#HOW DO MY OLD OBSESSIONS KEEP SEEPING THROUGH. HOW | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rin-fukuroi · 11 months ago

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𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐎𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐧 [𝐁𝐚𝐢𝐳𝐡𝐮]

Please do not translate or publish my works without my permission.

The originals of my works can be read here

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairings: yandere!Baizhu x fem!reader

Warnings: !dark content!, Zhongli's cameo, amnesia, references to somnophilia, murder and captivity.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. UNSECRET, MØØNWATER - Only The Beginning

Note: English is not my native language, so I apologize if there are errors in the text qq

God, i've been writing this for two days, almost without getting up from my chair, and now i feel like a crumbling old grandfather. I am surprised that so far the biggest work in my arsenal has been written about Baizhu, because even though i love him, he's not my favorite man, but… I love him so damn much in the image of yandere. Slippery, cunning, secretive, obsessive Baizhu is so disgustingly beautiful that i'm just not going to say another word and just let you enjoy it on your own.

This work has a more complete NSFW version, but about it… Information will be available later (>ᴗ•)

July 18th

Bright sunlight, marking the beginning of a new day, persistently seeps through heavy eyelids, inevitably squinting when consciousness gradually returns to you after a deep sleep. It stings so unpleasantly, and you turn away from the source of the rays, which cruelly outrages your eyes. The embrace of sleep doesn't lose hope of keeping you at least a moment longer in its warmth, but for some reason the heart in your chest shudders restlessly, forcing you to explode from the soft pillow.

A slight shortness of breath, and the eyes open abruptly. You're clutching the blanket convulsively in your hands.

This place…

Your gaze glides anxiously around the bright, cozy room. The curtains barely move audibly from the breeze of summer, unceremoniously slipping through a small crack in the window. For a second, you look at your own palms, twitching convulsively, as does the frightened muscle in your chest, pumping blood furiously through your veins, before the bedside table comes into your field of vision. Freshly cut qingxin flowers in an exquisite vase, in front of which there is a small mug, to which you curiously but cautiously extend your hand. The liquid has a slight greenish tint and the pungent aroma of herbs instantly cuts into your nostrils.

But there was something else.…

You turn your head anxiously to the bedside table again, now hesitantly picking up a folded piece of paper on which «Read it when you wake up» was carefully written in a beautiful neat handwriting. Whoever left it… It doesn't look like anything threatening, so you slowly unfold the sheet, starting to read a couple of lines written in the same perfect handwriting as the inscription on the outside of the note.

«If you're reading this, then you've already woken up. I'm sorry I couldn't spend the morning with you properly.

You probably have a lot of questions. I'll definitely explain everything in more detail when I get home, but for now, just read the information that you will need to come to your senses.

Your name is Y/N. Unfortunately, by the cruel design of fate, you were destined to be tested by a disease that I, your husband, tirelessly struggle with day by day. Believe me, one day everything will change and I will no longer need to tell you everything that I'll write next, over and over again every morning. But it's not a burden to me, my love, don't worry about it.

As soon as you fall asleep every night, your memories are erased in the morning, so you probably don't remember me or the house you ended up in.

This is our house, Y/N. We have been married for ten wonderful years now, and my love for you will never fade, no matter how many trials life throws at us.

You can warm up your breakfast, I left your portion in the fridge. If you need anything else, I've left hints on all the things you use every day. You can also walk to Liyue Harbor and visit me at work if you wish. I left a map for you in the hallway, with which you can safely get to the city, as you have done more than once. I understand if you don't want to see me before I get home, but I'll be very happy to see you anytime.

Please drink the decoction that you are probably holding in your hand right now. Although this medicine will not help to overcome your illness, it will make it easier to survive the stress of the information you have just read.

You have nothing to fear, Y/N. You're safe in our house.

See you soon, my love.»

The edge of the paper crumples in your hand when you unconsciously clench your fingers into a fist, trying to control the tremor running under your skin. Your gaze moves from the sheet to the mug with the cloudy liquid, and you instantly empty the glass, squinting and writhing from the bitter taste.

After putting the dishes back in place, you tentatively pull back the blanket, noticing that you are wearing a light nightgown, pulled up on your trembling hips, apparently from the way you tossed and turned, not wanting to wake up.

Emptiness. Not a single thought as you slowly lower your feet to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed. There are too many thoughts, but you can't grasp any of them, being in a kind of trance in which your gaze glides over such a damn familiar, but completely strange house. You notice a lot of things, photos of you and some man, feeling that it all belongs to you, but for some reason… Wrong. This is all wrong.

You squint, pressing your palms to your face in resignation, before finally finding the strength to get up and go to the kitchen. Your legs seem to remember this short road, but your eyes refuse to believe that you've seen this place before. It is bright and spacious. In the middle of the room there is a small table designed for two, as evidenced by two chairs standing side by side. There is a light herbal aroma in the air, which permeates the walls of this house, but it is muffled by the sweet smell of baking. Apparently, that man… Your husband left home not so long ago.

How strange it is to call a husband someone whose name you can't even remember, although it's on your tongue, but all attempts to pronounce it are in vain.

«It's probably… a side effect…»

«You… don't remember me…?»

«It's for the best…»

You grab your head convulsively when other people's words, uttered in a painfully familiar voice, are introduced into your thoughts. The memories aren't as old, but they're not as fresh as you think.

«We will always be together»

Is that… is that your husband's voice?

You freeze for a moment, realizing something even more frightening than the fact that you can't remember anything. If everything that a man you don't know wrote in a letter is true, then how does he live with it? After all, you can barely remember what your face looks like, so now you slowly wander into the bathroom, and he tolerates every day that his loved one does not recognize him? He must really love you if that's the case.

You look uncertainly at your own reflection. Disheveled hair, tired look, lost look, crumpled shirt sliding off one shoulder. Even from the outside, you look like a real madwoman, although inwardly you feel that this is not the case at all.

The pleasant cool water calms down a little the alarming heat raging in your trembling body when you wash your face and then brush your teeth with a brush carefully signed with your name. While you were walking around the house, even out of the corner of your eye it was difficult not to notice how every thing that could potentially be useful to you was also signed with your name, and your heart shrinks in your chest from the mere thought that in the world there could exist a person of such bright and pure kindness of soul who is able to do everything This is for someone who barely even recognizes his face. It's probably the letter he left for you this morning.… He does this every day, right?

And so your whole day went by.

You wandered thoughtlessly around the house, checking every drawer and every corner in a vain attempt to awaken dormant memories in you or at least make your heart skip a beat from something other than an indescribable feeling of guilt. Your clothes, jewelry, dishes, men's things, books, jars of herbs, even a tidy sum of money lying in one of the drawers — nothing seemed familiar enough to you to remember anything.

And you didn't even notice how the sun had long disappeared behind the high mountains of the Geo Archon's lands, and the door of "your" house quietly opened. You were enthusiastically looking at the photos found in one of the many boxes lying in the attic when you heard unhurried footsteps coming from the kitchen before the man stopped at the bedroom door, causing you to turn around in fright.

— Oh, I'm sorry, Y/N, I didn't mean to scare you.

You're clutching a stack of photos so tightly, clutching them to your chest, as if it's the most valuable treasure you didn't even know existed. But now the glossy pieces of paper slip out of your hands as soon as your eyes meet the gaze of the man towering over you.

— Y-you are… — you stutter, looking away in confusion and suddenly stopping at one of the photos now lying on the floor. — My husband?

The man smiles softly. His golden, surprisingly snake-like eyes follow your gaze before he sits down opposite you. You can't help but take a closer look now in person at these long green curls, braided into a braid, probably incredibly soft and smooth to the touch when a man bends down, carefully picking up photos from the floor and collecting them in his hand.

— You always take them out when you're alone, — he smiles, giving you a gentle look from under the half-lowered glasses on the bridge of his nose. — And I'm also very disappointed that you didn't eat your breakfast after all.

— I just… — you mumble softly, but even those clumsy words melt on your tongue when you feel a man's long, elegant fingers wrap around your wrist, lifting your hand and turning your palm with the back of it to your face.

— This is the answer to your question, — the man raises his own hand, and you look at it in confusion, suddenly noticing the ring on your ring finger. And how did you not notice that before? Probably expensive gold and a small emerald, sparkling even in the dark, and on his hand… The same ring, but with a ruby. — I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten to sign my letter with my name, as I usually do. Huh, maybe I just still have a glimmer of hope that one day you'll wake up and I won't have to get to know you again...

You notice how the man's amber eyes fill with sadness, but the corners of his lips are still stretched in a smile when he suddenly chuckles softly, interlacing the fingers of his free hand with yours, which he still holds in the canopy.

— But it's kind of cute, isn't it? I can meet you again and again, as for the first time, and hope that you will be able to love me again, — you finally feel your heart clench in your chest when he brings your clasped hands to his cheek. But it's not… it's not love. — My name is Baizhu, honey.

— Baizhu… — you repeat, as if deep in thought, but the man suddenly rises from the floor, still not letting go of your hand, slightly pulling you back and forcing you to retreat from another desperate struggle with your own memory.

— Don't overexert yourself, Y/N. You haven't eaten anything, let's go.

You feel like you should just let him take you to the kitchen, which you do, but for some reason you feel so damn uncomfortable around Baizhu. Those photos, his words, his look… Everything says that you probably love this man, since you even married him, but then why are you so worried?

You sit down at the table, carefully watching as an elegant man with perfect posture takes something from the refrigerator and hastily cuts it on a board before sending it to a heated frying pan. It smells delicious… Vegetables and some meat, as you think.

After a few minutes of waiting, a plate of warm snow-white rice appears on the table in front of you and a small portion of pieces of beef, carrots, pepper and sauce, which creates such an appetizing aroma that makes your stomach turn.

— I wanted to cook fish, but I decided that you should eat your favorite dish today.

— Hey! Are you going to pretend that I'm not here?

You scream when an unfamiliar high-pitched voice is heard behind you, and Baizhu just sighs resignedly, placing his palm on top of yours when you almost drop the chopsticks from your hand.

— Changsheng, could you not scare Y/N? — you don't understand with whom your husband is talking to, so you turn around hesitantly, noticing a squinting white snake on a small pillow, looking directly at you. — Y/N, please, don't be scared. This is Changsheng — she's not dangerous. She is… Our friend.

— Since when am I considered a friend of this little girl? I'm just an observer, girl, keep eating your dinner while I'm starving.

— Well, well, hush, — Baizhu suddenly gets up from the table just to get some treats for, it seems, your pet?..

— Why is she talking?! — you still find the strength to get out of your stupor and finally ask the man with his back turned to you.

— Oh, it's a long story, I'm afraid if I start telling it now, we'll go to bed too late, — Baizhu chuckles softly, leaving Changsheng alone with her food before returning to your table.

— Then you could tell me about it… Tomorrow?

«Tomorrow, right?»

You suddenly felt your stomach churn with fear. What's going to happen tomorrow anyway? Will you remember this conversation? Does it even matter what you say or do now if everything starts from scratch tomorrow?

— Of course, — your husband doesn't seem to be at all concerned about how your face is twisted by unpleasant emotions that have flooded into your scattered consciousness. You notice how he calmly starts his dinner, still smiling softly and bringing a piece of meat to his mouth before it disappears between his lips.

— Tell me… Baizhu, how long has this been going on?

You look at your portion, feeling that this food will surely satisfy your hunger, but for some reason your hands flatly refuse to take the chopsticks off the table again.

— Eat, Y/N, — your eyes meet. Baizhu looks at you with unreadable emotion. For sure, this is just a difficult topic for him.

Of course… After all, you'll forget everything that just happened, and he lives with it day by day, falling asleep again and again with the thought that once you wake up, he will be met with a frightened look again. You won't hug him, you won't kiss him, you won't tell him you love him.

You don't know who is he.

You didn't even notice the tears rolling down your cheeks until one of them dripped into your plate of food. It's all so damn unfair. Why do you feel such suffocating guilt, but at the same time you so irresistibly want to escape from here? Why do you want to run away from your own home, from your husband? It's all… too much.

— Oh dear,— Baizhu sighs. It seemed to him that it was not the first time he saw your tears, as if he even knows why you are crying, so he calmly puts down his chopsticks, reaching across a small table to brush a strand of hair from your face behind your ear and touch your reddened cheek. — I know it's hard for you. I promise, everything will change soon.

You look at Baizhu's blurred face in front of your tear-stained eyes, but you can't stop the tears even when you feel the thrill of his thumb caressing your skin.

«Is it hard for me? And you…»

— N-no, I'm sorry… I don't know what came over me, — you sob, trying to calm both yourself and your husband. You wanted to take his hand away from your face, but you let it linger a little longer on your cheek before Baizhu finally pulls away, instead picking up his chopsticks again and pinching a piece of meat from your plate between them.

— Eat, Y/N. You'll feel better, — his honey-colored voice sounds so gentle and affectionate when he speaks to you, bringing a thin slice of meat to your lips.

The smell is so inviting that you unconsciously open your mouth while the man gently puts the meat on your tongue.

— Ha-ha, you're a terrible in cook!

— Really? Then why are you eating my cooking with both cheeks, you rascal?

— Okay, okay, it's really delicious! Maybe it will even become my favorite dish, what do you say?

— Oh, you flatter me...

What kind of voice is that?.. This is not Baizhu.

The homely delicious taste on your tongue suddenly awakened fragments of memories, from which warmth spread in your chest. You remember the male figure so vaguely… his face is blurred, but you feel that your place is next to him. You want so much to grab onto this meager memory, but it slips away from you as quickly as it surfaced in your mind.

Baizhu notices you freeze for a few seconds before finally swallowing your food, and his snake eyes squint at you.

— Is something wrong? Did you remember anything?

— I… — you blunt your gaze down, suddenly feeling awkward. — No, nothing like that. It's just very tasty.

Why did you lie?

✧ ✧ ✧

July 19th

Annoying sunlight, the smell of fresh flowers, an unfamiliar room. And once again, you burst out of bed, clutching the blanket in your fists in fright, before you see the note lying on the bedside table.

«Read it when you wake up»

«If you're reading this, then you've already woken up. I'm sorry that I couldn't spend the morning with you properly again.

You probably have a lot of questions. I will definitely explain everything in more detail when I get home, but for now, just read the information that you will need to come to your senses.

Your name is Y/N. Unfortunately, by the cruel design of fate, you were destined to be tested by a disease that I, your husband, tirelessly struggle with day by day. Believe me, one day everything will change and I will no longer need to tell you everything that I will write next, over and over again every morning. But it's not a burden to me, my love, don't worry about it.

As soon as you fall asleep every night, your memories are erased in the morning, so you probably don't remember me or the house you ended up in.

This is our house, Y/N. We have been married for ten wonderful years now, and my love for you will never fade, no matter how many trials life throws at us.

Please eat the breakfast that I left on the table for you and drink the decoction that you are probably holding in your hand right now. Although this medicine will not help to overcome your illness, it will make it easier to survive the stress of the information you have just read.

You have nothing to fear, Y/N. You're safe in our house.

See you soon, my love.

Your Baizhu.»

When you enter the kitchen uncertainly, there is such a damn familiar smell in the air… meat and vegetables. For some reason, the phantom taste of this dish settles on your tongue and causes an inexplicable feeling of simultaneous calm and anxiety. It's probably what you ate yesterday, but then why are you so uncomfortable?..

Did something happen yesterday, or is it just a figment of your imagination?

Anyway, you notice a plate of pancakes still warm, and you look around the kitchen for a mug to make yourself some tea.

«Baizhu…»

You mentally repeat this name over and over again, trying to get it into your head that this is your husband's name. How could you forget such an important person in your life?

— Delicious… — swallowing the most delicate airy dough, you put down your fork and wrap your arms around your shoulders.

Your gaze turns to the street. The sun is shining brightly over Liyue, which didn't allow you to soak up in bed in blissful ignorance for another couple of hours. Will everything be fine if you go out for a walk? Baizhu… Your husband didn't leave any instructions on this topic. After all, you don't remember anything, but you're quite able to walk, so why are you procrastinating?

