#Lost myself a bit in the poetry of it all | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

serpentandlily · 1 year ago

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The Crow's Poet - Azriel x Reader

The Crow’s Poet - Azriel x Reader

Summary: All of Azriel's attempts to get his mates attention are ignored and he realizes he was going to have to…resort to poetry, something he thought he’d never have to do.

Warnings: none

a/n: based on this request!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered.

The masks he wears slips when the doors close.

“He wears masks? How odd.”

You chewed on your thumb, contemplating why that would be important information.

He cries himself to sleep after he leaves the witch’s room.

“But he was a monster before we were even trapped down here,” you whispered, thinking about your High Lord and the times he had deigned to visit Hewn City.

He is a master of secrets.

“If you say so,” you scoffed under your breath. Apparently a master of wearing masks. Maybe it was his own way of mocking Tamlin.

“Y/n?” Yara, one of the other servants, called out as she opened the kitchen doors. “Who are you talking to?”

The second the door had swung open your two shadow crows had disappeared, leaving you alone in the corridor. Your cheeks turned red and you stood, rubbing the back of your neck.

“U-uh,” you stuttered. “Myself?”

She rolled her eyes before grabbing you by the sleeve and yanking you back inside the kitchen. “Do you have to be such a weirdo all the time?”

Embarrassment crawled through you at her words. But it wasn’t the first time you had been called weird, or strange, or off-putting. You were a freak in the eyes of many.

Your entire life had been spent in a tiny room in your father’s home in Hewn City, shackled to the wall. Because you had been sheltered during your childhood, you had never developed any social skills like the other daughters of Lords.

You didn’t grow up alongside your peers. The only thing you had in that room with you were the shadows. Shadows that began to take the form of crows.

At some point, they had started talking to you. And you had started talking back. But you were certain you had gone crazy—that you had lost your mind. So you kept it a secret to this day.

Your father hardly let you out anyways, claiming that he needed to keep you pure for when he would offer you up to some Lord for marriage once you were of age. But that day never came because Amarantha had shown up and trapped you all under this mountain.

You were only sixteen when it happened but almost forty years had passed since then. So you had been a prisoner your whole life, essentially. At least down here you had some freedoms to roam about.

Later that night, you found yourself growing more curious about your High Lord after what your shadows had told you. So you mustered up a cocoon of them and used them to slip through walls and doors until you found yourself in the corner of the High Lord’s chambers.

You hid in the shadows, waiting for his return. Mainly out of pure curiosity and boredom. There was only so many times you could play chess against your crows before you lost all interest in it.

The door swung open and the High Lord stalked in, muttering to himself as he did. He slammed the door shut behind him, making you jump a bit in the shadows. You watched as he undid his coat, tossing it onto the bed. His fingers found the buttons of his shirt and your face turned red.

You were ready to disappear in the shadows again, not wanting to watch him undress, when he paused suddenly and sniffed the air. You watched curiously as he twisted in place, examining each corner of his room.

But he couldn’t see you. Not while you were the shadows, right?

Wrong.

His hand was around your throat before you could blink and he yanked you right out of the shadows. You choked in surprise, your eyes widening to full circles. He snarled at you, darkness beginning to drip off every inch of him.

“Who the fuck are you?” Rhysand growled. “And what the fuck are you doing in my room?”

He loosened his grip on your throat enough for you to answer.

"N-No one. I'm no one," you squeaked out, grasping at his wrist with your hands.

Rhysand examined the shadows around you that began to form into the familiar crows. He raised an eyebrow. "A shadowsinger? But I thought...Interesting."

Shadowsinger? You had never heard of the term before.

"A shadow what?" you exclaimed. "I don't sing!"

Rhysand ignored your outburst, glaring at you. "Who sent you here to spy on me? Who are you working for?"

"No one," you gasped. "I'm not working f-for anyone. The shadows told me y-you, um, liked to wear masks and I thought that was a bit odd so I wanted to see for myself."

Rhysand looked at you like you had suddenly grown three heads. But his hand loosened a bit more so you kept talking, unable to stop the words from tumbling out of your mouth. "Speaking of, I-I, uh, don't see any masks in here. Where do y-you keep them?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"The masks?" you stammered. "Like I said...the shadows said you wear them and everything--"

"I don't—" Rhys sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He finally let you go and you slid down the wall, panting for air. 'What court are you from?"

"Yours," you answered, before your eyes widened again. "Oh Gods, am I supposed to bow to you? How does this work? I've never—"

"Stop. Just...stop," Rhys murmured. His face was stuck in thought. He stroked his jaw, staring down at you. "You're from the Court of Nightmares?"

You nodded in answer.

"Another shadowsinger in my court and I was unaware. Why haven't I learned of you until now?"

"I don't sing!" you squabled. "No one knows about my shadows...except you now, I guess."

A grin bloomed on Rhysand's face, one full of deadly intent as he studied your smaller form on the floor at his feet. "No one else knows about your shadows? Not even your family?”

You shook your head, staring up at him with wide eyes. You watched his eyes glaze over in deep thought before he chuckled to himself. That did truly alarm you and you rose cautiously.

“I think you and I are going to be good friends, little shadow. Very good friends."

And that was how you started working for Rhysand. The next ten years were spent with the High Lord, doing whatever he requested of you, which was usually spying on those under the mountain. The two of you developed an unlikely friendship with each other.

When Feyre came along and finally released you all, Rhys brought you home with him, offering you an official job in his court. Not wanting to return to your father, you were more than happy to accept.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Azriel had been relieved when his brother had finally returned to them after forty-nine years apart. Relieved and then intrigued as he spotted the small figure peeking out from behind Rhysand with her big doe eyes. Rhysand had brought a little pet home with him, apparently. A little shadow as he affectionately called her.

He was taken aback by her once she had finally stepped out from behind Rhys. She was the most beautiful female he had ever laid eyes on. He hardly noticed the crow perched on her shoulder, so taken by her beauty.

His shadows had danced along his shoulders at the sight of her and he didn’t quite know what to make of their behavior until Rhys finally introduced you to the family.

Another shadowsinger.

Someone just like him.

He couldn’t lie. A million emotions had rushed through him at that moment but the most prominent one was a sort of instant affinity towards you. His own shadows had swirled around your crows, like even they found comfort in knowing there was someone else in the world that was like them—like him.

Later that night, as he watched you ascend up the stairs to your new room, you glanced over your shoulder at everyone one last time. Your eyes met his and the air was knocked out of his lungs like someone had landed a heavy blow to his sternum.

The one thing he had been dreaming of, hoping for, came to life. The mating bond snapped into place, a long golden string tying you to him. But you hadn’t faltered a step, merely turned around and retired to your room.

The bond hadn’t snapped for you, but that wasn’t alarming. It usually took a while for the female to feel it. In his panic, Azriel had dropped his mental shields and practically screamed his thoughts to Rhys about what had just happened.

Rhys was already planning on having Azriel give you lessons on your magic. It only made sense. He was over five hundred years old with more knowledge about his shadows than you at the young age of sixty-five. So he began his plans to push the two of you together.

For Azriel, it was like hitting two birds with one stone. He would train you on how to use your shadows more effectively and in turn, would also be spending time around you. Which would lead you to realizing the bond between you and him and hopefully, hopefully, you would be just as overjoyed about it as he was.

Azriel wasn’t conceited by any means, especially considering the nasty state of his hands, but he had gotten quite used to females and males falling at his feet for his attention.

You, however, seemed entirely unmoved by his appearance. Every subtle hint he tried to drop was ignored or just not noticed by you. You didn’t notice him when he sat next to you at dinner, didn’t ogle him when he took off his shirt during training, didn’t admire his wings when he sunned them while you were outside in the gardens.

Everything he did to try to capture your attention failed.

You were making him feel flustered—he was not used to having to put so much effort into chasing after others. Normally he was the one being chased.

Leave it to the Mother to gift him with a mate who was so utterly unaffected by his presence. On one hand, he enjoyed it. You never seemed afraid of him, never looked at his hands with disgust or pity. But on the other hand, you never seemed to notice him the way he wanted you to.

The war came and went, leaving him to realize he was going to have to change tactics with you. He was going to have to court you. He was going to have to…resort to poetry—something he never thought he’d have to do.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You were reading a book in the River House’s main sitting room, waiting for dinner to start. It was another family dinner night and everyone who didn’t currently live at the River House would likely be coming sometime soon.

So when the door opened and closed, you didn’t bat an eye. Didn’t even turn around as you heard footsteps coming down the foyer to where you sat. Not until someone cleared their throat behind you.

You twisted around on the settee to see Azriel standing in the archway with a bundle of flowers in his hand. You raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what he needed.

“Good evening, Y/n,” he said, his deep voice filling the space between you two.

A bit of anxiety began to climb up your throat, a common feeling whenever someone approached you. You still were not used to socializing with others, still hadn’t quite gotten used to even having people other than Rhysand want to talk to you.

“Hi,” you squeaked, closing your book shut a bit too hard. You winced at the noise.

He strided over to you, his wings tucked tight behind him like he was nervous. Even his shadows seemed to buzz around the air more frantically than normal.

“I brought these for you,” he said, holding out the flowers to you.

You blinked, looking between him and the flowers in confusion. What did he expect you to do with those?

You hesitantly reached out and took them from him, smiling awkwardly. The flowers were beautiful, the petals a soft silver, almost glowing like the moon.

“Oh, um, thank you?” You choked out the words, rising from the settee. You tucked your book against your chest like it would shield you from him.

He frowned a bit. “Do you…not like them?”

“N-no!” You stuttered. “No, I mean y-yes! Um, thank you. Again.”

“You're welcome,” he said with a tiny nod. Azriel’s lips twitched upwards, like you had just said something funny.

“I'm gonna go, um, do something with these.”

You brushed past Azriel before he could respond and scurried from the room, your heart pounding in your chest. The others still made you nervous but not quite like Azriel did. It was his presence alone that made your heart stutter in your chest.

“What the heck does he want me to do with these?” You hissed to your shadow crow who landed on your shoulder.

Perhaps he wants you to plant them in the garden with the other flowers.

You smacked your head with your book. “Oh my gods, duh! Why didn’t I think of that?”

You still had thirty minutes until dinner so you made your way outside to the gardens. You peered around, looking for an empty spot of dirt, which was hard because of all the work Elain had done out here.

You finally spotted one and set your book down on the metal wire table outside. When the weather was nice enough, sometimes Feyre and Rhysand would host dinners out here, at this table.

You scuttled over to the edge of the stone path and knelt on the ground. You began digging a small hole, unsure of how deep you were supposed to go.

You were so concentrated on your efforts that you failed to notice the people who began to come out from the back door.

You placed the stems of the flower in the hole, pushing some dirt around so they stood up straight.

“Y/n? What on earth are you doing?” Feyre exclaimed from behind you, causing you to jump in fright.

You looked over your shoulder to see nearly the entirety of the Inner Circle, all taking seats at the table behind you.

You stood up, wiping your dirty hands on your skirt.

“Azriel wanted some flowers planted,” you shrugged, looking towards the male who was now staring at you with total bewilderment on his normally unreadable face.

He blinked and then shook his head, his lips twitching into a small smile.

“What?” Cassian blurted out.

You looked between everyone, not sure why they were so confused. Was it not normal to bring someone flowers to plant?

“He brought me some flowers,” you explained slowly, “to plant out here.”

Rhys reached out and ruffled the hair on the top of your head, fondly, as he held back his laughter. Several of them shared a look, lips pressing together like they were stopping themselves from laughing. All except Cassian who looked at Azriel and then tossed his head back, cackling with amusement.

It was Mor who took pity on the shadowsinger.

“That was very nice of you, Azriel,” she said, smoothly, kicking Cassian under the table.

“Yeah,” Cassian said in between his struggles to stop laughing. “How nice of you, Az.”

Later that night, Nesta had pulled you aside to offer you a book.

“Read this,” she had said. “I think it’ll help.”

She left the book in your hands with a wink.

You stayed up all night reading the book—blushing red at some of the words written on the pages. But when you got to the part where the male love interest brought the girl flowers, you were mortified.

Azriel had given you those as a gift…to put in a vase, wherever you pleased. The girl had put them on her nightstand in the book.

But that didn’t make sense to you because Azriel was your friend. He wasn’t interested in you like that. But maybe, friends also brought friends flowers? The whole thing confused you and you went to bed that night utterly perplexed.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“Come on,” Azriel encouraged, his arms around your neck, pulling your back tight against his front. “I’ve taught you how to get out of this hold.”

You were currently having a one-on-one combat lesson with Azriel, something you two had been doing for awhile. He had suggested it to you after you started training with the Valkyries and you agreed, a part of you wanting to spend more time with him.

You liked Azriel and even though he made you feel a little more uncomfortable than the others, you had taken to him. It wasn’t that the feelings were bad, necessarily. It was just, he made you feel all tingly inside and that often made you flustered around him.

You grabbed a hold of his wrists like he had taught you, pulling them away from your neck as you got one leg behind his. You knew what he wanted you to do from here, but you wanted to surprise him for once. Wanted to catch him off guard.

Your crows squawked their encouragement from the sidelines.

“What are they telling you?” Azriel asked, suspiciously. His breath tickled the tip of your pointy ear, making your body shudder. You could’ve sworn his tensed in response.

“Nothing,” you chimed, innocently.

And then you swept his legs out from under him, ducking out of his hold in his confusion and shoving him in the back so he fell face forward onto the mat. You pounced after him, landing with your knees around his hips, pressing your hands down on his shoulder blades between his wings so he couldn’t get up.

“Got you!”

Azriel’s body vibrated with his chuckle. “Oh, you think so?”

He bucked you off of him, causing you to squeal, as he turned himself over and flipped your positions, leaving you on your back under him. He smirked at you, some of his fluffy dark brown hair dangling down on his forehead, almost touching yours.

“Got you,” he drawled.

"No fair," you pouted, crossing your arms under him.

Butterflies swarmed your stomach at the feeling of his body against yours. You sent a crow after him, pecking him on the back of the neck, to get him to move, unsure of how long you could handle that feeling without saying something stupid.

He sat up on his haunches, batting it away with a glower at you. "What's not fair?"

"You're not fair! You weigh the same as a horse," you grumbled. "I bet you eat rocks for breakfast, you big bat."

He chuckled, standing up and reaching his gloved hand out to help you up. "I assure you, I do not eat rocks...not for breakfast, at least."

So he did eat rocks? How odd, you thought. But if chefs could make turnips taste good, maybe they could make rocks edible? Maybe like a rock soup or tiny pebble croutons. Did all Illyrians eat rocks?

Once you were up, Azriel began to smooth out your hair. The gesture felt intimate and you blushed a bright pink. He seemed to notice, judging by the slight smile on his face. You frowned at him.

