#i wanted to write a poem in response to the poem they wrote about me but my brain is off the fritz at the moment from the intense emotions

[blessedarethebinarybreakers]

This post used to hold a poem inspired by the Rev. Munther Isaac's declaration that "God is under the rubble in Gaza."

After a few anons and a conversation with a Jewish friend, I've decided to take the poem down because, regardless of my own intentions with it, it risks feeding the long and extremely harmful history of blood libel, because I included imagery of the infant Jesus and his parents being killed by an Israeli soldier, as many Palestinians are being killed now.

Before talking with that friend, I wrote in this response to an anon about my intentions with the poem — but while I do believe that intentions do matter, they don't matter nearly as much as impact does.

My friend helped me come to the conclusion that while the poem I wrote could be interpreted as I intended by people who already have all the context I wrote it in (see below), it could also all too easily be interpreted much more harmfully by those who lack that context — or worse, who are looking for more fuel for their antisemitism. The poem is not worth that risk, not at all.

___

Ultimately, I hold two things I believe to be true in tension:

that Christians throughout the ages have found deep comfort and encouragement in understanding Jesus as suffering in and with them. I support all Christian Palestinians who, like Rev. Isaac, experience God-with-them in this way — in this horrific time, they deserve any ounce of comfort they can derive. And them personally seeking and finding the Divine presence with them is not antisemitic.

that for Christians like myself in the USA, who live in the beating heart of Empire and Christian Supremacy, it is vital to take care in how we talk about this theology in this current situation, where the oppressors are Jewish. Providing more fuel for Christian antisemitism is inexcusable, and I deeply apologize for writing and sharing a piece that can be used in that way.

Because modern-day Israel is a Jewish state, exploring that Divine solidarity in this context comes with a great risk of perpetuating the long, harmful history of antisemitic blood libel and accusations of deicide. How do we affirm God’s presence with those suffering in Palestine without (implicitly or explicitly) adding to the poisonous lie that “the Jews killed Jesus”?

In wrestling with this complexity, I tried to write this poem to uplift both Jesus’s Jewishness and his solidarity with Palestinians. Jesus was born into a Jewish family, his entire worldview was shaped by his Jewishness, and he shared in his people’s suffering under the Roman Empire. His solidarity with Palestinians of various faiths suffering today does not erase that Jewishness. Nor does it mean that Jewish persons don’t “belong” in the region — only that modern Israel’s occupation of Palestine is in no way necessary for Jews to live and thrive there, or anywhere else in the world.

I also aimed to point out that Israel is by no means acting alone in this attack on Gaza or their decades-long occupation of Palestine. There is a much larger Empire at work, with my own country, the United States, at the helm. Israel is entangled in that imperial mess, and directly backed and funded by those forces — not because of what politicians claim, that we have to back Israel or else we’re antisemitic, but because Israel is our strategic foothold in the so-called Middle East. How do we name our complicity as our tax dollars are funneled into violence across the world, and act to end that violence?

___

I'm sorry this post isn't as articulate as I want it to be. All of this to say: I deeply apologize for any hurt my poem caused. I understand how horrific Christianity's history of — and ongoing present — antisemitism is, and how it poisons and warps so much that could have been beautiful. I'll keep educating myself; I'll keep having hard conversations; I'll keep working to uproot antisemitism in myself and my communities.

___

I'll close with a list of resources for learning about Palestine's history and getting involved.

[dumpywrites]

Tears and Poetries - Kim Namjoon / RM

Prompt: “You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

Prompt request: HERE

Genre/tags: Fluff, comfort, idol Namjoon, non fan reader 

Pairing: Namjoon x reader

a/n: Come back to me got me feeling all inspired soooo yeah :)

It was late. Frankly you did not bother to check the time but you knew it was at least way past twelve. You just needed some air. Late night polluted air might not be the right option, but it was the best you could have at the moment. Getting out was the only coping response your mind could think off. Getting out from where exactly you could not be sure. 

Work life had been a real shit-show. You were on your fifth revision for your company project and your manager still would not accept your draft. While life? Life had been pretty exhausting. Recently your mother had been pestering you about wanting you to achieve more, comparing you to her friends’ sons and daughters, while also underestimating your own accomplishment. 

And not even two weeks ago, a guy who you were seeing just admitted that he apparently had a girlfriend. He really just dropped that info to you like a bomb, as if you did not spend time with each other the past six months. True, you never really put a label on whatever you both had, but in your head you were single and so was he. Until he told you that he got a girlfriend and had dated her for a month already. 

The wound still felt fresh especially with all the external problems added to the equation. Bearing the feeling of unwanted, unimportant, and never enough at once, was hard. Even labeling it as only hard sounded like an understatement. 

So you ran. Theoretically speaking you did not run away, you just took off from your apartment randomly to wherever your feet and your worn off sneakers took you. And they took you to a random spot near a river. 

You sat down on the dirty grassy ground, not minding how your shorts could get dirty from it.  Just sitting down and looking at the night sky, as if the cold breeze would calm you and do anything besides giving you a possibility of catching cold. 

Five, fifteen, maybe it was around half an hour you had been sitting there with empty thoughts, just letting the cold air hit your skin, when you suddenly heard a sound of a bicycle stopping and footsteps approaching. 

“Hello? Are you alright there?”

The deep voice started you and made you look back in an instant. There was a tall and quite big built guy standing with his bicycle. He had a buzzcut from the very faint image you could see due to the low light. 

Although skeptic, you decided to answer. “Yeah, don’t worry.”

“You sure?”

You realized how shaky and stuffy your voice sounded. It probably was not a very convincing “don’t worry”. And when you did not voice another reply, the person parked their vehicle and slowly walked towards your direction. 

“Hey! Stranger danger!” You said, backing off from where you were seating. 

The guy stopped in his tracks but did not walked away. “Do you mind if I join your pondering session? Who knows two great minds might think alike.” 

You stayed still in your position, eyes searching for his in the very confusing lack of light. You could barely make out of what he looked like. 

“I’m not a creep, I swear!” He threw his hands in the air. “There’s a police station nearby if you wanna shout as loud as you can, they could hear you from here.” 

He took your silence as a green light and stepped closer until he reached a spot on your left. He cleared his throat and sat down next to you. 

There you could eventually fully saw his face. The first thing you noticed was the nicely shaped nose, and his plump lips, then his dimples which showed when he politely smiled at you. 

The first ten minutes was spent in complete silence. You did not expect the man to whip out a notepad and pencil and just started writing. A story? Poem? Or song? You tried your best not to sneak a look. He was even humming at some point when he wrote, and it was strangely enough, soothing. 

“What are you writing?” You finally asked, the suspense was killing you. 

“Thought you’d never ask.” He replied with excitement. “I’m writing a poem. Though I’m starting to think it’d sound better as a song.”

“You’re a singer or something?”

The man looked at you in disbelief for a good second before chuckling. “Sorta.”

“Am I suppose to know you?” You eyed him back with the same questioning look. 

“Dunno.” He shrugged. “Maybe it’s a good thing that you don’t know for today.”

You looked at the guy suspiciously, which earned a laugh from him. “The more I think about it, I think I’ve seen your face somewhere…”

“Oh yeah?” He said, a light tone of nervousness was visible in his voice. 

“You look familiar, like that one guy from BTS.”

He almost choked on nothing. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“Yeah, that one dude from BTS.” You repeated. “Although I don’t think any one from them has a buzzcut… Idols always seem to have either colorful hair or beautiful long locks.” 

“Really…” The man voiced out, sounding unsure. 

“Are you perhaps an indie artist? K-hiphop? Don’t tell me you are a DPR member that I somehow don’t know about or something…”

“Okay, enough about that it’s not important.” He dismissed. “You wanna take a look of what I’ve written?”

“Uh, sure…”

You leaned a bit closer to him and peeked over his notes. He took his notepad nearing it to your side so you could read better. Despite the low source of illumination, you could read the delicately written words. It was deep and meaningful. Whatever he wrote on that paper seemed a little too real to just be a song, it almost felt like it came from true experience. 

“You sound like you went through hell to get to where you are right now.” 

You commented, you were not aware of how reading through his words affected you until you could practically hear your heartbeat. You clutched at your chest, trying to calm it down. 

“I’m not only talking about the sufferings.” He pointed out. “I also mentioned about the journeys in between.”

His expression brightened as he explained further. You found it really attractive for some reason. 

“The feeling of loss, left out, were there alongside the feeling of excitement, growth, and wanting to change for the better.” He grinned. “And I think life needs that small bits of flavor to complete us as human beings… Wouldn’t have loved myself so much without all my struggles and flaws.”

You gazed at the guy in front of you in awe. “Guess you’re right.” You finally broke into a smile. “That was beautiful though, almost got me tearing up.”

“Thank you.” He grinned, showing his dimples. “What about you though? What’s on your mind?”

“It’s kinda lame…” You nervously laughed. 

“I’m listening.” He scooted closer, making your knees touched. 

“There are a whole list of messed up things happening in my life right now, but I guess I could name one or two…” 

You took a deep breath and the guy in front of you patiently waited for you to speak. 

“Basically my mom’s been yelling at me saying stuff about how unsuccessful I am for my nine to five job, while getting bullied by my manager at work, and not to mention, how I just got dumped by a guy who I was seeing for six months.”

“That’s fucked up…” He looked at you with wide eyes. 

“You tell me.” You replied sassily. “I mean I guess for the most part it wasn’t really about the problem itself. I’m aware of how perfectionist my manager could be and multiple revision is expected. My mom never really feels content with anything, so that’s also expected. And that fucking guy leaving me? It was probably for the better…”

“Hey.” He grabbed your shoulder suddenly, catching you in a surprise. “Don’t downplay your feelings like that. You’re allowed to feel sad when other people treat you like utter shit. It’s valid.” 

There was something about his words that triggered an emotion within you. Unknowingly, a tear escaped your eyes, followed by more next. 

You leaned backwards to free from his grip, only for him to lose it but proceeded to take off his knitted sweater, revealing a black oversized t-shirt underneath. He took it off with one hand before shoving it through your head so you could wear it. 

“It’s chilly. You might catch a cold.” 

Hesitantly, you rolled the sweater through your body. You felt the neckline stained with tears and wondered if it was his polite way of helping you wipe your tears. You thanked him and he told you to continue. 

“I don’t know what else to say, I don’t want to trauma dump on you.” 

“How are you feeling though?” He asked, eyes gently looking at you. 

“I just… I felt unwanted? Unimportant and undesirable? It happened all at once and it got me connecting strings. The root cause of my problem felt like it came from me as a person and I felt sick…”

He gazed at you and quietly nod, allowing you to continue. 

“I came here because it was loud and deafening in here,” You tapped your head with a grin, trying to lighten the mood. “And I’m glad I did. Not only did I manage to tone it down a couple notches, I also get an exclusive song preview from a top star!” 

