#weaving tale of love 2
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😅😅😅😅
Weaving Tale of Love 2.32
#weaving tale of love 2#weaving tale of love#风起西州#cdramaedit#userdramas#cdrama#asiandramanet#cdramasource#dailyasiandramas#asiancentral#dramasource#asiandramasource#liu duanduan#zhang tao#tuserjade#mymymy#ep 32#gonna gif skip to here real quick cause yeahhh#HOWLINGGGGGGG#I almost choked on my drink#he thought they were having a momenttttt#like alfhakfhsdf i cant accurately explain how in context this is extra funny#he is his bro in law... he LITERALLY just got that food for them to eat like akjfsdf.. and then duanduan being the Bi king of this place to#hiiiliarioussss#boii was really thinking they had a momentttt salfkasdf#these 2 are my bro duo#i enjoyed duanduan in this soo much so i gotta go back and gif more of him mhmm mhmm
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aren’t you?
#i know i said 2-3 business days but um. i’m impatient#and i worked hard on this ok. tried some different stuff and i like how it turned out#wt i love you so much but you are a pain in the ass to draw#time for me to go back into my fog#myart#oc: needless separation#oc: weaving tales#uhhh. ehhh. fuck it he’s there for one panel it counts#oc: no way back#oc: fates torn again#mycomics
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I decided I was going to check out Weaving a Tale of Love 2 despite not being enthused by the first season and, as if to thwart me, no subs are to be had anywhere.
Clearly the universe knows best.
I am going to weave myself out of this I guess.
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Cdrama: Weaving a Tale of Love (Season 2) (2023)
Gifs of Intro of cdrama "Weaving a Tale of Love (Season 2)"
【ENG SUB】 风起西州重磅开播!娜扎许魏洲执手前行共赴坦途! 《风起西州 Weaving a Tale of Love II》 EP1 | 主演:娜扎、许魏洲 【China Zone 剧乐部】
Watch this video on Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DxGATzS-ygA
#Weaving a Tale of Love (Season 2)#风起西州 第二部#Weaving a Tale of Love 2#Feng Qi Xi Zhou Di Er Ji#Feng Qi Xi Zhou 2#风起霓裳 第二部#风起西州 2#風起西州#2023#Season 2#1st episode#episode 1#Youku#ZJTV#sequel#Gulnezer Bextiyar#Gǔlì Nàzhā#Timmy Xu#Xu Wei Zhou#Zeng Yi Xuan#Liu Duan Duan#Zhang Tao#Chris Song#Zhu Rui#Zhao Shun Ran#Lin Zi#Chen Xin Xuan
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Why Nirvana in Fire Wins at Revenge Story with Identity Porn
Nirvana in Fire was my first ever cdrama that was a revenge story with identity porn. Since then, I've seen many other dramas along similar lines. A League of Nobleman. Blood of Youth. City of Streamer. Fighting for Love. Legend of Anle. Long Ballad. Princess Weiyoung. Rise of Phoenixes. Sword Dynasty. Weaving a Tale of Love. Word of Honor. Some of them are quite good but none of them really hit the same way. So, apart from the fact that it was the first one I ever watched, I thought I'd made a brief list of reasons why I think Nirvana in Fire is the best.
Lin Shu's Identity
I just appreciate that when shit went down and Lin Shu's whole family and army and many of his friends were killed and he became a man on the run, he was a full-grown man (okay, still pretty young, but definitely not a child) with his own life and even an army position.
A lot of these identity porn dramas will have their MCs meeting ppl for the first time in many years, in disguise, but they only knew these ppl when they were children. Childhood friends are great and all that, but can they hit as hard as the complicated, fleshed out relationships that Lin Shu had and lost? He had a friendship of many years with Jingyan. He had an engagement and a longstanding friendship with Nihuang. He has friends from the army, younger cousins playing the role of "we don't even understand what happened back then and maybe that's better", older friends and relations who he actually knew as an adult.
Simultaneously, his past identity increases the threat of discovery for Lin Shu. He's a known factor to many, many people in the capital. Yes, they think he's dead. But small things like a hazelnut allergy or his mannerisms or his previous friendships with people are still memorable enough that even with a completely different face, if he's not careful, he might give himself away. He's not infiltrating a group of strangers or people who only knew him as a kid. He's infiltrating a group of people who were close to him for many, many years of his life.
HOWEVER. Lin Shu's identity is not so important that everyone in the capital is still obsessed with him twelve years later (with some exceptions). This isn't Mysterious Lotus Casebook where we're all still pining for Li Xiangyi, because...
2. The Chiyan Case Wasn't Even About Lin Shu?? (Also, No One Cares About That Ancient History Anymore (Jingyan, Sit Down))
The Chiyan case wasn't about the Lin family at all, really.
No one specifically wanted Lin Shu dead or had a big grudge against his dad or anything. It's all about power, military and political. For some conspirators, it was just about getting a leg up in court. But mostly, it was about Prince Qi, the previous crown prince. The Lin family just happened to be friends with him and ended up in an uncomfortable (highly murderable and frameable) position.
Lin Shu may mourn his family, but for the majority of the show, he doesn't talk about it. He doesn't talk about his mother and his family back at the capital either committing suicide or being killed indiscriminately. He only mentions his father's name a handful of times in the whole show. Lin Shu's drive is that his father's ARMY was killed, tens of thousands of men. That's the weight on Lin Shu's shoulders: the death of all these innocent men because they were in the way. The Chiyan Case; the Chiyan Massacre. The denouement of Lin Shu's victory (not to give too many spoilers) is not just his father's name being cleared of a treason charge. It's when there's finally a memorial put up for the Chiyan Army, with memorial tablets that he can publicly visit to pay respects.
Why does this make it a better revenge story with identity porn? A couple reasons. First, Lin Shu is very much the center of the story and has very personal beef, but he treats himself like a tool and his objective isn't about himself or familial connections (they're part of it but they're not everything). He doesn't even know all the people he's avenging. That's fine; he'll still carry that weight. I just think it's neat.
Second, the fact that the Lin family (and the whole Chiyan Army) were really just collateral damage for getting rid of Prince Qi really emphasizes just how careless the current regime is of the value of human life.
Third, as Meng Zhi says when Lin Shu comes to the capital, everyone at court is busy with their own little power struggles and no one has time to care about Lin Shu or protect him. Lin Shu's like yeah that's fine :) I'm not anyone's focus anymore and the Lin family has been swept under the rug like we never existed :) and no one even talks about the Chiyan case anymore for fear of being accuse of treason :) that's all okay because I'm about TO MAKE THIS EVERYONE'S PROBLEM ANYWAY and honestly the fact that everyone's trying their hardest to forget will just make them more oblivious when I come to fuck them up.
3. All Of This is Whose Fault, Again?
That's right, folks, we're in a show that knows that when shit goes down at court and your family gets framed for treason and the emperor orders them executed, sure, you can blame the conspirators who framed them all you want, but also, YOU KIND OF DO HAVE TO BLAME THE EMPEROR.
People have said enough about how great this is on a thematic level of accountability but seriously I've seen so many shows dodge this. ~It's not the emperor's fault bc he was misled by these conspirators~ or ~the emperor is only a puppet emperor, if he actually had power instead of this evil person, he would put everything right.~ Or, if they dare to blame the emperor, maybe he's just an evil emperor and was bad all along. NIF says yeah, he was lied to on many levels. There was a whole complicated conspiracy going on and many people to blame. But he could have taken things slower. He could have required better evidence. He could have trusted people who had supported him for many years, at least enough to listen to their side of the story BEFORE KILLING THEM. And why didn't he? It's not because he's an idiot. It's because he's an emperor, and emperors don't like seeing other people gain enough power to even potentially become a threat. It's because he wasn't looking for the truth, he was looking for an excuse to kill. And he's not unusually evil for that; this kind of callousness towards murder and grasping for power at all costs is more the norm at court than any kind of honor or morality.
The Emperor's a nice guy sometimes! He used to fly kites with Lin Shu when he was young! His sons give him a headache, but honestly, relatable, they'd give you a headache too! He likes Consort Jing and honestly, who wouldn't! And he killed one of his sons, one of his closest friends, and an entire army, and he would do it again without hesitation. He's not especially evil. Being an emperor is bad enough.
4. Other Bad Guys
It's worth mentioning that Lin Shu's opponents are not stupid.
Xie Yu and Xia Jiang, Prince Yu and the Crown Prince, even the Empress and Noble Consort Yue: They aren't all geniuses, but they aren't idiots flailing around in spite. They're pretty smart, and if Lin Shu wants to take them down, he has to be smarter.
It's also worth mentioning that this is not one of those shows where the protagonist happens to take down his opponents mostly by standing still and just defending himself when they lash out at him. This seems like an obvious thing in a revenge drama, but the number of times I've seen the opposite, the protagonist swearing revenge and then just struggling with self preservation.... but no. Lin Shu has A Plan. He is going to be proactive and actually take his enemies down. Admittedly he will do this by revealing their past misdeeds but this isn't a case of "the misdeeds will just happen to pop up". This is a case of "I will actively unearth skeletons from where you threw them in a well in an abandoned manor".
TO SUM UP
Without going into the things that make Nirvana in Fire a great show in general (great acting, good pacing and plotting, good costuming, and so on and so forth) I think the main things that make it hit for me as a revenge story with identity porn are 1) letting the MC's past identity be that of a grown man who actually had a life (more connections to the past, but also more to lose and more danger in the present as a result), 2) the fact that the offense that the MC is avenging wasn't even like a personal thing to the offenders (bc! it's fucking infuriating!), 3) the fact that the drama is willing to face the root of the problem (the problem is both corruption at court and the fact that the highest arbiter is flawed, not just individual conspirators), 4) the supply of multiple good antagonists, and 5) LETTING THE MC ACTUALLY, ACTIVELY PURSUE REVENGE AND THAT'S THE MAIN PLOT AND WE AREN'T SPENDING MOST OF OUR SCREENTIME ON SIDEPLOTS AND ROMANCE OR MERE SELF PRESERVATION. These may not seem like large things but my friends, you would be surprised how many revenge dramas I've watched at this point that can't do them.
ok I'm done ranting. Feel like most of this is actually stating the obvious but I'm just in a mood and had to get it out. (...also possibly I've been let down by some revenge dramas lately but I won't get into it. it's okay. we can't all be Nirvana in Fire; only Nirvana in Fire can be Nirvana in Fire.)
