#art nouveau entrance

[wgm-beautiful-world]

Kirovohrad Local Lore Museum - Kropyvnytskyi, UKRAINE

[recherchestetique]

Art nouveau Barcelone

[vinceaddams]

reading Hector Guimard's wikipedia page and thinkin about how incredibly sad it must be to design so many beautiful art nouveau buildings and then to live to see most of them get demolished or remodelled beyond recognition

[hsundholm]

Gate of Casa Milá by Henrik Sundholm Via Flickr: The famous Casa Milá, otherwise known as La Pedrera, "The Quarry", by architect Antoni Gaudí.

[soft-serve-soymilk]

The calanques of France are so romantic 🥺🥺❤️

[johnthestitcher]

UGH! Even something as gorgeous as this 100-year-old Art Nouveau treasure gets defaced with graffiti! Some people have no sense of class.

Panneaux Art Nouveau des stations de métro parisiennes, conçus par l’architecte français Hector Guimard (1867-1942) (141 installés entre 1900 et 1912). - source Emy Ghmy.

[dlyarchitecture]

[chasingrainbowsforever]

~ Art Nouveau Entrance ~

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch 1: Here’s Your One Chance | Next | Ao3

MDNI

Vampire! Poly! 141 x Plus size! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life.

Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate for the better.

A permanent darkness rests over the city. Cold, too. Despite living here your whole life you’ve never quite adjusted to the artificial nature of it - to the shadow hanging above the miles and miles of city and the constant chill on your skin.

Really, you aren’t meant to be here. This place isn’t built for humans despite the mass that live within the confines of the city’s dome. It’s made for creatures - beings of the night that stalk and rule. The air has become rotten in the lower neighborhoods over a century due to pollution and overpopulation. It will turn your lungs black before the age of five without the proper protection.

Apartment buildings are crowded and decent living conditions are hard to come by. Many have a waitlist longer than the human lifespan. Most operate on a dorm system - at least one person per room. Randomly assigned of course, based entirely on who can pay the rent. You’ve lucked out enough to earn a shitty studio to yourself. It’s cracked and crumbling but the locks are tight and it has a window - even if the view is just a building across the alleyway.

You squeeze into a black mini dress, tying your hair up to show off the double string of pearls on your neck. They’re the nicest thing you own - the only thing worthy of this club. The only thing that can project the image needed to get proper tips. Red lipstick as a final touch. It’s corny, you know, but the vampire clients are always suckers for it. Pun intended.

This job is important. There can’t be a hair out of place. This is your chance. Your one chance to make enough money to get out of the slums. To at least make it to the middle city. You can practically hear the grime on the sidewalk as you make your way toward the metro station. Dirt and debris so caked into the very air down here that you have to wear a respirator as you go. It’ll leave marks when you first take it off, but they usually disappear by the time you’ve made it from the depot to the club.

You don’t bother with sitting on the train. Hell will freeze over before you chance catching whatever new disease has grown in that Petri dish. Instead you join the rest of the patrons in awkwardly standing in the center of the cart, damn near falling over when the train lurches to begin its journey from the slums to the upper city. There are actual names for the two areas, but nobody uses them anymore.

The respirator makes a hissing sound as you remove it after stepping out of the train. The cool, clean air of the upper city fills your lungs. It’s satisfying in a way its sticky, filtered sister could never be. The faux fur of your cropped coat tickles a bit as you walk, blown by that strange breeze that never seems to stop in the upper city. The one that blows all the grime and smog downhill.

The club sits square in central downtown - the bottom level of a historical hotel. It’s an elegant building. Red with curled metal accents over the windows and doors. Modeled after the ancient art nouveau movement. It sparkles underneath the artificial LEDs of the city - all signs and glowing windows. You can always tell where the humans are, catching glimpses of that unmistakable glow only a UV light gives off.

You duck down the alley behind the hotel. Grimy and dark, the complete opposite of the front entrance. Your heels clack on the concrete loudly - echoing off the hard walls of the building surrounding you.

It’s easy enough to slip into the routine of your job. Going back and forth to the bartender, carrying various drinks and placating the egos of cowardly men and the vampires they lie to themselves about being equal to. You can see the hunger in their eyes when you tilt your head, exposing more of your neck to the light. When your wrists just pass their noses as you set down their glasses.

It’s hard work. Long hours and more days of the week than you would like, but it pays enough for you to afford your little apartment and save some for your future.

“Hey! New girl!” The owner barks at you as you gently set your tray back into the stack to be washed.

You whirl on your heel. Shit, did you fuck up? Ruin everything? Your mind runs through every interaction over the course of the night - every comment, every stilted moment. “Y-yes, sir?”

“Need you as a Companion.” He stands in front of you, the pinstripes of his suit warping over his massive crossed arms. The wrinkle in his nose makes his mustache twitch.

“C-companion!” You squeak. “I’m not-“

“We had a call out. Need you to take the private booth in the back.”

Your eyes are saucers - heart beating so hard you almost can’t hear his words. You don’t know what to make of this. His words are harsh and cut right though you, but the prospect they hold…

“You paying attention?” He grunts.

Your voice shakes. “Just… why me?”

“You match their preference.” Its blunt. Uncaring. Not that you would ever expect much sympathy from the owner of a place like this - feeding girls to vampires and their kin.

