#*le cries endlessly*

[shycroissanti]

HEY!

Yudi is awesome, you made him, so you're awesome by default:D

Keep strong shy, we love your OC's and story

He looks so majestic in your style｡ﾟ(ﾟ＾Д＾ﾟ)ﾟ｡💖⭐️💕💖✨️✨️🌌🌟

[thepersonnamedsam]

champion - cl16

pairing: charles leclerc x fem!reader

summary: abu dhabi 2024

word count: 1k

warnings: none

note: hiya, hope you’re all good? have fun with the second 1‘000 follower special :)

masterlist / taglist

The Race was intense, it was hot and steamy and all so risky. But he was so near. He could almost taste it, taste you. If he won this race, he’d be champion, champion of the world. His second most important price, you always come first, of course.

You stood in the Ferrari garage, your fingernails bitten down to the flesh. You were more nervous than he was. God, only four more laps to go. Charles was leading, but Max was only 0.6 seconds behind him. One mistake and Max would be a 4x World Champion.

But you were certain that he was gonna make it. Charles was your best friend and he deserved that title more than anything. He wasn’t just your best friend, you were gonna become his fiancée today if he won, but you didn’t know just yet. The ring was securely stored in his jewellery box inside his drivers room. You had no idea.

Three more laps to go.

You were sweating, not just from the heat, you were standing on your toes the whole time. Your heart pounded, probably as fast as Charles‘ car. This was gonna be it. Charles Leclerc, World Champion of 2024!

Frederic was standing beside you. His hands wrapped tightly around your shoulders, squeezing every other second, waiting for your boyfriend to finally finish that race. You both couldn’t wait anymore. „Fred, if he wins, will you pay him some therapy sessions?“, you joked. He only laughed at you. „He doesn’t need them after the win.“

Two more laps.

The anticipation only grew. At the time, probably everyone at home sat at the edge of their seats. Max was so close behind Charles. If he only lost some speed, Max would pass him. They made a show. And nobody liked it.

„Charles, Max is 0.4 seconds behind. Let’s switch to Plan C“, you heard Xavi over the coms. „Okay“, you heard your boyfriend say back. „What’s Plan C?“, you asked Fred. „He’s gonna let Max pass, get into his DRS zone and then hopefully he can pass him with greater speed.“

Your heart dropped into your stomach, Ferrari is gonna fuck Charles up against You knew it. It was not gonna work. And when Charles met Max pass, everything played out in slow motion. Max passed the red Ferrari, Charles tried to stay behind the Red Bull.

One lap to go.

It was silent in the Ferrari garage. You could hear a needle drop on the floor. Everyone was sweating. You stopped breathing, at least that’s what you thought, because honestly, no one ever stops breathing in these moments.

The moment Charles passed the Red Bull, the garage errupted into loud applause. Your heart skipped a beat, letting a small scream out. Excited for the new outcome. This was gonna be it, Charles will be champion. You could feel it.

The last meters were ahead of both cars, with Max only 1.7 seconds behind. Charles was gonna make it, he just couldn’t fuck it up. Nothing could happen now. And when Charles crossed that finish line and was declared Champion of the World, you cried. Happy tears streamed down your cheeks. A big prominent smile on your face and wet eyes.

„Go, go!“, Xavi ushered you out to the outside of the garage, where Charles would park his car on the number one spot. And there he stood, proud on his car, his hand up in the air, pointing to his late father. When he looked down again, he saw his whole proudness standing in front of him. You.

He got down from his car, quickly getting his helmet off and kissing you. You were so, so proud of him. Your champion. And when Carlos sprinted towards him with a suspicious little black box, you couldn’t believe what was going to happen.

„My love, mom bijou. I love you endlessly and I wouldn’t know what to do without you. You are my stars that light up the night. Tu es le soleil, qui répand la chaleur dans tout mon corps (You are the sun, that spreads warmth throughout my body). I love you with all my body, with all my heart, with all my everything. Will you make me the happiest man in the whole wide world and marry me?“

Your body shook from the cries. You couldn’t believe what was going on. Tears streaming down your face, you could only nod. And you nodded, looked at him with your tears stained face and got down to his level. You kissed him, so hard he couldn’t believe the force you had. And you said yes, of course you said yes.

Charles wasn’t only Formula One Champion, he was also the luckiest man on earth, with his big love in his arms, crying like the world might end. But it doesn’t, the world only just started for you two. Life was being written from a whole new perspective now. Not only is the luckiest, but you were los the happiest woman.

And the fahnden went crazy, Charles Leclerc, the 2024 champion got engaged to his long term girlfriend on the day he won the championship. And when he stood on the podium and received his trophy, he couldn’t stop smiling, not crying. He was looking down at his fiancée and the whole world stopped, just for a moment, just until he realised he was gonna marry this girl, for sure now. Not only in his dreams, but in reality too.

For him this day did not only mean he achieved his biggest goal, but also his biggest dream.

And for you, you were going to be the happiest bride on your wedding day, when you were going to walk down that isle and see this man standing in front of you

°°°

taglist: @ironmaiden1313 , @hiireadstuff , @biglittlesecret, @gulabjamooon , @lovelyy-moonlight , @peachyplumsss , @mistrose23 , @copper-boom , @love4lando , @champomiel , @serenityleah , @iloveyou3000morgan , @angelwithoutmywings , @elleeeee21 , @mikauraur , @thybulleric , @lpab , @fdl305 , @mellowarcadefun , @teti-menchon0604 , @vildetry06 , @bibissparkles , @aurora-maria , @lunnnix , @sya-skies , @Buckywifeyy , @dakotali , @rechtrecht , @noncannonships , @1eclerc16 , @pitlanebabe , @sopheeg , @avengersheart , @thatsadsmallchild , @peachiicherries , @idkiwantchocolatee , @callsign-scully , @mehrmonga , @badbatch-simp24 , @lissyontour , @din0nugs , @elliegrey2803 , @gay-for-victoria-de-angelis , @10vely-yutazen , @daggersquadphantom , @azriel-the-shadowsinger , @i-love-scott-mccall , @darleneslane , @mikauraurr , @heartmetaphor , @ellswilliams , @thxtmarvelchick , @nataliambc , @dontjudgeabookbythecover , @hockeyboysarehot , @thehistoryone , @zimm04 , @woozarts , @mellowarcadefun , @deephideoutmolkshake , @grimeslvrr , @tallrock35 , @namgification , @pear-1206 , @trouble-sistar

[artificialroux]

hii rouxx !! i hope you're doing welll ^^ im so curious into knowing more about maisie like what is her animal motif? what other close relationships does she have with the girls or travis? does she survive in the end? or any other facts you want to mention about her because i think she's lovely plus i LOVE kathryn newton (unrelated but i HATE Netflix for canceling the society, she was so good in it.)

ahh thank you so much!! i’m so glad you’re into maisie — she’s such a weird, wounded little creature and I love her endlessly. ahe tries to stay quiet and watchful, but there's so much going on under the surface!!!!

maisie’s animal is the rat — the survivor, the scavenger, the unwanted thing that still endures. she’s small, clever, quiet. often overlooked. people flinch at her without knowing why. like a rat, she hides in corners, listens too well, and thrives in places others can’t. but there’s rot inside her too — sadness she’s never cleaned out, and a creeping guilt she carries like disease.

