#i still cannot capture the life that is in his art

[seithennyn]

[levshany]

Tandem, this is an AU in which the Collector possesses Philip, and there are a lot of things happening afterwards. but now we’ll just retell how it basically started

@angstyhikka drew a couple of arts and helped me with coloring

This is an alternative development of events after the ending of the fanfic “At The Dawn of The Light” (it's not finished yet, but there is already an AU from the ending, yes). The idea belongs to @lasymit, and I (Lev) picked it up :3

Before King's Tide, all events take place according to canon. And then the following changes occur: the witches capture Philip and lock him in a cave in the Titan's skull. The draining spell is stopped without the help of the Collector, but he himself is not found. His mirror remains lying at the bottom of the pit.

For 10 years, Philip was under a sleeping spell. Everything would be fine, but when the Hexside squad wakes up Philip to make him help them with one super important problem, not only does he become mischievous but he also has problems in his head now. Luz and the team think that Philip is manipulating them (you can't blame them for this, Philip is Philip, even with a leaky memory and a leaking roof, he manages to be such an asshole), and therefore they torture him to force him to cooperate with them.

While Philip was sleeping, a cozy corner appeared in his head, in which there was nothing but a green hill, a small house and an apple tree. There, Philip, in his child form, lives with Caleb, who is a figment of his sick mind. During his 10 years in this mindscape, Philip convinced himself that this was reality. And the Boiling Isles, the cave and the witches who torture him are an endless nightmare. Because, on the Boiling Isles, he sometimes remembers that he killed his brother. But this simply cannot be reality.

At some point, Luz and Hunter realize that Philip is not pretending that he is seriously ill and no matter how much he denies it, he needs help, and they soften towards him somewhat. Although both have rather mixed feelings towards their dementia grandpa.

Even in the moments when Philip remembers himself fully enough, his attitude towards the Boiling Isles, Luz, Hunter and even his own mission has changed greatly in any case. He no longer cares about the destruction of witches and revenge for his brother. Philip is tired. Deadly tired. All he wants to do is sleep. He slept for ten years, and this was perhaps the first time in decades of his life that he felt peace and happiness.

While he is in this state, it happens that he encounter the Collector. This is a difficult meeting for both of them, but it all ends with the forgiveness of all grievances. They both don't want to lose each other now. The collector is still locked in the disk, but Philip has the opportunity to let his friend into his subconscious. Seeing the deplorable state of Philip's mind, he decides that he must help - after all, Philip is still his only friend. Collie asks Philip not to go to "sleep" forever, but Philip replies that he has no joy in waking up here. All he dreams of is never returning to the world of the Boiling Islands. The collector, frightened that his only friend is about to leave him, possesses Philip and promises him that he will get them both out of this nightmare.

This is how Tandem's story begins

a huge amount of detail has been omitted to avoid spoilers for "The Dawn". if you wanna learn more go check the fanfic *wink wink*

[bunny584]

For I Have Sinned

“Let no one say when he is tempted, ‘I am being tempted by God’ For God cannot be tempted by evil.” James 1:13.

But Father Geto can be. 

Newly appointed Chaplain of the Noble Court, Suguru is a reformed sinner. Sanctity, discipline and celibacy are commandments of his choosing. A devout servant of the Lord. Armored with the Breastplate of Righteousness, the Shield of Faith. 

This should be sufficient enough to withstand temptation. 

Right? 

Pairing: Geto x Female reader 

C/W: Religious themes, dark romance, eventual filth. 18+. MDNI. 

A/N: Holy hell. Anon, you sick, twisted genius. You, the puppeteer. Me, the puppet who writes. This one — this story might be the one. Frothing at the mouth to know what you guys think. Going on AO3 for sure. I haven’t decided if I will keep this long fic series here, but since it was an anon ask its only right to honor them with the first chapter. 

Art credit: @ potchi_jpg on X

Music: Garden Kisses x Giveon (this was on a manic repeat for at least an hour. It wrote the chapter. I implore you to listen and levitate like I did).

CHAPTER I. Hello, Duchess.

Andesite. Dacite. Schist. 

Gorgeous. 

Suguru takes a mental note of the rock formations whizzing by just before he spears the Aegean Sea. Tailwind force trailing his feet in an elegant whirl.

Eh, mediocre landing. He’s out of practice. 

It’s true. Seminary did not allow for too much idle time in between biblical studies. Devil’s playground, and such. 

And it’s not in his nature to half-ass any life endeavor, whatever it may be. 

Suguru deftly levels out in the welcoming waves. Loose-limbed and fluid. Choosing to hover below her surface for a few moments longer. The tail end of his thick, singular French braid undulating behind him.

His body flows in tandem with the current. Swimming deep enough to scatter a pool of Fagri. He instinctively captures one in his large hand — not quite as out-of-touch as he thought. 

‘Make it to shore! If Poseidon calls, don’t answer Him, son!’

The gentle fisherman called out each time Suguru dove off their vessel. Still two or three, sometimes up to five miles from the coast, he’d plunge into the waters. Regardless of her mood, Suguru craved to be surrounded by her embrace. 

To be baptized by her tide. 

Showered with her salt of the earth. 

A dampened smile blooms across Suguru’s terse lips. Oxygen bubbles float about, from the muffled chuckle escaping him. 

His father’s voice rings between his ears. A little less clearly, nowadays. 

He always dove deeper than his fellow seafarers. Without the restraints of gear or protective equipment. Unnaturally comfortable in an element more labile than human nature. 

Suguru’s father mused about his Stormborn boy’s true lineage. 

‘Everyday, I prayed for you. Begged for you. And the God of the Ocean delivered a precious gift. Don’t return to His storms too soon.’

Fond memories, a little yellowed now. Callouses from those days have faded. 

Suguru is a different man. Born again. In a new country. With a new home, a new purpose. 

Even still, it’s comforting to know the world is 70% water, 30% land. And the Great Majority has always welcomed him with open arms.

No matter the iteration of his life, he’ll always find a home at Sea.

“Father Geto!”

What? 

Suguru begins his ascent. He is still by the cliff edge. Not nearly far enough for the Sirens to beckon. 

“Chaplain! Are you out there?”

Not even the saltwater penetrates his ears like this melody. 

An ethereal crescendo. With all the grace and beauty of a summer swan. Light enough to lull stoic men to a peaceful, permanent, slumber. 

More alluring. More disorienting than the songs at sea he’s heard and resisted. Potent enough to drown a warship. 

Who is calling for him?

Suguru chases the lethal sound. Careful pauses at each depth-level. To avoid returning to Poseidon’s storms too soon, as his father would say. 

“Father Geto!” 

Ahh, a voice he recognizes. His alter boy, Noel, at the peak.

Helios is kind, today. Because the Sun kisses Suguru as he breaks the surface. If the Ocean is his home, the Sun is certainly his lover. 

“What is it, Noel?” He calls in between strides to the volcanic edge.

“You have a visitor!” A tremble to Noel’s tone. Suguru cant help the low chuckle that leaves him.

Adolescents are always so anxious. Nervous about the most inconsequential, meaningless things. He was once the same. 

Who could be visiting? His schedule is supposed to be cleared today. 

Suguru laments leaving his clothing at the peak of the cliffside. Tossing a glance over his left shoulder - memories of his past life tattooed in various symbols. His back, covered in a sprawling trident. 

A permanent stain from the life he lived before this. It’s unbecoming of a priest to be seen this way. 

Latching onto the unforgiving rocky edges, Suguru scales the steep terrain in long steps and short holds. Serrated earth digs into his damp palms with each grasp.

He savors the pain. It’s familiar. An indication that he’s spent some time in the only other place he finds unfettered peace. 

“Noel, my schedule was cleared. Who could be—“

“Pardon my intrusion, Father Geto.” You seep into Suguru’s sentence, effectively answering his question. 

Music. 

Suguru nearly falls backward off the ledge he just set foot on.

Rumors about your beauty pollenated the compound for weeks. Anxiously anticipating your arrival. Hushed voices between maidens. Whispers within the walls of parlors. Bellowing gossip between court officials. 

All the words, all the speculations roll around Suguru’s skull. Louder than glass shattering in an empty room. 

They were wrong. 

Liars. 

Not even a tenth of the truth can be found in the frivolous ‘she’s a beauty’, ‘what a pretty face’ and comments of the like taking root in the compound. 

No, no. 

You were sculpted by every single Deity Suguru has ever studied.  

Because the One he has chosen to worship couldn’t have possibly crafted you alone. 

The good Lord is simply without the means.

Suguru will have to repent for that blasphemous thought later. 

���but God granted him eyesight, no? 

Eyes that can see underwater with the same clarity as a cloudless day. He trusts his eyes more than any part of his body. 

And they aren’t deceiving him. 

Flushed and turned away, Suguru takes a moment to soak you in, while patting himself dry. Maybe taking a little extra time to step into his khaki slacks and white button up. 

His wind pipe threatens to spasm with each sip of you he takes. 

Exquisite woman. 

You could convert a non believer in an instant. 

The gentle slope of your nose, those warmed soft, high cheeks deserve to be cherished in a museum. 

That dress. 

The tailor must’ve sewn it to your body in real time. Rolling hills and dips of your feminine curves. So quick to surrender to the ride your frame is taking him on. 

Suguru could fall to his knees and praise the Gods right here and now for their attention to detail. 

“Duchess? I’m embarrassed. Forgive my attire, I wasn’t expecting visitors today.”

Still damp but fully clothed, Suguru walks forward with a steady hand outstretched. Intentionally skipping eye contact with Noel, who would’ve interpreted the glance as anger. The boy is practically vibrating in his periphery. 

Concerned about possibly making a mistake, sure. But if Suguru were still a betting man, he’d bet your presence is driving Noel’s rattled nerves. 

“I’m the one who should be asking for forgiveness!” Unveiling your face to him with a gorgeous smile, you offer a delicate hand that drowns in his. 

Well.

To call it just a gorgeous smile makes him no better than the rumor mill and its grave underestimation. 

The air around him is sliced to a fraction of what it was. Suddenly gossamer thin and inadequate. 

You are breathtaking. 

“Please.” A deceptively even tone and casual wave of his hand. You wouldn’t know that words taste like sandpaper. 

“How can I serve you, Duchess?” 

“You do not have to address me as such, Father. I’m not wed, yet!”

