#I wrote a poem in my mind earlier

[anelegaicmind]

I need to stand in a river and feel the cold water flow through me.

[pallases]

okay i lied abt being done going thru old things ive spent the last like hour and a half clearing out my drawers bc they are a MESS and i found a “song book” of mine and it gets dark so unnervingly fast

[roaringroa]

me, busy? oh not really, just staring lovingly at the drawing my girlfriend made of us for valentines day while i handmake a card with a poem i wrote about her

[gojosprettyprincess]

A/n wrote this at 5am so I apologize for any errors! <3 also it's poorly written but I hope you guys still like it.

Yk what fucking drives me crazy the most?

Sweet innocent looking men that treats you so well, I'm talking like he writes you cute poems, follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy and gets all flustered and shy when you want to go to Victoria secret to get new bras and panties but he still goes in with you anyways with his hand clinging onto your arm instead of just leaving because anything for you, the way his face melts into your hand whenever you'd cup his cheeks, looking at you with those innocent puppy dog eyes then he kisses your hand. Like he's just such a cutie you know? He'd let you do his makeup and let you baby him and feed him. Literally just anything you want he'd do it and lets you do. Whatever makes you happy.

And that same sweet innocent guy would have you against the wall, his strong arms holding you up, fingers digging into the soft flesh of your thighs as he slams his hips against you, each thrust pushing you higher against the wall as he let you drop back down on his fat cock after, and he's even noisier than you are, loud whimpers and groans escaping his lips as he looks at your face, feeling satisfied and happy that his thick cock is the reason for your cute fucked out expression and sweet moans that are like music to his ears. Your nails leaving long red marks on his shoulders and back that he's sooo proud of having, he loves it when you do that, it's like a reward to him for making you feel good. His big strong arms pressing your legs back even further up as your knees raised up by your shoulders, giving him a deeper angle as his cock brushed against the right spots inside you that made you see stars to the point where you can't even think straight.

"O-oh fuck! baby, need you to cum ple-ase, fuck! please, wanna see you make a mess on my cock please I'm begging you princess", his voice cracks as he whimpers it out to you. The sweet and innocent needy tone in his voice compared to his rough pounding like he fucking hates you and had to prove it was all it took for you to cream around him, nails digging deeply into his back as he's practically making out with your neck, kissing and sucking on the tender flesh, leaving a bunch of purple and red marks that's definitely going to make him all fluttered and shy when he sees them in a few hours, remembering about what happened earlier. His eyes rolling back as he feels you coating his cock with your cum and dripping all over him.

"Ngh! Oh fuck, Tha-nk you! Thank you so much, gon-na cum!". He cries out. Your toes curling as he sped up his pace, hammering his cock in a reckless pace into your poor cunt, his thick cock head kissing your cervix with each one of his deep thrusts as he greedily chases his orgasm. He made sure to have his cock so deep inside of you to the hilt so he can fill you up full of his cum as he painted your tight walls white, thick ropes of cum spurting out of his cock, stuffing your hungry cunt full as he lets out a shaky groan while planting his face in your neck. He starts breathing heavily, panting against your neck as you felt his cock twitching inside of you. And you know what? He slowly pulls it out of you, being sooo careful that he doesn't spill any cum as he grips on your thighs even tighter before getting on his knees and eating all of his cum out of your filthy stuffed cunt like the good boy he is, after all its his mess and well, yours also but he doesn't mind! he just wants to make it easier for you to clean you know? :(

Choso, Izuku, Armin, Toge, Zentisu, Kirishima, Yuuji, Kaneki.

[hunxi-guilai]

so I know that a lot of chinese names are references to specific poems. Is there a way to determine this (vs general auspicious meaning) and which poem specifically? I'd love to be able to figure this out for character names and I haven't been able to find any resources (in case it's helpful, I'd say I'm my understanding is maybe HSK4-level so I can clumsily make my way through the chinese internet with the help of a dictionary)

feel free to make this public so that others can benefit if you have any suggestions

oof... unfortunately I suspect that this, along with one's repertoire of chengyu, is something that one simply Just Learns with reading more. my personal repertoire of poetry is embarrassingly thin, so the horrible horrible process I've been going through is, well, throwing the name into a search bar and hoping for the best.

here's an example of how I (think I) went about doing this for Xiao Xingchen's name, way back when I wrote this post:

I went ahead and dropped "星尘 诗词" ("Xingchen poetry") into the search bar, which turned up this:

Generally speaking, I'll only put the name (minus the surname) because putting the character's full name into a search bar will probably turn up the character themselves, and if someone's name is being derived from a poem, it's usually independent of the surname anyway.

Xiao Xingchen's name is an interesting example because it doesn't quite come from a poem, but it doesn't not come from a poem. you can see that the search engine has automatically assumed that I am looking for poems about constellations, as "星辰" and "星尘" are homonyms, and one of these is more commonly seen. I usually consider that a solid indication that "星尘" (the name) is a novel formation of characters in a name, and not likely a poetic reference.

but! in for a penny, etc. I'm a huge fan of the first search result, gushicimingju, since it's a solid database of poetry and some prose. clicking into that listing informs me that gushicimingju is turning up. oh my. 119 possible matches:

note that these are matches for "星辰" (constellation), not actually our character's name. still! you can click in and peruse the selection if you'd like.

now that you're on gushicimingju's site, you can also use the search function within the site to search for more exact matches, without worrying that you'll accidentally activate the fandom itself.

looks like there's a few matches for "晓星," but nothing for the full name.

so! gushicimingju is a solid database I like to refer to most of the time. if for some reason I'm feeling particularly academically rigorous, I might also do some searches on ctext as sometimes names will come out of famous turns of phrases (a la Zhao Yun 赵云 / Zhao Zilong 赵子龙 from that post I linked earlier) rather than poems. searching the dictionary sometimes (Pleco, or zdic) doesn't hurt either. basically, I throw spaghetti at the search engine wall to see what results come back for these characters in this particular order to try and get the original referent (if any) to show up; I'll probably give up after a few permutations of search terms if nothing is actively jumping out at me

but back to the search results: sometimes, if your character is famous enough, straight up searching for "what poem is this character's name from?" will help you find like-minded people on baidu zhidao (basically yahoo answers):

although of course, take baidu zhidao result with all of the salt you would take with any yahoo answers (look for alternate sources to validate, good for a laugh most of the time)

best of luck!

[mia-nina-lilly]

Before, I didn't think it was necessary to have to list every good deed of Tamlin to make a defense of the character; I thought that showing the underlying motivations behind his actions was (and should indeed be) enough for people to understand my point of view, but apparently, I really do need to, Especially when it involves Rhysand and a comparison between the two.

Basically, fans of ACOTAR, and fans of Rhysand in particular, have come to associate anything bad with Tamlin, and everything good with Rhysand, even if that's not necessarily true. For example, earlier I saw a video where the character captioned as Tamlin said something like "You don't have to accept her no...," and I believe I don't need to explain the context. The character captioned as Rhysand obviously condemned the speech.

Well, I don't need to say here who did what to whom, do I? However, somehow, over time, things about Tamlin have reversed to the point where people simply erased from their minds anything remotely positive about him, and suddenly, he embodies all the absurdities that our society condemns, and of course, this happens because of the author, who despite everything, insists on shoving Feyre's distorted view (actually, Rhysand's view) down our throats.

I've been seeing a rollercoaster of videos, especially on TikTok, where Tamlin is completely despised. The last one that made me most furious implied that Tamlin wanted to keep Feyre illiterate, and that Rhysand was the only one to help her with literacy, when in fact Tamlin offered her help numerous times, and the idea of the poem he wrote for her was precisely to alleviate the difficulty she was experiencing with the task, but even that is ridiculed... because "Oh my god, he gave a poem to a girl who couldn't read. How dumb!"

I come to the conclusion that a good portion of the fandom has undergone a brainwashing due to the strength of the group's hatred towards the character, feeding into each other. In other words, people produced hate content, consumed it, and then produced more. It's pointless to even list Tamlin's many good deeds because no matter what he does, it will always be wrong, which means that even a redemption arc, which in my opinion wouldn't be the case, would be enough to stop this, because people have already solidified this view and won't stop

[sttoru]

DON’T STOP.

༄ sypnosis. you ramble about one of your recent adventures while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap as he’s working.

༄ note. small and quick fic i wrote inspired by an arabic poem: “don’t shorten your speech, i love your details.” by zaid al hourani. didn’t re-read it. repost.

༄ tags. al-haitham x female reader. just fluff, bits of angst and comfort.

“so then, i walked up towards the cave and you won’t even guess what i saw..”

you were rambling about your recent adventure out in the deserts of sumeru while sitting on your boyfriend’s lap. al-haitham was at his desk in his study, busy scanning through the stack of papers and scrolls in front of him.

you’d told him earlier that you could just leave him alone if he needed some space to finish his work, however al-haitham insisted that you’d stay with him.

as much as he didn’t want to admit it out loud, he loved having you near him in any type of way. it’s somehow comforting and it takes his mind off of all the stress he’s having about his work as the akademiya’s scribe.

you continue to happily tell your tale while your eyes were focused on al-haitham’s face. however most of the time his eyes wouldn’t look back at yours at all— not even sparing you a quick glance.

al-haitham’s distant gaze was solely focused on the words that were written down on the papers before him.

he was silent and only nodded or hummed ever so slightly while you talked to him. gradually, your boyfriend stopped those small reactions all together.

it left you with a weird, tinge of disappointment in your chest. of course, you hadn’t expected al-haitham to full out react to your story since he was busy. plus, he usually doesn’t give too big of a reaction anyway.

you still felt like a nuisance for sitting on his lap as he worked, even though al-haitham verbally asked you to stay with him earlier.

you hadn’t noticed that your voice was trailing off the more you got lost in thought, yet al-haitham was quick to realise.

it didn’t look like it to you, but your boyfriend had been listening all along. he was skilled at multi-tasking and especially at the moment, where it came to dividing his attention between you and his work.