Hastily washing the dishes and leaving a clean plate with a mug by the sink, you went in search of clothes. Probably all the women's clothes in the closets of this house belong to you, although you do not remember buying at least one of them. Light dresses, a pair of traditional outfits, several pairs of shoes. There is no hint of what you are doing in this life at all. Do you really just live here and… that's it?

You look at several dresses incredulously, trying to imagine how they will fit you, but then you still choose what is more authentic, and turn to the mirror, taking in your figure with a glance. At least now you look less like a local lunatic than when you woke up in the morning.

When you got to the door, you suddenly noticed a small piece of paper lying on the shelf. The sheet doesn't look new like the one you found by your bed. As if this note has been lying here for a long time and it has already been read more than once.

Unable to overcome your own curiosity, you still sigh and take the folded piece of paper. For just a moment, you're tormented by the thought that this might belong to your husband, and you don't want to violate his personal space, but what the hell?

Unfolding the piece of paper, your eyes widened in surprise for a second before squinting at the drawings on the paper. It looks like a small map with small neat captions that indicated in the drawing, probably the house where you are now, and a certain place called the Bubu Pharmacy, under which it is indicated that your husband works there. Ah, now everything falls into place.

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Baizhu probably left this piece of paper just in case you want to take a walk. How sweet and thoughtful of him to worry about you not getting lost, and yet… It's a little unnerving for some reason.

Anyway, you folded the paper back up and put it in the pocket of the only bag you could find in the closet. Although you're sure you're not out of your mind enough to forget the way back, it's better to be safe, right?

When you emerged, you carefully closed the door with the key that your husband had left in the hallway. Fresh air… You take a deep breath, as if you've been locked up for ages, finally feeling a fleeting taste of freedom. Birds are chirping somewhere in the rustling deciduous branches, the grass tickles the bare skin of your feet peeking out of light sandals, and you were almost ready to just stay here and enjoy how the warmth of the sun warms the skin of your face, how the summer wind blows through the light fabric of the skirt of the dress, caressing your legs.

But from this hill, on which a small cozy house is built, in which you apparently live, there is also a beautiful view of the city below, which beckons you with all its appearance, and you do not even think to resist, so uncertainly, but still start your journey, led by pure curiosity and a desire to distract yourself.

When you get to the city, you are suddenly overcome by fear, which for some reason decided to make itself felt only now, when you are already standing with one foot on the bridge of Liyue Harbor.

What if there are people in the city that you should remember, but…

On the other hand, isn't this a good chance to try to remember something? If you have friends, family, and you are lucky enough to meet them on your way, won't they tell you what your husband might not know? Although it is foolish to believe that a person who cares so much about you would not have tried such a way to restore your memory, but still.

You have to try.

So many unfamiliar faces pass by you, but you look uncertainly at each of them. You might still be mistaken for a local lunatic, but what the hell difference does it make if you forget about everything tomorrow? You also notice local shops, restaurants and snack bars, looking curiously at the counters. It all seems familiar. It feels like you've been here before, but almost everything has changed since your last visit, except… The atmosphere? Yes, perhaps, the atmosphere of bright streets filled with the noise of conversations, muffled music and footsteps of hurrying people is exactly what seems native to you.

You stop at a jewelry store, mesmerized by the luxurious rings, chains and precious stones neatly laid out in the window. It's so beautiful, but it hardly suits you.

— You should definitely pay attention to this stone, — you flinch when a low, velvety male voice is heard behind you. You turn around and see an elegant, handsome man towering over you, thoughtfully pressing bent fingers in a black glove to his chin. Tall, slender, dressed in expensive fabrics that gleamed gold in the fading sunlight. The brown strands of his bangs barely sway in the light wind, as does the single exquisite earring in his ear. The stranger's amber eyes stare in amazement at the surprised expression on your face when you freeze, just looking up at him. — Ah, you must be… — the man suddenly stammers, clearing his throat before straightening up and smiling softly. — I wanted to say that this stone will suit you, besides, it is rare enough to be honored to be in your jewelry collection.

— Oh… I'm afraid I can't afford that, — you suddenly get embarrassed, nervously scratching the back of your head and looking away.

— I'm sorry for the tactlessness, I hadn't thought of that. It wasn't nice of me.

— No, it's all right!

— You are too kind, but still, as an apology, will you allow me to buy you tea?

You almost let out an exasperated sigh, but still decided to let the situation go. Although you really can't remember a single person you know, this gentleman's politeness is really amazing…

— If you insist, — you kindly agree, and the stranger gives you a soft smile before gesturing you to walk with him to a restaurant table on the opposite side of the street.

It's a little weird, but… this person doesn't seem bad. You watch a man kindly ask the waiter to serve two cups of tea, and thoughts begin to creep into your head that this man clearly has some kind of high position in this city. It is unlikely that ordinary people behave in this way because of a small misunderstanding.

— Ahem, I'm sorry, — you suddenly draw the man's attention to yourself as soon as the waiter hurriedly leaves the two of you. — I just wanted to say that really nothing terrible happened, so I hope you're not seriously worried about all this.

Honey-colored eyes widen as the man intertwines his long fingers on the table.

— Oh, I understand your concern. The thing is, I didn't really look at the price of this stone.

— Huh? — you wanted to be outraged that the first thing you noticed when you entered this store was the sky-high price tags, but then you cut yourself off. Perhaps this man is just so rich that he doesn't need to bother with such topics. — Ah, I get it. Then I suppose you were going to buy it for yourself, since you said it was quite rare?

— I'm afraid not. I can't afford it either.

«Who are you anyway?»

— I see…

The next few minutes passed in silence until two steaming cups of tea finally appeared on your table. The man thanked the waiter before gently wrapping his hand around the mug and bringing it to his lips. The stranger takes a short sip, closing his eyes and seeming to be aware for several seconds of the taste of the intoxicating drink that has fallen on his tongue.

— Perfect, — the man across from you suddenly breathed out before looking at you. — Please help yourself. This is the best tea in all of Liyue, I assure you, you'll not remain indifferent.

— I'm afraid to addicted to such expensive tea by accident, — you giggle nervously before trying your drink.

Well, the stranger really wasn't lying. Although you vaguely remember all the teas that you have ever tasted in your life, you could tell for sure that this one has a rich taste. Subtle fruity notes, slightly sweet, but not cloying… Perhaps it can really be called delicious.

— Oh, what an exquisite taste, — you try to look thoughtful, like him, when you swallow tea, trying to match your companion for today's walk, who, apparently, is even too well versed in what he cannot afford.

— I'm glad you like it.

— Okay, since we're having tea together now, can I at least get the name of the man who's treating me?

— Oh, where are my manners? I apologize. My name is Zhongli.

«Zhongli… Zhongli… something familiar»

— Well, then we'll get to know each other, Mr. Zhongli, — you smile politely, sipping a little more from your cup.

— And you?..

Damn, did you seriously ask his name and forget to do the same in response? Maybe you should have stayed home after all.

— Oh, yes… I… my name is Y/N.

Zhongli notices you stuttering, stumbling over the words before finally saying your name, and his eyes narrow for a moment before relaxing again.

— Perhaps my question may seem tactless to you, but you didn't want to tell me your name? Because it seemed to me that it was very difficult for you, — the man chuckles softly before taking another sip of tea.

— Huh, no… I don't want to burden you with my problems.

— No, it won't be a burden for me. Of course, if that's your wish, — Zhongli suddenly cuts you off.

You're hesitating, fidgeting in your chair. It doesn't look like he really knows you, so… wouldn't it be okay if you told him? He really doesn't look like a bad person, and how can such absurd information about you benefit him? No more than the babble of a stranger he met on the street.

— The thing is, I don't remember my name. I had to strain my memory a little to remember what my husband called me in the note he left me this morning… I don't remember anything and I seem to forget even the day I lived earlier, as soon as I fall asleep. So I suppose even our acquaintance will eventually be forgotten, as sad as it is to admit.

You suddenly become gloomy, plunging back into unpleasant thoughts about what is happening in your life at all… And can it even be considered yours if you don't remember it?

— That's how it is, — Zhongli chuckles, thinking at first, and then his eyebrows rise, as if he remembered something important, and one of his hands reaches into his pocket, from which the man takes out a small notebook. — Then why don't you write it down?

You look at him with undisguised surprise, but his words sound like something taken for granted, but something that you would never have thought of yourself in your life.

— Write it down?..

— Yes. You can write down that you visited a jewelry store today and met me there, and after that we talked and had tea. Then next time, if fate brings us together again, you can find out from your notes that we have met before.

— But I… can write down everything that happens every day… won't that help me remember at least what happened yesterday? — you enthusiastically press your palms against the table, asking this question more to yourself than to Zhongli, but he nods approvingly in response.

— I suppose so.

— Archons… — you feel tears coming to the corners of your eyes, and blink several times, graciously accepting the man's gift. — Thank you very much, Zhongli. I will… take care of that.

The man smiles, feeling a certain relief when he notices that he seems to have helped you solve some problem that was bothering you today.

— Glad to help, — you put the notebook in your pocket when the man finishes his tea and sets the cup aside. — I hope this will improve your condition a little.

You flinch when someone's hand squeezes your shoulder tightly. You turn around, lifting your head to see the man looming over you, whom you seem to have already seen in the photo in your house…

«Ah…»

— Oh, I suppose that's your husband? — Zhongli doesn't seem worried at all as he gets up from the table, slightly bowing to Baizhu standing behind you.

— Mr. Zhongli, what a blessing that you are the one who met my wife. I'm afraid to imagine what could happen to her if she walked around the Harbor alone, — you notice how your husband's eyes close and his lips stretch into a sweetly friendly smile.

— I just gave the young lady tea as an apology for my own tactlessness.

— It's nice that you admit your mistakes, it's very rare nowadays.

Their conversation sounds quite normal, but for some reason you feel your stomach clench with worry and anxiety.

— Like loyalty to the contract, good manners are something that has long been highly valued in Liyue, — Zhongli suddenly turns his gaze to you. — Now, if you'll excuse me. I suppose I can put you in safe hands now and take my leave.

— Y-yes… — you finally squeeze out the quiet words. — Thank you… for the tea.

Zhongli is smiling.

— I hope you won't forget the taste of it and come back here to taste it again.

And the man left.

✧ ✧ ✧

Baizhu didn't say a word as he dragged you up the stairs to a place that seemed to be the very Bubu Pharmacy to which he drew a map for you. It was quite strange to just let a man you didn't really know drag you in a rather possessive manner to a place that you only found out about in the morning, but for some reason you also remain silent, obediently following him.

It's like you have no other choice. Maybe, in fact, it is.

Your «husband» suddenly stops as soon as you overcome the seemingly endless staircase.

— I'm sorry, please. I shouldn't have been so harsh. You must be scared now.…

You notice how Baiazhu's face contorts in remorse as he looks at you with concern, gently squeezing your palms in his.

— It's all right.… I just found this and thought you wouldn't mind if I took a walk, — you pull your hand out of his grip and take out a homemade card from your pocket, which the man immediately snatches from your fingers.

— It doesn't matter. Y/N, I'm just worried about your condition. I don't think you should talk to strangers. Although Mr. Zhongli is a respected person, I don't know how this can affect your condition. Yes, I left this card, but I didn't think you'd be afraid to go anywhere other than my job, so…

— That's enough, — Baizhu freezes, silently opening his mouth when your face takes on an irritated look, and you cut off his endless stream of words. — I can understand your concern, but isn't everything okay? I'm here, I'm fine.…

— Y/N, I know it's pointless to ask you for anything, but just… Believe me, it would be better for you if you just stayed at home or if you came to me. Why didn't you come to me?

— BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW YOU! — you suddenly shout out, causing Baizhu to freeze in shock. Your words are laced with malice and it's so damn disgusting, but you can't help yourself. — I'm sorry, but I don't remember you, you know that yourself! Why should I listen to you at all? I wanted to take a walk, I have the right to do that, don't I?!

— Y/N, you're crossing the line, — you feel your husband's grip tighten on your palm, which was still in his hand. His snake-like eyes seemed to flash with anger, and the soft smile that you saw earlier disappeared from his face, as if it had never been on him.

The very air around the two of you has become heavier, and you feel like you're starting to suffocate. You have to say something, do something.… Apologize? For what?

— Mr. Baizhu… — you both turn around when you hear a small child's voice coming from the entrance of the Hut. Do you suddenly notice a little girl literally plastered from head to toe with… talismans? — I heard a noise.…

— Oh, Qiqi, it's okay, you can wait for me inside, — as if at the snap of his fingers, a kind and gentle smile shines on Baizhu's face again. But the grip on your arm remains just as painful.

— Okay...

The little girl awkwardly squeezes back out the door, and your husband turns back to you. You can feel his fingers slowly relaxing around your palm.

— I have a few more things to settle, and then we can go home. Or do you want to take another walk around the city?

— No, it's not… I'll wait for you here.

Why do you keep groveling in front of him, even though you've just seen what he can be like? It's an inexplicable feeling.… It's like you're being held down by unbreakable chains held by this man. You don't like it.

✧ ✧ ✧

The drive home was stressful, although Baizhu tried his best to defuse the situation by gently holding your hand and asking all sorts of trivial questions. He feels how tense you are, feels that you don't trust him, but he doesn't seem to pay any attention to it on purpose.

The rest of the evening goes the same way. He helps you change, cooks dinner for you, and you eat together, exchanging a few phrases before it's time to go to bed. You feel a certain relief that you will probably forget this chaotic day when you wake up the next morning, but… now you have a way to remember.

Is it worth writing about it? Is Baizhu really not trustworthy?

You don't know.

— Honey, are we going to bed? — your husband gently strokes your head, standing in the doorway of your bedroom until you dare to enter, clutching the hem of your shirt tightly.

— Yes, but I need to… Go to the bathroom.

That smile again.

— Okay, I'll be waiting for you in bed.

✧ ✧ ✧

July 20th

You're having a wonderful dream. You feel so happy, so carelessly free, when your palm rests in the hand of a man who kisses you on the top of your head.

And this image inevitably blurs before your eyes, no matter how hard you try to remember his face. All that you are allowed to take with you from this sweet dream is a feeling of warmth and comfort, woven by the pure feelings that you feel towards this person whom you are punished to forget.

And the last thing you see is a snake sneaking into your cozy nest before it wraps around the silhouette of the man you love, causing him to disappear without a trace. You want to scream, you want to cry, but you just look at how your pencil-drawn life is erased with an eraser, and obsessive images are drawn on top, from which a suffocating lump rises to your throat.

«Wake up, T/I…»

You open your eyes wide. The room, the smell, the warmth enveloping your body — everything is so unfamiliar and causes the anxiety that you experienced in the last moments of your spoiled sleep. You want to pull away from the pillow, but some force holds you motionless before you feel the movements on the other side of the bed.

It's so hard to breathe, and you purse your lips when you look down, noticing a man's hand hugging your body. Maybe it's…

— Good morning, Y/N.

You turn your head and see a sleepy man. His long green hair was carelessly scattered over the blanket, like thousands of threads that, if you blink, will wrap around your limbs. The man smiles softly, looking at you from under heavy eyelids. His amber eyes are like viscous honey, deceptively sweet and alluring.

— W-who are you? — you grab the edges of the blanket with your hands, pulling it higher over your body and fearfully tucking your legs in. A strange feeling of discomfort appears between the closed thighs, and before that only a distant nausea, originating somewhere in your stomach, begins to be felt more clearly.

— Your husband, of course. I'm glad that I have the opportunity to spend the morning with you today. It's not often that I get this opportunity, — a man's palm, resting on your stomach a second ago, now moves to your cheek, and before you even have time to react, his lips are on yours. The kiss is short and gentle, but you don't respond to it, only letting out a dissatisfied moan before the man pulls away, quietly grinning. — I'm sorry, I couldn't resist. You're so cute when you're sulking.

— Why should I believe you? And… — you wipe your lips with the back of a trembling palm. — …don't do that anymore.