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not a lot, just forever (pt.2)
summary: weddings weren’t logans thing, but being at one with you made him mind them a whole lot less. your (not so) subtle confession may have helped—but now it’s his turn to make the next move.
pairing: logan howlett x reader
word count: 1.3k
warnings: romcom themes, weddings, possible ooc!logan, reader is described as wearing a dress
authors note: thank you to everyone who read and interacted w my first fic. it genuinely means so much! here’s a part two for everyone who was asking<3 I’ll be working on requests over the next few days, feel free to keep them coming loves! part 1 is on my profile (still figuring out hyperlinks and such, masterlist will be coming soon!) ౨ৎ
logan doesn’t think he’s ever been more excited for a party. whenever there’s been a gathering or a social event at the mansion in the past, he’s been enthusiastic, sure, but mostly at the prospect of being able to get drunk off of his ass—not having to deal with the heavy weight that finds its home in his chest when he’s sober.
this time, though, it’s not the liquor. that’s almost the last thing on his mind, for the first time in years. right now, all he can think of is you. you in your dress, your perfume overwhelming his senses in the best way possible.
his heart finds a shaky rhythm in his chest as time inches on, throwing noncommittal glances at the altar where jean and scott exchange their vows. his knee bounces up and down sporadically, as he attempts to subdue his racing mind. he can feel you next to him, feel the heat radiating off of you—or was that him? he wasn’t so sure. he steals small glances at you, biting back the urge to reach for your hand; settling instead for resting his arm on the back of your chair.
he almost lets out a cheer when everyone begins filing out of the venue—ripping him from his thoughts. his eyes catch on you momentarily, breath hitching in his throat at the mere sight of you, holding up your dress and treading carefully on the grass. if he was bolder, less reserved, he’d extend an arm and help you. as everyone gathers outside, cooing at the newlyweds, he’s only focused on one thing.
the bouquet.
everyone knew the old wives tale. whoever catches the bouquet, is next on the list to get hitched. determination swells in his his chest, eyeing the assortment of pink and white blooms that rest in jeans arms.
he observes the surrounding area as photographers flash a few pictures of the couple— the more animal side of his brain working overtime, like a wolf stalking a caribou. he doubts that he’ll actually go for it, too rational to do something so childish. it seems he has no choice, however, because as soon as he sees a flash of pink and white against the blue sky, he’s already taken off—as though his legs made up his mind for him. he weaves through the crowd, hushed apologies falling past his lips. once he reaches the clearing, he jumps off, reaching for his prize. a smug grin adorns his lips, as he grazes the wrapping of the flowers—only to have it jerked away from him.
his brow furrows as feet meet solid ground once more, only to soften when his eyes lay upon the person who actually caught the bundle of flowers.
you stand in front of him, eyes locking with his. any frustration in his mind is washed clean as he sees the grin on your face, flushed cheeks. you stay gazing at him for a little too long; even as your shared friends gather to congratulate you.
those who were close to you, though—namely your teammates— knew that this meant something deeper. anyone who knew logan could tell that he had feelings for you, and vice versa. the stolen glances, hands brushing as you walk side by side.
as the throng of people begin to head for their cars, logan tries to spot you in the crowd, itching to tell you how he feels—to confess— spilling every emotion he’s ever felt for you onto the dirt for you to do as you please with. he sighs gruffly, heading for his motorcycle.
the road to the mansion is practically ingrained into his memory, unfortunately giving him enough time to overthink the rest of his evening. what if he misread? what if you changed your mind? what if he got you hurt? what if it was actually about someone else? like scott, or hank.
please don’t let it be scott.
he pulls up to the large building, gates propped open to allow guests easy entry. upon entering the room where the reception is held, his eyes immediately search for you: something that’s become a daily occurrence in his life since you stumbled into it. when he finds you, you’re already there, staring right back at him. if he had a tail, it would be wagging.
he rolls up his shirtsleeves, tugging at his tie anxiously, hating the way it clings to his throat. he clears his throat gruffly, swallowing his pride before starting across the polished wood floor, directly to you. he stands in front of you, his cheeks flushed this time.
“hey,”
he starts, any plan or script he had in mind abandoned once he saw your face. placing a palm on the back of his neck, his jaw tightens.
feelings.
logan had seen the worst parts of humanity. its darkest corners—and conquered it. risen above. yet feelings, were something he could never seem to overcome. but he’d be damned if he didn’t try for you.
“logan,” you speak, voice soft and low. he knew you. you hated to see him struggle—always wanted to finish his sentences so he didn’t have to say the hard things. he raises a hand, stopping you in your tracks. “let me,” he huffs. he takes a moment to look at you, really look at you. your parted lips, pupils wide. he has all the courage he needs.
sucking in a deep breath, he finds his footing.
“you were right. about me, i mean. i am scared. fuckin’ terrified, actually. im…” he trails off, swallowing hard in an attempt to regain himself, to soothe his racing mind. “telling you this— telling you how I feel, scared me, darlin’. but after you telling me you felt the same I realized that… never getting the chance to hold you—at least not in the way I want to—scares me a hell of a lot more.” he finishes, gazing at his feet. if he met your eyes right now, he didn’t know if he’d be able to continue, his brain screaming at him to give into fear. to run away.
for once he didn’t want to run. not this time. silence hangs in the air for a moment after his words, the anticipation allowing him to drag his eyes up your body, meeting yours.
before he can register, there’s a hand on his jaw, and one on the back of his neck pulling him closer. your foreheads meet, dark eyes gazing into yours. he almost melts at the way you look at him. doe eyed, completely at his mercy. he meets you halfway, plush lips meet his. shaky hands wind around your waist, tugging you in closer to him.
for a moment, the world stops.
it’s just you two. no nightmares, no impending doom. just this.
as you both pull back, logans heart calms in his chest. for the first time in a long time. he can breathe, actually think—cathartic. his eyes stay closed, chin coming to rest atop your head as he pulls you into him.
“I love you.”
your words make him jump a little. he knew what he was feeling. he had for a long time—too scared to admit it to himself. he softens after a moment, warmth filling his chest. it felt right. his right person.
“I love you too.”
as you pull back, world around you seemingly coming back to life— a slow song plays from the speakers softly, couples and friends gathering to dance. a hand reaches for logans wrist, guiding him to the dance floor.
his hands find their place around your waist, yours around his neck. your bodies intertwine, your face to his chest and his chin on your head. his eyes flutter shut, heightened hearing tuning out everything around him, focusing in on your heartbeat. steady, soft. home.
you sway softly, gathered by friends, and loved ones.
the beginning of forever.
#logan howlett#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett x you#xmen x you#mysticmutants#wolverine x reader#wolverine#marvel x reader#marvel
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──────‹𝟹 SINNERS SAVAGERY ༄ Ѽ✧
IF I'M YOUR SALVATION, WELCOME TO HELL.
2024 Halloween Event | Art credit: Efferwescent on Twitter
𖤐 SINNERS SAVAGERY | or ERISETOBER is an event that is a mix of Kinktober, Whumptober and Flufftober in a nutshell SMUT, ANGST & FLUFF with Halloween aspects. All prompts are made by me but some of the ones that inspired me are whumptober ofc, and this list.
𖤐 ONLY HONKAI STAR RAIL AND GENSHIN WOMEN For this year
𖤐 This will be my first time doing the October prompts stuff + I have another event going on so bare with me haha.
𖤐 !! WEEK 1 starts 6 to 13 !! !! WEEK 2 starts 13 to 19 !! !! WEEK 3 starts 20 to 26 !! !! WEEK 4 starts 27 to 31 !!
WEEK 1 | MONSTER AU | | ONESHOT
| Film | TILL DEATH DO US PART | Starring | Kafka as alien symbiote “Venom” x Host!Reader | Synopsis | A livelihood ripped away by the greed of humankind and faced with impending doom, an alien symbiote by the name of "Kafka" entered your life and made you her host. Originally, the monstrous being harbored one goal: to destroy everything planet Earth had to offer, but plans changed upon meeting you and thus, with her power, you both do whatever it takes to save the planet. Loathing was all that was bestowed toward the extraterrestrial parasitic, but as time passes, a long-lost feeling resurfaces, one that hasn't manifested since your heartbreak; of course, you would rather be brutally killed than confess your endearment. Unbeknownst to you, the woman has suspected you of such intimacy and, with her incredible adaptability to the complex human emotion, has a ploy to make you profess those three special words.
| Film | YOUR LORDSHIP | Starring | Yelan as Leviathan x Mortal!Reader | Synopsis | When the tempestuous waves crash against the shore and the sky turns a foreboding grey, human shells cower in fear as the mighty lord of the seas, Leviathan, awakens from the darkest pit of the deep, seeking for a human companion to aid her lonely voyage.
WEEK 2 | MYTHOLOGICAL AU | | ONESHOT
| Film | BEYOND THE IMAGINABLE | Starring | Clorinde as Medusa x Blind!Reader | Synopsis | Despised and misunderstood by the world, she was a victim of a scandalous man's wrongdoing, unfairly punished by heaven despite her innocence. During one fortunate day, the woman whose heart had turned to stone melt under the accursed spell of love, wholly captivated by a blind mortal who fell in love with her for who she truly was; even without sight, the virtuous human saw the very essence of her, the beauty within her soul.
| Film | OFFERING OF PURITY | Starring | Raiden Ei as Hades x Mortal!Reader | Synopsis | The townsfolk tell tales of a legend that speaks of how, once in a century, the moon would adorn itself in a deep crimson hue and illuminate its shade onto the world. Under its wrathful light, the god of hell emerges to wreak havoc, and the only way to banish such evil is to offer a youthful virgin mortal; only then will humankind live in another century of prosperity and peace.
WEEK 3 | ANIMATRONICS AU | | SMUTSHOT
| Film | FIVE NIGHTS AT STAR RAIL | Starring | Kafka, Himeko, Blackswan, and Acheron as the FNAF Classic Animatronics x Night-guard!Reader | Synopsis | A newspaper arrives at your doorstep, featuring a job opening for a night guard position at the famous Star Rail Pizzeria. Struggling financially, you quickly seize the golden opportunity. The job's only requirement is 5 nights of work, and if you succeed, you'll be hired as an official employee; what could possibly go wrong?
WEEK 4 | SLASHER/SERIAL KILLER AU
| Film | MINDFUCK | Starring | Slasher!Arlecchino x Investigative-Psychologist!Reader | Synopsis | Demons linger where shadows play; in silence, hearts betray, whispers echo, and desires catch fire in the haunting depths of the night. With every kiss, a scythe may cut, in which terror envelops one's gut; together they dance on the edge of fate, finding beauty in a love that is too late. So let the night weave its spell, for in the dark they know so well, and though demons are whispering fright, in their twilight, the lights are ignited.
#erise franchise#Kafka x Reader#Yelan x Reader#Clorinde x Reader#Raiden Ei x Reader#Himeko x Reader#Blackswan x Reader#Acheron x Reader#Feixiao x Reader#Arlecchino x Reader#genshin impact#genshin x reader#hsr#genshin wlw#honkai star rail#hsr kafka#himeko#yelan#arlecchino#black swan#acheron#clorinde#raiden ei#raiden#feixiao#arleccino genshin#angst#smut#fluff#2024 halloween
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Pick a Card: Where should you travel to next to have your next breakthrough
Left to Right: Pile 1 -> Pile 3
Introduction
Once you pick a pile and refer to your reading it will show you a potential breakthrough that could occur once you travel to a certain place as described in the piles below.
If You Liked This Reading Sign up to TheObsidianPages777 Newsletter
+Free E-Guides on New Moon Manifestation and Gem Stone for Life Path
================================================================================================
Pile 1: Near a Body of Water
The three cards for you, signifying your journey is as follows:
Ace of Cups - Traveling to a place near a body of water could lead to an emotional breakthrough, deepening your connections with others, and experiencing profound feelings of love, joy, and peace. The Star - This journey may bring a breakthrough in hope, inspiration, and renewed faith in your dreams. It signifies healing and finding inner peace through the soothing presence of water. Three of Cups - Exploring a location near water might bring a breakthrough in celebration, community, and friendship. It could signify finding joy and harmony in your social interactions.
Who you might meet in these travels:
A local artist who inspires you to express your emotions through art.
A group of locals celebrating a traditional festival or event, welcoming you to join in.
A wise old fisherman or even a bakery owner nearby who shares stories of hope.
