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arscorpii · 8 months ago

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the way utena held onto wakaba and anthy's hands, trying her best to not let go (even though utena was barely holding onto anthy's hand, i'm sure she never wished to let anthy slip away from her grasp). both shots were lit with soft lighting ⟶ to highlight the importance of the person utena was holding onto and their bonds to utena.

the fact that she reached out to them with her left hand, the hand on which she wore her rose crest ring (the ring being clearly visible in both shots) ⟶ utena believed that she could only save wakaba and anthy by being a prince/playing the role of a prince.

utena caught wakaba's right hand with her left hand; wakaba wasn't holding back. meanwhile, anthy reached out to utena's left hand with her left hand as well. i think the difference in how each pair held hands may lie within the ideals between the pairs in their respective circumstances. with regard to wakaba, she harboured lots of pent-up emotions and thoughts about how unfairly the (ohtori) world treated the people it regarded as "special" and "ordinary," such as utena and herself. wakaba was clouded with feelings of inferiority and wanted to be special, to put it simply. utena didn't understand/wasn't aware of these dichotomous mechanisms/systems at play, at this point at least. these conflicting ideals, as in, awareness versus ignorance, were represented in the way they held hands; the hero/chosen one with her firm grasp on the motionless hand of the underdog/forgettable one.

with regard to anthy, the moment utena cracked open her coffin was the first time the both of them saw each other as they truly were. utena believed in a world beyond eternal pain and suffering anthy had to endure and wanted to share that view with her, wanted anthy to see and experience such a world, to save her from this needless perdition for good. eventually, anthy took the chance on the possibility, given how unyielding utena was in trying to reach her despite being stabbed by anthy herself; anthy hesitantly reached out to utena. both utena and anthy wanted to believe in a world where suffering is transient when they reached out to one another through the coffin opening, and not an eternally all-consuming pain as their fates in ohtori. they shared similar hopes in that moment.

utena reached out to both wakaba and anthy with kindness and love:

in the duel with wakaba, she never drew out the sword of dios or fought her. utena de-escalated the duel carefully by taking hold of wakaba's sword (the sword pulled out of saionji) and cutting off the black rose. despite not understanding the sequence of events that had them facing each other off in the dueling arena, wakaba was one of utena's closest friends and utena would save her. it's a little interesting to note that the audience (and utena, too i believe) didn't get a glimpse of wakaba's face during utena's speech as above. in addition, the focus on their interlocked hands when utena mentioned about not understanding the situation and saving wakaba is also interesting (even though the interlocked hands were due to them struggling against each other). it's possible what utena said at that moment may have reached her heart even while being under the control of the black rose. perhaps the speech may have made wakaba realise that she was indeed special. this "specialness" was emphasised by utena not letting wakaba fall into the outline of one of the bodies like the other black rose duelists; because she mattered to utena. "to not be chosen is to die" but in a way, she was chosen by utena here beyond the presented choice between her or anthy. utena chose wakaba and anthy.

in episode 39, akio used the sword pulled out of utena to break through the rose gate. utena was injured and incapacitated by anthy's stab, while anthy was relentlessly impaled with millions of swords embodying humanity's hatred. akio's futile attempts eventually broke the sword and he gave up on the pursuit. so long as he had anthy, he could try again, as in, try again to gain the power to "revolutionise the world" instead of freeing his little sister. utena tried opening the rose gate with her bare hands; dragging her injured body there, clinging onto the thorny vines of the roses on the gate, pushing through the large stone doors. she only wanted to stop the swords from hurting anthy, to help her. utena's love and care for anthy finally unlocked the rose gate into anthy's coffin. utena steadfastly held out her hand to anthy despite anthy's protests. utena's efforts moved anthy to tears, and she reached out to her. in episode 38, utena chose anthy over akio, and all the way back to episode 11, utena chose anthy over the power to revolutionise the world. utena had always chosen anthy against all odds and choices.

the aftermath:

wakaba wasn't holding back possibly due to being under the control of the black rose while anthy's hand eventually slipped away from utena's hold.

nevertheless, utena's efforts matter, very much so, because wakaba will always be on utena's side no matter what happens and anthy will find utena no matter where she is.

#i love them so very much:(#revolutionary girl utena #shojo kakumei utena #shoujo kakumei utena #rgu #sku #utena tenjou #anthy himemiya #wakaba shinohara #parallels #analysis #i think #i hope this is readable #i don't know if this analysis is anything substantial #i keep rewriting because i wanted to get the points across the best i could #i'm sorry for mistakes and/or misinterpretations #✮

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refeverie · 3 months ago

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only with you.

angst & comfort. gn!reader × wanderer. wc 1.7k

summary. non-sexual nudity & intimacy; body painting with flowers; recollection of past events (wanderer)

sumeru is a dualistic region. where knowledge and reincarnation richly seep through every concept there is, it would still not exist without any ignorance, nor destruction. one needs another to thrive.

wanderer himself is a dual man—a human being without an organic heart yet a puppet with feelings. somebody, who had multiple names throughout. somebody, who once had a mother; friends. somebody, who was given a midway place in this world across his journey. as a wanderer, he is said to have no name, kin, or destination.

maybe there is a definite reason for him to spend the majority of his time in sumeru after all. as he originated from inazuma, a land of isolated eternity, spent years at the claws of the notorious nation of snezhnaya and—seeking his ascension to godhood, eventual prosperity, and validation at last—was forced into flimsy redemption in sumeru.

wanderer self-destructed his ignorance to reincarnate it as full of knowledge; to shape his existence anew. all of this for him to question himself and suffer the same.

the sacred tree of the world—irminsul—answered the questions he always sought and yet, he was betrayed once again. wisdom is a heavy burden with a great cost; it could be one’s demise. ignorance to him was, indeed, a bliss. as well as oblivion, which he was stripped of in a little of a while.

since the day he had to relive his entire lifetime in a minute and earned an anemo vision in the process, the world around him changed. in fact, he met you, who made a significant change to his demeanor. wanderer may not be the best companion there is, however, you both always seek each other in a crowd. even if there is none of it.

the sunset is pretty today, you think as you immerse yourself up to the chin into the lukewarm water underneath the waterfall of gandharva ville. wanderer remained apart from you for a while. he was hesitant. he may have a synthetic body of a puppet, but being stark naked in front of you felt way too vulnerable by his nature. it felt like cutting himself open and letting himself go free.

he was never free to begin with. freedom to each is a different concept. the day the god of eternity sealed his power and hid him like a failure of hers, followed by letting him roam free, he chained his mind to different intentions of ei’s. he felt neglected and deprived of who he was meant to be—not knowing he was a mere prototype, never designed to hold and wield the electro gnosis; whose existence was about to be terminated right before they saw him cry in his sleep—rather than free.

he had no given name nor a home to get back to at the end of the day. so, naturally, when fatui took him under their wings, he felt that being the sixth seat was his rightful place.

there were many kind people in his early ordinary days of learning how to be human between the time he was discarded and given the title of the balladeer. your way of carrying yourself immensely reminds him of them all. sometimes it can be agonizing to wanderer, but lovely just the same. he reacts to your eyes, inviting him to join you bathing in the stream while the sun slowly sets.

erstwhile clear water, due to the reflection of the sky, is dyeing itself in colors of yellow, orange, violet, and pink. the river takes its appearance like the flower field around you at once.

as wanderer takes his clothes off, he is quickly submerging himself into and under the water. it is shallow, so you can swiftly reach his side. you have qualms about whether he would let you come closer, despite that, you carefully stretch your hands towards his shoulders. you sit him up. he has a lot on his mind lately, thus, he lets you take care of him without thinking much. to tell the truth, he trusts you to a great extent, knowing you would catch him if he fell—literally and figuratively.

you pluck a lone flower from the floral field. it is greenish blue, or rather turquoise, in color. one would rarely see it blossom. the color reminds you of wanderer’s tattoos’ when they glow with power.

you slowly trace them with luminous petals, so it leaves dye markings; barely visible, but you both know it’s there nevertheless. it is a silly activity yet remarkably intimate for either. he does not feel skin contact the same as everyone else, regardless, he gets chills from your delicate brushes.

somehow you do not care about him being born unhuman at all. maybe because in your mind he is the most human one could be—cruel and all the things beautiful at the same time; imperfect.

you offer him another flower of your favorite color, for him to paint on your bare body as well. he is skeptical, however, it takes only a moment to engage in the act. you shiver every time he tries touching you softly. neither of you talk.

you warily touch his face then. the pink rose in your frail grip is kissing his cheeks, and nose, consciously avoiding his pursed lips as well as eyes, which are dyed burgundy anyways. the color was indeed deliberately chosen to imitate a blush of sorts. you thought it was cute.

he is feeling your skin alongside, attentively selecting parts of your body you would be fine with; giving your consent to. it does vary how you react.

you reach for his chest subsequently, holding a flower of opaque red. you are faltering while drawing something. at that moment, he stops his own tracery and retracts his arm further from you; stays still. you painted a little heart on his chest. likewise, you keep looking at it in silence, smiling.

it was a heart he was able to call his own.

he remembers. puppet he is, abandoned by the almighty shogun for being overly human, but used as a tool by fatui ever since. in no way they saw a human—whereas he could not die and had an empty space of a heart. how can one be a human being without a heart? his existence contradicted itself in that sense.

as a harbinger, did he become more human then? when a tainted heart he got from the doctor saved him, it was offered to him in the form of the ashes to have in that empty shell of a place. at first, he did not know it was niwa's; that same withered one he discarded after condemning the entire incident as his second betrayal of cruel mankind nature. a human heart he yearns for is not worth the pain of another person’s death.

afterward, he sought a gnosis to take that place instead. his luck was one of a kind really. the contentment he became so familiar with, was short-lived in the end. it was not a real heart anyhow. can the anemo vision he recently acquired serve as his vital core replacement?

each time he came into possession of a fill-in for a heart, someone else had to suffer. merely this time, he actually felt you blessed him with a heart he could be endowed without any anguish. he put his singular hand up to his chest and held it pressed. he was fond of his ephemeral heart.

you slowly but surely grasp his fingers. the puppet joints over the years looked almost seamless. it evidently looked human-like. you cautiously brush your lips against his knuckles, meeting his violet-blue eyes. do they twinkle—was it mirroring the stirring water on second thought?

promptly, the serene moment of yours is interfered. you turn your head to unfamiliar hushed tones and humming. there pop up a few heads of plant-like forest spirits. you notice wanderer is gifted to see them as well.

aranaras are critters, only to be seen by trustworthy dreamers of pure and kind hearts. it is a mystery really—wanderer’s ability to spot them. is he, not a doll without a heart; can he be regarded as good-natured; is he to be trusted… he is not a child either (but acting like one every once in a while).

thereafter, wanderer stretches his hand toward a bright blue-colored creature, holding a yellow poppy. flowers help aranaras remember their friends whenever they meet. besides, they gain power from memories. do the spirits of sumeru forests lay hold of dreadful recollections as well? wanderer is brimful of them.

after a while, wanderer looks in your direction. he is deep in thought at the moment, pondering who exactly he is. he does understand the concept of being human pretty well, yet he does have uncertainties about whether he can call himself one, partially at least. he did give up trying to be human in the distant past, though, he had experienced pieces of being human underway—having emotions, enduring pain, having a heart of some form, a place to live, a region to serve, people he called family, and a name.

truthfully, he had a myriad of names; words he was called by others. he never deemed them his names frankly. nonetheless, he loved himself as kabukimono—the dolly wandering eccentric, perceived as naive and peculiar. deep inside he knows he did not stray far from his roots, it was simply eclipsed by the wounds of his past.

he did name himself kunikuzushi, the world-destroyer once. alongside was given titles of the balladeer and scaramouche. it should be mentioned that whilst no man on teyvat recalls it being him—he was formerly known as the everlasting lord of arcane wisdom; shouki no kami, the prodigal, too.

attempting erasure of himself, including rectifying past events that his existence, and rage-driven deeds caused, wanderer reincarnated into someone as curious as the young kabukimono. he opted for calling himself a wanderer. was he an eccentric one this time on top of that? at the end of the day, it all comes full circle.

at present, he does go by a freshly given name, restraining himself with a new psyche all while making an effort to atone for his sins. he accepted his birth, not to mention, the entirety of his past.

he looks all around his own porcelain-like skin, currently dyed with multiple colors. it tugs at his heartstrings. he does glance at your body then, admiring the art, positioned in front—meaning you, not the mindless drawings of flowers’ pigments on your figure.

hence, he finally feels like he has reached the promised divinity. only whenever he is with you.

(part two)

#wanderer x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #wanderer angst #genshin impact wanderer #scara x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin x gn reader #wanderer x gn reader #persephone – works ☆

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amateurvoltaire · 2 months ago

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April 5th, 1794: Camille Desmoulins went to the Place de la Révolution to die.

There was no journal left to write, no crowd to stir, no chance to rewrite the last page. He had already said too much.

The Revolution had eaten through its own flesh, and Camille, once its poet, was now just another name on the list.

He left behind one final letter. Not quite a manifesto. Just a man, waiting to die, writing to his wife.

The Last Letter of Camille Desmoulins

Duodi germinal, 3 a.m. (April 1st)

Sleep has mercifully suspended my suffering. In sleep, one is free, unaware of captivity. Heaven has shown me mercy. Just moments ago, I saw you in a dream: I embraced you, Horace, and Daronnen (1), who was at home. But our little one had lost an eye to some fury that had attacked him, and the pain of this vision woke me. I found myself back in my dungeon. It was daylight. Though I could neither see you nor hear your replies, even as you and your mother spoke to me, I rose to write to you at least.