for close relationships she has with the girls and travis:

misty: obviously! she and misty are sisters, and there’s this intense, co-dependent but not unloving dynamic between them. they mirror each other — maisie is what misty might’ve been with just a bit more self-awareness. they do each other’s hair. they also ruin each other’s lives a little.

travis: they share the same haunted look sometimes. he doesn’t talk much, but maisie doesn’t need him to. there’s an understanding between them that never becomes romantic — more like grief twins, locked in their own heads. he calls her a weirdo, but they find themselves talking to each other late at night for comfort in their grief.

akilah: they bond quietly over small, domestic tasks — boiling water, making tea, cleaning wounds. akilah respects maisie’s memory and attention to detail. sometimes they sit in silence and maisie helps her label dried herbs or tag animal bones.

does she survive?

most likely? no — but she makes it out of the woods. maisie dies sometime post-rescue, quietly and without spectacle.

random facts:

her favorite musicals are the secret garden, into the woods, and les misérables.

her handwriting is ridiculously neat. even in the wilderness, maisie’s journal entries are pristine. she has a calligraphy pen she guards like a weapon.

before the crash, maisie carried around a pink glittery caboodle full of random “necessities”: safety pins, expired lip balm, mood rings, dramamine, fake press-on nails, and an old st. jude medallion that wasn’t even hers.

she never cries in front of anyone unless it’s misty. even then, she apologizes afterward and acts like it didn’t happen

she uses vintage perfume samples she stole from her aunt’s vanity. smells like powder and wilted roses. in the wilderness, she tries to make perfume from crushed herbs and boiled bark.

her favorite color is “dead ballet slipper pink.” not light pink. not rose. that faded, ghostly shade you only see on old pointe shoes or washed-out lipstick.

and YES, kathryn newton deserved so much more in the society 💔

[hoboblaidd]

REPOST AND LIST 6 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE:

just a man by EPIC the Musical

Every man I've slain is the price I pay, endless pain. Close your eyes and spare yourself the view. How could I hurt you? / But when does the comet become a meteor? When does a candle become a blaze? When does a man become a monster? When does a ripple become a tidal wave? When does the reason become the blame? When does a man become a monster? / (forgive me)

what could have been by Sting, Ray Chen

I am the monster you created, you ripped out all my parts. And worst of all, for me to live, I gotta kill the part of me that saw that I needed you more / I hope you know we had everything and you broke me and left these pieces. I want you to hurt like you hurt me today and I want you to lose like I lose when I play what could have been

saturn by Sleeping at Last, Tim Fain

You taught me the courage of stars before you left, how light carries on endlessly, even after death / With shortness of breath, I'll try to explain the infinite and how rare and beautiful it truly is that we exist

when it's cold i'd like to die by Moby

Where were you when I was lonesome? Locked away with freezing cold. Someone flying, only stolen. I can't tell, this night's so old / What was that, my sweet, sweet nothing? I can't hear you through the fog. If I holler, let me go. If I falter, let me know / I don't wanna swim the ocean. I don't wanna fight the tide. I don't wanna swim forever

your world will fail by Les Friction

Your world has got you controlled and silent. You can't fill a whole with a billion empty souls. Your world has got you alone and silent / Your world will fail my love, it's far beyond repair. Your world will fail my love, it's already there. Calm before the rage, hostage in a cage. Now it's too late to wake up this place and bring you all back to life

the man who can't forget by the Bardbells

The colors of his morning, the darkness of his night, little graves that gave no warning, a sun that brought no light / he saw his whole world breaking, that tortured soul I met in a prison of his making / I can still hear the way that he cried for the ones he was missing. I can still hear the way that he cried for the ones he had lost / He caused the whole world’s breaking, the tortured soul I met, in a prison of his making. the man who can’t forget

& LIST 6 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE:

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me? - Paradise Lost

When you’re too tired or too afraid to defend yourself, defend others. - Peter S. Beagle

Every act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being. - Albert Camus

It is restful, tragedy, because one knows that there is no more lousy hope left. You know you’re caught, caught at last like a rat with all the world on its back. And the only thing left to do is shout. - Jean Anouilh

I wake up every day to an equation I wrote 15 years ago from which there’s only one conclusion: I’m damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight, they’ve set me on a path from which there is no escape. - Andor

I sought loneliness when I was young. You’ve seen me there: on my promontory, patient and unaware. But when I think of you, I want to be alone together. I want to strive against and for. I want to live in contact. I want to be a context for you, and you for me. - This is How You Lose the Time War

tagged 300 years ago by @avrorean

tagging. @extravagantliar @wepthonor @martyrmarked @theodosiani @keepslore and anyone else!

[shycroissanti]

OMG OMG OMG AAAAAAAAAAAAAA

THIS IS SO CUTE, THANK YOU SO SO MUUUUUUUUUUUCH!!!!!!

｡ﾟ(ﾟ＾Д＾ﾟ)ﾟ｡💖✨️💕🫂✨️💖

•I throw the drawing and run away•

@shycroissanti

[msweebyness]

Weeby’s Valentine’s Special- Myvan Wedding HC’s

It’s the day of love, so ya girl Weeby decided to celebrate with one of my favorite couples! Enjoy these sweet HC’s, and happy Valentine’s Day, everybody! @imsparky2002 @booksrbetterthanpeople @nerdy-chocomallow (Underlined words have links to check out!)

It was a year after most of them graduated university, and the akuma class (along with Ondine, Marc and Kagami) were having a mini reunion on the Liberty. When the sun was beginning to go down, Rose told everyone that Kitty Section wanted to debut something new. After playing a beautiful love song that Ivan had written, Rose and Juleka pulled Mylene up on stage and everyone lost their minds when Ivan stood up from his drums and kneeled in front of her with a ring in his hand. The cheers when she said yes could be heard for miles. (The message that was sent of the proposal video in the DuPont Survivors group chat the four classes kept after graduating blew up when the video of the proposal was sent.)

Naturally, the first thing to do was to tell their families they were officially tying the knot. So they invited them all out to dinner and dropped the news. Galina Bruel and Mylene’s stepmother, Imelda Ortega-Haprele were both absolutely overjoyed and happy-cried for almost an hour straight. Iosif and Fred were quieter than their wives but equally happy for them. And you know Sasha was thrilled when Mylene asked her to be a bridesmaid, and Jesse almost cried when Mylene asked him to walk her down the aisle with her dad, saying he’s always been her brother, even before their parents got married.

The planning of Mylene and Ivan’s wedding was almost like an event in and of itself, with how all of their friends helped to pitch in and set everything up. The girl squad had several sleepover meetups where they discussed everything from the location, to the catering, to the guest list, to the music. Mylene and Ivan were just grateful that their friends cared enough to want their ceremony to be amazing in every way. (Imelda and Galina were also largely involved with the planning, which Mylene couldn’t have been more happy about, given her egg donor’s absence from her life.)

Of course, Mylene and Ivan wouldn’t look for a lot of fanfare with their wedding, and the location they chose reflected that. They ended up going with a small chapel near Ivan’s family’s home, that had a modest but gorgeous outdoor garden, and everyone agreed it was the perfect choice for them. Understated, but undeniably beautiful, just like the love between the two.

One of the most important parts of nuptials is choosing the wedding party, but they were actually pretty easy decisions for Mylene and Ivan. The best man was Ivan’s best friend and bandmate, Luka Couffaine, while Mylene’s maid of honor was her longtime (female) best friend, Luka’s sister, Juleka. The groomsmen consisted of Nino Lahiffe, Max Kante, Le Chien Kim, Adrien Agreste, and Nathaniel Kurtzberg. While the bridesmaids were Alya Cesaire, Alix Kubdel, Rose Lavillant, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and of course, the bride’s soon-to-be sister-in-law.

