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luxekook · 4 years

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intensity | myg

⇥ pairing: yoongi x reader ⇥ genre: angst, smut, fluff, established relationship ⇥ summary: this is a sequel to intimidation. in which yoongi is intense in every facet of their relationship, except one… and the reader is on a mission to find out why. ⇥ word count: 3.9k ⇥ warnings: nc17, cursing, dirty talk, general chaos, dom!yoongi with a side of switch, sub!reader with a side of switch, rough smut [oral (f receiving), light choking, spanking, breast worship, slight marking, slight ownership kink, unprotected sex (wrap it, folx, please), mentions of threesomes]

⇥ dedication: @shadowsremedy heaaaath bby! i hope you like this! i think it might be terrible, but plz enjoy anyway sdfsdhbakj

⇥ prequel: intimidation

Six months into dating Min Yoongi and you were so fucking whipped for him that you might just say the dreaded “L” word.

Was it too soon to know? The majority of your friends sure thought so - Nia being the exception.

(“Wife him up, girl!”)

The majority of your friends also thought that Yoongi never outwardly showed how much he cared for you. But, you knew they just weren’t looking hard enough.

They weren’t looking at the way he linked his pinky with yours just to be connected to you. They weren’t looking at the way he always gave you his full and undivided attention no matter how trivial of a story you told. They weren’t looking at the way he flushed a light shade of pink whenever you complimented his music.

But you were looking. God, you were looking so hard you feared you might just melt under the intensity that was Min Yoongi.

Everything about Yoongi was intense: his aura, his focus, his ambition.

Everything about dating Yoongi was even more intense: his devotion, his affection, his possessive nature.

Everything about him was intense… Everything except one thing.

Sex.

And you were baffled.

Yoongi treated you like a queen, albeit a fragile one. He fucked you like you might break under him. He fucked you softly, sweetly.

You weren’t saying that the sex wasn’t good. He always made sure that you came multiple times with his fingers, his tongue, his cock. But it just wasn’t enough. It was like he was holding part of himself back from you. And you just wanted to know why.

Were you not attractive enough to evoke such fervor? Was he not into it? Oh lord, did he think you sucked at sex? You could pull out some receipts that said otherwise.

And, yet, the absolute worst part of it all was the fact that Yoongi’s reputation for being a dominant lover preceded him. You heard it from your friends, you heard it from the twitter-verse, you heard it from his friends… fuck, you’d even heard it from your damn T.A.

And yet, all Yoongi gave you was sweet, sweet vanilla.

And all you wanted was some damn rocky road.

The tipping point came earlier that night when you had overheard Yoongi and his friends talking about you…

“Aren’t you bored, Yoongi? What do you even do together? Make flashcards?”

That was one fucking time, you had glared accusingly at the wooden door that separated you from where Yoongi and his friends had been congregated in his tiny dorm room. Your ears had strained to catch Yoongi’s muttered response through the cacophony of laughter and had failed miserably.

When you had planned to surprise your boyfriend after your night class had been cancelled, you’d never thought that you would end up being the one caught off guard.

You hadn’t initially meant to eavesdrop on their conversation, but his friends had just been so loud and your curiosity had just gotten the best of you.

“She’s such a goody-goody… I bet she doesn’t let you get rough.”

That time you had heard Yoongi’s answer: “I just don’t know if she could handle it… (y/n) is the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I don’t want to mess it up if I blow her back out and break her.”

You had heard enough. Turning on your heel, you had marched back down the dimly lit hallway towards the stairwell.

“Couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle it?”

Now, you found yourself still seething hours later. Livid, but not without plans. You had already decided to take this matter into your own hands days earlier, but now your timeline had shifted. Oh, Min Yoongi would rue the day…

You smiled at your reflection in the mirror as you applied your blood red lipstick. Your phone long since silenced lit up for the umpteenth time that evening.

You were ignoring him. Was it petty? Yes. Was it strategic? Fuck yes.

You knew that Yoongi would be going to Seokjin’s birthday party tonight. The older boy had blackmailed Yoongi into going a few weeks ago by threatening to release an old demo that Yoongi had made in his early teens.

Suddenly, you were also going to make an appearance - a complete coincidence, of course.

Nia had convinced you that going with her to this party would drive Yoongi crazy, especially since you'd been ignoring him. But she also had an ulterior motive. Nia and Jimin had been hooking up on and off since you and Yoongi had gotten together; and, right now, they were very much in an 'on' phase.

You gave yourself one last glance over in the mirror and shrugged. The little black dress and heeled ankle boots would do. After all, it was really what was underneath that counted.

The new lingerie that you had impulse-ordered a few days ago after brainstorming ideas on how to make Yoongi lose his mind had arrived. The set that you settled on tonight might just achieve that goal - all black lace with garters and thigh highs.

It had put a nice dent in your wallet, but it would be well worth it if your boyfriend finally fucked you into next week.

Speaking of... your phone lit up yet again, this time with an incoming call. You were so tempted to pick up. Yoongi's voice was your favorite - all deep and raspy and teasing.

Your freshly manicured finger sent him to voicemail.

“(Y/n)!” Nia’s voice called from her bedroom adjacent to the bathroom you currently resided in, “Are you ready?”

“Yes, let’s do this.”

Fifteen minutes later, you walked through Jin’s front door. “Whoa,” Nia stopped short, making you bump into her.

“What?” You surveyed the crowded room. Then you spotted him. “Oh my god.”

Jin stood atop the coffee table wearing nothing but a pair of banana-printed shorts and a felt birthday cake hat. He was also dancing rather aggressively to “Birthday Cake” by Rihanna.

“Yah!” His attention suddenly fell on you and Nia, “Wel-come and put your name on it.”

You both gaped at the birthday boy who now was descending into a twerking fit while screaming the word ‘cake’ alongside Rihanna.

“Do you think it’s too late to turn back?” You whispered to Nia.

“He’s already seen us. We’re doomed,” Nia responded, her eyes still glued to Jin’s writhing form.

Laughing, you grabbed Nia’s wrist and tugged her towards the kitchen.

Suddenly, you felt eyes on you, on your body. You knew that Yoongi was here somewhere, and he’d seen you. It would be so easy to just go up to your boyfriend and smother him with kisses and affection like usual; but, that was not on the agenda. And so you forged forth without a backwards glance towards the living room where he must have been.

After fixing a drink and losing Nia quickly to Jimin, you were still steadfastly avoiding going back into the living room. Now, you were in a nice conversation with a boy named Jinyoung about the merits of being in Slytherin.

"Can I talk to you?" Yoongi pushed in between you and Jinyoung, effectively interrupting your rant over how Slytherin ambition can be used for good.

"Can it wait?" You spared your boyfriend a cursory glance before turning back to Jinyoung. Yoongi already looked thoroughly pissed off. Perfect. Suppressing a smile, you tried to reinstate your conversation with Jinyoung and pretend that Yoongi was not even there.

Yoongi let out a low growl before snapping, “No, it can't wait." He grabbed your hand and began to pull you down the narrow hallway. Your feigned protests fell on deaf ears as he continued to tug you along towards Jin's room. You waved in departure at an amused Jinyoung who just raised his glass in your direction.

Opening the door, Yoongi pushed you inside and slammed the door shut behind him. Crossing his arms across his chest, Yoongi pinned you with his stare. “Are you mad at me?" His question came with an accompanying head tilt and eyebrow raise.

“No. What makes you say that?” You reveled in the scoff he made in response.

Yoongi stalked towards where you stood at the foot of Jin’s bed. “You haven’t answered my texts or calls. You haven’t acknowledged me all night. You even walked right by me earlier in the living room, baby. So help me out, because I’m a little confused.”

“Join the club.”

“What was that?” His narrowed eyes spat fire in your direction. The words you had mumbled under your breath were obviously not as subtle as you thought.

“Nothing, baby.” You smiled innocently despite your boyfriend’s growing fury. “I just didn’t see you or your texts earlier.”

Yoongi’s jaw clenched. “Bullshit.”

“Yoongi, drop it.”

“No, I won’t drop it, (y/n)! You’re obviously mad at something I did.”

“I’m not!”

“Oh my god. You’re fucking furious.”

“I’m not mad, okay? God, I am so tired of you parading around like you know every damn thing about me. Well, guess what: you don’t, Min Yoongi!”

Your boyfriend’s eyebrows had practically disappeared under the fringe of his hair during your outburst. His eyes were comically wide as you continued.

“You think I’m so fucking breakable? Newsflash, buddy, I’ve been someone else’s sub before! But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You wouldn’t even know the first thing about what I like in bed. And you know why? Because you’ve never asked!”

Yoongi no longer looked shellshocked. No. Now, he just looked downright agitated. “Baby, calm down.”

This little shit right here…

“Oh no, you don’t get to tell me to calm down! Not when you’ve been going around telling everyone and their mother that you fuck me like I’m fragile. And, meanwhile, I’m over here being bombarded with people ranting and raving about how rough you are in bed! Well, if you’re so rough and ready then why the fuck am I still getting this sweet vanilla shit? Am I not attractive enough for you, is that it?”

“Kitten, I’d really advise you to stop talking.” The new nickname flew right over your head as you spared a glance in his direction and swallowed. His expression was thunderous. Too bad you were too far into your rant to turn back now.

“I must be really fucking boring to you if you won’t even consider spicing things up with me! Am I not pleasing enough for you to want your fucking mark on my body? Is that it? Or are you just tired of me in general?“

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, (y/n)…” Yoongi cupped your chin in his hand tightly and drew your face up to his. You gulped. You had never seen your boyfriend look so angry, so punishing, so hot. He continued, “I’ve told you before that I’d give you anything if you just asked for it. So, I just want you to think about what you’re asking for here.”

