no phun intended: loneliness, unrequited love, self discovery, light pink, going to therapy for the first time, fidgety hands, staying in your room for too long, crying in the shower, panic attacks before church, playing piano until your fingers ache, the feeling deep in your heart that something is not right, feeling constantly uncomfortable, not being enough, staying up until the sunrise, avoiding mirrors, bandaged arms, pulling on your hair, avoiding friends, craving attention, sobbing in your basement at 2am, scribbled poetry in the margins of homework, uncertainty towards the future
self titled: fog, the silence of cold winter nights, an out of tune piano, snow on the beach, aches in your bones, the bareness of the trees in winter, that ache in your chest late at night, scribbling nonsense in your journal, zoning out in class, crying so hard you can’t breath, pale colors, driving to school half asleep in the dark, the numbness of your feet after being in the cold for too long, head aches, emptiness, picking at your skin, biting your nails, boots crunching on snow
regional at best: brownish orange, blue, red, laying in an open field, oversized shirts, road trips, playgrounds at sunset, the early days of summer, sitting outside at night even when it gets too cold, holding it all in, visiting your old elementary school, the first fireflies of the summer, cracking knuckles, road trips, grass, stargazing, riding bikes, cuts on your hands, that feeling that’s not quite happiness or sadness, photo albums, uncertainty, real laughter, crying in your car, the beginning of something, pushing friends away, wandering in the woods, bruised knees
vessel: cold air filling your lungs, crying yourself to sleep, the aches of your wrists in the morning, regret, headlights in the distance, driving alone down a long road in the dead of night, painful nostalgia, the first snowfall, a well needed hug, midnight walks, not sleeping for days, trying to get better on your own, laying in bed for hours at a time, finally admitting you need help
blurryface: trembling hands, anxiety in your throat, repetitive thoughts, wanting to cry but not being able to, playing piano in the dark, going back to therapy, falling in love, distant lights outside your window, hope, a bloody nose, the last days of summer, bruises you don’t remember, coming home, fighting with your friends, gasping for breath, long talks by a pool at midnight, laughing until you cry, determination
I am finally doing this! :) :) Unfortunately, I can’t find the original post but I was tagged by caitlinispiningforjohnlock and cloisteredself. Here are ten fics that I love to death and that will always stick with me:
The Violet Hour by breathedout- Hands down, one of my favorite fics of all time. 1920s historical AU where Sherlock and John get together while solving a case in the midst of the Bloomsbury crew. The writing is absolutely exquisite and John and Sherlock are unmistakably themselves in the fascinating backdrop of post-WWI England. It’s perfect in every way.
Ein Zimmer Mit Bad by breathedout- I think this fic actually contains my favorite sex scene in all of literature. John and Sherlock have angry, possessive, jealousy-induced sex in a giant copper bathtub in Berlin. Oh my god, it is everything.
Yet by aderyn- Post-Reichenbach fic full of folklore, poetry, and loveliness. Every word is perfect.
Art and Nature by PoppyAlexander- Gorgeous, gorgeous historical AU where Sherlock is the butler and John is the gardener in a manor house in the 1920s. Sherlock is cold and remote and impeccable until John Watson comes to the house and slowly draws him out. When they are alone together, the way Sherlock comes apart just for John… Oh, it is to die for.
Landscape With The Fall of Icarus by CaitlinFairchild- This is the first story by caitlinispiningforjohnlock that I ever read and it seriously changed my life. This fic fucking knocked me off my feet and left me panting for breath. It was so good I didn’t even know what to do with myself when I finished it. It was a fic I didn’t even know how badly I needed until I read it. It helped me recover from season three. It is devastating in the most eloquent way.
Kings Among Runaways by allonsys_girl- This story is my life. I am obsessed with it. The brilliant anigrrrl2 is busy working on a myriad of other brilliant fics at the moment, but this one really gets me. Like reaches into my chest and does things with my heart gets me. It is vivid and searing and tender and gorgeous and so full of feeling I ache when I read it. And she’s only written four chapters so far.
All the Best and Brightest Creatures by wordstrings- I will continue to rec this fic until I die. It is on another level of fic-ness. Sometimes, I have to put off reading the updates for months and months because they are too good and I feel them too deeply and coming back to real life is sad and painful. That is how good this fic is. You live in it when you read it.
Summary: Ben Solo is a smuggler, taking after his father in light of his talents, undeniable charm and disdain for most of politics in the galaxy. On a smuggling trip to Naboo however, his life takes an unexpected turn as events don’t go quite as planned.
