#The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe

[godzilla-reads]

🌊 The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe

I like this edition of Poe’s poetry because you’re given an Introduction by Jay Parini that goes into Poe’s life and gives you context for some of the poems. There is also an Afterword by April Bernard that explains some of the poems and why they’re so memorable in their meter.

Edgar Allan Poe has a special place in my heart and every now and then I like to reread his poetry and see if my favorites are still my favorites or if some new verses pop out to me. Being cliche, THE RAVEN is my favorite poem hands down. Some other poems I enjoy are A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM; FAIRYLAND, and ALONE.

[charlie-ver]

My notes are the most basic shit which will 100% not be enough in uni but at least I'm starting somewhere... right?

This book was a little under $5 (pretty cheap for poem collections in my country actually) , and as someone who does not re-sell or trade books, I decided to try to do some annotating/notes.

I'll keep it to a mechanical pencil so I can erase stuff if I decide to not do this, but... honestly? It's pretty fun.

This is probably way less annotating I am expected to be able to do - as a starting English and American Studies student... So i have a long way to go for sure, but a start is good. I mean, you do need a start to get to where you should be. If I'm discouraged by my inability to grasp at the very deep and hidden thoughts, I can't ever get there.

[derangedrhythms]

Was it not Fate (whose name is also Sorrow),

Edgar Allan Poe, The Penguin Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe; from 'To Helen'

[avis-writeshq]

platform ten – spencer reid

summary: two months after he embarrassingly got caught ogling at the pretty girl on the train, Spencer’s team begins to suspect something.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: friends to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!), reader wears lipgloss, excessive mentions of Edgar Allen Poe (one of my favourite Gothic authors), not proof read

wc: 3.4k

part one: carriage six

“So, I’ve been reading Poe’s works,” you begin, your headphones around your neck and you pull out ‘The Complete Poetry of Edgar Allan Poe’, flipping to ‘Annabel Lee’. 

Spencer watches as you flick to the page, his heart soaring at the sight of the annotations that litter the page. There are different colours and highlighters across the words and from what he could tell pink talked about language and that was the colour that stood out to him most. You bring the book closer so that he can read your annotations too and his heart stutters in his chest at the close proximity. He can smell the strawberry and honey shampoo in your hair and the heat rises up to his cheeks. It’s intoxicating. 

“I really don’t think the narrator is a crazy psychopath,” you say, glancing at him. “It just sounds like he’s really, seriously in love with her which just makes a bunch of people jealous.”

He watches the way you point to a certain line, ‘But we loved with a love that was more than love— I and my Annabel Lee.’ 

“Does that not sound like something you would say when you’re in love?” You ask, swooning a little. “It’s romantic, don’t you think? And their love is so brilliant and pure that the angels stole her away from him. I mean, it’s sad, but it’s kind of a picture of how amazing their love is.”

He nods along, his cheeks flushed because that’s what he thinks when he thinks of you. But he’ll never tell you that. How could he even dream of you feeling the same? The idea in itself is just so bizarre that he doesn’t even dare to entertain the thought. Not even when it’s late at night and he’s by himself, thinking through every single interaction you’ve had with him since he finally talked to you two months ago. 

“And I mean, think about it,” you continue, gesticulating with every word, eyes wide with excitement. “The last stanza. He’s still in love with her even after she’s passed away. How romantic is that?”

“Very romantic,” Spencer agrees, and he wonders if that’s how he looks when he rambles. “Alright, it’s definitely a love poem.”

He relishes in the way your eyes light up at his acceptance, the way you grin up at him and he wants to make you smile this way every day. His eyes wander to your lips and he swallows thickly. You’re wearing that lipgloss again, a cool berry tone that makes your lips shine and–

“Spencer? Are you okay?” 

He all but jolts out of his trance and he coughs awkwardly, his cheeks flushed. “Yes!” He squeaks, before clearing his throat and repeating the word. “Yes. Yes, I’m okay.”

He watches as an amused smile quirks at your lips as you ask, “are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” he manages to croak, his ears red. 

He can’t even look at you. His eyes turn back to the book you’re holding, reading through the annotations you’ve made on the page for the nth time over. This is an example of one of the instances he doesn’t want to remember and prays that his stop would miraculously be next. 

“I’ve been reading The Tell-Tale Heart,” you say, bringing him out of his thoughts.

Spencer forces himself to maintain eye contact with you and he manages a small, “really?”

You laugh and nod. “Yep! It’s really good. Kinda creepy.”

“It is a little creepy,” he admits, his gaze flicking to your lips again. He’s kicking himself internally, asking, ‘who’s the creepy one now, weirdo?!’

He figures that you’re either incredibly gracious or incredibly used to it because you don’t mention the way his attention wavers. 

“You don’t seem okay.”

Or so he thought.

“What— um— what makes you say that?” He asks, clearing his throat.

You shoot him a smile. “You’re not going on about the text like you usually do.”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it again, his brain short circuiting. He can imagine Derek snickering and Emily commenting her usual, ‘IQ of 187, slashed to 60’. 

“Spencer?” You look amused, a smile on his face and a mischievous glimmer in your eye. “Are you—“

“I’m fine!” Spencer says quickly, ears burning. “I’m just— thinking? Yes, thinking.”

You laugh. “Dangerous pastime.”

“What?”

“I— never mind,” you shake your head, continuing to laugh. “But I do want to hear your thoughts on ‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ at some point.”

“Totally!” He jolts, and he’s kicking himself internally for being so eager. “Yes. Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.”

The train lurches to a stop and Spencer gets up from his seat. 

“Bye, Spencer,” you say, smiling brilliantly at him, and it takes every ounce of self control in him to not just grab your face and kiss you.

“Bye,” he says, saying your name, before getting off the train.

*** 

Spencer has been acting weird. That is the conclusion Derek has come to as he watches the youngest member of their team enter the bullpen with the widest grin on the planet for the fourth time that week. He watches as Spencer sits down at his desk, looking like a literal teenager, and gets down to work. He has his earphones plugged in, the kind you would get at a dollar store, or the complementary ones you get from airports that never fit your ears right and leave you with headaches because of the horrible audio quality. Derek supposes he’s just listening to Beethoven or Bach or another dead classical musician. But as he passes Spencer’s desk, he hears something that makes him stop in his tracks. Spencer is humming. No, not just humming. He’s muttering lyrics under his breath. Since when did classical music have lyrics?

“What the hell…?” Derek asks under his breath to no one in particular. 

“You talking about Reid?” Emily asks, an amused grin on her face. “He’s acting weird.”

“Thank God, I thought I was the only one.” JJ seemingly appears out of nowhere, standing beside them with her arms crossed and a sly smile tugging at her lips. 

Rossi enters the bullpen, nodding towards Spencer who was sitting at his desk, blissfully unaware. “We talking about the kid?”

“He’s been acting weird all week,” Derek insists, his brows furrowing. “What do you think it is?”

“Maybe he won a chess tournament,” JJ says with a soft laugh. 

Emily rolls her eyes at the idea. “Please, Reid’s probably the winner of every single chess tournament in the state.”

“Maybe his mother is doing better?” Rossi suggests.

“Doesn’t explain why he’s listening to, I don’t know, not Mozart,” Derek points out.

There’s a silence that pulls over the group as they stare at the back of Reid’s head. It isn’t long before he turns around to face his coworkers, raising an eyebrow.

“… Why are you staring at me?” Spencer asks, giving them all pointed looks. 

“You’re acting weird,” Morgan says, cutting straight to the chase. “Care to share with the class?”

Spencer offers them all confused looks. “I’m… not acting weird? If anything, you guys are the ones acting weird.”

“Ohh, no, don’t turn this around on us.” Emily grins, walking over to him. “What’s going on?”

“What— guys, what happened to ‘no profiling each other’?” Spencer spluttered, shooting accusatory looks towards his coworkers.

“We’re just worried, that’s all,” JJ says with maternal sympathy, but Spencer can tell that she’s hiding a smile. 

He groans, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. “I’m fine guys. I’m not acting ‘weird’ or anything.”

“Who are you listening to, Reid?” Rossi asks quickly, nodding towards the ear phones. 

“What?” Spencer’s head snaps up, redness crawling up to his ears. 

Emily smirks. “Yeah Reid. Who are you listening to?”

“No one,” he answers, avoiding their gaze. “I’m uh— I’m going back to work.”

He quickly turns his chair around, busting himself with his files. His co-workers all exchange glances, mischievous grins on their faces. 

“You know, I could just ask Garcia to dig into your phone,” Derek says with a shrug. “Or you could tell us yourself.”

Spencer shoots him a light hearted glare. “You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You wouldn’t.”

***

Spencer thinks he’s going to die of mortification. He spent that entire week downloading all of the released songs by Taylor Swift, dutifully listening to each song and reporting back to you on his opinions. He has since come to a conclusion: Taylor Swift is a lyrical genius. Granted, he doesn’t have much experience with other branches of music that involves lyrics, but he figures it’s pretty similar to poetry. Regardless, he’s one hundred percent sure that he’s in for a world of teasing and tasteful jabs towards his sudden shift in music taste.

He’s also been doing this thing called texting, and he even went as far as getting a new phone and email address just so that he could properly contact you. He’s been in contact with you for the past eight weeks, going as far as messaging and calling you during break times and hiding in the bathroom to have an ounce of privacy. He feels like a changed person, all because of a tiny handheld device that fits in his back pocket. And you. Mostly you. The worst thing about this entire situation is the fact that Morgan did in fact manage to convince Garcia to snoop into his phone. 

“Alright, Reid, quit hiding. Who’s the girl?” Derek demands, slapping a piece of paper onto Spencer’s desk. It’s a log of calls and downloads. In other words, it’s a log of all the times he’s called the same number and all the Taylor Swift songs he’s downloaded. 

“Girl? What— what girl?” Spencer asks, playing dumb and willing himself to look Derek in the eye. His mind is spinning. ‘Blink evenly. Maintain eye contact. Don’t stutter. Answer his questions evenly. Play dumb. There is no girl, there is no girl there is no—‘

“Reid? Reid? Spencer!” Derek snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting him out of his trance.

“Huh?” Spencer jolts, snapping out of his trance. “What?”

Derek snorts at his reaction. “Look, kid. This person calls your cell every day at 12:30, which just so happens to be in two minutes. So, either you tell me and I let you have your fun, or she calls you and she’ll be hearing my voice instead of yours.”

Spencer scoffs, holding his phone firmly in the palm of his hand. “There is no girl, Morgan.”

“Right.” 

