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isalisewrites · 6 months ago

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A Deep Dive into JKR's Terrible, Amateur Writing - Part One

Welcome to my new series, where I will prove to you, dear reader, that J.K. Rowling, author of the Harry Potter series and resident Twitter TERF, is actually a very, very poor writer.

And when I say 'poor writer,' I'm talking about her prose, her sentence structure, and her scenes. I am not going to discuss anything about the HP world nor the plots of the books.

This is all about the nitty gritty in the craft of writing itself.

Disclaimer for all readers: I'm going to sound very confident in my posts. I'm going to be working under the assumption that I'm a better writer than JKR. Because I am. My apologies if this rubs you the wrong way. You're just witnessing two and half decades of experience with the intensity from a neurodivergent who is hyperfocused on her special interest. I didn't just learn how to create stories; I learned the craft of writing to a minutia of details.

After years of being beaten down by others, I will no longer tolerate that.

I will be using my writing to compare with hers to make some of my points. Some of what I say in these posts could be considered stylistic choices. However, in my humble opinion, most of this is a difference of skill, which can be learned. Yes, everything I'm going to teach and cover in this series can be learned. There's no 'talent' here. You can learn how to become a better writer right here and now. You only have to understand the craft of writing and sentence structure to better improve your prose and scenes.

I don't have fame and money.

I don't need them to teach you how to write better than JKR.

You're free to disagree with my stances about this and about everything I cover, of course. But if you're a writer, you might gain some insight from this post and I sincerely hope you are enriched by my efforts in this. I spent quite a few hours on this post. Helping others become a better writer than JKR is one of the greatest contributions I can give to society.

Thus, take what resonates and leave what doesn't.

I have stated before: JKR's writing is bloated in the wrong places, underwritten in others, and the prose is poor. These problems show up in all of her HP books.

Buckle up, my writing friends. Grab a snack. Hydrate. Let's begin.

Class is in session.

In this post, we're going to dissect a page from HP4.

There's so much wrong with this page and the three pages of this scene overall. So much to go over. Bullet points I'll cover from this page:

Disconnected Dialogue Lines

The Great Sin of Adverbs

Too much fucking dialogue!

Wrong focus altogether in this scene

Out of POV writing

First point. This is a huge ongoing issue I see in all of the HP books. There are a lot of disconnected dialogue lines, which become confusing over time. This could be an issue of the publisher, but it's still a problem. In the middle of this page, we have:

Sirius hesitated. "I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly.

Wait, wait, wait. Who said this? Listen, I know. I know it's Sirius. However, this is an improper placement on the page and can become confusing because Harry also goes by he/him pronouns and he's also in this scene. While the dialogue here suggests Sirius is talking, it could easily be misinterpreted if there were other characters or if he said something that Harry could've just as easily said.

To make this dialogue more clear for the reader, it should go as follows:

Sirius hesitated. "I've been hearing some very strange things," he said slowly.

Second point. JKR is an adverb sinner, a criminal. Jail. "Do not pass go; do not collect $200." Arrest her for these blatant crimes, please, for the love of god.

Look, I love adverbs. They're great. Don't fucking listen to anyone who outright demonizes them (including your huffy, uppity literature professors). Adverbs are the seasonings of writing. You season your food; you also need to season your writing when the case asks for it.

However...

Adverbs should always be used sparingly when connected to dialogue tags. The setting in this scene is: Harry is in the Gryffindor Common Room at night crouched in front of the fireplace where Sirius is in the fire in a floo call. I read through the whole scene, though I've only shown one page here.

Harry says a line of dialogue 'slowly' three times and Sirius says a line of dialogue 'slowly' two times.

The same adverb 'slowly' is used FIVE FUCKING TIMES IN THREE PAGES.

I want to scream, not gonna lie here. Set this adverb on fire!

What does this adverb do for us in this conversation? What is so important that we have to be told that five lines of dialogue were said slowly? What do they contribute? Spoiler alert: nothing. What are their facial expressions? Harry is 14. He's exhausted since it's well after 1am or so and he's burdened with the new knowledge of dragons for the first task. He's kneeling in front of a very hot fireplace. There's fire fumes and smoke, potentially. Is he fidgeting? Is he yawning? Rubbing his eyes? Bouncing a leg? Is he picking at the carpet or rug?

Harry is a tired, burdened child.

Show me this!

Now I'm not saying that you can't use adverbs in your dialogue tags. There's a huge difference between "he said softly" and "he whispered." It's about balancing the moment when an adverb says just enough versus an adverb replacing well needed scene enrichment. Let's compare this with a section from my HP time travel fanfiction, Terrible, But Great, Chapter Thirty.

Dumbledore nodded at Monty, pocketing his wand. “Mr. Potter.” “Lo, Professor,” said Monty, pout gone, but still a watchful light in his gaze. “Is there a problem?” asked Dumbledore in a mild tone. Ice slipped in between Tom’s ribs, piercing his flesh. Monty tilted his head. “No, sir.” Oh, but Tom knew better. He could see through that innocent facade. The man could’ve been a Slytherin for how much he was cataloguing every little detail, from Tom’s appearance, to the content of the selected books, and to the supplies of ink, quill, and parchment scattered on the surface of the table. Tom masked the raw, whirling feelings in his chest with a well practiced blank, emotionless expression. He willed himself to hide. “Nothing at all, sir,” said Tom lightly. “Young Mr. Potter was regaling me about his friendship with Miss Malfoy.” Monty glanced at Tom, brows furrowing. Those blue eyes were piercing, filled with suspicion. “Was he now?” Dumbledore said; though his tone was still without direct accusation, Tom could hear the hint of it. “Then, may I ask, why a silencing charm was necessary for such a benign conversation?” Tom wet his lips. His throat was dry. “I thought it wise to avoid disturbing others in the library.” “I am awfully loud,” said Monty with a sage nod. “Ah. A noble intent. However, it is not an appropriate use of magic in the library,” said Dumbledore, his gaze firm as it bore down on Tom. “Ten points from Slytherin. I think it’d be wise to take your studies to your common room, Mr. Riddle.” “Yes, sir,” whispered Tom.

I only used "said Tom lightly" once in this section to show Tom attempting to be unaffected by Dumbledore's interference. I did not dialogue dump information in giant chunks. I did utilized actions tags versus adverbs, like Monty tilting his head or Tom licking his lips. I suspect that if JKR had written this scene, she'd have used lines like:

"No, sir," said Monty curiously.

"I thought it wise to avoid disturbing others in the library," said Tom nervously.

The adverbs that JKR's uses add nothing to her scenes. They're just thrown into them without a thought. Did she even reread this scene after she wrote it? I cringe in agony if I use an uncommon word more than three or four times in an entire 4,000 to 7,000 word chapter, let alone the same adverb five times in three pages. Good grief.

There are two other adverbs used in this page, hastily and bitterly. Hastily does nothing for the scene and is connected to another issue, but I'll go over that in the end. However, bitterly is one of the adverbs I'd keep. It gives us a glimpse into Harry's feelings here. We need more of this, but we got nothing.

Thus, the overuse of adverbs in JKR's dialogue detracts and steals so much from the scene.

Third point: there's too much dialogue and no description whatsoever. Again, the adverbs are a pathetic attempt to give us something, but they're thrown in there without a damn forethought. We're missing the crackle of the fire and the smell of it. We're missing Sirius' facial expressions. We're missing Harry moving around on the floor, fidgeting, yawning, rubbing his eyes, feeling the heat of the fire, bouncing his legs, picking at the rug, something, anything, etc.

The dialogue is bloated with a terribly boring conversation. It's just endless dialogue with nothing else. No, it's awful. Welcome to the fourth bullet point. This scene focuses on the entirely wrong point. This scene is 100% a plot device and it's terribly done as well. It's three pages about Karkaroff being a Death Eater--oh no he might be trying to kill you, Harry, aaaaaa--and something about Bertha Jorkins being near Voldemort's last location. Meh. Who cares. Somebody has been trying to kill Harry in every book thus far. This isn't a new development, sweetie.

We been done know this, okay? Come on.

This is a stilted, unnatural conversation between Harry and Sirius. It's not realistic. It's not normal. Telling Harry about the Karkaroff's past is boring and does nothing for him. One line, maybe two, for Sirius to say, "Hey, keep an eye out for Karkaroff. He's an old Death Eater." Done. End of Karkaroff information. And cut Bertha Jorkins out altogether. I'm sorry, but why the hell are we talking about a dead woman to a 14 year old kid whose biggest problem at the moment is dealing with a jealous friend, school ostracization, and a giant fire breathing lizard???

These points are important to the plot, but they're not important to Harry.

The plot isn't important. No, it's not.

Harry is the POV character.

Harry is the single most important aspect in every scene and should be treated as such.

The plot should weave around Harry, slowly revealing itself to both Harry and the reader. Harry should not be the weaver of the plot. He should not be used in plot devices.

Do you know what part of the conversation was summarized in the prose between Harry and Sirius in a single paragraph versus the three pages about Karkaroff?

Harry talking about how no one believes him about not putting his name in the Goblet of Fire. About the school hating him. About Ron, about his betrayal and his jealousy. About Rita Skeeter. About seeing the dragons as the first task. These are all important to Harry. These all are causing pain to Harry's heart right now. Somebody give this child a hug, please.

We missed out on exploring Harry's feelings here. The author skips the MOST important part of the conversation, what could've been a deeply emotional, either positive or negative, conversation between Harry and Sirius.

Oh, this scene could've been so good. It could've been amazing. There are so many paths that could've been explored here, too.

We could've had a callous Sirius, who doesn't notice Harry's state of being, and just goes on and on about nothing of importance where Harry clams up. Or we've could've had a comforting Sirius, who attempts to give Harry some actual advice about his friendship with Ron. We could've seen Harry opening up in his body language, connecting with this parental figure in his life. We could've heard a story of Sirius' time as a kid at school with Harry's father and the marauders.

We were robbed of an important moment between Harry and Sirius.

Instead, the author puts the focus on the red herring 'foreshadowing' of Karkaroff. What a waste. She's trying to put suspicion on him, rather than Moody/Barty Crouch Jr., the real Death Eater in disguise. Again, who cares. It's not about them. It's about Harry and how his experiences are affecting him. It's about how he reacts to them.

This scene is a waste of time and paper. It's empty of emotion and movement/flow. It's just there for a set up and it's glaringly obvious during a second read of the book.

When I say, "The writing is bloated and underwritten at the same time." this is what I mean. We're focusing on the wrong things here.

Fifth point. JKR breaks the POV character with the following line:

"--and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius said hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but...

Harry is the POV character. Sirius 'seeing Harry about to speak' should NOT be occurring in the prose whatsoever. To fix this with the bare minimum of effort for this poorly written dialogue line:

"--and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts--" Harry opened his mouth to interject, but Sirius said hastily, "Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm, but..."

I wouldn't write these lines like this, by the way. I just don't want to rewrite this. It's a poor paragraph overall, but this is an example of returning the POV back to Harry. Sirius isn't 'seeing' anything anymore. Harry is doing an action and Sirius reacts to his action.

Breaking POV is a rule that can be occasionally broken, but should be done so with intent and purpose. I'm pretty confident when I say that JKR probably had no idea that this was a mistake on her part in the prose.

All right then.

We have come to an end of Part One in this series. We have dissected a single page and a single scene in JKR's Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. The page in question is 333 should you wish to look it up and study the scene yourself.

More to follow because I have lots of pages to go over. This will definitely be series, ah dear.

And so, please do the world the greatest of favors and write better than J.K. Rowling. I promise, it's not that hard once you see the differences.

Until next time.

Isa

433 notes · View notes

mochie85 · 1 year ago

Note

As part of your 1k celebrations I would like to submit the following prompt for consideration 😁♥️ feel free to bend it to your will.

Your colleague Loki finds himself in your rooms at Stark Tower for (fairly) innocent reasons.

You arrive back unexpectedly. He hides, at first.

✨✨

Fairly Innocent

One Shot Masterlist | Follower Event Masterlist | Complete Masterlist

A/N: I apologize, with my whole heart, that it has taken me this long to finish this request. So long, that I have reached a new milestone since this request was made. But I hope you enjoy it. Pairing: Loki x Female Reader Word Count: 3.5k Warnings: Explicit. Smut, hand job, oral (female receiving), slight DOM vibes, voyeurism, shower scene, mention of 'toys'. Happy ending. Dividers by: @firefly-graphics

Your room was dark and cold. The curtains were shut leaving a small sliver of light shining from the cityscape outside. There was a stillness in the air from being untouched the last two weeks. “Now, where did she put you?” Loki hummed while looking around your room. He wandered in, using the access code you had given him. His prying eyes scanned and noted how orderly you left your room. And even after some time away, the room still smelled like you. Like citrus blooms on a winter morning.

Loki lent you some practice daggers a while ago and was keen to get them back. They were dull and lightweight. Perfect for beginner enthusiasts like the Widow, who wanted to add a new skill to her ledger. Whom Loki had promised to train, alongside you, in Asgardian combat.

Loki rummaged through your bookshelves, thinking you might have stashed them along with your books and souvenirs from your travels. He knew you loved to read. Your voracious appetite for mysteries and novels rivaled his own. He noted Robert Frost and Agatha Christie situated alongside the many romance novels.

Peculiar, he thought. He’d never known you to be interested in such fiction. You two had always discussed classic literature or Asgardian poetry. A Cheshire grin appeared on his face as he took a book with brightly colored Post-it notes sticking out of the top pages. He opened the paperback to a dog-eared page that was clearly read and reread extensively.

Lucy moaned as Cade’s fingers dipped inside her wet pussy. Trills of pleasure ran up her spine, making her unable to stand any longer. He gently stroked her as he whispered on her neck, “Don’t fight it, baby. Let go for me.”

Loki shut the book closed with wide eyes and a wider grin on his face. “Well, well, well. Who knew that the Avenger’s little darling liked to read smut?!” He said to himself looking at the volumes of romance books you had. He was quite impressed by your ability to surprise him. He thought he had you figured out. He might have to tease you about this when you return from your mission.

Loki searched your closet next, but he couldn’t find the daggers. He combed through hangers of clothing and shelves of shoe boxes till he stumbled upon several silk bags with rope tie enclosures. One bag had the length and shape of the daggers he was searching for. How sweet of her to care for the daggers and stash them in a silk purse. Loki opened the bag and reached in but was again surprised at what he found.

