#at the end of it all i do consider myself a poet

[friendly-neighborhood-furry]

sometimes the state of the world makes me want to go outside and scream as loud as i can for help. sometimes it makes me want to crawl deep into a hole and never come back out again. sometimes it makes me want to fall to my knees and sob uncontrollably. sometimes it seems so hopeless that i cant see any better alternative other than just disappearing.

so much evil and destruction and suffering-- and for what?

what is it all for?

for the latest popular billionare to take a 13 minute flight? for the newest remake of a movie that changed my life to get turned into mindless sludge? for a never-before-seen species of animal to be discovered, then pronounced extinct the very next week? for millions of people to go broke for having cancer?

i tell my mother that i wont be able to afford a house. she says "no, you will." i tell my counselor that my government wants to kill me. she says "that's not true." i tell my teachers i don't see a point in doing well in school because i wont be able to get a job anyway, even if i have a college degree. they tell me "no, you'll get a job. school is still important." i email my senators begging them to stop funding the genocide in Palestine. i get a copy-pasted email back with a history lesson about why that wont happen. one million people died from COVID last Christmas and i'm the only one at my school still wearing a mask. my future as an artist was ripped from my hands in less than two years and pretty soon i wont be able to share anything about my art at all. i'm half mexican, but everybody says i'm "too white" to be a "real mexican". its been four years and i'm nowhere closer to understanding my gender identity than i was at the start. tumblr has been my only safe space for three years and now that KOSA might pass this week, where will i go?

and all the while, through all of this conflict-- people are still falling in love for the first time and rescuing kittens off the street and watching their children take their first steps and getting married and making fun little indie games and building elaborate cosplays of their favorite character and making the most heart-touchingly beautiful pieces of art you've ever seen and meeting lifelong friends and cooking amazingly delicious food and playing children's games and weaving baskets from pine needles and taking care of livestock and collecting little knick-knacks and having the best day of their lives and writing their first line of code and learning to play instruments and hatching baby birds and posting a 100K word thesis about a show they really like and uploading song covers for 19 people on Youtube to listen to and pushing the boundaries of what science can accomplish and discussing moral philosophies in the comment section of a Reddit post and feeling truly seen in the eyes of another human being for the first time in their lives and growing old surrounded by the people they love.

the future is uncertain, but the world will go on. the winds will still blow and the tides will still flow. people will continue to find joy in this hell and fight for it with everything they have.

so don't give up.

"don't give up," i tell myself.

"don't give up," i tell you.

"don't give up," i scream into the sky.

there is always something to keep going for. if you cannot find it in yourself, find it in others. find it in the people in your life and the people you see online. find it in the good of humanity you know to exist.

find it. keep fighting. don't give up.

[fursasaida]

This article is from 2022, but it came up in the context of Palestine:

Here are some striking passages, relevant to all colonial aftermaths but certainly also to the forms we see Zionist reaction taking at the moment:

Over the decade I lived in South Africa, I became fascinated by this white minority [i.e. the whole white population post-apartheid as a minority in the country], particularly its members who considered themselves progressive. They reminded me of my liberal peers in America, who had an apparently self-assured enthusiasm about the coming of a so-called majority-minority nation. As with white South Africans who had celebrated the end of apartheid, their enthusiasm often belied, just beneath the surface, a striking degree of fear, bewilderment, disillusionment, and dread.

[...]

Yet these progressives’ response to the end of apartheid was ambivalent. Contemplating South Africa after apartheid, an Economist correspondent observed that “the lives of many whites exude sadness.” The phenomenon perplexed him. In so many ways, white life remained more or less untouched, or had even improved. Despite apartheid’s horrors—and the regime’s violence against those who worked to dismantle it—the ANC encouraged an attitude of forgiveness. It left statues of Afrikaner heroes standing and helped institute the Truth and Reconciliation Commission, which granted amnesty to some perpetrators of apartheid-era political crimes.

But as time wore on, even wealthy white South Africans began to radiate a degree of fear and frustration that did not match any simple economic analysis of their situation. A startling number of formerly anti-apartheid white people began to voice bitter criticisms of post-apartheid society. An Afrikaner poet who did prison time under apartheid for aiding the Black-liberation cause wrote an essay denouncing the new Black-led country as “a sewer of betrayed expectations and thievery, fear and unbridled greed.”

What accounted for this disillusionment? Many white South Africans told me that Black forgiveness felt like a slap on the face. By not acting toward you as you acted toward us, we’re showing you up, white South Africans seemed to hear. You’ll owe us a debt of gratitude forever.

The article goes on to discuss:

"Mau Mau anxiety," or the fear among whites of violent repercussions, and how this shows up in reported vs confirmed crime stats - possibly to the point of false memories of home invasion

A sense of irrelevance and alienation among this white population, leading to another anxiety: "do we still belong here?"

The sublimation of this anxiety into self-identification as a marginalized minority group, featuring such incredible statements as "I wanted to fight for Afrikaners, but I came to think of myself as a ‘liberal internationalist,’ not a white racist...I found such inspiration from the struggles of the Catalonians and the Basques. Even Tibet" and "[Martin Luther] King [Jr.] also fought for a people without much political representation … That’s why I consider him one of my most important forebears and heroes,” from a self-declared liberal environmentalist who also thinks Afrikaaners should take back government control because they are "naturally good" at governance

Some discussion of the dynamics underlying these reactions, particularly the fact that "admitting past sins seem[ed] to become harder even as they receded into history," and US parallels

And finally, in closing:

The Afrikaner journalist Rian Malan, who opposed apartheid, has written that, by most measures, its aftermath went better than almost any white person could have imagined. But, as with most white progressives, his experience of post-1994 South Africa has been complicated. [...]

He just couldn’t forgive Black people for forgiving him. Paradoxically, being left undisturbed served as an ever-present reminder of his guilt, of how wrongly he had treated his maid and other Black people under apartheid. “The Bible was right about a thing or two,” he wrote. “It is infinitely worse to receive than to give, especially if … the gift is mercy.”

[inkskinned]

yesterday while feverish i wrote about how boats can moor next to each other like pigeons, cooing with the gentle rap of water against their hull. you once said that that the way i see things - birds in the water, feathers in marina paint - was "childish and naive." you said i'd been misdiagnosed - "it can't all be adhd. you might be just kind of stupid and lazy."

i still do certain things like how you taught me - turn the pillow case inside out before putting it on. drive defensively. hate myself entirely.

the prompt for this poem is "mahler's fifth." i wish it wasn't, but mahler's fifth was our song. it ended up in my book. every person that knows your name has promised me they'll give you one swift rabbit punch, right to the face. dean read the book and showed up on my front porch, drenched in sweat from running the 8 miles at 4 in the morning. he was shaking. pacifist and gentle - he works with children - i'd never seen him furious. a punch isn't going to do it, he said, and then said i'm sorry. i had to come to see if you were okay.

mahler's fifth was mine first, like my girlhood. i like the way each movement piles onto the next movement, each instrument bleeding into the next. i like the horn version the best. before i met you, i danced to it on grass still-wet from sprinklers.

later you would tell me that the way you heard it was somehow better. you understood something in it that i couldn't quite wrap my fingers into. once, on our anniversary, you asked the classical music radio station to play it for us. we missed hearing it because we were fighting. one of the things people get wrong about abuse is that sometimes victims are, like, brutally aware of the stupidity of our situation. what do you mean that you thought i wasn't good enough for you? you? you're just... nothing.

sometimes people can pull the poetry out of your life. i watched my words become clothesline, and then thin out into kite twine. i watched you chew through every good syllable of me. so many good songs and places and moments were ruined. i am glad you didn't like most of my music - less to tie back to you.

but still mahler's fifth. the music swells, and i am 21 and throwing up in a bathroom on my birthday. a woman i will later refer to as lesbian jesus runs a cool hand down my back, her perfect pantsuit starch-pressed. she told me to leave you. she said - and this is true, and not an invention of rhyme or fantasy - i'm you from the future.

i am 22, and i got home from an award ceremony, and i remember you telling me - you act so proud of yourself when you're actually so fucking embarrassing. i took you to disney world. you took my virginity. i gave up visiting spain for a week with my family - i instead choose you, to spend the time just-cuddling. you called it "our fuck week." the music swells. it probably should have been a red flag that for about 3 years - i just gave up on crying. my grandfather died and you said nothing. my uncle died and you ghosted me for 3 weeks. you said i need to protect myself from your ongoing tragedy.

every so often i come back to the memory of one of our last afternoons in person. i had just told you that i wasn't going to law school, despite the free ride - i was going to join a creative writing program. master's in fine arts. i was going to finally do it - i was going to follow my dreams. this blog was already internet-famous. however reluctantly, i would occasionally refer to myself as a poet. i got into umass amherst's writing program for fiction authors. it is one of the the top 5 programs in the country.

wait are you seriously considering actually attending that? dumbfounded, you turned completely towards me in your seat. for the 3rd time in our relationship, you almost crashed the car. you actually want to be a writer?

the first time i went viral, it was for a poem i wrote about you:

he wants to say i love you but keeps it to goodnight because love will take some falling and she's afraid of heights.

every time i see that, i want to throw up. you weren't in love with me, you were in love with the control you had over me. a little truth though: i am afraid of heights. you caught a rabbitgirl and skinned her alive.

mahler's fifth still makes me sick.

give me that back. give me back music. give me back everything i had before you. give me back fearlessness. give me back bravery. give me back a scarless body.

give me back what you took from me.

[divine-knight-hand]

The End of an Era

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

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 1,624

Dividers by @anitalenia

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or so I thought.

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

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

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

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

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My jaw dropped.

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

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

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

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

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

What? “What?”

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

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

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

“Regina…” I breathed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[threepandas]

Bad End: For Us

My sister is the only one who actually knows me. Who looks at me and... and actually SEES me, for who I am. It's because she suffers too, I think. Is beautiful. In that way that drives men too distraction. Poets too the page, artists too a medium. They look at her like she is art, magnificence and beauty given form.

Not a person.

Living, breathing, with thoughts and feelings of her own.

She is... is just BEAUTY to them. Delicate features and graceful limbs. Refined and splendid. A lovely voice reducing all her brilliant thoughts to mere sound. Who cares? How clever and educated, how wise or dignified, she may be? She is decoration. A pretty thing to look at. A prize to be held and won.

And... and I am a cute little pet.

Eternally the toddler, to be pampered and dressed in bows. Girlish things, no matter how old I grow. Handled instead of spoken too. Because somehow I am a child. Fuckable, yet... a child. Cute, innocent, naive. Not because I AM, but because they SAY so. Because it matches their fantasy of me.

I fear what will happen if I dare break that fantasy, with how much they control my life.

My Sister, alone, is the one who SEES me.

And people try to convince me she is... what? Jealous? Bitter? Because I am somehow "stealing" the lecherous eyes of her unfaithful man? I don't want them. I don't want ANY of them. Reborn, somehow, as a Protagonist in some game amongst countless, I can predict the plot points as they come. Read the troupes.

Bah. I am no spunky little bright eyed thing.

As I lay, draped over my sister's splendid skirts, in her private writing room, she quietly sips her tea and writes return missives. Strokes my hair as I hide, curled up like a child against her legs. If the ridiculous outfit I was shoved in would allow it? I would cram myself under her desk. Hide there instead.

As it is? I sit like some sulking maiden, an exhausted pet, seeking comfort in the only refuge I HAVE.

They will not leave me ALONE.

The Knight. Some brash, meat headed, "I'll take care of you" type, crashing into every quiet moment I try to have. Loud and presumptuous. Disdainful of my academic interests.

The Playboy. All too forward "romantic" gestures and ignoring obvious discomfort. More wrapped up in HIS feelings then considering, for even a moment, my own. Selfish and dramatic.

The Duke. Cliché and terrible. "Kind" to no one but me. Endless expensive gifts, pressuring grand displays, and eyes that linger possessively. Violence at the drop of a hat.

But oh, let us not forget the ASSASSIN! Yes, the LEADER of the ASSASSIN'S Guild! That somehow, someway, decided I was a prize worth possessing. A cutesy little "interesting" doll. That? Gods only knows, what will happen when he grows bored.

Lingering and haunting me. Crawling through windows. Standing too close, to touch my hair and drop cryptic bits of information that always hint at terrible things. Having to watch my words so SO carefully. Lest someone end up DEAD.

And let's not forget the WORST offender! The most clingy of them ALL!

My sister's FIANCÉ.

The Crown PRINCE! Yes, not some average noble, but a ROYAL!! And the man can't CONTROL himself! But does anyone else care? Noooooo! It's ROMANTIC. True loooove~! Aren't we CUTE together? Surely my Sister, his FIANCÉE, is just JEALOUS. How VILE. Disgusting, they scoff!

I should start throwing chairs.

This house is a nightmare.

I curl closer to my sister. Releasing her skirts to slip an arm around her waist. Hugging her, pressing my face close. She puts her cup down with a soft clink. A second hand joining the first to stroke my head. Cup my cheeks.

"My Dearest, you can not hide against my skirts indefinitely. As much as I would love to let you." She says, voice soft and cool like swirling mist, tilting my face up so she can look me in the eyes. "You DO need to eat eventually, as do I. Unfortunately, I can not keep you here forever. Come, help me plan the wedding. We can look at cake styles."

I'd rather be planning a funeral.

"Not until I get a son out of him, I'm afraid."

Wut.

I blink, not sure I heard that right. Look up at my softly smile sister. No. No, I probably didn't. Wishful thinking maybe? Or I've just been around Stabby too much. I scramble to my feet. Fighting my own girlish abomination of a skirt. I hate it. It's cutesy to the point of mocking. I'm in my TWENTIES for God's sake! Not EARLY twenties either!

Why do I have a BOW ON MY ASS?!

Because I am the Protagonist. Baby faced and Pwecious~☆. Fucking INFANTALIZED. I could BITE.

I sigh, take the arm my sister offers me, and tuck myself into her side. Rest my head upon her shoulder. It's a little uncomfortable, with all the jewelry she must wear. But damn it! I want my cuddles!

I bask, as we walk, in the comfort it brings.

She's strong and graceful. Smells like a delicate spring morning, all rare flowers and new growth. A hint of expensive spice. I LOVE being the little sibling. When it's HER that's treating me so. Because she makes it precious. Comfortable. Like we could spend our lives, together like this. The best of friends.

Happy.

If only people would... you know... stop trying to FUCK me. I prefer my hobbies. For God's sake, I'm RICH and a second child. I HAVE basicly no responsibilities except "don't embarrass the family". Or that WOULD be the case? If our parents weren't so intent on... "pushy dating advice".

"Would you like some lovely news, Dearest?" Whispers my sister, as she sweeps us past some upset looking maids, towards the tea room. I nod. "I've made some wonderful headway with some... ambitious gentlemen, about your little cockroach problem. They are quite efficient. I'm likely to recommend them."

I stiffle a snort. Oh my god. My sister sent thugs after a few of the suitors? Holy shit! That's amazing! Is THAT why I haven't seen them around lately? They got scared?

We settle in our seats. Tea and snacks. The maid looks... nervous. Weird. My sister smiles kindly, somehow startling the poor thing, making her flinch. Oh dear. I try to smile reassuringly. No harm no foul, right? Yet the poor girl reacts like I've cast myself into a lion pit for her. Flees.

....I'm beginning to suspect someone is abusing our waitstaff.

It's probably that bastard lech of a fiance.

We need to keep him away from the maids. And me. Women in general honesty. If I had my say, he wouldn't be allowed near my SISTER either. But she insists, and- Oooh! This one's CUTE! Sis, Sis! LOOK at the little details on this one!

"Hmm? Oh that IS lovely! Do you like it? If so, we shall sample it at once. I want the day to be perfect for us, Dearest. You're my world after all. There's NOTHING I wouldn't give you. A shame though, that our parent's will likely be too sick to see me wed."

It really was. I had my differences with them, but... it was their DAUGHTER'S WEDDING you know? Whatever they had caught, during their endless string of parties, was ravaging their health. It seemed agonizing. Slow. Yet even in the midst of planning her WEDDING, all the gossip and backstabbing, my sister dutifully visited them. Brought them tea and kept them company.

I didn't know how she could bear it.

She was a better person then I, I guess.

[srbachchan]

DAY 6027

Jalsa, Mumbai Aug 18, 2024 Sun 11:04 pm

Birthday - EF - Jaishree Sharad Monday, 19 August .. to the enterprising hard working Jaishree .. and our wishes for greater glory .. ❤️❤️🌺

Many felt that the Sunday meets have not been projected on the Blog .. but I feel your love is all that needs to be recorded - in my heart !

Nothing more ..

But then , when I have ever not followed the Ef suggestions and corrections and wants .. some could not happen, yes .. the show for KALKI .. and the clothes for charity .. but it will and shall .. soon ..

and some from the work environ ..

.. and whenever there is a need and a time to spend by the self , it has always been with the thoughts of Babuji ..

