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ataraxiaspainting · 4 months

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The End.

Yan Kafka x F Reader.

Synopsis: Kafka always sits in the front row, despite being part of the show herself.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, thoughts of violence, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

Ten Songs Like This Piece:

Breezeblocks by alt-J

Waltz No. 2 by Dmitri Shostakovich (feat. The Dixie String Quartet)

Swan Lake by HAUSER

Claus by Los Tres

Doin’ Time by Lana Del Ray

Lie by BTS

She’s My Collar by Gorillaz (feat. Kali Uchis)

Cha Cha by Freddie Dredd

Michelle by Sir Chloe

MONTERO (Call Me By Your Name) - SATAN’S EXTENDED VERSION by Lil Nas X

*~*~*~*

The roses are wilting.

It was destiny, fate. Such pretty things never last forever, after all, even if the entire universe wished otherwise. One way or another, they are meant to fall, like how the sun drops below where anyone can see it, being replaced with the moon, and vice versa. They fall deep, deeper than hell itself, and no one can pick them back up, unless one would be inclined to make a pact with the devil himself, doing horrendous things in his name. But Kafka has already committed such sins, so why deny doing so any longer? It is who she is. It is who you are, to be entangled in her lies and be forced to dance and to sing and to act.

With two gloved hands, she picks up the vase, spilling out the moldy water and the dying roses, the roses she got for you after you sang so well at the opera house, looking so beautiful, into the trash can underneath your makeup vanity, where little clumps of hair and emptied products always meet their end.

She’ll get you a new bouquet later. A new vase too. Perhaps instead of white roses you would like red ones instead? Kafka knows that this vase is cheap too, from one of your fellow divas, whose high notes are not as high as yours and her costumes not as elaborate or as elegant as yours.

“I honestly don’t see why you even try to befriend any of them, darling. They are all envious harpies. They can’t hold a candle to anything you do.”

You are not here, but Kafka’s mouth always has a mind of its own, so it spins lies even when your delicate, lovely ears are not in the general vicinity. Not that she minds it. But yours is what she is quite more so than trifles with, because yours is carefully controlled by her and her alone, and you, as always, don’t get a say. It’s a sort of hypocrisy, Kafka thinks, but she doesn't mind that either.

If she has to, she’ll even sew your mouth shut, your ears shut, your eyes shut, if that is what it takes for you to stay with her. She doubts it would ever come to that, though, because you are always too fragile and too trusting to tell the difference between an Iago and a Desdemona. But the latter role would much better suit you, her little flower, her princess.

You are so precious, but also a treasure prying eyes will always want to touch and see and hear. Kafka would, in all honesty, love to cut their hands and tongues off, if it did not ruin the carefully crafted image she made just for you. Maybe later, though, when all the stage lights are off.

“Lady Macbeth, hmm?” She murmurs.

She disagrees with the role you were given entirely. But, you were not one to stand up for yourself, so Kafka let it go.

“You really ought to leave this business soon, dearest.” Kafka looks around, her arms crossed, not impressed with the room you were given in the slightest. “You can always just come with me.” She meant it. “Imagine all the sights you would see. All the food you would eat. All the gifts I would be so happy to give you. All the hugs and kisses you would receive from me. Everything… just think about it.”

She could imagine it herself. It is not hard, really, for the mind to reject all sense of logic and bow down to the whim of what is known as human emotions, mortal joys, woes, desires, wants, and needs. She could imagine sitting you on her lap as the ship jumps to the next world she will have to visit, telling you stories of the past, present, and future, as you look on with amazement. You don’t do that anymore, now. She would do anything to see it come back. She would steal a crown and place it on your head, though you having the genuine article does not make you any stronger. If anything, perhaps it would make you weaker to her whims.

“Imagine that…” She sighs, closing her eyes as she smiles. “We can go to Penacony. Your dreams would come true there if I cannot make them true myself. You can sleep on beds worth more than this entire opera house. If only you would let me. I know it would make you happy. I know it would make me happy. So why wouldn’t it make you?”

She would listen to your ultimate pains, and your ultimate wishes, and act accordingly. She loved you. You will too, again. It is only a matter of time, isn’t it? Yes, Kafka thinks, it is fate.

…

Kafka always sits in the front row of the theater.

It does not matter whether or not she purchased the tickets for it, the seat, or the show soon to come to fruition. No one dares talk back to her, even security. She finds comfort in that. No one gets in the way of her having the chance to see you. Better yet, no one else sits in the front row when she is present.

So, she watches, one of her legs crossed over the other, her eyes never blinking. During interludes she likes to adjust her makeup accordingly, painting on another shade of crimson to her lips. Art comes in many forms, after all.

Kafka told you that once. As always, you listened dutifully as she taught you to be.

She taught you many things, not just that. She taught you how to read constellations. She helped you learn her vocabulary in the books she gave you, often long fairytales or poems. She preferred it that way when you used to be so eager to have someone be friendly to you and not want to simply use you for their own amusement, not wanting to throw you out of the opera house altogether.

The opera house may rot after it goes up in flames, in the future, if things go her way as it always does, but she’ll stay to watch it all, to take you in as you cry and as she shushes you. She’ll be happy. Maybe you will be too, for her. It matters how good your performance is, if you even want to act anymore, after all.

The lights dim, and she shows her pearl-white teeth as she grins.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #kafka x reader #yandere kafka x reader #yandere kafka #yandere honkai star rail x reader #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader

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wisteriasymphony · 2 months

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(i wrote our boy being overdramatic @mostmagical @xhanisai @graythegreyt)

---

"Okay, and if everything developed as it was supposed to..." Adrien muttered to himself, slowly taking off the plastic bag he'd wrapped around his hair, "...It should look..."

Adrien studied his reflection in the mirror. He was right; It did look. BAD.

He went to fish the box the hair dye came in out of the trash, just to check for sure. Indeed, they looked nothing similar: The box showed what looked like a subdued strawberry blonde, and the mirror showed an orange that wouldn't be out of place in a construction zone.

"This is fine," he said to himself, gritting his teeth. "...Nothing washing some of the dye out can't fix."

So, Adrien bent over his bathroom sink and began to scrub at his roots like his life depended on it, because in that moment it felt like it very much did. Buckets and buckets worth of bright, kindergarden-crayon-orange seeped into the sink's drain, until it finally gave way to an only slightly better highlighter-orange shade of runoff dye.

After that good 5 minutes of "fixing it", Adrien looked back to his reflection in the mirror. No change, aside from his mouth falling open in abject horror.

"Oh god, no no no no—"

Looking to his hands brought him no comfort, as they now were stained just as orange, like he was the Lady Macbeth of shoving his hands up a jack-o-lantern's ass. And just as Lady Macbeth experienced, no amount of scrubbing would rid his hands of the "damned spot"—one which covered the entirety of his palms and fingers.

A squeaky voice echoed from behind him—One who'd clearly been watching this spectacle the entire time. "Looks like you missed auburn big ti—"

"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" Adrien shouted back, letting the sink still run—the dye wasn't even willing to part from its ring around the drain, it seemed. Adrien nearly buried his face in his hands, before he stopped himself from spreading the horrid disease further. "God, my father's going to come back from the dead just to kill me for this. —I can't go out looking like this!"

"Luka Couffaine goes out with dyed hair all the time."

"Luka Couffaine does not look like a fucking papaya, Plagg!" Adrien collapsed over his sink, debating whether or not this mistake was worth taking up teenage alcoholism. "I can hear it already.... I'll be called 'Orange Boy' for the rest of my life..... I just wanted to not be blonde anymore, and look at me," he whined, "I'm a disgrace!"

"At worst you look like a fruit!" Plagg replied. "And everybody already knew that about you."

If Plagg had shoulders to grab, Adrien would have done so, just to violently shake him. Maybe rub off some horrible mango-colored hue on his body too, just to impart upon the kwami some of his misery.

"...God," he lamented. "I have to tell Marinette... Warn her about what I've done to myself."

