#THE REVERENCE THE TENDERNESS THE DEDICATION THE DESIRE THE WONDER THE CARE THE LOVE

[stormyoceans]

THEY COULD HAVE FUCKED NASTY IN THE MIDDLE OF THAT SHOP AND IT STILL WOULD HAVE BEEN LESS INTIMATE AND SEXUALLY CHARGED THAN THIS WHOLE ENTIRE SCENE

[zapreportsblog]

↳ what the heart wants ↲

➘ summary : Neytiri finds herself falling in love with the caring scientist that works on her planet

➘ Neytiri x reader, avatar the way of water x reader

Deep within the lush and vibrant world of Pandora, Neytiri, the fearless Na'vi warrior and leader of the Metkayina clan, found herself drawn to the human scientist (Y/N). As the days turned into nights, and the moments of interaction between them accumulated, a profound connection began to form.

(Y/N) had joined the research team on Pandora, driven by a deep love for nature and a burning curiosity about the planet's unique ecosystem. Her dedication and genuine respect for Pandora's natural beauty caught the attention of Neytiri and her people, who held the planet and its delicate balance in the highest regard.

In the heart of the dense jungle, Neytiri watched as (Y/N) immersed herself in learning the ways of the Na'vi. Her fascination with their customs, language, and spiritual beliefs endeared her to the clan. Neytiri admired (Y/N)'s open-hearted enthusiasm and desire to connect with the land and its inhabitants.

One evening, (Y/N) found herself alone in a serene glade, surrounded by the lush bioluminescent plants that painted the night with their ethereal glow. Unbeknownst to her, Neytiri had been silently observing from the shadows, captivated by (Y/N)'s presence.

Approaching with a quiet grace, Neytiri's voice was a melodic whisper in the tranquil air. "(Y/N), you honor us with your respect for our ways."

(Y/N) turned, her face lighting up with a warm smile as she recognized Neytiri. "Neytiri, I am grateful to be a guest on your planet. The beauty of Pandora and the spirit of your people have touched my heart."

Neytiri's eyes held a mixture of curiosity and something deeper. "You are not like other humans who come here seeking to exploit our resources. Your heart is connected to this world in a way that few understand."

(Y/N)'s cheeks flushed, humbled by Neytiri's words. "I can't deny my love for this planet. Its wonders are beyond compare, and the Na'vi's connection to nature is something I deeply admire."

Neytiri's gaze held a tenderness that went beyond words. "And I find myself drawn to your spirit, (Y/N). Your genuine love and respect awaken something within me."

The atmosphere between them seemed to shimmer, a delicate dance of understanding and emotion. (Y/N) felt a growing bond with Neytiri, a connection that transcended language and culture. Their conversations turned from sharing knowledge about Pandora to sharing stories of their own lives, hopes, and dreams.

As the weeks went by, (Y/N) joined the Na'vi in their efforts to protect Pandora from external threats, and her dedication did not go unnoticed. The respect and admiration Neytiri felt for (Y/N) deepened, and she found herself falling in love with the human scientist's compassionate heart and unwavering commitment.

One starlit night, as they stood at the edge of a sacred forest, (Y/N) turned to Neytiri, her eyes shimmering with emotion. "Neytiri, my heart is entwined with this world and with you. The love I feel for Pandora and your people is beyond words."

Neytiri's hand reached out to gently cup (Y/N)'s cheek, her touch tender and filled with longing. "And my heart is bound to yours, (Y/N). Your presence has brought a new light to my life, one I never thought possible."

In that moment, under the watchful gaze of Pandora's night sky, Neytiri and (Y/N) shared a kiss that held the promise of a love that would bridge two worlds. As they held each other, the stars above seemed to shine brighter, as if celebrating the union of two souls united by a shared reverence for the world around them.

Their love story was one that defied boundaries – a human scientist and a Na'vi warrior, brought together by their love for Pandora and a connection that could not be denied. And as they faced the challenges that lay ahead, their bond only grew stronger, a testament to the power of love that transcends differences and finds its home in the heart.

As (Y/N) continued her work on Pandora, the scientists around her began to notice something remarkable. It wasn't just her dedication to the research or her enthusiasm for understanding Pandora's ecosystem that caught their attention – it was the deep bond she shared with Neytiri, a love that transcended the boundaries of their respective species.

Dr. Grace Augustine, one of the lead researchers, observed (Y/N) and Neytiri interacting with a mixture of fascination and a knowing smile. She had seen love in many forms during her time on Pandora, but there was something extraordinary about the connection between these two individuals.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, Dr. Augustine approached (Y/N) in the research camp. "You and Neytiri have something truly special," she began, her voice soft and understanding.

(Y/N) looked up, her eyes meeting Dr. Augustine's. "Our love for each other is beyond words. She's changed my life in ways I never thought possible."

Dr. Augustine nodded, a thoughtful expression on her face. "And you've changed hers too, in your own unique way."

A silence hung in the air for a moment before Dr. Augustine continued, her tone carefully measured. "We've been working on a project – a way to bridge the gap between humans and the Na'vi, to create a true connection."

(Y/N)'s brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Dr. Augustine's gaze was steady as she explained. "We've developed a technology that allows a human consciousness to be transferred into a Na'vi body. It's a way for us to understand Pandora and its inhabitants on a deeper level."

(Y/N)'s heart skipped a beat, her mind racing with the possibilities. The idea of experiencing Pandora as a Na'vi, of being able to truly share in Neytiri's world, was both thrilling and overwhelming.

