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hederasgarden · 2 months ago

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Ab Initio

Summary: Terrified and alone, you find comfort in an unlikely place - Rome’s mightiest Gladiator. Pairing: Lucius Verus x F!Reader Word Count: 2K Rating: Mature. Heavy angst with references to spousal death and SA. Author Note: This is a follow up to Post tenebras lux but in reality it is more of a prologue to that story. I intended to write an epilogue for the story, but I opened my google doc and this happened instead. Thank you to @ryebecca and @aliensupastar for their beta help. Please comment or reblog if you enjoyed this and want to see more. Or scream at me in my inbox. That always makes my day.

Everything about this place assaults your senses. The air is thick and stifling, heavy with the sour tang of blood, mixing with the acrid stench of the Gladiators' sweat and leather armor. It clings to your skin just like the weight of their eyes. You try to disappear into the folds of your dress, but there's no hiding from the way their stares strip you bare with every passing second.

You stumble in the unfamiliar sandals, the soft leather soles slick against the cold stone beneath you as Viggo pulls you along. No one has explained your presence here or told you what is to happen. One moment, you were in the kitchen and the next you were dragged into a bath that smelled of lavender and honey, your skin scrubbed raw by the hands of women who wouldn’t meet your eyes. They oiled you, perfumed you, and dressed you in intricate and lavish clothes more befitting of a Roman bride than a slave.

Macrinus marches ahead of you, the edges of his expensive robes dragging through the dust of the ground. He hasn’t even spared you a second look, beyond the brief, cursory inspection when he first laid eyes on you where he declared that you would do.

"Hanno," Macrinus calls out, capturing the attention of one of the Gladiators in the training yard.

The man he beckons is tall and commanding, his body a perfect balance of strength and leanness that's a testament to hard-won power rather than sheer bulk. His hair is a mass of curly brown locks that match his rugged beard, but it's his eyes — those deep, dark-set blue eyes — that are the most compelling thing about him. They miss nothing, taking in everything with a subtle, calculating sharpness. When he looks at you, it's not just a glance, it's an assessing, cataloging look.

Macrinus grasps your shoulders and angles you towards him. “I cannot yet deliver you the general's head but I hope you'll accept a consolation prize."

The words barely leave Macrinus’s lips before Hanno’s response rings out, as cold and flat as stone. "I have no need of her."

“Come now," Macrinus presses, voice laced with a light, almost teasing amusement, but something darker lurks beneath that veneer of geniality. "She’s here, and she’s yours if you want her."

Hanno just stares back, and Macrinus sighs.

"I have brought her all the way here," he continues, growing a little more insistent. "If not you, I’ll have to gift her to another. Or perhaps the men can share her.”

You thought you knew fear when your husband was killed as the general's army razed your city, but that’s a distant thing to what you feel now. Before you can stop it, a low, terrified sound slips from your lips. It breaks through the tightly held mask of composure you've tried to keep in place. Hanno’s attention snaps back to you in an instant. There’s something about how he looks at you that’s more measured than before, that makes your stomach churn. There's no compassion or kindness there, only a cold calculation. He looks at you like your discomfort is part of some game or unseen test.

You try to steady your breath, but the terror lingering in your chest is a living thing, crawling beneath your skin. It feels impossible to breathe. Macrinus watches the exchange with quiet satisfaction, but Hanno remains silent, his gaze never leaving you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks. "Very well. I will take her."

Macrinus claps his hands in approval, a sharp sound that cuts through the tense silence. "I told you when we first met that a slave dreams not of freedom, but of his own slaves," he says with a chuckle. "You are not so different, Hanno of Numidia."

Your new master hums, but says nothing else. A push from behind sends you stumbling forward, closer to him. Your heart races and panic surges through you as you instinctively try to pull away, but Hanno is too quick. His grip tightens around your wrist, the roughness of his calloused skin pressing against yours, warm and solid, despite the coolness in the air of the yard.

"Is that all?" he asks. He doesn’t sound particularly interested, just... expectant.

“Yes, yes, go enjoy your hard won prize,” Macrinus encourages with a knowing grin.

Hanno drops the wooden sword in his hand and shifts his grip to your waist. He spins you to face forward and marches you ahead of him. You’re too numb to resist, paralyzed by the overwhelming terror flooding your every nerve. It’s only when you catch sight of the iron gate of his cell that a flicker of resistance surges through your body. You dig your heels into the dirt and twist in his grasp. He doesn’t even flinch as you try to pull away; his body simply shifts with yours, pushing you forward.

“Please,” you beg. “Do not do this.”

“Stop,” he commands, but he doesn’t sound angry, just tired.

A scream claws its way up your throat but before the sound can carry, Hanno’s hand is there, pressing over your mouth. As he forces you against the stone wall, his body pressing you into the unforgiving surface, the hand not covering your mouth swiftly moves to the back of your head. His fingers splay wide, cradling your skull before it can slam into the cold stone. The gentleness of the gesture is startling and at odds with the force of his body pinning you against the wall. For a brief moment, his touch feels oddly tender, careful even, like he’s worried about hurting you.

"Easy," Hanno murmurs. “I will not hurt you, but you must calm.” His grip tightens slightly, just enough to make sure you feel his presence, and then he asks, his voice more serious, "Can you do that? Nod if you understand.”

After a moment of stunned silence, you nod.

His shoulders drop and the hand that’s been pressed over your mouth loosens a little, though his fingers still linger. “Good,” he praises and you blink, tears escaping the corner of your eyes. “If I remove my hand will you scream?” He asks.

You shake your head and the weight from your lips disappears. You take in a shuddering breath.

“Who are you?” He questions. “A concubine?”

The word stings, like a slap. You almost choke on them, but you gather enough strength to shake your head. "No. I-I work in the kitchen.”

You can see the confusion flicker in his eyes, quickly followed by something else. His voice comes out sharp, incredulous even. "The kitchen?"

“I do not understand what is happening,” you say. The words tumble out before you can stop them. “No one has told me anything. I was dressed and brought here.” A great swell of emotion sweeps through you and a weak, tearful sound escapes from your throat.

Hanno’s expression shifts. He steps back slightly, his grip loosening just enough to give you some space, but still firm enough to remind you that you’re not free to move. For the first time since this encounter began, there’s a crack in his composure, a flicker of guilt; perhaps even a trace of pity.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says, tilting his head to capture your attention. “I have no desire for you.”

No desire for you? The phrase is meant to comfort you, but all it does is add another layer of confusion to the mess of emotions churning inside. You can’t bring yourself to ask the question burning in your mind: Why, then? Why bring me here, if not for that?

“I will not hurt you,” he assures you again, before releasing your wrist. “But I cannot send you back. I cannot be sure Macrinus won’t punish you if I do.”

“Punish me?” You question. “I-I have done nothing wrong.” The sob that follows is involuntary, a sound so broken it seems to come from somewhere deep, primal. Like an unmoored boat caught in a violent storm, your emotions spin out of control, and everything you suppressed since you were brought to the arena tumbles out.

"They took me from my husband," you whisper through the tears, your voice barely audible. "My home." Your shaking hands grasp at the delicate golden chains draped around your neck and you tug at them desperately. The metal bends under your fingers, straining, until with a sharp snap, the delicate link breaks.

“Now they have reduced me to…to….this.”

You reach for the heavy jewels that hang from your ears next. They feel like anchors, pulling you deeper into a place that isn’t yours. With a final, desperate yank, you rip them free and they fall with a dull clink. Tears blur your vision, and you barely register Hanno’s movement as he steps closer. His presence is a sharp contrast to the turmoil inside you — steady, solid, unyielding. You expect him to dismiss your anguish and remind you of your place, but instead, he surprises you.

“I am sorry,” he says sincerely. “I am sorry they have taken so much from you, as they have from me. My wife.” He twists the thin golden ring on his pinky, a shudder passing through his body before he continues speaking. “My city. The only home I knew.”

His unexpected tenderness sweeps away the jagged edges of your panic, and you sink to your knees, exhausted. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, smearing the carefully applied kohl. Hanno shifts closer, and when you pull your hands from your face, you’re unsurprised to find him kneeling in front of you.

“We have both known too much loss at the hand of Rome,” he begins. “But I promise you, I will shield you from what I can.”

“Why?” The question slips out before you take it back. What did he want from you if not service? What kindness is there left in the world for a slave?

His gaze shifts, hardening, and you can almost feel the change in him before the words come. “I am tired of fighting. Of inflicting pain, all in the name of Rome." He exhales and looks up at the sliver of sunlight that creeps through the bars of his window. “And perhaps because I could not save her,” he admits, his voice faltering.

When his attention returns to you he lifts a hand as if he means to touch you. It hovers just a breath away from your cheek before he drops it. “But I can help you.”

The vulnerability in his admission surprises you. You don’t know what to say nor how to react, but Hanno requires neither. He simply offers you his hand and pulls you to your feet when you accept. You let him guide you to sit on the cot, looking up at him tearfully.

“We should remain here for a while. The others will expect me to…” he trails off and you nod.

He settles himself on the opposite end of the bed and rests his elbows heavily on his knees, hanging his head forward. In the dim light, you can see how the lines of exhaustion etched into his face are deeper than you noticed before. What you can see of his arms and chest are a constellation of scars and bruises. Some are old and faded while others are fresh and raw. Each is a testament to the violence and suffering he's carried with him.

You look at your own hands, roughened in their own way from work over the years but compared to him, your body feels unmarked by anything significant. It seems impossible that you bear no scars, no visible traces of the grief and pain that consume you.

You don’t know if you can trust Hanno, but his promise feels like a bridge between the wreckage of your life and whatever might lie beyond this moment of darkness. You want to believe him. You want to hope.

It’s all that’s left to you now.

Next part of the series - Post tenebras lux

♡

My inbox is open for your thoughts on this story, requests for drabbles with Lucius and further scenes with Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife.