#two parter on the way if i get bajillion notes /j #i love writing adrien as a pathetic little drama queen he's my little cyclone of a man #adrien agreste #mlb adrien #miraculous adrien #miraculous fanfic #orangedrien

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ssahoodrathotchner · 1 year

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I’m Lost Without You

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: when a case goes wrong, Aaron’s the only one who can get you out of your head

Word Count: 1.5k words

Warnings: swearing, angst, blood, canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort, Aaron being sweet

A/N: aaaaaand i’m back again with some angst. This idea literally wouldn’t leave me alone so here we are. Somewhat inspired by lady macbeth’s “out damned spot” soliloquy but like only in the hand washing and not the actual stabbing of a guy bit

Masterlist

---

There’s blood under your fingernails and it won’t go away.

The fluorescent lighting of the police station bathroom illuminates the red under your nails, taunting you with the results of your failure.

You scrub harder, bordering on frantic as pink water swirls its way down the drain.

Your fault.

---

It was too easy.

Women in their twenties going missing from a college campus after attending events put on by the history faculty.

Narrowing down the lists of professors, students, and staff led to three possible unsubs, one of which had a previous record for assault and battery six years prior.

It was too easy.

Everything was seamless. Reid’s geographic profile, Garcia’s information on the unsub’s records, Emily and JJ’s deductions based on victim type all led you to believe that you had the right person and prevented her from finding the next victim.

The team cornered the unsub in her office during a meeting with her TA, who was part of the whole takedown operation—your idea.

But.

Your fault your fault your fault.

As soon as Morgan breached the doorway the professor, Dr. Jennifer Coleman, pulled a handgun from her desk and shot her TA. Point blank. In the chest.

The rest of the takedown is a blur.

Immediately, you pushed past Morgan and began assessing Celia – the TA, her name is Celia—while the rest of the team swarms in around you to subdue Dr. Coleman.

Erratic heartbeat, stuttering breaths, wide eyes. Wide green eyes.

Your hands go to her chest, pressing down on the wound, staunching the blood as much as you can with your bare hands.

Not enough not enough not enough.

It’s not enough.

Celia Townsend is declared dead on the arrival of the EMTs, weeks from graduating with her masters in anthropology.

She was twenty-seven.

Your fault your fault your fault.

You watch as the body bag is zipped up.

There’s blood under your fingernails.

---

The door creaks open behind you, and your eyes flash up to the mirror to see who’s joined you in your futile attempt to rid your hands of the blood.

“Hey.”

It’s Emily.

You meet her eyes in the mirror before turning your attention back to your hands.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“You’ve been in here a while,” she starts, cautious. “Are you okay?”

“I’m—” your voice catches.

You scrub harder.

Your fault your fault your fault.

“Hey,” she says again, moving to catch your elbow. “Hey, careful, careful. Your hands…” She trails off as you take a moment to look over at her.

“There’s…” you pause. “The blood. Under my nails. I can’t get it to go away.”

Gently, Emily takes one of your hands in hers and holds it up and you can see it. See the stains under your nails, the signs of your futile attempt to save the life of Celia. The girl you sent to her death.

You hold your breath as Emily tilts your hand under the light, the blood a dull red where you haven’t scrubbed hard enough.

“I have just the thing,” she states, squeezing your hand before ducking back out the door.

You turn back to the sink and immerse your hands once again as the door swings shut.

The blood is still fucking there.

---

It’s Aaron who comes through the door after an indeterminate amount of time has passed.

You glance at him in the mirror before turning your attention back to your hands.

Your fault your fault your fault.

He moves until he’s next to you, silent. Watching.

“Sweetheart—” he begins softly. “Can you take a step back for me?”

You exhale sharply. “Not until it’s gone.”

“Until what’s gone?”

“The blood, Aaron. Celia’s blood. It won’t come out from under my nails,” your voice shakes as you pause and watch the water swirl down the drain under your hands.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again. “There’s no more blood.”

What?

“No, it’s—right there, it’s there, Aaron, see?” you frantically point at your hands, the red under your nails, the red that’s haunted you since watching the ambulance pull away. “It’s right there!”

Why can’t he see it?

Aaron’s hands engulf yours and he pulls them to his chest, turning your body into his as he steps closer until your head is tucked under his chin.

The water shuts off, but you can still feel it running over your hands, through your fingers. Warm. Incredibly warm and real and red—

“Take a breath, Sweetheart. The blood is gone, it’s gone,” he says, holding both your hands in one of his you he can tilt your chin up until your eyes meet.

“But—”

“Shhhh it’s gone. It’s all gone, Sweetheart.”

Aaron studies your face for a moment before something in his own expression fractures and he wraps both arms around you, tucking his face against the top of your head as the gently rocks the both of you.

You let your eyes close and you lean into his body, grasping weakly at his jacket.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head and the two of you don’t let go of each other.

Then the tears start.

Between one moment and the next your breath catches and tears start to seep from under your closed eyes. Face buried in Aaron’s chest, you give in and let yourself cry.

You cry for Celia, for the life she could have lived. For your own guilt and the weight that’s been steadily crushing your lungs since your hands made contact with Celia’s blood.

You cry for yourself. For the knowledge that you can’t save everyone, no matter how hard you try or how good your plan is.

You can’t.

Not your fault.

You become vaguely aware that Aaron’s muttering reassurances into your hair, and you listen closer to hear a litany of “You tried, Sweetheart, it’s okay. You got the blood, you got it. Take a breath, darling, it’s okay. I love you, and it’s okay.”

It’s easy to lean further into his embrace, to insistently push your head under his chin and exhale slowly as you let the tears finish tracking down your cheeks.

“Please don’t leave me,” you whisper, “I know you won’t, not now, but. I just. I don’t want to be alone,” you take a shaky breath. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Never,” you feel him breathe against the top of your head. Aaron pulls back to press a long kiss to your forehead. “Never, Sweetheart.”

“Thank you, Love,” gratitude evident in the way your body loses its tension.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Aaron asks hesitantly, hands tightening around your body.

“Not now,” you respond immediately. “I can’t—it’s just—not now. Later, I think. Later.”

“That’s fine, Sweetheart. Later is fine. Or never, but I’m always here if you want to talk.”

He pulls you closer for a moment before pulling back to tip your head up, placing a kiss on your cheek before turning your face to repeat the action on the other side.

You open your eyes, prying apart eyelids that feel too heavy, and look directly into the warm gaze that awaits yours.

“…I want to go home,” you confess. “I can’t be here any longer, Aaron.”

“So we go home, Sweetheart. I’ll tell the team to rally and we’ll have the jet ready in two hours. They should be wrapping up the interrogation shortly,” he responds with a soft smile.

The relief that spreads through your body is a welcome reprieve from the frantic terror that had taken over your mind for however long it’s been.

A thought strikes you “My hands—the blood,” you start.

“—Isn’t there anymore, Sweetheart. Take a look,” Aaron consoles you, pulling both of your hands into your field of vision. “The blood is gone.”

Slowly, you let your vision drift to your hands, expecting to see the reddish stain that you haven’t been able to escape and yet—

It’s gone.

The red is gone.

You pull away from Aaron completely, holding your hands up to the light, twisting them back and forth to catch every possible angle and it’s gone. The blood under your nails is finally gone.

Slumping forward, you close your eyes as your face falls into the crook of Aaron’s neck, shuddering through your next few breaths.

“It’s gone,” you mumble.

“It is, Sweetheart,” he answers. “Let’s go home.”

“Home,” you agree. “Let’s go home, Love.”

Pressing another kiss to your forehead, Aaron takes a moment to swipe a damp paper towel across your face and take away the dried tear tracks, tenderly turning your head back and forth to make sure he got all the remnants of your breakdown.

You lean forward, slowly, letting Aaron meet you halfway in a kiss that soothes your nerves in its familiarity. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull back enough to let your lips rest lightly on Aaron’s, enough to brush his as you smile for the first time in what seems like an eternity.

“Thank you, Love,” you say softly. “I love you.”

“I love you more, Sweetheart,” he responds, just as gentle.

And you know that Aaron, always Aaron, will be there on the good days and the bad no matter what.

