#thank you for reminding me of what i like in literature my classes are so boring it's hard to remember sometimes

[itspileofgoodthings]

Well, I actually have the most mundane of questions, but it’s been so long since I’ve been in an English class that I feel like I’ve completely forgotten (and I’m curious how you do it): how do you go about reading a book as a class? Do you assign them the chapters to read at home and most of them actually do it? Or do you give them class time to read? Do you have the kids who try to spoil the rest of the book for the class? Basically, how does one teach a book in the year 2024?  😀

And do you have your students annotate inside their books? (I know the English teachers in my school require the students to do that, and I get why, but I inwardly shudder every time I see a student marking up a page.) 

Haha I love this question because I too am always asking myself how DOES one each a book in 2024?

It’s sort of a combination. I absolutely assign reading every night (almost) unless it’s Shakespeare or any play in which case we read it all in class. But for a novel there’s a couple chapters a night. I read aloud to them a lot too. Sometjmes I make them read aloud to the whole class, rotating kids who read. Sometimes I assign a chapter to be read in class silently with questions or quotes due at the end of the reading. Sometimes I put them in groups and make them read aloud to each other. There’s no one way that works for sure and of course ultimately I have no control over how much they read and I’m not naive enough to think that most of the reading assigned for homework doesn’t get skipped most of the time buuuuuut.

My bottom line is that I believe it’s my job to get excited about the actual text itself (easier for me in some cases than others but overall pretty easy because it does fill me with excitement) and then commit to taking them on the journey of the story with me. And my goal—that I’m sure I often don’t reach—is to make that experience so much more fun if you have actually read. And the way that I teach is pretty text heavy which is why I always make sure I’ve read the chapters for the day and am not just relying on my memory because the way I do it is just sort of absorbing it all up like a vacuum-cleaner, schwooooop, and then either pulling stuff out of the reading to look at directly or directing them to do the same thing. So the big thing that I have going for me, if any, is buy-in. Is getting kids excited about actually reading the actual text. I also speak often and passionately about the evils of sparknotes etc. not because they help kids get better grades or whatever but because they present you with the husk and shell of a story, stripped of all that makes it interesting, and that by reading that alone they’re reading something so dry and dull and are not achieving what I always want them to achieve —which is, have an Experience with the Literature.

Again, it never works perfectly by any stretch and there are so many ways I want to explore in my quest to get better at it but overall I think, at my very best, I can create this wave of energy and excitement in the story itself which is the most organic and ultimately most helpful way to get them to want to read.

Also no haha. I don’t let them annotate! Though occasionally kids DO of course. But sometimes they bring in their own copies in order to do that. The spoilers absolutely happen and are annoying but I sort of get by it by moving on very quickly and/or talking about how it’s often not the ending but how you get there that makes it interesting. Because that’s just true!

#gosh does this answer make sense #I am so passionate about doing it well and there are huge gaps in my teaching in terms of concrete stuff #but I am doing ….. Something in terms of bringing literature closer to them #and that’s what I want to do! #also love love love the bonus of getting to reread great works over and over until they start sinking into my brain #and I think (well I usually don’t think about it) but I think that the experience for them of watching me read it again #(and sometimes literally I won’t have time to read I need 10 minutes to finish this chapter and tell them to shut up) #(while I sit there and read it) #reminds them that I AM committed to doing the work with them. that I am actually doing it and that I want to! #and idk I think that is both a rarer experience and one that’s kind of underrated in terms of how much warmth it can create #because I have nothing in common with 16 year olds we couldn’t be friends in real life without it being very weird/possibly inappropriate #but in class we have a Thing to be friends about #we have a shared goal! and not just an arbitrary one but a deeply beautiful one #idk. there’s still a lot of boredom a lot of pushback a lot of disinterest #but I’m always amazed at how often kids do want to …. idk sink their teeth into something real #it’s REAL food for their minds. and the hunger for it is there even if they decide they’re too lazy to join the group #my goal is to —merely by the situation itself—make you feel left out of the fun if you refuse to do the work #so you can CHOOSE that but it’s less fun. it’s cold. it’s boring and it’s isolating #because refusing to do the work and insisting on being a little toad SHOULD come with natural social punishments in the form of exclusion #from the best kind of fun. it often does NOT. but yeah. I think I’m also getting better at shutting down toad behavior from adolescent male #this is where teaching co-Ed helps because there are some girls who are like ‘if you stop my learning I will kill you’ #not ENOUGH girls but some #ooooof this is a long answer but literally always on my mind #thank you for asking!!! also haha I assumed you were an English teacher yourself!

[moinsbienquekaworu]

i am about to sleep but i wanted to ask what your favorite poem is? will you tell me about it? what you love and why it’s your favorite? do you like any of its translations? i love you. i hope you have a good day 🥰

(⁠〒⁠﹏⁠〒⁠) beloved thank you for the question!!! As per usual I am incapable of choosing just one of a thing, so I actually have two favourite poems, one in french and one in english (because poetry in french and in english can be pretty different since the codes and models and expectations aren't always the same!) They're the two poems I can recite and know by heart haha.

The english one is Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, by Robert Frost. I really like the last stanza (like everyone else) but also just the way when you say it out loud it does feel like a quiet moment watching the snow fall all on your own. I found it recently accompanying a fic (two different fics actually but the second time I knew it) and it entranced me!

The french one is Chanson d'Automne by Paul Verlaine. It's a classic in France, some of its lines were used as a signal for saboteurs during WWII and there's an urban legend it was used to signal the landing in Normandy. I personally had to learn it by heart in primary school (I think in 4th grade?) and it just stuck with me. I like it for the way it feels to me and the images it evokes, but also just because it was the first poem I learnt by heart and being able to recite a poem is an easily overlooked comfort of life (insert those posts and quotes about art being vital and what we need to be able to turn to in dark or light times)

Other poems I like include Remords Posthume and L'Albatros by Baudelaire, Le Dormeur du Val by Rimbaud, Le Déserteur and Je Voudrais Pas Crever by Boris Vian, Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden, and Mad Girl's Love Song by Sylvia Plath. The french ones I studied in school, and I found the english ones on my own (I feel like I found both in Johnlock fics?? but I might be wrong about Funeral Blues, it's been years) I included english translations where I could for the french ones, and they're not necessarily incredible but they should let you get the vibe. If one of them speaks to you I can try to explain what makes it tick! My personal anecdotes with those because that's half the fun: we had to analyse Remords Posthume for literature class with my best friend K, and what's really cool about it is the last line, "et le ver rongera ta peau comme un remords", because it plays on the homonymy between ver, the worm, and vers, the line of poetry, meaning she will be devoured physically by worms since she'll be dead but also that his verses, his poem, will make her feel remorse; I like the albatross analogy because I was a weird kid who felt comfortable with books but not with my peers; Le Dormeur du Val is extremely extremely sad and beautiful and I think Rimbaud was a very interesting guy; technically Le Déserteur is a song and not a poem but I first saw the text without knowing that so for me it's a poem forever now, and I love talking about the original versus final ending thing; the YouTube channel Le Mock did an excellent reading of Je Voudrais Pas Crever and it's a jewel, I love it so so much; Funeral Blues was the first english poem I ever liked (or maybe read honestly) and I wrote it on the cover of my 10th grade english notebook (because the teacher was great and said that if we forgot to do our homework he wouldn't punish us if we could recite a poem for him, so I wrote it down and tried to learn if by heart in case I forgot my homework); and Mad Girl's Love Song features in a fic I read a few weeks ago and I just think it's neat. I probably forgot some but those are the ones I remember right now (edit: ADA LIMÓN!! I FORGOT ADA LIMÓN!!! Accident Report in the Tall, Tall Weeds (the I can't help it, I love the way men love poem) hit me in the chest the first time I read it and it's so so good)

My favourites (and most of the poems I like actually) are pretty popular because I'm not really into poetry that much on my own. I get attached to poems once I see how they work inside and analyse them, but I don't sit down and decide to analyse some poem from Les Fleurs du Mal at random because it feels like homework, and I don't go looking for poetry because I'm very hit or miss (I get bored at long winded descriptions in those 4-part 7-pages poems and a lot of things trip up my instinctual Pretentiousness Radar™, and while it's not necessarily accurate it does turn me off poems). So I just stay with the basics, but that's fine, because the comfort of carrying poems with you is there whatever the poem is y'know?

Also question, do americans learn poetry in school? I assume you must analyse some in literature class, but I don't know if you learn poems when you're young. I know we also do lots of La Fontaine's Fables, though I personally never did, but learning poems to recite in primary school is a thing almost everyone has done here I think.

#i just like. literature and literary analysis. when it's like poetry and it rhymes. when there's literary devices for a reason. #i'm an english lit major for a reason!!! #thank you for reminding me of what i like in literature my classes are so boring it's hard to remember sometimes #also the sheer joy of explaining poems i like to people who don't know them #like i could not explain le dormeur du val to a french person because they already know it and associate it with boring literature classes #but you don't! because you weren't forced to spend hours of lit classes on it in 8th grade whether you liked it or not! #it's like - yes they're well known poems but they're popular for a reason y'know #oh an honorary poems are some songs. like mistki's songs? that's poetry. that's just poetry! #it's like le déserteur - it's a song but isn't it poetry too? when the text follows the same rules? when you can analyse it the same? #actually all because of you feels like a poem too. if you know what i mean? #and dans ma ville on traîne by orelsan reminds me of a primary school poem - l'école by jacques charpentreau #it's all poetry and it's so cool and i love it #OH and racine's plays. they're not Poetry poetry - they're plays - but they rhyme in their entirety and follow a specific pattern #that's poetry!! that's just poetry!!!! #if you want me to get phèdre out and read you some racine i would be delighted to it's so nice to listen to #there's a rhythm to it and it becomes much easier to understand once you say it out loud - like shakespeare #anyway. LITERATURE. #wow i have a ramble tag now #wow i have an asks tag now #i love the way men love indeed

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 2

Pairing: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader, Sam Kiszka x f!Reader (oops)

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 13.5k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) please proceed with caution if you find any of the following to be triggering: poor body image, body dysmorphia, mentions of a past eating disorder, an ill parent, (this will include descriptions of struggling to breathe due to illness & mentions of an oxygen mask) drinking, cussing, Jake is jealous? 18+ ONLY: some pretty heaving making out, (but it's not with who you think it is hehe), mentions of an erection, slight nudity, mentions of being turned on. (please let me know if i missed anything. there are a few heavy topics mentioned, & the last thing i want is for anyone to begin reading without a proper warning.)

a/n: i am so sorry this chapter took so long. i truly hope you love it & as always, please don't hesitate to let me know what you think! i love hearing from you guys. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

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Your morning drives to school are your absolute favorite part of the day. They serve as your singular moment of complete peace to counteract the chaos that can be expected once the day truly gets started. The serenity of the morning air calms your spirit and prepares you for whatever the day may bring. 

You’ve managed to find an alternate route to campus, one that keeps you far away from the heavy morning traffic. It adds nearly twenty minutes to your journey, but the cost of waking a little earlier each day is worth the promise of a few spare moments of quiet solitude.

The new path you’ve found leads you straight to school, and the best part– it’s an image right out of a fairy-tale. 

Trees line the unpaved road, their leaves in early autumnal splendor. Hues of orange and red greet you in their forenoon charm, catching the rays of the waking sun as they glow in bright iridescence. 

This morning, there’s a light rain shower leaving tiny droplets on your windshield. The sun still dares to peek through the gray clouds, illuminating the glittering raindrops as they gently fall to the ground. 

You’ve yet to be met with another morning traveler since you discovered this road only days ago. It feels as though you’ve found some secret passageway— a hidden spot with no name, set aside just for you.

Pure tranquility washes over your body as your foot rests on the gas pedal. 

It’s the moments like these that remind you of the beauty that still exists around you— that no matter what downfall you suffer, the earth will always be there to offer you her tiny bits of wonder to keep your feet planted firmly against her soil.

Your Firebird putters into the university parking lot, amongst the slew of shining, new vehicles with hardly an imperfection to be seen on any of them. You used to be embarrassed of your old clunker, but as time goes on you’ve learned to be grateful for it and all the places it has taken you. 

Your new staff parking spot is awaiting you, of which you are entirely grateful. After your first day, you found that the parking lots fill up rather quickly with commuter students, so having a designated spot just for you everyday has saved you a lot of grief in the mornings. Yet another wonderful perk of being an employee of the university.

The smell of roasting espresso penetrates your senses as you waltz through the doors of the campus coffee shop. You and Natalia had agreed to meet this morning before your classes to study a bit for your course on influential women in literature.

Carmen, your favorite barista greets you as you walk up to the counter. Her sincere smile is always such a pleasant addition to your mornings.

She’s the most lovely vision; her loose curls always tied in a perfect ponytail, her bangs framing the contours of her face beautifully. Her black browline glasses sitting atop her freckled nose that push up past her eyebrows when she smiles, showcasing her sweet dimples.

You’ve made the coffee shop part of your morning routine everyday, so you’re not surprised when she knows your order without you having to say anything more than “Good morning, friend!”

“Large cold brew with oat milk and extra vanilla?” she asks, already writing it on the cup with a Sharpie. 

You smile broadly. “You’re amazing, Carmen!” You hand her a ten and a five, insisting that she keep the change. She fights you a bit but realizes she’s already lost the battle.

She hands you your drink and you thank her, telling her you’ll see her tomorrow at the same time.

You choose a table close to a window so as to have a view of the gloomy, morning sky. 

Watching the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the window seal, leaving their trail as the others merge to quickly join behind them— it gives you a sense of nostalgia that takes you back to a time when things were simply…easier. 

One thing about growing up in Oklahoma— it was always raining. And much to your mom’s discontent, you were sure to be found outside right in the middle of it. 

It probably explains why you were almost always sick as a child. Frequent head colds were the norm for you. It never stopped you, though. The rain brought forth a sense of clarity for you—feeling the cold drops hitting your face was the mental reset your mind needed, and it still is to this day.

You’d always been fascinated with weather— but specifically the rain. A poem you’d fawned over in your childhood spoke of rain carrying the ghosts of the past— a sentiment you’ve held onto dearly ever since. 

That very poem is the reason you love literature. It’s the reason you’re here, to study the thing that brings you the most comfort. 

Each time it rains, you’re flooded with lovely memories…memories of the ghosts that still linger from your youth.

This is the first rain shower you’ve experienced thus far in your new home; it feels as though the earth is trying to tell you it’ll all be just fine. She’s telling you that you do belong here, that you’re right where you need to be. 

“Daydreaming much?” Natalia pulls out the chair opposite of you, sitting her usual hazelnut latte down as she takes her seat.

“Guess you could say that,” you say through a smile. “I just adore the rain.”

You each pull out your laptops and Charlotte Brontë books, catching up on your weekends with one another.

“You’ll never believe what I agreed to on Friday,” you say.

She looks at you with a smirk splayed across her glossed lips, her rose colored cheeks still wet from having just walked through the rain. 

To your surprise, she asks, “Does it have anything to do with a little medieval film project?”

“How in the hell do you know about that?” 

“My brother,” she responds. “He’s helping Josh with it. Doing set designs, costuming— it’s quite impressive, honestly. Those costumes are some of the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, and I’ve done theatre my entire life.” She blows air on her coffee to cool it down a bit before taking a sip, wincing from the heat as she pulls the cup away from her lips. “I knew they were searching high and low for a Guiniverre— guess I should’ve known it’d be you.” Her long, butterfly lashes flutter with a wink as she giggles.

You’re not entirely sure what to make of her last statement. You just chose to ignore it.

“He said it’ll be killing two birds with one stone— that we’ll be helping out his brother for his film class, while also having something for our project in Movack’s class.” You pause to take a deep breath, “But I am no actress. And if it’s all truly that impressive, I may prove to be a bit of a disappointment.” Your hands fall into your lap as you stare down at yourself— your body comfortably covered with your usual oversized sweater and leggings, feeling a rush of insecurities as you imagine yourself being filmed. “I’m more of a behind-the-camera type of gal, anyways.” 

You’ve fought this inner battle for as long as you can fathom— your appearance is a topic you tend to avoid. You hide behind people for photos, or offer to be the one taking them to get out of being in it altogether.

Disordered eating had been a side effect of the severe dysmorphic thoughts. But thankfully, after years of receiving help, you’re finally in a stable place in your recovery.

The thing that still lingers, though; the harsh way in which you view yourself. Specifically, your appearance. 

“You said you’ve done theatre your whole life— why aren’t you playing Guiniverre?” you ask her. “I can’t imagine they haven’t thought of you.” 

Natalia is far more fitting for this film. She carries the beauty required to take on such a role; the beauty of a lust worthy queen. Just as well, she clearly has the experience you so greatly lack. 

She scoffs as she sets down her coffee and crosses her arms. “I was not about to kiss Sam. Nope. No way. That boy is a pain in my entire ass.”

Sam?… Kissing? 

This is the first you’ve heard of any of this. 

“Wait— what?” Your reaction seems to have caught her by surprise. Her eyes become wide and her lips part as she takes in your obvious confusion. 

“Jake…didn’t tell you about that? Did he tell you anything?” She leans in closer to you, a slight look of irritation present in her honey eyes. 

“He only gave me a vague synopsis— just about the infidelity in Arthur and Guinevere's marriage.” 

You suddenly come to a harsh realization that you hadn’t even thought about until now. 

Adultery and infidelity— forbidden romance. An entire film all about said romance, of which you are a main component. Of course there will be kissing in this film, perhaps even more. 

Your stomach drops at the prospect, and you're silently cursing Jake for leaving this little tidbit out.

Of course, it isn’t entirely his fault. You should’ve guessed when he told you the focus of the film.

You’ve already agreed, and backing out now would mean you’re back to square one with a project for Movacks class. 

All you can do now— beg to be anyone but Guiniverre. 

“First off,” you question, “who on earth is Sam?”

“Sammy? He’s their baby brother. He also takes classes here— well, when he decides to show up, that is. He lives with the twins.”

You pick up your coffee, taking a large gulp to keep the caffeine running through your system. “And why do I have to kiss him again?” 

“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you,” she says, huffing a laugh under her breath. “Josh has…plans.”

You cock an eyebrow at her, having a pretty good inclination about what these plans entail. You nod your head to let her know to continue.

“There will be a few…intimate scenes, between you and Sam. He’ll be playing the knight of romance and chivalry himself, our beloved Sir Lancelot.” She follows suit in taking a few swigs of her coffee now that it's cooled down a bit. “You and Sam will really get to know each other. And from what I’ve gathered about this film, the emphasis will be on Guin and Lance’s love. Arthur will have a different love interest— I think they’ve already casted her? Anyways, I doubt you and Jake will have many, if any, scenes together. At least no saucy ones. Which I’m sure you’re glad to hear.” 

You were not prepared in the slightest for intimacy. Intimacy in front of a camera— with someone you don’t know, all for the sake of someone you hardly know. Someone who’s been a massive dick to you, no less. 

But her last statement— about not having any special scenes with Jake. She’s right, mostly. It would be incredibly uncomfortable to have any scenes like that with him…right? 

But, if you're being fully honest, a small part of you is a bit…disappointed. 

You shove that thought down fast. “Uh, yeah. I’m more than thrilled to hear that. That would be awkward as fuck.” You’re doing your best to be sure she doesn’t see right through you. 

“But seriously, y/n. Those costumes…” She smiles widely, shaking her head back and forth. “ My brother did a great job finding those. They’re going to accentuate you in all the right ways.”

That is exactly what you’re afraid of. 

With your elbows on the table, you throw your face into your open palms with such force that you nearly knock your cold brew to the floor.

“Nat, I– I don’t think I can do this.”

She lightly takes your wrist in her hand, jolting you a little so you’ll lift your face. “Hey, what’s wrong? It’s just acting, love. It’s not that serious, I promise.” Her voice is so sweet and gentle, her eyes have softened and are full of quiet concern.

“I know it’s not that serious,” Out of instinct, you pull your sleeves over your hands and take your hair out from behind your ears, hiding yourself as best as you can. “I just don’t like…this,” Your hands motion to your body covered with the security of your baggy clothes. “I’ve never liked this. I mean, just how much will these costumes… accentuate me?” The thought of baring yourself even in the slightest has your stomach tumbling with somersaults. 

“Listen— I know Josh, and he will never let you do something you’re not comfortable with,” she assures, her honest smile making an appearance. “His mind is wide open and his soul is in all the right places. If there’s something you don’t like, just tell him and he’ll fix it.”