Dr. Augustine continued, her voice gentle. "I've seen the love between you and Neytiri, (Y/N). And I know that this technology could offer you a chance to be together in a way that was never possible before."

Tears welled up in (Y/N)'s eyes as she looked at Dr. Augustine, her heart aching with longing. "You're saying I could be with Neytiri?"

Dr. Augustine nodded, a knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Yes, (Y/N). With this technology, your consciousness could inhabit a Na'vi body, and you could experience Pandora as she does."

The offer was both exhilarating and terrifying. The thought of sharing a life with Neytiri, of experiencing the world through her eyes, was a dream come true. But (Y/N) also understood the gravity of such a decision – to leave her human life behind, to immerse herself fully in a new identity.

As (Y/N) looked out at the landscape of Pandora, her heart torn between the life she knew and the life she could have, Dr. Augustine gave her a reassuring smile. "Take your time, (Y/N). This is a decision that only you can make."

The days that followed were filled with contemplation and conversation. Neytiri was supportive, understanding the weight of (Y/N)'s choice. Together, they discussed the possibilities, the challenges, and the depth of their love.

In the end, (Y/N) made her decision. With a mixture of excitement and determination, she stood before the team of scientists, ready to embark on a journey that would forever bind her to Pandora, to Neytiri, and to a love that defied boundaries.

As the technology hummed around her, as her consciousness merged with the Na'vi body that awaited her, (Y/N) felt a rush of emotions – anticipation, fear, and a profound sense of belonging. She closed her eyes, the world around her fading as her new reality took shape.

When (Y/N) opened her eyes once more, she saw the world of Pandora through Na'vi eyes, felt the breeze against her skin, and heard the song of the forest with newfound clarity. And as she turned to see Neytiri standing before her, their eyes meeting in a silent embrace, (Y/N) knew that she had made the right choice – to be with the one she loved, to share in a world that held endless wonder, and to embark on a journey that would forever unite her heart with the heart of Pandora.

As(Y/N) adjusted to her new life as a Na'vi, the world around her took on a vibrant and awe-inspiring quality. Every sensation was heightened, every color more vivid, and every sound a symphony of life. Neytiri was by her side every step of the way, guiding her through the intricacies of Na'vi culture and teaching her the ways of their people.

Their love story, once bound by the limitations of their respective species, had now transcended into a deeper and more profound connection. As (Y/N) moved through the dense forests and explored the bioluminescent wonders of Pandora, she felt a sense of unity with the land, the creatures, and the people who had become her new family.

Days turned into weeks, and (Y/N) embraced her role as a member of the Na'vi tribe. She joined them in hunts, learned the ancient traditions of their society, and even found herself communicating with the spirits of the land. Every moment was a revelation, a testament to the beauty and magic that Pandora held.

Neytiri watched with a mixture of pride and tenderness as (Y/N) adapted to her new life. She was constantly amazed by (Y/N)'s open heart and willingness to learn. Their moments together were filled with shared laughter, deep conversations, and stolen glances that spoke volumes of their affection.

One evening, as they watched the sun set over the horizon, (Y/N) turned to Neytiri with a smile. "I never thought I could feel so connected to a place, to a people. It's like a dream come true."

Neytiri's hand found (Y/N)'s, their fingers entwining in a familiar embrace. "You are part of us now, (Y/N). Your spirit is intertwined with Pandora, and your presence enriches our world."

As the days passed, (Y/N) found herself falling even more in love with Neytiri and the beauty of Pandora. She marveled at the intricate ecosystems, learned to communicate with the flora and fauna, and developed a deep respect for the balance that the Na'vi maintained with their environment.

One day, as (Y/N) stood atop the floating mountains, Neytiri approached her with a knowing smile. "Do you remember the first time we met, when you were still a human?"

(Y/N) nodded, a fond smile on her lips. "Of course. It feels like a lifetime ago."

Neytiri's gaze was filled with emotion as she continued, "You chose to leave behind your human life, your identity, to be with me. That decision touched my heart in ways I cannot express."

(Y/N) reached out to cup Neytiri's cheek, her touch gentle and filled with affection. "And I would make that choice a thousand times over, Neytiri. Being here with you, sharing in this world, it's more than I ever could have imagined."

Neytiri's arms wrapped around (Y/N), pulling her close in a tender embrace. "Our love is a bridge between two worlds, (Y/N). It is a testament to the power of connection and the strength of the heart."

As they stood together, overlooking the vast expanse of Pandora, (Y/N) felt a profound sense of gratitude. She had chosen love, chosen a new life that brought her closer to the land, the people, and the person she loved most in the universe.

And as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the landscape, (Y/N) knew that her journey was only beginning – a journey of love, discovery, and a bond that would forever connect her heart to the heart of Pandora.

[ucflibrary]

Poetry is the expression of human experience.

It is the               voice                         when finding ourselves                         past and future identities.

Poems are a universal noise bringing truth from silence on our lived experiences in               race,                       gender,                                    sexuality,                                                    ethnicity,                                                                   religion,                                                                                 health,                                                                                            and family.

These verses, in whichever form they take, are the hopes,                         dreams,                                      rage,                                              and tears that move our lives.

UCF Libraries is proud to raise up other voices as part of the largest literary celebration in the world.

We have gathered suggestions to feature 16 books of poetry that are currently in the UCF collection. These works represent the wide range of favorite poets for our faculty and staff. To compliment the works featured on the 2021 list, an additional 200 poetry books grace the shelves of our Featured Display next to the Research & Information Desk on the main floor of the John C. Hitt Library.

