#zero sanson

[cyniibar]

If you were to rewrite Innocent or Innocent Rouge, what aspects would you change and why?

Good question! I'd rewrite some unrealistic events that happened in Innocent. Because— who, in 18th century France, would place a grumpy 11 year old girl as the Prévôté de L'hôte of Versailles? That wouldn't be likely at all especially when people during this time were heavily misogynistic. Maybe she'd claim the title realistically as a late adolescent, and was more wiser first.

The backstory of Zero. No way Marie Joseph gave birth to a baby all by herself during a fucking revolution. How the hell did they even survive that? Marie Joseph cut all her connections with her family and abandoned her occupation. Money wouldn't last her long in that kind of economy, and being a vagrant isn't exactly safe for her or her child. Especially since she's a first time mom with no experience with a baby. Like, there are things that even your research books can't answer, Marie.

How was Zero able to participate in society without a gender? Have proper education, and living? It's very modern thinking I admit, but bro how are you even living and breathing surrounded by a bunch of conservative folks? I would wanna shine a bit of light on Zero and Marie Joseph's growing lifestyle together.

Marie Joseph's character is fascinating. She's intelligent and ambitious and driven, but she's a bloody brute. Super fictional and too unreal. I'd rewrite her to be more human. The woman had experienced some trauma, but that was overlooked throughout the manga. Like I wish we have more background on that and how it affected her throughout her life. Strong feminist characters have vulnerable moments too and that's perfectly okay. But apparently not for Shinchi Sakomoto's characters. Just suffering because 'trauma builds character'.

Also, I won't hesitate to rewrite Marie Antoinette's entire character. I feel like Shinchi Sakomoto wrote her in the way Marie Antoinette was portrayed in media propaganda.

Her relationship with her bodyguard is very intriguing and I'm obsessed with it. But what are Marie Joseph's motives with starting an affair with the Dauphine in the first place? To piss off Du Barry for sleeping with her brother?? C'mon. And I'm pretty sure Antoinette would be initially self-conflicted with her romantic feelings for Marie Joseph. As she was a raised Catholic, taught to think "homo = no no". Someone like Antoinette, who's eager to please those around her and make a perfect impression... she'd hesitate before accepting Marie Joseph's hand. But then again, Antoinette thinks the more forbidden it was, the more exciting. I had hoped that Antoinette and Marie were set for on plot-road focused on complex infatuation and frustrating miscommunications. But no.

The ending of Innocent Rouge was also very rushed. Like whyyy?? Shinchi probably just wanted to get it done so he can focus on #DRLC.

[moonlitattic]

Finally got my Innocent Bleu art book and that inspired me to finally finish this!

Also made a version to make it look close to the Innocent/Innocent Rouge covers as possible, for funsies!

[glaucouscherubim]

Marie taking care of Sick Zero

Answer to letter sent by: @gentle-starlight

Warnings!: Not pre-read. I apologize since this was a bit rushed and might be shorter than expected. I also apologize for how much time this took!

A letter has been answered and sent back! Would you like to read it?

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Plagues, Smallpox, disease ridden streets and such.

All were common among the bustling streets. Men and women, child to child.

Sore throats and coughing.

Zero coughed on the bed, Her helmet laid open. Her hair ribbons still done. Blood letting was tried, a few liquors here and there.

“Calm now.” Marie spoke picking up her child, but the coughing did not cease.

Marie taught Zero to be fearless, unafraid. But, by human, she was not immune to her health. A young child in the dirtied streets, much like the streets that carried a head on a stake, is bound to get ill in some way.

But, for now, Zero is still a weak child.

The child that will soon revolutionize death and fear.

[nindianda]

Hello, I'm opening my online shop including oversea shipping!

I have some left overs from past event. There are sticker set, mini acrylic standee, and book. All items are in limited stock ><

But also open for pre order if there's any demand :D

more info and how to order : goes here! Thank you! ^^

[sangrefae]

FFXIV WRITE 2023: DAY EIGHT (SHED)

link to the ao3 post for my entries | day five | day six | day seven

shed [verb] - (of a mammal) to lose hair or fur as a result of molting, disease, or age. - wolguydesan + wolzero implied. set after 6.4. 619 words.

The first warm day of spring comes sooner than predicted, a welcome balm to the still-frayed nerves of those affected by the Final Days. It's as if the star itself is singing a song of hope to rejuvenate its inhabitants—though, Sanson concedes to himself, he might also be a little too influenced by all of the bards he's surrounded by as of late.