As I read the Tulsidas Ramayan each day , I find little jottings in pencil on the verses and words and expressions , by him .. they are not entirely legible, but they must have reason to be there , and the reason could well be his notes from the Ramayan when he must have been doing the translation of the Geeta into the language and graph of this epic , the Jan Geeta ..

This is only a thought .. it could have been more .. and in time I shall find out what these markings were and why ..

So the day ends with Babuji and his letters to the many that linked with him and his ritual of responding to each one in his own hand writing .. and the questions asked and the responses given on his body of work, giving reason for the purpose of each poem or the prose or the thesis that he wrote and also the translations of great works of his time and others .. Shakespeare, WB Yeats et al, including some of the works of prominent Russian Poets ..

So I muse and search .. and find great philosophy and words of immense meaning ..

" my poetry is the poetry of those that have struggled with life .. my readers know me thus .. those who do not know me thus , they do not know me ..

when did I ever say that I have come to give the ultimate truth of life .. if I can give just one truth of life i would consider myself blessed .."

" what can I give to society ..?? 😁 today , what is most prominent is the desire to give , without having , without achieving .. when you have, if you achieve, if you become something , if you be something .. then the problem of giving shall never be there .."

" who are the poets that have impressed me ? .. let my readers see, tell and prove .. if there is not a need to do all this research, then read my poetry, if you can, and derive pleasure from it, .. to be impressed by someone depends on your own kshmta क्षमता,.. your own capacity .. to have read heard someone and not be impressed , then there must be a reason of it - either a shortcoming in them, or a shortcoming in me ..

I am not too conversant with modern American Poetry, my knowledge of it has been almost negligible ..

My birthday happens on the 27th of November .. but how is that such a special day that it should be celebrated ..

the poet Iqbal has said :

'many a poet is born after his death '

I remember .. because I do 🙏

Amitabh Bachchan

[1arkspur-aconitum]

SOULS OF POETS (s.r.)

SOULS OF POETS DEAD AND GONE, WHAT ELYSIUM HAVE YOU KNOWN?

[PART ONE OF THREE]

IN WHICH: Spencer discovers more about Juniper’s previous work history, and it is not to his taste.

PAIRING: Season3!Spencer Reid/Fem!BAU!OC

CATEGORY: angst

CONTENT: strip-clubs, common BAU violence, the team being little shits, established secret relationship, Spencer being mean, not a happy ending (in this part at least)

WORD COUNT: 8k… (I got a bit carried away)

PUBLISHED: 16/10/24

TO SAY THIS ISN’T HOW I was expecting today to go would be an understatement.

Sure, we end up on some of the most bizarre cases in the FBI, but the chances of this happening are slim to none—I am not Dr. Reid, so I am unable to give you an exact statistic, but I reckon it would be in the 1:1 bajillion ballpark.

Normally the cases are bizarre because of M.O., or because the people we deal with are strange; I still remember that one interview Emily and I had with that frankly absurd woman with way too many garden gnomes inside her house. Or the time Derek and I found a dude in his bath, stark naked, the tub filled with what I have told myself was milk, and have refused to ponder any other possibilities since.

All that to say, we get weird shit at the BAU.

Yet when I walked in this morning and saw the photos, and read the case file, I was more nervous for this than I had been for any bomb or kidnapping case.

To the others, it looks perfectly average. Localised crime scene, moderately high-risk victims, a clear comfort zone. New York City isn’t far from D.C and we have a good relationship with the police working on the case already. Seems simple enough.

But even as I sit on the plane, knees up to my chest, I still feel as if I can’t take a proper breath. As I try to force myself to take one, I catch Emily’s concerned glance from across the aisle. She knows me too well.

I clear my throat and force myself to adjust. Dropping my knees underneath the table, I spread the photos across the table in front of me. Women’s bodies–hands and feet removed–shoved into the bins out the back of a strip of clubs ranging from gay bars, to strip joints, to your average night-out with the girls club.

Shoved into bins. Nothing better than rubbish.

To my left, Spencer is busy pouring over a map of the NYC suburbs. He’s armed with his favourite set of coloured pens, slender fingers idly tapping the lid on his chin as he thinks it over. Spencer, as always, looks adorable. Messy hair, loose tie, those cheekbones–the little furrow he gets between his eyebrows when he’s thinking. With his lips parted in focus, I can’t help but let my knee press against his under the table.

He smiles privately, not once looking up from his map. It’s the only concession to tenderness he’ll give me at work. The only one he can whilst we’re keeping our relationship hidden from the team.

‘So, when we land, I want us to hit the ground running,’ Hotch announces, drawing all of our attention to him. He looks at us gravely in turn. ‘We have to handle this one with tact, especially considering the subject matter–JJ and Rossi, I want you guys to head to the police station and help us get set up.’

‘That should be fun.’ Rossi says without a trace of humour in his tone. ‘The local police always get antsy about us treating these cases like they’re important–’

‘They are important.’ The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them, sounding a lot harsher than I originally intended. Rossi stops mid sentence. All eyes turn to me. Flushing, I pick at my fingernails as Spencer jostles my knee gently. ‘I’m sorry. It just pisses me off that people treat them like they aren’t.’

‘I know that, but the local police don't always.’ Rossi reminds me gently, flashing me the palms of his hands. A classic sign of apology. I incline my head and don’t say anything else. Emily is still watching me from across the aisle with those perceptive eyes of hers. ‘So JJ and I will do our best to get them on board.’

‘The rest of us are going to head to the main club that’s been targeted,’ Hotch has an air of disapproval in his tone, sending me a quick glare to remind me that I am the source of his anger. I sink lower into my seat, biting my lips shut. I shouldn’t have said anything at all. ‘See what we can find out about the place, the locals.’

‘Are you okay?’ Spencer murmurs to me under his breath a few moments later. The rest of the team have devolved back into their previous conversations, so the sweetness in his voice isn’t as easily detected. He is looking at me with those annoyingly perceptive, wide brown eyes. It’s like he’s peering deep into my skin and I don’t like it.

‘What? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?’ I close myself off, folding my arms and trying to work some of the tension out of my jaw. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s not Spencer’s fault, and even genius Spencer Reid doesn’t have all of the pieces to finally puzzle this together.

‘I don’t know…is it because we’re going to New York City?’

‘What’s made you think I don’t like New York?’

‘Well…I know you lived there for a while after you dropped out of Cornell–’

‘I took a break from Cornell, I went back eventually.’ I scowl at him, brushing some loose strands of hair away from my face. Spencer quirks his eyebrows but I can tell he’s laughing internally at me. ‘I completed that degree, thank you very much. I just…’

‘You just what?’ He bumps his warm shoulder gently against mine.

‘This case…’ I pick up a picture of one of the bins–the woman inside has her legs spread, blood crusted around where her feet used to be, the short skirt she was wearing shoved up around her hips. She seems so painfully familiar. ‘There’s something…there’s something personal about it.’

The next time I look at Spencer, his lips are slightly pursed, eyes narrowed. If I were to lean in, I’m ninety percent sure that I could hear the cogs in his brain working. The idea of Spencer finding out concerns me more than I want it to. Rechecking my microexpressions, I plaster on a mildly bored smile. He doesn’t believe it. I can tell immediately. Yet he still can’t put a pin on why I’m lying.

‘I feel bad,’ I say, doing my best to pace the words to a steady, ordinary beat. ‘These women are as deserving of respect as anyone else, and yet somehow they always end up being the ones covered in rubbish.’

Spencer nods slowly, apparently satisfied with this, but the narrowness to his usually wide eyes doesn’t fully lift. I can tell that I have not heard the last of this. Spencer Reid is nothing if not persistent–at least he won’t have to wait long to find out, because I know that as soon as we get off the plane, I’m on a deadline. An hourglass with only a teaspoon of sand left.

I lean back into the seat and wait to meet my terrible fate.

Elysium is everything you would expect from a strip-club.

Bleak and unassuming exterior, with one door manned by a beefy looking security guard, and several cameras aimed at the entrance. Inside it’s dark and seedy, the walls painted black to better enhance the vibrant colours of the strobe lights. They pulse in time to the music; a classic pop song I recognise, pumped through massive speakers at an almost deafening volume. The beat is so nostalgic I resist the urge to tap my foot.

We step into the main room and my heart stammers. It’s still laid out the same–a big raised platform at the back of the room with three poles, two currently in use. The women curve around the silver poles, the low lights slicking off of their curves. There’s a catwalk down the centre with a few loose notes blanketing it like leaves. The door to the right with the big neon ‘PRIVATE’ sign above it sits resolutely locked. The extensive bar has several scantily dressed women lean against it, talking to the patrons. It’s so familiar that I am suddenly twenty one again, walking into this place for the first time.

‘Can I help you?’ A voice says and I drag my attention from the bar.

The lady talking to Hotch hasn’t changed either. She’s still got that impossibly divine smooth skin, but she’s swapped the belly button piercing since I last saw her. It’s now a golden teardrop embellished in green that swings as she moves. Long dreads hang down to her waist and she’s dressed in the little gold number she always saved for big payouts. She must be planning on scoring high tonight. Despite myself, I let my face split into a broad smile.

‘Yes, actually could–’ Hotch starts, pointedly looking at her face rather than the rest of her body. Spencer is trying not to look at her breasts and failing–and I don’t think Derek even makes the attempt to be discreet. He’s like a kid in a sweet shop. The woman lifts her hand to silence him, brown eyes settling onto mine.

‘No fucking way.’ Tia takes two steps towards me, vibrant eyes scouring my figure. The last time she saw me, I would have been caught dead in a pair of suit trousers and a button down, yet here I am. I flare my arms away from my body, as if to say ‘yes way’. ‘June–Junebug!’

‘Hi, Tia.’ I laugh as she throws herself at me. Her strong arms wrap around my shoulders and she presses her body tightly against mine. The team is openly ogling at me as the stripper gives me the biggest, friendliest hug ever. I don’t look at them, though, face buried in her neck. She smells like cigarette smoke and vetiver perfume. ‘I’m afraid this isn’t a friendly visit.’

‘Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.’ Tia grins, gesturing at the gun holstered at my hip before she grabs me again. When she speaks next, she shakes me to punctuate each word. ‘Ugh, I’m so glad to see you! You don’t visit us enough, and you said you would.’

‘I know, T, I’m sorry.’ I extricate myself from her arms, wincing awkwardly at my team. I feel very exposed. There will be time for explanations later, though, and right now I’m busy basking in the warmth of an old friend. She’s right. I haven’t visited nearly as often as I said I would. Regret seeps through my pores. ‘We’re here to ask some questions about the murders that have been going on?’

‘Oh, of course.’ Tia immediately loses the air of excitement, brow furrowing. She inspects the team as a whole again, noting the way they’re looking between us with a curious air. When she looks back at me, she raises a quizzical brow. I shake my head–explanations later. Tia, ever the saint, doesn’t push the issue. ‘Come on, do you want to head to the back office? I’ll get some of the girls together but Harold is already in there, waiting to talk to you.’

‘Harold still works here?’ I blink, surprised.

‘Yeah, he does–his hip is bothering him more now, but he’s still kickin’,’ Tia loops her arm through mine and starts to lead me through the strip club. I can hear the sounds of my team whispering behind me as they fall into line, but I pointedly ignore them. Nosy buggers. ‘You would know that if you came to visit.’

‘I already feel guilty about it,’ I knock her with my elbow. ‘No need to make me feel worse.’

‘I’m just glad you’re here now.’ Tia presses a sticky, lip gloss kiss to my cheek as we stop by another inconsequential door. It’s been painted black to match the walls, designed to be unobserved by the patrons. The amount of secret spaces in this place is unprecedented, rat runs sprawling through the bowls of Elysium. It took me months to learn where all the nooks and crannies were. I scowl petulantly. ‘You remember where you’re going?’

‘Of course, I mean, how could I forget?’ I flash her my cheekiest of grins.

I cross my arms as I wait for the team to catch up with us, leaning back against the wall.

Derek is currently casually flirting with one of the barmaids–someone I do not recognise–which doesn’t surprise me. Hotch is scouring the layout of the place, pointedly avoiding looking at the half-naked women gyrating around poles, or meandering around laps.

Emily has that shit-eating grin on her face, striding towards me and Tia, and Spencer is staring down at his hands as he follows in Emily’s wake.

Thinking about it, I wonder if Spencer has ever even stepped foot in a strip club before. It doesn’t seem like his kind of vibe, but you never know. Spencer is always full of surprises.

‘I’m gonna get Jas, she’ll die when she sees you.’ Tia grins as Emily arrives, bouncing off into the crowd. Tia has always been my favourite; she was the one who took me under her wing when I first arrived at Elysium, who gave me a place to stay when I didn’t have anywhere. The fact that she’s still here hurts my heart like a bruise. We always said we’d get out together.

‘You, ma’am, have a lot of explaining to do.’ Emily grins at me when she gets within earshot, grabbing my elbow. She loves this.

‘There isn’t much to explain,’ I try, but then Derek appears on my other side and I know I am done for. ‘Seriously.’

‘What, so you’re just casually friends with strippers?’

‘What’s wrong with being friends with strippers?’ I retort, turning pleading eyes to Spencer.

Spencer Reid looks as uncomfortable as possible–his shoulders are tense, hand to his lips, that slight frown between his eyebrows. He’s physically trying to make himself smaller by curving his shoulders inwards. Whenever someone nearly naked walks past him, he deliberately makes a lot of space. If his eyeline drifts for more than a few seconds, he’s instantly staring down at his feet again, cheeks blazing red hot. When he meets my gaze, though, he cannot hide the subtle hint of interest. It becomes clear that Spencer is not the person I should look to for help.

Balls.

‘Hey, you know I’m not complaining–’

‘Shut up, Derek, you’re just salty because she kissed me.’ I shove him in the chest, realising I’m not going to get any help from anyone involved. I’m on my own. Turning away from them, I rap on the door. ‘I can feel your stupid grin, Morgan–and yours too, Prentiss.’

‘Ooo, the last names, someone means business.’ Emily teases, but a voice from inside the room invites us in, and I take this as my saving grace.

I open the door to the small back office, holding it wide with my foot so the rest of my team can trickle in. The office is relatively small, lined with filing cabinets, and manned by a desk covered in papers and an overflowing ashtray. Someone has replaced the wooden chairs with two comfier looking arm chairs, though they still look slightly weathered in the dim light. The ceiling fan above is still laden with cobwebs and dust, perpetually unused. Yet another thing that hasn’t changed.

Once the door is shut behind us, I turn my attention to the man sitting behind the desk.

‘June?’ Harold spots me first, his Texan voice thickened by tar and smoke. He has more wrinkles around his eyes now, but the smile is as blinding as the last time I saw it. Harold’s beard is streaked with white, and when he pushes himself to his feet, the silver cane is new, too. ‘Junebug? Is that really you?’

‘Alive and in the flesh.’ I smile, reaching out to hug him as he hobbles towards me. Harold was the one who gave me that moniker barely two days after I started working here. There’s something about the way he says it that doesn’t make me feel like he’s being condescending–in fact, it just reminds me that someone loves me enough to say a nickname with such adoration. I wrap my arms around him and hold on tightly. I try not to focus on how he feels thinner underneath me.

‘So,’ Harold says, stepping away from me but not letting go of my waist–I don’t know if it’s for support or just for show. I don’t really mind either way. He inspects the rest of my team, who are standing awkwardly around. None of them can hide the thinly veiled amusement from their faces, nor the bright curiosity. ‘These your friends?’

‘Yup.’ I nod, not meeting any of their eyes. There’s too much going on right now. Shame is a powerful emotion and even though I know I shouldn’t feel it, I can’t exactly control my own brain. ‘Uh, SSA Hotchner, Prentiss, and Morgan–and that’s Dr. Reid looking uncomfortable in the corner. We’re with the FBI.’

‘The FBI huh?’ Harold affixes me with that appraising stare before pushing away from me. I follow him, keeping my arm out for support. He plops himself down in his chair and leans back. Waggles his cane at me. ‘I never thought one of my best dancers would make it up into the big leagues like that. Good on you, Junebug.’

And there it is.

It takes Spencer about three seconds to process that information. About two times faster than it does for anyone else in the room. I can see the realisation burning red hot behind his brown eyes when he jerks them to me. I can’t hide my expression quickly enough–my blink is all he needs to confirm what Harold said. Spencer’s eyes cloud for a second, lips parted.

When he cocks his head curiously, I can tell exactly what he’s thinking. What he’s imagining in that brain of his. What a little shit. When his eyes focus again, he sees my look of disapproval and flushes. Then, his expression changes–closes off. Becomes unreadable. It’s an annoying talent he has and one of the most frustrating things about him.

‘Thanks, H.’ I clear my throat, ignoring the mercilessly gleeful grin on Emily’s face. ‘Guys, this is Harold, he’s the manager here–if something happened, Harold is the one who’s most likely to know about it.’