“I’m serious!” Spencer says, his voice going up and octave and he cringes internally. Smooth. “There is no girl.”

“Totally believe you.”

He groans, wiping a hand over his face to calm himself down. Before he could respond, the phone in his hand begins to ring. A smirk tugs at Derek’s lips and he immediately lunges for the phone, eliciting a yelp from Spencer who leaps from his seat. 

“Morgan— Morgan no—“

“C’mon kid, it’ll be a lot easier if you just give in!”

“No! Nope, nope, Morgan I swear to-“

In seconds, Derek snatches Spencer’s phone out of his hand, a triumphant look on his face. He keeps Spencer at arm’s length as he picks up the phone.

“Hey Spence!” A voice rings through the phone.

“Sorry, sweetheart, not Spencer,” Derek responds, his voice smug.

“… that’s concerning,” The voice responds slowly, cautiously. “Who is this?”

Spencer grabs the phone out of Derek’s hand, running out of the bullpen as quickly as his long legs could carry him, flipping his coworker the finger before he leaves. 

“Hello?” He asks into the phone. “I’m so sorry, that was Derek, my co-worker.”

“Oh, the bald one!” You say quickly, recalling his name from the photos Spencer had shown you beforehand. “I thought it was like… a bad guy or something.”

He laughs softly into the phone, his cheeks warm and wearing a smile that could split his face in two. “Don’t worry, he’s not a bad guy. A pain in the ass, maybe, but not a bad guy.”

He hears you chuckle from the other side of the line. “Yeah, he seems like a nice person. Your entire team sounds really cool.”

“Maybe you could meet them at some point,” Spencer says quietly, his heart thundering in his chest. “I mean, they kind of already know you exist.”

“That would be fun,” You muse, and he hears the soft ruffling of cling wrap in the background.

“Lunch?” 

He hears you hum in response, and he can’t help but chuckle. There’s a silence for a few seconds, and he assumes you were eating, before your voice picks up again.

“I’d love to meet your team at some point, Spence. They seem like really amazing people.” 

He can’t help but smile, running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah. They are. You’d love them, and I’m sure they’d love you just as much.”

Before long, lunch break is over and Spencer begrudgingly hangs up and returns to the bullpen, his team all wearing frustratingly smug faces. He rolls his eyes, not paying them any kind as he returns to his desk. He ignores the very blatant whistle Derek does in his direction and the snort Emily fails to hide.

“So…” JJ begins, dragging her words out. “You’ve got a girlfriend?”

Spencer chokes on air and bites his tongue, grimacing at the taste of blood. “I do not have a girlfriend.” It’s not a lie.

“But you want her to be,” Emily says, smirking. 

“No! Yes. I don’t know, maybe?” Spencer feels like a teenage boy being lectured by his parents. Not that he knows what that feels like.

“Alright, well, have you asked her on a date?” Derek asks as he raises an eyebrow.

Spencer coughs, reaching for his mug of stale coffee. That’s all he needs to do to answer Derek’s question, because in moments Derek is screaming in his ear. 

“Why haven’t you asked her out yet?!”

“We talk loads of times,” Spencer insists, hiding behind his disgustingly old coffee. “We just never… we’re just friends.”

Rossi bites back a chuckle. “Yes, because friends call each other every day during their lunch breaks.”

Spencer feels his face grow impossibly hotter and he chugs the last of his coffee. He cringes before turning his attention back to his files in an attempt to calm himself down. It doesn’t work.

“How did you meet her?” JJ asks, gentler this time. 

Spencer flushes and plays with his watch. “On the train.”

“That’s very you,” she laughs, ruffling his hair. “She seems really nice, Spencer.”

He preens at the compliment, his mind drifting to your pretty hair and glossy lips. He sports a grin and he nods. “She’s really, really nice.”

*** 

Spencer sits next to you on the train as usual. His cheeks are flushed and his hair is combed to be a little neater, only for his efforts to be destroyed when a strong gust of wind hits his face the moment he left his apartment. He reminds himself to put a comb into his bag after work. You’re talking about another one of Poe’s works, this time ‘The Raven’, another love poem. Your eyes are bright with excitement as you go on and on about the writing style and whatever else. 

Spencer is far from religious but your existence alone is enough to have him thanking the heaven’s that he is alive. He can’t help but smile every time you do, his gaze perpetually on your lips. He feels a little guilty about it, about how he can’t even control himself when he’s around you but you’re just so beautiful that he can’t help himself. He feels even guiltier when he realises he hasn’t processed a word you’ve said. 

“... and that’s why I think Edgar Allen Poe is really just a huge softie who wants to be loved,” you finish, snapping the book closed. “What do you think, Doctor Genius?”

“Totally,” Spencer agrees quickly, almost biting his tongue. “Absolutely.”

You laugh and Spencer thinks he’s going to faint. 

“Where are you up to in your Taylor Swift project?” You ask teasingly, nudging his arm. If it were anyone else, Spencer would have grimaced and shrugged them off but you aren’t just ‘anyone’. You’re the most amazing person in the world. 

“I’m up to 1989 track 9, Wildest Dreams,” Spencer recites, pulling out his notebook from his inner jacket pocket. It’s a small leatherbound notebook that he’s been writing all his thoughts in regards to the Taylor Swift songs, all in chronological order. He’s actually quite proud of it as he flicks to the latest page. “I really like this one. I did some research and I found out that the bass sound in the background is actually her heartbeat. That’s pretty interesting.”

You almost scream in excitement, leaning closer to him to read his notes. “I love this song! It’s my favourite Taylor Swift song ever and it’s just so pretty, you know?”

He nods in agreement, his cheeks flushed at the close proximity and he finds that he can no longer feel his tongue. He should get that checked out. 

“It reminds me of you sometimes,” you say, completely unabashed. Spencer thinks you’re trying to kill him. 

“What?” He asks meekly, recalling every lyric from the song. 

You freeze, flustered and you pull away from him. Spencer frowns at the sudden space but he watches as you stammer and stumble over your words.

“I just meant– you know, it’s a good song! That’s all.” You laugh anxiously, fiddling with the book in your hand. “Never mind, just ignore me. Tell me more about what you like about the song.”

In an almost uncharacteristic bout of confidence, Spencer reaches out to take your hand in his. At first, he thought his head was going to explode. It felt heavy and light all at the same time and he was almost about to pull his hand away when you squeezed his fingers. Just like that, all doubts are gone. You’re smiling at him and Spencer knows that he would do absolutely anything to make sure to keep it there. 

When the train lurches to a stop at Quantico, Spencer doesn’t make any effort to move. He’s grinning ear-to-ear, intertwining your fingers with his. 

“Isn’t this your stop?” You ask gently, loosening your hold on his hand. 

He shrugs, holding onto your hand tighter. “I’m always early. I can be late for once.”

Besides, he thinks to himself, inching closer to you, this is so worth it.

Pride bubbles in his heart when he hears you laugh again and his smile grows impossibly wider. 

“We’re almost at my stop,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the back of his hand. “We should go out. You know, instead of just meeting on the train.”

Spencer nods immediately at the suggestion. “I’d like that. Are you free on Saturday?”

“I’m definitely free on Saturday,” you respond, squeezing his hand again. 

Spencer sits there with you until you make it to your stop. The corners of his eyes are crinkled and he feels happy, so goddamn happy, and he wonders how he’s lived without you. Before you get off the train, he calls your name. He relishes in the way you turn around, the confusion palpable in your eyes. 

“Yeah?”

He takes a step closer to you, his face in front of yours. His heartbeat is in his ears but at the same time he feels an incredibly ironic sense of calm. In seconds, he presses his lips to yours in a short kiss. He grins at you as you stumble out of the train dazed, waving goodbye. From the window he could see you press your cold hands to your cheeks before reaching for your phone. 

The smile that grows on his face when he sees your face light up his phone is embarrassing. It’s goofy and silly and he is so grateful that the carriage is empty. 

“Hello?” 

“You cannot–” your voice comes through the speaker and he grins again– “you cannot just kiss me randomly and then leave.”

“Technically the train left, not me,” Spencer says with a small laugh.

You’re quiet on the other end before replying, “We need a re-do on Saturday.”

Spencer has no complaints. 

reblogs are always appreciated!

taglist: @sunshineyottie @cerulean-turtle @tortelliniturtle7 @bucxkysdoll @awitadecoca

strikethrough means couldn't be tagged

[mandarinmoons]

Annabel Lee - Spencer Reid

Hello! This lil' fic was inspired by a video of Matthew reading the poem Annabel Lee by Edgar Allan Poe found here !

Summary: When you're not able to sleep Spencer to throw out ways to help you, but turns out the solution was right in front of you

Warnings: none

I haven't written in a while so pls let me know your thoughts!

For the past week, every time you tried to close your eyes and sleep, you’d be kept up for hours on end. Tossing from one side to the other, trying out an array of different positions to feel comfortable enough to finally catch some rest, nothing would help.

When the issue was brought forth to Spencer he would list out an endless list of suggestions to try and find something that could eventually work

“Hmm let’s see, have you tried herbal-”

“Yes Spencer.”

“Okay, what about…”

You felt your thoughts drift off and eyes grow heavy as Spencer kept listing off different solutions for you to try out in hopes of finally getting some rest. A moment later you were snapped out of your thoughts when you felt a soft shake on your shoulder and were brought back to reality, “You okay Y/N?”. You blinked a few times and gazed at the concerned boy in front of you, realizing that the answer was there right in front of you and a small smile tugged on your lips, “I’m better than ever Spence. I have an idea.”

That night, Spencer came over to your apartment. The weather forecast had predicted heavy rain and when Spencer entered your apartment, you could well see that it had come true. Spencer’s hair was matted to his forehead from the rain and you were surprised he managed to walk all the way there because the rain had completely drenched the lenses of his glasses. You ran to get him a towel and chuckled as you ruffled the fabric over his hair, causing him to smile lightly. 

After fetching him a warm blanket and making him a cup of hot chamomile tea, you both laid in your bed. Spencer brought over a poetry book to read to you and your eyes widened with curiosity. You just thought that you both would talk until you eventually ended up passing out, seeing that Spencer’s voice seemed to soothe you so much to the point of relaxation, but hearing Spencer's idea caused your heart to do a little flip. You thought that it was adorable.

So there you were, head resting in Spencer’s lap as he held a book of various poets' works in his hand. He would occasionally glance down at you and smile sweetly seeing how relaxed you seemed. The piece that finally did it for you was one by Edgar Allan Poe.