Bunny lines along your nose deepen when you laugh. Heat scorches Suguru’s ears and you both are presently under shade. 

Do. Not. Covet.

“It’s all the same.” With a restrained smile, Suguru peels his eyes away from yours. 

Resting them on his rectory in the distance. He gestures his hands forward. Noel scrambles ahead of you two, undoubtedly to go tidy the chapel (that is already spotless). 

“You’re quite the swimmer.” 

You could assassinate him, you know. 

With that voice of yours. The way it stuns his senses. Far more dangerous now that it isn’t dampened by unrelenting waves. 

Suguru is a strong swimmer. He knows it. Noel knows it. The whole court knows it. Great Whites know it. 

So why is his spine unraveling at its seams when you say it? 

Why is his heart knocking against his sternum like it’s on the run from something? 

From someone, rather. 

“Mmm.” Suguru hums through closed lips. 

Unable to acknowledge the compliment with decorum. He opts for diversion instead. 

“Duchess, if I may. What prompted your visit to the chapel? How can I serve you?” 

The two of you take lazy strides along the cobblestone path. You ogle at a white rose bush that Suguru is particularly fond of. 

“I was touring the compound and noticed the garden surrounding the Church.” 

A distracted response, while nestling your nose in a pretty bloom. Sun rays fanning your face as if to showcase that you’re God’s favorite. A biblical example of how flowers should be enjoyed.

Is it just the roses? Or are you this beautiful no matter the plant?  

“Ahh. Come, then.” 

You’re being indulgent, Suguru. 

Maybe so. But the Chapel Grounds are his domain. The greenery lives and breathes under his fingertips. He adamantly refused a groundskeeper for the garden. Taking pride in nurturing its needy existence. 

Second only to his eyes, Suguru trusts his hands fully. They’re intelligent. Fast. Expansive. 

Definitive. Firm when the situation calls for it, yet gentle. Quick to learn. 

Attentive. 

He’s never gotten a shortage of compliments on his hands—

“Wisteria!” You torpedo through Suguru’s rapidly disintegrating spiral. And he couldn’t be more grateful. 

Regaining a shred of control, he leads you under the oak archway. Draped in curtains of Wisteria. The billowing lilac petals sway romantically in the sea breeze. 

Your lips hang open in a pretty, shocked ‘Oh.’ Eyes wide, gazing up at him in wonder. Adoration woven into those beautiful features slams hot and heavy into his lower abdomen. Remnant embers warming below his belt line. 

Suguru coughs to reset his over-sensitive senses. A futile gesture because you knock him right back down to his knees. 

“Oh, Father…..please?” A soft plea rolls through the slit in your lips. Pulling his eyes down to your pout.

Fuck. 

The rock formation Suguru took note of earlier suddenly materializes in his throat. You coated his honorific in a new tone. Breathy and desperate. As if he is the only person who could satisfy your needs. 

His skin is half a degree away from melting clear off his skeleton under those big, warm eyes of yours. 

“Specify your request, Duchess.”

Both hands jam into his pockets so he can dig his nails into his thighs unnoticed. The searing pain tethering him to this dimension. 

A deep rose blooms over your cheeks. Realizing you hadn’t actually asked him a question before begging. 

So, prettily. 

“May I please tend to your garden? It’s…I’m far from home and gardening brings me so much joy. Please, Father Geto—“

“Yes.” 

His agreement comes well before Suguru is ready. Or, thought it through. 

Should a noble woman be seen doing tasks as menial as gardening? 

Should you be seen without your fiancée on his grounds? 

What will you look like? 

Kneeling over a bed of sunflowers? 

Kneading the soil with your delicate, small hands—

“How can I thank you?” Your lips curl into an intoxicating smile. And Suguru no longer has the capacity to be in your presence. 

“No need, stay as long as you like. I have to take my leave.”

Suguru offers a curt wave and terse smile before spinning on his heel. Leaving you, a work of art, beneath the masterpiece that is his arc of wisteria. 

He barrels down the Chapel corridors at light speed. The pews, confessional, meeting rooms whirl by his periphery in a drunken haze.

Cold water. Cold water. 

The wooden bathroom door creaks and wails beneath his harsh touch. Suguru fumbles with the two-level lock.

He nearly strips down naked. The fire incinerating him from within is unbearable. If there were scissors within grasp he would’ve cut his braid completely off. Because even the familiar sway of his waist length mane along his back is too much. 

You are too much.

Suguru’s fingers unravel his braid and reposition his locks into a tight bun. Off the damp skin along his neck. 

‘Father….please?’

Your voice echoes from Suguru’s incapacitated brain down to his drooling cock. Icy water splashes against face. 

Suguru’s length has been weeping since you first revealed your face to him. Twitching and thrashing with every single word that came out of that pretty, sinful mouth. He’s never been so grateful that today he chose to swim with compression gear, rather than his usual bared skin. 

Are you doing this on purpose?

Wide eyed and demure. But with a voice more beautiful than any siren that has tried to lure him to his watery grave. 

Is this a test?

Suguru’s fingers desperately grasp the golden cross around his neck. Digging the symbol into his palm. 

“Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners…” He starts. Ignited, smoldering violet eyes staring back at him are unrecognizable. 

They are not of God. 

They are dark. 

Lust filled. 

“Now. And…and at the hour of our death.” Words slip through his gritted teeth. His other hand grips the sink edge. 

‘May I please tend to your Garden?’

“God. Please.” Suguru is the one pleading. To anyone above.

For self-control. For reprieve from the shape of your lips when you beg. His cock bucks against his inner thigh. Demanding attention to the ache between his legs. 

Are you Eve? 

Have you come to destroy his Eden?

Your delectable mounds barely hidden beneath that fucking dress as the Apple?

“Holy…Holy Mary, Mother of God…pray for us sinners.” His vice grip around the cross tightens. Babbling words he hopes can provide him with some restraint, some clarity.

They don’t.

Because his other hand now hovers over the pulsating bulge in his slacks. His manhood starved. Especially having been deprived of touch. Of warmth for longer than Suguru remembers.

“Holy…Mary…fuck.” Blasphemy rolling off his tongue. 

Scorching heat radiating from his hovering palm pierces his clothing. Encasing his cock like a warmed blanket. Enticing him like the soft sex of a woman. Every single muscle is under wire tension. Forcing space between his need and his hand. 

His hands. Don’t forsake him now. He trusts his hands. 

“Father Geto? Are you alright?” Noel’s call from the other side of the door startles Suguru still.

“I’m—“ Suguru clears his dry throat “I’m alright, Noel. What do you need?”

“I saw you run in here and—“

“I’m okay.” Suguru replies, more softly this time. The boy is almost too tender-hearted for his own good.

He doesn’t miss the small sigh of relief. 

“I left your updated schedule on your desk.” 

“And what would I do without you?”

Suguru can almost hear Noel smiling across the barrier. Gleefully padding away. Completely unaware that his presence was the saving grace from disgracing himself. 

Another splash of cold water on his face and multiple deep breaths later, Suguru finally gains enough composure to emerge. 

Curious about the updates to his schedule, he strides to his office. A leather folder awaits with his itinerary.

Saturday: 0800 - 1000- Youth lecture 

Saturday: 1800 - 2000 - Evening mass

Sunday: 0700 - 0900 - Morning mass

Sunday: 1300 - 1400 - Pre-Marital Counseling [CONFIDENTIAL] 

“High court, then.” Suguru muses to himself. Pulling out the envelope with a matching demarcation. Meant for his eyes only. Should the seal be broken en route to the recipient the offender could be sentenced to death for treason. 

And at this moment, Suguru finds that fate less painful than the spear currently piercing his lungs.

His eyes burn into the names written at the bottom of the page.

The Duke Ahriman  & The Duchess-to-Be.

Chapter II

E/N: Hello from [redacted]. I am literally losing my shite. I’m already in love with the plot before it has even fully materialized. And prince-of-the-sea-Suguru? This headcannon has me in a chokehold I fear. Thank you for reading 💋

[cherryskyies]

Sebastian & Undertaker w an insecure s/o

trying desperately to make creative brain juice flow guys. sometimes my wording feels off but it's been a hot minute since I've been writing on a regular basis.

Masterlist || Navigation || ao3

Sebastian

Sebastian is well aware of your insecurities regarding your body before you tell him. He sees it in the way you suck your stomach in when his hand brushes against it, body stiffening when he chooses to keep it there.

He is not an idiot, but he cannot help but be confused as to why you see yourself in such a negative light; you're pure and soft, untainted by the evil surrounding you. Perfection in his eyes.

When the topic arises, his hand still against your flesh, you feel embarrassed. "Can I keep my shirt on?"

Sebastian pauses for a moment, "what if I blow the candles out?" he suggests, desperate to feel all of you, not needing the dim light to guide him.

You comply, still hesitant to know you'll be laid bare beneath him, but Sebastian is quick to toss your anxiety out the door with his skilled tongue.

He will fuck every ounce of doubt and insecurity out of you. Praise follows each thrust.

Undertaker

He has seen a lot of bodies in his life given his field of work and yours isn't anything he hasn't seen before, so why are you ashamed?

In his eyes, every bit of you is a work of art. He paints you in his free time but nothing he does fully captures your beauty.

"I've seen a lot in my life, doll," he starts, slender fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "but I have not seen a girl as alluring as you."

If he could explain you in simple terms he'd say heaven on earth, his very own angel.

Undertaker does his very best to make you comfortable, knowing your insecurities and determined to prove he adores every inch of your mind and body.

His slow hands glide over every curve and so-called "imperfection", leaving kisses followed by praise in areas you tense up.

It is his goal for you to see yourself in the same light he does and he will succeed; don't give him a challenge you don't want him to win.

[xxgothchatonxx]

I cannot believe just how perfect Assad's performance was in that art gallery scene.

I feel like this was to Armand what the confession scene was to Louis. As a viewer, this was the moment where I thought "this is The Vampire Armand". I mean, I've been loving Assad's performance from the start, but I feel like this was the make-or-break moment for the writing of Armand in this show. Because yes Armand is manipulative, yes he does truly horrific things, but he is also broken. He's been hurt so much in his life but what's both so horrifying yet also heartbreaking is how he views that hurt. His devotion to his maker, even after he did so many horrific things to his "beloved Amadeo" (god I felt my stomach drop when he said that...) is so tragic.

