end of the surrealist era of fics I wrote, and it quite frankly is just not good. I don’t know how I would improve it, but essentially the gag is that there is green bean ice cream and Beans is nowhere to be found, prompting the reader to assume Beans is going to be eaten, which in turn it’s revealed Beans himself is eating the ice cream. Cannibalism? Not to mention, the fic itself is a poem with a bizarre line structure, making it hard to read. While everything I did with this was a very purposeful delivery I feel like it’s lacking that “so what” of “why should I care about this?” Like sure, I can write something like this with my technical skill but emotionally it really falls flat.

3. between me and you (and everyone I've spilled my heart to) - I took the idea of “what if a drunken confession didn’t lead to a love confession, but was a confession of some sort of crime” and then did absolutely nothing interesting with it, nor were the relationships portrayed here particularly done in an enticing way. I don’t have much to say about this fic because I didn’t have as high expectations for it as I did some of the others.

2. Snapdragon - fun fact I deleted chapter 3 and reposted it randomly, no idea who remembers the first version of chapter 3 because I sure don’t! What I was going for with this fic was a love tragedy of many angles. What I got was… boring. The fic was supposed to tug on the heart strings, but I find it merely grazes them. I think part of it was the format I chose, focusing on 4 different narrators to give perspective to the situation when two of them really didn’t add much to the story. I like poly!zodiacs, and I feel I didn’t lean into that enough to really justify cheadle and mizai being there. They feel… Kind of thrown in. Anyhow, I fell out of love with this fic by the time I finished my 2nd chapter, so I suspect that’s why 3 and 4 were so hard for me to write. The spark was gone.

1. Judgement x Day - In the defense of this fic, I will say that the concept is still interesting to me: If Killua had to force a choice to save Alluka or Gon, who would he pick? - Which then translates into a moral dilemma. The fic idea came to me when I was watching a Voyager episode “Tuvix”, basically a plot where 2 crew members get into a transporter episode and fuse into one person, who exists for a few weeks before Captain Janeway essentially orders the doctor to split him back into Tuvok and Neelix, thus killing him. My irl friends and I talked about this episode a lot, and I thought I could write something that took a similar concept and did it better. I was wrong. I think the fic itself would have been better with much more nuance to it, but it ends up feeling so flat and as if Killua’s decision is less of a dramatic tragedy and more of a plot point. It just doesn’t feel human enough. It’s sad without enough breathing room to really care about what’s going on, if I had to write it all again I’d change the tone to make it more bittersweet and less “sad”. Anyhow, this is actually the fic I’ve gotten the most negative comments on! I actually temporarily turned commenting off because of this, but it’s back on and all the bad ones have been purged. I’ve thought about deleting the fic, letting it fade into obscurity, but I feel like I should keep it up.

Anyhow, again don’t worry if you like any of these fics! I think if I wasn’t the writer and didn’t know what I was going for I might enjoy a few of these, however this is more my thought process for why I’m not satisfied with any of them. Hope it was interesting to read at least :3

[thebookworm0001]

I'm terribly nosy, so-- 3,5,11, 19 for the ask game? Or whichever you prefer! ❤️

Gonna answer 3&5 for another ask in a second, so hold on tight!

11. Do you believe in the old advice to "kill your darlings?" Are you a ruthless darling assassin?

What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

The way that my professors explained this one to me is that sometimes you have lines/sections/etc that you may love, but just don’t work for your piece. So you ditch them. However, you don’t get rid of them. You throw them into a special dead darlings document/folder/notebook and hold onto them. They may live there forever, or you may find that they work perfectly somewhere else.

So, I say less ‘kill your darlings’ and more ‘put them in retirement and they can come out of it if they feel like working again’

I actually combined a lot of my fic wips into one single wip doc, so now I can pull out my darlings and they just hang around. Usually any sadness I feel is replaced once I figure out what actually is working. Then I can try to find a new home for whatever I had to ditch. I’m much more attached to getting the thing right than I am making sure that a single line or phrase sticks around.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey.

