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catindabag · 11 months ago

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TBOSAS on Crack short take (64)

*How Dr. Gaul’s Reaping Day Speech went*

Coryo: *enters Heavensbee Hall* Ugh. I’m tired.😞 I should’ve waited for Seji Pie’s car to pick me up.

Clemensia: Snowy! Snowy, over here!

Festus: Coryo, my bro, they’re serving posca today!

Coryo: Free posca?🥹

Festus: Yeah! Free posca!

Felix: And a scandalously tasting lamb!

Coryo: Nice! Let me just grab a plate real quick.

Lysistrata: No need! You can have my plate instead.😊

Coryo: Thank you, Lizzie. You’re the best.

Lysistrata: Of course I am.

Felix: Try the lamb stew first. It’s really delicious.

Coryo: Well, don’t mind if I do-

Clemensia: Bestie, are you sweating right now?

Coryo: Yeah.

Clemensia: Did you walk from your place to school again?

Coryo: Unfortunately.

Festus: I thought you and your darling boyfriend decided to take his car to school today?

Coryo: I thought so too. However, Strabo Plinth happened.

Felix: Did your Seji Pie stood you up because of his scheming father?

Coryo: No, not really. Ma called me earlier and said that her two beloved idiots were having another shouting match about the Hunger Games again.

Festus: Why though?

Clemensia: Its Reaping Day, you child.🙄

Festus: Reaping Day?! That’s today?!

Clemensia: Obviously.

Festus: But I thought today was Flower Power Friendship Day!

Coryo: ✨FPFD✨ was last month, Creed!

Festus: Oh. My mistake. Now I feel bad for wearing my glow in the dark sunflower suit for this solemn event.😞

Coryo: Well, at least you’re not wearing your blinding mirrorball suit like last time.

Festus: To be fair, I thought we were celebrating ✨Glitter Glam Dance Dance Baby Day✨, and not Highbottom’s Killer Kids Game.

Felix: But seriously, Creed, stop wearing your weird suits every Reaping Day. People might think that you’re being undeniably churlish and disrespectful.

Festus: Fine! But no promises.

Androcles: At least you’re not wearing inappropriate short shorts like Heavensbee-

Hilarius: My Reaping Day short shorts are classy and iconic, Andie! They even make my long luscious legs look fabulous.

Androcles: I disagree.

Hilarius: But-

Urban: Honestly, Hilari, Anderson is right. Your Reaping Day short shorts just make you look like a stupid kinky whor-

Lysistrata: Watch your profanities, Ban Ban.

Urban: You’re not my mom!

Lysistrata: Thank Panem for that.

Hilarius: My short shorts are beautiful!

Androcles: Doubt.

Coryo: *sighs* I wish my Seji Pie was here right now-

Sejanus: *suddenly appears and hugs Coryo from behind* My love, I’m finally here!

Coryo: What’s wrong, Babe? Why are you crying?

Sejanus: You have to help me fight my evil old man again!😭

Coryo: Fine. Let’s go.

Felix: May the odds be ever in your favor, brother.

Coryo: Thanks. *walks away to confront Strabo with a crying Sejanus*

Lysistrata: Poor Sejanus. He’s going to make a scene again, isn’t he.😔

Clemensia: I hope not.

Felix: But he probably will.

Hilarius: I’ll bet 50 bucks that he’ll throw his chair at our poor innocent screen again.

Festus: Like last year’s Hunger Games?

Dennis: Lol. Last year was wild.

Androcles: Last year was awful.

Urban: What do you mean by awful Last time I checked, we don’t watch the Hunger Games.

Felix: True. We have agreed to stop watching Highbottom’s Killer Kids Game for good because of poor Coryo’s mental and “feral” breakdowns.

Urban: Don’t forget about Apollo Ring’s endless crying and crazy Monty’s death screams.

Androcles: Of course I know that, Ban Ban. We all know that.

Dennis: To be fair, the blood and gore will only trigger our irreversible war traumas again.

Androcles: But that still didn’t stop rich boy Sejanus Plinth from throwing his chair at the screen last year.

Felix: He also threw mine.😢

Dennis: And mine.

Clemensia: Well, unlike the rest of you, I’m the only one who doesn’t have an irreversible war trauma-

Dennis: Yet. You don’t have one yet! But someday, you will!😀

Androcles: Eventually.

Dennis: Definitely.

Clemensia: Is that a threat?

Dennis: No. I just have a strong feeling that this year, you’ll finally develop one that will make your boring life more interesting-

Androcles: Just like the rest of us!

Clemensia: I would rather stay normal and boring.

Dennis: Don’t you want to connect with Palmyra Monty-

Clemensia: No.

Dennis: Or understand Persephone’s crazy behavior?

Clemensia: No.

Androcles: But Percy Price is great! I mean, just look at her sniffing and asking those unlucky students over there if they stole her “delicious” Maid Stew again.

Persephone: *is running wild all over the place* Where’s my Maid Stew?! Give me my Maid Stew! Festus, my love, did you hide my precious stew?! Weewoo! Where’s my stew?! Arachne, you b*tch! Give me my stew!

Festus: Not again.😞

Arachne: I’m so calling the Peacekeepers after this.

Felix: *sighs* I just hope that this year will be peaceful and productive for everyone-

Arachne: But you.

Felix: Don’t jinx me, Crane! I’ll curse you back!

Arachne: Lol. You can try-

Felix: I hope you’ll wear an ugly neck brace for the rest of the Hunger Games!

Arachne: Ha! Like that would ever happen-

Felix: Just you wait, Crane. Just you wait!

Clemensia: Yup. I would rather stay normal.

Hilarius: So. . . Who wants to continue the betting?😊

Urban: Fine. I’ll bet 70 bucks if Plinth throws at least 2 chairs at Dr. Gaul today.

Pup: A hundred if one of those chairs “accidentally” hits Highbottom.

Hilarius: A thousand if Highbottom blames poor Coryo for not defending him against Plinth.

Pup: Hilari, I thought you said that you don’t have any money left to bet since the day that your creepy old man froze your weekly allowance for good-

Hilarius: That’s why I’m betting.

Pup: You do know that your odds of winning are pretty low, right?

Hilarius: That’s why I’m betting everything.😎

Pup: Well, good luck being homeless and penniless before this day ends.

Hilarius: I’m not homeless! I’m just temporarily displaced and having indefinite sleepovers with Festus and his pet rats!

Pup: Please don’t tell me that you’re sleeping inside Creed’s rat infested dumpster-

Festus: Heavensbee is currently sleeping in my rat infested dumpster.

Pup: How the mighty have fallen.

Hilarius: FYI, Pup, Creed’s old dumpster was cozy and comfortably-

Lysistrata: Dirty.

Gaius: Yo, can I bet too?

Coryo: *joins the group again with a now happy Sejanus* Guys, please stop betting on my boyfriend’s random outbursts and anger issues.

Urban: Why?

Coryo: He will cry.

Sejanus: I will cry.

Festus: 20 bucks if Seji Pie yells “you’re all monsters” at the teachers again.

Sejanus: Double it.

Coryo: Festus, don’t encourage him!

Festus: But I need money.

Coryo: We all need money!

Sejanus: I have money.😀

Hilarius: Can I borrow-

Sejanus: No. You’re not my Coryo.

Hilarius: Sad.😢

Prof.Sickle: Children, sit down! We’re officially starting!

Felix: But we’re still eating-

Prof.Sickle: F*ck your lamb stew! Sit down!

Felix: My Gran Gran will hear about this.

Coryo: Let’s get this over with and go home to your place, Babe.

Sejanus: Will you hold and comfort me when I cry again, my love?🥺

Coryo: Always.

Festus: Front seat! Front seat! I’ll take the front seat!

Felix: Coryo, let me sit next to you-

Lysistrata: Me first!

Hilarius: No, me!

Apollo: Weewoo! Excuse me!

Diana: Bro, share the chair!

Androcles: Scooch over, Hilari! I’m sitting next to Felix.

Persephone: Festus!

Festus: Yes, my love?

Persephone: Sit on my lap!

Festus: Really?

Persephone: Sit on my lap now!

Festus: Yes, my queen!

Hilarius: Yo, Urban, can I sit on your lap?

Urban: F*ck off, Heavensbee.

Sejanus: Coryo-

Coryo: I’m already sitting on yours, Babe.

Sejanus: I know that and I love it, my love!😍 Every bit of it! Every single minute!

Coryo: Babe-

Sejanus: You can even sit on my lap forever!

Coryo: My love-

Sejanus: And ever and ever!

Prof.Sickle: Children! Children, for the love of Panem, please act normal today!

Palmyra: Define normal-

Dr.Gaul: *enters the scene* How tantalizing to see all your shining young faces on this auspicious day-

Androcles: Is this day really auspicious?

Felix: *is still holding and eating his lamb stew* Nah. This lamb stew is more auspicious than her.

Everyone: *snickers*

Gaius: Nice one, Class Pres!

Prof.Sickle: Children, quiet!

Dr.Gaul: *glares at Felix* I am Dr. Volumnia Gaul! Your humble Head Gamemaker-

Hilarius: She ain’t humble though-

Prof.Sickle: Heavensbee!

Hilarius: Just saying.

Dr.Gaul: *glares daggers at Hilarius* In charge of the War Department and all its affiliated concerns-

Festus: *stands up and praises the heavens* Thank Panem! Thank you, Panem! She’s not in charge of the Food Department!

Prof.Sickle: Creed-

Festus: *turns around and faces the crowd* Hip hip!

Everyone: Hooray!

Festus: Hip hip!

Everyone: Hooray!🥳

Festus: Hip hip-

Prof.Sickle: Creed, sit down!

Festus: I was just-

Dr.Gaul: *suddenly throws a chalkboard eraser at Festus* As I was saying, you stupid brat!

Festus: You were saying?

Vipsania: Wow. He just said that.

Diana: Creed is so brave.

Juno: And stupid.

Domitia: Definitely.

Livia: Lol. Somebody is getting another demerit again.

Festus: And it’s not gonna be me-

Prof.Sickle: For the love of my sh*tty salary, Creed! Sit the f*ck down and shut up!

Festus:. . .

Everyone:. . .

Prof.Sickle: Dr. Gaul, please continue.

Dr.Gaul: As I was saying, I’d broken free of my laboratory today-

Coryo: That was a big mistake.

Sejanus: True.

Felix: I concur.

Dr.Gaul: What is wrong with you?!

Coryo: Sejanus, my love, she is bullying me again!

Sejanus: Felix, give me your chair!

Felix: No.

Hilarius: Don’t be a coward, Class Pres! Give him your chair!

Felix: No! Sejanus will just throw my poor innocent chair again!

Hilarius: I need money!

Sejanus: I need a chair!

Hilarius: *stands up* Here! You can have my chair!

Sejanus: Ew. No. I’m not touching that.

Hilarius: Why?!😭

Sejanus: You know why!

Hilarius: Sleeping in a dumpster for 3 straight days doesn’t mean that I’m permanently filthy!

Festus: My pet rats disagree.

Prof.Sickle: Dr. Gaul, please continue!

Dr.Gaul: To examine you!

Apollo: Me?

Dr.Gaul: Yes, you! The leaders of the next generation-

Apollo: I’m going to be a leader?

Urban: I hope not.

Dr.Gaul: *is now giving everyone her infamous death stare* I won’t be around forever after all-

Clemensia: Thank Panem.

Felix: Thank you, Panem!

Diana: Panem is good!

Gaius: All the time!

Lysistrata: Penam is good?

Apollo: All the time!

Sejanus: My pockets are full!

Coryo: All the time!

Androcles: My grades are sh*t!

Urban: All the time!

Palmyra: My cooking is good!

Everyone: No!

Prof.Sickle: *is now losing her mind* Children, please! I’m begging you! Be normal! Be f*ckin’ normal! Just for today! Dammit! Just for this f*ckin’ day! Heck! Do it for me! Do it for your favorite teacher!

Livia: She’s not my favorite-

Prof.Sickle: I really really need that f*ckin’ salary raise, you monsters!😭

Dr.Gaul:. . .

Everyone:. . .

Felix: This lamb stew still tastes scandalous though.

Io: Felix, please-

Felix: Just saying.

Dr.Gaul: Highbottom was right! I should’ve retired years ago!😩

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mortimerlatrice · 1 year ago

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KinnPorsche Music in Context: Episode One

It needs to be said: I started thinking about how a few of the songs used as KinnPorsche background music had incredibly apt or punny titles months ago. It’s been sort of poking around in my head that it might be some light, surface level meta to collect!

Ho boy was I wrong. I don’t know what I expected because absolutely nothing in KinnPorsche is just surface level. In episode one, I have already found several hysterical jokes, commentary on the shifting power dynamics, water symbolism, and many more gems.

Here is the link to my episode one Spotify playlist. I know there are quite a few playlists out there, but even scouring three of them, I still found additional songs that were not cited or mentioned.

There are 37 (yes, you read that correctly, 37!) songs in episode one and that's in addition to a handful of reprisals, so the insanely long list is under the cut.

For other episodes (as I get to them), go here!

We start, of course, with our beloved theme song, เพียงไว้ใจ (or PhiangWaichai) by Slot Machine. There’s plenty of thoughts on this, I’m not digging into it.

Introducing Kinn – Quantum Sonata by FormantX.

Kinn and Big head into the Italian’s den – Our Final Mission by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen. This is the last time Big will join Kinn on a mission as his head bodyguard (I’m not crying, you’re crying.)

Introducing Don and the Italian gang – Waltz for Little Italy by Bireli Snow.

Introducing Porsch – Diggin' the Drama by The New Fools.

Kinn making accusations and Porsche mixing drinks hoping to get lucky – Covert Affairs by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen.

After Kinn's iconic "I'm more like my mom," we are introduced to the song that makes the most appearances this episode: Concerto No. 2 in G Minor, L’estate (Summer) composed by Antonio Vivaldi. Now here’s where the KinnPorsche crew start to do what they do best: give us things to obsess over and over analyze.

The concerto has 3 movements and to be honest I’m not 100% sure that they pull from only one of them for the show. Remember when I said I wasn’t musically inclined? If anyone wants to chime in, please do.

Another fun thing about this Concerto? It is traditionally associated with or accompanied by a trio of sonnets (one for each movement). Oh, did I mention Vivaldi was Italian? Themes.