Two of said bards snap to attention as he approaches them, saluting to him as is usual before he waves to put them at ease.

"I assume Lieutenant Thildonnet isn't here yet?" He inquires, voice dry in its exasperation. One of the recruits only has a moment to look hesitant before a familiar voice comes from behind his head.

"If I'm here before you, does that mean I get to call it and enjoy this fine day without any teaching?" Sanson scowls, cheeks coloring as he turns to regard Guydelot. The bard is smirking like a smug fool, as usual, holding his harp loosely in one hand as he reaches out to pluck at something on Sanson's jacket.

"No, it does not—hey!" He swats at his hand lightly before continuing, "No, you still have to teach today. Just because you're early doesn't mean that you get to…"

Slowly, Sanson trails off as he registers the tuft of fur pinched in Guydelot's fingers, face growing redder once he recognizes it. It's a dark blue-gray, the lightest bits of yellow on the tips, and much to his horror more of it comes off on his glove as he swipes where Guydelot had touched. Guydelot's expression only grows mirthful as he watches.

"I wasn't early, Chief. It's half past the eighth bell," he informs him.

Sanson feels as if he's being set alight.

Only staring at the fur a split second longer, he spins back around and begins barking orders to the recruits, with them hurrying to obey. Guydelot leans with his arm on Sanson's shoulder as they escape, ignoring how he fumes as he twirls the tuft between his fingers.

-

Zero takes the water skein Estinien offers her gratefully, taking deep pulls from it in between panting breaths.

Their training has become something of a ritual for them, taking the mornings to spar alone from the rest of the Host and in their own private space given to them by Vrtra in Radz-at-Han. Though Thavnair did not change much between the seasons, the alchemists had informed her that it was turning to spring; she understood it to signify how much time had passed, her strength only growing with each day.

Neither of them say anything as they recuperate from their latest match, not exactly conversationalists. Still, it's a companionable silence, Estinien only giving a grunt of thanks as Zero passes back the skein to him and he takes his own drink.

"Didn't know you have red hair," Estinien breaks the quiet, only after gulping down the rest of the water.

Zero stares at him blankly. "My hair is not red."

Wordlessly, Estinien reaches forward to pluck at the fabric wrapped around her neck, an element she still stubbornly clings to wearing despite having traded out her regular armor for lighter clothes. He draws back to show her a single long hair, wiry and straight, and, indeed, bright red.

"That's Remember's" she says, bluntly. Estinien looks at her, expression unreadable.

"And how exactly did their hair get onto your scarf?" Zero couldn't place the tone in his voice, though others better versed in such things could say it was teasing.

In lieu of answering, Zero stands again and reaches for her scythe. Estinien makes another noise to himself, amused, but doesn't push it as he stands to join her.

[psych0fatal3]

Ranking characters I write for based on how much I like them

Games - Homicipher, Diabolik lovers, Ikemen Vampire, John Doe, Creepypasta

Authors Note - FANATIC OF NIGHTTTT

Request status - Open

——————————————————————————————————

Homicipher

☆ Mr crawling ☆ Mr Gap ☆ Mr Chopped ☆ Mr Huge Face ☆ Mr Scarletella ☆ Mr Stitch ☆ Mr Silvair ☆ Mr Hood ☆ Telephone ☆ Mr Masque (Any other character I honestly forgot about) ————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Diabolik Lovers

☆ Yuma Mukami ☆ Carla Tsukinami ☆ Reiji Sakamaki ☆ Azusa Mukami ☆ Shu Sakamaki ☆ Subaru Sakamaki ☆ Ayato Sakamaki ☆ Laito Sakamaki ☆ Kino ☆ Kanato Sakamaki ☆ Yui Komori ☆ Kou Mukami ☆ Shin Tsukinami ☆ Ruki mukami ☆ Karl - Heinz ☆ Richter ☆ Christa ☆ Beatrix ☆ Stinky Cordelia

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Ikemen Vampire

☆ Leonardo Da Vincii ☆ Le comte Saint Germain ☆ Vlad ☆ Johann Georg Gaust ☆ Charles Henri Sanson ☆ Dazai Osamu ☆ Theodorus Van Gogh ☆ Napoleon Bonaparte ☆ Arthur Conan Doyle ☆ Isaac Newton ☆ Jean D'arc ☆ Vincent Van Gogh ☆ Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart ☆ Sebastian (I don't know shit abt the others)

