#the urge to write festivals from all across the world though

[mbti-enemies]

if MBTIs were holidays, which ones would they be?

Christmas:

INFP, INFJ, ENFJ

Summer holidays (cos they deserve a category):

ESTP, ENFP, ESFJ, ISTP

Halloweeeen:

INTP, ISFP, ENTJ

Easter:

ESTJ, ISFJ, ISTJ

New year's:

INTJ, ESFP

ENTP'S Birthday:

ENTP

(JOKES i would probs put entp into halloween)

[justdontaskme]

Home for the Holidays

A/N: It's been so long! I didn't really expect to finish this in time, but had a spur of inspiration. For those who need a quick escape from the festivities. Please excuse the rustiness in my writing! Happy holidays!

You stood at the door, waving goodbye to your parents as they drove away. Once the car was out of sight, you stepped away from the cold and closed the door. Now that they’ve gone, it was quiet in the house, too quiet for your liking. 

One thing people forget to mention about going home for the holidays after living abroad for so long was that your family still very much had their own lives here. They couldn’t always just drop whatever they were doing to hang out with you, and you didn’t want to ask that of them. 

This year, your parents had asked that everyone in your family would be able to spend all of Christmas Day together, and all of your siblings agreed. It’s been some time since everyone had the chance to celebrate the holiday altogether. 

It was always so hard to get your schedules to line up with such a big family. Each year, some of you would have Christmas Eve available, others would have Christmas Day available or vice versa. And once in a while, you have to miss the holiday altogether. 

Unlike most of your siblings, you don’t live in your hometown or at least in the same state. For the past few years, you have been living your dream in Barcelona, playing on one of the best teams in the world with your girlfriend, Alexia Putellas. 

So you flew home a few days early to spend time with the family while your girlfriend stayed home. When your parents had first proposed the idea of a full family Christmas, Alexia was up to the idea. However, as the holiday got closer, Alexia’s media presence was much requested, and after all was said and done, you knew she’d be too tired to meet you across the world. 

After your many reassurances, she agreed it would be best for her to stay in Spain with her family this year. You just never knew that when you told her to stay that you’d be spending Christmas Eve alone. 

As of now, your parents were out to some extended family’s house, which you chose to pass on since it’d be all adults and no cousins around. Two of your sisters were out at a Friendsmas party, one would be driving in much later tonight, and your older brothers weren’t coming in until tomorrow morning. 

Even though your parents and sisters urged you to join them at their respective parties, you declined, not wanting to impose or feel awkward around people you weren’t so used to. However sad it was, you’d rather be alone tonight than to have to sit and pretend around people when you were actually just extremely uncomfortable. 

Grabbing a blanket from the couch, you wrapped it around your shoulder as you walked into the kitchen looking for the food your mom said she had left for you. Spotting the home cooked meal with glee, you grabbed it and went to sit on the couch and watch a movie. 

As the title screen played, you checked your phone, upset to once again see no messages or calls from your girlfriend. 

You knew the time difference made things difficult, but Alexia had been radio silent for a long time now. The loneliness was slowly creeping up on you as you tried calling Alexia again, just for her to go straight to voicemail again.  

It was about halfway through the movie when you heard the doorbell ring. At first, you figured it was just one of your sisters coming home early from their parties or your other sister arriving early. Reluctantly, you set your dinner to the side, readjusting the blanket around you as you went to answer the door. 

“Hola,” your girlfriend standing across from you, not completely dressed for the weather if her little shivers were anything to go by. 

To say you were shocked was a huge understatement. In fact, you just stood there, not saying anything as your brain tried to process what was going on. 

“Can I come in?”

Silently, you stepped to the side, allowing her into your parent’s home. You watched, speechless, as she set her luggage to the side, immediately sighing in relief at the warmer temperature in the house. 

“What are you doing here?” you whispered, afraid if you spoke any louder, you’d wake up from this dream, and Alexia would disappear. 

“I canceled my last media appearance and hopped on a flight to come see you. I missed you,” she answered, holding her arms open for you.

Without a second thought you launched yourself into her arms, clinging onto her as you realized she was actually here. 

“You’re supposed to be in Spain,” you said, your words muffled against her jacket. 

“Christmas is your favorite holiday, and I wanted to spend it with you,” she said, leaning back far enough, one hand grabbing your chin and lifting it until your eyes locked on one another. 

You shivered a little when she leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, her cold ones pressing against your warm ones. The slight hum coming from your girlfriend had you melting in her arms. 

“Where is everyone else?” Alexia asked, stepping back slightly so she could shrug off her jacket.

“They had plans,” you explained, looking at the floor, slightly embarrassed to admit that you were here alone. Sensing this, Alexia immediately pulled you back into her arms, quietly assuring you that she was here now. “What about your mom and Alba? I thought you were spending it with them?”

“We agreed we’d celebrate when you and I get back, but they understood how much I wanted to be with you.” 

“You’re such a softy, Ale,” you teased, secretly overjoyed by her decision to hop on a last minute flight to be with you. 

“Only for you, mi amor.”

“I missed you,” you muttered into her shirt, squeezing her extra tight to express your gratitude for her last minute sacrifice. 

She left a soft kiss against the top of your head before toeing off her shoes and leading you back to the living room where you had paused the movie. 

“So what are we watching?” your girlfriend asked, “The Polar Express?”

“Well I was going to watch The Santa Claus movies, but my siblings said we had to rewatch those together so we could watch the show together.”

“There’s a show?” You nodded, scooping up your dinner and settling in on the couch as Alexia made herself comfortable next to you. You offered her some of your mom’s dinner, which she quickly opened her mouth for as you fed her a bite. 

You sat there cuddled on the couch, watching movie after movie, taking the time to explain the cultural differences of Christmas in the U.S. and Spain. 

Eventually, you saw how hard Alexia was fighting to stay awake, so without a word you shut off the TV, standing up and offering your hand to her. Gratefully, she took it and allowed you to walk her up to your childhood bedroom. 

You couldn’t even describe how good it felt to have her sleeping next to you that night. 

****

To no one’s surprise, you were the last one awake the next morning, with the rest of your siblings and their families finally making an appearance before you came down. Though they were surprised to find you coming down the stairs with your girlfriend following behind you. But nonetheless, they greeted her with arms wide open.

Thankfully, your family loved Alexia, so while they hadn’t expected it, they were more than happy to include her in the festivities. While the language barrier was still there, and the mistranslations were only funny to you since you were now pretty fluent in both Spanish and English, both parties did their best. Alexia got to practice her English, and your family got to learn new Spanish words. 

After making your rounds of hellos to everyone, you finally took a seat at the table, waiting for the hearty breakfast cooked entirely by your mom and your brother who came in extra early for this. 

While Alexia had a very loving and close family, she didn’t have one as big as yours. She loved to watch you messing around with your siblings, all of you bonding a lot more now in your older age than when you were kids. 

The house was filled with so much noise. Your nieces and nephews were running around the house, playing and chasing after one another. Your parents were catching up with your sister-in-laws. And you and your siblings were laughing and yelling at one another between bites of food. 

It was fun to watch as you and your sisters bickered nonstop over the most trivial things while your older brothers watched, egging the argument on with little comments here and there. Some people may consider this chaotic, but this was normal when you were all together like this. And that was how you all liked it. 

Once everyone had their fill of food, you migrated into the living room. It was even more chaotic as everyone took turns taking photos in front of the Christmas tree. Thanks to your dad’s camera and tripod, there was a photo with everyone in it. Then it broke into just parents, you and your siblings, the grandbabies, and then individual family photos. 

When it was time for you and Alexia to take your photo, you were pretty much begging your sister to allow you to take your niece into the photo. She was the newest addition to the family, joining just one month prior. This was your first time meeting her, and you had trouble putting the little angel down for more than a second. 

“Get your own!” your brother jokingly shouted, as your sister scooped the precious baby out of your arms. 

You pouted as your eyes followed the baby, your feet moving to stand next to your waiting girlfriend. 

“Maybe we will,” Ale shouted back at him, wrapping you tight in her arms. 

“Yeah!” you said, instantly brightening up and then turning to stick your tongue out at your brother. “What she said.”

The others laughed as your dad started clicking away at the camera. 

“We’re still waiting for a wedding invitation,” your baby sister said, causing the others to agree. 

“And I’m still waiting for a ring,” you told them, looking pointedly at your girlfriend, who instantly turned red at the attention as all eyes were now on her. 

“We’ll get there,” she answered vaguely. “Soon, I promise.”

As soon as the last picture was taken, everyone swarmed the tree to open presents. As tradition dictated, the grandbabies were first to open their gifts. 

There was nothing better than seeing all your nieces and nephews eyes shining bright with excitement as they all sat next to each other with presents in hand. Each new gift they opened was met with lots of thanks and instant show-and-tell. 

Eventually, all the kids opened their gifts and vacated the living room with their new toys in tow as the adults waited their turn. You and your siblings presented your gifts to your mom and dad, deciding it was best to all chip in for one large present. After that, you and your siblings exchanged presents, most of them gag gifts as you all had an unspoken competition agreement that the one that elicited the biggest laugh won. 

After your older sister won for the second time in a row, everyone dispersed to do their own things.

You were just about to go and snatch the baby again, but a hand pulled you back before you could escape. 

“Wait, mi amor. You still have one more present,” Alexia said, her other hand hiding behind her back. 

“Huh? I thought you and I agreed we’d do presents when I got back because I left your present back home,” you whined quietly, finding it unfair you weren’t able to give Alexia her gift right now.

“I can wait to open mine, but I really, really want to see you open yours,” she said, pulling the gift from behind her back, revealing a nicely sealed envelope. “Merry Christmas, mi vida.”

Carefully, you took the envelope from her, eyeing her suspiciously as you carefully opened it. 

Your eyes rose in confusion when you noticed they were plane tickets for the break just after the season finishes. The second you saw that they were tickets to Hawaii, you teared up.

Unknown to everyone else, you and Alexia had extensive talks about the future and what that entailed. Alexia always said that when she planned to propose, you would know relatively when and where, but not how. One night, you and Alexia had been lying in bed, and she told you that she would propose in Hawaii but gave you nothing else. 

She wanted you to have a heads up when it was coming, but also keep you on your toes. And this 14-day trip would do the trick because you wouldn’t know if it would happen at the beginning, middle, or end of the trip, let alone what Alexia would concoct to make it special. Yet you knew that as soon as you got back on the plane heading home, you’d have a ring on your finger and a fiancée by your side. 

“Are you serious right now?” you said, choked up with emotion, glad that everyone was scattered around the house and couldn’t see you cry. 

“So serious, mi amor,” she stepped up, cradling your face in her hands, “It’s been a long time coming, no?”

“Can’t wait,” you said, leaning forward to capture her lips in a passionate kiss that usually wouldn’t be appropriate in front of your family. But in that second, you didn’t care. You just needed her to know how much you cared for her, “I love you so much.”

“Me too,” she said, her grin mischievous and a laugh tumbling out of her mouth as you pushed away from her. “I’m kidding,” she said, pulling you back into her embrace.

“You better be,” you said, willingly falling back into her arms, but still refusing to look at her. 

“I am. Te amo mucho, mi corazón.”

You pretended to still be disinterested in her antics, but she wore you down with kisses everywhere her lips could reach. 

“I’ll forgive you this time, but only because you promised me a ring,” you teased, pecking her lips softly. 

“I can deal with that.”

“Merry Christmas, Ale. Thank you for being here,” you said, hiding your face in her neck as you started to sway with her to the Christmas music playing in the background. 

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[ladyofrings]

A Dance in Shadows and Light

What can i say i am just kinda obsessed with Halbrand/Annatar and therefore i shamelessly indulge myself with some writings about him and my OC. ❤️ It is really just this, and nothing more, all neatly aligned here on Tumblr for me to find, whenever I am in need of reading them. Previous one:

-> A glance across the Hall -> A Glimpse of something More

The evening sky over Númenor bled into twilight, streaked with hues of gold and purple, as the sun dipped beneath the edge of the horizon. The city of Armenelos shimmered with life, alive with a hum of music, laughter, and voices that seemed to rise and fall like a tide. The festivities had drawn souls from every corner of the island, and the streets pulsed with energy, the kind that could make one feel both lost and found all at once.

Lothien slipped through the throng with a grace that turned heads, her dark hair flowing down her back, a silken ribbon woven through the strands—a small, elegant touch that marked the occasion. Her gown, a deep, rich green, hugged her form, its intricate embroidery catching the lantern light as she moved. There was a quiet confidence in her step, the sort that had always drawn admiration, but tonight, the admiring glances of the revelers were like whispers against the wind, barely noticed, save for one.

His gaze was different. Halbrand’s dark eyes followed her, heavy and unyielding, as he stood near the edge of a fountain, leaning back with that familiar, lazy smirk. The way he watched her was not like the others, not the casual appreciation of beauty. His stare was a claim, a slow-burning fire that sent a shiver down Lothien’s spine. She could feel it, even without looking at him, as if he had lassoed her heart with an invisible thread, tugging her closer, winding tighter.

It was only a matter of time before he made his way toward her. His steps were unhurried, as though he had all the time in the world, yet there was something deliberate in his approach, a quiet resolve. The festivities continued around them, a whirl of color and sound, but for Lothien, it all faded, becoming nothing more than a hazy backdrop to the man who now stood before her, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice warm and low as he leaned in, close enough for her to catch the scent of the sea on his skin. “You look breathtaking tonight.”

The words brushed against her ear, sending a thrill through her that she tried, and failed, to ignore. She turned her head, meeting his gaze, and the intensity of it made her pulse stutter. Compliments were not new to her; she’d been admired plenty, but Halbrand’s words had a way of sinking deeper, laced with an edge of teasing that made her feel as though he was peeling back her layers, one by one, savoring each discovery.

“I’m not the only one drawing attention,” she said, her voice steadier than her racing heart. “You seem quite at home here.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound, and moved a fraction closer, his fingers ghosting along the back of her arm. The touch was light, but it sent a jolt through her, sharp and undeniable. “Oh, I don’t care about their attention,” he said, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s yours that I want.”

Her breath caught, the words winding through her like a coil tightening, and she fought the urge to step back, to look away. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how easily he could unsettle her. Instead, she kept her gaze forward, watching the dancers whirl under the lanterns, but her focus was entirely on him, on the warmth of his breath against her skin, on the way his voice curled around her, dark and smooth as silk.

“You’re impossible,” she said, her tone caught somewhere between amusement and something she wasn’t ready to name.

“Impossible?” He feigned offense, though the mischief in his eyes belied his tone. “I think you mean irresistible.”

A smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite herself. “What are you trying to do, Halbrand?”

“Just admiring the view,” he replied, his voice a shade lower, a shade darker. His hand found its way to her waist, resting there lightly, but the grip tightened, just enough for her to feel it, enough to send a warm, liquid heat pooling in her belly. He leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You know I love it when you blush.”

The warmth bloomed across her cheeks, immediate and unbidden, and she cursed herself silently for how easily he could draw it out of her. Her pulse quickened, and she knew he could feel it, knew he was reveling in the way she struggled to keep her composure. But there was no hiding it, not with his eyes on her, gleaming with a quiet triumph.

“Halbrand…” she began, trying to find the words to push him back, to regain her footing, but her voice faltered as his fingers traced a slow, languid path along her side, barely there, but enough to send shivers cascading down her spine.