Click on the Keep reading link to see the full list of titles and descriptions.

A Nail the Evening Hangs On by Monica Sok In her debut collection, Monica Sok uses poetry to reshape a family’s memory about the Khmer Rouge regime―memory that is both real and imagined―according to a child of refugees. Driven by myth-making and fables, the poems examine the inheritance of the genocide and the profound struggles of searing grief and PTSD. Though the landscape of Cambodia is always present, it is the liminal space, the in-betweenness of diaspora, in which younger generations must reconcile their history and create new rituals. Sok seeks to reclaim the Cambodian narrative with tenderness and an imagination that moves towards wholeness and possibility. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisition and Collection Services

 Buzzing Hemisphere = Rumor Hemisferico by Urayoan Noel In this expansive collection, we hear the noise of cities such as New York, San Juan, and São Paulo abuzz with flickering bodies and the rush of vernaculars as untranslatable as the murmur in the Spanish rumor. Oscillating between baroque textuality and vernacular performance, Noel’s bilingual poems experiment with eccentric self-translation, often blurring the line between original and translation as a way to question language hierarchies and allow for translingual experiences. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 Collected Poems in English by Joseph Brodsky One of the greatest and grandest advocates of the literary vocation, Joseph Brodsky truly lived his life as a poet, and for it earned eighteen months in an Arctic labor camp, expulsion from his native country, and the Nobel Prize in Literature. Such were one man's wages. Here, collected for the first time, are all the poems he published in English, from his earliest collaborations with Derek Walcott, Richard Wilbur, Howard Moss, and Anthony Hecht to the moving farewell poems he wrote near the end of his life. Suggested by Tatyana Leonova, Acquisition and Collection Services

 Crush by Richard Siken This work, selected as the 2004 winner of the Yale Younger Poets prize, is a powerful collection of poems driven by obsession and love. Siken writes with ferocity, and his reader hurtles unstoppably with him. His poetry is confessional, gay, savage, and charged with violent eroticism. In the world of American poetry, Siken's voice is striking. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

 Different Hours by Stephen Dunn The mysteries of Eros and Thanatos, the stubborn endurance of mind and body in the face of diminishment--these are the undercurrents of Stephen Dunn's eleventh volume. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

 Honeyfish by Lauren K. Alleyne The collection begins and ends with poems that memorialize and mourn the deaths of African Americans who have died at police hands, though to call them poems of protest would simplify their exploration of what life means in relation to death. It is a collection whose architecture works to make each poem, beautiful in their singular grace, add up to much more than the sum of their individual parts. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

 How We Became Human: new and selected poems by Joy Harjo This collection gathers poems from throughout Joy Harjo's twenty-eight-year career, beginning in 1973 in the age marked by the takeover at Wounded Knee and the rejuvenation of indigenous cultures in the world through poetry and music. This work explores its title question in poems of sustaining grace. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 Legacy: women poets of the Harlem Renaissance by Nikki Grimes For centuries, accomplished women--of all races--have fallen out of the historical records. The same is true for gifted, prolific, women poets of the Harlem Renaissance who are little known, especially as compared to their male counterparts. In this poetry collection, bestselling author Nikki Grimes uses "The Golden Shovel" poetic method to create wholly original poems based on the works of these groundbreaking women-and to introduce readers to their work. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

 New Poets of Native Nations edited by Heid E. Erdrich Erdrich gathers poets of diverse ages, styles, languages, and tribal affiliations to present the extraordinary range and power of new Native poetry. These selected twenty-one poets whose first books were published after the year 2000 highlight the exciting works coming up after Joy Harjo and Sherman Alexie. Collected here are poems of great breadth―long narratives, political outcries, experimental works, and traditional lyrics―and the result is an essential anthology of some of the best poets writing now. Suggested by Dawn Tripp, Research & Information Services

 Oceanic by Aimee Nezhukumatathil With inquisitive flair, Aimee Nezhukumatathil creates a thorough registry of the earth’s wonderful and terrible magic. In her fourth collection of poetry, she studies forms of love as diverse and abundant as the ocean itself. She brings to life a father penguin, a C-section scar, and the Niagara Falls with a powerful force of reverence for life and living things. With an encyclopedic range of subjects and unmatched sincerity, it speaks to each reader as a cooperative part of the earth, an extraordinary neighborhood to which we all belong. Suggested by Christina Wray, Student Learning & Engagement

 Owed by Joshua Bennett Bennett's new collection is a book with celebration at its center. Its primary concern is how we might mend the relationship between ourselves and the people, spaces, and objects we have been taught to think of as insignificant, as fundamentally unworthy of study, reflection, attention, or care. Spanning the spectrum of genre and form--from elegy and ode to origin myth--these poems elaborate an aesthetics of repair. What's more, they ask that we turn to the songs and sites of the historically denigrated so that we might uncover a new way of being in the world together, one wherein we can truthfully reckon with the brutality of the past and thus imagine the possibilities of our shared, unpredictable present, anew. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisition and Collection Services

 Phantom Noise by Brian Turner Brian Turner deftly illuminates existence as both easily extinguishable and ultimately enduring. These prophetic, osmotic poems wage a daily battle for normalcy, seeking structure in the quotidian while grappling with the absence of forgetting. Suggested by Katy Miller, Student Learning & Engagement

