#as good as or better than the work of William Shakespeare

[m1ndbrand]

"all it took was..." — The new President

WARNINGS: Coriolanus Snow is it's own warning(Snow after the 10thGames, 2 years after to be precise); Mentions of death and corpse(small description, nothing big).

SUMMARY: The 12th Hunger Games winner unfortunately fortunately gets the attention of President Snow.

WORDS: 1.384

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the franchise The Hunger Games characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them. I do claim what I wrote and only that.

A/N: If you know the tragedy of Coriolanus by William Shakespeare some names will be recognizable...Also I'm sorry but this chapter won't be the continuation of their little...encounter— but I promise, it's going to happen!

TAG-LIST: @sorry-mrs-jacobs; @phoward89;

MASTERLIST

He was never someone who believed in the stars and whatever they might mean to some people.

It seemed completely idiotic and beneath someone from the level of education, you would get from the Capitol to have this belief that in his humble opinion, of course — was archaic and beneath him.

Fate and stories written on the stars were all but a way of fairy tales being made, a topic on some and even a very important one at that "merging" some characters together like the universe itself deemed them a pair, one in two.

Star-crossed lovers.

How he hated that idea, he couldn't believe he even fed it to—

Let's not dwell on that topic, he had better things to do, like arrange a new Games Maker for the 12th Hunger Games.

Doctor Volumnia Gaul is no more, some freak accident with one or more than one mutt; it wasn't clear, the body was far too mutilated to be recognised by anyone at all if not for the DNA tests and well...the place of the accident, a place only a few people were able to enter and of course Doctor Gaul was one of those people, him included in the small pool.

It was slightly weird however how the mulls were able to break free, the reporters debated it for the first days the case broke daylight, but the theory was quickly suppressed.

After all, mulls were still in being tested and we're highly volatile, their behaviour unstable and unpredictable. And of course, accidents happen.

But the world continues to go around and so shall the Capitol, he needed to find someone and fast. 

He should have looked more into it, the selection that is. But he had more important things in his place, strength the security in the several points of entry on all distractions, the training of the peacekeepers and the change of the uniform like he so petitioned for just to name a few.

The new and young president had more important things to worry about than some person who would probably be soon replaced if so needed.

The theme he chose ,he didn't even try to remember the man's name, was an advanced-looking arena; a sign of the year the Capitol got a new President. Coriolanus liked the idea. It painted his future reign as one that would lead them into the future, lead them into a better time.

It painted him as a good leader.

The reaping ceremony passed without a problem. Some students clearly didn't like something— their tribute lack of attributes to make them win or the idea of having to participate in such 'twisted games' as the rebel-like-youth liked to name his games. He honestly couldn't care less, blue-ice-like eyes looking straight at the screens with a fake polite smile when the camera twists at him, showing his all too polished self composed with a deep red suit and thick coat that made his figure even more imposing than it normally is.

He would soon return to his manor and actually work, the two hours of the opening ceremony put his work ethic behind schedule more than he liked to admit.

There was much to be done to make the Capitol and the Districts into the way he saw fit and Coriolanus shouldn't waste more time than he already has.

Not even a day later he would have the files of everyone who chose to review. For some reason the late president did this— the threat of the Rebels was still very much a problem and he was of course scared shitless by them so all 'useful' information was of course turned into two paper pages that it was his duty to read through.

Coriolanus was just about to skim through them all but the very first file caught his attention, District One female tribute.

Not the girl's image he didn't even look at it properly, he already saw every tribute face on the reaping ceremony... all looked underfed and clearly not fit for an entertaining games in terms of pure brutal strength, the mentors would need to sell them well to the Capitol. No it was her name. Her last name rang a bell.

A big warning bell was inside his head and it made his eyebrows furrow, hand picked up the two-page long file and flipped through the description of her family. Something was amiss, he could feel it in his bones. Something was wrong. 

Coriolanus could almost feel the hunger tearing at his stomach, his small sweaty hand tightly gripping his equally moist cousin's hand as they received the news of his father's death.

His other small hand gripping the files of several names of supposed rebels that could be the reason behind his father's death. Blond hair falls against his sweaty forehead as at that time he didn't understand why he had to read the names of random men.

Brutus.

His hand grips the file on his hand, veins popping up as his eyes skim through the contents of the file, once and then twice. He didn't even sit down, reading in silence for 10 minutes over and over again to look out for another word, sentence, or anything more.

Only two people are still alive from her family— grandmother and little brother, Valeria Brutus and Menenius Brutus, then they got the last name from her grandfather. His hand moves the paper right and left, trying to see if her grandfather's first name was there. But it wasn't. It probably wasn't deemed to be useful information since he is dead. Putting the papers down he turns with a sigh to his window, chin rising as he looks to see all the perfectly arranged garden of pure white roses in the front of his mansion.

No this shouldn't matter. It didn't matter, not now. He got what he wanted he won, the victor. He was still standing with or without his father.

The nostalgic feeling of feeling hungry regrows once again and it makes him nauseous, sharp eyes turning to the face of the girl on the page. She looked like every other girl he reminds himself as he starts a little too long at her face. Eighteen, one more year and she should have been safe from the reaping.

A smile creeps on his lips. Amusement dancing in his eyes like he had just read a good enough joke.

He couldn't sleep.

Coriolanus hated to be in need of something even if it was just a simple pill to go to sleep. He was better than that, he could sleep alone thank you very much.

Couldn't he just get the information he wanted? He could, he had the resources, and he had the needs to if he so pleases, so why not?

No.

No, he wouldn't lose to this...whatever this is, curiosity, need— want to know. Closure.

Maybe that was it. Know the person or people that did this to him. To his family. The people that made him starve and struggle. Envy and step on people that he knew were living better than him, growing to bring them down so he could feel himself high above them all. Know the people that in a way, made him the way he is now.

Rising he presses the inside of his palms to his eyes.

For fucks sake— Shut the fuck up! 

His mouth was open. Eyes shot open and hands grabbing tightly the silk covers, knuckles turning white. Did he shout those words? Wasn't it all in his head? His hands were shaking, face was slightly flushed red from anger.

It's one of those episodes.

Rising he curses under his breath, feet carrying him to one of the small tables with some pills on them. Deep eyes thin as he tried to look into the colours of the various drugs that looked like they were thrown there and he picked a deep purple one in the midst of the rainbow and quickly gulped it down without water.

His attention is caught by the silver-like glow of the moonlight slipping through his windows, blue tired-looking eyes looking up at the sky, they find the stars instead of the moon that sings for attention. Wishing to catch a stray star amidst the ones that stay. Maybe he could catch it as it falls.

With those thoughts, sleep would soon catch him.

Previous

#coriolanus snow x reader #dark!coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #dark!coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas x you #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #tbosas #the hunger games #thg x reader

[the---hermit]

Messy desk on a gloomy autumn day

16|10|2023

If you couldn't tell I get to the end of the week and I am too exhausted to even consider writing my daily post. This Saturday in particular was a really heavy day I was deprived of all energies, and to be quite honest I don't feel at my best yet. Other than being sick, last week I worked a lot, and had to wake up even earlier than I usually do, so it was a bad combination of things. I am now starting to feel a bit better but I am not fully recharged of energies. The good things that happened in the weekend were the fact that I found the time to sit down and watch the new episodes of Our Flag Means Death, and I also started a reread of the Something Is Killing The Children graphic novel series. The sixth volume has just came out in Italy, and although I have not found a copy yet I feel like the spooky season is perfect for a reread. Today had a quite stressing start, because I decided to tackle my most anxiety-inducing task: officializing the classes I will take on my uni's website. Of course it went terribly, I had to do the procedure twice, and there are some new techinical problems that will hopefully be resolved quickly. After doing that and emailing a professor I gave up on everything else because I felt like I just had a fight to the death and I barely got out of it alive. Thankfully in the afternoon I had a bit more energies and I managed to finish my first read of the play I am currently studying for my English lit class, so the day was not a complete waste of time.

cozy hobbit autumn activities and productivity:

read first thing in the morning

fought with my uni's website and won (kind of, because I also had to send an email to fix some problems but I dif what I could so I count that as a win)

emailed a professor to get his opinion on whether I could take his class with my unsure prerequisites and not only he answered very quickly, but he was also quite polite and told me that thankfully I can take that class and if I'll need more materials to help me with what we'll be studying he'll recommend me an additional book so that I can take the exam

did a bit of planning on what classes I will be taking this year and what I'll wait to work on next year (it's a very general guideline to help me figure out what I'll be doing with my academic life in the next while)

did a very quick weekly set up in my bullet journal

(finally) updated my reading journal

finished my first read of The Merchant Of Venice

daily Irish practice on duolingo

listened to podcasts to shut my brain off

worked on a series of future posts

📖:The Book Of Lost Things by John Connolly, The Merchant Of Venice by William Shakespeare

#studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #university #journal #studying #journaling #desk #study space #student life #historyblr #productivity #cozy hobbit autumn #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

[theragethatisdesire]

much ado about nothing chapter 7 - plug!eren x reader - 18+!!!

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. minors and ageless blogs, please do not read below the cut.

okay so i guess the responses i got on my "i have writer's block wahhh" post worked because GUESS WHAT I FINISHED THIS MORNING. this chapter!!! i have been aching to share this (even when it was half-done), i literally cannot wait any longer. this is an eren pov chapter so you guys already know it's going to be fun. lots going on, and please don't hate me for the end, i promise there's a master plan in place!!! i hope you guys enjoy :-)

specific cws: smut, rough sex, use of names (both endearing and derogatory so take that as you will), drinking, swearing, i want to give eren a giant hug

-

“Love sought is good; but given unsought, is better.” - Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare (Act III, Scene 1)

Eren has no excuse for any of it. No excuse for stepping in, for throwing Floch against the bar. He knows you, knows you have enough experience with awful men to know how to handle yourself. He just couldn’t help himself.

And now he’s gone and acted out again without thinking. The cold winter air sobers him up, brings Eren back to himself, and when he looks down at you, all cute and furious with him, the heat in Eren’s veins dies. A pregnant pause stretches between you both, you with your arms crossed and glaring up at him, and Eren, surely with hearts in his eyes, looking down at you, something apologetic beginning to write its way into his features.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

Well, so much for that. The venom in your voice reignites Eren’s temper, fans the flames back into a full-blown inferno.

“My problem?” Eren growls, stepping closer to you. “What the fuck is your problem? I was just getting that prick out of your face. I’d think I deserve a thank you more than anything.”

“It wasn’t your place,” you huff.

“My place?” Eren nearly shouts, exasperated. “You’re the one who wanted to be friends so badly, was I supposed to just sit back and watch while he drooled all over you? Give me a fucking break.”

“That’s not– ugh, you’re really fucking frustrating, you know that Eren?”

It’s like watching all the ghosts of his past jump out at him through your teeth; Eren flinches, feels his fury rushing in his ears like a tidal wave.

“I’m–? Fine, fine, yeah, I’m the frustrating one. Definitely not you, throwing a goddamn temper tantrum over the stupidest shit imaginable, makes perfect sense. Really putting that smart little head to use, aren’t you?”

“Oh? ‘My girl’?” As soon as the words hit him, plunging through his chest like daggers, Eren’s blood runs cold. So you had caught his little slip-up. “What the fuck was that, then?”