As the poem went on you felt your heartstrings being played with so hard that you thought you felt tears prick to your eyes. And the strangest thing of all was that when you looked over at Spencer, you swore you saw him look into your eyes as he kept reading it out loud.

“Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride,” 

That was it, those were the words that melted your heart and caused your breath to go shaky. A few lines later Spencer finished the poem and he placed the book down and turned his attention to you. His brows furrowed upon seeing your glassy eyes. His hand brushed against your cheek in a comforting way, “Hey you okay?”. 

You nodded and shook your head lightly, “It was a really nice poem, thank you”. Spencer smiled and poked your cheek lightly which caused a small giggle to fall from your mouth.

“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep now?”

You smiled up at him and poked his cheek in return, “Without a doubt.”

You can find my masterlist here! x

My requests are open so feel free to send one in! (SFW only)

[noovorous]

I'm lucky to be experiencing prose of Edgar Allan Poe for the first time those days and it strikes me how precise his macabre tales are. How much they are like an essence of a novel, crystalised form of prose just like haiku is of poetry. A complete story, each with it's own characteristic mood, atmosphere, feel, all within more or less ten pages. I know immediately that I will be returning to individual short stories when under influence of a certain caprice, something that is much harder to achieve when looking for a specific paragraph of a novel.

[lichanicksstuff]

What books would characters from The Hobbit read?

This idea came up to me a while ago, but now I have to share it, so here me out ig:

I think Bilbo would read everything he can get his hands on. But mostly fantasy novels, history books, basically anything that would include a piece of unknown world. I just know that he would love Edgar Allan Poe, Jules Verne and I think he would enjoy Brandon Sanderson's books.

Here's a controversial one, but I think Thorin would mostly read poetry. Especially the Lake Poets. He would read poems about home, love, a warm place where people can feel safe. That's what he wanted, that's why he wanted to regain Erebor. (He would also read romance novels in his free time, but nobody knows about it. Fili and Kili would die twice if they found out. Of laughing and because Thorin would chase them with a knife).

Kili wouldn't read much. He would mostly watch films, but if he once in a while picks up a book it's usually a romance-comedy, or the worst and the most traumatising horror book, a person could ever read. He would recommend them to people by saying "It's a really good book! You will enjoy it!" and then laugh when they come back traumatised. He would like "Ring", "Haunting Adeline" and literally anything by Jane Austen.

Fili would read mostly criminal books or just contemporary fiction. He wouldn't have high expectations for books, but he would complain about every detail if he didn't like one. He would be the type of guy that says "the book was better" after he watched a movie based of a book. Even if he didn't read this particular book, he would say that, just to piss people off.

Porn.

Ori would read contemporary fiction, like Fili, and he would be the victim of Bofur's and Kili's recommendations. Poor guy. He would also read classic romance novels. I have a feeling that he would love Jane Austen's and Bronte sisters' works. I don't know why but it fits. Look at him.

History books and war literature. Do I have to explain myself? This guy would give you an hour long monologue about the emergence of the Balkan countries and you would listen to every word he says. After that he would make you a cup of tea and then asked what books you like to read. And somehow, even if you read a completely different genre, he would recommend you something that you would really enjoy.

Nori's the type of guy who says that he reads everything, even if that's a complete bullshit. He would only read criminal novels (he would have read all of Agatha Christie and killed you if you would say you don't like her work) and sometimes japanese classic literature. And by that I mean Edogawa Ranpo and his "The Human Chair" or "The Hornworm".

I just know that Dwalin would have read "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer" like twenty times as a kid. When he was a little older, he tried classic literature, poetry, adventure, sience fiction, war literature, a few romance novels, horror books... He's the true "I read everything" guy. His favourite authors would be Dostoevsky, Karl Adolph Gjellerup (but he wouldn't be a fan of the femme fatale thing) and John Milton.

Cook books.

[petaltexturedskies]

At midnight, in the month of June, I stand beneath the mystic moon. An opiate vapor, dewy, dim, exhales from out her golden rim, and softly dripping, drop by drop, upon the quiet mountain top.

Edgar Allan Poe, from the sleeper in "the complete poetry of Edgar Allan Poe"

[cocogrrrl]

daisies

you find yourself growing close and eventually developing feelings for kenny—a guy you met at a party. you develop hanahaki because of it as well. now, what are you gonna do?

kenny x implied fem!reader but with they/them pronouns (hanahaki au) cw: n/a, just angsty wc: 5064

an: this is part of an sp au where different versions of the reader has hanahaki and is in love with the main three! read the other two parts here!

Hanahaki is a disease something that affects many daily. From a small seed in your lungs, you’ll experience petals and flowers coming out from your mouth. It could take days, weeks, months, or even years to develop. Many hypothesize that it happens because of a love not returned, a love waiting on a bench.

Fortunately, it isn’t something that everyone will experience in their lifetime, although it is common. For those who catch the illness, you only have a few choices to pick from.

First, the sickness doesn’t last because the affection is returned. Many of those who survive this still need to receive medical attention for the healing process, depending on how severe the sickness had become. Many of these people who experience this are bound to live a happy life, though.

Second, you undergo a safe medical procedure that, while cures you, makes you devoid of any sense of love anymore. These operations usually do not pose many health risks, and the survival rate is high.

Lastly, you could just bear the pain, although you will suffocate to death.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

You’re in your junior year right now. It’s been a few months since you moved to South Park. You moved over the summer, and now you were a month or two into classes.

The people here were often hit or miss. Rarely some of them hit, like your close friend Wendy, but there were a lot of other people that missed, like a decent population of the town.

You would say that you were adjusting to the place just fine. It wasn’t horrible, but it wasn’t perfect as well. You could handle this place. It felt new and exciting, frankly.

Now, you were preparing for a house party at Tolkien’s. You didn’t know him that well, but you shared some classes with him, and he seemed like a pretty normal guy. Funnily enough, he might be the most normal guy here, even if he was better off financially than most people here.

Wendy was going to pick you up anytime right now, so you sat nearby your door waiting for her. Honestly, you thought she was going to be picked up by her girlfriend, Bebe, but she told you that Bebe had to pick up her friends Red, Lola, and Jenny.

You heard your phone ring as your doorbell did too. It must be Wendy. You opened the door and were greeted by a big hug.

“Hey, YN!” She beamed as she eyed your outfit up and down. “You look amazing! Where’d you get the shoes?”

“Oh, I thrifted it, actually.” 

“Woah, we should go do that some time! I’d love to thrift with you.” She said as you walked out the door, double-checking your keys and locking the knob. “It’s great for the environment, plus you might already know some great thrift areas here.” 

As you two got in the car, you continued chatting. Be it about music, art, poetry, and of the like, the ride was never quiet. Although you were a relatively approachable person, you didn’t talk a lot. With Wendy, it was the opposite. You found yourself going on long tangents and ranting as she listened happily.

“Really? Edgar Allan Poe?” Wendy mused. She was intrigued by your fascination with the writer during your middle school years. According to her, you didn’t seem like the type of person to enjoy his work.

“Yeah,” you sighed, chuckling at her bewilderment. “I mean, you don’t strike me as an Oscar Wilde enjoyer either.”

“What can I say? I like the simplicity and beauty of his writing.”

“Well, I like Poe’s use of imagery and dark themes.” Like dark and light were you two sometimes. Two sides of the same coin, yet somehow complete opposites.

“We’re here, by the way,” she said as she pulled up by the sidewalk of Tolkien’s house.

“Alright,” you replied, unbuckling your seatbelt as you exited the car.

Though it was just 9 PM, the place was already packed. The place somewhat reeked the smell of weed and alcohol already, and bright, colorful lights swayed and flashed nearly everywhere. Music was blaring, and peoples’ chatters filled the room and blasted your ears. It was an overwhelming atmosphere. You had been there for just 10 minutes, and you already felt like you were about to pass out. 

“Hey, Bebe’s already here, so I’m just gonna say hi to then I’ll show you around.” She smiled at you. You answered with a nod, and she headed away in a dash. To keep your head above water, you decided to stand in the middle of a hallway, where it was a lot more quiet—just to ground yourself.

You were leaning back against the wall, minding your own business and calming down from the mess that was earlier. Needless to say, you were overwhelmed.

“Well, I haven’t seen you here,” A voice spoke in front of you. Immediately, you snapped your head up to see who it was. You were confronted with a taller guy sporting a dirty blonde mullet. He didn’t look shabby. No, not at all.

“Are you new here?” He smiled, casually bringing out his hand out for a handshake.

“Well, I’ve been here for a few months already.” You hesitantly shook his hand.

“Then why haven’t I seen a pretty face like yours around here?” You wanted to cringe, but you also wanted to be polite. You were intrigued as well, though. You’ve never been approached like this.

“I, unfortunately, do not go out a lot.” You sighed.

“Hmm… But you seem really familiar.” He paused, deep in thought. “Oh! You’re YN from English class, yeah?”

“You just noticed right now?” You raised a brow, giggling at his slowness.

“Well, sorry, we’ve only had school for a month, and I skip most of my classes. Forgive me if I’m a little slow.” He lightheartedly joked. “Do you know who I am, though?”

“Some guy from my English class, I’d assume.”

“Ouch. A cute person doesn’t know I exist. Ahhh, it hurts.” He placed his hands over his chest, acting as if he was having a heart attack. “The only cure is a kiss on the lips.” He said, fluttering his eyelashes.

“You’re desperate.” You rolled your eyes. “I’m not saving you.”

“On the cheeks?”

“Still no.”

“On the hand?”

“Nope.”

“Anything!” He placed the back of his hand on his forehead. “Woe is me, dearest YN!”

“Do you want my number?” You chuckled, pitying him a little bit. While he does seem a little weird, he was definitely an interesting and fun person to be around. You just have to keep your distance, you figured.

“Why thank you, great YN!” He said, handing you his phone. You chuckled, feeling a little bit embarrassed for him. You put in his number and handed it back to him. He sent a ‘hi’ on his phone, and you heard your phone ring with his number on it. “I’m Kenny if you don’t already know.”

“Huh, nice to meet you then.” You smiled at him—just to be polite, though. “I’m guessing you’ve already had a lot to drink.” You said, smelling the booze and weed off of him. His scent was the entire party.

“You know it, baby.” He winked at you before turning on his heel to head back to the main area of the place. “I’ll see you in English, YN. Byeeeee!” He waved.

You waved back, knowing he wouldn’t turn back to look at you anyways. You didn’t know why, but you seemed to like the guy’s presence. It felt inviting, unlike a lot of the people you’ve met here so far.

