#literary presentation of woman

[weed-cat]

kinda cringe to shit on self dxed people unprompted

how dare you say I piss on the poor

[creature-wizard]

Scams, Hoaxes, Conspiracy Theories, & Cults Everyone Should Know About

Jilly Juice: Jillian Mai Thi Epperly claimed drinking sixteen cups of her super salty cabbage concoction each day could regrow missing limbs and cure everything from cancer to homosexuality. In reality, overdosing on so much salt caused followers a host of health issues that Epperley dismissed as "healing symptoms."

Nonhuman Body Hoax: Jaime Maussan attempted to pass off mummified human remains as nonhuman beings to the Mexican government. (This isn't even Maussan's first hoax, by the way. He has a history.)

Love Has Won: Amy Carlson, a woman who'd walked out on her own children, started a New Age cult in which she presented herself as "Mother God," the creator of the universe. She claimed to be in contact with dead celebrities and alien beings, and taught a conspiratorial worldview. As her health declined, she attempted to treat herself with colloidal silver and alcohol, and her behavior became increasingly abusive. When she finally died, her followers sincerely believed she would return to life and kept her body in a sleeping bag. (She did not return to life.)

Seed Faith Offerings: Reverend Gene Ewing came up with the perfect get-rich-quick scheme to prey on desperate Christian believers: tell believers that if they "sowed seed" by giving money to him, God would bless them with even more money in the future. He made millions of dollars from these donations, while most of his followers never saw the miraculous returns they were promised.

William Walker Atkinson: In the early 20th century, William Walker Atkinson wrote around one hundred books, many of which he wrote under various pseudonyms. Some of these pseudonyms included alleged Hindu mystics. That's right - this guy was practicing literary brownface to sell his mystical ideas.

The LDS Church: In the 19th century, a man named Joseph Smith claimed that an angel had told him where to dig up a set of golden plates that were supposedly written by ancient Hebrews who'd come to North America. Smith even had eleven close associates who vouched for the plates' existence. Yet the script they were allegedly written in bore no relation to actual ancient scripts of the Near East, and the the names the locations in the books he "translated" were very obviously derived from placenames he would have been familiar with. (For example, Oneida/Onidah.) Oh, and actual archaeology and DNA studies have discredited pretty much everything from this guy's weird racist narrative.

Fake Cancer, Fake Cure: Wellness entrepreneur Belle Gibson claimed that she'd cured her brain cancer with natural remedies. Gibson never actually had cancer in the first place.

Medbeds: Back in 2020, QAnons and QAnon-adjacent people started circulating claims that a new form of healing technology was about to become available to the public within the next several months or so. Depending on who you asked, Donald Trump, Elon Musk, and even the Galactic Federation of Light were involved. The time of their supposed unveiling came and went, and what do you know, there are still no functioning medbeds used in actual medicine.

COVID Vaccine Zombies: Conspiracy theorists have been claiming the government practices high-tech mind control for ages now. One recent iteration of this is a conspiracy theory claiming that people who'd received COVID vaccinations would have malicious DNA code activated by 5G on October 4, 2023, turn into zombies, and riot. The time came and went, and no zombie outbreak happened.

Ms.Scribe: In the early 2000s, a Harry Potter fan known as "msscribe" or "Ms.Scribe" faked her own harassment through a number of sockpuppets, with the apparent goal of becoming friends with some Harry Potter fandom bigwigs. She manipulated the fandom for a few years until the deception was finally uncovered.

[pinkinsect]

??

watching a clockwork orange. will report back

[wonder-worker]

A central element of the myth of [Eleanor of Aquitaine] is that of her exceptionalism. Historians and Eleanor biographers have tended to take literally Richard of Devizes’s conventional panegyric of her as ‘an incomparable woman’ [and] a woman out of her time. […] Amazement at Eleanor’s power and independence is born from a presentism that assumes generally that the Middle Ages were a backward age, and specifically that medieval women were all downtrodden and marginalized. Eleanor’s career can, from such a perspective, only be explained by assuming that she was an exception who rose by sheer force of personality above the restrictions placed upon twelfth-century women.

-Michael R. Evans, Inventing Eleanor: The Medieval and Post-Medieval Image of Eleanor of Aquitaine

"...The idea of Eleanor’s exceptionalism rests on an assumption that women of her age were powerless. On the contrary, in Western Europe before the twelfth century there were ‘no really effective barriers to the capacity of women to exercise power; they appear as military leaders, judges, castellans, controllers of property’. […] In an important article published in 1992, Jane Martindale sought to locate Eleanor in context, stripping away much of the conjecture that had grown up around her, and returning to primary sources, including her charters. Martindale also demonstrated how Eleanor was not out of the ordinary for a twelfth-century queen either in the extent of her power or in the criticisms levelled against her.

If we look at Eleanor’s predecessors as Anglo-Norman queens of England, we find many examples of women wielding political power. Matilda of Flanders (wife of William the Conqueror) acted as regent in Normandy during his frequent absences in England following the Conquest, and [the first wife of Henry I, Matilda of Scotland, played some role in governing England during her husband's absences], while during the civil war of Stephen’s reign Matilda of Boulogne led the fight for a time on behalf of her royal husband, who had been captured by the forces of the empress. And if we wish to seek a rebel woman, we need look no further than Juliana, illegitimate daughter of Henry I, who attempted to assassinate him with a crossbow, or Adèle of Champagne, the third wife of Louis VII, who ‘[a]t the moment when Henry II held Eleanor of Aquitaine in jail for her revolt … led a revolt with her brothers against her son, Philip II'.

Eleanor is, therefore, less the exception than the rule – albeit an extreme example of that rule. This can be illustrated by comparing her with a twelfth century woman who has attracted less literary and historical attention. Adela of Blois died in 1137, the year of Eleanor’s marriage to Louis VII. […] The chronicle and charter evidence reveals Adela to have ‘legitimately exercised the powers of comital lordship’ in the domains of Blois-Champagne, both in consort with her husband and alone during his absence on crusade and after his death. […] There was, however, nothing atypical about the nature of Adela’s power. In the words of her biographer Kimberley LoPrete, ‘while the extent of Adela’s powers and the political impact of her actions were exceptional for a woman of her day (and indeed for most men), the sources of her powers and the activities she engaged in were not fundamentally different from those of other women of lordly rank’. These words could equally apply to Eleanor; the extent of her power, as heiress to the richest lordship in France, wife of two kings and mother of two or three more, was remarkable, but the nature of her power was not exceptional. Other noble or royal women governed, arranged marriages and alliances, and were patrons of the church. Eleanor represents one end of a continuum, not an isolated outlier."

[thisischaostragic]

Gatsby: An American Myth is a brilliant literary adaptation. it asks: if we bring to the forefront many of the parts that are implied or hinted at in the text, how does that change how we view it?

if Nick and Jordan are undeniably queer, if Gatsby is actually white-passing and not white, if Myrtle and George’s briefly-possibly-alluded-to lost child is actually talked about, how much sharper does the book’s critique of the “lost” American dream get?

this musical refuses to let you ignore the nuances of these characters that were (more or less) *already present* in the book.

Daisy is absolutely a victim, but she is *also* a wealthy white woman who is willing to (literally) throw a working class woman under the bus (car) for her own safety, and who is willing to let a man of color face the consequences of her actions. Tom tricking George isn’t exclusively about getting rid of Gatsby, but also about a wealthy white man setting two marginalized characters against each other so that he doesn’t have to deal with them.

when we get to the end, when we meet Gatsby’s dad and learn that he’s Indigenous, when we contend with how disproportionately the violence impacts marginalized people, the conclusion is no longer that the American dream is lost or broken, but that it was a stolen thing to begin with.

I am sure there are political critiques I (or others) could / will make, but on first impression, I am blown away by how far it went with displaying the horror of the American machine.

[terastalungrad]

The really annoying thing about the "male-presenting Time Lord" line is that, if you remove the gender essentialism, it's very nearly brilliant.

Let's look at the scene:

DOCTOR We've still got to fix you two, because the metacrisis might have slowed down, but that thing is wrapped around your cortex.

DONNA Yes, we know.

ROSE We know everything, thanks.

DONNA And you know nothing. It's a shame you're not a woman any more, cos she'd have understood.

ROSE We've got all that power, but there is a way to get rid of it. Something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.

DONNA Just let it go.

ROSE And we choose to let it go.

SHAUN Like I said, mate. How lucky am I?

ROSE After all these years, I'm finally me.

... and let's work out what's happening.

Donna says "cos she'd have understood". Not, "cos you'd have understood". She's not saying the Fourteenth Doctor would understand if he was a woman. She's saying the Thirteenth Doctor would have understood.

Because - we know from Wild Blue Yonder and The Giggle - Donna saw the Thirteenth Doctor. And here, before letting go of the metacrisis, she remembers the Thirteenth Doctor. She can see the ways she was different from the Tenth/Fourteenth.

Donna's talking about letting it go. Letting the Doctor go. Allowing yourself to become what you're supposed to be.

The Tenth Doctor - Donna's Doctor - could never do that. His rage when he realises he's going to give his own life to save Wilf. And his dying words - "I don't want to go".

But the Thirteenth Doctor?

DOCTOR Oh, the blossomiest blossom. That's the only sad thing. I want to know what happens next. Right, then. Doctor Whoever-I'm-about-to-be. Tag, you're it.

She lets it go.

And in The Star Beast, moments before Donna and Rose let it go, the Thirteenth Doctor's regeneration was explicitly framed as a trans narrative. The Doctor is male, and female, and neither, and more.

And Rose's first words after letting go of the metacrisis? "After all these years, I'm finally me."

There's so much to love here. A literary connection between the Tenth and Thirteenth Doctors' deaths. Metacrisis as oppressive cisnormativity - without letting go, Rose can't be herself.