Now of course, Mylene and Ivan weren’t looking for a particularly big wedding, but that didn’t stop them from inviting all their old friends from DuPont, and everyone RSVP’d yes, that of course they’d come! No way were any of them missing the union of one of the sweetest couples in Paris’ history! And on the day of the ceremony, all of them were packed into the aisles to support their friends and wish them a happy life together!

Every bride deserves to have the dress of their dreams, and you know Marinette would settle for giving one of her best friends nothing less! She worked endlessly on Mylene’s dress for weeks on end, making sure everything about it suited her perfectly, and when the bride walked down the aisle in the simple, but undeniably elegant gown, paired with the white blooms woven through her blonde curls and pearly flats, no one could stop gushing about how gorgeous she looked. (And we won’t sleep on her handsome groom in that understated but sharp suit!)

When the big day finally arrived and the ceremony began, both the bride and groom were feeling the typical nerves that plague many people when they’re about to be married…but the second they locked eyes from opposite ends of the aisle, all of those feelings were gone, and they’d never felt happier in their lives. And when the bride was given away by her father and brother, everyone was holding back tears.

After the words of the minister of the ceremony, it was time for the couple to exchange their vows, which they had written themselves. Mylene’s speech about her soon-to-be-husband being the kindest and gentlest person she’s ever known and promising to be by his side no matter what comes their way had tears pricking at everyone’s eyes. And by the time Ivan had finished speaking about how he’d loved Mylene as long as he’d known her, and how he promised to love her more every day and to always have her back, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house!

When the vows were exchanged, and the preacher dropped the “Speak now or forever hold your peace” (with no one even thinking to say anything, obviously), it was finally time to seal the deal. With the exchange of “I do”’s, the groom was given the okay to kiss his beautiful bride. No one could hold in their cheers, or obsessing over how cute it was when Ivan had lifted Mylene up to be level with him and spun her around during the kiss!

Given that this is Mylene and Ivan, the reception wasn’t some big fancy affair, crystal chandeliers, uppity hotels, or any of the like. It was more like a big picnic in a different area of the garden from the wedding ceremony. Yeah, like an actual picnic, blankets instead of tables and everyone just chilled on the grass! Everyone was allowed to sit wherever they wanted and all had a great time catching up and just celebrating the newlyweds.

After everyone had enjoyed their food, it was time for Ivan and Mylene’s first dance as a married couple. When the song they had picked began to play, no one could take their eyes off the couple. (The height difference made it all the more adorable, in the opinions of everyone present.) After that, the groom’s mother and the bride’s father joined their respective children for a dance, and neither parent could hold back their tears of pride and joy when the song ended. The final ceremonial dance was between the groom and his baby sister and the bride and her stepbrother, with the perfect song to match. After that, everyone took to the floor and had a great time getting down to every cheesy and iconic dance song they could all think of. (At one point, Nino (the DJ), even offered up the mic and a bunch of people from the old DuPont gang took it to do a song themselves!)

Speeches are a key part of every wedding reception, and this one was no exception. The best man’s and maid of honor’s moving words about the couple brought everyone to tears. All of the groomsmen and bridesmaids made speeches, some sweet and moving, some funny but no less heartfelt. (Kim’s especially had everyone in stitches.) Overall, the speeches ended up taking over two and a half hours, as so many family and friends got up to speak and celebrate the couple, who wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Finally, as everything was winding down, it was time for the closing traditions of the wedding. When the bride threw her bouquet out to the crowd, the cheering from the present DuPont alumni was thunderous when its descent ended in the hands of one Austin Tomassian. (Which brought on ample teasing and knowing looks in the direction of Jean DuParc from his former classmates.) And when it was time for the bride’s garter to be tossed by her new husband (accompanied by a flurry of catcalls from the groom’s friends), the lucky one to catch it was none other than groomsman Nathaniel Kurtzberg, who couldn’t keep himself from glancing in the direction of Marc Anciel.

After the ceremony, it’s time for the honeymoon! It shouldn’t be much of a surprise that these two kept it simple! After the loud and rousing sendoff from their friends and family, they headed out to the little cabin they’d rented out in the country where they just enjoyed a week of peace and quiet, and a lot of love!

Hope you all enjoyed these, and happy Valentine’s Day! Leave your thoughts in the comments and reblogs!

[icarus-suraki]

1, 7, and 9 for the movie ask!

It occurs to me that I could just answer Goncharov (1972) for all of these…

Movie Questions Ask Bait!

->what is your favorite film of all time? Very possibly Mad Max: Fury Road. That movie rewired my brain. That movie scraped the rust off my soul. That movie sneaked up behind me and stole my spine. And it was great.

I literally went to see it in the theater seven (7) times. Seven. If you dig back in my blog here to June 2015, you'll see that this place was full of Fury Road. Stills, gifs, music, meta, fic, shitposts, all of it. All of it.

Sidebar: I think my absolute love of Fury Road is what's keeping me from wanting to see the new Furiosa prequel: Fury Road didn't explain everything to death so we, the fandom, had a great time imagining explanations or making things up. We dissected that movie and we also left it alone. I don't want to know too much. I like that world being left a partial mystery. We, like Max, get thrown into it and we're both figuring out how it works as the story progresses. I love that.

I can't exactly explain why I love it so much. The colors, the action, the fight scenes, the music (holy shit the music), the characters, the weirdness, the story itself, the callbacks and parallels, the newness and the oldness of it (it really is a train robbery movie at its core), the sense (ultimately) of hope, the presences of women (old women even!) in action roles… Something about it, maybe everything about it, were just perfect for me at that time and in that place.

Yeah. Favorite movie ever.

->name a movie you’re emotionally attached to? There's so many ways I could take this. Positive attachment? Negative attachment? Very Strange Time in My Life attachment?

Like, I know I can never watch L'Illusionniste, Les Triplettes de Belleville, or Grave of the Fireflies again because I cried just too fucking hard at each of them, which I think is an emotional attachment.

Or I could say the Lord of the Rings movies (all of them). They came out when I was in college and a handful of us were counting down the days to the premiere, watching this miniscule clip of video taken by a fan from a train that showed a glimpse of the Minas Tirith set endlessly, gobbling up any news or leak or rumor about production on Livejournal, engaging in the fandom of that era (which was a whole thing in and of itself), even going to midnight local premiers. So while I'm not a huge fan of the movies, they certainly were a constant presence in my undergrad days.

Or it could be the other movies that rewired my brain: Mad Max: Fury Road (see above), Princess Mononoke (baby's first Studio Ghibli film in 1999 at the local art house theater), Star Wars (only episodes 4, 5, and 6 though; I kind of deny that any others exist), Kiki's Delivery Service (which I had on VHS in college and would watch when I was stressed and depressed because I love the city), Voices of a Distant Star (the concept really got me)…

Or it could be the kids' movies from my own childhood, you know? Robin Hood (1973) is very near and dear to my heart. And Panda and the Magic Serpent is what started me down the weaboo road way back when I was 6 years old.

There's so many possible answers here. But that's a few movies I have emotional attachments to. How's that?

