#if i fell through the floor i would keep falling / the enormity of my desire disgusts me

[haleyincarnate]

Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it--living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

Richard Siken, War of the Foxes; "Birds Hover the Trampled Field"

[luciuscodedswedeboy]

I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it— living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

— Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

[thealogie]

what do you think it was actually going on in aziraphale's mind when he touched his lips after crowley kissed him?

I think he’s thinking…my inner life is a sheet of black glass. if I fell through the floor I would keep falling. the enormity of my desire disgusts me.

[greekhistoryas1]

I followed them pretending they were me because they were. I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myself sleep. Something’s not right about what I‘m doing but I‘m still doing it - living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If i fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

Richard Siken, from War of the Foxes; ”Birds hover the trampled field“

[swifty-fox]

priest gale makes me crazy i wanna put him in a jar and then dissect him like a bug.

no but seriously he is so fascinating to me, his internal debate between allowing himself pleasure and letting the desire fester, ooh i wanna gnaw on him

John Ghostwrote this.

AS PER USUAL.... Little Beasts is inspired by Richard Siken and his absolutely amazing ability to write the violence of desire.

“I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.”

(this quote has stuck w me for yearrrrrrs)

I love the play between our baseline desires vs. societal pressure and expectations or in Gale's case, a fear of intensity of emotion. He comes from an abused background, strong emotions were something to be feared for a NUMBER of reasons and so he's spent so long repressing his he doesn't know how to handle the way John is able to bring them all to the surface. Nobody prepared him for this okay.

Some John observations in the sequel:

It’s a thrill. To hear Gale ask for what he wants, to know John is peeling back the layers of repression, at least a bit, to reach the hungry creature beneath.

*

There was a hungry desperation to Gale that felt so achingly familiar. Perhaps not a mirror but at the very least a twin to the own ravenous shadows of him.

*

He’d seen it, the way Gale's eyes glazed as he recited his hymns, the way his eyes would flick to the door of the church during mass when he thought nobody was looking. John wondered if he thought about making a mad break for it, or wouldn’t even let his imagination get that far. A rabbit in a trap that it had turned into its home.

*

There’s defiance in every line of him as if he hadn’t just invited John into the chicken coop.

*

 Gale’s stubborn refusal to give a single inch of ground, even when it would only encourage John to keep pushing. Maybe that was the point, a plausible deniability to his actions that kept Gale thinking he was the poor virginal princess beset by a wolf.

*

He wasn’t sure if the blonde even noticed the way he came alive at John’s pigtail pulling; the way his lips parted and he turned to face him full on. A boxer squaring up for the match. He wanted John to throw the punch, just to give him an excuse to hit back.

John sees Gale and Gale doesn't like it and he also LOVES it and he's got a lot of complex feelings about it.

one more Siken quote for good measure

You know how to ride a dirt bike, and you know how to do long division, and you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn't do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn't matter anymore.” -Richard Siken

[umnitsa]

I think the Drabble “I just got out of the shower, I can’t dance. What if my towel falls off?” Is perfect for a story with alexei

There we go. So, I must admit I agree completely, and it goes hand in hand with my headcanon that Alexei loves music. I feel like I went overboard with cute on this one, but it wouldn't leave my head, and I hope you like it! (oh, I like Russian music, but I don't actually speak Russian, so... Translations are Google Translate provided, and I am sorry <3 I just wanted to shove two of my favorites in the fanfic.) ****

You knew Alexei had spent a long time locked away. He didn’t talk about it, preferring to talk about earlier memories from when he considered himself a hero. But you knew.

He spent hours trolling through youtube, listening to music, trying to catch up with the times or at least cover the gap in his knowledge. He was curious.

And suddenly, he had a playlist. Playlists. Plural.

He would just start playing one of them when he got in a certain mood. And the music would be a tiny window, a glimpse through his gruff exterior, into his soul.

He was in the shower, humming happily, music drifting through the speakers in the house. It was Russian, with a deep melodic voice following a catchy bop and an orchestra that made you smile. It sounded like something from the seventies, the marked cadences and brass sections making your hips move side to side.

You could hear Alexei reciting the song, keeping the rhythm, conscious he couldn’t sing to save his life. So he wouldn’t sing. Instead, it became a tiny performance, Alexei acting out the song, his voice booming as he marched around, hands out. The shower stopped, and you could hear him moving. His noises seemed to be in rhythm with the song.

As you expected, his voice started getting louder, and you moved to face the bathroom door. He was beautiful when he looked happy.

Alexei opened the door; his voice was thunderous as he recited the lyrics. His hand was closed over his heart, and he faced the floor, his face contorted in sadness. He opened his eyes, then frowned, looking at you, his acting disappearing suddenly.

“I just got out of the shower; I can’t dance.” He said, pointing at your hips. You realized you were still unconsciously dancing, which made you giggle.

“I’m sorry, it sounds… fun. I can’t help.”

“It is a sad song, you know? It’s a farewell song.” He moved close to you, towel wrapped around his waist, and leaned against the wall. He frowned, trying to find the best words. “Goodbye, and don't promise anything, don't say anything. To understand my sadness, look into the empty sky.”