Anyway, the sonnets translated from Italian to English:

I. Allegro non molto– Under the heat of the burning summer sun, Languish man and flock; the pine is parched. The cuckoo finds its voice, and suddenly, The turtledove and goldfinch sing. A gentle breeze blows, But suddenly, the north wind appears. The shepherd weeps because, overhead, Lies the fierce storm, and his destiny. II. Adagio; Presto– His tired limbs are deprived of rest By his fear of lightning and fierce thunder, And by furious swarms of flies and hornets. III. Presto– Alas, how just are his fears, Thunder and lightening fill the Heavens, and the hail Slices the tops of the corn and other grain.

Source

Porsche and his fanclub at Hum Bar – Late Nights by Daxton.

When Yok calls Porsche over to the bar – Mysterious Madeline by Lucas Pittman.

As Kinn is driving over the bridge and they realize they're being followed (and when Porsche is making eyes at the woman across the bar) – Road of Fury by John Abbot.

Big and Kinn fleeing into the tunnels when Big is shot and Kinn is being chased down – They Are Coming by Hampus Naeselius.

There is a brief snippet here with a snare drum and a cymbal (I think?) when Porsche is cheekily asking Kinn for money and pissing in a bottle, but I couldn’t isolate it enough to find it. Any help would be appreciated!

Here, we’re introduced to the perfect fights song, Absolute Power by Hampus Naeselius, when Porsche beats down the street thugs and drives off with Kinn.

She Knocks by Lukas Amil plays when Porsche is being a brat and leaves Kinn at the gas station.

When Porsche comes home to Chay bandaging up Arthee – In Rain - Indigo Days. Can you say water symbolism?

The Joys And Sorrows of Life by Johannes Bornlöf gives a little hope when Porsche and Arthee are sitting and talking about finances and how much they could make off Kinn’s watch.

Porsche at the underground fighting ring has three songs in quick succession: Back to Where it Began by Rockin' For Decades,

Second Hand Slide by Lucas Pittman,

And Around the Bend by Pip Mondy as he turns the fights to his favor. [It is worth noting that they use a sort of stripped down version during most of it, but I couldn't find that version, so they may have done it themselves]

When Porsche comes home to Chay and Arthee celebrating making so much money off the watch we get Gentleman at Heart by Indigo Days. I think this one’s interesting because I’m actually not sure if it’s about Arthee or Porsche…

When Don finds his men tied up and (maybe dead?) – Let Me Introduce Myself by Rune Dale. This comes right after the scene where Korn chastises Kinn for his decision to enrage Don instead of “giving him gifts.” This is Kinn telling Don exactly how he plans to run things and how very different he is from his father. Kinn's mother must have been ruthless with a good sense of humor.

When Kinn asks Chan about finding Jom/Porsche, we're back to Vivaldi’s Concerto. Like the shepherd, Porsche's Destiny hangs over his head.

College Porsche and his stolen pastry get Moonshiner's Turn by Martin Landström.

Jom is approached to act as "a waiter who's actually the greatest boxer undercover,” our dear theater kid gets Concert Hall Hideout by Stationary Sign.

A moment later when Porsche realizes he's been caught? Cheese! by Alexandra Woodward. [This one is not on the Spotify playlist but I did find it on Epidemic Sound.]

When Porsche calls Chay, worried that Chay may be targeted or even taken by Kinn? Extraction by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen. Which is a truly horrible double entendre because the very next song is

Clogged Up by Jerry Lacey. I'm not even dignifying this scene with a response.

Kinn sweet talking Yok (with veiled threats) – Infiltrator by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen.

Porsche’s kidnapping – Honor the Brave by Hampus Naeselius.

Kinn reading Porsche his own biography – Beryllium - Farrell Wooten. Beryllium is, according to a brief google search, a natural metal that is expensive, brittle, and dangerous to work with (toxic).

Porsche's fight theme – Absolute Power. Except who has the power this time?

Brief reprise of She Knocks as Kinn once again watches Porsche walk away from him (or throw himself off the boat in this case).

When Korn and Kinn discuss how to force Porsche, and moving into the next scene when Porsche finds Chay cleaning up after another break-in, and through to Porsche finding Thee being beaten up – The Stakeout by Christoffer Moe Ditlevsen.

When the loan shark tells Porsche that Thee still owes despite Porsche believing they had paid things off, leading to Porsche forcefully kicking Thee out of his and Chay's life? Ghosting by Christopher Moe Ditlevsen.

When Porsche finally tells Thee to leave and after, when Porsche goes home alone to clean up his ruined house, we get one of my all time favorites – Bitter Heart - Instrumental Version by Memi. Although the soundtrack presumably uses the instrumental version, I would argue that the lyrics were taken into account when choosing it:

“Suddenly you look like a stranger A face I knew, but I must've forgotten … We know we could've done it better Fought for the little things that we wanted … Oh, I wish that you hadn't pulled the trigger Shot me down with my bitter heart My blood is getting thicker You shot me down, you shot me down With my bitter heart”

This is getting way too long, so I cut some of the lyrics but I strongly recommend checking out the original.

As Chay tells Porsche that their parents would be proud of him, there is a very brief reprisal of In Rain.

It then switches to No More Drama by Eric Feinberg as they hug and Porsche tucks Chay in. This calls back to the song that first accompanied Porsche, Diggin’ the Drama, and Porsche has made his decision. He can't keep living like this and he can't let Chay live like this either.

Porsche's letter and Kinn pouring himself a drink – a reprisal of Gentleman at Heart.

During the famous "your life is mine" scene where, at least in the translation, Porsche asks if Kinn is a god, we get a third reprisal of the Concerto. Porsche's destiny is set, the storm has blown in and ruined his life leaving him desperate.

When Porsche confronts Korn and asks to be Big and Ken's boss and through to Korn Playing Chess – So to Say by Taylor Crane

At which point we get one, final reprise of the Concerto as Korn places the Queen on the board and the game begins.

Finally – Free Fall by Slot Machine.

And, in the interest of being thorough....

Episode Two Preview – Global Impact by Philip Ayers.

#fucking hell #that was way more than i expected #i tried to go back and reduce my commentary #but whatever #i worked really hard on this 🥲#kprewatch2023 #kinnporsche meta #kinnporsche the series #music analysis #sort of #help i'm stuck in a rabbit hole #would also love feedback on whether i should maybe break these up in the future? this is so massive...#i guess i could have cut back on the songs i didn't really get but #the whole point was to be comprehensive and allow people to draw their own conclusions #so

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sim-berry · 11 months ago

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Simblr Gratitude: Gameplay Edition

I missed Simblr Gratitude Day because I was so busy with college- I'm sorry!😫I hope it's not too late for me to join in!

This Simblr Gratitude post will be all about gameplays and my personal favorites to binge read over and over again. I will be including Sims 3 and 4 gameplays, but feel free to reblog if you know some great Sims 2 ones as well!

Shoutout to @armoricaroyalty for creating Simblr Gratitude Day and to @simblrpositivity for being such a ray of sunshine in our lovely community💕And here we go!

Sims 3

@thepettymachine you can't discuss TS3 gameplays without mentioning thepettymachine. Her gameplays are pretty, funny, and engaging- I've read through the Osbourne Legacy way too many times🤣

@pixelbots another iconic TS3 simblr. STUNNING pictures, too- I wish my game could look that great! The Zodiac Legacy is also one of my favorite TS3 gameplays.

@muckleberri absolutely beautiful sims and pictures, and awesome gameplay! Definitely check out the Lepacy, Maxim isn't the nicest sim out there but man is he hilarious.

@simspaghetti beautiful gameplay, relatable sims, a super detailed and helpful resources page- what more could you want?

Sims 4

@sojutrait ICONIC. Similar to the Osbournes, I've binge read the Halabi Legacy more times than I can count- Ollie my beloved😍One of the few simblrs out there where I can actually see the sims as real people with distinct personalities!

@akitasimblr two words: Harper. Legacy. One of the best gameplays out there- 11 generations in the main legacy, wow! Ana is also one of the sweetest people on here too, always showing love to everyone including my little blog🤗

@pixelnrd absolutely amazing Decades Challenge. This is another one I've read through many times. Beautiful writing, storylines that make me cry, gorgeous sims.

@cyazurai adorable gameplays and such pretty sims! I'm always a fan of Not So Berry challenges, too😉

@wileyfern pretty and interesting gameplay that keeps you hooked! Definitely read through the Live for Something challenge.

@sammyshuno omg, the Sweet Legacy is one of my favorite gameplays on simblr. I can't get over the bright colors, stunning sims, and storytelling!

@plumdale beautiful gameplay and editing. It's like I'm watching a tv show!

@estah love the Random Legacy- Atlas is one of the prettiest sims I've ever seen!😍

@tulipsimss I've read through the Random Legacy so many times. Her gameplays are just so pleasing to look at and manage to tell interesting stories just through pictures and moodlets (which isn't easy)!

@cinamun trust me, read Things Fall Apart. AMAZING storytelling. You'll be laughing, crying, and wanting to jump through the screen and meet these sims because they feel so real!

Both

@nikatyler one of the best NSB challenges on simblr. Ross, I love you!😍I love how she plays both TS3 and TS4 and adds storytelling too!

@berrysweetboutique read the TS3 story Splash of Color! Iconic, sweet, funny, it has it all, and she even retold the story in Sims 4 as well! I remember reading this story years ago and it definitely inspired my own storytelling skills.

Today is my simblr's 2nd birthday and I couldn't be happier to be on simblr. Everyone is so sweet, talented, and welcoming to newer/smaller blogs like mine and I've already made a few friends! I hope to find many more amazing gameplays in the next year. Thank you all for making simblr a fun place and Happy Holidays!❄🥰

#simblr gratitude day #simblr positivity #simblr #sims 4 #sims 3 #sims 4 gameplay #sims 3 gameplay

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pinkacadessays · 1 year ago

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Twilight as a Spiritual Successor to Dracula

She's a problematic queen, but she didn't deserve the flack, and neither did the teenage girls having fun...

In the year 2005, Stephanie Meyer published what would become a teenage girl’s favourite fantasy novel, and a teenage boy’s favourite punching bag: Twilight, the first book in what would become a four-book, five-film saga, and then go on to add two more books to the series. Twilight, though much beloved by its target audience was criticised for many reasons, but the most pertinent being that it was a far-cry from the expectations held by fans of vampire fiction… but is it? Although certainly it has its differences to the vampiric standards set about in nineteenth century gothic horror, there are many aspects of it that can be seen as twenty-first century mirrors to the ancestral tradition epitomised by Polidori, Le Fanu, and, as discussed in greatest detail here, Stoker.

In analysing the first novel of the Twilight Saga, simply Twilight, there are a great deal of similarities to be seen in how the character Bella Swan interacts with the world of the supernatural, as well as the mutable parallels that can be drawn between Edward Cullen and various aspects of Dracula. The connections range from the oft-mocked as lacking vampiric qualities in Twilight, to the oft-overlooked romantic qualities of Dracula as percieved by the very audiences who suddenly became experts on the genre in order to antagonise Meyer and her work.

Now, though, it has become even more apt and timely to discuss the nature of both Dracula and Twilight and how they compare. Twilight had a resurgence in the last few years in the form of Twilightcore aesthetics on TikTok and Tumblr, and with Dracula Daily being two months into its second year, it is more than fitting to reexamine the connection between what is considered the quintessential vampire media and the mid-noughties laughing stock as herein lies the attempt to prove that maybe they’re not so diffrent after all.

Isabella Marie Swan Cullen

Let us begin with our gothic heroine Bella Swan, and her position as Twilight’s answer to Jonathan Harker.

Bella’s connection to Jonathan starts from the very opening of the book as she relays her personal thoughts in first person. Her narration reflects the epistolery style of Dracula, mimicking Jonathan’s personal journal as the internal and emotional conveyance of both characters’ experiences comes immediately to the forefront.

Even the way Bella and Jonathan narrate bare similarities in their styles.

Taking as an example one of the most iconic lines from Twilight, the lines that even made it to the blurb, Bella relays: “about three things I was absolutely positive. First, Edward was a vampire. Second, there was a part of him- and I didn’t know how dominant that part might be- that thirsted for my blood. And third, I was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with him.”

The above mirrors the following passage from Jonathan’s journal from th 16th May:

“Of one thing I am glad: (…)As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.”

Firstly, as Bella begins with “about three things I was certain” in her analysis of Edward, Jonathan, in his analysis of his encounter with Dracula’s brides begins with “of one thing I am glad” as the first similarity in their narative patterns. Next comes their assesment of fear, as Jonathan describes his room as a “sanctuary” from the vampiric, and Bella’s second thing of which she is certain is that Edward thirsts for her blood; that phrasing also mimics how Jonathan thinks of the brides as “dreadfcul” and “awful,” and as “waiting to suck [his] blood.” The verbs “thirst” and “suck” both conjure an animalistic and dangerous image that relays the power of the vampires over their victims, but also has a sensual implication- more on that later.

Similarly, the first chapter brings both characters to the start of the metaphorical journeys, of course, but also the literal journeys into the unknown, leading to the danger of the vampiric. Jonathan’s is across Europe to Romania, with his description of his journey further and further East featuring the descent into the chaos of the trainlines, beginning his journal entry for 3rd May with “Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an hour late.”

Jonathan’s necessity to comment relays how affected he is by his new environment, even already a few days into his trip, emphasizing how different his life gets before he has even encountered the Count. Conversely, Bella is leaving the chaos of her scatterbrained mother Renee and travelling with the semi-professional baseball player Phill, for the stability of her dad Charlie, the Chief of Police in the small town of Forks, Washington. Bella muses on the drizzle, stating that when she’d arrived in Washington, it had been raining, and noting that “[she] didn't see it as an omen — just unavoidable.” She also mentiones comedically that “she'd already said [her] goodbyes to the sun.”

Saying her goodbyes to the sun show the stark contrast of her home in Arizona to the drizzly small town for which she is bound.

Ultimately, both characters are approaching the new and diverse from their comfort zones, with Jonathan studying the cultures, albeit somewhat disparagingly, of Eastern Europe with fascination at their differences to England, and Bella’s incomprehension at the constant rain away from sunny Arizona.

Both Bella and Jonathan are alone in the world of the other, isolated from the world they know, and completely unaware of the darknss their respective new frontiers are hiding. This puts them in the perfect position to be victims of their respective vampires.

But they are not entirely alone.

On his journey to the castle, Jonathan is approached by many locals during his stay in Romania most notably including the old woman who ran the hotel in which he stayed the night of 3rd May, who knowing what could await Jonathan at Dracula’s Castle, wept for his safety and “taking a crucifix from her neck offered it to [him].” Although Jonathan would still face all the horrors at Castle Dracula’s disposal, the crucifix- and the kind act of bestowing it upon him by the old woman- kept him safe.