The man smiles, resting his chin on his palm.

— In our house, you'll find many confirmations for every word I say. Although you don't remember it, we've been married for ten years and we love each other.

— Then this is… — you look down, squeezing your hips harder, feeling your underwear stick uncomfortably to your skin, before turning your gaze to a naked pale man barely covered with a blanket.

His face contorts in obviously feigned embarrassment.

— Ahem, like I said, we're married. Unfortunately, you forget all the events of the past day, so you probably don't remember what we did last night.

— That's how… — you want to believe his words, but for some reason there is something inexplicable about this man.

Dangerous.

— I think we should take a shower. Will you join me?

— I'm sorry, I… it's so awkward to ask, uh… — you look away, clearing your throat before your «husband» interrupts your mumbling.

— Baizhu. My name is Baizhu, — he smiles again, leaving a short kiss on your forehead before getting out of bed.

Your assumption that he really wasn't wearing clothes turned out to be correct. Baizhu puts on a robe before silently leaving the room. You hurriedly glance around the bedroom, but then glance towards the open door, hearing a quiet noise coming from, it seems, the kitchen. Hesitantly, you reach down, running your fingers under your underwear, almost immediately feeling your fingertips touch a viscous substance that instantly sticks to your skin. You abruptly pull your hand out from under the blanket, noticing how a cloudy milky slime has remained on your fingers.

«Indeed… Either you're my husband, or…»

No, this man doesn't look like a crazy maniac. You examine your arms and the rest of your body for bruises or any other signs of violence, finding no evidence of your frightening theory. Your gaze skims around the room once more, noticing a couple of photos, flowers standing on a table by the window, a woman's robe hanging on the back of a chair that probably belongs to you.

This place really looks like the home of two lovers. Cozy, bright and tidy.

— Here, have a drink, — you startled when Baizhu's voice suddenly rings out in the silence of the room. He's standing over your figure sitting on the bed, holding a small mug in his hand, even though you didn't even hear him come back.

— What is it? — you ask, holding out your hand in disbelief.

— I'm a doctor and I'm trying to cure you. I haven't been successful so far, but it's the least I can do, at least to avoid aggravating your condition.

When you accepted the mug from the man, you immediately felt the characteristic smell of herbs. The liquid is transparent, having a slightly greenish tint. It looks like a harmless decoction. You take a sip, instantly feeling the disgusting bitter taste on your tongue, and choke, almost spitting it all back out.

— Ha-ha, you've never liked taking my medicine, — Baizhu laughs, giving you a warm look before moving away from the bed only to take your robe from the chair and return, spreading it out in front of you while you writhe down the last sips of the decoction. — So you're accepting my invitation?

✧ ✧ ✧

It was so strange to feel the touch of a man you barely knew, who called himself your husband, when he was carefully helping you take a bath. Nothing obscene, but… you felt out of place. Baizhu acts like he's really known you for decades, but you can't return the favor. It's so weird. You didn't feel bad when his hands slid down your stomach, then gently and gently rinsing your crotch from the effects of last night, but it's embarrassing.

For some reason, you feel ashamed that you don't have feelings for this person. On the contrary, you don't even feel comfortable being around him. Of course, you don't remember him, and that's a perfectly normal reaction, but still… This is kind of crazy.

— As much as I'd like to stay with you, I still have patients waiting for me, so… I hope you can manage without me until tonight?

You wipe your hair with a towel, noticing that Baizhu has already managed to get dressed, braid his long hair into a braid and put on glasses. He looked very different than at this morning, but you can't say he looks worse now.

— I've done with this before, haven't I? — you giggle nervously, suddenly thinking about what you do every day.

— That's right, — the man smiles, slowly approaching you. For just a moment, he just stops his gaze on your confused figure before bending down and touching his lips to your cheek. — Then see you tonight, Y/N.

— Y-yes, see you tonight… Baizhu.

The door closes, you hear a loud click from turning the key. He's gone.

You just stand in the middle of the kitchen for a while trying to figure out what to do next, before your gaze stops at one of the drawers, on which it is written in neat handwriting «If you want to have a snack».

You don't feel like eating. Although Bai Zhu mentioned that he always leaves food in the fridge for you while you took a shower together, you hardly feel hungry. To tell you the truth, you don't feel anything. It's so weird, but you're really not standing here because you're thinking or because you need some time alone with yourself. You don't know what you have to do. Although the windows are tightly locked, you can see that the weather is quite pleasant outside, but Bai Zhu took the keys with him. He probably doesn't want you to go out alone.

He probably just cares about you.

You walk over and open the candy drawer, pursing your lips and just staring at the various candies and chocolates that you probably love.

— What am I even doing… — you sigh, about to close the drawer, but as soon as you start to slide it back, your gaze catches on some object lying under the stacks of neatly folded sweets.

You carefully push the chocolates away, noticing a small leather-bound notebook underneath. The first thought that crossed your mind before you unfolded the notebook is that there are probably some recipes written down here, since it is in the kitchen, but even after a cursory scan of the carelessly written lines, you realized that this is not the case.

«I don't know if you will check this place tomorrow, but I know for sure that Baizhu will not look into this box for a few more days…»

«I don't know why I'm hiding this diary, but it seems right to me…»

«July 19th

Today I met a man named Zhongli, who handed me this notebook. He seemed very friendly to me, but I still think that I should be careful with any people with whom I'm connected by fate. Don't you also feel this inexplicable anxiety? It's like everyone knows something you don't. It's so annoying.»

«Baizhu was acting strangely today… When he saw me chatting with Zhongli, they had a very strange conversation. I heard their words, but all the time I had the impression that I did not understand at all what they were talking about. Baizhu is definitely familiar with Zhongli, but does this mean that Zhongli knows me? If so, why didn't he say anything? Why did you pretend that we didn't know each other?»

«I thought about it all the way home while Baizhu tried to pretend that nothing had happened. He's trying to help me, so why didn't he give me a notebook like this before? Wouldn't that help me at least try to remember what happened the day before? It's not enough, I understand, but still… isn't it weird?»

«I feel like he won't let me out of the house anymore. Baizhu was so angry, even though he tried to pretend that he wasn't. He asked me why I didn't come to him…»

«Be careful. I don't know what is really going on, but… all hope is that I will find out in the future, which means I must keep this diary even at the cost of my life. Please move it to another place so that Baizhu will definitely not find it.»

«I'm relying on you. You should know what to do.»

The last lines of the diary, written in obvious haste, began to blur before your eyes. Your head is splitting so much that it feels like it's about to burst, and you wrap your hands around your face, dropping the notebook on the floor, when chaotic images begin to emerge under your closed eyelids.

A man in a suit, the taste of hot sweet tea. Fresh air, the paths of Liyue streets.

«Ah, you must be...»

«I hope you won't forget the taste of it and come back here to taste it again»

«T/I, you're crossing the line»

It's so hard to put the pieces together, like a puzzle with missing parts, but you're desperate to see the whole picture. An obsession that can drive itself crazy, but something forcibly keeps it in check at the cost of lost fragments. You really need to remember this, remember everything, but you run into an impenetrable wall, suddenly opening your eyes.

The kitchen, silence and only a very distant muffled sound of rustling leaves.

— What was that just now?.. — you rub your eyes, just pausing for a second before taking a deep breath and slowly exhaling, opening your eyes again and glancing at the notebook on the floor.

You have to… Continue recording. You have to write down everything that happened today, you have to write down what will happen tonight.

✧ ✧ ✧

July 23rd

— Have a drink.

You're sitting at the kitchen table, staring in surprise at your husband, who is handing you a mug.

— But I already drank it this morning.…

— You need to take this decoction twice a day, honey. I know you don't like the taste of it, but it's for your own good, — Baizhu smiles, leaving the mug on the table and insistently pushing it towards you.

You've been acting weird the last few days. Every morning starts the same as usual, but once Baizhu leaves for work and comes back, you… no, you just can't remember. It's impossible.

The man gently strokes your head, watching intently as you swallow the decoction. Every last drop.

— Good girl.

Baizhu's palm descends lower, gently massaging your neck. You flinch at the unexpected oppressive, but not unpleasant feeling, putting your mug back on the table. The bitter taste lingers on your tongue, forcing you to reluctantly swallow again.

— Baizhu…

The man tilts his head to the side, continuing to stand behind you, now moving his hand to your shoulder.

— Will I ever be able to… live as usual?

Baizhu narrows his eyes. The corners of his lips twitch before stretching into a soft smile.

— I'll do my best for this.

— But this decoction is the only thing I'm taking right now, isn't it? Isn't there… another medicine?

Baizhu's long fingers squeeze your shoulder harder.

— I'll definitely find it, dear.

— What if… — you stammer, suddenly pursing your lips, not sure if it's worth saying what you're going to say.

— If? — the man bends down, and you can feel his breath, from which the stray hairs are slightly waving near your ear.

— If… If I keep a diary?

— A diary? — the tone of Baizhu's voice lowers, and you can almost feel the smile fading from his face. — Where did you get such thoughts?

— Isn't that logical? If I can't remember what happened yesterday…

—No, — your husband cuts you off in mid-sentence. — We've been through this before, honey. Do you really think that I would neglect any way to help you if he was a worker?

— No, I'm not…

— You don't trust me?

You swallow nervously. Under the skin, the purest manifestation of fear that a person can experience seems to snake. This question… There is only one correct answer to it. It's on the tip of your tongue, but for some reason you don't dare say it out loud. Why? Do you really not trust him?

— I… — you take a deep breath before turning to face Baizhu. You're looking straight into cold golden eyes, staring intently at how you're desperately trying to hide the worry appearing on your face. He can feel the blood pumping furiously through your veins, throbbing under his grip on your shoulder. — Of course I trust you.

You gently place your hand over Baizhu's fingers, which are almost painfully pressed into your skin. Baizhu sees your expression soften, and you gently stroke his cool skin with your thumb, bending slightly and leaning your cheek against his hand.

The pulsations under his palm are becoming more and more distinct.

— Don't scare me like that anymore. I'm willing to do anything for you, — the grip on your shoulder loosens, and the fingers of Baizhu's free hand tangle in your hair as he bends even lower. His lips are just an inch from yours. You can feel his steady breathing on the skin of your face. — Anything.

And he kisses you.

So possessive and persistent. He can't help himself. He wants to tear you to pieces. He feels the bitter taste of lies on your lips. The same taste that his own lips have.

You're so unfair.

Isn't Baizhu doing enough for you? Why do you doubt it? It hurts Baizhu so much. He feels his heart oozing with a viscous, stinking black substance — the fruit of his own sin and your disgusting lies, and if he is ready to admit his own inferiority, ready to be punished for his actions, then you… he cannot accept that you can be so cruel to him.

You hesitate, trying to hold back the urge to push Baizhu away as his hand slides down your forearm before settling on your hip. It's not like a normal kiss. His tongue invades your mouth uninvited, long and slippery, almost making you gasp as he pushes insistently towards your throat before wrapping around yours again. You whine when he moves, now standing in front of you and possessively stroking your knee.

You were so sweet when you touched his hand. Baizhu almost believed in the sincerity of your words. He really wants to believe. And that's why he can't stop now until he feels your devotion on his own body. You belong to him. Your smell, your taste, your body and soul are all his.

Finally, the suffocating kiss is broken, and Baizhu's lips come off yours. He slowly pulls away, and the thread of your saliva mixture stretching between you breaks off as he begins to kneel down. You squirm in your chair, fearfully clutching the hem of your skirt as his palms slide up your thighs. The tips of your fingers deliberately touch the inside of your trembling legs, which you squeeze to the last before finally hesitantly spreading apart, feeling that if you don't, Baizhu will force them apart.

— What is it, honey? Don't you like it?

A cloying, such a disgustingly cloying voice. You know that he only expects one answer from you, but Baizhu also knows that you really want to answer. Are you lying again? No. This time he knows you're only lying to yourself. He's sure that if he touches your hot crotch now, he will feel the moisture sticking to the fabric of your panties. Isn't that adorable? Your resistance against the desires of your own body is what Baizhu lacked when he fucked you in your sleep, so pliant and completely surrendered to true desires.

— I-like it… — you whisper so uncertainly that you feel sick of how inept this little lie is.

— Well, of course… After all, I know you better than anyone else, — the tips of his fingers cling to your panties, and you reluctantly slightly lift your hips, allowing him to pull them down your legs and lift up your skirt. — I know what you want… — Baizhu's lips are pressed against the inside of your thigh. — I know that you love… — he inhales the fragrance coming from you, burrowing deeper and deeper between your legs. — I know that you'll never lie to me. Is that right, Y/N? You're only mine, aren't you? — your frightened eyes meet Baizhu's frighteningly cold gaze, and you nervously swallow a heavy lump in your throat before answering softly.

— Yes… only yours.

The amber eyes narrow slightly before Baizhu's lips stretch into his trademark smile.

— Even if you forget again, I'll remind you of it again and again, every minute of my life, if necessary… — you feel the man's hot breath on the sensitive skin of your thighs when he lowers his head lower again. — I'll always remind you of who you belong to.

There's something wrong with him, you shouldn't feel good with him.… But your consciousness is inevitably clouded by the uncontrollable heat localized in the bottom of your stomach. You can try to deceive yourself, but you can never deceive human nature itself. Baizhu knows how to please you, knows how to make you swallow all those brazen lies that came out of your tongue earlier and replace them with sweet moans that he loves to hear so much.

Baizhu can give you the love, enjoyment, and happy life you deserve. A life that no one else could give you. Just him.

And this is just the beginning.

«Be patient a little more, Y/N… I'll fix it soon…»

Your body trembles as Baizhu wraps his arms around your hips from below, keeping your legs spread apart. You feel so strange.… The sweet anticipation is so tempting, but it's like something's wrong. The darkness so languidly gives way to the vague outlines of your own legs with Baizhu between them as you blink slowly.

And then you see him.

The image of Baizhu suddenly blurs, replaced by the image of another man. You know him. You should know. Just for a moment you have time to look at his face, remember his soft smile, hear a voice calling your name.

You scream when you see your «husband» in his place again. His wide amber eyes are watching intently as you press your palms to your lips in horror. Your chest is shaking, rising and falling sharply in time with your labored breathing. The shackles of deceptive pleasure seem to have evaporated, now replaced by pure panic and anxiety, which penetrate deep into your skin, sending a chill down your spine.

— You… — you're not blinking. It seemed like you even stopped breathing. — Who are you?

✧ ✧ ✧

July 21st

«He refused to let me out on the street. When I asked him if I could at least go to work with him, his face suddenly darkened, but he was still smiling. As always.

Whatever he's trying to hide from me, sooner or later I'll get to the truth...»

«Why does he keep giving me this decoction? As soon as I asked what was in it and what it was for, Baizhu didn't answer anything and just changed the subject. It's so weird…»

July 22nd

«What if I had asked him about the diary? I really don't understand what he wants.… I know that Baizhu wants to help, I know that I should appreciate what he does for me, but think about it. Have you ever seen him do anything for you? Why does he never talk about my past life? Why does he just say that he is my husband and nothing else?»

«You have to find Zhongli… He definitely knows something. It's very risky, but why don't you try to escape through the window when he's not at home?»

July 23rd

«I met with Zhongli, but to no avail. No matter what I asked, his answers were so vague…»

«He said he couldn't tell me the whole truth. He said: «Why don't you ask your husband about it?». Should I even do this? The more I dig into it, the more I realize that he can't be trusted…»

«I have to ask him. Otherwise, it will never stop. I'm starting to remember… I'm starting to remember very vaguely the person I shouldn't have forgotten. Who is he? Baizhu should know him. But I can't ask about it directly.… I think he might get angry if I ask about another man.»

July 25th

— How sweet, — Baizhu smiles, gently closing the small notebook. — And how ugly it is for the God of Contracts to violate his own terms, although … — the man grins, slightly throwing his head back. — …but I should thank him, because don't trials make our ties stronger?

Baizhu turns to you.

