#i just think there should be room for it in modern literature

[lackadaisycal-art]

What's your literature hot take?

Mine is that head-hopping is not inherently sloppy or lazy, and that the modern expectation to always have every chapter (or whole book) from one specific character's POV limits the potential for certain kinds of comedy, suspense and other narrative nuances

[the-busy-ghost]

Hmm we’re on shelf 3 already and I’ve only just got to letter T in the ‘modern literature’ section (and letter W will take up almost an entire shelf on its own). 

I don’t mind very much as I was almost regretting ordering the other bookcase so at least this validates my purchase, but I definitely reckon I’m going to have to do some weeding...

[illinoaventing]

Taylor is so Tiktok-y. She is a culture vulture yes, but she is... also in it.

See, whenever something is popular, especially in the culture of white women, she will release an album with similar aesthetic.

In 2014, Tumblr was major and we have photos with these kinds of faded filters and Polaroid pictures. 1989 follows that too, but it looks off yk not like a deliberated attempt to create an artistic statement for the album like other artists. But what do I expect from a goofy ahh album title wdym your special trait is being born in the year 1989? Are you Christ?

And then in late 2019 early 2020 the cottagecore aesthetic was trending and she released folklore... like she wore long flowery dress and touched grass and stuff.

Then the Fall/Downtown girl/Rory Gilmore aesthetic. Miss girl wore thick jacket standing among trees 😭.

Then the whole 80s era came back and people loved it hard. Of course the next album must copy what the most mainstream aesthetic is trending! The lighting must mimicks the dreamy, glowing vibe of 80s pictures, with lots of contrast to create a vintage air. Tabloid of course must be sitting in a room with vintage interior design she damn well never lives in and even with a bloody vintage keyboard piano to complete the look 😭!!

And here we have the rise of #booktok and literaturetok community where people quoted Dostoyevsky and Kafka and Jane Austen and stuff. Is it a coincidence that Swifties start to chant about Taylor's pen and compare her to Emily Dickinson just by accident? Idk. But there she is promoting a whole album which is essentially about making literature an aesthetic, and she did it in a very surface-level way, like what do we imagine when we think of literature? Books, typewriter, fountain pen, cursive writings right? She basically grabbed them all and display it everywhere in the blandest way possible. Like, there's nothing visually artistically stimulating and curious. Black and white filter, paper, typewriter? Ground breaking. This MV should be preserved as a cultural relic. Even when a movie or video game tried to take an aesthetic but wrong, they still intertwine some modern twist on it to look more interesting.

So my take is that Taylor has no artistic individuality. She hops from trend to trend like a chameleon. She thinks of herself as an aesthetic enough of its own. Of course nothing is wrong about wearing what everyone is wearing but as an artist? You know how important personal artistic style is, it's to establish your own image. I think her signature is her blond hair, that's all. So despite being very famous, the general public just don't recognize her much except for being a white blond woman who sometimes sings with guitar... and there are many white blond women singers with guitar, they're just not as famous or insufferable as.

[alienguts]

Bruce + Bookworm S/O (Bruce Wayne x GN!Reader HCs)

Warnings: none

A/N: just a little something i thought of while at work. Part 4 of Picking Up the Pieces is still in the works!

Despite being someone who has No Spare Time™, Bruce is very well read.

He was reading the classics by the time he was ten years old, so he's got the reading skills and the literary chops, he just doesn't have a lot of time.

While his favourite titles are by authors like Charles Dickens or Sun Tzu, he doesn't know a lot about modern authors.

Sure, he knows who Stephen King is, but he doesn't know Stephen King.

He's been asked at charity events for schools and libraries what he thinks of recent releases, and while he tries to have at least a vague idea of what's the hottest thing, he usually has a default answer.

Depending on what mood he's in, he either refers back to the classics, or plays on the 'dumb playboy' persona and says that he hasn't read a book since high school.

When he found out that you were a huge bookworm, he tried to become more knowledgeable about modern literature.

You likely met in a bookstore that he took Damian to and struck up a conversation with you over a book that you were reading the back of.

You'd noticed him numerous times while browsing and often overheard the store's staff talking about Bruce Wayne and his pushy son, but you never thought that he would ever talk to you.

Your first date was, of course, in the bookstore's café and he treated you to whatever you wanted, including books.

You didn't want to push your chances with him, but he was happy to get you that special cloth bound edition that you thought you wouldn't be able to afford.

The study is your favourite room in the entire Manor, and he learnt that quickly.

You get to have a Beauty and the Beast library in real life, things don't get better than that!

Most of the books there are old editions or academic journals that have been accumulated in the 100+ years people have lived in the Manor.

Eventually, some colour will be incorporated into the shelves and there will be an eclectic mix of covers in amongst all the brown spines.

There are times when Bruce has come home very late from a gala or from patrol and found you still awake, reading in bed.

"Sweetheart, I think you should get some sleep now." "Just let me finish this chapter first."

God help him if he ever tries to take a book out of your hands.

He's fought gods, monsters, serial killers, and weird giant crocodile men but he wouldn't even think about taking a book from you while you're reading.

[wystiix]

talk to me, please

❥ pairing: venti x gn!reader ❥ synopsis: Venti anxiously waits for a text from you to the point where he overthinks and nearly spirals into madness—will you please just fucking reply already? ❥ cw: crack, attempt at humour (kms), fluff maybe?? not proof-read so some stuff may not make sense lmao ❥ additional tags: lowkey kinda revolves around texting, venti's perspective, no pronouns for reader, modern setting, venti is a humanities major cuz i said so, does this count as socmed??? idk someone tell me i need to sleep it's 2am ❥ word count: 955 ❥ notes: bonjour hi hello kumusta. my foot is fucking asleep and my leg feels numb and my back hurts and i'm tired an it's 2am i have school i need to stop. okay so for context i was texting this girl and she wasn't replying so i went crazy, and then i thought "wait i could write a fic about this" and here we are. it was actually kinda fun writing this HAHAHAHAHA but i had to rush it cuz i have other stuff to do so uh it may be a bit quick. (see end notes after reading cuz i said so /j)

The clock ticked. It had been three hours. Venti stared at his phone, impatiently waiting for you just please, please, please reply.

Try to distract yourself, one may say, and mark these fucking words, he did.

He tried everything. From listening to music to doing the dishes, to cleaning his room. Oh, but that was not all.

For the past few hours, he reorganised his notes, desk and playlist, walked at least twenty laps around his dorm, ate all his snacks from the pantry like a fatass, cleaned up his closet and planned what he was going to wear a week from now, learned a new song on his guitar and even counted every single one of his ceiling and wall tiles.

There were exactly 146 tiles in his dorm. That number now forever haunts him.

Practically exhausted from being way too productive than he usually was, he slumped down on his bed and opened the app he used to text you. There was still no reply.

Venti buried his face into his pillow, letting out a groan of frustration.

It was incredibly frustrating and it nearly drove him crazy. Were you seriously that busy? Normally you would respond within a span of seconds, a few to thirty minutes at the latest. But fucking three hours?

He couldn’t let this opportunity slip away. You both had been talking for over a week—he couldn’t afford to mess this up. 

But what if you suddenly lost interest? Oh, it felt far too early for that. Was he finally going to have that Mitski experience? Was he going to be those depressed poets who poured their hearts out through their ink on the paper when a single minor inconvenience happened to them? 

You were killing him. And it was not softly. Venti felt as if his heart was shattering into a million pieces.

Was this his destiny, his punishment for choosing to pursue such a depressing major in humanities?

How cruel the universe is.

He sighed in defeat, opening his notes app to write and exude a poetic, Shakespearean ballad about this before his phone suddenly buzzed.

Ding! You have received a new message from [Name]!

Holy shit has his fingers never moved so quickly before in his entire life, clicking on the notification faster than he could blink. Your sudden message almost gave him a heart attack, for fuck’s sake.

So much for living and breathing Shakespeare.

Oh, how his heart fluttered. A simple message, yet it had him forget about his lament just a few seconds prior and he found himself swooning, practically glazing your message as if it was the most fascinating piece of literature he had ever laid eyes on.

Venti paused, rereading your message 25 million times, unsure how to reply. Should he respond right away, or would that be too eager? He didn’t want to come off as desperate, but three hours of waiting had been excruciating. Perhaps he should wait a minute or two… No, that would be too long!

God he wanted to punch himself in the face for clicking that notification too fast, now he has to think of a response on the spot or else he’d look like an asshole.

He started to type out a response.

k, i see.

He paused, immediately deleting the message with a shake of his head. Too dry, he has to sound interested. I understand! Would you like to shift the conversation to a less taxing topic? Delete. Too formal. LMAOOO dw dw, what was it about anyway? Delete. ahh hope the essay didn’t stress u out too much!! Delete. i’m madly in love with u Delete. Had he sent that he would find the nearest cliff and leap off.

Venti sighed, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling. Why was this so complicated? He wanted to sound interested, but not desperate; casual, but not indifferent. He ended up typing something simple and hitting send before he could second-guess himself again. Sometimes, being simple is the ultimate sophistication.

He fought the urge to chuck his phone across the room. Shit, was that too casual? How long were you going to reply this time?

There were immediate blinking dots.

The tension in his chest eased as he found himself giggling at your comment. He realised the way he was acting earlier was ridiculous, maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Venti felt the weight lift off his shoulders. The conversation was back on track, and he could breathe easy again. Just as he was about to put down his phone, the blinking dots appeared again, and he immediately reverted his attention back to it.

Another message.

What.

What the fuck. Was this real?

He put his phone face down, allowing everything to sink in.

What the fuck. Coffee? Tomorrow? With you? Did you just ask him out? Was this real? Was he real? Were you real?

The anxiety that lingered within slowly ebbed away as he stared at the ceiling tiles—the same tiles that haunted him earlier. However, they now seemed oddly comforting.

“Holy shit.”

Gods above, was this a blessing? Maybe his love life wasn’t so hopeless after all.

Venti’s gaze drifted to his closet, where he noticed that same outfit he intended to wear a week from now. A cozy, soft-beige sweater with a hint of cream peeked out from behind a row of neatly hung clothes, gently draping over a pair of charcoal chinos.

He grinned like an idiot, giggling and kicking his feet like a little child who just received their favourite toy. A string of “oh my god, oh my god” repeated endlessly in his head like a loop.

And for once, the silence didn’t feel so heavy.

❥ notes: hi so yes. yes i did what he did here. yes i counted my tiles, but it was my bathroom tiles instead. there are like 121 tiles in the bathroom, including the hidden ones. in this fic i just added the average number of tiles to that number which was like 25 tiles??? lowkey idk i just estimated. and yes i did plan my outfit a week from now, which is for church. yes i cleaned my room. yes i walked more than ten laps around my living room. i was restless. yes i was productive as hell. lmfao by the time i was done with the fic she replied to me so yay!! win!! also pls get the "you were killing him and it's not softly" reference i hope someone at least gets it or else i'm gonna cry myself to sleep. yeah anyways im gonna sleep gn <3

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! Can I request some Genderbend Sleeping Beauty x Isekai Reader? (Please no princess reader I've seem them everywhere on qoutev)

Yandere Genderbend Sleeping Beauty x Iseakai'd Reader

Tending to a human man the moment you’d been dropped into this alternate world was not the ideal position. Originally being instated in the castle as a charity-case servant you hadn’t made any connection to the fairy tale. Not until the head butler brought you to a familiar trio of faeries; dressed in blue, green, and red. 

“My my their magical signature is quite–”

“Bizarre?”

“Unique?”

“--I was going to say, perfect for the worst-case scenario.”