--- Taglist: @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @averyhotchner @prentisswrites @mylovelysnowflake @hqtchner @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @emlynblack @clarawatson @andromedasstarship @madamsnape921 @mac99martin @midsummernightdream @itsmytimetoodream @homoose @whosscruffylooking @agentaaronhotass @thenewnormalforensicator @myloveofcmreid @ssahotchie @romanogersendgame

#andi writes #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x fem reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #cm fanfic

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evenstar0600 · 2 years

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DECEPTION | t.riddle

IN WHICH: lucius malfoy never put tom riddle's diary in ginny weasley's cauldron. instead, history puts a twist on the events and the diary is put on a shelf in flourish and blott's, only to be picked up by an unsuspecting, muggleborn witch in hufflepuff; sixteen-year-old (Name) Tyler.

PAIRING: tom riddle x afab!hufflepuff reader

WARNINGS: dark/yandere(?), mind control, manipulation, animal death, murder, hypnotism, tom riddle is a warning on his own, mental breakdowns, insanity, lady macbeth arc(?), character death, etc

Your hands were shaking. They'd been doing that a lot lately. The skin around your fingernails was red raw and bleeding, due you picking them from stress. Your pupils were blown-wide yet had a distant look to them, as if you weren't in the moment itself at all.

Desparately, you tried to scrub the blood stains that wouldn't go away. They wouldn't wash off. You felt like you were going insane. Like you were losing your mind. How the fuck had it come to this? You knew exactly how it'd all come to this.

It was a dreary August day in the summer of 1992. And your parents decided to take you back-to-school shopping in Diagon Alley for your sixth year at Hogwarts. You recalled going into Flourish and Blott's, dodging through the ever-growing line to see the infamous Gilderoy Lockhart, whom you paid no mind.

You'd spied the even-more infamous Harry Potter in the line somewhere. You were more focused on obtaining your school books for this year when you'd caught sight of it in your peripheral vision. The diary. The vintage-looking, leather-bound diary with it's worn exterior and its off-white parchment pages. And the three-word name at the bottom in a gold-colour. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Something scorched the back of your mind as helpless fingers plucked the diary off the shelf and into your cauldron with a clatter. To others, it was an unnoticed background noise but in your delirium, it sounded like the rolling East Winds of the storm last week. Crashing and forcing itself to be heard. You didn't want to take it but something beyond your control forced you to take it.

For the first couple of days back at Hogwarts, you'd neglected to write in it. Then you did. On the 9th of September, you finally wrote in it. The classic sentence starter of Dear Diary. Then came the reply. Hello (Name) Tyler. You adored Tom and wrote to him as often as you could.

Between classes. During lessons. During meals. After your dorm mates had gone to sleep. Then you began to experience the black-outs. One minute you were walking between classes; the next you found yourself near Hagrid's hut, robes drenched in a strange, crimson substance.

Your mind tried to deny it, the very fact, trying to convince you it was red ink or paint. But in your heart you knew the truth. You were covered in blood. The blood of the school roosters. And the guilt began to slowly eat you up. Consuming your heart. Clouding your mind. Until you began to soothe your madness by writing to your sweet Tom and picking the skin around your fingernails until it bled.

The same sinful red as the roosters' blood. Then the attacks followed swiftly. First, Filch's cat, Mrs Norris was petrified by the Basilik that you set loose on the school. You warned them. Writing the message in blood on the wall. The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware.

The victims of the Basiliks' petrification began to pile up. Sir Nicholas. Colin Creevey. Justin Finch-Fletchley. Penelope Clearwater. Hermione Granger. And it was all your fault. You'd condemned them to their fates. And the more paranoid you got. You'd hallucinate the blood on your hands. Scrubbing your hands for hours on end until they were red raw, just to get the fucking stain out.

You had your Tom to comfort you all. To soothe your ever-growing madness and paranoia. He'd appear to you sometimes. The tall, dark and handsome boy with his dark brown locks and insatiable smile. Then you figured it out. It was him. It was all him.

You'd pointed an accusatory finger at him, shaking like a leaf. "You..." you'd muttered in horror before meeting his piercing gaze with blown-wide pupils, "It's you!".

In a fleeted attempt to save yourself and anyone else, you stormed to the Girls' Lavatory on the third floor and threw the diary into the toilet. Thinking yourself safe, you relaxed. But you shouldn't have let your guard down. Tom had basically imprinted himself on you.

You always recalled his beautiful brown eyes piercing your soul, the very image was burnt into your memory. And no matter how many times you tried to forget, he always. came. back. You'd broken into Gryffindor Tower and basically ransacked the one of the Boys' Dormitories until you retrieved it.

Your diary.

You weren't yourself anymore. People around you noticed too. What happened to (Name)? Was something that was whispered among peers. Your bestfriend, Lily Peterson, had noticed too. You brushed her off, pushing her away. Then, tired of waiting, Tom summoned you down to the Chamber of Secrets.

His initial plan was to drain your life force so he could live again. But things changed. As the product of a love potion, he couldn't properly feel true, honest love but rather a warped version of it. Dark love. Obsessive love. Unjust love. His love was cruel. His touch was cruel. And he was cruel.

And you were his. No matter how you tried to stop him, you were always going to be his. "Mine," he'd murmur, holding your weak form against his own, carressing your face, "All mine,".

You'd tried to fight him off. But to no avail. You'd lost. Now, the world was going to feel Voldemort's wrath. And he'd start with the figure of twelve-year-old Harry Potter marching into the Chamber of Secrets.

#harry potter #tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #christian coulson #tom riddle x reader #yandere #angst #romance #fanfic #first fic #voldemort #lord voldemort #tom marvolo riddle x reader #voldemort x reader #lord voldemort x reader #manipulation #harry potter fanfic

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butchhamlet · 9 months

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are there any shakespeare retellings you recommend? i really enjoy retellings but it's also difficult to find ones that like. actually understand the source material... i've read your novella duodecimal and really liked it btw! excellent take on twelfth night :-)

THANK YOU SO MUCH WAH... yes, i can recommend some retellings! i keep intending to make a big post with my recs, actually, but there are so many out there that i haven't read yet... so for now here's an incomplete list:

a thousand acres by jane smiley: the first one that came to my mind seeing this ask. it's a retelling of lear set on an american farmstead, and the adaptation is done beautifully and smoothly--it's just distinct enough from OG Lear that you can judge it as a book on its own but also as a lear retelling. and it's sooooo good. it starts a little slow, but the character work is so excellent and it almost made me cry (i will note that there's a pretty hefty cw on this one but... saying what it is is technically spoilers? but feel free to send another ask or message if you want to know up-front)

the last true poets of the sea by julia drake: books that made me have to turn my camera off in zoom class so i could bawl properly. books written for me specifically. this is a loose YA retelling of twelfth night (looser than some of the other retellings on this list) and it's like. perfect. the teenage dialogue actually sounds like teenagers. every emotional beat clubbed me over the head. the love triangle is present--and done really well; it's not present for drama but because sometimes being a teenager is confusing--but more than that this is a book about the relationship between violet and her sibling, and about mental health, and god it makes me CRAZY. also girls kiss in this one

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead by tom stoppard: i mean. i think most people into shakespeare know r&gad. but in case you haven't read it yet, it's an absurdist play from the point of view of rosencrantz and guildenstern and it's absolutely fucking brilliant. not sure what else to say about this; you've really just gotta read it

teenage dick by mike lew: another play, this one on the modern side--a retelling of richard iii set in a high school, focusing explicitly on disability issues. kind of more a reimagining than a retelling, honestly, but i really like the exploration of r3's themes and also it's fucking hysterical. although i will say there's a kind of jarring tonal shift in this one near the end, so don't go to it for something 100% comedic

american moor by keith hamilton cobb: okay this isn't exactly a retelling but if you've ever read othello you have to read it. you just have to. please god if you've ever read a shakespeare PLEASE. it's a monologue from the perspective of a black man trying out for the role of othello, half-resigned to being pigeonholed into playing that specific role in a very specific way as directed by a white director, but also half-chafing against that resignation, and also exploring the complexities of loving shakespeare as a black man, and it's soooooo so good

exit, pursued by a bear by e.k. johnston: this one is kind of cheating because it's not really a retelling, in that it has next to nothing to do with the winter's tale except that there is a hermione character and a leontes character and a paulina character. i still think it's a very very well-done YA book, though, and one of the only ones i've read that deals head-on with abortion

foul is fair by hannah capin: okay, i will admit i read this one some years ago when i was more into YA, so i'm not sure i would still go crazy over it now, but the plot of this book is that the modern lady macbeth character gets assaulted by a guy at a party and decides to kill everyone who let that happen. and then she does. and idk i read it in two days it felt like being on crack

the wednesday wars by gary schmidt: this one is DEFINITELY cheating, because this isn't a retelling of anything. but if you like shakespeare and you're open to reading historical fiction about a kid in the 60s using shakespeare as a lens through which to understand the chaos of his life (from the vietnam war to his school crush)... it's so good. it made me nearly sob. beautiful book

i'm also a fan of ryan north's shakespeare choose-your-own-adventure books, but those aren't exactly retellings and also the humor will probably not work for everyone. but i like em <3

and finally, i would be remiss not to shout out the fact that @suits-of-woe wrote an INCREDIBLE retelling of the two gentlemen of verona that, like, redeemed the fact that that play exists. if you've read that play and you thought, "wow, i wish this were explicitly homoerotic, or not a rape apologia, or good in any way," you will LOVE macy's book. unfortunately it isn't fucking published yet but WITH YOUR HELP--