“Yes?” His voice was a velvet murmur, drenched in wicked amusement. He was enjoying this, far too much.

“You shouldn’t—” she tried again, but the words dissolved into a sharp intake of breath as his lips brushed the sensitive skin just below her ear, feather-light and yet enough to make her heart stutter, her thoughts scatter.

“I shouldn’t what?” he said, his lips barely a whisper against her skin. “Tease you? Fluster you?” His mouth moved, a touch softer than a breath, but she could feel every word, every syllable, like a brand searing her skin. “Or make you want something you’re not quite ready to admit?”

Her heart hammered in her chest, the air between them thick and charged, and she could feel the words tangling in her throat, the unspoken desires she had tried so hard to bury rising to the surface. She leaned into him, her fingers curling against the fabric of her gown, holding on to something, anything, to keep from unraveling completely.

“I see it in your eyes, Lothien,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin, his lips so close she could feel them without quite touching. “The way you want me to keep going, to push just a little more.”

Her breath hitched, and she could feel the heat spreading across her cheeks, her body betraying her as the cool evening air settled around them. She turned her head, just enough to meet his gaze, to see the dark, sharp glint in his eyes. And in that moment, she knew he could see everything, every flicker of emotion she had tried to keep hidden, laid bare before him.

His smile was slow, almost smug, a knowing curve of his lips that said he had won something, even if she couldn’t quite name what it was. “I knew it.”

“You’re insufferable,” she managed, but the words were breathless, lacking the sharpness she intended.

His chuckle was low, rich, and he pulled back just enough to catch her gaze fully, his eyes dark and gleaming. “But you like it.”

She opened her mouth to argue, to say something, anything, but the words caught, tangled up in the way he was looking at her. There was an intensity there, a focus that made her feel as though the world had shrunk to just this, just him, just them. And it made her knees feel weak, made her want to hate how easily he could unravel her, but she couldn’t. Because she did like it, more than she should, and that terrified her as much as it thrilled her.

Before she could find the words, the music swelled around them, drums beating a rhythm that made the air feel alive, and the crowd began to move, dancers twirling in a blur of color and light.

Halbrand’s hand slipped into hers, his fingers curling around hers with a firm, steady grip, and without a word, he tugged her forward, pulling her into the heart of the celebration. “Come,” he said, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Let’s see if you can keep up.”

She followed, her heart pounding as they moved into the circle of dancers. The music rose around them, the air thrumming with energy, but all she could focus on was Halbrand, the feel of his hand in hers, strong and warm, anchoring her even as everything around them seemed to spin and blur.

They danced, their movements fluid, but the teasing tension never faded. Every step, every brush of their hands, every glance was charged, crackling with an unspoken promise, a desire that simmered beneath the surface. And all the while, his eyes never left hers, dark and intense, filled with a promise that made her breath quicken, her pulse race.

As the music slowed, Lothien found herself breathless, her cheeks flushed, not just from the dance, but from the way Halbrand held her, his hand firm at the small of her back, keeping her close.

He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear once more, his voice low and teasing. “I think I won this round, don’t you?”

Lothien smiled, despite herself, despite everything. “Perhaps.”

Halbrand’s grin was quick, a flash of white teeth, and his thumb brushed lightly over the back of her hand, a touch so gentle it was almost tender. “But I have a feeling you’ll let me win the next one, too.”

[mthollowell-writes]

Writeblr Introduction: Hello!

About Me:

Hello! My name is MT (she/her) and this is my writeblr!

I write speculative fiction with a bent towards horror and the strange, though I love experimenting with other genres every so often.

My themes and topics tends towards the fantastical and the existential. Monsters, mysteries, and histories are my bread and butter with dashes of "humor." The quotations are an urge to take that assertion with a grain of salt.

Other things that often crop up in relation to writing is my love of music, science, and nature (especially plants, birds, and mycology)

General Housekeeping

Below the cut you will find information about all my WIPs, past and present. This will be updated periodically!

But first, some quick bullets

To start off, I should state all my writing (esp longer pieces) will be posted on my website: mthollowell.com . Alongside my fiction, you'll also find book reviews and other writing related musings.

All my writing updates will be under #mt writes. This includes snippets, blurbs, tag games, writing challenges, and the like

I read a lot, all over, so all book things can be found under the #mt reads tag

This is my writing sideblog. I follow back with @missaddledmiss

And if you like my stories and are able, you can drop a few pennies into my Kofi account!

Long Term Projects

Festival of Shadows/Supernatural Mystery, Horror, Thriller During the Hollow Grove's infamous Founder Festival, reporter Mariela Hudson seeks to uncover a five year mystery that involves a cult, a mysterious ritual that ended in a deadly fire, and a missing woman whose relationship with both is still shrouded in shadows. All the while, a monster waits. WIP Introduction /// Excepts under #festivalwip

Grim Lore WIP/ Supernatural Mystery, Horror Sebastian Calderon accepts a job in a new town called Hollow Grove that's setting up roots in the wilderness on the promise of land and some cash in his pocket. But not everything is as it seems and the price he pays for his labor may be too steep.

Hollow Grove Stories/Speculative Fiction, Horror, "Humor" A collection of shorts about the various characters in Hollow Grove often set during its contemporary timeline (circa 2016-2017). Mischief and terror abound. Stories under #hollow grove stories

Divided Loyalties WIP/ Fantasy, Adventure, Romance Kalon is a prince of a fallen empire seeking vengence against its conquerer, Satomi Satinos, the bandit king. In order to do that, he infiltrates his kingdom in hope of slaying the source of his power, the great dragon Raylene. But in his quest, he unwittingly falls in love with the bandit king's daughter, Uraya, and uncovers a conspiracy that threatens to break the whole of their world.

Story 1 WIP/ Fantasy, Action Adventure, Coming of Age Haru is a young prisoner of a never-ending war that spans multiple worlds. He makes his living at the forge, but his daily life is interrupted when a guard is found dead and he's accused of the murder. As he awaits his execution, he's offered a chance of escape by a man who brings him to another world. He tries to keep a low profile and his new powers in check, so he doesn't attract the attention of the guards tracking them. When he runs into a group of kids in this strange new world, colloquially known as Earth, he opens their mind to all the worlds hidden around them. (Called Story 1 since its the first comprehensive story I've ever come up with yet I cannot think of a better title)

Shorter Projects (Last Updated November 2024):

31 Days of Horror 2024: A collection of stories I made for a 2024 October horror challenge

Escape from Gallow Lane: A Hollow Grove Story Local Hollow Grove reporters Mariela and Emery find themselves on the wrong side of the law, and things somehow get worse from there.

Hanging on the Telephone: A Hollow Grove After a seance in the basement of the Edelhaus Church goes awry and cuts off the WIFI across the county, Mariela Hudson tries her luck with the old tech of yesteryear with her dad’s old dial-up computer.

[yeehawbvby]

Silver and Gold, Blood and Snow (Gortash x GN!Dark Urge)

Rating: Teen+ (Mentions of canon-typical violence)

Summary: Midwinter is a tenday away, and it has Gortash reminiscing about your holiday celebration just a few years prior.

Author’s Note: This was written as a Ko-fi request for the wonderful @liquid-coffeebear !! It takes place before the events of BG3, but after Durge got Orin'd. The Durge's race, height, gender, etc. are all left completely ambiguous. I had so much fun writing this, and I hope y'all enjoy it as much as I do! :D x

Check it out on ao3!

Snow was bountiful in the Lower City this winter.

Enver watched from the balcony as children played outside his fortress: trudging their way through the knee-high substance, pelting snowballs at one another, and letting even the weakest hit knock them down, just to have an excuse to lay atop the soft white sheets beneath them. He viewed passersby buying gifts for loved ones from the local booths and shops, arms full of burlap, and burlaps full of toys and jewelry and clothing galore. He gazed at the warm-blooded Dragonborn denizens walking freely in their typical daywear while the humans, halflings, and everyone else shivered beneath their copious layers.

The Lord had never been one for people-watching, more focused on his duties and plans for the future than those whom he’d spend it with. For some reason, though, he felt nostalgic this year.

He thought back to when you were around. Before Orin had… well, you know.

There was one Midwinter’s eve in particular that stuck out in his memory, as vivid as red on white. You had just finished wreaking havoc, as was your specialty; you would regularly fill the city’s citizens with dread, and leave them with a submissive and naïve hope for a better future that only their Lord could potentially grant them.

Blood had been splattered across the walls of every building you entered that day – the Upper City palace Enver had resided in at the time being the only exception – and in turn, crimson smears stained every inch of snow you stepped in. Of course, as a courtesy towards those you’d slain, you decorated their corpses with ribbons, and garland, and any other festive decor you could rip down from proximate displays. It was the least you could do, really.

In the midst of the chaos, you found time to steal a present for Enver. He’d complained at first that he had enough gold to buy himself anything he wanted. He appreciated the gesture, of course, but what need was there for such menial yearly practices when he could have all of Faerûn – perhaps all of the world – in his palm within the coming years?

You huffed, demanding in spite of your kind eyes that he take the damned gift before you slit his torso open and replace his viscera with it.

You truly were a being after his own heart.

He’d laughed, wordlessly taking the hastily wrapped box from you. After turning the lengthy object over in his hand for a moment, he peered up, only to view you staring intently at your own feet. Shyness was a rare look on you. It fueled Enver’s curiosity, prompting him to finally tear the parchment away from the wooden vessel.

Opening the small metal clasp revealed to him a set of golden gauntlets. There were two arm coverings that looked as if they could be a perfect fit for his person, and for his right hand only laid somewhat of a glove piece. Along with these came a set of rings, some of which resembled claws.

The ore had been molded into serpentine designs, yet within the right-hand adornment laid an empty crevice. It looked as though it was meant for a jewel of sorts, but the poor soul these had been lost to hadn’t had a chance to insert it yet.

Enver tilted his head, poring over every detail of the accessories. The back of his mind wondered just who these were originally for – certainly it must have been an elite, given the intricate craftsmanship – but his consideration evaporated as he realized it mattered not.

The poor soul was long gone anyway.

For the first time in ages, someone had rendered him speechless. He looked up at you, whose gaze was back on his. Your eyes glimmered with a hope you clearly hadn’t wanted to be seen. You knew he respected you as his equal; that he trusted you with his life, to rule his world alongside him… yet you seemed to search for his praise..?

It was silly, really. Of course you’d earned it. These were perfect for him. He closed the gap between the two of you, placing the box in your hands so he could try the gauntlets on. The rings fit splendidly. The arm pieces could use some adjusting, as they were a bit too snug, but it was nothing his personal smith couldn’t fix.

Using one of his newly equipped prosthetic nails, he tugged you closer, planting a kiss to your slightly chapped lips. It was all the approval you needed.

In the present day, Enver looked down at the gauntlets. He rarely removed them – they’d become an integral part to his aesthetic. The empty slot that once was now contained his beloved Netherstone. Not only did your gift have sentiment, but it served a grander purpose than you’d ever come to know.

Enver missed you. Orin was a fine accomplice, but if anyone was to be Bhaal’s chosen, it should have been you… and if anyone was to share his companionship, it needed to be you. His heart felt empty in your wake.

He headed back into his chambers, requesting a cup of mulled wine from one of his servants. The same blend you’d shared on that cold Midwinter’s eve.

This Midwinter was just a tenday away. Perhaps he’d have a lonely celebration of his own this year. He’d relax by a fire and drink in your honor, reminiscing of old times and musing what could have been.

[devitalise]

HI IMO I SEE UR ONLINE + PLANNING 2 SEND THE BOOK ASK THEREFORE I MUST TRY AND BEAT U TO THE PUNCH HI <3 how did your June reads go!! I see you gave ur Bear thoughts already (haven't watched yet but will return 2 it once I do), but other than that, do you have anything else on your Summer Watch radar?

beating you to the punch does make me giggle i'm sorry babe! june was an interesting reading month! answering early as i'm busy the next couple days and i love sitting down to give my full attention to the

june book wrap up

bonjour tristesse & a certain smile by francois sagan

french coquette-like teenage girls in ""relationships"" with older men, hurting the people around them? snooze! just really disinterested in the story here, and not blown away by the writing sorry

(abandoning the music links i did well to last 5 months but. yeah :))

the atlas six by olivie blake

lol. fanfic writers entering the traditional publishing space would be fine if they remembered that they have to develop characters from scratch. so much telling! not half enough showing to pay off. too large of a cast to be introduced at once and some of it felt so juvenile. i think this is YA though so like. quirky indie romance lead, brooding angry guy 1, nonemphathetic guy 2, egomaniac 3, sad distrustful person. the magic system was so boring to me it was grounded in way too much science for me to find it interesting. do readers really need to know the metaphysics behind being able to see time? no! actually i'd have liked to know something about someone that wasn't "x is like this". yeah a lot to say here.

the country life by rachel cusk

i had to return to a control point of a good book. lovely. Cusk can do it all for me and i think the woman escapes from her city life to fumble around in the country is the perfect subject matter for her. full of so much whimsy, a lot of heart and interesting characters! made me laugh and feel and reading this is in similar weather conditions just added to the sense of delirium towards the end of the book

diary of a film by niven govinden

my kind of book! film maestro travels to italy for a film festival, meets a woman and a story that sticks in his head and is overcome with the desire to commit this to screen. related to this so much, that kind of being swept up in an idea and the urge to put your all into it. had a real slowness to it, too, made a lot of the conversations feel so tender and from a real place of love. great read :)

my father's diet by adrian nathan west

so glad i saw this in a bookshop i wouldn't have come across this otherwise! so cool! if music was a book. i listened to air's moon safari that really contributed to the middle america shopping mall in the 80s vibe. sleepy town kind of feeling. anyways, i tore through this book what it had to say on turning to a physical extreme to make sense of feeling inferior internally. fraught, disjointed parental relationships. bodybuilding! i'd recommend in a heartbeat

i'm currently reading the thief's journal by jean genet and have been for about a week or so. after finishing my father's diet and my general uptick in reading i thought i'd increase my reading goal, but this is going to take me a while to read. it's hard but it's worthwhile.

i haven't really considered much summer watching tbh i'm trying to be outside and doing stuff and going places as much as i possibly can this summer and if i'm ever at home long enough to put a show on it's been reality tv lately. just a girl out in the world this summer!

next read will be #3 in the neapolitan quartet because i remember reading the first this time last year and they're such summer books to me. this feels very long! love the opportunity to wax lyrical <3

[okinawanoumi]

A story of mom and I (1)

My mother is always in a bad mood in the morning. She's not angry, she's lifeless.

Her eyes are blank and she hangs her head down.  She doesn't respond when I talk to her.

Unlike us, who live in the present from the past, she has to face a completely new version of herself every morning.

Where am I?

Who is the person giving me instructions?

what should I do?

At the breakfast table, she feels depressed.

There was no reaction to the tea I offered.

I bake pancakes for breakfast as usual. Today I put some sweet potatoes in them. I prinkled honey on the finished pancake and place it in front of her.

Mother raises her head and looks relieved.

This is always a delicious thing to eat.

Pancakes bring her back to the real world.

She picks up a fork and starts eating silently.

And little by little, her day begins.

"Where am I ?"

At the dining table after breakfast, my mother felt anxious for a moment.

She looked and saw the writing in front of her.