And I think Assad captured that tragic devotion perfectly. Because we as the audience know just how fucked up this story is, and I'm guessing the show-only viewers have now got a very strong impression of just how much of a gross asshole Marius is. But Assad delivered those lines like he's telling a fairytale. It's so eerily peaceful and almost romantic, which creates a vivid contrast against what he's actually saying.

From an adaptation standpoint, I think it was a brilliant choice to place this backstory here. Because it provides a logical reasoning for why Armand is the way he is, and why he acts the way he acts (and will act). How he views love, why he's so obsessed with maintaining tradition and order. And I think it's smart from a show perspective to reveal it here and now rather than wait a few seasons. The horror of Armand is still there, but he isn't Armand without the tragedy.

Assad and the writers absolutely nailed this scene. It's such a crucial part of Armand's character and I thought it was both incredibly disturbing but also tastefully done.

[harmonysanreads]

La Follia

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Yandere!Sylus x Reader

cw(s) : yandere, coercion, implied murder, implications of forced marriage, one mention of blood, guns, imbalanced power dynamics.

「 words : 800+ 」 「 art credits 」

· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ This... is not the fic idea I said I had in my wips but somehow we ended up here anyway ^^;

Before signing any document, it is crucial to carefully read its contents.

Not this one though. Your spite digs its talons into the pen, glaring at the offending piece of paper its situated against. The strings of legal ruminations and dry wordplay are irrelevant, unnecessary and jeeringly useless before your present predicament. Your eyes would rather bleed than capture their meaning.

Vague phantoms taunt your periphery, specks of dust rising from litanies of codicies towards the flickering lightbulb make it impossible to forget your environment. The state of a government office ; a place to admonish rules and keep the reputation of the constitution flowing — he has no need to adhere to them.

Redundant cannot even hope to describe the absurdity of the situation, in fact, you think you're at a stage of mental stupefaction that no adjective can. Perhaps it would carry some semblance of logic had it been a toddler instead of a conscious adult conducting this ridiculous show.

A show, yes, yes — it is nothing but an impromptu drama. To dig and imbibe the fact into your and everyone else's heads, that the leader of Onychinus has the luxury, the power to carry out even the most nonsensical whims.

Why shouldn't it be possible? In a world dictated through strength, governed by the fittest and where history is written for posterity in hopes of conditioning them to sing the greatness of those who won, you suppose something like this isn't all that irrational.

Supposing now, all things considered, that none of this is illogical in the grand scheme of things. In fact, should the so-called strong decide that it is completely normal, acceptable even to hold a gun to another's head, push them to a stack of papers and shove a pen to finalize some joke of a matrimony — it would be deemed appropriate, because it is the one with the might who has thought so.

But what it wouldn't be, is fair ; another hapless notion that can be discarded easily with the universal knowledge that nothing ever is fair in this world.

You peer through your lashes to the unfortunate clerk that had the fortune of witnessing this hilarity. He tries his best to maintain a semblance of professionalism and fails effortlessly, if the way he toys with the silver-band around his ring finger is anything to go by. Your eyes shift to the picture frame kept with care at one corner of the desk, the innocent smiles of figures who you assume to be his family almost make your heart ache.

Marriage. Coveted, anticipated, so beautiful in its purest form yet the causation of so many miseries. You would've never thought it could be ridiculed to this degree before this day.

You don't need to look beside you to picture his amusement, fascinated at how the clerk appears as though he's seeing his every wrong doing and each moment of joy play out before his eyes despite it being you with a weapon pointed at your head.

There is no rationality behind the demand of marriage by a man who dwells in a land governed by the rule of no rules, no explanation as to why he saunters into this establishment and insists that it be finalized through legalese furthermore.

No, no, it is but to prove to your stubborn self — see and witness what I can do should I desire, I can adhere to law and trample upon it according to my whim. Will you still deny me, still deem me beneath you after this?

You will, if just to push his patience to its last hinges. You know very well this is all just a game to him. If Sylus truly desired to end your life, he wouldn't need a measly gun to do it.

You count the beats of time and construse your own schemes, searching for exits from this doomed playground and wander right into his trap.

“Can’t bring yourself to do it?” the purr is close, too close for your comfort. The tip of the pen shines as it tilts in response to your loosened clasp, sharp, you note ; pointed enough to pierce through an eye and dash away a few paces.

“Need some encouragement? Yes? No? Maybe so? You could've just said it instead of glaring at the poor paper.” the cold muzzle retracts from the side of your head but the heat of its presence remains.

The clerk's pupils are clear enough to reflect the panic that paints your face. The pen drops from your grasp, rolling across the papers and the worn out wood of the table ; gravity pulling it closer to the earth till it hits the tiled floor, splattering the crimson pooling around the surface.

The warmth of the hand that forced the weapon to your hand swiftly withdraws, your vision clears to the coldness of the gun in your clutch, the silence that follows the bullet's release nearly deafens your ears.

You hear the devil's whisper, “Now you and I are equal, no? As such, there should be no further excuses preventing you from marrying this monster.”

It would've been a taunt only some seconds ago, but now, it has become an irrefutable fact. No matter how cunning, how stubborn, the weak will always be controlled by the strong.

[transmascsteveharrington]

"Make a wish." Steve wishes he could tell his younger self that it’s all going to be alright. That the pain won’t disappear, but that it will ease. That loneliness will leave and love will come. That life still sometimes fucking sucks, but overall it’s going to be okay. Steve is going to be okay. Even when it all comes crashing down, they are going to make it work somehow. He is going to be okay. 

I commissioned the insanely talented @mardyart to draw one of my favourite serene little moments from my steddie fic I know I've kissed you before (Can I try again). I cannot thank Mardy enough for this, the art is absolutely breathtaking and captures the vibe so perfectly. Mardy also currently has commissions open and you should totally consider commissioning them.

[kyleemm2]

Art Supplies I'd Give to JJK Characters [Protagonist Edition]

My credentials: I make art and I can do what I want.

Yuji Itadori: mechanical pencil- easy to use, easy to manage, forgiving, but he always forgets to bring extra lead and erasers. He'd draw cutesy things and anime characters.

Megumi Fushiguro: charcoal pencils- intense and moody, somewhat forgiving, but you reach the end result faster, less rendering required in comparison to pencil, and much more artistic and professional-looking end piece. He'd make abstract pieces that no one understands but he doesn't care that no one understands.

Choso Kamo: acrylic markers- not always easy to get the hang of, but once you do, you’ll create pieces that are rich in color and texture. I feel like he'd like the big chunky Krink markers. You'd KNOW he'd draw stylized portraits of his brothers!

Nobara Kugisaki: gouache paint- trendy, fun, easy to use, always reliable. Despite their popularity, they're still a viable medium! I feel like she'd paint a lot of Studio Ghibli screenshots.

Satoru Gojo: sumi ink- a classic medium that is always fun to use that yields a classy, minimalistic look. He'd definitely draw Digimon characters in classic Japanese style.

Suguru Geto: willow charcoal- soft and also minimalist, easy to use but can get a little messy when not handled properly. He'd make a lot of soft landscapes and simple still lifes.

Maki Zenin: ink pens- can’t go wrong with ink pens, they’re versatile and deliver beautiful results when used properly. She'd probably draw portraits.

Toge Inumaki: spray paint- unassuming at first, but when in use, they cannot be ignored! He'd do pop art and graffiti-styled works.

Panda: finger paints- do this really need an explanation? Fun, easy to use, and can pack a punch when taken seriously. He'd make self-insert drawings, no matter what the project would be.

Yuta Okkotsu: collage art- when done right, collages can evoke intense visual appeal while also reducing waste. Given that his CT is mimicry, using pieces already produced seems fitting. He'd make abstract stuff that tells a story or expresses his feelings.

Utahime Iori: oil paint- arguably the classiest fine art medium around, requires patience and technique but yields the richest and more alluring end results. Landscapes, portraits, anything beautiful.

Shoko Ieri: photography- why make something out of art supplies when you can capture the beauty of the world in real time? It’s always good to snap a memorable photo before it’s too late. She'd photograph her friends and herself and anything she finds interesting.

Kento Nanami: dry pastels- while they tend to require some skill to produce quality pieces, the technique is worth it. And if you’re a fellow pastel fiend, you know how pricey Sennelier is. Nanami uses the high-quality shit. He'd do still life art of things in his home for the sake of convenience, but he'd probably want to do seascapes if he ever made it to Malaysia :c

lmk if u agree or disagree. i have an antagonist edition coming as well

[felixora]

"Anders as Spirit of Freedom" DA concept

Original idea

A DISCLAIMER

Every one of you who'll bear with me and read this till the end — I love you, you're precious to me, thank you.

And this is NOT canon, simply my fan work.

(Also there's more new art in this post)

Now back to the topic

This idea was born from:

a question "If a spirit can become mortal, can a mortal become a spirit?"

and another concept that "connection to the Fade is like a bridge with a door that everyone has, but only mages can open" Ordinary people cannot open the door. Mages can open said door and enter the Fade. Ordinary tranquility puts a wall instead of a door (which can be reversed) And tranquility from Red Templars breaks the fcking bridge all together.

We all know that Anders escapes Kirkwall (if he's alive) and for some time travels with mages before leaving them due to animosity. Well, in this concept he goes on the run, hiding from the Seekers, templars, anyone who wants him dead.

This goes for a couple of years. The Breach happens, Ancient Magister comes and falls, Inquisition triumphs. And Anders is still on the run. Until one day his luck runs off. He was hiding in a small mountain village, when a squad of Red Templars came by, trying to force villagers to work in lyrium mines.

Some men tried to fight back and chaos ensued, during which Anders considered running away once again. But, as he was stealthily leaving the village, Anders noticed a group of villagers trying to run away, while being pursued by Templars.

Impulsively, Anders made an effort to divert attention from the running villagers, but as a result, he was captured himself. A few of the Templars were from Kirkwall, and they recognized Anders from that fateful day in the city.

Instead of killing the mage they decided to punish him in a different way – by making him tranquil and leaving him by their side in servitude. And neither Anders nor Justice could do anything against it at the time. And so, Anders was completely cut off from the emotional side of the world and Justice became trapped inside him.

While all of that was going on – someone was also looking for Anders.

An ancient elven being, Libera, the last Spirit of Freedom (though bound to mortality and broken by Ghilan'nain) woke up from her slumber thanks to a happy coincidence that was the Kirkwall appraising — Anders' scream for liberation.