But opening the windows, the thought of my solitude, the dreadful bars and bolts that part me from you, vanquished all the strength of my soul. I melted into tears, or rather, I sobbed, crying out in this tomb: Lucile! Lucile! O my dearest Lucile, where are you?

(here, we notice the trace of a tear).

Yesterday evening I experienced a similar moment, and my heart broke anew when I saw your mother in the garden. A reflexive movement drove me to my knees against the bars; I clasped my hands together as if begging for her pity, she who must be weeping now in your embrace.

Yesterday I saw her sorrow

(here again a trace of tears)

In her handkerchief and veil, lowered as if she could not bear the sight. When you come again, let her sit a little nearer to you, so that I might see you both more clearly (2).

It is not dangerous, as far as I can tell. My spectacles are no good. I'd like you to buy me a pair like I had six months ago, not silver but steel, with two arms that attach to the head. Ask for number 15;: the merchant will know.

But above all, I implore you, Lolotte (3), by our eternal love, send me your portrait. Let your painter take pity on me, I who suffer only for having shown too much compassion for others. Let him grant you two sittings each day. In the horror of this prison, the day I receive your likeness would be a day of celebration, of pure rapture and intoxication.

In the meantime, send me a lock of your hair that I may press it to my heart. My dear Lucile! Here I am, back in the days of my first love, when I was interested in someone merely because they had come from your house. Yesterday, when the citizen who brought you my letter returned, I asked him "Well, have you seen her?", just as I used to ask Abbé Landreville. I found myself studying him as if something of you had lingered on his clothes, on his very person.

He is a charitable soul, for he delivered my letter intact (4). It seems I shall see him twice daily, morning and evening. This messenger of our sorrows has become as dear to me as a bearer of joys once would have been.

I discovered a crack in my cell; I pressed my ear to it, and heard a groaning. I hazarded some words, and a voice answered: a sick man in suffering. He asked my name. I gave it. “O my God!” he cried at hearing it, falling back upon his bed, and I distinctly recognised the voice of

Fabre d’Églantine (5).

(Yes, I am Fabre, he told me; but you, in here! Has the counter-revolution succeeded?)

Yet we dare not speak further, for fear that hatred might deprive us of even this small consolation. Should we be heard, we would surely be separated and confined more strictly. He has a room with a fireplace; mine would be a fair chamber... if a dungeon could ever be called fair.

But, dear friend! You cannot imagine what it means to be held in secret, not knowing why, never interrogated, never receiving a single journal. It is to live and be dead at once, existing only to feel oneself buried in a tomb. They say innocence is calm and courageous.

Ah!

My dearest Lucile! My beloved! Often, my innocence is weak like that of a husband, that of a father, that of a son (6)! If it were Pitt or Coburg who treated me thus…! But my colleagues! Robespierre, who signed the order of my imprisonment! The Republic, after all I have done for her! Is this the reward for so many virtues and sacrifices?

When I first arrived, I saw Hérault-Séchelles, Simon, Ferroux, Chaumette, and Antonelle (7). They suffer less than I do, at least they are not held incommunicado.

And I, who for five years devoted myself to hatred and peril in the name of the Republic. I who kept my poverty through the Revolution (8). I who have none to ask forgiveness but you, my dear Lolotte, and to whom you granted it, knowing my heart, despite its frailty, was not unworthy of you. I am cast into a dungeon, in secret, as though I were a conspirator! Even Socrates was allowed to see his friends and wife in prison when he drank the hemlock (9).

How much harder to be torn from you! Even the worst criminal would suffer too cruelly if separated from a Lucile by anything except death—which at least makes one feel such agony for but a moment. But a criminal could never have been your husband, and you loved me because I lived solely for the happiness of my fellow citizens... They call me...

Just now, the commissioners of the Revolutionary Tribunal have questioned me. One question only: “Have you conspired against the Republic?” What derision! Is it thus they insult the purest republicanism?

I see the fate that awaits me. Farewell, my Lucile, my dear Lolotte, my good little wolf, say farewell to my father. In me, you see the example of man’s barbarity and ingratitude. My final moments will not disgrace you. You see that my fears were justified, that my presentiments were always true.

I married a woman heavenly in her virtue. I was a good husband and a good son; I would have been a good father. I carry with me the esteem and the regrets of all true republicans, of all men, of virtue and of liberty.

I die at thirty-four, yet it is a marvel that I have survived these past five years and so many revolutionary precipices without falling into them. That I still exist and rest my head in calm upon the pillow of my writings; too numerous, perhaps, but all breathing the same philanthropy, the same desire to make my fellow citizens happy and free, writings that the tyrants’ axe shall never strike down.

I see now that power intoxicates almost all men, that they all speak as Dionysius of Syracuse (10):

“Tyranny is a fine epitaph.”

But take comfort, desolate widow! The epitaph of your poor Camille is nobler still: it is that of the Brutuses and the Catos, the slayers of tyrants (11). O my dearest Lucile! I was born to write verse, to defend the wretched, to make you happy, to compose, with your mother, with my father, and a few souls after our own hearts, a little Tahiti (12).

I had dreamed of a Republic that all mankind would adore. I could not believe men were so savage and so unjust. How could I think a few jests in my writings, aimed at colleagues who had provoked me, would erase the memory of all my services?

I do not deceive myself: I die a victim of those jests (13) and of my friendship with Danton (14).

I thank my assassins for letting me die with him and with Philippeaux (15). Since my colleagues were cowardly enough to abandon us, to lend an ear to slanders, of which I know nothing, save that they must be vile, I may say we die martyrs of our courage in denouncing traitors and of our love for the truth.

We can at least take with us this testimony: we perish as the last true republicans.

Forgive me, dear friend, my true life, which I lost the moment we were parted. I find myself dwelling on my legacy when I should focus only on helping you forget.

My Lucile! My good Loulou! My hen of Cachant (16)! I beseech you, do not linger on the branch, do not call to me with your cries; they would tear me to pieces in the depths of the grave. Go scratch the earth for your little one, live for my Horace (17); speak to him of me. Will you tell him, though he cannot yet understand, that I would have loved him dearly?

Despite my torment, I believe there is a God. My blood shall wash away my faults, the weaknesses of humanity, and God will reward what was good in me: my virtues, my love of liberty. One day, I shall see you again, O Lucile! O Annette!

Sensitive as I was, is death, which delivers me from witnessing so many crimes, so terrible a fate? Farewell, Loulou; farewell, my life, my soul, my goddess on earth! I leave you good friends, all men of virtue and feeling.

Farewell, Lucile, my Lucile! My dear Lucile! Farewell, Horace, Annette, Adèle (18)! Farewell, my father! I feel the shore of life receding before me.

I still see Lucile! I see her, my beloved! My Lucile! My bound hands embrace you still, and my severed head rests its dying eyes upon you.

Notes:

The original French text comes from the Correspondance inédite de Camille Desmoulins, published by M. Matton aîné (Ébrard, Paris, 1836). The translation is mine.

(1) Daronne was a nickname Camille had for his mother-in-law

(2) Camille was imprisoned in the Luxembourg. Families of prisoners would gather in the prison garden so their imprisoned relatives could see them from the jail cells above.

(3) Lolotte was Lucile’s nickname

(4) "Intact" in this case means uncensored, as prisoners' letters were routinely read and censored..

(5) Fabre d’Églantine (1750–1794) was a playwright, poet, and revolutionary politician, best known for creating the names of the months in the French Republican Calendar and for his close association with Danton.

(6) The phrasing is a bit awkward in English, but what Camille is trying to say is that human bonds make him vulnerable. He's not admitting guilt; he's defending his innocence, but he's acknowledging that emotional attachments can make one act from the heart rather than from strict principle or legality.

(7) Hérault-Séchelles was a member of the Committee of Public Safety and played a key role in drafting the constitution. Though not strictly aligned with the Dantonists, he was executed alongside them on April 5th.

Simion most likely refers to Jean-Baptiste Simon, less prominent, but known as a journalist and moderate revolutionary

Ferroux's identity is problematic. While there was a Ferroux imprisoned at that time, little is known about him as he wasn't a prominent figure. Some editions of the letter suggest this is a misrendering of either Philippeaux's name or refers to Jean-Pierre-André Amar.

Chaumette is Pierre-Gaspard Chaumette a leading figure of the Hébertist faction; radical dechristianiser; President of the Commune of Paris

Antonelle is François-Joseph-Marie Fayolle d’Antonelle A moderate republican, journalist, editor of Le Républicain, and supporter of the Girondins.

(8) Camille is very much stretching the truth here …

(9) Socrates was sentenced to death by the Athenian court in 399 BCE and died by drinking a cup of hemlock, a poisonous plant, as punishment for impiety and corrupting the youth.

(10) Dionysius I, tyrant of Syracuse in Sicily during the 4th century BCE, known for his authoritarian rule and for transforming Syracuse into a major military power. He became a symbol of despotism in classical literature and later political thought, often cited as an emblem of how power corrupts and tyranny can be glorified despite its brutality.

(11) Brutus and Cato the tyrannicides refer to Marcus Junius Brutus and Marcus Porcius Cato the Younger, two influential figures of the late Roman Republic who stood against dictatorship. Brutus helped kill Julius Caesar in 44 BCE to protect Rome's freedom, while Cato opposed Caesar through political means and chose suicide rather than live under his rule.

(12) The original is "composer, avec ta mère et mon père, et quelques personnes selon notre cœur, un Otaïti." Camille is referring to Tahiti (Otaïti being the 18th-century French spelling). After Bougainville's 1768 voyage, Tahiti captured the European imagination as an idyllic paradise, a place of natural abundance, innocence, and harmony, untouched by civilization's corruption.

(13) To see the jests he is referring to, I recommend you take a look at Camille's last publication, Le Vieux Cordelier. The first two issues aligned with Jacobin's sentiment, but from the third onward, he diverged from the party line and called for moderation. His tone, satirical, accusatory, and morally urgent, was perceived by many as politically subversive and ultimately led to his arrest.

(14) Georges Danton (1759–1794) was a leading figure of the French Revolution, known for his oratory, role in founding the Revolutionary Tribunal, and early leadership of the Jacobin movement. He and Camille Desmoulins were close friends and political allies… their relationship is far too involved and complicated to explain in a short note.

(15) Pierre Philippeaux (1754–1794) was a Convention member sent on mission to the West. His detailed report exposed the brutal repression in the Vendée, especially atrocities by Republican forces under Jean-Baptiste Carrier. Camille used this report in Le Vieux Cordelier to support his plea for clemency. Philippeaux's testimony provided concrete, documented evidence of revolutionary excesses, strengthening Camille's argument that the Revolution had strayed from its principles.

(16) Translation from the original notes of the 1835 edition of the letter: Cachant is a small village near Paris, on the road to Bourg-la-Reine, where Madame Duplessis owned a country house. During their visits to Mme Duplessis, Camille and Lucile had often observed a hen in Cachant that, grief-stricken at the loss of her rooster, perched day and night on the same branch. She would emit heart-rending cries, refuse all food, and seemed to long for death. This is the hen to which Camille alludes here.

(17) Horace was the young son of Camille Desmoulins and Lucile Duplessis, born in 1792 and just a toddler at the time of his parents’ execution in 1794.

(18) Translation from the original notes of the 1835 edition of the letter: Lucile's sister, who never married and lived with her mother, became her sole consolation after the deaths of Camille, Lucile, and M. Duplessis.

#frev #french revolution #camille desmoulins #lucile desmoulins #robespierre #history #translation #the death of the indulgents #Camille is pissed off at Maxime...

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suntoru · 1 year ago

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❝ 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ❞

─ ✰ 𝐒𝐘��𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: scaramouche thinks you’re an awfully clumsy human being. you’re lucky he loves you just as much as you like to see him suffer.

─ ✰ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: fluff, kissing, slight blood (you get hurt), 1.4k words

─ ✰ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is very half baked ill write more genshin I SWEARRRR

"stupid," scaramouche mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes in annoyance.

if you didn't know any better you'd think he was degrading you, but his actions betray his words. though his tone may sound brash and condescending, you've grown accustomed to his prickly demeanor. there's a subtle shift in his voice, a hint of concern mingling with a sense of protectiveness. he squats down right next to where you're clutching your bloody knee.

pulling you snug against his chest, his touch is surprisingly gentle as he carefully inspects the scrape you received from tripping over a rock. despite his initial dismissal, there's a sincerity in his actions that speaks volumes. it's as if beneath his layers of harshness and sarcasm, there lies a genuine desire to ensure your well-being, hidden behind a facade of indifference.

he sighs, tenderly blowing air on the scrape in an attempt to alleviate some of the pain. "does it hurt?" he mumbles, his tone attempting to regain some of his abrasive personality. but when it comes to you, he finds it impossible to maintain his usual harshness. you nod softly, your eyes glazed over in a blurry haze, and he can't help but feel a strange sensation in his chest. or rather, the place where he would feel a sensation if he had a heart.

he's at a loss for how to make it feel better, his mildly annoyed faltering in the face of your discomfort. his nose crinkles. if it were him in this situation, he would have brushed it off easily, perhaps even stomped on the flowers in the surrounding area for good measure. a scrape like the one on your knee would be insignificant to him.

but mortals are so fragile, so easily breakable. you cry over small, uncontrollable events, like someone passing away or falling on your knee. you're bad for his health, he swears silently to himself. every time you trip or stumble or shed a tear, he finds himself inexplicably worrying about you. it's a strange feeling, one he's not accustomed to— caring for the emotions of someone other than himself. he doesn't like feeling vulnerable, yet in your presence, vulnerability seems inevitable.

but it's not all mortals he feels this way for. if it were one of his subordinates, he would have had them punished severely for shedding tears over such a small thing. however, with you, he finds it's different. he knows, all too well, the nature of human life, witnessing countless souls fade away in the blink of an eye; your lifespan is but a fleeting moment compared to his eternity. perhaps that's why he worries so much. scolding you for not taking proper care of yourself, angrily patching you up when you get hurt— these actions have become common occurrences.

yet, it doesn't stop the sinking feeling he gets every time it happens. it's as if with each scrape, each tear, he's reminded of the fragility of your existence. and in that reminder, he feels an unfamiliar pang of concern, a whisper of something resembling... affection. how strange.

he finds his fingers instinctively wiping away a stray tear rolling down your cheek, a frown marring his usually composed features. retrieving a spare bandaid, patterned with cute bunnies that you had insisted on buying, he takes extra caution when tending to your wound. somehow, you always manage to find trouble, a fact that both frustrates and perplexes him.

you're such a baby, always getting yourself into situations that require his attention. and yet, for some reason, he doesn't exactly mind it. after all, he'd rather you seek his comfort over a dimwit like a certain ginger harbinger.

you nuzzle into his touch, letting out soft sniffles as you pout sadly, wincing at the pain. he tries to be as gentle as possible, tenderly placing the bandaid over the scrape with the utmost care. and when you're not looking, he shoots a glare at the stupid rock that caused you harm, silently cursing its existence.