Generally, you’re not the type to be preferred - too big and soft for most. It’s what kept you as a server exclusively, you’re sure. Companion is such a major step up, too. You haven’t had any training. You never thought you’d get there - only a few girls make it from Server to Companion. To have it by happenstance…

With a deep breath you remind yourself that this is temporary. Just for tonight. You are acting as a replacement, nothing more. If you pull this off maybe you’ll get enough tips to finally replace the air filtration in your apartment. Maybe you can even get an overhead UV light. Oh, wouldn’t that be lovely!

Another tray is shoved into your hands. Is this… actual gold? Ornate designs line the outer rim - all weaving in and out of each other inlaid with iridescent mother of pearl. It’s cold on your hands and so shiny you catch your reflection in it before the bartender sets a bottle of wine and four glasses on it. You’re fairly certain between the wine and the tray you are holding upwards of four thousand dollars a in your hands. It takes everything to keep your hands from trembling.

You slowly head for the back booth - just beyond the main floor of the bar. It��s far more quiet here. The music from the floor muffled by distance. There are only a few private booths and they are only ever occupied by the city’s elite. The top of the top. You pause at the heavy, velvet burgundy curtain separating you and your clients for tonight. They could be anyone.

You hope they aren’t the type to get rough.

Balancing the tray on one hand, you use the other the push the heavy curtain to the side - entire body alert and tense as your eyes land on the four men sitting around the rounded booth. Their eyes meet yours, and you freeze. A shiver runs down your spine.

They’re beautiful in that way only vampires can be. Untouchable. Marble-esque. Eyes clear and bright even in the low light of the booth - that sheen of night vision apparent. Lions staring down their prey and you, who walked into the den willingly.

“Good evening.” It takes everything to keep your voice steady. To slip back into that comfortable customer service headspace you’ve curated over the years. “I’ll be your Companion tonight.”

“What happened t’ Cherry?” The man on the outer right side of the booth asks. His arm is slung carelessly over the back of the booth, body slack and comfortable.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You say softly, carefully sliding the tray onto the table. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” A man with an imperial beard smiles. It softens his face - makes him look less like stone. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” You murmur. It’s your chosen work name - based on a song your mother used to play from a century ago. One of your earliest memories is her lifting you into her arms and spinning around to the song. All the workers names are single words. Easy to remember. Easy to request for returning quests.

“Fittin’.” The man to your left grins, bright blue eyes sparkling. His fangs catch the light - your hands tremble for a brief moment.

“Do you know who we are?” The masked man beside him asks. His voice rumbles through your nerves, all the way into your bones. You can hardly look at him - the skull covering the top half of his face makes your gut churn.

Should you know them? Oh, fuck, you probably should. Vampires live forever - their names and legacies travel across centuries. Millenia. It’s going to give you away. You’re just a low class human from the slums. You don’t know Vampires from the uppers.

The illusion of luxury only goes so far.

“It’s not a trick question.” The man to your right smiles gently, tilting his head to the side.

“No, sir.”

“Well,” The one with the beard sits a little straighter. “I’m John Price and these are my… confidants. Cohorts. Kyle Garrick, Johnny MacTavish and Simon Riley.” He gestures to each as he goes.

John Price… John Price… Nothing comes to mind. Nothing about any of them, for that matter.

“Lovely to meet you.” You smile pleasantly, slipping back into the script. Swallowing roughly and steadying yourself, you reach for the bottle and slowly pouring a tester amount into the four glasses. “Tonight we have a vintage red from 2089.”

John hums, swirling the glass before taking a sip. His eyes glow in the low bar light. “You remember the 80’s, Simon?”

“Which one?” The makes you pause. How many 80’s could there be?

John laughs, whole and hearty. Little crows feet appear in the corners of his eyes. “Which d’you think?”

“I remember the blood.” The masked man mutters. He doesn’t look at John - dark eyes locked on you. You keep up the well trained smile. Neutral, comfortable.

“Och, ye would.” Johnny scoffs, taking his own glass after John gives you a nod to fill the four properly. “Cannae ever remember the good.”

“Well what’s your finest memory then Johnny?”

“There’s was this lass… think her name was Cassandra. Had the biggest tits and-“

“Enough of that. Theres a lady present.” John waves his hand. To your surprise, Johnny actually listens despite looking muffed about it. You can’t help but snort. Lady. As if.

How old are they, anyway? They look young - especially Johnny and Kyle. Definitely below thirty when they were turned. John obviously leads but that doesn’t necessarily mean he turned the rest of them. They could have just come together over the years. Vampire covens vary heavily as to why they came together. Sometimes friendship, sometimes relation, sometimes just convenience.

Simon is still staring you down, hooking a thumb under his mask to raise it just over the end of his nose. Scarred lips sip from his glass.

“Come sit, luv.” Kyle pats the booth beside him.

You snap out of your thoughts at the prompt - moving to sit in the empty spot beside Kyle. The next thing you know hands are on your hips, passing you over until you’re sat square in the middle as if you weigh nothing. You know vampires are strong - you’ve gotten thrown around by your fair share in the slums, whether a mugging or fucking - but it still startles you. They could crush you with barely a flick of the wrist.

Fingers brush over your shoulders, tracing the shape of them before lowering to rest between your exposed shoulder blades. They’re cold and leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake.

“Tell us about yourself, hm?” John prompts.

“Oh, not much to tell.” You shrug and smile. “I’m from the city. Started here about a year ago-“

“How have we never seen ye then?” Johnny interrupts, eyes locked on your chest. “A bonnie thing like ye…”

“Well…” You raise your hand to your mouth like you would when whispering a secret. “I’m not supposed to tell but I’m actually a server, normally.”