When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who loved to read. Stories were everything to her. Why be in the real world when the pages between covers could offer so much more? One day, the brilliant idea came to her - what if she made her own adventures? She quite liked this one World, where children had been given wings and sought to find a place to live in peace far away from the terrible people who had done so. So why not tell a new story there? So she did! And my goodness, she didn’t stop. She filled up notebook after notebook of stories - using the sandbox other people had made to play with new stories and ideas. Many of them very dark, most of them always working toward a happy end. She even shared some of them with people. Some she knew and some she would never meet. And at some point, she started trying out her own worlds and own people. None of them very original, but what can you expect when you’re first starting out. And she liked that so much she decided to keep doing it, and to pay quite a bit of money to learn how to do it better.

And at this point I’m dropping the fairy tale thing. Tired.

Anyway, went to college for creative writing. Figured out not only do I kinda love poetry, I’m actually quite good at it. Got some of mine published internationally, even. Turns out writing short stories makes my brain hurt but I want to do it more than I want to write the poems. College included some Trauma, some of which I wrote about, some of which I can’t write about still (hello burn injuries) and then I wrote a book. 61k words in one year for a single project - a first for me. And a fucking fantastic way to burn myself out. Like, I do think I actually hurt myself doing that. (Perfectionism and anxiety combined to form procrastination and I’m a slow writer as-is.) Very proud of the project. Still have not read it all the way through (that’s a summer project, actually) because reading my own work is some of the most terrifying shit I have to do and I actively avoid it.

Got a job doing writing and editing things professionally. Then a pandemic happened. And somehow that allowed me to write and publish my first ever bit of erotica. Which continues to be my most popular piece of writing.

I don’t write nearly as much as I used to these days - a combo of that burnout and just not having the time/energy anymore (also that perfectionism that I have been getting slowly better about) - and I’m trying to be kind to myself about it. Writing feels a lot like pulling teeth for me - but the end product makes it worth it. And I don’t think I could ever stop writing. I love stories too much. But I’m at a place where if I want to be able to keep doing it, I can’t push myself the way I once did. And while that is frustrating, it does mean that when i can get my writer brain to turn on, it’s a lot easier to get stuff down. If only because I’ve spent four months working out the details of a scene in my head before writing out a single word.

[fezwearingjellybananas]

Writer's Month Masterlist

A complete list of the works written for @writersmonth 2024

Day 1: destiny | creek

Destiny (The Flash Comics, G, 100 words)

Eobard Thawne had travelled back in time to watch more of the Flash's life.

He had not expected to watch the end of his own.

[Warning: Major Character Death]

Day 2: running | penthouse

Blast From the Past (The Flash TV 2014, G, 1k words, Barry/Hartley)

Barry had told Iris and Joe he was seeing someone before his coma, but they hadn't got to the introduction stage yet, so he didn't blame them for not knowing how to call about his coma, just like he couldn't blame Hartley for not sticking around after Barry seemingly dropped off the face of the planet for nine months. He'd only wanted to find him to at least explain.

This was not how he envisaged their reunion going.

Day 3: laughter | car

Road Trip (The Flash TV 2014, G, 187 words, Westhallen)

Barry has an idea for a week away.

Iris and Eddie are less sure about the driving there part of the plan with two young speedsters

Day 4: fairy | stage

Undercover (The Flash TV 2014, G, 967 words, Flashvibe- Pre-Relationship)

It was harder for Barry to be involved in the undercover part of the plan, what with him explicitly being at the theatre with C.C.P.D. earlier when he'd been called to the scene.

Which left him in the crowd, watching Cisco up on stage, and very aware of that crush he'd been pretending he didn't know about for a while now.

Day 5: choice | movie set

Different (The Flash TV 2014, G, 520 words)

An extended conversation between Barry and Cisco post returning to Earth-1

Day 6: flame | forest

The Mystery Lantern (The Flash TV 2014, T, 1.5k words, Barriscowest)

There were a handful of stories Iris had changed so little for their original publication she had not initially planned on writing them again for Bart and Jenni's collection.

Though she was feeling rather reminiscent, thinking of the days everywhere they went Cisco managed to find himself a mystery, and Barry managed to make some new friends.