"hurts..." you mumble, tugging on his sleeve with pleading eyes. "will you kiss it better?" you ask, your voice tinged with vulnerability. he hesitates, his mind immediately conjuring up logical reasons why such an action would be ineffective and potentially harmful. but the look on your face melts his resolve, and with a resigned sigh, he leans in and tenderly presses a kiss on top of your so-called 'boo boo'. it's a small gesture, but he can't deny the warmth that spreads through him at the sight of your grateful smile.

in one motion, he tilts his oversized hat downwards, completely blocking his face, leaving you blinking softly and cocking your head in confusion. what could he possibly be doing?

"...scara?" you question, attempting to shift to where he seems to be looking. but as soon as you move, he shifts his gaze elsewhere, and you mimic his movements, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.

"would you stop that?" he scowls finally, ceasing his movements and refusing to meet your gaze. his cheeks are tinged with a pretty pink hue, gradually deepening into a full-blown red, a clear sign of his embarrassment. you can't help but stare at him innocently before bursting into laughter, playfully pinching his cheek as you tease him about his flushed face.

"aww, scara, you flustered?" you taunt, but he swats away your hand, attempting to evade your playful teasing. "i'm not—" he begins, his voice trailing off as he struggles to find the right words, but the embarrassment on his face speaks volumes. with a bratty huff, he removes his beloved hat from his head and places it firmly onto yours, obstructing your vision. his hand remains firmly placed on your head to ensure you don't pull it off.

"hey!!!" you protest, squirming in an attempt to lift the hat, but his grip remains steadfast. he's adamant on not letting you see his face; perhaps you've gone a bit too far now. is he pouting at you? gently, you intertwine your delicate fingers with the hand that's pressing down the hat, silently coaxing him to relent. eventually, he does, allowing you to lift the hat and meet his gaze, although he still stubbornly avoids making direct eye contact, staring off into the distance with a petulant expression.

he resembles a toddler at this moment, cheeks puffed in annoyance, yet his hand remains firmly clasped against yours. despite his outward irritation, you don't miss the way his thumb gently moves back and forth, caressing your fingers.

it's endearing, really, and you can't help but smile at his adorable display. surely, he wouldn't mind too much if you continued to tease him, would he? with that mischievous thought in mind, you press a tender kiss to his cheek, lips as soft as custard pressed sweetly against his pale porcelain skin. nuzzling into his face softly, he predictably flinches back, his embarrassment turning a deeper shade of red.

"hah? what was that for?" he hisses, but you can see the subtle fluster dancing in his eyes, betraying his composed facade. suddenly, he feels trapped in a dizzying spiral of butterflies in his stomach, unable to think clearly as every single thought in his head revolves around you. "hm?" you giggle mischievously, playing innocent.

"i'm just... kissing it better."

bonus!!

a day later, scaramouche stealthily makes his way back to the spot where you had tripped and hurt yourself. squatting down, he inspects the object responsible for your fall with a disdainful glare. it's just a stupid, ugly grey rock. annoyingly mundane.

"you'll never be a precious gem like you wish you were," he snarls, his voice dripping with contempt as he channels his elemental skills against it, slamming it against various surfaces with relentless force.

"you're boring. get out of my sight." with each strike, he vents his frustration, punishing the rock for its audacity to cause you harm. he continues to torment the poor rock, his determination unwavering until it's reduced to mere shambles, pebbles scattered haphazardly across the ground. only then does he allow himself a satisfied huff, a smirk of triumph gracing his lips as he surveys his handiwork. with a sense of accomplishment, he strides proudly away, eager to return home to you.

#astronetwrk #genshin x reader #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x y/n #genshin impact x you #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x y/n #wanderer x you #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff

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lets-try-some-writing · 3 months ago

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I have three versions of Primus that I write with. Those being:

The Good - An all knowing and ever patient god. He may not always know how to connect with his children, but he has a plan for each of them and he does his best to ensure that his creations are guided into a better tomorrow. He may be cryptic, but he is kind and genuinely tries his best to help in his dormant state. He will even go so far as to harm himself for the benefit of his children if that is what is required.

Applicable fic example: The Many Lives of Optimus Prime

The Eternal - An incomprehensible god who is so above that which he has created that he has no understanding of his children or their pains. He does what he believes is best, but often his plans extend far past any one individual to the point of creating more suffering in the short term. He comes across as cruel or heartless, but he loves far deeper than any mortal could comprehend. He is emotion. He Is All. And he absolutely favors some of his creations over others, to the point of suffocation at times (ie: the line of Primes).

Applicable fic example: Forbidden Sight

The Jealous - An orderly god who has a design and will go to any lengths to see it met. He came into being and threw everything he did not see value in aside in favor of his vision of all creation. He is neither good nor evil, he simply is. He does not love in the traditional sense, but he does claim possession over all he sees as his and is not fond of others touching his toys. His chosen champions exist only to serve as protectors over his domain. He holds no love for them. He chooses them based on necessity.

Applicable fic example: The Grim Dark Archives

I love noticing trends in my own writing and noting them.

#transformers #maccadam #primus #lets try some writing mumbles

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mari-lair · 4 months ago

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hello ! i love your fics and analysis! I was wondering which tbhk ships you think will become endgame?

Anon I have the most white bread of answers but since you asked-

1 - Hananene.

Nene starts the manga by wanting a date. It doesn't matter with who, any hot guy will do. She has many infatuations but isn't in love with anyone, she just want to be loved.

Nene has a lot of small character developments in different areas throughout the manga, but her strongest and most consistent change is her increasing love for Hanako and her acceptance of it.

She is still a girl with a ton of emotions, and she finds hot people attractive BUT now she want Hanako and only Hanako. She rejects everyone she used to have a crush on, there is no doki doki's when she gets the attention of pretty people cause they aren't the boys she wants attention from anymore.

Even Teru doesn't compare to Hanako. She went on a 'date' with him and felt more excited about bragging than the actual 'date'

AND SHE DID NOT BRAG when hanako got back, she just wanted to enjoy that he's back.

I don't even know why I am going so in dept on the couple stablished since chapter 1 but since i'm already rambling: Despite everything crazy going on in the festival NENE'S BIGGEST FOCUS WAS TO CONFESS TO HANAKO. That's something she thinks more about than her own death, like girl- Hanako is her whole world. She will not get a romance with another person.

There is the question of "Will Nene survive?"

If she doesn't, she'll disappear and have no boyfriend but I bet she'll be thinking about Hanako in her death. If she finds a way to become a supernatural in a very wild narrative choice she will be able to stay with hanako in their cursed eternity forever.

In the case she lives and Hanako gets exorcised she won't move on. Aidairo loves tragedies and obsessive love, so I can't see her approaching crushes with the same whimsy after her love dies. And Aidairo would likely preffer to make her suffer in her grief and longing than give her a rebound with some random guy, cause it sure won't be Kou.

2 - Mitsukou

My personal preferences aside, it is clear they are written to have romantic implications. Kou will either die with Mitsuba (As shown in the new timeline), and stay with him in death.

Or live to have an intense homoerotic 'friendship' with him.

He legit can't get mitsuba off his head, he thinks about him more than anything during the manga and he has A LOT of problems to think about.

I can't personally picture an explicit confession but we had a lot of equivalents already. It would be weird for Aidairo to send them to the aquarium, make Kou obsessed with mitsuba (and vise verse), show that they are 'very very close' in this new timeline, keep drawing them star-struck by each other and so on without romance in the head.

Kou is also never able to put his feelings into words, like, bro that's suspicious as hell.

They always get matching art with all the couples in Aidairo's twitter arts too.

That's not queerbaiting, they may not be explicit but by the lord they are not subtle at all, there is never a single "oh Mitsuba is like a brother to me" moment, they don't undo any of the gay implications we see, they double down on it.

Kou may be bi but it sure isn't the Nene route that Aidairo is playing.

3 - Aoikane

Akane has loved Aoi since he was a little kid. Waaaaaaay before he got a clock keeper contract.

He saw that Aoi cared so much about his opinion that she'd break out of her cold persona and burst into tears at the idea of being hated, and he locked in for life.

They are the codependent childhood friends troupe, the "I know you better than anyone" troupe, the "you are a part of my life I can't live without" troupe and they both love each other from the very start of the manga, not showing romantic interest in anyone else.

Nothing has made Akane change his mind about being with Aoi. Not being stabbed, not being rejected many times, not facing how bad aoi is at deling with her issues head on. He'll do anything for her time and time again.

in Akane's own words:

They had many build ups and a whole arc dedicated to their developments with each other (which is a lot considering they aren't main characters and Aoi usually get no focus in this manga.)

Narratively, it wouldn't make any sense to dedicate so many chapters pointing out how much they mean to each other and slowly working through their issues only to slap another ship at the end.

And is not like Aidairo said "They had their arc let's never talk about them again!", the author went out of her way to say "Even in a world where Aoi is in an arranged marriage, she still loves Akane"

They aren't subtle.

From the matching names, to the way they both crumble when they are separated from one another and keep thinking about marriage, they are very devoted. They have already explicitly confessed to the audience that they are in love with each other.

They'll either stay together forever or they'll die together.

#I wanted to put 'terukaneaoi' here but i gotta be realistic for once. Sorry teru i love you and i am down for being proven wrong on this #but i am 90% sure you'll end up alone #tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #hananene #mitsukou #aoikane

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lovelykhaleesiii · 1 year ago

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Can I request a smutty fic for Aemond, please? The base idea I had is that he's been at war for a while and finally reunites with his wife, so it's quite passionate. I leave the finer details to your expertise ♡

Sacrifices with Intimacy

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x Wife!fem!Reader

WORDS: 1,805.

WARNINGS: p in v sexual intercourse, female oral receiving, praise kink, breeding kink, swearing.

A/N - haven't written for Aemond in a long while, so forgive me if this is trash! sorry about the long wait, Ez. I hope you genuinely enjoy this! all this new content for Aem/Ewan is stirring some deep feelings! thanks for being so patient and kind.

The toils of this war had felt like an eternity, and undeniably, you had missed your beloved husband dearly...

Aemond Targaryen, the second son of King Viserys Targaryen and Alicent Hightower: your betrothed and in eager time, your doting husband, was called at arms to fight the war in the name and honour of his elder brother, the King now, Aegon II. Aemond expressed no hesitation to act in defence, even if this meant sacrificing sacred time with you. As much as his reasons were to defend the honour and dignity of his family, he fought in battle with intent of smothering all grounds of harm towards you by all means. He thoroughly intended to vanquish any potential enemy or ounce of threat, kin alike, if it meant that you live a life free from suffering.

A sacrifice needed to fulfil this meant his prolonged absence in your life. An absence felt too deeply indeed, like an open gash, exposed to the natural chill of the air. Until the familiar, thunderous roars and bellowing gush of winds roared across the daylight, roars and wings that could only belong to one great dragon...Vhagar.

"My beloved—"

"Aem!"

An embrace long overdue, like no other. Against your body, Aemond's hold felt constricting yet oddly comforting, pressing you as deep against his slim physique as possible.

"You've returned sooner than I'd anticipated—"

"Do you not wish me to be here, my dearest? Has my early return not pleased you so?" He huskily murmurs, his voice deep: warming your heart so, as it had been so long since you'd heard the familiar tone. A deep chuckle echoing to your ears, as you nuzzle against his neck, longingly inhaling his musky scent.

"Well now that you're here, I may never let you go again—," You faintly whisper, enough only for Aemond's ears, as the dragon-keepers urgently tend to the monstrous Vhagar.

"Have your duties in Harrenhall come to a close? Need you take your place now here in King's Landing?"

"For the time being, my beloved. For the foreseeable future, I am to remain here... Rightfully beside you."

Despite all fruitless attempts of his Grandsire, the Hand, and the Dowager Queen, Alicent Hightower, urging Aemond to attend council meetings to arrange further battle plans and to discuss progress: Aemond remained solidly adamant in his stance.