“Oh, really?” Kyle leans his chin on his palm. “In a dress like that?”

“What’s wrong with my dress?” You huff, letting the pliant facade slip just enough to make yourself seem real. Just a little less doll like before you return to the script.

“Absolutely nothin’.” Simon hums beside you, eyes near black under the shadow of his mask.

Your face heats. Client compliments never get to you and you’re not sure what about his feels so different. All of their attention is so intense. It dives under your skin and burrows deep in your marrow.

“So, seeing as you implied I should know who you are-“ You tilt your head and meeting John’s eye, “who are you?”

John chuckles, leaning close. “Oh, no one important. Contractors. Independently employed.”

“Ah, so, criminals.” You laugh.

“If you say so.”

“I can’t exactly judge.” You lean in as well, shoulder pressing against his broad chest. The material of his suit is soft and thick. High quality. “I mean, look where I am, hm?”

“Are ye a criminal, lassie?” Johnny grins at you, tilting his head. How he makes a mo-hawk cute is beyond you.

“Shh.” You press a finger to your lips.

It’s easy enough to look sultry, to play the part, to mindlessly flirt. Easy enough to fall into the simple back and forth. Scripted. Basic. Nothing out of the ordinary. They’re just clients at the end of the day, even if they have more money and power than your usual crowd.

You carefully refill each of their glasses. You can feel their eyes on you - boring through your very being. It takes more concentration than you’d like to keep your breath from hitching when John’s hand rests on your upper thigh. You lean forward, pushing each glass back to their respective owners.

Johnny takes your hand before you can retract it, placing gentle kisses from your palm to your wrist. He sighs shakily, teeth catching your skin ever so slightly.

“Johnny.” The masked man rumbles in warning.

“Not gonnae bite, LT… she just smells incredible.” Johnny murmurs against your wrist.

“Have you ever been bitten, dove?” John asks, eyes half lidded as he stares you down. That feeling comes back.

Prey. You’re just prey.

“N-no…” You shake your head, voice smaller than you’d like. You’re not supposed to. Clients aren’t allowed to bite the girls here - it’s not one of those clubs - but in reality you’re at your mercy. To book one of these rooms they surely have the money to pay whoever necessary to do whatever they might want with you.

“Donnae look so afraid.” Johnny chuckles.

“We’re not goin’ t’bite.” Kyle leans forward. “Just curious.”

“Oh…” You whisper. Johnny drops your wrist and you pray that they don’t notice how quickly you retract it.

“Alright boys, time for business.” John sighs. He suddenly grabs your chin, turning you to face him. It’s a light touch, not too rough but solid. His pupils dilate and yours with them. “You’ll forget everything we say from now until I snap my fingers.”

The next thing you know you’re blinking blearily, sitting in John’s lap with your legs across Kyle’s. The younger man’s hand rests on your leg, thumb gently stroking your ankle as you come back to sentience.

It’s like coming up from the undertow and getting your first gasp of air.

“There she is.” Johnny murmurs, smiling softly.

You were compelled - you know that much. It’s disorienting. You rub the corner of your eye, purposefully evening your breath. At least your clothes are all still in place. You don’t feel… touched. Not bitten either. A choked sigh escapes you against your will, hands trembling in your lap.

“You’re alright, dove.” John coos, cold breath puffing against your neck. A shiver runs down your spine. How much time has passed? When… what… “Can be hard t’come out of it, hm?”

“I’m okay...” You whisper.

“Have some water.” Kyle pushes a glass toward you. The concern on his face feels foreign.

A large, empty decanter of scotch sits in the center of the table accompanied by several empty glasses. That’s the closest hint you have to how long you’ve been here. You take the glass of water shakily and sip, leaving an imprint of red lipstick on the rim.

John continues to coo and soothe down your hair. His other hand travels down to rest on your hip, holding you in place against him. It’s strange… this feeling. You’ve been compelled before briefly but it wasn’t like this. John has to be strong. Old. He’s been around a while to have that kind of power - for it to be this difficult for you to come out of the haze. It’s taking more concentration to keep from crying than you’d like.

Stranger, though, is the way they watch you. The way John works you back to reality. Most vampires would have been inappropriate while you were gone, wouldn’t bother with the borderline aftercare needed when coming out from under their spell. Most would have left you slumped in the booth - drained of blood and pleasure - laughing as they went.

You clear your throat, sitting up a little straighter and gathering your wits. “Can I get you gentleman anything else?”

They share a look, one that you can’t quite interpret.

“You’re sure you’re alright?” John asks, voice low.

You look up at him with big eyes. Childlike, almost, staring up in wonder. It’s so strange how vampires aren’t quite white - they just lack the redness of life. The pink under the skin that signifies a beating heart and limited life span.

“I’m sure.”

John presses closer, breath caressing the shell of your ear. “Thank you for being so gracious f’us, tonight.

“Always…” There’s an honestly behind the word that startles you. A craving deep in your bones to prove yourself worthy of him and his men.

Strange.

“We best be on our way.” Simon rumbles, prompting Johnny to let him out of the booth.

John’s eyes flick between yours briefly before he moves you off of his lap with the gentle touch one might use when handling fine china. As much as you want to stay there, dazed and still coming down, you have work to do. So, you stand after them and begin slowly gathering the empty glasses on the tray. They feel heavier in your hand the normal.

