#why i used the fleur de lis?

[phantomyre]

Vincent Valentine and the 'Fleur de lis'... symbolic of duality.

Upon studying Galian Beast, I noticed how a particular symbol kept showing up all over his armor. Everywhere from his torso, his arm grace, tail, claw, and yes even on his crotch-- it was just so prevalent. I figured it had to have a meaning behind it. Turns out, the symbol is called Fleur de lis. I had seen this symbol so much in life but never bothered to learn the name of it till now. And after digging into the origin and use of this symbol, I think I have an idea of what this symbol is meant to evoke when it comes to Vincent. The conclusion I came up with is (once again) duality... While there are many meanings behind this symbol, a few stand out. Firstly, Fleur-de-lis means 'lily flower' or 'flower of the iris'. It is associated to the holy trinity, Virgin Mary, cleansing/purification, royalty, new life, etc. So in a general sense, it is a symbol of pride. But here's the catch... it has a very dark history tied to it, as well. According to historians, during the French colony of the 1700s, the Fleur-de-lis was branded on slaves who had attempted to run away; a form of torment and punishment, as well as a mark of shame to those who would see the symbol. Thus, this symbol is also associated with a cruel and bloody history. Understandably, this symbol has been heavily debated as whether or not it is a symbol to be proud of or if it ought to be shunned for its horrific association. And this is where I connected its symbolism to Vincent and why he is covered in this conflicting icon. In summary... The Fleur-de-lis is a symbol of polarizing meaning. One of honor and pride, and another of oppression and sorrow. A form of dichotomy. Therefore, it would seem that this symbol was particularly chosen to represent not just Vincent's overall conflict, but specifically how he walks this fine line between humanity and corruption-- of no choice on his own. It's his fate. Duality, coexisting in one body.

[shalotttower]

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader Summary: You died and became a ghost. Now you can’t leave Chrollo, but at least there’s satisfaction in taunting him. Notes: yandere!Chrollo, ghost!Reader, past nonconsensual relationship, unhealthy coping mechanisms.

"Do you ever wonder what it's like," you ask, watching Chrollo flip the pages of his book, "to be dead?"

He doesn't reply.

Of course he doesn't, it's simply not possible. Most conversations you have now are one-sided, monologues with occasional questions sprinkled in between which always stay unanswered. Because he can't hear you. Or see you. Or touch you, unless he accidentally walks through you, and it's probably the only time when Chrollo feels something.

Maybe that's why you keep doing it, walking right through him. Just to make his skin crawl like he once made yours.

But Chrollo only closes the window and gets a warm cardigan. Cold drafts are coming in more often these days, since fall is nearing its end.

It annoys you how meticulous he is.

You float above the tub while he brushes his teeth, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling that weren't present three weeks ago.

"It's chilly here," your fingers sink deep into your thigh, like through butter, and yet it sends no signals down the nervous system to let your brain know. Strange, this body you have now ─ translucent like a jellyfish.

Chrollo rinses his mouth, you push the towel off the hook.

"I could use a cardigan too."

He doesn't get scared. Doesn't get uncomfortable, doesn't...anything, really. All Chrollo does is fix the towel and turn the bathroom lights off.

Fallen things get picked, switched objects ─ put back to their respective places, and doors locked shut. He goes about his day, sometimes drawing two mugs instead of one from the cupboard.

You could leave.

You sit on the balcony railing where Chrollo drinks his tea, and swing your legs in the air. Below your feet, cars move on the pavement like toys lined up in neat rows. People cross busy intersections, and the wind doesn't rustle your hair anymore.

Could. Could leave.

If only you knew how to do that. If only Chrollo wasn't attached to you, like a string tied to your wrist ─ invisible, but still so thick that it tugs you back whenever you try going further than a few blocks away.

You don't know why it's like this, but suspect it might have something to do with unfinished business.

Stuck here, you watch him read and brush his teeth, drink fancy tea and shake the snow globe he stole two weeks ago; the dancing fairy inside looks a tad much like you and you're debating whether pushing it off the shelf would be childish or not.

Sometimes it's frustrating being around him.

But sometimes, sometimes a door creaks and Chrollo stops in the middle of the opulently decorated space. The wallpaper has little fleur de lis printed on it, and heavy red curtains frame large windows.

This is when you go so, so still and stare.

"Dear?" he asks quietly.

There's nothing behind the door.

Just an empty hallway bathed in dim lighting.

You never reply. Because this is why you keep hanging nearby, even when there're many empty rooms in the penthouse, barely there, barely lingering ─ for the greatest and most profound pleasure of making him believe, just once, that perhaps, there's something else besides himself in this furnished apartment.

[blueepink07]

Short analysis of Muu's honeybee appearance in her MV

First of all, forgive me if some of the ideas presented were already discussed in the past. I, for one, haven't seen much discussion around this topic so I decided to bring this up!

The dresses that the girls wear in the bee form, seem to be made from flower petals. After some research, I have come to the conclusion that Muu's dress might be made from one of the petals of a yellow Iris (Iris pseudacorus).

Tracing back through history, the Yellow Iris has been a royal favorite. It's been woven into the very fabric of empires, from the fleurs-de-lis in French monarchy to the ornate decorations in Ancient Egyptian palaces. This flower isn't just a pretty face; it's a historical heavyweight with a knack for elegance and power.

Before going further, about the fleurs-de-lis:

It’s even debated whether the symbol is actually a lily, the flower the emblem is named after, or an iris, which more closely resembles the design and typical yellow color. One 18th-century historian even speculated that the name instead comes from the river Leie, where yellow irises are common and the Franks once lived. Another theory connecting the fleur-de-lis with an iris comes from the German word for a yellow iris in the Middle Ages—either “liesch” or “lies.”

With each use, the fleur-de-lis holds unique symbolism. In a religious context, it may denote purity. French monarchs used the symbol to denote the divine right to rule.

It's no wonder that Fleur De Lis has a connection with Muu's character, considering that she is half french, and is portrayed in the MV as the Queen Bee, such the association with royalty.

Moreover, Fleur de lis' sturdy stem represents the ever-present God who is our strength and our source of sustenance.

"God gave me everything, everything is as I wish"

Also, yellow irises are known for denoting strong bonds and warmth, ideal for demonstrating devoted friendship and happiness. Basically, it is a constant reminder of one of Muu's most beloved wishes to have a deep connection with her friends.

The other girls seem to wear, if we follow the same pattern, white irises' petals.

Something that was already noted is that the longer the dresses are, the closer the girls that wear them are to Muu. This idea is also reinforced by the hair color.

In this picture it can be clearly seen that the three girls who were shown bullying Muu in the first MV, and were the closest to her, have brighter hair.

Honey bees are most attracted to blue, purple, violet, white and yellow. Considering that they themselves are honey bees, this may symbolize the "likeness" or the "popularity" these classmates have in school.

The hair color that they have in their bee form is more exaggerated than the one in real life. It's a more saturated and brighter version, but it still resembles the original one.

The other classmates who are not as close to Muu, have their natural hair color, which looks dull compared to Muu and her friends. Like their presence is deemed unimportant, they fade/ disappear next to Muu's friend group.

However, Muu is an exception. Why bother drawing her hair purple? It has no ties with her strawberry blonde hair in real life.

I kept asking myself this question, until I found this information:

"But it seems that bees, especially honeybees, are born attracted to the colour purple. Which is really clever of them, as flowers in the violet-blue range produce the highest volumes of nectar."

Muu is the Queen Bee, having purple hair she attracts all of her subjects to be around her. It's like she is the embodiment of beauty even in her bee form, having traits which can be easily envied.

Like Es tells her:

That's all! Feel free to add your own ideas! Thank you for reading!

[sanjoongie]

𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔞𝔱𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔯𝔶

💚Pairing: Vampire Rockstar! Kang Yeosang x Reporter! Reader (f) ft Human Servant! San

💚Au: modern vampire au, Rockstar au, reporter au, queen of the damned au

💚Genre: contemporary

💚Rating: 18+, MDNI

💚Word Count: 2,829

💚Warnings: mentions of blood, blood loss, biting, vampiric habits

💚Summary: finding it odd that you have to interview a Rockstar in the evening, you trudge to the gothic mansion expecting a hungover man. Instead, after being left alone in his cave of a living room, you discover something much more deeper and darker than he hosts orgies with his groupies...

💚Author's Note: Happy birthday to this man who's humor, slyness, wholesome heart and thick waist will always hold a place in my heart!

“Absolutely ridiculous,” You mutter to yourself, hefting your bag with your laptop and climbing the stairs to Kang Yeosang’s gothic mansion. 

The sun is setting, and you have much better things to do than get the skivvy from a rockstar’s point of view on life, but here you were. Your editor, much to your chagrin, assigned you this task with enthusiasm. 

“He’s more interesting than you think!” Mingi said but you just thought he was a little star struck. 

You are still muttering to yourself as you knock on the lion’s mouth door knocker. He was already rich. Why did he make it look like he was a duke rather than a modern rockstar? A somewhat tall, handsome man opens the door, staring down his nose at you. 

“You’re the reporter, I presume?” He says with his haughty expression.

It took everything in you to not roll your eyes. A butler too? You grab your lanyard from around your neck and brandish your credentials. “Yes, I’m here for the interview,” You reply cheerily despite your attitude. 

The butler bows deeply, fanning out his arm to indicate you can come inside. A quick look around, with a grand staircase in the foyer and the limited edition glass chandelier, lets  you know Yeosang enjoys giving an impression. 

“The chandelier was imported from Italy,” the butler informs you. “A one of a kind piece.”

You nod appreciatively and pretend you’re taking notes. “What year?”

“1812,” the butler says.

“1812?!” You gasp and your cool exterior is gone. “Jesus.”

The butler smiles in faint amusement. “Yeosang enjoys timepieces. It says it helps him get into his stage persona.”

“Ah yes, the vampire,” you muse out loud. “However could I forget.”

The butler frowns at you, his lower lip jutting out just a tiny bit. “Are you mocking Yeosang?”

“No, a man pretending to be a mythical creature for the money isn’t anything mock worthy at all,” you reply sarcastically.

The butler uses his height to his advantage and attempts to loom over you, his face stormy with withheld rage. “You dare mock him in his own household?”

“It’s fine, San, stand down,” an amused voice comes from atop the staircase.

You turn your head and see the rockstar you were here to interview. He muses his hair and yawns prettily. He was dainty of face but his body was built a bit like a muscle-perfectionist. Needless to say, he drove his fans wild with the juxtaposition. 

San took a step back and bows. “As you wish, Master.”

Yeosang laughs, but it sounds forced and fake. “Ah, San, no need to be so formal in front of our guest!”

You raise your eyebrow. “Are you saying he refers to you as master when you don’t have guests?”

Yeosang smiles at you angelically. “Not at all. San simply enjoys teasing.”

The rockstar guides you to his living room, which is just as much a museum as a sitting room. He perches on a royal blue stuffed chair, it’s mahogany legs decorated in fleur-de-lis. Yeosang crosses his legs and gives you his full, undivided attention. “Where do we begin?”