— Oh, yes, yes, you can't answer me, — the tips of your fingers run over the tape tightly glued to your lips. — I'm sorry that I had to go to extreme measures. The last few days have been as hard for me as for you… I had to work overtime, leave you alone in this state. There wasn't a second that I didn't think about you, I swear.

He's stroking your cheek.

— Tomorrow will be our last first meeting, I promise. I'll make you forget about everything that worries you so much.… It's the least I can do to help you.

You mumble incoherently, fidgeting in your chair.

— Oh, I know what you want to say. I'm sick of having to do this to you myself. I really wanted it to be different, but your memories started coming back too soon.… This is my mistake. I'll fix it.

For a moment, Baizhu's face is distorted with mock sadness.

— I'm really sorry that I had to get rid of your former husband, — the man sighs. — I wanted you to forget about him, but even my skill is not perfect, it took a little time to refine the «medicine». I'm sorry you had to go through all this.

You gasp for air, about to scream as soon as Baizhu tears the tape off your face, but his fingers instantly press into your jaw, tilting your head back and forcing your mouth wide open.

— I have to give you credit. Although the idea of the diary seemed innocent to me at first, when you had already kept it before, this time you surpassed yourself. I knew that sooner or later you would start digging into things that you don't need to dig into, — Baizhu clicks his tongue. — You should have just trusted me. I have to be the only one who will carry this load.

You take a deep breath and immediately choke when he forcibly pours a disgusting-tasting liquid into your mouth, which you try to spit out, but it inevitably flows down your throat anyway.

— You don't need this.

The room suddenly starts spinning before your eyes. The tinnitus drowns out the sound of your coughing and vomiting.

— See you in our new life, Y/N.

✧ ✧ ✧

July 26th

A slight shortness of breath, and the eyes open abruptly. You're clutching the blanket convulsively in your hands.

Your eyes are frantically running around an unfamiliar room, you feel a drop of cold sweat trickling down your temple. Fragments of a painful nightmare pop up in my mind. There is still a bitter taste on the tongue, causing nausea.

— Are you awake yet, honey? — you turn your head sharply in the direction from which the velvety gentle voice is coming.

There's a man you don't know standing in the doorway. His eyes are closed behind the glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, and his lips are stretched in a smile while he holds two steaming mugs in his hand, from which a subtle coffee aroma emanates. You scan the soft features of his friendly face with your gaze, and suddenly your eyes widen when they notice a white snake wrapped around his neck.

— Hey, Baizhu! You already left me for a few days with Qiqi, and now you're forcing me to inhale this disgusting smell. Get it away from me, — the snake suddenly spoke in a haughty tone, making you completely numb from shock.

— Okay, okay, — the green-haired man grins, leaving the mugs on your bedside table before sitting on the corner of the bed next to you. — How are you feeling, Y/N?

You tear your stunned gaze away from the pouting and averted snake and turn your attention to the man who is carefully wrapping his arms around one of your palms.

— I… don't know… I'm sorry, but who are you?

The man's fingers tremble on your palm. His smile widens a little.

— Don't worry, my love, I'll tell you everything now.

✧ ✧ ✧

August 5th

Baizhu sips tea from his cup, sighing contentedly. He turns his head to the side where the sound of your ringing laughter is coming from. You carefully place a homemade wreath of flowers that you have managed to collect around your house on Qiqi's head, with a doomed look allowing you to play with yourself like with a charming doll. The little girl looks at you in a puzzled way, probing with her hands what turned out to be on her head, and you smugly straighten up, resting your fists on your hips, glancing at Baizhu, sitting at a table in the garden not far from the two of you. You wave at him and smile radiantly, making the man's heart clench in his chest for a moment.

So carefree and happy.

— I see that she's fine now, — Zhongli says, covering his golden eyes before taking a sip of his hot drink.

— Was there any problem? — Baizhu smiles, interlacing his fingers on the table.

The man opposite chuckles, returning his cup back to the small saucer.

— I'm sick of watching them not detach from each other for the last few days, — Changsheng snorts in displeasure, curling a tighter ring around Baizhu's neck.

— What a nice tea,— Zhongli glances at the empty cup. — Thank you for the invitation. I think I should go now.

Baizhu smiles softly, getting up from the table after the guest.

— I hope you'll find some more time to visit my wife and me someday. You were so kind to help her last time, and this is the least I could do to express my gratitude.

Zhongli nods briefly.

— I'm always happy to help.

— Oh, and by the way… — Baizhu takes out a small notebook from his pocket, handing it to the Consultant. — It was so kind of you to give my wife such a lovely gift, but I'm afraid she can't accept it.

Zhongli's eyes widen slightly when he recognizes the object in Baizhu's hand as the notebook he gave you at your last meeting before taking it back.

— It's a pity, but I guess it did her a favor after all.

— More than that, — the Doctor smiles, squinting slightly. — I hope you know what to do with it. Although I follow all the laws of Liyue, but this time I can forgive some mistake that you allowed yourself to make by violating the terms of our contract. It would be a shame if you were careless enough to look for loopholes in it again, Mr. Zhongli.

— I could say that I hope for future fruitful cooperation, but I wouldn't like to accidentally meet you again at night on the Wuwang Hill.

Baizhu chuckles softly.

— Fair point, — the Doctor turns around again, noticing how you worriedly pull out the wreath that Qiqi was trying to eat from her hands. — It would be extremely awkward to meet again under such circumstances.

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thehollowwriter · 3 months ago

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A Different Kind of Love

Summary: Morrigan monologues about Silas for 849 words. That's it. That's the fic. Old fish man yaoi for you guys.

Warnings: Mentions of death and murder, violence, blood,

(Pls reblog and leave a comment❤️)

Have you ever been in love? What did it feel like? Did it make you feel light and airy? Anxious and flustered? Confused? Excited?

I’m in love. So horribly, irrevocably in love. It is not a tender, fluffy feeling, though. No, it was burning hot, a raging fire that never went out. Sea Witch, it makes me light headed.

Do my passions cross into obsession? Maybe. I don’t really care. Silas is my everything. My perfect, beautiful, dangerous Silas.

“Darling, you’re perfect.” I would whisper, and it just wasn’t enough.

“I love you” never encapsulated his feelings like it should. “I want you. I need you. I crave you.” The love ballads I would sing, they weren’t good enough. I could love Silas, praise him, worship him, but none of it came close to describing my burning love and desire for my Silas.

The delight and warmth that fills my veins whenever I see Silas and feel his touch was undeniable. The adoration and adrenaline I feel when Silas wrestles me to the floor during our games is indescribable.

My affections re neither understood nor shared. Silas is delightfully dangerous, a violent Abyssal merfolk who knew how to survive and left no friends when doing so.

Most people deemed him a cannibalistic monster or a loose cannon, but I love those deadly, unsavoury parts of Silas with all my heart and soul. Those claws could rip my face off, those teeth could tear me wide open, and I’d thank him.

“Are you insane?” I’ve been asked more than once by more than one person. I wear my courting gift from Silas with pride and that prompts most comments at me, paired with expressions of both concern and disgust. “Don’t you realize that if he could kill an orca or... or an orca merfolk, he can kill you easily? Don’t you worry he’ll kill you once he loses interest? When he gets bored of you?”

Maybe I am insane. I don’t really care, though. I know Silas won’t hurt me, at least not in the way others expect him to.

It hurts when we fight, when we claw and bite at each other, but it’s fun. It’s delightful. We never actually try to kill each other, nor will we ever. It’s the thrill of it all, the familiarity, and the desire, it all combines to form an adrenaline-spiking moment of wonderfully painful bliss.

The feeling of Silas’ teeth at my neck is a different kind of high, it gives me a sense of elation that tempts me to beg him to just bite down.

Nobody else fills me with such warmth and love. Nobody else makes me feel such delightful ecstasy. There is only Silas. My wonderful, perfect Silas.

I suppose one could assume my raging; violent affections would scare him off. But I know Silas. He meets me halfway. In fact, you could say he’s worse than me.

Silas is not loud or talkative or expressive. Love songs, praise, declarations of his feelings, those sorts of things were not how he showed love.

Silas’ love seeps through when he grips me tight enough to draw blood, paranoid and possessive. Whenever we sleep or swim of fight together, he holds me like a lifeline, like he’s afraid I would vanish if he dared let go.

His love seeped into rough kisses and claws and teeth dragging across my body, scratching, piercing, drawing blood, but never badly wounding. I am worth his time, worth keeping alive and safe.

His love seeps into how he’s killed for me more than once, snuffing out lives like they were mere candles. He wasn’t gentle or graceful with it either, no. It was violent and graphic, filling the water with blood and the stench of death.

I should probably be afraid of someone like that. Maybe I was at one point. But now, common sense has long gone, leaving nothing but obsessive desire in its wake. Any sense of fear was quickly replaced with thrills of excitement and the wonderful realization that I was wanted enough to kill for.

Silas rarely says “I love you” out loud, but he doesn’t need to. The words were in his every action, every gesture of affection, and every effort he made to ensure my survival and safety.

“I love you,” I whisper, and and Silas will hum softly in response. It’s such a delightful sound, deep and reverberating. It makes my skin tingle every time.

I want to kiss Silas every time I look at him and those gorgeous, mysterious eyes. Not just his lips, I want to kiss every scar, every tear or hole in his fins, every wrinkle and stretch mark and freckle. I want to love and adore and worship every inch of him.

Silas is my everything. My husband, my friend, my sun, my moon, and my stars.

There are not and never will be suitable words to describe how I feel about Silas, those raging emotions that swirl inside me and threaten to burst. But I know Silas understands me and what lies beyond the words.

That’s enough for me.

-End

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A/N: I hope you guys enjoyed this lil fic of Morrigan being unhinged lol, I had a lot of fun writing it.

What the fuck my tags disappeared?

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00

@krenenbaker @offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops

@inotonline @1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp

@skrimpyskimpy @casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls

@the-trinket-witch @ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord

@cloudcountry @skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123

@natsukishinomiyaswife @authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove

@moonyasnow @skibidibabygirl @paperclvps @v-anrouge

#morrigan clearcove #silas clearcove #morrisil #twisted wonderland #twst oc #oc x oc #writing

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snaillock · 1 year ago

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your relationship with bllk men as mitski songs

(kaiser, sae, oliver)

my posting has been very slow recently so to celebrate mitskis new album (and to feed into my eternal obsession for her music and lyricism by combining it with another thing im way too obsessed with), i dug up this old ass draft and finished it instead of giving y’all an actual fic

tags: gn!reader, angst(it’s mitski duh), yeah basically no fluff/comfort in here, suggestive-ish in the oliver one, me being a dork and combining two big interests of mine

michael kaiser - i don’t smoke

So if you need to be mean Be mean to me I can take it and put it inside of me If your hands need to break More than trinkets in your room You can lean on my arm As you break my heart

his career can be a lot on his shoulders at times even with the cocky and arrogant facade he puts on for the performance of each match he plays. he has a tendency to keep it all in to bask in the glory of his luxurious life.

you understand. you know he’s currently too prideful to deal with his true feelings, especially all on his own. you just want to be there to know he isn’t alone and that he can be open with you. so you sit there, giving him a listening ear as he lashes out and releases every awful word in the book towards you when everything finally becomes too much for him to bear. you wouldn’t want him to have a very public meltdown when it happens so it’s better this way. you have remind yourself to take none of it to heart because he doesn’t mean those all harsh words. he just needed an outlet for those frustrations.

you also don’t want the weight and significance of his career to separate you two. you’re already so damn lucky to be with someone like him. you want to prove that you can handle it. you know you can. you’re sure you can help him figure this all out somehow. love just takes compassion and patience, that’s all it is. just taking it one step at a time.

it’s just compassion and patience. right?

Just don't leave me alone Wondering where you are I am stronger than you give me credit for

sae itoshi - i want you

You're coming back And it's the end of the world We're starting over and I love you darlin' And I am done, dear

he swears he will make time for you someday. sure those words have been promised over and over again like a broken record but he truly does love you. however you’re starting to wonder if mutual love is truly enough to keep you two going.

the truth is his life is currently too big and important for him to take any focus away from it. the last thing he needs is a distraction. all of which he has very clear multiple times, even along with his contrastingly hopeful promises. though his tone is quite neutral, never letting his emotions seep through as if he’s programmed to do so. meanwhile you have to desperately hold yours back to not seem like an idiot.

it’s never been easy to express how you feel in front of him. you desperately wish you could but the inconsistency of your relationship that’s barely holding up renders it pointless. this over and over/back and forth thing that’s going on between you two is exhausting. it only leaves you lost and confused. you begin to wonder if staying is even worth it at all. even with the speck of hope that it could eventually work out. even if you love him.

You're in the house And I am here in the car I just need a quiet place Where I can scream how I love you

oliver aiku - eric

You like control, well, I do too Take off my clothes and watch me move You can come closer, I'll let you hurt me how you choose

you deeply crave a loving and fulfilling connection with another but unfortunately the other you desire is him. a guy who’s born to be a player and only wants to fool around with multiple people.

you know getting attached would only cause you so much unnecessary pain but your naive heart couldn’t resist him. you know that he doesn’t see you for more than what you give him at night but you were still a fool to fall for him.

enough of a fool to fall for him knowing he’s not ready to settle for one person. you could see it from how you would lovingly gaze at him while he leers at someone else behind you. you would still give yourself up to him if you could, offering anything he wanted out of you.

despite better judgment, you stay with a pained and aching heart. constantly yearning for more.

But how long, how long can we play this way? I'm tired, I'm tired of not loving you My heart, my heart wants to hold you But I know, I know, I know the rules

taglist(lemme know if you wanna be added): @userwithlotsoftime @lucas2060

#★ snail.writes ★#it was so damn difficult picking between a loving feeling or eric for olivers part #blue lock #blue lock angst #blue lock x reader #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #sae itoshi #sae x reader #sae itoshi x reader #oliver aiku #oliver aiku x reader #literally didn’t let myself sleep on a school night until i finished this #mitski posting

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kissesinelevators · 1 year ago

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After Dark Pt. 1

Synopsis: What do you do when there’s a man with fangs lurking in the shadows, swearing he can keep you safe but ever since he’s popped up in your life things just get worse? Change is weird and very permanent.

Pairing: Spider-Man 2099 x female reader

Word Count: 5,761

Genre and Warnings: Romance, Angst, Smut (eventually), Obsession, Violence, Stalking, Slow Burn (kind of)

18 + Part 2 3

Changes happen every day here. New York was called the Big Apple, you wasn’t sure why. You had never really seen an apple tree here. Things just don’t make sense. They never do.

“That will be $75.35.” You hand the invoice over the the shorter balding gentleman who had a mustache so great it looked like he was a bounty hunter.

“No, I was told over the phone it would be $20.” You turn around and grab his hung up coat that was neatly pressed and washed. You behind to unwrapped it from the plastic bag and presented it to him.

“Sir, there were a lot of bodily fluids along with other things.” A hint of disdain was clear in your voice. “We charge extra for that. Usually I can give you an accurate quote over the phone but sometimes I’m not told exactly what the issue is unto it gets here.” The older man shook his head and angrily took his card out of his wallet.

“Fine, but don’t charge me the card fee.” You take his card.

“I’m sorry sir but you know it’s .50 cents.” He grumbled under his breath as he gets charged out. You put the coat back in the plastic bag and hand it to him along with his card and receipt. “Have a wonderful day.” He takes the items from your hands and walked out.

You sigh and sit down at the counter of your store. You look around, and start thinking about how maybe you should really clean out the cobwebs in the upper corners of the store. Not that it was difficult but it was much higher up than you could reach even with the broom. You wonder if the spider living there would ever come by and say hi, or at least help you scare away the people who come by to hit up your store for free cash.

Your dry cleaners store wasn’t successful so to say, you couldn’t hire anyone else to help you. You practically lived here, might as well since there wasn’t enough to afford rent in New York as it was. The shop was passed down to you through generations of family members. Your parents decided to migrate back to their home country as the sentiment towards immigrants wasn’t exactly kind and they realised just how much they missed home. You had only ever known New York so that was your only sense of home so despite missing your parents terribly, you stayed behind. And now here you were, 7 years later. You swivel around in the chair of your countertop waiting for new customers. Not that there ever was any.

