#this is just part of my poetry. but i wrote it months ago & every time i reread this part i go 'this is soo roman roy' so

[lessonsdrowning]

roman roy × my poetry

#this is just part of my poetry. but i wrote it months ago & every time i reread this part i go 'this is soo roman roy' so #here we are...anyways #roman roy #logan roy #<- kinda ig? #succession #web weaving #gt.png

[bysaber]

weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

#wbysaber #neuvillette #neuvillette x reader #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #fontaine #neuvillette x you #neuvilette #neuvilette x reader #fanfic #oneshot #drabble #imagine

[piratefalls]

another long list, except it's a day early because this is how i give thanks.

list one. list two. list three. list four. list five.

No Sense or Sensibility by inexplicablymine

“When and where was your first kiss.” Oh shit. The thing is… Alex actually has an answer to this one, it’s just a matter of admitting that it happened. ____________________ Kennedy’s. 7pm, Pub Quiz and Ice Cream. Every Monday ‘til death due us part. Alex liked his little routine, until Derryl got it in his head to host The goddamn Newlywed Game instead.

I'm Rememberin' I Promised (to Forget you Now) by Angelwithwingsoffire

It's been six years since Alex Claremont-Diaz graduated law school. And he's made a good life for himself, working with a firm he enjoys and making a difference in the world. Until a part of his past he'd thought he'd gotten over seven years ago walked back into his office asking for his help. To get a divorce. Which Alex has never done before. But he's never been able to say no, and he's willing to put his heart back under the bus for the chance at one more smile.

Rogue's Gallery by OrchidScript

Loathe as Alex was to admit it, Henry Fox was going to be a legend someday. He already was in the bureau depending on who was answering. Tied to art theft, jewel theft, one or two little sweet confidence schemes, and an alleged counterfeit Super Bowl ring, but caught on three counts of art forgery, the blond Brit had run circles around the Art Crimes division for six years. He was quick, smarter than the average bear, and more detail-oriented than a nuclear chemist. He had a penchant for nice suits, silk ties, and gin tonics with lime. He wrote letters to agents in taunting poetry, tucking them under windshield wipers or posting them to the office directly. Once, he managed to drop one directly into the pocket of a plainclothes officer without them seeing his face. _____________________ Henry Fox is a famous art forger, and Alex is the FBI agent who caught him three years ago. When one of Henry's aliases comes up attached to a new case, can the two put aside their cat-and-mouse past to put the copycat away?

Queer little ducks hold a special place in my heart. by anarchyat4am

Henry’s at a local Hispanic Heritage Month event browsing the art stalls when his gaze catches on a kid looking around with both purpose and nervousness. She’s fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt with one hand while she bites the nails of the other one, eyes alert and searching. Lost, then. And oh, Henry recognises her. She’s a regular at his bookstore, even at only six years old, and is there at least weekly with her dad—Alex, who she’d introduced to Henry as her papi—or various aunties and uncles, most of whom Henry doesn’t think are actually related to her. Keeping one eye on her, he lets his gaze sweep the vicinity but doesn’t see anyone else he even remotely recognises. Shit. He has to do something. “Sirena?” he calls gently. * Henry... is more than a bit useless around hot guys. So when he finds the lost kid of the gorgeous dad who frequents his bookstore, he pulls himself together until they reunite, only to then be devastated by the revelation that the man thinks Henry hates him. And, well... courage always rises, and all that.

just say you won't let go by viciouslyqueer

After dancing around each other for months, Alex and Henry finally get together. The morning after comes with a slight misunderstanding and comforting words.

We were supposed to find this by kiwiana

Still, half an hour after shaking Prince Henry’s hand for the first time, he finds himself back in his hotel room with one shoe and sock hurriedly tugged off and his right foot resting on his left knee. Just to check. Just in case Alex is somehow, by some miracle, about to become the first documented case of Surprise! You Can Totally Have A Different Soulmate, We Fucked Up And Your One Kind Of Sucks. No such luck. The words are the same as they’ve always been, etched into his skin in a careful, calligraphic font. The kind of handwriting someone might have if, for example, they came from the sort of family that valued tradition and etiquette far higher than letting their children write like normal human beings.

Sit. Down. Please Stay. by politics_and_prose

Alex adopts a dog he found abandoned on the side of the road. She's nervous and he wants to make sure he knows how to give her the best life possible. Enter Henry Fox and his beagle David.

muscle memory by stutteringpeach

It's been ten years since Alex was in London to stage a PR friendship with Henry after ruining the royal wedding. It's also been ten years since Alex dropped to his knees in front of Henry in a Kensington Palace kitchen. But now Henry's in the Hamptons for the summer, and who should he bump into? None other than Alex Claremont-Diaz, who happens to be working in New York all summer long.

The Perils of Midsomer Residency by clottedcreamfudge

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you that care should be taken, given the Mountchristens' local influence?" Liam nods. "Sir." Luna then turns to Alex. "Do not piss anyone in that family off." Alex throws his hands in the air. "So many aspersions have been cast on my good character this morning that I could start a fucking farm. An aspersions farm." Luna narrows his eyes. "Correction," he says, "have another coffee and then do not piss anyone in that family off. Don't make me regret fast-tracking you through the ICI Development Programme." * After getting shot in the line of duty back in Texas, June forces Alex into a change of scenery. Because how much can really be going on in the quaint little English county of Midsomer?

something that feels like forever by dearestalez

“You’re crying,” she pointed out. Alex choked on a laugh, wiping his eyes. “I’m just-” he sniffed, holding her so delicately Henry felt herself melt into the touch. “I’m so happy for you, baby.” — alex and henry are so in love it makes me want to rip out my heart and stomp on it but slash pos

behind brick walls by weather_stained

After Henry and Alex move in together, it takes quite a while for them to fully adjust to their newfound freedom. Alex very much enjoys watching Henry grow more comfortable in his own skin after a lifetime of looking over his shoulder.

It's a (Birth)date by Celaestis

5 times Henry is oblivious that they're dating and 1 time he isn't.

Save a Horse, Ride a Princess by affectionatelyrs

“I have to say, this is all quite literal, don’t you think?” Alex wouldn’t know literal right now if it hit him in the head. “Huh?” Henry points at Alex: “Pillow Princess,” and then to himself: “Cowboy. Ready to ride and all that.” Alex nods dumbly. “Right.” - Or, Alex and Henry dress up as the ultimate couples costume for Halloween — themselves — and they both feel some kind of way about it

baby boy by smc_27

It starts as a joke. Alex taking the piss about how much money Henry has. How he could have anything he wanted, from anyone he wanted, if only he just asked.

My Songs Know Secrets You're Sick of Keeping by ma_lark_ey, paythe_piper

"How about this," Alex offered, "If I win AOTY, I announce Henry and I in my acceptance speech. If I don't, we do it your way." OR: Alex is a world famous pop punk star, Henry is still the Prince of England, and the public is onto them.

Au Naturel by cmere

The French doors leading to the office are thrown open, so he has a moment to take in the scene in front of him: Alex, lying on his stomach on the floor, feet kicked up and crossed at the ankle, surrounded by books, papers, and two open laptops. None of that, however, catches Henry's attention as much as Alex's hair, secured in a small, messy knot on top of his head with nothing but a single wooden chopstick. Henry blinks rapidly several times. "Alex," Henry says, somehow hoarse. Alex's head whirls around. There's a single, perfectly curled tendril over the apple of his cheek; his scruff has hit the mystical, magical point where it's more soft beard than prickly shadow; his reading glasses sit atop his adorable nose; and Henry realizes with sudden gravity that he's not entirely in control of his physical responses anymore—something has to give. Alex hasn't really been bothering with some of his usual upkeep, and Henry is kind of extremely into it.

You deserve my love by whateveridk

“I’ll leave as soon as you tell me to." Henry had turned towards him, stealing himself, sticking his chin out, and said “leave.” Alex has been picking up the pieces ever since. Two years later, living with Nora and June in NYC, it still haunts him, but it's fine. Whatever, he is fine. And then... Breaking News: Prince Henry comes out as gay So it's not fine, Alex is not fine.

sex ed in 6 steps by coffeecatsme

“Please tell me you used a condom, Fox,” Alex drawls out, leaning against the wall, and Henry chokes on his next breath.“Excuse me?”“You’re gonna tell me all about this tomorrow, but for the love of God, tell me you used a condom and we won’t have mini Henrys on campus anytime soon.” Or, 5 times Alex thinks Henry's straight and 1 time he finds out the truth. Or, 5 times Alex jokes about Henry's sex life and 1 time he gets to be a part of it.