You’re racking your brain with the thought of his twin being as wonderful as she described. How could someone who shares the same DNA profile with Jake truly be that amazing?

“And stop worrying about the costumes. I can promise you, y/n, you will look sexy as hell.”

She’s doing her best to reassure you— though it’s not totally working, you act as though it is to change the subject and get started on your studies.

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You frustratedly close the lid to your laptop after having nearly failed your quiz. You had set aside plenty of time this weekend to study, but with how distracted you are right now from your conversation with Natalia this morning, all the time in the world for studying wouldn’t have mattered.

And of course, it’s Movack’s class— the one you most want to excel in, the one you share with Jake. 

He closes his laptop only seconds after you. 

It’s not a fucking race, Jake.

Movack stated at the beginning of class that once you finish your quiz, you’re free to leave. You quickly pack up your things, trying to make a hasty escape before Jake to avoid any possible conversation with him. 

You’re halfway down the hall and as you’re about to turn the corner to safety, you hear, “Hey, y/n! I need to ask you something.”

Fucking hell.

You pause for a moment, dramatically rolling your eyes before you turn around to see Jake walking towards you.

He takes his sunglasses off and places them in the breast pocket of his shirt. He makes eye contact with you, a rarity for him, before he asks “Are you free on Saturday afternoon? Around 4:30?”

…what?

That is the very last thing you’d ever expect to come from his lips. 

His gaze has yet to break as he awaits your response. His deep set amber eyes are piercing right into yours. He has an almost desperate look about him— as if he’s anxious for you to reply.

Is he…asking you out? 

Your intuition tells you there’s no way, but…why else would he be asking you this?

Suddenly, your body begins to tingle. The butterflies in your tummy begin swarming. 

You don’t know what changed— perhaps agreeing to the film? Maybe he’s finally seeing you as more than a scholarly competition, maybe he’s finally seeing you. Whatever it may be, you’re not questioning it any longer. 

You’ve decided you’re completely infatuated with him, and getting to know him even better outside of this classroom sounds…wonderful.  

“Y-yeah! I don’t have anything going on. I’m totally free!” With a full toothed grin on display and perhaps a bit too much eagerness, you follow with, “Why? What did you have in mind?”

His brows then become furrowed, his slight look of desperation transforming into one that says he’s now… confused. 

“Um… okay,” His voice sounds unsure, his inflection coming off as more of a question than a statement. “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through of some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

Oh. My. God. 

You’re mentally smacking yourself across the forehead. You want to crawl inside the deepest fucking hole on this planet and stay there with your shame. 

What is wrong with you? It’s as though you’ve completely forgotten you have a project to do with him— that that would be the only logical reason he’d ask if you were free. Obviously.

That’s why he looked desperate. Not because he wanted you to agree to some date— because he needs your help with this stupid fucking project you regretfully agreed to.

Your face (noticeably, you're sure) drops. You’re so humiliated at your response. No wonder he looked so damned confused. 

“Sure, yeah. I can do that.” You revert back to your initial irritated tone, refusing to look him in the eye now, hoping that he’ll somehow forget you were any other way. 

“He also needs you to try on the costumes, too. Make sure they’re the right size.”

The costumes. 

This couldn’t get any fucking worse. But you can’t turn him down now, given you were so quick to tell him you’re free on Saturday. 

You simply say “okay,” as you nod your head in agreement.

He takes out his notebook, writing down his address before ripping the sheet of paper out and handing it to you.

You tuck it away in your bag, bidding him a quick adieu before turning to walk far away from him.

Tears threaten to fall from your eyes. Not out of sadness, but out of mortification. Out of irritation.

Irritation with yourself, with him. And it’s not even his fault. You’re the one that jumped to ridiculous conclusions— jumped the highest you possibly could.

You feel utterly stupid. 

So fucking stupid.

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Your mom looks at you in shock as you walk inside your apartment. Ridding yourself of your bags with a swift toss to the floor, you slump down next to her on the couch.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you had class until later this afternoon,” she probed.

“Just a little tired,” you say. “Thought I’d give myself some time to rest before work.”

“This isn’t like you, y/n. What’s wrong, sweetie?”

She’s right— this isn’t like you. You normally wouldn’t even think of skipping class, your education being the most important thing to you. But, you just couldn’t bring yourself to do it today.

“Kind of a long day, I guess. And I’m a little stressed out with my classes.”

She then turns the television off and glares at you with the eyes of a worried mother.

“Talk to me, y/n. I know there’s more.” 

You should know by now that you can’t hide anything from her. She knows you too damn well.

You can’t hold it back any longer as you begin to spill it all. 

“It’s… stupid Jake. I thought he was asking me out today, but he most definitely was not. And I made an idiot out of myself because I misunderstood and—”

She stops you mid sentence, “And who is Jake?” she questions. 

You haven’t told her a single thing about him, about your project, anything. It’s not that you were trying to hide it from her, you just really didn’t want to talk about it.  

With a heavy sigh, you say, “He’s my partner for this huge semester project in my King Arthur class. We’re doing an Arthurian film with his brother,” you put a palm to your face. Looking up at her with a sarcastic smile, you add. “Oh, and Jake is a major dick.”

“Do you like him?” she asks with a smirk curling at the corner of her lips.

“Absolutely not!” you exclaim— rather loudly, at that. 

Even you don’t believe the words that came out of your mouth, so why would she?

She just chuckles at your response, knowing better than that but deciding to not ask you about it any further, switching the topic to your project. “Tell me about this film you're doing,” she says.

“You won’t believe this but, I’m actually acting in it.”

“You? Acting? Okay, who are you and what have you done with my daughter?” she jokes, forcing a smile out of you.  

“Just wait. It gets better,” you say. “I’m actually playing Guiniverre and Jake will be Arthur. It’s all about their adulterous marriage, and the focus will be on them cheating on each other. Quite romantic, huh?” 

She begins to laugh again, trying not to wear out her weak lungs, but it doesn’t work. She gets caught up in a huge coughing fit, struggling to catch her breath. 

This always happens; she can’t even laugh without her lungs giving her trouble. It shatters your heart. She’s always had the most contagious, obnoxious laugh. You miss the pure, unpunctured sound of it so much. 

You reach for her oxygen mask and gently place it over her mouth. “Just breathe, mom. It’s okay, I’m here. Just breathe for me, in and out…”

As much as it scares you whenever this happens, it scares her even more. The look in her eyes makes you want to cry. It’s a look that says “please make this stop.” 

You wish more than anything that you could.

It’s the moments like these that you want to curse your dad for leaving, for leaving his wife of almost twenty years like this.

She begins to calm down, her breathing slowing as she’s able to take full breaths again. 

“You okay?” you ask.

She moves your hand and lifts the mask from her face. “Just fine, sweetie. Sorry about that.” Her voice sounds so frail, like she’s just run a marathon. 

“Don’t apologize, Mom,” you lay a hand on your skinny thigh, squeezing reassuringly. “Please.”

She nods, then requests. “Tell me more.”

She doesn’t like to dwell on these things when they happen, so you start talking about the film and Jake some more. 

“He’s got a younger brother named Sam, who’ll be playing Lancelot. Apparently, there are a few scenes between him and I in the script that are a bit… sensual, you could say.” 

“Well, is he as cute as Jake?” she snickers.

“Mom! I never said Jake was cute.”

“Didn’t have to,” she says. “You think he is, I can tell.” Her grin says she can see right through you, and she’s not wrong. She never is. 

“I haven’t met his brother yet, so I have no idea.” 

You continue telling her more about the film, telling her about Natalia, but the conversation ends up taking a turn to being mostly (completely, actually) about Jake. 

“He’s just intimidated by you, y/n. That’s why he acts the way he does, so you don’t know his true feelings.”

You just shrug it off, knowing she’s obligated by blood to tell you that. She’s just trying to make you feel better.

“Just wait,” she says. “He’ll come around.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You look at your phone to check the time. 

3:45 am. Ugh. 

You’ve been in bed for hours desperately trying to sleep but your body just won’t relax.

You hated seeing your mom like that tonight. Watching her struggle to breathe… it's traumatizing every time it happens. And the episodes are becoming more and more frequent. 

You just want her to be healthy again. You want to be able to have a normal conversation with her without worrying about making her laugh. It’s tearing you down, watching her wither away like this. It’s not fair. 

You just wish there was more you could do. 

Along with the stress of that, you also keep hearing Jake's voice on a loop in your head; “I’m only asking because my brother wants to go over a read through some of the script on Saturday…you know, for the film project.”

“I’m only asking…”

It’s the way he said ‘only,’ as if to say ‘don’t get your hopes up, that’s not what this is.”

Him posing that question (before you knew the true intent behind it) made you realize that— as much as you wish you weren’t— you’re somehow on the cusp of having feelings for him. And your conversation with your mom made that fact even more abundantly clear. 

It’s most definitely not because of his winning personality. 

No; it’s much different than that.

He brings about an air of mystery everywhere he goes. Every step he takes adds yet another layer to your curiosity about him. 

And the way he acted when he asked you to be a part of his brother's film, how his face lit up in a whole new light. There’s a genuine man beneath his exterior— you can sense it. You just wish that were the Jake you’ve come face to face with nearly everyday since classes began a few weeks ago. That’s the side of him (if it is truly there and you’re not just making things up) that you want to discover.

He’s just… different. And you're annoyingly drawn to it. You're completely drawn to it. 

You’ve never met anyone like him— let alone anyone that looks like him. As much as you hate to admit it, he is the personification of the female gaze. And his ridiculous attire, complete with his open shirts that display his necklaces on top of his bare chest— and yes, even his sunglasses that you try (but fail) to hate— all make it incredibly difficult to not find him attractive. 

He’s beginning to consume your every thought, and you’re so mad at yourself for it. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Saturday.

You’ve spent the entire week dreading today, contemplating backing out more times than you can count. Jake has been increasingly rude to you since your encounter with him on Monday. He’s spoken one or two words to you throughout the course of the week, but that’s about it. 

Again, you're wondering why the hell you agreed to do him any favors. 

If it wasn’t for this fucking project in fucking Movack’s class…

Without the consistent convincing from Natalia, you would have backed out. No question about it.

“Just make it through Saturday, y/n,” she said. “And if you still feel this way, tell him you want to do something else for your project. He’ll have to understand.” 

You told her you’d do it, but only if she agreed to go with you. Thankfully, it didn’t take much convincing on your part and she happily accepted your terms.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You bring your fist up to knock and wait a moment; nothing. 

You feel as though you’ve given it ample time, so you knock yet again. 

Finally, the handle on the door twists and is opened by, of course, Jake. 

You embarrassingly stare a few seconds too long, not able to find words.

Unenthusiastically, he breaks the silence, “Welcome to our humble abode.”

He holds the door open as you and Natalia walk through the threshold together. Immediately upon seeing the place, you’re in a state of pure shock. 

You’re not sure what you expected of Jake's home, but a two story, industrial loft apartment— massive loft apartment— right in the heart of downtown Detroit, was most surely not the first thing on your list. Natalia told you it was nice, but you weren’t prepared for this. 

How do three college students manage to afford this? 

The ever plaguing mystery continues.

It’s like walking into a photoshoot for a prestigious interior design magazine. This place doesn’t even look real. 

Your eye is instantly caught by the decor. A tasteful mix of bohemian and modern rustic. The red brick walls lead to tall ceilings covered with exposed steel piping, adding so much unique character to the place. Trailing vines line the huge windows, casting the living room in an almost sage glow.

Jake ignores you, (shocker) as he heads into the kitchen and opens the refrigerator. “Well that’s just great,” he says, taking out a can of Miller Lite and turning to face Natalia. “The least your brother could do is restock our beer when he takes the last one.” 

She just snickers in response. 

Suddenly a loud bang comes from a room up the long staircase, followed by a pair of animated giggles.

Jake turns his head slightly in the direction of the commotion, mumbling “fucking imbeciles” quietly to himself, but loud enough that you heard it.

“What the hell was that?” Natalia asks.

“Our moronic brothers,” Jake grumbles.

Then, a man with a set of wild, messy curls on top of his head jogs down the stairs, giggling while struggling to keep his footing. 

“What were you doing up there?” Jake demands. 

“Do you really want to know?” the curly haired one says, wiping his shiny lips with the sleeve of his shirt before smoothing down his disarrayed mustache. 

“Nope. Not one fucking bit,” Jake scoffs.

Jake then nods his head in your direction, letting him know that you and Natalia have arrived.

“Well hello, my dear Natalia!” he says, pulling her into a hug. 

Then, he catches your eye.

“Ah hah!” he shouts, giving you a long look. “You must be our queen! Lovely to meet you, m’lady,” He grabs your hand and kisses it before making a dramatic display of bowing before you. “If I may be so bold, the name is Josh. Sir Josh of the Frankenmuth, Michigan sector— at your service.” 

This is Josh? The other half of Jake? 

There’s no way. Sure, they have the same face. Well, besides the addition of a mustache and goatee to Joshs, but still. Clearly they’re identical, but so starkly different from one another.

You look over to Jake, noting a slight irritated look from him. Ignoring it, you meet Josh in a hug.

“It’s so nice to meet you!” You throw a little extra emphasis on ‘so’, looking at Jake once more and picking up on his eye roll— even from behind his sunglasses. 

You’re remembering your first encounter with Jake—how it was so vastly different from right now as you’re meeting his twin for the first time.

You instantly felt welcomed with Josh, while with Jake, you felt like a major inconvenience. (And admittedly, you still do.)

How can they be so different, yet look the exact same? 

He’s even dressed like the perfect contrast of Jake.

Jake is clad in his usual monochromatic look—sunglasses, black button down and all. (How many of these fucking shirts does the man own, for godsake?) 

But Josh, on the other hand— he’s wearing a stark white sweatshirt and skin tight khaki pants, pulled together aesthetically with high top tennis shoes that mimic the brightness of his top. 

They are the personification of yin and yang standing before your very eyes.

“Would you like a drink?” Josh offers. “We have beer, wine—”

Jake interrupts him, yelling, “There’s no more beer!” as he takes a long sip out of his can.

“Okay then, no beer.” Josh chuckles. “Well we have water, of course. But that’s far too boring. I'd be happy to mix you one of my world-famous cocktails if you’d like.”

“Take it from me— if you don’t want to end up sloshed, do not let him make you a cocktail.” Another man makes his way down the stairs, stopping once he gets to Josh. He towers over him, being at least six inches taller. He’s awfully handsome, with the same kind, honey toned eyes that mimic those of your lovely friend standing beside you.

“My sweet, sweet Malachi. It’s okay to just admit that I make the most pristine drinks known to man.” Josh grabs his waist and tugs him close in an embrace.

“This would be my brother,” Natalia says.

“This is y/n?” He greets you with a hug, nearly lifting you off your feet. “It’s so great to meet you! You’re so kind to help with this.”

“I’m glad to help! I’m a huge Arthurian nerd, so this is right up my alley,” you say to him. “I just hope I can do Guinevere some justice. I’ve never really acted before.”

“I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be great!” Josh chimes, “If you’re ready, I’ve got one of your costumes set up in Jake's room. Last door, straight down at the very end of the hall.” 

Jake’s room?

“Okay! Sounds great. I’m really excited to see these. Nat told me they’re amazing,” you say, heading in the direction Josh told you his room is in. 

Josh watches you leave, holding his hands up in a makeshift camera. “Yep. You’re the perfect vision for our Guin. Very pretty,” He playfully nudges Jake with his elbow, “You were right, my brother.”

What does that mean?

Jake’s cheeks become encompassed in a pink hue as he chokes on the beer he’d just taken a sip of.

“Why thank you, Sir Joshua,” you say as you turn around towards him to curtesy.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You were nervous enough about being in his home, but his room? That is an entirely different story.

A person's room is the most personal, intimate space. The space that holds all their innermost secrets. Walking in feels like the ultimate intrusion.

Your stomach tightens as you turn the knob on his bedroom door.

Immediately, you're struck with the same scent he carries with him. 

His whole room smells like it— like him. 

You turn to shut the door behind you to have some privacy, catching a canvas portrait on the back depicting an iconic Edgar Allan Poe quote: “Words have no power to impress the mind without the exquisite horror of their reality.”

The room is dimly lit, with blackout curtains hanging over the windows—only a single lamp in the corner next to the bed illuminates the space. 

The walls are lined with medieval artwork. Depictions of Ophelia and The Lady of Shalott, with a few famous pieces by the great Edmund Blair Leighton that you’d recognize anywhere. And, of course, no medieval artwork collection is complete without the classic portrait of Morgan Le Fey. She’s illustrated in her quintessential colorful attire, looking as enchanting as ever. A favorite or yours.

Your curiosity is certainly piqued as you notice a few books sitting upon his bedside table. 

The Lord of the Rings series. A Tolkien fan— you’re not surprised in the least.

The Two Towers is splayed open to page 316 with the corners very gently dog eared. 

Next to the book lies an opened notebook donned with scribbled detailings of what he’d read. Little footnotes and observations, brief analyses of chapters.

A smile dares to creep across the corner of your mouth— finding it incredibly nerdy, yet all at once completely endearing that he places so much care in what he reads. 

You know next to nothing about this man, but one thing you do know— he loves literature. And you’d bet he loves it almost as much (if not slightly more) than you do. That truly says something. 

On top of the table on the opposite side of the bed sits a small record player, the record sitting under the stilled needle— Electric Ladyland by Jimi Hendrix. 

You skim a few other album titles placed on the shelf next to it, seeing the likes of Stevie Ray Vaughan, Eric Clapton, Janis Joplin; he’s a blues kind of guy. 

You grew up on that very same music, all thanks to your mom. She made sure you were well versed on music from a very young age. 

A dark red Gibson SG is perched on its stand right next to the table holding the record player. The scratches engraved on its body indicate heavy use— you can tell this thing is quite loved.

He’s… a guitarist? 

God. The mystery surrounding this man is never ending. There’s so much you don’t know, so much you wish you did know.  

Feeling as though you’ve explored far too much of his room, you decide to focus your attention on the garment bag laid out across the black velvet duvet across Jake’s bed.

You unzip it, your nerves exuding through your shaky hands at whatever you’ll discover inside.

You lift the dress out of the bag high above your head as the length reaches clear to the floor. 

Holy shit.

When Natalia told you these costumes were amazing, she was understating to the highest degree. 

Golden hand sewn lace embroiders the deep burgundy corset bodice. The square neckline is garnished with gold and red gems in the most intricate pattern, with the same jeweled design present on the cuffs of the long sleeves. The skirt, the same shade as the bodice, is silken and heavy and adorned with a similar gold design cascading all the way down to the hem.

Truly fit for a queen.

You can’t help but wonder where they possibly found this. It’s the most gorgeous gown you’ve ever seen— and you get to wear it. 

Undressing yourself in Jake's room feels…strange. You feel vulnerable and exposed, but the butterflies in your belly are swarming at the thought— the thought of being only in your bra and panties in Jake’s bedroom.

Taking another look at the corset, you quickly learn that a bra is simply not an option for this dress. You remove it, feeling particularly risqué now being half nude in his room.

You lay the dress on the floor and step into the skirt one foot at time, lifting it up and carefully putting your arms through the sleeves. 

You try tightening the laces of the corset, but without being able to see, it’s proving to be rather difficult. You know there’s not a chance you can get this situated yourself. 

You decide to text Natalia to come help you, but as you go to look for your phone, you remember you left it sitting on the coffee table in the living room. 

“Fuck,” you whisper to yourself. 

You open the door and marginally peak your head out, calling for her to come lend you a hand with the dress. 

“Sorry— should’ve warned you about that,” you hear Josh yell from across the apartment. 

“You rang?” Natalia jokes as she makes her way down the hallway to you. 

“This is fucking impossible to get on,” you huff, closing the door as she walks in the room. 

She chuckles as she shoves your hands out of the way to take over tying the corset. “You’ve really got yourself in quite the mess here.”

She sinches it as tight as it will go, forcing the breath out of your lungs in one final tug of the laces. 

“Jesus, Nat!”

“Oh you’re fine. God, you literature people are so dramatic.” 

“You’re one of us too, you know,” you quip back.

She secures the ribbon tightly with a bow before she says, “I think you’re in. Turn around, let's see what we’re working with.”

You run your hands down your torso and up to your chest, feeling the constriction present against your breasts as you turn your body to face her.

“Holy fucking shit, y/n. That’s what you’ve been hiding under those giant ass sweaters?” she marvels with arched eyebrows and wide unblinking eyes. 