 Postcolonial Love Poem by Natalie Diaz This is an anthem of desire against erasure. Natalie Diaz’s brilliant second collection demands that every body carried in its pages―bodies of language, land, rivers, suffering brothers, enemies, and lovers―be touched and held as beloveds. Through these poems, the wounds inflicted by America onto an indigenous people are allowed to bloom pleasure and tenderness. In this new lyrical landscape, the bodies of indigenous, Latinx, black, and brown women are simultaneously the body politic and the body ecstatic. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisition and Collection Services

 The Collected Poems of Langston Hughes edited by Arnold Rampersad and David Roessel Here, for the first time, are all the poems that Langston Hughes published during his lifetime, arranged in the general order in which he wrote them. Lyrical and pungent, passionate and polemical, the result is a treasure of a book, the essential collection of a poet whose words have entered our common language. Suggested by Susan MacDuffee, Acquisition and Collection Services

The Heart Aroused: poetry and the preservation of soul in corporate America by David Whyte David Whyte brings his unique perspective as poet and consultant to the workplace, showing readers how fulfilling work can be when they face their fears and follow their dreams. Going beneath the surface concerns about products and profits, organization and order, Whyte addresses the needs of the heart and soul, and the fears and desires that many workers keep hidden. At a time when corporations are calling on employees for more creativity, dedication, and adaptability, and workers are trying desperately to balance home and work, this revised edition is the essential guide to reinvigorating the soul. Suggested by Rebecca Hawk, Circulation

 The Secret Powers of Naming by Sara Littlecrow-Russell Sara Littlecrow-Russell’s style emerges from the ancient and sacred tradition of storytelling, where legends were told not just to entertain, but to teach and, if necessary, to discipline. The power of the storyteller is the power of naming, to establish a relationship, a connection, and a sense of meaning. A name is both a bequest and a burden. Each of the poems in this collection is, in essence, a naming ritual. Sharply, energetically, and always provocatively, these poems name uncomfortable moments, complex emotions, and sudden, often wryly humorous realizations. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

[vitavitale]

untitled II   (for @vaebled​)

What's a man to do when his heart is full and he has only one thought racing through his mind? What can he possibly do when he has his lover knelt before him, stroking his calves and kissing his knees? Garrett is endlessly affectionate, ever gentle and sweet, willing to drop to the floor in worship of his mate. So dedicated, so devoted, so eager to treasure and please. He is warm, makes V warm, and in stirring these feelings subsequently makes V wonder why. It isn't that he's unappreciative—utterly the contrary—but for every cocksure stride, V is equally humble if not more so, and he finds it almost a challenge to understand Garrett's heart. Through half-lidded eyes he watches lips brush across skin and hands caress tender flesh, and in Garrett's closed eyes he sees serenity and sincerity; no shortage of all the adoration and devotion he'd come to know. Every touch is loving as is every breath exhaled. Wordless, the both of them, and it's fine that they have nothing to say. Enough is communicated through just this, and yet it still leaves V wanting to know more. He isn't blind to what's going on, he's aware of the causes and he's confident in the outcome to follow. He knows Garrett loves him. Nothing could be more evident; but why does he? Why does Garrett feel like he has to do this? To go this far? What moves him to fall to his knees to delight V's? To kiss him so and care for him, to remind him constantly that his feelings are unwavering and his affections true?

Why does Garrett love V?

So frail a creature, so human like V had less to give and more to take. Worth so little, capable of the bare minimum, just barely a put-together man. And yes, he did look death in the face, but it wasn't by his power alone that he evaded his demise: Garrett had been there all the time, protecting and pushing, and rallying the strength he'd seen in the warlock to keep him on his feet and lead him toward fulfillment. Garrett kept him alive; V wouldn't have made it. He burdened the demon, as much now as then, and yet in spite of all the trouble V was worth, Garrett had somehow decided to love him, give him even more of himself when it wasn't due. V may have wanted it, but who was he to make requests? He'd troubled him enough, but it turned out that the fox wanted to bite off even more than he could chew—and V was contented by that. Relieved, grateful. Now he has that fox in a bedroom, renewing once again his commitment after many months of solidified loyalty. It doesn't quite matter what adjectives he can come up with to offer as praise, or how often he points out what about V makes him so desirable. Those don't really count, do they? Should they? As pleasant to the ear as they are, they don't answer the question that leave unknowns where there ought to be clarity. And it's not that V doesn't trust him—that is never the case—but there is a desire within that wants more.

And maybe he knows. Maybe he really knows the answer he thinks he seeks, but he simply...may want to hear it. To know it unmistakably for a fact. His curiosity may be the simplest thing, but he doesn't seem to be certain of even that.

Of his own feelings, however, there is no question. If he is sure of anything, guaranteed by his own character, it's that his love for Garrett is true, and strong, and even more tangible than the bed he sits on. He loves him more than anyone, more than himself, more than anything he's ever loved, and it's why he sits here now as he allows his beloved to lavish him with all the attention that could possibly be spared, to indulge his silly heart with affections held sacred between them. V trusts Garrett with his heart, that he will hold it gently in his hands and make love to it and guard it jealously as if it were his own; that he will tear open his own bosom, bring their hearts together, and forever keep V's beside his. He knows Garrett is just the type.