And she searched for the one who screamed in this new world, on her travels recruiting mage students to pass on her teachings and involve them in her goals of freeing her own people. Until a long year after Anders was captured, she finally found him.

After dealing with all the Red Templars, she and her students approached the few Tranquil mages, and Libera knew it was Anders when she saw him. She called out to Justice, who were woke up to her presence, and asked if they want to make things right for Anders – to do him justice

And the spirit agreed. Libera took the spirit from Anders and broke it into pure energy that she then used to rebuild Anders’ connection to the Fade. And just as that, Anders returned to himself and Justice was no more.

However, nothing was well and done. When Anders came to his senses in the camp of his saviours, he was distraught by the loss of his friend, especially when he learned that it was to save his life.

Memories of yearlong torment by Templars were flowing into his head, making him relive it now with full understanding of what had happened. Not to mention the overwhelming guilt over events in Kirkwall and mage uprising that he now felt full force without Justice.

And through it all, Libera was by his side, helping him to slowly get back on his feet and fight the pain of the past years.

She had her own motives, of course. Now Anders carried spiritual energy, making him part spirit with a possibility of more. A perfect vessel to be moulded into a Spirit of Freedom. But for that, the mage needed to let go of the pain and willingly step on this spiritual path.

So, Libera took Anders in as her student, helping him to deal with his trauma and guilt, while teaching him and others magic. She showed him how to reverse tranquility with his affinity to spirit magic, how to traverse the Fade as a spirit and inspire desire for freedom in others

While Libera helped Anders to make him a full-fledged spirit, others (like Varrick, Fenris, other students in Libera’s circle) helped him find purpose and will to live as a mortal. To make him remember all the good he brought in the lives of so many, not just pain and suffering.

.

.

. Anyone who will call me out on putting Anders through more trauma and literal hell — is absolutely right, and I have no objections. Still love him though.

[cornerdreams-txt]

quick headcanons about the new characters in the bo6 crew :)

black ops 6 was phenomenal, btw. i loved it. please come talk to me about it. please. please. please. please. please. pl

★ william "case" calderon

— known to dissociate or space out frequently, but is easily pulled out of it. it's on his record, but it's never caused enough problems for command to really get concerned about it.

— fidgets with his holsters when he's on edge. it's too quiet, or he's waiting for something to happen, he'll rub his fingers against the leather of the straps, or catch his nail on the metal of the buckles, over and over again. even if the weapon inside, blade or gun, is already drawn.

— seems uneasy around smoke or fog, shifty eyes and a pinched brow, but whenever its brought up, he's confused. seems like he has no idea that air that's... thicker, maybe, is a good descriptor, seems to put him on edge.

— unbothered by bugs, snakes, and any kind of creepy-crawly. seems to enjoy them, if anything - helped handle spiders and other insects or pests that found their way into the safehouse. biting insects seem to love him, though - mosquitoes especially. probably a blood type thing, right?

— avid horror enjoyer. seems uneasy about human experimentation, though. him and woods both seem to dislike that kind of trope.

★ troy marshall

— art is a coping skill, and hobby, of sorts. he keeps a pocket sketchbook and a handful of pens in his pockets whenever he can so he can pull it out when the inspiration arises.

— the longer the group stayed in the safehouse, the more that sketchbook filled up with portraits and still life sketches. people, interactions, architecture, sunrises, scenery. memories, ones troy couldn't help but want to capture.

— definitely a motorcyclist. did you see how he handled that bike with case on the back of it? that was NOT this man's first rodeo. 110% has a motorbike of his own. his biker jackets cycle in and out of his daily wardrobe at seemingly random.

— terrible cook. cannot make complex dishes to save his life. can follow instructions, sure, and makes a damn good sandwhich, but do not trust him to make soup or anything of the sort from scratch.

— ...isn't terrible at cooking meat, though. says he learned how to grill from his parents, but didn't really give the team many chances to see for themselves.

— seems to almost act as an older brother figure to the team instinctively. based on how he responds to jokes about him being a mother hen, it doesn't seem like he realizes he does it. (it is welcome, though. the compassion is nice, in such a harsh field)

★ sevati dumas

— very task oriented. you give her a goal and the right motivation, and she'll do it. very very headstrong, though. doesn't like taking orders unless compensated properly.

— food motivated. loves a good savory dish. enjoys exploring other cultures through that. but, no, she will not accept food as payment. nice try.

— good at acting lax and unbothered, but does, in fact, care very deeply. she's empathetic, but forces herself not to show it. she's had that be taken advantage of once, and she refuses to let that happen again.

— very reluctant to get attached or form connections to others, see her admitting she's only with the team until she gets paid. but she still hangs around felix, and she still tries to talk to troy when harrow's fellowship with the pantheon was unveiled. seems like she's not perfect when it comes to avoiding getting attached, is she?

— vibes only but like. i feel like she wants a little sibling. she wants someone she can take care of. she wants to be a good family member to someone, but having a child... no. she refuses to be a mother. she doesn't want to be a wife. she wants to be her own person. (she'd make a great godmother. or aunt. if she had the chance, and if she tried)

★ felix neumann

— if this man isn't autistic i am going to swallow a leather jacket whole like a snake. by the way. just sayin.

— the gloves were a paranoia result. they're metaphorical, sure, a reminder to himself not to harm anyone else, no taking another human life, but also a horrible, creeping paranoia eased in, of "what if they find your fingerprints," "what if you get blood on your hands again," "what if what if what if" until he could only ease it by wearing gloves. worked nicely, in the end. taking them off was... cathartic. to say the least.

— probably an anarchist? the vibes are there. hates society. hates government. wants to dismantle it all and start from scratch. that's the vibe.

— you... my special little man, get the nature autism. this guy can go on for hours and hours about the critters case finds around the safehouse, and case listens attentively and happily. also fantastic at foraging, has dozens of safe-to-eat and unsafe-to-eat plants stored away in his brain, and can rattle off the facts at a moment's notice.

— not the best hunter, but is, amusingly, better with a bow when it comes to hunting than he is with a gun.

— would code simple video games (think similar vibes to the chrome dinosaur game) to play for fun if he got bored enough. good thing he's excellent at finding things to distract himself with, no?

★ jane harrow

— photography lover. not fantastic about herself, but she'll sit and analyze photos taken by others for minutes on end, noting all the little details captured by a camera lense freezing the moment in time.

— does the same with drawn art. paint, sketch, whatever, she'll sit and analyze every little detail she can and point it all out. she loves noticing the details. calling attention to them. letting the artist know, if she can, that she sees all the effort they put into their work.

— her guilty pleasure? window shopping for stuffed animals. always writes it off as being for her niece, or a friend's child, but she wants to collect them. there's something soft, precious, genuine and uncomplicated about plush toys. but she's an adult. she can't afford to be so childish.

— ...alongside the drawing troy made of her, she still also keeps the little teddy bear he insisted on buying for her as a thank you gift, once. but that one isn't in her office. she hides it, away from prying eyes.

— mildly claustrophobic. she can push through it, and she will, when it comes to what her job demands of her, but she likes to avoid enclosed spaces when she can get away with it. it's... easier. feels less like being cornered. (she dances around the real reason she hates it. she never wants to be stuck hiding in a closet, or tucked under a little girl's bed ever, ever again.)

[saintvainglorious]

TEMERAIRE FIC RECS

I read no fic at all in May, as I was too busy devouring all nine Temeraire novels in a single month - and then spent a very happy June reading a fairly absurd amount of Temeraire fics. In honor of a Pride month well spent, here's a fic rec list!

(Divided up into categories - Laurence/Tharkay, Laurence/Napoleon, other ships, and gen)

WILLIAM LAURENCE/TENZING THARKAY

ley lines by malfaisant/@stanleyraymondkowalski (T, 14k, 2015) Amnesia era!Laurence sees Tharkay and it doesn't cure his amnesia; a renewed friendship tinged with loss follows

Tharkay makes it to Peking intact with the news of Napoleon’s imminent invasion of Russia. Which would be all well and good, except that Laurence isn’t very intact himself.

which is like everything by sere (This_is_Sere) (G, 3k, 2024) Post-canon Laurence accidentally breaks Tharkay's heart a little, and put it back together in the sweetest way possible

A chance remark from Granby provokes an excess of feeling in Tharkay.

The Reward of Service by yunitsa/@pamphilia (T, 4k, 2016) A lovely post-canon get-together fic, where Granby puts his foot in it a little and realizations are had

‘It is no good asking me,’ Laurence said at last, pushing the pattern-book away over breakfast, ‘I am not the one–’ Not the one who would be living with the result, he had been about to say. But they had hardly accepted Tharkay’s invitation as casual houseguests.

A Soft Dawn by corvile (G, 2k, 2015) A soft and sweet Tongues of Serpents-era fic, featuring accidental spooning, self-introspection, and maybe the most romantic hand-holding known to man

Upon thinking on this feeling of jealousy, Tharkay has done some rather clever intuitive leaps involving situations both real and imagined, and he's come to a rather curious conclusion: he's a little in love with William Laurence.

all flowers in time by lastwingedthing (E, 7k, 2017) A splendid post-canon get-together where it's Laurence who pines after an oblivious Tharkay, rather than the other way around. Also, sex!

The consolations of possession.

Ship's Gossip by Spatz/@cactusspatz (M, 6k, 2019) AU where Laurence takes up Tharkay's offer to become a privateer and Tharkay joins Laurence on the ship; Laurence learns some things about Tharkay, and then about himself

Laurence is beginning to enjoy life as a privateer - though he cannot figure out why Tharkay should still be sailing out with them - when Temeraire decides to ask him about sodomy.

WILLIAM LAURENCE/NAPOLEON BONAPARTE

Dearest William by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (T, 23k, 2016) Laurence and Napoleon are pen pals! Riotously funny, until it's heartbreaking

Napoleon sends a letter to the upstart sea-captain who stole his dragon, Laurence sends one back, and a correspondence begins under the uneasy eye of the admiralty. When Laurence had admitted the matter to Granby his lieutenant exclaimed, “God, does Boney want you drawn and quartered as a traitor?” which seems perfectly possible.

i sing of arms and the man by Jack_R (M, 21k, 2020) Ancient Rome AU (and really good dragon-related worldbuilding)! Laurence longs for the days of the Roman Republic, but Rome's new emperor is rather adept at persuasion

‘You think me a far worthier man than I am,’ he says, then. ‘No,’ Napoleone says, softly, ‘I don’t think I do at all.’