"Come on, don't be a sore loser," he teased, putting a hand on your lower back and guiding you towards the water station. "Our time today is up, anyways."

"How convenient for you," you murmured under your breath, causing him to laugh again. Your crows flew a lap around the training ring, as if the noise delighted them. It may have delighted you as well.

His hand moved around your waist until it dipped down to grab your own hand. “Allow me to make it up to you?”

“How?” You glanced up at his towering figure.

“Let me take you to dinner,” he said, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Tonight.”

“O-oh, okay,” you stammered out.

He smiled, exposing the small dimple on the right side of his cheek that made him look more boyish than normal. Your heart fluttered in your chest.

He pulled you closer to him and a second later, you were engulfed in shadows, only to reappear on the doorstep to the River House.

“Good.” He dropped your hand finally and you clutched it to your chest. “I’ll come get you at seven.”

You nodded, feeling a bit breathless and he dipped his head at you before disappearing into the shadows and leaving you and your pounding heart alone on the doorstep.

Dinner that night felt like a dream. Azriel had shown up right on time, waiting for you in the foyer of the River House. He took you to a small restaurant on the side of the Sidra and you spent most of the night admiring the way he looked under the faelights.

Had he always been so beautiful?

You couldn’t remember.

After dinner, Azriel had taken you on a walk near the river. The moonlight reflected off the dark water, lighting the path. You stumbled upon a cool looking rock and eagerly picked it up, holding it out for him.

He raised an eyebrow at you, taking the rock from your hand.

“Your dessert,” you exclaimed, closing his fingers around the rock before stepping back.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed and you decided you liked the way he looked when he was confused.

“Earlier, you said you didn't eat rocks for breakfast.” You rubbed at your arm. “So that must mean you eat them at some point of the day. So I thought, maybe you save them for dessert?”

By the time you were done talking, Azriel’s eyebrows were almost at his hairline. You were surprised when a barking laugh exploded out of him, your cheeks turning pink. You hesitantly smiled, not quite sure why he was laughing but loving the sound of it anyways.

“I take it you, um, don’t eat rocks?” You smiled sheepishly.

“That was a joke, Y/n,” he laughed, his hazel eyes shimmering gold and green.

“Y-yeah, of course it was!” You tried to play it off but you couldn’t hide your embarrassment.

He put the rock in his pocket as his laughter settled down. He placed both hands on the side of your head, kissing your forehead as he mumbled with affection, “What are we going to do with you?”

“Hopefully nothing bad,” you squeaked.

Azriel shook his head again with a soft laugh, grabbing your hand and guiding you further down the path. “I can’t believe you really thought I ate rocks.”

“I-I didn’t!”

He only gave you a disbelieving look.

It had almost felt like a date…like the ones you read about in the books Nesta leant you. But you quickly drowned out those thoughts. Azriel was your friend. And he had taken you out tonight as a favor.

But by the time he returned you home, there was a new light inside of you. Like a song with a familiar melody that made every nerve inside of you sing to its tune.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Unfortunately, Azriel was sent on a mission not too long after the night you shared together but he had promised to write to you during the three weeks he would be gone.

You found yourself quite eager to receive them.

Little shadow, I’ve got something for you. Come to my office when you’re free.

Rhys’s voice had you setting down the dagger you had been sharpening. You sent a crow to his office, curious to know what he had waiting for you.

A letter, master.

You jumped up from your desk. It must be a letter from Azriel because you had no idea who else would be writing you.

Tell your crows to mind their own business. They’ve ruined the surprise.

You laughed to yourself as you let your shadows cocoon you and take you to Rhys’s office. You stepped out of the shadows and Rhys raised an eyebrow at you.

“Eager?” He seemed amused.

You scowled at him. “You have a letter for me?”

He nodded, picking up an envelope off his desk and holding it out for you to take. You grabbed it, recognizing the handwriting your name was written with on the front immediately.

“Would you like to tell me why my Spymaster is sending me letters for you with his mission updates, little shadow?”

Rhys’s violet eyes sparkled with stars as he waited for your reaction. Your face turned pink and you clutched the letter to your chest. “Mind your own business, Rhys,” you mocked him.

He held up his hands with a grin that told you he already knew exactly why Azriel was sending you letters. You summoned your shadows to take you back to your room.

“Hey! Where are you going? You’re not going to let me read it too?” Rhys called out.

“No!”

Rhys’s chuckled followed you the whole way back to your room.

You tore open the envelope once you were in privacy, unfolding the letter with shaky hands.

Dear Y/n,

I find my days feel slower without the joy of your company. Even my shadows seem to miss their pesky crow companions.

You blushed, feeling your crows swirl around your head as if they too were swooning. Your eyes rapidly read the rest of the letter as he mentioned tiny tidbits about the mission and how it was going, asking you if you were keeping up with your training and teasing you about settling your score with him once he returned.

A smile had bloomed on your face as you finished reading—your heart fluttering in your chest.

I will continue to write to you, little bird, and I can only hope that you write back to me as well. I dream of your voice but I suppose words will have to be enough until I can see you again.

~ Your shadowsinger

P.s I came across something in the marketplace today that reminded me of you and I cannot wait to give it to you once I return.

You didn’t think twice before sitting down at your desk and whipping out a piece of parchment and a pen. That smile lingered on your face the rest of the night.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Three weeks passed by slowly. You couldn’t count how many times you had re-read the letters Azriel had been sending you. You had even made a trip to the marketplace to find a nicely carved, wooden box to store them in.

You were currently sitting on the railing of your balcony, a small shadow crow perched on your shoulder to keep you company. It was nighttime and the streets of Velaris were lit up with music, laughter and pretty faelights.

You preferred to watch from here, rather than joining in, despite Mor’s attempts to drag you to Rita’s.

The beating of wings stole your attention from the streets and you narrowed your eyes as a flying figure came into view. Cobalt siphons shined under the moonlight and your eyes widened as you realized that figure was Azriel.

Not only that, but he appeared to be heading straight towards your balcony as if he had known you’d be out here. You quickly hopped off the railing and stepped back a few paces to give him room to land.

Azriel landed gracefully with a small thud in front of you, tucking his wings in. He looked positively lethal tonight, his elegant cheekbones sharp in the darkness, his hazel eyes glowing gold. Beautiful. He was beautiful.

“Azriel,” you whispered in a questioning tone. “I didn’t know you were back from your mission.”

“I just got back,” he said, his voice dark like the night sky. It sent a shiver down your spine. “I wanted to see you first, before I check in with Rhys.”

“O-oh,” you stammered, blushing bright pink. You rubbed at your arm, suddenly feeling exposed in just your nightgown. “Well, I’m glad you’re back. They are too.”

You gesture towards the crow sitting on your shoulder still. Azriel’s shadows swirled in tendrils towards it until it flew off, the shadows trailing behind it, like they were also catching up.

You smiled at them as they disappeared in the night sky before turning your gaze back to Azriel. His eyes swept up your form, a muscle in his jaw clenching. When his eyes met yours again, there was a small heat in them that caused the butterflies in your stomach to go haywire.

It was gone a second later and you wondered if you had imagined it. You cleared your throat. “How was the mission?”

“Good. Fine,” Azriel sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Though I’m happy to be back.”

You smiled up at him, shyly. Your voice was caught in your throat as you scrambled through your brain for something to say. But it seemed like Azriel didn’t mind your silence.

He reached a hand out, brushing a piece of your hair behind your ear before stroking your cheek with his knuckles. He was staring at you so intensely, as if you were the only thing that mattered to him in the moment.

“I should go check in with Rhys,” he mumbled. “I just wanted to see your face, to make sure the one I see in my dreams is accurate.”

Your chest warmed, your blush turned red.

“I-is it?”

Your voice was a soft whisper in the gentle breeze.

Azriel shook his head with a small smile. “No. Nothing can ever compare to seeing you in person.”

His grabbed the hand dangling by your side.

“Get some rest, little bird,” he said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles before disappearing in a swirl of shadows. Your heart was pounding in your chest, your skin tingly from his touch. Even long after you fell asleep.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

You stared at yourself in the mirror after slipping on the gown Rhysand had left for you. It was time to make a trip to the Court of Nightmares, to Hewn City—your old home. You hated these visits. They brought back terrible memories but like the rest of the court, you sucked it up for Rhys’s sake.

He had given you a silk, cobalt blue gown. It swept to the floor, flowing only slightly away from your body in an elegant sheath silhouette. Thin straps held up the form-fitting bodice with a slight cowl neckline. It was simple, but beautiful.

A knock on your door pulled your attention away from your reflection.

“One second,” you called out as you slipped on the heels you had picked out to wear with the dress before making your way to the door. You pulled it open to see Azriel standing there in his full leathers, all seven siphons gleaming in the light.

His eyes widened as they trailed over your form. You suddenly felt self-conscious. When he met your gaze again, he cleared his throat and you held the door open so he could step inside your room, trying to brush off that feeling.

“Did you need something?” You asked.

His hands were in his pocket as he turned to face you. “I wanted to give you something before we leave for Hewn City. I mentioned it in my first letter.”

You nodded, remembering his written words clearly. Gods know how many times you had trailed your fingertips over that sentence with a stammering heart.

“Okay,” you squeaked, suddenly feeling nervous.

He gestured at you to turn around and you were once again facing yourself in the mirror. He stalked towards you like an angel from hell, his wings held out like every proud Illyrian male.

He pulled a small black box from his pocket and took something out of it. With one hand, he brushed your hair to one shoulder. His fingertips grazed your bare skin, sending a small shiver through your body.

Cold metal grazed your chest as he hung a necklace around your neck, letting it fall between your breasts as he clasped it from behind.

Your eyes rounded as you looked at it. It was a beautiful necklace, a blood red heart encased in twisting gold plating. You brushed your fingers against it, admiring it as a piece of art.

“It looks beautiful on you,” Azriel whispered, his breath brushing against your throat. “Just like I imagined.”

You swallowed, blushing. “It’s beautiful, Azriel. Thank you.”

His scarred fingers ran down your arm softly. “You are beautiful. Absolutely stunning, Y/n. I hope you know that.”

Your lips parted, ready to say something but Rhys’s voice interrupted.

Everyone to the foyer. It’s time to go.

You twisted in Azriel’s hold, staring up at him. He smiled down at you, his hazel eyes full of warmth. He grasped your hand in his. “Shall we?”

You could only nod, still at a loss for words.

An hour later, you were resting against a pillar in Hewn City’s throne room, watching Eris twirl around with Nesta. That had been the goal tonight, to entice Eris into proposing a marriage alliance. Even though she was doing this as a favor for your rulers, you couldn’t help but admire the two dancers. Watching them was like watching a real-life fairytale from one of the romance books.

You wished someone would look at you the way Cassian stared at Nesta as she danced, wished someone would have interest in you, desire you. You didn’t use to want those things because none of it would’ve been your choice, but now? Well, you could dream.

Your mind drifted to Azriel and all the little ways he had been treating you lately. Something sparked in your chest at the thought of him. Some of his gestures did seem romantic in nature, but other times, you wondered if he just saw you the way Rhys did…a little shadow, young and inexperienced.

“Would you like to dance?”

You stood up straight, blinking as Azriel appeared in front of you. Heat crawled up your neck as you looked at the shadowsinger, trying to push away all the thoughts you just had about him. Your eyes darted from the dance floor to his pretty hazel eyes.

“Y-you want to dance?” You looked at him almost disbelieving. “With me?”

“With only you,” he murmured, giving you a small smile. He held out his hand to you and you grappled with your pounding heart as you took it. The last song had just finished, the new strings starting up as he led you to the dance floor.

He slid a hand around your waist, pulling you close as you settled your free hand on his shoulder. As usual, both of your shadows had departed, as if they were spending time on their own. Movement caught your eye and you looked up to see one of your crows perched on a railing, a small shadow tendril swishing around it.

“We have an audience,” you whispered to Azriel, nodding your head towards the shadows.

His lips twitched as he followed your gaze. It had been jarring for him at first, to be so exposed without his shadows every time he was around you. But now it was comforting, a break from the constant darkness around him.

“Better put on a show,” he teased, twirling you around in his arms.

You laughed, letting him lead you through the movements, staying on beat with every pluck of a string. You danced in silence, your eyes never straying from his hazel ones. The throne room blurred in your peripheral, making it feel like it was just you and Azriel in this room together.

“Are you doing okay?” Azriel asked. “I know you don’t like coming here.”

“I’m fine,” you stammered. “It gets easier every time—seeing my family.”

Azriel’s eyes hardened at the mention of your family. He knew the story of how you got your shadows. A story not much different than his. He hadn’t told you, but before tonight, he had made a little visit to your family’s home and threatened your father into staying away from you tonight.

“If you want to leave, just say the word,” Azriel said. “I’ll deal with Rhys.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “I’ll be fine. Promise.”

Azriel nodded his head but his grip on your waist tightened. The pair of you did another circle around the room before he spoke again. “You know, I have you to thank for how fast I was able to complete that mission for Rhys.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You,” he drawled, “Are a good motivator. I was counting down the seconds until I could return to you.”

Your cheeks heated, those damn butterflies in your stomach returned.

“Well, I’m glad I could help,” you squeaked, averting your eyes, shyly.

Azriel chuckled to himself, endeared by your mannerisms. The song came to a close and he dropped his hand from your waist but didn’t let go of your other one. He pulled it to his lips, kissing the back of your hand softly. “Thank you for dancing with me, little bird.”

You smiled back with a dip of the head. “I-I enjoyed it.”

“Good,” Azriel grinned before his eyes glazed over for a second and he frowned. “Rhys needs me for something. I’ll come find you once I’m done.”

“Okay,” you whispered. He reluctantly let your hand fall back to your side before pulling away, heading towards the High Lord. You let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding, clutching a hand to your chest as you headed towards the back of the room again.

You were halfway back to your pillar when you heard someone mention your name. You frozen behind a statue, peering through the gaps to see a group of three females standing together, gossiping.

“I don’t know what he sees in her,” one of them mumbled. “Probably likes her because she’s a freak like him. Such a shame he’s a lesser fae.”

“I bet the High Lord told him to court her so he could keep both shadowsingers in his court to use,” another one laughed. “She’s so strange. I saw her talking to one of her crows earlier.”

“I think she’s pretty,” the third one whispered, shyly. “Even if she’s a little strange.”

“A little?” the first one scoffed with a laugh.

You rushed away, not wanting to hear anymore. You scurried out of the throne room and down the empty corridor, finding a small alcove to hide in. Tears lined your eyes as you thought on their words. You had thought maybe Azriel liked you, had wanted him to. But it was wishful thinking. No one would ever be interested in you that way. They were right. You were too strange, too off-putting.

You wiped at your tears bitterly.

“Y/n?” Azriel’s voice came from behind you. “What are you doing out here?”

Of course, he would show up right now. While you were crying over him. You turned slowly, trying to blink away your tears. “I-I just needed a break from the crowd.”