‘You were a stripper?’ Derek blurts out. Of course he would be the one to ask first. It just encourages Emily, though. Soon enough, both of them are peppering me with questions like they’re rubber bullets.

‘How long did you work here?’

‘Yeah–were you good?’

‘Why didn’t you tell us?’

‘Do you still dance?’

‘Was she good?’ Derek directs this last question to Harold, evidently not satisfied with my silence.

‘Jesus Christ, guys, it’s not exactly relevant, is it?’ I snap, feeling a familiar burn of anger and shame. Spencer has remained, thankfully, silent, but is watching me with that blank expression. It’s unsettling. ‘Can we focus? I’ll answer your questions later, we’re here about several murders, let’s not get distracted by the fact that I used to be a stripper.’

‘You ain’t told ‘em till just now?’ Harold says from his seat, voice tinged with amusement and something that strikes me too much as sorrow. When I look at him, he’s surprisingly sad. It hurts me right in the centre of my chest. ‘I can understand that. There ain’t any shame in it, though, Junebug. You loved it here. Sure, you were at rock-bottom, but e’ryone who comes here is. It’s an absolute joy to see you doin’ somethin’ fulfillin’.’

‘Stop it, Harold,’ I say, the words choked somewhere in the back of my throat. A tingling sensation behind my nose threatens to make me sob. His words carve away at something within me, a part of me I haven’t thought about since…well, since I left Elysium. Avoiding looking at the others, I step around to the withered old man. Rest my hand on his shoulder. The next words are a breath of sadness. ‘Thank you.’

He understands that that’s not just for his words today. It’s for everything.

Harold gives me that sad smile again and rests his own hand on top of mine. It’s a connection I haven’t had in a while–Harold always reminded me of my father. Seeing him again is like seeing the ghost of my dad. I can’t afford to break down in front of the others, not when we’re here for a job, so blink furiously at the silver lining around my eyes. I plaster a smile on.

‘Bishop,’ Hotch says, voice low and measured. His words are not unkind and he is the only one out of the entire team that does not look disturbed, surprised, or horrified. Realistically, Hotch probably already knew this about me. I imagine it’s on my file somewhere. ‘If you need to go to the police station, you can. We can handle the questions here.’

‘It’s alright,’ I say, taking a deep breath and schooling my features. I do my best to forget where I am, who I am with–I try to become Dr. Bishop, the FBI agent working on a case that she has no personal connection to. ‘I can do it. Besides, I think Tia might kill me if I leave before she can accost me again.’

‘Alright, then.’ Hotch nods briskly, and the questioning begins.

Hotch leads it, as usual, Derek and Emily still staring at me with those aghast expressions. I don’t care about them, though. Whilst Hotch and Harold discuss the recent murders (three of the girls had been new dancers at Elysium, some of them regulars) and if Harold saw anything suspicious (a few odd cars, but most people who come here are unusual or strange), I keep my eyes trained on Spencer. I want to see what his reaction is, to gauge if I should start thinking about damage control.

He’s busy scouring the room, taking at each of the pictures on the wall. They're all of the dancers Harold has employed. I’m up there somewhere. I wonder if that’s what Spencer is looking for. He stands with one arm across his lower stomach, the other brought up to his chest. Long fingers rub the sharpness of his jaw idly. His eyes work furiously across the walls, committing everything to memory.

Spencer has always been good at disguising his microexpressions, so I doubt that I can ever truly work out what he is thinking from just observing him. The blankness hasn’t gone from him.

I hope he’s relaxed, though, and not severely freaked out. I have no idea what I would do if he was severely freaked out.

‘Hey, Junebug!’ Tia’s melodic voice cuts through my panic crisis-prepping brain fog as she steps into the room, making Spencer jump. I turn to look and see that my gorgeous friend is dragging yet another gorgeous friend into the office. The other girl is tall, willowy, with ice-blonde hair that she’s been carefully maintaining since I knew her. She is wearing a pair of thigh-high blue boots and the tiniest lingerie set I have ever seen. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, this one was a nightmare to find.’

‘It’s true!’ Jas squeaks, her eyes widening as she lays them on me. I barely have enough time to process her being there before she launches herself at me. Despite the fact that she is all bone, Jas is surprisingly strong, and squeezes her arms around my neck. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. It’s been so long, what the fuck, June, where have you been?!’

‘Whoa, there, Jas,’ Tia chuckles, gripping Jas by the shoulders and extricating her from me. Grateful, I rub the spot where Jas’s acrylic nails dug into my skin. ‘Give her some breathing space. She’s with the FBI, silly, didn’t you hear me say that?’

‘You’re such a bitch.’ Jas scowls at me as she shakes Tia off, and hits me hard in the upper arm. I yelp in pain, staring at her with an affronted look. She pats the spot where she hit me apologetically. ‘I’m sorry, I just missed you.’

‘No need to get violent.’ I remind her, turning her around to face the rest of my team. ‘We’re here to ask you some questions about the recent murders?’

‘FBI?’ Jas scans my team, her eyes widening as they sweep over each member. Her gaze lingers on Spencer, and I can see the familiar glint of interest sparking in her eyes. She lets out a long, low, appreciative whistle that seems to echo around the small office. I can tell immediately what’s going through her mind, and I brace myself for what is about to happen. Jas angles her head like a cat watching a bird. Her posture shifts. ‘Well, hello there. Aren’t you the most handsome man I’ve ever seen?’

Spencer’s reaction is immediate and intense. His face flushes a deep crimson, the blush spreading down underneath his collar when he realises that she is talking to him. His eyes, wide with surprise and discomfort, immediately lock desperately on me. The way he shifts his weight from foot to foot, his hands fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, is so endearingly awkward that I can’t help but find it utterly adorable.

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing as I watch Jas saunter seductively towards him, hips swaying with each step.

‘Jasmine,’ I interject, my voice is thick with warning, hoping that that hides the jealousy I’m feeling as she begins to circle Spencer like a shark. She trails a hand across the back of his shoulders and I have to resist the urge to physically remove it. Only I am allowed to touch Spencer like that. ‘Behave, please. That’s my colleague.’

What I really want to say is ‘that’s my boyfriend you’re pawing at’, but I can’t. Not when the team is standing right there, watching with varying degrees of amusement. The secret aspect of our relationship hasn’t bothered me as much as it does right now. I don’t know what to do.

‘Oh, come on, Junebug, you’ve never been a prude.’ Jas flashes me a familiar, mischievous grin as she casually straightens Spencer’s collar from behind, her nails scraping across his shirt. I know that expression–I’ve seen it on her several times before she scores a big payout, and Jas always scores big. Bitter jealousy twists in the base of my stomach. ‘If I remember correctly, you would have been all over this one a few years ago. Let me have my fun. What’s your name, handsome?’

‘I–I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.’ He stammers, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he finds the ceiling very interesting. I can practically feel the heat radiating from him. Part of me wants to intervene, to yank her away from him and put an end to this little performance. But another part, a part I am decidedly not proud of, wants to see what Spencer will do. It’s a test of sorts, though I am not sure what I am testing or why.

‘Dr. Spencer Reid.’ Jas purrs, drawing out each syllable as if it’s fine wine. She completes her predatory circle to stand in front of Spencer, giving me an excellent view of her pert behind. It’s not exactly hidden in the thong she’s donned. She twists a stray strand of his hair around her finger. Spencer flinches away from her touch, and I can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. I want to tell her to back off but Derek’s amused expression stops me. ‘A doctor–you’ve always loved a man with brains, Junebug. So, Spencer, what brings you to Elysium? Looking for some extracurricular studies?’

‘We–we’re here about the, the recent murders…’ Spencer chokes out, his voice strained and higher than usual. He’s still staring resolutely at the ceiling, as if trying to solve some complicated mathematical equation etched into the plaster.

‘Yes, we are.’ Hotch cuts in, his voice taking on a sharp and authoritative tone. He places a firm hand on Spencer’s shoulder, effectively creating a barrier between him and Jasmine. I feel a rush of gratitude towards my Unit Chief for doing what I could not. ‘We’re hoping you could help us by answering some questions, not by accosting a Federal Agent.’

‘I suppose.’ Jas pouts dramatically, but there is a glimmer of understanding in her eyes. She knows she’s pushed the boundaries a little bit too far. Her shoulders slump in defeat, but she turns back to Spencer. ‘I guess I can behave. But only if the good doctor here promises to buy me a drink. What do you say, gorgeous? Care to hear some stories about our Junebug’s wilder days?’

‘I will buy you that drink, Jasmine.’ I interject quickly, my words coming out harsher than intended. My hand shoots out, curling around her upper arm as I tug her a few steps away from Spencer. I fix her with a stern look, eyebrow raised in silent warning. ‘Leave Spencer alone.’

‘Fine, June, you absolute spoil sport.’ She hisses at me, but there’s no real venom in her tone. If anything, there’s a hint of amusement, as if she’s enjoying this power play. It wouldn’t surprise me. ‘Why don’t all of us go out for a drink, then, if I can’t have Spencer by himself?’

‘Can we focus, please?’ I sigh, not liking the way both Emily and Derek have perked up upon hearing the possibility of getting the juicy information about my ‘wilder days’ as Jasmine so kindly phrased it. ‘We are here on official business–we can gossip later, alright?’

‘Alright, alright, message received.’ Jas rolls her eyes but finally relents. She sits down on Harold’s desk, looking expectantly up at us. ‘Ask away.’

‘Don’t think you can escape, Juniper Bishop.’

Balls.

I turn around sheepishly, one hand on the door to my hotel room. I was so close. If I hadn’t stopped to stock up on snacks, I might have escaped, might have managed to prolong the inevitable until I felt ready to face it. That’s the unfortunate thing about the inevitable, though. It always comes around eventually.

There, standing at the end of the corridor, are Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, and JJ. I only need to take one look at the blonde to realise that they have already dobbed me in, and have caught her up to speed about what happened at Elysium. They stand there like hunters spotting prey and knowing it has nowhere else to run.

‘Seriously, guys? Now?’ I sigh, leaning against the doorframe and readjusting the snacks in my arms–the vending machine was limited, but it had Oreos, and that’s good enough for me. Hair falls into my face as I hang my head. ‘I was just gonna watch a film and go to sleep…’

‘Not happening.’ Emily announces, striding over to me and grabbing my upper arm. ‘We’re going to the bar.’

‘The bar?’ I say, dragging my feet but letting her lead me over to the others. I don’t like the way they are looking at me. I feel like a student being dragged to the headmaster’s office for a scolding. ‘We haven’t solved the case yet, surely it’s a bad idea to drink on the job?’

‘Then order a soda.’ JJ grips my other arm and they frog march me towards the top of the stairs.

‘Guys.’ I whine, trying to dig my heels into the plush carpet, and failing spectacularly. It’s no use. I am dragged rather roughly down the stairs and towards the hotel bar, my protests falling on deaf ears. ‘Come on, this is ridiculous–’

‘What’s going on?’

‘Spencer, save me!’ I call, looking over my shoulder to spot my handsome boyfriend by the lift, his head angled curiously as he witnesses what is essentially my death march. JJ and Emily take no prisoners, though, and continue to haul me towards the bar.

‘We’re just gonna ask her some questions, that’s all.’ Derek says, talking to Spencer as if he’s just found out that I am a suspect in a gruesome murder. Spencer blinks, confused, and starts to trail after us. ‘Care to join?’

When we reach the bar, I am deposited unceremoniously into a booth, being wedged in by Emily and opposed by JJ. Derek and Spencer don’t take long to join us, the former drifting off towards the bar with a firm warning not to start without him. The latter sits down beside JJ. I glare at them, arms folded across my chest, Oreos abandoned on the table.

‘You brought this upon yourself, you know.’ Emily says, all high and mighty. She rests her elbows on the bar and cocks her head at me. ‘I mean, I knew there was something…different about you, but this? This is not what I was expecting.’

‘Oh my God.’ I groan, staring down at the table rather than at their three pairs of inquisitorial eyes. Spencer’s gaze is the hardest one to avoid and the worst one to meet. He’s guarded his expression so I can’t fully read it, but judging from the way he has his arms crossed, he isn’t going to come to my rescue. Evidently he’s just as curious as the rest of them. ‘Was all this really necessary?’

‘You were the one trying to hole up in your room.’ JJ says with a casual shrug, glancing over to where Derek is paying for a selection of drinks. ‘Forgive us for trying to get to the bottom of this.’

‘There isn’t anything to get to the bottom of!’ I say, voice rising in volume and in pitch. ‘I think you guys are making this out to be worse than it actually is.’

‘Aw, come on, hotstuff, we’re just curious.’ Derek says, putting down a circular black tray in the middle of the table. He divvies off the drinks, placing what suspiciously looks like a G&T in front of me. Despite my earlier reluctance to imbibe, I’m kind of grateful. I might need alcohol to get through this. Once he’s done, he pulls up a stool and heads the table. ‘Can you blame us?’

‘Yes.’ I retort, slumping back in my seat and scowling. ‘Fine. Fine. Ask away.’

‘How come you never told us you used to be a stripper?!’ Emily cuts right to the chase, leaning forward even further. If her eyes could get any wider, they would. She resembles one of those weird marsupials with the long fingers that tap on trees to eat the bugs.

‘It…it never came up.’ I shrug, running my finger along the edge of my glass and glancing at Spencer. He’s still utterly unreadable, stirring the ice around his drink with a straw. He’s watching me carefully, probably looking for any microexpressions or tells–fucker knows me too well at this point. Unlike him, I’ve never been good at hiding things. ‘It’s not exactly something you just casually tell people, especially when you now work for the FBI. It’s…frowned upon.’

‘I suppose I can understand that.’ JJ concedes, taking a sip of her drink. ‘When were you working there?’

‘Oh, maybe, like, five, six years ago?’ I copy her movement, letting the gin blaze down my throat. It’s relaxing.

‘So…was this before or after your PhD?’

‘After. I was in the middle of completing another undergrad at Cornell when…well, when I started to dance.’

‘Another undergrad?’ Derek says, apparently more surprised at my academic achievements than the fact that I used to get naked and dance around for money.

‘Yes, Derek, another one.’ I laugh, sipping my drink again and let myself watch Spencer watching me. ‘I was bored after finishing my PhD and felt like doing another degree–it was psychology, which now that I think about it, is kind of ironic.’

‘So…were you dancing to pay off your debt?’ Emily asks, her curiosity piqued. Her bright brown eyes sparkle with intrigue. I’m apparently the most fascinating thing she has seen in quite some time. ‘I mean, degrees are expensive, were you having money problems?’

‘No, it wasn’t the money.’ I confirm, eyes flickering down to trace the pattern of the wood. I have to be careful here, and I have to choose my words with the utmost precision. God, sometimes talking to these guys feels a lot like sitting an exam. ‘It was…well, there were a lot of things going on, and I felt very out of control. I don’t know, I think dancing gave me the control…and the escape…that I needed.’

‘There are other ways to get control.’ Spencer finally speaks, and I almost flinch at the rawness of his words. When I look at him, he’s staring down into his drink. His tone is laced with disapproval. ‘Why…why would you do something like that?’

‘Don’t get me wrong, I have no shame in it.’ I say, somewhat harsher than intended. ‘I loved dancing. It was empowering and freeing, and brought me a lot of joy. But I started it for the wrong reasons, and unfortunately it facilitated habits I really should have been trying to break rather than…well, rather than indulging.’

‘And, according to Harold, you were good. In fact, I think he said you were one of the best.’ Derek grins cheekily at me, eyes roving over my body. I can see Spencer tense out of the corner of my eye at Derek’s words, his shoulders closing inwards. This is dangerous territory.

‘Stop picturing it, Morgan–never gonna happen.’ I flick an ice cube at him, but laugh to show him I am actually teasing.

‘Wait, really?’ Emily sounds genuinely upset, gaping at me. The concept that Emily Prentiss was actually considering asking me to dance for her blows my mind.

‘Oh, come off it, I’m not gonna strip for my coworkers!’

‘Even if I paid you?’ Derek flirts, leaning towards me and flashing me his characteristic wink.

‘Oh, Derek, sweetheart,’ I let the words roll around my tongue, let them drip seductively from my lips. I focus all of my attention onto him as if he were another patron eager for something from Elysium. My eyes trail slowly across his handsome face, lingering on the firm jaw, sticking to his slightly parted mouth. Derek swallows–hard. He leans in just a little bit more. ‘You wouldn’t be able to afford me.’

‘Damn…’ Derek blinks as if clearing his eyes off water. The others (minus Spencer) are laughing at us, and I join in. Derek, to his credit, moves past it with dignity. ‘Worth a shot, eh.’

‘You’re a pig, Morgan,’ JJ steps to my rescue, sneering at our coworker. ‘What would Garcia say if she could hear that?’

‘Hell, she’d probably ask me to split the cost with her.’ Derek winks at me again, but I don’t indulge him this time. I’m watching Spencer, and my heart is sinking.