Eren stutters, words caught in his throat at the worst possible moment. “Y-you know, like my girl, like you’re my friend or whatever.”

“Uh-huh,” you eye him disbelievingly, “you may as well have hiked your leg up and pissed on me in front of him. Am I supposed to be your fucking property or something because we had sex? Is that it?”

“What? No, I–” you’re faster than him, cutting him off.

“Don’t you already have your hands full with your ex?”

That crosses a line, pushes your fight into an entirely new territory. Eren’s eyes narrow. “Are you really bringing up Breeze right now? Like she…Jesus, like she even fucking matters?”

He watches the way you flinch when he says her name, the way your eyes widen, something he hadn’t expected out of you after with your little snide comments today. Interesting.

“She doesn’t matter to me, but I know she matters to you. As your friend, I’m just letting you know it sounds like a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea?”

“Getting back together with her,” you say, like it should be obvious.

It hits Eren like a truck; so that’s what’s gotten into you? You think he’s getting back together with Breeze, as if you didn’t text your ex that you were “totally in love with” on that godforsaken night at Paradise? Eren can still hear the slur of your words in that maddeningly confusing voicemail.

“Even if I was getting back with Breeze,” Eren snorts at the very idea, “which I’m not–”

“Oh yeah?” you counter, stepping forward to nearly touch your chin to his chest with how severely your head’s tilted up at him, “never took you for a liar, Eren.”

“A liar? When did I fucking–”

“Sasha saw you two at 104 the other day. You’re not fucking slick, you know.” Eren hates that tone in your voice, smug and wounded all at once. He wants to tear his own hair out.

“Oh, so you just know everything, don’t you?” Eren’s voice is shaking under his efforts to keep it at a low volume, keep you with him outside of your little bar and just make you listen to him. He watches your posture change ever so slightly, a shoulder turning towards him. “I was telling her to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Over coffee?” Your voice is still clipped, snarky. “Sure, Eren.”

Eren tries to keep himself in line, but his temper gets the better of him yet again, shooting out sharp and lethal. “Isn’t it a little hypocritical of you to avoid me over that, when it’s really you that’s getting back with your ex?”

Your eyes shoot open, and you spin on your heel to fully face him. “What?”

“You think I didn’t listen to your little voicemail?” Eren seethes, the full-bodied ugliness of his anger warping his face into a scowl. You don’t deserve the brunt of his temper, he knows you don’t, but he’s failing at every turn to reign himself in.

“You can’t throw that in my fucking face, I don’t even remember it,” you cut him off, eyes narrowed into little slits.

Eren freezes in place. The world around him seems to slow; the only thing tethering him to this plane is the way you’re looking up at him, furious and beautiful in the buzzing neons of Scout’s. He knew you’d been drunk, but not that drunk.

Hey, Eren– fuck, Stor, leave me alone! I’m just gonna talk to him really fast! Sorry, Historia’s all over me because I did something bad. I– I texted my ex, Luke. I never told you about him because he’s like, the worst, you’d hate him. But the funny thing is, I don’t even think I care? Maybe I do because I really was like, totally in love with him. Maybe he’ll text me back and we’ll fall in love again. But…I don’t know, Eren. I think about you all the time. I think I…I think I like you. Not like a friend, more than that. Wait, fuck, can I delete this? Just…I don’t know. Call me tomorrow or something. I want to talk about it before I can go down the black hole of Luke all over again. I know it’s not what you expected, and maybe you don’t feel the same, but…maybe we can just– shit, Historia, don’t hang up the–!

“Whatever I said was bullshit, I didn’t mean a word of it. I’m not getting back with my ex, or whatever else I came up with while I was blacked out.”

Your present-tense voice, affirmative and clear, snaps him out of his daze. I didn’t mean it. Every word of that voicemail that Eren knows so well, has basically memorized after listening to it day in and day out, trying to analyze every little drunken intonation of your voice– it was bullshit. Eren steels his jaw, musters up all the willpower he can dredge up in his body.

“You didn’t mean it,” his voice sounds alien as it leaves his mouth, distant.

“Yeah, exactly,” you’re mean, you’re so mean, not even stopping to acknowledge the sinkhole ripping open in Eren’s chest, “so before you rip me a new one, make sure that you’re not thinking about where you’d rather be right now.”

So you’re not just mean, you’re oblivious, it seems. For some reason, even through the shattering, crushing feeling erupting beneath Eren’s hoodie, it infuriates him. You just don’t see it, don’t see him. You didn’t mean a word you’d said to him in that damned voicemail, so he can’t tell you necessarily. It crosses his mind that maybe he can show you; the last dying ember of Eren’s rational line of thought sparks and spits at the idea in protest, but eventually chokes out, slowly dying in the tidal wave of emotion that takes him over.

“Oh, I don’t have anywhere else I’d rather be,” Eren's voice starts low and venomous, but it escalates with each passing word, “trust me, I showed up just aching to get into it with you. Just dying to have you rip me apart for something that I didn’t even fucking do!”

Not even a lie, honestly.

“You’re such an– ugh!” You shriek, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes.

“A what? Say it.”

“An asshole!”

“Is that what I am?” Eren’s backing you up against the bricks, making good use of his height to tower over you. Some sick part of him relishes in the way that, while your eyes remain blazing furiously enough to send a weaker man to his knees, your height difference forces you to cower under him. “An asshole?”

“Yeah,” you counter, glaring up at him defiantly, “you’re a fucking asshole, Eren.”

His proximity to you is making him dizzy and a little unhinged, and through the drinks and his anger and the mere inches between your heaving chests, Eren feels his blood start to run hot in an entirely different way. The leash he holds on his own temper, his own throat-closing desire, is dragging along the floor as he backs you fully against the wall, and Eren’s too wound up to bring himself to care. 

“That’s not what you were calling me when I had my head between your legs, now is it?”

That shakes you, makes your jaw drop a little. Eren’s vaguely aware of your fingers twitching and clenching at your side, inwardly braces himself for a slap to the face. “Well, you weren’t acting like an asshole then.” 

Eren smirks, leans into his own cruelty. “What, you jealous that you haven’t been getting all of my attention? Is that what’s got you acting all mean?”

“Cut it out, Eren.” Your eyes are telling him you’re still mad at him, furious even, but Eren doesn’t miss the way the rise and fall of your chest grows ever so slightly more frantic, the way your tongue darts out anxiously to wet your lips.

“Or what?” Eren leans down, boxing you in with one arm on either side of your head.

“I– we’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He widens his eyes innocently. “What am I doing?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing,” you hiss, but if you ask Eren, it sounds an awful lot like a moan is lodged in your throat, like your words are lacking the conviction that you’re trying to muster. He pushes himself in closer to you, noses mere inches apart, a wicked grin splitting his face.

“Is it working?”

Eren’s lips meet yours at the same moment that his hand whips out to catch your arm where you’re swinging it up to slap him. A broken little whimper leaves your mouth, spills into his, as your arm slackens in his grip. Eren feels your free hand fist into the hair at the nape of his neck, lets a groan fly out into nonexistent space between your lips. He’s been driving himself crazy thinking about this moment, the next time he’d get to feel your mouth on his again if it ever even happened, what you taste like, the little noises you make. The moment that’s been keeping him up at night is finally here, inflating his wounded ego like a balloon, and it feels fucking good.

You bite a little too hard into his bottom lip, the tangy, copper taste of Eren’s blood leaking into the kiss, making it clear that this doesn’t mean everything has settled between you both, but for the time being, Eren doesn’t care. All he cares about is the way your plush thighs feel wrapped around his waist, how easily he can scoop you up and pin you against the wall, the little moan that slips from your lips when he presses the length of his body entirely into you.

He doesn’t take his time, doesn’t savor the moment like he’ll surely wish he did tomorrow; Eren devours you, running a hand up your bare leg and under the hem of your skirt, grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing at your hips.

“Bet you’re wet under this short little skirt, aren’t you?” Eren huffs into your mouth, sucking on your tongue.

“Fuck you,” you spit, squeezing your thighs tighter around his hips.

“Is that what you want?” Eren whispers, dizzy and drunker on you than the three Jameson shots he’d knocked back at the bar.

“I–”

“Been thinking about it?” Eren can’t stop himself, trying desperately to keep his lips on yours through the spill of words from his mouth. “Maybe that’s why you’ve been so mean to me, grinding all up on me in that club, teasing me, then running off. Just wanted a little love, didn’t you?”

“That depends,” you pant, moving your face to kiss up his neck, leave little nips in your wake. Eren groans deep in his chest, pushing against you even more insistently.

“On?”

“How bad you really want it,” you bite into his earlobe, steal another shaky groan from him.

Eren’s not a submissive guy, not by any means, but the thrill your words send running through his veins just about makes him drop you.

“Want me to beg?” Eren growls, shoving into you and biting deep at the junction of your neck and shoulder. “I’d only ever beg for you, baby.”

“Is that what you’re going to do? Beg for me when you’ve got another girl waiting for you?” Your anger has fizzled into a bitter sarcasm that goes straight between Eren’s legs and knocks him right in the ego all at once, tongue tracing the shell of his ear.

“Fuck– you’re my girl, my favorite girl, did you forget?” Eren grabs your face, forces your head back against the brick so you can look at him, eyes blown wide with lust and glossed over, mouth open in a desperate pant. “Told you the first time, you’re the best I’ve ever had. Didn’t think I was just fucking around, did you? It’s just you, only you.”

“Could have fooled me,” you dig your teeth into the thumb Eren’s worked between your lips, making him suck in a sharp ouch between his lips, “sure don’t feel like your favorite girl.”

“Sounds like I need to fix that, then,” Eren lets a hand trail down between the little space he’s leaned back to create between your bodies, finds his way to the damp fabric of your panties, “oh, who’s the liar now?”

“Don’t– fuck,” your eyes roll back in your head when he starts pressing into where he knows your clit is, rubbing insistent circles over the cloth just to elicit that reaction from you, rip the control right out of your pretty little hands. Eren chuckles down at you, dark and dangerous, amused at how quickly you melt for him.

“Thought we weren’t doing this?” He parrots your words from earlier, nosing at your neck. “Thought I was an asshole?”

“You are,” you grit out through a clenched jaw, but Eren notices the little forward push of your hips, notices that you’re trying to hold yourself back from rubbing yourself into his palm.

“And that gets you wet,” Eren counters, grinding the heel of his palm up into your clit and wrenching a little gasp from you, “bet you liked watching me in there, bet you would have loved watching me kick his ass for you.”

Eren pauses, waits to hear if you’ve got anything to say for yourself, but you’re already half-gone, rolling your hips against the steady rocking of his hand and whining in your throat. He smiles– god, you really are his favorite.

“Say it,” Eren growls into your skin, slipping a finger past the fabric of your panties to slide it into you, not the whole thing, but just a knuckle, just enough to make you shudder in his arms, “tell me you need me, want to hear you say what this perfect pussy’s already telling me. C’mon baby.”

Just as your mouth opens, either to answer him or snark at him, Eren can’t be sure, a cat-call from across the street snaps both of you out of your haze, your eyes flying wide. You shove at him, wriggling in his arms until Eren mercifully drops you to your feet, reaches down to right your rumpled little skirt for you. You glower up at him, look him up and down, and just when Eren’s about to bullshit some excuse to run home, fuck into his hand with your name on his lips, you surprise him.