Azriel’s face dropped as he noticed the tear tracks on your cheeks. He took a step closer, reaching a hand out to cup your cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong? Did someone do something to you?”

You shook your head quickly. “No…No, nothing like that. I’m just…overwhelmed.”

“Please tell me what’s wrong,” Azriel pleaded, rubbing his thumb against your cheek.

“You’ll think I’m stupid,” you whispered.

Azriel shook his head. “Never. I would never think you’re stupid, Y/n.”

You bit your lip, looking at the floor. Part of you wanted to tell him, to get a direct answer to your questions. But the other part of you was mortified at the thought of letting him know what you heard and how you felt about him.

“Please,” he murmured again.

You let out a sigh. “I just…overheard some girls talking about me. It’s not a big deal.”

“Who?” Azriel asked, his voice a touch darker.

You shrugged, looking back up at him. “I don’t know. Just some faeries who know me from here.”

“What could they have possibly said to upset you?”

It all came pouring out before you could stop it, the words spilling from your lips so quickly they almost slurred together. “They said I was strange and weird. But that doesn’t bother me. I hear it all the time. But…but they said the High Lord probably ordered you to ‘court’ me so I wouldn’t leave the Night Court. That there was no other reason you’d be interested in me—”

“Stop,” Azriel cut you off, causing your lips to slam shut. “I don’t need to hear anymore, Y/n, because everything they said is complete bullshit. First off, Rhys would never give an order like that. You know him.”

You nodded along but the pit of your stomach still ached.

“And I am interested in you. Not your shadows or your place in this court, I’m interested in you,” Azriel said. “I…I thought that might be obvious by now.”

Your lips parted in surprise as you looked up at him with wide eyes. He chuckled, running a hand through his hair, at your expression.

“Y-you,” you stammered, “You are?”

“Yes, Y/n, I am more than just interested in you,” Azriel said. “I am enamored by you. You are the one I seek out each time I enter a room. Every stolen glance, every brush of your fingers, every smile you gift me, is a treasure I hold in my heart. I am completely and utterly taken by you, Y/n. It pains me that you would doubt my affections for even a second.”

You were speechless. He had taken the breath right from your lungs. Your heart was singing that melody again, the one it had sung that night he had taken you out for dinner. You stared up at him, into his hazel eyes that looked at you with reverence and warmth. His hand still cupped your face, his other pushed a piece of hair behind your ears with a gentle touch.

“So…all those things you…all the stuff you did—”

“Yes, Y/n, I have been trying to win your heart,” Azriel interjected for you. “The way you won mine since the moment I laid eyes on you. Not a day goes by where you are not on my mind. I am and have been bewitched by you. You have my heart and soul, little bird, if you’ll have it.”

The melody playing in your soul struck its final chord, releasing a golden thread that snapped the minute you met Azriel’s eyes again. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding. Mate. Mate. Azriel was your mate.

“Y-you,” you choked out, eyes rounded. “You’re my mate.”

Azriel’s eyes were hopeful as he nodded. “Yes and you are mine.”

“You knew…this whole time?”

He nodded again. “I did but I didn’t want to force you into something. I wanted you to find out on your own, after we had spent time together.”

You swallowed audibly.

Mate.

Azriel was your mate.

You weren’t even sure what to say. Your head was buzzing as your thoughts sped through your brain. The longer you stayed silent, the more the expression on Azriel’s face dropped until he looked uncertain. But you couldn’t shake yourself from your stupor.

“Will you have me?” Azriel asked, slowly. You could feel his insecurity down the bond and you knew you had to say something—anything to reassure him.

“Yes,” you stammered. “Azriel, I… I have never felt this way about someone. I wasn’t sure I would ever. But you… I l-love you.”

You blurted out the last three words, turning bright red as you stumbled over your speech. His eyes widened.

You weren’t sure when you had fallen in love with him. Had it been that night you walked along the Sidra? Or maybe sometime during training? All you knew was what you felt for him, something that didn’t seem to have a name until this very moment.

You let out a breath as a smile overtook Azriel’s face. He rested his forehead against yours with a deep breath.

“I love you too, little bird,” he said. “You have my heart, my soul, my devotion until the end of everything.”

“And you have me,” you whispered.

Azriel pulled back to look at you, lifting your chin with a finger.

“May I kiss you?”

Your heart stuttered.

“Y-yes.”

That was all he needed to hear. Azriel surged forward and kissed you hard with so much heat, so much craving that you stumbled back against the wall. His large hands fisted the silk fabric at your waist, pulling you against him before one hand rested on your hip while the other slid into your hair slowly.

All your thoughts ceased at that moment. All you could feel was Azriel’s hard body pressed against yours, so closely you swore you could feel his own heart beating against yours. And his lips were so warm, so soft against yours.

When he finally pulled away, you were both panting. Your cheeks were red, your lips swollen, and the mating bond sang it's pretty song in your chest as you gazed up at Azriel.

“We should get back,” he mumbled, though he looked like he was ready to take you right there in the middle of this corridor. “Before anyone notices us gone.”

He held his hand out to you with a smile. You took it, letting him pull you down the corridor, hand in hand, giggling like a schoolgirl the entire way back.

The crow that had been watching this whole time, swooped away to follow after you two, a small tendril of shadow following close behind.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

#acotar #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader #acotar x you #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #shadowsinger x reader

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divine-knight-hand · 11 months ago

Text

The End of an Era

Regina George Masterlist || Full Masterlist || Read on AO3

Pairing: (Reneé Rapp's) Regina George x Female Reader

Summary: After the iconic Christmas dance fiasco, one of Regina's long-time admirers decides to make sure she's okay.

Content Warnings: Mentions of being a pervert, but fluffiness from there, brief mentions of weight change and dieting, a poetry reference, a bit of toxic behavior (and verbal degradation) but Regina is a queen and I'm wearing rose-colored glasses, nothing spicier than kissing, but their is some dubious consent (but the want is mutual!)

Notes: Christmas dance scene moment!!! I just recently saw the new Mean Girls and Regina George was all that was on my mind since. So, I quickly wrote this up. Enjoy!

Word Count: 1,624

Dividers by @anitalenia

I’m no better than a man… I thought as I ogled Regina while she danced onstage.

Most of the student body didn’t care for the plastics’ “Rockin’ Around the Pole” routine, but I made sure I had the best view of it every year. I already knew before this year’s performance that it would be a little different. I recognized the group’s newest member, Cady Heron, from homeroom. Regina quickly took an interest in her when she first transferred in, and she became the newest member of the plastics.

I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. What did it feel like to have Regina look at you in fascination? What did it feel like to be taken under her wing? How many times did Cady hang out with her? How many times did Cady go to Regina’s house?

The clapping of the girls’ leather boots made me jump, and my eyes zeroed back in on Regina. No, I didn’t actually care for the performance itself, but from freshman year, when I first saw Regina in the same tight-fitting crop top, short skirt, long gloves, and thigh-high boots, I was awe-struck. Since then, I’d taken to watching her from afar, which was easy to do, since she always made her presence known when she entered a room. With each passing day, I grew more and more enamored with her.

I found myself instinctively leaning in once the girls set up one of the grandest moves in their performance. Karen took to the bottom as Gretchen guided Regina into a handstand on her knees from behind. I willed my eyes down to Regina’s face once she made it into position.

Though I spent the performance letting my eyes travel along her body–looking at her thighs in the space between her skirt and boots, her exposed sliver of midriff under her crop top, and watching the way her beach blonde waves fell to frame her gorgeous breasts–I would not be perverted enough to hone in on her crotch as her skirt flipped. My mind might already be in the gutter, but I’d still have a little class.

I’d noticed that her clothes seemed to be fitting her a little tighter than normal this year. There were rumors floating around that Regina was gaining weight, but I also heard that she was on some health kick with special weight loss bars, so that couldn’t have been possible. It had to have just been in my head.

Or so I thought.

Suddenly, Karen’s legs began to shake, and as Regina lost her balance, Gretchen lost her grip, sending the three of them tumbling to the ground in front of a surprised Cady. The audience let out a unanimous gasp as Regina hit the floor face-first. Oh, shit!

It didn’t take long for all the cameras to start flashing, and the look on Regina’s face told me she knew that her life as the untouchable leader of the plastics was quickly coming to a close.

I figured that famous poet who said the world doesn’t end “with a bang but a whimper” clearly didn’t consider the fact that a teenage girl’s world could get explosive in an instant, without a single warning. I’m sure they’d change their mind once they met Regina George.

The curtains began to close, but not before I saw Regina take to her feet and speed backstage. I felt terrible for her. Was she one of the meanest people in the school? Yes. But, I was also in love with her- I mean- a firm believer that nobody deserved that level of humiliation. Not even mean girls. So, out of a sense of heartache and longing to comfort her, I did what any normal and not creepy person would do. I jumped out of my seat and went after her.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

I couldn’t actually follow Regina backstage, since I wasn’t in the talent show, so I ducked into the bathroom closest to the auditorium. As soon as I opened the door, I saw her, and my heart leapt into my throat.

She slammed her fists down on the sink in front of her, letting out an angry growl.

I gently closed the door behind me, not wanting to alert her yet, but my shoe audibly squeaked against the floor, and Regina’s head snapped in my direction.

I gasped once I saw her. It was an instant, and she quickly turned away, but after she made mascara tears a school-wide trend, it was hard not to notice when they were on her face.

“Get out.” She spat, still facing the other way.

“I- I wanted to see if you were okay.” I stammered.

“I didn’t say to start spewing mushy shit,” She insisted in that same cold tone. “I said to get the hell out.” When I didn’t immediately move, she roared. “NOW!”

I reeled backwards in surprise when she got loud, feeling an instant sense of guilt. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I’ll go.” I turned to grab the door handle, but paused when I heard her sniffle again. “You know, I come to see your performance every year.”

“Yeah, everyone does, because I’m amazing.” I turned my head to see Regina impatiently drumming her fingers on the sink, gloves long abandoned. “What, did you think you were different?”

“No,” I admitted. “I know that nothing I do really sets me apart from anyone else in this hellhole.” She snorted at my remark, and I dared to slowly approach her. “So, yeah, I’m just like everyone else. I came to see your dance. I follow all the trends you set. I turn my head whenever you walk into a room. Hell, whenever you turn up, you’re all I can see.”

She snapped her head back to me, her face set in a stoic expression. “Are you mocking me right now?”

“No, no!” I stopped my advancements, waving my hands to emphasize. “I would never!” I moved my hands to my pockets, eyes drifting down to my shoes. “If anything, I was mocking myself. I’m just like any other nobody in North Shore. I honestly wouldn’t expect you to recognize me. Sorry for bothering you.” I bit my lip in shame, debating whether or not I should leave.

A beat of silence passed before I made up my mind to go, but before I had the chance, Regina spoke up. “You’re Y/N L/N.”

My jaw dropped.

“Ew.” Regina closed the gap between us, coaxing my mouth closed with a hand under my chin. “Don’t do that.”

“Sorry.” I muttered, heat creeping into my cheeks. She touched me! She actually touched me!

“I do know you.” Regina went on. “It’s a bit hard not to notice when someone’s practically stalking you.”

My cheeks burned with humiliation. “I… I…”

A faint smile stirred at her painted red lips. “Especially when they’re as cute as you are.”

What? “What?”

“Ugh, get your ears cleaned.” She rolled her eyes. “I said I think you’re cute. Do you honestly think I’d let you creep on me if you weren’t?”

I scratched the back of my neck. “Sorry about that…”

“Don’t be.” Regina moved my hand before wrapping her arms around my neck. “I liked your eyes on me.” She pressed her body against mine, and I hoped she couldn’t feel my heart fluttering. “Everyone watches me, of course, but you’re the only one I like watching me.”

“Regina…” I breathed.

“Oh. My. God.” Regina scoffed. “Stop being such a prude and wrap your arms around me. What are you, a nun?”

“S- sorry…” I muttered, moving my hands from their tense position at my sides to hold her. I felt electricity under my fingers once they made contact with the skin of her midriff.

“That’s… better.” Regina ran her tongue over her teeth, like a hungry shark eying its prey. “I don’t wanna kiss you without your hands on me.”

WHAT?! “Wha-” She cut me off by pulling me into the promised kiss.

She rolled her body against mine, and I sighed, my eyes fluttering shut as I let her tongue into my mouth. Her hands clawed against my back as she tried to pull me closer.

She pulled away, only to keep kissing my face. She kissed all over my cheeks before trailing her kisses along my neck to the collar of my shirt. I shivered as one of her hands pulled at my shirt, and I felt her lips against the sweet spot in my neck.

“Regina…” I breathlessly sighed. “I adore you…”

“I know~” I felt her mouth spread into a grin against my mouth.

Then, all too soon, she pulled away from me, fixing her hair as she looked me up and down.

“You came to ask me if I was okay, right?” She raised an eyebrow at me.

“Y- yeah,” I stuttered, still in shock from our kiss.

“Well, I’m better now~” She winked. “So, thanks for that.”

Before I could even formulate an idea on what I could possibly say next, she was out the bathroom door.

What just happened? I wondered just before my reflection caught my eye. I was covered in blotches of red lipstick. It was scattered on my cheeks, coloring my neck, and smudged across my lips.

I gingerly reached a hand up to admire myself. I was all marked up. I was Regina’s.

After tonight, we knew Regina might not have been queen of the plastics anymore, but I hoped that she left the room with the understanding that she would always be a queen to me. Her world didn’t end with a bang or a whimper. It ended with a kiss.

#mean girls #mean girls 2024 #mean girls movie #regina george #mean girls fanfiction #regina george x reader

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lixies-favorite-cookie · 5 months ago

Text

an ocean in a world full of puddles ◦ Chapter 1

-After being brushed off by Chan once again, you are stuck waiting in the lounge room for him to arrive. What are you going to do when it isn't Chan that arrives, but instead Felix? And it feels like you've known him for years."

words ◦ 5k

genre ◦ series, angst, fluff, the beginning of a wild ride

warnings ◦ chan is painted in sort of a negative light because he is always busy, felix is sort of shy around you at first, but lowkey flirty near the end as he starts to get more comfertable, theres a lot of fucks in this, i keep calling yall im dumb im sorry, fem!reader, felix calls her a lady once,

a/n ◦ The strikeouts are intentional to show how chaotic the reader's mind is and how she feels like her emotions are so invalid she has to just erase them away. I'm sorry if this isn't what you expected. I found myself struggling to describe certain aspects of this and was quite disappointed by the outcome (but please do not let this deter you. If anything, read it and let me know what you think/what I can change. Plus, I know the other parts are going to be way better than this).

also i listened to heather while writing this up until the phone number bit... then i listened to slow down by chase atlantic...do with that information as you will

A VERY VERY SPECAIL THANK YOU TO THESE BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE that helped me through the different struggles and stages in this fic I thank most of my unnecessary errors being fixed because of them @yongbun, @jeonginsleftcheek, @luvtak

masterlist ◦ a loved lived in between the stars and the sea

The human condition: a soul filled with passion, but not a mouth to spill it into.