L'envoyé céleste triomphant de la Maladie. Antoine-Jean Gros (1813) by VerdetCadet/@verdet-cadet (G, 3k, 2023) A League of Dragons captured-by-Napoleon fic involving a rather appalling painting and Tharkay and Granby being the world's funniest wingmen (ha)

"Given what he has done with the barest civility on my part, I cannot think what he would do with the least encouragement." “Oh, no?” said Granby innocently, a sentiment that provoked a raised eyebrow from Tharkay over his glass, and in Laurence, a strangeness in the pit of his stomach. Or: Napoleon is an enthusiastic patron of the arts. Laurence's best friends lovingly suss out his willingness to bone Napoleon for political gain and strategic expediency.

Ordinance of Fate by by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (T, 13k (WIP), 2022) *slamming hand on table rythmically* soulmate AU soulmate AU soulmate AU soulmate AU

The name comes when he is 15, and Laurence hides it immediately. Then at the age of 22 Laurence reads a letter from an old shipmate who writes that “the troops in Italy were routed by some new General of theirs, Napoleon Bonaparte-"

Doctrine on Worship by Kangoo/@youngster-monster (G, 6k, 2021) AU where Laurence becomes a priest instead of joining the Navy, and meets Temeraire anyway - but Temeraire's captain takes an interest in his dragon's new friend

“You do not strike me as a man well versed in selfishness. Perhaps you ought to try it; you might find it easier to understand my presence then." In which Laurence made a different choice, a long time ago, which changes very little in the long run.

OTHER SHIPS

Tender Like a Bruise by VerdetCadet/@verdet-cadet (T, 5k, 2024) Granby/Little - Granby struggles with the shame and trauma of losing his arm; Augustine Little is there for him

It is not a good time to be short an arm, if there ever was such a thing. Granby has always prided himself on his competence and his easy good cheer. Now, at a stroke, he finds himself lacking in both.

revelry by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (E, 2k, 2018) Tharkay/Laurence/Granby/Little - Post-canon Tharkay & Laurence invite Granby & Little over to visit, delightful and unabashedly voyueristic sexytimes ensue

Little suddenly turns away and throws himself down on the couch where Laurence previously sat, drunkenness making him stumble a little. He leans heavily against Tharkay, who doesn't mind, and tosses Granby a jaunty salute. “Now you must kiss him, John. I know how long you have wanted to; you will always regret it if you do not."

What comfort I can by VerdetCadet/@verdet-cadet (M, 5k, 2023) Laurence/Granby - Amnesiac!Laurence has suspicions about the nature of his relationship with Granby. Second in a two-part series, part one is also splendid! I just have a fatal weakness for the amnesia era ok

The truth of Laurence's treason comes out while Laurence is still aboard the Potentate. Laurence's half formed memories are just there enough for dangerous conjecture. Granby is there to offer what comfort he can.

That Dare Not Speak Its Name by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (E, 11k (WIP), 2024) Laurence/Granby - Laurence covers for Little and Granby and discoveries are made. The dialogue and introspection are so very delicious I'm SO INVESTED AUGH

After an incriminating letter is discovered, Granby is caught out as an invert – and everyone knows his lover is another captain. Since the companion of a common Yellow Reaper would not be spared the noose, Laurence declares that it's him. Over time, he starts to wish it really were.

Uncharted by novembersmith/@novembersmith (E, 5k, 2009) Laurence/Granby/Tharkay - Laurence and Granby are together and Tharkay is mortified, until he's given quite good reason not to be

Tharkay had had the dubious pleasure of watching Laurence and Granby being blissfully in love for several weeks now.

Foibles by VerdetCadet/@verdet-cadet (M, 3k, 2023) Laurence/Tharkay and Laurence/Napoleon, sort of - Tharkay likes roleplaying and Laurence is not displeased by the role Tharkay takes on this time

Tharkay, faced with an inconvenience he was forced to endure or a problem his mind could not set aside, found his ease by simply Not Being Tharkay for a time.

An Alchemy of Character by PepperHoney (G, 7k, 2023) Tharkay/Granby - Tharkay and Granby compete for Laurence's affections, until they find a more fulfilling use of their time

Granby and Tharkay have been watching each other court Laurence to no avail for years now. It's something of a game between them, truly, one whose success they don't really believe in anymore. It takes a long journey aboard the Allegiance for them to realise--perhaps, if Laurence can't be reached, someone else can.

GEN

Smooth Water All Our Days by 20thcenturyvole (T, 37k, 2021) Technically Laurence/Tharkay (and they're lovely here) but much more gen-focused. Post-canon, Laurence, with his family's help, gets Temeraire's political career off the ground; meanwhile, Tharkay investigates a conspiracy. Also, parties!

Laurence desires nothing more than to retire to Tharkay's estate and help Temeraire get to Parliament, for what more could he want than a place in Britain with space enough for a dragon, and the company of a dear friend? But wars rarely end so neatly. Bellicose lords, Bourbon princes, errant heirs and shadowy forces threaten to undermine the very peace that Laurence and Temeraire fought to obtain, and ruin the happiness that Laurence was just beginning to glimpse.

remember (you deserve this) by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (T, 10k, 2018) Laurence finds a different way to punish himself for the treason. Superb angst (mind the tags), and the last line of this fic d e s t r o y e d me

Laurence is pardoned for Temeraire's sake, but he manages to punish himself anyway.

Animal Husbandry by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (G, 11k, 2017) Laurence is told that Temeraire accepted Dayes as his captain, but Laurence cannot forget the dragon he's lost.

Weeks after finding a dragon egg in the Amitie’s hold William Laurence reluctantly turns away and lets the Corps take Temeraire - but he doesn’t return to the Navy. He’s not an aviator, but somehow Laurence still ends up going down in history as the instigator behind the Great Dragon Rebellion of ‘06.

Captains by StrangerWithMyFace/@agentem (G, 2k, 2010) Perscitia (my beloved!!!) has a rough day; Wellington, in his roundabout way, is there to cheer her up. I am weak for Perscitia and Wellington bonding weak i say

Perscitia encounters two men at the London covert, and one of them is her captain.

Forays Into Human Sexuality (or whatever Laurence is doing) by WerewolvesAreReal/@werewolves-are-real (G, 1k, 2024) Laurence finds out that no, actually, not every man is secretly a repressed bisexual

Laurence says, “It is wholly natural, anyway, with no women around.”

[batsplat]

your tags electorate please please please https://www.tumblr.com/batsplat/765272327445446656/the-rossi-posse-uccios-still-ready-to-fight-for

(link) a gif from 2015 of... actually, I think it's probably fine to include the gif as long as it's linked to the original? full credit to the-rossi-posse obviously, much appreciated

and here's the tags:

and, well, this is clearly correct. there's plenty of toxicity in motogp, but 'toxic yuri' is its own specific thing with its own specific set of tropes and themes attached. which are very obviously on full display here. first off, the valentino and uccio dynamic is toxic yuri staple. a childhood friendship that becomes a lifelong bond that at its core is fantastically codependent. valentino is not the most trusting soul but he trusts uccio completely and without restraint. uccio would quite literally burn the world for valentino. valentino relies on uccio to keep him grounded, keep him sane and tethered to what he came from - someone who actually knew him as a person before he became valentino the character. a character the whole world thinks belongs to them... how easy it could be to lose yourself in that. and uccio would follow valentino anywhere - his entire life is centred around valentino, to the point where he has subsumed his identity entirely in this role of 'valentino's friend', 'valentino's confidante', 'valentino's assistant', 'valentino's lackey'. toxic yuri is all about intense codependent dynamics, a pair who cannot bear to be separated, who rely completely on each other not just in practical matters but also in their sense of identity, their sense of meaning... it's capturing the intensity of the prototypical female friendship, right, and ramping it up to the max - and the devotion is such that at least one half of the pair would be willing to do quite literally anything for the other. see also: uccio and valentino not talking for a month when they were 16 because valentino romantically pursued someone uccio was interested in, during which time uccio deliberately knocked valentino off his bike and injured him? almost feels cliche. dramatic friendship breakups due to romantic competition that lead to somewhat excessive acts of vengeance are... look. they're toxic yuri

and then there's the sete/valentino rivalry, which also just happens to be the valentino feud that is the most toxic yuri-coded. their first recorded interaction is them spending a week together at kr sr's training ranch in 1998, sete teaching valentino the art of rear wheel steering and all that... and then a year later, it's the older, well-educated and well-spoken sete reaching out to valentino and offering him some advice about how to ride the 500cc bikes at valentino's first test. this is the moment where valentino essentially steps up into the adult world - and sete's counsel is part of that introduction (enough so for the episode to warrant a rare sete mention in valentino's autobiography). valentino is still so young and cocky and rough around the edges that he ignores sete's advice and gets a bunch of nasty crashes for his troubles... sete is mature, gives off the vibe of someone who feels he is somewhat above the primal nastiness of his peers, wryly amused at whatever dramatics he is watching unfold. he is also clearly amused by lively young valentino and his antics, enough for them to have struck up a friendship at some point between 2000 and 2003. partying in ibiza together during the summer break with one of your competitors? extremely toxic yuri-coded. again, it's this fondness, this sense of taking this wild kid under your wing... it's not an intense friendship per se but it is an intense friendship when they make the transition from competitors to rivals. sete's the one who inflicts on valentino his first... actually, come to think of it, only string of wheel to wheel defeats in proper duels valentino's had in his premier class career. he's the one who's initially getting under valentino's skin, not vice versa. and while valentino is still in relative command of the championship... there's still this feeling he's been taught a lesson. and it's not a nice feeling! the time between sachsenring 2003, valentino's most painful 1vs1 loss that left him feeling like an idiot, and brno 2003, where he reverses that loss... in that summer break, he's once again with sete on ibiza, he's getting his hair dyed red, he's reinventing himself after this painful defeat... idk man. getting some toxic yuri set-up vibes here