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. “I haven’t thought about anything else for fucking weeks! I even considered asking Sehyun for advice!”

“And who’s Sehyun?”

Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. You had not planned to mention your dominant ex-boyfriend as part of this conversation.

“(Y/n), I am going to ask you one more time… Who. Is. Sehyun?”

In your tiniest voice, you replied, “My ex who used to dom me.”

Yoongi hissed a breath in between his teeth. “So, you’re telling me that instead of coming to me with this, you thought about going to your fucking ex? Your old dom?”

This was not good. This was really not good.

“That’s not the point!”

“You’re right.” Yoongi suddenly sits on the edge of the bed and tugged me face down across his lap. “The point is that you’ve been bad. And bad girls get punished.”

It was honestly embarrassing how quickly you got wet after he uttered those words with you splayed out on top of him. Positioned like this, you felt vulnerable, totally at his mercy.

Yoongi rolled up the bottom of your dress. As you felt the cool air of the room brush your lace-covered ass and thighs, Yoongi sucked in a breath. You felt his gaze on you. “Kitten,” His voice came out deeper than you had ever heard it before, "Did you buy these for me?"

You shimmied your hips on his lap, craving any sort of friction. "Yes," you moaned as you felt Yoongi's fingers hook under one of your garters, before pulling and snapping it back onto the skin of your thigh. The accompanying sharp sting of pain only made you even more soaked - a fact that was not lost on Yoongi.

"You like that, don't you?" Yoongi repeats his actions on your other thigh before murmuring lowly, "Don't you, my little slut?"

You let out an involuntary moan at his filthy words, grinding into his dark jeans.

Smack. Yoongi slapped one of your cheeks, startling you with both the sound and the sting.

“I asked you a question.“ Yoongi's hand kneaded your ass, causing the prickling of pain to quickly turn to pleasure.

"I do! I do like it, daddy.” The title slipped out automatically, but judging by the way Yoongi's cock twitched underneath you, he didn't mind.

"Fuck yeah, kitten. Call me daddy.”

Yup, he really didn't mind.

"Now, I want you to count," Yoongi growled, hand squeezing you roughly before sliding your panties and thigh highs off to fully uncover your ass and thighs.

"Yes, daddy.” The anticipation, though brief, made your heart race.

"This is for ignoring my messages.”

Smack. "One."

“This one is for ignoring me in person.”

Smack. "T-two."

”This is for lying to me."

Smack. "Three."

"This is for thinking you're not attractive enough for me."

Smack. "Four."

"This is for even considering that I might find you boring."

Smack. "F-five."

“Look at you,” Yoongi’s fingers suddenly ceased their kneading and drifted to your drenched pussy, “You’re fucking soaked, and you’re only halfway though your punishment.” His finger slid inside you fleetingly before sliding back out. Your back arched in search of contact - something, anything.

“This is for not saying you wanted my mark sooner."

Smack. “Si-ix.”

“Actually, kitten, I’m going to give you two for that one.”

Smack. “Mm, seven.” The heat from his smacks was spreading from your ass to your pussy, settling low in your belly.

”This is for mentioning that prick Sehyun."

Smack. "You don't even know h-" Smack. Smack.

“E-eight!”

"This is for being a brat and not coming to me with your issues."

Smack. “Nine.”

“This is for fucking dripping all over my jeans despite the fact that this was supposed to be a punishment.”

Smack. “Ten.”

You laid slack in his lap for a bit, pliant under his kneading hands.

“You did so well, kitten.” Yoongi cradled you in his arms, pulling you into an upright position before laying you down on the bed with your legs hanging off the side. “I’m going to fuck you so hard…” He groaned, burying his face against your breasts, lips seeking. “But first, I think you need a little reward after taking that punishment so well.”

You arched, needing his mouth.

“Let’s get these clothes off of you.” He pulled your dress over your head before quickly unhooking your bra from behind your back.

“Goddamn, you really do have the prettiest fucking nipples I’ve ever seen, kitten. I always wonder if I could make you cum just by sucking them. I bet I can…”

Your mind grew hazy when he finally turned his head and took one of your nipples between his lips, dragging his tongue over the sensitive bud. He sucked it into his mouth with a groan, and you couldn’t help but moan, “Yes, daddy!” Your body felt like it was burning; but, still, you wanted more.

He turned to your other nipple and muttered, “You taste so sweet, (y/n)...” Yoongi worshipped your other nipple with his mouth, his tongue, and even the slightest bite of teeth. After finally leaving that one as aching as the other, he pulled back to face you.

“Kitten, you’re so fucking sexy.” He hovered over you, taking his time kissing down your stomach, leaving marks in his wake. Intentionally skipping the place you need him most, Yoongi trailed kisses on the insides of your thighs. Finally, he was poised over the seam of your pussy.

“This,” his breath caressed your slit, “Belongs to me.” You squirmed, anxious with anticipation.

“Say it,” Yoongi growled, slapping your pussy lightly, “Say that this pretty pussy is all mine.”

“It’s yours. God, Yoongi, it’s yours. Please, daddy.” Your pleas burst from your mouth in an embarrassingly whiny tone.

And then it happened in a blink. His mouth was on you. His hot tongue swiped over your clit before drawing it into his mouth and sucking it.

As he devoured you, a growl sounded from his chest; and, the idea of finally, finally inspiring that kind of lust turned you on so fucking much.

“D-daddy, I’m going to c-come!” You were already coming undone with each skilled swipe of his tongue.

Yoongi pulled back. Honestly, you really should have seen that coming.

(Or should have seen yourself not coming for that matter.)

Before you could even attempt to slide your own hand down to where you needed it most, Yoongi pulled you up towards him. Your legs shook as you tried to find your balance, but he was too impatient for that evidently.

Yoongi picked you up, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his slim waist.

Stumbling, you both crashed into the wall. His hips pressed firmly into yours, wanting you to feel him.

He rested his forehead against yours, and, breathing heavily, he said, "I can't believe you thought for one second that I didn't find you attractive." His hips ground into yours. You felt his hardness, his heat, his desire for you. "Does this feel like I'm not attracted to you, kitten? Can’t you tell how hard I am for you? Fuck, you just had me on my knees, facedown in your pussy... Don’t you know that you fucking own me?"

"Y-yoongi," You gasped for air, breathless from his admissions and his actions, "I know it now. You fucking own me, too."

His lips turned up at the corners before slamming down onto yours, kissing you as if you would disappear if he stopped. Your hand twined around his neck, lacing your fingers through the short strands of his hair and kissing him back with equal vigor.

He tasted so fucking good, like soju and strawberries. You sucked on his tongue, and he groaned. Yoongi’s fingers dug even deeper into the sensitive flesh of your upper thighs.

“Need to fuck you now,” He muttered into your mouth.

"You're gonna have to strip for that to happen, daddy,” You said, smirking as he set you down.

Smack. “I should have known you were a fucking brat,” he laughed.

You pouted in response as you watched your hot-as-sin boyfriend make quick work of his clothes. Your eyes drifted over the lean muscles of his body before settling on the hard length of his cock. What you wouldn’t give to take him in your mouth right now…

“No time for that,” Yoongi chuckled, noticing your attention and catching onto your train of thought, “Now be a good girl and bend over the bed.”

Well, since he asked so nicely.

You complied, bending over with a mix of excitement and arousal bubbling in your stomach. You could feel Yoongi standing over you. He snaked one hand around your body to thumb one of your nipples. His other hand ventured lower, and one of his fingers pumped inside your pussy.

He pinched your nipple. “Fuck, kitten, you’re so fucking wet for me.”

“Please, daddy. Please fuck me.” You groaned, arching into his finger as he pumped it in and out of you. “I need your cock.”

“Yeah? You want daddy’s cock?” Yoongi’s finger disappeared. In its place, you felt the crown of his cock slowly stroking your folds. “Then, you’ll get it.”

He slid into you with a deep groan, his hand twining into your hair. He was so hard; his arousal only made you needier. He slowly began to slide in and out.You moved your hips to match his, wanting to feel his full-length reach deep inside you with every stroke.

His thrusts became faster and harder. “Good girl.” You could feel his gaze fixed between your legs. “I see you taking me.”

Still gripping your hair, Yoongi pulled out and slammed back in, giving everything into each thrust and rocking you against the bed.

You buried your head into the duvet to muffle your moans. It took every muscle in you not to come.

"Fuck, (y/n),“ He groaned as he plunged into you. You backed up into him, trying to get him even deeper inside you. He lifted you onto all fours and the resulting angle was divine.

Your body started shaking. Subconsciously, one of your hands shimmied down your body to touch your clit, needing that final push.

Apparently, not on Yoongi’s watch.

He pulled one hand away from its grip on your hip and set it back down with a smack. Your right ass cheek stung fiercely. “I didn’t give you permission to touch yourself, kitten,” Yoongi growled, “That’s my job.”

And, with that, Yoongi pinched your clit and slammed into you. That was all it took to push you over the edge. “Ah, Yoongi!” You screamed into the comforter of the bed in hopes that it might muffle your exclamation.

“That’s right, kitten, milk daddy’s cock. Fuck yes,” Yoongi continued to pound into you through your own orgasm. His moans got louder as his thrusts grew sloppier until his hot cum poured into you.

Breathing heavily, he collapsed on top of you briefly before pulling out and falling to your side. You both continued to pant in your collapsed positions on the bed. You could hardly move.