More Than A Makeover by everwitch

The Fab Five—Alex, June, Nora, Liam and Spencer—descend on a New York based shelter for disenfranchised queer youth to give the place a much needed makeover. As the week progresses, sparks start to fly between Alex, the culinary representative of the queertastic quintet, and Henry, the sweetly charming founder of the shelter. It’s a deeply emotional week full of unexpected realizations, and certainly a week that strengthens Henry’s friendship with Pez in ways that neither of them quite knew they needed. As the week comes to a close and the Queer Eye team say their goodbyes, it remains to be seen what will become of the warm connection between Alex and Henry. Will it last, or was it too much of a perfect miracle to ever grow into something real?

The Royal Wedding by DracoWillHearAboutThis

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS PRINCE HENRY OF WALES AND MR ALEXANDER CLAREMONT-DIAZ ARE ENGAGED TO BE MARRIED HM Queen Mary is delighted to announce the engagement of Prince Henry to Mr. Alexander Claremont-Diaz. The wedding will take place in the Spring or Summer of 2025, in London. Further details about the wedding date will be announced in due course.  Prince Henry and Mr. Claremont-Diaz became engaged earlier this week during a private holiday in Paris. Prince Henry has informed The Queen and other close members of his family. Prince Henry has sought and received the blessings of Mr. Claremont-Diaz's parents.  The couple will live in Nottingham Cottage at Kensington Palace. 

A Toast to the Night by allmylovesatonce

Henry looks up from his drink and swears his jaw drops. Standing in front of him is one of the most beautiful men he’s ever seen. From his dark brown curls to the way his deep eyes gleam as he stands there, an awkward smile on his face. Henry is nearly sure this man is going to ask for his seat. He probably has some woman with him, scouring for a place to sit. “Uh, hi,” the man says. “Hi.” “Look, this is really awkward,” he says and Henry feels the confirmation in his gut — also maybe disappointment. “My ex-boyfriend just walked in and I really don’t want to talk to him. I was wondering if I could sit here with you so that he won’t talk to me.”

That's What You Get For Waking Up in Vegas by bleedingballroomfloor

The bartender slides Alex the whiskey and shot of water before turning her attention to the person behind him. He turns around at the same time as the person speaks, “Gin and tonic” in all rounded vowels, a distinct English accent shining through, and he swears his heart stops. “Holy shit,” Alex says before he can stop the words from slipping out of his mouth. “Henry?” When Alex is celebrating June and Nora's bachelorette party in Vegas, the last person he expects to see is his ex-boyfriend Henry, who moved back to London nearly a year ago. Waking up next to him the following morning, naked and sated with a marriage certificate poking out of his pocket, he starts to wonder if he's truly over Henry.

hang on 'til the chaos is through by ShyAudacity

David is lounging on his spot at the foot of the bed when Alex comes in. He opts not to turn on the light, not wanting to disturb Henry, but then quickly finds that the light is on in their bathroom. Henry must still be getting cleaned up before bed; Alex can say hello and check on Henry when he steps out. It’s weird that he’s still up. Henry was awake well before Alex was this morning and… come to think of it, Alex can’t remember him ever coming to bed last night. Alex has only made it through the top three buttons on his dress shirt when he hears a terrifying crash come from the bathroom. Clutching his chest, he steps towards their shared bathroom, afraid to see what’s on the other side. “Henry? …H, what was-.” Alex stops short in the doorway, startled to find the love of his life in a miserable heap on the bathroom floor.

Sad Again (Don't Tell My Boyfriend) by lucy_in_the_sky

After proposing to Alex, Henry writes a letter to his father reflecting on all the moments he’ll never get to share with him. AKA Alex comforts a mourning Henry and promises to be there for him, forever and always.

monster mash by matherine

None of Henry’s answers to “Who are you supposed to be?” are particularly funny to anyone but him, especially in his inebriated state, so he’s completely given up on making any sense when the latest person asks him, someone who he assumes is yet another sorority girl in a skimpy costume from the glimpse of a cheerleading skirt he gets while they brush past him to open the fridge. “George Villiers,” he offers. “Deep cut, England,” a decidedly male voice snorts, and Henry can’t help the way his head snaps up, eyes wide.

Take it Down Low / Make Me Get High by Mags (sparklepocalypse)

“Henry,” Alex rasps wonderingly, sounding almost entranced, “I want to eat your ass.” Henry’s train of thought screeches to a halt with such force that for a moment, he thinks he might’ve had a stroke.

how did a middle-class divorcé do it? by Time_Sequence

Not really concerned, Alex watched the typing bubble appear – disappear – appear again, like Henry couldn’t quite find the words to say what it was he was thinking. Most likely, he was trying to find the perfect sarcastic quip in response. What came through made him genuinely pause. HRH Prince Dickhead💩: You complete and utter moron Then, HRH Prince Dickhead💩: Royalty can’t marry divorcees If Alex had been having a good time before, he definitely wasn’t now. - When a joking interview reveals that Alex and Nora drunkenly married ten years ago, suddenly Alex's upcoming wedding to Prince Henry is jeopardised.

discreet packaging by demigodbeautiies

“Please, please, please explain to me,” Zahra says, finally, sounding more than a little bit long-suffering. “Why I had to have the head of the Secret Service sit me down and tell me to give you a talk about avoiding bomb scares with unidentifiable packaging.”

the world watched (and the world smiled) by fangirl6202

"Oh,” Alex says finally, faintly, touching one hand to his lips. Then: “Shit.”  His mind catches up then, realizing that Henry is walking away and he doesn't even think twice. He begins to quite literally chase after him, trying to get to him before he can get away or, God forbid, try to fly back to England and ghost him.   Henry is very pointedly not looking at him, stuttering apology over apology until Alex has to quite literally throw himself in front of him to get him to stop. Alex doesn’t know what to do. But the answer is simple, isn’t it? So fucking simple.   He takes Prince Fucking Charming’s lapels into his hand and kisses him back.  Or; it's New Years, and Henry stays.

Rabbit Hole by TuppingLiberty

Some sort of non-famous au, don't worry, there's not really a plot. Alex has been going down a research rabbit hole for hours and Henry comes to rescue him.

Let Loose Your Glow by athousandrooms

“Seems like my liege was caught in a situation where he’d rather the ground swallow him whole.” Pez nods towards a spot to the side, and Alex follows his gaze. He spots Henry easily – a tall lighthouse of tousled blond hair – talking to a girl who is clearly into him. His expression looks perfectly polite, but he’s subtly leaning away, and he looks tense. So, Alex makes an impulsive decision. Whatever happens, this is going to be fun. *** Or: Alex is so very definitely straight, so pretending to be Henry’s boyfriend to get him out of an awkward situation should just be a fun little pastime - except that he doesn't really want to stop, and he has no idea why. But maybe it's okay to not think too hard and let himself go with the flow, for once.

Things I Cannot Accept by SprigsofViolets

In 2016, Ellen Claremont lost the presidential election. In 2019, Alex Claremont-Diaz is not the first son of the United States, so he’s shocked when his path crosses with Prince Henry for the first time in almost four years.

How well you play...that's up to you by happinessofthepursuit

Treacherous (adjective) guilty of or involving betrayal or deception; (of ground, water, conditions, etc.) hazardous because of presenting hidden or unpredictable dangers. Or, how to describe surgical residency in a single word. A Grey's Anatomy inspired AU.

In Accord by absoluteaudacity

Pursuant to the establishment of an ongoing relationship between The Crown and the Office of the President of the United States, the representatives of the The Queen and Her interests are authorised to establish a contract of marriage between His Royal Highness Prince Henry of Wales and Alexander Claremont-Diaz.

A Heart Even More Your Own by chaa_kiao

“Guess you’ll be writing those poems after all.” He swallows. "I should go." Henry’s mind— every part of him, really— his heart, his body, his fucking soul— is screaming at him to take it all back. To hell with the monarchy, the American presidency, damn it all. This is the man he’s spent his entire life loving and he’s throwing it away for a legacy he doesn’t give a single fuck about. He forces out a rough “I think so,” but he can’t hear it over the ringing in his ears. “I love you.” “Alex—” “I know,” Alex says. “I just had to say it.” _______ Or: Alex and Henry getting back together takes a little bit longer this time.

you are my mountain (you are my sea) by alasse

Five times Alex and Henry have important conversations in houses, and one time they have a very important conversation in a castle.

Down For the Count by LolaLand (Lola_di_Penates)

Alex came to Las Vegas to count cards, not feelings. Henry came to win it all. Is it possible to find something real in Sin City, where nearly everything isn’t as it seems? OR Goodbye reality, hello Vegas (the blackjack/poker AU).

Let Them Eat Cake by rohruh

“I wanna eat you out,” Alex’s voice comes out raspy and intrepid through the phone pressed against Henry’s ear. Henry lets out a soft whine at the admission, his breath up-ticking in synchrony with his hips as he thrusts up into his hand. “I’d like that,” he tells Alex eagerly, cradling the phone in his palm as though he could materialize Alex right there in front of him if he presses it against his ear firmly enough. “I’ve never done it to a guy before,” Alex confesses. “Is it… different from eating out a girl? I bet you’d taste so good, baby. Fuck.”