Supposedly because of your outlier existence, the faeries had designated you to be their human help. Should the prince–Briar Rue fall into the curse of the spindling wheel he’d need constant care. It was a contingency plan, a tragic plan to set everyone in the kingdom to rest until the princess would return to save him with her kiss. Unlike the kingdom, the prince’s curse was cruel: continuing to let his bodily functions continue as he slept away. 

“It’s just in case.��� 

“Yes, not likely at all.”

“--All because it just doesn’t work on you.”

“Mariwether!” “Mariwether!”

“Sorry, forget that I said that please!” 

That was why in the span of a week you were meeting and serving the cursed prince that had spent the entirety of his life in a forest. A position that would have many of the staff sneering at you as waited on the prince’s hand and foot.

“All of this is so overwhelming (Y/n)...I don’t want to marry a girl I haven’t met. Even when I’m so madly in love with another.”

The prince was doing an iconic Disney Princess mope, leaning against the barred windows of his room in the castle. You continued to fold away his forest attire, smiling to yourself as you replayed the animated version of the fairytale. 

“Well I have a feeling you’ll meet her sooner than you may think.”

He turned his sorrowful gaze to you, tilting his head at your ominous smile. He questioned you no further, opting to conversate with you about the ‘modern’ nuances of popular society. Which you were just as uninformed about as him. Needless to say, the both of you were on something of a learning curve, relying on the staff and fairies to fill the both of you in. 

Two days. 

Two days ago he was learning alongside you how to waltz. The day you were dismissed it was in an explosion of emotion. A reaction of his overwhelmed self in this stressful environment; had you sent away and retiring early. Living in such a hierarchy was new to you and your knowledge of the future meant nothing at the intensity of his order. That being said you didn’t blame yourself when the fairies arrived at you, heads hanging low with tears in their eyes. 

____________________________________________________________

As agreed upon you had begun your caretaking duties of the prince. Waking every morning to wash, dress, change his magic feeding trey, and placing the medieval equivalent of a diaper as the day forged on. Whether you are familiar with the task of caring for someone so intensely it soon becomes a habit for you. Becoming a part of a mundane routine for yourself. Care for the prince, have breakfast, read some outdated literature, and repeat. After the first couple of days, you got quite used to the hollow echoing chamber of an otherwise empty castle. Minding the unconscious staff and royal families; it was bliss. 

While you certainly had the time to teach yourself the rules and etiquette of the time, this couldn’t have been the healthiest way to go about it. Without the commentary or viable presence of others, you had begun to speak out loud. Talking to sleeping bodies and non-sentient objects had become you’re normal for the following month. A commonality of that time was being freaked out when any of the fairies decided to make themselves young; they were considerate usually catching your attention in a flurry of sparkles. A fair warning, for whenever they came to grieve.

Towards the end of the month, their visits had a different tune; singing their praises of the princess who was fighting the malignant Sorcerer king. As evident by the distant roars and green swirling sky, this would be over soon. 

“I-I am here to kiss the prince!” 

She came to the castle frazzled, wounded, and on shaky legs. You adamantly refused, practically fighting her to eat and let you treat her wounds. In fact, it was similar to how you had been treating the prince for the past couple of months. Shouldering most of her weight as you bathed and dressed her; a process that only seemed to embarrass you. You figured as a princess this might’ve not been so out of the ordinary making it easier for you to send her to sleep. After all that you scrambled to do the same to Briar, and with a sense of finality you carried out your routine. 

Cheering to the sleeping Briar, “What do you think of that Sleeping Beau? Your beauty is here and we’ll both be free!” 

Waking the next day you finally cooked for someone else, watching as the princess scarfed down her meal only to shake at the door of Briar’s tower. Having full intentions to give them their space, you were shocked by the forceful grip on your apron. 

“D-do you think it’ll work?”

“Of course, I do, your grace! I’m sure you will recognize that he’s someone you’ll enjoy kissing awake. Now if–”

“You have to come with me!”

“W-what!? H-hey!” 

Without heeding your struggle, she curled her arm around your torso easily hoisting you up along with her as she speedily ascended the tower to the sleeping Briar Rue. It was oddly easy for her to bring you to the room the prince was sleeping in. Leaving you in shock as she began to fiddle with her cape and kilted armor. 

“M-maybe i-if I take M-mom’s idea I’ll b-be m-more confident to kiss him!”

“Ah what was your mother’s idea?”

“....”

She went silent at your question; returning your curiosity with a blank stare before shaking her head. Scratching at the back of her head she mumbled to herself before anxiously gripping the handle.

“I–i’ll just wait until h-he’s awake then.”

“W-what?”

“A-anyway do you really think I can do this?”

“O-of course.”

Her nervous demeanor was grating on your nerves, probably because you were more than minutes away from seeing this whole debacle being solved. After minutes of deliberation the princess opened the doubled doors revealing the hauntingly beautiful image of the sleeping beau. She made an audible gasp at the sight. 

Shining in the angled light of the setting sun, the stained glass windows of his temporary chamber flashed the mosaic of colors across the sleeping prince. Blonde flowy hair splayed out around his crowned head. His face was still, cheeks oddly rosy and lips perfectly puckered with their own touch of red. He looked ethereal and you couldn’t help but internally pat yourself on the back. Whether or not you were familiar with makeup in the modern world, this world wasn’t particularly fond of the attractiveness of healthy color. But judging by her continued awe the smashed berries you got were a good idea. 

“Whoa he’s the fellow from the forest…” She marveled at him tentatively rubbing at his folded hands. She bent forward slowly, lips slowly inching forward before she abruptly pulled away turning from the one act that would end this all. Her worried eyes darted around before falling on you widening with an idea. 

“H-h-how about we do this together?”

“Excuse me, what?!” 

“Like we both kiss him at the same time s-so that I-I won’t be l-lonely when I do this!”

“What! Why do you want me–a servant of all things to kiss the prince with you?”

It was a viable question; unless she felt threatened by you. But knowing the princess it would be for something less daunting—

“B-b-because! This is my first time k-kissing a prince!” 

You shook your head in disbelief but relented when she puckered her bottom lip at you; making the equivalent of prayer hands with her face. You entered the chamber gazing at the both of them before walking around the bed to his lower right side. 

“How about this Princess, I’ll kiss his hand and you will kiss his lips though I’m certain it is absolutely unnecessary.” 

“Alright! W-we er I can do this.”

With newfound confidence, she positioned herself near his face on the left side of the bed. She looked back at you while making sure you were also in position. To which you nodded urging her to go on. 

You originally weren’t going to follow through, faking your involvement but even as she went in for the kiss you still found her gaze flashing toward you. So you followed through lightly pecking the back of his hand, standing up you got to catch a glimpse of the magical moment. Pulling away from the waking prince she nervously peeked with one eye as Briar blinked his own eyes.

“Y-you? From the forest and…”

He looked to the right, blue eyes landing on you or they would have been if the three fairies hadn’t taken your place near the bed. 

“Oh, Rue!”

“You’re awake!”

“Yes but–”

“We must awaken the whole kingdom! We must celebrate!”

Any concerns the awoken prince would have had were brought to a hush under the cheers of the fairies and the castle’s jovial celebration. Their prince, to the kingdom’s knowledge, had survived the curse and was reunited with his love: Princess Phyllis of the neighboring kingdom. 

______________________________________________________________

“Are you sure you don’t want to stay for the wedding?”

“No no I think I’m ready for…the quiet once again.”

“Surely Rue would be happy to see you on his big day!”

“Yes! Yes! I can conjure up something for you! In blue of course.”

“Yuck, that’d be a crime! Obviously in red!” 

“Now here you go again–!” “Why I oughta–”

You stepped away from the bickering faeries, continuing to hug the fae in green. 

“Thanks again for letting me have that cottage, Floran. I really appreciate it.”

He shifted his glasses, magicking a basket full of food into your hands after you hurriedly adjusted your pack’s strap. 

“Deary it’s of no trouble, after all. We have no reason to use such a lovely space. And I’m sure it’ll offer you the quiet you’ve grown so used to.” 

He smiled wiping away imaginary dust on your shoulder as he held your upper arm.

“Just be weary, you know we won’t stay away forever now. We’ll be sure to visit.”

“And when you do I’ll be glad to welcome you.”

You both shared a laugh as you had begun to walk to the mule you were discreetly gifted by the royal family. It was decided that you’d be released from your duties both at your own request and at the faeries' discretion. With vague compliments, the royal family could quietly thank you for your mysterious role in ‘solving’ their Prince’s curse. Phyllis was adamant, as she could be, about thanking you but the fairies were stern about keeping quiet. During this time you found no time to speak or so much as look at Briar without it being from the perspective of a bystander by a passing celebrity. You didn’t mind. And it most certainly didn’t stop you from letting the mule lead you to the cottage Briar Rue had hidden in before, more than willing to enjoy the silence and relaxation of the cottage life. 

_________________________________________________________

Briar fought the urge to yell as Phyllis went into another tirade about her adventure. Sat near the window of the seamstress’ tower as she was fitted for her wedding gown. An event she and his parents eagerly insisted he attended. It was a brazen attempt to make them get along despite the obvious lack of interest on his side of things. 

“B-briar? Er-Rue? D-did y-you hear the l-last thing I said? A-about the d-dragon and the w-wounds I got? I-it’s kind of crazy y-you know b-because when I finally got to the c-castle–”

How did this wake him up?! 

It couldn’t have. He knows it. The nights he’s spent hearing warbled words and grunts didn’t make his heart pound for her. Or the warm touches along his chest and arms, they were evidence of someone else. But no matter how much he wracked his brain the thought of who remained a mystery. 

Faun assured him it was a small side effect, that the cloudiness of waking up was sure to hover over his consciousness for the next week. That was why he got tired every time he tried to recall the time before his cursed sleep. 

“B-briar? A-are–d-do you h-have any questions a-about that day?”

“No Phyllis I’m just trying to remember…”

“Oh okay. S-so, as I was saying (Y/n), was there and th-”

That’s what it was! That’s who it was!

The piece he’s been missing: the memories of the week before. His heart, straying from his so-called love for the mysterious woman in the forest to the clumsy handmaid. He remembered cursing himself and then cursing at (Y/n), sending them away while ignoring the pain in his chest. What could it be, to so quickly change the object of his affection? Was it a problem that when he thought of love all he could see was their face? And even if he was truly devoting his love to (Y/n) instead of the mystery maiden, who turned out to be Phyllis the princess, then what could he do? As a prince himself, he would have no choice but to abandon you in worry that his royal family would reject you for the nobility’s standards; if not for their own biases. It was an endless cycle of heartbreak that had no end. 

When the dark sorcerer’s curse came about, he was entirely lucid. Only refusing to follow the green foreboding glow to stew in his own grief. Audibly sighing at the entrancing orb, he only raised his head when the orb transformed into a figure.

“Come child, it is your time.”

“How can it be my time when all is so helpless.” 

He tucked his head into his folded arms, hiding his sniffles and bubbling tears as they fell onto the table below. Missing the smile that spread over the sorcerer’s face as he feigned a giddy pity as he patted the prince’s back. 

“There there, the faeries spoke of a true love’s kiss. Now I’m sure that you’ve found someone you love?”

The question was rhetoric, the sorcerer was well aware of his rendezvous with the princess in the woods. The sorcerer was certain of this, and it brought a greater smile to his face that he had already acted on this. 

“Y-yes…but–well–I’m not sure if it's true love! Since it’s changed so much…” 

Feigned sympathetic pats on Briar’s back, allowed the fireplace to morph. Lined in green flames a portal opened opening to the tallest tower within the castle where a new glowing orb waited patiently. 