"I've sacrificed enough of my time fighting this war in the name of this family. An evening to spare with my wife, I should warrant at the very least."

He was to spend the entirety of the evening, every passing hour, minute and seconds with you, soaking each other up to make amends for such deficiencies.

Your bare bodies entwined against each other, feeling the heat radiating from his muscular body.

"You've grown leaner, my love... Are they not feeding their troops?"

His calloused hands take their sweet, precious time lightly tracing over the curves of your naked body: scoring goosebumps to course over your soft skin where he had hovered. His touch had become alien to you now, and yet you craved for him to never let go.

"They feed us, although not well enough... And not for the delicacies that I desire," his lowly voice made your eager ears prick up, excited to hear his every word, to listen to him speak mindlessly for hours on end. A growl etched as his good eye lingered over your calm, sensual figure.

Slowly, you kneel yourself up over towards him, straddling his chest: his rough hands gripping the outer flesh of your tender thighs, squeezing and tapping at the meat, nudging for you to move up closer towards him. A sly smirk stricken across his handsome face, a face now masked with lingering yet subtle scratches and marks, proof of his succession in battles. Your finger lightly tracing over their lightning-like marks, gently until reaching the infamous sapphire eye.

"Do you still find me handsome as the day we wed?"

"Always, Aem—”

"Do you still want your husband to eat that pretty cunt of yours out? Been craving for me, silly princess, even if you deny it... I can feel you throbbing against me now."

Now knelt, hovering ever so closely to his face, you slowly sink yourself down, feeling your cheeks now well rested comfortably against his broad shoulders. His ravenous tongue spared no second plunging itself into your walls, as his lips curled and lapped at your moist entrance.

"Hmm—" A deep, penetrating sound vibrating from his lips against yours, you felt your dead weight plunge deeper, the walls of your silky cunt feeling tight and tickly against his guzzling mouth. You felt your body bobbing subtly up and down, in sync with his heaving chest, as his breaths grew deeper and denser.

"My husband, the saviour of the Seven Kingdoms... A-And I have h-him a-at my beck and call, b-beneath me."

Breathless and exhilarated, your wetness stimulating beneath you, sensing just how drenched your inner thighs feel. Intertwining your fingers with Aemond's, releasing his firm grip from your thighs, guiding his large hands up over your hips and waist, planting his palms against each breast.

"Miss these, baby? Cause they've missed you... M-Maybe if you f-fill me up, these can get f-fuller, huh? D-Does that s-sound good?"

Earning another deep, muffled "hmm", his calloused, large hands kneading at your breasts, squeezing at the tender flesh in the cup of his palm. A teasing thumb, flicking at your perky nipple, earning a rapid moan. Sensually feeling you up, his precise movements and gestures receptive to your body: as though he had never left, not a day behind. Your mindless body now succumbed to his every move, a stirring feeling in the pit of your stomach desperate for more, it seemed as though Aemond could read your very mind subconsciously.

Nudging you to move down, released from your trance, his breathing heavy yet gradually began to compose itself. A slick, clear film saturated his reddened lips and mouth, although wasting no precious he lapped that up too, savouring your taste.

"Ask and you shall receive, my spoilt, little princess... Lay down."

Despite Aemond having done most of the work, drowning in his prized possession, the sensitive spot between your legs felt achingly weak though desperate to have more of its fill.

"Now let's see if my angel can still handle this cock, huh? You cannot even begin to fathom, ugh—"

Towering build over you, as he adjusted his position over you, you felt meek and feeble against him, yet wanted nothing more than for him to devour you whole.

"Just how fucking much, I've been waiting for this precise moment... To feel your walls swallow my cock, huh? Fill you so full and good of my seed."

His long cock had grown stiff since the moment you'd removed the last single piece of cloth, torn from your body. Feeling his tense, sprung member against every crevice and naked surface of your body was painstakingly feverish: like some taboo toy you had been separated from, eager to play with once again. Its veiny, blush tip tauntingly traced lightly at your entrance, etching deeper and deeper with each breathless word spoken, and every moan whimpered, until his mass was completely plunged into your velvety vanity.

"Seven Hells— Forgotten just how tight you were, baby. I can feel you clenching, missed me that terribly, hmm? Poor thing... Must've been going crazy without me."

"Y-Yes, A-Aem— Y-You have no idea."

Aemond was more often precise and cautious when it came to sex: his movements and pace often calculated and deliberate although a different side completely showed itself now. You had to give him praise. It had been far too long, especially for newlyweds since you had both been last intimate. He was desperate for you, just as much as you had. He had grown impatient now, yearning to be with you, to be inside of you: keen to take his please with you in this very moment, for who knows when he could be next called upon and needed, only to disappear once again.

"That's my good, good girl... Always doing so well for me, having waited so long for me. Deserving of all my special treatment—"

His harsh thrusts were formidable enough to sway you as you lay still. Aemond gripped tightly at your wrists, keeping you and himself steady. His breathing once again resumed a faster, more grunted pace, as his thrusts grew careless. Only having the one goal to fuck you senselessly full of him.

"Mayhaps I'll fuck a babe into you, princess... Does that sound good? Leave a part of me inside of you to grow and to hold."

"Ughh— Yes, Aemond. Fuck me full. F-Fuck me till I s-swell, b-baby."

"Your commands, princess," A breathless grunt uttered after each word bespoken. His once straightened, neat loose strands, now a mottled, sweaty mess of platinum locked, strangling against your fingers, as you keenly relished in pulling and tugging at.

Whenever he was close enough, your lips suckled onto his fair, pale skin of his chest and neck, leaving remnant, red marks shaped vaguely of your plump lips. The fury of the pain from between your inner thighs was undeniable, for it had been so long since you laid with your husband. Your walls at first foreign to the excruciating stretch, as his long, rigid cock plummeted and burrowed its way into your cervix.

The long-awaited high was surreal, Aemond taking his pleasure in shooting his warm, fresh load deep into you, as you felt your unison wetness coating him. The mess seeping through the gaps. He remained nestled inside until he felt sated that you had taken his seed.

Embraced in each other's loving arms, the beauty in the intimacy with Aemond was that it never ceased with the sex. He often took pride and initiative in taking care of you even after, an old habit that seemed he did not forget so easily...

"I'll have the maid prepare a warm bath my dearest, in the meantime you stay in bed."

Hastily wiping the sweat off, dressing himself once more, only managing to don his trousers, he seated himself down beside you again.

"You mustn't feel haste to care for me, Aem. You were the one that went to war... You must rest now."

His longer fingers reached out, soothingly brushing aside the loose strands of hair, away from your beaming face. Instinctively, a warm smile radiating from his face, as he seized your presence.

"I shall rest when you are safe. It is my duty as your husband to protect you, and as your lover, to love you. Those vows I spoke many moons ago, I have not yet forgotten, nor will I. Everything I do, I do for us... I love you."

general taglist - @fan-goddess @malfoytargaryen @bibli0thecary @m1ndbrand @connorsui @elegantsplendour @sylasthegrim @arcielee @s-we-e-t-t-ea @sahvlren @watercolorskyy @hypnos-daughter-certified @urmomsgirlfriend1 @backyardfolklore @snowprincesa1

Aemond taglist - @megatardisbaby @harrypotteranna23-blog

credit for divider - @/pommecita

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond imagine #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond fanfic #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #prince aemond #aemond x y/n #aemond x fem!reader #alicent hightower #otto hightower #vhagar

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siderealcity · 9 months ago

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More Dawntrail narrative thoughts, this time about the Golden City. Spoilers below.

There are several layers to the Golden City as a plot device in Dawntrail, and I think they're interesting enough to just unpack them all and look at them.

The first time we hear the term, it's from Hades in Endwalker:

"Tell me, have you been to the ruins beneath the waters of the Bounty? Or the treasure islands beyond the frozen waters of Blindfrost, in Othard's north? The fabled golden cities of the New World? The sacred sites of the forgotten people of the south sea isles?"

It's telling that he groups that with the sacred sites of the south sea isles. The plot later tells us that they are explicitly connected to one another, but why does it call them "citiies," plural? Where's the other one, Hades?

(Also, we haven't yet been to the treasure islands in the north, but every one of those locations in the quote above has to do with cross-rift travel. Every. One. So, that may be something we see again later.)

But apart from their lore and plot significance (and potential foreshadowing), the Golden City is, from the first time we hear of it, a lure. Bait, dangled before an explorer, enticing them to go onward. It is, for lack of a better word, a promise of things to come. In the specific case in Endwalker, it's a promise that your story isn't over yet, there's still more to come. Even though you are, at that moment, standing in front of the amassed dead of countless worlds. Death is not the end, it's the beginning of new life.

The second time we hear the term, it's from Wuk Lamat. Who is, again, using it to entice us to join her. We don't know at that point that her actual title is, in fact, Promise. And that is significant.

It is, likewise, the bait for Krile's involvement in the story. The thing she knew her grandfather had been asked to study, the secret he'd kept out of the records of the Students, the promise of a connection. To the past, to someone she loved who is now gone.

But then there's the Rite of Succession. And it changes the meaning of the plot device entirely.

The Rite is structured to follow the Tulliyolal saga--the journey Gulool Ja Ja undertook, over the course of who knows how many years, to unify the peoples of Tural into a single nation. A journey which notably has nothing to do with the Golden City. To the Turali, it's a fairy tale. It is so detached from the story of Gulool Ja Ja that Koana immediately has to ask if the city being the final goal means his father actually has some proof it exists.

The Rite itself, as Gulool Ja Ja later admits to us, is meant to be instructional for his children. They are not meant to simply find and cross the finish line, they're supposed to be learning how to be the rulers of Tural.

As we complete feats in the rite, we are awarded stories of the Golden City by each of the races in Yok Tural. And they all follow a significant pattern: The Golden City was the literal dream of the Yok Huy. The conquerers of every single people in southern Tural. The stories we are given are the stories shared by colonized people of their oppressors.

The conquest of Yok Tural is mentioned repeatedly. Every group we meet was displaced and enslaved by the giants during their empire, and the ultimate goal of that empire was to find the Golden City--a paradise of eternal life without pain or suffering. It is at this point that the Golden City becomes a warning. It is the promise of self-destruction. Searching for it ultimately toppled the Yok Huy empire and changed the giants forever. It displaced and disrupted numerous cultures and started centuries of war.

It is, ultimately, the reason why Gulool Ja Ja ever had to play the role of peacemaker and unifier in the first place. The divide-and-conquer tactics employed by the Yok Huy created every problem he set out to solve.

Why did he choose to make it the final goal of the Rite of Succession? A place he famously did not find before becoming Dawnservant? Was it, perhaps, as a lesson to his children, his Promises? Especially his son Zoraal Ja who had dreams of empire?

But interestingly, the Golden City was also set forth as the specific goal for Erenville to find by his mother. Cahciua wasn't present in the flashbacks to Galuf and Gulool Ja Ja and Kettenram viewing the gate, but we know that she met them afterward, and had Erenville with her. Was she with them the first time they'd found the gate? I have to think she was. The only people who seem to have known for sure about it, among Gulool Ja Ja's circle of friends and allies, were the explorers. The ones who would have been interested in searching for it purely for the joy of discovery.

I think it's safe to say that for Cahciua, at least at the time that she gives her son his quest, the Golden City is the Almost Impossible Dream. One that can, in fact, be found, but crucially, not alone. The Yok Huy, who searched for it for generations, and crushed everyone around them trying to get inside, had it in their possession all along. But they never even saw the gate. It took Gulool Ja Ja, who had friends to help him, who actually discovered the way in. It is the promise of discovery through love and fellowship, for her only son who was withdrawn and antisocial.

And then we actually find it.

It is not an accident that the way to reach the Golden City is through a cenotaph of lost hope. We literally pass through waters littered with the bodies of children who were never born--promises never fulfilled--to get to its gate.

And it's eating the Yok Huy ruin. The electrope spreads out from the gate like an infection, over-writing the Yok Huy stonework, erasing their culture.

And it's still... oddly beautiful? But in the way a poisonous mushroom is beautiful.

And it's closed. We don't go through it at this point, though we walk right up to the seal on the doorway. Because we're alive.

We're told by Erenville that many people have sought the Golden City, never to return. And of course they didn't.

Because this is the gateway to death.

Zoraal Ja is the first person we actually see go through it. The False Promise. Just to reinforce that this is, in fact, Zoraal Ja's role, Sareel Ja leads him to the gate and hands him the key with a speech that is wholly constructed of the same false platitudes about Zoraal Ja's magical birthright that have driven Zoraal Ja to be this self-destructive and miserable in the first place. And we can see how much the speech upsets Zoraal Ja, who just lost the contest to both his siblings. He knows every word of his inherent greatness and destiny is a lie. Sareel Ja hands him the key, and he grips it like it might be a bludgeon without even looking at it. And the second time Sareel Ja makes a "Resilient Son" speech, Zoraal Ja literally stabs him in the back.

Having skipped all the lessons and warnings about the danger of pursuing death and destruction, Zoraal Ja walks through its front door.

And I don't think it's accidental that the dome appears in Xak Tural, even though the gate itself is located in Yak T'el, far to the south. Xak Tural is the land that defeated the Yok Huy advance without a single battle. The unconquerable land. This is the part of Tulliyolal that Gulool Ja Ja didn't have to fix because it was never broken in the first place. They very notably do not live in the segregated societies the people of the south do, because nobody imposed that on them. The towns we see are a mix of races living together, and probably served as the inspiration for Gulool Ja Ja to build Tulliyolal in the first place, differing people pursuing communal and sometimes conflicting interests together. These are the people Zoraal Ja has been rambling about nonsensically, "teaching the value of peace by the misery of war." The ones who don't need Tulliyolal, but merely want to be part of it.