A Thousand Words by Thunder_Cakes

After that Han/Leia mural both their accounts go silent for a while. For months, actually. They’re both in therapy after Alex tried to post a selfie with June after election night and had a panic attack before he could hit “Share.” Suddenly the thought of sharing the details of his life and loved ones with the world is paralyzing. Wonder why. or: Alex, Henry and what they choose to share of their life

All for a Taste of the Honey by chamel

“So you’re telling me you’re not in favor of this plan,” Henry says eventually. “No, I’m fucking not,” Alex huffs, glaring at him. “It’s stupid and dangerous and unnecessary.” Henry cocks one perfect eyebrow at him. “You have another idea for how to get access to the room where he does his deals? The one that only ever admits Vega, his associates, and the strippers who entertain them?” (Or, an FBI agent!Stripper!Henry fic. Henry goes undercover at a strip club, and Alex has a lot of feelings about that.)

in the mood for... by carzla

Henry knows that he’s the one who said “casual”, and it had been a reminder to himself that that was all it could ever be between him and Alex. So, telling Alex that they should “make love” is probably a mistake in syntax bigger than he could safely afford. But they’re in Paris and Henry is feeling terribly, terribly maudlin.

something good and right and real by HypnosTheory

“This is pretty expensive for a high school trinket.” “Everything is bigger in Texas,” Alex jokes. Henry looks up at Alex, who’s standing with his shoulders relaxed for the first time since October. The relief of his mother’s victory has made him loose-limbed and calm, his smile easy and lovely. Henry looks down at the crown in his hands and back at Alex. He imagines the gold half-buried in Alex’s hair, heavy on the man’s brow, decadent and royal. Henry swallows, face heating, and holds the crown out to Alex. “Put it on.” -- After the election, Henry explores Alex’s childhood room. He finds trinkets of a young Alex that intrigue him, including a crown that gives him some ideas.

In His Wildest Dreams by myheartalive

Once Alex has pulled out, Henry turns over to face him. He strokes the hair softly away from his face and Alex smiles at him. “So… that happened again.” Henry leans forward and kisses him on the forehead. “Indeed.” There’s a sort of thoughtful pause, where Henry can see Alex working to pull together the right words. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen you that… thirsty?” “Oh, bugger off,” Henry says, but he’s laughing. It’s a fair description. “No, but I mean it. You were like… urgent. It was hot.” “It felt hot. I liked waking up like that. With you up against me, trying to have your way with me.” — Set in and around the Henry bonus chapter, this is a story about Henry and Alex’s hectic schedules, family appearances etc. pulling them apart, and about what starts to happen between them, in the quiet of night: their sleeping bodies turning to each other, finding their sweet spots and opening up. And Alex and Henry learning a lot about each other in the process — Mind the tags, y'all. That particular tag features prominently and it’s a major plot point, so if that’s not your jam, just hit the back button.

until next time!

#rwrb rec list #rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex and henry #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #alex x henry #fic rec #rwrb fic rec #rwrb fanfiction

[saccharinescorpion]

4 Things You Can Try Now That You’ve Read THIS IS HOW YOU LOSE THE TIME WAR

(technically 5 things)

Mabel - a podcast by Becca De La Rosa and Maybell Marten.

Anna Limón is a home help worker currently looking after the elderly Sally Martin. When Sally has a bizarre and frightening reaction to a box of letters Anna finds in her attic one day, Anna attempts to seek answers by contacting Sally’s only known living relative: Mabel Martin.

“A podcast about ghosts, family secrets, strange houses, and missed connections,” Mabel is a story that is difficult to describe, but one of the most important points is that the vast majority of it is an epistolary narrative between Anna and Mabel, just like how This Is How You Lose The Time War is an epistolary narrative between Red and Blue. It also has a very distinct writing style- dramatic, flowery, and a little bit intimidating. However, if you loved the writing style of TIHYLTTW, I personally think that Mabel is a perfect match for you.

And I’m not just saying that because Mabel is a story about two extremely overdramatic women who are somehow both frighteningly caustic yet almost adorably useless.

The Honey Month - a book by Amal El-Mohtar 

I certainly hope I don’t have to tell you this, but Amal El-Mohtar is one of the authors of This Is How You Lose The Time War, and The Honey Month is a short book she wrote several years ago.

The Honey Month is almost more of an experiment than a book- in its introduction, a friend of El-Mohtar explains how she sent her several small samples of honey, leading El-Mohtar to use the gift as in a unique way. For one February, every day she used a different vial of honey as inspiration for a small piece of writing.

The Honey Month contains 28 short pieces of writing, poetry, prose, and some things in between. It’s a small book full of things with big impact, and contains the lyrical yet meaty writing I enjoyed from El-Mohtar in TIHYLTTW.

Otherside Picnic (裏世界ピクニック) - A series of novels by Iori Miyazawa (illustrated by Shirakaba)

College sophomore Sorawo Kamikoshi longs to find an escape from other people, and in trying to find it discovers the Otherside, a strangely beautiful yet unfathomably dangerous parallel world inhabited by the-once-fictional creatures she knows from net lore. She also meets Toriko Nishina, another young woman with a knowledge of firearms and a desire to find her missing mentor. Together, these two girls explore the Otherside and find themselves changing little by little, both due to their adventures, but also due to their relationship with each other.

If you know me you probably aren’t surprised at this reccomendation. Otherside Picnic is a truly odd beast- it’s sci-fi, it’s horror, it’s comedy, it’s yuri. It’s about trauma, it’s about Japanese creepypasta, it’s about useless lesbians, and it’s about how the scariest thing of all is being vulnerable with another human being. I think fans of  This Is How You Lose The Time War  will enjoy it- Otherside Picnic’s writing style will likely feel almost spartan compared to TIHYLTTW, but in my opinion there’s a similar level of poetry in it. There’s also a similar level of women who are “badass” yet kind of messes. You’ve heard of “Enemies to Lovers,” get ready for “Accomplices to Lovers”!

(there’s also a manga adaptation by Eita Mizuno, as well as an anime adaptation directed by Takuya Sato)

The Handmaiden (아가씨) - a movie directed by Park Chan-wook (written by Park and Chung Seo-kyung, based on the novel Fingersmith by Sarah Waters)

In Japan-occupied Korea, the pickpocket Sook-hee is recruited by a con-man to aide him in his scam of a Japanese heiress, Lady Hideko. While the con-man poses as “Count Fujiwara” and woos Hideko, Sook-hee will play the part of her maid and subtly push the heiress towards him. But as time passes, Sook-hee begins to realize there are things occuring in the mansion that are even more sinister than her and the Count’s scheme, and there is much, much more to Hideko than meets the eye.

This is a list of recommendations for “people who have finished “This Is How You Lose The Time War,” but I try to recommend The Handmaiden to as many people as I possibly can. I’ve described it in the past as the cinematic equivalent of running a marathon: with a 144 minute runtime full of gorgeous direction and set design, dark machinations, twisted yet romantic writing, often troubling themes, and so, so many plot twists, it’s a movie that nearly feels like too much of a good thing. But for fans of TIHYLTTW, I’m sure what will intrigue you most is the relationship between the two main characters, one so complicated that “Enemies to Lovers” can’t hope to capture the roiling feelings of pity, guilt, hatred, desire, annoyance, sympathy, and everything in between. 

It’s also just really hot.

The Handmaiden is a movie that is best enjoyed going in knowing as little as possible. That said, it is also a story with dark and often upsetting themes that are absolutely crucial to its narrative. If you are concerned about that statement,  I reccomend looking at the movies’ entry on DoesTheDogDie, which I have looked at and found to be a pretty comprehesive list of content warnings that can be examined in a way that doesn’t spoil the twists of the story.

Fingersmith - a novel by Sarah Waters

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I’m going to get around to it!! I can’t technically recommend the book that inspired The Handmaiden since I haven’t read it yet, but I have at least one friend whose opinion I trust who sings its praises, so it’s good enough for me. Besides, if the recent popularity of This Is How You Lose The Time War has showed us anything, it’s that people constantly crave stories about complicated women, so it certainly can’t hurt, right?

#this is how you lose the time war #max gladstone #the honey month #amal el mohtar #the handmaiden #fingersmith #mabel #mabel podcast #otherside picnic #tihylttw #trigun #bigolas dickolas wolfwood #yuri #gl #sapphic #wlw #lesbian

[wannastayugly]

Second and final part of this thing I wrote about the Storyteller showing itself to Jaskier as Geralt. TW for hurt character, but they're fine! Thank you very much for such a positive feedback! I'm very insecure about my writing, but I really love putting these little stories in the world and knowing you're enjoying them makes everything better!

-

Jaskier sits on the stool letting out a low groan of pain. He holds his chemise over his lap with both hands and keeps his eyes there, missing the warmth of it as a cold breeze invades the room and touches his exposed injured back.