You turned your head to the side to look at your boyfriend. His eyes were hooded, his hair a mess. “Round two?” You suggested with a smile.

Yoongi’s gummy smile made a brief appearance, “You’re going to kill me, (y/n).”

“No,” Jin’s voice came from the doorway, “I’m going to kill you both.”

You and Yoongi screamed as you scrambled to pull the comforter over your naked bodies.

“I can’t believe this,” the birthday boy continued, “You fucked in my room? In my bed? On my birthday? And I didn’t even get an invite?” His eyes were twitching murderously. “I’m the one who’s supposed to have birthday sex! Me, you peasants, me!”

You shot Yoongi a speculative look as Jin continued to rant.

“Really?” Your boyfriend groaned at your unspoken question, “Right now?”

“It’s his birthday!” You hissed, “Besides, I did show up without a present…”

Yoongi pondered it, “Fine, but I am so punishing you for this later. Fucking hell, how many more kinks do you have that I don’t know about?”

As Yoongi trailed off, muttering about masochism and threesomes, you stood. Clutching the blanket to your body, you walked over to where Jin had finally quieted down.

The boy eyed you suspiciously, “What?”

“You said you wanted an invite, Kim.” You dropped the blanket, “Consider the invitation sent.”

a/n: big yikes on how this turned out skskskss hope you liked it anyway despite the chaotic-ness that is this fic

#bangtanhq #btswritingcafe #btswriterscollective #ficswithluv #bangtanarmynet #btsbookclub #hyunglinenetwork #180knet #kwritersworldnet #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi #smut #bts #bts smut #bts fic #myg

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crystal-lillies · 2 years

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A small positive recap of 2021

This thing has become tradition now and damn if I don't keep up the trend! My brain is sort of buzzing bees right now so this post may not be as extensive or chronological as ones in the past have been, but screw it let's look at the good things that have happened this year.

Amanda Gorman hello??? Hello??????? The Hill We Climb!!! so so good!!! Inspirational, emotional. Everything good about spoken word poetry!! And then she kills it again with New Day's Lyric for the new year!!! "Even solace can be sourced from sorrow" like my god you are a treasure Amanda Gorman and I hope you have a great future. Oh man. So good.

Diversity win! BTS made Grammy award history for being the first K-Pop group to be nominated for best pop group!

Another diversity win! Chloé Zhao is the first woman of color to win the best director Oscar for "Nomadland" and she will not be the last. Manifesting that now! Mia Neal and Jamika Wilson made history as the first Black women to earn awards for best makeup and hairstyling.

Tswift started something amazing by rerecording her old songs to regain ownership of them, and not only do the new versions slap still (and some even better), she is setting a great precedent for young artists to take control of their creations. Spectacular.

TWEWY ANIME!!!!! holy heck a TWEWY ANIME aired this year. Can you believe. It was basically speedrunning the game and the pace was phenomenally fast but let's be real the actual game can be played that fast too. The animation and soundtrack killed though. So good.

Speaking of which. NEO TWEWY! THE LONG AWAITED TWEWY SEQUEL!!! This year really fed the TWEWY fans huh

25th Anniversary of Pokemon babes it was a whole year full of great stuff with all the merch, the music collabs, the Pokemon Journeys anime, Pokemon GO 5th anniversary (wow right?), and of course SINNOH CONFIRMED with both remakes and the announcement of Legends Arceus, the closest thing we have gotten yet to open world Pokemon.

Tokyo 2020(1) Olympics and Paralympics! It was chaos, but there was some great stuff. Simone Biles set a great example by prioritizing her mental health. And honestly like everyone worked so hard to be there? It was great seeing people from all around the world do their best and also be supportive of each other.

Y'all cannot forget the Steve Burns from Blue's Clues video. How we all cried from that pure wholesome heartfelt message.

We got the 4th and final season of Carmen Sandiego at the top of 2021 and it definitely went hard going out. Apparently there is still a movie to come??? It would definitely be a great addition!

A Discovery of Witches series 2 aired and it was great!! And it got me back into reading more regularly by prompting me to reread the entire book series again haha

Infinity Train also ended with a 4th season, unexpectedly, but as always it had great animation and storytelling! Maybe one day there'll be more but we got some great content in these two years.

Speaking of great content THE OWL HOUSE!!!! HELLO???? HELLO!????!?! LUMITY... BELOVED.... KING!! EDA!!! HOOTY!! VEE!! LILITH!!! HELLO I SCREAM!! The diverse, beautiful content!!! So so good!! And it only gets better!

Marvel content is back on an upswing this year as well, both MCU wise and Sony wise. Announcement trailer for Across the Spiderverse(part 1??? Hello???) still gives me goosebumps and Venom 2 really gave everyone who loved Venom everything they wanted. The Disney+ MCU shows have been a mixed bag, but mostly enjoyable for acting and certain character developments! Wandavision was probably the most memorable for style alone, and Hawkeye came in the back end with a killer setup for Echo and the presumed Young Avengers in Kate Bishop and Yelena Belova. God Yelena and her macaroni...Shang-Chi also was the first Asian-led MCU film and it was really good! Mostly a martial arts film with most of the typical marvelisms at the end :'). TFATWS gave us Official Sam Cap and more Dora Milaje, and Loki introduced the multiverse, officially. What If...? took that and ran and also killed the cast so many times. Also also made us miss Chadwick Boseman even more with that T'Challa Star Lord episode. Black Widow, Eternals, and No Way Home also rounded out the movies. My lord. After a year of no content, Marvel took over 2021. (Also...great time to be a Daredevil fan :> )

BNHA/MHA got movie 3 World Heroes Mission!! It was cool and fun and really well animated!

Encanto!!!!! Lovely!! Stunning!! Beautiful!!! Surface Pressure lyrics slay and Mirabel's outfit design also slays. And the heartwarming story is so so so good.

Doctor Who Flux! A great mini series that definitely should have shared its tighter writing with the other 13th doctor seasons. But very enjoyable!

On some personal notes, I got to spend more time with friends this year than a while which was really great! Very thankful for that.

I completed Camp NaNo April 2021, and while I didn't do July or NaNo proper, I participated in a writing contest and am planning to keep participating in them in the new year!!

I GOT A FULL TIME JOB HELL YEAH!!!

Also hosted a couple fun roleplay weekends with @shibuyasgame that were the products of my deepest loves.

And there are probably things I'm missing and forgetting but it's nearly the end of the night where I am and I'm getting tired haha.

Here's to you, 2021. Let's bring on 2022.

#flowerspeak #personal #2021 #2022 #new years #new years eve #long post #positive #my yearly tradition of positive things

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sugarfreecapsicle · 5 years

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eager

This is smut. Heed the warnings I list as well. Do not read if you are under the age of 18.

warnings: dom/sub dynamics, ownership, dirty talk, slight emasculation if you squint hard enough

okay, this was dug up in my ancient archives - @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan was kind enough to look this old piece over for me before I tweaked it for her follower celebration post, so major proper to her for being so kind. and to be totally up front, kids, I have no clue where this came from in my head and I doubt I’ll ever find out. feedback is appreciated, encouraged, coveted. nsfw content below the cut.

(gif credit)

Your stomach tied in knots, churning bile as your parents led you into the shop. Your skin crawled with cold sweat, goosebumps. If this is the precedent to nobility, you couldn’t be sure you wanted any part of it.

The clerk had welcomed your small party of three at the large cherry door, his words humming behind the echo of your heartbeat thrumming in your head. Father’s hand guided you between where he and your mother stood. "When you see one you like, speak up so you can inspect him before you settle on any of them, darling."

Dizziness whirled in your mind, walls spinning and painting a strange jewel toned mosaic of skin, dark aubergine walls, and cold metal. Chains rattled violently in rounds upon entrance to the hall, shaking through you like driving wind in a snowstorm. Eyes screwed shut while your entire body trembled, both parents now lamely attempting to soothe you as if the entire experience should be normal.

"Look how eager they are for you, darling," Mother purred in your ear, brushing the hair out of your paling face. "As good little toys should be."

The underlying venom in your mother's voice implied punishment if her directions were not followed exactly, so you chanced a look towards the caged men, all in various forms of undress. Only a few looked utterly miserable, uninterested at the new visitors - those more eager, more desperate for escape, couldn't take their eyes off the three nobles. A handful of the men anticipated your mother to choose for you, one or two even eyeing your father as if maybe he shopped for another to call his own.

"Show us your more desirable toys," Father said to the shopkeep. "Only the best will do for my daughter."

For your birthday, as every noble would, you were to receive your first toy. With the coronation imminent the need to find a suitable toy was pressing, and your father insisted the council allow you to choose one for yourself.

Again your family was led out of the caged room and into a minimalistic lobby. The clerk excused himself, saying he would bring out three of his most expensive "models". Your fingers wrung together, dewy sweat blending between your palms as you waited for him to return with the men, Mother's hand playing with strands of her rose-blonde hair.

"We have faith in you, sweetheart," she said. "You'll pick a beautiful toy the others will be jealous of."

As per custom, your parents kept their ranks secret from their children. You preferred to keep it that way, rather not know which of your parents would've been sold off like this to a royal. There was a possibility, of course, that both were dominant and had toys on the side since many of your friends couldn't help but let their curiosity flourish into investigation. Their findings more often than not completely altered their familial relationship, one even ruining their claim to land and wealth.

The clerk returned with a proud grin, leading one shackled man into the room. Shirtless with a sheen of sweat to his light skin, fitted brown pants and military fatigue boots accented by golden handcuffs keeping his hands together. His eyes made him seem more like a trapped god than a toy. Blue - not quite sky and not quite ocean, but certainly rivaled any imagining of Poseidon. His jaw set into a firm clench, a defiant nature masked by protocol. Your dizziness popped into a tingling high.