“keep going, love.” the scribe finally replies with the slightest of a smile as he keeps reading the contents of the document, “i promise, i’m listening.”

one of his hands move to hold onto yours. his thumb rubs over the skin of your palm, fingers slowly massaging the flesh. it was his indirect way of comforting you.

you smile softly at al-haitham’s words and actions before continuing your story. despite it all, you decided to keep the unnecessary details out of the way and focus on finishing your words as soon as possible so al-haitham could complete his duties afterwards.

“my love.”

your boyfriend’s voice interrupts you mid-sentence and you stop talking to look at him with a puzzled expression, “yeah?”

al-haitham sighs softly, putting his pen down and pushing the papers to the side for the time being. your heart felt like it stopped and your stomach dropped; did he want you to stop? does he finally find your rambling too distracting?

“you’re cutting the details.” the scribe says as he gently puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

“huh?” your eyes widen at his words. you didn’t even know how he caught up on such a minor thing.

al-haitham brings your hand up to his lips and places a few delicate kisses on each of your knuckles. his warm breath on your skin and the affectionate glimmer in his eyes as he finally looked back at you were almost too much to bear.

“please, do not shorten your speech, my dearest.” he whispers, moving his lips up to kiss each of your fingertips. “speak your mind. i promise that i will be here to listen to every word you utter.”

it was in that moment that you realised that al-haitham had been paying full attention to your words this entire time. it couldn’t be otherwise since he easily figured out that you were leaving out details.

al-haitham slowly adjusted you on his lap by holding onto your hips and bringing your body closer to his— your back pressed against his chest.

“can you do that for me?” he eventually adds, looking at your eyes and then at your other facial features which he fancies equally.

to say that you were flustered by the sudden attention from your boyfriend was quite an understatement, though either way, you nodded.

“y- yeah, sure. i will.” you manage to get those words out before clearing your throat.

al-haitham smiles softly at this and places a soft kiss on your cheek. “there’s my girl. thank you.”

your boyfriend then continues to pick up his pen again while his other hand stays on your waist. his fingers absentmindedly play with the fabric of the clothes you’re wearing.

you pick up your story from where you had left it at; this time recalling it without any details missing— just how your boyfriend likes it.

[tillthelandslide]

Insufferable Arsehole Part 15: You

A/n: hi everyone! Feels so surreal to say but this is the penultimate chapter of insufferable arsehole *cries*. I love this series so much so please feel free to send in any requests you want to see from these characters. But the main series is nearly over *sobs*. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I love you all so much and thank you for all your support <3. I want to give a massive shout out to @ughgoaway and @justanamesstuff for loving this series as much as I do. Without all of your support (but especially my loving ia stans) this series would've been over a long time ago. I love you guys so much. Hope you enjoy <3

Extra note: I wrote all the little poems in the notebook part of this series. They're all original (whether you think they're shit or you like them) please don't copy them.

Previous Part

Series Masterlist

Matty’s POV

The sofa I'm lying on feels way too comfortable, the warmth of it making it hard for me to get up. It’s soft beneath me and it lures me into closing my eyes.  I have things I need to do, I have people I need to call, meetings I need to attend, friends I need to make sure are okay, set lists to read and adjust. A wonderful and loving girlfriend who I need to show my love for. But lying here, listening to the soft strum of the guitar she's playing has my closed eyes fluttering and my body weighing down on the sofa. I don't fall asleep, I just lie with my eyes closed, letting her voice drift over me - consume me.

I had moments like these, moments where I felt... Numb. But she pulls me out of them, or at least fills my body with something other than numbness, she touches the parts that can't usually be persuaded on days like these. These moments were few and far between with the presence of Lou in my life and somehow it makes this time worse. I feel guilty for feeling this way, for feeling low, for slipping into a dark space. I shouldn’t be feeling like this, I had a wonderful girlfriend, I was finally with the girl meant for me. And I had friends, great friends who were more like family. I had adoring fans and I did what I felt like I was meant to for a living. Life was perfect… So why did I feel so unworthy of it all?

It had started earlier this morning when I had snapped at one of the music techs, I hadn't meant to and I felt guilty as soon as I did it. Her warm hand clamped around my shoulder almost immediately, telling me to go lie down and so I did. I heard her apologise for my actions, explaining that I was 'tired'. I felt thankful she didn't tell the guy the real reason. The guys understood it, maybe even more than Lou, so when she spoke to them before she came back to me, they got it. Jamie had once described me as someone with a huge ego but no self worth, in moments like these, I had to agree. 

The sound of the guitar stops and I hear her set it down, I hear the shuffle of the foot stall, feel a light bump against the side of the sofa, feel her soft hand drifting up my back, up to my neck and then my head, pushing the curls away and making my eyes flutter open.

My heart beat falters, my breath matching it, her beautiful eyes look down at me, soothing me. It was hard to describe them, they were ever changing. I wouldn't say they were green, but they weren't blue or grey either, it was as if those colours alone weren't enough for someone like Lou, they weren't special or unique so whoever created her (I don't believe in God but some greater being had to create a person like her) decided to make a new colour, a combination of all things beautiful. They had hints of grey and specs of yellow and sometimes the sun made them look piercingly blue but the sun could also make them look like emeralds. They were perfect, one look into them and I can feel myself slipping from the dark spaces of my mind. 

"Hi my sweet boy" it surprises me that I don't have to tell her what I need from her in times like these, she just got it. As if she had access to all parts of my brain, able to peek in and see what I needed and having the ability to just give it to me without a shred of hesitation or an ulterior motive. It shouldn’t surprise me, not anymore, not when I knew she was it for me, the only one I ever want to be with, to spend the rest of my life with. The person who was mine and I theirs.

"Hi" I don't recognise the voice that comes from me, a low, deep grumble of a sad man. One that felt like a distant memory, the voice of someone I used to know, not the person I am now.

"I want to show you something" she says and I find myself nodding, she places her black leather notebook in my lap and I find my heart beating three times as hard as I look at it. She had never shown me this before, showing someone this is like showing them your deepest thoughts and emotions, baring your soul to them. I had watched her scribble in it countless times, I had watched as she wrote lyrics that pulled her lips up at the corners, I had watched as she scribbled down angrily, tears falling from her eyes and coating the pages. 

I remember the only time I had come close to reading the lyrics, pinning her down to a hotel bed in some forgotten location, tickling her sides until the book slipped from her fingertips, holding the pages above her head just out of reach as our laughter was all that could be heard. I remember the way she begged me to give it back, of course I would never have read it without her permission. I remember her pleas made me drop the book and bury my face into her neck. She made me forget about the lyrics easily, too wrapped up in her to care about them. 

"Are you sure?" I ask, sitting up slightly so my back is against the armrest of the sofa, pulling the book towards me and playing with the frayed edges. She smiles at me, her hand resting against my jaw, her thumb running over her bone, making my eyes flutter momentarily.

"Sometimes I think you forget how much you mean to people, you forget how much people love you... And not just me, the band and the crew, your family, my family, the fans... Of course I can only speak for myself... So I want you to read this" she speaks, voice soft and delicate. Beautiful.

I want to speak. To tell her I love her. To thank her. I want to smile. To press my lips against hers. But my eyes won't leave the book.

"most of them aren't finished... They're not songs... They're just things I wrote, little poems" she says and I nod, looking up from the book.

"I love you Matty" she says, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to my forehead before leaving me. It takes a while for me to open the book, scared of what I'll find. My shaky hands eventually separate the cover from the first page.

I find a few I recognise, like the one she posted on Instagram, the one I loved:

"I'd stay with you here forever, you with those dark eyes and darker hair, the epitome of beauty, you put Adonis to shame, with the way you paint my brain, with everything that is you, you with those dark eyes and darker hair. The epitome of beauty."

Her handwriting is delicate, cursive and, for a lack of a better word, beautiful. I'm not surprised because everything she does is beauty. She is beauty.

I flick through the pages, little photos taped to the corners or wedged in, the photos make my heart swell. Photos of her and G, one in particular making me smile: a photo of Lou sitting on George's shoulders, looking as if she was scared to fall down, but she's laughing and so is George and his hands are clamped on her thighs that rest around his head ensuring she doesn't fall. A picture of her and Ross, pulling funny faces at each other, they both look younger, Ross’ hair is short and Lou’s is too, I wish I had her like that back then, even now, even still - I regret the time we lost.  I find a picture she took of me, her thighs resting either side of my waist as she takes a photo from above, I feel like a different person than the one smiling up at me. I see another one taken in a photo booth, one where we're kissing, it makes me smile.

I read on, my heart slowly being refilled with love and beauty and kindness and feeling.

I could bask in you for endless days and endless nights. For you are the sun that shines and glistens. For you are the one that warms my once cold heart and bones.

You're the sun in winter, warming up bones and creating smiles. You're rain on a summer's day, soaking the sweat away. You're all things good and kind and lovely. You're love and sex and beauty. You're the definition of passion. Cigarettes and coffee and fresh and home. You're my favourite scent. My favourite sound. My favourite sight. My favourite thought. My favourite feeling. You touch me and I feel you everywhere. Burying into my being. You're mine. My favourite scent. Cigarettes, coffee, fresh, home. My home.

I loved the complexity of some but simply adored the simplicity of others. Reading the ones which don't hide behind metaphors, they're purer somehow.

Pain engraved my brain. Hurt twisted through my mind. Envy soaked through my eyes. You appeared , all those emotions vanished. I began to love the way you loved me. I found myself loving you more. I used to hate you, I hated hating you. I love you now, I love loving you and  I love you loving me.

I smile, a huge smile and I feel it seep through my bones, warming my cold body, feeling finally flooding back in.