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Pile 2: Near a City
The overall energy is below mentioned:
The Tower - Traveling to a city could result in a breakthrough involving sudden change, breaking free from old patterns, and embracing new perspectives that challenge your current beliefs. The Chariot - This journey may lead to a breakthrough in determination, willpower, and taking decisive action. It signifies moving forward with confidence and achieving your goals. The Hierophant - Exploring a city might bring a breakthrough in spiritual or philosophical understanding, gaining new insights into traditions and belief systems that influence your life.
Who you might meet during these travels:
A tech entrepreneur discussing disruptive innovations that change industries.
A successful CEO who shares strategies for achieving ambitious goals.
A philosopher debating existential questions and perspectives on life.
================================================================================================
Pile 3: Near a Mountainous Foresty Area
The cards are as follows:
The Hermit - Traveling to a mountainous foresty area could result in a breakthrough through introspection, seeking solitude for reflection, and gaining profound inner wisdom.
The Empress - This journey may lead to a breakthrough in creativity, nurturing new ideas or projects, and connecting deeply with nature and the earth's energies.
The Devil - Exploring a mountainous forest might bring a breakthrough in confronting and overcoming personal fears or limitations. It signifies liberation and reclaiming your personal power.
Who you might meet during these Travels:
A herbalist teaching about the healing properties of plants and herbs found in the forest.
A storyteller weaving tales of mythical creatures and nature spirits, igniting imagination.
A mountain climber sharing stories of conquering peaks, inspiring courage and resilience.
================================================================================================
If You Liked This Reading Sign up to TheObsidianPages777 Newsletter
+Free E-Guides on New Moon Manifestation and Gem Stone for Life Path
#pick a picture#pick a card#pick a photo#pick a card reading#pac reading#breakthrough#pick a pile#pac tarot#pick an image#tarot love#love yourself#tarotblr#tarot blog
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Ways to hit your readers in the gut
When it comes to writing, there's a profound and mesmerizing way to touch your readers deep within their souls. It's about crafting moments that hit them in the gut, stirring up intense emotions and forging an everlasting connection. Here are some techniques to help you achieve this:
1. Unexpected Loss: Introduce a character who captures hearts, only to snatch them away suddenly. Think of J.K. Rowling's "Harry Potter" series, where the abrupt departure of beloved characters like Sirius Black and Fred Weasley leaves readers shattered, their grief a testament to the power of storytelling.
2. Sacrifice for a Cause: Show a character willingly sacrificing their own happiness or even their life for a greater purpose. Suzanne Collins' "The Hunger Games" portrays Katniss Everdeen's selflessness, volunteering as a tribute to save her sister, evoking empathy and admiration.
3. Unrequited Love: Explore the agony of unrequited love, where hearts ache and souls yearn. Charlotte Brontë's "Jane Eyre" delves into the bittersweet and heart-wrenching tale of Jane's unfulfilled affection for Mr. Rochester, resonating with readers who have experienced the profound depths of unrequited longing.
4. Betrayal by a Loved One: Peel back the layers of trust to reveal the sting of betrayal. George R.R. Martin's "A Song of Ice and Fire" series delivers shocking betrayals that shatter readers' expectations, leaving them stunned and heartbroken alongside the characters.
5. Overcoming Personal Demons: Illuminate the struggle against internal conflicts, be it addiction, guilt, or haunting trauma. Anthony Doerr's "All the Light We Cannot See" explores Werner's moral compass during wartime, captivating readers as they witness his battle for redemption and personal growth.
6. Injustice and Oppression: Shed light on the injustices characters endure, igniting empathy and inspiring change. Harper Lee's "To Kill a Mockingbird" reveals the racial prejudice faced by Tom Robinson, awakening readers to the urgent need for justice and equality.
7. Parent-Child Relationships: Navigate the intricate tapestry of emotions between parents and children. Khaled Hosseini's "The Kite Runner" unearths the complexities of the father-son bond, evoking a myriad of feelings, from longing and regret to hope for reconciliation.
8. Final Farewells: Craft poignant scenes where characters bid farewell, whether due to death or separation. Markus Zusak's "The Book Thief" gifts readers with heartbreaking partings amidst the backdrop of World War II, leaving an indelible mark of loss and the fragile beauty of human connections.
9. Personal Transformation: Illuminate characters' growth through adversity, offering a beacon of hope and inspiration. Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol" narrates Ebenezer Scrooge's extraordinary journey from a bitter miser to a beacon of compassion, reminding readers that redemption and personal change are within reach.
10. Existential Questions: Delve into existential themes that provoke deep introspection. Albert Camus' "The Stranger" challenges readers to ponder the meaning of life through Meursault's detached and nihilistic worldview, prompting them to question their own existence.
With these techniques, you have the power to touch your readers' souls, leaving an indelible impression. Remember to weave these moments seamlessly into your narrative, allowing them to enrich your characters and themes. Let your words resonate and ignite emotions, for that is the essence of impactful storytelling.
#writing#writing tips#character development#writer on tumblr#writerscommunity#writer tumblr#writblr#writing advice#oc character#writing block#writing habits#writing help#writersociety#fanfic
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The secret timeline inside of Good Omens season 2 revealed, *part1*
Part 1 l Part 2
If you’ve ever watched a ballet or an opera, you know how the rhythm in the music is used throughout to determine not only the movements of the dancers, but also when lines are sung or spoken. This is almost unheard of in television, but what if I told you it was hidden in season 2 of Good Omens? If one were to, say, meticulously cut together only the scenes set in the present day into one big timeline, you would get one long video that is exactly 2 hours 22 minutes 00 seconds and 00 frames long. An ineffable cut that is so perfect it defies all logic. (I’ve burnt a timecode into this ineffable edit to help pick up the rhythm.)
Even though there are large swathes of the second season with no music, there is a constant tempo weaving its way through the show: What if the seconds ticking by in the runtime itself was the music? Here’s an example of what I found. Behold a supercut of every single time Shax shows up, or Hell is mentioned in series 2 in the ineffable edit. They always arrive on a 6 in the time stamp (ex: 00:XX:X6).
(SOUND ON is an absolute must here, otherwise you won't hear any of the triggers)
Shax rings Crowley on a XX:X6. Shax miracles herself into the car on a XX:X6. Shax knocks on windows on a XX:X6. Shax’s big scary moment at the bookshop happens at 66 minutes exactly (lol). Crowley calls out for Shax on a XX:X6. Beelzebub starts spewing flies on a 6. People mention hell and it’s always on XX:X6 etc. etc…(Bonus: I also left in Maggie flipping the damned the double-bird on a XX:X6) I’ve also left in the only appearance of Shax or hell at all in the whole series that isn’t tied to a six: the park bench scene with Crowley. Shax seems to be off by one line, showing up on a XX:10, then back to XX:X6 on her second reply: “Bills, mostly”. I can only theorise that this scene, while technically in season 2, is not supposed to *be* in season 2 (even just judging by the trees, sun and the overcoats, it’s not summer like in the rest of the season). And it’s not only sixes! Every time I go through I find more and more little beats that line up exactly with ineffable timings. I can only do one video per post, so I’ll have to cut it up into sections, but Gabriel, doors, car horns, bird calls, Aziraphale, food, drinks, Angels, dialogue, Maggie, Nina, jokes, clocks, bells… The list goes on and on.
Neil called this season “The bridge”
Because we all know how much Neil loves double meanings and wordplay, I just have to ponder the idea that when Neil said this season was “the bridge” between seasons 1 and 3, he meant it double-literally. First, as in the bridge Aziraphale and Crowley have to cross in order to get them into position for the second coming. We even see the physical manifestation of this bridge leading everyone in the background of the opening credits. But this season is also a bridge in the sense that it’s a musical section that introduces new ideas or material in the middle of a song. This whole season is the music that deviates from the familiar, and re-contextualizes the chorus and the verses so we can appreciate them in a new way.
Let’s not forget that 2:22 is also exactly the same timing as this (and only this) track from the good omens s2 album (read all about the soundtrack here):
Why is this so bonkers? I think GOS2 might be the first ever “Total” series of television.
Having everything in the series timed and choreographed would actually make it a very faithful adaptation of the Powell & Pressburger film The Tales of Hoffmann (read about the movie and it’s effect on all of s2 here). If you watch the tales of Hoffman, you will realize that the entire film is actually done more like animation, with the music and vocals all performed in a studio, mixed and edited first, and then the actors came back to act out their choreographed and lip-synched parts for the cameras afterwards. The result is "Total film": a movie that feels more like a ballet, with every movement, action, and line happening in time with the music. As far as I can tell, very few films have ever attempted this, with The Tales of Hoffmann and Playtime being the only two “complete” films I could find in this style. (The Red shoes has one section, and An American In Paris has a few)
“Why would ambitious filmmakers simply film an opera? Many admirers of the work of Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger have assumed that their decision to make The Tales of Hoffmann (…) was in some way an admission(…) that they couldn’t go on making their edgy, over-the-top melodramas after the rejection and interference they’d suffered, (but) there’s a case for considering The Tales of Hoffmann as one of the finest and boldest works that Powell and Pressburger produced, so far ahead of its time as a wholly “composed” film... Late in his life, Powell himself said that he thought it was one of the best films that he and Pressburger had made.” - Criterion review, Tales of Hoffmann
Here’s a simple example from An American in Paris
youtube
If season 2 *is* scripted and choreographed to line up with specific timings, I’m pretty sure that would make this the first ever “total” or “composed” season of television ever attempted. Not only does this take an ASTOUNDING amount of planning, scripting and editing finesse, not to mention a completely controlled set, it takes a real understanding of how to perform as an actor using rhythm and metre, which would go a long way to explain why all of the main actors coming back for season 2, with the exception of John Hamm, are well regarded theatre performers, (especially of Shakespeare).
I’ll leave you with one last surprise I found in the discovery of the ineffable edit: remember Aziraphale’s smile at the very end if the credits? It happens on 02:23:03, as the first step off the bridge, and into season 3.
I will have much more in the next ineffable timeline post. Stay tuned…
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Thanks for reading all the way to the end. It’s taken me a solid month to get this perfect. There are so many hidden cuts and jumps to take into account, and I had a frame rate issue that kept exporting to 29fps instead of 25fps, but I’ve finally nailed the ineffable timeline enough that I am confident sharing in it.
Credits to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable for all the support and help with editing and just general good vibes.
#good omens 2#good omens meta#good omens season two#art director talks good omens#go season 2#go meta#good omens season 2#crowley x aziraphale#good omens spoilers#good omens analysis#good omens
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.1
As won by the poll, the MC x Seven first kiss drabble is first! A few things: 1) this drabble is fucking long sorry and 2) though this is what I imagine their first kiss to be like, I don't want to go as far as saying it's completely canon, mostly because I'm sure it can go many different ways with different types of MC's. And 3rd) I tried really hard to make this fluffy and not so serious and I'm sure you can see the shift where I thought 'oh crap' but...I am not a fluff writer and I will be working on that lmao 4th) as always, I do not edit my drabbles and I really only do one draft of them so excuse the wordy/awkward sentences or typos or any of that sort and finally, sorry about that last line lmfao
“Have any of you seen Seven?”
That’s the question you’ve been asking all night since your band left The Golden Spoon, a bar in the crux of the city. It had one of your best audiences in recent memory; there were no lulls in engagement, no dull moments that made you question yourself. People loved the songs and danced their hearts out, some even asked for pictures once the set was over. Fame, however small, feels pretty fucking good.