However, someone did come in after 45 minutes.

“Hello.” You look up from your phone and see a younger man. He looked like he was a teenager.

“Hello.” You reply, putting your phone away back into your pocket. “How can I help you?” The boy grabs his backpack and opens it, pulling out what appears to be a soccer jersey.

“My sibling accidentally spilled wine on my jersey and I have a scrimmage this weekend. I was hoping you were able to help me? I only have $40, will that be enough?” He nervously shifts under your eyes. You smile.

“$20 is more than okay.” He proceeds to hands you his jersey. “It will be finished by Thursday, tomorrow. Is that okay? Like around 11 am?” You take the jersey and hand him a number back as he gives you the crumpled up $20 bill.

“I get off school at like 3, can I pick it up afterwards?” You nod and put the cash in the register. “Great! I’ll see you tomorrow after school!”

“You’re welcome.” You smile warmly at him as he walks out. You start to hang up the jersey behind you, putting on gloves to inspect the stain. Sure enough, it was a bright purple red maybe a few days old. It wasn’t going to easy as it had time to seep and stay there but you would try your best. As you started to make your way further to the back to grab some items to help facilitate the cleaning process, you hear a ring up to the front of your store. “I’ll be right there!” You call out and you grab your white vinegar.

No one responds.

Panic quickly enters your body like cold water shocking the system. You know who it might be.

Recently there had been an influx of robberies around the neighbourhood, armed. Usually though Spider-Man always seemed to be there right in time, conveniently you thought but he was never there when you would get hit. It made you feel uneasy about him. Like something was clearly wrong. The police was basically nonexistent in the part of New York. After all, he was here to protect, why didn’t he protect you?

You hear something heavy fall and you run out towards the front of your store. Sure enough, there was two guys in black baklavas who had knocked over your cash register.

“Hey stranger,” the taller one said with a smile in his voice. “Lou sends his regards. Also, he wants to know what’s going on with this week’s payment? It’s a bit late.” You walk over to the counter and look over, seeing the banged up register.

“I don’t understand why I’m paying weekly if I still get hit. Plus, this place doesn’t make much money, I’m going to lose the place soon.” You plead with the two men, tears clouding up your vision. You try your best to keep it in and stay calm but this wasn’t the first time they do this.

“You know the rules.” The other man speaks softly, more kindly. He kneels down and begins to pry open the register with a screwdriver.

You watch helplessly, allowing the tears to slip out. They don’t look at you while the register is opened forcefully and start counting the cash.

“There’s only like $120 in here.” The taller man points out angrily.

“I told you I don’t make much and you didn’t listen.” Thank god they were always after cash because otherwise you would truly be out on the streets.

“Boss won’t like it.”

You angrily wipe your face clean from the hot tears. “Well I don’t like it either so what can we do?” The other nicer man places your register back on the counter and puts the cash in his pockets.

“You have until Saturday.” He turns away to leave and pulls the taller guy away with him. As they exit the shop you see a shadow on the side of the buildings as it swims by.

Spider-Man.

But surprise surprise, the men who just robbed you don’t even flinch and walk out like nothing is wrong and you know that the tall bulky man cosplaying as some spider hero didn’t even bother to look. What else was new? You roll your eyes as you head to the door behind them and start locking the doors.

You begin to make your way towards the back again when you hear an aggressively loud knocking back in the front of your store against the glass windows. It honestly scares you.

You look back and see an older older, the same one from earlier that didn’t want to pay for his dry cleaning. The choice was to open the door and see what was wrong or walk away.

Why didn’t you just walk away?

You quickly run to the door and unlock it as he quickly slides himself in and shuts the door.

“Lock it please, LOCK IT!” The panic in his voice sends your heart in a frenzy and causes you to fumble with the locks.

“W-what’s wrong?” You almost scream at him in terror. He looks white, lacking of any colour and it’s almost scary because you can see the green and purple hues of his veins through his delicate aging skin of his face. You start to pull the curtains around the windows of the front of your store, your back turned to him when suddenly you hear a clicking sound behind your head.

Time stops, your hands feel numb as they stay in place, twisted in the curtains trying to pull them to the other side of the store to shield the view from within. Your breath hitches in your throat before it makes its way to your lungs. Your brain goes blank.

Things just don’t make sense.

You open your eyes, unaware of how or when you closed them. Something feels wet, your hair is the first thing you see as it is covering your face. But your vision blurs. There’s this pressure in your ears, a muffled like sound. But it starts to irritate you, as if a fly was stuck in there buzzing. You open your mouth and feel your jaw sore, extremely sore as you try to flex it. You suddenly feel liquid on your hands but you can’t yet see what it is. It feels warm but thick. Your knees then start to come into the picture of senses, you feel them raw almost, they’re against something that feels hard as if you were stuck in a box and couldn’t get up from it. Your back is rolled, almost like you’re a rollie pollie. What did you do this morning? What about later during the day? Wasn’t it almost 1 pm? The little boy’s jersey. You have to clean it. It was due tomorrow morning. No, he said he would be there by 3 pm tomorrow. Good, it gives you time to start it.

Ow, what was that?

The awful buzzing in your ears starts to get sharper and the pressure in your head starts to almost seep out through them. Suddenly you hear clearly, the pressure is gone and your eyes roll back into your head from the crash of it.

“Okay, pretty girl. Okay.” A male voice soothes you as a warm large hand makes its way up and down your back, caressing you. You instinctively push up against the hand, you didn’t know whether it was because you were trying to throw them off or leaning into it.

“Ow,” you inaudible gasp out, choking. You start to cough violently, the hand starts to rub circles into your back as you feel the roughness of the cough almost rip through your chest.

“Breathe.” The voice orders, firmly now. You try your best to breathe but your head is pounding more and more intensely.

You let out a pained whimper.

“Please.” The voice leaving you sounds almost inhumane.

“I know. I’m here.” The male voice gets closer to you. “I need to take you somewhere safe. May I?” You nod ever so slowly, fearing that even that movement will rip your brain out through your eyes. “Okay, I need you to hold onto me. You’re bleeding a lot.” The man puts his arms now under you, starts to carry you and puts you over his shoulder. The angle makes your brain scream. “Please knock out, please knock out.” You hear him pleas desperately under his voice. The screaming worsens and you sound realise it’s actually you, your mouth screaming. Eventually everything fades to black as you look at red and blue colours.

“Hey.” The male voice is back. You see darkness. Did you close your eyes again? When did you do that? “Shh, it’s okay.” A large warm hand comes into contact with your skin. “You’re okay.” Part of you wishes that was true. “Can you open your eyes for me, pretty girl?”

You suddenly remember that you can in fact just tell your brain to open your eyes and you do. You see a tall figure in the dimness of wherever it is that you are. Your eyes adjust to the lack of brightness and see a masked figure towering over you. Red and blue.

“You’re Spider-Man.” You manage to cough out.

“Yes I am. Okay so you’re kind of okay.”

“What happened to me?” You then realise you’re in a hospital bed. Why had you not noticed the beeping of the machine next to you?

“A man came into the store you were working at and decided to rob you at gun point. It seems like this was his first time ever because he attacked you first before anything.” Your hands quickly make their way to your head. “No, he didn’t shot you.” You feel bandages on the back of your head, feeling your stomach sink. “It seems like he first cocked his gun and then pistol whipped you but the idiot shot up into the building and scared himself. Your injuries are light despite how much blood appeared. Head wounds bleed more as you have many more vessels there.” He explains as you finger into the bandages terrified that the hospital staff had to shave your head to put these bandages on you. You couldn’t have bald spots! Not now! “You’ll be okay.”

You scoff.

“Wait so when did you get there?” You feel skin and immediately feel nauseous.

“I got there a few seconds afterwards, I heard the gunshot from a few miles away and got there as fast as I could.” You feel light as you pull your fingers out of the bandages around your head. Thank god he didn’t crack your skull.

“That’s a first.” You reply bothered.

He look down at you, a quick squint of his eyes takes place and disappears almost immediately causing you to wonder if you just made that up. Probably did since your brain wasn’t okay at the moment.

“What makes you say that?” You look out of the corner of your eye and see that the curtains are slightly drawn messily but it’s pretty dark outside. The kid’s jersey needed to be done.

“I’ve gotten robbed at my store more times than I can count. I have to pay someone else to supposedly protect my store but he steals from me too. I see you constantly helping everyone but you don’t help me.” You quickly look back at him and sign. “Didn’t. You didn’t help me. Thank you.” You push your hair out of your eyes. “I really appreciate it.” You try your best to sound genuine but you’re angry with him. It’s not his fault, he has a whole city to help, like over millions of people and you’re throwing a tantrum? “Hey I gotta go.” You start trying to get up from the hospital bed, the spill of the moonlight emitting from the poorly drawn curtains make the soft cream colour of the hospital sheets glow as you try your best to swing your legs out to the side of the bed. Spider-Man suddenly leans down and holds your nude legs in his hands, keeping you in place gently. The texture of his suit is almost silicone like, sticky. But the body heat emitting from his hands that engulf your claves feels good.

“No,” he whispers as he leans down closer to you, his towering figure now almost on top of you. With his other free hand he puts his fingers under your chin and directs you to look at him. “You need to stay here.” His breath smells of blueberries and honey for some reason. You close your eyes, inhaling. This was the first time a man had touched you in so long. How could you have forgotten how good it felt?

“But there’s a child’s soccer jersey that I need to fix. He needs it for his um-“ You rattle your brain, flustered and tripping over your words trying your best to concentrate but it’s proving to be difficult because this muscular man who smelled of musk, sweat, blood, and a hint of a certain cologne that induced butterflies in your stomach made it difficult for you to prioritise. “-his un, soccer thing.” The last words come out breathy.

Get a grip! You didn’t even know what he looked like!

The man’s glowing navy blue eye like part of his mask seemed to be staring deeply into your eyes. You felt strangely naked, all your expressions were out for him to see and you couldn’t even tell what he was thinking or feeling. You had to guess off his body language.

“I’ll get it for you if you truly want it that badly.” He almost hisses at you. You’re confused. Why was he angry all of a sudden?

“Oh, oh okay.” You meekly reply. He gently pushes your legs back onto the bed and lets go of you entirely, making you feel heavy on the bed.

“What does it look like?” He calls out as he starts to walk towards the window of your hospital. You doubt it opens.

“It’s red and white, it belongs to a teenager so it’s teenager sized?” You watch as he opens the window with ease. The realisation suddenly hits you.

Why was the curtain of the hospital room so messily closed? Did he bring you to the hospital and then sneak back in through the window to stay with you? The thought sent the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. But that couldn’t be it. Why would Spider-Man do that? That made no sense at all.

He swung out without saying a word, leaving you there in a now darker room with the window open, fresh air filled the room in his absence.

You stayed up, waiting for him to come back. The minutes turned to hours. A nurse came by to check on you and saw the window opened. She looked at the tablet in her hands and made an o shape with her mouth. She went over the window and closed it only slightly.

“We don’t want your friend to not be able to come back.” She says to you, who’s halfway between asleep and awake. She holds the tablet close to her chest and sighs. “You should have seen the way he fought to be with you through everything. But it was difficult since he is Spider-Man. Everyone wanted to come by and say hi.” She shook her head and made her way over to the machine next to you. “How do you feel, love?” You nod, unable to talk. “Do you feel any pain? Just give me a thumbs up if you do.” You don’t and she puts the tablet down by your legs. “Okay, that’s good. I’m going to just quickly run a few tests and then I’ll be out of here.” She takes a pen out of her pockets and clicks it causing it to shine. “I’m going to point it towards your eyes and I need you to follow it, I know you’re sleepy waiting for your friend to come back but I want to make sure there’s no concussion. Is it okay if I touch your face a bit?” You nod and she proceeds to put a hand under your chin and with her other hand, brings the pen flashlight up to each eye. “Okay, follow the light.” You do as she says, almost enjoying the soft touch from her, the whispers, the light of the pen dilating your eyes making them even more tired. After she’s done with the eye exam she moves onto another test. “I’m going to move you a bit so I can check your breathing. Is that o-“ suddenly the window is opened from outside.

You both look towards the window and in comes in your knight in shining armour with a jersey in his hand. The nurse looks back at you, ignoring him as he closes the window shut and messily half shuts the curtains allowing the moonlight to be the only light source in the room besides the soft glow of the beeping machine next to you. It’s not dark though, it’s just oddly comforting.

“Okay, is it okay if I place my hands on your back and chest?” The nurse goes right back to her professional self as if the most famous hero didn’t just come in through the window. You like her.

“Yes.” You manage to say. She listens for your breathing and your heart beat.

“I think we can do more later on, I’ll let you sleep.” She turns to your guest who’s now made his way to the foot of your bed. “Reminder that we don’t allow family members or guests in the hospital floors after 8 pm. Sir, it is almost 1 am.”

Spider-Man shrugs.

“I just want to make sure she’s fine.”

She looks at him, then at you.

“Do you want him here?”

You nod.

“I won’t cause any problems.” He says as she picks up the tablet and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her quickly. “I like her.” You roll your eyes at him.

“Did you get it?” He walks up to you and holds up the jersey proudly.

“I did better than that, I got the stain out myself.” His voice is dry but it’s clear he was proud to show his work. Your eyes soften and you are taken aback by his action.

“Wow, thank you. I don’t know what to say.” He noticed you starting to reach your hands out so he places the shirt by you for you to inspect.

“Yeah well, thank you was more than enough.” He clears his throat as you grab the shirt and touch it, looking at it to see any imperfections left behind. “I know a bit about chemicals and whatnot so I did my best.” He sounded pretty cocky to you but he was genuinely trying to make it seem like it wasn’t anything to him which okay, maybe was pretty cocky of him.

“Wow, maybe I should hire you.” Your voice is flat.

“Hey so I never got your name and unfortunately the doctors and nurses didn’t want to tell me much about you or your condition since we aren’t related or married. Your nurse was kind enough to look the other way when I came by afterwards looking for you and even now she’s being kind.”

“My name is (Y/N). What’s yours?” Spider-Man starts to sit down next to you in your hospital bed. Your cheeks start to burn. Here you were, technically in bed with a superhero but you were wearing what appeared to be a medical gown which meant that your ass was probably out. You cringe mentally at the thought.

“Spider-Man or you can call me friend as the nurse keeps receding to me. YOUR friend that is.” He chuckles as he tries to not take up much space next to you but fails. You didn’t know what he was thinking by trying to squeeze his big hunky self into this tiny hospital bed with you. He quickly got off and instead sat by your feet. “I should probably let you sleep though. It’s really late and I wouldn’t feel okay with myself if I left you here alone awake anyways. I’ll be back tomorrow before you wake up.” Why was he allowing himself to get involved with you? Was it the fact that you basically insulted his ego earlier about how he didn’t actually help people like he thought since you went by unhelped and alone for so long before he took notice? It had actually weighed down on him heavily. Usually he wasn’t one to let things get to him personally because he wasn’t a teenager anymore much less a 20 something year old doing this for a few years. He has been at the superhero business for a long time now actually but it still bothered him that you thought so lowly of him. Yes, he did deserve it but why was he trying to go above and beyond to make you believe otherwise?

“Oh, you’re leaving?” He puts a hand on your shin and nods. “But you’ll be back? Why?” He feels annoyed now. Did you not want him to come back? Should he just fuck off and never return? But he kept his composure.

“Yeah, I doubt you have family members here who will pick you up from the hospital. It looked like you’re living at the dry cleaners so I want to make sure you’re good. You know, to make up for my lack of protection for all of New York’s citizens.” The last part came out a bit sarcastic but he didn’t care anymore.

“Oh.” You quietly say as you look away. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow then, Spider-Man.” He nods and gets up. He starts to make his way to the window when he decides to look back at you for a moment. A ghost like tear makes its way down the side of your cheek, translucent to the human eye but not to his. He wants to stay and comfort you strangely enough but he decides it’s better not. Just because he couldn’t save you before doesn’t mean he had to make it up to you. He had other responsibilities, many!