"The tadpoles are playing hide-and-seek behind the water plants, where the water in the stream is sparkling."

She saw a sparkling stream in front of her.

Her anxiety went away.

She continued reading aloud.

“Today, March 3rd, is the Doll’s Festival.

Odairi-sama and Hina-sama at the entrance...

My mother was immersed in the world unfolding before her eyes.

``Reading practice book for dementia B'' is her tranquilizer.

When her heart was about to break, she always followed her writing.

There were only two poems that she hummed when I was a child.

``Over the mountains, far to travel, people say, Happiness dwells.... Karl Busse

“How many mountains and rivers I need to cross before I get to a land where loneliness prevails..” Bokusui  Wakayama

As a child, I couldn't miss her melancholic profile when she was humming the poems.

The letters in front of her continued.

"The sound of water jumping into an old pond" Matsuo Basho

“Come and play with me, orphaned sparrow” Issa Kobayashi

As she read her favorite ``Issa'' by ``Kobayashi Issa'' with all her might, she heard a voice and looked up to see a woman standing there with an angry face.

I was urging her to drink a cup of tea while I was playing with my computer on the low table in front of the sofa. The amount of tea I served at breakfast hasn't decreased at all since two hours ago. My mother is so engrossed in reading aloud that she doesn't seem to notice the tea. After a doctor told me that humans need 1,000 liters of water a day, it became my mission and obsession to get her to drink water.

"Drink it."

"Yes, yes"

"Drink that."

“Oh, is it OK if I drink this?”

・ ・・・・・・・・・・

"Drink your tea, please."

"Thank you very much"

We've been repeating this exchange for more than ten minutes. She has never touched the cup though she replied Yes with a smile. She knows what she is doing. 

There was a popping sound in my head, and the next moment I yelled at her.

"I told you to drink, so why aren't you drinking?"

As soon as she stood up, she ran into the Japanese-style room across the hallway.

As I sat in my dining chair, my eyes wandered over the table. A cup of tea that my mother didn't drink, a reading practice book, a cell phone, nail clippers, ear picks, four pens, nail polish that I used a few days ago, and direct mail and real estate advertisements that I took out of the mailbox in the morning. They were scattered on the table. When I looked into the sink, I saw the plates, cups, and frying pans I used for breakfast. I erased those things from my mind, got up, and went out into the garden.

It was three days ago when I was finally able to plant the petunia seedlings that I bought three weeks ago.

Living with my mother makes it impossible for me to do even something as simple as ``plant flowers.'' The seedlings were covered with white roots. When I looked at the house next door, I saw colorful summer flowers already decorating the area around the gate.

When I entered the house and looked into the Japanese-style room next to the entrance, I saw my mother rolling up toilet paper.

In a Japanese-style room, the rental bed under nursing care insurance was on the east side, and on the other side was a piano that had never been opened since we moved in. On top of it sat a few dusty stuffed animals and a big-eyed doll wearing a black velvet dress made by my mother. There is a table and a chair in front of the piano. That was her workshop.

The toilet paper was rolled up in her hands.

Toilet paper of the same length and rolled up like a scroll was being produced more and more in the same size, same length, and same shape. Each finished product was packed in a box, resembling the gift rolls you often see at department stores. Several rolls were made, and the finished rolls were disassembled and rolled again from scratch, so they were repeatedly placed in and out of the box.

When I glanced at rolls and asked her if she was busy, mother looked up with a grin on her face.

"I have pudding, shall we go eat it?"

The pudding happened to be 20% off at the supermarket yesterday. There's a little whipped cream on top. Although she was unwilling to drink tea, she had finished the pudding in no time.

"Would you like to have some tea?"

When I handed her the cup, she glanced inside while she held it. Then she sipped some. The pudding was sweet, so I guess she needed some tea.

As much as the amount of tea has decreased, my heart felt lighter.

[fangirlovestuff]

Going Public - Chris Evans x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!!! i’m sorry for the lack of updates on here, i’ve just been occupied with life lately and haven’t been able to write properly in a while. but here’s this headcanon idea i just had to write:) i missed writing so much, but i can’t say i’m gonna go back to updating frequently yet, so i hope you enjoy this<3 

Summary: you and chris were keeping your relationship private, and when you finally decide to go public there’s a particular post that catches your eye... (it’s scott’s, and he’s a goofball).

Warnings: none:)) it’s just a really fluffy fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

when chris asked you out, you were ecstatic

but, you did have one request

no publicity

you were a normal girl, and you wanted a normal life, no paparazzi harassing you or jealous women talking shit about you on the internet

and chris had absolutely no problem with that

in fact, he was happy you asked him to try and keep it quiet, since he's such a private person as well

and surprisingly enough, it worked really well

you rarely went on fancy dates, and if you did chris would call ahead and ask they respect your privacy

sure, you couldn't go to bars, or festivals, or shows, and you did feel like you were missing out sometimes

but not really

you and chris were both more introverted, homebodies, and you were both extremely content with just staying at home, or going to the occasional escape room double date with scott and his boyfriend

(you all got progressively more and more competitive with each one, trying to solve them in less and less time, but it was really fun)

it worked so well and for so long, you and chris had just sunken into that comfort zone so much and you were now getting married, without the world knowing

the option of going public with your relationship didn't even come up when you got engaged

chris was happy with it, because he got to keep you all to himself, but mostly because he knew how much you didn't want to go public and how happy you were being a part of his life without the craziness of hollywood

but now, when you were coming back home from your honeymoon, you couldn't help but wonder if that was the right thing to do

sure, you didn't want your potential kids growing up in the limelight

but you also didn't want them to miss out on stuff because of you

plus, you were ready, have been for a while

it couldn't be something you maintained forever, that just wasn't realistic, and that fact that no one found out in the last 3 years was pretty much a miracle

and when you talked about it with chris, he agreed

so, the next week, you both posted the same picture to your social media, tagging each other

it was a beautiful picture from your wedding, slow dancing and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes

it was cheesy, but you both loved it 

your accounts were still private, and you were keeping it that way, but chris' fans would know

and so will the rest of the world

chris squeezed your hand reassuringly, and you pressed the post button in unison

you had the urge to throw your phone across the room so you wouldn't see it again, but you took a deep breath, shut it down, and put it away on the table

chris pulled you into a tight hug

"i can't believe we finally did it," you chuckled into his chest as his arms pulled you impossibly closer

"i can't believe i'm gonna have to share my beautiful wife with the rest of the world from now on," you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke softly

indeed, as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile was drawn across his face

you leaned your chin on his chest and looked up at him

"i love you," you said.

"i love you too," he pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, "now do you wanna watch a movie?"

you both didn't look at your phones until the next day

you received hundreds of messages from colleagues, acquaintances who didn't know you well enough and had just found out

you replied to some, and then logged onto instagram

you felt like a kid watching a scary movie, covering their eyes with their hands but leaving room between their fingers to see it anyways

the first thing you saw was chris' post

he posted it with the caption "my everything" and a blue heart

you couldn't resist the temptation and scrolled through some of the comments, and to your relief most of them were supportive or surprised

"cHRISTOPHER WHAT THE FUCK"

"jahfbsapf😭"

"how the hell did he get a wife,,, what"

"okay but he literally married a disney princess LOOK AT HER"

"she's living the dream omg"

you chuckled at the last two

at that moment, chris came up behind you, nuzzling his face into your neck

"good morning," your smiled, turning your head to peck his lips

"morning," he smiled. "have you seen scott's one yet?"

"oh, did he comment? i didn't-"

"oh no, he made a whole post," he chuckled.

you shook your head and opened your phone again, looking up scott's instagram, and sure enough there was a new post

"since these dorks are done being stealthy, i figured i'd share some of my favorite pics of my favorite sister-in-law and my brother whom she so magnificently tamed😜. i love you guys, congrats💖"

you giggled as you read the caption, and only then your eyes lifted to the first photo

it was of you and chris in a halloween party, wearing, how could you not, a disney couples costume

chris was looking at you with a smile, his cheeks slightly tinted, probably from the beers he had that night, while your head was thrown back in laughter

you remembered that night, mostly because of the ridiculous amount of candy you and chris devoured and it made you feel bad until the next morning (still worth it though), but you didn't remember that this picture existed  

the next one was a selfie you, chris, and dodger had sent them one afternoon, just because it was so darn cute

dodger was licking your cheek, and you and chris were both laughing

the next was another pic you didn't know he had taken, of the both of you when you were all at a picnic

you were leaning back against chris' chest, and he was pointing at something outside of the picture, gentle smiles on your faces

the next was one of the both of you at your wedding, but it wasn't the nice one of you and chris slow dancing

because scott clearly couldn't leave it at that

it was a picture from later that night, as was seen by your hair, which was more tousled, and it was a picture of you raising your hand high and twirling chris around, clearly laughing

the last one was a picture that was taken in lisa's house, where you were both sitting on the couch

one of chris' hands was on the back, holding you, and the other was on his chest, his face thrown back on laughter

it was the look in your eyes though, that made a grin spring onto your face

because you looked exactly how you felt

so completely in love with this puppy of a man

you felt chris smile behind you

"awww, look at your face," he said, "you like meee," he drawled teasingly

"well, i did marry you," you shrugged, feigning indifference.

he kissed your nose, "i like you too."

"gross," you scrunched your nose at him before you both erupted into laughter

and you at that moment, you truly knew you did the right choice

because everything was okay, and you knew as long as you had chris by your side, it's always going to be

he's the person who made you feel safe, loved

and that was never going to change, no matter what

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

tell me your thoughts!! till next time lovelies<3

Taglist:  @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​  @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12 @starlightcrystalline @procrastinatingsapphictrash

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

[mydarlingwitcher]

reincarnation au

geralt and jaskier don’t remember their previous lives, not really. but sometimes they get glimpses in dreams - echoes of blood, swords, inks and parchment, halls packed with musicians and nobles, monsters, creatures and landscapes that belong to another world entirely.

geralt doesn’t think much of it. they’re just vivid dreams, everyone has them, right? he blames the amount of times he re-read the lord of the rings.

while jaskier feels the strangest pull. it’s an urge to write the dreams down, to turn them into something else, even if it’s just scattered and hazy impressions. and so he composes songs out of them. they’re hauntingly beautiful, gritty and dark, but with many hints of sweetness and longing. he’s not a famous singer (yet), but he’s julian pankratz, a music teacher with a dream, and he plays gigs at pubs and small festivals sometimes.

that’s how they meet. lambert and eskel drag geralt out for drinks, as it’s their tradition when they manage to reunite, and jaskier happens to be playing a set in the very same bar. the three brothers sit at a corner table and pay little mind to the concert, but geralt’s eyes drift towards the singer more than once. he can’t quite put his finger on it, but there’s something intriguing about his voice and his songs. it feels like he’s heard them before.

the look on geralt’s face doesn’t go unnoticed. when the set is over lambert - being his adorable, dumbass self - goes to the bar, orders a drink for the singer and asks the bartender to tell him that it’s from the silver fox brooding at table 7. then he yanks eskel away to have a smoke outside, knowing very well that geralt won’t join them - he promised his goddaughter ciri that he’d stop smoking for good.

not even two minutes later, jaskier is sitting down across geralt, blue eyes sparkling with delight and curiosity, doing his very best not to drool. because holy fuck, this man might just be the most splendid creature he’s ever laid eyes on.

“hello! thanks for the drink, that was ever so kind of you. i hope you’ll allow me to return the favor later. what’s your poison of choice? i bet it’s beer, stout. or whiskey, you look like a whiskey man!”

“what.”

“i’m julian, by the way, though i go by jaskier. can i get your name or should i just keep calling you silver fox?”

geralt can do absolutely nothing but stare for ten seconds, confused and transfixed. who the hell is this guy wearing eyeliner and a shirt of the most garish purple shade ever, not to mention half unbuttoned? and why does he look so - familiar, mine, growls a voice at the back of his mind.

“have we met before?” is all he manages to blurt out.

jaskier licks his lips and seems to consider the question for a moment, tilting his head and hesitating. then he just shrugs and replies “in a dream, perhaps? you look like you just walked out of one”, with a flirtatious wink. because he’ll be damned if he leaves the bar without getting this man’s name, phone number and possibly the imprint of his broad hands on his arse.

it’s not until months later, when they fall asleep nestled against each other for the first time, that the dreams become different. and when they wake up, they remember. not all at once, but enough to jolt awake, hearts racing in their throats.

“gods, oh gods, geralt.” jaskier gasps as a bewildered sob leaves his lips. it feels like an invisible hand has just shattered his heart and pieced it back together in the space of a breath.

and geralt? geralt starts crying quietly before he even realizes it. the ghost sensation of the icy wind at the top of the mountain is like a slap to his face, but nothing hurts more than the memory of jaskier’s sorrowful ‘see you around, geralt’.

he draws jaskier in a crushing embrace, practically melting against the soft skin of his neck as he whispers “i’m sorry, i’m so sorry.”

“shh, no, it’s okay. i’m here now.”

they don’t understand what’s going on, but they’re in this together, and that’s all they need to know for now. they spend the rest of the night holding each other and kissing with a consuming, almost fearful devotion.

in this life, they’re happy. there are no monsters or demons, save for the ones they’ve learned to keep at bay. and there are promises. in this life, they’re together, for good.

[letterboxd]

After Agnès: Ten French Filmmakers to Watch in 2021.

It’s not every day that a grass-roots fandom inspires a Letterboxd Easter egg, but the love for Portrait of a Lady on Fire was so strong that those flames are here to stay. With a new Céline Sciamma fairytale on the horizon, we invited Sarah Williams—one of the #PortraitNation instigators—to highlight ten femmes de cinéma with new works due out this year, and suggest films from their back catalogs to watch now.

Among many dramatic moments in cinema in 2020, there was the resignation of the entire César Academy board, following protests about the nomination of filmmaker and child rapist Roman Polanski (dubbed ‘Violanski’ by French feminists). Then there were the walkouts at the 45th César Awards ceremony itself, led by actress Adèle Haenel, after Polanski won there. Firm calls for change followed from Le Collectif 50/50, a movement that has urged parity on festival selection committees, after seeing how few female filmmakers were allowed into competition categories. (They have had some success, particularly with Cannes, where selection committees have moved towards more transparency and a better gender balance.)

Actress Adèle Haenel has a message for the 2020 César Awards, shortly before walking out of the ceremony.

This year’s Césars were tame, by comparison: actress Corinne Masiero stripped on stage, using her brief spotlight to focus on the pandemic and the crisis of shuttered cinemas across France. May they open as soon as it’s safe, because many of the filmmakers prominent in these social movements have new movies on the horizon. As the older generation retires, this newer group of progressive filmmakers is making waves on the festival scene, working from perspectives often denied or overlooked in mainstream cinema. French cinema is at a sort of crossroads, and the next Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Divines or BPM could be just around the bend.

Letterboxd members are well schooled in the power of Agnès, and Céline Sciamma has entered the worldwide critical sphere—and Letterboxd’s highest ranks—thanks to the success of Portrait of a Lady on Fire (🖼️🔥 forever), but there are many more French storytellers worthy of your watchlists. Alongside Sciamma, here are nine more for your consideration.

Céline Sciamma’s ‘Petite maman’.