sete's amusement at valentino's prisoner celebrations at brno 2003? more of the same. I can't actually remember another example of a fellow competitor engaging so much with one of valentino's pre-planned celebrations. sete is clearly interested in the convict's garb and actually like... kicks the ball valentino is carrying around with him when they're standing on the podium. without delving into any other possible subtext of valentino putting himself in chains, it's just notable that you have this like... playful engagement. not mocking, not condescending, but certainly a rider who believes himself to be sophisticated and composed enough to be gently amused by these antics rather than actually being affected by them. sete's not like biaggi, you see - he'd never let himself get annoyed to the point of distraction by valentino's antics, he'd never let a rivalry get so uncivilised, he knows how to handle this kid. the judas kiss sete gives valentino when he seals the 2003 title? judas kisses, in the least blasphemous way possible, are low key kind of toxic yuri-coded. and gradually, this relationship is being transformed by an unexpected competitive edge... the innocence of the initial friendship, where neither of them would realistically have expected to be fighting for titles, is gradually being eaten away at. we've introduced a note of envy into proceedings, wherein valentino takes note of how sete complains about how parts are allocated within honda and assesses just how much he's going to interpret this as a personal attack. valentino is told by friends that sete watched him laughing on tv and said valentino wouldn't be laughing so much next year, valentino detects glee in sete when he informs sete that he will be departing honda. suddenly, the playful dynamic is inflected with a wrinkle of condescension after all - of sete thinking valentino is overestimating himself, is in over his head, will get the joy knocked out of him soon enough. valentino knowing that sete covets what he has... that for all the pretence of a friendly, respectful, sophisticated rivalry, in truth this rivalry is just as hateful as all the rest of them

and now we can finally get to the toxic bit (always my favourite). the thing about toxic yuri is that it takes a lot of potentially negative things that are generally coded feminine and essentially takes them to their natural conclusions - lets us actually have some fun with the whole thing. sete and valentino are both deeply preoccupied with image, sete in particular is seen as vain and self-obsessed (cf the comic described by the assen 2004 commentary joking that valentino could beat sete by attaching a mirror to the back of his bike)... obviously an unpleasantly gendered element to all this.... but, well, let's have some fun with it - the point is that sete is clinging onto an image that is increasingly far from the reality of their situation. sete thinks this is a respectful friendly rivalry right until the second that it isn't, all the while unwittingly planting the seeds of his own downfall. he makes snide comments about how the italians must have done a rain dance to hand valentino the victory at mugello, he reacts with a cold blankness to valentino almost knocking him off on the last lap of assen... not willing to openly state his grievances, either to valentino directly or in the press conference with valentino sitting next to him, only able to openly state later that he is angry when valentino has already offered his explanation for the incident. it's all very indirect, aloof - sete thinks he's too good for angry outbursts, wants to be more sophisticated than that, but in doing so carries himself in a manner that increasingly reads as dishonest to valentino. they do not party together at ibiza that summer, for the friendship is beginning to fray... but neither of them will openly acknowledge it. tags under the mugello post:

the 'stunt' in question, incidentally, was valentino playing doctor on his yamaha at catalunya, declaring his bike fully fit after beating sete in another dramatic duel in front of sete's home crowd. 2004 is about putting on a show! 'what a spectacle', right, it's about image and performance and hidden truths. about appearances and reality and the tension between the two, etc etc. and then when it comes to a head at qatar, the whole thing is extremely smoke and mirrors - a game of who said what about the clandestine manipulation of the starting grid under the cover of night, who exactly reported what and for what reason and who formally made the complaint and so on... accusations flying everywhere, from every side. valentino's weekend goes up in flames, he coldly smiles in interviews as he talks about the treachery of sete and his crew chief - and then to cap it all off, he puts a curse on sete. curses. you will find. are extremely toxic yuri. valentino practised witchcraft to torment and ruin his rival because he felt betrayed. that's toxic yuri, baby

everything about sepang 2004 is obviously also toxic yuri. we have a press conference that very much doubles as a friendship breakup, and it's the specific vibe of the friendship that tips it into toxic yuri territory. valentino ignoring sete as he enters the room!! sete publicly insisting that the relationship between them is fine, until it becomes extremely obvious that it is not fine!! "in qatar you say you were searching for an excuse to not talk any more with sete" is quite frankly quite possibly the most toxic yuri-coded question anyone has ever been asked in a press conference. just two girls being a little bit dramatic about whether they're still on speaking terms or not and making it everyone's business, while also fighting for a world title. this valentino expression while sete is calling him a 'good guy' -

- and this sete expression when valentino essentially confirms that he has not, in fact, moved on -

- again. I think this is about as close as anyone can get to toxic yuri within the constraints of motogp. they really went as far as it is possible to go here. I cannot explain this to you with actual facts and logic BUT there is something supremely toxic yuri about valentino's post-race celebrations at sepang... how he literally ignores sete attempting to shake his hand on the cooldown lap and then goes all in with the humiliation of the grid sweeping celebrations? idk it's just so mean girl-y, like why are you using the seven days between races to come up with custom shirts in order to mock your ex-friend. who does that. focus on fixing your finger. the phillip island duel is the natural continuation of that, valentino taking risks it is unreasonable to take at this stage of the championship because he has to stop sete from winning again, followed by his 'che spettacolo' helmet. like, the glory of this whole stretch of races is this intermarriage of the joy and the cruelty, where these aren't just two separate sides of valentino but they are instead the same side, inextricably linked. it's a show, he's having fun, look at how thrilled he is... sete's there somewhere too btw, thoroughly tormented

downright angelic while at his most malicious? that's what we in the business call toxic yuri

the commentariat at jerez 2005 thinking sete should have punched valentino in parc fermé, or at the very least threatened him, whereas sete instead goes for this sort of dignified silence as he clutches at his arm in pain... valentino breaking the fourth wall to gesture at sete and grin at the camera as they walk to the podium... it's mean - and again, it's all so PERFORMATIVE. playing to the spectators, always!! how indirect it all is - compare that to the most infamous podium staircase interaction between valentino and biaggi, where valentino just straight up punched biaggi. see how sete still can't quite allow himself to stoop to valentino's level, and how he pays the price. how valentino leverages sete's attachment to image against him. and all against the backdrop of bitterness and hurt and this old bond between them twisted into something uglier and ultimately irreparable... the commentators at mugello 2006 chatting about how valentino and sete couldn't even be IN THE SAME ROOM to do press, "because they didn’t feel comfortable around each other"!! a friendship breakup so toxic it has become literally everyone else's problem. joyful nights spent together on ibiza now turned into this mutual unbridled hatred and contempt. valentino's vicious desire for vengeance unravelling sete's whole career. it's how FAR valentino goes, like toxic yuri needs to be over-the-top and destructive for someone and... well, it sure was for sete. valentino ruined him!! take that for consequences. their earlier dynamic, where sete could still be aloof and amused, is unravelled - now, instead, he is being ritually humiliated, no hope of pretending to remain detached from what is being done to him. sete did not know valentino was capable of doing something like this, certainly did not think valentino would do that to him... but when pushed, valentino transformed in front of sete's very own eyes and gleefully trapped sete in a living nightmare. sete saw a new side of valentino at the precise moment when it was already too late

which is how we get to the gif. this is now years later, of course, after sete and valentino's supposed detente in 2009. in truth, neither of them had moved on from what happened. they still haven't moved on... neither of them will ever truly forgive or forget. like, this is 2015 catalunya, right - just for reference, it is a mere three races after valentino refers to sete's 'dirty games' in a press conference. the intricacies of their post-rivalry relationship is a topic for another day, but there still is an element of... well, show. of performance. of both of them playing at having moved on from what happened... they have somewhat different motivations here, go about it in slightly different ways - but for all intents and purposes, they are in alignment here. they both don't have any real interest in publicly reawakening the feud, both of them want to paper over their continued bitterness towards each other. always attached to image, always paying attention to how they are being perceived... which makes it so fitting that valentino punishes sete by essentially erasing him from the story altogether, obviously most noticeably in his autobiography. if anything, the indirectness makes the whole thing even nastier. there is something more dignified about being openly, honestly despised

so here, then, we have the meeting between these two grand toxic yuri narratives... sete chatting to valentino in the yamaha garage before uccio shows up and seems to slightly push back sete - away from valentino - in essence inserting themselves between them. valentino continues talking while it's happening, though his gaze tracks the motion. at the end of the gif, both sete and valentino go in for a hug. and still, next to them, there is uccio... who was of course by valentino's side for this entire story, from the time valentino initially befriended sete to the moment when valentino pledged to destroy him - quite literally, given valentino made his promise to uccio (and davide brivio) that sete would not win another race. uccio's there organising the shirts and helping come up with the sweeping celebrations and all of it. he's the one who is always wariest of valentino getting too close to his rivals... which, well, this is inescapably a very toxic yuri-coded pattern of behaviour. it's the immediate urge to defend valentino from his old enemy, the desire to keep the pair of old friends apart - valentino noticing it but not reacting in any way. the possessiveness of the gesture!! literally one of THE defining toxic yuri tropes. uccio is the one guarding valentino from threats, always, protecting valentino while simultaneously keeping valentino for himself. and if valentino ever even considered forgiving sete, uccio certainly would not - because any injury inflicted upon valentino is treated as more grievous than if it had befallen uccio himself. uccio, barely able to tolerate the proximity between the two of them. valentino, who has come to implicitly and completely trust uccio to have his back. sete, whose gaze also follows uccio's hand - who is chatting with a polite smile to the man who repeatedly humiliated him. the pair of them, valentino and uccio, operating in perfect harmony as they form a united front in all of their schemes and machinations. and sete the interloper - who was once valentino's friend and thought he would be spared the sort of behaviour valentino levied at biaggi, only to be treated to worse. the threat posed by sete has long passed, but uccio for one is never going to forget it. rivals may come and go, but uccio remains

in conclusion. this gif. is toxic yuri. obviously, there is more than one way to do toxic yuri. terrible relationships between women can take many forms #feminism. but the term in its conventional usage does bring with it a particular vibe... codependency, possessiveness, a certain level of obsession. guarding what is yours. making each other WORSE. the absolute blind faith of knowing the other will always look out for you. alternatively, when it's toxic yuri in an adversarial relationship... well, the toxicity still comes from the intimacy - at one point, there was genuine friendship, even if it has now been ruined beyond repair. emotions intense enough that affection can easily become hatred... until all that is left is a desire for revenge. in all cases, these are relationships with disastrous consequences for someone. and if you arrange things correctly and get yourself a triangle, you can unlock bonus levels of toxicity. congrats to these three! also, and I cannot stress this enough, there's a CURSE. curses are toxic yuri. I rest my case

[thebadgerclan]

Pining

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Benedict is happy to pine from afar, until...