#lucius verus x reader #lucius verus #lucius verus x you #paul mescal #gladiator ii #gladiator 2 #post tenebras lux #Lucius and the Fisherman's Wife

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comfortless · 10 months ago

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syl im begging on my hands and knees pls pls pls expand on that idea of könig being a warrior rumored to eat womens hearts its like giving scheherazade and i NEED IT

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. vague time period/setting. fem(afab) reader. light descriptions of violence and gore, talk of cannibalism, non-con groping & cuddling, forced marriage.

There are endless tasks to be done and everything beneath a vast blue sky to explore, forgoing those things, the men about your village often prefer to gather for a duel. There are no rules for their game, only that you bring a weapon and thrust it toward the opponent in such a way that it brings you glory, pride, some scabbing mend to a crooked scar.

Except not you, never you. They wouldn’t so much as allow for the women to watch unless sparring for the hand of a weeping bride happened to be the gleaming prize waiting at the end of the night.

Your eyes had witnessed such before, a girl with hair the color of autumn straw that rolled down to the end of her back, whisked away by some man from the sea after he dug his blade into an old farmer’s belly. Her father. A sad thing, but you imagined her life must be much better now. Instead of tending to a mule or pricking her fingers on needles for sewing, she’s off collecting sea shells and has the ocean’s breeze eternally perfumed in her hair. Maybe she cradles a baby on her hip now, plump and cooing happily whilst they watch the waves roll and glitter beneath the sun.

A better life for only the cost of a swift death. It was something that you had always envisioned wanting for yourself, away from this village that reeks of blood, the very place where your options were limited to shoveling after the horses or to die a lonely hag.

That was until the behemoth began to show his face. Not quite his face at all, actually. It changed things for you. Instead of a longing for one of these strong men to carry you off into the night, there sat a creeping terror each and every time he crossed the threshold into the village.

He was rumored to be many things: an executioner from a foreign land, either a lost and wicked saint or a demon made flesh, and worst of them all… a cannibal from out in the untamed downs that crest the mountainside.

The women of the village were frightened by him, by the bulk and height that suggested he was not a man at all, but something far more terrifying beneath that black veil. They hid away when he first arrived, claiming he carried an organ in his hands, chewing away at a still-beating heart with blood running down his fingers. The men remained rigid, but their hands shook when they took up their weapons against him.

And there was no way of knowing then that this man was to be yours.

Time and time again, the giant would win, request a warm meal and a bed for the evening, and would be gone away come morning. He wouldn’t return for months, and the gossip would continue to fester until his return. Then, only then, would lips be pursed in silence and another fool would rush to death in an attempt to win some measure of pride. His opponent would be buried in the very field they would fight in, his bones serving for another layer upon the earthen stage once the worms and rats had picked him clean, and the giant would be back. He was always back.

The town is hushed to silence when his horse is led through the well-worn street. There are lingering observers: the broad stable hand that would not even dare to raise a whip or a dagger to this behemoth, the women of the brothel even shy away from him, and the children who whisper their rumors behind open palms.

He does not stop for any of them, only carries forward with that dark cloth concealing his head.

You peek out from your window, nursing tea with honey to calm the chill drifting through the air, feathering over your skin. It’s bitter on your tongue, even with the sweet coursing through it. Bitter, when his blue eyes flick in your direction and you feel every inch of your skin begin to prickle and tense.

He’s worse up close like this. The man doesn’t conceal his torso, never seemed to find a need to— no one ever gets close enough to wound him. Not any more, at least, judging by the pasty scars that mar his chest with the biggest being a healed, pinkish blemish that stretches from below his ribs down to a narrow hip. You find the most unsettling part about him is not those marks of violence, but the fact that you can not read his face.

Time slows to a halt as he just stares, takes you in with your cup of tea and the old dress stolen away from your mother’s own wardrobe. And you return it, warily looking him over from his veiled head down to the toes of his boots. After regarding you in the very same way a bored cat would observe an unaware, little bird, he moves along his path with a quiet huff of breath as his face is turned away from you.

There’s a heavy axe strapped to his back that you only notice then. Something new and shiny, glistening in the rays of golden sunlight above. Sharp and wicked, too cruel a weapon to be used in a bout for dinner and a lumpy mattress stuffed with decaying straw.

You could only hope he brought a cloth to clean it once this ordeal was over. Perhaps he truly does use his veil to do so, gets drunk on the scent of blood and gore clinging to it and pleasures himself to the violence as they claim. The macabre tales of this giant only go darker than that. But the tales he lives up to most of all are the ones about his skill in killing.

When night begins to scrape across the sky in dark, drab purple, fate comes crawling throughout the town as though it is nothing more than a famished ghoul.

Your mother storms toward you where you’re sat, preparing for bed. Her face is a mask of pure anguish when she pulls you into a tight embrace. She bawls into your hair, digs her nails into your back as though she would sooner die than let you go.

The men of the town follow behind her, wrenching her arms away from you and pulling you up by the front of your gown. The thin linen tears with the force of rough hands, rips a thick line down your chest that almost leaves you bared to them. Though the hands are eager, the eyes of these men do not shine with hunger, only with fear.

The shouts and cries from your lips are lost to them, to even your mother who wails in defeat someplace behind you.

“You’re plenty old enough to be a bride,” says one of the men, voice like a coiled snake spitting venom. It doesn’t take one of the well-educated people of the capital here to explain just what is to happen to you now.

The giant, the cannibal, saw something that he liked, and decided that you would be his prize. When you’re led to the field, kicking and flailing against the strong arms that hold you tightly in their grip, the sight is enough to tell you just how much that he enjoyed your silent, curious staring only hours before.

He stands upright, silent and daunting above a body that’s been split by the axe still held in one strong hand. The color of crimson cakes his knuckles, crests over his arm and the expanse of his chest, all from the headless corpse lying disposed at his feet.

The scene is what you expected, you’ve heard the words of your people about this beast of a man’s propensity for violence, but no amount of mental preparation could have truly readied you for seeing so much blood. The blood of a man you knew to be good and true, a hard-working blacksmith from the foothills. What a tragic way to go out: fighting for a pouch of coin when this horrible giant must have clearly lost his mind to rut and rage.

No hand comes to cover your mouth when you shriek, and the tight grips guiding you forward only loosen when your man or murderer stalks forward to take his prize. Through your tears, you still manage to make out the lines beneath his eyes, how they fold upward, and there’s no doubt that he’s smiling beneath that mask. A big, ugly grin at the thought of prying open your ribs and helping himself to a maiden’s heart.

He lifts it over his head in a swift motion, and drops it over your own instead, opposite to the hastily cut eye holes to block out all of the hazy, pale light of the moon and flickering yellow-red torches surrounding. Amidst the panic threatening to send your heart fleeing from your chest, the cold trickle of dread that finds itself curling in your belly, you feel two arms hoist you up and settle you over the back of his wretched steed.

“Gehen wir.”

Then, the darkness turns abyssal.

You only pray your body has truly died of fright when you first wake. There’s no darkness, no scent of blood when your eyelids pry apart to flutter. Water laps over your bare thighs, cold enough to force a shiver up from your feet to the blades of your shoulders. But behind you sits fire, a warmth so comforting you would think you’re rested against a stone bathed in summer sun, if not for the softness.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, rationalize just what’s happening, until a hand clutching a scrap of cloth maneuvers up from your thigh to your tummy, lathers you in a soap that smells only of pine. It halts, cinches around your waist when you begin to tense, when he knows you’re truly awake. A pond to your front and a man of horror at your back.

There’s sunlight streaming down from above, painting the clouds in gold. There are birds happily singing from the surrounding trees, and other, unseen animals scurrying through fallen leaves. Serene, pretty, and almost comforting when the wind turns course and brings with it the scent of late-ripening fruit. If the reality of your situation were not so dire, perhaps you would have enjoyed it, being here with a man who killed instead of presented your family with a dowry or offered you some pleasant wedding to dine and drink your fill of berry wine at.

“Let me go.” Your voice is a feigned warning, the mocking growl of a mere pup. You imagine he must keep his weapons close, only offering himself the courtesy of cleaning you so your meat doesn’t taste of dirt or lavender oil when he sinks his teeth into it.

“Süss frau,” he mumbles behind you, presses his head into your hair and inhales deeply as your body only grows further rigid. There’s a pause, before he corrects himself. “Meine süss frau.”

It would help if you knew what he was saying, calm your nerves some, maybe, but each word spoken only sounds guttural and instills further fear. You twist in his grip, hissing small curses that would have left your mother in a rage, but he only laughs at your squirming. Then, he tightens his grip as the cloth is dropped into the pond’s glassy water.

“Take me back home,” you continue to urge, placing a trembling hand over the limb pressing your body further back against him. “Please.”

Your small attempt at pleading is met only with his head dropping to the nape of your neck, a kiss pressed against the flesh there. It warms for him, sends a heat spiking up to your cheeks in spite of the way you still suspect he wishes only to rip your throat open with teeth more akin to a devil’s fangs.

You turn your head, intent on spitting right in this monster’s face, but find only a man looking back at you.

There’s a shimmer in his eyes that almost seems playful, a grin so prevalent there it must cause the corners of his mouth to ache. No blood in his teeth, and though the silvery-blue of his eyes seems distant, they are not cold. The goliath who stole you away stinking of blood and innards isn’t present now, and that seems even less of a comfort. He’s even handsome in the strangest way, certainly not the look of nobility, but none of his features are cruel. There’s a boyish charm to him, perhaps he would have the look of a charismatic farmhand or an apprentice of sorts if not for the scarring.

“Won’t hurt you… too pretty,” he assures, burying his face against the side of your neck. But the bastard does, digs his teeth right in and suckles at your skin when you claw at his arm in surprise. It’s not enough to draw drops of blood, but it accentuates the point that he seems to see you as something of his, a possession of sorts.