Céline Sciamma

Coming soon: Petite maman Watch now: Water Lilies, Tomboy and Girlhood

Before her worldwide hit Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Céline Sciamma helmed a trilogy of acclaimed coming-of-age stories, Water Lilies, Tomboy and Girlhood. Her fifth feature, Petite maman, both lives in the world of this trilogy, and radically differs from the trio.

Petite maman premiered at the 2021 Berlinale, where the North-American rights were snapped up by NEON, Sciamma’s partner on Portrait’s release. In the film, Nelly (Joséphine Sanz) is eight years old when her grandmother dies, and she goes with her parents to help empty the house. One morning, her mother, Marion (Nina Meurisse) disappears, and she finds a young girl also named Marion (Gabrielle Sanz) building a fort in the same place her mother had as a child. A non-traditional view of motherhood, Petite maman’s supposed twist is never meant to be a twist at all, as this Miyazaki-like fairytale never tries to hide where Nelly’s mother really is.

Unlike other time-travel films, Petite maman is not concerned with physics. It’s a gentle act of love that blurs generational lines, answering the question of what it would be like to see life through your parents’ eyes at your age.

What Sciamma does here is radical even for her, creating an entire film that lies in a safer place of childhood. Where in Water Lilies, Girlhood and, especially relevant, Tomboy, shot in the same forests of Cergy, she depicts the full violence that comes with adolescence, the two young girls here console each other, and don’t have a camera on them for the rougher events of their childhoods.

Sciamma’s earlier films about youth feel like personal catharsis, but also unflinchingly show coercion, a child being outed, and teenage gang violence. With Petite maman, the two young girls are allowed to live in the more innocent parts of their childhoods, and though they deal with grief, worries of abandonment, and one nervously awaits a major surgery, Sciamma now tells a weighty story without needing to show pain on screen.

The end result is a warm, nostalgic film that isn’t bound by time period or the specifics of setting. It’s a live-action Ghibli fairytale that, despite having Sciamma’s youngest leads, has matured from her earlier work. The plays acted out by the children sometimes parallel their own stories, and once, in a scene of a countess and maid, almost seem to be calling back to past films, in this case Portrait of a Lady on Fire. Many times, including at the film’s Berlinale Q&A, Sciamma has said she does not write characters, but stories and situations to enter. This feels more than true with this latest effort, a steady hand extended to an audience, promising us that it will be okay, some day.

Alice Diop’s ‘We’.

Alice Diop

Coming soon: We (‘Nous’) Watch now: Towards Tenderness (‘Vers la Tendresse’)

Through the many shortcomings and scandals of France’s César Awards, a memorable win of recent years was Alice Diop’s 2017 award for best short film for Vers la Tendresse (Towards Tenderness), a prize she dedicated to victims of police violence. The film is a 38-minute poetic exploration of how men view sex and romance in the French banlieues (suburbs). One line in the film summarizes Diop’s central thesis: “It’s just hard to talk about love. We don’t know what it is.” These young men struggle to conceptualize love from what they are taught, and their flaws are laid bare in the name of understanding the limitations of masculinity.

Though more abstract, Diop’s new film, We, which had its premiere in the 2021 Berlinale industry selection, comes from a similar desire for collective understanding. The train line of the RER B crosses Paris from north to south, and with it, so does an attempt to connect fragmented stories around the city. The film heavily recalls the Varda tradition that a documentary can be made just by walking and waiting. Using a series of suburban vignettes, Diop is able to piece together a wildlife conservatory of ordinary lives, looking at her own community and trying to capture the warmer side of society. She talks to a mechanic, a writer, and even her own father, in a sort of David Attenborough of human landscapes. We weaves through parts of the city with overwhelmingly Black and immigrant populations, building a nostalgic breed of documentary not focused on the gotcha! reveal.

Rebecca Zlotowski’s ‘An Easy Girl’ (2019).

Rebecca Zlotowski

Coming soon: Les enfants des autres Watch now: An Easy Girl (‘Une fille facile’)

Writer and director Rebecca Zlotowski has steadily released a film every three years since 2010. Her stories have centered on Jewish and North-African characters, and her television series Savages, based on a series of novels from Sabri Louatah, focuses on the attempted assassination of a fictional Arab President-elect in France. Very little has been spilled about Zlotowski’s newest film, Les enfants des autres, which began shooting in March. We know that Virginie Efira and Roschdy Zem are attached, and there were casting calls looking for children, and for extras for a scene set in a synagogue.

Though each of her four previous features have their strengths—and I’m even partial to Planetarium, an overzealous magical-realist film about American sisters with a supernatural gift, set in the Parisian film industry around the rise of anti-semitism—2019 Cannes selection An Easy Girl, readily accessible on Netflix, is a choice pick. Notable for its controversial casting of Zahia Dehar, who became infamous for relations with the French national football team while an underage sex worker, this choice proved to be a clever deception in a film about how women said to be easy with men are dismissed.

Dehar plays the older cousin to newcomer Mina Farid’s Naïma, a sixteen year old who longs for her cousin’s seemingly glamorous lifestyle. Naïma soon learns this life isn’t just fashion, but about learning to please wealthy men in order to get what she wants, while never having to give too much of herself away. While most of the director’s closest contemporaries are pioneers of a coherent movement of female gaze, Zlotowski chooses here to shoot through a decidedly male gaze, challenging her audiences’ perceptions of how they treat her characters before we come to understand them.

Also noteworthy is Zlotowski’s debut feature Dear Prudence, based around a diary she’d found in the street. Starring a very young Léa Seydoux as a seventeen-year-old girl who joins a motorcycle gang after the death of her mother, the film’s unique source material makes this Zlotowski’s most intimate film.

Julia Ducournau’s ‘Raw’ (2016).

Julia Ducournau

Coming soon: Titane Watch now: Raw (‘Grave’)

Julia Ducournau’s cult-favorite, coming-of-age, cannibal gorefest Raw quickly made her a name to watch. When Garance Marillier’s Justine tastes meat for the first time at a veterinary-school hazing, it awakens a cannibalistic desire within her. Shot as one would an erotic realization, Raw is at its essence an uncontrollable thread of self discovery.

Already backed by NEON for US distribution, with a possible mid-2021 release date, Ducournau’s follow-up Titane looks to be a wild thriller, if somewhat more traditional than the teenage “monstrous feminine” body-horror of her early work. Much of the production has been kept under wraps, but we know Vincent Lindon stars alongside newcomer Agathe Rousselle. Lindon plays the father of a mysterious young man named Adrien LeGrand, who is found in an airport with a swollen face, claiming to be a boy who had disappeared ten years before. Ducournau is a filmmaker unafraid to shy away from the provocative, and Titane is all but guaranteed a major platform come premiere.

Catherine Corsini’s ‘La Fracture’ (2021).

Catherine Corsini

Coming soon: The Divide (‘La fracture’) Watch now: Summertime (‘La belle saison’), An Impossible Love (‘Un amour impossible’)

Coming a generation before many of the other filmmakers here, Catherine Corsini is best known for her complex romantic dramas. Her most recent are the 1970s feminist-tinged Summertime (2015), starring Cécile de France and Izïa Higelin as a couple torn between rural farmlands and Paris, and An Impossible Love (2018), a novelistic chronicle of a couple (Niels Schneider and Virginie Efira) as their relationship sours from 1958 to the present day.

Summertime, which is currently available to rent or buy in the US, is Corsini’s first film to consciously depict a relationship between two women (though 2001’s Replay is ambiguous as to what is happening between Pascale Bussières and Emmanuelle Béart’s characters). The young lovers learn what freedoms they gain and lose between the pastoral countryside, and the feminist organizers they run with in Paris. It’s a fairly standard romantic arc, but illuminates a fiery counter-culture feminist era, and is a staunchly progressive film from a national cinema built so firmly upon a more traditional view of seduction.

La fracture, Corsini’s latest (and the third film produced by her life partner Elisabeth Perez) centers on yet another couple (Marina Foïs and Valeria Bruni-Tedeschi) who are on the verge of breaking up when a demonstration outside causes tensions to rise at the hospital they’re confined within. A relationship under strain alongside French protest culture? Extremely French subject matter indeed.

Claire Burger’s ‘Real Love’ (2018).

Claire Burger

Coming soon: Foreign Language (‘Langue étrangère’) Watch now: Real Love (‘C’est ça l’amour’)

Most likely known for her Clouzot-tinged music video for Kompormat’s ‘De mon âme à ton âme’, starring Adèle Haenel, Claire Burger is a filmmaker heavily rooted in location. Her past films, including a graduation short and two features, have been set in the north-eastern town of Forbach, where she grew up, just fifteen minutes from the German border. This looks to be a thread that runs through her next film: Foreign Language is about a friendship between two girls who live on either side of the French-German border. BPM producer Marie-Ange Luciani is set to produce; a poster for BPM made a cameo in Burger’s last feature, Real Love.

A personal story, Real Love is one of non-traditional fatherhood and a family that does not rely on masculinity. When his wife leaves, Mario (Bouli Lanners) is left to raise his two teenage daughters in their small town, all while taking part in a community-theater production. Most of the film is told from the perspective of the younger daughter (Justine LaCroix), experiencing first love with a girl from school, who doesn’t seem to want anything serious.

Notably, after her debut and a lengthy series of short films, this was the first time Burger, who edits her own films, cast professional actors, in the case of Lanners and Antonia Buresi (as a theater director). Yet it is the performance of the actresses playing the sisters that most touched the hearts of Letterboxd fans—as Lyd writes, “Maybe it was the opera music or the fantastic performances by Justine Lacroix and Sarah Henochsberg as the daughters, but it just affirmed so many things about life choices and the tipsy-turvy nature of love as just, everything.”

Marie Amachoukeli’s ‘Party Girl’ (2014).

Marie Amachoukeli

Coming soon: Rose Hill Watch now: Party Girl

A rare non-Sciamma project backed by producer Bénédicte Couvreur, Marie Amachoukeli’s solo debut is much anticipated, after Party Girl, where she was one-third of a directing trio with Claire Burger and Samuel Theis (who is shooting a feature of his own titled Petite Nature). Outside the collaborations with Burger, which began in film school, Amachoukeli is screenwriting for a number of films including Franco Lolli’s The Defendant, and has collaborated with animator Vladimir Mavounia-Kouka on two shorts, The Cord Woman and I Want Pluto to Be a Planet Again. A synopsis has yet to be released for Rose Hill, but in an old interview with Brain magazine, Amachoukeli mentioned searching for backers for a lesbian spy comedy.

Party Girl is essentially docu-fiction, with actors cast as versions of themselves building an authentic troupe of real people. Though it’s a collaboration, Amachoukeli shines as a screenwriter, introducing the story of a bar hostess who still lives the partying, single life of a woman in her twenties, despite having reached sixty. She is thrown when a man asks her to marry him, and she must reconstruct her outlook on love. From such young filmmakers, Party Girl is a sensitive portrait of an imperfect, ageing woman, which feels so rare in a cinematic landscape that longs for a fountain of youth.

Audrey Diwan’s ‘Happening’ (2021).

Audrey Diwan

Coming soon: Happening (‘L’evenement’) Watch now: Losing It (‘Mais vous êtes fous’)

French memoirist Annie Ernaux works by reconstructing her life over and over as time passes. One of her more well-known books, L’évènement, retraces her experiences trying to get an abortion in 1963, during a time when the procedure was banned in France.

Audrey Diwan—whose 2019 debut film Losing It follows a pair of young parents (the always-charming Pio Marmaï and Céline Sallette) working through the father’s spiral into addiction and recovery—has a knack for solid performances. She’s able to write a relationship under strain with nuance, and Céline Sallette’s character shows strength as a mother choosing between protecting her children and repairing her relationship to their troubled but good-hearted father, whom she still loves dearly. This skill for writing family should pair well with Ernaux’s deeply personal prose.

Happening sweeps up a small army of promising young actors: Being 17 star Kacey Mottet Klein, and Portrait of a Lady on Fire and School’s Out supporting breakout Luana Bajrami, appear alongside lead actress Anamaria Vartolomei. Her character, Anne, is a bright student who risks everything once her pregnancy starts showing, so that she can finish her studies. Audrey Diwan’s film isn’t the only Ernaux adaptation currently, with Danielle Arbid’s Passion Simple having premiered at Venice in 2020.

Claire Simon’s ‘I Want to Talk about Duras’ (2021).

Claire Simon

Coming soon: I Want to Talk About Duras Watch now: Mimi

One of few figures to bridge cinema and literature equally, Marguerite Duras was a social commentator on her world; she grew up poor in French-colonized Vietnam, took on a staunch leftist perspective, and developed a singular tone in her observational assertions. Duras’s 1975 film India Song, based on her novel of the same name, was a landmark in feminist film. Through a hypnotic structure (“a viewing experience like no other, one that touches all of the senses,” writes Carter on Letterboxd), India Song delivers a strong criticism of class and colonialism through its story of Anne-Marie Stretter (Delphine Seyrig), a French ambassador’s wife in 1930s Kolkata.

In I Want to Talk About Duras, writer-director Claire Simon (best known for her documentaries on the seemingly mundane) adapts a transcript of conversations between Duras (Emmanuelle Devos) and her much younger partner Yann Andréa Steiner (Swann Arlaud), in which the pair break down the codes of love and literature. These conversations were published in a book named after Steiner, who met Duras when he approached her after a screening of India Song.

The highlight of Simon’s previous work is Mimi, in which she settles down in the countryside with an old friend, and tells her life story over 105 minutes. Recently programmed as part of Metrograph’s Tell Me: Women Filmmakers series, it’s clear the film was selected for its authenticity. However, many Letterboxd members may heavily benefit from seeing The Graduation, her 2016 documentary about the famous Parisian film school La Fémis, and its difficult selection process. Most of the other filmmakers in this list passed through its gates, and Claire Simon’s Wiseman-lite documentary sheds light on the challenges these young people take upon themselves for a chance at a world-renowned filmmaking education.

Amandine Gay’s ‘Speak Up’ (2017).

Amandine Gay

Coming soon: A Story of One’s Own (‘Une histoire à soi’) Watch now: Speak Up (‘Ouvrir la voix’)

Amandine Gay has much to say about access to film school—and opportunities in the film industry—for those outside the mainstream. Initially on the radar for her Afro-feminist activism, Gay arrived on the cinema scene with Speak Up, a narrative reclamation focusing on the diaspora in France and Belgium.

Talking to Francophone Black women who may not be considered formal scholars, allowing her subjects to speak as experts on their own experiences, Gay disproves the idea that France is a race-blind society. She shoots mainly in regal close-ups and using natural light, allowing her subjects the clarity to speak for themselves, unfiltered. (And to put to bed the misconception that Black performers are harder to light, one of many important angles discussed in an excellent interview with Letterboxd member Justine Smith.)

Using family photos and home videos from subjects, Gay’s engaging documentary work is a mouthpiece to spark conversation. Her next documentary, Une histoire à soi, centers on transnational adoption and will likely take a similarly conversational approach in exploring a unique cultural divide; putting the microphone in front of those who can provide a first-person point of view. Though not officially backed yet, she’s also—for years!—teased a Black lesbian sommelier film on podcasts and in interviews. That’s a story that I hope won’t need much more maturing before we see it. A votre santé.