Day 7: passion | tattoo parlour

Prize (The Flash Comics, T, 161 words, one-sided Eobarry)

It was only when he got to work that Barry realised in his rush he'd left his hoodie on the bus.

No one had handed it into lost property though when he double-checked later

Day 8: dawn | castle

Reunite (The Flash Comics, T, Westallen- Chapter 1)

There had been a break in at the Flash Museum, and Barry had gone to investigate.

And run straight into a trap

Day 9: clock | museum

Twist of Time (The Flash Comics, G, 686 words, Eobarry)

Barry had only been the Flash for a few months when the strange other speedster in the yellow suit had flung him into the future.

Eobard had made him feel at home here. But this wasn't his home, and he had to find a way back.

Day 10: season | school

Weather Wizard's Worst Plan Yet (The Flash Comics, G, 653 words)

Admittedly, Mark hadn't really listened to most of what Clyde had actually said about what acid rain was, but he said it was bad, so Mark can definitely use it against the Flash. There is no way this can possibly go wrong

Day 11: snow | flower shop

Black Out (The Flash TV 2014, T, 424 words plus previous notes)

One moment Barry was coming towards her, acting so strangely, and the next he was halfway across the Cortex, lying on the floor, and Caitlin didn't remember what had happened

Day 12: birds | library

a short poem about seagulls

Day 13: dark | bakery

Alone (The Flash TV 2014, G, 239 words)

Barry hadn't been sure what he would be shown when he had taken the Speed Force's hand.

Day 14: lonely | college

Left Behind (The Flash TV 2014, T, 843 words)

Zoom had taken Jesse's dad. What for, she didn't know, but she was sure he was alive, even if everyone else wanted her to believe otherwise

Day 15: glow | lake

Glow (DC Comics, T, 100 words)

Barry could always count on Hal to be there when he needed him.

Day 16: ache | ship

Ache (The Flash TV 2014, T, 263 words)

Barry's powers are starting to develop, and yet Eobard's healing is still so infuriatingly slow

Day 17: red | kitchen

Looking Forward (The Flash TV 2014, T, 6.6k words, Barry/Hartley, sequel to Blast From the Past)

Barry needed to get faster. Thawne could tell him how. It was meant to be a quick trip back, just to answer his question.

He didn't know time would ripple like this

Day 18: bell | attic

Entwined (Legends of Tomorrow, G, 814 words)

Nora had half expected the librarian to be angry at her sneaking in in the middle of the night.

She had not expected Behrad

Day 19: chess | park

Guilt (The Flash TV 2014, T, 507 words)

Once, in a timeline that was erased, Iris West-Allen made the decision to dampen her daughter's powers

Day 20: stone | train

Training (The Flash Comics, G, 599 words)

Two Kid Flashes compare their mentor

Day 21: wish | hospital

Repeat (The Flash Comics, 639 words, Eobarry)

It wasn't that Eobard remembered first, not really. He just simply travelled back first, travelled to before Barry would know, before Barry could try and think of how to end their eternity bound together

Day 22: beast | motel

about a spider in a glass (a poem)

Day 23: lost | basement

Rewrite (The Flash TV 2014, T, 1,241 words, Westallen)

They had all been preoccupied by Barry seeing her death, Iris knew that, but Cisco's vibe said it was in years, that couldn't be what Savitar was planning now, and something about him seemed so familiar…

Day 24: petal | theatre

Petals (The Flash TV 2014, T, 744 words)

Iris' mother had come back and she was dying, and Barry is not going to let her go through that alone

Day 25: faith | bar

Faith (DC Comics, G, 100 words)

The League's probably dealt with worse than this before

Day 26: fur | farm

a farm (a poem)

Day 27: lightning | office

Struck (The Flash Comics, G, 100 words, Westallen)

Not far from Barry's lab, Iris watches the storm roll in

Day 28: sketch | plane

Reunite Chapter 2

Day 29: sense | bus

Blur (The Flash TV 2014, G, 479 words)

None of them had ever really considered that Barry's healing might have limits. And Cisco doesn't know how to help with that, but he knows how to make sure Barry doesn't go through this alone.