A part of him wants to address him softly, slip a hand beneath the demon's chin to have his eyes focus on V's, and to say...anything. The first thing on his mind, maybe. No, certainly. It gnaws on his brain and sinks its claws in his heart. He very much wants to spill over, open up like a faucet and pour everything he's got onto his mate's lap. He's not as perplexed or undecided by that as he pretends to be: he wants to speak. V is beyond insecurity and butterflies, or so he thinks—but his hesitation is indicative of whatever remains of his bashfulness, or naivety, or whatever part of him that's failed to mature. Part of his charm, one of the things that endears him to Garrett. A palm rests on blackened hair instead, running through every strand as it settles on Garrett's scalp and green eyes meet a flash of blue. It's very cute, very cute. He likes the look of that boy grinning at him from below, nosing between thighs he's persuaded apart. Even as those eyes fall away and close again, even as he nibbles gently at the skin there, V thinks he is such a boy, thinks he's so cute.

This is something Garrett thinks V deserves, and whether or not that's true V enjoys it nonetheless. This is like reverence and it almost feels wrong, but nothing seems to be when it comes from his mate. This is how he loves, so it's what V loves. But he isn't distracted by the affection, only reminded of sentiments that crave release. Is that why his heart races? Why his viscera burn? Well, he's not so naive to pretend that Garrett isn't doing something else entirely to him, and he suspects that's why his face is warm too. But V knows what he seeks apart from that, and he's sure his handsome devil will indulge his whim; he's enough of a sap for it. Without much more hesitation, V's hand abandons that hair so that a slender finger may graze his cheek. “Garrett,” he says in such a manner that suggests he's been robbed of breath, “look here.”

A pair of hands are firm on each knee and there they remain as instructions are followed. Ever attentive, the fox makes eye contact and hums a simple inquiry. Those eyes had no business looking and watching so fondly! A breath seizes up and suddenly V is incapable of expression. He notices his hand lingering, Garrett taking it for his own and pressing kisses to each finger tip—that's such a good boy—but V wants plain attention from him, if only for mere minutes.

“I”—away his hand is pulled—“want you to listen.” He's soft in the eyes as he holds Garrett's focus, but there's a furrow to his brow as he embraces his anxiety. He's not sure what he's going to say, really, or how it's going to come out, and suddenly he loses half of his nerve as he wonders for a fleeting moment how his words may potentially do more harm than good. They've talked about their feelings before, so why is this so strange and hard? It's new, V knows he hasn't expressed himself the way he's doing it in his mind, and he rather dislikes that he has to go over the thoughts at all. Still there remains his curiosity, his desire to let his own love be known explicitly. It's probably not necessary; Garrett has been shown repeatedly just how fond his mate is of him, time and time again, yet V is misty in the eyes and breathes quickly. As if he's never done this before, as if he was trying to take back something lost. Both were furthest from the truth. But V would like to be indulged, to indulge and put to rest himself.

Why do you love me?

“I...watch you, and I don't know why you do this. For me. And...I know why you want to—don't look at me like that, please.” He interrupts briefly to set Garrett straight before he can even throw his voice where it's unneeded. Of course he's gotten a look of concern on his face; that boy will never once cease to worry about V. It seems odd, inappropriate, even, that they should do this while one sits between the other's legs, but here they are, and V heartens himself to go on. “I, I know you love me, Garrett, and I believe in everything you do for me. I know you want to show me, I know you want me to feel it, and I do—damn.” He chokes, of course, on emotion and nothing more. It wells up his throat and mists his eyes, but there is no turning back and no excusing himself, and it's not like he wants to run anyway. Still, he finds himself averting his gaze and turning his head down. Yes, it's embarrassing. He can't help but hide. He has no reason to feel so conflicted, to cry over something so baseless, and he has far less a reason to turn from his own sweetheart as if the demon were to pass unfair judgment and chastise him for being childish.  That hasn't happened in the past and there is no expectation for that to happen now.

“Just don't, don't look at me like that,” he reiterates, sensing sympathetic eyes on him. He hears “V” murmured, trailing at the end, but it's all he hears.

What does Garrett think of him now? How foolish does he look? How little sense does he make? V is so often so awfully weak and pliable when it comes to that fucking demon; he crumbles within himself or melts like butter because of him. He loves him that much and he's a wretched thing for it, but he loves him. That's all there is to it. There's strength in that truth, however, and it makes them both better men for it. The warlock rebounds with little delay and gathers himself, locks eyes, finds his voice. “Y-you always...make me feel loved. You make me feel...valuable, I guess, or whatever that feeling is—but you do, and I don't doubt you. You do so much for me and give as much, but I? I don't think I give enough back.” He shakes his head as he manages a wistful little smile, digging his fingers into the fabric that cushions him. “I just don't know why you feel that way about me. It's stupid that I say this when I should know; you always tell me what you see in me and how you feel about it, but...maybe I'm too naive to understand. Why do you love me? I am...so useless, Garrett. I ask so much of you, I'm afraid I take you for granted—though I don't think that I do. I, I hope I don't...” Garrett treats him as though he were a prince and it's wonderful, but isn't it inappropriate to admit that? The color on V's face reflects that sentiment.

“I just...can't understand it. You care for me, so selflessly, and you've done more for me than I could ever do for you. What do I do for you, love? Tell you that I love you, that's all. It's all I can ever say to you and even you know it isn't enough. You're only so-- such a good boy that you're content with nothing more. And you deserve more. You could...get that from...someone else, but you'd rather have the least little bit from me. I… I don't know what to do with that. Truthfully, it makes me feel inadequate.”