Benedict had never held such affections for a woman, not before he met you.  It had been an ordinary night that Benedict had decided to spend at Granvil’s place downtown.  Said place happened to be a brothel, but he never partook in the more carnal activities.  Instead, he spoke to like minded individuals about the art world, the pieces they were working on, or busied himself painting whatever model was posing that evening.

Then, he’d met you, and the world tipped on its axis.  You were singularly beautiful, but Benedict’s attraction went far beyond that.  You were well-read, witty, sharp, and talented.  Your still lifes rivaled those of William Blake, and you managed to capture your subject in such a way they appeared they could leap off of the canvas.  He’d approached, and the pair of you hit it off instantly.

You also hailed from a large family, though you were the eldest while Benedict was the second eldest.  “Though I am a daughter, so I do not know if it counts.”  Benedict had merely laughed.  “Do not sell yourself short, Y/N.  You are most certainly a credit to your family.”  Before he knew it, Benedict was spending nearly every evening at the brothel, though he brought no artwork home to show for it.  Instead, his nights consisted of conversing with you, learning every little thing about you, and, as Benedict soon realized, falling in love with you.

He would have been content to pine from afar had it not been for a newcomer: Mister Alexander Smithwell.  He was fresh off a tour of the Continent, and was boasting the masterpieces he had seen.  You, it seemed, had struck a friendship with Mr. Smithwell, but the so-called gentleman quickly became far too close to you for Benedict’s liking.  He stood too close, touched too casually, things that lit the flames of rage in Benedict.

You were a lady, for heaven’s sake, you deserved to be treated like one.  Such was the case now.  You were speaking to Mr. Smithwell about the museums in Rome, laughing at some joke he told, while Benedict sat on a nearby chair, clutching his glass of whiskey so hard, he feared it might shatter.  You looked over Smithwell’s shoulder at him, your face crinkling into a soft smile when you saw him, something that eased the tension in Benedict’s chest.  “Excuse me,” you said, ducking out of the conversation and making your way over to Benedict.

“You ought to get that looked at,” you said, and Benedict frowned.  “Whatever are you talking about?”  “That scowl,” you responded.  “Surely it is not healthy for one to scowl so much for so long.  What has you so verklempt, Benedict?”  You had forgone formalities, at least here, as your friendship was strong enough.  “He is too bold,” Benedict answered.  “Too casual with you.  Smithwell forgets himself.”

“No more than you,” you said, and Benedict whirled to look at you.  “You cannot be in earnest,” he said, brows raised.  “He speaks to you as he would a shop maid I speak to you as–”  “As what?”  “As an equal, as one I respect.”  You saw it then, the way his jaw clenched when he looked at Smithwell, the way he was quick to defend you.  “Wait a minute,” you said.  “You’re jealous.”  “I am not,” Benedict replied, all too quickly, and you laughed.  “You are!  Benedict Bridgerton, you are jealous!”

He flushed scarlet, and you laughed again.  “Perhaps I am,” he hedged, and you smiled.  “My word, I do not think I have ever had a gentleman be jealous over me.”  “Haven’t you?  I find that quite hard to believe.”  You cocked your head.  “How so?”  “Well,” Benedict answered.  “You are quite beautiful, and your intellect rivals that of many gentlemen I have spoken to.  I would think men would be throwing themselves at you.”

You shook your head.  “They aren’t.  None I care for, anyway…”  A heavy silence descended between you, and Benedict picked up on the slightest hint.  “Would you…mind if I called upon you, Y/N?”  You sighed, a smile on your face.  “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask, Benedict.  I would be delighted.”  To his shock, you pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek before you rose and departed, leaving Benedict stunned.  He brought a hand to his cheek, swearing he could still feel the impression your lips left there.  Tomorrow morning, then, he would call on you.  And hopefully, soon after, he could call you his.

[maopll]

Could I request something like this https://www.tumblr.com/maopll/712602219674058752/hello-hello-may-i-request-zhongli-kaeya-ayato?source=share

but with Kaveh, Itto, Childe, and Thoma?

My muse | genshin edition !

#pt.1 here || pt.2 !

⌗:, where you draw your lover in a sketchbook only for him to soon find out the peculiar way you show your love and adoration for him ♡

⌗:, a/n: what if I draw them in jojo poses ?...

⌗:, warning: there are gingers and blondes and bullchucker. there's mention of blood in childe's part.

⌗:, pairings: kaveh, itto, childe & thoma w/ gn!reader

KAVEH —

It was a warm Sunday evening. The afternoon glow of the sun illuminated the room. You and your lover, Kaveh, are basking in the quiet comfort of eachother. On the sofa, you sat crossing your feet and sketching countless pictures of what or of who. Your lover sat on the other side, making minute and very careful details of splendid architectural designs. You noticed the way his face would scrunch up when he would make those little designs on the railing or even on the roof. The way he would do a soft 'yes!' When he got something right on his first try. You recorded down every single detail on the small sketchbook of yours. When you would feel his gaze upon you, you would be quick while closing the book lest he sees what you made.

However, on his birthday you decided to gift him the sketchbook. He was dumbfounded and asked why you would give him something you were using. Until he flipped the pages and marvelled at the beautiful drawings you made of him. for him. It was simple yet so meaningful to him. His eyes filled with tears with how pure and sweet your love for him was. You were his everything, a beacon of light in his world.

ITTO —

Having you as his s/o was like winning the lottery. There wasn't a single moment that he didn't enjoy when he was with you. Whenever he would be playing onikabuto fights with the kids in hanamizaka, you would shelter yourself under a tree and sketch away the little doodle of your lover. Capturing each and every little detail of his face. The way he would scrunch up his nose when he would be thinking of his next move or the utter look of shock on his face when he would lose for the nth time...

Nevertheless, you find this hobby to be quite comforting. The sun was already starting to set, and the kids had returned home. Your lover hadn't won a single round, but he doesn't care much about it. As soon as they were gone, he went up to you screaming, "Hey babe!" only to find that you have fallen asleep. It's alright he's strong enough to carry his lover on his back, but he was in for a little surprise. When he picked you up in his arms, he saw the sketches, doodles of his and his...abs? although he has minimum knowledge about art and anatomy, he was still surprised seeing someone looking very similar to him and his name on YOUR notebooks. Ofcourse your one and only oni should be the one to grace the pages of your sketchbook! and also to grace your soft lips!

CHILDE —

Bloodshed, Bloodlust, Bloodthirst. That's all he knew all his life. He barely found respite, but with your coming into his life, things started to get a lot better, and he found happiness with you.

Your lover, childe, has gone out once again to take care of some "business." Apparently, he has loads of things to take care of, so today was another one of those sleepless and quite cold nights in Snezhnaya where you yearn for your lovers warmth but unfortunately he cannot be there. The candle was lit by your bedside table. You used the faint glow it provided to draw on your sketchbook. After all, you needed something to help you sleep, and this was the best thing you could do now. It was 3 p.m. now. Childe entered through the front door into your shared home. He tiptoed softly and carefully to not wake you up since it was an odd time to be awake. He stepped foot into your room and smiled, seeing you fast asleep. It was quite cold, and your blanket wasn't on top of you. While pulling the covers over you, he saw him drawn on your sketchbook. He looked at the drawings and he felt butterflies in his stomach. A faint shade of pink was dusting his face and a small smile graced his lips. "ajax?...you're home?" you spoke in a drowsy tone. He smiled and said "I'm home" while removing the sketchbook from you and setting it aside. Although the room was quite dark, you swear you saw a faint glimmer in his eyes...

THOMA —

He runs back and forth around the house from morning to evening. As expected, he grows tired by the end of the day, even if he tries napping during his breaks. You, however, seize this opportunity to admire his angelic features more closely since he is static in one place. At least for some time...

The Kamisato Estate was obviously busy with him conducting some classes about housework and dealing with the housework of the estate. Finally it was four o'clock in the afternoon and he had finally got his much needed rest. While he dozed off on your lap, taking in the comfortable warmth, you were busy sketching away on your sketchbook. His eyes, his sleepy face, his ruffled hair, his parted lips. Not a single detail would you miss. When his rest was finally over, he got up, but you had fallen asleep. It's understandable since you also work around the house with him a lot. When he tried getting up, the book fell from your hand. Whilst trying to pick up the book, he saw his sketches on your book. He was amazed and embarrassed since he was drawn so intricately on such a small piece of paper. A soft hue of pink bloomed across his face. He turned his body towards you and gently caressed your face. He kissed your temple and whispered "sleep well dear.."

[iamthedevilsminion]

You mentioned you had thoughts on art in iwtv? Something about Louis and photography?

yes, i did! in this post, i had a brief aside about louis and photography in comparison to daniel. a quick warning, i'm pretty black and white about good and bad art in this, that's not something that works in life about art. for the sake of this though, bear with me.

art and vampires is a really interesting topic; almost all the main cast has some point of connection to the arts. marius and painting, lestat with acting and music, louis with photography, armand with directing the theatre. claudia and journalling. i'm going to count daniel's journalism here too, i'll come back to that a little later.

specifically, these are all ways to connect to the world around them, and almost all of them fail spectacularly. marius' works haven't really survived him, he is an unknown name among his venetian contemporaries. lestat is not perceived as being "a real vampire", instead someone running off the clout of daniel's book. louis is desperately trying to connect to the world, but the only "good" work of his portfolio is someone else's.

and a very specific aspect of their artworks are an attempt to mimic, capture, and connect to life and living. and even more specifically, they're all failing.

marius as a painter, had to stage his references. each painting is a facsimile of a staged moment. it's noted that his works are often references to other, more esteemed painters. he has the skill, but is missing the eye required. marius is only ever creating imitations. there is no connection there, no understanding. his work is beautiful, certainly, he loved his aesthetics and maintained them through painting, but it is, at the end of it, a failed connection. he isn't actually interacting with the world, with life and humanity, he's still locked away in his tower crafting an idea of life that he thinks looks beautiful to the eye.

lestat, as an actor, is always performing; all the world's a stage. there is a struggle for genuine connections because he cannot move beyond the role he's assigned himself. his interactions with humans is coloured by the the person he is attempting to be within those interactions, and it leaves him unable to be genuine. we get little flashes of him being honest, such as the conversation with louis' family in early s1, with big emotions, but there is always an element of public performance. when he becomes a rock star, his attempts at honesty are twisted on him because of the book. it's not the vampire lestat, it's lestat the vampire from the book interview with the vampire. it's twisted into another role to play. a chance at connection lost.