He can make his mark here because his father never did.

When the dome appears over Yyasulani, we, the players, know it's Zoraal Ja's passage through the gate that caused it, but the characters don't learn this until after he's brutally slaughtered people. We players see the sequence of events as: Zoraal Ja, the Promise of Death, walks into the land of death and carries it out with him. But the characters are instead following the trail of death back to the land of the dead. We don't enter Alexandria through the Golden City. Not at first. We enter it through a swathe of destruction and desolation and a storm that never ends. That's our first view of it. The promise of ruin. We do not see the paradise that led the Yok Huy to their doom until after we know that Sphene, like the Yok Huy, is willing to lay waste to the lives around her to have her Golden City.

And then we have the vision.

I don't think it's an accident that the only people who have ever seen anything come out of the gate to the Golden City are the Warrior of Light, Gulool Ja Ja, Kettenram, Galuf, and indirectly Cahciua. All characters who inherently understand that life comes from death and the balance between them is vital. And it's symbolically significant that it's a child who is delivered from the land of the dead. Her parents don't come with her. The dead don't get to return, we get new life instead.

And then we go there. And it looks like Amaurot.

We call it Living Memory, but the resemblance to Amaurot, and the knowledge of what's actually here means that we immediately understand the lie. The Golden City, the cloud, the twelfth level of Everkeep, all of it has always been a false promise. Zoraal Ja, the False Promise, walked into the land of False Promises and became its king.

And Sphene, the Queen of False Promises, has always had the impossible task of keeping the dead alive.

As we make our way through Living Memory, it's notable that what we actually do is remove the beautiful, golden veneer from the land of the dead. The city is still there when we're done with it. We walk back outside through its gate. We do not have the power to remove death any more than we could destroy despair. But we take the lie out of it, we free the stolen life force to become life again. It's now just dead. No more promises of paradise or ruin to fulfill.

#ffxiv #dawntrail #dawntrail spoilers #narrative analysis

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seat-safety-switch · 1 year ago

Text

You've probably not heard of the Stockholm Divorce. It's a new thing, only innovated in the last couple years. Conventional court-based divorces are messy, expensive affairs, where both parties often attempt to cause the maximum amount of damage to each other. Things don't have to be this way, and the next generation of divorce attorneys has found a better method.

Initiating the Stockholm Divorce is simple, and it should be obvious once it's been explained. Ninety-five percent of marriages start to suffer serious problems after a trip to Ikea. The reason why is simple. Assembling cheap, particle-board furniture with your spouse is bound to drive a wedge into any slight schism or disagreement you may have with them. Many successful couples simply just don't do it together, breeding resentment when it turns out that the "handy" dude you married just operates a Dodge Ram and doesn't actually own a screwdriver.

Where the genius of this divorce comes is that it starts one step earlier, well before the Ikea assembly causes a cascade of emotional chaos. Ikea's stores are notoriously maze-like, so what you can do is take your partner to a corner of the store, tell them you're going to go grab something and will be "right back," then just walk out and get in the car. You'll be back to singles life immediately, and your formerly-significant other will be stuck wandering the store for all eternity, wondering if you did in fact leave them behind or just are also looking for them at the same time, maybe in rugs or lighting or something. Don't worry, they won't starve. There's a restaurant.

Is it cruel? Somewhat, but like in many other cases, the cruelty is offset by novelty. Already, Ikeas across this great nation are filling up with divorced folks, which means it's a good place to go to meet new folks. And it's been fantastic for the stockholders: a new study shows that for every 15 minutes someone is forced to wander the store, wondering if they will ever see the face of their loved ones again, they buy approximately $17 in goods. This new mechanism has been so profitable, in fact, that the corporate bigwigs have decided that all the stores will now be open 24 hours a day, so as to encourage more frenzied, anxiety-laden purchasing as the customers gradually come to terms with the end of their relationship.

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absolutebl · 7 months ago

Text

This Week in BL - Lots of lovely kisses & an unwarranted upset in the standings

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

Oct 2024 Week 2

Ongoing Series - Thai

Fourever You (Thai Thurs YT) ep 2 of 16 - Yes yes J&J should be first but I am weak in the face of, well, frankly this man's face:

Pond = greatest piner in a dog’s age. The yearning in that boy’s eyes is obscene, it’s like the most explicit sex that only he can see and we’re just voyeurs.

Thus I continue to adore this stupid show and everything it stands for. No notes. May the fluff continue eternal.

Jack & Joker (Thai Mon IQIYI) ep 5 of 12 - Everyone is so skilled in this show, but War is truly glorious. Considering the pacing, I think we are probably in for some long periods of darkness, suffering, and pain soon. I’m not mad about that prospect, it’s earned and foreshadowed, I just thought I’d lay it out there.

Kidnap (Fri YT) ep 6 of 12 - More boys from GMMTV with good communication. Who knew? Min has SUCH a white knight complex. NO SINGING. Good demanding kiss, though. Well, Ohm can handle anything.

Meanwhile, this really is a bodyguard romance under another name. And I kinda wanna rewatch Never Let Me Go as a result.

Love Sick 2024 (Thai Sun iQIYI) ep 4 of 15 - Earn remains best boy and my favorite character. Phun is v jelly, as he should be. AND I like Ohm & N'Mik better in this version. I still prefer the original leads, but I’m enjoying this enough.

I had no idea how much I missed Gunsmile! It’s so nice to see him on my screen again.

Monster Next Door (Thai Thurs Gaga ) ep 12 fin - I hate Diew’s mom. Hate her. So much. She may be my least favorite mom ever in BL. That’s saying a lot. No I don’t think she was redeemed.

Conclusion

Adapted from the novel Godzilla Next Door by Jiwinil about an introvert who lives mostly in his room, until a loud annoying extrovert moves in next door. This was one of my top picks for 2024 and I’m delighted to say it satisfied expectations. A charmingly serene story of opposites attract, that featured good communication, patience, and genuine affection used to build a solid relationship.(I’m particularly delighted that our musician is a drummer and I don’t have to listen to him sing.) Yes it’s a tad slow but it’s very earnest and leans into the kind of sweetness that Thai BL does best. Doesn’t hurt that this starred an actor (Big) that many of us have been hoping would get a lead for years. I was pleased and comforted. This is not a kind of BL that suits everybody, but it suited me admirably. 8/10

Battle of the Writers (Sun YT) ep 10 of 12 - Ozone and the Ice Prince (name still unknown) did their little dance. What an earnest and romantic confession from our Icy man. I literally said “no no no just kiss, no foreheads.” And it was a great crying kiss, my favorite. Honestly, that amount of emotion hadn’t been earned by this pair, but I don’t mind. I could watch a whole show just about them. Also woah! Major nekid on YT?

Thailand......

Risking demonetization for arse…...

I guess we’ve all been there.

Where was I?

I’m happy with this episode since it was mostly my side couple. But the distribution of main couple and side couple and the focus of each episode is wildly erratic with this show. It’s very odd. (And let's be clear we ordered errotic not erratic.)

Every You Every Me (Thai Mon Gaga) ep 1 of 10 - Jade and Chin have lived over a thousand lifetimes. In each one they somehow manage to fall in love with each other. (This pair, TopMick was piloted in a My Universe ep, that was one of the only ones I liked.) Soulmate premise is a mix of Color Rush and La Pluie. Frankly, this isn’t as good as either, but it’s enjoyable in a slow cheerful way. Especially if you like this particular set of tropes. It’s quietly lovely and I like the leads. Sunshine is very very sunshine and our tsundere is a grumpy mysterious nerd. Trigger for domestic abuse. It looks like each episode is gonna be a completely different meet cute with the same pairing. It’s more linked vignettes than any overarching story. So if you don’t like this pair, you won’t like this series.

Addicted Heroin (Thai Tues WeTV) ep 9 of 10 - More sports day. (Everybody’s doing sports days right now.) Random sides kissing. Where did the glasses person come from? Was he introduced and I forgot about it? Oh that’s the evil cousin! Okay… anygay. Sides randomly flip-flop who they like and I don’t know what the fuck is going on. This show. I swear. Ooo caught kissing. And… killed? What a mind fuck of a soap opera. Honestly, I’m fine if he’s dead, I don’t care at this point I just feel jerked around.

For some reason no eng sub for me for the first half. So I watched with Spanish subs (which is about as good as my Thai, only for different words). What a wild experience.

Bad Guy My Boss (Thai Sun Gaga) ep 4 of 10 - Oh dear. I just can’t imagine ever rooting for this couple. Which means… Why am I watching this?

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

My Damn Business (Korea Sat YT) eps 1-2 of 7 - Oh I love it. Casual flirty westernized-style boss. Reserved reluctant cutie (yes we’ve seen the actor before). Is it disgusting workplace harassment? Oh most certainly. Do I enjoy it anyway? Yep, I’m warped. No defense, but at least it’s something from Korea.

Teenager Judge (Vietnam Sat YT) ep 3 of ? - I like the lead being bullied and pushed to his limit thus turning into a psychopath. It’s gonna be a fun ride if it really goes Devil Judge just teens and actually gay. I wonder if it has the strength of its convictions?

Our Golden Times (Hong Kong YT) 5 fin? - I guess that is the reunion? What an odd little piece. I’m not entirely sure what I feel about it except that this feels more BL than anything Hong Kong has given us so far (which isn't much). The subs are truly terrible. Since I speak absolutely zero Cantonese I can’t really fix them in my brain. I thought this was the final ep but then a teaser for ep 6 dropped so I we have at least one more.

First Note Of Love (Taiwan Mon Gaga) ep 10 of 12 - It was a nice, if entirely unearned reunion. And the leads do kiss beautifully. Trust Taiwan. I am so glad that Orca is back! There was even a little language play flip-flopping just for me. Very cute. Also GREAT kissing. How long have we been waiting for Thailand and Taiwan to kiss?

Eccentric Romance (Korea Weds Viki) eps 1-2 of 12 - Silkwood’s 2nd Thai/Korean colab. This has been in production since 2022 which is a LONG time in the BL world (worrying). But I like the concept: friends of 10 years who’ve been hiding feelings for each other enter the same university. Plus MURDER. Stars Yoon Jun Won (The Man BLK) and Thai actor Save Saisawat (Ai Long Nhai). I begin to think every The Man BLK member will eventually lead out a BL at this point.

It’s enjoyable in a weird way. Grumpy (hottie with a crush) + sunshine (captain oblivious). I gotta say, since this is the second relationship dual lingo style in our BL rn that it’s ALWAYS weird if the other half doesn't occasionally code switch languages, especially for specific words. In other words, the Korean dude is supposed to at least understand Thai, occasionally he’s should use a Thai world to get a point across. And the Thai dude is there to STUDY KOREAN, he should be slipping in and out of Korean regularly. Bah.

It's airing but...

Love is Like a Poison AKA Doku Koi: Doku mo Sugireba Koi to Naru (Japan Tues Netflix?) 5 of 10 eps - I never managed to get hold of ep 5. Frankly, it’s going to Netflix (I don’t subscribe) so I might not finish this out of sheer laziness.

The Hidden Moon (Sat WeTV) ep 1 of 10 - This is a supernatural romance (my ghost boyfriend trope) by Violet Rain (I Feel You Linger). A man is hired to write an article about an old mansion in Chiang Mai being converted into a café. He sees the ghosts of people who died at the mansion, falls in love with one of them. Was substantially recast. I loved IFYLITA except the ending so I think I'll let this one run it's course you can tell me if it's work tracking down... if they managed to land it. I have my doubts.

Gangster and His Boyfriend (Korea ????) 8 eps? - was supposed to air 10/10 Kim Dong Bin (famous trainee & idol reality competitor, yeah that happens) stars as a fallen idol who unexpectedly becomes entangled in a gangster family. Discovers that his friend’s father is responsible for the murder of his entire family years ago. I don't know much about this one, neither does anyone else and I'm not sure where I got that release date so……

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

Still Coming Oct 2024:

10/17 Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo (Korea Thurs Gaga) 8 eps - High school student Do Hoe lives with his violent and brutal father who runs a Taekwondo gym in a rural area. One day, cheerful Ju Young arrives, he dreams of going to college for Taekwondo. Joy begins to fill Do Hoe's dark life. An unexpected incident forces them apart, they reunite ten years later.

10/21 Love in the Big City (Korea ????) 8 eps - Okay, this is both a movie (already out) and a series. Neither one is likely BL and I can't imagine it will end happily. I'm giving both a pass but here's your synopsis.

Cynical fun loving student Young pinballs from home, to class, to on night stands. He and Jaehee, his female besie and roommate, frequent nearby bars where they push away their worries about life, love, and money with soju and hookups.

10/23 See Your Love (Taiwan Weds Gaga & Viki) 10 eps? - Zi Xiong, a third-generation heir, attempting to flee from taking over their family business, meets and falls in love with Shao Peng, who works as a hearing-impaired nurse. From the same production house as Kiseki Dear To Me in partnership with Shinehouse Theatre, funded by Taiwan’s BIGART + Japan's Rakuten (Viki). Show includes Lin Chia Yo (Be Loved in House: I Do). Director Chiang Ping Chen’s childhood experiences with his deaf uncle have inspired the drama.

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

Addicted Heroin

Incidentally he didn’t ask to “be with Ter” he asked if he could flirt/court him. jeeb doesn’t really have a direct translation, but it isn’t “be with.”