It was ironic really.

Your soul was filled with passion, but you had a mouth to spill it into.

That mouth just didn't want your passion-

Your fervor-

Your ardor-

Romance practically coursed through your veins, your blood cells shaped like the hearts you saw the world through.

Chan was filled with passion.

Chan was filled with ardor.

Chan was filled with romance.

But Chan didn't want poetry-

Chan spilled too much soul into songs.

Songs that made him too busy for you.

The two of you saw the same goal, but spoke different languages-

Your love was often-

Lost in translation.

You shout, frustration poking in the pit of your stomach painting the car red you dig the pencil into the words scratching them out so hard you cut holes in the page that sounded so stupid

all of this was so stupid

your feelings-

stupid

your issues-

stupid

the thought that Chan was anything other than perfect-

stupid

Why couldn't you just be content with everything you have? So many girls would pay to be in your place, tripping over each other just to be in his presence, and yet, what, you're unhappy because you spoke different languages?

What the hell does that even mean?

You were trapped inside an inescapable box, the sharp edges of your unrealistic expectations like shackles that cut into your skin, bleeding with a passion only ever found in fiction.

Why were you always stuck?

stuck in the stars, stuck in the sea-

stuck in this stupid line of stupid traffic, waiting for a stupid meal that Chan probably will be too busy to eat with you, writing some stupid piece of poetry that was about as poetic as the rotting innards of unidentified roadkill.

stupid

“Finally,” you mumble as the car in front of you inches up, allowing you access to the next window. You politely bow, grab the trays from the worker’s hand, and drive off.

Your life quickly turned from the hope of a story to the reality of a routine. The road, the walls, the button your finger grazes as the doors to the elevator slam shut, the number of steps it takes to get to his room, the feel of cold metal underneath your palm as you open the door, the same hunch of his shoulders, the same glow of his laptop, the same empty look in his eyes.

the same

Most of your relationship is spent looking at him like this.

"Hey channie," you say, setting the food down on the empty spot beside his keyboard.

"Hi, love." His voice is nothing more than the ghost of a mumble, blending with the click and shift of his mouse, moving different blurs and blobs of color on the screen. Chan tended to get tunnel vision when he was working, even if that meant you were left stranded in the shadows of his forgotten responsibilities.

"I um brought you dinner." you clear your throat, pointing lamely at the boxes beside him like he couldn't clearly see they were there. He perks up, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours.

"Oh baby, thank you." The tension in his shoulders melts. "I'm sorry, you know how busy I am sometimes; right now it feels like I'm drowning in work," he chuckles, absentmindedly shifting in his chair.

you're always busy

You push a smile through the tangled ball of suppressed emotions climbing up your throat.

"I know you're busy, but do you think I could eat dinner with you today...please?" Your stomach twists in painful knots. It was pathetic really, the way you begged for attention like a needy dog more than a doting girlfriend, but you were desperate, scrambling to fan a flickering flame that felt long sputtered out.

stop

You knew what you were getting into when he asked you out—the stress, the anxiety, the workload, the long hours. Chan was always upfront and honest about the struggles of being an idols girlfriend, never wanting to veil your eyes from the harsh sting of realities rays.

then why does it still feel like your soul is burning?

He flicks his gaze to the screen, guilt gnawing at his core. There was so much to do in the day and just never enough time to do it. "I don't know, I don't really have a lot of time right now..." He mumbles, picking at the seam on his shorts apologetically, "Do you think you could wait about 20 minutes? I'm kind of on a roll here."

When your relationship was first blooming, your spirit would often shatter with those words, but pain only holds power when it isn't welcome, and as long as you are loved by him, you will accept the feeling with open arms.

"I'm going to go sit in the lounge room then." You try to keep the disappointment out of your tone, but it leaks through the cracks echoing in your chest, radiating in palpable waves. You clench your jaw, picking up your tray of food.

does he not care?

"Okay," The squeak of his chair indifferently swiveling back to its previous place echoes in your ears. Louder than anything you've ever heard.

he didn't even kiss you

1 hour 45 minutes and 13 seconds

That's how long you have been waiting in the lounge room for Chan to walk in the door.

that is how long you've been wallowing in a sad pathetic heap staring at your uneating supper

1 hour 45 minutes and 15 seconds now

16 seconds

17 seconds

You spin around when you hear the door creak open, anticipation fluttering in your stomach, only to plummet when you see Felix standing in the entrance, too busy shoveling a fork full of noodles in his mouth to notice your presence.

Felix was a familiar face, mostly associated with sweet smiles and bouncing eyes; you have only ever talked to him on a handful of occasions, possessing the basic relationship of hellos in the hallways and smiles when you enter the same room, but besides the couple times where he offered you some of his freshly baked brownies or told you which room Chan was in, you haven't actually had a conversation with the boy.

You groan, dramatically deflating in your seat.

Of course, it wasn't chan

Felix yelps, his heart leaping in his chest, only to wrap around his bones, doing trapeze tricks inside his ribs when he lays eyes on you—why, out of all the days he could have seen you, it was on the one day he was least ready, and the way your whole body slumps like a deflated balloon, it becomes crystal clear you weren't exactly jumping up and down to see him either.

Does Cupid have a vendetta against him or something?

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know anybody was in here," he stutters awkwardly, running his fingers through his hair like he was trying to fix it without a mirror. Disappointment quickly brews into guilt watching the way his eyes shift, hurt drooping his shoulders down.

"No, I'm sorry, it's not like that; I just thought—" You falter. What the hell did you think? Sorry, but I thought you were my boyfriend who left me here all by myself, and like usual, my stupid, hopeful heart really believed this time was going to be different. "You were someone different." You sink into the couch, a dull ache spiderwebbing through the chasms in your chest.

"Let me guess." His eyes crinkle with sympathy. "Chan."

You glance down at your ribs—some silly part of you really believed your shirt had blossomed with the crimson stain of your sorrows.

"How could you guess?" you mutter sarcastically, picking at the skin of your nails. Why did it seem like everybody else got the memo that if you were to search the thesaurus, your name would be the first word under forgotten?

"Well, really, it was a toss-up between you being with him for the past 5 years and the fact that he has been glued to his computer for the past 5 hours," he grins. "Pick your poison."

Your gaze drifts back to the couch that sits idly in front of you, lonely in the middle of the room, out of place, without the implant of another person's body.

"W-Well," he starts, shifting his bowl in his hands. "Do you... I don't know, want some company...maybe."

He's so awkward, so unsure, like a baby deer wobbling on unfamiliar legs, struggling to stay upright. You tilt your head, your lips pulling up into an adoring grin; you never really noticed it before, but he was sort of shy. You had a terrible tendency to take your time observing people unintentionally, causing discomfort to the victims of your restless brain—assessing in silence.

His ears burn when your eyes gloss over with an opaque glaze. His heart drops only for those silly little butterflies that always appear when you are around to swarm their wings around the lump growing in his throat.

Well, that was a bust.

Why couldn't he just be normal around you?

"O-Or not, that's fine too. I-I get it; you're probably l-like waiting for Chan or whatever. I-I can go get him if you would like." He jerks his thumb behind him, forgetting he was holding something for a second, stumbling to catch it right before it falls. You snicker, biting your lips to contain your laughter. His eyes flutter shut, scrunching his nose in embarrassment.

He was cute

Why haven't you talked to him before?

"No, please sit down," you lazily gesture to the couch in front of you. "It's not like Chan's going to be coming down anytime soon."

He sighs, his whole body melting with relief, practically forming into the couch when he shuffles over, adjusting himself to comfortably sit with his legs wide and his head tilted down. He picks up his fork just before whispering, "I'm sorry that he kept you waiting," and stuffing his face. You smile, the sight all sorts of endearing. The amount of food stuffed into his cheeks puffs them out, forcing his mouth into a pout that's smeared with red sauce. For a moment, you almost forget that you're supposed to be groveling, but why would life want to let you live when instead it could remind you constantly how much it sucks?

"I'm used to it." You learn to live with the absence of air when your hope always causes you to suffocate.

"You shouldn't have to be," he murmurs, his hand politely veiling his mouth while he chews. He's staring at his food like his noodles were an impossible labyrinth he's forced to escape, completely oblivious to the cataclysmic sentence he just uttered. Your jaw drops, stomach fluttering with butterflies, butterflies that you could’ve sworn burned out a long time ago. When most of your time is spent in a constant state of apocalypse, you forget the side effects of a romanticism, felt before your soul was littered with the echos of war.

"Oh?"

"Are you not going to eat?" He questions, forehead creased with concern as he gestures to the food that was currently burning a hole in the table. You stare at him stupidly, mouth ever so slightly agape. Did he not notice that there were swarms of zombified insects burrowing their way into your belly, kaleidoscopes charred wings creating panic in your pounding heart?

(cookie interruptions: I was today years old when I found out that a kaleidoscope was the technical term for a swarm of butterflies)

Why was he making you feel so jittery?

"Oh," you blink, giving an imperceptible shake of the head—a weak attempt to gather your disoriented thoughts.

Honestly, you had forgotten it was there.

"I was waiting to eat with Chan..." You mutter through the tufts of wool still stuffed in your head, wrapping your fingers around the tray, but when you pull open its flappy lid, your lips pull into a sneer glaring at the congealed sauce and cold noodles. You weren't surprised that your food had spoiled over the 2 hours you had been waiting, but it didn't make the frustration that bubbled in your gut any less apparent either. "But clearly, that hope was shortlived," you scoff, chucking the useless tray back on the table.

Felix clears his throat, adjusting himself in his seat. He often found himself tiptoeing on the edge of insanity, always rewriting the words he wanted to say, terrified you had written a line in the sand the waves had washed away.

You were a star with a heart tied to the sea, where he would have more success breaking the bond of the moon than turning the tides of the ocean that suffocated your soul.

So for now, he will coast the cosmos alone, waiting for the day you will finally look his way.

"You can have some of mine... if you want," he whispers, shyly scooting his cup over to you. "It's salmon-flavored; it's really good."

"Are you sure?" you blink, utterly flummoxed.

"Yeah, of course!" You swore you could trace the stories of the sky in the gaps where his freckles glowed.

"Thank you; I promise I won't eat too much," you joke, pulling out your fork. "I don't mind it, really. I can always make more as long as you're eating I'm okay," he grins, sliding his hand out of the way to allow room for yours, grateful for his generosity; you bite back a smile, digging into the hot noodles; a spicy flavor pulled straight from the sea explodes on your tongue as soon as the food meets your lips.

You swear you just tasted heaven's gates.

"Holy shit, this is delicious," you moan, rolling your eyes back in your head.

"I'm glad you like it," he smirks. "It's my special recipe."

"So you do more than bake, huh?" you waggle your brows lightheartedly, though you were sort of impressed by his broad palette of skills.

"You know that I bake!?" He was still recovering from the shock that you even knew his name—the way he often dissolves into the wall when you enter the room.

"Of course, I know that you bake; I always have to eat at least half of the plate of brownies Chan brings home." You giggle, picking at the noodles, wanting more but feeling guilty for hogging the whole bowl.

"Oh, I'm full," he stretches, rubbing his stomach like a stuffed cartoon character.

"Are you lying?" Cynism was a side effect of being a creative romanticist—your artistic brain didn't limit itself to only forming one conclusion, while the stories that ended up on paper were solely portrayed as having happy endings—you knew this philosophy was neither sadistic nor realistic, for even if the fictional characters made up of the fluid of your mind betrayed each other, what would a human, evil in its rawest form, do to you?

well that was melodramatic

"You know you're a very skeptical person," he jests, pulling his lips ever so slightly up.

"I'm a hopeless romantic; there's a difference," you state, stuffing your face when you finish studying him down to the very twitch of his right calf muscle.

"Aren't hopeless romantics supposed to be happy-go-lucky all the time? Seeing the world through rose-colored glasses and stuff?"

"You know we are called hopeless for a reason," you snort, unrealistic standards were more of a curse than a blessing.

Scratch that, having unrealistic standards is just a curse

“Being a hopeless romantic is like being an ocean in a world full of puddles.” Your soul speaks like his fingertips have felt its walls a million times before “devastating.”

He stares at you gobsmacked, blinking like you just hit him over the head with a mallet. Your mind kicks into gear, anxious little butterflies flipping on the switch for damage control.

that must have sounded so self-centered

"I-I didn't mean, like, in a cocky way, I'm better than other people. I just meant it's impossible to pour my passion anywhere because everybody else doesn't have room to take it. If anything, I-Im the bad one in this scenario.” You stutter, sporadically shaking your hands, worried that the misconception is going to create a concrete opinion. He quickly waves you off, seeming anything but bothered.

“An ocean in a world full of puddles that's pretty deep,” he implores, treating the words like age-old wine to be sipped with both time and deference. “You know you should really consider being a poet 'cause that like moved my soul.” Only Lee Felix can make humor sound so honest.

Why was he so ...amazed

"I like to think I'm a poet." Your cheeks are painted red as you bashfully tilt your head down.

but right now not so much

“You can't think you're a poet,” he chuckles. “If you ever wanted to read somebody your stuff, I would be happy to help…Maybe it could fix your uncertainty." Something twinkles in his eyes, something nervous yet desperate, something you couldn't quite pinpoint while your stomach was sprinting in circles—the mere thought of showing somebody else your poetry was the equivalent of slicing your heart in half and presenting it to the world on live television.

basically, something that will never happen never ever

"No, no, no, it's nothing like that. I don't really write poetry per se; I just write my..." You trail off.

What do you write?

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," he reassures, his warm smile cooling the icy anxiety that crystallized around your core.

Why do you do this to yourself??

Stupid Felix and his stupid power to loosen your lips-

stupid. stupid. stupid.

To be a poet is to be vulnerable; no great art is ever created comfortably.

Fuck it

“I write my dreams,” you blurt, peeking out through your clenched eyelids to see if Felix caught the spit of a sentence; clearly, he did the way he lifts his brows thoughtfully.

“Elaborate”

A man of many annoying questions you see

“Why,” you groan, sinking into your seat almost comically.

"Because I want to listen to you," he laughs like whiskey and wine, both husky and rich. You choke, your heart imploding into a million tiny, rose-shaped pieces.

"Nobody wants to listen to me ramble on about hopeless fantasies that will never come true," you sputter, still trying to reshape your rose-shaped shatters into something that resembles an organ.

"I do."

Oh well, there they go again, forming right back into roses-

He made all of this seem like a complex game of chess, every move of hesitance quickly countered by a block of honesty.