In much the same pattern, while Bella’s human friends in Forks never learn the truth of what lies just under all their noses, members of the Quilleute tribe are a great aid to Bella’s discovery that something is afoot with the warning that “The Cullens don’t come [to La Push beach].” It is from members of the tribe that she learns of the legend of “the Cold Ones,” and begins the research into what Edward is, leading to her uncovering the truth.

Finally, it is their positions in their respective stories that marks them as parallels, and shows that Bella is Jonathan’s spiritual succesor. Jonathan Harker and Bella Swan are both the gothic heroine of their stories, taken in the night by monsters into the world of the supernatural, and helpless to its allure, as well as caught up in the inescapable romance of the mysterious.

The blog halfmystic.com in positing what a gothic heroine was gave the following line: ”she will have simultaneously multiplied and withdrawn, a hundred women into one, a single woman fragmented in the shards of the memory and tragedy to come.”

Neither Jonathan nor Bella are the same after their adventures in the world of the vampires, with both of them having rushes with death before the last pages of their books are turned.

Jonathan starts his journey as a non-believer in the supernatural, a good, sensible, upstanding member of the Church of England, and of society. He states in the very first entry “I read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of imaginative whirlpool.” “Imaginitive” diminishes the notions that any of these “superstitions”are anything more than old wives’ tales, and though he seems to find them interesting, as noted by his memo to “ask the Count,” which is of course also a foreshadowing to his own fate, he does not initially believe in any of what he may have heard before the 3rd May. But by the 29th June, he is a quivvering mess, crying out onto the pages of his journal: “I came back to my room and threw myself on my knees.”

He has truly “fragmented,” his former self shattered, and he has become a manifestation of the “tragedy to come” in his dramatic linguistic tendencies.

Bella also can’t comprehend the mysteries of Edward Cullen, baffled that one being could be as fast and strong, comparing him to superheroes as she cannot fathom him. However, at the beach, when a member of the Quilleute tribe says “The Cullens don't come here,” Bella’s mind starts turning, and while she’s already found Edward to be beyond her comprehension, that line triggers her imagination truly, as Jacob Black tells her the stories of "the cold ones,” which pricks Bella’s ears. halfmystic.com also describes that “a gothic heroine moves slowly, then faster, lured away from any semblance of safety by that quiet promise of something new.”

Bella’s journey from intrigue to a full-blown deep-dive into the supernatural starts slow, but soon after her encounter with Jacob and his friends from his tribe, Bella ends up committing a great deal of time and energy into researching online, “lured way from any semblance of safety by that quiet promise of” knowledge, no matter how dangerous.

All in all, Bella is not only Jonathan’s spiritual successor as a gothic heroine, but as a character, a reimagined Jonathan Harker who explores a new world of mystery, with Bella walking in his footsteps, only to step even further by entering fully into the romance of vampirism… though that is not to say that Jonathan’s tale is not one of romantic daliances with the undead.

More on that later, as first, we must explore how Bella’s paramour Edward fits into the Draculaic parrallel.

Edward Anthony Masen Cullen

Edward Cullen is more mutable than his love interest. Where I immediately saw parallels between Bella and Jonathan, Edward’s position changes in relation to the characters of Dracula. He is the gothic hero to Bella’s heroine, but is also the most direct source of Bella’s danger. Therefore the key comparisons for Edward are of course his fellow vampire Count Dracula, and equally Mina Murray, who acts as Jonathan’s hero.

Beginning with the obvious, Dracula is a parallel for Edward, not merely as a member of the same species, but in their role in their respective stories in many aspects. To get the mentioned obvious out of the way first, the nature of their species as marked out by both Stoker and Meyer bare similarities to one another.

Firstly, key characteristics of Edward’s vampirism, and vampirism in general in Twilight, are laid out by Bella as she researches various myths from around the world, including the Romanian Varacolaci , a powerful undead being who could appear as a beautiful, pale-skinned human,” and “the Slovak Nelapsi , a creature so strong and fast it could massacre an entire village in the single hour after midnight,” all of which are traits that Edward has exhibited, though he may not be as inclined as Bella is to call himself “beautiful.”

Now how does this compare to the vampirism of Dracula?

Firstly, while, unless one has an interest in “long white moustache[s],” it is unlikely that Dracula himself is invisionable as “beautiful,” his oft-called brides, however, most certainly are. Two are described as having “piercing” eyes, and the third “as fair as fair can be,” much like Edward, and then Stoker’s language becomes so very romanticised as Jonathan describes her has having “great wavy masses of golden hair and eyes like pale sapphires.” Most beautiful indeed.

As a brief note, they are often described in terms relating to precious stones: “sapphire eyes,” “teeth that shone like pearls,” and “ruby lips.” Edward is often also associated with precious stones as, among the many shades of yellow used to describe his colour-changing eyes, “topaz” shows up with great frequency.

Next, Dracula’s strength is commented upon in the very scene in which the brides are also introduced, as Jonathan describes his “strong hand” with “giant’s power,” and the “fierce sweep of his arm.” Moreover, it is noted that Dracula carried Jonathan back to his room, just as Edward carries Bella to the nurse’s office, with Bella noting that it was “as easily as if [she] weighed ten pounds instead of a hundred and ten.”

And what of speed? Edward’s penchant for speed even translates to his desire to drive fast, stating “I hate driving slow,” even though Bella points out that they’re still going 80 miles per hour. Dracula similarly must travel at high speed to disguise that there are no servants in his castle, and even the other passengers on the 5th May entry reference Burger’s Lenore, “’Denn die Todten reiten schnell’— ("For the dead travel fast.")”

Edward is not exactly the same breed of vampire as plagues the Carpathians, and also makes a point of debunking certain myths that reference Dracula. Bella asks about “sleeping in coffins,” and why she’s seen him in the day, and he simply responds with a monosylabic “myth,” though eventually expands after some probing. Nonetheless, there aren’t as many differences as naysayers would believe.

Moving onto Dracula as a guide into the world of the supernatural, and Edward as his successor in this role. Dracula picked the wrong victim, as it is Jonathan who eventually becomes Dracula’s demise, and had he not exposed Jonathan to the world of the supernatural, he may have succeeded in his evil schemes. Jonathan knows truly what Dracula is, and knows that he is a being of destruction that he wants to stop. In his 30th June entry, Jonathan refers to Dracula as a “being,” implying his monstruousness, and has inferred that Dracula’s plan is to “for centuries to come […] satiate his lust for blood, and create a new and ever-widening circle of semi-demons to batten on the helpless.”

Jonathan states that “[t]he very thought drove [him] mad,” and that desperate insanity in Jonathan’s tone expresses truly the determination he has to move against the “vile” Dracula.

Meanwhile, Edward is equally catalystic, inviting Bella to meet his coven, which gives her powerful friends and enemies alike, but does not cause the demise of either party, instead leading to both parties gaining greater allyship beyond the story of the first book. Her interactions with the Cullens are friendly, with Alice “kiss[ing] [her] cheek” as an introductory greeting, and Jasper’s gift for empathetic manipulation rendering Bella with a “feeling of ease.” It is clear that these two especially will be friends of Bella’s as time passes,a contrast to Jonathan’s interactions with the vampiric, and yet a comparison to how he engages with the rest of what Tumblr affectionately calls “the Drac Pack.” Jonathan interacts with Dracula with rightful loathing one might have for a captor, but with Mina and everyone else as friend.

Moreover, both Dracula and Edward represent another realm to which Jonathan and Bella have little connection: Aristocracy.

Jonathan seems not to be poor by any means, and as a newly-qualified solicitor, he is likely in a reasonably secure financial position, but he is not an aristocrat. And it is Dracula’s introducing Jonathan to the world of aristocracy that emphasises the imbalance of power between Jonathan and his host, aiding his fall to victimhood. Actually, in one of the earliest interactions that Jonathan has with the count on the 7th May, Dracula speaks of how is status will not be percieved in London as it is in Transylvania, but he emphasises that “[he is] boyar; the common people know [him], and [he is] master.” He then almost immediately asks Jonathan about the house he shall be moving into in London, pulling Jonathan into the role of servant, as a reminder that, at least while they are here, the Count is Jonathan’s superior. The Count is in control.

Bella also is not particularly liable to have had financial struggles in her seventeen years of life, but she too is contrasted to Edward and the Cullens and their flash cars, the least flash of which is Edward’s own Volvo. But Carlisle Cullen spent some time among the vampires known as the Volturi, as described to Bella by Edward in Chapter Sixteen. While little is detailed about them in the first book, Edward notes that Carlisle“greatly admired their civility, their refinement,” giving a ghosting of an implication of the Volturi’s status that becomes imposing and dangerous as the Twilight Saga continues. While Bella is not the victim of the Cullens, or, indeed, the Voluturi, by this point in her journey into the supernaturl, she is in the position of an outsider in another way, which puts Edward in such a powerful position by contrast to her, and comparison to the Count.

It goes without saying that the Volturi read as a direct nod to the regal Dracula in his mysterious European castle. Of the three leaders, Bella’s narration describes them as “two black-haired, one snowy-white.” The dynamic of their coloration is a parallel to the brides also, as well as alluding to Dracula himself with their having the title of "Nighttime patrons of the arts.” Dracula’s love of the “sweet music” of nocturnal creatures is similar in tone.

It is through this wealth and power that the idea of Jonathan and Bella as victims of the vampiric, as it is with this wealth and power that Dracula and Edward can exert a control over their respective victims. The powerful and dangerous Dracula in his isolated castle where anyone else would fear to tread but the unknowing Jonathan, alone in the country in which he is a stranger; the rich and aristocratically-connected Edward who drives fast cars, and his only undoing being Bella herself, the one person whose mind he cannot read.

And it is on that note that the connection to characters other than the villain exists deeply within Edward’s parallels to Dracula.

Edward is as mentioned, a parallel also to Mina Murray, as both are the gothic hero to their respective heroine. Beginning with Mina, Tumblr user incorrectsmashbrosquotes, in frustration at adaptations of Dracula percieved not to do Mina justice vented “Gimme an adaptation where Mina loathes this pestilential demon with every fiber of her being.” I agree with this sentiment, as this is the Mina that I too see, and also the Mina that Edward reflects so brilliantly when Bella is in danger at the climax of the novel. Before the chase from the hunters has truly begun, Edward is described with animalistic rage, as Meyer’s language associates him with a non-human wilderness as he “roar[s] in frustration,” and “hiss[es],” exhibiting the traits of a Mina Murray “driven to stamp out this stain upon the world [that Dracula is] as her husband [Jonathan] is,” just as incorrectsmashbrosquotes desires. As Edward saves Bella from James’ venom, Bella notices “[his]doubt was suddenly replaced with a blazing determination,” reminding me instantly of incorrectsmashbrosquotes’ final assessment: Gimme a Mina with all the fury of Hell behind her.

Edward is not just the spiritual successor to Mina, but has moments of being the adaptation across centuries that Mina deserves.

A Comparison of Relationships

Moving onto how these characters interact, we see that there certainly are parallels to Bella and Edward’s romantic dynamic with how Jonathan interacts, of course with his fiancée and later wife Mina, but also how he interacts with the vampires.

Bella and Edward’s relationship builds through mystery to romance, and touches on a ghosting os sexual desire. The earlier stages of their knowing each other emphasize a forbidden allure that Edward associates with Bella, creating a romantic allure from the inherent temptation of forbiddance. When simply inviting Bella to sit with hi at lunch, Edward says"I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.” Engaging with Bella is seen as sinfully tempting to him, as though it is she who is the supernatural temptress, and not he who is the dangerous creature. Yet, after only a few more sentences are exchanged in that same interaction, he says “But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you.”

Even early on, this is a forbidden relationship, tempting like the devil to Adam and Eve, as referenced with the bright red apple in Edward’s hands on the classic cover of the novel.

Jonathan is fed temptation as quickly by the count when he asks on the 7th May entry if he may enter the library as he wishes, and he is told in response:

“You may go anywhere you wish in the castle, except where the doors are locked, where of course you will not wish to go. There is reason that all things are as they are, and did you see with my eyes and know with my knowledge, you would perhaps better understand.”

There is extensive detail which is inherently intrigueing, telling Jonathan that he may go anywhere but where he will not wish to go… it is an intrigue, a tantalising temptation that, like is discussed earlier, moves in on him slowly and then quickly, all at once. On th 15th May, Jonathan’s intrigue has been amused so that, as soon as the count leaves the castlehe relays that he “thought to use the opportunity to explore more than [he] had dared to do as yet.”

Despite Edward’s warnings, Bella is still interested in pursuing at first friendship with Edward and then romantic relationship, just as Jonathan is only tempted to explore once he knows he is not to.

Finally, contact is breeched, entering into a sensual engagement between the parties. Dracula finds his emotions overwhelming, and as Jonathan cuts himself shaving, he describes the Count’s eyes “[blazing] with a sort of demoniac fury, and he suddenly made a grab at [his] throat.” Though through rage, Dracula is overwhelmed by one form of passion or another, marking the beginning of a short-lived pattern of behaviour wherein rage compels contact. Edward, however, has his movements constrained by fear- not of Bella, but of what he might do to her, afraid he might cause trauma as his literary ancestor caused to his own mortal counterpart- as he tentatively takes Bella’s hand, saying to her: "That's amazingly pleasant, the warmth." He is unused to this sensation after almost one hundred years without it, astounded by it. Edward and Bella are so aware of their own differences to one another that touch between them is a remarkable thing, reinforced with their first kiss as Bella’s narration notes: “And then his cold, marble lips pressed very softly against mine.”

While Jonathan never overtly kisses Dracula, the next instance of Dracula’s rage fuelling physical contact between them to address has a significant twist of implied lust underscored. After Jonathan’s encounter with the brides, Dracula rescues him from them, announcing:

"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me.”