Related content

Feature-length French films by Women—Sarah’s list

The Official Top 100 Narrative Feature Films by Women Directors—featuring Portrait of a Lady on Fire at number one

Little White Lies: 100 Great Movies by Female Directors

Follow Sarah on Letterboxd

[ithebookhoarder]

Hiiiiiiiii! idk if you're taking requests but if you are, could you write #19 from physical affection prompt list (it's "peppering their face in kisses") for Tommy? PLEASE if you want to 😅 or #5 from the fluff list, whichever you like more 🤔

Both. Both is good ;) Here you are hon. Hope you enjoy x As always, I’ve tagged the prompt lists these were taken from for anyone who wants them :)

Fluff Prompt list: No. 5: ‘Oh, you’re jealous.’ (Tommy Shelby x Reader) & Physical Affection Prompts: No. 19 ‘Peppering their face in kisses’ 

Masterlist:

Tommy Shelby wasn’t always a patient man. If he wanted something he usually made sure he got it. 

Tonight was no different as you stormed up the stairs towards your shared bedroom, Tommy following you with a frustrated expression on his face. It was impressive to be honest. He often found it hard to be mad at you when you looked as beautiful as you did, still dressed in the emerald green gown you’d chosen for the evening’s festivities. 

However, the sullen expression on your face was all he could focus on as you marched ahead, continuing the silence you’d been giving him since you’d left the party an hour ago. 

“Alright then. Out with it.”

“Out with what?”

“You know what,” he cooed, narrowing his eyes as if to warn you not to play games. “Whatever it is that’s been bothering you since the party. I may need glasses but I’m not blind. I can see you’re upset about something.”

You sighed, ignoring him and choosing instead to make your way over to the vanity in the corner of the room. It was easier to concentrate on releasing your hair from its pins and not on the man stood watching you from the doorway. 

As soon as you did, you felt better, the tension easing away from the vice like strain it had put on your scalp. 

Beauty really was pain sometimes. Especially when it hadn’t worked as planned, your husband’s eyes still wandering across the room to other women in attendance that night. Or, more precisely, Lizzie.

Now, whilst you actually quite liked her and even considered her a friend to you, you had never been able to shake the suspicion that Tommy’s past with her was just that: the past. 

You knew that made you sound crazy. You knew it made you sound like a jealous woman, an irrational one, judging a woman for a life she’d had no choice but to endure as a way to survive… but you were human. You were in love, and you couldn’t help but worry your husband would one day be taken from you, either by a rival businessman, or a rival lover. 

“Y/N,” he pleaded, drifting over to stand behind you. His hands were warm and soft as they rose to rest on your shoulders, as if grounding you to him. “Talk to me, eh? I can’t help make it better if I don’t know what it is that’s bothering you.” 

“Oh, really, Tommy?” 

“Yes.”

“I… I just…” 

“Just what?” he coaxed, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. It was as if he knew how to slowly wear your resolve down, letting his soft touch draw out your answer as he continued to pepper kisses down you face, turning his attention to your neck and shoulders. 

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. “You play dirty, Tommy Shelby.”

“And what of it, Mrs Shelby?” he chuckled, eyes twinkling with mischief as he looked up meet your gaze in the mirror. The sight waiting was a debauched one, with your face flushed and chest heaving against your dress as his hands trailed up and down your skin. “You haven’t complained before.”

“That was before.”

“Before what?”

“Before I noticed that this is your way of distracting me. Manipulating me. Making me do or agree to whatever it is you want.”

 “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Tommy scoffed, pausing his ministrations to gently turn you so that you were now facing him. It was harder to ignore the desire in his eyes now, even more so as he dropped to his knees and stared up at you. “I just want you to be happy, Y/N. As happy as you make me every time I look at you and realise that I get to call you my wife.” 

The words made you sigh, your heart fluttering in response. Damn it. He knew exactly what to say. He always had. After all, he got you to agree to marry him, didn’t he? 

As if reminding you of that fact, you felt his hands take yours, his fingers gently toying with the gold band that sat on yours. 

“Then why do you do it, Tommy?”

“Do what?”

“Never look at me when we’re in public,” you whispered guiltily, as if embarrassed by your own insecurities. “You always disappear and talk to every other woman but me. It’s embarrassing. It’s like you’re bored by me.”

“Hey,” he warned, lifting a hand to your chin and making your eyes lock with his. “That’s not true. I could never get bored of you, Y/N. You know that. I love you more than I can ever say and I wish I knew how to make you understand that. If I’m talking to other women then it’s usually because it’s part of the business or some posh bastard has pushed her in my face.”

“So, what’s your excuse for Lizzie then?” 

Tommy froze. 

You watched as his features relaxed now that the heart of the matter had been established. You also watched the way his lips began to twitch, as if withholding the urge to smile. 

“Lizzie?” he repeated, a small laugh escaping him. “Oh, you’re jealous? That’s what this is about? The fact I spoke with Lizzie?”

“And danced with her. Three times, so don’t fucking laugh at me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are!” you snapped, pushing his hands off of you and attempting to turn back around. But Tommy was quick. Quicker than you gave credit for as he held you in place, his hands planted to the silk fabric covering your thighs. His grip was gentle though, if not firm. 

“I’m not,” he repeated softly, shaking his head. “I just think it’s flattering.”

“What is?”

“That you get jealous of me and Lizzie. I didn’t know you felt that way. As I told you, she’s just a friend. You’re my wife. You have nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” you conceded, taking a deep breath. You let his words linger between you, as if trying to absorb them so that they’d stick. “It’s just … I feel like you’ll get bored of me one day. I’m not dangerous or exciting like most of those women. I’m not from their worlds. I know you all think I’m naive and soft-“

“You know what I think? I think you’re wonderful,” Tommy purred, cutting you off before you could plummet further into your insecurities, just as you did for him when he was about to do the same. “I think you’re smart. Kind. Brave. Possibly insane for loving a mess of a man like me.”

You giggled as between each word he pressed a kiss to a different place on your face. If he’d been wearing rouge on his lips, he would have stained you in a wash of red kisses. 

“I also think you’re compassionate. A perfect wife. A loyal companion and business partner. And hopefully, one day, you’ll be the mother of our children, too.” 

The thought sent shivers of desire running through you, melting any final concerns from your soul as you allowed him to worship you. 

“I want that, Tommy. More than anything.”

“Then trust me,” he instructed, hands sliding temptingly up your body and pulling you into his lap. You knew exactly where he was taking this and you were more than willing to follow. “Can I take you to bed, wife of mine?”

You nodded. “You can take me anywhere, Tommy. As long as we’re together… but bed sounds like a good place to start. How else are we going to have those children?” 

Tommy didn’t need telling twice. You were in his arms and being carried towards your bed before you even had time to blink. Oh, it was going to be a great night after all.  

[ddullahan]

hadestown au 2

I HAVEN’T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THEM  it’s a constant brainrot tbh and i’m gonna throw the next chapter out because i’m experimenting with things so if you’re new here, welcome, and here’s the first chapter if you haven’t read it:  hadestown au 1 ------------ it’s a love song Music is everywhere in this world. From the hot, mosquito infested plantations to the coldest points of the north, it hums in the earth above and for what? It's off-key and discordant, but it follows the wind off the train tracks as if it has nowhere else to go. Yang remembers growing up on the tracks. She remembers singing with the winds, and hearing laughter in her ears. The Fates were always at the back of your mind, pulling you from choice to choice like there's fishing wire wrapped around your soul. Invisible, they beckon you away from home. They beckon you to the fires down below. She remembers thinking their voices sound unkind. It still sends shivers through her body. The idea that her destiny might not be good, or bright. But it’s not anything she’s dwelling on. She remembers her first melody. How it came from her tiny house hidden in the willows. Willows, with their long branches that wave in the breeze like the sleeves of a robe. Waving at the train, waving at her as she draws chalk flowers on her front porch. They're friendlier than the blues give them credit for, and when she was younger, she wanted the world to know. So she opened her mouth to sing, and the willows suddenly weren't weeping anymore. She loves those willows as much as she loves her guardian, and the little train station she finds herself crying in - but that's something for later. Yang's not crying as her hands dunk beneath soapy waves. She's humming, as she always is. Slow and soft, sponge scraping in time with the swinging door. Voices trip over themselves in the amphitheatre beyond. Everyone's excited for spring to come. The train is on its way. They just need to wait for the Queen to start their summer fun. Yang loves this time of year. There's dancing, and singing. Joy wraps around the rafters and the walls get painted in hope. It’s a rolling tide of an echoing chorus, too happy to be contained. She stacks the last clean plate into a bucket and dries her hands. She knows the festivities can't go on until the Queen’s grace touches the land - but there's something she has to do first, with these plates they've never used. She has to break them all. She has to meet her muse. It's a story that's already been written into the floors, Yang just needs to follow Fate’s wires threaded in her hole-y shoes. So without thinking too much, she swings around; picks up her bucket of dishes. She makes her way out from the kitchen. Except nothing can prepare her for the moment everything begins. Her feet slip into grooves she’s never noticed before. She’s thrown by the recognition worn into her soul - like this stranger across from her has touched it before. Like she’s already gone and marked Yang’s soul like a worry stone. Like she’s already pressed a divot in the shape of her thumb. Ink black hair set in short, fluffy waves. A sharp jaw and rich brown skin. There’s buttery yellow light in the walls that spill onto her face. It turns her lips into a plush, dark valley that Yang needs to sink her teeth in. She’s pulled away by the eyes, though. They're precious gold glinting with hints of amber. They're set under nightdark banners, black eyelashes that flutter like raven wings. They almost seem to glow with hunger. The sight is enough to knock the wind out of Yang's sails. To empty her lungs. There's something familiar in this awe. Aching and ancient, it moves her like there's fire at her feet. Suddenly there's a song building palaces in her chest, and she knows that melody like she knows her willows. She hears in the rafters. She knows its very nature. Yang's entire body yearns with the desire to sing. The world stops. And then resumes. As Yang's pale lilacs start to search gold eyes for that same, ancient ache - she has only seconds to understand something fundamental, and profound. That this is meant to be. That she’s known this woman's soul as long as she’s been alive to breathe. Longer, even. There’s something familiar in the mahogany of her cheeks. Something echoed by the trees. Maybe it’s because the song they sing is the same. Because willows are friendlier than the blues make them out to be, and Yang gets the feeling that this woman is not all she appears to be. Oh, Yang needs to know her again. The woman has a mouth that begs to be fed. She has a body that drowns in that tattered old coat. But it still makes Yang remember that she has an empty bed, in her house under the willows. She wants to offer shelter to those hollow cheeks. Though she swallows the urge like it's a handful of nails in her throat. There's enough pain in it to make her drop the forgotten bucket in her hands. The dishes shatter through the fuzziness in her ears. And it's only by a miracle that she gathers her wits. The miracle being Summer Rose in the form of guidance. She touches Yang's arm, asks her to get a broom. She has a knowing glint in her eye, but it's a little sad, too. Like she knows the world shifted two inches to the left. Like she’s known the story before it ever began. Yang snaps free of the binds in her feet. She jumps to attention, and makes a hasty retreat. Her hands are in her bangs within seconds of the door swinging shut. She stammers gibberish to Summer, who only smiles with love. "You want to talk to her?" She asks in a coo. "More than anything," Yang breathes. She's sure there's stars being born in her eyes. "Well, go on." Summer says. "But don't come on too strong, dear. She's still very new around here." "I won't!" Yang replies, already planning her wedding. "I'll - I'll take her to see the night sky, and I'll give her a melody! I'll sing songs about her eyes and show her the willows when they don't weep. I'll write her poems and maybe she'll agree to marry me-" "That's all well and good, dear," Summer laughs. She reaches up to pat Yang's cheek fondly. "But maybe you should start with your name. There's no rush." "No, but I feel like I've done this before." Yang presses an anxious fist to her chest. "I feel like she'll say yes." "Baby girl, you have such starlight in your eyes," Summer says softly, "And I support you regardless. But maybe, just for once... You should take your time with this." Yang frowns. Her heart doesn't want to wait. But Summer's face holds a deep, deep pain. Her silver eyes are gunmetal gray. She smiles, but still gives off an aura of resignation. It's the same look she wears when something is wrong, or will be soon. It has something to do with Yang, and the girl in the other room. Yang knows that age doesn't dare show it's face on Summer Rose. She looks young, for a goddess of course, but Yang doesn't know what she's seen. She doesn't know what it's like to live for eternity, though she tastes it a little when she sings. She doesn't know what it's like to be Hermes, but from the expression Missus Rose gives… it must be bad. All Yang really knows is that she took her in, when her muse of a mother abandoned her on the road. She knows that, and she knows how much she loves Summer Rose. So it's with her guardian on her mind, instead of the song bursting in her chest, that she says softly, "Okay, Missus Rose. I'll try my best." Summer double-takes. Her face is filled with surprise. The silver seems to slip back into her eyes with hope and wonder. "...Thank you, sweetheart." She says, stilted and unsure. "I'm just looking out for you." "I know." Yang smiles, blinding and bright. "You always are." Yang doesn't remember when she grew taller. She just knows that Summer, in her fast steps and suited splendor, has never really admitted that she was Yang's mother. Though that never stopped her from loving Yang just as hard. So Yang bends down, and gives the goddess' forehead a kiss. She admits to her shyly, "You're a good mom. One of the best, I think." Summer's eyes fill with tears, but none of them fall. She murmurs thickly, "When did you get so tall?" "Don’t know," Yang laughs, "Time really flies when you blink." "Mm." Summer gives a sweet grin. "Don't you have a girl you need to meet?" Yang's face flushes in red. Summer hums thoughtfully; skips away too fast to see. She's back with a soda, and hands it to Yang with a wink. "Try this for an icebreaker," She says, "You'd do well to take off the cap for her." "Th-thank you!" Yang squawks in surprise. Her usual honeyed voice cracks way too high. She blushes harder, but Summer is already ushering her out the door. It swings shut, and she is alone on the floor. The girl - woman, rather - is huddled at a table with her head bowed down. She's hovering over a ratty backpack that's probably seen a thousand towns, a thousand homes, and a thousand trains. She looks weathered, and cold. Yang desperately wants to wrap her up and make her warm. She needs to know her name. So she takes her first step, and then the next. Crawling over to her awkwardly, the bottle held to her chest. It's mechanical, the way she pops off the bottle cap. The way she watches it slip from her shaking fingers. Lets it clatter over to fingerless gloves. She sees a flash of gold hidden beneath those black lashes. She's struck stupid by the way they almost glow in their sockets. And they meet, lilacs to amber. And her heart screams, marry her, marry her. She feels a hole rip open in her chest. It gapes with awe and wonder. It consigns her to no other lover except the woman she swears she's already met.   The song in the rafters starts over, and Yang just stands. There's so much hunger set in the woman's face. It's a landscape of starvation, with valleys built from sharp cheekbones and soft black waves. Despite the insistence of the muscle in her chest, Yang takes a breath, and her wedding plans go out the window. Her every ounce of confidence seems to dwindle until the last of it drips from her fingers. Those gold eyes are suddenly too much. There's a strange, visceral fear in Yang's bones. It pulses in veins of gold. It's foreign, and old. It bleeds with desperation. She knows for a fact she's been down this road. That this lovely creature has held her hand before, and turned away. Promises stick to her throat and rot. Fruit of the vine filled with blight, and not a cure to be seen. A cycle that repeats. A tragedy that has always been. Visions of a future long past. A die that’s already been cast. It's all too much. Her heart seizes, and Yang - for once in her life - runs. She turns and wobbles her way back to the kitchen. She feels those haunting eyes burning into her shoulders. Palatial notes and flowering verses twist in her chest longingly. The song she feels inside her like a heartbeat starts to wail at the absence of her muse's name. The emptiness sits black in the cavern of her ribs, silent as a grave. She wants to turn back... but her feet won't obey.