You sit across from him on a chaise lounge, reaching into your bag to awkwardly balance your laptop there. You open it and listen to it hum as it powers up. “Well, we sent over some questions to your PR department, which you pre-approved. We can start at--”

Yeosang leans forward, elbow on knee, face in hand. “You’re awfully pretty for a reporter,” he comments.

You chuckle mirthlessly. “Are you implying only ugly girls become reporters, Mister Kang?”

“Please, call me Yeosang,” the rockstar replies smoothly, shaking his head to move his fringe from his eyes. “And no, I am not. I am simply admiring your face.”

You clear your throat. “As I was saying, I think we should start with the basics like--”

“Oh please,” Yeosang drawls. “You don’t want to ask basic questions, do you, miss reporter?”

You pause on typing up your intro and peer over your laptop screen at Yeosang. “Mister Kang, you do not want me to put on my true reporter's cap on.”

Yeosang smiles in a way that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Try me. And I thought I told you to call me Yeosang.”

You close your laptop and crack your fingers. “Okay, Yeosang. You typically dodge the questions about fans of yours going missing after being seen leaving your concerts with you. What do you have to say about that?”

Yeosang shrugs gallically. “I am not responsible for a person after they’ve left my bed.”

“So you openly acknowledge you were with them the night they disappeared,” you press.

A smirk curls the side of Yeosang’s mouth. “I thought you were reporting for the newspaper, not the tabloids.”

“I work off of facts, and it is alarming the amount of young men and women that go missing after a chance encounter with you,” you insist.

“Perhaps they believe they simply cannot live without me after a night with me,” Yeosang purrs. 

You scoff, “You don’t believe a word you’re saying, surely.”

Yeosang lets out a peal of laughter, this one sounding genuine. “Are you implying I’m good at lying to myself?”

You slam your laptop shut. “I knew this was a waste of my time. How about I do us both a favor and type up some bullshit interview. I’ll send it to your team to review. And then we never have to do this again?”

Yeosang looks as if he contemplates it for a moment and then shakes his head. “Aren’t you having fun, miss reporter? I know I am.”

San suddenly enters the room, his broad shoulders unignorable. “Ma… Yeosang. You should eat a meal before too long. You just woke up, after all.”

Yeosang meets your glare with an amused look of his own. “If you will excuse me, I will attend to a minor personal matter and then we can resume. Make yourself comfortable.”

Both San and Yeosang leave the room. San is whispering fervently and Yeosang is replying in even tones but you cannot hear the subject of their conversation. 

You sigh heavily and get up to peruse the living room. It is full of old world art. Yeosang went full-send into this vampire stage presence. You observe a Greek clay vase and a very rage filled 17th century Baroque painting. There is a velvet lined gold box that must have delivered some fanciful jewelry back in the day. 

But what seems to draw you the most were the books. Most had old world bindings, perhaps bought at auction. Some were titled, and some were not. You, by pure curiosity, pull one out of the shelf to crack it open and are surprised to see handwriting inside. 

Paintings no longer intrigue me anymore. I sigh at the simple human nature portrayed in them. If I cannot even enjoy art anymore, what is an immortal to do for the rest of eternity?

You snort at the absurdity of that sentence. “This was clearly a trap for a snooping reporter.”

You close the book with a snap and put it back. You meander down the rows and randomly pull another. It reads:

Yeosang doesn’t know I will leave him tonight. I have done everything I can for him, as a fledgling vampire. He’s grown and can adapt in his own way. I will throw myself into the sunrise and finally see it after 500 years in the dark.

“My Master was very dramatic, I’m afraid.”

You squeal as you close the book and find Yeosang behind you. When had he come up behind you? You had heard nothing? “Finished eating, have you?” You attempt to deflect. 

Yeosang smiles serenely. “I’m quite full now. I’m much better equipped for your questions now, ma belle.”

You roll your eyes and shove the book into his chest. You move back to the chaise lounge you had occupied. “You don’t have to pretend with me, you know. The story of your french vampire master is a bit overdone. I’m sure your fans would eat up an exposé on the real Kang Yeosang.”

You sit down primly, but Yeosang is still where you had left him, regarding the book solemnly. “The real Kang Yeosang, huh? But haven’t you been paying attention? I have been myself this entire time.”

You wave your hand as if to dismiss him. “Fine, do what you want. Shall we resume then, in a professional capacity?”

Yeosang tips his head sideways, considering your proposal. “I rather enjoy a more casual setting myself.”

“I really can’t win with you, can I?” You mumble to yourself. Still, you pull out your laptop and wait for Yeosang to join you. 

Yeosang moves behind the chair he had been sitting on, hands firm on the back of it, remaining standing. “You remind me of someone I used to know. Your inquiring mind is encouraging me to answer some questions better left in the dark. But I know better than anyone that a picture is worth a thousand words. Would you care for me to show you something?”

You close your laptop with finality. “It’s your interview, Yeosang.”

You follow Yeosang as he strolls with his arms held behind his back. “As you can see I am a bit of an acquirer of certain antique goods. It reminds me of the days of old. Depending on the day I could be remembering good memories or bad. Still, it is good to remember all the years that have built me up to this moment. Helps with writing lyrics for my songs as well, you know.”

You nod like it was just a regular Tuesday as a vampire rockstar persona told you about his life. “You certainly do own some very beautiful pieces.”

Yeosang opens a very large set of doors and it brings the both of you to a long hallway with high ceilings. The walls are covered with paintings, large and small and it reminds you of an art museum. Yeosang really wasn’t kidding. 

“I’ll show you a painting of my best friend and I when we were in the prime of our youth. Wooyoung was boisterous and friendly, everything I was not. We were yin and yang, perfectly suited to fill out each other’s imperfections. My master wished to have a portrait of the two of us, his opposite pair, he used to call us. Master, human servant and fledgling vampire; a triumvirate.”

Yeosang stops before a somewhat large portrait. There is a young man with his hair tied back and a beauty mark high on his cheekbone. He is grinning like he knows a secret about you but he’s going to tease you about it before he’ll reveal it. Beside him is a beautiful youth. His hair also pulled back but a reserved look on his face. It appears as if he’s looking at someone behind you and not at the viewer of the painting themselves. He almost looks like…

You giggle nervously. “Gee, the apple truly doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it, Yeosang?”

Yeosang’s shoulder brushes yours reassuringly. “There is no apple, ma belle. I am the tree.”

The painting looks authentic to your eyes but anyone could have recreated a painting that matched 18th Century French painters. Surely…

“If this is your strategy to set me on edge so that I don’t ask you a question that could set you in a suspicious light of murder, then it’s working,” you joke dryly.

“Do I set you on edge?” Yeosang asks. His hands are still held at his back but he leans forward boyishly to peer at your face.

You square your shoulders with determination. “Shall we continue?”

Yeosang continues his tour of his art collection, walking down the long hallway. You pull a notebook out of your back pocket, worn and dogeared, to jot down notes. You might as well keep up with Yeosang’s facade, noting the dates and the people associated with the paintings. 

You fall into the lull of Yeosang’s voice, deep and soothing, until you belatedly realize that you are no longer in the hallway. You shake your head a bit and find yourself in a small room, with a table, chair and a couch. It’s dark and modern but you can’t for the life of you figure out the purpose of it. 

“...so that’s the end of the tour?” You prompt.

San shoots up from his place on the couch, eyes wide in alarm. “Master, you didn’t bring her to the hallway, did you?” You study the butler as he winces, looking a lot paler than you recalled from earlier.

Yeosang does not scold San for the mistake of the title of Master this time. “Of course, mon petit chou, she thinks it’s all an act regardless.”

San claspes a hand on his collarbone. “Please don’t make me a spectacle,” he pleas.

Yeosang walks to San’s side and claps a hand down on the shoulder near where San’s holding his collarbone. You watch as Yeosang’s forearm tightens, fingers digging into his butler’s shoulder. “Why San, don’t you want to be a part of the fun?” There is an edge of danger to Yeosang’s voice and your stomach dips. 

San slowly lowers his hand and you can’t help but gasp at the two dainty holes located on his collarbone. San does not appear ashamed but more as if he’s worried. 

You swallow loudly. “You go through an awful lot to keep up appearances. I’ll be sure to note everything I’ve seen here today, don’t worry, Yeosang. Now if that concludes our interview…?” 

Yeosang sports that smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes again. He’s back to the calculating man that intimidates you far more than the entertaining one. “I have one last thing to show you,” he admits, crooking a finger at you.

Your feet move on their own accord and you feel a bit foggy-headed, much like the same state you ‘woke up’ in when you found yourself in this room. It was as if you didn’t have control over your own body. 

“Everyone has seen me flash my fangs on stage but I want you to have a front row seat to the event,” Yeosang croons softly.

The corner of his top lip lifts up and his canine is there but just as a normal human’s appears as. Then you watch in horror as it slowly elongates into a sharp tooth, perfect for a predator. “Do you need any more proof, miss reporter?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, Yeosang, that’s plenty.”

Yeosang throws his head back and his laughter echoes in the tiny, empty room. “I put on a grand show for you and the one thing that convinces you is something base like my teeth? How dull.”

“Can I be excused?” You say in a small voice, your throat tightening up in fear.

“No, I think I’d like to show you first hand why people go missing after spending a night with me,” Yeosang says.

“A-are y-y-you threat-t-tening me?!” You can’t help but stutter in disbelief.

“Master!” San protests.

Yeosang sighs deeply. “You two are wet blankets. Can’t we have a little bit of fun here?”

There’s a sense of mirroring between you and San; a held breath like a deer pausing in the middle of a clearing. Neither of you knew how to move until Yeosang, in this case the predator, indicated what would happen next.

Yeosang practically growls his next sentence, “Well?”

You can’t help but whimper. “I don’t want to die tonight.”

Yeosang rubs the bridge of his nose. “I said ‘the why’ they go missing, not that I was going to make you go missing. I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Is that why you only took a sip from me?” San hazards a guess.

Yeosang looks like he is the cat that ate the canary. “If I had it my way, I would have drunk from you then our lovely reporter here. Two lovely dishes, how could I resist?”

“I’m not making it out of here with your secrets, am I?” You whisper.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Yeosang informs you.

“Master, you cannot have told her all your secrets and let her leave. What will the other vampires think?” San objects.

Yeosang performs one of his gallic shrugs. “Perhaps that’s why I set up this interview, San. I tire of hiding everything. Having a proper reporter document everything might be nice.”

If you writing everything down that Yeosang told you was going to keep you alive, you were all for it. “I’ve made avid notes, I promise!”

Yeosang’s eyes, a light amber color that you were starting to believe were not contacts, darken when he locks eyes with you. “Do you still want that live demonstration?”

On second thought, perhaps you wouldn’t make it out alive, at least if Yeosang kept looking at you like that.

[thehaberdasheress]

Clothing listings up on Etsy

At long last... I've begun to list some of the things I made when I first got the idea to produce fashion accessories for the Renaissance set. These are all single items, prototypes of different kinds.

Gold Amber Hairnet, $40 CAD: A classy way to bundle your hair up or produce the illusion that you have some in the first place. Infuriate dead 16th century clerics with your vanity and pride in worldly display instead of covering your head in sober modesty!