“But the tune…”

“Yeah, the sadness… It’s in the voice.” Alexei scratched his belly. You started dancing again, amused. He chuckled, and you raised your eyebrows at him in a challenge. “Can’t dance.”

“Why not?”

“What if my towel falls off?” He looks down, chuckling, patting his thigh. You noticed how the enormous towel still looked tiny around him, showing some of his meaty thighs. Unconsciously, you stretched your back, desire pooling in your lower belly.

You sighed, considering what could go wrong if his towel fell off and it downed on you; you couldn’t find one thing.

The song ended, being substituted by some progressive rock, a soulful guitar intro leading to a soft nasal voice.

“This one is about an astronaut missing home. Enough is enough.” Alexei chuckled and moved to the mobile phone. The playlist shifted into a funky groove carried by a deep bass; the guitar sounded almost like part of the percussion. “Bedroom.”

You quickly moved to the bedroom, the soundtrack filling you with this strange sense of familiarity. Throwing yourself into the bed, you turned right in time to see Alexei at the door, tugging on the towel, then carelessly discarding it on the floor. He smiled, slowly moving in your direction.

“This rhythm I can dance to. They call it Porn Groove.”

[neuromantis]

"I wanted to explain

myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave

shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my

velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not

right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-

living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life

is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor

I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire

disgusts me."

- Richard Siken. Birds Hover Over The Trampled Field.

You may call me Nada. Nameless if you are feeling fancy.

[vsxct1]

I wanted to explain myself to myself in an

understandable way. I gave shape to my

fears and made excuses. I varied my

velocities, watched myselves sleep.

Something's not right about what I'm doing

but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst

parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet

of black glass. If I fell through the floor I

would keep falling.

The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

— Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

[nobodyssoldier]

i. a web weaving

I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it — living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

ii. digging deeper

name: altan server polat

age: 25

former house: slytherin

blood status: halfblood

face claim: enes kocak (ask for alternatives)

allegiance: the knights of the round table

gender & pronouns: utp

special notes: altan server polat's canon name is albus severus potter. it has been changed to better reflect his face claim's ethnicity.

you are your father's son; a legacy carved from shadow and grief. you did not inherit his legend, but you inherited his ghosts. where darkness was thrust upon him, yours lived within. golden heroism passed you by, leaving still deeper wounds in its wake; you have his worst parts: his sullen silences, his sharp-edged snark, his loneliness. anxiety and depression envelop you like a hallowed cloak. a second skin of spectres weighs heavy on your shoulders — invisible to others, but insistent nonetheless.

your siblings burn bright with fire and nerve, but you're spun from secrets, midnight thoughts, and careful steps. there's power in being overlooked. your talents lie not on the battlefield but in guile and strategy. you’ve learned to craft your words into weapons. arrogant wit your shield, irreverent sarcasm your sword. each cutting remark is a carefully crafted potion, precise and potent. your magic mirrors your nature. it's thoughtful, moving like water rather than fire. it seeps into cracks, seeking out the path of least resistance. you excel at the subtle arts. you're drawn to the darkness not out of any nefarious intent, but out of curiosity. you want to understand and perhaps, in doing so, to understand yourself.

your perfectionism is a heavy burden. behind every raised eyebrow and drawled correction lies a childish need to prove your worth — to show that you belong in this family, even if you've chosen a different path. you preferred dungeons over towers, green over scarlet, cunning over glory. and wasn't that bravery? beneath these carefully constructed walls beats a fiercely loyal heart, though few ever earn the right to bear witness to it. to the world you are an oddity, a wolf amongst sheep, but those sheep know how well how gentle your claws can become in the softer moments.

sometimes you stand at his grave and wonder if he would understand the son he left behind — this child who has found a home in the grey spaces. in the tapestry of your family, you're the thread that murmurs rather than shouts. you don't quite match the pattern. you carry the names of two headmasters and the weight of their contradictions, and you've embraced them as you have embraced yourself. neither light nor dark, neither hero nor villain. you're something far interesting; someone who chose his own path. you don't want to be the chosen one — but you're still choosing who you are, even when that person doesn't fit the mold everyone expected. you are your father's son but not his reflection and never his echo. and now, you must live with the choices you've made, even if you sometimes wish you could take them back.

iii. connections

one. JAN SIRAC POLAT & LILA LUNARA POLAT , siblings — remember that game you always played with mom when we were little: would you still love me if? would you still love me if i smacked go? would you still love me if i robbed a bank? would you still love me if i killed someone?' i said nothing. my breath was coming too fast. i would still love you,' go said.

two. SCORPIUS MALFOY , best friend & soulmate — but do you feel held by him? does he feel like a home to you?

three. HARUN POLAT , father — and my father's face changed. it became terribly old and at the same time absolutely, helplessly young. i remember being absolutely astonished, at the still, cold center of the storm which was occurring in me, to realize that my father had been suffering, was suffering still.

four. ORESTES LESTRANGE , one-night-stand — - do you have any weapons on you? - i have a longing that's killing me.