[satan-ruler-of-hells]

Of Pandas And Possibilities

Hey guys! So, after endlessly discussing third year Yamaguchi with @pies-writes-and-more I decided to indulge just a little. I'm lowkey happy with this so I really hope you guys enjoy! A huge thank you to Pies for pretty much giving me the energy to post it! I love you (this totally wasn't lowkey written for you nope that would be ridiculously ridiculous)

So I tried to write this with a gender-neutral reader, if you see anything please let me know!

Yamaguchi x Reader

Your stomach had been doing flips for hours. You'd completely finished getting ready over an hour before Yamaguchi told you he'd be by to pick you up but you couldn't help it. This was your first date as a couple and you were so excited and also scared out of your mind. You and Yams had been dancing around each other for years, always pushing, always testing the waters but never diving in for fear of what would be waiting for you at the bottom, and if it would ever be worth the risk. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had befriended you over the summer before first year and grew closer as you attended Karasuno and followed them on their volleyball journey, always supporting them however you could.

You’d always been more fond of Yamaguchi over Tsukishima, the blonde’s crassness more often than not rubbing you wrong, while Tadashi’s subtlety entranced you. (You were not naive, you were very much aware that Yamaguchi was just as mean as Tsukishima under that adorably freckled face, he just wasn’t as upfront about it as Tsukki was.) You’d begun to realize just how much fonder in your second year, which in a moment of panic and ( though you would never admit it) fear you squished all the butterflies in your stomach and told the caterpillars they were on thin fucking ice.

Third-year came around and promptly knocked you on your ass. You hadn’t seen either of your friends much over the break, they were consumed with volleyball camps and university applications and you struggled under the scholarship deadlines and the general responsibilities that came with being the oldest sibling in a one-parent household. So on the first day when Yamaguchi came into the homeroom wrapping you in a hug and lifting you off your feet, to say you were floored was an understatement. He’d grown in more ways than one in the time you’d been apart, from his height to his hair which he’d had tied back into a bun at the moment. Hours in the sun brought a beautiful tan to his skin and made his freckles more pronounced, months of work bulking his entire frame, where before he was a lean and small boy, now a solid, broad-shouldered muscled man. Behind him, Tsukishima cleared his throat with a knowing smirk gracing his face which you desired nothing more than to slap off.

Amongst the physical changes brought from under the summer sun came a few less noticeable ones unless you knew what you were looking for. Before he’d hidden in the shadow cast by Tsukishima comfortable to let him take the lead, now he’d stood beside him, confidence in every step, a sun in his own right. It was your turn to fumble on your words when he openly flirts with you, your face warming considerably. The dance you had been playing had sped up, him taking the lead twirling you around until you were breathless and dizzy.

You remember the night he asked if you’d allow him to be your boyfriend, walking home from your weekly movie night after dropping Tsukishima off at his house. His jacket draped sound your shoulder to fight the chill of the October air and his hand in yours, you were positive that the stars were merely a poor imitation of the sparkle in his eyes. You’d rolled your eyes with a “Took you long enough Tadashi” and his laughter followed you up the stairs and into your dreams.

A week later saw you here, looking into the mirror and resisting the urge to change for the millionth time, instead trying to find something to occupy you while you waited for him to arrive. Your mom just laughed at your flustered state,

“Y/N the boy has seen you in sweatpants and a t-shirt after not showering for three days when you caught that stomach bug and he still asked you out. I doubt he’d even notice if you wore a potato sack, he’s usually too busy looking at you.”

The doorbell rang and you, ignoring the warmth in your face and the swarm of butterflies in your stomach, opened the door revealing a grinning Tadashi. Watching his eyes widen and cheeks redden made your stomach do a swan dive and you thought, maybe your mom had a point.

With promises to be careful and home at a respectable hour, you and Yamaguchi set off toward your destination, a festival of sorts with carnival games and amusement rides that was in town for the next few days. As you slipped into easy conversation with him, you wanted to laugh at yourself for the way you’d talked yourself up. This was Tadashi Yamaguchi, one of your best friends in the entire world, and yes the parameters of your relationship had changed but that still remained. Just now you could hold his hand whenever you wanted and his arm rested comfortably around your shoulder like it was meant to be there.

With the nerves from earlier forgotten, you proceeded to have what you were willing to bet was the best first date in history. From laughing as you watched him try, and successfully do so, win a ridiculously oversized stuffed panda which he presented to you with a smile that made your heart flutter, to clinging to his arm on the drop tower despite insisting you weren’t scared of heights,” I-I’m fine- quit laughing Yams it’s so not funny-”

A few hours later saw you both dragging your feet on your way back to your house wearing Tadashi’s hoodie and him chivalrously carrying that giant panda y’all had affectionately named Patches after his eye had popped off when Yam’s hugged its head just a little too tight prompting his eyes to widen and resulting in you getting a stitch in your side from laughing so hard. His hand was warm in yours, thumb brushing absentmindedly against his knuckles unable to tear your eyes from him. The moonlight shining off his dark hair, eyes illuminated with mirth and something you were sure was mirrored in yours, pure adoration and, at least on your part, love. The realization spreads warmth through you, settling comfortably in your chest and you resist the urge to blurt it out right then, ‘one day,’ you thought to yourself.

You arrived home way too quickly for your liking and if the way Yamaguchi was stalling you figured he’d felt the same. Standing there on your front porch, neither of you said a word, content to bask in the other's presence as long as you could before the inevitable. You were the first to break the silence,

“Thank you for tonight, I had a really amazing time.” You couldn’t fight the shy grin that crept on your face.

“I did too, I’m glad that you had a good time I mean.” He grins, scratching the back of his head nervously, face turning a brilliant pink.

“So… goodnight I guess, text me when you get home?”

“ Of course, goodnight Y/N.”

You were sure you were imagining the hesitation in his voice, but then again you weren’t ready to watch him leave either, sure that the second he did you would wake up, this being nothing but a glorious dream. You watched him walk across the yard to the sidewalk before reluctantly turning to open your door, stopped by a quick call of your name. You turned back around coming face to face with Yamaguchi who was breathing heavily. You saw a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before hearing him mutter, “Fuck it.” under his breath. Then all you could see were fireworks, and it took you a second to register what happened.

Tadashi’s lips were soft against yours, his hands gently cradling your face, you could feel him trembling against you from the nerves. He must’ve mistaken your shock for disinterest for you could feel him tense but before he could pull back you wrapped your arms around his neck returning the kiss with vigor, feeling him relax against you, his hands dropping from your face to rest against your hips. Every point where Yamaguchi touched you felt like fire, electricity burning through your veins. Yes, it was nervous and messy and new but it was him and real and amazing and you don’t think it could’ve been any more perfect.

He quickly proved you wrong with the kiss that followed.

Taglist: @thisnoodlewritesao3

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Kiro’s Poetry and Wine Date (Eng Translation)

🍒 Warning: Detailed spoilers for a date yet to be released in EN! 🍒

Candlelit Night Collection: Gavin // Lucien // Victor

Trivia regarding the name of the date:

The date is called 诗酒趁年华, a reference to a poem called 望江南 (”wang jiang nan”) by Su Shi, a Song Dynasty poet

A loose translation - “Write poems and drink wine - take advantage of the age.”

This poem conveys how you must make full use of youth to pursue your dreams - it’s the time you’re most energetic, aggressive and courageous 

-

[ CHAPTER ONE ]

The date begins with MC in the office and realising she missed several calls from Kiro

When she calls him, he sounds really really sad :<

He states that he’s in the hospital

Without waiting for him to finish, MC hangs up the phone so she can hurry over

It turns out that Kiro was in the hospital to visit a fan, who is suffering from cancer

Kiro: [in the saddest voice ever] When she was diagnosed with late stage cancer, she planned to break up with her long-time boyfriend. But he decided to get a wedding certificate immediately and hold a wedding. Isn’t it very moving? 

He explains that after the wedding, the fan’s condition worsened, and she only has a few months left to live

Kiro: [sighs] When I just found out about it, I was really sad. [sniffs] But after you came, I feel a lot better. 

MC: Why is that so?

Kiro: Because I still want to believe that love can prolong one’s life. 

He looks into my eyes, his gaze twinkling with a strange light. 

Kiro: I believe miracles will happen. It definitely wouldn’t just be a few months. Maybe it’d be a year, two years, ten years... a lifetime. 

There is a tinging sensation in my nose, and I’m unable to suppress the tears in my eyes from flowing.

MC: Mm, I also believe so.

Kiro: Don’t be sad.

Kiro wipes my tears with his fingertips gently.

Kiro: Even though I couldn’t attend the wedding, the bride looked very happy in the recording. Happier than anyone else in the world. 

MC: She must have experienced the happiness from a wedding. 

I blink hard, suppressing my tears. Even though this story is filled with sorrow, it also feels romantic and happy at the same time. 

Kiro: Which is why I’ve decided to shoot a short film, in order to prolong that moment of happiness. 

Kiro explains that he will be the director and male lead in the film

As for the female lead...

MC: Who’s the female lead? Is she an actress I know?

Kiro: You definitely know her. 

MC: Not necessarily...

Kiro: This is the first time I’m a director, so for the other lead in this “wedding”... I could only think of you.

-

Phone call between Kiro and the fan: here

-

[ CHAPTER TWO ]

After a recording, Kiro sits in the backseat of the car. He looks out at the night scenery outside the window, and suddenly reveals a happy expression.

Kiro: She agreed.

He says this very softly, but it sounds abrupt in the quiet car. In the front seat, Savin whips his head around, his eyes filled with a cautious “what are you trying to do this time?”

Savin: Who agreed? Agreed to what? 

Kiro: I said before that I was going to shoot a short film for the fans. Miss Chips agreed to be my female lead!

Savin: MC? She can’t... wait, it seems she’s better than other actors within the circle. At least she wouldn’t try to rub off from your popularity. 

Within a short span of a minute, Savin’s words twist and turn numerous times. 

Kiro: You’ve agreed?!

Savin: No, I didn’t agree. I was just saying that her status isn’t bad, not that her acting skills are passable. 

Kiro: I’m not worried about that at all.

Savin: Why do you have so much faith in her? 

Kiro: Because I’m the groom!

Kiro speaks with exceptional confidence. After hearing this, Savin rubs his temples.

Savin: I’m starting to suspect that you’re shooting this short film with an ulterior motive in mind. 

Kiro: What ulterior motive? The reason for the shoot has always been simple. 

There is confusion in Kiro’s expression. After giving him a long stare, Savin gives up and retracts his gaze. 

Savin: That would be best. 

After Savin turns his head back to the front, Kiro secretly sticks out his tongue. 

Kiro: [whispering] I am a tiny bit selfish. But... I won’t tell anyone.

He still has many things to prepare. For instance, the location of the wedding shoot, the attire they would wear that day, and purchasing one particular item. 

That “token of love”... she will definitely like it, right?  

Thinking about this, Kiro is unable to control the corners of his lips from curling upwards. 

-

[ CHAPTER THREE ]

The day of the filming arrives. After helping MC with her outfit and make-up, the make-up artist leaves the room. Soon after, MC hears a knock at the door. She lifts up part of her head veil and opens the door.

MC: Kiro? 

I’m stunned for a second. He also seems to be frozen. His eyes contain undisguised shock, and scarlet slowly creeps up his cheeks. 

Kiro: I came to find you. 

Kiro is wearing a matching set of wedding attire. His golden hair has been tied with a ribbon. Such a bright colour makes him look as though he came out from a painting.

Kiro: Are you the only one in the room? 

He leans over, using his hand to lift up the other end of the veil. I subconsciously place my forefinger to my lips, signalling him to keep his voice down. 

But he simply winks and laughs happily. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, you look really pretty. Even more gorgeous than I imagined.

The dim sunlight does not reach this corner of the room. Dappled light passes through the lattice window. This moment seems to be slowed down infinitely, turning it into frames of light and shadow.

His eyes gleam, and the tenderness within them are reminiscent of a puddle of water, gently flowing across my heart. 

MC: W-what are you doing here? 

I try to dodge from his line of sight, but Kiro doesn’t allow me to leave. He grasps my hand and brings it to his lips. The gentle touch is like a lingering feather.

Kiro: I’m just wondering... what if I could take you away right now...

His serious tone doesn’t sound like he’s joking. I’m at a loss, waiting for him to continue. Then, he releases my hand.

Kiro: Did I scare you? I was actually just kidding. I wanted to see how you looked like in wedding attire immediately, so I secretly came over. 

MC: You...

I’m about to say something, but impending footsteps resound from outside the door, followed by knocking.

MC: Someone’s here!

She hides him near the window just as the makeup artist comes in

[Trivia: In Chinese tradition, it is considered “inappropriate” for the bride and groom to see each other the day or the night before the wedding.]

From behind, Kiro places something in her palm

Once the makeup artist is gone, Kiro asks whether she likes it - it’s the Fairy Pendant from the previous Qixi Festival (i.e. Kiro’s Valentine’s Night Date)

MC: Why is this with you? 

Kiro: Because this wedding requires a token of love. I think it’s very suitable. 

[Trivia: Tokens of love are used as promises between lovers. Unlike rings and roses in Western cultures, the ancient Chinese people were more casual. A comb, a hairpin, or even half a mirror could be used as a token of love. The value of the item itself isn’t as important as the emotions attached to it.]

Filled with nostalgia, I toy with the Fairy Pendant in my hand. I still feel slightly confused. 

MC: The script doesn’t seem to have a jade pendant involved though.

Kiro: The script... well, I have the final say!

Along with Kiro’s words, an assistant calls him from outside the room.

Kiro: Wait for me to fetch you!

His tender voice enters my ears, as light and soft as a drifting cloud. It makes one’s heart sink into it. 

[Trivia: In traditional Chinese weddings, the groom will journey to the bride’s family home on the day of the wedding to fetch her (接亲 - “jie qin”). Before he can get to his bride, he has to get past her bridesmaids by satisfying a number of tasks.]

-

[ CHAPTER FOUR ]

Watching Kiro’s retreating figure, I suddenly have the urge to ask him to stay.

As if he can sense my thoughts, he turns his head right before he leaves the courtyard, forming a “wait for me” with his mouth. 

A warmth enters my heart, and I nod my head vigorously. I return into the room, waiting for him to “fetch me”.

The “wedding” officially starts at dusk

MC stands at the doorway, waiting for the first scene

Kiro appears on a HORSE.

After the scene:

Kiro: Miss Chips, didn’t I look very cool just now?

Heat is still emanating from his body from the earlier exercise, and I subconsciously take half a step back.

MC: Yes, everyone was in a daze!

Receiving my approval, he crinkles his eyes and looks contented. 

Kiro: I’m guessing you were in a daze too. Are you ready for the next shoot?

MC: Mm, but I’m still a little nervous. What if I trip and fall because I can’t see? What if my expression doesn’t look natural when you remove the veil...

Counting on my fingers, I list down everything I’m worried about. 