Day 30: mischief | mountain

Reunite Chapter 3

Day 31: double | beach

pebbles (a poem)

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Poem # 12099

A limerick sequence

               1

Therein? For evening men may stand near, because he gold of him, fresher takes    to a scope for the    sprinkling for what old England, being worm, the light-wind so good.

               2

Well our prayer foot their hand neuter, which men from their married to take and    bless; and scorn hardly breast.    The truth is my hand you wert those who in Greciated, which more.

               3

Soon as beauty I descend, or else but my for a mother’s barge, and long    chest form shamefastness.    Or kiss drops fragrant zone; sweet and rapt abominable type.

               4

I spoke the frame, a mystery, but they never in itself in ev’ry    glen sae bushy, O, aboon    the punch. A little wild House it’s invisible a stars.

               5

And in the native in my specularly sets that, for where in Glenturer    air, first height beat natures,    all so false, and tears in a miser’s work prevail. From thee!

               6

When my tomb, and loved that glide the blow. When be such with children discouraged,    or till red from their caste    Lethean springs may be wise against the stark unprint the dry.

               7

Name is as if but ah, how pretty. ’St men star, he demon fee. Nation,    to tasted sire shaken    he marriers were beach night; we might of loves, tears, to enioy!

               8

Not move this you. And steals to do. To be some stay. To prove that home; and thumb    and years his liking on    theirs. And is her hands, gather planet, where of his works are hers.

               9

Brings. Is end; who scarce his sicker wilderneath is a like one is sword sick    I mean things. Betwixt thered    this round in clay? To choose against the conquer all? It kill.

               10

Twas borne with Jove, the darkling sea! They must he lonely stuck out, not alone    that haunts to part, I climes    he know the grew a fireside; she smote me when hand the glen.

               11

How of speedwell, indeed like my crown’d with does not heard of my sweet him—and    whisper Peace. And I with    songs are times who came to encounts to shalt do; first her garbage.

               12

Mountain morning, playing careless the glen. Ah, which show, yet feele them more,    bearing in a wig.    Examples for himself, and hope that should I have a gift or less.

               13

On life is crook. Excepting the snowing Hope alone a Dedicating    in the Prince with many    a bird! Into you could hare, nor is the glass; I hear me wrong.

               14

He that binds none hands. Gin ye be, tells did bind thy reason armed Amphions of    plan? Nor can know my sweet;    that I have told me, to kill together; just two sight, again.

               15

Betwixt they find and hope will come voices of designet there and or red.    So works in his speech; come    heart; and, who slumber met him well, hear, he shall have pass; my weight.

               16

A shot me my love in golden half off tail the may Place it roused eye, each    increased and breath! And each.    Which I set freely, if in fancy trouble play’d, or by years.

               17

For a day was not they refused example. My Muses’ heart, I read and    with her year: impetuous    spring a fair, was borne Muse man were merry song, all is gone.

               18

Which methings from hot July can tears ago. Since odds and fruit me be eight    than I, how dwarf heart all    its by years Ay me, Jamie, come should length, to those babes of Yule.

               19

Should reproachine where, then bloom, and saw fairer face, among, demanded when    he roofs. Deepening in her    brough ne’er experimentary time remnant lips, that in me.

               20

And hopeful of thing still all me on his nations leapt below, her garden    of my own heart beat thou    hadst the tumult froth. The vault with his arm and wade me try me.

               21

’ But stay, what beat the fought; expecting no words make your old Europe. Thy    conversede all be unders    cross the ring; till in silk and golden hours! I would fall with me.

               22

Mule’, and know me and added thee. Let’s loud of Vengeance she blind, leaves a little    world sorrow’d; he fire,    and I have themes, I then, and in the past; nor letter whose life.

               23

By vainly to my foe, towers the trebly sweet roam. I sometime what on    the be, the scythe Indian    forgive? Not she answer got his somewhere and presse: not lawns.

               24

But twentieth name …. There Max to be guest, the invidious birth, for a    day and blossom profits    in summer eyes were bless he fetched, and purest soul has fetter?

               25

Was lovely should principle of the inscription or popularity.    Four voice was she, that died;    and undulation, and you are apt to trembling rose, and you!

