#i've been looking for this poem because this line was stuck in my head

[telemi]

I've always been so scared of requesting a fic idea because like- what if I say something wrong... but, I got enough courage to do it anyways!

So genshin actor au!(your choice) With a reader who's casted as a villain. During one of the scenes reader has to step on said-character and degrade/insult them and the character accidentally says "that's hot" reader stays in character and kicks them,

(P.s! Doesnt need to be suggestive but, just an embarassing moment for character)

- moraless anon

AAAA i admire your courage please don't be scared to send requests we (writers) really love people like you >< /// ALSOO, i'm really sorry for the delay i was having writer’s block TT

𖦹 — dumb conversations, pent-up frustrations, what more could you find in this career of yours?

love me not 𖦹.. ✈️ ৎ୭ ʿ — ガイア

꒰ featuring ! ꒱ kaeya x gn!reader ?!

꒰ cw ! ꒱ actor!kaeya, actor!reader, usage of pet names, swearing, degradation, modern au ?!

you stare mindlessly at the script presented to you, reading every line like you’re going through a short poem. within a blink of an eye, you set the piece of paper down and stretch your body to relax the tense muscles. without knowing, a tall figure looms in from behind you. with a hearty chuckle and a firm hand placed on your shoulder, you could already guess who the mysterious person is — kaeya.

“how are you doing today, sweetheart?” he winks at you and you shrug him off, giving him a short side glance before stepping away from him. “fine.” oh to give you a short background info, this man is kaeya alberich, your co-worker for this movie. he plays a major role in this movie and his fans adore him from worldwide.

though they were especially hyped when he got to film this project with you. you’re a fresh actor who’s never gotten into a film this big. it’s not that bad right?..wrong, fans suspect that you two are involved in a romantic relationship because of the way he treats you, and the last thing you could do is avoid the said man because you don’t want to risk your career being demolished by his angry mob of fans. despite this, it gave the people some sort of excitement on how you two would work together.

“oh what’s with the cold face? i didn’t do anything wrong did i?” he walks from behind you and you shake your head ‘no’. well, it’s no use dwelling on this matter at this point in time. it has been done and you just have to be on friendly terms with the said man. he decides to probe into your mind and figure out more about you, so he catches up to you in no time and places a hand on your shoulder once again.

“come now i–” a light smack erupted from your hand to his. with a heavy sigh, you turn to him. “i don’t understand kaeya. why me? why pester me out of all the people you could encounter out there?” your fierce gaze doesn’t break and all he could do was simply chuckle and take your hand in his. “is it enough to say that i’m interested in you?” he hums and observes the flabbergasted expression adorned on your face. “are you crazy?! surely you’ve heard the rumors about us, right?” you hiss quietly, making sure that this conversation is stuck between the two of you.

his eyes dart elsewhere, then back to you. “what about it?” he asks nonchalantly. before you could even speak again, he fake gasps. “ohh, don’t tell me you’re bothered because of the rumors,” his eyes light up like a light bulb and you grumble. “y/n, listen. if i like someone, my fans will adore them in return. if i hate someone, they’ll hate them. you, in fact, are that special someone and i like you. so don’t worry about anything.” he assures you before fixing his clothes and brushing off the wrinkles on his top.

“i–” you began, but he cuts you off quickly by pointing his index finger to the arranged set. “hush now, we have a movie to finish.”

“hmm, no, this won’t do.” the director cuts the scene and ponders intensely while looking at the script. while they were busy with that, you look at kaeya before turning back to stare at the wall — and for some reason, he caught you staring. “you okay there?” he asks teasingly, folding his arms against his chest. “yes, thank you for asking.” you bring back that tone that he oh-so loved about you. he decides to rile you up even more. his eyes flicker to the corner of the room, hmm?, maybe you’ll even receive a bonus because of this.

he treads his way in front of you, confident and superior, that’s the aura that he gives off right now. “i’m starting to think you’re no good at this,” he says, index placed on his lips while relishing the annoyed expression plastered on your face. it even seemed like you would smack him right there and then for saying such an insult to your career. “excuse me? i know full well what i’m doing.” you send him a glare and he puts his hands up, jokingly. “oh no, i’m scared.” his lips form into a moue, mocking and sarcastic, his tone laced with distaste.

is this how he’s going to play now? bring it on then.

“listen, i don’t like playing games here kaeya, so hurry up and say it. say what you don’t like about me.” you push a finger to his chest and push him harshly. “go on. spit,” a harsh force hits his chest. “it,” and another one. “out.” the back of his knees hits the flat of the chair and he flops hard on the wooden material. then, your shoe lands on his chest, not too heavy but not too light either. your hands that were previously gripping the frame of the chair is now holding kaeya’s tie. pulling it against you and scowling at him in disgust as if he was some sort of trash.

“i’ve wanted to say this for so long but gosh, you’re so. fucking. annoying, alberich.” oh wow. is this even the y/n that he knows? i mean he’s not complaining but this entire scene is so hot. “oh– ah, can i take a break? wOAH—!” you kick the chair without warning and he falls down roughly, landing on his bottom afterwards. hmph, serves you right. you frown at the pitiful sight of him rubbing his hips.

just then, you could hear cheers erupting from the crew. they looked... satisfied? what’s happening? “cut! that was perfect, are you sure you’re a rookie, y/n?” the director smiles and wonders in curiosity. “huh? oh– yes!” you’re confused and overwhelmed, this all feels so new to you. it’s like the feeling you got when you first started acting.

“haaaa.. i knew you were good but i didn’t think you’d go that harsh on me.” kaeya sighs heavily before standing up on his two feet, shifting his position to look at you straight in the eye. “what? are you saying this is all a—”

“an act, yes. the cameras started rolling long before you could even notice.” he chuckles and points back to the cameras all around you. oh, an act? an act?! you spewed out all your pent-up anger from earlier and now you’re embarrassed. world, please bury me.

“haha, don’t worry. the things you did earlier were just the type of stuff i was looking for! great job. and besides,” his lips stay on the shell of your ear and he whispers. “i now know that i have to work hard for your heart to accept me.”

#kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya alberich x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin headcanons #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #genshin

[gloriousmonsters]

what is the new book concept?? (if you don’t mind sharing — but if you do mind it’s ok not to reply)

also what is that font you used btw? is there a full alphabet somewhere and if so would you mind sharing the link? i like that it’s a very understated gothic-looking serif. or very calligraphic looking i guess

sure thing!! with the understanding it's a lot more half-baked than most of the ideas I've been talking about, so i'm going to briefly walk you through the few ideas that went into it before explaining (also briefly) what it is so far, lol. Also, the font is Fondamento - it was one of the fonts available in Photopea (free online photoshop-like) which I used to make the cover, but it looks like it's also on Google Fonts. If you want to know how I did the bronze metallic-ink-ish look for the text I can expound on that as well, btw, or you can just enjoy the font :)

So I've been having a resurgence of my Tempest emotions

(for those who are unfamiliar. i would summarize it, but it would take a long time. just. find a summary and read it with a MASSIVE grain of salt that's labeled 'prospero is an asshole and nobody understands Caliban but tumblr user gloriousmonsters and the poet Robert Browning')

and this time reading it was especially having fun with the parallels between Caliban and Miranda's characters and also thinking about how EXTREMELY weird and screwed up their relationship would have been growing up.

Despite interpretations/stories based on it sometimes having it otherwise, in canon neither of them seem to have ever seen or spoken to Ariel (at least in capacity as A Person You Can Talk to; Caliban is more aware of the spirits Prospero commands in abstract, at least). Aside from Prospero, who is notoriously not good at being present for what he's supposed to be looking after, they are the only human being the other one knows. It's serving twisted Eden vibes. It's serving tmg's 'the last man on earth'. it's serving 'not that Prospero would have encouraged it, but to an extent they must have seen each other as family, right? especially in Miranda's case, considering she grew up her entire life with him. the psuedoincest is off the charts'. Then shit goes bad (in whatever way you want to interpret) and now suddenly they're in a place of seeing each other daily, because Caliban does literally everything around the place, but having an uncrossable rift of mutual hurt and betrayal between them* that has little choice but to curdle and get worse because neither of them can do anything to change their situation. Depending on how lines are assigned, they never speak to each other in the play. And they have nobody else to talk to save for cursing out Prospero (Caliban) or trying to get in two words between Prospero's monologues (Miranda). And then the play events happen and they just part ways because Prospero has decided it, after probably expecting they'd be stuck in this forever. And then the next-to-only person you've ever known is on a different landmass and you're probably never going to see them again. it's So fucked.

Anyway I was revolving all of that with quiet awe in my head, and going 'man, I want to write a fucked up Caliban/Miranda book, but I don't have a non-play plot and I don't want to just write a prequel'

Then I encountered Caliban upon Setebos for the first time, and despite the fact i could still nitpick some things it slaps insanely. Only good Tempest fanfiction. It's a long poem consisting of Caliban theorizing about Setebos--a god his mother supposedly got her witch powers from, but that Caliban knows very little about. He theorizes that Setebos is either indifferent or malignant or both--impossible to predict, driven by whim. The only other divine force is 'the Quiet', an even more inhuman and incomprehensible force that doesn't do anything at all; cosmology is cruel, the world a sandbox under the eye of a god with as many arms as a cuttlefish, capricious and sadistic, whom we can only hope will someday grow decrepit and sleep, which is the closest to it being dead we can pray for--

It was about this point I realized Caliban/Browning was inventing the Lovecraft mythos 50ish years ahead of schedule, and got hit by the lightning bolt of 'PUT ELDRITCH BEINGS IN IT' and, five seconds later 'CALIBAN DESERVES TO BE A MAGICIAN' and five seconds after that 'miranda deserves to break out of being her father's Perfect child, let's set it in the future and kill Prospero off'

So Bitter Heart (taken from a line in the poem, 'Caliban/a bitter heart that bides its time') is conceptually a dual perspective novella/short novel focused on how about nine years after the conclusion of The Tempest, Miranda (unmarried, I'll handwave it; Ferdinand bores me so much sorry dude) finds her father dead and surrounded by rambling half-incomprehensible notes, remnants of a type of magic that's far different from his old ways, and a creeping sense of Wrongness that begins to slowly manifest in distortion, mutation and decay of elements of reality. People search for solutions while Miranda tries to find the source of the bizarre power in her father's notes and what hidden books she can unearth from his study, but she hasn't made it very far before a man comes to Milan at the behest of someone who's decided we should throw magic at the magic problem--a man she's heard rumors of as the hot new 'guy you keep in your court for a bit to show him off at parties because he's learned and also Moorish or something, he has this crazy backstory that's probably fake but is a lot of fun, also he does magic probably' in other cities, but never met.

A man who, when they meet face to face, turns out to be Caliban, who after about a year of 'finally peace and quiet' realized that living completely alone on an island was going to drive him insane and also he still really wanted revenge on Prospero (and had a lot of ambiguous ideas about what he wanted from Miranda) so he scraped together what Prospero had left behind and taught himself magic for the next few years until he could figure out a way off the island. He's extremely annoyed that after that, and after spending more years building himself up and finding his footing in the outside world, Prospero had the nerve to die RIGHT before he showed up, even if he wasn't promised a reward if he can stop people's arms from turning into fishes and shit he'd find out what did it so he can give it a piece of his mind. Miranda understandably never planned for this scenario and has a really hard time knowing what to feel about it, but she and Caliban form a tentative truce in order to try and figure out wtf Prospero was doing before he croaked.

There'll be intercut flashbacks to their past and the time they spent becoming incredibly codependent and eventually tipping into confused romantic attraction and sexual experimentation, which both of them have tried very hard to convince themselves was a bad idea for one reason or another, it clearly wasn't and will never be good for them, etc; and of course in present day they both immediately resume having bitter gothic sexual tension and trying to ignore the instinct that, now they've met each other again, they're the only two real people in a world of dreams and spirits.

Also they have to find the entrance to an eldritch realm and figure out what's coming through and how to stop it, and have a lot of insanely weird and pretentious thoughts/conversations about God and sin and abuse and vengeance/hatred and so on. So that's the mess Bitter Heart is at the moment :P

*ymmv may vary on how justified on either side depending on the situation, obviously

#vic talks #some do it for enjoyment; others for employment #bitter heart #this is SO long and messy i can't look at it any longer -_- hopefully it's semi comprehensible

[stopthatfool]

Concerning getting to know one's fic writer, inquiring minds must know: 8, 16 & 18

Inquiring minds would also like you to choose one question you're hoping someone will ask and answer it! (It always pains me when I desperately want to discuss something, but the prompt is never picked! So, pick that question! :])

Thank youu, I can't wait to learn more about your writing process!! <3

Woodsy!! Thank you so much for the ask (omg i'm so excited to answer these)!!

8. Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or ending of a story?

Hmmmm... I think when it comes to fic writing I like the middle. Because i can just keep adding things and I don't have to worry about tying it all together to actually mean something. And the beginning is very intimidating. It's like the first page of new notebook or sketchbook. And the ending is very scary too, cuz that means it's over!

It's interesting though because whenever I watch movies, TV shows etc., etc., I always like the first movie/episode/season the best!

16. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Share one of them?

I have kind of a one track mind when it comes to writing, so I'm pretty much only thinking of Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee that you bought me. and that 'universe' (omfg why did i pick such a long name). BUT! I have been playing around with the idea of telling this story through the perspective of Ice... I would love to get up all inside his head and figure him out!

I've also been thinking about like a 'prequel' to this story. Like what happened in '86 and when 'my' Mav and Ice taught at TOP GUN together. I, of course, have ideas and I have alluded to what their relationship looked like in flashbacks and some of Mav's internal monologue, but I think eventually I would love to actually put it in writing and map it all out.

18. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process? How do you come up with these titles?

I came up with the title of this fanfic during the writing process! And all of the titles are lines from Richard Siken's Crush-- which i had just finished rereading as I was writing the first part of the first chapter. The line "Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee that you bought me." really stuck out to me as I was thinking about IceMav, because I've always really liked Val Kilmer's teeth (which sounds weird as i type it out.... but it's purely from an artistic standpoint and fascination). So the jeep that Ice has in the fic, along with the coffee scene after Mav is let out from the hospital were really inspired from this line!

As for the chapter titles, I decided to keep going with the Richard Siken theme. Whenever I need a break from writing, typing, or editing, that's when I begin to brainstorm chapter titles. I'll look back at my fav lines that I wrote down, or I'll just straight up reread poems to find something that fits whatever things are happening in that chapter.

Initially, chapter 6's title was "Dear Forgiveness, I saved a plate for you" because of the first scene when Mav holds out a plate for Bradley. It wasn't until guns were brought up for like the third time that I changed the title to "It's a down right shoot-em-up."

Anyway! Long story short, it's just a process of going back and forth and reading poetry!

14. How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from emotional experience?

(the question i picked myself) I absolutely feel what the characters feel and draw from my personal experiences!! Most of Bradley's expressions of anxiety and sadness is inspired from my own teenage self (which was absolutely traumatic to look back on). Along with Bradley wearing Carole's old bracelet and Nick's old t-shirt!

One of my biggest goals within this story (along with other things), was to make these characters more human and really focus on their struggles-- therefore i write about things i know, aka my own personal experiences. Which can sometimes make things difficult to write, but usually it's okay!

Thank you so much for the ask Woodsy!! This was so much fun!! <333

#stopthatfools obsession with Richard Siken makes another appearance #i just think val kilmer's teeth are neat #they're so straight #and they fit really nice in his face #so cuz i like Ice's teeth so does Mav #maybe i shouldn't be going to art school #maybe i should be a dentist instead #icemav #iceman #maverick #top gun #top gun 1986 #icemav fanfic #your jeep. your teeth. the coffee that you bought me. #writing ask game #stopthatfool writes #stopthatfool goes crazy and explodes

[nullcanary]

15, 26, 32 for the writer asks! :3

Sorry it took so long to answer, but I've really been chewing on the line that has stuck with me and I may have gone a little overboard.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

Yes, I write in the margins as well as underline/highlight phrases that stick out. I used to dog-ear pages, but I now have plenty of bookmarks that I regularly use. I read in the bath and at the pool. I do not judge people who do these things. Yes, let's be friends 💌

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

Getting in: Firstly, I'll listen to voice lines, read related canon material. I'll emulate their gestures, facial expressions, and tone of voice. Act them out.

Next, Disco Elysium skills helped out with this one a bit because it really helps to pick apart a character's inner dialogue and mind map. What are the strengths and weaknesses in their intellect, psyche, physique, and motorics? How do they play off each other? How do they clash?

I'll use a grounding technique to settle into my setting: Identifying 5 things said character can see, 4 things they can touch, 3 things they can hear, 2 things they can smell, and 1 thing they can taste.Try to fit into their skin, try to imagine thinking like them.

From there, I try to imagine the emotion they both are trying to convey and conceal. What are they feeling? How do they respond to physical touch? What burdens them? What spark drives them forward? What do they fear most? What do they crave most? If they're in a position of power, how do they maintain control?

Getting out: Crafting something with my hands. Going for a long walk outside. Making a warm cup of tea. Listening to some vinyls. Essentially, separating myself from the character and it's associated media. 

Regret: Oh, but of course…

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

This will not just be a single line. The entire chapter might have been able to exist outside of the story. It feels like a painting, which is fitting given the context of the chapter.

Excerpt from Chapter 15 of Kinesthetic by littlewhitemouse

Noriaki had been lying to himself when he said, if he had ever said, that he had been ‘corrupted’ by anything.  The concept that an outside force can create something inside you that is not already there is a self-deception. Intensify, curate, encourage, maybe alter, but not create. Corruption as a noun is inherent, necessarily pre-existing; corruption as a verb can only be self-directed.  Were Noriaki to explicate his realization of his inherent corruption, he would like to start with his taste in art. Not that that is necessarily the best way to tell the story, but that is what he would like.

.

The stranger was silent. Trying to quash irrational nervousness but not quite managing to keep his curiosity at bay, he looked up at him, turned his neck to gaze up at his height, like he was turning to the sky.  He was staring wordlessly at him, his lips slightly parted. Stilled and subtle, something turned his face soft and white, like satin. He saw with eerie curiosity that it seemed like that face almost didn’t fit him, as if he were wearing a fantastically articulate mask. It seemed as if, almost, he floated above his body, his pale face unnaturally pure and light, an angelic visage coming out of the darkness.  “…Who sent you?” asked the stranger.  Noriaki’s heart suddenly started up. The strangeness of the situation. The surreal, patchwork miasma surrounding the whole situation, a new life starting in a room of graves. What was he saying? “I came here myself,” he told him. A smile spread on his face like a slash of pale yellow watercolor paint, splitting the red waters of his lips on either side.  “But you shall not leave that way,” he said, solemn conviction, and he lifted his arm for Noriaki to grasp. “Shall we?” It was as though he was watching something that should not move extend its clutching hand to him; Lucifer of Liège lifting high his crown and whip. With no manners, no bow or placating grin, he asked him, “Shall we what?”  The only change in the strange stillness of the man’s unearthly pose was his smile spreading into his glittering eyes, which he hadn’t noticed weren’t smiling before. “Go.” 