There’s a messy patch of drool over bruising skin when he pulls away to laugh at the wounded expression upon your face. He apologizes in a huff of breath as he guides you up to stand at his side. His hands linger too long for comfort when they rest along your waist. Your sullen glare only seems to further endear him. Too much, judging by the way the pillar between his legs bounces thick and hard and proud, throbs when you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze and angrily hiss to him about how a man should treat his wife. Cannibal or not, the beast needed to learn some manners.

Fear still edges its way up your spine, but it diminishes more and more as the seconds pass.

He’s no gentleman when he splashes away the remnants of soap from your body, hands grazing over every inch of your bare skin he sees available to touch. Your breast first, weighed up in his palm with the nipple pinched between his index and middle. Emboldened by your hushed protests, he dares to slip his other between your legs, and only then do you force his hands away.

He certainly bears no resemblance to a proper husband when he hoists you over one shoulder to carry you further into the woods and into his shack, either.

It’s barren and ugly, an unsightly wooden structure decorated only with a thin mattress, a table too small, and blades of many forms. The axe sits proudly below the window, astonishingly cleaned of the gore from the night prior. The veil rests above it on the sill, damp from a cleaning that never should have been. You stare at his belongings for a time when you’re placed on your feet, silently judging the array in search of anything to justify the gossip, only to come up short of anything.

He doesn’t even touch you past the bathing in the pond. You’re dressed in a tunic that fits like a dress upon your form: far too big, long and dull to be anything you would normally be seen in. But there are no tailors this far out in the wilderness, though there’s an apologetic promise whispered to you once he sees you in his clothes. He’ll buy you a new dress upon your first visit to town as his wife, several if it pleases you.

The man leaves for a spell, brings you rabbit to clean and prepare, then busies himself stoking up a fire for cooking. His speech is a little broken when he tells you of how long he’s waited to have someone like you here with him, how he never suspected a woman so pretty would be his wife. And you don’t eat when the meat is fully cooked and placed in front of you both. You insist that you only wish to return back home, to hug your mother and tell her that you’re still alive.

That, he takes insult to.

His brow is pinched when he forces you to sit in his lap. He brings the meat to your lips and presses into your cheeks with his free hand to force your mouth open. There’s nothing romantic or cute about it, about him, but you do glumly settle in his hold when the realization does dawn on you that, though his strength is extraordinary, he is only a man and the only harm coming to you would be between your legs.

You’re drug over to the mattress after dinner by a tight hold over your wrist. The fight hasn’t left you, not by a smidge, even when the loose tunic is lifted over your head with shouts of your displeasure and you’re pressed onto your back with the giant watching you curiously from above.

He pins you there, but doesn’t force his hands down to your sex again. He only sighs when he rests his weight next to you and curls in to lie his head over your breasts.

You’re body remains stiff and rigid as a bowstring. His nearness only sends that same swell of heat back from the pond, brings with it the scent of fire smoke and sweat emanating from him. His hair is long and soft, soft as the kisses he places on the plushness of your tit, long as the drag of a callused palm from your hip up to cup the other.

He offers you no warning when his teeth circle over your nipple, holds fast to you when your back arches and your fingers weave into his hair to jerk him away. The worst part about him seemed to be having a penchant for leaving a mark, and the smug grin that crosses his face when he meets the fury in your eyes with the lust-drunk look in his own.

“Was? You don’t like?,” he grumbles, tracing over the marks of his teeth with his thumb, pressing against and smearing his saliva until you feel your back begin to arch and your breathing grow heavy.

“It hurts.”

He stares at you in amazement for a moment, whether surprised you haven’t made an attempt to flee or startled by the lack of a strike to his jaw after such a thing, it mattered not. Your terrible, ignorant “husband” only seems satisfied with your response. He draws back to sit on his knees before you, sliding his hands along each curve and dip of your body until they rest at your ankles.

“Ja… hurts. I will make it better, meine süße.”

He’s no less brazen when he makes a dive toward your womanhood, lips parted in preparation to breathe you in. Or… taste you in full, whichever option was suited for men who were more beasts than men at all. Maybe that was his only feat of cannibalism: licking at women until they were wet and pliant for him to take entirely. You pry him away with a gasp and a quick shift onto your side, demanding that he not touch you any further.

Again, he laughs, curls behind you and shifts his hips to slot the girth of his cock between your thighs, buries his face into your neck once again. You can feel the grin that stretches over his lips against your skin. When the dark envelopes you both, the quiet crackle of the fire in its pit still showing signs of life, he seems content to just cuddle you close.

Exhaustion creeps its way through your limbs, steals the fight from your voice and leaves your eyelids heavy. You consider waiting it out, listening to his breathing deepen and slow to creep away, but his grip is firm around your middle, so strangely comforting that you do allow yourself to relax. Running could wait until the morning sun rose.

#könig x reader #konig x reader #this has been in my inbox for months i am SO sorry

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jjjjeonww · 13 days ago

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wonwoo angst mweheheheh

jeon wonwoo - “a café heartbreak.”

wonwoo stared longingly at you across the bustling café, his heart aching with a love so intense it borderlined on obsession. He had been in love with you for years, ever since they first met on the set of your debut film together. your beauty, your talent, your kind heart - everything about you had captured him, body and soul.

But you remained oblivious to his feelings, treating him like just another co-star and friend. you had no idea of the tortured nights he spent imagining you in his arms, dreaming of a future together. The way your laughter lit up the room, the scent of your perfume lingering on your skin, the sound of your voice singing off-key in the shower - every detail was etched into his mind, a constant reminder of the love he could never express.

wonwoo knew he was pathetic, a pitiful creature pining after a dream he could never have. you were a star, radiant and unattainable, while he was just a mere mortal, unworthy of yiur affection. He had tried to move on, to date other women, but his heart remained loyally faithful to you. No one could compare to you, could make him feel the way you did.

One day, he mustered up the courage to confess his love to you. With a pounding heart and shaking hands, he poured out his soul, telling you everything he had always wanted to say. He expected yiu to laugh in his face, to reject him cruelly. But instead, you listened quietly, your expression unreadable.

After what felt like an eternity, you spoke. "wonwoo…” you said softly, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "I...I'm sorry. I never meant to lead you on or give you the wrong idea. I care about you deeply, but...I don't feel the same way about you."

your words were like a dagger to his heart, piercing through the fragile hope he had clung to. wonwoo felt the color drain from his face, his dreams shattering around him. He had gambled everything on this confession, and now, he had lost your friendship and respect in the process.

With a heavy heart, wonwoo walked away from you, knowing that he could never look at you the same way again. He had loved you so intensely, so completely, that the rejection left him hollow and empty.

but…

“wait wonwoo!”

“hgh yeah..?”

“…maybe we could go out a couple times…? see where it takes us?”

“oh… that would be.. nice..”

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diejager · 1 year ago

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for your cod monster au, you mentioned that graves was making jokes about turning you into a vampire. how did the guys react to that? im curious if graves did it more than once just to rile them up?

Pleasantries cw: mention of turning, mention of blood drinking, tell me if I missed any.

Graves likes to have fun, he loves putting himself first and the world next. He gorges like a wealthy king atop his throne, waving at men and women, coaxing them forward or backward to do what he wants, Graves is a person who does whatever he wants whenever he wants —or at least as much as he can until he gets into trouble.

He jokes on and on about turning you, of sinking his teeth into your soft skin. He can smell the sweetness in your veins, the healthy dose of iron and fat in your bloodstream that would satiate him much more than a homeless person eh picked up from the streets. Yours smelled good and he swears that it would taste as good as it smelled, honeyed and lightly spicy, something that would linger on his tongue pleasantly rather than the repulsive taste of rot.

He might joke about drinking you dry to rile them up, to watch them hold themselves back, heir eyes red and black with anger and disgust. He knows they can’t do anything about it unless they want him complaining and dropping the work, Shepherd would be mad about it. He had an upper-hand over them, the power of dictating whether the Shadows would help them capture Hassan or not with the drop of a hat if Graves didn’t like their characters.

They’re livid, faces red and scowling at Graves, something he relished in seeing, the self-restraint and control they had to wield. He could see the veins in Soap’s neck pop out, knowing that Soap might jump at him if you or the others weren’t there to hold him back. Ghost, ever as stoic and cold with anyone other than his direct squad, was an annoyance to Graves since he couldn’t seem to get to the man. Ghost stayed as cruel and demeaning as he was, spitting crude jabs at him or his Shadows, growling out orders or glaring at him as if he was an idiot. Gaz, as much as Graves would have liked, had little reaction to it, Gaz was naturally softhearted, gentle with you and handled you - moved you away - when Graves was around. Price had the same resilience and self-control as a wise and old dragon, patiently waiting for Graves or his Shadows to leave the room before growling out insults.

He might make the offer - threatened - to let his Shadows have a go at you, letting the hundred of thralls he had have a taste of your sweet blood, the blood from the only human near them. You were practically teasing them about it, neck uncovered and wearing t-shirt rather than long-sleeved ones around base.

Another part of him does it because, as mentioned before, you’re the only one with viable blood for him, not the mutt-tasting blood of a werewolf, the deathly rot of a wraith, the burn of a dragon or the shallow and tastelessness of a harpy. You were the only human on base that had an addictive smell, neither too strong like some women around the base, nor too light like the men who walked these halls. You had the right amount of sweetness and saltiness to you. Sweat and musk didn’t linger on you like they did with men, and flowery and fruity sugar didn’t cling to your skin like it did with the women who sprayed themselves with perfume.

Despite the burning glares Graves and his boys received from the Task Force, he found pleasure in being the source of their jealousy, their stupid possessiveness of a human he could easily turn into one of his to gift immortality and eternal beauty.

