#I surprised myself a little with all this attempt at poetry

[yourworsttotebag]

a short halsin/dark urge fic

Been thinking a lot and writing a lot today, tending a lot to my precious wip babies. Also wrote something very quick that I wouldn't give myself time to get too precious about.

I recently played through the scene in the Last Light Inn where Isobel and the inn are attacked and wrote a little thing about that.

Implied Halsin/Goneril (Dark Urge) features some talk about injuries and lots of talk about blood

-

When the last demon was dead, Goneril sank to the floor and lay on her back while she gulped for air. Her blood was still screaming for Isobel’s blood, the urge thudding in her neck and temples. She could still do it. If Isobel died, so would everyone in the inn. One small brick removed from a dam that would unleash a flood of death.

Goneril touched her tongue tentatively to her lip and tasted the blood there. It seemed humanoid instead of whatever odd substance pulsed through the demon's veins. The richness of it soothed some of the ache in her head, what she imagined a drunk felt like when the first sip of wine started spreading out from their stomach. She scrubbed her wrist across her mouth before she could attempt another taste.

“Hey, soldier.” Karlach leaned over her with a frown. She held out her hand and Goneril took it, allowing the tiefling to lift her all the way to her feet with ease. “You don’t look so good. You hurt?”

“Just had the wind knocked out of me,” Goneril said. She was still panting. It felt like her lungs were only taking in half of what they needed.

“We should check out downstairs,” Karlach said. “Looks like Jaheria and Halsin took care of the little fucks down there, but -”

Goneril wasn’t really listening but when Karlach’s words landed, she turned and ran.

“Oh, hey - boss!” Karlach called out but Goneril was already turning a corner.

Halfway down the stairs, Goneril leapt over the side of the banister and landed softly on the balls of her feet. The tiefling she landed next to screamed in surprise but Goneril ignored her and set off running again. 

The door to the large dorm room was open and Goneril slid to a halt in front of it. Her hands gripped the door frame so hard one of her knuckles cracked and her eyes immediately fell on Halsin. He was helping an injured Fist into one of the beds, urging a man with a dripping head wound to lay back against the pillows.

He was alive. He was alive. He was alive. Goneril set her hands on her hips, still in desperate need of oxygen, but feeling her breaths come easier. He was alive, he was alive.

Halsin was alive but he was injured. Two bloody gashes marked his bicep, like something with massive claws had taken a swipe at him. Blood had traveled all the way down to his wrist but Halsin was focused on his patient. His profile seemed calm as he held his hands above the Fist and golden energy began flowing from his hands.

Goneril looked between Halsin’s hands and his injury, lingering on the open flesh. Her stomach flipped dangerously. She stared and stared but she couldn’t read the poetry in the blood that dripped down his arm. It didn’t strike her as beautiful or sacred. It was just red. She turned away from the open door and pressed her back flat against the wall.

Across the large space, she saw Karlach coming down the stairs. Goneril closed her eyes and tried to picture her thoughts as a flowing river, passing over obstacles and endlessly moving forward.

“Uh - hey?” Karlach held her arms out at her sides. “Was it something I said?”

Goneril shook her head. Her chest had stopped heaving but her pulse still felt jittery.

“Sorry.”

“Well…come on,” Karlach said. “Isobel needs to talk to you.”

Goneril silently followed Karlach back upstairs. She had trouble listening when Isobel and Jaheria talked to her. They wanted her to go to Moonrise Towers but the only thing new about that was the urgency. 

She knew Halsin could heal his own wound with magic but when the desire to kill Isobel seemed to claw its way up through her throat, Goneril pictured wiping the blood from his arm and stitching together the wound herself. The hunger usually retreated after the first few mental passes of her needle. 

#bg3 #halsin #dark urge #oc: goneril #halsin x tav #halsin x durge #halsin x goneril #m: writing

[lost-in-time-marie]

All The Ways I’ve Learned Love Will Never Be Enough.

I used to think the first time life taught me that love wasn’t enough was through my best friend in high school. But I don’t think that’s true anymore. I think I have to start all the way at the beginning. My mom loved me, she did in her own way, in the only way she was capable of love. I used to think of it as some half love, or some twisted and broken sort of love. She loved me, and I loved her, in my own way, in the only way I could at the end of it all. But our love wasn’t enough, it wasn’t enough to make her not sick, to fill all those holes inside her.

My best friend in high school. That was already the next lesson. Because I hadn’t learned well enough yet. The first time I prayed to any god, I thanked them for sending me her. The first person to reach me, to teach me how to be alive, to rebel, to turn off all the blinding numbness. But my love for her wasn’t enough either. It wasn’t enough to cure her personality disorder, or to make her fix her problems that ultimately poisoned our friendship.

And by then, I knew full and well that love wasn’t enough. Not the love of your family. Not the love of your friends. Not the persistent and irrational love I couldn’t help but give. But I stubbornly held onto the notion of true love. Arguably the most foolish of them all. And by the time I met him, by the time I thought I was experiencing real and true love for the first time in my life, by the time those wretched fairy tales really dragged me under, it was far too late. And believe it or not, this lesson spanned nearly ten years before it sunk in. Before it drowned me and finished me off somewhere in those deep, dark waters.

In some secret part of my heart that I try not to bring out in the open too often, like the old shirt of yours I kept in my closet while away at college. I would bury myself in the smell only at the most desperate and lonely and painful of times, and I couldn’t tamper with it too often, a little bit of you faded away with each touch. I have those couple of perfect moments sealed away in my mind. The ones from the beginning, before we spoiled like an abandoned holiday dinner in an empty, ransacked house. The morning I came to pick you up for school, so early and we were so tired. “Just ten minutes”, you said, coaxing me back to your den. You slept on a couch on the back porch, all the bedrooms too full of your siblings, desperate for your own piece in this world. I laid on your chest, belly to belly, only the edge of fabric and flesh separating us, and we fell asleep there for a few hours, to the lullaby of our hearts beating in time. And I knew as it was happening that this was something special. One of those moments you know you have to memorize every detail, every smell and line and sensation, because it’s never going to happen again and you’re already missing it even as each second falls to the next. And I have that place there. Sequestered and perfectly preserved, like roses dipped in glycerine. I’m just waiting for the right time to really use it. That is the most visited page in our book, I’ve read it over and over, it’s dog eared and dirty from all the times my eyes have roved over it and my hands carefully roamed the pages. There’s a few others I dare not touch. Swimming in the cold springs in the sun. Staring up at the stars and wondering at the people on planes that passed by and we dreamed up a future for ourselves. In the garden and you surprised me with a kiss. Others I can’t name anymore, whose pages have long since stuck to its neighbors and have all but since been forgotten.

But there is no true and automatic love, love at first sight, the fairy tale. And our book turned from a cheap romance to a horror so quick. And somewhere at the end, it lost all meaning, I was just an author sitting desperately over a keyboard, slaving away at a dam of writers block, forcing any attempt of making poetry out of us. And it had been years since the closeness of our flesh has brought me comfort. Because even young love isn’t enough. Because even young, naive, serendipitous love isn’t enough to fix him. To fix me. To fix this damned and broken world and all the poor wretched souls cursed here.

~K.

#lit #writing #poetry #prose #spilledink #love #spilled ink #excerpts from my life #excerpt from a story i'll never write #spilled thoughts #dark academia #dark aesthetic #writerslife #writers on tumblr #writblr #excerpt from a book i'll never write #excerpts from my heart #excerpts from my mind #excerpts from my writing #excerpt from my diary #excerpts from my journal #spilled guts #spilled truth #spilled heart #spilled feelings #spilled poetry #spilled words #toxic relationship #relationship #depression

[teneguine]

"Happy birthday, Owain!" Grima said, slipping out from behind a pillar to stop Owain in his tracks. Her bright and warm smile was difficult to keep on her face but she did her very best. She had her arms kept behind her back as well. "Here. I've got a gift for you. Close your eyes and hold out your hands."

Regardless of his response Grima leaves a gift in his hands. Inside the box is a book of poetry. Though the book seems almost impossibly old, the pages fragile and frayed but there were clear attempts to preserve it.

"I found this during my travels before arriving at the academy. They're poems that seem to be from a fabled lost city. What do you think?" Grima watched him closely, an interested look in her eye. The truth was that book was from Grima's own personal collection. She had little problem giving it away if it helped earn trust. Perhaps Owain could decipher the ancient language inside. If nothing, it gave him something to do.

//via birthday asks; still accepting!

"Hark! The arrival of the famed tactician rouses my mystic blood! It surges forth like a frigid geyser, spraying evil with my heroic powers!"

In other words, he's excited.

Or at least, that's the story he'll be going with. He strikes a pose for the Fell Dragon--both arms laid across his chest in opposite directions, hands splayed open, and back arched for dramatic effect--but deep down, he's wary. He wonders if she ever got to use her gift. That faulty pen and magic ink were sure to inconvenience her, and depending on just how much she used them, he could have put a significant dent in her schemes.

So he assumes, in secret, that she is seeking revenge.

"For me?" he continues, nodding along and closing his eyes as instructed, "You know how to honor your heroes well! With this great boon, nigh an army may stop me in my quest!"

But when she motions to hand him the book, he peeks. Just a crack, his eyes peer open. The slits are hardly distinguishable from actually having shut his eyelids, but they make a world of difference in terms of what he can see. Dark takes note of the tome--how it isn't laced with spikes or poison, how it's just... Ordinary. It's strange.

When Grima explains it, he tries to act surprised.

"Oh? A... Lost city, eh? That's, uh, riveting..." He turns the cover first, inspecting for any signs of a sigil or magic snare designed to lop off his arm. But either his magical perception is lacking, or there is no real danger, for Dark cannot sense anything. Stranger. A fist covers a cough as he turns it back around, before that spare hand moves to rifle through the pages.

"Huh. I can't quite read it. Though I believe I've seen the text before..." Ancient Valmese? Or maybe the first rulers of Regna Ferox. His face contorts in confusion, unable to pinpoint which historical period it all belongs to. Owain turns page after page, looking for something of interest (Maybe a diagram? Maybe a secret note containing the Fell Dragon's plans?) but he finds only words. Such is the content of a poetry novel, after all.

"Ah... AHEM! Making heads or tails of this cryptic writing is the bread and butter of an eldritch scholar such as myself. Rest assured, Robin," he speaks that name with a bit of venom, "I shall have the code cracked in a fraction of a second. There is nothing my enigmatic mind cannot solve!"

It slams shut and enters the protection of his underarm. As Dark turns to be on with his day, he shoots Grima one last look, waving her off as though they were friends again, "You have my thanks for this holy gift! I shan't forget it."

#IC #ASKBOX #FELLINCANCATION #//at some point i may follow this up with a drabble where owain is like. #//mortified #//at GRIMA's ability to write poetry more creative and “”“epic”“” than his #//but thank you for this audrey

[femdomliterature]

FemLit 0425 - Premise: Speech Control

Just a little list of ideas that I came up with on the topic of speech control. Some of these are about in person speaking, some are about texting, some are applicable to both. Some of these I’d like to try, some of these I have tried, some of these I would probably not want to do, some I’m indifferent to.

Word Restrictions

No swearing.

No puns.

Only being allowed to use words once per day. 

Only being allowed to use words from a list of pre-approved words chosen by my partner.

Not being allowed to use words from a list of off limits words chosen by my partner, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Not being allowed to use words containing a certain letter of the alphabet, but otherwise able to speak freely.

Only being allowed to use short and simple words, limited by number of letters or number of syllables, or simply at my partner’s discretion. (Imagine typing out an entire text and being met with “hmm, I think that word might be too big for you,” and having to agree and reword what you’ve said.)

Having to refer to myself in the third person.

Having to refer to my partner by a title, honorific, or nickname they have chosen.

Having to use a lowercase “i” to refer to myself. 

Having to use capitalized pronouns to refer to my partner. 

Limited Speech

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per day.

Only being allowed to say a certain number of words (or less) per text message. No double messaging, of course.

Having to keep track of how many words my partner uses, and always using less throughout the day.

Having to start each sentence with “Please” and/or end it with “Thank you,” even if it doesn’t technically make sense. 

Having to rhyme. Or else fulfil the requirements of some kind of specific poetry such as a haiku. 

Having to ask permission to ask for things. “Please may I ask to use the bathroom?” 

Only being allowed to say “Please” and “Thank you.”

Not being allowed to ask for anything.

Only allowed to speak to my partner in public. 

Not being allowed to speak on specific topics, particularly when they’re super relevant. For example, we go to the zoo and I’m not allowed to talk about animals. 

Only being allowed to say the opposite of what I mean/want. 

Restricted Speech

Having to ask permission to speak at all, either through a non-verbal signal, or else the only thing I’m allowed to say without permission is “Please may I speak?”

Only allowed to speak when spoken to.

Having to be in a specific position - the more submissive or uncomfortable, the better - to speak. Additionally, having to wait in that position until I am acknowledged and allowed to speak. 

Having to go a set length of time without speaking each day. The timer starts over each time I speak. (Imagine it’s an hour and at 55 minutes you get asked a question you can’t ignore. Each attempt like that would mean you talk less throughout the day.)

When possible, set entire days, or even a weekend as “quiet time.”

Surprise quiet time. That is, a spoken or text command, “It’s quiet time,” and I am expected to be silent until I am released. (A potential training opportunity: this could happen many times throughout the day, each session lasting only a few minutes before the next.)

Starting every day without the ability to speak until I have completed my morning routine. Finishing each day by not being allowed to speak once my nighttime routine is done. 

Having a set day of the week during which I am expected to remain silent. 

Having a cost to speak. A mild-moderate punishment for each time I wish to speak, such as having to put nipple clamps on first or having to write lines for each time I spoke afterwards.

Having to trade my ability to speak for rewards, such as not being allowed to orgasm unless I agree to a two days of no speaking.

Trading chunks of silent time for edges. Each edge is half an hour of silence. Maybe I know before I start edging, maybe I don’t. 

Having to be silent until I have completed a task, such as linewriting, or an edging session, or even something mundane like having to stay silent on a long drive, even while playing a board game. 

Having recurring tasks during which I am not allowed to speak, such as never being allowed to speak during meals or while watching movies. 

Only being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Not being allowed to speak while wearing my collar. 

Only being allowed to speak while naked. 

No words, only sounds. Easy enough when you’re gagged, but having to make the deliberate effort to only make sounds is nice. 

Wearing a bark collar. Each time I speak, I get shocked, until I learn not to speak while wearing it. It then becomes a very effective gag. 

Forced to Speak

Being asked a series of questions and having to provide at least X words to answer, on topic. (It wouldn’t even have to be a high number. Imagine having to use 50 words to answer a yes or no question. Even 20 might be a challenge. But being asked to say/text 300 words on why I shouldn’t have an orgasm? Just a thought.)

Agreeing to X number of questions (number could be in trade for edges, or in trade for lessening a punishment) and having to answer them fully, even if it’s embarrassing. (Obviously within limits. Questions I refuse to answer don’t count towards the number.)

Having a mantra to repeat every time my partner says a certain word, whether that word is part of the mantra or not. (Having someone trigger a mantra like this is great fun, especially mid-conversation, or while I’m trying to ask for something, or while I’m trying to explain something.)

Having to repeat after my partner, perhaps modifying pronouns. (“You will obey” being modified to “I will obey.”)

Being tasked with writing up a fantasy, and then being made to read it aloud.

Being Physically Gagged

Being expected to be gagged or otherwise prevented from speaking at all times. (Ballgag might be too harsh for “at all times,” but tape is effective, too.)

Being gagged at random. Not just during scenes, but during mundane activities, such as watching a movie together or doing housework. (I like the idea of being interrupted while in the middle of something, maybe even in the middle of a conversation, and my partner simply holds out a gag. Or sitting at my desk working when my partner comes up behind me and slips my gag between my lips. Being told to kneel and open my mouth, excited to get to suck cock, and instead gagged. Comes with a bonus of being trained to readily take my gag.) 

