#and I wish I could say this was a singular instance
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kitten4sannie · 1 year ago
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dolce and gabbana
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pairing: san x guest! reader (fem)
genre: pure smut with a tiddlywink of plot
summary: san can’t seem to get you off his mind after sitting next to you during the latest D&G showcase, so he has no choice but to get you on his dick instead.
w.c: 3.3k
warnings: some alcohol use, subby until he’s not! san, dommy mommy who folds instantly when san asserts himself! reader, both reader and san mutually go after one another despite knowing one of them is MARRIED (hoes will be hoes what can i say <3), reader’s husband is a dick ofc, misogyny (from said husband), cheating, seduction, exhibitionism, mommy/daddy kink….. (i’m weak okay,,), teasing, mainly!! praise and pet names, one instance of false praise, [ the following happens inside a crowded room of ppl and possiblyy in front of reader’s husband: groping, fingering, kissing, dry humping, one neck bite, san cums untouched, ] ITS BIG BTW AND CURVED……, oral (giving/receiving), squirting, one singular pussy slap, san puts reader into a mating press on her husband’s side of the bed just for funsies, manhandling, size kink, breeding kink, creampies (sannie cums a lotttt)
a/n: as a pudding since day 1 i am in absolute shambles thanks for asking <3 and YES im very aware i posted yesterday but the fic demons cannot be silenced!!! and just fyi i’m sure san was very grateful and absolutely brimming with excitement to be at the show!! the way i wrote him here does not reflect his actual feelings towards anything,, its just a silly fic and i wrote what i wanted lol. also i wish i could tell you how many times “dolce and gabbana that’s on my titties~” played in my head while i typed this out 😭😭 (also i did not proofread this whatsoever so forgive me if there are errors) but anyways, i hope you enjoy :33
song recs: la romana by bad bunny, rover + peaches + nothing on me by kai, planet goddamn by mac miller
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San knew eyes would be on him. Why wouldn’t they be? He was dressed to the nines, his hair slicked back to showcase his alluring, feline-like eyes, his sharp, angular features that could give someone a fatal cut if they looked for too long, and most importantly, he was all decked out in a sleek black custom-made top that perfectly adorned his broad shoulders and chest, one that even cinched securely around his impossibly tiny waist. Of course it did. It had been custom fit and made just for his body. Even the tailor had jokingly mentioned that Michelangelo himself must’ve sculpted him to perfection in the heavens before San was born, but San wasn’t laughing. He perfected his body through his own sheer willpower and determination alone, to be the best that he could be for his own self — and if people just so happened to drool over the results of his hard work, then that was simply a perk.
Holding his hand up to shield his eyes from the many camera flashes, he continued to make his way down the walkway, offering many of the starstruck guests a courteous, though charming smile, wondering if their wandering gazes were due to his breathtaking ensemble or what was sitting just below it. The thought tickled him. It continued to amuse him throughout the afternoon, taking picture after picture with eager guests and wealthy tycoons alike, quite pleased with himself when neither man nor woman could seem to control themselves around him, their eyes always drifting downwards to look San up and down like he were next up in an auction, their mouths pressed to their champagne flutes in an effort to quell the thirst they felt, their free hands lingering just a little too long on the small of his back when they bid farewell to him.
San relished the fact that these poor starving individuals could never get a taste of him, no matter how incredibly rich or influential they were. None of them would get a bite of the forbidden fruit without permission from God.
It was then that the show started, various eye-catching models sashaying their way across the aisle to showcase the latest D&G collection, all displaying their own unique set of features and charm. All flawless and angelic in their own right, but they were almost predictable in that way — like mannequins made solely for the rich and beautiful to gawk at. San couldn’t help but look past them, only focusing on the expensive, tailor made clothes that were framing their perfect bodies. And after a while, he almost seemed to grow bored. Of what, exactly? He wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the sheer gaudiness of it all, the lack of self awareness for things that really mattered in the modern world, and the almost nauseating amount of figurative autofellatio the beautiful people around him seemed to be fond of doing. San would’ve pondered it more when somebody near him gently patted his thigh, causing him to look down at the small manicured hand, the diamond ring around your finger glinting in the light like a warning sign.
“Are you bored like I am?” you whispered softly into his ear from beside him, giving him a quaint smile when he turned his head to face you.
San blushed, leaning slightly in your direction. “Am I that obvious?”
“No, don’t worry. None of these drones will be able to notice.” You motioned your head to the crowd around you, their phones in hand, all whispering to each other about how revolutionary the new collection was, despite it looking eerily similar to the fall one from the year before. “You could whip your cock out and no one would bat an eye.”
“Oh?” San studied your flirtatious smile, then looked down just to make sure his eyes hadn’t deceived him. Yep, the ring was still there — and it probably cost more than a year’s worth of rent. Delighted by your forwardness, San took it upon himself to tease you, reaching down to slowly unbutton his slim-fitted pants. “Well, if that’s the case…”
Your cheeks turning bright red, you reached downwards to shield his crotch from view, looking up at him with wide eyes, your faces now impossibly close. “I-i was fucking with you! Don’t actually take out your dick…”
San’s sharpened eyes flitted from your gaze to your cherry red lips, letting go of his zipper to gently take your hand in his, pressing it firmly down onto his thigh. “Yet…?” he challenged huskily, wondering if you were like all the others and would yank your hand back, scoff in disgust, and pretend as if it had never happened. It was then that San felt you squeeze your warm hand into the meat of his thigh, your fingers just barely pressing into the inseam of his pants.
“You can be a good boy and wait till the after party, can’t you?” you asked in a lower, sultrier tone, pressing your lips to his cheek to leave your mark on him, your hand moving further up his thigh, only pulling away when you felt something hard press into your palm. Smiling sweetly, you leaned in again, this time allowing your lips to brush over his. “Good things come to those who wait.”
And just like that, you turned forward to focus on the models all gathering onto the stage at once along with the designers, clapping along with the rest of the crowd when they all took a bow. You blew a kiss to one of the designers who caught it and pretended to put it in his pocket.
Still breathless from your short encounter, San nudged your thigh with his own, biting into his lip and tasting the sweetness of your lipstick. You nudged him back, glancing at him through the corner of yours eyes, licking at your own lips, like a predator would before pouncing on their prey.
San couldn’t believe he had finally met someone like you. There was a serpent in his garden — and he couldn’t wait for it to swallow him up.
-
The after party was predictable as always — strangers binge drinking and snorting powder off of your previously pristine marble tabletops, others telling embellished stories about their latest trip to their private islands, to various vague acquaintances doing god knows what in your many empty guest rooms. All of that chaos saught to entice you, and you could not, for the life of you, care about what your husband was currently cackling over with his close friends, instead focusing on the crackling wood sitting inside the fireplace you were all huddled near. When you inevitably ran out of champagne, you patted your husband’s leg so that he could remove his arm from your waist.
He looked down at you with indifference. “What is it?”
“I need more champagne, honey. I’m going to get some.”
Your husband’s face scrunched up. “Haven’t you had enough? If you drink any more, you’re going to lose your nice figure.” He looked to his friends for validation who all simply nodded along in agreement.
Your husband’s chauvinistic comments didn’t bother you anymore, just his persistent presence in your life. He was like a mosquito that was always trying to drain you, one that you could never seem to swat away. Well, nothing a little dick couldn’t fix. “That’s funny, because I seem to recall the tailor coming in this morning for an emergency visit to alter a certain suit,” you mentioned, this time pushing your husband’s arm away from you, surveying his now quiet friends with an unbothered look, before wandering off, not registering the insecurity driven ramblings that your husband was sending your way.
Once you made your way into the crowded loft, you searched your surroundings for what you were looking for, humming at the sight of the pretty boy from earlier sitting on the large plush couch in the corner, his cheeks flushed red, haphazardly holding onto a half-empty champagne flute, his attention on one of the models that had walked for your husband’s collection a few hours earlier. He was even more handsome now that you could study his captivating details, your eyes drifting over his bulky frame, from his large arms and shoulders, to his delicate waist, and down to his spread thighs, zeroing in on what was between them, knowing that the beautiful stranger was blessed in more ways than one based off what you had felt earlier.
Without hesitation, you slowly made your way across the room, your stiletto heels digging into the fur carpet below with each concentrated step, licking your red lips when the model placed one of her hands on San’s thighs and squeezed it, his suddenly submissive expression causing more knots to form within your core. You were going to make him yours.
San could barely hear the pretty model’s words over the loud music and the many overlapping voices inside the loft, not knowing what to say when she moved closer to him, clearly going in for the kill. It was then that someone stood over him, their heel nudging into his loafer. He looked up, his once hazy eyes opening wide at the sight of you standing above him with a bottle of champagne in one hand, your other hand already cradling his face. “M-miss…there you are…”
“Here I am,” you purred, running your fingers along his jaw, satisfied with the fact that your lipstick print was still visible on his tan skin.
Just about spilling the rest of his bubbly onto his lap, San gulped, slowly spreading his thighs open wider and patting one of them, giving you a silent invitation to take things further.
Humming, you lowered yourself into his lap, your plush thighs and ass pressing snuggly against his lower half. “Look at you,” you cooed softly into San’s ear, not caring to give the now fuming model any attention, lowering the cold champagne bottle in between your bodies, chuckling at the soft whimper he let out when it pressed into the exposed sections of his skin. “You’re such a good boy, saving a seat for Mommy like this. Aren’t you, baby?”
San’s throat went dry. He must’ve done something truly benevolent in a past life to deserve this. “Y-yes, I am, s-so good for you…”
“Then, be good and open your mouth,” you purred, lifting the almost empty bottle and pouring some into your mouth. San’s jaw slowly dropped, not knowing that he was already beginning to drool. You didn’t mind, clutching the sides of his heated face and pressing your parted lips onto his, transferring the sparkling alcohol to him, but not without running your tongue over his.
San brought his hands up near the sides of your ass, his fingers trembling, not knowing if he was allowed to touch you, whimpering into your mouth when you sucked the alcohol off of his tongue.
“You can touch, baby.” You reached for his wrists and brought his hands underneath the hem of your short dress, gasping when he squeezed the softness of your ass in between his ringed fingers and began to slowly guide your hips, your clothed cunt rubbing back and forth over his stiffening cock. “Mm, someone’s eager, hm? You’re a naughty one, making the main designer’s wife grind on your cock like this in front of everyone.”
“It’s…Mommy’s fault…” San murmured near your ear, rolling his own hips up into yours, making you feel every inch of his trapped throbbing cock each time he ground himself into you, biting into his lip at the sound of your breathless moans, swearing he saw your grimacing husband from over your shoulder.