armand is interesting, as he's been the subject of paintings, never true manifestations of himself, but as a role, an aesthetic. then, of course, he also directs -- and sometimes performs -- at the théâtre des vampires. he structures the performance in the same way that he leads conversations. there is an ideal outcome, a way that allows the audience the best experience, that portrays the right themes. his interactions with everyone are played like this. he pulls the strings; once more with feeling. there is no connection there, he sees players, not people. even the way he hunts has a script; gentleman death. armand also seeks this in other people. i've spoken about it a lot here, how he tries to live vicariously through other people, and i think this is only exemplified by his attitudes as a director.

louis' photography is the most literal translation to completely missing the point of his form. photography is meant to capture moments; there is something about photography as a medium that works so well in a connecting with humanity and life. to take a photo, and make the moment live forever. however for louis, it isn't. the best shot he captures in the show is a moment of vulnerability from armand, a spur of the moment shot that does successfully capture him. but he captured an immortal, his subject is going to live forever. and he walks each night looking for photographs to take. his camera is up at all times, he is not living in the moment, not living life. he's put a literal barrier between him and the world at large.

another little aside, but there's also something to be said about the way louis views art, as a dealer. he isn't viewing artwork for arts sake, he is looking at it for profit, and i think this is also a big tell about how he views the world.

daniel is an interesting aspect of this. he has spent his life succeeding at connecting with life. looking for stories about people who have slipped through the cracks. he knows people, how they live, how they love. he's seen the worst and best of humanity, and how complicated people are, and i think that while he has a distance between him and his subjects, there is a connection there that the others cannot make. this makes his transition into vampirism really interesting; will he maintain this level of connection? will he keep living? can he?

[pearlywritings]

To wear white once more

synopsis: wedding is one of the most memorable and happiest days in one’s life. What are the chances of you dressing in white again to capture this moment on canvas? Diluc makes it possible.

pairing: Diluc x fem!reader

tw: established relationship, fluff, newlyweds, Adelinde is a mother figure we all need

word count: 1.7k+ words

a/n: a portrait after your wedding was suggested by a lovely @bobaboob​ who, by the way, said that she had this fic in mind while drawing this piece of art

Looking in the mirror makes all the memories of nervousness and excitement wash over Diluc again, sending a shiver down his spine. Everything is as just as it was a month ago - his white suit hugs his body in all the right places, the long-tailed jacket complimenting his height, the golden lines on its and vest's lapels along with golden buttons forming a perfect wedding attire. The only standing out feature is a ruby brooch pinned to his cravat, matching his flaming locks, reflecting light just like his crimson eyes, momentarily clouded by recalling the events that happened on one of the happiest days in his life.

His heart skips a beat when he remembers a mesmerizing venue organized in the gardens of the Winery, guests - mainly from your side - on the benches, Kaeya and Adelinde by his side… Come to think of it, his adoptive brother was present in this very room while Diluc was getting ready, lightly joking and unknowingly helping Diluc with his nerves. Yeah, the day was a rollercoaster of emotions. Especially after you appeared.

The man adjusts his sleeves, making sure he looks perfect - it's only logical he'll match you in that. Brushing a lock of hair from the left side of his face, he hears a soft knock on his door, immediately knowing who it is.

"Come in, Adelinde."

The older woman enters the room with the most adoring smile on her face, eyes crinkling in joy, just like on his wedding day, which brings even more blissful memories back. She walks directly to him, reaching out to help with hair a little - she knows him too well, and Diluc is grateful for that.

"I've just met Master François Clouet and offered him brunch. He was very eager about it, given his long journey, so you might have another 20 or so minutes."

Diluc hums, closing his eyes and letting the maid work her magic.

"Good. And my wife?"

His wife… it rolls off his tongue so naturally and the golden ring around his finger becomes so palpable.

"Checked on the girls and they said she was almost ready. I think you can go and see her already.”

She can clearly see he wants to - it’s in the smallest details honestly. The way his lips are twitching in a hardly contained lovesick smile, the trembling of his for once bare fingers, the darting of his eyes to the door behind her and it’s quite obvious from how he forces his body to stay still in place until she is finished. If she wasn’t helping him with his hair, Adelinde is sure - he’d be running out of the door the moment the words left her mouth.

Cute. The glimpses of a young boy she used to know and care about as a mother come through, and the woman can’t thank you enough for it, for the happiness you brought in this lonesome mansion and love you rekindled in the hurt man’s heart.

“All done, Master Diluc,” when he shifts his eyes, not spotting his bangs in sight, he doesn’t even have to look in the mirror to know Adelinde recreated his look perfectly.

“Thank you, Adelinde,” and he means it, not stopping his body from moving, just like it did a month ago, enveloping the woman in his embrace, squeezing just a little. The blond-haired maid laughs, standing on her tiptoes and hugging him back.

“It’s always a pleasure to me. I dreamt of helping you with the wedding one day, and I must admit, doing some of it the second time is just as thrilling.”

Diluc cannot agree more.

When the door of your shared bedroom is right in front of him, the owner of the Dawn Winery feels his heart thumping in his chest, cravat feeling a bit suffocating and hand twitching. He hears excited giggles of the maids on the other side and your soft voice speaking to them, so full of glee and eagerness, that he doesn’t notice his fingers curling in a fist and knocking against the wooden surface. Instantly the sounds of laughter and conversation disappear, but the redhead makes out quick steps hurrying to the door.

The maid opening it gasps and turns around, immediately ushering others outside. The man moves to let five girls out of the room, all bowing and greeting him, to which he answers with a nod, entering the moment the last one leaves, closing the door behind him.

“My love, you are here,” your sweet words pull crimson eyes to your figure and his breath hitches. Basked in the sunlight pouring through the big window, your body is swarmed in pure whiteness. The dress, tailored together with his suit, makes you the loveliest bride a man could wish for. Long flowing skirt consists of many layers, streaming and moving with the slightest of your turns, the corseted waist pushes your chest up a little bit, though leaving half of your back bare… Oh how many kisses he placed there when the night was over and his fingers were working on the strings-

He clears his throat, coughing in his fist and fighting back the rising flush off his cheeks. Your smile turns teasing, lips wearing a pretty shade of lipstick, and Diluc notes in disappointment that he won’t be able to kiss you before the work on the painting for today is over. It doesn’t stop him from approaching you though, arms wrapping around your waist and bringing you closer to place a gentle peck on your cheek.

“Aren’t you a romantic one, my dear husband?” He shudders at the new term that was applied to him the moment the rings were slipped on your fingers and you two were proclaimed wedded.

“Can’t help it when my wife is this gorgeous,” it’s your turn to become bashful, sliding your palms up his back in an embrace, being careful not to crumple the jacket.

“Honestly, I didn't think I'd get to wear this dress again, not to mention so soon.”

“Sorry for keeping it from you, my flame.”

Despite already exchanging wedding presents, Diluc kept one more surprise from you. He knew you adored his father’s tradition of keeping paintings of not only nature, but important events of the family life, and your newlywed husband fully shared the sentiment. Undoubtedly, you two hired a photographer from Fontaine to capture the day marking your journey as spouses, and now have plenty of photos, but Diluc knew that it would bring you both absolute joy to have a portrait painted to hang it in the hall for every guest to know what a happy couple lives in this mansion.

Today is exactly the day for it.

“It’s alright,” your lashes flutter as he leans close again to plant another kiss - on your forehead this time. “Had you told me earlier, I would’ve been too excited to properly enjoy our honeymoon. So, good timing.”

Diluc chuckles at that. Then, on a whim he gently grabs your waist and starts swaying slowly, twirling your bodies in a tender dance, still flash to each other and foreheads pressed together, gazing into each other’s eyes. Your palms shift to his shoulders, feet moving back, right, forward, left, creating small waltz squares under the guidance of your husband who, as it seems, doesn’t want to let you go.

You dance like this for just ten minutes, but for Diluc it’s an eternity spent in your arms. He almost forgets you have plans and a man waiting for you two downstairs, until you stop, huffing a little when he bumps into you driven by inertia.

“Shouldn’t we go?” You don't know why you are whispering, but the moment is so innermost, that even the slightest rise of one’s voice might break it. You see how he releases a small breath of discontent, but doesn’t let it be shown in facial expression - after all, you are right.

“Of course, dear," your heart skips a beat, when he brings your hand to his lips and kisses the back of it, right over your wedding band. "Let’s go, Master Clouet must be waiting for us.”

The old man, who happened to know Master Crepus personally, seems to be gruff at first, but turns out to be a sweet person at heart, being extremely patient with both of you and occasionally commenting on how nice it is to see the boy, whom he last saw as a little kid, standing in front of him all grown up and with a wife by his side.

You are awe-stricken by the speed with which his dry and sinewy hands are moving, putting layer after layer of paint on the canvas, glancing up and down with his strikingly lively and bright eyes. He is nice to have around, and he treats you like human beings and not like statues, which many artists tend to do. He gives you breaks of course, doesn’t scold for moving an inch and doesn’t have a problem with fixing your poses if one of you happens to ruin it. He readily partakes in lunch and dinner and accepts Diluc’s offer to stay in one of the guest’s bedrooms, promising that it’ll take him only three nights.

And just as promised, on the morning of the fourth day, you watch the big painting getting hung in the hall as Diluc is handing Master Clouet a heavy pouch of mora, shaking his hand and saying something that makes an old man heartily laugh and pat the redhead’s shoulder. He then nods in approval, adding a couple more words of farewell, before following Adelinde to the exit. Diluc returns to your side.

“It’s brilliant,” your voice is shaking a little, happy tears brimming your eyes. Your body leans back on your husband’s chest, feeling him wrap his arms around your middle and putting his chin on your shoulder. “I love it so, so much, ‘luc. Just… I didn’t know a brush could recreate something so accurately! It’s unbelievable. Just look at our faces! It’s so detailed, I can practically see hearts in my eyes! Yours too, by the way,” the man snorts, pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, absolutely enjoying your amazement and teasing. He fully shares your feelings about the painting and almost opens his mouth to tell that he made a deal to invite your recent guest to make more paintings of you - some of the walls are pretty empty, if you ask him. However, he decides against it - after all what is life without pleasant surprises?