Being told I can only speak while being gagged, despite knowing it will be unintelligible.

Planning a voice call with my partner, but right before we begin I am instructed to put a gag on so that at no point during the call can I actually speak.

Games

Playing the quiet game, either with my partner or with another submissive. I am rewarded if I win, and punished if I lose. 

Playing a kinky version of Taboo/Password: My partner picks a word and a length of time. I do not get to know the word, but do get to know we’re playing and for how long. My partner counts every time I use the word, and when time is up, I get punished for each use. Tons of games to be played on both sides, with my partner trying to get me to say the word, and me trying to figure out what it is. Perhaps if the time period is long enough, I get a clue to the word each day. I would probably end up speaking as little as possible to avoid it. 

#female led relationship #femlit

[itsjessicahomann]

Hey there, fellow art enthusiasts and creative souls! Today, I wanted to share a little personal journey that has taken me by surprise. You see, for as long as I can remember, I've always identified myself as a writer. Poetry has been my creative outlet, my way of expressing emotions and thoughts that can't be contained within mere words. But little did I know that there was a whole other artistic side of me waiting to be discovered.

It all started one day when I found myself intrigued by graphic design, and before I knew it I was creating everything and anything digitally. This ignited a spark within me, but differently this time. I suddenly had a burning desire to learn to draw...by the book - so I set out to purchase a ton of drawing books and this was just the beginning

So, armed with curiosity and a blank sheet of paper, I embarked on a journey into the realm of drawing. Now, let me tell you, I had never really drawn anything beyond simple doodles and fashion pieces. I couldn't even draw a stick figure without it resembling some abstract creation. But something urged me to give it a try.

Since that I did I was able to figure out what the issue was previously, I didn't try, and I didn't put in the effort nor did I have the spark of interest to light the fire that has since arose. I went on to everyone, I can't draw but I can write!

I picked up my pencil and began to sketch. Slowly, timidly, the lines took shape, forming the outline of a person. It was my first attempt at drawing a human figure, and let's just say it wasn't perfect. But you know what? That imperfection held a beauty of its own. As I continued to explore this newfound passion, I realized that art was not just about capturing a perfect likeness; it was about expressing oneself, just like writing. Each stroke became an extension of my emotions, a visual poetry of sorts.

Through practice and embracing mistakes, I realized my potential to create art.Now, as a writer and emerging artist, I stand at the tip toes of a thrilling artistic journey. Art knows no boundaries or limitations; it's a boundless realm where creativity flourishes.

In this new chapter, I'm excited to share my poetry and artwork—a fusion of words and visuals that reflect my unique expression. I am so excited for this adventure of self-discovery and artistic exploration. Let's celebrate growth, uncover hidden talents, and embrace the surprises art brings.

Keep creating, push your boundaries, and embark on new artistic journeys. Who knows what hidden potential lies within you?

Whats next: I downloaded Clip Studio Art because I obsessed with the digital world

This was my very first attempt as mentioned in the post, I love her #idc #sheissocute #emergingartist #roughdraft #followme

Stay Tuned Beautiful Bloggels 🛍️

itsjessicahomann

#artwork #art #draft 1 #drafts #scetch #my art #i love her #i love her sm #she cute #rough draft #cant wait to see it #digitally #follow #folllowme #emergingartist #watercolor #illustration

[justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms]

Wah this is a little embarrassing to write down but could I get an obey me match up? I’m super obsessed w Nightbringer atm haha

I go by they/them, I’m 5’10 and I tend to dress mostly feminine but I’m also super hairy LMAO (shaving is too much work), I’m not too confident about my appearance but yknow it’s whateves as long as I get to wear bright and sparkly stuff looool

I’m a capricorn? Dunno much about zodiac stuff, but I would describe myself as a cheery optimistic person!! I like joking around and being silly and I’m described as childish quite a bit 🤷 I can be a bit shy and nervous though so it’s not like I’m SUPER extroverted, I actually tend to be a bit of a hermit sometimes since I don’t like to go out much (ya boy also can’t DRIVE LMAOO) parties and stuff are super overwhelming and I kinda have a hard time making friends ☠️ but I do like talking to people!!! Especially about my interests, I’m super into games and cosplaying rn (currently on my 5th morrowind playthrough, playing all the mainline persona games, working on climbing in ranked league of legends, etc) but I also love to read comics and books as well as write occasionally!! Poetry mostly but I also roleplay online if that counts, plus I do DnD,, I love my character creation 🤧 Tangentially related but psychology is also one of my main interests I absolutely love learning about it!!!

Oh I’m also currently studying art, my skills are mostly in traditional drawing and painting but lately I’ve tried pottery+ceramics and I’m slowly cracking away at digital art too!! My goal is to one day be able to write and illustrate my own stories someday ✨🌈 My favorite genres are fantasy, mystery, romance, and horror!!!

I rlly love spooky stuff teehee, I tend to be a lil thrill seeking, mostly just for stuff like roller coasters, horror movies and games, haunted houses, escape rooms, etc, I find it SO fun I love Halloween sooo much

I guess my love language would be words of affirmation? Sometimes I’m not too big on physical touch but I do like being told stuff lmao

As for things I don’t like, I’m a super picky eater ig? Oh and bugs they give me the icks lmao (I’m so sorry Beel it’s not personal) I also don’t like when things are super chaotic, messy, or out of my control, I function best with at least some semblance of structure in my life 😭

Anyway uhhh I hope this is enough? I’m not rlly sure how these things work lol but I’d love to hear who you think would suit me best!! God knows I’m terrible at picking my men ☠️☠️☠️☠️

Hello Anon! You put a great amount of information! I'm trying to finish the original Obey Me game before I get too into Nightbringer, but with me only being up to Lesson 18, it could take a while. Hope you like your matchup!

In Obey Me, I match you with...

Okay, I know what your thinking! You're a picky eater and I pair you with the one character that canonically can't cook? But hear me out!

If you can cook, you'd be able to make things you know you'll like, and you won't have to worry about dying from Solomon's attempts at cooking.

If you can't cook, either the brothers or Barbatos would be more than happy to help you out, making dishes for you while also teaching you how to make them yourself.

Solomon loves spooky stuff so he's right there with you in haunted houses, cinemas to watch the latest horror movie, on rollercoasters...you name it, Solomon's up to the challenge!

He also loves sitting down with you and trying to copy whatever you're drawing or painting. He's probably not as good as you but he tries his best. He can always just use a bit of magic while you're not watching to make his scribbles look a bit better.

Solomon loves that you have the desire to write and illustrate your own books. He'd feel honoured if you would share your progress with him. But he's also happy to wait until the final product is finished. It just means more anticipation and surprise when he finally gets to see your work.

Solomon playing D&D would be an experience. He's got so many stories from his years of life that all of his characters are probably just him from different eras. I really want to write a fanfic about the Obey Me character playing D&D now...

Because Solomon's been around so long, he's also a ready reference for a lot of psychology questions you have. He's seen so many people and how they think so there are very few questions you could ask that he wouldn't be able to answer.

#writing #fanfic #matchup #matchup request #request #obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me nightbringer

[lifebetweenpages]

MY FAVOURITE WRITER-ISH MOVIES

You’ve read the title correctly, and I can hear you saying: “Lifebetweenpages, you’re still not giving us a recap of the books you have read over the past month (plus a few weeks, give or take)! Bad Bookblr creator!” However, instead, I am giving you my list of movies to watch when you are out of ideas for your books, can’t be bothered to read and still want to feel like an intelligent author. We’ve all been there.

I can also hear you saying “But Lifebetweenpages, how can you be a trustworthy authority on writer things? You’re our favourite bibliomane, not our favourite author!” To this, I raise two points:

I have been writing silly little books since I was virtually a toddler, and I have three main projects sitting dejectedly in my Google Docs currently, my novel which I work on most frequently sitting at an upsettingly ‘decent’ 23k words.

I do imagine you would have more faith in me, dear hypothetical followers, seeing as you only exist in my synapses, and I would hope I hold higher opinions about myself than that. However, I believe many of you (hypothetically) should have (hypothetically) guessed that I’m a writer as well as a reader, seeing as all writers read and many readers write.

Now with that out of the way, let’s jump into our list, and by list I mean my ramblings about two very specific movies.

1 - DEAD POETS SOCIETY (1989)

I’ve decided to put the obvious up first, so you can skim through this if you have either watched this incredible movie or have already heard glowing reviews.

With its heavy focus on classic poetry and message of embracing the arts and following your passions, it’s not a surprise that Dead Poets Society has became the artist’s top pick movie and a cliche staple on this sort of snappy list.

When I say the movie focuses on poetry, I mean a much stronger term. Dead Poets Society promotes poetry in a way, showing the viewer the truth, joy and magic that comes with the form of art, inspiring them to go out and seize it. If that doesn’t help sell the movie to you, just note that my friends and I, who come out of every poetry analysis in English class with our eyes glazed over, were inspired to create our own Dead Poets Society, meeting every so often. In fact, we reconvene in two days time at the time of writing, and I still need to pick a poem (and it will be a Sylvia Plath.)

Another element that stands out in Dead Poets Society is the atmosphere of the film, somehow drawing in: a contagious teenage sense of wonder and mischief, world-destroying grief, and that Dark Academia aesthetic that people on the internet adore and my blog leans into all together.

So please, even if you aren’t a writer or reader and have stumbled onto this page confused and startled, give this movie a watch, for your own world to be changed if not just for me.

2 - TICK, TICK... BOOM! (2021)

You know the overwhelming sense of doom that comes with attempting to make your mark on the world? Do you recognise the sense of dread that drowns you whenever you remember the concept of time? Well so did Jonathan Larson, and he documented the experience expertly when writing Tick, Tick… BOOM!

Lately, I’ve been hearing this sound. Everywhere I go. Like a tick. Tick. Tick. Like a time bomb in some cheesy B-movie or Saturday morning cartoon. The fuse has been lit. The clock counts down the seconds as the flame gets closer, and closer, and closer, until all at once -

This was written years before he achieved fame with RENT, years before his genius was appreciated, and years before his untimely death from an aortic dissection. Tick, tick... BOOM! was written when Jonathan was relatively unknown, struggling with balancing work, social life and his art, and completely confused as how to tackle the final fragment that was needed to complete the musical he had been working on for the entirety of his youth, fighting against the tides of the ever-chasing deadline of Superbia's first showcase. Whatever your art is, I imagine you can relate to the desperation of Jonathan.

Andrew Garfield, who plays Jonathan Larson, perfectly portrays the starving artist, ever frantic to please, ever submerged in just how much there is to balance, ever striving to make a difference, and it almost feels as if he has held a mirror up to the artist's soul, portraying all of the irrationality and the unintentional selfishness as well as the charisma and the creativity that I see in myself every time I look into my mind for more than one second.

All of these factors and more that I can't find the words to describe (which is a lot for me, because I always find some words, however shallow they may be) makes Tick, Tick... BOOM! one of my favourite movies. Plus, the songs are absolute magic (I have a very strange favourite - Play Game - how can a song parodying 90s hip hop reflect upon the commercialisation of theatre in such an eloquent way?)

So those are my recommendations for all your tired writer needs, and once you do watch these, my asks are open for you to wax poetic about their glory.

#dead poets society #lists #xanthous #tick tick boom #movies

[peaamlipoetrydoctor]

Prompt: Write a Duplex Sonnet (After Jericho Brown)

First, a quick reminder of the NaPoWriMo 2022 prompt for Day 27:

A “duplex” is a variation on the sonnet, developed by the poet Jericho Brown. Here’s one of his first “Duplex” poems, and here is a duplex written by the poet I.S. Jones. Like a typical sonnet, a duplex has fourteen lines. It’s organized into seven, two-line stanzas. The second line of the first stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the second stanza, the second line of the second stanza is echoed by (but not identical to) the first line of the third stanza, and so on. The last line of the poem is the same as the first.

And a quick look-back to the duplex poems written in April - I like them both but have surprised myself a little by preferring the second attempt, written at more-or-less the same time, but posted a day or two later, at the start of May.

Also - I *love* the Goodwood photo that for [Reasons] I used for it.

(I don't know what the reason was - simply that I liked the photo?)

Generally speaking, this prompt really suits me - I've interpreted it in a way that makes the tone of the poem rather prose-poem-like (as my favorite poems increasingly are). The semi-repetition is very reminiscent of the pantoums I wrote as a means of poetic inquiry during the final year (or two) of my doctorate in particular.

And - the sonnet form is rather short and concentrated.

Tonight though, not going to lie - I'm feeling pretty tired - for Reasons (busy day, requiring lots of concentration - fun but draining).

I've ended up not really being able to rise above a kind of reportage-y poem, again very close in tone to my doctoral inquiry work, but a bit more sentimental than I tended to allow myself to be, back then.

Sort of pleased with it, nonetheless. Certainly I'm in this exact tension at the moment, wobbling about on the boundary between -

/ it's chaotic / but it's good / but it's a bit disrupted, non-continuous / but does that really matter / surely what matters most is / breathe, breathe, enjoy each other's company... /

So I give you -

Re-convening...

Sitting down with what I wish was a gin, into

conversations criss-crossing at the dinner table.

Conversations at the dinner table knot and fray –

we’re out of synch with the soup-bread-cheese,

yes, our self-serve courses are falling out of synch.

Chatter stops, threads dropped, pause, try again.

Whenever threads drop, smile, pause, try again.

Beneath all the chaos, a beat says, hello, I love you,

hearts reaching past chaos to say, hello – I love you.

Two and a half years since we met together here

Two and a half years and a whole new baby boy.

Life rushes on, insisting, eager to keep beginning.

The bell insists – class is beginning – I rush in,

sitting down with what I wish was a gin.

[studyingartbum]

Hi, I’m Jessie. Don’t be fooled by the handle name- I’m working my butt off! 🫠

A little bit about me:

Age: age is just a number, I say

Location: Orlando, Florida but I’m going to college in Denver, Colorado

She/her but idc if you call me they/them

Bisexual but never been with the same gender 😮

Education: junior going for a BA in English and a minor in Illustration and a concentration in creative fiction

All I do is study, read, write creatively, attempt to create art, self-learn, and dream of pursuing my entrepreneurial pursuits after I graduate. I had a Pinterest addiction recently. A pinned blog post recommended getting a studyblr for surprising benefits so here I am, switching Pinterest for a studyblr.

I may be studying English and art but I started out as a photography major with a business minor, then I switched to pre-med, then music production, and then switched to a certificate in web development. Somehow, here I am now lol but I found my path - things are great now. My advice: talk to your school’s career counselors to see if you’re on a good track

Classes this semester: all upper-level

1. Image & Text (I have no idea what it’s about but it’s the highest level English class there is aside from graduate studies & I need it to graduate)

2. Poetry Workshop

3. The Business of Art

4. Illustration

Im supposedly INTJ/ENTJ evenly when I take the test but I’m more comfortable calling myself an INFP

Anneagram type 7

Huge animal lover and I want to see world peace, cures to diseases, an end to violence, and a reversal for climate change 🕊🤍

Goals:

- Get straight-As again

- Graduate summa-something

- Focus on my fields of choice (art, writing, and entrepreneurship) when I’m not studying

- Keep up with all the details of my life (I’m trying out Google calendar this semester for organization)

What to expect: studyblr stuff. Maybe some art & writing stuff thrown in for good measure 📏

#studyblr #studyspo #studying #productivity #organization #on my desk #introducing myself

[flickeringart]

Venus signs

There’s a lot of content out there that provide cohesive and thorough explanations on Venus and what it means to have this planet in the 12 zodiac signs. In this post I’d like to have a little bit of fun and let my mind flow freely relative to these placements. This is supposed to be purely for entertainment and should not be taken literally – these short texts are supposed to convey the mood/essence of these placements.