V fails to realize how much he's talking, but his concern lies elsewhere. He doesn't want Garrett to feel bad, to find inadequacy in himself for the things he's hearing from V. It's nice to see that he sits, waits, listens attentively while heart and soul and all are offered to him. His hands remain on V's legs, grasping tenderly, almost hugging them, while his eyes do not stray. V is only scantily clad when he first sits to be pampered, but that's seemingly long forgotten now as he instead chooses to pour his guts out and ache from all of his sentimentality at once.  There is a longing within to touch his mate, and he answers the call with a single hand that reaches forth, holds his jaw and cradles it comfortingly. The mist in V's eyes stubbornly persists, but he stops himself shy of shedding tears. “I do so adore this face...and all the rest of you. I just wish that I could make you know that, even...give you a real reason to love me back.” I'm not very good for much. “But if you love me anyway, I'll take it. I would take anything from you.” It's not an exaggeration, and that may be the saddest thing of all coming from V: that he would clutch at every scrap of love and affection given and hold on to it as if his life depended on it. He would have it regardless, because of, in spite of—and he thinks he's all right with that. If Garrett had been any other kind of person, V really did believe he'd take whatever affection would come his way no matter the compromise. If Garrett would ever raise a hand to him, push his weight around, exact obedience, V would stay. He truly is blessed that his situation isn't as tragic, and he's ever silently grateful that the life he's been given is a good one. It's because Garrett is a good man that V can open himself up like this, without fear of rejection or ridicule. It's why he loves as he does, and he hopes his lover is aware.

He doesn't wait to bring his thumb over lips he'd very much like to kiss, but this he does to keep Garrett quiet (though, truthfully, he enjoys the sensation brought to bear as a result of the contact), and the demon is acquiescent. V has yet much to say, though at this point he doesn't realize, doesn't think about it. His heart commands him and his tongue obeys. “I just…” He shrugs. “I love you more than I could ever tell you, and I'm ashamed of myself for that—being so useless that I can't even...express myself the way I should. But I know what my feelings are, I know why they are, Garrett. I think that I have every reason to love you. You've given me everything I needed, even when I didn't know it.” V has a smile to share, a fond and almost nostalgic sort of smile as though he's been thinking back to a time he misses. “Everything I have here is because of you; you've made my life better, good—you made certain I'd have it to begin with. I'm, I'm stronger than I used to be, I'm not so worried or fearful of the things that used to stress me. I can feel like...more of a 'normal' person, I suppose. I'm comfortable, satisfied. Even if we don't have a lot, it's more than enough for me. I don't know how to thank you for that.” Between his thumb and a curled finger, he holds his mate's chin as he holds his attention; and his voice weakens just a touch.

“You're always good—wonderful—to me, and I love you for it. I love you for caring and doting on me, for being attentive, affectionate, sentimental, even silly as you sometimes are; and I love even the shadows you hide in, the way you brood, the poems you write, the way you feel so intensely, like...the way you love me back? That's how it feels to me, at least. It's what I'm most grateful for: that you love me at all. I don't think that I could expose so much of myself to you if you hadn't felt that way...” Perhaps now he's aware that he's gone on and on, but he doesn't care in the slightest anymore. His heart is too full in spite of all that he's poured out of it, but it seems that he's done himself in: now he feels twice as sentimental, utterly under the influence of his own affections. Hearing them spoken is novel in some ways, and he didn't quite count on their effect over him. Now V is a mite wistful, as though he'd confessed feelings to someone who couldn't reciprocate, with dampness beneath his eyes as the mists descended in droplets. He really doesn't like this weakness, thinks it tasteless and tactless of himself, and believes he's that much smaller for it even with Garrett's eyes below his own.

But that man is only too sweet and reminds V of why when he draws that hand nearer and presses his lips to V's palm in a chaste, gentle kiss. He is only genuine in his gesture before he rises from the floor, and the warlock's hand is detached for now as Garrett takes his rosy face between his own palms. The dampness is wiped away, a quiet purr to soothe follows. V wastes no time to grab at loving digits and he has nothing but a foolish smile to give in turn, something that is self-deprecating in reality. It's ironic that he has to do this to himself, to coax Garrett into treating him this way without even intending to, but a part of him appreciates the comfort and only wants it to go further. At the very least, V has the courage to look him in the eye and love him anyway.

“Please. I feel all right,” it's quietly assured. “I didn't expect to talk this much, or to make such a mess of it… I'm sorry.” The apology comes from a belief that he'd only confused his mate; in his mind, he's rambled senselessly. But he knows, by the same token, that the language of romance is universally understood, and Garrett will quickly find the core of all he'd been told. Garrett would forgive him his nonsense, the deviation from what they'd originally planned to do: V is confident in his mate, knows that he would be forgiven anything just as he would, himself, forgive it all. He's assured of that when a kiss captures his lips: something heartfelt, authentic, strong but ever so tender. V gives back while his heart leaps and his closed eyes moisten again.  

There isn't so much as an ounce of desire to cut it short, and he indeed lingers, chasing after that mouth after his mate pulls back. When he finds himself disappointed, his eyes open to meet the opposite pair. He cannot help feeling foolish just then, but says nothing nor shies away; he merely straightens to sit upright again. Soon do his hands fall away, dropping back beside his hips as he awaits...something. Anything. He's sure Garrett will wipe dry his eyes again, but that's of lesser importance. V has just one more thing to say before he shuts himself up for the eve, and he slips it in before the demon can have his turn to bleed his heart out. “Still… I'm all yours, love.”

[cbk1000]

Jenn Recommends: Historical Fiction II

Welcome to another blog post in which I tell you what to read, and you just sit and passively do it because I have excellent taste in literature and also I’m kind of a bully. Check this tag for more recommendations.