And it's so annoying that the final line as written is a crusty old bit of "tch, men just can't let things go, can they?" The episode gets so close to a wonderful scene that's simultaneously a love letter to the Doctor AND a really vibrant, exciting sci-fi trans story ... but at the last minute, it crashes back to earth. Caught in the mavity well of gender essentialism.

Anyway. Tell you what you should do, and that's listen to Doctor Who Redacted on BBC Sounds. A trans main character, a trans head writer. That's how you do it properly.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

As the latest round of Dracula Daily is about to begin, some reflections on last year’s Tumblr Book Club of it. Fair warning for new readers - this has spoilers for the book.

I’ve loved the novel of Dracula for years, so I was both excited to see how other people on tumblr reacted to it, and nervous that they wouldn’t like it. It was delightful to see people embrace the books amd the characters, and realize how different they were from common tropes and adaptations - and wonderful to see how enthusiastically they dove into context that I’d never thought about before, like the Aerated Bread Company.

One of the things that struck me the most, though, was the reaction to Lucy. I’d largely regarded her simply as a literary contrast to Mina - passive and valued for ‘purity’ and sweetness rather than active and valued for talents and abilities and achievements, the Victorian woman compared with the Edwardian one. And I’d expected tumblr to largely dismiss her as an image of sterotypical Victorian femininity. What I had not expected was for readers to enthusiastically embrace and rally round her and empathize powerfully with her as a sufferer from chronic illness - a characterization that is accurate, but that had never occurred to me in my frustrations with Victorian ideas of female frailty and the era-common trope of the ‘ill girl’. People’s empathy and frustration with Lucy “not wanting to be a burden”, anger as her sufferings went unseen, and satisfaction at Van Helsing’s statement that “not to be all well is an illness” (paraphrased) showed how strongly she’d connected with people who had experienced patronizing attitudes or disregard from the present-day medical community.

In summer of 2021, I’d acquired a chronic illness that left me feeling weak and very easily tired, which was a new and frightening experience to me; I was frightened of what things I wouldn’t be able to do, and frustrated with my inability to meet my previous standards, particularly in terms of my work. By May 2022 I was very much on the mend (I was fortunate to have a diagnosis and prescription process much faster and smoother than many other people with chronic illness), but seeing how people reacted to Lucy still affected me strongly. I’d loved Mina - intelligent, active, contributing Mina - since my first read of Dracula. I didn’t dislike Lucy, but I didn’t care much for her beyond her literary role as a contrast. Seeing tumblr fall in love with her in all her vulnerability helped me see her in a new way, to be more compassionate and empathetic to her - and in consequence, more compassionate towards myself in my own weakness. And I want to thank all the Dracula Daily readers for that.

[spacerockfloater]

hi! i noticed you learnt about what ryan condal said regarding blood and cheese. it was…something. i would like to know your thoughts on the matter. though it would be completely understandable if you need sometime to gather them together or if you would rather not at all! thank you and bye!

Hello beloved, thank you so much for asking me! I’d love to share my opinion!

If anyone’s wondering, @rhaenelle is referring to this interview where Ryan Condal essentially says he believes that Blood & Cheese’s brutality and heinousness was exaggerated by the Greens in a propagandistic attempt to convince their subjects that Rhaenyra and Daemon are the worst villains ever born, hence why he toned the event down; to show us what he thinks is the accurate version of Jaehaerys’ murder.

Now, I am aware that Condal had already warned us that HOTD was going to be a feminist retelling of the events of F&B, which practically means that his plan has always been to whitewash the everlasting fuck out of Rhaenyra. So what do I think about this?

Well, for starters, I think that Ryan Condal is an excellent businessman. He knows what kind of tropes are going to make the audience engage with his show. He understands that people need a hero to cheer for and a villain to hate, therefore he removed the moral ambiguity from all of the characters and divided them into two categories: the Blacks, enlightened revolutionaries full of passion, deserving of admiration and correct in everything they do, and the Greens, pious fools with a moral superiority complex who are stack in the ways of the past and commit despicable crimes. The average viewer does not possess the intelligence to comprehend that both parties have their good and bad moments, and that they’re both correct in fighting for what each believes is rightfully theirs. Simultaneously, he benefits from the modern trends that want women in media to take revenge when they are wronged and emerge as triumphant girlbosses, because of course a white upper class woman’s suffering in a western world (or Westeros) society has everything to do with her gender and nothing to do with her personality or decisions (even if this works solely for Rhaenyra, because Alicent seems to be held accountable for every single one of her actions). Finally, it is obvious that Condal is trying to appease disgruntled Daenerys fans, so he has rebuilt Rhaenyra into this tortured martyr that wishes to change the world for the better in an attempt to make her resemble her great granddaughter six times removed.

For all of these reasons, I find it very logical that he is going out of his way to minimise the tragedy the Greens experience. It just doesn’t make Rhaenyra look good and honestly, who wants that? The producers saw how unhappy Danny’s stans were when they made her lose her shit; they’re not going to make the same mistake twice. They don’t want their show to tank like the last season of GOT did, so they’ll do everything in their power to keep the audience happy. And it’s working! What’s the last thing Condal says in this clip? “You kinda start rooting for [Blood and Cheese]!” and boy oh boy, the TB stans sure do! Literally hundreds of memes that rejoiced at Jaehaerys’ death were posted on X this week, with tens of thousands of likes. But when Lucerys died, it was presented as the most foul thing to ever happen in the ASOIAF universe. It is the TB supporters that dictate which child murder is good and which is bad, and that decision usually depends on which child came out Rhaenyra’s womb, not let’s say, the fact that one kid was a toddler that could barely walk, while the other was a teenager that laughed at the disabled person he mutilated himself.

It’s all just marketing

That being said, I want to clarify that I understand why Condal and the HOTD producers do what they do, but being a good entrepreneur does not necessarily make you a literary genius. Now, I’m not gonna explain why stripping Rhaenyra off of every character trait that made her interesting is a bad decision and that in their attempt to remove the blame from her so that they can elevate her as this righteous patron of feminism, they’re accidentally removing all of her agency and turning her simply into a victim, because I have a whole blog dedicated to that. But let’s just say that presenting Rhaenyra as this sexually liberated idol that’s incapable of evil, when in fact she’s an entitled aristocrat who’s completely at the mercy of men around her, from her father to her husbuncle, is the most performative activism move ever pulled in recent TV history, as well as pushing the narrative that Alicent suffers from internalised misogyny because duh, a woman can only be good and a feminist if she supports Rhaenyra, not when she pursues her own interests.

Ultimately, I think we just have to accept that this show is not meant for TG fans. We are not going to find any satisfaction in it. Everything that was unique and admirable about the Greens in the book has vanished. Their family dynamic is fucked up, Alicent’s children hate her, Aegon and Halaena cannot stand one another, Alicent is constantly a victim and never someone that chases her own ambitions, Halaena is very vague, Aemond appears to be more angsty than angry, Aegon is a stupid rapist, Jaehaerys’ death was turned into a mockery, Alicole was weaponised in order to make us shit on Alicent and Criston even more and so on. This show barely caters to us because we’re not making them any money.

The reason that there are more TB than TG stans is because (I’m gonna get so much fucking hate for this) most people who watch TV are fucking morons. I swear, when F&B came out 6 years ago, no one gave a flying fuck about Rhaenyra, because we all understood that everyone involved in the Dance of the Dragons was fucked up in their own way and that the message of this story, just like the general message of ASOIAF, is that nobody deserves to sit on that fucking throne. We were all in agreement about that. But then this fucking show came along and all the oblivious simpletons that swallowed whatever the producers shoved down their throats, grabbed the book and decided that “Woah, this book is obviously a critique on patriarchy and Rhaenyra is obviously the victim of the story”! As if GRRM, the man who said that he doesn’t sit down and think “Oh, I’m going to write a woman now” but instead he believes women to be people just like men, with complex personalities, would ever do that. And they just can’t believe that it is possible for book!Rhaenyra to be an evil racist classist full of entitlement! Surely it must be because the Greens are rewriting history! There’s no way GRRM, the man that created Cersei fucking Lannister, would ever make a female character that’s vicious and crazy just because she feels like it! Y’all need to sit down for a moment. I say this as a radical feminist that supports the 4B movement: you’re projecting your own ideas onto George’s work. Not all the media we consume has to reflect our ideologies, but if you think that it has to, then this book isn’t the anti misogynistic masterpiece you wish it was.

Like, when it comes to F&B, I am firmly anti Targaryen and did not wish for any side to win. I wanted them all wiped out to be honest. But when it comes to HOTD, I’m TG basically out of spite at this point.

All in all, I just think that things are going to go downhill for us from this point on. They’ll just keep glorifying the Blacks until the very end.

[lucysarah-c]

Do you think that Canon Levi (While he is in the scouts, not post-war) would want a serious relationship or even a family? I love reading fanfictions about him falling in love with someone who is also on the scouts and even having a wife or kids, but he canonically is not a huge fan of marriages and Idk, maybe he doesn't like the idea of putting children in such a dangerous world, you know what I mean? What's your opinion? 

Hi, sweetheart! How are you? Ah, first of all, thank you for stopping by my inbox and asking for my opinion. I always get a little giggly when people ask for my thoughts on anything haha. I promise to do my best to reply to everything to the best of my abilities!

I agree with you to a certain degree, especially since you mentioned not "post-war Levi." I think post-war Levi is a completely different story, you know? This man sat down with two kids to tell them about his childhood and mother. Let's remember that Hange didn't even know about Kenny's existence during the Uprising Arc, which leads me to think that Levi didn't speak to anyone about his past before. Now he does? I mean, yes, it's a literary device—using characters completely alien to the idea to present a first-person POV of the character telling their past. I've used it myself in my main fic. But let's say that's not the case, and Levi is opening up like never before. He seems to be redoing his life and living happily after the war. I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to pursue a partner and kids for himself (if he wants, as kids and romantic relationships aren't necessary for happiness).