I found this fic when I was first reexploring fanfiction. I was really into Jotaro/Kakyoin because of the angst and tragedy. This fic… was different.  It was written with a very train-of-thought, loose prose, synesthesia-esque, textural repetition, language of the mind style. In many ways, I kept reading because I couldn’t look away? 

This fic was a formative experience, highlighted by chapter 15 in particular. An analysis of corruption. An ode to historical dark art. The formation of taste for the macabre and grotesque. The exploration of how that shapes one's inner landscape. And furthermore, what another can do to exploit, abuse, and manipulate those feelings. The temptation to interact with a mysterious force that ultimately expects complete and violent devotion.

I think this fic is what relaunched my love for art, for museums, for history. I feel in many ways it was the first thing that made something in my own mind click into place and begin processing both my love for dark art and fiction and the traumas that suppressed my ability to allow myself to enjoy it.

Each referenced piece of art has an attached link with the image, so as to pull you further into the visual scenery, the spiraling descent of this madness and trauma.

When I think of Dio’s “dubious sensuality”, I think of this scene. I think of the raw, defense-crumbling experience of meeting a powerful, influential force within the very setting that has shaped who you are as a person. Someone who you feel sees you exactly the way you wish to be seen and accepted. Noriaki never had a chance. Dio is a living, breathing sculpture that he can explore and in turn, be shaped by. His fault is in thinking he ever had control of the situation. 

I love the character study this provides for Kakyoin. There is a violence, a viciousness, a cruelty that roils underneath his skin, independent of outside forces. 

Knowing Kakyoin as he did now, knowing him to be self-controlled, conspicuous, patient, considerate, it was hard to even recall or explain the cruelty he possessed, not until and whenever he chose to display it again. And again, and again. Kakyoin was cruel on occasion, not as his rule, only when provoked, never without a defensible reason, but he was cruel. He was beat you to the brink of death cruel, but Jotaro understood that. He was also lick my heel and apologize for what you did cruel, which he didn’t understand.

He tries to hold it down, hide it away, in order to atone for his sins, his “corruption”, the horror of what Dio was able to convince him and, later, command him to do. There is an underlying bitterness to it all after the fact. This chapter, these lines, add context to why that is. How exactly Dio shaped him into a weapon. How after escaping and freeing his mind from Dio’s impulses, he recognizes that the cruelty still remains. Sculpted and sharpened. But ultimately, something he will be able to reclaim for himself in a healthier setting with proper reflection, character development, growth, and healing. There's something cathartic about the entire experience.

#asks #fic ask game #sybaritick

[imekitty]

If you still do the writing ask game.

9, 26 and 32. If you don’t want to answer all, you can just choose one! I saw an ask saying it was your birthday a few days ago, so happy late birthday!

First, thank you for the birthday wish! ^^

(Weird Questions for Writers)

Honestly, you could send me an ask for a writing ask game from three years ago and I would still very happily answer it!

9. Do you believe in ghosts?

That is the question to ask the whole DP fandom, isn't it lol. So I myself have never seen/felt anything supernatural, but my mom and sisters have seen/felt/heard ghosts, and their stories are too bizarre for me to just discount. I also know that they aren't liars, so I can only say that I don't know if I believe in ghosts, but I'd like to believe that they're real? I'd like to believe that there's some proof of something beyond death in our world.

I've also had a bizarre Disney movie moment where a psychic told me that the reason I'm blocked from using my clairvoyant gifts (because I've been told by several people that I have a clairvoyant aura...somehow) is because my great great grandmother (my mom's dad's mom's mom) has a hold on me due to some generational trauma and we have only one picture of this woman and she looks exactly like me lol.

So ghosts...maybe?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

There isn't a particular technique I do to get into a character's head. I am pretty naturally empathic, like I am able to discern how people are feeling or what they are thinking and I can often feel it in my own being. I'm also able to understand why people do the things they do, which is why I don't get too angry or impatient with people very often. I am also pretty good at talking people through their feelings or actions and helping them see other people or events in their lives from a new perspective.

My mom keeps saying I should be a therapist lol. But I think the closest I'll get to that is writing Ghost on the Couch.

Anyway, this seems to apply to fictional characters as well. I feel that I'm able to just connect with them easily and understand not only what they do but why they do it.

And I never regret it. :) I appreciate how fiction can help me gain a new understanding of the people around me.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

One line that just kind of stuck in my head ever since I read it was from Mark Z. Danielewski's House of Leaves. The plot of the novel is hard to explain succinctly, it's basically a horror metafiction about a house that has a big maze on the inside. It's not an easy read, the text starts going crazy in all directions because I think it's supposed to simulate the feeling of being in a labyrinth? I've only ever read it once and I don't actually want to read it ever again lol.

To give you an idea of why this book is difficult and frankly exhausting to read, here's a screenshot of the page with the line that I still think about:

I don't even remember what is going on at this point in the book but I remember the line "Picture that. In your dreams." Because there is just something so haunting about that line, something about how it's broken up by a period, not a comma, a full stop. That feeling of unease but also something so surreal, like twilight, the space between the administration of anesthesia and falling into dark unconsciousness.

It's just exactly the kind of atmosphere I try to create in my fics.

#imekitty ask #raders1001 #writing asks #ask game #thank you!

[somethingwithmoles]

Desperately looking for a poem...

Hello! I know I've been absent for quite some time (though I really hope to return to being more active on this blog again soon), but for now I only have a really random question and I'd be eternally thankful if someone (who happens to be into (German) poetry) could help me here because I'm going slightly insane about it. (It's one of those things that don't matter at all and you could just go on and forget about it but oh no, you hyperfixated on it and cannot stop thinking about it anymore...)

There's a line from a German poem stuck in my head but I cannot find this poem for the life of me. I think it was printed in one of my school books and I can neither remember its name nor its author, just that it's from the late 19th or early 20th century and was quoted as an example for Décadence or Fin de Siècle poetry.