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

Creepypasta

☆ Laughing Jack ☆ Candypop ☆ Nathan the nobody ☆ Ticci toby ☆ Puppeteer ☆ Ben Drowned ☆ Hobo Heart ☆ Clock work ☆ Papa Grande Di Magico ☆ Nina The killer ☆ Eyeless Jack ☆ Homicidal Liu ☆ Masky ☆ Hoody ☆ Sally ☆ Jeff the killer ☆ Zero (Ain't no way I'm writing them all down)

―――――――――――――――――――――――――――――――

John Doe Game

It's litteraly just John Doe

[voidsentprinces]

Summer Time.

Hien in trunks. Aymeric in trunks and a light swimming jacket. Haurchefant unleashed in a speedo. Zenos fighting the kraken in the middle of the ocean. Hythlodaeus getting a tan neath a parasol with sunglasses. Emet-Selch grumpily administrating suntan lotion. Hermes teaching Meteion to swim in the ocean. Raubahn and Thancred grilling up a banquet.

Godbert sculpting a mighty sand sculpture in his image. Opposite of him Ysayle and Menphina work to make ice sculptures. While, Theliak, Kan-E-Senna, Leveva, and Urianger read their books in their chairs. Nophica, Merlwyb, Lyse, Fordola, and Ardbert getting into a watermelon crushing competition. Yotsuyu being fanned by Grynewaht and sipping from a cocktail glass. Hilda, Lyna, Joye, Wuk Lamat and Ameliance race through the sand. Alisaie with Alphinaud in a headlock dragging him towards the waves for the annual swimming practice. Fourchenault, Azeyma and Y'shtola are on lifeguard duty. Asahi drowned in the corner. Fandaniel mocking him by dead man floating next to him. Jannequinard also has drowned but is posing dramatically even while out of commission. Nald and Thal watch over them bemused.

Cid, Nero, Biggs, Wedge, and Jesse getting the water slide going. Alpha, Gigi, Sylphie, Gatty and Omega building their own sandcastle as Zero and Golbez enjoy their own beach size beverage. Estinien posing dramatically on top of Godbert's sand statue. Tataru, Chai-Nuzz and Papalymo going over the logistics of the beach visit's costs. As Krile paints the ocean view while being hyped up by Dulia-Chai. Jandelaine is doing face paintings.

Kai-Shirr Nashu and Brandihild burying Hildibrand up to his neck in sand. Stephanivien inventing a new watergonne for summer time joy. Fray and Sid brood in the corner trying their best not to join in the summer fun. While Rielle, Ryne, and Gaia sample tropical fruits. Lahabrea, Themis, and Erichothonis look on exasperated as Athena builds a giant moth mecha to attack the Beach Bash. And by build I mean she is super vising from a well shaded and high position while Hesperos and Agdistis do it for her. Hegemone serving as her butler. Yugiri and Gosetsu are judges for the watermelon crushing competition. Gaius is tiredly looking on as Rex, Alfonse, Milisandia, Allie, and Ricon play volleyball against Livia, Rhitahtyn, Varro, Lyon, Gabranth, and Misija. Varis and Hydrus wander across the sand judging the volley ball match. Baderon, Mother Miuonne, and Momodi referee the match. Wilred, Emmannellain, Artoriel, Honoriot, and Cyella run commentary.

F'lhaminn, Alianne Gilbrillont, and Buscarron serve up drinks to Thordan, G'raha and Edmont as they swap old man stories. Nymia and Althyk ease drop over their own drinks. While the Heavens Ward wait their turn to play volleyball against Mitron, Nabriales, Venat, Altima, Pashtarot, Deudalaphon, Igeyorhm, Halmarut, and Emmerololth.

Julyan Manderville and Halone are hunting down Hamon Holyfist for acting inappropriate. Wyrnzoen, Curious Gorge, Broken Mountain, Dorgono, Rurukuta, Chuchuto, Widgargelt, O'tchakha and D'zentsa hold a booth for punching a bag as hard as you can. While Byregot administrates Beatin, Brithael, H'naanza, Serendipity, Geva, Redolent Rose, Severian, Adalberta, and Fufucha working together to gather the materials and create more stands and bags since Eorzea is made up of martial gods who keep breaking the punching bag and the stand. Moenbryda has the highest record of breaking it.