A cold touch runs up your back and you freeze. Fingers trace the curve of your spine. You straighten, turning slowly only to meet those soft blue eyes again. John takes your hand, eyes alight with something you don’t understand. “I’ll tell the owner he’s wasting you as a servin’ girl. You’re made for more.”

Before you can even possibly decide how to respond, he’s gone. Disappeared through the curtain and into the forever night. Something crinkles in your hand. When you look down, slowly opening your fingers, the contents make your heart jump into your throat.

Cash. A massive roll of neatly banded cash.

How much is this? A thousand? More?

With frightened eyes and slippery hands you tuck the cash into the secret pocket of your coat. Having that much cash on your person is so out of your wheelhouse - out of the realm of possibility- you don’t know how to react.

You didn’t even get to say thank you.

Your mind whirls as you finish up your shift, eyes glazed over while slipping on your coat. The other girls look off put. A few whisper and stare.

What do they think you did?

Then again, you think as you brace yourself for the lurching and squealing of the metro, there isn’t any way to know what happened. Not unless one of the vampires tells you, and good luck prying any information out of one of them. Even if they tell you, they can just make you forget all over again.

How did you behave? Were you the same as always? Were you an entirely different person?

Some people forget themselves when under compulsion - every inhibition thrown to the wind carelessly. You need your inhibitions. They keep your job secure and yourself safe. You can’t afford carelessness.

The walk back home is tense. That small bulk in your pocket burns a hole though you as your mind runs with every possibility of what might have happened. What you might have done to earn such a massive tip. It can’t have been dignified, could it?

There’s no way they just like you. That’s not how vampires are.

It takes everything to motivate yourself to actually take off your clothing and jewelry before falling into bed. However long they had you, it drained you. Left you tired and shaky as you crawl under the thick bundle of quilts that make up for the lack of heating in your home.

Your eyes meet the wad of cash that barely fit in the inner pocket of your coat. It feels like a threat. Use me well or lose me forever! Make me count because you’ll never see me again!

For now, at least, you can bask in it.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

This morning we are dreaming of buying this gorgeous villa in the renowned village of Brunate, Lake Como, Italy. It has 12bds, 14ba, $4.415M.

Hydrangea, my favorite flowers, line the entrance.

Stone arch in the entrance hall.

Stunning sun room/conservatory.

And, what a wonderful dining room, also in the conservatory.

What it looks like from outside.

The lively kitchen is right off the conservatory.

One of the 12 bedroom suites.

Large bath. Love striped wallpaper.

Looks like a ceramic studio in there.

Outside, there's a heated a pool. Beautiful.

Lovely patio- look at the little chest holding books and things.

Then, on the hillside there's a greenhouse-style retreat and a guesthouse above, with a grass roof. The pool is next to the roof.

It's lovely in here.

Gorgeous sitting room.

Spacious bedroom.

And, matching bath.

I wouldn't mind living in the guest house.

What a beautiful village. Look at the tower on the hill, and the lake. Somewhere on the property is a helipad and a tennis court. It's a 4 acre lot.

https://www.jamesedition.com/real_estate/brunate-italy/exceptional-art-nouveau-villa-with-pool-and-park-lake-como

[pompadourpink]

Literal French expressions

À deux - at two

À la + n. - in the style of

À la carte - at the menu

À la mode - in fashion

Amateur - lover

Après-ski - after skying

À propos - about

Armoire - wardrobe

Art nouveau - new art

Au naturel - plain

Au pair - at the peer

Auteur - author

Avant-garde - before guard

Bête noire - black beast

Blasé - jaded

Bon appétit - good appetite

Bon voyage - good journey

Boutique - shop

Buffet - credenza

Bureau - office

Canapé - couch

Carte blanche - white card

C'est la vie - that's life

Chauffeur - warmer (n.)

Chef - leader

Cliché - picture

Clique - gang

Connaisseur - "knower"

Coup d'état - blow of state

Coup de grâce - blow of mercy

Coup de foudre - blow of lightning

Couture - sewing (n.)

Cul-de-sac - ass of the bag

Début - beginning

Débutante - beginner

Déjà-vu - already seen

Dénouement - untying

Dossier - file

Double entendre - double hear

... du jour - of the day

Eau de toilette - washing water

Eau de vie - life water

Encore - again

Ennui - boredom

En route - in road

Ensemble - together

Entourage - people surrounding you

Entrepreneur - starter (n.)

Essai - attempt

Esprit de l'escalier - spirit of the stairs

Étiquette - label

Exposé - exposed

Façade - frontage

Faux pas - fake step

Femme fatale - deadly woman

Film noir - black movie

Fin de siècle - end of century

Flâneur - "stroller"

Femme - woman

Folie à deux - madness at two

Foyer - fireplace, home

Gamine - female kid (casual)

Gauche - left

Gendarme - person of weapons

Je ne sais quoi - I don't know what

Laissez-faire - let (someone) do (imperative)

Laissez-passer - let (someone) pass

L'appel du vide - the call of the void

Lingerie - underwear

Maître d' - master o'

Mardi gras - fat Tuesday

Matinée - morning

Ménage à trois - household at three

Mon/ma chéri-e - my cherished

Montage - mounting

Motif - pattern

Mural - on the wall (adj.)

Né-e - born

Négligé - neglected

Nom de plume - feather name

Parole - word

Petite - small (adj.)