Velvet Renaissance hat, $50 CAD: This style is called the "Italian Bonnet" and shows up in portraiture all over Europe... except Italy. It's a nice hat, though it fits high on the head instead of sticking snugly because Fashion. But I'm still stuck going??? Why??? (Note: Blue feather not included.)

Next up, garb that I've thoroughly test-driven myself:

Yellow Italian Renaissance dress ($150): A linen dress from the 1990s I got secondhand and dyed and decorated, inspired by the working-class women in the paintings of Vicenzo Campi and woodcuts of peasant folk dress of Tuscany and Milan. Normally fits a US 8/10, but is pictured here fitting a US 14. Skirt is for a short person, 36"/91 cm long

Decorated red apron ($50): Pure linen apron and recycled cotton waist tie, decorated with hand-stencilled fabric paint. A more affordable emulation of the elaborately embroidered 16th century apron in The Met Museum's collections.

Gold Fleur de Lis veil ($50): Oval-shaped, a couple centuries earlier than the other items. ABSOLUTELY guaranteed to enrage dead priests, see above. That's all I can say about it because I am being dragged away from the computer to go to my niece's dance recital by someone who will ruthlessly hit "post" for me. Message me if you have any questions!

[clickoly]

O'Knutzy Week - Day 3

Part III of Starboys, a Cubs Formula One AU

Characters by @lumosinlove, for @oknutzy-week-2024

Prompts: Vacation, Sunglasses

Links to: Part I, Part II, Ao3

Late summer days on the French Riviera 🌊

•••

Why don't we call it love? 

Summer rolled into the second week of September on the French Riviera, and Finn was soaking up the mild Mediterranean heat as much as he could. He woke up to the rising sun every morning to enjoy his runs along the Monaco Promenade, with its calming view of the sea and the addictive salty scent.

On a Thursday morning like that, with no planes to catch and no races to run, Finn came back from the gym craving nothing more than rest. He had just put in a couple of grueling hours of neck training with his teammate, whose company always eased the pain of doing something that felt pretty much like torture. Only, Kasey had acted funny all morning, like he couldn't quite look him in the eye. Maybe Finn was just being paranoid, but when he'd asked if everything was fine and Kasey had put on a weak smile and told him not to worry, it hadn't sounded very convincing.

Finn dropped his gym bag as soon as his feet hit the foyer floor. Home sweet home , he sighed with relief.

AirPods still on full blast, he kicked off his sneakers and ran straight to the kitchen, desperate for something to eat. 

It was the buzz of his phone that quickly distracted him, as a new string of texts popped up on the screen

Croissants on the road

And weekend at my parents

???

Finn automatically hit the call button next to Logan's contact picture. The phone rang once and then an unintelligible mumble made him laugh. "Did you just wake up?"

"Mhm."

"Mhhhm," Finn parroted. "What's the plan?"

"My parents just landed," Logan yawned loudly. "Nolly's there too. She asked about you before I could say hi."

Finn's smile widened. He swayed a little on his feet.

"Pick you up in half an hour?" Logan offered.

Finn didn't so much as hesitate. "Hurry up, I'm hungry."

"D'accord," Logan laughed, then grumbled something else in French that Finn didn't catch and hung up.  

Logan was late, as usual. Finn was so used to his chaotic ways that he had long since accepted his fate and waited patiently for him. He would always wait for Logan, no matter where, no matter how long.

Finn rushed through the front door of the building with only his weekend bag in hand and a light heart. He was so relieved that everything was back to normal.

He thanked the doorman with a friendly smile and a slightly accented bonne journée for the second time that day, before slowing his way down the stairs.

Waiting in the driveway was Logan, leaning against the hood of his brand new Porsche with a playful smirk on his lips. A baker's bag from their favorite boulangerie in town dangled from his wrist.

Logan must have noticed the hint of surprise on Finn's face because his own features softened. Bright green eyes watched him intently as he came closer.

Finn couldn't tell if it was the sun, high in a cloudless sky, or the anticipation for the days ahead, but he suddenly felt a tingling heat all over his body.

Logan seemed different, but at the same time he'd never looked so much like himself. He was wearing a thin linen shirt, he noticed, sheer white, with the first two buttons undone. The silver fleur-de-lis that usually hung around his neck was on full display above the tanned skin of his chest. There was no trace of a hat, just a wild tangle of soft brown curls pushed back untidily under well-worn Ray Bans. Finn had bought a matching pair for the two of them with the first money he'd earned in his Formula 4 days.

Before he could close the distance, Logan silently tossed him a key. Finn caught it on the fly.

"You're kidding," he managed.

Only then did Logan step away from the car. The playfully annoyed roll of eyes was there, but so was the familiar grin that drew wrinkles along the smooth bridge of his nose. Finn couldn't look away when Logan took the bag from his hands.

"Coffee's in the cup holder," he said. "Let's go, they're waiting for us."

"I'm gonna make a quick detour," Finn poked him from the driver's seat.

Logan turned around a bite of his pain au chocolat. "Quoi?"

That made Finn chuckle. The curves of his profile crinkled, and Logan's attention was captured by that single, darker freckle that stood out on the side of Finn's upper lip, just above the delicate bow. Logan traced all his favorite details about Finn over and over. The dark red stubble that covered his cheeks and sharp jawline, all the way down to his strong neck—a week-off feature he had only recently started sporting. And the auburn waves that fell softly over his pale forehead, tousled by the warm breeze from the open windows.

"...is that okay?"

"Hm?"

"I said," Finn exhaled, "I want to buy flowers for your parents."

Logan shot him a look. "Fish, you really don't have to. They're so excited you're coming."

"I know," Finn said casually. "But it's sunflower season. And your mom loves sunflowers. Am I right?"

Logan's heart squeezed. "She does."

"It's just... Un petit cadeau?" The French rolled off his tongue more fluently every day. "To say thank you. You know, for inviting me."

" I invited you," Logan corrected, watching Finn smoothly turn the steering wheel as he guided the car through the roundabout.

A sneering grin curled Finn's lips. "What? You want flowers too?

Logan turned to look outside, muttering under his breath. "Shut up."

   

He waited in the car, parked by the curb outside the florist's window. A majestic arrangement of lavender and dark green foliage draped the length of the arched doorway. It welcomed customers with a pervasive scent that Logan could smell with the window only a few inches open.

Logan's phone rang in the middle of making a last minute music playlist. Surprised, he smiled at the sight of the contact's name. 

"Knutty?"

"Tell me," Leo's tone was teasing. "Why did Sirius decide that I should be the one to remind you of all your responsibilities?"

"Merde," Logan felt a pang of panic. "Please don't tell me you're waiting for me."

Leo snorted a laugh. "I refuse to believe you're that unreliable," he said. "In fact, I'm sure you remember perfectly that you're supposed to be here on Monday , 2pm BST, to test the new side pods. Right?"

"Of course," Logan lied.

"Of course."

"Of course I remember. But thanks, Peanut ."

Leo groaned at the nickname. "Okay, I'm hanging up on you."

"See you soon," Logan chuckled.

Leo's voice came back softer. "Bye, Tremzy." 

Just as the call ended, Finn walked out of the shop carrying a lush bouquet of radiant sunflowers.

Logan had to swallow the sudden thought that he might have actually enjoyed getting flowers from him. And when Finn had sat back next to him, closed the door, and handed him the bouquet to secure for the ride, maybe Logan had pretended it was for him, too.

What he hadn't expected, though, was for Finn to pull a single, long-stemmed red rose out of nowhere. What the soft look on his face meant, he didn't dare ask. Instead, Logan stared at the velvety petals in front of him, at the long fingers confidently holding the stalk.

"Thornless," Finn said quietly. "So you won't get stung."

Logan found he could barely breathe as he took the flower from Finn's gentle hand.

"Thank you, Lo." Finn smiled when their eyes met, and Logan knew he wasn't just talking about the weekend getaway. His careful whisper had him burning in the sparkling fire behind two sweet, chocolatey rare gems.

Finally, Logan found his voice again. "Take the coast." It was a little raspy, so he cleared his throat. "Good view all the way to Nice."

And there it was, the Finn O'Hara smirk. " Sap."

"Fuck you." 

–

A piece of Heaven on Earth, that's how Logan felt about his family house in Nice. It wasn't the soothing landscape, the privacy of the gardens, or the infinity pool that skimmed the horizon. It was about his past, the memories this place was steeped in—of a carefree childhood and a handful of weeks that had left indelible marks on his heart.

Noelle was waiting on the porch, tying her long, dark hair into a messy bun.

"What's that look on your face?" Logan nearly shouted to cover the loud scratching of his footsteps on the gravel. Behind her, he saw his mom sigh theatrically, but the wide grin that swept across her face immediately betrayed her.

It always happened like this, more or less. Logan would make some random comment to break the ice—especially after months of not seeing each other—and then one of his sisters would immediately make him feel like he'd never left, as if they were all just children being spoiled with love under the same cozy roof.

Noelle just stared back.

"Quoi?" Logan laughed, stopping in front of her.

"For me?" She eyed the rose in his hand.

Logan tucked the flower behind his back and shook his head. He flashed her a goofy smile, a panicked attempt to cover up the whirlwind of emotions inside him, as loud and insistent as the rustle of the waves crashing on the rocks in the distance. It was the same tactic he'd used that one time, long ago, when he'd broken her favorite toy by accidentally tripping over it. A painful plea disguised as a childish smirk.

Noelle, of course, knew better. Her eyes immediately landed on Finn, who was offering their mother the sunflowers, then leaning into her embrace. When she turned back to Logan, she blinded him with the sweetest of beams, a warm ray of sunshine on the first day of spring. 

"Une rose rouge?" She murmured. "De ton Rouge?" 

Ever so slightly, Logan nodded. Just a tiny, single nod of his head that could have meant anything. But when Noelle carefully stood on tiptoe to hug him close, he knew he'd given himself away. She could always read him like an open book. 

"I love you, Lolo." 

Logan clung to her. He squeezed her waist between his arms and rested his head in the crook of her neck. "Love you, too," he whispered back. "I was going to say I missed you as well, but that sounds way too mushy." 

Noelle pulled back enough to pinch Logan's cheeks between her fingers, until his lips puckered into a pout. "I missed you too." 

"And me?" Finn chimed in with a silly frown. 

"You? Hm. Let me think..." She tapped her lips with a finger, her gaze wandering upward.

Finn's eyes widened exaggeratedly. "I thought I was your favorite!"

"That's not fair, Bambi," she protested, moving to cup one of Finn's cheeks tenderly. "Who can resist those big doe eyes, huh?" 

Logan smiled to himself. At least I'm not the only one.

He watched Finn melt into his sister's embrace. It was casually familial, and Logan's heart was ready to explode, overwhelmed with joy and something even greater he struggled to name. 

Home, his mind quickly supplied.

"So, am I still your favorite?"

"I mean," Noelle scrunched her nose, pulling away. "I'm the only one here who didn't get flowers, so..."

Finn grinned and cocked his head toward the car. "What about the two bottles of your beloved rosé in my bag?"

"Oh, Harzy," she mirrored his bold smile, "I missed you so much.”