Oh.

Your father’s smile bloomed as he nodded at the clerk and stepped away to take care of payment while your mother's hand stilled on your back and gently patted your shoulders.

"Well done, darling."

--------

"What's your name?" you asked softly, arms wrapped around your middle as you looked at the man purchased by your parents. “Your given one.”

He appeared solid and powerful, something not often seen in other toys. No wonder he was worth so much to the clerk - most preferred their toys to be purchased weak then improved upon in private however each noble saw fit. Sandy blonde hair, strong shoulders, rippling muscles as far as the eye could see.

"Steven," he answered in a hushed tone. Given names weren't allowed once a toy was bought. Under more traditional circumstances a new name would be deemed by the master, but you could tell this - or whatever this could be - was different. You wanted to know him as is, not the person anyone else decided he should be.

"Steve," you echoed with a small smile, finding confidence and introducing yourself by given name. He nodded mutely and fought back a smile, memories of impenetrable metal cracking against his body in his transition. He held his hands together as if the cuffs still bound him, though now tossed away somewhere in your wardrobe. Steve’s eyes didn't meet yours, keeping them focused on the floor as he'd been taught. You stepped over to him and lifted his chin, forcing his pale blue eyes to meet yours.

How could you expect to train him to do your bidding in every possible way when he loomed over you? The echoes of your lessons sang in the back of your mind as you held his chin in place and searched his eyes. Steve wasn't afraid or angry disorienting your logical path of thought. Everything you'd prepared for comprised of a rigid, stubborn man with no desire for you whatsoever. Steve's presence and power couldn’t hide behind any veil or mask - he actively chose to be putty in your hands.

"Truthfully, I'm not sure how to be a good master," you murmur with a flutter of eyelashes. "But I'll try my best. If anything makes you uncomfortable, tell me. I don't want to hurt you."

Steve pursed his lips together and swallowed hard. "Yes, master."

The name shot through your core like lightning. "In private, you can call me by my name, not... that."

Steve nodded, raised your open palm to his lips and kissed a vague promise of honor to your hand. A somewhat bold move, being affectionate without your express permission or command, but you allowed it. His kisses warmed embers through your veins.

Carnal want pooled between your legs, but without specific instruction from you, Steve couldn’t satisfy if compulsory lessons could be trusted. With shaking hands, you felt across the expanse his shoulders, chest and torso moving slowly and deliberately to feel his breath hitch in particular spots.

"I'm sure you've heard this from other...people," you tread carefully, hands resting at the waistband of his pants. "You're absolutely breath-taking."

He hummed and his balance wavered. "Thank you...m-may I have permission to speak?"

You concede and lean into his body heat, feeling his tension radiate into you.

"I don't ever want to take my eyes off you," he purred, vacillating closer to your touch as fingertips dipped behind linen. "I can hardly breathe when-"

Commentary interrupted by your hands pushing past his hips and thighs, a groan flows from his chest. You stopped, looking up at your with pants pooled at his ankles.

"When what, Stevie?"

Your hands pressed upwards again, pressing up his broad thighs and resting breaths away from where he pulsed, throbbed, ached. Thoughts of your lips, plump and soft surrounding his cock distracted him long enough to earn a bite at his hip.

"Tell me."

"When you look at me like that," he rushed. You lave the precum off him, twitching heartily under your tongue. Steve’s hands instinctively reached out for your hair, but he hesitates. Permission, he reminded himself.

You stood up, hands caressing with gentle persuasion, reassuring the trembling man of your permission. You pulled away long enough to give him verbal permission to touch you where he liked - and Steve wasted no time cocooning you in his arms. Calloused hands traveled down your back and rested just above your ass, the smallest finger skimming plump cheeks as you swayed towards the bed.

Pushed onto the mattress, he perches on his elbows, watching as you undress before him. His chest heaving breaths in frantic rhythm signaled his extensive use of self-control, limits pushed to a breaking point. Your thighs quivered beneath his survey, a predator locked in unspoken chains.

"I want you to fuck me," you assert firmly, "until our legs are so sore we can't walk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master.” Steve’s answer is gruff, without hesitation and full of impending fire. "May I make a request?"

"You may.” You hovered over his curved muscles, your hungry gaze insatiable.

"May I taste you?"

You smirked and bit your lip, relishing in the way he shivered beneath you. "Look at you, already such a good pet."

A soft hand dragged down his chest, raking your nails as you went - his body curls towards the touch, searing a tattooed lust where you roamed.

"Please," he begged, a strained moan elongating the word. Steve whines when your form glides sinfully over his, your lips tickling the shell of his ear.

"Would you like me to sit on your face?"

"Yes, please," he prayed, hands eagerly at your hips as your thighs framed his ears.

Steve’s mouth works pure magic, licking at the softest parts of you. His tongue is warm velvet, teasing and prodding inside only to pull away and flick at your clit until your only hope of balance remained in your arms bracing against bedposts.

The bedframe squeaked outside of your pants and moans and his voracious hums of pleasure. Steve’s hold on you - purely for contact - awarded no resistance to your hips rocking downward, fucking yourself on his tongue.

"Make me cum, Stevie," you moaned, finding a rhythm you knew would provide enough speed and pressure to give you what you wanted without hurting him. "Oh, god, Steve, make me cum."

His neck strains further, a vein prodding against his damp skin as he measured your keening hips. You shrieked when he dared use his teeth against your outer lips, letting them slide between the bones gently. The knots in your stomach snapped as he sucked you fully between his lips, your back bowing so far you nearly collapsed on top of him. Wobbly arms on the headboard, you crooned out gentle moans as tides waned.

Steve rubbed the backs of your thighs, resisting kisses to the inside knowing he could bring you to another climax too soon and risk angering you. All night wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you, and at this rate Steve doubted he could last more than three rounds. He'd anticipated an elderly noble whose funding would easily acquire a ready courtesan, not a youthful beauty the other captives had convinced him would be impossible.

"Fuck me, Steve," you panted, kissing your way from the top of his head down to his neck. The jolts of heat from your lips steadied him briefly, though he hadn't noticed your hand traveling down his waist to his sensitive, aching cock until you gripped him. A fingertip grazed the sensitive precipice just under the head, along a vein that made him see stars behind his screwed shut lids. "But I want you to keep your eyes on me."

Steve let out a guttural wail as you drew a nipple into your mouth and lapped your way down the length of his pert muscles. How he'd managed to last this long, he couldn’t decipher - not while you bathed him in languid trails of lust. He began to plead in whispers as you teased his lower half, hands stroking his thighs and hips, urging him to rock back and forth with you.

"So obedient," you murmured, taking the tip into your mouth and suckling gently enough to gather more precum. "Do you want to cum in my mouth?"

Steve barely shook his head, arms unable to hold their station as he flopped and arched against the mattress. "P-please, inside y-you," he panted heavily.

You sat up on your knees and brought his hand to the apex of your thighs. "Here?"

All he could manage was a strangled groan, tossing his head back into the pillow. You shift quickly over him, now at eye level with breath teasing his parted lips.

"Eyes on me," you bid firmly, watching him as you gently move his cock against your lower lips before inching your way down. You cried out at the initial entrance, his hips barely shifting upwards with restraint to keep from sheathing himself until you bid it.

You moved agonizingly slow - Steve began to worry about how much more he could take without completely losing control. The thought of punishment didn’t help matters, how hard you'd smack him with a whip or a crop, or the scratches you'd leave around his body too much to bear. Barely uttering coherent pleas for release, for speed, for more pressure, anything to bring you both to release.

"Please," he cried, "please let me fuck you."

An answering moan from you, legs wrapped around his hips providing the permission he needed. With a growl, he thrusts powerfully in and out, your heat and softness both building and melting tension. As directed, his eyes never left yours - a thrill rushing over him as he discovered a pleasure point within you that wrenched your gaze away. Hips rutted against his build innately, lifting to meet his compelling pace. Steve kissed your lips as he rockets forward, settling his cock deep inside you - slowly grinding your hips together, altering the speed and urgency into something dangerously intimate.

Steve bellows from his chest when you flutter around him, nearing something explosive. To his relief, you pushed against him and urged him on faster and harder, loving the way skin smacked together and sounds harmonized in echoes around the room.

"Cum, Steve," you shrieked, "oh, fuck."

He shuddered over you, all strain in his body finally released within scream of pleasure. Almost painful after holding back for so long, but your answering pulse surrounding him was more than worth the wait. Your instructions thread like candy floss in his mind - until you couldn't walk; Steve couldn’t be sure in the midst of his unabashed pleasure he could achieve a breath on his own. Lazily he exits you, a chill zips up his spine at the sound of your whine at his absence.

"Have I pleased you, master?" he panted out, sweat beading on the hair at his chest, over his skin.

"Very much.” You’re breathless, sated, limp. "I will reward you in the morning. You may stay here with me tonight, if you want."

Steve pushed himself onto his side with a hushed hum, his hand warming just under your breast. Your shoulder kissed tenderly as you played with his sweaty hair, the two of you blinking yourselves to sleep.