Fourever You

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @sunflower-positiiivity @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious @saezurumurmurs

Sigh, Tumblr in its infinite wisdom doesn't like too many at-ings.

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mothfaults · 2 months ago

Note

in your oven accident au, how would you describe each of the kid's personalities?

Interests, fears, general demeanor, relationships, etc

Just the run down

OH boy this is gonna be a long one! So I'm gonna put everything under the Read More and I've been thinking of making some relationship charts for them as well, still on the fence though

Coco, shares much of her personality with Cacao and Flour, her expression may be deadpanned but she is a very considerate cookie. She enjoy's people watching, setting up on the wall and watching the warriors go about their day. Trained in the sword before an accident sent her down a path of magic. She has a problem of over thinking and self doubt, not truly trusting in her own skill or prowess.

She has a good relationship with most of the other oven kids, she is the closest with Frozen Yogurt and Sugarplum though. Her relationship with her father is complicated, she loves him but he's very protective over her. Having swung the other way with his parenting due to him trying to make up for his past mistakes. She wishes he would trust her more to give her some more independence.

Frozen Yogurt is a very temperamental cookie, he has a love of alchemy and poisons. A need for all the attention on him, though he's very self conscious about his looks and what is deemed as cool. Froyo is one of those kids who go through a goth phase and then comes out a more rounded person thanks to self experimentation.

He figures he has a great relationship with the oven kids, because all the adults adore him, but he's a hit or miss for them. He honestly has a great relationship with both of his parents. Its turned into less of a "ooo I'll corrupt Nilly's kid into being one of mine again." and into a co-parenting situation.

Monteray Jack is a creative soul, he's a brilliant and mature kid. He holds himself to a high standard, to a fault. He loves sculpting and photography and spends most of his quiet days taking photos of the landscape and cookies he misses. He does suffer from Burning Spice's boredom and that lead to more chaos than he'd like.

He's a deeply lonely cookie and doesn't truly feel connected to the other oven kids expect Root. He tries his hardest to connect with them, but being so far away and untrusted to leave the kingdom alone by his mother he doesn't really get many chances to.

Sugar Plum has a large family and has grown to be a very family oriented cookie. They're very loyal to their family and would do anything for them, they're an extrovert and joins the many many parties thrown by the hollyberry kingdom. Sugar Plum has love for nature and the many gardens back home.

They are quite the social butterfly and can bounce between the cliques and friend groups. They love their parents very much, they know they aren't Pitaya's biological kid but doesn't care and if Eternal Sugar ever showed up to try and take part in their life, they'd never think of ES as their parent.

Wisteria is quite the high strung cookie, she has a spiteful and cold exterior. Highly introverted but stuck in being the chosen heir, she's not very happy with how little control of her life she has. Which causes her to lash out at the other Oven Kids, especially Frozen yogurt. She does not like him one bit, she doesn't fully understand why she hates him.

But the reason is how free he gets to be, for her mother being the light of freedom, Wisteria feels very restricted, she wants the normal life Frozen Yogurt has and hates the fairies but will continue on as expected of her.

Root has a quiet demeanor and is quite the introvert, she finds the constant parties annoying and would rather spend day alone. Though she might find the special treatment frustrating and depressing. Wisteria is her biggest ally even if she doesn't realize it with Wisteria's rude way of showing it. She enjoys bug hunting and lock picking, strange habits but when your in a centuries old kingdom with hundreds of hidden wings, you get good at finding your way into things you shouldn't be.

Her relationship with the Oven Kids is pretty good but she doesn't really feel connected with them, feeling like an imposter. She wishes she had a better connection with her mother.

#cookie run #cookie run kingdom #oven accident au #Cookie run au #cookie run oc #the oven kids #drawing the soulstones was so fun eheheh

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burningcheese-merchant · 5 months ago

Note

yandere cheese drabbles? 🤲

Merry Crimmus to you all, my gift is more Accidental Yandere Golden Cheese things today

Can't think of a story title atm, buuutttttt here is a story nevertheless 😘

Tucked under a cut because this AU is still fucked lol

"I hate you."

How long has it been since she wrote that? How long ago did she take her seat beside her desk, pull out this paper, and bring her pen to it, only for nothing but those three words to bleed out of the ink?

Sucking in a sharp breath and steeling herself, Golden Cheese at last forced her hand to move again.

"I hate you. I loathe you. You are a sick, miserable, disgusting monster. It is only by the grace of the gods that you still live, and this world shall be a brighter, happier place when you no longer do."

There. That was one thought out of the way. Given life in the waking world. Now she just needed to keep going.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you torment me this way? What have I done to deserve it?"

She paused, briefly considering adding "If you utter even a single word about the Soul Jam, I'll rip yours out of your chest and grind it into a fine powder", but decided against it and continued.

"How can you inflict such untold suffering onto others? Onto complete strangers? How many lives have you ended? How many families have you torn apart? How many hopes and dreams have you cleaved in two with that axe? And for what? For me? When I never asked or wanted you to? What in cheese's name is wrong with you?"

She stopped again, peeking over her shoulder at the shelf by her bed - the one hiding the locked metal door, leading to... her collection. A shiver crept up her spine when she realized that the shelf was slightly ajar; she hadn't taken good enough care to close it all the way after leaving earlier that day...

"And on top of it all, you burden me with these... with these so-called gifts," she wrote when she turned back to face her little work-in-progress. "These tokens of... what? Your affection? You call this affection? You think handing a woman the blood and viscera of your hapless victims is how you win her heart? What parasite burrowed into your brain and took control of your senses to make you think this way?

"You sicken me, Burning Spice. Well and truly. You are selfish, wicked and unfathomably cruel. You are a blight on all mankind. You are hardly a step above a rabid animal. I should have put you down and spared us all of this chaos ages ago."

She stopped and set the pen down. Her eyes bore into the last sentence she wrote, unblinking. Dragging along each word, back and forth, over and over again for what may as well have been an eternity.

She should have killed him already. He should be long dead. She should have saved the world as well as herself by now.

But...

... Shaking her head, she moved the letter aside and grabbed another piece of paper. That train of thought is done. Time for another one.

"You curse me, Burning Spice. Not only with your presence, not only with your words, not only with your heinous actions... You curse me with the aftermath of it all, as well. I alone am burdened with the end results of all of your lovesick rampages. I have a closet full of severed heads because of you! Innocent men and women who have been denied their lives and their dignity to satisfy your sick infatuation with me! I struggle each and every day to find their names and identities so I may return them to their loved ones, in an act of penance on both of our parts, because I am as much of a sinner as you for even having them!!!"

She always had blood to wipe off of her hands every time she went into that room. That precious ichor, now cold and sticky, staining her delicate, flawless skin as she carefully tended to the new additions and tidied up the old ones. Every single time.

Not a single head ever left that room. She did all the work of uncovering who these poor, unfortunate souls were, and then... left it at that. Left those souls trapped in limbo. In that cold closet, behind that cold metal door. Never to see the light of day again.

Every visit inside that little den of sin only made the excuses she comforted herself with grow weaker and weaker.

"I don't understand you. I have tried, and tried, and tried with all of my might, to no avail whatsoever. Why? Why are you doing this? Why are you like this? What do you stand to gain? Is this really how you wanted to live your miserable life?"

Wait.

... Who was she writing this to?

She shook her head again - harder this time - and set the letter aside, on top of the first. No more. Next thought.

"I hardly sleep anymore. I'm haunted by the things you do. The things I do. The things I DON'T do. Why have you done this to me? Why won't you stop?"

... No. No more. Into the pile. Next thought.

"You-" Her hand was starting to tremble, smudging the ink. Another deep breath and an attempt to still herself kept her moving along. "You don't hurt children. You listen to me only this one time, for this one instance. How kind of you. How sweet. How thoughtful. Why you do it, I don't know; all life seems the same to you. Just a sea of useless little flesh automatons for you to toy with and crush as you see fit. Why do you obey the line I draw? Why does it matter? Is this the one shred of conscience that yet remains within the black hole your soul resides in?"

No more. She can't think of children. It didn't matter that Burning Spice listened to her and didn't harm them; the mere possibility was too much. Too horrible. Next thought.

"You drive me mad. You never leave my mind. Front, back, the spaces between. You consume my thoughts. Your image has been engraved into the insides of my eyelids. I even DREAM of you now, so oppressive is the hold you have over me. I can't bear it. The guilt. The shame. You curse me."

Next.

"It's a waste. You're a waste. Your entire life is a waste. You could've been someone worthwhile. Someone who made this world more bearable. You have the power, you have the means. Yet you always choose yourself. You were a hero once upon a time, there's no reason you cannot be one again. What a waste."

Next.

"Or were you not? You were never truly a hero, were you? You did it for the praise. For the gold and jewels. For the scores of people chanting your name, building statues in your honor. Selfishness. Arrogance. You're a thief. A coward. A fool."

Who- no, who is this? Who is this for, again?

"I hate you. I HATE YOU. I WANT TO KILL YOU. I WISH TO SEE THE LIGHT IN YOUR DEVIL'S EYES DIM AS I END YOUR WORTHLESS LIFE. YOU MEAN NOTHING TO ME. YOUR FEELINGS MEAN NOTHING. YOU ARE SICK! DERANGED! THE ONLY PERSON YOU EVER LOVED WAS YOURSELF, AND EVERY COURSE OF ACTION YOU TAKE ONLY SERVES TO PROVE IT MORE AND MORE!"

Her hands were trembling violently now. Ink splotches stained the pages. Deep, dark dots. Jagged streaks. Small, delicate fingerprints hovering above certain words.

"I want you."

Same as the very first letter, Golden Cheese stopped and stared down at the page with wide, unblinking eyes.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so."

A bead of sweat trickled down her temple.

"I want you You're handsome. I think you're handsome. Devastatingly so. Your voice shoots through my ears and drills into my skull each time you speak. I never want you to stop talking. Why do you ever stop talking?"

His voice. That deep baritone that went from silky smooth to hot and rough effortlessly. Did he do it just to get to her? To rile her up? Did he know what his voice did to her?

It was working.

"Did your eyes always look the way they do? Is the fire within them ever-burning? Were they taken from a demon and given to you the day you were born? Why do I still feel them raking over me, consuming me, even long after we've parted ways? Why do you always seek to set me ablaze?"

"It's a waste. Really. A waste. You're a good-looking man. You could've lived a normal life. You could've found a nice girl and-"

And? And? And what?

"You could've used that face and voice and those eyes of yours to charm someone and-"

And? Why can't she finish the thought? Why did her heart pound against her ribcage so hard it ached every time she tried?

"You you would you could have you could've been a normal reasonable good man and had a wife and children-"

She took the page and crumpled it, tossing it at the wall.

"I want you. I want your voice in my ears. I want your eyes devouring me. I want to hold your face in my hands. I want you to give me another one of those hellish grins of yours. I want to feel you sink your teeth into me. I want to taste your lips. I want to feel your tongue caress mine. I want to feel your hot breath in my mouth, on my skin. I want your hands on me. All over me. I want you to touch me. You've told me about all the things you want to do to me- do it. Do them. I'm sick of waiting and so are you. Why do you tease us both like this? Do it. Touch me. Taste me. Break my bones. Break my bed. Praise me, call me a goddess, worship me. Worship me like you have been all this time. Tell me you love me. Tell me you adore me. That you'll die without me. That you'll slaughter us all for my sake. Do it. DO IT. Praise me, touch me, kiss me, fuck me, just fuck me, Burning Spice, PLEASE-"

No. No, no, no. Not this. She can't say any of this. She can't. SHE CAN'T.

"YOU'RE MINE. YOU BELONG TO ME NOW. IS THIS NOT THE LEAST YOU OWE ME FOR WHAT YOU PUT ME THROUGH? YOU'RE MINE! MINE! YOUR TROPHIES ARE MINE! YOUR BODY IS MINE! YOUR HEART IS MINE! ALL MINE! DON'T YOU DARE EVEN CONSIDER DOING ANY OF THIS FOR ANYONE ELSE!"

"YOU'RE MINE"

"YOU'RE ALL MINE"

"I HATE YOU"

She slammed her fists down onto the desk with such force that cracks formed in their wake. Out of the chair, away from the desk, out of her bedroom she went. Rushing down the hall. All but throwing herself out the nearest door. Taking off into the sky with a quickness that made her wings ache.

So absorbed in her failed therapy session was she, that she never noticed that the eyes of the marble snake adorning the decorative tree Burning Spice had given her had been glowing the entire time. Nor did she know that he himself, that object of her ire and her sick affection, was lounging on his throne, watching her fall apart with that devil's grin she loved so much.

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Hope this is good. I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. New installment in the Accidental Yandere AU, there shall be more soon. Happy Crimmus 🎄

#cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #golden cheese cookie #burningcheese #goldenspice #cookie run au #I don't have a name for this AU yet lol I'll think of something eventually #suggestive

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iwtv-theories · 2 months ago

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Iwtv and the motif of “enduring” (analysis)

Throughout the show the word “enduring” has been used for several characters and there’s a lot of symbolic weight in that word . For one “enduring “ can mean “something that lasts a long time” but also another definition is “ to carry on through, or tolerate, something despite suffering" . In essence the word encapsulates vampire existence in its totality but in tandem it also illustrated the suffering the characters cause to one another in their interpersonal relationships .