Oschon, Cirina, Magnai, Luciane and Sadu aid Sisipu and Lyngsath in catching the food required to run this entire operation with Llymaelyn's express approval. While the Wheiskaet and his Company of Heroes guard the establishment. Ilberd, Laurentius, Yuyuhase, V'kebbe, Perimu and H'raha have a dart throwing competition. Ywain, Myella, Jacke, Karasu, Momozigo, and Drusilla are in the middle of a game of poker.

Jenlyns, Radovan, and Sanson swap tales, the Troupe Falsiam, Guydelot, and Jehantel aid the Songbirds for entertainment. Sophie and Erenville are handing out fashion show fliers. Runar, Y'mhitra, Tesleen, Cymet, Almet, and Uimet administrate parasols, seatings, and food to keep everyone comfortable from the heat of the sun. Seto along with Magnus and his gang work to ferry people to and from the beach. With K'lyhia, Surito, E-Sumi-Yan, and Cocobuki figuring out a schedule to keep everyone on task. X'rhun, Arya, and Martyn run a magic show with plenty of rapiers and surprises. Rhaglr watches over Arenvald and Hoary Boulder arm wrestling with Coultenant, Aenor, and Clemence cheering them on.

Midgardsormr, Nidhogg, Hraesvelgr, Azdaja, Tiamat and Bahamut watch this go on with amusement. As Vrtra is sending out reports and orders to Nidhana and her alchemists along with Ahewann and the Radiant Host aid in the security of the event.

And of course, there is the Warrior of Light. Enjoying their vacation...or they would if the REVELRY HADN'T SUMMONED SUSANOO TO JOIN IN!!!!!! NEVER A DAY OFF I TELL YOU! NOW THEY GOTTA DEAL WITH A PRIMAL PARTYING ALONG!

[dragons-bones]

*slides you some monopoly money* Please would you tell us if you have any headcanons for how Rereha dealt with the Disaster Gay Couple (Sanson and Guydelot) during the Bard questline?

So Rereha knows you cannot force things when it comes to romance and/or sexual tension. You can poke and prod and nudge and encourage, but you cannot be forceful. It spooks the idiots morons individuals involved.

Sanson and Guydelot drove her fucking spare. Worse than Synnove and Aymeric, because that was a when and not an if.

Guydelot, like Rere, is a ho, but he's the kind of ho who doesn't immediately pick up on anything less than blatant attraction from the other party. Sanson I see as a flavor of demi with a hefty dose of hyperfixated on his goals, so he wouldn't recognize having a crush if it punched him in the stomach. Put these two together and you have constant sniping and growling and teasing and incredible amounts of sexual tension that neither are aware of.

Rere spent a number of nights flopped on the ground in Grandpa Jehantel's camp, staring up at the canopy while Jehantel strummed his harp or tuned her violin for her, and whined incessantly about how fucking stupid the pair were with zero indication either of them understood what hints she kept dropping. Jehantel just laughed at her.

She definitely screeched "FINALLY" at full volume when they finally got a clue and had their first sloppy makeout after defeating the Siren.

[subiysu-chan]

Who are the Sanson siblings' children, that is present in the Innocent manga, or was briefly mentioned (excluding Henri, Gabriel, and Zero)?

Madeleine-Claude-Gabriel Sanson: Born probably around winter 1738. She's the girl with black hair you see early in the manga.

Louis-Charles-Martin Sanson: Born around 1744. Eldest son of Jeanne Berger.

Nicolas-Charles-Gabriel Sanson: Born around 1745. Executioner of Blois during the French Revolution and notorious alcoholic.

Louis-Cyr-Charlemagne: Born around 1748, executioner of Provins, later Versailles. Married his own niece. He's the one with the pony tail.

[cyniibar]

Any hcs on Andre and Marie in general? Or maybe hcs on their life in England shortly after escaping France by the end of Rouge?

WOOHOO ! The weekend is finally here! I can answer this question:

Andre is an optimistic little sunshine. He sees light in every aspect of his broken world. And despite his hardships and his endless suffering, his faith in the Lord never faltered for a second. The old man sings hallelujah 24/7 ever since he came to England. Adapted easily, immune to insults and discrimination considering he once was a peasant from the slums of Paris. Andre was very grateful to have experienced a life outside of France. Starting anew, exploring onto foreign soil with his beloved mistress...