“Now young Briar, the only way to know would be the ultimate test would it not?”

He sniffled, “What do you mean?” 

“What better test for you’re love than sleep that can only be broken by true love? Do you not want a method that is tried and true?”

“Tried and True?”

“Yes.”

Giving into the trance the prince rose from his seat, guided by the hand of the one who cursed him. Settled behind his back as he nudged him into the portal and in the direction of the green light. Aware of his curse he followed dutifully, wiping his tears and rubbing his dribbling nose. He came to the orb that materialized into a glowing spinning wheel, needle piked and practically begging for his puncture. Briar reached forward stopping just a hair’s length away to turn to the sorcerer who was growing agitated. Face full of worry and trepidation he pleaded with the horned man. 

“H-how will I know that the one who wakes me is the right one? What should happen if the one who stands above me when I wake is the one? There are those who might trick me or–” “Fine then.” 

The sorcerer’s voice boomed as he stepped heavily towards him, chest to Briar’s face he held a green flame in his hand. Blue eyes snapped to the flame registering the sound of a snap before the sorcerer pulled away. 

“I’ll let you hear everything.”

He opened his mouth to question the action, stopping to let out a scream as his ears burned. He stumbled to the side, nearly falling to the ground as he clutched at his ears groaning from the pain. The sorcerer groaned pulling a hand from the side of Briar’s face in the direction of the wheel. Pinpricking his finger, releasing the hand as the prince retracted his hand inspecting the wound. Eyelids drooping and knees buckling before sending Prince Briar Rue into the beginning of his eternal slumber. 

“There dearest Rue, you can hear everything. Even the cries and pleas of all those who come to mourn you by your bedside! I applaud you for your creativity, suffering for eternity will surely bring you an even crueler existence than I would have given! Hahaha.”

He was right. It was cruel to remember having doubted (Y/n) as they cared for him. It was they who had read to him and spoken to him while he was trapped in an uneasy slumber for the entirety of thirty days and thirty nights. Now he was meant to marry the mere attraction of his past, it was truly a nightmare. The only solace he could find was in their servitude. If he couldn’t have them in the way of a lover he’d have them in the way of a king. It sounded cruel but surely that was just because the thought was in his head.

It would all make sense the night before the wedding when he’d call them after the dreaded bachelor party. He’d confess his love within the solace of the private garden he’d been gifted, taking them under the moonlight and the stars as his witness. Oh, how he’d dread the morning! When he would have to repeat such false vows as he betrayed them one time last. But that would be the end of it, the rest of himself would be dedicated to (Y/n) and (Y/n) only. 

Or that would be if that wasn’t who he thought it was in the window—

“H-hey! T-that looks like (Y/n) r-riding on that donkey! Doesn’t it Briar?”

Rendered speechless at the sight of your riding form disappearing into the bustling capital city. He could only stifle a fit of frustration as he recognized the familiar trio of red, blue, and green. Post haste he attempted to leave the room stopped by the hand, and following consequences written all over Phyllis’ face. He’d wait for now but when he was done…they’d surely be hearing from the angered and fully awoken prince.

[fo0lishl4m]

Sweet Nothing wolfstar au

Where Remus is a sick boy who is a member of the poetry club at Gryffindor Boarding School. Or where Sirius is an American Football player at Gryffindor Boarding School.

summary: Remus and Sirius meet for the first time in the Hospital waiting room

notes: diseases, swear words, poor development, modern au

word count: 1.3k

chapter one | chapter two

Remus' pov:

The walls of hospitals always generate cold, it is something I have reluctantly realized, it is a breeze that whispers to me that I should never leave the house without my sweater or I would die of hypothermia. Too much? 

I'm used to being in places like this, I've always been a sick child, and I swear it doesn't bother me, I've had worse days than sitting in a waiting room. Sometimes I listen to music, sometimes I look at a fixed point distracting myself and sometimes I read. 

I like silence, but lately it has been interrupted. The last week. I go to a boarding school, Gryffindor Boarding School, it's a huge school that only allows us to go out on the weekend. I like being there, the poetry club is where I participate the most. The hospital I go to at least three times a month is used to receiving students on a regular basis, so my mother and several nurses already know each other. 

There is a moderately tall boy (shorter than me) with pale skin, dark eyes and long black hair that he always ties in a high bun. He has a broken leg. I don't remember his name, we go to different clubs and from time to time we share Literature and Physical Education classes, I think he is part of the American Football team. 

He always sits two chairs next to mine when he comes to the hospital, there is always one chair away and his friend always accompanies him. I've had a little more interaction with him because we have three to four classes together. They are both very loud. 

I forgot my book in my room, I probably should have forgotten the fact that I had a checkup at the doctor today, too. My pocket vibrates when I receive a message. 

Lily Evans Well? How are things with you? 

Remus Lupin I haven't entered yet hahaha It's noisy

Lily Evans Black? 

Remus Lupin What? 

Lily Evans The boy with the broken leg The one who no longer goes to training Sirius Black

Remus Lupin Ah, so that's his name. Yeah,, and his friend with glasses too

Lily Evans Neither of them gives me confidence Anyway, I have to go study with Mary Xoxo

I turn off my phone. Lily Evans has been my best friend since I was thirteen, we are practically inseparable, yet I still spend a lot of time alone. I'm not complaining. 

I turn my head to see the happy Sirius Black who begins to laugh with his friend with glasses, whose name I am almost sure is James Potter and who is also part of the team. James gets up from his chair saying something about a soda and a joke about his friend's broken leg before leaving the waiting room and entering the pre-waiting room. For the first time, there is genuine silence. 

It doesn't last long. 

── Are you from Gryffindor? ── Sirius asks. 

I realize that I've been looking at his feet for just over five minutes while I was probably distracted by thinking about what part of the book I had left last night that the slightest sound of his voice almost scares me. I look up and think about what to respond. 

── Yes. ── I look away from him. Ah, my institutional sweater. Sure. 

── Me too. ── Add. ── But I had never seen you. ──

── I'm part of the poetry club. ──

He frowns. He clearly didn't know the existence of that club. He shrugs his shoulders like it doesn't really matter, puts his arms behind his head and leans against the back of the chair. 

── Well, poetry boy, I'm more of a physical person. ──

I make no secret of raising an eyebrow and looking down at the cast on his leg; ── Oh, I already noticed. ──

He lets out an ironic laugh, not offended, as he would have expected as a first reaction. 

── Hey! In my defense, it wasn't entirely my fault. I wasn't the one who fell on another guy. ──

── I think I'm interested in knowing. ──

── I was going to score a touchdown and the opposing team jumped on me. Goodbye leg. ──

I don't know anything about American football, okay? 

── Did you win? ──

── Local party, thirteen to twenty. ──

── Oh. ── I can say. I think I had heard a piercing scream from Potter that day when the results came out. ── At least it was local. ──

── Yes, but at the end of the term we will have a game against another school! ──

── What worries you? ──

── First, my leg. ── Highlight the obvious before continuing. ── Second, the team is a disaster without me, not even the locals will win. ──

── What's with your leg? I mean, is it injured or broken? ──

He gestures with his hand, adding a small grimace. ── I don't know, can I say both? ──

── You have a cast. ──

── Yes, but what about you? ── Raises an eyebrow. Oh God, please no. ── What are you doing here? ──

── Asthma. Among other things. ── I add after thinking a little.

Hum. ──Then you must spend more time than me here. ──

── I can live here. ──

── Yes, I can see it now. ──

He lets out a laugh and I imitates him, mildly embarrassed but amused. 

── Well, broken leg boy, you'll soon get used to it. ──

──Broken leg boy? ── He imitates and raises an eyebrow. ── Is that all you have to tell me? ──

── I don't know your name. ── I lie. 

── Sirius Black. ──

── Remus Lupin ── I answer. 

──Lupin, huh? Your last name sounds too familiar to me. ──

── Poetry club. ──

── No, that's not why. ──

He rested his elbow on his knee and his head on his palm, looking at a fixed point while, I suppose, he was trying to remember something. 

── Maybe from another club? In third year I was part of the theater workshop. ──

He clicks his tongue but doesn't change his posture. 

── No, close, but no. ──

── One of my friends is a cheerleader. ── I add. 

He raises his eyebrows in surprise and turns to look at me. 

── Who, exactly? ──

── Mary McDonald. ──

── I knew it! ── He laughed victoriously. ── I knew it. ──

I raise an eyebrow. ── What did you know? ──

── You, I had seen you before. Chemistry last year? ──

I think it, but I don't say it; he's pretty dumb. And irritating. If I have continued talking to him it's because I have no other choice and I have put up with a lot of irritating people for many years. I probably won't talk to him again when we leave this waiting room, but I don't want to be rude either. Not verbally. 

The only thing I can point out (aside from what I mentioned) is that he exudes an arrogant aura. I'm not an expert on that, I'm just friends with Mary. 

── Yes. ── I replied distractedly. 

── Ah, that explains a lot. ── He says again, highlighting with a kind of victory, as if knowing who I am was an achievement or something.

── You look for many explanations for questions that do not exist. ── 

── Do you believe? ── 

I hum in response; ── This is not the first time I have encountered someone with a broken leg. ── 

── You say it as if it were my only personality. ──

── I don't know you, I dare say it's like that. ──

── Do you want to meet me? ──

── I have no other choice, I'll keep you here for a while. A few weeks or a few months, perhaps. ──

The conversation flows, I don't know whether to consider that I'm having fun or I'm simply tolerating his presence, but it doesn't make me want to hit him. I think I'll see him here next week.

[oncewhenalongtimeago]

sorry but i think i lost your plot has to be peak literature because it's one of the only thing ive ever read from start to last update in under an hour

Sorry, but I Think I Lost Your Plot pt 14

Pairing: Onesided!Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Modern!Fem!Reader

Words: 2,163

You get caught up in some hobbying.

Tags: Time Travel, Reader into Movieverse, crafting, bead making

<Previous - Next>

Your relationship with the older vikings, men and women alike, as their sometimes delivery girl, sometimes shepard -though that was much less of a harrowing job now that the dragons were cool, and you were afforded the privilege of spend a lot less time hiding and running- sometimes portable laundromat and shiphand, afforded you certain knowledge that other people sometimes weren’t privy to, though Berk was an open floor for gossip.

Like how the twins were always looking down because their helmets were too shallow to balance themselves on their heads, which had the consequence of making it seem as if they were always up to something. Which, coincidentally, they were- Their mother complained about them a lot in between mentions of her husband and fawning over Stoick.

You learned how to cook some from Mrs. Ingerman, and you’d taught her a few words from your time period, which was nice. 

You’d had to do Snotlout's laundry and clean his room on more than one occasion, even had to pull it out of his basement room more than once, which you were thoroughly disgusted by. You’d learned a lot more about the guy from that experience than you’d ever wanted and had refused to take any of the Jorgensons’ laundry from then onward.

You’d even done things for Hiccup and for the Chief, mostly things he was unaccustomed to doing as he was too busy acting as the leader of the village and things Hiccup missed because he was too busy doing whatever he did out with the riders. You were sure Hiccup’d had no idea just the same as Snotlout. 

There were a few things you were certain to never bring up, including but not limited to a hastily drawn but very detailed sketch of your face shoved in a notebook tossed under his bed, not particularly helpful in terms of putting to rest the whole crush thing, or the small pail of screws he was sure to have brought back from the forge without his father’s blessing.

You were in denial a little bit, yeah. 

You should probably tell him. About the whole being in his room thing. But you wouldn’t. Definitely not.