-Lestat : “ I thought… I can’t drink hot blood. I can’t feed on others. I cried. I called to god. I didn’t want this (vampirism) . But I have a capacity for enduring . “

-Lestat to Claudia : “we endure each other for Louis' happiness .”

-Louis asking Claudia how she'll compromise to make the relationship with lestat work. L: "I'm drinking the blood, he killed the singer. What are you doing? " Claudia: I'm enduring. L: "do more "

-After Claudia leaves, Louis contemplates ending his life on the park bench, but changes his mind : "And so I endured home back to the crypt, back to the undeserving Lestat."

-Louis about the relationship between Claudia , Lestat, and himself : “we spent our hours enduring, with little pretense for getting a long. Locked together in hatred."

-Louis to Lestat: " Here's your death Lestat. He and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together. And wherever you're miserable life takes you, whoever you find to endure time with... I'll be with him."

-Louis to Armand : “ I need this one to live out the night as a testament to our companionship . Of its endurance.”

Their (prior) huge fight in this episode already alluded to it. But this is obviously a double entendre: Louis’ literally talking about the relationship’s longevity but BOTH are “enduring “ (suffering) in their relationship to one another . Similar to the prior dynamic of Louis/Lestat/Claudia (all suffering/enduring each other). And similar to how Louis contemplated ending his life (because of losing Claudia) only to go back to his romantic partner and “endure”.Not to mention Louis says this line while Armand is in the head-space of “Arun .” Armand to Louis: “ who am I Louis? I am the past I’ve endured ?”

Hmm …Armand discussed sleeping with most of the coven as “ repertory theatre it’s how one endures” . That may have a darker meaning, than he’s letting on . Even the play Sam writes is called "Endurance for Guido" which Armand called a "flaccid play about vampire existence and enduring" . The term 'flaccid" being used could symbolically hint that he wasn't really into sleeping with his theatre coven- similar to his experiences in the br*thel (he just ‘endured’ and suffered through it) . It’s a trauma response just like the whole “maitre/arun “ dynamic probably is . Deep down I don’t think he likes it at all ,he’s just enduring (cause it’s what’s familiar to him) . He’s essentially just being an actor on a stage .

I mean...what does Armand say in the books when Marius forced him to kiss someone , and what does Marius say in turn when he objects?Armand: “I can’t endure this.” Marius : “Then how will you endure eternity? “ And what does Santino say to Armand , after he forces him to join the 'children of satan': " No one comes to LOVE PAIN. We can only hope to endure it." And as Sam said the main message of ‘enduring for guido’ is : “there can be no hope.” That’s sadly how Armand and most of the vamps probably feel .

And finally the last time the term enduring was used was in the s2 finale. Louis to Lestat: “ you enduring here all this time? Lestat: “not enduring , living . “ On one hand this line illustrates that many of these vampires aren’t actually “living” but enduring (suffering and simply trucking through their immortal lives). They should all “do more” than simply endure. And of course Lestat is lying he isn’t “living” he’s been suffering (enduring) ever since Claudia died and Louis left .

#louis de pointe du lac #lestat de lioncourt #armand #claudia de pointe du lac #iwtv

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p0orbaby · 11 months ago

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Eden or Armageddon

summary: because we can’t keep tearing each other apart

warnings: (inexplicit) breakup sex

a/n: im sorry okay!

word count: 705

Room 317.

The gates of hell. The stairway to heaven. The break of dawn and the clap of thunder.

Your hands are trembling, from rage or excitement you don't know. The why does not seem to matter anymore. But you are here, standing in the corridor of some expensive hotel ready to strip yourself bare for a stranger.

A stranger you hate to love and love to hate.

You scan the keycard and are greeted with a beep and a click and a sharp intake of breath. Everything is quiet, apart from the rain outside and the beating of your heart and the faint shuffle from behind the wood.

Alexia is pacing. You can tell.

Finally you exhale and push the door open. The first thing you notice is how big the room is. A waste of money for just one night, no, you will not be sleeping here. A waste of money for what may only add up to an hour. But it’s her money not yours, and she always did like fucking you up against floor to ceiling windows.

The second thing you notice is Alexia’s state of undress. Sports bra, training shorts, socks. Perhaps she has not long come from using the hotel gym. Perhaps she thinks you will fall to your knees at the mere sight of her body. She is beautiful, yes. But beauty fades.

She stops pacing and her eyes meet yours. You fell in love with her eyes first. Then her hands. You fell in love with her as a whole when she looked you in the eyes as she fingered you in the back of her car.

She’d won a trophy that night.

She stops in her tracks when you drop your bag to the floor.

As if by habit you are drawn to her. A magnet pulling you in the direction of A marks the spot. You hate that your body craves something that gives you so much pain. She stands her ground as you get reeled in one final time.

You promise.

You close the distance in a heartbeat, your lips crashing together in a desperate, bruising kiss. It isn’t gentle. Teeth clash, tongues tangle, and hands roam with a ferocity that matches the storm outside.

Clothes are torn away with a frantic urgency, fabric ripping, buttons popping. There is no tenderness in your movements, only a primal need to feel, to consume each other one last time. You push her onto the bed, your hands gripping her wrists, pinning her down as you devour her mouth with yours.

Her nails rake down your back, leaving marks that will sting for days, a reminder of this final, violent act of love. Your bodies collide, a raw, elemental dance of need and anger. Each thrust is a battle of pleasure and pain, every movement a tribute to the intensity of what you shared.

The room is filled with the sounds of your lovemaking—the slap of skin against skin, the guttural moans, the ragged breaths. There is no softness, no whispered words of love, only the brutal, unfiltered expression of your passion and your suffering.

As you reach the peak together, your bodies tense, shuddering with the force of your release. You collapse onto the bed, limbs tangled, hearts pounding in a disordered rhythm. The silence that follows is deafening, the only sound the rain outside, a steady backdrop to your heartbreak.

You lay there for what felt like an eternity, clinging to each other as if you could hold on to the remnants of your love. But eventually, reality seeps in. You have to leave, to walk away from this love that has consumed you both for too long.

You disentangle yourself, getting dressed in the heavy silence, Alexia’s eyes following your every move. You reach the door, pausing for a moment, your hand on the handle. You look back at her one last time, your heart breaking all over again.

Without a word, you step out into the hallway, the door closing behind you with a final, resounding click. The rain continues to pour as you walk into the cold, wet night, each step feeling like a piece of your soul was being left behind.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso community

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taevescence · 4 months ago

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Poème | Kim Taehyung

Summary: For centuries, Taehyung has roamed the world, trapped in an eternity he never truly desired. Desperation led him to accept an offer of immortality, a gift that quickly turned into his greatest curse. Once a hopeful young man dreaming of a future with the love of his life, he now wanders through time burdened by regret, forever mourning the one he lost. No amount of power, beauty, or wealth can fill the void left by you. If eternity means living without you, then what is the point of living at all? Author’s note: Hi again! I hope everyone is well ^^ I know I had said I was going to focus on GAS? but…. Tae vampire came to my head and demanded to stay until I managed to bring him to this world :) Soooo, I don't know if most of you read this but I seriously, seriously need your help for this, I really don't know how to move it forward :(( so please, if you have any ideas on how to move it forward or any scenes you'd like there to be, send me an ask or a dm, I'd really appreciate it <3 Pairing: Vampire!Taehyung x Human!Reader (female) AUs: Vampire!AU Word count: 4.6k Status: Unedited Permanent Taglist: @thunderg @minjianhyung @queenv1997 @yoongtism @lizzymizzy-blogg @superbbananananana @drpepperobsessed @themwordsblog @taekritimin123 @bluecloudss @yooglefics @tan-veee @angellekookie @madussthougths Dividers by @the-aesthetics-shop and @strangergraphics

What would you do if you were given the option to live for all eternity? If someone offered you the secret behind immortality and eternal youth, would you accept? Would you be capable of leaving everything behind just to avoid facing death?

Taehyung wished with all his heart that he had asked himself those questions before saying yes to the beautiful woman in the elegant dress who offered him a second chance at life—one without sickness or poverty, a life filled with luxuries and privileges he could never have had as a mere villager in the Victorian era. Something he could have never even dreamed of when he was still human.

When desperation consumes you and you don’t know what else to do to avoid falling into the clutches of death, you… accept the first offer placed in front of you, no matter how risky it may be. That was exactly what led Taehyung to an eternity of regret, suffering, and torment.

He had been blessed with eternal life, but what was the point of living until the end of time if he was alone? What was the use of existing for centuries, watching people be born and die as if they were nothing more than tiny toy soldiers with an expiration date set by a child who had decided it was time to discard them, believing he was too grown up to play with them anymore?

He refused to live an endless life if you weren’t in it.

But you had been gone for so, so long, and he could never forgive himself for it. He could never turn back time and reject the offer from the one who was now his creator. He would never see your smile again, hear your laughter, or smell the soft scent of flowers, of the forest, of you. If only he hadn’t left home that night, if only he had waited a few more minutes… If only you had gone with him, perhaps… Perhaps now, the two of you would be living a long life together, enjoying each other’s company until the end of time.

But that wasn’t how things happened. He left his home that night. He didn’t wait. You didn’t go with him. And now, his fate was sealed. He couldn’t die, he couldn’t be harmed, he would have eternal youth and an ethereal beauty that could make any human give him anything he asked for with just one look. He could have everything—everything except you. And that, without a doubt, was the greatest torture anyone had ever inflicted on him.

That had happened over 170 years ago, and he had spent each one of those years tormenting himself. When he was still human, he had been vibrant and full of life, a social butterfly who, even without the seductive abilities of a vampire, could charm anyone with a single smile. Now, he was nothing but the empty shell of the man he once was.

During that time, he met many like him—those with whom he managed to form something close to what he could call a "family." Jiah was his mentor, the woman who had turned him and helped him through the difficult transition from human to vampire. Chaeyoung was the second oldest, a cheerful and optimistic young woman who had been a vampire for over a thousand years. Sooah and Hoseok came next, both turned in the 15th century. Then there was him, Jiwon, and Jimin—the three of them transformed in the 19th century, all saved from the brink of death by the compassionate leader of their small group.

They had been his family until now, and though he loved them as much as he was still capable of love, his love for them would never amount to even a fraction of what he felt for you. Not even a hundred people could mend the wound in his heart, no matter how hard they tried.

He could still remember his life by your side, when his body was still warm and his heart beat in a rhythmic melody, reminding him that he was alive. The two of you met because of Taehyung’s father’s work—you were a young lady from a wealthy family, and he was the son of a tailor who barely had enough money or resources to live. Yet, you noticed him—his smile, his playful jokes, and his flirtatious charm, reserved only for you.

You weren’t supposed to be together—you both knew that. But neither of you wanted to give up, you didn’t want to lose the only real thing in your lives. So, you ran away. With no money, no place to stay, only the hope of finding a place in the world where you could live without regrets or judgment.

It was his selfishness and foolishness as a teenager that led you both to that situation.

He should have realized it was madness, that there was no way you could survive in the outside world with dreams and hopes coated in sugar and honey. This was the real world—it was cruel and ruthless, showing no mercy to anyone, no matter their age or gender.

The first few months on your own were peaceful. You traveled from town to town on horseback, living freely, loving each other with all your hearts, talking about your dreams for the future, and how exciting it would be to have a family together.

You had managed to stabilize your life—Taehyung making elegant garments for high-society ladies, and you painting beautiful portraits under a pseudonym, which he promoted and sold with his natural charm.

For the first two years, life had been peaceful. Until smallpox arrived. That was when everything fell apart. No matter where you went, how much money you had, or which doctor you saw, once you were infected, there was no escape.

You both caught it at the same time. He did everything he could to keep you both from falling into death’s hands, but it was a fatal disease—there was no cure, especially with their limited resources.

It was on a dark winter night that everything changed. You were starving, and Taehyung was determined to find something—anything—to feed you. Despite his weakened, trembling body, he walked through the dark streets of the coastal city until he reached a shop. But his body was on the verge of collapse, and he fell just a few meters away from home.

He clung to the last bit of strength he had, trying to crawl back to you if necessary—anything to avoid dying far from you. He didn’t want you to think he had abandoned you, didn’t want to make you suffer when you found out he had died in the cold, damp streets, all for the sake of bringing you something to eat. He didn’t want to die without you by his side.

That desperation was what made him accept so quickly the offer placed before him by a complete stranger. “Just one drop, and you will never feel pain again.” And he accepted. He drank whatever she gave him, clinging to the hope of surviving a few more minutes. Then, everything went black for a moment—until he opened his eyes again.

Everything felt new, as if he had been reborn and was rediscovering the world. He felt good, healthy, strong, and maybe a little thirsty—but alive. And that was all that mattered.

When the initial shock passed, he begged the woman to do the same for you, to save you just as she had saved him. She smiled kindly and let him lead her to your small home.

But she stopped before entering, giving him a look of pity and compassion. At that moment, he didn’t know that he could hear a human’s heartbeat from a distance. He didn’t know that, even before stepping inside, she already knew that you were no longer in this world, and nothing could change that—not even her blood.

Taehyung may not have died that night, but his heart… His heart shattered into a thousand pieces the moment he laid eyes on your pale, lifeless body. His body had survived death—but his soul never would.

For a long time, his life had become a series of meaningless events that only served to make his desire to die grow stronger. He knew it was foolish to feel this way when he had what many would kill for; his eternal life was a miracle that tormented him every damn day, and he knew that would never change.

It took him 138 years to get over you—if that was even the right word to use in this context. Perhaps a more accurate way to put it would be, well, trying to forget you through other people. 138 years of solitude, where his only company was six other vampires just as reserved as he was, each keeping the scars of their previous lives a secret, each too afraid to open up to the others and relive memories of a past they all wished to forget.