Taglist:@craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice

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hell0-gh0st · 1 month ago

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Movies for the girls who wants to fell something ♡₊⁺

(check the TW )

- The Virgin suicides (1999)

- White oleander (2002)

- Black Swan (2010)

- Girl interrupted (1999)

- Drop dead gorgeous (1999)

- Dirty girls (2000)

- Bones and all (2022)

- Gone girl (2014)

- Thirteen (2003)

- Jennyfer's body (2009)

- American beauty (1999)

- Carrie (1976)

- The loved ones (2009)

- Tragedy girls (2017)

- American Mary (2012)

- Welcolme to the dollhouse (1995)

- The substance (2024)

- Ghostland (2018)

- Valley of dolls (1967)

- Lady bird (2017)

- I,Tonya (2017)

- Hereditary (2018)

- Candy (2006)

- Requiem for a dream (2000)

- Priscilla (2023)

- Pearl (2022)

- Mysterious skin (2004)

- Buffalo 66 (1998)

- Donnie darko (2001)

- Midsommar (2019)

- Possession (1981)

- Palo alto (2013)

- Kids (1995)

- Christiane f (1981)

- Raw (2016)

- May (2002)

- Heather (1988)

- Ginger Snaps (2000)

- Tamara (the horror one, 2005)

- All Cheerleader die (2013)

- Saint Maud (2019)

- Stoker (2013)

- Orphan (2009)

- Heavenly creature (1994)

- Suspiria (1977 & 2018)

- The red shoes (1948)

- Repulsion (1965)

- Prozac nation (2001)

- Clockwork orange (1972)

- Fight club (1999)

- Leon (1994)

- Lolita (1962 & 1997)

- Noce blanche (1989)

- Lost in translation (2003)

- My Beautiful boy (2018)

- I believe in unicorns (2014)

- The Florida project (2017)

- The lovely bones (2009)

- Ripe (1996)

- Marie Antoinette (2006)

- Mustang (2015)

- Miss violence (2013)

- Daisies (1966)

- Ghost world (2001)

- Fantastic mr fox (2009)

- Juno (2007)

- Lilya 4 ever (2002)

- Gia (1998)

- The perfume (2006)

- To the bone (2017)

- Joker (2019)

- The perks of being a wallflower (2012)

- The crush (1993)

- Fishbowl (2020)

- Down in the valley (2005)

- Brokeback mountain (2005)

- Mother! (2017)

- Dancer in the dark (2000)

- Speak (2004)

- Sharing the Secret (2000)

- Amélie (2001)

- Tart (2001)

- Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind (2004)

- All the bright places (2020)

- Little miss sunshine (2006)

- As you are (2016)

- Dead poets society (1989)

- My girl (1991)

- Aftersun (2022)

- 5 feet apart (2019)

- Little women (2019)

- The pianist (2002)

- Where the crawdads sing (2022)

- La la land (2016)

- The glass castle (2017)

- 500 days of summer (2009)

- Uptown girls (2003)

- Call me by your name (2017)

- V for Vendetta (2005)

- The pictures of Dorian Gray (2009, The book is so much better)

- Waves (2019)

- Manchester by the sea (2016)

- A silent voice (2016)

- Death in Venice (1971)

- Valerie and her week of wonders (1970)

- Pretty baby (1977)

- Fat girl (2001)

- Twin peaks (1992)

- No is yes (1997)

- My best friend's exorcism (2022)

- Eyes without face (1960)

- Hanna (2011)

- Sick of myself (2022)

- Look away (2018)

- Young adult matters (2021)

- Angel egg (1985)

- Persepolis (2007)

- Brick (2005)

- Come and see (1985)

- Disco pigs (2001)

- Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)

- Heavenly creatures (1994)

- Humanist vampire seeking consenting suicidal person (2023)

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bloodismymedium · 1 month ago

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Any Bill x Mona headcanons???

Merry Christmas ya filthy animal 😚❤️

🌹 Mona is really touch starved so she loves it when Bill touches her for any reason and she’s very affectionate through a physical standpoint, she’ll often randomly touch or study Bill’s body like tracing her fingers on the veins of his biceps. Her favorite thing to do is nuzzle her long hair all over Bill’s head and face like a dog, Bill isn’t entirely sure why she does this but he likes it.

🌹 Bill loves to cook for Mona. Mona and Bill will often raid a victim’s house for food and any other useful supplies after killing them and Bill will always cook her a nice, home cooked meal if he finds all the ingredients to something he knows how to make before they leave. Mona is used to eating cockroaches and raw human flesh so everything Bill makes for her becomes the new best thing she’s ever eaten.

🌹 Bill feels eternally grateful to Mona for “freeing” him from a life he saw as empty and pointless and would do literally anything for her, fulfill every twisted fantasy she has. Bill’s only priority in life is to make Mona happy and worship the ground she walks on and he wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither would Mona for that manner.

🌹 Mona also holds Bill to a very high regard even though she doesn’t express it much as she has a tendency to be reserved while Bill is much more forthright with his feelings towards her. Mona never believed she could ever feel the way she feels about Bill towards any human being nor would she think that anyone could actually love a monster like her. Bill is the only person in the world she could ever truly love and she genuinely hates herself for not having the guts to tell him that but she finds ways of expressing her love for him in other ways, mostly in the form giving him gifts, such as when she gave one of her greatest creations (Cory and Maggie’s bodies stitch together) as a birthday present.

🌹 Bill was always a fan of the “natural” look and doesn’t like it when women doll themselves up. He loves hairy legs and pits, he loves scars, blemishes and stretch marks, and he prefers to smell a woman’s natural musk rather than perfume. Mona is his dream woman, a woman who doesn’t try to hide what she is, physically or emotionally and he genuinely finds her very attractive despite how unusual and deformed she looks.

🌹 Bill loves practically everything about Mona but his favorite thing about her is her eyes. He finds those pitch black eyes and steely, silver pupils of her’s so mysterious and enticing, the way they just pierce right through whatever Mona is looking at and yet with a look of curious observation, he could look into those eyes forever if he could.

🌹 Mona practiced self harm for years but finally stopped sometime after meeting Bill, she can’t quite explain why but she just lost the urge to do it after their relationship started to evolve. A lot of habits she used to do out of stress and anxiety would go away after she and Bill became an item, he’s basically her emotional support animal 🤣

🌹 Mona and Bill really do live a dark and twisted version of a domestic married couple’s lifestyle that is strangely healthy and more functional than most “real” relationships. They will snuggle up and watch the snuff films they make together with their heads rested on each other’s shoulders, they’ll take turns on who gets to do the killing and they’ll sometimes pretend that Mona’s flesh dolls are their children and dress them up.

🌹Mona taught Bill how to dance. Dancing was one of a dozen different skills that Mona’s one percenter parents had her learn to make her more cultured and “make up for” her physical appearance and strange mannerisms. Mona decided to show Bill how when he admitted he never actually danced with anyone. She put on a calm, waltz-y song on their latest victim’s record player and lead him through the whole process until they actually started dancing together while still covered in blood.

🌹 Bill and Mona’s most romantic moment that didn’t involve killing was when Bill found Mona having one of her serene moments standing out in the rain and they danced, waltzing together in the rain as they got completely soaked and cold as ice and yet they felt like they were the only two people in the world, it was this moment that cemented their love for each other forever.

This is all pre-Dog!Bill obviously.

#urbanspook #urbanspook the painter #the painter #mona lanius #bill collins #headcanons

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fullmoonandstar · 11 months ago

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Raphael going to a noble party of some kind, disguised as a human, in order to find and schmooze with current and potential clients. While engaging with one such individual who seems particularly taken with him, from across the room he spots Tav, for once not dressed in adventurer's gear but decorated with finery. The Hero of Baldur's Gate is so radiant that, at a glance, one could be forgiven for mistaking the mortal as an angel in disguise. However, like the cambion, Tav also has noble-born partygoers vying for the adventurer's attention, asking (and more often than not being granted) a dance with the hero, and perhaps gossip of nobles approaching the hero with dowry proposals and attempts at wooing this illustrious guest begin to reach the fiend's ears.

*Drops this and runs away*

Evening among Wolves

Raphael x afab!Reader Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Rating: R Word count: 2.4 k CW: 2nd person pov, vaginal sex, desk sex, mentions of drinking

My Masterlist

The dress pinched in all the wrong places, and you shifted your weight with a stiff smile plastered on your face. How did noble women survive a whole evening in these shoes? They forced your toes into an unnatural position, and the pain was slowly giving way to numbness. The young man across from you blatantly stared at every centimetre of exposed skin, and you looked away, a ball of emotion forming in your gut. There were only three things that were good about now, the elegant way your hair was pinned up, the smell of the perfume you had put on and the drink in your hand.

The woman next to you was only marginally at hiding her stares than the other son of a noble across from you. You had been swarmed the moment word had spread that the hero of Baldur’s Gate had arrived, and you have been stuck in conversations for what felt like an eternity. Any battlefield would be preferable to this pit of vipers. This may look like a party, but in reality this was a minefield, and you had to survive until the end of the night without being stuck in an arranged marriage or having started an all out war between the factions of nobility. Both of which were very real possibilities.

A shadow passed in the periphery of your vision and a warm hand hovered over your exposed back so close you could feel the warmth but not touching. A velvety voice purred in your ear: "Good to see you again, little mouse."

Your head snapped in his direction, and your eyes confirmed your ears. Raphael hovered over your shoulder, and he flashed a smile at you before turning to the irritated nobles.

"I hope you don’t mind, dearest lords and ladies, but we have some urgent business to attend to."

The nobles in the circle grumbled, and all eyes were on you. What was he doing? You looked up into the devil’s handsome face, one eyebrow raised with the same question as everyone else. This was a way out. These nobles were irrational in their whims, at least with Raphael you knew what you had to expect.

"Yes, of course," you smiled stiffly. Raphael gestured to the left and you followed. He left the ballroom into the hallway where the crowd was noticeably thinner, and you took a deep breath. The atmosphere in there had been suffocating you.

You followed Raphael around a corner and up some stairs.

"I don’t think we’re supposed to be here." you warned.