“My fault, huh? Mommy should make up for it, shouldn’t she?” you sighed back onto his heated skin, pressing kiss after kiss onto his collarbones, dragging your tongue along the constellation of freckles he had on his neck, making him shudder underneath you.
“Uh-huh…” San moaned out, your hand suddenly squeezing into and sliding back and forth over his erection, your thumb repeatedly rubbing over the pronounced tip, knowing he was staining his expensive pants with sticky pre-cum. “F-fuck, I’ll cum if you keep doing that…”
“So sensitive, baby, you’re so cute…but you’re not the only one, you know? Look what you did to Mommy~” You gave his balls a gentle squeeze just to hear him whimper, before letting go, instead reaching for his hand again and leading it between your legs, moving your soaked panties to the side just in time for San to fill you up with two thick fingers.
“You’re so wet…” San groaned, unable to keep himself from adding another digit inside your slick hole, beginning to pump them in and out of you, allowing the both of you to listen to the obscene squelching sounds your cunt made each time he finger-fucked you. Something switched inside of San when you began to whine and whimper, and fuck yourself back on his fingers, your eyebrows screwed upwards, begging him for more with your teary, half-closed eyes. “So fucking wet just for me, huh? Hey, Miss, did you know your husband is standing just across the room? Think he’s hard knowing I just got his pretty little wife wetter than she’s been in her entire life?”
“B-baby, don’t tease me like that,” you whispered, not wanting the control you had over him to slip out of your grasp, grabbing onto his shoulders, accidentally causing pieces of his solid outfit to fall off and land onto the leather couch.
“It’s San, Miss, but you can call me Sannie if you wanna be a good girl for me,” he chuckled, shoving his fingers into you up to the knuckles, rolling your clit around underneath his heavy thumb. “And, I’m not teasing you, my love, he’s really watching us, and he looks like he wants to kill me.”
Just as you looked behind you to catch your husband’s displeased gaze, San began to ram his soaked digits into your spasming cunt, feeling his lips, tongue, and teeth on your neck. “O-oh my god, Sannie, oh, fuckkkk…”
Just as your warm arousal began to pour out onto his fingers and lap, San bit down into the area where your neck and collarbone connected, letting out a few stunted groans, his hips jolting up into yours, coating the insides of his designer pants with white.
“Did you just…?” you began, before San stuffed his fingers into your mouth, growing quiet and sucking your arousal off of them. He pulled them out with a pop, but you didn’t even get the chance to continue your question because you were suddenly being lifted up into the air, strong hands clutching your thighs, your legs hooked around San’s waist.
Your defeated, emasculated husband was just a blur when San carried you through the crowded room and up the stairs, not stopping until he got to the largest room at the end of the expansive hallway.
“Which side does your husband sleep on?” San asked, once he stood at the foot of the kingsized bed.
“On the right. Why do you–O-oh,” you gasped as he quickly laid you out on the right side of the bed and lifted your dress up, forcefully spreading your thighs open so that he could bury his face in your cunt, repeatedly lapping at your slit and clit over your soaked panties until he couldn’t take it, reaching up to tear your panties off with ease. “Sannie, baby boy, what’s gotten into you?”
San looked up at you with dark, dilated eyes, reaching up to his broad body to rip off the rest of his outfit, his solid muscles flexing as he closed his fingers around your waist, yanking you lower so that your cunt was closer to his face, looking like he was about to eat you alive. “Daddy’s hungry,” he simply replied, diving back into your cunt to lick and slurp up your juices, tonguing your hole just to feel you clench around him, his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out like a starved man.
Sooner or later, you began to shudder and pant, tugging at the ends of San’s sweaty hair, your thighs pressing into the sides of his head until he forcefully held them down, quickly moving his head up and down as he dragged his tongue roughly over your throbbing clit, his focused eyes never leaving yours. “S-sannie, I’m really, fuck– I’m gonna cum…!”
“Cum for Daddy,” he demanded gruffly, stuffing three fingers into your cunt and pounding them into your g-spot, lifting your ass up with his other hand so that he could catch the stream of arousal that suddenly squirted out of you, some of it inevitably soaking into the satin sheets below you. San licked your juices from his lips, going down to give your puffy cunt one last lick to savor your taste, before standing up from the bed and unbuckling his pants.
“Y-you….Did you get possessed by a demon?” you asked half-jokingly, unable to keep your thighs from trembling, wiping the sweat from your forehead with the back of your wrist.
His cock now directly near your face, San smiled devilishly down at you, his dimples appearing. He lazily ran a closed hand along his curved, dripping length. “And if I did? You’d still let me fuck you, wouldn’t you? Because Mommy’s a good little slut, huh?”
“What do you think?” you mused, just before running your tongue along the underside of San’s heavy cock up to the salty tip, a pleased chuckle vibrating from your throat.
“Yeah, get it wet for me…” he mumbled absentmindedly, pushing his fingers through your hair to move it out of the way. San pressed his thighs tightly against the side of the bed, thrusting shallowly into your mouth, watching fondly as you sucked and licked the beads of pre-cum that leaked from the slit.
Just when San began getting worked up, you pulled yourself off of him and sat up to rid yourself of your useless, disheveled dress. Hearing a distinct groan of approval, you reached up for the handsome stranger, licking the saltiness from your lips. “Now, you come here and show Mommy just how much Daddy wants her.”
“Yeah? I’ll show you…” San wasted no time climbing back onto the bed and folding you up into a mating press, leaning back to send a few wads of spit onto your cunt, smacking his hand against the wetness for good measure, before he plunged himself deep inside you. “In fact, I’ll make sure you never forget, baby.”
You just about screamed, not ready for San’s unusual size and shape, the curve of his cock rubbing deliciously along your tightening walls each time he pounded himself into you. “S–ann–ie…! It’s so big, fuck– so good!”
“Aww, poor baby’s never had a big cock stretching out her pretty pussy before, huh?” San cooed into your ear, pulling all the way out, just to slam himself back in, hitting your g-spot dead on, making you cry out deliriously. “You’ll never be able to go back to your husband after this. You’re gonna be begging for me to take care of you from now on….” San pressed his lips against yours, sucking on your tongue as you moaned out for him. “Want you to cum for me again, baby…Squirt on my cock, okay?”
“S-Sannie, it’s too much,” you whined out, dragging your nails down his broad back, your toes curling just as San punched your next orgasm out of you when his curved cock once again came in contact with your g-spot.
As you began to cry from the overwhelming pleasure, San licked your tears away, gently pressing his lips into your cheek and jaw, shushing you. “Don’t worry, baby. Daddy’s here for you.” He clutched you close, holding still inside you, as his cock began to twitch. “Here it comes, princess, just for you.” A hot, creamy stream of cum began to shoot out into you, completely drenching your insides with his load.
You could hardly speak at this point in time, solely concentrated on the pleasure that still had a hold on your sore body and the warmth that was filling you up to the brim, suddenly realizing that your husband really wasn’t going to be happy with you. “Y-you shouldn’t have…nnnngh….”
San continued to roll his hips into you, his eyelids fluttering, groans spilling from his throat, your cunt still milking his pulsing cock for all it had, which was a lot, to say the least. Once there was nothing left to give you, San leaned down, pressing one last kiss to your lips, not caring that you had left your lipstick all over him. “Can I ask you something, baby?”
“Y-yes, San?”
San smiled, his glossy brown eyes glistening in the light. “When you have my baby, will you have the heart to tell your poor husband that it’s actually mine?”
Panting heavily and trying to process what the handsome stranger just said, you finally came to the realization that you let someone who didn’t even know your name possibly impregnate you. Well, at least you had something to talk about over breakfast with your husband, rather than hear him go on and on about his latest collection.
“I’m not sure about that one…”
“Can I ask you one more question?”
“Hm?”
“Should I name our baby Dolce or Gabbana?”
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© kitten4sannie, 2024.
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miaoua3 · 2 months ago
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Hi ! I hope you’re doing good !!
I saw that you’ve re-opened your request, and i wonder if maybe you’d be inspired to write a bit of angst about the hht (or just cheol) when they accidentally bring up an insecurity and regret it but the reader is so hurt.
I wish to cry 🫡
If it doesn’t inspire you i just want to wish you a great day 🍒
i usually dont write too much angst, but i’ll give it a shot! hope you enjoy this! (also i only wrote for cheol, figured that one will hurt me the most to write for, making it more realistic lmao)
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
(pairing: bf! scoups x f!reader)
warning: angst incoming
the fresh night air blew against your wet face, the tear streaks quickly drying out with every wave of wind that came in contact with you.
you sniffle as you emotionlessly look at the pier in front of you, the han river looking exceptionally beautiful with all the light from the distance reflecting on it.
your body shivers at the cold, desperately telling you to go home, but your pride resists.
it was…silly, almost unnecessary, and yet it happened.
cheol has been busy. but not the usual kind of busy he is before their comebacks. this time, it was different.
an almost…avoidant type of busy.
you messages would go unanswered, calls sent straight to voice mail, kisses avoided with claims of “him being too tired”, and if he did initiate any type of physical contact, it was a kiss to the forehead at the most.
you never wanted to doubt him, you really didn’t. and in this instance, you didn’t doubt his loyalty to you.
you doubted his commitment to you.
hence why you tried to gently pry it out of him. you tried gently asking him what was going on, if you needed to do anything differently.
apparently, cheol didn’t like that. because the moment you tried suggesting you two go on a little date later that week, he immediately blew up, yelling the words that cut more than a sharp torn getting stuck in your skin.
“god, do you always have to be so needy? can you just leave me alone for once?!”
you could see that the moment he saw the hurt on your face, that he regretted ever saying those words.
you could see that.
and yet, you didn’t let him say another word before you flew out of the apartment, cheol’s yelling falling on deaf ears.
and so, here you are. sitting alone on some bench, rethinking everything about yourself.
his words wouldn’t hurt half as much if it wasn’t one of the biggest insecurities you had about yourself. but with cheol, you never doubted that you were too needy, because he always made sure to take care of you, of your needs. you always felt like…like you were normal with him.
so yeah, his words stung extra hard.
seeing that your fingers will fall off soon, you decide to head home, and whatever comes…will come.
after 20 minutes of dragging your feet extra hard, you finally reach your home, taking a deep breath before you unlock the door.
once inside, you see cheol sitting on your couch, hands pulling on his hair as he stares down. upon hearing the door close, the very same head snaps up, wide eyes looking at you.
he immediately gets up, trying to quickly walk over to you, but immediately stops once he sees you taking one singular step back.
his bloodshot eyes are looking at yours, regret and sadness swimming in the glassy tears that are slowly gathering on the waterline.
ever so quietly, he whispers “baby, please, im so sorry. i didn’t mean it. you know i would never say anything-“ but stops once he sees you raising your hand, signalling for him to stop talking.
just as quietly, you say “but you did, you did say it. and it hurt. it hurt so much, i think i actually felt my heart break into pieces.”
seungcheol just swallows dryly, nervousness now forming in his already tight chest.
you swallow before you continue “out of all the people…i never expected you to call me…that.”
one singular tear slips down his cheek, clearly about to start sobbing any second.