“I mean, after all that, the least you can do is walk me home.”

The necessary steps of Eren closing your tabs, walking into the whipping winter wind, walking through the streets silently with Eren side-eyeing you as you storm along, arms crossed petulantly, commence. They go by in a blur; Eren’s not even sure he should be doing this right now with the lack of blood flow to his head. You don’t make eye contact, and if Eren had any more conscious thought at the moment, he would think you’re already regretting this before it happens, but he can’t bring himself to care, not yet.

He’ll kick himself for this as soon as the sun rises, but for now? The only thing he’s worried about lies wet and pulsing for him under the hem of your skirt.

The moment you’ve gotten the door open, Eren’s got you shoved up against the wall again, letting his hands find their way under your skirt and grabbing at your ass with a quiet groan.

“Historia?” he questions, nipping at your earlobe just because he can.

“Ymir’s,” you pant, pushing him off of you and practically storming to your bedroom. It hits Eren that for all the time you’ve spent together, he’s never actually seen your bedroom. He thinks that maybe he’ll do a little investigating of his own once he’s fucked all the fight out of you.

Safely behind the door of your bedroom, Eren wastes no time in yanking his shirt over his head, reaching for yours only to find that you’ve already rid yourself of the cute little sweater he had been admiring from down the bar back at Scout’s. You’ve got a pretty lace number underneath, one that Eren almost doesn’t want to take from you, but he reaches behind you and unclips it. Eren plans on taking and taking and taking everything you’ll give him, just for tonight, because the sinking feeling in his chest is telling him to do it while he can; a girl like you never sticks around a guy like him for long, and he’s already done himself the favor of ruining most of the potential your relationship had anyway.

“Eren– oh,” the broken whimper that leaves your lips snaps him out of his thoughts, reminds him that he’s got one of your breasts in his palm and the other nipple between his teeth. Eren wraps his free hand around your back, pressing his splayed fingers between your shoulder blades to arch you closer to him until he’s so full of you he can hardly breathe.

He’s going to keep taking from you, take until he drowns in it.

“Feel good? Missed me?” Eren’s words come out a little garbled around the flesh in his mouth, but you get the message all the same, managing a sarcastic eye roll through your arousal. You decline to answer him, but Eren can read your body, so he digs his teeth in harshly to the little swell of fat on the underside of your breast, sucks a bruise in to cut that eye roll of yours right in half. Eren smirks when your eyes flutter closed, a reluctant hand coming up to thread through his hair. “Thought so.”

“Can you just–fuck–get on with it?”

“Uh-uh,” Eren straightens back to his full height, backs you onto the bed until your knees catch and you fall onto your back, glaring up at him defiantly. “Gotta get you ready for me, right? I’m sure you remember.”

He eats up the doubt that flickers across your face, the memory of the first time you’d taken him all over your expression. Eren reaches beneath your skirt, pulls your panties down your legs delicately, rubs his hands along your thigh-high stockings with an appreciative swear under his breath.

“There’s a zipper on the back,” you wiggle a bit to try and reach the fasten of your skirt, but Eren slaps a firm hand onto your hip, pins you back onto the bed.

“Think I’m letting you take this off? After you were teasing me with it all night?” Eren says, stretching his body over yours, taking full advantage of his size to cage you in.

“I wasn’t teasing,” you huff, “these are just my clothes.”

“Anything you wear is teasing,” Eren brings his fingers to your core, swipes through the wetness gathered there, “especially when you look like this.”

You open your mouth to retort, but your jaw goes slack when Eren rolls over your clit softly, rubbing little circles into it at the perfect speed, the perfect pressure. He’s not interested in teasing you too much, he wants to feel you break on him as many times as you’ll grant him the pleasure. Once your little gasps have begun to swell into quiet moans, Eren ventures down, pushes his middle finger into you, all the way to the hitch. Eren answers your widened eyes and your little gasp with a sharp hiss between his teeth, marveling at the way your walls cling to his finger, sucking him in when he slides out and back in again.

“Just like the first time,” Eren murmurs, leaning down to take your collarbone between his teeth, “are you always this tight?”

“I– I don’t– more, please.”

Eren smiles around the mouthful of your skin he has, feeling his heart swell at how cute and airy your words come out, how clear it is to him, even if it’s only for this precious moment, that you’re just as desperate for him as he is for you. He grants your wish, working a second finger in beside the first, curling them cruelly against that spot in your walls that he knows gets your heart racing.

“Eren,” you keen, arching off the bed and tossing your head to the side.

“So tight baby,” Eren says in awe, pulling his head to watch as your cunt leaves little white streaks on his fingers, “so warm, can’t fucking wait to get my cock in you.”

“P-please,” you sputter, hooded eyes sparkling at the mention of it. Eren thinks wildly that he might be falling in love with the little unshed tears that prick your eyes when you start to get close, the little broken pleas you give him.

“You gotta cum for me first.” Eren works his fingers faster, can feel the fluttering of your cunt around his fingers. He realizes how worked up he must have gotten you outside of Scout’s, how you’re so wet it’s dripping down your soft skin onto the sheets, and you haven’t even cum yet.

“I’m– I just want you to fuck me,” you say, whiny and pitiful.

“I will,” Eren coos, “missed this messy little cunt so much, I promise I’ll fuck you, just give me one first. Gotta make it fit, right?”

“Mhm,” you whimper, hips bucking up towards him. Eren watches, drinks the sight of you in: skirt pulled up around your waist, legs spread wide open for him, slick spread all over the inside of your thighs, bottom lip tucked so tightly between your teeth he worries you might draw blood. He commits the sight to memory, his pretty little student all strung out and begging for his cock, begging him to make you cum. If he remembers right, if he curls his fingers just a little more harshly–

“Eren–” your head shoots up suddenly, eyes flying wide open, fists tightening in the sheets.

“Right there?” Eren grins, sharp and half-crazed, raising his eyebrows at the reaction the new angle has brought out of you.

“Right– oh, oh my god, I–”

“Give it to me,” Eren urges, working his fingers even faster, “come on, baby, show me how much you missed me.”

With a cry, you twist and thrash under him, cumming almost violently. Eren drinks it down, leans down to press a kiss against your open mouth, pins your body to the bed so you can’t run from the vicious waves of pleasure wracking your body. 

“There’s my girl,” he mutters, licking against your tongue, “such a good, good girl for me.”

When your orgasm finally starts to ebb, Eren doesn’t let up, not entirely; he keeps his fingers working in a slow drag through your walls, appreciating the way your muscles twitch and the way you feebly shove at his wrist.

“Eren…” you trail off weakly, fingers finally locking harshly around his hand and pulling him from you, “too much.”

“Thought you wanted me to ‘get on with it’?” Eren snorts, finally obliging your earlier request and sliding your skirt over your legs, tracing his fingers up and down your thighs once you’re fully bare and beautiful underneath him, taking mental snapshots of every inch of smooth skin that he’s lucky enough to have under his touch.

“I do,” you say, eyeing him with a glint of annoyance in your eye. It just makes Eren smile bigger; you’re so cute when you’re mad.

“Whatever you want, baby,” Eren says, situating his hands under your arms and practically throwing you up against the pillows at the head of your bed. You widen your legs so he can crawl in between them, kissing his way up your torso in a self-indulgent, tender way.

“Do we, um…” you start to question him, and Eren’s close enough to your face now that he can feel your cheeks warm. He sits up a little, arches a questioning brow down at you.

“What?”

“Do we need to use a condom?”

Eren frowns, confused. “I mean, after last time, I thought you were on birth control.”

“I am,” you confirm, nodding slowly, some odd emotion flickering over your features that could be anger, could be heartbreak, “but I don’t know if, like–”

“I haven’t been with anyone else,” Eren catches your meaning, feeling his heart thud heavy and loud in his chest, “not since…”

“Oh,” you exhale quietly, nodding, “okay.”

“You?”

“Uh, no,” your voice is so low Eren almost doesn’t hear you, but he watches your head slowly lull side to side in confirmation, “no one else.”

Eren can’t excuse the rush of relief that courses through him, the swell of happiness to learn that no one’s gotten to see you like this since the last time he had. It goes straight to his cock, hard and drooling between his legs. Before he can get too wrapped up in the emotional side of things, Eren leans in hard to the horrible, possessive thoughts that have constricted him, laying himself over you and taking his cock in his hand, swiping it through the mess between your legs.

“Good.” He even surprises himself with that, looking down on you with dark eyes, eyes that promise ruin.

“Please,” you give him one more breathless plea, Eren swears you know too well how to snap his composure clean in half.

He pushes himself in, choking on a moan at how tight you are, vicelike and suffocating around him. A broken groan flies from your lips, your fingers tighten their grip on his biceps until Eren’s sure you’re going to break the skin, but he’s beyond caring. His mind wipes completely blank, save for the hot, wet heat that’s enveloping him, beckoning him to snap his hips forward viciously and be done with it. With what little self-restraint he can muster up, Eren flicks his eyes up to yours.

“So…it’s so–” another whimper cuts you off, and Eren can feel your thighs twitch on either side of his hips.

“Too much?” Eren manages to reign himself in, back out another inch or so.

“No,” you wrap a leg around his waist, shove him further into you and wrench a deep, guttural groan from his chest, “feels good, keep going.”

“Careful what you wish for,” Eren breathes, trying to retain any semblance of control over this situation, give you that dominant dirty talk that he knows gets you off instead of turning into a whimpering, moaning mess at the feel of you clenching around him. He bottoms out, feeling himself fuck all the way up into your tummy, head falling down onto your shoulder.

Eren manages to keep his pace slow and gentle, rolling his hips into yours like he’s making love to you, not saying goodbye. Little satisfied sounds are slipping out of your mouth, but Eren can see a flicker of consciousness in your eyes; you’re not drooling for him, out of your mind with want, not like the first time. He frowns.

“What’s wrong?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re…I don’t know, you seem like you’re somewhere else,” Eren hates having to admit that he notices, that he even cares, and the unsteady creak of his voice reflects that, just making him hate himself even more. You don’t seem to notice his vulnerability or, if you do, you aren’t affected by it. You simply raise an eyebrow at him.

“I mean…it’s good,” you say, eyes flitting around the room, like you can’t quite admit whatever you’re going to say while looking him straight in the eyes, “but I want you to fuck me.”

“I am fucking you.” Eren’s frown deepens into a scowl of annoyance. What, is he not good enough for you now?

“Well, literally speaking yes, you are fucking me. But,” a nervous giggle slips from your teeth, riling the anger starting to bubble under his skin again, “I’ve heard a lot of rumors about you.”

“Why are we talking about this while I am literally inside of you?”

“Because I want you to fuck me,” you raise your eyebrows meaningfully, canting your hips up towards him. It clicks– as much as Eren wants to show you what he feels because he can’t tell you, fucking you like an animal, as he’s prone to do, is what you want. Eren’s been so wrapped up in trying to relish whatever time he may have left with you before you inevitably cast him off to the side again, he’s not been paying attention.

“You want me to fuck you, huh?” Eren thrusts forward a little harsher, a little more pointedly. Your eyes roll back, a slow, indulgent smile spreading across your face.