->guilty pleasure movie? Do I have to? Okay, okay, okay: I like a good cheesy, gory giallo movie, red tempra paint blood and all. Spaghetti westerns are amazing with their half-understandings or misunderstandings of USAmerican history to the point that it becomes something different, something bigger and more epic (I love The Good, The Bad and the Ugly so much). Martial arts movies full of dramatic scenes and wire-fu are so much fun (and I get to practice my Mandarin or my Japanese). Gothic drama, especially from the 1990s, is great like the original IwtV, Crimson Peak, The Crow…

But I paid actual, real, hard-earned money for a (digital) copy of Bloodsport and it's so bad. It's so bad! But I love it--maybe as much for meta reasons as anything.

Like, the whole thing is based on this Canadian-American guy Frank Dux's memoirs about being trained in ninjutsu by a mysterious Senzo "Tiger" Tanaka (who probably didn't exist at all and has the same name as a character in You Only Live Twice) and then going on to compete in this international full-contact underground martial arts competition in Hong King (the "Kumite"). Oh and he was also in the military at the time, doing covert missions, so he had to go AWOL to fight in this competition of course. Which he does without being caught. And he keeps outsmarting the CID officers (one of whom is played by a young Forest Whitaker) when they chase him to Hong Kong, meanwhile picking up an April O'Neill-style beautiful American journalist ("reporter" because it's the 1980s).

The whole thing is so clearly ridiculous bullshit but it's marketed as being based on a true story because Frank Dux insisted his bullshit was true. And it was produced by Cannon Films, which is another can of worms entirely (I highly recommend the documentary Electric Boogaloo: The Wild, Untold Story of Cannon Films for more backstory on the company; it is bonkers). And did I mention that Frank Dux is played by Jean-Claude van Damme? And yes he does do the most epic of splits.

And the whole thing is simultaneously so deep in meta layers (self-proclaimed martial arts masters, which ties into Count Dante and the dojo wars, Frank Dux's amazing bullshit and stolen valor, Cannon Films) and yet so incredibly shallow at the same time.

There's minimal plot, zero depth to the characters, massively long flashback sequences, even longer training montages, a totally ridiculous amalgamation of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean cultures into just "Asian Culture," the dubbing in some scenes is practically criminal, there's minimal exploration of the location (Hong fucking Kong!!!) outside of a chase and a throwaway scene about bad restaurant food, and even the fight scenes during the tournament aren't really all that great.

But the Kowloon Walled City gets some screentime (except that it's just a set sometimes). And there are tons of locally-hired extras and bit players, along with a slew of international actors and/or actual martial artists, even if a lot of them have been cast as nationalities other than their own???--like Bernard Mariano, who is Filipino by descent but was born in Hong Kong, had no martial arts experience but got scouted while he was working out, was cast as a "Middle Eastern" fighter named Hossein, but used his pay from the movie for university classes to go on to be an English teacher in Hong Kong. Meanwhile, Jean-Claude van Damme is busy taking his shirt off and wearing super tight spandex underwear (he snaps them in one scene; you're welcome). Leah Ayres is a "reporter," which is really "journalist" and one of the few adventurous jobs acceptable for women in 1980s movies to have, who maybe lives in Hong Kong or maybe doesn't but she's super cute and deserves better than she got in the script; she's The Girl (Leah Ayres is now into pseudoscience). And Donald Gibb is playing this American bar brawler who somehow got invited to this elite fighting tournament and he looks like Kurt Russell in The Thing if he were still infected by the Thing and living out on the ice alone.

Like, I could just keep going. I love this shit. There is so little that's "good" in terms of filmmaking, scriptwriting, cinematography, anything in this movie and yet it entertains the fuck out of me.

Hence: guilty pleasure film.

[sharpened--edges]

Le Guin’s achievement in constructing Anarres as a positive utopia lies not simply in her skillful weaving together of various doctrinal strands from anarchist theory, but also in her novelistic dramatization of how daily life in such a society is actually felt and how subjectivities evolve in such an environment. The main point about the Odonian Anarresti is that they not only subscribe to pacifist and anarcho-communist principles, but that they have been wholly formed by a society founded on such principles. Anarres is therefore not only a utopian construction in the generic sense, but one especially rich in utopian moments in the Blochian sense—moments of a deeply resonant peace and freedom beyond the alienations of class society. […] Consider this delineation of the paradigmatically “private” experience of sexual ecstasy—a description of the lovemaking that Shevek and his partner Takver enjoy after a long separation: “The first time they both came as Shevek came into her, the second time they struggled and cried out in a rage of joy, prolonging their climax as if delaying the moment of death, the third time they were both half asleep, and circled about the center of infinite pleasure, about each other’s being, like planets circling blindly, quietly, in the flood of sunlight, about the common center of gravity, swinging, circling endlessly.” In one sense, this passage is situated in a tradition of sexual description that derives directly from D. H. Lawrence, most notably from Women in Love (1920) and perhaps The Plumed Serpent (1926). Precisely what distinguishes it from Lawrence and immensely enhances its Blochian value, however, are its completely unforced quality and its as-if-normal freedom from hierarchy, coercion, and phallocracy. The image of the lovers as circling planets is presumably a common astronomical figure for people who in fact live on a twin planet; it is at the same time a fitting metaphor for sexual union as the free and equal community of lifelong anarcho-communists.

Carl Freedman, Critical Theory and Science Fiction (Wesleyan University Press, 2000), pp. 117–8.

[darlingsomeone]

Re-listening to Danse Macabre, an old fashioned waltz — bits and pieces from a good omens fan.

Et vive la mort et l’égalité!

My take: something has been lost when looking at this lovely tone poem if all we get is awfulness or despair. This dance is the embodiment of seizing the day (or night in this case) even past death.

First though, if you’re into this kind of thing, is some analysis of how it is constructed.

Everything is meant. “The piece begins with twelve repeated notes from the harp, signifying a clock striking midnight. The violin scratches out a series of imperfect fifths that do not resolve as they should in well-mannered tonal music. The devil is warming up to play a diabolical dance in a fast waltz time. The waltz had only lately become respectable.”

The original song-poem lyrics with English translation can be found here. More thoughts under the cut:

It’s hard to hope that links speak for themselves if someone is skimming a goofy post like this. The lyrics, then, French and English:

“Danse macabre

Zig et zig et zig, la mort cri en cadence

Frappant une tombe avec son talon,

La mort à minuit joue un air de danse,

Zig et zig et zag, sur son violon.

Le vent d’hiver souffle, et la nuit est sombre,

Des gémissements sortent des tilleuls;

Les squelettes blancs vont à travers l’ombre

Courant et sautant sous leurs grands linceuls,

Zig et zig et zig, chacun se trémousse,

On entend claquer les os des danseurs,

Un couple lascif s’asseoit sur la mousse

Comme pour goûter d’anciennes douceurs.

Zig et zig et zag, la mort continue

De racler sans fin son aigre instrument.

Un voile est tombé! La danseuse est nue!

Son danseur la serre amoureusement.

La dame est, dit-on, marquise ou baronne.

Et le vert galant un pauvre charron—

Horreur! Et voilà qu’elle s’abandonne

Comme si le rustre était un baron!

Zig et zig et zig, quelle sarabande!

Quels cercles de morts se donnant la main!

Zig et zig et zag, on voit dans la bande

Le roi gambader auprès du vilain!

Mais psit! tout à coup on quitte la ronde,

On se pousse, on fuit, le coq a chanté…

Oh! La belle nuit pour le pauvre monde!

Et vive la mort et l’égalité!