Today we revisit historical fiction, because it’s one of my favourite genres and I have lots of suggestions, all of which you should definitely take to heart. My first list of historical fiction recs (which can be found here if you’re curious) was all gay, all the time; this list is slightly more heterosexual, although not much, because here be lesbians.

If You Like: Dickensian lesbians (and really, who doesn’t?)

Read: Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

I’m going to lift the summary from Goodreads, because it’s faster, and I’m lazy:  Sue Trinder is an orphan, left as an infant in the care of Mrs. Sucksby, a "baby farmer," who raised her with unusual tenderness, as if Sue were her own. Mrs. Sucksby’s household, with its fussy babies calmed with doses of gin, also hosts a transient family of petty thieves—fingersmiths—for whom this house in the heart of a mean London slum is home. One day, the most beloved thief of all arrives—Gentleman, an elegant con man, who carries with him an enticing proposition for Sue: If she wins a position as the maid to Maud Lilly, a naïve gentlewoman, and aids Gentleman in her seduction, then they will all share in Maud’s vast inheritance. Once the inheritance is secured, Maud will be disposed of—passed off as mad, and made to live out the rest of her days in a lunatic asylum. With dreams of paying back the kindness of her adopted family, Sue agrees to the plan. Once in, however, Sue begins to pity her helpless mark and care for Maud Lilly in unexpected ways...But no one and nothing is as it seems in this Dickensian novel of thrills and reversals.

This novel really hearkens back to ye old days of sensation fiction when literary thrillers were a bit slower, a little more cumbersome; they wanted more patience from the reader, who watches all the little threads get teased out bit by excruciating bit. There’s a sinister undercurrent you feel pulling at you till about the halfway point of the novel, when everything is suddenly upended and you sit up in bed screaming, “BRUH!!” because your stupid ass did NOT SEE THAT COMING EVEN A LITTLE BIT.

Waters is really good at this; her evocation of Victorian England is excellent, and transports you in a way that only the best historical fiction can manage. The narrative unfolds slowly in the first half, building upon itself with a sense of heightening doom that a faster pace could never achieve. As the reader, you’re in on the con (or are you?), and you know what’s going to happen, how it’s all going to end, where the burgeoning relationship between the two girls is painfully trundling along to--except you don’t. Waters pulls the rug out from under your feet, and she doesn’t just do it once, which is why I’m reluctant to say too much about the plot. AND--she does it all in really lovely prose that’s reminiscent of the time period she’s working in; I never really felt a modern hand guiding me. I could have been reading any piece of 19th century literature; the seams between the 21st century and the 19th are never visible, never jarring. If you, like me, are a slut for ornate Gothic literature, and/or you want your historical lesbians and you want them now, give this a try.

If You Like: Watching an oblivious pre-WWI Edwardian society hurtling to its inevitable doom through the eyes of a fucked-up family whose matriarch loses herself in the magic of her own fairytales instead of actually paying attention to the flesh and blood children they are based upon

Read: The Children’s Book by A.S. Byatt  

From Goodreads:  When Olive Wellwood’s oldest son discovers a runaway named Philip sketching in the basement of the new Victoria and Albert Museum—a talented working-class boy who could be a character out of one of Olive’s magical tales—she takes him into the storybook world of her family and friends. But the joyful bacchanals Olive hosts at her rambling country house—and the separate, private books she writes for each of her seven children—conceal more treachery and darkness than Philip has ever imagined. As these lives—of adults and children alike—unfold, lies are revealed, hearts are broken, and the damaging truth about the Wellwoods slowly emerges. But their personal struggles, their hidden desires, will soon be eclipsed by far greater forces, as the tides turn across Europe and a golden era comes to an end.

It actually took me about a month or so to read this book--not because I kept putting it down and then begrudgingly picking it back up again, but rather because I purposefully wanted to draw it out. The language, the atmosphere--it was all just something I needed to savour. This is a slow, thoughtful book that focuses rather minutely on the dramas of one family and the people who become entangled with it; it will not be for everyone (which is a caveat attached to every book, but I feel this one in particular requires the warning). This is a book about the creative process and the myriad escape hatches it offers us from the real world, sometimes to our own detriment. It is a book about WWI even though the actual war inhabits only the last quarter of the book. It is a book about the options of women in a time when society was still debating whether or not they should be considered full-fledged people. 

This is one of those books that sort of just crawled inside me and stayed; I didn’t want to leave it. I think part of my reluctance came in not wanting to reach the end, knowing WWI was bearing down on these characters, knowing many of them wouldn’t make it, because that’s what the war did to an entire generation: it erased it. I knew it was going to erase whole swathes of the story I had spent hours devoting myself to. I knew for so many of the characters there wasn’t going to be a tidy ending, and there wasn’t; they just stopped, abruptly. You follow generations of the family and in the end feel cheated, not through any failing of the author, but through the cruel and arbitrary machinations of history and the things it has perpetuated against the human race through our own blind stupidity (I’m still upset about WWI, ok??? please don’t touch me).

There was magic in this book, in Olive’s fairytales, in the puppet shows of a family friend: but it’s magic that the matriarch in particular is using to encapsulate herself. It’s not a childlike reverence for things we forget about as we age; it’s a hiding. It’s a sort of disappearance into ourselves and our storytelling because we can’t bring ourselves to look at the material world in all its varying shades of shit and wonder.

Anyway, I had feelings, ok?