He hasn’t touched his drink. It just sits in front of him, condensation forming a ring around the bottom. Spencer is staring down into it as if it’s the most interesting thing he has ever seen, eyes narrowed, lips pursed. I know that if I looked under the table, his hands are most likely either fiddling with the seam of his slacks, or balled in his lap.

He looks…angry. Hurt. Betrayed, almost. I don’t really blame him. It’s a lot to hear, and I should have told him when he asked me about it on the plane. Spencer doesn’t ask for much, but what he does ask for is transparency. Truth.

I don’t know why I didn’t tell him. I want to reach out and touch him, apologise for not mentioning it to him, and apologise for the fact that when I am telling him, it’s surrounded by our coworkers. I can’t reassure him in the way that I want.

What I want to do is hold him and kiss him and tell him that none of the past matters now that my future is his. I have never regretted keeping our relationship underwraps–it works for us, especially considering it’s so new, but…but right now, it sucks.

As I continue to watch him adamantly not looking at me, I wonder if I actually do know the reason why I didn’t tell him. Maybe I didn’t tell him because some small part of me didn’t want him looking at me like that. Like I am dirty, or impure, or whatever disgusting words people use for strippers.

‘So, let me get this straight.’ JJ is saying, seeing off the remainders of her drink. ‘You started dancing because you were in a rough patch. That’s fine. What made you stop?’

‘Hah, my mother.’ My laughter is dry, and I take another sip of my drink. ‘She’s very good at being disappointed. She basically sorted me out, sent me off to complete my undergrad. I haven’t danced since.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Sometimes, Em, sometimes.’ I smile at her, trying to squish down any thoughts of Spencer’s upset gaze. ‘I mean, not the sleazy pricks, or the teenagers who don’t know how to listen to boundaries, but I miss my friends–Tia, Jas, Harold–and I miss the freeness of it. If you guys haven’t had some kind of pole class or something, I seriously recommend it.’

‘You could teach us.’ JJ suggests.

I laugh dryly, swilling my drink. ‘You and Emily, sure, but Spencer and Derek on a pole? Could be questionable…’

‘Hey, I’ll have you know I would be a very good stripper!’

‘Whatever you say, Derek.’ I roll my eyes at him but I can’t stop the laughter. I finish off my drink and am very glad that I decided to accept it. Alcohol warms me from the inside. Makes this whole conversation so much easier. ‘So…are you guys satisfied? Can I go to bed–can I eat my Oreos?’

‘No way, Hops, we’re only just getting started.’ Emily grins naughtily at me and gestures for Derek to get another round. Before he can, though, Spencer is already standing and walking away from the table towards the bar without a word. Ouch. It’s clear he’s not very impressed. He hasn’t even finished his drink. ‘We still have so many questions.’

‘Like, did you have a stage name?’

‘What kind of dances did you do? Pole, group, private?’

‘Did you have a signature move?’

‘Do you still have a stripper playlist? If so, can I have it?’

‘Did you ever fall off the pole?’

‘What was the most money you made in one night?’

‘Did you have any regulars? Like, people who came in just to see you?’

‘Did any of them ever try to take you home?’

‘Did you let them?’

‘Oh my God, guys!’ I have to slam my hands on the table to get them to shut up, the words coming in a breathless laugh. I think Derek might have gotten me a double because the alcohol has loosened my tongue and I’m genuinely considering answering them. ‘One question at a time, please.’

It is then that Spencer returns, passing around the drinks quickly. He can’t even look me in the eye as he sits down and goes back to staring into his drink. My mind whirrs with ways to rectify this problem, but it’s not as if I can go back and change the past. Spencer has to come to terms with this on his own merit, and all I can do is wait.

‘Tell us everything.’ Emily gushes, taking a healthy swig of her fresh drink.

‘Everything? Do you think you can handle everything, Spencer?’ I don’t know why I call him out like that. As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them. I chase the icky feeling away with a swig of another double G&T.

Spencer finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine for the first time in what feels like hours. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze–hurt, maybe? Anger? Perhaps even a hint of arousal. I can’t fully tell, and that scares me. Spencer opens his mouth, but before he can say anything, Derek interrupts.

‘Hey, Reid, don’t tell me you’re not curious.’ Derek nudges him playfully, but Spencer doesn’t react. He just continues to stare at me, expression unreadable. I have no idea what that look is trying to say. ‘Come on, man, we all wanna hear about Junebug’s wild past.’

‘Don’t call me that.’ I snap, shaking my head at Derek. I don’t know why, but hearing that old nickname on his tongue upsets me. Derek shows me the palms of his hands in apology and I’m pleased to see that my little outburst has shifted his focus away from Spencer.

‘Come on,’ JJ sighs, cutting Derek and Spencer a curious glare. ‘Tell us everything.’

I hesitate for a moment, taking another drink. How much to reveal? I realise that I am going to have to toe a careful line between what is suitable to tell them, and what I want to take to the grave. They are my friends first, though. Colleagues second. There’s not much point in hiding anymore, not if they still want to go out for drinks with Jas and Tia when we’ve finished the case. There’s no going back.

‘Alright.’ I take a deep breath and start to pull at my fingernails. ‘But don’t judge me, okay?’

‘We promise.’ Emily says, voice so sincere that it almost hurts. She raises her glass in a mock toast, and the others follow suit–even Spencer raises his glass, though his movements are more stilted, eyes clouded with that mixture of emotions I’m driving myself insane trying to decipher.

‘I did dance under a stage name–it was Cassandra, or Cass. I chose it because–’

‘Because of the priestess?’ Spencer’s words are a mere mumble, but I am so attuned into him that I hear him. He’s looking somewhere in the region of my collar, but at least he’s looking at me.

‘Yeah. Precisely. She was this Trojan priestess that was cursed to see the future, but for no one to believe her, but I chose it because of what the name means, etymologically.’

‘Bless you.’ Emily teases, and I roll my eyes. ‘Go on, what does it mean?’

‘The Greek spelling is with a K, so ‘kassos’ means to excel, and ‘andros’ means over men. So her name literally means ‘to excel over men’. I was quite proud of that one.’

‘Damn…and did you? Excel over men?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ I grin, taking a sip. ‘I did a variety of different types of dances–you kind of have to do all of them, really. No favourite moves, a couple of regulars that came in just to watch me, and yes, Emily, I do still have my playlist. To answer your question, Derek, a couple of them tried to take me home, and only one succeeded.’

‘What?’ Spencer’s word is perfectly formed, a bullet that pierces through the alcoholic armour I’d been establishing. I blink in surprise. He is staring at me with his mouth slightly parted, such a betrayed look on his face that I’m cut deep to the core. Spencer had seemed content to stay out of the conversation, but this is perhaps the first sign I get about how he’s actually feeling. ‘You slept with the people you danced for?’

‘Only one, and that was a long time ago–’ I say, wondering how only Spencer can get me feeling so defensive and so eager to alleviate his concerns.

‘It doesn’t matter when it was.’ Spencer’s voice is sharp, but he remains motionless, evidently not wanting to give away too much. The rest of the team are leaning back in their seats to get away from the tense energy now crackling between us. Emily is looking between us with a curious expression. ‘You slept with someone you barely knew, someone who saw you as nothing more than a–’

‘Than a what, Spencer? Go on, say ‘whore’, I know you want to.’ I snap back, slamming my glass down onto the table more violently than intended. Spencer flashes hurt eyes at me. ‘Jesus, Spencer, it’s my life–my old life–and I did what I wanted with it. I don’t need to explain it to you.’

‘No, no, don’t worry,’ Spencer scoffs, voice laced with bitterness. ‘I’ve worked it out. You used to sell your body for money, let men ogle you and touch you and degrade you, and you slept with one of them just because you thought, what, you thought it was fun? That doesn’t make you a stripper, June, that makes you a hooker.’

‘What the fuck, Reid?’ My words are soft, but the meaning is harsh. I’m hurt. I’ve heard those words a thousand times, from a thousand different people, but hearing it from Spencer–my Spencer–sucks the life right out of me. It’s as if it’s the first time I’m hearing it. All I want to do is run away and hide, but I can’t. ‘Don’t talk to me like that. You have no idea what it was like.’

‘Oh, but I do. I’ve seen the crime scenes.’ Spencer’s voice is cold. Clinical. Detached. It breaks my heart a little. ‘I’ve seen what those men do to women like you, I know how they treat you, how they view you. And you willingly put yourself in that position–it’s…it’s disgusting and, and–’

‘Stop it!’ I snap, slamming my hands onto the table. His words hit me like a physical blow, knocking all of the air out of my lungs. My eyes line with silver. I can’t believe he’s saying this to me, I can’t comprehend that he thinks that about me. I rise out of my seat, towering over the table. ‘Stop fucking talking, Reid. How dare you?’

‘Whoa, hey, easy now…’ Emily puts out a warning arm between us and I am suddenly reminded that the rest of the team are there. They have shifty looks on their faces. ‘Let’s all just calm down.’

‘No, actually–actually, I’m done.’ I sigh, seeing off my drink and gesturing for Emily to get out of the booth. ‘I’m leaving. Fuck this.’

I grab my snacks and my phone before pushing out past the rest of them and making a beeline for the door. I can hear their voices call out after me, but I don’t care. Even when I see Spencer rise too, as if making to follow me, I don’t change my trajectory. Thankfully Derek yanks Spencer back down into his seat. At least that’s one less thing to worry about. I stalk out of the bar as quickly as possible.

It’s only when I’m in the lift that I let the hot, salty tears start to fall.

THANK YOU FOR READING! PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE.

[childofthewolvess]

A crash course introduction post on me and my practice!

Hi friends! My name is Audra (she/her or he/him), I'm here to share my stories and meet other practitioners! I'd love to make new friends. I write a lot of longer content in storytelling musings as a form of worship and practice (link to my masterpost of all digital grimoire content).

21 year old professional author of YA fantasy, naturalist, and poet. I teach about nature for a living for all ages as a tour guide and environmental educator!

I am autistic and disabled. That, however, does not stop me from yapping 100% of the time. Though I'm extraordinarily talkative and love making friends, please be patient with me and use tone tags when you can. I'm really bad at responding to people, I promise I didn't intentionally ghost you, I just have no concept of when a conversation ends. You'll hear me talk once in awhile about my service dog or PTSD awareness!

Eclectic witch, omnist, and Norse/Hellenic polytheist—I've been worshipping Loki for over two years now, and new devotee to Aphrodite! I worship these two for the most part, but just began deity work with Apollo and Ares. I believe that all spiritualities and religions have truth to various individuals, and that deities are energetic extensions of the Universe. So, basically, The Universe > Earth/Mother Nature > Deities > Spirit Guides/Familiars > Entities > Ghosts.

I also have two wolf familiars I work with gifted to me by my ancestors, they are my spiritual companions. The wolves have been with me since I was a kid! I've devoted my entire life to the wolf. The best term I've found for this is calling myself a wolf spirit worker, as I not only work with my two familiars, but have had contact with numerous wolf spirits over the years. I'm currently working on my animal communication and psychic skills with the wolf. The wolf is also my special interest.

Scorpio Sun, Scorpio Moon, and Pisces Rising—I was born during a solar eclipse in Scorpio.

I have been a practicing witch for 7+ years, taking a break last year to focus on my mental health and recovery from trauma. I have ADVANCED EXPERIENCE (6+ years) with: tarot, divination, spellwork, sigils, spirit work (only with familiar/animal spirits, but over 10+ years of experience in this realm), and writing rituals; INTERMEDIATE EXPERIENCE with: astrology, cosmic/moon magic, deity work, and energy work; BEGINNER EXPERIENCE with: herbalism (learning), shadow work (learning), potions/tinctures (developing skill), dream work/astral travel (developing skill), shapeshifting (researching), and heathenry (researching).

We are BABY WITCH FRIENDLY up in this house!!! 💅💅

I talk a lot about spiritual psychosis and spread awareness about its signs and dangers in spiritual and religious communities. I am a survivor of spiritual psychosis and a witch with OCD. If this is a trigger, please be very wary of following me, as I post frequent content about spiritual psychosis prevention.

This blog is safe for minors to follow, as long as it is kept in mind that I am an adult and I will only interact with other adults. I do not post any NSFW or adult content, so I don't mind if minors follow me considering the above. This is mostly an educational blog of my practice and religion. All of my content and reposts are safe for all audiences, and appropriate trigger warnings are listed. I will answer asks from minors if it's advice or questions to do with my practice or craft! :) However, I do politely ask that MINORS DO NOT DM ME. I also will NOT follow back if I see "minor/under 18" anywhere on your profile, this is my own personal preference.

I now offer familiar spirit readings! Check out my Ko-Fi if you're curious in getting a familiar spirit reading, communication, confirmation, or any other service to do with familiar spirits!

Please don't be afraid to say hi! I'd love to speak to other witches and share experiences and stories! My asks and DMs (adults only for DM) are always open <33 Cheers!

(header is a photo of my familiars by this artist that I commissioned!

UPDATED: 06/17/2024

[yaeggravate]

brief post about kaeya's potential future arc (or why 5 star kaeya will totally happen 🔮✨️)

so something i noticed is that kaeya always removes or distances himself from the end of any situation he's in. (it's much more noticeable in his hangout).

first is crepus's death. he hangs back and doesn't get involved in his final moments.

kaeya disappears in the final section of the ballads and brews event. you can find and talk to every character except him.

in the venti route of his hangout, kaeya stays back when it's time to sing with everyone. venti then drags him back in. (what's odd is that venti didn't even notice he was gone at first 👀 "now you see them, now you don't")

Kaeya: Slipping away before the final verse is sung, before the poet has uttered the last line, before everything has concluded… I don't know, something about it just resonates with me.

klee says kaeya hasn't read her the end of the book series the fox and the dandelion sea yet, which is about a guy stuck in a loop. in somewhat the same vein, in the secret summer event, he tells her a story about the jinni and a shepard boy but changes the ending from what we know from the in game book…

and then we have the prince qubad play, where he quietly exits after it ends. he explains why himself (through nahida's auge):

(Use Nahida's All Schemes to Know on Kaeya, optional) Kaeya: (I always like to extricate myself before things start getting tedious.)

in the same route, kaeya quotes the character jaques from shakespeare's play as you like it

Kaeya: Let me think... "All the world's a stage, and all the people merely players."

which is very fitting considering, quote the wiki:

Jaques takes no part in the unfolding of the plot, and confines himself to wry comment on the action and exchanges with his fellow characters.

he also silently does things for others without wanting to take credit, i.e. being rewarded.

and i think i know why 😏

in his character story, kaeya is referred to as a chess pawn in CN, he then repeats this in his hangout.

Kaeya: But I shall not bow to the will of fate. I am no pawn in heaven's plan.

further emphasizing it's not a random throw away term.

i'm neither chess expert nor chess amateur. but anyone can pull up a wikipedia page 😤

pawns are the only pieces that can't move backward, pawns can get promoted to another piece when they reach the end of the board, and… pawns are expandable, made to be sacrificed for the kingdom.

he even expresses the desire to age backwards….which pawns can't do of course.

A very simple such analogy is the Pawn — the expendable, powerless, nameless foot soldier who may, if his actions are brave and his heart is true, become a Queen (although someone more practised at the game may note that the pawn is really a symbol of why you should never overlook apparently powerless people).

that sounds exactly like kaeya's situation, doesn't it? many people have questioned why kaeya is a 4 star given his importance to the main plot, but i think it could be a deliberate narrative decision. (at least i hope it is 😬)

if kaeya is a pawn he can be promoted to a queen when he reaches the end…. except kaeya doesn't want to, as demonstrated by his unwillingness to see things through till the end.

why would he do this?

simply put, it's foreshadowing 😏

kaeya will have his character arc eventually, where the only sensible path is accepting that he must reach the end because pawns cannot stay pawns forever

Promotion is mandatory when moving to the last rank; the pawn cannot remain as a pawn.

there is some sick sense of irony in him declaring he won't be heaven's pawn, when a pawn can only stop being a pawn by moving forward.

i think kaeya's birthday letter about tcg of all things is also hinting at his arc:

If you think about it, playing cards aren't easy at all — you gotta do the math before throwing the dice, and be extra careful with your every move. One step wrong, and the whole table is turned. When that happens, don't you think it's most amusing to watch your opponent's frustrated face, hmm?

(uh oh, celestia 🤭)

say he does reach this metaphorical last rank, what would that look like for him? gameplay wise it would mean a promotion to 5 star status. story wise? a magical girl transformation into the second coming of fischl.

haha ok but, unfortunately i doubt it's that simple.

something else that has been foreshadowed is kaeya's eventual fate…

Traveler: What did you think of the story? Kaeya: It was alright. I suppose the hero always has to sacrifice himself to save others, and it does make for some good storytelling. But it leaves you wondering how he really feels about the whole thing. Did he ever have second thoughts? Only he can know, I suppose.