“im sorry.” is all he can offer.
smiling sadly, you say “i know. but it’s not enough.”
he immediately starts panicking, thoughts of the worst case scenario actually becoming his reality looking more and more likely now.
seeing that, you say “don’t worry, i’m not breaking up with you. i just…can’t be around you right now. please sleep on the couch tonight and leave me alone. i can’t…i just-“ you stop to swallow back your tears before you continue “i just can’t.”
you quickly turn away, walking into your room, leaving a silently crying cheol to stand there.
you go through motions as you get ready for bed, hearing little sniffles ring from the other side of the bedroom door, but doing your best to block them out.
as you lay there, hours later, just staring at you ceiling, you realise what is missing for you to be able to fall asleep.
and you hate the fact that it’s cheol’s touch, his hugs, that is missing for you to be able to fall asleep.
seeing that it’s already 3am, you get up, ready to silently lay next to him on the couch.
only to open the door and find him asleep there, sitting next to the door, dark circles under his closed eyes.
your eyes immediately prickle at the scene.
slowly kneeling beside him, you push some of his bangs out of his face before you gently shake him awake, softly calling his name.
he inhales deeply, eyes immediately opening and searching for you, stopping once he sees you there.
you sniffle as you quietly say “come to bed. i can’t sleep.”
cheol just wordlessly nods, hissing in pain as he gets up.
you two walk over to your bed, cheol nervously and silently observing you as you get in bed.
thinking that you are still mad at him, he lays down a safe space apart from you.
but after a minute, you slowly turn around and wiggle towards him, hugging him to yourself as you tuck your head under his chin.
cheol immediately hugs you back, his wide arms feeling you feel protected from the vulnerability that the day has brought you.
ironic, considering it was all because of him.
quietly, you warn him in a broken voice “this doesn’t mean i have forgiven you. i just…”
but cheol doesn’t need you to say anything else, he just kisses your forehead softly before he hugs you back.
“i know. don’t forgive me yet. i still haven’t apologised enough.”
as you two slowly drift off into dreamless sleep, cheol can only think about one thing.
tomorrow. i’ll show her how sorry i am tomorrow. tomorrow i’ll beg for forgiveness. but tonight, i just…i just need to hold her.
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koebiitwist · 3 months ago
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Hi could you do romantic headcanons of dream bbq ena x a male reader that is basically a humanoid basket that can store stuff in there ' he also love gardening and gives any flower from his garden
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𖤐ᝰ ENA x Male!basket!Reader .ᐟ𖦹₊⊹
Summary: romantic headcanons between a male!basket!reader and ena
Tags: male reader, fluff
Warnings: none
Word count: 700+
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When Ena first met you, she approached you with curiosity, thinking that there was a possibility for a new business opportunity! She rambled on about selling you new items that would harness greater potential for you and your little garden.
“May I indulge you in a divestment opportunity, my dear floral customer?” “LET’S CUT THE CRAP—Is this what a sucker like you does for a living? AND WHAT THE HELL ARE THOSE ON YOUR HEAD?!” She points, mentioning the flowers stored in your compartment that were peeking out.
After that small interaction (and somewhat skillfully avoiding Ena’s persuasion for her divestments), you started seeing her wander around the Uncanny Streets now and then, interacting with other figures that roam the place.
It wasn’t easy to cultivate a garden where you reside, but you did what you could, and everything went smoothly. You created a small area of paradise for yourself in this digital world, and Ena was certainly impressed.
“My my! Good day to you, fellow entrepreneur!” “I HOPE IT RAINS HARD, MORON!” (don’t worry she wishes for it to rain so you wouldn’t work too hard-) (and don’t mind the way she quickly hides her blushing face with her cap right after she says that-)
Since then, Ena has passed by your garden almost every single day. Whether you're out watering the flowers or staying cozy in your humble abode, Ena still makes it her mission to stop and inhale the scent of a flower you’ve carefully cultivated.
One time, you managed to see Ena crouch in front of a bed of flowers, carefully observing a singular stem that was budding. She looked uncharacteristically serene, too serene as if she were lost in her own little world without her meanie side taking over or her salesperson side talking business.
At that point, you were interested in her. Maybe it’s the way her gaze had something else in it. Perhaps it was longing? You weren’t sure.
In another instance, she approached you once more, “Care for me to lend you a helping hand? Don't worry! I'll treat this job opportunity as a voluntary act. It's better to hone skills in different fields, no?” “Do you want help with trimming those damn bushes or what? I don't offer free labor all the time, y'know…”
Soon, both of you started to get closer to one another. It became the norm for Ena to visit you before or after her business endeavors and chat with you while gardening.
You’ve gotten used to her extravagant behavior. Quick, witty banters and flirtatious sentiments were now regularly exchanged between you. Despite the shyness bubbling in your chest, you can’t help but feel as if there was more than gardening in your daily routine now.
“Do you have any plans after this? Why don’t we touch base to keep this ball rolling~?” “HEY! Snap out of it, I’m asking you a QUESTION!”
Picnic outings, fleeting touches while arranging flowers, and whispers between flowing petals in the wind. All of these ended in a bed of digital roses. Only they know what you both laugh about.
Salesperson Ena usually initiates the flirtatious lines that leave you red in the face, using business jargon while actively getting close to you. (you don’t know if she’s trying to sell you something or not, but when she winks at you while holding a flower in her mouth, you’re pretty sure it’s something different-)
Meanwhile, Meanie Ena grumbles under her breath about how good you look when you're focused on tending to the flowers. (she secretly wishes that you’d always keep your gaze on her… not that she’d ever say that out loud, but you do hear it sometimes-)
Whenever you give her flowers, she always keeps them. Every. Single. One. She doesn’t care if she’s flooded with thousands of various flora. Ena would happily swim a marathon through them. Sometimes you help her carry all the flowers she picked from the garden for her to keep using your compartment.
“This is better than any type of currency, sweetheart!” “Tch, you’re lucky I’m not allergic…”
Amongst the shared sentiments between you two, Ena can’t help but be curious about you. The material that you are made of, how would it feel if she were to hug you tight? How many things can you physically store? All these questions float in her mind, but one thing is sure.
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“Ah… I wonder how many flowers you can carry in that lovely compartment of yours. Surely there’s enough room for my love too, yes?” “There better be! OR ELSE I’LL SHOVE MY HEART WHERE IT SHOULD BELONG-”
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Hi! I absolutely love this request! Sorry if it's too long, I got a bit carried away and was having fun while writing. And for one of the dialogues, Salesperson Ena used business jargon such as: "Let's touch base" (Means to check in with someone later or schedule a meeting) and "To get the ball rolling" (Initiate a project or activity).
I hope you enjoyed reading! Anyone can message me to be included in a tag list if they want!
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peariote · 5 months ago
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ambessa; tarot.
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cw; age difference, but it's unmentioned. pierced!reader. alcohol consumption, noticeable intoxication (neither you, nor ambessa). implied sex work, as with any other piece from this series. avoidant behavior (ambessa).
an; i like this one actually... not so sure on the ending though...
wc; 2.3k
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She searched for you, keeper of secrets. Searched for the place you were sequestered, sought to draw every piece of intel she could from your lips. High profile clients, despite their secrecy, frequented this place—and they could not hide from her. 
Unexpectedly, she was not faced with a fawning confidant or a gruff thing she’d have to needle. There was no indication she could bribe nor charm you, quiet demeanor your shield. Your presence was lofty, your hands strong around the painted cards. When asked about your keepsakes, the boxes that lined the walls, full of confessions from the deepest, most secretive parts of souls, you’d simply shook your head, turned your head away as if emulating a particularly indignant feline.
And that was that. 
Though, why did she keep coming back? There was no information to parse from you—not the kind she wanted. Sometimes you’d shuffle those heavy cards of yours, one or two spilling out the sides. Your fingers would caress the painted edges as you laid them out, facing towards you or, occasionally, towards her. She didn’t understand what they meant, truly, but you’d always huff in amusement. Despite how she bristled, she relished in the noise. It’s not often she withdrew something from your sealed lips, even if you’re saying no words at all.
Often you sat in silence. She’d inquire about something, some singular datum from the box of some Piltovian councilman, and you’d huff and shuffle and say not a word. Your head would fall and your hair would obscure, and she’d mourn the loss until you pressed the rebellious pieces back behind your ears. Your ears. They caught her, as each piece of you slowly did. Her eyes would methodically trace the pieced skin, admiring the gleaming metal that hung or studded each aperture. Sometimes she’d arrive to see a new one, winking at her in the light, the skin around it still raw and gently swelled. Something in her urges her to touch it, trace the softly swelled cartilage. She wishes to feel it, your skin. Would it be sweltering, enough to make her palms perspire, or would it chill her to the bone?
Yet, she does neither. She asks for your cards, for a spread more expansive than the one or two you entertain and observe when conversation dawdles. Desire for the explanation shoots through her as well. It feels she’s cut off from you, how you speak such a different language. How you just know. She’d like to know. 
“Future, present, or yourself?” Your voice is slow and quiet, eyes already downturned towards the shuffling cards. As you wait, none slip, not even a corner out of place. There’s almost a laze to your shuffles, an expectant energy vibrating at your fingertips.
“Myself.” She hums, watching as your strong fingers twitch. Her own lips twitch in tandem, amused at the sort of restless energy, the desire to read her so closely. Unnerving, perhaps, the relentless wanting to know her; but it seems it’s just your nature. You just know. 
And so, with that, you begin. Every shift of the cards in your hands is delicate, coated with a deliberate ease that only comes after years of experience. The sound of the cards impacting, sliding and bumping against each other fills the otherwise silent space. She watches you, and the focus on your face. Watches as you are drawn into the painted sheets, and how they shift almost independently with that desire to escape. 
Two slip out first, in tandem. 
You explain every card as they fall, laying them delicately one by one, every shuffle causing more and more to slip from the deck. Sometimes it’s two, three; most of the instances, though, it’s one at a time. 