If You Like: Italian people, anatomically impressive statues, and erotic descriptions of marble (seriously, I think my dude Michelangelo might have put his penis in a block or two of it)

Read: The Agony and the Ecstasy by Irving Stone 

This is a biographical novel of Michelangelo which begins when he is thirteen and still in the very beginning throes of his artistic talents. Stone apparently read through Michelangelo’s entire personal correspondence (and patiently waited years for it all to be translated) and also moved to Italy to write this, so that’s dedication, and the least you can do to repay it is sit through the sometimes vaguely uncomfortable descriptions of Michelangelo’s artwork and his sexual tension with it.

While this doesn’t have the literary merits of the previous recommendations, it’s meticulous historical fiction; Stone painstakingly recreated Michelangelo and his work. It’s an interesting peek into a niche section of art history and also covers part of the turbulent Renaissance period and the powerful politics at play which snare the hapless Michelangelo when all he wants to do is sculpt (and probably wank to) realistic marble people, goddammit. It’s entirely believable as a biography (though it is, in fact, fiction).

Bonus: Michelangelo’s poetry, which was not a thing I even knew about prior to reading this book.

[veishxa]

Moth·er /ˈməT͟Hər/

A woman in relation to her child or children.

My mother is a regular person, yet she is a superhero to me. She encouraged and supported me at every turn. She was always there for me, day or night, no matter what the situation. Furthermore, she inspires me with all of her hard work, perseverance, devotion, and dedication. Although we should respect our elders, I don't adore her just because she's my mother. She has taken care of me when I was unable to talk, and for that I respect her. She attended to all of my requirements at that time when I was unable to talk.

She also helped me learn how to speak, walk, and take care of myself. In a similar vein, my mother has been the only reason for every significant step I have taken in life. She showed me how to take small steps, and without those, I wouldn't be able to take these huge steps. She personifies loyalty, love, and sincerity. She bestows her blessings and life on her family, which is another factor. She also never asks for anything in return for the things she offers us. I'm motivated to treat everyone in the family with the same level of care by the way she does.

She treats every stranger and animal the same way she treated me, her love extends beyond just the family. Because of this, she is very compassionate and thoughtful toward the environment and animals. She overcomes every obstacle in her life as well as those of the family, despite her lack of physical strength. She inspires me to be strong in the face of adversity like her. Above all, my mother motivates me to advance both my academic performance and other abilities. She encourages me to try again and again until I succeed.

My mother is the only person who can protect me from my father when he is reprimanding me or whenever I am in trouble. She was always there for me, whether I had a minor homework issue or a more significant one. She would transform into my light and lead me through the darkness when I was terrified of the dark. She would also hold my head on her lap till I fell asleep if I couldn't sleep at night. Most importantly, she never leaves my side, even during the most trying circumstances.

My first teacher was my mum. She is my mentor, career adviser, friend, and most importantly, my universe. Except for my mum, I have never found somebody who is so close to and important to me. She is the only reason I am still alive. I owe her for everything. I find my existence in her overflowing, boundless affection. In my life, she is the person I trust the most. She watched over me as I grew. Since I was a child, I have benefited from her tenderness, love, and unadulterated compassion. I'm able to live happily because of the wonderful protection provided by her affection. My mother and I have an unshakable bond. Without her, I'm unable to both breathe and act. I find it difficult to breathe easily without her. She is my first teacher.

In her lap, I received my first lesson in selfless love. My mother's lap served as my first learning environment, when I began my educational adventure. My mother works nonstop to keep the house running. She prepares and serves meals for the entire household. She gets up early to prepare breakfast for everyone. She works nonstop throughout the day to meet everyone in the family's demands. My mother is a woman of great strength, courage, and devotion to her duty. She has the ability to work at all times because of the love fountain she possesses. The motivating element is unselfish, unadulterated love. She can help with the physical tiredness because of her selfless devotion.

She is an asset. The person who is viewed as the perfect example of unselfish love, abundant caring, desirable sincerity, and crucial truthfulness. These characteristics of my mother compel me to praise her excellence. I am at a loss for words to describe my mother. She personifies kindness. She is to me the most revered and honorable being after God. My mum is both my best friend and my instructor. She laid the groundwork for my education and gave me the knowledge and abilities that will serve me well in all aspects of my life. My mother is the best friend I have. When I experience any kind of adversity or difficulties in life, she keeps me company. She not only supports and assists me, but she also gives me the confidence to take on life's obstacles head-on.

I express my emotions to her. She is aware of all of my darkest secrets since I have never kept anything from her. When I made a mistake, she was always there to offer advice and correction, and whenever I did anything well, she elevated and showered me with praise. In an effort to fulfill my mother's wish, I have been studying hard. Her achievement is also mine. She has given her all, even her desires, to achieving my objective. Because of her dedication, perseverance, love, and faith, my mother serves as an example to me and motivates me to accomplish more, learn more, and develop more.

My leader is her. She has always defended my demands, so I obey her without thinking. So that I can do everything with comfort and ease, she makes my father aware of my needs. She showed me the way and instructed me in being honest and righteous. My mother gives me life. The quote by Rudyard Kipling, "God could not be everywhere so he created mothers," is true. She is to me like God is to them. She's the reason I have everything, and she's the reason I live. God willing, may she live a long time.

Every mother is unique to her kids. She is an excellent educator, a sweet friend, and a rigorous parent. Additionally, she looks after the needs of the entire family. If anyone loves us more than our mother does, it is only God. Not just for my mother, but for all mothers who put their families first and dedicate their lives for them, deserves commendable appreciation.