You haven't seen yourself yet, and judging by how snug the top of this dress is hugging you, you’re not exactly sure you’re ready to.

Pointing to the mirror leaned against the wall, she tells you, “Get your ass over there, you have got to see this.”

Years of body dysmorphia have set you up to hate everything you put on if it isn’t something that hides you. Tight fitting garments are your worst nightmare. You feel safe in things that conceal your figure, and being in something that doesn’t do that is forcing you to come face to face with the thing that terrifies you the most. 

With a reluctant sigh, you slowly walk over to the large wooden oval floor mirror standing next to the matching dresser. 

The first thing you notice upon lifting your eyes to meet your reflection— your breasts. From feeling them moments ago, you knew they were on full display, but you didn’t realize they’d be this exposed. One slightly questionable movement, and it’s all over.

The sleeves sit off your shoulders, leaving them exposed with the rest of your chest. 

Your eyes trail down to your waist that is being held tightly by the corset, your figure finally being exposed. 

“O-oh god…” you quietly stammer. “I look…”

“Insanely hot.” Natalia interrupts. 

“…I look fucking ridiculous.” 

“What the hell are you talking about, y/n?” she demands.

“This isn’t flattering…not in the slightest.” You bring your arms up to fold them over your chest. You can’t hide as easily as you would like to in this get up— and the thought of being filmed in this has your stomach in a nauseous hold. 

She walks closer to you and gently brushes your arms, motioning for you to put them down— to stop hiding.“You’ve got to be kidding me, y/n. This dress was made for you.” She adjusts your right sleeve a bit, smoothing down a few wrinkles. With a tender voice, she asks, “What could you possibly not like about this?”

“I’m not you, Nat. I can’t pull this off like you could.” 

“Do not start that shit with me, girl.” She sounds more stern this time. “Just because you don’t look like me, does not mean you aren’t fucking beautiful. If I have to spend all night convincing you that you’re gorgeous, I will.” 

Natalia is the kind of person you’ve needed in your life, your whole life. She just gets you, and she always has the right thing to say at any given moment. 

Not wanting to make this moment any more about yourself than you already have, you simply say, “Thank you, Nat.” 

You reach for a hug and she pulls you in, saying “You’re welcome. Now, get yourself out there. I can’t wait to see the look on these boys’ faces.”

Just in time, a knock sounds against the bedroom door. “Uh ladies? Time is of the essence!” Josh jokingly yells from the hallway, snapping being heard through the wall. 

You’re standing completely still, fear keeping you frozen on your feet. She notices and motions for you to move. 

“You first,” you tell her.

She playfully rolls her eyes and agrees. Opening the door, she says, “Let’s go, your highness. Your kingdom awaits your arrival.” 

You follow her down the hallway, hiking the skirt of your dress up as it’s far too long for you. You're so anxious to let Jake (and the other guys— but mostly Jake) see you like this. Petrified, really.

You’re afraid of his reaction, that it won’t be what you want it to be— that he’ll act disgusted. 

But all the same, you want him to see. Maybe this will change his mind. Maybe he’ll think you look as good as Natalia says. 

You can only hope, anyways.

Natalia pulls out all the dramatic stops to introduce you. “Gentlemen, I present to you, your queen.”  

She stands to the side as you walk forward into the living room. Josh is sitting on the couch next to Malachi, both of them with large smiles across their faces at the sight of you. They each fawn over you, telling you how immaculate you look. Josh praises Malachi over and over for managing to get them the perfect gown, “The sizing is impeccable!” he tells him. Then he winks at Natalia. “Thanks for getting her sizes for us, Natty!”

You hear them, but you’re hardly paying them any attention as you’re stuck scanning the room for Jake, but to no avail. He’s nowhere to be seen. To say the very least, you’re full of disappointment. 

“Well, fuck me,” you hear a voice say, one that you’re not quite so familiar with.

You snap your head in the direction of the voice to see a man— who looks a little like Jake?— leaning up against the floor to ceiling window in the dining room. 

“Seriously, Sam?” Natalia snaps, “Where the hell are you manners?”

Sam— the Sam. The one you’ll be sharing the screen with the most.

It makes sense why he’d be chosen to play ever-romantic Lancelot. He’s a major flirt, quite fitting for the role. And— he’s fucking beautiful. Something you were not anticipating. (And something you hadn’t even thought about, with your mind being so overloaded with thoughts of Jake.)

While he doesn’t share the same similarities with Jake as Josh does, (they’re twins, so, obviously) you most definitely can’t deny the fact that they’re brothers.

Sam is a bit taller than the twins, his body shaped completely differently to accommodate his longer frame. His facial hair is quite similar to Joshs’, with his hair more the likes of Jakes'. 

“Sorry, I can’t help myself when I see a pretty girl,” Sam blurts. “You sure you’re at the right place? Seems you should be galavanting in Hollywood looking like that.” 

A heat rises to your cheeks at his compliment. You’re sure your face is nearly the color of the gown you’re in. He’s awfully bold— and you kind of like it. 

His eyes stay fixed on you as he begins walking in your direction.

“I take it you’re y/n?” he asks, taking your hand and giving your knuckles a quick peck. “I’d say Jake made a good choice for our queen.” He looks into your eyes as he gives the back of your hand yet another kiss— this one a bit more involved. 

You smile at the feeling of his mustache ticking your hand as he grins against the skin. “Thank you, Sam. I’m quite flattered,” you say, still giggling like a fucking school girl with a brand new crush.

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Nat quips with a stark roll of her eyes. 

“This…THIS!” Josh shouts as he stands from the couch, trotting over to you and Sam. “The exact chemistry I was hoping for. You two just naturally have it— you exude it.” He grabs you both by the shoulders and pulls you both into a three-way embrace. “Sam, go put on your costume. We should run through a quick scene. I just have to see how this will play out.” 

Josh is so giddy about it all that he plants a wet kiss to your cheek, saying with a sincere smile, “You really do look wonderful, you know.”

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

Josh led you all down a little pathway behind their apartment building that leads to a shrine of towering beautiful, old trees. The sun just barely breaks through the colorful leaves on their full branches, illuminating the mossy ground in a soft and subtle golden glow. 

His vision for this particular scene with Lancelot and Guinevere is to take place in a forest setting, a “secret hiding place tucked away in the depths of nature's wonder,” as he put it.  

You look around in awe; it’s though you’ve walked through the pages of an old story book. An enchanted forest, right in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the busy city. You would have never guessed this was hiding here. The perfect spot for a film– more importantly, it’s the perfect spot for lovers to enjoy their inconspicuous love affair. 

“The lighting right now is unmatched,” Josh exclaims, taking note of the time so he knows when to come out when you’re ready to actually start filming. It’s just after 5:30, and with autumn nearly in full swing, it’s right at the beginning of golden hour. With the way the trees are shading the sun, it makes for the most beautiful, soft scene— almost lucent. 

It reminds you so much of the serene road you’ve found for your morning treks to school each day. You feel the same way here as you do on that secret road; this will surely be a new favorite place of yours. 

You’ve got the script in your hands, skimming through the scene Josh has highlighted for you. 

Guinevere is sending Lancelot off to a jousting match, giving him her red scarf in secret to tie around his arm as a token. He must wear it during the game for good luck, and he’s meant to return it to her once he wins. A common medieval practice amongst lovers. 

It ends with her wrapping her arms around him, enveloping him in a “deep, heated kiss to bid a farewell,” according to the script. 

Oh god.

You read ahead a little. Apparently, this will be what gives their little love affair away. Arthur will recognize the scarf around Lancelot's arm as his wife’s, and the rest will be left to history. Angsty– wonderfully so. 

“Right here,” Josh says. “This is perfect.” 

He positions you and Sam in a spot that’s right in the middle of a circle of trees. 

Sam's skin is glowing beautifully in this light, his dark eyes now several shades lighter as the sun catches them just right. 

You can’t help but stare at him. He’s just so handsome, and he looks particularly regal in his costume. A white velvet, high collar top with white pants that are hugging him in all the right places, and a deep red cape draped over his broad shoulders— the same shade as your dress. 

Is it historically accurate? Absolutely not. But it is most definitely serving its purpose of making him appealing to the eye, or making him lust worthy— which is exactly what Malachi was going for when he chose this get up. 

His cape is meant to match your dress, symbolizing their affection for one another. 

It’s brilliant, honestly. 

Josh puts his hand on your shoulder, his perfectly round eyes meeting yours while he quietly says, “If you’re not comfortable with this, please don’t be afraid to tell me or Sam. Promise me you’ll say something.”

Sam looks at you with the same eyes as Josh, wanting to make sure you’re comfortable enough with everything before you start.

You smile at them both, patting Josh's hand that’s still resting gently on you. “I promise.”

“Okay, great. You guys ready?” Josh asks. 

“I think so,” Sam says, looking down at you with heavy eyes and a sweet smile. “You ready, y/n?”

As you’d walked the path down here, Josh mentioned that Jake left to go get more beer while you were getting dressed. And… he’s still not back yet. 

A part of you doesn’t want to do this without him here. Why? You wish you knew. It just doesn't feel right for some reason.

You look around at everyone once more to see if maybe he’s shown up and you just didn’t realize it.

You see Josh, Malachi and Natalia all standing around you— but no Jake. 

Oh well…

Matching Sam's smile, you say, “Yep. I’m ready.”

Neither of you have your lines memorized just yet, so you both read directly from the script.

Sam begins the scene:

“My love. I accept this token and will wear it as I carry you with me, that with it wrapped around my arm, so as you are wrapped even tighter around my heart.”

Then you:

“With it carries the promise you will return to me, unmarked and whole. Again will you lie with me, again will you hold me as tightly as my token holds you.”

You know Sam is acting, but the way he’s looking at you as you say your line— he looks like he’s madly in love. It’s catching you off guard, making your knees weak as your voice trembles with the next line.

“Seal your promise of returning to me with your lips, my love. Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

With that, Sam drops his script to his feet. He lifts his hands to cup your face, holding it gently as his thumbs lightly sweep across your cheekbones. Your breath hitches, and you too, drop your script. 

This… this suddenly doesn't feel like acting anymore. 

He leans in slowly, his lips just beginning to brush over yours. You grip his shoulders, leaning in the rest of the way until, finally, your lips collide with his. 

A kiss so sweet and tender. Not too deep, yet a far cry from a friendly peck. 

He pulls away from you delicately, the sound of his lips breaking from yours the only one you can hear as silence lingers in the air around you.

As you look into his eyes, you notice something different, something real. Like he’s wanted to do that since he first laid eyes on you just a short while ago. 

“Wow, y/n’s got some serious acting chops after all,” you hear Natalia say, slowly clapping.

But it’s abruptly interrupted by someone speaking.

“What— what the fuck is going on?” That voice… you know that voice without even looking away from Sam. 

Jake. He’s back. 

“Bravo, bravo!” Josh shouts while clapping his hands. “God. Beautifully done, you guys. I’d like to run through it just once more. Give me a little more passion this time.”

You finally look away from Sam, seeing Jake standing next to his twin with a bewildered look upon his face. 

In his all black outfit, he really stands out amongst everyone, amongst the golden sun rays that shine down upon him.

He’s not wearing his sunglasses, and you’re once again spellbound by his eyes. Their amber tone heightened in the light.

He just looks so fucking good. 

Sam is beautiful, but he’s just not Jake. 

“Hello? Is anyone going to fill me in on this?” Jake asks again, motioning his arms toward you and Sam.

“We’re rehearsing a scene, Jake.” Josh retorts. 

“Yeah? And what scene might that be?” Jake sounds quite unhappy, much to your confusion.

Josh picks up the script at Sam's feet, holding it open to the page you’re currently working on. “This one,” he says. “The one where she gives Lancelot her token. I wrote this weeks ago, Jake. Why are you acting like you’ve never seen it?”

Jake hastily takes the script from him and reads over the scene in question. “I swear I’ve never read this before.” He continues flipping the pages, going back and finding more scenes that will be shared between you and Sam. “Why the hell do they have so many of these scenes together? When did you decide on all of this?”

“Seriously, Jake?” Josh scoffs. “These scenes have always been there—,” he growls, using his hands to help communicate the emotions in his next words. “You clearly haven't read a word of the fucking script. Guinevere and Lancelot’s affair is the main focus, with some on Arthur’s affair with the maiden. We literally talked about this. Multiple fucking times.” 

Jake gives the script back to Josh, fiercely rubbing his chin as he does so.

“Why are you so upset, Jake?” Josh asks. 

“I’m literally not, Josh.” 

“Uh, yes you are. You only rub your chin like that when you’re pissed.” 

With a flair of his nostrils, Jake says, “Just get on with your goddamn rehearsal.”

“Just ignore them. They do this shit all the time,” Sam quietly says to you. “Ready to do this again?” he asks.

With your attention back on Sam, you smile and nod your head.

You do the scene again, much the same as you had before. But this time, with the watchful eyes of Jake, you feel a bit more… inspired. 

“Kiss me and tell me it’s true that you will hold me again.”

Sam once again takes your face in his hands, leaning in close to you. 

This time, instead of grabbing his shoulders, you opt to run your fingers through his hair. 

Locking eyes with Jake, who’s standing perfectly in your view, you lift your face to crash your lips with Sam— much harder this time. 

Josh wanted more passion, and he’s getting exactly that.

You push your tongue past Sam's plush lips, eliciting a soft grumble from deep in his throat. 

His hands suddenly move from your face to your neck, his fingertips tracing the skin while leaving goosebumps in their wake. He then reaches down to your waist, pulling you tightly against his body.

This is no Guiniverre and Lancelot sharing a secret kiss in the middle of a hidden forest; this is you and Sam enjoying the hell out of each other. 

But even as your mouth is fully enveloped with Sams, even with your tongues fighting for dominance with one another— your only thought… is Jake. Fucking Jake.

You situate your face just so, where you’re again able to look Jake in the eyes. He intensely glares as he watches you in a moment of pure desire with his brother— and he doesn’t look happy.

Incidentally, it's only adding fuel to your fire as your lips continue furiously attacking Sams. 

You wrap your hands even tighter around his soft locks as his tongue is dancing with yours. 

More beautiful, hushed moans escape Sam’s mouth straight into yours as you echo them right back to him. 

He tastes like heaven mixed with a delicious honey sweet bourbon, he’s fucking delectable. 

With a little hesitancy, (especially on Sam's part) the kiss breaks as you are forced to come back up for air. 

Sam is still holding you close, so close that you can feel his enthusiasm between your bodies that’s thankfully being covered by the skirt of your dress.

“You’ve uh, got me in a bit of a predicament here,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.

You look him in the eyes, biting your kiss swollen bottom lip. “I can tell. Pretty big predicament, huh.” Your new found bravery has taken even you by surprise. 

Sam just smirks at you while everyone is left stunned at your performance. 

“I… am so fucking pissed,” Josh says. 

“Why, babe?” Malachi asks him.

“Because I didn’t bring my fucking camera. You two… you two were made to do this together. I really hope you can do that again. Holy shit. Bra-fucking-vo.”

“What do you think, y/n? Think we could do that again?” Sam asks you. Although it’s clear he isn’t referring to the film. 

Looking at Jake, his jaw clenched and his fists tight, you say, “Yeah.” You tear your eyes away from Jake, looking at Josh to finish. “I think we could do that again.” 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ 

A few weeks have gone by, and most things are going very well with the production. 

Josh is a fantastic director (albeit, a little too bossy at times). Their sweet friend Daniel wound up being a great cameraman, getting shots of you that didn’t make you completely cringe at first glance. Then there was Malachi, who is consistently helpful, just like his sister. Sam, the perfect scene partner— so attentive and great at checking in with you between takes. 

And Nat, ever the loyal friend, has still been coming to rehearsals with you. She hasn’t missed a single one, and her support has meant the world to you. Each time you feel a rush of insecurity washing over you, she’s there to talk you through it and be the encouragement you need.

The only part of these rehearsals that’s getting extremely old is how much Jake inserts his “constructive creative criticism.” 

On more than one occasion, you’d shoot daggers in his direction and remind him that he’s not the director and to leave it to his brother. To which he’d respond with a scoff, palms planted, strong on his hips, and turn to leave the room in a huff. 

Then there are the arguments between the twins… which have been growing in intensity. Some days production ends because the two of them just refuse to see eye to eye, making it impossible to get through a single scene. 

You have to admit— these two are rather passionate about their work.

You just wish they’d stop arguing long enough to showcase their talents. 

The most memorable day on set as of yet was the day Jake's costume had finally arrived. 

He’d been taking far too long to get dressed in his attire, causing Josh to succumb to a near full meltdown. The sun was setting and Josh was adamant about getting at least one scene with Arthur shot outside. 

Jake, however, was extremely unhappy with the costume that was chosen for him. He refused to walk out in it, claiming it was nothing like what he had pictured for the character. “This isn’t Arthur,” he said. “This is a goddamn see-through crop top.”

And that had instantly piqued your attention. You’d walked around the corner of the hallway, Natalia leading the way. Thankfully— because she did not need to be privy to the fact that you were so curious. 

Then, you saw him. Clad in his film outfit that was a cut off chainmail top, with its short, tight sleeves putting his muscular biceps on full display. 

His pecks, (which you’ve caught yourself admiring a time or two before) looked particularly perked and rounded. 

You also loved how sheer the top was, giving you a fantastic view of his skin underneath. 

Jake clearly wasn’t happy about it, but you most definitely were. 

“Goddamn…” you whispered to yourself, watching the way his arms flexed each time he adjusted his shirt. You couldn’t help it. He just looked so fucking sexy. 

“I’m not wearing this, Josh.” Jake asserted. “Nope. This is ridiculous.”

“Yes you are, Jake. It’s only for a few scenes, then you can wear the outfit you chose.” Josh blurted. “And I told you we’d get you a black cloak to wear. Will that make you feel better?” You noted a bit of sarcasm in his voice.

“Fuck no,” Jake said. “And why the hell does Sam get to have my sword for so many of his scenes?”

The argument continued on, and almost an hour later, Jake finally gave in. But, it was too late. The sun had gone down, and you were all ready to call it quits for the night. 

“Well, a fucking wasted day. Thanks an awful lot, Jake.” Josh shouted as he stomped up the stairs.

They were able to shoot that scene the very next day, and as usual, they acted as if nothing had happened. 

It’s pure whiplash with these two. One minute they’re cussing each other out, on the verge of throwing fists; the next, they’re making each other laugh so hard they’re nearly rolling on the floor. 

Outside of filming, Jake has remained stoic– ignorant to your existence. 

At school, he acts as though you don’t exist– only acknowledging you if he absolutely has to. For instance, before you can even try to get a word in before or after class, he’s already shooting up out of his seat before you have time to even think about standing up.

And similarly, at rehearsals, your conversations are limited to one or two words here and there, besides the incessant critiques he tosses around after your scenes. 

Sam, however, has given you nothing but praise after praise. His flirting hasn’t let up— and you’ve been dishing it right back any chance you get. 

You had ultimately decided if Jake wouldn't give you the time of day, you’d give it to someone who will. Who just so happens to be Sam.

Although, it lends more material for Jake’s reproval. The comments he’d make about it were aggravating at best.

“Can you show us all some fucking respect, please?”

“We’re trying to get work done.”

“Do you want us all to have failed projects because you two can’t stay fuckin’ focused?”

And, to every response, Josh shut him down, scolding him for being an asshole. 

“You’re going to chase away my muse, Jake. Please, cut the shit,” he’d roll his eyes, messing with the sides of his hair, fluffing it, cutting a glance at his twin. “I’m tired of you acting like a child. You’re the one causing us to lag with the ridiculous comments.”

The comments did distract you a little from the scenes you knew were coming up rather quickly on the filming schedule… but his remarks also added unnecessary anxiety to the overall atmosphere for you. In which case, Sam would be the one to make you feel better, bringing you right back to him.

The particular scene that’s hurtling towards you is happening later this week. You’re filming a brand new scene with Sam that will be far more intimate than anything you’ve filmed thus far. 

Josh wanted to give you time to adjust to everything and feel completely comfortable before he introduced this part of the film.

You’re still nervous about it, but your eagerness to see the film through has you ready to give it a go. 

The day before the filming of the scene, you go about things like normal. You have so much fun rehearsing with Sam; Nat and Malachi watch in awe as the scene flows flawlessly between the two of you, like it normally does. 

And today, it’s easier because Jake had been strangely absent. But, it hadn’t been better. Because no matter him being so irritating, you had sort of missed looking up at him, mid-scene with Sam. It had become oddly normal to find his eyes while meeting Sam’s lips.