(Buy products with my art)

Venus in the natal chart represents your love-style, your preferences and social nature.

Aries Venus: Fighting for love, strong preferences, love at first sight, mocking, hair pulling, playful hitting, losing interest, honest confessions, upfront, “I hate love”, competing in love, “this is boring”, “try to be a little bit more excited, I’m here now”, comfortable clothing, energetic dancing, “surprise me”, “let the best man/woman win”, “no one is interesting enough”, intense, forceful, “I guess I love you now so deal with it”, crashing into relationships, “I like you but I must fight it”, fist bumps, “why is everyone so stupid?”, “I do what I want”, standing out in a crowd, dramatic, “if I don’t get attention I’ll take it”, playful arguing, “I’ll make you like me”, craving speed, “how am I supposed to know if you don’t tell me straight?”, can’t read between the lines, can’t take subtle hints, “maybe I scared them away”, encouraging, inspiring confidence, direct, looking you straight in the eye, “watch and learn”, strength of will, dislikes half-assed attempts, “if you want me come and get me”, challenging, passionate, admires people who can be themselves without the approval of others.

Taurus Venus: Stocking up on love, “you remind me of my favorite pastry”, sensual, pleasure seeking, bidding on antiquities, “I love staying in”, “you have a beautifully home, “this is my specialty”, “make yourself comfortable”, going out to eat, fancy restaurants, perfume, collecting precious items, big and robust furniture, taking forever to cook, romanticizing money, “I have an appetite”, complementing body shapes, “you’ll always be beautiful to me”, “I’ll take care of you”, indulging, “I have to watch my figure”, going all in, committed, “I like your friend but I picked you”, obsessed with beauty, “I’m a great catch”, “what’s in it for me?”, lace and frills, “I don’t need you I want you”, loyal but won’t tolerate bad behavior, patient, “they will come back”, “I’m not your friend”, “I don’t like to be deprived”, unapologetic, easy to be around, unlikely to change their preferences for others, secure, sure of themselves, greedy, “show how much you love me”, putting people to the test, chill, taking baths, “do you think I’m handsome/pretty enough?”, realistic, slow, calming influence.

Gemini Venus: Loving two people at the same time, “I can’t choose”, multiple flings at once, “it’s so nice to talk to you”, appreciates variety, curious, witty, flirts with everyone, “I’m just being nice I’m not flirting”, smelling every scented candle at the store, “you remind me of this other person I used to date”, keeping up with the latest gossip, “have you heard…”, confides in everyone, split preferences, “why should I choose you over this other person?”, friendship-type love, interested in everyone’s family and friends, making small talk, “what were you like in school?”, changeable, “I don’t think I like you anymore – sorry”, immature, likes a mystery, spontaneous, “I just wanted to have fun”, withholding information, playful lying, “surprise me”, impossible to keep track of, talkative, mischievous, switchy moods, inquisitive, “I don’t know”, light and dark side, “don’t make me choose”, spilling the tea, “we are only friends now”, teasing, moving on but returning later to pick up where you left off, never saying goodbye – “I’ll be back soon”, “I have to figure myself out”, making promises and breaking them, writing poetry, “life is complicated”, laughing in serious situations.

Cancer: Sweet talking, forehead kisses, “my darling love”, sharing life experiences, making plans for the future, “I can’t stop thinking about you”, “will you be there for me?”, cuddles, buying snacks, taking trips down memory lane, “you can tell me anything”, caring, “you shouldn’t have to be by yourself right now”, cooking, leaving little notes, massages, “we would make the perfect family”, slow breakups, “I shouldn’t have treated you this way”, gentle, “you’ll always be in my heart”, moody, indirect, “do you have everything you need?”, very empathic, soft spoken, “don’t talk to me in that tone”, calling the parents, “maybe I was stupid to think that we had something”, wallowing, “I just need more time”, sensing if something’s wrong, friendly, “family first”, homesick, innocent, sensitive, prone to worry, life long lovers, motherly, sentimental, nostalgic, emotionally manipulative, emotionally supportive, “take care of yourself for me”, staying in toxic situations because of attachments, “I wish I could turn back time”, “at least I’m not alone”, covering over problems.

Leo: Romantic-comedy type love, finding “the one”, “you don’t even have a personality”, attracted to talent, “is this really it?”, “was this the big moment?”, nothing but the best is good enough, “we could’ve had it all”, dignified, respectful, generous, “I have the biggest heart”, fascinating, wonderstruck, “it was meant for me”, living in a fairytale, telling good stories, “everything changed when you came into my life”, romantic, real ladies and gentlemen, enjoys a good show, “buy me flowers every now and then”, theatric, in love with love, “don’t you look dashing”, warm smiles, dramatic, “everything I touch turns to gold”, loves being adored, “play a game with me”, “have they seen me yet?”, fun loving, silly, “you’re perfect”, “who took my things?!”, “I’m just better than everyone else”, bright, intuitive, knight in shining armor, damsel in distress, “you’re not worthy of me”, “follow your heart”, “I’m the one love that you’ll never regret or forget”, charming, good natured, “life is good”, desperate for attention, “it’s my life and my choice”, self-absorbed, “my time is now”, “you need someone to properly care for you”.

Virgo: Reading about love, investigating people, “I should’ve known”, doing research, discussing approaches, “I love you but that doesn’t mean that we should live together”, picky, “I’d really like your feedback”, “how is this supposed to work out?”, rationalizing everything, “it just wasn’t right for either of us”, can’t stand certain specific habits that people have, “that’s too much”, “everything in moderation”, talkative, focused, tending to people’s health, easily worried, social perfectionist, methodical and strategic dating, likes things ordinary and simple, “I can help you but you have to think for yourself”, leaving instructions on the kitchen table, “don’t do anything stupid”, loving multiple people but only committing to one for practical reasons, “I’m not doing it for you – I’ll show you and you can do it yourself”, encouraging autonomy, “this isn’t helpful”, doubting decisions, skillful, respects people’s expertise, “I trust you to give me the right information”, strives for proper conduct, makes an effort to be nice, “love is so many things”, knowledgeable but unreliable.

Libra: Thinking about love, studying people, “that someone was looking at me”, attention seeking, drama queen, “could this be the one”, mingling, talking things over with the best friend, “what do you think?”, making people wait, keeping things on hold, “how could I ever be sure?”, bad at making decisions, making excuses, “is this the right place to be?”, sweeping things under the rug, “we would look so good together”, falling for pretty faces, effeminate manners, “I ordered some food for us”, incapable of deciding what to wear, vain, judgmental, “this isn’t fair”, sociable, pleasant company, superficial, “my nail broke”, “I spilled my drink – did it stain anything?”, making polite conversation, complementing people on their looks, playing it safe, underhanded insults, “I’m just making sure that my chances are better than yours”, making deals, “I would never hurt you”, “we make a good team”, thinking of marriage, planning, introducing people, “you simply have to meet this person, “are you two getting along?”, match making, playing innocent, sweet, emotionally immature.

Scorpio: Staring at people, seeing through the façade, sensing buried feelings, having deep conversations, private, unwilling to reveal too much too fast, coming on too strong, retracting, digging up dirt, keeping their circle small, respecting people’s privacy, suspicious, “I will burn you if you burn me”, an eye for an eye, treating people how they deserve to be treated, noticing everything, “what happened to you?”, the more hidden – the more interesting, silent intensity, jealousy, desperate love, “you shouldn’t have played me the way you did”, giving up hope, losing faith in humanity, best friends with the enemy, making people feel safe to open up, keeping a low profile, “I was only trying to get to know you”, paranoid, determined, refusing to lose in love, “there’s too much at stake”, playing games to stay in control, scared of being hurt, being cruel to demonstrate power, passionate, possessive, protective, striking below the belt then offering affection, “I don’t trust you”, ruining people’s happiness, never giving up, blindly obsessive, “no one will ever know you as deeply as I do”, soul ties, unbreakable bonds, “I’ll die if you die”, craving transformation, loyal.

Sagittarius: Energy and spirit, “I could have any person I want”, cocky, loud, “I’m sorry, I forgot about you a second there”, “come on”, restless, bored, irresponsible, “you look sooo good”, enthusiastic, friendly, “no worries”, uplifting, making jokes, “I’m just kidding”, laughing at everything, blunt, telling the truth, “I said that?”, telling good stories, too much to handle, “what was your name again?”, never picks up on subtleties, “if you like me say so”, “yes I cheated on you but hey”, “it’s all water under the bridge”, promising too much, too happy to bother, “who’s in?”, inviting everyone, “the more the merrier”, love to take risks, making huge mistakes and laughing about it, “what can I say?”, “I can’t lose”, easy going, “the best of luck”, unaware of people’s sensitivities, disrespectful, inspiring, overlooking details, can’t keep secrets, “I’d like to be completely open with you”, good at picking up on trends intuitively, “no way are you kidding me!?”, clueless, always having a good time”, “there are so many places I need to show you”, going on adventures, sharing too much, doesn’t respect privacy, “you’re being silly”.

Capricorn: Controlled, deliberate, observant, enjoys struggle, love is an uphill battle, “I’ll learn to love you in time”, strategically choosing partners, “I may not feel anything yet but I will”, enduring love, making sacrifices, “how responsible are you?”, “where should we live?”, making plans for the future, focused on the goal, “you can’t break up with me now”, suppressed desires, putting up with a lot, “I just have to try harder”, “it was fun I’m just a little tired”, putting on a brave face, numb, attending social gathering out of obligation, “you have to be realistic”, making people do things they don’t want to, “it’s for your own good”, “they will come around”, having backup plans, seriously committed but selfishly so, “let me handle this”, “we’re not going to put up with this”, giving ultimatums, defensive, making arrangements, buying expensive gifts, uncomfortable expressing love, goes above and beyond to save relationships, looking down on people, looking smart, professional approach, “you don’t have to worry your pretty little head”, cutting people off once they’ve served their purpose.

Aquarius: Abstract love, discussing interesting topics, in their own bubble, respectful, talkative, not afraid to stand out, “you’re so strange I love it”, in love with all their friends in their head, “I haven’t seen you in years but I think about you everyday”, enjoys gatherings, “it’s so nice to come together like this”, socially awkward, “I love you all so much”, committed but unavailable, odd sense of humor, “I don’t think anyone gets me”, making unexpected moves, honest but respectful, “this is not your fault”, not having a fixed mold for what love should look like, best friend-type love, “we live in modern times get a grip”, “you don’t get to decide the rules”, not very physical, “what is love really?”, too advanced or too naïve, “I made an art piece inspired by you”, innocent and freaky, can’t be controlled, embarrassed when feeling strong emotions, present but miles away, “why would you say something like that?”, unusual preferences, studying people, “so fascinating”, “you don’t have to change for me I want you to be exactly who you are”, idealistic, good at networking, helpful, bright.

Pisces: Hopeless romantics, soft-hearted, good-natured, “wouldn’t hurt a fly”, “I sense your deepest longing”, magical, ethereal, dreamy, sitting in a corner thinking about how this all came to pass, “I will surrender my heart to you”, fantasies of being saved, being kept from one’s true love, “distance makes the heart grow fonder”, ecstatic crying, “I could only hope”, deep sighs, “if I could only have you here with me”, in love with fictive characters, melancholic, “I got out of bed today – it’s a big step”, ending up in relationships that are toxic, “if I was stronger I would get out”, writing love letters, old school romance, enchanting, fragile, delusional, going over the top, desperate love, “I can’t live without you”, misunderstood, abandoned, filled with sadness, praying, feeling lost, “I’m so sorry you have no idea”, easily overwhelmed, “can you sing something for me?”, “I have to let you go”, tears of joy, “this is the greatest love I’ve ever experienced”, unconditional devotion, “I see myself in you”, soul mates, “everyone else just fades away”, poetic, pathetic, fetishizing helplessness.

#venus signs #astrology #zodiac signs #planets in astrology #natal chart #the zodiac #venus in astrology #venus in the signs #fun astrology #aries venus #taurus venus #gemini venus #cancer venus #leo venus #virgo venus #libra venus #scorpio venus #sagittarius venus #capricorn venus #aquarius venus #pisces venus #fire venus #air venus #earth venus #water venus

[hopes-peak-postal-company]

oya, mod tsumugi, can i get a confession letter from kokichi? 😳

yes, 'nonnie. anything for you and your anonymous clan. 💙

hope you enjoy!

(how long do you think i can keep up this game of making each letter description longer than the previous one? should i continue it for shits and giggles? do you think my experiment of writing past midnight turned me crazy? will i ever shut up? find out next time--)

smack! another paper airplane hits your cheek from above. you hear kokichi’s giggles from above. he looks down at you from a window, savoring your annoyed reaction with his signature shit-eating grin. it’s the 4th time something like this has happened today. every paper airplane contained the same thing, and you were immediately looking for the nearest trash bin to shove this new one into.

“don’t worry! there’s actually something for you to read there this time!” he shouts, knowing damn well what you were about to do. “or is it…? nishisishi-”

his voice fades as he disappears from his spot at the window.

curiosity got the better of you, and you started unfolding the paper airplane. you assume that he can still hear you, so you try to yell back at him, “i swear to god, oma, if this is just another nice cock poster i will snap you in ha-”

oh, wow. there really was something written on it. your name sits at the top of the wall of text.

kokichi gave you a letter?

not bothering to move someplace to sit down, you spare one last glance at the now-empty window above and read what lies inside...

Attempt #420

There’s no use for me to beat around the bush any longer. You probably already know too, huh? If not, then wow. You’re denser than I estimated you to be.

I don't really know when it started, now that I think about it. Of all the people I met, I never expected to get the closest to you. These past few days have been boring and while I know you're busy, I can literally feel my brain rot away with each passing hour (not a big fan of poetry, but I feel like I'm on the verge of writing some from insanity). I myself feel surprised that I can write this letter to you right now. Maybe it's because my good comrades at DICE urge me to do so, before I run away from the feelings I've wanted to say for quite a while now. I never open up to anyone for nothing, so you better be reading every next word carefully or all the effort I put will go down the drain.

Even through every lie I tell to myself, you still manage to make the beating in my chest race faster than a Mario Kart vehicle. You've held my dirtied hands in yours and told me every thing will be okay and that I don't need to keep distancing myself from you and the others. Worst (or is it best?) of all, you've taken my sick and twisted heart with you and made it ache. Boy, did you deliver that with perfection. Don't you have mercy for little old me? I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it, though.

I know I'm the best candidate to be anyone's boyfriend, yet whenever I think of you, I want to try my best to be. I can't guarantee a smooth start to whatever it is that we have going on, but if it's with you, I don't mind taking a hit or two. Then, my dear ____, treasure of my heart, won't you accept the honor of becoming my better half? It's a pretty good deal if you ask me, not that I've offered it to anyone else. And no refunds! So what do you say?

- Kokichi Oma

(P.S. If it isn't such a bother, can't you just tell me your reply now up here at the rooftop? I bet you've been reading down there for a terribly looong time now, and I feel like taking a nap here in my little hiding spot. Sorry in advance.)

#mod tsumugi #danganronpa #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa x reader #new danganronpa v3 #danganronpa v3 #ndrv3 #drv3 #kokichi ouma #kokichi oma #ouma kokichi #oma kokichi #kokichi ouma x reader #kokichi oma x reader #ouma kokichi x reader #oma kokichi x reader

[pepperonijem]

When He Sees Me || Peter Parker

MASTERLIST

Pairing:  Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: um peter might be a little ooc and that’s because i’m writing about my unfortunate crush but i basically just changed his name to peter parker any resemblance to real persons living or dead is purely coincidental <3 

Word count: 2.5k

Summary: What if when he sees me, I like him and he knows it? What if he opens up a door and I can’t close it? Catching feelings for your best friend is never easy.