Red lips and brown eyes. Black curls and tattooed skin. I'd like to paint in you in my mind so I could have you here forever

The few words are the only ones on this particular page, the rest is filled with pictures of us, a picture of the M necklace I gave her, a picture of my marked neck, her marks. There's a picture of us kissing, ones in which any other circumstance would cause my skin to heat up and my blood to rush south. There’s sweet pictures too, of us in Rome, our hands intertwined, pictures of our tattoos we got together. 

The ropes within unwind under your command. Just say the word and I'll follow you to the ends of the earth.

Matty is sun kissed cheeks on summer days, cherry blossom on withered ground, swirling clouds amongst technicolour skies.

I turn the page and a larger piece of paper falls out, I unfold it carefully, taking my time in reading the words I find on the page:

Dear George,

I’m writing to you from Rome. Seems a bit weird to be writing you a letter knowing I’m going to be seeing you soon. Was feeling nostalgic I guess… Remember the days when we were both on tour and we’d write these big long letters to each other from wherever in the world we were. It was such a pain trying to make sure they were sent to you before you left that city or town. I remember us arguing one day because Jamie had complained about the amount of money he kept having to spend to retrieve the letters when had arrived a little too late. Grumpy sod.

Anyway, you’d usually write about how the tour was going, how Matty had been getting on your nerves. I always wondered whether you just said that to make me feel better for not getting on with your best friend. You’d send me pictures of you with Ross and Hann and I’d send you pictures of me and the girls (usually receiving a text from you or Macdonald after that made me want to hit you around the head - pervs)

Strange how different things seem now. Like now for instance - I'm writing this, by the pool (this place is fucking huge, you and Charli would love it here), Matty’s napping next to me. He’s sleeping with this dopey grin and… I love him George. So much. Please don’t try to cringe too much reading this. His skin isn’t as pale anymore. Shock right? Our pale boy has a tan!

 I want to thank you G. Thank you for everything. You’ve been the best friend I could have ever asked for… but thank you for bringing me him. Matty is everything George. The way he loves me is nothing I have ever felt before. I know now that everything up until now is worth it because now I have him.

I can’t help but wonder how I ever could have hated him. He cares so deeply for every one G… sometimes I wonder if it's too much, if he’s going to get hurt in the end. But that’s okay. Because he has me. And he has you and the boys. And together we love him deeply (still probably half as much as he loves us). I’m going to spend every day of my life proving to him that he is worthy.

So thank you George. He’s the love of my life. He owns my heart, now and forever. 

Your best friend - Lou x

My heart picks up in my chest, I love her, more than anyone I have ever loved in my life. I feel tears fall from my eyes, coating my cheeks. I swipe them away before they have a chance to hit the pages. 

But you... It was different with you

That's my favourite, my fingers find the page and I carefully tear the page out, I fold it gently and tuck it into my pocket.

I stand from the sofa, feeling weightless now, feeling love for her in every fibre of my being. I walk around the venue, trying to find her. I find George who smiles at me widely.

"glad to see you perked up a bit" he says with a hand to my shoulder.

"Where's Lou?" My abruptness takes him back but it doesn't stop him from answering. I appreciate that.

"She's with your mum in the kitchen, they're baking" George clearly sees my shocked face and he chuckles "yeah your mum is here" I hug him tightly before I leave him, heading for the kitchen.

My legs move too quickly for my brain to register but I don't care, I need to find her. My mum spots me before Lou does and she smiles widely.

"Hello Matthew, feeling any better?" She asks, Lou looks up at me as she finishes speaking.

"Explained to your mum that you were feeling a little tired" Lou explains and I nod, smiling at her.

"Much better mum, thank you" I say leaning down to place a peck against her cheek.

Lou's hands are covered in flour and it makes me smile. I squeeze past my mother with a gentle "excuse me" . My hands find Lou's waist and I hitch her up, making her smile.

"Matty put the poor woman down" my mother scolds me but I don't stop. Lou's hands find my shoulders as she feels like she's going to fall.

"I've got flour on your shirt now idiot" she says but she's still smiling. She looks down at me and I see everything in her eyes, every emotion, every indication that she loves me. I love her, god do I love you. 

"I don't care, come here" I say, one hand finding her chin and lightly pulling her towards me.

"Matty, your mum" she says, eyes flicking over my shoulder to my mum who giggles to herself, busying herself with the baking..

"I. Don't. Care" I say with the widest smile I think has ever graced my features.

"What has gotten into you?" She asks, smiling widely. Her eyes sparkle. God she's beautiful.

"I love you Lou, so much, you're everything. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you, if that's okay with you" I say, I hear my mum coo behind us and Lou smiles above me, her legs wrapping around my waist to support herself more.

"Fine with me Healy" she says, leaning down to press her lips against mine finally. The kiss is kept short to save my mother seeing us in a compromising position.

"But you, it was different with you" I repeat her own words back to her and she nods.

"Yeah..." She says and I see her eyes well with tears, I feel myself copying her, placing her back on the floor but moving my head down to kiss her again. I hold her to my side as I turn to my mother.

"I'll leave you both to bake," I say, pressing a firm kiss to her cheek, smiling at my mother. .

"Okay" she says with a smile. I hug my mum tightly before I walk out, but I don't miss my mother's words

"That boy is obsessed with you, I've never ever known him to love someone as much as you" she says.

"Trust me, the same goes for him. I'd do anything for him" Lou's words make me smile and so I continue walking.

I find George again, happy to find him with Hann and Ross.

"Good you're all here" I say, drawing their attention towards me.

"Everything okay mate?" Ross asks and I smile as I nod.

"I need your help"

"Anything," George says.

"I'm going to ask Lou to marry me" they all smile widely at me, I like that. My eyes flick to George’s. He seems expressionless for a second.

“If that’s okay with you” I ask, I see George’s lip quiver slightly and his fingers grip his bottom lip as he nods. I see tears coat his eyes as he steps forward, grabbing my hand in his and pulling me forward into a hug.

“Fuck yeah” I find myself crying too. I feel two more sets of arms wrapping around us. I smile.

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @promocodesorry75 @eaglestar31 @thefrontofmymind @fallingforel @partoftheairforce @procrastinatinglikeapro @poisonmedaddy13 @xthe1975 @all-things-fic @jstbeeingme @rossgirly @juliardk @you-muppet @moodyyyychickx @k4tie75 @insidemymind19 @zzzhealy @maybeiwouldlikeyou @at-her-very-foreign @not-alien-girl-v @sinarainbows @friedlandblog @momentum2023 @youlooklikeshitandyousmellabit @Inhalerbea (add yourself using the link in my bio 😊, those with a line through are the ones i couldn’t tag)

[babybemydownfall]

things that shimmer in the dark Part IV: Rhys ( Part III ) There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be.  AKA An all night love-fest in the Archeron manor. Definitely NSFW. Read on AO3 or under the cut below. (Also, I only recently realised that my avatar, which comes from a poem by Iain S Thomas and which I've had for 10+ years, is Rhysand: There you are. I've been looking for you. How spooky.)

II

By the time we retired to bed after finalising our letter to the Queens, it was gone midnight. Feyre was tense and exhausted. I’d felt her all afternoon and evening, her shield weak, her emotions pouring out across our bond. She’d been anxious and angry; frustrated and forgiving. And whenever she looked at me, she burned.

I had worn a mask all my life, ingrained in me from a young age. And I had very rarely let it slip, despite times when I’d felt overwhelming rage or fear or despair. But it turned out that the most powerful distraction of all was lust. Whenever Feyre turned her beautiful blue-grey eyes on me, I struggled to stay composed, to keep my expression neutral and my breathing even. When her awful oldest sister questioned whether she was too good for human food anymore and Feyre replied that she could eat, drink, fuck and fight even better than before, my fork clanged to my plate as everything inside me went taut with desire. I wanted her so badly, so immediately, that it took every ounce of my willpower not to grab her and winnow us straight back to my house.

And later, as we wrote and rewrote the damned letter, the four of us arguing over each word and punctuation mark, her closeness was certainly a hindrance. When she leaned in to read what I’d written, I felt her long hair brushing my neck; the curve of her breast against my arm. The scent of her skin, of her arousal, was intoxicating. I would not let Cass and Azriel suspect a thing but whenever I was sure they weren’t looking, I touched her as much as I dared - my finger brushing hers on the page; my thigh shifting on my chair so it pressed against her knee. I loved the way her body reacted: a soft, short inhale; a pulse of longing down the bond.

I found myself thinking multiple times that I was so glad we had had each other in the kitchen earlier. I couldn’t imagine how difficult the rest of the day would have been without that release. And I had meant what I’d said to her there: this thing between us was a bad idea, but I just couldn’t stop myself. I had spent the previous day avoiding her, my mind constantly churning over what I should do. Getting drunk hadn’t helped - I only ended up sad and missing her. I had barely slept afterwards, thanks to the alcohol and my racing thoughts and the memories of our first morning together which left me with a very persistent erection.

When she found me in the kitchen, I still didn’t know what the right thing to do was. But as soon as I scented her, when I saw how fucking stunning she looked and how she went slack with longing for me, I realised there was no actual choice here. I couldn’t just bare myself to her - literally and emotionally - and simply walk away. She was my mate. This was bigger than both of us: it was what the Cauldron had destined; a bond more sacred and permanent than any other. It was inescapable. Undeniable. And Feyre didn’t know the truth, but I knew she felt it too: that we were something extraordinary.

And now, finally, we were alone together once again. She hadn’t reacted when I’d said we would share a room - a room I had immediately shielded, to keep loud sounds in and bad things out. But she did turn to me in surprise when I made my own bed appear and sat down on it.

“What are you doing?”

I looked up at her, still dressed in her stunning turquoise outfit. She wore it like she belonged in the Night Court. Or perhaps it wore her. It wanted her - just as I did.

“Being on my best behaviour,” I replied evenly. “We’re in your father’s house. I didn’t know if you’d want to…”

“I’ve spent all evening trying to keep my hands off you. And now you don’t want to touch me?”