After finishing a rather long rehearsal, Josh reminds you in passing that you’ll be wearing a brand new costume for tomorrow’s shoot.

And you figured today was as good a day as any to give it a peek.

Walking to Jake’s room to locate it, you sent Nat a quick text that you were heading there. She’d slipped away with Malachi to discuss costumes, but you knew if you ended up trying the costume on that you’d need her there to help (or at the very least, encourage). 

Jake’s room has become designated for your costumes, of which he has expressed ample irritation about. Just one more thing for the twins to fight about.

You’re actually starting to believe that Josh made it that way just to spite Jake. 

Once you make it there, the stark red garment bag is hanging on the closet door, awaiting you. It’s the other one that had been laid out on Jake's bed that first day you came over. 

That day had slipped away from all of you with Josh’s insistence that you and Sam re-rehearse the kiss, over and over. So, you never got the chance to try it on. 

You had hesitated looking at it since that day, though, because Nat forewarned you that this costume was much more revealing than the last, and knowing that, you haven’t really been in any hurry to try it on. 

Lifting up on your tiptoes the slightest bit, you grab the garment bag that holds the brand new, different costume that Malachi has specially picked for you.

Nat had fortunately gotten the text and had made it in time to help you remove the corset dress, carefully placing it back in its garment bag. 

Left in your black thong, lacking a bra from your prior costume, you look at the other bag, now laying on the bed. Your stomach sinks to your knees at the possibility of what’s hiding beneath the red canvas.

“Just how bad is it, Nat?” 

The anxiety you faced trying on the first dress weeks ago is now creeping its way back in. You’re scared stiff for a moment, staring down at the costume still hidden beneath the red fabric.

“You’re overthinking it, y/n,” she says. “Just open it and find out. All I can tell you is you’re going to look unreal.”

Not wanting to draw this out any longer, you start unzipping the bag, slowly revealing the black lace that was tucked away inside.

You pull on the hanger to take it out of the bag fully. 

A long black gown of intricate lace and chiffon— a lavish, luxurious piece of… lingerie. The gown exposes skin, hiding just beyond the cloth. Tight at the bust and waist, and flowing out at your hips. 

The neckline is completely open and plunges down to the waist. The mesh material decorated with an elaborate floral design— is utterly see-through. The front of the gown is held together with only a black satin ribbon tied in a bow.

“Holy shit, y/n,” she gasps, admiring every piece of your body she can see. “You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

“God, Nat…” You hold it up to your body, running your fingers over the long, bell sleeve. “I really don’t know about this.”

“Josh told you if you don’t like it, they’ll find you something else. But you should at least try it on, see what you think,” she says. 

You’re scared of putting it on and absolutely despising your body; you’ll be forced once again to face all of the things you don’t love about it— you won’t be able to hide in this. Not at all. 

But, you promised Josh and Malachi you’d try it. And Nat is right— they have assured you over and over again that if you’re not happy with something, they’ll fix it. No questions asked. Josh asks you every single day if you’re comfortable with everything, and he’s made it abundantly clear over the course of the production that you must tell him if there’s anything you don’t like.

Clearing your mind of any more thought, (because you’ll overthink yourself to the death if you don’t) you untie the sash, placing the gown over your body. 

As you suspected, there's nothing left to the imagination. 

The lace just barely covers your breasts, laying completely open down to your belly button— and you’ve suddenly become hyper aware of the fact that your nipples are peeking through the sheer fabric. 

“Please tell me they have pasties for me, because this,” you grumble, pointing to your chest, “is not going to work for me.”

Initially you’re talking about your nipples that you can see through the sheer fabric, but you figure there’s no use in hiding what’s on your chest from Nat. Something you would also like to be covered from eyes that you can’t fully trust yet. So, you lift your breast the slightest bit to also expose the red ink lying beneath the supple flesh.

Redrum, in dark red ink etched along the curve underneath your right breast. 

Your best kept secret is no longer hidden with the likes of this dress.

“Is that…. a tattoo?” 

You had decided on an impulse one night (after a few too many drinks) that you wanted a tattoo. It had been a hard week of treatments for your mom, while also simultaneously being the week that you found out about your acceptance to U of M. And you had figured you might as well do something for you— both to celebrate and distract yourself from the sad reality of your mother’s decline. 

No one knows about it (save for Natalia now). Not even your mom. It was gotten with the intent to be something special for you and only you. A part of your body that you could find comfort in despite your dislike for your build— something about yourself to be comfortable with.

And being the massive Stephen King and Kubrick fan that you are, you decided on a tattoo that solidifies your love for The Shining. Both the book and the film have carried through some incredibly tough times in your life, so you can’t really say you regret the permanent decision. But, you like that it’s something sacred for just you. 

“Yeah,” you say, tracing your finger along the flesh like you do nearly everyday. Just to ground yourself. “Important to me for several reasons. No one knows about it. You’re the first to know I have it actually.”

She nods in approval. “I’m honored,” she says, a sweet grin highlighting her features. “And I’m totally here for it.”

You really weren’t ready for everyone to see it yet, though. 

“Do you think there’s something that we could cover it up with?”

She is already walking to the door as you ask, ready to help however she can. 

“I’m going to check with Malachi,” she says, one foot out the door. Then she steps back inside the room, shutting the door to a crack before she whispers. “I won’t tell anyone about it. I’ll just say I wanna snoop through Josh’s Ben Nye.”

“You’re the best Nat,” you feel tears well in your eyes. 

You’ve never had a friend as wonderful as Natalia, and with every small thing she did to help, it solidifies how grateful you are for her. 

When the door closes behind her, you decide to bite the bullet and look at yourself once more.

Your thoughts begin to torment you, but you combat them with Natalia’s words. 

“You look like a piece of fucking artwork. Utterly gorgeous, honey.”

You wish so badly you could eternally shut the thoughts off long enough to see yourself the way others see you, especially in these stunning costumes that you should feel beautiful in. 

Someone as lovely as Nat— inside and out— complimenting you in the way she has, you should feel inclined to believe her; she’s not just telling you what she thinks you want to hear. She’s the most genuine person you’ve yet to meet and the last person to ever bullshit you. 

A few heavier tears have begun to form, threatening to fall at any moment as you take in your image in the mirror.

You do look beautiful.

For the first time in god knows how long, you can see your beauty reflecting back to you, effectively telling your ever intrusive thoughts to ‘fuck off’ once and for all.  And it’s not just in your body, it’s in you. The beauty within yourself that fully encompasses who you’ve grown to become as a woman.

You’ve been through some tough ass shit— had to go through things that you wish you hadn’t had to… and you’re still standing here to speak of it. That, in and of itself, is an accomplishment that shows some sort of beauty and resilience flowing from inside of you. 

It doesn’t feel right acknowledging these things. You’re not used to it. But at this moment, it feels okay. Feels good. You let yourself have it for now.

You normally wouldn’t dare be caught in something like this (let alone allow yourself to be on camera) but now, you’re actually excited. You never would have guessed you had a passion for acting, for playing a character so vastly different from who you are in real life. You’re glad to have somehow stumbled upon this whole thing; it’s helped you find the confidence in yourself that you’ve been desperately searching for your entire life. 

Moving the material covering your thighs the slightest bit, you reveal your leg, flexing it and admiring the taut flesh there. The feminine way your body is built complimenting the lean muscle that’s been built from hard work over time— working your ass off to get to where you wanted to be. Then, you poke your ass out, turning the slightest bit, you see the plush skin of your ass through the thin, dark material. You take the briefest second to appreciate the way it looks, round and full at the top of your thighs. Usually you would hate acknowledging that—hate. it.—but right now? It’s something sort of… sexy, seeing it. It’s hidden away beneath the flowing material, but wholly visible as well. 

It’s mysterious and you like it. The gown acknowledges parts of your body, without putting it on full display and it’s honestly everything you needed. It helps you to accept the curves you usually curl your lip at. 

Just then, as you stand there with your leg completely out of the slit, you hear the handle on the door turn and the door slowly creak as it’s being opened from the other side. 

Nat must’ve found the makeup for your little secret. You hold your breast in preparation to cover the ink, but don’t immediately turn around towards the door. Part of you, wanting her to see this new found confidence you’ve discovered within the confines of this gown. 

“I am so fucking glad you talked me into trying this on. I would have never if it weren’t for you— “

The sound of a throat being cleared of tension is made, interrupting you before you’re able to get the rest of your words out.

With a slight cock of your head in the direction of the door, your hair waving around your shoulders in the process, you realize… it’s not Nat standing on the threshold. 

Stunned, frozen solid in your position that exposes your leg all the way up to the round flesh of your ass peeking through, you realize that standing where Nat should be… is Jake. 

He’s as still as you, with one hand still on the doorknob and the other tightly gripping the frame on the other side. 

You half expected him to shut the door immediately upon seeing you, but he didn’t. He’s just standing there, eyes trailing your barely clothed figure. 

You should say something. You should tell him to get the fuck out and give you some privacy. But as you attempt to open your mouth to do so, nothing comes out. 

His eyes linger on your face for a time, but eventually, they start trailing from your feet, up your legs, over your hips and taut stomach. You’re hardly breathing, but your chest is still heaving short breaths… 

It becomes obvious to you that you like how his eyes feel on you. How he’s observing every inch of your body that you’re feeling brave inside for once… 

You want him to see, to see you exactly like this. 

Suddenly, your nipples harden when his dark, whiskey colored eyes (sans sunglasses, thank fucking god) find your shapely breasts outlined by the fabric just barely hiding them. The hand covering the round flesh tightens in an attempt to conceal the tattoo, but you’re longing to release the hand and show him all of you. 

But you know better. So your hand stays firm, but you let your erect nipple peek through the fingers splayed across your chest. 

You hear footsteps quickly stomping down the hall, becoming louder as they get close to Jake’s room.

“Jake! What the fuck are you doing?” Nat’s hand reaches out from nowhere, takes his arm and shoves him clear of your sight. Successfully breaking your lust ridden trance. “Give her some fucking privacy, godammit!”

And as you stood there, Nat giving Jake a piece of her mind, you can’t ignore how hot and bothered you’d become. You rub your thighs together, searching for a hint of friction from whatever had just transpired between you and Jake, longing for more of it. 

Your friend finally comes in, adamantly running her mouth about how irritated she is by Jake’s intrusion, but you don’t hear her words. 

Because you feel the complete opposite of her. In fact, you want to push her out of the room and bring Jake back to finish what had just barely begun. 

“God, he’s a fucking idiot. I’m sorry about that,” she says as she begins rubbing the stage makeup on the skin of your tattoo, you imagine briefly that her fingers are Jake’s… 

Then, feeling your nipples begin to harden from the thought, you clear your throat. Fuck. Too far.

Cover, cover, cover… 

She can’t know. 

“Damn,” you shake your head, your cheeks hot. “Why do they always keep it so cold in here?”

Thankfully, she doesn’t seem to notice a shift in dynamic as she laughs.

“I know, girl,” she snorts, a curl falling in front of her eye that she blows away. The breath makes your skin prickle with goosebumps. “Malachi is always giving Josh shit about it.”

She finishes blending out the makeup, adding a little powder on top to set it. 

“I’d say we’ve got you pretty well covered. Take a look, tell me what you think.”

You turn back to face yourself in the mirror, and right before you’re able to look at your reflection, a picture sitting on the dresser catches your eye. 

It’s of the three brothers— Josh, Sam, and Jake… their arms around each other as they smile wide.

But you can only look at Jake’s face, his smile so beautiful and bright in the image. 

“Yeah, it looks great,” you say, eyes fixed on Jake’s handsome face, smiling back at you. “Looks really good.”

a/n: any thoughts as to why Jake is being so horrible during this film production? 🤔

buckle up, we've only just begun. ;)

if you'd like to be tagged, follow this link or let me know & i'll be sure to add you. 🤍

love you all so much.

taglist:

@jakeyt @alwaysonthemend @sacredjake @jakesgrapejuice @misshunnybee @reesetrippingthelight @way-to-go-lad @iffypanic @sinarainbows @klarxtr @brinlygvf @stardustjake @gretavanbear @gvfmelbourne @sinsofstardust @literal-dead-leaf @livkiszka @gvf-ficreads @jaaakeeey @capturethechaos @neptune2324 @jaketlove @thetroublegetssoloud71 @myleftsock @sanguinebats @jakekiszkapunchmeintheface  @joshskittytickler @violet-hayes @aflame4goinghome@heckingfrick @fitalich @starshine-gvf @audgeppp @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @nina-23-45 @torniturntomyarrow @beautifulcrayola @writingcold @welllauragvf @loveisonaroll @itsafullmoon

I’m fairly certain I’ve included everyone but if I’ve forgotten you, please let me know! (& i sincerely apologize)

#jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #sam kiszka smut #jake kiszka fic #sam kiszka fic #jake fic #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #danny wagner #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #gvf fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf smut #greta van smut #le morte d’arthur

[chvoswxtch]

hello! I hope ur having a good day! I have a request if you’re up to it! we’ve always had Professor matt so to spice things up can we have a college!matt x professor!reader? he’s actively trying to gain the pretty professor’s attention and she’s slowly falling for it. you can make it fluffy or spicy or smutty. its all up to you!

hi nonnie!

I hope you're having a good day as well! I genuinely loved this idea bc we all know matty is a flirt but I feel like college!matty is a HUGE flirt and would totally go after the pretty professor. and honestly, she would eat that shit up, let's be real. but who wouldn't???

thank you so much for the request! ❤️

warning: contains mentions of sexual content (minors please dni), swearing word count: 3k

office hours.

When Matt was reminded by his advisor that he needed to take a literature course to satisfy his degree plan, his eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head. He had been continuously putting it off, but with one final semester left of undergrad, he couldn’t graduate without it. It wasn’t that Matt didn’t enjoy reading, he simply just wasn’t interested in taking anything that didn’t have to do with his program. He’d read enough “classic literature” and written enough analysis essays in high school, and he wasn’t looking forward to going through that agonizing process again. Reluctantly, he signed up for the last course available.

Taking a seat in the very back of the small classroom, Matt set up his laptop and plugged an earbud into his ear, prepared to appear engaged while he got started on a project for another class. All around him seats filled up with other students, but it wasn’t until he caught the sweet scent of pink grapefruit and blue wisteria that his fingers stilled over his keyboard. He turned his head slightly to the side towards the wall as the scent rushed down the hall, accompanied by a racing heartbeat. Matt’s head snapped towards the front when you walked through the classroom door slightly out of breath, heat in your cheeks from the run, and also a twinge of embarrassment. 

“Probably not the best first impression to be late on the first day of class, but in my defense, I’m still learning how to navigate New York. I can’t promise I won’t be late again, so we won’t be counting tardies in this class, to a reasonable limit.”

An anxious giggle left your lips, and luckily everyone seemed to find the humor in your admission. Matt’s lips parted slightly at the sound, and he quickly ripped the earbud out of his ear as you introduced yourself.

“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please call me Y/N. This is my first year teaching, and you guys are my second class, so we’re figuring this all out together.”

Another timid giggle left your lips, and Matt clenched his fist tightly as the sound settled in his ears. 

“I don’t expect perfection, I just want you guys to do your best. We aren’t reading things some arrogant ‘expert’ decided was a classic, or writing mind numbing papers identifying every literary device to prove you know what they are. I want to show you works that move you and make you think…make you feel. And I want to know what they make you think, and how they make you feel. The only way to fail this class is to not try.”

God your voice. It was as sweet as your perfume and had a velvet cadence that stuck to Matt’s ears like honey. He wanted to listen to you talk for hours, about anything. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest throughout the duration of class, and you fiddled with the rings on your fingers as you paced slowly around. You were incredibly nervous. Matt could feel it in the tremble of your fingers, hear it in the slight shake of your voice, and feel it in the rush of blood that never left your cheeks. He found it endearing that you were so anxious, and could hear how passionate you were in the way you spoke. Everything about you drew him in, and before he could stop himself, he was marching up to your desk once everyone filed out of the room to introduce himself.

“Excuse me? Hi, my name is-”

“Matthew Murdock, right?”

Matt abruptly paused, and he swallowed the sound that threatened to come out of his mouth at the way you said his name.

“J-just Matt, uh…yeah.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Matt. I’m Y/N.”

Your hand was so soft and small clasped in his own, and he could faintly smell the scent of blackberry from a lotion you’d smoothed over your body the previous evening. 

“It’s nice to meet you as well.”

“You have perfect timing, I was actually just about to come to you.”

Matt’s ears perked up at that, and he stood up a little straighter, already missing your touch as you slowly let go of his hand.

“You were?”

“Yeah, this is for you.”

You lightly wrapped your fingers around his wrist, carefully guiding his hand to a folder that you had outstretched in your hand. Matt cocked his head to the side slightly as he let his fingers glide over the folder, pausing as they ran over a braille label that had his name on it. Taking the folder into his hands, he opened it to find stacks of paper in braille on the inside.

“It’s the syllabus, a list of the works we’re studying, and the first section of notes we’re going to go over. I wasn’t sure if you were able to access the digital copies. I’m still trying to figure out how the portal works, honestly.”

There was a timid smile that stretched across your mouth, and Matt could hear a slight bit of nerves in your confession. For a moment he was stunned silent by the kind gesture, swallowing thickly as he closed the folder and offered you a small smile in return.

“I-uh…yeah, I was able to. But um…I-thank you. For this, I uh…I appreciate it.”

“Of course. I like to have tangible copies of things, myself. Helps keep me organized. Or, at least I think it does. Maybe it’s a sensory thing and I’m just tricking myself into thinking it’s making me more productive.”

Matt couldn’t help but chuckle as you giggled softly, nodding his head in agreement.

“I can understand that.”

“Well if there’s ever anything you need, any help or accommodations at all, please don’t hesitate to tell me. All my information is on the syllabus, and I practically live here since I never go home, so my office is always open.”

“Good to know.”

From that day forward, Matt sat in the front row for every single class. He blitzed through every single text on the syllabus, always prepared to participate in the discussions, and approached every assignment early. He wanted so badly to impress you, and his chest swelled with pride every time you complimented one of his thoughts or ideas, or stayed behind after class to offer your positive verbal feedback on one of his assignments. 

Matt knew he wasn’t the only one that wanted the pretty, young professor’s attention. He could hear the way the other students in class talked about you, which caused a tide of possessiveness to rise in his chest. Matt could also feel your affect on them as you smiled in their direction, or offered a compliment to one of their remarks, and it made jealousy simmer in his bloodstream. He was determined to be your favorite.

He found himself constantly stopping by your office hours to feign needing help or a second opinion on his approach to a paper, mainly as an excuse to talk to you alone, but also to scratch that itch of praise when you confirmed he was on the right track. Matt knew he was smart, and he knew he wrote incredible papers, but he liked hearing that come from you. 

He loved when you complimented his intelligence. Was it wrong to fake being unsure just to hear you say, “That’s exactly right, Matt” or “I hadn’t even thought of it that way, but I love that idea”? Probably. But it didn’t feel wrong. It felt good.

Matt had to be careful playing dumb. You both knew he was smart, so he had to switch his tactics up. He found himself asking for other recommendations for reading material from you, wanting to know what your favorite works were, going out to buy them and consume them just to get a glimpse into your head, and then listen to the passion in your voice as you explained why they meant so much to you. He liked that you asked him questions too, questions he didn’t hear you ask any of the others when they stopped by. You asked him about how his other classes were going, how his day had been, about himself and his friends, and he could tell you genuinely cared about the answers. Every second he spent with you, he felt the crush he had on you getting stronger and stronger. He knew the way he felt about you was wrong. You were his professor, and he shouldn’t be having the thoughts about you that he did.

He shouldn’t feel like his heart was going to beat out of his chest every time you smiled in his direction and showered his mind in praise. He shouldn’t feel the spark of something more when you let him hold your arm as you guided him towards your office, reveling in the feeling of your soft skin beneath his fingertips. He shouldn’t stroke his cock to the sound of your voice from a recorded lecture, waiting to let himself come until it got to the part of the recording where you said his name so sweetly. He shouldn’t be waking up with a wet patch on his sweats after yet another wet dream about fucking you over your desk. All of this was wrong, and the good Catholic boy in him knew that.

But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Because every time he started to feel guilty about what he was doing, he reminded himself of the way your body reacted to him.

Matt was careful with his flirting, crafting his sentences in a way that could be played off as casual conversation or banter, but riddled with undertones that could only be understood by the person given the cipher. The blood that rushed into your cheeks when Matt complimented you back or said something teasing that made you giggle only fueled his confidence to get bolder and bolder as the weeks went by. 