It's been two months since Jaskier met the Storyteller. Two months of new poetry and ballads he has still not sang to anyone and which are fated to remain only as a collection of words in his notebook, ready to feed the fire.

"Jaskier?" Geralt's voice fills his ears with kindness, and Jaskier looks up as the witcher walks closer and touches his shoulder. He holds a wet towel and a bowl of salve, but Jaskier's attention goes to the blood stains on his black shirt. "Are you alright?"

Jaskier gives an insincere, almost inaudible positive answer and looks away. He remembers the monster's claws hurting his skin and the terror in Geralt's voice when he called his name. The singer had saved the witcher that morning, decided to give his life for him in his foolisher impulsive act of the season. But, together with the pain, Jaskier found a mad and surprising bit of relief when he realized there, again on a bloody floor, that whatever the Storyteller had meant when comparing him to Éile, his story would never follow the same tragic path, for Jaskier would never, in any reality, have the bravery to be the one killing the man he loved instead of letting himself be killed.

"Jaskier."

"Yes! Yes, I am fine." Geralt doesn't buy it. He slips his hand from Jaskier's shoulder to his neck and gives him an unpleased look. He can tell he has a fever by now, although the touch also leaves his cheeks warmer.

Touch. That's something Geralt only offers him every now and then, and Jaskier appreciates the attention now.

While Geralt starts taking care of his wounds, he thinks about the ballads he composed about the bard and her witcher, and how the simple act of writing those two words together in a song made him feel exposed. Every verse of fear, of desire or sorrow, spoke about his own heart. Forbidden to be heard, those words burn in his chest just like the soft touch of Geralt's calloused fingertips do now; like the wood that burned between them during the cold nights among trees and starry skies.

He closes his eyes, wanting to lean into the touch, clutching the fabric in his hands.

"I read your new songs."

The confession comes to wake him up like a bucket of cold water. His blue eyes go wide, his face is molded in shock and the world stops for a second, almost making him wonder if the Storyteller has frozen time again.

"What"

"Some days ago. Didn't mean to." Geralt continues. There's a bit of guilt and discomfort in his voice this time. Done cleaning Jaskier's wounds, he now applies salve to them, lessen the pain; his fingers now travelling the bard's lower back. Jaskier wishes he could still focus on them. "Witchers don't lose control like that. In case you've ever wondered."

"What- shut up"

"The stabbing bit was concerning, though."

"Shut the fuck up!" For Geralt's surprise, Jaskier's tone rises with rage, and, enduring the sharp pain of his damaged flesh, the bard stands up and finally faces him. Geralt stands still, a perfect portrait of regret. He still holds the bowl, unsure about what he should do with it. Now, it's Jaskier's eyes that burn. "You didn't have the right! You weren't- you-"

For a moment, Jaskier's own screams reminds him of their last major fight.

Caingorn.

He remembers letting out a confession when not even him knew what it was. He remembers Geralt's words stabbing him and pushing him away, and how he wished something would come from the woods and eat him alive while he walked down the mountain alone, feeling like he was leaving shards of his heart behind.

"Jaskier, look at me!"

Jaskier doesn't notice the tears rolling down his chin. Panic has now invaded him, bringing all his worst fears into his mind like a sadistic devil and enjoying his shivers when making him travel between all the reasons why he could now lose the little he had and was grateful for.

Not again, he mourns.

Geralt finally leaves the bowl aside and approaches him, too unsettled for a supposed emotionless man. Although the bard takes a step back, he doesn't want to avoid Geralt's closeness. Never really did.

Don't leave me alone again.

"I'm sorry, bard." Geralt's embrace is loose, careful not to touch him on the wrong spots. Jaskier groans in frustration when he sees himself hiding his face on the pale neck of the man who now caresses his hair.

"I didn't want this", Jaskier murmurs.

"I know."

He punches Geralt's chest softly. His eyes shut. Fear now gives space to shame, although he doesn't know exactly what he is ashamed of. I hate you, he thinks. A silly thing to say. Just like the Storyteller, Geralt has already known his truth for a long time.

"I love the fuck out of you, too."

Saying that, Geralt breaks the embrace to cup his face, presses their foreheads together and smiles. Gets lost in the eyes that stare back at him. A love song in blue and golden shades.

It doesn't take much for their lips to meet in an intense, rushed act. Jaskier digs his nails into the other man's skin and every bite, every touch on his exposed skin after that is like a fever dream.

"I should've done this a long time ago" the witcher would whisper breathless into his ear after a while; his hand slipping into Jaskier's now unbuttoned trousers, "right in the first time I heard your heartbeat run. Right in the first time the temperature of your body rose and you smelled like this."

That day, having Geralt with, on, in him; being allowed to taste his sweat, smiling against his lips, feeling his scars under his fingers and laughing of his concerned expressions when he'd touch the wrong places, Jaskier found himself alive for the first time in a long while. And in Geralt's arms, he contemplated in awe his own story, the most fascinating poem he had ever written.

#geraskier #jaskier the bard #geralt of rivia #fic

[sagechan]

i’m thinking of that post that’s like “it’s good and healthy to have friendships with people of different ages.”

i’m thinking of last night, when i sat with the 70 year-old husband of the woman who’d been in my creative writing classes eight years ago. she died in 2020, and now i visit her husband every month. i’m helping him publish her novel that she worked on for ten years but didn’t finish before we lost her. we lost her. her husband, her children, and me, who was only 19 when i met her in class and immediately she was like “you’re one of my kids now, even though all my kids are in their 30s and married and i would be ‘too old’ to have children again, you’re my kid now.” and we would joke in that class that she really was our “poetry mom.” but more than that, she was my friend. i wrote her letters when i moved across the country for grad school. we sent each other long emails about our lives and our families. we signed notes to each other “Your No. 1 Fan,” because we were each other’s first and dearest readers of the writing we were just beginning to mature in, me in my twenties and she in her sixties.

i’m thinking of last night, when her husband was telling me the story of how hard she could be on their kids when it came to school--because she loved them, because she expected the best from them and wanted the best for them--when he stopped speaking and his eyes lifted past my head, and he stared at something for a few moments. then he nodded to it and said, “that’s our wedding photo.” and i turned and it’s there behind me and there they are, just kids themselves. time folds in on itself, and he is remembering another story, and he says suddenly, “everything, all the things you ever fought about, it doesn’t matter. none of them matter. and you regret every fight, when they’re gone, you stay up at night thinking about it, trying to remember what you were so angry about, and you can’t, it isn’t there, you can’t remember.” and I say, “the sweet and happy moments only exist because there are the bitter moments too.” and he lifts his hands in a shrug and says, “you never know when you are in the sweet part of life. you never know to look around and appreciate it. until the bitter, the bad, comes along, and you struggle through it, and when you come out the other side, there is happiness again. and the love is always there.”

i’m thinking of how we treat our elders. i’m thinking of how many times i’ve read about people regretting their fights when their partner dies. and i’m thinking of how here, before me, is this real person who has experienced such a loss i will never know. i have lost the exact same person, but we knew her differently. and he is sharing it with me all the same. and i’m thinking again of how it is good and healthy and normal and necessary to build and maintain relationships with people of all ages. to keep and guard the memories of culture, and connection, and community. to receive the instructions of how to live and how to love from those who came before. to pass them on to those who will come after. to sit with people and hear their stories and understand that they are right there in front of you, still living, still in love.

#sage talks #personal #this conversation with H last night absolutely knocked me on my ass #i miss her so much #death mention #grief

[secretsofthestorymakers]

The Saga of Aren

I absolutely love Arendelle History, so when I read Forest of Shadows and learned about the Saga of Aren, I was so excited. The only thing that disappointed me was that we didn’t get the entire thing. So, being the obsessive overachiever that I am, I wrote my own idea of the rest of it. I worked super hard on this for like a month and a half, and I am so proud of how it turned out! I had never really written any poetry before, but I had more fun with it than I expected, and have even written a little more since (not Frozen related, sorry). I might post an in depth analysis later, but for now I’ll just say that I wrote this to be intentionally vague, and to represent Anna and Elsa’s story as well as Aren’s.