From the moment you could write, you found out that paper was not volatile the way people were, how you could erase a word written but, in time, in life, you cannot erase a sentence said—that philosophy stuck with you, forever rendering you apprehensive to vocalize your feelings.

Maybe it was your soft spot for the stars that made you speak, but either way, when your mouth opened, it felt as though all your past doubts had washed away, and for once, you were free.

"I have always held onto my dreams through the tip of a pen, existing in between the lines of my poetry. But I don't write about deep philosophical pearls of wisdom; I write about love, passion, beauty. I write about coffee and cream, roses and vanilla. I write what I think romance tastes like, how the contrast of the most iconic confessions has been written in the rain, a usually gloomy, grey thing completely transformed through the lenses of love…" You sigh, tilting your head against the back of the cushion in bliss.

"I write the way I want to love, for I know it's the only way to quell my heart's aching urge to live anywhere but reality."

He stares at you eerily still, blinking once, twice, three times."

Why wasn't he saying anything?

Perhaps you were drunk off Felix's promises, or the cracks Chan created in your chest made you bleed with a passion only ever reserved for your poetry. But either way, you felt naked—exposed under his exploring eyes.

"What?" You croak, picking at the sleeve of your shirt.

Why did everybody act like you were crazy?

Was there something wrong with you?

You are floating in the asteroid belt, a thousand tiny rocks hovering around your head.

"Maybe you're just not looking in the right places." There’s a deep intensity in his eyes, a million roaring waves crashing against each other; you run face-first into a meteor, bouncing around the surfaces of a weightless space.

How many brain-altering revelations could Felix bestow before your brain cracks?

"You know, I haven't even told my friends that," you deflect. It was a dangerous game, diving too deep into your thoughts, and right now, with him—with that statement, danger could quickly bleed into destruction.

"So, I'm not your friend?" Clearly, Felix catches on to the sudden swerve of the conversation, how he eases into it with such grace, jestingly poking your knee.

"This is the first time I've ever had a real conversation with you," you scoff, poking him right back. His jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know, I just gave you my food. I think that deserves an upgrade into friendship territory," he states matter-of-factly.

Two can play at that game-

"I don't have your number; usually friends have each other's number." You place your elbows on your knees. He has been playing a metaphorical game of chess with you this whole time, his pawns moving ever so slightly forward. He forced your hand, the comfortability in your eyes making openings on the board you never meant to create. His rook, his bishop, his queen—they kiss the place right below your king.

You had one more trick up your sleeve-

You were a creative romantic whose moves were nothing less than a story, and you were going to be damned if you let your king be captured.

Now, where's the happy ending in that?

(cookie interruptions… I dont know what this is nor why i am so dramatic but hey what can you do ALSO LISTEN TO SLOW DOWN BY CHASE ATLANTIC I BEGTH OF YOU )

He leans forward, pressing his tongue against his cheek. The fabric of his shirt stretches across the hard ridges of his abs—

No, stop it, bad y/n.

"Do you want it?" He leans his head ever. So. Slightly. Forward

"Maybe I do."

"Maybe I'll give it to you," soft, smooth voice-

you narrow your eyes,

"What will Chan think?"

"It doesn't matter what Chan thinks-"

"Tell that to Chan-"

"Maybe I will." His lips-

"You know, if Chan saw us here right now, he would not be very happy." You suck your teeth.

Check-

He scoffs. Moves his bishop.

You're right back where you started.

"You're not his pet."

"Yeah, but I am his girlfriend." Block.

"Those two words are not synonymous," he says. Moves his queen.

Too many openings, too many moves, too many pieces on the board.

Too many outcomes.

Do you even still want to play?

Weren't you the one who started the game?

You bite your cheek, his eyes burning like molten amber, glinting in the overhead lights.

Should you have really asked for his number?

What would Chan think if he saw it in your phone?

Who were you kidding? He would actually have enough time to look at your phone.

"You know," he leans back, extending his arms to drape across the couch, pushing his thighs ever so slightly apart. Gone is the man with smiles like sugar; determination wisps across his face like spits of fire, overtaking every feature."If I give you my number, I'm going to have to help you unlearn your engraved cynicism." He's closing in on you, moving all his pawns in one fair swoop. You're surrounded, swarmed.

"You can't ungrave something it's scientifically impossible." You shift your king. One last dying breath-

Before-

"I can try."

Checkmate

And like every person of honor does when they have nobly lost a battle they created-

You run away.

“I have to admit, as much as I loved this conversation, I really should be going,” you say, picking up your tray of forgotten food to chuck in the trash, leaving Felix's bowl on the table. He jumps up, scrambling to pick up his mess while you dart out the door, tossing the tray in the can just outside the room.

“Wait,” he gasps, stumbling to catch up with your speed. Your finger, out of habit, moves to press the button to the elevator doors—that is, before he catches it, his warm hand wraps around your wrist.

“Now, what gentleman would I be making a lady get her own door?” He bellows, voice deep and low, a sound echoing through his chest as the fabric of his shirt kisses your back. He’s so close, so close, so—

How long has it been since you've been touched?

Heat. You're drenched in it, painted in it, enveloped in it.

His hand grazes your skin as he slides up your wrist, his finger extending to press the button.

Your breath hitches.

Body shutters.

Every atom erupting in flames.

The elevator doors slam open-

Your brain clicks back into place-

“Will I be seeing you again?” Your hot, so hot. He’s hot, so hot. Breath—it tickles your ear. Disoriented, so disoriented.

“I still don't have your number,” you manage to utter, slipping into the doors. His face will be the final thing you see as you descend down the shaft, lifelessly walking to your car where you will go home, go to sleep, and start your routine all over again. He smirks, flicking his eyes to your pants.

“Yes, you do.”

I do?

The doors inch shut, and a small, teeny-tiny part of you wants to wrench them open, pull him in, force him into the stanzas of your story. You are tired—tired of waiting for your life to begin, tired of repeating the same vicious cycle.

But that wasn't you talking-

That was the hopeless part of your personality,

The unrealistic-

The fiction-

Life wasn't a game and reality wasn't a book.

You had a good thing going wth Chris and you were going to be damned to ruin it just because of one fun conversation.

You reach one finger into the back pocket, feeling around for what Felix could have been talking about.

There's no way.

Your skin brushes across a smooth surface—something that definitely wasn’t there before.

There's no fucking way.

You pull it out.

It's pink and folded and definitely written on. You unfold it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX. Just in case you ever need an editor or a friend.

Oh well, fuck the game. He just flipped over the whole damn chessboard.

Read Chapter 2 here

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sancta-seraphina · 2 months ago

Note

Hi, I hope this isn't too complex a question. What books would you recommend for someone looking to get into angels? I'm looking for anything... lore, other novels to read, comics, whatever you can offer

Oh man, please don't apologize, this is exactly my type of question! Also this post got a bit long.

Obviously, there are tons of references for lore. If you're looking for a basic run-down of angels in the Bible itself, I'm writing a series of posts on that subject specifically, even if updates are few and far between right now (I'm so, so sorry, the ballet eats all of my time):

[Biblically Accurate Angels Part I - Seraphim, Cherubim & Ophanim]

[Biblically Accurate Angels Part II - The Named Angels]

This is because the easiest and most accessible information on angels is in the Bible itself (and hey guess what—you can read the Bible for free online! If you need a translation suggestion, I would go for the ESV bibles, and there's a Catholic edition of the ESV if that's an issue. You could also get the NCB which is what I cited)

If you don't mind chewy literature, then I'd say please read Pseudo-Dionysius' De Coelesti Hierarchia, or St. Thomas Aquinas' Summa Theologica. I cite both of these in my posts on angels since they're rather standard sources of information on them, and they're also where the Catholic church gets its canon from.

A great reference, even if I don't particularly agree with everything stated in it, is Gustav Davidson's A Dictionary of Angels. Most people look at it for angel names, but I'm very interested in his sources, since many of them I've not yet managed to get my little paws on.

I'm not even going to get into my favorite sources of angel lore because this is enough for someone just looking to start. I can do a separate post on those if people want them.

Now. Moving on from lore.

For classic literature, my two obvious recommendations are for The Divine Comedy and Paradise Lost. Over on IG, myself and Jami (@a-thenais) made a little book recommendation post. [You can find it here]. Being the angels nerds we are, everything is pretty on theme and has poetry, scripture, classics... the only thing we didn't do is current angel literature.

So for that, if you want a popular series, than I'd say go take a look at @nicosraf's Angels trilogy, especially since he just announced a new short novel coming out in December!

I personally also like @marsadler's First Creation, although I'd recommend his works mainly for horror fans.

And lastly, if you don't mind waiting/are keeping a list of angel books that are coming out, well, of course I'd suggest my own series [The Divine Tragedy], even if horror isn't everyone's cup of tea. The main series (Holiest, The Harrowing, & Heresiarch) and the series of novellas (The Infernal Apocrypha) are heavy on the horror, but in my last project, the Sepher Metatron, only the third part has horror in it, and the rest of it is more palatable to non-horror fans (the very first part of the book is also fully illustrated)

But if you can read Italian, then I'd also suggest @a-thenais' Nova Apocrypha Vulgata series! These are three novels (Thanatos, Hybris, & Afasia) that she is working towards publishing, and a few additional works too. You can read about them on her tumblr, and I've done multiple fanarts for them. We also tend to consider TDT and NAV 'twins', so if TDT is something you want to read, NAV will also something you'd probably like!

If you want to follow some angel artists, then please check out my pals @ultrainfinitepit (who makes gorgeous angel pins which I hoard) and @helplessavacado, both of whom have their own unique styles and stories as well.

#asks #apologies for the post being so long #i rambled quite a bit #long post #seraphina.txt #sorry this took me a few days to get to as well

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thecolorblockcurator · 1 month ago

Text

I’ve been thinking about a few things lately

And it seems like we’re at the precipice of another dark age. Dark ages are typically when education, reading, writing, scientific progress are lost

And by precipice I mean, it could go either way. Historically the rise of fascism has lead to incredible powerful art movements - as well as aggressive censorship

Now I don’t think it’s so dramatic that everything will be lost, collapse of a civilization -only ruins will be left kind of thing. We’re in a completely different age with more visibility and information than ever before

But I do think this time it’s a shift from reading and art to content that has been happening over the years & with generative AI it’s only pushing it further.

What got me thinking about it was- I just read about a new publishing company that is only selling AI generated books & plans to publish and flood the market with 8000 new ai generated books next year.

There is power in art. Art is transformative, political, it teaches us to be curious, to think creatively, to see things from different perspectives. Making art of any kind helps us from everything to processing trauma, to expressing our voice, to creating communities.

Content passes the time, it grabs our attention. It fills the room with noise. And it keeps people distracted. It keeps people in a passive yet heightened state.

And the second thing I’ve been thinking about is feudalism. The economic / political system that was around in the last dark age in Europe.

Now what I studied in my history program was more of the rise of industrialization & colonialism so I’m not as strong with my background in feudalism and I want to fully understand it before I completely form this idea

But, I’ve seen others write about this too and I think they’re onto something- it seems like we’ve breached late stage capitalism to some new type of feudalism. And I think that has some validity

Whether it’s related to the tech industry or corporate real estate. Or some combination of the two. I can see how this could be a type of feudalism. The effects are the same in terms the distribution of power, wealth, labor, ownership, as well as the cultural factors of approved art what art is allowed to be made and visible or in our case, consumed.

In regards to art- I can see how content, noise, trends are more valuable to a new type of feudalism than art. And how they both lend themselves to create a new type of dark age

So what does that mean? What should we do?

Create art. Write stories, poetry, zines, paintings, collages. Wrestle with ideas. Learn about new things that are confusing and difficult to understand at first. Carve out time for silence, so you can actually think without 3 different types of media all playing at once.

I think we have to actively fight this. And trust me I get sucked into instagram and tumblr more than I want to be.

And for me I know what I’m fighting is- it’s gotten to this point where it feels like by not being engaged in content I’m not being productive. That sitting in silence to let myself wrestle with ideas for a bit is somehow wasting time. - Which of course it’s not.

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hannahssimblr · 16 days ago

Text

Days slink by, a haze of heat, blank, blue skies, the lazy buzz of insects, the trickle of a fountain. We enjoy the sights, eat the food, take a trip to Pompeii to wander on ancient, cracked stone. Crumbling pillars, sun worn brick, frescoes of decadence, excess, figures draped in togas, languishing about. Through glass enclosures we view plaster casts of Vesuvius victims with solemnity, feeling perhaps self righteous in our thoughtful sobriety while other tourists laugh and take photographs of themselves.

The sunburn that follows feels almost poetic. At least that’s what Astrid says. Like the pain we feel is only a whisper, a ghost of what those poor people went through. Sometimes she says things like this to me, just, like, on the bus, or something, with such a serious face, and I’m forced to think of Jen. Jenny Smythe, laughing at the sad poetry kids in their thick, ugly shoes, waxing lyrical, interpretations of Plath’s work to the point of extreme awkwardness. What would she think of all this? Of the things I listen to, and in fact, actively indulge, without laughing at all. Without pointing out what may actually be hovering perilously close to the line of ‘honestly, a bit stupid’. “Well, yes, that’s a good point. I would have never thought of that,” I’ll say, and in so doing, allow it to continue.

Mornings, I’ll wake, normally alone, and make breakfast, sometimes delighting in plucking a fresh orange from the tree outside, digging my thumbs into the flesh, eating it segment by segment in the garden, basking in the view while Astrid swims, or reads, or speaks to someone on the phone, fragments of conversation, Danish, floating through the foyer. Strange sounding language.

It twinges, still, the intimacy thing, like a sprain, as does the conversation we avoided the morning after. I don’t internalise, I compartmentalise, make a choice to not think about what it means; a young couple, five months in love, two gorgeous, fit, sensual bodies, and one, luxuriating in the bath upstairs, while the other masturbates in the shower, dodging the water. The hot, burned skin of his neck.

Silvio and Suzana, of course, are still a factor of our afternoons and evenings. Trips together, meals, drinks, lounging beachside. Them, tongue kissing, practically dry humping on the sunbeds while Astrid reads a book and applies, methodically, punctually, on the hour, factor 80 sun cream to her tattoos.

I hate them, actually. Loathe their very existence, there, touching each other, cooing into one another’s faces like infants. Can I do that for you, baby? What do you need, baby? That drink looks so yummy, can I try some? You’re so cute, no you, no you, no you.

There’s an understanding, a fact not lost on me, that I don’t actually hate them. Only their love and their affection. Why should they have it? What have they done to deserve it? Why not me? Et cetera.

Astrid, when she’s feeing social, is not socialising with me, but Suzana. There by the shore, laughing like that, while I’m stuck with Silvio, trying to talk to me about Formula One racecars or something. Lewis Hamilton? Oh, yeah, I’ve heard of him, I think. Going out with the hot one from the Pussycat Dolls.