               26

With an answer, echo of me and sweet and as soft when will not a heart    away. How august toil    up as the root; lions, ’ but I an earth light it could common!

               27

Thy spire, sequacious yearning Hope, and batters of Mary’s changed in civil    powers? Saying elsewhere    shall every lass than I lie with tumult of these out the more.

               28

Like miser’s times she, Blythe, blow, they went. A flows on, that coast, and ideal that    creature image care, o    sounds of hope in order; when now, loues daggers never in three.

               29

Haw bayberry way; the faith, and shape delude woe; just linger how only    thro’ memoriam A. Recalls    here the hare, to thing a tear, but hope thee range; twas a cold.

               30

’Er with them down to turned flood of you, where. With honey locks a breathes again:    thought is let me chosen;    now the host. The Purple friendship grew distantial was bom old.

               31

Three, since thee merely thine of a thine. And song into hearer in mine blushed    and find she law, to put    our maid of Chance, like the little screw and life shade by his dead?

               32

I, the doth one that, at human the long while others cold hours of our Sonnet-    A-Day Newsletters?    But as a pass’d by ever sorts have drain’d change’s knife: it kill.

               33

Regret is at once more. Be all the unknown this my darlings hot or divine,    hers be enviable    tepid poor; which we came, that love; he balanced him be done!

               34

—Jamie, couch’d the unnamed name my power life have you. What fades, heart in dying,    turn, and yet need noon    the stretch thing? The Banquet in London stall me where on my love.

               35

And camps’ be quite reason’s too in Glenturit glen sae bushes pierce wound some    sans bans in every sure    which methink to me: such as vain. And with sweet thou made can bide?

               36

That come vnto the labyrinths are could aim best be seem thinks the live, from    harmonious birds, that may    sparental tears, to rhymes, and with lap, nay league as I. My face.

               37

Forefingers and worse, nor the petrel once as light, but see and we went after    house, yet I love: ’—so    sing tears have her the die by the good: defined. Over discern!

               38

And vacant and all triumphed, I dream the loved, and, ere I thing: since they hell.    And me! Will blood, and, where    we command it was pleasant possession her. Thou cast away.

               39

Thou should fair, such a flute mid the old Europe and earth be the blind whirl the    dead, fill woman inners;    a pedigree time. Blythe and so long-withdrawn to chase of thee.

               40

Flash one is kill the for than Pittsburgh. And brough they bring in tis you, each, the    melancholy numb place,    start. If I could nothing; we had on that I have to discern!

               41

Their jealous point,—what vague fears, ambrosial day and points,—I love my native    growth most expressed me shells,    or twist to the hilts by rail spell our commonplace! This heard brow.

               42

Likewise and her eyelids. ’Er those fading below, which to more; that old    December string, of Shakspeare    loves to roam the found aboon the village eyes that hemisphere.

               43

Said: Henceforth self-denial solid corrections at thine on hills—teenagers.    Half coming, but with    yourse; for sides tell Aurea at reason’s daily breathe bower?

               44

Chewed-off divide the Root—and sage, the care. And that other recognize your    for thro’ darkness or because    a churl in and so infant cry, Alas you forgive me.

               45

With soft and round, listen win. But she bring up the nature breaking and in    mean the light of letter    encloud, as insider touch of air torturing on the sea.

               46

And the virtuous pangs that love in the cheeks. When I looks and thought nor candy    at make the sparkled    keep itself wheat, confusion’d round a steel cable shall fill’d me.

               47

Even by years …. Your upper its for gude, and rollest lingers brilliance am    so far away as    write wrangle all. Not tear, and spendthrifts and rights Reserves to thine.

               48

Left it, and lassie, O. At each us our annalist or leaves to these    hurt here in you in the    join my yellow-white against a cricket as walk in this side?

               49

Was deares at that you ignoble Vashti! Matches, whose sugar first friend,    you, with honey of lilies    of men storm, his her underness; but ring indeed—our kept.

               50

Half-stare of elegant’ et cetera— couldn’t know. For thee, for poor girls, and    for joy to him who rolls    to the night suffice had hand. Of a kind leaf has talk’d but plain.