He heard the uptick in your heart rate when he mentioned how soothing he found your voice, and the way it pounded beneath your ribs when he “accidentally” brushed his hand over your exposed thigh to reach for his backpack. He felt the warmth that pooled in your cheeks when he stopped by with your favorite coffee, and when he confessed that you were one of the best professor’s he’d ever had; definitely “his favorite”, he had said. He should’ve felt bad that he could possibly ruin a career that you were clearly very passionate about, but the selfish part of his brain was screaming that you felt it too. 

With spring break approaching soon, and the thought of going a whole week without being around you, Matt devised a plan to finally make you his.

The building was empty considering most professors and students had left the previous day to get a head start on vacation plans, but Matt smiled to himself hearing your familiar heartbeat coming from your office. You had made class today optional, in case anyone was traveling or needed the break, and Matt had hoped that he would’ve been the only one to show up. To his disappointment, about half the class was there, but he knew he would get you alone soon enough. Matt waited until your office hours were just about to end, in case any other student had some last minute question, and when he was certain that it was just the two of you alone, he raised his knuckles to knock softly on the worn wood of your open door.

A quiet gasp left your lips, clearly surprised by the company, and Matt had to stop the cocky smirk that threatened to take over his mouth at the way your heart started to beat faster noticing his presence.

“Matt, hey.”

“Hey. I didn’t miss your office hours, did I?”

“Uh…nope. You have exactly a minute.”

Matt’s mouth split into a wide toothy grin at the playful tone in your voice, chuckling as he followed the familiar path from the door to the chair that was directly in front of your desk.

“Well, I’ll make this quick then. I know you have very important spring break plans to get to.”

“Oh yeah. Super important. I mean, my takeout isn’t gonna order itself.”

Matt dropped his backpack on the right side of the chair, folding up his cane as he sank back into the plush cushion and tossed it down by his feet. He pulled off his glasses and set them on your desk, a habit he had gotten into since you’d let it slip that you preferred it when he didn’t wear them.

I feel like you hide behind those, sometimes. It’s nice to get to see all of you, Matt.

His tongue darted out to quickly wet his lips as he fixed his gaze in your direction, a timid smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“I actually need to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course, Matt. Whatever you need. What can I do?”

Matt gripped onto his own thigh to steady himself, your immediate response and sweet voice hitting his cock before they even reached his ears. His lips parted slightly when you sat up a little straighter in your chair, leaning in closer over your desk with a warm smile on your lips.

“I need a letter of recommendation for the law program.”

“And you’re asking me?”

Matt couldn’t help but laugh at the surprised tone of your voice, shaking his head slowly as he leaned in closer to your desk and rested his elbows on the surface.

“I already have a few from my other professors, but my advisor mentioned having one from a professor outside of my main area of study would make me seem more…well rounded.”

Matt should’ve felt horrible about lying. He didn’t actually need a letter of recommendation from you. He’d applied to the law program months ago, and had already gotten in, but he would confess that later.

“Mm, so I’m next in line to make you look good?”

“Well, you are my favorite, and you have a way of making everything sound beautiful. If I’d taken your class a long time ago like I was supposed to, I probably would’ve asked you first before anyone else.”

Matt didn’t miss the sharp intake of breath you took, or the way your face instantly became a few degrees warmer.

“You wouldn’t have been able to take my class earlier, Matt. This is my first year, remember? You would’ve been stuck with someone else.”

“I guess I forget sometimes because you’re so good at this. But, that’s true. I don’t think I would’ve liked who I got stuck with as much as I like you. I’m glad I waited for you.”

Matt did his best to stay calm as he heard you swallow thickly, your breathing becoming a little more shallow as your heart rate drummed loudly in his ears.

“That’s…really nice of you to say, Matt-”

“I mean it.”

A blanket of tension suddenly surrounded the two of you, and his lips parted slightly as he caught a faint shudder course through you. Your fingers clutched the hem of your dress where it settled high on your thighs, digging your nails lightly into your palms through the fabric. Matt was waiting for your body to give him a signal, indisputable proof that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you, before he crossed that line the two of you had been dancing around.

“Um…when do you need it by?”

“The earlier the better, I’m a little behind. But, take your time. I’d like this to be as…real and honest as possible.”

“I…um…I can have it ready for you by the time we come back from spring break.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for me. I appreciate everything that you do for me, truly.”

“O-of course. It’s my job, Matt.”

Matt’s voice dropped an octave lower as he cocked his head to the side slightly, running his tongue along his bottom lip before the corner of his mouth curled upwards into a devilish smirk. 

“No. I think it’s more than that.”

Bingo.

The second he felt you press your thighs together under the desk and the enticing scent of your arousal hit his nose, Matt knew he had you. He rose from the chair steadily, gliding around the side of your desk slowly like a predator circling in on its prey, grabbing onto the sides of your chair as he bent over so that your faces were merely an inch apart.

“I think you know that too, sweetheart.”

“Matt-”

“I think if I put my hand between these pretty thighs, you’d be just as wet for me as I am hard for you.”

A shocked gasp flew past your lips as you sank back further into your chair, fighting the urge to spread your thighs to let Matt test his own theory, and averting your gaze from the prominent bulge in his jeans. 

“We can’t-”

Matt lightly grasped your chin in his hand as he forced you to look at him. He delicately traced his thumb along your bottom lip, leaning in ever so slightly to bump his nose against yours as he inhaled your scent deeply.

“You’ve done so much for me. Been so good to me, sweetheart. Shown me so much kindness. I’d like to repay that kindness, and show you how much I appreciate you. You gonna let me do that?”

A soft whine of desperation sounded in your throat, and a huge grin split across Matt’s mouth as you leaned further into his touch. He had you exactly where he wanted you.

“Yes you are. Because you’re my girl. My good girl.”

tags: @yarrystyleeza @little-miss-dilf-lover @neverlandcity @charmedkim @queenofthenoobs @stilldreaming666 @messymissy @dark-academia-slut @strawberry1042

#matt murdock #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x female reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x f!reader #college!matt murdock #college!matt x professor!reader #matt murdock fic #matt murdock request #matt murdock smut #daredevil #daredevil fic #daredevil request #daredevil smut

[the-hole-in-terzos-shoe]

Intro to Romantic Literature: Prologue

Professor!Terzo x TA!Reader (pretty gen for this part, but the main fic describes fem parts)

CW: implied smut, MDNI, 18+ only please, romantic tension, professor Terzo is a tease ✨

Word Count: 1.2k

I have been working on a Professor Terzo fic for MONTHS now, literally months. I'm getting close to the end, and this prologue popped in my head at 5 o'clock this morning, so I had to scribble it down. Plus, I think it'll make a cute little teaser 🥰 enjoy!

Intro to Romantic Literature: here!

Every day feels like a big day as you barrel towards the end of your degree. The pressure of arranging your final portfolio of works, defending final arguments, typing papers... it's all really starting to get to you.

𝘐𝘵'𝘭𝘭 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘰𝘯, the bittersweet thought crosses your mind. You'd finally be done with all this stress and move onto the ease of a consistent career, but you'd also be leaving behind the best job you've ever known. Leaving 𝘩𝘪𝘮 behind.

In fact, you're so lost in your thoughts, collecting and organizing papers and files so efficiently--you could do it in your sleep at this point--that you don't notice him staring at you, the pained expression on your professor's face that would tell you it eats him up to see you like this: so stressed you're ready to snap.

He reads you like the many leaves and pages studied in his romantic literature class, like a poem written just for him. You recite your feelings to him daily without knowing it; it's in the way you walk, the way you hold yourself, the way you tilt your head when you rest the tip of your pen on your bottom lip, lost in thought on the class discussion at hand.

Sauntering into his office, you drop your shoulders as you flop into his soft leather chair, taking a deep breath before sorting papers accordingly: lesson plans in the bottom right desk drawer, books on the bookshelf, papers to be graded in the third slot of the black wire rack, anything needing immediate attention left squarely on his desk in plain sight.

"Grazie, stellina," his voice snaps you back to reality, immediately causing your cheeks to flush at the nickname. 'Little star' is what it means. It makes you feel like a teacher's pet, which would've bothered you if it had been anyone else; however, it makes you feel special to earn attention from him. "La mia brava ragazza, you always do such a good job for me." He leans in the doorway, running a hand through his graying locks.

"Thank you, Professor Emeritus," it comes just above a whisper, and you look down at the desk briefly before standing to make your exit.

"Ah, ah, ah, not so fast," he murmurs, catching your waist as you try to pass him in the little room. Spinning you around, he pins the back of your thighs to the desk before leaving some space between you... Just enough space to be respectful, but a clear indication that you're not getting out of this so easily.

You're so caught up in the intoxicating scent of his expensive cologne that you hardly hear him when he asks how you've been. "Hm?" you reply, playing naïve.

"Tesoro, please, I can't have my favorite student looking as distracted as you've been lately," he starts, but you interrupt him.

"I'm not your student, I'm your teaching assistant," you remind him with a light hearted smile.

"You are still learning things, no?" he cocks one thick black eyebrow in that way that always makes your heart skip a beat, his intense white eye putting you in checkmate.

"I suppose so," you whisper, looking down at his ridiculously shiny loafers.

His fingers under your chin direct your stare back up, "What has you so distant, eh? Would you like to talk about it, cara? Confess your sins... So to speak." He winks at you, earning a small huff of a laugh from you.

"What are you, the Pope?" you joke.

His eyebrows quirk in an unreadable way, but he stays silent, urging an answer from you.

"I've just been really stressed with school," you finally concede, letting out a breath you'd been holding.

"Have I put too much on you?" he worries about the workload he's given you cutting into your schedule.

"No!" you look up at him almost desperately, "No, I enjoy this position so much. It's everything else. The final papers, getting good grades, trying to graduate." You choke on the last few words; it was something you'd been emotional about the last few weeks, plus your professor had your guard down.

"Don't cry, tesoro," he commands softly, but it's already too late as tears flood your waterline. Without a second thought, he cups your face in his hands, wiping away anything that threatens to spill across your cheeks. Wrapping a protective arm around your waist, he pulls you flush to his chest before fishing a handkerchief from his pocket, because of course he has one, and dabbing softly under your eyes before offering the piece of silk to you.

"Thank you," you stutter, clutching the cloth in your hand. Hesitantly, you glance up at him before laying your head on his chest, folding your arms under his in a hug.

His hand on your waist falls to caress the small of your back while the other cradles your head, while you regulate your breathing. You can't say for certain, but you think you feel a whisper of a kiss placed on the crown of your head. Holding each other like that for however long, you don't know, but when his fingertips gently start to massage your scalp, you let out an involuntary moan.

Your cheeks blush pink again, meeting a much more heated look in his mismatched eyes. As his warm hands move to grasp at your hips and waist, suddenly all of your worries melt away, as the only thing you can think about is him hoisting you up on the perfectly organized little desk and having his way with you, your panties tossed aside in his office chair, and you laid back and arched up into him while he works every tension from your needy body.

Your fantasy fades away when Professor Emeritus's hand cups your chin again, fingers pressing into your jawbone in a dominant way to lift your face to his. Your gaze wanders to his plump lips... how many times you've thought of having them on you.

His thumb gently strokes your cheek as he leans impossibly closer, and one of your hands smoothes over his firm chest.

But before he makes a move that he can't come back from, he presses the pad of his thumb firmly against your supple lips, stopping himself from crossing the line, even though he so badly wants to... wants you.

He gives you a solemn nod before putting some distance between your bodies, "I hope you're feeling a little better, after our, uh... chat, stellina."

"Uh huh..." is all you manage to breathe out before straightening up. "Yes, sir."

Offering a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, he carefully presses a kiss to your cheek before sending you on your way.

Tonight, you'll tell yourself that you misread the situation, that he was only trying to be a kind and caring professor, but somewhere deep down inside you, under lock and key, you know that isn't true. Especially because you felt something hard graze against your hip as you squeezed past him and out into the hallway, but you put that thought far behind you as you head back to your dorm.

#eeeee!!! #let me know if toure excited for the full thing! #its gonna be a pretty big one!!! #the band ghost #ghost band #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #terzo #papa 3 #papa terzo #x reader #fanfic #ghost fanfiction #imagine #reader insert #shitghosting #papa emeritus iv #copia #papa iv #popia #teacher crush #professor #student #teaching assistant

[blackbat05]

Peace Offering

Jason Todd x Reader (University AU)

Plot: You and Jason have gotten on each other nerves ever since you knew each other. This time, Jason may have gone a little too far. Does he have a solution?

Genre: PG-13

A/N: The headcanon of Jason studying Literature will go with me to my grave lmao. Not really enemies to lovers but you can see it as the beginning stage if you want! My fics always welcome different interpretations. Wrote this in one shot because I'm so done with my thesis and needed an outlet. Hence I'm sorry for the short fic and lack of brain cells. Hope you still enjoy though.

"Bird brain!"

"Uh oh, the baroness arrives." Jason dramatically mocks as you marched over.

"What the hell is wrong with you!"

"What's got in your pants?"

"Answer the question." You weren't having it this time. Your paper was due in less than twelve hours and your laptop has mysteriously gone missing when you woke up this morning to attempt to finish the last bit.

"Oh. That..." He gives you a lopsided grin that you want to slap off. If only he didn't look like a model that jumped out of Calvin Klein's front page. "I may have used it to complete my English Literature thesis. Researching the emergence of female writers in the 19th century and their impact on modern literature can take a lot out of you." He states that as if it's a well-known fact.

"My laptop." You had no time for the tiki-taka today.

"Yeah... I may have bought your laptop on a stakeout and it got broken in half by the Riddler..." Jason trails off, actually looking sheepish.

"What. Did. You. Say?" You grit your teeth, unable to process what he had just told you.

"Went on a stakeout."

You exploded. "You're a real piece of work you know that Todd? I'm so close to submitting my final paper and now I may not be able to graduate because of you!"

Before Jason can utter another word, you slammed the door on the way out, leaving him in the dust.

***

The professor signals the end of class, reminding everyone to submit their papers before the lecture hall empties out. You slowly pack your belongings, hesitant to make your way to the formidable woman.

But what must come, will come. You take a deep breath, rehearsing what you had practiced in front of the mirror. You'll beg if you had to.

"Uh, professor?"

What you didn't expect was the woman to smile at you through her silver-rimmed glasses. "Y/N. I'm impressed. You've outdone yourself this time."

"Excuse me?"

"I saw you submitted your paper already. I took a brief look at it, and your conclusion is stunning. I have high hopes for the rest of your paper." She slings her bag over her shoulder. "Happy graduation."

Stunned, all you could do was give a numb nod. You're left alone in the lecture hall, but not for long. The door opens to reveal Menace Number One - Jason Todd.

Jason Todd who's holding your laptop that looks as good as new. He quietly makes his way to you, extending what was meant to be a peace offering. You wait for him to explain.

"I know I've been a dick to you and this probably tops it all. I'm really sorry. None of... everything that I said to you was real. Sorry." Jason repeats his apology for good measure. When he notices you're still keeping silent, he continues.

"You were right, I was an idiot for doing that. I wanted to tell you that Babs was trying to fix it but it was going to take longer than I expected. I didn't expect she was going to have it already. Then again, it's her after all." He chuckles.

Silence. Were you mad that he got someone else to solve his mess?

"I wrote your conclusion. Hope you don't mind. I thought it was the least I could do for being such a jerk to you."

Jason towered over you but yet he couldn't seem to make eye contact. It was only by hearing you huff did he dare to look at you.

"I'm glad you know how much of an arsehole you were to me all this time."

Jason is on the edge waiting for you to continue.

"But thank you for doing all this for me. I'm really sorry too. For everything I've said to you. I don't think you're annoying. You're pretty smart." You give a small smile, causing Jason to break into a bigger one.

"What was that?"

For a spilt second, your smile slides off your face. "Don't push it, Todd." You take the laptop from his hands, making a mental note to thank Barbara the next time you see her. Making your way out of the lecture hall, Jason has become his usual self again. And this time, you didn't feel like your blood pressure was going to skyrocket.

"Aw come on! Say that one more time please?"

"You were a huge jerk?"

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Mm hm, a big baby then?"

"Come on!"

#jason todd x reader #jason todd fic #university au #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood fic #jason todd

[spiderluvbot]

𝗞𝗡𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗜𝗡 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗔𝗥𝗠𝗢𝗥 ─── ​🇪​​🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇳​ ​🇱​​🇦​​🇳​​🇩​​🇷​​🇾​.

summary: sometimes you have to remind your boyfriend that he's the only one for you, not that you mind.

genre: does this count as hurt/comfort? insecure!ethan so angst, like five seconds of fluff, gets suggestive at the end.

pairing(s): ethan landry x fem! reader.

words: 1.3k.

warnings: mdni, swearing, alcohol consumption, suggestive themes, technically proofread but i'm shit at grammar, i repeat the same word like 500 times, non-ghostface ethan, also he and anika are best friends because i love them.

author's note: first time writing something suggestive (first time writing anything lmao). do i think this is shitty writing? yes. do i think it should stay in my drafts and never see the light of the day? yes. will i post it anyway? yes. enjoy ig.

Ethan downed yet another one of the drinks that Chad had prepared for him while attempting to listen to his friend, the colored lights blinding him as his eyes darted towards the crowd.

"Dude, are you even listening?" The cowboy by his side sighed before looking back at the table, wondering what to fill his cup with next. "Maybe you should just go find her."

"She said she would meet us here. And she texted me that she was by the door like twenty minutes ago. Maybe she's just talking to someone." Ethan's plastic cup looked more and more interesting by the second, he could feel Chad rolling his eyes before his hand forcibly tapped his shoulder.

"You already got the girl, Ethan. There's nothing to worry about."

"Yeah. thanks, Chad."

"Ethan!" You made your way through the dance floor to your boyfriend, ignoring a few classmates that tried to stop you and quickly greeting your boyfriend. He couldn't help but notice the boys following after you, even when he had you in his arms and painting his face with your lipstick.

The much more muscular, confident, popular boys.

The kind of boys that you should probably be dating instead of him.

"Aw, this is so cute." You smiled, using your finger to grab the cardboard and pull him closer, leaving a small kiss on his lips. "Did you make it yourself?"

He felt his cheeks getting warm and finally dared to look at you. "It was a last minute thing."

"Yeah, right. He spent like a week on it, said he wanted to impress you." Chad ignored Ethan gaping at him and left with the excuse of finding Mindy, laughing at his own comment and holding his stomach.

Great, now you knew about his shitty DIY skills, he had never felt more embarrassed in his life.

You held his face between your hands and pressed more kisses where the helmet allowed you, continuing to paint him a soft pink.

"Well, consider me impressed."

"I even used velcro." He joked.

"Oh my God, take me back to your dorm."

You threw your arms around him, both laughing and stumbling around in your blissfully intoxicated state. You focus on his eyes, soft brown, long lashes, half covered by light curly hair. Eyes that look back at you with so much more love than one could ever imagine.

The intimacy of the moment is broken the second you feel a hand on your arm.

You're pulled away by Matt, a guy from your literature class, as he and his friends seem to make a barrier between the two of you. His grip becomes stronger when you try to back off.

"Hey, (Y/N)! Come play beer pong with us!" He starts pulling you towards a table, further and further away from him, and Ethan can't help but think that you just make more sense over there, surrounded by shirtless jocks and popular mean girls that somehow everyone loves.

Hell, it would be easier to picture you dating Chad rather than himself. He still couldn't figure out how he got you to date him when you were so out of his league, and the worst part was that everyone thought the same. He could see it in the way people stared at you two, at the way people (including your friends) mocked your relationship, in the way he thought you looked beautiful in your costume while he looked like a total loser (even if you said otherwise).

He felt something cold in his hand and looked down to see he had crushed his plastic cup and sighed before making his way to the table in search of some napkins.

Anika's calls for him made him stop by the couch she and Mindy were occupying. His body collapsed on the old cushions and he dumped his head on the girl's shoulder, letting out a groan in hopes it would make her say something that would make him feel better.

"This again? You know she loves you, Ethan. You don't have to be so dramatic about some random dude liking her."

Anika tried to hold her laugh at the feeling of Ethan mocking her girlfriend against her shoulder, because of course Mindy would say exactly the same things Chad always says, and patted his leg before turning to look at him.

"You know, you should just tell her how you feel, E."

"No, that's shitty advice."

"It wasn't shitty advice when it got you a girlfriend." She rolled her eyes and looked your way. "Ugh, she looks like she wants to die in there. Just take her upstairs, where you can talk in private, and talk. about. it."