He’ll always throw some comment in about his girlfriend, too. Like, “Look at her there, isn’t she gorgeous?” Like, yes, objectively, I suppose, but why are you asking me?

Sometimes, for no reason, I’d like to punch him, but I picture it happening like a cartoon, where my fist would go kind of inside his head, turning his face inside out, and it’d take a second or two to pop back, like rubber. The reality would be like punching Fitzy on the rugby pitch in sixth year. When I flung myself at him and pretended it was an accident. “How’s your Chinese girlfriend?” he said. “The lads were saying you smell like fried rice.” I felt his nose crunch under my knuckles. It was weird. Blood on his face, up my arm, and when he collapsed onto the pitch with a groan, the exhalation sprayed a fountain of blood up my jersey. A gruesome victory.

If I did that to Silvio, for what? Not being racist, for annoying me. How would that look? An intrusive image comes, him, clutching his face, blood pouring between his fingers while everyone screams: There’s a violent maniac on the beach! Like, no. I’m just a nineteen-year-old boy on holidays, and I’m very bored.

Imagine the financial implications. The teeth alone. Teeth. I squint my eyes as he talks to me. It’s actually more like one tooth. One huge, horseshoe shaped tooth wedged into his gums. Uncanny. Ringing my dad, like, hey, I broke someone’s veneer. Singular. No, no, not the normal ones, but, like, one huge grotesque slab, the ones they put in animatronics. Do you have those in stock at the clinic?

Late evening, one night after saying goodbye at another bar, we take the seafront route back to the villa. We can see it from here, lights in the windows yawning from the mountainside, Astrid’s heeled sandals clacking on the pavement. She’s going on about Sorrento. Why did we book Sorrento, anyway? An extra thousand euros for two nights, all because Elias said to her it was nice. Two extra nights spent being acutely miserable, when I could have done it for free in Berlin. Maybe she will invite Silvio and Suzana, too, as a fun joke. Ha ha, Jude, you thought you saw the last of them, but here they are! In Sorrento this time!

These thoughts carry guilt. She walks ahead of me now, in a short dress that makes her body look sensational and the cruelty of life seem monumental. She’ll break up with me, probably, after all this, when she has squeezed the last she can from me. Used my money, sucked out my dignity. I flinch outwardly at that. Its viciousness shudders down my arms and out of my fingertips. This is the kind of thought to be ashamed of. An ugly thing. I never saw myself like them, those boys you’d get stuck with at school, their contempt for girls who didn’t like them. Stupid bitch, they’d say. She’s rotten anyway. Wouldn’t touch her if she begged.

Ugh.

“Astrid.”

She stops, turns. The expression of surprise suits her face, makes her lovely. I move to kiss her.

Slippery satin under my hands, the silk of her hair over my arm. She’s warm and real. Lips soft and inviting.

“No, come on,” she’s saying. “Let’s just go back to the villa. I want to finish my book.”

“Astrid.”

“What?” Already, she’s leaving.

“Come back.”

“Why?”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She stops. “There’s nothing.”

“There is. You hardly let me touch you anymore.”

“Oh, Jude, please. We are in public.”

I look around us, vacant, cobbled streets. Cafes and shops shuttered. The perfect silence of night. “Sorry, what? You didn’t want to kiss me in front of all these people?”

A sound. Short, dismissive, and indignation surges.

“Why do you do that? You just brush me off and act like I’m a burden.”

“Oh, stop. Honestly.”

“Like that. See? You just did it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You make me feel like I’m not worth speaking to.”

She huffs and stomps toward me, her arms crossed over herself. “Come, please. We can talk back in the villa.”

“We won’t. You won’t talk to me there. I know you’re just going to read in the bath for two hours until you think I’m asleep, and then creep into bed when you know I won’t pull the moves on you”

“So, you want to do this here?” She tosses her hands. “Standing in the street.”

“Please.”

“You’ve done this on purpose,” she says. “You kissed me here because you wanted to start an argument.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say, though maybe that is what I did. “It doesn’t matter anyway, does it? Here we are. I just want you to talk to me.”

“About what?”

“Preferably about what’s gone wrong, or what I’ve done to put you so drastically off me.”

She scoffs.

“We haven’t had sex in weeks.”

“Is that the only thing you think about?”

“Well, it’s not, actually, believe it or not, but it’s been on my mind pretty regularly, seeing as recently I’m not doing it at all. Out of nowhere, too, like you switched off the fucking tap.”

“You’re dramatic.”

“You’re so cold,” I cry, surprised by a swell of emotion. “I hate this, how I’m trying to talk to you and you stand there like that, like a robot or something. It’s like you’re punishing me. You won’t even tell me what I’ve done. Can you imagine how that feels?”

She hesitates, eyes flicking to the ground. “No,” she says.

“Well, tell me so I can be sorry for it.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“You don’t.”

“No,” her eyes flicker to mine, an unexpected uncertainty in them. “No. I really don’t know.”

Along the shore, the waves hiss through pebbles. The clunk of wooden shutters somewhere, drawing in over a window.

“I’m confused too,” she says. “I don’t know why I feel this way, and I wish I didn’t.”

“Because you don’t fancy me anymore.”

Lips open, close, and her hand comes to her neck, blotchy, I see. Pink, abstract blobs like the ghosts of bruising. Like months ago now, when I bit her there. Haven't done that for a while now, as it involves being close. Access to her neck. “It’s normal for a relationship to have periods like this.”

“It’s never been like this for me.”

“Never?”

“No, I–” I sigh. The past: Never asked about, never offered. “My last girlfriend, you know, from school. We were constantly at it. It wasn’t a good relationship, in so much as we fought all the time. She was a bit volatile in her own way, but in… you know, the sex department, things were good. I liked it with her.”

“How long were you together?”

“About eleven months.”

She nods. “Maybe it’s different for me.”

“Well, what about you, then, and your, um, your other boyfriends?”

Her eyes flash in the moonlight. “I’ve never been with another man for as long as I’ve been with you.”

“What?”

“No, never. This is the longest. The steadiest thing I’ve had. I met you and I thought you were so cute; that maybe my life would be calmer with such a nice person.”

I blurt it: “But you were engaged.”

“Excuse me?”

“Last year, you went to Paris with a man. He asked you to marry him.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just know. Someone told me months ago. Everyone knows.”

She stares, a light wind rippling across the hem of her dress. “Alright, well, it was meaningless. I said yes for fun. I didn't intend to actually marry him. It was like a play, and we were the actors. I hardly knew him at all. It was a thrill, and he was exciting for a while.”

“And me,” I say, foolish. “Am I exciting?”

She says nothing. A wrenching feeling in my chest.

“How was your sex life with him?”

“Don’t ask questions like that.”

“Well, there’s my answer then, isn’t it?”

“Jude, I–”

“What did he do for you I don’t? I do everything you say, I swear. At this point, I barely think about myself. I’m just,” I clench my fist, wanting to tear the front of my hair. “I’m just trying to make you happy, and it seems like the more I try, the further away I push you. That’s so confusing to me.”

“You are just… I do love you. Okay? You’re a kind person.”

“What do I have to do? Do I have to put you on the back of a motorcycle and whisk you away to Paris? How about Vegas? Would that be your taste? Lose all my money in a casino and marry you in a little Elvis chapel? Does that make you horny?”

“No, obviously not. That's tacky.”

“Then tell me what.”

“You’re…” exasperated. “You’re so nice. I know, and I’m thankful. You always do what I want you to do, but… I want you to do something else.”

Sharply. “What?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I don’t want to have to tell you.”

“I don’t get you at all, Astrid, to be honest.”

“You should just do whatever you like to me.”

“I already do. What I like is making you happy.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “It’s…”

Frustration is fading into numbness as she trails off. “Am I getting this? You want me to do what you ask, but at the same time, you don’t. Now you want me to do whatever I like with you, but not if that involves doing what you ask.”

“Yes, I think so.”

“You think I should want something else?”

“Maybe.”

“Tell me.”

She’s struggling, eyes darting around, settling on nothing. “Well, what about the things men say to each other, or think on their own, but would never ask a woman to do? Isn’t it what you all secretly desire? To take a beautiful woman and disrespect her?”

“Ah, so you expect me to hit you across the face or something.”

It’s an outrageous thing to say to her, and my voice sounds loud, bellowing it through the streets in indignation. I imagine people inside their houses, the windows cracked, and listening. “He wants to hit her,” they’re whispering. “A crazed man. Someone help that poor girl.”

“If you ever thought it would turn you on, I’d like to think you’d hold me down and do it.”

In the stunned silence that follows, she doesn’t waver. I reel back, abhorred.

“Have other guys done that to you?”

“Sometimes.”

Actual repulsion, then. A wave, like I might throw up over the pier. “Well, that makes me feel fucking sick, then.”

“You think I’m sick.”

“No, those guys are. They’re scum.”

“Fine, then pick something else.”

“Something else? Something worse than that, is it?”

“Anything you’ve ever wanted.”

My head buzzes, the sound of my own breath in my ears. Of course, I’ve had fantasies, things I’d like, but never admitted to. What about the things in my head when I’m having sex? The words that make me certain biblical hell is not real, for if it were, God would cast me down there for the crime of thinking them. Impure. Does she want me to say them out loud to her? But doesn’t it turn me on a bit, the imagined freedom of speaking them? The whole dirty dialogue, out loud, like, yes, this is what I think of you. This is how you look to me when I have you like that. This is what I’m doing to you. Tell me you like me doing it, and so on. It’s theoretically possible to say those things, but looking her in the eye and doing it...

“I’m only nineteen,” I say, my voice tearing. “Can you not just let me be nineteen for a while and have sex normally? You’ve clearly done all of this extreme stuff, and it freaks me out, to be honest. I can’t live up to that. Maybe we can work up to it, but this feels too sudden. Like, it’s jarring me. You assume I have all these secret fantasies about you and I’m holding back, but I’m not. I just love you, and I think you’re beautiful and I want to kiss and make love to you and talk afterwards in bed. That’s basically all.”

I don’t know how to read that look on her face, but there’s a feeling in my chest. A piece bored out of it, leaving behind something hollow.

“Well,” she says, chin high. “That’s okay, then.”

“Is it okay?” I feel it is not okay, in fact, at all, but she’s already turning her back. “Astrid?”

“We should go back to the villa. My feet are hurting.”

A long, dreadful silence. “Alright,” and a finality in that.

We don’t walk together, but ten feet apart. Her ahead, the sound of her shoes, the moon rising, becoming full. The beauty of Amalfi, hills, sea, warmth in the air. I try to hold this; The way it feels, while I remember how it felt before. It wasn’t this way. Never had to be. Here I am wondering, in misery, if this is it. Adulthood. My parents, her parents, me and her. My life, a thousand times this, over and over again.

Beginning // Prev // Next

#lucky boy 2011 #rough themes in this one guys #sims 4 story #simblr #simblr storytelling #ts4 story #racism cw

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sachaa-ff · 2 months ago

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Gwayne Hightower x Female Velaryon

Here the daughter of rhaenyra is named Alysanne and she’s obviously the daughter of harwin

It’s short I’m sorry.. btw English is not my first language.. so sorry for my mistake

Whispers of the Heart

The bustling streets of King’s Landing were alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares and the distant cries of children playing. As I navigated through the throng, the weight of my family’s expectations pressed heavily on my shoulders. The air was thick with the smell of spices and smoke, but all I could focus on was one person—Gwayne Hightower.

Since I had arrived in King’s Landing, he had been a constant presence in my life, drawing me in with his charm and unwavering confidence. In the midst of the turmoil surrounding my family, Gwayne was a breath of fresh air. Today, feeling particularly overwhelmed, I sought solace in the quiet corners of the Red Keep, retreating to a secluded garden that had become my sanctuary.

As I settled onto a stone bench, a book resting in my lap, I gazed into the distance, lost in thought. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting a dappled glow around me. My mind wandered to the chaotic politics of the court, the whispers of betrayal, and the ever-looming shadow of my family’s legacy. Just then, I heard a familiar voice.

“Caught in a reverie, Princess?” Gwayne called out, breaking the stillness.

I looked up, surprise flashing across my face before softening into a smile. “Gwayne! I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He stepped closer, a playful grin spreading across his lips, and I felt my heart quicken. “Well, I couldn’t resist the chance to see the most intriguing person in the realm.”

His words made me blush, warmth flooding through me. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Hightower.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s hard to resist when the subject is so captivating,” he replied, leaning against the garden wall with that confident glint in his eyes. “What are you reading? Something dreary, I hope?”

“It’s actually a collection of poetry,” I said, closing the book with a gentle smile. “It helps me escape from the weight of everything.”

“Poetry, huh? I must admit, I’m more of a man of action than words. But I could use a bit of escape myself,” he said, teasingly. “Care to share your favorite poem?”

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the challenge. “You really want to hear my favorite? I’m not sure you could handle the depth of it.”

“Try me,” he replied, stepping closer, his gaze unwavering. “I promise to give it the respect it deserves.”

His confidence was infectious, and I found myself chuckling softly. “You have a confidence that borders on reckless, Gwayne.”

“Reckless? I prefer to think of it as daring,” he shot back, a mischievous smile on his face. “Besides, I thrive on challenges.”

“Alright then, let’s see if you can keep up,” I said, feeling a playful challenge rise within me. “This one speaks of longing and lost love.”

As I recited the lines, I noticed how intently he listened, captivated not just by the words but by the passion I poured into them. Each line I spoke seemed to weave an invisible thread between us. When I finished, he applauded, that teasing grin still on his face.

“Well done! I must say, you have a future as a bard if this whole royal business doesn’t work out.”

“Flattery again?” I countered, feigning annoyance but unable to hide my smile. “You really are relentless.”

“Only when it comes to the people I admire,” he replied, his tone suddenly serious. “And I admire you, Alysanne. You carry so much on your shoulders, yet you still shine.”

His words struck a chord deep within me, and for a moment, I felt the weight of our families’ expectations lift. “It’s hard sometimes. I feel like I’m living in a shadow, especially with everything that’s happened.”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering. “You’re not defined by your family’s choices. You have your own light, and it deserves to be seen.”

I looked at him, the vulnerability in my eyes almost overwhelming. “You make it sound easy.”

“Maybe it isn’t, but it’s worth striving for,” he said, reaching out to gently brush a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The gentle touch sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel my heart racing. “Together, we can navigate the shadows.”

My breath caught at his proximity, the air charged between us. “And if we’re caught?”

“Then we’ll be caught together,” he replied, his gaze steady and reassuring. “But I’d rather take the risk than stay in the shadows, afraid to live.”

A smile tugged at my lips, and I hesitated for a moment, contemplating his words. “You really believe we can find a way?”

“I do,” he said, sincerity shining in his eyes. “Let’s carve out our own story amidst the chaos. We deserve that.”