Both of you laughed in unison. You were the first to break the eye contact due to the sudden invasion of butterflies in your stomach. It might be dark and late at night, but your eyes could not lie about the beauty of the stranger in front of you. 

The silence was soon broken by a buzzing notification from his phone. It was on silent mode, but the multiple vibrations got him shuffling his hand on his pocket, fishing his phone out from his cargo pants. 

“Damn, I gotta head back. Someone needs me in the studio…” 

“At this hour?!” You argued immediately.

“Yeah, unfortunately.” He ran his hand through his short hair in a frustrated way. 

“What’s your name?” 

You both stopped and looked at each other, dumbfounded. Both of you asked the same question at the same time. Laughter filled the air once again. 

“You first.” The guy gestured. 

You got up and he followed right after. Now looking at how tall he was compared to you, spelling out your name felt a little bit harder. Your heart was beating in an abnormal rate. You finally managed to tell him your name and you patted yourself internally for not voicing out like a squealing hormonal teenager. 

“I’m Namjoon.” He said with a huge contagious smile. 

“Now where did I hear that name—“

“Can I have your number?” He interrupted. Glancing at his phone screen, a small groan escaped his lips. “It’s almost three, you have to go home.”

“Oh.” Your lips formed a small O shape. “Sure. Here, give me your phone…”

You both then exchanged phone numbers. 

“I want to take you back to your home so badly but I really can’t…” Namjoon sighed. “Besides, my bicycle can only do so much…” He chuckled. 

“It’s okay, I live nearby.” You smiled. “You take care, though.”

“Yeah, you too. I’ll text you?”

“Yeah.” You nodded happily. “Thank you, Namjoon.” 

“Don’t mention it, I’m really glad we met today.” He nodded at you before retreating to where he parked his bicycle. 

“Wait!” 

You followed, running to his direction. You stopped when your arms barely linked behind him, hugging him tightly. It was bold of you but it just felt right at the moment. 

“Thank you so much, I mean it.” You said with voice muffled a little by his clothes against your mouth. 

And you did. You meant it, it felt really nice having someone who actually listened to your problem and seemed like he cared about it too. 

He hugged back. “You’re not unwanted, okay? You are loved, please know that.”

You nodded and broke off the hug. A big smile plastered on your lips and he mimicked it. “Okay, you may go now.”

You both bid your goodbyes and that was how you found yourself smiling and giggling at three in the morning, by yourself, on your way back to your place, all while hugging the sweater that you forgot to give back. That encounter was weird, but in a very good way. It almost felt like the universe sent you an angel knowing how down you were feeling. In a peculiar way, it almost felt like he saved you. You went to sleep easily that night. 

The next morning you were awaken by a text notification popping up from Namjoon. You smiled like an idiot to yourself before opening it. 

“Good morning! I hope you slept well. Did you arrive safe yesterday? Sorry something came up, I wished I could stay longer.”

You quickly replied to him. “I slept good. Probably thanks to you, hehe. No problem though! Maybe we could hangout again someday? I need to return your sweater after all :)”

After typing the text and sending it, suddenly a curious thought filled your head. His name did ring an unknown bell. Namjoon did mention that he was a singer, an idol maybe? You could not be sure. You tapped your Google app on your phone and started typing his name followed by the word “singer” behind it. 

Maybe this was your cue to be more aware of the Kpop industry. You had your fair share of listening to K-hiphop, and were even an avid listener of groups like Epik High and Balming Tiger. 

So how come you failed to notice that last night you in fact just hugged Kim Namjoon, aka RM from the internationally well known boy group, BTS???

Thank you for reading! 🌙

a/n: this was a rather short one but i hope y'all like it nonetheless <3

Prompt request: HERE

[coralinnii]

Hi! I saw that you were opening your requests for the next day or so to celebrate getting 2.7k followers! First off, I wanna say congratulations, and may you have a good day/night (almost wrote 'not' lol)!

Anyways, I read your rules, and wondered if I could get a fic with Leona, Vil, Malleus, and Lilia being in a relationship with a Venti! Reader? Essentially, Venti is a Genshin Impact character who plays the lyre, controls the wind, and has a playful personality.

‧₊˚✧ As Free as the Wind ‧₊˚✧

↳ Twst guys with a Venti!reader 

feat: Leona ❋ Vil ❋ Malleus ❋ Lilia  genre: humor, mild fluff note: no pronouns were used with the reader, Venti!reader is of legal age to drink, no spoilers regarding the Genshin Impact storyline, minor spoilers for TWST Book 7

Thank you reading my rules, always appreciate the extra effort people make! I deeply apologize for how late I am with this, but I hope you enjoy the post. Hopefully I captured Venti's personality well enough >_<'

2.7K Followers Writing Event 2023

Ooff, did he first thought you were a pain in his tail. 

Loud, cheeky, no fear of disturbing anyone for entertainment or favors… at least Ruggie has the decency to be useful. 

He scoffed when you smile and act as if he can’t sense a dangerous well of power within you, the playful persona you present may fool a common man but not Leona.  

He’ll play your game though. There’s no benefit to him to pry into your secrets. He finds this side of you, the one that would play a soft ballad for him for some booze money, much easier to deal with. 

This is a strange relationship, but Leona can respect someone strong and most of all, doesn't tell him what to do. You believe in free will and freedom above else, which Leona appreciates. 

“The concept of one king ruling over all... I can’t say I’m too interested in a land like that.” 

Leona laughed at your boldness. With you, there’s no sense about stuffy responsibilities and obligations. 

There are sweet days where you and Leona would spend the day in the greenhouse, Leona sleeping soundly as you play your lyre while humming your new poems, the wind carrying your melodic voice. 

“Huh, do you have a song for me? Hah, what do you want from me this time? Fine, I’ll let you play.”

Vil immediately clocked something powerful about you, your nonchalant persona is good, but you cannot fool a seasoned actor like him. 

No matter, though. Vil has no interest in delving into someone’s past like that. Vil assumes that if you must act so easy-going yet private about yourself, then he won’t pry into such things. One must have reasons, he supposed. 

However, Vil cannot let go of your pension for the “occasional” drink or two. Vil doesn’t care that you are older than your appearance suggest, alcohol impacts your body and health as you age so he rather you limit that little habit of yours. 

“Come now, Vil. Another bottle wouldn’t hurt~” 

“Hmmph, you don’t have to worry much about yourself when you’re drunk but I most certainly do, especially when you come to me reeking of wine.”

But you always managed to quell his anger by singing ballads and poems about your wonderful beloved Vil. That always lifts the Housewarden’s mood and you end up with a mere reprimanding. Hehe.

Vil will not, however, forgive you so easily if you get too mischievous with him. The beautiful man can respect your talent with wind and currents, but he doesn’t appreciate the gust you would conjure up if it messes up Vil’s appearance too much. 

“Don’t even think about running away from me. I know you were behind the sudden rush of wind, my mischievous one. Acting cute or sweet words is not going to work this time.”

However youthful you may appear, Malleus can sense an old soul within you which feels familiar and powerful. 

Malleus is often surprised by you, for your playful and bold nature while handling the wild winds as skillfully as you hold the lyre. You bear similarities to a certain someone that he can’t help but respect you and hold you to a higher regard than any typical being. 

Malleus doesn’t hate that easygoing personality of yours. On the contrary, he enjoys that spontaneous side of yours as you suggest the strangest of ideas to a powerful figure such as him. 

“Let's go jumping in puddles and see who can make the biggest splash!“

You are a sociable being, making friends so easily that it baffles the young fae. A few cute words from you and it was suddenly so easy to lower one’s guard around you. 

However, when you’re alone and don’t realize his presence, Malleus catches that gleam of loneliness in your eyes as you gaze from your tall resting spot. A look that Malleus feels a kinship with you in that regard.

”You would like to take a stroll with me tonight? Oh, a race in the sky, you say? Very well, but don't be conceited enough to believe I’m so easily bested.”

Dear Sevens, why would you ever let these two chaotic gremlins be in the same vicinity? Do you know no mercy for others?  

The two of you would hit it off so well, it’s almost concerning. Lilia finds you a delight to be around, almost a kindred spirit even. 

“So, you also took care of a dragon long ago.” 

“Yeap, but he sorta became a nation-wide threat when I decided to leave and go off on my own.” 

“Ah yes, those things do tend to happen.” 

(if you can’t tell who’s saying what, that really speaks to how similar a coincidence that was)

Jamming sessions ALL. THE. TIME. The campus has not known a single moment of rest as you display your musical talents in the courtyard while Lilia encourages you all the way, occasionally playing along with an instrument of his own.

Lilia is fascinated by your lyrical retellings of your world and would love to visit this kingdom that values freedom among all else, and of this dandelion wine you speak so lovingly about.

As a man with his own… history, Lilia isn’t the type to ask too much about you if he sees you dodging the question. He can recognize that familiar look of longing and loss, so Lilia doesn’t press further and instead indulge with you in one more glass of bittersweet wine. 

“What tales do you have to regale for tonight? I’m always captivated by these grand adventures of yours, it’s almost tempting for this old soul of mine, hehe.”

[perfectlyoongi]

FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE

ㅤ↬┊synopsis ... you had to write a poem for a class and, when your creativity betrayed you, you decided to ask your boyfriend for help.

ㅤ⚘.fandom ... bts. ㅤㅤಇ.ft. ... yoongi x afab!reader. ㅤ⚘.genre ... one-shot. ㅤㅤಇ.content ... childhood friends & lovers (established relationship), fluff, just the complicity between u and yoongi. ㅤㅤಇ.word count ... 2k. ㅤ⚘.fandom ... ik as much abt writing poetry as ik abt quantum physics so u get no poem shoo shoo !! ps. dont mind the cringe :3 hope u enjoy ♡

“Come on, Yoonie!” you let out a small laugh when Yoongi grimaced as he shook his arm out of your hands. “Help me.”

“So annoying,” Yoongi prolonged the last word in a dramatic cry that made you laugh one last time. “Okay, I’ll help you.”

You quickly sat down on the black sofa in Yoongi's studio, on your lap a small notebook eager to be filled, in your hand a pencil half corroded by your thoughts. Yoongi sat next to you, in his hand a bottle of partially drunk water, in his eyes a sparkle that only appeared when he was with you.

“What do you need to do?”

“The professor asked for a poem and we had to draw the theme out of a hat.”

“And you got…”

“Love.”

Your response was accompanied by a frown on your part.

Since you remembered that you were submerged in a vast ocean of verses and stanzas, all the themes that could exist building little huts in your heart, creating fragments in your soul that would be forever united by your love for writing. And you wanted to know more about this art. You wanted to be able to create like so many others before you. You wanted to give your creativity a purpose and, with Yoongi's encouragement, you joined creative writing classes at your university.