#max.txt #feel free to send me recs for shakespeare retellings at any time btw!#i've been collecting a list #i just haven't gotten around to most of the books on it yet #asks

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ineffably-smote · 5 months

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Macbeth, David Tennant - A very subjective, spoiler and emotion filled review

Just walking out of seing Macbeth at the Donmar and I have Feelings. Unsurprisingly, I primarily went to see it because David Tennant was in it. I love the play, big fan of Shakespeare but the trip to London was most certainly motivated by a very specific actor. Hence the highly subjective review. Fortunately, I also happen to quite like Macbeth. We studied it at school, and it holds a special place in my heart (back then, Hamlet was my favourite Shakespeare play but honestly, after tonight, I’m not so sure anymore. Anyway, I digress). It was my first time actually seeing an actor I’m a fan of in real life, so obviously the entire time my brain was just going oh my god that’s David Tennant oh my god that’s David Tennant like I actually could not comprehend it. The man I’ve spent hours staring at on a little screen is suddenly real, and right there. So yeah, that took me a hot second.

(Excuse the piss poor image quality, I took this with shaky hands without looking or bothering to focus the cam)

The Staging

Still starstruck and a bit dazed, one thing really really stood out to me: the staging. It was so, so good. I knew it was going to be minimal from the pictures I had seen, and it was, but it was also so insanely real. There were barely any decorations, and half the cast and the musicians were hidden behind a glass screen doing background noises and gestures. From where I was sitting I could not see them much, but could definitely hear them which added to the overall atmosphere. The stage was also really tiny, and the play benefitted incredibly from it. All the action was happening in one tight space that had been put to use incredibly well, particularly the banquet scene but I’ll come back to that because it deserves its own paragraph.

The way they chose to do the soliloquies was so fitting - all the actors start to move in slow motion - everyone else slowing down and just the characters speaking moving was so good, it made sense.

The Headphones

I’m a bit mixed about the headphones. They were amazing for the vibes, we could hear whispers and they really heightened some of the emotional speeches in the play - because when someone is struggling with guilt and trauma it makes sense for them to be mumbling rather than yelling. So that was really great. However, especially in the scenes where the actors where yelling/ loud I preferred to take them off a bit cause it felt more real that way. I’m so used to hearing actors voice on recordings, it does hit different when you can hear them for real. But, as I said, personal preference and that’s what’s nice, you can take them on and off as much as you want.

Famous Speeches

There were three speeches I was quite interested to see how they were going to be adapted - scorpions and dagger for Macbeth, and out damned spot for Lady Macbeth. These are classic, everyone knows the words, the plot but they managed to make it feel real in a new and touching way. I think here the headphones were quite helpful because they allowed the actors to actually whisper parts of those lines. They were so subtle, so embedded in the text they felt so natural which imbued them with all their power. I saw in a review Cush Jumbo’s out damned spot speech be described as “haunting”, and I wholeheartedly agree.

The Macbeths

I didn’t like Macbeth, the character, very much when I first learnt about him. His actions didn’t make sense to me, I couldn’t quite comprehend in my 21st century little brain how he went from I’m super loyal to the King to I will freely murder children for shits and giggles. But now, now I understand. It makes sense, it’s believable. And that’s a mix of the acting choices and teh overall setting. Like the opening scene, instead of presenting Macbeth as a glorious hero, he is presented to us as a traumatised hero. He spends the first few minutes washing the blood of his clothes, haunted by noises from the battlefield. And that sets the themes quite nicely, not ambition, as Tennant specified in an interview, but guilt and trauma. There are so many ways to interpret Shakespeare, that’s the beauty of it, and I think this version of Macbeth just resonated more with me (maybe because ambition I don’t quite understand but guilt I am intimately familiar with? Or maybe because it was David Tennant? I don’t know, probably a bit of both). Tennant delivers a convincing Macbeth. Yes, you can see his ambitions play out, but also his fears, his guilt, and that makes him into a complex three dimensional character that you want to understand.

And I absolutely loved this version of Lady Macbeth. Not just a powerful woman who bullies her husband into become an evil murderer (because again, here we can see traces of that in Macbeth from the start), but an ambition woman in love, with her husband, with power, and not quite healed from the trauma of loosing her child. Again another review said she is more of an enabler than a manipulator and I quite liked that description.

My Favourite Scenes

God the banquet scene. The one with the ghost of Banquo. An absolute masterpiece. I did not expect that scene to hit that hard. It was raw, it was powerful and even if Tennant was facing away from where I was sitting, even without seeing his face I could feel the emotion, the whole audience could. In a video essay on Tennant, @davidtennantgenderenvy highlighted how in almost every role he played, there is it is the classic Tennant breakdown moment, and breakdown moment it was. Not with tears, not as expressive as he sometime is but just enough for a King trying to hold it together but fear and guilt breaking through. I was absolutely overwhelmed and it was beautiful. The set up for the scene was amazing too - there were ceilidh, celebrations, I adored the contrast between these fast pasted scenes and guilt ridden whispers of the couple. And the way everyone sat down around the stage and suddenly it looked like a banquet table ? Just perfect.

Another really cool moment, less on the emotional side but more on the visuals was when Macbeth goes to get the second prophecy from the witches. Almost the whole cast is there, running around, moving, almost dancing and it gives the whole thing a mystical atmosphere. There’s smoke, Macbeth falls, is carried up high Jesus style, cowers, rises, it’s so busy and insane all the while there are whispers and whispers in the headphones - it manages perfectly to feel like a mystical moment.

Descent Into Madness & other cool things

For Macbeth, having the kid running around scene after scene, haunting him, and then scene where he kills him - GOD it’s powerful. Lady Macbeth’s descent into madness was so well characterised, I also loved the glass on the background that locked away some of the cast. Just wild. The actor that played Malcom actor was also really cool, and Macduff and Ross, big fan of all of them.

Overall I am overwhelmed with emotions. Tennant is truly one of my favourite actors - from Good Omens to Staged, Jessica Jones, even Harry Potter but also Mad to be Normal, Nativty, There She Goes, Around the World in 80 days, Doctor Who (god I’ve started a list, never start lists cause you’ll forget people) and so, so many more, I was truly beside myself with excitement and expectations for tonight. And it did not disappoint. I do not want to leave the theatre and I pray they release a recording of this because I want it imprinted on my soul.

(Side note: I don’t know how to use tumblr very well, for some reason whenever I try to reply to ppl it posts from my other blog? Anyway @raquel-and-sergio is in fact me)

#david tennant #Macbeth #donmar macbeth #review #sort of #more like therapeutic ranting for me #because i love this Scottish man so much #and i dont want this moment to be over yet #or ever for that matter #good omens #tenth doctor #fourteenth doctor

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tyttetardis · 4 months

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Macbeth Q&A 18th Jan 2024 Part 2

Continuing where the previous post left off...