But Canon Scout Levi? Let me tell you, first of all, I don't think Levi really "believes" in marriage per se. I think he would treat his girlfriend as if she were his wife; he doesn't think of marriage much beyond "a tradition." Now, I do see him getting married if it would enhance the life or rights of his girlfriend. What do I mean by this? Let's say there's "social judgment" if his girlfriend is publicly in a relationship with him and "being with a man outside of wedlock" causes her social scrutiny—he may marry her. He knows firsthand how women are judged based on their "status" by his mother, so if he can step up and do the right thing, he will. For example, if he were to die and his partner couldn't land jobs because people judge that she's unmarried at her age, he would marry her. Or if she could get a pension from being married to a soldier, and every coin counts, Levi wouldn't mind it. That's what I personally think. Levi knows he won't be the one getting the sour end from not making it official, so he sees it as beneficial to make it legally official.

Then about kids, I don't see Levi "seeking" kids while he's in the Scouts. It's rather clear that Levi likes kids across the story, but he probably wants to give his kids the childhood he didn't have. And yeah, "kids only need someone who loves them, etc.," but the truth is kids need time, dedication, and MONEY. Three things that Scout Levi doesn't have lmao. So I don't see him canonically "seeking to become a dad." If there's contraception in Paradis, he's for sure using it. If there isn't, or accidents happen, and his girlfriend ends up pregnant, he would probably state that it's not the best timing for kids (especially if she's a Scout, as I doubt a woman would be allowed to be a soldier and also raise a kid. She would lose her job and stay behind to be a mother, which was usually the case back in the day). But if she decides to carry on, Levi, being an adult doing adult stuff, will take responsibility and be the best father he can given the circumstances.

Finally, about relationships… I'm a firm believer that you don't truly choose to fall in love or not haha. Like when it happens, it happens, like the cat distribution system lol. Once it knocks at your door, it's your time. Once again, I don't picture Levi going out of his way "searching" for romance. But if he slowly gets to know someone and likes them, and that person likes him back, then well… I don't know. Now that I'm rereading the manga, I'm more sure about this. Levi hardly seems "unapproachable," like "I'm so hurt, I don't want to let anyone in." On the contrary, you see he has good relationships with almost all the Scouts, even telling Nifa about Kenny out of nowhere. He's not one to fall easily, but if it happens, it happens.

I hope this was a good enough answer <3 Thank you so much for your ask.

Have a lovely day!

Stay safe!

[txttletale]

is there any more reliable fact behind what people some trans people say about like cults of cybele

yes! the galli, their practice of self-castration, and their feminine dress and presentation are very well attested by many sources: among them catullus, ovid, varro, livy, and polybius, off the top of my head.

of course, we have no actual accounts from the galli themselves: we can only speculate as to what their subjectivity wrt gender might have been, let alone to the myriad different relationships any individual gallus might have had. however, we can at least know that their presentation was feminine by choice: there is archeological attestation for honorific monuments and art depicting galli in feminine dress, often commissioned by galli themselves, and for them being buried in it. so unlike elagabalus, who in his commissioned statues and coins is always depicted purely masculinely we do have some definitinve information about how the galli at least purposefully presented themselves to the world.

attitudes to them shift throughout Roman history and from source to source, from mild curiosity, to contempt, to violent hatred--we don't, unfortunately, have a lot of writing about the galli in and of themselves--many of their mentions are cautionary tales, a 'what not to do' guide for aristocratic roman men seeking to avoid effeminacy or gender deviance. different authors describe them in different ways: varro calls them 'half-men' (semiviri), while catullus' attis says 'ego mulier' (i, a woman) but also 'ego epherbus, ego puer' (i, a young man and a boy) in her lament over the loss of access to the world of manhood her devotion has resulted in.

but yeah, there is absolutely a gigantic body of evidence for the existence of the itinerant priesthood of cybele being a known and constant part of Roman life, for their having flouted gender roles, practiced self-castration, and adopted feminine presentation, clothing, and appearances of their own accord. take from this what you will! i certainly think that in the project of attempting to locate transfemininity throughout history, it is certainly a more fruitful and worthy ground than the lurid tales of elagabalus and his Big Dick Surveillance Squad.

some recommended reading if you're curious:

“Fabulous Clap-Trap”: Roman Masculinity, the Cult of Magna Mater, and Literary Constructions of the galli at Rome from the Late Republic to Late Antiquity, Jacob Latham

Transgendered Archeology: the Galli and the Catterick Transvestite, Renato Pinto & Gretel Luciano

Looking for eunuchs: the galli and Attis in Roman art, Shelley Hales (in Eunuchs in Antiquity and Beyond, ed. Shaun Tougher)

[saigethearies]

saige’s terrortober presents…

offering

unbeknownst to you, zeke has chosen you to be his cult’s next virgin sacrifice. a pining eren knows exactly what he needs to do to save you.

cultist!eren jaeger x fem!reader

contents/warnings: mentions of murder, vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, praise, corruption kink, breeding, protective and possessive eren, mentions of ‘purity’

wc: 2k

18+ MINORS DNI

eren felt as if time had frozen around him when the name of the chosen sacrifice tumbled from zeke’s lips.

your name.

you, the kind girl from his english lecture.

you, who gives him a pencil when he forgets his own.

you, who explains assignments to him with patient words.

you, who shares whatever snack you’ve brought without hesitation.

you, with your soft smile and sweet laugh, who was going to be cut to death on the altar zeke stood behind this upcoming equinox.

“she’s a virgin?” floch’s grimy voice pulled eren back to reality, and it took every ounce of the self-control that already came scarce to him to refrain from knocking the ginger’s teeth in. “could have had me fooled, way too pretty for her cherry not to be popped.”

zeke chuckled at floch’s remark. “my source is never wrong, she’s completely pure. she probably will be our cutest offer yet, though.”

they were gonna kill you, he was supposed to kill you. eren thinks about you when he falls asleep, when he wakes up, and all the hours in between. his little crush that’s been festering since the beginning of the semester would come to a thrilling conclusion when he hands his brother the dagger.

he couldn’t let it happen.

to hell with the brotherhood, he wouldn’t let them take you away from him.

eren knew the sacrifice always had to be a virgin, that was the one golden rule since the founders first drew blood centuries ago.

ascending up the hidden catacomb’s stairs after zeke adjourned the meeting, eren already had his plan mapped out- he just couldn’t tell if he was thinking more with his brain or his dick.

it was time for him to make you unqualified.

____

“thanks for offering to tutor me, i really need it,” eren said with a smile, opening the door to his room.

“it’s no problem! i needed something to do this afternoon, anyways!”

you had that smile on your face again, a little twinkle in your eye as you looked up at him. damn, you were so beautiful. he hoped he could pull this off.

within a few minutes, the two of you were sitting on his bed, you holding a textbook open in your lap as you pointed to different literary techniques. eren’s gaze kept drifting off of the pages and onto the exposed skin of your legs, little skirt you were wearing riding up as you sat.

you trailed off in your description of a motif when you felt a warm hand on your thigh. blinking, you turned to see eren’s face extremely close.

“...is everything okay?” you asked slowly, face heating up. men were never in your personal space like this, much less one as attractive as eren. the proximity was causing you to become flustered.

you tried to stand, get some distance between the two of you, only to trip and land right on eren’s lap. your startled eyes met his shining sea green ones, and the urge to kiss him surged through you.

eren knew he was about to have you right where he wanted, having enough past flings to know the tells of a woman. he just needed to give you one more little push, one more and then he can put his plan into motion.

bringing a hand to cup your cheek, he spoke to you softly. “can i kiss you?”

“i…”

“we don’t have to do anything if you’re uncomfortable,” he said, stroking your face tenderly as if your life wasn’t currently hanging in the balance.

eren’s care felt genuine to you and your eyelids fluttered shut, leaning your lips up to meet his. the kiss was careful, eren gently applying pressure as if he didn’t want to do too much and scare you away.

you felt a shiver run down your spine when his tongue slid into your mouth, trying not to make your lack of experience obvious as he explored the wet cavern.

a hand going under your skirt, however, had you jolting. grabbing eren’s wrist before he could go further, you broke away from his lips with a pant. “wait!”

“what is it?” he asked, already knowing full well what the answer would be.

“i’ve never…you know…” you trailed off, and something about the look on his face told you that he understood perfectly.

“do you want to?”

please say yes, say yes so he can protect you.

you bit your lip, unsure. you knew nothing about sex, and the unknown was always nerve wracking to you. on the other hand, you had this nice, handsome guy that you were already acquainted with offering to take your virginity.

not many girls get this type of opportunity…

you nodded. “yeah, can we please just go slow?”

“of course, princess, we can go as slow as you want.”

it didn’t matter how you wanted it, all that mattered was that eren’s cock got to split your virgin cunt open.

his fingers resumed their trek up your inner thigh, tracing the outline of your panties.

“i’m gonna prep you first, okay, baby? make it hurt less.”

“okay,” you replied, breath hitching when you felt eren’s thumb slide into your underwear, immediately going to rub circles into your sensitive nub.

the stimulation had you jerking instantly, not familiar with the pleasure that was being inflicted on you.

“oh-oh!”

“that feel good?” he asked, sliding a finger into your pussy that was growing slicker by the second.

“mhm.”

this felt so much different than from when you’d play with yourself, not realizing how electrifying it was to have fingers between your folds that weren’t yours.

he added his index finger into your pussy, dark desire twisting his insides at how tightly you clamped on that one finger. starting to pump in and out slowly, eren cooed at you.