“I want you to fuck me like I know you can,” Eren feels your arms wrap around his neck, pulling his ear to your lips, “unless that last time was all luck. Surely all those rumors aren’t false, are they?”

Eren knows you’re trying to get under his skin, to bite at him through the haze of the heavy air weighing down on both of you, to rekindle that anger that you had brought out of him outside of the bar. What is he going to do with you, incorrigible little thing that you are? If Eren Jaeger was a better man, he would stop this all right now, force you both to talk through the sharp, spiky things that hang in the balance between you two.

But Eren Jaeger is not a better man, he’s only a man, broken and needy and tucked into his favorite place on earth, with the girl of his dreams below him urging him to fuck her brains out. Is he really to blame?

Eren rips himself out of your grasp, standing tall and menacing on his knees over you.

“I’ll fuck you,” Eren grits out through a clenched jaw, grabbing you by the back of your thighs and shoving your knees towards your head, “but you better be ready to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Yeah? Well– oh,” a sharp, shrill cry of your own making cuts your voice off when Eren snaps his hips forward, brutal and unforgiving into the wet heat of your cunt. He doesn’t stop there, immediately pulling out and snapping forward again, hitting somewhere deep inside of you that, based on your face, he knows no man has ever been able to reach. He smirks, all cocky and cruel, setting a harsh pace that’s got you clawing at the sheets.

“What? Is it too much?” Eren whines down at you condescendingly, eating up the way you’re already whimpering and moaning. He can see tears glistening at the corners of your eyes, threatening to fall.

“No, no,” your voice is broken, breathless, “it’s– fuck, it’s so good, Eren–”

“Is this what you wanted?” Eren growls down at you, locking one strong hand around your throat. “Wanted me to fuck you like the little slut you are?”

“Yes!” Your admission comes out in a choked, watery cry, the tears in your eyes finally beginning to run down your temples. Even if it wasn’t written all over your face, Eren can feel how much you like it; your pussy is fluttering, pulsing around him, begging him to keep going. He drives his hips forward like a man starved, a man whose life depends on fucking you until you can’t walk straight for a week.

“Who knew?” Eren muses to himself, wiping the tears from your face. “Who knew my pretty girl was so filthy?”

“I, I–Eren,” you moan wantonly, thighs shaking under his firm grip. Eren should hold himself back, knows that you’re going to be so sore in the morning, but a sick part of him is glad for it. Let you walk around campus with the throbbing ache of him inside of you, maybe he’ll fuck you so hard that little twinge in your belly when you sit down never goes away.

“Say it,” Eren urges, squeezing your windpipe, “tell me how much you love it, tell me how bad this pussy missed me.”

“I–” you choke out around his iron grip on your neck, “I m-missed you, I love it w-when you fuck me–”

“Fuck you like a whore?”

“Fuck me like a w-whore,” you wheeze out, face reddening with shame. Eren loves it, wants to kiss the blush off your cheeks and swallow it whole.

“That’s right, baby,” Eren releases your throat, watches the way you heave and gasp as the air flows back into your lungs, only to be punched out by the force of his thrusts, “you love my cock, don’t you?”

“Yes, I– oh my god, Eren, I–”

“What?” Eren sneers, smirking wickedly down at you, “is my smart girl already so fucked out she can’t talk?”

“No, I– I just– fuck!” You’re so loud for him, if he knew that fucking you within an inch of your life would get him this, Eren never would have bothered playing nice in the first place.

“‘ve barely even started,” Eren laughs, mean and sharp, “and you’re already fucked so dumb you can’t even think. Think you can cum for me, just like this?”

He doesn’t even have to ask; he can feel the way your cunt’s starting to tighten around him so harshly that it nearly pushes him out. He’s bullying his way back into you on every thrust, forcing you to open up for him, to take what he has to give. Inwardly, Eren hopes to god you do cum soon; he’s not going to last, not with you spread out beneath him crying and wailing his name. Eren doesn’t think he can hold out much longer without filling you up, watching his cum seep out of you.

“Eren, Eren, Eren–” your nonsensical babbling has started to take the shape of his name, Eren can feel his ego swelling and swelling to the point of bursting. There’s a tone of warning in your moans; the onslaught of an orgasm is threatening to pull you under.

“Don’t you dare hold out on me,” Eren slaps your thigh hard, the tacky, wet sound of it echoing through the room, somehow finds the wherewithal to piston his hips even faster, “want to feel it, feel you cum on me.”

“I’m going to, I’m going– oh Eren–”

Eren practically snarls, leaning over to spit in your open, waiting mouth. “What are you waiting for? Don’t you–fuck–want your pretty cunt stuffed full of me? I’ll give you yours, just gotta cum for me and give me what’s fucking mine. Go on–”

Eren’s rambling is cut short by the loud, raspy sob you let out, clenching down around him so hard it almost hurts, drawing a loud, long hiss from him. He looks down past your quivering thighs, sees the frothy white that’s streaking his cock, and he’s done for. He grants you a few more sloppy thrusts, and then with one final snap of his hips, he stills, holding himself as deep inside as he can manage, pumping you full of him.

Before he can stop himself, Eren’s crashing into you, bringing your lips to his in a messy, frantic kiss, open-mouthed and teeth clacking together. He can feel your body shaking violently underneath him, rocking with wave after wave of post-orgasm bliss, but he can’t seem to break himself from you, collapsed and clutching onto your smaller frame like it’s the only thing tethering him to this earth.

“Eren,” you finally say weakly, voice muffled as you smack at his shoulder, “you’re heavy.”

“Sorry,” he grunts, rolling off of you reluctantly. Your crumpled, naked form is still there, still so tempting and soft and warm. Your eyes are shut, so you don’t see Eren’s tentative hand reach for your hip, just wanting to rub a thumb comfortingly over the bone there, before he pulls back, second-guessing himself. A few pregnant beats pass by, Eren biting his tongue and holding his breath as he waits for you to make the first move, to direct him into how to speak to you after what’s just happened.

“I need to shower,” you finally say, words coming out in a breathless admission.

“Yeah,” Eren answers lamely, sitting up and looking around your room. There’s postcards from almost every country imaginable, tacked above your desk and fluttering in the breeze from your heating system. The desk itself is a wreck, dozens of papers and books scattered around in seemingly no order. Eren notices a little stuffed teddy bear tossed onto the floor and picks it up with a smile, placing it back against your pillows.

“Are you…”

“Am I…?” Eren looks at you, hoping that his pleading gaze isn’t too horribly obvious.

“I think Historia will kill me if she sees you leaving in the morning.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, Eren swears he can see something like regret fly over your face, and you turn your back to him instantly, scrounging around on the ground..

“I don’t know,” Eren wheezes through his shellshock, trying to force out a nonchalant chuckle that only sounds strangled and tense, “she’s pretty short. I don’t know how she could manage it.”

“You’d be surprised,” you slip a bathrobe over your shoulders and grant him a mirthless smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

Eren dresses in the heavy silence that’s fallen over the room, pulling his shirt over his head and having to inwardly brace himself to face you. Eren’s comfortable with himself, probably knows a little too well that he’s an attractive guy, but he feels completely naked even fully clothed when he turns around to see you, standing all cozy and fucked out and sleepy in your fuzzy robe.

“So…” Eren trails off, wanting to smack his own face for speaking first.

“Have a good night, I guess,” you look up at him and then quickly away, chewing nervously on your bottom lip. Eren steels himself, lets every bit of courage he can find in his body rise to his mouth, forcing it to move.

“Are we, you know, good?”

“Good?”

“We said a lot of things to each other back there,” Eren can’t meet your gaze, can practically feel his face burning as he scratches anxiously at the back of his head. When he forces himself to look at you, there’s something odd and unreadable in your eyes. Are you sad? No, you’re smiling. Well, sort of smiling– it looks contrived, not real. But you’re not angry, not entirely.

“Yeah, I’m good if you are.” That stupid, insincere smile is still twisting your features. 

Eren doesn’t like the look of dishonesty on you, but he’s fought enough for tonight. He’s sad, spent, and tired, and he figures it’s hopeless anyway.

“Okay, good,” he makes his way to your bedroom door, fingers twitching for the feel of your skin under his, eyes damn near watering, “I’ll talk to you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with that, Eren’s left alone in the cold of your apartment hallway, alone and sickened by the feelings of satisfaction and longing swirling in his chest.

#eren #eren jaeger x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren yaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager x you #aot x reader #aot smut #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #much ado about nothing #much ado universe #much ado uni

[ask-humphrey-bone]

hello handsome x

do you have a favourite poem or poems?

Crikey you summoned Thomas with the mention of the ‘p- word’. I’ll be handing this one over to him! Good luck!

Dear my beloved ‘What The Bally Hell’, I have prepared a complete bibliography for you. Alas, Humphrey insists it is too long and too tedious to suit his ‘Tumblr,’ whatever that is, so I have shortened it to a reasonable list of ten— fine, Sir Humphrey, five—excellent works which should entertain an enlightened reader such as you:

1. William Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18. An eternal classic. I find his comedies somewhat overwrought and needlessly dramatic (if it is a romcom that you desire, may I instead point you to the high art that is Friends?), though Hamlet is a true masterpiece. I am sure you have never heard of it, as it takes a true connoisseur of poesy to appreciate the mind of such a gifted playwright, but Sonnet 18 captures the peak of Shakespeare’s artistic endeavours and masterful use of language. (Of course, Shakespeare could not spell his own name, but we all have our flaws.)

2. Andrew Marvell’s To His Coy Mistress. I cannot fathom why anyone would insist on reading the likes of that blade Byron when this beautiful romance exists. Moreover, it understands how to manipulate rhyme and rhythm without contorting the English language into a monstrosity that would make angels weep. The clarity of Marvell’s writing is astounding! It strikes the heart like an arrow, straight and true (EDIT: Sorry, Pat), without any of those namby-pamby half-rhymes that so characterise Byron’s writing, or the bullheaded metaphor (if it can even be called such) of Wordsworth and Blake. And to think, they were grown men! Inexcusable.

3. John Milton’s Paradise Lost. A little short for my tastes.

4. Henry Howard’s Complaint of the Absence of Her Love Being Upon the Sea. Despite his complete inability to title his works, or indeed to survive beyond the age of thirty, Howard was a tremendous gift to the English language: indeed, without him, we might never have seen the likes of Shakespeare, sonnets or plays, a fate almost as bad as being fatally shot in the abdomen with a musket ball. I believe Humphrey may have been acquainted with the man. Ah, such jealousy one feels!

5. Christina Rossetti’s Remember. I only discovered this work after my death, but it is as much a masterpiece as any of the works listed above. One might even say it is something to remember. You may be familiar with her other work, Goblin Market, which, to my memory, always makes Julian laugh … I suspect he invented some crude innuendo to amuse himself. Fear not, however: Rossetti’s works are entirely innocent.

P.S. I should mention that several of my initial suggestions—more than half, in fact—have been edited out, so this list should be considered merely introductory and not a thorough analysis of the breadth of style and content created across history. Although I was adamant that some rap be listed, Alison insisted I add a ‘woman’s voice’ to make the list ‘more inclusive’ (I am unsure as to what this means, but anything for my darling), so you shall have to investigate that for yourself, kind ‘What The Bally Hell’. Enjoy your reading!