The next question basically boiled down to "How will you go on in your career from having lived this experience" - David says something funny, but I can't decipher what/ or remember it. Cush then replied "I'm quitting. I'm not doing anything else!". She then goes on to talk about how part of the fun of doing what they do, is that they develop their skillsets and toolkits - and that they are lucky to be living in a time where technology is kinda smashing into theatre. She talks about how theatre is one of the oldest forms of storytelling - and telling a story is as old as gets. So with every job they do, ideally, they want to develop or take on something new that you can then infuse into other things work on afterwards otherwise you're essentially just banging your head against a wall, doing the same thing over and over again.

Cush then said that theatre will live or die will based people coming or not coming - "You know, as much as I love everbody in here, one day we will all be dead" - so the survival of the amazing and beautiful thing that theatre is depends on younger people wanting to come as well and therefore it's important not to be afraid of fusing worlds together - experimenting and trying new things.

She goes on to say that there's been people to see the play who has never seen Shakespeare, never seen Macbeth before - and who has then told them things like "It's really cool how you changed to words to modern [language] and that's just because they understood it" and it's important to have in mind than when standing there you're not just explaining the show to one person, but to everybody.

David then continued by saying that they are not suggesting that this is now the only way they will do their projects! Every project they come into has its own way of being, its own development process and its own concept. This is just one way of telling this story - that allows you inside of some characters, who might suffer from PTSD for various reasons, which was the starting point that led to "How can we tell that story? How can we be inside someone's head in a particularly nightmarish way?"

A not production of Macbeth might approach that differently - but one version of the play isn't more valid than the other, one doesn't wipe the other out - they just have tools at their disposal and sometimes they make use of them.

The last question was in regard to the whole production (and cast) being Scottish with the exception of Lady Macbeth - and what the thinking behind that might have been.

David answers that that too was one of Max's original ideas (even though he isn't Scottish). But right from the start he wanted a Scottish cast, Scottish conditions, Gaelic singing. The idea being that Lady Macbeth not being from Scotland is part of the story in itself - she's another, she brings a different energy which allows the Macbeths to have a slightly different perspective on the world they are in.

Annie Grace then mentioned that she wondered if that idea was influenced by a production of Winter's Tale that she and Alasdair both worked on together with Max. The play was done in Edinburgh with a full Scottish cast as well and used traditional Scottish music. Craig then told her that that was indeed the influence behind the idea!

And then he ended the Q&A :(

#David Tennant #Macbeth #Cush Jumbo #Donmar Warehouse #Hope the second part makes sense too!#I'm really not the best with transcribing things - I mean I'm like dependent on subtitles because my listening abilities aren't the best #but hopefully it makes sense!

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itsokbbygrl · 3 months

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Proper Education: A Dark!Joel Saltburn AU Chapter 1: Fair is Foul, and Foul is Fair

Pairing: Dark!Joel Miller x OFC!Reader (written in 2nd POV)

Chapter Rating: M for foul language, underage drinking, mentions of sexual activity and drug use

Word Count: 1.1k, just a baby chapter to kick things off (don't get used to this, most of these chapters will be monsters)

Reader Immersibility: OFC is insanely white coded (frankly this whole story is full of white nonsense), she is from an old money wealthy family that owns an estate from the Gilded Age in New York, she is 18 years old, a college freshman at University of Texas at Austin, and is considered beautiful by society's standards in 2006 which means she is thin, has long hair, and is able bodied. She is relatively smart, but by no means a scholar. She is very sociable and often uses her charm to get her way. Story is written in 2nd person POV so the reader can feel what she is feeling as the story progresses and to keep the reader’s perspective limited as things start to get weird whacky and wild, but it will be difficult for the average reader to see themselves as her physically (myself included, trust me).

Chapter Tags: 18+ MDNI, foul language, implied drug use, underage drinking, mentions of sexual activity, college freshman aged OFC, rich white people doing rich white people things, author is requesting that you suspend your disbelief for some of these things!!!, OFC's family estate is a real place but is not a family home, liberties are taken with regard to UTA student life, inspired by Saltburn

Dividers by @pommecita, story is not beta'd, just written and edited by yours truly

Yet do I fear thy nature; It is too full o’ th’ milk of human kindness To catch the nearest way. -Lady Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 5

The car slows to a stop in front of the familiar old tower. The stone structure bleached by unrelenting ultraviolet rays from the unrelenting sun baring down an omnipresent heat. You’d almost forgotten what it was like, the Texan summer. Almost.

Your driver removes your luggage from the trunk of the black town car as you exit from your seat and step into the perpetually sticky August air, shading your eyes with a hand at your brow so you can properly thank him before you reach for your purse and leave him with a generous tip. You can’t remember his name, but you’re thankful for his service nonetheless. You’ve long become accustomed to a variety of faces in your family’s employ weaving in and out of your life; he is simply another face and name to add to the ever-increasing register.

Your family sent the majority of your things ahead of move-in day, the university easily agreeing to transport them to your suite in student housing, a benefit of having your last name on one of the buildings, you rationalize, leaving you with a single suitcase and weekend bag to attend to on your own as you make your way to the designated key pickup zone.

You were regretting your choice of attire the farther you strode across campus. You’d spent the last three months of your summer break idling at your family’s Long Island estate. The cool sea air making you quickly forget how unabating the summer heat was in landlocked central Texas. Your family had escaped the annual calefaction just after your graduation, retreating from your home in the rolling hills of Austin to the cool serenity of the Island. The estate is grandiose, passed through generations and now belonging to your mother and father. A bit gaudy in its opulence, in your opinion, but you harbor many fond memories from your summers spent there throughout your life—running through the vast gardens, sunning yourself on the meticulously manicured lawns, learning to golf and play tennis and swim, and as you grew a bit older, partaking in the many lavish parties hosted by your parents and grandparents alike, kissing boys in secret corridors, drunkenly losing your virginity in the grand library, gleefully breaking your D.A.R.E. pledges with your dear sister and cousin in your bathroom the first time someone brings over a tiny plastic baggie full of unlabeled white powder.

Your exposed skin glistened with sweat; low rise denim skirt clinging to the skin at your hips, skin beginning to chafe uncomfortably between your thighs. You were glad you’d opted to clip your hair up in a classic twist before you’d gotten off the plane, keeping your neck free from being insulated by your thick tresses. You’re thankful for the many trips to campus over your lifetime as you head towards the designated booth for freshmen to pick up their dorm keys. You’re a fourth generation Longhorn, a legacy, and you know you have a reputation to uphold. You try to keep your face poised, relaxed, friendly, as the growing beads of moisture begin to drip in tiny rivulets between your breasts and along the central dip of your spine.

You introduce yourself to the upperclassman working the table for your building and complete the requisite paperwork before you’re handed your keys—one for your door, one for your personal mailbox—and instructed to stop in the lobby before you drop off your items so you can have your student identification badge issued.

“Your ID works like a key to get into the building after 10pm. Don’t lose it,” you’re warned by the table attendant.

“Thank you, I’ll be careful,” you answer congenially, leaving them with a charming smile before you head in the direction of your dorm.

You find your building without issue and reluctantly have your picture taken by the residence hall staff for your student ID. They give you a rundown of the general building rules—curfew is 10pm, after which time only residents with their programmed ID badges will be permitted entrance, all overnight guests must be checked in at the front desk with a government or student ID, no alcohol or illicit drugs are permitted on the premises, smoking is not permitted inside the building—and you maintain eye contact with the staffer and smile and nod while you let their words flow in one ear and out the other.

Once you finish signing your agreement to follow the established residence hall code of conduct, your student ID has been printed and programmed. You take the badge with kind smiles and ample thanks before you haul your luggage to the elevator and make your way to your assigned room. A private double room all to yourself. Your parents insisted, making sure you’d have enough space to study and relax in equal measure.

“Sweetpea, you know how it is there, those RAs are not gonna be as lenient as your daddy and I with the,” your mother stops her sentence and gestures, mimicking smoking a joint with one hand and drinking from a bottle with the other. She had sat on the other end of the plush sofa with you as you debated which residence hall to choose after coming home after your new student orientation the previous spring.

You scoffed and kicked out a leg, painted toes bumping her thigh.