The parts in italics and quotes are from FoS, so were written by Kamila Benko. I wrote the rest. (With a few exceptions that are quotes from something else, noted at the end)

The Saga of Aren

By: Kamila Benko & SecretsOfTheStoryMakers

“A long time ago in a time before time, a great darkness swept over the land”

A dark fright came, the people fought, but could not make their stand

They fled their shores and took to the seas, their homeland all but lost

To Dark and Cold and Past and Fear, the silence and the frost

As ages passed and people still were trapped upon their ships

The storm roared on, there was no end to the sun’s total eclipse

They begged the earth, the wind, the flame, the oceans heard their cries

And from their unknown, watery depths a spirit did arise

The water spirit too, had felt the chill of endless night

It told the people, for a price, it could help bring back the light

The people were so fearful, urgently they did agree

In return they promised someday that the spirits would be free

As the earth’s ancient spirits have foretold, there will come a fearful age

All that live upon the earth will be trapped within dark’s cage

The sky will be shadow, fade away, as the spirits lose their song

The world needs a leader and protector, someone to right this wrong

To scale fear’s greatest precipice, as the mountain’s facade comes crashing

To face the fear with light’s greatest strength, upon past and present’s clashing

It comes on the world’s great eve of change, as the north wind’s song is turning

Beware what you may think you know, for “the past has a way of returning.*”

The mythic Nokk came to the end of the spirits’ prophecy

It bowed its head and flashed its eyes, returning to the sea

The people knew it spoke the truth, the world would be free again

They only needed a bridge, a bond, to let the light back in

They needed someone fearless, with love enough to light the dark

Only one of their number was brave enough to bear the spirits’ mark

“Young as the morning, as fierce as a twig, Aren stepped out onto the land”

He’d made his choice, to protect his people, against the dark he’d stand

And so Aren set off, alone as the sun, armed only with his love

His plan was simple; persuade the moon to make peace with the sun above

Night’s dark creatures of memories corrupted, tried to stop him on his quest

But Aren persevered, held on to love, despite fear’s every test

He scaled the greatest, northern mountain, and when he reached the top,

He called to the moon, showed her their pain, told her this night needed to stop

The moon felt remorseful, her tears fell to earth as she realized what she’d done

She crossed the sky, returning home, to find her sister sun

The moon and sun were reunited, together at long last

The sisters agreed they’d rule together, “the past was in the past**”

Their strengths combined would bring peace to the world, as the spirits had foretold

With a “yellow diamond, bright as an eye”, they made Aren a blade of gold

“Revolving moon and spinning sun forged a crescent blade

From light and dark within the heart, the burnished sword was made.

He raised it high above his head and smote the edge of land”

The curve of his blade struck the earth and carved the kingdom’s span

As he cracked the ancient, unbroken rock, Revolute began to glow

The earth’s core tremored, shaking, shifting, disrupting the water’s flow

“The sea rushed in as hidden power flowed from the gleaming sword

And shaped the rock and forest crown of the first majestic fjord!”

The people rejoiced as they came to the land and deemed it “Arendelle”

At last they’d returned, to summer’s embrace, where they’d forever dwell

“As revolving moon and spinning sun, once forged a crescent blade,***”

Forever may true love endure, “may the flags of Arendelle ever wave”

*This is a quote, but it is not stated to be in the Saga. It is the tagline of Forest of Shadows.

**This is a quote from Frozen (Let it Go to be specific), but it is not stated to be in the Saga.

***I slightly adjusted this line from what is said in the book. The direct quote is: “Revolving moon and spinning sun, forged a crescent blade.” Normally, I wouldn’t adjust the line that was directly stated, but this was only said once, by Anna, who also said “something something something something” for the first part of the next line. I’m just assuming that maybe she made a mistake with the first part she said too, since the line that she actually said is definitely in the Saga elsewhere.

#frozen #frozen 2 #arendelle history

[life-of-cae]

Hello again, Tumblr!

It's been a while since I wrote here. I remember years ago, I'd pour all my heart out to tumblr. Back then I was still interested in writing and poetry. Those were the days, indeed. Now I feel like I'm back to square one, trying to figure out how to write down my thoughts. For now, I'll just go with the flow.

A lot happened these past few years. Suddenly, I felt like Tumblr is someone I haven't been in touch with and somehow I needed to caught tumblr up. This feels nostalgic. As far as I could remember, the last time I used tumblr was back in college. I tried to retrieve my previous blog, but I failed to do so. I want this to be a routine again, like I always did before. I haven't been writing in journals. Everything is just jam-packed inside my head, I never had an outlet.

Where do I start? Backlogs? Lmao. Everything after graduation. It took me months before I got a job as a Data Analyst. I can remember buying corporate attires and a lunch box (I was so eager to save up as early as I can). My first day was January 2. I asked my friend - who works in Makati - how do they commute going to work. They suggested that I take a Van in Coastal, but me being me, I was too afraid to explore. I've always been a scaredy cat. My parents/grandparents have always been protective of me going out. I view the outside world as a very dangerous and confusing place to be in. I'd rather stay at home, where everything feels familiar to me. Going back, I planned to take the bus that time. Everything did not pan out accordingly. I woke up early so I won't be late, but it was a Holiday, I failed to account that there were few public transport available. This part was a bit blurry, since I can't remember if I ended up taking a van or did I drive to work. But either way, I really felt my independence that day. I met my workmates, they were all smart and awesome by the way! My first day was an 8/10. I still feel nervous and just trying to fake it until I make it. My second day, was really memorable, I woke up really early and tried to take the bus again, and then reality hits me. Commute sucks in the Philippines. We were like sardines in the bus, I was holding back my tears. But yeah, I made it to work alive. I asked my ex-boyfriend to pick me up at work, because my energy just can't. I remember us waiting at the bus stop, but suddenly decided to have a bite in a Tropical Hut nearby. I really like that food chain. Just by entering the Hut, I felt a huge wave of nostalgia. It looks like time ceases inside the Hut. It did gave a vintage vibe, it exactly looks like the fast-food chains where my parents used to bring me when I was child. The food wasn't that great, but the ambiance is what makes me want to go back there every time. I'm not sure if it's still there in Makati.

My first job wasn't that easy. I had to go through a lot. It's like life just slapped me in the face with reality. This is the time that I realized that I have depression. I consider this the darkest moment in my life. Given that my life is perfectly fine in almost all aspects. I end up crying as I walk through the elevated walkway all the way to the station. I never knew the reason why. It came to a point that I had to resign and go to Qatar for a reset.

So that's that. My first post here in tumblr. There are as lot of in-betweens , but I'd rather post them separately. If that makes sense. Hehehe.

#backlogs

[hagatha-christie]

new year new reads and also i'm now consciously trying to read a book from every country plus places like Hawaii and Puerto Rico and Greenland that should be their own countries. Anyway here's what I read in January:

I've been pretty brutal about not wasting my time reading books I'm not into so hopefully I won't have any books that fall into the "bad" category this year. Also I did read 2 embarrassing romances and tbh i'm gonna keep those a lil secret because I dont really recommend either of them

The okay You Are Here by Thich Nhat Hanh (Vietnam): I think it's good for its intended audience and it reinforced some of the stuff I've been discussing in therapy but I found it very repetitive and kind of surface level when it came to actual Buddhist philosophy. Like I wanted to know a little more than what he wrote.

A Fortune for Your Disaster by Hanif Abdurraqib: I am obsessed with his prose but unfortunately I do not think his poetry is for me! I read his other collection last year and felt similarly. I think in the future I'll maybe skip any other poetry collections that come out.

The good/great (this is always in ascending order, I feel like I need to specify that)

Binti by Nnedi Okorafor: She did a pretty good job of worldbuilding in the like 90 pages of this book, and it's part of a series so I'm really curious to continue it and read more books in this African-futurism genre. Took a minute to get used to the YA narration (is this YA? I don't know)

Swimming in the Dark by Tomasz Jedrowski (Poland): This was a little sad and a little sweet, and I liked it very much but wish I would've read in the summer because it really would've hit. More vibes than plot but still enjoyed it.

Monstrilio by Gerardo Samano Cordova (Mexico): Finally a book that was as weird as I wanted it to be! Loved the 4 POVs we got, loved how messy the characters were, loved the ending. Would recommend despite one plot point that I found so disturbing I had to put it down (the book wasn't that graphic I just let my mind run a lil wild and scared myself).

Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar: as good as everyone says. Read it.

Brickmakers by Selva Almada (Argentina): I started this book a couple months ago and had to put it down because it was soooo jarring and I wasn't prepared, which I think makes the book so effective given the themes criticizing machismo culture. It's crass and gross and really blunt but omg I have not been able to stop thinking about it, or about the final line of the book since I read it.

#reading

[choysum]

someday, things will be different.

someday, the ghosts will move out. we'll pitch them off the cliff into such sharp rocks that even the filament is dashed to pieces, and we will leave their graves well-decorated by the seaside, and the cottage all covered in flowers and rot. nature will reclaim it without us.

then we will move to the city for a few years. (it's what the young do best.) and these years will be filled with trains and neon and heartbreak outside movie theaters and making up on the swings in the park at three am. I will kiss you in the rain and you will twirl your umbrella over us so our angels can catch the flying water on their tongues. you'll do my eyeliner like the girl in the picture, and I'll pull you in just to mess up your lipstick and smear it all over both of us. I'll leave dandelions pinned by post-it poetry on the apartment door, so that even when you and I have odd hours, my words can still carry through part of your day. you'll teach and I'll take up a hundred little odd jobs while claiming I'm "still finding my passion".

then we will move out of the city, because it smells and people are rude and I've been finding less kindness in the busstop strangers lately, but really it's just because we're not so young these days. we'll find a new favorite cafe and spot for dinner, and both of these places will be far more affordable, and we'll be saying we should have done this years ago. I'll get antsy like I do and drive out to every surrounding town and take you on adventures through them, and you'll find even more things than I did to love. we'll adopt an animal and grow native plants in the garden and I'll be so frustrated that first year after two-thirds of them die off, and then I'll plant a million more of the third that didn't. we'll visit my sister in the spring (by then you and her will be quite familiar) and she'll ask if we're happy, and we'll say yes. we'll stir up petty little dramas because really nothing's been wrong between us for a very long time, and sometimes it's fun to play-fight and let somebody win so the other one can "make it up" to them.

then we'll live happily ever after. the blanket you made us will grow old in our closet. every letter we ever wrote to each other is kept in the same shoebox in the shelf above it. our library is filled with poetry and real-life webweavings form the wallpaper and we write on everything because we're just horrible with it, ink perpetually smeared on the sides of our hands because we simply never learn and after fifty years we've decided we really shouldn't bother with learning better at all. I'll know every line of your hand.