But, as with everything, the dream became more fantastic than reality.

It was part of the challenge and it made you excited, more eager to create. But it was also tiring, spending days and nights pondering words and themes that could very well carry with them empty meanings and silent beauties. You wrote in constant fear of not being interpreted, of not being worthy of interpretation, of creating something too vague to have any value.

Everything was challenging for you, all the poems you had written to date being the result of too many thoughts and too little passion. So, when you got a theme as common and used as love, you only saw a solution to truly create a piece of art – after all, love only existed for you with Yoongi by your side.

“I kinda feel offended by your reaction,” Yoongi forced a frown and you smiled.

“Don’t start, please,” you opened the notebook and took a deep breath. “How am I supposed to start?”

“You can start by…” Yoongi was thoughtful for a moment, involuntarily playing with the bottle in his hands. “Trying to describe what love is to you?”

Your silence was capable of speaking louder than any words you could have said – and that only made Yoongi let out a small laugh.

Adjusting himself on the couch to get closer to you, Yoongi looked at you curiously. You had a serene expression, but your eyes showed that all the threads inside you were trying to interconnect to form a simple description. Leaning his arm against the back of the sofa and holding his head, Yoongi looked at you amused.

“Do you need help?” Yoongi asked cordially, a smile lacing his words, his voice gently echoing through the studio.

“You know I’m terrible with feelings.”

“I’m no better.”

“But you write songs.”

“Because you inspire me!”

You already knew that. Yoongi had already told you countless times that great inspiration for his songs came from you, from the feeling he had for you; but that didn't stop you from reacting, completely embarrassed by your boyfriend's confession.

“Then give me tips!”

“I don't know!” Yoongi opened his arms in a dramatic way, fanning them to emphasize his speech. “I just feel it and the words come and the song gets written.”

You snorted to hide a smile and calmed down again, your back leaning against the sofa, your eyes jumping from the pencil to the blank page.

“And what do you feel?”

Your question hung in the air for a brief moment as Yoongi contemplated your words.

In Yoongi's mind, dozens of words began to appear quickly, constantly running over each other, wanting to be the first to be pronounced. In Yoongi's heart, dozens of emotions began to gently blossom, taking root in Yoongi, assuring his feelings for you.

The pause wasn't long, but for you it was an eternity.

The eagerness for an answer made your heart race. You were looking forward to Yoongi's words, not only to inspire you for your poem, but also to hear once again what you meant to him – it was always good to be reassured.

“At this moment…”

Yoongi's voice was hoarse, deep, gently sung by his delicate lips. The words were steeped in care and serenity. You could feel Yoongi's thoughts in his pronunciation, the way he was precisely selecting each word he spoke bringing a smile to your face.

“At this moment, I feel like a kid again.”

“A kid?” you gently tilted your head – of all the strings of words Yoongi could have said, that wasn't one that had crossed your mind.

“Yes,” Yoongi let out a laugh, nostalgia clinging to every syllable, memories of easier times clouding his studio. “Doesn’t this situation remind you of anything?”

Yoongi continued to look at you in love – there was no other word to describe it. The sparkle in Yoongi's eyes was completed by the genuine smile that slightly curved his sweet lips. Yoongi's words were filled with a gentleness that only existed when he spoke to you, about you.

You pondered Yoongi's words. Your boyfriend's voice echoed in your mind with some care, stretching out the syllables, trying to search your memories for the words you should say. And then you remembered.

“The first grade!”

You spoke happily, memories of your childhood painting nostalgic pictures in your head, vibrant colors of happy moments radiating warmth to your heart.

“The first grade,” Yoongi repeated between small laughs as he adjusted himself on the couch. “We spent our afternoons trying to learn math together.”

“And we were never successful.”

Your laughter settled into two broad, longing, passionate smiles.

“I never told you this…” Yoongi was the first to break the silence that rested in the studio, going back to shuffle on the sofa, playing with the bottle a little more. “But, I think I started to like you at that time.”

Your eyes opened in awe, your boyfriend's confession bringing a little warmth to your heart.

“Come on, Yoonie. We were kids. It’s impossible to like someone that way.”

Accompanied by laughter, your words shaped the atmosphere of the studio into a place of comfort, of safety, of confession.

“I’m serious,” Yoongi placed one of his hands on your leg, stroking it gently. “Already at that age I knew that I wanted to stay with you for the rest of my life.”

Like a dove's feather hovering gently on a hot summer day, Yoongi's confession remained in his study as it got to know every nook and cranny, spreading its warmth across the room and nuzzling your heart.

Stay with you for the rest of his life.

In a way, those words danced in your mind, a complex waltz of possible futures moving through the halls of memories. In a way, those words gave you a shy smile, a gentle curve of embarrassment beautifying your face. In a way, those words settled in your heart, a homely comfort soothing your soul.

For the rest of his life.

“And how did you know?”

Your tone of voice was provocative, causing Yoongi to smile smugly.

“Because it was when I was with you that I could see the world in colors.” Yoongi let the bottle fall into his lap, one of his hands shyly searching for yours. “I believe that my life only began the day I met you. I woke up every day looking forward to go to school just to see you. And it was when we started dating that I started thinking about a future for me, for us.”

There was a passionate smile on your lips, a shiny curve that infected Yoongi and encouraged him to gently caress the soft skin of your hand.

“What was love like as a kid?”

“Weird,” a wistful laugh left Yoongi’s lips, his eyes locked on a long-lived past. “I just thought about annoying you just to have an excuse to talk to you.”

“Is that why you always stole my pencils?”

Yoongi shrugged his shoulders with a false air of innocence and you laughed. “But when our friendship started to become more natural, I only thought about you. How it was only with you that I could be myself. How it was only with you that I could really have fun. How you were the only one who gave me a purpose to wake up every day.”

“Do you have any songs about me that you haven’t shown me yet?”

Yoongi laughed, a strong, pink tone taking over his cheeks as he let go of your hand and returned to holding the bottle.

“Let's take it easy. We were talking about your poem.”

“Come on, Yoongi,” you smiled and gently pinched his stomach. “Tell me your secrets!”

Your boyfriend sighed as he let a smile be etched on his face. “I have two. One of them I wrote when I was at school.”

He got up carefully, walking to his desk and picking up a black notebook that was already quite corroded by time: the pages were damaged by humidity and water, the cover was a little torn and folded – that notebook seemed to have been loved.

“I carry this notebook everywhere,” Yoongi sat down next to you again and placed the notebook on his lap, encouraging you to come closer to him. “It’s where I have my first thoughts and songs as a dreamer. Among them the first song I wrote.”

“Rest of my life”, you read Yoongi’s handwriting like an incantation, your lips pronouncing each syllable with the flavor of importance and passion seasoning the title of that song. “Why didn’t you ever show me?”

“I was ashamed. It’s not my best work, y’know?”

“But you still keep it.”

“Because it is my most genuine and heartfelt song.”

Yoongi looked at you and you returned the look. In the shine of your boyfriend's eyes you saw your future together, a home and a family, an eternity of passion and complicity; in the curve of your boyfriend's lips you saw your shared past, infinite stories and memories, an extensive melancholy of a passionate history.

Before you kissed Yoongi, you smiled.

Your lips touched lightly for just a moment but it was enough to send warm waves through your body. It was incredible that after so many years of friendship and dating, Yoongi still had that pleasurable effect on you.

“Can I read it?”

“No,” Yoongi laughed again and closed the notebook.

“Come on! Please, Yoonie.”

Yoongi looked at you thoughtfully, seeing in your pleading eyes and your innocent smile the whole reason for that song. “It was because of you that I started dreaming of a future.”

Somehow, you noticed in Yoongi's shy and reserved tone that those words weren't random, that behind each letter and timbre there was a memory dear to him, a memory of something that was reserved forever in his heart.

“The seeds you planted bloom in my heart. Gardens of tulip petals adorn my desire for a future. I always daydream immersed in swan lakes about a tomorrow with you. I only ask that you stay with me for the rest of my life.”

Even before Yoongi finished his quote, you kissed him again, passion and magic joining your lips in a new promise of love.

“You’re right,” you placed your forehead against Yoongi’s and let out a small laugh. “It’s not your best work.”

“I’m gonna hit you.”

Between laughs, Yoongi kissed you again, pulling away quickly when the memory of the reason for your visit appeared in his mind.

“We’ve already talked about me, let’s go back to the poem.”

“I think I understand what I have to do,” your pencil twirled in your hand as words began to unite a web of thoughts inside your heart. “I just have to remember all the ways you love me and make me feel loved.”

Yoongi kissed your forehead before leaving you immersed in feelings and phrases, a little encouragement from Yoongi before he returned to his work.

ㅤㅤ♡ feedback is appreciated ♡

[cancersunthatsit]

Spencer Reid headcanon:

TW: (includes NSFW / relationship) 

note / I think it’s obvious by now that English isn’t my native language , so please don’t laugh however correct me if I’m wrong I have a STEP test in 2 months . I really could use some notes . Also this is like my first “gig” LOL I was so excited writing it I hope you guys like it

———————————————————————

1- I personally think he he owns a diary he writes often , loves poetry probably wrote a few poems 

2- he doesn't like healthy food , vegetables and stuff 

3- has a controversial opinion about random shit like headphones 

4- he can be a little shit and childish when you argue with him it’s like ugh! you want to strangle him 

5 - his spicy food tolerance is soooo low 

6 - switch as fuck but 85% of the time he’s submissive 

7- He’s obviously Attracted to dominant Women like Elle 

8 - I’m convinced that his sex drive is super high but he needs a connection withe the other person   

9 - this is might be weird but I think he reads about sex / sexually attraction in general a lot 

10 - he can be kinky but won’t show this said to any partner 

11- so so romantic and dreamy when he’s in love 

12 - if you guys were in a relationship he’ll buy you flowers every week / or brings you sweet treats 

13 - I think he loves to know every little detail about you <<< because he’s a Scorpio so this is his way of falling in love with you 

14 - flirty af , KING OF DIRTY TALKING

15 - very sensitive and responsive 

[lucysarah-c]

The way I'd never survive a relationship with Levi. A relationship with him is NOT for the weak, lol. Like...I love him a whole lot, but...no.

I think his devotion and his deep love for his s/o is something we all are looking for, especially in our time rn. But damn...I'd end up crumbling.

Like...money wise, personality wise, etc.

Again, a relationship with Levi? NOT for the weak.

Hello! Haha, I just received this ask and felt a mix of amusement and conflict.

I'm always apprehensive about writing Levi too harshly in response to asks. I often think, "This anon probably wants to read about Levi doing what they're asking and maybe they need to read about it because they're having a bad day." But then I also think, "If they truly want my interpretation, I should be honest about how I view Levi as a person."