It seemed, though, that despite this extra eye into the working world of Berk, you’d still ended up missing a few things.

Berk was… A community. You weren’t sure how you never realized that.

The Great Hall was filled with warm laughter, people patting each other on the back, men and women sharing stories about their kids and, often enough for you to take notice, Hiccup. It looked like raising him was a group effort.

Off in the corner were others at a table by shallow baskets which were shaped like oblong gold pans filled with fine powder and shells, men and women sitting along the side sorting dragon scales and grinding them down with flat stones and clearly chiseled pestels.

Dragons squealed and bobbed around your periphery, tossing and picking up what must’ve been colorful, neutral stones.

Large men and women and children hunched over the tables all over the hall, rearranged so that they were all closer to each other, parallel as they whittled away at things you couldn’t completely see, tables lined with leaves and the occasional plate.

It was well lit.

People filled the halls between tables with joyful conversation, playfully batted at each other and sat back. The whole space was bustling and also relaxing, somehow.

In the background was Ack arguing with some blonde woman, but even that was nice. You could tell he didn’t mean it and neither did she, shooting back just barely inaudible jabs with each other.

You were mindful of the basket in your arms full up with his laundry, just recently cleaned and aired out. 

You had stopped in your tracks at the sight, standing just before a short table placed perpendicular to the rest as if the lady sitting there was the guard to some booth or other. 

You looked down finally, noticing how she looked at you nearly eye level with a raised brow. She had plenty of wrinkles on her forehead, which told a lot about a life made by concern and stoicism. She also wore a large, very off white apron over a grayish vaguely beige long sleeve short and a long brown skirt, which you only just barely caught sight of as she lifted it up to wipe down something in her hand.

She had a shallow basket in front of her filled with what looked like beads and various strings, needles and small carving knives with wood shavings laid on the cloth-covered table around her.

“Hi,” You said, breaking the wall between the two of you. 

“...Hello, dear,” She responded, after a while, settling down her skirt and placing a colorful bead back into her basket. He picked up a needle instead, which you saw was already attached to a long string with beads all down the length. 

You wondered where they’d gotten the dye for it. Could dye even be used on glass? Was it glass?

Instead of asking those questions, you shuffled your feet.

You glanced at a white sleeve flopped over the side of the basket, which you held by a bar on the other side and pressed into your hip, “What’s going on?”

“Crafting is going on,” She said, plainly.

You nodded, “I like it.”

It wasn’t an uncommon sight to see Vikings wandering around Berk, trying their hand at leatherworking and carving and other things. Now that they had the time, being assaulted a lot less by Dragons, the Berkians indulged their more artistic inclinations, exercising muscles for skills they’d never been able to before.

“I mean, this is great. What started it?” You asked.

You wanted to join in. It might be nice.

“Oh, you haven’t seen? The pride of Berk, walking around with his little bead like a bird,” She chortled fondly, “Did you see it? I wonder who gave it to him? Lucky girl. He has, dare I say it, started a trend.”

A bird? You quirked your lips up at what was most certainly an exaggeration. You hadn’t seen anything like that. You failed to mention that you’re the one who made it.

You wondered if Hiccup knew about any of this at all. You didn’t. 

“How do you know it was a girl?”

You turned. The spoken voice belonged to one of the women you’d see before in the Hall. She came over, done fussing with Ack in the background.

She was also blonde, a brighter, more yellow shade with a few less gray hairs. And she was large, also, with broad shoulders and a strong presence. Her arms were the largest between them. 

She wore tight trousers and a large though not long tunic. Her boots were plain leather and looked to be of the pirate variety. 

You pondered the idea that they might be related, or at least good friends.

“Look at him!” The first lady put down her needle, resting it in her shallow basket again, a glass bead falling down the string as she did, gesturing with her hand, though there was no Hiccup in sight, “He’s so happy! So proud! The small thing. He’s got too much energy for his little bones to handle.”

You thought he might be offended if he heard her say that.

“Oh, don’t be delusional,” The one with big arms huffed, “And don’t let him hear you say that.”

“But I’m right!”

“You’re wrong! He’s no myth, sweetheart. You can’t go around treating him like one of your little stories,” She shook her head, crossing her arms. 

“The Ragnar is real!” She insisted, staring down the Ack lady, meeting her eyes until the other woman rolled her own. You could tell it was a disagreement as old as time itself, but like with the other woman’s squabble with Ack, there was no malice in it, “Beowulf, too.”

They were just putting on a show.

You felt your lips stretch wider. It felt good to be a part of, even as a witness.

“Well, anyways, I’ve been thinking of making it a regular thing. You know, putting it on a schedule. Craft nights…”

You nodded excitedly, “It’s very modern.”

“Do you think so?” She asked, pleased.

“You don’t think we’ll have better things to be doing?”

“Our ancestors used to do it, can’t see why we can’t.”

“Really?” You asked.

“Oh, yes. Read a passage about it once, saw a note or something like in one of the dragon books. Glass beadmaking,” She looked up wistfully, pausing briefly in her rhythmic sewing, “I always wanted to try it… But we had no forge, no beads, no time, then, either. I was just a little girl. But now…!”

She picked something small but shiny out of the basket in her lap, ooh-ing to herself.

You were on the outside, kind of, though not on purpose. Everyone was welcoming enough, though they were much too busy fighting with the dragons to notice much or throw a party or anything. You were never excluded but you always had better things to do, too, so, well.

But this was here, and it seemed convenient. 

“Dear, come sit down,” She squealed slyly, voice both quick and dragging, face gleeful, which seemed out of place on her wide, bult frame and stern face.

“Okay,” You said, beaming.

You stuck mostly to the woodworking bead types. 

The image of glass beads shattering midair was frightening, though you were sure that none of the dragons around here could reach those speeds. Flying that fast might be dangerous for people too.

Most of your beads were probably going back to Hiccup anyways.

Of course, you had your own handful of small colorful semi-porcelain.

You tried a bunch of colors of all different types, and ended up with a handful of each. It was cool, to the super-so degree, and it was free. It seemed good will did a lot, and community bonding exercises were meant to be just that and nothing else. There was a line of Vikings, adults and children alike, ready to do their own part and bring things in anyhow. 

Many Vikings used ground up dragonhide to dye and waterproof beads and to mix in with melted glass in order to give it a pretty stain.

It was interesting, especially now that many Vikings were using Dragons in place of a kiln, and how they’d set up small buildings with bricks and some coal and used those too.

It was disastrous, at some moments. There were many burns, mostly small, that people went up to Gothi for, saying their goodbyes in bummed tones. 

Gothi must have had enough of it because she came down eventually to manage the glassmakers and smack the unfortunate.

It was… nice. 

The afternoon light was surprisingly nice on your face. It felt a lot nicer and your chest felt lighter, the world awash with things bright and endearing.

You looked forward with a winning smile at Hiccup.

“You liked the one I gave you, right?” You held out a handful of blue glass and wood beads to Hiccup, “They’re doing craft days in the Hall. I made some.”

You had a bunch of others in pouches around your belt.

You didn’t have anywhere to put them besides. You had no dragon to ride, so in time you might favor the glass ones. You had trouble with a few of them. The dragonhide did a great deal to make the glass more sticky when it heated up.

“You’re going to see a lot more people around with beads on.”

There were not enough leaves and pouches for all your sorted beads so they were sort of mixed, but you got a hold of a good few before it was time to clean up and you fled before anyone could notice. The hall would still be active for a while.

“You started a trend, I think,” You said, matter-of-factly.

It was impressive. Trends usually fell to the Chief, who recently had been trying to approach you though he always got carried away by tasks before he could. 

Hiccup had a sort of goofy smile on his face which consisted of a slightly upturned lip and the framing of his two largest front teeth which dropped as, as it looked like, he snapped back into himself, “What?”

“Yeah,” You said after you finished unloading the rest of his pouches into his arms and turned to walk away.

You looked around as you fled, making sure no one was watching.

He looked down like he wasn’t sure what to do with all of them, and also a little bit put off.

You wondered if you overdid it.

A small weight shifted by your ankle as you walked, the coins you’d slipped into a side pocket in your boot. You were going to ask around for some seeds.

[stellar-constellations]

♱   ᜔  ׅ ꯭ Hello ! How's your day ? I hope it's going good !

Do you write headcanons with planotic relationships ?

If so , could you write headcanons with Kokushibo and teenage!gender-neutral!reader in modern AU , where reader just spends 90% of their time writing or drawing and they just .. fail every school subject possible.

Thank you in advance !

Platonic! Kokushibo x Teenage! Artistic! GN! Reader

Wordcount: 741 words

Kokushibo is a stern but calm parent. He understands you can't force learning upon someone who doesn't want to be learned, but he does want you to at least try to pay attention in class. Maybe you'll find a passion for something new?

Kokushibo looks over your report card, blank faced as he takes in all the comments and concern addressed from your teachers. He reads over the letter grades, seeing as you always aced art classes, but for once you had a D in history instead of an F.

"Good job..." he muttered, placing the paper down as he patted your head, then allowed you to scurry off and go do whatever. 

Whenever Kokushibo sees you writing, he's always secretly peeking over your shoulder so he could see what you're writing. He likes literature and books, maybe you'll share with him? If you share any of your work, he'll give you constructive-criticism. He'll never leave your writing on a bad note, always making sure to point out some good characteristics or writing choices you made. Perhaps you'll become an author? 

Kokushibo is always wondering what you're doing when he's away from you. It's normal to ponder about what your child is spending their time on, but he's always curious how your mind works and what's so joyful about coloring and writing.

Kokushibo is a consumer, not much of a producer. He sees things in front of them, processes the information, then moves on. Everything's just so black and white to him, compared to you and your artistically-inclined mind. You have such a vivid and colorful perspective of life, he should really be taking notes on this.

When Kokushibo has to go to parent-teacher conferences, he's always stone-faced as he listens to your teachers ramble on about you not paying attention in class or your poor performance. Kokushibo is usually zoning out while they're speaking, but he's thinking of ways to make the next school year more easier for you (and him). 

Kokushibo tries giving you colored sticky notes to write on to take notes, but you just end up doodling and creating small poems. 

Kokushibo tries to prompt you to watching online tutor videos, but right as he leaves the room you click off the video and check your favorite art apps. 

Kokushibo tries to teach you the subjects himself, trying to figure out if you have a certain way of learning such as hands on, or auditory, or visually, but he just comes to realize you simply have no interest in anything except arts. 

When Kokushibo gives up trying to teach you for the day, you allow him to use your glittery sparkly pens and doodle something on paper. He comes to realize maybe drawing and writing isn't so bad, I mean, if it makes you happy then just go for it. There's been tons of famous artists and authors who make bank and end up successful and happy in the future, maybe you're one of them.

Kokushibo's tried to make you study literature and the origins of art. If you're going to take an interest in those things, maybe you could learn something useful or insightful by learning their past or methods?

Kokushibo always has some sort of simple breakfast for you when you wake up in the morning (he's an early-riser). Before every meal, he's always telling you to wash off the lead marks and ink off your hands so you can eat. 

If you stay up late, Kokushibo is a little annoyed, but lets it go. It's more of a punishment to you than it is to him; you're the one sleep-deprived, not him. He figures you'll learn to go to bed early after you keep accidentally knocking your water on your papers when you start dozing off. 

Even though Kokushibo does tell you to try and cut back on your arts during class time, he can't help but appreciate your stubbornness. At least he knows you won't let yourself get pushed around by anyone, even your own guardian! If drawing and writing is your own coping mechanism or simply just a hobby you love, he'll support it. At least you're not doing anything harmful to your health, so he's glad for that. 