"Since when has that stopped you?" he shot back but smirked.

"Fair enough."

He stopped in front of a door, and you heard a click before Raphael pushed the door open. It looked like a library, but Raphael didn’t stop in the room but opened the door to the balcony. The lights of Baldur’s Gate lay beneath, and the sound of the party downstairs wafted up. You just had to smile at the view over your home. The citizens had worked hard to rebuild in the past year, and soon the city would be back to former glory.

You glanced to the side where Raphael was leaning on the baluster looking out over the city. The black clothes were embroidered with gold and red, and he looked the more like nobility than all the people downstairs. You had never told anyone about the way your stomach twists when you look at his face, they would call you mad and they would be right. Raphael was in the business of charming people out of their souls, and given the status he had risen to despite being half mortal, he was exceptionally good at it.

"If you stare at me any longer, you might burn a hole in my face." he taunts softly.

Your face instantly burned with embarrassment, and you focus on the city again.

"Do you know why I’m so effective at what I do, pet?" he asked.

Because you bamboozle people with your charm? You thought, but out loud you said: "You talk a lot."

A soft laugh tickled your ear and you stiffened. Your whole body tingled with how close he was to you, and you felt stupid for the warmth that spread between your legs.

"I know exactly what everyone wants."

His fingers ghost over the exposed skin of your arms, and you hold your breath, waiting for his skin to make contact. It never comes. Raphael takes a step back and motions for you to follow.

The balcony leads to other rooms on this floor, and Raphael opens the door to one of them. A huge desk dominates the room and the high-backed chair rounded out the ensemble.

"Fielding's office." You breathed. "What are we doing here?"

Raphael stepped closer to the monstrosity of a desk and turned to you. In the faint light that fell in through the windows you could only make out his sharp ever so slightly lighter than the darkness behind him.

"I told you, little mouse, I know what you want."

You crossed your arms.

"And what’s that?"

"Let me paint you a picture." - you rolled your eyes, but Raphael continues -"Lord Fielding, one of the most influential people in Baldur’s Gate since Baldurean himself. He swayed the election of Gortash to become Archduke, he orchestrated the embargo 5 years ago that cost countless lives in and around the city. He does his best to keep the weak where they are, poor and dying, and widens the gap between them and his elite."

"Isn’t that right up your lane?"

A chuckle reached your ear.

"This is not about me." he said. "You hate him."

You didn’t argue with that.

"You want to get back at Lord Fielding, but doing anything drastic could make you plenty of enemies and plunge the city into chaos for the next decades."

"The evil you know," you said.

"Yes."

"So, what is your suggestion?" you ask.

"You can’t move against him, but that doesn’t stop you from doing something disrespectful." You could hear the smirk in his voice, even if you could not see it.

"And what has that to do with you?"

"I’m going to participate."

With a step, he entered your personal space, the smell of his perfume, sweet and spicy, tickled more than just your nose. You wished you could blame the drinks for the wetness that pooled in your underwear, but alas you could not. His fingertips ghosted over your cheek and leaving a trail of heat.

"What do you say?" he asked.

You didn’t understand what he was saying, you were too focused on the feeling of his hot skin against yours. Blood was rushing in your ears and your heart hammered in your chest as if you were an adolescent again. You swallowed heavy.

"What kind of disrespectful thing do you mean?"

His face was close enough that you could see his eyebrow creep up his forehead. Raphael pushed the chair to the side. His hand gently held on to your hip, and you followed as he manoeuvred you to stand between him and the desk. You yelped and grabbed the fabric at his chest as he lifted you up onto the free space on the desk and his hips touched your knees, but Raphael didn’t force himself between your legs. His hands rested on the sides of your thighs. Your heart beat in your throat and a warm wave rolled over you.

"I see." you said. His thumbs gently rubbed over the fabric that still covered your legs and waited for your answer. Fucking on Fielding’s desk was indeed disrespectful, but doing it with Raphael?

Every nerve in your body tingled with awareness, the heat from his skin sank into yours and boiled your blood with a need you only ever allowed yourself to feel at night when you were alone. Something had to be deeply wrong with you that you were so attracted to him, but your mind had no part in the decision your body made. You crossed your hands behind his neck and pulled him in, crashing your lips together. For a heartbeat, Raphael was frozen in place and a flash of anxiety and disappointment rushed through you. In the next moment, his hips pushed between your knees, and you spread your legs for him. The half hard erection pressed against your clothed core, and you gasped, the perfect opportunity for Raphael to slid his tongue into your mouth. He explored your mouth, mapping it out as if he wanted to commit it to memory. Heat was rising in your veins, and you tangled the fingers of one hand in his soft hair while the other slid down. Ever since the first time you had seen him, you had wondered how his body would feel like. The lines on his face made him look like a middle-aged human, and you had expected him to be a bit soft, but the chest under your palm was firm muscles.

A sharp pain in your lower lip drew a yelp out of your throat. Raphael had nipped at your lip while pulling back.

"You’re quite handsy, little mouse."

He took half a step back, and you managed not to whine in disappointment.

"I’m not leaving." The taunting tone could not cover up the reassurance in his words.

In the dim light you could not see what he was doing, and you wished you could light a candle in here, but if anyone saw the flame flicker under the door, your time alone with the devil of your dreams would be cut short.

His hands were back on your thighs and his hips between your legs. Your hands landed on his chest, but this time hot skin met your palms. Your legs twitched in response, and Raphael smiled against your cheek before his mouth moved along your jaw, leaving a trail of hot kisses.

His hips pressed into you and wrapped your legs around his waist.

"Someone’s eager."

His breath fanned over your pulse point and a shudder shook your body.

"Yes," you admitted, earning you a growl from Raphael. He pushed the skirt of your dress up your thighs, removing a barrier of fabric from between you two. His mouth moves along your collarbone, and for the first time that evening you were thankful for the low neckline. The biting and sucking only tightened the coil of your need, and you wanted nothing more than have him inside you. Your hands ran down the hard muscles of his body, reaching the ham of his trousers, and gingerly proceeded further. You held your breath as you traced the outline of him through the fabric, your mind spinning with the half moan, half growl that escaped his throat.

"I got the message." he pressed out between his teeth, his hip twitching into your palm once.

His hands found your underwear, you lifted your hips, and he pulled them down your legs. You hoped he didn’t just drop them on the floor for someone to find in the morning. He slid between your thighs again and your hands were on his trousers, ready to push them down. Raphael didn’t stop you.

His length was heavy and hot in your hands. The world shrank to the size of the space between you two, even the sounds of the party downstairs faded, and his rugged breaths were the only things you could hear. You could not think. The only thing you wanted was him inside of you, and it was within your power to make that a reality. You guided the tip to your entrance, and Raphael inhaled sharply.

His hand cupped your cheek, and he breathed: "Who knew you were so needy, pet?"

A flash of fear ran through you. What if he left you right now?

"I’m going to give you everything you want."

He pushed in with a single hard thrust, and you gasped at the sudden stretch. His hands grabbed your breasts and his hips set a slow, harsh rhythm. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pressed your lips shut, trying not to make too much noise. Raphael’s hands kneaded your breasts just right, and you whimpered after a well-placed thrust, then his hands were gone. The thrusts cease coming, and he moves something behind you.

"What -?"

He pushed your back to the desk, and his strong hands loosened your legs from around his waist. His mouth left a trail of hot kisses from your knees to your ankles before holding, resting your legs against his body. The position made his length inside you feel even more of a tight fit, and he resumed his thrusts. Your nails scratched against the wood of the table, unable to do anything else while his hips collided with yours again and again. The pleasure in your body was like a kindling ready to ignite.

"Please." you breathed, not sure for what you were pleading.

Raphael chuckled and it sparked anger in you. You pushed your upper body up from the desk and snarled: "Don’t you dare laugh."

He planted a kiss on your ankle and let your legs fall open, leaning in until you felt his hot breath on your face.

"Don’t worry, my little mouse, I won’t tell anyone, you begged me to fuck you into oblivion."

You could only guess that there was a smirk on his face, and you let out a disapproving huff. He must have felt how close you were to just shoving him off you and leaving because his fingers slipped between your bodies and his lips caught yours in a heated kiss. His fingers stroked your sensitive clit in time with the stroke of his tongue, and his thrusts changed to a delicious angle. You moaned into his mouth, so close to breaking.

"You feel downright sinful, my dear, quivering around me."

His low voice made all the hairs on your body stand on edge. Your fingers grasp for him and your nails dig into his biceps. Your whole body tensed, so close.

"So strong, so powerful," he cooed, every thrust, every stroke of his fingers could be the one.

"But right now, you are mine, little mortal."

His breath fanned over your heated skin.

"Let go for me." he said, and you shattered.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #raphael bg3

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lesmisletters-daily · 4 days ago

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Tholomyès Is So Merry That He Sings A Spanish Ditty

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.3.4

That day was composed of dawn, from one end to the other. All nature seemed to be having a holiday, and to be laughing. The flower-beds of Saint-Cloud perfumed the air; the breath of the Seine rustled the leaves vaguely; the branches gesticulated in the wind, bees pillaged the jasmines; a whole bohemia of butterflies swooped down upon the yarrow, the clover, and the sterile oats; in the august park of the King of France there was a pack of vagabonds, the birds.

The four merry couples, mingled with the sun, the fields, the flowers, the trees, were resplendent.

And in this community of Paradise, talking, singing, running, dancing, chasing butterflies, plucking convolvulus, wetting their pink, open-work stockings in the tall grass, fresh, wild, without malice, all received, to some extent, the kisses of all, with the exception of Fantine, who was hedged about with that vague resistance of hers composed of dreaminess and wildness, and who was in love. “You always have a queer look about you,” said Favourite to her.