She sounded like she was annoyed with me, which made me smile. “Oh, I do want to touch you, Feyre darling.” My voice was low. “Every single inch of you.”

There was a fire crackling in the hearth across the room and it shone in her dark eyes, in the golden waves of her hair. I leaned back on my outstretched arms and her gaze travelled down my body. I was still fully dressed but she knew what lay beneath now; and if I hadn’t been wearing black, she would have been able to see my cock rise in my pants.

“The last time I was in this house,” she said quietly, “I left to run after Tamlin. To go under the mountain and save him. And yet here I am, barely any time later… with you.” She tugged at her sleeve, looking around the room. “That’s wrong, isn’t it?”

I waited until her eyes met mine again. She seemed so vulnerable, so young all of a sudden. “I don’t think it is,” I told her honestly. “I don’t think time is what matters, in our case.”

“Then what does matter?”

I held out my hand. “Come here.”

Slowly she moved towards me and took it, standing between my legs. I may as well have been kneeling before her again, such was her position of power over me right now.

“What matters, Feyre, is how you feel. What makes you happy. What helps you heal. And I think I can speak to that, because you are all those things for me. Already.”

I felt her tremble in front of me. She was scared. And I knew why - but I couldn’t hide the depth of my feelings from her. I didn’t want to.

“Why does this seem so… inevitable?” she whispered.

Because I am your mate.

I could have told her then. No doubt it would have helped ease the guilt she still carried over Tamlin, the confusion she felt over us. But this was not the place: not in the human lands, in her family home; not when there was danger out there, lurking beyond my Court’s protection. And not when it meant I would have to face her rejection - because she wasn’t ready yet. Wasn’t healed, wasn’t strong enough. And neither was I, to have her push me away.

For now I would take whatever she was willing to give - her friendship, her smiles, her body - and not think too far into the future. As she had so wisely said: we might all die soon. And I would be a fool not to enjoy every moment with her, because I had known from the second I first saw her that she was the light in my eternal darkness.

Instead of saying any of that, I lifted my hands to her hips and guided her to straddle my lap. She did so without hesitation, settling halfway along my thighs - not near enough to feel how hard I was for her. Not yet. But having her this close, all to myself behind a locked door, I felt my soul sigh.

There you are. I’ve been looking for you.

“Perhaps it is inevitable,” I said softly. “The question is, what do you want to do about it? You are in charge here. I will follow your lead.”

I had never uttered those words before, outside of battle when I fell in line behind my commander. But I trusted Feyre with everything I was. I saw her, with all her broken pieces and her courageous human heart and the magic she contained which had nothing to do with her powers. I wanted it all.

And she wanted me too. It was in her beautiful eyes; written all over her face. I couldn’t stop myself from leaning in and pressing a lingering kiss to the side of her neck. I felt her body melt in my arms, her head tilting back. My name rose from her lips to the ceiling, like a prayer.

“Rhys.”

I kissed her there again, the scent of her blood filling my senses; moved up to her ear where I breathed: “What do you want, darling?”

Her fingers slid into my hair, drawing me back so she could look at me. At the same time, I took hold of her hips and pulled her into me, connecting the heat of her core with the raging hardness of mine.

The air sparked around us and we both groaned.

“You,” Feyre murmured, her breath on my mouth, her gaze filled with nothing but lust - that most powerful of emotions, sweeping everything else aside. “I want you. All over me. All night long.”

A smile started to form on my lips but she kissed me before it got there. And from that moment on, we were lost. Our hands slipped beneath each other’s clothes onto warm, sensitive skin. I had never had the pleasure of physically undressing her before, of slowly revealing her exquisite body inch by inch. I followed the fabric of her top with my lips, from her navel to her ribcage to her bare breasts, so pert and full and ready for my attention. She moaned so headily when I circled my tongue over her nipples and I could smell her arousal as it flooded her underwear, as she ground herself against my length.

The top disappeared over her head and then we worked together to remove mine as well. As our mouths found each other again I slid my arm up along the column of her spine, my hand splayed between her shoulder blades, and drew her further into me so her bare chest pressed against mine. Her kisses were voracious, her moans constant as she rocked her hips and took her pleasure from me.

Untamed Feyre was the hottest thing I had ever encountered.

And then she suddenly pulled back to look at me, her eyes so dark with desire, her voice husky as she commanded: “Take me to bed, Rhys.”

I could not have refused her if my life depended on it.

I carried her there, drawing back the duvet and laying her down. I had already warmed the sheets and she looked surprised, grateful. But she didn’t speak - couldn’t, perhaps - as she grasped at my shoulders and pulled me onto her, reclaiming my mouth, touching every part of me within reach. I covered us again, burying down with her into the softness of the bed as we kissed on and on. I had never known how thoroughly arousing it was, to be half-bare and writhing around by the light of the fire, our sounds hushed and urgent. Despite my shield, we were both aware of my brothers just next door, of Feyre’s sisters down the hall - but that only added to the mood.

This was secret and sacred and ours.

I eventually trailed my lips down to her breasts again, and then further - kissing her centre through her trousers before kneeling between her legs and slipping them off entirely. She was wearing the same lacy white panties I’d watched her put back on in the kitchen, and they were wet through. I heard myself growl as I pulled them off too, the urge to taste her impossible to resist, but she stopped me from getting anywhere near her with her bare foot on my chest.

I stared at her, unable to fathom why she would deny me.

“I’m in charge, remember?” she said firmly. “Lie down.”

Giving up control was not natural for me - but Feyre was a goddess and I obeyed.

She made very quick work of my pants and underwear, and then slid all the way down the bed and wrapped her hot mouth around me. I had never known anything so good before: the sight of her there, the brush of her hair and her hands on my thighs and abdomen, the way she sucked and licked and bobbed up and down-

I reached for her after barely any time at all, tugging on her shoulders, groaning her name. But she ignored me and carried on. Her eyes met mine and I imprinted the image in my mind, of the lust and determination in her gaze, of my cock disappearing between her lips over and over again, her rhythm faultless, bringing me closer and closer to the edge.

“Feyre,” I gasped, “I’m-”

She scratched her fingernails all the way down my torso and I came, so hard I lost all of my senses for the longest, most ecstatic moment. I felt her fingers cover my mouth, to keep me quiet, but there was no fucking chance when her tongue was still swirling over me, when my hips were still bucking and I was still coming. It was unbearable and heavenly and I never, ever wanted it to end.

Eventually I did return to the present; felt Feyre retreat and opened my eyes to find her looking down at me with a very satisfied smirk. I was too dazed to speak, to tell her how fucking amazing she felt and what I wanted to do to her next - but it didn’t matter. She had let her fingers drift down onto my chest; I took her wrist and brought her palm back to my lips, licking the tattooed eye there in a single broad stroke. Her smirk disappeared as she felt me in her very core.

I tugged on her hips, pulling her up my body until she was kneeling over my face. She braced herself on the headboard and I inhaled her incredible scent, all her muscles trembling, her breathing shallow, ragged. And then I feasted on her, gorging myself on her softness and her taste, eating her gorgeous cunt until she was all over my face. I kneaded her ass, explored her thighs; slid two fingers inside her and fucked her like that while I sucked on her clit. She came in no time at all, with a muffled scream and a gush of wetness which I lapped up like I was dying of thirst.

When she collapsed onto me, I gently drew her back down into bed to lie by my side so we were facing one another, our limbs loosely entwined. I took half a second to clean my face with magic, but left her taste on my tongue. It would be sacrilege to erase that.

She smiled, gazing at me through heavily lidded eyes. “You are very good at that,” she said, and she shivered - an aftershock. It made my cock ache for her.

“You taste fucking divine, Feyre. I can’t get enough of you. And your mouth…” I outlined her lips with my thumb; they parted and I traced over her bottom teeth too. “So pretty, yet so wicked. I’ve never felt anything so phenomenal.”

I pressed my lower body into hers, letting her know I was ready for more. She looked straight at me and bit down on my nail, firm enough to hurt. Beneath the duvet I felt her hand wrap around my length. Flames roared to life in my blood once more and I hissed, like the wild beast I was.

“So eager,” she teased, licking the sensitive pad of my thumb.

There was no point denying it so I kissed her instead, hard and demanding. I wanted her tongue on mine, her body melting, opening for me; wanted to make love to her, to feel her surrender - to us, and everything we could be. Without thinking I reached for her down the bond, needing her closer, even though physically there was no space between us. As I felt her grip onto me, an embrace around my very soul, I rolled on top of her perfect body and thrust inside her: back where I belonged.

She cried out at being so full; hooked her legs around my waist, inviting me deeper, and I moved slowly at first, trying to be restrained until that became impossible. She felt so good, so right, that I just couldn’t contain myself. And she wanted it: I felt her desire envelop mine inside my mind, where we were intertwined; swallowed the words she gasped into my mouth - “Harder… More… Rhys! Fuck… Yes, more…”

I tilted her pelvis with my hand and reached new depths, and she broke away from my kiss to let out the most guttural sound as she clenched and shook and stretched around me. I dipped my head, sucking on her neck, her right breast, her nipple; kept rolling my hips, fucking her faster and harder than ever before. We were both grunting, moaning, sweat on our skin, her nails digging into my back - and then we were coming, together, a crescendo of movement and sound and rising, cresting pleasure that felt like it would never end.

It didn’t, for a long time. I might have drifted off to sleep briefly, for when I next opened my eyes I was lying on my front on the bed, the duvet over my lower body, feeling more relaxed than I had in decades.

I reached out for Feyre down the bond, checking she was okay; felt her in the adjoining bathroom and closed my eyes again, letting myself doze. Eventually I heard her footsteps on the carpet and then the bed shifted as she sat beside me. Her fingertips traced lightly down my spine and I groaned at how nice it felt.

“I didn’t know you had tattoos here,” she said softly. “And your wings…” She touched the strong muscles of my upper back. “I want to see you with them.”

My voice was so low it made my ribcage vibrate. “You have.”