[dragon-communion]

Further notes: spirit summoning

Spirit summoning: The UI symbol for the ability to summon spirits in an area is some form of arch or gateway with lines of unintelligible script inside. While this is usually indicative of the presence of a rebirth monument, not every area this appears in seems to have a rebirth monument (ex: boss rooms). This may imply the physical presence of a rebirth monument does in fact have a meaning beyond facilitating gameplay, and can be treated like any other visual storytelling element. Spirit summoning involves the use of a bell and spirit ashes, both of which must be acquired as items to use. Spirit ashes are in fact a literal item, as seen in the arrangement of Roderika the spirit-tuner's workplace and the rudimentary clay urn we hold up when we summon. While it is unclear where the image is meant to be from (perhaps imprinted on the urns?) the icons for the spirit summons involve a stone bas-relief carving of a gateway, with additional decorative details that may imply something about their origins judging by the difference between puppets and spirits. The gateway is notably the same style as the UI icon, with two columns supporting the arch. Barring the starry blue influence of the Nox, all spirit summoning via this method seems to involve light purple magic.

Rebirth monuments: Small obelisks, six-sided. The two notable carving designs are some sort of diamond shape with two "eyes", and an entwined vine motif that I swear I recognize from some other architectural structure. It has two intricately framed depressions, one on either side, that match the rebirth gate pattern of two columns supporting an unbroken arch. The depression in the lip of the base of the structure makes the whole thing a bit reminiscent of a fountain, but none of them seem particularly involved with water. The diamond motif repeats on two of the three layers of carvings, as well as on every facet of the base. Maybe it's meant to be a kind of infinity symbol? It also looks a bit like a fleur-de-lis.

Spirit calling bell: The lip of the bell is lined with twisting designs very similar to the vines on the rebirth monuments, and covered in text that presumably matches the text of the UI rebirth gates. It also seems to have six distinct "sides", though the stem of it is entirely in the round. After much intense and thankless squinting, I believe the design directly at the "crossguard" of the bell is some kind of knotted bow, with another at the end of the handle directly bordering the "pommel". It is topped by yet another of the diamondlike motifs, and the length of the handle itself might be either carved vines or carved ribbons.

Spirit Ashes: Ashes unreturned to the Erdtree. A very strange description considering the Golden Order seems violently opposed to the concept of cremation, and yet some of their heroes have become ash. Nox Puppets are a distinct starry blue, and the carvings of their gateways involve organic flowing vine shapes and half-sun imagery. Ordinary (and legendary) spirit ashes are framed by more blocky geometric designs akin to Celtic knots. Framing aside, the gateways and their text remain identical. Considering the physicality of the image, I'm inclined to think these carvings come from the sides of their urns. The rudimentary quality of the urns as items in-game, and the utter lack of lids, mystifies me.

Additional thoughts:

Why on earth do all of the stationary phantoms around the Lands Between have ghost mushrooms growing around them?

What's the difference between the white spirits we summon, the blue puppets, and the teal particle effects of the Ancestral Worshippers and their related spirits? Torrent seems more comparable to something like the Regal Ancestral Spirit than any other entity. I need to look more closely at his particle effect.

Despite all those colors to choose from, the Spirit Calling Bell and the UI rebirth gateway are distinctly purple.

The magic of the Wraith Calling Bell is black-and-gold, which I'm not even going to begin speculating on here.

[poppy-in-the-woods]

Playing God | Chapter Three: Look But Don't Touch

Plot: Sadie is a vampire hunter with a problem: the members of her favourite band are vampires. She spent the last five years since she found out training to take them out, one by one, beginning with the youngest, guitarist Tim Henson. But things rarely go as planned, and Sadie's life will be turned upside down after her first encounter with Tim.

Cross-posted to AO3

Pairing: Vampire!Tim Henson x Vampire hunter!OFC

Word count: 4315

Rating: Mature/Explicit.

General tags: vampire au, arranged marriage, smut, violence, blood, biting, implied homophobia, misoginy, lgbtq characters, slight gore.

Chapter tags: talks of slut shaming, alcohol consumption, asshole brother, asshole boyfriend

Author's note: As always, English is not my first language, this is not proofread, yada yada yada, you know the drill already. Hope you enjoy, and if any of you want me to be tagged into this, let me know.

@veronicaphoenix

After her comments about the potential existence of good vampires, Jack and her father took turns watching her. On Saturday she went to bed early and did something she hadn't done since she was a teenager: she put a couple of pillows under the covers and climbed out her bedroom window. They had agreed that Tim would pick her up at the end of the street, so, after putting on her heels, she ran to his parked car.

“Ready?” he asked her as she put on her seatbelt.

“Pedal to the metal!”

For some reason, she felt excited about going to a party, and after a couple of minutes of thinking about it, she realized why: as an adult she had never gone to a party for the party itself, but to kill vampires. The last party she had gone to with the sole purpose of enjoying herself had been her prom, and it hadn't ended well.

“What's on your mind?” he asked.

“My prom. My date tried to grope me while we were dancing, so I broke his face,” she said. “I literally broke his jaw with a punch.”

“Shit!”

“I didn't mean to do it, but I was so angry I went too far,” she confessed.

“Remind me never to piss you off,” he said.

She couldn't help laughing, and he joined in soon after.

“Do you have any stories about dances?” she asked him when she could stop laughing.

“No, not really. I missed a few, that's for sure. As a teenager I spent a lot of time grounded for smoking pot,” he said, smiling wistfully, “and I even got arrested a couple of times, so to stay out of trouble I took up playing the guitar.”

“So that's why you're so good.”

“And because of my mother. She's Chinese, you know, and Asian mothers are a little crazy. I started playing the violin, and even though I didn't like it, she made me rehearse and rehearse,” he confessed. “There's no denying she taught me discipline.”

“Do you speak Mandarin?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, no. I mean, I can speak it now, but I never learned it as a human.”

“Oh, that's too bad. Did you know there's a way to tell if a vampire learned a language as a human or if they're using their gift of tongues?”

“Ah, yeah? Which one?”

“If they have an accent of their mother tongue when speaking the other language, they almost certainly learned it as a human.” She explained. After that, they were silent for a while. “Tim, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“What does it feel like to be bitten?” she wanted to know.

“It hurts, obviously, but only for a couple of seconds. We have substances in our saliva that numb the pain. It makes the experience euphoric,” he said in a dreamy tone. “But I was only bitten to be turned, so my experience is minimal.”

“I guess I'll have to ask the fleurs-de-lis.”

“Exactly. We're here.”

The party was at a hotel, small and exclusive. They had booked one of the rooms that normally hosted weddings, and a hotel employee was checking to make sure no one entered without an invitation. Her anxiety grew as they approached the door; there were too many vampires there, and she didn't have her stake with her, nor any of her weapons, just in case she had to go through a metal detector.

“Your invitation, sir?” asked the stewardess politely.

“I have it here,” he replied, taking it out of the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Of course, have a nice evening,” the woman wished them after reading it and returning it to him.

They entered. The room was filled with vampires of different ages, genders, and backgrounds, plus several human waitresses moving among the people, carrying trays of glasses of champagne or blood. The pressure in her chest increased.

“I don't know if this was a good idea, Tim,” she whispered.

“Relax, no one is going to hurt you,” he assured her. “You are my guest, and that means that it is forbidden to touch you without my permission, okay? Look but don't touch.”

“Look but don't touch,” she repeated, taking a deep breath. “I need a drink.” Tim took a glass of champagne from a nearby tray and handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said, and proceeded to drink it in one gulp.

“Slow down, you beast, you're going to get a good bender if you keep it up,” he said, amused. “Would you like to dance?”

“Okay.”

Sadie left the empty glass on the tray of a passing waitress and let herself be led to the dance floor. They swayed for a while (neither of them knew how to dance to the kind of music that was playing), until a vampire (male, about forty or forty-five years old apparently, with a beard and graying hair) came up to greet Tim, followed by an obviously human woman, a statuesque blonde wearing a scandalous red dress.

“Hi, I'm Claire” the woman introduced herself as the vampires spoke. “I've never seen you around these parties before, are you new in town?”

“Sadie, nice to meet you,” she replied, shaking her hand. “No, I... I'm not a fleur-de-lis, I just came with him,” she explained, nodding to her date.

“Oh, I see. If he gets tired of you, or you get tired of doing it for free, call me, okay?” Claire said, holding out a card to her. “You won't know what it's like to earn real money until you're one of us.”

“Does one really earn that much?”

“Right now, between clothes and accessories, I have about five grand on me,” Claire confided. “Of course, you have to know which vampires to associate with, but here in Los Angeles are some of the richest vampires in the country.”

“No offense, but isn't that like being a very expensive hooker?”

“Luxury escort,” Claire corrected her. “Luxury bloodscort, if you will,” she added, laughing at her own pun. “The vampires have paid for my breast augmentation, liposculpture, my house, my closet and my car. And all that in just five years.”

“I assume not everyone will earn that much.”

“No, of course not. Again, it depends on where you operate and the contacts you have,” acknowledged the fleur-de-lis. “Besides, this job is not for everyone. There are girls who have tried it and soon quit, and they were just as happy.”

“Because they didn't want to sleep with their clients?”

“You don't have to if you don't want to,” the woman assured her. “They pay you to drink from you, nothing else. Any extra service is paid for separately and in advance.”

“I get the feeling you're trying to recruit me.”

“I like you, but no, more girls mean more competition. I'll tell it like it is, and you can decide what you want to do. What do you do for a living right now, if you don't mind me asking?” Claire was interested.

“I'm a gym instructor, part-time,” she replied.

Everyone in Sadie’s family had to have a job since the moment they turned sixteen, because the bills didn't pay themselves, and hunting didn't make money, but nothing that would take up so much of their time that they couldn't fulfill their duties.

“You'd make more in the two minutes it takes them to drink from you than you would in a month's work,” Claire said.

“Does it hurt a lot to be bitten?” she asked.

“Oh, no, just a few seconds, and there are even vampires who do it so gently that you hardly notice,” Claire assured her. “They have something in their saliva that makes it not hurt. It's even... not orgasmic, but post-orgasmic. You know that feeling you get when you cum really hard and for a while your brain feels like cotton candy? Like that.”

“I don't think I've ever felt that,” she lied to get Claire to keep talking. She had experienced it a couple of times, but it had been a long time ago.

“Oh, well, you don't know what you're missing, it's a wonderful feeling.”

“And do you... do you have sex with him?” she whispered, glancing sideways at the vampire accompanying her, who was still talking to Tim.

“No, though I do with others. Men and women. You haven't had real cunnilingus until you've had it done by a female vampire.”

“I believe you. Tim,” she called him, “I need to go to the bathroom, can you come with me?”

“Sure. Nice talking to you, Antoine. What did you think?” He asked her when they were far enough away.

“She's nice, but too intense for my taste.”

“Yes, I agree with that,” Tim approved, amused. “She's not on drugs, in case you're wondering; the rules of the fleurs-de-lis prohibit it. That's just the way she is. If you'd like to meet some less intense ones, I can introduce you to them.”

“Yes?”

“Besides, I need a sip of fresh blood,” he said.

“Oh.”

The disappointment must have shown on her face, because Tim replied:

“Unless you offer, and I know you won't, I have to eat.”