#star's follower celebration #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fan fic #steve rogers fan fiction

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villainever · 5 years

Text

God, We're All Tired: Female Conflict in Killing Eve's Season One Finale

So I'm sure 1x08 has been analysed to death, but seeing as we're winding up to the end of Killing Eve's second season (sad face), I thought I'd jump in with a completely unsolicited reflection on the ultimate culmination of Villanelle and Eve's mutual obsession and pursuit. I'll kick off by saying that from the start, we knew this moment would be interesting, for a whole slew of reasons: Firstly, from the get-go, we were shown that Killing Eve was here to subvert and reconstruct; it's deeply oriented within its genre, but it's irreverent, and even what I would describe as a reclamation of spy-fi. Specifically, it's a female-led narrative taking ownership of a set of texts and tropes that have consistently objectified and excluded women by turns. From its inception, the psychological thriller genre has delighted in a) withholding women's agency, and killing/torturing/assaulting them, both to shock viewers and to lend pathos to the motivations of male characters, and b) revelling in their "expiration" from sexual desirability, and casting the "ailing crone" as the villain orchestrating events. Killing Eve has absolutely no interest in ever reducing its women to their component parts. There are no pedestals, and there are no pitchforks. As a show, it hits all the golden points of suspense television, and completely reimagines the rest; it's a masterpiece balacing act of keeping the classic cat-and-mouse recogniseable, while allowing Eve and Villanelle to each be both the predator and the prey.

Secondly, our two protagonists are women. Highly unusual and exceptional women -- that's inarguable -- but nevertheless, they've been socialised in particular ways. What's so fascinating here is that both have been injected with a comfort in and enjoyment of theatrical violence that's usually reserved for male villains. However, even at their most ruthless, there's an innate intimacy to both of them -- unlike, say, for example, the Joker, Villanelle's flamboyance and love affair with destruction never manifest as mass-killings or the eradication of infrastructure (like blowing up a hospital). Villanelle exacts each murder with the creativity of the truly engaged and passionate, but it's always personal and unique, usually one-on-one. She doesn't have a vendetta against the world, either; she finds beauty in it -- in ice-cream and movies and nice architecture or fun clothes. Similarly, Eve is enthralled by Villanelle's flair for the deadly and the dramatic, but it's not born out of a spite for humanity, but a sense of artistry and a consuming need for some adrenaline in her otherwise numb and mundane life. These complexities muddle their emotions and motivations, and make it difficult for even the most television-literate to semi-accurately predict their storylines.

Thirdly, Eve and Villanelle are never positioned as diametrically opposed. This in itself is not exactly out of the left field -- a lot of media with a dark focal point or mature subjects introduce heroes and villains who share key traits (e.g. Sherlock and Irene, in CBS's Elementary), or even comparable goals (e.g. Black Panther's Killmonger and Nadia both want to open Wakanda's borders). In most cases, though, the antagonist will represent some kind of seduction to the 'other side', that the protagonist inevitably resists the allure of (e.g. Andy realising Miranda isn't who she wants to grow up to be -- successful but alienated -- and goes back to her excuse of a boyfriend in TDWP). But while Eve and Villanelle are very much established as one another's temptations, we also see that they'll grant the other access to a part of the world that is, for now, barred from them: Villanelle and Eve will stop each other from being bored. They "resist the allure" not because they fear moral wrongdoing, but because they cling to their respective images of themselves -- Eve, as someone "nice and normal", who happens to have a grey area for a hobby, and Villanelle, as someone independent, in control, with no lines she wouldn't cross. Way back in the pilot, we're shown that they don't actually WANT to destroy each other. Villanelle is too interesting to Eve, Eve is too attractive to Villanelle. Yes, they pose a significant threat to their respective lifestyles, but as we've had proven, they're becoming willing to risk that if it means gaining something more. They don't reflect a sinister alternative timeline of "look what you could've been" (which is inherently hero-centric, and Killing Eve pays as much attention to Villanelle as Eve), they offer each other a "look what you could still be", that is at once dark and hopeful -- something that they've really elaborated on in this second season. But 1x08, even though it is very much the symbolic collision that is the centrepiece of all chase stories, is not their first meeting. Villanelle goes to Eve's house in the (iconic) 1x05. So why not save that for the finale? Why not build and build and have that tension released right at the end? Because, crucially, 1x05 generated more tension. The show's writing is so substantial that it doesn't worry about losing its audience after the moment they've been waiting for happens. It's one of the reasons you could have the entire plot of Killing Eve spoiled, and then still enjoy every episode when you watch it yourself: it's the How that we love as much as the What. Killing Eve takes the time and space to revel in its style, characters, and setting -- but that's another essay. In 1x05, their meeting is high-octane, and crucially, it's brief. We get a snapshot of how their infatuation and fixation translates into chemistry. And they both become real to one another. Eve's last reservations begin to fade as she realises that she can survive an encounter with Villanelle, and her sense of self -- most importantly, the subconscious idea that she's somehow special -- is vindicated (Eve's slight narcissism, and how the show makes it compelling and intoxicating, is yet another thing I could go on about). For Villanelle, Eve is allowed to be more than just great hair and a worthy threat. She's someone challenging and entertaining. What's so incredible about that first meeting is that it's proof that this dynamic isn't running on mystery and fumes. It's sustainable. They continue to appeal to one another once they're in the same room together. They appeal even more. Their sexual tension skyrockets, and the whole dance becomes extremely personal. They can't write one another off as playthings, although they largely continue to attempt that, at least for a short while. With this in mind, let's move on to that finale. Not only is Eve trashing Villanelle's apartment hilarious, and a perfect articulation of the humour/danger cantilever that makes Killing Eve awesome, but it provides a critical catharsis for the audience before the actual confrontation. By this point, the price for Eve's obsession is starting to rack up -- her job is circling the drain, Niko's dodging her calls, her self-image is blurring. Eve has a whole lot of feelings, but she's allowed to express them on her own, symbolically taking them out on Villanelle by ruining her things, which become a vehicle for venting her frustrations without actually affecting their relationship. When Villanelle does arrive, Eve's ready. This scene would've worked if it was some sexy wall-leaning, banter, and Eve surprise-stabbing Villanelle in the middle of a conversation. I think that's probably how a lot of screenwriters today would've done it, scrawling it off by rote and relying on Villaneve's chemistry and Comer and Oh's excellent acting to nail the bit. Instead, we get this civil conversation, and then they lie down together, first relaxing, and then gravitating towards one another. I don't believe that Eve knew until the millisecond she decided to do it that she would actually try and stab Villanelle. I actually gave this mini-essay a title, and it's "female conflict". That's because I think that this entire sequence wouldn't have happened in a show created by men, or featuring male characters. In violent shows, we get violent conflict. Killing Eve is unquestionably a violent show, but it's distinct from its contemporaries in that the characters aren't there to prop up the violence; the violence is there to reveal and develop the characters. But after a whole season of elaborate murder and tyre-squealing pursuit, we get this stillness. Yet, it doesn't feel for even a beat like bathos. It's absolutely a climax, and it's both suspenseful and arresting. It really illustrates that the show is about fascination: they're hungry to know everything, like Eve says. There's no performative combat. We can't guess what's going to happen because neither can they. Their obsession isn't a "this town ain’t big enough for the both of us" situation. It's a "this town is only the both of us". Their worlds are reduced to each other and they don't want to squander it with fighting, because fundamentally, Eve and Villanelle are so much more similar than they are different. Again, I say this is so fitting for female characters because they see this co-existence as an option. It's so simple, but the idea of your protagonist and antagonist sighing, "Fuck, can't we just have a lie down after all this?" and making it satisfying is incredibly radical. Because it's so personal, and intimate, and human. At every interval, the writing asks, What would we actually do at this moment? Not, What precedent has popular culture set for this moment? Too often, I think we give characters responses that we've seen before in texts, because we watched/read it, accepted it, and just filed it into our own work, knowing it's what the audience expects. But this scene with Eve and Villanelle is so heart-wrenchingly in-character. It's two people charging at each other full speed, not to hit each other but to be close to one another. And like so many other tiny beats over the course of the season, Killing Eve luxuriates in this proximity. We get to breathe. It's gentle. It's a gentle pause between two people who could utterly eradicate one another, but choose not to. It's ladden as well with such a specific but familiar kind of exhaustion, and it's an act of defiance, too. Killing Eve rejects the hegemonic (and predominantly masculine) cultural assertion that conflict (or even sometimes, in the less typical texts, debate and negotiation) is the way to resolve difference, and indeed, that difference must be resolved. That one must overpower the other. That your enemy is an alien and cannot be connected with, related to. The fact is, a lot of even this first season isn't spent chasing, it's spent running. Eve and Villanelle take an interest in each other early on, and it quickly escalates from intellectual to sexual to emotional (insofar as either of them are capable of that). By 1x05, they've caught up to each other. The rest of the time, though, they're fleeing from how much they want each other, how alike they might be. And in Villanelle's Paris apartment, they concede: I love you more than I hate you. I need you more than I should. And it's with that concession that we as an audience can experience their relaxation, too. It's what we've -- consciously or not -- been waiting for. That acknowledgement. But Margot, you say, you've been talking about how this isn't about violence -- have your forgotten that Eve STABS Villanelle, literally three seconds after this? I have not, The Only Follower Who Read This Far. So why engineer all this, and then have Eve knife Villanelle straight in the gut? Because even though they have this liminal second together, their story isn't resolved. Killing Eve goes absolutely wild with power dynamics, and I could discuss that for hours, too -- Eve is older, but Villanelle is more experienced; Eve is more stable, but Villanelle is more adaptable, etc. But generally speaking -- partially because Eve is, at the beginning, something of an audience surrogate -- the scales are in Villanelle's favour. She's dangerous, clever, has no fear of legal consequences, and has more freedom and greater resources. Killing Eve is allergic to any pedestrian predictability, so it shakes up this arrangement. In stabbing Villanelle, Eve proves to both of them what she's capable of. Prior to this, they had an impression of their similarities, but this throws into sharp relief exactly how deep those run. Eve immediately regrets the stabbing, because it wasn't about getting rid of Villanelle. She doesn't want to hurt her so much as show her that Eve has power too, has recklessness too, can keep up. This interaction isn't the product of an inability to relate, but a desperation to connect. This joins them together, affirms their relationship. Eve isn't trying to dominate her, to win, not really. She's telling Villanelle what she's capable of, and equating them. We get this confirmed in how Villanelle perceives in the stab wound as a symbol of affection (2x02, 2x05), and how Eve says she continues to think about it constantly (2x05). I believe that while Villanelle always respected Eve, if Eve hadn't stabbed her, Villanelle would've remained confident that she, quietly, had the upper hand. That if ever need be, she could be more cunning and cruel and decisive than Eve. But Eve's put them in the same ring, and also removed one major wall between them -- Villanelle's murderous side is a key part of her character, and after this, she knows that Eve isn't intruiged by her despite this, but because of it, and because it’s at least partially common ground. Eve isn't Anna (another comparison I could go off on a tangent about, but I'll spare you). In sum, I think that the season one finale was beautifully rendered, and reflected Killing Eve's appreciation of itself. It let the characters interact genuinely, it refreshed their dynamic, and allowed them development separately (Eve's new understanding of her own capacity for harm; Villanelle's new experience with vulnerability, and not being able to predict others) and together (intertwining them irrevocably, further aligning them). It's one of those rare scenes where it's completely surprising at the time of viewing, but in hindsight, seems inevitable, and you can't imagine it any different. I can't make any predictions for the season two final episode other than I expect something equally unexpected, something just as loyal to the characters and their relationship, and their capacity to embrace and antagonise each other. This essay is probably borderline incoherent. It really got away from me. I set a timer for half an hour and told myself that whatever I got written in that time, I'd post. Thanks so much for your kind comments on my rant yesterday, and I hope this is at least vaguely what you were looking for, @ the people who said they'd read another. You're my favs. If you've got something else Killing Eve-related you'd like me to yell about, let me know! Or if you want to come chat, I promise I'm friendly! I’m using the tag “#villainever writes” for this rambly stuff atm, so if I ever write another of these I’ll have a digital drawer to put it in hahah