“Naked,” she clarified.

I smiled. “One day. Not here.”

She leaned in, surrounding me with her scent, her hair; pressed gentle kisses to my ear, my cheek, the corner of my lips. I couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched me with so much tenderness. The last time anyone had cared about me like this. It made my throat hurt.

When I finally opened my eyes her face was all I could see, so close to mine, our every breath shared. She smiled and sat back up, and that’s when I realised she was wearing my shirt. It was unbuttoned, and she was still completely naked beneath. I had never seen anything so sexy.

My emotions were forgotten in an instant.

“Feyre.”

I rose up, kneeling in front of her, taking her in.

“I was cold,” she said, a little defensive, a little surprised by the strength of my reaction.

“You look…” I reached for her, pulling her against me. I had thought I was completely sated - I was wrong. “Let me warm you up.”

This insatiable need for each other, this wild passion - it felt endless. Frenzied. We fell to the bed and she straddled my waist, discarding the shirt to the floor. As she began to kiss me all over, the small part of my brain which remained functional wondered what would happen if she ever accepted the mating bond. How we would survive.

Then it gave in as Feyre washed over me, as I let myself drown in her once again.

When she rode me she held my hands, our fingers interlaced. I could do nothing but stare at her. The way the firelight danced over the planes of her body as she moved; the flush on her skin, the dark desire pouring from her eyes. I was no painter, but she was a piece of art.

“Feyre darling,” I breathed, grazing my palms along her thighs, feeling my climax building slowly, deliciously. “Will you touch yourself for me? I want to watch you.”

Her dream of me was only a night ago - it felt like a century.

She put her fingers in my mouth and I licked them, my desire rocketing at how fearless she was, how unembarrassed. If I had thought she’d be hesitant in bed or perhaps shied by our age gap, by her relative lack of experience, I was wrong. And yet she was not a sultry, confident vixen either. I could only conclude that she really did trust me, enough to be herself, to show herself to me - to be bare in every possible way.

And that made me more hopeful for our future together than anything else we’d said or done.

Now she circled her clit, her left hand holding her breast, pinching her nipple. Her tattoos were a stunning contrast to the rest of her pale skin. When the sensations became too much, her head tilted back and her spine arched, her long messy curls almost reaching her bottom. And still I watched, my hips now thrusting of their own accord, meeting her movements. I was already at the edge; could have let myself fall at any second. But I held on, waiting for her, completely awed by how fucking incredible she was.  

If things had been different, I would have told her I loved her. The words were on the tip of my tongue, filling my mind. I let the smallest trickle of that golden feeling travel down the bond to her. Even though she didn’t know its name, I knew she liked it - saw the smile on her lips, felt her clench and tighten as I pounded into her harder, faster, as she peaked and then shattered.

It was too much. I lifted her off me, turning her onto her front, pulling up her hips. She was weak, boneless; still in the throes of her pleasure. “You have to be quiet,” I rasped and then I thrust inside her again, deeper than ever before. Her hands fisted the duvet and she bit it, her screams subdued but still there, still heavenly to hear.

“Feyre,” I groaned, the sweetest sound in the world. “Fuck, Feyre. You feel- I’m so- ”

I spilled inside her with a roar, breaking my own rule but utterly unable to care. I felt her coming too, a continuation of her last orgasm. Endless, all-consuming fulfilment.

This time we were both thoroughly done. I fell to her side, bringing her body with me so I was spooned up behind her, quickly cleaning us up with half a thought. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to move again. I didn’t want to. I pressed my face into her neck, inhaling her, wishing I could disappear into her forever. If there was nothing else but this, I would die happy.

Our breathing gradually slowed. The fire had burned low, the moon now illuminating us through the uncovered window. I ran the fingers of my left hand along the ink on Feyre’s arm, watching as the soft blonde hairs stood on end in my wake. I knew the bond that tied us together wasn’t the bargain that had been written on her skin: it was the mating bond. That’s why we could communicate, why we could feel so much of each other. I wondered how it would change if we were ever truly mated. How much more of her I would feel, how deeply I would know her. I wanted her to be mine so badly it made my soul ache.

The bond was another secret I kept. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold it inside.

“What time is it?” she asked, her words merging into a yawn.

“Fuck knows.” I was tired and emotional, which always made me swear more. That and having sex with Feyre.

I pulled the covers over us and then looked outside. The air was still and crisp. There had been snowfall earlier, but it had stopped now. “Usually,” I said, voicing my thoughts aloud, “I can feel the night. The coming of the dawn. But the darkness is different on this side of the Wall. It’s not… mine.”

She turned her head towards me. The moonlight caught her eyes, making them shine. “I love your darkness,” she said quietly. “I feel it, under my skin. It soothes me. Of all the powers I was given, yours is my favourite.”

You were made for me, I wanted to tell her. Wanted to shout it, for the whole world to hear. It’s so obvious. Can’t you see?

And then she went on sleepily: “The nights feel longer here. I was born on the longest, actually. The Winter Solstice.”

I was stunned. Totally speechless. She must have mistaken my silence for fatigue, because she whispered goodnight and in less than a minute, she was asleep.

I held her, wide awake, heart hammering. I kissed the point of her ear and murmured, so softly it was almost inaudible: “You are my mate, Feyre Archeron. And I fucking love you.”

II

TBC...

[justforbooks]

Françoise Hardy

Icon of 60s music who sang of love as a source of ‘wretched, profound, endless questioning’

Françoise Hardy, who has died of cancer aged 80, shot to fame as part of France’s génération yé-yé, the jaunty transatlantic and cross-channel collision between French chanson and American rock’n’roll that also produced Johnny Hallyday and France Gall. But from the start, there was something that set her apart: a wistfulness, a sentimental self-reflection, a poise that belied a lifelong shyness and insecurity. A 60s icon, as big, for a while, in London as in Paris, Hardy was, in many ways, the antithesis of that restive, revolutionary decade.

Unlike her contemporaries, when she sang of love it was about “suffering and frustration, illusion and disillusion; wretched, profound, endless questioning”. Her songs, she told Le Monde, were a necessary outlet: “I wrote about my experience … A beautiful, melancholic melody is what best transcends the pain.”

Men fell, in droves, for her timid beauty. Mick Jagger described Hardy as his “ideal woman”. David Bowie, “passionately in love” for years, courted her backstage, in dressing gown and embroidered slippers. In 1964, the sleeve notes of Another Side of Bob Dylan featured a whole poem “for françoise hardy/at the seine’s edge”. (Two years later, after a concert at the Olympia music hall in Paris, Dylan invited the singer to a party in his suite at the George V, one of the capital’s grandest hotels. In his bedroom, he played her two tracks from Blonde on Blonde: Just Like a Woman and I Want You. Hardy always insisted she was so starstruck she never got the message.)

But the love of Hardy’s life, the father of her son and the agonising inspiration for many of her songs, was the French singer and actor Jacques Dutronc, whom she met in 1967 and married in 1981. The couple separated in the 90s, but never divorced, remaining on good terms. “Love is a remarkable force, even if its price is perpetual torment,” she said. “But without that torment, I would not have written a single lyric.”

Hardy was born in Nazi-occupied Paris, in the same maternity clinic at the top of the rue des Martyrs in the ninth arrondissement that had delivered Hallyday a few months earlier. Her mother was Madeleine Hardy, an accountant, and her father, Pierre Dillard, was a company director who was married to another woman. Françoise grew up in a two-room apartment nearby with her sister, Michèle, born 18 months later, and a solitary mother with whom Françoise had a “fusional, symbiotic relationship … I loved her probably too much – exclusively, unconditionally”. The girls rarely saw their father, who often neglected to pay his share of their upkeep and was regularly late with the modest fees for their Catholic education.

Weekends were spent with grandparents – notably an “egocentric, narrow-minded, frigid and emasculating” grandmother – outside Paris; many childhood holidays with friends of her mother’s in Austria, to learn German. Shy, dreamy, deeply ashamed of her unconventional family, Hardy turned to the radio, where in the late 50s, on the English service of Radio Luxembourg, she encountered a music – Presley, the Everly Brothers, Brenda Lee, Cliff Richard – that “affected me more than anything else. That ended up changing my life.”

Aged 16, she asked for a guitar for passing the first part of her baccalauréat. A year later, having passed the second part with honours, she taught herself a handful of chords “that produced most of my songs over the next 10 years”, and began writing. At the Sorbonne, studying German, she auditioned, unsuccessfully but not disastrously, for one record company, and started singing lessons.

Hardy’s contract with Vogue Records – who wanted “a female Johnny Hallyday” – was signed on 14 November 1961. She made her first TV appearance, in black and white on the state broadcaster’s only channel, six months later, and released her debut EP, featuring three songs of her own and a cover of a Bobby Lee Trammell song.

Her breakthrough came, rather incongruously, on the night of Charles de Gaulle’s October 1962 referendum asking voters whether France’s future presidents should be directly elected. In a musical interlude while the nation awaited the result, Hardy performed a track from her EP, Tous les garçons et les filles. The nation loved it. The song (sample line: “I walk down the streets, my soul in sorrow”) became a monumental hit in France, spending a total of 15 weeks at No 1 between October 1962 and April 1963 and becoming a million-seller. Within weeks Hardy was on the cover of Paris Match, plunged, still in her teens, into the whirlwind of the swinging 60s (which she detested: she disapproved of casual sex, avoided drugs, and could only ever remember being drunk twice).

Her first boyfriend, the photographer Jean-Marie Périer, ensured her picture – miniskirt, white boots, long hair, signature fringe – went around the world. Courrèges, Yves Saint Laurent and Paco Rabanne competed to dress her, for seasons at the Olympia in Paris, the Savoy in London, and shows in Germany, Italy, the Netherlands, Denmark, Spain, Canada and South Africa. In New York, William Klein photographed her for Vogue. Roger Vadim, Jean-Luc Godard and John Frankenheimer cast her in films.