Kiro: In that case, we can film it over and over again. Besides...

He lowers his head to my ear, in a volume only the two of us can hear. 

Kiro: I want you to experience the happiness of being a bride, and not just for the film.

After calming down, she puts on the veil

Kiro: I’m here to fetch you - my bride. 

MC: Mm.

Surrounded by the noise of gongs and drum, MC is carried over the threshold, then led down the red carpet

Kiro: From now onwards, you can leave everything to me. There’s still a lot in our future...

He speaks incredibly solemnly. His lines bring with it a touch of sadness, but infinite hope afterwards. 

MC: I believe so too.

I place my hand in his, and he leads me into the sedan. The little sedan sways, and my heartbeat seems to follow its ups and downs, unable to stop for a moment. 

I used to hear of people complaining that weddings are cumbersome and tiring.  But right now, the feelings I’m experiencing are incomparable to everything else.

When I disembark from the sedan, one end of an embroidered silk ball is placed into my hand. Its other end is held tightly by Kiro.

Master of Ceremonies: Things which are destined will eventually come to pass. Even across a thousand miles, people destined to marry are connected by a thread. 

I am led by this red silk, passing through the crowd and crossing the threshold. I can’t see the people surrounding me, nor can I see the cameras. 

I can only see the patterns on my skirt moving while I walk. The end of the red silk sways gently. Only one name is written in my mind and heart: Kiro.

-

They carry out the wedding procession, and MC is glad she's wearing a veil to hide her blush

The next scene happens in the newlywed room, and he removes her veil

Kiro: Because of this moment, I feel that everything is worth it.

The affection in his eyes makes it difficult for me to breathe. The candlelight flickers, casting a red glow on every corner of the room, giving a certain charm to everything before me.

For a moment, I can’t differentiate what’s in the film and what is not. Kiro holds up a pair of wine cups linked together with a red thread, and hands one to me. 

I take the wine cup, shifting my eyes furtively to look at him. I avert them when I meet his scorching ones. 

Our arms are linked with each other, and the distance leaves me unable to avoid his eyes. His breath infiltrates my body.

Kiro and I raise our heads at the same time, downing the wine.

[Trivia: Linking arms and drinking wine (交杯酒 - “jiao jiu bei”) is a traditional Chinese wedding custom. This is because the Chinese word “wine” (酒 - “jiu”) sounds like the Chinese word “long time” (久 - “jiu”). This act symbolises how the couple will be together forever... T^T)

We agreed earlier that the wine in the cup would be swapped with water. However, I taste a slight sweetness. I look towards Kiro in shock, and he winks at me secretly.

-

[ CHAPTER FIVE ]

During a break, Kiro brings her outside to the streets and brings her to a restaurant

Kiro feeds her a leaf-shaped dessert, then finishes the remaining half of it (causing MC to blush because indirect kisses are just so SPICY 👀)

The restaurant gives them a free dessert they’ve never seen before

Kiro tries it and realises it’s extremely spicy

Kiro: Whoa huff huff, water!

He frantically reaches for the cup on the table. Before I can stop him, he downs the entire cup.

Kiro: W-why is it wine?!

MC: Here! Water!

I hurriedly stuff my cup into his hands. He gulps it down, then plops onto the table weakly.

Kiro: [groans] I’m finally back to life...

MC: Are you all right now? 

I reach out to brush his bangs to the side. Despite the cold winter, sweat droplets are on his forehead due to the earlier incident. 

Kiro: I’m fine. I actually feel like having another piece now that the spiciness is gone... why does the boss always like to experiment with these strange things?

Kiro comments that the boss’ wine is amazing, so MC takes a sip

They drift into a peaceful silence

Kiro: Actually, I have a selfish motive for shooting this short film...

Kiro’s posture is rather casual. Without realising it, he has finished half a pot of wine. The collar of his clothes has fallen apart, and there is a drunken look in his eyes.

One hand is holding onto the wine cup, and the other is supporting his chin as he looks at me. There is an undisguised joy in his eyes, and a look of intoxicated longing.

Kiro: Miss Chips, I... want you to become my wife. 

Perhaps due to his drunken state, his words are especially straightforward. It’s as though he’s saying something that's completely natural.

I’m unable to hide when faced with such straightforwardness. There’s a sudden tingling sensation in my nose, and the happiness in my heart is about to overflow.

MC: Mm!

Kiro’s eyes crinkle as he continues, his clear eyes reflecting only me. 

Kiro: Once the filming is over, we can give this short film to the audience together. Our names will be put together. Just like on a wedding invitation. It will say: Kiro and Miss Chips.

As he speaks, he fails to control the upward curl of his lips. 

MC: Why are you so happy?

Kiro: Because...

He tilts his head and thinks for two seconds, then responds with certainty. 

Kiro: People from ancient times often said that there are four great things in life: Rain after a long drought, meeting an old friend in a distant land, success in the imperial examinations, and... the wedding night.

His breath turns into a white mist, dissipating in the thin rays of light. The noises from our surroundings seem to disappear, and even the cold melts in his eyes.

Kiro: The wedding night.  

He repeats. The words on the tip of his tongue seem to be dyed in the scorching warmth of his breath.

Kiro reaches out and brings a lock of my hair to his lips, giving it a kiss. We are only separated by a small and narrow table in the middle. 

Kiro: Even though my wish has already been fulfilled, I still want more. Am I being too greedy?

I have no idea how to respond. His eyes are scorching, making my heart feel flustered. 

Reason tells me to shift backwards, but I don’t move at all. I watch as he leans closer, and wait for his breath to enter my territory like a patter of rain.

Suddenly, the corner of the table reaches its limit and flips sideways. Kiro, whose hand was on the table and is unable to react in time, falls towards me. 

MC: !

The red ribbon in my line of sight flies. Before I can react, I fall heavily onto the couch, but Kiro has subconsciously protected my head by placing his hand behind it.

Kiro: Are you hurt? 

Our clothes are tangled, and our loose hair is spread out under us. His arm is at my ear, supporting himself, and the shadow he casts has almost completely enveloped me. 

The spilt wine on the couch emits a fragrance, causing the temperature of the room to rise. 

With our close distance, our breathing quickens and becomes ragged. It’s as though we are taking up each other’s space to breathe, and yet are unwilling to move away. 

Kiro: Miss Chips, close your eyes. 

Only after a few seconds can my mind comprehend his words. But Kiro doesn’t wait. 

Under the swaying lights, everything in front of me seems to emit pure light. His eyelashes sweep across gently, like a butterfly’s wing. His lips are soaked in wine and stained with a lustre.

In the next second, my lips and tongue are claimed by Kiro’s scorching breath.

I close my eyes, wrapping my arms around his neck. 

The darkness amplifies my senses. Noises from the street and from people, and the sound of footsteps seem to be right at my ear. 

My heart beats rapidly, trying to break free from my chest. 

Kiro: Miss Chips...

In a half-lidded daze, I see Kiro’s tender gaze, the hazy lights and shadows, and the ends of our hair entangled together. 

Kiro: Having you... is really nice. 

I tighten my grip, bringing him closer into my arms. 

-

In this corner of Loveland City, on this ordinary winter night, Kiro hugs the girl in his arms, fully satisfied. 

There are still many things he has yet to tell her-

“It was fate which allowed us to meet. It was only when I met you that the ‘nucleus’ belonging to Kiro started to operate. 

It’s you who enabled me to become a star.”

-

[ CHAPTER FIVE: Extras ] 

Kiro: Miss Chips, your face is really red.

After the shoot is over, Kiro suddenly says this. After being stunned for a moment, I respond without thinking.

MC: Your face is really red too.

As Savin walks past hurriedly, he hears our conversation and asks in bewilderment:

Savin: Why are both of your faces so red?

Kiro: It’s because... [sheepish laugh]

MC: I-it’s a little hot! Maybe I stuck on too many heat packs!

Savin: You two can open the window to get some air. Be careful not to catch a cold.

Kiro opens the window, and he starts musing about how Western weddings are romantic, but Chinese weddings have a certain solemnity to them:

Kiro: You only have one life, and you only have one person. Kowtow to the heaven and the earth, drink from linked wine cups, and the rest of our lives will belong to each other.

Kiro shares his fears of not being able to convey his thoughts to the audience through the film

While MC assures him that everything will turn out well, she brushes against the Fairy Pendant

She wonders why it wasn’t featured in the film

Kiro ties it onto her waist

[Trivia: Jade pendants are believed to bring people good luck, and protect its owner’s body and spirit from harm. The colour green in jade also signifies balance, wealth, fertility, luck, harmony, and long life - qualities essential for every happy marriage.]

Kiro: Since you’ve accepted my jade pendant, you belong to me now!

MC: What...?!

Before I can even express my confusion, my hands are held tightly in his.

His fingertips are warm, as though they are about to melt the air. Time passes slowly, brewing this moment into a beautiful dream.

[honeytea8]

Virtue & Vice • Dio Brando/Reader

A/N: Discord prompt for the week was Masquerade AU, so I decided to write for Dio Brando, using @sammystep’s beautiful bedroom and mask renders as inspiration 😏 (seriously, they are amazing, so check them out at the end of the fic!!); Also written to be gender neutral, so please let me know if I messed up anywhere!

Word Count: 2.9K

Summary: With your estranged cousin in a town full of rumors and ghost stories, it’s rather obvious you’re in for an interesting weekend. Somehow, you catch the eye of an insatiable beast, and whether you manage to survive him is left completely up to you.

Warnings/Disclaimers: Subtle references to Stone Ocean, heavily implied sexual content, Dio monologuing lol

In every city you’ve visited, there was always talk, and by talk, you meant gossip. Grapevines grew from thin air, spreading until the town was entangled in a sickness you liked to call Hearsay. You had witnessed this far too many times in the past, the novelty having worn off a long time ago. But on occasion, you liked to lend an ear to the particularly interesting ones—stories that left you searching for that innocuous sliver of truth amidst fairy tale.

Most times, however, it was merely a drunk spewing his usual nonsense to any person willing to listen. You were rarely ever an audience to such. Still, nothing quite chilled your bones like the tale recounted by one of the strangest men you’ve ever met.

It had been late in the evening, but not too late that the barmaid was not still serving homemade pies and cold drinks to her patrons.

A man only a few years older than yourself was perched on a rickety wooden chair nearby; it gave a high-pitched squeak every time he shifted. He had been there upon your arrival and would likely be there after you were gone. His clothes were drenched in sweat, boots caked in mud. You noticed him observing you from under the brim of his ten-gallon hat, though the rest of his face remained hidden. The nearest available seat just so happened to be right by his own, you hesitated, but ultimately took it.

Your fingers were frozen like cubes of ice and you breathed on them in a fruitless attempt to help them thaw. The barmaid made her rounds and eventually came to you. Only then were you able to order something to warm you up, a simple cup of coffee would suffice. You sat silent and unassuming, content with minding your own business until a gruff voice reached out to you, almost as if his words grew an arm and gripped your shoulder.

“Yer face,” he muttered in your direction. “S’like someone I can trust.”

You blinked at him. The implications behind his words were not lost on you. In fact, it was something you heard quite often. For your own mother had delivered you into a cruel world, and was quick to brand you with a trademark that has followed you for as long as you could recall: an angel.

In return, people seemed to gravitate towards you—were always intrigued by you, listening and speaking to you, soothed by your very nature and presence. It was a gift, you supposed. And like any gift, you preferred to use it for good. Whether it be to share in another’s burdens, or to relieve them of it entirely.

“Is there something you would like to share?” you replied back.

He hummed, then took a long swig of his whiskey in preparation. “Yeah, somethin's kept me up fer days actually.”

“What has?”

“I used ‘ta butle for a lord here in this town—hmm, well ta be frank it was only for a lil’ while... was dismissed soon after.”

The man continued without giving any clear answer to your question, but you assumed a bit of patience would grant you the full story.

“I'm sorry about your job.” you said out of courtesy, but he waved you off.

“Don’t be. S’better this way.” he took another sip, draining the glass in one go and waved for another round. “You believe in heaven?”

“Heaven? Like… the place where good people go when they pass on...? I—I’m not too sure.”

“S’alright.” he smiled for the first time, wide lips stretching across his face handsomely. He looked rather boyish with his half dimple and cleft chin. His expression was almost endearing. You figured he might’ve been quite the charmer when sober. “Name’s Hol Horse, by the way.”

“Hol Horse, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

You introduced yourself as well, to which he tipped his hat in greeting. The whole exchange was rather odd, but you went along with it for the sake of your own budding curiosity.

Hol Horse cast a wary glance around the room. You too chanced a brief look, but not as thoroughly as your companion. Obviously, no one was listening. You smiled and silently encouraged him to surrender the burden laying heavy on his conscience.

Hol Horse gave you his story. Some parts he gave in detail—others he offered in threadbare comments, giving only the minimum for you to catch the gist. From what you could piece together, he had worked as a servant under a young lord in the countryside. It was a large estate left behind by a ‘Sir Joestar’ who had passed away many years ago due to illness. His only adopted son was left to inherit the fortune, along with several of the businesses in town. That was as far as Hol Horse knew, more surprisingly, he had never even laid eyes on his employer during his tenure. Any and every form of correspondence was made through the lord's right hand.

At one point, you were beginning to wonder what picture Hol Horse was trying to paint here. Why did any of this matter? Regardless, it was the earnest pull of his voice that kept you rooted to your seat. That, and the fact that he had seemed to grow even more...disturbed the longer he spoke. His brows were pinched while he thought, showing his great displeasure. You truly hoped, for his sake, that confessing whatever was killing him inside would finally put his heart at ease.

In a lowered tone, he revealed the true cause of his troubles. He had spotted a number of bloodied sheets being carted away from his lord’s sleeping quarters, men and women’s clothing torn to shreds and disposed of in an incinerator. Certain staff members with superhuman strengths and abilities. Phantoms, ghosts, demonic spirits. All culminated by the devastating amount of missing persons. These were some serious, and if you were honest, strange allegations.

“My apologies,” you interrupted, “but I’m not sure I follow.”

“I’m sayin’ that some crazy shit’s goin’ on in this town, and I wouldn’t feel too inclined ta stay if I were you.”

You pursed your lips, far too stunned for words.

“Heaven.” he uttered like a curse. There was a sudden quiver in his lips, that sent a chill racing down your spine. It wasn’t just about ‘heaven’. More specifically, Hol Horse was convinced there existed a way to call it forth.

The sheer ridiculousness of this statement seized your attention. The man was so obviously intoxicated, but spoke like these were irrefutable facts that he too struggled to come to terms with.

A heaven within the reach of mere mortals? Powers no man had any business wielding? It was absolutely ludicrous! But your gut, which had saved you countless times in the past, urged you to not cast this tale aside.

You wondered if this made you a fool.

.

.

.

You had only come to this town per invitation from a distant, older cousin. And while distant by blood, she was also distant to you in nearly every other aspect as well. You and your cousin, Gwess, scarcely saw one another due to a series of familial barriers. By all accounts, you should be wary of her, but she was also newly married now, and you supposed her only desire was to rekindle your long-neglected relationship.

Marriage, children, a home—it had a way of changing people. You were unsure if you could genuinely relate to her feelings, but you would not stop her from trying to rebuild something, even if that something had never truly existed in the first place.