The moment hung between us, charged with unspoken possibilities. I glanced around, ensuring we were alone, before stepping closer to him. “Alright, let’s find a way to escape this place together.”

His eyes lit up at my suggestion. “How about we explore the city? There are hidden places, quiet corners where we can truly be ourselves.”

“Lead the way, Gwayne Hightower,” I said, a determined glint in my eyes.

As we wandered through the winding streets of King’s Landing, I felt a thrill of excitement coursing through me. The lively market buzzed with colors and sounds, and I was reminded of simpler days spent exploring without the weight of expectation. But even amidst the chaos, Gwayne’s presence felt like a safe harbor. Each shared laugh and playful banter drew us closer together.

Eventually, we stumbled upon a small, secluded courtyard away from prying eyes. A fountain trickled softly in the center, and the scent of blooming flowers surrounded us like a comforting embrace. I felt an overwhelming sense of relief wash over me as I entered this hidden sanctuary.

“This place feels magical,” Gwayne said, taking a seat on the edge of the fountain. “Just like you.”

I rolled my eyes, but the compliment warmed me from the inside out. “You’re incorrigible, Hightower.”

“Incorrigible, but sincere,” he replied, his tone earnest. “I see the strength in you, even when you doubt yourself. You’re not just a princess; you’re a force.”

His words resonated within me, igniting a spark of confidence. “Sometimes it feels like the world expects me to be perfect,” I confessed, my gaze dropping to the ground. “And when I stumble, it feels like everything will fall apart.”

“Perfection is overrated,” he said, leaning closer, his presence enveloping me in warmth. “It’s our imperfections that make us human. It’s okay to feel lost sometimes. Just know that you’re not alone in it.”

I looked up, my eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Thank you, Gwayne. It means a lot to hear that.”

He smiled, warmth flooding his gaze. “And I want to be someone you can count on. I’ll be here, even in the shadows.”

The moment stretched, and I could feel the chemistry between us intensifying. I reached out, taking his hand gently in mine, our fingers intertwining naturally. “Let’s promise to meet again. To share our dreams, fears, and everything in between.”

His grip tightened slightly, and I felt a surge of electricity at the contact. “I promise.”

As we sat together, the soothing sound of the fountain surrounding us, I felt a sense of hope blossoming within me. Whatever challenges lay ahead, I knew we would face them together. Gwayne was determined to protect the light within me, and I felt the stirrings of something new and exciting.

“Let’s make this summer unforgettable,” he said, his eyes locked on mine, filled with determination.

“Together,” I replied, a smile spreading across my face.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the courtyard, I realized we were stepping into something profound—a bond forged in the fires of our families’ struggles, strengthened by shared dreams, and ignited by the undeniable connection that thrummed between us.

In that moment, the world beyond the garden faded away. The political games, the whispers of betrayal—none of it mattered as long as I was with him. I felt a rush of courage, daring to dream of a future where I could be free, where I could be more than just a princess trapped in a gilded cage.

“Tell me about your dreams, Gwayne,” I said softly, wanting to know more about the man beside me. “What do you wish for beyond these walls?”

He considered my question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I want to be a man who stands on his own, not just in the shadow of my family. I want to carve out my own path and make a difference, not just for myself, but for others as well.”

I could see the passion in his eyes, and it resonated deeply within me. “You will,” I said, conviction lacing my voice. “I believe in you.”

“Thank you, Alysanne,” he replied, his voice softening. “And what about you? What do you wish for?”

“I want to be more than just a pawn in the game,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “I want to make choices for myself, to find my own way in this world.”

Gwayne nodded, his gaze unwavering. “Then let’s help each other find that path.”

And with that, I felt a surge of hope and determination. Together, we would defy the expectations placed upon us, carving out a future that was ours alone. As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, I knew that this summer would be different.

It would be a time of exploration, of adventure, and of discovering who we truly were. And as I sat beside Gwayne, hand in hand, I felt the stirrings of something more—a connection that promised to transcend the chaos of our lives. Together, we would forge a new destiny, and I could hardly wait to see where it would lead us.

#house of the dragon #gwayne hightower x reader #gwayne hightower #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #gwayne x reader #hotd gwayne #house of the dragon fanfic #house of the dragon x reader

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wisteriagoesvroom · 11 months ago

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📚 10 f1 fics i've loved lately 🏎️

been thinking a lot about how to organise fic recs into some sort of sensible post, 'cus there are so many (great!) pairings and (delicious!) driver combinations, not to mention so many varying styles of fic and SUPER TALENTED WRITERS!!111!!

just gonna list a bunch in no particular order, with accompanying pics, so you can get a sense of the vibes.

'cus what is f1 rpf but all about the ✨ vibes?! 🏁

p.s. people are in this community making amazing stuff for freeee!! if you liked these please leave a kudos or a comment, it makes a writer's day 🫡

let's gooooo--

objects in the mirror by linearity (@drivestraight) charles/max. 87k words (series), rated t then e

listen. LISTEN! charles to rbr is one of the best premises ever and i will read it in like a thousand iterations. but this fic. this fic series in particular cleared my skin, made me want to cut my hair into a bob out of sheer emotion. i would be remiss not to start with this one because its impact on my f1 rpf trajectory should be studied by science. you know when a story just jumps off the page and it's so real that it becomes your canon. a kind of meteoric inevitability. plus, i almost never cry at fics. but by the time the third act of this one hit, i just went -- damn, am i rly about to tear up at a f1 rpf fanfiction rn? (yes.)

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sawtooth by nottonyharrison (@nottonyharrison) charles/max. 40k words, rated e

max as a f1 engineer? for CARLOS at FERRARI? sign me the fuckkk up. first off, awesome premise. there's always going to be something so heartwrenching about "what ifs", especially in any universe where max isn't a racer. despite the change of circumstances, just... the sheer poetry of two characters who just inexplicably find their way to each other in any universe... 🤧 also this story nails racing scenes in a way that's so visceral, i feel like a fly on the damn halo with them. and, aside from the gourmet lestappen, carlos's whole thing in this fic is joyous! spicy! he's so unapologetic and vaguely annoying! hilarious! + the swimming pool scene lives rent-free in my head.

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salt skin by peachbellini (@strawberry-daiquiris) oscar/lando. 12k words, rated e

this fic is magic. literally and figuratively. (MERMAID LANDO???? MERMAID LANDO.) the kind of story that makes you gasp and melt a little bit. and made me want to throw my phone at the writer, 'cause it's really that good. the yearning, the metaphor for all that's monstrous, a boy who is lost (and the boy who he finds, is equally so). this is just beautifully written and a little quirky and so well executed. i think i put it in my bookmarks as "what if lando was a mermaid and it was filmed by a24" or something. pearl of a story.

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hockey!! shrimp colors :) by leafmeal0ne (@ocontraire) oscar/lando. 13k words, rated t

leaf meal one. i have only known you a week but if anything were to happen to you i would wreck everyone in the room including myself. in all seriousness, anything that leaf writes is brilliant. they're one of these writers who could do a throwaway line on the label of a ketchup bottle and i will probably scream about it. the precision, the way they switch up sentence structures, the freaking darcy-level regency yearning transposed onto a contemporary sports setting. i'd rec all of leaf's sports AUs and i'll probably talk about more in a future fic rec post. BUT. the hockeyyy one my GOD. the barely restrained violence, their mutual desire, the theme of finding your place... *wails uncontrollably*

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you almost unearthly thing by anonymous max/daniel, 3.7k words, rated g

max is a governess(govern..lad?) and daniel is the mystery man at the manor. this was a response to a request i made in the kinkmeme! (if you haven't read those fics go check 'em out, there are so many great ones, and not necessarily all rated e). this is a criminally underrated little story that has my favourite repressed feelings + people dancing around each other + gothic vibes + "what the hell is wrong with y'all in this tale" combo that i really adore. it's really well written and captures the atmosphere so well.

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the so-called narrative by antimonyandthyme (@antimonyandthyme) oscar/carlos, 10k words, rated e

i'm once again asking why there are only 7 carlos/oscar works in the tag. I'M ONCE AGAIN ASKING-- *is sedated*. *jolts awake* okay but for real this is a great story. hot, fake-friendship-to-situationship which so happens is one of my favourite places to be. also hello miscommunication/they're so weird about it/they both want each other but can't express themselves for shit/insane racer boys energy.

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and silver, and samarium by pink_mink (@on-softs) george/toto, 5.2k words, rated e

i profess i am not usually the biggest fan of A/B/O (altho!! this fandom has made me go BUT ACTUALLY HM at least a few times). and this fic freaking nails it, along with the twisted power dynamics between TPs and drivers, as seen through the lens of omegaverse. this story rattles around my head like a stubborn ghoul just from the style and prose and sheer audacity alone. george kneeling at toto's knees while he's working..... ohhhhhhhhh i was this close to calling my lawyers.

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algorithm by anney (@badboy-george) charles/max, 16k words, rated e

i LOVE, LOOOOVE a sci fi concept alright. love that shit, will inhale it like moon dust with zero regrets. and what a fantastic one this one is!! the premise is that the FIA can now statistically show the compatibility of drivers on the grid and it's very pacific rim-y drift compatible, mixed with the surreal vibes of eternal sunshine or HER or some such. it should be outrageous, but it really works. that's the beauty of a great fic right there.

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trajectory of trojan asteroids by redpaint (@redpaint) nico/lewis, 3.3k words, rated g

also one of the fics i first read when i hopped on board the f1 rpf train. the pain and poignancy just gets worse the more i learn about brocedes. you know when you're like "there's no way this was reallll" and then you're like "fuck, it was so real". then you get a fic like this that just encapsulates all that rage and loss and grief and upset, set against the starry vista of endless space. *clutches tablecloth* god.

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p.s please bear in mind that these recs are entirely subjective! i enjoy loads of f1 stories but these are the ones that have especially stuck with me for some inexplicable reason.

p.p.s if your fic is on here and you want it taken off for whatever reason, i'm happy to, no questions asked 💛

BYE for now / until part 2. (i also love talking to ppl about fics so pls feel free to send an ask or hit me up in DMs or whatever.)

xoxo, -- wizz

#f1 fic rec #f1 fanfiction #lestappen #landoscar #maxiel #groto #brocedes #f1 rpf fic #i don't know that carlos/oscar have a ship name yet?#sainztri?#Carloscar #f1 rpf #wiz.recs #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #did i spend a full hour at work doing this last week instead of my actual work?#yes -- very yes

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heartaces · 3 months ago

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𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 GALE EDITION ⟶ part one

“charming. hell is truly where we make it.”

“all right, let that anger out however you see fit.”

“i think i’ll need a drink with the rest of that story.”

“better safe than, well, dead.”

“i see the art of eloquence is alive and well.”

“i’m awed, impressed, and a little bit scared of you right now.”

“let’s try to be diplomatic, shall we?”

“the dignified thing for me to say is ‘no, of course not. forthrightness before all’, but honestly? yes… i would have rather you lied.”

“you and i have very different definitions of right and wrong.”

“given my propensity towards verbosity, it surely can’t be a surprise that i have a practised tongue.”

“if you think you know best, go right ahead.”

“allow me to live dangerously while i still can.”

“if you use that knife, i will incinerate you.”

“sweet that you care enough to murder me… mind me if you don’t?”

“i’m an open book, requiring only your gentle hands to turn my pages.”

“oh, now that can’t be comfortable. especially for the corpses.”

“don’t take this the wrong way, but i think i’ve just lost all respect for you.”

“hmm… good back support, but a little too tyrannical for my taste.”

“we all have our quirks when it comes to using magic. some more than others.”

“ha, you truly are testing the patience of a man who could level a city if he wished, you know.”

“i find you quite irresistible. even illuminated by such rotten light as this place produces.”

“i hope i didn’t make too much of an ass of myself just now.”

“that’s… it? she ‘annoyed you’? if that was just cause for killing someone i’d be dead a thousand times over!”

“might i suggest that was a little too easy?”

“well, this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on.”

“the hand that feeds is the hand that’s loved. it’ll never leave your side now.”

“stop licking the damn thing!”

“i hope it has been made abundantly clear that to kill me is… counterproductive.”

“a little premature for us to start celebrating, i suppose.”

“there is poetry to be found in even the dingiest of holes.”

“destroying magic like this was my bread and butter.”

“generosity is always a noble virtue - whether it be in the streets, at the charity box, or betwixt the sheets.”

“not how i would’ve done it.”

“i suppose such wicked killers deserve wicked ends.”

“oh, i do apologize. i meant: are you studied in magic? namely: are you a wizard? which you are not.”

“your hide, your choice. not quite my cup of tea, though.”

“wonderful! the more, the merrier.”

“as an expert on the subject - i’d like to point out that blowing oneself up is never the solution.”

“i have a cat, a library, and a weakness for a good glass of wine. and if the mood takes me, i’m known to try my hand at poetry.”

“how about now you make him kiss your feet next?”

“she’s, erm, perhaps a little rough around the edges… but i suppose i can be smooth enough for two.”

#indie rp #bg3 prompts #rp meme #ask meme #rp prompt #sentence starters #sentence meme #rp resources #rp ask meme #roleplay meme #ask prompt #rpc #rp sentence starters #rp sentence meme #*#q.#ask memes.

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toribookworm22 · 1 year ago

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Final Thoughts On 2023

I know I have a very dysfunctional sense of time, but this year seems extra short and long to me. But such is the way it goes. Vague recap time!

Shut Down published! I went to my first therapy session. I toured apartments with my roommate. I traveled for the first time with just a friend. I got to meet the voice actors for The Animaniacs Pinky and The Brain. I celebrated my first Aro week. I wrote my first pilot episode. I got on TikTok for class and ended up not hating it. I volunteered to help at an student Oscar event and for student plays. I lost my best friend. I finally joined my school's writing club. My parents accidentally read my poetry collection and loved it. I moved into my very own apartment. I went on a family vacation to New York and got to see my almost little sister for the first time in 4 years. I hosted my very first book signing! I published Reprogrammed. I learned how to live by myself. I took a pottery class. I started a movie script. I let go of my best friend for good. I became the secretary for the writing club. I found a little bit more of myself in my fashion sense. I hosted a Halloween party. I met the producer of Me Before You. I made more friends and learned how best to love some of my others.

And in what has been one of the greatest decisions I've ever made, I stayed incredibly active on this lovely site and I got to meet, know, and love all of you. You guys are my diary and my joke book and a safe place for everything I am and love. I can be 100% myself on here without a single worry and you guys will never understand what that means to me.