Pied-à-terre - foot on land

Poilu - hairy

Pot pourri - rotten pot

Pourboire - for drink

Première - first

Prêt-à-manger - ready to eat

Protégé - protected

Renaissance - rebirth

Rendez-vous - appointment

Répertoire - directory

Résumé - summary

Risqué - risked

Robe - dress

Rouge - red

RSVP - answer please

Sans-culottes - without pantaloons

Savant - "knower" (n.)

Savoir-faire - know how to do (v.)

Savoir-vivre - know how to live

Séance - session

Soirée - evening

Souvenir - memory

Suite - sequel, development

Surveillance - careful watching

Tête-à-tête - head to head

Touché - touched

Tour - circuit

Trompe-l'oeil - cheats the eye

Venue - came

Vignette - sticker, label

Vis-à-vis - face to face

Voyeur - "seer"

Ballet vocabulary:

Allongé - laid down

Balancé - swinged

Balançoire - swing (n.)

Battu - battered

Brisé - broken

Chassé - chased

Chaînés - chained

Ciseaux - scissors

Coupé - cut

Dégagé - cleared

Développé - developed

Échappé - escaped

En cloche - in bell

En croix - in cross

Entrechat - between braid

En pointe - in tip

Failli - almost did

Fouetté - whipped

Glissade - sliding

Plié - bent

Jeté - thrown

Manège - carousel

Pas de bourrée - drunk step

Pas de chat - cat step

Pas de cheval - horse step

Pas de deux - step of two

Pas de valse - waltz step

Penché - leaned

Piqué - pricked

Port de bras - carry of arms

Relevé - lifted back up

Renversé - titled, bent backwards

Retiré - removed

Rond de jambe - leg circle

Temps de flèche - arrow time Tendu - stretched

Temps lié - linked time

Tombé - fallen

Tour en l'air - turn in the air

Kitchen vocabulary:

Amuse-bouche - mouth entertainer

Bain-Marie - Mary bath

Café au lait - milky coffee

Casserole - pot

Cordon bleu - blue ribbon

Crème brûlée - burnt cream

Crème de la crème - cream of the cream

Crème fraîche - fresh cream

Croissant - crescent

Éclair - lightning

Entrée - entrance

Filet mignon - cute net

Flambé - blazed

Foie gras - fat liver

Fondant - melting

Fondue - melted

Gourmet - foodie

Hors d'oeuvre - out of the work

Légume - vegetable

Liqueur - liquid

Mille-feuille - thousand leaf

Mousse - foam

Pâté - pasted

Roux - redhead(ed)

Sauté - jumped

Sautoir - "jumper"

Soufflé - blown

Velouté - velvety

Fanmail - masterlist (2016-) - archives - hire me - reviews (2020-) - Drive

[wgm-beautiful-world]

Front door House Jeroni Granell, Barcelona, SPAIN

[recherchestetique]

The iconic entrance to Castel Béranger, the Art Nouveau masterpiece by Hector Guimard.

[onefootin1941]

Entrance door in Art Nouveau House on Rue du Lac,6. Brussels

Architect:E. Delune 1902 (Photo : Dorka Demeter)

[silky-nereid]

— running away is easy

links : Art Deco dividers, Art nouveau dividers, Orange dividers and continuation of bee’s knees & memory’s regret

Yandere!cheater (Gerald) x Married!reader/you x Yandere!firework owner (Ray)

a/n: hopefully this oneshot makes sense and I apologize if it doesn’t make sense.

tw : violence (someone gets punched.), dehumanizing terms ( it, this thing.)

You finished getting ready, wearing light clothes to try and battle the scorching heat that decided to finally come down. You walked down the empty opulent hallways, walls lined with extravagant paintings. You heard a familiar sound of a dial telephone ringing from the dark oak double doors, pushing open the door to see a room mirroring a library.

A chandelier hung off the ceiling that depicted the latest swirls and elegance, rows and rows of bookshelves. Your hand grazed yet you decided to grab the receiver, holding it against your ear and grabbing the stem and pressed your lips closer to the mouthpiece.

“Hello?” Your eyebrows knitted together in frustration. “How were you able to get this line? I am not going back today.”

You paced in small circles around the library, you saw them gesturing to the phone. Your hands let go of the receiver to let them continue the conversation with him which you decided to take the time to disconnect and you opened a book to read but the pages weren’t cut; they must not read often. You faintly heard the subtle remarks that they gave to him but you knew that he would always find a crack and open it more while roughly putting back the receiver on the holder.

Their footsteps trailed closer to you as they poked their head in the row that you were in with a hand on their hip, then started adjusting their cufflinks.

“Let’s go for a drive?” They suggested. “A drive will do us some good.”

You agreed to go through with a drive with a boiling sun whose rays felt that it would melt your skin off your nervous bones. It was somewhat going well, they had asked multiple times if you wanted to go shopping since it seemed that they had time to spare but you had declined the offers.

You used a handkerchief to cover your nose, trying to not breathe in the rancid stench of the sewers that seemed to be amplified by the boiling sun. The drive that ended up in the beginning, your hometown. The entrance was somewhat well taken care of and it still reeked of the elegance that you hadn’t missed.

“What are we doing here?” You asked.

“I wanted to bring you back home to present myself to your parents.” Their eyes stared straight ahead, not even glancing at you. “For when we marry.”