That holds the most truth in Seven. After the set was over, they were on a high, laughing and talking to anyone who offered them even a sliver of their time. That’s usually how it goes with a successful set--Seven becomes a magnet for all sorts of attention. Unreachable, untouchable. No wonder you barely had a chance to talk to them after leaving.
It didn’t bother you, considering you were all heading to the bar owner’s apartment for a small after-party. You just assumed you’d talk to Seven there, considering it’s an apartment. Eight-hundred square feet at most. Small enough that you could spot Seven’s familiar red bandana in any crowd.
Or not.
The group you just asked share equally confused looks and answer with varying shrugs.
You huff, pushing through the slightly sparse but growing crowd. You maneuver through the kitchen and ask a haggle of women who claim they didn’t even see Seven arrive. The man standing alone in the hall? Saw Seven once and never again.
You’re growing frustrated.
With every answer, your impatient grows. Where the hell could Seven be? You came with them but were quickly swept away by the hordes of people throwing various questions and praise your way. Seven hasn’t responded to any of your texts either, which sprouts up a small seed of worry in you.
“Hey, MC!”
You look up to see Jazzy beckoning you over to the couch in the living room, where most people have congregated. In the center stands Rowan, gesticulating wildly as he tells a story from high school...one you’re sure you’ve heard many times before.
Jazzy waves you over again and you sigh. Half your mind still on Seven’s whereabouts, you stride through the living room and take a seat in the corner of the couch next to Iris, half your body pressed against the armrest.
“…and that’s when I had to sit down because I kid you not, I was about to fucking eat concrete…”
The group laughs as Rowan weaves a tale of failed skateboarding antics. The names of you and your friends come up a few times, and whenever Seven is mentioned you can’t help but jolt and look around in hopes that they slipped back inside at some point in the story. With every mention, your body deflates further and further.
Until your phone buzzes.
You turn it around, only to catch Seven finally responding to your million texts asking where they are.
Seven: Roof
You quirk a brow at the message—the one word that says so much—and type something quickly in return.
You: Thought you died.
Another buzz.
Seven: Can’t get rid of me that easily.
You snort, though no one else is laughing. You lower your phone a bit to appear engaged but send back a quick text.
You: Aw, really? I was hoping I’d finally be free of you.
Seven: Har-har. Are you coming or not? I’m feeling lonelyyyy
Your heart races and another laugh bubbles out of you when Seven sends a GIF of someone ungracefully falling on the floor. You didn’t realize how much of a relief it is to hear from them until now, seeing Seven’s text on your screen. Is your body that attuned to them? That, whenever they’re gone, you can feel their absence, so palpable it’s as if a part of you is missing? When they’re near, you feel more than complete. Drowning in so much joy that it’s almost overwhelming?
What do you call that?
You shake away the thoughts and send a reply: Coming.
Brushing yourself off when you stand, you catch your friends looking at you. You shoot Rowan a small smile and walk out of the living room, where you quickly hear him go into another story about who-knows-what. At least the party seems interested.
Another buzz.
Seven: Bring some bears please
You: Bears?
Seven: Beers. Whatever.
Shaking your head, you put your phone away and divert your path to the kitchen where you swipe two bottles of beer. You use the end of the counter to pop open the tops before making your way out of the apartment…only to soon realize you don’t actually don’t know where you’re going.
Dangling the beers between two fingers, you take out your phone.
You: Where am I going?
Seven: Are you serious? It’s a roof. Just go up.
Seven: lol
You: I will kill you.
Seven: OMG you really are trying to get rid of me
You: Seven Lawless
Seven: Using my whole name? Just shivered. The roof entrance is down the hall to your left. Ignore the signs telling you…not to go to the roof.
You move to the door and sure enough, there is a large sign warning of any trespassers.
You: You mean the sign saying that ‘violators will be fined and/or arrested?’
Seven: Ignore it. It’s just a very strong suggestion
Seven: (trust me)
Scoffing, you push it open with your shoulder and go up the single flight of stairs to the roof. Stepping outside grants you a cacophony of sounds; car horns, the sound of the wind rushing past your cheeks, music playing from Seven’s phone.
“I’m starting to think you look at the floor plan of every place you enter just to find the roof,” you say by way of greeting as you approach them.
Seven looks behind their shoulder from their spot on the ledge, their previously blank face widening into a sly grin.
Your heart races at the image of Seven smiling at you, though you quickly push it down. You don’t know what’s been happening but lately, everything Seven does pulls a reaction from you. A simple look makes your stomach squeeze. A brush of their hand sends goosebumps up your arms. A smile can throw your whole body out of whack.
“I needed a break,” Seven replies, turning back around to face ahead. As you get closer, you see their legs dangling over the edge. It’s not too far below—the building is four stories—but it’s still enough to give you vertigo when you go to sit next to them. “Someone asked me to sign their divorce papers."
Your lip twitches as you hand them a bottle. “Did you?”
Seven looks over to you, gaze glittering beneath stray strands of dark hair that fall in front of their eyes. “Yes.”
You laugh and Seven swats your following hand away in your attempt to shove them to the side. “Woah, woah!” Their brief panic from the possibility of falling is laced with humor and you let out a small, ‘sorry!’ that Seven waves off.
"Signing divorce papers," you muse. "I wonder what we'll sign when we're global rockstars."
Their humor subsides, and their smile weakens as they toy with their bottle. You wait, silent, as Seven inhales through their nose and says, “Do you ever regret it?” They gesture vaguely around them. “Doing…all of this?”
You face ahead and think about it, stretching your legs out in front of you. “Not really. Do you?”
Seven takes a swig of their drink before setting it down next to them, lifting both shoulders in a quick shrug. “No. This is all I ever wanted to do.”
“Then why don’t you sound so convinced?”
Their eyes cut to yours and they snort a little.
“Hey, you brought it up,” you prod.
They huff through their nose, eyes narrowing in mock annoyance. “Shut up.” Once again, their humor is brief, and you start to think that there must be something within Seven that’s torn, fighting to come out. It wouldn’t surprise you; Seven has always loved too much, hurt too much, felt too much. They call it a Fatal Flaw, how attached they get, but really, you find it endearing. It’s rare to find people like them in this world. You wish they knew that. “Ah, I don’t want to ruin the mood.”
You nudge them. “Say it.”
They begin rocking back and forth in thought, nudging you back every time they move. “Sometimes…when I’m on stage…” They clear their throat. “Sometimes I feel so lonely.”
Oh.
You expected many things, but not that.
Lonely? Seven is lonely? Granted, Seven hasn’t had the greatest home life, but you assumed that they found an abundance of people to surround themselves with. Hell, they looked like they were having the time of their life after the gig!
Seven’s frowning now, their eyes glazing over with an emotion you can’t read. “I see all those faces and I love it. The attention. The way they sing our songs. I feel fucking alive, you know?”
You nod, hanging on to every word. You understand them; the feeling of music and standing on that stage, singing emotions and states of being that can’t be explained in any other way but through song.
“But then I look back and…” They chew on their inner cheek, brows furrowing as they evidently search for the right words. “I wonder if they see me. Like really see me.”
Your lips part. For a moment, you’re speechless. “Sev—“
“And I know it’s unfair to think that,” Seven breaks in quickly. “They’re fans. I shouldn’t put so much responsibility on them, but it just….fuck, I don’t know what I’m saying.”
“No!” you say. Seven jolts and whips their head toward you, giving you a look of alarm. “I get what you’re saying.” You adjust to face them completely. “I feel it too, sometimes. You just want to be seen not as Seven Lawless but…” You clear your throat. “Seven Duckstein. You know?”
Seven holds your gaze. Their eyes sparkle under the fairy lights that are strung around the lattice detailing on the roof. As their eyes dart around your face, searching for something, you wonder if it was wrong to bring up their real name. It’s always been a sore topic for them, amongst other things. You just hope Sev understands what you’re trying to say.
They crack a small smile and nod. “Yeah.”
You let out a small breath of relief, grateful Seven understands what you mean. You gaze around, looking down at the street below. Distantly, you can feel Seven’s eyes still on you. Your skin burns under their stare, but you do your best to keep looking at the tiny people running inside shops, chatting, and slipping into cars. Living entire lives that you will never know the depth of.
You wonder if you have learned the true depth of Seven Duckstein. Even after all these years…they still seem like a mystery to you.
And you sort of hate how exciting that feels. As if uncovering the hidden layers of your best friend is something to look forward to.
“I’m not lonely with you, though.”
Your eyes flicker up to meet theirs. You laugh a little. “How could you be? I’m with you 24/7.”
Seven rolls their eyes and it’s their turn to shove you. “Can you be serious a sec? I’m trying to tell you I appreciate you.” They drag the syllables on the word ‘appreciate,’ trying to emphasize the severity of the moment.
You raise your palms in mock surrender. “Keep going. I’m listening.”
They pause for a beat. “No. I’m nervous.”
“What!”
“Too much attention.”
“You’re a performer?!”
They raise a finger. “That’s different.”
“Oh, please—“
Somehow you and Seven fall in a lighthearted round of bickering, swatting each other’s hands as you playfully fight. That fighting soon turns into tickling, and Seven’s usually even voice turns into high-pitched squeals that you wish you could record to use against them later.
You don’t know how it happened, but somehow Seven ends up on their back, sighing happily at the darkened sky that hovers over you both. You lean on your side, your body pressed against Seven’s, and rest your head on your hand.
“Come onnnn,” you prod, poking their rib. They squirm. “Tell me how much you appreciate me.” Your voice softens as Seven’s humor dies. “Tell me how you really feel.”
You meant for it to come out as a joke, but the delicacy in your voice betrays the true intention that’s hiding deep within you.
Seven’s eyes slowly, hesitantly, glide away from the stars pulsing in the sky to meet your eyes. With their hair framing their face, their small smile, and the glare of the fairy lights dancing on their face, they have never looked so vulnerable.
So…different.
“I don’t think I should.”
That has you stiffening. A flare of panic rises in your stomach. What does Seven mean by that? Part of you knows but…no. You’re being ridiculous.
They turn their head away, rolling their lips. It’s silent for a moment. You convince yourself Seven won’t speak until they say, “I’m afraid. Of you.”
“What?” you blurt, eyes wide. You hardly know how to act right now. This conversation has gone a direction you’re not sure of.
They turn back to face you. “You have too much power over me. It scares me.”
You open your mouth to speak. The only thing that comes out is a pathetic noise from your throat.
Seven snorts at your reaction, frowning at the sky. “You really don’t know the effect you have on others.”
“I doubt I have any impact on others," you mutter, feeling oddly self-conscious.
“Fine then. You don’t know the effect you have on me.” They huff, throwing their bandana aside to run a hand through their hair in frustration. “It’s kind of annoying.”
You sputter out a laugh, reaching out to poke them again. “Are you seriously insulting me—“
Seven grabs your hand mid-way, their skin warm against yours. You look down, staring at the polish on their nails as they curl their hand around your palm. “I’m not trying to insult you.”
“Then what are you trying to do?” you mumble, your eyes still on your joined skin.
“I’m trying to do as you asked.” Seven inhales a shuddering breath. “I’m telling you how I really feel.”
You jerk a nod. “Okay. Sorry.” Your voice is quiet. “Go.”
Silence.
Seven’s lip twitches as they look up at you. “Nervous again. Too much attention.”