[wannafeelnew]

Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

—Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

[girlgen1us]

something's not right about what i’m doing but i’m still doing it living in the worst parts ruining myself my inner life is a sheet of black glass if i fell through the floor i would keep falling the enormity of my desire disgusts me

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

"if i fell through the floor i would keep falling (the enormity of my desire disgusts me)" made me wanna die ohhh it's been such a long time since a fic made me feel this type of way. "are you happy?" my reaction was genuinely the same as geto this reader is so freaking sweet?? geto's will is strong af cus I would've been WEAK in the knees like I would cry if someone greets me this warmly after I mass murder a village 🤧 the reader's motto is probably sum "kill them with kindness"

anyway I will be holding this fic very dear to my heart for the upcoming days. I'm honestly your fan now like I genuinely think you have a gift for writing cus the feelings I experienced while reading that is so difficult to describe like holy fuck. would it be rude to ask a part 2 with these two 😞 I can't get enough of them and their relationship IT'S JUST SO WARM

ANON 😭😭😭😭 I LOVE YOU TYSM FOR THIS …. u have no idea how happy i got when i saw this in my inbox pshdhshd. i appreciate u sm for taking the time to write this out <33

and aaaa !!! that fic !!!! i forgot how long i made that title jesus christ. but im so so happy it resonated w u!! ☹️☹️ it was my first fic on this blog so im v fond of it

im so glad you liked the reader/character dynamic too!!! ur so real, i would also fall to my knees if i had someone like reader…. when i was coming up w the dynamic between the two i kinda wanted to make reader a foil to geto, in the sense that they value love above morals (while geto ultimately always ends up choosing morals)….. the irony is that both of them have a martyr complex LMAO

anyways enough ranting abt my own writing phdhdhs, just!!! tysm!!!??? knowing my fic made u feel something makes me so genuinely happy <33 and saying i have a gift for writing … sniffle . thats so kind of u to say .🥺🥺😥 im not sure if ill ever make a pt 2 bc i prefer to write standalone fics, but maybe someday!! im very fond of their dynamic too so at some point itd be nice to explore it more :3

[deerydear]

The Internet is so amazing.

People without faces.

Situations where I would typically find myself sympathetic to one party, I suddenly find myself removed and able to sympathize with the other party.

Is real life stifled by my own reaction to human pleasantries?

"Just agree with people so they feel comforted."

but we, as people, do need comfort. We do need bonds. Intellectualism without Heart is empty, meaningless blather.

but Heart without any Intellectual ignition.... it becomes like a stagnant mire that clings to whatsoever it can get a grasp on. --- Like a child that doesn't want to grow up. --- Like a mother that won't let her child go out into the world, to discover for themself.

We must all grow up.

The patient must survive the cure -- otherwise what is the point of being a doctor?

Do you just like cutting people up to look inside of them?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You cut up a thing that's alive and beautiful to find out how it's alive and why it's beautiful, and before you know it, it's neither of those things, and you're standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it."

--Clive Barker

Birds Hover the Trampled Field

I saw them hiding in the yellow field, crouching low in the vanished dark. I followed them pretending they were me because they were. I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it-- living in the worst parts, ruining myself. My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me. I kissed my mouth, it was no longer a mouth. I threw a spear at my head, I didn't have a head. Fox. At the throat of. The territory is more complex that I supposed. What does a body of knowledge look like? A body, any body. Look away but I'm still there. Birds flying but I'm still there, lurk there. Not just one of me but multitudes in the hayfield. Want someone to chase you? Run. Take a body, dump it, drive. Take a body, maybe your own, and dump it gently. All your dead, unfinished selves and dump them gently. Take only what you need. The machine of the world--if you don't grab on, you begin to tremble. And if you do grab on, then everything trembles. I spent my lamp and cleft my head. Deep-wounded mind, I wasn't doing anything with it anyway. And the birds looking for a place to land. I would like to say something about grace, and the brown corduroy thrift store coat I bought for eight-fifty when you told me my paintings were empty. Never finish a war without starting another. I've seen your true face: the back of your head. If you were walking away, keep walking.

[redbotanicalgarden]

I wanted to explain myself to myself in an understandable way. I gave shape to my fears and made excuses. I varied my velocities, watched myselves sleep. Something's not right about what I'm doing but I'm still doing it--My inner life is a sheet of black glass. If I fell through the floor I would keep falling. The enormity of my desire disgusts me.

Richard Siken, War of the Foxes

[adenial-a]

how are you ruined? 

ruined by loneliness

you are so lonely. you are miserable in your solitude. you hate that you cannot bring yourself to reach out, to ask for help. you will be forgotten by all who never knew you. your biggest fear is that you will die alone, and you know this fear will be seen to fruition. you refuse to extend yourself beyond the box that others put you in. and it is a box that no one dare come near. you are lonely because you are afraid of yourself.  

[rabbitcrimes]

My life is very simple: I enter a fandom and then wheedle for angsty Richard Siken edits