I am aware that I don't portray Levi as the most perfect persona and boyfriend, and that always makes me nervous. Lately, my blog has seen a lot of new traffic concerning "how I interpret Levi," and I’m constantly torn between giving anons what they probably want to hear to brighten their day and staying true to my thoughts.

This ask made me chuckle but also made me nervous. What if those who read my posts start to think that having Levi as a boyfriend is difficult or unenjoyable?

Levi is my favorite character, and I often think of him in terms of a poem about cats that I once read. The poem essentially suggested that "You should love a person as you love a cat. Allow them to reach out to you when they feel ready, understand their changes in mood, their personalities, and their distance. You love a cat even when they are surly because you understand that when they climb on top of you to purr and sleep on your chest, it’s because there’s no other place in the world they would rather be."

I think Levi aligns with this a lot. That’s also why it’s hard for me to write "modern AU" Levis. For me, Levi is who he is because of the situations he has endured. He's a man from a cruel society, facing high expectations and a difficult life. He's kind and lovely in his own way because he’s not only a man who has suffered greatly, but also from a time and society where therapists didn’t exist—and if they did, their "treatments" were electroshocks. He's not perfect. I dare say that probably a lot of people within the walls don't like Levi because he's not a charismatic person. We love him because we know him, but we are omnipresent readers. Normal people just hear him being blunt with words and stoic.

Levi is probably hard to deal with in many departments, as all of us are to some degree, I believe! I'm sorry if I ever wrote him too harshly. I usually try to think that I love and write Levi in love as a rescued cat: he may be surly, he may have issues, but when he's with someone, it's because he wishes to be nowhere else in this world.

Sorry for the ramble.

Love ya <3

[trashywritestrash]

On the Subject of Love

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Word Count: 584

Warnings: None, just a short lil thing for Valentine's!

A/N: The card and response poems are from Thomas Richardson’s “Gentleman’s Valentine Writer” which wasn’t actually published until 1828, but I needed ideas okay? Also, I wrote this while Bridgerton was still in the lead in the poll lol

gif by fifty5hades

For as long as you could remember, Anthony Bridgerton had always sworn that he was not in want of a wife. Therefore, you were not expecting to receive anything from him as Valentine's Day approached. This is where you were proven wrong.

The day came, and with it came a bouquet of flowers and a card from the Viscount himself. In your sitting room was a breathtaking bunch of burgundy musk roses. The color was meant to represent simplicity and beauty, meanwhile the rose variety stated that Anthony found you to be charming. You picked up the card, but before you could read it, your mother entered the room.

Spotting the obvious floral arrangement, your mother spoke up, "Those are lovely, dear! Which gentleman sent them?"

"Viscount Bridgerton sent them," A small smile graced your features as you gazed upon the flowers. "I must admit, I did not think him to be interested in me. Father only introduced us at the start of the season."

"That is plenty of time for him to grow attached. Don't fret, my love. He only sent flowers, as any good suitor should. It is not as if he is proposing marriage." Your mother chuckled lightly before she noticed the card in your hand, "Oh, he sent a valentine as well? Now that is bold. What does it say?"

The card itself did not feature the same hand drawn images as other cards may, but it was embellished with an elegant gold overlay and floral embossing. The writing was clearly done by hand, but carefully in order to remain legible.

As I wander'd about 'tother day full of thought, With the subject of love I was very much caught: Whether best to live single, or best with a wife; I assure you within me was terrible strife. Thinks I to myself, one is stupid alone, And I'm sure I have read, "two is better than one;" So a wife I have fixed on, that wife shall be you, If it please you, and I will be constant and true.

You felt a heat rush to your cheeks as you read the card. Unable to voice the words aloud, you gave the card to your mother so she could read it herself. Her eyes widened as she took in the meaning of the words. "Alright, he implies marriage! However, this is not a proper proposal. He may be a viscount, but Mr. Bridgerton must ask for your hand officially."

With that, your mother left the room, most likely on a mission to inform your father about the viscount's card. Her absence gave you a moment to stare at the message and ponder your emotions. Truly, you could not say that you were in love with Anthony Bridgerton. You did not know him well enough for that yet. But, it was not as if you felt nothing toward him. His words caused your heart to flutter within your chest, filled with glee at the thought of the viscount having an interest in you.

In little time, you had gathered the materials required to make a valentine of your own. Surely, it would be rude to send no response to his lovely prose. And surely you could send it without your parents reading it first.

"To be constant and true"--your promise is fair, And I with your lines am quite smit I declare; So I, at your word, take you, and send you this line, To say I rejoice to be your Valentine.

----------

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[helenstudies]

These are my language learning timelines and how long I've studied to get to that level!

English: fluent C2 > about thirteen years. I started learning when I was 5 (in kindergarten). I got to this level by age 18, when I started working as a professional English - Burmese translator.

Korean: fluent TOPIK 6 level > eight years. I taught myself how to read hangeul at age 15 and achieved TOPIK level 6 in 23. It should be noted that I attended a language program in Korea for nine months to accelerate the process. I started from level 1 and ended in 4/5 in nine months.

Chinese: advanced HSK6 level > eleven years. I started learning chinese when I was 13 and now I'm 24. And no, my chinese ancestry didn't help because no one in my family speaks Chinese.

Japanese: Intermediate JLPT N3 level > nine years. Like Korean, I taught myself how to read hiragana and katakana at age 15 but I prioritized Chinese and Korean. It should be noted that I really struggled with Japanese and had to attend basic classes three times to get to an N5 level. And then twice more to get to N4.

I think this is important for all langblrs to realize! I am not "gifted" at all. I just started studying a bit earlier than y'all because I knew my life long interests are in language, literature and translation. I learned all these so that I could read books in their original language.

It should be noted that in Myanmar, I graduated high school at age 16/17. Since then, I've been attending a distance education university (before I dropped out in 2021 of course) and I've been working freelance or part time jobs. So this is an actual realistic timeline as an adult who also has a life outside of studying.

If you work full time, study full time or have responsibilities in your life that you have to prioritize, you might need to take a few years longer than me. You might even need to retake classes and fail a few tests. And it's okay.

I can't emphasize this enough so I will do this again and again: not being able to quickly learn language is not a failure on your part. Don't fall into ageist traps because you really do retain your brain functions well into your years. You can keep learning and keep improving as an adult. Look up neuroplasticity and stop listening to "polyglot" influencers.

Another thing I want to mention is in my last post, I wrote that language learning takes years and you'll just have to make these years bearable and I mean it. Just sitting down and studying for hours is annoying to me. So, I personally make it bearable by reading stories and translating songs or poems because that's what my brain likes. I like writing chinese characters but it's boring to just sit down and write them. So I write them while watching tv because I have adhd and I need to fidget anyway. My goal is to read books in their original languages so I read, read and read. You have to figure out why you want to learn these languages and see how you can make it bearable.

[hard--headed--woman]

For this 2nd day of Pride Month I decided to talk about a woman I mentionned yesterday in the post about Renée Vivien (that you should absolutely read by the way, Renée Vivien is amazing) :

Natalie Clifford Barney !

I talked about her to say that she's had a love story with Renée Vivien, but that's not the only thing she's done.

Natalie was born in 1876 in the United States and died in 1972 in Paris, at the age of 95. Writer and poet, she was the first woman to use the word "lesbian" in her writings (in this case a collection of poems, published in 1899), instead of the word "tribade" (it's another word for lesbian in french) or simply "homosexual". The word lesbian back then was even more taboo than it is today, so you can imagine how important this fact was (and still is).

She was also famous for the parties she organised: she held a literary salon which she wanted to turn into the "new Mytilene". She invited the female artists, writers and intellectuals of her time, in response to the all-male Académie Française, and they all spent whole afternoons and evenings in the flat of the wealthy American.

Natalie never tried to hide her homosexuality. As she said in a sentence that quickly became her most famous one,

"Why would anyone blame me for being a lesbian ?"

(Yes, that's her with Renée Vivien)

Natalie's mother (a renowned artist) and her tutor awakened her interest in the French language at an early age, and when she was a little older, she was sent to a school in France; thanks to this, she spoke French fluently and without an accent, and developed a soft spot for this country.

Natalie was 12 when she realized she was a lesbian, and decided right away to "live in the open, without hiding from anyone".

Hee first known relationship was with Liane de Pougy, a famous dancer of the time (whom she cheated on with many women). Natalie wrote about this love story in her collection Quelques portraits, sonnets de femmes. ("Some portraits, sonnets of women"). Liane wrote about it in her novel "Idylle sapphique", which so fascinated the French public that it had to be reprinted sixty times in the same year, with people torn between admiration and scandal. The two women eventually parted ways, however, due to Natalie's infidelities and Liane's "debauched lifestyle" (in Natalie's words).

As I said, this book caused a huge scandal. Natalie was forced to return to the United States, where her father burned all her writings he could find, and tried to marry her off. However, she categorically refused to obey him, and faced with her stubbornness, her father gave up, and Natalie returned to Paris, where she had a lot of lovers. Among these lovers, there's Renée Vivien (probably the most important, since Natalie never accepted their breakup and tried to get Renée back until Renée died at 32) Lucie Delarue-Mardrus, Colette, Emma Calvé, Olive Custance, Henriette Roggers and many others.

In 1902, on the death of her father, Natalie Clifford Barney inherited a large fortune and was able to rent a house in Neuilly-sur-Seine, where she gave parties that became the talk of the town.

In 1910, she moved into a house at 20 rue Jacob ; for nearly sixty years, this house was the setting for her famous "Fridays", one of the last influential literary salons. A LOT of famous people went there. Like really. The complete list is on Wikipedia if you're curious, and here's a screenshot with some examples :

Marie Skłodowska-Curie went there. Albert Einstein went there. Apollinaire and Proust went there. Oscar Wilde went there. That's cazy to me!

She's had other lovers, like Elisabeth de Clermont-Tonnerre, but her greatest love story was with the painter Romaine Brooks, with whom she had a relationship similar to that of a married couple from 1914 to the end of her life. Of course, this didn't stop her from cheating on Romaine with other women: Natalie was known for her infidelities, believing that polygamy was necessary for a couple's survival, although she claimed that this didn't stop her from being deeply in love with Romaine. She cheated on her for example with Oscar Wilde's niece Dolly, and Nadine Huong, whose story I'll tell one day because it's so interesting!

She spent the years of the Second World War in Italy, and later returned to France to find her second home, which she shared with Romaine Brooks, destroyed. In 1949, she reopened her salon (which started to welcome more and more famous actors and actresses on top on everyone else).

Nothing much happened for the rest of his life. She never left Romaine Brooks (despite continuing to have affairs with a host of other women) and died in Paris in 1972, aged 95.