And if I rememer correctly, the line was something like "Aber mein Herz, übersättigt von Schönheit, stirbt hin in Wehmut."

Please! if you know this poem or know someone who could know it or have a nice poetry book to look it up please let me know. My internet research hasn't lead to any useful results so far, I simply cannot find this poem and don't really know where I could look it up...

#that's probably a really weird thing to post about... #i just really want to find this poem again... #poetry #gedicht #deutsche lyrik #décadence #fin de siècle #décadence poetry #german poetry #german poem #dichtung #trying to find a poem #literature #Literatur

[baladric]

What first got you into writing? How did you develop your style? And have you got any tips for other budding writers out there? Also who are your favourite authors and poets?

this got LONG but i'm going to tell myself you were ASKING FOR THAT and take a breath a;ldfkjwo;dfjsf

i can't remember if my inuyasha self-insert fic days predated my gaiaonline roleplaying days, but it was one of the two! definitely entirely a form of escape from a very painful and lonely life, but i think it was actually several years after i started definitionally Writing™ before i got into it, you know? i don't remember what kickstarted it, but somewhere along the way, i realized that i could really do whatever i wanted to, and i discovered figurative language and non-linear storytelling really went hogwild on some super niche death note fics ;alkfjwd and from there i started writing prose-poetry and really just. splashing around in there. i've been a musician my whole life, and it was like i'd realized that i could put music into the written word, like i wrote entirely for the way things tripped off my internal ear—like this one line from a poem i wrote when i was 14 still sticks with me, Leaves stain, leaves stains (rough obviously, but it was my first foray into writing about visual imagery that stuck in my sad little head)

my style started as its own nascent messy little thing, and like. man, people on here don't talk about Lolita because. you know. it's literally the apotheosis of the stuff that gets people wound-up in fandom spaces? literally a novel about SA and pedophilia and grooming—but the thing is, there's a reason it's considered a central part of the western literary canon, and that book revolutionized me as a writer. nabokov's entire thing really is just. ear-worms as text, like i cannot even express how often i still think "I am just winking happy thoughts into a little tiddle cup", or how many times i'll echolalia my way through this one line from the intro bit of the book: "Lo-Le-Ta: The tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth." take or leave the content of the book, nabokov does it like none other—or he did until ocean vuong published On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous, which is just. idk if you haven't read it, please please please, do yourself a favor and make space for it. it's the most effecting book i've ever read, as well as the most gorgeous and the most lovingly, grievingly composed.

You once told me that the human eye is god's loneliest creation. How so much of the world passes through the pupil and still it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn't even know there's another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hugry, as empty. Opening the front door to the first snowfall of my life, you whispered, "Look."

if i can ever write a single sentence that pins the wide universe and the complex sorrow and joy of the human experience in place the way ocean vuong does, i will die happy. honestly.

favorite authors/poets is in vein with that last bit, but the short list anyway:

ocean vuong, esp On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous (novel) and Time is a Mother (poetry)

maggie stiefvater, specifically The Raven Cycle—i could (and have) gone on for hours about the way she puts her readers into a tactile, vivid world, and her singular skill for spinning characters so contradictory and multifaceted that, to my mind, they're whole entire people, instead of the archetypes or loving stereotypes of most other fiction

richard siken, for Crush, which. i mean, i'm a gay man obsessed with words, this one really goes without saying lmao, if you read nothing else from it, read Snow and Dirty Rain. it is my gospel and my lifeblood, i have it memorized and still i reread it every week.

katherine addison taught me so much about storytelling, unreliable narrators, and the complexities of healing/trauma recovery while contending with rigid society (tragically pertinent to our present lives)—her Chronicles of Osreth (comprised of The Goblin Emperor, Witness for the Dead and The Grief of Stones)

maggie nelson, both for Bluets and The Argonauts

becky chambers—Psalm for the Wild-Built altered me as a person, it is gorgeous and soaring and humble and such a necessary book

donna tartt, obviously

anne carson, also obviously

freya marske—will read anything she ever writes, her language is lush, her worldbuilding is unique and spectacular, and her smut is HOT

alexandra rowland, for the same reasons as freya marske, but also their characters are so stunningly sympathetic, as well as really loving examples of neurodivergence in fiction (evemer hoşkadem, my deeply autistic beloved)

robin hobb really writes a toxic, complicated relationship saga like none other, i am stunningly enraged by Realm of the Edlerlings and also am physically incapable of not thinking about it constantly

and then there's the authors who taught me about magic: Garth Nix (The Old Kingdom Series), Holly Black (Modern Faerie Tales), Tamora Pierce (Protector of the Small), and Francesca Lia Block (Weetzie Bat)

writer tips!!!!!! this is hokey, but honestly my main advice is READ and also HAVE FUN. storytelling is the oldest human act, and language is the show where everything's made-up and the points don't matter. language is a sandbox, and it's there for you to literally just fuck around in. it can be whatever you want—it can be your raison d'être as a writer, but also it can be incidental. it can be a means to an end, economical, and some of the best stories are taken with that approach. but also you can paint with language, if you want to. you can compose music with it. you can do whatever suits your fancy.

my second tip is WORD COUNT DOESN'T MATTER. stop counting. stop stop stop holding yourself to the weird, quantity-obsessed writer culture. 2,000 words a day? nobody has time for that except full-time writers or those really rare writers who blink and 5k words fall onto the page. personally, if i'm sitting down to write and i'm really determined to actually get something onto the page, whether or not it's necessarily good, i'll force out 200 words. 200! i can't remember where i got this tip, but the point of that number is that 200 words is attainable even on the most blocked day, and by the time you hit your 200th word, you're gonna be in the middle of a sentence or a thought that you'll have to finish, and you end up with 300. or you hit 200 and you've broken through the fog and warmed up to it, and you leave with 700 or 1,500 (or a couple wild times for me, 5k).