“YN!” You hear a voice call you out from the end of the hallway. It was Wendy with Bebe trailing right behind her. “There you are! I’ve been looking around the whole place for you.” She said, grabbing your shoulder.

“Ahh, sorry, Wends.” You apologized, feeling a little guilty for not telling Wendy where you were. “I was overwhelmed by the place, so I needed to find some place a little quieter…”

“That’s alright! You shouldn’t apologize for making yourself comfortable.” She patted your back. “Now let me show you around,” she said, whisking you away from one of the only quiet areas in the mansion.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

That night was a blast. You didn’t drink too much, but you had enough to get you a lot more chattier than usual. Besides Kenny, whom you did not tell Wendy about yet, you met three new people! They were of the names Tweek, Craig, and Jimmy. Tolkien was a part of their friend group, but you couldn’t say hi to him since he was plenty busy getting more ice for everyone.

You also remembered meeting Kenny’s friends last night. Stan, Kyle, and Cartman. You were only really well acquainted with Kyle. You’ve talked to him a few times outside academic matters, so you’ve come to learn that he had a boyfriend, which was the other guy mentioned earlier—Stan, who also happened to be Wendy’s boyfriend for a while.

All this history between a few people interested you, but it also kind of hit you like a truck. This town was built on years of people with deep connections. You had just moved in, and many of these people probably didn’t want you in your group, seeing how they’re comfortable and happy in their cliques. This made you upset at first, but then you realized you were happy to know that there were people who accepted you into their lives wholeheartedly.

You were recalling the events of last night, remembering that Kenny had approached you once more that night.

“So, how are you liking South Park, pretty?” He slid beside you on the couch. Wendy was currently getting drinks for the two of you, so she was currently occupied in the kitchen right now. “Is it good? Bad? I know it's sometimes pretty batshit weird here, but you just gotta trust me when I say-”

“I think I need more time to fully grapple with a single opinion on this place,” you answered, feeling a little dizzy from the alcohol. You didn’t realize it, but you laid your head on his shoulder as you spoke. “There’s a whole lot of niche people in this town. At least that means I can explore it from different angles.”

“Huh…” Kenny didn’t seem to be at all fazed by your touch. In fact, he indulged in it, even going so far as to pat your head. “That’s a very positive outlook—compared to all the other ones I’ve heard from here. I like that.” Really, yours was probably one of the most cheerful views among the town full of negative minds.

“Haha, thanks. You were kinda weird at first, I’ll be honest. Like, earlier in the hallway.” Your bluntness from being tipsy served you an appreciative comment from Kenny, but maybe not anymore. “I think I like you, though, Kenny, or at least I think I will.” You said mindlessly.

“Oh, really? What’ll make you really like me then?” He asked lightheartedly, expecting a dry reply from you.

You leaned back on the couch, removing yourself from the comfort of Kenny’s shoulder, as you looked at Tolkien’s ceiling to think. “Go to class more. If you do, maybe I can get to know you better.”

There was a quiet between you. All Kenny did was nod. While the party was booming and more live than ever, you were up in your little world enjoying the feeling of the alcohol pumping through your body.

That silence was disturbed when Wendy came back and handed your drinks. “Kenny? What are you doing here?” She asked. For a moment, you could tell she seemed slightly annoyed by his presence, but you didn’t ask her about it—not wanting to press on any possible wounds.

“I was just giving them some company.” He said, getting up from the couch. You felt the couch gently rise back to, what you could assume, was its normal state. “I’ll get out of your hair now. See you, YN.” He winked at you as he walked off.

How did you feel about the whole thing? A little weary because of how agitated Wendy seemed when she saw you two beside each other. Of course, it was more logical to trust your close friend over someone you just met. You just wondered why she didn’t like him.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

It was the day after the party. You were in your first subject—English class—and most of the students were absolutely hammered—including you. That didn’t matter, though. You had a blast that night, and you were sure that all the fun you had was worth it.

While waiting for your teacher to come, heard a crash by the front of the classroom. Curious, you looked up, and, to everyone’s surprise, it was Kenny. He scanned the classroom for empty seats and took the one next to you.

“Hey, angel face.” He winked at you. You rolled your eyes and quietly waved at him. Maybe the party brought some bad things as well. It’s not that you hated Kenny, but it’s just that you didn’t want to be flirted with nonstop.

You were currently just doodling in your notebook whatever you thought. Some scribbled-out lyrics and quotes here, some drawings there. “I thought you skipped school often. What happened?”

“I wanted to see you,” he answered, leaning his head on his palm as he watched you write away. He took a glance and saw your notebook. “Hey, is that Bocchi?” He said, pointing to a little sketch you indeed made of the character earlier.

“Yeah,” you said, surprised he knew who it was. Although, you were a little weary of the type of fan he was. “You’ve seen Bocchi the Rock?” You turned your head to him as you dropped your pen, your interest in him being piqued.

Now you’ve certainly got him excited. He lifted his head from his palm and leaned in closer to you. “I recently binged the show with Stan.”

Maybe this was a chance for you to know him outside of the flirty names. You decided to start somewhere simple. “Who’s your favorite character?”

“Hmm…” He sat there, thinking for a split second. “If we’re talking about the people in the band, Ryo, I think. If we’re talking about all of the characters, definitely the drunk bassist girl. She’s cool.”

“Kikuri?” He nodded. “Well, I can’t say I’m too surprised to know that she’s your favorite.” You chuckled.

“Huh? What does that mean?”

You hummed teasingly, continuing to draw in your sketchbook. He kept asking, but you kept prancing over the answer lightheartedly. This wouldn’t go on for long, though, since the class was about to start.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The whole week was honestly a blast. You and Kenny bonded over your love for animation. You spent time at his place, he spent time at yours, and you two endlessly watched and rewatched a bunch of movies and shows.

He wasn’t much of an artist, but he did have a huge appreciation for animation and art in general. He told you once that it was his little sister who actually sparked his interest in the medium. You found it endearing.

Asides from that, you realized you two were becoming closer. He wasn’t as cheesy as you initially thought, but it was still definitely there nonetheless. Under the surface of pet names and bad pick-up lines was a genuinely positive and charismatic guy underneath all that.

I don’t know, you found him fun to be with, and you were looking to be friends with more people here. Kenny seemed to fill in that role. He seemed like someone you trusted, seeing how you’d already been to each others’ houses. You two grew close, needless to say.

“YN, can I tell you something?” Wendy’s voice snapped you out of thought. You were currently in her room with her and Bebe. She invited you first, and you said no because you thought you’d be intruding on the couples’ time alone, but she insisted for some reason.

“What is it, Wends?”

“Well,” she nervously trailed off. “I’ve noticed you’ve been spending a lot of time with Kenny, and while that’s great and all, I need you to know the person he actually is…”

“What do you mean by that?” You replied, a little confused.

“He’s,” she paused, seemingly hesitant to continue. “He’s kinda known to go around flirting with other people.”

“Alright, and?” Now you were confused. Sure, you enjoyed Kenny’s company, but you weren’t entitled to it. “I don’t like like him, Wendy.”

“That may be true, but I’m just looking out for you, okay? Whether you like him or not, I want you to know the type of person he is so you’re aware of the type of people you surround yourself around.”

Wendy made sense, though. Maybe he was a bad person, maybe he wasn’t. Should you start distancing yourself from him? You didn’t want to, definitely, but should you? Could you? You didn’t quite know what to do. You really enjoyed his presence. It felt easy being around him. You felt like you could be yourself around him. Wendy too—no questions asked—but you couldn’t just also rely on her forever. You had to grow at some point.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

That night, you were deep in thought about what Wendy said. Was it even important anyways? Or did you just have nothing to think about? You weren’t sure. You were slumped against the bed, thinking about your choices.

Something caught you off guard, though. You felt something stuck in your throat. You gagged on it, scared of the feeling. Once you got it out, you looked at what it was—a daisy? Why, when, and how on Earth would you have swallowed an entire flower whole?

The next few minutes were wash, rinse, and repeat as more flowers bubbled up your throat and out your mouth. You were terrified, to say the least. Did you eat a daisy seed, and it grew in your stomach? Were you about to turn into one big flower?

There was no way you were telling this to anyone, though, not until you find out what it is. You looked up your symptoms and saw the diagnosis exactly aligned with what was happening to you right now—Hanahaki Disease.

Before you got in bed, though, you continued to look into it a bit more. So, your choices were either to confess, to get surgery, or to let it consume you. Yeah, you wanted to avoid the first two as much as possible.

That all lead up to the question of who was it you had a crush on? You sat there, a little confused. You skimmed through your options until it hit you—it was probably Kenny. Was this what Wendy was warning you about? Chancefully and quite likely as well.

You would just have to wait for tomorrow and see.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Your first subject was English once more. You were currently wearing a mask, just in case you coughed and didn’t catch a petal or flower. You sat in your usual seat, scribbling away in your notebook.

“What’s with the mask, YN? Trying to be edgy or something?” Kenny said from behind you. After that, he took his place beside you.

“I’m actually sick, thank you very much.”

“Oh, well, get soon then.” He casually said, patting your head. “There’s an outdoor cinema showing tonight. I think they’re showing Fantastic Mr. Fox. You wanna go?”

“We just watched that a few days ago.”

“Who says we can’t watch it again?”

You hummed, finding yourself agreeing with him.

You were interrupted by a string of coughs, feeling the many flowers rise. Last night and earlier this morning, they weren’t too bad, yet why now did it seemingly amplify? You excused yourself to the bathroom just to get rid of the flowers, still trying to process the pattern of your flowers’ frequency.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

A little later, it was now lunch. Your mom had packed you some food, so you were by the bleachers of the field watching Wendy and Bebe practice for their upcoming cheer competition. 

In your peripherals, you saw Kenny hanging out with a girl. You didn’t pay too much mind to it. I mean, who are you to judge him for having friends? Yet Wendy’s comment from last night seemed to have popped into your head. Should you really be wary of him?

Well, you did have another clue as to what to do as you saw Kenny get closer to the girl. Probably a bit too close for it to be considered friendly. You were confused, though—he never told you about him having a girlfriend. Perhaps Wendy was right.

You felt your throat closing on you again as you started to cough violently. This was the second time today you had flowers sprouting more violently than usual. You sighed, already exhausted from this disease, as you leaned back on the seat behind you.

Seeing how Kenny may or may not have a girlfriend, you began to rethink your choices. You most probably did start to like him, but what are you gonna do about it? Would it be best to confess, or is surgery—and even death—the answer?

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

“Are you ready for our date?” Kenny winked, pulling you out of the door by the arm. You found yourself blushing at his statement.