“Fuck off,” you throw out, though there’s no strength behind your words.
It’s Seven’s turn to apologize. “Sorry.” They swallow. “I just think I might mess up my words with you looking at me.”
You debate something. Debate the logic behind whatever you’re going to say next. This moment feels too big to make decisions on feelings you don’t know are fleeting or not. This is Seven. Your best friend. Anything you do will permanently change the comfortable camaraderie you two have had since you were kids.
But…you can’t stop from thinking it might be worth it anyway.
“Then don’t use words.”
Seven’s lips part, mostly from surprise. And then you see it; the shift in their expression-- from uncertain to determined. Their eyes darken and slowly, they release their grip on your hand to place it on the back of your neck, pulling you toward them.
Your heart races in your chest. Are you two really doing this? After years of casual closeness; sleepovers, handshakes, private looks across crowded rooms. Has there been an underlying attraction you just never paid attention to? Or maybe you did, and both of you were too afraid to confront it.
Seven is slow at firs, as if they aren't quite sure they should be doing this after all. But when you don’t pull away they grow the confidence to close the remaining inches of space between you.
Kissing Seven isn't like anything you imagined. And you can't lie; you've imagined it plenty of times.
What is happening...?
Lips warm against yours, you clutch the leather of their jacket as they pull you closer. The kiss is a messy and desperate dance of teeth and tongues but you don’t mind. Not when Seven tastes like gum and alcohol and is sending goosebumps down your arms as they absently run circles on the skin of your neck.
Messy seems about right.
Seven smells of lavender and pine and mint and so many other smells you never noticed until now, when you’re so aware of them and their existence that your brain can’t make out any words except Seven Seven Seven.
Seven kisses you like it's their own salvation; as if kissing you now is the only thing anchoring them to this moment. As if pulling away means breaking whatever dream you two have found yourselves in. So they pull you even closer, deepening the kiss and sighing happily into your mouth.
You could kiss Seven Lawless all night. Shit, you could kiss Seven Lawless forever.
They tug on your lower lip with their teeth just lightly before closing their mouth to plant a more chaste kiss before pulling away. You swallow a frustrated groan, stifling the urge to pull them back into another kiss.
Your eyes flutter open at the loss of warmth.
"That...that was a lot better than I thought," they breathe.
"You've thought about it?" you joke, careful not to speak too loudly in fear of ruining the moment.
Their answering nod is jerky. "Yeah. An embarrassing amount of times."
You both laugh. The humor quickly dies. Then...the worst part comes: the silence.
The horrible, awkward silence.
See, no one ever talks about what comes afterward. The reality of realizing what it is you've just done. The panic that follows the post-kiss clarity.
“Uh…”
“Er…”
They slowly drop their hand from your neck.
And then they burst up, making you fall back on your ass.
“You—“ They whirl around. “Did you just kiss me?”
“Me?!” you guffaw, standing on your feet as well. “You mean you kissed me!”
“Me?” They stand there, and then a manic, happy laugh escapes them. You watch as they put their hands on both of their cheeks, blowing out a long breath. “So I did, didn’t I?”
It’s your turn to laugh. You feel drunk. “Yeah. You did.”
“You kissed me back.” Their voice comes out almost accusatory.
“Yeah.” Your brows furrow. “…I did.”
Seven and you stand there. A rush of wind passes. Neither of you speak.
Until both of you do.
“That—“
“We—“
Seven physically clamps their mouth shut with their hand. Your brain is a static fuzz of nothingness.
Songwriters at a loss for words. It’s almost funny.
“Is…” You clear your throat. “Is that how you really feel?”
Seven meets your eyes and then quickly looks away. “Yeah.” A mumble. “For a while now.”
Your eyes widen. “I—“
“Don’t say anything!” Seven raises a hand, stopping you.
You jolt, mostly because Seven just acted like they saw a bug or something. “What!”
“You know in the movies and TV shows where a person confesses to another person and that other person feels obligated to say something back even though they likely didn’t think it through as long as the other person?” Seven says in one breath.
You blink. “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“—well, I always found that to be pathetic. Almost like a pity response.” They begin nervously smoothing their hands on their pants, exhaling a heavy sigh. “Just don’t…say anything, okay?”
“Seven.”
Seven, still a bit frantic, comes over to you and puts their hands on your shoulders. “Just forget this happened. I’ll get over it. I just…I may have drank a bit and I needed to get it out of my system and I don’t want this to ruin what we have.”
You have whiplash. Maybe it was you who drank too much. You two were just kissing—kissing—and now Seven is telling you to forget it...?
“That kiss was in the heat of the moment and I mean, I did like it but it may be weird and we’ve been best friends for so long that I know you might find it odd. And hey,“--they let out a burst of shaky laughter--"maybe we can write a song out of thi--'
You pull their face forward, stifling the rest of their words in another pathetically desperate kiss that burns you all over.
It takes Seven a few seconds to catch up, but when they do, their hands go from your shoulders to your cheeks, cupping your face.
By the time you pull away, you're both slightly breathless. You say, “Just…shut up.”
Seven simply stares at you, parted lips glistening and eyes peering at you as if you’re a painting in the Louvre. Like you're something worth their awe and wonder.
Maybe it’s now, just like when they were laying down, that Seven is seeing you differently too.
The sound of metal squeaks in the air with the door opening. You and Seven jolt, quickly shuffling away from each other just as Rowan, Iris, Devyn, and Jazzy appear.
“We were looking for you gu—what’s going on?” Jazzy asks, her eyes darting between you two.
“Nothing.” Seven takes a wide step away from you, swiping a hand across their lips. You swear you see the shadow of a smile on their face. “We were just...talking.”
“You were missing the party, Sev Sev.” Jazzy comes over to Seven and throws her arm around their neck in some sort of move that can’t possibly be comfortable. “Where did you go?”
“Sorry, Jazz Jazz,” Seven jokes back, exasperated. They keep one eye on you as Jazzy pulls them away back inside. They steal one glance at you before they disappear down the stairs.
You stand there, ruminating over what just happened. Your lips still sting and the phantom touch of Seven’s mouth still makes the hair on your arms rise.
“You okay?”
Rowan’s voice has you jolting back to the present. “What?”
“You and Seven.” Rowan gestures at you. “Are you guys alright?”
“Huh? Oh. Yeah.” You wave a dismissive hand as you begin walking back inside. “Totally. We’re just peachy. What are we doing?”
“We’re heading home, actually,” Iris says, shooting you a curious look. “Party got boring.”
You snort, and you and your friends walk down the stairs to meet Seven and Jazzy in the hall. Seven looks your way and quickly averts their gaze, grazing the bottom of their teeth along their lip in evident thought.
You know, eventually, you and Seven will have to talk about…whatever that was that just happened. You’re not quite sure yet what it means. Though you do know one thing: tonight has changed something. Suddenly your friendship is something far more than precious: it’s fragile. And you can’t help but wonder what that kiss means for it.
“Should we get something to eat?” Iris asks the group as you saunter out of the building. “I’m hungry.”
“You’re always hungry,” Rowan snorts, weaving Iris’s jab.
“I’m okay with anything you want.” As Seven says this, they look over to you, and you know they’re not just talking about food.
“Yeah,” you decide. “Me too.”
“Burgers it is,” Iris says. Devyn hums in agreement.
Seven smiles at you, and you can feel the shift in them. When they gaze at you, something else lies there. Something else that makes your heart quicken.
Yeah, you may not know what comes next in your friendship, but you do know one thing: you and Seven will never part.
And that thought comforts you.
#drabble#seven lawless#writing#AHHHHH#ripping my hair out#it was fun writing a Not Angry Seven#It was also weird though#writing a seven that's friends with mc#snores
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ZENG YIXUAN as Ashina Yunyi Weaving a Tale of Love Season 2 (2023)
#weaving a tale of love 2#weaving a tale of love#风起西州#cdramaedit#userdramas#cdrama#asiandramanet#cdramasource#dailyasiandramas#perioddramaedit#zeng yixuan#tuserjade#mymymy#never posted this and shame on meeee#thats my ladyyyyyyyyy#her fight stabby sad intro was good#she should have been allowed to kill that guy SRSLYYYYYY but wtvr#im glad she lived and stayed on for the rest of the show as a side character#STILL kinda annoyed about how they ended her story with duanduan but im gonna let it gooooo it was dramatic romanticismmmmmm
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Can you do another soulmate au with Qiu and Tamarack but mc moves in at step two (I'd assume they'd basically end up the same way without the mc being there)? Qiu in particular would be interesting to see cause of how closed off they are lol
Anyway love your writing ❤️❤️❤️
♦ You can only see grey until you meet your soulmate for the first time with Qiu and Tamarack step 2 ♦
► tags and warnings: Soulmate! Au, Based on this post
► words: 2406
► A/N: Hi! I didn't know if you wanted the same type of soulmate AU or a different kind, so I wrote the same! If you're interested in seeing a different kid, just drop a request and I'll be glad to write something <3
► Masterlist
Tamarack
If the idea of a soulmate, as a child, made Tamarack indifferent, it now filled her with fear.
It wasn’t supposed to be like that, she was sure. Not like she’d ever admit to these feelings to anyone— Finding your soulmate was a goal to strive towards, a consolation on difficult days.
It’s what all romance books centered around. It’s the topic of all of the songs people listen to on the radio, the advice columns on magazines the girls much cooler than her read.
It’s a daunting notion, perhaps, but a natural one. Her soulmate will appear when she least expects, her world will fill with colours she had never particularly wished to see, and she will be granted a companion for as long as both shall live. The other half of her soul, a missing limb she had never noticed was gone.
But how could she ever muster up excitement for it when her future was so uncertain?
Maybe her soulmate was back at her old home, at the school she’d have attended if her parents had kept her instead of leaving her with her grandparents. Or maybe, if they followed through on their promises to take her back, she’d just miss her soulmate moving into the perpetually empty, likely haunted, house in the middle of the cul-de-sac.
A soulmate could be the anchor she’d always wished for, a tether somewhere, but it could just as easily twist into another loss, another painful what-if to occupy her thoughts.
And losing the one thing you wished for isn’t terrifying?
So she continues living her life. Hoping that she’s just another person to meet their soulmate just a little later in life— her parents had met in college, after all. Things would just work out if the universe could hold out for just a while longer, until her family’s mess could finally settle itself or she was old enough to make her own choices, put down roots somewhere she was certain they wouldn’t be cruelly ripped out the soil.
She had heard many tragic tales of the sort, after all. Soulmates that meet briefly only to be torn apart. People who are meant to each other, but who are destined to just weave in and out of each other’s lives, only having brief, blissful moments together.
She hates to admit it, but the idea of suffering such a fate keeps her awake, sometimes.
Tamarack was tired of holding her breath and waiting for other people to make decisions for her. Soulmates were a cosmic matter, beyond the reach of any plea or plan. And if people could be fickle and unreliable, she doubted the universe would be any more inclined to listen to her wishes.
Every year that passed, with her world continuing to be coloured in the greyscale she was so fond of, made her just a little more hopeful, dimming the fear and anxiety she had long grown used to.
But things have a way of changing when you least expect it.
This Halloween was different. It was her first as a teenager, and she had obsessed over her costume for weeks. How could she not? Everything felt more important this year, like the tiniest details suddenly carried the weight of her entire identity. Adding to the excitement, her Omi had mentioned something Tamarack couldn’t stop thinking about: after years of vacancy, someone had finally moved into the empty house next door.