"Fine." He got up and made his way to you, pretending to crash into Matt hard enough to make him dump his vodka on himself, and took advantage of the distraction to pull you away.

"Look at you, my knight in shining armour." Your smile disappeared once you saw his sad expression and you grabbed his hand as it was replaced with a frown of your own. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Can we talk in private?"

"Sure." You guided him through the room and made your way up the stairs, searching all of the rooms until you found one that wasn't occupied by a bunch of horny students.

"Okay, what's wrong?" You turned around to find your boyfriend sitting on the bed, playing with his hands and avoiding your gaze the way he did when he was extremely nervous.

"Do you- do you wanna break up with me?" Ethan stuttered and looked up at you only for a second before focusing on his hands again.

Your mouth opened in disbelief and you went to sit by his side, taking one of his hands on your own.

"That doesn't make any sense." You chuckled at the sheer stupidity of the thought before noticing his teary eyes and getting serious again. "Why would you think that, E?"

"We don't make sense together." Ethan sniffed and lifted his hand to wipe a tear. "You should date someone better, someone more like you... someone like Matt."

The words made him feel like his throat was burning up, and he felt rage, at both his tears and the fact that he kept letting people get to his head.

"That's fucking bullshit, Ethan." You grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look at you. "I don't give a shit about people like Matt. I love you, okay? Nothing's gonna change that."

You pulled him towards you and planted a kiss on his lips, starting soft and barely touching until he felt comfortable enough to pull you closer and kiss you harder. He got on top of you as you both fell on the bed and his lips traveled to your throat, leaving a tingling sensation on the way. Soft whispers of 'I love you, I love you, I love you' against your neck as he hid his face and started desperately rocking his hips against yours, one of his hands finding the way to your chest while the other tightened against your waist.

The cardboard of his costume burned and scrapped your skin, but it didn't matter, you would give him anything he needed, always. And right now he needed to have you close and feel how much you loved him.

So you pulled him closer and took off his helmet. You pulled his hair the way he liked and kissed his cheek repeatedly before turning until his body was against the bed and you could lift the part of his shirt that wasn't covered by the costume, leaving soft kisses on his stomach, traveling down, down, down.

Your hand slowly opened the button of his pants as his hips raised and low whimpers left his mouth, you could feel him twitch against your lips, through the fabric of his underwear, and your eyes focused on the small wet spot in them. You thought about how much he meant to you, and decided you could spend the rest of your life proving it to him, having him just like this, your pretty knight in shining armor.

#this is kinda shit #but i couldn't stop thinking about it so here it is #i'm obsessed with him #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry x fem!reader #ethan landry x you #ethan landry #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan.txt

[audreydoeskaren]

Hello, could you please do a review of Chinese Dress: From the Qing Dynasty to the Present Day by Valery Garett? Or at least give a perusal? It looks really good to a naked eye. There's clothes for different occasions, ethnic groups, and social classes. But it was also written by a white British woman, and from what I can tell her research comes from (stolen) collections in UK museums.

Also, I am confused about a passage on wedding dresses; she says Cantonese peasant women wore dark blue or black cotton for their weddings (pg 172), but I thought Chinese wedding dresses were traditionally red. (I am Chinese; I am an adoptee researching my culture; on a personal note, if it's true then I'm bummed because nobody deserves a boring wedding dress and red is so gorgeous)

Many thanks!

(Here's a pdf of the book for reference)

In my opinion, any book on Qing Dynasty fashion that uses a court dress laid flat as its cover image should be immediately dismissed, and that is exactly what I would say about this book. Unfortunately it's yet another ethnographic account coming from a white anthropological perspective, as you've identified, and is only useful if you want a caricature of your culture. Like most authors on Qing Dynasty fashion, Chinese or not, Garrett takes the 19th century as the starting date of the dynasty and offers absolutely no information on anything prior to that. This is because of both the lack of resources available to her from before western colonialism and the general framing of Qing Dynasty fashion; a common mistake, but not an excusable one. The erasure and misrepresentation of fashion in the PRC is disappointing. The book is from 2007 though, and it reads like other books from the same time, so it's not even bad in a unique way. I cannot stress this enough but please use recent literature wherever possible.

About the wedding dress thing, I wouldn't say there is one single 'traditional' color since formal wedding dresses of the Han upper classes during the Qing had multiple pieces and were not monochromatic. In the first half of the twentieth century, wedding qungua had a black jacket and red skirt, but were also embroidered with gold or silver. Blue and black were common colors for the working class in the 19th century, and it makes sense for peasant women to wear what was economical. Having fancy weddings that were a special occasion was, really, an aristocratic and bourgeois custom, and I assume working people often just couldn't be bothered.

This reminded me, I really should finish that series on Qing Dynasty Han women's fashion. Seeing published white authors be cringe with such audacity kind of motivates me.

#book review #qing dynasty

[ladythornofrivia]

bane in my bones

Pair: Toji x Reader

Warnings: Mature Content, Inappropriate Moments and Adult Language. (if you’re under 18, you can’t read this). Spice. (Spice is nice 😏😎😉)

Author’s Note: I’m sorry for taking so long. It’s been a mess. I’ve been playing Resident Evil 4 Remake, and it’s my third time playing the game, I’m still addicted to it. Enjoy this chapter.🥹

(Please report if someone decides to steal/plagiarize my story. And notify me. Thank you.)

chapter one

road to hot hell

“Class hasn’t started, (y/n),” your fellow college classmate said to you. “And you’re studying.”

“That’s what college is for, doofus,” you said.

“Ugh, harsh words,” she said. “Classes haven’t started and you’re already cranky.”

“Well, what can I say, I love being cranky in the mornings. I should’ve taken classes at night. The only problem is, once it’s nighttime, either I’m sleeping in or being awake until the next day.”

While your fellow energetic classmate is talkative with vigor tone, you, on the other hand, is ready to go to sleep at any minute from every noise, even her loud talking. The class you took was unexpectedly large—filled with not ten, but twenty extra ladies, and less men, around eleven count, flooding into the empty seats.

All energetic as your fellow college classmate. This year, you wanted to major English. You dreamt of going to Europe one day. You hoped that English class will set a solid guide for you to speak a foreign language fluently. Moreover, having literature lessons and annotations and notes.

More knowledge means more dignified and independence and confidence individual.

“Here,” your fellow classmate said, handing you coffee—caramel fudge flavor with swirled whip cream and cinnamon-powdered sprinkles.

A faint scent of cinnamon rushed through your numbing nose.

“Thanks,” you said.

“Yeah, that was supposed to be my second cup, because I was up all night yesterday, because some people are being rowdy as fuck in the dorms while I was studying and annotating the stuff regarding to the lesson this professor taught—more like scolded. Have you done it?”

“Done what?”

Her eyes squinted. “The assignment?”

“Oh—uh, I was working late last night. You know, money does go into the wallet by itself.”

“That’s too bad,” she said. “But I heard that sometimes the professor forgets the assignment—that’s the best part.”

“Unless someone reminds her.”

With a certain sharp gaze, she said, “Who said that the professor is a she?”

“So it isn’t a girl?”

“No,” she said, turning her head over shoulder as she pointed towards the girls. “See those girls over there? Ones who are wearing annoying sticky lip gloss and those fake nails?”

“What about them?” you said, not looking, though knowing who she’s referring to.

“They’re here for a particular reason, (y/n),” she said. “To top if off, they aren’t here for an English lecture.”

“Gee,” is all you said, yawning. “I don’t care what they do and how they do with their lives. If they like to mess around, that’s not my issue. I’m not the police patrol.”

“While yes, we shouldn’t give a crap about them, maybe, pay attention closely to who I was referring to at the moment.”

At once, you shut the book of the college assignment. “Alright. Who are you talking about?”

Her finger lay atop of her lips, giving you a signal to lower your voice down.

“Those girls may act innocent and shit, but I’ve seen those people, and you haven’t.”

“Get straight to the point,” you said.

“Fine. They’re here for the professor.”

“So, is this teacher the best at giving the girls education.”

“That’s not it, (y/n). Rumor has it that this professor in English literature class isn’t the only thing he’s good at.”

“Then what’s he good at?”

The class boomed from the other side—the door came with a huge bang.

The group of girls talking at the very top of classroom stadium, and stalked back into their seats, where they could still gossip the drama and love lives.

Once the doors have been shut, heavy footsteps sank each time he walk. His hand clenched on a leathered folder, as his long legs strolled to the podium.

Behind you, you hear awes and ooohs, filled with fancy adoration and girlish giggles.

Furrowing your brows, you eyes studied him. Tall and grumpy.

Looks like someone’s having a bad day, too. Hooray for being cranky.

You sipped some sweetened coffee as you kept examining his features. Dark glossy hair, grey eyes, and his suit is professional. Almost.

He looked a bit messed up in the morning—probably in a rush.

His one button was a dead giveaway.

What could be the cause of that?

“Oh god, I saw the glimpse of his chest,” one girl behind you said.

“Yeah, I did the deed this morning just to get a good grade. But boy that man is fucking gorgeous in bed.”

Figures.

You didn’t pay much attention because while the professor is doing a lecture, you were studying for another class session. A bad idea. But, your way is important. At least for now.

“Miss (L/n),” his voice hardened.

A hand slapped you on the back, which ultimately made you jump and grouched at the person beside you before looking at the professor with close inspection.

His black mane frame his face, looking youngish as if he’s in the mid-twenties, but his tall and beefy stature underneath his suit made it all more manly and sophisticated, but sophistication wasn’t his nature. You figure he’s rather a casual-looking guy looking awkwardly trying to fit in with the professors in college. Rules are rules. Maintaining professionalism through appearance is important. If he’s wearing jeans at work, people would think he’s an unsuccessful guy.

But no one paid mind.

After all, according to the scar on his cornered lip, and his narrow eyes and fit body and deep voice, he’s the chick magnet.

“Are you paying attention to the question?”

Your mouth opened, then closed, given no proper answer to his grouchy mood.

“Does anyone know the answer?” The professor asked.

The girls behind you raised their hands, as one of the girls said, “Can’t believe that bitch is acting so stupid to the professor. Studying another subject while he’s teaching. Unbelievable.”

“Right? She should be ashamed of herself.”

“What a narcissist.”

You ignored their biased comments and went back to studying.

Lecture went on as the professor said, “the assignment is due until next week. In the meantime, use your time wisely on doing research and find more sources before typing an essay.”

The class dispersed and exited. Everyone was fast at going to an exit, discounting the countless admirers the professor has, you are packing it in a meticulous way—mainly because your eyes are glued to the page you were trying to study for the next class’s pop quiz.

The girls cooing and praising the professor.

What’s so special about him other than having a GQ model appearance?

You thought of calling the professor “Him” instead of his surname; you didn’t know what his surname is.

By the time you reached at the exit, you shortly looked back at him, where the girls bombarded him with multiple questions and conversations all at once.

Thank god this class hour is over.

And so you left.

🔥🔥🔥

“How did it go?” your friend asked.

You shut the door. “My love life or my college life?”

“Come on, you know what I mean.”

You shrugged. “I’m doing just fine.” Then you perched over the dining chair with a sloppy form.

“Tiring, huh?”

“Yeah. I couldn’t find a job for this week because I have to make an assignment for this stupid professor.”

“Professor?”

“You know, the one where the ladies are talking about.”

“The only ones I know is that either everyone loves Leonardo DiCaprio, or one of those new actors in this new film, or in a Korean drama.”

Sighing, your palm smacked over to the center of your face. “I was talking about the English lecture I have today. Mr. Uppity gets all mean when I wasn’t paying attention to him.”

“Do you recall his name?”

You waved it off. “Nah. Too busy studying for my own sake…my future.”

Your friend set the bowl full of soup in front of you. “Good thing you’re home now.”

“Yeah.”

Your friend beckoned. “Speaking of home, there’s someone who likes to see you.”

You turned and you saw your six-year old boy with a dark, long manes and grey eyes. “Mom!”

You rose from the seat in swift motion and ran towards him. “Daichi!” You hoisted your son in the air and gravitated him towards near you, pecking his black locks with your numerous kisses.

“How’s your day, my little boy?” Your hand scuffed his hair locks.

The boy’s lashes fluttered and his grey eyes twinkled with wonder. “I got candy from my teacher today. I behave, just like you said.”

“Good job!” You ruffled his hair. “I think we should go out and get some fast food. What do you say?”

The boy wiggled in your arms. “Awesome! Come on, let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!”

Giggling, you said, “Easy, there! We’ll go right away!”

Your friend smiled at the sight of you and your son.

“Let’s bring Auntie Emi with us.”

You looked at your friend.

“I’ll drive,” Emi said, grinning. “Only if he tells us.” Emi proceeded to tickle Daichi, making him wiggle harder than the first.

“After that, we’ll help you with the homework, okay? Your mom has to study and do assignments for the upcoming lecture.”

Daichi nodded, eyes still twinkling. “Okay!”

With an unexpected life comes with a blessing. The only problem is, without a stable finance, you’re set to a dooming failure.

🔥🔥🔥

At the fast food restaurant, you ordered the food for Daichi, and Emi’s food set on a large plate, she offered to share with you, though you spent your share pf money for your appetite. Although it’s vaguely small, but doable since you’re hungry since this morning, only drinking nothing but sweetened coffee.

“You okay there?” Emi asked.

“I’m fine, it’s just…having a rough time,” you replied. “If only there’s something I could do to make my son happier.”

“He’s already happy,” Emi objected.

“Yes, but the problem is…something has been missing in his life. I wish I could take it away and make it all better for him.”

Emi placed her hand atop of yours. “I’m sure things will work out. I’ll find you a job and see what’s going to happen next.”

“Easy for you to say,” you said, rolling your eyes. “If only things are simpler.”

“It will,” Emi promised.

Then you smiled to yourself.

I hope so.

“But for now, I have to fix my college life.”

Emi shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Mommy, mommy!” Daichi said, tugging your top.

Your eyes casted down on him. “Yes?”

“I want…”

“Yes…”

“When is Dad coming home?”

Your heart froze.

“I’m…I’m not sure, sweetheart,” you said, stroking his hair. “We’ll enjoy first, okay?”

His eyes went crestfallen. “Okay.” Before returning back to his meal.

If only you knew who the father is.

Taglist: @colored-tr-panels @mrssano04 @goldenbeskar @f1yh1gh @galactict3a @onyx-blossom @sehunnies-hunnie96 @penguinlovestowrite @akemiixx01

#toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #toji smut #toji scenarios #toji fic #toji x reader #toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji imagine #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #toji thirst #toji fluff #toji x you #anime fanfic #fanfics #fanfiction #fanfic #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk fanfic #x reader #fushiguro toji x reader #jjk fandom #reader insert #smut #fluff #anime fic

[blondeboyfriend]

𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 (𝟏𝟖+)

𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈

[ PAIRING ] Yukako Yamagishi x f!reader [ SYNOPSIS ] You attend a Halloween party hoping to engage in some pleasant normalcy, but your night takes a turn for the worse at the hands of your classmate. [ WORD COUNT ] 3.4k [ CONTENT ] College AU, typical yandere behavior, alcohol, drugs (weed), seriously dubious consent, violence (murder), blood, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), tribbing, social anxiety, English literature references, y/n is implied to be around the same height as Yukako.

“It’s gonna be fine,” you said to yourself, smoothing out your Halloween costume. “Sure. I’m alone. I don’t know any of these people and would rather be back at home with my actual friends. But it’s okay. I’m gonna have a great time… And I’m gonna stop talking to myself because sane people keep that to a minimum.”

Every word sounded pained as they fell from your lips. You adjusted the straps of your dress and took a deep breath.

You were dressed as an angel, inspired by the costume Clare Danes wore in Romeo and Juliet. Your wings were white and delicate, the feathers of the finest quality. And your dress was… alright. Most of your effort went into the wings, leaving the dress an afterthought. You were lucky enough to find something at the thrift store, a gauzy cream-colored shift with thin straps with a hem that rested above your knees.

Skipping the house party did cross your mind. Going all the way to the secluded suburbs miles away from your university sounded nightmarish, but everyone in your program was going and you felt compelled to fit in.

It reminded you of high school, someone throwing a rager at their childhood home while their unsuspecting parents went out of town. You didn’t realize people still did that kind of shit in college.

The front door swung open, ripping you from your thoughts and startling you. A hulking man stood in the doorway wearing a Ghostface costume.

“Look at you! You look great!” 

“AHHH! Th—thanks!”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” He stepped aside and let you in. “It’s just you were standing out there and I was like, ‘Is she comin’ in? Is she leavin?’” He laughed warmly. “I figured I’d take the leap!”

“Okay. I mean… Cool.” You paused, trying to recognize his voice.

There was a level of familiarity to it that made you feel like you should know him, but you couldn’t place it.

“Do you want a drink?” He asked, leading you inside.

“Maybe. Wait. Yeah. Uh, what are you having?”

“A slutty swashbuckler!”

You immediately regretted asking because now you felt obligated to drink whatever the fuck that was.

He recognized the trepidation on your face. “It’s spiced rum and blood orange soda. You’re goin’ to love it. Everyone does.”

You weren’t convinced. But you felt compelled to trust whoever the hell was under the mask. Passing through the crowd you tried to get a good look at everyone without being too obvious. You didn’t want to come off as desperate or let your anxiety shine through.

Faces looked familiar but you couldn’t place any names. The only named face you gazed upon was Yukako Yamagishi, a girl from your 19th Century English literature class. She was wearing a sweeping white Victorian nightgown with her long black hair cascading down her back. She looked hauntingly gorgeous, distractingly so. Her violet eyes met yours and she smiled warmly before redirecting her attention to a few drunkards trying to impress her.

“Here!”

A glass of repugnant brown-orange liquid was forced into your hand. You tentatively sniffed the glass and said thank you even though not a cell in your body meant it.

“Excuse me. I just… I’m gonna go sip this outside. Get some air.”

“Oh,” the masked man said, frowning. “Alright.”

You turned and headed towards the door, pushing him from your mind.

“Wait up!”

A heavy hand fell upon your shoulder, putting the breaks on your exit. You held your breath, hoping you didn’t spill the putrid liquid on your pristine dress.

“Do you play beer pong?” You couldn’t see the guy’s face but his posture seemed bashful. “I need a partner for the next game and I’d love it if you would, you know… play… with me!”

“Sure. Just find me when your turn is up.”

You slithered out the door, hoping he would get drunk enough to forget you agreed to anything. Once outside you rolled your shoulders, trying to release the tension that had been blooming in your back. You took a sip of your slutty swashbuckler and spit it up back into your cup like a baby.

“Foul. Fucking foul. Ugh.”

It was cloyingly sweet and acrid, and the carbonation made the taste linger on your tongue. You dumped out the rest on the ground and sighed.

“Heathcliff,” you heard a soft voice whisper in your ear. “It’s me.”

You jumped and turned around, seeing a very amused Yukako.

“Oh shit. You scared me.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

She was so beautiful; it was almost disturbing. No human was meant to be so ethereal. She took a step closer to you, her sweet scent filling your nostrils. She smelled like fresh cut wildflowers and amber. It was intoxicating and settled your nerves.

“You look great—I mean—your costume looks great.”

“Do you know who I am?” She asked, leaning forward.

“No,” you answered honestly. “No idea.”

She pouted and leaned back.

“I’m Catherine Earnshaw, silly.”

You cocked an eyebrow.

She narrowed her eyes and flatly replied, “Cathy from Wuthering Heights, the book we just talked about in class. Or were you not paying attention? Did you even read it?”

“I read it! Most of it. Part of it.”

“No wonder you weren’t very active when we were discussing the text.”

You paused. It never occurred to you that Yukako paid that much attention to you. It wasn’t like she acknowledged your presence much outside of benign pleasantries. She was barely an acquaintance.

“I do plan on finishing it for the record,” you said, still feeling the need to paint yourself in a better light.

“Promise? It’s one of my favorites. I really like how—”

She was interrupted by the shrill shouting of your name. You flinched as the voice washed over you.

“The game’s startin’!!”

You saw that the random guy dressed as Ghostface was standing expectantly by the door. Yukako looked like she was going to explode, her knuckles white with rage.

“I gotta go play beer pong, but we can talk after?”

She didn’t utter a single word, instead opting to glare at your beer pong partner.

“Hey, Yukiko,” he said, dumbly waving.

Correcting him crossed your mind, but you stayed silent. The words refused to leave your mouth even though you wanted them to. You couldn’t wrap your tongue around the syllables.