“Not really, but that is a very bold question to greet me with. I’ll give you that.” You hummed, letting go of his hand that was attached to your arm.

Your night with Kenny was fun. It wasn’t fancy or anything, but it was a very cozy night. You remember it in flashes. From takeout in 7/11 to the actual movie itself, it felt like there was a blurred line between romance and platonic. For you, at least.

You could recall many moments that night where you stared off at Kenny instead, telling yourself ‘You know, I think I’m okay with liking this guy.’ You fully accepted that you liked him.

You remember that, at one point, you were lost in his eyes. Your jaw was slightly agape, your eyes were off in the distance, and you were just focused on him. You hated how smitten he got you in a week or less, yet you also really liked spending time with him. The blame is probably on you.

You could just sit there and stare at him, though. You lost his appearance. The way his hair was always unkempt, the way he was so careless in his outfits yet so stylish, the way freckles littered all over his body, the way you noted the small gap in his front teeth whenever he smiled at you, the way his fingers seem so calloused. You were lost in it all.

“YN?” He called. “YN!” He shooked your body, not with too much force—just enough to snap you back into reality.

“Ah, sorry,” you apologized, shaking your head. “What were you saying?”

“The movie was fun, right?” For a moment, you could’ve sworn that there was a glint of worry in his eyes. Like your opinion actually mattered. You were probably just making things up, though.

“Of course. I mean, it’s not called Fantastic Mr. Fox for nothing, right?” You gave a comforting smile at him, in case by the off-chance what your eyes saw in his was right.

Maybe you were right cause you saw him beam after that. “You’re right. That final fight sequence where there are explosions and stuff will always get me.” He happily taped on the steering wheel of his extremely worn-out car. “You wanna go somewhere else right now, princess?”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Eventually, you knew you had to tell Wendy all about this, though.

“Wendy, I have Hanahaki, and I think it’s because I like—”

“Kenny?” You nodded. “What did I tell you?”

You sighed. It was a few days after your little outing with Kenny. You felt guilty. You should’ve listened to Wendy and gotten away before you had the chance. “Yeah, I’m sorry. You can’t fully blame me, though. I never thought I would like Kenny.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry for being harsh about him.” She pouted, rubbing your back as you buried your face in your hands. “What are you gonna do about it anyway?”

“I wanna try confessing, but I have my doubts. I mean, you’ve seen him with other girls, right?” She nodded. “If ever it doesn’t work, I’m not quite sure what to do…”

“Don’t worry. I’m sure things’ll work out for you.” She smiled hopefully at you. These were not the type of situations it’s easy to maintain hope, but definitely, you knew you could be alright for now as long as you keep your head above water.

“Thanks, Wends.”

“Of course, YN.”

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

A week went by. You were trying to build up the courage to tell him, but every time you did you were often greeted by someone talking to him first. It was either that or you were too ashamed to show your face to him anymore. You began to keep to yourself instead.

It couldn’t last like this forever, though, at some point, you did have to see some results appear. Kenny was starting to message you more often, and you could feel the worry from his messages. All this for someone you’ve only known for like two weeks?

It was either go all in or go with nothing. Seeing how your life was on the line, you decided it was probably best to confront him. You even asked Wendy about it, to which she was kinda annoyed with how you had even spaced yourself away from him. Thinking about it now, it was kinda stupid.

You called him up on the phone reluctantly. Luckily for you, he answered.

“Hey, Kenny?” You said, your voice much raspier over the week.

“What’s up, YN?” There was a hint of concern in his voice. You had been dodging him a lot recently—it was only right of him to worry.

“Are you busy right now?”

“No, not really. How come?”

“I can’t explain right now.” Your hands were shaking over the phone. Your chest was filling up with nervousness. “Can you meet me behind the school? Like, right now?”

“Alright.”

Minutes later, you found yourself playing with your hands on your lap. With every passing minute, flowers bloomed more and more out of your chest. Before Kenny could arrive, you tried to pull them all out of your mouth.

“What’s the problem, YN?” Kenny suddenly appeared by your side as he slid on the bench you sat on. The distress on his face was greater than you could possibly imagine. To be honest, you felt really guilty for making him feel this way.

“I like you, Kenny.” You said. Straight to the point, easy, quick. Painless, like ripping a bandaid off a wound. The question is if it’ll sting right after.

“I know,” was all he said. 

“Huh?” You were confused. How could he possibly have known? Were you just that obvious? “Kenny, I like you a lot. Like, romantically.” You sighed, shaking your head.

Quiet was all you heard. This was new, at least for you. It would always be a little noisy whenever you were with him.

When you looked up at him, you could only see him staring at you, mouth agape like you on that one night. Not in a way that he was astonished by you, no, in a way where he was shocked.

You might as well explain everything while you’re at it. “I developed Hanahaki because of it, and I saw how close you were with others a lot.” You left out the part Wendy told you to stray away intentionally, not wanting him to be offended or anything. “I figured why even try to confess if it seemed like you were going to reject me anyway?”

“What made you confess, then?”

“I knew had to stay alive, and I had to face the fact that you were my only hope.”

He wrapped your arms around you in a comforting hug. You assumed the worst with his silence. You assumed that he didn’t like you. You felt the flowers in your chest push themselves out of you. You hunched over, detaching yourself from his embrace, coughing violently as flowers slipped out of your mouth.

He patted your back, and, before you could realize it, you started to cry. Was this it for you? Your life is at its end because a guy flirted with you at a party? That’s so stupid.

He noticed your tears, though, and he pulled your hair behind your ear. “Why are you crying, princess?”

“Isn’t it obvious? You don’t like me, and now I have to decide what horrible fate I have to put myself through!” You felt guilty for putting the blame on him, but you were scared. What the fuck were you going to do now?

“Woah, there.” He suddenly stopped you, pulling you up from your slumped position. “Who said I didn’t like you?”

You paused right then and there. For that very moment, all flowers growing in your chest and all tears threatening to pour had stopped. “Huh?”

“I like you too, YN. Ever since.” He chuckled at your dumbfoundedness, pulling you into another hug.

“You didn’t say it, though!”

“Were all the pet names and, quote-unquote, ‘dates’ I took you to not obvious enough?”

“I thought you were like that to everyone else…”

“Sure, but that was before.” He sighed, shaking his head as he laughed. “I thought you were a really pretty thing at first when I met you at that party, YN. It was shallow, I know, but our conversation later that night really sparked my interest in you. I’ve liked you ever since.”

“But the girls…”

“I was asking them for advice.” He smacked his lips. “I just never went through with them because I noticed you were distancing yourself away from me. I thought you were, like, trying to subtly say you didn’t like me anymore—or even at all.” 

“Kenny,” you hummed against his chest.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry. Thank you very much.” You whispered against his chest.

“Always and forever, pretty.”

[cloudwhisper23]

Trick or treat ✨ฅ(•ㅅ•❀)ฅ

Depends on your interpretation of a treat, Pix. You get an excerpt.

The new school was interesting, at least in Chris’ opinion. Sure, people still gawked at his scar all the time, but it was so much better than where he was before. His English teacher immediately assigned reading partners, explaining that discussing the readings was just as important as drawing conclusions individually.

Chris glanced at his reading partner with disinterest. Her name was Millie Fitzsimmons, and she did not speak sign language. Her last name reminded him of Jeremy, which was the only reason he bothered to take an interest in her at all.

She was staring right back at him, seeming very interested in his dyed hair and scarred face. Chris didn’t take it personally. He did look interesting to an outside observer. His hair hadn’t really grown back yet either.

Millie leaned toward him as she spoke, “So, Chris. What types of books do you like to read?”

Chris tapped his pencil against his notebook for a moment, considering her question. His mother’s house had a wider selection of novels, and since she was gone all the time – albeit seeming more apologetic than his father or sister had been – he was allowed full access to her bookshelves.

Chris wondered if she was the reason his father’s house had absolutely no books or interesting material. It explained a lot, especially after he’d found his own name scribbled in the front cover of several books. He determined that they were definitely above his age-range when he’d originally read them, probably explaining his nightmares.

Finally, he remembered that Millie was waiting for a response. He shrugged, writing, “A bit of everything, to be honest. I prefer short stories to anything else.”

He wished he could explain better. That he loved seeing how writers wrote such wonderful stories without needing a whole book or even a series to capture it all.

While Millie skimmed the words he’d written, Chris quickly added, “Poe’s my favorite author though.”

“The Cask of Amontillado” was Chris’ favorite story to read since the Bite. The implied betrayal and potential for the narrator’s guilt at having killed Fortunato was all too familiar to Chris.

“Edgar Allan Poe is your favorite author?” Millie raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “What’s your favorite work by him?”

Chris stared at her for a moment. Should he be completely honest? Truth be told, no one had tried to hold a conversation with him this long before. He gave a so-so gesture before writing, “If I have to pick one, I’d say ‘The Cask of Amontillado.’ What about you?”

She hummed for a moment. “I’d say… ‘Annabel Lee.’ The love shared between her and the speaker transcends heaven and hell, Chris. Isn’t that amazing?”

Chris shrugged. He found the poem depressing, truth be told. He couldn’t even imagine understanding what it could feel like to care for someone like that, only to lose them to others’ jealousy. But Jeremy would, a voice muttered in the back of his mind. He frowned slightly as that came up. It was private information, and whomever Jeremy chose to be with was none of his business.

Millie was carefully watching his expression, and she frowned back at him. “Do you hate romance or something?”

Chris shook his head. He wrote, “I just don’t get it.”

“Huh. Maybe you should read more,” Millie said, patting him gently on the shoulder as the bell rang for the end of class.

He decided he didn’t really like Millie, after that moment. Maybe it was something he should’ve blamed the Bite for instead of her overwhelming emotional attachment to a piece of poetry, but really. Did people actually develop obsessions with other people’s relationships?

Unfortunately, the rest of his morning didn’t go very well, and he found himself stuck eating lunch with Millie that day. And the next day, and the next day.

He didn’t understand how the entire school just decided they weren’t worth the effort of getting to know, and he expressed it in his letters to Fritz. Fritz would write back, saying the social circles must’ve closed before he was ready for it.

Chris always scowled after he read that. So eventually, he gave up, instead asking Fritz how Susie was doing. Funnily enough, his responses to that were much lighter and more cheerful. Fritz had succeeded in getting her to spend more time with him at lunch, and apparently, they ate together every day.