“I don't want to be bitten, not by you, not by anyone,” she confirmed.

“So that's it. Let's go.”

They went to a couch area, where there were several human women chatting with each other and drinking, though not alcohol.

“Hi, girls,” he greeted them with a big smile, “My friend and I are tired, can we sit down?”

“Anything for you, handsome,” said one of them, an Asian-looking brunette, patting the free space next to her.

“Jia, my flower, can I have a drink?” he continued, sitting down.

“Sure, drink,” she agreed, offering him her wrist. “But don't forget to pay me after.”

“You know I never forget.”

Fascinated as well as disgusted, Sadie watched as Tim bit into the offered wrist, but still making eye contact with her. Disturbed, she looked away.

“Why aren't you feeding your vampire?” asked another of the fleur-de-lis, a redhead with very large eyes.

“Oh, no, he's not my vampire, we're just friends.”

“Ah. I don't want to be rude or anything, but if you're not one of us, and it's evident that you're not, and he's not your boyfriend, what exactly are you doing here?”

“Sadie is going through a somewhat difficult personal situation,” Tim answered before she could do so, saving her from having to lie, “so I offered to take her out of the house for a while, to distract her from her problems.”

“And you brought her to a fleur-de-lis party because…?” asked Jia.

“Because you throw the best parties. And because I still have to eat.”

“Yeah... Where's Anya, by the way? We thought you were coming with her,” asked the redhead.

“We've called it quits,” said Tim. The fleurs-de-lis let out exclamations of disappointment in their support. “No, it's okay, she wanted something from me that I couldn't give her.”

“She's a romantic, that's why we never told her to join,” said a third fleur-de-lis, a blonde, in a knowing tone.

“That's not why, we haven't told her because she's practically a bite junkie,” said Jia in a dismissive tone. “She doesn't have what it takes to do this job and not end up dead. I'm sorry, I know it sounds awful, but that's the way it is; the poor thing doesn't know when to stop and never has.”

“I think she's changed lately,” Tim defended her. “I mean, she's the one who broke up with me.”

“Because she wanted to be your girlfriend, not because she wanted to stop,” replied Jia. “She's a bit too much of a party animal, if you know what I mean.”

“A piece of advice: don't be blinded by glamour,” said the blonde. “Always be very clear about the reality of the situation.”

“And that is…?” Sadie wanted to know.

“They're vampires, and we're just beautifully packaged food. They pay us well, it's true, but most of them don't appreciate us,” explained the blonde fleur-de-lis.

“There are always exceptions, like Tim, but it's not the norm,” Jia added. “This is all purely transactional, and if a fleur-de-lis hangs up her robes for one of her clients, it's because she's pretty sure she'll end up a vampire.”

“There are several old fleur-de-lis among the ladies with fangs tonight,” said the redhead in a tone of confidence.

“Yes, but let's not talk about work anymore, huh” -said Jia.

“Oh, I have a hilarious anecdote! Do you know what happened to me the other day? I went to a friend's birthday party, and her little daughter…”

They were chatting and laughing for a while, until, after having had several non-alcoholic cocktails, Sadie had to go to the restroom for real this time.

“Go out that door and continue down the corridor,” said Jia, pointing to the door in question with the hand that held her glass. “The bathrooms are on the right, you can't miss them.”

“Thank you.”

Before she could reach the door, however, a vampire woman stepped out in front of her. Tall as a model, with dark skin, very long braids decorated with gold rings and a golden dress with stiletto sandals. She looked like a representation of some primordial goddess.

“Good evening, little flower!” The vampire greeted her. “I haven't seen you here before, are you new in town?”

“Yes, I... well, I moved here a few months ago.”

“If you need a friend, I can be your friend,” the vampire continued, smiling. She took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waitress and handed it to her. Sadie took it out of inertia. “My name is Chantal,” she introduced herself, toasting her and taking a sip from her own blood-filled glass.

“Sadie, nice to meet you. It's just that I, uh... I already have a friend,” she replied, feeling the heat rise in her neck and face.

“Oh, I'm sure they don't mind, besides, a girl like you should have lots of friends.”

Was that vampire flirting with her or had she just mistaken her for another fleur-de-lis? Or both at the same time? Unsure, she took a sip of champagne.

“Thanks, I guess?”

“Girl, don't be ashamed, there's nothing wrong with this!” The vampire laughed, “Besides, I know you're one of mine, I've seen how your eyes went to my cleavage.”

“Oh, well, it's just that it's a spectacular dress, and you look great in it,” she excused herself.

“Thank you, it's an exclusive model,” answered the vampire, running one of her hands along the bodice of the dress. “In every way.”

“I don't want to be rude, I really don't, but I was going to the bathroom and, anyway, I'm not a fleur-de-lis, I was just invited to the party.”

“You're not? Oh, sorry, with that mouth-watering smell and that appearance I just assumed you had to be. Anyway, if you ever feel like meeting up, you can give me a call,” Chantal added, holding out her card.

“I'll think about it. If you'll excuse me...” she said, pointing to the door.

“Of course, go ahead. I'll see you around, little not-a-fleur-de lis.”

After that, it didn't take her long to find the washroom, and she was already washing her hands when a woman about her age came in, crying.

“Are you all right?” she asked the other girl while drying her hands with a paper towel.

“Oh, I'm sorry, I thought no one was there…”

“Don't apologize, you didn't do anything wrong. I'm Sadie, did someone hurt you?”

“Rose, nice to meet you. No, it's just... my boyfriend just broke up with me,” she confessed.

“Wow, I'm so sorry. What happened? If you want to talk about it, of course, you don't have to tell me.”

“I started this job to put myself through college, you know? Nothing else. Two years ago, I met Kenneth, and we fell in love. After a year together, I felt it was time to tell him what I was doing,” Rose explained. “I wanted to be honest with him; that was my biggest mistake. I don't have sex with any of my clients, ever, I just let them drink from me, but Kenneth didn't like it and that's when the fights started. He says if I really loved him, I'd get another job. Another job! I pay for everything, my expenses and his, and he has the nerve to tell me...!” She couldn't finish the sentence, because she started crying again.

“You're better off without him,” Sadie assured her, rubbing Rose’s back in what she hoped was a reassuring way.

“But I love him!” Rose protested.

“Sometimes it's not enough. Kenneth takes advantage of the benefits of your job, but he judges you for it, is that fair?” asked Sadie.

“No.”

“And is it fair for you to stay with a man who, on top of that, doesn't trust you?” She continued. “Because if I understand you correctly, one of his problems is that he thinks you're cheating on him.”

“Yes, that's a big problem for him,” Rose confirmed.

“But you haven't cheated on him, even though you could earn more if you did, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, is it fair that he doesn't trust you even though you've never done anything to betray his trust?” she reiterated.

“No. But I shouldn't have come to this party... he warned me, that if I came, he would leave me.”

“Why did you do it? I mean, why did you come to the party if you knew Kenneth wouldn't like it?”

“Because several of my vampires have moved out of town, and I need to get new contacts,” Rose explained, wiping away her tears.

“You came to do business. To make sure you're still making enough money to support both of you,” Sadie said. “He has nothing to complain about, and he shouldn't have given you an ultimatum. I assume you share an apartment” Rose nodded “and that your name is the only one on the lease.”

“Yes.”

“Well, time for you to give him an ultimatum,” Sadie said. “Either he gets out of your fucking place, or you call the police and have him removed. Tonight. You don't want to see him when you get back.”

“But where's he going to sleep? Besides, if I call the police, I run the risk of being reported for prostitution... I don't want to be filed.”

“I came with a very nice vampire, maybe he can throw Kenneth out and erase his memory,” suggested Sadie. “And as for where he's going to sleep, that's not your problem, it's his for putting you down like that.”

“Okay... Anyway, now that he's left me, the rules say he has to forget everything.”

“Well, let's go.”

Tim was still chatting with Jia and her friends when Sadie returned, accompanied by another girl, who looked like she had been crying. Sadie waved him over.

“Excuse me, I'm wanted. Is something wrong?” he asked, approaching.

“This is Rose, her boyfriend had the nerve to dump her over the phone,” Sadie informed him.

“I'm so sorry, Rose, but what have I got to do with it?”

“Her ex is at her apartment right now, and since he knows what Rose does for a living, he needs his memory wiped.”

“Oh, I see. Well, we'll have to fix that. Are you here with someone?” He wanted to know.

“No, I came by cab because my car is in the repair shop.”

“All right then, we'll give you a lift.”

Following Rose's directions, he drove to her home in Boyle Heights. On the way, Rose calmed down enough to think about doing a little networking with him, who kept his card and promised to call her.

“So, you're not her boyfriend?” Rose asked.

“We're just friends.

“How did you two meet?” Rose wanted to know.

“At a club,” Sadie answered laconically. “Is that your building?”

“Yes, we've arrived. You can park in the number seven spot, Tim, that's mine.”

Rose lived on a third floor. As the elevator went up, her nervousness increased and her confidence disappeared; Tim could sense it in the way her thoughts swirled, spinning uncontrollably. Sadie must have noticed it too, because she grabbed her hand.

“Don't worry, we're with you,” she said.

Rose nodded. The fleur-de-lis hadn't noticed, but now her new friend held the knife in her other hand. Tim looked at her, questioningly, but she merely shrugged her shoulders slightly. He understood her to mean ‘just in case.’

Rose went in first. Even though it was almost midnight, her boyfriend was in the living room, watching TV, dozing. He barely turned toward the noise when Rose opened the door and walked in, but straightened up, wide awake, when he saw that she wasn't alone.

“I can't believe you brought one of them to our home,” he said dismissively, looking at Tim.

“Our home?” Rose repeated, incredulous, and suddenly very angry, “Our home?! This is my home! You just live here for free. And you know what? You're going to leave right now.”

“Are you out of your mind? It's midnight! Where am I supposed to go?”

“I don't care,” Rose replied, “I went to that party to work, and you have the balls to break up with me via text? And on top of that, when I get back you're still here. I remind you that it's my name on the lease!”

“I was hoping you'd change your mind,” said Kenneth, disappointed.

“What?” Rose asked, puzzled.

“I thought that if I dumped you, you'd come back, and we'd make peace,” he explained. “I thought you'd change your mind about continuing to be... a whore, basically.”

“Oh, for all the angels in heaven and demons in hell, I've told you a thousand times, I don't have sex with my clients!” Rose exclaimed, exasperated. “Why can't you believe me?”

“Why did you bring them here, if not for a threesome?” Kenneth countered.

“I brought Sadie to give me some moral support, and Tim to erase your memory,” explained Rose. “I'm sorry, but those are the rules: you can't go on knowing of their existence now that we're no longer a couple.”

Kenneth wanted to get up, but before Tim could intervene, Sadie did.

“Sit back down,” she ordered, threatening him with the knife. Kenneth obeyed. Sadie moved to his side and pressed the blade flat against his cheek. “Stay very still; if you move, the tip of the blade will go through your lower eyelid and into your eye, do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good. Tim, do your thing before this idiot stabs himself in the eye, and we have to take him to the emergency room.”

“Kenneth, look me in the eye and listen carefully...”