A/N: This fic is sponsored in part by @bitchassbucky, @spiderrpcrker, @shurisneakers, @midnightsunfae, and @blackberrybucky who instead of shutting down my feelings, hyped me up to turn my crush and some of the things that we’ve done into a fic <3 this goes out to anyone who has ever started crushing on their best friend.

Oh God, please don’t walk this way, please don’t wa-

“Oh, hey Peter!” The crack in your voice betrayed your attempt at a casual greeting, despite your efforts to disguise it with a cough. “How’s it-- how’s it hanging?”

“You good?” Peter smiled at you but his eyebrow quirked upwards in concern. “I just wanted to make sure we’re still on for tonight?” His concern faded into a wide grin as you nodded in response. Peter gave you a quick goodbye before walking away towards his next class.

As soon as you saw him turn into the classroom, you turned to face your closed locker, letting out a groan before setting your forehead against it. Peter had asked if you were good, and although you nodded, the butterflies in your stomach threatened to give you away. You were very much not good.

A tap on your shoulder snapped you out of your thoughts and you turned to see your friend MJ. “What did Peter do this time?” MJ asked. For the last month, every interaction with Peter -- there have been a lot -- ended this way: a groan of defeat and a few welted lines on your forehead from holding your head against your locker. You turned to give MJ a dirty look, annoyed by the amused smirk on her face.

“Absolutely nothing,” you sighed, finally lifting your head up to talk to her. You opened your locker as you talked, not wanting to make eye contact with MJ as you confessed your feelings. “He just… smiled… and everything went downhill from there.” You rolled your eyes as MJ laughed. “It’s getting worse, I have no idea how I’m going to get through tonight.”

MJ laid a hand on your shoulder. “Well we’ll all be there,” she offered. “And if it makes you feel better, no one’s even noticed. Just act normal and you’ll be fine.” She shrugged her shoulders as if that was the easiest thing to do. But you couldn’t act normal anymore, not with Peter. Not when normal means resting your head against his shoulder every time he makes you laugh. Not when normal means borrowing his clothes when his aunt May tells you to stay the night every time a study session runs too long. Not when normal means wearing the extra sweater he keeps for you because you always forget yours.

Normal was when you didn’t feel butterflies everytime he looked at you, before your curious heart got the better of you and you began to wonder what it might be like to hold his hand. Now, things were just weird. At least for you. Nothing on the surface had changed, no one noticed how your heart rate picked up every time Peter touched you, or how you suddenly felt hot whenever he winked at you. But inside your heart was navigating uncharted territory in your friendship, trying to traipse along the thin line that separated how things have always been and how you suddenly wish things could be.

Pulling your textbook out of your locker, you shut the locker door a just a little bit more aggressively than necessary. MJ gave you a small hug before linking her arm through yours as you walked to your next class.

For the rest of the day, you found it impossible to focus on anything. Instead of taking down notes on George Orwell in English, you found yourself absentmindedly doodling hearts. Everything just reminded you of Peter and your own confusing feelings. Thankfully, you didn’t share any classes with him today, leaving you enough solitude to think about just why you were so frustrated with yourself.

Logically, you knew there was nothing wrong with having a crush on someone. You’ve had plenty of crushes before, a few of which reflected a temporary lapse in judgement on your part. You remember telling Peter about each of them, gushing about the most basic acts of human decency as he rolled his eyes and told you that you deserve someone better, but nevertheless helping you pick up the pieces every time someone broke your heart. That, you realized, was what scared you the most.

If you were to date, and then break up… well who would be there with kind words and your favorite boba when everything fell apart? The thought of losing your best friend over emotions, feelings, left far too much to chance. Was the idea of holding his hand, of hearing him call you his enough to make you risk the friendship that has always been enough for you? It should be enough for you, you reminded yourself. There was too much on the line and not enough guarantee for you to risk it.

With that determination in mind, you steeled yourself for the rest of the day, determined to put your feelings to rest and go back to normal.

Unfortunately, that plan quickly fell through.

You got to the restaurant a half hour late with only a really good nap to blame. You felt bad that your friends were waiting for you, but when you got there, you found an empty spot next to Peter, where your usual order of ramen was waiting and against your will, the butterflies flew rampant. The noodle that hit Peter’s nose as he ate while waving you over made you laugh as you sat down beside him.

“I got you your usual,” Peter explained in between bites. You smiled and thanked him before digging in. Peter had done this for you many times, and you willed your body to fight against the flutter of your heart.

Thankfully, the rest of your dinner was going well, and everyone had plenty of stories to tell. MJ had begun doing more portraits of people in distress and revealed her latest piece -- a portrait of Peter slurping up a noodle only to get a rogue drop of soup in his eye. Ned and Betty were off again, but of course they tried to keep it civil (they were on again by the end of the night) so no one would have to pick sides. Flash teased Peter about the B that he made on his literature exam yesterday over poetry and Peter’s face turned beet red.

“Hey,” Peter began, attempting to defend himself. “I totally could’ve made a perfect score. I was just distracted.” He shrunk down in his seat a little bit, and the rest of you laughed teasingly.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Flash continued. “You’ve been drawing little hearts all over your notes, dude, it’s unsettling.” He rolled his eyes and took another bite of his food, swirling his fork around the bowl trying to grab as much noodle as possible.

Across the table, you and MJ made eye contact, a look of surprise between the both of you. You tried to signal her to say something before a weird silence fell on the table, but she was not reading your cues. Thankfully, Peter spoke again.

“H-hearts?” He repeated. “Why would I be drawing hearts on my notes?” Although he tried to play it off, the rise in pitch gave him away. He scrunched his face in exaggeration.

“Actually,” Betty began. “Now that I think about it, you were doing that in Spanish class too.” You glanced over at Peter who looked at you with panic in his eyes. You took a long sip of water, suddenly feeling a layer of sweat form at the back of your neck. “Wonder what that’s about.” She shrugged and turned to Ned asking if he wanted to split a slice of cheesecake with her.

Before Peter had a chance to try to defend himself once again, the waitress appeared. “Are you all ready for the check?” she asked.

“Yeah, but we’re splitting the check,” Flash replied. Betty rolled her eyes in response. “What? Just because I’m rich does not mean I have to share the wealth.”

The waitress nodded in response. As she was leaving Peter called her back. “Oh wait,” he called. “I’ll also be paying for this order,” he gestured to your bowl. She smiled at him and headed for the counter.

“Peter,” you smiled. “I have money, I can pay for myself.” Although Peter usually had to order for you, he didn’t usually pay for you, unless it was a special occasion.

“I know, I just wanted to be nice,” he responded, giving your shoulder a playful nudge. “Plus, you seem like you’ve had a rough week. Every time I see you, you seem to be lost in thought. What’s been on your mind?” The sentence came out casually, but the furrow in his brows revealed how concerned he actually has been. Peter was nothing if not observant, like he could sense things better than most people.

You let out a sigh, unsure of what to say. You didn’t want to lie to Peter, but you also didn’t want to tell him the truth, that you were thinking about him-- well, your feelings for him. Just when it seemed like he had backed you into a corner, however, the waitress had returned with the checks, and the question left unanswered.

After dinner, the six of you went to Flash’s house to watch a movie. He had a home theater and early access to new movies and he loved to remind everyone of that. Not that any of you minded, especially if it got you free popcorn and a movie out of it. Every week, a different person got to select the movie and today, unfortunately, was MJ’s turn.

You loved her, of course, but you absolutely detested her taste in movies. Mostly because she was a horror junkie, and you were absolutely not. Her last few turns however had been spent making sure you all had seen all of the Shrek movies. But today, she picked a horror film. Something about demons and the like. Peter and Betty cheered at her selection as Flash groaned. You settled into the couch in the back of the room and grabbed a blanket. Ned and Betty sat together on a smaller loveseat, and MJ sat on the floor in front of Flash’s seat, the perfect spot to be able to scare him with a single touch on his leg.

Peter sat down beside you, handing you a tub of popcorn and a soda. He pulled the blanket over his own lap as he sat criss-cross on the couch. You tried not to pay attention to how his leg was brushing against yours under the blanket, instead focusing on the screen as the room went dark.

The movie had just started, but you could already feel yourself tense up in expectation.The music was coming to a crescendo and you knew something was already going to happen. You didn’t realize just how tightly your fists had balled together in your lap till you jumped at the sound of Peter’s soft voice at the shell of your ear. “Are you okay?” He asked.

He tried to hold in a chuckle as you almost bounced the tub of popcorn off your lap. He grabbed it from you and set it to the side. “Look,” he pointed to the screen where the creature’s head had just rotated a full circle as it crawled up the wall in pursuit of the main character. “That thing kinda looks like the spider from that kid’s tv show, but not as creepy.” You let out a laugh, a little louder than you meant, and Ned turned to tell you to shut up.

The small joke was enough to dissipate the anxiety you felt towards the movie, but unfortunately only heightened your feelings about Peter. But he noticed how your fists unclenched and how your shoulders relaxed once you laughed, so he continued to tell you whispered jokes for the rest of the movie. Each time he noticed your body tensing, he tried his best to make you laugh, and god, how could you stop yourself from those butterflies anymore?

At the height of the movie, you found yourself with your hands over your ears, and eyes squeezed shut, unable to even look at the screen or hear a joke. When Peter realized a joke wouldn’t be enough, he slid closer to you and pulled you into his side and you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Before you had a chance to think about the spicy notes of his cologne or the softness of his skin, the sound of a high pitched scream in the movie caused you to jump with a gasp. In response, Peter wrapped his arms around you tight, with a gentle shush.

It was only after the music began to die down that you opened your eyes again, only to find Peter’s eyes fixed on the screen. Now that the worst was over, you no longer had an excuse to be in his embrace the way you were. You began to wiggle your way out of his arms, attracting his attention.

“What are you doing?” he whispered.

“Peter I’m a big kid,” you smiled, teasing. “You don’t have to hold me like a baby.” Peter let out a soft laugh before relaxing his hold on you just a bit.

“Okay,” he relented. “I’ll just hold you like this then.” He began to shift so that your head was on his shoulder, and one of his arms looped under yours, intertwining your fingers. The smile on his face was calm as if this was something the two of you did all the time, but his racing heartbeat reminded you this was something new.

The two of you remained that way for the rest of the movie. By the time the soft music began to play in the credits, you could hear light snoring from everyone else in the room. However, you and Peter made absolutely no efforts to untangle yourselves from each other. It was as if you were worried that once the lights came back on, you would never find yourself like this again, and what a sad idea that was. Normal, would never be enough for you again, not when you know now how much better life could be like this.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline from the jump scares, or the sureness of his hand in yours, like it’s always belonged there, that gave you the courage to finally break the silence.

“Peter,” you breathed out, lifting your head from his shoulder, but not letting go of his hand.

He turned to you, with a look of concern, afraid of what you might say.

“Kiss me.” The words came out so softly and so quickly that you weren’t sure if you said it at all.

“Finally,” he whispered as his lips fell against yours, softly and slowly. He pulled away after what felt like hours and yet not nearly enough time. His hands reached up to cup your face. “I like you,” he admitted. “So much.”

Suddenly, you felt it. You felt exactly what it must feel like to fly, to let yourself go without worrying about gravity or anything else. The risks were still there, the numbers hadn’t changed, but you knew that no matter what happened next, just having the chance to fly would always be enough.

#peter parker fluff #peter parker angst #peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter #peter parker #peter parker headcanon #peter parker imagine #tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland angst #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader #i don’t know if the read more will work but uh i’ll fix it tomorrow #it’s like 4 am but i couldn’t leave this unfinished

[nevertheless-moving]

Pop Star Wars AU: Waking

Drabble set in this au which I wrote way back a few weeks ago.

Back then, I had only recently decided to look up my tumblr password for a third attempt at being an appreciative fandom community member instead of just trying to think really hard at internet strangers, and maybe shout into the void a little. (But there’s like, several people here now??? How did you even find me on the internet? )

Anyway I have since learned how to spell Anakin’s name and insert links. Also that if you resize your window while typing directly into tumblr everything disappears.

Self Indulgent Crack Pop Star Wars Time Travel Fixit (star wars au no 3):

After several years of exile in the Jundland Wastes, Ben Kenobi had not quite finished mentally unpacking the decades of mistakes, grief, and failure that had led him to the desert. It was the work of a lifetime, and some days were harder than others. But after several forays in and out of alcoholism, spice addiction, and every other form of geographically-accessible self-destruction, he could at least say that some days were easier. 

The process was no doubt made more difficult by the abject solitude. Unlike the chaotic years that constituted the fall of the Republic, he had all too much time to think, and no one around to share his thoughts with. He closed his eyes in the dark of his hut, thoughts drifting between past and future. 

The past was as ugly and lovely as ever. The larger future didn’t look much better, but he could find some joy in the thought of tomorrow and fresh bantha milk when the herd roamed near. Owen was always much less begrudging of his presence when he came with an offering, and Beru would likely invite him to stay for noon meal where he would share in fresh cheese as Luke rambled about his plans to fix-up a junked speeder bike.

The thought of Luke’s happiness at the treat allowed him enough peace of mind to meditate more deeply.

He carefully broke off a piece of unfair-bitterness from his larger loving-grief. The bitterness he released into the force. The grief he turned over and soothed until its edges dissolved. He accepted it, now smoother if not smaller, laying it to rest alongside his hard-earned wisdom and unfinished poetry.

Tired, but fractionally lighter, Ben Kenobi drifted to sleep.

He opened his eyes to the first rays of daylight peeking in his temple chambers.

The room was intimately familiar. For a few years they were Ashoka’s, on the rare occasion she found herself temple-side and in want of privacy but not complete solitude. For a solid decade before her, the chambers were Anakin’s, though he was quick enough to accept the common room couch when Ashoka entered their life. And before that...they were his. That was his model rocket on the shelf, and his astronomical mobile hanging from the ceiling, and his robes scattered on the floor, though they hadn’t been arranged as such in this room since his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon. He sat up. 

Glad he had put energy into meditation last night, he used the lingering clarity of mind to try and work through possible explanations. 

Vivid Dream? No a quick pinch to his inner elbow debunked that, as well as the fact that the morning taste in his mouth was more the minty tang of denti-cleaner, rather than the saltiness of dried meat which he had grown accustomed to.

Hallucinogenic mushroom flashback? Possible, though it still wouldn’t explain the detail of physical sensations he felt, running his hand from the temple-spun linens on his bed to the warm-carved wood of his bedside table. He stood and did a perfect forward flip in place. Shockingly his knees didn’t ache at impact, but a drug induced hallucination of this intensity would have some sort of impact on his equilibrium, and he felt perfectly balanced, at least physically.

Force vision seemed most likely. Sinking into cross-legged meditation, he gradually lowered his mental shields. There was no whisper of Vader or Palpatine anywhere near Hutt space at this time, so the risk of reaching out was both manageable and necessary. Rather than the pure energy he personally associated with intense visions, he felt gradients of light, echoing ripples of emotions, and the unique solidity of force-imbued stone walls.

Heart beginning to race as reality set in, Ben concluded that he was, indeed, in the Jedi temple on Courascant. Even if he had suffered a complete psychotic break, his force sense couldn’t lie with such crystal clear detail. Confused unreality mixed with images of the past and future, sure. But this was the temple. It just was. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. Even if he had somehow been found, drugged, and transported to the heart of the empire, the rooms as he sensed them didn’t exist anymore. The contents were lost or burnt, the stone walls destroyed and rebuilt into a wing of the Imperial Palace.