Firstly, the repetition of “dare” highlights his rage beyond his own comprehension. Secondly, he is possesive over Jonathan as he cries “this man belongs to me,” marking him not just as Dracula’s personal victim and prey, but implying a sexual element to the relationship given the nature of Jonathan’s interaction with the brides. It brings to mind one of Twilight’s most famous quotes: “you are my life now,” which Edward says to Bella as they negotiate the terms of their own intimacy. Dracula and Edward’s possesiveness over Jonathan and Bella respectively has an inherit implied sexuality through their possesiveness, and through the conflicting emotions that charge their tactile encounters. From Jonathan’s perspective also, the touch is repulsive yet enticing, as he says “[he] shuddered as [he] bent over to touch [Dracula], and every sense in [Jonathan] revolted at the contact,” which is overflowing with negativity and revulsion, and yet this is the moment where he has to touch Dracula in order to gain his freedom from him. Conversely, Bella yet again refers to Edward’s touch as cold as “his cold lips pressed against [her] skin” as he saves her from the venom of her attacker James. Yet again, this is a moment in which the touch is described with the negative connotations of the cold, but Edward is saving Bella- moreover Bella describes the pain of the venom as like “fire” and the cold is welcome.

The touches between both dynamics are undesirable and yet tantilising, like a forbidden love. It is a lust that no involved party dares at first to admit. And as Bella and Edward confess their attraction to each other from as early as Bella’s admittance in the prologue, Dracula also reminds the brides that “[y]es, [he] too can love; [the brides] [them]selves can tell it from the past,” dragging involuntarily the notion of romantic love back into the conversation even between him and his latest victim Jonathan. In much the same vein, pun most definitely intended, Edward calls out desperately for Bella after finding her attacked, repeating her name ten times before he can help her, emphasising the desperate emotion.

And what of Jonathan and Mina?

With the comparison of Edward to Mina, we see the other side of his relationship with Bella. While the Dracula connection represents the physical and dangerous aspects of Edward navigating his feelings for Bella, his parallel to Mina shows the insity with which he cares deeply and tenderly for his delicate, too-human mate.

Mina’s heroism comes largely from her initiative, organisation, and intelligence as she rallies the group together, but a significant ammount of what makes her admirable is the way in which she cares so compassionately and selflessly for the sickly Jonathan in Transylvania.

On the 19th August when Mina finally receives news from Jonathan, she immidiately makes her plans to rush to him, even when Sister Agatha has warned she may needed away from home for some time as Jonathan is deathly ill. Mina watches over him and tends to him with the aid of the nuns which brings to mind how Edward watches over Bella.

We see that he watches her sleep, as Bella narrates that she “(…) drifted to sleep in [Edward’s]cold arms,” and the next morning she discovers that he has stayed with her and receives the realisation with great joy. Later, when Bella is in the hospital and the following interaction occurs:

"Bella."He stroked my face anxiously. "I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here as long as you need me."

Like Mina is to Jonathan, Edward is a comforting presence to Bella and is dedicted to her care. Mina is there as quickly as she can be, setting off straightaway to be at the side of the man she loves. Edward is not only Bella’s saviour from James, but he also provides the comfort she needs by being there for her as she recovers from the ordeal.

With both of these relationship dynamics, what is seen is kindness, gentle care and comfort, and one party being willing to look after the other, embodying the tradtional vow of “in sickness and in health,” and showing one of the key aspects of both how Jonathan views Mina and how Bella views Edward: heroic, angelic, and comforting.

By comparing Mina to Edward, we see another interpretation of what the highest form of intimacy is between Mina and Edward, and their respective lovers. For the comparison between Edward and Dracula, touch- particularly sexual touch- is the apex of the illicit engagement between Dracula and Jonathan, and between Edward and Bella. But by seeking comparative aspects between Edward and Bella’s relationship to Jonathan and Mina’s another aspect of a relationship dynamic such as these is brought to the fore: not base, carnal desire and the intimacy of knowing another’s body, but the emotional and intelligent desire and deep intimacy of knowing the other’s mind.

Edward is established to be able to read minds in Port Angeles after saving Bella from unsavoury characters when she is separated from her friends. When he takes her to dinner, he says that he “heard what [the attackers] were thinking,” and Bella narrates her description of how his face contorts when he remembers their vile thoughts, relaying “he growled, his upper lip curling slightly back over his teeth.” Edward uses this ability to protect Bella, saving her from them in the nick of time.

Similarly, Mina, as she approaches the full throws of vampirism can be used as a sort of pendulum to hunt Dracula as she has developed a kind of psychic connection to him. On the 29th October, Dr Seward’s journal notes of how Mina, under hypnosis, has revealed that Dracula is being brought upsteam. On the 2nd November, Van Helsing uses hypnosis again to establish Dracula’s current position via Mina yet again.

Both Edward and Mina can use their vampiric telepathy for the good of others, especially for the protection of those they love, yet both of them share the same blockage to their gifts as neither can read the mind of their significant other. Edward has “one exception” to his gift, as implied to Bella in Port Angeles, and Mina’s connection to Dracula under hypnosis seems to be limited to that specific connection and under those specific conditions.

In order to discover the untimacies of their significant others’ minds, Edward and Mina both have to investigate beyond the use of their supernatural gifts. Edward and Bella talk and try to figure each other out, Bella as a mortal who cannot read minds, but Edward as a vampire who has only one mind he cannot read- the one he wants to read most- which places the knowledge of the mind on almost a higher level than the carnal knowledge of a body.

Edward and Bella make a habit of taking it in turns to ask each other questions to work the other out like a puzzle, and Mina uses her talents as a stenographer to piece together the journals and newspaper clippings and doctors’ logs that have been gathered over the months since Jonathan went to Transylvania, giving special importants to the diary of Jonathan himself.

Jonathan does not trust himself with the journal anymore, as revealed when Mina arrives in Budapest to take care of him. However, he trust her with the deepest intimacies of his most horrified mind. As if to emphasise the high pedestal on which intellectual intimacy is put in their relationship, Mina seals the journal with wax, promising not to read them unless she has to for Jonathan’s sake.

Mina and Jonathan’s relationship is one of trust, represented by the gift of Jonathan’s innermost thoughts, and Mina choosing not to read them unless she has to. Similarly, Edward has no choice but to respect Bella’s boundaries, and so Bella slowly opens up to him as they get closer.

It is the intimacy of knowledge of the mind, and the trust that comes with that.

Conclusion

For over a decade, Twilight has received flack, as have the girls who read it and watched the films, especcially from those who believed the vampires were neutered and that Twilight was too far-removed from the classics of the vampire genre. But by comparing it to the quintessential vampire novel Dracula, we see that Twilight has direct comparisons to the classics, as well as deep connections to one of the most revered contributions to the genre from over a hundred years before its publication.

Twilight acts as a far truer spiritual successor to Dracula than was believed by many, and contributes greatly to the vampire genre, earning its place rightfully.

#essay #pink academia #pinkacademic #pink academic essays #twilight #twilight saga #twilightcore #count dracula #dracula #dracula daily #jonathan harker #mina murray #bella swan #edward cullen

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kyros-tha-soldier · 1 year ago

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🏵️OP fathers day list🏵️

Hewwo, looks like I'm a bit late but happy father's day for all the dad's out there who love their kids (deadbeats Btfo we don't want you ugh) and a happy father's day for the actual one piece dilfs as well!

today i wanted to make a list for my beloved one piece papis!

Okay, let's go!

🦩 Doflamingo

i know, i know some of you are saying "ummm, who?" Yes, i agree, I'm a little biased on doffy, but hear me out. Doffy is a good dad, how? Why? The fact that he recruited kids is a bad thing, at least for irl standards, but he still cared for them, he knows that sugar is older than she looks yet he cares for her by assigning Trebol to protect her, also when he was making a toast, he gave Law, Baby 5 and Buffalo juice instead of wine. Now that's a good papi

🏰 Capone Bege

The Chad, the goat, the big father and the greatest mafioso daddy in this list, while Capone seems like a terrifying bloodthirsty gangster, he's an amazing husband and an even better father, always there for his kid, playing with him, entertaining him, and loving his wife, a real family guy!

🌊 Neptune

Cry-hoshi's (and her three brothers') father is also included in our list, yep yep! i figured that he needed to be recognized as a father more. What i liked about Neptune is that i liked how he's still loyal to his wife, but i kinda don't like how he sometimes looks weak willed, either way we Stan a mer-daddy!

🍊 Genzo

Most new OP fans may not remember him, but he's one of the Bravest civilians in one piece. He was there when Belle-mère and her daughters were attacked by Arlong and tried to defend them, making him get heavily injured resulting in his iconic scar and somewhat acted like a father figure for Nami when Belle-mère was gone (whomstdve make fun of him, he's precious and btfl 😤) he's now living his best life while following all of Nami's news and achievements.

💊 Hiriluk

Dr Hiriluk, one of the earliest father figures in OP, i liked how he went from treating chopper as a random deer, to an apprentice, to straight up treating him like his son (I'd do that too he's just super duper kyuttttte!) Sure he had his shenanigans and moments where he looked bad, but he's an overall good father figure for chopper, seeing how good he was to him and how he was the one who made him decide to become a doctor.

🍘 Sengoku

"no way, Sengoku has no kids!" ahem, did you forget that he literally adopted Corazon? We don't see much about them interacting, but from what we've seen Sengoku loved Rocinante as if he was his own child, he cared for him and would call him every now and then, and cried real hard when he died and at the end of Dressrosa when he was talking to law it felt like he held him real dear to his heart. Rocinante may have been a marine to the other admirals, but to him, he was his son.

🍳 Zeff

move over Judge, Sanji's real father is here!

He sacrificed his leg for Sanji, LITERALLY, just so the little boy won't die of hunger. And even after that, he ditched piracy and took him under his wing to teach him how to cook and be a real gentleman, he might've been harsh a little, but his heart is in the right place!

🍢 Oden

The true definition of the muscle brain trope, Oden is HUGE, kinda dum dum, he likes to goof around, extremely strong but has a soft spot for his family. He's a perfect family guy to his wife and kids, and despite all, he decided to put his family, disciples and friends at his top priorities, and that's why we totally Stan!

🏜️ Cobra

One of the OP characters that i didn't expect to be SO BRAVE for a non-fighting character. I like how he greatly cared for his daughter, but what i didn't like is how pervy he acts at times (bath scene) but other than that, he's such a beloved father, especially whenever he looked out for his daughter (along with Igaram), such a goof.

🐾 Kuma

We still don't know much about Kuma's past and his relationship with Bonney, why he chose to become a cyborg, why he's climbing the redline...etc etc. But from what Oda has shown us, Bonney loved him so much that she was willing to protect a pacifista since it reminded her of him, and ofc that speaks volumes about him.

🖤 Corazon

Ahhhhh, i remember how hard i cried during law's flashback when it first dropped in the manga, Corazon treated like as if he was his own son, he looked like an insane man at first when he kicked and beat buffalo and baby 5 (which i dunno, was uncalled for) but he's a really good father figure. He did all he could to save law, keep him entertained, made him food (they were grilling sweet potatoes in that one manga cover) and gave him all the love he needed. That is one hell of a reason for law to seek revenge against doffy!

🐋Whitebeard

Yep yep, Oyaji is here, i really like Whitebeard for how he would literally take any fatherless child (be them actually fatherless or just mentally) and make them his child. He's a VERY forgiving father as well, even when he got attacked by one of his sons, he just didn't hold it against him and forgave him. GOOOOOOOD that was sad af i cried!

🌻 Kyros

Once someone asks who's the best OP father the first person that comes to mind is Kyros. Trapped inside a toy's body, forgotten by everyone, if he tells his daughter who he is he will be thrown into the scrape heap, he had to organize a revolution. bro never took a break and ALL of this while taking care of his daughter! If this isn't one of OPs peak dad material then i dunno what he is!

And there you have it! The best OP dad's in my book!

Future dads? Take notes please!

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savage-rhi · 1 year ago

Text

Mending Shadows // Chapter 19

Summary:

Y/N was a simple Scavenger of Lucis, until meeting a deadly blow at the hands of an infected creature. At the crossroads of death, they are found by Niflheim’s cryptic Chancellor with his own agenda. Now bonded to Ardyn Izunia, and tossed into the world of Niflheim, Y/N struggles to cope with their new life as an Imperial Icon all the while battling their feelings toward their fate and that of Ardyn’s.

Click here to read on AO3

Ardyn wanted nothing more than to destroy the red sylleblossoms in one fell swoop.

He didn’t care if an Imperial Help was in the way. Nothing would get him to yield his incredible anger and grave sadness. Not when the corpse of his beloved tip toed in and out of the present. Not when her bloodied form taunted him like the flowers. Not when the image of Ifrit burning his eyes from the sockets of his skull played in tangent.

Ardyn put every fiber of his being into the hit. His pupils shrunk to the point where the color of his eyes were barely faint. The energy release drowned him in a euphoria. He had bested his opponent that made a beast out of him.

The moment of triumph was short lived when Ardyn winced, feeling his head suddenly splitting in two. His left hand covered the side his face, teeth gritting so tight against one another he hissed through the small gaps of his gums. He couldn’t hear anything else, but a scream. A scream that carried for eons.

Ardyn’s heart pounded thunderously in his chest while he ran. His breath was so thick, it was suffocating. He could hear several footsteps trailing behind him as a whirl of curses and yells were thrown his way. “What were you thinking coming to Galdin Quay like that!?” “You broke our trust!” Ardyn let out a yelp, tripping and falling forward. His face met the ground, teeth and tongue tasting the scratchy texture of sand. Disgust had to wait another time, for he quickly turned around and began crawling backwards in desperation; trying to get away from the several women and men who showed up with weapons at the ready. He never felt so awestruck and horrified in his life. “Guys, please,” Ardyn pleaded. He reached up a shaking hand, offering surrender. “I came here to say goodbye. I didn’t come here to harm you!” “If you had half a mind, you would’ve turned yourself in to the Glaive and written a letter! How dare you endanger not only us, but everyone at the Quay?! How could you be so selfish!?” “Selfish for wanting to see my friends in my final moments?!” “Friends?! Friends!?” One of the women exclaimed, her cheeks so inflamed with blood she looked like she’d pop. “Friends don’t bring the godforsaken scourge to their doorstep! This thing has killed many, and you’d risk our lives to suffer like you!?” “I can’t infect you!” Ardyn yelled, trying to overpower the raised voices. “If I could, I wouldn’t be here! I promise! Please, just let me say something! I can’t die without telling you all that--” “Run, Y/N.” “What?” “Get out of here. Leave Galdin Quay, turn yourself in to the nearest guard, and don’t come back.” “But--” “We’ve made our peace!” The woman yelled. “You should make yours while you have time! Go now, before we make the call for you!” The heartache was so strong, that Ardyn could feel it in his throat. Fear pulled him to his feet, and out of desperation he ran. He ran for so long, and so far, that his knees burned and his bones felt weak. All the while, he was crying so hard that his nose was clogged, and breathing became a chore. The coast of Galdin Quay shifted into a cold facility. Sand was replaced with vinyl flooring. Walls began to slowly grow into an endless maze of metallic silver and red. Ardyn could hear the violent whistles of an alarm going off. Gunfire was in the distance, and he bounded for the left corner, trying to avoid meeting the end by a bullet or gods knew what else was lurking about. A stoic voice boomed over several intercoms, somehow surpassing the loud noise coming from the alarm system. Generator shutting down. Please standby. Generator shutting down. Please standby. The lights began to flicker on and off, until there was nothing but darkness, save for the red light near the end of the hall that continued to be a beacon of hope in Ardyn’s peripheral. He was so close to the exit. So close to escaping this hell, until a tall figure silhouetted in shadow suddenly appeared several feet ahead. Every time the red light blinked, the being got closer and closer. Suddenly, Ardyn felt a strong hand wrap around his neck, hoisting him halfway into the air. He struggled to breathe, legs kicking out in a vain attempt to escape. Through gags and cries, he forced himself to gaze down at his attacker, only to be met with a pair of black and yellow eyes that glimmered in the void. “Where do you think you’re going, my dear?” The rich voice taunted with a dark chuckle. Ardyn felt the scourge in his body lurch forward, and he let out a hoarse scream. It felt as if his very organs were trying to explode out of his body, if only to escape the thousand and one bites from an unforeseen attacker. “The fun is just beginning!” The voice hissed with a violent euphoria. “No!”