The hits flowed, recorded – some in London, produced by Charles Blackwell – in French, English, German, Italian, some written by Hardy, others not.

But at the end of the 60s, barely five years after she began, Hardy abruptly gave up performing live, and the cinema. “I hated what it all involved,” she explained. “Being separated from the man I loved, the waiting, the solitude, depending on the phone. And I’ve never been able to act. I can’t simulate, or lie. Songwriting, on the other hand … dives deep.” Life in the fast lane, she declared, was “a gilded prison”.

But she continued recording, releasing a dozen bestselling albums in France, of which she always cited La Question (1971), a sophisticated collaboration with the Brazilian musician Tuca, as her favourite. She duetted with French artists Henri Salvador, Alain Souchon and Benjamin Biolay, and later with Damon Albarn and Iggy Pop.

Hardy was never very interested in politics (she decamped to Corsica with Dutronc for the duration of les événements of May 1968, whose student leaders she distrusted), although she had strong opinions about questions such as abortion. Hardy was, however, fascinated by astrology, writing two books on the subject.

She continued to work in later life, despite claiming that her 1988 album, Décalages, would be her last. A string of new recordings in the 1990s and 2000s, a 2008 autobiography, Le Désespoir des Singes (the title apparently derived from a monkey puzzle tree in the Bagatelle gardens near her Paris flat, because its sharp, spiky leaves reminded her of “men who have caused me despair”), and her last album, Personne d’autre, released in 2018, appeared despite family and personal tragedies: Hardy was at her mother’s side when, suffering from Charcot–Marie–Tooth disease, she died by euthanasia in 1994.

Hardy herself was diagnosed in 2004 with lymphoma, eventually recovering after an experimental form of chemotherapy – but only after she had been hospitalised, in an induced coma, in 2015. Three years later, another tumour was detected, this time in her ear. In 2021, she told the magazine Femme Actuelle (by email; she said she could no longer talk) that she would like to be able to choose to end her life, as her mother had done, and in 2023, in an interview with Paris Match, called on Emmanuel Macron, the French president, to legalise assisted dying.

Shortly before that second diagnosis, in 2018, Hardy reflected on a career that had brought pretty much every award French music can offer (plus a medal from the Académie Française), telling the Observer she had always been surprised that people – “even very good musicians” – had been moved by her voice.

“I know its limitations, I always have,” she said. “But I have chosen carefully. What a person sings is an expression of what they are. Luckily for me, the most beautiful songs are not happy songs. The songs we remember are the sad, romantic songs.”

She is survived by Dutronc, and by their son, Thomas.

🔔 Françoise Madeleine Hardy, singer, born 17 January 1944; died 11 June 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[periwinkle-musings]

Did Taylor Swift write "Sweet Nothing" about Paul McCartney and his wife's summer in Wicklow in 1971?

The song "Sweet Nothing" on Taylor Swift's Midnights has always stood out to me as a bit of an anomaly. Until this intriguing quote by Paul McCartney caught my eye:

In a 2001 ABC interview about his wife Linda, who passed away in 1998, Paul McCartney said:

"I would go out for a run, think of some words, get home from the run, write them down, and make a cup a tea for Linda," said McCartney, who would bring it to her for breakfast. "I'd make a little tray, and go up, and then I'd say, 'Hey, by the way, do you want to hear some poetry?' She'd always … she'd say, 'Yeah.' And so I wrote that poem." 'Blessed.' I would come back from a run. With lines of poetry to tell. And having listened, she would say "What a mind."

This is a direct quote and exact same storyline as in "Sweet Nothing." There is NO WAY that is a coincidence. So I wanted to see if Paul and Linda had any connection to Wicklow - the place mentioned in the song. 

I think the McCartney family vacationed at the Luggala Estate in Co. Wicklow, Ireland in the summer of 1971 as an escape from the aftermath of the Beatles breakup.

A sweet Wicklow love story:

Paul McCartney has connections to Luggala going back to 1965-1966 when he partied at the estate with Guinness Brewing heir Tara Browne who was killed in a car accident a few months after his raucous 21st birthday, and inspired the Beatles song "A Day in the Life." Paul was close to Tara and his death deeply impacted him. This Rolling Stone article details their relationship and mentions that Paul has visited Luggala to visit Tara's gravesite since then on "numerous occasions." Paul had not met his wife Linda yet while Tara was alive, but this proves Paul's deep and personal ties to the family and their 5,000 acre private estate in the Wicklow Mountains, which continued to be a private retreat for celebrity guests until it was sold in 2019.

Paul McCartney has posted multiple family photos taken by his wife in the summer of 1971 that appear to be taken near the Luggala Estate in Co. Wicklow. He tweeted this photo on St. Patricks day in 2017 which a previous Reddit thread links to Wicklow in 1971. And recently on March 2022 he tweeted this photo which appears to be taken the same day judging by his shirt and his dog, and credits the photo as being taken by his wife (she was a professional photographer) in Ireland in 1971. Here you have a better view of the surrounding mountains and rocky streams (full of pebbles I'd imagine...) It's notable that the second photo was posted March 2022 around the time when Taylor would be writing and recording the Midnights album.

If you look at the aerial view of Luggala Estate (Now showing on Google Maps as Luggala Lodge), I believe that these photos were taken in one of the rocky streams that feed into the private lake...which is named Lough Tay. (I like to think it's an extra little wink from Taylor that this investigation literally led me to a lake named Lough Tay.)

This area is completely private and the closest public access is from a hiking overlook. This seems like a great place for one of the most famous musicians in the world to hide out with his two young children, 2 dogs, and Linda, who would have been pregnant with Stella McCartney (born Sept 13, 1971).

We know that the family and their dogs were in Ireland in the summer of 1971 from this newspaper article where they were photographed at an airport in August leaving Ireland, which means it's possible that they were in Wicklow a few weeks earlier in July.

Even though The Beatles broke up in 1969, it continued to be messy between members of the band and the financials involved for the next few years. During the summer of 1971 Paul McCartney and John Lennon were embroiled in a very public fight. There were lawsuits and scathing letters (dated 1971) and it's all very complicated so I won't go into it here, but this article has a good overview.

The lyric, "Industry disruptors and soul deconstructors and smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other" could reference these incidents. I could see Taylor relating to Paul going through this public turmoil surrounding business with former friends, because it is similar to what she's going through with her masters.

The lyric "You're in the kitchen humming" could reference Linda's passion for cooking and vegetarian activism. She literally founded a food company and wrote a cookbook. This darling photo on her website shows her cooking at the family home in Scotland in the 1970s. Linda was also a singer and recorded many songs with Paul, so the idea that she could be "humming" makes sense.

Taylor Swift has been friends with the McCartney family for a while. She first met Paul in 2010. She collaborated with Stella McCartney in 2019 for a clothing line as part of the Lover era, and Stella also dressed her for the Evermore album cover in 2020.

Taylor and Paul McCartney famously interviewed each other for Rolling Stone's "Musicians on Musicians" in 2020. In this article they mention how they both like writing under pseudonyms.

But the most surprising thing I learned is that Paul actually wrote a song dedicated to Taylor and her relationship with her fans called "Who Cares."

Notably, the music video also features Taylor's longtime friend Emma Stone wearing rainbow makeup in an otherwise black-and-white world full of cartoonish bullies. It's notable that the music video was released Dec 2018, right before the Lover era would kick off a few months later. Perhaps Paul was showing a bit of preemptive support for Taylor as she embarked on what many of us believe was intended to be her coming out era?

Now to the William Bowery of it all:

Taylor clearly wants us to think Sweet Nothing is about Joe because of the Wicklow name drop, where Joe was papped in July 2021, which looks staged to me.

Interestingly, I can't find any photos of Taylor being seen anywhere near Wicklow, but for some reason she staged a whole photoshoot in Northern Ireland in July, where locals said she "arrived and left by helicopter in a fleeting visit."

She was also seen in several different locations in Belfast in fan photos. This article also says part of Red TV was recorded in Belfast.

Clearly she wanted to be seen and linked to Northern Ireland, and the lyric easily could have been "Does it ever miss Belfast sometimes?" (same number of syllables) but it's not.

"Sweet Nothing" does have a William Bowery co-writing credit. Would Sir Paul McCartney agree to a secret writing credit? Maybe.

I read an interesting twitter thread from a lawyer (who is a Gaylor) that discusses how William Bowery could be a name under which Taylor commissions writing "for hire." Meaning it could be Joe or multiple other people writing under that pseudonym, as opposed to the "Willam Bowery" (spelled different) which is listed as a U.S. Citizen.

Even if Paul wasn't involved in writing the song, I believe he inspired "Sweet Nothing."

---

Note: This theory was originally posted on the R/GaylorSwift subreddit Dec 22, 2022 which is currently set to private. I am the original author of the Reddit post (u/-periwinkle), and am reblogging it on my Tumblr because this theory has been gaining traction and I wanted to create a public version. This version has been slightly expanded and updated with better images. Also, I was not the first person to uncover the "what a mind" quote, and the original person who found it is tagged on Reddit.

[ayatakami]

sunflowers and lilies

Synopsis: One day, Nejire receives an envelope, the labeling on which indicates that it contains highly sensitive information for their eyes only. Nejire opens the envelope, and inside is a short, affectionate, handwritten love letter from Y/N.

Pairing: Nejire Hado x Fem!Y/N

Tag list: @belovedhoon

CW: None just my usual WLW fluff for Hado I love her so much.

It was the weekend when the idea struck you. You've heard of several classmates confessing to their crushes via love letters. You weren't one to run up to your crush and shout your love for them at the top of your lungs so you decided on doing the latter. You sat at your messy desk, staring at a picture of you, Nejire, Tamaki, and Mirio at your 2nd-year prom. Your arm hung around her waist loosely, the blush on your cheeks forever captured as the two of you were close to each other.

You began scribbling away on the piece of paper. You were always adept at creative writing and poems, so you figured you would try it for Nejire.