Kaeya: My dear audience, I ask you this: Do you believe in fate? If fate decreed that your life was to end in tragedy, what would you do?

Kaeya: I, Qubad, will spend the rest of my days in a foreign land, till I breathe my last in a place far from home.

Kaeya: And anyway, life is short, so we should make the most of the time we have. Right now is the perfect time to relax and enjoy ourselves, and who knows how many other chances we'll get. So come on, what do you say?

Fallen I 还没尽…兴… Haven't enjoyed...to the fullest...

When It's Windy 真是和平啊、可又能持续多久呢？ How peaceful, but how long can it last?

Traveler: Good night, Kaeya. Kaeya: Is it that time already? I'm not sure I'm ready to say goodbye.

let's face it, these are death flags. no, kaeya is not going to perma die, but this might be what he has seen through the Auge der Verurteilung and why he's so reluctant to reach the ending of his story.

but in order to defy fate and become a 5 star you have to throw yourself into the embrace of the immernacht first 😈

[velvetjune]

replayed The Lake House dlc, so more of my thoughts under spoilers! (This is long)

I cannot believe how many things I missed during the first run of this game:

1. The whiteboard of the AI Alan Wake manuscript pages produced with evaluations. One repeating the word “scream” for half of a page gets praise for its wording and tone. “Pistol looked at flashlight in shock.” It must’ve been so much fun for the writers to make up all of these.

2. Jules Marmont has extra footage directly after the Dr. Darling video on the second floor if you go back. I don’t know what exactly triggers this video, but it was when I was doubling back to get the black rock weapon.

3. The research archives appear normally from above, then shift multiple times, before returning to normal (… as normal as the shelves infinitely repeating is). This happened in the first playthrough, but I was stressed over my survival and never noticed.

4. The research archives actually go through areas with different mediums/classifications. There’s tagged artifacts/photos, tapes, film, books, and it ends with paintings. It’s nothing mind bending, but the detail was nice to see.

5. Diana’s tape on the tortured artist and human experimentation. This, with Jules’ video, only added to their monstrosity.

I wouldn’t be surprised if the Black Rock Launcher is used in a similar way in FBC Firebreak. It wouldn’t be the same, but this felt so much like a set up for the kind of strange and innovative tools that FBC employees experiment with, especially when trapped in a lockdown at the Oldest House with access to Black Rock Quarry. Maybe Emily can finally make her black rock knives!

It’s hard to not think of Alan and Alice when it comes to any other creative characters in relationships in this game and the hardships with balancing that sorta life. There’s the Bookers with Tammy, a successful true crime writer and attempted poet (!!!), and Ed, a playwright trying to get recognition and feel inspired. It feels right that he would end up taking Wake’s work to write the Marmonts (also with shades of Alan and Alice) into their own supernatural lakeside cabin, fit with a marriage that’s falling apart.

The actors for both Marmonts are incredible. They both perfectly portray their outrage, jealously, and stubbornness that’s consuming their relationship and work. This mad scientist drama could easily end up too cheesy, but they sell it. Love that these negative emotions and their attempt to enforce it on artists for their suffering lead to the crack in the lake house through them. There’s so many things to pick at in this dlc, whether for the relationships, work environments, ai, artists, etc.

Only for this bullet point, but Final Draft Spoilers: Diana thinking of Jules’ smile as her last moment before being taken, while Jules’ last moment (‘Breakthrough in the Lake House’ page) is feeling pride over his work…………

I want more office drama for horrible mad scientists for Control 2. Honestly I want anything Control 2

After briefly checking online, I’m proud of myself for quickly solving the calendar problems. I actually really liked this kind of simple task to find little clues and, by doing so, getting to know the people through their passwords. I’m terrible anything with puzzles, so very grateful to have this over something elaborate or. math.

The Dylan scene is also skippable, which is unthinkable (one of the best parts of the dlc!). There’s all this disgust and horror from Estevez towards the Marmonts’ control of the Lake House, only for it to reveal that Dylan was also trapped there and experimented on by Dr. Darling and the researchers there (all approved by Trench!). Estevez isn’t aware of this, but it was a cold reminder of how truly awful it was for Dylan and how fucked up Trench and Darling are for kidnapping a child…. And then abandoning him in a small prison cell.

The horror elements in this DLC were nice, although not extreme. Tbh I don’t consider any of Remedy’s games to be scary, even if they’re still horror, but this had good moments! The distortion of the environment and constant looping made me doubt myself. Jules’ death as a taken was violent (albeit obscured), to the level of Nightingale’s cult attack, if not worse. Loved the emotion from the Marmonts seeping into their taken personalities. Aw1 had more of this and it made the Taken far more upsetting and real.

Sometimes Alan is creepy and I enjoy seeing him through other characters’ eyes. Alan/the Dark Place manifesting manuscript pages that would perfectly dig under the Marmonts’ skins and infect them was unnerving and a little funny. shows they never had a chance. While it’s not physically like that, the words describing the Lake House slowly being sunken into Cauldron Lake and the water dripping in—Chef’s kiss

AWAN had a conversation between the scientist where she discussed fate and agency (…Alan’s indignation at her being remotely critical over her 😭 he’s such an asshole). It reminded me of Diana’s notes on whether Alan wrote and controlled her life. There’s some agency that Alan takes away just by guiding these events and trying to influence people through a story. How much is him actually controlling or changing things is another question, but having that kind of power is scary, especially from another’s POV (Saga, now Estevez and the Marmonts)

Estevez seeing Alan typing the later event of her meeting Saga and THIS being what led the FBC straight to her was a great scene of wrapping everything up. I liked the weird dark goo in the Dark Place. Fun stuff!

Poe <3 Loved this promo of her new song. 6 deep breaths coinciding with Estevez’ reassurance to herself, although the lyrics also could apply to others. Dylan trapped in his cage, yet able to connect to these worlds; Alan (+Alice) in the dark place, then post-game, ‘finding roads everywhere’. I’m playing the first Alan Wake, so the breathing made me immediately think of the deep breaths taken by Tom the Diver throughout that (+ the addition of another voice breathing near the end)

Clay Murphy wrote the screenplay to this and to Number One Fan (Night Springs), which means he might be the funniest person ever

[ageofbajabule]

Dawn of Love | Chapter 1

Josh Kiszka x F! Reader

Word Count: 4.9k

Warnings: Fluff, Anxiety talk?, (i don’t think i’m truly missing anything. if i am please let me aware!)

Series Masterpost

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Author’s Note: (18+ themes further on in the series) This series is going to be my baby, my pride and joy. I’ve been putting so much time and thought into this, and I truly do hope you all enjoy it and what I have planned. Please understand no themes relating to 18+ will take place until Josh and Reader are of consenting legal age in the series. Other than that, I do hope you enjoy this series.

October 2013

You had moved around different school districts thanks to your father being in the military… But this move was the final one. He had retired from the Air Force and decided to move to a small town. Known by the name Frankenmuth. It was a Bavarian town, everyone knew everyone and everyone was friendly.

Fitting in wasn’t typically hard, but being a new student in school also put you in the spotlight. You never really made the time to make actual friends considering the situation you grew up in being a military family. So this time around, you had to make the effort to find friends. All day you had the boring classes of general studies. But the class you couldn’t wait for was poetry - something about poetry just spoke to you, it always gave you the feeling of a welcoming home.

It wasn’t always just poetry that caught your eye, film and theatre also held a special place in your heart.

Something about the way Shakespeare wrote always called out to you - specifically Macbeth.

The bell rang indicating your Math class had finally ended. And your last class of the day was Poetry. Making your way there, you had entered the classroom. It was a smaller class, giving it an elective course. There was about 9 other people, you sat near the front of the classroom. The first bell had rang, the teacher waited for any last minute students. And sure enough a boy with shoulder length wavy hair cane sprinting in.

“Sorry! I got stuck in a little traffic jam there in the hallway.” The brunette boy laughed,

“Mr.Kiszka… This isn’t anything new. You need to do better on being on time.”

Mr.Zawalski motioned for him to join the class. He ended up sitting at the desk beside you.

“Last week we finished up our readings from Emily Dickinson, we will be starting with Edgar Allen Poe today. I’m sure most of you are well aware of his work, he had a very different approach than most poets.” Mr.Zawalski spoke as he started parading around the classroom. Everything about Poe, he wasn’t typically your style, but you had grown to like his work.

“He’s kind of a bore… I wish he was a bit more enthusiastic when teaching.”

The brunette boy had leaned over to whisper to you, chuckling as he saw you jump at the sound of his voice, making you giggle softly.

“He has a very monotone voice… Makes me want to fall asleep.” You shifted your body so more of you turned to face the stranger beside you.

“I’m sorry. Let me introduce myself, I’m Joshua Kiszka. But you can call me Josh. What’s your name?”

“I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N, but you can call me Y/N.” You smiled at him softly.

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you. Are you new here?” Then you heard Mr.Zawalski clear his throat, “Mr.Kiszka this isn’t time for mingling. Would you care to enlighten the classroom on what Poe’s poems were inspired by?”

Josh’s cheeks turned a shade of pink, then turned towards the teacher. “His own childhood trauma. At least that’s what most researchers have gathered.”

Seeming to be satisfied with Josh’s answer, Mr. Zawalski nodded and proceeded to carry on with his lecture - leading you and Josh to giggle quietly.

Before the end of class, Mr.Zawalski had announced there would be a project. And you had to pair up with somebody. Being you had been a new student and the only person you really clicked with was Josh, it was obvious who your partner would be.

“Well I guess we’ll be partners then?” He turned towards you,

“If you’re okay with that?” You smiled softly.

“Of course. Here is my number so we can start working on it.” He smiled taking your phone to type his credentials in, you sent him a text right away for him to save your information. “I’m free whenever. Except for this Wednesday night, I have theater tryouts.”

“I’ll be there too!” You smiled at him.

He chuckled softly, your smile turned wider. “Oh really? That’s great.”

You felt a blush creep onto your face.

“So what part are you trying for?” The bell then interrupted your conversation, “Guess you’ll have to find out at tryouts.” He smirked, getting up.

“That is a whole two days away!” You groaned getting up from your desk.

“I’ll tell you what, come over tonight so we can start working on this project. And maybe I’ll run a few lines to give you a hint at what part.” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Fine. You better stick to your word.” You giggled softly, walking towards your locker.

“You can come over around 5, join my family and I for dinner. My mom always makes enough to practically feed the neighborhood.” Josh spoke as he followed behind you, smiling from ear to ear as he spoke.

“Sure, as long as she doesn’t mind.” He shook his head, “She’ll be thrilled.” He smiled, then he was being pulled by a brunette guy who looked similar to him. But his hair was like a Justin Bieber style cut.

“Josh, we’re gonna be late for band practice.”

“Jeez, Jake I would’ve been right out!” Josh shouted, you looked between the two of them confused. “Sorry Y/N. This is my brother Jake.”

He smiled at you, “Twin brother actually.” Jake chimed in,

“But I’m older by 5 minutes!”

“Will you ever live that down?”

You giggled softly at them bickering. “It was great to meet you, but I don’t want to keep y’all from band practice. I didn’t know you were in the school band.” You smiled softly.

“No. Not a band for school, we have an actual band. We’re just getting started still…” Jake shook his head as he scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Oh. I’m sorry… Well, have fun, and I’ll see you later.” You flashed a smile before leaving the two of them to go on with their business.

➳

You had luckily gotten your license recently before moving to Michigan and asked to use your mom’s car to drive over to Josh’s house to work on your project tonight.

The drive wasn’t too far from where you lived, in fact you only live a couple blocks from each other. You could’ve probably walked. When arriving you parked on the street out front of their house, making way to the front door. You knocked softly, hearing some yelling behind the door - a girl who looked close in age to you answered the door.

“Hi, I’m Y/N. Is Josh here? I’m here to work on a school project with him.” You spoke offering a small smile.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Veronica but I go by Ronnie. I’m his younger and only sister, he is actually finishing up practice with the guys. You can come in.” She motioned for you to come in.

“If you want, we can go out to the garage. That’s where they practice.”

You smiled, “Sure, why not.”

Ronnie nodded and took you out with her to the garage. As you walked in the guys were in the midst of a song, Josh was singing, Jake was playing guitar and there were two other boys. One looked similar to Jake, assuming it was another sibling of theirs. He was playing bass, and the other was playing drums. Ronnie and you had sat on the couch in front of them.

They sounded really good, for being so young. Josh had finally noticed you as a blush crept on his cheeks, he averted towards Jake as they finished up the song, and concluded their practice.

“That was better than the last run. We’ll resume back to this tomorrow.” Jake directed to them, “Sam, we got to tune that better. And Danny, we’ll have to try and rig the snare.”

They all nodded, making way to head into the house.

“I didn’t expect you to come out here.” Josh had chuckled softly.

“Ronnie asked if I wanted to. And figured why not.” You smiled softly, “So how many of you are there?” You whispered to him - in hopes that his siblings wouldn’t hear.

“There are four of us. Jake and I are the oldest, Ronnie is the middle and Sam is the youngest. And Danny, he's Sam’s best friend. But we consider him a brother, he’s been around for so long.” He smiled, a dimple peeking out.

“Dinner is probably ready, we should head in before my mother starts calling.” He chuckled softly, you followed behind him into the house. He led you to the dining room, it was big enough for everyone that was present. Once you stepped foot in, all eyes were on the two of you.

“Mom and Dad this is Y/N. She is new to our school, and my partner for our class project. But also a new friend.” He smiled at you.

“Oh it’s nice to meet you dear! It’s always great to meet one of Josh’s friends.” She beamed with excitement, “Please sit anywhere you’d like. I made grilled cheese and a family recipe of tomato soup.”

She motioned for you to sit. Josh pulled a chair out for you, that was next to Jake, and you sat down as Josh sat in the seat next to you.

➳

Everyone had eaten, and once your bellies were full to content. You and Josh had decided to head to his and Jake’s shared room to work on the project. Both sides were different from one another, Josh having anything film related where Jake had music related posters.

“Jake and I are forced to share a room, while Ronnie and Sam get the luxury of having their own rooms.” He chuckled softly motioning for you to sit on his bed as he sat on a chair from his desk.

“It’s okay, my sister and I were forced to share a room when we lived in Oregon.” You giggled softly remembering the tiny two bedroom house your parents had gotten when your father was stationed on a mission again.

“Oregon? How did you end up all the way here?” Josh chuckled softly.

“My dad was in the military. We moved around quite a lot.” You responded nonchalantly.

“Oh wow. So you’re settled here in Frankenmuth, Michigan?”

“It's a cute town.” You giggled softly.

“We’re really known for Christmas. Whole town goes overboard with all of it, really. But it is nice. I do enjoy Christmas here.” He rubbed his hands together.

“So where are you originally from?” He questioned you.

“Florida.” You said flatly.

Honestly, you didn’t miss it - especially given the fact you had lived close to Orlando for quite some time, you hated the tourists all year round for the 9 years you lived there.

“Sunshine state… Hm. I think I’ll nickname you Sunshine. How does that sound?” He chuckled softly, a blush crept on your face.

“Sure…”

“Now, what role are you trying for Mr.Kiszka?” You impersonated Mr.Kiwalski’s voice. Earning a chuckle from Josh he shook his towards you.

“Don’t laugh.” He chuckled, “But I’m going for Wonka.”

You smiled at him softly, “I think you’ll fit perfectly…you have the characteristics for it.” You giggled softly.

“And how about you?”

“Veruka.” You giggled, sitting up straight.

“Well I guess we’ll just wait and see.”

December 2013

Ever since that poetry class, you and Josh had been inseparable. You finished your project earning an easy A on it. And then got the roles you had both wanted for the Willy Wonka play. Josh had been working on a film script for the last couple weeks, having you help assist him with it.

“You know you are quite the genius Sunshine.” Josh smiled at you, you smiled back. “I’m just doing what I can! I told you I’ll help film, and help with costumes as well.”

You finished writing in your journal with all of the plans for Josh’s film that was coming up early next month.

“Do you think it’s silly?” He scratched the back of his head.

“No, not at all. I think it’s going to be brilliant. You have a very creative mind Josh. You need to stop doubting yourself.” You replied, shaking your head to give more reinforcement to your words.

“It’s just I care a lot about film, and this band stuff with Jake sometimes can be a lot…” He sighed, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Josh… Jake has told you that he would help in any way.” You sat next to him.

“Yeah, but this is his dream… He’s always wanted to be a rockstar. And I want that for him. Me, I'm just a silly old film guy.” He chuckled as you nudged him softly.

“Aaand he would want the same for you. Don’t beat yourself up. This film is going to be amazing. Now come on, we have a Christmas party to attend.” You stood up, putting your hand out for him to join.

Once he took your hand in his, it felt like electricity had gone through you. During the short time you’ve known Josh. You’ve grown to like him more than just a friend…

He stood up from his bed, dropping your hand from his slowly.

“Yeah, you’re right. Thanks Y/N…” He smiled softly.