The first two are seemingly contradictory, you explain. The Empress and The Emperor, both upright. Feminine, yet masculine. Nurturing, yet methodical and authoritative. The meld is unique, and something rare. “It fits,” you muse briefly, thumbing at the deck’s edge. 
Even in your fascination, you notice the sweep of her eyes. They land not on the cards but you, watching as your lips form the cognizant words. Her dark eyes seem even darker in the candlelight, the shadows of her lashes casting low on her cheeks.  
“It truly does.” She murmurs, focused on you whole-heartedly. You puff, and continue.
The Magician. As above, so below, you echo. Ambessa’s head tilts curiously at those soft words. 
“Heaven and Earth, balanced. Total control. Your willpower is strong… well, I should have known that.” You smile, and she follows. Her fingers twitch, slipping down her thigh as if to extend outwards, but instead just settles on her knee. You can see how the tendons tighten with the effort. It only makes your lips pull further, teeth exposing now. 
“Willpower is everything.”
“So it is…”
More cards join the line, each explanation that slips from your lips savored by the woman in front of you. Eventually no more come when intended to explore her, but neither of you want to stop. So she asks you for a differing topic. Her goals, just to extend the time. 
You shuffle once, and the Two of Wands and Three of Wands slip out in tandem, quick as if tugged. You inquire about new plans with a curious cock of your head. An expansion of something, or an opportunity she had traveled to Piltover for. She just nods stiffly, shoulders drawing gently. As much as she tries to hide it, you’ve seen that expression many, many times. 
“I think that’s enough for today, yes?” Her previously easy smile has melted into something truly terrible, some amalgamation of sharpness and unease. It doesn’t reach her eyes, the familiar crinkle absent. You feel it rattle in your chest, the void of it, sinking to coil awfully in your stomach. There’s no knowing when you became dependent on the easy gleam of her teeth and the lines it pulled into her cheeks, but the absence hurts, a tightness blooming all down your left side. She stands, using the table to press herself up, and you’re left alone as she strides from the room. 
And, it seems, that was that. You, stumbling across an imaginary line of her own volition, and everything implodes. She never comes back to the brothel herself, never lowers herself to the Undercity again. Her business still flows—as much as Miguel attempts to hide it. You see how he winces and avoids the teasing inquiries of the others. Occasionally he’ll come back, much too drunk to regulate his speech. He’ll sprawl, as he always does when he’s heavily inebriated, across your lap, murmuring about her and all the physical things you never got to see. How her hands felt, so large and warm, or how taunt her flesh was beneath his hands. The imagery, vivid with alcohol’s proclivity towards extravagance, only makes the tightness throb, a near-constant ache now. 
You decide, one day, curled in your bed as the near-constant glow of neon streams over you from the thin window, that you would have to confront this. Otherwise it’d never cease. 
When the brothel stirs in the morning, readying those who must leave to see patrons with a bustle in the kitchen and a fluttering thing wielding makeup like an arsenal, you embolden yourself. You drop into the seat next to Miguel’s, cupping his hands and drawing his focus. 
“Please.” He straightens at your desperation, at the plea you release. There’s very few things you are unable to accomplish, whether by coin or cards, so to hear you confide in another is unusual. 
“Let me take your place. I need to see her again, to talk with her. You can take the pay, I don’t care. I just need to resolve this.” You squeeze his hands, just once. The look in his eyes falters, blinks rapid at the remembrance. You’d never cried over her, not in front of anyone, but he’d eased the story from you one night over a bottle she supplied. The harsh sweetness of the Noxian spirit had loosened your tongue, and he’d curled a hand over your face so tenderly it made you sob. 
His eyes settle with sympathetic resolution, squeezing your hands in return. 
“Of course. I understand.” He falters, just briefly, as if contemplating spilling. It only takes a moment before he continues. No one keeps secrets from you for long. “She’s been different, without you. She sends me away anyway, more often than not, even halfway through the day.”
After breakfast you dress, cloaking yourself to hide the difference in features. It’s a foggy morning, even in Piltover, so there’s thankfully no questioning guards, no curious gazes attempting to peek under your hood. You board the unfamiliar ship, startling as it jolts beneath your feet but settling eventually, grip heavy on the railing. Your eyes are instinctively pulled to the city’s brilliance rising over the horizon, gleaming and lacking the familiar grime you're used to, coating each Undercity building in generations of dirt and sweat and blood. The brightness of it, even with the weak sun, is overwhelming as it reflects off the tall, lustrous structures. 
Finally you arrive at where she’s staying, departing from the airship and praising solid ground. Before you’ve had a chance to center yourself, you’re ushered in by the guards—who don’t even check who’s under the hood. Either they truly believe you’re Miguel, or they don’t think whoever the Undercity could send would be strong enough to kill their general. Hm. You’d be concerned for her if you didn’t feel like killing the woman. 
(You attempted to cling to that lie, at least. The anger blanketed everything else, thin as it was. It was already half-dissolved everytime you glimpsed gold.)
You enter silently, pushing open the door. For a second, it feels as if everything will go wrong—that a guard will grab you, or something will… you don’t know. It’s inescapable, the anxiety. But you slip in without a problem, greeted by her back to you. She’s half-clothed in a loose robe, the fabric slipping down her broad shoulders, looking undone in a way you’ve never seen. A glass of wine dangles from her fingertips, despite the early hour.
“Pour yourself a glass.” She husks, voice sounding much-too heavy. You obey silently, filling it halfway and moving to join her. You don’t spread on the couch as she has, instead just sinking delicately into the end. 
“...you look…” beautiful. “...unhappy.” 
She jolts at the sound of your voice, eyes flickering wider and over to meet yours. It’s the first indication of emotion you’ve gotten since you arrived, and the first time you’ve caught her visibly off-guard. 
“What are you doing here?” She murmurs, faster than her usually-slow timber. Her fingers twitch, tightening around her wine. She’s composed but cracking, like an old stone eroding. “How did you get in here?”
You ignore both her questions, taking a sip of your wine instead. It spreads over your tongue, richer than the one you shared with Miguel, but no less acidic.
“You need better security. They didn’t even check if I was the right person.” 
Her fingers tighten, and her eyes narrow. Perhaps it’s at your flippancy, or the suggestion that her well-trained men are in some way incompetent. 
Neither protests leave her, in the end. Just a sigh as she sinks back into the cushions, cradling the glass to her mouth but not yet drinking. 
“...I told them if you ever came, to let you in.” The confession sits heavy between you. She doesn’t look at you, and in turn, you keep your eyes forward, towards the still-rising, late-morning sun. 
“Why would you do that?” You murmur, voice softened by the wine. It’s not yet hitting, but the fine flavor itself is enough to break you down a small, necessary amount. 
“I had hoped you would come, in some… childish dream of mine.” She muses idly, again hiding the brief stutter. Her thumb glides over the edge of her glass, sweeping absentmindedly. Your eyes are drawn to the motion, to the scars on her large hand that cradles the wine so delicately. 
“Well, I’m here.” You echo, feeling unsure. There’s a note of tension between you, not like a taunt rope but a simmering pot. It will boil over. You’re just not sure when. 
“Would you draw for me again? Just once.”
So you reach into your bag, hugged low on your hip. You withdraw your deck, and shuffle until you feel that familiar pull. From the very top you draw the card, thumb sliding it off into your waiting fingers. You flip it. The High Priestess, reversed. Again, you feel her gaze, attempting fruitlessly to hide her curiosity. Her lips purse, as if suppressing the urge to ask what it means. You indulge her regardless.
“Repressed feelings. Ignoring yourself, and rejecting your intuition.” You murmur tightly, suddenly feeling the coil reappearing and the ache returning.
Her eyes flicker over to yours. There’s no surprise in her dark irises—just an acceptance, a reluctant concession you know hurt her pride.  
“Yes, I suppose I have, and it’s hurt you.” No questioning, just fact. Her actions have hurt you—are still hurting you. Despite that, the pain lessens to a dull ache. Still there, but almost as if a balm was massaged into the tender skin. 
You don’t say it’s alright. It’s not alright. You shift closer instead, watching as she sets down her wine in anticipation of your hands. 
Unexpectedly, in a bout of courage, you reach for her hand. You exhale quickly, breath leaving in a huff as you snake your fingers over her own. She’s warm. You’ve never touched her before—not like this. Her hands are so much larger than your own, dwarfing you. You imagine she would, no matter your size. She breathes out, and can’t help but chuckle at your slightly-moony-eyed expression.
“I apologize. And you do not have to forgive me, dove. I’d hope your mental strength was more fortified.” 
“I don’t forgive you.” You murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. Something urges you, perhaps her own words, to be tougher, less generous with your kindness. “You will have to fight for it.”
“I haven’t lost a fight in many years.” She responds, and squeezes your hand. Her head inclines, a shallow impression of a duel’s bow. “I await your resistance.”
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© empthy1
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caitchercatlady · 5 months ago
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Tastes Like Love
*I wrote this wondering how my OC, Mika would've reacted to Jack bringing his leftover macarons to her to show off what he did during the elective class. Happy Valentine's Day, everyone!
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When Mika learns that Jack is not coming to study group tomorrow, she needs to get the word from the wolf himself if the rumors (not exactly rumors as Ace and Deuce are the ones who told her this) are true.
Didn’t Ace and Deuce tell you? he asks, responding to her initial text.
Mika replies, They did, but I wanted to know what was going on. You’re not in trouble or sick, are you?
No, of course not. You heard about the Culinary Crucible happening tomorrow, right?
You signed up for it? You never told me that.
Well, I didn’t know if I was gonna make it this week. It was a last minute informing on my end. Sorry I didn’t tell you before.
I wish you good luck. You know what the theme is this time?
Won’t know til I get there.
Will you save some for me?
It takes a minute for Jack to respond to Mika’s last question. If they let me take some home, sure.
Mika giggles. I can’t wait.
Seeing Mika’s words brings a churning sensation to Jack’s stomach. He doesn’t see himself as a cook as he’s helped his parents with the cooking at home plenty of times before. However, those are instances where his parents will always give him direction or correction if needed. He often uses the Savanaclaw kitchen to cook some quick meals for dinner. Still, if Vil, who is also participating in this Friday’s Culinary Crucible, has also been included alongside the wolf beastman, Jack suspects that this may not be simple cooking at all.
When Vil and Jack both arrive at the cafeteria to start their class, Jack’s suspicions are correct. It’s baking, not cooking. Jack knows less about the baking side of things as that’s always been his mother’s department. Even when Jack has offered to assist his mom in crafting the baked goods, she would always tell him that she has a system and Jack isn’t ready to experience that for himself.