P.P.S. I suggested adding the poetry of Elizabeth I, to recognise the oft unrecognised (again, Alison’s words) contributions of women to poetry. For some unfathomable reason, Sir Humphrey has declined. I cannot imagine why; she was a far better writer than most of my contemporaries.

Yours truly,

Thomas Angus Thorne. 🥀

#mr cheese has spoken #and #thomas thorne #bbc ghosts #sir humphrey bone #humphrey bone #this genius post is thanks to #natequarter

[saint-starflicker]

5 Dark Academia Movies That I Don't Find Too Many Other People Posting Very Frequently About

Note my definition of Dark Academia: dark because somebody dies (at a stretch, the darkness can be oppression or abuse from which no one necessarily dies but it still gets pretty dark—or if someone attempts suicide or murder then I count it as dark); academia because they go to uniform school or prepster university (the academia part can be an intense study, discussion, or research of a subject even though they are not at a campus.)

1. The Moth Diaries 2011

The book was better, more detailed, but the movie is still pretty good. The campus is peak neoclassical splendor, the uniforms are on-point aesthetic, and the darkness is gruesomely bloody and also it's on fire. The book is set during the school year of 1970 to 1971, but the movie is set in 2010 thereabouts.

2. "O" 2001

A modern retelling of Othello by William Shakespeare set at a prestigious boarding school. Adapting classical literature in a high school was trendy at the time, trying to capture the magic of Clueless 1995, and in my opinion "O" was the most glammed-up production with the most dark academia atmosphere out of all of them.

3. Educating Rita 1983

A working-class British young woman takes a social enrichment outreach education opportunity to study literature, in hopes that a study in the humanities will give her a better sense of self. Her tutor is a "failed" poet who struggles with substance addiction. Unbeknownst to them, both their lives are at the crux of change. In their consistently non-romantic conversations together, they unpack class discrimination in academia and society, as well as argue about the meaningfulness versus empty pretensions of studying humanities.

Nobody dies, well all right somebody almost dies for pretentious academic reasons...but the conversations leave a lot between the lines.

4. Private Romeo 2011

A modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare set at an all-boys military school. Sure, it's not the Oxbridge-Camford or "Hollywood New England" collegiate aesthetic...but it is very gay, a feature that I hope lends the movie some compensatory merit in this context. Juliet's a boy. Romeo is still a boy. Nurse is a boy. Juliet's mom is a man. Paris is an abstract concept. They are studying Romeo and Juliet at the military school English class at the same time that they are living and speaking the lines in Romeo and Juliet, so it gets surreal and I recommend getting more into the emotion of it than get caught up in what the lines they're saying are supposed to mean.

This should be chaotic academia or frenzy academia, but there's homophobic hazing and bullying so I think that's pretty dark.

5. Bare: a Pop Opera ???? There was supposed to be a movie but I deduce that it's stalled in development purgatory. I have not liked a movie adaptation of a stage musical since Chicago 2002, so I guess I don't really like movie adaptations of stage musicals—but I definitely want my current hyperfixation to be more accessible than a Spotify album oh hey while waiting for this adaptation to happen you can listen to the Spotify album. It's an operetta, so it's sung-through and you won't miss out on any story dialogue unlike with other musicals. Here's my argument for B:APO being Dark Academia.

DUE TO THE FACT THAT THE #5 SPOT ON MY LIST DOES NOT EXIST...WHAT DARK ACADEMIA MOVIES DO YOU THINK SHOULD BE IN THIS SPOT IN THE MEANTIME?

I CAPSLOCK IN ANGUISH THAT THE B:APO MOVIE DOES NOT EXIST YET AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL.

YOUR RECOMMENDATIONS ARE CONSOLATION.

Honorable Mentions:

The History Boys 2006 had one subplot I was bothered by at first and then grew to despise which is really too bad because this movie had racial diversity, directly addressed misogyny in academia, and had canon gays in a love triangle — but it is dark and it doesn't really seem to know that it's dark.

The Children's Hour 1961 "dark academia is mlm while cottagecore is wlw" WRONG watching this movie to consider evidence of dark academia wlw is part of your yuri duty! remember our history!

Never Let Me Go 2010 I can't describe objectively because I read the book at a time in my life that I was having a time at that time. The movie is a faithful adaptation. I re-read it recently and I think it's more Dark Academia than I gave it credit for, but if you're not into Contemplative Dystopia then I completely understand it not being your thing.

Like Minds 2006 — Huh, so 2006 was a busy year for this genre that did not yet exist at the time. Witness the folie à deux of 21st century teenaged Templar Knight kinnies who are also homoerotic serial killers. (Waves to the people that introduced me to this movie, who—contrary to the header of this post—actually do post about it.)

Rope 1948 does have some activity that I've caught recently enough, but I thought maybe it wouldn't be considered Dark Academia right away because it doesn't take place at a school. It takes place at a dinner party where ex-schoolfriends talk to their philosophy professor who they remain well-acquainted with after graduation, an interrogation of putting this professor's morally heinous philosophy into practice. Also there is a corpse at this dinner party. There's your academics and your darkness, so there's your dark academia.

#(yes BAPO fandom i am using the colon in b:apo for the benefit of the uninitiated) #If We Were Villains #<- tagged due to ALL THE SHAKESPEARES IN THIS LIST #dark academia #The Moth Diaries #O 2011 #Educating Rita 1983 #Private Romeo 2011 #Bare: a Pop Opera #The History Boys 2006 #The Children's Hour 1961 #Never Let Me Go 2010 #Like Minds 2006 #Rope 1948

[quill-of-thoth]

Letters from Watson backlog special: Holmes' birthday

So Sherlock Holmes' birthday is often interpreted as January 6th, but why? Well, there have been a BUNCH of different scholars considering every aspect of the Sherlock Holmes stories over the years, and the common motivation among them is being considered a "Holmes Scholar" instead of a mere fan.

The evidence, as it has been presented over the years, has only one source that uh, has any connection to the actual text: The works of William Stuart Baring-Gould, best known for his only partially definitive Sherlock Holmes chronology. (AKA: The dead guy I have ongoing beef with and whose work in dating the Holmes stories I have been reviewing sporadically for the past year.) However, Baring-Gould is not automatically wrong, so let's follow his chain of logic, such as it is.

The final Holmes novel, Valley of Fear (1914-1915) starts on January 7th with Holmes being a bit tetchy

No boring Doylist explanation for Holmes' bad moods need apply.

No Watsonian explanation that Holmes is not always a good-natured roommate or considerate friend need apply either. No, Holmes, known for having no sleep schedule, no tolerance for his own failure, and no moderation in terms of taking mood altering substances more unusual than alcohol, must be hungover

Why would Holmes be hungover? He must have been up late celebrating.

What could he have been celebrating by drinking alone? His birthday! Therefore yesterday (January 6th) is his birthday! Case closed!

This conclusion is, kindly, a stretch, but in this fandom we love having answers almost as much as we love being the one to provide the answer. We must have rituals to keep a fandom alive over a hundred years, and celebrating Holmes' birthday on Jan 6 is as good as any other. I merely want to point out alternatives to the dates and timelines established by Baring-Gould like any good peer reviewer. Alternative speculation under the cut.

So... why, on his birthday, would Holmes have been celebrating by drinking alone, instead of drinking with Watson? Or going to the opera (alone or with Watson?) There is no indication at the beginning of Valley of Fear that it takes place when Holmes and Watson are living separately. They're having breakfast together. Or rather, Watson has long since finished breakfast, and Holmes has yet to start, which lends better support to the hangover theory than his momentary brusqueness, but not by a lot since the man is known to forget to eat. Reading it over without Baring Gould's conclusions in mind, I think very few fans would find this scene out of the ordinary for 221 Baker street, but since I'm willing to play along with Gould: what if the event that Holmes is celebrating privately isn't one that Watson would wholeheartedly accompany him for? What events occur on Jan 6th that Watson, the average victorian man, would not be a part of? Epiphany. No, that's literally the name of the holiday, part of the christmas season. It's cited as the date of the Wise Men's arrival to bring Jesus presents (er. presents but also you know, expensive dire omens regarding his eventual death, if you've never been forced to sing all the verses of "We Three Kings of Orient Are," which becomes grimmer as you go on.) It's the last of the 12 days of christmas and the "Twelfth Night" referenced in that one shakespeare comedy. It's not commonly celebrated in the modern (united states) conception of christianity, whether devoutly practicing or cultural. It was a great reason for the Victorians to party, however. ... which doesn't exclude Watson. Unless we imagine Watson as having been invited to an epiphany party and Holmes, either uninvited or uninterested in a party atmosphere, staying home, which is possible.

But this doesn't result in a revelation about Holmes' identity, so in the spirt of going out on a supported but not definiitive limb, I propose that Holmes is Catholic. (Not, most likely, practicing in any major way at this point in his life. There's belief and practice, and then there's culture, and if your only idea of growing up Catholic is John Mulaney skits about god not hearing you if you don't sing loud enough... well, it's far more complicated than that if you're a Victorian.) - Catholic celebration of the Epiphany has historically taken on a more somber tone than Protestant or Anglican celebration. (See: we've all had fun here during Advent and Christmas but you're obligated to remember that Jesus is gonna die. By mid spring. By the way, Ash Wednesday and Lent are coming up so if you got candy, eat it, you'll be giving it up in a month.) - Holmes' general slight out-of-step-ness with the general Victorian shared expectations and culture could be partially explained by being raised in a different iteration of Christianity. - And his reticence regarding his family history could be explained by growing up experiencing social rejection due to the anti-catholic sentiments that were absolutely all over England in the 1850's to 90's (and well the hell into more modern times too) - Anti-catholocism isn't something he could dodge by simply not actually practicing the religion he was raised in either. - Holmes' references to a french side of the family could indicate that he has, at the very least, catholic close-ish relatives, as that was the most common religion in france. - Enough scholarship has been written on "is Holmes secretly Irish?" given his surname and Doyle's background as an Irishman that I think we should spend at least a minute considering that these points could also be taken to mean that Holmes is Catholic.

People (Anglican descended Puritans, for example) were complaining about the secularized parts of christmas by the 1700's, (Meaning: any celebration that was not prayer inside the church) and the Victorian celebration of Christmas is the direct ancestor of the US and England's current Culturally Christian but not necessarily religious practice related celebrations, so I don't see Holmes having any difficulty fitting in with buying a goose, having a nice dinner, or listening to carols. But there's a chance that if he wanted to celebrate Epiphany with any family traditions, regardless of how far they were removed from actual religious practice, he might not invite Watson.

And if Watson knows, he has, loyally, not written a word.

#when I was a kid epiphany was just when you took the christmas tree down #and / or the decorations #then again despide my great aunt's best efforts I was never the best catholic #Sherlock Holmes #still doing the reread on the Letters from Watson schedule but I'm 9 months behind at this point #and only trying to put out bimonthly analysis #Happy Birthday Holmes

[richincolor]

As I was coming up with a shortlist of books to review later this year, I noticed that there were some really great looking fantasy books headed our way in 2023. Here are three that caught my attention, all by Black authors:

Blood Debts by Terry J. Benton-Walker Tor Teen

Thirty years ago, a young woman was murdered, a family was lynched, and New Orleans saw the greatest magical massacre in its history. In the days that followed, a throne was stolen from a queen.