He pulled out a black, patent leather collar with a gold buckle. Glistening under the bright closet light, was a heart-shaped tag, hanging from the center. The name ‘Darling’ was inscribed in cursive. Stunned, Loki looked inside the sateen bag and pulled out what he mistook for his daggers- a short, riding crop that matched the patent leather of the collar. Hanging from the handle was a gold chain that had a tag etched, ‘Darling’s Master.’

An intrusive fantasy came unbidden in his mind. It was of you on all fours, with the collar adorning your neck and him standing behind you rubbing the tip of the crop against your dripping heat. “What other deliciousness are you hiding, my dear?” he whispered as he stowed the collar and whip and reached for another silk purse. Every bag he opened had a different set of negligees. Each one was more lascivious than the last.

The smile on his lips got darker as his body started responding to the different scenarios playing in his head. Each scene- novel and unique, to the set of lingerie he opened. More than once, he had to stop himself from reaching inside and rubbing the fine lace between his fingers. “Nope! No,” he chided himself. “Focus. I’m here for the daggers.” Loki took one last look and walked away before he could swipe one of your lace panties and put it in his back pocket like some pervert. “Daggers. Daggers…where are you daggers…”

He couldn’t stop smiling at the revelation he found. Memories of his last interaction with you played in his head under a new context. It was as if he was seeing you in a different light. Truth be told, he did always find you attractive. But he never once pursued it thinking it wouldn’t be favored by you, or any of the team. You didn’t get the title “The Avenger’s Little Darling” for nothing. You were beloved by all. And he was the untrustworthy, extra baggage that the team had to deal with so they could have Thor on their side.

He knew he couldn’t have you.

One last place he looked was your bedside table. If it’s not here, she must have taken them with her. Opening the drawer, Loki shouldn’t have been surprised at what he found, but he felt an exhilarating chill crawl throughout his body, nonetheless. A vibrator. A large, blue, silicone toy that was tapered at the end, was resting neatly inside. You naughty little minx.

Loki couldn’t help the state of arousal he was in. He stood up and stared at your toy, his fingers running puzzled against his lips. He imagined you spread on your bed, lost in the throes of your passion. What do you think about when you have your toy tucked inside your wet cunt? Who’s name do you moan when you’re at the edge of your climax about to fall? And how can he conspire to make sure you think of him?

Surprised, Loki looked up as he heard the keypad of your door unlocking. In a senseless rush, he closed your drawer and cloaked himself invisible. He didn’t want anyone to find him snooping around your belongings. He stood still as he blended with the shadows of your room.

He shouldn’t have hid. You did give him the access code to your room. You trusted him enough to be in here. But there was something so intimate about the things he found. He felt exposed and guilty. Loki didn’t want anyone to think of him being nefarious with you.

A small sigh of relief flooded him when he realized it was you, back from your assignment. He opened his mouth to speak and announce his presence, but he couldn’t. So many questions rushed through his mind. He wanted to ask all of them! Yet, he was struck immovable by your presence.

Had you always been so lovely? Had your eyes always been that bright and alluring? Your smile, an invitation for his lips?

Were his discoveries about you finally shedding light as to who you might be, underneath the perfect façade you seem to have cultivated for yourself? Everything he found was, he swore to the gods, erotic and arousing. But it was the fact that you surprised him that made his level of attraction to you grow.

You walked in with a heavy sigh, setting your duffel bag down on your bed and your boots onto the floor. You didn’t bother turning on your lights, as you zipped your body suit down and peeled off your armor. A rather tame set of black lace underwear shaped your body. Your exposed skin turned a rich shade in the darkness of your room.

Loki noted some bruises and scars peppering your body. The fresh welts were colored green and blue indicating they were recent and most likely acquired from your latest mission. You massaged your neck and rolled your shoulders trying to ease the ache settling into your bones.

Loki watched as you made your way, routinely, to your en suite and turned on the lights. A loud rush of water from the shower rumbled through, disturbing the silence that had enveloped you both. It took his entire strength as a god to keep standing where he was and not follow you to watch.

New fantasies came unbidden in his mind of you naked and wet in the shower. I need to leave. I need to depart before I do something that both of us would regret. He waited till he heard you close your shower door. The water made loud splashes as it hit against different curves of your body.

A few more minutes and Loki found he could move again. With a shaky breath, he exhaled and made his way to your door. He would’ve continued if it weren’t for your small sighs. Soft moans and whimpers traveled to his god-like hearing. She’s touching herself?!

Loki balled his fist to elicit pain. His fingernails dug deep into the pad of his palms, trying to overcome the overwhelming state of arousal he was in.

“…Loki…”

He stopped and nearly fell to his knees. You said his name! The honeyed tones of your moans dripped over him. Coating his entire body in primal need until it reached his cock and hardened.

He couldn’t leave now. He wouldn’t. He turned on his heel and slowly lifted his cloak, risking everything by pushing the door slightly more open.

Loki licked his lips at the sight of you lost in your orgasm. Your head was thrown back as water trickled down your body. The droplets guiding his eyes down…

…down…

…to where your fingers played with your aching cunt. Your hands explored your curves. Every dip. Every hollow. Every scrumptious mound that he wanted to devour himself.

He stood at your en suite door, his arms holding the frame above his head. He didn’t trust himself to come closer to you. Not until you allowed it. Not until you saw how his eyes became ravenous at the sight of you touching yourself to thoughts of him.

“Loki!? What the hell are you doing?” you screamed out, startled. His eyes traveled back up to yours as you finally acknowledged his presence. Your body turned flush from the heat of the water and the embarrassing situation you found yourself in.

Loki freed himself from your door and tried to answer. Nothing came out but a quivering breath and a small growl of desire. His eyes narrowed and he bit his lip. He took a step forward and closed your bathroom door behind him making your heart drop. He slowly made his way to you. Sluggish feet carrying him across your tiled floors. “Don’t stop on my account, Darling.”

“Why are you here?” you demanded.

“I heard you call out my name. And I am nothing if not a benevolent god who answers your prayers.” It was as if a switch was turned on and Loki couldn’t stop until he had you.

He watched you back into the tile of your shower. You looked like a caged animal put there for his viewing pleasure. “Why are you here?!” you repeated. It’s too late to be demure. He’s seen everything.

“I came looking for the daggers I lent you. I looked everywhere in your room. I couldn't find them.” Loki’s voice was deep but clear. You could hear the dangerous desire in his tone as he reached for the door to your shower. On instinct, you reached for the handle, stopping him from opening it.

The chase became real. He had to have you. The last hour he spent combing through your suggestive belongings had built a naughty little version of you in his head. Like a puzzle. It was the most erotically charged moment he’d ever spent. And now? Now, you were denying him!

“Last chance, Darling. If you want me to leave now, say so,” he said with a smile. “But I promise you this. I won’t stop till I have you.” His breath steamed the glass doors. Your heart pounded inside your chest as you looked into his dark eyes.

You let go of the handle and stepped back. Loki opened the door slowly, anticipation building up and pooling in between your thighs. “Good girl.”

Loki walked into your shower, still clothed. The scalding water penetrated through his white cotton shirt making it translucent under the spray. You could trace the lines of his muscle underneath. His hair became slick and affixed itself against his face. He towered over you, as he leaned over with one arm against the shower wall.

Fuck!

He lowered his face. His nose brushed against the tip of yours and you could taste his breath against your lips. “What were you thinking about?” he asked looking deep into your eyes. “And remember, I can tell when you’re lying.”

You quivered at his voice. You looked down embarrassed. “No, no. Look at me.” He said grabbing your chin and forcing you to look back at him. He kept his fingers on your face, gently stroking your jaw.

“I was thinking about you,” you admitted. Your voice was so small. You felt so fragile in his hands.

“Go on, sweet thing. What prayer can your god answer for you tonight?” he encouraged. You were mesmerized by his stare. His voice lulled you to a sense of heat and longing.

“I pictured…touching you,” you started. “I fantasized about your body holding mine.” Loki licked his lips and the tip of his tongue brushed against your mouth. It tingled and the sensation moved throughout your body, awakening every cell within it.

“Like this?” he asked, grabbing your hand gently and placing it underneath his soaked shirt. He guided your hand up his torso and held it there. You could feel his heart thumping in his chest as he guided you over his stiff nipple and then down his lean abs.

Loki didn’t take his eyes off you once. He watched how your eyes widened at his boldness. How your lips parted when you finally touched him. How your whole body moved just a fraction closer to him, capturing him in a lust-filled haze of his own.

He continued steering your hand down his body, past the hem of his pants to his aching bulge. He was big. And hard. You couldn’t imagine what he would look like, what he would feel like, once he took it out. He kept your hand on his cock, driving your hand up and down. “Keep your hand on me,” he instructed. The steam from the shower did little to prevent the shiver that ran down your spine. Nor did it hide the wetness that was now dripping from you.

“Can you feel how hard I am for you?” his arms encircled your body, pulling you closer to him. His mouth incased your lips in an uncontrollable kiss. He weaved his deft fingers into your wet hair, pulling your head back to kiss you at a deeper angle. He inhaled deeply, smelling the clean scent of your soap and shampoo.

He groaned into your mouth when he felt your hand reach inside his pants and squeeze him tightly. Loki’s eyes rolled back as you expertly palmed his stiff cock. You felt the veins pulsing in your fingertips as you pumped his dick mercilessly. He leaned over you, caging you between the wall and his eager body.

“Don’t stop, Darling,” he whimpered in your ear. “Don’t stop.” Loki bucked his hips into your hands. He captured your lips one last time before he moaned your name, releasing the pent-up arousal he’d been holding in. He fell apart in your hands, and you continued till you milked every last drop from him.

Before the water could wash away your efforts, you licked off two of your fingers, tasting his offerings. “There she is,” he said with a devilish grin. He was waiting for the real you to come forth. You seemed so demure and shy at the beginning. Nothing at all like what he found out you were. The one who reads erotic novels over and over again. The one who hides their toy on the bedside table, ready to go. The one who has a patent leather collar with their pet name etched into it.

Loki growled at the memory. He will see you in that collar. He’ll make sure of it. “But for now, I want a taste,” he said to himself. Loki started with your mouth, sampling himself in your kiss. You winced slightly when he reached for your waist. Reacting from a sensitive bruise that you acquired from your mission.

“Do you think your body can handle a couple more bruises from me, Darling?” he asked earnestly. You swallowed thickly and nodded. Loki proceeded to grab your hips and hold you in place, while his mouth eagerly marked your neck. He continued down to the base of your throat as he knelt in front of you. He captured your breasts with his tongue, paying them each attention. Your hands rested on his shoulders, gathering the white cotton in your hands as you fisted it.

When he reached your stomach, he was gentle and sweet. His hands secured your waist, pushing you slightly higher. “Wrap your leg around me,” he directed. You obeyed and placed your left leg on his shoulder.

Drips of water still fell from the shower. Loki licked and slurped each drop that fell onto your thighs. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide stripe on your warm cunt. “Fuck…Loki,” you screamed when he latched onto your nub, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. He looked up at you and watched you as you threw your head back, your ecstasy showing through.

“Did you like that, Darling?”

“Mmyes,” you whined. “God, yes!”

Loki repeated his actions, holding onto your thigh, as he savored your clit. You couldn’t hold yourself up any longer. Your knees were weakening, and you had nothing to hold onto as your hands slipped against the tile of your shower wall. “Loki, please,” you panted.

“I need to be inside you,” he moaned. The sooner he can make you cum in here, the sooner he can properly bed you on top of your sheets. He looked deep into your eyes and you almost didn’t recognize him. Hunger and desperation were hanging on his brows. The sight of him in between your legs, the feel of his lips latching onto your folds, the weight of his fingers thrusting inside you. It was all-encompassing and all too consuming.

“Oh, God! Loki!” you screamed as he inserted another finger. You laced your hand through his drenched hair, pulling every time his tongue flicked your nub. “Please, I need you inside me too. I need…” your breathing came in harsher. The steam almost suffocating you as you come closer and closer to that edge, waiting to fall.

“Don’t fight it, Darling. Let go for me,” Loki quoted your book, making you clench around his fingers. One last thrust into you and you screamed your release. Loki lapped up your swollen pussy with a greedy smile, making you shudder.

Hours later, you and Loki were lying on the floor of your room. Blankets and pillows surround you while your legs and arms tangle with each other, holding each other tightly. You were running your finger up and down his chest as he read aloud a passage from one of your “smutty romance books,” as he called them.

His voice was magnetic and hypnotizing. Every word he said came to life inside your head. “Hmm, we might have to re-enact this one,” he teased after he finished a scene.

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, hoping he didn’t hear the last word you said. It just came out. You couldn’t stop yourself from saying it. From bending to his will and wanting to please him.

“I was curious about something,” he grinned, biting his lip. “Which I hope you can enlighten me...”

“Yes?”

“When I was looking for the daggers, I came across this.” He conjured up your patent leather collar and held it up against the dim light. He next conjured up the matching riding crop and showed you the tag that was hanging from the handle. “Who was your master?” Loki asked, unsure whether he wanted to know the answer. “Why do you have this and not them?”

“I never had one,” you admitted sheepishly. “I bought that in hopes of using it one day. But we never worked out.”

“I see,” he said with a devious smirk.

“It was so pretty. I couldn’t just get rid of it.”

“Sit up. Hold your hair, while I put this on you.” You obeyed his instructions. A pool of desire is already forming in between your legs as he tightens the collar around your neck. The heart-shaped tag, ‘Darling’ felt heavy and cold as he placed it neatly on the base of your throat.

Loki wiped his thumb over the tag of the whip. Newly etched, in bold letters, was his name instead. “Well, it’s mine now, darling,” he grinned as he tested the switch on his hand. The sharp thwack stung his palm. Your heart started beating quicker.

“On your knees,” he growled.

“Yes, sir.”

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mywritingonlyfans · 1 year ago

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Teacher's pet. // Prof! Alex Turner X Stud! Reader (Smut) Part 2 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9K.

a/n: I'll need to add one more part, I hope you still feel like reading them! Thank you for waiting all this time! (I'll try my best to finish the last part soon)

HERE'S PART1

Alex promptly notified campus authorities about the boys. Although he didn't know their names, his detailed description enabled other professors to identify them. He ultimately concluded that they weren't a real threat, just a bunch of troublemakers. Nevertheless, he did his part, unwilling to let the situation slide and subject himself to any torment for having overlooked their inappropriate behavior. In the same way, he'd be watching you just as closely, not only because he wanted you to be okay but also because of the intensity that had built up inside him (thoughts and a tiny bit of obsession) after the last time he saw you.