The guy put his hand on the small of your back, directing you inside. You felt as if your body wasn’t yours, like it was something that needed inherently to be guided and acted upon. Your mind was too overwhelmed to exert your agency.

“Woo hoo!!” He shouted upon seeing the wet table.

It was speckled with tiny puddles of piss beer. I should tell them to wipe it down, you thought. But of course, nothing came out. You just grimaced, and tried to look like you were enjoying yourself. The guy removed his Ghostface mask and you realized you had no idea who he was. It only added to your discomfort.

The werewolf you were playing against stared you down; you didn’t recognize him either. His face was a blur. “You played before?”

It was as if he was interrogating you.

“Like once in high school.”

He groaned.

A guy with a stained sheet draped over his head explained the rules, putting an obscene amount of emphasis on the fact that bounces were not allowed. You hated how seriously he was taking everything. It was a drinking game. Wasn’t it supposed to be fun? Weren’t you supposed to crack jokes and grin wildly under the hyper bright, fluorescent lighting of the kitchen while making memories that would last a lifetime?

Apparently not. The experience was anything but fun. The beer was room temperature and you couldn’t steady your aim, your nerves getting the better of you. It didn’t help that Yukako kept her eyes on you the entire time. You felt like you were on display.

Your partner tried to be supportive, offering kind words and remaining hopeful in the face of utter annihilation.

“You got this,” he said as you hesitated to throw the ping pong ball. “I know we’re pretty far behind, but I believe in you.”

His words were vaguely inspiring so you decided to try your best. Sadly your best was complete dog shit and you missed. The other team made their final shot and the two of you were cursed to chug the remaining beer.

“That was awful,” you said, dumping a cup into the sink.

“Hey, don’t waste good beer,” he said, hip checking you.

You smiled and continued dumping it down the drain. There was no way you’d be drinking that shit. If anything you were doing the world a favor by sending it on its merry way.

“I’m serious. At least drink the last one.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“C’mon. Get to drinkin’, angel. It’s a party.”

You stared down at the cup in your hands and held it to your lips. You went to take a sip, but Yukako walked up and snatched it from your hand. She chugged the beer like a professional. You never expected someone as elegant as her would drink watered down, warm beer out of a plastic cup.

“Damn, Yukiko.”

“It’s Yukako, scum.”

He blew her off and put his mask back on. Oddly enough it was more comforting than his actual face. At least Ghostface was familiar.

“Hey, do you, uh… smoke weed?” He asked, effectively cutting Yukako out of the conversation.

You nodded.

“Nice! Let’s go smoke a blunt. I got one in my car.”

“Okay,” you mumbled.

Yukako groaned and walked away muttering expletives to herself. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, though it clearly was dripping with disgust. You watched curiously as she opened a kitchen drawer, stealing something out of it.

Chasing after her crossed your mind, but you wouldn’t know what to say once you caught up with her. It was a compulsion, something about her drew you in. Maybe it was the way she walked, confident with her posture erect. Maybe it was because she skipped wearing a bra, leaving her nipples on display underneath the thin fabric of her costume. Or maybe it was because she seemed to be just as enchanted by you.

You shook the thoughts from your head, desperate to stop imagining yourself burying your face between her breasts. Lucky for you the brisk night air was enough to calm your throbbing cunt.

The guy failed to mention that he parked quite some distance from the house party. You assumed it would be a quick jaunt down the street, but instead you found yourself weaving through the suburb, deeper into its unnerving uniformity. When you finally got to his car you were displeased to see he parked beside a pocket of undeveloped land, a flat wasteland of dry dirt and dead grass.

“Just a sec,” the guy said as he opened his trunk. “It’s an indica, do you mind?”

“Nah. I could use the relaxation.”

You tacked on a laugh to seem personable.

He pulled out a pencil case and fished out a perfectly rolled blunt. It smelled delicious, musky and sweet. He removed his mask much to your chagrin, forcing you to confront his visage.

“Here,” he said, handing the blunt over along with a lighter.

It felt like the weight of the world was in your hands. You hated how dire everything felt. It was just a night out. It didn’t have to be complicated and yet you were befuddled by everything. You lit the blunt and took a deep hit, holding it in your lungs. You passed it to the guy and let the thick smoke seep out of your mouth.

“So are you really friends with that bitch?”

You coughed.

“Uh. Who?” You asked, playing dumb.

He passed the blunt to you. “Yukie or whatever.”

“Yukako.”

“Close enough.”

“Not really,” you snarked, exhaling a plume of smoke.

“C’mon, don’t be like that. It’s just hard to imagine someone like you is cool with someone like her.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

The guy took a few steps closer to you, his eyes radiating a hunger they hadn’t previously.

“You’re chill and down for whatever. She’s so fuckin’ uptight.”

“I’m hardly chill.”

“Yeah you are. You go with the flow. Most girls aren’t like that.”

“It’s called social anxiety,” you hissed, taking another hit. “It’s not really a choice.”

He plucked the blunt from your hands and stubbed it out on his car door.

“That’s kind of cute though,” he said, brushing your hair out of your face.

You smacked his hand away.

“Can you not? I think I heard something,” you said, hoping that would make him stop.

He just laughed and palmed his cock.

“Hush. You know you wa—”

Before he could finish his sentence a set of slender fingers laced through his hair and yanked his head back. Another hand appeared in front of his neck, dragging a steak knife across his throat. A spurt of blood splashed against your face. He tried to say something but all he could do was gurgle as the knife sawed through his Adam’s apple. He reached out to you, grabbing ahold of your white dress now stained crimson. Your teeth chattered and your skin felt like it was tightening around you. You pushed past him and broke out into a sprint and ran through the desolate undeveloped land, hoping you’d escape the assailant.

“Wait!”

You turned to see Yukako, the front of her nightgown drenched in blood.

“What the fuck?” You wheezed.

You found yourself frozen in place. It didn’t take long for her to catch up to you, her long legs allowing her to take sizable strides.

“Are you alright?” She asked.

You didn’t bother to answer her question; wasn’t it obvious?

“Why did you do that?! What’s wrong with you?!”

“I saved you.”

“From what?” You cried, tears now streaming down your face.

“From him. He was going to do something awful to you. I could tell.”

“Maybe so, but you di—you didn’t have to do that.”

She took your hands in hers. Her palms were soft, her fingers delicate. Her touch was almost calming.

“Yes I did. He didn’t deserve to bask in your presence.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Someone like you shouldn’t have to suffer being around someone like him. He’s trash with no room to grow. He’s stagnant in his existence.” She tightened her grip on your hands. “Not like you. You’re always changing, always striving. That’s why you came tonight, right? You’re trying to break out of your shell.”

“You sound fucking insane. I… Fuck! Please don’t kill me.”

She looked like she was going to break into tears. “How could I ever kill you? I love you too much. You’re all I think about.”

“We barely know each other!” You shrieked, trying to yank your hands out of hers. Her grip was impressive. “We, like, never talk to each other!”

“That's the thing about us though. We don’t need words. Our love is that strong.”

She pulled your body close to hers, pressing her breasts up against yours. You felt like you were going to have an anxiety attack. You regretted smoking weed with every ounce of your being. 

“Please just let me go.”

“I can’t,” she said sadly. “I’ll have to kill you if I do. I can’t bear the thought of you ever being with someone other than me.”

“What if I promise to never fall in love ever again and we act like none of this ever happened? Like we never even knew each other!” You laughed nervously. “How about that? That sounds nice.”

She slipped her hand up your dress and rubbed your cunt through your underwear. You were ashamed to realize the fabric was soaked with your arousal. Terror coursed through your veins, but it was thrilling.

“That sounds like hell on earth. Besides, you obviously want me too. Don’t deny it. I hate liars.”

She pushed your underwear to the side and slid one of her fingers inside you. The sensation made your knees weak and your body limply rested against hers. She slid another two into your cunt and you mewled her name. You were embarrassed that she managed to break you down so easily. You knew you should have put up more of a fight, but she was right. You did want her.

Yukako brushed down one of the straps of your dress, letting one of your breasts meet the chill night air. She pinched your nipple between her fingers.

“You know I fell for you the moment I saw you. When you walked into class I knew you were the one for me.” She curled her fingers inside you. “I spent so many nights thinking about you and trying to come up with ways to tell you.” Her breath was hot against your ear. “But you never gave me any opportunities. You were so shy, always avoiding everyone. That’s why I was so surprised to see you tonight.” She pinched down harder on your nipple making you moan. “I knew this was my moment.”

She removed her fingers and sucked them clean before letting out a pleased hum.

“Take your costume off,” she cooed.

You gulped and did as you were told, dropping your wings and dress on the ground. You shivered as the cold air enveloped you. Yukako gazed at your naked body, her eyes radiating lust and hunger. You could tell she would do whatever it took to claim you as her own.

She pulled down your underwear and lowered herself so that her face was in front of your glistening cunt. She gazed up at you, her alabaster skin speckled with blood. She placed her hands on your ass and dug her nails into the soft flesh.

“Shit,” you croaked.

She lapped at your clit, giving it slow, languid licks. It didn’t take long for you to start moaning. Again, you hated how easy you were and cursed your inability to show restraint when it came to her.

Her tongue was soft and warm as it swept over your throbbing cunt. She was truly a master; no one had ever managed to make you feel such pleasure. You didn’t even think it was possible. You held onto the back of her head, unable to control yourself. She moaned as she continued to suck on your clit. You looked down and noticed she had started to finger herself. The sight alone was enough to make you come.

“Yu—Yukako, I’m close,” you whined.

“Lay down,” she ordered.

You could have slapped her for leaving you hanging, but you obeyed her command. The dirt was cold and uncomfortable, but you were too focused on the ache between your legs to really care.

She hiked up her dress and positioned herself so that her cunt could grind up against yours. She rutted up against you, your clits rubbing together. You felt like you were seeing stars.

“You feel so good,” she moaned.

You were both panting like dogs as you desperately got each other off. The sweet sounds of your moans filled the air.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” she babbled.

You watched as her chest bounced under her blood stained nightgown. You quickly tore at the buttons and sucked on her breasts the moment they popped out. You swirled your tongue around her nipple, relishing in her ardor filled gasps.

“Ah!” She cried out. “Don—don’t stop!”

You moaned and held her nipple between your lips as your own orgasm overcame you. You clung to her breast, sucking away as your body gave way to euphoria. Your body sang with pleasure.

Yukako’s moans grew louder as she climaxed, holding your head to her chest while you continued to suck. She collapsed on top of you once her orgasm ended.

“You’ll never leave me, right?” She said in a small voice.

You paused and contemplated. Deep down you knew you should push her off of you and run like hell, but she had bewitched you. There was no way you could deny her, especially not after she let you drool all over her succulent tits.

“Right?” She growled expectantly.

You wrapped your arms around her and stroked her back, letting your hand brush down her spine.

“Never.”

She seemed pleased with your response and nuzzled her face into your neck. You knew there was no escape, that there was no way out. You belonged to her now.

#yukako yamagishi x reader #yamagishi yukako x reader #jjba smut #jjba x reader #jojo's bizarre adventure smut #.fics #.jjba #.yukako #reader insert #x reader

[always-andromeda]

Okay so you got me obsessed with college!dwayne now so how about Hurricane (johnnies theme) with him? Or if you have to many requests with that prompt The World Ender is good too. He’s just so ugh and I’m so glad you got me thinking about this cause now he lives in my head rent free lmao

Author’s Note | thank you, Sam, for giving me an excuse to vent how much I hate my English professor <3 and also thank you for being such a lovely friend i love you so so so much mwah mwah mwah you're the best!!

"I swear to God, Dwayne, I am going to drop Professor Dixon's class and there's nothing you can do to stop me." you grumble from your place on Dwayne's couch.

With your legs kicked up over his lap, Dwayne hardly acknowledges you, opting to prop his book on your shins.

You sigh, "I saaaaid, there's nothing you can do to stop--"

"I heard what you said." Dwayne cuts you off with a steady tone, "You're not going to drop the class."

Chewing on your bottom lip, you reply, "I absolutely will, Dwayne. Professor Dixon is an asshole."

Dwayne blinks slowly, finally glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. He knows you well enough by now that he gets how you're picking at him. You're just begging for a drop of his attention. So he bites.

"What did he do now?" he drones.

You blink on like a lightbulb, always eager when Dwayne gives you the chance to rant to your heart's content. Something about the way he listens silently reassures you that he's actually absorbing what you say.

"So he finally graded our essays, right? What did you get?"

Dwayne pauses, knowing his answer will only set you off more. "An A..." he trails off.

You let out a choked laugh, "Of course he did! But that's because he likes you! He thinks everything you do is perfect."

"What? Did he not like yours?" he looks at you head on now, picking apart your strained expression.

"Oh, gee, I think he loved it, Dwayne. He said that my analysis of the literature was uninspired and that I should really work on being more concise." You reply with a spitting edge in your tone. It's a bitterness that brings Dwayne back to his childhood home; reminds him of his mother and Richard passive aggressively arguing.

Normally he'd roll his eyes at your drama. But he catches the way your eyelids flutter, blinking back the imminent tears. And as soon as he sees that, all the cynicism drains from his body.

Dwayne begins to reassure you, "Hey, I'm sure if you talk to him about it, he can show you what he didn't like and--"

You cut him off coldly, "Yeah fucking right. Dwayne, you went over that paper with me. You said to me yourself that you thought it was great. But of course he didn't think it was great. Because no matter what I give him, he's already decided that I'm not worth it and it's fucking frustrating."

You'd come across professors that rubbed you the wrong way. But this was different. This was a person who made you almost despise the subject that you loved with his pure, unadulterated indifference. It killed you seeing Dwayne actually getting along with him in class, engaging in debates that you knew you were just as capable of participating in.

It's not Dwayne's fault exactly. You don't like being so angry at him over something he can't control. But it's not like you can waltz into Dixon's officer and chastise him over his questionable teaching. That would only prove to him that you were some raging child who wasn't fit for the world of academia.

No, if you were going to get through this class, you'd have to grin and bear it. Take the insults to your intelligence and to your being. Which meant venting it all out to Dwayne. And suddenly, that response seemed terribly unfair to him.

You turn away, resting your elbows on your knees and pinching the bridge of your nose. "I shouldn't be taking it out on you. I'm sorry, Dwayne." You sigh and hide your face from him, not wanting him to see the tears that are still threatening to spill down your cheeks.

But Dwayne freezes, staring at your back. Watching how it rises and falls with every shallow breath you take to try to calm yourself down. For a moment, he's not entirely sure what to say. He thinks if he tries to touch you, you might just snap at him again.

Tilting his head back and taking a deep breath, Dwayne thinks he might understand it. Then again, maybe he doesn't. Either way, it's the exact kind of thing he hates. That's the one part of college he will ever understand. The performance of it. Sometimes he still feels like he's in high school, dealing with petty professors that sometimes just decide on a whim how they'd feel about a student.

He hates elitism and exclusivity. He hates how it impacts people like you, seemingly at random.

He lifts up his head and says clearly, "Well, fuck him."

You glance back at him, "Huh?"

"Fuck. Him. If he's going to do that shit to you, we're going to make him regret it."

With most of your adrenaline having already faded, you say meekly, "What are you talking about?"

Dwayne replies firmly, "Tomorrow, you and I are going to the head of the department and filing a complaint. And if Dixon tries to give you shit about it, I'll make sure he knows that he can shove his opinion right where the sun doesn't shine."

"You'd really do that? You'd stand up to him?" you ask carefully.

Without missing a single beat, he answers, "Of course I would." Dwayne moves closer to you, choosing to rub your lower back. "Listen, no one gets to make you feel like you're worthless. No one. Especially not when I'm around."

You like the way his palm molds to your spine and focus on the continued, rhythmic circles that soothe your temper. Staring at him directly in the eyes, you finally manage a smile. "Thank you, Dwayne." you say softly before leaning fully into his side and closing your eyes, focusing on his touch and the promise for tomorrow.

#strange trails milestone✨ #danonation #paul dano #danocel #little miss sunshine #dwayne hoover #dwayne hoover x reader #dwayne hoover x you #dwayne hoover x y/n #˚ʚ meda writes ɞ˚

[artigas]

yesterday, i went to a bookstore and i picked up two books i’d been meaning to buy, but needed help finding a novel I hadn’t spotted on the shelves. There were three youths at the front desk and, while one of them looked for a book for me, the other told me: ‘i’m not trying to be nosy or anything, but i love the books you’ve picked so far! are you into horror?’ and i laughed and said yes and she told me about how she just finished a college class on gothic literature and she’s obsessed. and i was like that’s rad, i love gothic literature!!

and then she was like: have you read dracula? and i said yes. and then she was like: but have you read carmilla?? and i fibbed a little, because she was just so excited to share something new with me, you could see it plain on her face, and i said i had years and years ago (i re-read it a year ago lol) and that i could hardly remember anything about the book (oopsie lol)  -- which was the right answer actually because this person just lit up like a light! and she started telling me about what she learned about carmilla in her class and, after a bit, she asked me she could recommend three more books for me

and i said of course!! please do! and she brought two books I already read -- one of them, in fact, that i had read before it was published, bc of my work in the new york public library. but she was so excited and so young and she so clearly wanted to give me something new to read!! it reminded me of my early days in the library: how young i was then, how eager I was to share books i loved with strangers, how useful i felt when i gave a recommendation that landed. i didn’t tell her i’d read it. Instead, i read the back of the book, knowing she was watching me, and said: “this is right up my alley, thank you so much for recommending this to me! i appreciate you so much!” 

anyways, i ended up buying seven books that day, including the two which I already read before -- but man, i’m so happy i did and i’m so happy i could be part of a person’s joy and be there to listen to someone tell me all the cool things they learned about the books i love!!

#personal #nia talks #if you're curious the book was The Death of Jane Lawrence #and it was easily one of the best books i read that year! #anyways i hope this person is happy and having a beautiful day because her joy that day was so infectious

[kasienda]

Love Remains - Ch 5

Written for @thelibraryloser‘s birthday.

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Read on Ao3

Chapter 5:

Thirty-Six Days Since Marinette Lost her Memory

“I’d like you to do a supplemental reading this weekend to fill in some of your historical gaps.” 

Gaps was one word for it. She took the assignment without complaint though she wasn’t sure when she’d be able to do it. 

“Girl! Why didn’t you say something?” Alya asked as they walked to their next class. 

Marinette shrugged. “Because I do want to fill in my historical gaps?” 

Like in an abstract way if she could just suddenly know it the way she knew how to swing through the city on a yo-yo. Not the I want to dedicate hours of my life to this kind of way. 

“But you don’t have to do that all in one weekend!”

“Do you think old me would have said something?” Marinette doesn’t know why she’s asking. She hates the comparisons, but it’s like a scab she can’t help but pick at it when her friends and family keep commenting on how she’s different. 

“You like the green one? I thought pink was your favorite color.” 

It was! But that didn’t mean pink was always best for every single accessory. 

“That’s a beautiful drawing,” her maman said of the sketch of her father. “Have you sketched any new designs recently?” 

She hadn’t. She didn’t want to. Clothes weren’t interesting. But she knew her mother wanted her to say yes, so she hedged. 

Lila had spilled coffee on Marinette’s bag in art class. It had definitely been on purpose. Marinette glared at the girl as she resolutely gathered all her things to clean elsewhere rather than dignifying Lila with a response. 

“That was totally on purpose. Why didn’t you say anything?” Alya had asked after the fact.

Marinette piled her bag’s belongings carefully on a bench while she wrung out the backpack itself. “Didn’t really want her to know that she was getting to me.” Marinette’s diary had revealed that when Marinette make accusations against Lila, the other girl usually managed to twist it back on Marinette. She didn’t really want to make the same mistake when Lila didn’t believe she was holding a grudge. “Why?” 

“Well, you used to always call her out on things. Chloé too.” 

Marinette sighed. At least people had stopped asking what she remembered. Maybe they had finally figured out that she really didn’t remember anything. 

But it seemed other people did and Marinette now was apparently different than the Marinette of old, and now Marinette was never sure if that was a good or bad thing.

“If old you thought the teacher was being unfair or unreasonable, she definitely would have said something, but she would have been totally silent than if she just didn’t have time.” 

And thank goodness Alya was willing to be straightforward about such questions. Her parents were not. They were so diplomatic about answering such questions, but they always seemed sad. 

She felt like she was disappointing them. 

“What do you mean? You’re not disappointing them!” Alya had objected.