“relax, princess, ‘m gonna take care of you. you’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

you nodded at his words, not knowing the double meaning behind them. eren started to thrust his finger faster, rubbing against your bud with more intent. mewls left your lips at the sensation, humping his hand pathetically.

eren’s eyes were trained on you. the sight of you crumbling and succumbing to a man’s touch for the first time was breathtaking. the brunette was starting to think this could be love.

your thighs were quaking around his hand, slick dripping all over his lap. he relished in the mess, knowing that now you were probably loosened up enough.

“alright, pretty girl,” he kissed underneath your ear. “i think you’re ready for my cock.”

he gently maneuvered you off of his lap and onto his bed, lowering you down with so much care it made your throat feel tight. tugging your panties off before taking his own shirt off, he looked down at you.

“can you show me those pretty titties, princess?”

you blinked up at him dreamily, obeying his command as your shirt joined his on the floor. not even a second had passed after your bra fell from your shoulders when his large hands were cupping your breasts, squeezing at them in a way that had your eyes screwing shut.

“eren!”

he gave you a little kiss on your forehead as he leaned over you, palms leaving your chest as he grabbed a pillow to place under your hips. you took a deep breath, trying to settle your jittery nerves as you observed eren remove the rest of his clothing.

eren stopped you when you tried to take your skirt off.

“leave it.”

he pushed it out of the way, your glossy cunt appearing. the view of you completely naked with just your skirt bunched around your waist had eren’s mind shortcircuiting. he wanted to burn this image into his memory forever, and knowing he would be the first person to ever see you like this was even better.

if he had it his way, he’d be the only.

spreading your thighs open wider, eren slotted himself in between them. he grabbed hold of your hips, bringing them closer in a way that had your whole body being dragged down the bed. you yelped at his display of strength.

“sorry, princess,” he said with a sheepish smile. his tip prodded at your entrance. “deep breath f’ me, okay?”

the way he pierced you open was addicting, every inch of his dick spearing your virgin walls had your toes curling. you didn’t expect penetration to feel this good the first time. all your friends told you it would hurt the first several tries, but leave it to eren jaeger to throw you for yet another loop.

you felt his pubic bone become flush against yours.

“taking all of me your very first go? such a good fucking girl, damn.”

it was done. your virginity was his. zeke could no longer butcher you on that cold, stone altar in front of his whole brotherhood. eren had never felt so proud of himself, the knowledge that his girl was now safe and sound due to his plan had his skin tingling in excitement. he tightened his grip on your hips, trying so hard to keep himself grounded. he had promised you slow.

yet, as always, you proved to be heaven-sent.

“eren,” you babbled to him. “move, please! wan’ you to move.”

the frenzied gleam in his eye made your pussy throb. the brunette wasted no time in listening to your plea, bucking into you like his life depended on it- oh, the irony.

you screamed out, hands flying to fist the sheets beside you as eren kept your pelvis locked in place, subject to thrust after thrust of his cock. the pleasure was already swirling inside you as if it was a tornado, the high that was building from earlier now picking back up its rise.

“feel so good, so good, fuck.”

never had he been in a cunt this warm and tight. eren intended on molding it to the shape of him, ruining it for anyone else. he’d make sure you wouldn’t even want anyone else.

“perfect, princess,” he grit out. “fucking perfect pussy.”

his praise and pace made you feel lightheaded, falling further into the haze of ecstasy he was shrouding you in. you weren’t sure how much more you could take.

“i-i think ‘m close…”

“yeah? me too baby.”

with the way you were gripping him, it was a miracle eren hadn’t already busted. he angled his hips to hit even deeper, adding a finger to your clit again in hopes of finishing the both of you off.

“where do you want me?”

your answer shocked him. “inside!”

fuck, you were gonna be the death of him.

“my princess wants to be filled up, huh?”

who was he to deny you?

one final plunge into your walls timed perfectly with the rub of his thumb had you clenching hard on his dick, muscles spasming as you orgasmed. eren was spurred into his own climax, spilling into you. his eyes were glued to your face, your cockdrunk expression almost enchanting to him as he watched you fall apart.

slowly pulling out, the brunette was in awe at his cum leaking out of you. deciding to worry about his sheets later, he crawled up the bed to see your drooping eyes.

laying down next to you, eren engulfed your frame with his. he held your head against his chest as you drifted off, exhaustion taking over.

____

zeke put his book down as he heard his phone ping, surprised to see he had gotten a text from eren. his brother hardly ever messaged him.

his interest was piqued even more when he saw it was a picture.

opening the image, however, had zeke wanting to chuck the device across the room.

while eren made sure to have the covers pulled up enough, the blonde could still tell it was you from your side profile resting on his brother’s torso.

another ping.

“you might need to pick a new offering, my bad.”

zeke knew the smug bastard didn’t feel guilty in the slightest.

____

saige’s terrortober masterlist

[btsgotjams27]

don't push your luck | knj

you’re asked to present at an important meeting, but of course, your rival has to come along for the ride.

✨ title: don't push your luck | one-shot ✨ pairing: namjoon x f!reader ✨ genre/au: angst | ex college rivals, e2l, co-workers, one-bed trope ✨ rating: pg-18 | ✨ word count: 6.4k ✨ warnings: language, joon loves to call reader a lot of pet names, suggestive language, they're both kinda jerks to one another, they've also known each other for a long time (and slept together once), both are literary agents, mentions of surgery and cancer, banter, mentions of alcohol, they sleep in the same bed, there is a small hug, reader has misconceptions of joon, did i mention angst?, reader likes to blame namjoon for her shortcomings ✨ a/n: hi--so this was originally supposed to be out for joonie's birthday lmao and here it is a few weeks later. don't be afraid to let me know what you think. i love hearing from readers.

“Hold the door!”

A heaving sensation fills your chest and you feel out of breath. Everything you could imagine going wrong before a flight happened—your alarm wasn’t set, the Uber arrived late and hit every traffic light, security ‘needed’ to rifle through your suitcase for suspicious items, and the stupid expensive carry-on you purchased has given up on you.

“You made it just in time,” the attendant smiles and scans your plane ticket.

“Oh, thank god.”

You’re grateful to be in first class and now you can finally relax. It’s even better when you look at your row and the seat next to you is empty. There are a few glares from other passengers, but you don’t care–you’ve made it, and that’s all that matters.

When you settle into your seat, you check your phone for any last-minute work emails. The flight attendant announced the plane was ready to taxi for take-off. They ask everyone to be seated and buckled.

As you’re ready to plug your earbud in, you hear a muffled bang from behind. Peering over your shoulder, you realize you’re in the row before the bathrooms. Great, you think, that’ll be fun. You can hear clinking and clanking from the bathroom door along with someone shuffling out as the door slam shuts.

“Sir, please take your seat. We’re ready for take-off,” the flight attendant says.

The man clears his throat. “Oh, yes, of course. My seat’s right here.”

You look up to see none other than the person who has become the bane of your existence, Kim Namjoon. They say keep your friends close, but your enemies closer and he loved to be so close to you alright–everywhere you are to be exact.

Your jaw clenches as he plops down beside you. A few seconds later, a woman emerges from the bathroom. She brushes past the attendant, holding a card between her fingers as she peers down at Namjoon. “That was fun. Call me sometime,” she grins while walking away.

“You’re disgusting.” A shiver runs down your spine as one can assume what they were doing in there.

Namjoon gives you puppy eyes. “You’re so mean to me,” he pouts, folding his arms against his chest as he looks down. Not a split second later, he turns to you with a smirk. “I can rock your world whenever you want, angel.”

If only he could see the smoke fuming from your ears. He would never let that one time you slept with him go, would he? It was a moment of weakness you wish you could take back.

You scoff at his comment. “I can’t believe they just let anyone on airplanes now.”

His eyes rake over you. “I could say the same about you,” he retorts.

“What are you doing here, anyway?”

“What do you think I’m doing here, darling?”

Your body cringes at the stupid pet name. “Oh, I don’t know, to annoy the fuck out of me?” you say, flashing a wry smile.

“Ah, yes. That’s on my itinerary too, but you know I can’t resist an all-expenses-paid trip when it’s offered.”

This was your chance to make an impression on one of the biggest publishing houses. But with Kim Namjoon tagging along on this little trip? He will consume your thoughts because you can’t think of anything else when he’s around–plotting and scheming ways to take you down.

“Just stay out of my hair tomorrow.”

Namjoon sucks his teeth. “Wish I could, sweetheart. But, whatever Ms. Davis wants, she gets.”

A part of you wondered if Namjoon was sleeping with her to get to the top of the food chain, like the vulture he is. You shivered at the thought of the two in compromising positions. Namjoon’s college shenanigans were something that continued even into adulthood, you guessed. 

The blinking cursor in this blank Word document has been mocking you, thinking you’re a clown. But you blame Kim Namjoon. He’s pushed his seat back, legs crossed and reclined, hands behind his head as he’s laughing obnoxiously at the movie on his computer screen. Every stifled laugh and clap has you rolling your eyes.

You can’t concentrate when he’s around, and that’s how it’s always been since sophomore year of college. The countless conversations with yourself because you had to be ready with a witty remark in case he is a smart-ass about anything and everything.

It was a sweet relief when you walked across that stage to shake the president’s hand and retrieve the rolled-up paper. And when you lifted your tassel from one side to the other, you exhaled because you never had to cross paths with him again.

That is four years into your job, and who shows up sitting in your office? None other than Kim Namjoon–your old academic rival.

You’re 29. No man should have you gritting your teeth, ready to claw at him. Then again, he’s no ordinary man–more like the devil incarnate. He makes your skin crawl. His presence makes you want to jump out of a window–because he’s suffocating, and the air in your lungs doesn’t exist.

Okay–maybe you’re exaggerating. But right now, you want to spill your glass of red wine just so he’ll have a stained shirt.

Your mouth twists as you nudge the giggly goon head. He takes off the noise-canceling headphones. “What?”