Such things are joys. These passages of happy couples are a profound appeal to life and nature, and make a caress and light spring forth from everything. There was once a fairy who created the fields and forests expressly for those in love,—in that eternal hedge-school of lovers, which is forever beginning anew, and which will last as long as there are hedges and scholars. Hence the popularity of spring among thinkers. The patrician and the knife-grinder, the duke and the peer, the limb of the law, the courtiers and townspeople, as they used to say in olden times, all are subjects of this fairy. They laugh and hunt, and there is in the air the brilliance of an apotheosis—what a transfiguration effected by love! Notaries’ clerks are gods. And the little cries, the pursuits through the grass, the waists embraced on the fly, those jargons which are melodies, those adorations which burst forth in the manner of pronouncing a syllable, those cherries torn from one mouth by another,—all this blazes forth and takes its place among the celestial glories. Beautiful women waste themselves sweetly. They think that this will never come to an end. Philosophers, poets, painters, observe these ecstasies and know not what to make of it, so greatly are they dazzled by it. The departure for Cythera! exclaims Watteau; Lancret, the painter of plebeians, contemplates his bourgeois, who have flitted away into the azure sky; Diderot stretches out his arms to all these love idyls, and d’Urfé mingles druids with them.

After breakfast the four couples went to what was then called the King’s Square to see a newly arrived plant from India, whose name escapes our memory at this moment, and which, at that epoch, was attracting all Paris to Saint-Cloud. It was an odd and charming shrub with a long stem, whose numerous branches, bristling and leafless and as fine as threads, were covered with a million tiny white rosettes; this gave the shrub the air of a head of hair studded with flowers. There was always an admiring crowd about it.

After viewing the shrub, Tholomyès exclaimed, “I offer you asses!” and having agreed upon a price with the owner of the asses, they returned by way of Vanvres and Issy. At Issy an incident occurred. The truly national park, at that time owned by Bourguin the contractor, happened to be wide open. They passed the gates, visited the manikin anchorite in his grotto, tried the mysterious little effects of the famous cabinet of mirrors, the wanton trap worthy of a satyr become a millionaire or of Turcaret metamorphosed into a Priapus. They had stoutly shaken the swing attached to the two chestnut-trees celebrated by the Abbé de Bernis. As he swung these beauties, one after the other, producing folds in the fluttering skirts which Greuze would have found to his taste, amid peals of laughter, the Toulousan Tholomyès, who was somewhat of a Spaniard, Toulouse being the cousin of Tolosa, sang, to a melancholy chant, the old ballad gallega, probably inspired by some lovely maid dashing in full flight upon a rope between two trees:—

“Soy de Badajoz,

Amor me llama,

Toda mi alma,

Es en mi ojos,

Porque enseñas,

A tuas piernas.

“Badajoz is my home

And Love is my name;

To my eyes in flame,

All my soul doth come;

For instruction meet

I receive at thy feet”

Fantine alone refused to swing.

“I don’t like to have people put on airs like that,” muttered Favourite, with a good deal of acrimony.

After leaving the asses there was a fresh delight; they crossed the Seine in a boat, and proceeding from Passy on foot they reached the barrier of l’Étoile. They had been up since five o’clock that morning, as the reader will remember; but bah! there is no such thing as fatigue on Sunday, said Favourite; on Sunday fatigue does not work.

About three o’clock the four couples, frightened at their happiness, were sliding down the Russian mountains, a singular edifice which then occupied the heights of Beaujon, and whose undulating line was visible above the trees of the Champs-Élysées.

From time to time Favourite exclaimed:—

“And the surprise? I claim the surprise.”

“Patience,” replied Tholomyès.

#lm 1.3.4

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marimayscarlett · 1 year ago

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Hello lovely!

Because I love your takes and posts on the eternally beautiful, wonderful Richard Z. Kruspe, I was wondering what your top five random weird facts about him are - like silly things he’s said or other people have said about him (e.g. Khira’s post on insta complaining about all the naked lady art in the house!)

TY! 😘

Hello my dear and thank you so much for your ask! Glad you enjoy my posts, this means a lot to me 🥰

This one took me a while (had to comb through several interviews for this), but I shamelessly used this ask to create two little lists - one with weird little facts/moments and one with interesting little facts in general. Not necessarily my top five (would be super hard to pick them), but moments which I think about currently. A lot 😄

Random weird facts and moments:

Literally this interview. He had absolutely no restraint and some pick-me-vibes going on, especially in these moments: - Interviewer: 'On the surface, the title A Million Degrees seems to suggest heat or that you are implying that the music is hot or on fire.' RZK: 'Or just me!' (laughs) - Interviewer: (speaking about the possibility of Emigrate opening for Rammstein) 'Isn’t it physically exhausting, too?' RZK: 'Yeah, it’s like having two women in the same night!' (laughs) - Interviewer: (after explaining her thoughts about the title "A million degrees) 'So, out of curiosity, what was your intention with the album’s title?' RZK: 'I always knew that women were smarter than men!'

me reading this entire interview:

That recording an album with Rammstein can be quite exhausting is something Richard (and sometimes also other members) mentioned several times. They discuss a lot, sometimes have verbal fights, etc. - but Richard admitted that he sometimes wished for proper "Wild West" fist fights because that maybe would've also solved some problems 👀 (as I mentioned some time ago, how about some anger management my guy) (source)

Poor little lad does not understand the concept of strip clubs, plus since he doesn't drink alcohol, it's apparently abysmally boring for him in these locations 😪 Better write a strip song, fitting for a good striptease, and that's how we got the song "Get Down" (source)

Widely known, but still: this moment from this interview: - Interviewer: 'What would you spend your last £20 on?' RZK: 'How much is that in Euros, about 20? A nice blowjob! Actually, change that - a handjob. Yes, they're easy to get near where I live. I could get 20 minutes for 20€, that's good value!'

2. Random interesting (at least for me) facts in general:

In this podcast Richard mentions that the Emigrate album "The persistence of memory" essentially was a therapeutic project for him. In 2019, he fell into a heavily depressive episode after the tour and even contemplated quitting music completely. So he started to sift through his old compositions and songs he had on his computer, some dating back over 20 years, and somehow found his love for music again through those memories - and this album, which was not at all planned, was the result of this process. This is the reason why we have songs like "Freeze my mind" for example, which dates all the way back to 2001 and was written by Richard and his then-wife Caron.

In this interview Richard mentions that these four songs are his favourites (at least at this point in time): - Hurt by Nine Inch Nails - Babe I'm gonna leave you by Led Zeppelin - Sin City by AC/DC - Personal Jesus by Depeche Mode

The book "Perfume" by Patrick Süßkind (which explores dark themes of obsession and power, linked with the sense of smell and emotions), which he read as a teenager, was the reason why he wanted to create something which REALLY moves a crowd, like the perfect song. (source)

Here Richard mentioned that when his daughter Khira was younger, he played her a lot of the Rammstein tracks because he knew she would be brutally honest and give him straightforward feedback. This didn't work anymore after some time, since as a teenager she later learned how to please him and get what she wanted (let's be real, we've all been there). Plus, he's apparently a rather strict parent, believing that you have to make a lot of experiences to get forward in life and that self-discipline helps a great deal.

In this interview, Richard mentions that he likes to pick out an audience member to get an connection to through eye contact (at least this was the case back then) - and this eye contact helps him to put on a good show, most likely to play the concert for this particular fan. Plus he thinks about doing mediation after a concert, as a vent to balance out all the energy he's absorbed from the crowd.

I hope these lists are at least a bit like what you had in mind as an answer 😊 Thanks a lot again for this ask 🤍

#rammstein #richard kruspe #ask #this man never ceases to amaze/entertain/shock me #interviews & quotes #kruspe chronicles

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hotdaesthetic · 7 months ago

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Aemond Targaryen in Vampire au

English is not my first language .

Aemond Targaryen was a vampire with a thousand years of age and centuries of history. He was one of a family of supreme vampires, many lives he had taken and too little eternal life he had given to others.

There were a few characteristics that made him different from the others.

Aemond drank blood exclusively from glasses and bowls. In order not to touch the victim unnecessarily, he made a cut along the veins on his arm and poured the blood into the bowls, for he was very squeamish and would not leave a mess or touch the victim with his lips unnecessarily. If he had a desire to get closer to the victim through tactile contact, he gave a gift. After all, something caused him an impulse to touch, and for these desires he granted eternal life.

He chose his victims solely on the basis of odor. Most often they were women who cared and looked after themselves, from whom a pleasant aroma emanated. It is the aroma and body odor that is meant, not the scent of oils that were commonly worn on the skin of the body at that time (as in the movie "Perfumer"). Sometimes his victims were young men whose skin had not yet had time to coarsen from the work and drudgery of life. And he also chose young men by their fragrance, they were guys who did not do hard work, because the smell of testosterone and sweat strongly repulsed him.

Heleft himself different kinds of jewelry with crystals and precious stones, which most likely meant a lot to the victims. Some of these stones he offered in payment to the gods for for his sins.

#hotd #house of the dragon #hotd aesthetic #house of the dragon aesthetic #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell aesthetic #ewan mitchell icon #ewan nation #vampire aesthetic #aesthetic #aemond #prince aemond #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #ewan icon #ewan mitchell icons #ewanverse

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girlthatgotawaysdiary · 2 months ago

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movie recs !! ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

in this post, I’ll be listing all the movies I recommend as a long-time movie watcher !!

disclaimer: i actually worked so hard on this ᥫ᭡

dramas 𐙚:

#1 hunger games movies(1-4)

#2 girl interrupted

#3 black swan

#4 priscilla

#5 woman of the hour

#6 thirteen

#9 precious

#10 poor things

#11 mean girls

#12 thirteen

#15 passengers

#16 the hunger games: ballad of songbirds and snakes

#17 marie antoinette

musicals 𐙚:

#1 the greatest showman

#2 wicked

#3 wonka

#4 tick tick boom!