…

His messy and crooked handwriting on the napkin somehow lingered in your mind. Not as much as the possibility of him being someone other than yours, but it persistently surrounded your aura. Your idealization of Professor Turner did not fit with him being a traitor, so yes, the way you portrayed him in your mind did not allow for such a possibility unless he proved otherwise. And that hurts, from deep within your core to the bitterness in your mouth and the burning in your throat. It was frustrating, yet you still wanted him around. What continued to motivate you to read the book he had given you and delve into his notes was the feeling of having him by your side, reading every word with you. Sometimes you were certain that if you closed your eyes, you could hear his rough, accentuated voice blending with the characters.

Perhaps, if you were his age and already held a degree, maybe even a professor specializing in romantic literature, there might have been something between you two. Picture it: a rainy afternoon, your head resting on his chest, his warm lips near your ear as he read to you. You hadn't openly acknowledged it yet, but you felt a certain compatibility despite the numbers of years difference. It took you a while to realize, but his demeanor softened whenever he saw you, his gaze growing more serene, and even the beloved wrinkle between his eyebrows had time to relax. His voice became gentler. You weren't completely oblivious to these cues, though you did have your doubts.

It all traced back to that one night when he had come to your aid, opening your eyes to the possibility that he could belong to someone. The faint, woody scent of his blazer had found its way to your home. He had even apologized for pulling back from a kiss, not wanting to be rude, and left his phone number in your belongings with a simple message: "Call me if you need me, lil’ one." He left no room for doubt; your mind still spun, and you felt helpless, uncertain about what steps to take. But your desire to do something about it burned brightly.

"I can hear your breathing," his tone was relaxed. Just as you hoped it would be with you, and then you wondered if he could recognize you by your breathing alone.

You remained silent, there was no plausible reason or emergency that had made you call. It wasn't strange, just unusual. He laughed, which made you imagine him with a cigarette between his fingers, taking a breath on the balcony with his mouth slightly open to blow out the smoke. Maybe he just smoked too much, and you weren't obsessed.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence." He laughed, in a way that filled your lungs, and the little wrinkles around his eyes appeared for contemplation. At least in your mind, just for you.

You exhaled, your eyes filling with tears. It wasn't exactly a desire to cry, but you felt genuinely sad knowing that you weren't and wouldn't be his.

"How do you know it's me, Mr. Turner?" You wanted to sound playful, but your voice came out so shaky that it made calling him that seem inappropriate.

"It was a guess. Besides, I can't think of anyone who would call me at this hour and stay in deep silence. And, well," there was a pause, his guttural and muffled breathing making you take a deep breath. Enough time for a drag, you thought. "You know, I was ‘oping you’d call." He was sincere, typical of him. He always seemed too clear when he wanted to be. Everyone said he was strict, but you couldn't think of a time when he had made his students confused or uncertain about something he demanded. Demanded, that was a word that suited him in the classroom.

"Waited?" And you saw him nod with a sweet look for you, as if he were by your side. In fact, he just mumbled. "Expected me to be in trouble?" You tried to sound more cheerful.

There was a pause; you lay down, staring at the walls until you buried your nose in the pillow in a hug. He was close to his phone; you could hear him wet his lips and breathe lightly. You wanted to run your fingers over his face and hair again, but you couldn't deny that this was as magnificent as it got.

"Not at all, but I wouldn't hesitate to save you." His eyes closed tightly. The silence grew deeper, still comfortable, it was cute. If you had the chance, you would kiss him before that, before it got too cute. "I'm sorry," he said, not sounding regretful, just reluctant due to your brief absence.

You laughed, not saying anything, but it was enough for him to understand that everything was okay.

"Are you sad?"

Then you felt the pillow get a little damp.

"Am I really that transparent?"

He let out a breath through his nose, his lips curving. If he closed his eyes just right, just like you did, he would also be able to feel your fingers dancing around him.

"Only when you write, but I blame myself for watchin’ you too much during this time." You sounded the same way as when he pushed you a little too hard with his pragmatic comments, and although he found it adorable, over the phone, without being able to do anything about it, it made him a little uncomfortable. His words took brief seconds to be spoken; he wondered if you noticed how nervous he was that he needed to formulate sentences before speaking. And even then, he regretted some of them, not that they were bad, but he didn't want to hurt you.

"I guess I am,"

"Guess?" The air caught in your throat, the back of your nose starting to burn, and you feared it would be difficult to keep tears from flowing.

You didn't want to comment on the woman in the photo, at least not at that moment; you wanted to enjoy being with him as much as possible. Taking a deep breath, you decided to omit the reason but still let him know that you were genuinely upset. Maybe it was because he had helped you; you didn't know why, but you trusted him to a moderate extent that included your feelings. You believed and knew that talking to him would make you feel better.

"I think I'm just stressed," it wasn't a lie. His body shivered, unable to hold you close to comfort you. You felt a little pathetic making such a confession to a 37-year-old man who didn't have the same problems as you.

"I feel like I'm trying so hard for nothing, the days of writing have been a burden, and everything I write is so thought out and time-consuming that I feel like no one would want to read it, I'm almost certain I'm a fraud. I'm just waiting for the day they'll realize." Your throat was already scratchy enough to be closed from the middle to the end; your face was wet, and your head pounded in pulses. This was a recurring thought of yours; you had never verbalized it to anyone.

He listened, his steady breathing becoming slightly faster, and in a way, it calmed you over the phone. The whimsical feeling that he was there for you, even if it was a situation made up in your head, put you at ease.

Alex had noticed that you were insecure about your writing; it was clear how you reacted to his notes and negative feedback. But that was one of the things that made you good, the persistence in wanting to recognize your mistakes, listen, and do things differently. He wished all his students were like that. Although you had a special place in his mind and heart. Alex found you talented and determined; weakness didn't align with your gentle and loving personality. He wanted to make you see yourself through his eyes and free you from that feeling.

"I don't think you are, lil’ one; I know you're not," the pet name brought a smile to your face, and Alex noticed, his chest warming with the satisfaction of successfully soothing your worries. "You'll reach your goals. You write well, pay great attention to detail, and I love every touch of romance in your writing. I mean it now, and I'll mean it even more in the near future. You’re quite meant for this." He settled into his bed, clearing his mind as he imagined you lying beside him. Alex could almost see your gaze darting away from his, just as you often did during his lectures, as if you hoped he wouldn't notice.

You wouldn't admit it, and he wouldn't discover it, but you felt more confident and better in this emotional aspect after his classes. You recognized that you felt even worse about this in the months before you even knew Alex. Now it was different, and you liked that.

"Do you really think so?" It didn't sound like you wanted to hear him repeat the same words. It was more like you still had traces of doubt. He could even see your nose wrinkling, a habit of yours when you were uncertain, which he found endearing. Just like hearing your weak voice like that, no matter how wrong it may be.

"Sometimes I'm certain that I'm not worth the opportunity that someone needs to give me so I can succeed in something, something that hasn't even happened yet and might never," Alex didn't let you linger on that and hushed you until your voice diminished. If he found it painful to hear you talk about yourself this way, he couldn't imagine how you were dealing with it inside your head. "I don't want you to talk ‘bout yourself like that." His voice was firmer, and you shrunk back; it was good to hear above all. "You'll make it. You're worried ‘bout a future you can't control. You're still young, and you haven't even finished your degree. Give things time. Like I said, you're talented, and you'll have good opportunities. And I'd help you in any way possible." Inside his head, he concluded, and in the impossible too. He wished he could hug you, have your body close, and be sure that you were comforted and that your voice was no longer filled with tears, but all he had were words.

Even without a turn of phrase, he noticed you calming down, and he could feel your exaggerated heartbeat through the call. Or maybe that was just his worries. You were a mess. And even though you were frustrated, he didn't want to be anywhere else that night but on the phone with you (even though he preferred you in person next to him).

"Do you think it gets better with time, Mr. Turner?" You smiled; it was forced, he knew that, but he was relieved that you were trying. Then he scratched his nose with a funny look, the way you called him still sending shivers through his body, but he also found it cute how the sound came from your lips.

"The insecurity you're feeling?" You nodded in a mumble. "It doesn't get better, but we learn to deal with it better, I think." You laughed again, with more enthusiasm, and Alex felt accomplished, feeling his own cheeks blush.

"Thank you, Mr. Turner." You said softly, closing your eyes, the phone pressed against your cheek, still hugging your pillow even tighter. His breath truly acted as a calming agent on you.

"Little one?" He noticed you were tired. "You can call me Alex if you want; there's no reason to be so formal." He felt awkward asking for that, even though the whole situation was awkward.

"Okay," you said softly, not quite able to bring yourself to say his name. The way you sounded thoughtful even with such a small word made Alex chuckle quietly in a discreet way. You were so adorable in his eyes.

Silence took over, in the same warm and familiar tone as throughout the call. You began to smell his scent on your sheets and remembered lying there with his blazer before, although for now, it was likely just a figment of your imagination. But it felt so real; you were really drowsy from sleep.

"Turner?" He murmured to let you know he was still there, finding the evolution of you avoiding "mister" quite sweet, as it made him feel less old compared to you than he actually was.

"I've been writing different works; I'd like you to take a look. I like it when you assist me without taking away my freedom." He ran his hand over his abdomen, his body warm, and he felt guilty once again for pulling you into this with him, even if that was your will too.

"I'd love to. I'm free tomorrow if you want to come over." It sounded subtle and right. Neither of you could tell if it was the effect of sleep, but he liked the idea of having you at his house again and being able to talk to you outside the academic environment. You took a while to respond, and he almost took back his earlier words.

"Is it not a problem?" Your mind went back to how he could have someone who was his person.

"No," he said, not sounding pensive, but he was wondering if someone important at the university found out it could give you problems. He knew it wasn't right for him, but he didn't care as much about what could happen to him; you had more to lose than he did, you were at the beginning of your academic career, and he wouldn't do that to you. "Do you think it could be a problem for you?"

You denied it, realizing you needed to speak for him to know the answer. "No, I think it's a good idea," you concluded, deciding that you would make the most of it, whatever it was. It was the first time you felt attracted - you liked him, you were a bit obsessed, you were afraid - and you were almost certain he felt the same way, and you didn't want to waste it.

After a few short minutes, you continued, "I love the way you write about being in love, as if there's only room for that one person in your head, and nothing else matters. I hope that if someone ever falls in love with me, it's at least 10% of how you describe that feeling." He knew you read his publications, yet he felt a delightful warmth, like receiving a handwritten note from your middle school crush confessing the same feelings. He appreciated your work, and your appreciation of his made him feel great. "Maybe I'm too busy being yours to fall for somebody new? I won't settle for anything less." Although Alex had written this a while ago, he found himself contemplating how well it matched what he felt for you.

You couldn't find more words, but both of you could sense each other's presence, the subtle laughter, and the soft breaths. Words weren't the sole means of communication; you both comprehended the situation and willingly let things progress at their own tempo. With this feeling of ease, you slipped into a peaceful and rejuvenating slumber, so unaware of it.

A few before this, he commented about needing to dispose of the ashes and the ashtray, and your face brightened in the darkness upon realizing you were right. He was smoking this whole time. Once you drifted off to sleep, Alex allowed himself to do the same, filled with the assurance that you were safe.

…

Your gaze appeared distant, and your fingers, on the verge of digging into your arm's skin due to impatience, twitched nervously. You leaned against the wall, seeking to evade the curious glances of passersby, well aware that your tension was conspicuously written across your features.

"Hey, what happened?" His voice carried deep concern, and as his gaze met yours, you couldn't help but fear that someone had issued a threat you were blissfully unaware of. He didn't hesitate, closing the gap between you, his proximity sending shivers down your spine. He was clearly worried.

It took a moment for you to find yourself as you briskly navigated the corridor leading to the reception desk, anxiety clutching at your chest.

"They're having issues with my documents, for dear God. I need them to apply to some campus. I did everything correctly, notified them of my need for these documents, and I'm still well within the deadline…" Your voice trailed off, caught in the charged atmosphere, your mind aflame.

His gaze remained steady upon you, his countenance markedly soothed now that your anxiety had heightened the stakes of the situation. He adjusted the bag slung over his shoulder and extended a reassuring touch, his fingertips coming to rest gently upon your hand.

Moistening his lips and making that soft, almost playful sound one uses to capture a cat's attention, you couldn't help but release a small, albeit apprehensive chuckle, providing relief to both you and Mr Turner; he was doing well.

His presence, grounding and reassuring, helped to temper your nerves. He remained with you until your breathing found its way back to the present.

Glancing around, his eyes found no one in close proximity. He dipped his head slightly to align himself with your level, a tremor of emotion causing your cheeks to twitch. His face and the tip of his nose were red.

Running his fingers softly across your cheek, he offered you a warm smile despite your obvious reluctance stemming from the absence of his hand in yours.

"It's alright. Everything's going to be just fine, little one." His voice gradually dissolved your anxiety and the gripping sensation in your chest. He brought his fingers to his lips, tenderly kissing them before tracing their path back to your face.

First, he lightly pressed against your forehead, then your nose, and finally your cheek before his hands slid back into his pockets.

Unbidden, the thought crossed your mind that he would've kissed your tears away, a gesture of comfort he was undoubtedly willing to extend, if only the circumstances allowed. And then your mind ached at the brief reminder that you had woken up in the double bed in his room that night.

His laughter filled the space, eyes glistening with warmth, and the wrinkles around them adding to his features. In that moment, you fervently wished he could be yours, even as your self-awareness acknowledged the depth of your feelings.

"Where do you intend to apply?" Your gaze descended to his chest, buttons undone, and a gleaming chain vying for your touch.

"Huh, I... I plan to apply to a university in California. That's the crucial one, although I'll be submitting applications to others as well. Missing this deadline is simply not an option."

He nodded in understanding, skillfully alleviating the awkwardness you felt over your hesitant words. You remained unaccustomed to the unwavering attention he directed your way, where your words and actions seemed to bear a significant weight. He made you feel noticed and appreciated, you liked that.

"Give me a few minutes, and I'll be right back."