Natalie Clifford Barney's work and life were very important not only for culture itself, but also for the lesbian community. She made a major contribution to lesbian visibility, opened many minds, helped normalize (even if we still have a long way to go) homosexuality and, above all, helped many lesbian women accept themselves, understand that they were not alone and live the life they deserved.

The influence of her works and her salon on culture, literature, cinema, theater and even science is immense and deserves to be recognized. We should be talking about her much more than we are!

Here's some of her poems with an english translation :

And she's written loads of other stuff that I really recommend you read! She was an interesting woman who wrote interesting things. Look her up on Google and read her writings and her life!

Anyway, that's it! Sorry for posting so late, and see you tomorrow for the 3rd lesbian pride post 🏳️‍🌈

[starlost97]

— muse.

summary: Charlie found the muse he needed to his most personal love poems.

tags: almost? a smut, abstract, worshipping, gn!reader.

characters: Charlie Dalton, Mr. Keating (mentioned).

warnings: insinuations of a smut?, very abstract, reader's clothing is not specified (only the material).

a/n: so sorry for taking so long! I got sick in the middle of writing this (not I-have-a-cold sick, more like throwing-up-food-from-a-decade-ago kind of sick) so it took me way more than it needed to. I might rewrite this later but I didn't want to keep the person who requested waiting any longer!

word count: 443.

requested?: yes!

Charlie Dalton never expected to still nurture such love for poetry even after finishing school. His room in college was full of books about "the biggies", as Mr. Keating loved to call. Not only that, but some works of his own too.

He loved to surprise other people, it didn't matter how. It could be by playing the saxophone or showing how weirdly broad his vocabulary was.

However, his poetry was something that few people had the honor to listen.

Sure, he had shown some random things he wrote in class, but the ones that he truly poured himself in it were guarded to the deserving only.

And you were definitely one of them.

When he saw you alone, sitting at the barstool, he couldn't help but be mesmerized. His knees almost failed him, and with that only he already had the beginning to the poetry inspired by the masterpiece of you.

He watched you for a while, getting jealous of the silky cloth around your torso and how it slided around your waist.

Charlie didn't remember how he approached you, because when his lips touched yours, everything else didn't matter anymore. His hands were on your body and he felt himself getting hotter and hotter by the second.

As he removed the fabric from your body, his breath was mercilessly taken away from him. Not only because his lips weren't on you anymore, but also because your heavenly curves were much more that he could ever imagine.

His mouth was soon brushing against your skin again, and each sound gained from you made his whole body ache for more.

"It's ridiculous how obsessed I already am." He muttered, pressing his lips against your skin, feeling your scent. "Are you a witch or something like that?"

"I might be." You joked, gaining a smile in response.

It didn't last much, however. Charlie was more focused on grazing his lips all over you, leaving some kisses behind as a way of showing his appreciation. It was his way of thanking you for blessing him with the power to worship you.

Something that he definitely didn't take it for granted on that night, under the weak light of the tiny unisex bathroom hidden inside a cheap bar, thrilled with the risk of getting caught.

The most unexpected place to find his muse.

But isn't that the beauty of love?

It makes us feel alive.

Charlie maybe didn't love you yet on that night, but he loved being passionate over you.

He loved so much that he didn't know how the hell he was supposed to live without it.

And he wasn't going to find out.

[alpydk]

Gone with the Weave

Took a few days off to think. Seriously considered deleting everything, Tumblr, all of it. Realised I'd become a little lost in my writing, getting jealous over other people, insecure about my own abilities, forgot who I was writing for and why. So today I sat down and actually wrote for me again and you know what? It's helped. And because I'm hypocritical I'm going to share it with all of you.

So, here we have post-Epilogue short. Hurt/Little comfort. Gale/Tav - Tav & Astarion - Word count : 2398 -

CW - PPD / Grief / Death / Dad!Gale / Scenes of child death (Hallucinations)

It was like tar. It pulled her down and filled her lungs, thick and black. Tav tried to fight against it, tried to find the light that she knew shone above it, but her limbs were weighted down by fatigue and longing. A part of her wanted to be dragged down by it, to be lost to the depths of her depression, to disappear and no longer have the responsibility that had been thrusted upon her. To sleep and never wake; to be with him.

To everyone around her, she was a natural mother, tending to her baby’s needs, a confident smile at the life she had brought into the world. Tav was proud, strong, had been through the hells and back, figuratively and literally, and survived unscathed. But as with most, her pride was becoming her downfall. She didn’t need help, didn’t want it because weakness was not the sign of a good mother. As the days passed, as sleep turned to hallucination, still she clung onto the mask of what they all wanted to see, the last remnant of a life before life.

The child cried, but she did not react instantly, a quiet hope that someone else would come and tend to its needs whilst she pretended to sleep. But she didn’t sleep. For so long, the gods of dream and nightmare alike had ignored her pleas, and she had lain there awake, watching as the infant took all from her, leaving her with nothing but guilt and misery.

She wished he was there to help her, that his weave touched fingers that brought calm to her soul could calm the one that lay in the crib. He should have been there for this, she told herself, his strong forearms cradling the baby, a soft poem uttered under starlight bringing it to soothe. If only she had known before the final decision was made; if only things had ended differently and he had stayed, then maybe there would be fewer tears shed.

Still it cried, and no one came, the silence broken by the shrieks she had come to despise. It would be so easy to just leave, to walk out and never return, but then they would all know what she was truly like. The tar that had filled her lungs and surrounded her heart, leaving her bitter and tainted, would be exposed and they would know the truth. They would hate her as she hated the innocent child in front of her. But what if…? The thought was fleeting, cruel and unspeakable, a horror even in her own twisted mind. As night turned to the day, as cries turned to coos, she watched the baby, always watching and waiting for something to change.

---

Evening had set in and though the stars shone brightly as he had promised her, the night brought Tav little comfort knowing the long, drawn-out hours that were to come. She carried the baby to the small tub, her body weary and mind wandering, and she placed it in the water, watching as the bubbles rose quickly from its soft lips, as the arms tensed and held out towards her, as the deep brown eyes she had once loved lost their light again.

A knock at the door brought her around to her senses as she sat in front of the empty tub, the baby cooing peacefully from its bassinet. This had not been the first time she had seen such sights in the weeks since the birth. At first, it had been minor things, a shadow in the room that she had mistaken for a friend, the child crying whilst it actually slept. Soon the images became darker, the newborn lifeless in her arms when she awoke suddenly during the night, a slight misstep causing her to drop it to the floor, its body like that of a rag doll as it hit the wooden floorboards. Nothing scared her more though than herself, her lack of reaction, the quiet pleasure she saw in the freedom being granted to her. Would murder or suicide be the more publicly acceptable option? Would they forgive her? Could he forgive her, should she make that choice?

Tav rose from the floor, the image shaken away, and the mask put back in place. A deep breath was released before the door was answered with a smile and the face of Astarion greeted her. She was thankful it was him and not one of the more caring of the group; it would mean fewer questions asked, less concern over her wellbeing, and a chance that the walls would remain intact for another night.

He entered without invitation, many nights like this in the last six months that had thankfully grown less frequent since the birth. “You look like shit, darling.”

She smirked at his words, fully aware that the lack of sunlight was making her as pale as him, that the deep bags hung under her eyes. “Well, we can’t all match up to you, can we?”

Astarion made himself at home. Wine was grabbed from the cupboard and his feet put up on the coffee table. He noticed the baby but chose to ignore it, instead watching as Tav quickly sorted her hair in an attempt to look less haggard. “Resident do-gooder Wyll has asked me to come and check in on you.”

“And since when do you take orders from others?” She sat near him on the sofa, the faint stirring of the child drawing her attention. All she wanted was a moment like the old times, of two friends chatting about something that wasn’t related to birth or parenting, of wine and shameless flirting that meant nothing.

He watched her, her eyes allowing him to see the cracks that lay so visibly. “Since, 1 – it’s my turn, and 2 – it’s been a year.”

Tav scoffed. “Taking turns? Is that what you all do?” She ignored his second remark, a year since the Netherbrain, since that day when everything was supposed to change for the better.

“Quite frankly, yes. It’s one thing to be holed up alone with seven thousand spawn, it’s another to be holed up alone with that…” Astarion gestured his hand dismissively to the infant.

She knew he was right, life would be better without it, she wouldn’t be alone here, needing to be checked up on as if she there were something wrong with her. “You know you don’t have to. We’re fine.” The lie slipped out as easily as it ever did, the painted-on smile meeting her dead eyes. The small cry made her bristle, made the lie falter, and she hoped it was nothing but that one whimper.

He sipped his wine, the quickening of her heart rate deceptive as it cut through the heavy silence. “Still, we should at least share in a drink, shouldn’t we? A remembrance of sorts.”

“No, that’s not needed.” Tav was quick to cut off this suggestion. It was one thing for the wall to crumble in front of him that she was tired of sleepless nights, another for the actual truth to be pushed upon her and the dam to break.

The cry could be heard again, now with little pause between breaths. She wanted to ignore it, wanted it to die down, wanted anyone else to deal with it. But no one else would come. He would not come. She could see Astarion tensing with the building noise, and she had to react to save face. She stood, approaching the bassinet, a brief flash of annoyance in her eyes as she glanced down and picked up the baby. It was as if it knew, was manipulating her and drawing her towards ruin, as if the gods were not satisfied enough with the sacrifices she had already made.

“Aww, you just want to see uncle Astarion, don’t you?” This was what people wanted, fawning over the infant, exaggerated displays of affection that she loathed to give. She carried the baby over, its cries stopping, and she gritted her teeth, knowing the moment she put it down, the noise would commence again.

“Oh, no, darling. It’s quite alright.” He pulled his legs off the table, a clear discomfort, and with it knocked over the bottle of wine.

The scarlet liquid spread across the wood, dripping quickly onto the floor, a lazy flow as it crept between the floorboards. Tav couldn’t take her eyes from it, the baby lying amongst it, the rag doll limbs amongst its own blood, lifeless brown eyes that stared back at her. Her heart didn’t beat, she stood not in panic, only a numbness lay in her mind at the sight.

Astarion grabbed a cloth and began to clear the wine, Tav seemingly frozen with the child in her arms, her mind a million realms away, a feeling he knew too well himself. “You know, they say white wine can clear out red…”

Her heart took a beat, a recollection of where she was, of the company present, and she hoped the vision she had seen had been instantaneous so as not to draw attention. The baby was thankfully silent, and she cursed herself for not feeling upset at the sights she was seeing. Murder or suicide…It would be so easy.

She sat with the baby in her arms, Astarion cupping the glass of wine as he leaned away from her on the sofa. She could see how uncomfortable he was becoming, as if looking for a conversation that was casual enough to fulfil his objective for checking in on her.

“So, Gale-“

“Is gone.” She interrupted him off before he could even start. This was not the topic she needed. He should be there with her, holding her through sleepless nights, soothing their child as it cried through the darkened hours. He should be sharing in her tears, her smiles, consoling her as she struggled with her doubts. The baby began to stir again, as if picking up on her emotions.