“Of course Josh, that’s what friends are for.” You smiled mentally slapping yourself. You wish you could tell him how you felt. But you also didn’t want to freak him out.

The two of you made way to the basement where the party was being held, Jake smiled and walked over to you giving you a tight hug. With how close you got to Josh, you got close to his twin as well.

“About time you two showed up. Was starting to think you were sucking face.”

Josh gave him a glare as his cheeks turned to a crimson. You blushed, staring at your feet. “No, we were just working on the last touches of the film Jacob.”

“Sorry…” He gave Josh an apologetic look, they had some sort of twin telepathy way of communicating. You just went with the flow of it all. Josh ventured off to some other film friends that you would eventually join.

“Hey I really didn’t mean to embarrass you guys…” Jake had spoken to you quietly.

“It’s okay Jake, really…” You fiddled with your hands.

“No, no it's not… Has Josh said anything to you lately?” You gave him a questioning look.

“Said what?” You grabbed a can of pop.

“Forget it…” Jake went to turn, you grabbed his arm.

“Jacob.”

“You can’t say anything.” Jake mumbled as he turned to face you.

You gave him a look, “Cross my heart and hope to die.” You giggled doing the little promise. He pulled you aside.

“Josh really likes you… But he’s just too afraid to admit it.” He said quietly to you, only audible for you to understand. You felt butterflies in your stomach.

“R-really…” You looked up at him.

“Yeah. Why do you think he’s been up your ass so much lately.” He chuckled softly, “But you didn’t hear this from me.” He gave you a stern look.

“Jake, I won’t say a word. Besides… He hasn’t even made a move…” You looked over at Josh watching him talk with your other friends.

“Give it time… He doesn’t really know how to go about these things. He might need a little push, but. He’ll do it.” He patted your back softly.

“Thanks Jake…” You smiled and walked over to your friends and talked about the plans for the new year.

January 2014

“Josh, how the hell did you book a hotel room for the weekend for this film? Don’t we have to be at least 21 to book?” You shot a glare as you settled your bags into the room.

“Sunny, you underestimate my skills… Have I taught you nothing.” He sighs, acting like he’s been hurt. “Okay. Maybe I did, but just a tiny bit.”

You giggled softly setting up your equipment - while Jake came into the room with the rest of their friends.

“Okay, so I totally did not cause a scene in the lobby…” He said nervously.

“Jacob, I swear if we get kicked out of this damn hotel before we even shoot anything. I’m kicking your ass.”

“Some idiot tried fucking with our equipment, what else was I suppose to do.” He defended himself, causing the two of them to bicker.

“Alright! It just better not result in anything bad…”

The remainder of the evening you had set the room up for the liking of how you were filming this short film that Josh had in mind. Jake was one of the main roles, along with their friend Grace. Filming was going great, you had everything pretty much under control so Josh could focus on filming and getting the right angles while you adjusted lighting, make up and props.

After a couple hours of shooting Josh figured it was time to call it a night. You had helped clean up the room while Jake and Grace had finished up their last shots, and proceeded to help clean as well. Josh had already started editing the clips from tonight, and said that we would pick it back up tomorrow.

The twins ended up sharing a bed, while you and Grace had shared the other. It's not like you and Josh haven’t slept by one another before. You had passed out on the pull out sofa bed in their basement a few times when you’d stay over late working on a project. But Jake didn’t want to make Grace uncomfortable.

➳

The next day filming had picked up, but Jake was in a mood as he was tired of filming the same scene for the past hour.

“Well Jacob if you’d actually put effort into it. We wouldn’t have to keep shooting this take!” Josh threw his hands up in frustration.

“How about we take a lunch break!” You suggested taking your headphones off.

“Yeah, that’s a great idea.” Jake huffed grabbing his things, “You want to hit that Sub shop Grace?”

She nodded in agreement following Jake, leaving you and Josh to yourselves. Josh had put some things away grabbing a microwave.

“Joshua, what are you doing with the damn microwave?” You crossed your arms staring at him.

“I want to make stir fry. And I’m not trying to burn the room down, so to the hallway we go!” He made his way to the door, but he could open it considering his hands were full. So you opened the door, following behind him with your camera and other supplies.

Deciding to sprint to be in front of him, you took a picture of him with the microwave. “You’re something else Kiszka.” You giggled, getting to the end of the hallway. He plugged the microwave into the outlet, preparing the meal he had planned.

“Is this even going to be any good?” You gave him a concerning look.

“You have to live on the edge, a little mama.” He chuckled, mixing it together and placing it into the microwave, turning it on and setting it to whatever time and power he had it set as.

“Sir, what are you doing?” One of the maids had questioned him.

“Just making a five star meal. Care for some?” He smiled.

“You can’t do that out here. Why is it even out of the room?” She had questioned him, with her arms crossed.

“What do you mean? It was already out here.” He played a great character.

“Sir, I can assure you that is the room microwave you need to put it back in its rightful place. Or I will have to report you to the hotel staff.” She huffed watching him.

“It’s almost done cooking. It’ll be out of the way shortly.” Josh replied, smirking.

“I suggest you take it back now.” She then started to walk away to clean a room. Josh sat there letting it continue to cook.

“Josh, she seemed pretty serious.” You looked at him with worry.

“Sunshine, you need to liven it up!” He chuckled softly, as the microwave went off he unplugged it and walked back to the room with it.

“You Kiszka’s sure have a way…” You giggled softly, sitting on the bed.

“I can’t tell if that’s a good thing, or a bad thing.” He chuckled softly sitting beside you with his plate, taking a bite he spit it out quickly. “Oh that is mortifying.” He made a gagging face.

“Not so bright Joshy…” You giggled softly.

“Come on, let’s go get some real stir fry.” You patted his back, he nodded, throwing out his creation.

➳

The two of you found a local Japanese restaurant not too far from the hotel. Taking in on dining there, you let Jake and Grace know where the two of you went in case they came back earlier than you two.

“So, the Valentine’s dance is coming up.” Josh had said nervously.

“Yeah, have you asked any special girl?” You smiled softly, taking a sip of your water.

“No, not yet…” He put his head down, like he was ashamed.

“It’s okay Josh, you don’t have to show up with a date. You can just go with friends.” You smiled softly at him.

“Uh actually. Y/N, I was wondering if maybe you would be my date for the Valentine’s dance.” He looked up at you nervously with flushed cheeks.

“You want me to be your date?” You smiled as your cheeks became a tinted pink.

He nodded, smiling softly, “Yeah. I’d really like it if you would?”

“Yeah, I’ll be your date…” You trailed off with a smile, giving him a small reassuring nod.

He smiled, chuckling softly, “I thought I was gonna walk out of here like a sore loser if you said no.”

“I would never say no to you Josh…”

February 2014

It was Friday, school was a complete drag the past week. They had a spirit week in honor of the Valentine’s dance tonight. Ever since Josh had asked you to be his date, the two of you had been inseparable. You had been working on the last touches of the short film you worked on together. It was nearing completion but Josh decided that the two of you should take this week off from editing, since the dance was taking up a majority of the time.

You had joined the student council prior to Christmas break, and helped the council decorate and plan the dance. It was senior year after all, you had to make some memories while living the last of your childhood. Josh knew how much it meant to you to partake in this, since you were never able to do much like this before.

You had been getting ready at home, finishing the last touches of your hair and makeup. You kept your makeup rather simple, not doing too much of a glam look, and your hair had some loose curls.

You went to your closet pulling your dress off from the hanger, it was an indigo dress that rested against your knees and had some slight rhinestone embellishments on the edges of the dress. You slipped it on looking at yourself in the mirror, content with your look you put your heels on and grabbed your small satchel heading downstairs.

Josh was at the bottom of the stairs waiting for you with your parents and sister.

“You look absolutely stunning.” Your mom beamed.

“You look amazing, sweetie.” Your dad chimed in, agreeing with your mother.

Your sister smiled, clapping her hands together. She opted on staying home instead of going to the dance tonight. She was in the same grade as Sam and Danny and you have tried multiple times to get her to hang out with them.

“You look beautiful, Sunshine.” Josh came in front of you holding a beautiful white rose assortment corsage, with a boutineer to go with it.

You smiled softly in response.

“You look dashing.”

Your mom smiled coming over to aid the two of you with putting his boutineer on. Then Josh slipped your corsage onto your wrist.

“Okay! In front of the fireplace, we have to get pictures of you two.” Your mom beamed, as your father ushered you into the living room. Josh and yourself stood in front of the fireplace, as he placed his hand on the small of your back you felt butterflies in your stomach placing your arm around his back. You both posed and smiled for the millions of pictures your mother insisted on taking. Then took a couple with your parents.

“Guys it's not even prom, it's just a regular dance!” You giggled softly after taking enough pictures.

“Yes you’re right dear, but it’s your senior year!” Your mom beamed at you.

“We should really get going, otherwise we’ll be late…” You looked at the time.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’m late to a function!” Josh chuckled softly, you giggled in agreement.

“Yeah, but I think for once you should be on time.” You smirked and started to head to the door with him.

Before leaving your father gave Josh a whole spiel on his rules and when to have you home by. Typical dad move, but he just wanted to be in good hands.

“Dad, he’s a good guy. Besides I think Mrs.Kiszka would be on him if he didn’t abide by your rules.” You giggled softly as Josh nodded.

“Yeah, my mom would have my butt canned.”

The two of you then left your house, he opened the passenger side to his car letting you get in before he closed it getting to his side. Once you buckle your seatbelt he had gotten into the car buckling himself in the driving over.

After arriving, Josh had parked next to Jake’s car. Jake had gotten out and let his date out of the passenger side. He had asked Valerie to be his date, she was more than thrilled when he had asked her. Valerie was this sweet junior who was a part of the cheerleading squad and Jake was absolutely crushing on her.

“You guys look amazing!” You smiled at them, hugging Jake and then Val.

“You guys look great too!” Jake beamed.

“Well we should head in, it’s freezing out here.” Josh had motioned for everyone to make their way, as he kept his hand on the small of your back.

Once you entered the high school gymnasium there was a photo station off to the left, then a table for water and punch.

“Do you want some punch?” Josh looked over at you.

“Yeah, I’d like some.” You smiled.

“Grab a table and I’ll meet you there.” He wandered off to the refreshment table as you made way to a small table in the corner. Jake and Val had already ventured to the dance floor, making the most of their night.

Josh had returned with two cups of punch, setting yours down in front of you on the table, he smiled softly at you.

“My lady.” He chuckled softly, sliding into the chair beside you.

“Well thank you kind sir.” You giggled softly, taking a sip of the punch.

“You guys did really well with planning all of this.” He smiled, taking a sip of his punch.

“Thank you, I was nervous they weren’t going to like my ideas…” You slouched a bit - suddenly feeling a wave of nervousness hit you.

“Are you kidding! Sunny you are brilliant. Who wouldn’t like your ideas?” He smiled softly at you, you returned a smile as your cheeks flushed.

After conversing for a bit, the two of you decided to hit the dance floor joining Jake and Val. You guys had danced the night away, laughing and acting like complete idiots. But it’s all you ever wanted at this moment.

The DJ then turned things slow for a remainder of the evening starting off with All of Me by John Legend. Josh had you pulled you close to him, wrapping his arms around your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Smiling softly at him, you giggled to yourself softly.

“What is it, Sunshine?” He chuckled softly, catching your giggle.

“Nothing…” You blushed, placing your head on his chest listening to his heartbeat as the two of you swayed.

“Your heart is beating rather fast Josh…”

You giggled and turned to look up at him, he then moved his one hand to caress your face.

“Y/N…”

You looked at his face, he licked his lips nervously.

“Yeah Josh…”

He studied your face, before zoning in closer he then pressed his soft plush lips against yours.

‘Cause I give you all of me

And you give me all of you’

You were taken by surprise, but immediately kissed him back softly letting your lips move in sync. Soaking in this moment together. After a moment the two of you pulled away, smiling while giggling at each other.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long…” He shook his head, sighing softly.

“I think you should do it again.” You smiled brightly at him - he then captured your lips once more with his, giving a few little pecks before detaching his lips from yours.

“Y/N… I. Well, what I’m trying to ask.”

“Yes, Josh. I’ll be your girlfriend.” You giggled softly, rubbing his arm to soothe his nerves.

.

.

.

.

to be continued

Taglist -

@lyndszee @laneygvf @sacredthefran @starcatcherry @fkfearandliveyourlegend @hi-hi-hello11 @gretnavannfleet @themoreyou-love @gvfmuse @meetingthestardust @myleftsock

[hookedsworks]

Edge(ING) Fitness - Chapter XXXV

III's POV.

Word count 1305

Masterpost

AO3

“So, I know you don’t have any plans tonight,” that was III’s great opening line. 

“How could you possibly know that?” II retorted. 

“I know Vessel is busy and Ivy is out of town. So we’re going to hang out,” 

“What makes you think I don’t have a nice night planned for myself?” He was quick. Witty. Funny. III was going to have fun. 

“Cancel it. I’ve got something better,” 

“You cannot know that,” 

“It has to do with Vessel,” III played his card, hoping II would take it. He did. 

“Oh. I guess I can shuffle my plans, if Vessel is involved,” 

“Hell yeah you can. Alright, I’ll be back again at 7:30 for you,” III paused and considered. “You’ll need to dress up,” 

***

At 7:30, III was positively giddy. He knew Vessel was shy about being an opera singer and pianist. He knew that Vessel would never tell II. He was going to tell II for his best friend. They had arranged to meet at the gym, and II was standing on the sidewalk outside of the gym. III pulled up and stopped right in front of II. II opened the door, nearly smacking it against the elevated sidewalk. 

“Dude, be careful,” 

“Dude, get a car from this century,” II was in a button down and a pair of slacks. III had made sure they had front row seats, which hadn’t been hard. This opera was not something III was super familiar with, but then again, operas weren’t even his thing. It was something about a poet and his trio of lovers. He sped off, II in the passenger seat. They pulled up to the venue and II looked around. He looked, but didn’t see what II was looking for. Apparently, II didn’t either. 

“I thought you said Vessel was involved. I don’t see him,” oh. 

“Oh, well, I’m certain he’ll show up. Let’s go in,” II was super short compared to him, and it was actually really cute. III grinned then, realizing that II genuinely thought Vessel was going to meet up with them to watch the opera. This was going to be fun. 

“Oh, front row, follow me. Do you know the performers?” II furrowed his brow then. 

“Uh, no. III, how’d you get front row?” II turned to III then. 

“Don’t worry about it. Come on,” III nearly gnawed through the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling while II was looking at him. The minute they got seated and settled, the house lights went down. III had timed it perfectly, so that II couldn’t interrogate him about any of this. II kept craning his neck to look in the aisle, likely to see Vessel approaching. The music began and a woman was singing. After her solo, Vessel walked out onto stage in an overcoat and three piece suit, tilting a hat to her. III felt II stiffen beside him. III couldn’t help it, he glanced over at II. Vessel, on stage, was placing his overcoat on one of the many chairs surrounding him and sitting down. After the brief staging, he opened his mouth and began to sing while gesturing with his character’s cane. II slammed his hand down on III’s forearm and held it so tightly III nearly yelped in pain. II was digging his nails through III’s shirt. Vessel was, as usual, absolutely blowing it out of the water. II was leaning almost all the way forward in his chair, ripping III’s sleeve with his nails and his jaw was ajar. III couldn’t resist annoying him. 

“You’ll catch flies that way,” he hissed in II’s ear. II batted at him, but did close his jaw. He was glued to the stage. Glued to Vessel. He did not say a word until the house lights came up. The end of act one. 

“I- you- he- what!” II finally turned to III with those brilliant thoughts on his tongue. 

“Precisely,” III teased. “He was never going to tell you. I thought you deserved to know,” II smiled then. He surged forward and kissed III right on the cheek. 

“Thank you,” he whispered. Once the house lights went down again, II eased back into his seat and III watched him from the corner of his eye. He was clearly enjoying this, watching his boyfriend kill a performance. He hadn’t known, but he was clearly over the moon about Vessel’s career. Vessel was, as usual, completely stunning. His performance was emotion, evocation, joy, sorrow and pure talent all in one. He was a carefully honed performer, and III enjoyed being carried away on his vocals. 

After the show, III took II backstage. He kept II directly behind him for a minute, so that Vessel wouldn’t know II was there. 

“You were perfect, as always,” III said once Vessel came into view. He dazzled with his post performance adrenaline powered grin. 

“You know how I love that story,” III was holding II behind him. “What’s behind your back?” Vessel noticed immediately that III was standing weird. He knew he would. 

“Uh, don’t be mad, okay?”

“Mad? Why would I-” II cut him off by throwing himself at Vessel. “II!” 

“Vessel that was incredible I had no idea you were a singer you are amazing and I-” 

“Dude, breathe,” III interjected. Vessel was clutching II, staring down at him as II talked animatedly in his arms. Vessel looked almost dazed, having II in his arms. III had known he wasn’t going to tell him, he never did tell anyone that this was his career. 