Obi-Wan sank deeper into the force and reached out further, searching for he answers. In general, the force felt light, the shroud of the darkside was a hazy irritation in the distance, not a smothering blanket. The manifold wounds in the force formed by senseless war and destruction were absent. Also gone were the tang of grief and loss that he had begun to associate with the temple’s signature even before- even before the purge.

The temple was also full to the brim with tens of thousands of lights in the living force. He reached out to them incredulously, nudging many just to feel a living, sentient response. The last time he remembered feeling so many Jedi all in the temple at the same time was...well, when he still lived in this room. The nearest living force sensitive presence was achingly familiar, though notably and unquestioningly living. He could feel the presence moving nearer and retreated, pulling himself fully back into his body.

The only explanation that fit was that he had suddenly, miraculously, inexplicably traveled back in time. 

He half ran to his closet, opening the door with a yank to reveal a full length mirror. A once-familiar, 25-year old padawan stared back with visible shock. Of course his knees didn’t hurt, this body hadn’t yet been broken and abused by knighthood, war, and Tatooine. His hands examined the smooth chin, the unwrinkled forehead, and even the terrible, terrible haircut.

Obi-wan startled at a knock at his door, freezing in place. 

“Padawan?” Came Qui-Gon Jinn’s voice softly, “I don’t intend to pull you out of meditation prematurely, but is there a particular reason you were sprawling over the temple this morning? You startled me somewhat. To be perfectly honest, I think you might have alarmed a few people around the temple, I’ve already received messages from council telling me to reign in my padawan before he hurts himself.” 

Qui-Gon sounded more amused than reprimanding, and he paused, clearly waiting for an answer. 

Obi-Wan’s jaw locked up. What could he say? How could he even to begin to explain what had happened? He sank to floor, head pressed to the ground and tears silent streaming down his face. All he could do was offer to the force were words, the feelings could come later Thank you. Thank youThankyouthankyouTHANKYOU. 

For whatever reason, the force had granted him a second chance. Regardless if it was intended as punishment, gift, or inexplicable chance, he would build a better future than the one he left behind. 

“Padawan?” Qui-Gon knocked again, sounding concerned, “Are you alright? If you don’t answer I’m going to have to come in there.”

And all at once he had flipped back to not enough time to think and too many people needing his attention.

Obi-Wan managed to open his mouth to call out some meaningless assurance, intent on gaining more time to process the fantastical situation. Much to his surprise, what came out was a strangled, keening sob. Qui-Gon burst through the door. 

Obi-Wan realized, with a little embarrassment, that he was curled up practically into a ball on the floor, tears streaming in a shocking waste of water. It was probably not the most dignified, nor the most reassuring position for Qui-Gon to walk in on. 

Qui-Gon rushed to his side, pulling him up by the shoulders to frantically look him over. “What happened?” he demanded, “Are you hurt? Did something go wrong while you were meditating and you were trying to reach out for help?”

Obi-Wan smiled at the barrage of questions. He had almost forgotten that on the rare occasions when Qui-Gon’s perfect Jedi serenity broke, he became somewhat counterproductively intense. 

“I’m alright, Master,” he tried to say, but what came out was more of a croaking, “MNNrlerR.” 

This predictably, only increased Qui-Gon’s concern.

To Obi-Wan’s deep consternation, he was dragged by Qui-Gon to the healer’s wing. He remained quiet during the examination, not wanting to risk whatever was compromising his ability to speak. It could be readjusting to his younger body, or a manifestation of the admittedly great emotional shock he was still experiancing. Or simple lack of practice- it had been several weeks since he had last heard the sound of his own voice, from a certain point of view.

After finding no physical cause for concern, Master Vyr asked Qui-Gon to wait outside.

“Padawan Kenobi?” The Tortugan healer asked gently. “Your Master seems quite insistent that something is wrong. Would you like to discuss what the problem seems to be?”

Obi-Wan cleared his throat and was relieved when his voice came out smooth and under his control, “I’m alight, Master. I apologize for disruption. I experienced a... particularly strong vision when I woke up this morning, and temporarily lost control over myself. I’m already feeling more stable. I believe I simply need to meditate on what I’ve seen. My master unfortunately came in while I was dealing with some of the emotional aftermath.

“I see,” Vyr responded. “Did you experience this vision before or after your expansive foray into the force? I understand a surprising swath of the temple felt your presence press against them this morning.”

“I reached out after,” Obi-Wan admitted. “My vision was...particularly dark. I felt the need to ground myself with the presence of other Jedi. I’ll make certain to apologize to anyone I may have startled.”

Eventually he was cleared with the strict instruction to stick with shallow meditation for the next few days as well as a strong recommendation to seek out Master Yoda, Sifo-Dryfas, or one of the other Master known to experience visions. 

Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan walked back to their quarters together in a peaceful quiet. It wasn’t until the door clicked behind them that Qui-Gon rounded on his padawan.

“What vision could possibly have left you in such distress?”

Obi-Wan walked to the kitchenette to make tea, stalling before answering. “You have always told me to stay focused on the present, Master”

Qui-Gon frowned. “Yes, however this...vision seems to have altered you somehow. You are grieved by it.”

“Yes. But what I grieve may never come to pass.” 

It won’t come to pass. I might not know his every tool, but I do know Sideous’s biggest secret, and I WILL stop him.

“Will you not tell me what you saw?” Qui-Gon asked, sounding somewhat hurt.

Obi-Wan poured the hot water carefully, feeling torn. If he told Qui-Gon everything... would he believe him? Perhaps, eventually but...what would become of Anakin, still just a boy? And the moment he knew of Palpatine’s evil...he knew Qui-Gon. He would favor the direct approach, underestimating the sheer breadth of the trap the sith had laid (Obi-Wan himself lived through it and only began to understand long after it had closed).

“I saw...a great shadow fall over the republic.”

He sat at the table, relishing in the simple pleasure of pouring a cup for Qui-Gon and himself from a shared pot.

Qui-Gon cradled his mug in his hands. “I see. Nothing specific?”

“Your death. At the hands of a tool of darkness. You ran ahead...” Obi-Wan took a scorching sip to stop himself. “It was foolish. Unnecessary. And I was forced to fight alone without you.

Qui-Gon set the tea down to stroke his beard in thought. “Well. I have no great desire to die. While I make no promises, I will endeavor to avoid leaving you behind ‘unnecessarily.’”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied, over sincere. 

They drank in peaceful silence. It was interrupted by a shrill noise from Qui-Gon’s comm.

“I’ve just received a personal request from the Chancellor to immediately assist in negotiations with a Trade Federation blockade around Naboo. Are you feeling up to it?”

“You know, I think I am”

#star wars #pop star wars au #my au #time travel #star wars au no 3

[samwisethewitch]

Everything You Need to Know About Pagan Deity

As you’ve probably guessed by now, there are many, many, many different approaches to deity within the wider pagan community. While it would be impossible to summarize all of these different perspectives in a single blog post, this post contains some common themes and best practices that are more or less universal and can be adapted to fit whatever system you choose to work with.

In my Baby Witch Bootcamp series, I talk about the “Four R’s” of working with spiritual beings, including deities: respect, research, reciprocity, and relationship. However, when it comes to gods and goddesses specifically, I think it’s important to include a fifth “R” — receptivity.

If you’re completely new to this kind of work and want to avoid making rookie mistakes and/or pissing off powerful spiritual forces, sticking to the Five R’s of Deity Relationships is a good place to start. The Five R’s are:

Respect. It’s always a good idea to have a healthy respect for the powers you choose to connect with, whether you see those powers as literal gods and goddesses or as archetypes within the collective unconscious (see below). While not every ritual needs to be incredibly formal and structured, you should always conduct yourself with an air of respect and reverence when connecting with deity. There’s no need to humble yourself to the point of cowering before the gods (and in fact, this kind of behavior is a turnoff for many deities), but you should strive to be polite and follow your system’s proper protocol for things like cleansing, offerings, and prayers.

Research. I am of the opinion that you should do serious research into a god or goddess before any attempt to make contact with them. This can be controversial, but in my own experience things seem to go more smoothly when I know what I’m doing. Books are really the way to go for this — the Internet can be useful for connecting with other worshipers and hearing their stories, but it isn’t a good source for nonbiased factual information. I recommend starting with academic sources written by secular experts for a purely historical account that won’t be colored by personal religious experience. Once you have a decent understanding of the basic historical context, look for books by pagan authors who have experience working with this deity. These sources will give you a framework for your own interactions with them.

Reciprocity. As we’ve discussed before, reciprocity is a core value of virtually every pagan tradition. Reciprocity is a mutual positive exchange where all parties benefit in some way, and this quality forms the backbone of all healthy relationships with deity. While we benefit from connecting with the gods, the gods also benefit from our worship. Upholding reciprocity in your relationships with deity means making regular offerings to show your appreciation as well as living in a way that your god or goddess approves of.

Relationship. At the end of the day, connecting with a god or goddess is about creating a healthy, fulfilling relationship. Like any relationship, it takes time and effort to keep the connection alive. The gods are living, thinking, feeling beings just like you and me, though on a much larger scale. Just like you and me, they have likes and dislikes and require certain things from those who want to work closely with them. Try to approach the gods as individuals, and connect with them as you would with another person. This will naturally lead to much more authentic and organic relationships.

Receptivity. To be receptive is to be open and ready to receive whatever comes your way — this is an essential quality for anyone who is serious about connecting with a god or goddess. Connecting with the gods means allowing them a place in your life, whatever they choose to bring with them. It means forming a relationship with them on their terms, and that requires us to give up a certain degree of control. While you should never feel afraid or completely out of control when connecting with deity (if you do, stop contacting that deity immediately), you may very well experience things you did not expect or ask for. Be prepared for these surprises, and understand that when the gods surprise us in this way, they do it in order to help us grow. Let go of any preconceived ideas about what a relationship with this deity “should” look like, and instead let it unfold naturally.

Though there is much more to working with deity than just these values, keeping these values in mind will get you started out on the right foot in your relationships with the gods.

Deity or Archetype?

As odd as it may sound, not everyone who connects with the gods through study and ritual believes those gods to be literal spiritual beings. Some pagans (I would even say the majority of pagans, based on my personal experience) connect with the gods as individuals with their own personalities and agency, but others connect with them as symbols that represent different elements of the human experience. This latter group is working with the gods not as deity, but as archetypes.

The term “archetype” comes from academia, particularly the fields of psychology and literary analysis. An archetype is a symbol that embodies the fundamental characteristics of a person, thing, or experience.

Swiss psychoanalyst Carl Jung argued that archetypes are powerful symbols within the collective unconscious (basically an ancestral memory shared by all of humanity) that arise due to shared experiences across cultures. For example, Jung would argue that Demeter, Juno, and Frigg all represent the “Mother” archetype filtered through different cultural lenses, reflecting the important role of mothers across Greek, Roman, and Old Norse culture. For Jung and his followers, archetypes allow us to connect to latent parts of our own psyche — by connecting with the Mother archetype, for example, you can develop motherly qualities like patience, empathy, and nurturing.

For comparative mythology expert Joseph Campbell, archetypes represented types of characters that appear in some form in most or all global mythology. In his book, The Hero of a Thousand Faces, Campbell identified the “hero’s journey” as the archetypal narrative framework on which most stories, from ancient myths to modern films, are based. (If you’ve taken literally any high school literature class, you’re probably familiar with Campbell’s work.) Like Jung, Campbell has been hugely influential on modern pagans who choose to connect with the gods as archetypes.

Working with an archetype is a little different than working with a deity. For one thing, while archetypes may manifest as gods and goddesses, they can also manifest as fictional characters, historical figures, or abstract symbols. Let’s say you want to tap into the Warrior archetype. You could connect with this archetype by working with gods like Mars, Thor, or Heracles — but you could just as easily do so by working with superheroes like Luke Cage or Colossus, literary figures like Ajax or Achilles, or the abstract concepts of strength and honor.

When pagans worship a deity, it’s because they want to form a relationship with that deity for some reason. But when pagans work with an archetype, it’s usually because they want to embody aspects of that archetype. In our above example, you may be trying to connect to the Warrior archetype to gain confidence or become more assertive.

The biggest difference between worshiping a deity and working with an archetype is that a deity is an external force, while an archetype is an internal force. When you connect with a deity, you are connecting with a spiritual being outside of yourself — a being with their own thoughts, feelings, and drives. When you connect with an archetype, you are connecting with a part of your own psyche. Because of this, archetypes tend to be more easily defined and behave in more predictable ways than deities, although some archetypes can be very complex and multi-faceted.

On the surface, worship and archetype work might be very similar, but the “why” behind the action is fundamentally different.

If you choose to worship the Morrigan, for example, you may have an altar dedicated to her, make regular offerings to her, speak with her in meditations and astral journeys, and/or write poetry or make art in her honor. If you choose to work with the Wild Woman archetype, it may look very similar to an outside observer — you may have an altar dedicated to the Wild Woman energy, speak with manifestations of Wild Woman (perhaps including the Morrigan) in meditation, and write poetry or make art dedicated to this archetype. However, these actions will have a very different intent behind them. Your Wild Woman altar is not a sacred space but a visual trigger to help you connect to the Wild Woman within you. Your meditations are conversations with different aspects of your own personality, not with a separate being. Your art is an expression of self, not a devotional act. The result is a deeper connection to yourself, not a relationship with another being.

I hope I’ve made it clear that archetype work and deity worship can both be very worthwhile spiritual practices, and that each serves its own purpose. Many pagans, myself included, work with both deities and archetypes.

There is some overlap between worshiping a deity and working with an archetype, and many pagans start out with one practice before eventually ending up in the other. Sometimes working with an archetype leads you to encounter a deity who embodies that archetype, which can lead to a relationship with that deity. Likewise, your relationship with a deity may help you become aware of a certain archetype’s influence in your life, which might lead you to work with that archetype.

Making First Contact

First impressions are important. This is true for making new friends, for job interviews, for first dates — and for your first meeting with a god or goddess. In many cases, the way you behave in your first meeting with a deity will set the tone for your relationship with them.

That being said, don’t overthink (or over-stress) about your first impression. You aren’t going to be cursed or punished if you mess this up — at the very worst, the deity might lose interest in connecting with you, and even that can often be remedied with an offering and a polite apology. While it’s always best to get off on the right foot, don’t feel like you need to be perfect.

So, how do you make a good first impression on a god or goddess? Honestly, the rules are largely the same for making a good first impression on any other person. Make sure your physical appearance is clean and tidy — some systems, such as Hellenismos and Kemetic paganism, have special rules for cleansing before contacting the gods, but it’s always a good idea to take a shower first and make sure you’re wearing clean clothes. Likewise, make sure the physical space you invite the gods into is relatively clean — it doesn’t need to be spotless, but take a minute to tidy up before beginning any ritual. Be polite — there’s no need to be overly formal, but you should be respectful. Don’t immediately ask for favors — how would you feel if you met someone at a party and they immediately asked you to do some sort of work for them?

Beyond the basics, it’s wise to make sure you have an idea of who this god is and what they are like before you reach out to them. This will keep you from accidentally doing something offensive. For example, you wouldn’t want to invite them to an altar dedicated to a deity they have a rivalry with. Likewise, you want to avoid offering food or drink that would have been taboo in their original worship. (Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, but when you’re just starting out it’s a good idea to follow the historical framework as closely as possible.)

At the risk of sounding like a broken record: this is why research is so important. Knowing who you are dealing with allows you to deal with them respectfully, gracefully, and competently.

Callings

There’s one aspect of deity worship that is controversial in modern paganism: the idea of being “called” by a deity. This is a question you’ll find many, many heated discussions about online. Do you need to be called by a deity to form a relationship with them? Do deities choose their followers, or do we choose them? How do you know what a call from a deity even looks like?