That said, he didn't take long to re-enter the room you had left about 40 minutes earlier and resolve your issue. He emerged with a furrowed brow, the self-assured smile gradually returning to his lips as he made his way back to you. It almost felt unfair how swiftly he had solved the problem, but then you remembered that he wasn't known for his friendliness to everyone. You imagined the firmness in his voice and expression as he demanded to know the whereabouts of your documents from whomever happened to be present. A sense of relief washed over you as he asked if this was what you needed and handed you the envelope. With a quick glance inside, you confirmed that your documents were indeed there.

He seemed genuinely pleased to have been able to help, but you didn't quite notice. Your reaction was instinctual as you rose on your tiptoes and let your body collapse onto his, your arms wrapping around his neck and pulling him close. He took a deep breath, unprepared for this, but he managed to keep his bag from slipping off his shoulder and circled his arm securely around you. His nose brushed against your hair, and he hoped your scent would linger on his clothes for at least a few more minutes.

It was brief, both aware of the potential consequences of this closeness. You apologized, although a smile remained on your face. He could have frozen that moment in reality, gazing at you for hours, your short shirt rumpled from your previous touch, knee socks slightly disheveled inside your tall boots, while you clung to the documents he had just retrieved. The silence wasn't uncomfortable; it was evident how you found comfort in each other's presence. And he easily concluded that you suited California.

"I need to go," he said, his thoughts consumed with the image of you sitting in his classroom in a few hours and potentially at his home later if you hadn't changed your mind. He didn't want to bring it up, wanting the decision to be entirely yours. If you decided not to show up, he'd understand, and you knew that. You appreciated the pressure he removed from you. His desires were quite evident, and even though you still needed to address the matter of the photo in his room, his intentions were anything but unclear.

…

On that day, you sat a few desks behind due to the front-row seat's creaking issue. Every time he entered the room, your attention soared. You enjoyed admiring how he placed his brown bag on the desk, neatly rolled up his sleeves to the elbows, and adjusted his blazer before starting the class. However, you noticed how his eyes searched for you before initiating this ritual, his face stern and composed, his hand tracing his jaw until he reached the spot where he found you, a few desks back. Your radiant smile met his timid one, and your hands fidgeted with your skirt. At that moment, you both knew that neither of you concealed your feelings well. It was evident in the softening of his expression upon finding you and the shy smile that curved his lips; with crooked lower teeth and cute prominent lines. It warmed your heart.

The following minutes went as expected, with your heart racing when he addressed you, and he posed questions that he was confident you could answer or raise thought-provoking ones. You remained addicted to gaining his favor, even though you no longer needed it. There was no doubt you were his favorite one.

"I think that's enough for today," he murmured, dismissing the others, which included you. Yet, you hesitated to pack your things and leave. You wanted to show him that you still intended to meet him later, fearful that he might think otherwise.

Initiating the conversation didn't come naturally. You leaned against the closed door, observing him tidy up the last of his belongings. You felt uneasy, and he sported a self-assured smile. He was yours, soon you'd gradually become aware of it.

"It's okay, little one. We can stay in silence," he offered, approaching you. Your nervousness was palpable, and you couldn't even contemplate forming words. "There's no one on the other side of the door," he reassured, peering through the small glass window. "I wouldn't force or manipulate you into anything you don't want to do." He was cautious, but the idea that he thought you might think of him like that made you shake your head vigorously.

"I know you wouldn't, Professor Turner." His nose wrinkled slightly as you insisted on calling him that. His cheeks gained color, and you loved that.

You pushed your hair back, trying to clear your head. "I just wanted to confirm that you still want to see me tonight, and also to say thank you for helping me after the bar incident. I don't want you to think badly of me. I—" You paused, swallowing hard. Dry throat, just like your eyes, which couldn't stop blinking. His attention was fully on you, and it didn't help. Seeing your struggle, he moved closer, gently removing your hand from your hair. He whispered while still close, "I don't think anything bad 'bout you, and I'll still be waiting for you if you want to be there."

You nodded, your eyes lost in his, feeling as if you could almost touch his skin without making physical contact. Your hand involuntarily touched the collar of his shirt, your palm pressing awkwardly against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body beneath the coolness of his necklace. His fingers followed yours, resting on top of your hand with a pleasant size contrast. Your touch affected his body in ways you couldn't fully fathom, but he was better at concealing it. Your mind briefly entertained the idea of his lips brushing against yours, but this thought was soon supplanted by a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your chest met his as in an embrace, and it lasted long enough for you to feel his fingers below your knee, lifting your high socks until they were even with the other. It sent a great burn through your thigh and made you want to keep him close, but then he was stepping away. "I just want you to feel comfortable with me, pet." Your words once again choked in your throat. You wanted to hear him say he wanted you, but you refrained from vocalizing it, and you understood, but you still longed to hear it from him. Just as you wanted to shout that you felt good with him, despite being a novice in matters of the heart.

…

In your imagination, Professor Turner was someone who didn't shy away from the daylight, and you believed he was just that, even though it was amusing to picture a darker side to him that other students described. When you told your roommate that you wouldn't be back that day, and she suspected it might be related to him, you received a playful, "Take care, don't let him pull you to the dark side." It made you laugh and think about how some of your classmates had asked you to talk to Alex about his grading approach because they had noticed his fondness for you and were in desperate need of a miracle. You didn't think your intervention would change anything, but your curiosity would lead you to take the risk.

The air felt trapped in your lungs, and there was still an alert in your mind that being there was wrong. Students were gossips (your friend even more so), if he had someone, you would know, right?

"I thought you might be hungry," he gestured for you to enter. The same calm and gentleness that always characterized his demeanor toward you, as your roommate had reminded you over the phone just minutes ago. Your mouth quivered, and your hands turned cold as he looked at you. His expression was meticulous, as if trying to read every one of your signals. The sensation within you intensified as you adjusted your knee socks, and his attention followed you until he realized how his hands clenched around nothing. This time, it was you who laughed.

"I wish I could say you don't have to pay for things for me, but honestly, I wouldn't have had the money to come here," you explained, with more than a hint that you might be less financially stable than him. The age difference still nagged at your mind, but you had promised yourself to make the most of this situation. He had covered the Uber ride, just like last time, and now you felt guilty about him spending money on your meal, even though you found it adorable.

He was flushed, certainly not from embarrassment. "It's okay, I don't mind. I want you 'ere." It sounded so formal and yet so natural of him, it made you wonder if he did this often; seduce their own students. It was quite a torment for you to add to your worries, had he ever done that before? And why were you bothered by that? Why did you want to be the only one who had ever gone through this with him?

You only realized that you were standing there staring at him when you felt his hand lightly press your back and guide you to the living room. There were sheets and pillows on the wooden floor rug and the light was dim. He had thought about that and it made your cheeks hot, you were unable to contain a smile. Before sitting down, he took your bag off your shoulders and murmured, "Your thoughts are quite noisy, little one."

He sat next to you, his shoulders pressed against yours. Your legs stretched out and your uncontrollable fingers played with the hem of your socks. You kept your eyes on the orange colored juice and some bread, your belly emptying and your head becoming fuller. “I just,” you looked at him, his messy hair and tired look but still giving you all the appreciation. "I'm not used to it, I guess."

"I'm not sure if it helps you either, but, I'm not, I'm not in the habit of bringing students to my house. You're the first one." You smiled, the weight of your body joining him. Alex noticed you becoming more comfortable and brought his hand closer to yours, then you rested your palm in his; bringing your fingers over the veins and calluses on his fingertips. You bit your lip at the thought of him actually playing the guitars in his room. And then you felt heavy once again at the thought that you wouldn't be able to be present in the moment with him if you didn't know if he had someone else.

You were careful to pull your hands away from his, stealing a piece of bread and pouring yourself some juice. His gaze on you was unmistakable, hard to ignore. Even though you enjoyed it, you felt like you were caught doing something bad.

"You can talk to me," he said, nothing but reassuring. "The last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable." And he didn't, it was in your head, and deep down you knew it.

As the orange, viscous liquid touched your lips, you noticed his flushed cheeks going harder, even though he remained confident. It was the same Mango and Passion Fruit blend you had at the campus bar. Your face lit up with a smile, and he wished it could always be like this. "This is almost an obsession." He laughed too, relieved that you didn't think he was crazy for it.

He had indeed asked in the following days what that drink was, and he had learned that you always ordered that, he was just trying to make you comfortable around him. Little did he know that it didn't take much. "I swear my intentions were for the best," he concluded to have succeeded as he held your gaze for a little longer, and then your head rested on his shoulder. Your arm was lazy at first but within minutes, it was around his waist, brushing the top of his pants and then pulling your body closer. You felt the scents mingling, and your head grew lighter. He kissed your forehead, and you closed your eyes, savoring the feeling. Silence was indeed a great friend of yours, something you both cherished.

"Do you have someone?" You weren't as confident as you'd like to be, though you thought the answer was no, you still feared the response. He held your chin close to his, so near that you could see the scar near his eye and the more expressive fine lines. A tear threatened to escape as he appeared puzzled. You didn't like letting him think that you thought ill of him, but you couldn't move forward without answers. "Please, say you don't." Your voice faltered.

He ran his fingers over your face, letting his forehead rest against yours. He definitely didn't like seeing you upset. "I don't have anyone romantically," he chuckled softly, finding it attractive how you nestled into his touch. Even though you were uncertain, you wanted to hear it from him first, and he found that so mature of you. He felt guilty for thinking of it that way, as a warning that this wasn't entirely right.

You nodded, your heavy gaze fixed on him, and yet he stayed with you. "But what 'bout the girl in the photo in your room and the double bed..." Your body tensed, your face pliable in his hands.

Alex felt the weight of it and wanted the words to sound painless for you. It wasn't your fault, and there was an easy explanation; it was a concrete and unchangeable situation, only painful. He held you close when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, with just the right amount of strength, and his chest ached as his own vision welled up. "I don't have her anymore, not anymore," and with that, you understood. His gaze and his voice, the tone of affection, you didn't feel jealous, and in a way, you understood.

Your response was to cradle his cheeks and kiss his face, not liking to see him sad gave you the courage you'd been seeking all along. His arms enveloped you, a subtle embrace, his nose brushing against your thin top, your bodies aligning inch by inch. It felt right, and it didn't seem so wrong anymore.

He chuckled against your neck, lacking much humor. "It's been a while, I'm not trying to replace her or anything." His hand traced his eyes, and you nodded in understanding. You didn't sense that from him. "It's okay, I just didn't expect that and got scared." You whispered, letting your nose touch his while his forehead sweet bangs tickled you. Soon, your fingers were lightly tugging at the nape of his neck, and he didn't avoid your gaze; he only seemed upset about worrying you. Your lips brushed his eyes, tasting the saltiness, making you feel compassionate.

Nevertheless, you let your lips touch his, soft and warm, drawing out a lingering sigh. His grip tightened around you, and with that, your hands went from entwining his collar to pulling him closer, as if you could make it better; you wanted to make him feel great.

He solemnly withdrew from you, keeping you close while planting kisses on your face as he did so. As he pulled back, you realized that your senses were more attuned to him than to yourself. You couldn't pinpoint at what moment during all this you ended up in his lap. You didn't feel bad about it, but you still felt like you should.

"I'm sorry," you began, but he didn't let you pull away from him. He didn't need to explain, but he did it anyway. "I stay 'ere to teach, not because of her. I loved her, and I probably still would, but I'm not bound to her in any way, or sustained by being in love with someone I won't see anymore. I just don't see myself forgetting her entirely after years as if nothing had happened, just as I don't want to make you think this distances me from you or makes you believe I'm trying to replace her with someone else." He was precise, his voice trembling like never before. The coherence as something he had planned to say before hurt you; he wanted to say it but avoided it, and you didn't blame him. "I just want you to know these things." Your response was to hug him, craving the ability to merge with his body. It was dramatic, but you wanted to take some of that weight off him. His broader back, along with the embrace, covered you entirely, and you could feel his breathing calming as your thighs and arms clung to him.

With your head feeling lighter, your face nestled deeper into his chest. Your nose brushed against his neck, his warmth matching yours. The roughness of his baby beard made you smile into nothing. You could swear you felt him shiver. He kissed your face, his lips finding every space from your mouth to your neck, and your jolly reaction was to pull him closer by his t-shirt's collar. Your body burned, in a comforting way, and before falling asleep with him enveloped in you, you thought about how you should have done more or even asked for more. You no longer felt hesitant towards him.

…

Your eyes slowly opened, the lighting still cozy, just like the feeling of his chest. He held you tightly, his chin nestled on the top of your head, making you feel whole as one. As you shifted in his lap, you wanted to squeeze him, feel the flesh of his waist, and unbutton more of his shirt to accommodate your hand. You needed to take a deep breath, unable to avoid the initial sweat on your forehead. He let out a sigh, his fingers tracing your back and holding you as you bit your lip to hide a smile. His dark circles were more pronounced, his skin softer, although his eyes slightly puffy. You snuggled back into him, and he accommodated you, sealing the moment with more kisses.

"I'm sorry, Turner," the muffled laughter left you happy too, not that you weren't already. You ran your wrist over his mouth, he was still fixated on every part of you. In truth, you might not have known what you were doing, or you were just nervous. You didn't want to disappoint him.

"It's okay," he ran his fingers in circles on your waist. Your skirt crept up, and the position improved as he leaned against the wall. You could feel him better, every inch of him, and the thought that you were arousing him made you tense up a bit, even though it was good. He noticed and held your face, his lips touching where you had just tried to dry because you forgot you needed to breathe through your nose when kissing someone, "Hey, it's okay, lil' one. We don't have to do anything you don't want. I like you being with you."

You took his neck, your lips soft and moist, albeit timid against his skin, making him release adorable sounds that made you want more. This caused you to grip onto him, your hips moving closer to his, and you wished he would touch you, even if just for the mere thrill of feeling him.

"Please," you sighed, his face pressed against yours. Your fingers toyed with the closed buttons of his t-shirt as you shifted your gaze to your hands. Alex understood that you weren't entirely sure about what you were asking for, and this sweetly confirmed how much he considered you nothing but a good girl. It was evident that you wanted to be wonderful for him, and it was adorable to see in your eyes how you were eagerly waiting for him to lead the way in this dance of desire.