Before she could head out for her own festivities, her omi invites her to deliver her homemade sweets to the new neighbours.
Tamarack stood on the porch of her grandparents’ house, the evening’s chill nipping at her nose. She adjusted her cape— a flimsy, dollar-store last minute addition to an otherwise well-planned witch costume. Her Omi had insisted on the traditional sweets, meticulously wrapped and sealed in clear plastic with small bows. Tamarack clutched the basket, feeling every bit the reluctant Little Red Riding Hood.
“Go on, sweetheart…” her Omi urged from the doorway, every bit as boisterous as she always was “First impressions are important!”
First impressions, Tamarack thought bitterly, only mattered if you planned on sticking around. Still, she trudged across the lawn to the new neighbor’s house, pausing at the edge of the worn wood porch, and the sparse decorations out on the lawn. It brought a smile to her face— the residents had likely not fully moved in yet, but they at the very least bothered to decorate for the occasion.
Her heart thudded as she raised a hand to knock, suddenly a little nervous. She looks back at her grandmother, who seems impatient enough to do it for her when suddenly…
The door swung open, and Tamarack’s breath caught in her throat.
A kid stood there, about her age, also wearing a costume, trying to add in the last accessories while answering the door. Behind them, she can see boxes piled into the living room.
“Uh, hi…” they said, eyes darting to the basket in her hands. “Trick-or-treat?”
Tamarack blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of the weight of the basket.
“Oh, um, no. I mean, yes. Sort of? My grandmother…” She looks back towards her grandmother for a moment “Wanted me to bring these over.”
Before she can offers the sweets, the kid’s mother, appears behind them— her Omi’s attention quickly shifting to the other adult as they commence introductions. Tamarack shyly, albeing awkwardly thrusts the basket forward, as a peace offering.
Her new neighbour looks up for the first time, her red eyes meeting theirs.
It was like a silent firework had gone off in her mind, flooding every corner with color. The drab greyscale of the world she had grown so accustomed to was suddenly replaced by shades she didn’t have words for. The red of their costume was vibrant and rich, and the soft yellow light from the porch lamp bathed their features in a warmth that seemed dream-like.
Her knees felt weak, and her hands trembled as she tried to process the transformation. She glanced down at her own costume, marveling at the green hue of her skirt, the deep black of her cape that somehow seemed darker than before.
They were staring at her, wide-eyed. Their grip on the basket slackened, and a few candies tumbled out.
“You’re seeing it too, right?” they whispered.
Tamarack nodded slowly. She leans down to grab the fallen candies just as her soulmate does. When their hands touch, they both pull back like it’s fire.
The moment is awkward for just a second— before she laughs, and accompanies her.
Her heart pounded in her chest as a thousand thoughts jumbled together—fear, confusion, disbelief. She had spent years imagining this, dreading it, preparing for a moment that always seemed far away, out of reach.
Now, it was here.
Her world had changed in the blink of an eye, and she hadn’t even had time to catch her breath.
“I wasn’t ready for this.”
She admitted softly, barely more than a whisper. The fallen candies back in her basket, and her heart feeling just a tad lighter.
“Same…” Her soulmate replied, in disbelief. “Well… It isn’t as bad like I feared it would be.”
Surprisingly, she shares the sentiment.
Behind them, her Omi and MC’s mother were deep in conversation, already swapping stories and laughter as though they had known each other forever.
Tamarack barely noticed. Everything around her felt distant— muted compared to the colors she couldn’t stop staring at.
She forced herself to take a breath, steadying her nerves. This wasn’t what she had planned. It wasn’t what she wanted. But maybe… maybe it didn’t have to be as terrifying as she thought. Maybe this wasn’t the end of her carefully constructed world, but the start of something else.
Qiu
There was once a time in which Qiu longed to find their soulmate.
Back when things were brighter, easier. When the idea of finding the person that stood on the other side of their invisible string felt like an inevitability, a cheat code to meeting a new friend— their perfect equal, the way to make their life just a little more perfect. Golden grove was a little boring, but it was a little town brimming with potential, filled with wonderful things, little secrets, they knew of, and they were eager to share with their perfect match.
That hope belonged to a different version of Qiu, though.
A younger, more naive one. The boy with sparkling eyes and an eager need to please who he once believed themselves to be.
Now, it felt like a memory from someone else’s life, not their own.
Regardless, it was a hope Qiu had held onto for an embarrassingly long amount of time. Even when things became less certain, and making new friends became a chore rather than an exciting prospect, they still hoped anyway.
Fantasised about their eyes meeting when they took their bows at the end of a ballet recital, the world blooming into colour as they found them in a crowd, eyes soft and adoring, their appearance shifting with every second they conjured their little daydream— not knowing what they would look like, but wishing that, just at having a glimpse of them in a dream, Qiu would just know.
Or perhaps in the bustling halls of school, a casual brush of shoulders with a new transfer student would change everything.
It occupied their thoughts during boring classes or frustrating days when no one understood them, no matter how much they tried to speak: the ever-shifting face of their soulmate, the kind eyes, the idea that someone would be able to tell them who they were, someone who’d instinctively know.
Not having found their soulmate, despite their increasingly desperate attempts to do so throughout their childhood, had been just another in a long list of disappointments in Qiu’s life.
It was just another testament to a fact that terrified them: they didn’t know who they were, nor who they were supposed to be. People around them had an idea— expectations, their own stifling view of who Qiu Lin was, and the more they insisted on it, the less Qiu wished to fulfil their expectations.
Like with most other things, in recent times, they had just stopped trying.
Why should they even bother with a soulmate, anyway? They had lost so much time together already. The colours their parents had described sounded headache inducing, the idea of a soulmate stifling in a way it hadn’t before. They stopped greeting colleagues in the hallways and avoided any chance to meet new people. Their friendship circle was small, and ever dwindling— And it was better this way.
A soulmate would just be another person to disappoint, after all. Like the list wasn’t long enough already. It was better for them, and for the poor soul tethered to them, if they didn’t meet at all.
For that reason, the first day of high school was terrifying.
Golden Grove’s only school rarely got transfers. The golden-haired whirlwind that was Tamarack, their neighbour, had been an exception. But what made Qiu particularly anxious was the sinking feeling that this was it. That something was in the air. Some deep, impending change they were too small to ever possibly stop.
They couldn’t stop it, but they could delay it, whoever.
If locking themselves in their room wasn’t an option, which Qiu was sure it wasn’t, then the solution was simple. Instead of heading straight to school, Qiu veered off course, slipping into the woods that gave Golden Grove its name. The golden leaves heralding autumn crunched beneath their sneakers as they made their way to the old bridge over the creek. It was a cherished spot, a secret place they’d often escaped to as a kid.
The boy’s club, with Tamarack as an honorary member, had once made it their domain.
They throw their gym bag on the floor, huffing as it falls with a thump on the top steps, leading to the small bridge. Qiu slumps right beside it, fishing their phone out of their pockets to shoot a quick message to Ren, reassuring him that they’d show up eventually, and putting some music on.
The crisp morning air helped clear their thoughts, even if the anxiety still simmered beneath the surface.
Skipping a few hours of school seemed worth the inevitable lecture they’d get at home. For now, they could breathe, even if just for a little.
“Excuse me…”
An unknown voice sounds from right behind them, above the sound of their music. They’re momentarily taken aback. No one ever came here. It was a local secret. Who else would be in a bridge in the woods in the early morning hours?
A gasp escaped their lips as the vibrant hues overwhelmed them. Blues, oranges, and reds assaulted their senses, a kaleidoscope of shades they had no names for.
It was too much.
Qiu squeezed their eyes shut, reeling from the sudden intensity.
The stranger staggered too, pages from a notepad— Qiu’s notepad, slipping from their grasp and scattering across the bridge steps. Their wide eyes darted around as if trying to process the same blinding shift.
Qiu’s heart raced, cautiously grabbing one of the fallen pages. A note they had made a few weeks ago on ideas for Ren’s birthday gift.
Had they led their soulmate straight to them without realizing it? The colours were no less dazzling now that they started getting used to them, but the feeling was slightly more bearable. The stranger’s hair gleamed like sunlight, their features sharp yet soft, framed by a hesitant, confused, smile.
“Are you okay?” the stranger asked, voice shaky but kind. They crouched to gather the rest of the fallen pages, glancing up at Qiu with equal parts concern and awe.
Qiu’s mouth went dry. Words tumbled through their mind but refused to align into a coherent sentence.
They’d dreamed of this moment for years, yet nothing had prepared them for the overwhelming reality of actually meeting them.
“I…” They swallowed hard, trying again. “I didn’t think…”
The stranger smiled softly, offering a hand.
“Me neither.”
Qiu hesitated before taking it.
Their hands touched, and the colors seemed to pulse, brighter and warmer, as if the universe was reaffirming the connection. For the first time in years, Qiu felt a glimmer of hope.
Maybe, just maybe, they hadn’t been wrong to dream after all.
#olnf#our life now and forever#bee's writing#qiu lin#our life qiu#tamarack baumann#our life tamarack#qiu lin x reader#tamarack x reader#olnf hcs#olnf x reader#olnf fanfiction
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Here for the aesthetics…
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The French Are Glad To Die For Love
A Bridgerton x Moulin Rouge crossover
pairing: Colin Bridgerton x ? word count: 2.1k words warnings: 18+ minors DNI, un-beta'd, mentions of sex, spitting, lots of debauchery authors note: surpriiise! i have been sitting on this since part 1, so to celebrate part 2 tomorrow here's my new mini-series! i have never written for Colin before, so i'm nervous, but i loved writing this.
i also need your help! i cannot decide if this mini series should be Colin x reader or a Polin fic, where Penelope is Satine. I have created a poll here for you to vote, so please let me know!
and as always, enjoy! it's been a hot minute since I last published, so thank you if you're still here.
Bridgerton Masterlist
The stars sparkle especially brightly tonight, the crimson lanterns guiding Parisians and tourists alike through the winding streets, and Colin Bridgerton stands in awe of it all.
He’d read stories, heard tales of this place during long nights at Whites, but nothing could have quite prepared him for what lay ahead of him, a long string of lights hanging in the sky leading the way to his destination.
The Moulin Rouge.
A house of debauchery and sin, of freedom and truth, filled to the brim with bohemians and artists and beautiful women unlike anything or anyone he’s ever seen before. Even now, 30 feet away from the illuminated windmill, he can hear the music and the joy spilling out from the building. His senses are filled with the perfume of hundreds of women passing him by the minute, all with real, toothy grins he rarely has the pleasure of seeing back home. It is far too impolite to be so happy in London society.
Colin steps forwards, his boots crunching against the gravel and his coattails flying in the breeze. His shoulders brush more wonderfully merry, positively inebriated partygoers on his way in, catching odd fragments of conversations that would have scandalised him and his whole family were he elsewhere.
But he wasn’t elsewhere. He was here, in the city of love, away from anybody who had ever known the name Bridgerton. His clean slate clutched close to his chest, waiting to find out what will be written on it next, Colin feels the fresh air on his face for the last time before his life is changed forever.
The heat hits him first, a symptom he knew all too well of too many people packed into a small space. But unlike every ball he’s been to, this doesn’t feel claustrophobic or fusty. It feels alive.