The first time he tried something with a girl was because of Jimin, who insisted that he should look at someone else besides your portraits—the ones he himself had painted back when he had wanted to immerse himself in your world. He went to a stupid bar, too loud and filled with drunk and high people looking for something casual. But he didn’t want something casual. He wanted something lasting. He wanted you.

Hours passed before a rather beautiful girl approached him. Her shy smile and flushed cheeks seemed endearing, but nothing inside him stirred the way it had when he first met you; her eyes weren’t like yours, her essence wasn’t like yours. He didn’t like her, but still, he forced himself to try.

That night was the first and last time he attempted to move on with someone else. There was only a kiss, a brief brush of lips that the girl gave him as a thank-you for walking her home. That night, he cried like he hadn’t in years, clawed at his lips with his nails until they bled, and his screams were so agonizing that everyone in the house had to check if he was okay, because it sounded as if someone had just run a blade of iron straight through his body.

Taehyung felt that kiss exactly like that—like someone had just plunged an iron sword into his heart and desecrated his body in every possible way.

Sooah called him dramatic. Jiwon even mocked him for making such a fuss over a simple kiss. But it was Jiah who ordered them to be quiet and stayed by his side all night, comforting him as his tears fell ceaselessly down his cheeks.

After that day, he resolutely refused to go out with anyone else for the rest of his life. He didn’t need a replacement—he was much better off living with your memory than trying to forget it.

That was exactly how he managed to slowly overcome his pain—by treasuring your memory through the works of art he created, reliving every one of his feelings for you with each brushstroke on the blank canvas, until there was no trace left of the pain he had once felt. Now, all that remained was peace and a beautiful memory that he would keep deep in his heart for the rest of eternity.

It took him 175 years to achieve that peace—175 years in which he held onto the one thing he had left of you: your last painting, the one of a young wealthy woman standing alone in the middle of a grand ballroom. The soft tones and the contrast between the setting and the woman in her simple pastel dress gave off a strange warmth. It wasn’t one of your best paintings—he knew that better than anyone. You had created true masterpieces, works that your clients back then would have died to own. But this one… this one was simple, more discreet, with much less detail—mostly because you were already unwell when you finished it. But your essence, your touch, the feeling you poured into it… all of it was still there. And that made it the most important piece you had ever created.

That was why, as the last act of love he could offer to you and your memory, he traveled to Paris to present it at the Musée d’Orsay. The meeting with the museum’s curator was far more pleasant than he had expected, and he even considered making a generous donation after they agreed to exhibit the painting.

The inner peace he felt when his eyes saw the painting hanging on those cream-colored walls, among hundreds of other paintings from important figures of his era… was something he could never put into words. For the first time, his heart felt at ease—it did not beat, it did not pump blood, he knew that. And yet, for a second, Taehyung felt as if he had come back to life.

He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent around him. Despite the years, there was still a faint trace of you in it. And though it hurt to think that he would never again hold you in his arms, never again breathe in your scent, he felt happy.

Happy for you—because finally, one of your works bore your real name, because at last, people could see the incredible talent you had. This had been your dream, and somehow, he had made it come true for you.

He wondered if there was something after death, if there was truly a paradise in the afterlife. He knew that if such a place existed, you would undoubtedly be in heaven—in a paradise unlike any other, shining like the brightest star the world had ever seen. If that place was real, were you watching him from above?

What would you think of him right now? Would you be afraid of the fact that he was no longer human? Or of the fact that, in his first years as a vampire, he had taken the lives of many?

Would you still love him from that place so far away from him?

He prayed every day to a god he wasn’t sure existed, just to hold on to the hope that the answer was yes.

"How are things going over there?" Jiwon asked through the phone.

Taehyung’s feet carried him through the museum for the sixth time that afternoon. He still wasn’t in the mood to leave, and it’s not like anyone needed him at home at the moment. He would probably head to a nearby bar, have a glass of wine, and wander around the city until the sun rose again.

"Fine, I guess," he murmured, his gaze fixed on the paintings displayed in front of him. He had seen many of them online, but seeing them in person… it was definitely something completely different. Noticing the brushstrokes, the old traces of a brush over the oil paint, the colors, the size—everything was a new experience. It was like meeting the same person a second time; the feeling and the first impression could never be the same if you only saw them through a screen.

"So expressive, Kim." Taehyung rolled his eyes at Jiwon’s mocking tone. He wasn’t in the mood to be expressive, and it’s not like he was obligated to be.

"Anyway, Jiah is pretty worried. You know how she is, especially when it comes to you."

Taehyung nodded in silence, even though he was aware she would never see the gesture. Jiah was… she was like a mother to their small family. She was the one who turned them, the one who took care of them and taught them how to maintain their composure, always patient and loving with everyone. Taehyung couldn’t recall a single time when she had ever raised her voice at any of them.

He had always known, just like the others, that she had a certain weakness for him, something he associated too much with the fact that she had witnessed him fall apart upon finding you lifeless that night. She was the one who worried about him, who paid to give you a proper funeral, who helped him get through his sleepless nights, and who showed him a completely new world. She was the mother Taehyung never had, and he was grateful every single day for everything she had done for him, despite all the trouble he had dragged her into.

"I’ll be back soon, I just… I just want to say goodbye properly."

He stopped again in front of the painting he had submitted. That small pang in his chest had returned and, although for a few seconds he regretted it, the weight lifted when he saw someone else stop in front of your artwork to take a photo. He had managed to immortalize your memory—that was all that mattered.

At last, he would no longer be the only one completely in love with your art.

There were a few seconds of silence in which neither of them seemed to know what to say. The stillness was broken by Jiwon's soft and—unusually—understanding voice.

"Are you really okay over there, alone? We’re all a bit worried about you."

Taehyung let out a soft chuckle, lowering his head to glance at his elegant brown oxford shoes. When he was still human, he had longed to wear a pair like these, and now that he could afford them, half of his wardrobe revolved around them. You would probably be just as enamored with them as he was.

"I’ll be fine, Jiwon. It’s just a few days, it’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing."

He made his way toward the museum exit, but not before giving the painting one last look. This would be the last time he saw it—this was the final farewell. He sighed, running his tongue over his dry lips.

"Besides… I need to do this alone."

"Alright, okay, I get it. It’s your healing process and all that cheesy crap you love." Jiwon let out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. Even miles away, Taehyung could feel the worry in her voice. A part of him was touched by it. It was nice to see that, despite everything, she still cared for him.

"Just… call us if anything happens, okay? Jimin is about to lose his mind."

"Jimin is always about to lose his mind," he chuckled under his breath, politely nodding to the guards watching the entrance.

The first thing he saw upon stepping outside was the sky, painted in pastel hues, with a faint trace of stars beginning to emerge, preparing to turn it into a beautiful nocturnal canvas with the moon as its protagonist.

"I’m going to hang up. I need to go somewhere else before heading back to my hotel."

"Alright, I get it, you’re bored of me." Even without seeing her, Taehyung knew she was smiling on the other end of the line.

"See you."

And with that, the call ended, leaving him alone with his own thoughts once again.

He wished that becoming a vampire had meant his emotions—like his heart—simply stopped functioning. Life would be easier that way. Carrying the weight of his emotions would be… probably a little more bearable.

The soft sound of Taehyung’s footsteps echoed through the dark streets of Paris, faintly illuminated by the streetlights surrounding the small, quiet alley he had chosen to escape the bustling crowd—and, in turn, his own thoughts. He had stopped by the bar he had wanted to visit for so long, but after spending a couple of hours sitting at the counter, sipping a drink he could barely taste… it was dull not being able to savor it the way he once did.

He gazed up at the night sky stretching above him, noticing how the stars seemed much closer, as if they had gathered there just to shield his eyes, rather than simply existing as part of nature’s design.

Tomorrow, he would probably buy a ticket back to Korea, still debating whether to purchase a first-class seat or a regular one. Jiah had given him more than enough money to indulge in any luxury he desired, but he didn’t want to take advantage of her generosity. He had his own savings, and not just a small amount—old trinkets he once considered worthless centuries ago were now worth millions, a fortunate advantage for all of them.

A soft melody from a nearby radio pulled him from his thoughts. He hadn’t noticed the old record store beside him, still open for some reason. It had a distinctly vintage, understated charm—exactly Taehyung’s style. He studied its exterior, noting the yellow sign with red lettering perched atop the roof, reading: Le cœur de la musique.

In the display window, several vinyl records from the ’70s and ’80s were neatly arranged, among them the famous Can’t Help Falling in Love with You by Elvis Presley, the very song now enveloping the alleyway with its gentle notes and romantic lyrics.

Taehyung truly loved that song. He closed his eyes, letting the music seep into more than just his ears—letting it settle into his body as well. With graceful movements, ones that seemed almost ingrained in him, Taehyung began swaying to the melody. He had been a great dancer in his youth. When you were both just children, you had asked him to be your dance partner so you could practice. The two of you had ended up falling completely in love with the warm, intimate feeling of it. Even when your bodies had grown cold, even when death gnawed at your bones and drained your souls, neither of you had ever stopped dancing.

His memories of you returned, vivid as always; he could almost feel the soft scent of your skin against his nose, the sensation of your hair brushing against his rough fingertips, your forehead resting gently on his shoulder, your breath against his chest. It was almost as if you were still there with him, dancing in the empty streets of Paris, in front of an old record store, your hearts swaying in perfect harmony beneath the stars.

His feet continued moving across the pavement until a soft click snapped him out of his trance.

Instantly, all of his senses sharpened. He halted his movements at once, scanning his surroundings for whoever had made that sound. He knew it was a camera. And he knew it hadn’t been close—if it had been, he would have smelled the person’s blood by now, wouldn’t he?

His dark eyes flickered with a brief glint of alertness as he surveyed the alley. That’s when he finally noticed her. At the far end of the alleyway, a young woman stood frozen in place, her face still partially hidden behind the camera lens aimed directly at him.

Before he could even think, his feet carried him forward, ready to demand why she had captured such a personal moment without his permission. But then, the delicate scent of strawberries and roses reached his nose. And right after—her blood.

Sweet. Addictive. More tempting than any other scent he had encountered in his 175 years of existence.

For a fleeting moment, Taehyung swore his heart beat again, just from the sheer intoxication of it. His gums began to itch as his fangs pressed against the inside of his lip, the thirst for blood growing exponentially with every step he took. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, the overwhelming urge to feed suffocating him, clouding his mind.

Until she lowered the camera.

Until he saw your eyes.

Large. Bright. Filled with life, staring at him from the end of the alley.

His heart—still lifeless, still incapable of pumping blood—felt like it was being squeezed in a vice. And though he had no need to breathe, he swore the air caught in his lungs.

Did that make sense? Of course not, but you—standing right there, smiling at him as if you hadn’t died in his arms over 170 years ago—didn’t make sense either.

And yet, there you were.

The same eyes. The same lips. Your hair was different, yes, but everything else… everything else was exactly as he remembered. Exactly the same as the day death had stolen you from him.

Was this some kind of punishment? Retribution for the countless lives he had taken in his early years as a vampire?

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable!” you blurted out the moment you noticed the man standing just a few feet away from you. A soft, warm blush quickly spread across your cheeks—not only from the embarrassment of being caught photographing a complete stranger without permission but also because that very stranger, the one now standing before you, was breathtakingly handsome. And now he was looking directly at you, so intensely that you could feel his gaze burning into your skin.

“I-It’s just that I was on my way back to my hotel, and I saw you dancing alone. You had this melancholic expression that was just so captivating from here and… I’m sorry, that’s no excuse for what I did, I’ll delete the photo right away!”

As you fumbled over your apology, nervously gripping your camera once again, Taehyung took the opportunity to examine you—every detail of your face. You had the same beauty mark beneath your left eye. The same faint scar between your index and middle fingers. Even your voice—one he remembered as if it were his own—was exactly the same.

Your clumsy way of speaking.

The pink flush on your cheeks.

Your long eyelashes.

There was no doubt in his mind. The young woman standing before him was you.

“I…” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. “What’s your name?”

He watched as your eyes lifted to meet his. He couldn’t help but notice how your lips parted slightly at the unexpected question.

Ah.

He still remembered the way your lips moved against his—soft yet intoxicating, slow yet sensual, always keeping him on edge. He remembered the way you used to smile whenever he playfully nibbled on your lower lip.

He missed it.

He missed you.

“Oh! S-Sorry, how rude of me,” you chuckled nervously, carefully lowering your camera so that it hung freely around your neck. The strap dug slightly into your exposed skin, but it was the safest way to carry it without accidentally dropping it. “I’m Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Y/N,” he murmured, savoring every letter of your name.

He knew it. He knew it. It was impossible for you to be anyone else.

His eyes began to sting as the reality of what was happening finally settled in.

After 175 miserable years—

You had come back to him.

Looking exactly as you had the last time he saw you.

“The pleasure is mine,” he said softly, reaching out to take your hand in his own, gently, fearful that the moment his fingers brushed against your skin, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

You were still there when his lips pressed lightly against your knuckles, inhaling your scent as discreetly as possible.

So this is how you smelled when you were full of life.

Without an illness slowly stealing you away. Your blood had the sweetest scent he had ever known, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes at the steady, rhythmic beat of your heart echoing in his ears, proof that you were alive, proof that you were here.

Taehyung had never believed in God, but now, with you standing before him— he could only describe this as a miracle.

Masterlist.

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