On the anniversary of these brutal events, Clement and Cristina Trudeau—the sixteen-year-old twin heirs to the powerful, magical, dethroned family—are mourning their father and caring for their sick mother. Until, by chance, they discover their mother isn’t sick—she’s cursed. Cursed by someone on the very magic council their family used to rule. Someone who will come for them next.

Cristina, once a talented and dedicated practitioner of Generational magic, has given up magic for good. An ancient spell is what killed their father and she was the one who cast it. For Clement, magic is his lifeline. A distraction from his anger and pain. Even better than the random guys he hooks up with.

Cristina and Clement used to be each other’s most trusted confidant and friend, now they barely speak. But if they have any hope of discovering who is coming after their family, they’ll have to find a way to trust each other and their family's magic, all while solving the decades-old murder that sparked the still-rising tensions between the city’s magical and non-magical communities. And if they don't succeed, New Orleans may see another massacre. Or worse.

That Self-Same Metal (Forge & Fracture Saga #1) by Brittany N. Williams Amulet Books

Sixteen-year-old Joan Sands is a gifted craftswoman who creates and upkeeps the stage blades for William Shakespeare’s acting company, The King’s Men. Joan’s skill with her blades comes from a magical ability to control metal—an ability gifted by her Head Orisha, Ogun. Because her whole family is Orisha-blessed, the Sands family have always kept tabs on the Fae presence in London. Usually that doesn’t involve much except noting the faint glow around a Fae’s body as they try to blend in with London society, but lately, there has been an uptick in brutal Fae attacks. After Joan wounds a powerful Fae and saves the son of a cruel Lord, she is drawn into political intrigue in the human and Fae worlds.

Swashbuckling, romantic, and full of the sights and sounds of Shakespeare’s London, this series starter delivers an unforgettable story—and a heroine unlike any other.

Sing Me to Sleep (Sing Me to Sleep #1) by Gabi Burton Bloomsbury

Saoirse Sorkova survives on lies. As a soldier-in-training at the most prestigious barracks in the kingdom, she lies about being a siren to avoid execution. At night, working as an assassin for a dangerous group of mercenaries, Saoirse lies about her true identity. And to her family, Saoirse tells the biggest lie of all: that she can control her siren powers and doesn't struggle constantly against an impulse to kill.

As the top trainee in her class, Saoirse would be headed for a bright future if it weren't for the need to keep her secrets out of the spotlight. But when a mysterious blackmailer threatens her sister, Saoirse takes a dangerous job that will help her investigate: she becomes personal bodyguard to the crown prince.

Saoirse should hate Prince Hayes. After all, his father is the one who enforces the kingdom's brutal creature segregation laws. But when Hayes turns out to be kind, thoughtful, and charming, Saoirse finds herself increasingly drawn to him-especially when they're forced to work together to stop a deadly killer who's plaguing the city. There's only one problem: Saoirse is that deadly killer.

Featuring an all Black and Brown cast, a forbidden romance, and a compulsively dark plot full of twists, this thrilling YA fantasy is perfect for fans of A Song Below Water and To Kill a Kingdom.

#blood debts #that self-same metal #sing me to sleep #terry j benton-walker #brittany n williams #gabi burton #book lists

[thechaoticreader]

Popular Books I Read and HATED

*Disclaimer: If you like any of these books, slay! I'm happy for you! These are just my own consumer choices, and imo negative book reviews are just as helpful as positive ones!*

This list is not long because I don't actively dislike many books that I read, and I have a very good sense of what I will and will not like, but there are some I had to read/were misled into reading so here we go:

1. Tender Is The Flesh

by Agustina Bazterrica

My rant review is above if you want more details but recently I've seen a few videos that articulate my feelings in a way that I couldn't before so im going to add a few reasons here that were not included in the original post:

It gave very Qanon and general antisemitic vibes: i.e blatant conspiracy made up by the "wealthy liberal elites" to encourage cannibalism for their own enjoyment (I know she's Argentinian however that doesn't mean im not allowed to get the ick from it)

Purposefully inaccurate depictions of meat industry and disrespect for farmers (context: im a vegetarian from farm country with a roommate who works in the cattle industry - Angus beef if you're curious - so im very familiar with the process and cannot say in good conscious that it is all bad -> just support local farmers <3)

world building makes little sense

COWS DO NOT EQUATE TO HUMANS NO MATTER WHAT YOU DO !!!!!!!!

the "disease" doesn't make sense (even if its made up who would believe it)

No themes were treated with the depth nor nuance they require (capitalism, feminism, veganism etc.)

I think thats all I haven't covered but this is the only book I have ever read where my hatred of it continues to grow with each day. I went out of my way and deleted it from my reader and get annoyed every time I see it. And for the record (because yes i'm salty) I didn't hate it because it was too disturbing, in fact I've read and loved worse and ive been an avid horror reader since I was (admittedly too) young. I hate it because there wasn't a well done story underneath the gore. I'll say it loudly for the people in the back GORY HORROR BOOKS STILL DESERVE A GOOD/INTERESTING STORY, especially if you want to try to put complex themes in it. If you cannot write a deep story but you're good at and enjoy gore, write yourself a lil 100 page splatter punk and we can all have a good time <3

Unlike with Tender Is The Flesh I don't have a ton of thought out critical reasons for the rest of these soooooo I'm going to give my highly subjective reasons -> I totally understand why some like them <3

2. The Handmaids Tale

by Margaret Atwood

hated the writing style

It didn't keep my attention

disliked the ending so much I actually threw it across the room <3

3. The Hobbit

by J.R.R Tolkien

hated the writing style

male centered fantasy is not my vibe

my ADHD cannot handle long incredibly descriptive sections in books -> I physically fell asleep multiple times while reading this book

honestly even with the movie I fall asleep every time

0/10 book I want to read

10/10 bedtime story

4. Lord of The Flies

by William Golding

hated the writing style

hated most of the characters (and not in a slay anti-hero way)

was forced to read it in high school and it single handedly sent me into a 4 year reading slump... I missed so many good books because of this and will forever hold a grudge

5. Romeo & Juliet

By William Shakespeare

I'm too jaded and gay to enjoy this -> every single character is so painfully stupid

tbh im just bitter that his (imo) better plays get less love than this one, its way over hyped

but I will give it points for boring me so much that I wrote my first fanfic (Romeo x Mercutio if you're curious ... no its not posted anywhere and it never will be <3)

sidenote -> Shakespeare plays I love incl:

Hamlet (duh im a depressed emo gay on Tumblr)

Macbeth (also duh, witches and female manipulator... need I say more)

Othello (a slow burn for the true crime girlies)

Measure for Measure (absolutely underrated, please please please look into this play -> I saw a production of it and it was incredible)

#bookblr #book blog #booktok #reading #bookish #goodreads #books #book review #books I hate #book hater #tender is the flesh #tender is the flesh hater #romeo and juliet #shakespeare #anti book club #anti booktok #the hobbit #hobbit hater #tolkien #tolkien hater #lord of the flies #books I had to read in highschool #bitter book review #books and reading #book club

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day 13 - Prompt: Beauty @pandalilymicrofics

February Daily Series - 788 words

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

Pandora wasn’t particularly interested in rejoining the group, but she reluctantly followed Lily back through the festival crowd. She also hadn’t realised how far she’d walked away from the food trucks. In her frustrated state, she’d power-walked to the opposite end of the path to where it forked. It wouldn’t have taken her long to get lost in this maze.

“How long will you be in town?” Lily asked.

“Just a few days. I needed to escape my family for a bit.”

“I can relate. You mentioned a brother, right?”

Pandora nodded, then grinned. “Evan. He was pretty annoyed with me for leaving him at home. I can’t say that I feel that bad about it though.”

“Are you close?” Lily slowed her pace as they worked their way past a group of giggling children. They were watching a dramatic retelling of a fairy tale that Pandora didn’t recognise.

“Yes, but mostly because Evan refuses to leave me be.”

Lily laughed and shook her head. “That sounds about right. I have a sister, but she’s exhausting to be around.”

“Older or younger?”

“Older. Her name is Petunia.”

Pandora arched an eyebrow. “Do your parents have a thing for flowers?”

“Mm-hmm, my mum is a florist. She has a shop in town,” Lily said, waving dismissively. “What about you? Sirius mentioned that Regulus lives in London, so is that where you’re from too?”

“Yes. Reg and I live together, actually. We share a flat near Leicester Garden.”

Lily stopped mid-stride and grabbed Pandora’s arm. “Leicester sounds familiar. Oh! Is that the one with a William Shakespeare statue?”

“That’s the one! I dragged Regulus to the Christmas Market in the square before we left. It’s beautiful,” Pandora said, thrilled that Lily was as charmed by the place as she was. “We share with our friend Dorcas from uni.”

“I’m going to move to London someday.”

Pandora’s heart pounded in her chest as she listened to Lily explain her grand plan to save up for a flat and hire on with a florist or garden until she could find work in her field. A sound plan, except her dream job was a little niche for London. There wasn’t a great need for horticulturists in the city.

“I know it’s a long-shot, but I figured that if I could hire on somewhere plant-adjacent, that would be a start. Don’t you think?” Lily said.

“It could work.”

Pandora didn’t want to dash her hopes, especially if it meant that there was a chance for this to go somewhere a little further than this holiday. She hadn’t really expected more from it than a bit of fun, but now that she’d met Lily, that changed. If Lily moved to London, they could date properly.

“Remus thinks I’m ridiculous for wanting to live in London, but I think it’s exciting.”

“Have you ever been?”

Lily linked her fingers together and nodded. “Once when I was younger. I loved the energy of SoHo.”

Pandora was on the cusp of an idea when Regulus burst through the crowd and rushed to her side. He glanced between them, then cleared his throat.

“James said there’s a party at the end. Are you staying?”

“Yes, are you?”

Regulus nodded as a slow grin slid over his face. “James wants to dance. Who am I to deny him a good time?”

“James dances?” Lily asked. “Why didn’t he join in at the club?”

James appeared behind Regulus and hugged him from behind. “Because Regulus won’t dance with me. He doesn’t want everyone staring at him. I tried to tell him that they wouldn’t be, but he doesn’t believe me.”

“If Sirius is dancing? You don’t have to worry about anything. That man is mesmerising to watch and even better to dance with,” Lily said, shimmying her shoulders.

Pandora lost track of the conversation for a moment while she admired the woman in front of her. Lily’s little shimmy was adorable, but the bouncing afterwards…merde.

“You’re drooling, Panda,” Regulus whispered.

She wiped at her chin, then glared at him. “I was not.”

“Well, you were definitely staring.”

“How can I not? Look at her! I’m only human, Reg.”

James chuckled as he rested his chin on Regulus’s head. “You’re both terrible at whispering. I think she heard you.”

Pandora looked up to find Lily’s cheeks flushed a lovely shade of pink. A mortified laugh bubbled in her chest, but came out in an awkward giggle. Regulus lost it, shaking with silent laughter as he hid his face in his hands.

That was it. It was all over. Once Regulus started laughing, Pandora couldn’t fight it anymore. Soon, they were all lost to the absurdity of the moment and cackled like hyenas.