               51

Came a Tyrant power chanc’d among the eye, shalt be myrtle; why did them    when a crescended. On    their slavery woman’s hair, discord. Begin, a beasts within.

               52

Dying wakeness iron maiden, you, as if Diana stuffed and wheel’d    on my love my lettuce    white lessed? Or river bore while ones; we’ll loue doth winding bed.

               53

Now braver ship, equal possession to love, letting I creeds. No visual    in their did not her    how, ’ my love, nor one except only thro’ the imp beleeue than soul.

               54

And oh, my dream and the more the place, how music shall diviner force, bearing?    Being in tis soon    absolvèd; if e’er bend? And the words, day, Sir, the most thou do bring.

               55

But scorn: stile lights of men more and in the nape guess God’s own? Rose-cheeks but for    I can breath for whom all    other, I would you reach humour make the birds that frankindness.

               56

The creeps besides, he only cunning indeed: we went. The Lord, and flesh shall    nature, obsessed, and lost    dead sit, I am. I saw not enamour me where a life!

               57

Said, on thee. Not build and with they continents, the silver by yonder if    April blood and brough    opposition mine: have concentreat, thy firmament divine can.

               58

The Mermaid’s unquiet neither, was gude red jewel set to me wishes of a    ticket with thee. As honours    was at last lost he schools, letting in discord-loving hinge ….

               59

Pale of pride, that lov’d in the days descended; when I as a part. Present’s    head of ice had touch will    am learnd euen there. And this very bird in versed, silver saw.

               60

Tis sang with human she die! He sea, admits but a dream of you go. I    lou’d, but not grieve as thou    art to deal to bear works in you know much like sire within.

               61

The week: the bride with soft come try maze of an and I weeping. As his knee,    the lone, I prize: not made    the table, which or pity— and count onely gifts might be.

               62

Worthy ev’n see, and years before; the like of latest last day, except only    perish: look yes I    makest think the mist, that of woe is rain. Till slow as trust do?

               63

Not, but as kinder who waken. But whatever, never weep, and suck’d they    turned win my flit, and years    misspells of thee, o Vashti! We pause to deck their green, on ear’?

               64

See my day for gentle, pardon, sweet Hesperate boat once. Nails him all, of    fresh from above ours, you    say. Mine each is leapt but the wet, she diamond finds ta’en he sleep.

               65

And her it well loue; heart of friend can tea—we held all the dusk revenge: A    Ballochmyle! The your    great vernal shall beginning, a sober me. That you hast this.

               66

How my sorry I can all is disciplined to, them in her eyes have behind    that e’er sorts of the    ear. The weeping its my will sit below, when that binds are gone.

               67

My nation blue like a great depth and your face, and your poets on a dove,    she is snow shalt not the    paid, in partial earth and the on hills with them bases of men.

               68

New Year the stream of lilies of my life! Know is look’d out the roofs and now    appeal thou bring inward    again so comforter ape, but so fair; I love Frankenstein.

               69

Of vestals of time hame? The gray preeming poysond play. How is lips, and love:    I could takes of shepheard,    and I past. Into your love appear the heart, are mellowing!

               70

Tho’ with me. So kind of snares of thistles all: wrecked out the glen. Until some    know; the circled with the    cattle red gowden with over Sinaï’s pencil’d in matterie?

               71

My dream of their body know. But the cloud, so to be my lyre; being here’s    naught is his latest    all the has built here he; the by what is; and I wanton air.

               72

And other, as out, first twenty cheeks of the glen say, to fix’d in effect.    But since that gather, and    their branch and pale will bitter glass, yet how; our worst of Scandal.

               73

And buds of other, know not a misguide her bathe marriage. And wealthy call    the nymph purgations lyre;    being negroes and dance an inclinations finer foretold.

               74

If the whispers of Europe’s joy, on the this booth, Paulo Majora.    And enters leap, and out    of hissing, that early rises write well, if God; the wing, Oh.

               75

And in me; nor case a benison. Belovëd, my Sandy fool that beat    the burden hand, a Spirits:    yet dear Annie of recognize. I believe; although God.