“Can you zip it? I can’t concentrate,” you say, repositioning in your seat.

Namjoon snickers. “Aw baby, you weren’t able to concentrate before I even started the movie. What makes you think me turning it off will help now?”

With a click of your tongue, you’re unsure why you even bothered asking him, so you return to your blinking cursor and blank document.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into New York City….” the announcement continues.

Guess it didn’t matter, anyway. You’ve spent two hours unproductive on a flight while Namjoon lollygags. At least you’ll have time to work on your presentation in peace when you get to your hotel.

You notice the way he walks and the way his bag is slung over his shoulder-practically about to drop, and you can’t forget the stupid overcoat that’s a tad too big for his frame. The crooked black tie contrasts against the crisp white button-down, and you want to help him fix it, only to make it snug enough to choke him a bit. It’s the way his cheeks lightly push against his thick black-rimmed glasses when he smiles, and his crescent eyes disappear, then immediately he widens them. It’s the way his hair falls perfectly above his glasses, and he daintily moves it away like the unflawed prince he is.

You hate you notice all these details about Kim Namjoon, but you’ve been around him long enough to have your guard up in case he pulls any funny business.

He doesn’t even care to check in at the front desk. Instead, he runs off to the bar when he sees a beautiful woman walking the same way.

You’re third in the check-in line, and you can’t help noticing the crowd hanging out in the lobby. Everyone’s dressed as some kind of anime character. It almost makes you feel underdressed in your plain white tee that’s tucked into your jeans.

A nudge from the side causes you to catch your footing. You clench your jaw before breathing out a sigh of frustration. He’s like a fly that won’t leave you alone.

“Want a sip? I think you could use a drink,” Namjoon says, tipping his glass toward you.

“I don’t drink on business trips.”

“Damn, baby. Lighten up. One drink won’t kill you,” he raises a brow and smirks. “Maybe it’ll even warm you up to me.”

If only your eyes could shoot laser beams every time he opened his smart mouth. Facing him, you took a step toward him, pretending to pick off lint from his coat. “It’s cute you think I’d warm up to you,” you pout.

Namjoon gives a lopsided grin, licking his lips. “Don’t worry, love. I’m sure we’ll become real cozy.”

When it’s your turn at the front desk, the receptionist flashes a warm smile, asking for your information. “Is this man with you as well?”

“No,” you say.

“Yes,” Namjoon chimes in.

You roll your eyes, glaring at the man who is the bane of your existence. “No. Nope,” you say, shaking your head. “He is not with me. He needs his own room.”

The receptionist doesn’t respond. She types and clicks around on the computer, her eyes darting around the screen. “I’m sorry ma’am, but it looks like we only have one room left,” she says, avoiding your gaze.

“What do you mean there’s only one room left?” you articulate, gritting your teeth.

The receptionist clicks around her screen again. “Again, I’m so sorry, ma’am. But we’re overbooked because of the anime convention in town. We can book this room for the two of you or give you a free hotel stay for another time to compensate for the inconvenience.”

Free hotel stay for another time? It wasn’t an option at the moment. You needed this hotel room to prepare for your presentation tomorrow.

Someone cosplaying as Sailor Moon walks past you and Namjoon. His elbows are propped on the counter as he faces toward the lobby. He turns to you. “Guess we’ll just have to share,” he raises a brow and licks his lips.

“You cannot think I’ll sleep in the same bed as him. I’d rather burn in hell instead.”

Namjoon turns to the receptionist. “She’s joking. She doesn’t want to sleep in the same bed because she knows she can’t control herself around me,” he grins, holding his hand out for the key card. “We’ll take what you have, love.”

You grumble, muttering curses under your breath as you grab your things, heading toward the elevator. First, he shows up unannounced, and now you have to share a room with him. Let alone a bed? What’s next? He’ll take over your presentation, you bet.

Namjoon whistles a cheerful tune while strolling down the hallway. How is he like a ray of sunshine right now? But to you, he is like a lingering cloud ready to rain on your parade.

When he reaches the door, he turns to you, still whistling, tapping the keycard against the sensor. The door almost slams in your face. You’re struggling to keep the heavy door open while dragging in your luggage.

“Really?” You huff with irritation in your voice.

Your eyes follow him as he makes himself comfortable on the bed. He’s lying down, his legs are dangling off as his feet touch the floor. And you hope the phone screen illuminating his honey skin drops on his face. You’re vile, you know. But Namjoon’s like an itch you can’t seem to reach.

Setting down your things, you walk over to him, slotting yourself between his legs, arms folded against your chest. “What are you doing in my bed?”

He chuckles, placing the phone beside him. He props himself up on his elbows, eyes raking over you. “Waiting for you to hop on, baby,” he sneers, patting his thigh.

How are you supposed to get any work done if he’s around invading the very air you breathe?

“In your dreams, Joon. You’re sleeping on the couch.”

“Oh, baby girl. You don’t even wanna know what you do in my dreams.”

His dreams, huh? You’ve wondered how many times you’ve shown up. “Let me guess, am I strangling you?”

Namjoon sits up, pushing himself off the bed to stand. It forces you to take a step back. There’s a moment of silence before he speaks, “Actually, you’re the one who likes it, remember? Not me, princess.”

You’re inches away from him and you hope he doesn’t see you visibly gulp. It’s like everything is stripped away when Namjoon’s around. As much as you try to hide it, you hope he can’t see through your bullshit.

Clicking your tongue, you try to compose yourself, tilting your head as you gaze into those dragon eyes. “Keep dreaming, Joonie because that’s the closest you’ll ever come to fucking me.”

“Again—” he corrects you. His gaze turns dark as he scans you from head to toe. He grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Come on, love. Don’t you want another taste?”

You roll your eyes, pushing away his hand. “Another taste of Kim Namjoon?” you tut. “Please—I eat boys like you for breakfast.”

A stupid grin spreads across Namjoon’s face. His scent invades your space again, making you step back. “Well, I’ll be sure to serve you breakfast in bed tomorrow. I hear the sausage is great.”

You huff a breath, glaring at the tall, beefy man. “I swear to god, Kim Namjoon if you don’t stay on your side of the bed—there’s gonna be hell to pay!”

Namjoon puts his hands up in defeat. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll keep my package safe, but it's cute you think your mouth is big enough for me.” He raises a brow, gently nibbling on his bottom lip.

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself, Joon. Always talking a big game, but you gotta put your money where your mouth is love.” You almost retch as the last word rolls off your tongue.

The night you slept with Namjoon was a hazy one. You blame the wine that was coursing through your veins and the critique you received from your professor—it messed with your head and you wanted nothing more than to get your mind off it. Namjoon was in the right place at the right time—annoying you like always. Naturally, he wouldn’t shut up, so you shut him up. One thing led to another and before you knew it, you had slept with your rival.

Walking away, you grab your bag, breathing a sigh of relief once you’re out of the room. It’s a stupid game the two of you have played since college—he riles you up, and you retaliate, but you would try your best to not let him get to you. 

You spent the last few hours sitting in the hotel’s bar, with headphones on as you clicked and clacked away at your laptop, finally getting your thoughts onto this Word document. There’s no music playing. You wanted to drown out the noise of the crowd.

As you’re facing out toward the lobby, you look up, glimpsing the bane of your existence, Kim Namjoon. You watch as he makes his way out of the hotel lobby, and now is your chance to sneak back up to the room and have some quiet for once.

When Namjoon’s out of view, you gather your things, making your way back up. As the door closes, a breath expels from your lips and you can finally breathe again.

Sitting down at the small table, your stomach growls, a reminder that you had ignored for the past hour because this presentation was more important than nourishment. You’re more than halfway finished, and your reward would be a delicious meal.

It’s nearly 9 o’clock, and your meal is nowhere in sight. The outline is finished, talking points are ready to go, but your laptop is dead, and with your luck, you forgot to pack the charger.

You want nothing more than to disappear and crawl into a hole and never come out of it. You’re ready to jump ship without a lifejacket—it’s practically what you’re doing going into this presentation. If only you had more time to prep instead of being thrown into this so last minute. Maybe you shouldn’t have told your boss you’re always ready for whatever’s thrown your way.

The rumbling in your stomach continues, but you’d rather wallow in self-deprecating thoughts than fill your belly with a delicious meal.

Why can’t things go your way for once?

As you’re sitting on the couch beside the window, a sprinkle of rain falls, and it’s perfect, actually–matching your exact mood. You place your chin against the jade-green velvet-colored couch, breathing a sigh of frustration.

How are you meant to get others to care when you're apathetic about why you got into this profession in the first place? You remember discovering your first author and how they made you kick your feet and giggle all night. The feeling of watching someone grow from a small audience into a commercial success made you love your job, and when you and an author are on the same wavelength and both so passionate about a story? You were unmatched when the stars aligned.

But this trip was a different story. You had been working with this author, but Ms. Davis asked Namjoon to chime in, and once something is in Namjoon’s hands, it’s never yours again. It was like a repeat of your college years.

So when Ms. Davis asked you to fill in for Namjoon, you jumped at the chance because you had missed this story and this author, and you hoped Namjoon didn’t distort the beautiful story and world that she had built. You get why everyone fawns over Namjoon. Admitting it crushes your soul just a tad, but he’s smart, charming, suave, and not that bad to look at. You just wished he’d let you have a win now and again. You’re tired of being second best.

When you hear a beep from the door, you sigh, throwing your head back. You don’t acknowledge your roommate for the night and instead focus on the rain droplets hitting the window. Pulling your knees toward your chest, your arms rest on them along with your head as you stare outside. You’re not in the mood to deal with Namjoon right now.

A delectable aroma fills your nose when Namjoon’s presence occupies your space. He sets something next to your feet while on the couch. You look at the box and then at him.

“What’s this?”

“You need to eat.”