Ardyn gasped loudly, returning to the present. His ears rung, and the tempo of his pulse was explosive. Seconds felt like hours as he slowly reintegrated back into his own body and mind. Confusion danced across his hardened expression, feeling like a newborn babe who had finally seen the light, and taken his first breath. This world was unknown to him, yet all too familiar.

“Oh no…” He murmured to himself, remembering all too well what this experience was. A bleedthrough.

As he glanced around the kitchen--finally hearing the sound of his own breath--did he hear Tuti yelling and saw her cradling the body of another. In disbelief, Ardyn shuddered when he witnessed Y/N clasping onto the left side of their face, screaming at the top of their lungs as if they had been stabbed a million times over.

Ardyn winced from the intrusive sound, unsure of what to make of the spectacle, until he remembered. He remembered what he had done. His guard, fears and confusion as to what happened moments ago in his head were pushed aside. He quickly knelt by Y/N, and attempted to grab them, wanting to assess the damages he caused. He knew he screwed up.

An onslaught of slaps prevented Ardyn from continuing further as he fell backward, glaring at Tuti who was hovering over Y/N like a guard dog. The fury in her eyes was annoying, much like her voice.

“What do you think you’re--!”

“You stand back!” Tuti said with all the might her voice could give. As Ardyn tried yet again to intervene, Tuti used her feet to kick at him. “You’ve done enough! Don’t come any closer, I mean it!”

“I beseech you to let me see Y/N! I can--”

“Do not think for one minute I will allow such a thing to pass! Not after what you’ve done! Don’t you hear them screaming!?”

“You are treading in dangerous waters, my dear. If you know what’s best for your very life, you’ll step aside and--!”

“You can be the damned Emperor himself and I’d still tell you the same thing! Get out! Out, out, out!” Tuti violently pointed toward the kitchen exit, yelling at the top of her lungs until her squeaky voice sounded malevolent like a storm.

Ardyn was beside himself. The temper in Tuti’s voice had him both dumbstruck and in awe, not expecting that sort of rage to fester out of an Imperial Help. In shock, he glanced between Y/N and Tuti. His eyes lingering on the former. A quiet sadness began to grow behind Ardyn’s amber eyes while he watched them writhe, and he could feel the sting of his own hit upon his very cheek.

Glaring at Tuti, he growled under his breath and rose to his feet, storming out of the kitchen and slamming the doors behind him.

---

“Chancellor?”

Ardyn blinked while he scanned over the meeting memo.

“Chancellor?”

“Hmm?” Ardyn forced himself to peer up, meeting the eyes of a few councilmen who were awaiting further instruction. He found it difficult to concentrate, especially with a burdened mind.

“Can we count on your signatures by the end of the week?”

“But of course!” Ardyn smiled, trying to save face. “Consider the task complete!”

“Thank you, sir!”

He honestly had no idea what the proposed scripture was, nor did he care what it entailed. All he could think about was the experiences Y/N had unintentionally plagued him with. Especially the one regarding himself, and what happened at MedZin. His fingers grasped at the paper, bracing himself.

Am I truly that frightening…?

“Chancellor,”

Ardyn blinked a few times, and he met Aldercapt’s tired yet spirited gaze. It seemed that last nights festivities gave the old cat back one of his nine lives. The thought humored Ardyn if only for a moment.

“Excellency?”

“You seem to be elsewhere.” Aldercapt commented with a smile, like one a grandparent would give to their naive grandchild. “I take you indulged the drink quite often last night?”

There were some chuckles here and there. Everyone was more or less guilty of coming into work with a hangover, or feeling like they had gorged on enough food to make their stomachs distend. Ardyn played into it, beaming with pride as he let out a tired breath.

“Alas, you’ve caught me red handed!” He slyly confessed, feigning guilt. “I do apologize to the council for my inebriation. I swear on the six I am heeding the wills of the empire!”

“I do understand you must be exhausted,” Aldercapt cleared his throat. “However, I would like to kindly ensure that we are on the same page regarding our affairs in Accordo?”

“Yes,” Ardyn muttered with a nod. He stood up from his chair among the meeting table with the other advisers. He was so fixated on his misery and his duties, that he hadn’t noticed the concerned look of suspicion that was on Verstael’s face from afar.

“After speaking at length with the envoys from Accordo, they’ve come to an agreement. To ensure our alliance remains strong, they’ve purposed a marriage treaty. One between their finest citizen and that of ours. I've taken the liberty to draft the official proposition.”

“What perfect timing!” One of the councilmen interrupted, earning a raised brow and confusion from Ardyn. “Last night, the Lucian made their debut as an Imperial Icon. They would be a great choice for the union!”

“I’m afraid the seed of such an idea won’t come to bear fruit.” Ardyn cleared his throat. “A mate has already been chosen, and the betrothal customs are underway.”

“Excellent work, Chancellor.” Aldercapt complimented. “Who is the lucky citizen of this honor?”

“A charming young woman who is a Lead of Office of military branch 5A. She is of good breeding familial wise. Her lineage has been dedicated to the empire since it’s founding roots.” Ardyn stated proudly.

“While this is good news it’s also unfortunate,” The councilmen frowned. “A bargain like this with the Lucian could’ve been prosperous. It would give Niflheim ties to both Accordo and Lucis in this manner.”

Ardyn imagined the councilmen’s head exploding off his very shoulders. It took him every ounce of restraint to not make it a reality.

“While I do admire your tenacity,” Ardyn began. “Y/N has just become an Imperial Icon. As of their debut, they have formally renounced their Lucian roots and would be considered an Imperial by law. That by itself would null the connections you were hoping to make with Accordo. An Imperial Icon is not an appealing match versus someone who is in military or subsequent branches. If anything, betrothing Y/N would guarantee we’d lose power. I’d argue that doesn’t make Niflheim look strong while we are in the midst of a war.”

Lastly, they are not yours to trade…Ardyn thought bitterly to himself. He was finding it hard to keep a straight face.

“The Chancellor is right,” Verstael croaked, earning the eyes of most. “We would hold much more power through a military citizen than we would a socialite. We can further use the betrothal of this Lead of Office as a means to keep tabs on Accordo’s policies. In betrothal contracts between the empire and a foreign country, a military citizen being married off is still duty bound should Niflheim call for aid.”

While the councilmen made their remarks and agreements, Ardyn studied Verstael carefully. The old man was quite collected yet his fierce eyes gave away that he was troubled. With how pissed Verstael had gotten before the Gala, Ardyn didn’t expect him to have his back. It was almost out of character for the likes of Verstael, and Ardyn braced himself in mind to metaphorically pay up later.

“I believe we should move onto matters concerning the scourge epidemic,” Aldercapt cleared his throat, commanding the attention of the room. “Let us begin with finding out how our enemy is handling the plague.”

Several hours passed, and by the time the meeting was adjourned, everyone made a beeline to the door. Subtleties be damned especially with the majority of the council feeling the after effects of last night. Ardyn and Verstael were of no exception to the rule. Both men sighed in relief with groans when all was said and done as they ventured down one of the corridors.

“The last of the meeting was abysmal, wouldn’t you say? It could’ve been solved via a letter chain rather than a formal sit-down. Aldercapt is losing his grace.” Verstael sighed bitterly, turning his head to Ardyn while they both walked down the main hall of the palace.

“The man loves to hear himself talk.” Ardyn quipped with a snort. “I’m afraid not even the best of us can subdue him.”

“You seemed rather subdued yourself back there.”

“Hm?” Ardyn did a double take.

“I am referring to your general demeanor at the meeting,” Verstael furrowed his brows while his eyes studied Ardyn carefully. “I’ve never seen you look so glum when you’re putting on a show for the ensemble.”

“Oh, I hardly noticed.” Ardyn sarcastically stated while he made a face and shrugged. “You need not concern yourself on my behalf. I’m fairing just fine on my lonesome.”

“Elusive as ever,” Verstael huffed with a smirk. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Ardyn when he noticed the mischievous smile that formed on his associate’s mouth. They both rounded the corner.

“How is your Lucian doing on their meds?”

“They need a refill on their prescription as soon as possible.” Ardyn stated.

Verstael hummed in agreement. “Consider it done. I’m heading to the labs to check on the status of our projects. I assume you will be joining me?”

“No,” Ardyn shook his head.

“No?” Verstael raised a brow. He came to a halt, watching Ardyn follow suit. The dispassionate tone of Ardyn’s voice had Verstael taken back. “Don’t tell me you’ve grown bored of the fruits of our labor. You're usually eager to get your hands dirty!”

“I simply have another arrangement today,” Ardyn sighed. He hummed as if he couldn’t be bothered with Verstael’s outburst. His gaze traveled away from Verstael, now focusing on a large window leading to Gralea itself. “With your brilliance at the helm, I doubt my being there would do much to further progress.”

Verstael felt a twinge of worry take root as he begrudgingly sighed. “Pray tell what you'll be occupied with this afternoon?”

“I’m going fishing.”

“Fishing?”

“Yes, fishing.” Ardyn smiled.

“You never fish…”

Ardyn couldn’t help but snort hearing how flabbergasted Verstael was. He cleared his throat, trying to stifle a laugh.

“I’d gladly like to inform you, that I do have hobbies outside of being Chancellor and your personal help for conquest. Besides, after the Gala, I need a good break from being social. I assure you dear friend that me enjoying a simple pleasure won’t deter what’s already been laid forth.”

“I’ll be…” Verstael was still having a hard time processing that Ardyn partook in such things. Then again, Verstael never bothered to ask Ardyn if he did much outside of politics and experimentation. The hobby didn’t seem out of the realm, a bit old school for Verstael’s taste but he wasn’t the 2,000 year old in the room.

“Well, before I let you meander, I want to give you an update regarding your blood samples I took long ago.”

“Oh?”

Verstael nodded. “This morning the last of the tests were performed. Do you want the good or the bad first?”

“Never one to rip the Band-Aid off in a swift motion, eh?” Ardyn made a face, crossing his arms while he sighed in defeat. “Give me whatever tickles your fancy.”

Vertsael huffed, and then reached into his left pocket, drawing out his personal cell. A few clicks to the device, and a small hologram with various data points rose up from the screen; giving both he and Ardyn a visual of the end results.

“I’ve found evidence that the serum MedZin injected you with, suppressed a high count of your white blood cells, and other immunity receptors responsible for your advanced regeneration abilities. Your baseline still exceeds that of a common man, but if you were to be wounded, I hypothesize healing will no longer be instantaneous. Maybe it would take two or more days. Your scourge to blood ratio is slightly out of equilibrium as well. The base genome I found in the serum belonged to something viral related. There’s trace evidence that MedZin may have retro engineered this thing from the scourge itself or a similar viral entity. I wouldn’t be surprised if they are trying the fire v. fire method to battle the scourge; where a virus is pitted against another virus in the hopes that they will cancel each other out.”

It didn’t matter how many years had passed, nor how many research projects Ardyn participated in, Verstael unloaded so much jargon that it hurt his brain.

“Could you perhaps give this to me in layman’s terms?”

“In layman’s terms,” Verstael mockingly teased. “You’re more or less…sick, or as sick as an entity such as yourself can become. If you stay the course, I foresee this being similar to catching a cold for the likes of you; albeit a long one. However, given your unique circumstances outside of this particular situation, I do have some recommendations.”

“Pray tell what?” Ardyn smirked.

Verstael sighed. “You’re not going to be appeased.”

“Oh come now!” Ardyn gestured with his arms out as he laughed. “This is your opportunity to strike me down for giving you slim pickings of the surplus! Surely you can’t be getting cold feet?”

Verstael scoffed. “Now who said I wasn’t still going to do that? Since you are feeling bold, I’ll give it to you straight: you should sever your bond with the Lucian.”

“For what reason?”

“Several,” Verstael forwardly stated. He put his phone back into his pocket and crossed his arms, letting out a sigh. "If you sever your connection, your body could put more resources into restoring itself to full power versus keeping someone alive. If a bleedthrough or some other anomaly were to pass, I theorize it would make your condition worse; maybe even strip you down to being near mortal again given the energy expenditure that comes from your end at the cost of bonding with another daemonic entity. You are essentially the life source after all. Either way you look at it, you’re taking a huge risk carrying a dead weight at the end of your chain. Besides, they’d have a good run for a while before dying. You sure as the six hells wouldn’t have to tend to this elaborate Imperial Icon facade any longer.”

“That cannot happen.” Ardyn stiffly commented.

“And why is that?” Verstael raised a brow before he gazed over Ardyn, as if trying to find a slip behind his mask.

Ardyn rolled his eyes and gesticulated. “I’ve ran some experiments myself. When I am within close proximity to Y/N, my scourge is invigorated. I am assuming this is due to the hive mind at work; subconsciously and telepathically working with pieces of itself to repair extensions of itself. While I may not be able to feed off Y/N any longer, there’s still value in them being near to ensure I don’t falter to my feet like a mortal. And sad to say, even if I were to sever them off, that would undo much of what has already been laid out to get the wider audience of Eos to side with the empire. Knowing Aldercapt, as much as he loathes the Lucian, he knows their value is priceless at this time given the strife we’ve been dealing with from all fronts. If push comes to shove, I’ll happily end it but alas these bloodied hands of mine are tied.”