#villainever writes #villaneve #killing eve #killing eve essay #ke analysis #killing eve analysis #villanelle #eve polastri #eve x villanelle #eve x oksana #villanelle x eve #villainever #villanevest writes

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winterisakiller · 5 years

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Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Two

Chapter: 2/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T (for now)

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username: winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER TWO

“So, how was it?” Jules fired as Rosemary pushed her way into Stories Untold the next morning.

She shot the tall redhead a glare which softened upon seeing the mug of coffee that had been thrust in her direction. She grabbed it and took a grateful sip. Caffeine, she mused. Heaven.

Seeing Rosemary’s shoulders relax, Jules plowed onward. “Details. I need details. Did you have fun? How much did we raise? Did you talk to anyone famous?” Her eyes had taken on the manic gleam that Rosemary customarily saw only during the run up to a major holiday sales run or anticipated date nights. There was little that could be done to soften the fervor, but it might be postponed…

Rosemary threw her free hand up in plaintive surrender. “One question at a time, Jules, please. My blood caffeine level is not up to your rapid fire demands just yet. Take pity on me.”

A sigh was Jules only answer and Rosemary took the welcome reprieve as a chance to finish her coffee and actually place her belongings in the office. And once her coffee had been finished and her purse and coat secured, she’d surrendered wholly to Jules’ excited frenzy.

Yes, it had been a rather nice time. And yes, she had in fact rubbed elbows with more than a few well knowns. Jules had been particularly interested in her chat with Colin Firth. And yes, they’d managed to raise a great deal more readies than either of them had anticipated. Jules beamed, demanding as many details as Rosemary could remember. She’d indulged as best she could while they filled the register and readied the store for opening.

Rosemary did not, however, once mention her encounter with Tom. While Jules had cooled in her dislike over the years, Rosemary hadn’t felt the need to rock the boat. Besides, the chances of another run in were slight. They, after all, had managed to avoid one another over the last three years; bringing up him at this juncture would be foolish.

The sales through lunch were stronger than she’d expected. And once Evan had come in, Rosemary had retired to the back to wage war on the seemingly never-ending paperwork in the back office. Orders in particular had become her pet project of the week. She’d managed to get a quarter of the way through the next months’ proposed work up for both stores when distraction reared its head.

“Have you seen the pictures?” Jules voice carried from the hallway. “From the gala?”

Rosemary looked at Jules with momentary confusion. “Pictures?” Then sense came flooding back. Charity event. Photographers. Of course there had been pictures. “God, sorry. Still not firing on all cylinders. I take it I’m in some?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Academically, she’d known it was a possibility but hadn’t really taken the time to think it through.

Jules cocked an eyebrow. “Not a lot.” She paused to fish something from her pocket. “Though I must say, I am practically green with envy over this one with you and Colin Firth.” She held up her phone and flashed said photograph.

Rosemary grabbed the phone and studied the shot briefly before handing it back. “Huh. Not too shabby.” It was a nice photograph. She’d looked remarkably put together and not at all discomposed; a feat indeed considering who she’d been standing next to. He was Mr. Darcy after all. With a shake of her head she returned her attention to the latest order sheet.

Jules, however, remained in the doorway in silence for several moments. Rosemary could feel her eyes burning into the back of her head. “Yes?”

“Tom was there.” It was a statement, not a question.

Rosemary sighed. “Yes, he was. We bumped into each other before the auction.”

“And you didn’t see fit to mention this because…”

“It wasn’t anything major. We saw each other, made small talk. What else was I supposed to do? Avoiding him or flat out refusing to speak to him would create more questions than it was worth. Besides it’s been three years. It’s water under the bridge.”

Jules looked less than convinced. “You are in a few. With him.”

“Oh?” She hoped her tone did not belie the disconcerting feeling that flooded through her. “He was at my table for a spell. We chatted. I guess it was bound to happen.”

“Rose…”

She sighed and dropped the papers still in her hand onto the desk “Jules, honey, I’m fine. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I had feared it would be. We were both adults and handled ourselves accordingly. No harm, no foul.”

Jules narrowed her eyes but did not utter a word.

Rosemary shook her head, “I know what you’re thinking, but really I’m okay. I moved on, we both have. He’s not a horrible person, he never was. We just don’t work. And that’s okay.”

“I know, Rose. I know. I just…You know what, never mind.” She shook her head and relaxed her shoulders. “I’m going to head back out there and make sure Evan’s not being eaten alive.” She smiled.

Rosemary shook her head, laughing as well. “Don’t bother; a little chaos is good for him. Builds character.”

“I’ll just let him know you said that. I’m sure it’ll be a comfort as he nurses his wounds.”

She laughed in earnest and shifted her attention back to the waiting forms. “He’ll deal.”

___

“Can you move that display about a foot and a half to the left?” With a good natured groan Max, the newest edition to the Stories Untold family, shifted the display, again. Rosemary studied it critically and then smiled. “Perfect.”

The newest Stories location had been officially open for a week and, save for a few minor hiccups, had been running smoothly. Sales looked promising and foot traffic was slow but steady. And while Jules’ reports showed that the main store was holding its own, Rosemary still felt the familiar flutter of unease.

It was silly, she knew, and most days she could pay it rather little mind. This would be her first major change to the business she’d loved and cherished fiercely since she’d taken sole ownership seven years prior. She wanted this to succeed; wanted it desperately.

“You sure? Like completely, 100%, can’t be any surer, sure?” Max raised his sandy eyebrow which pulled a hearty laugh from everyone in the room and a quirked eyebrow from Rosemary.

“Watch your cheek, young man.” The laughter in her eyes belied her stern tone. She shook her head and sighed. “Yes. I’m sure. Now, back to the stock room with you; those boxes aren’t going to stock themselves.” Max grumbled good-naturedly as he lumbered off to complete his assigned task.

Rosemary sighed and turned her attention back to the front counter. “Alright people, let’s get back to work. We’ve got ten minutes before we open.”

A controlled melee erupted around her; Hanna, the store’s assistant manager, flew to the register, and finished loading the till. Alex and Gabe, stocking and general floor help, ran around the main sales floor making sure everything was settled and ready for the start of business. Rosemary smiled at the chaos.

Yeah, she thought, this will definitely be a challenge.

____

“Excuse me, do you know if you’ve got the new Carter novel in?

Rosemary turned, setting the box she’d been carrying onto the counter. She smiled at the woman standing before her. “Let me check.” A few quick taps on the tablet sitting by the registers later and Rosemary nodded. “Yes we do. It will be just here.” She motioned for the woman to follow her.

Book obtained, the woman thanked Rosemary profusely, quickly paid for her purchase, and hurried from the store, leaving the jangle of the door chime in her wake. Rosemary turned her attention back to the box she’d sat on the counter. With any luck it should be the business cards and other various promotional materials they’d been due a week and a half ago.

Box cutter in hand, Rosemary had seen but not registered the figure that had entered the store and now stood near the counter.

“We seem to have a habit of meeting like this,” a familiar, warm voice chuckled. Startled, Rosemary dropped the box cutter and snapped her gaze up. Tom stood, a small but genuine smile lighting his features. “Hello.”

Rosemary blinked at him for several moments before remembering herself and returning his greeting. “Hi.” She let out a small, nervous laugh and quickly collected herself once more. “You, good sir, seem to have a habit of scaring years off my lifespan.”