Meanwhile his mistress is currently drowning in this depression that awoken a new kind of agony even more unbearable than the torture she underwent through. Marie Joseph feels like she somehow.... lost.

Defeated by Robespierre, and fled like a coward to escape persecution instead of facing it with ferocity and courage like she had in the past when going against most obstacles in her life. Marie Joseph is not one to regret, but oh, is she constantly flooded with thoughts of "what ifs". If only she had made the move first, drew blood first, or perhaps fought back against the iron troops. But the thought that digs knives inside her guts; is that she should've made a figure of herself worth admiring. For her child, at least. Marie Joseph longed to be the mother that Zero was proud of, and looked up to. Because to Marie Joseph, Zero is the one reason for her existence. Hell was heaven when Zero was brought into her world. Now, they were apart forever because Marie Joseph didn't or couldn't attack the Jacobins first.

Also, Marie Joseph is constantly being haunted with the thoughts of Marie Antoinette. Her dreams are plagued by the Dauphine she knew decades ago. And those memories of Antoinette frustrated her. That foolish queen stayed vain and arrogant to the very end, the most infuriating out of all the aristocrats she ever met. Antoinette, the brat who prioritized her nobility, than all the efforts Marie Joseph made to ensure her safety. Then gradually, she goes through a phase of denial; I gave her a choice, and she chose to act on her own selfish wishes. The shallow queen did not deserve any ounce of generosity. Marie Joseph's denial eventually morphs into guilt.

On some occasions, amongst the busy crowd, there would be English girls ranging from 13-18 in age, with rosy complexions, pale blonde curls, dressed with feminine elegance... Marie Joseph would then do a double look, (not in an attracted kind of way, like Humbert Humbert with his nymphette obsessions) but making sure she isn't just seeing Antoinette again.

Marie Joseph had weakened, left paralyzed for a long period because of the torture during the Revolution. She couldn't escape her anguish, let alone exit her room without assistance. The indomitable Marie Joseph Sanson, reduced to an 'old retarded woman'. For a while, she refused any aid from Andre. Pushed him away and dealt with her physical and mental pain herself. Changed her own bandages, rehabilitated her body on her own. Desperate for action and desperate for strength. Soon, she realized she didn't have the ability to be fully independent as she once was. Only then did she reluctantly called for Andre, once in a long while.

Andre like the worried housewife he is, rushed in, face stained with tears while he helped his mistress. An epiphany occurred to Marie Joseph then, that there will be people like Andre to pull her up when ever she's in the lowest of 'pathetic' like this. She learned to appreciate him more and his help, interacting with him the same as before, but just with less insults and mockery and more equal maturity as she grew even older.

Marie Joseph found a purpose later on, with educating children in need. As they reminded her so much of Zero. She found peace. Found the change she so desired. Her relationship with God got better... somewhat. But Marie Joseph was still the same. Still brave and adventurous, and funny and intelligent. Just more sensible. She can't really act on impulses now, her body never recovered fully.

As Marie Joseph was finally having the life she fought so hard to have, she began to battle with an illness that she couldn't avoid. She had accepted her fate. And in her last hours, only Andre was at her side. She reassured him calmly through his sobbing tears, expressed her gratitude for having him remain with her all her life, and passed away with the thoughts of her Zero.

Andre lived on, taking care of the school in memory of the admired teacher Marie Joseph, he told the tales of Marie Joseph Sanson that were eventually forgotten.

[moonlitattic]

When you originally drew your blorbo to practice foreshortening and now you’re making a mock up cover

[cloudcountry]

otome games route log !!

ikemen vampire . . .

isaac newton: romantic ending, dramatic ending.

william shakespeare: romantic ending, dramatic ending, in progress.

vincent van gogh: romantic ending.

arthur conan doyle: romantic ending.

jean d'arc: romantic ending.

dazai osamu: romantic ending.

charles henri-sanson: romantic ending.

interlude: romantic ending.

ikemen prince . . .

yves kloss: romantic ending.

rio ortiz: romantic ending.

licht klein: romantic ending.

nokto klein: romantic ending.

clavis lelouch: romantic ending.

keith howell: romantic ending, dramatic ending.

chevalier michel: romantic ending.

sariel noir: romantic ending.

gilbert von obsidian: romantic ending, dramatic ending.

ikemen sengoku . . .