*

Tap, tap, tap—Death rhythmically (1997) English translation © Richard Stokes

Tap, tap, tap—Death rhythmically,

Taps a tomb with his heel,

Death at midnight plays a gigue,

Tap, tap, tap, on his violin.

The Winter wind blows, the night is dark,

The lime-trees groan aloud;

White skeletons flit across the gloom,

Running and leaping beneath their huge shrouds

Tap, tap, tap, everyone’s astir,

You hear the bones of the dancers knock,

A lustful couple sits down on the moss,

As if to savour past delights.

Tap, tap, tap, Death continues,

Endlessly scraping his shrill violin

A veil has slipped! The dancer’s naked!

Her partner clasps her amorously.

They say she’s a baroness or marchioness,

And the callow gallant a poor cartwright.

Good God! And now she’s giving herself,

As though the bumpkin were a baron!

Tap, tap, tap, what a saraband!

Circles of corpses all holding hands!

Tap, tap, tap, in the throng you can see

King and peasant dancing together!

But shh! Suddenly the dance is ended,

They jostle and take flight—the cock has crowed…

Ah! Nocturnal beauty shines on the poor!

And long live death and equality!”

Look, these words and the instrument choices speak of equality in the state of death. Possibly a bit the way Crowley would.

Death wasn’t and couldn’t be hidden politely during those days. The arts featured the dance of the dead, just as we still see Memento Mori in media today. The balance of return from oblivion to celebrate outside of hierarchies was not new. Even the dead could still seize the night. Joy does not die.

Remember Crowley saying that people will be equally dead whether they are killed by Heaven or Hell up in that graphic? If anything, this little note from the domesticated Bentley might be a little rebellion, if not overkill. Maybe it’s A Clue to Aziraphale that they might celebrate a little late if he insists on this trip while ignoring Crowley, just as the Bentley’s musical gift to Crowley of the Nightingale reprise in season two.

Look at what the lyrics said.

The dance was already a part of folk custom or lore, and the xylophone was a country instrument. Saint Saëns was well aware of this, and used both the barely acceptable waltz as the dance and coarse instrument of country-folk. This was done deliberately.

This conservative, restrained composer made choices throughout the work. A dance which had been scandalous not so long ago and an instrument ‘of the people’ so to speak. Composed to fit the exacting pattern of “the devil’s interval”which you can read about here, too (yes it can matter). I’m a geek for this kind of thing so here’s that link again.

The idea of the dance already existed, what he did was to elevate it to something so moving and strong that it endures today, despite its original reception by his contemporaries.

The message of the lyrics is lost in the final product, which is a pity for Good Omens fans, but the delight in the dance remains. There is a freedom, celebration and again, an equality among the freed dancers. (Crepes, anyone?) They take their joy where they can, even if the devil plays the tune.

Like Orff’s Carmina Burana, another work celebrating earthly delights and perils, (Ox rib anyone?) O Fortuna being the most recognizable of this work, Danse Macabre is often used to enhance or promote something only in fragments, very specifically omitting the resolved and therefore to me, ‘peaceful’ end to both works.

I seldom hear the resolution of the frantic dance in the promotion of a scary movie or even as used in Hush, an episode of Buffy (yes, the one with The Gentlemen, on one of the links). This does Danse Macabre a great disservice. The point and the peace are cut off abruptly, leaving the listener waiting for the music to knit itself up at dawn. For this listener, the omission is a constant irritant, but I am perhaps an odd duck. I do have ears though, and they know the difference between resolved and not.

It’s oddly like a cliffhanger, really, when only part of the work is played.

While some people say that this piece is “suffocating” or “overwhelming” I can only wonder at the variety of human experience. There is so much unencumbered joy in Danse Macabre, so much literal freedom of the souls to have this time to celebrate.

Young children are routinely introduced to classical music with this piece. If it were so utterly fearsome, it would be a poor choice indeed for such a task.

What it is, without a doubt, is a composition in old fashioned waltz time that goes far from the norm while following a form.

What else could the Bentley give Aziraphale but that truly intimate dance, a waltz, to the tune of equals and a taste of brimstone?

After all, he has standards.

[valyrfia]

3, 12, and 18 for the fic asks!! <3

thank you! <3 from here!

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written? The stevetony fic I wrote a few years ago immediately post-Endgame How Light Carries on Endlessly, it's one of the only fics where I feel I executed my image perfectly and the only fic I ever cried writing.

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it! For my Spain 2016 podium curse WIP I'm just listening to Strange Love (Halsey)/Hallucinate (Dua Lipa) on a loop, and it's working wonders so not changing that! For my F!Charles WIP I don't have a playlist but a few that I've been listening to from a few different artists are: Silk Chiffon, gold rush, Radio, Constellations, A World Alone, Pretty Girls. Also a LOT of The Crown soundtrack, especially Fairytale and Your Majesty.

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic? A bit longer than a line, but that honour goes a bit from my first Lestappen fic fièvre dans les yeux, I just think I really popped off with this part.

Communicating is harder in English, especially when his mind and body are in conflict. That’s why Charles has always preferred sex with people who know French, who can understand the slurred ramblings and half-sentences that tend to spill out when he’s keyed up. 

Max doesn’t know French, but he doesn’t need to. There’s a language deeper than their mother tongues, and they’re both fluent in it. The weight of destiny in the shape of a trophy, the taste of trento on top of a podium, the hum of the car beneath them and the way gravity shifts as they approach a corner. 

Send me an ask!

[shycroissanti]

Hey hey! Just wanted to roll by and say that your art and ocs are amazing! It's been so cool being able to see your art style change and your oc's grow. Keep doing what you are doin'!

AAAAAA THANK YOU SO SO MUUUUUUUUUUUCHﾟ+.(*´pωq`)ﾟ+.💖✨️🫂💕🌌💖🌟💕

[shortstorytournament]

Short Story Tournament

THE NECKLACE by Guy de Maupassant (1884) (link)

She suffered endlessly, feeling she was entitled to all the delicacies and luxuries of life. She suffered because of the poorness of her house as she looked at the dirty walls, the worn-out chairs and the ugly curtains.

THE BOY WHO HAD NEVER SEEN THE SEA by JMG Le Clézio (2008) (link)

He had dreamed of rivers travelling gently toward their estuaries, of the cries of seagulls, of the wind, and of the storms that blow past the masts of sailboats and the beacons of the buoys.

[laudys83]

The waves of gratitude

Day 20: "On top of the world" by IMAGINE DRAGONS

The sea stretched out endlessly, a deep blue speckled with white foam that came to rest on the damp sand. The fresh Irish wind gently swept across the grassy dunes, and the distant cries of seagulls harmonized with the rhythm of the waves. Venec and Alzagar sat on a weathered driftwood log, their boots partially buried in the sand.

Venec, his head tilted back, watched the shifting sky, caught between gray and orange as the sun slowly descended. He idly toyed with a piece of cord in his hands, as though keeping his ever-moving fingers occupied. “You know, this isn’t the kind of place I ever pictured myself ending up. A deserted beach, the wind, and you.”

Alzagar raised an amused eyebrow. “And why not? Too proud to enjoy the simple things?”

Venec chuckled. “Proud, me? Not really. But let’s admit, this is a far cry from markets and deals. Not exactly the usual routine.”

Alzagar replied with a wry smile. “That’s why it feels good. A break, far from the noise and chaos. You need it, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

Venec shook his head with a faint grin. “You’ve got a real knack for seeing right through me.”