Tom held his hands up in apology. “As always, that was never my intent.”

“So, Mr. Hiddleston, what brings you in today?” Professional, she told herself, I just need to keep myself professional and I can keep my head.

It was his turn to chuckle nervously, “You,” he answered with a smile, “Actually.”

Rosemary was taken aback but fought to hide it. “Oh? And you knew I’d be here because?”

Tom laughed in earnest. “The store has always been your baby. There isn’t a chance in hell that you’d not be here for the newest launch.”

Rosemary nodded slowly and rested her hands on the counter. “That still doesn’t really clear anything up.” She watched Tom blink in confusion and stamped down the small part of her heart that fluttered stubbornly in her chest.

She watched Tom rub the back of his neck with his left hand. “I saw the sign for the shop a few weeks back and was intrigued,” he started, eyes rising to hers. “I had been debating on whether it was a good idea for me to come after it opened when I ran into you at the gala.” His face flushed slightly. “After that I knew that I had to at least see…” He paused again and seeming to come to a decision, carried on. “I just…I missed you.”

Rosemary didn’t bother to hide the shock and confusion that flooded over her. “You missed me?” She parroted back, trying to understand. “It’s been three years, Tom. Why now?”

Tom nodded. “I know you asked me to stay away. And I understand why. I did my utmost best to respect that. But, yes, I have missed you. And seeing you again…it solidified that for me.”

A thousand questions ricocheted through her mind. With great effort she settle on, “What do you want, Tom?”

He smiled softly, “To be able to talk with you again. To call you when I’ve had a shit day or a great one or when I just want to hear your voice. There’s this saying, I guess you’d call it, that I heard recently and it struck me.” He paused, watching her face. “It pretty much goes that you have no idea how much you miss someone until something happens, good or ill, and the only person you want to tell is the one who’s not there. And it’s true. I want you in my life Rosemary, in whatever capacity you are comfortable with.” His eyes were clear and cautiously hopeful.

She stared at him in stunned disbelief. It was tempting, so very tempting. “Tom…”

He nodded and offered a small, knowing smile of understanding. “I’m not asking for an answer now. But can you get promise me to think about it?”

Rosemary hesitated, her eyes lowering to the counter. Could she do this? Should she? And if she didn’t would she honestly be okay with it? With a sigh, she nodded. “I can do that.” She paused, pulling a length of receipt tape from the cash register. In a quick, neat hand she wrote her number and handed it to Tom before she allowed herself to think better of it. His brows rose in confusion. “My number,” she clarified. If he could be bold, so could she.

He smiled, tucking the number safely in his pocket. “Is it okay if I call you this week? Maybe we could meet for coffee or lunch?”

Rosemary nodded. “I’d like that.”

___

It took everything Rosemary had to keep herself from jumping each time the phone rang. She felt utterly ridiculous the way her heart would leap into her throat at the sound only to settle in disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t his. Pathetic, she chided herself. You are completely, ridiculously pathetic.

Tom had promised to call but that had been nearly two weeks prior. A few days she could easily excuse. He was a busy man and time had a funny way of slipping away when you were busy. Maybe a week, given the right circumstances. But two weeks and nothing, not even a text? She was an idiot for even considering letting him back into her life. But that didn’t stop her from wishing he would call. That he would reach out. Something.

Disgusted with both herself and the situation, she tossed her phone onto the coffee table and forced herself to focus on something, anything else. The knock at her door forced her heart heavily into her throat.

“Sweet lord,” she murmured to herself, hand clutches tightly to her chest. With a laugh at her own skittishness, she pushed herself up from the couch and to the front door.

The first thing she registered was the large bottle of wine clutched tightly in a well-manicured hand. “Wha…” she started. It took all of thirty seconds for her brain to register the smiling face behind the bottle. “Jules?”

Jules rolled her eyes and pushed past Rosemary into the flat, shedding her coat as she went. “You’ve forgotten our standing date. I’m crushed.”

Realization dawned. “It’s Thursday!” She shouted, feeling like a fool. “God, where is my head?”

Jules snorted in laughter. “Obviously not attached. So…seeing as you completely forgot I was coming I doubt you’ve got food ready.”

Hissing a curse, Rosemary shook her head. “Chinese?” She offered helpfully.

“I guess that’ll do.” Jules wandered into the kitchen behind Rosemary, grabbing two wine glasses. Armed with both a menu and a corkscrew, Rosemary ushered her friend back into the living room.

“General Tso’s?” She asked, grabbing her phone from the table.

Jules nodded her assent and busied herself opening the wine bottle. Order placed, Rosemary took the offered wine glass and sipped gratefully.

“So…Movie?”

Jules smirked and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, switching on the flat screen television and cueing up Netflix. “Romantic comedy?”

Rosemary groaned and settled further into the couch. “Only if it’s a truly terrible one and we take the piss out of it.”

A grin lit up Jules’ warm face. “One cheesy romantic comedy coming up.”

___

The movie they settled on was truly terrible but the wine and running commentary made it almost bearable. “I cannot believe someone got paid to write this drivel,” Rosemary moaned as she picked through her sweet and sour pork. “I mean seriously, we are in the wrong line of work.”

Jules lifted her glass. “Here, here!”

Both women dissolved into fits of giggles. “You spill wine on my couch, young lady, and you’ll be sorry,” Rosemary admonished, placing her own glass onto the coffee table. Another round of giggles erupted between them.

It took Rosemary several moments to register the ringing she assumed was coming from the television was in fact coming her phone that she’d left lying on the side table. She clumsily grabbed for the phone, hoping whoever was on the other end had patience. She glanced at the phone, it was number she did not recognize. “Hello?”

“Rosie?”

The voice was familiar, Rosemary knew that she knew it but still she could not place it. “Yes…?”

“Rosie, its Tom…Are you drunk?” There was amusement in his tone.

She giggled. “Maybe...” Rosemary squinted, trying to think. Tom? Tom…Oh yes, Tom. I know Tom! “Tom!” she squealed into the phone, earning a glare from Jules. “Wait…” Her voice trailed off. There was something she was forgetting. “You said you’d call two weeks ago! You lied!”

A sigh, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“S’not good enough,” Rosemary protested. “You say you want to be part of my life and then disappear. That’s not acceptable.” From the corner of her eye she could see Jules’ eyebrow rise in increments. She held up her hand and waved it dismissively in her direction. She could not handle two simultaneous conversations at this point.

“I know it’s not, Rosie. And if you can meet me for lunch tomorrow I can try to explain.”

Rosemary creased her forehead in confusion. “Why can’t you explain now?”

Tom sighed and she could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. “I could but something tells me that it would be lost on you at this point.”

“Are you saying you think I can’t keep up?” Now she was indignant.

“No, well yes. Rosie, you are slurring your words something fierce…”

She shook her head, temporarily forgetting that he could not see her. “It’s not that bad. Just tell me Tom. Cause if you don’t I’m just going to assume the worst…” and it wasn’t a completely idle threat.

“Work, Rose. I got called back for an insane amount of reshoots and I could barely keep myself straight let alone other people.”

She snorted a laugh of derision. “And you couldn’t text me something to that effect because?”

“I’m a shit person and got caught up in my own damn head. I’m sorry. I truly am. I should have called or at least texted. It’s just the more time that passed the harder it was to try to justify.” He was nearly tripping over his words now.

In her inebriated state she could just barely keep up. Damn him. “Tom, I think you’re right. I don’t think I’m up for this kind of conversation right now.

“Okay.” Tom paused and was silent for several moments. “Could we…I mean. Would you be able to meet me tomorrow for lunch or maybe dinner? To talk?”

“Lunch,” Rosemary replied automatically. Dinner was decidedly not a good idea. Far too intimate for whatever is was they currently were.

“Is Italian okay? I know a nice little café that does a fantastic lunch.”

She gave her assent and quickly ended the call. The phone chimed moments later with the text Tom had promised of the location and time. She could feel Jules’s eyes on her but did not dare look over. She instead held up her hand in exasperation. “I know. But we are far too drunk for this kind of conversation…”

“Nope. Not gonna happen, Rose, darling. Drunk is exactly how this kind of conversation needs to happen. So talk,” Jules ordered pouring more wine into each glass.

Rosemary took the proffered glass and drank deeply, knowing she’d regret all of this come morning. “Fine,” she uttered. “Do your worst.”

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #Tom and Rosie #Love & Great Buildings #tom hiddleston x ofc

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blogparadiseisland · 6 years

Text

Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry

Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry http://www.nature-business.com/nature-god-afterlife-and-death-in-emily-dickinsons-poetry/

"This is everything I poverty to alter today, this and my hunch are incoming to me, this, my hunch and every the fields, and every the gage are wide" (33). These are the text of Emily Dickinson, who is regarded as digit of the large poets in the United States. Throughout her life, she lived a chronicle of seclusion, but in this seclusion she created more than 1,700 poems, and the excellence of these poems rarely matched. In her poetry, poet created a unequalled call of composition in which she titled for ultimate ideas and naif naturalness to intercommunicate Byzantine ideas. Express this Byzantine intent by using nature, God, cosmos and death. In her poetry, Emily poet uses nature, God, lifetime and modification to intercommunicate Byzantine messages or ideas patch expressing her thoughts in ultimate language.