“II… you’re here… how,” 

“III!” II exclaimed, grinning back at III. Vessel then looked at III again, a shy and grateful smile on his face. There was love in the air, and it was palpable as they both stared at III. With both of their attention on III, he felt a swarm of butterflies erupt in his stomach. What the fuck… 

“I…I knew you’d never tell him. But I know you wanted to, so…,” III trailed off. He wasn’t able to take both of them staring at him. He looked down at his shoes. II thanked him again. III looked back up at his voice and they were staring at one another. III could see the hearts floating around their heads. Not literally, but it was visceral and he was aware that he was watching them fall in love right before his eyes. III’s heart squeezed in response. He needed Ivy by his side right now. Almost without thinking, he had his phone in his hand, dialing Ivy. He thought the game would be over by now. Thankfully, the call connected. 

“BABE!” Ivy shouted down the line. Post game adrenaline. “I’m SO happy you called! How are you!” 

“I miss you,” III replied, still staring at Vessel and II. Vessel was raining kisses down on II’s face and II was squirming in Vessel’s grip. They were talking, but III could only hear Ivy’s reply. 

“I’ll invite you next time. I miss you! You should be here. We’ll hang next weekend, right? At your marathon?” 

“You’re still coming?” 

“Of course! Hang on, let me get outside, so I can hear you better,” a shuffle, and III heard the noise behind Ivy’s voice die down. 

“We need to do dinner. Before then,” 

“Aww, babe, I miss you too,” Ivy teased in reply. III swallowed, hard. He swallowed his words. He was feeling overwhelmed. “Did you win tonight?” he finally decided on as a reply. I love you wasn’t the most sensical reply. III had to swallow it though, it was all he wanted to say. Which is crazy, right? He barely knows Ivy, but he knows he wants a million more dates with him. He wants him in his arms right now, like II is with Vessel. III wants.

[harmonic-melodii]

Writerly Questionnaire

Thanks, @davycoquette, It's time for me to drop some more lore about myself! My answers will most likely end up longwinded. And here's a link to the original post too for the questions if you'd like to fill them out yourself! Link

About You

When did you start writing?

I started writing around 2016, so when I was about 12 years old. I was already an avid reader and devoured every single book I came across. Back then my stories were much more fantastical, but the passion never died.

Are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

I will never write Historical Fiction despite it being one of my favorite genres to read. Books that delve into alternative history or simple romance stories that take place around historic events have always held a special place in my heart. Why will I never write in that genre? Because I'm not built for the research that goes into creating those settings.

I also enjoy the occasional romance novel, though I don't write romance-specific stories. The lightheartedness is a much-needed break from the gritty stories and concepts I write. At most I include romantic subplots in some things, but I don't like focusing on romance as a plot.

Is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

Not for my fantasy works. For sci-fi, I would like to emulate Ray Bradbury. I've always loved his books and short stories. And how he wrote about the human condition and its interactions with technology for better and worse. Though I cannot say I have written anything as profound yet.

As for poetry, I'm heavily inspired by many African-American poets like Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou. As a young black woman myself, I hold a lot of respect for similar artists in my discipline that came before me. And while my poems are inspired by my experiences and struggles with race, I believe they can bridge gaps of understanding.

Overall, I have never been compared to any authors.

Can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

My writing spaces are as chaotic and fluid as me. Sometimes I will be sitting at my desk with a water bottle and typing on my computer. Other times I'll lie in bed at 2 am typing furiously into my notes app. Hell, I have a tiny spiral notebook that's a bunch of index cards with entire plots and character profiles. I write wherever and whenever I can.

What’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

Music. I create countless playlists, some of which I'll share soon. I probably have over 70 total. Not all for my WIP or other characters that exist, but all of them are for writing in some form or another. Otherwise, I try to regularly consume new media. That is a lot harder because it takes so much energy for me to engage with new content, but when it works it works.

Did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

Not necessarily. Very little of my inspiration comes from the beach town I grew up in. Rather I'm influenced by places where I've endured insane life trauma. Don't worry, there's no trauma dumping here. I want to write about those places because it allows me to visit them again safely and on my own terms.

As for people, yes a handful of my characters are inspired by people I've met. Some are not the best. But hey, it makes for decent inspiration.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

I feel like I always gravitate towards writing about religion in some form or another. I was raised Christian myself and currently identify as Agonistic. I like deconstructing faith and what it means to believe in something greater than yourself. So it doesn't entirely surprise me that I circle back to religion in one way or another.

I also write a lot about family dynamics and the platonic love or lack thereof within those dynamics. And about the limits of love and what is considered "too much".

Your Characters

Me? Talking about the lesbians in my novel?? Yep!

Would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

Hands down my favorite character in the cast is Aaliyah. She's the main protagonist. An optimistic college freshman, who has an intense thirst for knowledge. She was raised by her father, Ezra, all on his own. Ever since she could remember it's only been the two of them. She's funny, sweet, but very sheltered at the end of the day.

Which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

I think I'd be decent friends with Graham. She's a guitarist in a rock band. A little rough around the edges, but I'd love to hear the music she plays.

Which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

It'd probably be Ezra. He's a strict man and quite judgmental of people. If anything he'd dislike me first and I'd simply have to fire back on principle.

Tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

In general, all of my characters start as an idea or concept. For example: Graham came to fruition because I thought it'd be funny for the man who oversees campus safety at this small college to have a rebellious daughter. Then slowly, I add more details about who she is as a person. I ask "why?" questions all of the time. Once I have a solid idea of who they are, I connect them to other characters. Sometimes relationships come before the solid idea and they help.

Do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

I write so many lgbtq+ and people of color. I genuinely don't think I have many cishet white characters. Because if they're not straight, then they're bisexual, lesbian, or asexual. I write a handful of trans people (Graham my darling beloved is trans). And I don't write a ton of white people because I enjoy writing things that represent me and my communities.

When it comes to this specific unnamed WIP the characters share themes of guilt, love, and rebellion. Which is what creates the perfect storm of the plot they find themselves in.

How do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

I use picrews to imagine what my characters look like. I don't draw and I prefer the blank canvas I get with avatar creators. It's very freeing.

Your Writing

What’s your reason for writing?

I write to share my thoughts and feelings. My opinions will be heard one way or another.

Is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

Honestly, most comments are motivating enough. Just the idea that someone looked at my work and felt compelled to write something about it is enough for me.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Character building and writing tension. I feel both go hand in hand when you're writing scenes. The stronger the character the better potential for a tangible relationship between the two.

What have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

Professors have complimented me on tension and character-building. I've been told I have the ability to really dig things out.

How do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

It's fun and cool. Best hobby ever!

If you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

Definitely. In fact, I'd probably write in obscure and weird places. Like I'd get paint and write lines of poetry on the street. Things like that. All of my writing doesn't need to be read, I just like getting it out of my head.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

As someone who has also written fanfiction, I don't care what other people enjoy. I write for myself first and foremost. Because for every single person who doesn't like my writing, I know there's at least a handful of people who love it. If I focused on what people enjoyed reading I simply wouldn't be writing my WIP novel.

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Tag list time !

@sodaliteskull @honeybewrites @cowboybrunch @writeblragenda

+ Open tag to anyone else who wants to participate!

[lilacmuse]

September Sunshine

Thursday was my best friend's birthday, so i threw a little surprise dinner at her favorite Mediterranean restaurant with her sisters and a few close friends... I wasn't sure i'd be able to pull it off, but it worked like a charm :) She was completely shocked, stunned, and delighted when she saw us. One of our longest-running inside jokes is roasting each other about how old we're getting, so i skipped over the usual Happy Birthday balloons and got her "Happy Grandparents Day" and "Best Grandma Ever" balloons instead 😄 Overall, it was an absolutely beautiful night, and my friend's happiness made my week.

I've always had an idealistic view of love, but my idealism doesn't come from a place of naivete, it comes from genuine experience. Every form of love God has shown me has been so rare, i've never learned to crave the ordinary, and the bond between my best friend and i is an especially hard one to explain. To put it simply: God happened to place her on the street right next to mine when we were 12, and she ended up being the one person in my life who has loved me in a way that feels closest to His love.

I heard a cynical man say once that most people disappoint you once you get to know them better; that time always makes us tire of people once the initial excitement fades. I know that this might often be the case, but when your soul truly, deeply clicks with someone else's, it's a different story. Even after all these years, my best friend and i practically glow with happiness every time we're together; when we're not holding back, it's as if the energy of the entire room shifts purely from the love between our hearts. It's strange, because our personalities are opposites- she's practical, street smart, socially aware, and in touch with the real world; i'm the dreamy, head-in-the-clouds poet who's more at home in the realm of ideas than the world of the tangible.

When we were growing up, she was the rebellious one who would leap without looking, and i was the shy over-thinker who would look too long and forget to leap; i admired her bravery, and she loved my innocence. But our hearts are nearly identical- we're both wired to give people the benefit of the doubt too often, we both want to see the best in people no matter how many times they've shown us the worst, and we'd both do anything for the people we love. The longer i live, the more i recognize that there aren't many people in the world who exist like this, and it feels like a miracle that we have each other. I know many people don't believe in soulmates, but God gave me one in the form of a best friend, so i can vouch that they do exist :)

Last year, we were having a deep, vulnerable conversation about love, and i finally got the courage to be completely honest with her about how differently i see it. I'd always avoided having that conversation because we're so different; she had grown up dreaming of marriage and the white picket fence; i had always viewed marriage as something potentially beautiful but non-essential to my happiness. I was afraid she might not understand, and she was the one person whose understanding i wanted. But as soon as i explained that i can't bring myself to consider marriage unless it's to someone who has the spiritual depth i yearn for, she got it instantly- she said it wouldn't have made sense coming from anyone else, but she understood because it was coming from me.

The conversation made me realize that when someone truly loves you, they learn to step outside of themselves and into your reality for a bit; in their quest to understand you, they learn to experience life as you experience it, and understand the inner workings of your heart from the inside out. All my life, i've been wired to do that for everyone i meet, but i've rarely ever experienced it in return; most people just don't look or feel that deeply. When i do experience it- when someone just *gets* me as if we're momentarily the same heart beating in two different bodies- it's a completely transcendent, incomparable feeling, and it perfectly describes the way my best friend and i love each other. In a nutshell, that's what i imagine when i think about the kind of love i want; i'd like to be with someone who can see through my eyes as easily as i can see through his. I think what i'm describing is pure empathy- of a spiritual, emotional, and intellectual nature.

-----------------------

When my best friend and i were catching up last week, i opened up to her about a jarring experience i'd had the weekend before: there was a major Sunni convention here last weekend, so my friends and i decided to check it out on Saturday. Unfortunately, the convention itself was sold out, so we ended up perusing the bazaar for a few hours instead (people offered to sneak us in bc i was dying to hear Yasir Qadhi & a few others, but i felt like cheating to get into an Islamic lecture would be like gambling to go to Hajj 🙈). After the bazaar, we stood in the lobby for a moment, and i noticed a guy sneaking a glance at me while subtly pointing me out to one of his friends. I was going to ignore it, but he circled back and did it again. I glanced up surreptitiously, thought he looked familiar, then realized who he was with a mild pang of fear.

Several years ago- while in the midst of being intensely pressured by everyone in my immediate vicinity to get married- i decided to download one of the apps to see if i could meet someone at my own pace. I lasted about two days before the sheer number of notifications overwhelmed me, so i deleted the app and never looked back. After my cousin's wedding in June, i briefly downloaded it again purely to have something to point to when people bother me about not being married, and i realized i had tons of matches and messages i'd never looked at. One of them was a guy living in my city who had sent me multiple messages in 2019, then again in 2023, then again more recently. Though i'd never responded, his messages were nice- he seemed sweet, polite, and eager to meet me, so i decided to look at his profile because i didn't know anything about him. What i found there made my jaw drop. This is a small sampling:

...the rest of his profile was equally disturbing, as if he had somehow absorbed the terrible personality of every alpha male podcaster and condensed it into the most offensive, humorless drivel imaginable. He's allegedly a comedian, but i've met corpses with better comedic sensibilities. What i don't understand about men like this is- why would you behave like this and still go out of your way to try to talk to a practicing Muslim woman for marriage? Why would any self-respecting woman willingly choose someone so openly corrupt and mannerless? This man doesn't need a wife, he needs the guillotine 😡

After my friend and i were done being alarmed that a man like this exists and is apparently free to terrorize women, she asked to see all the other guys i've matched with who have messaged me. Her reaction was pretty much what i'd figured; she was stunned by how good-looking they are and insisted that i at least respond and give them a chance. I admitted that i've never replied to a single message, and i probably never will- i know how foolish that is, but my heart won't let me.

It's nothing at all about them- these men are incredibly handsome, capable, and well-rounded beyond anything i could ask for- the problem is always me. The superficial things mean nothing to me, and i cant bring myself to talk to dozens of different men with the hope that one of them might surprise me and turn out to have the depth i'm looking for. Until God sends me my person, i'm happy as i am. I know people malign singleness, but i think there's beauty in every season of life, and i've never taken my independence for granted. Marriage is beautiful, but so is having the freedom to truly meet yourself as an individual; to explore the inner workings of your being, and produce beautiful things as a direct consequence of that introspection. I guess what i want out of marriage, more than anything, is someone whose presence feels as satisfying and safe for me as solitude.

On a lighter note, i think my friends and i might go on a roadtrip and rent a cabin later in the Fall iA; i haven't been camping at all this year, so i can't wait. Wedding season is also around the corner, as is Mawlid- i absolutely love this time of year :)

As always, i'm praying for the state of the world, and for the liberation and safety of Palestine- may Allah (swt) hasten their freedom and aid the oppressed all over the world. To all the Palestinians who have messaged me on here: i'm doing my best to help as many people as i can, but please forgive me if i can't. May God be with you, half of my heart is always with you. ❤️

x r

[rainbluealoekitten]

hey so i don't know you at all, but i saw on an old post that you did an IB eng lang+lit extended essay,,, and if you have ANY tips on choosing a topic for that i would literally appreciate it so much,, i have to choose my topic in the next 24 hours (procrastination </3) and i have vague ideas but no clue how i could structure them or what kinds of topics the IB prefers :/ literally any help, via dm or answering the ask, would be so so helpful ((( but no pressure ofc :] )))

omg hi babes, i'd be super happy to give my advice and i hope i'm not too late?

ok so you know the 3 categories i'm assuming? idk what your school is like but if you need more guidance on the ee in general, go to philpot's step by step guide

when you're told to pick something that interests you, DO THAT. you will spend MONTHS on this topic, researching and writing for hours upon hours, so you HAVE to be invested. even if you love love a topic, you might still struggle for a variety of reasons (my tips on this later on). regardless, you are on tumblr engaging in fandom and media for a reason. WHAT is that reason? what compels you? what themes, character dynamics, settings, motifs compel you? what shows, what books, what films? what about in lang and lit class? do you like ad analysis and the societal implications? do you prefer minute details that make a movie just so so good (e.g. lighting)? did you watch the dead poets society and you've been reading poetry aloud ever since?

the ib requires you to write about an "acclaimed" literary or non literary work, which gives you a LOT of choice. you could write about doctor who, for example.

i'll explain my process when i was picking my topic.

i have always liked greek mythology (like a LOT) and my favourite figure is akhilles. i decided i wanted to do something exploring his relationship with patroklos, but alas! i could not look at the iliad as it was not written in english originally, which didn't fit into either cat 1 or cat 2. so... why not the song of achilles? it's well known and acclaimed, plus would be more fitting for a dp level of literary analysis. but how to explore the characters? well... what else was i interested in?

what makes a character a hero?

this was the central question. i ended up changing the specifics of my question a million times which... don't do that. eventually, my question was (more or less), "how does miller conform to and subvert the characteristics of a hero through characterisation?" (that was not the question. i promise that the actual question was a million times better).