#5 la la land

#6 high school musical

#7 barbie

#8 hamilton

romance 𐙚:

#1 me before you

#2 under the tuscan sun

#3 1o things i hate about you

#4 the other woman

#6 13 going on 30

#7 bones and all

#8 little women(any version tbh)

#9 emma

#10 the lobster

animated 𐙚:

#1 tangled

#2 the wild robot

#3 coco

#4 elemental

#5 book of life

#6 coraline

#7 alice in wonderland

#8 IF

#9 walt disney's cinderella(1-3)

certified sad movies 𐙚:

#1 cherry

#2 beautiful boy

#3 dead poets society

#4 call me by your name

#5 eternal sunshine of the spotless mind

#6 the perks of being a wallflower

#7 I, tonya

#8 lady bird

#9 the pursuit of happyness

`#10 the green mile

thrillers/horrors 𐙚:

#1 dead end

#2 saltburn

#3 trap

#4 intrusion

#5 see how they run

#6 a haunting in venice

#7 glass onion( both movies)

#8 scream movies

#9 memories of murder

#10 intrusion

#11 gone girl

#12 parasite

#13 midsommar

#14 split

#15 zodiac

#16 zombieland

#17 jennifers body

#18 shawshank redemption

#19 anna

fantasy 𐙚:

#1 ittle mermaid

#2 miss peregrines home for peculiar children

#3 matilda

#4 perfume

#5 mcu movies

#6 the maze runner trilogy

comedy 𐙚:

#1 the parent trap

#2 the secret life of walter mitty

#3 white chicks

#4 cruella

#5 catch me if u can

action 𐙚:

#1 interstellar

#2 twisters

#3 a quiet place: day one

#4 inception

#5 fall guy

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jamespotterthefirst · 2 years ago

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You & I (3/3)

Book: Open Heart, beyond Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Lilac Allende-Ramsey) Word count: 1.7K Rating/ Warning: Teen/ Language

Series: You & I | Part 1 | Part 2

Premise: Her husband’s colleague seems a bit too interested in him. Things take a turn for the worse when she finds her in his hotel room during a work trip.

Note: Thank you so much to everyone who read and supported Part 1 & 2! This is based on a really old anon who asked: “has anyone every come between Ethan and Lilac?”

The two women looked at one another in stunned silence. The seconds stretched into eternities until Heather recovered first, schooling her pretty face into an unreadable mask.

“Dr. Allende.”

“Dr. Allende-Ramsey.”

The correction went ignored.

“I didn't realize you had been invited to the conference,” Heather said in a casual voice, as though she wasn't standing in a married man's hotel room semi-naked. “I thought only the most senior physicians at any given hospital got to attend.”

Lilac, for her part, barely caught the jabbing words with the deafening pitch ringing in her ears. Pulse pounding against her ribcage at an alarming speed, she urged her senses to focus.

“What are you doing in my husband's room?”

Her voice was surprisingly cool and collected.

“The hotel mixed up our reservations. They accidentally put us in the same room.”

Lilac almost laughed in her face at the feeble excuse.

“Bullshit,” she returned.

“It happens more often than you’d think. You would know.”

Heather's eyes sunk into Lilac's, sharp with implied meaning. With an icy twist of her stomach, she caught on. Somehow, Heather was referencing Miami and the mishap that had forced her, Lilac, to share a room with Ethan.

Lilac's legs were shaking at this point, but she held herself with dignity. “You can drop the act. The hotel got a request to accommodate an extra person. That was you, wasn't it?”

The blonde's face remained unreadable.

“What are you suggesting, Dr. Allende? That I willingly wanted to room with a married man?”

“Yes.”

From her peripheral vision, she saw someone approaching them. It wasn't until the figure was a few feet away that Lilac recognized it as her sister.

“I forgot to pack perfume! You think you could—” Laurel stopped dead, eyes falling on Heather. Surprise melted into confusion which finally gave way to anger. “What the fuck?”

Lilac ignored this, eyes boring into Heather.

“Tell me, did you pretend to be me when you changed the reservation? His wife? Because that must've been humiliating.”

“You have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Really? You think I don't see the way you look at my husband? And all your petty little jabs at me? Which I'm not even upset over, by the way. You can hate me and insult me all you want, but the minute you disrespect my husband's privacy like this, then we have a problem.”

“You're being a paranoid b—”

“Finish the sentence,” Laurel challenged, filling the space between Lilac and Heather. “I fucking dare you.”

Heather's composed features flickered slightly when she stared down at the feisty brunette. Anyone with working brain cells would see that Laurel meant business when it came to defending her sister. And Heather, it appeared, was a smart woman. She backed a few steps, pressing her mouth shut despite looking as though she wanted to say more.

Lilac, meanwhile, remained stoic and composed behind her sister. Her eyes sunk into Heather, as though she was a puzzle that had been too easy to decipher up until the last, missing piece.

“What were you hoping for, exactly? An affair?” she asked, her voice cool and level.

Heather's eyes moved from Laurel back up at Lilac. Instantly, her pretty features lit up with amusement. And Lilac could see the exact moment all pretense crumbled.

“That's not uncommon for a man like Ethan.” The blonde replied with surprising confidence. “Powerful men like him have many affairs and no one bats an eye. I wouldn't be the first nor the last. You're naïve if you think otherwise.”

Laurel scoffed, outraged. She advanced, ready to pounce but Lilac stopped her with a hand to her shoulder.

“I'm sorry you don't trust anyone in your life unconditionally,” Lilac started, “but my husband would never be unfaithful.”

The blonde laughed derisively but Lilac ignored her.

“And I think you know that, too. Otherwise, you wouldn't have snuck into his bedroom.”

“Pathetic,” Laurel spat.

Heather spluttered, aware that the sisters were right. For the first time since she opened the door, she looked embarrassed. The sheer humiliation of this fact made her angrier.

“It's just sex!” she shrieked. “You two act like I wanted him divorced and remarried by next week.”

“Listen to yourself,” Lilac returned quietly. “Do you have any self respect?”

“Ha! Don't talk to me about self respect when everyone knows how you snatched him up. Sleeping with your boss? That's not any better.”

This time, Laurel closed the small gap and went straight for Heather's damp hair. Both women screeched, one in rage and the other in surprise. Lilac, for her part, pulled her sister back, doing a commendable job of restraining her.

“Laurel, no!”

“You're lucky I don't press charges!” Heather bellowed, disheveled and on the verge of tears.

Laurel opened her mouth to reply but another voice intervened.

“Lilac?”

It was the deep, rich voice of her husband, strained with surprise. His blue eyes moved over the scene, expression tensing with increasing shock as he took it all in. Finally, his gaze fell on a sobbing Heather and then immediately darted to Lilac.

The shocked, tense silence was only broken as another figure joined the fray. A breathless Tobias came to a stop beside Ethan, looking equally as surprised by the chaos before him.

“Baby?” Tobias said, spotting Laurel. “What's going on here?”

“This little homewrecker here snuck into Ethan's hotel room hoping he'd fuck her.” Laurel replied, no longer fighting against her sister's restraints.

Ethan flinched at the last few words. The shock on his handsome face had diminished to its usual neutrality, but Lilac could see the gears of his mind working. It was as though he was trying to solve a complicated case without having all the facts yet. Once again, his piercing blue eyes rested on Lilac, as though asking her for an explanation.

“Heather, what the fuck?” Tobias asked, shell-shocked.

The blonde's response was more uncontrollable sobbing. As both men surpassed the initial shock and regained their senses, the hallway erupted with noise.

So much noise.

Questions, accusations, and more sobbing— all of it echoed in Lilac's ears, drilling into her skull, pinching every last nerve. Someone said her name but it sounded distant. Someone else threw a jacket over Heather’s shoulders. Laurel cried out in indignation.

It was all too much. Lilac’s head throbbed, threatening to explode…

And then her feet were carrying her away.

“Lilac!”

Several voices called her name but she didn't stop until a gust of fresh air hit her face like a welcomed caress. The blare of New York City echoed from somewhere below the canopy of the purple sky. Despite the faint bustle, she found an odd sense of peace in the abandoned hotel rooftop. Her eyes roamed over the spectacular skyline, taking in the glistening lights that appeared as the last rays of the sun sank behind the horizon. Peace settled over her, easing her body from the stress of the day’s events.

She wasn't sure how long she stood there.

The creaking of the door behind her, followed by a set of footsteps, broke her out of her lull. Seconds later, someone settled next to her. She didn't have to look up to know who it was.

“I had a feeling you'd be up here,” Ethan commented softly.

She didn’t reply. The soft fabric of his jacket swept her skip and he draped it over her shoulders. His scent enveloped her, bringing more warmth to her body than any coat ever could.

“I just got off the phone with the HR department at Mass Kenmore. I explained what happened with Heather today. They'll be opening an investigation.”

Without tearing her eyes from the horizon, she nodded. The sun was fully gone by now, casting the city into an inky blue haze.

“I hope something comes of it,” Lilac said at last. “What she did today was unacceptable.”

More silence followed. As the night breeze picked up, she stole a sideways glance at her husband. He, too, watched the glittering skyline, his jaw tight. He looked almost serene, but she knew him better.

“I'm sorry about all of this, Lilac,” he said quietly, finally looking at her. He opened his mouth to say more but she shook her head.

“There's nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“I should've listened to you,” he pressed on. “You told me your hunch before I boarded and I ignored it.”

“Even if you did take my word for it, there was no way for you to know she'd do this.”

“I know that, love,” he assured her. “I should've still listened.”

Tentatively, he closed the miniscule distance separating them. Even more gently, his hands fell at her sides, his blue eyes carried hesitation, as though he was afraid she’d pull away. When Lilac’s hand moved up to sweep his cheek, he closed his eyes against her touch, relaxing with relief. They stood like that, basking in the peaceful silence for a few minutes.

“What happened to Heather?” she asked after a while.

“Hotel security escorted her to her room. She is to leave the premises tomorrow morning. It's lucky for her since it places distance between her and your sister.”