He opens the window quietly and swings out again.

Miguel feels lost in his head as he webs his way through the night between buildings. You had reopened a very old wound for him. When he first started off as Spider-Man, there was no one there for him. It felt like that city hated him at first for being such a nusciance to it. He messed up a lot. Like a lot. He would not help right the people at first, he didn’t know exactly how to train himself or limit himself with his new found strength. It was quite difficult. With time, he found himself doing better but again, it took time. And he overcame that part of his ice so many years ago, so why was he feeling like the lost dumb teenager he once was?

Miguel snarled almost in frustration and before webbing onto another building, he reach out with his claws and started to climb up further up. He clawed his way all the way to the top of the brick building, pieces coming off. He had to stop doing that, the city was bound to invoice him for the damages at some point. He shook his head as he quickly scaled further up. He finally stopped at the top and sat there.

A hand came up and ripped his mask off him, he angrily sighed as he crumpled up the mask in his hands. He leaned his head down and closed his eyes. There was no need for her to be so, so ungrateful! He felt the emotional turmoil in his chest, he could see behind his eyelids the electricity of his suit getting stronger.

“Calm down.” He lowly says to himself as he tries to take deeper breaths in. This wasn’t even his original dimension, he only came to the one because there was no Spider-Man in it. No one else wanted to do it because they were too busy which was his fault. He didn’t give any time to spare to the other Spider-Men in his group. Why would he? There was a teenager causing issues through the multiverse, how was he suppose to let anyone relax and take time off?

You woke up with a start. Anxiety filled you quickly, your breathing became labores, the machines around you started going off like crazy and the incessant buzzing triggered you worse.

A nurse came running in and immediately came over you.

“What’s wrong? You can’t breathe?” He quickly adjusts the bed to lay down as you look at him with panic eyes, your hands make their way to his and you hold his wrists, begging him to look at you. Where were you? What happened? He stops what he’s doing and the look in his eyes melts into understanding. “Oh, you’re here in the hospital.” He holds your hands in his and lifts them to his chest and gives you a squeeze. “You’re safe.” You start to relax, he starts to loudly breathe and you follow suite.

“I’m-im sorry,” your voice a mere whisper. He smiles softly at you and shakes his head.

“It’s okay. You’re safe here.” He turns around slightly to look around the room as if he were looking for someone. “Your friend left?”

“Who?” You close your eyes and shake your head slightly.

“Mr. Spider-Man?” You open your eyes and remember. He in fact did come back last night after you had cried. He didn’t make a noise but the window made a creek which woke you up but you didn’t move. But when did he leave? Had you fallen asleep again afterwards?

“I don’t know.” The nurse gave your hands a final squeeze and set them down onto your lap. He began to adjust your bed into a sitting position.

“You know, he’s like a runaway right now.” He quietly tells you, almost like he’s gossiping. “He is not allowed to be here at all, goes against all laws and hospital policies but he saved my dad when he suffered a heart attack, he brought him here just in time and it saved him. He’s a good friend to us all.” He smiles. You look at him and see just how happy he seems telling that story, as if it were the best thing in the world which it is, his dad is alive and well. But you can’t help but feel a bit of a childish envy crack in you. You couldn’t even look at the police because it was their job first to help and they never did. But Spider-Man? Whatever. You give him a small smile.

“I’m glad your dad is here with us still. But he’s not my friend. When can I go home?” The nurse raises his eyes brows.

“Today, later on in the afternoon. We just need to make sure you’re okay. It was a bit of a nasty hit to the back of your head.” He motions for you to lean forward and starts to remove the bandages. “It looks fine, no more bleeding. I’m going to apply new bandages okay? I’ll be back.” You nod as he walks out and closes the door behind him. However as he closes the door, you see your familiar so called friend standing there.

“Were you there behind the door this whole time?” He give a nod. “Okay, why did you hide?” Spider-Man starts to slowly make his way towards you, his tall built figure makes you almost shrink back into bed, he looks almost animal like the way he stalks over to you with his massive size.

“I didn’t hide.” He states coldly. “I merely let your nurse give you the attention you deserve.” His eye lenses on the mask slightly close as if he were squinting at you and crosses his arms. “Can’t be taking all the attention away from you, princess.” He lets out a deep chuckle.

“I guess not. You’re so kind.” The sarcasm in your voice doesn’t go unnoticed by him as his fingers slightly twitch from your tone. Keep it together, he thinks to himself. “Look, can you just swing me out of here so I can go home and do what I need to do? I have a business to run, it’s my only livelihood and I promise a boy his jersey.” You starts to pull yourself up and move to get out of the bed. Within seconds with what seems to be inhumane speeds, Spider-Man is right next to you holding your legs in his hands. He turns his head to you.

“I can have my friend give it to him.” Why would you say that?! He thinks to himself angrily. “You take the day off, I’ll have him open shop for you so your clients can at least pick up their stuff.” Now who was he suppose to assign to this? It’s not like he could tell anyone to do it because then they would know he was doing something he wasn’t suppose to, the only person who knew was his assistant, Layla. And she was forbidden to come through when he was in this dimension.

Seems like his friend was going to have to be him.

“Why would you do that?” You pull your legs from out of his hands and move away to come off the bed on the other side. You finally stand up and immediately stretch. He watches you from behind, admiring how catlike you were during your stretches. Suddenly he sees a bit of skin peeking though from behind. “Like what you see?” He immediately looks away and you smile. You knew he was watching, not that it mattered.

“Because I’m your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man, that’s why I would do that. Plus he kind of owes me.” He did in fact own himself this, he didn’t want to destroy yet another dimension but he quickly began to talk to occupy himself from thinking of the other one. “You know, if you really want to leave, you can right? No one is holding you here against your will.” It came out a bit harsher than he intended. You turn back to look at him over your shoulder and roll your eyes. What a dumb boy.

“Look, Spider-Man,” you turn to face him now. “You need to realise that it’s not usual for a man, idk who you are because I don’t know you, a strange man to be in another woman’s hospital room. I’m basically naked.” You start to tie the cords of the hospital gown tighter. However he doesn’t move or make any indication of it bothering him.

“If that’s how you feel, that’s your right. I’ll leave you alone and have my friend at your place soon. I still have your keys, but your clothes and other personal items are over there.” He jerks his head towards the direction of a table in the room where there’s a bag. “I’ll be on my way now. I’ll catch you around.”

“Do you even know my name?” He was in mid turn away from you when you asked which stopped him. He thinks for a second. “It’s (Y/N). Thank you for everything. I truly mean it.” He nods once and turns to the window, opening it. He begins to slid out when he stops again.

“The name of the guy who will be at your store is Miguel. He’s a friend.” And with that, Spider-Man leaps out.

(A.N., so my boyfriend is our beta reader, lmk if he caught all the grammar problems lol and this is my first fanfic so please be gentle with me. I just couldn’t find any fanfics that were story based off Miguel and I couldn’t help but make one, I just love that man and I love being hurt by love lol)

#miguel o’hara x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara fanfiction

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i-like-anything-water · 11 months ago

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I thought about rehashing one of my prior Chloenette ideas. Basically, Miraculous Canon, but Marinette and Chloe have been dating for at least two years by the time canon starts. Their personalities are exactly the same as at the start of canon, but with the one change being that they are a couple.

Origins starts with Marinette taking her seat in Ms. Bustier's class, when she sees Chloe marching over, sighs, and braces herself... when Chloe cheerfully jumps into her arms, smothering her face in kisses, and begins talking about how eager she is for Marinette to FINALLY meet her old friend Adrien. Sabrina sits next to them, and mentions that Chloe has been blowing up Adrien's email and texts for months trying to get him to come to school, with Marinette taking notice of just how nervous Chloe is... and offers to move to a different seat for the year so that she can spend that time catching up with Adrien. When Chloe naturally protests the idea of having her girlfriend sit somewhere else, Marinette shuts her up with a kiss and moves back a couple rows.

Soon, Alya walks in and asks Marinette if the seat next to her is taken, with Marinette replying it's not. When she sits down, she catches the sight of Chloe staring at her out of the corner of her eye. When she mentions the look the blonde girl gave her to Marinette, Mari responds that Chloe's harmless, before giving a silly story about some of Chloe's more tame antics in the past. As the two share a laugh and talk about their respective passions, Chloe begins to slowly carve gouges into her desk with her nails at the sight of some OTHER girl trying to make moves on HER Marinette. Adrien... failing to show up just makes her mood worsen.

Later, after Ivan storms off to the Principal's office after threatening Kim due to his needling, Marinette introduces her new friend to her girlfriend. Alya's all for becoming friends with Chloe... who sadly doesn't reciprocate, giving a chillingly fake smile before asking Marinette if she'd go get something from her locker. After Mari walks off, Chloe bluntly asks Alya what she'll have to pay her so that she never talks to Marinette ever again. After a moment of confusion, Alya angrily demands to know what the blonde's problem is, with Chloe firing back that she "has Alya's number," and knows that she's just another leech looking to take advantage of Marinette's exceptional nature, and if bribing her means that her sweet girlfriend doesn't have to taint herself with a loser parasite like Alya, then she'll pay it everytime.

Just as Alya is about to start screaming at the insufferable blonde, Marinette shows up, asking what's going on, with Chloe's cruel smugness fading away to a loving smile as she cheerfully lies about how she and Alya were "setting some boundaries, right Alya?" Alya, torn between calling Chloe on her BS or keeping Marinette from being hurt by their fight, takes a glance at the loving smile the duo share... and crumbles, going along with Chloe's deception. At that point, Ms. Bustier takes role call, and Stoneheart breaks through the door.

(My reasoning is that, if Marinette is able to overlook Chat Noir and Adrien's personality flaws with her respective crushes on them in canon, she's just as capable of not realizing just how utterly obnoxious her girlfriend is to everyone but herself in this AU. What do you think?)

is a ship really a ship if some people don't think it's toxic? xD I'm all here for slightly toxic but in an obsessive way chloenette! That's just how they are sometimes (most times lol) but it just adds the charm.

If I had watched only season 1 and maybe bits of season 2 is definitely think Chloe and Mari had something going on because the tension those two have in and out of suits is just really gay. Chloé 'I can't seem to stop getting into her personal space but not because she's pretty!' Bourgeois and Marinette 'I know she's mean and a bitch but maybe her prettiness somehow seeped a bit into her heart?' Dupain-Cheng xD.

If Miraculous just had Marinette flirt with girls it would definitely be more interesting and the love story probably won't be as redundant. But that's just me. The only straight ship I like in MLB is probably.... *blanks* uhh, Adrien or Luka with a female character that isn't Marinette, Chloé or Kagami (i hc her as lesbian with comphet).

I like this idea though! For giggles and maybe a bit of non explicit smut (depends on the ratings and timeline of course) and just fluffy tension. I love mean and obsessive girlfriends.

#asks #chloenette

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mangotown7 · 7 months ago

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Today I woke up before the sun and I spent my time reading in the dark, reading anything I can. Old journal entries, reviews of my favourite books, essays written by girls I've never met, and I think about how badly I need a hobby that doesn't involve consuming words.

I'm thinking about this quote from Eileen. “Here is how I spend my days now. I live in a beautiful place. I sleep in a beautiful bed. I eat beautiful food. I go for walks through beautiful places. I care for people deeply. At night my bed is full of love, because I alone am in it. I cry easily, from pain and pleasure, and I don’t apologize for that. In the mornings I step outside and I’m thankful for another day. It took me many years to arrive at such a life.”

I think about these words a lot, they echo around my mind in mornings like these when I’m able to watch the sneakiness of light growing behind my window blinds, the way it eventually spills into my bedroom like overflowing molten gold. My blankets are tangled in the shape of me, my book is strewn about haphazardly from falling asleep reading. I like looking at the cracks in the spine and the fold in the pages, signs of my existence tainted on something tangible, something that will outlive me. Everyday, I look forward to my morning coffee, I seep in the rich bitterness of this very human elixir. I understand now of the sweetness of mundane life if only I choose to pay attention, and I wish that I can always be this mindful everyday of the things I have and the things I do. I want to experience more of my life the same way I experience this coffee, consciously, and with gratitude.

So, this is how I have been spending my days. I drink iced black coffee, I eat words, I peel mandarins, I play solitaire and study chess openings, and I scribble on my journal until the tip of my pen wears down and my handwriting is a cryptic alien code that only I can decipher. I'm writing a lot because I'm trying my best not to get too caught up in my own head. I’ve learned that sensitivity is a good thing. I care for people deeply and I experience joy with overwhelming intensity, but then again I experience sadness and shame with the same level of intensity, and sometimes I am too soft for that. With writing everything I’m feeling, I can observe these feelings as a neutral outsider. I like to pick apart my emotions and compartmentalize them, I’m an archivist in the library of my own psyche. I’m obsessed with understanding myself better by intellectualizing my feelings, raw and unprocessed, like dissecting an alien specimen, taking out an organ and slowly turning it around to see it clearly under the light. I’m not perfect at this, but when I sense the brewing of a negative feeling and this familiar twist in my gut, I will try to fight for control over my emotions so that it won’t linger. The first step is to confess what it exactly is that I’m feeling and the next is to categorize it into one of two groups: primary emotions, which are the raw emotions felt in direct response to something that just happened, or secondary emotions, the emotions that are felt about another emotion. The funny thing about emotions is that their intensity is as erratic as fire in unpredictable weather. Primary emotions cannot be felt for more than 90 seconds at a time, but I have moments of such emotions being so intense that they overtake me and I lose mental clarity. On the contrary, I’ve had secondary emotions that I leave alone because they’re tiny and don’t bother me that much in the moment, but they will continue to trail after me like a pestering ghost, only to grow more bothersome. So, whenever I feel bad, I will take a step back and try to analyze my feelings. If I realize that it’s just a primary emotion, I will simply accept it and let myself feel the feelings out. If it’s a secondary emotion, I will deal with it by continuing to write.

I realize now that my anxieties and secondary emotions are mainly due to confusion, and keeping this all locked up inside my skull will just lead me to spiral. I'm trying this thing where if I feel confused about something, I will write about it blindly with no clear end goal. It doesn't matter to me what it is I'm saying in the moment, sometimes I can't even see anything but the blur of my hands moving, the violet ink of my pen. So long as I empty out my thoughts onto something external and separate from my body, the truth starts to take form to me like a person emerging from a landscape of mist.

I like that when I write, words will remind me of other words, and these words will remind me of pieces of information I learned and kept stored away in the crevices of my mind. Right now I’m thinking about the Extended Mind hypothesis and the question of where exactly the mind ends and the world begins. Just briefly going over this topic, while it may be easy to say that the boundary of the mind is the skull, this hypothesis raises that our mind is not confined solely to the brain but that it actually transcends beyond the human body and reaches out into the world through making use of external tools to perform better, cognitively. It’s like doing math without a pen and paper, where our mind’s capacity is limited and juggling symbols in the pitch blackness makes us prone to mistakes. So we use this tool that exists outside of our body to offload information, and in doing so, this tool intertwines with and becomes part of our mental processes. That must mean that the tools we use are also part of our minds. I like this idea because it means that my journal is a part of my mind, almost an extension of me like a connected limb. I use it as a tool to help me navigate confusion over feelings of shame and anger and guilt, and I also like to copy fragments of information I’ve gathered from books and articles, unloading them like furniture in an extra storage unit. The comforting thing about it is that I can always go back to it and be reminded of things that I would have otherwise forgotten, all those important pieces of information I swore I wouldn’t forget but end up getting lost in the labyrinth of my mind. It’s as if some of my thinking is stored in this journal, taking the form of words, scribbles, and silly metaphors. It brings me solace to know that when I’m dead, a part of my mind will continue to live on in this earth.