"I'm all yours, princess." He concluded with a mixture of pet names that both disconcerted and melted you into him. You took a deep breath as the pressure of his large hands adjusted your hips, your knees slightly burning, but you couldn't help but create the necessary friction to feel him better. You could indeed feel all of him, from the light fabric of his dress pants to the zipper, hitting you perfectly. "I know, little one, you're doing so great," he praised, mesmerized by how you lightly closed your eyes and then opened them to him, and he nodded in agreement, acknowledging your success. It was attractive to see you feeling secure and knowing how to make yourself feel good. With your hands still held against him, he intertwined his fingers with yours, allowing the remaining buttons to be undone, and then your palm found its place into his flesh.

He held you tighter, your body against his. "Don't move both together, use your legs or just grind against me, or you'll get tired quickly," he sounded precise, his deep and raspy voice filling you up. You obeyed. "That's my good girl," he said in a husky growl. This effectively worked to keep you going with him. His fingers gripped your nape, pulling your head to look at him, gazing down at your sleepy and pleading look. He clenched his jaw, sure that he could surrender for so little. His lips landed on your neck, his nose burying into your skin, so soon his teeth were pulling you into a light and pleasurable bite.

And then you were his, his hands working on you better than your legs were trying but failing to reach that level. Soon, he removed your top with the same gentleness and urgency with which he pulled you to him just to devour your breasts. His grip traveled to your waist, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, encircling how hard they were and sucking them into his mouth as if it was genuinely pleasurable for him. The tip of his nose brushed against your skin, and he caused pain by nibbling on the flesh ready for him to take. You found yourself liking how every sound you made was heard by him, and he understood every nuance to repeat or intensify whatever he was doing to you.

You fit him well; being with him and having him wrapped around you made you feel confident. You had been embarrassed to be so spontaneous with someone before, but with him, it was different. His calm presence over you, the tranquility and affection, as well as the satisfaction in his eyes and touch when he saw you well, made you want more and more of him and to surrender yourself to him even more.

"You're so delicious," and he meant it. He squeezed you tightly, and you were worried you might have marks afterward. In a way, you liked it; you wanted to see him sprawled over you when it was all over.

And at all times he paid attention to your high socks, fixing them in the right place and smoothing them so they wouldn't move from where they were; keeping them pretty on yourself.

To soothe your whimper, he nestled his thumb against your clit, adjusting his movements until it felt like it was working for you. Alex was flushed, and you wanted to capture the look he was giving you. He didn't feel entirely guilty, but something weighed on him, as if he were corrupting you; the sensation wasn't bad at all. He pulled the flimsy fabric upwards, giving you more traction, lightly laughing at the pastel color and the central bow, knowing that it would haunt his mind for many days to come when he was feeling drowsy. It was magnificent, every detail of you, and he marveled at having your tired and prolonged sighs and teary eyes, just as he always thought they would be when your weak body collapsed onto his in such adorable spasms.

…

Your body ached, but the electricity in you felt good. Your hands ran clumsily through the pleasurable haze. He placed his lips on your forehead, lingering there until your body melded to his like a magnet. "I need to go, but I don't mind if you stay 'ere, lil' one," he sounded even better after waking up, husky and lazy, yet strong. Gradually, you became aware of the fact that you were in his bed, wearing the button-up shirt that you admired on his body. You smelled like him. You remembered him covering you with it, draping your figure while he kissed your collarbone gently. You were so drowsy that you were so certain it had been a dream.

"Go where?" You asked absently, looking around. He pulled up your socks, your legs entwining with his beneath the sheets. He loved this, wanted to have you there forever. You slept so serenely, comforted by his touch, and he thought about leaving you there. But he remembered how scared you had been at the idea of him leaving without notice the night he took you from the bar. He didn't want to cause that in you again, especially knowing he wouldn't be there when you woke up. "I have to teach in the morning, but I'll be back in the afternoon. I don't mind if you stay 'ere if you want."

"And do you want me to stay?" Your lips quivered; you understood his careful approach to your desires, but you wanted to hear it from him without reservations.

"I want you to stay, very much. I still need to read your new work, and I want to hear more from you." Your smile widened, and your face met his neck. He stroked your hair, keeping you close. You had almost forgotten that you had tucked prints of your writings into your bag to leave with him, or to have him read while you waited for his shrewd criticisms. You didn't care as much anymore; you wanted to hear him. You wanted to hear everything he had to say about you, whatever it may be. This thought, combined with the reminder that he preferred printed works over email submissions, made you beam more against him. He pulled you close, looking at you curiously.

"Okay, I can stay here, old man. It's good that I can finish reading the book you gave me." His cheeks flushed, and he got up, making you laugh more and grumble in disapproval. Alex didn't make a fuss and went to the wardrobe, putting on a clean t-shirt and taking off the pants he had worn earlier. He was serene, and he didn't mind you watching, your calm eyes on him, unraveling with each visible patch of skin. You wanted to scream about how everything in you wished this could be your routine. When you looked around, the photo was no longer there, and it didn't seem strange. In fact, you didn't feel jealous of it. However, knowing that he had put it away in another place made you feel good. You thought you might ask him more about it soon; she was important to Alex, and you understood and respected that. You thought it was only fair for him to know you didn't think badly of it.

"Promise you won't be too harsh when reading my stuff?" The buttons were still opened when he turned to you, his eyebrow arched, and his chocolate-colored eyes sparkling.

"I'm not cruel," you huffed, making him suppress a sly smile. "At least not with you." Your cheeks burned. He went into the bathroom, leaving the door open as he grabbed his toothbrush. You followed, sitting beside him on the large sink, attentive to him.

"You know, they told me to ask you to go easier on the students, at least in my class. They all seem to think you're pretty tough," you mentioned.

He chuckled. You liked this, it was intimate and comfortable. His hair was messy, and his shirt was slightly wrinkled; he was perfect. He wiped his mouth and kept his brows tense, "I'm not; the world is just not as perfect as most of you believe, and not everyone is as good as you." He was such a cute old bastard. You arched your brows, mimicking the expression he often made, and he laughed, softening for you. "I won't harm anyone; I just think lower grades make you all work harder." He clarified, placing himself between your legs, and you soon enclosed him in your embrace.

"That's cruel and unfair, Professor Turner." He kissed your face, seeing that it bothered you more than you pretended it did. "You don't have to agree with me, pet."

"And I don't." You sounded more irritated, and he liked that. "It's not very fair."

He laughed, nodding. "Well, know that I'm not going to change." You shook your head but stayed there. You pulled him closer, buttoning up the shirt just as he did, and then folding the cuffs as you had noticed he liked to leave them. He enjoyed that with a great goofy smile.

Briefly, his mind wandered to how he didn't have another place besides there. He might have already renewed the campus contract and then planned for another season in Europe. But for the first time in a long time, he found himself questioning that decision. He could go to other places if he wanted; his qualifications allowed him to move beyond where he was. Basically, all it took was his own mind. So he thought about postponing the decision of whether to renew or not. Things might change.

"Turner, aren't you going to be late?" He snapped back to reality, kissing your lips before he actually heard everything you said. His fingers played with the elastic of your knee socks, tugging gently and then letting go, causing you to gasp in pain against his mouth. "It's funny how you want to punish your students but don't even care about arriving on time." You narrowed your eyes, trying to sound intimidating, but your breath gave you away quite well. "You look beautiful like this." He ignored the irony and felt your legs tighten around him. "In my shirt, princess," he whispered between lip nibbles, amused at how easy it was to leave you speechless. He lifted your hips from the sink, aligning your body better with his.

"I want to feel you, taste you on tongue, princess, is that okay?" His nose brushed your face, trying to soothe you as his hands roamed around you, feeling you tense with nervousness. He loved that. Your lips touched his, with wetter and more intense kisses, and you felt silly when you realized from the way he was smiling that he wasn't talking about that. You swallowed hard and nodded. "I just won't know what to do," you said, feeling dizzy as you held your breath. "Don't do anything," his hands comforted your body, and you leaned in so that he could remove the damp fabric from under his (yours) shirt. "Just relax, don't think 'bout it for now." You agreed, eagerly watching him kneel in front of you.

You did as he said, settling in more comfortably and following his eyes as he spread your legs, playing slowly with your socks before slipping your legs over his shoulders. He kissed the inside of your thigh, his nose diving into the area, and then his teeth nibbled the skin as you gasped. He chuckled with delight. "Are you going to teach me how to make you feel good too, Mr. Turner?" He couldn't resist your sweet voice. He nodded, giving a kiss to your center, your flesh glistening in anticipation. "I'll do whatever you want me to do, princess." And then that new, wet, and firm sensation invaded you, your eyes closed, your lips parted in a brief, silent sigh. Your breasts were highlighted in the white t-shirt, so hard that they were attractive to Alex's gaze from time to time.

Your fingers clutched his dark hair, while his eyes remained closed right after taking a great look at you, and he released such a beautiful prolonged, satisfied groan. The taste made him a little dizzy, but he loved every second of it. "You're divine, did you know that?" You couldn't respond anymore; his nose caressed you, and his fingertips marked your delicate skin. He liked the time he was taking; it was nothing more than his tongue, and he relished the sensation of exploring you slowly. You also liked it, and that was enough for him. He could feel his chin wet and his breath falter, but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. "Don't stop, please." And all you heard was the hum of his confident laughter against you, along with the recent texture of the beard growing, while you only thought about making it easier for him as you spread yourself further and fully surrendered to him. You just knew you would feel the same way tasting him on your lips and tongue.

...

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jenscx · 1 year ago

Text

MY DARLING — jang wonyoung x f!reader

you were just living a quaint life in a bookstore, until a stranger barges in on a rainy day, evidently changing your life.

TAGS — very fluffy, princess!wonyoung, slight angst, jealousy (tiny), commoner!yn, flirty wony

WORDCOUNT — 3.9k

the 10th of august, 1820. you sigh at the raindrops splashing against the glass windows, tinted with a slight hue of blue. the bookstore was rarely this quiet but with everything going on in the royal castle, perhaps it was to be expected.

“no customers yet?” you whip your head up, frowning. eunbi, the owner of the bookstore and the one who had raised you, stood at the top of the flight of creaky, wooden stairs. you shake your head, “aren’t the nobles trying to popularise reading? i don’t think it is working too well.”

eunbi laughs. “sure. the literature we sell here isn’t too demanding of their literary skills. and the nobles only flock to poetry, maybe it’s time we expanded our small library.”

your eyes brighten at the thought of an increased variety of books. even though you adored the selection here, it was starting to get quite boring. the constant romance themes evident in every single book was rather… annoying.

“hm, perhaps we should close up for the day, it’s rather late and the rain is heavy. i don’t think anyone else will bear with the storm just for a quick read,” eunbi suggests and you comply immediately, packing up the stacks of papers standing tall at the counter. you were just scribbling on them to rid your boredom.

“i’ll be upstairs if you need me,” she calls out before heading up once more. you sigh again. just as you were about to close the curtains shut, the door slams open and you almost squeal.

a mysterious hooded figure stands before you, heaving up and down as quick breathes escape them.

“uhm, apologies but we are closing for the day,” you say. the figure turns and you roll your eyes. their cloak was dripping rainwater all over the mahogany wood floors that you had just polished that morning!

“terribly sorry for the intrusion,” they (you raise an eyebrow at the feminine voice) mumble, “i needed a place to get away.”

“right, i don’t really care because you are ruining my flooring, so could you take that damn cloak off?”

the person immediately does so, revealing the white fitted bodice that clung to the woman’s skin, almost translucent and you feel a blush creeping up your neck.

“you are… soaked.”

“yes, quite obviously.”

you turn away from her, eyes avoiding her own narrowing gaze as she was quite literally the most gorgeous girl you’ve ever seen.

“i’ll get you a cloth to clean yourself up with,” you mutter while the girl nods and proceeds to walk along the shelves.

if you weren’t so distracted by her apparent beauty, you would be more conscious of how familiar she looked.

moments later, you return with a cloth, and the stranger was peering at one of the many books that lined the shelves.

“fan of jane austen?” you smile when she jumps slightly at your sudden voice, “that is one of her most popular pieces of literature; pride and prejudice from 1813. though we do have earlier pieces such as ann radcliffe’s the romance of the forest, 1791.”

the woman nods, “aren’t you quite acquainted with books? any suggestions?”

“hm, perhaps persuasion by jane austen if you’re a fan, but do read most of her writings, it’s incredible.”

“what about playwrights? anyone that you’ve taken a liking to?” she asks.

you think for a while, “elizabeth inchbald. i thought lovers’ vows was spectacular. shame i couldn’t see it, sometimes i wished i was born earlier.”

“i always thought that it was too controversial and morally ambiguous for people to adore it. thankfully i’ve found someone of my own,” she says, a twinkle in her eye that you can’t help but feel your heartbeat race at. she daps at her neck with the cloth and you evert your eyes.

“a-anyway, what brings you here? you’ve distracted me from closing up.”

she places the book back into its original position and furrows her brows, “do you not recognise who i am?”

you tilt your head and lean on the bookshelves, “no, not particularly. am i meant to?”

“yes, but i’d rather you stay unknowing. if we were to be… friends, could i ask that you never try to find my identity?”

“could i at least know your name? or something to call you?”

“of course, i haven’t introduced myself. you can call me wonyoung.” wonyoung, you think, it’s a pretty name.

she flashes a gleaming smile at you, “could i know yours?”

“y/n,” you reply, “what brings you here?”

wonyoung’s posture slackens and you take the time to admire her luscious black hair that was tied into a bun with small curls and waves. you unconsciously swallow your saliva as wonyoung answers you.

“just running from my responsibilities. quite lucky of me to end up in a quaint bookstore with you, to be frank.”

your eyes trail down from her face to her collarbones, mouth going dry at the sight of her neck. god, you think, clenching your eyes shut.

“you all right? your cheeks are… flushed,” you spot a hint of a teasing smile on her face.

“how old are you?” wonyoung asks suddenly.

“i’m eighteen this year.”

“oh, i’m eighteen as well.”

you grin, “what responsibilities could you have at eighteen? we’re the same age, yet i’m just working at a bookstore.”

wonyoung shakes her head, almost sullen, “you have no clue how hectic it is back there. if here is shallow water, when i go back there, i’ll drown in the tsunami.”

“how poetic.”