NOW. my extra note.

before you start researching and outlining, here is something i recommend you do before starting, based on my own issues. now, i did get a predicted (knock on wood) A, but after way too much deliberation.

make a list of your strengths and of your weaknesses. consider literary analysis vs diegetic and non diegetic sound analysis (idk if that's even what it's called but yk). consider time management skills. consider outlining skills. consider research skills. what do *you* need in terms of help and support from your supervisor? what do you need to do to help yourself? for example, i should have forced myself to pick a question from the start, before even starting research. this is an issue i have in other subjects too, and caused me a lot of grief for my history ia. i also asked my ee supervisor to help me come up with a realistic, step-by-step schedule bc i struggle assigning myself deadlines.

for the second part of your ask, structure is going to be super dependent based on your topic and category. i recommend reading examples similar to your topic (don't waste time reading ad analysis if you're doing poetry aha). i did mine with bg info on the classical view of heroes, then each bp was a different aspect (first conformity, then subversion). i have a friend who wrote hers on a feminist film and her bg was about feminist theory, with mentions of that time period, which then informed her fairly standard-structure analysis.

let me know if this helps in any way at all, and don't hesitate to reach out again if needed! i wish you the absolute best with the ee and dp more broadly :)

[twistedtummies2]

Top 12 Edgar Allan Poe Stories

October has come ‘round, everyone! Usually I have some kind of big Event for this month, but this year, I decided to take things a bit easy on myself and instead do a bunch of single-post lists throughout the month, which are thematically tied to the time of Halloween in some form or another. With that in mind, we’ll kick this month off with a tribute to my favorite author: that Master of the Macabre, Edgar Allan Poe. Poe was the quintessential “tortured artist.” His life story is a tragic and strange one, just as dark and filled with despair as many of the things he wrote. But for all of its pitfalls and distressing points, there was more to the man than doom and gloom: his writing reflects that, as Poe not only was and still is considered the master of the Gothic horror story, but also was a gifted romantic poet, and even wrote many pieces of humorous satire. One of his greatest contributions to literature was the invention of the modern detective story! Works like “The Phantom of the Opera” and characters like “Sherlock Holmes” simply would not exist if it hadn’t been for the prose and poetry of Edgar Allan Poe. Ever since I was young - perhaps too young to fully appreciate the intricacies of his work - I’ve always admired and adored this writer, and so I figured now was as good a time as any to show my appreciation for all this fellow gave to the world of literature. Most of the stories on this countdown will be Poe’s classic horror stories, but there will be some other pieces as well. I WON’T be including any of his poems, however; I’m saving a separate, shorter list for those. With that said, let’s waste time nevermore! These are My Top 12 Stories from Edgar Allan Poe.

12. Descent Into the Maelstrom.

Many people credit Poe for the invention of the modern detective story, which is true and good. However, there’s one thing I think people could credit Poe for creating that has yet to be officially stated as his invention: the creation of what might be called modern “Survival Horror.” These are stories where the fear comes from the protagonist being thrown into a perilous situation, and the audience - usually in the role of said protagonist - just has to go through it and survive, plain and simple. The horror comes from the helplessness of the situation, and the desperate urge to escape, combined with the perspective being done in such a way that the readers (or viewers, or players, depending on the medium) are the ones who are put through it. “Descent Into the Maelstrom” can sort of be seen as a precursor to this style. It is a story within in a story, told largely from the perspective of a fisherman, who relates to a young friend about how he survived an encounter his ship had with a monstrous whirlpool, out in the open sea. It’s revealed that the sailor’s experience was so shocking, it has turned his hair white and made him appear older than he really is. There’s not much else to the story beyond that, but that’s really all it needs: while we know the fisherman obviously survived, the tension remains as we wait to see how he did it, and learn just how close to his own end he nearly got.

11. Never Bet the Devil Your Head.

Like I said, Poe didn’t just write gruesome tales of the macabre and morbid. He also had a sense of humor, and wrote several works of satirical comedy. “Never Bet the Devil Your Head” is my favorite of his comedic works, partially because it is one of his darkest satires; it’s one of a few stories that feel almost like he’s spoofing himself, in some ways, and strangely reminds me of the work of another great author I love, Washington Irving. (Whether this was intentional or not is anybody’s guess.) The story spoofs the idea that all good short tales should teach some kind of moral lesson, as it begins with the Narrator expressing frustration at the fact his critics have judged him for apparently not including a moral in any past works. He thus relates the tale of a friend of his, Toby Dammit. (Yes, you may laugh at that name as much as you like.) Toby is a man who likes to make rhetorical bets, and is particularly fond of declaring, “I’ll bet the Devil my head!” whenever he does so. One day, the Devil himself comes calling, as he stops Toby and the Narrator at a bridge. Toby, not recognizing Old Scratch, makes the rhetorical bet he always does, claiming he can leap over a turnstile in the center of the bridge. The man makes the jump…and has his head lopped off by a hidden blade (“what might be termed a serious injury,” Poe writes), which the Devil then carries off. As a final indignity, after the bill for Toby’s funeral expenses are paid, the Narrator is forced to have his old friend dug up and turned into dog food. This story is as ludicrous as it is morbid, and while the satire is not by any means subtle, it is pretty funny. It’s the only direct comedy tale of Poe’s on this countdown, and not without good reason.

10. The Black Cat.

Many consider this one of Poe’s most noteworthy masterworks. While it doesn’t sit as high for me as some of his other stories - it feels a bit too similar to some other works of his that came both before and after it, which I feel did the concepts involved much greater justice, personally - I do still very much enjoy this story. The tale is told from the perspective of a murderer, awaiting his date with the executioner. The killer relates the details of his ghastly crime, which began when he murdered a black cat that he and his wife once owned, named Pluto. Sometime later, a second black cat came into their lives, which the killer believed was the reincarnation of the first pet, and feared. One day, when trying to kill this second feline with an axe, the narrator accidentally murders his wife in the process. To cover up this heinous deed, he attempted to brick her up behind a false wall in the cellar…but needless to say, things didn’t exactly go the way he expected, once the police showed up. Extraordinarily brutal and highly disturbing, “The Black Cat” is one of Poe’s most ambiguous and unsettling stories, and deserves all the recognition it has garnered over time.

9. Murders in the Rue Morgue.

I have said a couple of times now that Poe is credited with inventing the modern detective story. Poe referred to these tales as “studies in ratiocination;” he treated them more like essays than typical pieces of literature, where the focus was on showing the power of deductive logic in an otherwise inexplicable situation. There were three primary stories in this bunch, two of which are on this countdown. “Murders in the Rue Morgue” was the first and arguably the most well-known and beloved of the bunch, as it combines the elements of a classic piece of what we now recognize as detective fiction, with the trappings of Gothic horror and an almost satirical absurdity, which are so uniquely Poe. The story focuses on gentleman sleuth C. Auguste Dupin, who is called upon to solve a mysterious slew of hideously brutal slayings in Paris. The solution to the crime - SPOILER ALERT - turns out to be that the killings were the work of a sailor’s wayward pet orangutan, who accidentally killed the victims while attempting to shave their faces, the way it saw its owner do numerous times. I love how the solution to this crime is honestly kind of hilarious (in a very twisted way, mind you), as well as totally bonkers, yet the story goes out of its way to make such an utterly insane answer sound surprisingly plausible. You can easily see where future great writers of murder mysteries and sleuth stories, such as Arthur Conan Doyle and G.K. Chesterton, might have taken inspiration. It was a great start to a great genre, and is more than deserving of recognition for that fact.

8. The Pit and the Pendulum.

Yet another example of Poe arguably inventing the “Survival Horror” genre, and honestly, this is probably the very best said example one could have. Once again told from the point of view of the narrator (as most of Poe’s stories were), this tale recounts the experiences of a poor prisoner, being tormented by the Spanish Inquisition. He relates all the ways he was physically and mentally tormented by the Inquisitors, and his cunning attempts to escape his captors. The most notable examples of his torture are a seemingly bottomless pit in the center of his cell, and then later, being stuck under…(pauses)... “Oh. Look. There’s the pendulum of doom! What’s the pendulum of doom doing there?! I did not order the pendulum of doom! It’s overkill! Get rrrrid of it!” (Ahem…sorry, I freaking love that line. XD ) In all seriousness, I can’t recall if the “Pendulum of Doom” concept ever even existed before Poe wrote this story; to my knowledge, it wasn’t a real method of torture/execution, and I can’t remember it being brought up in fiction before this. So, if nothing else, Poe created the original supervillain death trap, and showed just how scary it could be in the process. Doesn’t that earn placement in the Top 10, if nothing else? I thought as much.

7. Hop-Frog.

“Hop-Frog” was Poe’s final story, but you probably wouldn’t guess it from reading this violent tale of vengeance. The story - for once NOT told by an unnamed narrator - focuses on a wicked king and his courtiers, who delight in mocking and abusing their servants. Most notable among their victims are the King’s jester, a hunchbacked dwarf named Hop-Frog, and a dancer by the name of Trippetta, whom Hop-Frog is in love with. The King and his cabinet are fans of practical jokes, so, one day, Hop-Frog offers them an idea for a prank: the King is to host a masquerade ball, and he and his friends are to dress as a horde of orangutans (wow, Poe really liked those, didn’t he?), to scare the other partygoers. The King and his cronies take the jester’s advice, thus falling for Hop-Frog’s trap: the harlequin gives them costumes made out of flammable materials, and, as part of the prank, chains them up and hangs them like a chandelier over the assembled partygoers…before setting them all on fire. As they are burned alive before the horrified revelers, Hop-Frog escapes with Trippetta, pronouncing his vengeance with the words: “this is my last jest!” There is great irony in the fact that Poe probably had no idea this last great declamation against cruelty and prejudice, with a side of Gothic chills, would, indeed, be his last great jest.

6. The Purloined Letter.

This was the third of Poe’s C. Auguste Dupin mystery tales, and it’s the second of the two I mentioned would be on this list. While “Murders in the Rue Morgue” is certainly the most iconic of these tales, I actually think this story is even better. It lacks the sense of Gothic horror and slightly satirical humor the first story has, but it makes up for it by being…well…a darn good detective story! Dupin is called upon for help by the local Prefect of Police, referred to simply as “G.” G wants Dupin to recover a stolen letter, filled with incriminating information, belonging to none other than the Queen of France herself. The police know who is responsible for the theft - an unscrupulous minister simply referred to as “Minister D.” who is using it to blackmail Her Majesty. The problem is that they can’t seem to find the evidence to convict him, nor the incriminating document, even after searching the man’s house. SPOILER ALERT: Dupin later reveals that the letter was in plain view all along. Minister D. had presumed that G. would be searching high and low, so he hid the letter by making it simply seem like junk lingering around in the room, instead of tucking it into some super-secret hiding place. Dupin simply arranged a distraction to make sure Minister D. wasn’t looking, then switched the incriminating letter with a phony, before giving the document to the police. Simple but utterly brilliant; definitely one of the best detective stories ever made, in my books, as well as one of the first.

5. The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar.

This is arguably the single most gory and explicitly grotesque of all of Poe’s stories, as well as one of the most unnerving. I can’t help but feel this particular tale had to be an influence on later writers, most notably H.P. Lovecraft, for its combination of surreal, nightmarish, and viscerally deplorable elements. It’s also one that taps into some primal fears and questions, regarding the eternal mystery of what really separates life from death: a concept that forever fascinated Poe in his works. The story tells of M. Valdemar, an old man who agrees to allow a friend of his - an expert in hypnosis - to induce a state of hypnotic slumber on him while on his deathbed. Valdemar dies while under the hypnotic influence - unnervingly, he is able to speak to the investigators, even after he is dead - but as long as the hypnosis is left in place, his body remains totally intact, as if he is arrested in a state of suspended animation. It is hinted that until his soul is allowed to pass on, his body cannot pass, either. After conducting several experiments on the man, the hypnotist and his colleagues attempt to wake M. Valdemar…and - this is the disgusting part - the man suddenly rots away and decomposes in a matter of seconds before their eyes, literally falling apart at the seams and being reduced to a gory mass of decaying flesh. So gross, so unsettling, and so utterly, utterly horrific…I LOVE IT.

4. Fall of the House of Usher.

This is one of Poe’s earliest horror stories, and it’s widely considered to be the first truly great piece of Gothic literature he ever wrote; other stories before this, such as “Ligeia” and “MS. in a Bottle" do have their values, but “Fall of the House of Usher” is widely regarded as the first actual masterpiece Poe wrote. It is a story that has been adapted and reimagined countless times, and is widely considered one of the author’s most definitive pieces of work. The story focuses on - you guessed it - an unnamed Narrator, who goes to spend some time with a childhood friend, Roderick Usher, as well as Roderick’s beloved sister, Madeline. The Ushers live in a dilapidated mansion, situated on a tiny island in the middle of a murky lake, perpetually surrounded by long-dead trees. Roderick claims to suffer from a medical condition that heightens all of his senses to an alarming rate, while his sister spends much of her time in bed, fighting a terminal illness. The events that occur inside the spooky old mansion will forever traumatize the Narrator, and leave both Roderick and Madeline dead. This is one of Poe’s longest and most complex stories, plot-wise, so I don’t want to give too much away. Suffice it to say, this story has a lot of the hallmarks of later Poe pieces: the themes, motifs, and phobias present are among the most frequently visited in his works following this one, and one could easily make the argument that the House of Usher itself was the inspiration for many a famous haunted house and haunted house story in more modern times. I actually like this story more today than I probably did when I was younger, and it has more than earned its place in my personal top five.

3. The Cask of Amontillado.

This was one of the first pieces by Poe I ever read, and it remains one of my favorites. Once again, our Narrator is a killer, only this time he’s actually given a name: Montresor. It’s indicated that Montresor is a nobleman who lives in Italy, and he has vowed to gain revenge (for reasons that are never made entirely clear) against a former friend of his: a wine-loving gourmet by the ironic name of Fortunato. One night, during Carnival time, Montresor entices Fortunato into a wine cellar with the promise of tasting a rare vintage of amontillado. Montresor claims he wants Fortunato to assure him of the beverage’s authenticity. Once there, he shackles a stupefied Fortunato into a shallow alcove, and proceeds to brick up the place, effectively burying Fortunato alive. The murder plot and the way it is carried out are deeply disturbing, but perhaps the thing that makes the story so particularly fascinating is Montresor himself: Poe leaves some subtle implications of what might be at the heart of this feud that has turned so deadly, but he never gives a clear answer as to why Montresor is not only so intent on revenge, but on using such an extreme method as immurement for his vengeance. It invites the the reader to play detective themselves, in a way, pondering the circumstances around the crime, even as the confession is laid before us.

2. Masque of the Red Death.

In many of Poe’s stories that involve supernatural elements, it’s left ambiguous how much of them are real or imagined. This is not the case with “Masque of the Red Death,” and if that’s not unnerving enough, the actual subject matter of the story will be. To a greatly unsettling degree, this story is arguably more powerful today than it’s ever been. Unlike so many other Poe tales, this one is written in the third person (much like “Hop-Frog”), and tells the legend of a horrible plague that swept across a far-off kingdom. This plague was called The Red Death: it caused its victims to sweat blood, and killed within half an hour. To try and escape the scourge, the “dauntless and sagacious” Prince Prospero has himself, his courtiers, and many of his fellow royals and noblemen take refuge in his castle, where they party and cavort, even as the populace beyond the palace walls are left to die from the epidemic. One night, while holding a masquerade ball, however, the Prince and his allies are visited by a mysterious stranger, who is ultimately revealed to be the Red Death itself. You can probably guess how things go from there. The story is a cautionary tale against the inevitability of death, and how no matter what one tries to do, no one - however smart, rich, or powerful they may be - can truly escape it forever. Haunting and unsettlingly truthful, it is easily one of Poe’s most iconic pieces.

1. The Tell-Tale Heart.

Believe it or not, I first learned of this story because of - out of all things - an episode of Spongebob Squarepants. No, that is not a joke: there’s an episode of Spongebob that directly spoofs this short story. Naturally, of course, I prefer the original, but I figured that was worth sharing for the amusement of it. ANYWAY… “The Tell-Tale Heart” is considered one of Poe’s darkest and most delightfully ambiguous pieces (and that’s saying a lot), and for good reason. Once again, our unnamed Narrator is the protagonist…and also, much like in “Cask of Amontillado” or “The Black Cat,” they’re a murderer. However, the killer has a specific agenda in this case: he’s trying to prove that he ISN’T insane. How does he do this? By telling the reader the story of how he murdered and the dismembered a helpless old man that he cared about (it’s left unsure if they are his father, his employer, or something/someone else), because the old man had a weird eye that gave him the heebie-jeebies. (pauses) Yeah. Great way of professing your own sanity there, big shot. In all seriousness, though, that’s the brilliance of Poe’s story: as the tale goes on, it becomes clearer and clearer to the reader that the protagonist is absolutely out of their mind…and that makes the big event - when he swears he hears his mutilated victim’s heart beating under the floorboards - all the more ambiguous. We can reasonably presume it’s a hallucination, but it’s not directly stated to be so. There’s also the possibility it’s a manifestation of his guilty conscience. On another note, just like Roderick Usher, this narrator claims to once again have heightened senses; could he be hearing something else and making a mistake? Or perhaps…just perhaps…it’s the old man’s ghostly specter, haunting him and forcing him to admit to his crime? None of these answers would be out of the realm of possibility where Poe is involved, and all of them are interesting to ponder. However you read into it, “The Tell-Tale Heart” is a gripping and profoundly troubling tale of madness, murder, and many strange, unanswered questions…in other words, all the things that make this author’s work in the fields of horror and crime so renowned. It is no surprise this takes the cake as My Favorite of the Works by Edgar Allan Poe.

HONORABLE MENTIONS INCLUDE…

Morella.

The Gold-Bug.

The Oblong Box.

The Premature Burial.