If anything, Mrs. Howl’s system could be the utmost helpful in this part of Jack’s school curriculum.
Each student who is honored to partake in the class receives an item on the cafeteria ghosts’ menu. Vil is blessed to get an easy chocolate cake to make. Jack has been given the responsibility to bake the most delicate dessert in the lineup.
Macarons.
Jack physically takes the task with stride, but he knows nobody who can make macarons.
During the lessons, making the cream for the treat seems simple enough. Butter, sugar, milk, vanilla extract: That’s not difficult to mix and put into a piping bag. It’s the macaron shells that give him more trouble. Like the cream, the ingredients are simple enough. Unlike the cream, the shells need to be formed and baked in specific conditions or else the shells will come out cracked. No matter how closely Jack follows the ghost chef’s instructions, the shells always have a crack showing.
At this point, Jack would rather be making almond or rice pudding. To say that Jack is frustrated is an understatement, but he fails to take it out on his teachers. It doesn’t help that Jack’s judge for his portion of the class is Ace, who turns out to be unexpectedly picky when it comes to his desserts. If Ace is one to point out how the macarons look, how will Mika react? The one shining point in Jack’s baking is that Ace believes that the macaroons taste amazing.
Unlike the other students, who find themselves satisfied in their projects, Jack continues to make more macarons, hoping that more of them will come out uncracked like the singular cookie sandwich that Ace has been willing to eat. He continues this until he is the last student in the kitchen. This concerns the cafeteria ghosts.
The short ghost chef floats over to the determined student. “Jack, it is getting late. You’ve done so well. You’ve already received your credit.”
“Thank you, chef. As much as I greatly appreciate all you have taught me, I need to make one more perfect macaron before I leave.”
“Oh, is that right? Why so?”
“Because isn’t that what the Culinary Crucible is about? To be able to craft the perfect item from the recipe given?”
“Which you have been able to do. You saw your classmate’s reaction, didn’t you?”
“Well, Ace is Ace. He’s a snark even through his compliments. Not that I care, but this is too important for me to shove to the side.”
“While I agree, I have a feeling that there’s something more to making the perfect macaron than to what you want to let on. As your teacher, it’s none of my business, but it has piqued my curiosity. I refuse to tell fibs.”
Jack’s cheeks pinken.
“I’ve been around too long not to know where the true intention lies. Who’s the pretty girl?”
“Ack!” Jack’s knee jerk reaction causes some buttercream to splash onto the tray.
The ghost snickers. “I thought so.”
“It’s not like that! She’s just…a friend.”
“Everyone’s friends with the Prefect, but they wouldn’t go too far to spare some extra desserts for her.”
Jack can’t deny that. He is the one who spared some hot chocolate for her prior to Giving Day vacation. He heavily sighs. “I just want Mika to not be disappointed, that’s all.”
The ghost nods.
“As long as you don’t tell anyone else…What Ace said really bothered me. I know he’s being his usual self, and I can ignore that. But…I won’t be able to ignore Mika’s reactions, no matter how hard I try.”
“I’d say that’s quite noble, Jack,” a familiar voice rings.
“Vil!” exclaims Jack.
Vil chuckles. “A childhood friend knows how another is thinking based on their face. I knew that’s what you were thinking since the ghost chefs rang the start bell.”
“Don’t patronize me, Vil. I’ve had a rough day.”
“So did everyone. I know you weren’t paying attention, so I’ll let you in on a little secret. Everyone in this room had a struggle with something. No one is perfect, especially when it comes to baking. It’s a science just like every other.”
“But between the two of us, Vil, you loved baking that chocolate cake, and you hate sweets.”
“Quite the contrary, actually. Sweets are a vice that I’ve managed to keep away for so long. I’ve only found it easy because baking remains similar to other science classes at this school.”
“When you think about it, it’s quite true,” remarks the ghost chef.
“However, regarding your issue, Jack, you’re focusing too much on how something looks that you are forgetting something more important.” Vil plucks a finished, but cracked, macaron from the finishing plate and pops it into his mouth. He smiles politely. “How delicious it tastes. Try one, Jack. I implore you.”
Jack clears his throat. “If you say so…” He, too, tries one of his cracked, non chocolate, macarons. His eyes and ears perk up immediately. “Wow! I wasn’t expecting my own product to be this good.”
“You do have a talent for this sort of thing, Jack, and no one even had to tell you the most important ingredient that you also included.”
“Huh? What does that mean?”
“You made your macarons taste like love.”
“Love?”
“What Vil is trying to tell you is that cooking is not only following every instruction in the book,” explains the ghost chef. “While yes, following the recipe is important in order for the food to come out good, it’s the chef’s touch that also matters. Cooking and baking for others means that you are willing to put your heart into your dishes. Putting heart into dishes for people you don’t know is crucial in making your food delicious every single time.”
“And with what you have now, I promise you that Mika will not be disappointed in your macarons,” Vil concludes. “The best way to express the love in your food is to be proud of the food you made, and I know you are more than capable of doing that.”
Jack glances back down at his plate of perfect and not-perfect macarons. With two of his ring fingers, he spins the plate around, viewing the collection of treats as just that, a collection. Not every macaron on the plate is the same, and perhaps, that is the point after all.
“Oh, but don’t misunderstand me, Jack. If this was a baking competition, I’d give you low scores in presentation. However, I doubt you’d be interested in any of that kind of fodder anyhow.” Vil turns to fetch his school bag. Before he can reach the door, he pauses midwalk. “Oh, there is one more thing I almost forgot.” Vil reaches for a purple and white striped box from his station earlier in the day. “I think Mika would appreciate the present.” He gently drops the unfolded box in Jack’s large palms. “Congratulations, Jack, and good luck.” Vil flirtatiously winks, and then, he finally leaves the kitchen.
The ghost chefs clear their throats. The short one says, “Well…I don’t think I couldn’t have said that…more bluntly myself. What do you think, Jack?”
Jack gazes down at his macarons once more. “I think I’m gonna finish the last of these…and I’m gonna head out. Thank you for everything.”
“I was worried that you’d be trapped in the kitchen all night,” Mika relays to Jack as the two of them settle in the Ramshackle living room.
The two of them share the couch as the wolf explains his story on his experience in the elective. The both of them are happy that it has gone well all together. Jack carefully sits his takeout box of sweets onto the coffee table, showcasing his final result. “Forgive me if they’re not what you’re expecting them to look like.”
“Hey, you know what they say, Jack. If it looks like a cookie and it looks like a sandwich, it must be a macaron.”
His left ear flops.
“Alright then. Thank you for the macarons.” Mika plucks a cracked macaron from the box. She takes the time to observe the cookie sandwich, which sends a shiver up Jack’s spine. Half of it is bit and tested on her taste buds. Mika’s eyes widen with an enlightened glow. She let the flavor dance in her mouth for a bit long before speaking. “This is the most delicious sweet I’ve ever tasted.”
Jack’s jaw drops. “Is it?”
“The macaron shell is not too soft and not too hard. The cream inside is the perfect amount of sweet. I love buttercream, and this is the fluffiness I love the most.”
The more Mika compliments, the redder Jack’s face becomes.
“Jack, your macarons are wonderful.” She turns to him and immediately notices his state of shock. “Are you alright?”
When he hears your voice again, Jack shakes it off. “Sorry. I spaced out a little. Do you really like them?”
“Like them? I love them. Thank you for making some for me, Jack. Maybe you can teach me how to do it sometime?”
“Teach you?” His tail starts to swish side-to-side. “Uh, I can try.”
Mika smiles greatly. She hops along the couch cushions, closer to Jack and hugs him. She thanks him again. His face flusters, but he finds no harm in the affection. He returns the gesture with a warm embrace, laying his chin on top of Mika’s head. After all, Vil’s right. Jack won’t be afraid to teach now. They already have the most important ingredient.
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galedekarios · 2 years ago
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i was thinking a bit more about the drow twins scene again in relation as to why gale might go along with it if so 'persuaded' by tav.
i've talked about the scene itself already (more than once), and i have seen other people discuss the topic very well, too.
i think i have come around as to why larian has the option there, and why gale might agree to go along with it, despite not only his initial refusal and not wishing to talk or think about it afterwards if tav tries to talk to him about it, but also rejecting every other to open the relationship up outside of this scene.
i have seen people say quite often that gale is toxic, but i honestly think that it leans more the other way around: gale is willing to accept toxicity from his partner to some extent, if it means he'll also be "loved".
one could already extrapolate that from what little we know from mystra's relationship with him, but also from the things he's willing to accept from a player character, including a tav, who, in this scene, can potentially coerce him with a dc 25 persuasion check into a foursome/fivesome without prior discussion.
i think this scene shows where gale is at this point in time, relationship-wise and love-wise. by staying even though he refuses initially, and i think it was intentional (in hindsight) on larian's part.
he endures imo because at least in this scenario with the drow twins, he was included here. asked to participate. he's not strong enough to break up with his partner, if they still extend at least this much to him.
whereas he does break up if tav cheats on him without including him, or he feels the relationship may be subsumed by someone else (i.e. the player engaging romantically with someone other than him, see his reaction to also romantically engaging with any of the other companions).
i do believe he's enduring tav's toxicity here with the mindset of pleasing them. he'll accept this, hopes that they have sated their curiosity now that they are done with their "rutting" as he puts it - and hopefully afterwards the entire affair then can be "confined to the footnotes" of their romance:
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Gale: Ahem. I hope you’re not here to ask about our recent, erm, activities. I’d rather those were consigned to the footnotes of our romance, if it’s all the same with you.
i'm sorry if this is incoherent. i'm still trying to order my thoughts about this, but yeah, i just think this is where i land on it.
that even with how badly tav treats him here by springing this onto him, by not giving him time to think and even actively encouraging him not to think about it, he's still acknowledged as their partner. singular. and it's clear this is 'just' a sex thing.
the instances where he breaks up with tav is when tav sleeps with mizora, where he was not included nor acknowledged as their partner, or consulted prior (even as briefly as with the drow twins), or if tav tries to bring someone else into their romance, were he believes he would be lost in the equation of adding another person to what he shares with his partner now.
so here, in this moment, he just does it bc well, his partner told him not to overthink, right.
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and he loves them. and he wants to please them. and he might come to enjoy it, just like they said. and it'll keep them happy.
he hopes it won't come up again.
(i should clarify that this is a personal interpretation and one that i’m not comfortable arguing over.)