“What?” You stopped fanning yourself with your hand to look at them. “Do you hear yourself, Ray? Can you drive us back?”

The sound of whistling wind was something that you had gotten used to in the forced drive back to their home, you saw their tightened grip on the steering wheel. Your eyes looked at the roundabout as it had been filled up with a familiar car that you knew too well. Ray helped you out of the car, your eyes noticed the crooked frames of the hallway and the remains of a cleanup from a shattered vase as the paintings seemed to be hanging off a thread.

“Stay here,” they said. “ I will be back to figure out what happened.”

You crossed your arms, waited till their footsteps became distant echoes down the long hallways and followed the remaining coverups of a destruction that led to a dark oak door which had a small opening, your eyes winced at the sudden brightness from the lightbulbs but noticed who sat on the pink striped cabriole.

“I told you to stay there, dear.” Ray’s footsteps hurried down the hallway, grabbing your shoulders to face them. “Why couldn’t you listen to me? You could have gotten hurt.”

A subtle cough escaped his lips which you pulled away from them, stepping into the lounge that seemed to be decorated with lesser tastes. The room seemed to desperately mimic the insides of a hotel room that hadn’t been cleaned in days or weeks but it had bits of elegance that couldn’t be hidden despite the filth. The ashtray held fresh butts of cigars which rolled your eyes since it seems that he would later ask for a light or for a cigarette from your golden case tucked in your pocket.

You sat in the floral settee, your trembling hand tightly gripped the cushions from the armrest that seemed to shatter in your mind. Your free hand held a small chunk of ice wrapped in a small towel and pressed it against your neck that was drenched in sweat. Ray stood behind the floral settee, their hands rested on the wooden frame while glimmering rings decorated their fingers.

“Why are you here?” Ray broke the silence and looked at him. “How did you get in here?”

“To get back what is mine,” he responded. “They’re married to me, remember not to you. A bootlegger. I was let in clearly but this tiny escapade will end now but how unsightly for you, Ray.”

“Bootlegger?” You looked at them with confusion then to Gerald. “They’re no bootlegger, they just own a couple of shops downtown I believe.”

”Don’t tell me that you believe those rancid lies and I thought you knew everything about them,” Gerald scoffed. “They’re a bootlegger. They’re the very thing that corrupts good people like you.”

Gerald smiled at you but the smile never reached his eyes, rolling up his sleeves and strolling towards the miniature bar. His hands meticulously grabbed the ingredients which was an old fashioned glass, remaining ice that hadn’t melted yet from the heat, bourbon. He poured himself a drink and planted himself down next to you, his free arm wrapped around your shoulder.

“They want to tell you something, Gerald.” Ray stepped towards you, pulling you up. “Say it, you’ve been practicing. It’s your moment, dear.”

Your eyes watered from the heat, legs shaking in unbridled fear.

“I—I want to leave you.” Your eyes looked up at Ray then to him. “I’m going to leave you.”

Gerald’s smile dropped, placing the glass on the nearby table. He dabbed away the sweat with a towel and discarded it on the floral settee.

“There I told him. Can we go now? It’s too hot.” Your trembling back touched the windowsill, tugging on Ray’s cuff. “Ray, please. Let’s just go.”

“You have filled up their brain with this nonsense.” Gerald stared at Ray and got up, standing a foot away from them. “With these putrid fantasies, why can’t you understand that they do not love you despite everything you have done for them. They love me, they married me, not you.“

“They don’t love you,” Ray replied. “Dear, say it. That you never loved him, you need to break from him and I will treat you better. I won’t be like him, I won’t bring women home, I’ll be loyal to you. Just say it once.”

“See,” he said,” they can’t say it because they love me. It was one time that I brought someone home but I didn’t do it again, did I? Did the gentleman who was found ashore in the papers also get this so-called loyalty?”

Your trembling hands pulled Ray’s fist that seemed to be made of steel away from Gerald, your nails scratched their forearm causing beads of blood to form while tears streamed down your face. He turned to see you sobbing with Ray looming over you, trying to calm you down but you didn’t want to be around Ray. Your voice cracked from shouting at Ray and how it wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“Are you sure this is what you wanted and not what this thing is saying?” Gerald held his bloodied nose with a towel that he discarded on the settee. “It’s blatantly obvious that it needs to control this temper then who knows what will happen to you and I will not be able to protect you. Are you sure this is what you are leaving me for?”

You untangled yourself from Ray’s web and standing between him and them, your back touched the floral printed wall. Your blurry vision darted from them to him, hearing the familiar noise of a heartbeat in your ears. Trembling legs that inched away from Ray despite them having their arms out and using their hands seemingly trying to push down on something nonexistent to get closer to you; was this supposed to be calming?

“Dear, this isn’t like you.” They urged you to come to them with each step. “Come to me and I’ll give you what you need.”

“You hardly know them.” Gerald looked at Ray with a burning glance. “Just because they took refuge in this cesspool that you call a home does not mean that they will go to you.”

Yandere! Cheater ending

You inched closer to him and Gerald slowly began to wave you over while he stepped back. Your hands squeezed his forearm, he wiped the remaining dried blood from his nose before tucking the discarded bloodied towel in his pocket.

“It seems that they made their decision.”Gerald kissed the side of your temple. “Let’s go to the car. A drive will do us good.”

Gerald’s arm wrapped around your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. His footsteps guided out the door and down the marble steps till a tug on your wrist snapped you back into the humid reality.