        Slowly but surely, I'm finding energy to complete requests that been in my inbox for months. It's so hard finding time to write due to all of my outside activities, and it's always so difficult figuring out what to write when I'm unmotivated or stuck in an all too common writer's block, but I'm chipping away my requests bit by bit!

        Want more Kokushibo content? Check out the Kokushibo masterlist!

[yuriko-mukami]

Rukiko Anniversary, April 23rd

Rukiko is a DL RP ship that started in 2022 and is mostly based on private interactions with @ruki-mukami-dl (my dear bae, I love you so much). However, every now and then we post something on Tumblr too, and in 2023 Rukiko had their wedding. To celebrate Rukiko's anniversary we decided to make something special and held a magazine interview for our dear couple. Ruki and Yuriko answered them separately. You can read the article and interview below.

The Interview in text format and credits under the cut

Kaminashi Couples Interview

Our monthly peek into the city's love life reveals the secrets of the couples. This month, we interviewed the brother of top idol Mukami Kou and his wife. Enjoy this peek into the life of Mukami Ruki and Yuriko.

Mukami Ruki is a fresh face in the publishing industry, recently starting as the CEO of Kaminashi Modern Classics. Literature fans all over the city are excited to see how this change will affect the local publishing policies. But we here at the Hot Takes want to see behind the scenes. So, how is the love life of this peculiar man behind the bookshelves?

Facts

Name: Mukami Ruki Age: 20 Hot gossip: He used to be a student in Kaminashi University's literature department. Yet, even before the first year of his studies had ended, he had secured his position at the very top of a small but established and prized local publishing house.

The couple is living on the edge of the city. They renovated an old servant house that is said to be located near the household of our beloved idol.

Fangirls to be warned, the area is rumored to be heavily guarded, and we aren't encouraging anyone to try to find the exact location.

Name: Mukami Yuriko Age: 21 Hot gossip: She's Ruki's high school sweetheart and used to be a literature student as well. However, she is currently expecting the couple's firstborn who will be born in the next month.

As always, we made the couple answer the questions separately. Now, let's see if they agree or disagree.

Who was the one to propose?

Ruki: I made the marriage proposal on New Year's Eve. On that day, I felt nervous for the first time in my life. I really struggled to keep my composure and keep the surprise a secret until the very end. But Yuriko's reaction, her smile, and her shining eyes were worth the whirlpool of emotions.

Yuriko: Ruki did! I didn’t expect it at all. I was thinking that we were about to spend a regular New Year’s Eve but after dinner, Ruki brought me into the living room, which was decorated with beautiful lights, and lifted me on his lap. He… he said such meaningful things and then… then he asked me to marry him after we graduated from high school. Of course, I said yes, and last spring we had our wedding. Today is our wedding anniversary.

Who stressed more over wedding planning?

Ruki: That was me. Without a doubt. I just wanted this day to be perfect. I wanted nothing to get in the way and everything to run smoothly. I have to admit that a few unreliable people really got on my nerves a few times. It would have been best if I had just done everything myself…

Yuriko: I… umh… I think I should have stressed more over it. But I think Ruki actually did… He made sure we chose just the right dishes and that outfits matched after I had chosen mine. He did so much. I’m a bit ashamed for being so scattered about everything…

Who decorated the house?

Ruki: The two of us. When Yuriko moved into the Mukami manor, it was already completely decorated. Of course, I tried to take her wishes into account in our bedroom and later in the renovated library. However, that was not enough for me. So it was very important to me that we decorated the new house together. Our home should represent both of us and make us feel at homely.

Yuriko: Oh! I actually did… or more like, Ruki allowed me to pick most of the colors and so on. But… but… he and his brothers did the heavy lifting. I simply arranged some lighter things in our new house. But maybe I can do more later?

Who does the cooking?

Ruki: Usually me. But if I do not have time to cook because I am too busy with other things, Yuriko does it. Other than that, we often cook together. It is a nice way to spend time as a couple.

Yuriko: Ruki… He is much better at it than I am. But we do a lot of cooking together too. Sometimes I cook, especially if Ruki isn’t at home.

Who is more organized?

Ruki: Without a doubt me. Yuriko completes her tasks without much planning. And often, she spaces out. Then she completely forgets to do important things. I, on the other hand, have almost every minute of the day planned out and stay focused. I think Yuriko knows how important this is to me and she tries her best to keep up with my schedule and tasks. I appreciate this.

Yuriko: Umh… I’m not organized at all… but Ruki is very organized. That helps a lot!

Who initiates bedroom fun?

Ruki: We both initiate. That is all I want to say about that.

Yuriko: Ehhh?! What… what kind of question is this?! I… I… think… both of us…

Who suggested kids first?

Ruki: None of us did. It happened unplanned. But one thing is clear, we are planning the next child together.

Yuriko: Ahem… umh… well… Neither? I mean… I just forgot to take my contraception… umhhh…

Who’s more dominant?

Ruki: Me, of course. I am not only Yuriko's husband but also her master.

Yuriko: I think Ruki is.

Who’s the cuddler?

Ruki: I would say we both do. Physical proximity is very important to us. It is a way for us to show our love for each other. And I really enjoy her warmth…

Yuriko: Oh? Both of us, definitely. I just love to cuddle with Ruki while we are reading. And of course, at other times too.

What’s your favorite non-sexual activity?

Ruki: Reading. It does not matter whether we read a book together or each have our own. We really enjoy this way of spending time.

Yuriko: Reading! But I think Ruki enjoys cooking too. I mean… I’m not that eager to cook but I love spending time with Ruki, so making dinner together is pleasant. Still, reading together is my favorite.

Who comes home drunk at 3 am?

Ruki: Good grief... None of us, of course. Just what kind of question is that?

Yuriko: Umh… do some people do that? I can’t imagine either of us even being drunk…

Who kills the spiders?

Ruki: We do not kill spiders or bugs. But I am the one who catches them and takes them outside.

Yuriko: Huh? Spiders aren’t supposed to be killed. You should just simply pick them up with something and carry them out.

Who falls asleep first?

Ruki: Yuriko. She is a little sleepyhead. A cute one, of course. It is really unbelievable, but she is able to take a nap in very strange places. About sleeping at night... Generally, I am a bad sleeper. It takes me a while to fall asleep. Also… I like watching Yuriko sleep. That is why I try to stay awake longer than her.

Yuriko: Mostly me. But if I stroke Ruki’s hair gently, sometimes he might be the first to doze off.

This concludes our interview. Were you surprised by the secrets of our gossip couple of the month? Feel free to share your thoughts in the comment field. And as always, Hot Takes is willing to receive all the rumors of the city. Maybe yours will be in our next issue.

Credits

Questions from this post by @bane-magnus

Two last arts in the interview by @dlyuiannii

House picture edited by @ruki-mukami-dl

Other pictures edited by me from the official DL art, except Yuriko who is drawn by me, using drawing bases purchased from nukababe/Etsy

[izzy-b-hands]

Day Four: Alternate Universe or Free Choice

A v simple Alternate Universe: modern, and everyone is poly in one direction or the other with each other. This means lots of big group dates, sleepovers and schedules for who stays with who when, and-

sharing clothes. Sharing hoodies. Stealing hoodies. There's an ungodly large supply of hoodies, but no one has their original items of clothing in their house unless it's on whoever they're staying with at the time lkfajdsalf.

Main focus is on steddyhands, left stizzy, with a drizzle of rizzy, mentions of Olu/Jim/Spanish Jackie as a thing. They have a shared online calendar to keep things straight (genuinely what I would do myself lol.) Slightly NSFW for the stizzy at the end. FTM Izzy.

---

"Well, I had to steal yours," Ed scoffs and pulls Stede's old college hoodie over his head. "Izzy has mine!"

"Ask him for it back," Stede says, kicking off his shoes at the front door mat. "Where is he; I'll ask him if you want."

"Just let me wear yours for tonight," Ed whines. "You can wear the one of Roach's that Izzy stole from him, that I stole from Iz."

"How do you even remember anymore?" Stede says as he kisses his cheek. "What belongs to who, if it isn't mine, I swear I lose track."

"I know you do," Ed motions to the decoration on his hoodie. "Because this isn't yours. This is actually Jackie's."

"No fucking," Stede pauses and leans in to peer at it. "The year is wrong for graduation. Oh my fucking god, for how long...does she know?"

"Yeah, because she's been sharing yours with Jim and Olu."

Stede pinches the bridge of his nose. "Polyamory is a mistake for clothing. Do we have any of our original wardrobes anymore?"

"Yes, because your robe that we've been sharing, just the three of us, hasn't left this house," Ed smiles. "And I won't let it either. Anyway, once you see Iz in it, you'll get it. He's still doing the rest of his laundry, you should know."

"I should know," Stede chuckles. "Should I know if dinner's been started?"

"If you mean Roach sent out his meal of the week today, yes, it is. AKA we just need to warm it up."

"Oh thank fuck. No actual cooking."

"No actual cooking, not tonight."

Ed doesn't follow him upstairs to their rooms, but that's nothing out of the ordinary. He'll start heating up what Roach sent, and by the time they're back downstairs with him, things will be ready.

"Izzy, I know we share a lot," Stede opens the door to Izzy's room. "But..."

Izzy is in nothing but Ed's hoodie, ironically enough an old piece of merch Jackie had made up for her bar years ago. It shows its age, but in a comfortable way: loose and slightly more shapeless than it started, thinning but not enough to be too thin to wear, and ridiculously soft.

He's flopped back on the bed, legs open just enough to catch Stede's eye first thing, flipping aimlessly through a book.

"I just don't think I'm ever getting through some of these you've recommended," he sighs. "I won't debate the worthiness of Jude the Obscure overall as literature, but I won't say I enjoyed this either. But then, no one in this book enjoyed...anything. Ever. At all."

"But you finished it," Stede says. "And you'd just started it too!"

"Why waste time hanging around in that depressing fucking story if I could get through it quickly instead?" Izzy pats the bed. "Ed said he's got dinner for us."

"Roach sent over his-"

"I know, why do you think I'm laying out like this?" Izzy grins. "Ed was kind; he agreed to unpack everything-"

"How much did he send?"

"Enough to last the next three days for leftovers," Izzy says, dropping Jude the Obscure to the floor beside the bed. "He's concerned we order food in too often."

"He won an extra gift card from the chain down the road," Stede scoffs and strides over to drop onto the bed. "For ordering from them so often."

"Yeah, but he doesn't always feel like cooking for himself in between shifts."

"Fair enough. But still, pot, kettle, all that."

Izzy nods. "Anyway. Ed took care of that while Roach and I caught up. I know I'll be back with him in a few days for a week, but-"

"I know how Roach gets after a cooking spree," Stede interrupts. "He's probably dead asleep now."

"He is," Izzy gestures to his phone on the nightstand. "He video called me once he got home, and fell asleep during it. I've got a bet with Jim now as to if he'll wake up before I have to end the call."

Stede leans over and peers at it, and sure enough, there's Roach sleeping hard with his face nearly smashed into his phone.

"You couldn't find any pants or trousers of ours to steal?" he asks as he leans back and rests his head on Izzy's shoulder.

"Thought about it," Izzy shrugs. "Then I remembered you'd be home soon, and thought, why bother?"

"You used my soap in the shower."

"I did. Do you like it?"

Stede kisses Izzy's cheek, then down to his neck.

"Is that a yes?"

He nods into the fabric of the hoodie as he kisses his way further down.

"Food will be ready soon enough, and don't you dare make the jo-"

"But I'm hungry now," Stede barely gets it out before giggling into Izzy's stomach.