“impressive, isn’t it?”

you giggle first and wonyoung’s laughter joins soon after. her laugh is melodic and soothing, a breather. it’s like you’ve just found your oasis.

and maybe she’s found hers.

your night is spent alone. no wonyoung to fill the empty spaces of silence apart from the occasional footsteps outside of the bookstore. you spent all day with her, or rather the rest of the day until she deemed too late to reach home. no matter how hard you try, your mind ends up wandering and you dream of rosy cheeks with a bunny smile.

you awake the next morning with a letter at your doorstep, addressed in neat calligraphy.

dear y/n,

i could not tell you how much i enjoyed yesterday, it was an eye-opening experience. i am definitely the luckiest person ever. i can’t believe how lucky i was to enter your bookstore and meet you. i hope we stay acquainted forever. send your reply to this address, i will wait for it.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

if it were from anyone else, you would have found it desperate, or creepy. but even after a day of meeting wonyoung, you were enchanted.

hence, you quickly draft up a letter, perhaps she could see how much desperation there was in the messily scrawled handwriting for you to see her again.

it took almost no time for you and her to communicate daily through letters. even though you only met her three weeks ago, it felt like you’ve known her forever. wonyoung was your everything. and maybe you were her everything too. she was the part of your routine you looked most forward to.

eunbi had questioned you about your sudden enthusiasm and happiness. after all, she had been your caregiver since she had taken you in and you were never this dreamy.

wonyoung would sometimes drop by during the evening and you would spend a few hours together before she had to leave. it was the highlight of your week. a few hours would be all you could have, until a letter arrives at your doorstep.

my darling y/n,

how have you been? i found that book you’ve been raving about. i must extend my apologies for reading it beforehand, you were just too excited about it that i had to read it for myself. anyway, would your bed be free tonight? could i spend the night at your bookstore? my parents finally gave me permission to do so. i do hope you’re free, if not i’ll be missing you terribly.

sincerely yours,

wonyoung

you almost crumple up the letter in excitement. wonyoung was finally sleeping over? it was a joyous celebration. you swiftly write back, hoping that the letter would reach her in time. it always did, surprisingly. you weren’t sure if the post was meant to work that fast. you were counting down the seconds for when she would arrive and when the grandfather clock struck six thirty in the evening, a knock resounded on the door.

“wonyoung!” you squeal, rushing into her arms and burying your face into the crook of her neck. physical touch had become common between you and her, initiated by her at first but mostly done by you now. you could not resist feeling the warmth her body gave off.

“good evening, yn,” she breathes out, “i almost tripped on the way here. i was so exhilarated when i received your letter.”

you grin, quickly locking up the doors and closing the curtains. wonyoung lingers around you, a bag of clothes at her feet, you presume it contained her sleepwear.

“darling,” you feel a shiver go down your spine at her voice, “shall we head up?”

you nod and interlock hands with wonyoung, dragging her up the stairs and heading into your bedroom. your bed wasn’t tiny, but with wonyoung’s height, her feet would be dangling off the edge since your mattress was wider and not lengthy.

“you can change here, i’ll just look away,” you say.

“what if i want you to look?”

your cheeks heat up and you cover your eyes, “shut up, you flirt.”

“my sincerest apologies,” wonyoung says slowly, “do you not like it when i flirt with you?” you roll your eyes. she would always ask questions which she knew the answers to. wonyoung just wanted the satisfaction of you saying it out loud.

“i like it,” you mutter, embarrassed.

“you’re adorable,” she laughs and starts to untie the laces on her corset to reveal her shift under. you take this as your cue to turn away.

a few minutes pass and wonyoung finally says, “i’m done. you can turn around now.”

she was adorned in a long light blue night rail with lace linings. you still thought she was the prettiest girl to ever walk the earth.

wonyoung flops onto your bed and you join her.

“blow out the candle, won't you?” wonyoung requests. without the light of the candle, you can only see her face that is illuminated by the moonlight.

you both slip under the sheets, facing each other. your eyes trail along her features and your fingers ache to trace them.

“how was your day? you never answered me in your reply.”

“you were genuinely asking? i thought you asked as a formality,” you chuckle at her affronted expression.

she rolls her eyes, “of course i was genuine! i’m always interested in what you have to say.”

“why are you being so cheeky today? so many flirtatious remarks,” her long arms wrap around your waist and you giggle.

“i’m just naturally like that,” wonyoung smiles, “and you like it, don’t you?”

you nod shyly.

“i do.”

“then i’ll stay this way. be whatever that you like.”

“i like you,” you confess.

wonyoung blinks slowly. your words and sincere tone seeping into her heart as a large grin overtakes her face.

“and i adore you.”

your night, unlike the first, was spent wrapped up in wonyoung’s embrace. warmth covering your body and a smile across your face the entire time you slept. it was the most peaceful night you’ve had. yet, as all things go, it was just the calm before the storm.

something had been bothering you, wonyoung could tell. after that night spent together, you and her were inseparable. but the more time you had together, the more it seemed like you were drifting away in your thoughts.

“darling?” you turn around in her embrace, “are you all right?”

“yes, i’m totally fine. couldn’t be better than being here with you.”

“i feel the same but, are you certain? it just feels like something is bothering you. if anything, could you tell me?” wonyoung asks. your body visibly tenses up and even in the dark, she could still see how your face was contemplating.

“why did you ask me to never search for your identity?”

wonyoung suddenly unwraps her arms from around your waist. you miss her warmth instantly.

“why are you bringing this up now?” she counter asks.

you frown. “just remembered it. i was reminiscing the first time we met.”

“ah.”

“also because eunbi has been asking me about you and i don’t know what to tell her. i realised i don’t know much about you and i want to change that,” you explain.

wonyoung’s breath hitches.

“eunbi? have you mentioned my name to her?”

“no, i wasn’t too sure if i should have… wonyoung, seriously, what’s this whole ordeal with your identity? can’t you just tell me?” you ask.

you decide not to mention the fact that you have actually questioned eunbi about wonyoung. the amount of warning signs about her identity had been increasing daily and you weren’t so certain about how much you could trust wonyoung anymore.

“you’re lying,” wonyoung states.

“what?”

“you know my identity.”

“wonyoung, love—”

she separates herself from you immediately and sits upright. your bubble of tranquillity bursts and the peaceful future you’ve created for the two of you was ruined.

“i told you. i specifically told you not to go looking!” her voice raises, “and you still do? and i know you’re lying to my face! you know that…”

you can’t stand it anymore. “that you’re the princess? of course i do! how could i not remember your face and name plastered everywhere? are you not aware of how influential you are? the media has been going insane at how your birthday ball was going to be the highlight of this century! but this doesn’t mean i love you less!”

“it’s not about that! you betrayed my trust. how could you? it was the first thing i’ve ever told you; don’t go looking for my identity! and i… this isn’t going to work out. i apologise, but i have to leave,” wonyoung hisses and quickly jumps out of your bed. you can only stare in silence as she packs up her clothes and leaves out the door.

you sit there on your cotton sheets, stunned at how the evening’s played out. a sigh escapes your lips and your heart aches at the forlorn expression that wonyoung had.

you couldn’t believe that wonyoung had just left like that. you thought she would at least hear you out and it wasn’t as if you yourself had gone looking for her identity! her name was basically on every single piece of news article, how could you not know? and wonyoung wasn’t a popular name.

perhaps everything will be normal in the morning. wonyoung’s letter would show up at your doorstep, apologising for how she acted and you would still forgive her.

needless to say, you were wrong. there was no letter, and definitely no bouquet of tulips that normally accompanied the letter.

“i saw the princess stomping out, did you two have a fall out?” eunbi asks. you nod, sulking.

“she found out that i knew she was the princess and she wasn’t too enthusiastic about it.”

eunbi thinks for a moment. “aren’t you going to try to chase after her? wouldn’t it be right?”

“why should i? she said we weren’t going to work out.” repeating those words brought a new level of pain.

your caregiver laughs, “that’s exactly what sakura said as well and she ended up grovelling.”

you raise an eyebrow. “who’s sakura?”

“some foreign lady. anyway, are you going to write to her or not? her birthday’s coming up soon.”

“her birthday,” you repeat, “i could just go to her birthday banquet.” eunbi blinks, “i did not mean that but sure.”

you have a newfound sense of confidence. wonyoung couldn’t do anything if you just went to her banquet, right? well, she could just order for the guards to take you out but it was open to commoners. there was a dress code but wonyoung had gifted you a pretty expensive dress recently.

“august 30th, it starts at eleven in the evening,” eunbi informs you, “you do know your way to the castle? i have other plans that night.”

“yes, of course. thank you for the idea!” you smile. as you head off back into your room, thoughts of seeing wonyoung again run through your mind.

the day had finally come. your hair was parted in the middle with your bangs curled that occasionally twitched your eyes. your bust was pushed up ever so slightly by a tight fitting corset. you had a low cut violet gown and white gloves that extended up to your elbows.

the closer you got to the palace, the more your confidence dwindled. what if wonyoung orders for the guards to escort you out? it would be ironic for you to show up at her banquet, where she would have to reveal her identity. you shiver at the thought of wonyoung’s distrustful gaze.

what happened to staying together until death parts you two? wonyoung had been so romantic with her words, maybe it was all faux.

you shake your head. you couldn’t think of that! now, you just had to reassure her that her identity revelation would not change anything. and maybe you could even try to revert to the same relationship status as before. once you enter the ballroom, you’re surrounded by nobles and commoners alike, all dressed to the nines. you scan the room, hoping to see wonyoung.

“goodness,” one of the more fashionably dressed nobles say, “dukes from high society are starting to court her already. i heard that many are offering their whole family wealth for her hand.”

your face falls. of course there would be people wanting to court her. wonyoung was so angelic and there would be no reason for rich dukes to not throw themselves at her.

“good evening, my lady,” you spin around, facing an older woman with a rather disgruntled young man, “could i ask where you are from?” luckily, eunbi had trained you beforehand.

“miyawaki y/n,” you lie through your teeth, “i’m not from around here, just passing through to visit the princess.”

“splendid! i am from the house of lee and this is my son, heeseung,” the woman exclaims, “i thought you were a perfect match for him.”

your eye twitches.

“ah, yes.”

“i’ll leave you two to get acquainted, hopefully by the end of this ball, you will be dancing with each other.”

“my lady will not be dancing with anyone,” your heart leaps. an arm links around yours and you almost instinctively lean into the familiar warmth.

the woman stands rooted to the ground while heeseung quickly scurries off.

“m-my sincerest apologies! i did not know,” she bows. wonyoung waves a hand at her and turns to look at you instead.

before the crowd starts to gather around you, wonyoung turns her head and swiftly drags you by the wrist through the many nobles.

“wony— princess!” you shriek.

she pulls you into an empty room, away from peering eyes and eavesdroppers. her gaze on you is heavy with emotion and you can barely get a chance to identify them before she speaks.

“what on earth compelled you to come here?”

“i just wanted to see you. you ran off rather quickly last night, much like that heeseung boy.”

“y/n, you can’t just show up here looking like that. i… i told you once you found out who i really was, we could never truly be together,” wonyoung sighs.

you frown, “so you weren’t going to try anyway? were you just going to love me when it was convenient? what happened to all those sweet promises you’ve made to me?”

“i can’t keep those promises if the public found out we were together,” wonyoung clasps your hands together.

“so you were just loving me for the hell of it.”

“i sacrificed lots for you.”

“but you still can’t be with me.” you take wonyoung’s silence as her answer. there’s tears welling up in your eyes and wonyoung’s gaze darts to them instantly.

you tear your hands away from hers to wipe your tears falling down your cheeks.

“this has been… eye-opening. since we were never going to work out anyway, i should take my leave. sorry for taking up your time when you should have been spending it celebrating. happy birthday.”

your heart aches. the beats slow down but you feel like it’s been crushed into little bits, which were then thrown into molten lava and rebuilt. then crushed again by wonyoung.

“wait a moment, don’t…”

“i should have know it would have ended up like this. i’m deeply sorry again, your highness,” you say coldly, bowing.

wonyoung’s mouth is open, almost like she wants to say something. but you can’t be with someone who contradicts herself every time.

“darling,” the nickname slips out and you feel sobs wreck your body, “don’t cry, wait, please.”

“my love, please look at me, please don’t walk away, i was a fool. i wasn’t thinking at all,” wonyoung rambles out, “please stay and listen, which is ironic, i realise but i can’t believe i thought i could ever live life without you. i need you. i was just scared of what they would say, but it doesn’t matter to me anymore. i realised that you’re my only light and i will never find someone better than you. it was all my doing, i never meant to hurt you like this. i’m the one who should be saying sorry.”

wonyoung stares at you, affection and longing in her eyes. so that’s what it was.

“i’m not forgiving you just yet. you still hurt my feelings.”

“of course. i’ll grovel for eternity for your forgiveness.”

you sniffle and slap her cheek lightly, not enough to even hurt.

“i hate that you can make me feel like this.”

“like what?” she asks, looking down at you.

“like everything’s okay.”

“is everything not okay?”

a smile overtakes your face, tears still dripping down your cheeks but you feel contrary.

“don’t ever do that again,” you fling your arms over her shoulders and instinctively, her hands go around your waist.

“i adore you, and if i were to ever hurt you intentionally, please just execute me on the spot,” she whispers into your ear, making you giggle.

“executing the princess is illegal, i would be given the death sentence as well.”

“then we would be together in the afterlife at least.”

“you are such a dork.”

“only yours.”

(to my darling y/n,

i hope everything’s all right back at the bookstore. could i drop by sometime later? maybe we could even read belinda by maria edgeworth. i’ve heard it is quite a worthy read. your wedding gown is gorgeous, for your information, i reckon i’ll sob at the alter. as always, do tell me about your day later. i will be counting down the minutes until i can see your beautiful face. i love you.

forever yours,

wonyoung

to my princess,

of course you can drop by. i’m expecting more books to arrive later in the afternoon. unfortunately for you, i’ve already read belinda but i will reread it with you if you want. i hope you’re doing well back at the castle; how’s the wedding preparations going? tell me all about it later. i’ll be counting down the minutes as well. i love you too.

your darling,

y/n)

#jang wonyoung x reader #wonyoung x reader #ive x reader #ive

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lilacura · 10 months ago

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Halftime kisses | Nakamura Kazuha

pairing: nakamura kazuha x reader

>wc: 500

sypnosis: just fluff :3

Kazuha dribbled the football up and down the field, practicing her shots on goal as sweat poured down her face under the hot afternoon sun. Despite putting her all into practice, her mind kept drifting to the argument she had with Y/N earlier that day.

It had started off innocently enough, with Y/N reminding Kazuha that they had a big test coming up in their shared literature class. But when Kazuha mentioned she needed to stay late for football practice to prepare for their upcoming game, things quickly escalated.