As I said, this is a controversial topic, but I firmly believe that 1.) you do not have to feel called to a deity beyond being interested in them, and 2.) feeling drawn to a deity’s image, symbols, and myths is a form of calling.

Many pagans do feel like they were called or drawn to the deities they walk most closely with. They may have encountered myths of that deity as a child or teenager and deeply resonated with them, or may have always had an affinity for that god’s sacred animals. They may have dreamed of this deity before knowing who they were, or may have felt a spiritual presence around them before identifying it as a god or goddess.

Many people first encounter the gods in fiction, only for this fictionalized depiction to spark a deeper connection that eventually leads to worship. In the modern era, it’s entirely possible for someone who worships Loki to have first encountered him (or at least a character loosely based on him) in Marvel comics and films, or for someone who worships the Greek pantheon to have first discovered them through the Percy Jackson books. As far as I’m concerned, this is also a valid “call” from deity. The gods are very good at communicating with us through the means available — including fiction.

That being said, just because you don’t already feel a strong connection to a god or goddess doesn’t mean you can’t or shouldn’t worship them. The connection will come with time and effort, just like in any relationship.

Dedication, Patrons, and Matrons

In online spaces such as Tumblr and TikTok, a lot of inexperienced pagans parrot the idea that every pagan needs to have a designated matron and/or patron god and/or needs to be formally dedicated to a god in order to have a close relationship with them. Not only is this untrue, but such restrictions can actually cause harm and/or stunt spiritual growth.

Let’s address dedication first. To be dedicated to a deity means to outwardly declare yourself a servant of that deity, usually with a formal dedication ritual — think of it as the pagan version of joining a convent or going to seminary. It is an outward expression of your devotion and loyalty to that deity. Dedicants are held to a higher standard than the average worshiper by themselves, their communities, and the god(s) they have dedicated to.

Dedication can be a powerful and fulfilling spiritual experience (it’s the backbone of many peoples’ spiritual practice), but it should not be taken lightly. Dedicating yourself to a god or goddess should be a sign of your commitment to them and a deepening of your relationship — it should not be the beginning of that relationship.

Dedication is a lot like marriage. Just like you wouldn’t marry someone you’ve only been on a handful of dates with, you shouldn’t dedicate to a deity just because you’ve had one or two positive experiences with them. Like marriages, dedication can be difficult to get out of — ending your dedication to a deity is possible, but it’s a messy, complicated, uncomfortable process that is sure to shift the foundation of your entire spiritual practice, and not always for the better.

My advice to new and inexperienced pagans is not to even consider dedication until you’ve been practicing for several years. As you begin your journey, your focus should be on exploring your options, forming meaningful connections, and developing a practice that works for you and your unique spiritual needs. Now is the time for experimentation, not lifelong commitments.

But let’s say you are an experienced pagan, and you feel like you are ready for dedication. How do you know if you should dedicate to a given god or goddess?

Dedication may be the logical next step in your relationship with a deity if:

This deity has been an active part of your spiritual practice for at least 2-3 years, with no major gaps in contact with them

You are comfortable upholding this deity’s values for the rest of your life — and are willing to face consequences if you fail to do so

You are willing to dedicate a significant amount of time and effort to the service of this deity

You are willing to face major changes in your life outside your spiritual practice — dedicating to a deity often leads to major shifts that may affect our career, family, and/or relationships

If you answered “yes” to all of the above, dedication may be appropriate. This may seem overly cautious, but remember that dedicating to a deity is a serious, lifelong commitment akin to joining the clergy. For context, it takes at least five years of study and practice to become a Catholic priest, a similar amount of time to become a Jewish rabbi, and three years to become a high priest/ess in Traditional Wicca. If you don’t have the patience to maintain a relationship for a few years before dedication, that is probably a good indicator that dedication isn’t for you.

If you are dedicated to a deity or are planning to dedicate, you may actually choose to attend seminary or receive some other formal religious training. This training will help you to better serve your deity in a public capacity, as you will learn skills like religious counselling, leading ritual, and building community. If your program of study includes ordination, it will also allow you to perform legally binding religious rituals like marriage ceremonies. Depending on your path, attending seminary or training may be your act of formal dedication.

Finally, let me make it clear that dedication does not make you a better pagan than someone who is not dedicated. The choice to dedicate or not dedicate is only one element of your spiritual practice, and it is possible to have a fulfilling and life-affirming practice without dedication. Some of the people who do the most work in the service of the gods are not dedicated to them. You may be one of these people, and that is totally okay.

Patron/matron relationships are a specific type of dedication.

The concept of patron deities comes from Wicca and related neopagan religions. As we’ve previously discussed, Wicca is a duotheistic system with a God and Goddess, whose union is the source of all creation. However, because Wiccans believe that all gods are manifestations of the God and all goddesses are manifestations of the Goddess, some covens choose to work with the God and Goddess in the form of other deities (say, for example, Osiris and Isis), which are referred to as the coven’s “patron” and “matron” deities. In these covens, initiation into the coven’s mysteries (traditionally in the form of first, second, and third degree initiations) typically acts as a form of dedication to these deities.

As Eclectic Wicca has gained popularity in the last few decades, there has been a growing trend of individual Wiccans and eclectic pagans choosing personal patron and/or matron deities. Some Wiccans will have a single god or goddess they are dedicated to, while others feel that it is very important to be dedicated to exactly one masculine deity and exactly one feminine deity. This second model is the one I see most often in online pagan spaces, especially Tumblr and TikTok.

The patron/matron model can be useful for some pagans, but it is not one-size-fits-all. As I mentioned, this model of dedication comes from Wicca, and is a very modern concept. In ancient pagan religions, most people would not have been dedicated in this way. That does not mean that this isn’t a valid form of worship (it absolutely is), but it does mean that those who practice reconstructionist paths may not be inclined to interact with deity this way.

The guidelines for patron/matron relationships are similar to the guidelines for dedication in general, but these relationships often (but not always) have a more parental nature. For some people, having a divine mother and/or father figure is ideal — especially for those who are healing from parental trauma or abuse. If you feel drawn to this type of deity relationship, I encourage you to explore it.

On the other hand, you may not have any interest in the patron/matron model, and that’s totally fine! It’s called polytheism for a reason — if you prefer to maintain less formal relationships with many gods, you should feel free to do so.

I hope this post has helped clarify some of the murkier aspects of polytheism and deity work. Obviously, this is only the tip of the iceberg — I could write a book about this topic and many, many authors already have. However, I think the information here is enough to get you started, and I hope that it will provide a first step on your journey with your gods.

Resources:

Wicca for Beginners by Thea Sabin

A Witches’ Bible by Janet and Stewart Farrar

The Spiral Dance by Starhawk

Where the Hawthorn Grows by Morgan Daimler

The Way of Fire and Ice by Ryan Smith

Jessi Huntenburg (YouTuber), “Dancing with Deity | Discovering Gods, Goddesses, and Archetypes,” “Archetype, Deity, and Inviting Transpersonal Experience,” and “10 Ways to Bond with Deity”

Kelly-Ann Maddox (YouTuber), “How to Have Deep Connections with Deities”

#paganism 101 #paganism #deity work #dedication #devotional witchcraft #devotional #eclectic pagan #wicca #wiccan #pagan #baby pagan #baby witch #witchblr #witch #witchcraft #religion #theology #goddess #patron god #matron goddess #spiritual #polytheism #witchtok

[happyandticklish]

A Matter Of Spirits

Notes: Does anyone actually want a Dorian Gray fic? Probably not. Am I going to write one anyway? Abso-fucking-lutely. I do have a fic request that I’m editing right now, so that’s also coming soon. Based off the book, not any of the film adaptations. 

Summary: When Dorian refuses to sit for a painting, Basil turns to Henry for assistance. 

“Dorian. Please.”

The other continued to slump in his seat, staring off into the distance in that irritating, brooding fashion of his. This had been going on for a while now, no matter how Basil attempted to persuade the other. Dorian was in a mood which meant he would not sit for the painter and he most certainly wouldn’t smile. Normally, Basil was patient with Dorian’s swinging fancies, leading him to great heights of euphoria one moment and the depths of despair in the next, but today was different.

The painting wasn’t for himself this time. A client had offered a great price for it, a sum that left the struggling artist dazzled. Normally, he didn’t sell portraits of Dorian—they were his secret joy, a beauty he could admire without the prying eyes of others. But that much could not be ignored, and so Basil had decided to make an exception, just this once.

Unfortunately, it appeared his plans were going to be ruined if Dorian continued to act like this. Basil’s brow pinched in annoyance and exhaustion as Dorian fell back against the couch, one arm thrown over his face, the very picture of agony.

“It’s just one painting,” Basil tried again, trying to force his voice to take on an appealing tone. “One painting and then you can go about your tantrum.”

“It isn’t a tantrum,” came Dorian’s muffled protest. “How can you expect me to pose when I’m miserable?”

“I hardly think the situation calls for one to be miserable—”

“My favorite pair!” Dorian interrupted, sitting up suddenly to glare stricken at the other. He pointed to his pants, which now spotted a rather unfortunate blue ink splot. “Ruined. It’ll probably never come out, and even if it does, there will be a stain, and then where will I be? How am I to go on with stained trousers?”

Basil resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It was true that the paint might not come out, but Dorian was not one who could be accused of having a low supply of nice apparel. He had dozens of other pairs, all fairly similar in style. There was no need to get so worked up about the accident. Nevertheless, Basil knew if he put it like that his painting would never come about.

“What’s all this about?”

The pair turned to find Lord Henry strolling idly into the room, one hand poised elegantly on his cane. He was always elegant, no matter what the setting. Basil would have been impressed by it if he didn’t find it so irritating. Henry glanced between Dorian, distraught on the couch, Basil, standing next to an empty canvas, and finally at the empty chair in the middle of the room where Dorian would under normal circumstances be posing. He raised an eyebrow.

“Henry,” Basil said, a note of relief to his voice at the presence of his friend. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I let myself in. Dorian, whatever is the matter? You look as though poor old Basil here has just made an attempt on your life.”

Dorian sniffed, tilting his chin up petulantly. “He has, at least to me. Look at this!” He pointed to the stain, as though that itself should have been cause for outrage from the other.

Henry blinked, before nodding slowly. “I see. He has… stained your pants? To what end?”

“It was an accident,” Basil explained, crossing his arms. “I was showing Dorian some of the new colors I had got brought in recently, and a bit got on him, that’s all. He’s overreacting.”

“Ruined,” Dorian repeated with a lack of anything else to say in his defense.

Henry balanced his cane on the edge of the sofa, coming to take a seat beside the other. He examined the stain carefully, making sure to glance at it from all angles. Basil and Dorian watched him, both waiting to hear whose side he would take. Finally, he leaned back, clapping his hands together definitively. “Why, Dorian, you have nothing to worry about! It’s only a little stain, and hardly noticeable at that. A quick wash ought to fix it.”

Dorian fixed him with a suspicious glance, but it was difficult to doubt Henry, and finally a bit of hope came into his eyes. “Really?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Henry assured him. “Now, come, you’re being ridiculous. Sit for Basil. He only wants a portrait, nothing more. Surely you can accomplish that?”

Dorian looked as though he were on the edge of giving in, but finally he turned his face aside stubbornly. “I can’t. The mood is ruined. I can’t pose when my spirits are so low. I’ll look dreadful.”

Basil threw his hands up in frustration, ready to give up altogether and try again tomorrow, though he knew it would heavily delay the process. Henry, however, was not deterred. “A matter of low spirits, you say?”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and all at once Basil realized his plan, recognizing the look from years of being around the other. Dorian had not yet experienced Henry’s fullproof method for cheering one up, and so he simply frowned in puzzlement, reluctantly glancing back at the other.

“What is it?” he asked apprehensively. “Why do you look like that? Henry, what—hey!”

Dorian’s next words were overtaken by a surprised giggle as Henry’s hands found their way suddenly to his sides. He squirmed back against the couch, weakly attempting to bat the other away. “W-Wahait, noho!”

“I’m simply raising your spirits, nothing more,” Henry replied calmly, expertly maneuvering against the clothing protecting the other and finding each and every spot that had Dorian desperate to get away. “After all, you’re laughing, aren’t you?”

Dorian was, quite a lot at that, and the sound was breathtaking as Basil listened and watched the scene unfold. His laughter had always been uproarious, a carefree, wild sound that brought to mind the joy of childhood; Dorian had never been one to hide away his emotions, always feeling and existing in his truest self. But now that same laughter took on a more frantic cadence, breaking off into fits of giggles and every once in a while a sudden shriek when Henry hit a good spot. It was unreasonably endearing, and Basil felt a blush fighting its way onto his features. He knew he should look away or help—though whether he was to help Dorian or Henry he couldn’t say—but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight.

Dorian was a mess of limbs, his outfit thoroughly rumpled by this point, something that he would have cared about if he wasn’t so focused on the way Henry’s fingers skillfully climbed his ribs. “P-Plehehehease, Ihihihi’ll dihihie!”

“I’m certain you shall be fine, there’s no need for dramatics,” Henry dismissed, working around Dorian’s attempts to shove him off. “Besides, to die of laughter would be a worthy death in my opinion.”

Basil scoffed at the vague poetry, stepping in and placing a hand on Henry’s shoulder. “Don’t you think he’s had enough?”

“That is up to Dorian himself,” Henry replied, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous delight.  “Well? What do you say, my friend? Are you significantly cheered up yet?”

In truth, Dorian could already feel his poor mood dissipating, but despite this he continued to persist. “Of course not,” he huffed, grabbing at Henry’s wrists finally and holding them firmly. “This is ridiculous, I am not still a child. I have no time for such silly behavior.”

“And yet you were certainly acting like one earlier,” Basil commented without thinking, and Dorian shot him a betrayed look.

“Basil is right,” Henry agreed. “Which is why he’ll be assisting me. I can’t have you squirming around so much, you’ll only get in the way. Basil, his arms please.”

Basil snapped his head up, having not expected to get brought into this. “Well, I don’t think—”

“Basil is far too soft-hearted for this torture,” Dorian interrupted before he could finish. “He is not so bold or ruthless as you.”

The comment worked better than anything Henry could have said to convince him, and in the next moment Basil was on the couch behind him, slipping his hands under the other’s arms and securing them in a tight grip. “Henry, proceed.”

Dorian’s eyes went wide as he realized his predicament, and he surged against the hold to no avail. “Wait, hold on, there’s no need—ahAHA!”

His words broke off into wild cackling as Henry continued his attack, wiggling his fingers with quick, deft gestures under his arms. “Feeling anymore cooperative now?” Henry teased, raising an eyebrow.

“Thihihihis ihihis cruhuhuel!” Dorian protested, his actions growing more desperate as the vulnerable spot was continuously pursued. Yet no matter how he thrashed, there was no escape. “Bahahahasil!”

“Yes Dorian?” Basil asked, growing more confident in his actions as he listened to the sweet giggles, and the delighted expression that Dorian was doing a poor job at hiding. “Going to me for help will do you no good, not after all you’ve put me through this afternoon. I’m afraid you’re simply going to have to face the consequences of your actions.”

“Mehehehean!” Dorian kicked his legs out uselessly, throwing his head back into Basil’s chest. He jerked suddenly when Henry’s fingers began to travel, pinching up and down his ribs. His laughter pitched several octaves, and his hands flapped about, attempting to grab hold of anything that would help him out. “AhAHAHA, HEHEHENRY!”

“Dorian, please, calm yourself,” Henry said, shaking his head. “You are causing quite the ruckus, what if the neighbors hear?”

Dorian could hardly reply, too lost in his own laughter. Each tweak or prod of his ribs had him spasming, his layers doing little to protect him. The spot appeared to be unbearably ticklish, worse even than the cruel scribbling under his arms. Dorian was no stranger to his own sensitivity, a fact which had been brought to his attention in stark clarity when he was a child, but he hadn’t been tickled in many years and he was unprepared for just how intense it could be.