“You don’t have to go to him,” Ray said. “Look at me, please. You can still make this right.”

Gerald pulled your wrist out of their grasp and helped you inside the car. His free hand drew circles in space where thumb met the index finger, the smile finally reached his eyes through the drive home back to the small world across the dock.

Your eyes looked at the blue sky shifting and exposing the insides of oranges, pinks, and purples. The sky had been dyed pitch black with glimmering rhinestones stitched into the fabric, he helped you out. Your coat had been peeled off your shoulders and you expected to hear only your footsteps and the occasional servants but it was doubled with his.

“Why the change of heart, Gerald?” You asked. “Why have you decided to stay rather than going into her arms?”

“You seemed distracted more than ever,” he replied. “She can wait but it seems that I have neglected you for far too long, haven’t I?”

Gerald guided you once more to the bedroom, his hands carefully peeled away your clothes to be replaced with your comfortable nightwear and he sat you down on the cabriole.

“What did you do to me?” Your knees pressed up against your chest and eyes tracing the custom design on the cabriole. “I don’t know where I begin and where you end.”

Gerald’s eyes looked at you and his footsteps stopped at the side of the cabriole’s armrest. You looked up at him, a warm hand that held yours and slipping on your wedding ring. His hands held your face up and he seemed to try to understand the knots and tangles of your mind.

“We have stayed here too long, don’t you agree?” He asked. “Let’s go on a trip and this time you get to choose where we go. Would you like this?”

You agreed that he sat down next to you and wrapped his arm around you, your fingertips traced the circles on his knuckles; feeling the vein, warmth, and calloused palms.

Yandere! Firework owner ending

You held the wedding ring that made you tethered to him, it was a piece of melted metal that meant something special years ago but it meant nothing now. Gerald’s lips grew into a smile, taking back the ring and asking for a light and a cigarette.

“Someone will get your things.” He looked at you and them. “I won’t be there if this fails.”

Gerald’s footsteps echoed throughout the hallways till it became a distant memory in the halls.

Days had passed which Ray’s eyes seemed to remind you of a cat’s pupils that would grow bigger each time they saw you despite now living in the same house.

You were wearing comfortable loose clothes and sat on one of the lounge chairs, seeing the house that was once yours across the dock; how small and insignificant it looked. Ray’s hands held you delicately as if their body was molded specifically to hold you, their fingertips drew swirls on your spine that caused your hands to tighten on the back of their coat.

“Did I hurt you?” They stopped the swirls. “I’m sorry if I hurt you.”

“It’s alright.” You smiled, holding their face that seemed to be the boiling sun in your hands. “Are you alright? Has your hand healed?”

“It’s just a scratch.” They showed their bandaged hand. “Nothing new, my love.”

Ray’s eyes admired your wonderful features, often asking if you secretly were a noble who bewitched them with your very presence.

Your grip tightened on their forearm with each step towards your old childhood home.

“Why are we here again?” You asked. “Can’t we do this another day?“

“To get your parents' blessing.” They looked at you. “Love, we must do this since we cannot push this back even further.”

You watched the familiar door open to be greeted by an older couple whose face molded into happier faces. Surely, they are looking for someone else.

The furniture was in the same exact place since you left, your knuckles knocked on the wooden door frame to get rid of remaining thoughts that decided to bury themselves in your brain. You disliked the suffocating taste of the home, standing on the steps and hearing the excited footsteps of Ray.

“I got the blessing, my love.” They smiled. “Are you alright?”

“Let’s just go to the car,” you replied.

Ray walked and helped you into the car, you could feel the boiling excitement from underneath their very skin.

“Do you think that we could go to the beach?” You smiled. “I haven’t been there in ages.”

[genoskissors]

Finally done! Thank you everyone for your patience!

Principal Monokuma’s Room Check!

Trigger Happy Havoc Boys

THH Girls Rooms

There are a few notes throughout to explain some things I thought most would not know (like Japanese traditions) or just to clarify things changed in localization.

Naegi-kun’s Room Edition

Sigh. It’s the private room where a high school boy spends his agonizing nights, even so, what’s with this plainness!? Why don’t you have something more shameful or embarrassing!? Naegi-kun, I’m disappointed in you!

Checkpoints: A: It’s the memo pad I prepared. It would be nice if it had Hope’s Peak Academy’s school emblem on it, to give it a rich feeling.

B: This is the key to the room. It has a key holder with the appropriate name on it. It cannot be bought and is very sophisticated, so improper usage is prohibited!

C: It’s a mock sword that was kept on the display shelf. Even though it was only decoration, it was carefully displayed, so an incident happened. Upupupu.

D: I heard that mysterious curly hair grows in boys’ rooms. An adhesive lint roller is useful for frequent cleaning! I’m so attentive! Note: Don't really know what this means, I think it might be referencing Junko's hair.

Ishimaru-kun’s Room Edition

It’s a room filled with study materials and is well organized, just as one would expect from a serious person like Ishimaru-kun’s room. Hmm~ If you spend all your energy on this, you won’t be able to focus on the killing game!

Checkpoints: A: Dictionaries and reference books are the most exciting when lined up neatly on your desk. Huh? Are you using them properly? Hee~...

B: He irons his uniform every day. Also, the armbands as well, so you know he really likes this things.

C: A New Year’s tradition, Kakizome. I suggest “In early spring, be careful of bears, as they can get ferocious!” Huh? Aren’t you going to start writing?