“Tav, it’s been a year and you’ve not spoken with anyone about what happened.”

She ignored him, his voice and the quiet cries already beginning to overwhelm her senses. There was nothing to talk about; there was only this lonely guilt filled existence. Days and nights of tar, of emptiness, of decisions she couldn’t bring herself to make. Hoping her mask wouldn’t slip, she rocked the baby in an attempt to calm it. She was a proud, strong mother. She was a good mother.

He sighed, not knowing if he should bother to help or not, but after all Tav had done for him in the past, he knew he had to do something. “Pass it here.”

She lifted her head, a defensive hold on the baby in her arms. Was it maternal love or the pride that prevented her from handing it over so freely? “No, I can handle this.”

Astarion reached over tentatively. The baby smelt odd, like spices he could not pinpoint, and his stomach turned slightly, but he would not accept what she was saying. He gently took it into his arms, Tav’s resistance minimal, as if her body was mutinying against her mind. The child grew quiet again, a small coo as its hand reached for his shirt and small pink fingers hooked around the cotton.  

Tears built up instantly in Tav’s eyes, a guilt that she hadn’t been good enough to do this one simple thing, that she had failed in being a mother. She wanted to hide it all, wanted to run away, but she also wanted to fall apart so that people knew how deep she had fallen into the darkness and could come and save her, save her just as he had done so long ago. She wiped at her eyes, but it made little difference, the sight of her friend holding her baby, a light in his own eyes she had never seen before, a moment of innocence on the face of a seasoned killer. Why could she not feel that way? What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t she love…?

Her words were quiet. Astarion wouldn't care, and she knew it wouldn’t faze him. He wouldn’t coddle her like the others would. He was what she needed now that all was lost. “I can’t handle this…”

---

The night passed in a blur. He listened as she spoke of all that had happened in the last few months, of the things she had seen, things she believed she wanted, of pride and guilt that filled her heart to bursting. She spoke of the loneliness that consumed her and the child she could not connect to, of how it reminded her of the past she wished to forget, a past she longed for desperately. One life had ended, and another had begun and all she had been left with was shadows.

The baby slept through for the first time in months, Astarion having settled it in its crib as she had managed an hour of sleep. She’d waited ages in silence, listening for the sudden interruption that never came. It was as if it knew of her confession, and she hated and loved it for what it had done.

In the early hours her friend left, the rising sun announcing his need to depart, and with it she saw the light between the grey clouds, a new day ready to start again. The child stirred, and she stepped towards the crib with hesitation. She saw the purple robes that had been draped lightly at the base where it slept, the subtle scent of the library lying amongst spices bringing calm to the bedroom, and she heard the sound of the waves on docks, brushed up with the morning gale. Picking up her baby gathered with the robes, she held them both closely, the tears building, the relief, the love for her child breaking through the walls she had built.

The guilt flowed, but it was not met with a resignation; it was met with the promise to do better, to be the mother she should’ve been, to be the woman he had once loved. The child gazed at her, bright eyed, and she saw Gale once again; for a brief moment he was with her. She was not alone. She would never be alone.

[crabonfire]

mercs with reader who has poetic rizz 🫶

characters: all mercs

warnings: corny poetry / letters

note: I'm writing this because I write very badly written poetry myself and I just wanted to share 👍👍👍 this is very random haha

reader is shy abt their writing and gets embarrassed showing or talking abt it (that's how I react when I show people my corny poetry agahwhsg) all the poems have dumb names

♡Scout♡

• he doesn't understand what the fuck any of it means but it sure sounds smart and sophisticated.

• he would be messing around in your notebook and finding very well written lines of romantic and depressing poetry, finds it actually very attractive?? he has a thing for "smart people" stuff.

• he found a love poem you made, went along the lines of:

The day we ultimately leave this plane of existence, If in a time of judgement, I'd get to have live again. I'd search every corner of this vast, timeless universe just to see you again.

• and when he saw the note at the end that said "for my love" He felt like combusting on the spot.

• when he brings it up he's like "You wrote this for me?" And if you get all shy and stuff he's honestly gonna kiss you so hard. If your nervous about your writing he's the best hypeman 🫶🫶

• brags about it to the others but never shows them any poems you have, wants to keep them to himself <33 definitely has written copies of your poems in his room.

♡Pyro♡

• hubba hubba

• bro is honestly so honored my god

• he'd be snooping around in your room because he was looking for you and find pieces of paper on your desk, filled with romantic letters. Some have been scribbled over, probably some you didn't like. One reads,

Even in the sheer and agonising cold, I can still feel the fire in my fingertips when I'm with you.

You're my source of warmth in the winter, my light at the end of the tunnel, my everything.

I'd go through a hundred battles if I knew you'd be the one I protect.

• and when he reads, "for my firefly."

• you got em blushing under the mask fr,, bro is kicking his feet in the air, punching the wall, shaking the paper like a crazed fangirl...dawggg

• when he finds you, he will literally shake you around like a pinata, shoving the paper in your face and practically asking "is this about me"

• when you smile and nod in response, you get a squeal out of him, hugging you tightly and giggling uncontrollably as he...purrs??? on you?? rizz so poetic you turned bro into a cat...wtf

• will show engie and beg you if he can see more poetry. Will attempt to do it for you because he wants to impress you 🫶

♡Soldier♡

• you were writing on your notebook for a while in the common room while everybody was up to their own thing, and he was quite curious on what you were doing.

He asked but you were too embarrassed to say what it was, he caught on and took a peek from the side, making you look away and frown, a blush forming at your face.

You're like no man I've ever met, a stern and determined figure that manages to surpass expectation.

What I'd do to kiss you, I'd cross the lands far wide just for a chance to gaze upon your beautiful face.

You have such a fire in your eyes when you set your mind to something. Those baby blues have me in a chokehold, I wonder what fire will arise when you look at me.

I'd do anything, anything at all if it meant I'd be the one to start that flame.

• "...WHO IS THIS FOR?"

You pause for a bit and sigh, "You."

He takes a second, reading everything back again he feels his face start to heat up tremendously. His knees feel weak, head is dizzy, and he has the stupidest smile on his face.

• he grabs you by the shoulders, making you stand up as he aggressively kisses you, pulling back he says "EXCELLENT WORK. I AM HONORED TO BE WRITTEN ABOUT SO BEAUTIFULLY. THANK YOU CADET!"

• he walks away with the biggest fucking grin ever he might start fucking skipping.

You're just left there with a red face, stunned and confused on what to do.

♡Demo♡

• he likes to talk to you a lot, so this would probably pop up in a convo. you talk about arts, and you mention the fact you do poetry in your spare time.

He jokingly asks if you made any about him, fully expecting you to snort and shake your head. But when you go silent, looking away for a second he immediately feels like he's going to burst. You've written poetry about him?

He begs you for a good 15 minutes until you agree to show him, bringing it up even after you've changed the topic of conversation.

• He watches you pull out your notebook with excitement, he's already grinning even before you show him. You huff, handing him the book with a page that says "corny poem for demo I'm never showing him" and he laughs at that.

The poem goes,

My dear, words can not express the sheer adoration I have for you.

I was never fond of drinks myself, but if alcohol ever tasted like you, I'd have become a crazed drunkard whose only relief was alcohol.

Your lips are so soft. When they kiss my skin, it feels as though I have just been blessed by the heavens above.

• bro has his jaw dropped to the floor, face tinted a dark red as he literally has to blink to see if this was about HIM?

• he's laughing, shaking his head and covering his face in embarrassment.

"I cannae believe this. This...this is for me?"

You simply nod.

"Dear lord, yer an angel ya know that?" He leans in and kisses you, then kisses you some more all over your face, making you giggle, pulling you into his lap and having a full on make out session.

He'll kiss your neck and leave marks, whispering sweet compliments, repetitions of "thank you's," and "I love you's" over and over. If he fell head over heels for you, then now he's fell for real and dropping into a pit of neverending love for you <3

♡Heavy♡

• I'd say he found them on accident, he insisted on helping you clean your room when you got too tired to do it, and as he was reorganising your desk he found your notebook laid open, and curiously, he read the specific page.

The title was "hahsjfjfjdkskzncn"

The way your arms wrap around my waist makes it feel like it's just the two of us against this cruel world.

But even with my upsetting mindset, you manage to find a way to strip me of those thoughts, and every day, the colour in this world gets a little brighter.

I love your laugh, and when you do it, the angels sing to the gods. My heart always longs to be within your presence because it feels like I'm floating whenever I'm with you.

• he blushes, and blushes even more when he sees the note at the end written "for misha (I'll probably never show him this it's corny asl)" and he doesn't smile, he doesn't even show any form of expression, but his face is so red he could pass as a tomato.

He doesn't bring it up right away, but when he finishes cleaning your room, he talks to you about it with a flustered expression, voice low and quiet with cheeks dusted a rosy pink.

"I like the poem. It is quite lovely, thank you."

You just sorta sit there kind of embarrassed of your poem and nodding aggressively.

• he thinks of that poem a lot, and if he finds out you've made more for him he's actually gonna burst.

♡Engie♡

• finds out similarly with how Heavy and Pyro did!! He fell asleep in your room while you two were cuddling, and it happened to be a ceasefire day so yall had nothing to do. He's a real heavy sleeper so while you were showering he was still snoring loudly.

but then a couple minutes later after you did, he woke up.

• he rubbed his eyes and decided to get cups of coffee for the both of you. he placed the cups on your desk and noticed your notebook was open. Not so subtly, he started to read what was written.

"I love texans" was the title, he smirked at that.

The moon and the stars don't even compare to you, and the heat of the sun can't even be on the same level as how warm you make me feel.

I can't take it when you're away. It's like a part of my heart starts to shatter at your absence. The days feel like weeks, the longer you're away. I miss you even when you're just in the other room, I miss your voice even when we just started to talk.

Your words are so sweet to me, and it seems I've developed a sweet tooth just for you.

• 🙁🙁🙁🙁🙁😞😞😞😭😭😭😭

• bro felt like sobbing to be honest, smiling like a goof and screaming internally.

he will join you in the shower,trailing his fingers over your body and leaving feathery kisses over your back. you'd giggle, asking him what gotten him in such a mood. all he'll do is hum, washing your body as he continues kiss you in all sorts of places.

• like Scout, he finds it a weirdly attractive trait, like the romantic essence of it yk??

• the entire day he'll just be so much softer than usual, melting like a puddle around you when he randomly recalls the poem. Will definitely bring it up later, complimenting you and asking you about it.

( OK I ran out of ideas for romantic poems so I'm not writing them anymore SORRYYYYYYYY)

♡Medic♡

• You were high in anaesthesia after an operation, where he was fixing you up after a big battle. You two talked the night away, and you mentioned your hobbies when he was asking you, you blurt out your writing hobby and he seems very interested!