There is a feast for the eye wherever one looks. Burlesque dancers showing off stockings and garters by kicking their legs up, toes pointing towards the aerial hoops holding acrobats hanging from the ceiling. Gentlemen, if you can call them that in this state, wearing top hats, arm in arm with their glasses raised high, spilling their contents all over the wooden floor.
The music blasts loud from each instrument the band masterfully pluck or blow or bang, but laughter and conversation buzzes amongst the melodies. It is a near overwhelming amount of joy, one Colin certainly could use a drink to wash it down with.
If he could just find the bar…
Bodies fill his view, so entangled in each other it is difficult to tell where one starts and another ends. Frilly skirts flow over the knees of suits as ladies dangle from the necks of patrons, sharing cigars and passing around bottles of an unknown green liquid. Rosy cheeks as far as the eye can see, wether from too much of that green stuff or the exertion of all that dancing, Colin can’t be sure. Between them all, in tiny empty spaces, he can just about make out rows of bottles and glasses.
Weaving through the crowd is like treading through water, but their energy and joy seems to rub off on him. There isn’t a dance card in sight, women choosing their partners themselves whenever they like with a freedom Colin isn’t sure he’s ever seen before. Is this truly what people are designed to be when they are free?
Eventually, his hands find the sticky wood of the bar, quickly lifting themselves back off it on instinct at the sensation. When Colin looks to his left, he sees a woman pouring a shot of liquor between her breasts, a man knelt below her waiting to lick it back up, and he quickly realises why the bar feels so tacky- every surface here seems to be host to someone’s revelry.
“Welcome to the Moulin Rouge, monsieur. Can I get you a drink?”
Colin’s attention is quickly pulled by the welcome, his gaze snapping to a tall French woman dripping with red jewels that compliment her rich brown skin perfectly. She is captivating to be sure, deep hazel eyes commanding Colin’s attention, competing with the most incredible curls of hair he has ever seen. Ladies of the ton are welcome no matter their race back home, but Colin has never seen a lady allowed to wear her hair so beautifully natural before. The Afro framing her face has more tiny rubies that sparkle under the cabaret lights, and Colin is speechless.
“I…uh, pardon me, Miss, I-“ he sighs, giving up entirely at his failed attempt at decorum, “Is it so obvious I have never been here before?”
She laughs, gems twinkling as her head shakes with mirth.
“Not at all, but most gentlemen who have been here before know to wear a top hat. And there’s that look in your eye…”
As she speaks, she pours out one finger of the green liquor Colin has spotted a few times already, sliding it along the wood towards him.
“Wonder. Drink this. It will help with the nerves.”
Colin looks down, finding himself fascinated with a drink that seems to glow of its own volition. He has smoked blends and meditated with world weary travellers from across the globe, drank tea containing unknown substances that left him staring at blades of grass as if they held the worlds secrets, and yet this… whatever it is, seems to terrify him.
The barmaid laughs again, that melodic sound with the real joy Colin very much enjoys.
“It’s only absinthe, monsieur. Loosens the inhibitions, relaxes the body…” she explains, pouring a second out for herself and lifting it to him as if to prove her credibility.
“Santé.” He toasts to health.
“Amour.” She toasts to something far greater.
It leaves no room for argument, and all Colin can do is lift his own glass and tap it against hers.
It burns his tongue, leaving a fiery trail down his throat as he swallows and tries not to cough and splutter. A bitter yet herby anise flavour fights with his taste buds and seems to seep straight into his mind, teasing at those tense knots that held him back from fully immersing himself here.
When his eyes eventually reopen, he finds the barmaid beaming at him, unphased by her own potion. Rather used to it, if she shares a glass with every newcomer, he should think.
“Be careful, though, monsieur. Many a man has spent a night with the stuff and swears he fell in love with a fairy dressed all in green. Ruined him for any other woman for the rest of his life…” She speaks words that belong in fairytale, with a tone containing such severity Colin is inclined to take every single one of them as gospel.
“I dare say I should be careful, then. I do not think this green fairy would want to join the rest of my travels when she can instead entice all of Paris’ men to sin…”
The residue of the liquor smells just as strong as the full measure, which Colin tries to blink out of his senses when he puts the glass back on the bar.
Almost as if society itself had cleared its throat at him, Colin remembers himself, remembers just where he is. Undoubtedly the most unique establishment he had ever set foot in, but an establishment all the same.
“I beg your pardon, miss, I seem to forget myself. How much do I owe you for the drink?”
She considers him.
“Hm, the absinthe I think… for you, a kiss.”
Colin, already pulling coins from his breast pocket, pauses, a little grin tugging at the corner of his lip. The francs clink together when they fall back to the bottom of his pocket, a long forgotten currency of the past. It’s a perfect reminder of just how different things are here, how easily walls crumble between strangers and connection is offered so freely. He has never kissed a woman he has not paid for back home, so afraid of getting too close to another in case they ruin each other. Here, a beautiful woman leans over the bar, offering her flushed cheek for him to softly press his lips against.
And he does.
And it is lovely.
“If any more handsome men capture the eye of Mademoiselle Belle, I will surely be out of business!” A loud, hearty voice pulls Colin from one blissful moment back into the party.
He regards a rather large man, clad in a red tailcoat and stunning golden waistcoat. His top hat, near the same to all the other gentlemen in the room but somehow grander, tops wild orange curls that match a fantastic handlebar moustache. A true ring leader to this wonderful circus of debauchery Colin has found himself in.
“Harold Zidler, at your service. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge.”
“Colin Bridgerton.” He replies, offering a hand that Harold seems bemused at. Unsurprising, considering what passes for currency around here. Nonetheless, Harold shakes the offered hand.
”I must say, your establishment is rather…” he hesitates, unable to find a word in any language he has picked up along his travels that quite captures the Moulin Rouge. Perhaps he could blame the absinthe, or the intoxicating hedonism he feels rooting its way through his mind, hidden in the brass notes from the band and thrown with each cancan kick of one of the dancers that surrounds him.
Luckily, Harold seems well used to this phenomenon.
“Isn’t it? And you have seen nothing yet! I assume you are not from around here?”
”It is rather obvious, I have been told.” Colin adds a glance to Miss Belle, who’s skirt frills bounce in the lights while she shakes up a cocktail. He adds, “London.”
”Well, Monsieur Bridgerton, I promise you that what we have here in the Moulin Rouge is unlike anything you have back home in London.”
Colin’s eye is caught again across the room, as a beautiful woman with blonde tumbling waves spits a drink into a man’s mouth.
“I am inclined to agree with you there.”
It truly is unlike anything back home. Colin has travelled across Europe and back again, seen incredible sights and met wonderful people. He has felt that ease that distance from London society and its unwritten laws and social rules that bind him back home can bring. He’s seen beauty and felt freedom and thought he might have found truth somewhere along the way, but it pales to whatever is contained within these four walls.
In truth, it couldn’t be farther from London society.
”Just wait until you see my Diamond, Monsieur.”
… Perhaps not.
Intrigue hits Colin as Harold pulls out a pocket watch on a brilliant gold chain.
“Your diamond?”
”My Sparkling Diamond. The main attraction of the Moulin Rouge, my most sought after little chickee.” He speaks proudly, with a mist in his eye Colin normally finds on ambitious Mamas at grand balls, secretly trying to auction their daughters off to the highest rank.
“I do not believe she is booked yet for tonight…” Harold adds, that mist darkening, disappearing, leaving a shiver stuck between Colin’s shoulder blades.
Not because this Diamond is a courtesan. Colin is hardly a stranger to the profession, and he bears no judgement. In truth, he admires the women he has been known to spend the night with, finding the courage of living outside society so freely quite brave indeed. No, that shiver came from Harold entirely, Colin just cannot figure out why.
Harold excuses himself, though makes sure Colin knows to stay for the show, and Colin orders a whiskey on the rocks, insisting on paying in cash this time. Though singular in person, he has never felt less alone in his life. Looking around, there isn’t an empty chair in the house. If there were, there wouldn’t be room to put it down for all the dancers and patrons enjoying every ounce of the world they can. Music played straight from the soul ringing in his ears, Colin could make out every instrument. The lights dazzled in his eyes and the spot caught him every so often, lighting his drink up in his hand like golden ambrosia.
And then, darkness. Silence.
A single spot, though the mirrors scattered around catch the light and illuminate the faces of the people around him. Everybody is looking upwards, as if they all know she is coming.
Even if he did know, Colin could never have prepared himself for what he saw when he looked up.
Who he saw.
The Sparkling Diamond, shimmering high on a swing hanging from the ceiling.
The most beautiful, breathtaking, person he has ever seen. In any city, on any continent in the world.
Crimson lips part as each and every person hangs on the breath she takes.
”The French are glad to die for love…”
don't forget to vote in the poll for your fmc!
#bridgerton#colin bridgerton#colin bridgerton x reader#colin x penelope#polin fic#bridgerton fanfic#colin bridgerton fic#colin bridgerton x you#moulin rouge#moulin rouge x bridgerton
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(Not) The Savior You Long For [Part 1]
[Masterlist] [My Ko-Fi]
Pairing: Night Lord (OC: Elias Rushorik) x serf!Reader [fem]
Song Inspiration: Fear Inoculum - TOOL [YouTube] [Spotify] “Enumerate all that I'm to do / Calculating steps away from you / My own mitosis / Growing through delusion from mania / Exhale, expel / Recast my tale / Weave my allegorical elegy.”
Warnings: Violence, explicit and detailed blood and gore, disgusting and disturbing imagery, terror and dread, fear of death, all of the warnings you should expect hearing the words ‘Night Lord’ bestie this is the “I love murder” legion.
Word Count: 2.8k
Author’s Note: The long awaited Night Lord claiming + womb tattoo series. This part is primarily exposition and setting the scene. Also new dividers? Raven Lady's getting fancy.
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
Tag List: @egrets-not-regrets @sleepyfan-blog @kit-williams @bleedingichorhearts @bispecsual
@lemon-russ @moodymisty @dedios-of-the-word @pickpocketing-your-gender
The slosh of brown water on the floor splashes away from your washcloth, and you overextend your shoulder trying to catch it before it runs too far. Hissing at the sudden spasm, you sit back on your heels, rolling it out to soothe the ache. You’ve been on your hands and knees for what feels like far too long now, and your joints are starting to protest. It seems the other serf helping you isn’t faring much better. A glance in her direction reveals her sitting like a child, knees bent and feet flat on the floor, using the full weight of her body to scrub between the seams of the floor panels. You shake your head and return to pushing around the rusty water, struggling to remove the grime from the floor.
The act was pointless. Everyone knew that it wouldn’t be another week before the armory would be so rancid with dried bodily fluids that a cleanup crew would have to scrub it down again, but you knew better than to make a comment on it.
The racket of raucous laughter nearby shoots ice through your veins. You and the other serf instinctually freeze at the sound, and it doesn’t even cross your mind to check on her before abandoning your post, scrambling off of the wet floor in a flash to hide behind a large crate. The cold metal at your back would shield you from view, you know, but the hammering in your chest and shuddering of your breath would be beacons for a bored astartes. Silently, you will yourself to calm down at any cost, holding your breath for so long your lungs begin to burn from the effort.
Their heavy footfalls eventually fade into the distance, off to another area of the ship. Still, you remain in place for another few minutes until you’re as certain as you’ll ever be that they’re gone. You dare not risk yourself getting caught by a group of Night Lords, if experience has taught you anything.