“What? I’m just sayin’, babydoll. You’re a good time, college is a good time, but the RAs can be real,” she lowers her voice, “cunts.” She snickers a laugh at her own crudeness.

“Mama, I know. I just thought it was part of the,” you raise both of your hands, forefingers and middle fingers miming quotation marks in the air, “college experience to have a random roommate or whatever.” You look back at the brochures in front of you and sigh before relenting. “I guess you’re right. The privacy will be nice.”

“Damn straight, baby. Plus, you don’t have to worry about a roommate being around when you bring a nice young man home to fu—”

“MOM, jesus,” you cut her off, shaking your head as she laughs.

“What?! Baby girl you are my daughter, that means you’re half of me, and I fully know what that entails, ok? No reason to be ashamed of it, you’re young and gorgeous. Enjoy it while it lasts,” she tips her glass of white wine in your direction. You reach for your own on the coffee table, lifting it to hers, allowing the crystal to clink and chime in cheers as you both take a sip.

You use your new key to unlock your door and haul your bags inside, finding boxes stacked neatly in the corner for you to unpack. “Welcome home, I guess,” you say to the four walls you’ll call home for the next year.

Navigation: Chapter 2: coming soon | Series Masterlist

a/n: thank you for reading! this is a multi-chaptered work in process with new chapters being posted approximately every other Friday at or around 7pm CT (pending my work schedule changing to late shift). please consider not only liking, but reblogging and leaving a comment or tags to give me some feedback! reblogs are the only way content is circulated on this platform and are always appreciated!

follow @itsokbbygrl-notifs and subscribe to notifications to receive notice when new chapters are posted.

#LJ writes #joel miller x oc #joel miller x reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel x oc #joel x you #dark!fic #dark!joel miller #WIP #fan fiction #ongoing #ongoing series #proper education fic

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wholoveseggs · 5 months

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See you're taking request.

How about Elijah and reader meeting in a library and bonding over any English classic (story takes place in around 1950-60s) like Macbeth or Frankenstein or The picture of Dorian Grey and again meet in a debate hall or something similar?

Between Pages

{Masterlist}

It's the 1960s, and you are a college student finding solace in the campus library. There, you encounter more than knowledge within its walls.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! - This was a fun challenge to write!! ♡♡~

You ever know the exact gif you are going to use before you even write the story? This is one of those cases...

5k words - Warnings: no smut, mild drama, bullying, human Elijah, mentions of cheating.

You were sitting in the library of the university, your back was hurting from sitting hunched over your books for hours and the letters were swimming in front of your eyes. You sighed and ran a hand over your face, trying to rub the tiredness away. When you really got into a book you tended to lose track of time and any sort of physical feeling, the world disappearing around you. It was the only time when you felt like you could forget about all the worries in the real world.

You were in the middle of a particularly exciting scene when someone cleared their throat. You looked up and were surprised to see a guy standing next to your chair. He had curly hair and was wearing a black leather jacket over a dark red shirt.

"Can I help you?" you asked. The guy smiled slightly and took a chair, sitting down across from you.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone in the library on a Saturday night?" he asked. You were taken aback by his forwardness.

You looked around the place, pointedly glancing at all the books, "Reading?" you said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

The guy chuckled, "Well, don't you have anything better to do? You know, like go out with me? Have a couple of drinks?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Sorry, but no." You turned your attention back to your book, hoping that the guy would take the hint and leave you alone. But he stayed put, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you.

You glanced up again, feeling his eyes on you, "Did you want something?" you asked, a little irritated.

The guy smiled, "Yeah, for you to say yes."

You felt uncomfortable, like a cornered animal. There was something about the way this guy was looking at you that made you feel like he was going to pounce if you didn't agree to go out with him. A sickening feeling of unease started to spread in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry, but no," you repeated, trying to keep your voice level.

The guy leaned forward, resting his elbows on your chair, getting closer to you, "Aw, come on, don't be like that. Just give me a chance."

"I don't think she's interested." A smooth melodic sounding voice chimed in. You and the guy both looked to your left. There was another man sitting in a lounge chair, his eyes on his book. His appearance was striking, with dark brown hair and a sharp jaw. He looked up from his book and just stared at the other guy, one eyebrow raised.

"You heard the lady. Now fuck off, would you?" the stranger added.

"Hey, fuck you!" the first guy spat. He was obviously pissed, his hands were clenched into fists.

"I'll pass," the stranger said, a smug grin on his face. "And so will she. Now leave before I make you.”

You were speechless. You didn't know what to say or do. This was not the way you had imagined your Saturday night.

The guy got up, a frown on his face, "Pity." He mumbled and walked away. You were still trying to comprehend what had just happened when the stranger's voice brought you back to reality.

"You okay?" he asked, a concerned expression on his face.

You looked at the new guy, a grateful smile on your face, "yeah, thanks. He was a bit too persistent."

"Don't mention it. This is not the place for picking up girls anyway."

You laughed, "where do you like to pick up girls then?" you asked jokingly.

"I don't," he replied seriously, continuing to read his book. You looked at him, trying to make out his features in the low light. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a black leather jacket over what looked like a white Henley shirt. He had a nice profile, a slight dimple on his chin, and a nice mouth that was gently open as he read.

You had to concentrate not to stare, and to get yourself back to your reading. But after a while, you couldn't help it, you glanced at him again. He looked up, meeting your gaze with dark, beautiful eyes. Your cheeks flushed red.

“Need something?" he asked, a smirk playing on his face. You quickly shook your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

He looked at you for a moment, studying your face, before his eyes went back to his book. But you noticed he was glancing at you every so often, a thoughtful expression on his face.

When you finished your chapter you looked up at the clock, realizing you had been there for six hours. It was now around midnight and the library would soon be closing. You let out a heavy sigh, you did not want to go back to your dorm, and risk running into your asshole of a roommate and her friends. They had been harassing you for weeks, throwing mean remarks your way whenever you encountered them. It just made sense to keep your nose buried in a good book, rather than being around bullies.

You grabbed your bag and headed for the exit. The library was almost completely empty apart from some older students who were still hunched over their books and looked like they wouldn't leave until the library closed. And then there was him. The guy in the leather jacket. He was still sitting in the same spot, his eyes on his book but you noticed his eyes were not moving across the page. You frowned and turned away. Just because he helped you did not mean you had to become friends.

Moments later, you found him standing beside you as you walked towards the exit, "that's one of my favorites," he said, pointing at the book you were holding in your hands.

"Frankenstein?" you asked.

The guy nodded, "what do you think of it?"

"I think the monster is misunderstood. That it deserved pity, rather than death," you said, not sure why you were opening up to this complete stranger.

He smiled, "me too." There was a short silence.

"I'm Elijah, by the way. I don't think I introduced myself properly earlier." He said, holding out his hand.

You shook it, "Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"I'll see you around, Y/N," Elijah said, smiling at you. He held the door for you before disappearing down the corridor.

You woke Sunday morning to the sound of your roommate and her friends getting drunk and singing shitty songs. You groaned and grabbed your pillow, putting it over your head, trying to muffle the sound. But after half an hour of lying in bed you had to get up. You stood and went to the bathroom to get changed, hoping to sneak out before they noticed you.

You put on your bra and then went to the closet to get a fresh shirt and dress. When you opened the closet door you were surprised to find nothing hanging. Your head whipped around and you saw your roommate sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and your clothes thrown around her.

She was laughing with her friends and your cheeks turned red when you realized they were on your bed. A lot of them were pulling at your dresses, shirts, and bras.

"Are you seriously wearing these ugly things? I would never be seen dead in this," she laughed, holding up one of your favorite blue dresses. She had the skirt tied around her head and her girlfriends were busy tying one of your shirts around her midsection.

"Come on guys, let's put on a fashion show!" she exclaimed loudly. The whole dorm was busting out in laughter, the girls throwing more clothes around.

"Can you please give me my clothes back, I have to go," you said in a small voice.

"Go where? Do you have a date? Wait, don't tell me you actually managed to lure someone with one of those ugly dresses!" your roommate laughed. Her friends joined in and they had a hard time standing up due to the amount of alcohol they had already consumed.

You ignored her remark and just stood there looking miserable. You bent over and picked up the closest dress, pulling it over your head.