“I already ate,” you lie, and your stomach growled, loud enough you’re sure Namjoon heard it too. You make a face, clenching your stomach, hoping it doesn’t do it again.

“Just eat,” he says, bending down to grab the box for you.

“Is this your way of poisoning me, so you can do the presentation tomorrow?”

Namjoon scoffs. “No, actually. It’s me being a decent human being. I saw you at the bar, and I know how you are when you’re in work mode. You forget to eat.”

There’s a fire rising in your chest, and you want nothing more than to be left alone. “I didn’t think the devil had a heart,” you quip back. It’s easier when he isn’t, makes you feel less of an ass—and so much for not being in the mood to argue.

He tuts. “Why are you always like this? Even when we were in school together. You’ve always hated me.”

Maybe it’s how everything’s been handed to him on a silver platter–like how he doesn’t have to work his ass off just to get a sliver of recognition. Maybe it’s because he could be the good guy, but he chooses otherwise. Maybe it’s because somehow he always shows up wherever you are, ready to take things from you.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Fine, starve. I don’t even know why I tried.”

You groaned. “Can you just go away? You’re so annoying.”

“Me? Annoying? You’ve had a stick up your ass ever since you saw me on the plane, and I haven’t done shit to you. I’m here out of courtesy for our boss. What am I supposed to do? Say no?”

“Yeah! You should’ve.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “God–there’s no winning with you, is there?”

You ignore his comment, shifting in your seat, eyes focused on the rain again.

His jaw clenched as he backed off. “I was trying to be nice–break the ice, but it’s useless when I keep hitting a wall with you. See you later. I need a drink.”

Your eyes squeeze shut when the door slams. Sometimes you wonder if you’re too harsh or if you channeled your hatred toward something else, if it would benefit you more. But this was the circus of you and Namjoon–mortal rivals, nothing less, nothing more.

It’s well past midnight when you illuminate your phone for the third time. You’ve been tossing and turning, panicking about tomorrow’s presentation. Maybe you’d have to forgo using a slideshow and go off your outline. Graphic design isn’t your passion anyway because Canva was your best friend for presentation templates.

You had prepared yourself for having to share a bed with Namjoon, but you can’t help but notice that he hasn’t returned from wherever he went. You wonder if this was it–if it was the final straw for him, with you and your bitchy attitude.

As you’re on your phone, going over your outline, a beep from the door alerts you that Namjoon is back. You quickly stuff your phone underneath your pillow, turning in the opposite direction with your back facing him.

“Yeah, mom. Don’t worry. I’ll be back.” His voice softens when he sees the lights are out.

An indistinct voice is heard from the other end, but you close your eyes, pretending to be fast asleep.

“Yes, I have it on my calendar and already asked for the days off. I’ll be back before your surgery.”

You feel bad listening in on his conversation and even worse when you realize his mother is having surgery.

Namjoon hums. “I love you too, Mom. I’ll see you next week. Mm–bye.”

He sets his phone down and cards his hand through his dark hair, but it softly falls back in place. You can hear him ruffling through his bag before he walks off to what you guess is the bathroom to wash up.

You turn over when there’s a sudden ache in your side. Your eyes open to see the light shining from underneath the door, and he’s pacing around as he brushes his teeth.

When the water shuts off, he opens the door, turning off the light. The darkened curtains eliminate all light sources in the room, save for the bit peeking through from the moonlight shining on him, revealing his broad shoulders and honey-skin chest. Thank god it’s dark, otherwise if Namjoon saw you ogling him, he’d have a field day. But the gawking ends when he slips on a shirt.

You shift back to the side that’s still aching and Namjoon slips under the cover, keeping his distance. You’re facing away from him, and you can’t help but hear the frustration when he huffs a breath.

Of course, the stupid ache doesn’t dissipate, and you’re back on your side, facing Namjoon. You peek an eye open. His phone is dimly lit before he turns it off, setting it on his chest. Both of his hands are laced behind his head as he stares at the ceiling, and you’re fighting the urge to say something.

What you overheard was personal, something you weren’t meant to hear. After all these years of being academic rivals and co-workers, you knew little about his life except that he was a trust fund baby and had a younger sister.

“Namjoon?” You quietly croak out.

He quickly gazes in your direction. “Sorry—did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I couldn’t sleep, and then I heard you come in.”

A muttered apology escapes his lips along with ‘Night,’ as he turns on his side, facing away from you.

His demeanor is different, almost as if he’s let down his guard. You’ve never seen him distraught before.

“Namjoon?”

He hums but doesn’t turn around to face you.

“Is everything okay with your mom?”

Namjoon clears his throat. “Yeah, she’s okay. At least, I hope so.”

You’re nibbling on your bottom lip. “I couldn’t help but overhear she’s having surgery?”

“Oh—yeah, we, um, recently found out she has breast cancer and has to have a mastectomy.”

“Joon,” you utter. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he stammers, shifting himself into a more comfortable position. “Everything happened so fast, and I feel like I haven’t had time to process my thoughts. I’m trying my best to stay strong, you know?”

You place your hand under your cheek as you’re staring at his backside. The two of you stay silent for a moment.

“I get that,” you say, lying on your back, bringing the duvet to cover you. “Um, my mom also went through breast cancer a few years ago, if it’s any consolation, I suppose breast cancer is one of the better ones to have? If that’s such a thing—I mean, there’s a lot of research that’s gone into it, and there’s so much support out there if she wants it. So, um, yeah, just keep your head up. Your mom will be okay.”

Namjoon mumbles, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

He doesn’t turn to you, and you don’t blame him. You have been a bit of an ass to him, but you’re not made of stone—there’s a heart buried somewhere inside.

Flipping on your side, your backs are facing one another, and you hear a sniffle. Immediately, you turn back, hesitant about being in this position. In the time you’ve known Namjoon, he’s never cried in front of you. There are more sniffles, and you can hear him holding back whatever’s caught in his throat.

Your heart’s racing, your breath is slow and controlled. You shift closer to him, removing the pillow you had placed in the middle to separate the two of you.

“Joon?”

He wipes his nose and clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“Would it be okay if I hugged you?”

Namjoon hums in agreement, and you take it upon yourself to inch closer to him. Somehow he seems so much smaller when you’re this close. You snake your arm underneath him, wrapping it around his waist, pressing your body against his. It takes a moment for him to register what’s happening, and then his hand finds yours, entwining them together.

You’ve been where he has and any kind of surgery is scary, especially when it’s a loved one. Your mind can only wander to the worst-case scenarios.

Your bodies are in sync as you can feel his chest rise and fall. But his breath is ragged and shaky. You suppose he’s fighting off any tears threatening to fall.

“You can tell me to fuck off.”

He chuckles. “No, I like this. It feels nice.”

Your mind finally settled during the night, and you could fall asleep. Namjoon’s snores were your alarm clock this morning. The weight of his arm draped over your waist. It was a familiar feeling—just like the day after you had slept with him. Only this time, all your clothes were on, and there was no accompanying headache.

Peering over your shoulder, he was still fast asleep, so this was your chance to sneak away. You were hoping to go over your presentation a few more times before your meeting today with the publisher. But as soon, as you decide to slip away, a buzzing from Namjoon’s side causes you to close your eyes and pretend like you weren’t trying to get up.

It buzzes a few times before Namjoon stirs awake, fumbling around to find his phone. “Hello?” he says in a groggy, raspy voice.

You shift away from him, snuggling underneath the duvet. The conversation is indistinct, and you can’t hear anything but Namjoon’s responses.

“Wait—” Namjoon sits up, turning away from you, his feet planted on the ground. “You want me to do what?”

He’s frustrated by whatever he was told.

“No, I can’t do that to her.” He quickly peers in your direction, and he sees you fast asleep. The voice on the other line continues along with Namjoon’s frustration. He’s rubbing his temple and sighs. “Please don’t make me do this. She already hates me as is.”

You can’t help but wonder who’s on the other line and who the ‘she’ is.

Namjoon shakes his head, and his voice quiets down. “She’s been working so hard on this presentation. I can’t just take this from her.”

Your heart sinks when you realize he’s talking about you. There’s no one else doing a presentation, and Namjoon was working with this author before they were handed back to you.

“Okay, okay. I’ll let her know,” he said dejectedly. Namjoon doesn’t even say goodbye. He’s crouched over, elbows on his knees as his head hangs low.

The soft chimes of your alarm go off. You wait a few seconds before reaching for your phone to silence it. Sitting up, you glance over at Namjoon who’s looking right at you.

“Morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.”

“No, my alarm woke me up,” you say before flipping the duvet over. You stand, smoothing down your hair. “Big presentation today. I should get ready for the day.”

You’re ready to run to the bathroom, but Namjoon stops you. “Um, about that.”

Slowly, you turn to him. “What about it?”

Namjoon’s hands are entwined, and his thumbs fiddled out of nervousness. “Ms. Davis called and wants me to do the presentation.”

You suck in your lower lip, gently chewing on it. “But I worked on it like a madwoman last night. Why would Ms. Davis ask me to do it and then go back to asking you?”

A buzzing from your phone interrupts you. The screen flashes ‘Ms. Davis.’ You peer at Namjoon, then answer the phone. “Hello? Ms. Davis?”

“Good morning, ____. I hope you slept well.”

You hum in response.

“I know I asked you to go to New York, but now that Namjoon is there. I think it’ll be better if he does the presentation. He just has a way with words, and I think he’ll be able to land this deal, don’t you think?”

Namjoon avoids your gaze by scrolling on his phone. You remember Namjoon’s words from the day before, ‘What Ms. Davis wants, Ms. Davis gets.’

You take a moment before responding. “Why yes, Ms. Davis, I agree. Namjoon would be perfect for this presentation.”

She continues about supporting him in whatever way he needs today, and you’re seething like a teakettle that’s ready to burst. You agree with everything she says.