A quiet moment followed, filled with the sound of the waves. Venec eventually tossed a pebble into the water, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “I’m not the type to get sentimental, you know. But I’m glad we’re here. You and me.”

Alzagar turned his head toward him, a soft glint in his eyes. “That makes two of us.”

Venec offered a rare, unguarded smile. He gestured toward the sea with a nod. “Ever think about everything we’ve been through? The dodgy schemes, the dangers, the nights we didn’t even know if we’d see morning? And look at us now, sitting here, as if we’ve got nothing to prove to anyone.”

Alzagar let himself be carried by Venec’s words, his eyes following the waves dancing under the fading light. “That’s because we don’t have anything to prove. Not here, not together. That’s what I appreciate. You, me, the rest doesn’t matter.”

Venec nodded slowly. “You’re right. We don’t need to justify who we are. We do what we do, and we do it well. And if other people don’t like it...”

He shrugged, his grin widening. “Well, that’s their problem.”

Alzagar chuckled softly, his laugh blending with the sound of the surf. “That’s so you. But that’s also why I stay. You take things as they come, without worrying about expectations. With you, everything’s real. No masks needed.”

Venec looked at him, a rare tenderness in his weary eyes. “You’ve never worn a mask with me, either. Maybe that’s why we work so well together.”

A long moment passed, marked by the ebb and flow of the waves. The sky grew darker, and the air turned cooler. Venec shivered slightly and pulled up the collar of his coat. “Hey, think we could do this more often? Get away from it all. Just the two of us, far from the usual mess.”

Alzagar nodded. “We should. Because these moments remind us why we do it all. So we can come back here, again and again.”

Venec stared at the horizon, a strange calm visible on his face. He’d never been good at expressing his feelings, but in that moment, he knew Alzagar understood. “You’re not bad, as a partner-in-escape, you know.”

Alzagar smiled, an amused glimmer in his eyes. “And you’re a better companion than you give yourself credit for.”

Venec grumbled softly, but he didn’t argue. They stayed there, side by side, until the light completely faded, wrapped in the soothing murmur of the waves and the unspoken gratitude of having found each other in a chaotic world.

"Les vagues de la gratitude"

La mer s’étendait à perte de vue, un bleu profond ponctué d’écume blanche qui venait mourir sur le sable humide. Le vent frais de l’Irlande balayait doucement les dunes herbeuses, et le cri lointain des mouettes rythmait le ressac. Venec et Alzagar étaient assis sur un vieux tronc d’arbre échoué, leurs bottes à moitié enfouies dans le sable.

Venec, la tête penchée en arrière, observait le ciel changeant, entre gris et orange alors que le soleil déclinait lentement. Il joua distraitement avec une cordelette dans ses mains, comme pour occuper ses doigts toujours en mouvement. « Tu sais, c’est pas un coin où je m’imaginais finir un jour. Une plage déserte, du vent, et toi. »

Alzagar haussa un sourcil, amusé. « Et pourquoi pas ? T’as trop de fierté pour apprécier les choses simples ? »

Venec ricana. « Fierté, moi ? Pas vraiment. Mais faut avouer qu’on est loin des marchés et des affaires. C’est pas dans les habitudes. »

Alzagar répondit avec un sourire en coin. « C’est pour ça que ça fait du bien. Une pause, loin du bruit et du chaos. T’en as besoin, même si t’es trop têtu pour l’admettre. »

Venec secoua la tête avec un léger sourire. « T’as toujours une sacrée façon de voir clair dans mon jeu. »

Le silence s’installa, rempli par le bruit des vagues. Venec finit par jeter un galet dans l’eau, le regard fixé sur l’horizon. « Je suis pas du genre à m’étaler, tu sais. Mais j’suis content qu’on soit là. Toi et moi. »

Alzagar tourna la tête vers lui, un éclat doux dans les yeux. « Ça tombe bien. Moi aussi. »

Venec esquissa un sourire, cette fois sans trace de moquerie. Il désigna la mer d’un mouvement de tête. « T’as déjà pensé à tout ce qu’on a traversé ? Les coups foireux, les dangers, les nuits où on savait même pas si on allait voir le matin ? Et regarde-nous maintenant, assis là, tranquilles comme si on avait rien à prouver à personne. »

Alzagar se laissa porter par ses paroles, son regard suivant les vagues qui dansaient sous la lumière déclinante. « C’est parce qu’on n’a rien à prouver. Pas ici, pas ensemble. C’est ça que j’apprécie. Toi, moi, le reste n’a pas d’importance. »

Venec hocha lentement la tête. « T’as raison. On n’a pas besoin de justifier qui on est. On fait ce qu’on fait, et on le fait bien. Et si ça plaît pas aux autres... »

Il haussa les épaules, son sourire se faisant plus large. « Bah, c’est pas leur problème. »

Alzagar rit doucement, un son qui se mêlait au bruit du ressac. « Ça, c’est bien toi. Mais c’est aussi pour ça que je reste. Tu prends les choses comme elles viennent, sans te soucier des attentes. Avec toi, tout est vrai. Pas besoin de masque. »

Venec le regarda, une rare douceur dans ses yeux fatigués. « Toi non plus, t’as jamais porté de masque avec moi. C’est peut-être pour ça qu’on se complète si bien. »

Un long moment passa, rythmé par le va-et-vient des vagues. Le ciel s’assombrissait, et l’air se faisait plus frais. Venec frissonna légèrement avant de tirer sur le col de son manteau. « Dis, tu crois qu’on pourrait faire ça plus souvent ? S’éloigner un peu de tout. Juste nous deux, loin du bordel habituel. »

Alzagar hocha la tête. « On devrait. Parce que ces moments, c’est ce qui nous rappelle pourquoi on fait tout ça. Pour pouvoir revenir ici, encore et encore. »

Venec fixa l’horizon, une étrange paix se lisant sur son visage. Il n’avait jamais été doué pour exprimer ses sentiments, mais en cet instant, il savait qu’Alzagar comprenait. « T’es pas mal, comme partenaire de fuite, tu sais. »

Alzagar sourit, une lueur amusée dans le regard. « Et toi, t’es un meilleur compagnon que tu veux bien l’admettre. »

Venec grogna doucement, mais il ne chercha pas à contredire. Ils restèrent là, côte à côte, jusqu’à ce que la lumière décline complètement, enveloppés par le murmure apaisant des vagues et la gratitude silencieuse d’avoir trouvé l’un l’autre dans un monde chaotique.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges

[ablueorangeintheocean]

Fleurs du mal / Flowers of Evil

L'Héautontimorouménos

À J.G.F.

Je te frapperai sans colère Et sans haine, comme un boucher, Comme Moïse le rocher! Et je ferai de ta paupière,

Pour abreuver mon Saharah, Jaillir les eaux de la souffrance. Mon désir gonflé d'espérance Sur tes pleurs salés nagera

Comme un vaisseau qui prend le large, Et dans mon coeur qu'ils soûleront Tes chers sanglots retentiront Comme un tambour qui bat la charge!

Ne suis-je pas un faux accord Dans la divine symphonie, Grâce à la vorace Ironie Qui me secoue et qui me mord?

Elle est dans ma voix, la criarde! C'est tout mon sang ce poison noir! Je suis le sinistre miroir Où la mégère se regarde.

Je suis la plaie et le couteau! Je suis le soufflet et la joue! Je suis les membres et la roue, Et la victime et le bourreau!