They all looked at the dress you were wearing. It was purple, flowing down over your curves nicely, but it was an outdated style and it didn't suit you.

"Definitely not going on a date in that!" your roommate sneered, laughing. You ran your hands through your hair. You felt frustrated tears sting behind your eyes but blinked them away.

"Have a nice day Kathy," you said coldly, before grabbing your bag and leaving the room. Your face was burning hot with embarrassment. You couldn't wait until you could live on your own, far away from this place. Away from these people.

You settled down in one of the plush lounge chairs in the library, pushing away all the bad thoughts. Today would be a peaceful day, no bitchy roommates, no annoying classes. You felt yourself calm down. What you wanted now was to read a good book and just relax.

You were just flipping to the bookmarked page when you felt someone sit down across from you. You looked up and saw Elijah smiling at you.

"Nice dress," he remarked, pointing at your outfit. You smiled and felt a blush creep across your cheeks.

"Thanks. Went a bit off the rails with the style this time."

He leaned forward, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," you said, bracing yourself for whatever it was he was going to say.

"What exactly are you doing here? Spending all your weekends cooped up in the library, reading?" Elijah looked at you, curiosity in his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He smiled, "I asked first."

You shrugged, "No point in lying I guess. It's much easier to lose myself in a good story rather than deal with real life, you know." You looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I can understand that. These days everything's just going downhill," Elijah said, running a hand over his face, "the war in Vietnam, all the conflict here at home. There's a feeling that things are not going the way they should."

You looked up, amazed at his observation, "Exactly. Society is changing and it's overwhelming sometimes."

Elijah chuckled softly and reached for the book in your hand. You watched his fingers as they grazed yours. There was a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach as he touched you, and his lips curved upwards in a soft smile when you met his eyes.

"Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus," he read, running his fingers across the paper, he flipped to the page you were on and skimmed through the text, a thoughtful expression on his face. He handed the book back to you.

"It is a fantastic read, I think the author has done a great job capturing the fear society felt in the 1800s, towards advances in technology and the creation of artificial life," he commented.

You smiled happily, "I love this book. I always come back to it and get surprised by new details I have failed to notice earlier."

He gave you a wide smile, it made his face glow, "Do you have a favorite scene?" Elijah asked, his dark eyes on your face. You bit your lip and thought for a while, going over the book in your mind.

"My favorite scenes are when the monster finally meets Victor. Although it's an awful situation, it's actually pretty touching," you answered truthfully.

Elijah gazed at you fondly, "Why is that?"

"Because it shows the human ability to empathize, something everyone deserves to have," you told him, taking the book and flipping to the chapter in question, reading a paragraph out loud to him. He didn't interrupt you once, just looked at you, a soft expression on his face.

When you finished reading Elijah grinned, "beautiful, if not a bit bleak."

The two of you would spend hours every day, sitting together and exchanging thoughts about the books you were reading. You always enjoyed going to the library, but now you even anticipated it, hoping to run into Elijah. You would wake up a little earlier, dressing up a little nicer. When you would walk into the library he was the only thing in your thoughts, his beautiful smile, and how he was always so kind to you.

After almost three weeks, you found Elijah waiting at your usual table, his jacket still on.

"I thought it would be nice to go somewhere else today," he said.

You arched an eyebrow, "Where?" you asked,

"There's this restaurant near here, it serves some delicious food." he replied, giving you a sweet smile.

You looked down, thinking that even though his plan sounded lovely, you couldn't afford a fancy restaurant.

"My treat," he added, as if reading your thoughts.

You swallowed and smiled at him, nodding, "Okay, yes. Let's go."

While you walked towards the restaurant you realized it was the first time you were spending time together outside the library, and outside the university grounds. Your heart was beating a little faster, and you hoped he wouldn't notice how nervous you had become.

The restaurant looked very cozy, wooden tables, candles, and a fireplace. You breathed in, the smell of spices making you sigh contently. You sat down at a table in the corner, and a woman came by to offer you the menu.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

You smiled at her and ordered a glass of wine, Elijah ordering something as well. You were a little overwhelmed by all this, not used to nice restaurants, nice wine, and good looking men.

Elijah was gorgeous, so out of your league, it hurt a little. But you pushed those thoughts away, you didn't want to think about such things now. You had a hard time making friends, and you were happy to have found a companion in Elijah, you didn't want to ruin anything by falling for him.

When the food arrived, you dug in, enjoying the flavorful mixture of fresh vegetables, pasta, and rich red wine. The conversation was easy, just like in the library, you discussed literature, everything from Frankenstein, to Macbeth to Poe.

It struck you that you knew nothing about his actual life, only his interests and his views of the world.

"So, what do you like to do outside of the library? Outside of class?" you asked him. He ate a piece of food before answering, seeming to think about the best way to answer the question.

"Not much really, I keep to myself mostly."

You stared at him, curious as to why. Surely someone as handsome as Elijah wouldn't be alone. You hoped it didn't sound like you were prying when you said, "What, there's no girlfriend you're hiding somewhere?"

Elijah gave you a gentle smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "I had a girlfriend, Katherine, but it didn't work out. She was cheating on me and using me to get what she wanted." He said, playing with a fork on his plate.

"That's awful, Elijah, I'm so sorry. But it's her loss, if she was stupid enough to cheat on you," you said quickly, wanting to support him.

He gave you a grateful look, "I believe in finding a lesson in every heartbreak, otherwise you end up repeating your mistakes over and over."

"So what did you learn?" you asked.

"I learned to trust my instincts more, not dwell on a past I can't change."

You nodded, "that's very wise, you know."

Elijah laughed, "no, it's the truth. People make mistakes, and sometimes we have to learn the hard way."

There was a comfortable silence between you as you both kept eating. Then he suddenly spoke. "What about you? Why spend all your spare time in the library?" Elijah said, his eyes glued to your face.

You sighed, "I have this roommate," you started. "Every day and every night she spends all her time partying with her friends. They drink a lot and make fun of me," You continued, recounting stories of how rude she and her friends have been to you. Elijah gave you a thoughtful look as you spoke.

"Don't mind them. They don't realize what a wonderful person they're missing out on," he said simply. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"They stole a bunch of my clothes, that's why I dress in outdated clothes from thrift stores. I have tried to talk to them, to stand up for myself, but they just laugh at me and continue to be cruel." You had not intended on saying all this to him, to vent. But you realized you had been holding this all in. Nobody knew or cared, until now.

"Thanks. For listening to me." You gave Elijah a little smile.

"Of course," Elijah said, taking your hand from across the table and squeezing it.

"I can't help with the roommate, but I can help with the clothes," he said, giving you a friendly smile, the one that made your stomach do flips.

"You already paid for dinner, I can't possibly ask for more," you muttered, worried you might be becoming a burden.

"I'm not asking. What time do you have classes tomorrow?" Elijah asked, letting go of your hand and finishing his food.

"Um," you were a bit startled but that was Elijah's fault for being so damn charming. You were not used to anyone wanting to be friends with you.

"Nothing after three."

"Great, I'll pick you up," he said, winking at you. You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, he had done this twice already, that winking thing that seemed to always catch you off guard.

You found yourself becoming even more smitten with him as the evening went on. It helped that he was devastatingly handsome, of course. But he was also kind, interesting, intelligent, and funny. And to your surprise, he seemed to enjoy talking to you as much as you enjoyed talking to him.

"How about this? The color goes nicely with your hair." Elijah held up a blouse for you to see. It was a lot more colorful than your other outfits, but the model on the display did look very chic. He was absolutely spot-on when it came to the latest fashion.

You took the blouse from him and held it against your torso, wondering if it would be a bad idea.

"It will match your beautiful eyes too," Elijah added. That made your heart race even more, and you decided to try it on. Walking to the changing rooms you saw several women looking at Elijah as you passed them. One of them whispered to her friend and the girl giggled, pointing straight at him. You rolled your eyes. Of course, they would hit on him. After all, he was the type of guy girls dreamed of dating. But apparently, he didn't care. Elijah just smiled at you, before offering to fetch more clothes for you to try on.

When you stepped outside the changing room Elijah grinned, "Beautiful. Suits you perfectly."