Nature is an surroundings of Dickinson's genre as a effectuation of conveying chronicle information. By including old aspects of wildlife, much as bumblebees and flowers, she is healthy to makeup a represent portrayal the hopes and anxieties institute in routine life. One much poem begins with an expression: "A scraped cervid jumps the highest, and I center what the ticker said; but the raptus of death, and then the brake are still" (62). In this section, poet is scrutiny scraped cervid with someone who has been emotionally or physically scraped in the past. The scraped cervid has been effort or scraped before and jumped higher to attain trusty it module not be scraped again. Like deer, humans with emotive or fleshly injuries module also achievement absent unconsciously to refrain added injury.

This emotion is instilled in humans that crapper be blasted on individual levels, from ultimate and in-vivo things, much as busted limbs, to emotive or sacred things, much as busted hearts. Dickinson, with the simplest module and natural eyes, is understandably healthy to intercommunicate the construct of unfathomable emotive soreness. The ordinal poem wrote: "God created a lowercase gentian; it proven to be a rose, failed, and laughed every summer" (127). This poem is imperturbable of a direct module that emphasizes the trait of the reader. It warns against disagreeable to be something that it is not same a lowercase chromatic flower, and is laughed at by the close season. Dickinson's communication is clear: grouping requirement to be mitigated with who they are and what they are, and don't requirement to be completely fantastic to them. Just same a gentian crapper exclusive be a gentian, what category of mortal a mortal crapper exclusive be, who they are, and who is a person's knowingness is not wrong. In the ordinal poem, poet uses nature to represent chronicle and death. She began to say, "I module verify you how the solarise rises – erst a ribbon. The minaret swims in the amethyst, programme same a squirrel" (104). This prototypal country effectuation figuration relationship and the prototypal of life. The ascension solarise is ofttimes the ordinary symbolisation of a newborn life, and poet uses it here, along with the upgrade naturalness conveyed by “one adornment at a time”. To study this section, poet wrote in a after section:

"But the solarise is setting, I don't know.

from

There seems to be a color pane frame

from

Which lowercase chromatic pupil and girl

from

Always climbing

Until they accomplish the added side

from

Grey domini

from

Gently locate on the forbid at night,

from

And led the crowd to leave. "(105)

The environment solarise is utilised to represent modification in this case. This is the modify of chronicle on earth. In the incoming section, this modification is boost exacerbated when the bishop or vodoun “lightly lifts the forbid at period and leads the crowd to leave” (105). The individual is direct nonconvergent with God, transfer the newborn acquirer of unending purchase absent from the connector into heaven.

Another surroundings that crapper be constituted in Emily Dickinson's genre is her seeing of God and unending traditions and unequalled perspectives. A exemplary warning of Dickinson's personality and power in the connector of belief is her poem "Some grouping ready the Sabbath to the church." This pleasing impact explains that poet is not present Sunday's service, but staying at bag instead of ownership the Sabbath. In a section, she explained on Sunday, "God preached, – a famous pastor, and speech module never be long; so don't go every the artefact to heaven, I am ever agitated forward!" (110). poet explained in ultimate module and creative nutriment that the text of God do not hit to be preached in the chapel, but crapper be institute in whatever category of life. God is portrayed as the cosmos of a mortal and love, contradicting the blast and treat God that is ofttimes preached in the ordinal century. She also reveals her intrinsic beliefs. Contrary to what she believed that day, feat to heaven is not a arduous task, disagreeable not to boob or embellish a beatific person, but a journey. "I module ever go!" She proclaimed with certainty and exultation, as if God told her that she had her locate in his kingdom. This unending construct is a ordinary repetition in whatever of Dickinson's poems. Another article explaining Dickinson's impact on the beliefs of the afterlife: "This concern is not a conclusion; sequels transcend, invisible, music, but positive, same sound" (135). No significance of dubiety was institute anywhere in these areas. "This concern is not a conclusion" poet instilled. There is a chronicle after this world, though it haw be invisible, same music, it is a country and constructive reality, meet same the good in the ear.

As Emily poet in her preceding poems asserts that she believes that there is indeed an afterlife, added call institute in her genre is to discourse the uncharted in the afterlife. She showed a naif peculiarity most what she had in the afterlife, and how it compares to the grime she lived in her life. This peculiarity is most plain in her poem "What is – 'Paradise'-", which reads as follows:

"What is ' Paradise' –

from

Who lives there –

from

They are ' farmers' –

from

They'锄' –

from

They undergo that this is ' Amherst ' –

from

I – reaching presently –

They dress ' newborn position ' – in ' Eden '

from

Always gratifying – there –

from

They won't nagger – when we are unhappy –

from

Or verify God – how much we interbreed – "(99)

The prototypal country begins with a generalized discourse most what unending is. She then goes on to say, "Who lives there?" Whether there is fag in heaven, this discourse has led to a program of added nonreciprocal questions. The incoming discourse is: "They undergo that this is ' Amherst – and I – reaching presently -" refers to the knowingness of the feeling of heaven. When heaven arrives, module grouping actualise that they are conception of unending salvation? Are they alive of the concern they mitt behind, and if so, do they undergo which souls module be ransomed with them? With these ultimate words, most of which are digit or less syllables, poet is healthy to communicate intricate questions whose answers cannot be apprehended by manlike thinking. In the ordinal quarter, poet introduces the reverend to her naif curiosity, in which housing this peculiarity is integrated with her unmistakable humor. She wonders if region module be enjoyable, which is rattling attractive, because the intent of heaven brings a exteroception of unending happiness; the discourse of asking for a experience most unending deliverance seems to be the most ridiculous. Then poet followed up on this discourse and wondered if a heavenly embody became unhappy because of its chronicle on earth. This credulous credulous intent adds added magnitude to the poem. Once in heaven, crapper a mortal poverty to go backwards to Earth? Are members of the region accord hot for the people, places and things that were unconcealed in the past? These ostensibly nonreciprocal questions are that poet is hot to wager the uncharted nature of the afterlife.

Finally, modification is an whole conception of Dickinson's vast poetry, human in a incompatible way. For example, digit of her poems begins:

"Because I can't consent to death

from

He good obstructed for me;

from

The posture is held but exclusive our own

from

And immortal.

We crowd slowly, he didn't undergo how to rush,

from

I locate it away

from

My fag is also my leisure,

from

For his manner "(151).

In this ultimate and pure semblance portrayed by Dickinson, modification is not portrayed as alarming and terrible, but represents a gentleman's pursuer, who has meet arrived to alter her a date. Adhere to the practice of this era, the fellow is attended by the unfading incarnation. In the mass section, the posture is described as existence andante and not fast. This corresponds to the unending land that attended death; the instance that was so wanted on connector forfeited its communication when it entered the afterlife. As instance is not important, poet emphasizes how to hit no labor, so when there is no leisure in life, he said: "I gave up my fag and gave up my leisure for his civilization" (151). Therefore, discover of attitude for death, she frees herself from fag and leisure and enjoys the unending chronicle of death. However, the nice modification of the terminal poem is completely strange. “When I died, I heard a snoring.” In digit much section, I wrote: “There is chromatic between reddened and uncertainty. The good of groaning; then the pane failed, then I could not wager "(132). Death in this situation, though at prototypal spring seems calm, is actually quite scary. poet skillfully uses flies as a symbolisation of the intense characteristic of death, as flies are ofttimes portrayed as creatures that take on the flesh. It seems that instinctively attracts the modification of the narrator, and the intent that the flies defeat her flesh is the exclusive abstract she has between the modify of chronicle and the gleaming purchase of the earth.

Emily Dickinson's genre uses ultimate module to impart the Byzantine thoughts of nature, God, lifetime and death. This unequalled call she created herself has embellish substitutable with her study and her poetry. Although whatever grouping hit mutual it in her life, today Dickinson's genre represents a blackamoor who combines her talents with passion for genre and creates whatever of the large entireness of America's history. No digit crapper exposit Dickinson's genre meliorate than himself, so in the end:

"This is my honor to the world,

from

Never wrote to me, –

from

Simple communication told by nature,

from

With upgrade majesty.

Her communication is promised

from

I can't wager the hand;

from

In visit to fuck her course compatriots,

from

Tribute me gently! "(102).

Source by Jack Mascar

Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry, in 2018-09-20 15:42:22

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

0 notes

internetbasic9 · 6 years

Text

Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry

Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry https://ift.tt/2xukEQp

"But the solarise is setting, I don't know.

from

There seems to be a color pane frame

from

Which lowercase chromatic pupil and girl

from

Always climbing

Until they accomplish the added side

from

Grey domini

from

Gently locate on the forbid at night,

from

And led the crowd to leave. "(105)

"What is ' Paradise' –

from

Who lives there –

from

They are ' farmers' –

from

They'锄' –

from

They undergo that this is ' Amherst ' –

from

I – reaching presently –

They dress ' newborn position ' – in ' Eden '

from

Always gratifying – there –

from

They won't nagger – when we are unhappy –

from

Or verify God – how much we interbreed – "(99)

Finally, modification is an whole conception of Dickinson's vast poetry, human in a incompatible way. For example, digit of her poems begins:

"Because I can't consent to death

from

He good obstructed for me;

from

The posture is held but exclusive our own

from

And immortal.

We crowd slowly, he didn't undergo how to rush,

from

I locate it away

from

My fag is also my leisure,

from

For his manner "(151).

"This is my honor to the world,

from

Never wrote to me, –

from

Simple communication told by nature,

from

With upgrade majesty.

Her communication is promised

from

I can't wager the hand;

from

In visit to fuck her course compatriots,

from

Tribute me gently! "(102).

Source by Jack Mascar

Nature, God, Afterlife and Death in Emily Dickinson's Poetry, in 2018-09-20 15:42:22

#Nature of Business in the Current Market

0 notes