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silly-inky · 2 years ago

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Have been thinking on writing a Booigi fic, I was prompted by one of those inspirational TikTok's lol, and a bit of my daydreaming. Anyways it's a past lovers story, king Boo remembering bits from when he was alive and Luigi being there, and while he stayed dead, Luigi was well, rencarnated after he passed, thought it would be a cool concept, sort of playing into one of those soulmate au's. Anyways, here is the first snipit that I have so far ( played around with some poetry for the first part, forgive me lol)

You were someone to me a lifetime ago

"I feel like I know you from somewhere in my memories from my days of living, but those memories are sparce and finite. I had tryed desperately to hold onto them, grasping at them, pleading them not to leave my hollow mind. But they would trickle through my fingers. Like cusping your hands to act as a vessell for water so you can drink from it, but the water slowly seeps out, as you try in vein to make it stop. No matter how hard you clutch your hands together, the water will always find a way out, and you will be left with nothing apart from the wet surace on your hands reminding you they once held the water, but the water is now gone.

I know I had memories. and that knowledge torments me. knowing i once held something so precious, and I will never get to know what exactly I lost, and I will never get them back. I don't remember who i was. If i was good, if i was bad, if i was someone too you. I don't even remember my old name. But I think you where there. I can't remember the way you made me feel. But you where there. Who were you too me?

Why does that bother me? you are a curious little human. I can't get you out of my head you cling to the spaces my old memories used to live. it's not fair. other ghosts get too keep their memories if their will is strong enough. So why do we Boo's not get that option? Was I not strong enough? if I wasn't what gives the others a chance. Why are we different." King Boo rambled to himself.

He was staring at the picture of Luigi and E.Gadd on the table on opposite side of the room from him, he was focused on Luigi, he was smiling, hugging the professor, judging from the Poltergust he was wearing, it was probably after his first encounter with King Boo. He looked nice when he smiled.

" That's oddly poetic. But the answer to that is simple really..." E. Gadd said breaking the silence, entering th room, approaching the king in his enclosure

he continued "You are residual energy. energy left over from when you where alive, brought back by large amounts of energy charging your own. you guys are not like the other Spirits that are brought back because they clung to their life, you are brought back to carry on."

" I didn't know you were there." king Boo hissed, anger lacing his voice as he spoke

"Is that truly what you think happens?" he spoke again, questioning E. Gadd's words

" it's still a working theory. But yes, it aligns with my research the most." he spoke out"And i don't think Luigi will be able to answer those questions, if you do think he was someone inyour past life, it was probably a past lire of his as well. Do you think that links to your obsession with him?"

"And why would I tell you that?" king Boo snapped

"This is the longest conversation we've had in years. I'm just suprised your still talking with me, but we've gotten this far. And I think you want an answer to that as well" E. Gadd spoke calmly, showing he isn't scared of the king

"Ghost's have obsessions, that's not strange" king Boo said as he turned his back on the scientist

"And he always gets in the way of my plans, he is my greatest enemy, that's not too outlandish is it?"

"Maybe not, but then Why do you keep luring him back in? chasing after him? why not just get it over and done with? He means something to you, you can't deny that. Someone's enemy wouldn't be so curious how they mattered to them in their past life. He makes you curious. Why not just try talking to him?" E. Gadd said stepping closer to the king

"It's not that simple." The king spat out

" Maybe not. But try it regardless, he's coming over later, try then" E. Gadd replied

" Why is he coming over, you're not performing more tests are you " The king asked hesitantly, turning back around to face the old man

" As tempting as that is, no. He likes to come an visit on the weekends. I think he's worried I'll blow something up again. It's nice having the company, and hemmakes delicious food, you should try it if you get the chance."

he pauses "he is not malicious, if you're willing to talk to him, he won't ignore you." E.Gadd finally said" Yeah, yeah, I hear ya. can you leave now, your giving me a headache" king Boo answered, entertaing the thought

" fine, fine, see you later king Boo" he said as he walked away amused

"Damn kook" king Boo said under his breath

"this isn't going to end well" he said to himself

Here is the post Where the Ao3 fic is linked ★

#super mario #mario bros #luigi nintendo #luigi #luigi super mario #king boo #king boo nintendo #booigi #king boo and luigi #luigis mansion #boouigi #luigi x king boo #king boo fanart #my writing

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saradotpsd · 1 year ago

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An obsessive girl’s guide to books about obsession

Originally posted on Medium here.

The word obsession and its variations will appear in this piece at an annoying rate for you, I’m sorry in advance.

I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole and I’m enjoying it too much to leave. It is eye opening as much as it is relatable though. Books depicting obsession have been a sort of obsession for me, I’m fascinated by these helpless characters and the situations they end up in because of their intense feelings, and it was delicious losing myself in their plots.

I’ve been looking for these books because I wanted a mirror to my OCD that makes me think “oh.. so this is what my intensity of feelings looks like”, and now that I’ve found a bunch of them, I had to compile a list of every single one I’ve read.

I tried to add as many types of obsessions in these recommendations other than romantic obsession, even though that was the one that held my curiosity the most. This list will be updated as I go through more and more books in the future, but this piece starts with the first 8 books I read, and I’m doing them in the order I read them in.

The first 8 books I read so far

An Apprenticeship or thee Book of Pleasures by Clarice Lispeector

On obsessive love

In this book we follow Clarice, a woman who is trying to bridge the gap between her loneliness and the passion she. harbors for Ulisses, who takes it upon himself to guide her through that path.

This book made me develop an alter ego. It made me kill my old self and create a sexier one out of it. I didn’t plunge into this genre willingly, the interest was sparked by the character portrayal in this book, I was so amused by it that I started seeking more books with similarities to this, from the way the book made me imagine Clarice, to the intense feelings and the way they’re depicted, to the progression of these feelings towards the end, all of this had me hooked and already thinking of what I want my next read to be like (and what I want my next outfit to look like).

My Husband by Maud Ventura

On obsessive & controlling love

A tale of a wife too engulfed by her love for her husband to the point where she doesn’t have more to give to her own kids. The main character loves her husband, a little too much, the cup overflows a little bit and seeps through into her sanity. She keeps notes detailing her husband’s whereabouts, she has a separate notebook where she writes down his “hurtful actions” and the punishment she would give him for each. She’s not exactly the perfect wife otherwise either, with her own shortcomings and her own mishaps, but she still attributes them all to how much she loves him. This gets good when we read the Epilogue.

I was feeling for her the entire time, I didn’t know if I should feel seen or called out because almost the entire time my main thought was “I should probably not love someone ever, because this is how much I’ll love them, to the point where my OCD will push me off the edge”. This book was the first one I read where obsession is a main theme, and it has led me to the rest of the titles in this list.

Read this if you’re interested in these themes: flawed people, detrimental relationships, obsession, unhinged characters. Most importantly read this if you’re okay with books were no one is a good guy, no morals here just obsessive vibes.

New Animal by Ella Baxter

On obsessive grief

Amelia is a cosmetician, at her family’s mortuary. Amelia loses her mom. Amelia goes into a haunting metaphorical journey and a quite literal one to escape that grief. But in her mind that is her way of grieving.

This may not have been a good choice for me to read but only because BDSM is not really an area for me to look into. The book otherwise had a depth that goes beyond it’s main plot. We see parent-children relationships being dissected in a way only all of us would relate to, especially the part where Amelia needs one parent when she’s away from them but she couldn’t stand whichever one she’s around, aren’t we all a little like that?

This book also discusses grief and goes in depth in how it engulfs you within it, so a trigger warning here if you can’t handle this because it does go deep about it. It also details the escapist ways people turn to to escape their grief.

This may not exactly deal with obsession, but I wanted to add it to the list anyway because of the familial attachment aspect and how that itself can be a form of anxious obsession laying dormant in most if not all of us

Acts of Desperation by Megan Nolan

On obsessive love

Our main character is unnamed, perhaps on purpose. She falls into obsessive love with Cieran, the type of obsessive love where you lose yourself completely into the other person, unknowingly but willingly giving them a hold over you that you can’t escape by the time you notice it.

This is a narrative of the rejection that is breed within a person when the other is obsessed with them, and it is also a narrative of the obsession wee develop with someone when they reject us. It is a big mess of overflowing emotions and how nothing that intense is ever gratified. It encapsulates the disappointing reality of obsession.

My best recommendation on this entire list. I wish I started with it and I wish I ended with it, but it happened to be a little in the middle, fueling me to search for more books that will hopefully match up to the quality and realistic portrayal of obsession this one has. No other book has done it so far, except thee first book maybe.

I’ve seen some contradicting opinions about the ending though, and without any spoilers, I think it was rather realistic and was merely hated because of how it was out of character for those who relate to our unnamed character’s behavior through out the rest of the book.

Wilful Disregard by Lena Andersson

On obsessive love

If I’m being honest, this one blended in with others in my mind and I had to go back and remember the plot.

Our main character, Ester, is a rational woman with a steady career and a steady relationship, or so she thought, until she experienced what the depths of love feel like after she wrote a piece on Hugo Rask.

Would you rather be in an all encapsulating obsessive love with all of its falls, or in a healthy boring relationship devoid of any feelings? This is my most memorable part about reading in this book and it wasn’t really the focus of it. But I think of this often and of whether or not a combination of both is ever attainable. For someone with OOCD or any personality disorder, they mess up the way we feel, display, or even. receive love. And so we wonder if there is ever a happy ending to our undying devotion and borderline unhealthy way of feeling love. It takes over us to the point where good feelings mesh with guilt and shame and a feeling of doom, that it will never be satisfied, and has it ever? Or have we simply gotten bored and moved on to the next obsession because without it, love doesn’t feel real, its not love if it doesn’t completely drown us?

My Dark Vanessa by Kate Elizabeth Russell

On predatory obsessions

In this book we follow Vanessa’s journey, alternating between the past and the present, slowly unraveling to us what happened to her when she was fifteen, her story is uncovered to us simultaneously as she slowly starts to realize the abuse and grooming that she has gone. through. We know it from the start but she doesn’t, she finishes the book along with us although her realization comes later than ours.

There is obsessive love, and then there is predatory obsession (for lack of a better term), and while the latter is in no way related to the types of obsession a normal person would have, but I think it is important to read this book.

Lolita has grown up and is experiencing the realization of what had really happened to her. And it is a tale all too familiar with too many women, even if we were to disregard any age restrictions from it. Too many women have experienced something, that no matter how obviously traumatizing it was, they were still never sure if it was really a bad experience or just a normal thing that happens to all women at some point. Until the day comes when they can’t deny it anymore.

Vanessa does not fit the checklist of what the perfect victim should be like in order to gain the support of the people and to be believed. Vanessa is human. That aspect of this narrative and specifically the flaws of Vanessa are the most important part of the book to me, and what makes it an. necessary read especially for those who don’t believe women. Those who scramble to find a flaw so they can finally find a reason to hate a woman, to unleash all their loathing and have a “reason” for it.

Cursed Bread by Sophie Mackintosh

On obsessive fantasies

You will never guess what is the historic event that served as a launchpad to this novel. But the book has nothing to do with it really, it is just a spin on one possible storyline happening within that event.

Elodie is a baker’s wife who feels so unloved by her husband that when. she is introduced to a new couple, she develops an obsession with the both of them. Does she want to be with them? does she want to embody them? perhaps both. We follow her as she peers into their life, slowly seeping into their daily activities and the way with which their obsession with each other is displayed. She. has no clue how they portray her though, not even when she thinks she does.

I’m trying to have have opinions on this book but I cannot come up with a single one, it was simply an enjoyable read especially because of how peculiar its base story is.

I’m a Fan by Sheena Patel

On an obsession with a parasocial relationship

I’m giving this 4 stars overall because of the themes discussed in this book, ranging from racism to classicism and much more. But I’d give the obsession part 2.5 stars if I’m being real.

The characters in this novel are unnamed, our main character is obsessed with “the man she wants to be with”, who in turn is obsessed with “the woman she’s obsessed with” despite being in a healthy relationship with “her boyfriend” who loves her dearly. She is pushed to the limit because of her obsession. She has a complete disregard to the people in her life and her life’s focus and purpose is to be with the man she wants to be with, as is thee case with most obsessive feelings.

Just like most obsessive feelings, we see glimpses of the unsatisfied craving all over the novel despite the main character being completely oblivious with them, another realistic portrayal of the futility of obsession. You are completely enamored with something or someone, but there’s no happiness when you finally get it. You might obsess over more and more and more. Or you might move on to another obsession that proves this feeling is only folded over itself and is never about the person or thing you direct it to. Or worse, you might get disappointed and plunged into the emptiness of the mundane. What did we think the happy ending of obsession would be anyway?

I inhaled these books all back to back so fast that the more mediocre ones of them became kind of a blur at this point and I had to go back and remind myself of what they were about, so I hope my reviews were not lacking because of this. But some of them were so good they still take a seat at the front of my mind and I compare every similar book to them.

I hope they spark your interest and I’d love to discuss them with you.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading ❤

#literature #mine #my writing #book recommendations #bookblr #book reccs #book tumblr #literary fiction #fiction recommendations #ocd #obsessive compulsive disorder #obsessive love #obsessive #lovesick books

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czenzo · 2 years ago

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step into the moonlight (and throw your weight into me)

[ao3]

summary: Lockwood takes some time to think in the comfort of his sister's room. Lucy joins him.

words: 1439 rating: G

note: my secret santa gift for @mysticalmaladies! set between The Whispering Skull & The Hollow Boy. title from Move Me – half•alive

Jessica’s room was cold.

If Anthony closed his eyes, he could almost – almost – smell the remnants of her perfume that clung to the fabrics of her bed. Or maybe he was imagining it; perhaps his brain was conjuring up a fake comfort to distract him from the fact she was truly gone.

It was a strange feeling, to be the last surviving member of the Lockwood family.

His parents were long gone, of course, along with his sister, and his grandparents had been so old and spoken so little of after he was born that they may as well have not existed at all.

It had been years – far, far too long – since he’d seen his family. (Alive, that is.)

Anthony perched on the edge of the bed. The cold nipped at his exposed skin, seeped through the fabric of his clothes. The stillness and silence were suffocating.

The door had been closed firmly shut behind him, sealing him away from the rest of 35 Portland Row and its other inhabitants. The last time he saw them, George had been preparing dinner, and Lucy was keeping herself busy practising her rapier skills on Esmerelda. They probably hadn’t even noticed he had hidden himself away for a while.

How long had he been in her room? Anthony wasn’t sure.

He tried to avoid lingering in here too often; it never did him any good to dwell too heavily on the past. Spending time in Jessica’s room was always unbelievably draining and often did more harm than good, but –

But, here he was anyway.

Grieving alone.

He wasn’t really sure if grieving was the right word anymore. It had been years since he last sobbed so hard his body shook with the effort. No, he was no longer grieving – missing, or remembering, were more suitable.

But at the end of the day, it didn’t really matter.

She was gone forever, either way.

***

Esmerelda was not having a good day.

Lucy was, though. She swung and dragged her rapier across the straw sack dangling in front of her, exerting every ounce of effort her body could muster up. There wasn’t any particular hidden emotion beneath her ferocity – the desire to be better than Quill Kipps notwithstanding – but it felt damn good to stab and slash for a bit.

“Ooh, I’m terrified. I’m shaking in my little glass jar,” the skull called from its perch on her desk.

“As you should be.” Lucy attempted a ward with the tip of her rapier. It was moderately successful, though she could never reach the same amount of pizzazz Lockwood possessed when performing it. “This is exactly why you’re never getting let out of the jar.”

“What, because you’d skewer me? Turn me into a tasty little – what’s it called – kebab?”

“Shut up. You’ve been obsessed with that word ever since George mentioned it the other day.”

“Kebab.”

It was too far to flick the jar’s lever without losing her momentum, so Lucy swiftly ignored its repeated declarations of “Kebab!” and continued hacking at Esmerelda – albeit with a touch more annoyance.

“Christ, I can hear Lockwood moping from all the way over here.”

It took Lucy a second to register the skull’s words. When she eventually did, she faltered, and what should have been a devastating blow to Esmerelda’s head became a pathetic tap on the nose.

“What?”