Fritz talked about how much she loved baking and how cool she found his ability to run. Fritz was excited about his friendship with Susie, and Chris was certain he wanted to push it further. If he’d had any advice for Fritz, he’d tell him to slow down and make sure they were close enough that their friendship could handle it if things went downhill. But Fritz was his best friend, so he just pretended to be happy for him.

The next week, he decided to be nicer to Millie about her whole thing with romance. “So,” he wrote in his notebook during lunch, something Millie never ate. “I’ve attempted to figure out what you mean by the transcending romance, and I just don’t get it.”

Millie frowned as he started eating. “Well,” she said with severe emphasis, “I prefer the stories where they’re willing to die for each other. When one dies for the other, you really see how things are. Like, depending on how they grieve, you can tell whether they actually loved each other, or if something was amiss.”

Chris considered that for a moment. “So if they don’t mourn properly, they don’t love each other?”

“Exactly.” Millie’s frown faded. “See, you kind of get it.”

Chris frowned. “Well, if that’s how it works, then my family probably would prefer if I was dead.”

Millie stiffened. “What?”

Chris shrugged. “I don’t mean my mom. I just mean that my dad and my sister probably couldn’t care less if I was alive. So I left to live with my mom.”

“Oh.” Millie blinked at him. “I thought you meant they’d try to kill you or something.”

“Well, someone actually did do that too,” Chris wrote. “But it was an accident.”

“You’re a strange guy, Chris.”

Chris just shrugged. He didn’t really care either way what she thought. Pointedly taking a bite of his sandwich, Chris successfully ended the conversation.

“Got any plans for winter break?” Millie asked him a few days later.

Chris considered the question for a moment, before shaking his head. “Fritz wants me to come visit, but I don’t particularly feel like going back there.”

Especially since Fritz was talking about all the kids who’d gone missing. Each time it happened, Fritz sent a letter dedicated to all the information he knew about the kid who’d gone missing. Every time, Chris could tell right away, and he’d put it in his desk, unread. Fritz wasn’t sending those for a response anyway. It was just a way to cope, or so Chris believed.

He sent letters back asking about school and Fritz’s relationship with Susie. Fritz constantly shot back encouragement to come visit and see for himself, but Chris didn’t think he was ready to go back.

[cookiesonfire]

haul from uni book sale that no one asked for but im very happy abt what i got:

the world’s major languages - edited by bernard comrie but ig it’s from oxford university press (languages are cool and im doing a lin minor so its slay and fucking huge)

an illustrated dictionary of glass - harold newman, a-z of terms related to glass, includes info abt processes, materials, history, etc (very slay, i absolutely adore books abt the history of mundane objects)

the body in the castle well - martin walker (its mystery, sounded interesting, excited to read)

the white lioness - henning mankell (also mystery, this guy had a bunch of books in the mystery section, picked this randomly)

classic tales of detection and adventure - edgar allan poe, collection of five of his stories (also mystery)

the jonas variations - george jonas, looks like it’s a collection of poems from various authors that george jonas translates and comments on (was in the canadian literature section which i wanted something from and i also wanted something poetry, this seemed like a good 2 in 1)

cd of prokofiev’s romeo and juliet, the complete ballet (i do not have a cd player)

cassette of beethoven’s symphony no. 9, bernstein in berlin, it names several different orchestras so unsure

cassette of gustav holst’s the planets, boston symphony orchestra (no i do not have a cassette player either)(this is an investment???)

and this was the last day of the book sale so it was 50% off and was a whopping $21!!! that’s like ONE book from indigo!

[fantasies-fairytales-n-fics]

Thranduil and Josie Pt. 152- Break Into My heart

Summary: Raven gets poetic. She receives a terrifying vision. The Elvenking is back to his womanizing ways to ease his mental anguish. Two Kings share wine and words. Thranduil and Tauriel converse which ends on a sour note. Narcisse has a surprise for Jo, Her kind words eat at his conscious to the point of a breakdown. The warlock admits something.

*Warnings* strong language, angst, smut,

Stories Stories Stories Masterlist

Raven paced around the elven chambers in solitaire that she had to share with Tauriel, fretting about what the Elvenking was going to make the she-elf do to her unborn child.

Would Tauriel really go through with it? Could she go through with it? It was no secret that the elleth didn't care for Raven one bit, but she still didn't seem like one who had a heart to do such a malicious act, especially after how she offered extra care for Raven's wounds in Rivendell when she didn't have to.

Surely, Thranduil was testing the loyalty of his new captain of the guard and that's what worried Raven even more, because she knew how desperate Tauriel was to remain in Mirkwood. Either way, Raven vowed she would never let it happen and would find a way to escape, even if it meant facing the dealers, or even worse...Jareth.

Raven sat down Indian style on the bed with her small bag of belongings and beg and digging through it for a particular book to read in hopes of calming her restless mind. It was one of her favorites by Edgar Allan Poe because it consisted of his complete poetry. She then did what she always did, closed her eyes and opened it to see what message she would receive this time.

As she opened her eyes, she began to read aloud.

"A Dream Within a Dream...

Take this kiss upon the brow! And, in parting from you now, thus much let me avow. You are not wrong, who deem that my days have been a dream; yet if hope has flown away in a night or in a day, in a vision or in none, is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore and I hold within my hand, grains of the golden sand. How few, yet how they creep through my fingers to the deep while I weep, while I weep, Oh god! Can I not grasp them with a tighter clasp? Oh god! Can I not save one from the pitiless wave? Is all that we see or seem but a dream within a dream?"

"Hope...what hope do I have?" Raven asked herself as a single tear strolled down her cheek.

Oddly in that moment, she thought of Jace. Why?? He abandoned her. Could she really blame him though? He hardly knew her and taking on the Elvenking could mean a death sentence for him. Jace had his own issues to deal with, why should he give damn about what happens to her? Why should anyone give a damn about her?

She closed the book with a sigh, for the message only made her feel worse. As she put it away, the glint of Jareth's citrine ring flashed in her face from the candlelight gleaming down inside the bag.

With all the chaos, Raven had forgot she even had it and the question came to light again as to how that slimy ghoul Gollum had gotten ahold of it in the first place? The only thing she could some up with was that the little thief must have stolen it off of Jareth's finger while the goblin king was disabled from Thranduil's light, for she couldn't see Jareth giving it to him for any reason. It was a part of Jareth's power and he would certainly come to reclaim it...and her.

Raven pulled it out, fondling it as she looked it over in more detail. It appeared to just be some ordinary antique but all who knew of it, knew it was anything but ordinary. It wasn't necessarily evil though, it just depended on who's finger it was placed upon. Of course, Raven didn't have the slightest clue how to bring it's magic out, so she did something quite stupid out of curiosity, and slid it upon her finger.

As she gazed upon her own reflection in the golden topaz, something began to happen. Something terrible.

Raven became frozen in some trance like state as her eyes glazed over in a white film...and then she heard him. Jareth.

"Curiosity killed the cat. I knew you were weak and foolish girl."

Her hand shook profusely as his image then appeared inside the stone, creeping towards her in a sinister, yet strangely sexy way.

"You have betrayed me for the last time my love. Did you honestly believe you could escape me? Or that I would simply forget your lying vows of love for me? Those same vows of love that created the life inside of you? You belong to me Raven. You will always belong to me. I will reclaim you, my ring and my child and you will rue the day you ever crossed me. There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The Elvenking will face my wrath as well. He cannot protect you. I am your King. You will bow before me and take your place at my side for eternity. I am coming. Time...is short."

All that could then be seen was a close up of Jareth's face as he devilishly laughed, and then he vanished as Tauriel walked in.

"He...he...he...kn..knows...he knows about the baby." Raven stammered in fear after she came back to reality.

"Is that what I think it is??? On your finger???" Tauriel asked with beaming eyes and came towards her.

"Stay away from me you baby killing bitch!" Raven shouted and sprung off the bed, rushing backwards with great force right into the stone wall.

Down she slid to her butt, dazed and confused as she repeatably mumbled before she passed out.

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream. All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream."

After viewing you through your moonstone for the second time in Haldir's arms, Thranduil, or more likely the Elvenking, enjoyed some pleasure of his own on the cool December day in his warm outdoor pool. Accompanying him was one of his elleth servants. She had platinum strands like his, although he preferred fiery hair...fiery hair that belonged to you. Because of that annoyance, he purposely chose her for a distraction and to fuck out the relentless ache in his cock that happened every time you invaded his thoughts and he had high hopes it would stop him from envisioning you while doing so.

"My lord...where shall you have me?" the pale blue eyed elf meekly asked.

The Elvenking merely side eyed her, not wanting to see her face.

"There...on the steps. Lean over them."

The young she elf did as she was commanded, laying her chest onto the cold wet stone with the crack of her bottom just barely above the clear blue water.

As he approached her, cock in hand, he noticed she was laying on her cheek to where he could see the side of her unwanted face.

"Face forward."

She turned to glance at him. "My lord, I...I am?"

"Dolth- cín níf!!!" (Conceal your face) he barked.

She squeaked and swiftly placed her forehead down on top of her hands.

"This is not for your pleasure, but for mine. If you wish to receive any, know that I will not wait."

'Y..yes my..lord." she timidly replied as she waited for the sharp sting of his girth.

Thranduil spread her entrance open with his fingers and guided the head of his swollen cock inside with his other, then he released his hand, grabbed her hips and thrust into her.

She squealed into her hands as he began pounding against her, so hard that the water sloshed about in a frenzy to the beat of smacking skin.

His idea failed him miserably as there you were, red hair and all, before him, being fucked like a dog. But the memory he was seeing was nothing of the sort, for in it, he was making love to you, soft, slow and sweet in his chamber's pool. The candlelight danced over your wet back as you moaned and panted for him, immediately bringing him to climax.

Thranduil's eyes closed hard and his mouth hung open as he sped up, ignoring the elleth's orgasmic mewls and only hearing yours. He swiftly pulled out, groaning and stroking his way through his release as he expelled his cum into the water, while in his mind, he secretly called your name.

"Glenn-hi." (Go now) he commanded to the blonde elf. "And do not return to my sight, this day or any day."

She glanced at him in confusion. "My...lord??"

Thranduil's eyes rolled as he pursed his lips. "It would seem I have made the right choice to remove you from my kingdom, for your dense mind is of no use here, nor is your cunt of any more use to me."

He swayed his hand in the air behind him for her to exit as he waded to the other side of the pool to climb out.

After Thranduil relaxed in the remaining sunlight for a moment with his wine, he then slipped back into his attire and headed to the shipping docks in annoyance, as he saw Bard's late barge arriving.