After Rose’s problem was taken care of, as Tim drove her back home, Sadie felt his eyes on her every few minutes.

“Look at the road,” she scolded him.

“Girl, that was... even I was scared,” he said after a while of silence.

“Liar,” she accused him.

Vampires weren't afraid of anything, least of all humans; they were at the top of the food chain, and they knew it. Not even a young vampire like Tim would be afraid of someone like her, unless she managed to catch him by surprise, and in that case, he shouldn't even have time to be afraid.

“No, I'm telling you the truth,” he replied. “It made my testicles shrink and everything.”

“Ha-ha, very funny.”

“I swear. You'd make a terrifying vampire, even as a newborn.”

“I wouldn't last two days as a vampire,” she contradicted him.

“Why not?”

“I'd hate myself so much I'd kill myself.”

“But you don't hate me,” he said. “Or do you?”

“I don't hate you, but it's different,” she said. “I may not like that you have to drink blood, but I accept that it's what you have to do to survive. If I had to do it myself, I don't think I could.”

“You would. Your instinct would take over,” he assured her. “It disgusts you now, but when you're a vampire you see things differently. We've arrived,” he announced, stopping the car. “Do you need my help sneaking in?”

“No, I'll be fine. Thanks for tonight, Tim,” she said, and surprising herself, reached up to kiss him on the cheek. “See you, sweet fangs” she said goodbye, leaving before she could think too much.

Sneaking back into her room was not difficult for her. However, when she landed with the softness of a cat on the carpet, the light on her bedside table came on: Jack was waiting for her.

“Where were you?” he asked.

“Out.”

“Where?” insisted his brother.

“At a party.”

“A vampire party?”

“No, I didn't go hunting, it was just a party. You know what they are, don't you?” she asked, sarcastically, as she started to change into her pajamas.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Sadie? You've never acted like this before.”

“Like what?” she asked, annoyed.

“First you don't kill that vampire, even though you don't seem to have a problem with taking out any of the others, then you start saying ‘let's see if it turns out there are good vampires, and we don't know about it’, and then you run off to go to a party like you're a fucking teenager,” her brother enumerated.

“I don't have an answer that can satisfy you, Jack,” she replied. “Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd leave, I want to sleep.”

“This won't stay like that,” her brother warned, getting up. “Arthur and Dad will know about this.”

“You can kiss my ass, all three of you,” she replied. “Now, get the hell out of my room.”

[squishyowl]

What's your opinion on the Sisters of Battle?

Fundamentally, it's a very cool faction. Nuns with guns that spout propanganda and use pipe organ as heavy machinery? A faction chuck full of religious themes with different orders and saints? That's literally so cool!

Their design, however, is just men writing women. I at least appreciate that they tried to write an explanation for the boob armour. The Ecclesiarchy were forbidden from having Men-At-Arms, and cunningly used that linguistic loophole. Basically it shows that "yes, we are women". It's like this "No man can kill me"; "I am no man." It's an explanation at least written into the lore!

Their treatment isn't something that I don't think I am qualified enough to say. I have been into 40k for the past 3 years and just now got to read the books. GW - I don't know. Their figures look cool as shit but I haven't read any Adepta Sororitas. The Community simply sexualises them. I mean nuns unfortunately were always sexualised throughout history and it's no wonder the same is happening here. I would like your opinion on this!

As for me, I don't really mind the sexualization. It just has to be equal for both genders. "Okay, you can have boob armour Sisters of Battle but we can have nipple armour on Space Marines!"

this is an old ass ask i apologize

I don't know a ton about them (like most things in 40k simply because there is So Fucking Much) but i like the concept of them. Unaugmented armed nuns absolutely brutalizing the enemy in the name of their God-Emperor, but I just don't like the execution

The lore for why they have tit armor feels like a vague cop out. You can still have larger chested armor without just slapping tits on it (with completely unnecessary fleur de lis nipple covers), and having molded tits ends up redirecting melee attacks towards the body instead of away from it like armor is meant to do

Like you said, it's women written by men. It's sad but an almost unavoidable consequence of this franchise, and even if they weren't sexualized in canon design they'd still be sexualized by the fandom. Hell I've seen fucking Imperial Knights sexualized by giving it thick thighs and a massive rack.

TLDR, concept good, execution not the best

[bubblegum-blackwood]

Marius week - "the sound of friendship"

"Fleur de Lis"

“Lestat, please at least try to pay attention.” Marius’s voice was firm, but worn a little thin; dawn was only an hour or two away, and he was growing weary of the prince’s antics. The prince, who smiled at him with the most endearingly, infuriatingly faux-innocent sparkle in his blue eyes and put down the permanent marker he had been idly fiddling with as Marius spoke from the other side of the desk they both sat at. “My apologies,” he nodded with a little hand-sweep as if making a bow. “Please, go on, continue your absolutely riveting discussion of all those dull rules you know I’m going to end up breaking anyway.” “Lestat!” Marius shook his head with an incredulous smile. “Well, it’s true,” he spread his arms wide with a devilish grin, leaning back in his chair. “Even if I try, I’ll never end up being a rule-follower. You know that.” “You are quite the amazing creature, Lestat,” Marius sighed, unable to fully fight his smile. “You know, you’re the one who asked me to do this.” “And I’ll approve whatever you do, so long as it’s not too dull,” Lestat affected an air of apathetic boredom, picking up the Sharpie again. “I mean, there’s a reason why it’s you and not me.” “I suppose,” Marius conceded, running a hand through his flaxen hair, cut short for the night in the style of a modern man. It was strange - Lestat wasn’t used to seeing him like that, it made him look . . . older. A bit more weary. Sophisticated, in a different kind of way than his usual appearance. Was this how he had looked to Mael when the man first set his eyes on him, when they were both still mortal, Marius sitting all alone in a tavern writing away so lost in his concentration that he didn’t even notise what was happening around him? Had those icy blue eyes always been so intense, had the Blood made them that piercing and authoritative or had it just enhanced what was already there, already present in that magnificent face? Surely he was an impressive man even in life, with those regal high cheekbones and broad shoulders. “What are you thinking about, Lestat?” “Oh, nothing,” Lestat sighed, uncapping the Sharpie now and swirling the tip of it under his nose as if smelling a wine before tasting. The scent was strong, acrid. He had heard something about mortal children using the fumes to give themselves a high. Always so innovative, humans. Always discovering new ways to intoxicate themselves. “I believe you were telling me something?” he prompted. “You really are the damndest thing sometimes, Lestat,” Marius rubbed his eyes. “Why don’t you give me the marker so it stops distracting you?” “I think not,” Lestat said, and he held onto it, even as he was subjected to the old Roman’s always guilting eyebrow raise. He held out his hand. “Give me the marker, Lestat,” “Make me,”

Read the rest in:

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

What happened to Camille in the immediate aftermath of the Champ du Mars ? I know Danton went to England , but I’ve heard Camille stayed in Paris…if so why was he not arrested, or were the threats less serious than they seemed ?

On the evening the same day as the massacre we find Camille at the Jacobin Club:

M. DESMOULINS — I would not like it to be said in any circular writing that we are in split with the National Assembly. Certainly, where MM. Robespierre and Pétion are, there is no split with the National Assembly. As for sending your address by post without using the Assembly's countersignature, I must warn you that, for six weeks, none of my numbers have been received in Marseille; and yet I sent more than twelve hundred, for which I have receipts from the post office.

Five days later, the the Moniteur could report that the journalists Suleau and Verrières had been arrested, and that the authorities had also fruitlessly gone looking for Fréron, Legendre, Desmoulins and Danton, the latter three, the journal assures, having already left Paris. In Camille’s case, we know the place he, together with Fréron, fled to was Lucile’s parents country house at Bourg-la-Reine:

You (Fréron) know my father-in-law, Citizen Duplessis, a good commoner and son of a peasant, blacksmith of the village. […] An old clerk’s wallet, which had been discarded, forgotten above a cupboard in a heap of dust, and which he had not touched or even thought about for perhaps ten years, and on which they managed discovered the imprint of a few fleur-de-lis, under two fingers of filth, completed the proof that citizen Duplessis was suspect, and thus he was locked up until the peace, and seals put on all the gates of this countryhouse where you remember, my dear Fréron, that we both found an asylum which the tyrant dared not violate after we were both ordered to be seized after the massacre of the Champ-de-Mars.  Camille in number 4 of the Vieux Cordelier (December 24 1793)

At that time, if you (Camille) remember, you were incognito in Paris. You said then that you were in Marseille, in the land of liberty, the only place where one can speak the language of truth. This was not very true, as you know, because while you were believed to be in Marseille, you evaded the pursuits that were being made for the affair of the Champ de Mars, in the gardens of your father-in-law, two leagues from Paris. I, however, remained at my post, and I defied the accuser Bernard, and I entrusted you with my protection, brave Camille, in your little secret journeys from what was formely known as Bourg-la-Reine. Révolutions de Paris by Prudhomme, number 188 (February 9 1793)

In number 34 of Gazette des nouveaux tribunaux (August 26 1791) Camille was accused ”of having made incendiary remarks at Café Procope café, of having provoked murder, saying that it was necessary to shoot the national guards, and that the assignats were the heritage of the workers of the charity workshops.” This was however only based on a petition that may or may not even have been written by Camille that didn’t contain any calls to arms or violence whatsoever. Because of this, the charges against him were dropped, and on September 3 we find Camille presenting himself at the National Assembly to stand for election to the Legislative Assembly. On October 7, he gets mentioned as taking part in the debates at the Jacobin club once again, after more than two months of silence. The same month he could also release the eighty-sixth and final number of Révolutions de France et de Brabant, which had been unable to appear for almost three months (number 85 having been released on July 18, the day right after the massacres). In it, Camille blamed Lafayette for having forced an end to his career as a journalist.

[livlepretre]

Looking forward to Klaus eruption in the next chapter as now for the first time he is truly lonely with company without even poor Stefan to divert his attention .

I suppose he has kol but he doesnt trust or even want him as a brother.

Will we get the line you are everyone's girl but mine soon?

Also what happend to the diaries that Elena took from Klaus room that was originally hers I seem to remember that he read them multiple times during the three years of Elena's exile and also added his own words to them .

Elena totally misread Stefan's statement that Klaus will not kill him for that . He will be tempted to kill her for sleeping with Elena.

Maybe he would take his doppelganger and leave with her alone. That would be wonderful. The tension, the anger OMG

SUCH a good point that this is the first time he has been totally alone

I was thinking in shaping this arc that we have entered an inversion-- in the beginning, Klaus was surrounded by Stefan and Rebekah, and Elena was the outsider, the isolated one, the one suffering from her yearning. Now those positions have switched; Elena is on the inside, and has literally taken his place, and Klaus is on the outside looking in for the first time.

good question as to whether he REALLY has Kol; anyone have any theories as to why Kol is here? Klaus has some theories; Rebekah has some theories; Kol isn't sharing though. And a lot of the conversations Elena has overheard, she has not really interpreted correctly because she just doesn't know enough about certain things to understand seemingly vague statements which Kol / Klaus / Rebekah all find crystal clear. (I mentioned she is going to get bricked in the face with some Not Fun Info; poor girl, that is going to start this next chapter :/ )

but I would argue that while Klaus doesn't trust Kol, that's different from not wanting him as a brother; they just have a contentious relationship. Kol strikes me as not the most physically threatening to Klaus (that must be Elijah), but certainly the most existentially threatening, as Kol uses his intellect and his cunning to find new and exciting ways to fuck Klaus over and seek revenge. I think it's probably one of those relationships where they like each other until a point, and then they should go their separate ways or else face trying to dagger the other etc. it's like there are some relationships that do best when you don't see or talk to the other person every day. For the record, I do think Klaus loves Kol; he's not his favorite sibling-- that's Rebekah-- and he doesn't esteem him as his favorite brother-- that's Elijah-- but he still loves him as his brother. But Kol and Klaus both make it very hard to love them, and that goes both ways.