“But I am. They want me to be  her, and when I’m not, they’re sad.”

“They’re just worried about you.” 

Marinette pressed her lips together. Yeah Marientte definitely knew that they were worried. Paranoid was more apt. They constantly texted, wanting to know where she was, to remind her to put on a helmet, and asking for check ins everytime a friggin’ akuma alert went off.

Which made it that much harder to get away to be Ladybug. 

And she loved being Ladybug. 

Her parents would probably be horrified. 

“I just wish being me as I am now was okay.”

“Of course it’s okay.”

“But it isn’t , Marinette insisted, wanting to tug at her pigtails. She didn’t know how to explain, and Alya was looking at her with glassy eyes and Marinette knew she was disappointing her, too, though Alya was better at hiding it than anyone.

“You know that she’s you, right?” Alya asked softly. 

Marinette shrugged. She might be, but it didn’t seem to matter to anyone else.

…

Literature had become more bearable now that they were starting a new novel. It was a story that no one in the class had read before. Marinette found the story riveting. 

“Really?” Adrien asked. They had been partnered for a small presentation on the use of imagery in the book’s first three chapters. “What’s your favorite part so far?” 

Goodness, he was so earnest. Even when they had been paired he had been so sweet about it when she was obviously the weaker link of the two of them.

“Sorry you were saddled with me for this project,” she had said.

“Marinette, you are the best partner to have in this whole world. I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

Her cheeks had burned. Was this guy for real? She might’ve maybe understood what it was old Marinette had liked about him.

Really she probably would have fallen for him too if it wasn’t for the fact that Chat Noir was right there guarding her life and being serving as the best sounding board and confidant a girl could ask for. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked after the most recent akuma. 

She was fine. She just didn’t want to stop being Ladybug yet. Being Ladybug made sense. Being Ladybug was simple and something she was good at. Marinette’s life was so complicated. 

“I’m okay,” she said, determined for it to be true. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Like, how did he do that?!

But fifteen minutes later they were sitting side by side on the Eiffel Tower each with their own ice cream cones as she vented to him about her mundane problems.

“I hate history. It’s the subject I know, like nothing about and my teacher— he’s trying to be patient, but he clearly doesn’t know what to do with me. He keeps assigning extra readings, but even when I have time to read them. They don’t mean anything.” 

“That must be frustrating.”

She snorted. Understatement. “Even places on a map feel no more real than the map at the beginning of the fantasy novel we’re reading in literature.”

“I don’t know about history itself, but maybe we could do something about the geography?” 

He stands up, and offers her a hand, which she of course takes. He pulls her to her feet like she’s a princess and pulls out a box of colored cheeses from his baton. 

“What’s that?” 

“These are power ups for our Kwamis.” 

“We can power up our Kwamis?” 

He offers her a piece of cheese. “Eat this one.” He takes one of the same color. 

Soon they’re transformed. They have airtight helmets and wings. He levitates just barely into the air. She doesn’t move, staring dumbly at his offered hand. 

“Come on. I’ll show you.” His voice resounds inside her helmet. It feels both like he’s far away and like he’s all around her. 

She again takes it, because she’d trust him to take her anywhere. 

He led her on a low altitude tour of Paris, pointing out landmarks that are historically significant. But he doesn’t just recount events. When he speaks of kings and dukes, he tells a story. And suddenly King Louis VI and King Louis the XIV are not only separated by time, but by personality and vision.

They’ve been flying for hours already, when he takes her higher. They’re above the clouds, starting to see the curvature of the earth when he points out Normandy, the United Kingdom, Germany, and Spain. 

And then they’re further out, beyond even air they can breathe, and the Earth shines below them, a glowing blue marble in a vastness of inky blackness. 

She can’t breathe as she takes in the sight. There’s a whole world down there. It’s so big, bigger than any of her problems, and yet it’s so small when they’re out here in space. 

His voice is still describing the places they can see. Continents and oceans, but she can’t process the words anymore. 

“M’lady?” he asks, floating to her side with yet another hand reaching out, offering her support again and again. 

“You’re amazing!” she says, and is awarded with pink blooming underneath his visor. And he was. How did old Marinette never see or notice?! 

He never takes anything seriously. 

He’s always cracking jokes. 

He flirts with everyone.

Marinette had slammed the diary closed after she read it. What the hell had old Marinette been talking about?!

She had started a new diary after that, and it definitely wasn’t Adrien she had been writing about. 

Looking at his eyes now, even with only five weeks of memories she’s absolutely certain he’s the sweetest, most genuine boy that lives on the planet he just showed her. And he didn’t just show it to her. He made her see it, he made it real in a way that no one else had. 

She reaches for his hand, lets their fingers interlock, and it feels right.

Holding his hand, she’s not worried about how she’s different or the same. It doesn’t matter what she remembers or has forgotten. With him, she feels like a whole complete person.

She loves that.

She loves him.

… 

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #partial reveal #ladynoir #memory loss #amnesia #marinette gave up the guardianship and lost all her memories #not as angsty as the trope usually is #happy ending #my own content #love remains

[coquelicoq]

First I'd like to say, it's a pretty impressive list of french books to have read in only 12 months! (even for a french speaker ngl).

I'm not super well versed in classic literature, novel wise (tho I liked "le dernier jour d'un condamné" by Hugo, "la promesse de l'aube" by Romain Gary, and as cliché as it may be I adore "le petit prince") but if you like theater ! In classics I’d recommend "Phèdre" and "Iphigénie" by Racine, Molière ("le malade imaginaire" and "les fourberies de scapin" are personal favorites),"Hernani" by Hugo again (♡♡), and for more modern stuff "Rhinocéros" and "la cantatrice chauve" by Ionesco. Oh, and "Huis Clos" by Sartre!

In poetry, first of all I think Villon is a great, and brave choice especially if you have it in old french (one of my all time favorite poem is his, "la ballade des pendus"). Otherwise, Baudelaire, Rimbaud, Verlaine and Apollinaire !

In a bit more modern things, if you liked Queneau I’d say give "Zazie dans le métro" a try – tho the way he plays with vocabulary and spelling in this one can be challenging (but it is very fun). Then "Au bonheur des ogres" and "La fée carabine" by Daniel Pennac (I assume the rest of "La saga malaussène" is good too but I have only read those two so far), "escalier C" by Elvire Murail (this one is a big big big fave of mine ♡♡♡), "mercure"by Amélie Nothomb (she’s super prolific but this is the one I remember really enjoying).

For sci-fi, I realize I am not very up to date with what french literature proposes. It’s been quite some time but I remember enjoying “le cycle des fourmis” and “les thanatonautes” + “l’empire des anges” by Bernard Werber. Also “les lutteurs immobiles” by Serge Brussolo. My mother is a harcore fan of Pierre Bordage, so I will slip his name here too. Then I don’t know if you enjoy reading short stories, but in between some scifi/fantasy/fantastique I can rec “la vieille anglaise et le continent – et autres récits” by Jeanne-A Débats, “notre dame aux écailles” and “le jardin des silences” by Mélanie Fazi, Oh and in … I guess technically fantasy? But bordering historical fiction bc of the realism, “chien du heaume” and the next one “mordre le bouclier” by Justine Niogret are two very good short novels.

I am probably missing a ton of great titles, but my brain is failing me and I have very few books in french here (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) (most of them stayed, well. In France). But this makes me think I really need to get back into actually reading in french – so I am adding Valérie Perrin to my lists for sure!

omg thank you for these recs!! this is so detailed and specific, i love it. you're reminding me i've read several of these before, like i had forgotten about rhinocéros but we read it in high school and i really loved it! i should reread that and/or read some other ionesco for sure. speaking of absurdist plays, have you read en attendant godot? i've read it in english but i know it was in french originally so i've been thinking about trying that. big fan of french absurdism.

i also read a lot of molière in high school french classes (i remember giving an extremely boring and long-winded presentation (for everyone else; i was super into it) on his plays to my english class for some reason??), which is how i first learned what a cuckold is lol. and of course we read some baudelaire but i really want to revisit him! also omg apollinaire is the calligramme guy, right? those rewired my brain. i will check out more of his stuff for sure. and it's good to have the names of some other heavy hitters so i can expand out to cover more than was included in my formal education obvi. (like i have read zero racine? which seems like an oversight in curriculum, but what do i know.)

i do have villon in old french 😩 or i guess technically middle french is what he was writing in. the reason i've been putting it off is that right after the preface there's a four-page section on "graphie et prononciation" and i was just like hmmmm is this really something i need to be introducing into my life at this formative time. like i'm still sort of coming to terms with modern french spelling and pronunciation and this seems like it might just confuse me. so i might not be quite ready, but it's here for me when i've leveled up lol.

i loved the one book by queneau i've read so far, so i super appreciate getting recs for other works by him. and i read one amélie nothomb a few years ago, but when i went to look at what else i could read by her i got so overwhelmed by the sheer number that i couldn't pick! so it's good to have your suggestion for a particular title 😊 i've not heard of the other people you mentioned but will look into them!

thank you so much for pointing me in some scifi/fantasy directions 👀📝 i will take a look at these authors and titles...

yeah i super recommend changer l'eau des fleurs, and i know valérie perrin has written at least two other novels, so i'm gonna try to get my hands on those! the challenge now is that whenever i try to buy books from overseas my credit card company marks it as fraud and cancels the transaction lol. my grandmother found this us-based company that imports books from france and really wants to get me some more french-language books for christmas, but their selection isn't huge. this gives me lots of ideas though and i'm sure they will have at least some of the books you mentioned! thank you again, you really came through 🥰🥰

#always looking out for me...you're a legend for real #french #to read #asks #not anon #also le petit prince is cliche FOR A REASON #absolute classic. i haven't reread but only because 1) i don't own it and 2) it is extremely emotionally potent and i'm not sure i am #in a place to have my heart dissected right now #mais si tu m'apprivoises ma vie sera comme ensoleillée... #j'y gagne à cause de la couleur du blé. #<-GET OUTTA HERE WITH THAT SHIT! I'M TRYING TO LIVE MY LIFE!!!!

[neroli9]

Good morning/afternoon/night. I don't know if you keep track of the reactions your work APJFM causes on your readers, but it's an honor of mine to tell you I physically can't continue reading. Anxiousness overwhelms me about what could possibly come next. What other glorious bullshit (and just how much) would I have to endure, just to see IF any of these mfs gets an happy ending. It both excites and worries me for I know that once, and if I ever, let my curiosity overcome my anxiety to finally read the rest of your work, an unhealthy reaction, and quite possibly obsession, would ensue. Not unlike my reaction to another fanfic that I've read that caused such a deep depression in me, it attracted the numerous concerns from my loved ones. It lasted all but a week, but the reminder is enough not to ever go back and invest myself in such a way ever again. Obviously I didn't learn, and obviously I'm paying for it. Perhaps one day, many years down the line, I'll work up the courage to finally finish this work in my queen size bed, snuggled up next to my future husband, in our tiny house away from the rest of society, both respectfully reading our separate pieces of literature, and he'll watch me work myself up in a tizzy chapter after chapter over an Undertale. Fanfiction. And he'll just have to hear the fangirling of a late aged woman whether he likes it or not. Obviously this is satire, an obsession would not occur, but truthfully I cannot continue until I see the green check mark that says APJFM is finally finished. Thank you, and damn you. Sincerely, one of your readers (or was).

When the book Cujo came out, my mom got so into reading it, and so freaked out by it, that she didn't want to read it when my dad wasn't around. So when he went on a business trip, he was surprised to find it in his luggage. She'd put it there so she wouldn't be tempted to read it and scare herself.

As a person I am sorry to have caused you so much anxiety, but as a writer, I am honored to be in a similar class with Stephen King!

I expect APJFM to be over late spring or early summer 2024. Then you can enjoy the rest 💗

[hellishere7980]

IMW Chapter 3

Chapter art by danismilek

Isa-no, Marinette Dupain Cheng

30-7-XXX8

Isabella couldn't believe her eyes. Who the hell would just push an elderly old man as they're crossing the street? Not even Gothamites did that (unless there was some type of crime going around).

"Are you alright sir?" She asked the elderly man, helping him up and handing him his cane.

Yes, she was the daughter of a billionaire, but that didn't stop Grandpere Alfred from making sure she was shaped into a decent human being.

"Thank you, young lady." The elderly man replied, shakily getting up. "I'm terribly sorry for making you-"

"No problem at all sir." Isabella told him with a small smile. "If anything, it gave me a slight feel of home." WHAT? He reminded her of Alfred! Sue Her!

Isabella bid the old man goodbye, not realising the perplexed look on his face.

1-1-XXX8

Months passed by, it finally being September, Isa finally having adapted to her new home. But just as she started to adapt to her new life, another thing was hurdled her way.

College Françoise Dupont.

Her father insisted she attend this school, one of the few reminders that he had control over every aspect of her life.

Sighing, Isa made her way to school. She stared at the stairs that lead to the school, scoffing at the size of it. To be honest it looked like the size of the manor's library. That or perhaps Isa just forgot how the library truly was in size. Knowing that she had no other choice, Isa walked into the school and hunted for her class, looking at her timetable and at the numbers of the doors within the school. Something she quickly realised was that she was right. This school was small. Too small for her liking. She managed to find her class, located on the second floor of the building, a bit too close to the stairs if you asked her. Stepping into her classroom, she was met with several pairs of eyes. Ignoring them, Isa headed to the teacher, remembering everything she had researched before transferring to this school.

Caline Bustier - her main teacher and her teacher for French, literature, and poetry.

From what Isa could remember, Bustier is a supposed passionate teacher, eager to protect and nurture her students, hence why she has had the same class for the past several years. Apparently she begged the principal to let her keep teaching the same class year after year. While yes, it did show her love for her students, Isa took it as a sign of fear. Fear of not being able to teach another group of students that weren't the ones she had already taught before. Students that she knew how to control, not having to start from scratch to learn about their weaknesses and strengths. She feared failure, perhaps change.

"Hello, Miss Bustier. My name is Marinette-"

"So you're Marinette!" Miss Bustier interrupted, causing Marinette to narrow her eyes and scrunch her nose in annoyance. "I'm so glad to have you in our class! Please take a seat!"

Marinette simply stood there, looking at her class and then at Miss Bustier. "I can sit anywhere?"

"Pardon?" Miss Bustier asked, tilting her head a bit. That's when it hit her. "Oh! That's right! You've recently transferred from Gotha-"

"Can I or can I not?" Marinette asked impatiently.

"Y-Yes. You can sit anywhere you want." Miss Bustier stammered, watching Marinette choose the seat in the front towards her left.

Marinette proceeded to take out her notebook and go over her classes, taking mental notes on what supplies to buy and which she didn't. Everything was going swell, the class slowly filling in until a certain brat entered the class.

"Move aside! Your Queen is coming through." Chloé announces as Sabrina made sure that her path was clear.

Chloé Bourgeois, the daughter of Paris' mayor. Nothing but a spoiled brat from Marinette's research. As long as she steered away from Chloe, she was fine. With Chloé being the last person to enter, Miss Bustier started the class.

Hell. It was utter hell.

Marinette held the urge to drag her hands down her face at how boring French was. Despite already being 10 year olds, they were going over material that Marinette knew She covered when she was 7! Why was Miss Bustier still teaching this material?

After the lesson was over, Marinette left the classroom, heading to her next class. Hopefully she would be able to convince her gym teacher to get her into the fencing club. She needed to blow off some steam.

There went her chance at asking the teacher to join the fencing team. As soon as Marinette got to persuade the coach to teach her how to fence, a villain appeared, wrecking havoc with her...whatever it was she was using. Thanks to the attack, the students were sent home early, Marinette now in her room. She frowned as she paced around in her room, hating her situation.

There was a villain. In Paris. Where her father couldn't reach her. The irony. Marinette let out a dry chuckle, not believing this all.

"Father is across the ocean, there's a villain running loose in the streets and here I am! Missing the opportunity of a lifetime!"

But the universe just had to be against her.

As she slumped into her computer chair, she noticed the black box with an red emblem on the top of the hexagon shaped lid. Something screamed at her to leave it alone while a piece of her whispered to open it.

Prying the box open, Marinette watched as a red orb manifested in front of her, her eyes following it as it morphed into an odd creature. Making sure the creature was what emerged from the box, Marinette looked back down to the box, noticing a pair of earrings.

Ladybug themed earrings...o...okay...

"Hello!" The being spoke, Marinette quickly snapping from her trance. "I know this is all weird to you, but I can explain. My name is Tikki and I am a Kwami. To be more precise, the Kwami of creation."

Kwami of creation...that implies that there are others like this creature out there.

"Tikki...although I want to say that it's a pleasure to meet you, I know there's a reason behind you gracing me with your presence." Tikki nodded, handing Marinette over the earrings.

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I need you to take down Stoneheart."

After Tikki laid down the groundwork on how her miraculous worked, Marinette got to work.

She managed to track down Stoneheart, surveying her actions before deciding on a plan to take down the...akuma? No, that was the name of the thing that possessed her classmate. Villain would be the better term.

"Get away from them!" someone shouted, Marinette looking to the direction of which the voice came from that was about to attack Stoneheart.

A blond boy cladded in black -black leather to be more precise- extended his staff to try and fling the 'villain' away from her new set of prey.

Sighing, Marinette sprung from her hiding spot and prevented the boy from hitting the 'villain,' earning a glare and a 'hey' from the boy.

"What were you thinking?" Marinette growled, crossing her arms.

"Well hello to you too." The boy said, eyeing Marinette's odd choice of wearing a black slit miniskirt and short black cape over her red skin tight bodysuit. "To think such a bossy-" the boy promptly shut up when Marinette glared at him.

"I'm going to forget what you just said if you answer my previous question. What were you thinking?"

"I was thinking of defeating the villain. Isn't that our job?" The boy asked in response.

"Yes, it's our job to-"

"Then let's go! The people-"

"Are you being serious right now?" Marinette dragged her hands over her face. "Are you telling me you haven't been trying to investigate the victim?"

When she saw the boy slowly shake his head, Marinette let out a heavy sigh.

"What? I see a villain, I quickly head over and fight them off. It's our job after all."

"Our job is to protect the people, but that doesn't mean we have to ruthlessly attack the victim or villain. Since we don't know the full capacity of their powers, we have to proceed cautiously. We also have to make sure they destroy as little property as possible." Marinette warned, the boy arching a brow. Just how much did he not realize? "We don't know if the damage they cause is permanent or not...we don't want innocent people to die, or do we?"

She watched as the boy's eyes widened, only then his role finally sinking in. Marinette watched as the boy looked down at his hands, trembling more as he kept staring at them.

"So what are we supposed to do?" The boy asked Marinette, looking at her with fear in his eyes.

"De-escalate the situation." Marinette said, only then realizing something. "What's your name?"

"Adri-"

"Not your actual name, you idiot! We mustn't know each other's identities under any circumstance!" Marinette warned. "So, what's your alias?" The boy hummed before he smiled.

"Call me Cat-um, no, Chat. Chat Noir. What about you?"

"Ladybug." Ladybug provided quickly, raising a brow when Chat Noir looked at her in...admiration? "What?"

"Your name. Have you been Ladybug for a while?"

"Nope. Been Ladybug for a few hours." The two were snapped from their conversation when they heard a scream nearby. "Come on Chat, we have a victim to help."

After an hour of trying to calm the victim down, but coming to no avail, the duo resorted to fighting the victim, finding her akuma to be trapped in a piece of paper tucked in his hand.

Ladybug stood below the Eiffel Tower.

"De-evilize." Ladybug said as she captured the akuma, purifying it with her yo-yo and then releasing it. "Miraculous Ladybug!" Ladybug shouted as she then threw her yo-yo in the air as Tikki had told her, watching as millions of ladybugs erupted from her tiny yo-yo and spread throughout Paris, fixing any damage and reversing the victim's effects on any person inflicted by the victim's power.

"That was amazing!" A girl shouted from across the police tape, Ladybug turning to see her classmate...or rather her seat 'buddy'. Alya is her name...if Marinette remembered correctly. "Say, can we know the name of the hero who just finished saving Paris?" Alya asked, smiling as she watched Ladybug approach her.

"The name's Ladybug. I'm just doing what I must to keep Paris safe." With those words, Ladybug ran off, using her yo-yo to lift herself onto a building and disappear into the distance.

#maribat #bruce wayne #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #marinette dupen chang #dick grayson #hellishere7980 #miraculous fanworks #miraculous incorrect quotes #miraculous lb #adrien agreste #alya cesaire #miraculous ladybug #bio!dad bruce wayne