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baenakinskywalker · 7 months ago
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👀 (pls ignore the fact that i'm weeks late LOL)
no such thing as late! here's a feysand snippet for you, set just after feyre finds out she's pregnant. a little angsty 👀 ⋆。°✩
Rhys traces idle circles on the flat plane of her stomach like he can feel the babe — their son, Feyre notes with another glowing wave of awe — beneath his fingers. She shines incandescently, drawing glittery flecks of starlight out of her mate’s eyes. Everything is perfect. 
And then, “I wish that my mother could be here for this.” Rhys looks up at her with such fondness painted across his face that it nearly cleaves her heart in two. “She would have been completely over the moon to be a grandmother.” Down the bond, he sends memories. Some, Feyre has seen before: Rhysand’s mother looking after him and Cassian and Azriel in that little house over the Illaryian war camp, cleaning a scraped knee here, wiping muddy wings there. The smells of fresh stew portioned out into four bowls around the small dinner table. The stern yet unwavering love that washed over the children in that house day in and out.
There are also memories that Feyre hasn’t seen. 
His mother, sweaty and exhausted against a mass of pillows, a pink bundle in the crook of her elbow. A tan arm reaching out to grasp his hand and draw him nearer to the babe. A soft voice saying, “Your sister.” 
In the present, Rhys drops his head to her abdomen. I wish they were both here to share in our joy.
But instead of overwhelming compassion, instead of wonder at the fragments of her mate’s life that have just emerged, Feyre’s mind spirals. Searching, desperately tearing through her own memories. Anything. There’s got to be something — one singular memory of her mother not covered in a cloudy veil of despair. 
No happy birthdays. No home cooked meals. Not a single instance of being wrapped in her mother’s arms with Nesta and Elain. 
Rhys feels the rush of agony immediately. “Darling, what’s wrong?” His voice is almost frantic. “Are you okay?”
When the tears start, they don’t stop. How am I supposed to do this? How am I supposed to be someone’s mother if my own mother didn’t want me? The thoughts swirl until Feyre sobs, clutching uselessly at the blankets around her. In the bed big enough for two Illyrians. Where three sisters will never have to huddle for warmth and the lack of a mother.
Even Nesta and Elain didn’t —
⋆。°✩
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randomfandomblabdom · 5 months ago
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Can I talk about the Shrek score for a second?
Several years ago, I was listening to a podcast called Sideshow Sound Radio, a podcast that focuses primarily on discussing original scores. They had recently released their episode on Shrek (2001), co-composed by Harry Gregson-Williams and John Powell (yes, THAT John Powell of How to Train Your Dragon fame). As they worked their way closer to the end of the movie, they began discussing the scene where Shrek's kiss breaks Fiona's curse and she rises into the air - a la the Beast in Beauty and the Beast - to be cemented into her ogre form for the rest of time. A beautiful moment story-wise, animation-wise, and yes, even score-wise. However, the podcast hosts (both composers) found themselves confused. "Why would the dragons theme be playing during this moment?" they wondered. Admittedly, this melody choice had also always bothered me as well though this was the first time I'd ever heard anyone refer to it as 'the dragon's theme.' The reason this piece of music had always bugged me personally was because it is not the melody you're expecting it to be but if it's playing at such a poignant moment in the story, I highly doubt it's the dragon's theme but if it's not the dragon's theme then... what is it? With that in mind, I began listening to the full released Shrek score for the first time in my life and since then, it has become one of my favorite film scores of all time and yes, I mean that completely unironically. The Shrek score, much like the film itself, thrives on its simplicity.
Everybody knows the Shrek theme and even if you think you don't, you'd definitely recognize it if you heard it. This piece of music went on to become Dreamworks version of Disney's When You Wish Upon A Star, the melody represented the company for years... but what does this theme represent outside of Dreamworks as a company and Shrek as a franchise? What I mean to say is, if you analyze the first Shrek as one singular film entity, what does this piece of music mean within the context of that story?
It is, in fact, Fiona's theme and it is an extremely personal piece of music to her as a character.
The opening of the film is the only time we hear this melody until she is introduced about 20 minutes later and only then does it become a staple of the score, representing both her and her curse. It plays romantically after she's been rescued, it tragically falls apart upon her realization that her rescuer is an ogre, it's used as an action cue when she kicks Robin Hood's merry ass, it's played when her curse is revealed to both Donkey and the audience (finally adding context to the story told to you at the beginning), it's the very last thing you hear score-wise...etc. She even sings it twice over the course of the film, most famously when that poor bird explodes. You get the gist. It's a very personal theme to Fiona, it's heard all over the film, and it is the melody you are wholly expecting to hear upon the moment her curse breaks but that's not what was chosen, so... what is playing there and what does it mean?
In order to get a better grasp on what a composer might want a theme to represent or what it's meant to signify, you must first search the score and film for other moments it plays. For instance, the most well-known other instance of this melody in the film is when Shrek, Fiona, and Donkey escape the dragon - the entire track is just made up of variations of this theme - which is exactly what prompted the two composers of that podcast to assume the melody is the dragons. Makes sense, I suppose but where else is the theme heard? In another instance that could lend credence to the theme belonging to the dragon, it plays when Shrek and Donkey fly on the dragon in attempts to interrupt Fiona and Farquaad's wedding. It's then played when Shrek objects to the wedding and very briefly when he's trying to fight off the guards after Farquaad demands they both be arrested. At that, I figured, perhaps the melody was simply a generic action cue... but that still wouldn't explain why it plays when Fiona's curse is broken...
It wasn't until I was listening to the score in chronological order and came to the track titled Eating Alone that I finally figured it out. This track plays in film when Shrek is eating at his table by himself and there, very deep on the cello, was the theme played very differently compared to how it's heard anywhere else and can be easily missed if you don't have an ear for melodies. This gave me an understanding of what to listen for in other areas of the score. Where else is this theme played this way? Nowhere other than when Shrek and Donkey have that conversation under the moonlight.
Suddenly, I got it. This is not the dragons theme, this is not a generic action cue, this is quite literally Shrek's theme that sometimes plays in what I call his heroic rendition. Suddenly, this piece of music playing the moment Fiona's curse is broken makes perfect sense and feels like a genius choice because yes, it is Fiona's curse but now it's broken and who was the one to break it exactly?
Shrek.
And that, my friends, is why I adore film scores.
(since I know people are gonna ask: Yes, Donkey has a theme)
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misscammiedawn · 10 months ago
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I wanted to say thanks for that write up on the depiction of DID and Mr. Robot! You said everything that's been burning in my head for years now after watching. Hearing another system's thoughts on it was something we've been looking for.
Part of our inner world is also part of the NHM in London lol.
Truly and sincerely thank you.
First off, I am delighted to know that we're not alone in having the Natural History Museum as host to a segment of inner world. Would love to know which exhibit/area you see when you visit, though no obligation to respond. We know that these things can be deeply personal.
The show may not strike with every system but no two plural folx are going to have the same connections and attachments and comforts and that's 100% okay. For those who share our affection for Mr. Robot I am glad you get to enjoy the show and our ramblings on it.
Wishing you and your system well and thank you again for the ask. You've no idea how much feedback comforts and encourages.
Asks are always open.
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Post the asker is referring to in the question, btw:
Also... have some random rambles about Mr. Robot in a readmore, because I feel like typing a bunch.
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Also, because it gives us an opening to talk about it. Have some random Robot thoughts:
Mr. Robot is and remains my favorite show. I had started typing "our" favorite and got a sharp rejection so shall use singular pronouns. It has its issues, the use of the term "real" for instance, but with good faith a lot of it can vanish. Not all. But most.
I've been thinking about things a lot more since writing the essay and there are things I wish I had spent longer discussing. For instance during the portion where I wrote about how Coney Island represents a safety in nostalgia, a fortress for the Alderson siblings to hide in their treasured childhood memories; I didn't mention that both Trenton and Mobley use their own nostalgia as their hacker aliases with Trenton being where she lived when young and DJ Mobley clearly being someone Mobley found joy in at a younger age.
Similarly Hot Carla's name is selected because of a hair dresser who validated her gender identity and sheltered her when her parents were abusive. Whiterose's hacker alias is the last moment her life could have been the "good future" that she envisioned and worked so hard to force into reality.
I do like that pretty much every character who has an alias picks their alias as an identity forged in positive memories. Elliot clearly did with Mr. Robot being the store where he and his dad were friends and his other alias (The Gentleman) is a reference to The Careful Massacre of the Bourgeoisie, a movie he and Darlene watched every year that became the entire iconography for the fsociety movement.
If I were to ever do another Mr. Robot essay I think it would be on the way each character insists on living in the past in order to escape their present and how that relates to the way trauma invades the present. Not going to promise that, though. We're already snowed under with our Loop and Beatrice essays.
I think that can be one of the big failings of the show, actually, especially for those watching it as it aired. The show is deeply ingrained in the perspectives of characters who have critically distorted beliefs on reality and the show doesn't really start laying down objective reality until late season 3 after the cyber bombings.
Someone watching the show for the first time can watch Elliot's edgelord rants about "Fuck Society" and think that the show believes these things rather than its main character and we do not get the show delivering the message that it's small minded and childish (which, given that Elliot is stuck in trauma time and perpetually reliving a horrifically abusive childhood he cannot fully understand because he won't allow himself to remember clearly, is exactly what he is) until Irving and Price each spell it out to Mr. Robot in S3E7/9 or Whiterose outright calls Elliot on it in their final confrontation.
I adore the show for its patience and how it tells such an emotional and complicated story over its 45 hour runtime but I do understand people watching the first hour, getting the wrong idea about where the journey is going and opting out.
Hell I understand a system going in for DID representation and not having the patience to stick around the show's Fight Club pastiche era before starting to get to the meat of things.
But hey. I gave the show a shot and can't go back now. I love it too darned much.
Also because I don't want to start another thread on it, I do want to say that the show is truly frustrating in how it depicts economic collapse for society and yet none of the characters are ever impacted by it.
Darlene is homeless throughout the show, spare her stint living in an FBI safe house and she has no job through the show's run. She is never hurting for money, even when the banking system of the world collapses. She likely is stealing but it's frustrating that we only hear about the financial ruin in the periphery. We learn of the eviction of Elliot's neighbors spare for the kind older man who takes care of Flipper but Elliot himself can buy entire new computers on a whim and go months between jobs or spend a season in prison and not be impacted.
Like the show depicts the world going into a major decline during the economic crisis and it's clear by Season 4 that the show is venting frustration that when the banking system failed in 2008 the ones responsible were not harmed at all and it was the public who suffered and things just went back to how it was in time; it's just... every character is living comfortably in New York and Darlene is the closest we have to a "poor" character.