Je suis de mon coeur le vampire, — Un de ces grands abandonnés Au rire éternel condamnés Et qui ne peuvent plus sourire!

— Charles Baudelaire

The Man Who Tortures Himself

To J. G. F.

I shall strike you without anger And without hate, like a butcher, As Moses struck the rock! And from your eyelids I shall make

The waters of suffering gush forth To inundate my Sahara. My desire swollen with hope Will float upon your salty tears

Like a vessel which puts to sea, And in my heart that they'll make drunk Your beloved sobs will resound Like a drum beating the charge!

Am I not a discord In the heavenly symphony, Thanks to voracious Irony Who shakes me and who bites me?

She's in my voice, the termagant! All my blood is her black poison! I am the sinister mirror In which the vixen looks.

I am the wound and the dagger! I am the blow and the cheek! I am the members and the wheel, Victim and executioner!

I'm the vampire of my own heart — One of those utter derelicts Condemned to eternal laughter, But who can no longer smile!

— William Aggeler, The Flowers of Evil (Fresno, CA: Academy Library Guild, 1954)

Heautontimoroumenos

To J. G. F.

I'll strike you, but without the least Anger — as butchers poll an ox, Or Moses, when he struck the rocks — That from your eyelid thus released,

The lymph of suffering may brim To slake my desert of its drought. So my desire, by hope made stout, Upon your salty tears may swim,

Like a proud ship, far out from shore. Within my heart, which they'll confound With drunken joy, your sobs will sound Like drums that beat a charge in war.

Am I not a faulty chord In all this symphony divine, Thanks to the irony malign That shakes and cuts me like a sword?

It's in my voice, the raucous jade! It's in my blood's black venom too! I am the looking-glass, wherethrough Megera sees herself portrayed!

I am the wound, and yet the blade! The smack, and yet the cheek that takes it! The limb, and yet the wheel that breaks it, The torturer, and he who's flayed!

One of the sort whom all revile, A Vampire, my own blood I quaff, Condemned to an eternal laugh Because I know not how to smile.

— Roy Campbell, Poems of Baudelaire (New York: Pantheon Books, 1952)

Heauton Timoroumenos

I mean to strike you without hate, As butchers do; as Moses did The rock. From under either lid Your tears will flow to inundate

This huge Sahara which is I. My heart, insensible with pain, Caught in that flood will live again: Will care whether it live or die —

Will strive as in the salty sea, Drunken with brine and all but drowned, Yet driven onward by the sound Of your wild sobbing endlessly!

For look — I am at war, my dear, With the whole universe. I know There is no medicine for my woe. Believe me, it is called Despair.

It runs in all my veins. I pray: It cries in all my words. I am The very glass where what I damn Leers and admires itself all day.

I am the wound — I am the knife The deep wound scabbards; the outdrawn Rack, and the writhing thereupon; The lifeless, and the taker of life.

I murder what I most adore, Laughing: I am indeed of those Condemned for ever without repose To laugh — but who can smile no more.

— George Dillon, Flowers of Evil (NY: Harper and Brothers, 1936)

Heautontimoroumenos

Like a butcher I will strike you Without anger and without hate As Moses struck the rock! And from your eyelid I will cause,

In order to irrigate my Sahara, The waters of suffering to gush forth. My desire swollen with hope Will float on your salty tears

Like a vessel moving out from shore, And in my heart which they will intoxicate Your dear sobs will resound Like a drum beating the charge!

Am I not a false chord In the divine symphony, Thanks to the voracious Irony Which shakes and bites me?

The raucous girl is in my voice! This black poison is my blood! I am the sinister mirror In which the megara looks at herself!

I am the wound and the blade! I am the slap and the cheek! I am the limbs and the wheel, The victim and the executioner!

I am the vampire of my own heart — One of the deserted men Condemned to eternal laughter, And who can no longer smile!

— Wallace Fowlie, Flowers of Evil (New York: Dover Publications, 1964)

Heautontimoroumenos The Man Who Tortures Himself

I shall cleave without scrape or shock, And, like a butcher, without hate, Like Moses, when he struck the rock. From your eyes I shall generate Waters of woe throughout the years To quench my fierce Sahara fires, Swollen with vast hope, my desires Shall float upon your bitter tears Like a proud vessel, sailing large; And in my heart, drunk at the sound, Your cherished sobbing shall resound Like drums beating the long lost charge.

Am I not a discordant note In the celestial symphony, Thanks to voracious Irony Who shakes and bites me at the throat? She's in my voice, the scold; her black Poison is all my blood, alas! I am the direful looking glass Which flashes her reflection back. I am the wound, the knives that strike, The blows that crush, the head that reels, I am wrenched limbs and grinding wheels, Victim and hangman, as you like!

Vampire of my own heart, meanwhile, A derelict, I am of those Doomed to eternal laughter's throes, Yet powerless to frame a smile!

— Jacques LeClercq, Flowers of Evil (Mt Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1958)

Heautontimoroumenos

I'd slip it to you Without the least qualm or queasiness Like a butcher slitting the throat of a chimp Or Bunuel turning the bourgeois into a limp gallery Of frustrated meat.

What, the waters of suffering to Slake the Saharas of my desire? Your few tears won't ever sell In the dead and tedious ocean That swims through my heart Of war.

I was born into this dissonant symphony To be a puncturing chord among the factions, Spite has been my spirit's Unadministerable poison And I am locked in the show That wants most of all To have itself.

There is an inconsolable ache In this member's voice, a lust for unhappeningness In Borges' library or endlessly branching plot trees Excited testaments of paper.

I can be the wound And simultaneously the knife Be the active thought And a catacomb piled with unidentifiable bones The Latin American Terrorist incarcerated And the sadistic attaching Electrodes to his balls.

I am the Judas who plays both parts And whom all try to revile A vampire of my own blood Condemned to a hysterical laugh And ferocious smile.

— Will Schmitz

L'Héautontimouroménos

I'll strike thee without enmity nor wrath, like butchers at the block, like Moses when he smote the rock! I'll make those eyelids gush for me

with springs of suffering, whose flow shall slake the desert of my thirst; — a salt flood, where my lust accurst, with Hope to plump her sail, shall go

as from the port a pitching barge, and in my heart they satiate thy sobs I love shall fulminate loud as a drum that beats a charge!

for am I not a clashing chord in all Thy heavenly symphony, thanks to this vulture Irony that shakes and bites me always, Lord?

she's in my voice, the screaming elf! my poisoned blood came all from her! I am the mirror sinister in which the vixen sees herself!

I am the wound and I the knife! I am the blow I give, and feel! I am the broken limbs, the wheel, the hangman and the strangled life!

I am my heart's own vampire, for God has forsaken me, and men, these lips can never smile again, but laugh they must, and evermore!

— Lewis Piaget Shanks, Flowers of Evil (New York: Ives Washburn, 1931)

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Two editions of Fleurs du mal were published in Baudelaire's lifetime — one in 1857 and an expanded edition in 1861. "Scraps" and censored poems were collected in Les Épaves in 1866. After Baudelaire died the following year, a "definitive" edition appeared in 1868. SOURCE: https://fleursdumal.org/poem/151

[shycroissanti]

*le cries endlessly like a croissant*🥹🥹🥹

I love this drawing so much, I don't even know how to thank you, really!!!💓✨️🫂💖✨️💖💓✨️

So I made a doodle of Cole in the Halloween costume too, I hope you like it!!! (*＾▽＾*)

More treats this Halloween!