So in your fuzzy state, you pull your notebook outta yer ass and let him flip through the pages himself.

• he's quite surprised, very impressed at your writing abilities. Some of the poetry is sad, and he can truly resonate with some. Then, he sees one that catches his eyes, it's labelled "doctors!! ahhh!!"

he has a amused grin on his face, "is zhis one about me?" You chuckle, nodding aggressively like a drunk child.

• when he reads it, thay amused expression turns to one of embarrassment. It feels as though you've lifted him off of his feet, he knows it's rather corny, but it's so damn romantic he can't take it.

"woah!! your face is all red man, sorry for making you so flustered I just got that poetic rizz AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA-"

he shakes his head literally having no idea what that means and a weary smile forms on his face, not expecting the poem to be so specific.

But he reads it again, and again. Each repetition he melts even more at your endearing words about him. He can't help but feel overjoyed, his eyes soften when he meets your gaze.

He leans into the patient chair to give you a kiss on the forehead, gazing into your eyes and whispering, "Ich liebe dich, mein schatz. Danke, this is beautiful." He kisses you once more, on your nose this time making you giggle.

(I love doctors!! ahhh!!)

♡Sniper♡

• I don't think he'd be the type to uh, snoop around for your stuff, or even do anything remotely close without asking for it, so in terms of poetry he'd find you doing it like soldier did.

• you two were sitting under a tree near his van, a nice date in the woods for you both to get out of the chaos and just be alone.

• he rested his head on your shoulder, as you wrote intensely on your notebook. It was quiet, but it was a peaceful one.

"Hey, what'cha writin' there?"

You hum in reply, "Nothing."

"Really? Cause you've been writing for a bit now."

You just smile, continuing to write.

• After a bit you finish writing, and he takes a peek, "my star"

he smiled, it was about him. Well, he assumed.

Slowly, he read the lines of poetry that were just finished. You were reading it back, too. As he did, he couldn't help the heat that rose to his cheeks, and a downturned smile appeared on his face as he looked away, covering his face with his hat.

You noticed, looking at him and blushing as well.

"Oh. Did you.. read it?"

He paused, putting the hat back on his hat but still looking away. "Yea."

It was silent again, until he asked;

"...Is it about me?"

You smiled, "Well of course. Who else would it be about?"

His cheeks reddened even more, and then he went back to lean on your shoulder with a shy smile. One that you mirrored, tucking loose hair away from the sides of your face.

"It's cute."

"Thank you, its about you so of course it is."

He screamed internally at that. He just chuckled.

• Here you are, fully grown adult mercenaries, acting like little kids who are going on their first date. Those corny sentences you wrote will be stuck in his mind for weeks, months maybe...he's so in love with you man.

♡Spy♡

• he found out the same as soldier did, in the common room after everybody ate, you were sitting at a desk with a cup of coffee, writing something on your notebook. Truth be told, you had finished it, you were just contemplating if you wanted to show it to spy or not, you knew he'd love it, but a part of you knew it was also super corny.

"What are you writing, my dear?"

You screamed, shocked at his presence, slapping your hands on your notebook in an attempt to hide it.

"HUH?? WRITINF?? OH YEAHHHH just some uh, stuff. Yeah." You laugh nervously, a comically large bead of sweat streams from your face.

• he simply smirks, taking the book out of your hands and seeing what you're so embarrassed about. All you could do was sit, flushed face and eyebrows furrowed.

" 'poem, maybe I'll show him, i don't know.' This is for me, hm?"

You nod, covering your face with your hands and curling into a ball.

• he reads it, his expression is unclear, but he's intensely memorising the words you've written about him. It's so...romantic. He feels his cheeks heat up, and all he does is smile, eyes lidded full of admiration for what you've written.

"This is beautiful. I didn't know you were such a poet, why didn't you tell me?"

"..its embarrassing. It's not even that good, too. I just... do it when I'm bored."

He shakes his head, "Ma petite chou-fleur, you are a true artist. I am honoured to be written in such a way by such a lovely person such as yourself. You should not underestimate yourself, this is...wonderful."

He smiled at your adorable reaction. He kneels and takes your hand, giving it a kiss. "To know such kind hands think of me in such a way makes my head spin...for once, you've truly captivated me."

"And if it's alright, I would love to read more of your work. Poetry is truly difficult, yet you've managed to write so emotionally."

You can't believe what he says, but you can tell he's being genuine by his soft smile, one you rarely see. With your face still as red as a tomato, you nod, mirroring the smile he has.

• You two spend your time together in the common rooms talking about poetry, he's constantly complimenting you, and any person who walks by to see what your up to, he immediately starts to talk about your poetry, even going as far as to show it to them, telling them how good it is.

he's definitely asking for some pieces of your poetry, keeping it in a folder to read whenever he misses you.

done!!!

hide yo girls, the rizzler is here 💯💯💯🔥🔥🔥‼️‼️‼️

[teddywesworl]

ok y'all said you want director's commentary so I'm gonna start by saying a couple things about 🪑 since it recently celebrated 2k kudos

🪑DIRECTOR'S COMMENTARY LET'S GO

1.

A fun fact about the poems at the beginning of each chapter is that I took two of the poet's classes in college, and she might be solely responsible for convincing me I was a good writer and should pursue the skill. I don't know how she'd feel about me using her poetry to thematically frame an explicit fanfic, but that's neither here nor there.

As a poet, she (I'm not naming her here in case she might possibly name search on tumblr, lol) is obsessed with transformation and with the discord between the material and spiritual self. Blackberries, Brambles in its entirety goes as follows:

Akhmatova wrote, "O look!—that fresh dark elderberry branch is like a letter from Marina…" And she was right, branches criss- cross, words sharpen. We lop them down, fit them into envelopes. But I forget: you don't do letters: Too much tangled in thickets and desperation. Did I say envelopes? I meant elevators. See, I've snagged favourite sweaters in high rises, snarled hair in hedges, given up skin scrapings for blackberries, tongueburst, the sweet stain, explosion under light canine pressure. Don't you just wish you were a dog sometimes? No panic. Romping through brambles. Even in delirium, near death, Akhmatova remembered. Her bitter friend had been dead a long time. Love. Don't think I'm thinking about you. Anything but you.

Akhmatova here being Russian poet Anna Akhmatova, and the Marina in question is Marina Tsvetaeva. You can go on as much or as little of a research spiral about them as you like; many of the layers of this poem are in the reference to Akhmatova and Tsvetaeva, but I was mostly interested in the commentary on the cost of pleasure. I've snagged favourite sweaters in high rises, snarled hair in hedges, given up skin scrapings for blackberries. What are you willing to pay for happiness? Wouldn't it be nice not to think about it? Wouldn't it be nice not to be afraid to pay?

2.

Obviously the other major literary framing device is A Room With A View. The movie, specifically, but obviously the Forster novel as well. A Room With A View is about the clash between tradition and modernity, familial duty vs. adventure and romance, etc. etc. etc. And like, listen, the Duffers have not put this much thought into Steve Harrington, but his arc, despite them, is that of the ultimate privileged 80s all-American masculine symbol taking a slow, deliberate turn toward Otherness. He was supposed to die a static character. He did not, and now we're all writing fic about it.

I probably didn't need to have Eddie literally whack the point home with a hammer with the you're Lucy line in chapter 2, but here we are.

3.

The other bits of ~Art~ in the Steve chapter are Elton John's The Fox and Bruce Springsteen's The River. As follows:

But if you’re wily, you will leave them lying, snared up in the traps that they set for you, Elton sings. And it’s an evergreen affair— Steve lifts the record out and replaces it with The River. Springsteen sings, you're walkin' tough, baby, but you're walkin' blind and that’s not really better.

The Elton John record, you may recall, was a compromise between Eddie and Nancy. The inclusion of these lines in particular was very vibes-based, but hopefully the vibes are semi-coherent. Snares. Traps. The hunter, the fox. Btw the next lines after these are:

As temptation taunts the fox Into the hunter's waiting lair

Which, okay. Teasing out the vibes just a little. Argyle interprets Nancy as Lucy (and implies, without meaning to, that Steve is Cecil--a character that represents old money and tradition and duty and, like. Being trapped). Nancy would probably also view herself as the titular Fox. And Steve has bought into this line of thinking! He sees himself as the snare! He has internalized the idea of life with him being a trap! He is Bullshit, etc.

Eddie complicates this self-concept. Through him, Steve becomes the Fox and Lucy. Temptation taunts the fox into the hunter's waiting lair, after all. And, you know: 🪑🪢

(The Springsteen lines are just. All Steve.)

Ok I have to go feed some horses. More.... later. eventually.

[burnedwriter]

What type of lovers they are pt1.

A/n:i will be taking a small break and creating pt 2 so stay tuned!,i will step away from tumblr bc these last 2 days have been rough 2 of my posts have been community labelled,its only the dottore ones which makes me think that there is a hater out there that is reporting me,plz if you dont like my posts just scroll its not that hard

Warnings:smut,gentle s*x(kazuha),petnames(kazuha,kaeya),semipublic(kaeya),cockwarming(kaeya)breeding(childe),rough s*x(childe),breeding king,!afab reader

A,/n:im not responsible for what people read

🍁Kazuha

🍁kazuha is a romantic lover.He would write poems for you when he leaves for his travels,so you wont miss his presence while hes away.

🍁he will bring you small gifts and flowers from the places he has visited back home to you.

🍁if you really want to join him to his travels,though hesitant at first since hes concerned for your safety but he will accept you to join him.He cant say no when you look at him with those puppy eyes plus you wanted your life to become interesting than the boring one you are living right now.

nsfw

🍁hes really gentle with you showering you with kisses as hes exploring every inch of your body.He has memoriesed what you like and hat you dont during your time and knows exactly what to do to make you weak for him.

🍁he uses you as his muse and has wrote many poems about you,he will read them when he is alone so he can never forget your beauty.

🍁hes really gentle with you and will not be rough until you tell him to even then he would ask you if you are alright or need him to stop

🍁outdoors sex is very common for the both of you,you would usually go to picknicks far away from civilazation,and one thing always leads to another and now hes on top of you.

‘‘zuzu’‘you moaned as kazuha rolled his hips in a lazy pace

‘‘you are doing amazing my muse,let me hear your voice’‘kazuha praised you,continuing his slow pace

it was true this place was far away from any city in inazuma,you didnt have to wory about your moans being too loud because now it was only you and him

‘‘please zuzu,can you go faster~’‘you whined getting impatient from his gentle pace

‘‘anything for you my muse’‘

❄Kaeya

❄Due to his work being the calvary captain,hes constantly busy but that doesnt mean he doesnt invite you to his office and keep him company while hes doing his paper work

❄he will set up dates to make up for it though it would usually be at the tavern,both of you will drink and have fun

❄he has opened up about his childhood,talking about the big fight between him and diluc and how it affected him both physicly and mentally over the years.You are the only one that has seen whats under the eyepatch and what his eye looks like from that day

nsfw

❄he loves teasing you all the time,whispering dirty things in your ear before leaving for work,making you wanting more.He loves seeing you desperate for him to touch you.