(- we would have to come to an agreement about how to handle the spiders. you'll probably want to leave the city before I do. I'll use "we're young and queer" as an excuse for everything even up into those fifties and charm you into agreeing with me.)

the cottage covered in flowers, Still Life With Tomato Plant and Sword, an artists' haven on a cliff surrounded by jagged rocks but still the temptation to cliff dive. tombstoning is such a peculiar name for a sport, don't you think?

i have so often the trains and heartbreak and moving to a new city, i know i can hardly go a day without moaning about it - to whom do i have to kneel and pray to receive the warmth of equally returned love. I'll do your eyeliner but the last time i purposefully brough an umbrella with me on a trip was the summer before uni when i was scared this friendship was going to spark out in the next few months of living hours apart and i thought the least i could do would be to have an umbrella to hold over us two (i got very rained on - held it almost exclusively over them, but that can be our secret)

i have to keep reminding myself im just the receptacle to store these snippets of poetry you write because i read them and imagine them, invisage them so desperate to uproot from this life into that. maybe we're in America - would you take me to my first drive in movie if i smiled up at you just so? green thumb? i know what makes your heart ache but not if you prefer cats or dogs

ill draw us a map of all the places we hold dear, I'll have been collecting ticket stubs and receipts for us since before there was an 'us' in your heart to begin with

#thistledown stranger

[cascaria]

Blog Post 5/29/2023

Music is an artistic venture that's been on my mind a lot as of late. Rather, lyrics are specifically. I've been taking a different approach with lyrics than previous efforts (different from what I've put out publicly anyway), trying to get more personal. A lot has changed in my sense of self recently (trans moment teehee) and its made attempts to write more personal stuff feel,,, strange. Songs I wrote mere months ago feel like they were written by a different person, ideas expressed in earnest feel fake somehow.

I tried to make a clumsy snapshot of myself at this point in time, a lyrical self portrait of sorts, but the subject changed always through the painting. All it really needs is a little course correction; tweak some lyrics, scrap a few songs, write a few new ones, typical creative process. But even so its got me thinking in pretentious philosophical ways I hadn't considered before.

Can a person really be captured in the art they make? The answer is no, of course, the most realistic paintings, the most high quality photos, no matter the medium there will always be something missing. Someone could write an autobiography the length of all the Wheel of Times books put together and details would still be missing. You could film every second of a person's life and still never capture the whole picture. Of course what I'm attempting is nowhere near as ambitious, but even capturing one moment in time in total is impossible. Even in the attempt, the moment passes and a new moment is born. Sometimes the changes aren't drastic so its negligible, but of course realizing you're trans is anything but a minor shift.

Words are a weird thing for me. When I'm speaking in the moment I never feel like I can muster the right words to truly express what I'm trying to say. Given time and a big word count I can get closer, but even when I'm satisfied I'll come back to it a day later and realize ten billion things I forgot to say or wish I worded better. This includes stuff like this very blog post this sentence was added last minute.

Lyricism and poetry is a whole other beast, though. So much more has to be taken into account when crafting every line, and some ideas are really fucking hard to compress down into a rhyme scheme and melody. Ideas of the self are especially difficult. How can I make a song to express an image of myself when I barely know who I am? How can I create a snapshot of myself as a person when I barely feel like I'm real? If I don't even feel like me, how can I know what that "me" even is and express it in any way, let alone lyrically?

I've tried expressing that very experience via song and while I've written some lines I'm proud of I still feel like I'm barely scratching the surface of what I want, what I need, to convey. Part of the whole point of this project is to take the ideas and feelings out of my shitty brain and express them outwardly. Even though only like 5 people will listen or care (hi friends :3) the fact that it was heard is what matters. The fact it could be heard. But I can't make something heard if I don't know how to say it. No matter what I do, anything I write anything I sing anything I create will just be a faint silhouette of the picture.

I guess all art is like that, though. A drawing or painting can never measure up to the image formed in the artist's mind. A novel can never contain every detail of the vast world an author imagines. A song can never fully convey the emotion of the songwriter/performer. But, these things still resonate. A novel can't contain the whole of fantastical world in the author's mind, but it can create a whole new one in the mind of the reader. Art doesn't end with the artist. Once its made, once its out there, while the version in the artist's head will die with them, a new version will be made in the mind of everyone that chose to engage with it.

I can never fully express myself in the way I want to, but I can express enough that whoever engages with my art can form an image in their own head. Maybe it differs from mine, but the details that matter will be there. I can never fully put myself in a song, but I can try. I can put fragments together that a listener can pick up and graft to their own experience. Maybe it isn't about making an image of myself. That's certainly part of it on my end, but it doesn't end with me. Maybe its about making a mirror. A mirror containing fragments of myself that can also reflect fragments of whoever chooses to pick it up. Even if I am the subject, my art will never ultimately be about me.

I feel like a pretentious ass even insinuating anything I make could ever have a serious impact on someone, but I hope it does. If I could impact even one person with my art the way other people's art has impacted me, that's more than I could ever ask for. Even if I don't though, even if everything I make is doomed to obscurity for the rest of time and even all my friends fucking hate it, maybe it was enough that I tried. Maybe that's all that really matters in the end. Maybe that fruitless yet meaningful effort is what art truly is. I don't know.

#aria's blog

[killemwithkawaii]

Goretober 2022 Day 28: Limerence

Tonight, Mitch approached me, holding something that looked very familiar to her chest. She wouldn’t look me in the eye, and was shifting from foot to foot, looking sheepish as ever. I asked her what she had, and she hunched her shoulders and hid her face behind it- a little envelope, decorated with strawberries.

“It’s, ah…. Well, you keep wanting me to share my art with your friends, and… don’t get me wrong! Drawing on your laptop has been a lot of fun, but I… wanted to share some of my writing, too. Something I made a while ago, for you, when we first met… I never had the guts to give it to you, since it’s… kind of embarrassing, and I didn’t know if you’d like it, but…”

“Heh, what is it? A letter?”

I thought it was going to be a love letter, something sweet and cheesy and romantic, covered in little doodles and hearts, like the ones the very first Mitch and I had exchanged all that time ago. Maybe that’s why the drawings she’d been doing were so similar to the ones the sixth Mitch had made of us- because, after all, they were all the same person, just in different times and in different circumstances. Of course they would come up with some similar ideas, especially with me as their inspiration. 

“It’s… a poem, actually…”

“You wrote a poem for me…?”

 The fifth was not only a visual artist, but a writer as well, just like the sixth. That must be another reason that her recent work had reminded me so much of theirs- those two in particular had a lot in common. They were still very different, but still the same, especially when it came to how they expressed the feelings they had about me.

Mitch(5) liked to write horror stories, and erotic scenarios that could be considered horror by some, but also wrote a lot of poetry in the many notebooks that lined her shelves. There were so many volumes, I’d never gotten the chance to read through all of them when I’d snuck into her apartment to snoop around for ‘clues’ and collect ‘evidence’. I’d missed whatever was in this envelope. She must have hidden it away some place where even I couldn’t find it.

“Yeah, I… it’s… not really a traditional love poem, so I… I didn’t want to creep you out…especially ‘cus I wrote it like, right after we met, but…. It just came out, and…”

“Oh, so it’s a love poem, huh? Heh, and here I thought you just liked me…”

“Ah-! I, ah…” she flushed, gave a few signature squeaks, and nodded in her exaggerated way before finally holding out the envelope with both hands so I could take it. 

“Aww, you’re not gonna read it to me…?” More little noises from her throat, a deeper shade of red, more stuttering.

“... Eheh, I’m just teasing, Mitchie. Here, let me read it…” I took the envelope from her, lifted the flap and pulled out the matching stationery folded neatly inside. In small, cursive handwriting, it read:

A work of art

A cut of meat

Writing on walls

Stains on your sheets

A notch in your bedpost

A song on repeat

New destinations

Familiar streets

Pull back the curtain

And who will you meet?