A/N: Again, I am absolute trash for Disney AU’s cause I love Disney just as much Star Wars. That love especially includes one of my all time faves, Aladdin! So here’s this fic in light of all of that. Just a random note, I do picture reader wearing an outfit similar to that light blue midriff dress/two piece Padme wore in Ep. II cause it’s the most believable that a normal citizen would own that. So anywho hope you all enjoy!
The market was abuzz with people and creatures hustling and bustling through briskly. Various scents filled the air as the atmosphere of the market place grew vibrant with the rush. As soon as the afternoon came around the once quiet streets came alive as people flooded out to gather their things. All different tongues and sounds echoed through the area, showcasing so simply how diverse it was.
Among this bustling crowd, blending into the various arrays of attire and appearance was the one and only Ben Solo. Having no specific smuggling deals he was involved with, Ben opted to take a little detour to the gorgeous planet. With Chewbacca in tow and a serious need for a break, Ben was more than ready to get lost in the scenery and lush culture the planet had to offer.
Turning to Chewbacca he smirked, “Chewie, might I just say we’ve earned this vacation. No deals, no get away routes, just you and I and a good time in a beautiful place.”
The wookie growled and gargled in response, somewhat shrugging.
“What’s that supposed to mean? You’re not excited?”
The wookie shrugged again as he growled a few more times in response. At the response Ben’s shoulders tensed faintly as his eyes almost began to roll.
“Ah come on Chewie. You know my old man is always against a good time. What would be the purpose of telling him?”
The wookie groaned in response.
The wookie gestured with his hands as he mustered up another response. This one made Ben shake his head with a faint but angry smirk.
“Key word is used to be. He’s not who he used to be. Why do you think we’ve been away from home for so long?”
The wookie growled lowly, trying not to upset Ben but expressing his discontent. Chewie knew just how sore of a subject home was for Ben and he was not going to be the one to push it.
Striding through the market still Ben allowed his eyes to wander once again, taking in all the various vendors and individuals that passed by. Soon enough Ben found himself only focusing on the vendors as he noticed the distasteful looks he received from passers-by.
From the little he knew about Naboo, he knew for certain their citizens were mostly higher class and all fairly “composed” as he would say. He however, stook out like a sore thumb. With the way he dressed, the grease that remained on his attire as well as his nails, his dirty boots and somewhat cocky saunter, it was painfully obvious to the citizens. He was not a local.
“They kicked me to the head of the stairs, and stretched me over a guard-bench, pommelling me. Two knelt on my ankles, bearing down on the back of my knees, while two more twisted my wrists till they cracked, and then crushed them and my neck against the wood.
To keep my mind in control I numbered the blows, but after twenty lost count, and could feel only the shapeless weight of pain, not tearing claws, for which I had prepared, but a gradual cracking apart of my whole being by some too-great force whose waves rolled up my spine till they were pent within my brain, to clash terribly together.
After the corporal ceased, the men took up, very deliberately, giving me so many, and then an interval, during which they would squabble for the next turn, ease themselves, and play unspeakably with me
At last when I was completely broken they seemed satisfied. Somehow I found myself off the bench, lying on my back on the dirty floor, where I snuggled down, dazed, panting for breath, but vaguely comfortable. I had strung myself to learn all pain until I died, and no longer actor, but spectator, thought not to care how my body jerked and squealed.
I remembered the corporal kicking with his nailed boot to get me up; and this was true, for next day my right side was dark and lacerated, and a damaged rib made each breath stab me sharply. I remembered smiling idly at him, for a delicious warmth, probably sexual, was swelling through me: and then that he flung up his arm and hacked with the full length of his whip into my groin. This doubled me half-over, screaming, or, rather, trying impotently to scream, only shuddering through my open mouth. One giggled with amusement. A voice cried, ‘Shame, you’ve killed him’. Another slash followed. A roaring, and my eyes went black: while within me the core of Me seemed to heave slowly up through the rending nerves, expelled from its body by this last indescribable pang.
By the bruises perhaps they beat me further: but I next knew that I was
being dragged about by two men, each disputing over a leg as though to
split me apart: while a third man rode me astride. It was momently
better than more flogging.
I was feeling very ill, as though some part of me had gone dead that night in Deraa, leaving me maimed, imperfect, half myself. It could not have been the defilement, for no one ever held the body in less honour than I did myself: probably it had been the breaking of the spirit by that frenzied nerve-shattering pain, which had degraded me to beast level when it made me grovel to it, and which had journeyed with me since, a fascinatiоn and terror and morbid desire, lascivious and vicious, perhaps, but like the striving of a moth towards its flame.”
-T.E. Lawrence, Seven Pillars of Wisdom (Chapter LXXX)