❄Quickies are very common between the 2 of you,as i said before hes a very busy person due to his work,but he will try to make time so you can both take your time and enjoy it

❄he loves fucking you in his office.The feeling of getting caught turns him on.

‘‘kaeya we are going to get caught’‘you whispered

his hand on your hips keeping you from squarming on his lap as he continued his conversation with jean like you werent sitting on his cock,you tried your best not to loose your mind,wanting to move your hips to get some friction.

‘‘are you ok?’‘Jean asked concerned as she saw your face  turn red as a tomato.

‘‘yeah im fine,dont worry about me Jean’‘you replied cearing your throat trying not to look suspicious

‘‘are you sure  sweetheart?~’‘he teased you,a small smirk started to appear at the corner of his mouth.

You bit your buttom lip trying to capture any monas that might escape from your lips as kaeya tried to readjust his position,his cock brushing off of your sweetspot.

‘‘wont bother you anymore,please take some rest’‘Jean said to you before getting up from her seat and walked towards the door,leaving the room.

Waiting for her to be far away from kaeya’s office,as you finally got to move,you started moving up and down his cock.Kaeya leaned back and spread his legs, you were able to use them to balance yourself

‘‘ang~,you are an impatient little thing arent you’‘‘he groan as you continued to bounce up and down chasing your orgasm.

‘‘fuck~kaeya~’‘you let out a low moan trying not to attact any attention from the guards

‘‘you are doing amazing sweetheart,let me help you a bit’‘he said holding your hips firmly fastening up your pace.

‘‘im close~’‘

With one last bounce,you felt your walls squeezed his cock practicly milking him as you finally achieved your long awaited climax.

🐋tartaglia/childe

🐋ajax is  a loyal lover

🐋he has discussed with you from the start that he wants to start a big family just like his and he would spoil them with his harbinger money 100%

🐋He doesnt want you to get involved with his work,since he doesnt want you to get hurt or even worst...get killed he cares so much about you it would absoloutly break him if something ever happened to you and wont stop blaming himself about not being able to protect you.

🐋Just like kazuha he brings you gift from the places he travels but th difference is that its expensive or exclusive jewelry he would find in nations

nsfw

🐋When it comes to fucking you,hes rough.This man thinks the bedroom is also a battlefield.Prepare to wake up the next morning with bruses and hickeys all over your body.

🐋Speaking of hickeys he will leave them to places that are visible such as your neck and/or collarbone to show who you belong to.He would also leave some hickeys in places only he can see like your inner things and chest.

🐋This man has a breeding kink,you cant tell me he doesnt.He want you to start a family together afterall and he will make sure to fill you up to the brim.

‘‘fuck your cunt is milking my cock’‘he groaned loudly as he fucked you mercilesly

your legs pressed at the either sides of your head as you laid back on his chest,with this position he was able to reach deeper than the previous ones.

‘‘Ah~Ajax~’‘you whimpered throwing your head back on his shoulder

‘‘fuck im close, i w-want you to take to take every ast bit of my cum ~’‘he breathed out not stopping his brutal pace.

‘‘Ah~,YES YES!’‘you screamed,holding onto the bedsheets for dear life as you feel your eyes rolling at the back of your head.Both of you reaching your climax,you could feel his seed insideyou filling you up

‘‘i wont pull out until i know you are full’‘

[ahaura]

(Dec. 11) [Article] by Asem al-Nabih

Article title:

Speak up! We owe it to Refaat

Article text:

What can you say about someone like Refaat Alareer?

I’ve known Refaat since I was 10. I am now 33.

To describe him as a genius is an understatement. He was a source of many ideas. He was so humane.

Over the past days and weeks, he and I would walk every day. He always looked everywhere for inspiration. He looked at everything.

Anyone who knew Refaat, knows that he was a very solid man. Steadfast in unimaginable ways.

The day before he was killed he surprised me by telling me he felt tired.

“I’m tired of carrying water. I’m tired. I am responsible for 50 people.”

Refaat’s assassination is not just a loss to one family, it is a loss to us all. He was responsible for so many people, who sought him out for his wisdom and his ability to care.

We lost someone who was a voice of Gaza, who could convey the reality in Gaza.

He could have lived anywhere in the world. He didn’t have to stay in Gaza. He had the education and experience to work anywhere. He could have lived his best life somewhere else.

But he refused.

When I was out of the country earlier in the year, I remember telling him that I could get better job opportunities abroad.

He just said: “Or, you could come back here. You could do something here.”

So talk about Refaat. Write about him.

The last thing he said was that if he came out of this war alive, he wanted to concentrate on being a storyteller, he wanted to vent, let things out. That if God kept him alive, he would want to focus all his life to tell the stories of his people and their experiences and feelings.

Every day he and I would walk. We would go out to this or that area in search of eSIM cards or phone reception. You would find him climbing on top of high walls, lifting his arm up to get reception, putting himself in danger, just to convey a message.

He used to speak up.

Now we’re saying, speak about him. Because Refaat deserves this.

We all know about him because he used to speak about Gaza. All of Gaza needs to talk about him. The whole world needs to talk about him.

Speak up

I saw him after they bombed his house back in 2014. I saw how he went straight for the room where he used to keep all his students’ poems and stories.

They were all burned and scattered on the floor, and he would pick through the rubble to salvage what he could as if he was gathering treasure.

To him these stories and poems were the most precious memories of his beloved students. And he truly loved his students.

If you meet his students, they will tell you the same thing, that he loved them.

May God have mercy on him.

Palestine deserves that you speak about him. I personally don’t ask anything of the world because we’ve given up on the world. Gaza will speak for itself, we don’t need anyone’s help, because with God’s help, we are more than capable of saving ourselves.

But I do ask Refaat’s students and those he taught to write about him, because we are the ones who truly knew him for who he was.

The day before Refaat was killed, he and I saw a group of displaced people playing football at the Yarmouk football grounds in the afternoon. He wanted to take photos with the smoke of recent missile strikes rising in the background.

“I swear, the people of Gaza are hardheaded,” he told me. “The people of Gaza are hardheaded.”

He said it like an artist appreciating his work. Like he felt these people.

When he walked down the streets, he would advise random people, telling them where to go, where to be safe.

He never gossiped. He only spoke about what he saw with his own eyes.

And he saw a lot. That was why he would walk 25,000 steps a day.

One day, he found a dark, cold space somewhere. It had no light, no comforts, nothing. But it did have an internet connection. So he stopped. He wrote. He spoke out about what was happening.

That’s what he did.

Our people have been displaced so many times. Refaat and I went to visit the mayor of Gaza one day. He was stuck in the old city. The mayor and his family have been displaced three times. He has lost his son.

We’ve all been displaced so many times. My own family has been displaced four or five times since the Nakba. I have no friends left. I have no home.

But we bear it with dignity and honor. What has happened to us, has not happened to any other nation.

We remain dignified.

And none more so than Refaat. As we in Gaza have come to equate life with death, as we have come to feel that nothing matters any more, we must remember that Refaat always walked and talked.

His was a mission to tell the story of Gaza and its people. We honor Refaat by continuing that mission.

Speak up.

Asem al-Nabih is a friend of Refaat Alareer and one of the last people to see him alive.

[ninadove]

fav french media? (films, books, shows, games etc)

OH I LOVE THIS QUESTION THANK YOU SO MUCH 💖

I’m sure I’ll forget a lot of things and smack my own forehead in shame afterwards, but this is what comes to mind right away:

Literature:

Anything ever written by Victor Hugo is a masterpiece. This dude was a terrible human being, but he sure knew how to write, and he contributed to major changes in the social conscience of his contemporaries on many important topics (including but not limited to the death penalty and child labour). To give you a taste, here is my favourite poem ever, which he wrote, because of course he did.

My favourite piece of literature across all categories, though, is and forever will be Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand — the story of a man who convinced himself his unusually long nose makes him monstruous. The concept sounds so silly, I know, but this play is a masterpiece and a wonderful love letter to the French language.

Which brings me to my favourite comic series: De Cape et de Crocs by Alain Ayroles and Jean-Luc Masbou! Basically a twelve-volume-long fix-it fic, disguised as a tribute to French literature. Also, a beautiful bromance.

Visual arts:

Basically everyone in France can quote at least one line from Kaamelott, a comedic (?) series derived from the Arthurian legend. It is so well researched and hilarious — until it isn’t.

I’m sure there’s like, a very obvious movie choice that will come back to me in a minute, but I was raised on Disney and Scooby-Doo, so these are clogging my brain at the moment. Just give it time.

When I was very young, I would watch TV at my grandparents’ and enjoy Les Hydronautes, an animated series about an extraterrestrial explorer documenting the Earth’s marine wildlife in an effort to learn how to better protect her own planet (Aka There Are Many Benefits To Being A Marine Biologist: The Series), as well as C’est pas sorcier, a series of very fun documentaries on a plethora of subjects, from lavender farming to volcanic eruptions.

Obviously, Miraculous gets a place on the list too! 🐞🐈‍⬛

EDIT BECAUSE I FORGOT: Fantomette the animated series! This show is single-handedly responsible for my taste for smart women with amazing hair who ride motorbikes and kick ass. It even had Egytpology as a key part of the plot.

Music:

For me Formidable by Charles Aznavour is a classic, a very cute song, and a great place to start if you want to learn French!

A few other favourites include Fanny Ardant et moi by Vincent Delerm, Le Dîner by Bénabar (extremely funny to listen to while thinking about the Diamonds’ Dance) and J’ai cherché by Amir (This one is… Borderline when it comes to grammar, but cute enough that I grin and bear it. Also, it got us an honourable ranking at the Eurovision a while back, which is rare enough to be celebrated).

ALSO. I complain too much about bad translations and poor writing (see previous bullet point) not to show you kids how it’s done with Je vole from Aladdin (a genius play on words which delves into the two significations of the verb “voler”: to fly or to steal).

Video games:

Long ago, before I discovered the wonderful world of Nintendo, I would wait patiently every month for the new issue of Toboclic. This game had everything: cute animal mascots, stories, mini-games, arts-and-crafts suggestions, catchy songs, interactive documentaries… I’m sure my parents still have the CDs somewhere, but they probably don’t run anymore, which is a shame. I miss my friends.

Thank you so much for the ask, this was so fun to write!

@dragongutsixofficial please do this too so we can compare notes! 👀💖