my third tip: if you're a writer, EVERYTHING IS WRITING. this goes for art, music, literally any creative pursuit. walking out your door in the morning is writing, because you're learning things about the world, you're processing stimuli, your wheels are never not spinning. every video game you play, every show you watch, every fic you read is inherently a generative act, because that story is entering your store of knowledge to be processed and synthesized and lend you inspiration for the kinds of stories you want to tell, or the characters you want to make, or even the kinds of things you want to avoid as a creator. i can't tell you how much i've learned from games (Outer Wilds, i'm lookin at you!!) or tv (Station Eleven....) or music (Joanna Newsom really should be on my list of authors) or fanfiction (if you're a goblin emperor beastie and you haven't read celebros's Blackbird series, RUN, don't walk. i learned literally everything about creating character conflict within a framework of love that really motivates characters to work at it and not just get angry and walk away, and i remain uhhHHH fuckin Gobsmacked and reeling that she wants to write with ME a;lkdjfalw;dfs also literally one of my most formative collaborative and creative experiences came from reading kingdom hearts fanfiction in 2010, so) so!!!! just live your life!!! think about what makes you tick, what makes stories tick, think about the stars or birds or the history of glassblowing, whatever lights you up, and that energy will find its way into the things you make.

oh and also NEVER FEEL BAD FOR TAKING BREAKS. and i don't mean a 5-minute break, or a few days. i mean weeks. i mean months or years or what-have-you. sometimes it's just not there, and that's not a failing. your creations aren't content, they're little critters you make with love, and you can't love a thing you're banging your head against day and night. take breaks. allow yourself ebbs and flows in your creativity. everything hibernates, and i promise it'll wake up again and it'll be better than you left it.

end point: i Love You, and if you're writing or hoping to write or planning to write, i love your writing, too, nascent or tangible.

#aj answers #anonymous ask #ask

[hollywoodsargeant]

10 on the weird writer questions? Also this poem https://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/poems/fucking-in-cornwall/ made me think of boyish. Sort of :)

10. Has a piece of writing ever "haunted" you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

oh this question is wild but Yes and Yes. i'll answer the last bit first bc it feels important for context but to me a piece of writing that haunts me is like. i can't get it out of my head for a Long Time after being exposed to it the first time. i keep going back to it. sometimes i wish it would leave me alone. but it doesn't go away really just. anything that sticks with me to an almost uncomfortable degree

to which i say yes! i have definitely been haunted by pieces of writing and i am definitely actively being haunted by pieces of writing. first thing that comes to my mind is. my favorite poet of all time ever Michael Beard who the first time i heard his work i did literally hear it i heard him read his poems out loud and immediately knew i was never going to be normal ever again. nothing has ever ingrained itself into my brain the way his poetry did and i've heard a lot of poets read their work atp... like. bc i heard them out loud i didn't have records of them (and his stuff was really hard to find online) so just. months. Months of me being haunted by things i could not re-read until finally! i did find some of his stuff and helpfully compiled it into a gdoc for myself so i can continue the horrors at my own free will. i will drop some of the lines that haunted me/still haunt me/et cetera et cetera

"and I thought fragmentation of the self / meant easy to handle" (I have always wanted to be opaque)

"I wonder when I pull / out the poem I wrote to you / and recite its final words / I, too, blur / if they come to fruition / if they chisel away / this marbled image of you / until nothing" (I have always wanted to be opaque)

probably my favorite poem of all time it's the one that stuck with me the most after i heard it. Dead. the opening line is something about someone else's lip balm lingering in the spaces between your words and that is also. the second he read that one out loud i actually felt my brain turn over like a rotisserie chicken in my head

"dry fingers / not conditioned for such intimacy, such / lavish intimacy" (The Roots You Swear By)

"Please don’t ask me to take the cactus home / because then I will grow to witness / what these two hands can nourish, / press thumbs into spines, prove / that cactus and heart / are not so different / when it comes to where we put our love." (The Roots You Swear By)

ughhHhH. put a cactus in your heart. bye.

"Shape my body into a bowl and drink from the shallow collarbone / I leave for you." (Phiale)

"Think of the gestures that make us endless. / Speak, if you can. / Tell me how prayer is too small for this." (Phiale)

every day of my life tell me how prayer is too small for this rings somewhere in my head and every day i kill myself about it

"I wonder why you left yourself / on something rotted. / Your name, still etched into the middle post you thought / would fall into the water." (Re-parting Our Shapes)

"My heart is the moment the post finally falls. / The midpoint between the water and your name." (Re-parting Our Shapes)

yeah does that last one look familiar. Yeah. i love that poem so much the whole thing makes me insane. something about etching your name into rotted wooden posts in lakes and never being able to look at places the same in an after. fuck off my heart is the moment the post finally falls i am killing myself

and my own writing yeah. i used this metaphor both in heartstroke and in a very personal essay i wrote for a uni class but "warm the way a dead thing is in a blizzard" still haunts me. honestly that whole personal piece haunts me not even just for that metaphor but the whole essay is insane and in that i used the metaphor to describe the love i have for my father which is Wild but i stand by it. warm the way a dead thing is in a blizzard (something about by comparison and survival instincts and other crazy indescribable things)

and ohmygod thank you i read the poem and i do see what you mean... that and the idea that you read a poem and thought of something i wrote is making me a bit insane so thank you i really appreciate it <3

weird questions for writers

#ask #wow this is a long answer! but i am feeling crazy today #thanks for the excuse to yell about my favorite poet for a while #if he ever finds this i will kill myself for reasons i cannot disclose #favorite ever. seriously #maybe this ask being paired w a poem made me think of poetry #bc usually i don't think about poetry #not a big poetry guy #but this one poet could singlehandedly change that #Bye

[jaimehwatson]

24, 32, 38 for the writing asks!

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

This depends a lot on the story! For a lot of my fanfiction I just jump into writing it, maybe with a very rough outline. But for original stuff I spend a lot more time plotting and doing a bit of research. I often really enjoy the phase of just coming up with ideas and organizing it all into an outline, but I've also had times where I stopped having fun with it because I was being too strict about the structure I was laying out for myself, so I have to find some kind of balance there.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

A phrase that's recently been kind of stuck in my head lately is from Emily Dickinson:

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality.

A lot of my familiarity with her work comes from having taught it as a teaching assistant when I was a PhD student, and I've always loved the vivid imagery and the ambiguity of a lot of her writing. This one in particular I have a very clear mental image for, and I love the rhythm of it!