"Terrible. Horrible. Cannot believe I love you with jokes like that."

"Yes you can."

"Yeah," Izzy smiles down fondly at him. "I can, and I do. That said, are you going to make yourself wait any longer then?"

He's only just shoved his face between Izzy's legs when Ed calls for them.

"Stede, we can wait. I know you're actually hungry."

"No, no, I can speed run this and still have it be good!"

Izzy shakes his head. "I believe you, but you don't need to do that. Toss me the sweatpants on the floor, and we can get back to this later."

"Which ones?" Stede presses a quick kiss to Izzy's cock before moving to look for them.

"The grey ones."

"They're all grey, all four pairs."

"The ones with what looks like blood on them."

"That narrows it down to two."

Izzy sighs. "The one's that don't look too long for me. Jim's."

"Is any of the clothing in this room actually yours?" Stede snags the correct pair and hands them over.

"Your button up is mine, those trousers are Ed's and the shoes are Roach's, right?"

He can only blush. "Maybe. You can check when you take them off of me later."

"If the two of you are fucking," Ed shouts up. "Then you have to tell me! So I can put this in the oven to keep warm, and come up there!"

"I can wait a little longer," Stede reaches over and plucks the sweatpants from Izzy's hands. "Come on up!"

"Figured as much, be up in a moment!"

"Like I said," Stede gently flops back into place between Izzy's legs. "I'm hungry."

[legolasbadass]

Office Hours, Part 16

Summary: Lorelei Browning has just secured a job as an assistant professor at Exeter College in Oxford. Naturally, she is eager to prove herself and meet every challenge sent her way, but what she does not expect is the tall, handsome stranger who will quickly become much more than a colleague…

Relationship: Richard Armitage x OC (Professor AU)

Word Count: 4k

Rating: E

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my darling @linasofia. Thanks for all your help and support, I don’t know what I would do without you ❤️

Read on AO3

The rain drumming against the windows of Blackwell’s distorts the view of the Sheldonian Theatre and the dozens of people running or biking through the street in search of shelter. Though the cold dampness still clings to me, inside the bookshop, it’s calm and cozy. After chatting with the shop manager to plan a visit with some students for my upcoming Tolkien and C.S. Lewis in Oxford course, I make my way upstairs to the third floor for the secondhand books. Browsing through used and antique books has always been a passion of mine, and I feel at peace as I step into the quiet corner of the bookshop and run my fingers over the discoloured and sometimes cracked covers and flick through yellowed pages, some with notes and names inked into them.

I spent most of the time between Christmas and New Year’s at my parents, trying to figure out when I should call Richard, only to realize that I certainly couldn’t have such a meaningful conversation with him on the phone, so after much deliberating, I’ve resolved to go to his house tonight. Hopefully, he’ll be there, otherwise, I just have to pray that we’ll bump into each other soon. After all, Oxford is rather a small town.

With a pile of books in my arms, I step toward the next bookshelf containing more volumes on Old English. I always find very special books here, and it doesn’t take long before I spot something interesting. As soon as I reach for it, however, someone else grabs it, and I jump, having thought myself alone in this alley. To my surprise, the culprit is none other than Dave, one of the librarians working in Duke Humphrey’s Reading Room at the Bod.

“Professor Browning,” he greets me with a smirk.

“Oh, hi, Dave,” I say hesitantly. “How are you?”

“Good, good. I haven’t seen you at the Bod lately.”

“Well, it was the holidays, so you know.” I shrug. “Plus I actually finished the book I was working on, so I’m taking a short break from research.”

“Finished your book, eh? That’s great!” he says, but his mind seems elsewhere. “Hey, listen—can I call you Lorelei?”

“Er, yeah—of course,” I answer, somewhat startled by the flow of the conversation.

He smiles. “Good.”

I nod, wondering when I will be able to end this awkward small talk and return to the books all around me. “So you’re interested in the role of women in Old English literature?”

“What?”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “The book you’re holding. Woman as Hero in Old English Literature.”

“Oh.” He takes a look at the book cover, frowning. “No, that’s not really my thing. I’m more into modernism, actually.”

“Right. So can I take a look at it then?”

He smirks. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll give this book back to you if you agree to go on a date with me.”

“What?”  I reply with an incredulous chuckle but quickly realize he’s serious. I suddenly recall that time Richard and I spent the afternoon at the Bod and how he had voiced his suspicion about Dave’s feelings toward me. I hadn’t believed him at the time.  “Listen … I’m flattered, but I’m not interested.”

“You have a boyfriend.”

It’s not a question, but the fact that he refuses to accept my disinterest forces me to answer him. “It’s complicated. My boyfriend and I broke up recently, but I don’t want it to remain that way.”

Dave shakes his head slowly. “You know, getting back with your ex is rarely a good idea.”

This time I don’t stop myself from rolling my eyes. “Well, thanks for the advice, but I think I know what’s right for me.”

“What if your boyfriend doesn’t want to get back together with you? Would you consider my offer then?”

I sigh in annoyance. “Dave—”

“Come on, it’s just one date.”

“She’s not interested, mate,” a familiar, rumbling voice suddenly asserts from behind me, and my heart leaps in my chest. “She made that perfectly clear.”

“This is none of your business,” Dave retorts.

“I think you’d better leave,” Richard says, his voice calm, but the threat underlying his words doesn’t escape Dave’s notice, and soon enough, he drops the book back onto the bookshelf and tells me, “Call me if you change your mind,” before heading out toward the stairs.

Before I can say anything, Richard hastens to stand before me and asks, “Are you okay?” his voice laced with concern. It takes everything in me not to jump into his arms.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Thank you.”

An awkward silence settles between us, and I find myself watching him intently, filled with nearly overwhelming longing. The collar of his trenchcoat is raised, and combined with his damp, unruly hair, I can tell that the rain has only intensified since I took refuge in the bookshop. I know him well enough to recognize the softness in the depth of his blue eyes, and it sparks hope in me, but despite having imagined this moment hundreds of times since we broke up, I can’t seem to find the right words.

“How are you?” I begin hesitantly, my fingers fiddling with the edges of the pages in my hands.

He looks at me for a moment, then gulps. “I’m alright. You?”

“I’ve been better,” I answer with a shrug. Then, without really thinking, I add, “I finished my book.”

Richard’s face lights up, and he smiles. “You did? Lorelei, that’s amazing—I’m so proud of you.”

We share a tender smile, gazing into each other’s eyes. Then, as though suddenly realizing that such intimacy is far beyond what we should be sharing with one another given the circumstances, we both look away, and heat rises up my cheeks.

He clears his throat. “I should go.”

“No—wait!”

He halts, eyeing me curiously, and with a hint of longing, if I’m not mistaken.

“We need to talk,” I blurt out before I lose my courage again. “I want us to talk, please.”

With a sigh, he scratches his beard with one of his large hands. I suddenly realize that his beard is slightly longer and more unkempt than I remember. “I guess you wouldn’t want to talk here, though, right? Too public. Anyone could see us.”

My heart tightens in my chest at his bitter tone. I hate myself so much for hurting him.

“I don’t care if anyone sees us,” I reply, my voice trembling slightly. “I don’t care if Professor Bennett or even the Rector sees us.” Richard’s face softens as I pause, and though I don’t want to have such an important discussion in a public place, I can’t stop the words from pouring out of me. “I never should have asked you to keep our relationship a secret so long, much less lie to my parents about us being colleagues. I’m so sorry for asking that of you. The truth is I was scared! I worked practically my whole life to get to this point—to become a professor—but being at Oxford is more than I ever could have dreamed of. I don’t want to make excuses; I just mean that—I knew I had to prove myself, because I know I can lose this position. My plan was to dedicate myself wholeheartedly to my courses and my research so that I could prove I earned my place. And then I met you and you turned my whole life upside down so quickly.”

“Lorelei—”

“No please—let me say this. In just a few months, you’ve come to mean the world to me. And that was scary because suddenly I found myself daydreaming about you in class and during meetings, and spending time I should have been focusing on my research with you. And then I thought—what will people think if they find out? It might give them a reason to undermine me—they might think I’m not so dedicated to this job, and because my place at Exeter isn’t assured, I thought it would be best if no one knew about us. But what I didn’t understand is that, no, my job at Exeter isn’t assured, but I could still do everything right and not be offered a permanent position in a few years. I can do my job to the best of my abilities, but I don’t have a say in the college’s final decision. I do, however, have a say in this—in us . I can’t sacrifice my career for you, but I certainly don’t want to sacrifice what we have for my career. I want to be with you no matter what. If teaching at Oxford doesn’t work out for me in the end, there’s other jobs out there—but there’s only one of you, and nothing is worth giving you up. I’m just sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

My heart hammering in my chest, I hold my breath as I wait for him to say something— anything , but he merely looks back at me with a frown. A few moments go by, that gnawing silence lingering between us, and a small voice at the back of my mind begins to sow doubt in my heart.

What if he doesn’t want me back?

“Look, I know I don’t deserve a second chance. And I certainly don’t expect you to forgive me in a heartbeat. But I hope that maybe … maybe in the future, we can at least be friends if this doesn’t work out.” My voice falters over the word friends , and I have to bite my lips and look away to stop myself from crying.

Another moment of silence ensues, but then Richard takes a careful step toward me. I would only have to raise my hand to touch him; the thought makes my heart flutter, and when I take a chance and look up at him, I find him gazing back at me with such raw tenderness that I feel the whole room spinning around us, and those three words I have longed to speak come to mind. But then he kisses me. His lips are slow and somewhat hesitant against mine, reminding me of the gentleness I thought I would never feel again. I had not forgotten what it felt like to be kissed by him, but I had thought we had shared our last kiss, and to be in his arms once more and feel his beard scratching my cheeks as his tongue tangles with mine reminds me of what I almost lost.

As though sensing my thoughts, Richard pulls away and rests his forehead against mine, his deep blue eyes filling my vision. “Lorelei…” he whispers, his voice heavy with emotion as he rubs his nose against mine.

“I’m so sorry,” I say, my voice breaking.

Richard shakes his head and silences me with a kiss. “I know. And I’m sorry for what I said that night.”

“You have nothing to apologize for!” I hasten to say, recalling his tear-stained cheeks as he held onto my hand in the car. “I was totally selfish and inconsiderate!”

“Maybe, but you were also concerned about your career, and I knew from the beginning that was your priority.”

“My career is important to me, yes, but so are you,” I say earnestly, causing him to smile. Then, not knowing how else to express the myriad of emotions swirling through me, I drop the books I’m holding onto the nearest shelf and wrap my arms around his neck to pull him toward me for another kiss. We forget all about our surroundings as we lose ourselves in this embrace, our lips perfectly in sync as though not a minute passed by since we last tasted each other, but in the end, we’re forced to pull away to breathe, and that’s when I notice that we have attracted the attention of other people in the bookshop.

“We’re putting on a show,” I chuckle as he kisses the top of my head.

“I’d invite you over but I walked to get here.”

“You walked?” I asked incredulously, thinking of the unrelenting rain crashing over the city today.

“Yeah, it helps me clear my head….”

He doesn’t need to say anything more for me to understand, and another wave of guilt takes hold of me, but Richard reassures me with another kiss, this time on my cheek.

“My car is parked right around the corner,” I say in sudden realization, eager to escape the curious eyes of other customers in the bookshop.

“My place?” Richard suggests.

“Okay,” I reply shyly and let him lead me away.

***

I can hardly believe I’m standing in Richard’s house.