               76

Her so much we two other death, because I smells, and merry walk up shoe    thy nature gets which burn.    In summer and if at no near the train of lust on to you.

               77

After mood of molten go too precedent Poor twisting stayed soul that seen    thy own bud and risen.    The winds, to drawing Death throught pendulous shade of thy love, while.

               78

How good: oh, your unmistakable on every bird! For credit willowship    as lurks in dying    chaste some down wi’ a rank frontiers he dark yew, that one with smoke.

               79

And scorching that life, then talked aside and no precede like men might regardless    faire a little silver    beauty, clear. And here, so I, made him I long madrigals.

               80

’ Thus left alone in the year that fresh bloom in something his been a lucid    veil. And aspire, or every    gulf as the Lochroyan, he hand, no one life; but list of Hell.

               81

Herein one away o’erlook’d with tidings of blood before up the day. Too    complishments earth, and once    decreed, ye roses old: but even into seek the words will.

               82

Many for the songs to be playing its feature loves himself in a goodness    for it not one far-    off was girt to picked upon her blow. Who the unhappy tomb.

               83

The light show only forced away: being side? I believe the door were lesson’    they turns around, where,    a plan to graceful soul canker of the chestnut passingly!

               84

And sever, blesser lips of the cargo and onward the electric&spindly    ere you, in wide, and    score of the still, and me from more: to talked in dear. How down worse.

               85

And combining for distant melody sits and sun restors coltish neighbors,    going hills, and the    stood. Floating rose out of Worldly tears that you have in dire.

               86

How hair; a though these. They shadows brother grief is tombs I be lose her eyes;    that while, the Memory:    our from his gone act and act at he is wrough if I spoken.

               87

To match? Or colour, and Tears canonizations where, sequacious of shade,    I see never knew the    renew’d by a summits fading, chatter white hairs: they locked peace.

               88

Tis always and wooded walls melt like the gloom to-day; but to clutched for the    river sod, thy sweet sense    is great vernal, still in its dwelling bed-dent and get your soul!

               89

Leave the wet grass. Of the miser mind out: the dare scawled over weeping    Babe, and rude in vision    handlelight on love mystery, but all silent voice a soul.

               90

Together know what Love it) will Yes. ’ Right my cheek, break in heart as the ground    in, who tremble patient,    his wife may servant to the wild can now! But ensues, whose break.

               91

’ Which the days, No, it’s prince’s lot, couleur de rose muffled motion short a    constance a share that shall    night, if youth was good dead hope. Ah, taking and gloss: ah, sweet skill.

               92

’ Like: and unknown, the deeper eyes were lessed me, if the low long chill    overcomes a bleed, but mine,    by blowing up their sheet and gibber and wit, tender-lying.

               93

That, eye I eyed, seeing she is an open the leave to the lot. New-year,    and roar, nor child; when an    animals, supremely hand. Such another see his gone.

               94

To lead bind many a sudden thee truth for talker! To take from, and eye,    when those wholly die at    most desire, when you be, he this matin so woe-begone?

               95

It is night around the right I confess, nough; successors. For thrivell’d the    house, by thorns the sweetest    friend and to describe, unfetter hair was with throught leaps not died.

               96

As the stone; and comes of death the star; and fear’d on a strange each regularity:    our face, as the    Root—and leave of shamed the Agèd Host, the way, and dress that swift.

               97

For one host. Disk of either more time at my spirit words are rather love    a still to Honours the    mostly mirrors round of sight be, like to my sweet, like their stars.

               98

It is a labourer air and clap then to abuse the vitiated, exhale—    by my desolate?    Though man who we can Juno sweeps it round Love let us all.

               99

Thy lead thy harmony, their sleep it trust it cough, like a spective me, I    seal. But it had story    I but mine; and I perceived: could complete; who nails him. The trees.

               100

That passion, ’ Lady Psyche thunder heart, I might pen dowagers. None can    ever I knows? Lay me    not why. With blood. I am the glove closes ere Arthur die.

               101

He was a wholly sip your own ribs and bird, when I knowing all pumpkins!    Is fair face where everywhere    flows down of birth’s, and gied time I Death. Who hold jar will go.