Next Part>>>

#pandolily #pandalily microfics #pandalily #regulus and pandora #pandora lovegood x lily evans #lily x pandora #pandora lovegood #pandora rosier #lily evans

[isure-hopeso]

12.31.2023

48 books this year. My hunger never ends. I am insatiable. Here's my reviews:

Five Classics by Agatha Christie 8/10 Started the year off strong with a handful of Christie's shorter classic mysteries

The Fortune Teller by Gwendolyn Womack 4.5/10 Super super cool story idea with very poor flow and had a cheating trope

Mountain Mama by Axsom & Pelham 6.5/10 A depressingly realistic look at life on the frontier for a single mom

A Well-Behaved Woman by Therese Anne Fowler 8/10 Alva Vanderbilt was so incredible

Followers by Megan Angelo 6.5/10 One of those books where you really don't care the first 2/3 and then you can't get over it for the last 1/3

The Return of the King by J.R.R. Tolkien 10/10 my annual reading of one of the Big Four, as always

"Kitchen Princess" Omnibus 2 by Ando & Kobayashi 9/10 I'm pretty sure I learned my love languages from the Kitchen Princess series as a kid

A Court of Thorns and Roses by Sarah J. Maas 5.5/10 A little tropey and the riddle was stupid easy, but I love me a Beauty & The Beast retelling

Homeland: The Legend of Drizzt #1 by R.A. Salvatore 5.5/10 It really didn't need to be that long, but Salvy loves his extra DnD context

The Black Poets by Dudley Randal 10/10 When I tell you how often I think about the poetry from this book. When I tell you.

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen 6.5/10 Witty and wild for it's time, like all Austen novels, but she's boring and falls in love with her cousin

A Court of Mist and Fury by Sarah J. Maas 7.5/10 Turning the Beauty and the Beast retelling on its HEAD and using tidbits from the previous novel to change everything - but also very very smutty

Tithe by Holly Black 7/10 Rereading an old book I love in high school and finding that I still like it quite a lot

The Big Four by Agatha Christie 8/10 One of her biggie Poirot heists, super thrilling

"Kitchen Princess" Vol. 6 by Ando and Kobayashi 9/10 I have dreams, actual dreams, about these stories for weeks after reading them. Good dreams.

The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chianani 7/10 Decided to read this after watching the movie -- it might not be incredible storytelling but it's a fun story-world, so I decided to read it all

A World Without Princes by Soman Chianani 4/10 S for G&E 2 -It had some good bits, but was overall way too clumpy

The Silmarillion by J.R.R. Tolkien 10/10 This was actually my first time reading it, and I LOVE getting all the universe context!!

To Weave a Web of Magic by Delacroix, Kurlana, McKillip, and Shinn 8/10 This series of short stories had some real bangers and some ehh

On The Incarnation by St. Athanasius 7/10 the deconstruction never stops, love that for us

Unfinished Tales by J.R.R. Tolkien 8.5/10 It was so cool reading some of his last unfinished works, it was really not cool reading a bunch of stories with no ending

The Viscount Who Loved Me by Julia Quinn 5.5/10 Where the first Bridgerton book was much better than it's season, the second book was exactly as whatever as the second season.

"The Tempest" by William Shakespeare 7.5/10 really very odd, but the overall vibe was so good and exactly what I needed after Quinn

The Last Ever After by Soman Chianani 6.5/10 S for G&E #3 Thus begins my attempt to finish the whole series because I bought them and they were sitting there

"Sophist", "Statesmen", "Parmenides" and "Philebus" by Plato 10/10 What's the difference between is and is not? Is 'is not' a state of being? lol I dunno

Quest for Glory by Soman Chianani 7/10 S for G&E #4 Okay finally these stories are getting interesting again

A Crystal of Time by Soman Chianani 6.5/10 Really pulling out some wackadoodle things for this one, but I wasn't against it too much

One True King by Soman Chianani 6/10 An alright wrap-up, but my boi Hort deserved a more thorough ending

In the Flo by Alisa Vitti 6.5/10 I learned more about my period in this book than in any health class, but it also got a little woowoo with moon phases

The Green Witch by Murphy & Hiscock 7/10 I had a late-night book buying stint where I bought like 7 witchy books and this was the first to arrive

Acting on Impulse by Mia Sosa 2/10 I have nothing particular against this author, but this was the book that convinced me that I could get a book published

A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J. Maas 7.5/10 Hoo boy does a lot of stuff go down in this spicy, spicy book.

A Court of Frost and Starlight by Sarah J. Maas 6/10 Just a fun little story about wildly traumatized characters

Save the Cat! Writes a Novel by Jessica Brody 9.5/10 One of the coolest things I've read, I learned so much about reading and writing

Walden and Others Writings by Henry David Thoreau 10/10 So much beautiful writing, this is going to be a regular reread for me

A History of Magic, Witchcraft, and the Occult by DK 8.5/10 Naturally one of my favorite books of the year was a literal textbook

A Court of Silver Flames by Sarah J. Maas 8/10 Apparently I didn't hate this book as much as I was supposed to, but also please mind your manners in shared eating spaces

American Brujeria by J. Allen Cross 6.5/10 It turns out Hispanic witches are super super Catholics, which I bet would make some non-Hispanic Catholics real angy

Magic Lessons by Alice Hoffman 7/10 Practical Magic #1 it was such a lovely writing style, like an actual witch telling a prophecy

House of Earth and Blood by Sarah J. Maas 8.5/10 A really cool story, standing ovation for Lehabah every day, but also weird that the big bad killer guy wears hats and watches basketball

Nevewhere by Neil Gaiman 9/10 Hadn't thought much of it while I was reading it, but this story had stuck with me like a bad cold baby

Bones of Faerie by Janni Lee Simmer 5.5/10 This one had been sitting in my TBR for too long, and it wasn't too bad

Well of Darkness by Weis & Hickman 8.5/10 Getting to read a fantasy story in the perspective of the bad guys? Heck yeah. So cool.

After the Funeral by Agatha Christie 6.5/10 This one had alllllllll the rich family drams

Ironside by Holly Black 8/10 my first time reading this finale of Black's trilogy, and I just feel like the main character could have been more logical or taken more action

A Writer's Notebook by Ralph Fletcher 2/10 I pretty much learned nothing, got nothing out of this

Search the Sky by Pohl & Kornbluth 8/10 Only took off points for misogyny, but it was from the 50s, otherwise a really cool story

The House Witch by Murphy & Hiscock 5/10 A follow-up from the first witchy book to arrive, this one didn't teach me as much about witches as I hoped it would

Approximately a 7/10 average for the whole year! I went out on a limb for a lot of books this year, and that was rewarding just about as often as it was disappointing, but I can at least say that I haven't DNF'd a book yet. I largely write these for myself, and I don't expect anyone to take the time to read it -- if you did, then you are a saint and a hero. May your pillows be cool, your blankets warm, and your eyesight always clear enough for reading.

#booksbooksbooks #books #bookblr #booklr #reading #agatha christie #tolkien #lord of the rings #lotr #kitchen princess #the fortune teller #a well-behaved woman #acotar #acomaf #acowar #sjmaas #sjm books #ra salvatore #jane austen #mansfield park #tithe #holly black #school for good and evil #soman chainani #the silmarillion #to weave a web of magic #unfinished tales #bridgerton #the viscount who loved me #julia quinn

[silviawrites]

Things not to worry about when writing your first draft of your book

Writing a first draft can be very overwhelming for a lot of people and trust me, I get it (I currently have a wip waiting for me to work on it but guess what I'm doing). It can feel very hard and there are a lot of things that you tend to worry about. Most of them, however, are things you're not even supposed to be worrying about! Here are some tips about what to not worry about when writing your first draft!

1. Whether your writing is good or not

This is a common one a lot of people tend to worry about when writing your first draft and let me tell you, you're not supposed to be worrying about this when writing your first draft! The purpose of writing your first draft isn't supposed to be the next Ernest Hemingway or steal William Shakespeare's throne as the King of Writing or some shit, it's supposed to be done so you actually have a story you can make better!

Please note that worrying about the writing is supposed to be done during the editing process. That's when you add or delete scenes/paragraphs/sentences/words and improve on the story you already have. You can worry about it then. Not now. Your first draft is not supposed to be perfect. It doesn't even have to be good! It has to be COMPLETE. So just finish the damn thing already!

2. Publishing

Sorry to burst your bubble of fantasies and fanciful dreams but don't worry or even try and fantasize about publishing when you're still taking your baby steps when writing a book. Publishing has a lot of stuff going on like copyright, cover design, blurb writing, foreword and preface, dedication page, acknowledgements page and a lot of other stuff! You don't need to worry about publishing your book if your book isn't even ready to be published in the first place!

Writing takes time. Lots of it. By daydreaming about publishing by one of the Big 5, or getting your book adapted into a film/TV show/series etc. you are wasting your time that you could be using to write your book. So get to it then!

3. Following an exact outline

An outline does actually help when writing a book and it can help when you don't know what to write next. Just don't worry about following it exactly. Things change. Maybe the character you aimed to be the villain turned out to be the good guy (totally didn't happen for me). Maybe two characters who were supposed to despise each other turned out to have a wonderful friendship. Maybe a character who was supposed to be the love interest turned out to have villainous qualities you didn't expect. Don't be afraid. Chances are, the plot/character you weren't planning was better than the one you did! Don't worry about following an exact outline because it will add some stress and can leave you frustrated.

Well, that's it! I hope you liked this post! Thank you so much for over 100 followers! Love you all! If you're interested, follow my Instagram, @silvia.hemmings!

#writing #creative writing #writer #writing tumblr #writersadvice #writing advice #writing tips #writingadvice #creativewriting #first draft #first draft writing

[the---hermit]

04|10|2023

I feel like my body is slowly rebelling against me. My sleeping is going even worse than in the past few day, and this morning when I woke up my throat felt even more sore than yesterday. I have been taking medications, hot herbal teas with lots of honey and the amazing balsamic drops my mom got me, and I hope everything together will make things better soon. I have lots to do the rest of the week and I would like to feel energized instead of feeling miserable. Of course since I am not sleeping well at all and my energies are quite low focusing on studying is a struggle. I still managed to finish my first read (of many) of Richard II, but today I heavily relied on the translation because my brain was not braining as it should have. Still I have a good base idea of how the play is structured so I should hopefully have an easier time during my lectures tomorrow and on Friday. I will now watch The Hollow Crown to see in action what I just read, and then I'll just put on some music and try to rest.

cozy hobbit autumn activities and productivity:

read first thing in the morning

daily practice of Irish on duolingo in the morning (I feel like I am way more productivie and focused when I do this in the mornings, so I am making an effort to squeeze it into my morning routine)

drank a huge amount of herbal teas, made with my own herbs for the most and with lots of honey to help my throat

worked on a whole lecture of my power practices and men theories class

finished my first read of Richard II

listened to today's episode of re:dracula

put off all the tasks I was too tired to do, and no I don't feel guilty about it

📖:The Book Of Lost Things by John Connolly, Richard II by William Shakespeare

#studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #university #student life #studying #historyblr #bookblr #journal #journaling #productivity #cozy hobbit autumn #desk #study space #knife gang #mine #the---hermit

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ a fluffy little domestic drabble . the boys are therapising! with healthy dose of horsegirl!stede, because I love him and I said so <3

Read on AO3

back on the horse

They were getting their land legs, slowly but surely. Not just walking without expecting the ground to move too (Ed described it as, “kind of like the opposite of being dizzy?”), but also, finding their new rhythm too with all the tasks that entailed and all the lack of tasks, too. After all, they were no longer Captains. Stede was no longer a father or a husband. They no longer had the roles and anxieties that had propped them up their entire lives and with more downtime than ever to gaze at their proverbial navels, they figured they should probably do something about that.