A dog

A rabbit

Two starving beasts

Tethered, Forever

On a long, tight leash

I read the poem a few times over. It was thoughtful and well-written, with colorful imagery and symbolism- very in-line with what she usually wrote, and incredibly uncanny, given everything that had been going on between us, in this timeline, in every other, and during this nearly month-long glitch I’m still stuck in. 

The more I’ve learned about the nature of this glitch, the more my suspicions have grown. It’s been eating away at me, and this poem really didn’t help to put that feeling to bed. I don’t know how, or why, exactly, but I can’t shake this feeling that somehow, they’re more a part of this than it seems. From the very start, I've been with them, and we’ve been at home, doing what we normally do, and happy, for the most part, until the end. It’s just like we wanted… just like they wanted:

A ‘romantic’ 'staycation' for 'the Fishers'… just the 'two' of us....

#goretober2022 #the staycation 🏡💙 #neighbor!mitch #tw yandere #tw unsanitary #tw stalking #tw unreality #meet the fishers

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

warning: ask with mentions of suicide

TW: so my best friend is suicidal and she does not want her parents to know bcz she does not want help. She attempted it already and called me and we cried for hours. That was a few months ago. Now she is feeling the same again. Idk wtf to do.

I honestly don't know what to do bcz she hides her feelings so well from everyone. I met her yesterday and I couldn't even tell. And she texted me after and told me. I love her so much and I don't want anything to happen. She was so close the last time and idk what will happen if she tries again.

I made the text small so it's easy to skip if you don't want to read.

This is an extremely difficult situation. On one hand, I want to tell you to seek some sort of professional help, because it's unlikely that you are educated particularly in this field to handle this kind of situation in a objective, analytical way. And it's just hard because you have a deep relationship with them. Still, I know that might be out of the question. Your best friend might view it as a betrayal even if you're just trying to help or get assistance so you can help her. Plus, it might be an expense you can't afford.

If you are willing (and I understand if you are not, because this will not be fair to you and will be a lot of commitment), please spend as much time as you can with them. Talk to them. You don't have to feel exactly what she feels. Just help her understand that you want to know, and remind her that it is valid to feel the way she does even if no one else feels that way.

When I was feeling these feelings, I had a lot of people feeling sorry for me and I hated that, so stopped telling people. I wrote down my feelings, but with the mask of fanfiction / original work. I couldn't address my issues head on, but I could through fictional characters. A fictional character you make always has the right words to say, because you're writing them. Some format of writing might help. For example, you and your friend could share a journal that you exchange every day - you write a daily entry in it, the next day they write in it, the day after that you write in it, and so on. Write about your day, how you're feeling, things that happened, short or long, doesn't matter. What matters is that it gives them a sense of accountability and something to look forward to. It also helps to give voice to what's on your mind.

Music played a big part for me too. It gave poetry to the madness, which is why I gravitated to rock and metal back then. I even fell asleep with headphones in because I didn't want to listen to the inner demons.

Occupy them with distractions. Get them fixated on something. Sometimes it's not great to always talk about it. It can feel like an endless cycle if it's always on the forefront of your mind. Music, books, shows, movies, etc. Help her find something to really connect to, to stick with. And, yeah, it might be a little unhealthy but, for better or for worse, we're trying to find a reason to live, a purpose, and if it takes some sleepless nights, isn't that a small price to pay?

I'll be honest, I never had a friend that stuck with me like you are willing to do. I would feel really guilty about burdening someone with that weight, and I'm glad she told you. I hope you allow her to call you whenever she is feeling that way. I hope she talks to you and realizes how special that is, because people usually don't stick around for stuff like this. You may not be able to understand all she's feeling 100%, but you can listen. Ask her what she needs. Some people want comfort. Some want solutions. Some want to vent. And it might be different each time, so ask if needed.

For you, just remember that you don't and won't know all the answers and that's okay. Don't beat yourself up over not having "the solution" or "the answer". You're not professionally trained for this. Don't feel guilty for not knowing "the signs". You don't have to be a therapist. You just have to be there and understand her feelings are real, even if they seem crazy or irrational.

Establish open and honest communication. Don't antagonize how she's feeling. It might help her to separate the feelings from her identity, basically, how you feel =/= who you are. Being capable of feeling is just one thing, after all. We can feel so many things, good things, bad things, and I know she feels the worst, the most awful things right now, but it means one day she will feel the other side too. She knows how bad it can get and she is capable of cherishing the good moments much more than anyone else. I know it sounds crazy now, but it's true. It's something only us who have been in the darkest place can understand. Tell her to take it one day at a time. One more day, one more hour, one more minute. There is so much more life she hasn't seen or experienced.

if possible, help her gain a support system that isn't you, even if they are just there to supply her with mindless distraction. She doesn't have to tell them the vulnerable stuff but she should have people to go to if she wants to be occupied on a surface level. I hope you have a support system for yourself too. You don't have to tell them anything specific, but you need a shoulder to lean on.

This will be hard to accept, but you can't save them. Only they can save them. Only they can find a reason to keep going. But you can show them all the reasons other people have, show them how much life there is to live - real, in books, or on TV - even if just in stylized, glamorized fantasy, because there is truth in every fiction and there is always a chance that one line, one interaction, one moment will make them think, today is not so bad. And you can be in her corner - that's the most important thing. It can feel so lonely when you think no one feels the way you do, and even lonelier when people get fed up and leave. Remember, she doesn't feel this way because of you. Don't internalize it. You might not be able to make every day better. Every day might not be a grand success. Any change will be gradual and you might not notice it right away.

But, being there, distracting when needed, listening when needed, being silent when needed will help. It might not feel like it in the moment, but it will.

The world might not be wishing her the best, but hopefully your intention gets through to her.

[egyptianhoney]

Breaking up with my ex’s family

I experienced my first true breakup during the winter of 2022. When the time eventually came, it was a lot easier given that our relationship had been rotting for years before it eventually spoiled completely. Just like the bag of lettuce browning at the bottom of my fridge for weeks before I mustered up the courage to throw it out, the breakup was long overdue. When the relationship ended after three and a half years, it felt like I could take a deep breath again. 

But it never occurred to me that breaking up with my ex’s family would be much more difficult. 

I’d like to think I had a really good relationship with her family. Of course, I’m not quite sure anymore, but I know for certain that I spent a lot of time across three and a half years with them. I spent so many nights at her mother’s house downtown, where we would watch movies with her little brother, or play games of Cluedo as a ‘family.’ I would cook for them, dedicating so much time to perfecting my inherited recipes just for the validation from her parents and siblings. We went on vacations together, and I would visit her family in France for months at a time. I even put up with her racist step-father and his children’s endless questions on where I was from and what my opinions were on Arab geopolitics. To me, these people became just ‘family,’ for better or for worse. 

In a thread posted to r/BreakUps six years ago, reddit user @Jonny_Epidemic asked, “Do you ever miss your ex's parents a lot?” 

In a comment, @emelbee923, wrote, “...It is like losing an entire family. I still have things I planned on talking to all of them about that I'll never get the chance to bring up.”

When we broke up after three and a half years, it resembled more like a divorce. We spent hours with mediated conversations by our friends helping us divide our things. Her mother eventually inserted herself into these discussions, and to make it simple, she was actually just like any other white French woman after all. Au revoir!

But, truth be told, I still miss her dad. I still have things, as @emelbee923 commented, that “I’ll never get the chance to bring up.” I had full, honest, and beautiful conversations that I would never be able to have with any of my own family members. I built a connection with him where I felt safe, even safer than when I was with my own father. We would spend weeks on end in his home in a small town in France, and sometimes I still dream about waking up to the sound of him making us coffee. He was the first parent who ever asked me to make sure I was full, as he did every day after breakfast.

I felt at such peace in that home. I still have such fond memories, like when we took a road-trip to Paris, playing music from his youth all throughout the five-hour journey, and showing us around the winding streets, answering all my detailed questions. I still have the poetry book he got me from a museum shop in the city after he saw how much I connected to the exhibit.

I remember so clearly the last time I saw him. I think a part of me knew I was never going to see him again. He dropped us off at the bus stop before the airport, we hugged for a long moment, and then he was gone, driving away into the distance, my memories fading away with his image. 

On the same thread, @festivalfriend commented, “I miss them like crazy. They were truly a second family to me, and in all honesty, I'll probably continue missing them long after I get over her.”

Much like @festivalfriend, I continue to miss my ex’s father, and I’m long past being over her. What is it about these pseudo-intimate connections, that are so fragile because they are fundamentally dependent on someone else, but so deep that the loss is still felt so profoundly? 

Obviously, the clearest and simplest answer here is ‘daddy issues.’ I have a struggling relationship with my father, so classically, I project onto other people’s parents in order to fill the gap left by my own. Rest assured, I’ve made a lot of progress unpacking this. Nevertheless, there is still something to be said about this type of loss that you never necessarily prepared to mourn. Instead of losing one person in the ordeal, I lost five. 