“Mmhm, yes. I’ll make sure he has everything he needs.”

You bid her a chipper farewell before hanging up. Your phone’s clenched in your hand, and your chest is heaving. Thoughts are running rampant—you’re ready to quit on the spot.

Licking your lips, you look at Namjoon. “Well, good luck with your presentation today. Don’t ruin it for our author and Ms. Davis.”

Namjoon shakes his head. “No–you worked hard on it. You should do it.”

You scoff. “Don’t act like you don’t want to take this from me, Joon. It’s what you’re good at. You always get your way—just like when we were in school and now even at work. No matter how hard I work for everything, you’re there to reap the reward.”

His jaw clenches. He stands, walking to you. “You’re so fucking exhausting,” he spits out. “You think I’m some guy who’s out to get you or wants the worst for you–it’s like whatever preconceived notion you’ve fabricated has overlooked the fact that I’m a pretty decent guy if you could get past whatever thing that I’ve done to tick you off.” He sighs. “I’m telling you to do the presentation, but here you are blaming me.”

The warmth from his body is scorching as he nears you–it matches the energy firing inside you. Here he is, allowing you to shoot your shot, but you’re stubborn and temperamental.

Your gaze pierces through him. “Do whatever you want, Joon. I quit.”

Quickly, you gather your things, stuffing them into your carry-on. You know how ridiculous it sounds, but Kim Namjoon tends to bring out your foolishness. You’ve had seven years of him right by your side, which was too many for you. Maybe it was time to find a private island with no form of communication to escape him.

Namjoon doesn’t stop you, he lets you leave. He knows how strong-willed you are and once you’ve decided, there’s no changing it.

You wash up in the hotel lobby’s restroom, rushing off to nowhere because well–you had quit and home was two hours away by flight and it wasn’t leaving until tonight.

Cars and buses screech to a halt along with the sounds of never-ending honking. Chattering from tourists and bicyclists whiz by your side. There’s never a dull moment so you can get your head on straight. 

A buzzing from your bag goes unnoticed because you’re too busy figuring out the next steps. You don’t know what you’re doing. Quitting, so suddenly? Was it out of spite? If you couldn’t even handle Namjoon, how would you handle the next prick that came along? 

You held your arm out, trying to hail a cab, but no one stopped. Well, it was probably the worst time to grab one, anyway. Checking your phone, you noticed a missed call and a voicemail, and it wasn’t from anyone you were expecting.

It was from Noa Skye, the author you were trying to get published.

“Hey ____. I know I’ve been working with Namjoon for the last several months, but when I heard that you’re doing the meeting with HarperCollins instead, I screamed! I know you’ll be able to pitch my book well because you love this story as much as I do. So, yeah, I just wanted to call and wish you good luck. You’re going to do great. Talk to you soon!”

Your heart sank to your stomach when you heard Noa’s voicemail. It was true–you loved her story, and you wanted the entire world to read it so they could laugh and cry along with you. Her book deserved to be on bookshelves and New York’s best-seller list.

Should you buck up the courage and walk in with your head held high? And for once, maybe Namjoon was right–that you were looking for someone to blame and he was conveniently the scapegoat.

Noa deserved better than this ongoing battle between you and Namjoon; maybe more you than him–but regardless, you needed to set aside your ego for the sake of your author.

Huffing out a deep breath, you pulled your hair back, ready to fight for this presentation.

Namjoon was typing furiously, looking through his previous notes on Noa’s novel. He wished he had spoken to you about what you had outlined to get a better grasp. You and Noa had been working on her novel for a couple of months before Namjoon came into the picture. Surely, he knew how to charm the pants off publishers, but sometimes he felt like you captured the heart of these stories better than he did.

You’re jabbing the number seven several times, encouraging the elevator doors to close. Looking at your phone, there’s half an hour before the presentation. You hoped it was enough time to sort things out with Namjoon and go over your outline.

Turning the corner, you find Namjoon sitting with a laptop. He looks up, almost relieved when he sees you, but of course, he doesn’t make it known.

“Thought you quit,” he says when you’re near.

You flash a thin smile, sitting beside him. “I never waste a moment where I can rescue you, because it looks like you need my help.” A glimpse of a nearly empty page proves your point.

In normal Namjoon fashion, he’s ready to bite back, but he holds his tongue. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “You can say ‘thanks’ and I’ll call it even.” He mumbles something indistinct and you cup your hand up to your ear. “I’m sorry. I can’t hear you over the sound of your ego.”

His shoulders slump, and he cocks his head. “Thanks, ___. I owe you one.”

Wiggling in your chair, you’re smiling proudly because this is the first genuine show of gratitude from Kim Namjoon.

“Here’s what I have. Can you tell me what you and Noa have been working on?”

Even without visuals, you felt the presentation went well and did Noa justice with her novel. Namjoon was another surprise. He didn’t interrupt, waited until you finished before adding in his two cents.

Although the presentation and trip to New York were short and sweet, it was eye-opening for you because you had been toying with the idea of opening up a literary agency. The sound of being your own boss sounded lovely.

“We did good, huh?” Namjoon says as he stands beside you.

“We?” You quirk an eyebrow.

He tilts his head. “You. You did a good job.”

You stand proud outside of the hotel’s driveway as the two of you wait for an Uber. “I know. I always save the day.”

Namjoon chuckles. “Well, have a good flight back home.”

Whipping your head back to him, your brows stitched in confusion. “Are you not going back to Chicago?”

He shakes his head. “My mom’s surgery got moved up, so I’m flying straight to Seoul. I’ll be back in Chicago in two weeks.”

“Oh,” you mumble. “I hope everything goes well.”

“Thanks,” he flashes a small smile. A car pulls up to him. “Looks like my ride's here. I’ll see you.”

Namjoon grabs his carry-on, ready to leave, but you stop him. “Joon–” He turns back around. “I’m sorry about what happened this morning. You’re right. I haven’t treated you nicely and have blamed you for a lot of things over the years, and it’s no one’s fault, but my own. I hope things go well with your mom, and if you ever need anyone to talk to, you can call me.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Call you, hmm?”

“You know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Just–” you groan. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t even know why I tried.”

Namjoon lets go of his carry-on and walks back to you. “I’m messing with you.” He chuckles lowly, taking another step closer to you. He lifts your chin with his forefinger, his dragon eyes gazing into yours. “It’s our thing, isn’t it? You hate me, I hate you. We find some kind of common ground, then fall in love. Isn’t that in all the books we read?”

You lick your lips and nod, pointing to yourself. “Me? Fall in love with you? Don’t push your luck, Joon.”

read 'under the mistletoe' (a don't push your luck drabble)

[mortalityplays]

Hi! I really liked and agreed with your post on purple prose, and I was curious what books if any you'd describe as having purple prose. Not even necessarily as shorthand for calling it bad! just examples of it, especially from non-classic literature. Unless the term is entirely subjective lol. Feel free to reply to this ask publicly or privately; I don't mind either way

Have some Conan the Barbarian (sorry about! the racism):

TORCHES flared murkily on the revels in the Maul, where the thieves of the east held carnival by night. In the Maul they could carouse and roar as they liked, for honest people shunned the quarters, and watchmen, well paid with stained coins, did not interfere with their sport. Along the crooked, unpaved streets with their heaps of refuse and sloppy puddles, drunken roisterers staggered, roaring. Steel glinted in the shadows where wolf preyed on wolf, and from the darkness rose the shrill laughter of women, and the sounds of scufflings and strugglings. Torchlight licked luridly from broken windows and wide-thrown doors, and out of those doors, stale smells of wine and rank sweaty bodies, clamor of drinking-jacks and fists hammered on rough tables, snatches of obscene songs, rushed like a blow in the face. In one of these dens merriment thundered to the low smoke- stained roof, where rascals gathered in every stage of rags and tatters—furtive cut-purses, leering kidnappers, quick- fingered thieves, swaggering bravoes with their wenches, strident-voiced women clad in tawdry finery. Native rogues were the dominant element—dark-skinned, dark-eyed Zamorians, with daggers at their girdles and guile in their hearts. But there were wolves of half a dozen outland nations there as well. There was a giant Hyperborean renegade, taciturn, dangerous, with a broadsword strapped to his great gaunt frame—for men wore steel openly in the Maul. There was a Shemitish counterfeiter, with his hook nose and curled blue-black beard. There was a bold- eyed Brythunian wench, sitting on the knee of a tawny-haired Gunderman—a wandering mercenary soldier, a deserter from some defeated army. And the fat gross rogue whose bawdy jests were causing all the shouts of mirth was a professional kidnapper come up from distant Koth to teach woman-stealing to Zamorians who were born with more knowledge of the art than he could ever attain.

Conan is an interesting example imo because it displays a lot of the highs and lows of pulp. Robert E. Howard could also write very punchy, straightforward action, and often did - but part of the selling point for the emerging genre fiction of the era was that it was lurid and lascivious. While the extract above is. Well. Bad. It is worth recognising that within its context it was also kind of experimental.

Howard wrote these drooling, sort of bewildering, sensory passages for the same reason Marvel movies punch you in the face with saturated colours and rapid cuts and a billion VFX. You see it in the work of H.P. Lovecraft too, and I will grudgingly acknowledge that that's something worth recognising about his literary impact. I also think Lovecraft was a pretty bad technical writer, personally, but that's a whole other soapbox.