"You are late with the barrels. Are there no means of time in Lake Town?" Thranduil rudely said in his greeting to the captain of the archers and King of Dale.

"King Thranduil. Apologies. I had a setback with some orcs along the way. It is good to see you alive and well."

"It is good to know your vision is still in tact. Unload, reload and be on your way to Dorwinion. I expect extra allowance of time will be given for your next delivery, for tardiness is not acceptable as it may have been while I was...away, but as your properly functioning eyes have witnessed, I have returned and all operations will remain under my rule as they were."

Bard had heard of the trauma inflicted upon the King and was even warned of his changed behavior, but knowing Thranduil as well as he did, he really didn't see any difference in him....yet, for Thranduil's attitude was completely typical. Even so, Bard knew he could hold his own against the Elvenking, who was also his friend.

"Will that include a shared glass of the wine before my departure like always? I have missed my old friend and was very saddened to believe you had passed on."

Thranduil's eyes narrowed as he peered down at the smiling bowman.

"Very well. There are things you need to be aware of before entering Dorwinion. Be quick and join me in the docking tent."

Bard nodded with a bow and began his duties while Thranduil then headed off to patiently wait.

Fifteen minutes later, Bard entered the tent to find the King in his chair, sipping his wine and seemingly lost in thought, for his arrival went unnoticed.

"King Thranduil? I have completed my tasks."

Thranduil did as he had always done and went to the wine table to pour the other King a drink.

"I am in need of more ale in addition to the usual order from Lord Narcisse for an upcoming celebration."

"As you wish. Has your queen returned? I would like to offer my congratulations on the birth of the Princess."

"You may offer them to me, for my daughter was not born of immaculate conception." Thranduil quipped and returned to his chair.

"Of course. Congratulations King Thranduil. I was only hoping to offer them to her in person and hopefully meet the child."

"It would seem you will meet her before I am able to do so. Josephine remains in Dorwinion with my daughter. Legolas is on his way there to return them to me."

"That is good news. I am sure it will be a most happy reunion and celebration that you have planned. Shall I relay any messages to the Queen?"

The Elvenking's jaw was clenching, for he could not stand to continue hearing Bard address you as his Queen, but he knew he must carry on with his charade that you and he would be one happy little family again. He could not risk you knowing the truth as it would delay his plans even further by you possibly refusing to come back and he knew Legolas would not take Leean from you, nor would you allow him to.

"All that you know of my existence is to remain unknown. Although you may arrive before Legolas, he will inform her per my instructions."

"The Queen does not know you are alive?"

"Ahh, I see your brain is working as well as your eyes."

"Thranduil...may I ask why you would not wish for her to know her King is alive as soon as possible? I cannot imagine the suffering she has endured."

"You may not! What concern is my business of yours? You will do as I have ordered or I can and will easily find a replacement for your duties here."

Now Bard knew something was amiss just like he was warned of. Thranduil was referring to his daughter as only his and seemed to have no concern for you. The Thranduil he knew, that loved you beyond the moon and the stars, would not be sitting here drinking wine as if it were just another day. He would have been on his way to Dorwinion himself to be with you, but it was not Thranduil that sat before him. It looked like him, but it was in fact the elf lord he knew before you arrival, the Elvenking.

"Respectfully, how do you expect me to look her in the eyes and not speak of you?""

"Maybe I was incorrect about your brain functions. It is as simple as you are. You do not speak to her at all. That woman and child are nothing to you. You are going there for your compensated duties, unless you would like me to involve myself in your affairs, such as with Baine?"

Bard took a step towards the Elvenking with a scowl upon his face.

"You dare to threaten my son??"

Thranduil stood from his seat and faced the angry bowman.

"I dare to dare as I please. With that said, I threaten no child. I am merely suggesting that he may be better suited for your position. After all, he did assist you, bravely I might add, in Smaug's demise and would take his duties seriously. He would not be concerned, as you are, with Josephine or my child."

"If I no longer work for you, nor will my son. I do not need your compensation, or have you forgotten I am a King as well? What I do for you and other lands are to help others instead of biding my time on a throne, wearing a pretty crown, drinking wine and patronizing others."

Although Thranduil looked upon the man with great dismay of his insult, he expected nothing less from one King to another, especially from Bard the brave.

Bard returned the look, sat his chalice down and without another word or a single head bow, he left.

Thranduil made his way to his chambers, greatly vexed and having enough of the day's occurrences, only to find Tauriel awaiting him at his stairwell.

He found his eyes rolling once again as he walked past her in which she followed him down the stairs, offering a quick bow.

"Unless you have come to inform me that you have completed the task I ordered, I wish to enjoy my evening in peace and solitude." he snapped as he poured another glass of his cherished and mind numbing vintage.

"Apologies my lord, I have not, for I have something you may find of more importance for the time being." Tauriel strongly said as she paced about with worry.

"What could be of more importance than ridding of that creature in the dhampir's womb??"

"This...my lord."

Tauriel extended her arm out and opened her hand to reveal Jareth's citrine gemstone.

The Elvenking's eyes rolled again, but this time, almost out of his head.

"Where have you come across this piece??"

"It was in Raven's possession. I fear she has had contact with Jareth. She claims he is aware of the child."

"It is no child. It is his demon seed."

Thranduil took the ring from her and eyed it over, before pulling out your moonstone that he swore he would not look at again.

"I now have two of the six runestones needed to destroy Jareth. My moonstone and Josephine's are of one piece, but only one of the pair is needed. Haldir possesses another, the emerald. I will inform Legolas to retrieve it."

"My lord...who has the other three?"

"Harker has the crystal prism in which he used as means of torture upon me. Somewhere, there is an amethyst and a pink tourmaline. All six each represent a strength...knowledge, love, birth, strength, destruction and death. I hold in my hands, love and death. Haldir holds birth. Harker holds destruction. Knowledge and strength still remain, as well as the book of shadows, I last recall, Julian concealed the three pages to raise the dead and they also are the only ones that can undo it. When all items are combined, along with Ashmole's spell, it is the only means to Jareth's permanent destruction, which is why he wants them for the obvious reason of preventing it. The issue we currently face are those three pages. It is all that is needed for Jareth to carry out his deadly plan. With Julian under his control, it is only a matter of time before the goblin king is in possession of those, if he is not already."

"My lord...this will be...ruinous."

"How remarkable, your observance of the obvious. I have had enough of this futile conversation and day at that. Come tomorrow at high noon, there will be a meeting before my throne and by the day's end, I expect my demands to be met."

"My lord...if I may inquire...how is it that you desire me to handle the situation? Raven is not going to consume anything I give her, for she is aware of your plan."

"Slow-witted I perceived you not to be. Am I myself slow-witted as well for placing my faith in you?"

"No, of course not my lord, it's just that...there is no other way than...black magic...which is forbidden here....and the price... it comes back on the spellcaster three fold as you know."

"It is not forbidden if I so order it. I am the King of this realm, am I not? And as King, I have sovereignty, also do I not?"

"Y...yes my lord...I..."

"You nothing! Dispose of the evil entity as you see fit or find yourself in contempt of a direct order. I would advise against defying me or I assure you, the worst price you will suffer is my wrath."

"Yes, my lord." Tauriel bowed and rushed off, knowing she was already receiving her karma by Thranduil himself for all that she had done. He could have easily chosen any of is guard to complete the ungodly task, but he intentionally chose her out of spite and, like Raven believed, to test her loyalty. The most obvious though, was that it was to punish Jareth, as well as Raven, for all that they took from the King....you, his daughter and the vast majority of his will and his love.

Thranduil laid the pair of gems upon his desk and sat down, again gazing at his journal, wishing to add another entry, but he knew he would be easily tempted to read his past memories and feelings, so instead, he relished in his wine as he fondled your stone without thought....until he saw you appear inside again without warning.

It now seemed his touch brought you about, like rubbing a genie lamp.

He stood in utter shock, staring down at the vision, for this time he saw you with Lord Narcisse and it appeared to him to be an intimate moment. A kiss.

"How...Josephine?..." he whispered.

Thranduil's heart shockingly burned him in agony. It was nothing like the jealousy and rage he had felt when he saw you with Haldir. This...this was true unexpected pain. Like a thief in the night, you broke into his heart.

As Narcisse arranged the dinner table in his chamber, a knock sounded upon his door. He smiled, knowing it was you by the way you lightly tapped three times.

"Jo...I was beginning to think you had changed your mind."

"No...I was tending to Leean when Haldir showed up." you explained as you went inside.

"Isss....everything alright?"

"I don't know. He knew I was coming here tonight, so he wanted to come stay with Lola and Leean, which I am surprised he even did. Stephane, he heard us outside the door earlier today, about me choosing to stay here with you. Needless to say, he was highly upset and things didn't go well. All we do is fight anymore and I feel so terrible. I miss him...the way things used to be until my mother came back into my life and turned it all upside down. Now I feel like he and I are so disconnected and...it hurts."

"Jo...you don't have to be here with me this evening. Why don't you go spend it with Haldir and try to make things right with him?"

You laughed as you poured some wine. "You...Stephane Narcisse, want me to go spend my night with Haldir instead of you?"

"Is that so unbelievable that I would want you to be happy?"

"No...I know you do, but I made these plans with you...actually we made them awhile ago and they got interrupted so....I want to stay right here, or I would not have came. With that said, is there anymore news on Harker or Bash?"

"Unfortunately no in regards to Harker. My guards are on continuous watch. No one sleeps until he is reprimanded. Bash was still resting but alert. He said he was feeling better and asked me to thank you for what you did for him."

"Well, I will go and visit with him tomorrow and let him know I was more than happy to help him. He's a good man, just like you."

Stephane's eyes fell and he walked off to pour himself a glass of the hard stuff. All the kind things you had said to him lately only made him feel worse by the minute for what he was concealing. He even tried to condone his own actions by telling himself that Thranduil was probably truly dead by now considering he had been imprisoned by Jareth all this time and all the other worldly experiences you had proved it. Even so, it wouldn't change anything though if you were to know Thranduil had been alive and that he kept it from you. It would actually make it much worse for Narcisse...and even harder on you. He was at a crossroads and didn't know which way to go and it was eating him alive.

"Hey, where'd you go just now?" you asked with a concerned smile.

"I'm sorry Jo...I just have so much on my mind."

"I know you do. Come on, let's eat. You went to all this trouble to have it prepared with all of this going on. Try to relax, unwind a bit."

'You're right, as always my lady. I hope it is to your liking." he said with a sly grin.

"Ok, what did you do this time Stephy?" you giggled and quickly lifted the silver lid off the large wooden plate in the middle.