'The soft sound of the rain cascading down against the glass panes and metal roof filled the silence. The only light was from the covered windows, a soft glow of city life. In this small space, we built our own little sanctuary. I watch you wordlessly. The rise and fall of your chest, how your eyelids tremble ever so slightly as you rest. Gently, I run my fingers through your hair, while you sleep. 'I love you,' The words echo in the back of my mind as I smile softly. You look so peaceful.'

You instantly began blushing at the words on the paper staring back at you. Tearing the paper from the notebook, you crumbled it up and groaned as you tossed it to your waste bin. This was going to be harder than you thought. Deciding to take a break from it, you stood up and left your dorm. Food could fuel your thoughts. Your legs took you to the common area where there was a kitchenette.

Unbeknownst to you, Mirio had gone into your room looking for you. Instead, he saw the balled-up paper in your bin as it was the only thing there. He leaned over, picked up the paper, and unfolded it. He always knew of your crush on Nejire, and his eyes widened reading the words on the paper. You were thinking of confessing to her. But seeing the confession in the trash made him sad. He smoothed the wrinkles from the paper as he folded it neatly, putting it in an envelope he stole from your desk and a sticker to seal it shut.

Making sure the coast was clear, he slipped the letter under Hado's dorm room, knowing she was studying there. The sound of rustling caught Hado's attention as she turned from her desk, noticing the envelope on her floor. She walked over to it, picking it up. The letter had no name or anything written on the ivory envelope so she opened it. Her eyes widened seeing the lily and sunflower stationery paper she had bought you as a gift.

Knowing it was from you, she read it. Hado's heart fluttered reading the words written specifically for her. Or so that's what she thought. Why else was it in her room? She held the letter tightly to her chest, as she opened her door to run out and find you. However, it was short-lived as she crashed into you, sending you two to the floor. At first, you were a bit annoyed, about to shout at however it was. But noticing it was Nejire, you immediately apologized.

She helped you pick up the snacks you grabbed from the pantry, and you grabbed the paper she dropped. You stood up, looking at the paper, then your blood went cold noticing it was the letter you wrote to her earlier. She saw your expression, and she put her hands up. "Wait-wait! Before you say anything!" You decided to suppress the urge to jump out the nearby window as you heard her out.

She took the paper back, looking down at it. She nervously fidgeted with it as a red blush appeared on her cheeks. She looked up at you with her royal blue eyes. Your heart skipped a beat as she looked at you so tenderly.

"Y/N...I love you too.."

[dreamingcloudie]

❛❛ 15 Years of Un-Convayed Words ❜❜

✎ ❛❛ I wonder when will I finally receive a reply from you... ❜❜

Pairing(s): Dottore x GN!reader

Genre/Format: Angst (Letters)

Warning(s): 3.2 archon quest SPOLIERS, mention of death, use of Dottore's (speculated) real name and lore, may not be lore accurate so don't come at me, poorly written poems (my excuse here is I'm writing as Dottore)

wc: ~1.8k

Notes: I got the idea from this song. I was contemplating if I should write angst with no comfort and I said eff it. Well, please enjoy this one! Any feedback is greatly appreciated ♡

1st year

Dear (Y/n),

Hello, Love. How are you doing? I’ve missed you so much so I decided to start writing you letters everyday. You’re the person of literature here, not me. So don’t laugh at my letters, okay? For my first letter to you. I’ve made up a poem.

Like a moon to its star,

I revolve only around you.

Though you may be far,

My love for you only grew.

Ha, not too bad for my first poem, right? Alright, maybe it is… But hey, at least I tried. You gotta give me at least some credits there. I know it’s short but I have to go back to studying now. I’ll write you another one later. I love you.

Your one and only,

Zandik ♡

2nd year

Dear (Y/n),

Greetings, Love. I wonder what’s on your mind right now? For me, it’s you. I always get distracted whenever you’re on my mind. Just today, I got so distracted I didn’t even notice my experiment was overflowing with explosive liquids. It wasn’t until I heard an explosion that I noticed the place had become a mess. Heh, you’d laugh if you saw this. Since I'm always thinking of you, here's another poem I wrote for you.

Are you a type of alcohol?

Addicted to you,

I began to fall.

Or are you perhaps a glue?

So drawn to you,

I haven't gotten a clue.

Or are you a cloud of mist?

Trapped in your fog of love,

I am abliss.

What do you think? Better than the last one maybe? Anyways, how are you fairing, my dear? I hope you’re doing well.

Your one and only,

Zandik ♡

3rd year

Dear (Y/n),

You’d be proud if you saw me now. As I grew older, I’ve also gotten more mature. I started to balance my work and rest like you always wanted me to. And you’re right, it does make things easier for me. I'm sorry for not listening to you earlier. That reminds me, I miss eating your cookies. Hopefully I’ll get to have them again one day. Has anything new happened to you, recently?

Your only love,

Zandik ♡

4th year

Dear (Y/n),

Got something exciting to share with you, my love. I went on an expedition with some other researchers today. It was a pretty nice trip, I’d say. There were a lot of things for me to tinker with. Especially some abandoned automatons. I wanted to bring some with me back to the academia but they banned it because of some fool. Pretty idiotic, right? These mechanical parts are too good to be left there. And no one even uses them anymore. Maybe if I sneaked only a small portion of them to The Academia, no one would notice… What do you think, (Y/n)?

Your only love,

Zandik ♡

5th year

Dear (Y/n),

Bad news, I got kicked out of The Academia today. I got careless and accidentally left a mechanical part at the lab. Someone also discovered that I did some… not so pleasant things. Such foolish sages. I was making some groundbreaking discoveries, and in return I got expelled? I have nowhere to go now. If only you were here to guide me… What do I do now?

Your favourite,

Zandik ♡

6th year

Dear (Y/n),

Don’t worry, my dear. I managed to find shelter in a cave. I finally got some time to sit and write a letter to you. I’m sorry I haven’t written to you in weeks. I was busy setting things up in the cave. Although, still not quite a home, it looks a lot cozier now. Trying to survive out here in the wild is hard. I only managed to find some berries and caught a fish or two to sustain myself.

Anyways, I was conducting some more experiments with the equipment that I could salvage when all of the sudden a guy with a strange mask somehow found me. He said he was a diplomat from Snezhnaya. Apparently, they have an organization called the “Fatui” and asked me to join them. I was skeptical at first but then he said there was a research facility full of experimenting supplies. Now, that got me perked up. I’ve got nothing to lose. So might as well, right?

Your favourite,

Zandik ♡

7th year

Dear (Y/n),

This place is massive. You’ve got to see what they have here, Love. So many things to work with. And to think I got this place all to myself? And I get to create anything with no restrictions? Hah! The possibilities are endless! And by joining them I got myself the title – Dottore, The Doctor. You’ve always said I have what it takes to become a doctor. Even if I’m not a licensed one. I suppose this counts too?

Anyways, I made a tiny model of you out of the remains of a ruin guard to remind myself of you. How I missed seeing you. No matter how many models I make, they’ll never be worthy enough to match your beauty. Tell me, Love. Got anything new to share? I’d love to hear from you.

Your favourite,

Zandik ♡

8th year

Dear (Y/n),

It’s been a while since I’ve stayed here. Things have been going pretty well. Ah, and with how many letters I’ve written to you. I found myself to have improved a bit. Here’s a little poem I thought of while doing some research on a flower. It reminded me of you.

Like a white lily,

You have the purest of heart.

Like a white lily,

You are a work of art.

Like a white lily,

Your beauty is true.

Like a white lily,

You have captured my CO2 .

(Get it, Dear? It’s like you took my breath away, and plants absorb carbon dioxide to carry out photosynthesis.)

I could hear you laughing all the way over here, you know? Not the best, I know. But I tried. Writing poems is never my forte. I’ll never know how you could write them ever so flawlessly.

Your one and only,

Zandik ♡

9th year

Dear My Love,

Hello, Love. My apologies for not having written anything to you for a while. I was conducting my experiments as usual but an accident happened. Do not worry, Love. I’m perfectly fine. Though, it might have affected my memories as they have gotten a bit blurry… Unfortunately, I seemed to have forgotten your name, as well. But do not fret, my love for you is still the same. I’ll remember your name, eventually.

Your one and only,

Zandik ♡

10th year

Dear Dove,

Dove… is a pretty suiting name to call you. Do you like it? My memories still haven’t come back yet… It’s been a year. I did not expect it to last this long. Still, what’s important is that I know my heart belongs to you. Whenever I think of writing letters to you, my heart starts to beat so loudly. It is a nice feeling. Have you been eating well? Got enough rest? I wouldn’t want you to be sick now.

Yours forever,

Zandik ♡

11th year

Dear Dove,

Time flies and another year has passed. Still no progress on recalling your name yet. I’m starting to worry. What if I never remember who you are? I can’t let that happen… Well, there’s no use in worrying. How about I tell you what happened today, instead? I created a machine, in which I could clone myself with. It’s a project I’ve been working on for a long time now. And it was a success. I think you’d find it amusing that there are two of me. Would it be a blessing, or a curse for you?

Yours forever,

Zandik ♡

12th year

Dear (Y/n),

Finally, I remembered your name! I was working when I heard one of my clones (the me from the academia days) muttered something about “(Y/n) bakes the best cookies.” And that hit me, your name is (Y/n). What a beautiful name it is. It rolled off of my tongue just as smooth as Teyvat’s finest silk. I still haven’t remembered everything yet. But that’s alright. They’ll come back to me in no time.

Yours forever,

Zandik ♡

13th year

Dear (Y/n),

I recalled something today. Remember the time when we first met? Haha, the first time I’ve ever laid my eyes on you. I was convinced that I saw an angel. And when you turned to look at me. I could feel something happening to my stomach. I thought you’ve put some kind of spell on me. But that’s just me falling for you without me knowing for the first time. Winter is right around the corner. Remember to wear enough clothes, alright?