“He’s sulking. Being moody and mysterious, or whatever it is you girls find attractive these days.”

“Where?”

“Use your noggin. Where do you think?”

Lockwood’s bedroom was so stripped of character it was hard to tell he even slept in there – Lucy couldn’t imagine him… moping, as the skull said, in such a room.

There was only one other possibility. (Unless Lockwood had formed a new habit of being emotional in George’s room, amidst the dirty laundry and old comic books, but that was as likely as Lucy freeing the skull from its silver-glass confines.)

Despite its insistence that she take it with her, she left the skull to entertain itself as she ascended the levels of the house. She almost became distracted along the way, thanks to the smell of George’s cooking and the sight of him in his stupid frilly apron, but she powered through and soon found herself in front of the door.

The door she had only seen through once, when Lockwood finally revealed to her and George the reason he kept it sealed tight. The door she’d never been in again since, despite it crossing her mind more times than she could count.

Lucy drew close to the door, closed her eyes, and pressed her ear against it.

Nothing. Eerie silence.

Maybe Lockwood wasn’t in there at all. Perhaps he really was in his bedroom – his bleak, bland bedroom…

No. Lucy gripped the door handle. After a breath, she pushed it open.

And there sat Lockwood, hunched over at the side of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and head hanging loosely between them. His dark hair obscured his eyes from Lucy’s view; it was impossible to tell if they were open or closed.

His stance lasted for a split second until his head shot up at the sound of Lucy entering. The delay in his reaction had been minuscule – but Lucy Carlyle, known noticer of even the tiniest details, didn’t miss a single bit of the way he looked before.

“Luce,” Lockwood breathed, his face contorting. He squinted at the incoming light from the open door. Upon laying his eyes on Lucy, the corners of his mouth were pulled upwards, forcing the most unnatural smile she had ever seen grace his face. It lasted a second, maybe two. And then his brow furrowed, his eyes narrowed, his smile faltered, and it became abundantly clear that Anthony Lockwood was holding back tears.

“Lockwood,” Lucy said, gently closing the door behind her. “What are you doing in here?”

“I just… needed to think.”

“Okay. I can leave, if you–?”

“No,” Lockwood said quickly. “No. Stay.” And then he added, in a quieter voice, “Please.”

Lucy nodded, and crossed the room to sit by him without another word.

There was a long stretch of silence before Lockwood spoke again. “How did you know I was here?”

“The skull.”

“It’s an eerily observant thing,” he mused. His eyes had been drawn to the window, where soft moonlight shone through the glass and danced on the old, creaky floorboards. Lucy studied his side profile. She’d tried to sketch it countless times, but could never quite get the slight bump at the bridge of his nose, the right fullness of his lips, or the swoop of his eyelashes. He was impossible to copy to paper – though no pencil sketch would ever amount to the real thing anyway.

As she gazed at him, she became aware of a faint light behind them. Lucy looked over her shoulder. That strange glow still hovered above the mattress, on the opposite end to where they currently sat – it was so incredibly faint, barely a whisper of light, but demanded her attention nonetheless. There was enough distance between her and it to put her mind at slight ease, but it still made her queasy to think about it for too long. The drop in temperature as she’d entered had been harsh, and the room was unnervingly still. The four walls around her made no attempts at hiding their death-riddled past.

“It’s safe, don’t worry,” Lockwood said upon noticing her line of sight. “If anything were to come back and wreak havoc, it would have done so by now. That glow…” His voice trailed off as he looked towards it. “I don’t think it’ll ever go away. It’s icy cold, but harmless.”

It took Lucy a moment to put her thoughts into words. “How do you know?”

“I’ve spent considerable time in here. Perhaps” – he took a breath, and pulled his gaze away from the glow – “more time than I should have.”

“You miss her.”

Lockwood smiled. It was downturned and wobbled the tiniest amount before he spoke. “Of course.”

Lucy wasn’t sure of the right way to respond, or if there even was a right way to respond, so she did what Mary always would to comfort her as a young girl.

Slowly, giving Lockwood enough time to pull away should he choose to, she lowered her head to the side, and it came to gently rest on his shoulder.

Lockwood breathed a ragged sigh.

And he lowered his head onto hers.

He didn’t need to say anything; the way he relaxed into the touch told Lucy more than words ever could.

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co fic #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #jessica lockwood #czenzo.fic

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dukeoftheblackstar · 3 months ago

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@the-lonely-human

I hope you don't mind as I am both a Kel Dor ho and an art slut, but..

Of the many accents on Plo's body, I genuinely love the design of the the thing on his head the most. I've seen many artists draw it close to canon and some their own take. But lemme just sjdlaksdjlakdjakl over how cute this is for some reason? Idk if it's the intentional or the fact that it doesn't do the full shape, but it do be fakken cute ♥

FOREHEAD APPRECIATION DAY ♥

I"m already obsessed over the touch you h ave on his eye-piece/protective goggles because this is giving very modern, sci-fi vibe and I am her efor it ;////////; I adore the pointy edges and the added layer of that really brings out the aspect of it being an actual eye-wear ♥

Not to mention the actual holes on the mesh not being symmetrical hits the spot. The ones that are halfway covered by the ring of the goggles are just blesssssss ♥

We appreciate girth in this goddamn house ♥

And now, my favorite part ♥

I apreciate that bolt and screw detail happening on there, specially that little turn on the exposed connector between the fleshy nerve to the mask. I have a thing of always daydreaming about Kel Dor mask maintenance and I am all for disassembling the mask for cleaning or tweaking and this is giving!

The hole under mask is usually a detail not highlighted but I assume that's for consumption or an extra filtering unit. I want to assume it's for at least hydrating. I get that in canon Plo goes 'the force nourishes me' and honetsly, Plo — my darling, beloved husband, sun moon, stars, and galaxy, you're so full of shit ♥. I love you, but drink some damn tea.

Teh point tusks are always a favorite of mine. The sharper the better to be honest. But here, I'm so down for the fact that it's not overwhelmingly long nor is it underwhelmingly short. That slight curve before it expands a little in size at the top part?

That? I love it. I want it. Need it even. Absolutely delicious. Very, very, very nice touch! And the fit? Oh lawd, don't even get me started!

I don't think I'll ever be over the fact that the TCW design made the mask fit a little uncomfortable. And I get it. I get the thing of it having to be snug AF because it's supposed to have that air-tight vibe due to ensuring the mask clips on and does not have oxygen seep through nooks and crannies, but I'm pretty sure if you've reached even the 60 year old mark as a Kel Dor, you'd have found a way to make it a little less oppressing to the skin.

But hey, he's Filoni's baby, so I'm down with it anyhow.

Major big hugs for those who really make it look like he's got it all setup nice, neat, and comfy. I LOVE YOU ♥

That nose area design is killing me. That is so posh and on-brand with how you've really detailed the decandent design of his mask. I'd take it as the Main Air Intake where air actually goes in to be filtered like Vader's Mask:

There's a special place in my heart for those who really keep the detail on his mask when doing art because that's high praise and tribute to mask lore and Kel Dor lineage. This is paying homage to every single Koon in existence that predates Plo.

I KISS YOU FOR THIS ♥

Particularly going feral over this layer too. It's giving very tribal / ritual crafting vibes. It's giving plates being made for a specific purpose before they get reattached as opposed to just one bag stannic plate. It's giving that personal touch of craftsmanship and honestly? Just end me please ;//////////////////////;

Overall, even the curve and thickened lines between his eyes to give that expression going is very nice. The thickness and design you have for the two sensory organs on each of his head is very neat and I'm all for it being compact ♥.

Stunnin piece! Absolutely stunning ♥

Thank you for adding this beautiful piece to the usually quiet Plo Koon / Kel Dor tag ♥. Bless you ♥.

Me wanting to draw Plo Koon again but then realising that that means i have to draw his mask again and screaming into the void

Also for anyone saying to just simplify it, please know that the first time i drew him i specifically told myself to keep it simple and uncomplicated and 40 minutes later came out with THIS

AND YES, 90% OF THE DETAILS WERE EITHER ERASED OR COMPLETELY HIDDEN BY SHADING

#dukeoftheblackstar #plo koon #duchii reviews?#i should really tag these things

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wrongpublishing · 2 years ago

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On Daughtersong, grief, and Toni Morrison: Talking with Carina Solis

by Kimberlee Frederick, Staff Writer.

Carina Solis might be a little bit obsessed with imagining people morphing into fish.

“If there’s one thing I go back to again and again, it’s bodies turning into fish,” she said in the matter-of-fact way that holds the subtext of: it’s out of my hands.

As it turns out, it’s a great obsession for a poet to have when they’re ready to take on the heady task of exploring family narratives, performative femininity, and the cyclical nature of trauma.

Daughtersong (Bottlecap Press, 2023) the 16-year-old writer’s first published collection of poetry, has not one, but two poems that lean into the person-fish transformation (“grief fish” and “i wish we were paper-light”), and neither is expendable. In them, Carina articulates the acuity of pain with searing honesty.

Part of the prowess she demonstrates with the hybrid fish imagery in her poems is explained by the nature of the intrigue itself.

“Fish is delicious, but it’s also scaly and bony, so it needs to be picked apart to separate what you want and what you don’t want. People are like that, too.”

Carina’s eight-poem chapbook thrives under its fearless use of the scaly, the bony, and the consumable. Finding precise balance in the attractive and repulsive, Daughtersong is tight, incisive, and intentional.

And, to be clear, Carina’s interest in human-fish chimera is merely a gateway to what seems like an endless cache of gooey, creeping, pulsing words to illustrate what almost feels like a taxonomy of grief: scabs carved into skin, rice-filled teeth, splintered spines. She’s left room for the mingling of the concrete and the incorporeal–a chance to see our grief, trauma, and despair in shapes that are as viscerally disgusting as the feelings themselves.

Unsurprisingly, the writer behind these poems has a penchant for dark humor. She’s also authentic, quick-witted, and vulnerable, but she’s hoping you won’t notice those things anywhere besides her poems.

In fairness to her, let’s clarify that it’s an assertion she’s quick to dismiss: “No, no, I’m not like that–I keep all that in my poems, so I can stay sarcastic.”

It’s true that she’s a quick draw when it comes to quips–especially when they’re about herself. She has a backlist of jokes about being short (“I’m five-almost-one”); she knows that being the first to joke about her ambition to major in English when she starts college this year is the only way to head off that inevitable holiday-table-criticism of the humanities (“Why be basic when you could be a broke English major?!); she balances the acknowledgement of how far her writing has come in the past year with self-deprecating summaries of her craft (“If there’s one thing I’m doing, it’s writing mind-boggling trash”).

And still, despite her deadpan wit and ironic vocal inflections (she’ll make the bleakest pronouncements with just a little upspeak, and between her timing and natural charisma, it’s just plain funny), Carina’s sincerity seeps through both her writing and her real-time persona.

***

Talking to Carina, it’s clear that grief isn’t simply a topic rife with poetic possibility. It’s more like she’s turning grief inside out to examine it under different light sources, see the shadows it can cast. The subject came up a few times throughout our conversation, like it was its own source of emotional gravity.

The first time was when I wanted to talk about how the table of contents for the collection feels like its own, haiku-esque poem because it delivers such clear movement: “how it feels to begin” into “growing pains”; “motherhood at the supermarket” into “what a body can get used to.” It’s a metanarrative introducing the eight pieces of a larger story, and it stabilizes the collection beautifully.

“That progression was very intentional,” Carina said. “We start with me, move onto my family, my past, and then end with me again.”

It’s an approach that works well for the collection, and one that illustrates the relentless curiosity Carina has about this most pervasive emotions.

“I don’t want you to stay on me–I want you to look at my father and look at my mother and look at everyone. I want you to just continue being in this cycle, and then it will just–end. I want it to be punchy and sudden.”

“Punchy and sudden” governs so much of Carina’s writing here. We talked about how she framed the collection with the last lines of the first poem and the final poem:

From “how it feels to begin”, the first poem in Daughtersong:

razored mouth and beg to be hallowed, over and over

From “what a body can get used to”, the final poem in Daughtersong

absence, again and again.

“That was the only purposeful thing I did,” Carina said. “‘Over and over’ and ‘again and again.’”

Purposeful, undoubtedly. The repetition and bookending do so much work here, demonstrating the lack of linearity in family relationships, in the relationship with oneself, in the process of grieving. But with a collection full to the brim with precise language, neon-vivid images, and cutting turns of phrase, it’s hard not to argue with her assessment that the order of the poems is the “only” intentional thing about the book.

Perhaps intentionally, we edged back from the brink of a larger conversation about grief after that. It didn’t come up again until later, when Carina declared that she’s a Sad Poet–said in that way a person does where they enunciate the proper noun capitalization and the trademark symbol. It was an off-hand joke, I think, but true, too: she’s determined to write into difficult feelings.

“I experience a lot of joy,” Carina said, “and I have the general goal of being happy more than I’m sad, like everyone does.

But–maybe this is weird–joy isn’t for me to write about. Joy should be lived and experienced fully. I don’t want to dwell and assess my joy to figure out how I’m going to write about it. I don’t want my joy to be analyzed. I just want it to be there.”

Grief is a different animal, though. “Grief is easier to express in writing. Grief is something that makes me want to be productive.” She paused for a second before finishing her thought, notable because Carina doesn’t leave extraneous space between her ideas: “I’m writing to cleanse it.”

***

Carina has been writing her entire life, but her dedication to exploration and development of her poetic voice is new–like, summer 2022 kind of new.

How is it that a writer with such a recently honed focus on poetry has seen recognition from a pile of award granters for young writers (including the The New York Times) and also assembled and published a chapbook with a long list of accolades?

Part of the answer is that she’s taken every workshop opportunity and learning experience possible.

“I got really into writing when I participated in Ellipsis [an advanced poetry workshop for high schoolers], and I’m writing a lot right now because I’m doing Kenyon Young Writers [a prestigious high school writers workshop] as well as Girls Write Now [a multigenerational writing mentorship program].”

Certainly the active work she’s doing to develop her writing factors into her early success, combined with a natural proclivity for poetry.

But after hearing her process of kindling her desire to create a writer’s life for herself, I have to conclude that a huge factor in Carina’s success is that it never occurred to her that there was any reason she shouldn’t pursue writing as ardently as she has.

And, my god, does that not feel like a straight shot of hope for the future of arts and letters? The number of creatives whose light I witnessed die out at precisely the age Carina is finding hers weighs on me; but Carina–although always armed with dagger-sharp self-deprecation and a dose of gallows humor–feels like a sigh of relief, a reminder that creative vigor does not have an expiration date set for the end of youth.

An interesting fact came up when I asked Carina what her favorite poem is in Daughtersong.

“A lot of people have told me that their favorite poem is ‘grief fish.’ That might be my favorite, too. But my favorite thing in the book is the Toni Morrison quote at the start.”

The epigraph Carina chose is from Morrison’s The Bluest Eye: “Love is never any better than the lover.”

“I reference The Bluest Eye so much when I’m writing, it’s so poetic. Oh, and she started writing at, like, 32. I can't believe she kept all that talent underneath her for 30 years!”

And when that’s the reaction to Morrison’s fairly late entry onto the scene–the utter shock–it suddenly makes perfect sense that embracing passion early and vociferously is the only reasonable path. Carina’s face was animated by the indignation that Morrison’s talent could go undiscovered for so long, and my first thought was, we should be so lucky to see that expression on the face of every teenager we meet.

***

There’s a lot coming up for Carina. She’s applied to some residences for later in 2023. College is on the horizon. But she has a measured approach for the future of her writing.

“I’m taking my time. I’m writing a ton because of the workshops I’m doing, but I don’t have plans for it yet. Maybe there will be another collection. Maybe it’ll just be for me.”

***

You can purchase Daughtersong now as a paperback or digital copy. Follow Carina on Twitter and check out her website for more information about where she’s published.

#interview #author interview #poetry #teen poet #teen poetry #poetry book #poetry chapbook #toni morrison #grief poetry #review

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thehollowwriter · 3 months ago

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A Different Kind Of Love