You sucked in a gasp and released a loud squeal of joy as you saw a steaming hot homestyle pizza in front of you.

"Oh...my...god...you didn't."

"I did, for once again, I paid attention." he smiled, and quite big at that to see you so happy. "I cannot take the credit for preparing it this time, but I did inform the cooks how to create it. It has crushed tomatoes, cheese, pork, mushrooms, onions and peppers. I hope that is alright? Oh, and I had one made to be taken to Haldir and Lola too, and dessert."

"Are you kidding?? It's...perfect Stephane...how sweet of you and....you're...perfect too."

"I wouldn't go that far my lady." he chuckled. "Here, let me cut it up for you."

The pie made three large pieces for each of you and you both ate every single piece, including the crust edge, which you never liked, and then you indulged in warm cherry pie, also specially made for you.

'Alright, I cannot eat another bite or I am going to burst." you laughed. "Thank you Stephane...so much for this. Two delish pies of perfection."

"I am just happy to see you smile."

"Well, that's because of you. I...I am really happy that I will be staying here for awhile with you. I know I have to go back to Mirkwood at some point...for Legolas. I know he misses Leean and they shouldn't be separated. But, I have a feeling it's going to be quite some time before I can go back. It is far too dangerous right now."

"Jo...I..I don't ever want you to leave. I know you must...but...I..I will never see you. It is not like Mirkwood is just down the road. It's miles away."

"Stephane, when all of this is over and it's safe, I can travel to see you and you can even come see me. We could rotate months." you jested, but Stephane didn't laugh. Instead, he quietly got up to go get another drink, his hand trembling as he poured it.

"Steph, it will be alright? It's only a few days travel. I can hitch a ride with Bard on his deliveries. I will always want to see you. You...you mean a lot to me and you're always here for me when I need you."

Narcisse guzzled his whiskey and then sat down in another chair as he rubbed his hand over his face, obviously upset....and then...he just broke down crying.

You didn't know what was happening or what to do. This was so unlike Narcisse. The tough and strong warlock you knew was now merely a lost little boy, but you of all people knew one could only be strong for so long when the world was crumbling around you.

Slowly, you approached him with compassion. When he realized you were standing before him, he stopped his tears and rolled his embarrassed glistening eyes up to you.

You knelt down and took his tear soaked face into your hands.

"Stephane, sweetheart. What is it?" you softly asked as your concerned eyes studied his.

"Jo...I..I know this is not like me...but...I cannot keep this inside any longer."

His hand raised to your cheek, stroking your hair behind your ear.

"Ok? Talk to me. You can tell me anything. I am here for you as you always are for me."

Narcisse closed his eyes and sighed, then lightly traced your lips with his fingertips.

"Jo...that rare jewel I once told you I have yet to see of love? I found it...I....I...love you..."

Your eyes widened and you found yourself speechless, except for the small gasp that escaped your lips.

"You...do not have to say anything Jo. I just needed you to know....and I...I don't want you to go away. I've never felt this way and I am terrified of losing you..."

You still couldn't speak as you gazed into his sincerely love filled eyes of teary blue. Instead, you found yourself pulling his lips to yours.

@redeemer46

[derangedrhythms]

These were the days when my heart was volcanic

Edgar Allan Poe, The Penguin Complete Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe; from 'Ulalume'

[dreamsinmytotebag]

Battle of the Songs and the Sonnets- Introduction

From “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” to “It’s a cruel summer, with you”, poetry has evolved over time. The domain of poetry has expanded towards the domain of songs and lyricism, many of which can be found in the contemporary music genres, including pop. However, both of them have co-existed since decades and are known to share similar characteristics. To create and understand a distinction, we can pick apart their formats, their uses, the different time periods in which they were written and the person who wrote them as well.

Poetry is one of the many forms of literature and literary art that relies on the aesthetic value of words to convey a message, rather than expressing something in a straightforward manner.

Poetry has often relied on various euphemisms and metaphors in its expressions. Poets are known to use various poetic devices, such as assonance, alliteration, euphony and cacophony, onomatopoeia and many more.

Shakespeare’s work is known to use alliteration. This can be acutely found in Romeo and Juliet but in his poems as well.

“Sonnet 5” by William Shakespeare, the "b" sound in beauty, bareness and bereft set a romantic tone. In the last line, the "s" substance and sweet provides a soothing rhythm.

“Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:

Then were not summer's distillation left,

A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,

Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,

Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:

But flowers distilled, though they with winter meet,

Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.”

Other examples of poetic devices, such as onomatopoeia can be found in Edgar Allan Poe’s work, “The Bells”

“How they clang, and clash, and roar”

Poe's poetry is always filled with sensory detail, quite often unsettling and frightening. And by using poetic devices such as onomatopoeia, where words mimic the actual sounds we hear, his work stands true to its reputation.

Furthermore, poetry is also know to follow a rhythmic pattern, which we often call, a “rhyming scheme”. Most of the poems follow a typical rhyming scheme of, “a b a b”, but it varies from poem to poem. However, there are many poems out there which do not follow any rhyming scheme, so in that case we tend to refer to that piece as a “free verse”.

Now this particular rhyming feature overlaps with the domain of lyricism and songs. Therefore, to create a distinction, emerges one stark contrast, which is, that lyrics are solely created for a musical purpose, and once we delve into this characteristic we can find more dissimilarities and even similarities.

Lyrics, in simple terms are words that make up a song. While poetry is made up of lines and stanzas; lyrics form the verses and the chorus of a song.

Therefore, in order to be considered as a song, lyrics must be sung while being supported by a musical instrument or a vocal accompaniment. However, in modern times, many poets use a background instrumental music while reciting their pieces at a show, open mic, etc., to make their recital more dramatic and emphatic. But then again, reciting is different than singing.

Moreover, poetry has no standard or universal structure, but lyrics are composed to fit specific parts of a musical piece. Furthermore, poetry often relies on an indirect approach to convey a message which poets tend to do through complex metaphors, euphemisms and vivid imagery. This also makes poetry a little hard to understand and a casual reader may not see through the poet’s vision. However, this is not the case for lyrics as songs and music are something that appeal to anyone and everyone. They do not necessarily, require a complete sense of literacy for understanding and comprehension. This is primarily because lyrics use a direct approach in conveying their message. At the same time, what cannot be denied is the fact that there are many lyrics which carry a hint of poetic devices in them and many artists are known for their metaphorical songwriting techniques.

In Taylor Swift’s, “Cruel Summer”:

“And it's new, the shape of your body

It's blue, the feeling I've got

And it's ooh, whoa, oh

It's a cruel summer”

metaphors like “It’s a cruel summer” suggest that the summer is emotionally harsh and difficult, highlighting the intensity of the relationship’s challenges.

Traces of symbolism can also be found in the song.

“Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes

What doesn't kill me makes me want you more”

This represents the unpredictable nature of the relationship and the judgement from others.

So whether it’s Sonnet 5 or Cruel Summer, at the end of the day, both poems and lyrics are means used to convey a message to the reader or the listener and as someone who understands and enjoys both, I love to draw a comparison between the two while consuming these different forms of art.

References:

[sabakos]

sometimes whoever is in charge of preparing a dead poet's "complete works" seems to have some very different ideas about what a collection like that ought to include.

for example, i'm not sure every line that Edgar Allan Poe scrawled on a scrap piece of paper needs to be treated the same as his published work, poetry is a process of continuous refinement and so any old ordering of words on paper might have just been a writing exercise not intended for circulation. but once some jerk adds that to his edition of Poe's work than you look like an even bigger asshole for "abridging" it away

[mountainsea-chronicles]

Weekly Shanhaijing 2 - Yóng ( 颙 )

Author’s notes under cut.

又东四百里，曰令丘之山，无草木，多火。其南有谷焉，曰中谷，条风自是出。有鸟焉，其状如枭，人面四目而有耳，其名曰颙，其鸣自号也，见则天下大旱。

Four hundred li to the east is [a place] called Lìngqiū mountain. It has no grass or trees and much fire. To the south of it is a valley called the Middle Valley, from whence tendrils of wind flow out. There is a bird whose appearance is like an owl’s, human-faced, four-eyed, and with ears. Its name is Yóng, and it calls its own name.

-From the Classic of Southern Mountains ( 南山经 )

I wandered to a far mountain

where no tree was to be seen

but fires blazed through night and day

and winds whistled through the ravines

There lived a creature in these parts,

making its nest amidst the gale’s howl

Though its face beguiled, its eyes burned bright

and its body was that of an owl’s

And high above this cursèd place

it sang its dissonant song

It rings in my ears yet-

“Yong! Yong! Yong!”

A/N: This week’s one came a bit late, sorry about that! I had a lot on my plate.

It’s complete coincidence that this week’s installment is a bird from the Southern Mountains like last week’s. While I was thinking of what to feature this week, I was reminded of the yóng and wasn’t paying attention to details like that.

Translation

“…the Middle Valley.” - Decided to use the literal translation of the name as opposed to “Zhōng Valley” since it felt more appropriate.

“…tendrils of wind…” - The word “条” is a measure word generally used for things that are long, in strands, etc. This was my best attempt at trying to capture that image in English.

“…it calls its own name.” - “号” means “marker” or something along those lines. An indicator of identity. A more literal translation would be “its call marks/signifies itself,” but I went with “it calls its own name” because that conveys the idea better, in my opinion.

Art

When I picked out this creature, I knew I had to include the description of the area along with it.  The image of this eerily human-faced bird of prey framed by fire and smoke drifting in the wind was just too dramatic to not draw. It’s also quite a hyperbolic way to express the creature’s significance as an omen of drought.

There’s more to it than that. The word for “owl” used here ( 枭, xiāo ) is an onomatopoiea of the word for “reduce” ( 消, same pinyin ), also a component of words like “annihilate” ( 消灭, xiāomiè ) and “disappear” ( 消失, xiāoshī ). Fitting for a scene like this, isn’t it?

As for the owl itself, it’s modelled off an Eurasian eagle owl. I considered a barn owl due to its ( somewhat ) human-looking face, but decided that would be too obvious. I ended up choosing the Eurasian eagle owl due to various other reasons: the mention of the “ears” in the text; the large, powerful appearance; and the fact it can be spotted in the real-world equivalent of its range, down in South China.

Caption

I was at a loss for the caption at first, but then, for whatever reason, I suddenly thought of Shelley’s Ozymandias and various Edgar Allan Poe poems. Hence… this. It’s not meant to be good or anything, if anything, it’s supposed to be kind of cheesy ( as a lot of old poetry tends to be ).