But that's a rant we have on every show. Poverty doesn't really exist in television. You watch a show like Ted Lasso and everyone is a millionaire. Even the Kit Manager (Nate, not Will) has parents who own a home, sent him to higher education and gave him private violin lessons. Kit Manager salary is about £25-50 per year, even for a Premier League Team.
...but my discomfort with how poverty is never represented on TV is just a random rant and I'm going way off topic.
I'll stop rambling now.
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vickyvicarious · 1 year ago
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Franz, meanwhile, was thinking about the extraordinary shudder that had passed through the whole of the Count of Monte Cristo's body at the moment when he was more or less obliged to give Albert his hand.
I can definitely see the leftovers of Dumas' initial plan to begin with Franz's narration and do a more outside POV slow reveal. It works better the way it is, but there's all these moments that we readers would otherwise be puzzling over right along with him. Having him be so observant and suspicious of the Count also helps to draw attention to little moments that might otherwise slip by some readers. I really enjoy Franz's perspective, and kind of wish he had a stronger presence later on, or got to figure out a more complete picture.
But also, this particular line, closing out 'The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian', is particularly interesting to me because at other points Dantes does touch Albert without reacting so dramatically. The very next chapter, in fact, he offers his hand to both men when saying goodbye to them. It's obvious his initial reaction is related to Albert being the child of Mercedes and Fernand, and there are multiple other instances where he does a relatively poor job of keeping his cool the first time he meets someone from his past, and only gets away with it because they don't recognize him and thus don't understand the relevance of his behavior. But this isn't his first time meeting Albert; in fact, he's been deliberately cultivating his acquaintance this whole time. It's even possible that he deliberately set the situation up for Albert to get kidnapped so that he could step in and help with the ransom, though I'm not certain about that (regardless I don't think he intended Franz to overhear him and know about his connection with the bandits).
Albert initiates the handshake that makes Dantes shudder. In fact, he does so while expressing his great gratitude. Is that why this reaction happens? Dantes usually doesn't seem to have any qualms about involving the innocent next generation in his revenge, but this is the first instance, and it's face-to-face, and it's Mercedes' son who may bear enough of a resemblance to her that it causes him some pain/distress the first time he really sees the contrast between Albert's gratitude and his own plans. If so, then he does get over it pretty quickly (the very next chapter he's calling him "dear Monsieur de Morcerf" with a "singular" smile, so he seems to be a bit sarcastic and maybe even enjoying being so).
It might also be related to Albert offering the handshake when Dantes didn't necessarily expect it. Other times, he's more controlled because he knows what's coming, but perhaps he didn't plan on it in that moment. He was forced to shake Albert's hand by propriety and the relationship he'd been cultivating, however little he wanted to do so. If he didn't deliberately set up the kidnapping/didn't want to do more than put up the rest of the ransom, then that could also contribute - while salvageable and in the end even more beneficial, the unexpected variable may be making him feel a bit out of control and tense. He's spent a long time trying to make sure everything is lined up just right after all. While he can definitely adapt as needed he might not like to, particularly in this first closer interaction on the path of his revenge really getting underway.
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dragon-communion · 1 year ago
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Compiling St. Trina iconography here for my own reasons:
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Sword of St. Trina: visually based on a real world sword, El Cid's Tizona. The inscription on the blade is likely related to the inscription on Tizona, though the in-game script is frustratingly untranslatable. Omnipresent lily imagery. I wish I could get a better look at the crossguard, but the forte has a cute little flower on it. The grip is a depiction of St. Trina on her side, possibly asleep. Might be made of ivory? The pommel looks like a bud of some sort.
St. Trina's Crystal Ball: the two prominent images are her lily and another image of Trina herself. The commitment to full-body imagery here is interesting, especially since it's so vague in both instances. Potentially ivory again. The bottom of the frame has what might be the same bud, but more open, and directly opposite Trina is another depiction of the cute flower from the sword's forte. What is it? It doesn't look like a lily, more like a daisy at best. The crystal ball is dark and cloudy, possibly some sort of mineral other than glass. While colored glass does exist in the Lands Between, I haven't seen a great quantity of purple. I have seen purple gems though. The crystal ball doesn't seem designed to sit on a surface the way most are, nor is it apparently built to fit into a frame. I'd theorize it's meant to be hung from the stem of the lily at the top, possibly from a belt for easy transport.
St. Trina's Arrows: Considering the extreme intricacy of their design, I'm surprised they don't have a matching bow the way the Serpent Arrows do. The "fletching" is two entwined lilies, which are debatably functional as fletching, but I'm more interested in the fact that they are entwined. Most depictions of the lilies are a single curled-over stem- even the crystal ball, with a pair of them engraved beneath the handle, has two separate lilies. I'll have to do more research into arrowheads to draw any conclusions about the shape of these, but the engraving on them seems to match engravings on the sword. The little daisy pattern from the forte of the sword is present at the base of the arrowheads.
Fevor's Cookbook(s): Obviously research notes as compared to other papers in the Lands Between, examining the properties and anatomy of the lily, although the script itself is illegible. The paper itself interests me more. Paper is expensive, and the paper in these cookbooks is outright elaborate, tied with a ribbon that matches the borders. There's some sort of triple-circle motif in the background beneath the text that is defying my best efforts at identification, but something about it reminds me of the circular embroidery on the clothes of the Oracle Envoys.
St. Trina's Torch: I think I finally have confirmation that the Spirit Calling Bell and Rebirth Monuments could have something to do directly with St. Trina. It bears further investigation, but the heartlike symbol on the pommel of the torch is surprisingly useful. The helix on the handle less so, but there are enough similar motifs in-game that I'm getting excited about the possibilities. I am fairly certain I've seen that heart either in the Divine Towers or somewhere around the Giantsforge. Other people have said plenty about the potential butterfly motif and the singular eye, but I'm more interested in the floral design directly above her head. Could it be that daisy design I saw earlier? Could it be a stylistic floral design of the giants' meteor sigil? Hard to say. I wish I could get a better angle on the torch to see if it's burning anything notable, the way the Ghostflame torch is. Given the way it seems carved from stone, and the handle is wrapped with rope at the bottom rather than carved for comfort, I'm almost inclined to think the torch was meant to be installed in some sort of physical sconce rather than carried. There's something distinctly architectural about it that doesn't match the other torches. I wonder if it was inspired by something.
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lifebloodblue · 11 months ago
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So in Star Trek: Discovery, the episode “If Memory Serves” implies that what damaged Michael and Spock’s sibling relationship is her insulting him to try to get him to stay away from her (which she believed was for his own good because of the logic extremists) when they were kids.
And then it just kind of implies that they quite possibly never got along again after that until the events of season 2 like 20 years after that??
I don’t think that’s really what happened. The Talosians wanted the memory of what started their conflict, the very first instance of it (aside from Spock not being welcoming to her when she was first introduced to him) rather than any one singular thing that completely drove a long-lasting rift between them.
I mean, while they were still children/teenagers and living in their parents’ home, Sarek and Amanda would encourage them to get along with one another, whether or not they knew what Michael said to Spock.
Here’s what I think got them to the point that by the beginning of season 2 they hadn’t spoken in years, the same reason Spock also hadn’t spoken to Sarek in that long: Spock choosing to join Starfleet over attending the Vulcan Science Academy. The fact that Michael attended instead of him just reminded him that he didn’t live up to his father’s expectations of him. Sarek was more understanding of Michael’s humanity than of his. He never expected Michael to be completely Vulcan since she was fully human, but he only ever wanted Spock to be Vulcan even though he was half human.
Perhaps Michael blamed herself because there was some kind of confrontation between the two of them about the matter. Maybe she insisted that Sarek knew what was best for both of them and that going against his wishes was disrespectful to everything he had done for them, and Spock just wouldn’t hear it. He joined Starfleet in part to escape the feeling that he didn’t belong, and maybe she could sense that about him and told him that he was just running away from his problems rather than facing them.
What I’m trying to say is, based on the way the 2 talk about each other and the bond between them, I don’t think the only time they ever got along was when they were kids prior to her insulting him and then when they found each other during season 2 before Michael went to the future. We really don’t have the full story.
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azure7539arts · 2 years ago
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Do you ever think about how Li Susu was always supposed to be Tantai Jin's Hou Yi, the one to shoot him down? That everything was already set up all the way from their lives as Sang Jiu and Ming Ye?
Like, I'm pretty sure a lot of people have heard of the story of Hou Yi shooting down nine suns, leaving behind the singular remaining one in the sky. But there's a slightly different iteration to that tale.
According to Classic of Mountains and Seas (山海经), off in the Eastern Sea, there was a divine tree Fu Sang where ten three-legged crows perched. These crows were children of the Eastern Sky God, Di Jun, and every day, each one of them would take turn flying over the sky, and the light that shone from them represented the sun. One day, disobeying their father, all ten crows flew out to play, and their combined light scorched through the earth, leaving a catastrophe in their wake. In an attempt to punish them, Di Jun bestowed upon Hou Yi, known for his skills in archery, a red bow and white arrows so Hou Yi could go and teach his children a lesson. However, these crows refused to listen and dismissed Hou Yi's words, and in a fit of anger, Hou Yi drew his bow and shot down nine crows, sparing just the one that is the Sun everyone sees today.
So yeah.
The three-legged crow being Jing Kingdom's royal totem; Tantai Jin prominently using crows more so than anything else in the show; nine white soul-slaying arrows spikes anyone? :,)
Also, guess who had a red bow, and who else came from the East (Eastern Sea) and also used a bow as a gift?
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Miscellaneous:
That last three-legged crow, in some instances, was later known as the Vermilion Bird (朱雀). According to some sources, in Classic of Mountains and Seas, the Vermilion Bird was also referred to as the Mysterious Bird/Black Bird (玄鸟), which is the name to one of the main theme songs of the show.
In the aftermath of that tale, upset by Hou Yi's action, Di Jun exiled both Hou Yi and his wife Heng'e (or Chang'e) from the Heavenly Realm to live as humans in the Mortal Realm. Heng'e is the Goddess of the Moon, and Tantai Jin is also associated with the moon. (Once again, I would like to repeat that Tantai Jin is literally Li Susu's wife.)
The name of divine tree Fu Sang (扶桑) shares the same 'Sang' as the one in Sang Jiu's name: 桑酒. Fu Sang is said to be a tree of life that grows somewhere in the Eastern Sea where the sun rises (flashbacks to Tantai Jin's developing love thread always being depicted as a tree growing out from under a seabed.)