Finally, he managed to form enough coherency to spew a stream of giggly protests. “I-Ihihihihi dehehehehemand thahahahat—ehehehe, aha—thahahahat yohohou stahahahap ahahahahat ohohonce! Ihihihi wihihihill—ah! Heh, nahaha, nohoho! I wihihihill gehehehet m-my, mihihi—stahahap ihihihit, nahahahat thehehere!”

“You’re not making any sense, I’m afraid,” Henry informed him sympathetically. “Really, I have spoken with you about the benefits of proper articulation before, there’s no need to stammer so. Basil, can you understand a word of what he’s saying?”

“I can’t say I do,” Basil replied, and suddenly his own fingers had been added into the mix, scribbling over the edges of his armpits from where he held him tight. Dorian shrieked, unprepared for the double assault, and burst into a round of cursing as his laughter advanced to an even more frantic pitch. “I suppose we’ll just have to keep encouraging him until he remembers the proper form of speech.”

Red had begun to creep across Dorian’s features as well, a testament to the teasing that was slowly working to unravel with along with the tickling. With that, his stubbornness finally caved. “Ohohohokay, OHOHohohohokay, I-I’ll sihihihihit!”

Henry and Basil exchanged a pleased glance and collectively sat back, releasing Dorian to wrap his arms around himself in a giggly pile between them. After he had regained his breath somewhat, Dorian managed a half-hearted glare in Henry’s direction. “That was wholly uncalled for.”

“Are your spirits not cheered?” Henry pointed out. “You cannot convince me you weren’t enjoying yourself. You’ve never been one to give in so easily to something you weren’t willing to engage in.”

Dorian blushed, sitting up straight and adjusting his jacket with a cough. “That is ridiculous, Henry, utterly ridiculous. I did nothing of the sort. And to think I thought you were a man of intelligence.”

Henry raised a wry brow, shrugging his shoulders. “If that is what you must tell yourself, I will let you believe it for now. Don’t fool yourself into thinking I won’t discover the truth on a later occasion, however.”

Dorian’s stomach flipped not unpleasantly at the idea, but he merely scoffed, springing from the sofa and bounding over to the sitting chair. “Well, if I’m going to sit, I’m going to need a change of outfit at once. Look at me, I look positively tousled, like I’ve been out in a storm!”

Basil watched him as he continued to waltz about the room, making endless comments about dress and hair, but with a far more agreeable air than before. “Thank you,” he whispered gratefully to Lord Henry, who startled at the sound, tearing his gaze away from Dorian where it had previously been taken.

“Yes, of course old friend, always happy to help. Although you might be careful he doesn’t discover your weakness as well.”

He reached over and tweaked Basil’s side playfully. Basil yelped, having not expected the sudden attack, and batted away his hand quickly. He flushed, glaring at him. “Quiet down with that, will you? For your information, that is not information that will be getting out anytime soon.”

“Basil! I can hardly paint this portrait by myself now can I?”

Basil’s attention immediately snapped back to the other, and he rose to his feet, offering an obliging smile as he made his way over. “No, you cannot. You would make a miserable artist.”

The two continued to talk and bicker contentedly as Basil helped him fix his hair which had gotten tangled in the earlier tussle. Henry watched them with a knowing smile, certain they would figure themselves out. Perhaps not that day, but eventually. After all, they must do it in their own time.

Henry slipped out quietly while they talked, allowing them to have the day to themselves. 

Maybe one day, he thought with a gentle smile. 

#tickling #tickle fic #dorian gray #basil hallward #lord henry wotton #basil x dorian #fanfiction #classics #the picture of dorian gray

[amysteriousmessenger]

‘Love Bites’ Vampire!Saeran Choi Drabbles

Hello! This is one of my slightly belated pieces for @mysme-rbb, which I worked on with the very, very talented and sweet @amagicalduckling <3 Their art is so beautiful and I’m honoured to have been paired with them for some Saeran pieces! Please check out @amagicalduckling for more of their beautiful artwork, they are criminally underrated!!  Tw: mentions of blood, biting, vampirism, rough kissing Will be under the cut after Ray!

Vampire! Ray Drabble

Ray was melancholic by nature, you knew that, but you’d never had been able to guess why it if hadn’t been for that fateful night in the garden. He always did such a good job of hiding his fangs from you and brushing his hair over his ears so you couldn’t see their slightly pointed tips. He always kept his distance as best as he could, never coming too close into your personal space. You’d assumed it was out of respect and the nervousness of overstepping the boundaries, this idea was always aided by the fact that he usually looked a little bit strained whenever he was in your company.

The way you came to find out about Ray was because you had foolishly pricked your finger on a rose that he had been trying to show you outside. With the beautiful arrangements only being illuminated by moonlight, it had been difficult to see what you were doing, and you’d placed your finger directly onto the little spike and yelped in pain. As soon as you had pulled your hand back, to indicate what had caused you to cry out, Ray had immediately brought his own hand up to his mouth and feverishly covered it. You were confused and thought that perhaps Ray was sensitive to the sight of blood, but it was when he turned to run from you that you saw the white, iridescent fangs peering from behind his lips. You saw them, and he knew that you had. Ray ran at top speed away from you, leaving you with the drop of the blood slowly dripping down the side of your finger.

You felt a little lightheaded from the sight and had to stumble your way over to the bench, a… vampire? Surely, such things like that didn’t exist. They weren’t real. They were myths. Folklore. Children’s horror stories to tell before bed. And yet, as you considered Ray, really thought about him, you realised how quickly it all added up. He was so pale, sickly looking even at the best of times. You’d thought that the prominent blue veins on his neck and wrists was a result of his pasty complexion, but that was clearly not the truth of the matter. It also occurred to you that you never really saw him during the day, but he had always excused this fact as he must work arduously long hours and the only time he could find to get away and visit you was into the early hours of the night. While you supposed that there was at least some truth in that statement, it didn’t help the fact that it aligned with what you thought could be coming into fruition. Was he really a vampire? Had he been trying to hide it from you for all this time?  

And those fangs. Those could not be denied. They were the teeth of a predator, a hidden threat that he had tried so hard to keep a secret from you. So many questions raced through your head, and yet all you could worry about was where Ray was. He had left so quickly, clearly a bit distressed. You felt somewhat guilty for your own carelessness, but how were you to know? There was no way you would have guessed what was really happening here at Mint Eye. You had only been here to test a game, for crying out loud.

Suddenly, you felt anxious to be alone in the gardens at night, especially without Ray. Even if he was hiding something this serious from you, he was still the only person that you had gotten to make yourself friendly with. Well, in his case, more than a little bit friendly, but that was besides the point in that moment. You stood, trying to find your way through the maze of flowers and get back to your room but with little success. As you turned the corner, you spotted a figure at the other end of the path and it caused you to cry out in surprise, maybe slightly even in fear. It was Ray.

You’d never thought that the sight of Ray would ever frighten you, but as he stood there, pale and gaunt surrounded by the red flushes of rose petals, you had to wonder how you hadn’t realised it sooner. He looked guilty, and scared. So, so scared. You put your hands up to him slowly, asking if he was okay, but instead of receiving any sort of reply about his own wellbeing, Ray flurried out several apologies at you. He averted his gaze downwards, as though he felt as though he was no longer allowed to look at you directly for what he was. You stared at him as he spoke, focused on the slight protrusion of his sharp teeth over his lips. It was obvious that he had practiced speaking without making them visible, so you could only really see them if you were already looking for them.

‘Ray… It’s okay.’ You whispered, coming a little bit closer to him. He took a step back, moving his back up against the roses further so that he was surrounded by them. If it had been at any other moment, you would have taken the time to think about the fact he looked like a delicate portrait right then, the passion of the red surrounding his pale frame. But alas, you did not have that luxury.

‘It’s not! I scared you, oh how could I ever forgive myself! How could you ever forgive me for this! I should have been able to show more restraint… My savior was right, she’s always right…’ He replied almost frantically, to the point where you weren’t quite sure if he was talking to you or telling you his own inner monologue.

‘M-My Savior said that I’m not strong enough yet, which is why I find… you difficult to be around. I want to be around you always but- she says you’re too tempting for someone like me.’

‘Too tempting…?’ You asked, a slightly unsure as to what he meant. That was, until he gestured to your bleeding fingertip, and it suddenly made more sense to you. ‘I don’t mind if you… want to be around me. I want to be around you too.’ You added, attempting to phrase it in the same way that he did, since he was clearly skirting around using certain vocabulary. It made you realised that there was a good chance that Ray was unhappy about the fact he wanted you in such a way. If he allowed himself to get too close, he would inevitably bring you pain.

As you stepped closer to him, you watched as he reached his own leathered hand towards his mouth, anxiously biting onto the tips of the fabric. He wasn’t just chewing it, he was really biting it, to the point you were worried he might hurt himself.

You were suddenly moving quickly down the path towards him, ‘Ray! Please, stop that. It’s okay! I’m not scared of you.’

‘I’m scared that I might hurt you!’ He almost wailed. You knew that there was an obsessive nature to Ray, which walked hand in hand with his melancholy, but you knew that he wouldn’t hurt you like this. For the most part, he was tender-hearted and sensitive. Of course, he had room in that heart for hate, but yet, so much more room for sensitivity.

‘You’re not going to hurt me. I trust you.’

‘Please, be more careful with who you award your trust to. I don’t deserve it.’ He replied, but pulled his own glove away stiffly, since he didn’t want to worry you any further. At such a distance, he had nothing to distract himself from the pull he felt towards your blood.

‘If you want it, take it. I don’t want to see you be so strained over this. I don’t know what’s happening here at Magenta, but I know that you’re good. And kind.’ You were at his side, offering your hand to him. Initially, he tried to move his body away from your hand and cover his teeth again with his hand, but it was evident that he was growing more and more needy by the passing second. You tried to assure him that it was okay and reached out a slightly shaky hand to his cold cheek. ‘And I want to help you.’

After a few moments of tentative consideration, he took your offer. Ray watched your eyes as he held your finger in both of his hands, as though it was something fragile, delicate even. He hesitated before bringing it to his own lips, the thin line of dark red suddenly giving a burst of colour to his otherwise exceedingly white pallor. He gently took the blood that was already at the surface of your skin, closing his eyes as he did so, but you couldn’t decide whether it was out of shame or whether it was to savour the moment between the two of you. You gasped as you felt the sharpness of his teeth graze against your skin before he let the tip of them bite into your soft flesh, producing more of the red he was so desperately craving. It wasn’t as painful as you thought it would be, but your heart was still racing, nonetheless. When he was done, he pressed a single, sorry kiss into the palm of your hand and apologised for hurting you, adding that he was undeserving of your pain as he wiped the rest of the blood away with a handkerchief out of his pocket.

‘I’d rather be hurt a thousand times over than for you to have to suffer even once…’ He whispered into the darkness of the garden. Not that he would feel bold enough to tell you, but Ray undeniably saw the poetry in tasting your blood. He’s ashamed of what he is, but he relished in the fact that you were willing to share such a vital piece of yourself with him like this. He entirely made a mental plan to carry the handkerchief with him at all times, as a token and reminder of this newfound connection with you.

Vampire! Suit Saeran Drabble 

Meeting Saeran was an experience unto itself, let alone processing the surprise you received in how differently he treated you and himself. Saeran doesn’t hide what he is in the same way that Ray did, he acts proud of it. A shining example of what Mint Eye could offer to people with the Elixir, but only if they were strong enough to deserve it. He’s the strongest Believer and the strongest Vampire produced from the Elixir, The Savior said it herself. She called him her ‘One True Offspring’. When you had asked what that meant, since Ray had never mentioned anything like that to you, Saeran had angrily snapped that firstly, he shouldn’t have to answer your questions and secondly, it meant that he had been turned using The Savior’s own blood in the Elixir given to him. That meant that he was special, and better than anyone else there. He repeated that a lot, but you were never quite who if he was saying that to you or to himself but he clearly made an attempt to believe it, at least for his own sake.

Saeran carried himself around Magenta so differently to Ray, you heard his footsteps from down the corridor when he wanted you to know to anticipate him and yet you never heard him when he suddenly appeared behind you. He was most definitely choosing when to make his presence known and when he wanted to startle you from standing silently around a corner. Saeran certainly disproved to you the lore that Vampires needed to be invited into rooms in order to gain entrance, as he came in whenever he pleased. He never hid his fangs either or tried to cover his ears either with his unkempt hair, if anything, he seemed to enjoy the attention that could be brought to them by smirking at you or asking if ‘you like what you see, Princess?’ You could feel the anger in his voice, he was practically dripping with a rage that he did not know how to release properly. It weighed on his shoulders, and somehow seemed to push him in on himself to the point where he was constantly forcing himself to stand taller, to be louder so that he would not be entirely consumed by it. The atmosphere he carried was tense, to say the least. It seemed to make him paler. Saeran’s dark undereyes were no longer something a simple goodnight sleep could fix; they were almost bruises of their own. Purple, sunken.

While he was not lacking for blood in the same way that Ray had suffered without, it appeared that Saeran was overworking himself to the point that the added sustenance did little to actually aid him, so he kept on coming back for more and more each time. He appeared at any hour of the day or night, which suggested that he was no longer really sleeping, or if he was he was only sleeping for very short amounts of time, and it was really showing him his face. You were sure his appearance must have sat somewhere between Dorian Gray and his portrait, beautiful yet rotting. The way he felt on the inside was slowly, yet surely, manifesting itself. He was so capable of kindness, and yet he never allowed himself to admit to it. If Saeran didn’t have his cruelty, he didn’t have anything. He needed to hold onto it to hold himself together as the Persecutor.

His kisses were rougher too, leaving your lips feeling puffy, tender, and always breathless. He seemed to thrive on the fact he could make you feel so weak, as though it was precisely your weakness that gave him the strength he needed to carry on this strained life he led. He’d sneak up behind you frequently, with the confidence that Ray never quite found, and bury his face into the side of your neck, running rough kisses along it until you sigh against him from the touch, not even bothering to move your hair out of the way as he did so. Even as he kissed you like this, he’d taunt you for enjoying his touch so much in comparison to Ray, who barely ‘had the guts’ to touch you freely. Saeran would lift up your finger to show him the tiny bite impressions that Ray had originally left, only to have Saeran go over them more harshly with his own bite, before moving back up to your throat.

He dragged his fangs along the thin skin of your neck, so you knew it was coming, before promptly biting you. He doesn’t try to be delicate like Ray, and he’s more likely to take too much blood and leave you feeling woozy. He’ll take as much blood as he wants, really. Once you inevitably faint in his arms, he’d usually carry you back and placed you on the bed, but only so he can reprimand you for being such a burden to him. He’d never admit to anything else, especially not to feeling bad about pushing you to your limit.

‘Heh… Don’t look so happy with yourself, your blood tastes like shit anyway. I should go and find someone better, someone sweeter.’ He smirked before laughing, his eyes alive with a frantic excitement. He still had a small steak of blood running down his lips and onto his chin, which he promptly wiped away onto his black suit sleeve without releasing you from his unwavering gaze.

There were times when he’d suddenly stop laughing and looked at his blood-covered hand in disgust, before dragging that same gaze over towards you. He’d look at the redness on his hands and try to wipe it away, even after it dried and would not budge without soap and water. Saeran would still furiously rub his skin against the fabric of his clothes in a vain attempt to wipe his slate clean. You were never able to decipher what Saeran felt in the moment that he decided that ‘play time’ was over, but he never seemed happy about the outcome of the collision the two of you had found yourselves in, even when he was the one that instigated it. He’d half-assedly throw a bag of food from the kitchen at you, telling you that you ought to be grateful for having such a kind master for feeding you, before promptly turning on his heels to leave and slamming the door shut.