That line you were asking about is coming up very soon-- how did you know?!!

You can assume Elena took those diaries with her when she went to Chicago. She has lots of things, like her silver fleur de lis ring, with her, that there is really no good justification for her taking with her other than that she is a sentimental fool.

ha yes you are right; Stefan was saying without saying that Klaus very well might kill him for sleeping with Elena; he's not even opposed, he's just accepting at this point, in a way where he finds his whole existence hilarious as some sort of cosmic joke

aanndddd hold that thought about a klaus x elena solo arc (did you think we could wrap this fic up without one more serious arc solo arc?)

[masschase]

“White? I ain’t never fuckin’ seen her wearin’ white.” He shrugged. "Don’t know what to tell you mate; she was definitely wearing white.”

This is from chapter 22, context below, but my post about how Matt and Casey first met in person (as well as why he didn't recognise her despite the surveillance in 2014) is here.

Unsurprisingly this is a line from Matt to Johnny. It comes about after they time jump to 2006 Stilwater so Matt can get his fleur-de-lis tattoo and Johnny can get his Freckle Bitch's.

Johnny surmises that Matt might have a bit of a thing for the Boss because he gets a little smiley when Johnny mentions she'll be so happy he made it official.

Matt admits his attraction but that he's trying his best to shake it. When he can't seem to think of anything that can change Matt's feelings, Johnny advises they hide and watch the exit of the local brothel. Eventually a tall teenage boy comes out, goes into FB's to get food, and then comes out again, throwing Matt's tray aside angrily to sit at their table.

“Johnny, he’s going to see us.“ he whispered. “Why the fuck are we watching some kid eat Freckle Bitch's?” “Look at the kid properly, Miller.” the other man hissed back. He looked again, hoping the bush was camouflaging them sufficiently or they were going to get fucking arrested here. Skinny, delicate and kind of beaten up, short hair with a long fringe poking out of his hoodie, looking very much like a child despite Johnny’s assurance otherwise. Eating his burger and chips like he hadn’t had a meal in days. He looked up, almost straight at the bush where they were hiding. Shit, should they run for it? Or... Fuck. Those eyes. First time he’d seen those eyes and not found them attractive. Cute enough on a kid, but nothing more. Absolutely drop dead gorgeous on a woman, though. “Oh shit." “There ya go.” “That’s the Boss!” “Yeah.”

Johnny admits that whenever he gets into the "gee, my best friend sure has a nice pair of tits" danger zone, he reminds himself who she is, who she was when he first met her(of course, forgetting this when they reunited is precisely why Johnny slept with Casey), and it puts him off.

They end up returning to their own time after angry-2006-Boss nearly catches them. Johnny asks if it helped and Matt says this line. Johnny suggests he'll just have to control himself and reminds him to "side with the wife" because he's hoping to ask Asha to be his girlfriend. Eventually.

If anything, he and the Boss are flirtier than normal that night because it's been brought to the forefront of his mind and because they're drinking the wine Casey and Asha brought back from their time jump to a suffrage protest as shown here. Over their tea afterwards he makes the catastrophic mistake of looking into her eyes, and then decides Johnny's trick is worth a try.

Kid at Freckle Bitch’s. Kid at Freckle Bitch’s. Way too young kid at Freckle Bitch’s stuffing a burger in her mouth. Not hot. But then... woman on balcony. Woman on balcony. Most beautiful woman in the world on a balcony. Woman with a body like a fucking hourglass on a balcony. A woman he'd slow danced with. A woman who a few years later he hadn’t wanted to stop kissing because it felt so good. A woman he watched TV with and made tea for and joked with and touched more than he probably should and imagined in his bed. A woman whose gang's logo was permanently attached to his hip. A woman who he’d forever see in a long white dress. Side with the wife. Fuck. “I uh... I better go, Matty.” she said swiftly. The tea being decaf, it clearly hadn’t balanced out her tipsiness. She came up behind him and hugged him over his shoulders, kissing him on the cheek and smelling of wool and wine and cinnamon and burnt paper, and then she was gone. He waited until he had finished his tea to leave. Running into her outside their rooms seemed dangerous right now.

They managed not to see each other again that night. But that doesn't mean they managed to avoid making some unsuitable choices. They share a wall after all.

[grizzlyofthesea]

Imagine having your soul shipped to you in the mail.

I got distracted and accidentally bumped it off a table yesterday, so the top portion broke, but I was able to superglue it back together. (For anyone interested, this was made by WTFcharms on Etsy. It's a nice, high-quality, and affordable alternative to the out-of-production official soul gems floating around out there.)

With all that said, I'd like to take this time to gush about the magical girl designs in Madoka Magica. I will be focusing primarily on the original five magical girls; as much as I love what Magia Record introduced to the franchise, there are so many characters. I will share my favorite Magia Record design at the end, though.

Let's get stared with...

Mami Tomoe!

I've always really liked Mami's design. I don't know if I've ever articulated the specific reasons why, but that's what I'm here to do now.

The influences from historical Western fashion, like her corset and boots. They make Mami look classy and fashionable, yet noticeably older than the others.

The plume on her hat. It's a cool detail in general, but it also makes me think of pre-20th century soldiers' uniforms.

The feminine yet down-to-earth feel. She's girly and optimistic at heart like Madoka, but the relative lack of frills makes her feel more mature and veteran-like in comparison.

The purplish coloring to her hat and stockings. It's just a bit of complementary color goodness.

The very slight change in her hair color. For Mami specifically, she gets a slightly brighter, more saturated shade of yellow. All the original girls have this characteristic, which I think is pretty cool.

Now, on to my favorite character...

Sayaka Miki!

The cape. Whether you want to compare her to a superhero or a knight, it's fitting for her heroic ideals.

The multilayered gloves. They're unique, and the deep navy blue of the longer gloves varies the color scheme a bit.

The armor-like breastplate on her otherwise soft cloth corset. It's another point for the knightly aesthetic, but it also plays into her personality. Her heart (emotions, not actual blood-pumping heart) is vulnerable. She's expressive, but she keeps her true feelings well-guarded no matter how much it ends up hurting her.

The gold trim on various clothing pieces. It's cool, it's flashy, and it reflects Sayaka's pride in being a magical girl who fights for justice.

The angled skirt. Even if it doesn't prove to be especially practical, it looks athletic and good for combat.

The belts holding up her stockings. I just think they're neat.

The fortissimo hairpin (shown in the gif). It ties into her wish and reflects her bombastic emotions.

Sayaka's hair shifts from a muted cerulean to a bright sky blue. This is pretty in-line with her cheeriness and idealism.

Here, we have (arguably) one of the sanest members of the cast...

Kyoko Sakura!

Though somewhat simple at a first glance, Kyoko's outfit has quite a bit going on.

The fleur-de-lis like pattern under her soul gem. The fleur-de-lis is often used to represent Christian saints; Kyoko grew up in a Christian family.

The long dress/coat over a shorter skirt. One may compare the coat to a priest's robes.

The boots. Kyoko is the only one of the main cast to not fight in heels, complementing her pragmatic nature.

The detached sleeves exposing her shoulders. They make her look powerful and tough.

The white accents on her otherwise dark outfit. It adds variety, but it also alludes to the selfless reasoning behind her wish.

Kyoko's hair changes from a crimson shade to a lighter, brighter burgundy. Where civilian Kyoko lives in the shadows, magical girl Kyoko fights openly and aggressively.

Now, let's look at the ever-popular...

Homura Akemi!

Homura's design may not be super flashy, but it's still super cool in lots of ways.

The stockings. Solid black stockings would have worked well enough, but the purple diamond print going down the sides adds some flair.

The practicality. Ignoring the fact that she's sprinting around in stilettos, Homura's magical girl outfit looks pretty comfortable and easy to move in.

The subtlety. Whether we're discussing the past or the present, Homura was never one to desire the spotlight. Her subdued design and color scheme reflect this aspect of her personality.

The resemblance to a school uniform. She's got the classic bow and sailor collar, but she also borrows a unique element from the Mitakihara uniform specifically: the cut of the shirt. It has two downward points in the front and one in the back, though it is more exaggerated on her magical girl outfit.

Homura's hair changes to a darker shade of gray/black. It's incredibly minute, but it plays up her "dark, mysterious transfer student" persona.

Of course, we can't forget the one and only...

Madoka Kaname!

She has a lot in common with your stereotypical magical girls (think Sailor Moon and Mew Ichigo), but that doesn't mean there isn't a lot to admire about her design.

The yellow on her dress' bodice. It breaks up all the pink and white while still looking good in the overall color scheme.

The points on her overskirt. They look like flower petals, specifically those of a cherry blossom.

The frills and bows everywhere. Super genre-typical, super cutesy, super Madoka.

The darker pink ribbons on her gloves. They add a bit of pizzazz to what would otherwise be one of her plainer accessories.

The crossed laces on her shoes. It isn't that important of a detail, but it's a unique approach to making her already-detailed outfit even fancier.

Madoka's hair changes from a watermelon pink to more of a bubblegum pink. This just adds to her sugary cuteness and makes you feel even worse when she suffers.

And finally, as promised, my favorite Magia Record design...

Kanoko Yayoi!

I couldn't find a good, clean design sheet for Kanoko, so I chose to use some of her card artwork--one that offers a look at the front detailing (3-star), and one that gives us a good look at her shoes (5-star). So, what exactly do I love so much about her design?

The Victorian influences, like her top hat and corset. I'm a sucker for mid-to-late Victorian Era aesthetics.

The overall "cute but classy" vibe. The gold and emerald green accents on her accessories, the black-and-white color scheme, and the long gloves make her look quite a bit fancier than some other magical girls; but her frilly shorts, Mary Jane-like shoes, and cropped jacket balance everything out so she still looks like a magical girl rather than, say, a lost Black Butler OC.

The stitched detailing on most of her accessories. It really fits her fashion designer theme.

She wears shorts instead of a skirt. This isn't a horribly rare thing in the genre, especially when accounting for other Magia Record characters, but it's still pretty unique.

The holes in her cuffs. They look like the eyes of sewing needles, looping back to her wish/theme.

Aaaaaaand she may or may not look quite a bit like me. Not identical, but enough to make me do a double-take when I first saw her. That gave me the happy brain tingles. :)

Also, can we just talk about how sick her Doppel is?