“I was thinking,” Ed said, one quiet morning in bed, “I think I might… go fishing today.”

“Are you sure?” Stede frowned. “I know your… confidence was a bit shaken, last time.”

“Yeah, but I dunno. It was pretty cool practicing being quiet. I think it’d be good. Plus, I kinda miss it out there, you know? Not more than I like being here. Like, don’t worry or anything. Just for the day. Is that cool?”

Stede felt a pinch of anxiety in his chest, but it was quickly soothed when Ed wound his hand together with Stede’s, a promise. He’s not panicking. He looked over at Stede with big, gentle eyes, like he really wouldn’t go if Stede said it was going to worry him too much. Stede squeezed his hand back.

“I think that’s a great idea, love.”

“What about you? What’ll you get up to?”

“Well.” Stede looked around their humble abode. He hadn’t really thought about that. “Normally, I’d read, but I think I’d better not or I’ll start reciting The Collected Works of William Shakespeare in my sleep.”

“Yeah, too late, babe,” Ed jabbed, and Stede laughed. “But hey - what about Garnet? You could take her into town and see if Hine has another book for you. Probably be much faster if it was just you. You ride, right?”

Stede all but blushed. “Oh, I suppose I could. I’m not very good, and it’s been so long-”

“So? I’m no good at fishing either. Isn’t there some saying about getting back on the horse?” Ed raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Stede had to admit he had a point. Not just about Garnet, but about reacquainting himself with being alone. He’d never really put it together before the last few days, but he had used to spend a lot of time with the horses. Mostly, it was a good excuse to get away from the main house to the stables or the forest where he had less eyes on him. Sometimes Arthur was the only conversation partner he’d had all day - especially on the worst days, when he felt so crushingly lonely he might just turn to stone; on those days, whenever he could, he’d bury his face in the old boy’s neck and cry.

And of course, it wasn’t like that here, with Ed, not even close. There was always something to do, something to share, something to love. But there was still something to be said for sticking his nose in Garnet’s mane and taking a deep breath. He felt safe there. He felt loved there. He found himself imagining what it might be like to explore this beautiful place with his new friend under saddle, and found himself smiling. Hay and dust and sweat and saltbush and sea air. It was perfect.

Ed smiled back.

“There you go then. I’ll see you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

#blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd fanfic #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #clara's fic tag #the petrified orange inn verse

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Louis has just eked into confirmation for the Magnificent Bastard trope alongside William and Albert. Here's my argument for him:

The Work

Moriarty the Patriot is (still) a (very loose) retelling of the Sherlock Holmes stories combined with James Bond set in the late 1800s, focused on Professor James Moriarty and exploring his motivations.

The Character

This post is to open a discussion on Louis James Moriarty, Professor Moriarty's younger brother and one of his Co-Dragons.

Louis primarily handles the estate and household management early on in the series until he demands to have a more active role in the "murdering people" business, and eventually takes over both of his older brothers' roles leading all of the Moriarty criminal subordinates as the head of MI6, and quite frankly does a better job than either of them.

Louis rounds out the brothers sharing the title "The Lord of Crime" as James Moriarty.

This argument is primarily manga-focused, because while he does become M in the anime, it's in the last episode so we never see any of it, and Albert was never involved.

Why Is He a Bastard

Aside from the murdering (which is fairly standard in the series, if not seen as "good"), Louis has a line in one of the early arcs where he says the only emotion he had about murdering an entire household of people was "perhaps a sense of relief," which is pretty stark compared to his older brothers discussing vomiting afterward and otherwise spiraling into My God, What Have I Done? land.

Louis recognizes what he's doing is wrong, but he actively demands to be allowed to participate in the killing. While both his brothers have guilt complexes, Louis just really doesn't.

But Not That Bad?

Once again, we have a Pay Evil unto Evil character here. Louis is a fiercely protective soul, and he sees what he's doing as simply the most practical method. And he largely wants to participate in the killing because he wants to be closer to his brothers, by whatever means necessary. He's the quickest to realize that they need to atone and the first to pick a path by which to do so.

Is He Charming/Magnificent

Louis is a much more practical soul than either of his brothers and less inclined to theatrics, but he still has some flair. Unlike his brothers, Louis doesn't crib his plans out of books or plays he's read and adapt them. He can act, but he'd rather things simply go quickly and neatly with a minimum of fuss.

He handles issues as they come up with a level head to prevent them from growing into larger ones: both with contemplating killing Sherlock early on instead of toying with him, and things like intervening and distracting their targets so the rest of his team has time to finish their work. He also burns his own face in order to sell the story that they were merely victims of the mansion fire that killed a house full of servants and the rest of the Moriartys.

Louis is not a man who plays around with his opponents. Louis is a man who executes, intelligently, well, and with no hesitation.

I feel like "tying things up so neatly no one uninvolved even realized there was a problem," is its own style.

He also holds together the vast majority of their criminal enterprise without either of his brothers to help.

He has his own magnetism. It just looks very different from the dramatic Shakespeare fanboys. After the Time Skip, Louis is said to resemble his older brother William, king of drama and flair, no fewer than three times.

And if we're counting fan popularity here, he ranks just below his brothers there.

But Is He Brilliant?

Yes.

While Louis is often quite subordinate to William and has a serious case of Big Brother Worship, Louis is one of the few members of the team willing to argue with William's plans and point out potential flaws—and has been as early as their childhood. While Albert sees opportunities for success and grabs at them, Louis sees the opportunities for hideous failure and squashes them.

Again, Louis managed to hold MI6 together without any help for three years—which is more than Albert was capable of. And he starts issuing orders to his brothers as soon as they return.

What About His Competition?

Louis spends most of the series in his older brother's shadows, and once he commits to Taking Up the Mantle himself, most of the major players opposing them are gone. He never goes head-to-head with a proper hero or villain himself and mostly finds himself embroiled in more complicated, less clear-cut issues when he leads.

He does go head-to-head with Moran to bring Moran back into the fold?

Verdict and Mitigating Factors:

I did make this post, so I think Louis has a solid case. I think he's Got It, just in a different way than this particular series likes to go about it.

Louis is maybe more of a 7 out of 10 on a couple of the qualifiers. He sort of grows into the role, unlike his brothers, who start there.

He's perhaps not a dead ringer, but I vote yes.

#Yuukoku no Moriarty #Moriarty the Patriot #Louis James Moriarty

[art-of-manliness]

10 Movies That Inspire Thumos

The ancient Greeks believed that the human soul, or psyche, was composed of three parts: reason, appetite, and thumos. While we still understand the first two elements of this triparite model, the concept of thumos has largely been forgotten in the modern day. Interestingly, there is no direct translation for this term in our language.  According to the Greeks, thumos was crucial for andreia (manliness) and was viewed as a complex and powerful energy. It can be described as a person’s life force — the force that instills a lofty spiritedness in the young and an evergreen vitality in the old. Thumos is a source of discernment. It’s related to gut feelings and intuition — what Jeffrey Barnouw calls “visceral thinking” — and also has a prophetic quality, giving you a sense of foreboding about where a decision may lead. More fundamentally, thumos is the motivation that drives a man to take action, strive for success, and fight for what he believes in. It also encompasses his courage, determination, and ability to persevere in facing challenges. It’s the “fire in the belly” that pushes someone to leave behind comfort and security, reject mediocrity, seek honor, and strive to be the best among his peers.  Thumos, in short, is heart. The ancient Greeks would listen to a poet recite the Iliad to fill them with thumos. Men living in Elizabethan times would likely feel thumos course through their veins while watching King Henry give his St. Crispin’s Day speech in Shakespeare’s Henry V.  Today, film is an artistic medium that can inspire thumos in the hearts of men. Below, we highlight ten films that show what thumos looks like when lived out, and more importantly, inspire thumos while you watch them. Whenever you need to get pumped up, queue up one of these films, and then don’t let the feelings they fill you with go to waste: put your renewed spiritedness to work in taking manly action.   Braveheart There’s so much going on in this film that stokes the thumotic fire.  The sweeping shots of Scotland. The stirring bagpipe music. Dudes in warpaint holding broadswords.  But what really sets one’s heart afire after watching Braveheart is seeing William Wallace rouse his men to battle and lead them in fighting for freedom, love, and honor even when the odds are against them. If thumos had a mantra, it would be the movie’s tagline and most famous quote: “Every man dies; not every man really lives.”  Gladiator General Maximus Decimus Meridius was a good man, and good at being a man.  He loved his family and his country, and he had the strength and skill to fight for them.  But most importantly, he was filled with thumos, a spiritedness that moved him to action and to know how to outmaneuver the morally bankrupt Commodus.  Maximus also knew how to inspire others with thumos. You can’t help but walk a little taller after hearing him yell: “What we do in life echoes in eternity!” Warrior Sports movies are prime for inspiring thumos, and perhaps no genre does it better than the boxing film, which places two men directly in the arena to battle it out mano-a-mano. Warrior is an excellent entry in this category and tells the story of two estranged brothers, Tommy and Brendan Conlon, who enter a mixed martial arts tournament for their own personal reasons. Tommy, an ex-Marine with a troubled past, seeks redemption, while Brendan, a high school physics teacher, fights to save his family from financial ruin. Thumos guides both men as they prepare for their climactic confrontation in the ring. Watching them will inspire you to tap more into your own thumos.  The Lord of the Rings  Most of the characters in the Lord of the Rings trilogy don’t have the masculine bravado of those that populate the other movies on this list. But the films still have thumotic verve, and it’s actually no surprise that they do. The author of the books on which the movies are based, J.R.R. Tolkien, was a scholar of the classics and understood the importance of thumos in helping a man do… http://dlvr.it/T2pVBq

[stardustedwanderer]

-IFICATE

You find a package next to you on the next loop. A box that contains several books. The books are all written by one William Shakespeare, and are pretty clearly plays. They are written in a language you can read, and yet, are very different from any common speech.

The titles are: Hamlet, King Lear, The Tempest, and A Midsummer's Night Dream.

There's a note in blue ink:

hope you enjoy them! -jill

[That's... New? Not entirely unexpected, but you've been trying not to get your hopes up, no telling what can be sent or for how long after all. It's clear by now the people on the other side of the rock are real, sure, but much less clear how anything else about this works.. (And if there was any doubt of this particular packages origin the note confirms it swiftly, that striking blue keeping your attention for several seconds longer than it likely should.)]

[Most would be a little disappointed not to be able to read the newly delivered tomes, but hey, you've learned other languages before, by comparison it shouldn't be so hard - If anything it gives you even more to do! More to work out, idly, something a whole lot less pressing than your current situation but with the reward of several good stories at the end. You couldn't think of a better distraction if you tried!]

[...At some point you really need to figure out how to return the favor. But for now, your situation leaves no real choice by the accept the gift as graciously as possible, tucking the novels away in that surprisingly large pouch before heading in to town lest Mira take it upon herself to come looking for you first..]

#stardust.txt #embellishedbookworm #[action post]