I'm sorry I couldn't make this as an animatic. I ran out of time and steam. But I love the oc's from shycroissanti so much. So I really wanted to show my love and appreciation for them. I didn't make them wear costumes of characters throughout media. Because I saw them and knew what I wanted to draw!

Cole's outfit is Sebastian Solace from Roblox Pressure ( Cole finds potential sympathy for this man. They are both experiments treated poorly by others. But Cole doesn't know how to feel about him further than that. what he did.. and potentially did before he turned into the form he is now. Makes her hesitant to feel bad for him completely. -P.s. I have watched some lore videos about Roblox pressure. So I don't know everything about it.).

Kishin is a Dragon ( I did this for fun especially due to the new tiny au of him being so. But also he's specifically his round dragon version just transformed into his human-ish form. I love with all my heart that he has a flower on his tail. Do you think he would at some point try to eat it? I also love the idea like on my other Halloween post that he was wearing a dragon costume. But coming to Cole's world turned him into a dragon until he goes home. That would be fun.).

Takoda is well… a shark.( To be honest, when I first saw this man I was so happy! I felt that he's the type of person that would do this kinda cute thing. Wearing the very thing he is. Is well ironic and fun. He's so hyped to meet another shark person. and to get free food he can eat. He's having a great day.) P.s. I think it's funny that Cole and Takoda have the same bang swoop thing on our shark oc's.

Kishin/Takoda belongs to @shycroissanti Cole belongs to speedartist-skyliner -Aka me-

[sourbinnie]

https://www.tumblr.com/sourbinnie/718866072094261248/hi-how-are-you-can-you-make-a-part-two-about-the

Hello? I have an idea can you do like this? Look i read the second part you did and that was great but I want something like this that how they talk to them self and saying their feelings especially CHANGBIN that part of changbin that says them holding her hand rubbing their arm and ... Like that you know what i mean? And if this is hard you can imagine y/n's bandmates is lesserafim i think that's cool? thanks for accepting requests and writing them in the best way ‌.

title -> corazon frio (el angel que yo te envio) genre -> angst it is + no happy ending pair -> ot8!skz + gn!reader a/n: thank you for sending this request! i hope i did it justice ¡! and for this scenario let's pretend i never said that (y/n) had 7 band members and it's le ssera lmao :> also if you're not familiar, this is part of my 9th member series, can be found in my masterlist here

lingering your touch as i pass by the jyp building. the street lights shining through reflecting on the car, i am so lost in a dream that never happened. one where i stayed in chan's arms hoping he would calm me down and i wouldn't make such an abrupt and cruel decision without talking to him first. was i happy? i didn't really know. i held on to my bandmates so much, tried my best to fit in and hoped i did the group justice. but i craved that satisfaction of making him proud, of him taking care of me when it all seemed to be losing sense and i hoped that he knew that i wouldn't forget him and all that he did for me. maybe he already forgot me and it was for the best right? one doesn't wanna haunt the memories of their old loved ones.

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it hurt to think that you hurt someone else without intention. i thought leaving would be the most sane choice and that i wouldn't be occupying a place that someone else deserved to shine. i knew minho would hate me for the rest of eternity, i couldn't even think of him without crying. the teasing, the jokes, the atmosphere he fixed for me just to feel comfortable. even now when i joked with zuha and yunjin, i still was brought back to the times minho taunted me but it always ended with a long warm hug. i thought of times where i have felt so afraid of coming out on stage and he was always there, right beside me. to put on a show with him, meant that i was standing besides one of the most talented people i've ever met and he still was a delight to watch.

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i walked endlessly through the corridors as i tried to escape what torn me the most. the look in changbin's eyes as he observed my performance and all i could think of was how many times i went to him for the smallest of things. whether it was being completely nervous or anxious for an award show or because i missed my family too much and i needed to be hugged. my cloudy vision didn't do me justice as my band members looked at me curiously and i just had to mutter an "i'm fine" and continue on. but as soon as i got to the dorms, i had to close the bedroom door and choke back on my tears as i couldn't stand the cold & distance that there was now between me and who used to be my best friend.

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staring at the ceiling pretending he was right beside me. the delusion and the disappointment in me when i looked again and hyunjin wasn't there was unmeasurable. i wanted to intertwine fingers, feel him staring back at me and not feel utterly broken in the process. i cried so much when i knew i had to leave him because i know how he is, how worried he gets. seeing him again and not feel the warmth but just a blank stare, like a stranger that i've never met was a stab to the heart. i don't expect him to forgive me and i don't expect to be met with his arms open at any point again in my life. i had to stop myself from remembering too much about him before i lost my mind and did something insane like call him in the middle of the night.

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oh jisung, my partner in crime. i will never forget our antics and how much you helped me feel like i was a part of the team (until i wasn't). i remember you like the stars, every talent of yours shined brighter and gave more light. i can't stop thinking about that time i saw you and wanted to run right to you, celebrate that one of my best friends was in the same area as me. then i remembered you're not my best friend anymore and i had to let go of the feelings that i held onto so tightly because how can you go through everything with someone and then just let them go? tightness built in my throat thinking about it. hope you're doing lyrics that aren't too sad like you always do but i think i know the answer for that right now.

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the morning light felt cold even in the middle of spring. i couldn't figure out what happened, as i was a mess but as i looked around me and hoped to see felix, i knew all the answers. felix, how much i didn't treasure you when i had you. i was scared, confused and lonely that i took the decision and i didn't think of him. of how much we battled together and how when we were eliminated we held onto each other like the world would disappear. i don't expect him to be happy, sad or mad, i expect he would do his best and he would still smile for the picture even if it wasn't the same. i remember coming back with him and minho, the way we couldn't be separated. he had taught me so much and i gave him so little, in return i get to see him glow and he gets to see me pretending to be alright.

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as we were taken to our music video shoot, i decided to take my old phone. it was a mistake (or was it?) as i confused with the new one but there it was, my background. a picture that i took with seungmin when we were touring in europe, it shined so brightly like the sun and yet it pained me so harshly like the darkest of rooms. eunchae noticed me staring and grabbed my hand as i sighed, laying on her shoulder. seungmin wasn't the most expressive but the night he came to me crying because he didn't want to be alone was scarring on me like one of the most painful memories i've ever experienced. leaving him was like leaving my brother and now it was clear that we weren't family anymore and it twisted the dagger in my heart.

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looking at our maknae i could only think of how much she reminded me of jeongin when we first started. he had that hopeful look on his eyes and i knew he wanted to prove himself, to show off that he could do it on his own. that still didn't stop him from cuddling up to me at night and reaching for my embrace in the winter. i hugged him so tight sometimes like he would slip away at any moment not knowing that was gonna happen at some point. i knew they would take care of him, i didn't doubt their habilities but sometimes thinking about him twisted something inside of me. the need to be there for him at all points just washed over me but right now i had eunchae and i would take care of her just as much as i did with innie.

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at the end of the day, i was reunited with my band members as we talked about life, family and other lovey things. that's when i was hit with a question that sakura made that took me by surprise and left everyone else quiet.

"are you scared of something (y/n)?" was so simple yet so effective in me that i nodded, liquid building up in my eyes as i smiled. i felt chaewon pat me in the back and say that i didn't have to answer if i didn't want to but i shook my head.

"of being forgotten." i said as i played with my hands to distract me from the sudden memories. 

i suddenly felt so cold yet i still hoped in the bottom of my heart, that my ex band members would be blessed with a warm and lovely night.