It took Verstael much effort to not roll his eyes at Ardyn’s grand explanation. “Would you be able to procure official testament to such experiments on your end?”

“Absolutely!” Ardyn grinned. “I’ve been compiling notes as we speak! Why, accusing me of not being scientific is out of the question! Considering it was I who helped you discover the magic bullet for daemonic application in the first place!”

“No need to get theatrical old friend,” Verstael had an inkling that Ardyn was speaking rubbish, but he also had no reason to doubt his honesty here. After all, he was the one living with the sickness at the end of the day and knew his body better than anyone else. “Remember, if it gets worse, you must cut them off.”

“But of course!” Ardyn gave a slight bow with his head out of respect. “With that said, I must be off for my much needed break. I’ll best be seeing you come end week.”

Ardyn lightly tipped his hat toward his colleague and ventured off. His chest began to thrum hard, and he felt a dull aching pain sway against his spine. Ardyn’s brows knitted. He could feel that Y/N was in the midst of a scourge flare, a nasty one if he might add.

A wave of guilt began to sink into Ardyn’s stomach. He once more recalled the morning. The outburst he had toward the sylleblossoms weighed heavily on his mind just as it did all throughout the meeting. He couldn’t let it go. His brain analyzed the memory so many times that it drove him mad. Ardyn let out a deep breath, closing his eyes as he came to the end of the hall. His heart skipped a beat, knowing he wouldn’t rest until he did something about it.

“Izunia!” Verstael hollered.

Ardyn pivoted, turning his body around, and raised a brow at Verstael.

“Yes?”

“Do give your little Lucian my kindest regards,” Verstael smirked as he raised his voice. “I’m sure your time with them will be far more pleasurable than being trapped in a cold room with yours truly. After all, you must have big plans for their debut as Niflheim’s propaganda piece in Accordo.”

Ardyn made a fist all the while keeping his calm composure. If he didn't know any better, Verstael almost sounded jealous. He smiled big, as if he couldn’t be bothered with the suggestiveness of Verstael’s words, and let out a laugh.

“I’ll be sure to tell them you won’t be snatching them away into the night like the other Lucians who dared to cross your path!”

“Farewell, my friend!” Verstaek laughed as he made a right, heading for another room of the palace.

As soon as Verstael was out of sight, Ardyn allowed some of his anger to pass through. He carried a glare that could cut through thick glass. He didn’t like this. That Verstael was beginning to see through him when it came to Y/N, even if his tone and statements were in jest. Gods forbid he ever find out a bleedthrough had already happened. He'd be further pissed at Ardyn's elaborate lie regarding proximity. If Y/N were to be seen as a threat to the plans Verstael and he had for Niflheim, Ardyn knew the potential consequences would be dire.

What exactly am I afraid of…? Ardyn furrowed his brows as he pondered. There was nothing to hide from Verstael, yet there was everything to keep from him. The same could be said for Aldercapt, and even the whole damn empire when Ardyn thought on it hard enough. His vexation was further ignited when he reminded himself of his little display in the council chambers. How resentful he felt at hearing Y/N potentially being traded away. The thought alone made Ardyn uneasy as he growled under his breath, shaking his head at himself. He muttered bitterly as he stormed off.

“The hell have I gotten myself into?”

#mending shadows #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #ardyn x reader #ff15 fanfic #fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #final fantasy xv #ffxv #ffxv ardyn #gender neutral reader #canon x reader #ffxv fanfiction #final fantasy xv fanfic #fanfic writer #ao3 writer

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asideofkimchi · 5 months ago

Note

Gush about Yoosung for the ask game 💚

So I’ve put this off for days because…while this is FINALLY my chance! to gush! About the husband!! …i don’t know where to start. I’m definitely overthinking it, I know I am lol. And yet…!

Well, I’m on my way to the airport for my honeymoon rn. What better time than now to indulge in thoughts of the husband lol.

Hm… Yoosung and his route, I can confidently say that he altered my brain chemistry. I have several favorite characters, sure, we all have our little guys. But only two characters have ever fundamentally integrated themselves into my psyche, and goddam did Yoosung hit me hard. Without getting into too much detail (to try to keep this positive), my life was at an ideal spot to see myself reflected in Yoosung’s character arc. He charmed me with his silly but earnest personality and then the game hooked me with the realistic portrayal of his depression and loss. My emotional investment in this character was growing exponentially, and by the time he goes to Mint Eye, I started calculating the average times to expect chatrooms, I was so nervous for him! Legitimately anxious! Every chatroom moved me more and more, every sweet, genuine word he said went straight to my heart. I’m pretty sure I was tearing up, if not straight up crying, throughout this route, especially during his speech in the Good Ending.

Hm I mostly talked about the game and how it affected me. Let’s do some quick Yoosung bits that I love:

He dyed and styled his hair after Rika, after losing her. Characters who do that to remember their loved ones and keep them close, I eat that thematic shit UP.

Even when it’s not his route he has a mad crush on you, but he puts his feelings aside and wishes for you and the other person’s happiness.

I have SO many screenshots saved on my phone of messages with him. I don’t care if they’re the same thing over and over, every time I play I have to screenshot whatever sweet or hilarious thing is said.

I have so many screenshots because I play the game like about twice a year. It’s such a comfort game to me, and even when I should be trying to complete the bad endings (fuck you, Ray route bad ending 3), I just gravitate to Yoosungie.

So YOOSUNG is actually the reason behind Cutiefly being my favorite pokemon. When I first played moon I named my cutiefly Yoosungie, because of cutie-pie Yoosung. And that pokemon stayed on my team the entire time, all the way through becoming Champion. So me gushing about cutieflies is really me gushing about Yoosung.

He’s just so GENUINE about his emotions!! He’s not afraid to express any of it! He loves, he cries, he laughs, he rages, he doesn’t hide how he feels.

He’s so goddam cute and he KNOWS IT. He knows he’s fucking adorable!! And he isn’t ashamed of it! Others try to tear him down like no one wants a cute man but he owns it!

Man’s also bit of a freak and I want to devour him.

Speaking of devouring. His whole omelet thing. In the april fool’s dlc. Oh my fucking god. Oh my jesus christ. Picture this shitty meme I would make: me wearing a shirt that says “no vore kink” -> omelet!sung saying “i dream of someone tearing me apart in their hands and devouring me” -> my shirt “one vore kink”

SPEAKING OF april fools. I will never get over Punk!Sung. It was so fucking funny. Devastating that it never came back. I can’t remember anyone else’s deal but Punk!Sung is ingrained into my brain. I can never get rid of my icon. I’m stuck with it and I love it ..know what i’m sayin’?

Wait I’m going back to the omelet thing because he loves to COOK! He dreams of cooking his beloved delicious meals! He just wants a sweet and domestic life like that’s his big fantasy: Making a loving home environment through cooking and cleaning and doing laundry with and for his SO.

He feels bad that he doesn’t compare to like Zen or Jumin or Seven which is. Frankly ridiculous. Like he feels they’re more handsome and talented and rich and smart so there’s no way anyone would like him in comparison. But he is the sweetest, the bravest, willing to fight for his friends and put himself in danger and he’s happy to do so to protect his friends!! Wht the fucj!! He sees himself as some regular dude and still does this!! TRUE SUPERMAN YOOSUNG. BIGGEST HEART.

ALSO. THE MAN GETS INJURED FOR YOU. RECOVERS. GETS HIS MOTIVATION BACK. GRADUATES EARLY. BECOMES A DOCTOR. OWNS HIS OWN VET CLINIC. MARRIES YOU SOMEWHERE IN BETWEEN ALL THAT. ALL WITHIN FOUR YEARS.

JUST WHAT THE FUCK. I LOVE YOOSUNG KIM.

I am so sure I could come up with more but honestly. I started typing this at like 4am today and now it’s after 7pm, I’m heading to ANOTHER airport now after spending a day out with my husband, our honeymoon just getting started.

…also I brought Yoosung to the honeymoon with us. I suggested it as a joke but well. He was represented at our wedding last year, he’s joining us now for the honeymoon. I’ll try to take pictures of him later.

Anyway. I love Yoosung Kim, thanks for coming to my tedtalk. I’ll try to be more coherent next time.

#Shush you cabbage

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saintsofwarding · 1 year ago

Text

BURIAL

Chapter 8

(You really think this one's gonna up and do what you say?)

"Shut up."

(That's not very nice, Donna)

"Bold of you to say that."

(Am I wrong? Look at her. Creeping through our house. Heavy and clumsy and full of so many fluids! Ohhh, she's a curious one, Donna, a curious little mouse, and you know what happens to mice around here)

"Don't you hurt her. If you do, this time, I'll-"

(You'll what? Say it. Say every terrible thing that's been festering so long in the black pit of your skull. Go on. You can't, can you? That's up to me, isn't it? I can do it, I can always do it, so you don't have to)

A cackle, ringing through the damp gloom.

(You did so much already. Poor little Donna. All alone once the silence came back in)

"Shut up, shut up!"

(And if I did? Would you be able to survive on your own? Little Dolly Donna, quiet as a mouse. You'd go insane with the weight of it. Well. Insane-er)

"Shut up!" She rushed forward with a howl, agonized, scraping up her throat; she tasted blood, felt her ruined face writhe in agitation, the fleshy pulse fast as her racing heartbeat. She gripped Angie's neck as the doll laughed and laughed and laughed, echoes ringing through the darkness until it sounded like she was surrounded by a hundred more of her, a chorus of cackles jabbing and tearing at her like crows' beaks.

She couldn't take it. She stuffed her fingers into the doll's mouth as far as they would go. Angie's teeth scraped at her knuckles- real teeth, real human ivory, milk teeth like a baby's- but the laughter went on and on. Of course. It always would. It didn't come from the doll, not really. It never did.

(Don't hurt me, Donna! You can't! You know what happens if you hurt me-!)

"I could do it. I could crack you open, smash you all over this floor-"

(Is that what you said the first time? Is this how it went?) The voice almost sounded frightened, almost hushed. Donna's hands began to shake. (You see? You can't survive alone. You can't. Donna, please, see reason. You need me. I need you)

The rage left her all at once. She slumped in a rustle of black fabric. The cold of the stone floor began to seep into her knees. She didn't cry. Her head hung. A puppet on strings. Her grip slowly loosened on Angie, and then she gathered her to her, suddenly, pulling the doll to her chest and hugging her as hard as she could.

Cold fingers stroked the sides of her face as she shook, rocking back and forth, feeling the faint warm pulse within Angie's head against her throat. A match to her own. Like it always was.

(I need you)

***

Peace had once been a church. An altar, a gilded portrait, kneeling in reverence to light candles before Mother Miranda's most holy and beloved icon. The knowledge, simple and unspoilt, that Elena was protected, that her father was protected, her neighbors, as long as they did what they were told. As long as they stayed obedient, their afterlife would never come to harm.

And how could it, when the Black God remembered all things in its infinite dream? It had been of comfort to Elena, after her mother had died, that she was remembered by the Black God, that one day Elena too would join her in that endless dark, comprised of everyone she had ever known and ever loved. That whatever pain would come to her, she would always have that to look forward to in the end.

And now?

Not peace. Never fully. Not when her father was held hostage by her obedience, not when she'd seen the horrors that lurked in this place. But the house seemed out of time, adrift, and there were days when Elena almost forgot to be afraid. Days of polishing tarnished silverware, or clearing snow from the porch, or of working in the garden, or listening to records, turning the gramophone volume high to allow the music to reverberate through the halls.

Days with Donna Beneviento somewhere in the house with her, mostly unseen but, at last, present.

She never removed her veil. Never went anywhere without her doll, Angie, the thing always perched in the crook of her arm, or sitting near her on a chair, or opposite her while she worked, and talked to it. Sometimes Elena overheard- well, listened, to be honest- entire one-sided conversations with Angie, Donna murmuring to her endless monologues about the weather, about the food, about Donna's projects, her dolls and her knitting and her intricate botanical illustrations done in ink and watercolor.

Elena liked to examine these when Donna wasn't in the room, liked to follow the exquisite lines of the drawings with her eyes like a maze in a puzzle-book, letting her eyes unfocus so the illustration became a chaotic blur of color and line, then focus again, allowing it all to make sense. They were beautiful. Everything Donna made was so beautiful.

They worked together when night fell, and it fell so early up here. The days shortened, Donna gradually spending more of her ever-lengthening evenings with Elena. They rarely spoke more than a few words to one another, but it wasn't awkward, wasn't unnatural. They simply sat in silence unless Donna had a question of aesthetics- "Yellow floss or white? Border it in black or leave it loose? What do you think?"- or Elena needed the definition of a word in a book she was reading. While she'd been well-educated enough, some of Donna's library was so esoteric she hardly understood what the books were even supposed to be about. Histories of people she had never heard of, waves of conquering invaders, a pagan people ensconced within this valley, beset on all times by distrustful neighbors, kings conducting rituals of sacrifice and enlightenment.

And Elena slept through midnight. Donna, it seemed, was done with her weeping. For now, anyway. Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe the monster really was gone.

Elena knew it was never good to hope, but she did, still, clinging on past reason, like she had such a tendency to do.

***

The blizzard having, for the moment, retreated, it became necessary to take the opportunity to get hold of more food. A mundane concern, but necessary- Elena didn't want to have to make do with canned things if another snowstorm hit unexpectedly. Donna had the same idea.

"My usual delivery will be on its way," she told Elena. "I put the flag up in the ravine."

"How do you...?"

"Get it to the house? You wouldn't mind doing it, would you? I have so much work to do."

What work, she didn't say. But Elena took the enameled box full of neat stacks of lei, the delivery list, and Donna's directions past the estate gates and set off through the pale gray mists. The day was white on white, pale sky, pale snowdrifts, only the vague shadows of trees to cut the sensation Elena was moving through a strange, echoing world, empty of all life except for herself.

The sound of eerie cries echoed from downslope- the direction of the castle, she thought, though she couldn't make out its spires through the thick clouds. She passed through the gates and to the bridge posts. It swung before her, buffeted by the light breeze, each creak echoing down and down through the ravine. Far below, she heard the by-now familiar sound of rushing water. A faint icy spray spackled her cheeks, numbing her already-cold face.