My love list will just have to continue to grow, but that's okay. I love each and every one of you and I cannot wait to spend another year alongside you. Happy New Year! 🥂

All my love,

~ toribookworm ♥️

Love List pt. I

@angryaromantics @minutiaewriter @pluromantic @christiew @candlelightkissess @lady-of-himring @asteroidtroglodyte @panic-in-the-attic @elizaellwrites @writing-and-trying @eli-writes-sometimes @thatndginger @hyuccubus @chargeaznable @master-of-the-pigeon-religion @lividdreamz @ashen-crest @saphoblin @akiwitch @wearfinethingsalltoowell @daisywords @the-orangeauthor @arigalefantasynovels @brianamorganbooks @bluejay-in-write @elijahrichardwrites @alittlewarlord @apocalypsewriters @bookmarks-reviews @pure-solomon @xtakeitisisx @alnaperera @all-my-dreams-and-ambitions @porchswingstories @jlilycorbie @rsdan @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @litbylightning @lyssentome @theunboundwriter @writingforevren @regalserpent @axl-ul @likegemstone

#final thoughts on 2023 #my love list pt. 1 #hello 2024 #happy new year!#♥️♥️♥️#bookworming

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resident-quilt · 6 months ago

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Shrue’s descent into radicalism and what the Silt Verses says about our world today

(also, regarding the giant poem that the episode titles make) ITS A TUMBLR ESSAY BABYYYYYYYYY

Kill your gods. Starve them out, topple their statues, forsake their comfort— Kill the stories that gave birth to them. Tear away your flesh that bears their marks. Adjudicator Shrue, Ep. 43

The Silt Verses is a story born of its time, to a 21st century world which is slowly decaying—and everyone in it is doing their part to help it decay just a little bit faster. It speaks of capitalism, of corruption, of power and belief and environmental destruction and the rift between generations. When Charles tells Val he can’t really stand behind the idea of a family (“You wonder about what kind of world we’re bringing children into, y’know?”) I had to pause and gather myself; it’s something we hear from so many Gen Z’ers today.

But then Shrue’s speech came, and it made no sense.

Shrue calls for an end in any form it can be given. They call for the loss of all faith and love and community in the world; they call for us to kill the stories of our history, to kill the figures we believe in and the ones that give us hope. Anything, everything, all we can give to stop the decay and degradation of the world. They demand us to defeat the corrupt system we have built by trading our lives to do so.

If our words and stories sustain them, let us fall silent. If our communities rely on them, let us drift apart and die, lonely, in the polluted wilds amongst the howling winds of long forgotten deities.

It made no sense because TSV, most simplistically, embodies “no ethical consumption under capitalism”—and this solidly did not fit. So I cast about for an answer to what it all meant, because TSV had grown to be more than the “folks, look where capitalism got us” which I thought it to be. And Shrue's “we can’t do anything to escape the system but die” was just too flat a conclusion.

Then I fell upon the poem compiled from each episode’s title.

It begins with the start of humanity: a story of things that have happened, things people have believed, things which have roamed the land from then til now.

Let me speak first of revelations, and next of dark deceit. Then I’ll speak of champions, of lovers, gods and beasts.

And so the poem continues in a description of this story, until it eventually twists to become entirely self-destructive around Chapters 18-24. It's a reference to how everything in the TSV universe seems to eat itself: their system of gods, sacrifices, even the characters themselves.

If I could trace with bloodless fingers, if my hands could shape the flow, I’d bear this song to the precipice and rend us both to dust below. We’d both go plunging downwards, one final fall from grace— I’d howl, I’d scream, in victory, and we’d be gone without a trace.

At Chapter 25, we get a respite from the story. We get a short poetic break which concludes that yes, we’re doomed to die—but we continue as we are despite it, and write our story even if it’ll be lost in the end. It’s a classic conclusion that a lot of literature and poetry fall to, because it’s so very human. It’s a cliche, and it’s a cliche for a reason.

But we’ll never be rid of each other, my song, my sorrow, and I, So I’ll bear it trembling onwards: to drift on, to dream, to die.

With that, the poem progresses forward until it starts addressing our end and what happens when we face that. It screams of last-ditch efforts keep on believing, even as we plunge down and down and the world just gets worse and worse. Shrue’s speech takes place in “One Last Song of Revelations” (the title is so fitting!), where they vocalize their realization that their pacifist attitude isn’t doing shit to change anything.

But when they switch towards radicalism because it’s, evidently, the only way anything will ever get done—the only way anything will get the exposure to maybe make an impact—they speak of the destruction of society as a whole. Not the eradication of capitalism, nor the installation of kinder gods, nor the lowering of sacrifice ceilings. They speak of true destruction. Utter destruction.

Shrue’s speech isn’t some call to action, nor does it embody any concrete ideology which the writers are trying to convey. It’s just an expression of desperation. Nothing is working; no one is listening.

What this poem sounds like is a story of how our world goes. It's its birth, its self-destruction, its philosophical revelations, its finale.

When we began following Carpenter and Faulkner in the reeds of the White Gull River, we were consuming a commentary on capitalism. Now, it’s more. It’s a commentary, yes, but it’s not only that—it’s an exploration. The Silt Verses is a tragic exploration of our world as it connects to theirs, of how we’ve been driven so far and been corrupted so deeply that only radicalism makes a difference because only radicalism is what gets the notice and attention to spark moderate change. And that same radicalism is going to destroy the society we have left.

But it’s all the same in the end, because society's collapse was going to happen anyways. So at least someone had it in them to fight for something.

GAHHHH I LOVE THIS SHOW

#the silt verses #adjudicator shrue

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touyas-multi-purpose-saline · 2 months ago

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DAY XXVIII. — DACRYPHILIA

cw: Dacryphilia, Post-MHA, Unhealthy Relationships, Mentions of Past Abuse / Manipulation / Violence, Gross Descriptions of Bodily Fluids, Vomit, Begging, Yandere Undertones, Mind-Broken Behavior, Dub-Con, Uncomfortable Scenarios, General Dark Content Not Suitable for Immature Audiences, Fem! Reader. Reader discretion is advised. 18+ Only!

author's note: Oh, yes. I definitely enjoy Post-MHA Overhaul. It really reveals his true character, in my opinion. It goes to show everything was a persona and that he's never had a chance to be a true him. I do not condone unhealthy behavior in any sense! This is strictly fiction! Do not force yourself to read if you're uncomfortable.

word count: Approximately 1.2k words.

Part of you starts to wonder what you ever did to deserve a fate like this.

There’s an inkling of a memory, but it’s so faint, and you try to wink it out of your mind. You were in the wrong place, wrong time, meddled in business that wasn’t yours to begin with because you assumed there was some injustice happening, and then your life was forever altered. You were sent spiraling down a path away from humanity so far that you couldn’t even turn back around, the tide too strong, impossible to beat the oars to shift around, and you’ll keep sinking into heavy white caps. The horrors that you had seen, the times you were strapped down and helpless, the explosions of men who took the wrong step, crumbling dirt, the crying from a little girl that you couldn’t do anything but walk away from, a lock that clicked, the final chord to your freedom as your bedroom door closed.

Maybe you should have fought back harder. Maybe you should have just lunged forward, teeth and claws bared, and ripped into whatever you could snag. Maybe you should have struggled until death cinched down your throat. Maybe you should have found a way to get yourself killed.

That’s what you did to deserve a fate like this—you stood around uselessly, frozen and powerless, and what did it give you?

A man laying atop of your body, head awkwardly buried within the crook of your neck, floundering over your nude body, pressing against your chest and belly in uncomfortable ways. His weight was odd, like he didn’t know how to move right anymore, like he was trying to find a way to roll himself into you that would make him disappear. Deep, deeper, and his breath hiccups in odd quarter notes between each thrust, each gasp he swallows. He’s never felt sloppier. You tilt your head to the side, wincing with each sharp thrust.

“A-Angel. Angel. A-A-Ahhh… nnaa, —gel.”

Over and over, like a mantra, like he never learned how to say any other words than that. That’s all he ever does anymore. Only says a few phrases, like he’s lost everything in him. I’m sorry. I failed. Forgive me. Angel. Over and over and over, and you’re starting to forget any poetry your tired and bleak mind ever lapped at. Can you wither with someone? Can you intertwine your bodies like overgrown weeds, mottled sap and moss across dusty windows, vines that twist with thorns, compressing to the lee of the stone? Is that what you desire most? Is that what you want? Would it be easier if you let your mind run silly and lose all comprehension just to be able to handle each thrust? Each moan? Each kiss? Each angel? How much longer can you hold off that inevitable?

“Angel. Sorry. I can’t hold myself up.”

You shake your head dismissively.

“It’s okay, Kai. Let me help you.”

Both of your hands leave his back, loosening, and Kai sucks in a shallow breath, accidentally leaning forward a bit too much to maintain your touch, but you just groan and squint your eyes. You can feel the liquid from his face, the wine and vinegar, it’s all over your neck and collar bone. He’s so gross. It’s going to be so gross to look at him again. He’s so solid, teeming with pathetic acceptance, all his will lost, and it strains your wrists whenever you try to hook your hands underneath his armpits and lift him. Your thumbs swivel to push, your hips meet his in rhythm for a few swings, and your knees pinch together to hoist your bodies up and together. Your back slams noisily against the pillow and headboard, but the pain doesn’t even register. All you can focus on is Kai’s face.

So gaunt, so shadowy, so hollow. Those once beautiful eyes wide and spacey, golden ambers dulled into earthy pebbles. His long lashes flutter, decorated by large pearls, by tears that stream down the apples of his face. Torrential rains that flood into his snot and drool, thick and soupy, and you try to stifle the look of disgust that crosses your face whenever it congeals and starts to splatter across your body. He’s so gross. Maybe he was always this gross.

You can’t believe you ever fell in love with him.

“A-Angel—”

Oh, how romantic Kai sounds now. So needy, finding ways to groove himself into your embrace, your body, and his sex grows faster. All of your teeth are chowing down on your inner mouth, the walls tender and fruity, and you can feel a few splinters pop in the aftermath, iron sour. The head of Kai’s cock pierces in ways that you’d never think possible, stumbling over the ridges of your cunt, and you can’t help when you’re screaming behind a glued mouth. He’s crying, Kai is crying. He always cries when you have sex. You hate it. He tries to be tender, he tries to lay into you gently, he tries to find ways to make this seem like a slice of heaven—but you just think he’s a messy little boy who’ll throw up on your breasts after he cums and then lay his head atop his own filth while he begs you to tell him that you love him until he passes out.

And with each passing thrust, you start to dwell on it. The longer you think, the further the dome of your head digs into the wall, the happier the thought makes you. Kai crying. No matter how pursy or slovenly Kai becomes with each gyration of his hips, with every deep moan that revs in the back of his throat, with the way he shoves himself forward to meet your static lips in a sloppy kiss. His sticky snot, opaque and stringy, dances across the brow of your lips, dangles down your faces, meets in the middle, and he’s working his jaw in rhythm with his thrusts. All of it is combining in your mind, and it makes you feel so giddy, and you realize you’ve finally lost it. You don’t love Kai anymore, but hearing him cry, apologize, make a mess of himself upon you, begging, fucking you, births glittery butterflies dancing within the cavity of your belly and you start giggling against Kai’s mouth.

Your eyes are open, so are Kai’s, and you can see the expression on his face shift into something akin to confusion, but you really don’t care anymore. Another giggle before you’re returning Kai’s kiss fervently, and your hands are finding any place on his body to squeeze and grab, you’re massaging him, feeling his muscles and his ribs, and your feet chop out before they clasp together. You draw Kai in further, his disconsolate fluids drenching the both of you, and you’re moaning.

You don’t like to think about the fate you've ended up with.

But if Kai never stops crying, then it'll be one you deserve.

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ghouljams · 2 months ago

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i had a bleak breakup tbh. i just feel useless now

If this is the dead sex drive anon then yeah that'll do it.

If not: I absolutely feel you. When my first girlfriend broke up with me it was really fucking rough. I have some truly somber poetry from those first few weeks after the breakup. A lot of "I will never love again because love is fleeting and I cannot fix myself to impermanence." But then weeks became months and I started thinking more about the relationship and her and I started realizing that even though I still loved her I didn't want to be in that relationship any more.

There was so much I wished was different that I started wondering if I had even loved her at all, or if I loved the idea of her. We were rp partners and I think both of us fell in love with the "Could be" especially when so much of her affection was based on performance and her making aus about our relationship(should've been a red flag but I was young and stupid).

She broke up with me over text while I was on a school trip. It was a whole thing, that wasn't even the worst part of my night.

Anyway, all of that to say: time heals you. The grief gets easier to manage, and the rose colored glasses that breaking up so often puts on us fall off. This is not your greatest love, maybe you'll carry them in your heart for a long time but some day you'll look at the relationship and realize you turned it over in your hands so many times that it's turned to sand, and it'll be easy to let go of then.

You are more than a partnership. Aristotle was a punk ass bitch who didn't know shit about nothing. It may feel like you've lost part of yourself to the relationship but it's just hiding. Go out and look at the changing leaves. Get a hot chocolate. Find a spot of sunlight to read in. Eventually your other half will be coaxed out of the shadows like a feral cat, and you'll hold them in your arms until you feel whole again. It might take a little biting and clawing but loving yourself always hurts a little bit at first.

#ghoul speaks

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aftgficrec · 1 year ago

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ah I'm so excited you're open!!! thank you for the ridiculous amount of work you all do 🙏ok, this might be too specific but any fics with an alternate take on Andrew and Neil's post-trk reunion? Andrew gets out of easthaven early, Neil leaves the Nest later, AU's, etc.? i think it's a really interesting point in their dynamic, and I'm a sucker for sober Andrew realizing someone was watching his back for once

Feeling a bit like a Bernie Sanders’ meme – ‘I am once again asking myself why I spent so much time on an ask,’ 😅 but it's because this is such an iconic and beloved scene for our fandom. For a super fun ‘live’ first-time reader reaction to this high drama, check out ‘The King’s Men, Chapter 1 – Hello Foxhole, My Old Friend’ by @nickireadstfc here. -A

also see

Andrew's POV of throwing keys off roof here

‘Come and Save Me From It’ here (completed)

‘Learning To Feel (When You've Forgotten How)’ and the fandom meta posts here

‘pipedream’ here

‘reaching for the heights’ here

‘Lost boy’ and ‘[Un]broken’ here

‘I Know You From A Nightmare,’ ‘The Marks We Make,’ and ‘Draw Me Out, Mark Me In’ here

‘Marked’ and ‘Soulmates who can feel each other’s pain’ here

‘Of Stars and Stories’ here

‘What’s normal now?’ here

long previous recs with reunion mention

‘No More Fucks To Give’ here (updated)

‘The Sphynx and the Hare’ here (completed)

‘corvus, vulpes, lupus’ here

‘never fallen (from quite this high)’ here

‘Not a Pipe Dream’ here

‘everything and nothing begins with you’ here

Andrew gets sober, Neil stays at Evermore

‘Oh Raven,’ ‘Jailbird,’ and ‘Take to the Wing’ here

‘Scared to Live (But I'm Scared to Die)’ here

‘Comeback’ here