Personal rambling:
It is said that, sometimes, the Phoenix and the Vermilion Bird are mistaken for one another because they both have red feathers and are engulfed in flames. There are also debates about which one of these mythical birds is the superior one, but going off on depictions in the show alone, the Phoenix once belonged in the original line up of the twelve Gods in Shangqing Realm, so the hierarchy is already set there. And idk, it's just another factor that ultimately serves the angle of "she's my better half" from Tantai Jin, because I don't doubt that this will always be his thought process when it comes to Li Susu.
Another thing about people sometimes mixing up the Phoenix and the Vermilion Bird is that it makes me think about the saying of how people in an intimate relationship will eventually start to resemble one another. And also how Tantai Jin did his best to mold the image of Cang Jiumin into what he thought would best fit what Susu must've had in mind for him when she'd switched his Evil Bone for her Immortal Marrow. Because while, yes, it was his own wish to become a better person for her, it was a decision that was deeply rooted in her own wish for him as well.
To that end, Tantai Jin is the mirror that reflects what Li Susu thinks about him. In her life as Ye Xiwu, Li Susu was never able to put down her prejudices against him and the trauma that she had had to go through because of him as the Devil God, so her thoughts about him tended to always go for the worst first and foremost whenever she thought he'd done something bad, and Tantai Jin reflected this. When they spent their time later on as Li Susu and Cang Jiumin together, no matter how short-lived this was, she finally was able to put genuine trust in him and his capacity for goodness, and so he reflected this as well. Like how moonlight is actually the Moon reflecting back the light it's receiving from the Sun, Tantai Jin was also able to burn so brightly toward the end because of Susu, you know? :,)
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almondcup · 2 years ago
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Identity and Truth in Alias Grace
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Although I haven't finished reading this book yet, I felt I needed to put some notes down unless I forget and before I procrastinate.
All the same, Murderess is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell to it, that word - musky and oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. Sometimes at night I whisper it over to myself: Murderess, Murderess. It rustles, like a taffeta skirt across the floor. Murderer is merely brutal. It’s like a hammer, or a lump of metal. I would rather be a murderess than a murderer, if those are the only choices.
In one of the most elegant, violent, poetic quotes in the novel, we find Grace trying to adopt a word for herself. Murderess is how she has been described, at the time of judgement, and throughout history. Here she tries to identify with it, and make it her own. It demonstrates her attempt at maintaining some limited control over her identity, and her perception of herself, when society has already assigned her one.
And I wonder, how can I be all of these different things at once?
The quote refers to Grace’s musings regarding the various descriptions of her transcribed in the papers. From conflicting descriptions of "inhuman demon" or "innocent victim", to even basic misconception of physical attributes such as green eyes or blue eyes. She struggles to keep pace with an image of herself which is beyond her, and which she does not see in herself.
You should ask the lawyers and the judges, and the newspaper men, they seem to know my story better than I do myself.
A lot of this difficulty in maintaining control over her own story is as a result of how her case was sensationalised in the newspapers. Grace’s story is one that everyone believes they know themselves, thoroughly, as if they were present. We see this even in modern cases today, and perhaps it is even exacerbated as a result of social media, where even those completely detached from the situation claim to know the ultimate truth from the comfort of their homes.
When others are vehemently confident that their opinion of you (and your case) is correct, you begin to question what you know of yourself.
And that’s what it was like at the trial, I was there in the box of the dock but I might as well have been made of cloth, and stuffed, with a china head; and I was shut up inside that doll of myself, and my true voice could not get out.
However it was not merely the media who sculpted Grace’s persona for the sake of judgement. The lawyers too told Grace what to say, and how to behave. In this case, the lawyers also sculpted Grace’s identity, either to paint her as a manipulator or as a mislead fool - both being extremes in order to convince others of her supreme darkness, or else light. Identity in the eyes of the court was a picture to paint, more than a given truth.
Now, many years in the future, we follow Grace recounting her story before Simon. In this instance, Grace has full control over her own portrayal, and as a reader we are reminded of this multiple times. She continuously shapes her own identity in his mind based on what she chooses to show or say.
But I don’t say this. I look at him stupidly. I have a good stupid look which I have practised.
Because he was so thoughtful to tell my story, and to make it as interesting as I can, and rich in incident, as a sort of return gift to him
But in Grace’s power, we also must understand that her portrayal may also be biased, according to how she wishes to portray herself. We must accept there is no singular known truth in retelling.
Today when I woke up there was a beautiful pink sunrise, with the mist lying over the fields like a white soft cloud of muslin, and the sun shining through the layers of it all blurred and rosy like a peach gently on fire. In fact I have no idea of what kind of a sunrise there was.
I wouldn't describe identity as inherently fragile, but it is certainly elastic. It can be moulded, sculpted, and stretched. It can transform into unrecognisable shapes when travelling from mind to mind, story to story. It is an adaptive thing, and an uncontrollable thing. It is not always possible to choose how we are presented to others, and even when we present ourselves we do not often do it honestly. The theme of identity is in the name of the book: Alias Grace. Identity can be an alias we assume. There are many of them, and we can choose which to adopt, but be frustrated by the ones that are given to us.
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rezcowgirl · 3 months ago
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Played tour guide all weekend. I didn't mind until the last hour, then it was it was a very sudden onset of "I love you all but I need to get the fuck outta here". I'm very glad I have tomorrow to recover from socializing. I'm not talking to ANYBODY tomorrow.
I have a singular photo from my time at the Saskie hooligan house. The view? Incredible. The hot tub? Disgusting. Still went in, though. No skin conditions emerging yet.
cw: overdose
I am a lot less confident since I responded to that fatal overdose last year. People can say "you did everything you could", and logically, I KNOW that, but it doesn't stop me from second guessing myself and wishing I could have done more. I know fear helps no one in these situations.
That doesn't make me any less afraid.
I'm kind of embarrassed to admit it, but since then, when there is an event at work, I rely heavily on my nurse coworkers, which...isn't great. I know. Obviously, if something came up and they were not around, I would respond, but I've been a lot more anxious about the thought of it, even though I am much better prepared BECAUSE of what happened. Events are fairly uncommon at work, so I haven't personally had to respond to one since last year.
Today, I had to run and check on a fellow to make sure he was okay. He was alone and wasn't conscious enough to respond to my questions or swat me away (which is usually the case and a good indication to fuck off), but pulse, skin and breathing were fine. I had a little bit of a sweat, but I did okay. Ultimately, I didn't end up needing to use my kit, but even if I did, I felt reasonably prepared and my bedside (curbside) manner was much better. Less shaking, more "Going to touch you - taking your pulse my friend". Some progress. It helps that he wasn't actively dying, I guess.
Eventually, someone that knew him showed up and took over the watch.
It felt kind of pathetic, especially since I KNOW people who have responded to literally hundreds of overdoses alone, and most people in DTES can do it with their eyes closed. But this was an instance of ripping off the bandage for me.
Hey. I CAN do it alone. It's fine.
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questionablepastries · 3 months ago
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Completed The House in Fata Morgana (no spoilers — review thing i felt the urge to type up while my feelings are still fresh)
let me start by saying i will never forgive reddit
if you search the game right now one of the First results under Images is a CG of the true ending - the FINAL CG might i add. from a reddit post praising the game. which pissed me off to no end, having that moment ruined for me. death upon every user of Reddit.
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ok with that aside. simply calling it an amazing game isn’t enough praise or accurate. it’s so much more than words. i thought it was gonna be straight horror. naw. they had to make it everything. although i did get scared too many times lol. & the funny scenes are actually funny. idk how they managed to make a scary, funny, heartwarming, SAD game all at once. above all the horror the game is simply that. SADNESS INDUCING.
i think i must’ve cried —at least 4 times, and lost count of the amount of times i teared up (more than 5 minimum). certain moments towards the end had me doing the elbow on table head in hands thing. two points in the story made me want to stop entirely for the night. i did Not expect to shed tears multiple times? but . it’s so well written. i don’t even cry at things in media that often, i can’t emphasize how human the story made me feel like in a “oh i can actually sympathize to this degree huh” i ain’t know i was capable of feeling That hard. oh man. mundane irl things make me tear up all the time, but it takes a LOT for media to make me feel overwhelmed to that degree (because in the back of my mind im always like well it’s fake anyways). but they . they wrote a lot of believable characters in here it’s kinda nuts.
The protagonist is an amazing person. i won’t say who they are because some fuckin how they managed to keep that detail under wraps (you’re introduced as having amnesia on your identity after all). i always joke that the main character of fgo (as well as sei shonagon) could save me if i was a part of that world — well now im adding the protagonist of this game to that list. what an actual literal saint and … its so weird. the way they’re so pure hearted and kind???? Beyond human comprehension really - and YET the way it’s written…it’s like the character is THAT real to life. like ya, i can see myself meeting a motherfucker like that.
my singular criticism is that the “prologue” or rather the meat of the main story took way too long to get to. to the point that i was beginning to lose faith if the entire game was gonna be like that. but like some rabid attack dog, once the story gets you it doesn’t let go. i did the second half of the game in like two sittings because of how engrossed i was by everything. i just kept wanting to find out more and more
i was fist pumping near the end as things started to wrap up, felt like a sports coach seeing shit develop lol
that sums up my feelings. i feel like some characters are written better than others but the game doesn’t hold back when it comes to realistic character interactions. otherwise please give it a whirl. actually this would be my first visual novel ! guau. good shit.
highly recommend this for sure. slow start is my only warning. after that i had several instances where the pain was so great i wished to microwave myself to explode for having made to feel so awful, my sympathy and sadness were so overwhelming. i didn’t think i was capable of feeling pain so deep it reminded me i was human lol and ohhh my goddddd like i felt SEEN with what they were saying sometimes..! bleh !! (in a good way)
and now i’m off to read the prequel/sequel next - which from the stream reviews are also tear inducing. Great. need a break though, way too many raw emotions right now i feel like an EXPOSED NERVE
Really small spoiler: they got my ass good with the spooky things happening in the backlog text not matching in game dialogue in that one chapter LOL legit got spooked there and i was like aaaa godddd oaaaauuug fuckkkkkkk aaaaaaa like im soooo serious that shit got me BAD LMAO
oh right another final note to an already massive wall of text this has become: the game revitalized in me the importance of being honest/true with yourself, being honest with those around you (including communicating those emotions), in not waiting for “the perfect moment” and most importantly: the value of people in your life, no matter how minuscule u may think it be. to the other person, what seems a small encounter/gesture w them could hold a gravity you can never imagine. so i really appreciate all those themes being put on blast - as these were all themes that heavily resonated with me ❤️
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