She made her way along the cliffside. For a while there was only trees, snow, and the edge, but eventually a shape swam up before her and consolidated into a structure, a single lantern hanging from a hook. A dock, as if for boats, but built right onto the edge of the cliff. A winch was built into it, and hanging from it on stout ropes was a large wicker basket. It swung back and forth, big enough to hoist a cow. A crank arm in the basket and on the winch told Elena its purpose. She peered down and saw an identical lantern glowing below. A black pennant snapped from a pole, sewn with the moon and sun, and behind a nearby tree a handcart waited under a tarp.

Elena figured this was hardly the way, but she needed to talk to someone from town. She clambered into the basket- it began to sway alarmingly back and forth, but didn't tip, it was nice and deep- and grabbed onto the crank arm, giving it a good push. Gears ground, and with the faint crackle of rust the contraption kicked into movement, and she glided downward.

The crank had a little horseshoe stamped into it. Had Lord Heisenberg made this? He didn't seem the type, though he did have a workshop in the village. Elena had never seen him use it, but no one went there all the same, and kept the gates well locked. Lords, however holy, tended to bring monsters with them.

Donna, too? Her most of all, Elena had to admit, though hardly the monsters she'd expected.

She still felt a sense of disbelief when her mind inevitably turned to Donna. She's Lady Beneviento? She's one of the great Four Lords? It didn't seem quite right, didn't quite add up. She kept waiting for Donna to grow teeth- so to speak- but as the week had stretched to two, then to three, and winter tightened its grip on the manor and its grounds, she never saw more than what had already made itself seen. Never saw more than a lovely, lonely young woman.

The lower lantern grew closer and closer, and soon a second dock came into view, built on the banks of a rushing river seamed with whitecaps. A boat rose and fell on the rapids, engine chugging for life. The man aboard gave a little start when he saw Elena, and whisked off his cap.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Lupu," he stuttered. "I...there's never a person what comes down in the basket."

"First time for me, too, Cosmin." He was one of the reservoir workers, usually busy trawling the deeps for flotsam scavenged from the sunken village, drowned years ago by an accident with the floodgates. Elena gave him a smile. "I thought I'd come down with it. Say hello."

"We...well, I'm glad to see you alive. We all thought you were dead, see."

Elena blinked. "Not yet."

"Good. That's good."

"How's my father? And Andrei? Are they all right?"

"Last I saw them. Your pa was out feeding the chickens and that boy was bothering him like he wanted both his ears."

Elena laughed. Heat pushed at her eyes and she hurriedly scrubbed them with the back of her hand, shaking her head. "Sounds right to me. Good. I...listen, Cosmin, I'm here for Lady Beneviento's delivery, but...would you bring this letter to them?" She held it out. "So they know I'm all right too."

"Of course."

"Good." She looked at the crates and sacks in Cosmin's boat. "Now I suppose this is what you really came here for?"

Loading took less time than Elena expected, with two pairs of hands at work. Soon the basket groaned under the weight of supplies and Elena was cranking it skyward, the mechanism hardly strained by the increased weight. She looked back down. Cosmin lifted a hand in farewell. Elena returned the gesture, but she wasn't sure, in the mist, if he'd seen her.

We thought you were dead.

That was how it worked, she saw. Once the villagers were chosen, they were dead, even if they still breathed. Because it was far too dangerous, far too unlikely, to hope otherwise. Better to usher them out with festivals and ceremony, with feigned gratitude and fervor, instead of grief. That way the inevitable death to come would never seem quite real.

But to be killed by Donna Beneviento? Loading the supplies into the handcart, Elena gave her head a disbelieving shake. Donna was weird, yes, sometimes inscrutable, sometimes almost childlike with her rhymes and her little tantrums, but she wasn't monstrous. She wasn't a nightmare.

This wasn't a nightmare.

Movement stirred on the far side of the bridge. Elena straightened, tense, in case it was one of those winged creatures that sometimes circled from the direction of the castle, a racket of leathery flapping and distant screeches, like some vast bird of prey. The reality was little better. He stood in the snow, smoke twining up from beneath his hat brim, hammer over his shoulder. There was no way he didn't see Elena, but Lord Heisenberg didn't acknowledge her. He just stood there, watching her, smoking, the scent of cigar smoke bittersweet on the still, cold air.

Doesn't he have anything better to do? He'd spoken about Donna with a strange mixture of contempt and fear, hadn't gone past her gate before. But on the riverbank...honestly, Elena didn't remember the events on the riverbank with anything close to clarity, but she remembered his use of Donna's name, the familiarity with which he'd addressed her. They were a family, holy and united, according to the books of the Black God Elena had listened to each week in church, so of course they would know one another above all others.

Still.

Elena didn't approach. He didn't move. Elena gave the handcart a shove, teeth grit as she heaved it and all its cargo through the snow and onto the road. She felt his gaze on her back for a long time, until the trees and the mist closed over him and he was gone again, left to the far edge of the ravine.

"You nearly had a visitor, today," Elena told Donna once the supplies were all cleared away. "The great Lord Heisenberg."

Donna stiffened. "What did he want?"

"I don't know. He didn't cross the bridge."

A soft exhale. "He never does."

"Why not? Don't you all confer with one another?"

"Mother calls meetings, which we all attend. Twice a year. That is when we take care of the business between us, officially."

"And...unofficially?"

Donna said nothing. She stood, silent, then all at once left the room in a swish of skirts. Music blared minutes later- the gramophone, played at full volume. As Elena did her nighttime chores, the music played on, complex symphonies and simple piano nocturnes and tunes for which she had no name all played one after the next without cease. And when Elena joined Donna in the sitting room to sew and mend and chat, the gramophone was off, and Donna mentioned nothing of it, nor of her visitor, not all that evening, nor the next day, nor any of the days after.

The next time Elena went down to the bridge- an evening free of chores, when the sky was a rocket-fall of colors like a festival skirt- the far edge was empty.

She checked for days on end, but Lord Heisenberg never returned.

Those weeks seemed almost like a dream, almost shameful, as if Elena had stolen them from time. She was healthier than ever, stronger than ever now that she was eating regularly and had access to such better quality food. No stones in the grain, not in Donna's bread, and the meat wasn't half gristle like the stuff left over from the village tithes. And more than that, her mind felt clearer. Cleaner. She'd seen so much more than she'd ever thought possible, had stepped past some invisible limit and into darkness. It was full of terrors, sure, but she couldn't help but feel a glittering thrill at the newfound unknown. The newfound horizons, not only of the world but of herself. Her own mind, her own thoughts.

There was something else, too, some undefinable change to her face. A fading of the dark bruises under her eyes, a softening of the hollow stare she shared with most people in the village. Once, she might have called it impassioned, but she now recognized it for what it was: starved.

Here, she didn't have to be hungry, or afraid of the lycans she heard howling from the lower slopes of the mountainside.

Here, Lady Dimitrescu wouldn't come a-hunting for her in the night, red grin and skin like a corpse's, made young again by a steaming goblet of fresh-spilled blood.

She didn't have to walk for hours through knee-deep snow in the hopes of sighting a single skinny rabbit, or listen to her father wheeze in the early morning when he thought she couldn't hear him.

I'll come back for you, Pa. Her hands clenched on her mending. I wish I could bring you here. The air would do you good. I wish you were safe. I wish all of you were safe. Oh, saints, oh, saints, when she thought about him, about the look in his eyes when she'd left him, it felt like she would burn, or burst, or tear her own skin off.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't right.

But it was the way it was and Elena had no idea how to stop it, even how to slow it, and caught up in these simultaneous realizations she froze, hands hooked into claws, heart hammering, paralyzed with terror and with rage. Miranda would eventually figure it out. She'd know, if Elena went on feeling this way.

Miranda always knew.

And then-

She couldn't help but admit there was curiosity amidst her fear. And hunger. A new kind. Not just to survive, but to discover. This place was not done, yet. The question of Violeta, where she'd gone and who she was to Donna, remained unanswered. And this house, this mountaintop, severed from the rest of the world, its only connection a single, thin bridge clinging to a cliffside- when she pictured it, Elena saw a jewel-box, dusty and elegant, filled with gems and with hidden needles, sharp enough to draw blood.

Something deep inside.

The picture was incomplete. Blurred. She needed to bring it into focus. That was the only way forward.

But how?

The basement had to hold the answer. But Donna had warned her away from it, and somehow Elena knew she'd figure out if she had disobeyed her and went down there again. Many times she stood before the elevator grille, holding the brass key, telling herself go. Go. Who are you loyal to, anyway? The shadow keeping secrets from you or the Black God's prophet herself, keeping you safe all these years?

The answer should have been easy. Would have been, once. But always Elena found herself walking away, leaving the elevator behind.

***

One such time, she opened the door that led from the elevator room and into the kitchen and almost ran right into Donna.

"Oh!" She looked up, big tin box in her hands. She'd been rummaging through it. "Drat."

"What's the matter?"

"I can't find it." More rummaging. "I had such a beautiful packet of red silk embroidery floss. It was a gift from Mother."

"Your mother? Lady Beneviento?"

A pause. "No." A longer silence. "Mother Miranda."

"Oh."

"She adopted me. After..." Her words ground to a halt, her body stilling, too. Elena thought of a clockwork automaton the jolly merchant had once brought to some springtime market. He'd whisked off its velvet covering to reveal the torso of a little boy rendered in gleaming silver, clockwork find as beetle wings visible in the seams of its joints.

It had held a pen poised over a blank sheet of vellum, and when the merchant turned the key sprouting from the boy's back and wound him up, he sprang to life, fluidly writing out a bawdy poem onto the thick paper. But when the poem reached its end, and the mechanism wound down, and down, the silver boy's movements became jerky spasms, then stilled altogether, his glass eyes open and staring, all life gone.

The other children watching had clapped and cheered, and Elena had joined in as the merchant smiled and bowed and accepted their coins, but later that night she lay awake, staring into the corners, unable to close her eyes in case she'd see that boy again, see the way he shuddered into stillness. A thing alive that should not be.

"The dolls helped me act it out," Donna whispered. Behind her, at the table, Angie rustled; an echo of ghoulish laughter hissed through Elena's mind. She didn't look. "They stood around me. In a circle. One-two-three and then they all fell down."

"Act what out, Donna?"

A little shiver. She looked up. "Red silk," she said. "A present from my mother. Will you help me find it, please?"

"Donna, are you-"

"Will you help me? You said you'd help me before. Please will you?"

"I- yes. Uh- where did you see it last?"

"I thought it was here. But this is just buttons." She shoved the tin back on the shelf. "I think...maybe the attic? Or in the downstairs storage room...I'll look in the storage room if you look in the attic."

"There's not-" Elena took a breath. "Are there any surprises in the attic?"

Donna looked as aghast as someone could without their face actually being visible. "Good gracious no!"

Elena gave her a look.

"No," Donna pressed. "I'll give you one of my personal favorite special biscuits if you look in the attic."

"I don't respond well to bribes."

"Two biscuits."

"Done."

There was a flashlight in a kitchen cabinet, on the top shelf, so furred in dust Elena was half afraid it wouldn't work. But it clicked on and shone well enough, so, after untying her apron and arming herself with a broom, Elena made her way up the stairs and down the short hallway to the trapdoor that apparently led to the attic. She knocked down the ladder and pulled the light cord, but this one didn't work, and the square of darkness breathing cold and dust down on her remained absolute.

Elena clenched her jaw and climbed up the ladder, poking the broom handle through first and rattling it around in case any ghouls were lying in wait for her head to come up. She didn't want to lose any eyes or parts of limbs today. Nothing happened, so she climbed all the way into the attic, coughing at her first inhale full of dust.

She clicked on the flashlight and shone it around. The weak beam played off endless stacks of cardboard boxes, rolled rugs and broken lamps, a rack of moldering old clothes, a jointed dressmaker's dummy spattered in dark liquid. It stretched on and on, a maze of detritus and black mold and endless dust, shockingly-mundane.

Elena groaned. Of course Donna wanted one packet of embroidery floss. Why couldn't she have needed...dunno, an old chair or...or a piano? Both were there, the piano the more interesting of the two, shoddily clothed in a slipcover that left its keys exposed. Elena stood and went to it to press down a key, the antique ivory yellowed as bad teeth. The note twanged into the darkness, discordant and sour.

It faded as Elena faced the mess again. This place was as chaotic as House Beneviento below was neat. There was no obvious form of organization so she crept forward, stepping over boxes and buckets and old shoes, making her way toward a faint glow near the back. A window, she realized, a half-moon fan of stained glass so thickly-coated in dust it was almost rendered opaque. It would be gorgeous if it was clean, the glass all shades of deep midnight-blue and pale gold. Moons and suns, she noted. Again.

She drew the tip of her finger down the dust, clearing a stripe from the glass. Through it she made out the front gardens, the cliffside below. She was looking at the entrance to House Beneviento from above. This must have been the uppermost middle of the house, the very furthest away from the basement she could get. She could see the roofs, too, missing many of their slate tiles, a couple crows' nests clinging to the gables and turrets.

In the distance, amidst trees, she made out the glint of another roof- it looked like an outbuilding, somewhere in the direction of the gardens. A groundskeeper's hut, perhaps. The mountainsides looked beautiful from up here, cascades of blue-green pine trees sweeping down from great runs of untouched snow.

The urge seized her to throw the window wide, to bring the clean mountain wind into this still, dusty place. Would the window open? She found a latch, but it was fused shut. Maybe with some grease, some cleaning. She'd have to come back later.

Turning round, she nearly stepped on the dolls. She flinched back with a gasp, but they didn't move or jump out at her or start giggling. One was tipped over, but the rest were still in place, half-hidden behind an old steamer chest with a lantern set atop it. The chest was dragged out, away from the wall, forming a kind of nook with an old bookshelf and a rack of antique silk ballgowns.

The dolls helped me act it out, Donna had said.

Four dolls. Dark-haired, dressed in little gowns or harlequin ensembles, melancholy faces staring into the dust. Black mold dripped down their cheeks, like tears. They'd been up here a long, long time.

Elena stepped around the chest and knelt by them. There was more, she saw- a moth-eaten tartan blanket, rumpled as if someone had been sitting on it. A stack of books. A china plate with crumbs on it, and an old teacup, a sticky dark rime clinging to the bottom. A collection of dried petals was scattered around the skeletal remnants of a flower sprig in a vase. Maybe, Elena fancied, they had once been yellow.

A playhouse? She could see this as being an ideal hideout for a child. With the window, the old things, the darkness, it felt disconnected from the rest of the house, the rest of the world. With a little imagination it might be a treehouse, a cave, a ship full of heroes of legend, questing boyars hunting for the strange monsters of these pagan mountains, like she'd read about in Donna's history books. She tapped the dolls on their heads, lightly.