He was complicated, that was for sure.

 Vampire! GE Saeran Drabble 

Saeran had been through so much, and yet he was coming out stronger and stronger from it each day. He had a lot to process, about himself, the things that had happened to him and the things that he has done to other people, especially to you. Saeran had a difficult time accepting the he hurt you. He understands that he did it and he has accepted the fact that he did it, but somehow his heart never wanted to believe it. No matter how many times you told him he needed to forgive himself for it, Saeran knew that he never could.

He tried to make it up to you in every way that he could think of. He was so loving, so caring. He always served your food first, gave you extra helpings and always made dessert for afterwards. His food was always so well made, filled with all the vitamins and minerals that your body could have possibly needed and always tasted like he had been cooking his whole life. He’d even try to feed you the last few bites if you’d let him, just to make sure that you’d gotten enough food. It’s sweet, and he does it out of care, but there’s a part of Saeran that does it because he feels as though he needs to make amends to your body for the way he treated it.

He’s not keen on drinking your blood, he feels as though he’s taking advantage of you and doesn’t enjoy the fact that he has to hurt you to be able to do it. He’d looked into alternatives that he could try, such as blood banks or from animals, just any means of supply that didn’t involve hurting you. It didn’t work out very well and in the end it started to do him more harm than good, so he usually just tried to wait for as long as he can in between biting you. And even then, he waits for you to offer because he doesn’t want to pressure you into giving up so sacred for him, Saeran would much rather have himself suffer than to make you feel any sort of uneasy around him.

He was a lot more considerate and knowledgeable about the outside world nowadays, and would look into various ways of making it less painful for you: the most effective one to date being numbing creams. He’s not a fan of the chemical taste of the cream in his mouth, but he would happily deal with it if it was for your sake. While he did still have a preference for your neck, because it felt a little bit more romantic to him, Saeran would always give you the choice on where you wanted him to bite. He knows it’s not his body to dictate, and if anything, he actually wants you to put some more of your own rules in place about it. He’d be more than happy if you wanted him to do it somewhere less visible so that you could hide it from people. As long as you weren’t hiding your actual relationship with him, he wouldn’t mind. He’s very understanding of the fact that sometimes it is a little awkward to have marks like that in public and that you didn’t want to answer questions from strangers all of the time.

He was very gentle with it, making sure to apply the numbing cream beforehand and to avoid any particularly sensitive spots while never biting too deep. Saeran never took more than what was absolutely necessary either, even if you told him that it was okay to do it. You figured that he always remembered the time that Saeran would make you faint after taking too much blood, and that it must weigh on his consciousness heavily. Telling him to take more than the bottom-line wasn’t something you frequently told him to do though, since you already knew he was restraining himself and trying to put some boundaries in place for your own protection, so you didn’t want to push him. He cleaned the area after drinking from it and pressed a little patterned band-aid onto it and sealed it with a kiss, just for good measure. It really didn’t sit right with him that he had to hurt you like this so he tried to make amends for it wherever he could.

He always wiped his mouth before he kissed you, since he thought it would be rather cruel to make you taste the blood that you had just willingly offered up to him. You’d find the taste unpleasant anyway, even if Saeran enjoyed it. Saeran was rather poetic at the best of times, but it was especially true when he was feeling a little bit drunk off of your love (and blood). If you ever asked him what your blood tasted like, he’d write you a verbal essay on how sweet it is. It’s intoxicating to him and it always had been, even when he was both Ray and Saeran. The two of them were so confused by their sudden feelings and this undeniable pull towards you that neither could escape from. If you let him, he’ll probably even get a little bit cliché with how he feels like he’s reached some form of enlightenment by your blood being the thing that can kept him alive, along with how he can feel your love beating through his veins and giving him strength. Sometimes you can’t help but cringe at some of the things that Saeran says, but he means it in such a sweet way that you find it even more affectionate.

In times like this, Saeran was so adorable and kind-hearted. He generally felt a bit bad about himself, since he knows that he can’t ever become a human again as a result of his time in Mint Eye, so you have to make the extra effort to love him in this moment. You cupped his face with both of your hands and told him how precious he was to you and that he is, and always will be, the most important thing in your life.

Vampire! Unknown Drabble

There were no words that allowed you to accurately describe Unknown. He was exactly that. You never quite knew what he was thinking and for the most part he definitely relished in that fact. His actions were unpredictable, and he barely seemed to keep a routine for too long, lest someone figured it out and learned to predict his moves. Everyone walked on eggshells around him out of fear and uncertainty, and he seemed to enjoy it. He found it humorous, even. He enjoyed taking you by surprise in particular, it was his main form of entertainment. You were a toy for him to play with when he got bored.

He was sort of what you expected a modern-day vampire to be, look-wise and attitude-wise. His attire was certainly a change. It felt as though he was trying to actively reflect the anguish he felt within, but at the same time, it was an external threat. A threat that if you got too close to him, you’d be in danger of getting hurt yourself. The spikes were enough to ensure that, even if Unknown wasn’t. He reminded you of Saeran, but you could tell that there was a stark difference between the two of them. Unknown rarely displayed anger in the same way that Saeran did, it was certainly there, but it wasn’t as explosive. Sometimes it was cold, warped, and vindictive underneath layers of you weren’t sure what. Like Saeran, he made little attempt to hide his fangs or ears, but he didn’t necessarily show them off unless he was actively trying to taunt someone. It was more as though he didn’t care about them until they were of use to him. At which point, he’d smirk and release the sharpened canines: a spark of excitement in his eyes inviting you closer, to dare test him.

When he wanted to feed from you, he’d summon you to wherever he is rather than coming to see you himself. After all, you were a failed experiment who couldn’t even do your job of talking to the RFA correctly; being an assistant was the best job you’d be able to manage, so he told you that you ought to be grateful for it especially since Magenta wasn’t in the habit of keeping ‘useless’ things around for very long.

He was usually desperate when he called for you because of the long hours he forced his body to endure, even throughout the daytime when he’d naturally be sleeping. He entirely believed that because he’s strong, he wasn’t allowed to feel anything except for that strength, so he had to keep himself at the same standard of work every single day in order to maintain it. He’d burn the candle at both ends and then continue trying to light the wick. When you thought of him, there was always one particular instance that came to mind when he had no choice but to display an element of weakness to you, and it enraged him. He had been out on a recon mission for The Savior and had over-exerted himself in the process, sustaining an injury. He had crashed into your room afterwards, panting and holding onto his bleeding wound, drinking enough blood in one go that he’d made you  back onto your bed with light-headedness. He hadn’t done that since, and rarely pushed you past that point, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t willing to dance with the limit of it. He’d say it was because he preferred to tease you with it, to savour what belonged to him, even though you knew it wasn’t his only reason for taking it slow.

How he bit you depended on what mood he was in, but his typical go-to is to have you sitting on his lap while he’s at his desk and facing him so that he can pull you towards him by your hips, making sure that your collarbones are already level with his mouth. He shouldn’t have to do any of the work, he wanted you already in position for him.

Unknown’s hands were roughly on your shoulders, both pulling you towards him and holding you steady. He bites first, kissed later. There’s little warning to feeling his teeth, except for the second or so beforehand where you feel his hot breath fan over you, just before you feel the sharp break of that skin underneath. Sometimes he’d hover for a few seconds longer than usual because he sought the thrill of you not knowing when the pain was coming. He has a preference for the neck and collarbones, not that he’d never explain why to you but, simply, he doesn’t think he should have to anyway. You’d have laughed at the cliché nature of it, but you’d rather he kept it to the same area instead of spreading it all over your body. That being said, he had bitten your thighs a couple of times when your neck had been a little too sore for him to drink from there, when the skin needed time to heal.

Unknown swapped between biting and kissing at your neck, making his way up towards your mouth to continue the blood-tinted kiss there. Each time you tasted the metallic tinge on your tongue, it left your breathless, but not as much as the bite he’d leave on your lower lip did. You wouldn’t admit it to Unknown, but those kisses were some of your favourites that you had shared with him.

Not only did he leave your skin with actual bites, but he made point of littering your throat with lovebites each time too. As though the real bites weren’t enough for him, Unknown always had to go one step further with his act of possession over you. It was a cocky game, in his own mind, he needed to show that you were his and that no other Believer was permitted to look at you in the same that that he did.

When he was done and needed the wipe the blood away from his face, he’d wipe it straight onto the back of his hand. He’d make no effort to properly clean it until he went to wash his hands, it didn’t seem to bother him.

 Vampire! Savior Saeran Drabble 

It’s ironic, to Saeran, that crosses and biblical imagery did nothing to inhibit a Vampire, especially considering how linked the two aesthetics were. They truly went hand in damned hand. Mint Eye had always been steeped in Catholicism, as it was the core religion of the previous Savior, but as Saeran was forced to take the throne, he had not made any changes to those principles. He had been taught to instil and swallow those same beliefs in himself as they had been handed to him, even if they were not truly his own. He had been prepared in such a way that he would be able to take over Mint Eye when he had truly reached the peak of his strength and was intended to forge a new way for the organisation.

You had been bathed, dressed, and summoned to the throne room, where many Believers and the Savior in question were already gathered. You’d heard whispers that you were going to be cleansed, but the atmosphere you found yourself in did not seem to fit the one you associated with a cleansing. However, The Savior had yet to conduct a ceremony of his own since taking the throne and you started to fear that, perhaps, you were to be the leading spectacle. You walked between the Believers, as you were told to kneel before Saeran.

He was so lifeless in comparison to the Saerans you had once encountered before him. He was so sad, empty. At the very least, Ray’s melancholy had an element of hope to it, but as The New Savior stood before you, there was little more than a shell of the man that you had come to know. Your interaction with him was limited, but it was so plainly obvious to you that he was just being used as a pawn, a pawn in disguise of the King. It seemed distinctly sacrilegious to have a vampire dressed in religious garments, but you supposed that Saeran had probably not received a choice in either of those matters.

Another Believer came up from behind you and asked for your wrist, which he then wiped over with disinfectant fluid before presenting it to The Savior. Saeran reached out his hand to grab your arm, pulling it towards him. He was silent as his teeth suddenly found their way into your wrist, but he barely took more than a small mouthful of blood. Even with your arm in his grasp, Saeran said nothing and continued to just plainly stare ahead into the masses, occasionally throwing glances in your direction.

‘Are you ready for the next initiation step?’ He asked. You could still see your blood in his mouth, the thin line of red providing a stark colour contrast to the rest of his chilly pallor.

‘Yes.’ You replied.

Once done, he turned and pushed the red Elixir bottle towards you, tilting it into your open mouth. It was lukewarm and overwhelmed all of your senses with the metallic taste of blood and chemicals. It burned. Tasting blood like this felt so wrong. You felt it fill your mouth and you forced it down your throat swallow, gasping for air as soon as it passed. Was that… his blood? In the same way that he had been given his Savior’s blood?

You were asked to stand as Saeran took another step towards you. You tried to watch his eyes, looking for any hint of the life that Ray and Saeran had once brought to them, but The Savior in front of you had clearly managed to subdue that hope. Or rather, he had been forced and conditioned to abandon it.

Almost sombrely, he pressed a small kiss against your lips; causing you to once again receive a fresh taste of blood. Except this time, it was the remnants of your own that had been left on his own tongue. There was little free affection in his kiss, and it appeared to be more about the process of the initiation rather than anything to do with kindness or tenderness. It only lasted for a second or so and was nothing intimate, ending almost as soon as it had begun. He pulled away first, placing the bottle that he had been previously holding back onto the throne room altar.

You were hugely aware of the fact that you were still being watched by an entire room of people and felt so exposed, so seen. It was uncomfortable to have to wait there for it to be over when you would have much rather have had this be a private affair: not that you had been warned in advance anyway.

He pressed his bloody lips against your forehead, leaving a red stain against your skin. Saeran then reached a cold hand towards your face, dragging his thumb across the bloody kissmark and smearing it into the shape of an eye. A baptism.

Vampire! SE Saeran Drabble

He was trying. Saeran was really trying. Being around people was difficult, well, everything was a little difficult for him. It was taking all of his energy to adjust and process things, so you rarely saw him during the day. He was always pretty low energy and spent the majority of his time asleep or alone, with you only ever really catching glimpses of him at night. You guessed that it was at least a good thing that he was catching up on the sleep that he had deprived himself of for so many years, even if it meant you rarely got to see him.

Saeran didn’t really talk to anyone anyway, only you and his brother. That is, whenever he can be bothered to talk to Saeyoung as he often complained that he’s too tired for conversation. He usually didn’t have the energy to talk to his brother that much because of how hyperactive the other was. Saeyoung understands that Saeran needs time, even if it hurt him to not be able to pull his brother close after all of those years apart. Irreparable damage had been done where they would need years to repair it. There were even a few tense moments where Saeran had thought that Saeyoung was taunting him, or not trusting him, by wearing his crucifix necklace. Of course, his brother tried to explain that that was not the case and that Saeran wasn’t affected by religious symbols anyway, but it still seemed to annoy him. Eventually, Saeyoung stopped wearing his necklace and kept it in a drawer next to his bed, feeling as though the faith he believed in was probably redundant now that he knew how it had been tainted by the people he trusted.

Saeyoung had offered to let Saeran drink his blood before, as a way of making reparations to his twin, but Saeran flat out denied it: saying it would be disgusting to drink from him. He also threw in the comment that Saeyoung’s blood would taste ‘like shit’ because of his diet anyway, which was entirely understandable. Neither of you could fault Saeran for that.

Saeran felt rather conflicted and tentative about drinking your blood, often feeling pangs of guilt for how he previously treated you as Unknown. He often waited right up until he was pretty desperate before letting on that he was in need, and you’d have to realise on your own that his tiredness was not just coming from social exhaustion. He probably wouldn’t ask, so you’d have to offer.

When it happened, it usually happened in the same way with Saeran turning you around so that your back was facing him and you couldn’t look at him. He already felt some sort of way about biting you in the first place so the last thing he wanted was to have to look into your eyes as he did it. He felt more comfortable like this, and he felt as though he could take his time rationalising it a bit more when he wasn’t being watched. ‘Don’t turn around.’ He said tiredly. He sighed, clearly feeling a little awkward but not wanting to rush into it. It would be in this moment where he thought about how roughly he used to do it to you and wonder where he had gotten that confidence from. Truly, it felt like a lifetime ago.

Saeran placed his hands onto your shoulders, pausing right above where he was going to bite for a few seconds, letting his hot breath fan over you until he finally broke the skin. He wasn’t as rough as he used to be, and it was quite obvious how much he had been restraining himself by how quickly he drank. ‘Sorry.’ He whispered under the wight of the guilt. He always sounded like he was crying when he did this, even if you didn’t see any tears fall. You placed your hand on top of his own just to let him know that it was okay. Saeran wasn’t one for words, so he appreciated the support even if he didn’t tell you that directly.

He sat behind you for a few moments while he calmed down, his thumbs ever so slightly rubbing circles into your shoulders; a rare sign of intimacy from him. He doesn’t kiss you in that moment for a number of reasons. He felt parasitic, and he didn’t want to tie that emotion to affection. And yet, undeniably because he doesn’t want you to see him for what he is. Saeran carries a lot of shame, especially when he’s feeling so vulnerable as he does when he’s in that state. He wiped the blood from his lips onto the back of his sleeve, but would change his jumper shortly afterwards because it made him feel dirty to even look at. Saeran didn’t want to sit with your blood on him, that was cruel to the both of you.

You’d often find that he’d leave you a little gift the next day but would claim to not have any knowledge of it. It was always a little thing that only he would think to bring you, such a small flower from the garden or one of his snacks out of the kitchen.

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