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

I’ve been trying to think of an answer for this but I’m honestly not sure if I do anything especially weird! I guess maybe the fact that I’m learning to write in shorthand is pretty unique. I’m not that fast at it yet but I do have a few pieces of rough drafts that I scrawled in shorthand while at my desk at work, which is fun! The point of it is partially so that I can write whatever I want by hand at work and no one can ever read it over my shoulder, but I look forward to the day I get comfortable enough with it to just do it all the time and awe and confuse people whenever I jot something down.

writer asks

#asks #writing #thanks syb! <3

[bereft-of-frogs]

9,10, 27, 32, 36, 37 :)

9. Answered!

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

I think there are three different ways I'm being haunted by writing:

There's the 'good' haunting, of works so resonant and beautiful that I'll never stop thinking of them. When Breath Becomes Air, especially with how that work is also haunted by its author's passing. The last episode of Midnight Mass. For fanfic, I'll probably always be haunted by Lady Charity's 'jacob and esau say their goodbyes' because I still think that it's one of the best stories about dying I've ever read, and the final scenes (of the ao3 version, because I guess it was different on ffn?) have always stuck with me. Probably one of the best pieces of fanfiction I've ever read, even if I'll never be able to read it again.

There's a 'bad' kind of haunting: things that I just wish I'd never fucking seen. Melancholia. Cannibal Holocaust. There was this one documentary I had to watch in undergrad that I'll never get out of my head, and wish I could. (I can't even remember the title.) Things that I just...really wish I hadn't put into my brain. I tend to have a really high tolerance, but I do also need a certain level of emotional catharsis to make it feel 'worth it' and there have been some things that I've watched or read that just...leave you wrung out without any accompanying artistic value. Mostly fucking Lars Von Trier. I've never even seen all of Dancer in the Dark, but there's that one scene that plagues me, and I swear, I will never watch another of his movies again, Melancholia was an awful experience, I can't do it again.

(Like...that is the point, so it is good art (tm), that's the effect he's looking for, but I have been haunted enough thank you.)

For my own work, I feel like haunting is more about my feeling like I'll never live up to past successes. There are a couple of my past works that I feel like haunt me. I wish they wouldn't. I'd wish they'd chill a little, and stay in 2018 and 2019, respectively.

27. Answered!

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

“There, peeping among the cloud-wrack above a dark tor high up in the mountains, Sam saw a white star twinkle for a while. The beauty of it smote his heart, as he looked up out of the forsaken land, and hope returned to him. For like a shaft, clear and cold, the thought pierced him that in the end the Shadow was only a small and passing thing: there was light and high beauty for ever beyond its reach.” - JRR Tolkien, Return of the King

TT.TT One of my favorites. Especially in this last reread, I was really struck by Sam's hope in Mordor.

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice…what do you Know?

basic medicine/first aid

funerary practices

19th century history/history of medicine

how to knit a sweater

...

end of list

Or rather, and endless amount of trivia that I could not list but would probably throw in a fic at random, usually shortly after I've learned it. I will then, refuse to cut that paragraph even if it would improve the pacing. That's my toxic trait.

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

Kinda weird, wasn't she?

[weird questions for weird writers]

#thanks for asking!

[elytrafemme]

hey i found your tubbo poem through that one fanart someone made of it and the quote “polaris could not take you to new lmanberg / it’ll only take me to him” is pingponging around my head rent free all hours of the day may i have a penny for your thoughts (on the poem in general)

hi! god that fanart is so gorgeous isn't it i love it so fucking much

in terms of my thoughts on the poem, hm. i think one kinda neat bit of info about it is the format of the poem is actually taken from a poem i've written about myself! unfortunately due to the subject matter of the original poem i don't think it's a wise decision to share it with anyone, but the whole iteration of ages in particular with it being in all caps + the indentation parts were taken from that!

i remember a long time ago in another piece of fanfiction actually, for a different fandom though and i cannot recall the name of it, someone had written about the sirius star cluster and there having been three stars, actually, A B and C. i tried to look more into it because that stuck with me for whatever reason and couldn't find a lot of defining information about sirirus C, but i did find a lot about A & B, and that's what ultimately led me to writing about them in the poem.

i also just have a lot of thoughts about the concept of stars and how there are a few different paths a star can take through its life cycle, which i write about a lot in places in that poem but also just in general. it's one of my go to metaphors you could say.

i wanted to switch up the writing style whenever c!tubbo 'felt' like he had to speak more formally and everything! because yknow being a president has its expectations so i tried my best to show that as well as i could, i just think it's kind of interesting to explore.

fun fact i did not realize that the chess references actually alluded to hitting on 16 (with c!ranboo 'castling') but now that i think about it that's actually really neat, i had just written it because it felt in line with his character but i suppose i had been correct with that!

in retrospect, i would have ended the poem with the line "& polaris could not take you to New L'Manberg / it could only take you to him" but i am not particularly good with ending or starting poems, mine tend to get stronger in the thick of it.

i have a lot of thoughts on this poem HAHA its very near and dear to me, but i hope this was well worth your penny :]

#nightmare.ask #nightmare.fave #so i can find it later #this is about my poem SEVENTEEN btw you can find it linked in my fic masterpost

[sleepingwithinkink2-0]

Re-Re- Re- Re-Re-Surfaced"

"What if I let go"

I wrote this line a hundred times before.

Sitting outside on the steps in the rain

or

in my car,

Laying on my friends couch,

Picking at a loose piece of thread...

but I always ended up deleting

or

saving it in my draft box rotting away.

Chiseling away at it bit by bit

In quiet places...

Sewing new pieces

Cutting off limbs..

Re burying it,

but the thought of it was there in the silence, tormenting,

Whispering through the walls of this abandon wearhouse ..

To be honest it made me sick to my stomach to even even think it

"if I let go"

Wondering aimlessly ..

As I look back at the hundreds of poems I wrote,

when I rack my brain trying to figure out how long it's been...I get upset with myself...

Yet who would I be if our lives never collide.

I couldn't even imagine

and

yet I never tasted your spite.

Nor

Your blood between my teeth ..

It's amazing the effect people can have even without realizing it..

a tragedy in its own right..

It all seems so silly ..a boy who loves a girl ..Trying to write all the reasons why you matter seems so daunting , when you could just read my Tumblr it's there, it's always been there.

Hidden in plain sight,

Raw and grotesque

The pictures the quotes...

The thing is I never intended too

and

to explain all the reasons why seem pointless now...

As I look back now with new eyes..

instead of looking at what I wanted to see ,

I realize that is all it ever was a boy who loves a girl.

A feverous sickness ... Catching a cold with my head in the clouds..

You always ask how I know when your sad or how I know you better than most...it's because I took the time to see you. I wanted to know who you were, time spent with you was never time wasted. You always surprised me , with the little things you did without realizing it. A sentence or an action your ideas and your thoughts, that's what I admired above all else...