My point is that a lot of truly purple prose today (in the sense that it is extraneous, distracting, undermines its own function) traces its legacy to this era of pulp where there was a distinct secondary purpose to overwhelming the reader with ornamentation. It was self-consciously indulgent, and strikingly distinct from the more genteel floridity of equally bad literary novelists. For instance, compare the above with the even purpler prose of the famously awful Irene Iddesleigh:

On being introduced to all those outside his present circle of acquaintance on this evening, and viewing the dazzling glow of splendour which shone, through spectacles of wonder, in all its glory, Sir John felt his past life but a dismal dream, brightened here and there with a crystal speck of sunshine that had partly hidden its gladdening rays of bright futurity until compelled to glitter with the daring effect they soon should produce. But there awaited his view another beam of life’s bright rays, who, on entering, last of all, commanded the minute attention of every one present—this was the beautiful Irene Iddesleigh. How the look of jealousy, combined with sarcasm, substituted those of love and bashfulness! How the titter of tainted mockery rang throughout the entire apartment, and could hardly fail to catch the ear of her whose queenly appearance occasioned it! These looks and taunts serving to convince Sir John of Nature’s fragile cloak which covers too often the image of indignation and false show, and seals within the breasts of honour and equality resolutions of an iron mould. On being introduced to Irene, Sir John concluded instantly, without instituting further inquiry, that this must be the original of the portrait so warmly admired by him. There she stood, an image of perfection and divine beauty, attired in a robe of richest snowy tint, relieved here and there by a few tiny sprigs of the most dainty maidenhair fern, without any ornaments whatever, save a diamond necklet of famous sparkling lustre and priceless value.

Christ. Hopefully you can see the depth of the scale here - the Conan extract is muddy and difficult to read, but this is near incomprehensible. Part of the reason this passage is so much worse is that there is even less intent behind the author's use of language. Here, she is working overtime to evoke a kind of dramatic-intellectual style borrowed from writers like the Brontë sisters (imo at least - not an expert, that's just the sense I get as a reader). The further these flourishes get from lending purpose to the meaning of the prose, the harder they are to parse.

BUT my other point is: far fewer writers these days set out to emulate Irene Iddesleigh's arch, roundabout, society conscious voice than they do the hallmarks of classic pulp. We're inured to sex and violence, sin and debauchery in fiction today, so extracts like the Conan example feel even more bloated than they did in their time. And that creates a real pitfall for amateur genre writers: the instinct to pay homage to the stylistic choices of the classics can lead them right into Irene Iddesleigh territory.

Too often, the purpose of these overwrought, leering descriptions isn't calculated to thrill the audience, but to establish a piece in the company of older works the writer admires. And that's what leads to truly purple prose in contemporary genre writing, which makes readers scoff and laugh, which makes authors self-conscious and timid, which leads us here to a point where wordy description is inaccurately identified as the problem. It's not. The problem is excess - and when something has purpose, by definition, it's not excessive.

[whencyclopedia]

Enheduanna

The Akkadian poet Enheduanna (l. 2285-2250 BCE) is the world's first author known by name and was the daughter of Sargon of Akkad (Sargon the Great, r. 2334-2279 BCE). Whether Enheduanna was, in fact, a blood relative of Sargon's or the title was figurative is not known.

It is clear, however, that Sargon placed enormous trust in Enheduanna in elevating her to the position of high priestess of the most important temple in Sumer (in the city of Ur) and leaving to her the responsibility for melding the Sumerian gods with the Akkadian ones to create the stability his empire needed to thrive.

Further, she is credited with creating the paradigms of poetry, psalms, and prayers used throughout the ancient world which led to the development of the genres recognized in the present day. Scholar Paul Kriwaczek writes:

Her compositions, though only rediscovered in modern times, remained models of petitionary prayer for . Through the Babylonians, they influenced and inspired the prayers and psalms of the Hebrew Bible and the Homeric hymns of Greece. Through them, faint echoes of Enheduanna, the first named literary author in history, can even be heard in the hymnody of the early Christian church. (121)

Her influence during her lifetime was as impressive as her literary legacy. Entrusted by her father with great responsibility, Enheduanna not only exceeded those expectations but changed the entire culture. Through her written works, she altered the very nature of the Mesopotamian gods and the perception the people had of the divine.

Life

Enheduanna's name translates as 'High Priestess of An' (the sky god) or 'En-Priestess, wife of the god Nanna'. She came from the northern city of Akkad and, as Kriwaczek notes, "would have had a Semitic birth name on moving to Ur, the very heartland of Sumerian culture, she took a Sumerian official title: Enheduanna – 'En' (Chief Priest or Priestess); 'hedu' (ornament); 'Ana' (of heaven)" (120).

She organized and presided over the city's temple complex, the heart of the city, and held her own against an attempted coup by a Sumerian rebel named Lugal-Ane who forced her into exile. The Akkadian Empire, for all the wealth and stability it brought to the region, was constantly plagued by uprisings in the various regions under its control. One of Enheduanna's responsibilities in the region of Sumer would have been to keep the populace in check through religion.

In the case of Lugal-Ane, however, she seems to have been bested, at least initially. In her poem The Exaltation of Inanna, she tells the story of being driven from her post as high priestess and cast into exile. She writes a plea for help to the goddess Inanna requesting her to petition the god An for help:

Funeral offerings were brought, as if I had never lived there.

I approached the light, but the light scorched me.

I approached the shade, but I was covered with a storm.

My honeyed mouth became scummed. Tell An about Lugal-Ane and my fate!

May An undo it for me! As soon as you tell An about it, An will release me. (lines 67-76)

Inanna apparently heard her prayer and, through divine intercession, Enheduanna was finally restored to her rightful place in the temple. She seems to have been the first woman to hold this position in Ur and her comportment as high priestess would have served as an exemplary model for those who followed her.

Continue reading...

[writingquestionsanswered]

I've got a wip where stories and myths are thematically relevant, but I always hear writer advice like never start with a dream or things that aren't happening. How do I present this in the first chapter without it feeling intrusive or feeling like a false start? I've dabbled with ways to convey this story: a character is reading the legend when they're interrupted, a character might be told the story as a child, or a character might be watching performers do a play about the legend. I'm using limited third person with shifting POV every chapter, if that matters.

Avoiding the "False Start" of Beginning with Dreams and Stories

When you start the story with a dream, story, myth, or other story within the story, the risk is that you invest the reader in that story... they believe the setting is the story's setting, the characters are the story's characters, and the plot or conflict is the story's conflict. The risk is that when you reveal it was in fact a story within the story, you potentially confuse them, disappoint them, or give them literary whiplash. Obviously, you wouldn't want to do that unless you DO want to do that... in other words, that may be just the effect you're going for, or it may be a necessary facet of how the story is told. So, unless you're doing it intentionally, because that's the effect you're going for, you want to provide context for this being a dream, story, or myth as soon as you possibly can.

Instead of beginning with an epic battle between a young woman and a powerful witch, you could preface the dream with something like:

Cara almost always dreamed, but this dream was more vivid than most--and darker...

That way, the reader understands that what's about to happen is part of a dream sequence.

Or, if the myth is being read to the character as a child, you could do something like:

Sometimes, in the stillness of the night, Cara remembered the childhood nights she'd spent perched on Grandmama's lap, listening to her spin epic tales about the mighty gods. Cara loved all of the ancient myths her grandmother told, but she loved none more dearly than the tale of Ariadne and Theseus, which began like this...

Here again, you're providing context for the reader that the story about to unfold here at the beginning is in fact a myth, and with this framework, the reader understands that this myth will have importance to the story somehow. They're not going to feel like their time is being wasted.

Happy writing!

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[blushcoloreddreams]

Why should women read books

It is important that everyone works on their cultural formation. Our imagination needs to be educated to better understand life. Literature plays a fundamental role in this training. Romance especially. Do you want to know how important reading good romance novels is for a woman?

The novel combines narrative and drama. Through narrative, someone tells a story. Events are thought about and reported. The drama happens in the relationships between the characters, in how they act. This is the combination also present in our lives.

Our actions reveal aspects of our inner life and vice versa. When we act, we dramatically accomplish what we think. When we try to report actions, we choose (even unconsciously) a point of view, a perspective. Both our actions and the way we report them take shape over a period of time.

The structure of the novel is close to everyday life. By knowing the characters’ thoughts and actions, we can evaluate their successes, limitations, possibilities and weaknesses. We can see how identities are cultivated or destroyed by ordered or disordered desires and actions. Novels allow us to see our own lives as narrative.

Women are more attentive to everyday details. We are more attentive to what, day after day, builds the family's history. Part of its vocation is differentiating the essential from the accessory. The genre of romance echoes in the female heart.

Each narrative attempts to reveal aspects of eternity embodied in time. A good novel manages to capture the human being’s desire for permanence. The manifestation of this longing is shown in everyday life. In cultivating the home, a woman struggles to preserve what is permanent amidst the transitory.

For women, the identification of romance with the structure of life is immediate. When reading a good novel, she recognizes the latent possibilities in her own life. It is in the course of ordinary days that great things are created.

Good romance helps a woman organize her affection. The characters' mistakes and successes are monitored. The lesson, positive or negative, of a novel is within the story. The woman's contemplative spirit realizes that her development, and that of those she loves, also happen within a story.

Reading good novels allows women to narrate their own lives. Your imagination will be prepared by cultivating Hope. She will be able to imaginatively anticipate the person she wants to become.

The popularity of the novel literary genre, especially from the 19th century onwards, was largely due to the large number of female readers who subscribed to magazines and participated in correspondence reading clubs. Women writers were not neglected, but read with pleasure.

It is no coincidence that women have identified so much with the novelistic literary genre. The objective of this genre is to tell everyday stories, episodes of human life that happen to the characters over a certain period of time. This objective reverberates directly in the feminine heart, contemplative and called to cultivation, that is, called to care for those who develop over time.

The aim of romance can be successful or unsuccessful. It will be successful when, through the pleasure of reading, we are transported back to our own lives. It will be unsuccessful when, in a sentimental romance, for example, our heart is drawn into emotional disorder. Hence the importance of reading good novels, and not just any works in this popular genre. We need to know how to choose what will truly form us. Helping with this choice is one of my goals since I created this blog .