"One," she whispered, "two, three. Four."

The last doll lay face-down. Two others faced away from it, but one of them, a little girl doll in a black dress, stared at her fallen companion. Two dolls. Two girls, holding hands. To Claudia, love always.

So Claudia was Donna's sister. And she was dead. Elena thought of the big grave beyond the gatehouse, the dolls, the sweets, the candles.

A burial, for one beloved, a long time ago.

How old must Donna have been? Not very. Elena's throat tightened. Poor thing. Poor, poor girl. To lose a mother was bad enough. To lose a sister, a companion close to her own age, the only other child in this lonely place...she couldn't fathom. No wonder Donna didn't speak to anyone, isolated herself. A loss like that at a young age was like a blow to a developing bone. It left its marks, even when the healing seemed to be done. After that must have been when Miranda adopted her.

Why not adopt both girls, after their parents' deaths? She wished she could ask the dolls themselves. After what she'd seen it would seem like no unnatural thing for them to start chattering back at her.

But she thought she had an answer, or part of one, anyway. We all must play our part, Miranda had told her, back in the village church. Elena knew what that meant. We all must have a use. Or we become useless.

And then, like a rotten limb: cut off.

Had those two Beneviento girls been, at first, a useless commodity? The last scions of a dying family, left to die alone in this house that had become a tomb? But Donna Beneviento hadn't proved useless. She was a Lord, possessed of miraculous power. One of Miranda's chosen.

Right?

Oh, she didn't know. She rubbed her temple and rose, brushing the dust from her skirt and taking up her flashlight again. The dust was making her head ache. She turned, rummaged through some boxes, searching for anything that looked like embroidery floss. She found some old magazines, some dead insects, a taxidermied deer head with an extra eye swelling from its cheek, but no sign of floss.

There was a collection of old paintings leaning against a wall. She pulled one back to peer behind it in case the floss was hiding back there.

And stopped still. Even her breath shrank to a whisper between her teeth.

A face stared back at her, enclosed in an ornate gilt frame. A woman's. So pale the artist had rendered her in grays and pale greens, dressed in high-neck black with jet buttons, her hands set, gently, on the skirts of the bride doll in her lap.

A finger of light from the dusty window touched the paint, illuminating one of the woman's high cheekbones. Her black hair was pulled back from a heart-shaped face, lips set in a slight smile, dark eyes canted upwards at the corners. Fine-featured, poised, arresting. On one glance she seemed sweet, earnest, and on the next she became arch, that enigmatic smile slightly sneering. But whatever the look on her face, there was no mistaking her.

This was Donna, under the veil.

She was so beautiful. "Why hide this?" Elena whispered. She knelt before the painting, reached out, stopped, took a short breath. Her heart clattered against her ribs, a caged bird. Her fingertips trembled.

There was no one here to see.

She brushed her fingertips along the line of Donna's painted cheek. Along the loose strand of hair, falling from her fringe, as if she might tuck it back into place. Along her lips, as if she might feel their warmth, as if she might feel, for a gutless moment, the smoothness of them, the way they might feel against her own skin.

Elena withdrew her hand. Her head swam. Her whole body panged, electric, all sensation both distant and too-bright, too-strong. She knelt there and breathed, drinking in the portrait, every detail of her lady's hidden face.

Then she stood. She leaned the portrait back into place, got her flashlight, and retreated from the attic, closing the trapdoor behind her.

Donna was gone from the kitchen. Elena found her in the front hall, gathering up a large handbasket and a pair of shears.

Elena licked her lips. "Did you find the floss?"

"Oh!" Donna looked round. "Yes! It was in the storage room after all. Silly me. How was the attic? Any surprises?"

"...No. Where are you going?"

"This?" Donna held up her basket. "I must gather more herbs. For the medicines and chemicals I use in my work." "May...I come?"

Donna looked at her sideways. "I was hoping you might."

"I'll just be there to hold you accountable. I was promised sweets, you know."

"You're sweet enough already," Donna said, with a laugh, and mercifully turned away before heat flooded Elena's face, enough she knew she'd be a red, stuttering mess. She hurried to grab her coat and scrub her face and drink some water to cool herself down, half-afraid Donna would be gone by the time she got back.

She wasn't, and together they set out into the clear winter day, walking side-by-side, Angie nestled like a baby in Donna's basket.

Donna headed not down toward the gardens, but took a left, slipping between two rock crags and onto a path Elena had not noticed before, a thin trail wending upwards through the forest that descended down the mountainside to nearly encroach upon the manor grounds. The waterfall thundered somewhere amidst the snow-mist, great plumes of icy spume glittering in the sunlight. They ascended a short flight of stone steps chiseled into the path, worn-down and slick with ice. A rope handrail was bolted into the rocks, which didn't reassure Elena much.

As they turned a bend, Elena saw what they'd been climbing toward. Another red gatehouse, paint chipped and faded, a studded oak door leading, seemingly, straight into the mountainside itself.

"Where are we going?" Elena called over the sound of the falls.

"You'll see. Stay close," Donna said. She unlocked the doors with a chatelaine she produced from somewhere in the folds of her skirt.

Inside, the thunder of the falls faded to a vibration underfoot. The passageway echoed ahead, a natural stone cave reinforced with wood beams. Donna unhooked a lantern from a hook and lit it, the shivering light illuminating the cave some thirty feet on.

"Follow me," Donna said, and began ahead. Elena did as she asked. The darkness was full of the sound of water, the steady dring of it from the ceiling, rivulets trickling over the flagstone floor. After a few minutes of silence, of climbing flights of steps, of long passageways of nothing, she began to notice the niches along the walls, the black roots twining from cracks in the walls. Candles stood in the niches, burnt down to puddles of wax. Stacks of lei, too, and dried flowers, and chunks of crystal, like offerings given to the warding-saints.

Is this a holy place? The priests spoke of the inner sanctum of the Black God, and Elena had herself seen the ruins that surrounded the town, filled with the snarls and howls of lycans come night but safe to walk in during the day. Painted with images of the saints and glorified by shrines to Miranda and the Black God, they had the same still, reverent air as these hallways. But there were no images here, no shrines, at least not in the way Elena was familiar.

"What is this place?" she whispered, not wanting to break the hush. Her voice chased her anyway, echoes at her heels- is this place, is this place.

"There was once more to the Beneviento estate, Elena. Much more. My family...the family I had before Mother Miranda adopted me has been in these mountains for a very, very long time. Since the days of Berengario."

"Who?"

Donna paused at a fork in the passageway, then took the right-hand path. Elena memorized the intersection on the off-chance she'd have to make a swift exit. "We didn't always live here, in the valley, you know. Once there was a great crystal city, far, far underground. Such magnificence. Spires to scrape the skies, and living gemstones, and rivers of light, bright as the sun through stained glass. There was no hunger there, no pain or suffering. Paradise. But there came calamity, a terrible apocalypse, and the crystal city was sundered. Broken. Swallowed whole by the earth that had for so long embraced it. And all good things were lost."

She lifted her head in the darkness. "So the four kings of the city led their people from their shattered paradise and into the dark and the cold of the world beyond. One of them was Berengario. They say it was his cleverness that convinced the Black God to help their people. His words painted wonders of worship and the Black God lifted its power and made the valley. A safe place for the refugees to live."

"It made the valley?"

"That's right."

"How?"

A soft laugh. "I don't know. I wasn't there. It was a very long time ago. Thousands of years." She paused. "Before Miranda."

"Before- wait. No, Miranda has always been here. The Black God's chosen, that's what she says."

"She says a lot. Whispers a lot. But I've kept books from her, locked them away where she can't find them. History books, of the wars that shaped the valley, drew its borders. And she's not in them. She only comes later."

Elena let out a laugh of disbelief. "I...I don't know..."

"It's true. Maybe not the crystal city. That might just be a story. But it's a nice one. Can you imagine a place without hunger...without sadness?"

"No." Elena paused. "That's what Miranda wants, for this valley. A perfect place for us, one where everything is useful."

"Miranda wants many things," Donna said, so quietly her voice was almost lost amidst the echoes. "A perfect place for us is not one of them."

Elena looked sharply up at her, but Donna didn't say anything more.

They were winding up, and up, and up a long, corkscrew set of steps. The atmosphere had changed as they climbed, the air becoming softer, the darkness tinged with gold. Sunlight came into view, shining down from a narrow slit window above. They rounded another turn and came face-to-face with a rickety wooden door, chained in place with a padlock. Donna unlocked it and gestured Elena through.

She stepped from stone, and gloom, and echoes, and into sunlight, dense and warm on her upturned face.

The snow had melted here, the mountainside given over to the falling sunlight, and away and away, as far as Elena could see, spread an endless field of grass and wildflowers, swept by the wind like her glimpse of the sea. On and on, rhododendron and edelweiss, gentian and dianthus, countless flowers clinging to stony soil, cut by the glimmering thread of a few small streams flowing from some higher, hidden source. A few craggy upthrusts broke the surface of the grass, the remnants of old towers and stone walls, crumbling and wind-chapped and weathered by centuries of storms. They would be the first to feel it, up here, the first to drink the rain, to feel the sun.

Elena's mouth was open in naked awe, the wind pricking tears from her eyes; the wind rushed, and tore her hair from its pins, and filled her lungs, harsh and thrilling, full of the taste of ancient ice, of growing things, of a wild place far from the reach of the world.

She watched Donna step into the grass, parting it. She was the sole spot of black within the landscape of sun and grass and stone, but she wasn't a hole in the world, she was the focus, the linchpin. She waded into the knee-high field without hesitation, and Elena could do nothing, after a moment, but follow.

Through the grass, to the base of one of the ancient towers. It shadowed the landscape, one of many; the clouds moved across the sky, their great slow shadows rippling over the liquid expanse of the field. There were no rooms left, no halls, just the decayed echoes of what had once been buildings, but as Donna bent to the wall Elena saw the tangle of deep red plants growing there, heart-shaped leaves nodding in the wind.

"How do they all grow?" she asked, her voice hushed. "It's winter. Shouldn't they all die in winter?"

"I help them stay alive." Donna clipped them with the tips of her shears. "Take one..." she began. She placed the sprigs in the basket, leaving the rest of the plant in peace. "...And leave the rest to grow."

"What does this one do?"

"Many things. Poisons, cures. It all depends on how you treat it." She bent to the next plant, harvesting it with a few deft snips of her shears. "Want to try a leaf?"

"Trying to poison me? Are you sick of me that soon?"

"No," Donna said. "Never."

She moved on, and, eventually, silently, gave Elena a second set of secateurs. Elena fell into the rhythm of the work, her eyes soon sharpening to the bright spots of red amidst the shadows of the ruins, the heart-shaped leaves with their scalloped edges, their undersides like velvet. A sharp, spicy scent rose from them when they were cut.

Inhaling it, Elena's head swam, her mind drifting to distant places, to candlelit rooms, to glimpses of dark skies blazing with stars. There were other herbs, too, green ones with a scent almost like peppermint, and even blue ones, their leaves edged with a color so vivid it mirrored the sky. Each one seemed like its own small wonder, perfect and complete, the natural denizen of this impossible place.

And, later, she and Donna sat together in the lee of an old stone wall, sheltered from the wind, heads tilted back to watch the clouds move across the sky.

"I think I found what you sent me to the attic to find, after all," Elena said, after a long silence.

Donna didn't speak.

"I think I understand, now. About Claudia. You couldn't tell me about her. So you showed me." She paused. "Thank you."

"I wasn't strong enough to tell you."

"Are you now?"

"Yes." Silk rustled as she shifted. "She died."

Elena turned her head to look at her. Again, that glimpse of her profile through the silk, the shape of the nose she now knew, though had never truly seen. Of her full mouth, which she at once longed to see smiling, really smiling, full and sweet and true.

"She was my sister," Donna went on. "My younger sister. My only. I was five when she was born. And, oh, she was perfect. My mother doted on her. My father too. He even stopped making his dolls and puppets to spend time with her. And I...I slept by her cradle so I could listen to her breathing all night, so I could see her first thing in the morning when I woke up. And she grew, and she was so...right, so good...not right for this place. For that house. I always knew she was special."

She paused.

"And so did Miranda," she went on. "She came to us when Claudia was three. She wanted to give her the gift, even then. But she said she was too little. That she would come back. My mother...she was so afraid. But I didn't see what was so bad. When is a gift bad?"

When it comes with a price. But Elena didn't say anything. She suspected Donna already knew that.

"Mother Miranda wanted her," Donna went on. "And what Mother wants, she gets. She returned when Claudia was six, and by then she was sure. But let her grow, she told me. Let her grow a little longer. Like a flower in the sun. And Claudia was so happy, so honored. I tried to protect her. I tried. When Mama and Papa, when they...they fell..."

"Oh, Donna," Elena murmured.

"We weren't bad daughters. We weren't. That couldn't have been why. I saw them." She paused. "They jumped. Claudia cried. But I still had her. I still had her..."

Her voice faded.

There was more, Elena knew. And that was where the wound was, the real wound, the one that had made her. The one she was so afraid of, locked herself away from. The horrors she still could not face.

"Well," Elena said eventually. "You have me."

Donna turned her head so they looked at one another. "I do," she murmured, and reached out, and trailed the back of her fingers over Elena's cheek, her touch soft and warm as the afternoon sunlight, and just as keenly missed once it was gone.

***

That night, Elena woke not to the sound of weeping, but of music.

She reached for her shawl, paused, then reached for the green velvet dressing-gown in all its decaying finery and belted it over her nightdress. She left her hair loose, falling in waves and tangles down her shoulders.

She left her room and followed the music to the front hall, where it poured from the old gramophone player, filling the darkness with the warm hiss of its sound. Soft, meandering piano. It made her think again of the wind through the grass, the cloud-shadows and the sky. One minute it became melancholy, the next discordant. The next, unbearably sweet.

Donna stood by the gramophone, her hand poised on its casing. She looked up to watch Elena come down the stairs and stood at their foot, breath held, waiting.

Waiting.

Not for long. Donna lifted her hand.

"Do you dance?" she asked.

#resident evil village #re8 #re8 fanfiction #re8 fic #donna beneviento #elena lupu #karl heisenberg #mother miranda #donna beneviento x elena lupu #donna beneviento x oc #re8 oc #angie beneviento #claudia beneviento #gothic romance #gothic horror #resident evil #chapter 8

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