Yours forever,

Zandik ♡

14th year

Dear (Y/n),

Today was not a great day. I’ve put in countless amounts of time and plenty of blood and sweat into building a new god for Sumeru. Only for it to get destroyed in just one day. How absurd… But nevermind that. I took joy in building it and I got what I came here for. If only you were here, Dear. I know you’d work your magic on me to make me feel better.

Yours forever,

Zandik ♡

15th year

Dear (Y/n),

I remember everything now… The illness… And how it took you away from me… The moment I remembered it, I felt light-headed. I felt as if a part of me was ripped out. So that’s why I never received any reply from you. Was all these years of writing wasted? No… No… You’ll still get to read them. If I have the power to create a god, then certainly, I also have the power to find a way for you to see these letters? Or maybe you’ve been watching me write these for you? Perhaps one day, I’ll find a way for these words to reach you, eventually. Until then, prepare yourself, Love. You’re going to need fifteen years to read them all. Well, maybe even more because I’m not going to stop writing to you.

Say, it's been a while since I've last written a poem to you. How about I write another one for you?

Lost in a raging storm,

I longed to feel something warm.

Lost in the heavy rain,

I longed to hear you again.

Lost in an ocean of coldness,

I longed to see a glimpse of us.

Sent from the sky above,

There you stood so full of love.

With you here around,

At last, I am found.

I love you (Y/n), no matter where you are. I love you. I always have.

Your forever love,

Zandik ♡

.

.

.

Dottore kissed the envelope as he muttered the words "I missed you so, so much, (Y/n)." Before he put it into a bin filled with piles of letters.

[chaotic-history]

Hi!

Bit of a random question, but I distinctly remember reading in the book about Émilie that V cheated on her first with Mme Denis. This would also be consistent with the second half on her Discourse on Happiness I think?

But then I've read in a Czech encyclopedia about the 1700s and in intro to Voltaire's texts that she was the one who ditched him first for Saint-Lambert (the first one even making a big deal out of how she supposedly 'broke his heart').

Are there any letters or other sources that may shed some light on this? I want to debunk any possible Émilie slander. Many thanks!

Hi!

So Mme Denis was definitely before Saint-Lambert. V's affair with Mme Denis started probably in 1745, and Émilie's affair with Saint-Lambert didn't start until 1748.

That said, Émilie also possibly had an earlier affair with Maupertuis in 1734, when he was tutoring her in mathematics. We don't know if the affair actually *happened,* but if it didn't, it certainly wasn't through any lack of trying on Émilie's part. Zinsser's Émilie bio admits the possibility of the affair, and says that some of Émilie's correspondence can be interpreted that way, especially when she kept trying to set up meetings with him in Paris, and that Émilie and Maupertuis both at least ..acknowledged the idea that an affair was a possibility; however ultimately she thinks it never went beyond that. Most other bios I've read take the stance that either the affair did happen, or that Émilie wanted it to happen but Maupertuis rebuffed her a bit (Émilie's letters, from the excerpts I've read, are often complaining about Maupertuis ignoring her letters and not responding often enough).

V was aware of the maybe-affair, and in 1735 wrote her this poem "concerning her affair with Maupertuis" where he's clearly concerned that she's choosing Maupertuis over him.

So a hundred new beauties

Will catch the attention of your passionate mind;

You renounce these sparks,

And the little follies of my writings,

For immortal lights;

And the sublime Maupertuis

Comes to eclipse my trifles.

I am neither angry, nor surprised;

A true spirit must be in love

With eternal truths.

But these truths, what are they?

What is their use and their price?

From the true scholar [Maupertuis] that I cherish

Firm and luminous reason will show the heavens described to you,

And a bold hand will reveal to you

The shadowy folds of nature:

But, without the secret of being happy,

What will he then have taught you?

--

The maybe-affair pretty much ended however when Émilie went to stay with V at Cirey. Idk whether Émilie and Maupertuis actually slept together or not, but I do think Émilie was at least pursuing that.

There's also then of course the possibility of V and Fritz in 1740...

[lillipad72]

The Annotated Anne of Green Gables ~~ a special rereading

CHAPTER IV ~~ Morning at Green Gables

hello everyone, i am back! i have actually been traveling this past month abroad and have not really had much ability to be on tumblr, but i have returned so expect more from me again!

"I think he's lovely...He is so very sympathetic. He didn't mind how much I talked -- he seemed to like it. I felt that he was a kindred spirit as soon as I ever saw him."

Anne's iconic recurring title of 'kindred spirit' for people she connects with on a deep level probably comes from a well-known poem by Thomas Gray, a very popular English poet, despite only publishing thirteen poems in his lifetime. The poem "Elegy in a Country Churchyard" was found in the Fifth Royal Reader, published in 1873, so it is likely Anne would have come across this term there, but this term is also located in The Story of an African Farm by Olive Schreiner, published in 1883, and Elizabeth Von Arnim's Elizabeth and Her German Garden, published in 1898. While it is not completely certain where L.M. Montgomery would have first heard this term, odds point to the Gray poem, and based on the timeline of Anne, it appears this would also be where Anne Shirley would have picked it up. That part of the poem goes as follows: "for thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead / Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, / If chance, by lonely contemplation led, / Some kindred spirits shall inquire thy fate," (Stanza 24, 11. 93-96). Gray's poem was partly inspired by the death of fellow poet Richard West and its themes include death and remembrance. This is an interesting place for Anne to pick up from, noting that she herself has experienced loss, most intimately in that of her parents. I wonder if she thinks of herself as her parents' kindred spirit who thinks about them after they passed, and she herself longs for someone who will remember her so deeply even when she has gone somewhere else.

"Oh, I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums. It makes them seem more like people. How do you know but that it hurts a geranium's feelings just to be called a geranium and nothing else? You wouldn't like to be called nothing but a woman all the time. Yes, I shall call it Bonny. I named that cherry-tree outside my bedroom window this morning. I called it Snow Queen because it was so white."

This passage makes it abundantly clear that L.M. Montgomery inspired Anne from her own childhood experiences. This instance is taken almost exactly from her journal. On September 21, 1889, when she was thirteen years old, she wrote: "There wasn't any school, so I amused myself repotting all my geraniums. Dear things, how I love them! The 'mother' of them all is a matronly old geranium called 'Bonny.' I got Bonny ages ago -- it must be as much as two or three years ... I called it Bonny -- I like things to have handles even if they are only geraniums ... And it blooms as if it meant it. I believe that old geranium has a soul!" It seems that L.M. Montgomery went through her earlier journals and looked for examples of youthfulness that she could use to create Anne!

next chapter

[bluecatwriter]

For that Director's Cut thing?? uhh uhh O'erthrow Me, please???

Ahaha, you want to see me suffer (ramble about embracing the eroticism of the divine), don't you??? *trying to look offended but actually just grinning like a goofball*

The fic in question: "Renfield asks Jonathan to read him some poetry."

(For anyone unaware, this is a smutfic, so keep that in mind before clicking the "Keep reading…" Also contains mention of sexual assault, Christianity, and spoilers.)

-The idea for this one came when I was rereading some published fics (as I often do), and was thinking about how I'd like to do another Jonathan/Renfield fic. I am obsessed with this ship for many reasons, especially what Jonathan and Renfield bring out in each other, and so I always have some ideas brewing in my head. The thought of Renfield asking Jonathan to read him some erotic poetry seemed like a fun idea to run with, and so the brainstorm began in earnest.

-Despite my premise, I have read very very little erotic poetry, so either I could go on a poetry-reading binge, or I could grab the first one that came to mind: "Batter My Heart, Three-Person'd God" by John Donne, which I've always been a little feral about (despite not really reading anything else Donne wrote. Fake fan, I know). It's a poem addressed to God, but it's incredibly erotic, and fit well with the themes of possession and loyalty that had showed up in my earlier Jonathan/Renfield fics. (I think I'm really into the erotic as a path to the divine as a result of 1) being raised in a branch of Christianity that just. does NOT allow eroticism in any form and, paradoxically, 2) coming of age right when the "Jesus is my boyfriend" rhetoric was really strong in evangelical circles. Learning to find God in all aspects of being human, including the erotic, has been a big deal for me the past couple decades.) I looked up some of Donne's other poems, too, to include, and it worked out really well.

-Usually my smutfics have some sort of build-up beforehand to explain how the characters end up in bed together, but in this fic (and in the previous one in the series, "Enough"), I just dive straight into the sex because this is an established relationship and I don't need to justify why they're having sex right now. (Unfortunately in this fic it's not abundantly clear that this whole thing is taking place with Mina's consent and blessing— but that's just a rule of thumb whenever I write the Harkers.)

-This was the first Jonathan/Renfield smutfic I wrote from Jonathan's perspective, but I knew I wanted to because the other ones had been in Renfield's head, and I wanted to show what Jonathan was thinking and feeling here. It also addresses the elephant in the room: in this version of events, Jonathan has been sexually assaulted by Dracula repeatedly in the past, and so having sex with a different intense old man is going to dredge up some memories. I got the chance to delve into that in this fic, showing how this is a healing experience for him.

-Then we get the Sexy Poetry Reading! Again, I bring up an intentional parallel to abuse that Jonathan suffered in the past, showing how even something simple like someone asking him to read can dredge up feelings.

-Figuring out the logistical details of the physical description vs. the spoken lines took quite a bit of shuffling; I was arranging and rearranging stuff a bunch up until the very last draft. But I'm happy with how the sequence turned out in the end.

-Plus the lines in the poem fit really well with a narrative that has emerged from shipping these two. ""Yet dearly I love you, and would be lov'd fain/But am betroth'd unto your enemy/Divorce me, untie or break that knot again/Take me to you, imprison me…" Again, brings up a lot of the themes that I'd been exploring earlier in the Jonathan/Renfield series, and fit together even better than I expected.

Thanks so much for the ask! :D

(Ask game here)