mitsunari ishida: romantic ending.

kenshin uesugi: romantic ending.

kennyo: romantic ending.

sasuke sarutobi: romantic ending.

kanetsugu naoe: romantic ending.

yoshimoto imagawa: romantic ending.

hideyoshi toyotomi: romantic ending.

ikemen revolution . . .

kyle ash: romantic ending.

harr silver: romantic ending.

edgar bright: romantic ending, in progress.

zero: romantic ending, dramatic ending.

jonah clemence: romantic ending.

lancelot kingsley: romantic ending.

ray blackwell: romantic ending

fenrir godspeed: romantic ending.

mystic messenger . . .

yoosung kim: bad ending one, normal ending, good ending.

zen: normal ending, good ending.

jaehee kang: good ending.

jumin han: bad ending one, bad ending three, normal ending, good ending.

seven: good ending.

v: normal ending, good ending.

ray: normal ending, good ending.

wizardess heart . . .

joel crawford: normal ending.

randy march: happy ending.

elias goldstein: in progress.

the arcana . . .

nadia: upright ending

asra: upright ending

julian: upright ending

muriel: upright ending

portia: upright ending

lucio: upright ending, reversed ending

[velnica]

( 2 / 3 )

You be the book, I'll be the binding You be the words, I'll be the rhyming You've got my love to lean on darling All the days

~ That's What's Up / Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros

Sanson & Guydelot wedding photoset ♥

Pose taken from HYPERNOBA's amazing Guydesan fanart on Twitter.

[goldenteaset]

MY AO3 Wrapped [Writers Qs] Part 1 of 3

How many words have you written this year?

As of right now...94,685. How. (Well, I know how, I spent a lot of time this year very bored and needing something to occupy my brain. ^^;)

2. How many works did you publish this year?

19, for the same reasons as above. Sometimes I think I posted too much, frankly. Then again, when the writing bug hits, it hits, right?

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

I'm so glad that this is difficult to answer. ;v; This year, I finally got to write a Berserk fic (Sweet Rain, Saltwater Rain), and Griffith/Charlotte no less! After so many years, I finally have friends who understand why I like them, and that lit a fire under me to make it as good a first fic for the fandom as I could. (After writing it, I think my abilities got better, which was a pleasant surprise!)

The current runner up right now is Poisoned Honey. Even as a WIP, I'm both combining things I like (GBF, The Sleeping Beauty Quartet, Canon Divergent AUs) with things I've never done before (worldbuilding, Porn With Plot, and things I can't talk about yet). It feels like a real learning experience!

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

In the Bedchamber Dripping With Honey, at 2,634. (Fate/, Gilgamesh/Saber/Diarmuid/Nero.) I'm not quite sure how to feel--I'm still glad I wrote it, though. I'll dig into more later!

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

I had no idea what to expect when I posted Sweet Rain, Saltwater Rain, and oh my god I'm still blown away by it. So much encouragement! One of my friends privately doodled scenes from it...my work created another work, it's so surreal and amazing to think about. Thank you! ;v; I hope to have more interactions like that next year.

6. Favorite title you used

Another hard one, because I need to like all my titles. ^^; But to narrow it down: Two Small Wings (Touken Ranbu, Akita-centric), because symbolism! And the meaning changes after you read. :D

(7 wasn't relevant ^^;)

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

It was Belial/Djeeta (and Belial/Djeeta/Lyria)'s world this year and I was just living in it. Zero regrets, felt like I opened the floodgates in the best way! I really do love these two/three so much, there's so much to explore with them.

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

See above, but also Griffith/Charlotte and all of my Saniwa OC/Touken Danshi pairings. It was very much their year too, and it really felt like I grew a lot with each consecutive fic.

10. What work was the quickest to write?

The Depths of Hell and the Heights of Heaven (FGO, Sanson/Ritsuka), which I slammed out in two days. The reasons are...a little sad, frankly, but I think worth noting down. At the time I was writing it, I think I was subconsciously trying to figure out a way out of FGO. Heck, even Fate/ itself. I didn't want to hate it, but I was beginning to. So that was my swan song, all my frustration and weird sense of loss all in a oneshot.

...I'll try to make the future answers not so grim! ^^;

[ikemen-cum-blog]

CURRENT ROUTES!

Zero (IkéRev)

Charles-Henri Sanson (IkéVamp)

Rio Ortiz (IkéPri)

N/A for IkéSen so far

Routes I have Finished!!!