"Your team isn't the only thing in your life, Kazuha!" Y/N had shouted accusingly. "We've barely seen each other this whole semester because you're always at practice. What about your studies? You're going to fail if you don't start focusing more on school."

Kazuha tried to defend herself, but her excuses just made Y/N more angry. In the end, Y/N stormed off without letting Kazuha get a word in edgewise. Now here she was at practice, mentally and physically kicking herself for prioritizing football over her girlfriend.

Just as she took another shot at the goal, Kazuha froze at the sound of upbeat cheering coming from the sidelines. She turned to see the cheerleading squad, including Y/N, running drills of their own at the far end of the field. Kazuha's heart sunk as she realized they must have accidentally double booked the field for practice.

With new determination, Kazuha resumed her drills with vigor, hoping to catch Y/N's attention. She dribbled at top speed, fired shots with laser precision, and showed off with fancier tricks than usual. But no matter how impressive her skills, Y/N refused to even look in her direction. It was clear Kazuha had some serious apologizing and making up to do.

When practice finally ended, Kazuha hurriedly chugged her water bottle before jogging over to the cheerleaders. "Y/N, can we talk?" she asked, slightly out of breath.

Y/N pretended not to hear, busying herself with rolling up her pom poms. Kazuha gently grabbed her arm. "Please, I'm sorry. You were right - I've been neglecting my studies to focus on football. But it's not because I don't care about you or our future together."

Slowly, Y/N turned to face Kazuha with a raised eyebrow, giving her a chance to explain. Kazuha took a deep breath. "Football is important to me, but so are you. I want to make you proud as much as I want to win games. Can you forgive me for losing sight of what really matters?"

For a long moment Y/N was silent, staring into Kazuha's earnest crimson eyes. Then finally, the ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. "I suppose I can find it in me to forgive you, on one condition."

"Anything," Kazuha said instantly.

"Study with me tonight. And no more late night practices without letting me know first, okay?"

Beaming, Kazuha nodded enthusiastically. "Deal! I promise, from now on you come first before any game.” She pulled Y/N into a hug, which was sweetly returned. All was forgiven between the star athlete and her cheerleader sweetheart, who both vowed to find a better balance going forward.

a/n: this was SOOOO rushed im so sorry if it sucks ass

#nakamura kazuha #kazuha x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #le sserafim #le sserafim kazuha #le sserafim x reader #girl group #gg x reader

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gotta-pet-em-all · 6 months ago

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hey @goldenrodchef and @feeling-seasickness get over here

sea. you stepped out of line, and in "trying to help" you took the side of the oppressor a lot. Even if you meant it as a "know thine enemy" thing, you didn't clarify that, and gen saw the vague statement and assumed the worst because frankly he's used to getting hatred from all sides and can't afford the benefit of the doubt. You need to be more aware of your privilege or lack thereof. This doesn't mean you lost the oppression olympics, it means you need to work to be a better ally, because this stuff doesn't come easily. you will fuck up. everyone will fuck up. but learning to own up to it is a valuable skill you need to learn.

gen. if you get self deprecating and start apologizing at vague statements, you make people around you uncomfortable because you're treating them like bombs waiting to hurt you and they don't know how to deal with it. You don't need to put yourself down like that. And frankly, you shouldn't be the head of this movement because it's putting far too much strain on you to try and shoulder all of it. Learn to delegate.

and for my part. sea, i'm sorry i went off on you without fully checking the context. i didn't think to check your age, or the notes of the post. gen, sorry if that made you uncomfortable that i kept escalating the conflict on your behalf.

both of you should read up on some theory to try and understand this better-- disability theory, particularly by amputees, those with facial disfigurements, and regarding infantilization, would help. Transgender theory would be great as well! It's not perfect but we do have existing literature on bodies that have been othered by the collective, so build on it.

if you really want to talk about names, seriously look up euphemism treadmill theory. hell, social linguistics has a lot to say about this. the original name isn't going away. if you dislike it, make some new ones, see what the group itself likes to use.

sea, look up youth liberation, or youth for human rights. I think it would help you work through some biases. gen, try the nap ministry, for rest as a form of resistance against the oppressive forces capitalism.

finally. you guys need to work it out. don't just assume the other person hates you. talk it out. please.

#fluff and the disabled agenda

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sporesgalaxy · 2 years ago

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Tumblr keeps crashing each time I send this so I gotta be quick: do have any tips on how to study biology (college is not an option atm)

Oh boy! I will do my best!

I've listed the basic irl resources for biological information first, followed by some online resources.

I've got a strong Animalia bias, so apologies that I don't have any botany-specific sites for you. 😔

I'm sure there's some stuff I'm forgetting. I'll add on to this if I think of anything!

If there's anything specific you need help finding a reliable biological resource for, let me know and I will try my best to help find you something!

•••

Finding primary sources (stuff written by the scientists who did the research [i.e. a journal article]) is always very good, but reliable secondary resources (someone else summarizing other people's research [i.e. Wikipedia page, book]) can be very valuable as well.

•••

Meatspace Resources

I would highly recommend checking to see if there is a Nature Park in your area! Nature parks often have volunteer programs and/or free educational opportunities. In my experience, naturalists are always very excited to meet new people interested in learning about local ecology!

There's also Zoos and Aquariums of course, although I know they cost money and are typically geared more towards kids. I'm lucky to live near some nice ones. Maybe check if there are any special programs happening at Zoos/Aquariums in your area (by checking their website[s]), where you might learn more than you would on a normal day trip.

Plus natural history museums, which usually have rotating exhibits so that you can keep learning new things when you come back! They also have more of an all-ages vibe than Zoos in my experience. Once again dependant on if there's one near you, and not free.

Last but not least: the local library, although obviously not every published book is a flawless resource. Still, might be interesting to poke around! There's usually some sort of digital search catalogue to make finding things easier. Libraries are fun :)

•••

Online Resources

Jstor is GREAT. Not all jstor articles are open access/free, but some are! And you can set a search filter to show you only things you can access.

One good way to find out what experts have written for other experts about biology: search a species name or biological concept or type of experimental study, etc. etc., in jstor's journal articles. I've linked a search for journal articles "I can access" containing the word "biology" as an example.

The website layout can feel a little obtuse at first but I think if you fiddle around with it a bit, it's not too bad to figure out? Feel free to kick my ass if I'm wrong djgjkeg

Wikipedia is actually a very good place to introduce yourself to a lot of biological concepts. I would recommend checking out some of the sources yourself if you can-- usually at least some of them are free, and that can introduce you to new free resources for learning more (today I discovered bugguide.net!). Often they will link you to jstor.

But biology-focused wiki pages have a pretty good track record for Correct Information in my experience. The only issue I've run into is there being too little information sometimes.

Pubmed is a really good resource to read biomedical scientific papers for free if that interests you at all! Reading scientific papers is a really important skill and I think you can pick up a lot just by diving in and googling words you don't know.

A well-designed experiment is replicable (that is, you can understand from the paper how they set things up to the point that you could do it yourself, given the resources). It's also important to pay attention to sample size. The more times you replicate any process in an experiment, the more likely you will be able to identify what the most common result really is, and why.

Fishbase is a website I was introduced to in my icthyology class to find info about different fish species :) It kind of just dumps all the info on you in a big text wall, but many pages include great details about life cycle and diet that might go unmentioned on wiki pages.

I've never used bugguide.net before today, but so far it seems solid and like it has a lot of good info. I assume it is similar to fishbase but for bugs

EDIT: FREE ONLINE TEXTBOOKS I FORGOT ABOUT!!!

I used both of these for university classes at some point. I didn't use them much, so there may be issues I don't know about.

In my experience though they were solid resources, if a little confusingly worded at times. Bouncing between the textbooks and wikipedia tended to help me.

#syd writes an essay #<- not really but eh. to bookmark it.#asks #biology

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comfort-clubhouse · 1 year ago

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My Kin List

SpongeBob SquarePants (SpongeBob) - Really kind to everyone, autistic

Luigi (Mario) - Really kind to his friends

Snork (Moomin) - Autism

ENA (ENA) - Sometimes gets emotional

Snorkmaiden (Moomin) - Has creativity

Sketchbook (DHMIS) - Creativity

Soft Boyfriend (Friday Night Funkin - Soft) - Sensitive to loud sounds

Soft Mouse (Friday Night Funkin - Soft) - Really quiet

Wall-E (Wall-E) - Likes discovering new things

Numbuh 3 (Kids Next Door) - Fantasizes plushies, gentle, kind

Skid (Spooky Month) - Loves Halloween

Pump (Spooky Month) - Loves Halloween

Ms Chalice (Cuphead Show) - Loves music, musician

Curse (VS Sonic.EXE) - Friendly

Charlie Morningstar (Hazbin Hotel) - Cares about her friends, looks up to her family, bilingual

Slushi (Chikn Nuggit) - Loves anime & Japanese culture

Tails (Sonic) - Likes hanging out with his friends

Tiana (Princess and The Frog) - Likes catering

Marcy Wu (Amphibia) - Is autistic

Pomni (The Amazing Digital Circus) - introverted, anxiety

Matt (Eddsworld) - has autism

Lucifer Morningstar (Hazbin Hotel) - Special interests

Ellie Rose (Henry Stickmin) - Friendly to ones she cares about

Ruby (Battle For Dream Island) - Has a Pokémon phase, loves going shopping for clothes, can be sensitive

Bubble (Battle For Dream Island) - Likes baking, over apologizes

X (Battle For BFB) - They get nervous under pressure

Sir Pentious (Hazbin Hotel) - Enthusiastic about being in activities

Angel Dust (Hazbin Hotel) - Bilingual, skilled in cooking

Moxxie (Helluva Boss) - Likes cooking, bisexual

Tari (SMG4) - likes cats, video games and anime

Melony (SMG4) - likes sleeping, likes anime

Fluttershy (My Little Pony) - Attracted to villains, forgives people too easily

Luz Noceda (Owl House) - Loves cute things, in multiple fandoms, crushes on fictional characters

Rarity (My Little Pony) - Artistic

Mabel Pines (Gravity Falls) - Scared of being alone, funny, deep down very clever

Gus Porter (Owl House) - Enthusiastic about special interests

Vee (Owl House) - Innocent, anxious, comfortable around certain people

Dipper Pines (Gravity Falls) - Curious, anxiety, loves puzzles

Nifty (Hazbin Hotel) - Bilingual, likes fanfiction, likes cooking

Gangle (The Amazing Digital Circus) - Loves drawing, hates loud noises

Hooty (Owl House) - Dislikes being left out, likes Lilith

Lilith Clawthorne (Owl House) - Aroace

N (Murder Drones) - Kind, socially awkward, loves dogs

Pinkie Pie (My Little Pony) - Extreme mood swings, sweet tooth

Raine Whispers (Owl House) - Creative, hates when people I care about in danger, easily flustered

Sprig Plantar (Amphibia) - Loves his family

Tom Lucitor (Star Vs The Forces of Evil) - Kind to others, funny, needs something to calm down

Pearl (Steven Universe) - Can be easily flustered

Marceline (Adventure Time) - Emotional, keeps a teddy, bisexual

Entrapta (She-Ra - Princess of Power) - Autistic, sensitive, would never directly harm anyone

Sayori (Doki Doki Literature Club) - Loves hugs, patient, loves cute things, gets distracted eaaily

Cinnamoroll (Sanrio) - Likes baking, shy, likes eating, sleepy, likes to take naps, loves making new friends

Mugman (Cuphead Show) - cautious against the dangers during trips

Octavia (Helluva Boss) - Scared of someone leaving her, has separated parents

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asteracaea · 6 months ago

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Hello! This ask is way too long, I apologize 🥲

This is about your post regarding the albatross, and @bettyshoweduptotheparty’s addition (I wanted to send this ask to both of you but I prefer being anonymous, sorry I’m shy); if either of you (or anyone else) want to talk about this song, please do, here’s your excuse to do it. Mainly 2 things I wanted to talk about / ask.

1. So, I didn’t know the original line from romeo and juliet, and I hadn’t understood the line “a rose by any other name is a scandal”, and now I’m wondering if the reason I don’t understand many lyrics is that I’m missing the reference. I’m sure it wouldn’t be the only reason, my interpretation skills are rather limited, but I would love to find out. So if anyone wants to make a list off the top of their head of taylor lyrics that reference something, I would love that so much. If anyone would like to do it, please include the obvious ones, good chance of me not knowing it (wish I could blame it on english not being my first language but, again, probably not the only reason). But anything from english literature, and references to popular sayings, I probably won’t know even if it seems obvious. Of course this would be an extremely long list and very time consuming to make, that’s why I’m asking if anyone can add some that they remember off the top of their head. I would absolutely not oppose if someone wanted to make a complete list, though.

2. After gaining some insight on the rose line, I wanted to understand it in the context of the song etc etc and once again my (lack of) interpretation skills are failing me, so if anyone can help me out with the meaning of some other lyrics in this song. “Wild winds are death to the candle”, I figure it’s a popular saying (like “one bad seed kills the garden” in the next part), but I don’t really understand what point it’s trying to make. Next we have “one less temptress, one less dagger to sharpen”, “only liquor anoints you”, and the one I’d like to know the most: “devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger”. Also the whole bridge (😭 look, I said the interpretation skills were poor) “and when that that sky rains fire on you, and you’re persona non grata, I’ll tell you how I’ve been there too, and that none of it matters”.

Okay, I guess this is it, I’m sorry it’s so long, I really won’t hold it against you if you just delete it.