You’ve become jaded to the rags of tanned hide displayed proudly on their armor and the grotesque corpse art that lines the walls of Nightfall. The smell doesn’t even get to you anymore, having been surrounded by abundant death and decay for so long. Everything reeks of it. Even if you did take the time to think on the dreadful feelings that stir when you see them, your body wouldn’t be able to afford losing any more meals with how sparingly you’ve been fed.
What has never left you are the screams. The gush of blood pouring from a weeping laceration. The crack of breaking bones. Desperate cries from the poor targets of the Night Lord’s insatiable appetite for ‘entertainment’, sobs and begs for their lives— No, no, no, please! I’ll do anything, please, just let me go–!— eventually turning into pleas to be put out of their misery, shown mercy, as their captors only laugh and croon. No mercy flowed through them; they were never quick with their kills. It was all a sadistic game to feed off of the tears and terror for as long as they could. The Night Lords wouldn’t stop their fun until their playthings had been bled dry– literally or figuratively.
You peek out from around the crate, surveying the dim armory. Empty.
The serf you had been working with was missing as well, likely sequestered off somewhere for safety. The utter silence of the room causes your gut to tremble with anxiety. It was a dangerous game to be alone: lone serfs were prime prey, and you by no means wanted to make yourself an easy target.
With no small amount of horror, you realize it’s outside of your power to do anything about it. Your lungs deflate, and you give yourself a false reassurance before returning to your station on the floor, taking up the soiled wash rag and wringing it out into the water bucket. Pieces of slimy rehydrated skin pass over your fingers. You return to your efforts with the intent to finish as quickly as possible. The desire to flee to your cot is all-encompassing, driving you to redouble your efforts and get the job done just passably enough that you won’t be killed for it.
A thought stops you, though. Where had your companion gone? It’s not that you particularly cared for her safety (you didn’t know her and caring is a luxury you could not afford), but to be gone without a trace was peculiar. You don’t remember hearing her footsteps, but you had also been preoccupied with yourself at the time.
You look around the empty room for anything out of place. Nothing appears to have moved since you last checked. Her brush and bucket are still on the floor, right where she had left them. You had seen her put them down there, right?
…Hadn’t you?
You dismiss the thought. She was probably still hiding somewhere, and for that, you couldn’t fault her. There was no loyalty amongst serfs of the Eighth, just an understanding that it was safer together than apart. Wanting to determine how much longer you would be here, you observe the areas the other serf had already worked.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The surfaces of the floors, storage units, and walls were visibly much cleaner than the rest, but she had done a horrible job wiping things down as she went. The steady dripping of a poorly dried surface unpleasantly fills your ears, slowly becoming the only thing you can focus on. You frown. It was amazing how you could begin to miss the ever-present dull thrum of the ship’s electrical systems when it was covered by something even slightly more annoying.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
You shake your head and get back to working around the floor grate at the center of the room. Its placement makes it convenient to push the disgusting wash water into. As expected, the seams around the drain are compacted with hair and dried flesh, and you have to soak the mass to begin to scrape it free. The spongy texture is a nightmare to work with, but it wouldn’t be such a chore if you had some help.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Annoyed, you decide you’ve had enough of it. Water sloshes in the bucket when you wrench your washcloth to go wipe down whatever it is she had left unfinished, rising up to your feet. With some luck, you’d figure out where she had run off to. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if she had abandoned you altogether, leaving you to finish the task and fend for yourself.
A cursory glance over the bench, lockers, and racks reveals nothing out of the ordinary. They were passably clean and– perplexingly– completely dry. You ran a hand along them to be certain and, surely enough, it came away much the same. Odd. You were certain that you would find something. Continuing your search leaves more questions than answers.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Checking around a wall of storage cabinets, you carefully inspect each of the gaps for signs of water or some other liquid that could be leaking. You find nothing.
At the end of the lockers, a shadow dances in the dim candlelight. Fear grips you for just a moment as you focus in on it, but it is much too small to be an astartes. At the realization, the chill in your blood is replaced with a simmer of frustration, and you stomp down the hall towards the figure.
Your eyes lock with the other serf’s. “Are you just hiding to–?”
You stop. It appears she had been too preoccupied with hanging from a bracket on the wall to come to your aid. The side of her neck is torn open with loose strips of muscle and connective tissue fanning over her shoulder. A glistening metal finial of Nostraman design pokes ornately through her spine and sternum, partially coagulated blood pooling at the tip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
“About time,” a voice spits.
You’re suddenly dragged by the back of your robes, hoisted up into the air by an unseen force. The scream that leaves you tears at your vocal cords, but it’s choked off by the fabric of your neckline biting into your throat. Thrashing your head from side to side, you catch sight of a colorless face cackling, bloodied lips curled into a grin. You desperately kick your legs in an attempt to free yourself.
“Feisty little pet, aren’t we?” he asks. The Night Lord turns you around easily as you struggle, splitting red as he talks. “Good. Your friend was far more boring.”
You rake at the fabric around your neck, trying to alleviate the pressure preventing oxygen from getting to your head. The action only makes him laugh harder. “Oh, how precious. Poor little serf can’t breathe?” He tilts his head as he taunts you, and a cruel glint crosses his eye.
“How about I help with that?”
A half turn and your back slams against the wall, knocking the wind out of your lungs. Your gasp of pain ignites a malicious glee within your captor, a row of bloodied yellow teeth peeking from behind his lips. At least like this, pinned to the wall, you have the ability to catch your breath, ragged and shallow. Each rough huff eases the ache in your diaphragm.
A hand roughly snaps your head forward, forcing you to focus on the face at your front. He suffocates you with his presence, leaning in far too close. “You know,” he starts, “I had been just about ready to walk in there and drag you out myself.” Despite the melodic quality of his voice, you only feel discomfort at the astartes’s words as he uningenuously laments. “I could only stare at my masterpiece for so long.”
Briefly, your eyes linger on the silhouetted corpse of the other chapter serf. You hadn’t even heard her scream. Hadn’t heard the attack. Hadn’t heard the bones crack when she was unceremoniously mounted on the wall. You had managed to miss every detail.
…Or your captor had been skilled enough to mask them. You shiver.
He follows your gaze, scoffing when it lands on the body. “Your buddy is as pretty as she is stupid, trying to run all the way back to the hole you serfs call home.” The image of the other serf running down the hallway and getting caught as you did passes through your mind, and you grimace at the thought of whatever game she may have suffered through to end up where she is. The sing-song cadence of his voice draws your attention back to the Night Lord in front of you, “You humans fall so easily to your emotions. Not the brightest of you lot I’ve had, but certainly the best bait.”
Bait. The word is sour in the air.
“So unwilling to have fun–”
She had just been bait.
“–but you’re eager to play, aren’t you?”
You were the game.
Your blood runs cold, eyes widening as you process everything you had missed or ignored up until now. Black blurs the edges of your vision. “Oh, don’t be like that,” the Night Lord shakes his head, but you know better than to believe it. This is exactly what he wanted. “We can be great friends—”
Self-preservation takes a hold of you. Your adrenalized brain screams to overcome, persist. In an act of desperation, your hands shoot out before you, and you manage to jab your fingers into his dark eyes and claw. The astartes snarls, ducking away and dragging you with him off of the wall as he stumbles back. With a shake of his head, he regains his senses. He growls.
“You stupid bitch!”
The Night Lord tosses you like a ragdoll, uncaring of how your head impacts the nearby bench before hitting the floor. The world spins around you. “I’ll gut you like a pig for that, you impudent rat!” he roars, ceramite boots stomping closer. His eyes are wild, red around his enlarged pupils from where you’ve managed to burst blood vessels. Uncoordinated, you scramble backwards on the floor, staring up at the approaching astartes in terror.
This is it. This is where you die: surrounded by filth, hyperventilating on the floor as a pissed off Night Lord tortures you within an inch of your life until you perish from the stress. All for one measly act of courage. Your back hits a wall as he rounds the bench, and you find yourself unable to watch any longer as fate unfolds before you. You curl up in a ball, turning away and protecting your head with your arms, then wait for the inevitable killing strike.
And wait.
…And wait.
But the blow never comes– no white-hot stab of pain, no sting of a kick to the ribs, no blunt ache of broken bones– just a sickeningly sodden crunch of flesh and bone. A wet spray paints your back. Your tattered robes easily soak up the warm liquid, causing you to flinch from the sudden moisture. Even through the rush of confusion and fear, it doesn’t take you long to realize what it is. The scent is unmistakable.
Your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you struggle to catch up with your surroundings. By all means, you should be dead: the newest addition to a Night Lord’s skin cloak, or at the very least in excruciating pain. But you aren’t.
Tentatively, trembling, you withdraw your head from the cage of your arms, turning just enough to peer behind you. You gasp at the grisly sight.
Crimson rivulets of blood drip down over massive navy blue gauntlets. A single enucleated eye dangles from the gore between its digits. The terminator, more mountain than man, holds the unmoving body of your persecutor up by what remains of his cranium and neck. It is little more than ribbons of meat now.
Bile rises in your throat. You struggle to force it back down.
Bolted armor caked in blood– both dried and fresh, sunken deep into the recesses of the ceramite plating– gives off an aura of wrought iron and decay. The metallic tang permeates the air around him, hanging heavy in the poorly ventilated armory. His scarred skin looks sickly pale. Greasy. Dehydrated. Aside from deep black eyes that watch you as a predator observes prey, the most prominent feature on his face is a wicked scar: a tear in his upper lip that exposes maxilla and sharp teeth alike. The shock of black hair on his head still has the impression of his helmet on it.
Without so much as a sound, he had come up from behind and grabbed the smaller Night Lord by the face, yanking them back into the crux of his chestplate and pauldron with enough force to shatter the hardened skull of an astartes.
The massive marine throws the limp corpse of his former brother aside. The impact of metal on metal causes your ears to ring as a thousand pounds of lifeless ceramite strikes the wall, immediately followed by a disgusting wet slop of pulverized brain matter spilling onto the floor. If you had been on the Nightfall for any less time, you would have screamed. The shock almost prevents you from registering that you’re being spoken to.
“Get up.”
The terminator’s voice is that of rolling thunder and coarse gravel, resonating deep within your chest and leaving your heart fluttering with trepidation. His words had been spoken no louder than conversational, and yet they had you shooting up to your feet as if they had been shouted. Your wobbly legs nearly give out beneath you from how quickly you rise from the floor, croaking a shaky, “Yes, my lord.”
He removes his helmet from where it is magnetized to his belt with a click, placing it down on the bench you had been cowering behind. The tusks on it are as long as your forearm and nearly as thick. A faint decal of a skull is painted around the red lenses, chipped and fading but almost cartoonishly cute in contrast to the rags of flesh and weathered bones decorating the rest of his armor.
The new Night Lord doesn’t seem to find it nearly as amusing as you do. He pushes the helmet in your direction, and you clamber to catch it before it hits the ground, not wanting to incur his wrath by dropping it so soon after he had just saved your life. The metal is heavy in your arms, tusks dangerously close to puncturing your throat.
“Clean it,” he barks.
You grab your wash rag from the floor and shake it out. You do not have to be told twice.
[Part 2]
#there will be smut eventually#i did not and will not pull any punches on this one you have been WARNED#using my questionable life experience to make a good dark fic#enjoy you filthy sinners#night lord#night lords#night lord x reader#warhammer fanfic#warhammer 40k#warhammer 40000#warhammer 30k#horus heresy#warhammer 40k x reader#wh 40k#oc: elias rushorik#raven lady writings
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