IkéRev (standard, not looking glass)

Lancelot

Jonah

Edgar

Kyle

Ray

Sirius

Fenrir

Dalim

Harr

Loki

Oliver

IkéVamp

Leonardo

Vincent

Theodorus

Isaac

IkéPri

Chevalier

Yves

Nokto

Licht

Luke

Gilbert

IkéSen

None yet…

Basically I’m qualified to run this acc 😭

[macabr00blog]

poema sul nuovo millennio

I suoi adepti, fuori,

a rotolarsi nel fango come porci, presto, molto presto

come un ambiente underground diventa un parco giochi

o un parco giochi che diventa

l’imitazione di un Paradiso. I suini

della performance, lui siede a capotavola:

noi, sulla luna, ci siamo già stati.

L’era dell’imitazioni, sfogliando la Settimana Enigmistica,

cercare soluzioni in mille amori,

c’è un bagno chimico alla fine della via che odora

d’estate. Dietro alla scritta Made In Vietnam c’è una

storia di venti stupri americani, io sono un agnello multiforme -

innumerevoli sono i tentativi di trasformazione,

sono troppo presto performante. Ho tredici anni di buchi

sulle mani, stigmate di sonno, mia madre che mi chiede

di tenermi in salvo. Stai attento, dice, credo che la sua bocca

sia un unico pixel, scavallo il palcoscenico dove un

politico di destra si erge a figura mitica, lo chiamavano Sansone -

si è rasato tutti i capelli per l’esecuzione di un impresario.

Si è fatto bello per la disfatta del mondo, suona ad un campanello,

lui è uno che conta. Mio nonno sostiene che il nero

edifica il divenire, perciò con nostalgia bacia la foto di vent’anni fa:

lui e il suo stemma del MSI tatuato a ricamo sulla divisa militare:

mi dice che sono troppo giovane per capire, sono troppo

dispari.

Gli spiriti dei deviati in un classico numero in serie

cinque cifre prima del precipizio, io sarei incatenato ad un letto

d’ospedale: grido il nome di mamma, il nome di Cristo, sono il figlio

cannibale di una nazione silenziosa. L’esercito di improvvisati

nazionalisti che pasteggiano con tacchino e lepre, i fucili ancora

a riposo. Dietro il nero, dietro le casacche, corpulenti strascichi demoniaci

il tempo di un tesseramento e il tenore di uno schiavo sessuale,

mi ricordo di uno di loro rimasto a bocca spalancata e una virgola

di sperma appena prima della ciglia del suo occhio celeste.

Dietro il nero, c’è una tenda che porta ad un giardino di memorie

appese, fotografie di vecchie madri chine a costruire una nazione,

la repubblica ancora giovane prima di inciampare sulle sue stesse

scarpe sfoderate, ero ancora troppo giovane, sono ancora troppo

dispari.

La Bibbia di me stesso resa universale, le mie mani che tendono verso

la fine delle sue carezze,

sono oltre le colonne, sono oltre la scuola elementare, voglio

che mi racconti della volta in cui ti hanno arrestato, perché

eri così giovane, così giovane, troppo dispari,

che fine ha fatto il labirinto? Sei troppo arrabbiato con me,

la danza degli oggetti diventa scema, il poeta senza laurea crepa,

il dottore mi apre la pancia, ci trova i resti di un disordine camerata.

Io te l’ho detto, lo ribadisco, rimarrò dispari

con questo disturbo da troppe lettere

che mi si inceppa in gola, i miei termini arcaici e la proprietà

unica dimora privata - di linguaggio

che mi porta su Marte: sulla luna ci siamo già stati, eravamo

ancora americani, eravamo ancora nazisti travestiti

da pace, eravamo ancora rivoluzionari con la divisa della Nato,

venti minuti l’uno addosso all’altro, era estate e d’altronde

non potevamo essere altro. Amarti il mattino quando

nessuno ci vede: tende chiuse, luci spente, il sole

non è il sole nel cosmo del tuo pube

reso cieco dalle scorse

venti ore di marijuana e coca zero. Il film senza spettatori,

i padri che aspettano di ridere senza riferimenti colti alle disfatte dei

figli, ora sei gay di default, sopra alle isole sconosciute della mia pancia

aspetti un figlio che chiameremo Pier Vittorio, avremmo una

pensione come ce la meritiamo, e una serie tv sui vizi del Papa

da consumare come due clandestini. Meglio fingere

di credere, che credere e poi fingere di stare bene,

io con la dolcezza di un papavero, estraggo oppio per tornare a dormire,

tu con le mie carezze, i tuoi capelli margherita, cadono a fiotti.