Goodbye <3

oh dear sweet anon, your ask is not too long and i am very happy to respond! i'm sure @bettyshoweduptotheparty will be as well! thank you for writing!

taylor references so many things in her lyrics, and they often have multiple layers and interpretations, and that's what makes it so fun for me to contemplate and discuss them - i'm always discovering new meanings, even years down the road! and our wonderful brilliant mutuals here on tumblr are constantly discovering new meanings and drawing parallels that really deepen and enrich my experience of taylor's songs. i've been here 4 years now and i won't be leaving because i'm constantly learning about linguistics and art and symbolism and (lgbtq) history.

her music is amazing because it can be enjoyed on a surface level of fun and beautiful music, but you can also dive down the rabbit hole and learn things that are so much more complex and nuanced and universal than just what people she's dated or who she's writing about. imo, she is so much more brilliant than most people realize rn. it's funny because she's like the most popular successful beloved artist in history and yet i don't think most people even begin to know how brilliant she is, or appreciate the art she's been making!

i'm not sure if a comprehensive list of references exists yet, but that's definitely something i would love to do someday! can you imagine the tome... but i think tumblr is a living evolving compilation of references like that. taylor herself has said that she puts easter eggs into her art that people won't understand for years (as we have seen with things in rep, now knowing her conflicts with BMR and SB) and things about her private life that we cannot know now that she may or may not share with the world at a later date.

but i think you may be asking about literary and idiom/phrase/language poetical references? some people may have already created masterposts and analyses of individual songs and lyrics, and if anyone has or knows of any offhand please send them my way and i'll reblog them! but yeah, we're all collectively constantly finding new references which is why i can never leave this hellsite 😂 i'm constantly learning! and especially with this heavily poetic and linguistically dense new album, i'm sure we'll be mining it for YEARS! and that is just so fun and exciting and beautiful to me.

i hope i didn't go off on too many tangents! and you've inspired me to want to start an intensive comprehensive analysis of ttpd and all her music! so yeah in conclusión, that's a great goal, to make a compilation!

#🥰 thanks for writing anon!#i hope others chime in and send links!

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go-to-the-mirror · 8 months ago

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I know I said I wasn't going to post another TMA fic, but I've been getting into it a bit more, so here goes. It's a vampire AU! It's not complete, but I have been working on it on and off. I never thought i'd actually finish it enough to post, but here's a first bit :3

---

Jon hates job interviews, especially ones he’s not qualified for. But he wasn’t qualified for research, either, with a degree in literature, so it can’t hurt to try. Besides, if he doesn’t get the job, he might get the assistant archivist position, learn a few things. All in all, it’s going to be good for him.

His anxiety is not convinced.

“Mr. Sims?” calls Mr. Bouchard, leaning out of his office. Jon stands up and takes a deep breath. The worst he can do is say no.

Mr. Bouchard ushers Jon into his office, closing the door behind him, and taking a seat in his chair. Jon sits in the other, and tries his best not to look as anxious as he feels.

“So, tell me, why do you think you are the right fit for this job?”

Jon recites his rehearsed speech about how he’s committed to the preservation of documents, deemed both important and not, about the skills he learned in research, his own interest in anthropological research into the supernatural and his disappointment in the state of the archives disorganisation. It’s convincing, he’ll say so himself, and as he talks, he thinks he can see Elias warm up to him.

Hello, Jon. Apologies for the deception, but I wanted to make sure you started reading, so I thought it best not to announce myself. I’m assuming you’re alone; you always did prefer to read your statements in private. I wouldn’t try too hard to stop reading; there’s every likelihood you’ll just hurt yourself. So just listen.

Now, shall we turn the page and try again?

Statement of Jonah Magnus regarding Jonathan Sims, the Archivist.

Statement begins.

I hope you’ll forgive me the self-indulgence, but I have worked so very hard for this moment, a culmination of two centuries of work. It’s rare that you get the chance to monologue through another, and you can’t tell me you’re not curious.

Why does a man seek to destroy the world?

It’s a simple enough answer: for immortality and power. Uninspired, perhaps, but – my god. The discovery, not simply of the dark and horrible reality of the world in which you live, but that you would quite willingly doom that world and confine the billions in it to an eternity of terror and suffering, all to ensure your own happiness, to place yourself beyond pain and death and fear.

It is an awful thing to know about yourself, but the freedom, John, the freedom of it all. I have dedicated my life to handing the world to these Dread Powers all for my own gain, and I feel… nothing but satisfaction in that choice.

I am to be a king of a ruined world, and I shall never die.

I believe there are far more people in this world that would take that bargain than you would ever guess. And I have beaten all of them.

Of course, this desire did not manifest overnight. When Smirke first gathered our little band – Lukas, Scott, and the rest – to discuss and hypothesize on the nature of the things he had learned from Rayner, I felt what I believe we all felt: curiosity, and fear.

But as he compiled his taxonomy and codified his theories on the grand rituals, I began to develop a very specific concern. Smirke was so obsessed with his ideas on balance, even as our fellows began to experiment and fall to the service of our patrons.

I began to worry that if one of them successfully attempted their ritual, then I would be as much a victim as any, trapped in the nightmare landscape of a twisted world.

At first, I attempted prevention, but the cause seemed hopeless. The only way to ensure I did not suffer the tribulations of what I believed to be an inevitable transformation was to bring it about myself. So what began as an experiment soon became a race.

Beyond that, I was getting older, and mortality began to weigh more heavily on my mind. How much in this world is done because we fear death, the last and greatest terror?

I convinced Smirke to work on Millbank, leading him to design it as a temple to all the Fears in equilibrium, such that my own modifications to the design of the Panopticon went… unremarked.

It. Took. Years, for the dread of the prisoners to fully suffuse the place, and I was an old man before I made my first attempt at the Watcher’s Crown, sat in the center of that colossal eye, the great ring of cells encircling me like a coronet.

It was… flawed, of course, as all Smirke’s rituals were, and none of the inmates survived as the power I attempted to harness shook the building almost to pieces, and the murky swamp upon which the prison was built consumed it.

But it left me a gift: For sat in that watchtower, I could see everything I turned my mind to.

It was a dizzying power, and one I discovered I maintained even as I found vessels to extend my life. Of course, I had to make sure the location was kept under my control while I worked on revising my plans, and so I moved the organization I had founded to assist in my research down to London, and the Institute as you know it was born.

I’ll not bore you with details of my bodies and failures through those intervening years. Suffice to say I kept busy, both planning my own next attempt, and doing my best to stymie those others who tried versions of their own.

Surely my interpretation of the Watcher’s Crown had been incomplete; there had been some element of the ritual I had overlooked.

It was not until I met Gertrude Robinson that things began to really come into focus.

You see, the role of Archivist has been part of the Beholding for as far back as my research can go. This isn’t uncommon for the Powers; most of the beliefs around them are guesswork and fallible human interpretation, but there are certain throughlines and consistencies that can be spotted, regardless of the trappings.

But Gertrude was unlike any other Archivist. She simply did not care about compiling experiences or collecting the fears of others. She was driven to stop those who served the Powers.

More than once I thought she must secretly be of the Hunt – but there was never that sick joy in her, that thrill of predator and prey. She had simply decided that this was her position in life, and went about it with a practicality that even I found disconcerting at times.

I once asked her what drove her, what had started her down that path. She told me the Desolation had killed her cat.

I don’t know if she was joking, and, to be honest, I could never bring myself to look into her mind and find out for sure.

In any case, Gertrude’s ruthless efficiency in derailing and collapsing rituals threw into stark relief a question that had been bothering me for almost a hundred and fifty years: In the whole span of humanity, why had nobody ever succeeded?

Perhaps there were a long line of Gertrude Robinsons throughout history, but I found that hard to credit. Could it be, then, that there was something in the very concept of the rituals that meant they couldn’t succeed?

She was clearly having similar thoughts in that last year, all of which culminated with the People’s Church.

When I saw that she was making no preparations whatsoever to stop it, I realized she was putting into practice a theory, and one she couldn’t afford to be wrong. She was going to wait, and see if the unopposed ritual succeeded, or if it collapsed under its own strain as mine had all those years ago.

Knowing Gertrude, I’m sure she had a backup plan if she had miscalculated – but she had not. The ritual failed. And all at once, I realized what had to be done.

You see, the thing about the Fears is that they can never be truly separated from each other. When does the fear of sudden violence transition into the fear of hunted prey? When does the mask of the Stranger become the deception of the Spiral?

Even those that seem to exist in direct opposition rely on each other for their definition as much as up relies on down.

To try and create a world with only the Buried makes as much sense as trying to conceive a world with only down.

Every ritual tied itself so closely to a single power as to render itself impossible. They could bring their patron close, but never sever it from the others, and eventually it would be violently pulled back into the place next to reality where they dwell.

The solution, then, is simple: A new ritual must be devised which will bring through all the Powers at once. All fourteen, as I had hoped I could complete it before any new powers such as Extinction were able to fully emerge. All under the Eye’s auspices, of course. We mustn’t forget our roots.

And there was only one being that could possibly serve as a lynchpin for this new ritual: The Archivist. A position that had so recently become vacant, thanks to Gertrude’s ill-timed retirement plans.

Because the thing about the Archivist is that – well, it’s a bit of a misnomer.

It might, perhaps, be better named: The Archive.

Because you do not administer and preserve the records of fear, John. You are a record of fear, both in mind as you walk the shuddering record of each statement, and in body as the Powers each leave their mark upon you.

You are a living chronicle of terror.

Perhaps, then, if I could find an Archivist and have each Power mark them, have them confront each one and each in turn instill in them a powerful and acute fear for their life, they could be turned into a conduit for the coming of this – nightmare kingdom.

Do you see where I’m going, John?

It does tickle me, that in this world of would-be occult dynasties and ageless monsters, the Chosen One is simply that – someone I chose. It’s not in your blood, or your soul, or your destiny. It’s just in your own, rotten luck.

I’ll admit, my options were somewhat limited, but My God, when you came to me already marked by the Web, I knew it had to be you. I even held out some small hope you had been sent by the Spider as some sort of implicit blessing on the whole project, and, do you know what, I think it was.

Of course, I had to bide my time, get a measure of you before I began to push, learn how you worked – So I decided I would wait until something came for you, and see how you reacted. Attacks upon the Archives were not uncommon during Gertrude’s tenure, and, while she was always prepared, I made sure you would not be.

I reasoned if you couldn’t survive a single encounter, you were unlikely to make it through all fourteen. So, when Jane Prentiss attacked, I watched eagerly, one hand on the gas release from the start.

You acquitted yourself well enough, so I decided to see how far you would get, though I waited until the worms were in you before I pulled the lever. I needed to make sure you felt that fear all the way to your bones.

The discovery that one of the Stranger’s minions had infiltrated the Institute in the aftermath was certainly a pleasant bonus. Even if that sliver of paranoia, that vague wrongness you couldn’t quite place wouldn’t count as a mark, it was only a matter of time before it confronted you in a far more direct and affecting matter.

Admittedly, given the advent of the Unknowing, I needn’t have bothered. But what’s the old saying about hindsight?

More important to me was Sasha’s encounter with the Distortion. If it had taken an interest, then I very much wanted it to cross your path.

So I found one of its current victims and convinced her to make a statement.

Poor Helen. I actually had to put her in a taxi myself, she was getting so lost in those narrow London side streets.

It worked, though.

Between the stabbing and at least two desperate flights into its doors – you’re marked very deeply by the Spiral.

Jurgen Leitner was a surprise, of course, and I was forced to improvise. I had no idea how much Gertrude would have told him, and he could very easily have derailed everything if you learned too much too fast.

I… justified it to myself saying I was going to have to send you out into the world anyway, if you were to encounter more of the Powers, but I can’t honestly pretend it wasn’t a… rather rash move.

Still. I’d requested Detective Tonner be assigned to the case when they found Gertrude’s body in the hope that having a Hunter in the mix would eventually lead to a confrontation, and setting you up as a killer certainly hastened that.

Then it was just a matter of feeding you statements to lead you to a few Avatars I thought were likely to harm you – but probably would stop short of actually killing you.

Jude served her purpose exactly as I had hoped, as did our dearly departed Mr. Crew, marking you for the Desolation and the Vast.

Honestly, I had – nothing to do with Melanie and her Slaughter adventure, but when I saw the situation, I made sure to trap her here, so when her rage bubbled over you would be right there, a ready target.

I didn’t foresee the mark coming from surgery gone wrong, but it was a very pleasant surprise.

The Unknowing was a distraction, but not an unwelcome one. For this to work, you needed more than just the marks; you needed power. And that was something the Unknowing served to test, though it posed no actual danger in the grand scheme of things.

And it did serve another purpose, of course. It inadvertently pushed you to confront death, a mark I had been very worried about trying to orchestrate. If I tried too early, you’d just die. Too late, and you might be powerful enough to see the attempt coming, and maybe even understand why.

As it was, it was just right, and once again, you came through with flying colours.

By this point, your abilities were coming along in leaps and bounds, and I was concerned that meeting face-to-face might end up with you Knowing something you shouldn't.

I had initially planned to go into hiding, but when your colleagues surprised me with the police, well. It was simple enough to cut a deal.

All that remained, then, were the Dark, the Flesh, the Buried, and the Lonely.

I was a little put out when that idiot Jared Hopworth misinterpreted my letters and attacked the Institute too soon, before you were even out of the hospital, but then – Ho, you should have see my face when you voluntarily went to him.

I couldn’t see what happened in there, of course, but given how you came out, I’m very sure it counts as a mark.

I suspected the coffin might turn up again, and once it did, it was simply a matter of getting any, uh… restraining factors you might have had flying off on a wild goose chase, and waiting.

Honestly, Detective Tonner has been proving invaluable through this process. I’d been racking my brains for months about what I could use to lure you in.

And, of course, I knew the Dark Sun was just sitting there waiting. So when it came time, I just whipped up another apocalypse and sent you on your merry way.

Then all that remained was the Lonely.

Poor Peter. He really should have left well enough alone. Or just done what I’d asked in the first place.

Ah well. He knew what I was attempting, and was very unwilling to cooperate until I made him a little wager about Martin.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that, in addition to setting you up for the final mark, he was giving you all the tools you needed to escape from it.

How is Martin, by the way? He looks well. You will keep an eye on him when all this is over, won’t you? He’s earned that.

And there, I think, we are brought just about up to date. I have enjoyed our little trip down memory lane, but past here lies only impatience.

You are prepared. You are ready. You are marked. The power of the Ceaseless Watcher flows through you, and the time of our victory is here.

Don’t worry, John. You’ll get used to it here, in the world that we have made.

Now, repeat after me.

You who watch and know and understand none. You who listen and hear and will not comprehend. You who wait and wait and drink in all that is not yours by right.

Come to us in your wholeness.

Come to us in your perfection.

Bring all that is fear and all that is terror and all that is the awful dread that crawls and chokes and blinds and falls and twists and leaves and hides and weaves and burns and hunts and rips and bleeds and dies!

Come to us.

I – OPEN – THE DOOR!

#tma #tma fanfiction #the magnus archives #hope y'all like it :3 #my lonely writing #i'll post it onto ao3 at a later date #idk i need to refine it more lol

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