Her name is Broderie, and she's the witch of torn seams. She can destroy anything, even concepts...but she's only really interested in destroying Kanoko's work. And of course, despite being labeled as a thread trimmer, she looks like a mushroom. ^^' But yeah. My girl finally got a Doppel. I'm so proud of her. :')

Anyway, thanks for coming to my TED Talk.

[quibbs126]

So randomly I was going through Tea Knight’s Wiki and saw this point in the trivia, talking about the pattern on Tea Knight’s cup

Most likely, it’s just supposed to be a fleur de lis, since it was used in coats of arms in Europe and apparently sewed on some knight uniforms (based on what a basic Google Search told me), with no connection to White Lily, especially seeing as how she didn’t rule a kingdom that Tea Knight might have hailed from

But this point is also making me just come up with some scenario where they are connected

Crack theory: Tea Knight is a purelily kid, given his white hair, Symbole on the teacup and blue eyes. Maybe that’s also why he’s lived so apparently long. But also given the whole warrior thing (as well as fighting dragons) and similar expressions to Dark Cacao, maybe he’s also one of the parents too. Though also none of those three really have the width that Tea Knight does, so maybe Hollyberry’s involved too? (possibly in addition to the other three or in place of Dark Cacao)

Alright, now we just need to find some connection with Golden Cheese and then we can say he’s a full on polyancients lovechild

[lesecretdelamaisondubourbon]

Book III/Part IX: ⚜️XIV⚜️

My father had not been dead long before events were set into motion that would change my life forever. I was too young to understand the chaos my father’s death created in court. Maman would say things to Mazarin I did not understand; whenever they spoke of me, I was present. I learned that as I grew up, I was there to remind everyone that I was the King, even as I was still in my minority. To some in the court, I was an obstacle that needed to be removed. It would be a few more years before I discovered what that meant—especially to my uncle Gaston.

The first time I remember leaving the palace as king was to sit on the lit de justice in the Grand Chamber of the Parliament. I did not want to go because we had to leave Philippe behind. I always wanted to have him by my side. As we grew up, I needed to have Philippe close to me—even when he did not wish to be.

That morning, I rose, had a bite to eat, and then was dressed by my valets in the finest clothing. I was led out of my bed chamber and into the hall where Maman was waiting. She took my hand and we made our way through the palace and into the light of day where a carriage awaited us. I did not notice much except the horses. There were so many of them on that day. As I was helped into the carriage by the footman, I noticed Maman speaking to Mazarin. When she was done, she was helped into the carriage, and sat beside me.

“Today is an important day, Louis,” she said to me. “You will preside over Parliament for the first time.”

“What is that, Maman,” I asked.

“Do not worry about that right now,” she said. “You are still young. I shall speak for you.”

As our carriage pulled away, I looked out the window. We were on our way to Paris. This would be the first time I would ride into the city as the King of France. I would not realize until I was older that it had only been 4 days since my father’s death.

On the way to Paris I fell asleep. When I felt the carriage stop, I woke up and looked out of the window to see the stone court of the Palais de la Cité. There were so many people there I was afraid to get out of the carriage. Once Maman had been helped out, she turned around.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “You must not keep the Parliament waiting.”

I knew she said those words loud enough so the crowd could hear. I hesitated but stood in the frame of the open door. The multitude fell silent. The footman helped me down. Maman took my hand, and we walked to the grand staircase. With each step, the people would bow to us. As we ascended the stairs, we were met by several men. The only one I recognized was my uncle Gaston. He bowed.

“Your Majesty,” he said. “It is good to see you.”

I nodded at him.

“You know why we are here, Gaston,” Maman said. “Louis is king now, and I will become regent on this day. It is only fitting, of course.”

“I was not aware this was something Louis would have allowed,” he whispered. “I can only imagine what you did to convince Mazarin of such a spectacle. My brother has not yet been laid to rest.”

Before mother could answer, we were greeted by several dressed in long red robes and peculiar hats. As they bowed, mother led me into the ancient halls of the old chateau. There were men and a few ladies lining the halls as Maman led me toward the Grand Chamber. Once inside, we met with shouts from the gallery.

“Vive le Roi! Vive le Roi!”

I was led to a special chair by two bailiffs on their knees bearing maces of gold. It was the lit de justice—a chair that was raised above the main floor. Draped in the royal colors covered with the fleur-de-lis, I was placed there beneath the baldachin. Mother sat beside me, yet she had to remain lower than the king. Soon, the room was filled with elaborately dressed nobles. When everyone was assembled, everyone looked at me. I was terrified. I wanted to go home. Thankfully, once the meeting was called to order, everyone’s eyes were on Maman.

I was too young to understand what was said among the counselors. On that day, my name was His Majesty. I had only been king for four days, yet they spoke of me as if I had ruled for generations. They must have known I was a child. I had not yet been breeched. Every now and then, one of the men would look at me and nod in obeisance as if to seek my approval. I was too afraid to move. I could only look at them with my eyes as wide as saucers.

After what seemed hours, Maman looked at me. She smiled and nodded to me. I knew then it was time to leave. I rose from my seat and everyone in the room bowed to me. On their knees, the two bailiffs from before helped me down and led Maman and I out of the chamber. In the hall, there was chaos that turned to whispers as we made our way back to the carriage. All I wanted to do was to return home and play in the gardens with Philippe.

“The power behind the throne can never belong to a woman,” someone said from within the crowd.

“Silence, fool,” a voice shouted. It was my uncle Gaston “You have forgotten that my mother, Queen Marie, did the same for the late king?”

We began walking faster as several men began shouting from behind. Our guards led all three of us quickly down the hall and into the light of day. When I was seen by the crowd, they bowed. Gaston escorted us to our carriage. Not since that day had I ever been so glad to be inside a carriage.

“I am moved by your kindness, Gaston,” Maman said from the window. “I will remember it.”

“I hope that you will, Madam,” he said, as he looked at me. “Your Majesty.”

I waved at him. I felt our carriage pull away and begin its journey home—which I learned was to the nearby Palais-Royal. When we were safe behind its gates, I stepped out. The servants were there to greet us. I saw Mazarin walking toward us. Before he reached us, I heard the familiar sound little feet running in my direction.

“Louis,” Philippe shouted as he ran toward me nearly knocking Mazarin over. He embraced me excitedly.

“Philippe,” Maman said, as she stepped out. “Behave.”

“You’re Majesties,” Mazarin said calmly. “It is good to see you.”

“Go inside,” Mother said to me.

Without a word, I took Philippe’s hand and led him toward the palace doors.

“Where did you go,” Philippe asked.

“I tell you later,” I whispered. I wanted nothing more than to forget. For the first time, I realized my father was dead and his death ended my childhood.

**** **** **** ****

After supper, I was bathed then dressed for bed. I noticed more valets in my chambers than usual. They occupied themselves with my clothing. I knew that new clothing had been made for me before my father died, but few pieces were befitting a king. As they busied themselves, went to the window. Darkness had fallen and all I could see were the shadows of people flitting around the gardens. I did not know what they were doing or if they were real. I imagined them as dark angels that had lost their way to heaven.

“Your Majesty,” a voice called to me. I looked to see Mazarin bowing into me.

“I do not like that word,” I said. “I am tired of hearing it.”

“You are king, Your Majesty,” he began. “From now until your death, everyone must address you as such.”

“Even Philippe,” I asked.

“When in court,” he answered. “And whenever you are performing your duties as king in the presence of your subjects.”

I stared at him as if he had spoken gibberish. How could I be a king when I could barely read or write? What little I had learned came from my governess. My wet-nurse had only left me less than two years prior. I was not ready to rule a kingdom.

“I want Papa,” I said.

“I know, Your Majesty,” he said walking over to me. He kneeled down and looked at me. “Your father was a king, and so must you be. He is in Heaven now but he will always be with you.”

“I am only a child,” I said, trying not to cry. “How can I be a king like Papa was?”

Mazarin smiled tenderly. I could tell he was trying to comfort me as a father would a son.

“Kings are not born, Your Majesty,” he said. “They are made over time. No king that ever ruled knew everything upon ascension. Child or Man, you will learn. I will make sure of it. But, it is late, and you must get some sleep. You must rise early.”

“I know,” I answered softly. “We are going to lay Papa to rest.”

He nodded. As he rose, he did something unexpected. He picked me up and carried me to bed. He pulled the covers over me.

“Good night, Your Majesty,” he said.

“Good night,” I answered.

He smiled then saw his way out. Not long after, I fell asleep. An hour later, I felt the familiar warmth of Philippe lying next to me. He was beginning to become a comfort to me. I drifted back to sleep.

“Louis,” I heard a voice say. I thought I was dreaming. It was the voice of a man, but there were no men that called me by that name since my father died. Philippe’s voice was juvenile; he had only recently learned how to pronounce my name properly.

“Louis,” the voice said again. I sat straight up. I looked across the dark room to see a shadow slip out into the antechamber. Philippe was sound asleep. I decided to follow. I quietly climbed out of bed and into the next room. I followed it into the hall. There were no guards at my door.

“Louis,” the voice whispered in my ear. I jumped as I turned to see my father.

“Papa,” I squealed, throwing my arms around him. I was too happy to notice he was cold to the touch. “I thought you were gone forever.”

“I came to see you before I go,” he said as he knelt before me.

“Where are you going,” I asked.

“You will find out one day,” he said. “But for now, you need not worry. You have your whole life ahead of you, Louis.”

“Papa,” I started. “I do not want to be king. I do not like it. No one calls me Louis anymore.”

He laughed.

“No one called you Louis except for me and your mother. And Philippe, of course.”

“Philippe! He would want to see you.”

“No,” Papa answered. “He needs his rest. Tomorrow will be hard for him.”

“I do not understand, Papa.”

“Remember what I said to you at Versailles,” he asked.

“You told me to watch over Philippe for you,” I answered.

“He will need you more than ever, Louis,” he began. “There will be times when all you will have is each other. Let nothing come between you and Philippe. Promise me.”

“I promise, Papa,” I whispered.

He smiled and stood up. I realized that I could see the hall through him.

“I was a king first, but a father forever,” he said. His voice began to fade. “The last of which brought me the greatest joy I had ever known. Be well, my son. Until we meet again.”

With those words, he was gone. I turned to see the guards holding one of my chamber doors open as Philippe slipped out.

“Louis,” he said. “Why are you awake?”

“Do not worry, Philippe,” I said as I took his hand. “Let us go back to bed now.”

“I had a dream, Louis,” he began as we headed into my chambers. “I saw Papa. He is not coming back.”

As the guards closed the doors, I stopped and looked my brother.

“No, Philippe,” I said. “He is not coming back. He is in Heaven.”

“I want to go there,” he said.

“One day, you will,” I said. “But not yet. I need you here.”

“Why?”

“Who will play with me in the garden if you go away,” I asked.

“You can play with Joujou,” he said.

“I would rather play with you than a puppy,” I said. “Besides, I would miss you.”

“I would miss you, too, Louis,” he said. “But Papa might be lonely.”

“He is there with the angels,” I said. “He is not lonely, I promise.”

Philippe yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“I will stay,” he said. “Papa said I had to.”

I smiled at him. I did not know whether to believe him or not. We went back to bed and slept peacefully until dawn.--The Secret of the House of Bourbon–XIV by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 10-2-2023