An awkward silence reigns over us as we take off our coats and boots, as though we have forgotten how to act around each other, but being here reminds me of all the happy memories we shared, and I feel the cracks in my heart start to heal. I’m here. Richard is here. Everything is slowly returning to how it should be.

The house is messier than I’m accustomed to; dirty dishes fill the sink, and a few bottles of wine and whiskey litter the counter. In the sitting room, cushions and throws lie haphazardly on the sofa while various glasses, books, and a half-eaten bag of crisps cover the coffee table.

“Sorry about the mess,” Richard says sheepishly, scratching the back of his head before rushing to clean up a little in a desperate attempt to cover the evidence of his heartbreak.

“It’s okay,” I reassure him with a shy smile. Messes like this stress me out, as Richard very well knows, but right now, I couldn’t care less. I only have eyes for him. “I wasn’t sure I’d ever come here again,” I admit in a low voice, my fingers digging into the flesh of my arms.

Hesitantly, he steps toward me, his eyes boring into my own as he says, “Let’s put it all behind us, okay?”

I nod and blink to chase away the tears clouding my vision. “And no more secrets.”

Richard smiles, his own eyes shining with unshed tears. “No more secrets.”

Nothing else needs to be said. With that promise, all the tension leaves our bodies, and when I smile in return, he pulls me into his arms. My body moulds itself to his, and wrapped in his most reassuring embrace, I feel at home. My eyes flutter close as I bury my head in his chest and breathe him in; I had almost forgotten what he smelled like, and now I simply can’t get enough of him. I can’t seem to be close enough to him even though no air remains between us, and I can hear his heart beating as though it’s my own. Slowly, I pull away just enough to meet his gaze, and understanding my intentions, Richard leans in to kiss me softly, his lips slowly melting with mine and his tongue lazily tangling with mine as he buries his hands in my hair. But the kiss soon becomes more heated, filled with barely contained longing and lust as neither of us can ignore our need for one another.

I clumsily move backwards, trying to pull him toward the stairs, but Richard has other plans. Without ever breaking the kiss, he stirs me toward the sitting room instead and lowers me onto the sofa, making sure that my head is comfortably propped against a cushion before he begins to explore my curves. His large hands rest on my waist, squeezing my skin through my jumper before moving higher until they rest just below my breasts, setting my skin on fire. Though we were only apart for two weeks, it feels like an eternity has passed since we were last intimate—since I last felt alive—and my body responds eagerly to his caresses. Already, I burn for him, and I can feel my arousal pooling between my thighs, begging for his attention.

After countless ardent kisses, Richard breaks the kiss to pull my cable knit jumper over my head. The cool air stains my skin with goosebumps, but the heat in his eyes warms me instantly, and when he presses a wet kiss on the exposed skin of my breasts just above my bra, I let out a desperate whimper that causes him to hold onto me more tightly. The rest of our clothes soon lie forgotten on the floor, and when he presses his naked body against mine, allowing me to feel the intensity of his desire against my upper thighs, sparks erupt along my spine.

“Oh, my darling girl,” Richard whispers hoarsely as he caresses every inch of my breasts before closing in on one tip, sending a wave of heat down to my core. “I was beginning to wonder if I had exaggerated your beauty in my mind.”

The tenderness with which he speaks these words speaks to feelings far beyond lust, and my heart swells with the depth of my love for him.

“Richard,” I whimper, but words are beyond my reach when he worships my body like this.

Burying my fingers in his hair, I hold him against me, encouraging him to continue his careful exploration of my body. He sucks on one of my beaded nipples with every hint of enjoyment and teases the other with his fingers until I can barely breathe, my longing for him reaching new heights. Then his kisses dip lower, along the inner curve of my breasts, then down my belly until he reaches my navel. He pauses to meet my gaze, and in his eyes, I see all my feelings reflected. Almost unconsciously, I reach out to hold his hand, intertwining our fingers and burying my other hand in his hair just as he scatters more kisses on my skin, and more heat spills from me.

Never tearing his eyes from mine, he spreads my legs further apart and buries his head between my thighs to press a kiss against my core. My responding moan echoes through the room, hanging in the air above us as a testament to our shared passion. Then his tongue caresses me, tracing the length of my opening before reaching my clit. His beard is already soaked with the proof of my arousal when he pulls away slightly to say, “God, I missed your taste,” his rumbling voice laced with lust, before he returns to feast on me.

Arching under him, I rock my hips to heighten the pleasure he offers me so willingly and passionately, but as delightful as his tongue is against me, I crave more. I try to tell him as such between breathless moans, but Richard doesn’t need words to know exactly what I want—what I need . With one last swirl of his tongue against the most sensitive part of my body, he crawls back up so that we are eye to eye and cradles my face. As I trail my hands across his broad chest and caress the soft curls between his pectorals, I kiss him, tasting myself on his lips. Into the kiss, I pour everything I’m feeling; my remorse, my need, and most of all, my love, desperate to offer him the reassurance I failed to give him before.

Richard continues to kiss me as he reaches between our bodies to guide himself to me, and when his hardness meets my core, we both moan in relief. But then he stills.

“Ah, shit,” he groans, and I whine in frustration. “Wait here—condoms are upstairs.”

“No, it’s fine,” I hasten to say, slightly breathless as my whole body hums in anticipation. Richard frowns in confusion, so I add, “Timing wise it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, looking deep into my eyes.

“I’m absolutely sure,” I reassure him.

He hesitates for a moment more, but eventually, his ardent need takes over, and he meets me once more, and I wrap my legs around him as he enters me, filling me deliciously. With nothing separating us, I feel more connected to him than ever before, and by the raw, tender look in his eyes, I know he feels the same. When he is all the way in, he stills, letting me adjust to him and soak him in as he shelters me with his strong body. His lips hover over mine as we share our breath, savouring the feeling of being one once more, and only when I tentatively roll my hips does he give in to the temptation.

No more words are needed as our bodies speak for us. Richard thrusts once, twice, almost instantly finding the perfect angle, but his movements remain sensually slow, prolonging the pleasure we missed during our separation. Sighing and moaning into his neck, I follow his movements, abandoning myself to all the delicious sensations he stirs within me as I cling to him, my arms and legs wrapped around him. Nothing stands between us, and our hearts beat in unison as our bodies move as one. Our mutual sounds of passion fill the room, and as he groans my name in my ears while slamming his hips against mine, I feel overwhelmed by all the sensations filling my heart.

This is what I was afraid I had lost. Not just this blissful pleasure only he can give me, but the intimacy between us and the comfort that comes with it. In his arms, I’m home, and I know now that he is worth more to me than anything. And with that reassuring realization, I let myself go completely, my back arching as wave after wave of scalding pleasure consumes me. A few more thrusts, and he follows me over the edge, leaving us panting and clinging to each other.

After a while, our breathing slows down, but we remain wrapped in each other’s arms, savouring our closeness. No words are spoken, and now that the spontaneity of our passionate moment is over, I can sense a small uncertainty lingering between us, a certain shyness that hasn’t been there since our very first date. Richard presses a few lingering kisses on my cheeks before pulling away, then he stands to retrieve his briefs, offering me a glimpse at his muscular back and perfect bum. Desire stirs within me at the sight, but then he turns around and offers me a sweet smile.

“Do you want some tea?” he asks as he tucks my hair behind my ear, and the gentleness of his touch brings a smile to my lips.

“Sure.”

He doesn’t bother to put on the rest of his clothes before stepping into the kitchen to fill the kettle. I stay on the sofa, watching him intently, imprinting in my mind every single one of his movements; the way the muscles of his shoulders flex as he opens the cupboard to grab two cups, the way he scratches his beard as he waits for the water to boil. It’s such a simple, almost insignificant moment, yet I have never loved him as much as I do now.

Reaching for his discarded shirt, I pull it over my head and make my way toward him. He seems completely absorbed by his thoughts and doesn’t notice me until I wrap my arms around him from behind and squeeze him tight, pressing a kiss onto his spine. I hear him chuckle, then he spins around to return my embrace, one of his large hands holding the back of my head. We remain like this for a while, and I close my eyes as I listen to the steady beating of his heart. How I had missed that sound.

“Richard?”

“Hm.”

I hesitate slightly, but when I look up to meet his tender gaze, the words come to me easily. “I love you.”

Richard simply stares back at me, his mouth hanging open slightly. Then he smiles, and the look in his eyes shares his answer even before he manages to speak, his voice somewhat breathless as he cradles my face. “I love you, too.”

Our lips meet halfway in a soft kiss, and soon he lifts me into his arms and carries me to his bedroom, our tea completely forgotten on the counter as we lose ourselves in each other once more.

Tag list: @lathalea @linasofia @mcchiberry @fizzyxcustard @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @i-did-not-mean-to @xxbyimm @middleearthpixie @enchantzz @myselfandfantasy @notlostgnome @laurfilijames @swoopswishsward @quiall321 @dianakc​

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[namandabu]

Tannisho Reflections: Foreword

When I first read the foreword to the first part of the Tannisho, I thought that my reflections would be about what divergences from the actual teaching there are today and how to best go about avoiding them. On reflection, however, I realize that I don't know nearly enough to comment on the modern state of Jodo Shinshu. I only know what others have said and commented on, but I don't have the scholarly credentials to verify or deny these claims. There are people whom I do trust when discussing the teaching, but I know that these people are also simply people with biases that guide their thinking, just like mine. What they believe to be a divergence could be just a teacher who is placing a different emphasis on the Jodo Shinshu Way. I don't know enough to comment one way or the other.

However, I will mention that many Jodo Shinshu writings are plainly worded, straightforward explanations of the Dharma, which leaves little room for misinterpretation. The Tannisho is a prime example of this style of writing. Rennyo Shonin's letters are another excellent example. In both cases, the goal of the authors is to lead people back to the simplicity of other-power faith (that is, Shinjin) by explaining things in such a plain manner that it leaves little room for our own interpretations. As I have said before on this blog in my post on Dharma Listening, this is essential to taking in the Dharma. As Yuien-bo says, "No one should defile the doctrine of other-power by his own arbitrary interpretations." What this means to me is that we should not project our own ideas onto the teaching, lest we miss what is being taught and instead focus on what we want to hear.

As we shall see, what is being taught is the simple process by which Amida, through the power of the Dharma, directs virtue to us as ignorant beings and brings us to the state of having one thought-moment of total reliance on him. This one moment is the moment of Shinjin. At that moment, we become assured of our Buddhahood in the next life when we will be born in the Pure Land. The utterance of the Nembutsu as a result of this moment is the "act of true settlement" (from the Shoshinge, the Hymn of True Shinjin and the Nembutsu, by Master Shinran) precisely because we are incapable on our own of uttering it in gratitude for the Buddha's benevolence without his gift of Shinjin. The whole process is completed through Amida, who fulfilled his great vows to liberate all sentient beings who say the Nembutsu. It is not due to our actions but his already-complete enlightenment that we can receive Shinjin and be assured of Buddhahood. This is my understanding of it, parrotted from the words of the preceding masters of the tradition.

This core theme of other-power acting on the ignorant self is repeated again and again, both in the Tannisho and in other Jodo Shinshu literature. It is vital and a teaching subject to misinterpretation by many (myself included) who still allow self-power calculations to seep into their understanding. I often find that I want to do something to bring myself to enlightenment. I worry that my inaction is somehow morally wrong or unskillful. By expressing these deviations plainly, Master Shinran and Yuien-bo enable foolish beings like me to understand the true import of Jodo Shinshu. They reveal that the Jodo Shinshu way is all-encompassing, a comprehensive way to full liberation. In light of this, my desire to do good is revealed to be an attachment to myself, and deviating from this surefire path is selfish.