Surprisingly, a lot of commenters on the thread gave advice to @Jonny_Epidemic, saying that the relationships they formed between them and their ex’s family did not necessarily have to end with the ending of the relationship. In a Refinery 29 article, Mirel Zaman asks, “Is It Ever Possible To Stay Close With An Ex’s Family?” and Zaman ends her article writing, “Remember, you’re not necessarily saying goodbye to your relationships with your ex’s family forever.” 

Are these relationships we build actually independent of our relationships with our former partners? Is there a chance for me to have a relationship with my ex’s family again? Or is holding onto that false hope only letting the wound from the loss fester? 

My relationship of three and a half years was nowhere near perfect. The most basic understanding was that we were too young to be so committed so quickly, and we needed to both develop ourselves as individuals first. A more complicated reading ends with the fact that she was emotionally and physically abusive (read In the Dream House (2019) by Carmen Maria Machado to understand the insidious intricacies of abuse in queer relationships). Regardless, although I don’t like to admit it, the relationship truly only ended when she cheated on me. 

Considering all of these circumstances, I silently dreamed that her family would reach out. She eventually came clean about everything and confessed to the harm she had caused me, to both her family and our mutual friends. Once everything was out in the open, call me naïve, but I secretly hoped that at least her dad would check-in. 

He never did. And I don’t think any of them ever will. 

Not all parents are the same. In fact, on the thread, @Achizzy1018 commented, “I not only lost the woman I thought would be my wife but a whole family who were a big part of my life. Apparently her family is pissed at her and her parents refuse to give her permission to meet the new guy she met online and dumped me for lolol.” 

Sometimes I wonder, like @Achizzy1018’s story, if my ex’s family speaks well of me or still think fond of me. Or honestly, in the case of her mother, if they ever really like me in the first place. 

On a sadder note, @duckwarriorx left a comment, “After we broke up I messaged his mother to thank her and his father for everything they had done to me and to tell them that I'm sorry things didn't work out between me and their son and etcetera. She replied with a "you're welcome." That was all I got back from the people that I thought of as pretty much a second pair of parents. That might have left me almost as heartbroken as the actual breakup.”

I used to think about reaching out to her father, to thank him as user @duckwarriorx did with his ex’s parents. However, taking responsibility for my own actions means accepting that these people were never my family. Although these connections may have been real for a brief moment in time, I was projecting my own unresolved family issues onto people who maybe never even wanted that type of relationship with me. 

Therefore, much like @duckwarriorx, I would’ve probably just been disappointed with the answer regardless. 

I’ll never know what they thought of me, or how I continue to exist in their memories. I’ll never know if I make cameos in their dreams, reminiscing about our moments laughing. I wonder if they remember any of the random facts I shared, or if they kept the paintings I made for them. 

I wonder if they also have things they never got the chance to say to me either. 

All I know is that, even though I still miss them, they will always simply just be a fond memory. 

#family #breakup #queer

[teaatreetaales]

A man.

Honestly this one is less poetry but just a thought. It’s based on someone I know too :)

~~~

Sometimes when you look deep enough into the most delicate souls, you’ll find the hardest lives.

A man.

A man who knew his own death, soon and prominent.

He used to ask, “how do I live?”

And he said it with such bright eyes and a smile that was reassuring to the point of being a lie.

I had no answer.

I was not him.

He asks because i have seen this life before.

A man filled with tumours.

Like mould on a bedroom wall.

But I have no answers, for how do you tell a dying man to live?

But he does. And he does it with such happiness and acceptance.

As if he can become too complacent and the illness will get bored.

Like a school bully that picks on you

It doesn’t.

He and is girlfriend got married a couple months ago.

A rushed wedding for a man on borrowed time.

Leant to him by cancer.

Can you say “in sickness and in health” if you have only ever been in one?

She is strong, that woman.

To say I do with death as their priest

Officiating the wedding.

I don’t believe she accepts it yet.

That death will do them part far sooner than she wishes.

I heard she still talks of “next year” and holidays.

He knows that come new year she’ll enter it alone.

But he doesn’t correct her.

Sometimes it’s okay to let people dream

Maybe she’ll still dream when he’s gone.

That at any moment he’ll come home and this was all some big elaborate joke to test her loyalty.

He won’t come back though.

Even when she sets his place at the dinner table.

He asked me, “help me write a letter to my children” I tell him to do it on his own.

He accepts that, relieved.

He missed how normal it felt for someone to tell him no.

But his poor children.

They’ll be old enough to understand that daddy’s gone.

They’ll cry when he never comes back.

They’ll be confused and reminded

When at every school play their friends flock to their fathers

And they’ll only have a mother.

They’ll love her like two parents.

When she cries they’ll try to make her happy, only to cry with her.

She misses him.

They miss a presence.

He wrote that letter.

I believe it was for when they turned 18.

He spilled every ounce of love into it.

But how do you embody a life’s worth of love for your child in A4 and ink?

I never asked what was in them.

He was never really a friend of mine.

We only talk because I know how his story ends.

He likes the truth and I gave him that.

I only lied to him once,

when he asked me if he’d be trapped at the end.

He still never cried, just sighed.

I told him no. That he would be so drugged up he wouldn’t feel it.

I lied.

Maybe I didn’t, I don’t know.

But he would be trapped for a short while.

A perfectly healthy mind in a rotting body.

But I didn’t want to scare him.

Still, I’ll feel guilty when I’m told by family I don’t even know that he’s gone.

That he suffered those couple terrible weeks.

At what point do you stop telling them “you’ll get better”

And start telling them they’re loved?

It’s weird though.

Isn’t

When you’re not biased by love to swear at how cruel the world is, you just see it as strange.

And it is.

How one moment a person exists

And they create a presence with objects and jokes and secrets.

They are those things and those things are them.

When they die those things don’t.

And it blurs the lines of existence really

Because it’s different to being ‘alive’

Technically he will still exist.

In our hours long call histories

In however his family have him.

In inside jokes and memories of people.

But he won’t be there to laugh with them anymore.

He won’t laugh at all.

Ever.

And when he dies they’ll be distraught.

They’ll be consumed by grief and I’ll have empathy.

But I won’t cry for him

I’ll feel sorry.

That I couldn’t offer him an answer

When he asked me how to live.

- Tea

#poetry #grief #cancer #thoughts #train of thought #female writers #women writers #writing #original poetry #writers and poets #weird thoughts

[aristosakielon]

Please let me know what you think of his poetry after you're done! It's honestly so good and it shows his more sensitive and human side as well! (Some of them might not be available, so let me know if you need help, I have some saved!)

Okay I have many thoughts already. I have not read all of them yet!

(Firstly, I am half creeped out at how similar our styles of writing poetry are ajajaj.) Continuing, I just cry for and love the fact that these poems exist. In history what I most find fascinating are the tiny bits of humanity in people, the littlest fragments that are a part of someone or a community. In my opinion, it is difficult to visualise much of the past, especially so long ago. It can seem almost unreal despite how much you learn. Snippets of life simply being life are the things that can really connect us to history. I think these poems definitely show that! Instead of an emperor lost in myth, he is just a guy at the end of the day, like you mentioned above.

I am also always a sucker for analysis - (and boy do I have plenty material). His observations, whether played up for poetic purposes or genuine, I live for both the shock value and the mundane - the stuff that is normal at the time, fleetingly written or forgotten, but he includes it.

Some poems are plain disgusting though, not gonna look past that whole poem titled ‚R*pe!‘ etc. Then you have the opposite end of the spectrum, the ones I adore - in particular ‚In Praise of Tourism‘. Also when he talks about him and Poppea during the times of the Domus Aurea (construction) I start to vibrate with excitement. I visited there only a few months ago and it was one of my favourite places in the world, so having him actually talk about it just fuels my Roman history fixation tenfold.

It also leaves me with many thoughts. I wish I could read Latin (I did attempt to learn but it is so complicated I gave up >.<). I wonder if any lines rhymed, though I guess rhyming wasn‘t really a thing in poetry back then? Or if he wrote anything in Greek. I have also a belief that poetry cannot be 100% translated. Sure, it is one thing to translate a language, but poetry is much more than simply words - another reason why I would learn every language in the world just to read literature as intended. Nevertheless, I am grateful I can even read it still. Should never take for granted our access to knowledge. So thank you, so much, for sharing!!

Ps. Finding that whole ‚did he murder Agrippina‘ debate makes me laugh at the first line of ‚Advice to Young Poets‘: ‚Murder your mother‘ 😂 Subtlety may not be his strong suit.

As always, I find him a very interesting person, especially thinking about the context at the time, and this validates my fascination. I have so many thoughts (about the individual poems too as they are quite varied) but I best end my ramblings here before I hit some word count lol.

I apologise at the length of this good gods. Message me too any thoughts you may have, I look forward to hearing them! Will let you know if I come across any that are unavailable:)

#nero #what would pliny think