That made her smile, but only briefly. Ethan was watching her with a quiet, pensive look.

“Did you ever doubt me?”

“Never. Not for a second, Ethan.”

He nodded once.

“Good,” he said before bringing her hand to his lips. “There will never be anyone but you, Lilac.”

The words made her feel weightless. Unaware of the way her heart stammered for him, he leaned in and kissed her softly. It was a short and gentle kiss, a perfect summary of their sweet moment on that rooftop.

A biting breeze made her shiver. Wordlessly, Ethan readjusted his coat on her shoulders. Then, his arms pulled her close for good measure.

“Ready to go inside? The hotel manager was so embarrassed about changing the reservation for Heather that he upgraded us to a suite.”

“That sounds heavenly,” she sighed, finally realizing just how exhausted she truly was. “Can we also get dinner? Your baby wants food.”

An incandescent smile was her reward at the mention of their child. His hands moved from her sides to the barely visible bump of her stomach.

“I meant me,” she joked with a laugh.

Ethan rolled his eyes but chuckled softly.

“How does room service sound? I don’t know about you but I don’t want to be around people.”

“Even better. Just you and I.”

He lifted her hand to his lips again, pressing the softest of kisses there.

“As it should be.”

Note: As I was getting ready to post this, YT Music decided to play:

It could’ve been because I’m playing a Harry Styles radio station but I’m going to interpret it as serendipity!

In all seriousness, I want to thank you from the bottom of my heart if you read three parts. Your support means the world to me! I really hope you liked this mini-series.

I will be back soon with more mini-series, YBF, and one-shots this summer! Love you all,

Bree

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #playchoices

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epicfroggz · 5 months ago

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Handful of OCs related to Messmer which I developed with @purpupa ^^

Rosella is a doll crafted in the LoS to be Messmer’s eternal servant, as all other able-bodied men and women in his ranks are needed as soldiers. She was created without a soul, but Messmer has imbued within her a flame that has granted her a semblance of one.

Ismay and Murdoch are two of the three Fire Knights born within the LoS (the third being Queelign). Messmer helped raised them, and has stationed them in the Storehouse to keep them close and safe. Due to being born in the death realm, they each have a close association with an aspect of Death: Ismay with spirits, and Murdoch with water.

Reba is a depraved perfumer that took a keen interest in base serpent Messmer. She willingly became the serpent’s thrall and accepted his venom to study its corruptive effects. In doing so, her biology has been heavily altered: she has become hermaphroditic, grown a pair of shadowy arms, and gained the black scales and tail of a rattlesnake.

#sketch #graphite #elden ring dlc #oc art #messmer the impaler #messmer #he isn’t here but they’re all closely related to him #I love how many named characters exist within Messmer’s army #makes it feel much more alive and personal #so I’ve been having fun adding some of my own ^^

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sammsmith · 24 days ago

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The Secret to Lasting Scents: Premium Fragrance Tips and Picks

A signature fragrance is more than just a pleasant scent—it’s an extension of your personality, a way to leave an impression without saying a word. However, not all fragrances are created equal. The difference between an average scent and a premium one often lies in its longevity and the quality of ingredients. At Scent Your Soul, we understand the art of crafting long-lasting fragrances that stand out and stay with you.

What Makes a Fragrance Long-Lasting?

Not all perfumes last the same amount of time, and understanding what contributes to longevity can help you make better choices.

Quality Ingredients Premium fragrances use high-quality essential oils and aromatic compounds. These not only smell better but also have better staying power than synthetic alternatives.

Concentration Levels Fragrances are classified by their concentration:

Eau de Parfum (EDP): Higher concentration of oils, lasting 6–8 hours or more.

Eau de Toilette (EDT): Lighter concentration, lasting 3–4 hours.

Perfume Extract: The most concentrated and long-lasting option.

Base Notes Fragrances are built in layers—top, middle, and base notes. The base notes, such as amber, musk, or sandalwood, are responsible for a scent’s longevity.

Scent Your Soul specializes in crafting fragrances with deep and rich base notes, ensuring the aroma lingers all day.

How to Choose the Right Fragrance?

Picking the perfect fragrance can feel overwhelming, but these tips can make it easier:

1. Know Your Preferences

Fragrances are grouped into families like floral, woody, oriental, and fresh. Experiment with trial kits, like those offered at Scent Your Soul, to find which scent family resonates with you.

2. Match Your Lifestyle

For Everyday Wear: Opt for light, fresh, or floral scents.

For Special Occasions: Choose bold and sophisticated woody or oriental fragrances.

For Professional Settings: Subtle and elegant scents work best.

3. Test Before You Buy

Always test a fragrance on your skin before committing to it. A scent’s true essence reveals itself after interacting with your body’s natural chemistry.

Tips for Maximizing Longevity

Even premium fragrances need the right application to last all day. Here’s how to make the most of your scent:

Apply to Pulse Points Focus on areas like the wrists, neck, and behind the ears. These spots emit heat, which helps the fragrance diffuse better.

Layer Your Scents Use matching scented products like body washes or lotions to enhance the fragrance and create a layered effect.

Hydrate Your Skin Dry skin tends to absorb fragrance quickly, reducing its longevity. Apply an unscented moisturizer before your perfume for a better hold.

Avoid Rubbing Rubbing your wrists together after applying perfume can break down the scent molecules, reducing the fragrance’s intensity.

Store Properly Keep your perfume in a cool, dark place to maintain its quality. Heat and light can degrade the fragrance over time.

Top Premium Fragrances at Scent Your Soul

Scent Your Soul offers a curated selection of fragrances for men, women, and unisex options. Here are some of our top picks:

For Women

Eternal Blossom: A floral bouquet with hints of jasmine and rose, perfect for daytime wear.

Golden Elegance: A blend of amber and vanilla, ideal for evening occasions.

For Men

Mystic Woods: A rich combination of sandalwood and musk, offering a bold and masculine aroma.

Citrus Surge: Refreshing notes of lemon and bergamot for an energetic and modern vibe.

Unisex

Amber Fusion: A balanced mix of warm amber and fresh green notes, suitable for any occasion.

Why Choose Scent Your Soul?

At Scent Your Soul, we go beyond offering fragrances. We provide an experience that combines luxury, quality, and sustainability.

High-Quality Ingredients: Each fragrance is crafted with the finest ingredients to ensure longevity and a captivating aroma.

Sustainability Commitment: We prioritize eco-friendly practices in both sourcing and packaging.

Customization Options: Our customized fragrance solutions allow you to create a scent as unique as you are.

Trial Kits: Unsure of your perfect match? Try our trial kits to explore multiple fragrances before making your choice.

Fragrances for Every Occasion

No matter the event, there’s a fragrance to complement it.

Casual Outings: Light and airy scents like Eternal Blossom make for perfect companions.

Work Meetings: Subtle yet impactful fragrances like Mystic Woods ensure professionalism.

Special Events: Bold choices like Golden Elegance or Amber Fusion leave a lasting impression.

The Scent Your Soul Difference

Fragrances are deeply personal, and finding the right one can transform the way you feel and connect with others. At Scent Your Soul, we aim to make that journey seamless and enjoyable.

With our premium, long-lasting fragrances, you can step into any moment of your life with confidence and style. Whether you’re searching for a gift or treating yourself, our diverse collection ensures there’s something for everyone.

Conclusion

The secret to lasting scents lies in quality, care, and understanding your preferences. With Scent Your Soul, you don’t just wear a fragrance—you embrace a lifestyle. Explore our premium collection today at Scent Your Soul and discover the perfect scent that stays with you, making every moment unforgettable.

#perfumecollection #perfumeaddict #scentyoursoul #perfume #fragrances

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poems-from-around-the-world · 1 year ago

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The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock - T.S. Eliot - USA

S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse A persona che mai tornasse al mondo, Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse. Ma percioche giammai di questo fondo Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero, Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,

When the evening is spread out against the sky

Like a patient etherized upon a table;

Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,

The muttering retreats

Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels

And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:

Streets that follow like a tedious argument

Of insidious intent

To lead you to an overwhelming question ...

Oh, do not ask, “What is it?”

Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes,

The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes,

Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening,

Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,

Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,

Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,

And seeing that it was a soft October night,

Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time

For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,

Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;

There will be time, there will be time

To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;

There will be time to murder and create,

And time for all the works and days of hands

That lift and drop a question on your plate;

Time for you and time for me,

And time yet for a hundred indecisions,

And for a hundred visions and revisions,

Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time

To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”

Time to turn back and descend the stair,

With a bald spot in the middle of my hair —

(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)

My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,

My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin —

(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all:

Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,

I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;

I know the voices dying with a dying fall

Beneath the music from a farther room.

So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all—

The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,

When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,

Then how should I begin

To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?

And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all—

Arms that are braceleted and white and bare

(But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!)

Is it perfume from a dress

That makes me so digress?

Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.

And should I then presume?

And how should I begin?

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets

And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes

Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws

Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!

Smoothed by long fingers,

Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers,

Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.

Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,

Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?

But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,

Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter,

I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter;

I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,

And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,

And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,

After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,

Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,

Would it have been worth while,

To have bitten off the matter with a smile,

To have squeezed the universe into a ball

To roll it towards some overwhelming question,

To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead,

Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”—

If one, settling a pillow by her head

Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;

That is not it, at all.”

And would it have been worth it, after all,

Would it have been worth while,

After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,

After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—

And this, and so much more?—

It is impossible to say just what I mean!

But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:

Would it have been worth while

If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,

And turning toward the window, should say:

“That is not it at all,

That is not what I meant, at all.”

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;

Am an attendant lord, one that will do

To swell a progress, start a scene or two,

Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,

Deferential, glad to be of use,

Politic, cautious, and meticulous;

Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;

At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—

Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old ... I grow old ...

I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?

I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.

I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves

Combing the white hair of the waves blown back

When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea

By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown

Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

#the love song of j. alfred prufrock #T.S. Eliot #USA #poem #poetry #poems from around the world

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