[projecthipster]

Franny and Zooey, by J.D. Salinger

“I don’t think it would have all got me quite so down if just once in a while—just once in a while—there was at least some polite little perfunctory implication that knowledge should lead to wisdom, and that if it doesn't, it's just a disgusting waste of time! But there never is! You never even hear any hints dropped on a campus that wisdom is supposed to be the goal of knowledge. You hardly ever even hear the word 'wisdom' mentioned!”

Everyone’s read J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye, yeah? If not, I’ll review it in this series sooner or later. It’s great, it’s very hipster in its deep character breakdown, multiple layers of storytelling, and its analysis of cynical adolescent disillusionment. It’s one of the best-selling, best-reviewed, most-read books in all of literature. Sounds kinda mainstream, doesn’t it?

The discerning hipster, wanting all of Salinger’s great writing in a package that the mainstream sheep are less likely to know, and that subs adolescent disillusionment for young adult disillusionment, might instead turn to Franny and Zooey, his later and arguably only other novel. Franny and Zooey hit the scene in 1957, at the height of the Hipster-beloved beat era, though Salinger isn’t usually considered to be one of the beats, which is basically to say that I don't think he ever did drugs with Kerouac. Your hipness archivist read this book a couple of years after reading Catcher, mostly on a single slow day while working at a ski hill.

Some say it’s two short stories; truth, it’s more like a novella with a bonus opening chapter that could serve as a short story in isolation but works very well as a first chapter. That opening follows Franny Glass on a lunch date. She’s become obsessed with an obscure Russian religious text, but her boyfriend only wants to talk about his upcoming football game, leading Franny right into a panic attack about how much everyone is only in everything for the ego boost. That main theme is tempered a bit by Franny’s disdain for the dullness, the expectedness of everyone’s bragging topics. Certainly that’s something core to the hipster identity: the mundanity of the mainstream.  That’s part one, the shorter part, “Franny.”

The second part, “Zooey,” makes up most of the book. Smash cut to the Glass household. Franny’s brother Zooey is fighting with his mom. Franny is in the living room, a few days into a serious depressive funk, when Zooey is all but forced to talk her through it. That conversation, replete with italics to show just how emphatic and pointed everyone is, practically ranting, reveals the Glass family backstory, detailed as well in other Salinger stories that I haven’t read. Turns out, nothing about Franny’s identity crisis came on in isolation. The Glass children were child prodigies on a radio show, in the national spotlight until their voices changed and they suddenly dropped from America’s short attention span. That feeling of being puppets on a stage never really left any of them, and led eldest brother Seymour to commit suicide despite an outward appearance of success. Is it any wonder, then, that these siblings are a bit messed up, and see society as being a bit messed up? The conversation barrels on, Zooey trying to rescue Franny from her depression, until it reaches a surprisingly succinct and positive conclusion, which shows Salinger’s increasing interest in spirituality and alternative theological theory, and which I won’t spoil. Suffice to say, the final page has a lesson that you’ll remember if you’ve ever sat and wondered in light despair at why we all go on performing, and who for.

Reading this book will boost your hipster cred, because you can bring it up when people talk about The Catcher in the Rye. But more importantly, this book will raise interesting and impressively timeless dialogues about life and purpose in modern society by means of great writing and impressively concisely developed characters. 

I give this Hipster book five withering glances over an organic cigarette out of five.

Project Hipster is a futile and disorganized attempt to dive into the world of things that the internet has at some point claimed "are hipster," mostly through ListChallenges search results.

This review comes from the first list, Hipster Lit: If You Haven't Read 'em, Pretend You Have.

Stay deck.

[spaceorphanssecondbreakfastclub]

SO's Bookclub : The Séance

Title: The Séance Author: Joan Lowery Nixon Genre: YA Mystery

Goodreads Summary: Lauren is reluctant to participate in the séance, and she feels the first foreboding of evil shortly after the room is darkened. When the lights come back on, her fear turns to shock: Sara Martin is missing, even though all the doors and windows are locked from the inside...

Review:

So... I guess I'm going down this road now. Because I really want to see how these books hold up. Also, I want to throw out there that these covers are all really intriguing - and I think part of the reason I picked them up as a kid. Each one has a little bit of a spooky element to them.

This one I liked a lot better than Christina Lattimore. I really doubt any of these are the epitome of great literature, hence their fading into obscurity, but I at least didn't want to throw the book across the room in the same way.

The thing about this one - and something I just want to clock as I read through these because I never really noticed as a kid - is the atmosphere of these books. As I'm reading through chronologically, our setting is still set in the late 70s/early 80s (this book being published in 1980). And the atmosphere of this book really feels like an early 80s horror film. And I guess I found that the most interesting element?

I mean - life was just different back then. Before technology really began to run everyone's lives, what did kids do? They went to seances? Okay - maybe not, but there was just a different way kids kept themselves busy. But, also adding to the atmosphere, there's a creepiness the permeates throughout the book - because there's this knowledge that technology is going to save you. So when Lauren is alone with another character - there's a tension there that may not be there in a more modern adaptation.

I'm probably overselling this book, though, it still is a product of its time, and there are still issues due to that.

Lauren (and I'm blanking if she's ever given a last name) is more interesting than Christina Lattimore, and a lot less whiny. But there are still some trappings that I'm finding are staples of Nixon's writing. She lives in a small town in East Texas. Her guardian is a very religious aunt - and the church does play a role in the novel, especially playing against the idea of hosting a séance, and the prejudice spewed against the family of the girl who hosted. And the fact that Lauren is constantly worried about getting into college.

I will say - Lauren is an unreliable narrator - which works better than it should, since the novel hinges on information not given to the reader.

The other thing, though, that really interested me - was the first victim Sara. Because she's a 'bad girl'. In classic 80s horror tropes - the girl having the most sex is the one who dies, while the virgin (Lauren) survives. Sara is a girl who flirts with all the guys -- even guys who are much, much older (a theme that isn't really looked down upon, it was just expected that men of all ages would just pick up a teenage girl, despite being a minor). Does she actually have sex? The book is a bit murky on actually having it spelled out, but it's somewhat implied.

Adding an interesting twist, though is the fact that she was driven out by her mother because she was such hussy -- but the mother was the same way - even explaining that she's a woman who just needs a man in her bed cause she can't do without.

Idk - beyond giving me real Jen Lindley (from Dawson's Creek) vibes, it was interesting that the book doesn't necessarily condemn Sara's actions (beyond killing her off, which I suppose says enough) but tries to explain the reason as to why she is the way she is.

The other thing I want to clock is the usage of the teenage male hero in these books. Because so far, one turned out to be a dude the main character walked away from. Here, there's the slight hint of romantic possibility that is left open ended. I remember these books all having some kind of romantic twist in them, but I'm kind of surprised that it's just not the focus of the novel, and both Christina and Lauren have been so busy with their horror plights that it's not really a focus of either novel. I kind of wonder if Nixon through it in there because there's always a romantic element in these novels.

Anyway, despite me writing a novel of a review, the book doesn't really get that into the character work. Most of the other characters aren't really that developed -- we barely see the second victim, and all of Lauren's friends are just sketchy archetypes. What really does work for this novel is the atmosphere. It is spooky (again in that YA, early 80s way) and the book just does pretty well with keeping the tension going throughout.

So, yeah, for a book that really doesn't have a lot going for it - I definitely had a lot of thoughts about it. I didn't even get into some of the minor things - such as there's a description of a guy who had a hair color the same as his skin, and I could not figure out if this dude was super pale or black. (But figuring there really haven't been any black people yet explicitly stated in either novel - probably not the latter.)

Overall, I think it was a fascinating read -- again, read in only a few hours. Much better than her first book, but I remember, as a kid, not loving this one much either -- and I didn't find this one that bad. So, i'm looking forward to continuing this project.

Rating: 3 Stars

[inkk7]

Mysterious Person: So let me get this straight…you fed the ghost of our university’s founder ambrosia in order to bring him back to life??

Mysterious Girl: Yeah!

Mysterious Girl 2: I knew you were obsessed with him but…this is crazy Orchid…

Orchid: I’m not crazy Arianna, I’m in love!

Arianna: That is crazy, a little backup here Rae?

Rae: …How is this even possible?

Orchid: I told you I was experimenting with ambrosia! It prolongs the life of regular sims, so what would it do to a ghost? That’s what I wanted to find out, I just happened to fall in love with the experiment's subject, hehe.

Felix: Ambrosia isn’t real, its a myth!

Orchid: Tell that to your new body, silly.

Rae: Orchid, you didn’t think this through, what are we supposed to do with him now?

Orchid: What do you mean?

Arianna: They mean what are we supposed to do with a famous dead man?

Orchid: Oh…I suppose you’re right…

Arianna: Of course we’re right! We’re turning him in to the authorities immediately.

Orchid: No! They’ll keep him locked up and do experiments on him and keep him away from me.

Rae: Nice to see where your priorities lie…

Felix: Pardon me, but what on earth are you talking about? Turn me in to the authorities? I do not wish to be locked up, miss. For what crime have I committed?

Arianna: A crime against nature. Plus, you don’t have a choice, we don’t need Orchid’s little science experiment lingering around our place.

Felix: Your place? This is my home! You are trespassing! And who are you all anyway?

Orchid: Oh! My apologies love, my name is Orchid Posey, and I use she/her pronouns. I’m a biology major here at UBrite, I’ve been experimenting with ambrosia and brought you back to life.

Felix: UBrite? What is that?

Orchid: It’s an abbreviation for the University of Britechester, the university you founded!

Felix: I am quite familiar with the University of Britechester. Why have you shortened the name?

Orchid: To make it easier to say, silly. I didn’t realize you would take things so seriously, from all accounts you were supposed to be more of a goofball…

Felix: Goofball?

Rae: She means you were supposed to be more light-hearted. Modern slang confuses you, huh?

Felix: If you mean I am having difficulty in understanding your words, then yes.

Orchid: We’ll try and speak simply then! It has been a millennium since you were alive.

Felix: A millennium!?

Arianna: Oh, did Orchid forget to tell you that? Typical.

Orchid: *tears up* That was mean, Arianna…

Arianna seems to notice she crossed a line, but Orchid runs out of the room.

Arianna: Damn, I better go apologize.

Arianna leaves the room, leaving Rae and Felix to themselves.

Felix: And who might you be?

Rae: I’m Rae Park I use they/them pronouns. The other girl was Arianna Sumner, she uses she/her pronouns.

Felix: They/them? As in you utilize the singular they/them/theirs pronouns? 

Rae: Yeah. Wow, that was quite easy for you to understand.

Felix: I am familiar, after all, I studied Language and Literature in university.

Rae: Oh, I guess that makes sense. So…how do you feel about being alive again?

Felix: In all honesty, I am quite conflicted. I was happy in death, who is this Orchid to bring me out of my slumber for another attempt at life?

Rae: I’m sure she has her reasoning, she said she was in love with you didn’t she?

Felix: She did indeed. However, it seems quite inappropriate for her to feel as such about a fifty-year-old, er, one thousand-and fifty-year-old man.

Rae scoffs and raises their eyebrow.

Rae: You might be the only one who feels that way. Are you sure you’re not into her?

Felix: Into?

Rae: Attracted. You’re not attracted to her at all?

Felix: Well, um, erm, she’s…a handsome individual.

Rae: HAHAHAHA, handsome? You’re funny, man. Maybe Orchid’s right, we should keep you around just for the funny old-time lingo.

Felix: I do not understand your words but I get the impression I amuse you.

Rae: Yes. Yes, you do.