"Thanks," you whispered, the atmosphere strangely intimate. His comment combined with the fact that everyone was watching him made you blush.

The two of you worked through the shop, searching through racks and throwing clothes into a basket, until you each had quite a few pieces. Elijah took the basket from you and went to pay. All the outfits he had picked for you seemed to cost an enormous amount of money, and while he was paying you shook your head at him. He simply smiled and handed you the bags.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Elijah asked you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and causing a warm feeling to spread inside you.

"I have this book I want you to read, it's back in my room. We should stop by and get it," you offered, wondering if you were being too forward.

"Are you asking me to go to your room? Tsk tsk, how scandalous," he mocked, but the humor in his eyes told you he agreed.

Together, you drove back to your dorm, you were hoping that Kathy actually went to her psychology class today, it was her favorite subject after all.

When you got to the door you opened it, relieved that your room seemed empty. Elijah waited patiently while you looked around, until you finally found the book you had been talking about on your side of the room.

You sat on the bed, cross-legged, and he sat down next to you. The twin bed felt awfully small and Elijah was so close. Yet somehow it didn't feel weird.

"Have you read all these?" He asked, pointing at the pile of books, currently stacked in three columns on the small desk. You nodded.

"What's your favorite?" he wondered.

"The Hobbit," you said, stretching a little on the bed.

"Ah yes, another fantasy. Why am I not surprised," he teased, and then picked a book up from the pile, "And the rest are…"

"Mostly classics, and some romance," you admitted. Elijah arched an eyebrow. "You know, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, stuff like that."

"A romantic, huh?" Elijah said, turning towards you.

You blushed, "I guess so. But I mean, who isn't? Even if we deny it."

He nodded, "Very true. People have an innate need for a connection, something special."

"Yeah. It's the reason why we fall in love, why we create art," you said.

"And literature," Elijah added.

You smiled, "Here's the book I wanted to lend you," you said, handing it to him.

“The picture of Dorian Grey," he read the title.

"Yeah, it's a beautiful story, with an intriguing message."

"Thank you. I will let you know what I think of it."

You nodded, "Please, let me know,"

Elijah looked at you for a long time, the air seemed thick between the two of you. Your gaze kept dropping down to his lips, wondering how they would feel pressed against yours.

"Please don't judge me based on my taste in books." you said quietly, the tension was getting unbearable.

He raised an eyebrow at you, "why would I do that?"

"Kathy told me once that everyone who reads a lot is just trying to escape their sad life," you muttered, biting your lip.

Elijah gave you a little smile. "I'd like to believe it's the opposite. Books are just one way of living a rich inner life."

That made you smile, it's what you also believed and you were happy to have someone agree with you. Elijah placed the book aside, leaning close. You couldn't stop staring at his deep brown eyes.

"I enjoyed spending time with you today, outside the library. I miss you when you're not around. Your eyes and smile keep popping into my mind." he said softly, reaching his hand up and tucking your hair behind your ear. You blushed, unable to form any words.

Elijah closed the distance between the two of you, his lips softly pressing against yours. It was a sweet kiss, slow and unhurried. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I can't get you out of my head," he breathed, before kissing you again. The second kiss was different, there was a hunger to it, an intensity you hadn't felt before. Your fingers moved up to his hair and his hand caressed your cheek. You loved the feeling of his body so close to yours, his smell, his warmth, was completely intoxicating.

He gently pushed you back onto your pillows, kissing you slowly. Elijah pulled away, his lips hovering just above yours. "Is this okay?" he asked softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"More than okay," you whispered.

He grinned and went back to kissing you. Your hand slid down his back and slipped under his shirt and he broke the kiss to lift his arms and remove it.

You let your hands roam over his chest, admiring the view. His body was perfect. Your lips found his again and the kiss deepened. Elijah's hand found its way under your blouse, stroking your skin.

"Elijah?" Kathy's voice suddenly echoed through the room. Neither of you had heard her come in. You gasped, quickly sitting up and pulling your blouse down.

She was standing in the doorway, gaping at the two of you.

"Katherine, what are you doing here?" Elijah asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

"What are YOU doing here? With her?! In my dorm room!" she yelled, shooting a mean glare in your direction. You stared at her, mouth agape. How did she know Elijah? And why was she so angry at you for being with him? Then it hit you. She was the ex-girlfriend he told you about. The one who had cheated on him and used him.

"Oh fuck," you said quietly, "You're Elijah's ex."

She gave you a fake smile, "Oh, did he talk about me? That's cute. I see his standards have gone down dramatically,"

Kathy's friends all stood behind her, peeking over her shoulder to look at you and Elijah. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away. Elijah's expression hardened and he stood up, walking over to Kathy.

"You don't get to talk about her like that. Not after the way you treated me," he said through gritted teeth.

Kathy looked at him and huffed. "Please, you were always so boring. I can't believe you are making out with that loser."

You could feel tears starting to well up in your eyes, her words stinging. Her friends were all giggling and snickering behind her, mocking you. Elijah looked back at you momentarily, and you saw anger flashing in his eyes.

"Did you ever tell your little friends why I dumped you? How's Stefan? Or was it Damon? No wait... You tried it on with my brother as well," he smirked.

You could hear her friends gasp and whisper among themselves. Apparently, this was new information to them as well.

Kathy narrowed her eyes at Elijah, "I was the best thing that happened to you, and you know it,"

Elijah rolled his eyes at that, letting out a sarcastic laugh, "You were never the best anything, Katherine."

Her face fell, and her jaw dropped open. Her friends all stopped talking. "How dare you?" She spat, her hands balling into fists, she looked at you, and back at him.

"You have ten seconds to get out," Kathy hissed.

"Kathy I live here," you said, standing up.

"Not anymore you don't. This was my room first. Get your crap and get out." She said, pointing her finger at you.

"Fine. I rather sleep in the streets, probably more peaceful than this shithole," you said, grabbing your bag and shoving your books inside, as well as the clothes Elijah had bought you.

Elijah quickly pulled on his shirt and picked up his jacket. He reached his hand out, offering it to you. "Come on,"

You nodded, taking his hand, walking past the stunned group of girls. They didn't say anything, but you could feel their gaze on you.

Once you were outside the building, he turned towards you.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Elijah looked down at his feet. "That was a very unfortunate coincidence."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "I had no idea you were going to be my roommate's ex-boyfriend. It's kind of funny if you think about it."

He lifted his head and gave you a small smile. "Yeah, it is. Although, I'm not sure what's worse. Dating Katherine, or living with her," he joked.

"We should start a support group," you joked back, earning a full-blown laugh from Elijah.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. "I'm sorry, I hope this didn't ruin anything between us."

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "No, it's fine. But now I need to find a new place to stay," you sighed, resting your forehead against his.

"Or, you could stay with me," Elijah offered.

You bit your lip, the thought of living with him was tempting. But you didn't want him to think that's all you were after.

"You don't have to. I can manage," you mumbled.

Elijah's fingers brushed along your jawline. "I'd love it if you'd move in with me. No pressure, you can take the spare bedroom."

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling, the idea of living with him made your stomach flip. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," he replied, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

"I'll pay my share of the rent and I'll cook," you promised, your hands playing with the collar of his shirt.

"Absolutely not, you are my guest," he laughed, "you will relax and I will take care of everything."

"But, I can't let you do that!" you argued, but he simply kissed you, shutting you up.

He took your hand, leading you to his car. "There is one thing about my place though," he said, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"What is it?"

"I have a library."

Your eyes widened, "No way! How big is it? Does it have a ladder?" you asked excitedly.

"Yes, yes, and yes," Elijah answered, looking very pleased with himself.

"Then why do you hang out at the campus one?"

He shrugged, "I've already read everything in my collection. Most of the books at the campus library are brand new."

"Hmm, fair enough," you mused, getting into his car.

"Plus, we wouldn't have met if I didn't," he winked.

"I suppose not. Maybe we should thank Kathy, then," you said, a grin spreading across your face.

"Definitely not," Elijah said, and you both laughed.

As he started the engine, you couldn't help but smile, thinking about how your life would change. You'd get to spend every day with the man of your dreams. And maybe, just maybe, you'd get a happy ending.

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