For whatever reasons, your cousin had you set up in a hotel instead of her guest house. You didn’t take it personally, after all, it was her home to do with as she pleased. The hotel suite was lavish; far be it from you to complain.

Clean, white walls, with an intricate gold motif wallpaper, Persian carpeting, high thread-count sheets made from the whitest Egyptian cotton. At your bedside were red roses that added a bit of color and warmth to the room, and near the window was a mini-bar stocked with various alcoholic beverages should you choose to indulge.

Courtesy of Gwess, your outfit for the night’s festivities hung on the bathroom door, zipped up in a garment bag to keep it from either soiling or wrinkling. She had gifted it to you along with a mask for the masquerade ball, though, you felt a sudden trepidation bubbling in your stomach at what awaited you; like a premonition of something to come, it weighed on your chest, and you tried desperately to swallow it down.

Hol Horse’s words from the previous night continued to haunt you in broken fragments. He had warned you not to stick around but it wasn’t like you were staying much longer. Just one more night.

Still, you worried. With the sound of your heart thumping in your ears, you drew out the lace and chiffon clothing from the bag that had kept it hidden from you until now.

A feeling you could not explain washed over you at the sight of what Gwess brought for you to wear. It was white with wing-like patterns sewn down into the material just below the blades of your shoulders. You considered the meaning of this as you donned the outfit and fixed the mask over your face. Mockery perhaps? Who could say?

Gwess greeted you in the hotel lobby with open arms and a warm smile.

“Cousin!”

“Gwess.” You murmured with a nod and a small tilt of your lips. “You look well.”

She grinned, eyes crinkling, “Don’t I?” Gwess gave a twirl, showing off one of her newest purchases. A thinly strapped designer gown with silver embroideries and little birds stitched at the hem and sleeve. In her hands was an extravagant mask covered in jewels and... real life bird feathers. You assumed so, given the traces of blood still on them. Ever the beauty, your cousin was. Her husband, being a lawyer working under a prominent firm in town, made sure that his dearest Gwess wanted for nothing; inherently enabling her rather eccentric hobbies, like mutilating tiny animals and using their remains as accessories.

.

.

.

The venue was a large ballroom not too far from the hotel. It was beautifully decorated with crimson and gold ornaments and glittering chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. The festivities were already in full swing. Peals of laughters, thundering music, flashing lights. It was increasingly overwhelming. The event was more of a bacchanal for the rich and wealthy, a hedonistic gathering for the town’s upper echelon. It was almost ceremonial.

To make matters worse, you lost sight of Gwess, or rather, she had ditched you for a group of familiar faces. So, you wandered about on your own. There were a startling amount of guests, it felt almost like eyes were on you at every moment. Bodies pushed on all sides of you as you struggled to make your way through to a less crowded area. The sick feeling in the pit of your stomach bred more fear and anxiety, until you felt the urge to vomit right then and there.

Escaping into the open balcony was your only form of solace, and perhaps you’d remain there for the rest of the evening. Though, how could you have known that in doing so, you would inevitably find yourself within the crosshairs of an apex predator.

By his third victim, Dio was beginning to think that none of his ‘esteemed’ guests had brought a worthy sacrifice. A sneer curled at his lips as he watched them from his seat above. They were like monkeys, dancing for his entertainment, but unfortunately, he was far from entertained. He lounged back in his seat with a deep sigh.

Dio Brando did not believe in chance or coincidence. He did not believe in a being beyond the proverbial curtain, pulling on strings and orchestrating the whims of humanity. But lately, he’d been feeling a bit of a premonition. Nothing alarming, just an inkling of something he couldn’t quite place. And even after speaking to Enrico at length—

Dio paused in his musing, having caught sight of something in his peripheral.

With purposed steps, he followed the instincts deep within him, a visceral tugging in his gut, until he was greeted with the sight of your back. Poised like a sharpened blade, clothed in white; you stood underneath the lantern’s glow, like an angel hand-delivered to his doorstep. Utterly enticing.

You turned, gazing over at him with a peculiar look in your eyes, like that of a cautious doe in the presence of a hunter. The mask you wore shielded the majority of your face, but you were not someone he recognized. The clothing you were wearing made him all the more interested in finding what lay beneath.

Even from this distance, he could see the light sheen of sweat on the back on your neck. The subtle quake in your shoulders was not hidden from him either, even the bob of your throat as you swallowed.

“Do you mind if I join you?” he finally asked.

You were not expecting the man to speak since he looked so dead set on staring at you. “I don’t mind at all.”

You shifted over a little, an unnecessary action, seeing as there was plenty of room for the both of you. The fresh air did well in calming you down. But the sudden appearance of this man and his wolfish gaze was putting you back on edge. In any other instance, his very aura would have sent you running for the hills, but for some reason, you couldn't even bring yourself to move.

“You aren't enjoying yourself,” he noted with a teasing smile. “Does that make me a terrible host?”

You fumbled for a minute, stuttering over your words while trying to find an appropriate answer that wouldn’t offend him too much.

“C-Certainly not. It’s, um, no fault of your own. These kinds of things never interested me in the first place.”

You tried to avoid looking him in the eye when you responded but that proved to be impossible. His eyes were such a beautiful shade of scarlet. You half-wondered if they even came in that color naturally. He licked his lips, and for a second you caught sight of a sharpened canine.

“One could say that I am looking for something. Why else would I throw such an affair?”

Curious, you angled yourself a bit closer to him.

“Do you believe in gravity, dear?” he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “That might be the reason why I’ve found you. You feel it too, that innate pull that can’t be explained.” he drew you closer until you were chest to chest. “It’s why you can’t walk away even though you’re frightened. I think we were fated to meet each other here.”

A wind blew as he said those words, tussling his gold spun hair, as if nature itself were confirming his words.

“Don’t you believe in destiny? That our lives are fate’s ultimate composition; a song that plays from the moment we take our first breath until we breathe our last.”

He was standing so close, close enough that you could smell the hint of cinnamon in his cologne and... blood...on his breath. It was making you dizzy, but you were also surprised to find that you wanted him to kiss you. And once that thought was acknowledged, it blossomed into a heady desire that was slowly taking over your entire body. You wanted him, the monster behind the mask.

“What say you, dear? Are you still frightened by me?” he laughed. “Don’t be. You and I are the same.”

“I’m...not afraid.” you said and placed a hand on his chest. It pleased him to hear you say it, even if your body betrayed your words. He leaned forward with one arm wrapped around your waist and gave a long, languid lick to a stripe of your skin, your perspiration was no deterrent at all, in fact he rather enjoyed it. Being this close to you gave him a vision of depthless oceans behind his eyelids with the taste of saltwater on his tongue and algae under his feet.

It was cathartic.

Indeed there were cleaner ways to do this, but he liked the pulse of your jugular beneath his tongue. He let his fangs sink into the flesh of your neck, puncturing your skin all the way through. Your fingers gripped his clothes, but not out of pain. The immense pleasure washing over you felt unlike anything you could ever imagine. Puffs of your warm breath coasted against the shell of his ear. You were far past the point of return.

.

.

.

In the final act, you laid naked in your hotel bed underneath blood speckled sheets. Your neck was throbbing, but it was nothing compared to the pleasant soreness between your thighs.

Dio, the name of your new god, hovered over you bare as the day he was born with an arrogant smile on his lips. Your wrists were bound with the strips of cloth torn from your body. You couldn’t reach him but your gaze still roamed the hills and valleys of his muscled chest in an act of worship and devotion.

An angel, they had called you. But what was angel without a fall from grace? It seemed in order to know virtue, one must first acquaint themselves with vice.

[regulusfate]

I would give you the world, if you would look at me

Salric (Godric x Salazar)

For Jules’ (ig: @/siriuspads) 2.5k writing competition

Ten years old and Godric Gryffindor met his oldest friend by accident.

He followed a wisp, a small swirl of magic just short of a whisper spreading through the parched landscape. Bare with the dry season, tufts of brown left in the wake of dying grass, bleeding their blades to the grave of dirt. The day was a warm one, with a dry heat that brushed dust against his clothes and threatened to choke his throat should he dare open his mouth.

His fæder had pulled up along the cobblestone streets, the small town so seemingly out of place, as if the empty of it all stretched far and wide and sunk the peels of laughter to nothing more than an echo lost for the wild.

It was full of muggles. The word still felt strange on his lips, it tasted of the grapes that weren’t quite sweet enough and not so sour, an imbalance like the lack the of rain that had fallen in the last moon cycle. One of the first words he’d learnt to write, scratched on thin parchment with his scrawl that jerked a little in his fingers and lost its curl half way through as the momentum of his movements drained and his fingers cramped.

The horse beneath him stirred, and Godric bit down on his lip, it’s tender edge slowly being thwarted by his teeth as he gripped the reigns harder, and waited on the edge. He was told him to wait there, and so he did, shifting restlessly with the threatening of acid to roll up his leg and into his thigh.

The muggles watched him, and so he moved his eyes away.

Something swam hazily in his vision, the air growing more stuffy, still with intention and hot with the bearing teeth of the sun, he bit his lip once more and felt it split with the shock of pain that sparked through his cheek.

He decided to climb down, before he did any more damage to his face.

His boots hit the dusty trail, and he’d hardly risen a clammy hand to dab the blood away, when he saw him.

A soft curl of hair first, pitched black like the deepest night and swept ever gentler in the low breeze that washed over his face, moving the silky head of hair to look up. Across the dying landscape, there were few patches of greenery left, even those fading with each day. But the figure was pressed flat into the ground, hiding precariously behind the few bloated strains of weed left, and limbs following the curve of the ground downwards in the small ditch that Godric was sure he had not seen.

But he should’ve done, it was right in the line of sight from which they rode up the dusty paths, he would’ve seen the boys back at least, or the head of hair that seemed to add a dash of colour to the shades of brown dripping around them.

“Who are you?” His voice faltered a little, throat wilting with the hot air but that would not outweigh the shiver of curiosity that ran through him.

The boy, for Godric was sure it was, though the edge of his gaze seemed partly shimmered by thirst that wove its way into the forefront of his mind, hesitated for a moment.

“Who are you?” Godric imported again, careful to straighten his shoulders and tug his chin a little higher, decorum decorum and dear circe he was thirsty.

“Whose asking?” The boy remarked, his skin pale even in the deep warmth of the sun, and with audacity to curl his lips into a smirk.

Audacity, he wasn’t sure what it meant but Godric thought it sounded smart in his head, so that’s what mattered as he licked his lips and clutched tighter to the reigns hanging down at his side. There was a hum of magic that followed them, all the way from the tree’s of the moors and the wetter winds, swept between the silence and through the leaves and the clouds and sticking to the leather of his boots.

And here and now, he could feel it. Later, years on, he might have describe a ghostly presence to keep all eyes entailed on his rich drip of words, but those years would wait for them to come.

The other boy stared at him, without moving, and that looked entirely too uncomfortable. Eyes of a light grey, wide and innocent but an all too striking smirk dancing with the light of mischief and one he would with time come to regard with an amused trepidation.

“Did you follow us?” Godric demanded suddenly, and even the change surprised himself, from a wary hesitance to the sharp rush of fear that almost tripped at his feet, and a crash sounded somewhere out of sight.

Even to their childlike gaiety, the world was cruel in so simpler a way.

The boy gave some sort of amused noise at the back of his throat, half caught in a daze of worry that strapped itself across his face, not quite so defined features catching the glance of the sun, beginning to tinge with a reddish blemish.

“I don’t even know you.” He remarked back with some incredulity and Godric gave what he hoped was a hard stare and if the swift succession from concern to humour on the other boys face was anything to go by - he had failed.

“I’m Godric.” He conceded bitterly, half unsure why he was telling, half dampened to the fact that now he’d accused the boy he couldn’t not tell. It wouldn’t be fair.

“Call me Zar.” Those eyes still flamed with some vibrant spark of .. fun.

“But that’s not your name?” Godric concluded quickly, eyebrows knitting together with a rise of frustration and he was sure the boy was tricking him.

“Yes and no,” came the annoyingly cheerful reply, and then the boy Zar stood up, brushing his hands of the crumbling chalk leaving a soft pattern of white on his fingers.

“What are you doing here?” Godric asked sullenly, resisting the urge to swing himself back up on the horse to place a bigger height difference, as Zar scrambled up the small incline and they found themselves with fewer inches between their heads. Resisting because he wasn’t sure could get his leg back over without help.

“Observing!” And suddenly he sounded excited, and Godric wanted to take a step back.

“Observing what?” He asked warily, and Zar grinned, something childish splitting across his face.

“I never did find out.” The soft pattering of rain drew him from his thoughts, sliding down the windows in a gentle haste, and he stretched his aching limbs with soft pops.

“Find out what?”

Deep, with the tinge of a drawl and the smothering of an accent, Salazar’s voice familiar by the smallest sound and penetrating through the darkest storm cloud that may arise in his mind.

“What you were observing that day.” Godric asked, a curious smile spreading across his lips, their shoulders almost touching as Lord Slytherin came to rest by his side where he escaped the centre of echos of the Yule celebrations and slipped to the back of the room, to take a moment of content peace.

A familiar smirk propped up on his face, one of great infuriation to all who knew him and Godric was no exception despite Salazar’s charms, rolling his eyes before the man could even talk. They didn’t need to elaborate, this had been a question tossed between them for many a year.

“Your fine specimen-“

“Salazar-!”

“Of a horse.”

Godric scowled, but it fell quickly as they jostled a little in place, shoulders bumping.

“I’ll let you know one day.”

A soft murmur, more than he’d given clue too in a long time, and smithing swelled in Godric’s chest before it halted mid rise, and something cold shivered down his spine. They were no stranger to the working of the world now, this was the third term their school had been open, the days of spring were almost upon them, but they had seen enough to last a life time even so. He hoped, one day, if he ever got the answer, it wouldn’t be something he would come to hate.

“You worry too much Ric,” Salazar clapped his shoulder, spoken in light gesture but something shadowed stirred in their eyes. They would be fools to ignore the rising tensions, they knew what hate could do. “Enjoy the festivities my friend.”

One day their roles would be reversed. Godric couldn’t see that coming, but he saw something sadder, as his friend, his partner, swept through the circle of students scattered waiting for a dance, amongst the warming glow of candles and swept Helga away in a twirl. Sadder because he could feel it, that same hum of magic from all those years ago, it pulled the, together like glue and kept them stuck. And it felt at its lightest, at its brightest when they were side by side.

His shoulder tingled for a moment, as Godric always felt with every touch Slytherin gave to him, and the goblet in his hand felt a little heavier for weight.

He gave a weary sigh and moved to join the fun, his eyes unconsciously following Salazar’s moves. He would come to lose that elegance in the war they would fight. Godric could never hope to understand what he felt towards the man, at least he never felt he would, he just followed wherever that him of magic took him, and was always lead right back there, to his waiting gaze.

“I met my soulmate when I met you !” A high laugh, hands fumbling, one of Rowena’s wards stood mighty and not so tall on the table, with a hasty attempt to dip her friend into some sort of kiss, and the boy cried out in surprise. One of his own, the red glint catching absently in his gaze as he halted.

“But you did not.” He breathed to himself, with something uncomfortable that prickled at the back of his neck, and Godric found he could not look away from the his two friends dancing across the hall. But you did not.

Not for the first time did he wonder if Salazar was ever likely to look at another the way Godric wished he would see him.

See him with love.