E’ la malattia o la primavera?

E’ un sollievo temporaneo, almeno, tane come fossimo ai domiciliari,

io latitante nei tuoi sogni di porpora, fingere di credere, fingere di

credere, il figlio di un eroinomane

e il figlio di un democristiano, ti accarezzo le palpebre perché

so che non hai paura del buio. Hai paura di Dio, sai che se non

credi è peggio, da bambino volevi fare il prete poi

la religione ti ha fatto violentare, schiavo nell’abisso del nulla,

ci sei già dentro a piè pari, ne amplifichi il bisogno.

Il liquido che aveva santità, me lo ha detto

un Angelo, nessun altro,

è urina lasciata scorrere nella gola,

mi aumenta il fetore. Così ti

lascio andare, come farebbe qualsiasi altro padrone benevolo,

come farebbe qualsiasi altro difettato senza speranza, sterile

amante dispari, come una trave di tempio al mare,

io soggetto, oggetto, forma, essenza

io mi ricordo di quella volta in cui assaggiai il sapore dell’estate

da solo

fu l’ultima, non ci voglio tornare più. Ora

il mare sa di lamponi salati, mi piace, ora il vento

sa di cenere, mi piace, ora tu di spalle di fronte alla libreria enorme

del tuo salotto,

io sto qui e immagino casa,

bene,

io sto qui e mi piace, e ora a quale autore ti impicchi

poeta?

In quale casa? Sopra quale libreria? La poesia

ti ha salvato la vita, Poeta, ora cosa ne sarà del resto

della tua esistenza? Vivrai da Martire,

bruciato a vita, bruciato vivo, un cammello senza testa e con

le mani: sei ricoperto di sabbia. Stai invecchiando, Poeta,

cosa ne sarà della tua poesia?

I vertici del tuo respiro chiusi dall’asma, le salme dei

tuoi antenati esposte a raffineria, domani succede

che fanno le primarie e io mi sparo, mi sparo in bocca,

vorrei che lo facessi tu in estrema divinazione da assenzio, ma

hai scelto la via sporca della sobrietà, ora non c’è nulla in te

che mi ricorda mio padre.

Mi rassicura ma mi uccide, mi protegge ma mi espone quando i miei

occhi indagano dettagli confusi. Io ero

dietro il nero,

io ero dietro il nero il nipote più

dispari, la mia è la mano di un diavolo qualunque, tu volevi

una ragione, una sola ragione, penso di avertela data.

Il Messia ha scordato le chiavi di casa, ma non ha

mai scordato il nome di sua madre. Tipo il richiamo degli

uomini, tipo il libro sulla droga, tipo quella foto a vent’anni dove assomigli

ad un agnello.

Hai terminato la mutazione. Tu, almeno, ce l’hai fatta, Poeta.

La vita con te come due bracconieri dell’insonnia, trascinare

anima e corpo alle porte del Paradiso, noi nudi e distratti dalla stagione

peggiore. Mi fermo e ti dico: non so se ce la faccio ad andare oltre.

Noi dentro le porte del Paradiso, qui è pieno di Santi tristi e

Eroi di guerra con le mani sporche di interiora,

assomiglia ad una terra di promesse,

io e te non siamo fatti per questo.

I morti si amano come figli,

il tuo viso scavato dal freddo, il mio reso rosso dalla ricerca di dimora,

una volta al mese scavando morti casalinghe, senza uscire di casa,

arrestati per atti indecenti o per possesso di bocca. Io

detengo la voce addomesticata dalla campagna, tu hai

una penna affilata che usi come bisturi, siamo l’uno davanti all’altro

su un altare-sala operatoria-scrivania-letto

ad aprirci i costati, si voti per eleggere il Segretario!

Punto di ritorno e via del ripristino, la domenica le case

si svuotano per dare una pista da ballo ai topi,

e il tuo naso da ratto

e i miei capelli da pulce,

bugiardi performanti cadaveri

un giorno saremo un poema.

Per oggi, solo una penna

che si lascia rotolare nel fango del nuovo millennio.