D: What kind of guy likes to swing around a bamboo sword even though he isn’t part of the kendo club? Do you stand on the ground, put your forehead on it, and spin around to split a watermelon? Note: This is a Japanese game called Suikawari.

Togami-kun’s Room Edition

Genuine rich people tend to seek a more modest sense of luxury rather than those who are nouveau riche. I have no clue how much Togami-kun’s room actually costs. Note: “Nouveau riche” refers to people who become rich themselves and “genuine rich people” refers to people who were born into a rich family, like Byakuya.

Checkpoints: A: It’s a violin or something. Famous ones can be worth billions. That’s more expensive than the famous Chinese medicine, bear bile, which is very pricey, roar! Note: Based on the phrase "violin or something" it's likely a viola. That's just my theory though.

B: There is nothing more difficult than determining the value of a painting. In many cases, collecting these masterpieces is not about appreciating art, but investing in it.

C: Ahaha! A red carpet laid out from the entrance, Togami-kun must be kidding me! That’s what the life of stardom is about!

D: The famous line “I will kill you, without fail!” is what makes Togami’s glasses indispensable! I can’t believe he has 10 of them, that’s quite a thorough preparation!

Oowada-kun’s Room Edition

I believe that biker gangs are a style and a fashion. That’s why it’s necessary for those who call themselves bikers to have an easy-to-understand logo or item that appeals to everyone. Upupu.

Checkpoints: A: These are the big flags put on the back of bikes, aren’t they? I always wonder if they are safe from being blown away by the wind.

B: These are all motorcycle magazines, right? I’m not going to go as far as suggesting philosophy books or economic magazines, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to open a textbook once in a while?

C: Are you really satisfied with the 5G “ Cypress Stick”? Isn’t the 1500G “Steel Broadsword” the catharsis? Note: I’m pretty sure this is a Dragon Quest reference.

D: This is the colorful banner of Oowada’s gang, “Crazy Diamonds”. Hmm, you’re only really good at difficult kanji.

Kuwata-kun’s Room Edition

Hey, Kuwata-kun, baseball doesn't even have a “ya” character! I know you don't like it, but now that you're at our school, maybe you could try to act like a baseball player, even if it's a front? Note: The Japanese word for baseball, Yakyuu (野球), has a “ya” in it, so I think Monokuma is just saying this to see if Leon will even care enough to react to his statement.

Checkpoints: A: Why do self-proclaimed punk fans like human skulls? A sea bream head has another sea bream inside, right? That's even more favorable! Note: I'm not gonna lie, I have no clue what that second sentence means. I think it relates to the saying “鯛の尾より鰯の頭”, but I still don't know how it correlates.

B: I want CDs and DVDs to come in splendid limited edition packaging, but they don’t fit neatly like this. How troubling.

C: Carrying your guitar case on your back and feeling tired as you walk around town is super cool. There was a time when I thought that way too.

D: In order to stand out and be popular, you need to have vocals. Kuwata-kun's purity is manly in a sense. I would like to hear his beautiful voice. Upupu.

Yamada-kun’s Room Edition

A utopia making the world’s geeks water at the mouth, the pink love nest of Buuko and Yamada-kun. As a despair maniac, I am driven by a desire for a room devoted solely to my hobby. Note: Buuko is Princess Piggles in the localization.

Checkpoints: A: Hey, I’m giving it everything I got to ask this question, is this what Yamada-kun is wearing? Isn’t it self-indulgent to wear it on his 170cm and 155kg body!?

B: “MARTIAL ARTS LADIES”, “This time, I’ll punish you on the mat!”.  I don’t understand why martial arts cosplay makes your heart pound.

C: Some people say these sheets and body pillow are perverted, but the desire for skin contact is neither two-dimensional nor three-dimensional.

D: Three-dimensional objects have a sense of unity because they are equipped with a three-dimensional concept. The shading of light and the convergence of existence are astonishing (The following is omitted). Note: “The following is omitted” is just a way of saying Monokuma kept rambling.

Yasuhiro-kun's Room Edition

Hagakure-kun’s love of fortune-telling is, quite honestly, shady, right? Even though he has all these tools, he still uses intuition to tell fortunes, doesn’t he? So, what in the world are these piles of junk for!?

Checkpoints: A: People with extremely dry skin tend to have a lot of wrinkles on their palms, which makes palm readers cry. It’s hard to even do fortune-telling these days.

B: Fortune-telling cards are great for mysteries and romance. If I sold "Monokuma’s Carefully Made Pure Gold Tarot", maybe I could make a profit. Upupupu.

C: If anything, Hagakure-kun has more of an oriental divination image. When I see tools like this, I want to display them in an alcove or something.

D: Come on! How many times do I have to say this!? When buying fortune-telling goods online, do not cash on delivery! This time, I was the one who paid for it too!

Fujisaki-kun’s Room Edition

Even though he’s the Super High School Level Programmer, Fujisaki-kun actually has a variety of hobbies. That’s good, science... a science student! I want to learn many things from him.

Checkpoints: A: Three monitors and a luxurious-looking executive chair. He looks like a young company president or day trader. A serious side profile would be wonderful!

B: I don’t know what this is, but it looks amazing anyway! It looks like an ancient map or some other geeky item.

C: After people learn how to interact with the romantic hyperspace of the universe, their outlook on life changes drastically. That’s what I thought just now.

D: Tada! There are hand grips on the bed! It makes me tear up to know he was secretly training.