As I write this I wonder if I should let go...

Forgive me for this intrusive thought...

Testing these words out, swishing them around my mouth like fine wine....Could I really do it?

Could I ...??

I've been peeling back the skin on my forearms trying to pick out the white petals, and roots, but it seems all in vein, you run deeper than I ever could imagine... Wrapped around my dirt smudged heart.. the wildest daisies, suffocating and yet spectacular..

I know if keep you alive inside my head, I won't have room to let anyone else inside, but honestly your the one person I won't mind walking the corridors of my mind..opening doors,

Peeking through key holes

Reading the pages that litter the floor...

I know you would see what others fail to see..

You will see the beauty in this mess .

As I write this I contemplate if I should let it rot in my draft box for the hundred time

and

continue whatever this is we have

Writing till it fizzles out on its own

slowly breaking the joints on my fingers

One by one till till these words become unrecognizable..

because I m tired of trying,

but I'm also not one to give up.

Stuck in infinite loop between

science and reasoning ...

A choice I alone decided.

Keeping the memories alive,

mummifying them between the pages

Like pressed flowers..

I choice I have only myself to blame...

Haunted by a ghost with sapphire eyes

I m not sorry for falling, because I've learnt alot in these past years

Not dating anyone

Learning who I m

Without melting into another..

I m not sorry

For telling you how I felt the moment my feelings changed for you,

but I m sorry for the guilty I gave you.

What lingers stale on the roof of your mouth when it rains..

I know I cross your mind time to time

I see it in your words, puzzles and riddles beautifully designed...

but do you understand your own words..

Have you asked why?

Are you afraid of the answer,

The crime you will commit once you say it out loud..

If you read this , you know I decided to stay. I know in time I ll learn to let go of the idea we could be more than words...

I m sorry I've kept us alive,

As long as I have

Buried between these pages..

I was afraid to lose you...

-Danny Sheehan

11.16.22

12:06am

#to delete or not to delete #sorry #space station

[heavensickness]

I tried to ask my parents to leave the room, but not my life. It was very hard. Because the room was the size of my life. Because my life was small.

Chen Chen, “Chapter VIII”

#i've been looking for this poem because this line was stuck in my head #chen chen #poetry #asian american writers #when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities #poem #z #journal #fav #quote #my head #w

[wildwood-faun]

Guess who's extremely emotional about war poetry on the bus at 6.45 in the morning!!

#it's in parenthesis again #I had the line about the chalk predella stuck in my head #it's in the final part of the poem where the lieutenant dies and the way it's written alludes to the catholic mass #and by extension to the death of christ #and I'm! upset! #and it's. beautiful and terrible. #I've been looking for a recording of one of the radio adaptations of in parenthesis because I want to immerse myself in it fully #but no luck so far #jfkfkf #reading: in parenthesis

[phoenixthemenace]

Day 19- Dead of Night

We managed to get some days off together to take the kids camping before school starts again. It's been beautiful. The scenery. The weather. The company. The solitude.

The kids managed to convince us to sleep out under the stars since it was our last night. We lay here looking at stars and constellations as they wink into view above us, and we drop off to sleep.

It's the dead of night when something wakes me up. My back is freezing but there seems to be a small furnace curled against my stomach. I open my eyes and the kids are curled tight against each other and me. The fire is going again and I can see you sitting just beyond it, watching us sleep.

I climb carefully from my sleeping bag, cover them with it and come sit by you.

"Can't sleep?" I ask.

"I thought I'd warm us up a bit but got distracted."

"Thinking?"

"No. By one the most beautiful things I've ever seen."

I look up.

"Yeah, the stars are pretty incredible. Wish we were far enough north we could see the northern lights."

"John," You say with gruff softness. "I meant you and the kids."

I can't speak for a minute, so I just smile into your eyes. I look up again, as you slip your hand in mine. Even though it's only been a couple of blissful months, it almost feels like forever. I can still see the sadness of letting so many years go by before we became us in your eyes. And I know you see the sorrow of years to come in mine.

Especially now.

"I didn't know you were a poet." I laugh lightly and bump your shoulder. You laugh too and we sit in silence for a while. I study the sky again.

"I had this English teacher in high school that was…man, she was crazy."

"I think it's a requirement." You say dryly.

"I'm not talking normal crazy. She was over the top loony. Anyway, she spent one whole semester on poetry."

"How dare she."

"Look, do you want to hear the rest of this or not?"

"Do I have a choice?" Your eyes twinkle mischievously.

"You know how to stop me." I challenge, and you just lift our clasped hands to your lips.

"There was this one poem she read that I remember. Well. Just one line that I think of every time I see the sky like this. It's something like 'I would cleave the vault of heaven'. That's stuck with me and I think I finally know why."

We sit in silence again for a while, a breeze plays with your hair and makes the flames dance.

"If I recall, there was a debate about what the poem meant, some kids thought it meant going home, some thought it meant growing old."

"What did you think it meant?"

"Well, then I thought whatever Mary Kate Rollins thought." I grin as you roll your eyes, and laugh as you slip your arm around me.

"Did you know that cleave also means to adhere to something?"

"Yeah…"

"Now I think it's about you. Because you're my home. My heaven. And I'm… well… cleaving to you, no matter what's past or what's to come."

Your eyes glitter as you drop your head to my shoulder, and I know what you can't say. We sit a little longer as the heavens shift and twinkle above us and the fire burns low.

"Should we put the kids in the tent before they freeze?"

I feel you nod, and you tighten your arm around me briefly before standing. I unzip the tent as you gently lift your boy. I snag his pillow and toss it into the tent, and pick up your daughter and hand her to you before turning to put out the fire.

I hear you zip the tent and smile to myself as I notice our bags are still out.

"You're a poet yourself, John." My knees go weak when you say my name with that soft reverence.

"Oh yeah," I snort, my mouth way ahead of my brain. "Oh no, I cannot pay the rent, I shall have to live in a tent."

I finish with the fire and see by the dim flashlight that you understand. I take it away and switch it off.

"You're my home too." You whisper.

I take you into my arms and make love to you until the time before and the time to come disappears and all that exists is us and the vault of heaven.

#emergency! #johnny gage #roy desoto #angstpril2022 #angstprildsy19 #dead of night #lord byron